"No, Dad, I think it's this way."

John Winchester turned slowly back to his younger son. "I'm sorry?" he said in a quiet voice that had his oldest backing up a step, even though it wasn't directed at him.

Sam pulled his lower lip between his teeth, taking a deep breath before straightening to his non-awesome height of 5'-4" and looking slightly up at his highly annoyed parent. After 15 years, he knew their father's tones as well as his older brother Dean did, and there had been a time and a place when that tone would've had Sam stammering and backing down.

But that time was not now. That place was not here. He couldn't back down, when he knew he was right and there were lives on the line.

"It's the right tunnel," Sam said evenly, not breaking eye contact with his Alpha Male Hunter father. "If we go left, like you said, we won't find them."

Dean could almost see the steam coming out of his father's ears and took two steps forward, and slightly to his left, moving to subtly put himself between his father and little brother; trying to keep their dad's wrath from exploding at the teen. Again.

"Really, Sammy?" John snapped. "You'll even argue with me on a hunt, when there are eight missing kids on the line."

"That's not what I'm doing," Sam argued. "I mean, yes, kind of, but only because that's the wrong way," he insisted, pointing to the left fork in the tunnel over his father's shoulder, "and there are eight lives on the line! We can't afford to waste time…"

"So my orders are a waste of time, are they?" John practically growled.

"That's not…." Sam began and winced when John took a step closer to the teen.

Winced, but didn't back down.

"You know, Dad," Dean said evenly, putting a note of thoughtful consideration into his voice, and fighting the irritation with what was left of his family.

"Don't you start, Dean!" John warned.

"I'm not, Dad, I promise, I'm not," Dean said levelly. "But it occurs to me," he said, slowing down his speech to his thoughtful Dean pace, "that there are two tunnels. And if we go left," he added deliberately avoiding saying your way, "then we have a 50/50 shot of finding the missing kids and ganking the fugly. And if we go right," again being cautious not to say Sam's way, "we have a 50/50 chance of finding the kids. BUT, if split up and go both ways...Then I figure that's a 100% chance that one of us will find the kids and be able to get them back. Right? And that's what we need to do, right? Save the kids, kill the monster. The family business, yeah?"

John took a deep, slow breath and nodded slowly. "That's good, Dean. That's a good idea."

Sam huffed out a breath, opened his mouth to say something that would undoubtedly piss John off, but snapped his mouth shut when Dean lightly put his heel on the toe of Sam's boot.

"Okay," John nodded. "We split up. I'll go left, and you go right." He stopped and sent a narrow-eyed look to his younger boy. "And when one of us realizes they've gone the wrong way, turn around and go down the other tunnel to help actually save the kids and kill the bitch."

"Yes, sir!" Sam said, with just a little too much enthusiasm.

"Yes, sir," Dean repeated, calmly. "We'll rendezvous on whatever tunnel is correct."

"You remember how to kill this thing?"

"Yes, sir," Sam assured him. "That's the only point the lore was consistent on: decapitation, preferably followed by incineration. And don't let the head stay within 3 feet of the body, or it'll reattach."

"Which is just so cool!" Dean blurted out and stopped, instantly making himself frown deeply and shake his head, as both father and brother turned their heads to look at him incredulously. "And terrible, and dangerous, and yeah, definitely keep the head separated," he added.

"Right," John grimaced. "Let's go," he added and watched his sons turn away toward the tunnel in the system of old caves and tunnels that John had not wanted to go down. It was dark that way and the dirt floor was undisturbed - unlike the left tunnel, which both seemed to have an undefined light source in the distance and some faint scuff marks that could have been footprints. Or drag marks. The right tunnel gave no indication that anyone had been down that way at all in probably years, but he couldn't be 100% certain that Sammy's way wasn't correct. With eight young lives on the line, Dean was right, they couldn't take the chance. Which in no way excused his youngest son's argumentative attitude. "Watch each other's backs," he called after them and received two immediate yes, sirs in synchronous response. "And, Sam," he added and watched the teen hesitate a moment in walking away, "we're not done with this."

