For author's note and disclaimer, see chapter one.

Chapter 3

The sky was gray and low, heavy, the white top of the mountain merging with the clouds, and the high fir trees pointed towards it like arrows, giving the scenery a threatening air. The Impala rolled down the street until Paul told Dean to stop in front of an imposing building with a steeply sloping roof. On the sign was written vertically: 'Huckleberry Inn.' No one was outside, but they'd seen heads peering through the houses' windows, observing the strangers' arrival with stern faces.

"Can't you just feel the love coming in waves?" Dean said wryly, but Sam could see by the way his hands were gripping the wheel, by the contraction of his jaw, that his brother was nervous – which made Sam nervous in turn. He wondered if this hunt was such a good idea after all, if his brother was ready for this, if he would ever be.

"Dude, chill out," Dean muttered, low enough that Paul wouldn't overhear him. Sam glanced at him and twitched his lips into a half-hearted smile.

"Let's go," Sam said, opening the door on his side, feeling the biting cold burn his nose and cheeks. It was eerily silent outside, like the town was holding its breath.

A blond girl, who Sam recognized as Amy, came to them with a face-splitting grin. She was petite, barely reaching Sam's chest, and had her arms folded and her hands under her armpits to protect herself from the chilly air.

"Hey, guys!" she called cheerfully, and she looked like she wanted to add something to her greeting, but Paul silenced her with his mouth, kissing her until Dean coughed loudly, ignoring his brother's glare.

"'Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?'" Dean said. "Seriously, guys, not that I don't appreciate a French kiss demonstration as much as the next guy, but can we move to somewhere less cold?"

The couple separated and Amy's face turned a bright red, a striking contrast with her usual pale complexion.

"Oh, right. Sorry. It's cold out there, isn't it? Um, sorry."

"It's okay, Amy." Sam moved to the Impala's trunk to take their bags, rolling his eyes at his brother. "Don't mind my brother, he can't resist making French jokes around Paul."

"He's like the big brother I never wanted," Paul said. "Moments like that are when I miss my sisters."

"I've always wanted to have sisters," Sam commented, which earned him an outraged look from his brother.

"What? Haven't I always been good to you? You're killing me, bro," Dean said dramatically, and hoisted a bag on his shoulder with a grimace. "Jesus, what the fuck did you put in that bag, bricks?"

"I didn't know what we were after, so I took a good number of the books we got from Bobby."

He saw his brother's expression darken at the mention of their friend. Bobby had been killed by demons several months before the end of the war, during an ugly ambush – they'd come too late to save him, had been left with nothing more than a mangled body to cry over. Sam had always thought that his death had been what had motivated the crazy plan Dean had come up with to put an end to the nightmare that was the demon war. Sam had been desperate enough at the time to agree to it, and to add some even crazier ideas of his own. To their credit, it had worked, but everyday Sam felt the weight of what it had cost them.

"Sam? Hello, Earth to Sam?"

"Hmm, what?"

"Should we go in before our dicks freeze and fall off, or what?"

Sam nodded and slammed the trunk shut. He caught up with his brother, and they fell into step easily. Paul and Amy were walking far away before them, hand in hand and completely engrossed in each other. Dean's head turned to look at Sam sideways.

"You okay? Your head hurts?"

"Shouldn't I be the one asking you if you're okay?"

"You're always the one asking me that, nowadays. Can't it be my turn for once?"

"I'm okay; head's fine. Just thinking about Bobby."

"Yeah." A silence. "I miss him too."

"Yeah."

Sam sometimes wondered if things would have turned the way they did if Bobby had been alive. If he would have agreed to their plan, if he would have seen sooner than Sam that Dean wasn't okay after the war. When Dean had hit rock bottom, Sam had keenly felt his friend's absence. Castiel had been there, and he'd helped in his own way even if sometimes the human psyche still mystified him, but at the time Sam had really needed a little parental support.

Dean's jaw twitched, his eyes fixed on a spot on the ground.

