Most special thanks to msnancydrew for all her wonderful help as beta. Thanks to all my readers for sticking with me and commenting!

Laura

Dean glanced behind him for probably the sixtieth time in the past five minutes, checking to be sure Sam was still there. He was. Never considering Sam the scare easy type of kid, Dean was more than a little concerned about his brother, more specifically his brother's sudden reaction to this place. Then of course Dean, being the insensitive moron he could be some days went and made it worse with the monster in the closet stunt. Sam had been so quiet since entering the school Dean had to keep looking to be sure he was still following along. That in itself was unsettling to Dean since his brother was always yammering something. Feeling these things now, Sam said he'd felt the spirits or whatever they'd seen the day before. That didn't sit well at all. The ramifications of it Dean wasn't too sure of yet, but he decided it just couldn't be good. Now Sam was feeling the damn things, that was new, totally new for Sam. Dean didn't like new, he didn't do new. Hell, he had enough problems keeping track of the old.

"Sammy I think this is a bust. Have you seen anything, 'cause I sure haven't."

No response. The kid was probably still pissed off at him, not that Dean blamed him...much.

"Sam, come on, I said I was sorry." Dean glanced behind him for the sixty-first time in five minutes and saw nothing but empty hallway. "God-damn!"

One brother, one freaking, damn, pain in the ass little brother, not six, one. Sam wasn't triplets; there was just one of him, which Dean considered a good thing since he went broke half the time feeding that one brother of his. Just one brother, and could Dean manage to keep track of him? No. Sam apparently hadn't outgrown the wandering off phase either. Dean back tracked, grumbling a bit. There was damn near six and a half feet of the ONE brother he had, the boy could be loud and bitched more than most girls Dean knew, but nooooooo……..Dean managed to lose him every other day. Sam was one person, one big, stands out in a crowd type of person, how the hell hard should it be to keep track of him?

Obviously a little harder than Dean thought.

"Got to stay together Dean. Can't go alone Dean, something will happen to you Dean." He retraced his steps, pacing back the way he'd come. Movement near one of the doors had him swerving in that direction. "I can feel it Dean, it's evil Dean, gotta stick together Dean. Goofball kid, can't you ever make up your mind?" Pushing the door open wide, giving his eyes a few seconds to adjust, he stepped inside, "Sammy, where the hell did you go? What happened to stay together?"

Dean stopped so fast his shoulders swayed forward before centering over his feet.

It took him a few seconds to register why Sam was just standing there, a few feet inside the room. His eyes drifted to the movement along the floor, followed it for a few seconds before realizing it was holding his brother captive. Trembling all over Sam's eyes met his.

This was like no demon Dean had ever seen, he wasn't even sure it was a demon, but Sam was right, it was evil. He could feel it now too, it didn't want death, didn't want to kill, it wanted fear, to feed off fear. It wanted Sam. Dean could feel how much it delighted in Sam's fear, Dean's fear. The thing entwining his brother was after Sam, had waited for him.

Concha's words about Sam being the one to bring a demon came crashing back to him. Craven's simple statement about Dean being the hunter followed immediately on its heels. He may very well be the hunter, but that did him didly right now, he hadn't a clue as to what to do about this thing. He only knew it wanted Sam, for what or how it planned to take him Dean didn't even have a reasonable guess. What he did know was Sam was his, all he had, and this thing couldn't have him no matter what. The thought permeated his brain, it wanted Sam, it wanted him, it was paralyzing how strong that single thought was.

Dean drew his pistol, but couldn't fire at the thing. It was circled around Sam, wrapped around him like some sort of perverse ribbon. Black, with no reflection, no shimmer or glint from the slight lighting, still it had a slick, oily, almost liquid appearance. It was as if light hit it and was absorbed, swallowed whole by this thing. Dean felt cold, raw fear wind its way along his spine, circle in his stomach, and inch to his brain as he watched it. This was what they'd come to hunt, Dean had no doubt all. This was what for centuries folklore and children's tales called the boogeyman. Dean wished right then and there he'd never heard of the thing.

It had them both captive, and it knew it. Dean could feel its pleasure, it physically held Sam, but may as well have been holding Dean who wouldn't leave his brother there with the thing, alone. Swiveling the upper portion of itself around, it looked at Dean, which was interesting considering it had no features, no head, and no eyes. It certainly wanted to be sure Dean was watching, paying attention to what it did to Sam.

