This chapter was actually kind of fun to write, twist and all. I hope you enjoy it. :)

As usual, I own only spelling mistakes, and maybe a plot twist and a cliffhanger here and there.

Chapter 8. The Enemy Within

The hours passed by slowly, making the three occupants of the panic room twitch with anxiety. Not helping, Sam had long since woken up and was just a bundle of energy, darting around the room in an attempt to burn it off and crawling all over his older brother and Bobby, prattling on and on.

"De, are the monsters gone?"

"Unca Bobby, how long we have tah be in here?"

"I'm hungry."

"Deanie, can we go out now?"

"Unca Bobby, I wants a story!"

Then the worst one.

"I got to go."

"Go?" Bobby asked. "What you mean—?" Then Sam began hopping around on one foot, holding his hands low, and the old hunter knew. "Oh… Oh!"

"Unca Bobby, I really got to go!"

"Shit," Dean said. "Bobby, where's the bedpan?"

"Here." Bobby found it and passed it over to Sam, who looked at it curiously. "Well, don't just stare at it, boy, go over in the corner there and do ya business!"

Sam blinked. "But you're watching…"

Bobby sighed and smacked his forehead, but Dean chuckled. "Sammy, I pretty much raised you and Bobby baby-sat on occasion; it's not like we haven't seen it before."

"If it bothers you that much, we'll turn around," Bobby added.

"You might peek!"

Dean rubbed his face with one hand. Oh boy…

Bobby looked at his watch and stood up.

"Where're you going?" Dean asked.

"To look around and see what damage those hell spawn caused," Bobby replied. "It's been nearly five hours since we heard anything." He hefted his shotgun at Dean's worried look. "Don't worry, it's not like I'm going unprepared. But this will give Sam his privacy and a chance for me to raid my fridge, if it's still standing. Rations just aren't fit for a growing boy…"

Sam grabbed his nether regions again. "Unca Bobby, jus' go!"

Bobby shook his head in disbelief and, however cautiously, headed out of the panic room and up the stairs.

Sam looked over at Dean, looking like he was about to burst. "De, out!"

"No," Dean said. "I'm not leaving you alone."

Sam's face scrunched up. "Out the door, not leave."

Dean frowned but got the message. "'kay, but I'm not shutting it all the way. If you have any problems—"

"Dean! I's a big boy; can take care of myself!"

"Sure you can," Dean smiled slightly. "But like I said, I'll be right here." He stepped out and shut the door partway.

"No peeking!"

"No way, little man," Dean replied with a bit more humor.

It was short-lived as a thunderous crash followed by a shout came from above.

"DEAN!"

Dean jumped forward, then remembered Sam. He swung around and jerked open the door, Sam just finished pulling up his pants.

"De-?" he squeaked. He'd heard Bobby's cry.

"Sammy, I need you to listen to me," Dean ordered. "I'm going to close the door and you're not to move until I get back. You got that?"

Sam nodded.

Dean knew he could trust Sam and he pushed the door shut, bolting the lock for extra measure. Careful not to disturb the salt line, he leapt over it and sprang up the stairs. "Bobby!"

Inside the panic room, Sam moved back to his corner and huddled beneath the blankets. He grabbed Cubby and pressed his face into the dark fur, choking back a sob. Like he said, he was a big boy. Big boys didn't cry. He would be brave for Dean, because Dean was brave too. Dean was off fighting monsters.

Sam buried himself deeper into the covers as more loud noises reached his ears, the bangs and crashes drilling worry into his heart. Dean would defeat the monsters. He had to.

Upstairs, Dean certainly had his hands full. Demons had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, swarming over the house like a plague of locusts. Bobby was holding his own across the living room, throwing salt and holy water and spitting Latin verses into the air.

Demons screeched in anger, scrambling over furniture and knocking the piled books all over the place as they tried to overpower the hunters. Dean shot several demons with his .45, knowing that it wouldn't stop them but hoping it would at least slow them down. He was backed into the kitchenette, being forced away from Bobby. He cursed, then spotted an iron skillet hanging from the ceiling and grabbed it. Tossing his .45 to the side, he swung the skillet and smashed it against the side of one possessed man's head. He sank to the floor, coughing, black smoke pouring from his mouth and disappearing into the evening air.

One down, a hundred to go.

Dean needed something else. A skillet wasn't much against the growing number of demons. A bag of regular salt sat on the counter and he snatched it up. Not nearly as good as rock salt, but still good in a pinch.

He smirked at his own little joke.

"Dean Winchester!" Another man charged him, black eyes filled with wrath.

Uh, oh. Dean tore the salt bag open in one deft move and flung a fistful. The man screamed as it made contact with his skin, and Dean took the chance to swipe a line of salt across the floor, cutting off the group of demons that had followed him into the kitchen. There was not enough salt to do a full circle, but he at least had one side covered. He tossed the empty bag aside and spun on his heel to face the other doorway.

