Hey – a second update this week! Hurrah!! Thanks to hotshow for her diligent proof-reading and to everyone following this fic. Even though it's a sequel to Lil' Sammy, I didn't really expect it to have an equal popularity, but it may even pass up Lil' Sammy's initial following. Wow!! Thanks again!!
Chapter 13
What was with all the stupid questions, anyway? Dean restrained a desire to growl at George. He had a job to do and this civilian was slowing him down. Did Bobby collect books? Dean scoffed aloud, drawing another concerned look from George. The guy probably thought he was losing his mind, but Dean was not the one in the home of the biggest damn bookworm in five states asking if Bobby collected books!
"Dean? What are we doing now?" George asked in that voice you use when you're hoping the person you're talking to doesn't turn violent.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Just follow me," he snapped, heading for Bobby's "special" cabinet. Dean wondered if George knew what was inside it, if Bobby kept the "special parts" for George's aunt and uncle in the same place he kept his own. The cabinet door was locked, as usual. Dean jiggled the handle, wondering where the hell Bobby kept the key.
"We don't have time for this," he muttered, making a point of ignoring any reaction George might have. He rushed over to Bobby's desk – ah ha! Paperclip! As he bent it into the proper shape, Dean sent a silent prayer of thanks to the man who invented the paperclip. He headed back to the cabinet, holding up the bent wire triumphantly. There was no ignoring the look of disbelief on George's face this time.
Dean glared back as he inserted the paperclip into the lock. Fortunately, Bobby set more store by his charms and wards than by locks and keys. Well, if he were to get right down to it, Bobby set a lot more store by his shotgun and a bottle of holy water than anything else. The lock clicked quickly under his practiced fingers as the sounds of police sirens drew closer.
He shot a look at George over his shoulder. "You hear that?"
George nodded, staring hungrily at the door as if salvation would come charging through at any moment. Dean choked back a growl as he yanked the door open. His eyed grazed over the containers of various charms and trinkets, wondering briefly what they were for. Finally his gaze rested on a container of sorts. It used to be a shaving mug, before Bobby decided to maintain a manly stubble. Now Bobby used it to keep some kind of silver charms, which Dean saw when he removed the top.
He dumped out the contents onto the shelf in order to inspect the shaving mug. It was ceramic, which was a definite plus, and looked large enough for an imp. Dean might have preferred something metal, but the book said natural elements were better and ceramic was basically fired clay, so it ought to work. Then he spotted some pretty stones on the bottom shelf. Idly wondering if those would be enough to attract an imp, Dean snagged a couple and placed them inside the mug.
"Bring that over here," Dean ordered, heading for Bobby's desk. After rummaging in the drawers, he located a permanent marker. Taking the book from George, Dean opened it to the marked page. Using the marker, he copied the symbols in the book onto the ceramic jar. When he was finished, he did the same thing to the lid. Funny, the sirens sounded close just a minute ago and now nothing. Opting for George to guard the jar instead of the book, he handed it over carefully.
"Whatever you do, don't drop that," Dean warned as he headed toward the door. Peering out through a crack, he saw nothing amiss outside. Then again, he realized, George's car was still blocking the road to the house. If they were followed, if Bobby called for some reinforcements, whoever was out there would be on foot. That growl crawling back up his throat, Dean jerked his head at George. "Grab the shotgun. Let's go."
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Mike stared at the car blocking their way. It was George's car, he was positive. The left rear bumper still had that dent from the time George backed into a light pole in the hospital parking lot. "I guess George gave Dean a lift?" he asked in the otherwise silent car.
"Or it got them," came Sam's response. Mike glanced back over his shoulder, expecting to see Sam slumped against the seat, barely able to hold himself up. Instead Sam sat straight up, eyes scanning the car ahead of them, alert. "I don't see any damage from here, but we need to check."
The rear door swung open wide before Sam hopped out. Mike cut his eyes at Reid. "Which one was in the hospital this time?" he asked softly.
Reid made a scoffing noise. "Does it matter, rookie?" Reid's door opened and he jumped out, moving easily for a man with more salt than pepper in his hair.
A hand on his shoulder prevented Mike from following immediately. "If we're not careful," Singer's whisper sent a chill down his spine, "they're both going to wind up there. Or in the morgue."
Mike turned around slowly, but he was alone in the car now. Looking through the windshield he saw everyone else inspecting George's car. Great, now they were trying to leave him behind! Mike rushed to catch up, slowing when he noticed Reid's expression in the light cast from their headlights. Reid had that intense expression that meant they should move real slow and be real careful, because the bad guys were real close. Mike unholstered his gun, carrying it tight in his right hand.
