AN: I realize I haven't published anything in approximately forever but...well, I'm still alive! *sheepish smile*

This is a short (3 chapters plus an epilogue) story that is fully written, so I intend to publish a chapter every 1-2 days.

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Sam flipped his pencil up and caught it blindly, action perfected from hours and hours of repetition. Dean had showed him (far younger than he should have) how to do it with a knife, but most people frowned on a kid, even a tall sixteen-year-old, playing with a knife so Sam had adapted.

Back in fifth grade somewhere in Minnesota, Sam had had a science unit on clouds and weather. His teacher had enjoyed the topic and appreciated Sam's interest, never getting tired of questions about it. Sam had even delved into the subject on his own for a few months afterwards. Now that he helped keep his eyes open for potential hunts, severely unusual weather was one of the things that piqued his interest, and this was well and truly in the 'weird' category.

The Winchester family had come to Dunkle, Oklahoma – Dean called it a stupid name and Sam couldn't disagree – during summer break from school because something was stealing babies and Dunkle was right in the center of it all.

There had been a small string of infant disappearances across the southwest United States over the summer. But because they were sporadic and took place in several different states, nobody seemed connected them...until puzzle-master John Winchester caught wind of them.

Sam flipped his pencil again and again, reading weather reports and trying to figure out if he was chasing a coincidence. Almost everywhere, someone had reported a dark cloud right over the place the baby was taken and even a few had gotten pictures of such a thing, though the authorities had dismissed it every time. Yet it wasn't the cloud Sam was looking into. It was the weather on the day after the cloud and abduction that had caught his attention.

He'd gotten lucky and nabbed himself a job almost the minute they arrived in town, meaning he could sit at the desk of this crappy motel (a step below what even the Winchesters would tolerate) and read while getting out of hunting and making some money, the latter being the only acceptable excuse for the former in his father's eyes. Dad and Dean used Dunkle as a sort of base of operations but were gone most of the time doing "boots on the ground" work in the towns that had had a baby taken.

Sam had lied about his age to the diminutive motel owner when asking for the job, figuring nobody would hire a 16-year-old, but the creepy, slovenly Hugo hadn't asked for a single piece of information and paid him in straight-up cash, so it probably wouldn't even have mattered.

But this morning, the whole place had an oppressive feel that didn't come from the 90 plus degrees the thermometer showed. To Sam, it felt like his ears were about to pop, like the air pressure was going up and up and something had to give. He knew enough to trust his instincts. Dad always said humans could sense a fair amount of supernatural stuff but almost everyone simply disregarded it. So, he'd put aside A Separate Peace and went back to the case.

The bell over the door rang and a blast of hot, dry air reached Sam despite the desperately-chugging window air conditioner. A woman wearing a dress so short it didn't deserve to be called a dress swept in, a piece of paper blowing off the bulletin board at her entrance.

"Hey, Rita," he greeted. Between the heavy make-up and barely-there outfit, her profession was fairly obvious. She was in pretty much every day, renting a room for an hour at a time. She had long black hair and a Botticellian figure. Sam could tell she was older than she tried to appear.

"Hey, Cutie," she drawled with a pleased smile. At first, she'd hit on Sam to try to get a better deal on a room but now was just friendly. "Here I thought I'd have to face that smelly old chihuahua and instead I get to see you!" Her pronunciation of chihuahua gave away her Latina heritage. Sam couldn't blame her for her dislike of his boss, who was a total creep. He'd made such a crude comment to Rita one day that Sam had actually considered punching him.

For his part, Sam didn't look down on Rita at all. He didn't like that she worked as a prostitute because it was dangerous and he thought she deserved better, but as a hunter's kid he knew what it was like to live on the fringes of society and have to do unpalatable things just to survive. They'd even formed a bit of a friendship. Sam knew she turned as many tricks as she could get in such a small town to supplement her income from waitressing. He even knew that the owner of the local auto shop wanted to marry her but she wasn't sure about it. She knew his family was working elsewhere and that he wanted to go to college in a few years. She brought him taquitos once and he taught her how to jimmy a quarter-operated washing machine to get your load done for free.

"Nah, you're safe. I haven't seen him all day," Sam answered. "Four is ready." He'd almost said 'clean,' but that was a bit of a misnomer in this craphole.

"Thanks, Sam. Won't be long." She smiled again, but this time it didn't reach her eyes. She traded a stack of one dollar bills for an old-fashioned key.

