AN: I know it's been a long wait for this chapter and I apologize. With that said, this isn't even a terribly exciting chapter, but I will do my best to get the next one out a whole lot faster!

As always, this chapter was beta'd and much improved by Janice.

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Morning came too early for Sam again. At least his nightmares were vague and not memorable, though they still left the far too familiar sick, cold-yet-sweaty feeling of lingering fear. Sam hated waking Dean but took a quick shower anyway. "Go back to sleep. I'm grabbing coffee," he murmured to Dean as he dressed, getting enough of a grunt in response that he knew Dean wasn't going to protest.

It was a crap shoot how Dean would react when Sam got up in the wee hours of the morning. Rarely, he didn't wake up. Sometimes he woke up and argued with Sam to go back to sleep like it was that easy. Sometimes he flat-out ordered Sam to go back to bed. And sometimes he kind of deflated and let it go. The last was the easiest because no matter what Dean did, Sam couldn't sleep once he'd woken from a nightmare. (It was a shame that the "Super Dean Wand of Ganking Nightmares" that Dean had invented in their childhood no longer worked.)

Sam slipped out the door and took a moment to appreciate the quiet. It was so early that it was almost late. He'd gotten no more than two hours of sleep. The sky was just beginning to lighten slightly, the sun still a long ways from rising. It was cooler than Sam had expected, fog curling just above the tips of the blades of grass here and there.

Despite his comment about coffee, Sam doubted that there was anything in all of Tema open. Nevertheless, he started walking toward the gas station about three quarters of a mile away that he figured was his best bet. Halfway through the walk, it started to drizzle. Lovely.

To Sam's surprise and relief, all the gas station lights were on and there was someone behind the counter.

When the bell jangled from Sam opening the door, the guy jumped badly. He was pushing thirty and had a greasy blond mullet. And he looked completely freaked out.

"You okay, man?" Sam asked as he went to the coffee and chose Darkest Roast.

'Brian,' according to his nametag, turned wide and slightly bloodshot eyes toward Sam. "Dude, there's something out there," he answered. Sam frowned a touch, noticing the guy's hands were actually shaking. He looked like the type to self-medicate, but this was genuine fear.

"Something like what?" Sam asked. He set his coffee down and propped his hip against the counter in an I'm-listening-and-not-in-a-hurry pose that encouraged shared confidences. He took his time to dig out two dollar bills, hoping his calm demeanor would help the other man calm down a little.

"I dunno. Like, like a shadow. A shadow the size of, like, an elephant. And moving around on its own. So not like a shadow shadow. Ya know?" He looked at Sam hopefully, like he was willing him to believe his words.

"That's so weird," Sam answered, tapping the money he'd dropped on the counter to remind the guy to pick it up. "Where was it? Did it stick around?"

Brian looked pathetically grateful that Sam didn't make fun of him. Instead of taking the money, he lit a cigarette. "It was over there. Went back and forth a coupla times and left." He pointed in the opposite direction from the main part of town. He was still trembling. "I gotta walk home that way! And didn't that one kid say somethin' like that ate Mike? I'd call the cops, but they'd just laugh at me."

"You know Mike Wilson?" Sam asked, perking up.

"Yeah, he an' his old man live, like, a mile from me." Brian took a long drag. "I figured he had enough of getting his ass beat, ya know? That his buddy was high or covering for him. But now I saw it."

"It?" Sam asked by reflex. "What did it look like?"

"It was some government experiment, trust me." Brian was all earnest, leaning forward with both hands on the counter and his cig in danger of dropping ash into the Need a Penny, Take a Penny, Got a Penny, Leave a Penny container. "They've been trying to, like, genetically modify bears and stuff for years. And sometimes that shit escapes." He was almost in Sam's face, and Sam rescued his money and stepped back. If Brian didn't want to take it, he wasn't going to push the issue over two bucks.

"Did it look like a bear?" Sam pushed. The term 'shadow' didn't bring to mind a black dog exactly, but 'bear' did. Because of the creatures' size, people often thought they'd seen a bear, though a closer look would have revealed that they most closely resembled huge, broad-chested wolves.

