Many thanks to everyone following this. Sorry for the delay, but I needed to do some planning for the rest of the story. I think we're on track now, thanks to the fact my wonderful editor hotshow is back!! (She has also been pushing me to finish this chapter so it could post.)

Chapter 9

Now why had they seen a gremlin but not the imp? Dean was convinced that they were dealing with two nasties, one was just a whole helluva lot nastier than the other. As he watched his brother sleep, a stray thought crossed Dean's mind. He focused on it and it grew, changing and morphing into a full blown idea. When the idea grew into a plan, he grinned at the setting sun. It was almost time to wake up Sam.

First, Dean rummaged through Bobby's kitchen cabinets. That was a chore with all the books still laying out drying and the fans going. Much to his surprise and relief, there was flour right next to a couple of bags of salt. He took the thankfully dry bag of flour and laid out a few white lines in the doorways and around Sam's couch. He took up his previous position, checking his shotgun.

With a scowl, Dean noticed there was something wrong. Checking his shotgun shells, he discovered that the iron shot had fused into solid irregular lumps and the gunpowder had been replaced by – what the hell was that? Tar? He touched the sticky stuff, making a nasty face. Great, no more leaving weapons unattended. Ever. Dean pulled the weapons bag close to get to his cleaning supplies. What was keeping Bobby?

---------------

As the sun sunk lower in the sky, Bobby found his vision blurring. He had been on the road since early this morning and knew he really should pull over and catch a few winks before driving on through to the house. As he looked for a likely spot, movement in the rearview mirror caught his attention. Bobby looked up to see a flash of grimy fur and white teeth.

Clutching the steering wheel, he spun as far as he could in his seat to look out the back window of his pickup. Nothing. He hoped it was a trick of the light, his mind slipping into a light dreamstate while he was driving. When he heard the clunk below his feet, Bobby was pretty sure it was no trick. He had a damned gremlin on his truck!

He drove off the road, slamming on the brakes and skidding to a stop. Bobby jumped out, grabbing his shotgun off the gun rack. His boots crunched on the roadside gravel as he slowly circled his truck. The engine was still running so listening for the critter was useless. He circled back around to the driver's side door which was still standing open. Only a handful of hunters lived as long as he did for one reason and one reason alone, they were painfully paranoid. Clutching his shotgun, Bobby peered under the truck. Still nothing.

He straightened, scratching his jaw. Did he really see something or was it his eyes playing tricks? Bobby, being the stubborn paranoid bastard he was, chose to think he really saw something. He circled his truck again, eyes peering in the dimming light for any sign of a gremlin. As he rounded the front passenger tire, it looked low. Grimacing, Bobby knelt down to check it. Air hissed from a fresh puncture, a slash across the sidewall.

"Bastard," he mumbled, "road hazard won't cover that."

Man, he hated gremlins. He heard that annoying sound of his cell going off and figured it was either Dean or Sam wondering where the hell he was. Bobby ignored it, hoping the sound might draw out the gremlin. He waited, crouched down and shotgun at the ready. His knees began to complain when he heard the sickening crack from the underside of his truck. Falling to his stomach and aiming the shotgun at the undercarriage, Bobby fully expected to find the gremlin ripping something apart. Instead, the sight that met his eyes caused his stomach to twist.

Huge slashes allowed transmission fluid to stream to the ground. The rear axle was in shambles and one rear wheel began to tilt at an angle.

"I really hate gremlins," he said, listening to his cell go off again.

----------------

"Come on, Bobby," Dean muttered, ramming the cleaning rod through his shotgun again. Each time he did it, he found more of that tar-like stuff. It wasn't tar exactly, but he'd be damned if he used the shotgun with that stuff in the barrel, which just might be the idea. The automated message about this cell phone user not answering kicked on again. Dean pressed the button again, growing more worried by the minute. He continued to clean the shotgun as he listened to Bobby not picking up.

"Dean?" Sam stirred on the couch. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to call Bobby," Dean snapped, his patience thin.

Sam rubbed his eyes, which looked a bit red for Dean's liking. "I meant why are you cleaning the shotgun?"

Dean scowled. "Imp."

"What?" Dean started at the voice in his ear.

