Three

The funeral was held at nine a.m., the sun warm over their heads, the sky clear of clouds. A brilliant day, too beautiful to be spent mourning the loss of yet another member of the community.

The service was small and intimate, despite Dean's speculation that half the town must have shown up to pay their last respects. The marker was set in place before the open grave, the coffin elevated by the mechanism that would eventually lower it into the ground after goodbyes were said. The words Beloved wife, sister, daughter, mother-to-be. Lost too soon. had been etched into the polished stone, and several white roses rested across the top, their petals bright under the sun.

A second name had been carved right below Emily's, the first name just vague enough to belong to either a boy or girl: Andy Fletcher. Taken too early, loved no less. He couldn't help but think that while the gesture was sweet, it was also terribly sad, and that sentiment made him just a little bit restless to leave; to leaf through his father's journal and polish up his guns. So many graves – he and Sam had noticed – were still fresh in the local cemetery, the mounds of earth still yet to settle with the passage of time and the pull of gravity. It made him just a little bit itchy for the trigger, his blood already humming with the desire to hunt – and kill – whatever it was that had taken the lives of so many young women, and so many unborn children.

Whoever this thing was, the bitch was going to pay. They were going to make sure of that.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again, one hand coming up to tug at the tie that seemed too tight. He would have been happy to just stand at the far the edge, a silent spectator to this age-old ritual of letting go, dressed in jeans and a shirt, the comfortable weight of his jacket on his shoulders. But Sam had insisted that they would attend the service, stand beside Carla and Al, and dress up in the black suits that they'd purchased for that gig back in Pennsylvania.

It made him feel uncomfortable really, being this close to all these people. It wasn't that he hadn't seen grief before, he'd seen plenty enough in the various stints that he and his father, or he and Sammy for that matter, had done over the last couple of weeks, months – years.

Lying about knowing the dearly departed just so that they could check the general area out for spectral matter and any other signs of supernatural activity was a necessary evil if they were to get to the bottom of things. It was just that this – this – was too close for comfort. An intrusion almost. They were supposed to be passers-by, faces that people would eventually forget once they'd finished the case and moved on.

Standing beside his brother in the near-identical black suit with Carla and Al just on the other side of Sam was not 'keeping to the sidelines'.

"Lala, stop looking over your shoulder." Dean heard Al murmur softly.

"I'm just checking to see if Ami's here. She should be here. No matter what Luke says." Carla's voice bordered on worried. "Al, I'm gonna go—"

"No." The syllable was laced with finality. "I spoke to her this morning. She's here. You know her. She's probably just somewhere under one of the trees."

"Still, it wouldn't hur—"

"Lala."

There was a pause, followed by a soft, "Okay."

Up front, Luke Richardson stepped forward, his eyes shadowed with obvious grief. In his hand he held one of the roses from atop the grave marker, and it seemed to Dean that it was all the younger man could do not to break down as he stiffly laid the flower atop the mahogany case, a line of white light cutting across it's polished surface.

"And as I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I shall know no fear..." The priest began, a soft whir filling the air as the coffin slowly descended into the earth. A woman's wail cut through the sound, the sound so broken Dean had to his face away. "We shouldn't be here," he murmured softly, so that only Sam could hear. "We shouldn't be wasting time—"

"Dean," Sam hushed him, "We'll talk la—"

But he was already walking away, and that same hand that he used to tug now viciously pulled off the tie that he'd already had enough of. They had a job to do, and standing around listening to people cry wouldn't get it done.

He could hear the footfalls racing after him. "Dean,"

"Careful where you step baby brother." He muttered off-handedly, coming to a stop underneath the shade of a tree that had seen better days. When he turned around, the tie was gone from his neck and was now half-shoved into the pocket of his slacks. He popped the stick of gum that he'd found in the glove compartment into his mouth and chewed.

"You can't just walk away from a funeral like that."

"I just did."

Sam threw him an exasperated look. "I thought we'd agreed that checking out the funeral might help us narrow down who the creature is."

"IknowIknowIknow." Dean replied, the words running together. He sighed, stuffing one hand into the coat pocket and looking back to where the crowd was finally breaking up. "I just don't understand why you had to insist on attending. Not like we knew her, y'know." He glanced back to Sam who just gave him one of those looks. Dean sighed again. "So what. Any ideas who it might be?"