"No, just this big, blobby shadow. I swear it was looking for a way in!" Brian's voice rose. "What if it's after me now? How do you kill a mutant bear experiment?"

"It was – solid? You couldn't see through it?" Sam pressed. He didn't know if Brian was a good witness, but the parking lot was well-lit and he might have gotten a clear look at the thing through the glass walls despite the fog.

Brian frowned at the question, a little of the wildness finally going out of his eyes as he had to actually think about it. "Yeah. I didn't imagine it. I mean, at first I thought I did, but it was there, man!"

"I believe you," Sam said honestly. His coffee was nearly gone so he went for a refill. It wasn't half bad for gas station coffee, especially at such an ungodly hour. He looked down the road as far as he could see. It looked like the rain wasn't stopping. He was going to be soaked by the time he got back to the room, and Dean would be pissed if he got the car seat all wet. But the chance to get a look at whatever they were facing was too good to pass along. "How long ago?"

"Ten minutes tops." Brian lit a new cigarette from the old one. "You really believe me, doncha?"

"Yeah, I really do." Sam made a decision, though that would probably also piss Dean off. "I'm Sam. My brother and I are paranormal investigators, so I've seen plenty that most people wouldn't believe. You said it went that way?" He knew Dean wanted to go in as feds, but it still made Sam really uncomfortable. Besides, it didn't sound like Brian had a lot of trust for anyone representing the government. "Have you ever heard any stories about something like this before? You know, legends from the area or anything?"

Brian shook his head no. "I've lived here my whole life and the weirdest shit I ever heard before was that the youngest Clay kid had an extra toe. And Old Man Brouwer sometimes drinks kerosene just to prove he can do it." Brian shrugged. He kept staring the direction he'd said the "big blob" had gone.

"Okay, thanks. Hey, if you see something else weird, could you give me a call?" Sam dug out a receipt and wrote Sam and his phone number.

"You aren't going out there, are you? Are you insane?! " Brian had finally started calming down but ramped right back up when Sam made as if to leave.

Sam smiled reassuringly, filling up his coffee again and not even feeling guilty for not paying. "I'm heading back to my motel," he said. "Opposite direction." He grabbed one more coffee for Dean.

Brian argued with Sam, offered him a ride with a buddy who he was going to get to pick him up in an hour, and basically worked himself into a frenzy, convinced that Sam was going to get eaten. Sam wasn't worried. For one thing, he didn't feel a whole lot lately, much less something as mundane as worry for himself. For another, the sun was coming up, and most monsters far preferred to hunt in the dark. And finally, he was armed with a gun and an iron knife, not to mention the salt packets he had in his pocket. (Arming up like that made him feel like a freak, but he didn't want Dean to yell at him if he went without.)

Brian wouldn't give up and finally, Sam just left, appreciative of the concern but unwilling to wait.

The rain tapered off to finally end when he was about halfway back, so Sam followed his nose and found a bakery. It wasn't technically open yet, but he must have looked pretty pathetic dripping wet because the sole employee inside gave him a free box of still-steaming apple muffins with sugar crystals on top.

Unfortunately, by the time Sam made it back to the motel, Dean was up. He had his phone in his hand and looked pissed. He set it down as Sam walked in, folding his arms over his chest. "What the hell, Sam? You just walking around alone in the dark when we know there's something grabbing people? Have you forgotten everything Dad taught us? Everything I taught you?"

A trickle of something – insecurity? Maybe the old resentment Sam felt when Dean told him what to do? – wormed its way through Sam and he tried to hold onto it, so tired of feeling nothing but tired. He sighed. "Couldn't sleep. I'm armed. I brought breakfast."

He knew it wasn't what Dean had expected (maybe hoped for) in response when Dean's expression leached of anger and edged on concern. He sort of wished that Dean would stay angry. That was easier to deal with and always had a short shelf life before Dean decided to get over it. But he didn't know how to be the brother Dean remembered at the moment. Not when grief and guilt still colored his every minute.

"Sam –" Sam hated the pleading, worried tone his brother had.

"Sorry," he tried. "The, uh, guy at the gas station saw something." He handed the bag to Dean, hoping either the subject change or the smell of apple-y goodness would stop that intent stare.