Sam didn't know what she was worried about and it was none of his business, but something made him say, "wait a sec" as he put the money in the cash box. "You overpaid." He handed her back a ten and she bit her lip but took it. Sam figured she deserved it and Hugo would never know the difference.

With a wave, Rita breezed back out and cozied up with a chubby, sweaty guy with a mullet as if he were Brad Pitt.

Sam couldn't help noticing that the sky was getting darker, and it made him shiver in spite of the heat. It wasn't enough for him to think this was the cloud that presaged a baby going missing… at least not yet. Unnerved, he went back to puzzling out the weather clue, unable to shake the feeling that he was somehow running out of time.

They still didn't know what they were facing and weren't finding many clues either. The babies disappeared without a trace and without any obvious connection between their families. There were different races, different positions in their families (only child, third born, etc.), different genders, different social and economic strata. There was no pattern to the timing, either. There was as little as two days and as much as three weeks between newborns going missing. Dad had initially been convinced it was as aswang but couldn't find any of the tell-tale signs.

Dean had confided to Sam that he was starting to wonder if the incidents were connected at all until both Dad and Sam had independently discovered that every one took place in a town with a population of 5,000 or less, were heavily agricultural, specifically cash crops. These types of places weren't super uncommon in the area, but there were too many coincidences to not suspect a pattern, at least to two of the Winchesters.

"Hell, if anyone other than Dad had come up with this hunt, I'd call it a bust," Dean'd said. "Well, anyone but Dad or you. I swear, I don't know how you two connect some of the shit you do."

The praised had warmed Sam and stung a little at the same time. He was a sucker for his big brother's approval and knew it, but he didn't necessarily want to be compared to Dad, with whom he didn't always get along, and that was putting it mildly.

Still, he had no idea what any of those factors had to do with baby-stealing monsters, but he knew Dunkle fit the bill. And he'd found another strange similarity. Every time a baby went missing, it rained the next day even though a huge swatch of the U.S. was blanketed by a drought.

Sam absentmindedly picked up the faded paper that had fallen off the bulletin board. Rally for rain! it read. It invited all citizens to come to a gathering to talk about water conservation and shared hope for an end to the drought. Like most of the southwest, they were among the hardest hit by the severe dry spell to the point that crops were dying in the fields and grass crunched when you walked on it. The flyer was dated yesterday.

Suddenly Sam's possible coincidence of all towns getting much-needed rainfall right after a baby disappeared didn't seem coincidental at all.

Easily bypassing the pathetic protections on his boss' computer and ignoring the disturbing links the man had saved, Sam quickly typed in the name of the first town they knew of with an abduction, followed by rain rally. Then the next. And the next. In every single town, there had been some sort of gathering hoping for rain – prayer, rally, dance, whatever – then a baby went missing a day or so later and rain immediately fell only in that small area, leaving the surrounding areas in their drought conditions.

The bad feeling Sam had had all day tripled. He had a feeling he was right at ground zero right now.

"Shit, shit, shit," he chanted, calling Dad's number. He and Dean had gone back to a town called Gruver, the last place with an abduction, to look into a possible witch and were hours away by car. Dad didn't answer and Sam hastily left a message about his findings. Dean didn't have a phone, so Sam's next move was to pull up birth announcements in the local paper. He jotted down the names of all of them born in the last three months. There were more than he'd expected. He began painstakingly looking up addresses and crossing off any that lived outside of town. There were still just too many to possibly guess which might be at risk.

He looked outside, wondering if it had gotten darker in the last couple minutes. Not knowing what else to do, he dialed a familiar number in South Dakota. Dad might not always get along with Bobby, but Sam did.

"Bobby, do you know what steals babies and makes it rain?" he babbled as soon as his adoptive uncle answered the phone.

"Usually a fae of some kind," Bobby answered promptly. He knew about their hunt. "That what you're dealing with?"

Sam looked outside at the oddly empty streets. "Yeah, I think so. Everywhere a baby's gone missing, it's rained right after, stopping the drought. And, uh, I have a feeling that's about to happen here. They just held a rally for rain, and I just found out that happened in each town a baby went missing, right before. But there were just too many babies born for me to narrow down which one might be a target."

Something akin to panic bubbled up in Sam. "Bobby, Dad and Dean aren't here and I can't reach them!"

"It's okay, boy," Bobby answered calmly. "If you think something's about to go down, find a safe place and hunker down. Find yourself some iron – all fae hate that. I'll see if I can get a line on what exactly you're up against and keep tryin' your pa. And I'll check who I know is in the area. What's the name of that town you're in again?"

