Chapter 2: He Is Your Brother

Joe guided them to a little diner that was still open, so they could grab some dinner. It wasn't fancy, but it was good, in fact better than most. Sam enjoyed his roast beef and mashed potatoes just fine, and Dean moaned around the hamburger, so it had to be okay, but Adam picked at his chicken fingers. At least until Dean started stealing his fries to dip in Sam's gravy. Then Adam stole Dean's fries. And dipped them in Sam's gravy.

Sam looked down at the meager remains of his gravy. "You could've just ordered your own," he pointed out.

Dean smiled at him. "That wouldn't have been any fun; would it, kid?" Adam just giggled.

By the time they left the diner, Adam had eaten everything.

They followed Deputy Joe's SUV to Adam's quiet neighborhood. Large two-story houses lined the street; older houses, with porches and gingerbread accents. The snow was a foot thick, but a path had been cleared to the front steps. Adam was half-asleep, so Dean picked him up and carried him like it was no big deal. Sam couldn't help but shake his head at his brother: the douche was such a marshmallow when it came to kids. Then the wind gusted and ran through Sam's coat. He grabbed the duffel bags, and followed the others up to the door.

"So this is Adam's house; Kate left it to him," Joe was saying. "There's a detached garage around back, but you'll have to shovel out the drive." He held out a set of keys. "Just so you know, I've got a second set," he'd said. "As executor, I'm allowed access."

"Surprise inspections?" Dean asked.

Joe had nodded sheepishly. "Uh, yah, you bet. Make sure you're not leaving him locked in the basement, ya know."

Considering that Dean was letting Adam drool on his precious leather coat, it was a ridiculous statement.

Plus, Dean had let Adam grab his hand on the way to the diner. Oh, Dean had huffed and made snarky comments, but he hadn't said no, and he hadn't let go. Just like he'd never let go of Sam's hand when Sam had needed to hold on.

That was years ago, of course. These days Dean was more likely to give him a head-lock than a hug, but watching him with Adam had reminded him that it hadn't always been that way. It was weird seeing Dean like that again. It was as if Sam was being given a glimpse into his own history, bringing forward all these memories of when Dean had been his whole world and his favorite's hero. So when Adam had reached for Sam's hand in the backseat of the car, Sam had taken it. Just like Dean would've done—had done when it was Sam's hand.

The first thing they did, after putting their food in the oven to keep warm and making coffee, was go on a tour. Joe had walked them around, showing them electrical panels and tornado bunkers, pointing out the drain that always backed up and the window that they couldn't seal properly. He also pointed out the architectural features that made this house unique. Sam looked and listened as if he would be tested on it before dinner.

It was as big as Sam had hoped. It had four bedrooms upstairs. Four. Sure, one was the size of a closet and was even being used as one, but it could conceivably hold a bed and a small desk. They could each have their own room. No more sharing with Dean and listening to him fart, jerk off, or snore—sometimes all three at the same time.

Dean made fun of him. He didn't care. Even ignoring the four freaking bedrooms, the place was great. All the rooms on the main floor connected to each other by archways or through pocket doors. It had molded ceilings, wood floors, and every window on the first floor had a colored glass design in it like a church. Sam couldn't wait until he could see the light coming through them. It was cool.

Sam got caught up in the idea that this time, maybe, John would be forced to stop moving them. He'd have to stay. John couldn't sell the house, so they might as well settle down, right?

"Hey, squirt, look after the munchkin," Dean said after seeing Joe off. "I'm gonna grab supplies out of the Impala, and do the windows."

Sam shrugged. "Sure. I'll study for the tests I'll be taking in two days. I am going to be taking them, right?" Dean waved his middle finger over his shoulder as he walked out to the car.

Sam was torn between huffing in annoyance at Dean's non-answer, or relaxing and taking it for granted that Dean would get him back to Lincoln in time. His brother might be a big pain in the ass, but he'd always tried to keep the promises he'd made to Sam.

Wouldn't stop Sam from nagging, though.

Adam was looking at him and chewing on his fingers.

"What do you want to do?" he asked. Adam shrugged. "I saw you drawing in Sheriff's office, and at the diner. You seemed to enjoy it. You want to draw some more?" Adam shrugged again, but he also gave Sam his backpack. Sam opened it, and it was filled with crayons and paper, and kid-safe scissors. He put out the crayons and some paper, and let the kid draw whatever as he reviewed his notes, rereading the textbook and rewriting his notes, fixing the data in his mind.

"Whatcha doing?" Adam asked putting aside another stick-figure drawing.

"Studying," Sam replied. "For a test."

