Sam relaxed slightly after a moment or two. The elf, itself, was not the problem when it came to his nether regions - right? - it was what came with the elf. He slumped down in his chair, crossed his arms, and studied the floppy toy, frowning. Dean tiptoed back to his chair slewed it around so he could see the elf, not have his back to it, and sat. There was a long, considering silence.
"So salt and burn didn't work..." Sam finally said.
Dean shifted in his chair, gave Sam a sardonic look. "Ya think?"
"Not helpful, Dean..." Sam replied absently. "So what we need to do is identify what it is."
"Tried that already, Sammy boy," Dean said laconically. Sam waved an impatient hand.
"I'll try again. Maybe use a different phrase." He slid the laptop over in front of himself and flipped it open, not taking his eyes off the toy.
Dean grunted and ran a hand across the back of his head. "Y'know, maybe we shouldn't be...um...discussing this in front of...it?" He jerked his head at the elf.
Sam folded his lips and glared at both his brother and the toy. "It told me 'You don't get rid of me so easily', so obviously it already knows. And, frankly - " He shot a deadly look at the elf. " - After what it did to me tonight..." He gritted his teeth. "Dammit! I'm tickled pink to have it hearing me describe ripping it limb from limb, skewering it with silver, dissolving it in acid - "
Dean held up a hand and looked at him wide-eyed. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, dude! Get a grip!" Sam just growled. "Look. You do your research thing. But remember, it's supernatural. Doing those things - well, buddy, it just ain't gonna work. It may make you feel better, but - but - " He waved his hands in frustration, trying to figure out how to say it.
Sam groaned and dropped his head in his hands. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Satisfying but futile. Until we know what it is, and how to deal with it."
Dean waved his hand again, and said lamely, "Yeah. Yeah, that." He stood up. "Dude, it's really making me uncomfortable, sitting here talking about it while it's watching us with those beady eyes. Kitchen. Now." Sam started to protest, but then shrugged, flipped the laptop closed, and he trooped out of the common room after Dean. When they got to the kitchen, Dean grabbed a pair of beers from the fridge, popped one open, handed the other to Sam, and sat down at the kitchen table with a sigh. Sam eyed his beer sadly, sighed too, and sat down.
"I really wanted scotch," he muttered, slowly removing the cap.
"Deal with it. I wasn't going to get anything out of there, not with that smug elf sitting right on top!" Sam peered at him, flipped up an eyebrow, and nodded agreement. "And, dammit, I just feel better here. No eavesdropping. So pop open that computer and get to work!" He leaned back and slugged down some beer, eyeing his brother sternly.
Sam nodded again, and did as requested.
A few minutes later, he sat up straight and leaned forward to peer at the screen more closely. "Hunh."
"Whazzat? 'Hunh'? Found something already, when you couldn't before after hours of searching?" Dean was skeptical.
"Changed 'supernatural' to 'magical'. First hit. 'Taming the Pooka: Celtic Tales of the Trickster Fairy'." Dean sat up, suddenly very interested.
"Okay, those are two words I really don't want to hear - 'Trickster' and 'Fairy'." Sam shushed him with an impatient hand.
"Pooka. Hmmm." He started typing. "Okay. Listen to this. 'A creature of Irish folklore'...'bringers both of good and bad fortune'...'said to be shapechangers which could take the appearance of black horses' - " He gave Dean a significant look, then went on, "'They may also take a human form, which includes animal features, such as ears or a tail'..." Dean frowned.
"Nope, nothing like that from Siobhan...though, I s'pose she could have had animal ears under all that hair..." He drifted off, gazing at the wall. After a moment, he snapped his eyes back to Sam. "So, okay, a pooka. Silly-ass name. What the hell do we do to get rid of it?!"
"Um. Nothing here. Lemme check some other things." He tapped away at the keyboard for a moment. "Ugh."
"'Ugh'? I don't like the sound of that. Can't we just pour some salt in front of it, make it count the grains? If it's a fairy? Worked before." Sam frowned thoughtfully and pushed his hair out of his face.
"Wouldn't that have worked during the salt and burn? If it was going to, I mean. I think that's out. So far, though, I'm not finding anything specific, dammit. Aside from placating it with offerings from the harvest." He fell silent, looking glumly at Dean.
"Offerings from the harvest. What, give it some veggies and flour?" Dean snorted. "Besides, that's 'placating', not 'getting rid of'. I want that thing out of here!" he shouted in frustration. He stood up, shoved his chair back roughly, and started pacing the kitchen. "Wild horse rides...giant inflatable snowmen...the fucking Mormon Tabernacle Choir!" He stopped, whirled to face Sam, and jabbed a finger at him. "And y'know what? This is just...just..." He closed his eyes, worked his jaw, then popped them open again. "Dammit, man. If we had found one damned candy wrapper - one! - you know what the hell I'd be thinking, right this instant." He narrowed his hazel eyes at his brother.
Sam chewed his lips. "Yeah. But he's dead. Gabriel. Right? He never came back from facing Lucifer. And his cameo in that porn CD - he said if we were watching it, it meant he was dead. Right?"
Dean ground his jaw some more. "Riiight. But this sure as hell has his fingerprints all over it." He darted his eyes suspiciously back and forth from one side of the kitchen to the other, then snorted, braced himself, and called out, "Gabriel, you sneaky sonovabitch! You show your archangelic ass right this instant, dammit!"
No short, mischievous, golden-brown-haired archangel appeared.
However...
...the elf popped into existence in the middle of the kitchen table, black plastic eyes gleaming.
