If Sam squinted, he could almost pretend everything was back to normal.

Especially when Dean's persistence had found him his favorite radio station, just like it had found him the keys to the Impala. It was late now, complete night territory, and sitting by his brother in the darkness with Rush low on the stereo and the smell of leather rising off the seats like steam from underground made him feel infinitely like himself – more than he had in weeks.

"You sure this is it?" Dean asked as he pulled up across the street from a modest, one-storey town house.

Sam squinted at the mailbox and nodded, taking in the peeling paint on the molding wood. "Yeah, that's the number."

"How'd you get his address anyway?" Dean asked, arching an eyebrow.

"I, uh…" Sam felt his cheeks get hot. Stealing a car wasn't the only thing he'd done today which he wasn't proud of. "I lifted it from his school records in the nurse's office." Dean gave a hoot of approval. "Kid must have more than his fair share of Frequent Heaver points, I mean, the amount of times he's been in there for things like discolored skin, dermatitis -"

"Dermatitis, my ass." Dean grumbled, and killed the engine. "More like symptoms of a dormant Shapeshifter."

"Yeah, well, let's just be sure we're right before we shoot him full of silver, okay?" Sam bit out, sinking lower in the seat to stay out of sight.

They sat there in the car for a couple hours – maybe three, neither of them were counting – with Dean sometimes singing low along with the radio or drumming on his knees, and Sam keeping a close eye on the two lit windows visible from the road. Dean tilted his head back and made some gargling noises in the back of his throat – to pass the time? Who knows? Sam removed his gaze from the house for a couple seconds to give his older brother the best 'seriously?' look he could muster, and Dean swallowed, settling for making popping sounds with his lips instead.

Like many things in his life, Sam chose to just block it out.

As he turned his head back to watch the house, he caught some movement in the front yard. The urgency of the sight made him straighten up on impulse, and he had to force himself to sink low into the seat again and out of sight, dragging Dean and his popping noises with him.

"Dude, what?"

"There." Sam gestured purely with his gaze, not wanting to make too much movement in case Tanner spotted them. "Leaving the house."

Dean checked his watch. "10.40's a little late for a regular kid to go out alone, wouldn't you say?"

Sam raised his eyebrows in agreement.

They waited until he was far enough away, then quietly opened the doors and stepped out. Sam watched him as he went – he didn't look like any kind of night prowler with malicious intentions, he still just looked like a kid, strolling along under the streetlamps with his hands in his pockets.

He was just about to turn to Dean and suggest they go back to the motel, that maybe he was wrong, when the image of Tanner came back to him from earlier that day, dirty blonde hair growing and receding at will. He tried not to think about any moms or dads or siblings that might be waiting for his return inside the small flat, and accepted the gun Dean handed him. For a moment he just looked at it, running his too-small hands over the cool metal.

"Dean."

Dean stopped and turned. "What?"

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat. "Only if we have to."

"Well, I'll tell ya one thing. Being kids makes it a lot less creepy to stalk a kid."

This was Dean's muttered philosophy as they trailed Tanner down the empty street. Sam didn't bother to point out the fact that they weren't actually kids… he'd been getting tired of stating the obvious.

"To you, maybe." Sam replied sharply. "It doesn't make me feel any better about it."

"Then you've just gotta lighten up, Sammy." Dean encouraged in a low whisper. "It's like any other gig, except we've done it before. I mean, how much easier could it get?"

"Yeah, well… it doesn't feel easy." Sam replied quietly. Up ahead, Tanner paused past a block of shops and turned around.

"Whoa, whoa! Hold it, he's coming back." Sam ordered, and they backed behind a wall out of sight.

Sam peered around the corner, finding nothing but a dead, empty street.

"Damn it." He muttered under his breath.

"What?" Dean asked, eyebrows snapping into action. "What is it?"

Sam sighed and rubbed his face. "He's gone. I… I don't know where. The bastard's quick."

He watched the street for another minute or so, trying to see where he might be hiding, or any possible escape route or manhole.

"Let's give it up, man, maybe check out his house in the morning." Dean suggested, and Sam was about to agree when he saw him. The sight was so far from what he's expected, that he faltered for a minute, brow furrowed deeply.