"I have a test," Adam said. "On my ABC words. I know all of them," Wanna hear?" he said without pause. "A-apple; a-p-p-l-e, B-brother; b-o-t-h-e-r–"

"B-R-o-t-h-e-r," Sam corrects. "But, y'know: brother, bother—same dif." Adam didn't laugh, didn't even smile. He just looked at Sam with wide, scared eyes before his gaze slid away to the side of the room. It made Sam feel bad. He stretched his neck to catch Adam's eyes. "What's your C-word?" he asked.

"Cowboy?" Adam said tentatively.

"Cowboys are cool," Sam said with a hearty smile. "You know how to spell it?"

He encouraged Adam when he started slow, but soon his little brother was spelling happily. "K-kitten; k-i-t-t-e-n. L-little: l-i-t-t-l-e. M…"

It was a bit distracting, but Sam let Adam continue right to the end because he had the nagging sensation that this was what big brothers did. Probably because this is what Dean had done, he realized as a memory flashed of him and Dean doing this—reciting their words to each other. It was… kind of odd to be the big brother, but kind of cool, too. So he listened, and he occasionally corrected Adam's spelling, but the kid was pretty smart. Besides, it was a wash of sound no different from listening to Dean and Dad talking in the front seat, and way better than Dean's usual Greatest Hits of Mullet Rock.

Of course, that's when Dean turned the radio on.

"Okay," Dean said as he walked into the kitchen. "That's all the entrances done. There are a lot of windows in this place."

"Cool," Sam said, barely looking up from his textbook, until he remembered; "Dean, I think Adam might have school tomorrow."

Dean looked at their new brother. "Is that right? Kid, you got school tomorrow?"

There was a small shrug. Adam was back to coloring his pictures.

"How old are you?" Dean asked. He was leaning against the counter drinking the last of the dinner coffee. It smelled rank, old and over-cooked, but Dean didn't seem to care. "Kid. How old are you?" he repeated.

"Seven," Adam answered.

"Seven," Dean said. "Right, so you're in second grade." Another one-shoulder shrug. "He's probably out of school because of the thing with his mom," Dean told Sam. "But I'll call tomorrow and check."

"Okay, cool," Sam responded, relieved to have it taken care of.

"But that means, littlest hobro, that it's your bedtime." Dean swooped down on Adam and tossed him onto his shoulder, and tickled him. Adam, after an initial shriek, started giggling.

"Dude, you can't call our brother a ho," Sam felt compelled to point out.

"I didn't. It was 'hobro'. You know, like that show, The Littlest Hobo, but with 'bro' instead of 'bo'."

"Yeah, Dean. I did get the reference," Sam said. "But it still came out sounding like you were calling him a 'ho'."

"That's a bad thing, right?" Dean asked, and Sam barely refrained from banging his head against the desk.

"This is why guys who grew up in small towns in the Midwest, and who don't listen to anything recorded later than 1980, shouldn't try to talk Gangsta," he muttered loud enough to earn a whack on the back of the head. Sam sat up and glared at his big brother. "Yes, Dean. It's a very bad thing. Trust me."

Dean looked at him a moment then shrugged and Sam knew he'd won.

"Well, whatever," Dean said finally said. "So I'm going to take Cabbage Patch up to his room, tuck him in, and all that shit. Then I'm going to turn in, too. What room d'you want?"

"Uh…" What room did Sam want? He could pick Adam's mom's room, with its big bed, lots of space, and feel like an intruder sleeping on a dead woman's bed, or he could take the small and impersonal guest room that had a closet full of what looked like Christmas decorations.

"I'll take the guest room."

"Okay, cool," Dean agreed. "G'night, little bro."

Sam continued to study, making sure to go over the section on DNA and cell structure a couple time—all those plast-y things were confusing. He could hear the water running upstairs, filling the tub for Adam's bath, and he had a clear picture of Dean, maybe Adam's age, maybe a bit younger, putting his wrist under the water and frowning as he adjusted the taps and tested it again. "Don't want it too hot, Sammy. Your skin's so tender, you'll screech for sure."

"Won't," he'd said with a pout.

He'd been sitting on the toilet seat, he remembered, covered in mud from a puddle he'd found beside the motel. Dean had put water in the tub, but it had turned practically to sludge the moment Sam got in. Dean had let the water out, and filled it again, letting Sam shiver at the far end while Dean tried to force all the mud clumps down the drain. In the end, Dean had given up on the bath idea. He'd stripped gotten into the tub with Sam, and Sam had had his first shower. It had tickled and he'd loved it. He'd preferred showers ever since.

Weird the way memories worked, he thought. The brain was only a mass of interconnected cells powered by electricity just like every other bit of the body, yet it could take something random—like hearing a tub fill—and produce a sense memory so strong he could still remember the scent of the shampoo (bubble gum).

