I am so excited about this chapter! This was one of my favorites to write. I'm not generally an action writer, so let me know how I did! As a quick CW, there is some violence and blood in this one, as well as mention of offscreen minor character death.

Thank you soph, Shazza19, Jenifer, Harryswoman, and EmilyAnnMcGarrett-Winchester for your lovely comments! I promise that I do plan on continuing to post. :)

The next posting date will be Friday!

Dean let out a long breath as soon as he'd left the room. He couldn't even put his angry feelings into words. It was hard to see Sam as an equal partner at this size, and as much as he knew it pissed Sam off, Dean didn't feel comfortable having him around while he potentially went to get into a dangerous situation.

"Sam, you've gotta understand…" He mumbled under his breath, as if his brother could hear him. The guilt gripped his chest, but he couldn't knowingly put his brother in danger like this. Even being close to Lily was so dangerous for his little brother.

He stepped down the stairs, trying to lighten his steps a little, now that he knew there were so many miniature people up there. Lily's eyes lit up as soon as she saw him descending the stairs.

"Are you done? Can I go back up to my room? Are you giving me my doll back?" She asked, her eyes shining. He shot her a quick look and shook his head.

"No." He snapped, then, seeing Ella's surprised look, rearranged his face into something less tense. "I mean… no, I'm not quite finished. I just had some questions for you." He asked, motioning to the couch in the living room.

"Let me make us something to drink." Ella said, stepping into the kitchen. "Coffee? Tea? Water?" she asked.

"Um, no, I'm ok. Actually, maybe some water?" Dean said, sitting down. Lily elected not to sit, instead folding her arms as Ella turned to leave the room. "Lily… tell me about what's in your toybox." He said, keeping his voice low so Ella wouldn't overhear from the kitchen. Lily's eyes shifted, and she wouldn't meet his.

"Ummm… I just have some dolls in there. Nothing special." She said, looking at the floor.

"Lily. Tell me the truth. My brother is one of the men you… did that to. And I can't stop until he's back to normal. How did you do this? And how can I change them back?" He said, keeping his voice low and level. Lily gulped and looked up.

"I-I dunno." She said, her face turning pink. Dean suppressed a grimace of annoyance and fought as hard as he could to keep himself calm. Dammit Sammy, why can't you be the one doing this?

"You don't know? You're hurting people, Lily. Those men, they're scared. They have families that miss them too. Your daddy, too. He wants to go back to normal. I need my brother back to normal. Tell me how to fix this and it can all be over." He said, finally meeting her eyes. She gave a little squeak as she looked into his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I… I mean I did it with the cup, but I don't know how to fix them!" She said, frowning. Dean sat up and pulled out a saltshaker.

"Do me a favor, Lily. Hold out your hand." Lily held out her shaky hand. Dean poured a little salt into it, and they both sat and stared at it. "Shit. What the hell?" Dean mumbled to himself, feeling a little guilty about swearing in front of this child. He glared at the little girl, who was clearly not a ghost.

"Lily! Why are you doing this?" He growled, and Lily began to cry.

"I don't know, really, I don't!" She said, her little eyes filled with tears. "I just wanted more people to play tea party with! I don't know how it works!"

"Come on, Lily. You have something that you give them, and it shrinks them down. Where is it?" Lily sniffed.

"But I really didn't want to hurt anyone! She just gave it to me when I told her I was lonely and wanted more friends!" Lily said, avoiding his question. "She said it wasn't hurting anyone and I just had to be careful!"

"Lily… Who's 'she'? Who have you been talking to?" But before Lily had a chance to answer, Dean heard the unmistakable yowl of a cat. He paused for a second before an ice-cold shiver went down his spine. That sound came from upstairs. "Sammy!"

Sam backed away slowly from the carefully approaching cat.

"Nice kitty…" He said, low and quiet. He wasn't the biggest fan of cats on a good day. Their proximity to witches always made his skin crawl a little bit when he saw one. Now, though… He was scared out of his wits. The cat's eyes locked onto him, the drive of a predator in its eyes. The thing was the size of an elephant, with shining eyes that were unmistakably intelligent and claws that were sharper than he could imagine.

Sam's newly installed prey drive sent his heart into his ears, pounding a mile a minute as he tried to work out where to go, where to run. Dean had set him right in the middle of the floor, away from any easily accessible hiding places.

Cursing, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the only weapon he had on him, a silver pocketknife. He flicked it out, his hand shaking violently. He may have been outmatched, but he wouldn't go down without a fight.

The cat took another step. Sam slowly stepped backwards, hoping, praying that he would be able to back himself up enough to avoid being caught.

