Thank you Kathy, Shazza19, EmilyAnnMcGarrett-Winchester, scootersmom, and Harryswoman for your comments! Thank you everyone for sticking with my story, I appreciate every single one of you!

Sam called out for Dean when he was finished with his sink shower, frustrated that he couldn't even get himself out of the sink on his own. His brother was there in moments, shoving the last bit of a slice of pizza in his mouth. Sam couldn't repress a shiver as he watched his brother chew and swallow a chunk of food even bigger than he was.

"Ready?" He said, reaching down.

"Really, Dean? Ew, I just took a shower." Sam said, making a face at Dean's greasy palm.

"Well, sorry, princess." He said, running his hands under the water and rinsing them off. The water splashed over Sam and he covered his head. Dean turned off the water, wiping his hands on his pants and scooped his brother out, setting him down on a hand towel and setting down his clothes next to him. As quickly as he could, Sam dried off and got dressed again. Dean flattened his palm down, and Sam clambered his way on.

"Alright, take me over to the food, I'm starving." Sam said, and it was true. The number of times his adrenaline had spiked today had hidden the fact that he hadn't eaten a single thing since breakfast that morning. His stomach rumbled lightly at the mention of food, and as the scent of pizza finally hit him.

Dean stepped over to the table, and Sam was able to stay calm this time. He wasn't sure if he should be disturbed that being carried around like a toy was getting more natural to him. Dean pulled open the salad container, pulled out some of the salad leaves and set them on a napkin.

"Sorry, Sammy, I didn't really think this one through." He said. Sam shrugged. He was hungry enough that it didn't even matter. He grabbed the dressed lettuce leaf with both hands and started eating, filling his empty stomach. Dean decided not to mention how much Sam looked like a little mouse, munching on his salad leaves.

"Did you find anything?" Sam asked, sitting down on the napkin and taking another bite.

"Well, maybe, maybe not. Newspaper clipping here from the 1950's – it's about the death of a woman, Ethel Burbank, who used to live in that house. Real widow-maker, sounds like. Went through seven husbands – each of them died a few years after they were married."

"Huh, sounds exactly like your type." Sam said. Dean looked down at him.

"Yeah, well, I'm not the marrying type." He shot back. "I think you might be a better candidate as lucky number eight. Anyway, she whips through these husbands like nobody's business, and for some reason, she's obsessed with younger men. She gets older, her husbands stay the same age."

"A real cougar." Sam said, grimacing.

"Right. Just like I said, your type. Yeah, so get this, they never found a body for any of her husbands. Just missing, presumed dead. All except the last one, who outlived her."

"They just disappeared, huh? I feel like I might know where they might have gone." He motioned to his own stature.

"Right. And I found something else. She was a bit of an… extremist. One of those lady cult leader types. I had to look hard, but I found an article she wrote for some rag in the 50's. An article about cutting men down to size. She wrote that all women have a divine right to their own lives, and anyone who oversteps must 'suffer the consequences'."

"Yikes. she sounds like a real winner. Sounds like we might have found our ghost. Any info on where she was buried? Do a salt and burn?"

"Nothing here, but that cup she gave you must have something to do with it, but I have no freakin' clue what. I think we have to… bring in the big guns." He said, a smirk playing at the edge of his lips. Sam furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Wait, what big guns?" He saw the look on Dean's face and his face fell. "Oh, no. We are not calling Bobby."

"We gotta call Bobby. He'd be pissed if he missed out on this." Dean said, the little smirk breaking into a full grin.

"I should have known you two idjits would get yourselves into some real trouble." The muffled voice came on from the other side of the phone. "Now, what shit did you get yourself in knee-deep this time?"

"More like knee-high, Bobby." Dean said, shooting Sam a grin while Sam threw back a bitch-face. "Uh, starting to think a ghost put a real whammy on Sammy."

"Shit, where the hell is he?" Bobby said, exasperation seeping into his voice. "You better not have lost him."

"Well, he's with me. But he's a hell of a lot easier to lose."

