Berwyn wasn't a large town, and in a church this size, everyone seemed to know each other. Except for those two strangers sitting in the fifth pew. The two bulky men watched the speaker with unshakable scrutiny.

"So many times, God has taken extremes into new context. Bringing the darkness into His glorious light." Pastor Simmons gripped the podium enthusiastically as he voiced his sermon. "The ungodly Samaritan is the admiral protagonist. The prodigal son honored more than his righteous, loyal brother. And the tiniest mustard seed, equated with weeds, can move mountains with a droplet of faith."

Sam saw Dean roll his eyes in her peripheral vision. He sent him a tight lipped smile, hoping his brother could be patient enough not to disturb the parishioners. Still, though, he could understand his discomfort. They were being stared at by a new face every two seconds... Like they had come in covered head to toe in dirt or something.

At least it felt like that.

After an eternity of the stifling sermon, the gathering was ended. The throng of parishioners rose to great each other like everyone was a relative. Sam and Dean stood in their pew and filed out to join the line of people waiting to shake hands with the pastor. He was an old, wizened man with a surprisingly loud voice. Even without a microphone, they could hear his end of conversations crystal clear from the back of the line.

His confidence faltered momentarily when he was faced with the Winchesters.

"Pastor Simmons?" Sam asked. A curt nod was the reply. This was the guy. "We'd like to have a word with you in private, if possible. It's urgent."

After a moment of deliberation, the man nodded. He dismissed the rest of the parishioners with a cordial wave, much to their disappointment, instead leading Sam and Dean to his office down the hall. He shut the door behind him.

Dean sighed softly, relieved when the three of them stepped into the old man's office and the door was shut behind them. Having all those people scrutinizing him at once had made him want to shower and then hide with a shotgun across his lap. Dean's green eyes scanned the room, instinctively taking in his new surroundings. The office likely doubled as a library for all the clergy, or whatever the leaders were called.

The room was on the bigger side. There was plenty of room for an antique desk and a large conference table over to the left by the large windows. Almost every other wall had floor to ceiling shelves, stuffed with books and other odds and ends. Dean slowly meandered over to the smaller set of windows to his right, giving the old pastor time to shuffle to his desk and do whatever he was doing.

Probably picking the right Bible to thump us with. Dean thought. But as the blond hunter looked around the shelves, his jaw clenched when he noticed some of the books and random things on the shelf. He leaned over to better look at them, his brain so preoccupied that he forgot about the tiny woman sitting in his jacket pocket.

Before they'd come in, it had been decided that she'd stay out of sight and they'd question the religious nut as if they were just looking for a lead. Dean didn't want to chance Claire's life with any more people. He hadn't been sure at how happy she had been with him for pushing the idea. The hunter had tried not to feel guilty as he had slipped her into the pocket, but was grateful she seemed to trust him enough to go with it. He had to fight with his brain to keep it from thinking about last night...

"Hunh. Definitely not the kind of reading id expect a pastor to have." Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "A witch's spell book that looks older than our friggin country... A handwritten listing of fairy species and their cultures written by a Renaissance hunter? Werewolves...Euro myths and legends. Bottles of silver flakes from Bohemia? Where is that?" He asked and turned around, turning his raised eyebrow to aim the question at his younger brother. But before Sam could respond, the old man dropped a notepad and a couple of books onto the large table. He leveled a steady glare at Dean, his eyes hooded and plainly aware of Dean's disrespectful attitude towards him.

"It was where the Czech Republic is now. That stuff is more valuable than salt when you've got no faith and looking at the angry end of werewolf." Pastor Simmons said. "I'm not in the practice of hiding my past from my staff. The ones who need to know do, and the others just havnt asked. Thank the Lord. Now son, you can either keep mouthing off, or you can sit down and listen to an old hunter for awhile. From what I was told, youre gonna need the tricks I can give you. Unless you two are gonna give your souls to the Creator and do this in His power instead?"

"Unh...I'll take the tricks." Dean said, sharing an uneasy look with his brother. What were they gonna do if this guy was just an old hunter who lost his marbles a decade ago? They all moved to sit down, Dean not even noticing the change in his pockets weight.

Claire hadn't intended to sneak away. But as it happened, that's exactly what she had done. Front within Dean's pocket she could still spy out enough to see a sliver of their surroundings. There were a lot of prayer books... But a spell book too! She tried to signal Dean, but she was too small to capture his attention from half-way in the pocket. Didn't he see it? That could be her instant fix! Her mind's logic said that if a spell did this to her, a spell could undo it.

