Happy Halloween to you all! Consider this your treat. ;) I wasn't planning on putting this out on Halloween, but since I finished it yesterday and edited it today, it just worked out perfectly.

Just a brief WARNING: This chapter contains a few gory descriptions; though I don't think they are any worse than some of the things we see on the more violent episodes, I thought I would mention it just to be on the safe side.

Enjoy:)

You're Not Alone

– – Chapter Four – –

Living Nightmares

Dean walked slowly next to his brother, his heart pounding quickly in his chest. He stared at the ground, watching his feet, afraid to look up. Dad's grave was visible from the entrance, and if he looked up…. Dean could just imagine himself looking up to find his father's grave surrounded by police tape, a crowd of onlookers standing near it and shaking their heads sadly at the tragedy; a tragedy that none of them would ever really feel. Not like he and Sam would.

So he kept his eyes firmly planted on the ground as the entrance came into view and they moved closer toward the small crowd of people and the two police officers outside.

"Dean?"

Dean turned his head toward his brother, still refusing to look into the cemetery.

"It's okay. Look." And Sam pointed into the cemetery toward where Dean knew their father's grave was. He let his eyes follow Sam's hand, and he felt a great weight lift off his shoulders at the sight of his father's grave, free from the telltale yellow tape. But he felt a great portion of that weight return as he spotted a grave farther off in the distance where a lone man in uniform was standing outside a square of yellow police tape. The tape fluttered slowly in the gentle breeze, and he immediately felt guilty. If it wasn't Dad, it was someone else, and some other family would now be going through the same thing he had been afraid he and Sam would have to go through. He felt guilty for wishing his pain on someone else, but he didn't have much time to dwell on it, as they had reached the small crowd near the gate.

Sam approached the police officers, pulling his badge out of his pocket, and Dean did the same. He was grateful when Sam started the talking, because he wasn't entirely sure he could form words even if he'd wanted to.

"I'm Agent Tam, this is Agent Reynolds." At this, Sam quickly flashed his badge at the two officers standing by their car, and Dean did the same. "What can you tell us about the events that took place last night?"

Dean waited with bated breath, hoping the officers would accept their identities. The two officers looked at each other suspiciously, but finally one of them – Officer Beckett according to his badge – turned to Sam and spoke.

"We got the call at 6:49 this morning. A man by the name of Daniel Holden came at sunrise to visit his mother's grave. Before he got there, he spotted a large pile of dirt on the ground next to it. He went over to see what it was, and he found his mother's coffin open, his mother's…body…exposed, and that's when he called us. Her name was Violet Holden. She was buried here a week ago."

Officer Beckett went on to describe the condition of the site. The dirt was lying next to the grave haphazardly. It looked more like it had been dug by a wild animal than a person with a shovel. The coffin was a mystery. There were no broken locks. It looked as though something had clawed at the lid from the outside and torn the wood away. Bits of wood were scattered inside the hole and on the body, as though something had torn its way inside and pulled the lid apart piece by piece. The body…Dean watched Officer Beckett's face turn pale. Beckett had not seen the body, but he told them how it had been described to him. They were calling it a wild animal attack, because there was no way a human could have done the damage that had been caused to "that poor woman's body." Beckett described it as best he could, and from the few details he was able to glean, Dean knew this was not done by a human.

"It was probably wild dogs or something," Beckett said, and Dean looked slowly at his brother, who had already turned to look at him. Apparently, they were both thinking the same thing.

This was something much worse than wild dogs.

"Where's the body now?" Sam asked.

"They haven't moved it yet. We're still waiting for a forensics team to arrive. Sheriff Michaels is there looking it over. You can talk to him."

"Thank you," Sam said, flashing the man a small smile.

Beckett nodded in response, and Dean moved to follow Sam into the cemetery. As they were leaving, Dean heard the other officer say, "Man, you know dogs can't tear solid wood apart like that." Dean continued to follow Sam as he heard Beckett say, "I know. But what else could it be?"

Dean shuddered as he thought of all the numerous things that could have torn open a thick wooden coffin, mutilated the body of a poor, innocent woman, and devastated everyone the woman had left behind.

Dean didn't like any of the options, and he hugged his arms close to his chest. As they approached the grave, his mind drifted off the man who had found his mother's body, and he felt guilty as he thought-

"Thank God it's not Dad."

Dean looked toward Sam when he spoke. How did Sam always know what he was thinking?

"Yeah. Thank God," Dean replied quietly, and he knew he didn't sound convincing. He turned his gaze toward the ground, but not in time to miss the look of confusion Sam sent his way. Of course he was grateful that it wasn't their father. But that didn't make him feel any better. As they approached Violet Holden's disturbed grave and the horrors he knew lay within, all he could think about was Daniel Holden. What it must have felt like for him to come here and find his own mother's body desecrated mere days after he had buried it.

