Here's the new update! Sorry for not having it ready to post sooner, but the anticipation of the new season had me on pins and needles – I just couldn't concentrate!! Many thanks to everyone following this and those of you kind enough to review, and to hotshow for her diligent and timely proof-reading. (This story is all her fault, you know.)

Chapter 14

Dean felt all the air squeezed from his lungs as he saw Batman clutched against Sam's chest. Oh please, anything but that. He'd prefer to deal with a dozen gremlins and imps than that again. He used his eyes to plead with Sam not to do that again, not to choose to be a kid again to make them safe. Right now, nothing else could make their situation more dangerous.

Sam peered up at him through shaggy bangs, slouched over that damn Batman. "Well, if you're going to treat me like a kid…" A thin smile flickered across Sam's face. Bastard. If it wasn't for that head wound…

Dean forced air into his lungs, a measure of relief filling him at the same time. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly. "But I'm doing it with you."

"Bad idea." George's voice sounded out of place. "You two are both injured. Someone else should do whatever you two have in mind."

"Volunteering?" Dean asked, surprised. He figured George was way too freaked to help out with anything more demanding than carrying stuff around.

"No," Mike interjected, "I am." He slipped his pistol back into its holster, but did not snap on the strap to hold it in place. "What do we do?"

Dean stared at Mike a moment. "He's my brother, I'm doing it."

"Is George right, Dean? Are you injured?" Mike demanded. When Dean looked away, focusing on Sam instead, he asked, "George?"

"Several cracked ribs. There's so much trauma to that side I can't tell how much muscular damage he might have," George said.

"So much for doctor-patient confidentiality," Dean grumbled, pushing his gun into his back waistband.

"So it's true?" Mike asked, his face reflecting what he thought of Dean hiding that pesky little fact.

"So what?" Dean snapped back. "I can still do it."

"No," Mike said firmly. "Besides, with you and Reid watching our backs, what could go wrong?"

"Seriously, dude," Dean replied, alarmed, "don't say things like that. And I don't think that would be…"

"It's a good idea," Sam interjected. "Look, Dean, it's perfect. I won't be the bait alone, you'll still have my back and I won't have to worry about you being thrown into a wall or something."

"You don't need to go flying into any walls," Bobby said sharply. Dean spun around to face him. When did he come back? Damn, but Bobby was quiet. How did he do that?

"I don't like it," Dean argued.

"I don't either," Reid said, joining him. Finally, maybe he had someone who made sense on his side. "We don't have any idea what you're going up against."

"True," Mike said, crossing his arms over his chest, "but we'll never know unless we draw it out. It already has Sam's scent so he's the best choice as bait, but with that head injury he doesn't need to go it alone."

Dean watched a silent argument pass between Reid and Mike and could not follow any of it. Weird. He and Sam did that kind of thing all the time, but it was eerie to see it happening between two other people. He wondered if other people noticed when he and Sam did that. Reid nodded, grudgingly. It looked like Mike won.

"Sam and I are the bait. Dean, you and Reid figure out where the rest of you should be to cover us while Bobby and I check out where it's happening." Mike pointed out George. "You give Sam a once-over while we're getting ready."

Before Dean could wage another protest, Mike and Bobby went into the next room. The next thing he knew, Reid was at his side. "Well, Dean? How do we hold off an imp and a gremlin?"

Dean shook his head. "No idea. I'm banking on the idea that the imp called the gremlin, that it's not just here by chance. We figure if we can capture the imp, the gremlin should call it quits and leave Sam alone."

Reid's brow puckered with worry lines. "That's a lot of assumptions, Dean."

"Yeah," Sam grumbled from the couch, where George shone a penlight in his eyes, "welcome to our world."

A dark chuckle issued from Reid. "Okay, good point. But how do we cover them without the imp knowing?"

"We don't." Dean shrugged. "All we can do is try to keep them safe." He ran the layout of the next room through his head. "I have an idea."

Two hours later, they all laid in wait. Okay, he had been really reaching at this point, but Dean still thought they had a chance. An hour after setting everything up and he was still banking on their chances. Anything to keep that stupid Batman toy away.

Dean had surrounded Mike and Sam with a ring of salt and flour, not to mention the stupid shaving mug. Yes, it had been his idea, but shouldn't Sam have come up with something better by now? Seriously, that was Sam's job, to come up with better ideas. After a head injury, he couldn't really expect Sam to come up with something brilliant, but that was what he had come to expect of his baby brother. Was it too much to ask? Shouldn't he be able to come up with something better?

Dean sighed, fingering the trigger on his shotgun again. The imp needed to show up soon, or this whole thing was a colossal waste of time. A small sound caught his attention. Moving only his eyes, Dean searched for the source of the sound. It came again, from Sam.

Sam stared down at the floor. When Dean looked down, he saw that the ring of flour had been marred with tiny footprints. White feet moved toward the shaving mug. He glanced up hopefully at Sam. Either Sam or Mike would have to move pretty fast to put the lid on the shaving mug while the imp was still in it. That was when he expected the gremlin to attack the house, despite Bobby's protections.