"No, sir," Sam agreed. "Never imagined we were, sir," he added and got a light punch in the arm from Dean before the pair took out their flashlights and rounded a bend in the tunnel, leaving John to go his own way.

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean said quietly, as he heard their father walk down the tunnel behind them. "Do you have to push him. Every. Damn. Time?"

Beside him, Sam sighed. "I really wasn't," he assured his brother. "I just...they're down this tunnel," he repeated, with a certainty that had Dean stopping and shining the light towards his brother — but pointed down a little so as not to blind the boy.

Sam stopped, and turned back to Dean, frowning. "What?"

"You really mean that," Dean mused. "You really think you know where they are."

"I do know where they are," Sam said with a defeated sort of sigh. "But I should've known Dad would never take my word for it. For anything. EVER." He shook his head sadly. "Hunting may not be what I want to do with the rest of my life, but that doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing now."

"I know that, Sammy. I do," Dean added when he caught the hopeful look in his little brother's eyes. "It's just...you can't just tell Dad 'NO'," he added and put a hand on Sammy's shoulder. "You know that's just going to rile him up, shut him down on you."

"And get my ass kicked," Sam added with a small laugh.

"That, too," Dean agreed with a grin, before pulling his hand away and shining the light down the tunnel again, as the pair started moving.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Just...thanks."

"Sure," Dean nodded and shot his brother a confused look. "For what, exactly?"

Sam chuckled softly. Typical of his big brother to never realize how much he did for Sam, every day. "For having my back. Again. Always."

Dean smiled. "Yep, that's me," he grinned, slowing down as they came to another fork in the tunnel, "big brother extraordinaire. Always backing up your play, Sammy!" he said with a little more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary.

Sam laughed and stepped up to the junction of two tunnel branches that formed the top of a 'Y' with the tunnel they came down.

"You're sure it's this way," Dean said, more of a statement than a question,

Sammy nodded and looked down each tunnel in silence. He closed his eyes and took a small step down the right fork; frowned and shook his head, opening his eyes to move slowly into the left fork, where he again closed his eyes, this time cocking his head slightly as if hearing something that Dean, watching his brother closely, could not detect.

Sam nodded to himself, and opened his eyes. "They're this way," he said confidently, pulling a small piece of chalk from his jacket pocket and marking an arrow on the wall of the tunnel they'd just left, pointing back the way they'd come.

"So the kids don't get lost," Sam explained, catching sight of Dean's puzzled look, "in case we're too busy to lead them out ourselves." He put another chalk mark, just an 'X' this time, on the wall of the left tunnel, before pocketing the chalk again.

"And that one's for…." Dean wondered, following Sam down the tunnel.

"Dad," Sam said simply. "So he knows where to find us when hits the dead end in his tunnel."

"Wait a minute," Dean frowned, and jogged forward to catch up to his brother. "Wait a minute!" he repeated, grabbing Sam by the elbow to pull him to a gentle stop.

Sam turned to face him, frowning. "What?" He demanded. "We're running out of time, Dean. One of those kids probably doesn't have another hour in him."

"And you know that how, exactly?" Dean challenged.

Sam's hazel eyes darkened to a muddy brown and he shook his head.

"Still have your back, squirt," Dean immediately assured him. "Just would like a little more information."

Sam sighed, and the darkness left his eyes, replaced by a lightening of color to a green-gold that, to Dean, expressed Sam's gratitude as easily as words. "I know," Sam nodded. "I know you do. And you deserve an explanation, you do…"

"THANK you!" Dean scoffed, well beyond the point of patiently waiting to know what the hell wild hair had gotten up his little brother's ass this time.

"...and I'll explain all of it, I will," Sam assured him and reached up to put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "We just don't have time now. She knows someone's after her, and that she's going to have to clean up her mess and move on, and soon."

"And you know this because…."

"I told you, we don't have time…" Sam began, frustrated, and pulled back from his brother, running his hand through his shaggy hair. "Look, Dean," he continued, as pleading and serious as his brother had ever seen him, "for right now, can you just go with me on this? I just know, okay? I'll explain how once the kids are safe, the monster is dead and Dad is gone on his next hunt."