It must have been like living through her death all over again.

Suddenly, Dean wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave this place. He didn't want to see this woman's body. He didn't want even the faintest hint at what Daniel Holden was going through. For once in his life, Dean wanted to be selfish and say "Screw everyone else, I can't deal with this now."

But Dean Winchester was anything but selfish. So he drew up what little courage he had left and continued on toward Violet's grave, Sam walking steadily beside him.

As they approached the line of yellow tape surrounding the grave, the man who Dean assumed was Sheriff Michaels approached them.

"You can't be here, this area is-"

"We're Federal Marshals. I'm Agent Tam, this is Agent Reynolds." Sam showed his badge again, and Dean did the same. Sheriff Michaels sighed in what was unmistakably relief.

"You guys got here pretty fast, thank God. We weren't sure what to make of this." He gestured toward the area. All they could see from where they were was a large pile of dirt beside a large hole, but Dean knew it was so much more than that. Sam started toward it. Dean hesitated before following his brother. He had to see this. As much as he didn't want to, he had to. Whatever this was, he had to stop it from happening again. One Daniel Holden was too much.

Sam reached the grave first, and Dean saw him look down inside. Dean's worst nightmares began to play themselves out in his head when Sam flinched harshly, taking a step backward and turning away, his hand reaching up to cover his mouth as he let out a low moan of, "Oh my god."

Dean continued to approach, but slower this time, as Sam stood facing away, his hand still over his mouth, and Dean could see his brother shaking slightly. Finally, he reached the hole and peered down into it, his heart in his throat.

If he hadn't already thrown up his breakfast, he would have done it then and there. It was the most horrible sight he had ever seen in his life, and he had seen more than his fair share of horrible sights. The woman's body, if you could even call it that anymore, was barely distinguishable as a woman, much less a person. Her clothing hung in tatters over what was left of her body, which was no more than a giant mass of scattered bones covered in a few stray pieces of what used to be healthy skin. It looked like something had torn into her, consuming her flesh right off of her bones, tearing them apart in the process. Her bones were not even attached to each other anymore. Something had torn into her like a Thanksgiving turkey and picked her clean.

Dean fought down the bile rising in his throat and he turned away, unable to look anymore. Officer Beckett had been right about the coffin. Pieces of wood littered the hole around the coffin and the remains themselves, as though something had clawed at the lid and torn it apart bit by bit, plank by plank, wanting nothing more than to get inside as quickly and easily as possible so that it could claim its prize. Dean turned to Sam, who had moved far away from the grave and was pacing frantically, muttering under his breath, his hand still covering his mouth. Dean had never seen Sam react like this to something, and it scared the hell out of him.

"Agent Tam," Dean said as forcefully as he could manage. Unfortunately, he couldn't keep a slight shaking out of his voice anymore than he could stop the slight shaking that had taken over his body.

Sam turned to him, and Dean felt his heart break at the look of fear in Sam's eyes. He could practically feel Sam begging him to make it all right, and Dean tried his hardest to convey with just his eyes that it was going to be okay.

But he couldn't even convince himself of that fact, and so he stared uselessly at Sam, wishing more than anything that he had simply told Sam to stay away. The image of the woman's mutilated body was burned into his mind, and Dean knew it was a sight he would never forget.

Neither of them said anything to each other. Dean continued to look at Sam, at a loss, and finally Sheriff Michaels broke the silence. "That's pretty much the reaction everyone has had."

Dean continued to watch Sam, who had turned away from him to stare in the opposite direction.

"We've seen enough," Dean said, and he meant it. He had seen enough; more than enough. He started toward his brother, his back toward Sheriff Michaels as he said, "We'll let you know if we come up with anything."

The sheriff might have replied, "Sure," but Dean wasn't really paying attention. He took Sam's arm, the one not covering his mouth, gently in his hand and led him quickly away from the grave.

They headed toward the car in silence, never looking back at the cemetery. They didn't say a word as Dean pulled Sam away. They didn't say a word as they walked past the two officers near the entrance. They didn't say a word until Dean pulled Sam toward the passenger side of the car, fully intending to drive Sam away from this horrible place.

Sam was the first to break the silence.

"I'm driving," he said, and he pulled his arm out of Dean's and headed back toward the driver's side. Dean didn't argue with his brother, and he climbed inside the van, barely having time to buckle himself in before Sam tore the car back onto the road and drove quickly away from Chelsea Cemetery.

