AN: We have come to our conclusion! There are, sadly, no ninja mice in this story as mentioned by a fabulous reader, but there should have been. The world needs more ninja mice.
Thanks again to MicheleChadwick forn providing the idea behind this story!
Janice made this flow much better, not to mention fixed all the grammar mistakes. She's a great beta!
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There are some characters that appear over and over in mythologies from around the world. One of the most prevalent is the scoundrel, scamp, troublemaker, hellion, trickster. Some prominent examples include Anansi the spider, Kokopelli, Loki, Coyote, Lugh, Maui, Pan, Sun Wukong or the monkey, and possibly the most famous of all, Puck, also known as Robin Goodfellow.
This category tends to be among the most ambiguous of the so-called gods and demigods, particularly in regard to humans. They may pull pranks from the harmless to the deadly, sometimes with no precipitating event other than mischief for its own sake. It is their murky motivations and capricious nature that make them so dangerous to encounter, as is clear in the stories of their exploits. They seem to primarily seek to amuse themselves, uninterested in worship and veneration, and undismayed when their actions lead to human suffering or death.
It is the opinion of this author that the very prevalence of these parallel characters indicates they should be investigated with more thoroughness to prove or disprove their existence, for there is hardly any other group with the propensity, not to mention the probable ability, to wreak havoc upon the human race.
From the Men of Letters Archives, New Castle, Delaware, Treatise on Myths Worth Investigation, by Herbert Wharton, 1904
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Sam was nothing if not resilient, so Dean shouldn't have been surprised that, by the morning, he was up and moving well enough that his demand to go along to get the picture that Puck wanted wasn't completely out of the question. He'd eaten his entire breakfast (delivered by faithful Will) and taken a shower without passing out and cracking his head open, and was able to mostly disguise the fact that he still had a killer headache. Still, the biggest danger in going to the Clown Motel was Sam going postal on the place, so Dean conceded. It had nothing to do with still not wanting to let Sam out of his sight. Really.
"You gonna tell Janine what you did to her gift?" Dean taunted as he put his arms into his flannel. He'd tucked the headless clown in with Sam after he'd fallen asleep and by morning there were limbs and stuffing strewn around the room.
"No, and neither are you," Sam warned. He'd sat down and propped his foot against his bed to tie his boots, and Dean had a suspicion that the decision not to bend over was to spare his head.
"We'll see," was Dean's only answer. But it turned out that Janine wasn't working. That ended up to be fortuitous, because it was the motel owner himself who was behind the counter, and he was more than happy to sell the picture for a mere fifty bucks, as it didn't really fit in with the theme of the rest of the place. (The Winchesters weren't above stealing for the greater good, but Sam had worried that Puck might be weird about ill-gotten goods. Besides, they both felt uneasy about stealing anything from the goofy little town that didn't seem to mind their own oddities.) Sam managed to keep his clown phobia in check during their foray into what he seemed to view as the den of terror, and they were actually in and out, mission accomplished, no muss, no fuss in under ten minutes.
Still, Dean wasn't in a great mood as they drove back to their own room, thanks to a tidbit the man had dropped. "They're all being nice because they think the bikers came back and kicked our asses," he growled. "That's just insulting, assuming those mouth-breathers could get one over on us."
"Well, what are you going to tell them? That we got beat to shit by an evil tree and a hobgoblin?" Sam asked, unperturbed, maybe even enjoying Dean's annoyance. He was prying the pictures out of their frame, since the symbols carved into said frame were apparently the reason Fu-- er, Puck -- couldn't get the pictures himself. (Dean thought it would be fun to hand them to the demigod still warded to see if his hands melted or something, but naturally, he'd been overruled.) "Just enjoy being seen as something other than the scary stranger."
