Thanks to everyone who's been reading. We hope you enjoy how it turns out.

Part Two

"Call me if you find anything." Sam issued one last warning as he climbed out of the car.

"Scouts honour," Dean promised, saluting him before pointing an accusing finger in his direction. "Only if you promise to do the same."

Sam threw off the image of Dean slumped on the floor of a waterlogged basement and swallowed. "Of course."

Dean was leaning over to stare at him suspiciously through the passenger side door right until Sam closed it in his face. Calling Dean to put him in the same room as a rawhead went against every instinct Sam had but he nodded anyway, saluting back. Dean rolled his eyes with a sigh Sam could actually hear from outside the car and pulled away, leaving Sam on the curb outside the McAlister's place.

He readjusted the duffle over his shoulder, hoping the woman who owned the house wouldn't ask to look inside. He might just about be able to bluff his way into the house to have a poke around, but explaining away the shotgun, taser and other assorted weaponry he was bringing in with him would be pushing it.

Mrs. McAlister answered the door on the second ring, just as Sam was wondering whether to head around back and find his own way in. She clearly recognised him from practice earlier that day, but thankfully few people would know what a genuine FBI badge looked like if presented with one. She didn't seem entirely convinced by the logic that he'd been undercover at the playing field to get the lay of the land, but between the badge, a bit of confidence and his best 'trust me, I'm here to help' smile he was soon sat at her kitchen table with a mug of coffee and his notebook out.

He completely ignored her cue to speak quietly, knowing from experience – and the slight creaking from the landing at the top of the stairs – that there would be eavesdroppers. When you were in a new place and strangers came to call, spying on them was as natural as breathing.

Sure enough, the hint of a presence turned into a pounding on the stairs. "Sam!" Cody bound into the room with an exuberant grin, coming to a stop by the table at Sam's side and practically bouncing up and down in his excitement to be there. Nicola followed her brother into the room at a more sedate pace, rolling her eyes and trying to act casual even as her flushed cheeks and slight breathlessness from the flight down the stairs gave her away.

"Hey, Cody," Sam greeted him before flashing Nicola a smile that had her dancing over to join them.

"Have you come to play again?" Cody asked, barely able to get the words out in his excitement to find Sam sitting in his kitchen. "There's a light out in the garden, and I have a ball," he offered hopefully.

"Actually, I'm here because I'm working," Sam told them, noting as he did the way they both seemed to wilt with disappointment. "But you might be able to help me, if that's okay of course?" He addressed the last part to woman in charge, almost feeling guilty for manipulating her in this way.

"Well, I'm not sure…" she started, just as Cody resumed his excited bouncing and declared:

"Yes, yes, we can help, can't we Mrs. McAlister, pleeeeasee?"

Sam had to retreat behind his coffee mug to hide his smile, taking an extra large mouthful and spluttering, hoping the poor woman would mistake his laughter for coughs.

He winked at Nicola over their guardian's shoulder and added his own innocent, slightly hopeful stare to the two she was already faced with.

"I think you've covered all the questions I have already," he reassured her. "I won't need to ask them anything. I was just hoping to take a look around the house. It's only routine, it shouldn't take long. We're searching all the properties that overlook the playing field for… well," he looked at Cody and Nicola and cleared his throat meaningfully. "Maybe I shouldn't go into it now. But it's standard procedure, and it is for your own protection as much as anything.

"What do you say guys, want to give me a tour?"

Nicky shrugged casually but her eyes were shining with excitement, and Cody already had Sam by the hand and was pulling him to his feet.

"Now Cody, I don't think that…"

"It's fine Mrs. McAlister, really," he assured her. "I don't mind, if they want to help," he told her, as though he was resigned to it; as though it hadn't been his idea in the first place.

She sighed reluctantly and nodded, unable to hide a slight smile when Cody cheered and all but propelled Sam out of the kitchen door.

"I can show you my room first," he promised, "and I can show you my cars, and my Lego airplane and then you can see..."

"Don't keep the poor man here all night," Mrs. McAlister warned, but she threw Sam a pointed look that clearly told him she thought it was his own fault if they did.

Cody kept up a steady stream of noise all the way up the stairs, and it was only when Sam was sitting on the young boy's bed with his mother's incredibly battered old stuffed bear on his knee, and a lump in his throat, that Sam interrupted him.

