10

It was the weekend following Dean's thirteenth birthday, and with each day that had passed between the date of his thirteenth and the Friday, with each day that a birthday card did not appear from his younger brother, he had sank further and further into a sulky depression, until Marcus had met him after school on the Friday in his battered truck, two bulging duffels in the bed, and drove out of town and for several hours west, speaking carefully as they went and occasionally glancing at the quiet teenager sat beside him to be sure Dean was listening.

And now it was Saturday morning, though only just, having edged into those early hours that it would probably been considered by most as Friday night still, but Dean was stood in the woods, bright-eyed ad alert with a cautious excitement that marked his very first hunt, and he watched the darkness around him carefully, hands comfortably gripping his sawn-off. And it was solely his, a birthday present from Marcus that marked the gun as Dean's and though he had been practising with guns with his father ever since he was around eight or nine, the weapons had always notably been John's, and the gun he held now felt different, solely because it was his.

He shivered now in the late January cold, again casting an eye at the darkness, trying to judge where Marcus was even though the man had faded into the black some time earlier, and stamped his feet in the snow in a futile effort to warm himself. He was cold, though he wouldn't complain to anyone, the hunt much more thrilling than the prospect of a warm bed at that moment.

His body tensed as a noise broke the silent night, a low drawn out howl that made him shiver from more than just the cold, and checking his gun even though he already knew it was loaded, he turned his eyes to the tracks that were just on the edge of his vision in the night, and quietly began to follow them.

Dean woke up to the dark, the only light in the room coming from the flickering images of the old black and white horror film that was playing on the television. A quick glance at the clock revealed it to be closing in on midnight, and with a stretch Dean was up and padding to the bathroom.

He wandered back into the main room as the scream of the on-screen victim filled the air, and with a wince he crossed the room and knocked off the television.

A moan occupied the silence.

Dean froze immediately, and as a second moan reached his ears he recognised it to have come through the wall that separated his room from Sam's. It took him only a moment to guess that the sounds weren't coming from the television Sam had in his room, instantly surmising that it was instead his brother making the noise.

For a moment Dean debated with himself whether or not to go over to Sam's room, but in the end moved for his bed. If his brother was suffering a nightmare, then he'd probably be embarrassed that Dean had caught him; they weren't close enough for Dean to barge into the room. And if he did, and found that it wasn't that Sam was having a nightmare, but had gone out at some point and picked up a girl…

Dean snorted at the idea, a smirk spreading over his face as he fumbled off his boots and socks and lay down on the bed, fingers doing a brief check that his knife was where it should be, and then he settled down to sleep.

Sam gave a half-yell, muffled by the wall, and something in his brother's room smashed, and in that instant Dean was up and out of bed, knife in hand, grabbing up his gun as he passed the kitchen counter and stalked out into the night.

Sam snapped awake with a gasp, wide eyes staring up at the ceiling, seeing what haunted his dreams persistently. Through the wall behind him he could hear muffled sounds of a television, surmised that Dean was watching something, and with a sigh and a quick scrub at his eyes he rolled over and shut his eyes, trying to block out the sounds of the show and of footsteps outside of his room.

He was just dozing off when a draught blew up against his neck, and he shivered, trying to remember why he'd opened a window, and pulling up the sheets to cover the bare patch on his neck, too lazy and otherwise too warm to want to move and shut the window. The draught came again, somehow managing to creep through the sheets and left Sam with goosebumps, every hair standing on end as he shivered down into the bed, slamming his eyes tight and hoping that he'd just fall back to sleep.

His eyes slammed open again when he remembered that when he'd tried to open the window earlier, it had been stuck fast, nailed closed.

His body tensed for a moment before he forced himself to relax, and carefully rolled over so that he was facing the door into the room, attempting to make it look as though he was merely moving in his sleep. He took in his surroundings, noting that the window was indeed shut, as was the door. Maybe it was possible that the draught had come in through a gap that he couldn't see?

He entertained that thought for a moment, decided it was the most satisfying answer, and starting to drift off again, when a cold touch landed on his foot.

He opened his mouth to scream, and felt his body tense and lock, his chest freezing up on him until the scream died and came out as a moan. The touch on his foot altered, became a hold that tightened around his ankle for a moment, and another touch landed on his knee, cold even through his sweats.

He tried to force his body to obey him and move, only resulting in sharp stabs of pain erupting from every muscle and another moan to erupt from his mouth. The grip on his ankle left suddenly, although the touch at his knee persisted, and every attempt that Sam made to move and see his attacker was halted by his frozen body.

A hand lowered onto his side, travelled up until it was gripping his shoulder, and he heard a female scream through the wall, and another moan escaped his throat as the hands rolled him onto his back, leaving him to once again stare up at the ceiling, allowed for his mind to supply the images of Jess pinned there, of his girlfriend bleeding and burning.

The hands at his body left, and the removal of the cold returned his attention to the room itself. There was total silence. Not even the television show that Dean was watching could be heard any more. Sam could only hear the blood pumping within his own head.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a shadow move, but it was gone by the time his eyes had focussed on the spot.