"Well," he said, "at least he didn't have to see me the way I was when…"

Dean didn't have the time to complete his sentence, because they were now inside the Huckleberry Inn, where they found Amy and Paul talking to an older woman. All three of them had turned their heads at their entrance.

"Sam, Dean, come in," Amy said. She held out her hands in the woman's direction, palms to the sky in an introducing gesture. "Guys, this is my aunt, Stacey Gibson. Aunt Stacey, Sam and Dean Winchester, the hunters who came to help us."

Stacey Gibson smiled politely at the brothers. Her face was smooth, which made it difficult to give her an age, and her brown hair pulled back in a tight bun gave her a severe look. There was something in her eyes, though, something wary, sad even – but then who wasn't sad and wary these days?

"You must be tired," she said. "The road between Portland and here isn't as good as it used to be."

"It was better than the last time I came," Paul said. "I think some work has been done on it."

"Good. Maybe one day we'll have tourists again, then."

It could have been humor, an attempt at breaking the ice, had it come from someone else, but from Mrs. Gibson it just sounded coldly bitter.

"Amy will show you to your rooms," she said after a few seconds of uneasy silence. "I have a lot to do."

"We understand," Sam said, though he wondered what on earth she could have to do in this ghost town.

"Come with me, guys," Amy said with a smile so broad it showed all her teeth, as cheery as her aunt was bleak. Before they started following her, Mrs. Gibson stopped them in their tracks. "I hope you'll find what you're looking for," she said.

Sam raised his eyebrows at her strange wording.

"Um, we hope too. You… know why we're here, don't you?"

"I do," she said serenely.

"Have you ever seen these shadows?"

"I didn't. Any more questions?"

"No, thank you."

"Then I'll be going, if you don't mind. Good bye."

They watched her walk away, a little confused.

"Don't mind her," Amy said, looking slightly embarrassed. "She… The war… She went through a lot. And the way things are now, with the town almost dead, it's not helping."

"Government Camp used to be a ski resort, right?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, well, it was mostly a gateway to other ski resorts, like Timberline Lodge and Mount Skibowl. We have our own smaller ski resort, Summit Ski Area. And we could still make it work, it wasn't destroyed during the war, but…"

"People just aren't in the mood for skiing, are they?" Dean said.

"No, they aren't." Amy put on a brave smile. "But they will be. We just have to be patient. Look after the equipment, and one day people will come back. At least the roads are better, so it's something. Wanna see your rooms, now?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean said. "But when you say 'rooms' you… Isn't Paul sleeping with you? Not that it's any of my business…"

"Oh, he is. I meant rooms for you. We have more than enough rooms for you to each have one. A few people are living here permanently, but we don't have any customers."

"It's very nice, but… Sam and I would rather share the same room. My brother's scared of the dark, you see," Dean joked awkwardly, fidgeting a little with uneasiness. Amy looked at him in puzzlement, but nodded.

"However you want. Follow me, please?"

She led them to a room with twin beds, green curtains, and honey-colored furniture. It smelled like wood and varnish. They put their bags on the beds, and Sam took a peek through their window, but couldn't see anything more than tree trunks.

"Amy," he called. "You said that there were people living here?"

He stopped looking through the windows and turned to the girl.

"Yes. My aunt and I, the old Mrs. Griffith, and my friend Colleen and her dad. Colleen is the one who was attacked. There was someone else, Dr. Patterson, but he disappeared like a month ago."

"Disappeared?"

"Yes. He liked going out for long walks in the mountain, and one day he just didn't come back. We looked for him, but we couldn't find him or his body."

"Did he mention seeing any shadows?"

"Not to me, but that doesn't mean anything."

"To your aunt, maybe?"

Amy shrugged, shook her head and slipped a lock of hair behind her ear.

"I don't know. But she would have mentioned it to you when you asked her about the shadows, wouldn't she?"

Sam was in the process of taking his jacket off, but he slowed his movement and exchanged a quick glance with his brother.