"Do you remember what I told you this afternoon at practice?" he asked them, setting the bear down gently on the bed beside him and leaning forward to get their full attention. "About my brother, and how we look into scary things like your friends going missing?"

Two faces nodded at him solemnly.

"Well, I was thinking about what Cody told me about hearing noises from that cupboard in the laundry room. And I thought maybe I should check it out, while I'm here. Just to be safe."

"You really think there could be something in there?" Nicky asked, and he couldn't tell if she sounded doubtful, or afraid.

"Probably not, but I'd feel better knowing I took a look, just in case. Can you show me where the noise was coming from?"

Cody nodded, looking suddenly so much younger than he had in the park earlier that day. Sam smiled encouragingly and tried not to let his disquiet show. He'd felt like an ogre for opening Michael's eyes to a world where things actually did go bump in the night, and Cody was so much younger. All these kids that had too much faith in them. Even if he killed the evil at work here, their lives would be irrevocably altered, and Sam would leave feeling like he was the monster.

Sam left them on the landing to have a brief scan of the rooms on that floor, moving loudly enough that it would sound like he was doing a thorough job on the off chance Mrs. McAlister was listening.

Cody led the way downstairs with a kind of solemn reverence totally at odds with the excitable boy Sam had come to expect. They passed through the kitchen and along another corridor, where Cody paused and pointed to a door at the end of the hall in silence. Neither child had said a word since leaving the boy's room, as though they knew without being told that they were not to advertise this part of the tour to their new guardian.

Sam opened the door a crack and peered inside. The sharp smell of detergent hit him when he inhaled the humid air, but otherwise the room was dark and empty.

Relaxing slightly, Sam pushed the door all the way open and stepped inside, flicking on the light. The room was small and crowded, a sink and work surface running along one wall with a washer and dryer beneath. There was a drying rack in the corner filled with the bright shorts and red socks the kids had been wearing the last time he'd seen them.

Cody pointed wordlessly to a walk-in cupboard at the far side of the room.

"In here?" Sam whispered, waiting for the boy to nod his confirmation before slowly lowering the bag he'd been carrying to the floor and squatting down beside it. Cody had followed him inside the room, but Nicola was hovering in the doorway uncertainly, watching her brother with nervous eyes.

Sam held her eye for a brief second and smiled reassuringly.

"Okay Cody, I need you to go wait outside with your sister now, okay?" he said quietly.

"But I want to stay in here with you," Cody protested. "I can help."

"You can help," Sam agreed. "And right now I need you to keep your sister safe for me, just in case. Because I can't do that and look in the cupboard at the same time." He glanced up at Nicola apologetically but she didn't argue the need to be protected or protest that she wasn't scared; she just nodded gratefully in understanding and held out her hand for her brother, beckoning him back out the room.

"I need you to wait father down the corridor," Sam told them. "Stay in the kitchen."

Cody looked back longingly at Sam before nodding slightly reluctantly and allowing his sister to shepherd him down the hall.

Sam waited until the door swung closed behind them before opening his duffle. He was only going to take a peek, confirm one way or another whether the rawhead was using the house as a base. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to be ready for it if it was there.

Taking one last glance at the closed door, he slipped the taser out of the bag and flicked the power on. He made sure the shotgun and replacement air cartridge were at the top of the bag for easy access, checked the knife at his belt, and rose to his feet.

When he reached the cupboard, he paused, tilting his head slightly as he strained to listen. He could hear a gurgling from the pipes along the wall, poorly muted whispering from under the door at the other side of the room, and… there. Sam held his breath and leaned in closer. A faint, hollow scratching noise coming from the supposedly empty space in front of him.

He couldn't call Dean for backup unless he knew for sure. Exhaling quietly, Sam took another breath and reached for the door handle, hesitating to readjust his grip on the taser before his hand made contact with the metal.

Slowly, and very carefully, he lowered the handle, wincing at the slight click as the catch slid free. Biting his lip and trying to keep absolutely silent, he pulled the door open a crack and peered inside.

He flinched at the musty odour that seeped out from inside. The scratching noise was louder now it was no longer muffled by the door. It was a moment before his eyes adjusted to the dark, another before he his brain registered what he was looking at. Beyond the mop and bucket, tucked away at the back of the space beneath the pipes, he thought he saw something move.

