From the corner of his eye, Dean could see the sheriff venturing closer, moving cautiously as if he didn't quite trust him. Sheriff Durham held his gun at shoulder-level, keeping it aimed steadily at Dean as he advanced. Dean smirked at the absurdity of the situation: an armed, seasoned law enforcement officer apprehensive of a vulnerable, unarmed teenager.

Then again…Could be he was just being careful.

But probably not.

As the sheriff came up behind him, Dean chanced a quick look over his shoulder, anxiously requesting, "You gotta let me go check on my brother. See if he's okay."

"Sorry, Son. I don't gotta let you do anything."

Sheriff Durham holstered his gun while he cupped his free hand over Dean's hands, securing them firmly in place. As soon as he had put his gun away, he grabbed his handcuffs and slapped them roughly around Dean's wrists.

"But my brother's hurt. You hafta let me help him."

"Ohh…You've been all the help you're gonna be for a while," declared the sheriff firmly. Yanking Dean forcefully to his feet, the sheriff stated, "You just can't seem to stay outta trouble, now can you, Son?"

"It's not what it looks like," responded Dean bitterly, as he struggled to acquire his balance.

"Well, for your sake, I hope it's not," shot back the sheriff with a slight hint of compassion in his voice. "Because, from what I could see, you're in a whole lotta trouble right now."

"Story of my life" retorted Dean cynically, "Especially in this stupid town." As the sheriff spun him roughly around Dean looked directly at him and asked disdainfully, "You didn't happen to see what was really happening, did you?"

"You mean other than you shooting at your father and brother?" came the audacious reply.

"Why the hell would I shoot at them?" responded Dean irritably as the sheriff pushed him vehemently toward an approaching deputy. "I was trying to help them."

"Yeah, I bet," replied Sheriff Durham contemptuously. Addressing the deputy, he ordered gruffly, "Put him in the backseat of my cruiser. And stay with him." With a quick glance at Dean he added, "He's a tricky one."

"Only when someone pisses me off," murmured Dean angrily under his breathe, "Or gives me a hard time."

The deputy seized Dean's shirt collar and led him none too gently toward the sheriff's car. As the deputy swung the door of the sheriff's car open and forced him inside, Dean could see the roof lights of two ambulances lighting up the night sky and heading in their direction. And if their screeching sirens were any indication, they were in one hell of a hurry to get here. Dean's apprehension grew as the ambulances got closer. He'd always hated the sound of sirens from any type of emergency vehicle; had ever since the night his mother died. Something about them always brought back the painful memories of that night and filled him with dread. Of course, the fact that they were now coming for his father and Sam only succeeded in increasing his anxiety.

Not that his father was going to be pleased about the ambulances showing up either.

But…he was the one who had brought it upon himself. Just like it was his fault that Sammy had gotten hurt. So, all in all, it served his father right that he was going to end up in the hospital trying an answer a million questions about what had happened and what he had been doing.

Not that Dean's current predicament was any better.

Dean watched helplessly from the back of the sheriff's car as the ambulances pulled up and stopped where his father and brother's prone bodies still lay on the grass. A duo of paramedics jumped out of each ambulance and rushed over to them. As they proceeded to administer medical assistance to his family, Dean's mind slipped back to the events that had lead up to this moment…

He had dashed down the stairs until he had reached the main floor of the hospital. He exited the stairwell only to see his father standing behind Sam's wheelchair in front of the Emergency Desk at the far end of the corridor. There was a nurse kneeling at Sammy's feet, obviously doing a terse inspection of his brother before they would let him leave. Dean had swallowed the urge to run over there and tell them not to – under any circumstances - let his father take Sam out of the hospital, choosing instead to turn in the opposite direction and run out the door at the far side of the building.

As soon as he exited the building, Dean ran around to the parking lot in search of his father's truck, knowing that, as long as he got there before his father did, hitching a ride on the truck would be the easiest – and fastest - way to get to Brewer Park. Due to the fact that it was the middle of the night, the parking lot was practically empty and it didn't take him long to spot the truck. Dean sprinted to the vehicle, keeping a careful lookout for any signs of his father as he scurried across the parking lot.

Dean leaned over the side of the box and looked into it, hoping there'd be something lying in there under which he could conceal himself. At the front of the box, just underneath the back window, lay a crumpled tarp. With a fretful, hurried glance toward the Emergency Exit of the hospital, Dean climbed over the tailgate and scampered across the box on his hands and knees to keep himself out of sight. Just behind the driver's seat and directly in front of the tarp sat his father's large toolbox – the one where he kept all the excess weapons that they used on their hunts.

Determining that it might be prudent to have a weapon before they got to the park, Dean discretely reached up to try to open the lid. It was locked and Dean regretfully realized that he didn't have anything that he could use to pick the lock. He glanced quickly around the floor of the box, hoping to find something he could use to pick the lock but before he could find anything useful, he heard his father's gruff voice telling Sam to hurry up.