But any idea he'd had to fight suddenly vanished, replaced by shear shock. "Wha—?"

He was unable to finish his sentence as a fist slammed solidly into his face. Dean blinked fuzzily, trying to make sense of what he was seeing even as his body bent over backwards on a collision course for the floor.

"Sorry." Familiar green eyes twinkled, not sorry at all. "But your luck just expired."

.x.x.x.

Bobby had managed to actually exorcise several demons, trapping several under hidden Devil's Traps that he had littered around his house just for situations like this, and somehow managing to imprison others in a circle of salt. Thankful that he'd memorized a few exorcisms, he had sent them back to the depths of Hell, leaving those who'd been possessed lying around wondering how they'd gotten there.

Where the Hell was Dean?
Then he saw him, moving towards the staircase to the basement. "Dean!" he shouted over the commotion.

The younger man turned, and thought he looked disheveled and a bit worse for wear, Bobby was relieved to see that he was otherwise unharmed, or at least as he could make out from where he stood. Dean gave a nod, and seeing that Bobby was in no immediate danger of being overwhelmed anymore, disappeared downstairs.

Indeed, the demons were slowly dispersing, though Bobby felt a nagging sensation at the back of his brain, a bad feeling. He didn't have them often, but when he did, it was usually bad news.

.x.x.x.

Sam squirmed uncomfortably, but thankfully the terrible sounds from above were beginning to die down. Did Dean and his Uncle Bobby win? Were they okay?

A small clang tore him out of his questioning thoughts and he stared at the door. It opened, and he smiled broadly as his big brother poked his head in. "Sam, we need to go, now!"

Sam blinked. "Where's Unca Bobby?"

"Upstairs." Dean stepped into the room and yanked the blankets off of Sam. "C'mon, we have to hurry."

"Why?"

A strange look flashed across Dean's face, almost angry, and Sam pulled back.

"Don't question me," Dean barked. "The monsters are coming and they're going to eat you up is you don't come with me now!"

Sam stood up, clutching Cubby tightly to his chest. If Dean said the monsters were coming, he believed him. He held out a hand.

Dean pushed it away and hoisted Sam up. "Sam, drop the damn dog."

"But—"

"NOW."

Dean's tone left no room for argument, and Sam reluctantly let go of Cubby, watching the large toy plop onto the stone floor. He was unable to stop the tears the streaked down his cheeks. What had gotten into his brother? Why was Dean being so mean?

He would get no answers as he was held tight and Dean ran down the hallway and back up to the top floor. Sam winced at being bounced up and down, but said nothing. He was now more focused on the group of strange people turned his way, their eyes flicking to liquid black. He squeaked.

Monsters. They were monsters.

He could hear his Uncle Bobby shouting in a language he didn't know from somewhere nearby. Was he okay? Were the monsters going to eat him?

The thought churned his tummy unpleasantly.

Focused on something else entirely, Dean moved swiftly through the house and out the back door into the darkened junkyard, heading for one of the working vehicles.

"De, why we taking Unca Bobby's truck?" Sam dared to ask as Dean pulled open the door of the old Dodge and pushed him inside. The Impala was only a few yards away, and Dean never went anywhere without his car.

Dean didn't answer as he slammed the door shut and darted around to the driver's side. He pulled down the visor where the keys were hidden and stuck them into the ignition.

"Deanie? Wha' about Unca Bobby?"

"Dammit, do you ever shut up?" Dean snapped. "Annoying little brat…"

Tears welled up in Sam's eyes. "Y-you're not Dean. You're not my brother."

Dean snarled. "I said shut up!" He turned in his seat and grabbed a handful of Sam's long hair. Sam screamed and twisted around, but was no match for the adult, and with terrible force, 'Dean' slammed his head against the dashboard. Sam slumped against the door, out cold, a thin trickle of blood trailing down the side of his face.

"Obnoxious brat," 'Dean' muttered. He pressed down on the gas pedal, and with a squeal of tires, sped out of the junkyard and down towards the highway. There was a blare of a car horn as he narrowly missed another vehicle coming from the opposite direction. The headlights washed over the Dodge, striking him in the face. He hissed, eyes flashing white.

Angered, he jerked the wheel, forcing the car off the road where it narrowly missed hitting a tree, and continued on his way. He had a delivery to make and no one was going to stop him.

He pressed the pedal down to the floor, barreling down the highway and leaving Singer Salvage and the hunters far behind.

Hope the fight/action scene was okay. It was the first time I've ever written one.

Reviews are hugs for little Sammy! Who really needs them, too! *cries over hurt Sam*