John had just finished providing the sheriff with the names that the deputy had given him when the shot rang out. Both men paused. But they didn't look at each other. They simply waited. To see what was going to happen next. But nothing happened. There was no additional gunfire. No further sounds emanated from the containment bay. No creak of the heavy steel door as it opened or closed. No footsteps came from the back.

There was only silence.

"He okay?" ventured the sheriff, breaking the uneasy calm between them.

"He will be," replied John quietly. "But that'll be the hardest thing he ever has to do."

Sheriff Durham glanced quickly at John but he didn't respond. There was nothing to say.

"He looked like a person," elaborated John. "And I wasn't sure if Dean could shoot him."

"Then why did you leave him to do it?"

"Because I needed to know he could. He's no good to me if he hesitates to shoot something just because it looks human. Especially now. Not with his brother's life at stake."

"But shouldn't that be enough motivation on its own?"

"Oh, it'll motivate him all right," conceded John. "But it's one thing to shoot something that looks like it just came out of one of your nightmares, and a totally different thing to have to shoot something that, for all intents and purposes, looks human. And that's what he's going to have to do when we go in for Sammy. Because they're all going to look like people. But that won't mean they are. And, regardless of what they look like, we're going to have to kill them. All of them. So I needed to know that he could do it. And he needed to know it too. Unfortunately, that was the only way to prove it."

"Are you sure he's ready for this?" questioned the sheriff.

"He's gonna have to be."

"You could let him sit this one out."

John smirked. "You don't know Dean. Even if I told him to stay out of it, he wouldn't. If you handcuffed him and locked him in that cell, he'd find a way out. And he'd never forgive me for not trusting him enough to include him."

"I gather he's been doing this type of thing for a while now?"

"Been hunting with me since he was nine."

"Must be a hard way to grow up."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It happened so fast, it didn't seem real. He remembered the man mocking him. Telling him he couldn't do it. Wondering himself if he really could. Then crooking his finger. Hearing the gun go off and feeling the familiar kickback in his hand. Watching the deputy grab his chest as blood soaked his shirt. And splattered on the wall. The man's horror-stricken eyes staring back at him. Before they went blank. Vacant. Lifeless. And he crashed to the ground. Dead.

And, at that moment, Dean felt as if he had died with him.

He dropped the gun as if it had suddenly caught on fire and fell heavily to his knees. His heart was pounding in his ears. He felt sick and he closed his eyes, trying to calm his nerves. Trying to come to terms with what he had done. Convince himself that he had done the right thing. That he hadn't just killed a man. A man who hadn't been a threat. Hadn't even been armed. But he shot him anyway.

Killed him in cold blood.

Because that's how he felt. Like a murderer. Even though he wasn't. And he knew he wasn't. Because the deputy hadn't been human. Hadn't been a man. No matter what he looked like. And Dean knew that. He just had to convince himself. But the illusion had been so strong. The reality so absurd. Even for someone who believed in ghosts. And goblins. And everything else unimaginable. But those things were different. Because there was always some sort of difference with all of them. Something to convince you that they weren't human.

But there hadn't been this time. Nothing he could see. Or feel. Or believe.

Dean knew he had to get past the image that the Aswang had presented in order to accept what he had done. Because what he had done was right. He hadn't killed a person. He had killed a creature. A creature that had been terrorizing the town. Preying on innocent people. A creature just like dozens of others he had killed. Without feeling any remorse at all.

So why did this one feel so different?

Dean opened his eyes and stared into the cell. At the spot where the deputy had fallen. But there was nothing there. Nothing but a pile of dust. The deputy had vanished and it was as if he had never even really been there. And what Dean had done had never really happened. It was all part of a bad dream.

Only he knew it wasn't.

Dean took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He felt his heartbeat begin to subside. His agitation disappear. His guilt recede. He picked up the gun and held it firmly in his hand. He tossed it around in his hand to get the feel of it again. And, as he did that, he felt his confidence return. Until he knew he could do it again. That he'd be able to kill as many of those creatures as he had to - without hesitation. And he knew he was going to have to. For Sammy's sake.

He stood up, still staring into the empty cell, and shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans. Then, without hesitation, he turned and strode off to find his father. He walked steadily up to the front desk, stopping only when he came up behind his father and the sheriff.

"He dead?" asked John, without even bothering to turn around.

"Yes Sir."

"Good."

