Hours later, Sam sat back, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "Alright, I don't think there's anything else here," he called up to Bobby.

For the most part, what they'd already discovered was all there was. Nixie was in a coma, driven there by her resistance to Ilyana. The sprites were forbidden to fight against each other, since they were made to be four parts of the same whole. It was like fighting yourself. Each time she stood against Ilyana, there would be more damage done to her mind. The only reason her body was responsive at all was due to her forced bond with Sam, otherwise she'd be lying insensate on the ground. As far as they could tell, she had hidden her mind behind a wall, protecting that inner essence that made up Nixie as best she could. The more she... or rather, her body... fought against Ilyana, the thicker the wall would become, eventually turning permanent. Immortality meant nothing if your mind was lost.

Their method of fighting Ilyana was still the same. There was no other way to cut her off completely from her sisters. Even metal could be melted if the sprites jacked up the heat far enough, and with them being the very essence of flame, it wouldn't matter what type of metal was used. But they had discovered a useful ability of Nixie's - she could make it so Sam couldn't be burned, and Bobby and Dean (if he came) as well, for the duration of Sam's fight with Ilyana. That would be damn helpful.

Neither of them had heard from Dean after he'd stormed out of the room. Sam occasionally peered up the stairs, hoping to catch sight of him, but there was nothing.

Bobby closed up the book he was reading from at the moment. "You thinkin' of calling it a night?"

"Yeah," Sam said, his eyes drawn to the stairs all over again. It was clear what was on his mind.

Bobby followed Sam's gaze. "Y'know, if you don't want to stay with him while he's angry, I've got another spare bedroom. You can get some space, clear your head for the night."

Sam didn't have to think about that one before he was shaking his head 'no.' The thought of staying in a human room all on his own while Dean was far away and no idea where Sam was... it was more terrifying by far than staying in the room with his grumpy brother. No matter how moody Dean was, Sam didn't doubt his safety there. "Thanks, but it wouldn't feel... right."

Bobby's smile crinkled the edges of his eyes. "Alright then," he said, extending a hand to Sam. "You just tell me if you need anythin,' then. You're as much a guest in this house as anyone else ever was. More'n some, in fact."

Before climbing on, Sam paused. "What about Nixie?" he called up, worrying about his comatose friend.

"You don't have to worry about her," Bobby said soothingly. "I'm probably gonna be up awhile yet, I'll make sure she's taken care of."

Once Sam was settled on his palm, they headed upstairs together. "Now," Bobby said. "Dean always stays in the same room when he stops by, so I figured you might want to stay in a room of your own." He held up a finger to stave off Sam's protests when he stopped at one of the dark doorways. Even though they'd both heard the door slam shut earlier in the night, it was cracked open just enough for Sam to slip through.

Sam couldn't hide a smile at that. Even angry, Dean wasn't about to put Sam out on his own. He would always watch out for his little brother.

Bobby knelt down. "Under the bookshelf I cleared out a space for you to stay if you ever visit. It's sectioned off with solid wood, so no one's gettin' through unless they're your size. So, you don't ever have to worry about gettin' grabbed while you're asleep. And, I put some furniture in before it got sealed off since you can't exactly move anything in it now without takin' apart the entire shelf."

After a warm thanks for Bobby's thoughtfulness, Sam slipped into the room. He was careful to wait until he heard Bobby head back down to the library. Only once he was certain the other human was back downstairs did he turn into the room. He by far preferred to know where all the humans were in the house when he was walking down on the ground on his own.

Sam walked into the room, taking in his and Dean's accommodations. An old, worn rug stretched out under Sam's boots, the top of it reaching a little over the top of his boots. The sight of the dust bunnies clumped around down on the floor didn't bother Sam at all. He'd seen far worse with the atrocious cleaning at the motel he'd lived in. He was unfortunately used to the mess.

