Chapter 1

“Ouch,” Dean cried out as he stubbed his foot once more.  “Friggin’ house has more obstacles than American Gladiator.”  The elder Winchester shone his light toward the offending object.  It looked to be an old-fashioned brass spittoon.  “This guy’s got seriously weird taste. 

“You’re telling me,” Sam said as he brushed aside the trailing sleeve of an old-time hockey jersey.  The shirt was mounted just above the doorframe of what appeared to be the living room.  “Place looks like an Applebee’s.” 

“Just great,” Dean snapped as he panned the light around the room.  “How the hell’re we supposed to figure out what’s haunted if everything in here was once owned by a dead guy?” 

Both brothers did a quick scan of the living room, however the EMF meter Dean held remained quite as they moved into the kitchen.  Sam had found the hunt in a local paper and Dean had been more than happy for something to do.  At least, up until his brother had grudgingly admitted just what the owner of the house had claimed to see. 

“There’s no way we’re looking for a gnome here, Sam.  I mean you get that right?”  

Even though Sam had admitted the sighting was probably a joke, he had managed to convince Dean that it was still worth checking out.  Research into the background of both the house, a small rancher tucked outside of town, and its owner, one Gerald Grainger antiquities dealer, had indicated that it was most likely a spirit causing Gerry grief.  Both the Winchesters refused to give credence to the idea that a small, misshapen, dwarf-like creature was living in the Philadelphia suburbs, despite what the owner claimed. 

On the slim chance they were wrong, Sam had decided that checking out the house at night was going to be their best bet, as both spirits and gnomes were night creatures.  Legend had it that sunshine turned gnomes into stone, and their own experience had proved that spirits were creatures of the night.  So, here they were searching the house for some sign that something more than clutter existed in the one floor dwelling. 

“We should have brought gnome kibble,” Dean muttered as he narrowly avoided the sharp corner of the kitchen counter.  Though he hadn’t made contact, a piles of old books teetered precariously anyway.  “Or better yet, a gnome whistle.  You know the kind only dirt dwelling creatures can hear.” 

“Well, since I left my gnome-musk spray in the car, maybe we ought to try being quiet,” Sam replied, a reluctant grin pulling at his handsome features at his brother’s chortle. 

“It’s just as well you did, Sammy, we’re looking to kill the thing, not make it horny.”  Dean’s straight-faced delivery followed by an exaggerated eyebrow waggle had Sam laughing aloud. 

“You got a point,” Sam conceded. 

“I always, do, Sam.  I always do.  Now, where did he say he saw this thing?” 

“Um…in the trophy room,” Sam replied as he shined the light around the kitchen. 

“There,” Dean said as he thumped Sam’s chest and indicated a set of heavy duty wooden doors. 

“Looks like,” Sam replied.  “That’s one hell of a lock.” 

Dean reached the doors with their imposing dead bolt and flashed his light downward focusing the beam for Sam.  “Makes you wonder just what kinda trophy’s he keeps.” 

Sam took a knee in front of the lock and removed his picks from the inner pocket of his coat.  He hadn’t had to use them to gain entrance to the house as it had been unlocked to begin with.  Apparently, Gerry, so upset with whatever he’d seen, had fled the house without so much as throwing on the dead bolt.  Though the lock looked intimidating, it was no match for Sam’s skills.  Within seconds he heard the soft snick of the tumblers releasing. 

With a turn of his wrist, he unlatched the door and drew out his gun.  With a nod to his brother, he set himself to enter the room.  Dean had drawn his gun and had him covered high so Sam was careful to stay low as they entered the dark room. 

Unlike the rest of the house, this room was aglow from the moonlight that streamed in through a set of skylights that lined the cathedral ceiling. Their flashlights added to the soft glow illuminating the room.  As Sam glanced about, he found himself fervently wishing he could have remained in the dark. 

“What the hell?”  Dean asked his voice full of disbelief. 

Sam tightened his grip on his gun and repressed a shudder.

888

Dean stood only a foot away from his brother, but as he felt the hard stare of dozens and dozens of eyes beating down on him, he found himself wishing Sam were closer.  Unsure of what was going on, but certain that they’d walked into a nightmare, Dean remained vigilant as he waited for an attack that never came. 

Eventually, he eased his grip and felt more than saw, Sam do the same.  Keeping his attention fixed forward, Dean reached back and began to paw at the wall behind him. At last, his fingers came in contact with the familiar shape of the light switch.  With a flick, he flooded the room with a light so bright he had to squint for a moment. 

As his eyes finally adjusted he found himself even more uneasy than he had when he’d been stuck in the dark.  “Aw, that’s just wrong,” he muttered as he glanced about. 

Animals took up every conceivable inch of space, each one stuck in a pose that he supposed was meant to look natural.  It didn’t, in fact, as Dean turned to meet the unblinking stare of hundreds of animals he found himself more creeped out than he had been in a long time.  

Birds of prey, deer, foxes, mountain lions and even a couple of black bears stood on pedestals and hung suspended from the ceiling all around the cavernous room.  It was a shrine of death all laid out and ready to be admired. 

“I just don’t get it, If I’m gonna shoot an animal, I sure as hell ain’t gonna stuff it so I can stare at it later.”  

“I hear ya, but it’s actually really popular.  There’s big money in taxidermy.  I took a class that showed you how to skin an animal and preserve it,” Sam said as he began checking the room over. 

Dean didn’t bother to hide his shock as he stared at his brother.  “You took a class on taxidermy.  Why, I mean why would you do that?  Scratch that, why would anyone do that?” 

Sam had the grace to flush lightly as he answered, “Well, I needed a walk, and I’d heard all you had to do was be good with a knife.”  

Dean found himself suddenly studying his brother as if he’d never seen him before.  It wasn’t the first time that Sam had revealed something about himself that threw Dean for a loop.  As the older brother he’d always prided himself on knowing every detail of his little brother’s existence.  Well, at least he had until the day Sam had chosen a different path.  “It’s like I don’t even know you,” Dean said, no trace of humor in his tone. 

This time the flush that graced Sam’s cheeks was most assuredly not embarrassment. “Come on, Dean, what’s the big deal.  So, I learned to skin things.  Hell, it’ll probably come in handy someday.” 

Dean watched his sibling for a moment more before he turned away.  Every time he was faced with another one of Sam’s revelations he found himself scrabbling to keep up.  It was like he was dealing with a shape shifter, an imposter impersonating his baby brother.  What stood before him looked like Sam and sounded like Sam, and made all the correct Sam responses, but this Sam had experienced things that Dean never would.  Experiences that had forever altered him in subtle and sometimes not so subtle ways. 

“Yeah, whatever, lets just get out of here so we can find a real hunt,” Dean said as he determinedly ignored the kicked puppy look on his brother’s face. 

Sam blew out a breath and seemed to hesitate for a moment as if he wanted to defend himself, but at last his shoulders slumped in defeat and he agreed, “I’m not getting any readings in here.” 

Dean nodded and began searching in earnest, he had no desire to linger in this room any longer than he had to.  The feeling of being watched had only increased the longer he was surrounded by the dead eyes of wild kingdom.  “Let’s check out the rest of the place.” 

The brother’s were nearing the exit when Dean could have sworn he saw something move out of the corner of his eye.  A quick glance toward the spot revealed nothing more than a large beaver stuffed into an upright position, its yellowed buckteeth shining in the light.  With a grimace, Dean shook off his tension and moved to catch up with his brother.   

It was then he tripped.  He hit the ground hard, unable to even slow his fall.  As he lay gasping for breath, he could have sworn he heard a giggle.  “Glad I could amuse you,” he growled at Sam as he at last managed to get himself upright. 

“What, I didn’t say anything,” Sam said with a shrug. 

Dean didn’t bother to reply, he just moved toward the door, a scowl marring his features.  “Let’s get out of here.”  For just a moment he thought his brother wasn’t going to follow, but then he heard Sam’s faint tread and he released a breath.  No matter how annoyed he might be with his giant of a brother he had no interest in splitting up. 

888

Sam stared after Dean in surprise as the older hunter growled at him then stormed out of the room.  To say he was a bit baffled was an understatement.  His brother had been leading the way only to end up flat on his face.  Sam still wasn’t sure what had tripped up the normally sure-footed hunter, but he wasn’t ready to excuse Dean’s bad attitude.   

At last, Sam followed, knowing that his brother’s surliness wouldn’t get any better if he procrastinated.  Many things had changed between him and Dean since they’d begun spending time together once more, but his brother’s need to protect him at all costs hadn’t altered one bit.

It probably should have chaffed Sam, to have Dean playing the ‘big brother’ card, but instead he found it somewhat reassuring.  It was one of the few things about Dean that remained the same.  Over the last couple of months, Sam had found himself somewhat shocked at just how much his brother had changed.  He seemed harder than ever, more apt to take chances, with little to no regard for his own safety.  There was a wall around Dean that hadn’t been there before, a wall that seemed to have no way in.  Sam sometimes found himself wondering just what had caused the changes.  