"I don't know, Amy. Would she? You know your aunt better than we do."

Amy shrugged again. She moved to step out of the room and bumped into Paul who was standing right behind her.

"I have to help my aunt with dinner. I'll come and get you when it's ready."

Sam and Dean nodded in agreement and let her go. Paul cast a last look their way before following her.

"What do you think?" Dean asked once they were alone.

"Amy looks afraid," Sam said.

"Yeah. Of her aunt, maybe? The old hag sure doesn't look like she wants us to help." Dean looked thoughtful. "Or maybe Amy's afraid of us."

"Why? It doesn't make sense, she was the one who called for help," Sam said, but made a mental note to keep an eye on Amy. Hell, make that keep an eye on everyone. Some bad surprises were awaiting them in this town, he was sure of it.

Sam rummaged around in his bag until he found his gun, checked it, and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. He looked up to Dean, and their eyes locked for a second, before his hand went into his bag again and came out with another gun. He held it to Dean without a word, and his brother took it reverently.

"Does it mean you judge me fit for service, sir?" He said that jokingly, but sounding at the same time breathless and hopeful.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder and smiled.

ooo

Dinner was served in what used to be the inn's restaurant. The wood ceiling and walls gave a homey feeling to the room, but it was empty save for Sam, Dean, Amy and Paul, gathered at one lonely table.

"Where is everybody?" Sam asked, looking around.

"Well," Amy said, "Mrs. Griffith usually eats in her room, Colleen and her dad will probably join us soon." She pointed to the plates and forks and knives on another table. "And my aunt has already eaten."

Sam wondered whether Mrs. Gibson was avoiding them, or always had dinner before the other residents. The 'old hag,' as Dean called her, was obviously hiding something, and wasn't happy about the hunters' presence. Had she seen the shadows? Why would she hide it from them if she had? Sam had learned that some people just didn't like strangers meddling in their problems, and the demon war wouldn't have made it better, especially in a small town like Government Camp. Stacey Gibson could just be the kind of person who liked to keep it to herself. Or she could know what was going on – causing it, maybe. Sam was interrupted in his musings by Amy's voice, "Here they are. Hey, Colleen, Mr. Ullman!"

A skinny girl, with hair as red as Paul's, came to their table. She was shadowed by a gigantic man – even from Sam's perspective – whose face was almost entirely hidden by a bushy beard. Colleen smiled tentatively at Amy while her eyes hovered wearily on the Winchesters. Sam noticed that her neck was covered by a scarf.

"Colleen, you recognize my boyfriend Paul? And Sam and Dean Winchester are the hunters I told you about."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Sam saw his brother pinch his lips. Mr. Ullman turned his bright blue gaze on the brothers until Sam felt like squirming on his seat, and said nothing, didn't even nod in greeting. Colleen's smile went wider, though, and she looked genuinely hopeful.

"Oh, I hope you'll find this thing and put an end to it. I don't know how much more I can bear."

"Have you seen the shadows again since the attack?" Sam asked.

"Yes, I…"

"Colleen," her father's voice boomed from somewhere above their heads.

"Coming, Dad. Okay, I think we should talk about that later. Dinner will get cold."

Her father turned his huge back to them and started walking to the table ready for him and his daughter. Colleen looked like she was going to follow him, but she stopped herself, bent suddenly towards Sam, who was closest to her.

"Every night," she whispered. "I see them every goddamn night."

Then she straightened quickly, smiled brightly like she hadn't said anything and gave them a little wave of the hand.

"See you, guys!"

When the girl and her father were out of earshot, Dean leaned over the table and said to Amy in a low voice, "We were supposed to be here incognito, right? Because maybe I've finally gone off my rocker, but I think I remember pretty well that the reason we let Paul come with us was to have a cover story 'cause the townsfolk are fucking paranoid."

"Um, yeah…"

"Well, it's not gonna work if you tell every goddamn person we meet who we are!"

"Colleen was attacked by the shadows! She deserves to know that someone is working to solve the problem!"