"I'm in Dunkle, Oklahoma, but I really don't know that something's happening right now."

"Anything changes, you call me, Sam," Bobby insisted. "I'll be here. What number can I call to get 'hold of you?"

Bobby's assurances soothed Sam's agitation. He recited the motel's number to his friend and promised (twice!) to call if anything happened. In turn, Bobby promised to call if he figured anything out.

Still on edge, Sam started flipping his pencil again. He was so lost in his thoughts that he jumped when the door opened and Rita walked back in, dropping the pencil completely.

"Here ya go," she said as she laid the key on the counter. She'd washed off most of her makeup and had on leggings, flip-flops, and a long t-shirt. Sam thought she was much prettier that way, though without her flirty expression, she just looked tired.

"Hey, uh, did you go to this rally?" Sam asked, tapping the flyer still on the counter. He figured she had to know a lot of the people in town.

"Yeah, of course. Lotta people depend on farming here," she answered. "I think if you put good out in the world, maybe you get some good back. So, Ricky, Mira, and I went and I sent out a wish. Can't hurt anything, right?"

Sam respected her optimism. He didn't share it, but he respected it. "Who's Mira?"

"My baby girl," she said with a smile that was almost shy, like she expected Sam to call her out for never mentioning her daughter before.

"You have a baby?" Sam asked dumbly, his mouth falling open so he probably looked like a complete moron. Could it be that the reason all of Sam's instincts were wigging out was because Rita's wish had accidentally summoned something? Could it be the portentous heaviness and the feeling of dreadful expectation were so strong because they were centered on someone standing right in front of him?

"Yeah, she's my muñequita linda," Rita answered with a little smile. "Actually, I need to go check on her." Her smile fell. "I hate to leave her, even when she's sleeping but…" She shrugged, looking at the floor. Sam heard the but I have to work that she didn't say. "And it's getting really dark out there."

The hair on the back of Sam's neck stood up. He looked outside and saw that the ever-present Oklahoma wind had fallen silent. "Where...where is Mira?"

"In Ricky's apartment, right above the auto shop," Rita answered. That was only two buildings over. "Ricky's outta town and it's closed, but he gave me a key and said it was okay to let her sleep there. Why? What's wrong? Is it the weather? It's so weird."

Sam's heart sank to his toes. "I think –" His voice squeaked. "I think it's a tornado. You need to get in the shelter behind the motel. Gimme the key to the apartment and I'll go get Mira."

"What?!" Rita shrieked. "No! I have to get her!"

"Rita, I'm faster. You don't even have real shoes on! Please trust me. I swear I'll get her. I swear, Rita! Get yourself to safety, please. I, uh, I have training in how to survive inclement weather."

Somehow, Sam convinced the hysterical woman to let him go. As soon as she'd gone out the back, he dialed Bobby again. "Bobby, I think I know what baby it's after," he said before Bobby could get out so much as a hello. "Anything else you can tell me about how to protect her or fight or whatever?"

"What?!" Bobby yelled. "Do not go after it alone!"

Sam thought about the grieving parents. About the way Rita's face lit up when she talked about Mira. "No, Bobby, I can't just hide. I can't just let a baby be...taken, or eaten, or whatever."

"Dammit, Sam! Fae can be damn dangerous when you get in their way. I'm guessin' it figures it's got a deal – baby for rain – and fae get downright pissed when somebody messes with their deals. Call in the cops if you have to, but don't go after it yourself or I'll whip your hide!"

Sam smiled ruefully even though Bobby couldn't see him. "The police won't have a chance against something supernatural, Bobby. I gotta go. I'll call you as soon as I can." He hung up and ran out the front door.

The phone rang in the office behind him as any and all wind died completely, leaving an eerie, heavy stillness. Sam was tempted to run back inside and answer it, knowing it would be Bobby and knowing the hunter would convince him to hide instead of trying to help.

"I faced a kitsune," he reminded himself, skipping over the fact that someone else had killed it. "I shot a werewolf that was sneaking up on Dean. I cut a ghoul's head off. I just need to get a baby to safety."

He didn't see a single person out and about and was surprised to find the auto shop unlocked. But he had more important questions on his mind. Ones like: how was he going to protect little Mira, assuming he wasn't already too late?

In the shop, Sam grabbed a crowbar with one hand and a small propane torch with the other and ran up the narrow steps three at a time. He could feel something here. Something hungry. Malevolent. Greedy.

