"I should kick your ass for making me take that crap," Dean growled as he staggered through the airport terminal.

Sam, staying close in case of a fall, rolled his eyes to the ceiling as though asking a higher power for assistance. "It's not my fault you took the Dramamine with the entire airplane minibar."

"That's for motion sickness, Sam! I'm afraid the plane is going to crash, not that I'm gonna barf all over it!"

Dean noticed his brother's guilty expression out of the corner of his eye, and decided to push it a little more. Sam deserved it anyway. "And now, thanks to you, it's possible that I'm going to puke all over this airport."

"I got it so you could sleep for some of the flight," Sam tried to explain. "I didn't know you were planning to drown yourself at the same time."

"Drinking helps me sleep, Sam!"

Dean slowed his pace, then stopped, bracing himself against a wall as he swallowed and kept his breathing steady despite the nausea churning away in his stomach.

"Pepto?" Sam asked.

Dean held up a finger, opened his mouth to answer, then shut it quickly, keeping back a burp. He waited, holding his breath and staring at the floor.

When the sloshing in his digestive system waned a bit, he answered gruffly, "Maybe."

The pair made it to baggage claim without incident, but Dean still felt uneasy on his feet. Sam stood waiting for their luggage to appear as Dean lowered himself gently into a stiff plastic chair. It felt a little better to sit down. He released another silent belch, which gave him a bit of relief within his tormented intestines.

Maybe if he ate something? Dean cringed to himself at the very thought of food. Picturing a stacked burger, or a meat-stuffed hoagie made his insides squirm even more than they already were. Pepto might be the better option.

Dean watched blearily while Sam approached, wheeling their bags behind him, and felt a headache coming on.

"You look green," he said with concern.

"Thanks."

"Okay, you stay here and I'll go find –"

"No, let's just get out of here," Dean said. "We'll get to the hotel, and then no more traveling."

"Right," Sam said, still looking uneasily at his older brother.

Dean took his bag and followed Sam out to the pickup area, Sam having mentioned something about booking a taxi that would take them into the city.

Sure enough, they located a man standing outside a black car holding a sign that read "Winchester".

"Eiell tahk dos. Yun getten."

Dean stared blankly at the cabbie while a surge of panic alerted his brain. He looked at Sam who nodded and released his bag while the cabbie opened the back door of the car.

"Thanks," Sam said, folding himself into the back seat of the car. Dean hurriedly followed him. Once they were seated, the cabbie slid their bags inside at their feet.

"Wharbuts yun cuhmminfro?" The driver asked once he was settled up front.

"Oh my God, I thought they spoke English here!" Dean exclaimed belligerently.

Sam kept his eyes forward. "We're from the U.S. Kansas state," he answered the driver.

"They do speak English here, jackass. It's England," Sam muttered quietly. "Just pay attention, you'll get used to it."

The panic settled. Dean never wanted to go anywhere where people could say stuff to his face that he couldn't understand. It wouldn't be fair and would most likely end up with him punching somebody and getting arrested … again.

Sam began studying a map on his phone as the black taxi pulled out of the airport and onto the motorway. Dean, still feeling sick, bent over in his seat, putting his head between his knees.

"So, the hunt –" Sam paused. "The guy who called us said there have been literally hundreds of sightings of these things," he continued, keeping his voice low. "He sent me this map where they've been spotted, and it seems to center around southern England. London especially, but no one can figure out why."

Dean sat up a little, his elbows on his knees. "Well, that's why we're here isn't it?"

"Yeah, but, I don't know," Sam said uncertainly, scratching an eyebrow. "He said that they can't make head or tail of them. Nobody's seen anything like them. I brought Dad's and Bobby's journals just in case, but –"

"Sammy?" Dean said.

"Yeah?"

"Maybe let's do this after the pepto, all right?"

"Yeah," Sam said, putting his phone away.

There wasn't a notable city in the United States that Dean hadn't been through at least once; hunting a nest of vampires, or trolling cemeteries for a certain grave.

London was big, sure. There was a different look to it than most cities he'd seen. But, cities were cities to Dean. They all blurred together in his head with their wealthy areas, homeless problems, tourist attractions, and fifty Starbucks stores per square mile.

Their cab weaved its way through town, Sam peering out the window, making note of any landmark they passed - seemed like he did that every freaking half block. Dean mostly stared at the unkempt carpeted floor of the taxi, waiting until he could finally crash on a bed somewhere. A couch would do. Hell, even a floor, as long as no one tripped over him.

At long last they pulled up to a building about a block away from the riverfront. It looked like part of an apartment building, but Dean couldn't tell which was the front or the back.

"This is the hotel?"

Sam shrugged. "It's more like a bed and breakfast. We'll have to be careful about using walls for anything," he explained as he got out of the car.

"Breakfast?" Dean called after him.

Sam paid the driver while Dean attempted to straighten himself out after sitting in that cramped back seat for a half hour. His stomach didn't object to the movement, which he took as a good sign.

The pair rolled their luggage behind them in search of what they believed to be a front door to the place. Sam knocked on a little white door they found, the top of which met Dean at about eye level. He knew it was even shorter for Sam.