It sure didn't seem like the spell book had caught dean's eye, way up there. So she slid further out of his side pocket as he lingered by the table. She gripped the edge of the table just as Dean took a step away- effectually sliding her out forcefully the rest of the way in a split second. The terror was cold and crippling as her body suddenly dangled seemingly hundreds of feet over the ground. Heart fluttering, she gripped the table tighter as Dean and Sam's big steps pounded towards the desk. He wasn't even panicking yet, she noted as she pulled herself up. Staring at the back of their heads, she swallowed, forcibly humbled again.

She really was small.

Regardless, she set to work walking around wonderland-sized objects on the desk. Pencils the size of javelins, books that could be used as playground foundations. A vase that looked like a splendid glass monument. While Claire made her way to the stack of withered books along the back of the cluttered table, Sam took a seat next to Dean and gave the old man a long look.

"How much did Bobby tell you?" Sam asked.

"Enough to know you've got your work cut out for you."

Dean snorted and leaned back into his seat, his elbow almost arrogantly resting on its wooden back.

"So not much then." The blond hunter's eyes glared a lazy challenge at the pastor. Since they had pulled into the old blacktop parking lot, his doubts about this source had skyrocketed. They were in a church. They HAD to listen to this old man rant on about...okay, well something, for over an hour. All Dean wanted right now was to grab whatever looked useful from the room, rent a cheap room and sleep on a halfway decent bed before they had to jump back into the research. His mind started to wander back to last night and how Claire had curled up on his chest. Dean had to flex his fingers to keep them from reaching up to touch the spot where Claire had slept; it was unlikely he was gonna forget that...tingling feeling he still felt.

The old man leaned forward, balanced on skinny elbows that were only sinew and lean muscle, and his hands clasped together. "Son, stop trying to push my buttons. I know you got more than enough issues to fill a library, but you came to me for help. Remember that. I wont stop saying 'Jesus' and 'Jesus loves you' and 'you should put your faith in the one that created all of this, and itd actually make your life a hell of a lot better'...And im not gonna punch you in your arrogant jaw for acting like such a punk in my own church. And thats a promise."

Dean blinked dumbly. He hadn't exactly expected a minister to sound like a restrained version of Bobby, even of he was an exhunter. Dean clenched his strong jaw in consideration, but nodded a moment later. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out his notes and started to fill in the holes for the old man.

Sam shook his head and let Dean talk for now. His brother never ceased to amaze him, but thankfully the old pastor seemed to be able to take it. Keeping an ear focused on the conversation, he looked around the room again. He had to believe the pastor took some kind of precautions to protect his church. It was just going to bother him the entire time they were there that he didn't even see a proper demon-catching circle drawn anywhere. Not even one disguised as a dream catcher hanging in a window-...Sam sat up straight when he noticed movement on the far wall. Almost instantly he knew what...WHO it was. He stood up abruptly and the eyes in the room instantly went to him. "Unh...just need a tissue." He said quickly before stomping over to the small table he knew Claire was on...

The spell book was tauntingly close to being within her grasp. Claire stood on her tiptoes and strained to grasp its cover... But no, of course not. Too friggin small to do anything! She could hear the boys going back and forth with this supposed ex-hunter, Sam standing up for a tissue... Didn't sound like much progress to her. She was beginning to look around for possible leverage to get the book off the shelf when she suddenly got a chilling sight: the tissue box was literally right beside her. Which meant those tremors weren't from passing cars, it was Sam headed her way!

Claire whirled in time to see a semi-apologetic look in the hazel eyes far overhead. A massive hand descended too quick for her to comprehend, plucking up first a tissue and then her, too. Terror gripped her even tighter than his coiled fist- which was tighter than usual, mind you. Claire nearly lost it. Was he going to hurt her now that their little victim hadn't cooperated?

Sam couldn't spend too long lingering on the crazy ass feeling of a tiny body writing uselessly within a single hand of his. But the sensation wouldn't let him alone. His feet moved of their own accord toward the door, slowly slipping his occupied hand into his jacket pocket. But the hand stayed around her, stifling now. And Sam... A part of him was quite content to just not let go.

Sam took a deep breath and tried to fight down the feeling that was building up in his chest. But before he knew it, the feeling had made its way to his brain. His large hand flexed around the woman held in it and he could automatically feel her react, her feet and hands thrashing against his palm. Her head and feet are like an inch shorter than my hand. On either side...

Sam took another breath and moved closer to the door. He knew the feeling that was making his head fuzzy and kept his hand around Claire.