Moving slowly, Dean put his gun behind his back, into his waistband. That got the thing's attention. Hold both hands at shoulder height, palms out, Dean ground out low and deep, "Get away from him." It wasn't going to get what it wanted from him, either of them. He hadn't spent his life hustling pool and poker and not learned anything. This was another opponent, Sam was the prize. Forcing his breathing to stay even Dean stared at the thing draped around his brother, refusing to give into his fear. Words filtered into Dean's head, words he heard in Sam's soft voice, rapist, child molester, murderer. Now Dean had an idea how this thing did what it did.

It sort of waggled at him, and wound itself around Sam's legs further, slithering up, then along his torso, winding, stretching itself to encircle his brother's waist, flowing an erratic pattern across his chest, curling around Sam's forearms, biceps. Sam watched with wide, horror-stricken eyes as the thing moved over his shoulders, a small, thin tether of it slipping across his neck, wrapping around. Every bit of it moved, twitched, creeping along. Dean could see Sam's clothes move slightly where it touched him. A larger tendril slithered along Sam's back, over his shoulder, and sniffed at the nape of his neck. Sam sucked in his breath, made some odd, tortured sound deep in his throat and winced. He turned his head just enough to see it on his shoulder, moisture trickled down his cheek.

"Sam. Look at me." Dean commanded, keeping his voice as low and steady as was possible for him.

Sam's eyes flicked to Dean's, he mouthed the words Get out, run. But obviously not wanting Sam to focus on Dean another tendril broke free of the main stream of the thing to swipe almost delicately along Sam's jaw, down the side of his neck. Immediately Sam's focus was drawn back, tilting his head he tried to look at it again.

"SAM!" Dean barked. Sam's eyes once again met his, this time staying, holding. "You look at me, just me, no where else, no matter what. You got it? You understand?" The barely perceivable nod Sam offered was going to have to do for now.

The thin tendril inching along Sam's neck wound its way up and into his hair, for a second Sam looked, but before Dean could remind him not to look Sam squeezed his eyes shut, fists balled tight Dean could see him fighting to control the tremors working up and down his back. It slid across the top of Sam's head, then down the back, pulling a small chunk of hair away it tugged, not enough to really hurt, but enough. It focused back on Dean again, and did it look as if it laughed?

"You sick…" He didn't really know what to call it. Pulling Sam's hair like that, it just pissed Dean off. How many times since Sam had gotten hair had Dean grabbed a few wisps and tugged lightly? He had no idea. The gesture was something he'd always done. The cold in the pit of his stomach roiled more, this thing was using him against Sam, using Sam against him, baiting them, taking their gestures of affection and turning them to something dark and fearful. The cold left his stomach, crept into his chest and wound around his heart, squeezing.

The thing constricted along Sam's chest, waist, neck, making him stiffen and hold his breath. Not enough, Dean could see to cause damage, but enough to heighten both their responses. Sam choked out another odd noise, whispered, "Dean."

"Look at me Sammy, open your eyes and look at me." He tried to sound confident, soothing, but figured he wasn't so convincing with the tremble in his voice. Still it did the trick, Sam did as he asked, opened his eyes, and focused intently on Dean. "It'll be ok."

Sam nodded, but made no noise, said nothing. The thing had so distracted him Dean was just now realizing what was around him, what this room was. Part of the boiler room, all sorts of odds and ends were stored there. Dean's mind ran through the litany of what would work to hurt, maim, kill this thing. Holy water worked on just about everything, but only to distract or hurt, rarely did it alone destroy. Iron, his eyes cast around the room for something possibly made of iron. Old pieces of fencing were piled in one corner, old style, hopefully the actual thing, iron fencing. He thought of a few herbs, but that would have to wait, he hadn't exactly brought his herb garden with him, and Sam was much better at that sort of weaponry than Dean. Salt, graveyard dirt, he had both, back in the trunk of his car.

His flask of holy water was right where it always was, in his pocket. Holy water and iron, good old staples, they were just going to have to do for now. Having no idea how much of his exact thoughts this thing knew, or if it was just his emotions it worked off Dean knew he'd have to act fast. Moving with practiced stealth to one side, he pointed to his eyes with one hand. Sam understood. Dean shifted his gaze just the slightest bit to the side, near the iron fencing. The corner of Sam's mouth twitched up for a second, again he understood.