It opened a crack. "Please go round back. Aye thank ya." The door shut again.

"It's weird here," Dean said flatly.

"Go around back," Sam repeated, turning around.

They lumbered around the building until they were met by a little yard surrounded by a short fence. Dean glimpsed a back door amongst the flowers and foliage. The sound of it opening reached them, followed by scampering feet along pavement.

A happy round face met them at the gate along the fence.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that, boys! You'd be the Winchesters?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam replied, unable to contain his smile.

The kind-faced woman opened the gate for them, and led them through the yard to the back door. "That was my husband, ya see. He's very orderly. Likes things a certain way. But don't let that bother you. You'll be very comfortable here. Well …" Before she opened the door, she gave both brothers a hard look up and down, her neck craning a bit. "You two will probably have to bend a bit here and there so you'll fit, but I think you'll be comfortable just the same."

Mr. and Mrs. Happing owned the cozy three story building that served as a nice B&B and also their home. Mrs. Happing led the boys up two flights of stairs to what would be their room, Sam and Dean hunching over in order to fit through doorways.

The room was decent enough, although Dean would probably have to sit down in the tub to take a shower in the adjoining bathroom. Sam would have to sit down to do just about any normal human task in this place. The beds were narrow, but Dean didn't care. They were beds.

Mrs. Happing informed the boys that tea would be ready soon if they wanted something to eat.

"Anything else ya need, just give me a holler," she said with a smile.

"Actually," Sam started. "Is there a drug store or anything close by?"

"Yes, there is, but if it's medicine you're needing, I have some stocked here, if you like."

"Pepto Bismol? Something for upset stomach."

"Oh, I see. I thought something was wrong with that one. Looked a bit off colour." Mrs. Happing nodded at Dean who rubbed a hand over his face and sat down on a bed.

"Thanks a lot, Mrs. Happing," Sam said as she left.

Dean lay down and closed his eyes, while his muscles slowly relaxed. He sighed contentedly, his feet hanging over the edge of the bed.

"I don't think we fit in this country," he said.

"I know," Sam agreed. "I feel like Andre the Giant."

"Nah, he had better hair."

Dean chuckled at his own joke as Sam took off his boots.

"Can we go over stuff now? Stanley was going to meet us tonight."

"Yeah, sure."

"The only commonality I can see about the places these things have been seen is the population numbers. Small villages and towns rarely get touched by these things," Sam explained, getting out his laptop. "Looks like they hang around places that have more people."

London and its suburbs were being hit the most, and there have been casualties. Hunters have faced these creatures and were never heard from again. Those who managed to escape – hunters and civilians alike – described them as dark, cold, making no noise of any kind.

The worst part of the descriptions Sam received from Stanley was the lights going out, even flashlights, when the creatures drew near. After darkness took over, victims experienced thoughts of fear, pain. Horrible memories would return, amplified and terrible, nearly paralyzing any person in its path.

"With all of this happening, are the British Men of Letters just sitting with their thumbs up their asses? I thought they had this whole city warded."

"According to Stanley, they are … aware of the situation. Their wards aren't working. And also according to Stanley, 'they won't do a damn thing until they've finished their bloody research'."

"Meanwhile, people are dying," Dean said angrily.

"That's the thing," Sam said. "No bodies have been found. People have just gone missing."

Dean pursed his lips while he mulled everything over. The idea that this could be too big for them to handle floated across his mind. But, he and Sam have handled so much. He could never truly believe that there was something out there that the two of them couldn't take on together. That's possibly why Stanley contacted them in the first place. The Winchesters had an established reputation after all.

"Stanley knew Bobby, right?" he asked.

"Bobby came over here sometimes if there was something really big Stanley needed help with," Sam explained. "I guess Bobby gave him our number as a backup."

"So we meet him tonight, and try to gank one of these things? Sounds fun," Dean said, stretching on the bed and stifling a yawn.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "Everything has a weakness, right? Just a matter of finding it."

"Uh-huh."

"You get some sleep. I'll try and dig up some food."

"Sure," Dean said lazily as he rolled over, already drifting off.

When Sam woke him up, the room was dark along with the outside. Sam was ready to go, a bag of gear over his shoulder. Feeling more like himself, Dean got dressed quickly and found his jacket.

On their way out of the Happing's, Sam handed him half a sub sandwich to eat on the way. Dean's stomach growled at the aroma of roast beef and mustard and began wolfing it down as they made their way through the back gate.

Turned out that Sam booked the Happing's place on purpose, knowing it was only a short walking distance away from where Stanley wanted to meet.

Wishing he had a beer, Dean finished the last of the sandwich when they stopped at a street corner after about three blocks. Traffic wasn't very busy in the area, and there were a handful of people in sight, walking to and from the intersection, keeping quiet as if the night called for it.

"What time is it?" Dean asked.

"About 10:30."

Dean cursed.

"What?" Sam twitched around.

"I'll never get to sleep tonight now."

Sam shook his head, but didn't respond.

