"Well isn't this happy home suburbia," Dean muttered as he and Sam climbed out of the Impala, parked in front of one of many lonely sets of trailers strung along this dead end dirt road on the edge of town.

"Hey, we've seen worse," Sam said as they walked towards their target, his eyes sweeping over the area, noting the sprawl of small children's toys, dusty swing sets in the yard, and one lone dog chained to post not far from a small dog house.

"Ok, something seem wrong with this to you?" Dean asked, also observing their surroundings.

"Yeah. Feels like a ghost town." Sam's brow furrowed. Kid's toys everywhere, but no kids; in fact, there wasn't a single car parked anywhere in the nearby area except their own.

As they approached the trailer the chained dog barked ferociously before cowering back and disappearing into the doghouse, its growls still audible even as Dean and Sam climbed the porch to the trailer.

"Police! Anybody home?" Dean called. The only sound they were met with was the wind whipping through the dusty yard, making the chains on the swing set in the next yard whine ominously. Silence greeted them from behind the door so Dean shrugged his shoulders and withdrew his trusty lock-pick and began to needle at the door until it swung open for them. He stowed the pick and then withdrew his pistol, flexing his fingers against the grip and barrel before lowering them to the trigger. He kept the safety on for the moment as they prowled through the space. It was fairly sparse which made it less cramped than it could have been but it didn't take them long to cover it.

"Sam!" Dean barked as he found one of the tiny side bedrooms. If any room in the house was going to belong to a teenage boy, it would be this one. Dozens of death metal band posters were taped to the walls, black paint covered the ceiling. The only thing of value in the room appeared to be a stereo and sitting next to it on the dresser was a collection of CDs, most of them with violent, grotesque covers.

"Whoa, ok, this kid is obviously living up to the Freudian Id stereotype," Sam said as he nosed around the room. He dropped down to his knees and began to feel around the edge of the mattress gingerly.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, noting the almost pained expression on Sam's face as he reached between the mattress and the bed frame.

"When we were teenagers, what was the only thing we were trying to hide from Dad?"

"Besides your college applications? The porn. Duh," Dean answered.

"Right, and where do all teenage boys hide their porn?"

Dean's eyes attempted to bug out of his skull. "Dude, seriously, you have a laptop. Find your porn like the rest of us do! This is just weird!"

Sam glared at him, his arm stuffed between the mattress and the bedframe before his fingers closed around what he was looking for. He yanked his arm back and stood up on his feet.

"Black magic rituals 101." A smug look crawled its way across Sam's face as he slapped the book into Dean's hand.

Dean's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Nice one Sammy," he admitted. He flipped the book open and glanced through it. "Yeah, this is really basic. Half of it is total B.S." Dean handed the book back to him and watched as Sam thumbed through its pages as well. "Think this is enough to bring something like that dog back?"

Sam swallowed. "Yeah, looks like it." He unfolded the book and pointed to a passage written in Latin that was written below a drawing of a basic summoning spell and the list of materials required. "But it doesn't explain why the spirit is taking animal form or why it's targeting the people that it does."

"Or how to stop it, right?" Dean muttered with an annoyed sigh.

Sam shook his head. "Of course not. We both know that it's ten times as hard to kill something that's technically already dead."

"Ain't that the truth." He paused for a moment, weighing their options. "Alright, let's bail. We need to find the kid and talk to him, and we're taking that with us. Hopefully he hasn't memorized how to do the mojo and taking his little cookbook will put the breaks on it."

"Yeah, but that doesn't change the fact that someone still brought that spirit back and we need to stop it. Otherwise, it'll just kill at random will."

They turned to head for the door but right at that moment they were about to cross into the living room towards the front door the screen door swung open and a teenage boy with lanky black hair, pale skin, wearing black jeans and a Cannibal Corpse T-shirt.

"Who the hell are you?" the kid barked, angrily slamming the door behind him.

