"That," stated Dean emphatically, "Was what I was trying to kill at the park. Right before you arrested me."

Ignoring the young man's last remark, Sheriff Durham asked somewhat impatiently, "And what exactly would that be called?"

Dean looked at the sheriff and took a deep breathe. Still unsure whether he should tell him the truth or not, Dean finally relented, "It's called an Aswang."

"A what?"

"An Aswang. It's the creature we've been hunting. The creature that's responsible for killing all the residents of this town. And the thing that almost killed my father and brother earlier tonight."

"And you."

"Yeah…" agreed Dean reluctantly, "And me." Realizing that he undoubtedly owed the sheriff his life, he added hesitantly, "And…umm, by the way…thanks."

With a quick nod of acknowledgement, the sheriff looked questioningly around the cell block and queried, "How'd it get in here anyway?"

"Your deputy brought it in. 'Course it just looked like a regular drunk then. Aswangs only take animal form when they hunt…" Dean gave a diminutive shudder at the undesirable memory, "And…eat." Taking a few steps closer to where the sheriff stood just outside the cell door, Dean asked bewilderedly, "What made you come back?"

"Just a hunch," replied the sheriff nonchalantly with a shrug. "Given your uncanny ability to get into trouble now matter where you are, I just had a feeling that tonight probably wasn't going to be any different. Even if you were locked up in a jail cell. Figured it'd just be safer if I kept you with me."

"Safer for who?" inquired Dean with a mixture of both wonder and amusement at the sheriff's answer.

"You, for starters. But with the way things seem to be going tonight, I'm sure there are other things that should be safeguarded too. And…uhh…with all the strange things I've witnessed in the last couple o' hours, you're probably in a much better position to tell me exactly what they are." The sheriff inserted the key in the lock on the door, but before he attempted to open it, he looked cynically at Dean and asked, "You're gonna behave, right? You're not gonna give me any trouble?"

"No Sir," stated Dean in his most angelic voice. And, for once, he didn't even think about crossing his fingers behind his back.

"Good," stated the sheriff astutely as he opened the door and grabbed Dean by his arm. Guiding him out of the cell he commented, "I have to let the deputy know that I'm releasing you. Tell him it was all just a case of mistaken identity and that I'm takin' you home." With a sideways glance at Dean he ordered, "So do us both a favor and keep your mouth shut until I get you outta here."

Sheriff Durham led Dean down the short corridor and through the heavy steel door into the main part of the station. As they walked up to the front desk, the deputy manning the office turned toward them.

"What are you doin' with him?" asked the officer.

"Takin' him home," stated the sheriff without bothering to offer an explanation.

"But…isn't he a suspect in those shootings at the park?" inquired the deputy warily.

"No," replied Sheriff Durham curtly. "Turns out he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. And seeing as we have no reason to hold him, I'm just gonna take him home before I go check on the victims at the hospital. See if I can get a better idea about what really happened at the park."

"I can take him home if you just want to go straight to the hospital."

"No," declared the sheriff authoritatively, "I need you to stay here and watch the station until Steve gets back. I left him in charge of the scene at Brewer Park." Almost as an afterthought he added with a slight grin, "And keep an eye on the drunk you brought in earlier too. I don't think he's in very good shape." Without waiting for a response the sheriff turned and headed for the front door, dragging Dean along with him.

Sheriff Durham steered Dean out the front door before he let go of his arm. Motioning with his head, the sheriff indicated that he wanted Dean to follow him around the side of the building. They walked steadily to the back of the building where they quickly got into the sheriff's cruiser and drove off in the direction the hospital.

Once they were settled in the car, Dean turned to the sheriff and asked quizzically, "If you didn't know what kind of creature the Aswang was…how'd you know how to kill it?"

Glancing quickly at his passenger, Sheriff Durham shrugged, "I didn't. I took a guess based on the evidence I found at the park." Seeing Dean's perplexed expression at his response, the sheriff explained, "I grabbed the gun that was in your father's hand so no one else would see it. And that's when I saw what looked like a silver, hand-forged bullet lying on the ground beside him. I figured that the bullet must have been for the old revolver and that your father had tried shooting it at something just before he lost consciousness. So I took the liberty of loading another bullet into the gun before I locked up the toolbox. And then I thought it might just be a good idea if I brought the gun with me until I could figure out what's been going on."

