Summary:  When a resort owner is killed in his own bed, is it murder of the supernatural kind? Sam and Dean investigate, but will they figure it out in time?
Warning:  First chapter contains implied, but not graphic child abuse. If that sort of thing bothers you to read, now is the time to hit the backwards arrow.
A/N:  Thank you to Jubilea who is better now, and able to beta. This is better thanks to you!
Disclaimer:  Don’t own them, never have, never will.

Alicia lay in bed awake. She was wearing her favorite pink flannel pajamas, and she was snuggled under her down comforter. The unicorn nightlight cast long shadows on the walls, but she was not afraid of shadows. Alicia’s red curls were smashed flat in the back from lying on the pillow.

Alicia was tired, but she knew she could not sleep yet. She could not sleep until she knew her little sister Lila was safe. She pulled the covers up closer to her chin, and snuggled deeper into the comforter.

Alicia heard the great grandfather clock in the living room chime the Big Ben melody before it struck ten times. Ten o’clock, no wonder she was tired. Her eyes never left the closed bedroom door, and her ears listened for any noises in the hall.

Shadowed feet appeared in the crack under Alicia’s door. She stopped breathing, and waited. The shadows disappeared, and she could hear the soft footfalls on the hardwood floor walking further down the hall, then stop in front of Lila’s room.

“No!” her mind screamed. “No, you can’t let him!”

Despite the fear gripping her throat, Alicia jumped out of bed, and padded to her bedroom door. Squinting into the light as she opened the door, she looked down the hall. “Daddy?” she called.

Mike Bevons dropped his hand from Lila’s doorknob, and turned to face his eldest, seven year old daughter. “Yes, sweetie?” he asked with a concerned look upon his face.

“I can’t sleep, Daddy,” Alicia said pulling on the neck of her pajamas. It felt like her pajamas were hugging her too tight, pulling on her neck, and her skin.

“That’s okay, baby,” Mike said walking down the hall towards Alicia. “Daddy will stay with you, and help you get to sleep.” He scooped Alicia up in his arms, and gave her a wide smile. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Alicia said quietly dropping her eyes.

“Honey!” Mike called down towards his bedroom.

“Yes?” came the muffled response of his wife, Janice from the master bedroom.

“Alicia can’t sleep, so I’m going to sit with her for awhile,” Mike said.

“Okay,” Janice replied sleepily. “Try not to make too much noise when you come in.”

Mike walked into Alicia’s room, and closed the door behind them. He dropped her on to the bed where she bounced several times. He leaned over Alicia, and tickled her for several seconds until she burst out laughing, “Daddy, stop! I can’t breath!”

Mike stopped tickling Alicia, and looked into her sparkling blue eyes. She was taking great gulps of air, trying to catch her breath. “Get under the covers, sweetie,” he said, lying down beside her.

“Okay,” she replied, and snuggled under the covers.

Mike picked up Alicia’s favorite book, and flipped on the small table lamp beside the bed. As Alicia listened to her father read, “Little Red Riding Hood,” she could feel her eyelids growing heavy. When he started to read the part about the woodcutter rescuing Red Riding Hood, and her grandmother Alicia pretended to fall asleep. Sometimes, being asleep kept the bad things away.

Mike placed the book on the bedside table, and turned off the lamp. Turning towards Alicia, he pushed several wayward curls away from her forehead. “You know, you’re Daddy’s special girl, don’t you sweetie?” He asked.

Alicia lay very still, and did not answer. Her muscles strained with the effort to be completely motionless. She felt her daddy unbutton her pajama shirt, and her eyes popped open. She stared into her daddy’s eyes. Alicia knew pretending to be asleep was not going to keep any of the bad things away tonight.

An hour later, alone once again, Alicia cried hot, angry tears until she fell asleep.

Sam walked out of the mini-mart at the gas station with a small, brown bag filled with ibuprofen, and two bottles of water. Reaching through the open driver’s side window of the Impala, he tossed the bag to his brother, who was sitting in the passenger seat. Dean was resting his head on the window, and sporting a pair of dark sunglasses. He jumped when the bag hit his lap with a crinkling sound.

“Wha?!” Dean shouted. “Sam, what the hell?”

Sam laughed, and climbed into the driver’s seat. The day was unseasonably warm, and the sun was shining brightly. Sam squinted against the afternoon sun, as he pulled the Impala out into traffic. “What’s the matter, Dean?” Sam asked still laughing.

Dean glared at Sam from behind his sunglasses. His head hurt, and his stomach flipped once, twice before settling again. His nights of self-medication did not always agree with him. Dean opened the bag, and managed to get the lid off the bottle of ibuprofen. It took him three tries to dry swallow the pills. He coughed sharply, his head throbbing with each burst. Grabbing a water bottle, he blindly fumbled with the lid.

“Here,” Sam said handing Dean an opened bottle of water.

Dean tossed the unopened bottle on the seat next to him. He drank deeply from the bottle Sam had opened for him.

“Dude, no way you are going to avoid puking, if you don’t slow down,” Sam chastised. He took his eyes off the busy traffic momentarily to glance at his brother. Dean looked positively green.

Dean did not answer, but he did hand the bottle of water back to Sam. He leaned back against the window, and closed his eyes. He toyed with the idea that he should never mix warm beer with cold fries, second-hand smoke, and flirting. It was definitely the flirting that had landed him in this sorry shape. He was beginning to truly believe the red-headed chick had slipped something into his drink while he was winning his last game of pool.

“So, tell me again why you think we should go there?” Dean asked. His muddled mind was having trouble hanging on to the information. As a testament to how awful he felt, Dean had not uttered a word when Sam had grabbed the car keys this morning, and slipped into the driver’s seat. He had not admonished Sam about driving carefully, treating her right, or flying straight. He simply sat in the passenger seat, a pathetic lump, trying to keep from soiling the interior of his car.

“Mike Bevons, the owner of Eagle Lake Resort, was killed in his home, by what appeared to be a wild animal. He was fine when his wife left for the restaurant, but dead when his daughter found him two hours later,” Sam reiterated. He knew Dean was not feeling well, but it wasn’t like him to forget their conversation entirely.

“Agh,” Dean groaned. “That’s right. Angry animal spirits run amok.” Dean closed his eyes again, and allowed the familiar rumble of the Impala’s engine to lull him to sleep.

Sam glanced at Dean when he heard the snoring begin. Evil thoughts formed quickly in his head, but were just as quickly dismissed. Despite the fact Dean had brought this on himself, Sam could not bring himself to play a prank on him. It was a golden opportunity for revenge, and he was going to pass. Congratulating himself for conquering his secret impulses, Sam nearly missed the turn off for Eagle Lake.

The tires squealed loudly as Sam turned the wheel sharply, and hit the brake briefly to navigate the turn. He could feel Dean’s eyes boring into him.

“Don’t say a word,” Sam said through gritted teeth.

The silence stretched on for several long minutes, and Sam thought for one brief, shining moment that he was off the hook.

“Enjoy your day in the driver’s seat,” Dean dead-panned. “Because it is going to be the last time you drive her for a very long time.”

Sam sighed heavily. He had no doubt Dean’s words were not an idle threat. He was inwardly cursing his bad luck, when an idea gripped him. Grinning at his sudden inspiration, Sam decided to enjoy one of the perks of being the driver. Turning on the radio, he flipped through the stations looking for music that he was rarely able to listen to. Finding a song he liked, Sam turned up the volume. It was heaven. It was bliss. It was – Nirvana.

“Oh God,” Dean moaned. “Kill me now.”

Sam only smiled, and turned up the volume in response.

Sam wound the Impala through the trees, along the gravel road surrounding the lake. The cabins along the shoreline were nestled among the trees. Driving past one of the cabins on his right, he could see a family with a young boy, and a slightly older girl running down to the lake. The little girl had long blonde hair tied into braids. With a twinge of pain, he could not stop himself from musing briefly about what his would-be life with Jessica would have been like.

Pulling up to the last cabin on the road, Sam pulled the car to a stop near the front porch. Dean did not wake up when he turned off the car.

“Dean,” Sam said tapping Dean on the shoulder. “Hey, man, we’re here.”

Dean groaned in response. He was still feeling sick, but his stomach and his head were no longer playing dueling banjoes. That was something at least.

Sam decided to let Dean sleep while he unloaded the bags, and took a quick look around. He closed the door as quietly as he could, and walked around back to grab the duffles. Closing the trunk lid with a small clink, he made his way into the cabin.

The interior of the cabin was dark, lit only by the sun shining through the lakeside western windows. There was a fireplace on the far side of the sitting area in front of him. There was a small eating nook to his left with an attached kitchen area. Sam walked further into the cabin, and found the postage stamp size bathroom tucked behind the kitchen. He walked into the sitting area, and found the stairs to the loft. A flight of stairs to the beds was never a good arrangement for the Winchesters. They returned all too often unable to navigate the stairs due to exhaustion or injury.

At the top of the stairs two full size beds, a small dresser, and a large bookcase filled with dusty hard-cover books greeted Sam. He tossed the duffles on to the first bed, and went outside to wake Dean.

The first thing Dean noticed upon waking was that Sam was not in sight. He looked around quickly in all directions, and decided the most logical place for Sam to be was the cabin in front of him. The second thing Dean noticed was that his headache was actually gone, and his stomach was no longer rumbling in distress, but in hunger. He stretched, and exited the car.

Dean’s back and neck protested strongly as aching muscles from sleeping in a cramped position made them-self known. “Damn,” he muttered, and stretched again. He walked up the three stairs to the door of the cabin. His hand had barely made contact with the doorknob, when the door swung open suddenly, revealing Sam.

“Shit!” both brothers yelled simultaneously.

Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder, and walked past him into the cabin. “Keys?” Dean asked turning back towards Sam and holding out his hand.

Sam tossed Dean the keys. “I didn’t get a scratch on her,” Sam said.

“I know you didn’t,” Dean said with a smile. “You’re a smart guy, went to college and everything.”

“Sh’yeah, thanks,” Sam replied. Sam walked around Dean towards the fireplace. “Bathroom’s behind the kitchen. The beds and our bags are upstairs.”

“I’m going to grab a quick shower,” Dean stated as he disappeared up the stairs to fetch fresh clothes. He definitely needed to scrub some of the bar smell off of him.

Sam shivered in the quickly cooling cabin. He spotted the empty wood box, and the matches stashed near the fireplace. He was fairly certain he had seen a woodpile outside the cabin next to the porch. Walking outside, he quickly found the woodpile. A few of the logs were fairly large, and Sam looked around for an ax. Finding one tucked into the corner between the house, the porch, and the woodpile, Sam made quick work of cutting the logs into smaller hunks.

Gathering an armload of wood, Sam went inside. He filled the wood box and the fireplace. Within moments, he had a roaring fire started. He was tired from an entire day of driving. He had no idea how Dean drove miles and miles for hours at a time. Sinking into the sofa he decided that research could wait for a few minutes for a change.

Sam awoke with a start when Dean flopped down on the sofa next to him.

“Getting a lot of research done there, Sam?” Dean asked flippantly, his green eyes sparkling with renewed vigor.

“I was thinking, I was tired,” Sam said his hazel-brown eyes drifting shut. He folded his arms across his chest, and sank deeper into the corner of the sofa. “I drove all day.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean replied incredulously. “Sam, you were driving.”

Sam opened one eye, and gave Dean a puzzled look. “That’s what I said.”

“Dude, you were driving,” Dean repeated. “I let you drive. That should pump you up!”

Sam shook his head. Dean had been driving now for twelve years, and he still acted like a teenager who had just received his driver’s license.

“Well, you’re obviously feeling better,” Sam said changing the subject. He yawned, and leaned back stretching his tall, lanky frame nearly to the fireplace. “What do you want to do first?”

“Let’s go check out the house tonight,” Dean replied. “I’ll bet the cops won’t let them back in until at least tomorrow.”

Sam nodded and said, “The lady at the check in desk was more than willing to share information. She said the Bevons’ were spending three days in one of the cabins while the police were conducting their investigation. She also said Mr. Bevon was ripped apart in his own bed, and that the house was locked up tight. She was actually a very chatty lady. I’m sure I could find out more from her, if we need to.”

