I appreciate the reviews guys. Thanks everyone. Also, side note regarding last chapter. Thanks to one brave anonymous reviewer, Carol, who pointed out that yes, the fan's movements were hypnotic and not hypotonic lol. It was one mistake that I skimmed over. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter.

Instantly, Sam knew that something was wrong. John and Dean were at the library searching for any deaths that might relate to Alex's, and now he was waiting outside Dylan's house for more than fifteen minutes. Digging his phone out from his pocket, he pressed the keypad 4, speed dialing his friend while a thought whispering in his mind that as soon as he was going to leave this town, speed dial number four was going to be blank, just like the many other times.

After calling for the fifth time, Sam was curious. Something was definitely going on. He picked up his school bag and rang the doorbell, once…twice…and waited. He slowed his breathing down and listened for any noises, any footsteps but there was none. Ringing the doorbell again, this time his finger jabbed at it, panic rising in his chest and the silence was deafening. Soon, the echo of the chime died down and Sam had made up his mind.

Dylan had never been this late for school, not without a call or text message, and certainly not replying when Sam rang the doorbell.

Crouching low, he crept around the corner of the house and spotted a window that ran nearly the length of floor-to-ceiling. He peered inside and swallowed back bile that had risen in his throat. His heart hammered against his ribcage and he froze, his feet sinking into the ground beneath him.

Dylan's beautiful baby blue carpet spread across the living room had been vandalized by splashes of scarlet that lead to the kitchen. Eyes widening, his breath quickened and he momentarily squeezed his eyes shut.

If he burst in there now, what would he see? Would he see his best friend dangling down from the ceiling lights with intestines strangling him? Or worse? Would he see the cold blooded murderer tearing his stomach open?

Sam had a strong urge to call his brother or father, but he knew they were busy in the library. Should he call them? At once, his decision was made. The more the thought about it, the more he wanted to find out about this killer. A surge of adrenaline coursed through him as he skillfully unlocked the window with his switchblade and silently climbed in.

Cursing at his stupidity for not bringing a gun, he held the blade like a professional cop would and expertly stalked around the house, taking note of the blood splattered on the expensive carpet under his feet. He didn't miss the way his eyes crept towards the ceiling every time he went into a new room.

Stilling his breath, he heard the sound of something…almost sounded muffled. It was definitely coming from the kitchen. A wave of hope filled him as he twisted his body into the kitchen, eyes darting from left to right before finally landing on the huddled figure tied up, blindfolded and gagged in the corner.

"Dylan? Dylan!!" Sam sprinted over to his friend and cut off his bonds. "Dylan! Where's your dad? Where's your father?"

Shaking hands trembled as they untied his blindfold and gag. Relief flooded his eyes as his shoulders slumped at the sight of Sam.

"Where is your father?"

"I-I don't know…"

Sam scanned his friend's body for any injuries and found none. That could only mean the blood belonged to…

Behind the dining table he eyed a foot sticking out and instantly knew who's it was. He saw the puddle of blood pooling beneath it, snaking its way towards him and the sight alone made him dizzy and wanted to vomit. The memory of Alex's death was still too fresh and raw and he could not afford another.

Flipping his cell out, he decided it was definitely time to call his brother.

"Dean?"

"Yeah? What's wrong?" Dean's voice came on the other side.

"Dean, come to Dylan's house immediately! Something's wrong, please, just come!"

"Alright! Alright, uh, stay there okay?"

Sam heard the muffled murmuring as Dean and John exchanged words, and he nodded jerkily to himself as Dean confirmed he'd be there in five minutes or so. Flipping the phone shut, he turned to Dylan.

"What happened?"

"I have… I have no idea. I woke up and I found myself in the dark and my hands were tied behind my back. I couldn't yell out or anything! And then I heard…" Tears trickled down his cheeks as he blinked. "I heard my dad being murdered!! He was so close to me but yet…yet I couldn't do anything to save him!" He brokenly whispered the last of his words.

"I heard him beat by father, and then he screamed…and it was the last I ever heard from him." He sniffed, bowing his head low in humiliation and Sam looked at him feeling a familiarly helpless.

"I heard my own father die!" Dylan continued, pronouncing each word with more strength than usual. "I heard him scream and I was just there in the corner, doing nothing!!"

"You couldn't, Dylan. Don't blame yourself, please. This is not your fault. Don't blame yourself."

