Dean hadn't needed to do anymore than look at Sam to know how the drawing affected his brother. This thing had penetrated Sam's mind, assaulted his psyche, and attacked him on such a base, primal level it made Dean's mind spin into circles trying to wrap his thoughts around all the implications. If Sam had been wounded emotionally and mentally after Meg's possession, he was doubly so after the boogeyman demon's attacks.

He concentrated on keeping Sam focused on their job, just as he'd done after Meg. Sam would talk to him about it, Dean had no doubts about that, but he knew the kid needed to process what they'd discovered, as well as his own emotions first. Sam had one reason for not telling Dean these sorts of things and it was simple: Sam didn't know himself. Once he'd worked it out, Dean would be flooded with what ifs and details aplenty. So, while Dean kept his focus on Sam, he worked to keep Sam's focus on their hunt.

Right now what they both needed was a victory, no matter how small, and answers to provide something more solid for them to both focus on.

As they moved quietly down the center hallway of the school, Dean felt how Sam drew close to him then moved away. They'd get just far enough apart to be a few paces from one another, and Sam would silently close the distance between them. Some of Sam's movements coincided with the spacing of pictures along the walls; others seemed to be from the air itself.

Dean knew Sam felt this thing, and through Sam's unspoken reactions, their ability to communicate without words, Dean felt it too. More precisely he felt Sam's reactions to the demon. It was following them, or maybe flowing around them, surrounding them. Dean finally settled on that last action in his head. They were in an eye, the unnatural storm circling on all sides, waiting for its chance to move in and attack.

Something hitting the roof of the building and sliding across to clatter down the far side reminded Dean there was another storm outside, just as deadly, and just as powerful. They both stopped in their tracks, eyes up at the ceiling.

"What do you suppose the odds are we end up riding this storm out in a parking garage?" Sam's voice was soft, but steady.

Dean snorted. "Better than us winning the lottery."

That got an honest laugh from Sam. "I think we have to buy a ticket first, Dean." His flashlight sliding over the walls, Sam pointed to a spot a few yards farther down. "Look there. Maybe that's protected enough we can throw some of the seeds out there?"

"Suppose they have planters here?" Dean stepped away, following the line of Sam's flashlight.

In the center of the building, surrounded on all sides by hallways and classrooms was a courtyard, maybe twenty by twenty foot square. The wind was caught in the small space, leaves and other debris whipped around in mini-vortexes. Rainwater hammered the sides, but not the ground, caught in the torrents of air and pushed back up.

Dean aimed his flashlight up, jaw dropping down at the same time. "That's just cool."

Sam leaned over his shoulder, fingertips against the glass for balance, and looked up. "Yeah." He turned, and looked down the hall. "There." Pointing to a door leading to the courtyard, "Got any of the seeds and herbs?"

Digging in one of his duffels, Dean dumped a handful into Sam's waiting palm, along with a few of the herb packets. A few quick, long strides carried his kid brother down the hall.

"Sam, don't—"

Pushing the door open, Sam stepped out, immediately covering his face with this free hand. Bent nearly in half, Sam made his way a few feet from the door, toed a gouge in the dirt and dropped everything down. He tamped the ground, covering the seeds and satchels as best he could then turned back the way he'd come.

The winds picked up even more, pushing Sam sideways as much as he propelled himself forward. Arm up and over his face, his hair whipped one way then the other, Dean knew that had to be disorienting.

Bracing the door open with one foot Dean stretched as far out as he could shouting, "Sam!" above the roar of wind and rain.

Sam nodded the slightest, he'd heard. His own yell of "DEAN!" nearly lost on the wind before it reached Dean's ears. The second Sam was within reach, Dean's fingers wound in his jacket, pulling him closer. Once Sam was closer, Dean got a good grip on his arms, then one arm around Sam's back, hauling him back inside, using his foot to swing the door shut at the same time.

Spinning his brother around, shoving his back against the wall, Dean leaned against him for a few seconds, panting. "What the hell Sam?"

"One…of us…had…to…" Sam gasped, holding himself upright against Dean's shoulder.

"We have rope you idiot."

Sam looked up at him, his face dropping. "Huh. Shit." He sagged a bit.

Dean patted the back of Sam's neck, and shifted more of his weight against the wall. "Some days you're just dumb."

"What about the rest, air conditioning vents?" Sam was ignoring him.

"Those get cleaned out."

"Any other ideas, cause we sure can't ding holes in these walls."

"No." Dean sighed. "Let's take a look around, if we can't find anything better, that'll have to do. Maybe it'll be enough until we can get back to the orphanage, take care of this around here for good."

