Sam sat in the backseat flicking idly through the playlist on his iPod. After a few moments Animal I've Become by 3 Days Grace began to play. He settled back to listen. But, a just minutes later John was snapping at him.

"Turn that bull off! Werewolves have superhuman hearing, and we're entering its hunting zone!"

Sam sighed and let his iPod power down. It was no use arguing with Dad. He was… well, he was Dad.

Dean gave him a disapproving glare. Great. Now Dean was against him too? He blew out his breath, causing his long brown bangs to flutter against his forehead. Hmm… maybe he DID need a haircut. "Son, if you don't cut your hair soon you're gonna end up with a mullet!"

Sam chuckled softly. More pointed stares. He crossed his arms and leaned his head back against the seat. Maybe if he emptied his mind of all thoughts, he could actually be quiet enough to be invisible. No thoughts… no thoughts…. Did thinking about not thinking count as a thought? Meditate… like… Confucius. Confucius… hehe. Confucius say man who stands on toilet is high on pot. This time an actual laugh slipped past Sam's lips.

He opened his eyes. John and Dean were casting him stony looks, John from the mirror, Dean by just turning around in the passenger's seat. Sam wrinkled his nose. You're as cold as ice.

This time the laugh was thunderous. At least, in the silent car.

"Boy, if you don't shut up I'm going to give you a good kick in the butt when we get back to the motel. You're already on the borderline of not coming."

This shut Sam up. His dad was just starting to let him play a solo role on hunts. He'd practically gone on his knees, saying that he was seventeen, begging to be trusted more.

John had told him 'Get off the floor' then had reluctantly agreed, with Dean's help. Sam shot a glare at the back of Dean's head. Two-faced little suck up. He sank lower in his seat, frown lines creasing on his forehead. Dean could be your best friend one day, and then he could go and shoot you in the foot the next. More often than not he shot you in the foot. Oh well. It wasn't like Sam wasn't expecting it. Dad probably scared Dean as much as he did Sam.

The car shuttered to a halt. They got out silently, the sky streaked with the pinks and reds of dusk. John popped the trunk. Dean immediately reached for his Glock and began loading it with silver bullets. John on the other hand picked up his Colt 1911. Sam hesitated, then grabbed the Taurus.

He quickly loaded in the bullets, then followed his dad and Dean as they crept, in marine formation, towards the isolated house. After a while, they reached it, and John led them inside, stepping lightly so that the old rotted floorboards didn't creak.

"Sam, first floor. Dean, upstairs. I'll check the attic."

Sam nodded and gripped the gun tighter. This was the first time John had let him and Dean split up, and for some reason he had broken out into a cold sweat now. A feeling of dread crept up his spine as he watched his brother and dad disappear upstairs. He wanted to run up after them, to have someone making sure he didn't get his butt kicked, but he set his jaw and headed for the back room. He'd start there.

He swept the room quietly and efficiently, and frowned when he didn't find anything. He ducked out of the low doorway and entered the kitchen. He began to look around.

Sam kneeled down and opened a cupboard cautiously to peer inside.

A guttural snarl made him freeze, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He spun around, his flashlight sweeping the room, his hands shaking. He couldn't see anything.

It came again, from a different direction this time. It echoed, more thunderous than before. Sam's breathing became panicked as the growl grew to a piercing howl.

He caught a flash of yellow, and saw the shadows dance as something moved swiftly across the room.

He could hear a soft panting.

It was in the room with him.

It was hunting him.