Dean waited one more second before taking the bag, a cue that Sam would probably understand when he wasn't so tired. He felt out of step with Dean and was sure that that, like most things, was his fault. Probably because he'd gone off to school, abandoning the family according to Dad. He wondered if they'd ever really be in sync again.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his hair, a sure sign that he was upset. "It's – just don't go out alone, huh? It isn't safe."

There was that resentment, a little stronger now. "Yeah, I'll stop going out alone when you do."

"Stop being an ass! I'm trying to look out for you."

A bubble of actual anger broke through Sam's weary apathy. Dean was acting like Sam was a little kid who couldn't handle himself. "I was eight when I was left alone overnight the first time," he reminded Dean. "And I spent the last four years walking home alone from the library after dark more nights than not. Even fought off a wannabe mugger. I'm not about to start hiding behind you." Dean's eyes flashed.

"I hope when you were a kid you were smart enough not to go out at night and put yourself in danger," he snapped back. "And just because you were stupid when you were off playing college boy doesn't mean I'm gonna let you get away with it."

Sam laughed. He knew it was mean as soon as he did, but Dean reducing his dreams of doing something he thought was truly good to "playing college boy" hurt. "Right. I forgot. The only thing that really matters is killing monsters. Everything else is a waste of time. You should be happy I was out learning about the case." His anger died a quick death when Dean winced. Sam dropped into a chair. "Eat your breakfast, and I'll tell you what gas station Brian had to say." His voice just sounded tired again.

Dean pawed through the bag a moment, clearly a delaying tactic. Sam let him have it since he really didn't want to fight and the set of Dean's jaw said he was angry. He plopped a muffin in front of Sam and took another for himself then parked his ass on the end of his bed. "I never told you that killing monsters is the only thing that matters. And just because you're, like, a giant now doesn't mean I'm going to stop worrying about you, especially when you do stupid shit. You're still my little brother, bitch." He was offering an olive branch while also letting Sam know he wasn't going to apologize.

Sam wasn't going to either, but he appreciated the gesture. He broke off a bit of the top of his muffin. "Then you can't complain when I worry about my jerk of a big brother."

Dean opened his mouth, then shut it again. "Eat," he said. Sam could tell that he still wasn't happy but felt guilty about the crack about college. Sometimes (when he noticed), Sam appreciated the extra leeway Dean had been giving since Jess. And sometimes it pissed him off inordinately. No wonder Dean didn't know how to deal with him...he didn't know how to deal with himself.

Dean scolding him to eat was oddly comforting and made Sam feel like they were at least closer to being on familiar footing again. He took a small bite. He was grateful to find out that it was really good because eating was kind of a chore lately. They ate quietly, and Dean seemed content with Sam finishing one muffin while he ate the other three.

"You fought off a mugger?" Dean asked curiously. So Sam told him about the tweaker who'd tried to shake down him and Jessica when they were walking back from a movie.

"We probably had twenty bucks between us, so I probably should've just given it to him, but he threatened J-jess," Sam explained. "I got his knife and threw it down the alley and broke his nose. Might've dislocated his shoulder. I had to convince Jess it wasn't worth calling the police. She was freaked out, but proud of me too."

"Of course she was," Dean looked kind of proud himself and despite Sam's prevailing numbness, he felt a flicker of pleasure from making his big brother proud. "You idiot. You weren't armed?"

Sam shook his head and gathered the trash, the moment broken. He didn't want to think about himself as a carefree student any longer. "So, let me tell you about this shadow thing that Brian saw."

Dean started frowning before Sam finished his little story. Then, infinitely worse, he looked at Sam with almost pity, all too reminiscent of I'm-the-big-brother-and-I-know-best mien that Dean wore 24/7 when he was a teenager. Maybe Sam shouldn't have told him about Brian's declaration that he couldn't wait to go home and "smoke it all away."

"I think we should go look around the station and maybe take the EMF –" Sam concluded.

"Look, Sam, I'm glad you're all in for hunting now, but don't you think you're reaching a little here? You wanna change our whole plan for the day because some sleep-deprived stoner saw a shadow?" Sam grit his teeth and reminded himself that Dean probably didn't mean to come off as condescending as he sounded.