Dean chuckled and replied, “Just how old was grandma check-in lady?”

“What?” Sam asked turning more towards Dean and shooting him an annoyed glare. “Why would you think she was old?”

“Sammy,” Dean said smiling, “No woman over forty can resist those puppy dog eyes of yours. They all turn maternal on you.”

Sam rolled his eyes in annoyance. It was bad enough that Dean noticed things like that. It was even worse when he was right. “I think she was in her sixties,” Sam muttered.

Dean laughed, and lightly slapped Sam on the leg. “Told you,” he said standing up. “It’s almost nine now. If we hurry, we can grab a quick bite at the restaurant before heading to the house. We may even get back before midnight if we get cracking.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam replied following Dean out the door.

“Well, that waitress certainly was helpful,” Sam remarked. He shifted his weight to the other foot, and steadied the flashlight.

“That’s because,” Dean replied working on the lock, “She couldn’t resist my charm. And, you’ll notice, she was twenty-seven, not seventy-two.” He threw Sam a cocky grin, and the door to the Bevons’ house opened. Pocketing the lock pick, Dean walked into the house first.

The coppery smell of blood reached Sam’s nose. He wrinkled his nose against the scent. As accustomed as Sam was to the odor, it still bothered him somewhat. He followed Dean down the hall towards the back of the house. The odor was much stronger here.

Dean opened the door to the master bedroom. His footsteps crackled as his shoes stuck to the slightly tacky bloodstains on the hardwood floor. Sam followed close behind, shining his flashlight over the floor, the walls, even the ceiling roving over the bloodstained areas.

Sam slapped Dean on the shoulder, and pointed his flashlight along the floor. Large, canine, bloody footprints littered the floor. He shined his flashlight around the room, but could not find where the footprints led out of the room.

Sam and Dean both stopped short at the bed. It was saturated with blood. The sheets, the mattress, blankets, and pillows all had dark, crimson stains. The splatter-pattern bloodstains on the nearby wall spoke of the ferociousness of the attack. Little pieces of bloody tissue were stuck in the bloodstains on the wall, and on the sheets.

“Well, hell,” Dean said softly.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed to the sentiment. Sam walked back to the door, and shined his flashlight over both sides of the door. There was no evidence of claw marks, or any other sign of forced entry. Evidently, either the door was open at the time of the attack, or whatever did this, did not leave a trace. Sam felt Dean’s hand land on his shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dean said.

Alicia watched from her bedroom window in the next door cabin as two men left her home. They did not look like the police. The car they drove off in was big and black sort of like the police car that had visited before, but Alicia knew it was not a police car. She did not like these strange men walking around their house. They made her feel scared, and she did not like that feeling.

Climbing into bed, she pulled the covers up all the way to her ears. Curling around Lila, she wrapped her arms around her little sister protectively. Alicia’s breathing evened out as she fell asleep.

Dean pulled up to the cabin, and he and Sam headed in for the night. They could catch a good night’s sleep, and interview the Bevons’ family in the morning.

Sam crawled in to the bed near the window. Tired from his day of driving, Sam fell asleep almost instantly.

Dean lay in the bed next to the stairway. He had napped too long in the car, and now sleep was eluding him. He was running the different possible scenarios for the attack through his mind. Slowly, inexorably, Dean too drifted off to sleep.

A large, gray wolf darted silently through the silver woods.

Dean awoke early the next morning. He was not surprised to discover Sam was already awake. But, he was surprised to see Sam sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall, with a book resting on his bent knees.“What are you reading?” Dean asked.

“’The Phantom Tollbooth,’” Sam replied not looking up. A slight blush formed on his neck and cheeks. He knew it was a children’s book, but the imagery, and the liberal play on words still amused him. It was a welcome little journey back to simpler days, and now he was totally busted. Dean would tease him all day with this.

“You think it’s a phantom?” Dean asked confused.

Sam smiled a small half-smile and shook his head. He should have known. Dean had never wasted much time reading books that weren’t applicable to hunting when he was younger. He closed the book, and put it back on the shelf where he had discovered it. “Nah, not really,” he replied.

Sam turned towards Dean, and was surprised to find him already dressed and lacing up his boots. “I’m going down to the little general store to poke around. See if anyone else has ever been attacked or killed around here by this thing. Want me to pick you up anything?” Dean asked.

“Coffee?” Sam asked.

“Sure thing,” Dean replied. He jumped off the bed, and disappeared out of sight down the stairs.

“Hey, Sam!” Dean’s echoing call came from downstairs.

“Yeah?”

“Try to be up and ready by the time I get back, okay?”

“Whatever,” Sam replied standing up quickly. “I’m already up.”

“Uh-huh, okay,” Dean replied with a disbelieving tone.

Sam heard the door shut, and the Impala start up and drive off. He searched his duffle for clean clothes, and realized they may have to do laundry soon. He was running out of clean shirts. Finally finding a blue t-shirt that was clean, he headed downstairs to take a quick shower.

“That’ll be $37.43,” the clerk said. She was a young, college-age woman with brassy blonde hair, and dark roots. The pants she wore looked at least two sizes too small, but Dean did not care. It definitely accentuated her assets.

“For a coffee, cereal, milk, and chili?” Dean asked incredulously. He knew it was a convenience store, but come on.

“I think it was the beer that threw you over,” the clerk replied snapping her gum. She shifted her weight on to one hip, and leaned against the counter smiling at Dean. “That going to do it for you?”

“Ah, no,” Dean replied looking for her name tag. Spotting it, he continued, “Brenda, I’ve heard about what happened to the owner. What do you think? Are we safe here?” He threw Brenda one of his best come hither smiles.

“Quite honestly, I have no idea,” Brenda replied leaning closer to Dean and lowering her voice. Her shirt was unbuttoned one too many times Dean noticed. “We’ve never had an animal attack a person around here ever as far as I know. I’m not convinced it was an animal.”

“What do you think it was?” Dean asked leaning closer to Brenda. He shook his head knowingly and asked, “Do you think it was something more unusual? An angry spirit, or uh, I don’t know, a werewolf maybe?”

“God no, are you crazy?” Brenda asked standing back up. “I think it was the oldest tale in the book. I think it was his wife. Everyone knows how jealous and possessive she is. She probably caught him talking to someone she didn’t want him talking to, and went postal on his ass.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. She thought he was crazy? “Oh, well that makes me feel better,” Dean replied with an edge of sarcasm.

Brenda nodded in agreement completely oblivious to the sarcasm. “It did me too. So, cash or charge?” she asked.

“Cash,” Dean stated handing her a fifty. Using a fake credit card on an extended stay increased the risk of getting caught ten-fold. Pocketing his change, Dean juggled the coffee and the sack of groceries as he headed for his car.

Sam stepped out of the shower, and slipped on his boxers and t-shirt. He used his hand to wipe the steam off the mirror so he could shave. He was shaking the can of shaving cream when he had a sudden feeling that something was not quite right.

Shrugging off the feeling, Sam squirted a dab of shaving cream into his hand. He caught the reflection of something moving in the mirror. Whirling around, he found himself face to face with an extremely large, gray wolf standing in the bathroom door.

The wolf snarled, and growled showing its massive canine teeth, and stepped further into the bathroom. Great, I’m trapped in the bathroom with a wolf blocking the only exit. Saliva dripped from the wolf’s jowls as it growled louder, and took another step towards Sam.

Sam did not want to get backed any further into the bathroom. He would be cornered in the shower in just two more steps. The wolf stopped moving forward, and crouched down low preparing to lunge.

Looking around frantically, Sam searched for anything to use as a weapon to defend himself. The only things within reaching distance were his razor, deodorant, and the toilet brush in the corner between the sink and the toilet. He snagged the toilet brush from its holder.

Armed with the toilet brush in one hand, and the can of shaving cream in the other, Sam faced off against the advancing wolf. The wolf growled deep, and as it was about to leap, Sam hit it as hard as he could on the nose with the toilet brush. The wolf was momentarily distracted by the pain, and Sam seized the advantage. It let out a barking howl when Sam sprayed a thick wad of shaving cream directly into its eyes.

Sam jumped past the wolf, and headed for the front door hoping to lock the wolf inside the cabin. He noticed the front door was still closed, and he wondered how the wolf had made it inside in the first place. Sam barely made it to the sofa in the living room, when the wolf appeared again in front of him. Damn it was fast.

Before Sam could react this time, the wolf leaped on to Sam’s chest knocking him over the back of the sofa, and on to the hardwood floor. The air left his chest upon impact, and his head hit the brick hearth.

Sam felt the burning sensation as sharp claws cut through his t-shirt, and into his chest. Teeth sank into his shoulder. “Aaagh!” Sam yelled. He fumbled his hand around searching. The poker had to be around here somewhere. Finding the poker, Sam swung it at the wolf.

“Sam!” Dean yelled from the doorway.

The wolf was gone.

“Yeah, over here,” Sam replied from the floor.

Dean was at his side in an instant, helping him stand. He grabbed Sam’s elbow, and helped him maneuver from the floor to the sofa with one smooth motion. Dean knelt down in front of Sam who was clutching his tattered t-shirt to his chest. “It was a wolf.” Sam said simply. “It disappeared when I hit it with the poker.”

“Disappeared as in ran away?” Dean asked trying to move Sam’s hand to take a look at his injury. “Or, disappeared as in vanished?”

“Vanished,” Sam replied. He could feel the blood running down his arm, and he pressed his hand harder on the wound.

Dean slapped Sam’s hand away. “Let me take a look,” he snapped. Dean pulled off the torn t-shift, and examined the slowly oozing claw marks. They weren’t too deep, no stitches required. The bite mark though, that was more worrisome. The puncture wounds were deeper and bleeding profusely.

‘At least we don’t have to worry about disease,’ Dean thought. Sam grunted when Dean applied firm direct pressure to his shoulder.

Sam watched Dean’s face as he was working on his injuries. He could see the gruffness came from concern, but he still had an almost overwhelming urge to say, ‘bite me.’ He huffed out a small chuckle at the double entendre.

Dean looked up at Sam, his green eyes conveying concern with a puzzled expression on his face. “You didn’t hit your head did you?” Dean asked.

“Uh, as a matter of fact,” Sam started. “Ow!” Sam protested as Dean’s fingers made contact with the lump on the back of his head. He pushed Dean’s hand away. “Dean, knock it off!”

Dean looked into Sam’s hazel-brown eyes. His pupils looked equal. That was something at least. “Here, hold this,” Dean said indicating the wadded up t-shirt he was pressing to Sam’s shoulder.

Sam pressed the t-shirt to his shoulder. He listened to Dean’s footfalls going up the stairs, and coming back down. He looked up as Dean walked into his field of vision. Dean was frowning as he searched through the first aid kit.

“We really need to re-stock this thing before we leave,” Dean remarked. He sat down beside Sam on the sofa. “I’m going to wash it out with holy water. I don’t know what it is that attacked you, but better safe than sorry.”

“Yeah,” Sam replied. He braced himself against the back of the sofa in anticipation. Dean poured the water into the bite on his shoulder. Nothing happened. Sam looked at Dean in surprise.

“I’ll have to admit, I wasn’t expecting that,” Dean said. “Guess I’ll move on to the peroxide.”

Dean poured the peroxide until it bubbled clear. Now that hurts, Sam thought. Five steri-strips later, the wound was closed. Dean quickly cleaned the claw marks.

Dean put the supplies back in the first aid kit, and stood up. “Still up to talking to the Bevons?” he asked.

“Yeah, I just have one problem,” Sam said standing up. “That was my last clean shirt.”

“Sam, quit squirming,” Dean scolded. He pressed the doorbell, and looked over at Sam.

“I can’t help it,” Sam complained. “Your shirt doesn’t fit me.” He tugged the shirt down further.

Dean smirked, but quickly put on a serious face when Janice Bevons answered the door. Her curly red hair was in disarray. Her puffy, bloodshot eyes stood out in stark contrast to her pale face. She was dressed in frumpy gray sweat pants and shirt.