"Maybe I like being the scary stranger," Dean groused. He was equal parts intrigued, weirded out, and totally enjoying the attention and care of the townspeople. He had an occasional twinge of guilt that he'd let it happen, since Dad never would have and would have torn into both of them about not letting people get close enough to care about and vice versa. Of course, there were other Hunters who wouldn't have fought it. Caleb would have basked in it like a cat in the sun. Pastor Jim would have accepted it with quiet gratitude. Bobby would have been embarrassed and Jefferson would have fled the town like his ass was on fire. So maybe their response wasn't so out of line after all.
"Damn. There's more spell work on the back of the pictures," Sam reported. "I need to do some research on how to break this without destroying them."
So that was why it was nearing 9 pm by the time the brothers found themselves ready to present the pictures to the entity that had alternately helped and tormented them. Sam utterly refused to let Dean go by himself, arguing with some merit, "You're more likely to insult him and get us cursed without me there. Besides, we need to make sure everything gets said."
"Come in, gentlemen," Puck called from inside as Dean went to knock.
Dean opened the door, but neither Winchester stepped inside.
"Appreciate the offer, but we're in a hurry. Leaving tonight," Dean said. "Here's your pictures."
"Lovely," Puck all but purred. He walked close, still looking like he was in his mid-twenties. He made a big show of setting a glass vial full of blood on the desk before coming to the door. "Did you know that there are still people who believe that a picture can capture a piece of your soul, or more accurately lifeblood?" Dean held onto the pictures of a split second longer than necessary before releasing, always adept at recognizing a threat.
"That's interesting," answered Sam in a voice that indicated it wasn't. "I have another picture that might have you in it." He flipped open his phone and showed Puck the photo he'd taken of the cover of an old book in the library called Faustus. Dean just waited, already knowing what Sam was intending.
"You see me as Mephistopheles, offering you a devil's bargain?" Puck asked, a predatory smile sliding like oil across his face.
"Maybe," Sam started, before Dean jumped in. (Hey, he'd never exactly agreed that Sam should say the part of their prearranged dialogue that was designed to piss the Old One off.)
"There is a dude named Robin the Clown," Dean said quickly. He relished the way Puck's smile disappeared.
"You think I am a fool? The fool?" he hissed.
"Not really," Sam picked up the conversational reins again, shooting a look at Dean that asked are you done? Can I do this like we discussed?
Dean just barely shrugged, knowing Sam would catch it and understand he was saying go ahead.
"There's another character in the picture," Sam continued calmly. More calmly than Dean felt facing down the being that had basically tortured Sam and, even worse, tried to steal him away forever. "Dr. Faustus, who got caught up in the only destiny he could see for himself." He shrugged and Dean could see through the casual facade by the stiff set to his shoulders.
"And where are the two of you in this tale?" asked Puck on cue.
"We aren't." Dean couldn't help but be the one to speak again. "We went off your script, didn't we? That's the only reason we're still standing."
"There must be a point to this conversation," Puck said, looking wary and a little confused. (That was good. Wary and confused were a hell of a lot better than murdery...which he might be in just a moment.)
"Step out of your script," Sam said. Dean edged just slightly in front of him, indicating to all parties present that Puck would have to go through him to get to Sam. He hadn't forgotten the power of the being in front of him, but even if he only gave Sam five more seconds, that was still five seconds for Sam to find a way to survive. "Dean figured it out –" No, Dean totally did not feel all warm and fuzzy to hear the pride in Sam's words. "– that you aren't here by accident. It can't be a coincidence that that picture was here but out of your reach, the same place there happens to be a tree from your homeland that went evil simply because it's alone. Someone drew you here, maybe somebody in your pictures, who you implied used to be like brothers to you. But that doesn't mean you have to stay."
"In fact, don't stay," Dean interjected, all but able to feel Sam frowning at him but not taking his eyes off Puck to confirm it. "Whatever your beef is with your bff's, the people who live here don't deserve to have to deal with your fuckery. Tree's dead, you've got the picture in your cold little hands. It's time for you to blow town and leave the people of Tonopah alone."