Though he wanted to ask Dean if he was okay, he settled for, “We should check out the bedrooms.” 

Dean’s non-committal grunt was the only sign that his brother had heard him and agreed.  Sam sighed as he took a moment to flick on the nearest light switch.  The light from the trophy room was more than enough to announce to the neighbors someone was in the house so there really was no point to fumbling in the dark. 

As the overhead lamp came on it illuminated the kitchen area in a swath of yellow light.  His brother’s groan echoed loudly as they stood shoulder to shoulder and surveyed the mess.  There were piles of stuff, for lack of a better term, scattered about the room.  Everything from old urns, to stacks of newspapers and magazines, to statues and even a few of Gerry’s ‘trophy’s’ that had seeped out of the main room. 

“Crap,” Sam swore as he looked at the mess.  If his brother was right and it was a cursed or haunted item, they had no chance of finding it in this mess. 

“Yeah, that’s pretty much what I was thinking,” Dean replied as he walked toward the hallway and flipped on another switch.   

Sam grimaced at the sight of junk that littered both sides of the hall leaving only enough room for a person to pass through.  It was obvious the search was going to be much larger than they’d anticipated.  “What if it’s not a spirit or a gnome?” 

“We already know it’s not a gnome,” Dean grumbled as he studied the mountains of mess before him.   

“Yeah, but I mean what if it wasn’t anything up our alley.  I mean look at his place.  This guy could have rats the size of Labrador Retrievers and he’d never know it.” 

Sam immediately regretted his choice of words as his brother’s face drained of all color and he gave a hasty glance toward the piles closest to him.  “What I’m saying,” Sam spat out hoping for distraction, “Is that we should probably have a talk with Gerry.  Find out what he actually saw, not just what he thinks he saw.” 

Dean cast about another quick look before nodding in agreement.  “Yeah, makes sense.  No use wasting our time in case it is bogus.” 

Decision made the men quickly gathered up their gear and began to shut off lights as they made their way toward the garage.  They’d found the side door had been open when they got there so they intended to leave the same way.  Luckily, the house was a bit secluded so there was little chance anyone had even noticed their presence. 

Dean was leading the way, a duffle gripped in his hand when it was Sam’s turn to hit the deck.  Left stunned for a moment by the fall, Sam could do little more than gasp for breath.  It was the pitter patter sound of tiny feet that had him sitting up at last.  “Did you hear that?”  Sam questioned his brother as he looked for any sign of what might have caused the sound. 

“What’d you hear,” Dean questioned as he offered a hand to his brother. 

With a grunt of effort, the elder Winchester heaved Sam to his feet in one swift motion.  “Feet, I heard something walking.” 

“You mean scurrying?”  Dean said as he held on tight to Sam’s arm. 

Sam thought back to the sound he’d heard and shook his head.  “No, not scurrying, footsteps.” 

“Huh, I’m guessing you’re thinking little tiny gnome feet?” 

“Don’t,” Sam thundered as he pulled his arm out of his brother’s grip.  “I didn’t just fall, I was tripped and if you recall you just took a header as well. 

Dean seemed to consider Sam’s words for a moment, before he at last drew a silver-plated pistol from the back of his jeans.  “I heard something giggle.” 

Thrown off track for a moment by Dean’s comment, Sam couldn’t help but ask, “And you thought it was me?  Dude, do I look like a giggler to you?” 

“Hey, for all I know you took a class on it, Giggling 101,” Dean muttered as he toed aside an antique doll. 

“Dean,” Sam warned his patience wearing thin. 

“Okay, so fine, it wasn’t you.  It’s just things have changed since you came back.” 

There it was at last, so simply put.  Things had changed since his return, or maybe better yet since he’d left.  He was no longer the same person he once was and that went for his brother as well.  It happened, for better or worse, people change.  Even as Sam admitted it to himself, he couldn’t help but add, “I’ve still got your back.” 

Dean’s stare was unwavering as he weighed Sam’s words.  At last, the elder Winchester nodded, and seemed to relax just a bit.  “Yeah, I guess things haven’t changed all that much after all.” 

“Nope,” was Sam’s only reply, but he trusted his brother to read all that it implied.  Regardless of whatever the future held, there were some thing’s that would never change. 

Satisfied that the ‘chick flick’ moment had gone on long enough, Sam blew out a breath and turned to study the room.  “So, we putting gnome back on the list of things it could be?” 

The elder Winchester reached out, tapped Sam twice on the chest, hard enough to earn a wince from the younger man, and replied, “I’m telling you Sam, there’s no way it’s a gnome.  They’re nothing more than a myt—” 

Dean’s heavy work boots skipped over something once more causing him to take another header toward the floor.  This time however, before he could hit the ground with another mind shaking jolt, strong hands caught the back of his jacket and helped him to keep his feet.  This time the patter of tiny feet followed up the giggling sound. 

 A swift glance toward the noise had Dean doubting his own eyes as he saw a flash of blue and the tip of a red cone disappear behind a mountain of stacked planters.  “Huh,” was about all he could manage as he met his brother’s gaze. 

“You were saying?” Sam asked with a grin as he struggled to reconcile just what he’d seen.

Chapter 2

“Do you see it?”  Dean snapped as he straightened up with a groan.   

“See what?”  Sam replied as he blew out a breath.  He and Dean had been searching the house for the last four hours and they’d yet to find even a hint of the creature.  Though he was dirty, frustrated and very nearly exhausted he couldn’t help but needle his older sibling just a bit.

“Sam,” Dean warned, his tone making it clear he didn’t appreciate Sam’s ribbing. 

Unafraid of his brother’s bluster, Sam shrugged and adopted his most innocent voice, “Hey, I’m just saying I’m still not all that clear on what I should be looking for.”  Sam had been egging Dean on for hours now, trying to get the seasoned hunter to admit what he had seen.  

“Argh,” Dean growled as he faced his brother.  “Fine, you know what?  You win.  Of all the stubborn—” 

“Cut the crap and say it, Dean,” Sam said with a smirk.  “You know you want to.  Just say ‘We’re searching for aaaa…’” Sam drew the last a out and waited expectantly for his brother to finish. 

“A gnome, dammit.  Is that what you wanted to hear?  We’re hunting for the friggin’ Travelocity gnome in the middle of the damn suburbs.” 

Sam couldn’t help but chortle as his brother went on a rant about how embarrassing it was that hunters of their prestige were reduced to chasing fairytales.  “The brave and mighty hunter brought low by a gnome.  You could sell your story to People magazine,” Sam said with a snort when Dean finally wound down. 

“Sam,” Dean warned once more. 

Years of dealing with his brother’s prickly pride had left Sam more than able to recognize when it was time to push or time to back off and this moment definitely registered as the latter.  In need of a change of subject, he thought back to Dean’s earlier words.  “What’s a Travelocity gnome?” he questioned.  Though he’d done some research on the mythic creature he was fairly certain that he hadn’t found any classifications of different types. 

“You know the Travelocity gnome,” Dean reiterated.  At Sam’s apparently blank look, the green-eyed hunter rolled his eyes and explained, “Travelocity, that cheap-hotel website.  They use a gnome in their commercials, red cone hat, full white beard, rosy cheeks…any of this ringing a bell?” 

Sam was completely lost, it was like his brother was speaking a foreign language.  As for marketing a gnome with a travel company, that one was beyond the youngest Winchester.   

“It’s like you’re from an entirely different planet,” Dean snapped at last, his words eerily echoing Sam’s own thoughts.  With a deep breath surely meant to fortify, Dean began to explain.  “It all started from that roaming gnome joke.  You know,” Dean prompted. 

Sam’s headshake earned him another eye-roll.  “Okay, see you take a garden gnome out of someone’s yard and take it on a road trip.  Then you photograph the statue in different locations, kinda like an ‘I was here’ deal.  Then you return the little guy back to its owners and leave the pictures as proof of where he went.” 

“So, you steal someone’s lawn ornament?”  Sam questioned completely unsure of why anyone in their right mind would bother. 

This time the eye-roll was accompanied by a ‘humph’.  “No, you’re not stealing him, you’re just giving him a vacation.” 

“A vacation?  A vacation for an inanimate object?”  Sam verified, completely sure that he was missing some kind of point. 

“Duuuuuuude,” Dean sighed.  “You’re just hopeless, what the hell did you do at college?”   

Before Sam could explain that at college he’d had more important things to think about besides vacationing with a figurine, Dean answered his own question, “Oh, I forgot you spent your college years learning how to stuff things.” 

This time it was Sam that snapped, “Yeah, well you wanna talk about wasting time, you seem to be pretty damn familiar with this whole roaming gnome thing.” 