The bed groaned and dipped slightly as if it had gained a new weight, and then hands grabbed at his shoulders, forced him down hard into the mattress, forcing another moan from his paralysed lungs, making him suddenly very much aware to the fact that he wasn't drawing in full breaths of air and then his eyes snapped around to see the face of a woman, skin grey and lax, empty socketed eyes and lips drawn back to expose a mouth of blackened gums and sharp, yellowing teeth.

His breath left him completely at the sight, but it also knocked in a sense of self preservation, and he tried harder than ever to get his body to co-operate and throw the wasted form off him as sharp knees dug against his hip and stomach, as the grip on his shoulders slid around so that thin hands met at his neck and tightened, and the woman's mouth twisted into a malicious grin.

Sharp pain erupted through his left arm and spread until it reached his shoulder, and he would have yelled in agony had he the air to breath, but he heard something fall and shatter, and assumed that he'd knocked the lamp from the bedside table. He tried to force his arm around to ward off the woman, but it refused to obey him completely now, from the corner of his eye his could see his fingers spasming, send more pain shooting continuously through his limb, and above him the woman hissed and tightened her grip on his neck.

A loud bang echoed though the room, and before he had time to register that it was the sound of the door being thrown open two shots were fired off, lighting the room briefly and throwing the woman into an even more terrifying light that made her flicker, body seeming to lighten at those moments, and she twisted her head to face the door, hissed angrily at the person stood there, Sam's gaze moved towards the door as well as the woman's hands tightened and his sight began to blacken

"Dea…" he managed to whimper, and his brother fired off three more shots, and with a shriek the woman's weight was completely removed from his body, her hands gone from his throat, leaving him to cough and choke down air.

"Sam! Sammy!" Dean face appeared in his vision, and his brother's hands landed reassuringly on his shoulder, rolled him onto his side and rubbed at his back as he tried to get his breathing under control.

"Holy shit," Sam croaked into the silence, his body was slowly unfreezing, allowing him to once again speak and breath, and his fingers trembled as pins and needles shot through them. Dean hands left his back and shoulder at his words, and his brother appeared in his vision, looking anxiously at him.

"You alright?" he asked, fingers ghosting against Sam's throat where the woman's hands had been, a frown settling onto his face as his eyes turned hard.

"Where is she?" Sam asked, wheezing in several breaths and he managed to pull an arm in to massage at his chest.

"Gone, for now," Dean replied, though his gaze roamed the room for a moment before returning to focus Sam "We are so getting a double room from now on."

"Gone?" Sam replied, coughed against a frozen breath "What? How? You shot her!" Dean gaze turned harder, and he climbed to his feet, leaving Sam's vision.

He returned when Sam had gathered enough strength to roll onto his back, and help his brother to sit up against the beds headboard, pushed a glass of water into Sam's hand and then picked up his gun from the small table that also held Sam's laptop, returning to sit at the end of the bed.

"I keep forgetting that dad never told you," he said quietly as he began to clean and reload his gun, his glanced quickly at Sam, who stared back wide-eyed, and then his attention returned to the gun.

"Dad used to go out a lot, leave me in charge of you," he explained, "He was looking for who had killed mum. What had killed mum." his amendment was soft, so that Sam had barely caught it, if he hadn't seen Dean's mouth move and the expression in his eyes change he would have said he'd imagined it

"Dad had started to hunt not long after mum had died, looking for information on what had killed mum, helping people along the way. He'd leave us with people whenever he could, keep us in the car or a motel room when he could," he swallowed hard "He's never found the demon."

"Dean-" Sam started, stopped. His brother was talking about demons and cleaning his gun as though this was every day life, and if he wasn't still sluggish and struggling with getting air down his abused throat he'd have moved away from Dean, probably left the motel for that matter.

"Shut up Sam," Dean replied, "Just believe me on this. Dad, he… we hunt demons, ghosts, things that go bump in the night, the supernatural, all right? It's like… the family business. Some people own garages, we hunt the thing in the dark."

"And her?" Sam asked, hoping Dean would understand. His brother sighed, the gun was held loosely in his hand as he cast a look once again around the room, and then he turned his head to look at Sam.

"Night hag," Dean replied swiftly

"That's a phenomena," Sam told him, and Dean smirked and quirked and eyebrow.

"And that's a lie," he retorted, rising from the bed and walking to the door, closing it carefully, although the lock was broken and the door swung open again, forcing Dean to stand against it. "She's a ghost. Gets murdered in her room one night, looks out for revenge, so she attacks whoever winds up in the room she was killed in. Paralyses them when she touches them, then kills them off unless she's disturbed. This one must have been really angry if she didn't stop when she realised you were awake or when I came into the room. People who usually survive it will mark it down to the 'phenomena', call it a waking nightmare." He snorted, and then nodded at his brother "Can you move now?"

"Yeah, but-" he stopped, lunged to catch the car keys that Dean had thrown at him, and then stared open mouthed at his brother.

"Pack up and wait for me in the car. I'll be along in a minute." Dean ordered, and then strode from the room.

Sorry it's late. I had promised angel_death_dealer I'd post this on the 9th, and then had to pack everything to come back to university, so it got put on the back burner. No update this Friday sorry, need to revise for exams. Next chapter will be up on the 23rd.

Had to change the summary slightly as well, so that it would make sense with the lines within chapter 4