The shrug that answered him was expected.

"I dunno Dean, I'm still wondering about whether or not a creature like that would hang around and pay it's last respects to the one that it killed. Maybe it's not here." Sam shook his head, one hand coming up to run through the mop of hair on his head. "I mean, I looked through the internet last night and found an article for it in Wikipedia among whatever else I could pull up on the search. There's a Malaysian version of it called the penanggalan, which detaches only it's head, but other than an expanded article that basically recaps whatever we've been told, I have nothing else to go on."

Dean nodded. "Did you find out how to kill it?" He'd fallen asleep almost as soon as his back touched the bed. Driving several hours straight could do that to a guy.

"Salt, as usual. Or crushed garlic." Sam replied, his hands sliding into the coat pockets to ward away the cold. "Which we have to pour over the lower half of the body while it's flying off somewhere. And then there's broken shards of glass – but that's for the penanggalan, though I'm not writing it out."

"So we have to wait until it goes off to hunt again?"

Sam's thin and obviously unhappy smile was not what he wanted to see, but was what Dean got. "They're supposedly like vampires, so daylight's the only thing that kills them for sure. The salt and garlic are to prevent them from becoming whole again." Sam explained, recounting whatever information he managed to pull the night before. "And they have a preference for the blood of unborn children or the blood of women who recently delivered a child."

"Sick." Dean muttered, his nose twitching just a bit at the thought. He straightened, shrugging off the coat. "So now we're back to figuring out who the hell the thing is in the daytime."

"'fraid so." Sam murmured in reply, his head turning to where Al, Carla and Gela were walking towards them. They let the topic drop for the moment, greeting the three with nods of acknowledgement.

"Tita Madel told me that you're all invited to lunch." Gela told them, looking from the Tenorios to the Winchesters. "I know you might find it strange," she looked to the boys, "heading over to a prepared lunch set out just after the funeral. But it's our way, and it's practical since I think most people here got out of bed and didn't bother with breakfast." She looked over her should and lifted a hand to acknowledge someone who was waving back to her in return. When she turned back, she continued. "It was the least we could do for Bobby and Luke. This has been so hard for them."

"We'll be there." Carla smiled, giving the girl's hand a squeeze, and Dean noted the rather shy smile that Gela sent to Al, though her gaze slid back to Carla. "I think everyone would feel just a little bit safer having you and Al around."

"Me?" Carla attempted to give the conversation a lighter edge. "Al, maybe with his big guns and macho demeanor. But me?" She shook her head. "We'll be there. Tell tita that."

"Luke, please!"

The familiar, if pained, voice cut into the conversation, and all five turned their attention to where Ami was trying to keep up with a once more angry-looking Luke.

"Cathy," he said to the young woman that he guided away from Ami, her stomach swollen just enough to indicate that she was a mother-to-be. "Go with Bobby. I'll catch up."

"Luke, we were just talking—"

"Cathy," his voice sliced her name like a knife, silencing her confused protest. "Go. To. Bobby." And without another word the woman turned away, walking briskly into the general direction of where the Fletchers had gathered with friends. When Luke turned back to Ami, his jaw was set. But his voice was even and just a little bit soft when he spoke: "I told you not to come near us again."

"Luke, I'm just trying to—"

"Quit harassing my friends, Ami. Quit talking to me and my family and everyone else who knew Em." He fell silent, his jaw working as he stared at her with a mix of hurt and frustration. "You know that? I wish I'd never gotten involved with you." He stepped back, away from her and looked up, finally seeing that Al and Carla were standing not too far away. He seemed to hesitate a moment, his eyes sliding over the other three figures standing with the Tenorios, before turning around and walking away to other familiar faces.

As for Ami, she stayed rooted to where she was, her eyes reflecting a gaze similar to that of a child who'd just been told to get lost and stay lost. From Luke's retreating back, her gaze turned to the two siblings who regarded her as family and she turned away, her hands tucked against her torso when she crossed her arms over her chest.

