he shapeshifter currently held the form of a middle-aged man .Calm, grey haired, with a benevolent smile, he wore the white and blue uniform of the local care home. His badge declared, STAFF: Harold Winterman. But the skin was beginning to wear and peel: cheeks, forehead, the tips of the fingers and feet torn, the glint of something unnatural and shiny revealed at the extremities.

"Missed a chance with this one," the shifter said ruefully, making a self-referential gesture. "I was going for the mother. Oh hell, she's ancient, she'll die anyway before the year is out."

"And here come the revelations," Adam observed dryly. He changed position as the shifter started to circle, keeping his gun locked on the target. "It's always the post-humans who just have to tell you their story. 'Western man has become a confessing animal'."

"Foucault, History of Sexuality," said the shifter calmly. "I read."

"Yeah, you're just like the rest of us," Adam sneered: "Lonely and misunderstood."

Dean would've shot the thing three times by now. What was Adam waiting for? Still, Ben found himself mesmerized by the rhythmic exchange. The shifter was edging around the walls of the sewer as it spoke – closer to Ben, and the exit. Ben raised his own gun, barring its path. The shifter winced a little.

"It wasn't so long ago that I was," said the thing mildly. A shudder carried through it, the remains of the skin, the otherness underneath flexing and stretching out. "Ten years, two months, eleven days. That was her first affair with my brother. I'm not even sure Cat was my kid, you know? Never plucked up the courage to demand paternity tests."

"So you killed the innocent child instead," Adam observed. "Heroic."

"Oh come on. Where's your solidarity? When the woman does it, it's proto-feminism. Haven't you read the Medea? Not quite as smart as you think you are. When a man does, it's a death sentence."

"You're not alive," Adam told him. "You've been dead inside for a long time."

"I wouldn't be so sure." A last, desperate attempt, then – the shifter lunged for Adam. He fired immediately, but the shifter was in motion, and the silver bullets caught its shoulder instead of the chest and heart. It shrieked, but kept going – Ben wanted to fire but he didn't have the aim, and the thing was moving too fast, he could hit Adam. Instead he drew his knife and ran towards it – the shifter saw him coming, jerked in his direction, and then it was coming and slamming him backwards and the last thing he heard was the sound of a gunshot and the shifter's unearthly scream – unless it was his skull connecting with the tunnel and his own screech of agony as the world went black.

Having never been concussed before, Ben was surprised that the first thing he registered wasn't pain at all. It was, conversely, the urge to vomit, bringing a flood of humiliating and equally painful memories as he turned his head to the side – okay, there was pain – and expelled the remnants of his dinner.

"Okay," said Adam's voice sympathetically, and Ben felt his hand on his back. "Better out than in…"

Ben sat back, after an unpleasant few minutes, which caused his head to throb again – Adam came around to squat in front of him and checked his eyes, before saying,

"It's not bad. Your pupils are equal and reacting properly. You'll be okay. Just have a hell of a headache for couple of days – we've got some good pills in the house." His voice was quiet, warm,sympathetic, but then with confusion: "What were you doing?"

"Helping," Ben croaked.

Adam winced. "Yeah I guess it looked…I had it under control. Sorry. I should have explained more first – I needed a clear shot at the heart. You saw how it was turning right side on as it talked to us?"

"Oh." Ben felt sluggish. He sort of did remember that, come to think of it.

"I had to get it to turn and face me."

"But you missed."

"I had an aim that would've killed it when you rushed in," said Adam mildly. "But – thanks - for the effort. I can see what it must of looked like from your perspective."

"It's dead?" Ben suddenly remembered that would be a good thing to ask. It was hard to think around the ringing in his ears.

"It's dead," Adam confirmed, moving aside to let Ben see the mess on the sewer floor. "Hunt accomplished. You think you can stand, if I help you?" Which Ben could, though it wasn't a good experience,and really nothing else was much fun until he was lying on Bobby's couch, dosed with Percocet and after having washed his mouth with mouthwash and had his eyes checked a few more times, finally allowed to sleep.

Waking up in the late morning, Ben felt surprisingly better. A little sick, and not apt to make sudden movements, but no longer as though he was being repeatedly hit over the head with a heavy object.

"You have a hard skull," observed Adam quietly, from where Ben realized he was sitting in the big chair opposite the couch. The TV was on, but muted. "How do you feel?"

"Stupid," Ben admitted. The true embarrassment of his first hunt was finally sinking in.

"Don't. The thing's dead, we're not. That's a win in my book," Adam shrugged. Gratitude flooded Ben suddenly, so intense as to feel like something else, something like affection. Adam was so – calm.

He knew what to do. Sometimes he almost made Ben feel like things would be alright. Alright enough.

"D'you want some water?" Adam said.

"Yes please." Adam got it and handed it to Ben, then squatted down at the side of the couch as he watched him carefully drink it.

"I don't think we should imagine," Adam said softly, "That they never got it wrong. That they were never afraid or messed up. No doubt, they were amazing. We'll never be like that. But they must have

had times when they were scared or hurt or just didn't want to do it anymore."He looked at the TV the whole time he spoke, his expression mild, tone light. And before he could help himself, before he knew what he meant, Ben blurted out,

"I'm glad you're here. I mean, I'm glad I'm here. That you came to get me. I'm glad we're together and not alone."

Adam paused, then said,

"I'm glad we're together too," and his hand brushed Ben's fingers very lightly as he stood to retrieve the glass. And then Ben did something incredibly stupid, because he was alive and Adam was alive and they hunted together and at least he wasn't alone. Though the movement made his head spike with pain he leaned forward a little and kissed Adam, closed-mouthed and firm, on the lips. It Adam didn't resist, or kiss back. His lips were soft and dry, but his teeth hard and underneath them. It was a kiss of force, of solidarity.
Ben sat back, breathless. Adam regarded him. He didn't seem surprised, angry , pleased or excited. If anything, he seemed sad, eyes compassionate. He ran his hand lightly over Ben's forehead, brushing hair away.

"Go to back to sleep," he said, and left.

TBC.