Reid motioned, telling Mike to circle George's car from the far side. He did, moving ahead of Singer. When he reached the front bumper, he stopped short. Three long gashes through the metal started from the front wheel well and made their way forward through the driver's side headlight. Mike cast a worried look around for whatever made this before tentatively touching the gashes. If he didn't know better, he would swear it had been made by claws and not something George drove into. Not moving from his position, Mike's eyes searched out anything George might have driven into to make those gashes on the way in, but he couldn't spot anything. Then again, it was dark.
"Guess they ran into something and went the rest of the way on foot," Mike said, pointing out the gashes. Sam beat Reid to check it out.
"Idiot," Sam muttered, looking far too disgruntled. Mike never really got to know Sam during his bout with amnesia, but he knew how much it had bothered Dean. More than once George had mentioned how Dean seemed so relaxed now and not a nervous wreck. Mike had blown it off at the time, but he would not put it past Dean to put his own life on the line to protect his brother. Actually, it was exactly what he would expect. He and Dean thought alike, which was why they got along so well. And probably why Dean was always trying to hook him up with the slut of the week when the brothers were in town. He noticed Dean never tried that with George.
They moved slowly around the car toward the house. Singer carried the shotgun Dean had in the ambulance. Ha! Talk about a worried paramedic team! Mike grinned into the darkness, glad for some cover at such a serious time. Reid would chew him out for smiling right now. Arranging his face into a more appropriate expression, Mike scanned the shadows ahead of him. A hand on his arm made him jump.
"Settle down," Sam hissed, "it might hear you."
"It?" Mike whispered. "What do you mean, it?"
"Nevermind!" Sam shoved him aside. Oh, if he weren't Dean's brother, Mike would be seriously tempted to arrest him for obstructing justice.
He noticed Sam kept looking up, at Singer's roof. A glance at Singer told him that the old man was doing the same. When he turned to catch Reid's attention, he realized his partner was also scanning the area at roof-level. O-o-o-okay. Since everyone else was looking up, Mike was pretty sure he was the only one seeing the dark blur moving toward them. He raised his pistol, aiming in the darkness and hoping Reid would notice in time to cover for him.
The dark blur moved fast, faster than Mike would have thought possible. He put pressure on the trigger, hoping it wasn't Dean out investigating the sirens. Something white flashed in the blur, something that looked suspiciously like long, sharp teeth. Mike fired, repeatedly.
His gunfire was joined by a shotgun blast. Well, at least Singer noticed! The dark blur spun away from them, heading back into the darkness. Mike stopped firing when his gun clicked twice, out of ammo. He would have to go back to the car for another clip.
"Here." A familiar voice said from his left. Mike looked over. A hand held out a clip that fit his pistol. As he reached out for it, he realized it was Dean handing it over.
"Good thing that wasn't you," Mike said, nodding in the direction the blur went.
"Or you," Dean replied, holding up a shotgun with a tendril of smoke curling from its muzzle.
"That was you?" Mike asked, surprised.
"Can't let a perfectly good wingman go down," Dean replied, levity in his voice but his eyes serious.
"In flames," Mike agreed with a nod, pocketing his empty clip. "I owe ya a clip."
Dean nodded. "You can pay me back tomorrow."
Mike returned the nod. He understood that was assuming they both lived through the night. "So what was that?"
"It wasn't invisible," George's voice sounded strange, thin and high, "so I'm guessing it was the gremlin."
Mike caught Dean's eye, wondering if George took a blow to the head, too. "Yep," Dean said calmly, as though he discussed such things daily, "that was the gremlin. Still have that container?"
Mike turned to squint in the low light thrown through Bobby's dusty house windows. George held out an object that fit easily in his hands. O-o-o-kay. When Reid said nothing, just stood beside Singer and whispered quietly, Mike decided to follow his partner's lead. He waited to see what would happen next. Obviously there was another rabid animal at Singer's that Dean and George were calling a gremlin, probably because they had not been able to actually identify it yet.
"Do…do we want to stay out here?" George asked, his voice breaking. Mike wondered if George ever worked in the ER, he did not seem to take pressure situations very well.
"No," Sam said forcefully. "Everyone in the house."
Mike hung back, his pistol at the ready, to watch their backs as the rest retreated to the safety of the house. He noticed Dean and Sam exchange fierce looks, but neither said anything. Then Dean looped Sam's arm over his shoulders and led them both into the house silently. Sam stumbled at the front door, which Mike found worrying.
Mike closed the door behind them, thankful for four solid walls between them and whatever rabid animal was hunting Singer and his relatives this time.
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George worried that Dean's precious shaving mug with marker scribbles would slip out of his sweat-slick hands and crash on the floor. He did not know how much longer he would be able to hold on to it. Fortunately, he was relieved of his burden by Bobby Singer.
