Disclaimer: I own nothing, am making no money from this and am doing it purely for enjoyment.

Chapter Four

The early morning sun beat down on the quiet neighborhood. At least now it was quiet, just an hour before it had been crawling with cops, paramedics and nosey neighbors. Sam stood behind the latest victims house and rubbed his eyes tiredly - he'd been going pretty much nonstop since he'd arrived. Breaking into Zach's house to check out the crime scene (which had been a hassle since the dog next door wouldn't shut up), studying the security footage Becky had taken from the lawyer, and now trying to get clues from the newest attack. This case was seriously messed up and, not for the first time, he wished Dean was there. His brother's (often skewed) point of view usually picked up on the things Sam was missing.

But Dean was in Cleveland, and despite his promise, only the threat of death or dismemberment would make Sam call him away. He was worried about his brother. Something was seriously wrong and, looking back on it, it had been going on since he'd first come and gotten Sam at Stanford. He was ashamed to admit that he'd missed the signs at first, just attributed them to Dean's worry over their dad. Turns out he was just out of practice reading him… and too self absorbed to look any deeper. But he'd slowly picked up on the strange(er) behavior of his brother over the last few months. The way he'd disappear randomly and come back silent and brooding even though he tried to cover and deflect; his weird new attachment to his phone and the way he dialed it whenever he thought Sam wasn't looking - at first Sam had thought Dean was just trying their dad again and again, but now he was almost certain that wasn't the case. He'd even thought about snatching his phone and checking the number, but it had practically become an extension of his brother's arm. Then there was the thoughtful silences and worried looks; and most noticeably, the lack of attention he was giving women. Granted, the times he'd been disappearing could have meant he was with some girl, and lord knows that's what Dean tried to convince him of whenever he was caught, but Sam knew better. So, if whatever Dean was doing in Cleveland would get him out of this funk, settle whatever had him so restless, or calm what had him so anxious, then there was no way Sam was interrupting.

But that left him on his own on this mind numbing case. He was guessing that this was the work of some kind of shape shifter, but Sam wasn't one to go on 'guessing' - he liked to have evidence to back up his theories. Right now all he had was a weird camera flare and the fact that both Zach and the newest suspect had claimed to be elsewhere when the attacks were happening. He'd even found trails leading out of the back of both Zach's place and the new victim's. But that was where he hit a dead end. The thing just suddenly disappeared in both instances, leaving Sam with nothing left to follow.

Sighing in aggravation, he sank down on the curb, wondering what to do next. Maybe he should go back to Becky's, try and get a few hours sleep and look at this with fresh eyes. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Resting his head in his hands, he tried to scrape together the energy to get back up and found himself staring at a manhole cover.

God, he was an idiot.

The thing wasn't disappearing (or flying - he cringed remembering that particularly bright theory), it was going underground. He'd be willing to bet there was another sewer access point right behind Zach's where he'd lost the trail there.

Feeling reenergized, he pulled himself back to his feet and hurried down the street to the Focus. Opening the trunk and seeing the scattered weapons, he paused as something clenched in him. He really missed his brother. He may not care for the hunting life, but he was glad to have Dean back. Sam decided then and there that if whatever had been bothering Dean wasn't resolved when they met up again, he'd force him to tell him - even if it meant Sam had to spill his own secret as quid pro quo. Who knew, maybe they'd both feel better after getting it off their chests.

A little voice in his head whispered that it might be more along the lines of pouring salt in a wound, though. He ignored it and went back to digging for silver bullets.

Finding the bullets, his gun and a flashlight, he headed back to the manhole and looked around for bystanders before bending down and tugging the plate free. He was about to lower himself down, when the thought of calling Dean floated through his mind again. There'd been a bunch of promises to call if he found trouble or needed back up…

But… It wasn't like he'd really found anything yet anyway, Sam rationalized. He was just checking out a lead… no need to call Dean just yet. His justification (or excuses, whatever) set, he lowered himself down the ladder, one hand gripping the Maglite tightly and using it to slice through the darkness below him.

Reaching the bottom, he looked left, then right, trying to decide which way to go. Finally, he just went right, figuring that if he didn't see anything he could just turn around and try the other direction. Picking his way carefully along the slick path, he tried to focus on looking for clues instead of the gag worthy stench. After a few fruitless moments, he was about to turn around and try his luck down the other way when he came face to face with a pile of what looked to be melted skin and blood. Hastily backing up a step before he puked all over his clue, Sam looked away and willed his stomach not to rebel.

Was this from one of the victims? He hadn't heard anything about anyone being skinned…

There was the barest scuff behind him, that was the only warning he had. He started to turn and his thoughts got to about "Oh sh-" before the blow fell, knocking him into the pipes on his right. His vision flickered and darkened as muscles went limp and uncooperative. There was the a shadow over him, then nothing, then the sensation of being dragged, then nothing again.

When consciousness returned, he tried to open his eyes but found them uncooperative. Shaking his head a little, he felt the scratchy texture on his neck and and also on his hands, which were wrenched behind his back - not making for a very nice welcome to the waking world. Knowing he was tied up, Sam finally pried his eyes open to see he was in a kind of mechanical room, probably something for sewer maintenance. He couldn't really twist enough to see what he was tied to but, he could feel that it was metal and sturdy - not something he was easily going to get away from in other words.

Movement to the left drew his attention and Sam turned his head as much as his bindings would allow to see a man moving around by a pile of clothes. A twin to the Asian man he saw put into the squad car just and hour before.

Seemingly realizing that it was being watched, the shape shifter turned toward Sam and then walked closer. His eyes were drawn to the gun in the things hands - Sam's own gun to be exact.

"Silver bullets, huh?" It asked, its voice nonchalant.