At his words, Dean’s complexion flushed red and his brother broke eye contact with him.  Sam couldn’t help but crow at Dean’s obviously uneasy expression.  “You did it, didn’t you?  You stole someone’s elf and took it for a joy ride.” 

“It wasn’t an ELF,” Dean hollered, his voice clearly audible to the whole neighborhood. 

At Sam’s look of irritation, Dean lowered his voice.  “It was a gnome and I only did it once.  It’s not like I’m a card carrying member of the GGLF.” 

The initials immediately grabbed Sam’s attention.  “The what?” he questioned. 

Again, Dean seemed to realize he’d said to much.  “The Garden Gnome Liberation Front,” he muttered. 

Somehow, Sam found he wasn’t at all surprised to learn that there was a group involved.  It seemed now a days, given the informational society that they lived in there was a specialty group for everyone.  “huh,” was his only comment.  Really, he was unsure of what else to say.  The idea that Dean had wandered the country with a gnome tucked into the trunk was just a bit beyond belief.  “I can’t believe Dad didn’t have something to say about it.” 

“Dude, how many times do I have to tell you, I hunted on my own,” Dean huffed in irritation.  “You remember that house in Idaho, just outside Boise, eastbound on I-84?” 

At Sam’s blank look, Dean sighed and continued, “You know the one with all the lawn ornaments.” 

A vague recollection of a run-down house surrounded by every lawn ornament ever produced teased Sam’s memory.  “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Well, I was leaving Boise, heading for Texas and it was just sitting there staring at me.  Dad was working a different gig and I knew I’d be back in the area in a week or two, so, I took him.” 

Sam said not a word, just shook his head slowly as he waited for his brother to tell his tale. 

“So anyway, I threw Edgar into the front seat and drove down to the Wyoming border.  I took a picture of him at the border sign.  After that, it was kinda fun.  Trying to figure out new places to take the little guy.  I’m telling you I got this shot of him at the Chicken Ranch, in Texas and he’s just perched right in front of that gingerbread fence grinning like crazy,” Dean said fondly. 

Sam’s mind kinda stuttered at the idea that ‘Edgar’ had ridden in the Impala, and in his seat no less.  He found himself with a mental image of his brother in the car, flying down the road with the radio blasting, his little buddy tucked into a seatbelt next to him.  Before he could wonder whether he should seriously worry about his brother’s sanity, the rest of Dean’s words hit him. 

“You took him to the Ranch?”  Sam asked as memories of his own eighteenth birthday threatened to distract him.  Forcing his thoughts back to the topic at hand, he asked, “So then you just returned him?

“Yup, left him and handful of Polaroid’s on the porch and never went back.” 

Though he wasn’t buying Dean’s too innocent ‘never went back’ comment, Sam let it go and asked, “So, how does Edgar, the roaming gnome, fit in with our little problem here?” 

“That’s just the thing, Sam.  I mean I saw a garden gnome, complete with rosy red cheeks.  If everything we’ve read is any indication, actual gnomes…which don’t exist… are most likely dirty little creatures that live in some remote hill in Germany.  Whatever we’re dealing with is not a gnome.” 

As Dean spoke, Sam’s attention was caught by a tiny streak of red that was moving behind one of the largest piles of books.  His eyes tracked that red spot, which if he were honest looked like the tip of a hat, as it moved toward the left and directly behind his brother.  Sam shifted slightly and at last got an eyeful of what he’d only glimpsed earlier.   

The creature, for lack of a better word, did indeed resemble just about any garden gnome Sam had ever seen.  His cone hat was bright cherry red and sat firmly on his round little head.  Thick white hair jutted out from under the hat and ran down his cheeks into a full beard.  Beady black eyes and rosy red cheeks helped to give him a cheery look despite his one raised eyebrow and a cynical twist to his mouth.  He was wearing large black boots and black pants that were nearly hidden by a light blue coat.  A thick black belt with a bright golden buckle helped to cinch in his thick waist.

888

“…is not a gnome,” Dean finished lamely as he noted his brother’s attention was no longer riveted on him.  Sam now appeared fascinated with something behind the elder Winchester.  Given the topic of their conversation, Dean didn’t have to work too hard to guess what Sammy saw.  “He’s behind me isn’t he?”  he asked in a loud whisper. 

At his words, Sam’s eyes widened even more and he nodded.  Dean took it as a yes and braced himself to turn around slowly.  Inch by inch the hunter rotated, doing his best to not startle the creature behind him.  At last, he stood face to, well, knee with the little guy.  To his surprise, the gnome was an exact replica of the roaming gnome that had been made famous by the TV commercials.  Dean’s mumbled, “Son of a bitch,” was heartfelt as he studied the creature that stood before him. 

“So’s that a roaming gnome,” Sam questioned as he stared at the gnome. 

Dean had noticed his brother repeatedly rubbing his eyes as if to clear his vision.  He really couldn’t blame Sam as he had also found himself wondering if he was caught in the throes of some horrific nightmare.  Maybe it was a concussion, he reassured himself or some sort of weird cosmic joke perpetrated by a trickster or a demon with a sense of humor. 

“We’re just dreaming,” Dean said firmly as he watched the gnome roll his little black eyes. 

Sam moved up to stand by his side and nodded.  “Yeah, I thought of that,” the younger hunter said as he reached out and pinched Dean on the arm. 

The flare of pain was unexpected and had Dean cursing a blue streak as he rubbed the injured area.  “What the hell, Sam?” 

“He’s trying to tell you you’re not dreaming, dumb-ass,” came a gruff voice from somewhere near the floor. 

Dean ignored his brother’s audible gulp and turned toward the voice.  “’scuse me?” 

The small figure blew out a breath, the air ruffling his thick white beard with force, and folded his hands across his middle.  “Tell me he’s not the brains of this dynamic duo?” he asked Sam with what Dean would swear was a smirk. 

Sam blinked hard once and replied, “Uh…what…”   

His brother’s voice just kinda trailed off making it clear to Dean, just how stunned Sam was to be having this conversation.  Gathering his focus, he slowly reached behind his back and removed his gun from where it had been tucked in the waistband of his jeans.  Careful not to make any sudden movements, Dean aimed the pistol at the small form and snapped, “Okay, enough of this shit.  What the hell are you?”

“I’m a gnome,” the little guy growled.   

Dean shook his head and emphasized, “No, you’re not.  ‘Cause there’s no such thing as gnomes.”  Needing to believe his own words, he insisted, “Gnomes don’t exist, and even if they did, they don’t look like you.” 

Black eyes widened and the red-cheeked gnome snarled, “Is that right?  What exactly makes you an expert on gnomes?  Huh?” the little guy demanded as he stared hard at Dean.  

For a moment, Dean drew a blank.  All of his logical reasoning had flown out the window when faced with two feet of nasty attitude, topped with a cherry red cone hat.  It was Sam that came to his rescue. 

“Gnomes are dirt dwelling creatures,” his little brother offered, in a voice that could very nearly be called steady. 

“If you’re a gnome, then where’s your treasure?”  Dean piped up grateful that some small bit, no matter how lame, of gnome knowledge had come back to him. 

At their questions, the small creature in front of them began to fidget slightly, and his hands crept to his bright white beard only to tug on the end a few times.  If Dean had to put an emotion to the little guy’s actions he would have to say the gnome looked decidedly uneasy. 

“I like dirt well enough,” the gnome snapped, “and just cause I don’t flaunt a treasure don’t mean I ain’t got one.” 

“Huh,” Dean commented.  He then turned to Sam and lifted a single brow.  “Sounds pretty weak to me, Sam.  What’d you think?” 

Sam shook his shaggy head and replied simply, “Yeah, not real convincing.” 

“Okay, listen, you two smart mouths, I’m a gnome and I don’t give a rat’s ass if you don’t believe me,” the gnome ground out as he tugged hard on the tip of his beard once more.  “All that matters is that you give me what I want,” he concluded with a stamp of his foot. 

Given the little guy’s colorful language and his obvious irritation, Dean had no doubt now that what stood before them was no gnome.  “Why would we give you anything?  We’re the hunters here, and whether or not you choose to believe it, you’re the prey.” 

At Dean’s words, the gnome seemed to swell up like a toad.  The tiny buttons that marched their way down his tunic began to show signs of strain and his face went from slightly flushed to bright red.  His little hands now gripped the end of his beard in a chokehold and he was jerking on it every now and again as he muttered under his breath.  At first, Dean tried to make out what he was mumbling but after the first fifty or so curse words he gave up.  He had to admit whatever this thing was it had a vocabulary that would make a sailor blush. 

