*the next morning*
I walk over to Sam to see him leaned up against a log, staring off into nothing. "Hey," I greet softly. He slowly looks up at me, cracking a smile.
"Hey."
"How you doing," I ask, taking a seat beside him.
"As good as I can be in this situation," he sighs.
"I get that," I sigh. "Come on, let's get back to the others." He nods in agreement. We both stand up, walking back to the others.
"Hey. So, we've got half a chance in the daylight. And I, for one... want to kill this evil son of a bitch," Sam sighs.
"Well, hell, you know I'm in," Dean nods.
"Me too," I add.
"Can I see Dad's journal," Sam asks. Dean pulls it out, handing it to him. He flips to the page, speaking. "Okay, the Wendigo is a Cree Indian word. It means, "evil that devours"," Sam says.
"They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man, sometimes an Indian or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter," Dean explains.
"How's a man turn into one of those things," Hailey questions.
"Well, it's always the same. During some harsh winter, a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help-- becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp," I answer.
"Like the Donner Party," Hailey's brother says.
"That's right. Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities-- Speed, strength, immortality," Sam nods.
"If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less-than-human thing. You're always hungry," Dean says.
"So, if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive?" Dean glances at Sam and I, and we shrug, nodding.
"You're not gonna like it," Dean admits.
"Tell me."
"More than anything, a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time. When its awake, it keeps its victims alive. It stores them so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother's alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. And we got to track it back there," Dean sighs.
"And then how do we stop it?"
"Well, guns are useless-- so are knives. Basically... we gotta torch the asshole," I answer.