Author's Note: The Winchester's show up in this chapter, with the story set in season 11, before the events with Lucifer. As always, please review and let us know what you think. His Majesty will make a most grand appearance in the next chapter!

Inside the Men of Letters' secret bunker, Dean Winchester sat at the table enjoying a nice cup of coffee while browsing news sites in search of a case. Things had been quiet the last week or two. There was no sign of the Darkness and even the demons seemed to be behaving. Dean knew it was only a matter of time before Amara made her next move. Until then he had to keep busy and not think about her, and the best way to do that was to do what he did best, hunt the monsters that threatened the innocent.

Hearing the door that led outside open, Dean looked up to see his younger brother, Sam, come in with a couple of bags in hand. "Hey, Sammy!" He called as he stood and hurried to take the bags from him. There were 2 cases of beer, not the good stuff but it would do, some frozen dinners, cookies, and Sam's bag of fruit. "Dude, where's the pie?''

"They were out, but I got the cookies you like." Sam said simply as he gave the beer and cookies to Dean and took his fruit and the frozen dinners to the kitchen.

"Cookies?" Dean followed his brother, beer in hand. Tossing the cookies on the table and ignoring their existence. "How many times do I have to tell you cake, cookies, ice cream, and other sweets are not a replacement for pie?"

"What did you want me to do Dean? Get the ingredients and bake you a pie?" Sam shoved the beer in the fridge.

"You can bake?" Dean questioned with an incredulous blink.

Sam stopped, turned to make a comment, then merely shook his head when he saw the smirk on his brother's face. "Shut up."

"Bitch."

"Jerk.''

The clinking of beer bottles and dull metallic sound of cans being rearranged by Sam, punctuated the silence, while Dean emptied out the used coffee filter. Wrinkling his nose as the soggy paper and damp grounds fell into the bin with a sickening 'plop', Dean looked up.

"That reminds me, while you were out I found us a case."

Sam sighed, pulling a beer out of the fridge for himself. Seeing Dean filling the coffee maker for the third time that day, he thought better of it and put the beer back – he suspected this conversation was going to call for something more energetic than beer. "What do we need a case for? Shouldn't we be looking for a way to beat Amara?"

"There's been nothing for weeks. No mysterious fog, no random soulless killers, not even the typical demon activity. I'm going crazy just sitting here. We need to get out and do what we do best, hunt things and save people," Dean argued as he followed his brother back to the main room, where the laptop was.

"Alright," Sam sighed. "What's this case you found?"

Dean sat down in front of his laptop, his fingers tugging across the mouse pad as he pulled up the news article. "Derry, Maine has had 3 violent child murders over the last month. The bodies were torn apart. One boy's head is still missing."

"What do the locals say?" Sam asked as he stood behind his brother.

Sam peered over Dean's shoulder, watching the screen flicker and morph as the page loaded. After several moments, Dean found the link he wanted, clicking on it with a pleased grunt. The screen showed a scene Sam had seen more times than he could count, cops in blue-black uniforms, milling around a scene marked with yellow crime scene tape, the cheerful color at odds with the usual sorts of things it was used to mark. His eyes skimmed the headline, then skimmed the body of the story. He'd seen enough cases like this to know that the local cops would try to explain it away as an animal attack. It didn't matter where they went, animals always got the blame when there was a brutal death with no logical answer.

Clicking on another link and opening a new tab with more crime scene photos, Dean shrugged. "I hacked their files…"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You hacked something?"

"Shut up." Dean groaned as he turned the laptop towards his brother. "Charlie was teaching me the basics." He explained in a sad tone. Sam nodded and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. They both still missed the feisty redhead. Sighing Dean continued on as Sam took a seat beside him. "Three cases, all similar and they freely admit they are stumped."

"Stumped?" Sam couldn't believe it. "They actually said they have no clue?"

"Yeah, you know it's bad when they don't even try to explain it away," Dean said as he shook his head. "Apparently the remains they found were limbs ripped clean off the bodies. They're saying no human is capable of doing such a thing."

"And it's going after kids?" Sam muttered, already running through the encyclopedic list of monsters in his head trying to figure out what they might be up against.

"They were all boys ages 9 to 12," Dean informed him. "We may have caught a break though. It seems there was a witness to the last murder, a kid named Toby Williams. He was there when the last victim was attacked."

"What's the kid saying happened?" Sam asked as he started grabbing the things he might need to check it out.

"That's the problem, he's not saying anything," Dean frowned, running his hand through his hair. "Poor kid hasn't spoken since it happened."

Sam looked at his brother and could see the anger in his eyes. While Sam hated when bad things happened to innocent people, especially children, Dean took it personally when monsters went after kids. He knew Dean wouldn't rest until they had destroyed the sick bastard hurting these boys. Nodding to his brother, Sam tossed Dean the keys to the Impala. "Let's go talk to Toby."

