a/n: I'll actually say it for this chapter- please R & R! I originally intended this to be a one-shot, but there seems to be a lot of interest. I've done the research and have a background for the 'thing', but if anyone has any paths for the story to take, or things they would like to see in the future, please tell! I'll take it to heart!

Chapter 2

Dean blearily woke up at some ungodly hour, and he knew so because Sam was lightly resting in the bed a few feet away. For some odd reason, the three or so hours before sunrise was the only time Sam's nightmares gave him any sort of break, and the only time he slept, if at all. A wave of unpleasant cold made him shudder, and he let out a groan, throwing an arm over his eyes.

"Sam, did you open the damn window?" Sam moaned something into his pillow, of which Dean could discern a 'no' before Sam rolled over to face the opposite wall. With a frustrated grumble, Dean moved to do the same. He halted halfway, breath frozen in his throat. Above him, long fangs revealed in a grotesque grin, was the thing. The thing that had instilled Sam's first flicker of doubt in their father, and had renewed Dean's relentless fervor for fighting demons. The thing that his father balked at the mention of.

It's boney fingers clasped across his throat to silence any screams, slamming him back into the mattress. Dean wasn't sure he could have screamed if he wanted to because it's eyes were still too captivating. He managed to scrabble once at it's hands around his neck before it stole his attention and his muscles relaxed against his will, going limp as his eyes glazed over like he had been sedated as the thing caught his gaze. He could see it now- clearer, more materialized than before. The thin motel blankets were bunched around his waist, and didn't they shift in the slightest under the thing's weight: it barely seemed to have any, but its claws were digging into his throat and he could feel the pressure on his windpipe. He couldn't do anything but stare up at it, and it seemed to be content to stare back at him for what felt like hours. He could barely breathe; his hands frozen uselessly near his throat and his heart pounding. Every so often, the thing's fingers would tighten to cut off his air completely and Dean's heart thundered in his ears in a moment of blind panic. He gasped uselessly, starting to shake with the effort of escaping it's binding hold on him. It was taunting him. Dean tried to snarl in frustration and fight back, but the effort was lost somewhere between thinking it and his body, which seemed to be ignoring him.

Dean heard Sam stir beside them, and fervently prayed he was just shifting in his sleep. He had no idea what this creature would do to Sam if it noticed him, if it thought he was a threat. He wasn't sure what it would do to him, either, come to think of it. Right now it seemed content to play a sick game of seeing how much oxygen it could deprive Dean of without knocking him out. A familiar sense of terror had set into Dean, dreading his inescapability, but this time his dad wasn't there, and nothing was interrupting what felt like it's slow consumption of his mind. As soon as he thought about his dad, and about the last time the thing had tried to get him, the thing cocked it's head and hissed in recognition. Dean's eyes widened slightly as it forebodingly raised a bony arm. It brought it up over it's own shoulder, bringing it down quickly and raking across his chest, easily slicing through his thin t-shirt. Searing pain flooded Dean again, and he remember the anger and annoyance that had oozed off the thing when their dad had poured holy water through it. His dad had bound his hands, and the thing had grinned, as if in silent thanks. Now, the other hand released his throat to grab his arms in both clawed hands, pinning them at his sides as it tilted it's head to the side to lower the massive jaw towards Dean. Inhaling sharply, Dean's survival instinct kicked in and he let out a cracked yell before everything swam and went black.

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"Dean! Dean, wake up!" Consciousness slowly seeping back, Dean felt Sam's hands on his shoulders. They were soothingly heavy and real, and he sighed contently at the feeling of safety the human hands provided him with.

"Dean!" His brother pleaded again, shaking him slightly. Prying his eyes open, Dean looked weakly up at Sam.

"Wh-whaa?" His aching throat cracked again, the word not forming properly. Damn, he thought. The thing did more damage than he thought it did. He swallowed, but Sam had understood.

"I don't know." He sounded oddly calm, and a little quieter than usual. He'd woken up to see a massive black creature bent over his brother, pinning Dean's arms to the bed as it tried to eat his face. Alarmed and half awake, Sam dove off his bed towards his brother, grabbing the gun beside his bed before he realized it was his subconscious reminding him of the last time the thing had tried to take Dean, driving him to kill it. Seeing that Sam was a little lost in thought, Dean painfully put a hand to his chest, assessing the damage. It was tender, but there wasn't too much blood. Sam's gaze followed his hand, and he jumped.

"Christ, Dean- are you okay?" Dean nodded.

"Must have just aggravated something," he muttered, and Sam nodded, wanting to believe him for simplicity's sake. The last restless spirit they dealt with had been less than forgiving to both brothers, so he would hound Dean for more answers when they were both more awake. Something about the demon had seemed too familiar, and he remembered standing in the doorway across from it too well.

"I'll get the first aid stuff." Sam trudged to the table with their bags, unzipping the side pocket of Dean's to grab the Ziploc bag with their emergency supplies.

"So, what was it?" He asked warily as he sat back down on the side of Dean's bed, carefully lifting his shirt over the wounds and wiping them down. Sam moved about it almost in slow motion, still put off by the event. All he'd done was lunge at the bed to protect Dean, and the thing had let out a piercing shriek, leapt upwards and dissipated into the ceiling.

Dean hissed in pain, answering through a clenched jaw.

"Just one of those pesky personal demons, I guess." He joked, and Sam scoffed.

"You're gonna tell me that was a psychological manifestation of your issues?" Sam scoffed, although it came out almost hysterical. "You must have some seriously freaky issues." He was babbling, and was Dean looking at him like he'd just sprouted an encyclopedia for a head. Grimacing as Sam tied the last bandage around his chest, Dean gave his brother a lopsided grin.

"I must have had a messed up childhood, or something."

Sam snorted, nodding his head.

"You're telling me." Shaking himself off and grabbing his coat from the rack on the back of the door, Sam slipped it on. "Hey, you want some breakfast?" He asked, feeling for his wallet. Dean grinned, happy his brother was finally catching on to his 'silence is golden' approach to issues, and the prospect of food made his stomach grumble in happy repose.

"Yeah. Come-on." He grunted as he carefully hauled himself up, slipping a clean t-shirt over his bandages, grabbing his jacket from the chair and jangling the car keys in his pocket as they headed for the door.