Nodding, Sam wiped one hand over the back of his mouth and pushed off the wall. They moved down the center of the hall, all the while Dean acutely aware of how the edges of his vision were clouded with black, how Sam kept looking behind them and side to side as he walked. The damp air chilled, making them both shiver. They had no real proof the plants and herbs would work, but it was the best they had right now unless they could openly confront the thing, as they had in Battersfield.

There was only one way to do that, Sam had to be bait. They both knew it. Dean wasn't anxious to repeat that little scenario, and he suspected Sam was even less enthusiastic about the prospect of having the boogeyman slithering over him again.

They'd found no spell or way of destroying the thing. So far the only thing they knew that worked for sure was their staying together and an iron rod. Not a lot of weapons.

A room near the corner of two intersecting halls had rows of heavy cabinets along its far end. Dean shoved his weight against them, leaning the entire thing just far enough away from the wall for Sam to get his hand in and drop some one of the herb packets between cabinet and wall.

They followed the hallway to the next corner. Moving so he was behind Sam a bit, Dean shot a quick look over his shoulder. The black was still there, but not as close. Keeping one hand on Sam's back as they moved, he pressed his fingers against his brother's ribs, getting him to pick up the pace. Offices lined this hallway and its intersecting one at this corner.

Ducking inside one, they scouted around. Everything in the outer office was light and moveable. The inner offices were much the same.

"This is a bust." Sam said.

Dean took another look around, twisting his torso left, then right. "In there."

Sam nodded, heading for the room Dean pointed to, a sign across the door informed them it was a utility room. In it were access doors for plumbing and wiring.

Sam cracked a grin, "That'll work."

Pocketknife out Sam had the panel unscrewed and pulled away from the wall in no time, setting it carefully to the side. Dean took another of the satchels, and stuffed it into the wall, shoving it down between the pipes where he hoped it wouldn't be found. He sat down, leaning heavily against the wall for a few breaths, rubbing his leg.

Pounding from the winds outside and something large hitting the outer part of the wall had them both starting.

"Do you think we need to do all four directions, like a haunting?" Sam laid one hand against the pipes, stopping their vibrating and rattling, before he replaced the panel. Dean knew that was Sam-speak for suggesting Dean take a break.

"I think we should, just to be safe. It's not gonna hurt anything. Besides, we're stuck here."

Sam silently gathered their things, and without comment slipped one hand under Dean's arm, helping him up. Dean gave himself a mental swift kick in the rear, he was trying to get Sam's mind off the fact they were trapped in here with this demon intent on invading them both.

"Let's get it finished and find somewhere to lay some salt and settle in."

Dean nodded, agreeing. Jerking his chin toward the hall, "Next stop." He didn't shake off Sam's hand, even though he didn't need the extra support for balance. It made him feel better just then to know Sam's exact position, and since Sam didn't do much to take his hand away, he knew Sam felt the same, knowing precisely where Dean was.

The third corner was the cafeteria, where they stashed a satchel behind the freezer. At the fourth was the school gymnasium, and lockers hid the herb packet. They finally settled themselves in one of the rooms near the offices; there were no windows in that section. Sam laid out salt, while Dean took stock of the supplies they'd brought.

His leg throbbed; it was more annoying and tiring than anything else and did little except sap his energy to leave him feeling drained and worn out. Leaning against one wall, Dean stretched his legs out and closed his eyes, telling himself it was for just a minute. His senses reached out, keeping him constantly aware of Sam's movements. The blackness still lurked in the halls, though it did seem to be avoiding the areas they'd left the herb packets. Letting gravity pull at him, he relaxed his shoulders, felt tension ease from his back.

Shuddering back to consciousness when something brushed the back of his head, Dean was surprised to find Sam's face right above his.

"Oh, whoa, sorry." Sam smiled at him, braced one hand against Dean's chest. "I was just…you looked uncomfortable." Sitting back on his heels, Sam pulled his other hand from the wall behind Dean's head.

The soft wall.

Reaching back, Dean felt the denim jacket, balled into a pillow, between him and the wall. "We have to—"

Sam at once stopped him from moving away, sitting straighter. "Dean, take a few and rest." Settling a foot or so away, Sam pulled one of the files from his computer bag. He cocked one eyebrow, one shoulder pulled up and dropped down, I'm sitting right here.

Dean nodded in acknowledgement, understanding Sam's silent statement. He'd stay put, within reach, keeping watch until Dean was rested and it was his turn.