"We're the police," Sam interjected before Dean could smack the kid upside the head for being a demanding brat. Out of instinct they both yanked out their fake IDs and flashed their badges. "We needed to talk to you, you're Robert Matthews, right?"

"Yeah, that's me, what the hell are you doing in my house? Why do you have my book!?" He angrily snatched for the book in Dean's hand but Dean yanked his hand back and held it over his head.

"Oh, this book? I don't think so kid. You been working a little voodoo, messing around with some black magic?" Dean's voice dropped to that low growl that was way to reminiscent of his old man's authoritarian snarl for Sam to be entirely comfortable with but for the time being he'd let Dean have his way. Sometimes putting the fear of God in a kid was the best way to keep them on the straight and narrow.

"No!" Robert insisted. He stretched his arm out for the book again and that was when Sam noticed four bloody red lines on the side of his neck and jaw.

"How'd you get those scratches?" Sam asked, pointing towards the boy's neck as Dean continued to hold his book over his head.

"None of your business. Now, unless you're going to charge me with something, get the hell out of my house!"

"Hey! We've got enough to arrest you on suspicion of conspiracy, attempted murder, and murder in the first degree, so unless you want to see what lock up is like you better talk fast!" Dean snarled. "What do you know about those kids that were killed?"

Robert narrowed his beady dark eyes at the two of them. "Not much."

"Talk faster kid," Dean pretended to be reaching behind his back for a pair of cuffs (which he actually had in the Impala, but the kid didn't have to know that).

"Ricky Martin was no damn saint. He was a prick. Ask me, kid deserved what he got. Peter Baker and Jessica Tanner used to date, but he cheated on her so they split. She didn't take it that well but then again, I guess it doesn't matter much, because a month or so later," he drew his finger across his throat in a hacking motion, "she bit it too. And now Chris Rodriguez."

"Did Chris know any of the others?" Dean demanded.

"He knew Jessica, her and Leah were best friends. Rumor going around at school was that Chris had a thing for Jessica. Leah denied it though, so did Chris. And Jessica's not around to answer for herself, is she?"

"And you? We spoke with Leah earlier today, she said you and her used to date." Dean still had that threatening growl in his voice and he now stepped forward to physically put himself in the kid's space and assert his dominance. Humans weren't that different from dogs, not really, his dad had taught him that when teaching him how to deal with cons, thieves, or worse.

"Yeah, for a month or so, it wasn't anything serious. She wasn't into me."

Sam narrowed his eyes, determined to dig for more information. "Why not?"

Robert sneered at Sam coldly. "Why do you think? Leah's one of the prettiest girl in school. I'm the Goth freak who likes to research the supernatural in my spare time. We'd been friends for forever it just kind of happened. I think she was hoping if we went out I'd quit being a quote 'punk'," he made little air quotes with his fingers, "and turn normal. Didn't happen, so she called it quits."

"You don't sound happy about that," Sam noted.

The kid shrugged. "Your friend can't deal with the kind of clothes you wear or the music you listen to or what you like to read. It's like…why are you even friends with me then?" He folded his arms over his chest. "Look, I don't know who or what killed those kids. The newspapers keep saying a wild animal is loose out there. Judging from what Leah said in class it sounds like they all got mauled by the same thing, so why aren't you out there in the desert trying to kill it?"

"Oh I don't know, Rob, you tell me?" Dean growled. "Maybe because someone's got a book of black magic stashed under the bed, a book with the exact ritual to bring a deranged spirit back and sick it after people he didn't like!" He was right in Robert's face as he spoke, Sam keeping a close watch overhead.

"Look, I still care about Leah, alright!" Rob yelled back. "If was really trying to hurt people, why the hell would I send a psychotic animal after her or her boyfriend? She wanted to get married to Chris after barely six months of dating him, fine, that's her prerogative. I'm not so petty I'd actually try to kill them!" He cocked one eyebrow at them, a suspicious look on his face. "Besides, none of that stuff is real anyway. Why do you even care? You guys don't believe in black magic, not if you're really cops."