"Wait," Dean shook his head. "You can't tell me while Dad's even in town? What the hell, Sammy?"

"It'll make sense, Dean, I swear it will," Sam implored. "Just...please! We're running out of time!"

"Okay, okay," Dean agreed, giving in to the certainty of the little brother he trusted more than anyone else; more than himself, sometimes. "I'll wait. Lead on, Macduff," he added, sweeping his hand forward.

Sam smirked and raised an eyebrow at his brother, stepping to the front and heading down the left tunnel. "Shakespeare," he grinned. "I'm almost impressed."

"I may not be a 4.0-straight-A geek like some people I could name," Dean grinned at Sammy's small — and expected — huff of annoyance, "but I do have my GED, Sammy. I've read a few things."

"I know you have, Dean," Sam smiled affectionately, even though Dean, trailing behind, couldn't see it. "Just surprised that Shakespeare was one of those things, is all."

Dean grinned broadly at his brother's back. "Wasn't," he admitted. "I heard that line in a movie, once."

Sam laughed softly, then stopped suddenly, raising his right fist above his shoulder, signaling his brother to stop.

"What…" Dean whispered, and dropped into a crouch when Sam did, scuttling forward to try to get next to his brother, only to have Sam put out an arm and push him back.

Sam turned to face him, jerking his chin back down the tunnel in front of them, around another bend and out of sight of...well, whatever Sam had just seen that Dean hadn't.

"Stay here," Sam whispered, "there's another junction up ahead and I need to figure out which way to go."

"What?!" Dean exclaimed, still in a whisper. "I'm not letting you go on alone; you're not that much older than this bitch likes to grab, you know."

Sam sighed and shook his head. "I'm not 'going on alone'," he promised. "But we're close, and there's a chance she has guards set up ahead. I'm smaller, and my brown jacket won't be as likely to be noticed against the rock as your blue one."

"Sam…"

"I'll be right back!" Sam promised and scuttled forward, keeping close to the wall and the ground as he rounded the corner.

Dean huffed and ran his hand through his short cropped dark blonde hair. "Dammit," he swore to himself, softly.

Sam had made good points, Dean knew he did, and Dean hated it when his baby brother's logic overruled his Big Brother Instinct to protect the kid.

He stayed half kneeling on the tunnel floor for about 30 seconds — an hour in Big Brother time — then decided that Sam had been gone long enough, and crept slowly forward to the tunnel's bend.

Cautiously, he peaked around the curve, immediately relieved to see Sam, still safe, standing in the opening of the center of three tunnels.

In the stillness of the hewed rock warren, Dean could make out a soft whispering. All the way to his bones, Dean recognized his brother's voice, but he couldn't make out more than a word or two here and there. Please and eight kids and need your help, then a rhythmic pseudo-chanting in a language Dean wasn't even sure he'd ever heard before, which was worrying enough, frankly, that his baby brother was chanting in tongues at rock walls.

"Show me," Sam whispered at the end of the chant, and pressed his hand against the small area of rock that marked where the middle and left tunnels met.

Dean's eyes grew wide and his heart stuttered then started to pound at twice the normal rate, and his lungs forgot how to breathe as he stared at his brother's hand — and the rock slowly flowing over Sam's hand, enveloping it completely for a few seconds before retreating to its solid form beneath Sam's hand once more.

"Thank you," Sam whispered, and pulled back, giving the wall a weirdly affectionate pat as he started to turn around, back towards Dean.

Dean ducked back quickly, and hurried back a little further down the tunnel to where Sam had left him, his heart pounding and his breath panting in and out.

He could feel, more than hear, his brother getting closer, and closed his eyes for a moment, using all the Hunter techniques his father had taught him to bring his breathing, if not his frantic heart, back to normal.

When Sam came back around the corner a few seconds later, Dean was sitting, seemingly calm, impatiently tapping a rhythm on one knee.