He carefully marked his place in the textbook, putting his pens and pencils back in the case while he mentally ran over the animal classification system. He kept them in his mind as he put the dirty dishes on the counter, and the leftover snacks into the fridge. It was when he tidied up Adam's stuff that he snapped out of his study fog.

The pictures were what he'd expect of a seven-year-old: stick figures with some attempt at adding details. There was Joe Barton, recognizable because of his wide brimmed deputy's hat and his glasses. There was Adam in a blue T-shirt. They were at the police station because Adam had tried to draw the bullpen. All that was cool, but in the back, nearly hidden, was a figure done in grey. It had a potbelly and its eyes were black pits, and he could just see its blood-red irises.

The creature was in the picture Adam had drawn of the Impala, too. There was Dean in his leather coat, holding onto Adam's hand. There was the snow coming down. And over to the side, was the pot-bellied kid with the coal-black eyes.

For some reason, the image was reminding him of something, but the memory wouldn't come loose. That mouth, gaping, open, ready to draw in someone's spirit…

He shivered hard enough to rattle the paper.

Sam picked up Adam's backpack, and looked inside. It held the drawings Adam had made at the station and more. There were more than a dozen drawings and the potbellied creature was in nearly every one. Never at the front, never as big as the other people, but it was always there.

The more Sam looked at it, the more it seemed to be staring at Adam.

He shivered as a wave of cold washed over him.

Upstairs the tub was draining.

He went upstairs to find his big brother.

~o0o~

Bathing Adam was a trip, Dean decided. He was so freaking tiny.

Dean didn't remember Sam being so small, but of course, he'd been a lot smaller, too, when he'd bathed his brother—his real brother.

Not that he could deny that Adam was related. He looked so freaking much like Sam had, but it didn't seem real yet. It didn't seem right that there was a Winchester that was John's but not Mary's.

Still, the kid's attitude was the same as Sam's had been. He was absolutely sure he could bathe himself. From scrubbing his skin with a funny plastic scrubby thing to washing his own hair, Adam could do it. Just like Sammy, and just like Sammy Adam couldn't get his hands around the shampoo bottle. And he couldn't wash his back, obviously.

After too many minutes watching the kid twisting to get between his shoulder blades and falling over when he got unbalanced, Dean shrugged out of his long-sleeved shirts and knelt beside the tub. The water was cooling down fast—he'd have to remember to let it run hotter next time—so he grabbed a cloth and started running it over the kid's back.

Turned out, the kid had the most sensitive back in creation. Every stroke, every touch, had him writhing and twitching. Adam's giggled "Noooo" was the most hilarious thing Dean had heard in a long time.

Of course, Dean couldn't stop, not after discovering Adam's weakness.

Adam, the feisty little shit, threw the plastic scrub ball at him. The water sprayed all over the bathroom, with water landing on the toilet, the floor, even the toilet paper, but the thing hit Dean right in the chest.

"Oh, is that how it is?" Dean said. His eyes narrowed at the kid's laughter. "You're on, sucker." He stretched out his fingers, ready to find every ticklish spot the kid had, Adam shrieked and giggled and splashed him some more. By the end of it, Dean wasn't sure he even needed a shower now. He was certainly wet enough.

The kid didn't look sad anymore, though, so that was good.

Dean opened the drain, grabbed a clean towel, and wrapped the kid up. The towel was huge, he noticed, which was a change from the tiny ones motels and hotels usually put out. This gig was looking up.

Not that they could stay, of course. Or at least, it would be up to Dad.

Dean refused to speculate on what his father's reaction would be. 'No point in anticipating what people will do, son," he heard Jim Murphy say. "Six times out of ten, they'll do something that makes absolutely no sense to you."

Hey, he thought. They were in Minnesota! That meant Pastor Jim was practically a neighbor. If they stayed, they could drive over for a visit. Or even if they didn't, Dean supposed.

He pulled Adam's little step stool over to the sink just as Sam appeared in the doorway.

"Dean, Can I see you for a sec?" Sam's voice was quiet, and kind of serious.

Dean did a quick check to make sure the kid was secure on his stool, and safely brushing his teeth, before he stepped into the hall. "What's up?"

Sam handed him some pictures.

"Did you do these, princess?" Dean teased Sam automatically. "Am I supposed to tell you how awesome they are?"

"Don't be a shit-head," Sam replied. "Do you know what that is?" His finger tapped at a creepy grey kid that was everywhere.

Dean went through the pictures again. "Imagination?" Dean theorized.

"Adam doesn't draw imaginary stuff. There are no unicorns, spaceships, or cowboys," Sam countered. "Every picture he drew was of real people in real places." He tapped the grey thing again. "Except that. I didn't see that at the police station, did you?"