It didn't take long for Carla to say, "Excuse us," smiling weakly before she and Al left Gela, Dean and Sam to move over to the younger girl.

The three walked off, each sibling flanking Ami, Al's arm almost protective around her shoulders even as Carla's hand lingered against the small of the girl's back. It was a picture of solidarity, of a united front and of support.

"I don't want to be nosy, but uh," Dean started, not quite sure what to make of these little bouts of drama. This was the second time that Luke and Ami had created a scene before the whole crowd of people, and while it was none of his business, he couldn't help but wonder at the unsaid things that might shed light on the words 'stay away from my family'.

"Why is Luke mad at Ami?" Gela offered up, a wince lacing her words. Both boys nodded to her and she made a face – a cross between hesitation and a grimace. "It's a long story." She said simply, as if those four words would be enough to explain everything.

But Sam piped up by saying, "We've got time," shifting in a way that the three of them made a closed, little circle. "We were there," he continued, "at your house – well, your family's house," he added when Gela looked up at him in confusion. "Yesterday. At the wake?" She nodded then in response, but her brows were knit together in a frown that indicated she didn't quite understand where this was leading. "My brother and I were there when Luke all but threw Ami out of the house."

"Oh, right." Gela nodded, her eyes downcast. "That one." She folded her own arms over her stomach, and exhaled as the wind picked up around them. She waited awhile for it to pass, squinting as it rushed by, fluttering fallen leaves and what few still clung to the branches. When the gust died down, she spoke again, her voice slow and wary, as if she shouldn't be saying anything at all.

"It's just small town drama, really. Luke and Ami were going out for a couple months and now it's gone sour." She stated simply as if she wanted to end it there. But both boys seemed to wait for further explanation, so she continued: "She was always over at the Fletchers, you see. Took a shine to Em. Helped around since she'd finished her college course ahead of Carla, and was the only one at their house more often than not since Al was off doing cop-business." She shook her head. "Em liked her well enough. Some of the families would even tease that maybe Luke would settle down in the neighborhood, marry Ami since they looked good together. Besides, the elders always appreciated her inclination to family. She always cooed over the babies in a way that prompted even my Tita – I mean, my Aunt Madel to say is an indication that she'd make a great mother."

Sam frowned, not quite following, and Gela spoke again, smiling sheepishly at deviating from the whole point and continued: "The thing is. Luke's scared of her now. He even said it's like she's cursed or something. Not to mention weird sometimes, which I have to admit, creeps even me out on occasion."

"Wait," Dean interrupted. "Weird?"

Gela seemed to swallow and sighed heavily. "I don't mean any disrespect. I'd probably get scolded for saying so. But she's... nosy, you know? Extremely. She makes it a point to know everyone, as if she were a relative or something – which she's not." She inhaled and expelled a breath. "I understand that some of the older people knew her dad, and since a lot of the families hail from the Visayas region of the Philippines, it's not that uncommon for you to know names. Little islands and little towns make that easy. You can trace the ties, and there's a particular value on that... community feeling."

"But every single one of the women who died – Tintin, Sari, Mags, and the others – Ami hung around them a lot. And then Em..." She trailed off then, looking away, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"Ignore me, please." She all but whispered. "You probably think I'm talking nonsense."

"It's okay." Sam murmured. "From what I hear, it's been pretty crazy lately. But I'm sure Ami it's just coincidence. Ami seems sweet enough."

Gela nodded sagely. "I know." She shook her head. "My grandmother would likely scold me if she knew I was thinking this way." She breathed then, and offered a weary smile. "Anyway, I uh... I'll leave you guys for now." She gestured to where a group of people were gathered. "They need me to help out. Drop by for the lunch if you can. It's open for everyone. The family wouldn't mind." She stepped back and away, turning only once more to say: "It was nice meeting you guys again."

And for awhile the brothers stood in silence, watching and waiting until the cemetery cleared of people, until the only voices heard were those of the men who tended to the headstones.