"I don't know what you are, but I know what you want." Dean spoke slowly, deliberately as he sidestepped around Sam. "You can't have him, not this one, you can't have him." Mine! Having no clue if the thing even heard or understood the words, they were mainly spoken for Sam anyway, a way of keeping contact.

As Sam tried to turn to follow Dean's movements the thing constricted further. When Sam gasped out a hoarse whimper and slouched down Dean froze. It knew. The damn thing knew. Hate, loathing, fear slithered through Dean, this thing would pay, he didn't know how yet, but it would pay big time. Not just for what it was doing to Sam, but for what it had done to countless others for who knew how long. If Dean was the hunter, he decided this was the prey, and damn it Dean intended to win. Reaching into his pocket, he slowly pulled his flask out. Sam cringed and swallowed a moan. Dean taking a step had Sam wincing and clenching his jaws tight.

Slow and stealthy wasn't going to cut it, so switching gears Dean went for fast and lethal. In a blur of movement he darted around Sam, closing his mind to the fact Sam muffled another agonizing cry and flinched repeatedly, trying to get away from the thing. The few feet he covered seemed like miles, finally he grabbed a length of iron, saying a silent prayer it would work, he swung back toward Sam. Flask open, moving fast at Sam, Dean shouted one word…"Down!" Flung the holy water at Sam, stuffed his flask into his back pocket and the thing then swung the iron. Aiming high incase Sam couldn't really move much, and hoping he didn't feel the connection of iron with Sam's skull. At the same time he reached out, grabbed the back of Sam's jacket and yanked.

The noise was deafening, came from everywhere at once, a high-pitched shattering whine. He swung a complete one-eighty, reasoning he must have somehow missed taking his kid brother's head off. Over the roaring din he heard, just barely, "DEEEAANNN!" Sam's voice was thick and deep with fear. Dean usually only heard that tone from him when Sam thought Dean was in serious trouble. Instinct told him to drop, knees starting to bend he didn't have much chance. He was literally bowled over, skidding a few feet along the ground.

It took a few seconds to register Sam's weight was pinning him to the ground; he felt his brother struggle to get up. Pressing one hand against Sam's chest Dean pushed up gently, squirming to one side, until he could sit up. Sam levered himself as far as onto his hands and knees, head hanging down, bangs and long hair flopping all over. One arm over Sam's back, Dean pulled him close enough that Sam's shoulder pressed against his chest. Shudders and spasms wracked Sam's body. He choked and gagged, back arching with each heave.

Not wanting to leave him there like that, fairly defenseless, but needing to find a way to protect them from further assault from the thing, Dean took quick stock of the room around him. He still had his flask, it was about half full. The iron rod lay within reach a foot or so to his right. All of a sudden it was gone. The noise, the oily blackness, the feelings of terror, anger. It was all gone.

"It left." Sam stammered between gags, leaning more heavily against Dean. As the heaves turned to vomiting, then settled back to dry heaving Dean slid his free arm around Sam's waist, pressed his flattened palm against Sam's chest.

"Sammy, you ok?"

A horrific shudder coursed through his brother's body, but the kid nodded. "I'm fine." His voice was strained, tense. Dean's grip on him tightened.

"You sure, did it hurt—" Dean stopped, even though Sam shook his head no, Dean knew. It had indeed hurt Sam, hurt him in a way Dean could only guess at, he'd seen the pain in Sam's eyes, could feel it in his shaking, hear it in his voice.

"It's ok Sammy." Rubbing Sam's back, Dean didn't know what else to say or do. When his hand moved to the back of Sam's neck, fingers brushing his hair Sam flinched. Dean froze, but a second later Sam leaned against his hand.

"Sorry." Sam's breathing sawed in and out in ragged gulps, but he was getting steadier, and the heaving stopped. Still kneeling Sam pushed straighter, breathing still heavy, but more even. He nodded, smiled a bit, one hand coming up so his fingers could wind around Dean's forearm. "I'm ok." He looked up at Dean, meeting his eyes for the first time. "Can we go? I don't want to be here, please?"