Dean frowned because he hadn't seen it, and he was good at seeing supernatural shit. He knew how to see it because he looked for it wherever he went. It was his freaking job. But he hadn't seen any potbellied thing hanging out anywhere near them.

"It doesn't look familiar," Dean said. "And it sure as shit doesn't look friendly. Think it's targeting Adam?"

Sam shrugged. "That's what it looks like to me. Ms. Sharpe said something about kids dying," Sam went on. "Four of them so far, right?"

Dean thought back. "Yeah, and she got upset when Joe made jokes about us not being able to starve Adam in a week."

"Which means there was something weird about their deaths," Sam concluded. "Starved to death in a house full of food, maybe? I don't know about you, but that thing looks hungry."

"Fuck. We need Dad's journal," Dean muttered. "We need Dad."

Sam scoffed, but lightly. "We need to talk to Adam," Sam said. "Then we need to talked to Joe, find out some details of those kids' deaths. We don't need Dad."

"Don't be stupid, Sam. Dad knows a lot about this stuff. He'd probably recognize this thing right away."

Sam's jaw slowly relaxed. "Yeah, maybe," he finally conceded. "But he's not here, so we'll have to figure this out ourselves."

It was true. Dad wasn't here, wasn't even reachable. They needed another source of information. "Pastor Jim's just up the street, kinda," Dean said. "I was figuring, before we take off, and if the weather's cleared, we'd run over to Blue Earth, and, you know, visit. Kinda like normal people do."

"You wanna bring him in on this?" Sam asked.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, hoping, despite past evidence, that some brilliant idea would be jarred loose. Jim was a friend, but the last time he and Dad got together Jim said something or did something to piss John Winchester off. Which, Dean was forced to admit, wasn't difficult. Dad might not appreciate that they'd called in somebody he was fighting with.

On the other hand, Dad was at odds with a minimum of half the people they knew at any given time, and if something really was targeting kids there was no way Dean could let that wait until Dad showed up.

"Yeah, I think we're going to have to," Dean finally said. He looked at his watch. It was nearly ten and the pastor, despite being a hunter, was an advocate of 'early to bed, early to rise' philosophy of life. Jim would wake up to take the call—neither of his callings kept regular hours—or Dean could call him tomorrow morning. They'd maybe know more by then; they might even manage to catch a glimpse of the thing.

"Here," he decided. "Why don't you finish putting the munchkin to bed, and I'll call Deputy Joe."

"Aaah, no," Sam shook his head. "I don't think that's going to work."

That's when Dean felt the tugging at his shirt. He looked down to see Sam's hazel eyes looking up at him. The shape was a little wrong, but the expression was pure 'Sam wants something he doesn't think he's going to get'.

"Can you read me a story?"

"Look, kid –"

"Sure he can," Sam said. "His favorite is Green Eggs and Ham. Do you have that one?"

Adam nodded, using his whole body. "Uh huh."

"Sam," Dean protested.

"Cool," Sam said smiling up at Dean. "Then he can spend hours telling you all about Sam-I-Am, and the stupid sh-stuff he did. Just like he did with me."

"Sam!" Dean huffed out a breath. "I am not reading Green Eggs and Ham to Adam." That was Sam's book. He only ever read it to Sam.

"I like One Fish, Two Fish more," the kid said. "I c'n read it, too. Most of it."

Dean had heard the name, of course, but it wasn't a Dr. Seuss book that they'd ever got hold of. Whatever. He could let the kid read it to him.

"Wait," Sam said abruptly. "Before you go, can you tell me what this thing is?" He tried to sound casual as he pointed at the potbellied creature.

Adam looked at him, straight at him, before his eyes slid to the side and he shrugged.

"Is it a kind of pig?" Sam pressed. "It looks like a pig, one of those miniature ones. Or maybe a dog?"

Again, Adam wouldn't look at him as he shrugged. "Maybe."

"Is it a friend? Like, um…" Sam tried to remember that big imaginary mammoth thing from Sesame Street. "Like Big Bird's friend?"

"Snuffleupagus," Dean supplied. When Sam stared at him, he forced down the blush. "I gotta lot time to waste when you're at school."

Sam turned back to Adam. "Is it like the snuffleupagus; only certain people can see it? It's very important, Adam. If you know anything, you have to tell us."

Adam just stared at him.

Dean could see Sam's temper starting to rise. Adam was already backed right into Dean. If Sam yelled at him, the kid wouldn't speak for a week. So he took the pictures from Sam and crouched down in front of Adam. "Hey, kid," he said in normal tones. "You're not in trouble or anything, so don't freak out. We just want to know what this is." He tapped a finger against the grey thing.

Adam's eyes were huge and scared. He pushed a couple fingers into his mouth, sucking on them even as he shrugged.

"It's pretty ugly, isn't it?" Dean went on. "Scary too."