Both the curtness and brevity of that exchange between John and his son gave the sheriff tremendous insight into their relationship. John issued orders. And they were followed. No questions asked. No explanations given. Mistakes weren't tolerated. There was no coddling. No recognition. No room for emotions. Not for a difficult job. Nor for a job well done. He guessed that it had to be that way because of the lifestyle they led. Still, he couldn't believe that it was easy on either one of them.

"I think you might find this interesting," the sheriff announced, as he pulled the addresses of the names that John had given him off the computer. "Seems every one of them lives on Ricker Street. It's a dead-end at the far side of town."

"Well, that makes sense," replied John. "They'd congregate together to avoid arousing suspicion. And it's better for us too, because we'll know where they'll all be. We won't have to worry about trying to locate any of them in a different area of town. And we can stay together to fight them."

"Are we going there now?" asked Dean hopefully.

John glanced over at his oldest son, "Not yet. It's still too early."

"What do you mean it's too early?" shot back Dean angrily.

"Dean, you're just gonna have to trust me on this. Okay? And try to remember that Sammy's just as important to me as he is to you. And getting him out unharmed is my top priority."

Dean sighed but he didn't say anything. It wasn't like he really had a choice in the matter anyway.

"And here's another thing," mentioned Sheriff Durham, "The Wallaces. They have a son, Martin." Glancing at Dean he asked, "You know him?"

"Marty? Yeah, I know him," stated Dean. "He was at Robin's place last night. And the first guy I clobbered. It figures he'd be one of them."

"Why?" asked John.

"Nothin'. He's just a member of Robin's little entourage, that's all. Too bad Marty chose him as a friend instead of a meal. Woulda saved me a whole lotta trouble. And served the little bastard right."

"Dean, that's enough," cautioned John, completely unimpressed with his son's little rant. "Nobody deserves that. And you know it."

Hoping to dispel any further disparity between John and his son, Sheriff Durham hastily injected, "Well, his father's a member of town council and they live two doors down from the Rennicks."

"Who lives between them?" asked John.

"That'd be Chief Nevins - from the fire department."

"They've sure done a great job ensconcing themselves into your town's hierarchy," replied John, shaking his head. "What we could really use, would be some pictures of these people so we can get some idea of what they look like before we have to confront them. Ensure that we're going after the right people."

"I think there's some pamphlets in my office that town council issued right after the last election. I'm pretty sure there are pictures of all the town officials in them," stated the sheriff. "It won't help you with any of the others though."

"Well, we already know who the nurse and the doctor are." Noting the confused look that Dean threw him, John elaborated, "Dr. Hardy's the doctor who tended to both you and Sam last night."

Dean nodded hesitantly as he tried to conjure up a mental picture of the man before he looked at his father and said, "The deputy mentioned a teacher at the high school - Ms. Latimer. I know her."

"One of your teachers?" asked John inquisitively.

"Was. 'Til I dropped her course."

"When'd you do that?"

"Second week we were here. Didn't like the course outline. Didn't think much of her either. Now I know why."

Both John and Dean followed the sheriff into his office where he rummaged through the top drawer of his desk. It only took a moment for him to find the pamphlet.

"Here," stated the sheriff, laying down the pamphlet and pointing to a photograph, "That's the major. And there's Ian Wallace, Marty's dad." Then he flipped the pamphlet over to discover two more pictures that would help them. One was of the mayor and his wife and the other was a group photo of the fire department. "It's a little hazy," commented the sheriff as he pointed them out, "But that's Chief Nevins. And that guy way in the back is Tony Matthews."

Dean carefully scrutinized the picture before he said, "That's the guy that was following me this morning."

"So, that just leaves four - the two paramedics and the butcher and his wife," remarked John. "And one of them has to be the guy that attacked me. Leaves us with three unknowns."

Sheriff Durham looked at his watch. "Well, the butchery should open in about twenty minutes. Frank and his wife should be there today. They usually work Saturdays. But if they're not, there's a photograph of them behind the counter. It was taken for some business award or something. You can identify them from that."

"Good. Dean and I will head over there - after we retrieve his car from the towing compound."

"Anything I can do while you're gone?" queried the sheriff.

"You could try to find out who's missing. Pinpoint which ones we've killed. Of the five we've killed so far, one was the deputy and the other, the mayor's wife. But we don't know who the others were. It could help us figure out exactly who's left. And who the biggest threats are going to be."

"Consider it done."

"Dad...When we're going to get Sam?" interrupted Dean anxiously.