He leaned in and squinted harder. A tall pile of stained and dirty blankets was tucked away in the corner, nestling on what looked to be the remains of a broken barrel, ribs curled and jagged. There were two pinpricks of light shining from the top of the pile, reflecting in the glow shining in through the gap in the door. As he watches the lights flickered… blinked, and Sam's brain finally made sense of what it was looking at.

The pile of blankets was in fact a stocky, crouching figure, hide thick with wiry fur. The russet stains were patchy, some of them still damp, and ran in rivulets down the creatures face and shoulders to its clawed hands and feet. The head of a femur poked out from between its claws. The ground at the creature's feet was littered with scraps of bone. Sam swallowed back bile. What he'd mistaken for the broken remains of a barrel was in fact a shattered rib-cage. And the gnawing sound…

Sam swallowed again and drew his head back from the gap, unable to draw his gaze away from the creature's face.

Which was how he realised it was nolonger blinking.

He pulled back with a gasp just as the crouching figure launched itself forward. He slammed the door but that didn't stop it. It burst through in a shower of splinters and claws. The taser was still in his hand but he didn't have time to raise it, to think of much of anything before his back was hitting the floor, he was blinking away wood chips, and it was on him.

He couldn't tell what were shards of door and what were claws but all of them were sharp and the creature's damp weight was on him, and when he tried to breathe, the air was putrid with decay.

There was a sharp pain in his thigh and he brought both hands up to push against its chest, to beat it back and keep its jaws clear while he planted his right foot firmly in the centre of its mass.

The rawhead grabbed his straining arms as Sam pushed against it with his heel, straightening his leg and throwing if from him with an almighty heave. He was unable to keep in the scream as its claws were torn free.

It landed in the ruins of its cupboard but Sam didn't spare the time to watch it land, he was already scuttling backwards and struggling to his feet. His right hand found the taser again as he rose and he could already hear the rawhead pulling itself upright. It was too close and he had no time; he had to put some distance between them before he could turn and fire. He only had one spare air canister and it would take time to reload; he couldn't afford to waste a shot.

He grabbed the duffle with his left hand as he crossed the room and bolted for the door, fumbling slightly to get out, reluctant to relinquish either of the items he carried.

He kicked the door closed behind him as he ran but he didn't waste his energy trying to barricade it closed. He already knew how little a challenge a door was going to pose.

Nicola and Cody were hovering at the end of the hallway by the open kitchen door. Any relief they might have exhibited at the sight of him quickly vanished as when they saw the look on his face.

"Go," he waved at them frantically. "Run."

The door exploded behind him and Nicky let out an ear-splitting scream, almost matched by her brother's.

Two-thirds of the corridor was going to have to be enough distance. Throwing the duffle forwards towards the screaming children, Sam turned, raised the taser with both hands to keep it steady, and smiled with grim satisfaction as he caught the rawhead in his sights.

There was a rattling to his right but he ignored it and squeezed the trigger just as the door he had paused in front of was flung open. It caught him square in the shoulder, jolting his grip on the weapon.

"What the hell's going on here?"

The electrodes embedded harmlessly in the carpet as the shot went wide.

Sam turned to see Mrs. McAlister standing in the doorway to the right of him, staring at him in horror.

"Stay in there and don't move," he told her sternly, slamming the door closed in her faced.

The rawhead had paused to avoid the shot from the taser, but the attempt on its life had only enraged it. It crouched low, then took off towards him at a run.

Sam had no other option. He turned and fled in the opposite direction.

"Go, go, go, go, go," he yelled, grateful that the kids had finally got over their shock enough to actually start moving. He didn't have time to worry about Mrs. McAlister now – the rawhead was too intent on him to pose a threat to her at the moment. As long as she stayed in that room until it was passed, she could maybe slip away.

He grabbed the bag with his right hand - still holding the taser - as he ran, and scooped up Cody with his left arm while he was half way across the kitchen, refusing to let the additional weight slow him down.

Nicola was already out of the room ahead of him and heading down the hall.

Instead of continuing forward to the front door, the girl turned and headed for the stairs.