It was Sam that seemed to realize the fact that they might be in trouble first.  His brother’s, “Uh, Dean, look,” had the elder Winchester taking note of their surroundings.  Despite the fact that they were in a house a breeze had picked up, causing the stacks of papers that surrounded them to flutter.  Then even as Dean realized that something was wrong, the breeze became a wind and sheets began to flutter through the air. 

“Um, Sam?”  Dean questioned as he began ducking things in earnest. 

“Yeah?”  Sam shouted against the wind that had now become a gust. 

“You about ready to get out of here, before this place lifts off?” 

Sam didn’t even bother to hesitate as he dodged a lamp and headed toward the nearest exit.  Dean put himself directly behind Sam, to help block some of the debris that were now flying and followed his brother.  As they finally reached the door, he took a moment to look back at the gnome that stood unharmed in the middle of a tornado of junk.  

As the brother’s ducked out of the storm and into the quiet evening, they couldn’t resist a last look at the house.  Though they could detect a faint thump now and again as something heavy pounded against the door that was the only sound that suggested something was wrong.  Otherwise, the house looked perfectly peaceful.  “Well, that was strange,” Dean offered as he shrugged and turned his back on the home.  Conscious of the fact that dawn was breaking, he picked up his pace and headed down the road to where the Impala shimmered in the dying moonlight. 

“You think?”  Sam replied with a groan. 

“Yup, I’m thinking a bit more research is in order,” Dean continued. 

“Probably not a bad idea,” Sam agreed wryly as he picked up his pace.

Chapter 3

“Thank you very much, Mr. Grainger,” Dean said as he firmly shook the grizzled old man’s hand. 

Grainger pulled back his hand and spat to the side.  “I’m telling you young man, that gnome’s full o’ spite.  You’d best be careful.” 

Dean refrained from rolling his eyes at Grainger’s tenth warning and replied, “Will do.”  With one last wave toward the antique dealer, Dean headed out of the dark shop and into the bright afternoon light.   

Within minutes, he had his phone out and was placing a call to Sam.  He’d left his brother at the local library trying to find an explanation for Grainger’s ‘visitor’.  He had then taken himself off to the man’s antique shop in hopes of learning something useful.  Instead, he’d been treated to some truly disgusting coffee and an hour’s worth of tall tales.  Apparently, the gnome was to blame for every last bit of the dealer’s bad luck including, but not limited to, a broken clock, a stubbed toe, and a bee sting. 

Just as Dean reached the car, Sam picked up. 

“Yeah?”  Sam’s abrupt lack of greeting made it obvious that he’d had little luck. 

“What’d you find,” Dean questioned as he opened up the car door and slid into the hot interior.   

“Nothing useful.  There’s just too many things it could be.” 

Dean could clearly hear the frustration in his brother’s voice, not to mention the thump of books.  He could easily picture his brother, sitting slumped in a chair as he worried his fingernail and sifted through the piles that were probably spread all over the library table.  “You wanna go ahead and explain that Captain Cryptic?” 

“I swear everything Grainger’s ever bought or for that matter sold, has been owned by someone that died under suspicious circumstances.  This guy’s the bottom feeder of antiquities dealers.  No death is too gruesome for old Gerry.” 

At his brother’s confirmation of what Dean had learned the elder Winchester came to a conclusion.  “Okay, listen I’m heading your way.  Pack up and meet me out front, we’ll grab dinner and figure something out.” 

Sam’s tone eased slightly as he admitted, “I am starved.  I’ll meet you outside, but we can walk to dinner.  There’s a little shop around the corner that supposed to be pretty good.” 

“Works for me,” Dean replied as he snapped the phone shut and tossed it onto the seat.  With a sigh of contentment, he carefully twisted the key in the ignition and started the car.  The familiar rumble helped to ease the last of his tension.  He had to admit, the time spent in Grainger’s shop had done little to put him at ease.   

The building it was housed in was old to say the least, and probably more accurately should have been described as decrepit.  The interior was little better, full of shadows and gloom, there’d been a layer of dust on every surface and the smell of rot permeated every square inch.  Added to the lack of ambiance was the idea that every item in the shop had the potential of being dangerous had helped to crank up Dean’s hunter instincts to full volume. 

As he pulled the sleek car out of its spot and merged onto the street, Dean once again went over all he’d learned from Gerald.  The gnome had come into the dealer’s possession over six months ago.  The statue had come as part and parcel of an estate that Grainger had bought out in Delaware.  Along with the gnome, he’d gotten the contents of the house, including all the furniture, books, and even clothes.  Upon receiving the items, Grainger had immediately set about sifting out what was valuable and what was little more than second hand junk. 

The majority of the estate had been worthless, however, there had been several jewelry pieces and some collectables that had made the work worthwhile.  Out of everything that Grainger had received, only the gnome still remained, everything else had been sold off.  Luckily, for all that he looked like a more disreputable version of Mr. Farley from Three’s Company, Grainger was nothing if not thorough, the older man had kept meticulous records on what he’d sold and to whom.  He’d been more than accommodating in providing the information to Dean, but he’d assured the elder Winchester that he’d had no complaints from any of his customers.  

The gnome however was a different story.  Grainger had been taken with the ‘little fella’ as he referred to him from the beginning and had brought him home.  Once there the gnome had taken a spot of prominence on the front lawn and there he’d remained for the next four weeks. 

Dean eased up in front of the library and spotted his brother’s long outline standing in the shade just outside the library’s front doors.  Not wanting to bother with street parking, Dean made the left into the library parking lot.  As he pulled into a space, he noticed his brother heading his way.  In moments, he’d thrown the car into gear and was climbing out in time to come face to face with Sam.  The younger man leaned past Dean to toss the info he’d acquired onto the front seat of the Impala and then straightened up with a sigh. 

“Let’s go, I’m starving,” Sam growled as he turned and headed for the sidewalk that would lead into town. 

With a hint of amusement tugging at his full lips, Dean took a moment to lock the car and followed his sibling.  Sam kept the pace quick, and his snarl never really left his expression.  “You wanna tell me what’s got your panties in a bunch, Francis?”  Dean asked as he quickened his pace. 

Dean’s choice phrase did little more than earn him an eye-roll as Sam snapped, “I just hate it when I can’t find anything.” 

“Aw...poor Sammy, feeling a little incompetent are we?”  Dean couldn’t help but needle his brother.  Before he’d left for college, Sam had prided himself on being the best Winchester at research.  The years he’d been away hadn’t exactly increased his humility. 

“Shut it, Dean.  You know me striking out doesn’t exactly help the case.” 

Dean nodded as he followed his brother into a small café that was only a block from the library.  The restaurant looked cleaner than some they’d been in and as an added bonus their waitress was a pretty young girl with a great smile.  As she seated them, Dean took a moment to notice her nametag and what lay beneath it with a grin.  “Hey there Amanda.  What’s good to eat?”  he questioned, as he admired the waitress’ fine blond hair and large blue eyes. 

Amanda, obviously not immune to the purr in Dean’s voice and the twinkle in his glance, winked and said, “You name it and I’ll make sure it’s the best you’ve ever had.”  As her gaze boldly traveled his features she added, “I’m accommodating like that.” 

“Well, then,” Dean said as he leaned forward and lowered his voice.  “I have to admit I have a soft spot for—” 

“Ow, damnit,” he suddenly cried out as Sam’s size fourteen boots made contact with his shin.  With a teary-eyed smile for Amanda, he gasped out, “How about you give us a minute to look over the menu.” 

Their server gave them both a slightly hesitant smile before she nodded and said, “No problem, I’ll just get you your drinks.” 

Dean waited until she disappeared then turned to his brother and spat, “What’d you kick me for?” 

Sam rolled his eyes and picked up one of the menus that sat on the table.  “We’re on a case, Dean.  I don’t care how accommodating she’s willing to be.” 

With a huff, Dean grabbed up his own menu and snapped it open.  “You know schmoozing the locals is just as important as all the book reading you do.” 

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam admitted and then added, “but lying so you can sleep with them isn’t.” 

It was on the tip of his tongue to complain about Sam’s use of the word lying.  After all, Dean didn’t actually lie, he simply didn’t offer the truth, however, he knew in his brother’s black and white world there was little difference.  So, instead of going another round in an endless conversation, Dean decided to remind his baby brother that pouring over dusty books wasn’t the only way to get a job done. 

As he eased back into his seat he said, “I’ve got a lead.”  A weak one at best, Dean admitted to himself.  But, given the circumstances he’d definitely won this round of the research war. 

Irritation forgotten, Sam nearly tossed aside his menu as he leaned forward and demanded, “What’d you find?”

888

Sam watched as his brother tucked into his desert with a pleasure that was nearly indecent and waited for Dean to continue.  He’d learned long ago that when it came to food, there was simply no rushing him.  So, he sipped at his coffee and held his irritation in check. 

“Anyway, so the gnome was standing guard over Grainger’s house up until about five months ago,” Dean said around a mouthful of German chocolate cake. 