Realizing that his father would be there any second, Dean dove under the tarp and pulled it overtop of himself as fast as he could. Just as he settled beneath the canvass, he felt the truck rock as his father swung the driver's door open and heard him yell at his brother again. Listening to the heated exchange between Sam and his father incited Dean's anger over the whole situation once again and it was all he could do not to jump up and confront his father about it right then and there. But Dean knew that if he did that, his father would be angrier at him for disobeying him and sneaking out of the hospital than he was at Sam for being slow. And that he'd just order Dean to get out of the truck before he took off without him. So, based on that, Dean decided that his best course of action was to ignore both the argument and his own misgivings about the situation and stay hidden where he was.

When they arrived at their destination, Dean remained hidden under the tarp while his father and brother got out of the truck. He was just about to uncover himself and let them know he was there, when, as he peeked cautiously out from underneath the tarp, he saw the three Aswang flying noiselessly toward the truck. Without any type of weapon to thwart them, Dean knew he couldn't possibly do anything to prevent the ambush on his father and brother so he decided to remain hidden under the tarp. He watched despondently as his father pulled a gun out of the toolbox and nonchalantly handed it to Sam, without having any inkling about the danger they were in. Dean felt his heart skip a beat as he watched Sam turn around and come face to face with the three Aswangs.

Knowing instinctively that his father would focus on getting Sammy safely away from the danger, Dean quickly analyzed the ensuing scenario. He deduced that his father would attempt to get Sam back into the cab of the truck and that, the three marauders would try to stop them once they figured out what he was doing. Then they would surround his father and brother - right before they readied themselves for the kill.

But with the three Aswangs currently hovering at the back of the truck, Dean knew he had no other option than to stay where he was. Right now no one else had any idea he was there. And that was by far their biggest advantage over the Aswangs. Even if he didn't have a weapon. Because Dean knew that his father would stop at nothing to protect Sam. So, if he bided his time wisely, his father would eventually engage the three Aswangs in battle and that would be when he'd be able to get his hands on a gun.

Once his father initiated his defense, Dean figured that the Aswang's attack would begin to deteriorate. They'd be forced to adjust their strategy as his father fought back and their carefully-laid trap would slowly fall apart. Because most predators weren't used to their quarry staging a defense, let alone being able to mount an effective one.

But as smart as the Aswang had been in laying this trap, they still didn't know the Winchesters. Not at all. And that was going to be their downfall.

Dean was completely on edge during the entire time it took his father and brother to disappear around the side of the truck. He nervously studied the Aswang as they stalked his father and Sam, keeping a close eye on them right up until the point when the creatures suddenly flew in and surrounded them.

Dean heard his father's gun fire, followed by the order to Sam to shoot. He watched in morbid fascination as the creature that his brother had targeted, fragmented into miniscule bits of putrefied flesh. While that predator had been successfully eliminated, Dean knew his father was waging a fierce, yet losing battle against the other two and the time had finally arrived for him to make his move. He flung back the tarp and crept as stealthily as he could to the toolbox.

Thankfully, his father had not had a chance to close the lid before he had been confronted by the Aswangs and Dean was able to secure a semi-automatic pistol on his first reach into the toolbox. He continued rummaging inside it until his hand came into contact with what felt like an old revolver at the bottom of the box. Seizing the gun and verifying his assumption, Dean yanked open the bottom drawer of the toolbox which was where the spare ammunition was kept.

Doing his best to ignore the mêlée that was ensuing at the side of the truck, Dean hastily grabbed a magazine clip for his pistol and inserted it into the gun before he searched through the drawer, looking for a silver bullet. The old revolver would only provide his father with one shot and Dean had to ensure that it would be a fatal one.

With both weapons loaded, Dean tucked the revolver in the front of his jeans. Then he crawled to the side of the truck and guardedly looked over the side at the ongoing conflict. Dean was immediately horrified to discover that one Aswang had Sam's immobile body held tightly in its clutches and that the creature was preparing to take off with him. Keeping the creature securely in his sights, Dean emerged from the truck's box amid a barrage of gunfire, aiming accurately at the unsuspecting Aswang…

The sudden ear-piercing blast of the ambulances' sirens forced Dean out of his reverie and he watched despairingly as the two ambulances raced off down the road at full speed before they disappeared from sight. The surreal glow emanating from the roof lights of the ambulances had momentarily illuminated the surrounding area and a feeling of utter devastation washed over Dean as the abhorrent pools of blood became visible on the ground where both his father and brother had lain only moments before.

Dean closed his eyes, trying to eradicate the image from his mind. He felt completely helpless and entirely overwhelmed. He had to somehow get out of this mess and get to the hospital to check on his family. But as long as the sheriff thought that he was responsible for what had happened to them, Dean knew that he wouldn't be going anywhere quickly. Except maybe to the county jail.

