Sam felt the weight lift off the bed and a hand softly push his hair from his face. He stayed still wanting his father to give more tokens of comfort but John pulled back and Sam heard whispering protests as his brother was ushered into bed across the room. Eventually the door clicked shut and all he could hear was Dean breathing.

"Dean?"

"Yeah." Dean sounded tired and half asleep already.

"Night."

"Night Sammy."

There was silence and Sam closed his eyes but his body felt tense, alert as if he was waiting for something. He turned to face the other bed, curling and wrapping his arms around himself but sleep wouldn't come.

"Dean?" There was no reply. "Dean." He tried a little louder. There was again no reply but then he heard his brother pull the comforter back. Sam needed no further invitation and he was up and sliding into the warmth of his brother's bed before Dean changed his mind.

"And keep your cold feet to yo….."

Sam deliberately settled his feet upon his brother's calves.

"SAMMY." An elbow slammed into his side. Not hard but hard enough for him to get the message.

"Dean…"

"Mmm"

"D'you think he'll come back, the man?"

There was a moments silence and then, "No Sammy….Dad's here and …I'm here…now go to SLEEP."

Sam turned and scooted backwards until he felt his brother's back on his then with a quiet snicker rubbed his feet again on Dean's calves.

"SAMMY."

XXXXXXXXX

Jim had held his tongue. He'd watched John put his sons to bed, tucking them in like any normal father. He'd even held his tongue while John sat in the huge kitchen trying to force down a plateful of Martha's stew but now in the warmth of his study he broached what was on his mind.

"Okay John, what's going on?"

Swilling the amber liquid around his glass John took a sip savouring the twelve year old single malt and staring into the glowing remnants of the open fire. His face was pale, devoid of expression but the lines around his eyes cut deep groves showing his tiredness.

Jim waited knowing that his friend would not be hurried but he was determined to get some answers. The shocked look on John's face when Sam had mentioned the man's 'yellow eye's." had greatly concerned him. Something had gone down on that last hunt that had rattled John. Sam's revelation and John's reaction to it had only confirmed Jim's suspicion.

"He skinned kids Jim, skinned them alive and then killed them." Jim remained silent conscious that any interruption might halt John's dialogue. "All to summon a goddamned Demon."

"A Demon?" Jim couldn't stop himself.

"The sonofabitch killed six kids." Fingering the fine edge of the glass in his hand John leaned forward. "They were Sammy's age Jim, little scraps of things…they should have been out in the park playing on the swings…" There was a catch in John's throat. "…nobody should have done that to them…nobody."

"And this was the man that talked to Sam?" The Pastor was beginning to feel something of the horror that was engulfing his friend.

"No." John hesitated. "Yes…I'm not sure."

Jim waited again John was obviously finding it hard to explain.

"Bill and I investigated a man called Pieter Johansson. He was the Sheriff in a town called Nelson and he murdered the children to …to create a summoning ritual. He…he used the skin to write a spell."

John fell silent and mulling over what he'd just learnt Jim took a sip of his own whiskey. Convocation was an exacting ritual at the best of times, difficult to control. Powerful spirits could be conjured and if you weren't prepared, protected properly they could overwhelm you. A summoning written on human skin would be even more compelling. He gave a shudder he could see now why John had been so spooked when he'd arrived back to find his youngest missing.

John ran a hand over his face, pressing fingertips into his closed eyes. "Trouble is I think it was my fault."

"That he summoned a Demon?" Jim was puzzled.

"No that the Demon Johansson summoned possessed him. I was so determined to stop the sonofabitch from completing the ritual." Raising his head John looked directly at his friend. "There was no manifestation of a spirit just this black smoke over the brazier and once the circle of protection had been breached it went for Johansson…rammed itself down his throat ..."

Sitting back Jim mulled over this new information. He'd heard of Demonic possession of course he had but he'd never witnessed it. A realisation squirmed its way into his consciousness along with a spark of dread. "Why…how did it know to come after Sam?" John couldn't have been that reckless as to give the Sheriff his real name.

"I don't know. Jim…" The answer came as a whisper. "But it knew me…by name. Jim …it knew about Mary and Dean and Sam."

This thing was getting freakier by the minute Jim rose to his feet and crossed to the window trying to gather his thoughts.

"I'm not sure what to think." He turned back to John. "D'you think it knows something about Mary's death? That's how it knew about you and the boys?"