"You didn't see him, Dean." Sam scowled. "He was really scared. I still can read people, you know."

Dean opened his mouth then paused and took a deep breath before speaking. That was unexpected. He wasn't exactly a guy who parsed his words carefully. Sam again felt the push-pull of appreciating the concern and resenting it. "I know you can. We'll talk to him. But I'd like to check out the museum first and talk to the families of the missing. See if we can figure out the connection."

A hint of defiance flickered through Sam, the old feeling of you-never-listen-to-me but it died just as quickly. It didn't feel worth fighting over. Besides, maybe he was rusty. After all, he'd missed all the obvious signs and gotten Jessica ki--

"Yeah, fine," Sam said to halt that train of thought. Something like regret or worry flashed in Dean's eyes. Sam looked away, but whatever had bothered him, Dean dropped it for once. Sam stifled a sigh as Dean got up to take a shower.

Even though everyone they went to see was home as it was a Sunday, the whole morning was frustrating for Sam. He still felt like he'd found a real lead and that Dean was dismissing it.

The families ran quite a gamut of socioeconomic strata and family structures.

Evan's family lived in a modest but very cozy home. Both parents, both younger siblings, and even a grandma were there. They all looked like they'd been crying and not sleeping. They didn't care about who Sam and Dean were, too eager to do anything to help find their son. Mike, too, actually. They spoke of him with real worry and affection. And when Sam was ostensibly looking for the bathroom, the little girl told him that she knew for a fact that Evan and Mike planned to check out the museum and possibly help themselves.

"Some big museum's taking all the stuff anyway," she justified. "So they figured it didn't matter if they sold some of it to help Mikey out. His dad's real mean to him." Her gimlet-eyed grandmother called her away before Sam could ask any more questions.

The dog-walking businessman Paxton lived in a McMansion. His wife had the attractively well-preserved look of many older wealthy woman. She perched on the edge of the couch for their whole (useless) interview wringing her hands and saying how her husband never deviated from his routine. She was too distracted to ask for credentials either.

Mike's father lived in a single wide on about an acre of unmowed lawn. The place wasn't in bad shape, just unkempt and unloved. He was lean and white-haired and dirty, the kind of dirty that takes a long time to achieve. There was a faint smell of booze over the body odor to complete the picture. He looked a whole lot older than he actually was. He swore at them and insisted that Mike was an ungrateful son of a bitch who had run off and not to bother him again.

When they gave up on the asshole, they found a police car sitting next to the Impala.

The cop gave them a faux-friendly smile and not-so-subtly wanted to know who they were and why they were bothering the people of Tema "in their time of grief." Sam knew without thinking too hard that it was Mrs. Paxton who'd called the cops. He also knew that Dean disliked the guy on sight and was about to say something that could make their stay in town a whole lot less comfortable.

"We're paranormal investigators, Officer," Sam said quickly. "We've been respectful with everyone we spoke to and didn't badger anyone into talking to us."

The cop and Dean both looked unimpressed. "How did you find out about this? Did someone call you?" the cop probed.

"That's confidential," Dean said smugly. No matter their reasons for asking questions, they hadn't done a single thing against the law.

Before the officer and Dean could get into a measuring contest (because the testosterone was flowing and they were both clearly posturing), Sam spoke again. "We won't interfere with the police. We're here to help if we can. Simple as that."

Dean rolled his eyes and the cop glared at them both until the latter finally realized they weren't intimidated. He all but stomped off, but no punches were thrown and they didn't get arrested, so Sam counted it as a win.

Dean was pissy about it and bitched about nosy cops making their jobs harder and Sam taking away his chance to act like a fed and lord it over them. Sam knew it was partly Dean's reaction to talking to all the scared yet hopeful families of the missing. As long as Sam had been coming along on interviews like those, Dean had struggled with them. Not struggled to do a good job, but struggled seeing the grief of the mourning and the probably fruitless hope of those whose loved ones were missing.