"Hey," Sam whispered and crouched beside his brother. "I got it," he reported. "I was able to scout a little further ahead," Sam lied to his brother, so easily, and Dean dug the nails of his left hand into his palm to keep himself from calling the boy on it. "I found the cavern where she's holed up, and it looks like the lore is correct — she apparently does keep one or two of the kids she feeds from and reanimates them, to work for her. I counted at least six of those."

"Did you?" Dean muttered, his voice cold and flat as he stared into his brother's eyes. Sam frowned, confused by his brother's tone, and nodded.

"Yeah, and so far, all eight of the kids she took this time seem to be alive," Sam continued. "But there's at least one that's in bad shape, and the lore says that the first one or two to die are the ones she'll reanimate. We gotta move if we want to get them all back alive, and not have to kill a reanimated kid in front of his friends."

Dean took a deep breath and nodded. The missing kids. Right. Save the kids, kill the monster, Dean reminded himself, and stood, following as Sam led the way around the curve in the tunnel, and down the center of the three tunnels, pausing only to make the same chalk marks he'd made at the previous junction.

It was less than ten feet down the center tunnel before they came to another curve, and Sam dropped to one knee, nodding his head down the tunnel.

Dean leaned out just far enough to see around the curve, where there was a flickering light playing on the walls.

"Firelight?" Dean mused.

Sam nodded. "At least four of the lore sources I found said that, in addition to sucking the life force out of her victims, she…" and here Sam paused, his face shifting to a nauseated grimace, "roasts them. And then...eats them. Literally."

"Ew," Dean breathed. "Although that explains why the remains found in previous cases were all just bones."

Sam chuckled softly. "Definitely ew," he agreed. "You're right about the bones," he mused, "but that still doesn't explain why the skeletons found are mostly 10 or 15 years older than the reports of the missing."

"We'll be sure to ask her while we're fighting off her henchmen. Zombies. Henchzombies!," Dean snarked.

"Not zombies," Sam shot back. "She's not a hoodoo priestess."

Dean shrugged. "Dead people, reanimated to do some evil bitch's bidding. How is that NOT a zombie?"

Sam looked at his brother and frowned for a second. "Huh. I guess they kind of are."

"I know what I'm talkin' about. And if they're zombies then…"

Sam grinned and pulled his gun out of the back of his waist band, perfectly mirroring his brothers movement.

"Headshots," the brothers said in unison and checked their guns to be sure that they were fully loaded..

"When you were...scouting, " Dean huffed and again Sam frowned at the tone, "don't suppose you found a back way in?"

Sam shook his head. "Sorry."

"I guess it's the front door, then," Dean mused, pulling back to rest against the wall beside his brother.

If it was his brother.

The thought came unbidden — and unwelcome — and Dean swallowed, forcing his breath to stay even while his heart again began to race.

Sam was explaining — again — how to kill the fugly, but Dean was listening to the argument in his own head.

It has to be Sam! I'd know if it wasn't my own brother!

Would I, though? If it were a skinwalker, or — or a demon? If he were possessed, or replaced, how would I know?

I'd KNOW. It's Sammy. Of course, I'd know if it wasn't him. Of COURSE I would!

Yeah? Then why are you sitting here, ready to piss yourself thinking about going up against a monster with just Sam at your side, smart guy? Because you're so damn sure?

"Shut up," Dean muttered to himself.

"What?"

"What?" Dean jerked his awareness back to Sam. "Nothing. What time is it?" He asked, suddenly. "I think my watch stopped."

"What ti—what difference does it…"

"Just tell me, Sam!" Dean snapped, still keeping his voice to a whisper, albeit one sharp enough to cut glass.

Sam sighed, and pushed the left sleeve of his jacket up over his wrist. "1:45," he reported. "Happy?" he snarked and stole another glance down the tunnel, towards the next curve

Dean nodded and took a relieved breath. He'd been able to get a quick look at Sam's watch when his brother looked at it, and it was Sam's watch; the one their father had given to first Dean, then Sam, on the occasion of each boy's first hunt.

Dean stared at the watch his father handed him, dumbfounded. "Dad, what…?"