"Good call," conceded Dean reflectively. ""Cause it saved my life."

"Hey!" responded Sheriff Durham mischievously. "Ya think I just got to be sheriff because of my good looks?"

Dean smirked. Maybe the two of them were more alike that he had originally thought.

"So," voiced the sheriff, abruptly changing the subject, "Tell me a bit more about these Aswang creatures."

Dean sighed. He didn't know how much of the truth he should tell the sheriff. Dad had always warned them against telling the truth. Insisting instead that they make up a story that at least sounded plausible. Something that didn't sound too far-fetched and made sense long enough to get people – especially law-enforcement officers – off their case. Because the truth was usually just too unbelievable. And much too hard to explain.

But, then again, this man had just killed a huge, winged cat. And watched it explode into a million itty-bitty pieces.

So how the hell was he supposed to make that sound plausible without telling the truth?

Dean inhaled deeply. "They're creatures that are actually very similar to vampires. Except, unlike vampires, they mutate into animals in order to kill."

"Vampires?" reiterated the sheriff in disbelief. "You expect me to believe that that thing I killed back at the station was something akin to a vampire?"

"Well, feel free to believe what you want," suggested Dean unobjectionably. "But what other explanation do you want me to give you that will explain that pretty little kitty back there? The one that was trying to kill me? The one that exploded into a gazillion little pieces as soon as you shot it?"

"I suppose," conceded the sheriff tentatively. "But it just doesn't sound very believable. Or realistic."

"Which would be why I never told you about it before," mentioned Dean brusquely. "I knew you'd never believe me. Because you'd never seen it. And wouldn't believe that it was real. And, now, even though you've killed one, you're still having a hard time believing the truth."

Recognizing the reality in the young man's words, the sheriff pushed aside his skepticism and inquired, "You and your family encounter these creatures a lot?"

"Not Aswangs. This is actually our first run-in with them."

"You mean to tell me that there are other things out there other than just them?"

"Yeah," confirmed Dean stoically. "Most of the creatures from legends, fables and horror stories all have some sort of basis in fact. And most of them exist in some form or another."

Taking a moment to consider what he had just been told, the sheriff remained silent while he mulled over the information. Finally, he queried hesitantly, "And that's what you and your family do? Hunt down these creatures and kill them?"

"Well, Dad mostly. I help him out when he thinks it's too dangerous to hunt alone. And Sammy…well…he's just kinda learnin'. He only tags along on hunts if we really need an extra hand."

Dean felt very uncomfortable telling the sheriff about his brother's involvement in their family's business. And although he'd never really stopped to think about it before, he realized that their particular brand of hunting probably wasn't a particularly good pastime for a thirteen year-old. Or a safe one either. At least in the eyes of 'normal' people. And, seeing as Child Services had already investigated them once in this town, he didn't want to inadvertently provide them with another reason to dig deeper into their family. And even though the sheriff was acting like he was their friend, that didn't stop him from alerting the proper authorities if he thought that a child might be in danger. And hunting supernatural creatures could certainly qualify as putting Sammy in danger.

And, Dean realized begrudgingly, it put him in danger too. Even though he was seventeen. In the eyes of the law he was still a minor. And that fact could very well make some overzealous social worker decide they had to look out for him too. And that could lead to both him and Sammy being taken away from their father.

Or, worse yet…being separated from each other.

Dean glanced nervously at Sheriff Durham. He was really hoping that he'd satisfied the sheriff's curiosity about the Aswangs and he'd just let the matter drop. It would be better if he waited to speak to his father anyway. Then Dad could tell him whatever he wanted. And he wouldn't give him shit for opening his mouth and saying the wrong thing to the wrong person.

"So, I was right," remarked the sheriff casting a sideways glance at Dean, "About your family investigating strange deaths all over the country."

Dean opted out of responding. To do so might just open a whole new can of worms if he acknowledged it.