Jim saw a fleeting shiver shake his friend's body before he spoke.

"Bill reckoned perhaps it could read minds Is it my fault Jim? Is it my fault that this thing found Sam?"

Jim had nothing. He wanted to reassure his friend, tell him that his sons were in no danger but he couldn't. Demonic possession was rare and in the witness accounts the Pastor had read he'd never come across a demon that could see into a human mind but that wasn't to say that they couldn't.

"I don't know John. We have so little to go on." It sounded lame even to his own ears.

"Jim…do you…do you think it could be the thing that killed Mary?"

What could he say, what the hell could he say. In the end he said nothing, not about Mary or the boys and he did what he did best, offered help.

"We could…." Jim considered several possibilities before he decided, "..call a friend of mine. He's had more experience with Demons than I have."

John handed him the phone.

XXXXXXXX

Slamming the Impala into gear John pushed down on the accelerator. He and Jim had talked well into the early hours of that morning and then John had insisted, despite the late hour, that the call to the friend be placed immediately instead of waiting for the morning. He couldn't wait, he had not time to wait if he was to keep Sam and Dean safe.

The half-asleep gruff voice on the end of the phone had been downright rude but had agreed to meet with John if the idjit could find his way to South Dakota without getting himself killed.

It was at that point that John had bundled Sam and Dean into the back of the car, despite Jim's protests, thrown their bags in after them and set of before the light of dawn had sleeked over the Impala's black surface.

That had been two days ago and they still had four hundred miles to go.

"Dad."

John ignored the plaintive appeal.

"Dad…Sammy needs to go pee."

"He'll have to wait." John's clipped reply was as much irritation at Dean asking for Sammy as the request to stop.

"'An I'm hungry." His youngest son's wheedling complaint just added to the well of frustration that had been building in John's chest for the last day and a half. Why the hell did this country have to be so goddamned big he needed answers now if he was to protect his sons. John pushed down again on the accelerator and the car smoothed forward speeding the scenery faster.

"Dad…I can't wait."

Glancing at his watch John realised that seven hours had gone since they'd properly stopped to get gas in a small one street town back up the highway. Knowing that gas stations would be in short supply John had filled the two cans in the trunk as well. The Impala was a fantastic car but she guzzled fuel. Those containers were now empty and he was gonna be forced to stop anyway.

"Next gas station."

"Need t'go now." Sammy was squirming.

The irritation spilled over into John's mouth. "Dean, deal with your brother."

Muffled whispering and shifting came from the back seat.

"Can't." Sam's whine.

"Yeah you can." His brother's coax.

"It's icky…"

"No its not…I do it all the time." The lie.

"You do?"

"Yeah."

More shuffling and the sound of a zip then silence.

"Dean, don't look."

"I'm not." John heard Dean shift. "There… I've got my back to you."

The unmistakable sound of pee trickling into a plastic bottle made John grin grimly, Dean was nothing if not resourceful.

More trickling and silence.

"You done?"

"Yep."

"Okay put the cap on and stick the bottle on the floor."

John shot the Impala forward again.

XXXXXXXX

Bobby Singer sighed as he bent to drop Rumpsfeld's food bowl onto the dusty ground. The hound, chain clinking, slobber dripping from his massive jaws sat his eyes fixed on his master waiting obediently for the word.

"Go on then you smelly mutt." Bobby patted the dog affectionately as it immediately stuck its nose in the wet meat gulping down the lumps without chewing. The sound of a car turning into the yard made the dog look up but immediately he resumed his meal after a muted "S'okay" from Bobby.

The seasoned hunter watched as the unfamiliar vehicle slowed and finally halted several feet away. He cast his expert eye over the sleek black lines, it was an Impala and he was impressed. It was a fine automobile and under the dust and mud of the road he could see that she was well looked after. He approved and the owner of the car went up a couple of notches in his estimation. Bobby's eyes moved up from the car's sliver trim to the windscreen and the driver whose bearded careworn face was stern but not unpleasant. John Winchester, Bobby presumed. It was quite a drive up from the Mission and the man must have floored the accelerator to get here this fast.

Fortunately for Bobby Pastor Jim had called back because from John's curt uninformative conversation the hunter had been not entirely sure as to why the man was coming to see him. Jim had explained as much has he knew about the situation, describing his friend's circumstances and a little about John's terse temperament.

