A/N: The title is from the Alison Krauss and Union Station song, Ghost in this House. The song is totally unrelated to the story, but I love the lyrics, and the phrase is apt. If you haven't heard it, you should have a listen. The song is originally by a band called Shenandoah, but that's not the version I know.

I'm still working on my Dark Angel story, Shelter from the Storm, but I'm having some writer's block and the only things shaking loose at the moment are the chapter after the one I'm supposed to be working on and this Wee!Chester angst-a-rama fanfic. I'll get there with Shelter from the Storm, but in the meantime I at least wanted to post something to prove I haven't up and died. This one will be shorter than Shelter, probably six short-ish chapters once I've tweaked and divvied it all up.

Disclaimer: The Dothro is a made up creature. The Winchesters, the impala, Pastor Jim and anything recognisable from Supernatural were not made up by me. Would that there was money in fanfiction...

He Shines With Your Light

Chapter One: It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye

Dean was psyched. Dad was letting them come on the hunt this time because it was the vacation. So, no school, and evil beasties to track down and kill. How awesome was his summer going to be? Other kids would be killing time hanging out at the mall and seeing lame teen movies. He was going to be making the world safer for democracy and pet rabbits and hot chicks in tiny shorts. Sweet.

Dad said it was called a Dothro. A light thief, whatever that meant. Souls or energy or something. Dad reckoned it was real old though, killed lots of people, so that meant it was time for it to get its head hacked off and its body burned. Or however you killed this one. They'd head out tomorrow and Dean and Sam would be Dad's back up, learning to kick evil's ass at the feet of the master.

But that was tomorrow. Tonight he wasn't above wasting a little time at the movies. Maria Tucci looked awesome in her tiny little shorts, and after the movie, if he was really lucky and the universe was kind to him, maybe she'd look even more awesome in the back of the impala out of her tiny little shorts.

"Dean!" The yell and the damp dish towel slapping his face brought his attention back to the here and now.

"What?" Sam was doing his best bitch face. How long had he been spaced out?

"Are you coming or not?"

"Coming where?"

"Basketball. Donnie Baker's backyard."

"As much as I'd love to kick your ass at basketball, tiny little man, I've got a lady to sa-tis-fy tonight."

"Oh, gross!"

"You'll learn, little dude. Ladies are not gross. Far from it. Ladies are as close to heaven as we'll get without dying."

"Girls aren't gross, Dean. You are."

"Nice," Dean flicked the dish towel back at Sam, "Now ask me for a ride, Sammy."

"Deeeaan!"

"Come on, get your crap already. I got places to be."

###

Dean woke with the sun and a grin on his face. Maria was the new word for pleasure. Maria. He breathed deeply and stretched. Hmmm, he could still smell her flowery shampoo on his t-shirt. Life was good.

He rolled over. Sammy was still asleep, sprawled with arms akimbo and mouth wide open, snoring gently. The kid had an excellent shiner, courtesy of Donnie Baker's elbow. He'd have to get to the bottom of that one. Accident or foul play? The answer would determine whether or not he needed to put a Donnie Baker beat down on his to do list.

In the meantime, there was every likelihood of a sleepless night coming up, depending on the ease of tracking the Dothro and how hard it was to kill, so he'd let Sammy sleep a little longer. He rolled out of bed and headed for the bathroom.

A quick shower and he slipped out to pick up the paper and some pastries for breakfast. He always took advantage when Dad was home because there was no money for pastries when he took off to hunt alone. Dean had to make sure funds lasted in case Dad was held up longer than he thought.

He let himself in the kitchen door and Dad greeted him with the usual dawn grunt and a nod, reaching for the box of pastries like a life raft. Dean grinned, still in an obnoxiously good mood. The sun was shining, coffee was brewing, juice was on the table and he pulled up a chair and sighed with satisfaction.

Two coffees and some sugary carbs later and Dad was up to conversation, finally. Thank god. Dean was about to start poking at the lion if he hadn't said something soon. He was in too good a mood to sit in silence all morning.

"You up for some sparring this morning? You boys need to be at the top of your game for this hunt."

"Sure. I could use some exercise."

"I can see that. You're practically vibrating this morning. Good night?"