"Mraoww…" it meowed, opening its mouth wide. Sam shivered as he caught a glimpse of those teeth almost as long as his forearm and felt his hand tremble. He got a good long look at the inside of the pink maw and the dark abyss at the back.

"Stay back!" He shouted, taking another cautious step back. The cat didn't respond to his words at all, lowering its shoulders instead. For one awful moment, the cat and its prey were completely still, preparing for the next moment. Then the cat sprang forward, its paws reaching for Sam, claws out.

With a shout of fear, Sam slashed outward with the knife, aiming at the cat's nose. It screeched at him, baring its teeth and batting at him with its paws. Sam tried to dodge, but the massive paw could move faster than he could, and it knocked him off his feet.

"Shit!" He said, skidding to a stop and clutching his right arm. Its claws had caught him on his skin, tearing holes in his flannel. Blood began to seep through the torn fabric. He grunted in pain as he stood, holding the knife up in his left hand and falling into an attack stance, despite the searing pain he was feeling. He wasn't as proficient with his off arm, but he had to try.

"Dean!" He called, knowing that his voice would never reach his brother, despite only being a floor away.

The cat lowered its shoulders again, pouncing quickly and catching Sam between its paws. Sam let out a pained grunt as the two paws, nearly the size of two cars, crushed his chest between them. The wind was knocked out of him and his knife skittered away, just out of reach. Sam struggled, pinned to the floor as he felt claws extend from the paws that held him, piercing his chest and preventing him from moving.

He screamed in pain as blood welled up around the claws where they dug into his skin, the empty eyes above him never moving from his small frame. Then the paw was gone, and he was free. He bolted for the knife, only to be blindsided as the cat batted at him with its other paw. Even in his fight or flight, he knew what the cat was doing. It was playing with him.

The cat continued to bat him around, letting him run a few steps before knocking him over with a single paw. Sam kept his eyes glued to his knife, willing himself to crawl over and get it each time he could move freely. Every time his fingers were close, another paw would slam into him. The impact would knock the wind out of him and leave him sprawled inches away, leaving painful lacerations in its wake. He remembered the hesitation he'd seen in the other men about leaving the safety of the box, and he knew now where that fear had come from. Were they watching him suffer now? Could they hear his agonized screams?

He stood, doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Another paw from behind caused him to fly head over heels and collapse in a heap. He opened his eyes, his battered body screaming at him to rest, when he saw the knife glinting up from the floor, finally within reach.

Forcing his body to move despite the pain, he snatched the knife and rolled onto his back, slashing wildly as another paw came at him from the left. He felt it make contact, and he heard the cat yowl loudly, hissing at him again.

The knife was bloody, and Sam took a shaky breath, cringing as his ribs ached in protest. Despite his exhaustion, he couldn't help but be proud that he'd finally managed to draw blood from the massive creature.

"Back off, kitty!" He shouted, starting to feel woozy. The lacerations he'd sustained as the cat had batted and scratched him were taking their toll. His muscles were trembling with adrenaline and exertion. Every move he made felt sluggish and difficult, even as his mind continued to panic. He gripped the knife tight, recalling his training to stay on high alert, not allowing himself even a second to relax.

The cat flattened its ears back, hissing at him again, then letting out a loud yowl. He remembered the story about Ryan, who had been through this already, and hadn't made it out alive. They hadn't even found any remains; he thought as nausea began to cloud his thoughts.

"No!" He shouted, trying to chase the thought away. He was a hunter, and he would survive this. He was hit with another dizzy spell, and he slashed again as the cat swiped at him, cutting three lines across his chest, more blood pooling on his shirt. He groaned, trying to sit up and get back to his feet. God, it was hard. His body was so sore, and tired, and bloody. You're a hunter, Sam, he told himself. Don't be a useless burden. Get up. Get up! Don't let this cat kill you!

He eased himself up, taking shallow breaths to try and assuage the pain from his bruised ribs. He spat, blood and saliva mixed on the floor. Blood, his blood, was smeared everywhere around him. The cat, still focused on him, circled slowly, before pounding again. Sam screamed, the entire body weight of the cat hitting him, crushing him, and flinging the knife away, again. The claws sank into him, stabbing into his chest, and he cried out for his brother.

"Help me!" He shouted, but there was no one in the room that could help him now.

Dean was pounding up the stairs the second he heard the cat's yowl. Dammit, Sam! Why did nobody tell me there was a damn cat! He cursed under his breath as he flung himself into the room, his blood running cold as he saw a gray housecat with something bloody in its paws.