It was Dean who cued their departure with a quick movement of fishing out the keys from the depths of his slacks' pocket. "Let's roll." He muttered softly, careful of where he lay his feet, careful not to tread over graves. "Let's get back to the motel. I think the starch on this thing is making me itch."

xxx

The moon's light was thin and trembling, drawing vague shadows on the ground. On any other night, it might have been just a little eerie, enough to spur people's footsteps a little faster in order to get home. But the events of the previous few days had given a more than simply eerie quality to the night. There were hardly any people out, and those that still were moved at an almost-jog, reaching doors and locking them securely upon entering.

It didn't take a genius to recognize the signs of a troubled neighborhood, and Sam could understand just why that was. The people living here had never worried about murders and serial killings before, believing such things to be part of the world but completely separate from what and who they were.

But the recent murders had touched close – entirely too close – to the heart of the community, which was why everyone was more than just a little on-edge.

He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, stirring from his thoughts just as the Tenorio's front door opened. Beside him, in the driver's seat, Dean sat up as well, his eyes focusing on the young woman who had just stepped out.

The stakeout was initially planned for the night after Emily Fletcher's funeral, but they couldn't do that – not then, at any rate. They needed to prepare.

They'd both agreed that a little but more research wouldn't hurt, but the biggest article that Sam had dug up was the one from Wikipedia, and no matter how many others they located, and all other sites were only variations on the same theme.

Then finally, while scouring the local library, Dean found their most important find yet: a book entitled Creatures of Lower Philippine Mythology, written by one Maximo D. Ramos. It was an old, detailed anthropological study of Philippine folklore, with descriptions of habits, strengths and weaknesses. Dean had murmured that if he didn't know better, he'd say that this Ramos guy had been a hunter himself, or had known hunters – after all, why would anyone put so much effort in tabulating so much important information other than as a resource.

But whether that was true or not, the bottom line was: for Dean and Sam, it was a godsend.

"Did you load the shotguns with the salt shells?" Dean asked, his voice low and quiet though there really wasn't a need for it.

Sam nodded, his gaze focused on Ami's back. "Yeah."

"Good." Dean's gaze never faltered, even as he drove, his peripheral vision ensuring that they didn't bump into anything like trash cans or the sidewalk curb itself. The Impala's headlights were turned off as not to draw any attention. If Ami decided to turn around, it was only a matter of Dean hitting the brakes with one foot while they both ducked out of sight until she moved on.

They drove for about fifteen to twenty minutes, following Ami as she walked out of the neighborhood and into town. Silence reigned the whole time, that slight pressure of alertness bearing down on them, until Dean asked softly: "What did Carla mean when she said that she thought no one could beat you for knowing all about supernatural stuff?"

"Huh?" Sam glanced at his brother, confused by the sudden question. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember the time we had dinner at the Tenorio place? I slipped and mentioned that demons don't cross moving water, and she looked at me kind of funny and said that she thought you were the only one who knew so much about demons and that kind of stuff."

"Oh, uh... well, I told her some stuff that Dad taught us along the way. She's into folklore and mythology and it was one of those first few things that we spoke about. That's how we met in my World Mythologies class. We'd end up correcting each other or the professor in charge." Now that he thought about it, though, hadn't Carla mentioned that she wanted to study folklore for her thesis? It explained why she'd been so interested in his ideas; why she'd been so attentive to all the detail he could provide. "Why?"

"Don't you think she knows too much?"

Sam shrugged at first, not quite understanding where Dean was headed with the topic. "So Carla's into that sort of thing. If she knows a lot, it's because she's interested. I don't seriously think she really believes in any of it."

Both Dean's eyebrows lifted, a disbelieving look in his eyes. "Oh yeah? Was I the only one at that dinner? How you do explain that look she got on her face when Al wanted to talk about the murders? Or, in fact, the look that she got when they brought up the manananggal? How do you explain the looks she and Ami exchange as if they've got some big I-know-something-nobody-else-does secret?" Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his jaw tensing as he thought more and more on it. "Those two are downright chummy, and the way things are going, I'd say that Carla's trying to cover something up."

Now that was just too much. "Dean, Carla's my friend. I don't think she'd try to do something like that."

"Family looks out for family. Isn't that what she said?"

"Dean. This is ridiculous. You can't possibly be suggesting that Carla knew anything about the thing that killed all those people. Much less that she wouldn't speak up about it. Her brother's a cop for crying out loud. He wouldn't stand for that. Not when they have so much value for this community."