"Later this afternoon. After we get some sleep."

"Sleep?" reiterated Dean in disbelief.

Yeah...sleep," retaliated John bluntly before he turned his attention back to the sheriff. "Dean and I will go do our thing before we head back to the motel and we can meet you back here around 3:00. That'll still give us plenty of time to do a complete survey of the neighborhood and rescue Sammy."

"You're kidding, right?" protested Dean. "We aren't really gonna wait until three o'clock to do something? You don't actually expect me to be able to sleep before then?"

"Dean, I really wish you'd stop fighting me on this," sighed John in exasperation, "Because, believe it or not, I do have Sammy's best interests at heart. And, if you think you're going to accompany me on this hunt, you need to get some rest. I won't bring you along if there's any chance you could pass out again."

"But Dad…"

"No Dean...no 'buts.' Just stop arguing and do it my way or I'll just have the sheriff lock you back in that cell. You can get your sleep in there and sit this one out altogether. Is that what you want?"

"No Sir."

"Good" replied John curtly as he headed toward the door. Holding the door open, he turned back toward Dean and commanded, "Let's go."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Sam awoke with a start. When he opened his eyes it took a few minutes for him to realize that he wasn't at the motel. And as the realization hit him, he sprang off the bed and slowly glanced around the room hoping to recognize something to help him figure out where he was. But nothing in the room was even remotely familiar. He tried to remember how he could possibly have ended up here. But, no matter how hard he tried, the only thing he could remember was falling asleep in the motel room. He had no idea how he had ended up here.

Wherever 'here' was.

Sam wandered over to the window and cautiously looked out the window, hoping that he might recognize something on the outside to give him some idea of where he was. But he didn't recognize anything at all and the only thing he knew for sure was that he was on the second storey of a house in a residential neighborhood.

Somewhere.

He wondered if maybe Rick and his brother had abducted him again. Except for the fact that this house obviously wasn't the same one he'd been in yesterday. And, he didn't think they risk taking him to their home. But where else could he be?

Sam wandered over to the door to see if, by chance, it was unlocked. As he placed his hand over the doorknob, he listened carefully for any noises coming from the other side. But there was nothing. It was quiet. Almost a deathly quiet. And when Sam tried to open the door, he found that it was indeed locked.

He spun around and let his back slam against the wall and immediately jarred his injured shoulder. He grimaced against the pain before he once again glanced around his makeshift prison. It was a pretty standard bedroom; bed, bedside table, dresser, closet, a chair in the corner. But it looked unlived in. There was nothing on the dresser and only a lamp on the bedside table. Hoping that there might be something in one of the drawers to help him figure out where he was – or who was holding him - Sam went to the dresser and quietly opened each drawer. But they were all empty.

Hopeful that the closet might contain something, he checked it with the same result. Sam stood in the middle of the room trying to figure out where he was. It was either a model home or a guestroom in someone's house. But whose? And whoever had brought him here knew enough to cover their tracks and not leave any damning evidence behind.

Or anything he could use to free himself.

There were two ways out of the room; through the window or through the door. But there wasn't a keyhole in the doorknob and Sam despairingly realized that it was a privacy lock. Only this one had been installed to keep people in, not out.

Wondering if maybe he could escape through the window, he walked quietly over to it. But, the outside wall just went straight down. There were no dormers or any other extensions jutting out from the front wall – except the garage. And it was on the other side of the house. There wasn't anything he could use to climb on or to help break his fall if he tried to go out the window.

So, the only possible way out of the room was through the door. And right into the house and maybe, his captor's waiting arms. Still, Sam wasn't about to just sit around and do nothing so he began to search for anything he might be able to use to release the catch or unscrew the hinges.

But just as he moved away from the window, Sam suddenly began to feel very dizzy and extremely lightheaded. The room started to spin and he shook his head and blinked a couple of times, trying to bring it back into focus; but it just kept getting worse. He needed to lie down for a few minutes. Just until it went away. So he staggered hazily toward the bed and managed to fall across it just before he lost consciousness.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

John drove to the towing yard and, although he wasn't overly happy about it, he paid the bill to retrieve Dean's car. If it hadn't been for the fact that they were going to need both vehicles, he would have left it there and told Dean he'd have to figure out some way to earn the money and pay for it himself. But, there just wasn't time for that.

Luckily the only damage to the Impala had been to the front bumper and Dean was able to drive it out of the compound. After they left the towing yard, they traversed across town to the butcher shop and they were somewhat amused to see a note on the door stating that the store would be closed for the day due to a death in the family.