“What happened five months ago?”  Sam asked unable to stop himself from prodding his brother along. 

Dean took a sip from a mug similar to Sam’s and continued, “He came out one morning and Alfred was just gone.  No sign of what happened, nothing.” 

Sam couldn’t help but smirk a bit as he questioned, “Alfred? 

With a dismissive wave of his hand, Dean continued, “Grainger named the little guy that.  Anyway, so Grainger was heartbroken, reported the theft to the police and everything.” 

“So if Alfred was stolen, what the hell’s it doing tearing apart Grainger’s place?”  Sam questioned. 

“Well seems as if a month after he went missing, Big Al, just shows up safe and sound on the front porch.” 

Sam closed his eyes for a moment at Dean’s dubbing the gnome ‘Big Al’ and picked up on the rest of his brother’s words.  “So, I take it there were a pile of Polaroid’s left at the scene?” 

“Yatzhe,” Dean crowed as he signaled the waitress for yet another in an endless line of coffee refills.  “So, here it turns out Big Al hadn’t been gnome-napped he was just doing a bit of sightseeing.  Kicker is according to Grainger and the photos the damn thing toured half the states.”

“Shit,” Sam whispered as the gravity of the situation became clear. 

“Yup, you got it.” 

Sam continued, “I mean obviously we’re dealing with a spirit here.” 

Dean cleared his throat and nudged Sam’s boot to indicate that Amanda had returned.  Sam watched idly as his brother flirted a bit with the pretty blond and continued to turn the problem over in his mind.  At last, Dean sent the waitress off with a smile and turned to face Sam. 

“Seems as if little old Alfred picked up more than a few chips in his continental tour.” 

His brother was right, the problem was, what could they do about it.  “How the hell are we supposed to pinpoint just when the statue became possessed?” 

“Beats me,” Dean said with a grin.  “I’m just the leg-man, you’re the one that supposed to come up with the answers.”  

Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes at his brother’s smug attitude, but he had to acknowledge that despite his brother’s seemingly immature ways, Dean had definitely out done him on the information gathering front.  Sam had spent four hours in the library only to learn nothing of value, while his brother had turned one conversation into a surplus of information.  His brother, more than Sam himself or even their father had always had that gift.  What had taken John and Sam hours to compile, Dean could charm out of one or two decent leads.  

As Sam watched, Dean’s grin became a full-fledged smile as his gaze lightly caressed the waitress who now waited on the table to the left of the brothers.  “Talk about legs,” Dean breathed as he sipped his coffee once more. 

Sam rolled his eyes and ignored his brother completely.  It was going to take some serious thought to figure out a way to cleanse Gerald’s gnome of its little hitchhiker.

888

“Dean, this gnome’s been through more states than we have,” Sam said with a sigh as he flipped through the handful of photos his brother had given him upon their return to the hotel. 

Dean who’d been channel surfing flung the remote away with a sigh and turned to face his brother.  “I know.  We don’t stand a chance at figuring out who Big Al came in contact with.” 

Sam didn’t bother to reply, instead he continued to study the photos.  Unlike Dean’s little trip into gnome snatching, Big Al’s tour guides hadn’t been nearly as creative in their picture posing.  In the photo’s Grainger had given his brother the statue was simply held up in front of each state sign.  The gnome had logged some serious mileage upon leaving Pennsylvania but there wasn’t even any way to tell in what order the photos were taken.  The most Sam could tell was that Al had visited nine different states before finally ending up on Gerry’s porch with the photos by his side and a little something more along for the ride. 

“Nine states, just peachy, huh?”  Dean snorted as he reached out a hand for the pictures. 

“Yeah, and not a landmark to be seen.  No way to trace their journey or pinpoint where in the state they went,” Sam added. 

“Maybe we should just destroy the thing and call it a day,” Dean said absentmindedly as he studied the photos. 

Sam shook his head.  It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had the same thought himself, it was simply he feared if they destroyed the object that housed the spirit, the ghost would jump to something different.  It wouldn’t solve the problem, it would only change the circumstances.  “I hear ya, but it won’t help.” 

“I know,” Dean muttered as he studied two photos in particular. 

“Sam, what are the Aggies?” his brother suddenly asked as he gained his feet and moved toward the bathroom. 

Unsure of what Dean was doing, Sam shrugged and followed.  “No clue?  Why, what’d you see?” 

“’Cause in at least two of these pictures there’s the same conversion van in the background,” Dean replied as he flipped on the bathroom light.  Dean held the picture up to the light and studied it for a moment.  “Can’t tell much other than it’s dark blue.” 

Sam leaned over his brother and squinted at the photos Dean was studying.  Under the bright lights of the bathroom he could barely make out the front bumper of what did indeed look like a van in one of the pictures.  The second photo caught just a bare glimpse of the back window of what appeared to be the same van. 

“Dude, you mind?”  Dean complained as he waved a hand toward Sam.  “Get that shaggy head out of my light.” 

With a wry grin, Sam did as he was told.  Curious to see if the van appeared in any of the other photos, he snatched up the pictures and headed back to the bright light of the bathroom.  “Here,” he said handing his brother a couple of the photographs.  “Put your eagle eyes to the test and see if you can find it in any of the others.”

888

“Okay, the Aggies refers to the football team of a local college, Delaware Valley College,” Dean said as he looked up from the laptop in front of him.  “You wanna explain why you didn’t recognize it college boy?” 

Sam rolled his eyes and huffed, “It’s not like I’m a walking encyclopedia of colleges, Dean.  I went to a west coast school.” 

Dean ignored his brother’s excuses, really, it wasn’t a big deal, the Aggies hadn’t been hard to find once Sam had found another shot of the bumper sticker which included, of all things, a picture of a ram.  “So, we gotta figure the van belongs to the road trippers and most likely the road trippers were or are students at this college.” 

“Makes sense, but I’ve been all over these pictures and the only other thing I could find is that it’s always the same pair of hands,”  Sam added as he wearily rubbed his eyes. 

Dean nodded his agreement and eased back from the laptop.  “Yeah, well,” he said with a weary sigh.  “How about we catch a little shuteye and then start fresh in the morning.  Grainger’s sleeping in his shop until we deal with Big Al, so there’s a limit to how much trouble the little guy can get in.” 

“Fine by me,” Sam said as he eased down on his bed and stretched out.  Tucking his hands behind his head, he questioned his brother, “So what’s the plan tomorrow?” 

“Well, I’m thinking we need to ask around at this college.  I mean a couple of kids stealing a gnome and taking it on a joyride is bound to produce some rumors.” 

“True,” Sam agreed.  “You know Amanda was wearing a ‘DVC’ button on her uniform.  I didn’t think much of it at first, but there’s a good bet she’s a student at the college or at least knows someone who is.” 

Sam’s suggestion had merit and as an added bonus put Dean back inside the café for another meal.  “Works for me.  I’ll even spring for breakfast.” 

Dean leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling as he listened to Sam settle in for the night.  His brother turned over twice before he at last stilled, Dean didn’t need to glance at the bed to know that Sammy was lying diagonally in order to accommodate his large frame.  As he’d done since Jess’s death, Dean listened carefully for the younger Winchester’s breathing to become slow and steady before he allowed himself to relax. 

Though he knew the nightmares that were dogging Sam’s sleep would come eventually, Dean was fairly sure there’d be at least a couple hour lull before things really began to heat up.  Despite his brother’s every effort to hide the effects of the dreams from him, Dean knew just how desperate Sam was becoming.  Problem was he also knew there was little he could do for the kid.  Life without Jess was simply something that Sam would have to work through himself.   

The feeling of uselessness was a new one for Dean.  Before, he’d always been able to ease his little brother’s worries.  Even when things were at their worse, and John had blown it and threw his ultimatum at, a much younger and less sure of himself, Sam, Dean had been able to step in and help his brother.  He’d refused to let Sam take off in a red-hot haze of anger.  Instead, he’d helped Sam pack, had given him money to see him through for a good long while and had driven him to the bus station. 

Then he’d stood next to the Greyhound and waved his kid brother off, all the while hoping that the tears that flooded his eyes wouldn’t be visible through the grime covered bus window.  Two weeks to the day he’d said goodbye, he’d showed up at the Stanford hoping to visit with the kid who’d taken every last bit of light with him when he’d left.  Instead, he’d watched from the shadows as Sam made his way across campus an honest to god smile on his face and the shadows that had taken up residence in his gaze completely gone. 

Determined not to disturb Sam’s happiness, Dean had done a quick once over in the kids room, upping the protection symbols that Sam had in place and had left without ever coming face to face with him.  It had torn Dean’s own heart in half but he’d done it anyway, Sam’s dreams had come true and there was no way he would be the one to destroy them. 