"Bobby!" He nearly dropped the shotgun in his relief. "Why the hell didn't you answer your phone?"

"Seen that gremlin lately?" Bobby demanded.

Dean eyed his brother, who was sitting up and massaging his calves. "It pulled a disappearing act after pulling half the siding off your house to drop on Sam."

"That's because it was here," Bobby said, and he did not sound happy. "My truck may be totaled."

"Where, Bobby? We'll come get you." Dean was on his feet mentally cataloguing the things they would need for the trip.

"Don't even think it, Dean!" Bobby snapped through the phone. Dean could picture his friend's face, blazing with anger. "You and Sam stay at the house. You're more protected there. If you come after me, all you'll do is strand all of us in the middle of nowhere without protection."

"But Bobby," Dean tried to protest.

"No, Dean. I have some friends out this way who can give me a tow. Once I know how bad the damage is, I'll call you. In the meantime, stay in the house. The gremlin can't come inside."

He did not like that answer at all. "So what's getting inside?" he asked.

"It's probably an imp that was sealed in the pot Sam broke," Bobby replied, sounding a bit weary. "I should have done something with the damn pot before then, it's my fault. Listen, Dean, the only way to b--- an imp ---- trick --- a con----."

"What Bobby? I didn't catch all that. Bobby?" Even the static was gone now. Dean checked his phone. The battery was dead. He charged it just this morning. Holding it up to show Sam, Dean said, "This imp is starting to piss me off."

Sam's face darkened. "What's up with Bobby?"

"The gremlin paid him a visit in the truck." Sam's face shifted into worried-shock and Dean held up a hand. "He's fine. It'll just take him longer to get here." He tried to grin for Sam's sake.

"Aren't we going to get him?" Sam asked, his surprise clear.

"No," Dean shook his head. "He said we'll just be better targets that way. Bobby wants us to stay here and deal with the imp. He tried to tell me what to do, but the phone cut out." He hefted the useless cell in his hand, debating on whether to put it on to charge or slam it into the nearest wall. Economy winning out, Dean headed upstairs to plug in his phone after making a quick check of the flour line around Sam. It was undisturbed. "Back in a sec."

He raced upstairs, unwilling to leave Sam alone for any length of time. There was no telling what that imp might try to do while he was gone. Dean had noticed that the imp never did anything while he was around and hoped for that trend to continue. At least he could keep Sam safe until they figured out what to do. As he raced back downstairs, his ribs made themselves known, rather loudly. Checking his watch, Dean realized it was past time for his pain meds. Not wanting to alert Sam to the fact, he decided to play it off as overdoing it on the stairs.

He breathed heavily as his feet hit the ground floor, not that he had any choice in the matter. "Dean?" Sam peered over the back of the sofa, brows drawn together. "You all right?"

Dean nodded, unable to speak at the moment. He resisted clutching at his side, knowing it would do no good anyway and just worry Sam.

------------------

Dean was pale, sweaty and completely out of breath when he came back downstairs. Sam frowned at the sight. This clearly did not constitute 'taking it easy.' Wondering how to suggest his big brother sit down for a few minutes at least, Sam noticed Dean studying the floor. He looked down to find what he thought was a ring of salt around the couch where he just took a nap.

Sam tried standing and the pain was tolerable now. He suspected he would just have a couple of nasty bruises by morning. You know, assuming they managed to live that long. "What are you looking at?" he asked, leaning over the back of the couch to watch Dean.

His brother pointed to a section of that white line. Tiny footprints appeared in the white powder and little white footprints walked inside the circle to just below where Sam's head had been while he slept. With mounting trepidation, Sam lifted the small throw cushion he used for a pillow. It felt strange. Upon examination, Sam discovered his pillow was now filled with jello. He figured if he laid his head on it again, it would create a mess worthy of his big brother.

"Nice," he said, gently holding out the cushion. Dean took it carefully, as though it might explode. Sam wondered why Dean was cleaning the shotgun earlier, maybe something similar happened with it?

"Well, at least it has some style," Dean quipped with a smirk. "Should I pop this in the fridge for later?"

