John had stayed at the motel just long enough to convince himself that the boys were going to settle down and not start World War III. Dean was watching TV and Sam was engrossed in his homework when John decided that it was safe for him to leave. Dean had tried insisting that he be allowed to go with him a few more times, but a quick trip to the truck for the rope – and a pair of handcuffs – had put a stop to that. As he was heading out the door, John warned them what would befall them should they choose to disobey him and leave the motel. He hoped that would be enough to ensure their obedience.

It remained relatively quiet in the small motel room for the first hour after their father left withthe boys keeping their distance from each other. Then Sam had finished his homework and became bored. He didn't like the show Dean was watching on television and couldn't find anything to entertain himself.

"Can't we watch something else?" whined Sam.

"Nope."

"I hate this show."

"So?"

"Come on, Dean," pleaded Sam.

Dean didn't seem to be as receptive to his younger brother's complaining as he usually was and Sam was pretty sure he was watching this show just to piss him off. He knew that Dean didn't really like it either but he wouldn't change the channel or even acknowledge Sam's request.

Sam decided to try a different tactic. "I'll tell Dad."

Dean glanced at his brother and smirked, "Like he'll care when he gets back in the middle of the night. Besides, you'll be asleep by then."

"Maybe not. Maybe I'll just stay up."

"I don't think so."

"Come on Dean. Can't you just be nice to me for once?"

"Be nice to you for once?" responded Dean incredulously shaking his head. "I can't believe you. All you've done is bitch at me all day. You tell me I'm a jerk for stopping some kid from beatin' you up, you leave your friend's before I get there to pick you up, you cause a scene at the park and then jump out of the car before we get home…and you want me to be nice to you?" Dean just stared at his brother and shook his head.

"Well, I'm not the one who tried to strangle you," shot back Sam.

"No, you're the one who deserved it," retorted Dean. "Anyway, the stupid show is over now. Watch what you want," and he threw the remote towards Sam. Dean stood up and opened the door to go outside. "I'll be out here if you need me – but I'm sure you won't – you being thirteen, and all," he said as he closed the door.

Dean sat outside for the better part of two hours. For a while he sat in his car and listened to music and then he had sat on one of the chairs outside the motel room. He wanted to be with his father and not babysitting his annoying little brother.

Dean just didn't like the idea of his father being out there by himself when he wasn't even sure what he was fighting. His father thought that maybe it was a vampire because it seemed to crave the blood of its victims. But it could have been a shapeshifter or black dog based on some of the stories going around town. It liked to prey on sick people or expectant mothers and from the information his father had gathered, it usually ate its victim's internal organs, starting at the heart and going right down to the intestines. If it was a vampire, it must have been some sort of weird mutation.

Dean looked at his watch and realized it was 10:30 p.m. so he went back inside. Sam was asleep on his bed. He must have fallen asleep watching TV because he was still dressed and the remote was lying across his stomach. Dean picked up the remote and switched off the TV; then he grabbed a blanket from the bottom of the bed and covered his brother. Dean looked down at Sam and winced. He had left some pretty bad looking marks on Sam's neck.

'Why were you being such a pain in the ass today, Sammy? You're usually a pretty good kid.'

Dean watched his brother sleep for a few minutes and then decided he might as well get some sleep himself. There was nothing else to do and all he kept thinking about was his father out on the hunt. If he just went to sleep he wouldn't have to worry about him.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean woke with a start. He quickly slipped his hand under his pillow and grabbed the knife that he always kept there. He lay still and listened. Nothing. He could barely see in the darkness but he could hear Sam breathing in the bed beside him.

'Okay. Good. Can't be much if it didn't wake Sam.'

Dean glanced at the clock – 2:00 a.m.

'Maybe it's just Dad getting back.'

Dean listened carefully but didn't hear any of the familiar noises he should have heard if it was his father returning form the hunt that had awoken him. He didn't hear the truck door close nor the key in lock of the motel room door. There was nothing to indicate that his father had returned, and there didn't seem to have been any reason for him to have awoken. He didn't sense any potential threats but he couldn't seem to overcome the uneasy feeling he had.

After lying still and listening for what seemed like an eternity, Dean decided that there was nothing in or around the motel to fear. But his father still wasn't back and that bothered him. Dean got out of bed and set about protecting the motel room. He spread salt around the beds and in front of the door and drew a couple of ancient protection symbols on the floor and walls of the room. Then he left a gun full of rock-salt on the bed beside his brother. As a final safety measure, Dean placed a vial of holy water on the headboard by Sam's head and, then he grabbed his knife and proceeded to the door.