Power. That's...What this...is. Again. I forget how good it felt...

A cold sweat broke out on Sam's face and he reached for the doorknob. He didn't know what he was going to say to Claire when he finally pulled her out. He knew she didn't deserve what he was doing...Maybe he just said he was scaring her a little...to remind her what could happen to someone her size? The hunter's free hand started to open the door, but his hand jerked away when then pastor's old, weathered voice snapped out at him.

"Where do you plan on going son? That girl wasn't hurting anyone. I leave these books out for a reason. For people to read. And now you suddenly want to leave the room, while you have her in your hand there? From my dream, I was warned you two had your issues, but I wont stand for this. Bring her over here and sit down."

Dean had turned around when the old man's attention had snapped over to his brother. At first he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but a quick check in his pocket and the look on Sam's face...

"Sammy? Why don't you take your hand out of your pocket?" His voice took on a hard edge as he thought about what Claire had to be going through.

Stammers of half-way explanations fled Sam's mouth as he received the full blast of the old man's insightful glare. Caught in the act, he really couldn't argue with them. He came back over to the desk and withdrew his hand as he sat.

"I thought we were keeping her off the radar." Sam made a valiant effort not to sound annoyed. He unfurled his fist upon the desk, and Claire stumbled out. She threw nervous, hasty looks at both brothers before turning to face the new giant.

"Well, hopefully, you are when it comes to your witch. Bobby mentioned the name Abels." The old man clicked his tongue with a shake of his head. "Thought we'd seen the last of those nasties ages ago."

Dean glared at Sam, his green eyes burning holes in his cheek as they stayed locked on Sam's face. The other man pointedly kept from meeting the his brother's glare. After a moment, Dean suddenly remembered he should actually look down at Claire. His eyes moved down to the tiny woman on the table. Her hair was fuzzy and she still looked...disoriented. His fingers instinctively twitched, dying to reach out and comfort Claire. Before he could even think of it, his finger lightly reached out and brushed the back of her hand.

Claire flinched and snatched her hands together. Whirling around, she had already taken a step away before she processed the kindness in Dean's usually stoic expression. He meant well. It took a few shallow breaths before she was able to flash him a brief, reassuring smile. Crossing her arms tightly across her chest, the miniature woman turned to face the old hunter across the paper-strewn desk.

"Please... don't sugarcoat this. I just need to know if you can fix me." She asked boldly.

The old man gave her a sad look. "I'm afraid not. This is custom magic, a spell he most likely perfected for his own personal use. You won't find a counter-curse in any book."

Claire wilted visibly.

"So we need to destroy the original hexbag." Sam prompted. He got a nod.

"Yes. Now the thing about the Abels family is that they're paranoid. Or what's left of them." The pastor said. He spoke mostly to both hunters, but acknowledged Claire with the same intense eye contact. "They never act without certainty. Your best method of finding him would be to bring him to you."

Sam nodded, sharing a look with Dean. The gears in their minds were already drawing up possible plans. The look they shared illustrated that both brothers were on the same page.

"We have a hex bag this guy was hiding in Claire's place. Any chance that's our tie to him?" Sam proposed.

The old man shook his head, fuzzy, white strands of hair pulling away from the tied back knot of hair at the back of his head.

"Not really. Abels wouldn't leave behind a major key like the hex bag binding the curse to this this poor girl. Any of them are a kind of copy of the original though. So if you threw it into a fire, Abels would know. He'd be able to find the destroyed bag... And maybe fall right into a trap. If you boys are up to that kind of thing."

The pastor raised his eyebrows at the arrogantly flat look both brothers levels at him.

"Well," the pastor snorted through a thin smile, "Can't say I'm surprised there."

"You got any leads on how to pull him out of This guys got some serious mojo working. Obviously." Dean's eyes turned all business and he leaned in, unaware of how close the arm he planted on the table was to Claire.

"And then what, son? You've got to cut this at the source. There is no short-term solution. I hunted longer than either of you have been alive. And killing him won't be easy. But the Abels family gets their power from what they sell to the devil...And the contact is sealed by them chopping off one of those one of their own fingers. Their soul stays tethered to the remaining bone and it becomes an anchor and power source.

One of the jars of silver flakes back there on that shelf should ensure he doesn't bounce back. If you put the finger bone into a small pile of salt and that silver, and set it on fire...It should obliterate Abel's tether to life. His spells would disappear. Completely." The last word he said with a small smile down to the tiny woman on his desk.

"You didn't mention he was missing a finger." Sam said, turning to Dean.