So instead of rising to the increasing absurd complaints ("You can't trust a town without sidewalks." was a pretty good one, but "Why are barns red? Cows can't even see color!" was patently ridiculous), Sam announced that he was hungry. He was going to imperiously demand that Dean take him to the diner in the center of town. It would give Dean something real to complain about and get him to eat at the place he'd enjoy the most. But Sam, to his shame, couldn't summon the energy. He'd like to blame it on the case or irritation with Dean for refusing to consider that Brian might actually have seen something, but he knew it was still this deep, abiding mourning for Jessica.

It was almost worse now that Sam could see it. At first, he'd been so lost in depression and its red-headed stepchild obsession that he hadn't realized that's what it was. Now he was starting to emerge just a little, and it was like that first day after a terrible stomach bug when you start to feel human again. You can eat, but only a little bland food, and you find that lying around all day feels claustrophobic, but you don't have the energy to do anything more.

"Are you pissed because we didn't go see the gas station dude yet?" Dean asked, side-eyeing Sam as he pulled into the parking lot of Grampa's Grub.

Sam realized that he'd been sitting in silence. Oops. "Nah. As long as we go after this. I'm just hungry." You're hangry and won't admit it unless I say I'm hungry.

Luckily, the food was good and the waitress Dean's kind of attentive and Sam felt himself cheer up a little too. That is, until they got to Brian's home. He lived in a modular home that was a lot nicer and better kept than the one Mike lived in, though the yard was no better groomed.

Brian was home and more than ready to relate his tale. And he was higher than a hot air balloon. Naturally, the story grew in the retelling, making Brian a very unreliable witness and making Sam look like a moron for believing him.

"An', an' now I think of it, I think it had these beady little red eyes," Brian was saying, not seeming to notice that they were leaving. Sam was pretty sure he was actually talking to his pet boa constrictor Clyde anyway, having forgotten he had company.

"Whew!" said Dean as they climbed back in the car. He threw a jaunty wave at the cop who "happened" to be parked down the road. He'd "happened" to show up at the diner too. "That dude was baked. Like 'I smoked weed with Sasquatch' kind of high." (Once, while Bobby was high as a kite on painkillers, he'd told the boys he'd once eaten special brownies with a bigfoot. That expression had become the Winchester code for 'stoned out of your mind.')

"He wasn't high earlier," Sam said, sounding sulky to his own ears.

"I dunno, man. Not sure anyone who has a lamp made out of a broken bong has the best credibility." Dean grinned. Sam ground his teeth. How do you argue with that? He believed Brian, but he didn't have anything to back up that belief, so he kept his mouth shut and tried not to let himself get too irritated.

They went to the library next, and all the annoying little things Dean did that would normally just make Sam roll his eyes instead were like nails on a chalk board.

In the first half hour alone, Dean flirted with the librarian (who was twice his age), hit the bathroom, and went searching for a vending machine. When he actually settled down to do some reading, he put his feet on the table, got Cheeto dust on the notes Sam was taking, and almost got them kicked out when he got caught drinking a liter of Coke, which he went outside to finish. When he returned, they had a quiet (but heated) argument about Sam choosing to search using keywords like "mysterious shadow" and "smoke." Dean declared that he'd find the information himself and promptly broke the microfiche machine when he got impatient and cranked it too fast. They both settled down with their own research...except then Dean couldn't seem to stop whistling Orgasmatron over and over. It was actually a relief that he had to use the bathroom every fifteen minutes.

It was a bit like trying to study while watching a pair of three-year-olds on a sugar high.

Finally, Sam sat up straight, cracking his back. "Dean, you're my brother and you mean the world to me. But if one of us doesn't leave for a while, I might stab you."

Dean stood up with an air of martyrdom that couldn't quite disguise his relief. "I'll find us some food and pick you up in, like, an hour," he promised. "I'll drive around for a while first. Give our cop buddy something to do."

"Sounds good."

Dean gave Sam a crooked little grin, the kind that made him look like he was 15. "This was fun. It was just like bugging you while you tried to do homework!"

Against his will, Sam smiled back. "Yeah, well now I can kick your ass, so get outta here."

Dean just laughed and walked out.

Sam went back to the book he'd found that a local historian had written back in the mid 1800's. The Native American tribe from the area was already nearly extinct by then (and in current times had disappeared completely), so this historian had written down all the legends and stories the remnants would tell him. Sam was just losing himself in the stories when his phone rang.