Seeing his brother head towards his room, Dean called after him. "I thought we were going?"

"Just grabbing something." Sam told him. A few moments later he returned carrying a small box.

"What are you doing with that?" Dean asked motioning to the box.

"I thought the glasses might come in handy." Sam stated as he pulled two pairs of glasses from the old box. Both were old fashioned black frames with thick glass lenses. One was broken with a heavy layer of tape wrapped around bridge holding the two pieces together.

"Dude, we don't even know what they do. They could be cursed objects for all we know." Dean protested.

"Actually they aren't. I found files on them in the archives. They were one of Sinclair's little experiments. He found a way to see the flow of magic around a person," Sam explained. "According to his notes certain creatures leave a magical residue on people they come in contact with. These glasses are supposed to allow us to see that residue and based on its color we should be able to identify what the person was around."

"Seriously?" Dean found the whole thing hard to believe; and he didn't trust anything that belonged to Sinclair. "You want to use something that he worked his voodoo on?"

"Can't hurt to try them," Sam shrugged. "Might make identifying the creatures we're hunting easier."

"Assuming they don't turn us into homicidal maniacs first," Dean groaned. Their encounters with Sinclair and his experiments had been nothing but trouble - the Werther Box alone was enough to make Dean want to just destroy the glasses. "Did Sinclair leave a color code for the magic types? Otherwise how the hell do we know what it is we're seeing?"

Sam pulled a paper from his pocket. "He didn't leave a codex or anything, but I was able to gather a few from his notes on his trials with the glasses," Sam handed his handwritten color code to Dean.

Looking it over, he sighed. "Fine but you get the broken pair," Dean told him as he headed for the garage.

As the black '67 Impala pulled into town, Sam sighed and looked at his brother, who was tapping his hand against the steering wheel to the beat of the Metallica song that was playing. He had been researching the area and had found something very disturbing. "So I found something that might help us figure this out. Apparently, these aren't the first murders like this in the town of Derry."

"There were more kids killed?" Dean sounded pissed.

"Possibly. 27 years ago a dozen or so kids went missing. Some reports estimate it may have been closer to 30 over the course of a year. Police only found remains for a few of them, but they were so badly mangled they couldn't identify them," Sam explained, keeping an eye on Dean.

Dean stomped on the brake as he swung the car into a parking space at the first motel they saw when they entered Derry. Slamming his hands on the wheel, he growled angrily. "How do they not know how many kids were missing?" Dean demanded, glaring at the steering wheel of the Impala.

"See the thing is most of the missing kids were troubled kids," Sam sighed, noting the way the tendons in Dean's neck stood out in his anger. "They were from broken or abusive homes so they often ran away. Some of these kids may have been missing for weeks or months before their disappearance was officially reported."

"So kids go missing and no one says a word because they probably ran away from home so no one noticed there's a monster running loose? What changed?" Dean grumbled in frustration. "I mean why'd it stop taking kids?"

"No clue and with the reports not exactly being reliable it's hard to tell when the attacks actually started and ended."

Dean sighed and climbed out of the car, looking over the dusty black top of the car at his brother, a determined snarl on his face. "Alright let's get changed and go talk to the sheriff. I doubt he'll have anything useful to say other than where we can find the boy that witnessed the last attack." He grabbed the bag from the back and headed for the office with Sam right behind him.

They'd been in Derry less than thirty minutes and already the place just felt bad. The sooner they figured out what was killing kids and killed it, the happier he'd be.

"Look on the bright side," Sam said as he pulled open the front door of the motel office. "There's a diner down the street that has homemade pie."

'Okay…maybe Derry wasn't so bad a place,' Dean mused, following his brother into the office.

Pulling up to the local police station, Sam retrieved the glasses from his bag and placed the intact pair on his face. To his surprise, they seemed to work. Several people passing by seemed to have a faint glow about them. It wasn't easy to spot, but he could definitely see it. "Glasses work," he said, folding the glasses them and placing them in his pocket.

"I'm not taking the broken ones, Sam."

Sam shook his head and chuckled when Dean held his hand out. "The usual way?" Sam held his hand out and on the count of three they played rock, paper, scissors. Both brothers chose rock the first round and immediately tried again. The second round was also a tie with both picking scissors. The third attempt Sam couldn't help but grin when Dean chose paper, which lost to his scissors.

"Two out of three?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head and tossed the broken glasses onto Dean's lap before exiting the Impala.

Grumbling Dean tried on the glasses and looked at himself in the rearview mirror. "I look like a super nerd!" Dean cried as he yanked the glasses from his face. Shoving them into the pocket of his suit jacket, he climbed out of the car and hurried to catch up to his brother.