After he killed my dad, he just left though! Why didn't he kill me? Why didn't he take my life? Why couldn't he allow me to join my father?"

"Don't say that. Please don't. What's it gonna change if he took your life? You're the only witness! Look, my dad and brother's coming here soon to check this out. My dad, he's a…cop. Don't blame yourself Dylan."

Dissatisfied that he didn't receive a nod but the fact that Dylan shrank smaller, curling inwards frightened Sam. Something was up in this town. Swiveling his gaze, he eyed the muddy boot peeking out from the table and shivered. He could not bear to walk around and witness what had happened to Dylan's father.

Sure enough, with a loud crash the front door had been kicked down by Dean, and the two elderly Winchesters were expertly scanning the area, their eyes following their guns as they moved through the house silently.

Finding Sam and his friend huddled in the corner; Dean crouched down beside them and checked them both for injuries. Like Sam, he found none and noticed the figure lying behind the table. Taking a deep breathe, he slowly walked around, his boots softly clicking against the tiles in the kitchen. He rounded the last bend and what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. His blood froze cold and he gripped his gun for cold comfort.

Dylan's father was hardly recognizable! He was lying on his back, his face towards the ceiling, his palms also turned upwards, but if it hadn't been the pile of moving black that swarmed his face, it would have been easier detecting that he was once a handsome man with a happy family.

Dean recognized the creatures at once. Scorpions. Dozens, maybe even fifty. Some on top of another. Scuttling all over Dylan's father, their skin-tingling legs gracing over his dead icy skin. Dean almost wanted to vomit at the sight of their poisonous pincers. A scorpion was hanging off his right ear, holding itself onto it by attaching its pincer onto his earlobe. Black creatures the size of your hand, crawling over you sentencing you to death by not one stab of their deathly pincers, but many.

His eyes scanned Dylan's father for any more injuries soon and he raised his eyes in surprise, finding that his right leg had been brutally severed off at his knee. A round stump indicating that his leg didn't exist anymore and what was left was just an ugly blood spotted thigh.

Dean's eyes were glued to the scene he didn't register his father creeping up next to him, also surveying the scene before them.

"That is one sick death." John commented softly and Dean jumped.

"I feel like I'm going to puke."

"I don't blame ya. Just looking at them makes my skin tingle. I wander how this guy felt before he died."

"Ugh. Please, don't."

"We need to get Sammy and Dylan out of here." John's and Dean's eyes locked for a brief second. And we need to start questioning this kid.

"Dylan, is there a back door?"

Dylan nodded and stood up on shaky legs with Sam supporting him on one side as they frantically left the house. They knew that the neighbors would be complaining about the smell of blood and they couldn't afford to be found inside the building with the victim's son.

Sam glanced at his watch as they made it back to where the Winchesters had been staying. "It's too late to go to school now. Besides, they'll wonder what happened and if what happened appears on the news today, we'd be bombed with questions."

After making sure no one saw them, John closed the door and walked over to Sam, Dean and Dylan on the bed. If this meant tracking the killer, supernatural or not, he would have to interrogate Sam's friend.

Gently, he sat down opposite him and took a deep breath. "Dylan, I need to find out what happened. I need you to tell me everything, everything you heard, thought, saw-"

"I didn't see anything."

John sighed and was about to ask him to open up when Sam interrupted. "He was blindfolded. He couldn't see anything Dad."

A curt nod from John spoke both an apology and a confirmation that he meant business. Trying his best to keep his voice soft he leant in and spoke. "It's okay. Just tell me everything you heard from the moment you realized you were in trouble. Everything."

Dylan raised his frightful eyes to John and then glanced at Dean, then Sam. "You are cop, right?" He asked, remembering what he had heard earlier.

John could see Sam squirm from the corner of his eye and smiled thinly. "Yes, that's right. Did you hear that from Sam?"

Dylan nodded and bowed his head again. "So, that means I can tell you everything right? And I won't get in trouble?"

Sam thought of how much innocence his friend had and he secretly wished he wasn't plunged into the world of darkness and murder at such a young age.

"That's right. Tell us everything, even little details that you don't think will matter. You won't get into trouble."

Sam eyed his father and wondered where the Mr. Nice-Guy act was from. He surely could put up an act when things were in his favor.