"No!" He shouted, his voice echoing through the room. "Bad kitty!" He surged forward, his arms out as he grabbed the cat by its scruff and hoisted it off the ground. It scratched him, hard, leaving ugly scrapes up his forearms. It continued to twist in his grip, trying hard to get away from him and get back to the little creature on the floor. Dean gritted his teeth and held on.

He backed up, keeping his eyes on the bloody little thing in the middle of the floor, and tossed the cat out of the room. It landed on its feet, shooting him a hateful look before slinking down the stairs. "Yeah, and stay gone!" He shouted at it, his heart pounding wildly in his ears. He knelt gently, terrified to look closer, but knowing he had to. "Sammy?"

The little figure wasn't moving. As Dean's shadow eclipsed Sam, he was struck again by how small he was. How could I have left him alone? He cursed himself, his guilt rising like a tide in his chest.

The area was covered in blood, smeared all over the floor and the little figure of his brother. As carefully as he could, Dean rolled the tiny person onto his palm. His fingers hovered, itching to take his pulse before he realized there was no way for him to do that safely. Instead, he lifted Sam up to his ear. He could just barely hear quiet, raspy breathing coming from the small hunter.

"Oh my god, Sammy. Please, you can't die." He said, his hand beginning to tremble. He didn't know what to do! He was too big to perform any sort of first aid on the miniature man. Anything he did with his clumsy fingers could potentially cause more damage.

He poked at Sam's limbs as gently as he could. Nothing felt broken, but it was hard to tell on limbs the size of toothpicks. He could see awful cuts on Sam's arms, chest, and back from the cat's claws. The blood soaked through his shirt and had splattered and smeared over his jeans and face.

He hated how big he felt, how useless he was. He couldn't even help his brother! No, he'd done the opposite of helping him. He'd just left him up here, in the middle of the room, completely exposed. Dammit Dean, you had one job, protect your brother, he heard his father's voice scold in his head. Guilt gripped his chest as frustrated and terrified tears sprang into his eyes. "You wake up, Sam. Wake up now or I'll…" He choked. "I'll think of something. Dammit, come on, don't be dead. Don't leave me again…" Sam coughed, the sound so quiet and weak Dean could barely hear it.

"Dean…" Sam rasped, trying to sit up. A stabbing pain roared through him, and he fell back. Dean's pointer finger slid behind him, catching him. He felt so useless. He couldn't check for injuries or help patch his little brother up. The only thing he could do was cradle him in his big, stupid hands like a baby bird.

"I'm right here, Sammy." Dean said, his voice rumbling above Sam. Dean's heartbeat thudded up from the palm underneath him, betraying Dean's fear for his little brother. "I'm sorry… I'm sorry I left you. I didn't mean for this to happen." He said, his voice breaking. Sam took a deep breath.

"I- I'm sorry I couldn't handle it." He said, his voice strained. "Damnit, you had to come help me." He couldn't keep the disappointment in himself out of his voice.

"Sam…" Dean said, his relief at finding his brother alive mixed with the guilt of leaving him. "No, I shouldn't have left you. This is all my fault… I should have known!" He said, looking down at his mangled brother.

"A good hunter wouldn't have needed help." Sam said, and he curled his limbs up into himself.

"No, Sam. A good hunter knows when he needs backup." Dean said. "How many times have you saved my ass? I'd be dead a hundred times without you. This shouldn't have happened. It's my fault. I left you here." He said, his heart clenching at the sight of Sam, broken and bloody, trying to make himself even smaller in his hand.

Sam took a few deep breaths. The adrenaline from the battle with the cat was still wearing off, leaving his limbs weak and shaky. This had the unfortunate side effect of sharpening the pain, allowing him to take stock of what was actually damaged. His throat was dry, and he could feel his own sweat drying on his face along with the blood, leaving his skin feeling tight and itchy. He looked up at Dean, who couldn't hide the guilt and worry he was feeling on his billboard-sized face.

"It's not your fault either, Dean. We both got careless." He said, fighting off another dizzy spell. He clutched his head. "God, I need a shower." Dean let out an incredulous laugh.

"You barely survive a fight like that and you're thinking about a shower?" He said, though the relief couldn't be clearer.

"Well, I don't think I'm going to be able to kick much monster ass like this." He said, motioning to himself. "A damn housecat almost got me. Dad would be pissed if that's what took me out." Dean let out a scoff.

"Yeah, well. You win some, you lose some. I'm gonna figure this out. We're going to get you back to normal." Dean said, turning around. "Let's get back to the motel and get some of this blood off you."

Oof, I love writing this dynamic. :') Poor boys, we do like to make them suffer. The action isn't stopping here, folks! We have officially reached the halfway point for this story, and the excitement goes until the end! Thank you all who follow the story and have left lovely comments. I appreciate every single one of you!