"Which also explains your father's population protection work," continued the sheriff, more to himself than to Dean. "And also why he said he couldn't leave town just yet."

"His what?" asked Dean in bewilderment.

"Population Protection work," replied the sheriff, as he pulled the cruiser in front of the hospital and put it into park, "That's what he said brought him to town when I asked him about it earlier this evening."

Dean stared at the sheriff with a mixture of amusement and bewilderment as he got out of the car and walked around it only to stand on the sidewalk beside Dean's door and waited for him to get out of the car. Then the two of them walked into the hospital with the sheriff taking the lead. As soon as they were inside, the sheriff marched authoritatively over to the admissions desk while Dean hung back a bit, not overly anxious to be recognized from his visit earlier in the evening.

Of course, the fact that he still decked out so handsomely in a hospital-gown-turned-into-a-makeshift-shirt just made that fact all the more noticeable.

As Dean waited for the sheriff, he looked casually around the waiting room, hoping, on the off chance, to see his father or brother sitting there. But the first thing he noticed was just how full the waiting room actually was. For a town this small, it seemed as if everyone in this town knew someone who was sitting in the waiting room. Based on the look of some of them, some people were obviously waiting to see a doctor. Others seemed to be waiting for family members. While still others were waiting with family members.

Like Mrs. Leavey.

Who happened to be the second thing he noticed. And who was what caused him to duck hastily behind a snack machine. Before he peeked out cautiously from behind it to check out the situation. Mrs. Leavey was sitting in a chair, reading what appeared to be a well-read magazine. And sitting right beside her was her lovely son, Rick. And Rick was staring intently at the TV on the wall. Scrutinizing him intently, Dean realized that he didn't look so good and that he must be one of the ones waiting to see a doctor. Sitting there with his Mommy. And, in spite of himself, Dean felt a small sensation of pride stir inside him at the notion that Sammy had inflicted whatever injuries the little bastard had.

And he so obviously deserved each and every one of them. And had for a very long time.

Content that neither one of them had seen – or recognized – him, Dean turned back around to look for the sheriff. As he spun around, he came face to face with…

His father.

"Dad…"

"What the hell are you doing here?" asked John in confusion.

Without skipping a beat, Dean offered, "I'm a patient. Remember?"

"Yeah, one who snuck out a couple of hours ago if I recall. Against a direct order too."

Avoiding his father's gaze, Dean replied timidly, "Sheriff Durham brought me back. Figured it would be safer if he kept me with him."

"Safer for who?"

"That's exactly what I asked him."

Just then the sheriff strolled over and quickly addressed John, "Mr. Winchester, the nurse at the desk informed me that, against medical advice, you didn't want to be admitted."

"No," stated John bluntly as he turned to face the sheriff. "I'm fine. It's just a couple of flesh wounds."

"Flesh wounds that were severe enough to make you lose consciousness long enough for an ambulance to bring you here," pointed out the sheriff pungently.

"It's nothing that I won't be able to handle on my own," replied John curtly, hoping to dispel more questioning.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," agreed Sheriff Durham lightly. "In fact, I'm sure you're had a lot worse in your line of work. I doubt you come out unscathed very often."

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," replied John, meeting the sheriff's gaze keenly.

"Let's just say that I know why you're here. And why you won't leave town just yet," asserted the sheriff. "And, uhh…While I'm thinkin' about it…Here's the key to your toolbox." Handing the key to a now, very perplexed John, he elaborated, "The one in the back of your truck."

John didn't respond as he guardedly took the key from the sheriff, instead glancing quickly at Dean who simply raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Because now it was his father's turn to deal with the sheriff and his questions.

And Dean was going to enjoy every minute of it. Because it wasn't often that he got to watch his father squirm. And this was so going to be worth all the crap that he'd been through in the past week.

But before the conversation could continue, Dean noticed Mr. Leavey coming down the hall in their direction. He was still far enough away that he didn't think that the man had seen them. But it wouldn't be much longer before he did.

With a sharp nod of head, Dean uttered, "Uhh…I think maybe we should get outta here. Looks like a bit of trouble could be heading our way."

