Lucas Black's front yard was filled with plastic children's toys, fallen leaves and the sounds of frogs and crickets. As Caleb stepped through the gate that squeaked as he pushed it open, the animals fell silent as death. He took in the sights of the house, the bright paint that was probably blue as the summer sky, and the toys that radiated the love the man felt for his children. The porch light was on; a single yellow globe to chase the bugs away while a bug zapping lantern was hung at the far end. The boards of the steps were new still smelling a bit of damp paint as he walked up to the screen door to knock. It was dark inside the house, and he had to knock more than once before he heard a voice inside the house.

"Who is it?" the voice of a young girl said from behind the door.

"It's your cousin Caleb, darlin'." He smiled picturing the soft flannel nightgown wrapped around her young innocent body while she clutched a stuffed toy in one hand. "Tell your daddy I'm here." He heard the scampering of her small feet as she charged through the house to tell her father that his kin was there.

"Cute kid," the First said from besides him. She was still clothed in the whore's skin, and leaning against the porch railing. Caleb thought about telling her to leave his family alone, but knew it'd just be a waste of time. They were as dust on the wind as far as she was concerned. Just more pawns to be used in her war.

"Thanks," Dean said as he hefted the key to their room from the pitted desk of the motel. He didn't bother to see what the name of the place was. He and his dad had stayed in so many motels over the years that they'd pretty much blurred into one place with uncomfortable beds, bad decorations and dingy bathrooms. Just once, he wished they could hunt for something in Las Vegas or someplace else with nice fancy hotels. He pocketed the key and the fake credit card he'd used to pay for the room, and walked across the parking lot to where his father was leaning against the Impala.

John didn't say a thing as they unloaded just enough clothing and weapons to be safe for the night, and then locked the car up tight. Dean popped open the door, and they were assailed with the strong antiseptic smell that belonged in a hospital more than a motel. "Yuck," Dean wrinkled his noise. "I think I can taste the Lysol. Are you going to be quiet all night dad? Or tell me what's going on?"

"There's a pit here beneath the town," John said as he dumped their luggage on the end of one of the beds covering a small fraction of the ugly bedspread while Dean locked the door behind them. "Demons come and go using it. It's like a turnpike between hell and earth. I want to find it, and try to shut it."

"Do you think he's here?" Dean asked quietly from the door to the bathroom. Seemed like he asked it every night when they settled down. Every time his father talked about demons instead of just monsters, he prayed that the demon that killed his mother and had stolen his childhood would be at the wrong end of his father's gun just this once.

As he pulled off his combat boots, John Winchester rubbed at his eyes to take the memory of Mary's body splayed on the ceiling away even if for only the seconds it took for his vision to clear. His eyes were tired and filled with grit from hours of research into the area, and the long drive to bring them here. "I don't know Dean. I just know that people are dying in this town, and we're going to find out why."

"Caleb?" Lucas' wife asked from behind the door. She pulled it open just the few inches that the chain would allow; her eye was such a pale blue that it was almost white. "We were expecting you hours ago." She relaxed at the sight of his collar in the porch light, and she removed the chain to let her husband's cousin into the house.

"I'm sorry Sara," he ducked his head in apology. "My truck broke down out in the forest, and I had to hitch a ride. Where's Lucas?"

"He's at work," Sara looked fragile, like birthing the five children that she and Lucas had had took more and more out of her with each contraction that she never could get back. "There's been another murder. That's four in the past two weeks. It's horrible." She took the priest's arm, and led him to the kitchen where she put on the pot to make his some coffee. "Are you hungry? I've got some gumbo leftover from dinner that I can heat up."

"That'd be wonderful," he said smiling brightly at her. "I'm sure it'll all be all right Sara. Mind if I go freshen up?"