He didn't see any easy way out of his situation. Or any difficult way either. He was handcuffed in the back of the sheriff's car, the doors locked with an armed deputy standing just outside the window. And he knew that the sheriff didn't trust him. And he certainly didn't seem to like him very much either. And, if that was the case, he certainly wasn't likely to believe anything Dean might tell him. Especially if it sounded as far-fetched as telling him the truth would. Yet Dean couldn't think of anything other way out of this mess. There just didn't seem to be any plausible explanation for what had just transpired other than to tell the truth to the sheriff.

And that might just result in him getting a free ride to the closest mental hospital.

Dean glanced back at the activity that was occurring at the side of the road. A menagerie of people had arrived with various types of instruments and gadgets that Dean assumed were to gather evidence of the alleged crime while other law enforcement personnel were busy condoning off the area and securing the scene. And there was the sheriff, standing dead centre of it all, obviously overseeing the entire investigation.

Great.

As Dean sat despondently in the back of the cruiser, the sheriff suddenly turned and headed toward the car. He was about ten feet from the car when he stopped and summoned the deputy he had left guarding Dean over to him. After a brief conversation, the deputy proceeded over to the ongoing flurry of activity in the middle of the crime scene and the sheriff wandered over and quickly got into the car.

Without any type of acknowledgement to his young prisoner, the sheriff pulled away from the scene and drove off in the direction of the sheriff's station. Neither occupant of the vehicle spoke as the car progressed across town. They were only a few minutes from the station when the sheriff inexplicably turned onto a side road.

Dean watched suspiciously from the backseat as the sheriff drove the car further away from the main street, turning onto a multitude of back streets until he finally eased the vehicle to the side of the road and stopped the car. After putting the cruiser into park, the sheriff turned around and leaned over the backseat, staring intently at Dean. Dean warily looked back at him for a moment before he dropped his gaze and looked out the window.

Satisfied that they were far enough away from prying eyes, the sheriff abruptly spoke, "Care to tell me what was going on back there? What you and your family were up to?"

Dean glanced quickly at the sheriff before he looked away without offering an answer.

Sheriff Durham sighed. "Look, I've done some checking into your family and I've noticed that you often end up in trouble spots. Places where unexplained deaths have been occurring. Seems you crisscross the country without any real purpose. Showing up every now and then on the police radar. I want to know what that's all about."

Dean looked back at the sheriff and shrugged. "I dunno what you're talking about. I just go wherever my Dad takes us."

Sheriff Durham smirked briefly before he tried again, "Okay. How 'bout telling me what happened in Lawrence. How your mother died."

Dean glared at the sheriff, not even bothering to mask his displeasure at the sheriff's intrusion. "She died in a fire. I was four years old. What the hell do you expect me to be able to tell you about it?"

"Maybe what really happened that made your father sell his garage and leave town. Why you and your family have been on a disorganized cross-country journey ever since then."

"Her death really shook him up. I guess he just hasn't recovered from it."

Sheriff Durham sighed and rubbed his hand across his brow as he tried to figure out how to best deal with the overly-antagonistic teenager in the backseat of his squad car. Looking sympathetically at Dean, he stated frankly, "I know this might come as a shock to you, but I really am trying to help you. I know there's something going on that you're not telling me and I won't be able to help you unless you do. And right about now, you're in desperate need of my help."

When Dean didn't respond, he continued, "I know your father was in the Marines. I researched his service record. It's impeccable. And I doubt a man of his caliber would suddenly turn into a cold-blooded killer after his wife dies and drag his two young boys all over the country while he searches for victims. I'm pretty sure there's more to it than that. I think he knows something. And that's why your family moves around as much as you do. And why the mysterious deaths usually stop after you leave the area. And, based on the series of deaths that have recently besieged this town, I think that's what brought you and your family here. And why your father said he can't leave just yet."

Dean eyed the sheriff suspiciously before he quipped sarcastically, "Sounds like a good idea for a TV show. You might be in the wrong line of work."

Ignoring Dean's sarcasm, the sheriff said, "Look Son, I saw that large arsenal of guns in the toolbox in the back of your father's truck. And, just so you know we're on the same page, I closed the lid and locked it before I let anyone else get near the truck. I have the key in my pocket. And I know you weren't shooting at your father or brother and, seeing as there was no one else in the area, I want you to tell me exactly what it was that you were shooting at."

He paused, hoping that Dean would tell him something. But when the young man refrained from speaking, the sheriff continued, "There was an assault on a young woman tonight. A couple of hours before the one in the park. I know you and your family had nothing to do with those because you were all at the hospital when the attacks occurred. But, with the timing of your arrival in town and the strange circumstances at the park tonight, your involvement might look pretty convincing to a jury."