Dean pushed aside the roiling in his stomach, the ache in his chest. He turned to look at Sam. The fear and pain he had seen in Sam's eyes before was now gone. It had been replaced by a look of anger and a determination that was so scary that Dean would have felt slightly bad for the thing that had done this if he himself hadn't been just as determined to hunt this son of a bitch down and kill it in the most excruciatingly painful way he could think of.

Dean turned to stare out the window as Sam drove, trying to drive the image of the woman's body from his head.

Finally, Sam pulled into a space outside their hotel, tires squealing slightly as he brought the giant teal monster to a screeching halt. Sam got quickly out of the car, slamming the door behind him as he headed over to Dean's side. He opened Dean's door and Dean unbuckled himself, and Sam had a hand on his arm before he could even try to get out by himself. Sam helped him out, being surprisingly gentle considering how angry Dean knew he was. As Sam led him by the arm inside their room, Dean was scared to find that he could feel Sam's anger coursing through him. It was like a quick, harsh power racing under Sam's skin. It wasn't directed at him, and he could tell because he couldn't feel it racing into him like it had last time. But that didn't make him feel any less scared. It was a mark of how scared he was at Sam's behavior that he let Sam lead him, his hand gently holding him and pulling him inside.

Sam led him to a bed and gently drew him down so he was sitting on it.

"Don't you dare go anywhere," Sam told him bitingly, his anger belied by how gently he had just led him into the room.

Dean didn't even think to argue as Sam left the room, closing the door loudly behind him.

Dean stared at the bedspread and worried over how strangely Sam was acting. Sam had seemed so upset at first, so close to tears, and now he was so angry that Dean could actually feel the anger coursing through him from just a gentle touch on his arm.

Dean continued to stare at the blanket, wanting nothing more than to crawl under it and never have to face the world again.

Finally, the door opened and Sam burst in, a bulging duffel bag and a few books in his arms. He closed the door behind him and dropped the bag and books on the other bed, and Dean could see all manner of weapons poking out of the bag. He turned to his brother, who was currently plugging in his laptop.

"Sam, what-"

"I'm going after this thing. Tonight."

"Sam, we don't even know what it is yet."

"That's why I'm looking it up," Sam replied, not even looking at him as he walked back over to the bed and pulled their father's journal out of the pile of books. "As soon as the sun sets, I'm going," he said, sitting at the table in front of his laptop and flipping their father's journal open.

And that's when it hit him.

"What do you mean, 'I'm going'?"

"I mean exactly what I said, Dean," Sam said, still not looking at him as he flipped pages. "I'm going. Alone."

And Dean knew he had been wrong about wanting to crawl under the covers and never leave. Sam may not love him like Dean wanted him to, but Dean still loved his brother, and there was no way in hell he was letting Sam do this alone.

"You mean we're going," he said.

Sam stopped flipping through the journal. Finally, Sam looked up at him. "You aren't coming with me," he said. "You still need to rest. I'm doing this one on my own." Sam turned back toward the journal.

And suddenly, Dean was angry. He wasn't tired, or sad, or lonely, or simply bitter.

He was pissed off.

"Like hell you are," he said harshly, and Sam's head jerked up as he looked at him. Dean knew he hadn't spoken so angrily to Sam since before the car crash, and the new yet familiar tone must have struck a chord in Sam because he looked surprised.

But he didn't falter. "I am. You're still healing, Dean. You don't need to be jumping back into this stuff so soon."

But Dean wasn't going to take this lying down. He stood up slowly from the bed, stretching himself up to his full height, trying to convey as much force and formidability as his six foot-one inch-one hundred seventy five pound frame would allow. "I'm going with you, Sam. Whether you want me to or not. If you go, I go." His tone brooked no argument. It was his big brother voice, the voice that said, "I may be shorter than you and smaller than you, but I changed your diapers, and I taught you how to walk, how to read, how to pick up girls, and how to fight the monsters in the closet." It was the voice that clearly said his word was the final word whenever Dad's word wasn't involved, and it had always worked on Sam before.

Dean stared his brother down.

Finally, he saw Sam's shoulders slump, and he could almost feel the anger ebbing away from him slowly.

"Fine," Sam said through gritted teeth. He closed the journal and threw it at Dean a bit harder than was necessary. Dean caught it and sat back down on the bed.

"We should try and get an idea of what this is before we go back tonight," Sam said, and Dean could hear the defeat in his voice.

Dean smiled to himself. His big brother voice always worked on Sammy.

Little did Dean know that the next time he used it would be the first time that it wouldn't work.

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The two brothers did research throughout the afternoon, stopping only once when Sam went out and brought back some food, which Dean reluctantly ate even though he didn't feel hungry.