Even now he questioned his choice to come and fetch Sam from school in order to hunt for their father.  He couldn’t shake the idea that if he’d simply stuck by his decision to stay out of his brother’s life, Jess might have had a chance.  Then again, he argued with himself, he might have lost a brother, rather than his brother’s girlfriend. 

Hating the sour turn his thoughts had taken, Dean forced away his worries and gained his feet.  With ease, he stripped off his jeans and tee-shirt and slipped on an old faded AC/DC tour shirt he pulled from his bag.  As he eased under the cool sheets of his bed, he couldn’t help the feeling of contentment that slipped through him at his brother’s soft snore.  Regardless of how they’d gotten to this point, he couldn’t help but relish having Sam back at his side.

 Chapter 4

“Ah, this is just friggin’ useless,” Dean growled as he tossed his hands in the air and stormed away from the skinny freshman he’d been questioning. 

Sam flashed the kid an apologetic smile and turned to follow his still mumbling brother.  “Dean, wait up, man,” Sam said as he picked up his pace. 

Dean’s pause was barely discernable, but Sam took it to mean his brother wasn’t upset with him, simply frustrated with the wall they were figuratively banging their heads against.  The brothers had returned to the café two days ago and had learned first hand from Amanda that there were indeed rumors flying around campus about a great gnome escapade. 

Problem was even after Amanda hooked them up with a junior that was supposed to have first hand knowledge of the trip they’d discovered little actual fact.  When faced with Dean’s questioning the junior had quickly admitted that he hadn’t actually gone on the trip, he’d simply heard about it from a friend.  After that, it had become a kind of six degrees of separation as they tried to locate someone that had actually gone on the excursion. 

“This place is a dead-end, Sam.  We’re never gonna learn anything of use,” Dean snapped, his frustration coming through loud and clear. 

“Yeah, well until we come up with something else…”  Sam began only to stop as he caught sight of the Impala, or at least the spot where the car should have been.   

“What the hell,” Dean swore as he took off into the wall of students that were between him and his beloved car. 

“Dean, wait,” Sam shouted as he lunged after his brother. 

Quicker than he’d imagined, the elder Winchester was absorbed by the throng of kids, leaving Sam on his own to push and shove his way through.  At last, just when he’d readied himself to start tossing people out of his way, he stumbled into a clearing.   

With a big breath of relief, Sam edged closer to the Impala that sat in the center of the circle and gently caressed the shining black paint.  Car found, Sam now turned to try to find his brother in the encircling mass.   

He was scanning the crowd when a strident voice broke through the din, “Get away from the car or so help me I’ll—” 

With a grin, Sam turned to find his brother only steps behind him.  He was obviously talking to an overzealous kid that had ventured too close to the classic beauty.

“Dean,” Sam shouted, hoping to distract his brother for a moment, thus giving the kid in question a chance to blend back into the crowd. 

“What the fu—” Dean started. 

Sam cut him off before he could finish the exclamation.  “It’s your fault for having such an irresistible car,” Sam offered trying to appease the older hunter. 

Apparently, it worked as Dean’s expression cleared a bit and he shoved the next poor fool that stumbled too close to the car a bit more gently.  “You’d think they’d never seen a car before,” Dean ground out as he whipped out a hand to stop another pimply-faced student from breathing on his baby. 

“Let’s just clear out,” Sam said as he accidentally brushed against a busty brunette that had managed to wriggle her way out of the crowd.  He was about to steer her back into the swarm when his brother was suddenly at his side, an easy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.   

“Well, hello there,” Dean all but purred as he edged Sam away from the woman. 

In a high-pitched tone that bore a striking likeness to Mini Mouse on helium, the brunette asked, “Is this your car?” 

At the sound of her voice, Dean quickly smothered a grimace and leaned back a touch.  “It’s all mine.” 

Dean’s confirmation seemed to be enough for the dark haired beauty as she let loose with a glass shattering hoot,  “Wow, it’s just the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

With ears still ringing from the girl’s squeal, Sam gestured to his brother that it was time to go.  Dean seemed only too ready to agree as he extricated himself from the woman with a quite word and edged his way toward the driver’s side door.  Sam did likewise on the other side of the car, opening his door in tandem with his brother. 

As they settled in, the crowd surged closer for a moment, hands reaching out to caress the car’s midnight paint.  For a moment, Sam worried that his brother would break a tooth, he was clenching his jaw so hard.  However, as Dean started the engine the Impala’s loud rumble had people backing off instinctively.  Slowly but surely, they began to edge their way forward as the crowd parted ways, allowing them through. 

It was only once they were completely off campus that Dean drew in a deep breath and blew it out.  “Well, it’s nice to know that people still appreciate the classics.” 

“Yeah, I guess.  Seems a bit weird though.  I mean the car’s been parked their nearly everyday this week,” Sam replied a bit absentmindedly as he began sifting through the information they’d gathered today. 

“Did you get anything?”  Dean asked as he glanced toward the notebook Sam held. 

In all honesty, Sam had gotten next to nothing.  What was worse he was quickly running out of leads to follow up.  More and more they were being directed to people they’d already questioned.  “Naw, nothing really.  We need something more to go on than that van,” Sam said with a huff as he flipped his notebook closed and directed his gaze out the window. 

The growl of the Impala’s big block engine went a long way toward lulling Sam to sleep.  He was just beginning to nod off when his brother spoke, jerking him awake. 

“We need to go back,” Dean stated firmly. 

“What?”  Sam slurred, trying to focus on his brother’s words. 

“Tonight, we’re gonna have a little chat with our buddy Al.” 

Though Sam was hesitant to confront the gnome again, he knew his brother was right.  Trolling their way through rumor and conjecture on campus had gotten them nowhere.  At least if they came face to face with Al once more they might be able to learn more about his little joyride, more specifically where he ceased to be a statue and became ‘Albert’. 

“Yeah, I guess there’s no way around it,” Sam said as he leaned his head back against the seat.   

“It’ll be a breeze,” Dean said as he guided the big car down the highway, “I’ve got a plan.” 

Sam didn’t bother to vocalize his doubts about his brother’s plan.  He knew it wouldn’t get him anywhere and really it wasn’t as if Sam had a better plan to offer up.  The most he could do was hope they didn’t get their asses handed to them by a two foot lawn ornament.

888

“Wait,” Sam hissed just before Dean’s hand made contact with the doorknob. 

Dean tightened the grip he had on his shotgun and turned hard eyes on his brother.  “What?” 

Sam shifted slightly and nodded toward the door.  “What if it really is a gnome?” 

At his brother’s question, Dean straightened a bit and stared at the house before them.  “Huh?  I never really thought about it.  I mean do we know how to kill a gnome?” 

Sam shrugged a bit guiltily and admitted, “It’s never really come up before.” 

Dean had to admit his brother had a point.  They had killed some pretty unbelievable things, but gnomes were definitely a new one.  “Okay, we’ll go with iron rounds.  That way if it’s a spirit it’ll repel it and if it’s a gnome, well,” Dean said as he held up his forty-five, “a couple rounds ought to be enough to stop it in its tracks.” 

Sam hesitated a moment as if to argue Dean’s weak logic, but then seemed to relent.  “Just remember if it is a gnome there’s a chance it could have mystical powers.” 

Dean turned in surprise at his brother’s warning.  “Really?” 

With a shrug, Sam continued, “Well, they usually fall in the same category as dwarves and elves, and those creatures both have powers.” 

“Gimli didn’t have super powers, unless you count mining and living a long time.”

“Gimli?”  Sam questioned with a frown. 

Surprised by his brother’s tone, Dean prompted, “Yeah, you know Lord of the Rings...” 

Sam’s expression eased a bit at his brother’s explanation.  “I’m not sure how much faith we can put into Peter Jackson’s representation of a dwarf.” 

This time it was Dean who conveyed surprise, “I wasn’t talking the movie.”   

As Dean watched his brother’s eyebrows rise under his dark bangs, he felt a stirring of annoyance.  It was obvious Sam had a hard time believing he’d read the book.  “What?”  Dean demanded. 

Sam raised his hands in defense and amended, “Nothing, I’m just surprised is all.  You’ve never been what I’d call a reader.” 

At his brother’s words, Dean’s annoyance turned into full blown anger.  “Yeah, well you know two years on the road by myself gave me ample opportunity.” 

In the blink of an eye, Sam’s expression became contrite.  “I wasn’t makin’ fun, Dean, I was just a little surprised.” 

When faced with his brother’s kicked-puppy look, Dean found he was unable to hold onto his anger.  “It’s fine,” he breathed as he focused once more on the door.  

“Seriously, Dean, I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

Though he refused to meet his brother’s eyes, he could full well hear the apology in the kid’s voice.  Unable to stand against the sincerity he heard in Sam’s voice, let alone the power of the puppy dog eyes he had no doubt were boring into his back, Dean tossed the kid a bone, “Yeah, well you’re not completely off.  I only picked it up ‘cause the first movie just left you hanging.  Have to admit, it was one hell of a read.” 