"You betcha." Standing, Dean hauled Sam up after him. "Can you walk ok?"

Sam grinned, laughed softly, "You offering to carry me?"

Dean didn't miss the fact Sam hadn't actually let go of him. "No, just making conversation." Slipping one arm around Sam's back, he got his shoulder under his brother's as one of Sam's arms draped over Dean's shoulders. By the time they reached the car Sam's breathing was normal. The jack hammering of his heart, Dean felt against his own ribs, and the shaking had all quieted. Dean smiled a bit as he opened the Impala's passenger door. Sam was probably very capable of walking on his own, unassisted, but had hung onto Dean until he was forced to let go to get into the car. Dean hadn't exactly tried to pry him loose either.

By the time Dean climbed in the driver's side, Sam had slid down a bit, head leaning back against the seat. His head rolled toward Dean, small smile that vanished almost as soon as it formed. He turned away, closed his eyes. "It wanted you." Sam's voice sounded far off, strained, wounded to the core. "It showed me what it could…would…how it would hurt…" His nostrils flared, breathing quickened then eased off again. "It showed me. I couldn't stop it."

"Sam, it's ok. It had you dude, not me. It didn't want me, I could feel it that time, it wanted you."

Sam's eyes popped open, he straightened and focused on Dean. "Like the troll. Craven said the troll was connected to demons. That thing, whatever it was, wanted to separate us. I think Craven had his demons mixed up."

"I'm not even sure it was a demon."

"What was it then?" In an instant Sam returned to looking so young and…well…Sam, Dean's heart bled.

Shaking his head, wishing he had an answer, and feeling terrible he didn't because he hated that look Sam wore, the one he gave Dean. The 'you're my big brother and you have all the answers and can make everything right' look. "I don't know Sammy, but we're going to have to find out. I think we're going to have lots of time and opportunity to find out."

Sam was silent for most the drive back to their cabin. Dean thought he'd dozed off until he pushed straighter in the seat, angled to face Dean. "Other people who that thing came to, they turned into something awful, horrible, do you think…what if…?"

"No Sam. You've never hurt anything in your life. It came to those people as children, before they could make choices, it changed them and molded them into something."

"Dean, I've…"

"Yeah, you've killed things, when was the last time you hurt them though, or made them suffer? You and I, we kill them as fast and painless as possible."

Dean's words seemed to pacify his kid brother for now, Sam nodded, visibly relaxed.

Three hours later Dean was stretched on his bed, leaning against the headboard, flipping through files, looking for clues, patterns. Holding a photo of two of the victims of the most recent school shooting Dean let his arm drop to the bed beside him. Sam's warm breath was a steady rhythm against Dean's arm. They'd returned, ordered some pizza and a movie on cable. The pizza wasn't so bad, the movie awful. On Sam's bed they'd spread out weapons and files, trying to put pieces together. When the food arrived they'd both settled on Dean's bed to eat, watch their movie, go over what little information they had. Somewhere into the second pizza Sam had slid down on his side, and dropped off to sleep. He thought about just leaving Sam where he was, but decided eventually he'd clear off Sam's bed and boost him over there. Dean's little brother actually wasn't so little, and while he wasn't a restless sleeper, he was as Dean knew from years of experience, a blanket hog.

For now Dean was pleased to see Sam slept peacefully, normally. No fear etched his face, no lines of worry, no nightmares invaded. Another glance at the photo in his hand then back to his sleeping brother and the answer suddenly came to him. Why this thing wanted them separated, and why it would never get from them what it did from countless others. How some, such as the two boys in the photo had resisted, overcome. These two unfortunately still ended up dead, but they'd never turned. Their deaths had been nothing more than a case of wrong place, wrong time. Right there in their very small file was evidence of nightmares of the boogeyman for both boys. Two boys, in their last moments, one held onto the other. Dean reasoned their ages maybe fourteen/fifteen and ten/twelve. Two boys like he and his brother had been. Not been, still were; only now they were men, but they still held onto one another, their methods simply changed. Or maybe not so much?

Reaching over, hand firmly on Sam's shoulder, Dean squeezed and jostled his sibling gently. Pushing onto his elbows, Sam yawned, bleary eyes looked around, "Ummmm?" He started curling his legs under himself to get up, "Sorry." He mumbled.