As Sam and Dean entered the small police station in, as they called it, their Fed suits, they didn't miss the strange looks they were getting from the officers they passed. They were used to this. Local Law Enforcement officers, or LEOs, didn't like the Feds coming in and taking over; which is exactly what the boys were going to do, even if they were only impersonating the FBI.

"Can I help you boys with something?" asked the older man with pasty white skin behind the counter asked. He pushed his black cowboy hat back, exposing his vast forehead while he appraised them suspiciously.

Without hesitation, the boys pulled out their phony badges and presented them. "Agents Ronson and Bolder. We're looking for the sheriff," Dean said brusquely as he put his badge away.

"Well, you've found him,'' The man replied, removing his cowboy hat. "I'm Sheriff Boyle. Now, what can I do for you agents?''

Neither of the boys missed the disdain in the sheriff's voice. "Sheriff, we're here about the children that were murdered. We'd like to help you stop whoever's behind this. Can you tell anything about what's going on?" Sam asked as politely as he could; their work generally went more smoothly if they tried to include the locals, up to a certain point at least.

Sheriff Boyle looked Sam and Dean over, his lips pursed in thought. "I wasn't aware of anything that would give you boys jurisdiction in this." Sam's jaw clenched. He always hated it when the LEOs pulled the jurisdiction card, especially since they no longer had Bobby or Garth to pretend to be their superior. He relaxed a little when the Sheriff sighed, rubbing at his forehead with a handkerchief. "That said, we could sure use the help though," Sheriff Boyle admitted. "Come on into my office and I'll give you what little we have."

Following him into the other room, the brothers were surprised to see a huge whiteboard covered with photos, notes, and a map of the town. Dean examined the board and counted seven red markers, linked to photos of kids by white string.

"I thought there were only 3 murders?" Dean asked, glancing up as the sheriff dropped three large files onto the conference table by the whiteboard.

"Three identified so far," Boyle answered. "We found the remains of 3 boys. The other 4 are missing."

"Just like 27 years ago,'' Sam murmured to Dean, as he joined his brother at the whiteboard, examining the notes stuck to it.

Boyle blinked in surprise, then shook his head, the resignation of defeat creeping into his features. "What do you boys know about that?"

"Just what I read in the reports,'' Sam told him. "Close to 30 kids went missing over the year, but only a dozen remains were found."

Boyle nodded, scratching at the three-day stubble that lined the angles of his chin. "My niece was one of them. It 'bout near devastated my sister. I moved here and ran for Sheriff so that I could be part of the investigation."

"You have our sympathies Sheriff," Sam stated sincerely.

"Was she found?" Dean asked, tracing one of the white strings with his finger as he studied the information on the board, trying to find something, anything that would help them with this case.

"No, and my sister to this day swears she ran away, but I know Leanne wouldn't just run off. She wasn't that kind of kid," Sheriff Boyle sat on the edge of the table and opened one of the folders, pulling out a school photo of a gangly red-headed girl, her nose dotted with freckles as she grinned at the camera. "Her old man was a filthy bastard that didn't deserve her, but she was a sweet child. She wanted to be a doctor… or a ballerina when she grew up," he added, his words taking on a broken quality.

Sam nodded and looked at the photos on the board. "So you think it's happening again, Sheriff?"

The Sheriff stared at the picture of the freckle-faced girl and gave a weary sigh. "I pray to God that I'm wrong, but …I can't shake this feeling that it is happening again. I've got my deputy checking to see if any kids miss school each day and I've tripled patrols. I've even held three town meetings and got them to authorize hiring five more officers." Boyle ran his hand over his bald head and tucked the picture away again.

"But you have a witness this time?'' Dean asked, turning toward the Sheriff and flipping through another folder, scattered limbs and splatters of blood staring up at him from the crime scene photos. No matter how many times they did this, it never got any easier.

Nodding, the sheriff pointed to the picture of a blonde boy in a red striped shirt, linked to the 7th child by a blue length of yarn. "That'd be Toby Williams. Poor kid. His family moved here a few years ago. He had trouble adjusting because his older sister went off to college right before they moved. From what Sarah said, he was finally making friends. And now this..."

"Who's Sarah?" Dean asked.

"His older step-sister. She's been staying with Toby and their parents since the night we found him and what was left of Peter," Boyle explained.

Sam examined Toby's picture and the area of the map where Peter had been found. "Has he said anything at all?"

Shaking his head, Boyle sighed. "Not a word."

Before the boys could ask anything else a deputy who looked barely old enough to own a gun raced into the room, his blue eyes wide with horrified excitement. "Sheriff, come quick!"

"What is it, Roy?" Boyle asked, grabbing his hat and jamming it on his head as he stood.

"They found another body," Roy said. "I…I think it's the Jones girl."