"That's not the fucking point!"

Sam examined Amy closely while she was defending herself against Dean's reproaches. Her eyes had widened in an attempt to look innocent, but she was nervously fingering the hem of her shirt with one hand, while the other was stuck between her thighs.

"Okay, temps mort!" Dean and Amy stopped arguing in low voices, and looked at Paul curiously. "What is done is done," Paul said, "we have no way to make the Ullmans or Mrs. Gibson forget that you're hunters. So can we eat dinner now?"

They both agreed, grudgingly on Dean's part, with a hint of relief on Amy's, and dinner was calm, almost uneasily so. Dean was on edge, Amy was subdued, and Paul kept an unusual silence. It didn't seem to be more talkative on the side of Colleen and her father – not a word came from their table, only the clatter of forks and knives against the plates.

The rest of the night was as uneventful. Amy slipped away to help her aunt, Sam and Dean stayed with Paul and talked a little about their first impressions on the case. Dean claimed he had his doubts about Amy's intentions, Paul defended her ardently until Dean told him point-blank that one, he wasn't the experienced hunter here, and two, he was thinking with his dick so he should shut up and let the professionals do their job.

Paul had never seemed vexed by Dean's harsh mannerisms, knowing enough not to take them personally, but even he apparently had his limits because his face reddened with outrage and he clenched his teeth.

"Right. Goodnight."

He stood up stiffly, walked to get out of the room.

"Connard," they heard before he slammed the door.

"I don't know what it means, but it didn't sound very nice," Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes, the movement old and comfortingly familiar – he'd missed doing that.

"Did you have to be an asshole to the kid?"

"What? I told the truth – we're talking about his girlfriend, dude can't think clearly. And don't tell me you're not suspicious of Amy. Either the girl is dumb, or she has some hidden agenda. I mean, the people here are more suspicious than a tax officer. What do you bet that tomorrow everyone know that we're hunters? They sure won't help us now, and worse, maybe they'll try to make our job harder."

"Yeah, maybe. Well, like Paul said, there's nothing we can do about it, now."

They went to bed after that. Dean took the meds that knocked him out as sure as a punch to the face, but Sam remained lying down with his eyes open for a long time, listening to the wind howling outside through the trees, sounding like a desperate cry for help.

When he finally found sleep, it was like falling into a bottomless pit.

ooo

Sam woke up trembling, a strange bitter taste in his mouth – blood – and his heart pounding loudly, deafeningly. Confused, he looked around him. Moonlight filled the room, casting shadows on the walls. It wasn't their room at the Simon Benson House, where was…

Dean.

Panicked, Sam straightened in his bed, peered through the darkness, looking for his brother. There was a bed next to his, a human-shaped lump on it, and he could hear his brother's deep breathing. Good, that's good. Except he couldn't quite calm down, his heart still throwing itself madly against his ribs. What the hell, he thought. What the fuck is happening?

The shadows on the wall were moving. It was branches from the fir trees outside, agitated by a furious wind. Sam couldn't avert his eyes from them, transfixed. The moon shone so brightly, the shadows stood out clearly against the wall like in a shadow show. It looked like… It looked like the back of a shoulder, a hat and long hair, like someone was born from the shadows and was just extricating himself from them. It moved slowly, turning its head – or what looked like it could be a head – just enough to face Sam, and Sam shut his eyes, childishly trying to protect himself from whatever it was that was looking at him. He opened them a few seconds later, his breath short.

There was nothing on the wall but the shadows of tree branches moving lightly through the wind.

ooo

"I have to say, as much as Mrs. Gibson freaks me the fuck out, those were some damn good muffins. So good that I suspect she's trying to lull us with food, kind of like the wicked witch in Hansel and Gretel… Hey, Sam, you listening to me?"

The sky looked huge, Sam reflected absently, somehow much bigger than in Portland, and some blue spots were showing here now and there among the gray.

"Sam!"

"Hmm, what?"