The only place he'd seen unexpectedly clean was the floor of the Impala. Aside from when he was on a case and unable to get around to it, Dean kept the car in immaculate shape, both inside and outside, aside from the occasional bottlecap or wrapper, along with the occasional discarded shirt or socks. The car's upkeep seemed to calm him down and help him focus better.

Sam saw exactly what Bobby had been talking about when he spotted the bookshelf. It was massive, even for a human piece of furniture, with ornate carvings of vines crawling up both sides. The bottom shelf had a third of it blocked off, sectioned so that it formed a solid, unbreachable box that was at least three times Sam's height. More ornate vines had been carved into it to help it blend into the surrounding shelf, but Sam's eyes were sharp enough to catch the differences in the wood's age.

Sam climbed onto the bottom shelf, walking around the books stacked in the way to block a human's line of sight from the small entrance inside the shelf. There was a slit near the wall, just large enough for Sam himself to fit through. For the moment, he simply dropped his satchel near the opening. He could check it out later. For now, he needed to check on Dean.

The larger hunter was stretched out on the only bed in the room. One arm was casually hanging off the edge, the other out of sight. Sam rolled his eyes when he saw that Dean hadn't even bothered to take his muddy boots off before lying down in the bed, leaving them stretched out overtop the blanket he was using.

Really, Dean?

At first Sam thought Dean was sleeping. After all, Bobby hadn't exactly been quiet when he dropped Sam off outside the door and Dean hadn't budged an inch since they'd come. Sam would have heard him shifting.

A moment later, Sam realized that Dean was doing anything but sleeping. His face had the familiar stubborn cast of a person trying to ignore the world around them, instead of his usual relaxed posture. The reason he hadn't reacted to Sam or Bobby became clear when he caught sight of the earbuds in Dean's ears.

Dean just wasn't going to make this easy on him.

With a world-weary sigh, Sam jogged over to the bed. If Dean refused to listen to him, he'd find a way to make Dean listen, whatever it took. A brief shiver went up his back when he remembered how big Dean was, but it faded away faster this time. Dean was his brother and would never do anything to him and he knew that. Sam was finally recovering after being taken those months ago. He just needed time.

Sam grabbed the edge of the bed cover, hauling himself up the sheer cliff with no need for his fishhook or line. A climbing surface like the cover offered plenty of handholds and places to grip. He was careful to stay clear of the hand that was hanging off the bed, spotting it silently twitching in time with the song Dean was listening to at the moment. He didn't want to get knocked off the bed by accident.

Once he made it to the top of the bed Sam wasted no time in climbing up Dean himself. He felt the hunter freeze up under him the second he made contact, then smirked as Dean tried to force himself to relax and ignore Sam. You already gave yourself away, jackass. That wasn't exactly your most subtle move. I know you're awake and you know I'm here.

Sam jogged up Dean's stomach, ignoring the way the uneven ground gave way beneath his feet. That was normal enough for him these days. It was hardly the first time he'd walked on Dean, though it was the first he'd been ignored while walking up. For all the good that would do Dean. Sam felt a spark of determination fill him. Dean would listen to him.

With that in mind, Sam brought his boot down on the cord of Dean's headphones, yanking one of the buds out of his ears. Dean's eyes flashed open before he could catch himself, an annoyed look in his stare when he caught sight of Sam standing on his chest with arms stubbornly crossed over his chest.

"Dude, you're standing on my headphones," Dean grumbled, the ground under Sam vibrating. The quiet sound of Smoke on the Water leaked out of the free bud.

"Yeah. That's kind of the point," Sam said, meeting Dean levelly in the eyes. "We need to talk."

Dean sighed, dropping his head back down on the pillow. "What's there to talk about? I already told you what I think and you don't care."

"Dean..." Sam sat down, crossing his legs. The ground below rose and fell beneath him in slow, reassuring movements as he distractedly picked at a loose thread in Dean's flannel. How can he think I don't care?

Dean groaned, staring stubbornly at the ceiling. "You're not gonna just leave me alone, are you?" he grumbled.

