Hurray! Hotshow is back from vacation - now we can get rocking and rolling on this fic!! Thanks to everyone following and here's a promise to keep future chapters at a minimum of 1 per week, hopefully we'll be able to up that to at least 2!!
Chapter 7
Dean paused over one of Bobby's books. The words 'mysterious sabotage' leapt out at him, thrusting all thoughts of Dad and Sam from his mind. He scanned the entry. It talked about gremlins, suspected of hitching rides on World War Two planes and fighters. Those creatures seemed to prefer larger things to sabotage, but there were pages describing other supernatural creatures that enjoyed pranks, right up to the deadly variety. He figured the stairs qualified as a muffed deadly prank. Even though that was his brother falling on his ass, Dean had been tempted to laugh at the sight of his sasquatch-sized little brother desperately trying to regain balance as the stairs crumbled away.
There were a number of creatures that could be responsible. Dean pulled up a chair so he would not have to lean over the book. The wet pages were difficult to read as Dean gently lifted them up and let the fan blow over them. Although the gremlin was tempting, Dean had to admit that the entries about leprechauns and imps looked the most promising. He ignored all the stuff about fairies, because, come on! Honestly! A fairy? Please god, let it be an imp. Besides, he noticed that fairies rarely played deadly pranks and this thing went straight from misplaced toothbrush to collapsing stairs.
"Sam? That pot you broke? Would you say it looked Irish?" Dean asked, not looking up from the water-logged page.
"Irish?" He heard Sam's throat clear. "Uh, no, I doubt it. It was a pretty rudimentary clay pot. And I didn't notice any symbols on it."
"Then we're probably dealing with an imp." He pointed out the passage about imps.
Sam came around to lean over his shoulder. "Imps, fairy-like creatures who like to create mischief that can escalate into deadly pranks. Can be tricked into doing good deeds, especially if the imp in question is desperately lonely." Sam nudged his shoulder. "You're not serious?"
Dean nodded slowly, turning recent events over in his mind. "And it seems to be focusing on you, Sam. The only thing I can think of that you've done recently is break that pot."
"You think I…I broke its home?" Sam asked, voice betraying the fact he thought Dean was really reaching this time.
"That or its prison." Dean turned his head to look up at his brother. "It might have been tricked into that pot."
Sam frowned at him. "I don't know, Dean. You may be reaching this time."
"This time, huh?" Dean cleared his throat, remembering how Sam refused to listen to him about the zombie. "Just this time?" He shot an accusing look at his brother.
Sam's head ducked, as though Dean were shooting lasers out of his eyes. Sam shrugged. "We can always look into it. Does it say anything there about how to see if you have an imp infestation?"
Dean cocked an eyebrow at his little brother. "Oh, been saving that one, huh?"
Sam grinned. "Nope. Just saw an opportunity and took it."
Dean shrugged, looking back at the book. "It doesn't say. Maybe one of the other books here does. Start looking." He waved at the books on the counter.
As Sam moved off to check the other books, Dean slid wet volumes around on the table. He decided it was pretty clever to suggest Sam start with the ones on the counter, saving the easy to read ones for himself. After that flight through the cemetery, Dean figured he deserved a little break.
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Sam nearly bit Dean's head off when his brother waved him away, but he realized that by taking it Dean would stay seated at the table. Sam glanced through Bobby's books, actually paying attention to the subjects now. Amazing how much literature Bobby collected on possession and demons. Sam mentally marked a few to read through later, when they were dry. As he read through an entry on woodland sprites, Sam shuddered with realization; Dean gave him an order.
Glancing at his brother, Sam turned their conversation over in his head. Yes, Dean definitely gave an order when he told Sam to 'start looking.' Sam smiled to himself, pretending to be absorbed in a latin volume about werewolves. And to think, his initial reaction had been to yell back? Wasn't this exactly what he had been waiting for? That confirmed his worst fears about Dean's new submissive attitude: it was his fault.
Sam sighed into the fan, hearing the muted, staccato echo of his voice. It reminded him too much of their lives, constant motion by punctuated bursts of activity. Sam paused in his task, staring at the wall to gather his thoughts. Had Dean done anything to deserve the kind of treatment Sam had been dishing out lately? He hounded, nagged, argued, demanded and ignored. And what did Dean do? What his brother always did, he took it. That stoic silent endurance Dean always had with Dad finally made its way into their relationship, too. Fingers tapping softly on the side of one of the box fans, Sam stared through the flickering blades. If he concentrated on just the wall and not the blades, he could see it as though there were no obstructions. That was Dean, hiding behind protective flash and constant movement.
Why did Sam act this way? Because Dean, yet again, obeyed an order from Dad? Or was it really because by Dean keeping that secret, his brother acted like Dad? Sam chewed it over in his mind. Was he really reacting to Dean the same way he reacted to Dad? Sam ran a hand through his hair, wondering why he did that. It definitely started with learning what Dad told Dean right before Dad died, but did Dean really deserve this treatment for just being Dean? Though he hated to admit it, Sam knew now after being on the road with his brother for about a year and a half that Dean was just being Dean. Dean could no more help obeying their father's last request than breathe, and even then Dean had been unable to keep it to himself forever. He should be glad his brother got over that blind loyalty and told him, even if it did take a few months.
Actually, now that he bothered to really think about it, the fact Dean withholding something like that from him made his brother erratic should be comforting. It meant Dean, unlike Dad, wanted to keep things between them open and honest, none of that 'need to know' crap. He ought to feel appreciative that Dean managed to work through his own psychological crap about Dad, but the truth was Sam felt a little bitter about it. He wanted Dean to come to him, talk it through together. After all they were brothers, they should act like it.