" All of them," Sam concluded, so firmly that Dean very nearly looked over his shoulder to see when Dad had showed up.
"Or what?" Puck asked in a deeper voice than his young-looking body should have been able to produce. "You'll kill me? You have no way to do that."
What's the matter, Dean thought with a little bit of feral satisfaction. Sammy hit a little too close to home? "Nope," Dean answered breezily, as if every muscle in his body weren't clenched in anticipation of an attack. "You've already underestimated us once. You gonna do it again? You really think we couldn't figure a way around your deal with Sam and get the news out about you without saying a single word? And you strike me as the kind of guy who doesn't want to have to deal with all that fuss. Cause a little chaos and get out, amiright? Is it even worth it to stick around?"
Dean straightened to his full height and stared right at what was probably the most powerful being he'd ever faced, knowing Sam was doing the same just behind him. He could hear Dad's voice clearly saying one of his favorite adages: "Strength isn't always what you think it is." Right now, he and Sam had the strength of conviction and of each other. Was it enough to out-armwrestle an Old One? There was no way to know until somebody's wrist hit the table.
Puck suddenly laughed. He sounded almost manic, but Sam and Dean didn't react outwardly. (Inwardly, Dean might be freaking out a little, but as long as nobody could tell it didn't matter, right?) After long enough to stretch everyone's nerves to the breaking point wondering what the heck he was going to do, because turning them into pumpkins or giving them a pot of gold seemed equally likely with such a powerful, mercurial creature, Puck finally stopped cackling. He peered at them through eyes that seemed to change colors. "I will go," he said. "If only because you have the most audacity of anyone I've ever known aside from my own brethren." He patted the pictures fondly. "That is the extent of my mercy. You will regret it if you meet me again. And –"
"We won't tell anyone about you," Sam finished.
Puck smiled again, not a nice smile at all. "No," he agreed. "You won't."
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Dean went from a dead sleep to awake all at once. He was lying on his back instead of in his normal position on his stomach with his hand under his pillow. For one disorientating second, he felt a sense of deja vu – like he'd woken up here in this manner before. Then he realized he'd woken because of a knock. By the time he rolled onto his side to look at the door, Sam had already pulled on his jeans. He didn't grab a weapon that Dean could see, so Dean made sure that his hand was properly positioned on the handle of the knife under his pillow. Sam ducked to look through the peephole, then relaxed and opened the door.
An elderly woman stood there, her gray hair pinned around her head and a covered tray in her hands. Dean looked at her and thought he should know her but couldn't come up with anything. She was not one of the many solicitous strangers he had encountered around town that he could recall. For a second, the wrinkles around her mouth almost looked like droopy whiskers, then she spoke and broke the strange illusion. Man, I must've had some seriously screwed up dreams last night, Dean thought.
"Oh, I didn't mean to wake you boys. I'm just so grateful to actually have some guests that I thought I'd make you some breakfast," the woman offered meekly.
That's right. She was Dinah Hall, the lady who owned and ran the motel. It was odd Dean had forgotten her. It was also odd that she just made them breakfast for no reason, but once Dean smelled it, who was he to complain? There was small but fat, cheesy omelets, crispy hashbrowns, crispier bacon, coffee, and orange juice. Freaking awesome!
Sam said something polite but stupid about how she didn't need to go to the trouble, but luckily Dinah didn't listen. As soon as she was gone, Dean practically leaped out of bed. "You never, ever turn down free food, Sam! Don't you know that? Free drinks from guys named Chad, yes, but not free food. Well, maybe if the food's from Chad too, but not if it's from some nice old lady."
"Did something seem off about her to you?" Sam asked, clearly not taking Dean's wisdom to heart. "Like, she's way too grateful just to have us staying here?" He ducked under some of the many, many witch balls that hung from the ceiling. The room was full of them to the point of absurdity.