"You don't got to be scared, Adam. Just tell us what you know," Sam ordered. Adam's gaze jerked to him before falling to the floor.

"Kid—Adam. You're not in trouble," Dean said again. "You're not going to be in trouble, and I swear, whatever you say, we're not going to laugh or yell or any of that shit."

Sam nodded and crossed his heart, once Dean had whacked his shin.

Dean waited for Adam's eyes to lift before he tapped the grey thing in another picture. "You saw this, right?"

Wide, hazel eyes stared. Dean waited. Then Adam nodded once.

"You see it a lot?"

Another nod.

Dean's mouth tightened. "Can anybody else see it?" he asked.

This time Adam hesitated then he shrugged.

"Can grownups see it?" Sam asked.

Dean looked up at Sam and nodded—that was a good question. He was already expecting Adam's negative head shake. "Kids can see it?" he asked and got a nod in return. "All kids or just some?"

"Some," Adam said around his fingers.

"Does it scare you?" Dean asked. He tried to ask gently, but fuck knows gentle wasn't his thing. Adam stopped sucking and just stared at him. Tears filled his eyes, and one fell as he nodded.

"Says I'm all alone. No one wants me 'cept him." And then the kid was all out crying again—huge sobs, big tears, little body heaving with the force of it, and Dean couldn't take it.

"Shh, shh," he crooned as he gathered up the little kid, lifting him towel and all, so he could pace the hall with him. "You're not alone," he said. "You've got Sammy and me, right? And Deputy Joe cares. He'd never let you be totally alone, right."

The kid just dug his head into Dean's neck even harder, muttering something.

"What's that?" When Adam didn't repeat it, Dean gave him a jiggle. "What did you say?"

"But Mommy's gone," Adam whispered.

And Dean couldn't argue with that.

~o0o~

Sam watched as his brother—his big brother—cradled Adam and rocked him and hummed (badly) to him. Sam knew Dean would keep it up until Adam fell asleep. He also knew that he—Sam-had scared Adam badly. He hadn't meant to, but the kid's refusal to answer had been frustrating.

Dean hadn't gotten frustrated. He'd just got down to Adam's level and… talked. Just talked, and Adam had talked back once he'd finished crying.

Sam knew that Dean had given up the idea of being normal, as in finding a decent girl to marry and having a couple kids of his own, and it struck Sam as really sad. Dean was built to take care of family. Hell, he'd been doing it for him and Dad for as long as Sam could remember. Once again, Sam wished for this to become real, permanent, the end of all their travelling.

Not that he said any of that to Dean. "I'm gonna grab the laptop and see if the stuff Adam said turns up anything."

Dean didn't stop humming—AC/DC, maybe; it was hard to tell—just gave him a quick nod, and went back to pacing Adam to sleep.

Sam's laptop bag was in the guest room along with the rest of his stuff—Dean being efficient again. He had no idea if Adam's mom even had internet access, let alone a wireless connection, but maybe somebody nearby would have an open connection he could leech from. It didn't take him long to access some of their favorite sites and to find something that almost matched Adam's information.

"What've you got?" Dean asked as he walked into Sam's room.

"Adam?" Sam asked instead of answering.

"Out, poor kid. You know his mom only died three days ago?"

"That's it?" Sam had assumed it had happened a while ago. Then he wondered why he'd assumed that.

"That means that either she or Deputy Joe had Dad's latest phone number," Dean said, and he was right. It meant that somehow, for some reason, either Dad had given it to one of them, or that the deputy had looked it up. "Dad's not quite so under the radar as we thought."

"Or maybe she had him look it up," Sam suggested. "Maybe she was going to tell Dad that he had a kid."

"Maybe he already knew," Dean spat at him and Sam laughed.

"You don't believe that," he said. "Hell, I don't like Dad the same way you do, and even I can't believe he'd ignore his own kid."

Dean shrugged, rolling his shoulders as if he was uncomfortable. He probably was, Sam thought. Dean had far more invested in his image of their parents than Sam did. Sam couldn't even remember their mom. Dean could. The idea of Dad having sex with anybody was bad enough, Sam could admit that, but he at least was willing to see their father as human. Dean… Dean probably wasn't happy about a lot of this situation, but Sam was willing to bet that the fact that Dad had produced a child with someone other than Mom would be the thing that bothered Dean the most.

Maybe it would let him to see their father as human, and fallible. Maybe it would encourage Dean to stand up for himself sometimes. Stand up for them, so they could be a normal family not this tiny army unit fighting an endless, hopeless war.

Of course, they still had the Battle of Adam to fight.

Sam pulled out his notes. "So I think we're looking at some variation of a Hollow Child," he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow in question, so Sam continued. "'Hollow, or Empty Children,'" he read, "'are so named because they are, in a sense, empty: they have no animating spirit of their own. It is uncertain what caused them, but once formed, they roam the earth, visible only to those they can hunt.'"