"Well…shit… that ain't good," Boyle muttered, grabbing a set of keys from his desk. Snatching a leather jacket from the coat rack by the door, he paused and looked at Sam and Dean. "You boys had best come with me. Things are about to get bad and I'm gonna need all the help I can get to solve this and fast."

Frowning, Sam looked from Dean to the Sheriff. "Why's that?"

"Simple… Amber Jones is the mayor's daughter."

Still mulling over the crime scene in the woods, Dean gripped the steering wheel tight as he turned down a typical small town street. Trees dotted both sides of the road, framing neat, but older homes. The quiet domesticity of the street sat at odds with the crime scene they'd just come from, even though it was literally around the corner.

He'd been through the crime scene photos he found online and quickly skimmed through some of the photos in the sheriff's files. Despite the things they'd seen, nothing had prepared him for what greeted them in the woods – just thinking about it made his stomach turn uncomfortably. The clearing in the woods had clearly been a favorite hang out for the local kids, who had used scraps of wood and metal to construct a clubhouse of sorts. If he'd had a normal childhood it would've been the sort of place he'd have wanted to build a clubhouse too. That feeling ended when they got closer to the little shack. He felt Sam tense next to him, the two brothers sensing it at the same time – something so dark and demonic it sent the deputy with a weak stomach stumbling for the nearest bush where he cursed himself while bringing up his breakfast. Dean clapped him on the shoulder and offered a red handkerchief to him. "Yeah, it happens to the best of us," Dean tried to assure him.

"I did it when I encountered my first of these 'scenes' 27 years ago. In fact, most every officer who's worked one of these scenes has reacted the same," Sheriff Boyle stated. Still gasping, the deputy took the handkerchief and wiped his mouth. "It'll be alright son."

Feeling Boyle move away, Dean waited for Deputy to stand. "We've got it from here. Go get some air," Dean told the poor fellow. Glancing at the agents, the deputy's eyes snapped to his, then to the ramshackle clubhouse. At first he thought the kids had scored some red paint to decorate with, then the sordid truth hit him…

The bright crimson splashes that covered the slap-dash building weren't paint.

In the next instant the deputy was bent over the bush again, losing the following day's breakfast.

Shaking his head to clear the unpleasant images from his mind, Dean pulled to a stop in front of a nice-enough looking white, early 20th century house, the two story structure framed by a large front porch with rose bushes rimming the front edge of the street. "You sure this is the place?" he asked, seeing a flicker of movement in the window overlooking the front porch.

Sam checked the address again and nodded. "This is it. You want to lead?"

"Nah, Sammy… you deal with the sister and parents. I want to try to talk to the kid."

The slamming of the Impala doors seemed unnaturally loud, until Sam realized the problem was that the street was unnaturally quiet. The usual sounds were conspicuously missing. No laughing children, yelling and screaming as they played. No cars. No lawn mowers going. No conversation from open windows. Despite the summer heat, the houses on the street were closed up tight. Reaching the porch, he rang the door bell, not reacting to the flick of curtains in the window. A moment later the door cracked open and a pair of green eyes peered at him.

"Yes?"

Sam and Dean flashed their bogus badges in an oft-practiced move. "Good morning. We're Agents Ronson and Bolder of the FBI. We'd like to talk to you and your family about what happened with Peter Miller," Sam replied, his tone respectful yet firm.

A slender hand reached through the gap and plucked his badge wallet from his fingers before he could react. He could see her gaze narrow as she looked at him, then pulled the badge close enough to examine it. With a frown, she nibbled thoughtfully on her bottom lip, then thrust his badge back toward his hand. "You should come back later. My parents are unavailable."

Giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, Sam tucked his ID away in his jacket pocket. "That's okay, Miss. We only have a few questions. We're here to help out the local law enforcement. Anything you can tell us would help."

The young woman at the door hesitated a moment, then sighed, opening the door further and stepping back. "I don't know what I can tell you. I wasn't even home when it happened, but… come on in. Anything that might help the police catch the bastard that did this."

Sam and Dean stepped into the entry hall of an immaculate home. The wood floor was highly polished, speaking of a meticulous housekeeper. A quick glance into the formal living room off the hall, revealed pristine white couches and chairs sitting on a pale pink carpet. The room was lit with crystal lamps, their soft golden glow a weak attempt at giving the room a cheerful air – an attempt that failed, as the room seemed sterile and lifeless.

"Toby and I were just having lunch in the family room," Sarah said, shutting the front door behind them. The weariness in her words matched her movements, as she headed down the hall flipping a fall of brunette hair over her shoulder. "It's this way."

Hanging back a bit, Dean quickly put the glasses on and looked closely at Sarah's retreating back. He quickly muttered to his brother, "She's glowing."