Bobby sympathised with John Winchester. Becoming a hunter with two small boys in tow must have been hard, edging if not crossing the line of foolhardiness and as to irritability that didn't faze Bobby, after all he was a master exponent.

The sun flashed on the chrome as the car door creaked open and John Winchester exited eyes darting seeking out possible hiding places and exit points checking the whole area in the few seconds it had taken for him to gaze around the yard. He was unmistakably a hunter.

Bobby let the dust settle before approaching.

"Nice Car." There was a grunt of a reply and skirting the front of the car the man moved forward. Bobby introduced himself. It was a pointless exercise as Winchester knew who he had to be but for forms sake held out his hand.

"Bobby Singer."

John Winchester acknowledged him with an incline of the head but didn't move to shake the offered greeting.

"John Winchester?" Bobby supplied for him, there was another slight nod.

The rear door of the vehicle opened.

"Stay in the car." It was a growl, an order, which was obeyed instantly and Bobby saw two pale faces staring at him through the dirt-covered window.

He nodded towards them. "Your boys?"

Winchester ignored the inquiry to make a statement of his own.

"I need information."

Bobby snorted, who didn't, but he held his tongue, this man was obviously not in the mood for small talk. "Okay, bring the boys inside…"

"They stay in the car."

That stopped Bobby in his tracks, squaring himself he repeated his words adding to them and putting an emphasis on each word.

"Bring the boys inside for a glass of lemonade and we'll talk."

He didn't wait for an answer knowing that John Winchester would be obliged to accede if he wanted Bobby's co-operation. Trudging past the still slobbering dog the grizzled hunter mounted the steps to his front porch, smiling a little as he heard the car door creak open.

He was pouring two glasses of lemonade as the screen door banged. Looking up he took in the two boys. The taller one, Dean he surmised was broad for his age beginning to fill out the faded T-shirt which hung from his shoulders in crumpled folds. The boy was staring sullenly down at the floor fingers twisting, plucking at a tear in his baggy jeans.

Sam, the other, was stood behind his brother and in contrast was gazing with interest at Bobby from behind an unruly mop of chestnut brown hair dimples pitting his cheeks as he smiled openly.

"Hello boys," Bobby deliberately turned away and rummaged in an overhead cupboard, "I got some cookies here abouts, someplace." His hand closed around a half open packet. They were probably out of date but he suspected that the two Winchester's had doubtless eaten worse. He placed them on the table next to the lemonade and waited. Neither boy moved.

Walking past them Bobby slid open one of the two doors which led to the inner room. He indicated to John with a nod.

"We can talk in here."

There was a moment's hesitation from the father.

"We'll leave the door open."

Bobby walked past the man, continuing across the room with its piled high books to the equally piled high desk. He'd been researching since Pastor Jim had called but to tell the truth he'd come up with very little.

"Siddown before you fall down." It hadn't escaped Bobby's notice that John Winchester looked rough. The man had obviously not slept nor changed his clothes for several days and he held himself as if he was in pain. John sat but he didn't relax.

"I need to know about Demons."

'So much for an easy opener.' Bobby sat in his chair and leaned back watching John intently but he said nothing.

"I understand you have some experience…..with Demons."

"Some." Bobby didn't elaborate.

Giggling wafted its way through the open door and Bobby distinctly heard the rustle of the cookie wrapper. The corner of his mouth twitched. He'd never yet met boys who could resist cookies.

He returned his attention to the stiff man in front of him.

"Jim said something about your boys being involved."

"Not directly."

Bobby waited for John Winchester to continue; there was something in the man's demeanour that rang alarm bells in the back of the veteran hunter's mind. The man was telling the truth but probably not the whole truth. Jim had only been able to give Bobby the briefest outline of events but no detail and now Bobby's initial curiosity was piqued even further by the figure sitting so formally in front of him.

"You any idea of the type of Demon we're dealing with?" Carefully studying the hunter Bobby detected the merest whisper of surprise before a question was directed back at him.

"There's more than one type?"

"Yeah there's more than one type." Leaning forward Bobby continued. "What colour eyes did it have? Black? They're the most common. Red?"

"Yellow."

That startled Bobby and his mind raced trying to recall what he'd read. He'd never come across a Yellow-eyed Demon but that wasn't to say they didn't exist. He knew there must a system some indication of rank and order to demons and up until now he'd thought that the eye colour was unimportant or at most an aesthetic affectation but maybe ...His mind struggled trying to drag information to the fore and piece it together.