"Oh man, yes. Maria-"

"Hold it there, Romeo. I don't need details. Just tell me you were careful and respectful."

"Absolutely. Perfect gentleman. We have another date Friday."

"You're not getting in too deep? We won't be here forever."

"God, no. Maria's fun and all, but she's not into that any more than I am."

"Good. You wanna go get Sammy up? Breakfast'll be stale if he doesn't shake a leg."

"Sure. You see his shiner?"

"Yeah, apparently he got the basket anyway."

"That's my Sammy. Always with his eye on the prize."

"Kid did it deliberately?"

"Don't know yet. I got his back though."

"I know. Good man." It was just a throwaway comment, but Dean's chest swelled just a little at his father's praise as he ran upstairs to get his brother.

###

Dean went easy on Sammy on account of his shiner, but hard on his Dad on account of all the energy he needed to work off so he could focus and be steady on the hunt. He took his Dad down more than once and John grinned, slapped him on the back for his work and told him he'd be driving this trip. Dad's approval wasn't easy to come by and twice in one day, plus getting to drive the impala for a few hours out on the highway had Dean's mood flying.

They would be based at Pastor Jim's for a couple of days. The Dothro had been doing its damage in and around Blue Earth. They packed up duffels and piled into the impala after lunch. The windows were rolled down and there was no traffic and the impala roared over the blacktop eating up the miles. He was with his Dad and Sammy and since the driver got to pick the music the soundtrack was Zeppelin. He breathed deeply, feeling relaxed and happy and free.

"How come Pastor Jim's not taking care of it," Sammy asked. Usually they went to Blue Earth so Dad could hunt with the Pastor.

"He threw his back out on a shapeshifter hunt a couple of weeks back."

"Pastor Jim's getting old," Dean observed.

Dad smirked, "You wanna tell him that? You might've taken your old man down today, but you get on Jim Murphy's bad side and see how you like it."

###

They pulled into the driveway around three and Pastor Jim came out to greet them as they unloaded duffels and weapons from the trunk.

"How you boys doing?" He walked forward and pulled Sam and then Dean into quick hugs. John got a warm handshake and shoulder slap.

They followed him inside and at his instruction dumped their stuff in their usual rooms. It was nice to have somewhere familiar, sort of homey to come back to now and then.

Dean loved driving into town, loved the Jolly Green Giant (though he didn't admit that out loud) and he loved the comfortable old house, full of stuff the Pastor had picked up on his missionary trips. Some pretty wicked looking hunting weapons from Africa and South America. And the masks were cool. The Pastor had hunted evil on pretty much every continent.

###

They spent the afternoon prepping weapons and finishing up research. Jim went over the background. He'd got wind of the case because the last victim had been one of his parishioners, Manny Cotton. Cotton hadn't made it to work one morning. He'd been found unresponsive in the parking lot. Jim had been called to his bedside in the hospital. The doctor had written up a stroke, but Jim had made his own examination with a more open mind and had been horrified to discover that the man's inner light had been taken. Cotton died two hours later.

Jim dug deeper and found evidence of similar cases. There had been four attacks each year as far back as the records went. He'd collected information on all the victims. All of the attacks had been fatal, with the victim either found dead or dying within a few hours, generally diagnosed with stroke or sudden cardiac death. A few of those who hadn't died immediately had been reported as being seemingly awake, but totally blank, as though their bodies were still functioning but just empty of life.

There was no pattern to the victims, it wasn't picky, seemingly just opportunistic, but its hunting grounds were fairly narrow. All the attacks had occurred in a fifteen mile radius, most within five miles.

Jim and John had both been researching for more than a week but there wasn't a lot of material, mainly obscure references, and, as with a lot of their hunts, the lore was contradictory. Still, based on what they had turned up, they agreed that the MO suggested Dothro.

Neither they, nor any of the hunters they knew between them had hunted one before but Dad had heard from Caleb, who knew someone, who knew someone, who'd known a hunter back in the sixties who'd reportedly faced one of these things and killed it with a head shot of silver, so he was fairly sure that silver would work, and if not he also had consecrated iron, brass, holy water, salt and the old standby of a plastic can of kerosene and a Zippo.

"What is inner light?" asked Sam.