Sam placed his pair on and glanced at the brunette leading them down the hall, noting the faint blue aura that surrounded her. "Yeah…I see," he whispered.

"What was blue?" Dean asked.

Sam checked the card in his pocket. "Faerie folk," He whispered.

"Do you think she knows?"

Sam shrugged. "I'll try to find out. You check out the boy." Dean nodded and they returned the glasses to the safety of their pockets and followed Sarah.

Reaching the door of the family room, Sarah paused and peered in. Her green eyes shining sadly, Sarah didn't even notice the agents hang back and whisper to one another. Tucked into the far corner of the faded leather couch was a young boy, rocking back and forth, with his knees tucked to his chest. Clutched in his arms was a thread-worn teddy bear. Staring blankly at the cartoon on the TV, the boy made no move as if to recognize their presence, an untouched sandwich sitting on a plate next to him, while a second one sat neglected on the coffee table next to a bottle of iced tea.

"Does he do anything on his own?" Dean asked, hating the hopeless look on the boy's face.

Sarah took a wavering breath, leaning against the doorway for support. "He shifts position sometimes, but he won't leave that spot unless one of us makes him. We have to take him to the bathroom. He'll do that on his own but won't actually get up and go without prompting. My parents and I…well, we have to feed him or he won't eat. I just…" Closing her eyes, she shook silently, wiping tears from her cheeks.

A light hand rested on her arm, drawing her attention back to the agents. "Why don't we go get you a cup of tea or something and chat in the kitchen?" Sam suggested, giving a nod toward the kitchen across the hall.

"I can't leave him alone. Not now. Not with a stranger," came the reluctant reply. "No offense."

"None taken," Dean smiled as he walked into the family room and sat down next to Toby, gently patting him on the back, and fighting a shiver at the tingling sensation that crawled across his skin, unleashing an unsettling sense of possessiveness. "Your sis doesn't have to worry about you, does she Toby? You're not alone. You've got me and we're not gonna be strangers for long, are we buddy?" he asked, giving Toby a good-natured grin. "We're gonna change over to some less girlie cartoons, tho…no self-respecting boy of 12 wants to sit around watching My Little Pony with his big sister. Am I right? We're gonna find something good to watch, then we'll have a quiet little chat, just between us guys."

Unsure, Sarah looked at Toby, surprised when he turned and looked at Agent Bolder. Swallowing the pain that encased her heart, she nodded and let Ronson lead her into the kitchen.

When they had gone, Dean pulled the glasses from his pocket and used them to examine the boy. "I know I look like a dork with these things on," Dean chuckled. "They're actually kinda cool though. You wanna try them?" Toby looked from Dean back to the TV and continued to stare blankly at it. Dean shook his head in wonder at the shimmering blue aura and feel of magic that surrounded him. To find siblings both marked by the Fae was unexpected, but to be Fae-marked and experience an attack that had all the hallmarks of something so vicious it had to be demonic, that really piqued his interest.

Removing the glasses, Dean picked up the remote and grinned at Toby. "So, you look less like a Pokemon guy and more like…hmm… a Marvel fan. Am I right?" Flipping through the channels, Dean settled on Marvel Avengers, then sat back, glancing at Toby. "That's a pretty good looking sandwich your sister made. Do you want a bite?" he asked, picking up the ham and cheese sandwich and holding it up for the child, showing a tenderness rarely seen by anyone but children – even Sam rarely saw it.

With a slow blink, Toby took a bite, his movements robotic and halting.

"Yeah, I prefer my ham and cheese with mustard and pickle. But…ketchup is good too," Dean added, his tone light and conversational.

Watching the boy, Dean nodded encouragement as Toby reached out and took the sandwich from him, lifting it to his mouth and taking a bite without prodding. "Hey now…that's the way, buddy. You just come on outta that shell and talk to ole Dean, yeah? We're here to help, Toby. We know a thing or two about monsters and how to get rid of them," he murmured, the sound of his words muffled by the banter from the cartoon. "You just trust me and Sammy. In a couple days, this will just be a bad memory and if I can manage it, we'll even banish the bad memory as well."

Sitting on a pristine white chair in the kitchen, Sarah tried to focus on what Agent Ronson was saying. Agent Ronson had been asking questions about Toby and the attack, most of which she couldn't answer. The agent was nice enough about it though. His demenor seemed a bit odd for an FBI agent, and there was something else about him that stood out, something she'd noticed the minute the two agents stepped across the threshold of the house. She'd noticed it attached to people off and on since her run through the Labyrinth, but had never seen it in two people at the same time.

They were marked by 'the other'.

Sarah first noticed that she and Toby had it a week after she won him back from the Goblin King. It was like a faint shimmering glow around them, that only stood out if the light was just right, but when she was close to Toby she noticed it was more than the aura, but a faint sensation of 'tingling' around him, which caressed her skin and sent odd sensations of possessiveness through her. After awhile, with no idea what else to think, she just started calling it 'the other' and assumed it had something to do with magic since they had both been to the Labyrinth.