"Al's probably got a thing for Ami then. Have you seen how he tenses up when Luke yells at her? And how he watches her like a hawk? That article said the creatures are native to Capiz right? Probably keep the damn thing as pets, if you ask me."

Sam clamped his teeth together, one hand coming up to press fingers against his temple. "Just because Carla's from Capiz doesn't mean they associate with the things." He murmured quietly. "I think you're overreacting."

"Look, Sammy," Dean pressed on, "I know you've got this concern for all your college friends since they're part of that 'normal life' that you ended leaving behind. But let's be realistic—"

"Dean."

"–not every since person on the planet is as—"

"DEAN!"

"What?"

"She's gone."

"What?!"

In a heartbeat, they were both out of the car, sawed-off shotgun in one hand as the other closed respective doors. Dean fell into step beside him, their strides matched, long and purposeful with just enough caution. "I think I saw her duck into the alley." He murmured to his brother. "Do you think she noticed that we were tailing her?"

"I dunno." Dean murmured, taking the other end of the alley. "But if she did and she comes at us, shoot, okay? We'll figure out what to tell Carla and Al later."

Sam fell in step beside his brother, pulling out a penlight out from his pocket. "We're not shooting her." He said softly, more for himself than Dean. The yellow beam bounced on the concrete in front of them as they walked further in. The air smelled musty, with just a whiff of garbage from a dumpster that someone must have forgotten to close.

"Suit yourself. I'm shooting." Dean replied, taking the other end of the alley. "Dammit, she's fast."

Somewhere up ahead, the soft patter of footsteps echoed back towards them, the pace making a sound as if someone wearing sneakers was starting to walk a bit faster than was normal for a relaxed pace. Without having to glance at his brother, Sam picked up the pace, knowing that they were hot on Ami's trail – or at least, he hoped it was Ami.

They emerged on another street, and this time, when they looked up, they watched a shadow stretching itself along a wall in another alleyway just across from them. Without another word, they jogged after it, heedless of any oncoming traffic – not that they were expecting any, since a curfew had been implemented after dark and the citizens themselves had come to associate night with danger.

Dean was mouthing something to him as they slowed down, keeping to the walls and the shadows as not to attract any undue attention.

But the scream that cut across his eardrums just as they stepped into the shadow of the alleyway practically curdled his blood, and almost simultaneously, they broke into a sprint. This was no time for stealth; someone was getting killed, and if they didn't move fast, another woman would die tonight.

Shotguns at the ready, the two of them burst out of the alley and into the space beyond, illuminated by harsh, white light over back door of what turned out to be a small maternity clinic. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the light, but when they did, Sam immediately took in the scene, with all the gruesome details:

There was a young woman dressed in pink scrubs lying on the pavement, and blood was randomly splattered on the walls and floor, though these didn't seem enough to indicate a drained body. One brief glimpse of her features, despite the harsh play of shadow and light, indicated that this was the same Cathy – full name, Catherine Anderson, who was one of Emily's close friends.

Sam's heart hitched in his chest when she moaned in pain, one hand's fingers curling inward. "She's still alive." He breathed, and they approached slowly, keeping their guns trained at the figure kneeling over her, the sound of gagging echoing ominously in the alleyway.

It was Dean who stepped the closest, enough to reach out to the shoulder that shook with every retch. And as he recognized the battered sneakers of the girl they'd been tailing Sam's stomach all but plummeted to his toes.

She looked up suddenly then, as if only aware in that very instant that there were others in the alley other than her and the unconscious girl. Her dark, cat-shaped eyes were startled and eerily childlike, a mix of shock reflecting in their depths. Despite the blood spattered all over her white shirt dress, the same red fluid coating her fingers and dripping from her mouth, Ami looked the picture of innocence.

Sam shifted his weight, legs braced as if standing on a ship. He pointed dead-center between her eyebrows, ready to shoot if she gave him reason to. "Sam?" She croaked, swallowing and then pitching forward, one hand coming up to catch whatever it was her body was rejecting.

Sam turned his gaze to Dean, whose confused look he imagined mirrored his own. "I thought you said she had to change before eating people up?"