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AN: Thanks for reading! Reviews really do inspire me to write and I appreciate all of them.
Sam rolls his head from side to side, trying to shake the feeling of exhaustion that's gripping him tightly. Every one of his muscles feels stiff and sore. Dean's pills did nothing but leave him feeling tired and hungover. It's making it hard to concentrate, and he's pretty sure Dean has noticed. His brother keeps glancing over at him, giving him concerned looks.
Sam rubs his neck and turns to lean his head against the window. The cool glass feels good against his skin. It seems to calm the tension in his brow just a little and he closes his eyes, blocking out the rest of the ride.
The car comes to a stop and Sam opens his eyes, looking around. They're on a small side street that is lined with large old trees that hang just slightly over the road. The house beside them is small and white. It's in need of paint, and the shutters decorating the windows are hanging crookedly. There is a little blue bike in the overgrown grass, lying on its side. Sam reasons that it's likely the little boy's they're about to meet.
They get out and walk up to the door.
Dean reaches out and touches Sam's arm. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," Sam says, nodding, his brows pinching together slightly. "I'm fine."
Dean studies him for a moment. "Okay, just checking, I mean, you just look... Nevermind."
Sam is grateful the conversation is dropped. He doesn't want to talk about it, about Jess's death, about the nightmares, about the guilt he feels. He would rather pretend it all doesn't exist than explore his inner demons.
Sam rings the doorbell, and then, a moment later, the door swings open.
The woman who answers the door looks at Dean in shock, her eyes moving up and down over the lines of the suit he is wearing. "You're the guy from the diner," she says, "the one that asked about Jimmy."
"Yes, ma'am. After hearing what you said, I called my superiors and got approval to come down here and do a bit of investigating."
She squints, looking suspicious. "Your superiors?"
"FBI. I'm Agent Simmons and this is Agent Frehley," Dean says as they pull out their IDs.
"Sarah," she says. "Sarah Hatch."
Sam smiles. "Nice to meet you, Sarah. May we come in?"
The inside of the house, much like the out, is a bit worn, but it has a homey feel. There are pictures of people, presumably family, hanging on the walls and there is a colorful knitted throw draped over the tattered couch.
They follow her to the living room where she motions for them to take a seat.
Dean leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "So can you tell us what happened?"
"It was last Monday. I was watching Jimmy while Collin worked late. When he got home, I helped him settle Jimmy down and then left. Everything seemed fine."
Sam leans forward. "Do you remember hearing any strange noises, like scratching or knocking?"
Her brow furrows and she shakes her head. "No, nothing."
"What about smells? Anything seem different?" Sam asks.
She looks at him, confusion coloring her features. "No, why do you ask?"
"No reason," Dean says, waving off the questing like it wasn't odd at all. "Would it be all right if we had a chat with Jimmy, heard what happened from him?"
She licks her lips, pressing them in a tight line. "I don't know …"
"Please, we'll make it quick," Sam says, giving her the softest expression he can manage.
It seems to work as she smiles weakly and nods. "All right."
The both walk upstairs and then down the narrow hall, stopping outside the bedroom door.
Sam raps his knuckles against the door softly.
They wait but don't hear anything, so Sam tries the door knob. It's not locked so he gently gives the door a nudge and lets it swing open.
The first thing he sees is a little boy with mousey brown hair than hangs just past his ears. There are crayons and papers scattered out in front of him. His shoulders are drawn in and he looks frightened. If Sam had to guess, he would say the boy only seven or eight at the most.
Sam takes a breath and rubs a hand across his mouth. He hates this part of the job, not just for what the victim has gone through but for how it affects Dean. He doesn't need to look over at his brother to know there is pain in his eyes. Dean has always had a soft spot for children who had watched a parent die.
Dean clears his throat. "Hey there, buddy," Dean says, stepping closer.
The little boy looks up from his drawing and glances over his shoulder at Dean before looking back down silently.
Dean walks over to the desk and squats down beside him. "My name's Dean, and that big guy over there is Sam." He motions. "Now what's your name?"
The boy stops coloring and looks over at Dean, studying him for a moment. "Jimmy," he says quietly.
Dean smiles. "Nice to meet you, Jimmy."
"Can I talk to you for a minute, about your dad?"
The little boy shrugs and looks down at the crayons, pushing them around on the table.
"I know it's hard, but can you tell me if you saw anything that night when you found him?"
Sam suddenly feels a bit dizzy and pushes a hand against the wall to keep his balance. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. He only needs to hold it together a bit longer and then he can go out and get some fresh air.