"Well… it was… different. Yesterday, I saw my classmate hanging from the ceiling and I couldn't get the image out of my mind! It was hideous. I never knew anyone who could do such a thing! So I went home, splashed water on my face and my dad came back- like usual. He went to the fridge and pulled a bottle of Jack Daniels out. It's always his daily routine. I decided to watch some TV but halfway through I fell asleep on the couch."

Well, that must have been what happened because when I woke up I found my hands tied behind my back, and I was on the floor, the floor beneath me so cold it consumed me. I soon realized I was on the kitchen floor, and felt the freezing cold brush against my cheeks. I gathered that the refrigerator door must've been open. I couldn't open my eyes- it felt like an uncomfortable blanket was smothering me."

The rope around my ankles and wrists were tied too tightly, it bit into my skin." Dylan absently rubbed his wrists, his long nails trailing over his skin. "Before I could think up of a way to escape, I heard slow footsteps followed by murmuring. I tried to shuffle my way around but it was useless. I tried to use my shoulders to shrug off my blindfold, but whoever kidnapped me was a professional. I tried to talk but couldn't get a sound out. My throat was dry, raw and scratchy like it hadn't been used for decades."

I later realized it wasn't me who had been kidnapped, but I was a prisoner inside my own house. My father was several feet away from me and his murderer was circling him like a predator eyeing its prey before it lunged and sunk its fangs deep into juicy flesh. I was torn from my thoughts as a scream tore through the air, reverberating off the walls. It scared me, and I shrank smaller into a small figure. Something was happening to my father, and I was just a mere distance away doing nothing."

"I couldn't help it and realized the material of the tight blindfold on my cheeks wrapped around my eyes were turning damp. I heard my father plead for his life, cries of 'No's' bounced off the walls taunting me as I spun my head left to right. Heels tapped on my kitchen tile floor as shuffling could be heard, and then a trail of screams and cries. I racked my brain, trying to yell out and ask what was happening. Murderous laughter rang in my ears and I prepared for my fate- I shied away and all I could think of was for him- or her- to end this quickly and let me join my father. I knew he was dead since there was deafening silence, hanging around me like cobwebs that would never fade away."

"The clicking of heels soon disappeared as the front door opened and I was left by myself. It was unfair. Why leave me to such a lonely world full of loss and traitors? Shortly after the person left, someone crawled through the window and I heard his voice, recognizing him immediately."

Dylan nodded jerkily in Sam's direction as he finished his story. John took a deep breath that filled his lungs and let it out.

"Is that everything?"

"Everything."

John swallowed a lump in his throat. Sounds like nothing supernatural. Just some psycho murderer on the loose. Perhaps call the cops? John mentally shook his head. After more than years of training he knew to never get cops involved where he had a choice.

"It's getting late, Dylan." As soon as the words were out he realized his dilemma. "Would you like to stay with us? Just for… a few days maybe?"

John's skin tingled as hopeless eyes gazed back at him, so miserable and lost. "Yes, thank you." He whispered.

"Alright, Sam, get him comfortable. Dean, outside. I need to discuss something with you." Out of habit, Sam sent a questioning glance to John as he received a nod and John mouthed a single word enough for Sam to understand. 'Later.'

000

"Dad, what is it?" Dean closed the motel door behind him.

"That kid, he seems so…lost. He can't stay with us forever Dean, you know that. He's going to have to be sent to an orphanage or live with another family, relative, maybe."

"Something's definitely up though."

"I'm going to go research more on Dylan's father. There has to be a lead, supernatural or not."

"I'll stay with Sam and keep them company."

John shook his head slowly, still in thought. "That poor kid. I can only imagine what it feels like to be tied up in the same room as your father, and hearing him get murdered."

"He's only sixteen. I wonder what life he's going to live."

"I can tell he's a good kid. I hope he pulls through."

"Somehow I doubt it." Dean said as he looked at Sam talk to Dylan through the window. "You're right. It's like he's a shell of who he was. These cracks don't heal with simple superglue and words. It can turn you into something you're not."

"C'mon. Sooner we get this solved the better it'll be for everything. The library's only a five minute drive from here. I'll definitely be back before 10. Salt the doors and windows. Just keep them…distracted. If there's a chance, ask Dylan about his past or anything."

"Yes sir. Stay safe."