"He wasn't. I mean, he must be using some glamour spell to cover it up. Probably the same shit makes him look thirty two when he's over a century."

No one disagreed. Sam stood and started for the silver flakes.

"You mind if we take some of his for the road?"

The old pastor waved him off. "Please! Take the whole jar. Puts these old remedies to good use."

Claire watched Sam cross the room and take the dusty jar off a shelf chock-full of miscellaneous talismans and ingredients.

"Why retire? You still have all this hunting junk." Claire asked absently. The old pastor gave her a smile that twinkled his eyes.

"My eyesight is not what it used to be. Besides, there's more than one way to save people."

Her eyes were drawn to the silver cross that dangled from a chain around his neck. She envied the peace in his eyes. It baffled her how he could possibly find serenity after hunting monsters for a lifetime. Dean's massive form moved in the corner of her eye, and she took the cue to walk back towards the edge to be picked up and hidden out of sight.

"Well," Dean said, standing up. "Thanks for the help, padre. We sure appreciate it."

"Course. Here, take a copy of the Good Book on your way out. You'll find plenty of answers in there."

Dean just looked at the clean stack of bibles, raised his eyebrows, and continued out of he building. Sam smiled sheepishly at the pastor and picked up a copy on the way out as a show of good intent.

"What time is it?" Claire asked, her pacing turning impatient upon the trunk of the impala. Sam was leaning against the car next to her, eyes peeled and slightly dry from strain.

Sam checked his watch. "Eight-thirty."

A burnt spot in the dirt was all that was left of the hexbag they'd lifted from Claire's apartment.

"So we've been out here for going on three hours now... You still think he's going to show?"

"We know Abels has plenty of horsepower. And he's possessive." Sam threw a dark look down at her. "I wouldn't be surprised if he found a way to track you down to us."

Claire couldn't argue with that. Just the mention of that wretched witch was enough to send chills down her spine. She had been pulled into a temporary security being surrounded by two huge hunters at all times... But this was different. Tonight, she was bait.

She looked up through the silhouetted terrain of the hill they were facing. Dean was up there, between those trees behind the wild grass. She could only imagine how exhausted the poor man must be, waiting by the scope of a sniper rifle. She had to trust he could hit a straight shot in the dead of night. If everything went right, this could all be over tonight. She could have her life handed back to her.

A strong breeze swooped through the chilly night air. Her knees buckled from the sheer force of the gust, and she shivered, backing away closer to Sam. He straightened a bit, wondering if he could angle himself to block the wind. She only had that thin doll blouse on, and they'd been out here a while. He shoved his hands in his pockets and finally fished out a handkerchief. He was pretty sure it was clean.

"Here," he said, draping it around her with surprisingly precise motions for such large hands. "Guess we should have added a sweater to those doll clothes."

She gave a little hum, eyeing his hands suspiciously as they withdrew until she was looking way up towards his face again.

"Thanks."

Sam sighed, frustrated by how timid she was when he got close. She certainly didn't get this tense around Dean. He hesitated, fighting with himself as he surveyed their surroundings for the hundredth time.

"Listen I'm sorry if I scared you this afternoon. I'm on your side."

Claire raised her eyebrows cooly. Luckily, he didn't see, and carried on.

"I just.. I got a bit carried away. I didn't want you to get hurt." Sam finished, hands shoved deep into his jacket as he sent the tiny woman a pleading puppy-eyed apology.

Claire clenched her jaw, knowing she was going to invest a fortune in therapy after this whole ordeal was behind her.

"Just... No more grabbing." She said back, curling her fingers into the thick fabric and bringing it under her chin.

The sun was setting off to the right, colors from the vibrant sunset barely showing over the tops of trees and higher hills. Dean had his night vision gear ready to go when the light fully left the small clearing his brother and Claire were waiting in.

Crap. Now its cold. Just what I freaking needed. Dean frowned as the wind started to pick up. Mentally scolding himself for not bringing his leather jacket, Dean scooted forward slightly, the dirt under him making just the slightest bit of noise as he adjusted. The blond hunter had been up on the hill long enough to start to lose feeling in his arms and other awesome places. Which didn't include the burn on the back of his shoulder; that only itched and throbbed worse.

He brought his eye back to the scope, peering at the clearer image of the two by his car. Well his moose of a brother was easier to see. Claire was still a tiny blur.

Dean smiled a bit as he mentally filled in the details: That was an arm moving...That was her looking around...That was...Sam touching her. A faint scowl suddenly marred Dean's smile.