"Yeah," he said by way of greeting, assuming it was his brother. "Just get me whatever."

"Sam! You gotta help me! It's here! It's outside my house!"

The voice was so hysterical that it took Sam a second to place it. "Brian? What did you see? Talk to me!"

"It's – shit! No! Sam!!"

There were some shuffling noises and the sound of footsteps, then a crunch and the phone went dead.

Sam swore and swept a few books into the bag he'd brought in and ran outside, calling Brian back. It went straight to voicemail, so Sam quickly called Dean.

"You've reached the man, the myth, the legend. Leave a message."

"Dean!" Sam snapped, frustrated. "Brian just called me and it sounds like he's in big trouble. I'm going to...um...borrow a car and head over there. Just – I know you think he's a stoner, but just meet me there, will you?"

Sam knew what to do. He sprinted down the street to their motel. The owner operator had tried to sell them his car when they'd checked in, saying his kids thought his eyes were too bad to drive. "It hasn't moved in six months, but I start it every couple days," he'd said, waving toward a Grand Marquis standing in the grass behind the motel.

Praying the guy hadn't lied about the car still running, Sam tried the door. Not only was it unlocked, the car keys were above the visor. Sam tried both Brian and Dean once more as he drove, not reaching either one.

Darkness had fully fallen while he was in the library and he nearly missed his turn, but only a few minutes later Sam pulled up in front of Brian's home. He pulled his gun but held it down by his side. It might be dark, but it wasn't real late. He didn't really want somebody seeing him with a weapon and calling the enthusiastic cop.

Sam pushed open the front door – unlocked like pretty much everything else in this town seemed to be – and called Brian's name. There were lights on and nothing too out of place from their earlier visit. If there had been some kind of struggle, it had been brief or outside.

Walking around cautiously, Sam started to call out once more but stopped himself when he noticed two things: Brian's phone was on the floor with the screen smashed, and Clyde's cage was empty. He stepped toward the cage and looked between it and the wall but there was no sign of the snake. Sam was headed to check out the bedroom when movement caught his eye. Just past the still-open front door, a shadow detached itself from the wall.

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AN: Not many references. Orgasmatron is a song by Mötorhead. (A terrible song, IMO.)

The missing tribe I reference is not real, though more than a few Native American tribes and groups have been completely obliterated in our history.

bagelcat1: How nice to see your name pop up! Happy to have you reading. Enjoy your traveling and I'll bask in the thought that reading my stories is something you look forward to.

Jenjoremy: It's fun to write them when they're so fresh-faced and shiny! LOL. I definitely have Sam still in mourning here. I hope it's not too over the top and depressing. A few more clues as to what's going on here, but not much.

sylvia37: Thanks! It's such a throw-back isn't it?

Colby's girl: I'm so glad you tell me that. I definitely set a lot of stories early precisely because a number of readers have said they like that. Sorry for the long wait!

Shazza19: Sorry for the really long wait – hope you had a great trip! It's warm here, but fall's already in the air some nights.

Timelady66: Nah, how could I hate you? I had Sam not wanting them to go in as feds anyway. But didn't Dean introduce them as feds in the pilot? Maybe I'm remembering wrong, but I could swear a cop said they seemed young and he thanked him for the compliment. Oh, well. Either way, our baby faced boys found a different cover for this one. Thanks for the nice kudos...and then I went and disappeared. Oops. I completely cracked up at your vignette with Crowley. No kidding about thin young Sam and Dean with those insane eyelashes!

sfaulkenberry: I'm sure it's no secret that I love those little moments! And who doesn't adore the guys when they were so young? Baby might just be favorite episode.

Christine: I'm sorry you had to wait so long for this chapter! Life conspired against me writing for a while there. So, you don't think it's straightforward? I wonder why...?

muffinroo: OMG! That's so funny! I hope it's going well and the 29 little darlings are well behaved for you. So, you want hurt and angst? Hmmm...that may just happen...

Kathy: You are so nice! You perfectly described what I had in mind for the intro and "fade to black." I know I promised a Weechesters story soon but I hope this is acceptable for now. :-)