"Yeah, that should work," Bobby said, inspecting the shaving mug. "But did it have to be my favorite shaving mug?"
"Said the man with a beard," Dean quipped. George backed up until he felt a solid surface behind him. Yes, something to hold him up now. This evening had been more of an experience than he ever wanted. Might want. Never wanted.
"It's not easy, is it?" A smooth, soft voice spoke in his ear. George jumped, turning to stand face to face with the sheriff, Mike's boss – er – partner. Whatever.
"What?" he asked, feeling as though he had just come out of a martini shaker. No wonder Bond preferred them this way; he was crazy, too.
"To find out all those scary stories you used to tell yourself were just stories are true," Reid replied softly.
"What!" Had the whole world lost its mind???
"Sshh!" Reid hushed him, motioning to the kitchen. On automatic, he followed slowly. Bobby's kitchen looked the same as always, an island of sanity in the midst of this chaos. Well, sanity was relative; all those books were still strewn over the counters.
"Mike doesn't know," Reid nodded toward the main room. "I'd just as soon keep it that way."
George blinked slowly, still not comprehending, well, anything. "What? You mean you think this whole imp-fairy-gremlin-leprechaun thing is real?"
Reid frowned. "We're dealing with four things?"
George shook his head. "No, two. I mean, none! What the hell are you talking about?" Emotions flowed unchecked through him as images of dark blurs on the roof and tiny booted footprints in flour flashed in his mind. "You believe it." It was an accusation, not a question.
Reid nodded. "You don't work in law enforcement as long as I have, in this area, without running across a few of these things. It's how Bobby and I met in the first place. Sometimes I refer him on special jobs. You can ask Doctor Wayne if you like."
The use of Brad Wayne's name was a slap across the face to him. Well, it certainly would explain why Brad was always cautioning him about Dean – he knew. Brad knew they were all crazy.
"And you haven't told Mike." George nodded. "Because he'd think you're crazy and report you."
"No." Reid sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He took a moment to take a long look out the window before returning his attention to George. "Because I'm afraid Mike will start hunting, the way Bobby, Dean and Sam do."
"Hunting?" George asked, wondering when the world took a detour from reality. "How would any of this make Mike want to go deer hunting? And why would you care?"
Reid sighed, a heavy sound in a bizarre conversation. "Not deer. Hunting those things." A thumb jabbed over his shoulder at the kitchen window.
"You mean," George glared at Reid, "there are people who just go out looking for fairies and imps?"
Reid scratched the top of his head. "Well, I never heard of anyone hunting a fairy, but I suppose that's possible. Usually it's ghosts or poltergeists or, in Bobby's case, demons. Not sure what those boys specialize in." Reid glanced down briefly. "I've been afraid to ask, to be honest."
"Why?" That seemed to be the only thing he could ask anymore. What? Why? It seemed that 'what the hell' would be far more appropriate.
"Dean." Reid's eyes danced to the open kitchen door and back. "If you listen to Bobby, that boy could hang the moon with one hand and shoot out the stars with the other while Sam gave you a dissertation on why technically it wasn't possible and how Dean was able to do it." Reid shrugged. "To be honest, there are just some things that I don't want to know."
George nodded. "I can understand that."
"I'll bet." Reid stepped forward, clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get through tonight and then we can both pretend it never happened."
"Weak." George muttered as he allowed Reid to steer him back toward the main room. "You do know that was really weak."
"Not one of my better speeches," Reid replied. "You should hear the one I do on bus safety for the elementary school. The kids call it rockin'."
George raised an eyebrow. "Back in the sixties?"
Reid shoved him into the room, with quite a bit more force than he expected. Bobby was no longer in the main room. Sam sat on the sofa with Dean hovering close by while Mike and Dean talked in low tones. Seeing the two of them standing side by side like that, checking their sidearms, George was struck by the similarities between the two men. They had the same stance, composure, and bearing. Why had George never noticed before? Clearly he watched two men with training; they could be soldiers. Watching them, he could understand why they got along so well. He could also understand Reid's worry, as crazy as it sounded. As alike as they appeared, it was not difficult to image them having similar interests.
"Dean?" Sam asked, his voice strong in direct contrast to his pale skin. "It would be better if I did it. The imp is already targeting me."
Dean glared at his brother. "I'm already pissed at you, Sam. Don't make it worse. You're going to stay where I can keep an eye on you."
"Fine." Sam huffed, pulling something out from under the vest he wore. He hugged a black object against his chest. As George tried to figure out what it was, he saw Dean's eyes go wide.
"Sam?"