"I bet she's just lonely. Remember, she puts out food for the desert hares? That's not the actions of someone who has a booming social life, if you know what I mean." Dean was already eating. He made a loud moan when he got a bite of omelet. "Vere's mushwooms in hewe," he announced. "Damn, that's good. You're missing out." He stuffed his mouth with bacon next.
"Yeah, maybe," Sam sighed, responding to statement about the woman being lonely. He was thinking way too hard for first thing in the morning. He took a drink of the coffee, looking around the room thoughtfully. "I feel like I forgot something." He paused. "We're leaving, right?"
"After food," Dean agreed. "Tree's dead, no reason to stick around. Now, are you gonna look a gift breakfast in the mouth or eat, cuz I'm more than happy to eat it for you?"
Sam finally sat down and started eating, though he let Dean eat all of his bacon. Sam got all of the orange juice in exchange, because Dean didn't bother with it unless there was vodka involved too. The meal was quiet, Dean busy enjoying the fare, Sam all broody and thoughtful. Finally, when everything was gone, Dean sat back and gave Sam a long look. "Your head still bothering you?" he asked finally. That fall into the mine had knocked Sam for a loop, so maybe he was just hurting. The hunt had been pretty straightforward, except for the part where they almost drowned in the tunnel; Dean couldn't think of any reason for Sam to be angsting.
"Not much," Sam answered. "Just ready to get out of here."
"Me too."
Half an hour later, they'd both showered and were all packed up. "Pastor Jim called when you were in the shower," Sam reported when Dean emerged from the bathroom. "I guess you asked him to do some research about old British folklore? Anyway, I told him it was a yataveo and it's dead so don't worry about it."
"Oh, yeah." Man, Dean's memory sucked right now. "I forgot I asked a couple Hunters to do some research. Jim push for us to visit?" Sam nodded with a smile. "Might as well," Dean decided. They'd been tentatively planning to head his way before they'd detoured to Tonopah.
Oddly reluctant to go to the motel office next door, they left a scrawled 'thank you for breakfast' written on an old receipt on top of the tray full of dishes. As they loaded their bags in the trunk, Sam kept scanning the area, as if the old buildings and dried mud held some kind of secret. Dean found himself doing the same thing. Something moved in his peripheral vision and he turned quickly, but it was gone.
"I, uh, thought I saw a cat," he explained sheepishly, knowing Sam would be wondering.
But Sam was looking at the motel office. "Yeah? I thought there was a window there."
In perfect sync, both brothers shrugged their shoulders as if shaking off the odd feeling and climbed in the car. "Let's get out of here," Dean said, starting his baby.
"You're the one who brought us here," Sam pointed out, all little brother. "Did you expect a town whose biggest draws are a motel full of clowns and an old cemetery to be normal?"
Dean could have pointed out that they'd come to help out a friend, or that their actions had saved lives, but he knew this was more about giving him crap than actually complaining. "You're never happy with the nice places I take you," he responded in the prissiest voice he could pull off. "The second biggest ball of twine in the continental U. S. is on the way to Jim's. Would that make you happy?"
"Yes, yes, it would," Sam answered with a grin. "Hey, remember the last time we were there, the lady at the tourist shop who had a thing for Dad?"
"Blech," both brothers reacted automatically.
"Yeah, Flora, wasn't it?" Dean recalled. "She had to be seventy, with those huge false eyelashes and must have layered her makeup on with a spackle knife."
"I think Dad was more afraid of her than whatever we were hunting."
They both laughed. Dean turned onto the highway and decided that they were going to stop there, just to screw with Sam. Besides, the diner next to the attraction made really good pie.
Laughing and pestering each other, neither man noticed the strange, swirling eyes that thoughtfully watched them leave, nor the vial of blood their owner held.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
A few years later
Bobby's eyes felt like sandpaper after the long, slow drive on almost no sleep, but he still smiled as he pulled into the salvage yard. The reason for his happiness was the shining black shape parked in front of his porch. His boys were here.