"That sounds non-specifically creepy," Dean said.

"No kidding," Sam agreed. He read further; "'When they find someone who matches their criteria, they latch on to that person, follow them, and wear them down emotionally until the Hollow Child can strike. Unfortunately, the stolen anima never lasts long, and the Hollow Child will soon be on the hunt again.' The article goes on to explain they choose their victims." He skimmed ahead. "Except it sounds like they don't really know. ' A Hollow or Empty Child will appear for no apparent reason. It will hunt sometimes for days, sometimes for years; then it'll stop."

"What do they mean 'it will stop'? Don't they know how to stop it?"

Sam shook his head. "Doesn't look like it. Theories only."

Dean sighed. "That's what I thought that meant." He ran a hand through his damp hair. Combined with the gel Dean used, it made his hair stand up in new and hilarious ways. "Well, shit. You think Pastor Jim will know what to do?"

"Doesn't sound like anybody knows what to do, but we've got to try," Sam responded. "First we need to get more details on the four kids who died. What their symptoms were, if anybody saw or felt anything."

Dean snorted. What was the chance that anybody ordinary saw anything, Even if someone did see something, they would probably explain it away as something else.

Sam shrugged in reply. He agreed it was unlikely, but they still had to ask.

"You wanna make the call?" Dean asked.

Sam's eyebrows went up. Dad never let him do the interviews. Dean knew that.

"You've got the ideas," Dean shrugged. "You know what you're looking for." That Dad wasn't here to object went unsaid.

"Sure," Sam said, trying to keep his excitement under control. Dean knew anyway. His mouth lifted in a lopsided smile as he tossed Sam his phone. "Remember, you're a big, bad monster-hunter, right?"

Sam grinned. "Of course I am. I'm a Winchester."

Dean laughed and ran his hand through his hair again, rubbing the watered-down gel onto his jeans. "I'm going to take a shower." He gave the doorframe a couple raps with his knuckles, and then he was gone.

Sam couldn't help the way his heart sped up. He was actually going to do this. Dean had actually left him in charge of interviewing a witness. Sure, it wasn't a total civilian—Deputy Joe was aware of the supernatural—but looking back over their conversations, it was obvious that Joe hadn't thought of an unnatural cause for those kids' deaths. He wouldn't have known what to look for, or what questions to ask, but he could've still found out important stuff by accident.

Sam knew what to ask. He'd listened in on both his dad and Dean interviewing witnesses and survivors. He'd listened, never asked. What if he forgot something important?

His heart rate went into overdrive.

He ran downstairs to his bag and pulled out one of his notebooks. He'd write out a list of questions. He chewed on his pen as he thought, adding other things that would be nice to know, linking them with lines, until the page was full, and he realized that he was just delaying it.

He was nervous.

Not only was Adam's life on the line, maybe, but this was his first solo interview. Dean had trusted it to him, and he wanted to do a good job. He wanted Dean to know that his trust hadn't been misplaced.

Jeez, Sam thought, you'd think he was four and not fourteen.

He took a breath, pulling the air in slowly then exhaling in one quick burst—time to do this thing.

He opened up Dean's phone and called Joe Barton's number. It rang a couple times before Joe picked up. "Hello?" The deputy's voice rolled through the circuits, just a deep and melodic as it had been in person.

"Uh, yeah. Joe? This is Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Yah. I remember you. What's up?"

A quick breath, a quicker internal pep-talk, and Sam leaped in. "At the station, Ms. Sharpe mentioned that four kids had died, and that cause of death hadn't been determined."

"You want to talk about that? Oh, jeez…" Joe went quiet. Sam waited. "Heck! Hang on a sec. Let me pull over. The weather makes it hard to drive and talk, ya know."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Sam. "I didn't know you were at work."

"Yeah. Got patrol now that Adam's being cared for." There was a squealing sound that Sam hoped wasn't the deputy crashing into anything. "Okeydokey," Joe finally said. "Now what was the question?"

"The four kids that Ms. Sharpe mentioned," Sam repeated. "How did they die?"

"Oh, hmm." The line went quiet. "Well, it wasn't murder, or anything you boys need to worry about. In fact, the CDC is up here looking into it."

The Center for Disease Control was here? That meant whatever had happened to those kids was weird and mostly unexplainable. How could Deputy Joe not think it was a hunter thing?

"Just… humor me," Sam said. Then he ran down the list of facts he needed—dates, symptoms, locations, commonalities. The first victim, Shania Lake, died last August. She'd been seven. The last, Marcia Chandler had died just before Christmas. Jimmy Tallough and Elizabeth Lofsen had died at irregular intervals between the other two. They weren't related, didn't know each other, and didn't live in the same areas. They hadn't even gone to the same school.