Diagonally across the street, a light blinked on and off, on and off. It repeated four times and stopped.

"That's us," Sam said, starting across.

"Why do I feel like we're about to rob some place?"

"Stanley's a little … twitchy. He prefers to stay hidden as much as possible."

They reached the opposite street corner, and headed across a patch of grass that led into a small playground. Stanley was found in the shrubbery on the other side.

"Sam?" he asked tentatively.

"That's me. This is my brother, Dean."

"Wotcher. Thanks to both of you for comin'," Stanley said from a crouched position behind a bush.

He beckoned the Winchesters to follow suit. Dean reluctantly sat down on the damp grass, his arms propped up on his knees.

"Have you seen anything yet?" Sam asked seriously.

"Nothin' yet. But, you just wait a bit. You'll see."

Stanley shined his flashlight in between them, the light casting odd shadows on their faces. From what Dean could tell, Stanley was older, his hair greying at the temples and along his hairline. His eyes were dark, and his skin a light caramel color, which looked yellowish in limited flashlight beam.

"It'll come here?" Dean asked.

"They will."

Stanley shuddered and Dean exchanged a look with Sam, knowing exactly what the other thought. This guy's about to lose it.

"Do you know when?"

"It varies," Stanley answered. "Thirty minutes, maybe an hour. They tend to keep hidden durin' the day. Might know they're bein' hunted, I dunno. But at night, it's hard not to find them."

Dean got up on his knees and peered over the bushes. There wasn't a lot of light in the playground area, but there were street and traffic lights at the intersection they just crossed.

"They don't seem to know it, but I've noticed more and more civvies stayin' at home once the sun goes down," Stanley continued. "Like somehow they already know."

A tap of cold metal hit his hand and Dean took his gun by the grip without looking, stuffing it in the back of his pants.

"That won't work, boys," Stanley whispered. "We've tried everything. Salt, holy water, silver, iron, fire – nothing seems to work."

Dean sat back on his knees. "So, wards don't work."

Stanley shook his head.

"None of the usual stuff works."

More shaking.

"What about another creature? Demons? Angels, maybe?" Sam tried.

"Nothing else will go near them. The demon we asked –"

"Asked?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Well, dealt with, I should say," Stanley corrected. "He said that he doesn't know what they are, but the need to distance himself from it was – instinctive."

"Wonderful," Dean said, throwing his hands up. "Creature from hell with no weakness."

"We know what comes from hell, Dean," Stanley said softly. "They make me believe that there's someplace worse."

"How do you know there's a 'they'?" Sam asked. "The reports I read couldn't really describe one. Just that it was cold and –"

Stanley slapped a hand over Sam's mouth, which made Dean go for his gun. But he paused, ears pricked.

Stanley released Sam and pressed a finger to his lips, his eyes wide with fear. Together, the three of them got up just enough to look over the bushes and across the playground.

Dean felt a chill upon seeing the streetlights had gone out, leaving the area nearly pitch black. Stanley's flashlight remained on, as the chill grew colder.

Sam's breath came out in cloud of mist in front of him. The last thing Dean saw was his brother's eyes, apprehensive, before the flashlight died.

"Shit."

Something rustled next to them.

"Stanley!" Sam hissed.

The clamoring footsteps of their fellow hunter grew louder when he ran off the grass and onto the street. The flashlight came back on and Dean snatched it up when they heard a scream.

"Stanley!" Dean yelled, unconcerned about the noise.

Sam grabbed his bag and ran in the direction of the scream, Dean at his side.

"No! No, please! Please stop. I can't take anymore. I don't know where it is!" Stanley sobbed.

The flashlight flickered and went out again. The two men stopped, Dean squinting up the street, believing he saw a figure there before the light went out.

Another whimper echoed around them, and another light shined faintly, blue and white, illuminating Stanley's face, his mouth gaping open and his eyes wide with terror. He didn't respond when Sam called to him. The light faded and Dean heard the unmistakable sound of a body collapsing to the ground.

The air was cold again, freezing. Dean saw Sam in front of him in broad daylight, a great wind whipping around his face, pulling at his hair and coat. Dean's heart stopped as Sam turned his back to the gaping hole in the ground, closed his eyes and spread his arms wide, like the wings of a great bird.

"NO!" Dean screamed, falling to his knees, shivering from the cold.

Tears came to his eyes when his dad smiled at him for the last time before Yellow Eyes stole his soul. "Dad! Dad stop! No, please!"

A hot orange light erupted in front of him. Dean looked up and saw Mary burning. His mother was dying. Why didn't someone do something? Someone save her! She's screaming. Can't you see she's in pain?

Dean's desperate thoughts took him over until he felt a cold touch on his face. "Please, please make it stop. You have to save her, please," he begged the gentle thing that held him.

Another shout from a great distance reached him. Another memory. Dean reached out and touched thin, worn fabric as a blinding white light seared his eyes. The touch was ripped away, and Dean fell to the earth. He blinked the light out of his eyes and could barely focus on a pale, glowing white figure moving gracefully toward him.

Dean laughed madly at the lovely creature until it blurred in front of him, and darkness took over.