"On a recent hunt we…I disrupted a conjuration ritual….it was…a Sheriff…and he'd skinned..." John stopped and Bobby, pulled from his thoughts, waited seeing that the man in front of him was trying to control his emotions. He knew about the skinned children and involuntarily his eyes rose to watch the two small figures at his kitchen table.

"We had to stop him…whatever he was doing….there was a black cloud, hovering, a spirit manifesting and when I … shot Johansson and stopped him from chanting it…it kinda went after him and …" John rubbed his face.

"It rammed itself down the idjit's gullet, right." Bobby finished for him.

"You've seen it?"

"I've seen demon possession before, yeah… Then what happened." There was more to this than there first seemed. John Winchester was uncomfortable and not from witnessing a possession first hand.

Silence filled the space between the men Bobby carefully observing John Winchester's struggle with some inner demon of his own.

"Can Demons read minds?"

Shifting in his chair trying not to show his surprise Bobby fingered the large tome in front of him.

"What makes you ask?"

John stood and paced to the open doorway watching his son's flick cookie crumbs at each other before pulling the door closed leaving only a small gap. Turning he drew in a breath.

"It knew my name; it knew about Sam and Dean and there are only two possibilities that I can think of as to why." He swallowed and Bobby detected more than a ripple in the man's composure, "Either it's the thing that killed Mary or …it read my mind. How else could it know about me, about them?...and what the hell did it mean when it said I was to 'Look after them,' for him."

Worry growing in the pit of his stomach Bobby rose to his feet reaching for the whiskey. He needed a drink. The more John Winchester told him the more he felt out of his depth. He was supposed to be the expert here yet he knew little more than the man in front of him.

Demon activity was rare and seemed random in its choice of target and whereas Bobby could understand a demon targeting a hunter it came with the territory but why had it threatened Winchester's two boys? How had it known about them? He could see John's reasoning. The thing that had killed his wife had been in the house in Sam's nursery but it'd had plenty of opportunity to kill or take the boys then. Why leave them, why wait if it wanted them? Did it have a thing about kids? It had been summoned using the skin of six children. Bobby wondered if that'd had any bearing on the particular demon summoned but then the other possibility, John Winchester's conjecture that these things could read minds might be right. That sent an even bigger shiver down Bobby's spine.

Keeping his speculation to himself Bobby poured John Winchester more than a full measure of whisky. "Is there anything else you can tell me?"

Again Winchester hesitated as if he wanted to blurt out what was bothering him but couldn't. This guy sure had some trust issues, not unusual most hunters did but Bobby had a gut feeling that it went further than that.

"When I got back I found my youngest was missing."

Bobby held out the glass. John accepted, cradling the crystal in his callused hands.

"When we...Dean found him, Sammy had deep marks, bruises on his arms and told us that a man with yellow eyes frightened him so much that he just ran... My boys don't run for nothing Mr. Singer."

Even on his short acquaintance with John Winchester and his two sons Bobby could well believe that statement. Neither of the boys had moved without John's say so and Dean looked like he'd been training for most of his young life. Bobby took a long deep draught of his whisky. It was rough and he let it burn down his oesophagus while he tried to formulate a reply.

Mind reading Demons were a new one on him and if it wasn't mind reading then what connection did the Yellow Eyed Demon have with the Winchester family. What the hell was he supposed to say? This man had come to him for help, for answers but Bobby wasn't sure that he had any only more questions.

XXXXXXXXXX

John took one last look at the two pairs of eyes watching him.

"Go to sleep."

Immediately Sammy's eyes shut but Dean stared and kept on staring making John feel that somehow he had failed his eldest. "Dean…" The eyes closed and John felt able to click the door closed.

Bobby Singer had insisted that they stay. John had been reluctant initially preferring to hole up at the motel he'd seen back down the road but he'd noted the wards and protection symbols which surrounded Singer's house and yard and as the hunter had rightly pointed out they needed to talk.

The stairs creaked as he descended and a delicious smell enveloped him.

"Through here."

Singer called out and John rounded the doorpost to see the hunter placing two steaming plates on the table.

"Sit, eat."

His host, not watching not waiting, sat and ate himself.

John after a moment's hesitation crossed to the sink and scrubbed three days of grime from his fingers before joining his companion. The food was hot and delicious and John's stomach grumbled appreciatively as he placed the first juicy piece of meat into his mouth. The man opposite him barked a laugh, tore some bread from a large home-baked loaf and passed it over. John unceremoniously dunked it in the gravy took an enormous bite and chewed. Another laugh from his companion almost had him grinning.