Then on a trip to New York with her mother before high school graduation, she had seen the aura glittering around an old woman sitting on the subway. As the woman walked past her to get off at her stop, Sarah held her breath when the tingling sensation crept over her. No one around them seemed to notice, not even the old woman. Since then she had run into others over the years, and discovered that the color of the shimmering aura was different, and so was the sensation of 'the other'. The aura surrounding Toby and herself ranged from deep blue to pale frost blue, and the sensation was a pleasant tingling. Auras in the red family, ranging from pink to orange, always felt warm and reassuring. Those in the green family had a bit more of a 'zap' to them, but seemed more mischievous than dangerous. Black auras were more of a problem. As cliché as it seemed, she assumed they must be a darker 'magic', as the darkness was always accompanied by sizzling sensations which burned and stung her skin. Luckily she'd only encountered that twice in the last two years.

The FBI agents were different though, unlike anything she'd seen. Glancing at Ronson out of the corner of her eye as he spoke, she wondered at the shimmering white aura that surrounded him, edged with bits of red and pink, the whole thing ringed inside by a thin layer of grey. Around him the air felt as if it was humming softly. No warmth, tingling or sizzling, just a faint vibration.

And it wasn't just him. Boulder had the same odd aura and humming.

Yet she didn't feel threatened by either of them; in fact she felt an odd sense of reassurance from having them in the house. It was weird. The more she looked at Ronson and felt for the strange humming around him, the more she became sure of one thing – he wasn't who he said he was, yet she was sure he was not a threat.

'Things are not always as they seem in this place…so you can't take anything for granted.'

Shaking off the unwanted whisper from the past, Sarah jumped when the kettle began its shrill squeal, pulling her back from her thoughts to the expectant look on Ronson's face. "I… um…what?" she asked as she hopped up and poured boiling water into three mugs, her hands shaking enough to slosh water out down the sides.

"I just asked if you knew anything about a little club house sort of thing in the woods. By the map it seems to be in the creek ravine that runs along the back of this property," Sam said, taking the tea kettle from her before she burned herself.

Sarah leaned against the counter, hanging her head. "Yeah, I know the one. Set near the beaver dam?"

Sam nodded and poured milk into his mug, then looked at her. Seeing him hesitate she nodded.

"Yes please. Lots of milk and sugar for me. I hate coffee but…I've had to drink it lots lately. One of us has to be awake with Toby at all times. He only sleeps for an hour or two at a time, if that," she sighed, then shook her head. "The shack…right. Some kids built it years ago. It became kind of a clubhouse for kids in the neighborhood. There was talk of tearing it down a couple years ago, but the parents voted to leave it as it was pretty well maintained and many of the locals have good memories there." Taking the mug he handed to her, she cradled it in both hands, staring into the milky depths as if they would give some insight into how she and Toby found themselves in this surreal situation.

Stirring his mug, Sam looked at her and smiled, "Sounds like it was a good hang out then. Do the kids still use it then?"

For a brief moment Sarah gave in to memories from the previous summer of sitting on the bank of the beaver dam watching Toby and his friends play around the old clubhouse, busily repairing wobbly walls and attempting to build makeshift furniture from discarded car seats, tires and crates they scavenged from the far end of the ravine. Smiling briefly, she nodded. "Yes. They do. They'll probably be back down there again when Toby is feeling better."

"I…um…don't know quite how to tell you this, but I don't think any of the local kids will be allowed down there again, or will even want to go," Sam replied. Seeing the confusion in her green eyes, he sighed. "There was another attack, this time down by the kid's hangout."

Sarah stared at the delicate roses that decorated her mug, but didn't really see them. "That's the fourth murder then," she murmured, her words barely a whisper.

"Confirmed, yes. There are three other disappearances."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Sam ran his fingers through his hair. "Have you noticed anything weird in the area lately. Since or even before Toby's friend was killed?"

"Weird how?" She asked as she looked up at him.

"Flickering lights, odd smells, cold spots…"

Looking at him, Sarah's eyes narrowed. "Okay, tell the truth. You may look and act like an FBI agent, but you're not. Are you?" Seeing the momentary light of panic in Ronson's eyes before he hid it, Sarah's glare deepened. "I'm right, aren't I? You're not FBI. What are you? Press?"

"No…ah…nothing like that…"

"Well then, what?"

Rubbing a hand through his hair, Sam's mind raced over what to tell her. Judging from the steely glint in her eyes, the protective streak in her was riled up and one wrong move would see their chance to take care of things go up in smoke. He also suspected that she'd had more than a casual encounter with the Faerie folk. The glow around her was stronger and easier to now that she was agitated. "Look… okay, we're not FBI. But we do want to help."