"No, no, you're ok, stay there." Dean pushed against Sam's back, rubbing lightly. "All that crap is still on your bed, you're fine."

Sam half sat up, and squinted at him, "I'll get it."

"You don't have to yet, Sam, listen to me, I figured it out."

"M'k." Sam huffed drowsily and dropped back down, folded one arm under his cheek, rubbed his eyes with his other hand and watched Dean expectantly.

"When you told Dad you were afraid of the thing in your closet he handed you a gun."

"Yeah, it was one of the highlights of my life. So we just go around passing out guns to kids? Yeah, that'll go over big with…no one."

"No Sam. The gun isn't the point. The point was he didn't blow you off. He believed you. Did something so you weren't scared."

"No Dean, he gave a loaded gun to a nine-year old, which didn't make me feel any better, and just scared me more, I was worried it would go off in the middle of the night and I'd still die. You kept me from being scared, not Dad. Dad scared me more than the monsters in my closet."

"I'm not fighting with you about Dad anymore, so don't even try. And just listen to me. It's so simple I can't believe we never saw it before. You always saw things in the closet, under the bed, in the back of the car, I can remember seeing them too. But the difference is, we each had someone who believed us, did something to make it not scary. I believed you when you said there was something that scared you, and you believed me. No one blew us off, no one said big boys aren't afraid of the monster in the closet, no one said it wasn't real. And someone was there and said in some way, you don't have to be scared. We kept each other safe, in different ways, but we did."

"Hmmmm…" Sam's voice was still sleep thick, but he propped up on his elbow, "I have someone who screams like a girl and scares the crap out of me when he opens the closet. Great strategy there." Lifting his eyes, giving Dean a sly look Sam cocked his head to one side.

"It was a joke Sam, ok a bad one, let it go." Dean reached out and thumped the top of Sam's head, then wound two fingers in his hair, tugging on a small chunk. Sam's eyebrows pulled together in a fake frown, before Dean was suddenly rewarded with dimples, and the fact Sam hadn't flinched away this time. He could see by his brother's expression Sam noticed too.

Running his thumb over the picture, gaze shifting up at Dean, Sam asked, "What do these two have to do with it?"

Dean knew Sam had the same thought he'd had a few minutes ago while looking at the picture. "In their information they each had dreams of the boogeyman, but neither was ever affected. Their deaths were tragic, but they didn't do anything evil. It bugged me the reports stopping around puberty, but then it hit me. Those kids would stop talking about it, they'd be embarrassed or people would tell them grow up, it's a baby thing to be scared of dreams, things under the bed, in the closet. That's why it wants us apart, that's why you thought it was out for me, I thought it was out for you."

"It was out for you." Sam insisted.

"It was out for us both. Nothing can make you, or anyone else become evil without a strategy. That'll never happen to you Sam, simply because you have someone who believes you, believes in you."

"So do you."

Dean's lips curled to a smile that reached his eyes. He tapped on the files scattered over his legs, "These people, they weren't so lucky."

Sam dozed off again, looking through the files, his encounter with the thing must have totally wiped him out Dean reasoned. Swinging off his bed, he cleared away papers and pizza boxes and weapons from Sam's bed and pulled the blankets back. Reaching over he shook Sam's shoulder easily. 'Hey, c'mere, get in your own bed." He said softly, pulling on Sam's arms to sit him up. "We don't need to stick so close you get all my blankets."

Rolling off Dean's bed, standing between the two, Sam's hands dropped onto Dean's shoulders, "How do we stop it?"

"Do I have to think of everything?"

Sam seemed to consider it for a minute while Dean guided him to his bed, pushed him down. He grinned, and nodded, "Yeah, my brain gets tired of doing all the work."

"We'll work on that part in the morning."

"You told me I had a choice, they didn't have a choice." Sam dipped his chin toward the pile of papers.

"Do you really need to remember everything I tell you?"

One corner of his mouth turning up, Sam considered the carpeting again before looking back at Dean and nodding. "Yeah." Sam's eye lids drifted closed.

Kicking his covers back, Dean stretched under the blankets, glancing at his brother who was soundly sleeping again. "We'll stop it Sammy." He mumbled as he dropped off to his own deep, peaceful sleep.