"It's the spark that brings us to life when we are created and becomes what makes each person special in their own way. Our inner light drives our personalities, our dreams and beliefs."

"Like a soul?"

"It's the force that fuels mind and soul and body and keeps them united.

"How could you tell that Mr Cotton's light was gone?" Sam asked.

"I could feel it when I said a prayer over him."

"How did it feel? I mean, how was it different from just dying of a stroke?"

"Sam. Don't bother Jim. The man was a friend." John's tone was just on the cusp of short.

"No, that's ok, John. It's an important question. It's hard to explain. I have been around death a lot. My flock often ask me to be there at the point of death to offer prayers and comfort. I don't know if it's the same for other men of God, but I can feel the moment the light is extinguished when a person dies and their soul moves to the next world. With Manny, he felt that way when I arrived, before he died."

"Ok," Sam nodded slowly.

"That doesn't help you, does it?" Jim observed wryly.

"I guess we wouldn't be able to tell if you weren't there."

"Can't say. I'm sure there are some people who can. Some of the accounts we've found suggest there were those who felt something. They were the stories that confirmed this was a hunt."

"Ok boys, gear up."

Dean slipped his pistol in his waistband and his sawed off into his jacket.

"You ready? Focused?"

"Yes sir." Dean was responsible for watching his Dad's back and Sammy and there was nothing he took more seriously than that.

"Sammy?"

"Yes sir." Sam was nervous. He wasn't into hunting like Dean was, but he wanted to do it right when he did go. And he sure didn't like the idea of having his light stolen. Dean put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Just stay close, ok, kiddo."

"Yeah." Sam was a little pale, but he managed a smile.

###

They started at the centre of the hunting grounds. Joy of joys, the creature, not looking entirely human, generally stayed underground. They would be rousting the sucker from a filthy sewer. The county blueprints had shown them that the sewer grid contained many miles of tunnels, so they may be searching for some time, maybe even some days depending on whether the signs were obvious.

Still, nothing could dampen Dean's mood. This was great. This was what it felt like to have purpose. Forget school, and trying to keep up with boring pointless assignments, trying to catch up at one school or having to cover the same mind-numbing ground in another. Here he was doing something important, something he could be proud of.

Three hours later he was still clinging to that sense of purpose, but the mood was a little less exuberant. God, sewers stank. Obviously they stank, but they really stank. He'd be smelling that in his dreams. He tried to recall the scent of Maria's shampoo as a distraction from the smell.

It was a lot harder to distract himself from the rats. God, he hated rats. They were disgusting, disease ridden, bitey, skittering little freaks, and he hated them. One had run over his boot and it had taken all he had not to cry out like a little girl. Maybe he didn't just hate them; maybe he was a little scared of them. Ok, a lot scared. But who could blame a guy when as a kid he'd woken up one morning in a skanky motel to the pain of one biting down on his hand? That was a memory to keep a guy up nights. He shuddered.

"You ok dude?" Dad whispered. He'd noticed the shudder. Fan-frigging-tastic.

"Fine."

"Rats, huh? Nasty little critters."

"You don't like them?"

"No one likes 'em, Dean. Too bad we can't shoot 'em. Give away our position."

"Damn straight. If we had silencers..."

"Not a bad idea kid. Maybe I'll look into that for next time."

"There has to be a next time? What about if we take out an ad, say we're above ground hunters. Winchester and Sons' Above Ground Hunting Services. No job too small, as long as there's no rats. Sounds pretty good, huh?"

Dad snorted and cuffed his shoulder affectionately. That'd be a no then.

###

Sam was trudging behind Dad and just ahead of him. At first he'd been doing his alert, wary hunter's walk, all stealthy and ready for anything. Now he was just trudging. He was only thirteen, and Dean figured four hours was a long time for a kid to keep up that level of focus and urgency.

"Hey Sammy, how you doing?"

"Bored."

"No kidding."

"Maybe it's not even here."

"Gotta rule it out though, right."

"I guess. But just think what we could be doing if we weren't down in the rat infested sewers. One ran over my shoe."

"You too huh?"

"God I hate rats. You remember that time you got bit? I thought you were gonna get rabies and die."

"You remember that? You were only, what five?"

"Of course. It was scary."