"Hah. The Fae never want to help," she grumbled bitterly, her hand wrapping around the handle of the iron skillet sitting on the stove.

"Fae? What?" Registering the heavy skillet now in her hand, Sam put his mug down and stepped back, raising his hands in front of him. He was certain now that she knew a lot more than she was telling him and possibly was deeply connected to a Fae, though her attitude suggested it wasn't necessarily willingly. "Now, let's just hang on a second before you do something we'll both regret."

"What are you guys really?" she demanded, gesturing at him with the skillet. "Sidhe? Dark Sidhe? I've never seen an aura like yours before."

"Sidhe? No…wait. You've got the wrong idea about us, really," Sam said, backing up as she advanced toward him, still brandishing the skillet. "We're not Fae of any sort. We're human…mostly."

Her emerald eyes narrowed dangerously as she pulled the skillet back, ready to strike. "Mostly? You'd better start making some sense quick, or…."

"Or what? You'll set your Fae master on us?" Sam said without thinking it through.

Sarah blinked owlishly at him, her lips curling in an angry snarl. "Fae Master?!" With a lunge she swung the skillet, leaving Sam to jump back, bumping against the sideboard and setting the china rattling on the shelves.

"Okay…protector then?"

When Sarah took a second swing, Sam timed his move, reaching out and grabbing her wrist, then bodily spinning her around until she was pinned between his body and the fridge, her back tight against his chest.

Two conflicting thoughts registered for Sarah in a split instant, fighting for dominance. First was the feel of his body against her back. It had been ages since anyone had really touched her, much less hugged her. And despite the fact that this 'hug' was an act of self-defense rather than desire, it still felt far too good. The second thing that registered was the hot breaths that washed across the side of her neck, sending goose-bumps dancing along her arms, and a heated throb between her thighs.

'Fuck…I need to get laid,' she briefly thought, before chasing it away. 'Toby's near catatonic, getting laid is not appropriate or going to help kill the bastard who did this.'

"I need you to calm down, Sarah. I'm not what you think, and apparently you aren't what I think. So we both have some explaining to do," Sam murmured in her ear. "So why don't we do the sensible thing and talk this through, because the fact still is, Dean and I are here to help your brother. We want to kill the thing that is attacking the kids in Derry. So you can either work with us and help us drive it back to whatever demonic pit it escaped from, or you can let your little brother stay locked inside his own head."

Reluctantly Sarah let him guide her hand down, lowering the skillet to the counter once more.

"I'm going to let you go and we're going to talk about this, Sarah. You're just going to have to trust me. We only want to help." Releasing her he stepped back to the other side of the kitchen, eying her warily.

Straightening her shirt, Sarah turned around and glared at him. "You first. Start talking."

"I'm Sam…Winchester. My partner in there is actually my brother Dean," Sam explained, relieved when she didn't move for the skillet again. "Our aura probably looks weird because we're hunters…amongst other things, and we've be exposed to all kinds of magical energies and creatures. Basically, if it is supernatural and screws up lives, we've probably hunted it, killed it or both."

Nibbling on her upper lip, Sarah considered his words, then nodded. "Okay, so what…you're here tracking the thing killing kids?"

Sam nodded, glancing into the family room where Dean seemed to be chatting to Toby. "Yes, we're here to figure out what is doing the damage and kill it. Now, what's your story. You know you and Toby are surrounded by a blue aura, right? Wouldn't surprise me if you're Fae-marked. I've read about it but never seen it."

Slowly Sarah shook her head and walked toward him, grinning when he flinched slightly and stepped away. Picking up her mug of coffee, Sarah sipped it. "Fae-marked? No, that part I didn't know. Well, that is to say, I wasn't sure. I suspected that might be it, but it isn't like you can walk into the local pharmacy and ask what the strange blue glow means. We had a run in with a Fae bastard a couple years ago. Toby was two at the time. Haven't seen the bastard since and if I ever do, I'm going to brain him with an iron skillet, then salt his body before burying it in an iron mine."

The vengeance in her words, struck Sam hard. He understood her desire, he'd felt it himself more than once over the years.

"Well then, why don't you let us help take care of whatever is hunting kids in Derry, then we can help you with your little 'Fae' problem. Deal?"

Nodding, Sarah gave him the first genuine smile she had given anyone since the attack. "I reckon the bastard is what you need to find anyway. I want in on killing him."

Sam chuckled at the blood-thirsty smirk that spread across her face. He knew that feeling too. Whatever the Fae had done to piss her off, she was going to have her vengeance. "Remind me to stay on your good side."

"You help me kill him, and you won't just be on my good side, I'll treat you to dinner…and maybe breakfast too."