"Wait…" Sam watched in confusion as Tanner reappeared, stepping out of one of the shops with an ice cream in his hand, tucking loose coins back into his pocket. Suddenly, the gun felt incredibly cold in his hands, incredibly wrong. The idea that he'd considered having to use it on the small kid practically skipping down the road made him feel sick.

Dean nudged his way forward and peered around the corner, facial expression mirroring his brother's. "Now, that can't be right."

"But… I know what I saw. He's gotta be the 'shifter." Sam confirmed, as if that was any help to either of them.

They both watched as he stepped back into the sidewalk and made his way further down the road.

"Come on, Sam, this kid can't be evil." Dean's doubt was beginning to return. "Are you sure that's him?"

"Yes!" Sam insisted, knowing his argument was weak. "It's him, it is. He's still going somewhere else… maybe that was just a pit stop."

Dean locked incredulous eyes with him for a moment, face completely void of expression, except the ever-present waft of sarcasm. "You're right. Yeah, I'll bet he's off to find some evil sprinkles to go with his Waffle Cone of Death."

"Not helping, Dean."

"Really gonna set the streets alight, there."

"Dean! Shut up, he could still be our guy." Sam combated Dean's One Raised Eyebrow of Skepticism with cold, hard logic. "He's a kid! If he was an adult, we wouldn't find it strange if he went into a bar."

"And uh…" Dean leaned forward to read the sign. "Zippy's Ice Cream Parlor is like a kid's bar?"

"…yes."

Dean's shoulders rose then sagged, the tell-tale sign of him giving in. "Fine. We'll keep trailing him, see where he goes."

Sam sighed. "Thank you."

They slipped out from behind the building with the stealth they'd had trained into them, and fluttered along the wall like shadows.

"Isn't this getting kinda out of hand?"

Sam jumped. It wasn't Dean who had spoken.

"Tanner!"

The young boy was watching them, seated on the curved back-rest of a park bench, feet planted on the seat.

Both brothers faltered, and ground to a halt. So much for stealth.

"You… knew?"

"Hell, how couldn't I? For someone trying to keep out of sight, I gotta say, that car you've got parked back there is quite the eyesore."

Dean made a low noise deep in his throat.

"You guys don't know when to give up!" Tanner continued. "I thought my detour would be enough to throw you off, but you're like bloodhounds chasing a strong scent!"

"That was a trick?" Sam frowned, only now noticing the splattered ice cream decorating the trash can.

"Duh!" Tanner jibed, proving that, while he may indeed be a Shapeshifter, he was truly still only fourteen. "You guys are pathetic! You actually believed that act? Who the hell eats an ice cream this time of year? It's friggin' March for Chrissakes!"

"But then… today. At school. Why'd you show me..?"

"Well, I didn't know you'd go blow it all out of proportion like this." Tanner reasoned, and Sam moved the gun behind his leg so it was less visible. "What are you… hunters?"

"If you know what we are, then you must know what you are." Sam said, wishing the answer would be 'no'.

"'course I do." The kid nodded. "Known it since I was ten. But… Sam, aren't you a little young to be a hunter?"

"I'm older. Than. I look." Sam ground out from between clenched teeth. Again.

"Well, can't be much older." Tanner mused. "You're a late bloomer as it is."

"Alright," Dean seemed to find it the time to step in "enough with the monologing, kid. You know we're hunters, so you know what we have to do." Sam caught the cry of protest in his throat; did Dean mean they had to kill him? Or save him? They'd talked about this in advance, damnit! "Can't have you killing any more people."

At those words, Tanner's face changed, ultimate, wide-eyed, childlike innocence replacing the smug smirk. "I've never killed anyone in my life!"

The brothers stalled a moment. Neither of them had really expected that Tanner would have killed anyone… yet. But they knew he would. Was that enough?

"Uhm…" Dean fumbled around words while the smile reappeared on Tanner's face.

"You can be my first."

Before either of them had registered the words, Tanner launched himself off the bench and struck Dean, taking them both down.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, not sure whether to drop the gun and drag the kid off or point it. He settled for a leg-shot, and fired.

With Tanner's momentary distraction, Dean managed to shove him off and jump to his feet.

"What the hell!" He yelled, but all he was yelling at was a black shape disappearing with the advantage of the night. Tanner was gone.