000

Sam saw his family exit the motel and rested his eyes on his friend beside him. Edging slightly closer, he leant down and looked him in the eyes. "I'm sorry you had to go through that." He offered softly. What more could he say? That he should keep his head high and put what happened behind him even though he had 'witnessed' his father die?

Dylan didn't even try to smile as his eyes flicked over to Sam's, studying him. His hair shadowed his eyes that were once bright and full of life, but now they were dead and bore deep into Sam's soul.

"Dylan, say something."

"What is there to say? My life is cursed! My whole family is dead! And I'm the only one that stands. Is this some kind of prank sent by God? My mother was Christian. Why did God feel the need to punish us so badly?"

"Don't say that."

"What do you know?" Dylan's voice became a deadly whisper as his eyes narrowed, words rolling off his tongue with heavy bitterness. "Do you know how it feels like to have a father who doesn't communicate with you when he comes back from work?"

Slightly, yes. Sam thought.

"Do you know how lonely it gets? It feels like I'm suffocating because of the silence in my house. Every day, the walls seem to be closing in on me, waiting for the right moment to crush my bleeding heart and delete my face off the Earth's population. At night, even the crickets are resting and it's just me, sitting on the bathroom floor. My father is too drunk to notice and I look around me like there's no tomorrow. Do you know how that feels like?"

Sam looked down forlorn as he thought carefully of what to say. What could he say? Cautiously he glanced at the clock ticking away, oblivious to the awkward moment in the room. It was 9:24pm. Just a little over half an hour before John and Dean comes back. Great.

"You don't, huh. No one knows how it feels like. I'm probably the only person in this world that has to go through this." Dylan stood up and walked over to the sink, eyeing the bottle of near-empty vodka. "Why is it always me?" He bellowed. It was obvious to Sam that he was grieving, blinded by the world of pain that consumed him.

Pouring a bit of vodka into his glass he turned around and faced Sam.

"Dylan." He warned. Now's not the time to get drunk.

The clear water swirled in the glass as Dylan twirled it around his fingers, as if contemplating what he should do with it. Pour it down the sink and watch it disappear down the drain like his life? Or toss his head back and welcome the new life he was going to lead by himself courageously?

His fingers encircling the cold cylinder shape, he hypnotically gazed into the mini whirlpool that formed while he had been fumbling it around. Sam sat on the edge of his seat, eyeing his friend carefully.

With one swift movement he jerked his head back and his hand followed, the vodka entering his throat. Slamming the glass down onto the bench, hard enough for the bottom of it to crack as it absorbed the force, Dylan sauntered over to Sam once again.

"I never knew my father. He was just a man that I lived with. I didn't know what he liked, what he wanted or what he deserved. But now…now that he's dead… It lies heavy upon your heart like oil dominating the water, slowly hacking away your insides like deadly bacteria set to destroy you. It's too much." Dylan said shaking his head.

"Dylan, calm down, please. Whatever it is, my father and brother can help."

"No! No they can't! I'm going to be sent to a Foster family! How can your family help? Adopt me?"

Sam clamped his mouth shut. He knew John would never adopt considering the things they did. He would have to repeat everything again starting from the basics, teaching him how to shoot a gun to telling him how to exorcise demons. That's not even counting the extra cash they needed to earn for a fourth member.

"You know it as well as I do, Sam."

"There has to be a way. The future isn't written in stone Dylan. We'll think of something, I promise."

Sam swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat, his own words to Dean nine years ago ringing in his ears. Don't make promises you can't keep Dean!

As if on cue, the motel door opened as John and Dean appeared, shrugging their coats off and placing them down. "I managed to pick up dinner." John announced, holding up paper bags.

000

"They're asleep."

"Good, what've you got?"

"I found out a bit about Lachlan's history." Dean said as he pulled some papers out from his coat. "Lachlan Krrost. Father of Dylan Krrost. Husband of Alicia Maubra. His wife died roughly nine or ten years ago, killed by a vicious animal." He shook his head.

"This must have been when Dylan was, what, seven years old? Poor kid. Wonder what happened."

"Must've been harsh now that his father is dead. Man I wonder how this kid is gonna grow up and forget his past."

"Well you know what? I went to that house Dylan described while you were at it. From the looks of it, it's been abandoned for a few years. There were some cops patrolling around the area and I didn't want to risk it. But whatever happened in there months ago must be pretty serious since they think it should be necessary to make sure no one goes in there again."