Suspicious at first of Bobby Singer, the man's gruff pragmatism and no-nonsense manner had eased John's anxiety. Never one to share, even before his wife died, John found it hard to open up, to admit that he was out of his depth but Singer hadn't pushed, hadn't tried to be his buddy and John had slowly found himself liking the man.

Now settled once again in the study, with another whisky in his hand, he fought against the soporific effects of a full stomach. Earlier, over the meal, he'd tried to broach the reason why he'd driven across two states at break neck speed but Bobby had shushed him and refused to discuss anything while he was eating claiming it spoiled his digestion.

John had waited expecting the hunter to ask him some more questions but instead Bobby had risen, laid a couple more logs on the fire and had then settled back into his well-worn office chair stretching socked feet towards the heat.

He'd made no attempt to engage his guest in conversation and didn't look as if he was going to. John's frustration finally boiled over.

"I want to summon the demon."

John came straight to the point. There was no point in gift-wrapping.

"Are you some kind of Idjit."

Bobby Singer sat up and leant forward, gone was the companiable lethargy. John squirmed slightly under the scrutiny and avoided eye-contact staring instead at the flames licking up the side if the wood.

"Do you have any idea of the forces you'd be playing with, of what you might unleash?" Singer was round the desk now looming over him with incredulity. "What about those boys upstairs, you have a responsibility towards them."

"Don't you think I know that?" John stood and turned away from the accusatory stare of the elder hunter. He knew what he was risking but he was doing it for them. He had to know.

"What happens to those boys when you don't come back or worse when it comes for them and you're not here."

"It won't come to that."

"Won't it.? I expect Johansson had your confidence." It was a low blow and Bobby Singer knew it.

John, faced the angry man. "I have to try. For them…" John pointed to the stair and ultimately to the room where his two sons lay sleeping. "I have to try."

"Don't be so damned dramatic. You have a problem we'll work it out but summoning the damn demon is a downright, dumbass thing to do with brass knobs on."

The fire cracked and popped in the grate disturbing the tense silence. John knew that Bobby was probably right. It was a huge risk but John felt that the risk was justified, better than living his life looking over his shoulder waiting for the Yellow eyed sonofabitch to find him or the boys. His decision was made.

"So you won't help me."

"I didn't say that." Bobby's gaze never wavered. "But we don't have to go at it like a bull at a gate."

Inwardly John gave a sigh of relief, Singer was gonna help him. He had been prepared to go it alone, fight whatever was coming to the best of his knowledge and ability but for him it was unknown territory. John had been a lone protagonist for a long time now and it was not something normally that bothered him but on this job his lack of knowledge made him vulnerable, exposed. The threat to Sam and Dean always a background concern after Mary's death was now real, up close and very personal.

He'd always kept the boys existence on a need to know basis. Only Jim, Bill and a few others knew his true circumstances and that's the way John had kept it. The Demon's threat to both boys and the possible attempt to kidnap Sam had freaked John more than he was prepared to admit but hell anything that went after his sons was going to have to go through him. However now with Bobby Singer's help he might just gain the upper hand and find out what the crap was going on.

Singer was still regarding him with a steely eye. "What makes you think that summoning a goddamned Demon is gonna help."

Singer said this as if it was the worst idea ever and it probably was but John could think of no other way to get the information he needed.

"I need to know what this Yellow-eyed Demon is and what it wants with my boys."

"And you reckon its gonna tell you. You gonna say please…nice like and its gonna spill its guts."

Put like that it sounded ridiculous but John could see that Bobby Singer took no pleasure in his words. He stared down at the empty glass in his hand. He didn't even remember drinking the whiskey and suddenly he felt tired; his body weighted down, his mind so full that he couldn't think straight. Wiping his hand over his face John pressed his fingers into his eye sockets trying to rub away the fatigue.

"Sleep." A hand took the glass from John's slack hold. "I'll make another bed up in the room next to the boys.

"No I…" John's protest was cut off.

"It's not a suggestion." Bobby Singer stood over him an immovable mountain and John too tired to argue capitulated in a most un-Winchester like way.

XXXXXXXXXX

Thank you to those who reviewed your comments were much appreciated. So glad you are enjoying reading.