“Janice Bevons?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” she replied with a sniff. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m Sam Hill,” Sam said. He gestured towards Dean. “And, this is my associate, Dean Evans. We’re with First Beneficial Insurance. Was your husband, Michael J. Bevons?”

“Yes,” Janice replied. She blew her nose into a crumpled tissue. “I don’t understand. I’ve already been interviewed by our insurance company.”

“It seems, Mr. Bevons took out a supplemental policy with our company approximately six months ago,” Sam reassured her. “We just have a few mandatory questions, and a brief investigation to conduct before we can release the beneficiary funds.”

Janice stepped aside and waved Sam and Dean into the cabin. “This won’t take long, will it?” Janice asked. “I’m supposed to meet the funeral director at one o’clock.”

“Not long at all, ma’am,” Dean replied. He looked around as she led them to the sitting area of the cabin. It was the same basic layout as the cabin they were staying in, but on a larger scale. Two young girls were playing with dolls at the kitchen table.

“Have a seat,” Janice said. She sat down in the beige arm chair next to the sofa.

Sam and Dean both sat down on the sofa. Sam turned towards Janice. “Mrs. Bevons, do you know when your husband was attacked?”

“It must have been some time between four a.m. and seven,” she answered. She sniffled, and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue she retrieved from her pocket. “When I left for the restaurant, he was fine. Poor Alicia found him at seven. She’s just devastated, they were so close. She’s barely said a word since it happened.”

Sam noticed Dean standing up, and walking towards the kitchen. “That’s understandable, Mrs. Bevons. I’m sure it was very traumatic for her,” Sam reassured her.

“It’s Janice,” she replied. “Mrs. Bevons is my mother-in-law.”

“Janice, I know this is hard for you,” Sam said leaning forward, and placing his hand on her shoulder. “Is there anyone who would want to hurt your husband?”

“No!” Janice replied emphatically. “No, Mike was well-liked by everyone. He was a loving husband, and a wonderful father. I…I think it was some kind of wild animal.” Janice sighed, and looked up at Sam with tears in her eyes. “But for the life of me, I can’t figure out how it got in or out of our home. All I am sure of is how thankful I am it didn’t hurt the girls too.”

“Why would you think it was an animal?” Sam asked.

“He was torn to pieces,” Janice sobbed. “There’s really not anything left to bury.” She collapsed into Sam’s arms, and cried uncontrollably. Sam put his arms around Janice, and offered what comfort he could.

“Hey,” Dean said to the girls. “Do you mind if I join you?” He gestured to the empty seat at the table.

“No,” the youngest girl said shaking her soft, brown curls. “Do you want tea?”

“Sure,” Dean replied with a smile. “What’s your name?”

“Lila,” she replied. She looked at Dean with solemn brown eyes, not unlike Sam’s. She lifted the teapot to pour ‘tea’ into Dean’s glass. “It’s all gone. I’ll get more.” Lila climbed off the chair, and ran off to fill the teapot.

“What’s your name?” Dean asked the older girl. She had sad, blue eyes that seemed much too old for her face.

She shook her head, red curls obscuring her face.

“You know,” Dean said quietly. “My mom died when I was four. It…”

“Was she a bad mommy?” the girl interrupted quietly.

“No,” Dean replied around the lump in his throat. “She was a wonderful mom.”

The girl looked up at Dean. “My name is Alicia,” she said. Alicia looked past Dean into the living room, a scared expression on her face.

Dean turned to see what was scaring Alicia. All he could see was Sam, who was standing and holding a Mrs. Bevons. She was sniffling, and clutching at his shoulder.

“That’s my little brother Sam,” Dean said to Alicia.

“He doesn’t look little,” she whispered turning around to face Dean.

“And it is one of life’s great cruelties. Your little brother, or sister, should never grow up taller than you are,” Dean said giving Alicia a grin.

A ghost of a smile played on Alicia’s lips. “It must be harder to keep him out of trouble now,” she said knowingly.

“You have no idea,” Dean agreed. “But, it’s our job as the oldest.”

Alicia nodded vigorously. “It’s hard, but it’s important.” She was no longer looking at Dean, but seemed lost in thought.

“Alicia, why would you think my mom was a bad mommy?” Dean asked bringing the conversation back around.

Alicia met Dean’s gaze. Her eyes reflecting fear more than sorrow. “My daddy was naughty,” she replied quietly.

“I have tea!” Lila exclaimed. She climbed back on the chair, carefully balancing the teapot in both hands. She poured Dean a cup of water. “Yummy tea.”

“Thank you, Lila,” Dean replied absent-mindedly taking a swig of ‘tea.’ He turned back to Alicia, but he could see the window of opportunity was closed. She was no longer paying attention to him, but watching Lila carefully. He recognized the look. There was no way she would talk to him about her dad with her little sister sitting there.

“Ready?” Sam asked smiling. He was amused by the sight of Dean sitting at a table with little girls having a tea party.

“Oh my,” Janice said with dismay. She glanced down at the teacups filled with water. “I hope you didn’t drink any of Lila’s tea.”

Dean gave Janice a quizzical look. “Why?”

“She can’t reach the faucets. The only water she can get to is the toilet,” Janice said apologetically.

Dean spluttered, and Sam snorted.

“I’m sorry,” Lila said tears filling her brown eyes.

“It’s okay,” Dean groaned. “It’s actually not the worst thing I’ve ever drank.”

“Keep it up, Sam, and you’ll be walking,” Dean groused. He stole a peek at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam was obviously trying to cover up a laugh, and it was beginning to annoy Dean.

“Hey, Dean, I’m getting thirsty,” Sam said laughing. “Think we could stop for something to drink, maybe some tea?”

“Dude, shut up,” Dean snapped.

Silence reigned in the Impala for all of thirty seconds.

“Janice believes Michael was an upstanding citizen, husband, and father. She couldn’t think of anyone who would want to hurt him,” Sam stated changing the topic of conversation back to safer ground.

“Hmm, Alicia seems to think her dad was naughty,” Dean remarked.

“Naughty?” Sam asked smirking.

“Whatever, man; her words, not mine,” Dean said. “But, I don’t think Alicia would agree with her mom.”

“Do you think he was hurting her?” Sam asked turning serious. He turned in his seat to face Dean.

“I don’t know, Sam,” Dean replied. He looked over at Sam briefly before entering the turn lane to head into town. “But, if he was, the son of a bitch got what he deserved.”

“How could anyone do that to their own kid?” Sam asked raising his voice. “And how could Janice not know?”

“I guess sometimes people are blind to the truths they don’t want to see,” Dean replied suddenly lost in thought.

“It’ll be okay, Mags,” Dean said softly. He pushed a stray lock of blonde hair out of her eyes. She was crying so hard, she was shaking.

“I – can’t understand – why – my mom didn’t – believe – believe me,“ she hiccupped.

“I don’t know,” Dean replied. “But, you can stay with us tonight.”

“Are you – sure – your dad wouldn’t – mind?” she asked tearfully. She looked up into Dean’s concerned green eyes.

“Nah,” Dean reassured her. “He would want you to be safe.” Dean climbed out of the Impala, and walked around to open the door for Maggie. Taking her hand, he helped her stand, and wrapped his strong arms around her. “Really, it’ll be okay,” he reiterated.

Maggie stopped crying, but allowed herself to be held by Dean for several minutes. “Let’s go inside,” she said fearfully. “He might see me out here.”

Dean lead Maggie inside the apartment he, Sammy and dad were staying in while living in Austin. It was small, in disrepair, in a bad part of town, and Sammy loved it. An apartment meant they would be here at least a month, and Sammy had made friends quickly this time. It also gave Dean a chance to find a girlfriend.

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Sam asked looking up from his book. Thirteen-year-old Sam was sitting on the sofa, all gangly arms and legs that only hinted at the height that was to come. The mop of brown hair obscuring his hazel-brown eyes only adding to the overgrown puppy appearance his brother was now sporting. It always got him the extra dessert from the lunch lady at school.

“Nothing, Sammy,” Dean replied looking around. “Where’s dad?”

Sam frowned at his brother’s refusal to call him Sam. He looked back towards the kitchen, and said, “Dad’s…”

“Right here,” John said stepping out of the kitchen with a steaming pot of macaroni in one hand. “What’s going on, Dean?”

“Maggie needs a place to spend the night,” Dean replied.

John leveled a hard look at Dean before turning to Sam. “Sammy, take Maggie back to your room, and show her your computer,” John said in a tone that allowed no argument.

“Yes, sir,” Sam replied. He stood up, and waved Maggie to follow him.

When the door to the bedroom closed John turned back towards Dean. “Let’s try this again. What’s going on, son?”

“Dad, Maggie needs a safe place to spend the night,” Dean explained. “She tried talking to her mom, but she wouldn’t believe her, and told her to leave.”

“Wouldn’t believe her about what, exactly?” John asked.

“That her dad, well, he hits her, and I’ve seen the way,” Dean said searching for the right words, “It just isn’t right!”

“Dean,” John replied sternly. “She can’t stay here. You’ve endangered your brother bringing her here. What if her dad comes looking for her and Sammy gets in the way?” John saw the stricken look on Dean’s face. It was the desired result he was aiming for. He had Dean’s attention now. “She can’t stay here,” he repeated.

“Dad, I, I can’t take her back home. I won’t,” Dean said meeting his father’s gaze.

John scrubbed his free hand down his face. “Okay, but she sleeps on the couch, and you stay with your brother. He is your responsibility tonight.”

Dean nodded, and headed down the hall to the bedroom. Half way there, he turned and looked back at his dad. “Dad?” he asked. “Why didn’t Maggie’s mom believe her? It’s so obvious what is happening. Anyone can see it.”

“I don’t know, son,” John replied wearily. “I guess sometimes, we are blind to the truths we don’t want to see.”

Dean was snapped back to the present by a car honking behind him. He noticed the light was green, and turned to head down Main Street. He ignored the questioning look Sam was giving him, and focused his attention on the road instead.

Ashby was a small, rural town. The false-front store shops and the fading brick wall billboard advertisement for Coca-Cola spoke of an older, gentler time. Inwardly, Dean groaned. An old-fashioned town like this was almost always more trouble for them than a larger town.

“There’s no way this town has a library with Internet,” Dean stated.

“Dean, everyone has Internet,” Sam said. “It’s like cable television or cell phones.”

“Checked your cell phone reception lately?” Dean asked.

Sam took out his cell phone, and looked at the signal display. It was only one bar. Sam pocketed his cell with a frown.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Like I said, no way it has Internet.”

Dean pulled up outside the brick building housing both the library, and the Elk’s club membership office. He threw the car into park, and gave Sam a look of long suffering. “Oh yeah, there’s going to be Internet here,” he said sarcastically.

Sam rolled his eyes, and climbed out of the Impala. He reached behind the front seat, and retrieved the laptop. Resting one arm on the roof, Sam leaned in through the car door. “You coming?” he asked.

“Nah,” Dean replied. “I’m going to do some research of my own.”

“I don’t think the bar is open yet,” Sam quipped.

“Ha, ha,” Dean said. He slid out of the car, and met Sam’s gaze over the top of the Impala. “You’re a funny guy. I’m going to poke around town, and see what scurries out.”

“Niiice,” Sam replied. “Fine, I’ll do the research.”

“Good man,” Dean replied. He waited until Sam disappeared inside the library before retrieving the laundry sack out of the trunk. There was always an abundance of small town gossip in a Laundromat, and he was tired of watching Sam fidget. Slinging the sack over one shoulder, Dean made his way across the street to the Laundromat.

Sam walked into the dark, cool library, and looked around for any signs of computers, or Internet access. So far, it was not very promising. The library was small, very small. Slinging the messenger bag that contained the laptop over his shoulder, Sam searched for books about the supernatural, the occult, or mythology. He came up with the “Iliad and the Odyssey,” and Brahm Stoker’s, “Dracula.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam muttered under his breath. He whirled around in frustration only to come face to face with a young woman. Sam guessed she was in her mid-twenties, with dark brown hair twisted in a clip. Her brown eyes looked at him from behind wire-rimmed glasses.

“Looking for something in particular?” she asked.

