Sara went from asleep to awake in an instant. There was no fuzzy in between moment, no struggling to push off the sleep that had gripped her, not for her, never for her. Mothers didn't have that luxury, they didn't have the option of floating up from a deep sleep, instead, they came instantly and completely awake in mere seconds. At least she always had, and it was lucky she did, for it had saved her and those she loved more than once.

Now, here she was, awake in the dark, her every sense focused on figuring out what had awoken her. It was the familiar heartfelt groan that came from the staircase's top step that gave the intruder away. After all, those that lived or frequented the house knew to avoid that step. Despite the torrent of fear that flooded her body, at the thought of an intruder in her house, Sara lay still, balanced on the edge of the king-sized bed as she always slept, when alone.

It was too late to move, too late to hide, let alone grab the shotgun that rested on the top shelf of her closet, it was too late for all of that. Instead, she played possum, unsure of what other choice she had.

"I know you're awake, you're breathing gave you away." The deep, smooth voice gave Sara no clue as to who she was dealing with. "You need to sit up nice and slowly, don't do anything stupid, or I promise, you'll regret it." The tone of his voice, not to mention the sound of a gun being cocked, told Sara her mystery man meant it.

As she pushed herself upright, panic threatened to overwhelm her. The only thing that allowed her to remain calm was fear for her children and anger toward the man that held her at gunpoint. Unable to see clearly, Sara reached out a hand, scrambling, for the glasses that always sat on her nightstand.

"Stop," the command was harsh and loaded with menace.

Sara ignored it. Instinctively, she knew this man, whoever he was, wanted something from her and would keep her alive as long as it took to get it. "I'm just reaching for my glasses. I can't see without them." As she picked up her glasses and put them on, she felt a small measure of relief slip into her as the room slid into focus. For better or worse, she would much rather face her enemy head on, rather than allow her imagination to drown her.

Sara sat up and slid her legs over the edge of the bed, her gaze focused on the man that stood before her, pointing a a silver plated .45 at her head. He was dressed in a plaid flannel shirt, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and a pair of jeans. Slim and of medium height, the black man had a confidence that she had seen in a select few.

"Who are you, what do you want?" She questioned, careful to allow none of the emotion she felt to color her voice. The man held all the cards, and to Sara there was no point in pissing him off until she knew what he wanted.

"Who I am doesn't matter. As for what I want, well, we'll get to that soon enough. At the moment," said the intruder, as he flicked on the bedside lamp. "I need to know where the kiddies are?"

The warm glow of the lamp, caused Sara to squint for a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust, she debated telling the truth. "At my mother's, they spend almost every Saturday night there."

"Good answer," was the whispered reply. The man leaned over her, the faint smell of alcohol, in no way led her to believe he was drunk. Grasping her chin, he smiled a smile that never reached his eyes. "I know you, I know more about you than you can possibly imagine. You'd do well to remember that."

Sara tugged her chin free and bared her teeth. "Why don't you play your mind games with someone who gives a fuck. You asked a question, I answered it, now, who are you?"

"Name's Gordon Walker, ring a bell?" Gordon stared at her, as if expecting her to know who he was.

Sara was at a loss, the name meant nothing to her. "Well that's great, you mind telling me what the hell you're doing here?" she asked dryly, careful to keep her voice level.

"Naw, what I want is for you to get up, we've got a couple things to take care of and I don't want to do it here." Gordon's eyes raked her up and down, taking in the oversized, grey long sleeved shirt she slept in. "I have to say, I am a bit confused. You are so not what I expected."

Sara flinched from Gordon's once over, as she hadn't from the gun he waved in her face. Swallowing, she stood with a bravado she didn't feel. "Listen, enough with the cryptic. Can we just get on with whatever you plan to do?"

With a wide smile and a wink, the man shrugged, and said, "No problem, I just thought you might like a little foreplay." The smile dropped off his face. His eyes burning with intensity, he gestured toward her with the gun. "Strip, now. I want to see everything."

Sara paled, this she hadn't expected. For some reason it had never occurred to her that whatever this man wanted, it was sexual in nature. Shaking her head, she hugged herself. "No way, I'm fine."

In an instant, he grabbed hold of her arm, and tossed her up against the wall. His lightening fast reflexes scared her more than anything else. Well, at least until he brought the other arm up and pressed the gun to her cheek.

"Strip, now," he breathed.

Sara, hands shaking, reached down and gathered the hem of her shirt in her hands. As she lifted the shirt off in one fell swoop, she tried to focus on the man in front of her, rather than the cool night air that whispered over her nearly naked body. She gripped the shirt in her hand, refusing to be parted with it completely, as his eyes swept over her body, clad in only a pair of blue cotton panties.

"Again, so not what I expected, I mean you're not bad you know. 35 years old, three brats, not bad at all. I still can't figure you for keeping Winchester on his toes, especially not in a cotton panties and a ratty old shirt." The man growled, shoving her toward the low oak dresser that stood on the other wall. "Get dressed, now. I've got things to do before he gets here."

Sara stood, her back to the man, Dean's shirt still gripped in her hand. Swallowing tears, she forced back the fear that threatened to overwhelm her at Gordon's words. Dean, damn he was here for Dean. Her only consolation was the older Winchester was far away and not due back anytime soon. As she forced her shaking hands to open the drawers, she couldn't help the silent prayer, she sent to a God she no longer believed in.

888

"Dean, your phone's ringing, come on, Man, answer it."