Dean stopped walking. Sam stopped too and looked at his brother questioningly.

"What's the matter?"

"I should be the one asking you that. You're so deep in thought that you could walk right into a lamppost, and say, 'sorry, ma'am.'"

"Uh, yeah, sorry. I was just trying to remember my dream."

"And what was so special about your dream?" Dean wriggled his eyebrows. "Was it a wet dream? Tell me it wasn't one of those Cassandra dreams again."

Sam's brow furrowed in astonishment, "Dude, your erratic knowledge of Greek mythology will never cease to amaze me."

"I'm glad I can still surprise you after all these years, honey. So, this dream?"

Sam shrugged.

"It was just a dream, I think. Just… I woke up with a weird feeling, like there's a word on the tip of my tongue, only it's not a word but a strange… whatever. Something waiting for me at the corner. It's bugging me. But if it was a premonition, I would remember it clearly."

"Yeah. Well, if it was just a dream, it can't be very important. Just…" Dean trailed off, looking somewhere above Sam's shoulder. "Hey, look, here come the friendly town folks, complete with pitch forks."

Sam turned, and saw a man and woman walking with intent in their direction. Contrary to the people they'd passed in the street, who were mostly just trying to ignore them, the couple was looking right at them. The man, at least, was clearly unhappy.

"You're the hunters?" he asked bluntly once he was close enough.

Dean threw a Sam a look that said, See? What did I tell you?

"What if we are?" he said defiantly. Sam cringed at his brother's aggressiveness, and said in a more amiable tone, "We're hunters. And you are?"

The man blushed a little, ashamed at his own behavior or angry at the brothers' impertinence – it was difficult to say with the way his eyebrows seemed fixed in a permanent frown.

"My name is Ethan Torrance." He pointed his thumb to the woman behind him, who was chewing her lip nervously. "My wife, Elizabeth. We're the owners of the 'Mountain Tracks.'" When he saw no sign of recognition in the brothers, he added, "It's – it was – a ski rental, just next to the Huckleberry Inn."

"Okay. What can we do for you Mr. Torrance?" Sam asked.

"You can get out of here. We don't need any hunters putting their noses in this town's business."

Sam didn't let the man's harshness faze him – he'd faced worse, and the man actually looked more nervous than threatening.

"We're just trying to help," he said in his sweetest, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth tone. "We've heard that strange things were happening in your town. Have you ever seen any weird shadows?"

"Colleen Ullman is crazy!" Ethan Torrance blurted out. Sam frowned at the non sequitur. "You shouldn't listen to a word she says."

"Well, from what we've heard, she isn't the only one to say that. How many crazy people are there in Government Camp, Mr. Torrance?"

Mr. Torrance pressed his lips in discontentment.

"There's nothing wrong in Government Camp. Nothing that's any of your business." He turned to his wife. "We're going, Lizzie." She nodded, and trotted quickly behind her husband who was walking away in long angry strides.

Sam and Dean looked at the couple leaving, then at each other. Dean shrugged.

"Weird people, huh?"

"Yeah. Ethan Torrance seemed really anxious to see us leave. What is he afraid we might find out?"

"Did you notice how Elizabeth Torrance's hand kept going to her neck?"

Sam hadn't, focused as he was on the husband, but he trusted his brother's word on it. As Dean had pretty much stopped talking to strangers, he'd started to get really good at observing people and catching little details like this.

"You think she was attacked by the shadows too?"

"Hard to say without seeing her neck without a scarf, but yeah, it wouldn't surprise me. Maybe the husband was attacked too, who knows."

Sam started walking again, confident that Dean was going to follow him.

"The shadows haven't killed anyone so far," he thought aloud, "except maybe the elusive Dr. Patterson – that is, if his disappearance has anything to do with the shadow attacks."

"It could mean several things," Dean went on, picking up easily on Sam's train of thought. "Maybe the attacks are escalating – it starts with innocent sightings, then the things get angrier and angrier, and try to strangle people, but they're not angry enough yet or don't have the juice to manage it."