"No, outside," Sam yelled, but she was already on the second step. She stumbled as she tried to turn. "Shit, keep going," Sam decided. "Go up." She nodded and took off up the stairs, Sam and Cody following.

He'd thought it was a horror movie cliché, but apparently kids really did run and hide upstairs rather than thinking to go out the front door. She was already committed to the action now; he didn't have time to stop her and he couldn't get Cody out without leaving her vulnerable. They had to stick together.

They were half way up the stairs when Nicola dropped with a scream. They were going back on themselves, the stairs running parallel to the passage they'd just run down. A hairy arm was poking through the rungs in the banister, hand snatching at her ankles. She screamed again as she was dragged down a couple of steps.

Sam dropped Cody onto the step at her side, away from the searching fingers, and pushed him upwards, palm firm on the flat of the little boy's back. Then he spun and shoved the full weight of his body and the heavy weapons bag into the creature's snarling, blood splattered, face.

Its back legs were on the banister now too as it attempted to clamber over onto the stairs, but it let go of the girl's ankle to protect its eyes, claws tearing into the material of the bag, twisting, ripping, and it was all Sam could do to hold on and not be wrenched sideways off the stairs.

Nicola found her feet. Cody had scrambled past her and was pulling on her wrist from above, dragging them both free of the stairs.

Sam kicked at the claws gripping onto the bottom rung of the banister, finally knocking them free. The rawhead twisted as it fell, its claws still tangled in the bag even as Sam tried to pull it free.

He could hear the ripping noise over the snarls of rage, but there was nothing he could do about it. The rawhead's claws were being held at bay by the bag and if he changed his hold, he risked losing an arm. All he could do was watch as the seam tore and the contents started spilling out.

The replacement canister for the taser landed on the step by his foot. It bounced. A missing arm was about to be the least of his worried. Shoving the rawhead back viciously with one arm, he made a desperate attempt to grab it with his free hand but it was just beyond his reach. It hit every other step before rolling to a stop on the welcome mat by the front door.

Sam swore in frustration.

The bag was rapidly emptying now. Soon the layer of canvas would be his only shield.

He made the split second decision to abandon the bag. With another firm kick, he fumbled in the bag with his free hand, gripping the barrel of the shotgun still tangled inside it. A carton of shells shook loose, rock salt cartridges scattering across the stairwell.

For one horrible moment, he thought he would have to abandon the gun too as he struggled to free it from the bag's strap, but with one final yank, the bag and the rawhead were on the floor and Sam was crashing into the wall, shotgun still in hand.

The creature sprang upward, seeming to hang in mid air, presenting the perfect target.

Sam obliged and without pausing to think about it, he raised the gun and fired.

The kick back slammed him heavily against the wall and he was blinking back stars. Nicola screamed again but the sound was muted with the discharge still ringing in his ears. The rawhead disappeared from view, falling away from the banister and back onto the landing floor.

He wasn't stupid enough to peer over the edge and see if the rock salt had hurt it. He wasn't sure if it would normally have been enough to even slow a rawhead down, but the point blank range had hopefully dazed it, however briefly.

Sam hurriedly filled his pockets with the few spilled shotgun shells still rolling placidly on the upper stairs. Then he took off after Nicola and Cody.

He lent heavily on the wall as he rounded the corner onto the landing, panting hard, trying to blink back the stars still crowding his vision. They were hovering in the doorway to Cody's room, Nicky beckoning frantically at him to hurry.

Sam shook his head and pushed away from the wall, swallowing down a sudden wave of nausea.

"Keep going, farther down," he issued quietly, turning to look back at the stairwell, which was still ominously silent. "Come on, quick. Through there." He herded them down the corridor to a door near its end.

"But that's Mrs. McAlister's room," Cody protested. "We can't go in there."

"I don't think she'll mind," Sam assured him, reaching past them and opening the door, leaning on the jam while he hurried them inside.

The room was bright and floral. The children were obviously uncomfortable to be in there but more importantly, as Sam remembered from his brief aborted tour, it had two entrances; the one they had just come through, and another at the far side of the room leading to a second staircase at the back of the house.

As quietly as he could, Sam grabbed the edge of the dressing table standing against the wall by the door and dragged it over so it was blocking the entrance. In the long run, it would do little to stop the rawhead's progress, but it might buy them a little time.