Dean glared at the sheriff; he hated being threatened. But it wasn't just him that Sheriff Durham was threatening. It was his whole family. So Dean took a deep breath, still unsure how much he should trust the sheriff.

With the mild hint of indecision in his voice Dean said, "There's some kind of creature preying on the inhabitants of this town. We're trying to stop it. That's all."

"A wild animal?"

"Not an animal. A creature."

"What kind of creature?"

"I dunno," lied Dean, still leery of telling the whole truth, "But we have to stop it before it kills anyone else."

"What else do you know about this 'creature'?" queried Sheriff Durham warily.

"Just that there's more than one of them. And they tried to kill my father and brother tonight. And if I hadn't been there, they probably would have succeeded. But now both my Dad and my brother are in the hospital and those things are going kill someone else unless you let me go after them."

"I don't think so," responded the sheriff with a slight shake of his head. As he turned back to the front of the vehicle and started the car, he added "And until I can get a better picture of what's actually going on, I'm putting you under lock and key. In a jail cell. Right where I can keep an eye you."

"That's gonna help this town so much," mumbled Dean miserably before he asked, "What are you gonna hold me on?"

"Take your pick," replied the sheriff bluntly. "Could be anything from assault and battery, vandalism, carrying a concealed weapon, attempted murder. The list goes on and on." He glanced at Dean in the rearview mirror. "But for now, I'm just gonna throw you in a cell while I go to the hospital and talk to your father."

"Fantastic."

Dean thought about leveling with Sheriff Durham; trying to bring him around to his point of view. Trying to make him realize that someone else was going to get hurt if he didn't let him go. But he figured there'd be about as much chance of that happening as there was of being nominated Citizen of the Year in this stupid town. He'd never be able to convince the sheriff that he could actually be of any help. The man just didn't seem to like him. And obviously thought he was nothing short of a pain in the ass.

Of course, the feeling was kinda mutual.

It only took a few minutes to complete the ride to the sheriff's office. Sheriff Durham pulled the cruiser up to the backdoor of the station before he got out and dragged Dean roughly inside. Without saying a word, he stopped just outside a vacant cell, yanking open the small door and briskly escorted Dean inside. Pushing him face first into the wall, the sheriff callously removed the handcuffs. Sheriff Durham then exited the cell and swung the metal door shut.

Glancing at Dean through the bars on the door, the sheriff stated resolutely, "Don't try anything. Ya hear me? You just sit tight until I can sort this whole thing out. Otherwise, you're gonna be in a whole pile of trouble. And I don't think you have too many other friends in this town."

Turning around and observing the sheriff coldly, Dean responded curtly, "Yes Sir," while he gently rubbed his wrists where the handcuffs had been.

After securely locking the cell door, the sheriff turned and walked out the same door he and Dean had come in only a few moments earlier. Dean watched him leave before he plopped himself down on the wobbly bench that was the only excuse for a place to sit in the drab little cell.

As the echo of the closing door faded, Dean looked around. There were two cells in this part of the station, the other located directly across the corridor. Like this one had been before the sheriff unceremoniously dumped him into it, the other one was empty. And just past the exterior of the two cells was a heavy steel door that apparently led into the outer part of the station. Where the interrogation rooms and the sheriff's office and front desk were.

Not really believing that he'd be able to find anything, Dean nonetheless scoured the interior of his prison looking for any viable means of escape. It was either that, or just sit there listlessly and wait. And that option certainly wasn't very inviting. At least looking for a way out would help pass the time.

The sound of the door at the end of the corridor opening jolted Dean back to reality. Watching out of boredom, Dean observed a deputy ushering a middle-aged man through the door. Judging by his appearance and the noticeable inability to walk in a straight line, Dean hazarded a guess that the man was drunk. Hopefully they'd put him in the cell across the way so he could sleep it off there. But Dean watched in dismay as the deputy stopped directly in front of his cell door and opened it with his keys.

Tossing the man into the cell, the deputy cast Dean a rather amused look and stated, "Brought you a cellmate," before he shut the door and locked it again. He turned to leave and chuckled, "You boys play nice now" before he disappeared through the steel door.

The new prisoner lurched forward before he caught himself and slowly straightened up. Gone was his drunken demeanor of only a few moments ago. He turned to face Dean, a sly smile on his face. With a quick glance toward the door that was the only thing separating them from the main part of the station, the man advanced toward Dean. As he stepped in front of him, the man crouched down, seizing the bars on either side of Dean's shoulders with his big hands and looked him directly in the eyes.

Dean hadn't moved. He didn't know what was going on. And he didn't know why this drunk was so interested in him. But one thing was certain. He wasn't going to let the man intimidate him.

But as Dean boldly met the man's menacing glare, he noticed something unusual. His reflection in the man's eyes was upside down.

And that meant that the man had to be…

An Aswang.