Why is he...? Oh cmon! The puppy look? Idiot is trying to play nice now hunh? He'd better not try and be TOO damn friendly with her... She's claimed and Sam knows it!

Looking away from the scope, Dean cleared his throat and twisted his chin to either side, cracking his neck loudly.

"Yep. Still gonna punch him in the face." He muttered.

The frustrated hunter reached for the gear he had placed to just the side, and started to get his night gear on.

Soundlessly, a small iridescent puff of breeze floated several feet above the hunter's head. Heartbeats later, it darted up and onto the branch of a nearby tree. Before it landed, it shifted, several shapes forming and moving away from it. Quickly, the duplicated wisps formed their humanoid shapes, darting around in the growing dark till there were hundreds sitting above the hunter. One moved away, flying through the trees till it reached the tree line in the clearing. The wind picked up as it landed on Abels shoulder. The man was standing motionless, just outside the reach of the old car's tail lights. The tall man stood there like a pale shadow as he listened to the tiny conjured entity whisper softly in his ear.

A small, arrogantly indulgent smile crawled onto his face. "Oh, Claire. Choosing these boys over me? That will not do... Not for any longer, little Claire."

The witch started to whisper, words hissing out of his mouth as a spell formed. The wind blew harder, gusts of air blowing stronger and stronger each passing moment. The cars lights began to dim and flicker, sending eerie shadows jumping across the clearing. Lightning finally struck the top of a tree, and then again just farther off. But Abels walked past the trees, his smile only growing bigger.

Sam gave a jolt and looked at the dark sky. The thirty percent chance of rain had turned its cheek upon them, as it were.

"Storm's rolling in." He announced. "Let's call it a night... We'll figure something out tomorrow."

Claire agreed, bunching up the handkerchief best she could and taking the big step up onto Sam's open palm. He waited until she was situated in the middle before he turned towards the hills and gave Dean the signal to throw in the towel.

Sam fumbled for the car keys in his pocket, his knees suddenly feeling about as steady as pudding. His breathing was loud and heavy as a sharp pain erupted in his stomach. Claire looked up when her ride lurched, making her lean more into the curve of his fingers. Despite the chill wind gushing into them, Sam was sweating.

"You alright, buddy?" She called up, concern mounting.

"I'm fine." Sam answered in a strained voice. Not a second later, he doubled over in and let out a yell of pain. He backed against the car, looking just as shocked as he was in pain. It was so unlike him to get sick like this. Claire called his name, but he could barely hear her. So dizzy... This wasn't normal. Sam looked to find Dean in the distance, only to have another crippling wave of pain wash over him. Still holding Claire, he collapsed to his knees, his open palm hitting the ground hard. Claire screamed, gripping his thumb for dear life.

"Sam, what's going on?" She screeched, clambering out of the stained handkerchief and walking closer to where his sleeve began. His huge face was knotted in a mask of pain. To her horror, she recognized that look. "What... What's wrong?" She asked, beginning to truly fear the answer.

Sam only glanced at her, pulling her closer to his body as a shaking hand pulled his gun out of the waistband of his jeans. Claire frowned wildly as he shifted again, knocking her to a sprawled sitting position in his hand. When she looked up again, the hunter's eyes were wide and focused on something out of her sight.

"Cover your ears." Sam warned in a gravely voice. That was the only warning she got before she swept up against his stomach, pressed tightly into the plaid material as he fired off three rounds. Then, the gun dropped from his hand, and Claire found his grip suddenly relenting. His head was lolling to the side, his eyes shut.

He's unconscious... Shit! SHIT! Claire half-sprinted, half slid down the length of his jeans, jumping off at his ankle. The ground shook as Sam slumped to the ground, his hand near his gun. Panting heavily, the tiny woman glanced all around before jogging around his shoes and up along the massive length of his body. But as she watched, the distance became less and less to reach his face.

"Oh no," she whispered, struck with realization. Sam's whopping six and a half feet dwindled before her eyes: five feet, four feet... Three... Then just one. He stopped at just over five and a half inches.

Claire knelt by his side, feeling more exposed than ever. Her hands hovered over him, knowing nothing she did could fix this. He was cursed too. She had brought this upon him.

Tears of terror welled up as the pebbles of gravel under their feet began to dance. She knew that sensation by now, the gigantic, foreboding rhythm of coming footsteps. The wind ruffled her hair solemnly as Claire slowly stood to face her nightmare. It was too much to hope that it was just Dean coming back. Polished black shoes rested in front of her. She craned her neck back to see his face, heart ready to explode.