He was just about to go out when he heard Sam mutter, "Where ya going?"

"Dad's not back. I'm going to find him."

"He told us to stay here."

"Yeah…Well, I think he might need my help."

"You think everybody needs your help."

"Shut-up, Sammy. Go back to sleep."

"I hope he kills you when you find him."

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Dean drove quickly to the sub-division on the south side of town where he knew his father had gone to try to find this thing. This was the area of town where most of the victims had been found. Most of them had been found in or near their homes. There didn't seem to be anything special about this area of town but whatever was attacking people was doing it here.

Dean wasn't exactly sure where his father would be, so he cruised up and down the streets hoping to spot his father's truck. He had been driving around for about half an hour when he finally saw a truck parked at the end of a dead-end street. From the glow inside the truck, it looked like the interior light was on. There didn't appear to be anyone inside the truck, but it looked like his father's so Dean drove towards it.

As he drove closer, Dean realized that the truck was his father's and that the driver's door was ajar, which was why the interior light was on. Dean pulled the Impala quietly up behind the truck and killed the engine. Once the car had coasted to a stop, Dean got out and opened the trunk of the car. He pulled out two guns – one filled with rock-salt and the other with silver bullets – and tucked them into the back of his jeans. He already had a knife strapped to his leg and a bottle of holy water in his pocket. He grabbed the flashlight and a silver cross- just in case nothing else worked. Then he walked cautiously over to the truck.

There was blood all over the driver's seat and Dean could see blood on the steering wheel as well. It looked like something had attacked his father while he was trying to get into the truck and that his father had held onto the steering wheel in a vain attempt to stop whatever it was from dragging him from the truck.

Dean touched the blood on the seat. It was still fresh and hadn't coagulated yet. That meant that whatever had happened to his father hadn't happened long ago. Now all he had to do was find him. Dean shone his flashlight onto the road to pick up the blood trail and he followed it across the road and onto the sidewalk. The blood trail ended there, but Dean could see impressions in the grass that looked as if something had been dragged across the lawn. Dean removed one of the guns from his jeans and pointed it into the yard ahead of him. Then he started walking very quietly and carefully in the directionof the drag marks.

As he walked, Dean could see little patches of blood in the grass, which assured him that he was going in the right direction. He was just hoping that he wouldn't be too late. But he couldn't move any faster for fear of being heard by whatever had his father. So he crept silently along, listening and watching very intently.

Up ahead, near some bushes at the back of the yard, Dean saw a crumpled shape lying in the grass. He quickly dropped to one knee, hid in the shadow of the house, and aimed the gun at the object. When it didn't move and nothing seemed to be hovering around it, Dean ventured warily toward it. As he got closer, he recognized that the object in question was his father.

"Dad?" Dean whispered, hoping he could hear him. "Dad? It's Dean. You okay?"

He heard a slight groan and carefully traversed the ground ahead until he was just out of reach of his father. He surveyed the scene with the experienced eyes of a trained hunter, but it appeared that they were alone. Dean quickly made his way to his father and put his hand on his father's neck to feel his pulse. It was strong - but quick.

'Okay. That's good. Strong pulse. Good sign.' "Dad? Can you hear me?"

Dean leant over his father todiscover what injuries his father had sustained. There was blood all over his face but it was the blood soaking his shirt that concerned Dean the most. He knew that this thing liked to steal internal organs. Maybe he had arrived too late.

Dean pulled his father's shirt up toinspect the wounds. Thankfully, they were only scratches – really deep scratches – but the skin was intact, which meant that his father hadn't unwillingly donated any organs to this thing. Keeping a vigilant eye on their surroundings, in case this thing was lying in wait, Dean rolled his father onto his back.

"Dean…" whispered his father hoarsely.

"Dad! What the hell happened?"

"Dean," came the weak response. "We gotta get outta here. Help me up."

Dean slipped his arm around his father's neck and under his armpit and used his body to help his father get to his feet. His father leaned on him as they made their way back to the vehicles. Dean maneuvered his father into the passenger seat of the Impala and shut the door. He scanned the area one more time to be certain that they wouldn't be ambushed like his father must have been, and then he went around the car, dropped the gun on the seat and slid in beside his father.

As he backed the car down the road, he glanced at his father and asked, "What is it?"

"It's an Aswang."