Ok, maybe it wasn't just him. Still, dwelling on stuff wasn't good for morale, "Drama queen."

"No Dean, they carry all sorts of gross diseases. You could've got really sick. I don't think it's sanitary to be down here you know."

"Of course it's not sanitary. It's a sewer; it's the opposite of sanitary."

"Why would anyone wanna live in a sewer? If I were a powerful supernatural creature killing my way through the ages, I wouldn't live in a sewer."

"Where would you live?"

"I was gonna steal someone's light I wouldn't think twice about taking their wallet too. Then I'd save up and buy a mansion or something."

"Gotta have ambition," Dean agreed with a smile.

###

Dad had point, so he saw the thing first and signalled for them to hold position. Dean crept up to his shoulder and took in the sight of it, scrunching his face in disgust. It was crouched in a corner, chewing on a rat. It didn't appear to have noticed them.

Sammy pushed between them to take a look himself.

"What's it doing? I thought it ate light?" he whispered.

"Maybe it wanted a snack?" Dean offered.

"Shh!" Dad slid his gun from his waistband and clicked off the safety. He took aim and fired.

The silver round spun through the air and hit the Dothro dead centre of its forehead. Dad had awesome aim. Unfortunately the silver didn't have quite the effect he'd been expecting. As it touched the Dothro's flesh, the bullet simply melted away.

Now the creature noticed them. It dropped the mangled rat and rose slowly to its feet. Oh, shit.

The Dothro was taller than a man, elongated and all sharp angles with long, elegant fingers tapering into pointed claws. Its hairless skin seemed to exude a silvery light while its eyes were burning red coals. The air around it shimmered with power in the darkness of the tunnel.

Dad pushed both boys back into the shadows behind him, preparing to make a tactical retreat.

"I see you hunter. You presume to disturb my refuge? You have no weapon to harm me. You should not have come here." It moved with a sinuous grace, deceptively fast.

Dad pulled a machete from his waistband; silver bullets had no effect, so he would try to hold it off with an iron blade.

"Boys, run, now!" He turned and pushed them urging them back the way they'd come then spun back to face the creature.

"Dad? You're coming too?"

"I'm right behind you!" Dad slashed at the Dothro, but the blade simply slid over the creature's glistening flesh. It lashed out a clawed hand and Dad dropped into a roll just out of reach. Dean pushed Sam forward, urging him on faster. The Dothro seemed to glide past them, cutting off their retreat and just as it reached forward, Dean grabbed Sam by his collar and dragged his younger brother behind him. He looked up open mouthed at the Dothro, towering above him, at least seven feet tall. He turned into the wall, shielding Sam as Dad sprang between the creature and his boys.

And then Dad was down and the creature was hovering over him, and a pale yellow light was drawn from his chest over his heart and taken into the Dothro's own chest. Dad's hands clutched at the creature's arms, trying vainly to pull free.

"Dad!" Dean called in panic. Shit, what the hell did he do now? That thing was killing Dad. No way. Not gonna happen. He reached into his pack for the gun loaded with the consecrated iron rounds. Maybe that would work. He fired, and again the bullet just touched the Dothro's skin like a caress and dissolved. It didn't even notice; it was so intent on his father.

"Dean?" Sammy's voice held horror and tears, and jacked up Dean's protective instincts several notches higher. He was not gonna let this thing kill Dad in front of Sammy. He pushed Sam back into the wall, trying to keep him from watching, as he pulled out the holy water and flipped the lid as he squeezed a spray over the creature.

It looked up calmly, as though curious, certainly not in pain, and regarded Dean with burning eyes, deep and powerful and without fear. He shuddered involuntarily.

"Your weapons cannot harm me, child, and you should understand symbols before you try to use them. I am older by far than the Son you invoke to make your water holy. Go now and I will not harm you or the infant." At the Dothro's words, Dean instinctively shifted to ensure Sam was out of sight behind him, but it turned its attention back to Dad as though dismissing them. Dad wasn't struggling now; his hands lay open at his sides. Dean's heart pounded painfully. He'd never seen his Dad incapable of fighting and it shocked and terrified him.