"Spit it out, son." Bobby said, his voice lowering. Sam rolled his eyes. It was just like Dean to joke around when things were getting serious.

"He's, uh, he's been shrunk." Dean said.

"Like he needs to see a head doctor, or…"

"Like Honey, I Shrunk Sammy."

"You wanna try that again?" Bobby said, disbelief coloring his tone. Sam could picture Bobby narrowing his eyes and leaning forward in his chair.

"I'm telling the truth, damn it! Sam's been shrunk down, like uh, like one of those little Keebler elves." He shot Sam a smile, who flipped him off in return.

"Oh…kay. You're not generally a liar, boy. I've got real work to do. If I find out you're yankin' my chain…"

"I'm serious, Bobby! Here, I'll send you a picture." Dean said, pulling the phone away from his ear.

"Hell no!" Sam shouted up at him. "No way!" But there was nothing he could do. Dean set his hand down next to him, lighting placing his pointer finger behind Sam, and pinching his chest lightly with his thumb. He aimed the phone camera right at Sam and snapped a picture. Sam's heart pounded.

Again, it struck him how powerless he felt. There was nothing that he could do to stop anything that happened around him. Even when Dean's fingers were only barely touching him, Sam could still feel the strength surrounding him. Each finger was more powerful than his entire body.

Without even realizing what was happening between his fingers, Dean hit the send button and placed the phone back up to his ear.

"Did you get it?" He said, releasing Sam with a grin on his face. "Trippy, right?" There was a pause on the other side of the line.

"Boy, you better get your paws off your brother." Bobby said, his voice low.

"I did! I mean, I'm being careful. Sammy's fine. I'd never-"

"He looks scared shitless in this picture you just sent me! What the hell are ya doing?" Dean shot a guilty look down at Sam, releasing his fingers. Sam waved up at him with a shaky hand, just glad to be released.

"Sorry, Bobby. I'm… I'll be careful." Bobby was the one person who could dress down Dean like that. Well, the only one besides their father. And he hadn't been around in years..

"You better, boy. Now tell me what happened."

"Well, it's an object. Sam touched a, uh, a teacup and ended up like this. One of the previous owners of the house had a serious problem with men, obsessed with cutting them down to size. It seems pretty clear, salt and burn."

"Well, yeah, that's what you'd do for a ghost. But you don't know if putting her down will put Sam back right. I mean, a cursed object and a ghost are two different problems." Dean opened his mouth, glanced toward Sam, and shut his mouth again.

"Wait, you don't think that ganking her would put him back?" He asked, his face growing intense.

"Sometimes putting down a ghost stops the effects of a curse, and sometimes…"

"Sometimes it doesn't?"

"This kind of magic is tough, Dean. You have to be more careful. I mean, is what happened to him because of the ghost or the object? You're going to have to find out more about both. And you need to find her remains. I mean damn, what have you done other than get Sam singing for the lollipop guild? Besides, Sam isn't the only one, is he?" Dean glared.

"How the hell did you know that?"

"Listen, boy, I'm not stupid. I'm lookin' at your damn case. Five disappearances, with your brother as number six. Whoever did this knew what they were doing." Sam groaned.

"That little girl, I mean she must have known. She kept talking about her dad and how he didn't actually leave… She's the one making this all happen." Sam said, standing up and beginning to pace.

"So, what, do we think the ghost is possessing the little girl?" Bobby said, his voice crackling through the phone.

"I mean, it's as good a theory as anything else we've got. Old lady comes back from the dead, possesses that little girl, gets rid of five men that remind her of her husbands, and now what's she doing?" Dean said.

"She's going to do it again." Sam said, stopping in his tracks. "She's trying to do it all over again. I'm the sixth one, but she had seven husbands. She's going to do this to someone else. I don't know, complete the loop or something."

"Lucky number seven, huh? We've got to stop her. And we have to see if she knows how to change you back." Dean said, standing. Sam startled backward before quickly recovering.