“Yeah, I was wondering if you had any books on Larvae or animal protection spirits.” Sam asked. He pulled the collar on Dean’s shirt away, and twisted his neck. Not only was this shirt driving him crazy, his shoulder was aching.

“You would be the first person to ever ask for a book pertaining to Roman mythology, and our New Age Spiritualism section is even smaller than our Ancient Mythology section,” she replied. Her eyes sparked with intelligence, and Sam gave her an appraising look. He had not expected her to really understand what he was asking for. He had clearly underestimated her.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any computers with Internet access then, would you?” Sam asked. He cringed inwardly knowing before he even asked what the answer would be.

“Are you joking?” she scoffed. She walked over to a small filing section in the center of the room. “Do you see this? This is a card catalog section. That’s how far behind the times we are.”

“I was afraid of that,” Sam replied ignoring her sarcasm. “Do you know where I can find an Internet connection?”

She laughed and said, “My name’s Ricky.” She held out her hand.

“Sam,” he said returning her handshake. He was confused by the sudden turn of conversation.

“Well, Sam,” Ricky said with a smile. “If you buy me a coffee, I’ll show you where the local wireless connection is, and you can get done with that research.”

“What makes you think I’m researching anything?” Sam asked.

“Either you’re researching for a paper, or you have one of the oddest personal interest requests to have popped into this library in an eon. And that’s saying something,” Ricky replied placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder, and looking him in the eye. “So which is it?”

“Research,” Sam replied honestly. “Do you want biscotti with that coffee?”

“The coffee will do nicely, thanks,” she replied. “Give me just a moment to lock up.”

“I don’t care what you think, Dorothea,” Madge snapped. She slapped the lid on her washer down forcefully. “Mike Bevons was a world class asshole.”

Dean had to choke back a snigger. It always amused him when women who looked liked grandmothers, who should be knitting and baking cookies, popped off with obscenities. Both women looked to be in their late sixties, with graying hair, and half-moon spectacles. He threw the last shirt into the washer, and lined up the quarters to start all three washers.

“Mike loved his family, supported the community, and was an active member in the church,” Dorothea protested. “Why would you say something so awful about such a nice man?” She opened the dryer to check on her sheets. Steam billowed out of the dryer, fogging up her glasses. She took them off, and let them dangle by the chain around her neck. Dorothea adjusted the sheets, and restarted the dryer.

“I’m telling you,” Madge defended. “He was doing something to those girls. I’m not sure what, but I could feel it.”

“Oh, here we go,” Dorothea said condescendingly. “We’re back to your so called psychic hot-line connection, aren’t we?”

“It’s not a hot-line,” Madge replied angrily. “I simply get feelings, sense auras, and I’m telling you, those girls were afraid of him. He was doing something to them, and I sensed they needed protection from him. If he was the kind father you seem to think he was, why would they feel that way?”

Dorothea huffed, and blew her bangs out of her eyes. She leaned against Madge’s washer, and replied, “I think the question is, why you feel they were scared of him? Maybe something happened to you once, and you are transferring your feelings on to them?”

Madge snapped her gum in annoyance. “Don’t try any of that armchair psychology with me, Dottie,” she retorted. “You’re not very good at it, in the first place.”

Dorothea looked over at Dean. “What do you think, young man?” she asked pulling him into the argument. “Do you believe all this psychic bullshit?”

‘Man, did she pick the wrong horse to bet on,’ Dean thought. “Absolutely,” Dean replied casting Madge a supportive glance. “And, I think you’re right about Mike.”

“Oh what do you know?” Dorothea snapped slapping Dean on the shoulder. “You’re too young to know any better. Once you get older, you’ll see that life is not full of wonder and mystery, but pain and suffering.”

“Well, aren’t you a ray of sunshine,” Madge chastised. “Life is full of wonder and mystery, as well as joy, pain and sorrow. It’s a balance of energies, and swirling with color.”

“Pffft,” Dorothea replied. “I’m surprised at you, Madge. I never realized what a New Age Hippie you are.”

“Actually,” Dean interjected. “Psychic abilities and the place they hold in our society predate today’s organized religion.”

“You,” Dorothea snapped pointing a finger at Dean, “Are being sacrilegious!”

“No, he isn’t,” Madge defended softly. “He’s being an angel.” She gave Dean a small smile, and patted him gently on the cheek.

‘I must be channeling Sam,’ Dean thought.

“You big softie,” Dorothea caved. “Come on, sweetie, I’ll beat you at a hand of cribbage while we wait for our clothes to dry.”

Madge and Dorothea moved over to one of the sorting tables to play cribbage, while Dean checked the washers. Thankfully, they were on final spin. He had a hope of getting out of here with clean clothes before one of those ladies either took him home…or killed him.

“So, what is your paper about?” Ricky asked looking at Sam over her steaming latte. The coffee shop was furnished with overstuffed sofas, and colorful throw pillows. It was fairly empty this time of day, and they had the place almost to themselves. They found a corner spot near the window, and Ricky curled up on the sofa nursing her coffee.

Sam had finished booting up his computer, and was already logged on to the Internet. “Animal apparitions that appear to protect, or are used to attack. I wasn’t sure what angle I wanted to take, so I’m trying to knock off some preliminary research, to help me choose.”

“What’s the scenario?” she asked. “I presume there is at the very least, a discussion point.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said. He had his elbows on the table, and was resting his chin on his fisted hands. He looked up from the computer realizing he was losing himself in his research already, and she could possibly help. “A person in the household needs protection, when an animal apparition appears, and destroys the object of aggression. Is the animal apparition, a protective spirit, or a destructive force?”

“Well, I’d say part of that depends on whether the apparition appeared due to someone inside the household, or someone outside the household,” she replied. She placed her coffee cup on the table, swung her legs off the sofa, and leaned in closer to Sam. “If the apparition appeared because someone outside the household was trying to protect that person, then it is a destructive force regardless of intent, if it destroyed the object of aggression.”

Sam nodded in agreement. “That was my thought as well. Unlike, if the apparition appeared because someone inside the household summoned the spirit to protect, and it carried out its purpose past the point the originator intended.”

“Yes, exactly,” Ricky agreed her brown eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “You don’t know how nice it is to be able to have a philosophical discussion like this with someone.”

Sam gave her a small laugh. “You’d be surprised,” he said.

“Of course, there’s always option three,” Ricky added. Sam scrunched his brow questioningly. Ricky continued, “That the animal apparition is a negative thought form created by someone inside, or outside the household.”

“Of course,” Sam agreed. “The thought form would have a tendency towards out of control, destructive behavior if it was created by someone because they were afraid, angry, or hateful. That would explain the intensity of the attack, and why it is still appearing. Its original mission of protection isn’t complete.”

“What?” Ricky asked. “Sam, did I miss something?”

“No,” Sam replied his mind already churning through the possibilities, “You’ve just given me something to think about.”

“Good,” Ricky replied. She leaned back against the sofa cushions, and peered out the window, lost in thought.

Sam was lost in his own thoughts.

He hated this. He hated this more than he hated being scared during a hunt, more than he hated the way his dad and his brother still saw him as a little kid, he hated it even more than he hated clowns. Sam hated waiting.

Sam paced the small apartment he, dad, and Dean were living in. It was a little run down, and okay, the neighborhood wasn’t the best, but they had a home, for however short a time it lasted. Sam had helped his dad research thought forms before he and Dean had left for the hunt. Sam was sometimes included on easy hunts, and nearly always involved in the research, but when it came to the dangerous hunts his dad still left him out.

He was glad for it in a way. He wasn’t as good as Dean at shooting yet, and he was nervous during a hunt. He was afraid he would do something to get his family hurt, or he wouldn’t be able to do something quickly enough to save them. His hands would get sweaty, and his heart would race despite how many times he went with them. He would still prefer that, to waiting.

The apartment was hot. It was August in Austin, and the heat and the humidity made it nearly impossible for their little window air conditioner to keep up. Sam was roasting, and the pacing wasn’t helping.

The door to the apartment opened, and Dean walked in, stumbling under the weight of their dad who was leaning heavily on Dean. “Dean, what happened?” Sam demanded. “What’s wrong with dad?”

“I’ll be fine, Sammy,” John replied. He grimaced in pain when Dean lowered him to the sofa. “Run and get the first aid kit for your brother.”

“Dean?” Sam asked not moving.

“Dad’ll be fine,” Dean replied his gaze shifting from his father, to his brother. “Now, go get the kit.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam said turning to get the first aid kit. He’d forgotten to add this to his hate list. He hated when he wasn’t with them, and one of them was hurt. He thought maybe, he hated it most of all.

“Earth to Sam,” Ricky said waving her hand in front of his face. Sam looked up at her, almost surprised to find himself in a coffee shop in Ashby instead of a hot apartment in Austin. “Where’d you go?” she asked.

“Home,” Sam replied simply.

Dean thrummed his fingers on the steering wheel in beat with, “Enter the Sandman.” He had finished with the laundry only to find the library closed. He figured if Sam was not back by the time the song was over, he would start looking for him. The early spring air was cool, but the sun was warm, so Dean had the windows rolled down. The final refrain was drawing to a close, when Dean saw Sam walking towards the library from down the street.

Sam was walking with an attractive, if not academic looking woman. When they reached the library, she stood on her toes, and pulled Sam’s head down close to hers. She gave him a quick, chaste, peck on the cheek, and handed him what looked like a napkin.

Sam smiled shyly at her, and said something, then turned to walk to the Impala. He placed the laptop in the back seat, and climbed in the front seat next to Dean.

“What’ve you got there?” Dean asked grabbing the paper from Sam’s grasp. It was a napkin, and it had a name, and a phone number written on it.

“Hey!” Sam protested.

“Alright, Sam!” Dean said, and gave Sam a pat on the back. He held out the napkin for Sam, and pulled out into the street. “Are you sure you don’t want some more time?”

“Dean, we’re on a case,” Sam stated. “I don’t have time right now.”

“There’s always time for this,” Dean contradicted.

Sam huffed, and said, “You’re incorrigible.”

“Yeah, well, you’re INsane to pass up an opportunity like this,” Dean shot back.

“Whatever,” Sam replied. “I think I know what it is we’re after.”

“It’s a thought form,” both brothers said in unison.

Sam twisted to look at Dean. “How’d you?” he started.

“Hey,” Dean said, “You have your research partner, and I have mine.”

Sam shook his head, and turned back to look out the window at the passing scenery. The rest of the trip back to the cabin passed with only the sound of the tires on the pavement and the steady rock beat of Metallica blasting from the speakers.

Dean pulled the car into the gravel driveway at the cabin. He could already taste one of the cold beers he knew was waiting for him in the fridge. He walked around to the back of the car to retrieve the clean clothes. He wondered what was taking Sam so long to get out of the car. Slamming the trunk closed he saw it.

The wolf was standing on the hood of the car, growling at Sam who was still sitting in the passenger seat with the window wide open. He had to get the wolf away from Sam. “Hey!” Dean shouted. “I just fixed this car! Get off before you scratch the paint!”

The wolf jumped down from the hood, and headed for Dean growling.

Sam heard Dean yell, and whipped his head around to look at his brother. ‘Damn it, Dean!’ he thought. ‘Just once, can’t you look out for yourself?’ And as quickly as the thought came, it went. He knew Dean would never put his own safety over the safety of others. He did not have it in him to remain idle while others were in jeopardy. With a flash of bittersweet pain, Sam knew that especially applied to him.

As the wolf crept closer to Dean, Sam slid across the seat, and soundlessly out of the driver’s side window. He was not armed, as he had not taken a weapon into the library. Somehow, that had made sense to Sam at the time, but it left him woefully unprepared for this. If his father was here, he’d be cut down to size in two minutes, Marine-style. ‘Stop it,’ he silently chastised himself. ‘This isn’t helping.’

Sam advanced slowly towards Dean on the opposite side of the Impala as the snarling wolf. It was so close to Dean, he was sure Dean would be able to count the hairs on its back. Dean noticed Sam’s movement, and angrily gestured him to stop. ‘Like hell,’ Sam thought shaking his head at Dean, and pointing to the trunk. ‘You can’t get to the trunk, and one of us needs to,’ he silently communicated.