Bobby carefully parked the borrowed flatbed truck and unfolded his body from the cab. He'd grab his shit later, when his joints weren't protesting quite so loudly. He wasn't sure exactly when he'd gotten old enough that driving made him so sore, but he didn't appreciate it.
The house door was jerked open just as he reached it, then he was surrounded by enthusiastic Winchesters. When the boys were in a good mood, dealing with them was like wrangling two very large puppies.
"Okay, okay," he grumbled after the back slaps and too-loud greetings, though secretly he loved how happy they were to see him. "Lemme in my own damn house, will ya? I need a beer and a bed in that order."
Sam obediently fetched beers for all of them, and Dean managed to wait until they were sitting in the living room with their brews before asking (borderline demanding, since that boy couldn't be calm to save his life), "Why did you call us here?"
Bobby hid a smile by taking another drink. He'd made his request strong enough that he knew they'd come, no matter what else was going on, but he'd been deliberately vague, knowing it would drive them crazy. "I thought I taught you two to see a job all the way through to the finish," he said mock sternly. "I ain't your maid, cleanin' up after you knuckleheads."
The brothers exchanged bewildered looks. "What is it we didn't finish?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed. Damn, it was fun to mess with them.
"Say you take out a people-eatin' tree. Eventually, you gotta figure folks are gonna notice it's dead. And what d'you s'pose'll happen when they cut it down and find it fulla corpses, hm?" He glared at them, aware that they'd probably see through the act soon.
"Oh! The yataveo in Tonopah," Sam recalled. The same realization had dawned on Dean's face.
"Shit," Dean swore. "We should have figured out a way to burn that thing or something."
"Or you could have kept an eye on things and had Professor Wellingood ask the town for official permission to remove the tree for further study once people were startin' to realize it had to come down before it fell on some tourist's head." Bobby set his empty bottle down, letting a little smile peek through. "Like I did. It's on a flatbed outside. You two can cut it up and salt 'n' burn it tomorrow."
"Bobby, you're awesome," grinned Dean. "I didn't give it another thought once we ganked it. Professor Wellingood?"
"Yeah," said Bobby proudly. "Saul." He waited for Dean's laugh as he put the names together.
Sam, however, frowned. "You were monitoring things in Tonopah?" he asked. "How did you even know about the yataveo?"
Bobby rolled his eyes. "You really think Jefferson found the lore on yataveos?" he snorted.
Both brothers' mouths fell open in surprised realization. Jefferson was a smart guy, but his hunting style mostly consisted of try different things until the monster dies. He was far from the research type.
Bobby snorted again at the looks on their faces. "You two were too scared to ask me back then, remember? Jefferson and Caleb, and, shit, a few others too, used to keep me up-to-date on what you two were up to. Then, if I knew somethin' that could help on a hunt, I'd pass it along through them."
After a stunned silence, Sam said, "Wow. Just...thanks, Bobby." His smile was grateful and fond.
"Yeah, man. We should've known you'd always have our backs," was Dean's comment.
Bobby stood, since his tired eyes were prickling. "You two can take care o' the tree in the morning. Then you," he pointed at Dean "can grill some steaks and you," he pointed at Sam "can help me finish a translation. Cuz you owe me."
"Yes, Bobby," they chorused with matching smirks, like they'd caught on that he was touched by their thanks.
Bobby grumbled, since he'd never really known how to express the l-word. "Don't stay up all night, idjits." Naturally, they knew what he wasn't saying and just grinned wider.
At least they understood that, as long as he lived, they were his idjits.
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AN: Well, that's a wrap! And I managed to get a Bobby appearance.
waitingforAslan: Thank you! I love snark and schmoop equally, I think. I felt like I didn't do as much as I could have with Sam and the clown thing, so I threw the clown toy in there to torture him just a bit more. (Sorry, Sam!)
muffinroo: Your reasoning about Sam and fast food truly cracked me up! The Burger King king from the adds is pretty freaky too. I have to confess that I have never seen the Andy Griffith Show. I know, I know, but it's true.