"You're not getting out of this that easy and you know it, Dean."

Sam sat there patiently, knowing he could easily outlast Dean like this if he just put his mind to it. Dean was effectively stuck with Sam sitting casually on his chest.

He had to hide a grin of victory, when, after less than five minutes, Dean's chest jumped in another sigh.

"Y'know," Dean said sullenly, craning his neck so he could catch sight of Sam and level a glare at him, "I could just drop you down on the floor."

Sam sent him a bitchface for that in return, but an understanding one. "We both know you'd never do that." Could wasn't the same as would, after all. Sam took care to read between the lines while Dean was so upset. He didn't want to risk pushing Dean too far over the edge with their differences in the way.

Aggravated, Dean yanked his other earbud out with a scowl. "What's there to talk about, anyway? You and Bobby already decided what you're doing. It doesn't matter what I say."

"Dean... that's not true and you know it." Sam shifted in place a little, trying to think of how he could best put this. "You know I can do this. Why don't you trust me to get the job done?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You think this is about trust? Sam, I know you can get the job done, better than anyone else we know. But this... we're throwing you at someone who already tried to kill you. Tried to kill both of us!"

Sam flinched as Dean's voice rose, surrounding him on all sides. Dean noticed immediately, dropping down to a softer tone.

"Sam, no cause is worth sacrificing my little brother like this. We'll find another way. We always do."

Sam was shaking his head even as Dean finished. "There isn't another way," he said softly. "Ilyana's sisters aren't going anywhere as long as she's here - she's the one controlling them, after all. If we can't separate her from them, we can't stop any of them. We have a way to separate her that works if I'm the one facing her. Nixie can enchant an item that can trap her with me inside."

"Yeah," Dean scoffed. "That protects you and her from the outside, sure. But what's gonna stop her from slamming you with one of those fireballs once it's just the two of you?"

Sam gave Dean his most confident grin back. This was where he needed the confidence. There was no other way to convince Dean. "Nixie. We discovered she has a way she can guard... me and Bobby... from the fire at the same time as she's keeping Ilyana contained."

He'd almost said Dean instead of Bobby there. Dean, can't you see I need you, here?

I don't want to do this alone.

Dean, oblivious to Sam's train of thought, frowned in concentration. "So, what's the plan for finding her again? You can't exactly track her down like we did earlier, we know that's a trap and you can't set up a trap for a trap. She'll see you coming from a mile away. How do you plan on catching her off guard?"

Sam stubbornly pushed on with the plan they had in mind, Dean or no Dean. "Well, we found a summoning ritual, right? I figure we find an abandoned house somewhere that no one will notice if it's burned down. Bobby goes into hiding with Nixie and I work the ritual. Once Ilyana shows - and she will, I know it - I convince her that I'll come willingly. Then, as soon as she goes to make her move, Bobby drops a vase or box, or whatever we find to fit over us, and I do what I have to."

"No."

Confused, Sam glanced up from the thread he was worrying. "Dean, this is what has to be done," Sam said, keeping his tone gentle and calm, the best way to talk to an intransigent Dean. He understood his brother's protectiveness, but... "People could dieif the sprites aren't stopped."

"No, Sam. That's not what I meant..." Dean trailed off uncertainly. He played with the earbuds until he could bring himself to finish. "Sam, if anyone's holding that vase over your head, it's me. I'm not trusting your safety to anyone else, not even Bobby."

Sam sprang to his feet. "Does this mean...?" He couldn't hold in the sudden surge of hope that welled up in his chest.

"Yeah, I'll come," Dean grumbled. "Someone's gotta keep Bobby's ass alive and keep you," Sam got poked lightly in the side, "out of trouble."

Sam merely brushed off his jacket, opting to ignore the poke. "I always keep out of trouble," he said dryly. "You're the one that needs a babysitter."

"You keep thinking that," Dean said, settling back down into his pillows.

