Sam and Dean kept watch as janitors at the local hospital. With a couple of blunt objects and an out-of-the-way broom closet, the brothers managed to replace the evening's staff.

About sixty children had gone missing this week alone, the largest concentration coming from the hospital.

They mopped in unison through the children's ward, moving slowly to avoid missing any disturbance. Sam spent all day researching, but could not find anything concrete - only theories. Dean did not like that one bit, and tried to pack as heavy as possible. The trusty Impala, parked outside, carried the main load of weapons, but pistols had been tucked down the boys' jumpsuits, knives and salt lining the seams.

Sam peeked into the rooms, his heart clenching at the sight of kids hooked up to machines, most needing assistance to breathe. Out of all their hunts, these he hated the most. The depth of evil it took to prey on kids...

Footsteps.

Dean grabbed his brother's arm, rushing them to a corner away from the source. Guns at the ready, they waited, tensing as the steps grew louder.

A short, thin man appeared, in red tights and tunic, a matching long cap adorning his head. From a leather satchel at his hip, he pulled out a long silver flute.

A low, gentle note echoed throughout the ward. The sound sustained, and the children could be heard yawning, and climbing out of their beds. Bewildered, the brothers watched as the children gathered in the hall, queuing up neatly behind the flutist. The song lifted in tempo, and their leader skipped out of the hall, his charges following in kind.

Sam and Dean took the back exit, racing to cut off their prey in the parking lot, their pistols aimed for a head-shot.

"Just a minute there, Zelda," said Dean, tightening his grip. He had never seen a demon take simple means before. The kids seemed alright, not one of them harmed or having trouble moving.

"Link, dude," said Sam. "Zelda was the princess."

"Whatever."

The man just smiled, and blew a single note from the flute. The children linked hands, circling him, the perfect protection.

"Bastard," Dean hissed, but did not lower his gun. Sam watched the flutist's left hand dig into the satchel as the other held on to the flute, still playing for control.

Something small, clear - a marble? - rested in his palm. Rolling it between his fingers, he delighted in their fear, drawing out the moment before doing whatever he planned to do.

Finally, he threw it over his shoulder.

They felt a tremor, and then a wide green vortex split the ground. Sam's eyes widened in horror as he saw them all jump in. Before he could think, he took hold of Dean, and dived.


How long had it been? Minutes? Hours? They had come through the portal, and ended up in some forest. Sam, unconscious from the fall, had curled up by a rock, and Dean, mildly injured but awake, kept vigil. The kids and the creep-o in tights had vanished without a trace, and Dean did not want to search for them until he knew his brother was going to be alright.

Big mistake.

Not too long after Dean woke up, there was purple smoke, and they were dropped in a dungeon. He heard a high-pitched giggle, and then chains appeared out of nowhere to string them up like sides of beef. After that, nothing.

It was still night, wherever they were. Dean would have guessed Hell, but, despite their being in a dungeon, he did not feel misery or impending doom. Just sore muscles and worry for his little brother.

Night passed, and Sam did not wake up, but he babbled in his sleep. The morning sun creeped through a window just above their heads, casting everything in a dreary glow, and the room grew cold. For a while, Dean entertained himself with a little song...

Someone told me long ago

There's a calm before the storm

I know

It's been comin' for some time...

"You are tone-deaf, dearie."

The chains tightened, and yanked at his wrists. His eyes flit about, searching for the voice.

This was not what he expected.

A short, thin... scaly son of a bitch lurked in the doorway, decked out in feathers and tight leather. He giggled, snapped his fingers, and the chains lowered, bringing him closer to the demon (?). The creature grabbed his face with one hand, squeezing his cheeks together.

"Oh," it sighed, "I've been looking for you..."

And then something sharp and burning sliced his stomach.