The wolf leaped at Dean, who had the presence of mind to bring up his right arm to protect his throat, and toss the car keys to Sam who deftly caught them. And, that is when time slowed down.

Dean was knocked backwards on to the gravel when the full weight of the wolf came to bear. Sharp flashes of pain coursed through his arm as the wolf sunk his teeth through his leather jacket, and into his flesh. The wolf was standing on his chest, making it nearly impossible to take a a deep breath. Dean panted in short gasps, trying to suck in enough air to stay conscious. Already his head was spinning, and flashes of light appeared in his vision.

The wolf’s back paws ripped through his jeans. Dean could feel the blood running down his thighs as the skin tore in jagged strips. “Son of a bitch!” Dean yelled. He tried to get his legs free to kick the wolf’s underbelly. Using his free left hand, Dean pressed his thumb into the wolf’s eye. It was a soft gelatinous mass, not unlike a spoiled grape. His thumb sank deeper into the wolf’s eye socket. The wolf yipped, but it did not completely release its grip. ‘Come on, Sam,’ Dean thought. ‘Where are you?’

“Hey!” Sam shouted. That did get the wolf’s attention. He did not release his grip on Dean’s arm, but he did stop shaking it. The wolf looked at Sam, and growled deep in his chest. Sam brought up his left arm, and fired the handgun. When nothing happened, he brought up the shotgun with his right arm, and fired. The wolf only growled louder in response. If neither the silver, nor the rock salt worked, what would? Sam reached into the trunk, and pulled out the gun loaded with consecrated iron. The poker had worked, hadn’t it? He fired the gun, but it also had no effect. The wolf, deciding Sam was not an immediate threat, turned his attention back to Dean.

‘Okay,’ Sam thought frantically, ‘Assume Alicia created the thought form. How would a seven year old girl believe a wolf could be killed?’ With a sudden burst of insight Sam made for the woodpile.

With the diversion Sam caused, Dean managed to get one leg free. He kicked the wolf with one leg, and hit it with his free arm. The pressure on his chest eased some, with the wolf’s shifted position. The wolf’s hot breath blew fetid bursts of air in Dean’s face as the wolf pressed closer to Dean. In the next moment it was gone.

Dean grabbed his injured arm, and looked up at Sam. Sam towered over him, with an ax slung across one shoulder. “Dean, can you stand?” Sam asked. He bent low to offer Dean a hand. Dean considered it briefly for a moment, and then attempted to stand on his own. After struggling for several seconds, he reluctantly grabbed Sam’s hand, and Sam pulled him to his feet.

“You look like Paul Bunyan,” Dean said tightly.

“Yeah, well, that makes you Babe the Blue Ox,” Sam replied, the smile on his face, not reaching his eyes. He cast a sidelong glance at Dean, and noticed he was swaying slightly. Sam grabbed Dean around the waist to avoid jostling his injured arm. “Come on, let’s get you to the hospital,” Sam said.

“No,” Dean said, his voice barely over a whisper. “No hospital.” Dean lost his balance, and stumbled as he resisted against Sam’s gentle steering towards the Impala. Sam easily steadied him.

“Dean, quit being such a stubborn ass,” Sam snapped. Worry etched his face, and filled his hazel-brown eyes with growing concern. “You’re hurt pretty bad.”

“You can fix it,” Dean insisted leaning heavily against Sam. “No hospital.”

Realizing he would not be able to convince Dean until he at least took a look at Dean’s injuries, Sam led Dean towards the cabin. The three steps up the cabin porch proved almost too much for Dean to negotiate, but in the end, they managed. Stumbling awkwardly through the door, Sam barely managed to keep Dean upright long enough to deposit him gracelessly on to the sofa.

Sam pushed one of the throw pillows under Dean’s head. Was it really only this morning Dean had patched him up on this very spot? Dean’s eyelids fluttered closed. “Hey there,” Sam said tapping Dean lightly on his uninjured arm. “You pass out, and I am taking you to the hospital.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open. His green eyes glassy with pain he tried to focus on Sam. “Sam, you can’t.”

“I can, you’re not that heavy,” Sam retorted with attempted levity. “I’m pretty sure I could manage, and you really should be at a hospital.” He grabbed the first aid kit that was still sitting on the small side table, and found the scissors. He started to cut away the remnants of Dean’s shirt.

“You can’t, Sam. If you take me to the hospital, someone will file a report,” Dean protested. “We can’t take the chance we’ll draw too much attention to ourselves.”

“Dean, it doesn’t do any good to stay out of prison, if you’re dead,” Sam replied bluntly. He set down the scissors, and gently pulled the leather jacket off Dean’s good arm first. Then he slid it carefully off Dean’s injured arm pulling the cut shirt with it. The fabric grabbed on the wound, pulling tender flesh. Dean elicited a small groan despite Sam’s best efforts.

“We can’t take the risk of it getting too hot to let us finish our job,” Dean said the argument obviously not over. “No one else should die because we can’t stay to do our thing.” He caught Sam’s eyes with his own. “Promise me.”

“I’m not promising I’ll let you die,” Sam said his gaze falling on Dean’s injured arm. The blood was oozing slowly from the puncture wounds. At least it missed arteries. “You can’t ask me to do that.”

“You did,” Dean whispered.

Sam’s eyes snapped back to Dean’s face, but his eyes were closed. Sam knew he had hurt Dean by extracting that promise from him. He knew he was forcing him to work against his nature, the same way their father had. Sam understood what an impossible thing he had asked Dean to do. If the situation were reversed, he would have no easier a time of it than Dean was.

However, Sam also knew that even though he was fighting this with everything he had, there was a chance he would lose. He did not want to hurt someone, kill anyone, and he couldn’t bear the thought he may even kill Dean if he turned evil. Until one day, some hunter like Gordon would come along, and send his soul to hell with the yellow-eyed demon, and his father.

It would be better for them both if Sam were stopped before that happened. At least, that is what Sam was telling himself. “Dean?” Sam said tapping him on the shoulder again. “Dean, wake up.”

“M’tired,” Dean protested opening his eyes slightly.

“I know man, but you have to stay awake,” Sam insisted. He grabbed the peroxide Dean had used earlier. He was discouraged to discover it was almost empty. Knowing the best treatment for puncture wounds was wound irrigation Sam decided to mix a simple saline solution.

“Dean, I’m going to run out to the car really quick,” Sam said his eyes connecting with Dean’s eyes, verifying his understanding. “I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean mumbled, “Don’t forget the clothes.”

Sam shook his head at the strange request. He walked out to the Impala keeping a sharp eye out for the wolf. Opening the trunk, he searched for the salt. He found the holy water, and grabbed it with one hand, while he continued to rifle through the trunk with the other. Sam was surprised to find his duffle bag jammed near the back. Snagging his bag, Sam found the salt underneath, and grabbed it too.

Sam hurried back inside the cabin. It was dark in the cabin, after being outside. Sam fumbled with the duffle, tossing it on to the kitchen table. He poured some of the salt into the flask of holy water, and shook it until the salt dissolved. Sam grabbed several towels from the bathroom, and returned to Dean.

“Dean, are you ready?” Sam asked placing one folded towel beneath Dean’s arm.

“Yeah,” Dean replied simply.

Sam poured the saline solution into the bite wound until over half the bottle was used. Dean flinched, and jerked his arm once, but otherwise gave no indication of pain. Sam wrapped Dean’s arm quickly with a sterile bandage.

Moving on to Dean’s chest, Sam noticed three large bruises with light scratches. He used some of the peroxide on the scratches. Sam pushed lightly on Dean’s chest near the bruises, and was relieved he could not find any broken ribs. Dean groaned softly, and opened his eyes.

“Do you think you can stand? We need to get your jeans off,” Sam said. At Dean’s nod, Sam helped him into a sitting position. “If you can unbutton them, I’ll do the rest,” Sam stated.

“K,” Dean replied softly. His hands shook slightly as he unbuttoned his jeans. Sam wrapped his arm around Dean’s waist, and helped him stand just far enough to slide the jeans down past his hips. Sam lowered Dean back on to the sofa, and carefully pulled Dean’s pants all the way off, removing his shoes as he went. Helping Dean back to a prone position, Sam again pulled the throw pillow under Dean’s head.

Placing a towel under Dean’s legs, Sam examined the scratches on Dean’s legs. ‘Damn,’ Sam thought. ‘These scratches are deeper than I thought they were.’ One in particular was very deep, and blood was seeping at from the wound at a steady rate.

Sam used the remaining saline solution, and peroxide to clean the scratches on Dean’s legs. Dean’s leg jerked, and Sam narrowly avoided a knee in his eye. Sam pulled the side table with the lamp, as close to him as he could. Grabbing a needle, and the surgical grade thread, Sam hunched down beside Dean.

“Dean, I’m going to have to stitch a couple of these cuts,” Sam warned.

“I’m ready,” Dean replied. Dean moaned softly as the needle entered the sensitive skin on his inner thigh. Sam frowned, and worked as quickly as he could.

Nearly an hour later, Sam sat back on his heels, and stretched cramped muscles. He grabbed the sterile bandages, and lightly wrapped Dean’s legs covering rows of tiny sutures. Sam removed the soiled towels from under Dean, and tossed them on the floor next to Dean’s pants. He walked into the kitchen, and returned with a glass of water.

“You can go to sleep now,” Sam reassured Dean handing him two ibuprofen pills, and helping him to a seated position.

Dean looked up at him with pain-filled eyes, “Thanks, Sam,” he replied dry swallowing the pills. He drank nearly half the glass of water Sam gave him, before handing it back to Sam. He lay back down, and closed his eyes.

Thunder boomed as Sam made his way on stiff legs up the stairs to fetch a blanket for Dean. Lightening flashed illuminating the loft. Sam grabbed the blankets and pillows from both beds, and went downstairs to make Dean more comfortable.

Sam pulled the side table back where it belonged, and balanced the ax carefully between the sofa and the side table. Sam placed both blankets over Dean, and arranged the pillows to take the pressure off Dean’s injuries.

Stepping over the soiled jeans and towels, Sam pulled three logs, and paper kindling from the wood box. He arranged the wood, and kindling in the fireplace listening to the sounds of the spring storm beating on the cabin roof. Within moments, a fire was burning brightly.

The jeans, and shirt were a total loss, so he scooped them up, and tossed them into the garbage. Sam used the bloody towels to mop up the blood on the floor from the jeans. He placed the towels in the kitchen sink, and filled the sink with cold water to rinse them. Sam thought briefly about going out to the car to get his laptop, but decided it was not worth getting drenched. He would wait until the storm had died down.

Thunder boomed, and moments later, lightening flashed illuminating the Impala as rain danced on the hood. “The windows!” Sam shouted, and ran out the door to the car.

Jumping in the car Sam quickly rolled up both windows. Using his jeans, and the hem of his shirt, Sam sopped up any rainwater in the car. Sam reached behind the seat for the laptop, and made a mad dash for the cabin.

Sam kicked off his wet shoes, and placed the laptop on the table. He quickly removed his soaked shirt, and damp jeans draping them over the chairs to dry. He spied his forgotten duffle bag on the table, and opened it up hoping he had missed a clean shirt earlier. His duffle was full of his and Dean’s neatly rolled, and freshly cleaned clothes. “Thanks, Dean,” Sam said softly shrugging on a clean t-shirt.

“We’ll consider us even if you made it to her in time,” Dean replied softly from the sofa.

“A little water got in, but I cleaned it up,” Sam admitted walking closer to Dean. “Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Nah, just tired,” Dean replied not opening his eyes.

“It’s the blood loss,” Sam stated. “Here, drink the rest of the water.” He pressed the glass into Dean’s hand.

Dean drank the rest of the water, and handed the glass back to Sam. “We should visit Alicia,” Dean said.

“You should sleep,” Sam insisted. “She’ll probably be going to bed soon anyway.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean acquiesced closing his eyes again.

Sam went to refill the glass with water. He decided that he, at least, was hungry. He poured himself a bowl of cereal, and returned to the living room. He placed the glass of water within easy reach of Dean along with two more pain pills. He dragged the throw rug with his foot over to the area in front of the sofa, and sat down. Sam leaned against the sofa, and ate his cereal watching the flames dance in the fireplace, and listening to the rain and thunder.