"Try the salt. It's older than Jesus," Sam murmured, and Dean took the can the younger boy handed him without question and threw a handful over the creature's back. This time there was a response; the skin rippled as though burning and though it repaired itself almost instantly, the creature hissed in pain and anger, and fixed Dean with a fierce look as it lashed out so fast, he couldn't avoid the swipe.

For all its grace, it hit like a Mack truck, and Dean found himself lifted off his feet and slammed into the wall, winded and seeing stars. He slid to his knees, fighting nausea and his body's attempt to pass out, then Sam was beside him, and he forced himself to pull it together. He couldn't let Dad down; he had to keep Sammy safe.

"Salt, Sammy," he ground out through the urge to hurl. The younger boy pressed the canister back into his hand and helped him to stand. His head finally cleared and his stomach settled, thank god it was just a winding, nothing worse. If he'd gone down, what would have happened to Sammy? He gently pushed his brother behind him again and moved forward towards the creature. The salt had done something, not much, but something. Maybe he could use it to make it let Dad go at least.

As he raised his arm to throw the salt, the creature looked up again and his hand froze. "You are a brave hunter, child, but you are too late." It rose calmly and regarded the two boys with something approaching sympathy and then addressed itself again to Dean.

"I feed only four times each year. I will not harm you if you leave and do not return. If you attempt to hunt me again, I will take you both."

Dean's heart lurched and he couldn't breathe. Too late? Dad was dead? It couldn't be true. He dropped his arm abruptly. The salt would not kill the creature. He didn't want to disappoint Dad, but had no choice but to let it go for now. He knew Dad would understand; protecting Sam came before everything.

He summoned his courage so that his voice wouldn't betray him before the Dothro, "You will let us take our Dad." It wasn't a question and the creature frowned in surprise. It nodded respectfully and gestured with its hand as it moved away down the tunnel, silent and sinuous.

Dean knelt by his father, lying motionless on the ground, and laid a shaking hand on his chest.

"Dean, is he..." Sam's voice was hesitant and fearful.

"Shh, Sammy, I'm trying to check," he leaned over and listened for breath sounds. He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes. Dad was still breathing; they still had a chance.

"Dad? Wake up!" He shook him by the shoulders, but there was no response.

"Dean, Mr Cotton didn't die right off. It was a few hours." Dean turned slightly, taking in the tears on his little brother's face.

"Dad's not gonna die, Sammy. We're not gonna let him."

"All the others died, Dean," Sammy was crying in earnest now, his smaller hand curled into his father's large one.

"They weren't Dad, and they didn't have us. Come on, dude. Pull it together. We've gotta get him back to Pastor Jim's and we've gotta find a way to get his light back." He put a steadying hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed. "Sammy, come on, help me get him up. We don't have time to screw around!"

Between them they manoeuvred Dad up over Dean's shoulder into a fireman's carry. Jesus, Dad was heavy. He steadied himself against the wall for a moment, Sam keeping a hand on his arm as he fought to gain his balance, and then took a few tentative steps, checking his centre of gravity.

"Come on, man, grab the bags and let's get out of here."

Unluckily for Dean they were on the outer edge of their search grid and so it was a three mile slog (no breaks; there was no time to stop and rest) to the sewer entrance where the car was parked. That was before he had to climb forty six rungs of ladder to get to the surface. Sam did what he could to steady and push from below, but Dad was nearly 200 pounds (it felt more like 300 by now, and Dad really needed to lay off those pastries) and Dean was exhausted, finished, every muscle shaking and cramping with effort. He reached solid ground and dropped painfully to his knees, gasping for breath. Sam helped him lower Dad to the ground and the weight now gone; Dean thought he'd float away.

He steadied himself with his hands on the ground, trying to catch his breath, as Sam checked Dad's pulse and breathing, "He's still alive." The relief on Sam's face was enough to get Dean back on his feet and between them they managed to manhandle him into the back seat of the car.

"Sammy, sit with him. Keep checking him, ok?" Sam was shaking, but determined not to let Dad down, and especially not Dean. He nodded, and slid into the back seat, lifting his Dad's head into his lap.

Dean slid behind the wheel and slammed the door as he twisted the key in the ignition, put her in gear and floored the gas pedal. They had driven twenty minutes to get here; he made it back in ten.

Continues soon... I promise!

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