Feeling steadier, he looks back at Dean and the boy, who are having a whispered conversation. The boy pushes a piece of paper toward Dean and he accepts it, looking it over carefully.
Dean rubs a hand over the little boy's back and leans in to say something too quiet for Sam to hear. Whatever it is, it makes the boy nod and pick up his crayon again.
Dean's eyes are a bit watery but Sam doesn't say anything; instead, he follows after him out the door and down the stairs. Sam feels like he is operating on autopilot. Dean's right. He really needs to get some rest. His head begins to hurt again as the head out to the car.
Dean looks over at him, eyes tight. "You need some sleep."
Sam thinks to argue but he can't find the words, so instead he just shakes his head and gets in the car.
Dean passes Sam the drawing, and he unfolds it, looking at the picture. It is of something human like, with greyish skin and long nails that almost look like talons.
"What do you think it is?" Sam asks.
Dean shrugs, shaking his head. "I don't know, man, but whatever that thing is, it's got a nasty appetite. That's how the kid found it, hunched over, eating."
"Poor kid," Sam says.
"Yeah, but he's tough. I think he'll be all right."
Dean turns out onto the main road.
"Where are we going?"
"I was thinking we should head over to Collin's house, check things out before we head back for the night," Dean says.
Sam nods, feeling his head throb in protest. "Sure, sounds good."
The drive across town, the area is heavily wooded and there are few houses. It doesn't go unnoticed by either of them that there is a cemetery not a stone's throw from where Collin's house is. Dean pulls the car to a stop in front of the main gate.
"You thinking it's connected?" Sam asks.
"Won't hurt to take a look around."
They get out and walk over to the entrance; it's made up of two stone pillars and an iron archway that reads: St. Mary's Cemetery. The grass has been neatly trimmed around the ancient looking gravestones and old willow trees hang heavy, casting shadows across the grass in the breeze.
Sam reaches up and tugs on his tie, loosening it. "So where to first?"
Dean shrugs. "Not a clue."
They walk follow the path through the graveyard, looking for anything out of place. Sam falls back behind Dean, his limbs feeling heavy and tired.
"You okay back there?" Dean says, looking over his shoulder.
Sam tries to shake off the tiredness and pick up the pace. "I'm good."
"Good, because there's something up ahead." Dean's posture changes, like he's ready to fight.
Sam looks around. He sees it now. Up ahead there is a freshly disturbed grave. As he gets closer he can see it's more than that. Something has torn the body from the ground and strewn chunks of it across the grass. From the dampness of the soil he can tell that it happened recently, within the day. He wonders how no one stumbled across it sooner.
Sam swallows, his stomach nearly lurching from the putrid smell of decaying flesh. He kneels down in the dirt and examines the grave. There are long scratches were something has dug up the earth.
"Looks like our guy's got a taste for rotten meat," Dean says, nudging a piece of flesh with his foot.
Rubbing at the back of his neck, Sam stands and walks to where Dean is standing. They both look down at a half-eaten chunk of what he's pretty sure is a thigh.
Dean shakes his head. "I get something eating a fresh body, but a rotten one? That shit's just wrong."
Sam hears something out towards the woodline and he turns. "Did you hear that?"
"What?"
Sam listens for a second but hears nothing. He shakes his head. "I thought I heard something."
Dean cocks his head to the side. "Do you hear it now?" Dean asks, looking at him with a brow raised.
Sam flips him off. "I'm going to check down toward the treeline. Why don't you look up toward the willow? There's gotta be something around here to tell us which way it went."
Dean looks at him. "Someone's feeling bossy today."
"Look, I'm tired, my head hurts, and I want just want to get this done."
"Maybe I shouldn't leave you alone," Dean says, looking at him with a concerned expression.
Sam sighs. "I'll be fine."
Dean hesitates for a moment but relents, giving him a nod. "Just be careful."
"Always."
They split up, going in opposite directions. Sam makes his way down a path and follows it. It winds down toward the line of pine trees. Seeing something on the ground up ahead he speeds up. When he reaches it, he finds another piece of the corpse. Even though it's only one piece, it still smells rancid and makes his stomach churn.
He begins to walk down toward the trees when he hears another sound in the distance. Something is crashing in the woods. He looks over his shoulder for Dean but can't see him.
Part of him knows he shouldn't go after it alone, part of him is shouting at him to turn back and get Dean, but another part is pushing him forward.
He hesitates, but then makes his decision. With one last glance behind him, he steps out into the woods.