"Sam?" Dean's voice sounded distorted and distant coming through two fans. It was enough to snap Sam's head to the side and cause a flutter of panic that something might be wrong.
"What Dean?" He hoped his voice came out normal.
"You okay?" Dean stood, a slight wince coming over his brother's face. "You look like you might have a headache or something."
Sam bit back the smart-ass retort springing unbidden from someplace deep and dark. "Uh, yeah. I think I feel one coming on."
"Go take some aspirin," Dean's head jerked toward Bobby's kitchen cabinets. He checked his watch. "No wonder, it's way after lunchtime. You probably just need something to eat." He turned around to open the fridge.
Sam froze, unsure what his brother wanted him to do and unwilling to push or antagonize Dean any more. "So should I still take the aspirin?"
He watched Dean's head give a slight shake as his brother peered into the fridge. "Yes, Sam." It was that patient voice Dean used when they were kids. "Then sit down at the table. I think I see some sandwich stuff in here."
Sam did as Dean asked, mainly because Dean wanted him to. Was he finally getting Big Brother back? Maybe, if he could learn to keep his big mouth shut.
If he had not seen all the damage to Dean's side, it would be hard to believe right now. Dean moved smoothly and with a natural grace that was deceptive. Sam looked for signs of pain or discomfort, knowing how bad Dean's side was, but he saw nothing. Dean looked like he always did. His brother was definitely not normal. What a screwed up life they had if Dean acted like nothing was wrong when he really looked like he went ten rounds with a cement block – and lost. Scratch that – it must have been a marble block.
"Sam!" Sam blinked hard. Did Dean say something? "I asked if you wanted cheese."
"Uh, why don't you just set the stuff out here on the table and we can each make our own?" Sam picked up some of Bobby's water logged books and moved them to the counter. By the time he cleared most of the table, Dean had plenty of sandwich making stuff out. Bobby definitely went shopping before they arrived. Funny that Bobby would go to all that trouble for them to stay just a couple of days. Well, sure, it looked like they might be here longer now, but there was no way for Bobby to know that before they arrived. Was there?
Sam eyed his brother suspiciously. Part of him still wondered, well, maybe hoped, that Dean set this whole thing up. Bobby did not sound too confident about this hunt, and that was not like Bobby. The man researched everything to death, no pun intended. Dean called Sam a walking encyclopedia of weird, but Bobby was an encyclopedia of the supernatural.
A mouthful of sandwich, Sam looked up to ask Dean point-blank if he organized this. Dean's eyes bulged, riveted to the wall behind Sam. Sam raised his eyebrows in question. With an almost imperceptible nod, Dean told Sam to look behind him. Sam turned slowly. Through the kitchen window, Sam saw what must be a face. It was dark, covered in thick, matted fur. Twin dark eyes glared out through the nasty tangles, so filthy Sam had no idea what color the fur might actually be. A hole opened toward the bottom of the head, revealing a row of even pointed white teeth, the kind panthers or leopards had. A chill raced down Sam's spine as the dark eyes glittered with malice and the beautiful white teeth gnashed in that deep, dark mouth.
"Gremlin," Dean breathed.
Sam sighed, swallowing what was left in his mouth. "Just our luck."
In a blur of motion, the gremlin disappeared from sight. Dean made to race out the door after it, but Sam blocked him. "Easy Dean," Sam warned, mind racing for a way to keep his brother from being hurt even worse. "Knowing Bobby, there are plenty of protection wards on his house. It can't get in."
Dean glared at him. "Then how do you explain the water? Your toothbrush?"
Sam frowned. Both were excellent points. "I don't know."
Dean's eyes stabbed. "That's what I thought."
"We need to call Bobby," Sam insisted. "If he does have the protection wards I think he has, then the gremlin really can't get in and we're dealing with something else."
Dean's face fell. "A gremlin and an imp?" One hand scrubbed over his face. "I hate my life."
"Dean!" Sam shouted, his heart seizing in his chest. 'Don't say that, whatever you do, don't say that.'
Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, shoving him aside. "I'm going to check outside." Sam stayed close on Dean's heels. Nothing else was hurting his brother, not today.
The air was crisp and fresh, at odds with their rusting surroundings. Sam's eyes darted all around, searching for signs of trouble. Strong fingers dug into his arm. Sam followed his brother's pointing finger with his eyes. There, around the kitchen window, were gashes in the siding: Two sets of four gashes above the window and two sets of five gashes below. There was no sign of the nasty furred creature anywhere.
"It left?" Sam asked, hoping against hope it could be true.
"Not with our luck," Dean muttered darkly.
Sam grabbed his brother's shoulder and propelled him back toward the house. "Then we'll just have to call Bobby. Maybe he lucked out and finished his hunt early."
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Dean started to protest until he realized Sam must not remember that Bobby said the hunt was a day's drive away. He clamped his mouth shut. As much as he hated to admit it, in his current condition he might not be able to move fast enough to protect his little brother. If Bobby were here he might worry a little less. Maybe.
"Bobby has a cell phone?" Dean asked. "When did he move into the twentieth century?"
"It's the twentyfirst century now, Dean," Sam said as the door slammed behind them.
"I know, Sam," Dean said with a smirk. He watched as comprehension dawned on his brother's face.
"Oh." A grin flickered across Sam's features. "Good point." Sam's shaggy brown mop nodded in agreement. "Well, he left a number, I just assumed it was his cell. Let's go find out."