The apartment was just three tiny rooms and right in the middle of the living room/bedroom/dining room combo that took up most of the space there was a dresser drawer lined with blankets in which a pink-cheeked baby with a cap of dark hair slept. And leaning over her was what looked like a large, living garden gnome missing its hat. Its skin was grainy and resembled wood, though it was apparently as pliable as human skin.

"Get away from her!" Sam yelled, hoping to disguise his fear.

The little old man thing looked up. Its eyes were huge for its face with pupils that nearly eclipsed any color. Its wide mouth opened to reveal two rows of pointed shark-like teeth. It hissed angrily. "Mine," it growled, the words garbled around all the teeth but still understandable. "My price." It reached again with gnarled fingers toward the cherubic infant and Sam moved without thinking.

He dropped the torch, jumped forward, and swung the crowbar like a baseball bat. He felt the weight of the creature as he hit it, far greater than its size would indicate, but it went flying anyway. With a shriek like a teakettle, it flew into the wall in the kitchenette with far more force than Sam could generate on his own. In fact, the drywall cracked around it. So: iron equals good. Thanks, Bobby.

Sam swept up the baby, bedding and all, in his left arm, also scooping up the torch. With his right, he held out the crowbar like a rapier.

The creature picked itself up and made an open-mouth grimace that caused its throat to ripple and reminded Sam forcefully of the plecostomus fish in a science teacher's classroom tank. It stuck to the sides of the aquarium with its mouth open and pulsing, eating algae...and looking incredibly freaky.

Still with the rictal smile, the gnomish creature bent backward at the center of its back with a resounding crack, then sort of unfolded its torso so it was now a good two feet taller than before. Then it did the same thing with its upper arms, then lower, then twice for each leg as Sam watched with fascinated horror.

When the monster was finished, it stood over five feet tall, though it hadn't gotten any wider.

Sam hadn't been idle. The whole time the fae had been changing, he'd slowly backed away toward the bedroom and what he really really hoped was an actual antique wrought-iron bed frame and not a cheap imitation.

The monster moved without warning, so fast that it was gnawing on his bicep before he could whack it again.

Sam screamed and the crowbar fell uselessly at his feet. He retained presence of mind to turn the torch one-handed (away from the crying Mira) and squeeze the handle.

The monster fell back, its face smoking but seemingly more angry than hurt. Outside, it began to rain, lashing the windows with some force. The creature licked its many teeth obscenely with a thick black tongue. "Older. Stringy. Still good," it grated in its caveman-like manner. "Eat both."

Blood dripping down one arm and a baby in the other, Sam shook the torch at his foe. "Try it and burn," he warned, knowing it was a weak threat at best.

In answer, a flash of lightning lit the room and thunder followed immediately, so loud the walls trembled. The monster bent backwards again and Sam took the opportunity to turn tail and run. He dove into the messy little clothes closet, deposited Mira as gently as he could, and grabbed the vertical-barred footboard of the bed. His injured bicep screamed as he dragged the whole thing toward the closet, but he was grateful his arm still worked. And he could've cried with gratitude to find the metal heavy and cold – real iron.

He was still pulling it into place in front of the closet door like a protective gate when the monster stomped into the bedroom. It was probably 7 feet tall now, arms and legs that had been stumpy originally now long and spindly. It hissed like before and the rain pelted the windows even harder. Lightning lit the room again and thunder boomed loudly enough to drown out Mira's wails for a moment.

The monster (that Sam was starting to think of as the tree-gnome, clearly due to his brother's influence) skirted the headboard and bent to reach over the top of it. Sam had been expecting this and quickly countered with a blast from the torch. The tree-gnome jerked its hand back and shrieked at him. Lightning struck so close that Sam was half-blinded, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open to watch for the next attempt to reach them. He wondered if the monster was intelligent enough to realize the torch had a limited fuel supply.

The tree-gnome stalked back and forth across the room looking for an opening and trying a few more times, always pulling back before Sam could actually burn it. It finally paused and crouched to study the situation. It seemed to be muttering to itself, but Sam couldn't hear it over the sound of the pouring rain. Suddenly, something wrapped around his ankle and jerked. Before he could even process that, he found himself hanging upside down from the monster's hand by his ankle, which hurt like hell from the crushing grip.

As the wind shook the building, the monster smiled.

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AN: Dunkle is not a real place, though Gruver is. I named Dunkle in honor of a place some of my distant ancestors lived – Donkerbroek, Netherlands – because I thought it was a great name.

Muñequita linda is Spanish for 'pretty babydoll.'