As Dean felt more than saw the tension drain from his brother’s form, his own apprehension eased.  Eager to keep the tentative peace, he tapped the door lightly.  “We ready to do this thing?” 

Sam nodded firmly then grinned and said, “Don’t know that I’ll ever be ready, so we might as well get it over with.” 

Returning his brother’s smile, Dean couldn’t help but add, “Wait till we tell Dad about this one, he’s never gonna believe it.” 

“You got that right,” Sam muttered as he readied himself to enter the house. 

Determined to get the job done and to put this house behind them once and for all, Dean turned the knob and pushed the door open.

888

Sam eased through the open doorway only a pace or two behind his brother.  Unlike a couple nights ago the place was pitch black, the glow of their flashlights as they panned them around the room, was their only light.  Unconcerned with being seen, Sam turned slightly toward the door and passed his beam over the wall, looking for the light switch.  He found the switch plate with little problem.  There were four switches to choose from and he randomly chose the first.  When nothing happened, he simply assumed it was a switch for an outside light and chose another to flick on.  That one also produced nothing.  Becoming a bit concerned Sam tossed up the last two switches with no more success than the first two. 

“Lights are out,” he called out to his brother.  Dean had eased his way into the entry and was running his beam over the living room. 

“They worked the other night,” Dean replied as he moved toward the living room light switch panel.  With a flick of his hand, he nudged both switches into the on position.  “Not good, Sam.” 

Sam couldn’t help but agree with his brother’s assessment.  With only the meager light provided by their flashlights, the rat’s nest that was Gerald’s home would leave them at a major disadvantage to the gnome. 

“Just keep your eyes open for Big Al, we don’t wanna get blindsided by him,” Dean said as he began to search the room. 

“Right,” Sam replied as he rolled his eyes at his brother’s back.  “Like we’re not already being played by him,” he muttered as he began his own search. 

“I heard that Mr. Sunshine,” Dean ground out as he turned to face Sam, his flashlight hanging at his side.  “And I’m telling you now, I ain’t being played by stumpy.  We’re the ones with the guns, we’re the ones in charge.” 

Dean’s statement would have held a lot more weight if at the moment he stopped talking he hadn’t suddenly fallen face-forward, hitting the floor with a wince inducing thud. 

“Dean,” Sam cried as he darted forward, his eyes and his light pinned to the spot where his brother had last stood.  The elder Winchester was no longer there.  Ready to scream with frustration, Sam dropped to the ground and took careful note of the spot where his brother had disappeared.  Just as he was ready to believe that all six foot of Dean had magically vanished, Sam spied scuffmarks in the dust that layered the floor. 

With his light, he crawled on his knees, his eyes pinned to those marks.  He nearly crowed with relief when he at last came across the one of his brother’s dusty boots.  Sam followed the boot with his free hand happy to find that Dean’s foot still inhabited it.  “Dean,” Sam hissed as he continued following the line of his brother’s prone body. 

“Sorry, buddy boy, but big bro’s out for the count,” a gruff voice called out from just behind Sam.  Before he could pinpoint the noise, something crashed against Sam’s temple causing his whole world to go black in one amazing red-hot blaze of pain.

 Chapter 5

“Sam”

“Sssaaammm” 

Sam shook his head trying to deny the voice that called to him.  Unfortunately, the sudden movement sent a shot of agony straight through his head.  With a groan, he screwed his eyes shut tighter and concentrated on keeping completely still. 

“Saaaammmyyy” 

The singsong voice continued, nagging at Sam, urging him to wake up.  He knew that voice, according to his father it was the first voice he’d ever recognized.  It was the same voice that had nudged him awake each morning for a large part of his life.  Warm, gravely with just a hint of humor lurking, it always sent a shaft of well being through him. 

“Dean,” Sam muttered as he worked to pry open his heavy lidded eyes. 

“The one and only, princess, I need you to focus, Sam.” 

Though Sam could hear the urgency in his brother’s voice, he found himself having trouble responding.  Though he vaguely realized that it was the knock on the head he’d taken that was causing his sluggish response, there seemed to be little he could do about it. 

“Hurts,” Sam slurred as he at last managed to force his eyes open. 

“I hear ya, kid, but I’m stuck just a bit and I need you to see if you can get free.” 

It took Sam a moment to process just what his brother was saying.  “Stuck?” 

“Yeah, Sam, stuck.  I’m stuck, and I’m pretty damn sure you’re stuck as well.  I was just kinda hoping you might be able to wriggle free.” 

Even in his diminished capacity, Sam could clearly hear his brother’s growing irritation.  As Dean’s words began to make sense, the younger Winchester became aware that he was unable to move.  Forcing away the fog that was cluttering his mind, he began to take stock of just what exactly was wrong with him.  He lay flat on his back, his brother just a dim shadow next to him.  As he became aware he of his position he realized ropes crisscrossed his body and arms leaving nothing but his head and his fingertips free. 

“What do you think?  Can you get free?” 

As much as Sam wished he could, he knew there was no way he could break the ropes that bound him.  The gnome had done too thorough of a job.  “Don’t think so,” Sam replied, careful not to jostle his head any more than he had to.

“Damn that little freak, I’m gonna kill him when I get my hands on him.” 

Sam winced a bit at the strident sound of his brother’s voice.  The agony in his head was now mimicking his heartbeat and Sam was doing his best to not lose what little he’d eaten for supper.  

“Just hold steady, Sammy, I’ll get us loose.” 

The worry in Dean’s voice left little doubt that he was aware of just how much pain Sam was in.  The younger Winchester took comfort from the fact that Dean was working out a plan to get them both free.  He knew from a lifetime of experience that there was little Dean couldn’t accomplish if he set his mind to it.  “’m good,” Sam muttered in a weak attempt to soothe his brother. 

Dean’s growl was unmistakable.  “Yeah, well I’m telling ya, I get my hands on friggin’ Rumpelstiltskin and I’m gonna kick his little gnome ass.” 

Sam couldn’t help the faint smile that creased his face at his brother’s mention of the fabled dwarf.  “Gotta get free first, dude.” 

Flexing his body against the bonds that held him, Sam couldn’t help but be reminded of Gulliver and his travel to the island of Lilliput.  Any moment now he expected to find himself surrounded with tiny people wielding spears.  The growl that interrupted his weak struggle against his bonds wasn’t much better. 

“Well,” a smug voice rang out, “aren’t you two a pretty sight.  All trussed up like turkeys.”   

Sam rolled his eyes at the gnome’s gruff voice and winced as the light overhead winked on, blinding him for a moment.  

He felt more than saw his brother stain against the ropes as he ground out, “Listen you friggin’ Oompa-Loompa, I am so gonna kick your ass when I get free.” 

The gnome stepped forward, his arms crossed over his tiny chest, as he impatiently tapped the toe of one black boot.  “Is that right?  And just how do you plan on gettin’ free.  I stripped you of your weapons and made sure you can’t so much as scratch your ass.” 

A glance toward the corner where the gnome stood showed that the creature had indeed relieved the men of their cache of weapons.  Dean’s annoyed groan made it clear he could see the pile as well.  He couldn’t help but be impressed by the sheer number of glittering blades that sat just out of reach.  The fact that only three of the ten or more knives that had been carelessly tossed aside were his, only served to emphasize just how screwed they were.  The gnome had been thorough, too thorough. 

 “What’d you want?”  Dean spat at last. 

Sam had to admire his brother’s nerve.  Though he knew the older man had to be worried, his tone of voice conveyed none of his fear.  Then again, Sam really couldn’t claim surprise.  He’d seen the older hunter in tight spots before and it was seldom that he allowed his façade to crack in front of others. 

The gnome met Dean’s bravado with a smirk and a shrug.  It was obvious the creature was confident in the measures he’d taken to secure them both.  Sam had to admit as he struggled to free himself that the gnome had reason to be smug. 

“For starters, I wanna know what the hell you’re doing here?” the little guy said as he crossed his arms, the tail end of his thick white beard clutched tight in his hand. 

Though he couldn’t see his brother, Sam could clearly picture the eye roll that Dean most likely flashed Al as the older man snapped, “Listen, munchkin, I ain’t telling you nothing.” 

A flush of red rushed into the gnomes face as the creature frowned and pulled at the tail of his beard.  Though he knew it would do little good, Sam couldn’t help but caution his brother, “Dean…” 

Unsurprisingly, the elder hunter ignored his brother’s warning tone and continued his tirade.  “In fact, as soon as I get free I’m gonna set the world’s record for midget tossin’, get ready to fly, little buddy.” 