"Yeah, we do. But we can't just burst in there. I mean if she sees you again, we don't know what she'll do. I mean, all you have to do is touch that stupid cup and you're just like me. Only with no backup." Sam said, folding his arms over his chest. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Well, we can't just sit around here doing nothing!" Dean snapped.

"I'm not saying we do nothing! I'm saying to calm down and think about this. This little girl has a cup that if you touch it, you're done. We don't know the rules of how this works, or where she's keeping it." Sam shot back.

"Sammy, she took six feet of your height! I'm not gonna sit around here waiting for her to do it to some other innocent bastard!" Dean pounded the table. The impact shook the table, knocking Sam over.

"Dean, calm down!" Sam said, putting his hands up over his head. Dean's angry movements were so much more intense when he could have pounded that fist on top of him and crushed every bone in Sam's body. Dean looked over and saw Sam cowering. He took a deep breath and walked away, trying to get a grip.

"I'm calm, I'm calm!" He said, barely concealing his frustration. He was so angry. Angry that his little brother had been reduced to the size of an action figure, and he hadn't been there to stop it. Angry that the entire time his brother had been so vulnerable he was only contributing to his fear. Angry that he couldn't do anything to fix it.

His father's voice kept telling him to take care of Sammy. And now here Dean was, completely useless, completely unable to fix anything.

"Dean, if you're not up to this…" Bobby started.

"I am up to this! I – I'm sorry. I'm calm." He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his blond hair. "So… so now what?"

"So, there were a few days between each of the disappearances." Sam said, shakily getting back to his feet. "We still don't know why she would wait like that. Is there a limit on the spell, or was it just access to the victims? Is there a way you can protect yourself from it? And we need to find whatever remains we can. I mean we don't even know where she was buried at this point! We just don't know enough to go rushing in." Dean was breathing easier now. He cracked open a water bottle and took a long drink.

"Let me keep looking into this, boys. Don't you dare go rushing in there without knowing anything more." Bobby said, not bothering to say goodbye before he clicked off the line.

"Yeah, I'll just sit over here with my thumb up my ass!" Dean griped and sat heavily on the bed. He sat back, throwing his hands over his face. Sam shook his head. He hated it when the older Winchester got into this mood. With Dean sitting on the bed, Sam options for movement were limited, and it was starting to get late. The many things that had happened to him were starting to take their toll.

His muscles were getting shaky, and the times his adrenaline had spiked made him feel something beyond exhaustion. He blinked, his eyes quickly growing heavy. Even if he'd been able to get himself off the table, he didn't have the energy to get himself anywhere else.

"Yo, Dean, a little help?" He called over to his older brother, who was still on his bed.

"Yeah, sorry." He said, standing and taking a few steps over to the table. It didn't matter how many times he saw it, watching someone that size move so quickly was still freaking him out. Dean flattened his hand on the table. Sam willed himself to step onto it, his adrenaline helping to wake him up again. Instead of trying to balance on two feet, he sat down, exhausted. "Uhh, where were you planning on sleeping tonight?" Dean said, looking around the room.

"Bed's fine, Dean." Sam said, his head beginning to hurt.

"Sure you won't get lost in it, fun-size?" Dean said, smirking. Sam glared up at him and Dean put up his free hand. "Whoa, sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood"

"Come on, man. It's been a long day. I hurt, and I'm ready for some rest."

"Fine, fine. Though not too, uh, long for you." Dean joked, only earning himself another glare. He smiled in his self-assured way before setting Sam down on the bed. "Get some sleep, little brother! Tomorrow we're kicking some ghost's ass!"

Sam pulled off his boots and jacket. The bed was springy and had too much give beneath his socked feet. It was like trying to walk on a trampoline the size of a fallen skyscraper. He sank into the white poly-cotton sheets and tugged at the top sheet. It didn't move, weighed down by the comforter on top of it. He shrugged, leaving his jacket and boots by the pillow and laying down where the top sheet poked out from under the comforter, settling under the thick layer of fabric to let his exhausted body rest.