Sam dropped his phone, leveled his gun at the boy. Meg just kept smiling with Tommy's mouth. When it opened the voice of a woman crawled out.

"Oh put it away Sam. We both know iron rounds won't work on me."

He looked down at the weapon he was holding as though he'd never seen it before.

"You…nooo. I mean you didn't forget did you?"

He scowled. Shit.

"You did! HA! That ispriceless."

"Fuck you."

"No, I really think this time it's fuck you Sammy." It wasn't grinning anymore. It was snarling. It spun around on all fours. Its mouth seemed to hold an impossible amount of teeth. It swayed serpentine back and forth never taking its jaundiced eyes off him.

He was so tense he thought his toes would cramp. And he was scared. For the first time in years he was truly scared. The only weapon he had against this thing was his ability. The one he'd used on Lillith with near fatal results. It left him in a three-month long coma. Couldn't chance it. Has to be something…

"Saa-mmy." It sing-songed using the boys' voice once again. It laughed and the sound was like breaking glass. There was a soft shuffle as it started circling low on the ground to its left. Closer. Closer.

He glanced around frantically.

"Oh Sammy you're in trouble again. You're in big trouble and there's no-one coming to save you. Not this time."

Reluctantly he backed away from the hole in the wall he'd entered the cavern through. He kept the gun trained on Tommy for no other reason than he had to do something. He kept looking. The chamber was dome shaped and circular probably 45-50 feet across but mostly empty like it had been scooped out.

"All around the mulberry bush," it chanted.

There were a few large rocks scattered around but nothing big enough to hide an alternate route out of this little piece of hell.

"The monkey chased the weasel."

He stumbled on something caught himself and glanced down taking a good look at the floor. It was littered with bones. He inhaled sharply.

"What'd you think they did with those kids? Play tiddly winks?"

A potent combination of anger, fear and frustration made his head buzz. He was starting to feel jittery from too much adrenaline.

"Time's up Sam." It stopped abruptly, right in front of the entrance.

Out of options, he did the only thing he could think of. There was a flare and a quiet thwap as the bullet passed through the silencer.

It looked quizzically at him then at the red stain that was slowly blooming on the front of Tommy's new white shirt. "You shot the kid. I ….I can't believe you shot the kid! Gotta say I really didn't think you had the balls."

He lunged, taking advantage of this momentary lapse in concentration. He tackled it around the waist sending them both crashing into the rock wall. His teeth clacked together. The gun skittered across the floor. He landed heavily on top of the small body, something crunched, Sam felt dizzy. He jumped to his feet anyway. Fight over; flight was ready to run the rest of the game. He made it two steps before getting dropped from behind. He rolled instinctively, landing on hands and knees. His shoulder throbbed. He scanned the floor for the gun. For something, anything. SHIT! It came at him again, fast. Unbelievably fast. Blow after blow came with such speed and ferocity that he hardly had time to register them much less stand. He lashed out blindly. Refusing to think about the body Meg was riding. He landed as many as he took. His hands stung where he'd scraped them on teeth. He had to get out of there. They were rolling rocks biting into flesh. He hoped he hadn't done any permanent damage. Maybe the kid could still be saved. He felt the gun pressing into his back. He shifted grabbing for it. Hands not his grabbing too.

"Fuck!" His side was on fire, the pain making his vision go red at the edges. He found himself sprawled flat on his back stunned and alone? Wow, he thought hysterically, he'd never had his ass handed to him by a nine-year old before. He touched his side, put his finger through the hole the bullet had made in his shirt. That's gonna leave a mark.

"Get up." The demon wearing the little boy said.

It was panting. He was panting. Blood poured from its nose. He felt the same trickling down the side of his face into his ear. Pooling warmly in the space where his back didn't quite touch the ground.

"Get up! Getupgetupgetupgetupgetup!" It punctuated each demand with a sharp kick.

He tried to obey, his frayed nerve endings telling his quickly fading brain that it would be better for all parties involved if he would just obey. He turned onto his stomach, started to push himself up, the world canted…..

X x X x X x X x X

He came awake coughing and spluttering. Cold water rained down on him in a torrent. He blinked. Slowly the world came into focus. He smelled grass and the faint chemical odor of fuel exhaust. Outside. He was outside. The first thing he saw was Meg, as he'd known her before, standing over him with an inappropriately cheerful, cartoon decorated plastic bucket.

"Wakey Wakey Sammy boy."

It was still dark. That was good. He was sitting on the concrete his back against the oversized rear tire of his Jeep. His watch read 11:57 p.m.. He'd been inside for nearly two hours.

Meg pointed to the keypad on the passenger side door.

"What's the code Sam?"

"Meg?" He finally realized what he was looking at. How was she was standing there in that body? That poor girl had died close to twenty years ago.

She smirked. "This always was my favorite body. Thanks to my little discovery I can have it again. Nice right? But enough about me, you were just going to give me the code to your treasure box here."

Something clicked in his head. Something he'd noticed but failed to comprehend at the time. "The blood."

"What?"

