Author's Note: Hello, my peeps! I hope that everyone is having fun being gripped tight and raised from perdition.

I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving. Mine was good. We had crab, pie, and coffee! Woo!

I know that I have a fic like this in-progess for Sherlock, but I will honest with you all for a moment. Little John will probably never be finished. I go where my Muse points, and right now he is all over the place. You've probably seen my Muse around. He has long, dark hair and a black leather jacket. He rides a motorcycle.

Muse likes to show up right around the time I need to be getting my PreCalculus homework done. He's annoying like that. But I love him anyways. I can't say no to his puppy eyes.

Without further ado...

Dean loaded the shotgun with the rock salt pellets. When he was done, he closed the trunk of the Impala. He walked over to where Sam and Kat were waiting by an oak tree, both armed and ready.

"Alright," Dean said. "Now we've just got to wait for nightfall." The three hunters glanced at the sun, which was slowly making its way down the pink sky.

The Winchesters were hunting a Shreve. Shreves were nasty, ugly things that hunted adults and turned them into toddlers, feeding on the youth of the de-aged. It had killed four hikers so far. The hunters hadn't bothered to try and explain the Shreve to the police, who believed that they had found the bodies of four actual children. It would just be too hard, and they would instantly be committed to the nearest mental facility. Been there, done that, and not looking for a repeat experience, thank you very much.

Kat plopped onto the ground, leaning back against the old oak. "I wish Shreves could materialize in daylight. That way we could kill it while it slept instead of waiting for it to come out of its hideout."

"Agreed," Sam said, sitting down beside his little sister. Dean nodded his own agreement.

Because you could only see Shreves by moonlight, the Winchesters had to wait until dark to hunt it in the woods where it roamed. After parking the Impala, they had closed off the road so that no more hikers would be hurt. Dean was of the opinion that it was really stupid to be hiking after dark, so he wasn't as sympathetic with the dead as Sam and Kat were.

"Okay, let's go," Dean couldn't see the sun anymore, and the sky was a very dark navy. "Time to gank this son of a bitch."

Dean led the way into the woods, Sam bringing up the rear to watch their backs. The hunters were thankful that Shreves had terrible eyesight, which meant that it would be unable to know that they had weapons. But it did have a fantastic sense of smell.

And a funny thing about a Shreve is that they like the smell of Chanel perfume.

That was why Dean, Sam, and Kat were trekking through the woods smelling like Giselle Bundchen. Dean had actually liked the scent (before being completely submerged in it, of course), and he had bought a bottle that he planned to give to Kat for Christmas.

The snap of a twig brought the hunters to a stop. Dean waited, hardly daring to breathe.

A small doe suddenly bounded out of the bushes next to them. Dean almost shot the damn thing, but he managed to keep his finger off the trigger.

"Was the Shreve corporeal?" Kat asked when they were walking again.

"Was it what?" Dean had no idea what that word meant.

"I think it was," Sam answered, ignoring Dean's question. Dean hated it when they did that.

Kat was nice, "I asked if it had a solid body."

"Oh, yeah it does," Without shining the flashlight on him, Dean could tell that Sam was wearing his That's what I just said bitchface. Turning back to face the shadows of the trees, Dean remarked, "Kat rides shotgun on the way back to the bunker."

"Yes!" Kat exclaimed at the same time that Sam voiced his protest.

After another hour of walking, the hunters had still found nothing.

Finally, Dean had had enough, "Come out, you bastard! Here we are! Nice, juicy humans that smell like supermodels!" Dean's yell rang through the trees.

Dean waited to see what would happen. When nothing did, he glanced back at Sam and Kat.

"Guess n-" Suddenly, Dean was pulled roughly forward. He flew through the air and crashed hard into a tree. Shaking away the haze, he heard a gunshot and then a cry. Dean shoved himself up, whirling to find his dropped gun. Seeing it in the brush, he dove for it and scrambled up.

There was a glowing figure standing over a small bundle. Not seeing Sam or Kat behind the Shreve, Dean shot the thing into oblivion. It disapated with a harsh scream.

Looking around frantically, Dean shouted, "Sam! Kat! Where are you?"

A groan from his right got his attention. Sam was lying on the ground. The Shreve must have thrown him like he had Dean.

"Dean, did you get him?" Sam stood slowly, rubbing his shoulder.

"Yeah," Dean said quickly. "Where's Kat?"

"I don't know," Sam caught sight of the small bundle on the ground. "Oh, God. No..."

The brothers ran for the bundle, recognizing it as a heap of clothing.

Kat's clothing.

They knelt beside them. Dean reached to pull the top aside, and Sam scrunched his eyes shut, refusing to see the lifeless body of his sister.

Dean pulled the clothes aside. He gasped.

A toddler with long blonde hair was lying swaddled in the clothes. The child opened her eyes and looked up at Dean.

"Oh my God," Sam had cracked one eye open, but then both shot open at the sight.

"What?" It was Kat's voice. It was, but it was higher.

"The Shreve got you," Dean explained, looking down at his baby sister.

"What do you...? Oh," Kat looked down at herself.

Suddenly thankful that neither he nor Sam had picked up a flashlight yet, Dean told Kat, "Try to put your shirt on a bit." Out of habit, Dean and Sam looked away when the toddler sat up to put the shirt on.

"Alright," Kat said. "I'm as decent as I'm going to get."

The brothers gathered the guns and flashlights, and then the three hunters set off for the Impala. When Kat started to slow, on account of suddenly being four times smaller, Sam picked her up without a comment. He carried her back to the car.

After packing the trunk, Dean slid into the driver's seat. He was surprised to see that Sam wasn't in the passenger seat behind him.

"What are you doing back there?" Dean glanced at his brother in the rearview mirror. Sam was holding Kat in his lap, a seatbelt over them both.

"She's like three, Dean," Sam reminded him. "And we don't have a carseat. If you get in an accident, I don't want her to fly through the windshield."

A little annoyed that he hadn't thought of that himself, Dean drove off.