Dean opened his eyes a few hours later, driven awake by thirst and pain. He spotted the pills, and the glass of water Sam left out for him, and downed both. Dean heard Sam’s soft snoring, and noticed Sam was sleeping with his head resting against the arm of the sofa. “Sam,” Dean said lightly kicking him with his foot. “Sam, wake up and go upstairs to bed.”

“Nah, I’m good,” Sam replied sleepily. “Dean needs me here.”

Dean sighed, and grabbed one of the blankets Sam had covered him with. He tossed it over Sam as well as he could with his left arm. “Good night, Sam,” he said.

“G’night,” Sam replied.

Janice knocked resolutely on Frank and Eleanor Delaney’s door. Eleanor was nearly deaf, and Frank was no doubt out back in his tiny, unheated shop tinkering with some new invention. Janice lifted her hand to knock again, when her oldest pulled on the hem of her coat.

“Maybe they’re not here,” Alicia said looking up at her mother.

Lila tapped Alicia on her arm, and looked at her with soulful brown eyes, “They’s here,” she said quietly.

Janice turned back to the door to knock again, when it suddenly swung open revealing Mrs. Delaney. “Eleanor!” Janice squeaked.

“Good morning, dear,” Eleanor greeted gesturing them inside. “Come in for a minute, and have a cup of coffee with me.”

Janice was removing the girls’ coats and boots, and replied, “I really can’t stay Eleanor. I have an appointment with the curator at nine.”

Eleanor poured two cups of coffee, and handed one to Janice. “Have a seat, dear. There is cream and sugar on the table,” she offered.

Janice sighed. She supposed she had enough time for one cup of coffee if she sped most of the way to the curator’s.

Alicia and Lila raced back to the small playroom at the back of the house. It did not have many toys, but the toys it did have were like nothing the girls had ever seen before. Small metal toys with wind up keys that clacked as they moved along, wooden cars and trains, and even a doll with a wooden face, and a knitted body stuffed with cotton.

“Do you think these were Mr. and Mrs. Delaney’s toys when they were little?” Alicia asked.

“No,” Lila replied with a shake of her head, her soft brown curls bouncing in rhythm. “They belonged to Lynne.”

“Hi girls, are you having fun?” Frank asked poking his head in through the doorway. His glasses were slightly askew, and a smudge of oil graced his entire forehead.

“Yes, sir,” the girls replied in unison looking up at Frank.

“Carry on, then,” he said ducking back out of the room.

Alicia scooted closer to Lila. She always felt as if someone was watching them while they were in this room, and that she needed to keep a close eye on her baby sister.

Dean awoke with a ray of sunshine hitting him squarely in the eye. He shifted slightly on the too small sofa, and winced as the sutures on his leg pulled tight. He noticed that the water glass was full again, and there were two more pain pills lying next to it. Dean moved carefully to avoid jostling Sam who was sleeping on the floor with his head resting on Dean’s right leg.

“You awake?” Sam asked sleepily opening his eyes.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “Why don’t you go upstairs, and get some real sleep for a couple of hours?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Sam replied stretching. He had been lying on his injured shoulder most of the night, and it had stiffened up considerably. He stood, and offered Dean the water glass and pills.

Dean swallowed the pills, and finished the entire glass of water. Sam offered Dean his hand and said, “Come on, I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

“Are you going to hold it for me too?” Dean asked.

Sam wrinkled his face in disgust. “No,” he retorted. “Dude, you’re on your own once we get there.”

Dean chuckled at Sam’s obvious discomfort. “Let’s get crackin’, Sam. We’re burning daylight.”

An hour, two minor arguments, and one bout of intense swearing later the brothers were ready to hit the road and get some breakfast at the resort restaurant. Dean was sitting on the sofa, examining the holes in his leather jacket when Sam appeared in front of him.

Dean looked up at Sam, and sat back slightly in surprise. “Sam, what the hell is up with the Lizzie Borden routine? You’re starting to freak me out,” Dean asked.

“Huh?” Sam replied quizzically.

“The ax,” Dean replied jutting his chin towards the ax Sam was holding in his hand.

“Oh, uh it’s the only thing that works on the wolf,” Sam replied taking a seat next to Dean.

“You gotta be kidding me here, Sam,” Dean replied. He pushed two fingers through the holes in the arm of his leather jacket, and frowned.

“I guess Alicia doesn’t watch a lot of the Discovery Channel,” Sam remarked. “This thought form seems to react like wolves in fairy tales.”

“Fairy tales, as in, Little Pig, Little Pig, let me come in?” Dean chuckled at his own joke.

“More like, Grandma what big eyes you have,” Sam replied laughing a little with Dean. “I have to say, man, I’m surprised you know either one.”

“Who do you think read you those stories when you were little?” Dean asked struggling to get off the sofa.

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied. He watched Dean struggle for minute. “Dude, let me help you.”

“I got it,” Dean insisted.

“You know, you’re going to have to let me drive,” Sam said with a small smile.

“No way,” Dean replied. “You had your chance, and you practically wrecked her trying to turn a corner.”

“I think you’re exaggerating a little bit, don’t you?” Sam defended. “And, it doesn’t matter. If you can’t pry your butt off that sofa without help, I’m driving.”

Dean struggled for another few moments before flopping back against the sofa. “You better be more careful this time,” he conceded.

“You want me to top off that coffee, hon?” the waitress asked.

“Please,” Sam replied holding up his cup. He watched as Dean shoveled huge scoops of eggs into his mouth.

Dean caught Sam’s look of mild disgust. “What?” Dean asked. “I missed dinner last night.”

Sam shook his head and asked, “How did you and Dad defeat that thought form in Austin?”

“I dunno,” Dean admitted. He gestured towards Sam with a forkful of eggs. “Dad and I got separated, and he was hurt.”

“I remember,” Sam replied watching as Dean’s eggs narrowly avoided spilling into his coffee. He inconspicuously moved his mug closer to the relative safety at the edge of the table. “But, he got rid of it first, right?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “But, I don’t know how he did it.”

“Everything I read said the only surefire way to destroy a thought form, was for the creator to send it away. The only other mention at all was if the creator died, the thought form would vanish,” Sam stated. He suddenly found his plate of food very interesting, and he picked at his eggs instead of looking Dean in the eyes. “You don’t think dad…?”

“No,” Dean interrupted sharply, pointing his fork at Sam. “Dad would never - no, Sam.”

“Sorry,” Sam mumbled. He looked up when Dean did not respond. Dean was busy looking in another direction. “Dean?” Sam asked waving his hand in front of Dean’s face. Dean brushed Sam’s hand away.

Sam followed Dean’s line of sight over to where the waitress was speaking with Janice.

“Helena, do we have any more of the strawberry-rhubarb pie?” Janice asked. “The girls are staying with the Delaney’s today, and Frank loves our strawberry-rhubarb pie. I thought it would make a nice thank you gift.”

Helena spun quickly behind the counter, and peeked into the cooler. “Sure do, boss lady,” she said emerging from behind the counter. “I’ll box it up for ya, right away.”

“Actually, box it up and set it aside for me. I’ll be back to pick it up around three,” Janice replied. “I have to run. I have another appointment in a few minutes.”

“You got it,” Helena replied ducking down to box up the pie. Janice picked her purse off the counter, and quickly left.

“Looks like we have our next stop,” Dean said turning back towards Sam.

“What are we going to say to the Delaney’s?” Sam asked. “The girls have met us before.”

“I’ll think of something,” Dean quipped flashing his trademark grin. “I always do.”

“Great,” Sam intoned sinking further into his seat. It was already shaping up to be one hell of day.

The Delaney’s yellow, two-story farmhouse sat back from the gravel lane surrounded by white fencing and apple trees. Sam pulled the Impala to a stop, and threw the car into park. When Sam did not move to get out, Dean swiveled in his seat to look at him. Sam was staring intently at the house.

“What’s the matter? Is your x-ray vision on the blink today?” Dean asked with a smirk.

“Funny,” Sam responded not looking away from the house. “I’m getting a strange feeling from this place.”

“Do you think it’s the thought form?” Dean asked.

“Maybe,” Sam replied absent-mindedly. “I’m not sure. It kind of feels like something else…I think.”

“Jeez, Sam,” Dean complained. “Could you be a little vaguer? I almost got a clue from that.” Dean knew that Sam’s abilities were not clear messages, but it was times like this that were frustrating. A general sense of foreboding did not exactly prepare them for the unexpected, but it did add a level of tension to an already unpredictable situation.

Sam glared at Dean. “Let’s just get this done, okay?” Sam huffed, and exited the car.

Dean rolled his moss green eyes as he exited the car. “Yeah, okay,” Dean agreed. He walked slowly back to the trunk. “Keys?” he asked holding out his hand.

Sam tossed Dean the keys, and asked, “What are you planning on saying to Delaney’s?”

“Alicia and Lila don’t really know why we stopped to talk to Janice,” Dean explained. “So, the playing field is wide open.” Dean pulled out the metal box containing the fake I.D.’s. “But, the first story we told is the safest. We’re just out interviewing a few family friends before making our final report.”

“Sounds good,” Sam replied distractedly. He was staring at the house again.

Dean took advantage of the opportunity to shove a pistol into the waistband of his jeans. Sam’s abilities sometimes resulted in unclear directions, but they were always something to be heeded. His hand twitched briefly over the ax. They could stash it closer to the house within easy reach should the wolf appear. However, the distance between the car and the house made it unlikely they could approach the house unseen. Arriving on someone’s doorstep, ax in hand, did not instill trust.

Sam leaned past Dean into the trunk. Rummaging around near the back, Sam pulled out a small hatchet and slipped it into one of the inside pockets of his jacket. He zipped up his jacket, and threw Dean a questioning look. “What?” he asked.

Dean shook his head, and closed the trunk annoyed that he had forgotten the hatchet was in the trunk. He pulled out the repair kit for the Impala, and tossed it on the front seat before joining Sam at the gate.

Eleanor was sitting in an armchair near the large picture window, knitting as Sam and Dean approached the door. Eleanor looked up from her knitting as the brothers passed by the window, and before Sam could knock on the door, Eleanor opened the door. “May I help you boys?” she asked.

“Yes ma’am,” Sam said flashing his I.D. “I’m Sam Hill,” Sam continued, “And, this is my associate, Dean Evans. We’re with First Beneficial Insurance, and we’re conducting an investigation into the death of Michael Bevons.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eleanor apologized. “Mike passed away.”

“Yes ma’am,” Sam repeated. “We’re here to talk to you about Michael Bevons.”

“You can’t talk to Mike,” Eleanor insisted raising her voice slightly. “He’s gone from this earth.”

“We want to talk to you about Mr. Bevons,” Sam shouted casting Dean a helpless look. Dean chuckled softly, and shrugged his shoulders.

“Honey, I don’t know how to tell you this any nicer. He’s dead!” Eleanor yelled. She turned to shut the door, when a scream could be heard coming from the back of the house.

Sam and Dean pushed past Eleanor, and ran towards the direction of the scream. “What do you think you’re doing?” Eleanor asked following slowly behind the brothers. “I told you already, Mike’s not here.”

Sam burst through the door in the back room, only to find Alicia tickling Lila mercilessly. “Stop! Stop!” Lila screamed shrilly. “I hafta go poddy!” Alicia immediately stopped, and sat back on her heels. Lila scrambled up, and ran between Sam and Dean on her way to the bathroom.

Alicia looked up at the Winchesters. “Dean!” she exclaimed jumping up to hug Dean around his legs. Dean grunted in pain, and grimaced.

“Are you hurt?” Alicia asked, her blue eyes reflecting concern. “Did you fall down? I sometimes skin my knees when I fall down.”

“I’m good,” Dean reassured with a smile.

“You know these boys?” Eleanor asked Alicia gesturing towards Sam and Dean.

“Yes,” Alicia replied nodding her head.