"If you're looking for food poisoning, sounds like a great idea." Sam glared at Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like I was serious." He walked over to the front door and quickly tossed it outside. "Sam, I've been thinking. We should try to make friends with this imp."

Sam's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?" Dean nodded, but he held eye contact. Sam got it, his brother had a plan. He hoped it was a good one. "And how to you think we should do that?"

Dean looked thoughtful. "Let's invite it to dinner."

"Dinner?" Sam seriously wondered about his brother sometimes. "And how do we invite it?"

Dean shrugged. "I figure if we set out dinner, it'll show up. Especially since I plan on setting a place for it."

Sam moved to follow his brother into Bobby's kitchen. Sometimes Dean got the strangest ideas. As he passed the white line around the sofa, Sam bent to examine it. "Flour?" He ran a hand over his face. Dean really had some odd ideas sometimes.

True to his word, Dean set out an extra hot dog for the imp. Sam sat in one of Bobby's kitchen chairs, the vinyl seat sticking to his thighs since Dean insisted he wear shorts. Something about his legs could swell to the point of busting the seams on his jeans? The way Dean said it, it sounded like the voice of experience. Sam chose not to ask about it. He decided that was one of those things he did not want to know.

Sam practically inhaled his three hotdogs. Who knew getting a few bruises could make you so hungry? Well, in retrospect, it certainly explained Dean's normally ravenous appetite. Sam made a mental note to add that to his list of 'things that may mean Dean is hurt.'

Polishing off a fourth hotdog, his brother cleared his throat, nodding at the third plate. It was untouched. "So much for that idea."

"What made you think it would come anyway?" Sam asked, clearing their dishes.

"The book," Dean replied, setting out the books again to finish drying. "It said imps could be tricked into doing good deeds if they were lonely. I figure, since there's no way to kill them, they must all be lonely."

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. "How does an inability to die equal lonely?" he asked as a follow-up thought struck him. "Other than the whole being encased in pots thing?"

Dean stared at him, as though the answer were so obvious every kindergartner would know it. "Unless they only make friends with other imps, and they don't seem to hang out together, all their friends die. That's a lonely life, dude."

The images of the few people Dean had befriended, either dead or left behind in a town somewhere, flashed through Sam's mind. "Oh." Honestly, he never thought about it like that. He did the normal college thing and knew he could settle down and make friends any time he wanted. Okay, it might have to be under another name, but he could still do it. Could Dean?

"I think these books are about dry," Dean's voice interrupted his thoughts. Sam turned, finding himself standing next to his brother evaluating the condition of Bobby's books.

"I don't suppose you had a chance to tell him about the flood?" Sam asked.

"Not exactly," Dean replied. His brother gave him a worried look. "You don't think he'll be too upset, do you? I mean, we already owe him siding for half the house."

Sam shook his head. "It wasn't our fault, Dean. Bobby knows that."

"Yeah, it's just that…" Dean stared out the kitchen door into the den, his jaw slack.

Sam spun around, expecting to see a nasty, grungy gremlin standing there. Instead, there was a collection of objects on the wall he knew was blank earlier. Dean brushed past toward it, Sam close on his heels. On the wall was a collection of child-like fingerpaintings, which Sam suspected he did. He hoped it was from when he really was a kid and not from his freaky amnesia. When did he start thinking like Dean? Regressive amnesia, Sam, regressive – not freaky. Even though it was. Freaky, that is.

Right there, in the center. What was that? Sam reached out and picked it up. It was a Batman action figure and the eyes had been sloppily painted over in green. Great. It was probably all from the freaky – regressive amnesia. There was something about the Batman that made him feel just a little bit better.

"Dean? Why did I have a Batman? You know, with the amnesia thing?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "You wanted a toy. Threw a hissy fit in the toy department. Buying it was the only way I could shut you up."

Sam nodded slowly. "Talked you into it, huh? Let's see, Batman is the only superhero who has no superpowers, unless you count more money than god. So was it something along the lines of Batman reminding me of you and Dad?" By the innocent look on his brother's face, Sam knew he was right. He grinned, holding it up. "So why does Bobby still have it, anyway?"

"More importantly, what's all this stuff doing here?" Dean asked. It was the last thing Sam heard before a huge crack and the world shattered into darkness.