"What do we do now?"

"Can you kill it?"

"What about Mrs. McAlister?"

"Can I hold the gun?"

Sam leaned his elbow against the wall, cradling his head and trying to think. Two pairs of eyes peered at him expectantly, talking at him faster than he could keep up with.

"Sam?" Nicola called softly, taking a step towards him.

His arm slipped down the wall, throwing him off balance and he stumbled, the shotgun clattering loudly on the hardwood floor. When he straightened up, there was a streak of red against the magnolia wall.

"Sam." He blinked, bringing her face back into focus. "I said you're bleeding."

He looked down to see the sleeves of his shirt were both stained with blood. He remembered the claws raking across his biceps back in the laundry room and again during the battle on the stairs. Now he was thinking about it, his arms were starting to sting.

Nicola was still watching him, expression anxious. Cody had quieted too, he was biting his lip, eyes worryingly moist.

"I'm okay," he reassured them. He had to fight back a wave of dizziness as he bent to retrieve the shotgun, crossing the room and placing it on the bed where it was easily within his reach. The wound on his right arm was the worst, but there was little he could do about either of them now. Slowing the bleeding might buy them time, and maybe it would make them feel better to try.

"It's a scratch, we just need to… here." Slipping the knife from his belt, he used it to cut the frill off the edge of the floral bedspread. "Looks better without it anyway," he told Cody with a wink. He handed the flowery strip of bandage to Nicola. "Here, can you tie around there for me… tight." He winced. "Good."

The door rattled, the dressing table sliding an inch away from the wall, then fell still. There was a loud exhale of breath, then the corridor outside was silent.

Sam picked up the shotgun with his left hand, using his right to cup Nicola's cheek and draw her protectively close. Her hands fisted in his shirt briefly before she allowed herself to be manoeuvred behind him. Sam motioned to Cody with the hand holding the gun to fall into position on his other side.

He shifted the gun to his right hand, holding it ready, and backed slowly away from the door. He had his knife and shotgun but the only thing that could kill this thing was back in the stairwell, its replacement cartridge by the front door. Small fingers curled into the hem of his shirt and he straightened, his stance firm.

He'd known splitting up had been a bad idea, even if the thought of Dean near a deathly jolt of electricity made him want to vomit. But there was no way he could do this alone; all he had the means to do was keep it at bay.

He spared a brief glance to the children huddled behind him. Even after he'd shattered their world, even after he'd showed them the monsters that could live in the dark, they still stared back at him with nothing but trust in their eyes.

It was time to do something to earn that trust.

-0-

Dean swore softly as he called Sam's cell and went straight into voicemail. Splitting up had seemed like the perfect idea at the time, despite what the B-Movie horror films espoused; Dean dealing with the rawhead while Sam got to spend time indoors with the kids had seemed like a win-win situation. Except the lake had been a bust and now Dean's anxiety was ratcheting upward the longer he tried, and failed, to reach his brother.

Sprinting back to the Impala, Dean slung his weapons bag in the passenger seat—Sam's seat—and fired up the engine, ignoring the idyllic lakeside setting in his rearview mirror as he peeled out.

During the short drive he tried Sam's cell continuously. No dice.

Weapons bag in hand, Dean climbed the stairs to the McAlister's house and raised his hand to knock but abandoned that when he heard kids screaming inside. The front door was unlocked—Dean had to love these small towns where the idea of safety didn't include locking a door or having an alarm system—so he barreled inside, pausing on the welcome mat to figure out where the commotion was coming from.

His boot crunched something underfoot and Dean glanced down, more adrenaline shooting through his system as he recognized the replacement canister for the taser. A high pitched squeal had him bounding upstairs, his eyes cataloging loose rock salt cartridges scattered on the stairs. Instead of spreading breadcrumbs, it looked as though Sam had resorted to spreading the contents of his weapons bag for Dean to follow.

He almost lost his footing as he noticed a spray of red on the stairs and wall. Blood.

Sammy's blood? Dean ran up the stairs doing double time, following the path of red drips coating the floor. Making it slick. Making Dean nauseous.

Dean found where the trail of blood ended, right outside a closed door. His gun had been in his hand from the moment the kids had screamed and he raised it at the ready as he pushed the door open, putting his shoulder against it when he met resistance. He made enough space to slip an arm through so he could shove what turned out to be a table blocking the door.