At the sound of his brother's voice, Dean fought the sleep that gripped him tight. He reached out and fumbled at his bedside, searching for the phone he could now hear. A mumbled, "Hello," was the best he could manage. Considering it was two o'clock in the morning and he'd just driven nearly 15 hours straight, Dean figured it was enough.

"Dean?" the shaky voice that whispered his name sent a bolt of fear straight to his heart.

Dean got to his feet and looked toward Sam. Without a word spoken between them, Sam was up and out of bed, already beginning to dress. "What's wrong, Kiddo?" Dean asked. He tried to keep the fear from his voice, but wasn't sure he managed.

"Something's in the house. I don't know what it is." Fear and an overwhelming sound of panic infused every word. "I think it's got mom." These last words were spoken so softly, Dean, who had the phone pressed against his ear, nearly missed them.

"Jimmy, where are you?" he asked, as he watched Sam gather their belongings. As he tucked the phone between his ear and shoulder, he began to drag on a pair of crumpled jeans he had snagged off the floor.

"Mikey, Jess and I are in the cubby. Dean, I don't know what to do?" The pleading quality in the small voice nearly brought tears to Dean's eyes.

"Just stay put and stay quiet. No matter what you hear, promise me you'll stay in that cubby. I'm coming to get you. Do you understand me? I'm on my way right now." Dean waited for the promise as he watched Sam make a last trip out to the car.

"I promise, Dean,"

He could hear a measure of relief in the voice, he only hoped he could live up to all it implied. "Good, I'm on my way. Do you hear me, Sam and I are on our way." Dean snagged up the shirt that Sam had left out and his coat. He left the motel room at a run, barely noticing the sharp rocks that tore at the soles of his feet.

"Please hurry, Dean. I'm scared."

"I'm already on my way, just hold on." Dean slammed the phone shut and tossed it to Sam, grabbing the keys that Sam threw to him in exchange. Not bothering with the shoes that Sam slid across the big bench seat, he started the car, threw it into gear and sped out onto the highway.

888

Sam glanced over at his brother once more. Although, Dean hadn't given him the details, his brother's pale face and burning eyes, coupled with the cell phone's caller id was enough to tell Sam that things were bad. So bad, he couldn't bear to question his brother, he was too afraid of the response he'd get. In fact, the only words he managed in the first two and half hours were to point out that they were low on gas.

"Fucking Car," Dean cursed, as he brought the big black car to a halt at the first gas station they passed.

Sam never hesitated, before the car ground to a halt he was out and heading toward the pump. He quickly set the pump and moved toward Dean's window.

His brother sat leaning forward, his head resting against the steering wheel, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Sam shoved the panic that fluttered in his own chest down and tapped on the window. "Dean, shoes."

Sam let loose his own curse as Dean lifted his head and faced Sam through the window. Dean seemed to have aged ten years since the call came. His shadowed eyes were red-rimmed, his full lips were drawn tight in pain, and his skin was so white his freckles stood out in stark relief. He looked devastated.

Dean cleared his throat as he rolled down the window. "We ready?"

Sam shook his head. "Soon, she's almost full. Dean, you need to put on your shoes."

Dean seemed surprised as he glanced down at his bare feet. At last, just as Sam was about to open the car door, Dean gathered up his shoes and socks, and began to put them on.

Sam heard the pump shut off, thankful that they were fully automated. He quickly replaced the pump and moved to get back into the car. Calling himself a cowered, his only words were, "Ready to go."

Fifteen minutes later, Sam knew he could no longer delay, they were only a half-hour from their destination. If he was going to be any help at all, he needed to know what was going on. Afraid of his brother's response, Sam finally asked, "What's going on, Dean?"

Dean's hard gaze never moved from the road before them. "Something's in the house."

Sam closed his eyes for a moment, he'd known that whatever was wrong had to be bad, but he'd hoped it wouldn't be that bad. "Damn it," he whispered, putting more force into his next words, he asked, "Who called?"

Dean flinched, drawing a breath, he answered, "It was Jim. He called from the cubby hole, he took the kids up to the attic when he heard something moving about the house."

Sam, unable to pull his gaze from his brother's white knuckled grip of the steering wheel, almost wished Dean would just stop talking now. Instead his brother continued.

"He said...he said something had Sara."

In that moment, Sam's carefully honed faith deserted him. He just didn't understand how one family, one that had already lost so much, could bare to lose anymore. "Did he say what it was?" Sam asked, not even really caring. After all, whatever it was had just signed its own death warrant.

Dean shook his head, no. Sam realized that his brother was, for the moment, incapable of doing anything other than driving. Unable to remain useless, while the lives of people he loved were once again in danger, Sam began to work the problem.

First things first, he thought, as he began dialing Bobby's number. Knowing that Dean would agree, Sam simply said, "I'm gonna let Bobby know." After he left a message for the older hunter, he put voice to the question that had been nagging him.

"How did something manage to get inside, I mean that house is a fortress." Sam, his stomach roiling with fear, began to list the protection against the supernatural that was in place. "I mean sure salt lines can be destroyed, but the protection symbols, there's no way anything's getting past them."

Dean shook his head. "Don't know."

Sam kept worrying what little information they had. "Jim said they were in the cubby. So they must have gone up through the babies room."

"Seems like."

Sam worried at his fingernails, biting them closer in frustration. "Okay, so we know that at least, they're safe for the moment. I mean there's little reason for anything to go into the attic. And I helped the boys set the space up, they're safe there at least."

Dean swallowed audibly. "Against the supernatural they are."

Sam felt bile rise in the back of his throat, as he considered Dean's words. His brother was right, the house was like a fortress against the supernatural, against human, it was no more than adequate. "Shit," Sam exclaimed.

"Yup."