"Now!" Sam pounded the floor next to the mug while Mike slammed the lid on. They looked triumphantly at each other.

"What was that?" Mike asked, moving to peek under the lid.

Sam's hand slammed down on top of Mike's. "Don't," Sam warned. "Trust me, you don't want to let it out."

"Let what out?" Mike asked. "That critter must use some hellacious camouflage." Mike's head shook back and forth.

"Yep." Dean stood up from behind the couch. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"But it's so small," Mike argued. "How could it have done all that to Sam?"

"There's another one outside," Reid said, moving out from behind a bookcase against the wall. "It's big."

"Can I come out now?" George's voice echoed in the kitchen.

"Yes, George, you're safe." Dean rolled his eyes, leaning the shotgun against the wall. "Now how long do you think we should wait before checking outside?" he asked Sam.

"Let's give it an hour," Sam suggested as George peeked around the corner.

"Works for me," Bobby said.

As Dean glanced over to Reid to get his reaction, he noticed the shaving mug move. It didn't move far, just half an inch or so, but there was no one around it. He froze, watching it. It rocked back and forth a couple of times, the lid shaking. Dean hissed for Sam's attention.

"I see it," Sam hissed back. "Bobby, what's going on? I thought you checked Dean's inscriptions?"

"There was nothing wrong with my inscriptions!" Dean shot back, though there was little room for indignation with that shaving mug learning the jitterbug only a few feet away.

"He's right, Sam," from the corner of his eye Dean saw Bobby pull Sam back from the mug, "they looked good to me."

"Get back," Dean motioned to Mike and Reid, "it's going to…"

The mug shattered with the force of a sonic boom, drenching the room in ear piercing sound and tiny shards of mug. Dean felt the pinpricks as the shards hit him, tiny stabs against his exposed face and neck and hands. One impacted close to his eye, making him spin away wincing.

"Dean?" George's voice this time. "Dean, you okay?"

He tried opening his eyes, found that he could and forced them to open all the way. Everyone stared at him. Dean sought out the last spot he had seen the mug. It was utterly destroyed.

"Well, so much for that stupid idea."

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A huge drop of blood, like it came out of a giant sized medicine dropper, came out of Dean's temple. It hovered uncertainly on his face, teetering on the edge of whatever wound it poured from, before splashing down in gory triumph over the side of Dean's face. They so did not need this.

"Dean? Dean, you okay?" George asked. The good doctor had still been at a relatively safe distance when the mug exploded. Really, there was no other word for it, it exploded. Sam dug deep into his prized vocabulary, but no other word fit what he just witnessed.

Sam blinked wearily as he watched George rush over to his brother, wincing at the bleeding wound. Scalp wounds always looked far worse than they were. Sam never worried unless Dean actually hit the ground or passed out. Then it was bad. He started to move to get something to help, but George grabbed a red bag near the wall and rushed back to Dean's side. Honestly, the doctor was taking things much better than Sam expected. He thought George would be totally freaked by now.

"What the hell can do that?" Mike whispered, staring down at the spot the mug had been. Tiny shards of white ceramic embedded into the floor in a circular pattern were the only proof a mug had once been there.

A deep sigh came from Reid. "Come on, rookie. Bobby and I need to talk to you."

Sam waited until the three men left the room. Dean grumbled something as he sat next to Sam, George coming at him with white gauze and a pair of tweezers.

"What?" Sam asked. He suspected the explosion affected his hearing because he usually didn't miss his brother's grumbles, even though he often pretended not to hear them.

"I said, now it's my turn." Dean flinched as George removed the shard embedded in his eyebrow, glaring at the man trying to help.

"Your turn?" George's voice shook as he worked, applying pressure against the wound to stop the bleeding.

With a glare, Dean shoved George away as he took over responsibility for his bleeding temple. "To have Mike acting like you."

"We should really wash that out," George said sharply. Sam thought that was an excellent idea.

"Not now," Dean argued before Sam could voice an opinion. "No time. There is no way the imp won't come after us now. Just stitch it up."

George shook his head, reaching into the red bag again. He came up with some butterfly closures. "This ought to work for now."

"Dean," Sam whispered, "as long as there is a doctor here…"

"No time, Sam," Dean said firmly with a snarl on his face. He motioned toward where the other men disappeared. "You think Mike…" Dean's head shook quickly. "Nevermind. Doesn't matter."

Sam could not help his sigh of frustration as he watched George patch up his brother. Again. Okay, so hunting was necessary and important, and Dean had saved so many lives so far he was a hero at least a hundred times over, but it was a lonely life. It seemed like every time his brother made a friend, that person left town, died or learned what they did and started treating his brother like either a nutcase or a freak. Dean didn't deserve either one, and now it looked like Mike would be joining the club, right behind George.

Sam leaned back, shutting his eyes, imagining the fallout in the weeks to come. Assuming, you know, that they made it to tomorrow.