Unnatural silence and two sets of very scared, very young eyes greeted him from where they were peaking at him from the closet door that was cracked open. Not exactly the best hiding place but before he pointed that out, his eyes darted around the room and alighted upon the smudge of bright red on the wall. More blood. "Are you okay? Where's Sam?"

Dean was practically growling he was so tense but he wasn't a stranger to the kids and Nicky spoke up promptly. "Cody was right. There was something in the cupboard. It came after us but Sam helped us. We're okay. But Sam—"

"Sam's hurt!" The younger boy blurted out. "But he told us to stay put and he'd take care of the monster. He said to tell you it's a raw—"

When Cody paused, swallowing convulsively, Nicky finished his thought. "—head."

"Okay, I'm going to get you to safety and then find Sam. Let's go." For a moment Dean had that warm, mushy feeling that made him want to smile, laugh, maybe even dance; Sam had known Dean would come for him. His little brother still counted on him.

Dean pushed that thought firmly aside. He expected the kids to fall in line behind him but when he got to the door, he turned to find Nicky and Cody standing next to the closet, but they weren't moving. "What now?"

"We're not leaving without Sam!" Cody spoke quietly but insistently. One moment the young boy had been all huge eyes and in need of protection and now he was acting like he was calling the shots instead of Dean. It really was like dealing with a miniature version of his brother.

"I can't help Sam and keep you safe at the same time. If you want to help Sam, follow me."

There was a brief moment of hissing between the siblings and then Nicky was confirming that they would follow.

As Dean checked the hallway and guided the kids toward the stairway, Dean couldn't help but wonder how the kids had gotten upstairs if the cupboard the rawhead was hanging out in was downstairs. Obviously these kids paid as much attention to the slasher films as Dean and Sam; splitting up…running upstairs…both of these actions screamed for retribution from the creature of the feature.

Except this time that wasn't going to happen. Dean was not going to let some second rate rawhead hurt his brother.

Dean hustled the kids downstairs and was met by the front door by Mrs. McAlister. He was expecting some sort of scene because her full lips were pursed, her wavy dark hair was disheveled, and her milky complexion was pink from exertion. She spoke before he could say a word. "You help Sam and we'll wait at the neighbors. Do you need me call anyone?"

Panicked understanding shone from her eyes and relief poured through Dean; he wouldn't have to do any fancy talking to get rid of her. She might not understand what exactly was going on but she wasn't going to make a scene. "We'll come get you when it's safe."

All but shoving the reluctant kids and woman safely from the house, Dean headed for the stairs, this time heading down. Dean grabbed his taser after tucking his Desert Eagle into the waistband of his jeans. For the second time that night, his foot crunched down on something.

A cell phone. A now cracked cell phone. Dean left it where it was and continued downward.

The basement was dark and dank and way too reminiscent of the basement where he'd confronted the last rawhead. He heard a noise in the corner and, taser at the ready, followed it.

He whipped around the corner and his heart pounded in his throat; Sam was leaning against the wall, panting softly, but upright.

"Dean. Finally." Sam slid down the drywall, landing unceremoniously on his ass. So much for being upright.

"Damn it, Sam. Why didn't you call?" Dean was kneeling next to his brother, one hand gripping the taser while the other brushed over Sam's limbs, searching for injuries.

In the dim glow of the light bulb suspended from the ceiling across the room, Dean could make out a myriad of cuts peppering Sam's pale face, some still sporting splinters. "Bloody-Bones got the jump on me. Apparently he didn't take too kindly to me finding his hiding spot. I lost everything when he tagged me 'it.' Are Cody and Nicky—?"

"They're fine. Next door with the delectable Mrs. McAlister." Dean could see the wound tied off on Sam's right bicep and it made him wince. It was time to end this Irish boogie man so he could take care of his brother. "I kind of noticed that you lost your stuff. I especially liked the trail of rock salt cartridges spread up the stairs. I hear that's very in right now."

Sam barked a laugh that quickly changed to a cough. Dean pulled Sam into his side, patting his back awkwardly, while he glanced around. Once his brother quieted, Dean could sense more than hear the quiet creep of something in the basement with them. "Come on, let's pin him down so we can let the kids know their favorite soccer coach is okay."