It tossed the gun to the side where it slid for a few feet on the damp scummy floor before coming to a halt and walked over to Sam - looking at him blankly for a moment before rage distorted its face and it backhanded him with lightening quick speed. Sam's already hazy vision darkened again and he forced himself to stay conscious. The shape shifter closed its eyes and took a deep breath before turning away. Pulling off the suit jacket it was wearing it laid it over a nearby pipe before methodically undoing its tie and then the button down shirt, setting them to rest with the jacket.

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat," it said. "But I have a new friend I need to visit," it said, turning back toward Sam with a sadistic grin.

Suddenly it doubled over, pain rippling across its face and forcing its eyes closed. Sam had a moment of optimism thinking it was ill or injured, but as he watched he realized that wasn't the case - it was changing. Teeth fell out and finger nails snapped off as hands scrabbled across the dirty floor. Bones shifted and skin ripped. Sam watched in horrified fascination, realizing that the pile of skin and tissue he'd seen earlier hadn't been from a victim - it had been from the skin walker shedding its previous identity.

Eyes melted and reformed, snapping open on a fleshless face - his eyes. The thing was planning on taking his image.

Becky…

Sam struggled against the ropes holding him and the thing gave him a lipless sinister smile.

Just as desperation was gripping Sam, a person suddenly dropped from nowhere, landing between him and the shape shifter and a little to the left. Sam blinked at the sudden intrusion and glanced up to see a small drainage tunnel above them. Looking back to the visitor he was even more surprised to see it was a small blond girl that looked to be around his age. She looked normal enough in her jeans and white tank top, but what wasn't contributing to her All American Girl image was the huge red axe like weapon she was holding.

Green eyes landed on Sam first and she raised an eyebrow, then she turned to the shape shifter. Her eyes widened in a way that would have been comical under any other circumstance as the thing took a lunging step toward her. She swung the axe looking thing around, the shifting air parting around the blade with an odd humming. The movement was so fast that Sam was sure he would have missed it had he so much as blinked. One second she appeared, the next the shape shifter's head was arcing across the room and its body collapsing with a wet plop, splattering gooey half transformed tissue on the girl.

"Eww… See, this is why I can't own nice things," she grumbled. "Why do I even bother wearing white?"

Glancing up at him, eyes blank despite her annoyed mumbling, she bent down and pulled a wickedly sharp knife from her boot. Before Sam even had a chance to really be alarmed she flung it at him, he flinched back and shut his eyes (he could hear his brother now, "Nice Samantha, you need a bra to go with your panties?"). There was a "thunk" and suddenly he could move his arms again. Opening his eyes, he looked down to the side and saw the knife buried in the metal pole he'd been tied to, having sliced cleanly through the rope.

"…thanks," he said, eyeing the knife in the metal (in the metal) with wide eyes and pulling the rest of himself free. He stood slowly and wandered cautiously closer, looking between the girl and the headless pile on the floor. "Uh, I think maybe… I mean, not that you didn't do a good job with your… decapitating. But maybe it still needs a silver bullet to be sure."

"Not with this baby," she said, swinging the red weapon around and making Sam take a hurried step back. "One stop chop for evil. But, hey, go ahead and shoot it if it makes you feel better. It did tie you up in this barf inducing hidey hole. I'd wanna shoot it, too."

Warily turning away from her, he grabbed his gun from where the creature had thrown it and put two bullets in its heart. Or, well, where he guessed its heart would be - it was looking a little melted.

He turned back to see her watching him with shrewd eyes and took the moment to study her as well. Probably about a foot shorter than him with long blond hair pulled into a messy ponytail and green eyes, he'd definitely say she was attractive. But there were signs that this was no normal pretty girl (beside the giant beheading axe she was lugging around). She was a little too thin and there were dark circles beneath her eyes… and those eyes. They're what sent warning bells off in Sam's head. She might look around 23 or 24 but her eyes held a jaded emptiness that told of seeing things Sam couldn't even imagine. And given the things he had seen…

"Hunter, right?" Her voice interrupted his thoughts, light and chipper even though her eyes showed no expression.

"Uh, yeah."

"Any other hunters on this case?" She asked, turning away and pulling her knife free as easy as if it were wedged in butter rather than metal, then tucking it back in her boot.

"No, not that I know of."

"Dammit…" Her shoulders dropped and she looked half irritated and half pouting. She looked back at him and cocked her head to the side. "Do you know any hunters named W-"

Her words cut off and her head jerked to the left, looking off down the tunnel and her stance dropped a few inches, her knees bending and one sliding out a few inches - making her look predatory and vaguely animalistic. Sam found his breathing picking up and his heart pounding, a cold sweat breaking out across his body and he didn't even know why.

Then she was gone, sprinting down the tunnel she'd been staring down.

"Hey!"

He looked back at the puddle of shape shifter and decided it wasn't going anywhere, then took off after her. But when he reached the junction at the end of the path, there was no sign of her. He stood still, trying to hear splashing footsteps or anything to signal which way she'd gone. For a second he thought he heard something like a dog howling, but it didn't seem to come from any particular direction and it was so faint and gone so quickly that he decided it just must have been the pipes.

He stood there for a few more minutes, waiting to see if she'd come back, then wandered back to the shape shifter's lair. Both the head and the body had melted into piles of tissue, and it didn't seem that the blonde was planning on coming back, so Sam decided it was time to return to Becky's. He still needed to find a way to get Zach cleared after all.

Climbing out of the sewer, Sam decided that maybe it wouldn't be such a good idea to tell Dean about how he went looking for a shape shifter's lair with no back up, got ambushed and almost killed.

Then got saved by a tiny blond girl.

Yeah, he was definitely keeping this one to himself.