Sam looked at the list of negatives and felt like stomping in frustration. "Did they mention seeing anything or anyone hanging around in the days before they died?" he asked in desperation.

"Oh, well. Hmm," Joe mumbled as he thought. "Oh, yah. Jimmy Tallough mentioned being followed by a grey dog. His foster parents looked for it but couldn't see it. Considering what his father had done… Well, Jimmy's eyesight wasn't good after that, ya know."

It was horrifying how often monsters weren't supernatural, Sam thought.

"Wait," Sam said. "He said it was a grey dog?" One of Adam's pictures had made the thing look almost like a dog.

"You bet," Joe confirmed. "Small with grey fur."

It was a start. It didn't prove anything, but it was still a start.

"Did any of the other kids mention anything?" he pushed.

"Marcia Chandler's caretaker mentioned the girl was having nightmares while her parents were away, worse than normal. She thought someone was looking at her, trying to grab her." Sam shivered as the deputy's low voice made the description sound particularly ominous.

"–wasn't there for the other two. Don't know anything about them."

"Did anybody else describe seeing what the kids had?"

"Not that I recall," Joe replied. "But then the other two didn't really have anybody around who'd listen to them talk about seeing things."

Poor kids, Sam thought. "It sounds like none of them had family."

"Oh jeez, no, Marcia had parents, older siblings," Joe replied. "Of course, her brothers were a lot older—the youngest boy graduates this year. And Bill and Edie travel a lot for their work—that's her parents."

"So Marcia was alone a lot," Sam stated and Joe confirmed it. Sam pushed for details on the other three kids, and it his theory turned out to be right. Shanie Lane was the daughter of an alcoholic. She got left with friends, grandparents, or even dropped off at the hospital, whenever the mother wanted to go for "a couple drinks". Jimmy had been in foster care for the third and probably last time, since his father was serving 15 years for First Degree Assault. Elizabeth Lofsen had survived the car accident that killed the rest of her family. Marcia, a surprise arrival, had been left with hired caretakers while her family continued their busy lives.

None of them had been older than ten.

"Did they all have the same symptoms?" Sam asked.

"Ya know, I'm telling you that there's nothing otherworldly about these kids' deaths," Joe said.

"Best to be sure, right?" Sam insisted. "What you want is for the deaths to stop. Doesn't matter who does it."

"Well, yeah," Joe agreed like he had every time.

"So how did they die?"

"Well, they developed a form of necrosis."

"Necro… Their cells died?"

"You bet. But weirdly. They didn't swell and burst, like I heard was normal, but shrank and dried out. The kids–" Sam heard the deputy swallow. "Well, by the time their brains and hearts stopped, they looked like mummies."

Sam swallowed. "They were alive?"

"Yah. Poor little guys," Joe's deep voice was pensive. "We called the state health guys after Jimmy… you know, passed on. The state guys called the CDC."

"And they have no idea what's causing it."

Sam was completely unsurprised when Joe answered negatively. "Not so as they're telling us," the deputy said. "I could try to get a look at the files, if it's important."

"You could?" Sam said, surprised.

"Yah, I guess so," Joe replied. "I never thought of it before, but all those kids—they felt alone, abandoned, yah? Kind of like Adam."

"Yeah," Sam said. "Exactly like Adam."

"Jeez dang it! How long?"

"We don't know. It kind of depends on what we're dealing with. We have to figure that out first before we can figure out how to fight it."

"Gotcha; it makes sense." Sam could almost see the deputy nodding his head on his thin neck. "I won't be able to get the CDC files, but I'm sure the city boys will let me look at Elizabeth's file."

"Whatever information you can get to us," Sam said. "We're going to be calling someone we know who's close by. He should be able to help."

"I surely do hope so," Joe said soberly. It was a statement Sam could agree with completely.

He hung up the phone and wandered down the hall to Adam's mother's room, where Dean was sleeping. Dean had spread his stuff out—clothes, weapons, and the latest pop thriller he was reading. What did surprise Sam was that he was changing the sheets on the bed. Dean wasn't usually so sensitive.

"You changed the sheets!" he said approvingly.

"I had to," Dean answered in disgust. "They were pink! With flowers."

Sam should've known.

He gave Dean back his phone and ran down what he'd found out from Deputy Joe. "So it's sounding even more likely that it's some kind of Hollow Child," he concluded.

"Good work, junior detective," Dean said, smiling at him.

Sam felt the warmth blossom inside him at the praise, but forced himself to roll his eyes at the stupid nickname. "Thanks, asshat," he insulted Dean, but his brother's smirk just grew. "You'll phone Pastor Jim tomorrow?"