Sheriff Durham looked over his shoulder and without hesitation, set off to meet the advancing deputy-mayor before he ventured any closer. But as he walked hastily away, the sheriff said, "I'll meet you both in Room 218. That's where your other son is."

John placed his hand on Dean's shoulder to gently guide him in the direction of the elevators. Before he got into the elevator, John glanced down the hall at the sheriff and Greg Leavey, noting that the sheriff had discretely repositioned himself so that he was facing their direction and the deputy-mayor had his back to them.

As the elevator door slid shut, John looked suspiciously at Dean and asked, "What does he know?"

"About what?" asked Dean innocently.

"About what happened at the park."

"I'm not really sure," replied Dean. "But he saw enough to decide to arrest me."

"You're under arrest?" asked John incredulously.

"Not at the moment. But I was."

"For what?"

"He never really got around to addressing the charges," remarked Dean. "Said he was coming here to talk to you first. So he could figure out exactly what was going on."

When the elevator got to the second floor, the door opened to reveal that Sam's room was directly across the hall. Without bothering to wait for his father, Dean dashed out of the elevator and ran into Sammy's room. Standing right beside the bed, Dean looked down at his sleeping brother.

Sammy didn't look so good. He looked so small and helpless lying in that bed. A blanket was covering his body and tucked neatly under his arms and around his chest. He was dressed in a pale-blue hospital gown but only one of his arms had been inserted into it; the rest of the gown lay diagonally across his chest and went underneath his armpit, leaving his injured shoulder and arm exposed.

Fighting to keep his composure at the distressing sight of Sam's injuries, Dean continued staring intently at his brother. And he kept noticing all the things that were wrong:

Sam's skin was ashen. And that just made the cut on his cheek look worse than it already did. And that reminded him of Rick. Which reminded him of Robin. Because he was the one who had let his brother do that to Sam. And that thought burned into Dean's mind and started to make him mad.

There was a bump with a fair bit of bruising around Sam's hairline. Dean wasn't sure if that was a result of the fight with Rick, the car crash or the Aswang attack. But it made him even madder because, however it had happened, it would have ultimately been Robin's fault. Or his father's.

The fingers on Sam's right hand were swollen and bruised where they were protruding from the cast. That was obviously a result of the fight with Rick, which also increased Dean's ire.

And there was a long, deep scratch extending across the back of Sam's other hand. Undoubtedly caused by the Aswang earlier tonight. And that would be Dad's fault. Which pissed him off even more.

And a large gauze bandage was covering Sam's exposed shoulder. The one that had been dislocated twice already. And based on the blood that had soaked through the bandage, Dean realized that it had to be covering a wound that had also been made by the Aswang. Probably when it tried to take off with Sam as its meal. And Dad was to blame for that one too.

And the result of all his brother's injuries made Dean want to explode. Or hit someone. Anyone at all. Anyone who was responsible for what had happened to Sammy.

So, without really thinking about it, Dean whipped around and lashed out angrily at his father who was standing quietly behind him. Pushing his forearms violently against his father's chest, Dean spat, "Look what you did to him! Look how much he's hurt because you just had to take him on that stupid hunt!"

Initially unprepared for Dean's attack, John recovered rapidly and seized Dean's arms as he pushed them into his chest. Lifting them up over Dean's head, he quickly twisted them around, spinning Dean with them. John quickly lowered his arms, pinning Dean against him with his arms crossed tightly over his torso.

But Dean hadn't dispelled all his anger yet. And his mind was completely clouded by resentment and frustration. He was irrational and enraged; like a wild animal acting solely out of impulse. And he struggled fiercely against the hold in which his father held him. He tried buckling forward to free himself at the same time as he lifted his foot to kick his father in the shins.

But John had taught both his sons all of their moves. And he knew instinctively what Dean was going to do. He swung his leg forward, knocking Dean's foot harmlessly to the side before he slowly bent him over the bedrail and kicked his son's legs apart in order to render him harmless.

"Dean. Stop. Before I hurt you. Because I can, you know,." John breathed quietly but determinedly into his son's ear.