"Guess I'll let you get back to your music, then," Sam said, curiously eyeing the small iPod Nano curled up in Dean's other hand. He'd never seen it before, and he thought he'd seen all of Dean's belongings by now. How in the world had he missed it? Considering most of Dean's belongings were bigger than Sam, he usually noticed everything.

"Sam, wait."

Sam turned back around, seeing the green eyes open again and focused back on him. "What's wrong?"

"Just... how are you doing? After me grabbing you during the fight?" Concern was etched in Dean's brow.

Sam shrugged, starting his climb down Dean's side. "I'm fine. You know, that has nothing to do with you, right? I just..." his memory flashed to the days of being separated from Dean. Hands, and crushing, and ignoring what he said... having his boots ripped off his feet and being sized like he was nothing more than a fancy doll. He'd been treated as an object, not a person. "I just need a little time, that's all."

"Alright. Just remember I'm here if you need me, okay?"

Sam's lips twitched into a smile. Dean never seemed to realized how good of a brother he was sometimes. "No problem."

"Oh, and Sam?"

"What?"

"Before we head out and toss you to Ilyana, we're having a quick lesson with that knife of yours, get you ready for some hand to hand combat."

Sam pursed his lips, trying to think of how that could possibly work. "Um... okay. If you have a way that works, I'm all for it."

Dean leaned his head back, tucking his earbuds back into his ears. Sam smiled when he started to hum along with the music in his buds. It served as a nice background noise to counteract the silence of the immense new house they were in, helping him push away that constant, nagging fear that was always at the back of his mind these days.

Once he was down from the bed, Sam set off towards his new place to sleep. If Bobby had told the truth about what was under the bookshelf, he didn't have to worry about getting Dean up again to go get his bed, or sleeping with his satchel as a pillow.

It only took him a minute to cross the bedroom floor. He climbed up into the bookshelf, slipping behind the line of books once again and scooping his satchel off the ground where he'd dropped it. He had to admit he was excited when he slipped through the slit in the wall. Aside from his home with Walt and Mallory, he'd never had a place to call his own. In his life with Dean, this might be the closest he'd ever come.

The first thing he noticed about the room was the light. Hidden in the swoops and swirls of the intricate vine carvings outside were small slits, cut to let in light and air in an elegant fashion. There was a bed pushed against the wall, with sheets and a comforter all sized for Sam to use.

At the foot of the bed was an addition that made him smile. It had most likely started out life as a simple chest for a dollhouse like most items his size, but the initials S. W. had been carved into it, making it his own.

Sam brushed a hand overtop as he dropped his satchel nearby. A room of his own, no need to rely on a simple wall of books placed in front of his bed by Dean, no worrying about the possibility of being snatched up... by anyone. Sam had a place to call his own. Too bad Dean couldn't see the inside. He'd love the setup.

Before calling it a night, Sam carefully peeled off his burned jacket. He folded it slowly, reverentially. He only had a few jackets made by Mallory anymore, and it was high time to retire this one with the large scorch mark covering an entire arm. In the new clothing given to him by Krissy there were newer jackets modeled the same, but he hated to give up one of the few items he had left of his adopted mother.

He tucked it in the bottom of the chest, folding the burnt sleeve so it couldn't be seen. The chest was closed with care.

After, Sam only paused to yank off his boots and socks and toss them in an empty corner of the room. He wouldn't have to worry about his socks magically disappearing in here, easily blown away by a breeze or vanishing in the folds of Dean's clothing or the sheets on one of the motel room beds. Humans who complained about having a hard time keeping track of their socks had no idea how hard it was to do the same when you were under a foot tall. At least he had a few new pairs now, courtesy of Krissy.

That done, Sam collapsed face first on the bed and buried his face in the pillows. With Dean humming Ramble On in the distance and the knowledge he was safe, Sam drifted off into a dreamless, healing slumber.

A/N:

Sam might be small, but he's never had a problem handling that brother of his. No matter how ornery Dean gets, there's always a four inch guy that can get through to him.

Next Chapter: October 9th