"Imagine that," quipped Dean, "Sentimental supernatural creatures."

"At least we know that they're assembling together. That they're planning to mount a unified front when we go to get your brother. It won't leave us guessing as to where any of them are."

"Yeah Dad, that's a real comforting thought. We'll just be completely outnumbered right from the get-go."

Even though the store was closed, John still wanted to check out the photograph of the owners. He walked around the building to locate a side or rear door. As soon as he found the back entrance, he did what he always did in similar circumstances; he broke in.

After disarming the security system, which had to be the oldest one he had ever seen, John preceded into the building with Dean following him. They crept up to the front of the store, constantly mindful of the windows, where they found the photograph the sheriff had told them about. They took a quick look at it, instilling the images to memory before they exited the store exactly as they had entered.

Against every one of his instincts that told him this was wrong, Dean followed his father back to the motel. He couldn't believe that his father was actually going to wait to go after Sammy and couldn't help but feel that, the longer they waited, the more planning the Aswang would have time to do. And besides that, what if something went wrong and it ended up taking them longer to get to Sammy than his father thought it would? Or they decided to move him somewhere else? Waiting until 3:00, meant they'd only have a limited time to rescue Sammy and kill them all before night fell.

And then it would be real fun.

But he also knew that he wasn't calling the shots. And he couldn't go after his brother on his own. Dad had gotten them out of tough situations before and Dean hoped that he really did know what he was doing. He was just going to have to trust his father.

And pray that nothing went wrong.

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He heard the boy moving upstairs. Even though he was trying to be extremely quiet. The boy obviously didn't know just how good his hearing was. But it didn't matter; the boy wasn't going to escape. Because he simply wouldn't be awake for that long. The poison would take effect again in a few minutes and he'd be out like a light. And stay that way for the next couple of hours. Which would give him enough time to gather all of them together and finish formulating their plan. And this one wouldn't fail.

It couldn't fail. Not unless they wanted to ruin everything they had accomplished. And everything that he had achieved for them.

He had calculated everything accurately to get where he was and he wasn't about to let some worrisome two-bit hunter and his sons ruin it for him. He had targeted this town as a plentiful hunting ground and quickly realized that it could be far more beneficial to his species if they amalgamated themselves into the human's culture. So he had taken up residence here and worked hard to gain the people's trust and when he had campaigned for mayor, he had been victorious. And that's when he knew the town really belonged to him.

To him and his kind.

He had continued to endear himself to the people; pretending that he had their best interest in mind. He strove to increase the population by actively seeking out companies that would be interesting in locating plants and offices in this town. And with the increase in commercial trade, came an increase in the town's population. More strangers moved to town; people less likely to be missed when they inexplicably disappeared.

All in all, it was a good deal all around.

Until that hunter showed up. Somehow or another he had discovered what they really were. He wasn't fooled by the stories of wild animals run amok as the town encroached on the surrounding countryside. He had successfully pinpointed areas where they sought their prey and even knew what it took to kill them.

He was unlike any human he had ever encountered.

And he had managed to thwart all their efforts to eliminate him until now. But now things were different. There was no way he would thwart them this time. Because this time he would be fighting on their turf. Under their rules. Against all of them. And that would be his downfall.

He knew the hunter would come. He had to. To rescue his son. He would have already learned who had taken his youngest child from the innkeeper. It had been planned that way and was the only reason the man had been left alive. Otherwise, he would have killed him. But the plan had been to get the boy in order to entice the hunter to them. Which meant that he had to know who had taken the boy. So the innkeeper had unwittingly played two vital roles in their plan. And now it was foolproof.

And even though the hunter would bring the other son and the sheriff with him, they would not be strong enough to combat them all. Not once they reverted to their nocturnal form. The hunter wouldn't realize that he had walked into a deadly trap until it was too late. He wouldn't be prepared to take all of them on. And he had no way of knowing that every resident of this street would be involved in the skirmish. That not a single one of them was really human. That he would be fighting them all.

He glanced out the window to see that the others were beginning to arrive. Now they would begin the final preparation. And wait for the hunter to arrive so the battle could begin. The taste of victory would be sweet. It would taste like the organs and blood of the hunter and his children.

And that thought inspired him. Perhaps he didn't really need the boy after all. Not alive anyway.

Perhaps it would be better to kill him before the hunter arrived.