"What's going on in this town? It's like some killer on the loose and the cops aren't even trying to track them."

"Maybe we're dealing with someone that's too good for the cops. It would explain why they're not hauling his sorry ass to jail already."

John scrubbed a hand over his weary face. "The kid has the world to face all by himself. And in the next few days, he's gonna go to Foster care."

"Yeah, it's gonna be hard."

"Or we could ask him if he has any relatives."

"Don't think he does, or he wouldn't have stayed with us in the first place.

"I have a feeling that house has something got to do with these murders. But how does that explain the cops?"

Leaning back on the chair, Dean's fingernails rapped against the dining table.

"Go to sleep son. You'll need it. We have a whole day ahead of us full of researching. I told you there would be a hunt in this town."

"Yeah alright. I'll sleep on the couch since Dylan has my bed."

John solemnly nodded as he too wearily blinked. They had a long day ahead of them tomorrow.

000

Dean noticed something was wrong the instant he had woken up. His hand automatically reached under the pillow as he groped around for the blade he always hid there. Finding nothing, his heart beat increased and that was when he remembered he was sleeping on the couch. –Because Dylan was on his bed. With his pillow.

With the blade.

Mentally, he cursed himself as he shot straight up and darted into the room he normally shared with Sam. His eyes narrowed in thought when he found no one in the room. Dylan and Sam were gone. Quickly he checked the time and he released his breath.

Just in time he heard the door open and swiveled around to see John walk in with two cups of coffee in his hand.

"Hey Dad? Dylan and Sam left for school pretty early."

"They should have. I'm not so sure. I went to go grab coffee and breakfast."

"Oh, then he must've left early to get some breakfast." Dean laughed as he shook his head amusingly. "Smartass. Always one step ahead." He commented lightly.

"Yeah well that's your brother. Now hurry up and eat. You can have your brother's share if you want."

A hungry grin graced Dean's lips as he looked at the food while John sipped his coffee and read the newspaper.

"Lachlan made it to front page." He flipped the article over and shook it at Dean, his mouth filled with food so he replied with a curious nod. "The cops are on the same page with us. Know nothing more than just the severed leg, scorpions and the blood staining the carpet."

Swallowing his food, Dean added, "No, we know more than that. Dylan told us his side of the story."

"Yeah, true. There's something here that I can't exactly place my finger on. It's driving me insane."

"And the almighty Winchester falls!" Commentated Dean with his mouth full of food.

"I'm serious, Dean." John shot his eldest son a serious glare. "I feel like it's something that we don't have to rack our brains trying to think and it's under my nose but yet I can't seem to get a lead."

"Winchester Poetry." Dean stated with a hint of humor edging his tone.

"Dean, shut up and shove your food down your mouth. I need you. Daylight is wasting and we're on our asses doing nothing." John growled, although there was no harsh tone behind it.

A minute later, John stuffed the papers into his pockets and seized his keys. "Dean! C'mon, I think I might have something. We're going to the library."

Swallowing the last of his burger down, he wiped his hands on his jeans and put his coat on. John was already out the door before Dean threw his boots on as he quickly shut the motel door.

Being a Winchester- son of the professional hunter was one thing. Being a person that's trying to keep up with orders, hastily fumbling his way out the door before checking everything was another. And today, Dean Winchester missed something. Sam's muddy school shoes were huddled in the corner. But that wasn't something important is he had noticed them after all, today was Sam's PE classes.

Jogging up to John's car, the engine was started before he even stepped foot into it. "Hold up Dad!"

000

Sam just felt so tired. It seemed like he didn't get enough sleep last night, but truth was, he did. His arms felt sore, and his legs just didn't cooperate. What ever happened to sports classes today? He thought. His mind drifted and he wondered what was going on. He felt his chin droop down to his chest and his whole body felt like jelly. Grasping the chair he was sitting on, he tried to lift himself up. Maybe he was sick? Where was Dylan? Maybe if he could go the clinic…

His body lost the battle as his whole head fell forward to his chest and succumbed to the darkness. He was just too tired. Hopefully his classmates or the period bell would wake him up when it's time. Even if he got in trouble for sleeping in class it wasn't much. He couldn't resist it.

TBC.

Ah yes, and the Limp! (as promised) starts next chapter for lovely Sammy. Please tell me how you liked it.