“I suppose it is okay then,” Eleanor conceded at Alicia’s nod. She turned towards Sam and whispered, “But don’t ask them about their father.” Sam nodded in understanding, and Eleanor patted him on the shoulder as she passed. Eleanor turned, and added in a louder voice, “I’ll set out some cookies, and you can all talk out in the sitting room.”

“Thank you,” Sam replied.

“You bet,” Eleanor said on her way down the hall.

“How did she manage to hear that?” Sam wondered out loud.

Lila walked back in between the brothers and stood by her sister. She stared at Sam with wide brown eyes, and popped a thumb into her mouth. “It’s okay, Lila,” Alicia said wrapping her arm around Lila’s shoulders. “That’s Sam. He’s Dean’s little brother.”

Lila looked up into Sam’s eyes. Sam gazed back at Lila, and recognition sparked in both sets of eyes at the same time. Before either could react, another shout could be heard, this time from outside.

Sam barreled out the back door. The wolf was advancing on Frank, growling loudly. Frank was waving a blowtorch in front of him, in an attempt to stave off the wolf. Sam unzipped his jacket, and was reaching for the hatchet when the wolf abruptly turned towards him.

The wolf leapt on Sam’s chest, knocking him to the ground for the second time in two days. The wolf landed with his full weight on Sam’s injured shoulder and chest. Biting back a shout, Sam tried to reach the hatchet in his jacket. The wolf’s current position was making it difficult to reach it.

“Sam!” Dean shouted having finally made it to the doorway just in time to see Sam knocked flat. He reached for the gun in his waistband, when Sam swung the hatchet at the wolf, and it disappeared.

Frank came running up to Sam, and stooped to help him to his feet. “Thank the Lord you were here,” Frank said breathlessly. “I thought I was a goner for sure. Where’d that thing go?”

“It ran off that way,” Sam lied pointing in a random direction.

“Are you okay, son?” Frank asked pointing at Sam’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” Sam stated looking at the growing bloodstain on his shirt. He sighed inwardly at another shirt casualty of this hunt. “We should go inside.”

Frank and Sam walked back to the house. “I’ll pull out the first aid supplies for you,” Frank said walking past Dean.

Dean grabbed Sam’s arm, and spun him around to take a look at him. He pulled open the jacket Sam had wrapped tighter around himself. “We’ll have to talk to the girls later,” Dean said frowning at the stained shirt. “I need to get you patched up again first.”

Sam did not argue, but followed a stiff-moving Dean into the house. Ordinarily, Dean would not stay to treat Sam at someone’s home, but with their first aid kit severely depleted he could not turn it down. Minutes later, Sam was seated on the commode, shirt off, as Dean irrigated the bite marks with peroxide.

Eleanor burst through the bathroom door, and Sam scrambled to cover himself with his soiled shirt. Dean tried to cover his laugh at Sam’s reaction with a cough, but he still earned another Sam glare.

“Have either of you seen the girls?” Eleanor asked frantically, her eyes darting back and forth between the brothers.

“No,” they replied simultaneously.

“Oh my,” Eleanor said with tears in her eyes. “The girls are missing.”

Sam zipped up his jacket, and stuffed his balled up soiled shirt into the left pocket. His shoulder was burning from Dean’s recent ministrations. He watched as Dean exited the bathroom with a barely controlled limp. “Dean, she’s going to call the police. We need to get out of here, and you need to take it easy on that leg,” Sam said pointedly.

Dean turned around suddenly, and Sam had to hustle to avoid running into him. “Sam, we’re not leaving until we know where those girls are,” Dean insisted.

“Dean,” Sam began.

“Sam,” Dean interrupted giving Sam a hard look.

“Fine, whatever,” Sam conceded. “But, if the police show up, we lie low until we can leave without being seen.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean agreed unconvincingly. He turned, and walked out of the bathroom and down the hall towards the playroom. He could hear Eleanor calling for the girls, her voice almost hysterical. Dean searched the room for any sign of where the girls may have headed. He did not really expect to find anything, but it was worth a shot. Dean knew the girls were walking behind him when he was hobbling torturously slow to get outside to Sam. They could have slipped past him, and gone outside while he was preoccupied with Sam, but it was best to check the house first.

Dean circled back, and walked past Eleanor and Sam. Sam was trying to calm Eleanor down, and keep her from involving the police. “Mrs. Delaney,” Sam explained loudly. “Let us help you look for the girls before you call the police. They’re probably scared, and only hiding right now.”

“You’re right,” Eleanor replied. “We should call the police.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and continued past Sam searching for places the girls could have hidden. “No, we should look for them first!” Sam shouted.

“Son, let me talk to her,” Frank said placing a hand on Sam’s good shoulder. “You go help your associate look for them.”

“Thanks,” Sam called over his shoulder as he rushed off to catch up to Dean.

Sam found Dean trying to bend down to pick something up off the ground. “Damn it,” Dean muttered under his breath.

Sam scooped up the doll, handed it to Dean and said, “Here.”

Dean examined the knitted doll for a moment. “Freaky ass doll,” he commented and tossed the doll back to Sam who caught it easily. Dean opened the door, and it squeaked from obvious disuse. Dean flipped on the light switch, and the brothers both peered up the stairs to the attic. “Ladies first,” Dean said sweeping his arm towards Sam and up the stairs.

Sam huffed noisily, and headed up the stairs. He paused at the top of the stairs, and searched for a light switch. Stumbling forward in the dark, Sam found the pull chain to the solitary light bulb in the attic. The dim bulb buzzed, and the chain swung slowly for several seconds. Sam put the doll down on a small cedar chest, and looked towards Dean as he made his way painfully to the top of the stairs.

“Find anything?” Dean asked. His green eyes flashed pain briefly before they scanned the attic in search of Lila and Alicia.

“I don’t think they are up here,” Sam said his hazel-brown eyes roving over the dusty boxes and furniture stuffed into the small attic. An old seamstress dummy stood in the corner casting a macabre headless silhouette that danced on the far wall. “This place has to be scarier than the wolf to two little girls.”

“Ah man, don’t tell me I hauled my ass all the way up here for a dead end,” Dean said grimacing as he walked closer to Sam.

“Dean, you’re going to pull your stitches if you don’t take it easy,” Sam chastised throwing Dean a concerned look.

Dean ignored Sam, and walked slowly towards the small window at the far end of the attic opposite the stairs. Drawing back the curtain, he looked out into the yard at the apple trees, and the woods beyond. Sam joined him at the window.

Sam stood behind Dean gazing out into the tree-lined expanse. It was only early afternoon, but it was still early spring. The sun would only be up for another four or five hours at best, and then the temperature would plummet. If the girls were outside, they needed to be found quickly.

Sam willed himself to have a hunch, a feeling, anything that would help lead them in the right direction. What he did feel did not make sense to him. The vibe he was picking up on earlier seemed fragmented somehow, as if he was being torn between the house, and the orchard. He gave in to the sensation let it flow over him, into him, instead of rebelling against it.

Dean spun around to steady his little brother when his Sammy radar pinged loudly. Sam was swaying slightly, his eyes unfocused and glassy. “Sam, hey, Sam!” Dean shouted grabbing both of Sam’s upper arms.

Sam’s eyes refocused and he returned Dean’s gaze. “Dean?” he asked furrowing his brows in confusion.

“Yeah, what’s up with you?” Dean asked concerned green eyes flashing.

“I think I understand what’s going on,” Sam replied. “There’s a spirit in this house, and she speaks to Lila.”

“What?” Dean asked, his eyes flicked to Sam’s trying to ascertain if he was really back from wherever he had been in his head.

“Dean, Lila is psychic. I think she created the thought form, not Alicia. Psychics create the strongest and most corporeal thought forms,” Sam stated. He saw the incredulous look on Dean’s face, but continued anyway. “They’re outside in the secret hiding place.”

“Outside in the secret hiding place? Where exactly is that?” Dean asked turning to head down the stairs. “Did this spirit give you any more information, a direction to head in, maybe?”

“No,” Sam replied. “She just told us to hurry.”

“Great, that’s great,” Dean complained, “An entirely unhelpful, yet impatient spirit. You hook up with the nicest dead girls. At least this one isn’t bent on revenge.” Dean grunted as he took the first step down the stairs. Down was definitely worse than up.

Sam turned around, and went back for the knitted doll. He did not know why, but he had a feeling he should return it to the playroom. He pulled the chain on the light, and quickly made his way back to Dean.

They reentered the hall, and Dean found himself face to face with Frank. “Mr. Delaney,” Dean said. “We don’t think Alicia and Lila are still in the house.”

“We think they’re outside,” Sam continued. “Can you think of anywhere they could be? Do they have a secret place they like to hide or play?”

Frank looked at Sam surprised and replied, “Actually, there is.”

“Sssssshhhhhh,” Alicia whispered placing a finger in front of her mouth to hush her sister. “Don’t cry, Lila. Someone will find us soon.”

Lila’s brown eyes swam with tears. She sniffed once and quietly replied, “I know, but I don’t want them to get hurt again.”

Alicia squinted into the afternoon sun searching for any sign of the wolf, or an adult to help them. She sighed softly when either failed to appear. It was a good thing the wolf had not shown up yet, as she was becoming afraid she would not be enough to protect her little sister. Alicia curled her arm protectively around Lila, and pulled them further into their secret hiding place.

Sam shrugged on a clean t-shirt, and threw the soiled shirt into the trunk. He pulled two flashlights and two pistols out of the weapons bag. Putting one gun into the back waistband of his pants, he put the other into his coat pocket for Dean. Sam pocketed the flashlights, shut the trunk lid, and headed back to where he had left Dean. He still thought Dean should stay here, and he should go on alone and look for the girls. Dean was hurting, and every step he took would only aggravate his injury until it had more time to heal.

“Dean, you should stay here. Let me go look for Alicia and Lila,” Sam suggested as he caught up to Dean near the orchard. He knew Dean would never go for it, but he had to try anyway.

“I believe my record with this thing is better than yours,” Dean replied as he continued walking deeper into the apple grove.

“How do you figure that?” Sam asked handing a flashlight and a gun to Dean. “I didn’t need stitches.”

“Because it’s 0-1 versus 0-2,” Dean replied with a smile. He placed the flashlight in one pocket of his jacket, and the gun in the other.

“Actually if you recall, I’m the one that managed to fend off the wolf all three times,” Sam replied his wide smile deepening his dimples.

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but he really could not think of a good comeback to that one. Sam had been the one to chase off the wolf each time. Dean shook his head, and waved his hand dismissively at Sam, who chuckled lightly.

They had been walking slowly for almost thirty minutes when Dean stopped abruptly, and muttered a curse under his breath. His leg was throbbing, and he knew several of the sutures had broken loose. He also knew if they did not find the girls soon, he was going to be more of a liability than a help to Sam. “How much further do you think it is?” he asked shading his eyes.

“Not much further,” Sam replied trying to gauge his brother’s endurance level. “We’ve probably walked a mile by now.”

‘A mile in thirty minutes?’ Dean thought. ‘I am really holding Sam back here. Gonna have to pick it up.’

“Eyes sharp, Sam” Dean replied as he started walking, this time at a slightly faster pace. “There’s more of a chance of running into the thought form, the closer we are to the girls.”

“When we find them, I’ll try to talk Lila into sending the wolf away,” Sam said. “I think I can get her to understand.”

“I still think you’re wrong about the thought form. Alicia is very protective of Lila; it would make sense if she created the thought form to keep Lila safe from her father,” Dean argued. His lopsided gait caused him to lose his balance on the uneven ground, and he stumbled.

Sam steadied Dean, and pulled his arm to stop him from continuing on. “Dean, slow down,” Sam said. He held Dean’s gaze. “We’ll find them.”

Dean pulled his arm from Sam’s grasp. “I’m good,” he insisted. The discussion over, Dean proceeded to walk along the barely visible trail.

‘Stubborn ass,’ Sam thought with a scowl following Dean’s retreating form. With long strides he caught up to his older brother with little effort. “There it is,” Sam said pointing. “There’s the irrigation creek.”

The shallow creek sparkled in the afternoon sun. According to Frank, they needed to cross the creek, and head south for about one-quarter of a mile. At their present rate of speed, that would only be about fifteen minutes or so. Dean spotted the makeshift plank bridge just a few feet to his right. He headed to the bridge, but Sam beat him to it.