"Sometimes on a hunt, things happen," John said, and put a hand gently on the back of Dean's neck. "Sometimes, things need to happen at the same time, but in different places, you understand?" Dean nodded. "Right. So, it's important that a Hunter has a good watch he can count on, and that his backup can count on."

Dean nodded, accepting the answer, and let the matter drop when his father cupped his cheek briefly and smiled at him. Smiles and affection from their Dad were far too rare for Dean to look that particular horse in the mouth, but the gift bothered him, just the same.

It was a good watch — a great watch, top of the line, with moon phases, and a calendar function, even a stopwatch. Waterproof, his Dad had been quick to point out, to 100 meters, and impervious to heat up to 300 degrees. "You don't even have to take it off for a shower," Dad had told him.

It was a watch that John Winchester categorically did NOT have enough money to buy, not legitimately, at least, and that was weird enough.

It was also an actual present, something John rarely gave to either of his boys, even on birthdays or at Christmas. Even when John did bother — or, more likely, remember — to get a gift, it was always hasty, usually second hand, and frequently entirely inappropriate for his sons' age. Or it was a new weapon. Never something as mundane as a piece of jewelry, however practical John made it out to be.

And if all that had not been weird enough, the watch was customized, a small golden D embossed onto the bezel at the 12 o'clock mark and a W at the 6, in some duller metal Dean couldn't immediately identify.

Never in their entire lives had either of John Winchester's sons had something made, or even marked, just for them. Well, not since Mom...

It had been a good month before Dean had figured out that the watch was silver, and the embossed initials weren't sentimental, but practical. As long as Dean — and later, Sam — wore that watch, their father could be sure they hadn't been replaced by a Skinwalker, or one of another dozen or two other creatures that couldn't tolerate the touch of silver on their skin. And the initials embossed on the bezel proved it was the same watch.

It wasn't until Sam got his watch, 5 years later, that Dean and his brother figured out that the embossed W initials were iron, and the metal band a combination of silver, gold and iron, another insurance against various other creatures taking the place of one of John Winchester's boys.

Dean relaxed, slightly, glad to see the familiar watch — complete with the gold S and iron W — still on his brother's wrist, with no sign that the silver, gold or iron was bothering the younger boy at all.

Dean was still nervous, though, and cautiously pulled a flask from one of the many inner pockets of this jacket. He took a quick swig, and handed it to (he hoped) his brother.

Without thinking, without hesitation, Sam took a quick drink and handed the flask back to the elder Winchester, with a grateful nod; hunting fuglies and saving kids being thirsty work, after all.

Dean capped the flask and stowed it away again, keeping his eyes down so Sam didn't see the unmitigated relief he knew must be reflected there.

Sam had drunk the holy water, with not a problem in the world. And that was 15 or 20 other fuglies his brother couldn't be.

"You ready?" Sam whispered, and Dean jerked his head up, meeting his brother's eyes.

His brother's eyes.

Dean felt pure relief pour through him. Those were Sammy's eyes, no doubt. That look of total trust and belief and just, well, LOVE, directed at him was something Dean had only ever seen in his Sammy's eyes. Had always seen in Sammy's eyes, and for just a minute he felt embarrassed, foolish and just low to have thought this wasn't his baby brother.

But if it was Sam — and it WAS, he was positive of that now — what was that business with the rock wall and the chanting? He hadn't imagined it, he knew he hadn't.

But Sam was waiting for him to lead the way, and there were kids to save and monsters to kill

"Ready?" Sam whispered.

Dean nodded and grinned at his little brother. "Just like Butch and Sundance," he said and slipped ahead to lead the way.

"I really wish you'd stop comparing us to them," Sam muttered at Dean's back.

"Aw, why?" Dean wondered. "They were the coolest. Running out against a while posse, just the two of them."

"Yeah, and they DIED running out at that posse," Sam reminded

"Always so bogged down in the details, Sammy," he shook his head and paused at the very end of the tunnel, looking carefully around the cavern before them. "Well, you coming, Butch?"

Sam shook his head and joined Dean in chambering a round. "Right behind you, Sundance,"