Grinning, Sam held his hand out. "Deal."

Glancing from the television back to Toby, Dean sighed. While the boy had finished his sandwich on his own, he hadn't gotten any closer to talking. Dean had tried everything in his bag of tricks, even pulling out a pack of crayons and a notebook he'd picked up on impulse at the 'Food'n'Drug' where they'd gotten a local map. Nothing worked.

"I want to help you, Toby," he muttered. "But the only one who knows what happened is you."

From the TV the sounds of a circus calliope started up, as clowns and acrobats circled a ring promoting some kids cereal. He groaned and thumped his head on the back of the sofa, trying to think of another way to pull Toby out of his own head long enough to tell him what happened. Hearing a whimpering moan from the boy next to him, Dean's head snapped up, his eyes on Toby. The boy's eyes were wide and terrified, tears streaming down his cheeks. Following Toby's gaze, Dean took a closer look at the screen. Clowns and acrobats danced and tumbled around, except for one that stood off to the left, holding a single red balloon. In the space of a blink the clown moved up the screen, the movement making Toby tremble and scoot closer to Dean.

"Sam…." Dean called out. Seeing the clown grow closer as it crept toward the screen, Dean called louder. "Yo! Sam…Sammy!"

In the next instant the clown's face filled the screen, baleful red eyes glowing evilly, as a haunting maniacal laugh screeched through the speakers, drowning out the cheerful sounds of the calliope. All the while the clown seemed to press his face against the inside of the TV set, his eyes and cheeks smashed against the glass while he hissed, "Killlll youuuuuu….killllll you….allllllllllll…we all float….we all float, Tobeeeeeeeee!"

Frozen, Toby and Dean stared at the TV as the clown's mouth opened wider and wider, revealing row upon row of needle sharp teeth. "SAMMY!" Dean bellowed, as he tried and failed to move. Something holding him in place.

The sound of footsteps rushing from the kitchen was lost to Toby and Dean, hidden by the terrifying hissing voice, and the ridiculous music of the calliope, the screen now filled with smears of clown makeup on the inside of the glass and rows of deadly teeth.

"Float…we float….killlllll you….Tobeeeeeee…."

"What's the problem?" Sam asked, stopping in the door of the family room, shocked by the terrified looks on Dean and Toby's faces. "Dean? What the…"

Before he could finish the sentence, Toby began to scream, the sound a high keening cry that made Sam's heart falter in his chest, while Sarah sobbed next to him.

"DEADLIGHTS! Deadlightsdeadlightsdeadlightsdeadlightsdeadlightsdeadlights…" Toby cried over and over.

Tearing his eyes from the horrifying teeth and retina-searing light on the screen, Dean managed to free himself of whatever power had been restraining him. He grabbed Toby roughly, burying the screaming boy's face against his chest, as he clenched his own eyes shut tight. "Don't look buddy… I've got you. Don't you look… don't you look…" he shouted over the chaotic din of music, hissing and demonic laughing. "Sammy! Turn it off…for the love of… turn it off!"

Rushing toward Dean and the boy, Sam looked at the TV trying to figure out what had them so scared. Seeing the dancing acrobats and clowns, he couldn't grasp why Dean was shouting. Then he saw one of the clowns stop its antics and spin to face the screen, its eyes lighting up with evil glee, as if it actually saw him. Sam froze seeing the clown, his blood running cold, as in an instant he relieved his life-long fear of clowns and knew that this clown was the epitome of all evil clowns.

"Kill you toooooo!" it hissed, as Sarah rushed into the room and yanked the power cord from the wall.

Panting, Sarah collapsed in front of Toby, pulled the boy from Dean's embrace and onto her lap. She kissed his head frantically, while rocking him back and forth. "I'm sorry, Tobes. So sorry…we'll kill him…I promise. We'll kill him."

Sam blinked and rubbed a hand over his eyes before looking at Dean, who gulped, beads of sweat still streaking his forehead.

"Sammy…" he murmured.

"Yeah…That… that's no Fae," Sam finally said, pointing at the now black TV, with smudges of clown make-up still showing on the inside of the screen.

"Nope," Dean muttered, starting to feel more like himself again. Loosening the tie he hated and shoving it into his jacket pocket, he grumbled, "Thanks Mister Obvious."

"But it has to be. It's gotta be Jar….well…it's just gotta be a Fae," Sarah insisted.

Shaking his head, Sam sat down next to Dean and removed his own tie. "Nope. That thing is like nothing we've ever seen."

"Then what was that?" Sarah asked, still rocking Toby in her lap as the boy shivered violently.

Sam and Dean merely shrugged, neither having an idea what the thing was or why it was killing kids in Derry. The silence in the family room was finally broken when Toby, whispered quietly…

"It."

Writers work for chocolate (or reviews)... :)