“I got it,” Dean said with annoyance when Sam pulled his arm to stop him again. “Lay off, Sam.”

“I know,” Sam replied his posture daring Dean to disagree with him. “I’m still going first.”

“Whatever,” Dean said rolling his eyes. He waited until Sam was on the other bank to cross the plank bridge. “See? No problem,” Dean said after crossing. He really was beginning to be annoyed with Sam’s hovering act. He wondered briefly if that was the way he made Sam feel. He decided it did not matter as it was his birthright to hover. It came with runny noses, skinned knees, and forty-seven viewings of “Oliver and Company” when Sam was five.

“Sometimes, I suppose,” Sam replied out of nowhere. “But usually, deep down I understand where it is coming from.” Dean stopped and stared at Sam in surprise. If his vibes were turning into out and out mind-reading Dean was in deep trouble.

Sam sensed Dean was no longer following behind him and spun around. “What?” he asked. When Dean did not reply, but only continued to stare at him, Sam continued, “You do know you asked that out loud, don’t you?” Sam could only laugh lightly at Dean’s look of utter relief. They continued along the creek bank peering every so often into the trees for a sign of the burrow Frank had told them about.

“Dude, what are you humming?” Sam asked after a few minutes. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.”

Dean hummed a few more bars before placing the song from “Oliver and Company.” He turned his face to hide the blush he could feel creeping up his neck. “I’m not exactly sure. It’s just a tune that’s stuck in my head,” he obfuscated. “Look over there, I think that’s it.”

Sam looked in the direction Dean was pointing, and saw a small hole on the side of the hill. It was shaded by the trees, and partially covered by undergrowth. “That’s too small, isn’t it?” Sam asked.

“You’d be surprised how small of a space kids can get into,” Dean replied. “I found you in the heating ducts of a trailer we lived in when you were three. You had to crawl through a vent smaller than the first aid kit to get down there in the first place.” Dean shook his head at the memory and added, “You said you were looking for your green Power Ranger.”

“I remember that ranger,” Sam said tilting his head in remembrance. “But, I don’t remember it being missing.”

“Probably because I found it for you,” Dean replied picking his way through underbrush. “Are you coming, or what?” Dean asked noticing Sam had fallen behind.

“Yeah,” Sam responded gathering fond memories of his brother together, and putting them away for future introspection.

“Alicia! Lila!” Dean called softly shining his flashlight into the fox den. “It’s time to go home now.” In an instant, Dean found himself enveloped by a seven-year-old girl, a tangle arms and legs with blonde curls invading his nose. He brushed Alicia’s hair out of his face, and held her away from him. “Where’s Lila?” he asked.

“She’s still in there,” Alicia said turning and pointing into the hole. “I told her to wait until I made sure it was safe.” Alicia squirmed to get down, and poked her head into the opening of the den. “Come on, Lila,” she said, “It’s Sam and Dean. They’ll keep us safe, I can tell.”

Lila’s brown curls appeared, and Sam reached in to pull her out. He placed her on the ground, and Lila stared up at him with wide eyes. At 6’1” Dean was not a short man, but the three inches Sam had on him, made him feel positively small at times. He could only imagine what an imposing figure his little brother made to someone who was barely over two feet tall.

“It’s okay, girls,” Dean replied sitting down on the side of the hill. Sam mirrored his actions as Dean had hoped. Getting back up was going to be a bitch.

“Lila it’s okay,” Alicia insisted sitting down on Dean’s lap. Dean grunted softly, and shifted Alicia’s weight to take some of the pressure off his wounded legs. “Dean keeps Sam safe, he told me so, and Sam has to be harder than you are. Look how big he is, and think of all the trouble he can get into.”

Sam cocked his head, and raised his right eyebrow at Dean. He was going to pay for that one. Dean swallowed the chortle he could feel rising in his throat at the look on Sam’s face.

“You watch out for me,” Lila protested.

“Alicia, you know that Lila is safe from anything bad your father may have done now, don’t you?” Dean asked.

“Yes,” Alicia answered dropping her gaze to the ground. “I’m sad my daddy is gone, but I’m also happy he can’t ever get to Lila now.” She looked back up at Dean with tears swimming in her blue eyes. “Does that mean I’m bad?” she asked fearfully.

“No,” Dean replied, “It makes you an awesome big sister.” He wrapped his arm around her small frame, and looked her in the eye before continuing. “But, it is time to send the wolf away.”

“How will you make the wolf go away?” Alicia asked her eyes filled with hope. “He scares me. How can I keep Lila safe from a big, scary wolf?”

“Do you know, Lila?” Sam asked.

Lila faced Sam, and nodded slowly. “It’s the big, bad wolf, isn’t it?” she asked solemnly.

“I think so,” Sam agreed his hazel-brown eyes conveying his sincerity.

“The woodcutter needs to chop it with an ax,” Lila replied shaking her finger at Sam. “Then it will go away.”

“It does,” Sam answered. “But, not for long. It comes back, probably when you are scared or you think Alicia is scared.”

“I wished for it,” Lila said sadly. “I wished for a way to help Alicia.”

“It’s hard being smaller, and not being able to help, isn’t it?” Sam asked honestly.

At Lila’s nod, sudden clarity came to Dean. During all the years growing up the almost four and a half year age gap between Sam and himself must have felt insurmountable. Certainly, when Sam was in his early teens and Dean as already an established hunter the inequality in their abilities would have been a hard fact to live with.

Lila placed a chubby hand on either side of Sam’s face, leaned in close to him and whispered fearfully, “What can we do?”

“I think you need to tell it that its job is done, and it can return to where it came from,” Sam supplied. Lila looked at Alicia obviously confused, and very scared she would have to approach the wolf.

“Just tell it to go away, and go home,” Dean interjected. “We’ll all be with you. Sam and I won’t let it hurt you girls.”

Lila nodded, and big fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Alicia was immediately at her sister’s side, patting her on the back. “What’s the matter? Don’t cry,” Alicia soothed.

“I wanted you to not be scared,” Lila sniffed. “I didn’t mean to be naughty. Am I going to hell, like they say in Sunday school?”

“No,” Alicia reassured her sister. “You didn’t know. It isn’t naughty if you don’t know.”

“It’s still naughty,” Lila replied her crying renewed. “It is so.”

“Lila,” Alicia replied resting her hands on Lila’s small shoulders. “Even if it is still naughty, you aren’t. It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’ll make sure no one punishes you. It will be our secret.” She looked sternly at the brothers and said, “Right?”

“Right,” Dean replied. “We won’t say anything about the wolf, but Alicia you do need to talk to your mom about your father.”

“No,” Alicia replied her face filled with shame. “What if she doesn’t believe me?”

“I will,” Lila answered squeezing Alicia’s hand and nodding sagely. “You believe in me, and I’ll believe in you.”

“Come on,” Alicia said pulling Lila towards the den. “Let’s get your shoes, goofy.”

For the first time, Dean noticed Lila was standing on the soft ground in only white ankle socks. The girls disappeared into the den as he turned to Sam and remarked, “I was sure Alicia created that wolf. She obviously protects Lila, watches out for her.”

“They watch out for each other,” Sam replied his eyes softening as he met Dean’s eyes. “Each one of them was willing to sacrifice to keep the other safe, that’s what siblings do.” He willed Dean to understand the truth he wasn’t saying, the real meaning behind the promise he had extracted from his brother; the way he also understood Dean’s unwillingness to keep that promise.

“I know, Sammy,” Dean replied quietly, averting his gaze to avoid revealing his careening emotions to Sam. “I think sometimes, that’s what scares me most of all.”

Sam’s reply was lost to Alicia’s shout, “The wolf is back!”

Sam pulled out the hatchet, but Dean yanked it away from him. “Get the girls out of here,” Dean ordered squaring off against the wolf.

Sam spun around to find the two girls huddled near the den’s entrance. “Lila, I know you are scared, but now is the time to tell the wolf to go away and go home,” Sam said grabbing both girls’ hands. “I’ll be with you, you’ll be safe.”

“No!” Alicia snapped yanking her hand away from Sam.

“Okay,” Lila replied holding tighter to Sam’s hand. “I don’t want anyone hurt again.”

Sam nodded, and smiled when Alicia’s hand slipped back into his. He walked slightly ahead of the girls, so he could stand between them and the wolf if things did not go well.

The wolf was snarling as it advanced slowly on Dean. Dean gripped the hatchet tightly, and prepared to swing. “No!” Lila shouted. “Go away! Go home!” The wolf stopped advancing, and tilted its head. “Go away! Go home!” Lila repeated.

The wolf hunkered down in what almost appeared as a bow, and slowly faded from sight. Dean turned to see Lila poking her head out from behind Sam where both girls were hiding. He smiled and said, “It’s gone now.”

“Forever?” Alicia’s asked.

“Yes,” Sam replied scrunching down as he turned his back on Dean to face the girls.

“I wanna go home,” Lila whined. “Please?”

“Then, let’s go,” Dean replied. Alicia smiled, and ran to Dean.

“I’m tired,” Lila said with a yawn.

Sam scooped her up with his good arm, and replied, “No problem, I’ve got you.”

“As long as you aren’t afraid of heights,” Dean quipped. Alicia giggled, and grabbed Dean’s hand. “We better hurry, Sam. It’s already four o’clock. We’re going to run out of daylight if we don’t get a move on.”

Sam nodded, and together they made their way slowly back down to the creek and headed for the Delaney’s.

Dean stumbled under the weight of a sleeping child nestled in his arms. He had not allowed Sam to take Alicia from him, and he was paying for it now. He felt Sam’s hand on his arm, steadying him, and this time he did not feel annoyance at the gesture. He was grateful. Tired green eyes met hazel-brown, and Dean nodded at the unspoken question.

Sam moved Lila to his injured side, and gathered Alicia in his other arm. Dean looked dead on his feet, and they were still almost a quarter of a mile from the farmhouse. Carrying both girls was not easy on his shoulder, but it was far easier than carrying his brother. Wordlessly, the brothers continued on to the Delaney’s as the shadows lengthened, and the sun dipped closer to the horizon.

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you,” Janice gushed as ran out to meet the brothers as they approached the farmhouse. “I’ve been so worried, but Frank thought you boys had it handled.”

“I was right too,” Frank said walking out of the house, allowing the screen door to slam shut behind him. “I told you they’d be back soon.” He turned his attention to the brothers and asked, “See any sign of the wolf?”

“No sir,” Dean replied tiredly. “It’s probably long gone by now.”

“You’re right, I’m sure,” Frank replied relieving Sam of part of his burden. Alicia snuggled into Frank’s shoulder without waking.

“Oh, let me take my baby,” Janice said pulling a sleeping Lila away from Sam. She gently rocked Lila in her arms, and turned to go back into the house.

“You boys must be hungry. Why don’t you stay for supper?” Frank offered.

“Thanks for the offer, but,” Dean started.

“No buts, come on,” Frank interrupted ushering the brothers inside. “Eleanor made a huge meal. She was worried, and when she’s worried she cooks and cleans up a storm. The whole house smells like bleach now, but there is strawberry-rhubarb pie for desert.”

“Actually, Mr. Delaney, if we could use your first aid supplies before dinner, it would be appreciated,” Sam interjected.

“Of course,” Frank replied. “I’ll fetch it for you first thing. Did one of you boys get hurt out there?”

“No, it’s from before,” Sam answered.

“Ah,” Frank replied in understanding. “You boys just head on into the bathroom, and I’ll bring in the kit for you.”

“Thanks,” Sam said pausing to allow Dean to enter the house before him.

Minutes later, Dean was seated on the commode, while Sam repacked the first aid kit. “You know, I’m about done with this trip to the Twilight Zone,” Dean remarked.

“Huh?” Sam asked not pausing in his task at hand. He crinkled his forehead in obvious confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Think about it Sam, this whole hunt has been turned upside down from the get go,” Dean said. “I get stuck talking to the old ladies, you talk to the pretty girl; the deaf lady gives you a hard time, and don’t forget the single most important fact – you’ve been driving my car.”

Sam looked at Dean with an amused