"Let me go," replied Dean through gritted teeth.

"I will. Just as soon as you calm down. But not a minute sooner."

It took a few moments, but eventually John could feel Dean begin to relax and the tension disappear from his body. When he felt that his son had calmed down sufficiently, John eased up his hold before he grabbed Dean's shoulders and spun him roughly around to face him.

Holding Dean firmly in front of him, John asked, "What was that all about?"

Anger still lurching in the back of his eyes, Dean stated agonizingly, "Sammy. He's hurt because of you. You took him with you on the hunt. And he wasn't in any shape to go." Staring closely at his father, Dean added heartbreakingly, "And you knew that."

John's gaze faltered and he released his hold on his eldest son until he was once again standing on his own two feet. He knew Dean was right. He'd known it all along. Even before he took Sam out of the hospital. Before they'd gotten to the park. And before he handed him the gun.

But he'd ignored all his instincts. Pushed them aside and buried them. All because he'd wanted to stop the Aswang from killing anyone else. He had put a stranger's life ahead of his youngest son's safety. And almost gotten him killed in the process.

It was a mistake he wasn't likely to make again.

And one that he'd never forget.

"You're right, Dean, I did. And I'm sorry," apologized John contritely before he persisted, "But I can't undo it. And I don't need you to point it out to me."

"Well, who else is gonna?" snapped Dean irately. "'Cause I don't see anyone else around here looking out for him!"

John glared at his son. Then with an air of finality, he declared, "That's enough Dean. It's over. It won't happen again."

John stepped away from Dean and moved closer to Sam's bed. He noticed that Sam was awake and watching them. John wondered how much of their exchange he had witnessed but decided against bringing it up.

"Sammy," John uttered quietly as he approached the bed. "How ya feelin'?"

"I'm…"I'm okay," replied Sam hesitantly. "What…What's goin' on?" he asked glancing nervously between his father and brother.

"Nothin'" injected Dean lightheartedly, as if the argument with their father had never happened. "Just a little disagreement between Dad and I."

"Yeah…About me," remarked Sam.

"Not everything's about you, ya know, Kiddo," chided Dean playfully.

"It is if it involves you two arguing," muttered Sam unhappily under his breathe.

But before either Dean or John could reply, a doctor strode briskly into the room; it was the same doctor who had tended to Dean when he had been brought into the hospital earlier that night.

Walking up to Sam's bed to check on his young patient, the doctor immediately recognized Dean. Giving him a quick once-over, he stated, "So this is where you are. You've given the nurses quite a scare. They're looking all over for you. Even called in Security to help find you"

"I just came down to check on my brother," offered Dean by way of an excuse.

Taking note of the young man's attire and disheveled appearance, the doctor nonetheless replied, "Well, the nurses would have brought you down if you'd just asked." Looking briefly at John before returning his gaze to Dean, the doctor reprimanded, "And you shouldn't have taken your IV out either."

"Maybe not," retorted Dean. "But it wasn't doin' me much good."

But the words were no sooner out of his mouth, when Dean began to feel dizzy. And nauseous. Taking a deep breathe to steady himself, Dean tried to find a chair where he could sit down until the dizziness passed. But the only chair he could see was on the other side of the bed. Much too far away for him to try to get to. So, as the effects of the Aswang poison slowly overtook him yet again, Dean casually leaned against the bedside table, hoping that it would provide him with enough support until he could shake off the vertigo.

But the table was on wheels. And it wasn't pushed all the way against the wall either. So as Dean leaned against it, the table shifted backwards before it shot out rapidly to the side, away from Sam's bed. His meager means of support gone, Dean lurched violently backwards. He tried to stop himself from falling by grabbing onto the bedrails but as soon as the table spun out to the side, Dean lost all his balance and collided with the wall, knocking his head brutally against it and immediately losing consciousness.

Both John and the doctor rushed over to the now-prone teenager. But they were too late. He was completely sprawled out on the floor. And out cold. The doctor checked his pulse while John carefully lifted his head and cradled it in his lap.

"I'd say he's going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up," claimed John as he looked somewhat amusingly at the doctor."