Sam couldn’t help but groan at his brother’s words, it was obvious that the green eyed man was doing his best to make Alfred loose what little grip he had on his temper.  Though Sam couldn’t imagine what it would help, he nevertheless put his faith in his brother and called out, “Better watch it, Dean.  The pip-squeak seems to have a temper.” 

“Is that right,” Dean snarked with a laugh.  “Aw….look at the little guy pout, you’d think someone stole his lucky charms.” 

That last slur was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.  With a mindless cry of rage, the gnome suddenly swept off his tiny red hat, stormed over to where Dean was wrapped up like a fly caught in a spider’s web and drew back one of his tiny-booted feet.  Sure that his brother’s face was about to become rearranged by someone’s idea of a lawn decoration, Sam winced in sympathy. 

The boot never made contact with Dean’s face.  One minute the cunning hunter was stretched out across the floor, the bindings that held him still secure, and the next he was jerking free, a tiny silver throwing knife held tightly in his hand.  The gnome never had a chance.  In a move quicker than Sam could follow, his brother had grabbed the little foot that was poised over him and twisted, tossing Al to the ground in one smooth move. 

The solid thunk of the gnome’s body hitting the ground was music to Sam’s aching ears.  Dean never paused as he used the rope that had bound the elder hunter earlier to tie up the struggling creature.  “Hold still,” Dean ground out as he worked to control Al. 

Sam, still bound and unable to help, could only hope his brother had some kind of a plan.  “Rope won’t be enough,” the younger Winchester warned as he began to struggle against the bonds that held him. 

“Got it covered,” Dean replied as he secured the last rope and darted toward their abandoned duffle bag.  In a flash, he had the gnome securely tied and enclosed in a neat ring of salt.

888

“Little dude’s got one hell of a vocabulary, huh?”  Dean joked as he listened to the gnome’s steady stream of cusses.

“Yeah, well,” Sam replied as he gently probed the large bump he could feel at the base of his head, “He’s got reason, now that he’s the one strung up.” 

Dean looked sharply at his younger brother, noting the way Sam gingerly touched the knot on the back of his head.  He had pronounced Sam fit after a quick once over but he couldn’t help but worry that he’d missed something. 

“I’m fine, Dean, really,” Sam assured his brother once again. 

Dean nodded and continued to study the younger Winchester for a moment more.  “Just making sure you don’t end up barfing on my boots.  You’re looking a bit green around the gills.” 

“Naw, I’m good to go.  Really,” Sam insisted in the face of Dean’s study. 

Content for the moment that Sam’s steady speech and his lack of confusion were indicators that he was in fact telling the truth, Dean decided to let it drop.  “Okay then, what’d we do now?” 

Sam seemed surprised at his question.  “What do you mean?” 

Dean gestured to the gnome that had paused his profanity to gasp for air and was now staring up at them, his beady black eyes focused on the men, as he listened to their conversation.  “Well, we caught the little bugger, but, what do we do with him now?”

Looking suddenly unsure of himself, Sam shrugged and said, “Uh, well, I guess we have to kill him right?  I mean gnome or not, he’s gotta be destroyed.” 

“Oookkkaaayyy….”  Dean drew the word out stalling for time, “I’ll just go ahead and…”  With his words he pulled out his silver plated handgun and pointed it toward the creature. 

“No, no, no….please don’t do it.  Just listen to me, just for one minute….Please,” The gnome ground out, his black eyes wide with fright.  “I’m not the bad guy here.” 

Dean gestured toward Sam with the gun and said, “Not the bad guy, eh, tell that to my brother and that lump he’s sporting.” 

“I’m sorry,” Alfred moaned as he struggled to get free.  “I am.  I just wanted you to listen to me, just for a minute.” 

At Al’s words, Sam’s long form seemed to relax just a bit, and Dean himself felt a bit more in control.  Although he’d been willing to shoot the gnome if necessary, he’d really hoped to find out what was going on.  “Fine,” he stated, “start talking.” 

Big Al took a deep breath and seemed to marshal his thoughts a bit.  At last he began, “See it all started with a road trip…” 

Chapter 6

“Are you kiddin’ me?”  Dean’s question broke the silence that had hung over the room ever since Al had finished his story. 

Al gave them a feeble grin and nodded.  “I’m telling you the truth.  One minute I was Alfred James, a senior at Delaware Valley College and the next I’m two feet tall and sitting on some stranger’s front porch.” 

“Huh,” Dean said as he met Sam’s flabbergasted expression.  “Told you gnomes don’t exist.” 

Sam turned incredulous eyes on his brother and snorted, “That’s it.  That’s all you can think to say ‘gnomes don’t exist’.  Dean, he’s possessing a lawn ornament.” 

Alfred began to struggle against his bonds again as he shouted, “Possessed, no way man.  I was just road-trippin’ with my buddy’s I didn’t possess nothing.” 

Dean threw an exasperated glance toward the creature and whipped out his silver blade once more.  As he carefully leaned over the edge of the salt circle and began to cut through the ropes, he stated flatly, “Dude, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you’re dead.” 

Sam couldn’t help but roll his eyes as he snapped, “Nice, Dean.”  He then turned toward the small figure and tried to explain.  “We don’t know for sure you’re body is dead, Al, but its obvious you’ve lost your hold on it.” 

“Blurt it out, Sam.  He’s already had a shitty couple o’ months, no reason to drag it out.”  

“I’m not draggin’ it out’, Dean, we really don’t know what’s going on,” Sam argued.

“Oh, come on, it’s so obvious.  He and his buddies decide to do a little gnome-napping and then head off to parts unknown.  Everything’s all fun and games up until they get shit-faced and a skirmish breaks out over who’s doing who’s girlfriend on the sly and then…Bam!,”  Dean cried as he slapped one hand against the other.  “Poor dumb Al here wakes up sporting a full-on Santa beard.” 

Sam couldn’t help but shoot a sympathetic look toward Alfred.  The small creature had pushed off the last of his bindings and had sat up, he now rested with his head in his hands.   

“Naw, Phil and Paul were my friends.  There’s no way they would’ve done this to me.  Even if I was de…I mean I’m not but if I was de…,” Al’s voice trailed off as tears began to make their way down his rosy red cheeks. 

“Well, I’m putting my money on this Phil, after all, you admitted you were bangin’ his girl all through finals week.”  Dean’s smirk made it clear that Al had gotten what he deserved for talking out of turn.  “that’s not the kinda thing a guy hears and then just turns the other cheek.” 

Sam shot his brother a withering look and said, “We need to track down the others that were on the trip and hear their version.” 

“Yeah, but we’ll keep our reasoning to ourselves.  No cause to mention that we know Al here’s toes up or that he’s gone and possessed the gnome.” 

At the expression ‘toe’s up’ Alfred moaned loudly.  “Could you please stop saying stuff like that.  I’m not dead, I know I’m not, if I was I’d know it.” 

Though he had little hope that Alfred was merely suffering from astral projection, Sam couldn’t help but offer the little guy some hope.  “Listen, you hang tight and we’ll find out what’s really going on.” 

Sam headed toward the front door his mind already racing through what set of circumstances could have caused Al to possess an inanimate object when his musing’s were interrupted by his brother. 

“Whoa there, little dude.  I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you ain’t coming with us.” 

“Please don’t leave me here.  This place is creepy and that Grainger guy’s a freak.  You know he talks to all of these,” the gnome said, gesturing toward the stuffed creatures that filled every corner of the room. 

Dean grimaced, his gaze jumping to the mange-riddled squirrel that was perched near the front door, and then hardened his expression.  “I don’t care if he uses you to play tea party with his furry friends, you’re not coming.” 

Obviously scared to be left alone, Alfred reached out, grasped a handful of Dean’s pant leg, and tugged.  The little creature then wrapped his entire body around the hunter’s leg using Dean’s black boot as a perch while he ranted and raved about being left behind.  

“Sam,” the elder Winchester pleaded, “a little help here.”

Seeing as Sam was doing his dead level best not to choke to death on his own laughter, there was really very little he could do for the disgruntled hunter. 

Pushed well beyond his patience limit, Dean at last snagged a bit of Al’s bright blue jacket and tugged, pulling the little guy free.  There Al dangled three feet above the ground with tiny tears running down his red cheeks and snot dripping off the end of his chin as he continued to sob. 

“Aw,” Dean muttered as he gingerly lowered the creature back to the flood.  “Come on, man.  We can’t take you.  You’re just too obvious.” 

Al seemed to sense the moment Dean weakened and he dove in for the kill.  “Please,” he begged, his black eyes glistening, “I’m just so scared.” 

Sam had known from the minute the tears had started that the gnome would be accompanying them.  There was simply no way his brother, despite his outwardly tough exterior, would have been able to ignore the crying.  Dean was a soft touch when it came to children, animals, or girls that turned the waterworks on him.  Apparently, possessed gnomes also held sway.   

With a sigh loud enough to knock Al over, