A/N: Here's a case!fic to celebrate Halloween with! The guys from the show have often been asked over the years at panels what monster they would like to see in an episode, and Jared has always said the Shadow Man from the Twilight Zone. Granted, he knew he wasn't remembering the monster quite right when he was explaining it, so I based this mythology more off of Jared's interpretation than the actual original concept.

Takes place in season 5.

Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!

"The Shadow Man"

Sam sat alone in the Impala, clacking away at his keyboard. The only light emanated from the laptop's screen and the red neon sign of the bar he was parked in front of. Every so often the establishment's door would open, letting out a stream of muffled clamor as patrons entered and exited. Dean was currently inside, teaching Cas how to hustle at pool. And while that was sure to be a highly entertaining spectacle, Sam had found a potential case nearby and wanted to do a little more research before they decided whether it was their kind of thing or not. So far, it seemed like it was.

The volume of noise increased again, but it was like a background droning as far as Sam was concerned. Until the driver's side door abruptly opened, and he whipped his head up in surprise as Dean slid behind the wheel. The back door opened a split second later and Cas climbed in.

Sam frowned. "Dude, you weren't in there that long."

Dean snorted. "Cas got into his role a little too well."

"You said to be convincing that they shouldn't make bets with you," Cas interjected, sounding both mildly confused and put out.

Dean just shook his head. "Convincing, not scare the crap out of them. Even I thought you looked ready to smite them if they even tried to talk to me."

Sam arched an eyebrow, and twisted to look over his shoulder at the angel. "You didn't actually threaten to smite them, did you?"

Cas huffed. "No. I can't smite anymore."

"Uh, right. Sorry." Sam exchanged a furtive glance with his brother, who sighed.

"Left quite an impression on everyone, that's for sure," Dean said. "So slim pickings tonight. What've you got?"

Sam turned his attention back to his laptop. "A case, actually. There have been three attacks on children in the next county. Fortunately none died, but they all reported being attacked by 'a shadowy man.'"

Dean turned the key in the ignition, bringing the engine to life. "You thinking ghost?"

Sam pursed his mouth. "Maybe. The attacks happened at or near the same playground. But it could also be a demon. The kids could have seen it smoking out, but didn't know how to describe it. I already called the Sheriff's office and told them to set up interviews for us with the victims."

"Any idea why a demon would be attacking children but smoking out before finishing the job?" Dean directed toward the backseat.

"No," Cas replied, then shifted uncomfortably. "Unless it was interrupted by something stronger."

"Like an angel."

"They are skirmishing all over the world with the Apocalypse looming. Perhaps I should scout ahead. The last thing we want is the angels finding you two."

"Or you," Sam put in, tossing a pointed look over his shoulder.

"If it's angels, we'll get the hell out of dodge," Dean said. "But we stick together."

Cas didn't offer up any protest, and Sam closed down his laptop as Dean drove them away from the bar's range of WiFi. First they needed to figure out exactly what they were dealing with.

The next morning, Dean took one family to interview while Sam and Cas headed to the home of the latest victim, eleven year old Jason Gunther.

"Don't mention demons," Sam said to the angel as they stood on the porch and rang the doorbell.

A blurred figure moved on the other side of the obscure glass framing the front door, and a moment later the knob turned and the door opened, revealing a woman with dark hair dressed in a red cardigan.

"Mrs. Gunther?" Sam held up his fake FBI badge. "Agents Stantz and Spengler." He glanced at Cas, who failed to pull out his fake credentials and present them. Oh well. Better that than holding them upside down. "We're here about the attack that happened to your son, Jason."

Mrs. Gunther wrapped her arms tightly around her middle. "Right, of course. Come in."

Sam stepped over the threshold, casting a casual glance around the sage green walls and decorative paintings. The entryway looked well kept, but further into the living room, Sam saw Wii controllers left on the floor and a backpack with books spilling out of it.

"May we speak with Jason?" he asked.

"He's in here," the mother replied despondently, and led the way into the living room where they found Jason lying on the sofa and bundled in blankets. His face was pale and drawn, with dark circles under his eyes. He had his head propped up on the couch armrest.

"Doctors think the trauma has been too stressful," Mrs. Gunther explained without prompting, a crack in her voice as though she were searching for someone to either confirm or deny the claim. "Like his body's immune system is struggling to function because of it."

Sam pursed his mouth sympathetically. "We'll make this as quick as possible." He turned to Jason and eased himself down into a nearby armchair. "Hey, Jason, I'm with the FBI. I need to ask you some questions about the night you were attacked."

Jason tucked his chin deeper into the fold of blankets. "I don't want to talk about that."

"I know, but it's really important. We want to make sure this doesn't happen to anyone else. Can you help us with that?"

Jason flicked a nervous glance toward his mother, who stood off to the side, still hugging herself insecurely. She nevertheless managed to give her son a small nod.

"I was walking home from Troy's house," he began in a whisper. "I cut through the park, 'cause it's faster. Then there was this…shadow. It came out under the street light."

Sam leaned closer. "What'd it look like?"

Jason exhaled sharply. "I don't know. A shadow."

"Did it look like smoke?" Sam pressed. "Or more like a mirage?"

"What kinds of questions are these?" his mother interrupted.

Sam held up a hand. "Please, Mrs. Gunther, we're just doing our job."

She shook her head and half turned away, looking on the verge of kicking them out.

"Jason?" Sam prompted.

"It wasn't smoke," the kid mumbled. He started shivering under the blanket. "It…I think it was a man. He tried to touch me, and I started to run, but I was stuck. Then someone grabbed my neck and squeezed." Jason turned his face into the blanket with a whimper, giving Sam a full view of the dark bruises around the kid's throat.

"That's enough," Mrs. Gunther finally said, and walked over to push her way between her son and the agents. "He's sick and doesn't need any more stress."

"Right, of course," Sam said hurriedly as he stood up and took a few steps back. He wanted to ask about cold spots or smelling sulfur, but the kid was obviously traumatized and probably wouldn't be able to tell them definitively one way or the other.

"Come on, sweetie," his mother soothed. "Let's get you upstairs to bed." She took Jason's hand and coaxed him to uncurl from the couch. Tucking him close to her, she shot Sam and Cas a warning look as she ushered the kid toward the stairs.

Sam watched Cas surreptitiously reach out to brush his fingers against Jason's shoulder as he passed, only to pull back and clench his fist. Sam frowned at the gesture, but then his gaze latched onto something he couldn't quite process. Mrs. Gunther had flicked on the light switch at the bottom of the stairs, casting a muted shadow under her feet. Maybe she was just crowding Jason as she helped him up the stairs, but the longer Sam stared at their shuffling footsteps, the more he realized that Jason wasn't casting a shadow at all.

Sam waited until he and Cas had exited the house before sharing what he'd seen. Or rather, not seen.

"Is that even possible?" Sam asked incredulously.

Cas's brows knitted together. "I'm…not sure."

"Well, were you trying to sense something when you touched him?"

Cas looked away, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "No, I was…trying to heal him."

Sam frowned. But Cas wasn't able to heal, being cut off from Heaven.

"It was futile," Cas went on bitterly. "I don't know why I tried. It just…it made me uncomfortable, seeing a child suffer like that."

Sam winced in understanding. Yeah, it was especially hard when kids were involved. No one should have to go through something as traumatic as being attacked by a monster. One they had yet to identify.

"Could a demon have done that? Make someone's shadow disappear?"

"I don't think so. Unless witchcraft was somehow involved. But to what purpose?"

Sam pulled out his cell phone and hit the first speed dial number. "That's what we have to figure out." He waited for Dean to pick up. "Hey, you interview the last victim yet?"

"Just about to," Dean replied. "Didn't get far with the first. Kid's been sick since the attack, so the parents didn't let me stay long."

A sinking suspicion started settling in Sam's gut. "Okay, this is gonna sound weird, but check to see if the next kid has a shadow."

"Come again?"

"The victim we just interviewed is also sick," Sam explained. "And I could've sworn that he wasn't casting a shadow, at all. When his mom right next to him was."

There was a beat of silence before Dean responded. "Okay. Where you headed next?"

"I think we'll check out the park where the last attack happened. Meet you there?"

"Will do." The phone beeped as Dean disconnected.

Sam turned just as Cas reached up to clasp his shoulder, and he quickly ducked away. "It's a three-minute walk, Cas."

The angel quirked a brow. "But you had me transport you here."

"Yeah, from the motel since Dean's got the car." Sam shook his head and began heading down the sidewalk.

Cas fell into step beside him. "I don't understand yours and Dean's aversion to quicker transportation."

"There's convenience and then there's laziness," Sam explained. "Walking and fresh air are good for you."

Cas's eyes crinkled in thought, and he was silent all the way to the park. Once there, Sam pulled out his EMF scanner and started surveying the area. The place was oddly empty, perhaps because of the recent attacks within a couple blocks of the park. People were too frightened to come out there, even in the middle of the day. Sam waved the reader over the playground equipment, clusters of bushes, and all the way to the street curb, but it wasn't giving off any signals.

"Well, it's not looking like a ghost," he said. "You find anything?"

Cas hadn't exactly been looking around like Sam was, but his forehead was creased in furrowed lines of concentration as he stood in the middle of the pathway. "I'm not sensing any spirits," he confirmed. "Nor do I detect a hint of sulfur."

Great, Sam had been hoping for something for them to go on. He continued to do a complete EMF sweep of the park anyway while they waited for Dean. Eventually the familiar grumble of the Impala's engine announced its arrival, and Sam headed to the curb to meet his brother.

"We got nothing here. No EMF, cold spots, or sulfur," he said without preamble. "I have no idea what we might be dealing with."

Dean frowned as he cast his gaze around the park. "Me neither. And you were right—this other kid did not have a shadow." He shook his head in disbelief. "And the kids said exactly what was in the report: they were attacked by a 'shadowy man,' which sounded more shadow than man. So, what, something that eats shadows?"

"I am unaware of such a creature," Cas responded. "But their subsequent illness makes sense in light of this information. A piece of themselves has been removed. Like a kidney. They can still function, but not at full capacity."

Sam's chest constricted. "So they're not going to get better unless we kill this thing and hope it brings their shadows back?"

Cas's expression pinched with uncertainty, his mouth pressed into a grim line.

Sam took a breath. "Okay. The attacks all happened late evening, near or after sunset. So I guess we'll have to come back tonight, stake the place out."

Dean sighed. "Another night of hustling pool lost."

The look Cas gave Dean suggested the angel wasn't exactly disappointed by that. Sam just shook his head, gave the vacant park one last survey, and then climbed into the Impala. They didn't have much to go on, but he'd keep trying to find something in the lore so they could be better prepared for later that night.

Unfortunately, by the time sunset loomed closer, their research had turned up diddly-squat on monsters that ate shadows, and they had to go into the stakeout blind.

Street lights were beginning to flicker on as the Impala pulled up along the edge of the park again, and the gloaming twilight left traces of blue in the sky as midnight black encroached from the east. The three of them got out of the car.

"The attacks all happened within a three-block radius of the park," Sam said. "So we should probably split up."

"Alright," Dean grumbled. "Everyone got iron and holy water?"

Sam patted the front of his jacket to indicate yes, even though there was little chance they were in fact dealing with a ghost or demon. Still, iron at least was a vulnerability for a lot of supernatural beings.

Cas gave Dean a dubious look. "I don't require those things."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Right. Stay sharp. And holler if you find something."

With that, he picked a direction and strode off. Sam nodded to Cas before heading the other way. It was quickly becoming darker as the shroud of night fell over the city. Orange halos suffused from the sodium lamps, attracting moths and other insects to their glow. Sam flipped the collar of his jacket up to protect against the chilly breeze that was stirring.

He strode down a couple blocks and finally turned a corner onto the next street, his footfalls thumping lightly on the sidewalk in the otherwise undisturbed evening. It was actually eerily quiet, and Sam started straining his ears to be on guard for any sounds. So when something scraped sharply against concrete, he nearly jumped out of his skin. But it was just a garbage can being dragged out to the curb.

Shaking his head at himself, Sam paused long enough to watch the guy return to his house before he continued patrolling. He rounded another corner, this time into a darkened alley. If only they knew what to be on the lookout for, because at this rate, someone was likely to call the cops and report him as a prowler. He stopped to tilt his head up and listen, wondering if Dean or Cas had found something.

A raucous clatter sounded from the other end of the alley, followed by a sharp cry. Sam burst into a run, and came skidding to a stunned stop when he barreled out under a street light. A garbage bin had been knocked over, a skateboard lying upside down next to it with its wheels still spinning. And a kid was lying on the ground as an amorphous arm reached out from the darkness toward him.

"Hey!" Sam shouted, hoping to distract…whatever it was. He couldn't get a good look. He whipped out his crowbar, though, thinking it the best weapon in that moment, and leaped forward. The arm jerked away as Sam swung the iron.

"Run!" he shouted at the kid, who scrambled up and bolted down the alley. Sam raised the crowbar to take another swing, eyes peeled against the darkness. He thought he could see something shifting in the shadows, but either it was too dark, or the thing itself wasn't solid enough. A demon without a meatsuit?

Sam held his stance at the ready, pulse pounding with adrenaline. Then the shadowy appendage stretched out from the darkness again, crooking its fingers like a bird's claw. Sam felt something behind him give a sharp tug, almost like the telekinesis demons used, except this was more like his skin was being yanked taut. He gasped, hands going lax and the crowbar clanging to the ground. Sam's heart jolted; he couldn't move.

The shadowy figure slowly emerged from the darkness, its nebulous form little more than the silhouette of a man. Sam fought harder to break the telepathic hold on his body, but then hands suddenly wrapped around his throat from behind and started to squeeze. His eyes flew wide, and he tried to get his arms up to claw at the vicious grip, but his limbs felt like lead.

White spots started exploding across his vision as his brain was deprived of oxygen, but just when Sam expected to pass out, it felt as though a thin film of flesh was suddenly ripped right off of his back, and he screamed as the tension holding him trapped vanished. He dropped to his knees, sucking in desperate gulps of air now that the hands weren't choking him anymore either. His stomach lurched violently.

C-Cas, he prayed, not sure if the angel could even hear him. Alley…

Another shadowy figure stepped out from behind Sam and moved to join the first. Sam blinked up at them in confusion, as the second one that had tried to strangle him had a few more defining edges—the sharp angles of a jacket, wisps around the ears. It was also much taller than the first shadow.

Sam struggled to reach his crowbar, yet before he could, the two shapes merely turned and melded back into the night. Dizziness overtook him, and Sam toppled onto his side, his entire body jerking in shock. He thought he heard someone shout his name before everything went completely senseless.

Sam woke groggily, his entire body achy and sore, like he was coming down with the flu or something. He tried to roll over, and moaned as his joints protested the minor movement.

"Sam? Hey, Sammy," a familiar voice called, and a hand was suddenly gripping his shoulder. "Come on, man."

Sam frowned at the worried tenor, and forced himself to pry his eyelids open. Dean was looming over him, face pinched with poorly concealed concern. Sam blinked blearily as taupe walls and stucco ceiling came into focus next. He turned his head, taking in the sight of their motel room, and Cas standing a few feet off to the side, posture tense and practically exuding anxiety as well.

"Wh' happened?" Sam mumbled, trying to push himself upright. God, he felt awful: shaky and nauseous. And cold. He couldn't help the shiver that ran through his muscles as he propped himself up against the headboard of the bed.

"You don't remember?" Dean asked guardedly.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to concentrate. "I saw the monster," he began. "Or, part of it, I guess. And there were two of them. The second one attacked me from behind." He looked up in time to see Dean exchange a wary look with Cas.

Cas cleared his throat and turned to Sam. "Start from the beginning and recount it slowly."

Sam reached up to rub his forehead. He needed an Advil. "Um, I was patrolling, heard a kid getting attacked. I could only see the shadow's arm at first. I tried to use the crowbar to dispel it, but he used telekinesis on me or something. I never even saw the second one till it grabbed my throat and tried to choke me. Then…I don't know. I remember pain, and the shadows leaving. One of you must have scared them off."

Dean glanced at Cas again, his throat bobbing in the way Sam recognized as nervousness.

"What?" he demanded, wincing as his own raised voice made his head throb. He wondered just how long his brain had been deprived of oxygen.

Dean swallowed again, opening his mouth partway as though to answer, but Cas beat him to it.

"Your shadow is gone."

Sam stared at the angel dumbly. "What?" He started twisting around to see for himself, shoving his brother off when Dean tried to calm him down. Sam finally spotted Dean's shadow, and he lashed a hand out to grab his brother's arm. Dean froze, and followed Sam's gaze. There was no shadow to show that Sam was even in the room, let alone reaching out.

He rocked back onto the bed, stomach lurching with the urge to vomit. He now realized that the tremors, aches, and cold he was feeling weren't side effects of getting strangled, but the same sickness those kids had.

"We'll fix this," Dean said firmly. "Alright? We'll find these sons-of-bitches and gank their asses and you'll be fine."

Sam folded his arms across his chest, tucking his hands underneath his elbows to prevent them from shaking. "O-okay," he managed to get out. "But how? Do we even know what they are?"

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked. "Not yet, but we've got more to go on. They hunt in packs, right? Or at least pairs? So shadow monsters that eat shadows…" He trailed off, because that was more or less the same information they'd been going off of that led them nowhere.

"Wait," Sam said, something in his memory flickering. "I don't think it's eating shadows." His throat constricted uncomfortably as the image of the second shadow flashed through his mind, followed by the sensation of cold fingers wrapping around his neck. Sam reached up to rub his throat.

"I think it's collecting them," he continued. "I…I think my own shadow attacked me."

Dean's brows rose dubiously. "What?"

Sam shuddered, and hugged himself tighter. "My shadow, I think that's what I saw. It…" He gulped. "Walked off with the shadowy man."

Dean just stared at him for a moment, then tossed Cas an incredulous look. "That's what we're going with?"

Cas's mouth was set in a grim line. "It appears this creature has the ability to imbue life into shadows, and they attack the people they belong to in order to separate from them."

"Then how the hell are we supposed to put Sam's shadow back?"

Cas canted his head thoughtfully. "I believe if we kill the…shadow man, then his power over the shadows will cease."

Dean threw his arms up. "Great. How do we do that?"

"I don't know."

Sam closed his eyes and tuned out the argument, focusing on keeping his stomach contents from revolting. His skin was clammy and he felt like doing nothing else but crawling under the covers and cocooning himself there. But he couldn't do that, couldn't sit this one out. It wasn't just him at stake here, but those kids who were sick as long as this thing held onto their shadows.

He forced himself to scoot to the edge of the bed. "We can check the lore again," he said, interrupting whatever Dean and Cas had been saying. "Look for something that steals shadows, not eats them."

"Yeah, alright," Dean capitulated easily. "But you just sit there and take a load off. You look like shit."

Sam scowled at him. "I don't need to be benched."

Dean scoffed. "Seriously? You can barely sit up straight. I stick a book in front of you, you even gonna be able to read the words?"

Sam gritted his teeth. Okay, his brother had a point—albeit a very small one. "Fine." He leaned back against the headboard again, pulling the edge of the comforter up to wrap around himself. It barely provided any warmth.

Dean moved to the small table across the room and sat down in front of the laptop.

Cas inched closer to the bed, brow pinching with the same look he'd had when he couldn't heal the kid, Jason. "I'm sorry I wasn't fast enough," he said in a low voice.

Sam craned his head back to look up at him. "What?"

Cas shifted his weight. "I heard your prayer, but I didn't find the alley in time."

"Cas," Sam sighed. "It wasn't your fault." He saw the angel's fingers twitching before Cas shoved his hand into his pocket. "And look," Sam continued. "If I'm sick because my shadow's gone, you being at full power wouldn't be able to fix it anyway, right?"

Cas's lips thinned. "I…suppose not." He roved his gaze over Sam. "You're cold."

Sam shrugged, even as he shivered, confirming Cas's observation.

"Don't humans consume hot liquids when cold or ill?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess." Sam's mouth quirked at the memory of Dean trying to make chicken soup when he was sick as a kid. Really it was just a can dumped in a bowl and set in the microwave.

"I will find something," Cas said, straightening, and in the next instant, he was gone.

Dean made a noise of exasperation from the table. "If he was going on a run, he could have at least asked if I wanted coffee."

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn't bother responding. He was freezing now, and tried to tuck himself into a ball under the comforter. His stiff joints nearly creaked with the small movement, and Sam hadn't realized he'd groaned until Dean spoke up again, more softly,

"Hang in there, Sammy."

"'M fine," he mumbled into the blanket. He'd just rest and regain some of his strength for when they found something.

Sam was afraid he'd nod off, but he was feeling too sick for that, everything aching and with how much he was shivering, it was impossible to fall asleep. Which was both good and frustrating, because while it meant he wouldn't miss out on Dean trying to leave without him, all he could do was stare at the wall in misery.

There was a faint flutter of wingbeats, and Sam rolled onto his back to find Cas had returned with what looked like a paper takeout bag. "Wh- what is that?"

"Tomato soup." Cas set the bag on the nightstand and pulled out a styrofoam cup, its plastic lid covered in steamed condensation. "The woman at the bistro said it was the best for treating sickness."

Dean stood up from the table and came over. "How did you pay for that?"

Cas blinked. "I didn't."

Sam pushed himself into a sitting position. The soup did sound appealing, but he was struggling to follow the context here. "You didn't?"

"I explained the situation to the woman at the soup counter. She was very sympathetic."

Both Winchesters stared at the angel for a beat.

"Dude," Dean said. "You hustled a woman into giving you free soup?"

Cas flicked his gaze back and forth between the brothers. "Um…maybe?"

Dean shook his head in a mixture of amusement and pride. "We need to rethink the pool angle."

Cas still looked confused, but shook it off and removed the lid from the carton. Then he handed it to Sam and dug out a plastic spoon from the takeout bag next. "Is it alright?" he asked hesitantly, maybe meaning the soup, how he obtained it, or both.

Sam cupped the container in his hands, grateful for the warmth seeping through it. He didn't even bother taking the spoon, but brought the cup to his lips and took a slow drink of the hot, creamy liquid. It spilled down his throat with soothing heat and a pretty good flavor.

"Thanks, Cas," Sam said, offering the angel a small smile.

Cas stood there, holding the spoon and looking awkward, but there was a glimmer of relief in his eyes.

"Okay," Dean interjected, turning to the angel. "Put that down and come take a look at this."

Cas set the spoon on the nightstand and followed Dean back to the laptop. Sam continued sipping the soup as he watched and listened, though Dean wasn't saying much, mostly pointing to the screen and letting Cas read for himself.

Cas straightened. "That does sound like what we're looking for."

"What does?" Sam asked.

"The Shadow Man," Dean replied, then snorted. "Original, right? He goes around stealing shadows, mostly from kids. Something about the young ones then growing up to become more Shadow Men."

Sam set the soup aside. "So how do we kill him?"

"Looks like a hex bag." Dean leaned over to scroll down the screen. "Mix some ingredients in a bag, then light it on fire in front of the Shadow Man, and it's supposed to go off like a grenade." He made a few clicks. "We got most of these in the trunk. Cas, can you track down the rest?"

Cas peered closer at the screen, and then nodded. "I'll be back." With that, he was once again gone in an eye blink.

"Okay." Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed, and grimaced as his head spun. "That's the first step. How do we find him?"

Dean shrugged. "He seems to be hunting in the same area. Cas and I can just patrol the streets again."

Sam narrowed his eyes at the way his brother casually excluded him from that equation, but didn't bother trying to argue it just now. He'd had plenty of time while lying in a shivering heap to think about it, though he'd wait for Cas to return before bringing up his idea.

Dean went out to retrieve the rest of what they needed from the Impala, and had just come back inside when there was a puff of wind as Cas reappeared. The angel set a bundle of dried herbs and a light colored crystal on the table next to the other ingredients. "That's everything."

"Good," Dean said, and set about making a couple pouches of the grenade thingy.

Sam leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. "Hey, Cas, do you think I should be able to sense my own shadow if we got close to where it's hiding out?"

Dean whipped his head up sharply. "Sam…" he warned.

Cas, however, canted his head thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. It is a part of you, so perhaps it is possible to sense it."

"Don't encourage him," Dean groused.

"Face it, Dean, I'm not hanging back on this one." Taking a deep breath, Sam pushed himself all the way to his feet. The room tilted slightly, and everything from his ankles to his knees, to his elbows, hurt just by standing. "You got the grenade ready?"

Dean heaved an exasperated breath, but quickly finished mashing up the ingredients and stuffing them in a few small hemp bags. "Yeah, it's ready. Cas?" he prompted.

"You now admit that teleporting is better?" the angel asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, but in the rush to get Sam back here, I let you leave Baby at the park. After we gank this thing, we're driving back to the motel."

Cas lifted his gaze to the ceiling in what looked like a half-hearted attempt to imitate Dean's previous expression of vexation. Sam would have shaken his own head in amusement if he weren't so dizzy.

In the next moment, Cas clapped one hand on each of their shoulders, and they were swallowed in a whooshing vortex.

Sam's feet hit the ground with a bone-jarring impact, and he clenched his jaw tightly against the urge to vomit. Yep, they were definitely taking the long way home after this.

"You sense anything?" Dean asked. "Because if not, you can go lay down in the back of the Impala until we're done."

Sam looked up from his half-bowed position to shoot his brother a dark glower, demanding Dean at least give him a minute. Cas's hand moved from Sam's shoulder to his elbow, bracing him. Sam almost shrugged the angel's support off, but the truth was he was feeling rather wobbly on his feet. Besides, Cas was just trying to help, and wasn't attempting to talk him out of being there.

Taking several deep breaths through his nose, Sam focused on regaining his composure. He'd actually been spouting a long-shot with the whole 'sense my own shadow' thing, as he had no idea what it would even feel like, or if he'd be able to detect anything underneath the roiling nausea and persistent shivers anyway. Not that he was gonna admit that to Dean.

"Um, maybe if we start walking…"

Dean made a disgruntled sound, but Cas just tightened his grip to brace Sam and started leading the way down the sidewalk. It was nearly 3am at this point, and the night was frigid, chilled air racing up and down Sam's skin like microscopic insects with pinchers that bit down to the bone. He tucked his other arm around his stomach, trying to hold in some minuscule amount of warmth. It was a pathetic attempt at best.

"Sam," Cas spoke softly at his side. "Try envisioning a cord connecting you to your shadow. Which direction is it pointing?"

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and tried to do just that. It was difficult, though, and he was starting to wish he had stayed in bed. Underneath the chills and aches, however, he thought he heard sinister susurrations whispering on the wind. Something stirred, something that filled him with a burrowing sense of dread.

"I think it's nearby," he gasped, eyes snapping open. He started forward at a quickened pace…well, what he thought of as quickened, but really it was more like hobbling, and Cas kept pace beside him easily. They came to the east end of the park where Sam finally stopped to gaze at an old, run-down house across the street. The windows were boarded up, the paint peeling. Brown weeds had overrun the yard and a pile of leaves sat right in front of the door.

Dean came up beside them. "Well, that looks like a nice place to hang out."

"It's about center of all the attacks," Sam said, his skin now crawling with gooseflesh. "And…I don't know. My gut is screaming at me not to go in there."

Dean tossed him a considering look before drawing out his gun and flashlight. "Then I guess that's where we need to go."

Sam finally shrugged out of Cas's grip to draw his own weapon and flashlight, and slowly started making his way across the street after Dean. Cas still stayed close behind him.

Once at the door, Dean gave the handle a test jiggle and found it unlocked. The hinges squeaked as the door slid inward slowly. "Always a good sign," he muttered. Bracing the flashlight under the butt of his gun, Dean strode inside. Sam and Cas followed.

Two flashlight beams did a quick sweep of the foyer and sitting room. There was no furniture in the place, and the floor was covered in a thick sheet of gray dust. The house appeared to be completely abandoned.

Dean went ahead and checked the kitchen while Sam nodded for Cas to look in the coat closet. Both were empty. Sam was beginning to wonder if maybe his head was just playing tricks on him because he was sick, but then a floorboard above their heads creaked. The three of them froze, casting their gazes upward. The house fell silent once more.

Jerking his chin toward the stairs, Dean headed up first. Sam fell in line next, with Cas bringing up the rear. Sam kept his flashlight trained on the steps in front of him, partly because his balance was off and he needed to take each step carefully, but also because his hands were shaking, and he didn't want to accidentally shoot Dean. Maybe his brother was right; maybe he should have stayed behind.

They reached the second floor, and instead of fanning out to check the bedrooms, Sam stuck with Dean, letting his brother take the lead and standing back to mostly provide backup. Cas stayed behind at the top of the stairs, eyes narrowed and head tilted as though listening.

The bedrooms were also empty, and Dean huffed out a breath of frustration as he swung his flashlight toward Sam. He'd opened his mouth as though to start griping, but ended up frowning in confusion. "What the…"

Sam caught sight of something dark in his peripheral vision, a void where Dean's flashlight was supposed to be shining unobscured. He slowly turned his head, and the black shape on the wall rotated in sync with his movement. Except instead of turning the same direction, it was as though the outline of Sam's head was turning to look at him.

He felt a brief thrill of terror before the shadow leaped away from the wall and tackled him. Sam heard Dean shout his name, but the moment he hit the floor, everything became a blind panic. Fingers grasped for his throat, and Sam flailed to get the massive blob off of him as Dean tried to duck in and hit it with the butt of his gun. The blow never landed. Then the two flashlights were doused, plunging them all into pitch-dark.

Sam gasped as the thing attacking him suddenly let up, and he rolled to get away from the next strike. He collided with something, and was about to start swinging when he registered the sound of Dean's voice grunting from the impact.

"Sam?" Hands fumbled desperately at his jacket.

Sam bit down the urge to fight back. "Dean?" he choked out.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean found his shoulder and squeezed. "You alright?"

"Y-yeah," he stuttered. "Where is it?"

"Gone," Cas spoke up, startling Sam as the disembodied voice sounded from right next to him. "For now," the angel continued. "Shadows need some form of light to be cast. In complete darkness, they are immaterial."

Sam swallowed hard. He was shaking uncontrollably now, though whether out of fear or exhaustion, he wasn't quite sure.

"Then how are we supposed to find the Shadow Man if we can't use any light?" Dean growled.

There was a long, drawn out squeak of door hinges from somewhere above, followed by a prolonged beat of silence between them.

"Attic," Cas finally said. "I'll guide you."

A hand gripped Sam's arm and hauled him up. He staggered without any way to orient himself, but Cas held firm.

"Dean, take Sam's hand."

"Oh, you gotta be kidding me."

Sam's stomach did a flip. "You're not gonna teleport, are you?"

"No. I believe in this situation, caution is more advised than expediency. Here."

Cold metal was pressed into Sam's hand, and he tightened his grip around the gun he'd dropped at some point. He reached his other hand for Dean, knocking against his brother's chest a few times before he found Dean's arm to grab hold of. Cas started moving forward, almost like the blind leading the blind, except Sam assumed Cas's angelic abilities let him see in the dark.

"Stairs," Cas said quietly, and then he started tugging upward.

Sam almost tripped a couple of times, until he settled into the rhythm of taking one step at a time. There was a thud and muttered curse behind him as Dean took a bit longer to navigate his way.

Sam's eyes were slowly acclimating to the dark, though Cas was little more than an outline weaving through the blackness right in front of him. The floor leveled out, and Cas stopped.

"Dean, get the vanquishing spell ready. As soon as I open the door, light it on fire."

Every muscle in Sam's body tensed as he listened to the slight sound of fabric rustling as Dean searched for his lighter. They had to time this right so that the flame wouldn't give any lurking shadows an opportunity to attack them before they could throw the magical grenade at the head Shadow Man.

"You sure he's in there?" Dean whispered.

"Yes."

Dean shifted, positioning himself ahead of Sam. "Okay, go."

The door banged open like a gun shot, as though Cas had either kicked it in with a dose of Hulk-level strength, or smote the thing to Hell. Either way, the angel charged in first, with Dean clicking the lighter to life and sweeping in right behind Cas. In the faint flicker of flame, Sam caught sight of a shadowy figure standing directly across from the door, but before Dean could set the fire to the spell bag, a gust of wind snuffed it out.

Sam's heart leaped into his throat as Dean frantically clicked the starter again and again. Nothing happened.

Until a ring of candles suddenly burst into flame around the attic, spilling orange light like liquid across the floor, walls, and ceiling. The Shadow Man expanded like a black cloud, his sinister presence filling the room with malcontent. Behind him shuffled a few smaller shades, shifting in and out among each other as though nervous. Or eager.

And in the far corner, Sam spotted a gigantic beanstalk of a shadow, fidgeting in anticipation.

Dean straightened in a split moment of calm, and then his gaze slowly drifted to one of the candle flames. He lunged, bag in hand outstretched. But he was suddenly yanked back as his own shadow rose up off the floor and wrapped its fingers around his neck.

"Dean!" Sam started forward, but tripped over the threshold, his wobbly legs unable to support him.

Cas stood his ground, and there was a crackle on the air as he raised his palm out toward Dean's shadow. Cas may not have had the ability to smite anymore, but he was still one badass angel of the lord. Sam felt the static in the atmosphere as Cas's eyes glowed briefly, and Dean's shadow slurped down back to its flat shape on the floor. Dean dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.

The Shadow Man hissed viciously, and thrust his hand out toward Cas. Bands of angular wisps shot out across the wall and doorway. Sam blinked rapidly in stupefaction. He'd never seen Cas's wings before…

Wait, those were only shadows.

Sam thought for sure this monster wouldn't have anything on an angel, but in the next breath, the shadows of Cas's wings snapped taut and began slicing downward. Cas jerked, grunting in pain as he fell forward. Bloodied slashes started appearing on his face, arms, and sides as the feathers turned like knives against the angel.

Dean's shadow started peeling away from the floor again.

Sam ran his hands over his pockets frenetically. His vision was blurring, the candle flames melding with the writhing shadows all around the room. He swore he could hear echoing snickers.

Dean let out a sharp gasp, followed by a dull thud from the direction of Cas. Sam found one of the hex bags his brother had made, and wrapped his fingers around it tightly. He was too dizzy to tell up from down, or even what was real candle light and what was refracted hallucination. But he needed to move.

Sam pushed himself up and lunged for the nearest table. He collided with it, knocking the candles off to go rolling across the floor. The wicks were still burning, though, and Sam squinted until he managed to spot a single flame. He thrust the edge of the spell bag into it.

The hemp ignited with a small whoosh, the inside glowing like the ember of a star. Sam heard the Shadow Man snarl, and felt the oppressive weight of his shadowed minions diving toward him. But then the hex bag lit up white-hot and exploded like a supernova in a cascading wave. Sam threw his arm up to shield his eyes. Something shrieked, grating his ears, and then all was silent save for several sets of heavy breathing.

Sam slowly lowered his arm and blinked spots from his vision. The attic was dark once more, and Sam wondered if the shadows had just been buried in the darkness, but then he realized that the dizziness he'd been feeling was gradually dissipating. He jumped to his feet, a little sore from falling down, but otherwise his joints weren't achy anymore and his balance had returned.

He fumbled to get his flashlight out again, and clicked it on. The white beam fell across Dean, casting his shadow out in an elongated and distorted, yet totally stationary shape. Sam quickly directed the light down at his own shoes, and almost sagged in relief to see a pair of shadow legs extending out from underneath them.

Dean grunted as he pushed himself and staggered to his feet. "Sam, you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. You?"

Dean rubbed his throat. "I'll live. Cas?"

Sam jerked the flashlight beam toward the angel, who was still on his hands and knees on the floor, chest heaving. Blood dribbled from several gashes across his arms, neck, and face, and down the sides of his ribs.

"Oh man." Sam hurried forward and crouched down next to him. "Cas, hey."

Cas lifted his head with apparent struggle, the lines around his eyes pinched with pain. "I'll…be fine," he ground out. "Sam…are you…?"

Sam mentally rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. "I'm fine, Cas. I'm not sick anymore."

Dean knelt down on Cas's other side and gripped his arm in a supportive brace. "That mean this thing is dead? And the kids got their shadows back?"

"I…believe so," Cas wheezed.

"And the shadows of your wings…" Sam began. "Or, your wings themselves, they're okay, right?"

"Yes." Cas pushed himself fully upright, jaw clenching in obvious pain. "We can go back to the motel now." He raised both hands toward the Winchesters, but Dean slapped them down.

"Nuh-uh. Baby's just down the block. I'll go get her while you two wait out front, and then we're driving."

Cas's shoulders slumped, and he didn't bother protesting. Sam suspected he was offering out of principle, and not because he was in any condition to actually fly.

Sam got to his feet and slipped an arm underneath Cas's other side, and together he and Dean helped the angel to his feet. Cas stumbled against Sam, who adjusted his arm around Cas's waist to brace him. They took the stairs slow going down, and Sam worried at the inside of his cheek as he felt Cas trembling slightly. He wanted to get into some light and get a look at those wounds. Except, how ironic it was that he actually felt safer in the dark at the moment.

They made it outside and onto the street, not directly under a street light, but plenty of skyglow from the surrounding city suffused a small amount of illumination around them.

"Be right back," Dean said, and jogged off toward where they'd left the Impala.

Sam eased Cas over to sit on the edge of the raised yard, eyes peeled against the dim lighting at the hideous lacerations on his face. From what he could see, they appeared to be healing slowly.

"You alright?" he asked, though he wasn't really expecting an honest answer. They all kind of had a bad habit with that.

Cas had closed his eyes, but now peeled one open to gaze back at Sam. "I'll live."

Sam let out a huff of partial amusement. "At the end of the day, that's all that matters."

He heard the Impala rumble to life, and a moment later it turned the corner, headlights blazing brightly. They cast a string of stark shadows up like looming trees that bent and warped right behind Sam, as though arching around toward him. He nearly shit his pants.

Castiel stiffened in alarm as Sam jerked away violently, but then his gaze followed the moving shadows as the Impala's headlights turned, and his expression softened with understanding.

"I imagine it will take some time to…readjust," he said. "But sunrise will be here in an hour."

Sam swallowed hard and nodded, not trusting himself to speak as his pulse throbbed wildly in his throat. The Impala creaked to a stop at the curb, and Sam quickly gripped Cas's arm to help him over and into the backseat. Then he hurried around the back of the vehicle to get to the front passenger side.

"You alright there, Sammy?" Dean asked casually when he slid into the seat. Dammit, he must have noticed Sam's fright.

"Fine," he mumbled.

A grin broke out on his brother's face. "Guess we know where the phrase 'scared of your own shadow' comes from."

Sam's jaw tightened, and he crossed his arms self-consciously.

"Hey, maybe you'll get over your fear of clowns," Dean continued, pulling away from the curb. "Except, shadows are everywhere. No way you can avoid them."

"Shut up, Dean," Sam muttered.

His brother continued to chuckle under his breath, way more amused by this whole thing than was warranted.

"It's not funny, Dean," Sam gritted out in a low tone.

"Sam," Cas spoke up from the back, leaning forward between the seats. "Would this be an apt time for convenience or laziness?"

Sam craned his head to blink at the angel. It took a moment for him to realize the wounds on Cas's face were gone, and he was sitting up straighter. He finally caught on to the angel's meaning.

"You know what, yeah." He turned to his vexing brother. "Dean, we'll see you back at the motel."

"Wh—"

Sam didn't hear his brother finish as Cas placed a hand on his shoulder, and the next moment they were standing in the motel room. Cas swayed slightly, and Sam surged forward to catch his arm.

"Cas," he chided with a sigh. "As much as I appreciate the save, I'd rather you be fully healed before that type of stuff."

"I'm mostly healed," the angel replied, almost petulantly.

Sam rolled his eyes to the ceiling, but in truth he was grateful for Cas's intervention. He glanced at the clock; it was almost five. "Let's get out of here before Dean comes back. Coffee shops are opening up soon. And you look like you could use one."

Cas furrowed his brow. "I don't require human sustenance."

Sam clapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, well, I do." He grabbed a memo pad off the nightstand and scribbled out a quick note for Dean so he at least wouldn't worry. And hopefully his brother would get the subtle message that he wouldn't be allowed to hang out with them until he quit with the shadow jokes.

Cas still looked leery. "Alright…but we're not going to 'hustle' for anything, are we?"

Sam laughed. "Nah. But next time we go to a bar, I'll teach you the finer points of pool hustling."

He stepped out into the night, the porch light casting a shadow out across the walkway. Sam inhaled deeply, and lifted his head before striding forward, his shadow—and Cas's—bobbing along before him.