"Maybe they're countered by something. Remember, Paul told us that the shadow stopped strangling Colleen when her father turned on the light. They could be scared of light because they're made of shadows – like daevas."

"Yeah. Speaking of…"

"I don't think it can be daevas – no one was torn to shreds."

"Good point. Not daevas, then."

"We should try to talk to Mrs. Torrance," Sam said. "We should ask her how she stopped the shadows from killing her. It would help us determine whether the shadow choking Colleen didn't finish her because of the light, or because it was scared off by Colleen's dad."

"Who is one scary dude, yeah. But on the other hand, perhaps the shadows aren't out to kill anyone. Like, maybe all they want is to freak people out, because it's how they get their rocks off, or because they want them to leave."

Sam gave his brother a surprised look.

"You're going with the charitable option? Not like you, bro."

"Well, it's just an idea," Dean shrugged. "I'm all for getting rid of the creepy shadows. It's just strange that they haven't killed anyone yet. Who can stop shadows? They could do so much more damage."

"Yeah, you're right. I think we should…" He stopped suddenly.

"Sam, what is it?" he heard his brother call behind his back.

They'd been walking down Government Camp Loop for a good fifteen minutes, now, not really paying attention to where they were going, too engrossed in their conversation. But Sam had raised his head and his eyes had caught something behind the high fir trees bordering the road.

"Look at that." He pointed his finger. "Doesn't it look like…"

Dean took a few steps to position himself at Sam's side and look in the same direction.

"Like the remains of a burned building? Come on, let's get a look."

This time, Dean took the lead. The trees became an open space and they were walking on what looked very much like it was a fire scene. It didn't seem recent, though; nature had reasserted itself and there was grass and weeds and some bushes growing between old charred pieces of wood and stones, and darkened earth.

"What do you think?" Dean said. "Look like it could be the remains of a three year-old fire?"

Their eyes met, and Sam knew they were thinking about the same thing. The fire Kelly and Anna had told them about.

"Well, I'm no expert, but I haven't seen anything else in this town that seemed burned."

They both walked around in silence, looking for clues, for hints about what happened. Sam first looked down at the ground, but the event was too old and he couldn't tell anything more than that something had burned, probably a big building. He looked up.

"Hey," he said. "Look at the trees."

Dean looked.

"What about them?"

"Some of them are pretty close to whatever burned, but they look intact. If they got burned, it was mild enough."

"And what do you get from that, Sherlock?"

"This building wasn't small." Sam gestured to encompass the space around him. "Yet it burned entirely. They let the building burn, but were careful about not letting the fire spread to the surrounding trees, 'cause it would have become incontrollable."

"They? You mean our friends from Government Camp?" Dean looked thoughtfully at the trees, then at the burned ground. "Think there were people in there?" He pinched his lips tightly.

Sam thought about it – white-hot heat and the smell of burned flesh and hair. He shuddered.

"Jesus," he whispered. The memories clung to his skin like a sweaty t-shirt. He was so deep in thought that he didn't notice his brother wandering away until Dean called.

"Hey, Sam!"

Sam looked around and found his brother standing near a tree, a hand on the trunk and looking at the dirt near a big root.

"What did you find?" Sam asked once he was with him. He looked down and found the answer by himself. The earth around was hard as stone because of the cold, but on one place there was a slight mount of recently disturbed dirt.

"Shit," Sam said. "It looks like an unmarked grave."

"It does, doesn't it," Dean said, but before he could add anything a voice made the brothers spin around quickly.

"Hey, guys!"

It was Paul. The young man was trotting to them, hands in his pockets.

"There you are! I looked everywhere for you."

His eyes flickered to Dean.

"Uh, Dean."

"Yeah?"

"Sorry about yesterday, dude."

"It's okay." Dean wasn't looking at Sam but he must have sensed his insistent glare on him because he continued, "I'm, uh, sorry too. Sometimes I'm an asshole."