Sam's face paled but Dean's jaw set hard. Before Sam could try and explain anything Dean cut him off, deciding to pull the escape hatch now before things got any stickier. "We're still taking this with us." Dean tapped the book with his fingertips. They headed for the door and were standing on the porch when Dean turned around to find Rob still watching them. "Where is everybody else by the way?"

"What do you mean?" Rob asked.

"The adults? All the other kids?" Sam clarified.

"It's church night, over at West Minister on Brick Street. They're all there."

"And your not?" Dean asked with as much sass as he could possibly interject into his tone. "Such a shame, bet you're missing out on a great church potluck."

Rob slammed the door shut in their face and Dean chuckled as he and Sam scuttled back through the yard towards the Impala. They climbed back into the car and Dean cranked on the engine, heading back towards the motel.

"Alright, what's our next move?" Sam questioned.

"I'm not sure. You think he was telling the truth?"

"I don't know," Sam said with a quiet sigh. "I mean, remember that zombie case we worked when we were hunting for Dad? Where that college boy brought back the girl cause he was in love with her and she was killing people?"

"Yeah, you think maybe this Rob kid's jealous of people so he's sicking the dog on them?"

"Maybe. But if he really does care about Leah, it wouldn't make sense for him to try and get at Chris while she was there. It puts her in the cross-hairs."

"Not if he knows how to give the spirit a target. Is that in there?"

Sam flipped through the little black book. "No. Normally you need a powerful talisman or some seriously dark hoodoo to send spirits after someone."

"So you don't think it's him?"

Sam shook his head. "No. Besides, if it was, I think we might have seen more evidence of it at his house. No black candles, no mutilated animal bodies, no herbs, I think maybe the kid is telling the truth."

"I wonder what those scratches on his neck were about. Think he got a little too close to Lassie at some point?"

Sam tilted his head down, still staring at the book. "No. Weren't big enough to have been caused by the dog. They looked human."

"Human? Hm. Maybe we should poke around more, find out who would take a swing at him."

Sam stayed quiet, still studying the book. Dean took them back to the motel and stashed the car in the lot and had just finished climbing out when he had that particular sensation of something crawling up and down his spine- the same one he would get when he knew someone was watching him.

"Dean? What is it?" Sam's voice was soft with concern, seeing the way his brother tensed up.

"Someone's watching us," he hissed. He withdrew his gun and nodded towards Sam, giving him the signal to draw and fan out.

"Dean, there's nobody here!" Sam hissed, and yet he still drew, but he didn't switch the safety off.

Dean approached the door to the motel room, pressing his back to the wall, holding his gun near eye level next to his head, Sam doing the same thing on the opposite side. Sam nodded to give Dean the signal and Dean slid the key into the door and unlocked it, nudging it open before sweeping in, holding his pistol out, doing a clean sweep of the room as Sam came in behind him.

"See, Dean? Nobody here." Sam muttered. "I think you're just being paranoid."

Dean lowered his pistol and let out the breath he'd been holding. "Yeah…maybe, still, I coulda swore…"

Just then threw the open motel door he heard the thunk of a heavy, American-made metal car door shutting.

He whirled around and saw a shadowy figure leaning over his baby, a hood drawn over the head of the figure, completely obscuring the face as whoever had been in the car stuffed the black book into their coat and then shot across the lot like a bullet out of the barrel of a gun.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, taking off like a bat out of hell after the fleeing figure, Sam running right behind him, his long legs easily keeping pace with Dean who was racing blindly in pursuit. The older brother really couldn't have cared less who or what he was chasing after, all he knew there was no way in hell anybody he didn't know was going to get away with putting their mitts all over his baby.