They continued working through the afternoon, finding numerous things that it could be, but knowing that it could be any of them.

Finally, around 9pm, they gave up. Sam loaded the duffel bag into the van, stuffing a few more weapons in that he thought might be useful. Dean made sure to bring the books and Dad's journal.

They drove to Chelsea Cemetery and parked the van a good distance away, hiding it in the trees as they waited for the group of officers and forensic investigators to leave.

Finally, around 12am, the last of the officials gathered near the grave left. Dean followed Sam out of the car, Sam toting the duffel and Dean carrying Dad's journal. They slowly wandered around the cemetery. Neither of them mentioned splitting up. Dean didn't want to let Sam wander alone, and Dean didn't know it, but Sam didn't want Dean to wander alone, either. They circled the cemetery dozens of times, waiting for whatever it was to show up.

Neither of them had any idea what they would do when it did, and neither of them brought that up.

Finally, around 4am, they sat down on the edge of the cemetery, under the trees that surrounded it on three sides, to rest.

And then Sam had a vision.

Dean put his hands on Sam's shoulders as Sam moaned in pain, clutching at his head and panting.

When it stopped, Sam looked up at him in horror, and before Dean could stop him, Sam bolted into the cemetery, somehow knowing exactly where he was going.

Dean stood up and followed him as best as he could. They reached the farthest corner of the cemetery in a couple of minutes, and Sam stopped so abruptly that Dean practically ran into him.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Dean could do nothing but stare in horror at the creature that sat in the broken coffin on top of the body of a young boy, no more than five years old. Apparently the creature had only just started to feast, as the boy's body was intact aside from the ragged hole that had been torn in his chest where his heart should have been and where there was now only an empty hole.

Dean could do nothing but stare in horror as the creature looked up at them, and he got a real glimpse of the thing in the light of the flashlight that was shaking slightly in Sam's hand.

It was a girl. A young girl, no more than seven years old, but she didn't look young or innocent or sweet like she should have. She looked like a slowly decomposing corpse. Her fingers had grown into long claws, and her eyes were glowing bright red as she growled at them.

Dean could do nothing but stare in horror as she leapt from the hole in one supernatural bound, landing in front of them, continuing to growl, flesh dripping from her long, red stained teeth.

Dean could do nothing but stare in horror as the girl turned back toward the hole, and he thought she would jump back in and continue, but instead she stopped growling. She turned back toward them, and they both caught the look of fright, pain, disgust, horror, and…childlike innocence in her eyes. For just one second, she looked like a frightened seven-year-old girl, and it chilled Dean to the bone.

But in an instant it was gone, and she growled at them again before tearing off into the night, disappearing quickly into the forest surrounding the cemetery.

And then Dean could do nothing but stare in horror at the little boy's body, at the place where his heart should have been, at the carnage that had been wrought on the little boy's memory, that would later be wrought on his already grief stricken mother, by a creature that was no older than him.

Dean turned away from the grave and fell to his knees, vomiting the contents of his stomach over the ground. He threw up what felt like everything he had ever eaten, and when he felt a hand gently rubbing his back in small circles, he realized that Sam was behind him. He didn't force him away like he normally would have.

He just didn't have the strength anymore.

He continued to heave until there was nothing left. When he was finished, he stayed where he was, panting heavily, trying to get a handle on his breathing and his emotions.

Sam didn't leave his side, and he didn't stop trying to comfort him, rubbing soothing circles into his back.

Dean wondered vaguely at Sam's actions, but he pushed his thoughts aside. That didn't matter now. All that mattered was that he knew what this was. He had seen this before. It had been a much older man, in his mid-forties, and it had made sense. But this girl…she was too young. She was way too young for something like this to have happened to her. There had to be something else at work here.

The Demon. The Demon was powerful enough to do this, and it would explain why Sam had had a vision. The Demon must have done something to that little girl. The Demon must have-

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam asked him quietly. His hand had stopped moving as Dean's breathing had slowed to normal, but his hand was still resting gently on his back.

Dean closed his eyes and sighed deeply, gathering up the courage to look his brother in the face.

Finally, he raised his head and looked at Sam, ignoring the undoubtedly false concern in his eyes.

"I know what this is."

TBC…

AN: I just realized how fitting this chapter is for Halloween, lol. The story's picking up a bit finally, and I hope you're all enjoying it. Leave me some nice ones! I have to work tonight so I'll consider any reviews to be my Halloween treat. Reviews are better than candy any day – they don't ruin your diet. :P

Oh, and free candy to whoever catches the reference behind Sam and Dean's Federal Marshal aliases. ;)