"The puddle of blood in the pantry. Human blood. And where's the kids' mom? Huh? Shit. I never had a chance did I? To save that kid. He was already dead by the time I got into the house."

"I had to get you down there somehow didn't I? Focus." She snapped her fingers in his face. "I know this rig is booby trapped so what's the code?"

He pulled himself to his feet, hissed through his teeth, clapped his hand to his side. The delicate strains of Beethoven's Symphony number 5 drifted through the back window. He glanced in and saw Lyssa curled up on the floor her headphones covering her ears. She could sleep through a hurricane wearing those things.

"Fuck you." He spat in her face. Without a weapon he only had one choice.

Her eyes flashed. Her lips became a thin compressed line. She reared back with one hand and let fly with a slap any pimp would be proud of.

He felt heat where the skin on his left cheek had broken open.

"No more games Winchester. What's the code?"

"Fuck. You." Can't give up too easily. She won't go for it.

Fast. Faster than a rattlesnake strike her thumb plunged into the hole in his side. The muscles in his neck strained.

"This is becoming tedious. Tell me or I will leave your mangled corpse here on the ground for her to find first thing in the morning."

To make sure he knew she meant business this time, she twisted her thumb increasing the pressure. Pain radiated down to his knee and up to his shoulder. His stomach gave a lazy flip.

"Ok!" He grunted. Panted. Grunted. Face red and wet. "Ok, Ok."

He reached out and with trembling fingers tapped out the six digit key code.

"I need the key." He held out his hand palm up. "Code's no good without the key."

She eyed him warily before reaching in her pocket and pulling out his keys.

He slid the key into the lock. Slowly turned it. Soft click. Pulled the handle and the door was open.

He stepped to the side, staggered, fell.

She grinned and the thing wouldn't have looked more comfortable if it were perched on a sharks face. Bitch.

"Finally." She said moving to occupy the space he had just vacated.

That's when he moved, jumping up and grabbing her around the neck from behind. Using all his weight he slammed her forward so that she was half in and half out of the Jeep. Smoke wafted from her skin. She screamed, bucking and clawing at him over her shoulder as the wards hidden under the Jeeps paint did their job. He leaned in closer, shoving his forearm into the space where his hand had been. She screamed again. This time a roiling black cloud poured from her mouth, slithering out of the Jeep then flying off and disappearing into the night sky. He continued to hold her there shaking and jittery from blood loss and adrenaline over load. Riffling through her pockets, he found both his and Leeanna's cell phones. In her waistband was his gun. He quickly scanned the area to make sure he was still alone before he heaved the body to the ground, pressed the barrel of the gun against her head and unloaded two rounds in swift succession. Just to be on the safe side.

X x X x X x X x X

By the time Sam pulled into the R.V. park he was crashing fast and everything hurt. He got out of the Jeep, slipped around back and opened the cargo door. He took the sticky lollipop from Lyssa's equally sticky hand and tossed it away. After wiping his hand on his pants, a futile effort under the circumstances, he lifted her, groaning as he did so. Thankfully, she continued sleeping. He carried her inside, pulled off her wings and hale then laid her on the bed.

In the kitchen he shook several Vicodin out of a bottle, chewed them wincing at the taste. A bottle of Killian's made the perfect chaser.

He stripped off his shirt, tossed it in the trash. He put his hand behind his back feeling for an exit wound, found none, decided to get in the shower and give the painkillers a chance to start working.

Forty five minutes later he stood over the tiny bathroom sink his medical kit on the toilet seat. Using a pair of forceps and a tabletop vanity mirror, he removed the bullet and several shreds of his black t-shirt before cleaning, stitching and bandaging the wound.

The left side of his face was hot and swollen and already turning black in places. He used butterfly tapes to close the gash beneath his left eye. One more mark of honor.

His chest and stomach were a mass of bruises in various stages of development and his shoulder hurt something fierce. He figured his back probably didn't look too much better but decided not to push it by trying to see. Stowing the sharps he flicked off the light, grabbed an ice pack from the freezer on his way back through the kitchen and collapsed onto the bed.

X x X x X x X x X

"Daddy?"

He woke sluggishly feeling stiff and sore. He blinked trying to focus on the clock.

"Daddy did you get the monster?"

More like the monster got me. "Yes sweetheart. I did." He sat up, grimacing when he felt his stitches tug.

"You got some good ouches huh?" She asked studying his face.

That's an understatement. "What? These? Nah. Can't even feel 'em."

She reached one little hand toward his cheek. He braced himself but her touch was feather light, he barely felt it.

"Poor daddy."

"You should have seen the other guy." He said lightly, ruffling her hair. He hated for her to worry. She continued to stare as though she could see through the smile he only partially felt. Then as if a switch was flipped, her face brightened.

"Breakfast?" She asked smiling again.

"Poptarts." He stated, an overwhelming fondness for the 30-second breakfast pastries filling his chest.

He stood and shuffled into the kitchen wanting nothing more than to down half the bottle of vicodin and go back to bed, however, he had to content himself with one pill and a seat in the too small rocking chair; Lyssa on his lap munching her poptart and chatting endlessly about her first adventure in trick-or-treating.

God, he hated Halloween.