Dean extended his free hand and tugged Sam to his feet, only to watch any color that had seeped into his brother's face wash out as the kid staggered against the wall. It was more a controlled fall as Dean guided Sam back to the cement floor. "My leg. It won't," Sam paused, panting again, "hold my weight."

Eyes glancing downward, Dean saw the dark stain spreading across Sam's upper leg. The mother of all splinters stuck through the denim, announcing the source of the wound. "This keeps getting better and better. Let's get you upstairs and then I'll take care of this waste of flesh."

"I'm not leaving you, Dean. Leave me here and when the rawhead comes for me, you fry it." Dean already had his mouth open, marshalling his arguments, when a snick and drag nearby alerted him to how close their prey was to them. Close to his injured brother.

He didn't know if he had time enough to get Sam back up the stairs before the creature reached them, and supporting his brother's weigh wouldn't give him much room to manoeuvre in the event of an attack. They needed to finish this here.

Leaving Sam injured and in the rawhead's path, using him as bait – it went against every instinct Dean had. But as far as plans went, it was the best one they'd come up with all day. Sam obviously trusted him to take the monster down in time, and Dean trusted his brother's instincts – they'd been right so far. A little too right.

Dean melted back into the darkness, hoping the scent of Sam's blood would throw the rawhead off his own trail. It didn't take long before a crouching form shuffled toward the wilting body heaped against the wall.

He hoped to hell that Sam was playacting and hadn't actually passed out. Checking his feet for moisture—there would be no repeat of their last meeting with a rawhead—Dean sighted the creature. It made a creepy snuffling sound and before Dean could persuade himself he'd get a better shot, he fired the taser.

There was a sizzle and a snap followed by a bright flash.

When he could see again, Dean saw the rawhead was a smoking pile of bones at Sam's feet.

Sam wasn't moving.

Dean kicked the blob away from his brother before tugging Sam back into his arms. "Nice shot." The voice was way too quiet with a slight wheeze but the kid was at least conscious.

The relief was so intense that Dean almost let himself wilt against the wall next to Sam. Instead he leaned his forehead against his brother's for a moment. Just to catch his breath.

God, he loved this kid. Even if he seemed intent on scaring the bejeezus out of Dean.

-0-

Sam didn't want to admit it to his brother, but he'd grayed out there right when Dean had moved away to line up his shot. He was sick of being the weak one, although between the shtriga's attack and the damage the rawhead had inflicted on him, Sam felt just being awake at this point was a win.

He wanted to push Dean's hands off of him, push himself to his feet, but he barely had the strength to hold his head up. He sighed, which set off a round of coughing. "Come on, Francis. The damp basement is only going to exacerbate your cough."

Exacerbate. That was a good word. Dean tried to play himself off like he was stupid but Sam wasn't going to let his brother hide behind his self deprecating sense of humor; he was wise to him. Except Dean was poking around his thigh and damn, that hurt and Sam couldn't think of anything. He could only breathe through the pain.

"Sammy? You with me?" Sam snapped his eyes open to find the intense green stare of his brother in his face.

His thigh throbbed but it had dulled to a pain he could handle. His cough had settled to an aggravating tickle. His face itched but when he raised a shaky hand, Dean grabbed it gently. "Nuh-uh. I'll take care of your splinters as soon as we get back to our motel. Unless we need to hit the hospital?"

"The motel, after we see Nicky and Cody." Dean's face split into a smile and Sam couldn't help but smile back. Except the itches flared to sharp aches over his face, which chased his smile away.

His answer seemed to satisfy Dean. He found himself hauled to his feet and he let himself lean against his brother's side, waiting for the dizziness to settle. The first thing he noticed was that Dean had taken care of the rawhead's carcass. Good riddance.

They'd find the kids and head back to the motel. Dean would patch him. They'd wait for their dad to text new coordinates.

It might not be the usual circle of life but it certainly seemed to be the pattern they were stuck in.

At least Sam was with Dean. That somehow made this whole hunting thing bearable this time around. Sam opened his mouth to share some of these amazing insights but he only managed a groan and they set off for the stairs.

Dean squeezed his hip in sympathy. Sometimes words weren't needed.

The End