"First thing," Dean promised.

Sam nodded, relieved. He turned to go then turned back. "And Adam's school?"

"Yeah, mother hen," Dean replied with a laugh. "I'll figure out if he's supposed to be in school, and call them, too, if I need to."

"Okay, good," Sam said with a nod. He half turned to the door then stopped. "You know all those kids had one thing in common."

"What's that?"

Sam looked back at his brother. "They all felt abandoned, unloved, unsettled. If that's what the Hollow Child is preying on, it means Adam feels that way."

"So?" This time Dean was frowning at him.

"Then we need to stop him from feeling that way," Sam replied. "We need to make Adam feel that he's safe and wanted and loved."

"Aw fuck, man. I gave the kid a bath, and put him to bed. What else am I supposed to do?"

Sam snorted. "Well, for a start, you could use his name." He turned back to the door and exited, ignoring Dean's muttered "bitch, bitch, bitch" as being the moans of a sore loser. He also tried to ignore the warm spot that blossomed when Dean called "You did good" after him. But it still made him feel good.

Then he passed by Adam's room.

Dean had left the door open, letting the dim light from the hall fall across the kid's too-big bed. Adam was curled up under his blankets so tightly that the only thing exposed was his hair. At least he was sleeping, and not thrashing around having a nightmare.

He was so tiny. And something was hunting him.

As he prepared for bed, Sam couldn't stop theories and questions from running through his head. He couldn't stop trying to figure out what the Hollow Child wanted and what they could do to counter it. He didn't like admitting it, but Dean was right: they needed Dad here. John Winchester was an obsessive control freak with paranoid tendencies, but he was a damn fine hunter. Although, he probably wouldn't be able to see the creature, either, Sam realized. So it was back to keeping Adam feeling happy and safe.

When his mind ran out of thoughts on their current hunt, Sam realized he was all alone. In his own room. By himself.

No Dean twitching and breathing in the other bed.

No Dad snoring like a steam engine in the other room.

No semi-trucks blowing their air horns on the highway.

Quiet.

He rolled onto his other side.

He wondered if Dean had put that huge-ass knife under his pillow, even here. He probably had. Half the time, Sam thought that knife was Dean's security blanket.

It was really quiet.

That's why he heard it: a noise like a mouse squeaking, two or three times. Followed by a soft cry. It came from Adam's room.

The Hollow Child was attacking Adam!

Sam sat straight up. His heart pounded and he turned clammy, cold sweat covering his body. He was halfway to the door when he heard the soft thump of little feet hitting the floor. He opened the door in time to see Adam padding quickly down the hall to his mother's room.

Shit, the kid was probably half asleep and forgot that his mom wasn't there anymore. Instead, Adam was going to find Dean and wake him up, and that wouldn't be good. Dean would be asleep, hand on his knife, and he'd know—even asleep—that whatever was approaching wasn't Sam or Dad.

Sam threw back the covers and took off after Adam. He almost called his baby brother's name, but his socks didn't give him any traction on the hardwood floors, and he slid into a knick-knack table. The corner hit his diaphragm and it was hard to breathe let alone call out. By the time he could right himself, it was too late. Adam had opened this mother's bedroom door and was standing at the bed.

"Dude? Whazzup?" Sam heard Dean say, followed by "Nightmare? Ah man, sucks."

Then the covers lifted and Adam crawled up into the bed, and Sam's jaw dropped. Dean had… He was… He just…

Why was Sam surprised? Dean had always had a soft spot for kids. Dean had always let Sam share his bed when Sam had a nightmare. This was no different. Except it was, somehow. It was.

"You coming too, Sammy?" Dean's voice floated out of the darkened bedroom. "You c'n take his back."

"It's Sam," he said with a grumpy frown. He shifted his weight, realizing that his toes were friggin' cold now that he wasn't wrapped in blankets.

"Well, c'mon, Sam," Dean said. "In or out?"

"Wan' Sammy too," Adam said, voice shaky and subdued.

"There you go, Sam. The dude has spoken." Dean mocked. "Now, hop in before you turn into a Sam-sicle."

So Sam crawled in behind Adam. His little brother, who was tucked under Dean's chin just like Sam used to when he was Adam's age. Or a little older. Now it was Adam there, because Adam needed it. Sam wasn't upset; it was just weird, that's all.

He didn't know what to do with his hands.

Adam solved that problem by reaching back, grabbing his arm, and pulling it around himself. Then the kid hugged it like it was a teddy bear. "Can't get me now," Adam mumbled.

"No, kid," Dean agreed, his voice a whisper in the dark. "It can't get you now. We've got you. Me and Sam won't let it get you." Then Dean started humming something nice, and comforting, and familiar, and Sam hardly even noticed when he fell asleep.