The thief shot across the parking lot, running like hell for the street, whirling on their feet with swift ease, burning rubber on concrete as they bolted for the only part of town that could be considered 'industrial'; a mess of twisted metal warehouses and buildings that had once been used to store cattle and other farm animals after the cowboys would bring them in from the pastures to be slaughtered and turned into delicious barbeque.

"Jesus their fast!" Sam panted as even his long legs were struggling to keep up the blinding sprint.

"They are so not getting away, not after breaking into my baby," Dean growled. He kicked it up a notch, the thrill of the hunt pumping through him. Hot blood spilled through his veins, he could practically taste a catch on the tip of his tongue. Bolts of electricity tingled through his fingertips and the bottoms of his feet as he raced after the fleeing figure, his prey as fleeting as the dust blowing in the hot night wind. His heartbeat slammed like the roll of a drum solo in his ears as he sucked down more and more air to fuel his running legs. Muscles bunched, contracted, released, the hot spice of desperation for a figurative kill tore through him as he did his best to gain ground on his target. This blind, rabid instinct, this need to hunt, it was in his blood, it always had been, it always would be. It was the thing that would always separate him from Sam. Sam could be just as content to live a regular life, absent of these blistering chases and battles, and hell, even Dean had days, long days, when he could too. A life where he could be free of the pain, the guilt, the aching hole deep inside no amount of alcohol, sex, or blood could bandage over. But he knew deep down, no matter how blissful domestic life might be, there would always be that need. That instinctual urge to hunt, to wreck control and power on the world that would dare violate that which should be protected. Why was it his responsibility? Because he had the strength, and more important, he had the drive, and never was it more clear than when he was running down prey like the wolf runs down the deer deep in the woods on a moonless winter night.

The figure raced towards the warehouses, pelting towards a fence that was chained shut. For a moment an excited thrill bolted through Dean's guts- he had the figure trapped, but they didn't even flinch, instead, they kicked off the dusty concrete and launched themselves into the air, landing on all fours onto the top of a dumpster before springing off like a freaking leapfrog and landing in a crouch before shooting up onto two feet and taking off into the tangle of buildings.

"Come on!" Dean yelled to Sam who was right at his shoulder as they came up to the fence. "Your legs are longer, go!" He skidded to a halt next to the fence and quickly interlaced his fingers together and gave his brother a boost up and over the fence. Sam scrambled over and hit the other side, waiting for Dean but the elder waved him away. "Go on! They got the book!"

Sam took off running and Dean quickly scrambled over the fence as fast as he could, this time withdrawing his gun as he went running in the direction of the thief. He ran down a side street barely wide enough for a car, looking left and right, trying to listen for any sound of pursuit but the blood pounding in his ears made it impossible to hear much of anything useful. He steadied himself as much as he could but when Sam came out from behind one of the warehouses, hands up in show of an empty catch, his breath sailed out of him.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed. "It'll take all night to search this place!"

"Come on, there's no way to know if there was only the one. Dad's book is at the motel, we need to get to it, make sure it's safe."

Dean nodded and took off at a run after his brother, his feet pounding over the concrete, anger, confusion, and frustration pouring over his frame just as thick as the sweat beginning to coat his skin. They double timed it back to the motel and hurried inside, Sam making sure to lock the door while Dean ran to the safe, spun the lock, and found his father's journal still safely tucked inside. He leaned his head against the top lip of the safe, catching his breath as he reached inside and pulled the book out.

"It still there?" Sam asked.

Dean pulled back from the safe and nodded, holding up the book for Sam to see. Sam looked a bit relieved to see that it was still there, but soon enough, befuddlement crossed over his face.

"Who the hell would want to steal that book?" Sam asked, halfway watching Dean, the other portion of his attention divided to watching out the window of their room.

"I don't know, but they have officially pissed me off," Dean muttered.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face before looking back over at his brother. "We need to find this thing and fast, because I have a nasty feeling that now that they know we are, we're next on Lassie's menu."

Dean smirked a bit despite the gravity of the situation. "Well Scooby, what do you suggest we do?"