His eyes drifted shut again. Cracking one eye open a few breaths later, he meant to tell Sam to give him another minute or two, and they'd get some food from their packs, work out a better plan for confronting the boogeyman demon, still not completely convinced the herb satchels would stop the thing. Slow it down yes, maybe keep it at bay for a bit, but stop it, they had no way to be sure. His heavy eyelids and muddied up brain had other ideas, however.

Eyes popping open, Dean stared at the floor. Brackish water slipped across staining it dark, leaving streaks that reflected no light. The pounding in his ears he realized was in time with the slamming of his heart against his ribs. He watched, fascinated, as it moved toward him, parted and covered the flooring near his legs.

Gaze traveling upwards, Dean realized the roaring of the hurricane had died suddenly, making him wonder if the eye was passing over. But when had the storm landed? When he and Sam came to this building they still had eight or twelve hours before landfall. The air around him chilled and darkened.

Sam. Where the hell was Sam?

The water snapped around him, ribbons of it reached out, licked at his legs. When he looked straight at it, it retreated a few inches, watching him. Dean watched the water.

Palms against the floor, Dean pushed away from the wall, sat straight. As he drew his legs to him, preparing to stand, the water followed. It gathered itself into one wide river slipping through the room. When Dean stood it, swished back in his direction, then glided over the floor, away from him.

Tentative steps carried Dean after the water, this wasn't water; water didn't do this.

Sam was in the room somewhere. He couldn't leave Sam, couldn't leave him alone. Yet, his feet wouldn't listen and carried him forward, trailing the water.

As the door came closer, the water became a single sheet, lifting up and covering the opening like a wall. A black, oily wall that reflected no light. It split apart at its center, and there was Sam.

His brother's mouth worked, but no noise came out. Dean knew though, Sam was shouting, screaming his name. Arms reaching out, Sam was forced back. The water encased him in a blink of Dean's eye. It was pulled into Sam's nostrils with his every breath, dashed into his opened mouth, covered him completely.

Except for Sam's eyes. He pleaded, begged silently with nothing more than what he could convey with his eyes. "Stop it, end this. Dean? Please. DEAN!"

Dean couldn't move, he struggled to reach his brother, but his arms hung limply at his sides, his legs now refused to move.

A sharp pain cut through him when he was yanked up and away.

"We gotta get outa here!" Sam's voice was deep, urgent and desperate. His hand slid under Dean's arms, yanking him to his feet.

Arms flailing, his own hands gripping Sam's shoulders, the world tilted and spun for a few seconds, the room glided into and out of focus, as did Sam. "S'mmy?"

"Nap time's over." Sam sidestepped a bit, the sound of his feet sloshing water made Dean frown and look at his own feet.

Water, real water, swirled in mini whirlpools and lapped around them dampening his jeans. The salt laid down earlier floated, fanning out in all directions, no longer a barrier of protection.

"Dean!" Sam gave him another, sharper, harder shake and shoved duffels into Dean's hands. "The surge is moving in."

"Crap." Dean's brain finally clicked on. Shouldering the bags, he shoved Sam ahead of him. "Put a move on."

Sam huffed something insulting and nearly tripped over a chair getting his feet moving in the right direction. When they hit the doorway, they stopped. Sam turned and looked at Dean, eyes widening, they darted between Dean and the thick, oppressive black looming in the hall, waiting for them. "I think we trapped it but it can draw too much energy from the hurricane." He stammered out between sucking in ragged gulps of air.

"This is bad." Grabbing Sam's hand and making him fold his fingers across Dean's arm, take hold of Dean's wrist; he used his free hand to latch onto Sam's neck and took a step into the hall.

Sam immediately jerked his weight back, pulling Dean back into the room. "Dean, what are you doing?"

"We'll drown if we stay in here, and we can't sit on the roof in a friggin hurricane." He shifted his gaze away from Sam long enough to give another assessment of the thick, oily black just inches from them. "Sammy, trust me. I don't know how, but I know we can do this."

"Dean, of course I—" Sam's attention skipped from Dean to the hallway and back again. "But it's—"

"You have to trust me Sammy. You have to hang on and no matter what happens, what you see or feel or hear, you hang on to me." His words rushed out so fast he had a hard time keeping up with himself, it was a marvel Sam was able to. Dean couldn't stop the quake from working its way through him, knew by Sam's expression he felt it too. "You don't let go of me. Sam. You don't lose me."

Even as Sam's eyes grew wider, his grip on Dean's wrist tightened to a steel band encircling Dean's arm. "Dean?"

"Do you trust me?"

Sam's lips pressed to a thin, determined line. Eyes locked on Dean's he nodded once. Dean forged ahead, head bent down, both hands firmly clutching his brother; he threw them both into the black.