"Well. Okay."

There was an awkward silence until Sam said, "So, Paul. You wanted to tell us something?"

"Oh, I was just wondering where you were. And, um…" He hesitated. "I think I should talk to Colleen. To, you know, find out what she knows. I think it would be better if it was me and not you, because her father seems to be onto you."

"Okay, you do that," Sam said before Dean had time to protest.

"Oh." Paul looked a little taken aback. "Cool. So… see you at lunch?"

"Yeah."

Paul turned, as if to go, but Sam stopped him.

"Oh, Paul. Do you know what burned here? It must have been one hell of a fire."

"Hmm…" Paul frowned. "I think it was… a museum. Yes, that's it – the Mt Hood Cultural Center and Museum. At least that's what Amy told me because I've never seen it. It burned a little after the war. Oh." His eyes widened. "A fire – Anna talked about a fire."

"Yes. We think it was probably this fire. Unless you've heard about other fires…?"

"No, just this one. I'm sorry I didn't remember the museum earlier. Amy just told me about it this one time."

"It's okay, now we know. You should go talk to Colleen."

"Yeah."

Paul ran away quickly, like he was afraid Sam was going to change his mind if he stayed too long. When he was far enough, Dean turned to his brother.

"Is there a reason we didn't tell him about the possible grave we've just discovered? You don't trust him?"

"He would have maybe told Amy."

"Who would have maybe told it to someone else. Yeah, good call."

"We should come back during the night to dig. I'm really curious about what or who was buried there."

Dean snorted.

"Sounds like the good old days."

It shouldn't have made Sam feel so nostalgic.

ooo

They spent the day trying to talk to Mrs. Torrance alone, but her husband seemed to shadow her wherever she went. It looked like the whole town knew who they were and why they were here, so that no one was willing to do more than looked at them distrustfully. Paul's interrogation of Colleen was fruitless – they learned nothing that they didn't already know, except that the shadows hadn't tried to attack again, though she saw them almost every night and they scared the shit out of her.

The night came and they decided they were going to wait for a few hours, to make sure everyone was asleep, before going out to dig up their mysterious grave. The plan was to stay awake, but when Sam woke with a start, he cursed at himself for falling asleep. What time was it, anyway?

"Dean?"

They'd turned off the light so as not to make the other residents suspicious, but Sam could make out his brother's slumped form against the headboard of his bed. Despite not taking any sleeping pills tonight, Dean apparently hadn't resisted sleep either.

Sam was going to stand and shake his brother awake, but he caught a movement at the corner of his eye and turned quickly.

"Who's there?"

His voice sounded weird and he wondered whether he'd actually talked out loud. His hand fumbled around in the dark to get hold of his gun on the nightstand. Goddamn branch shadows were moving on the wall and it made it harder to distinguish if there was anyone moving silently through the darkness. There wasn't any noise but Sam was convinced he wasn't alone. His heart was pounding so hard it almost hurt, and the fear growing inside of him felt solid and foreign, and it had a life of its own. His breathing was erratic – he tried to keep it under control but couldn't, like his body wasn't his anymore.

"Dean," he called softly, almost plaintively, but his brother remained unmoving. Was he even breathing? Suddenly Sam wasn't sure. He stepped forward to check, bumped into the nightstand, and there, there. The shadow was on the wall, human-shaped and so dark, darker than the absence of light, malevolence oozing from it like all the horrors of Sam's life had condensed into one form and were trying to suck him in. Sam's hands gripped his gun, his breath speeding up, and he pointed the weapon at the shadow.

He wanted to do something, anything, fight back, make it go away, but his mind was hazy with panic, his vision blurry with unshed tears.

"No, no," he muttered.

Couldn't let it get close, couldn't let it get to his brother, God, he had to protect Dean, what if he was already dead, shut up, shut up, it can't be, can't be…

The light turned on, sudden and blinding, and he blinked owlishly.

"Fuck," Dean swore loudly. "What the fuck just happened?"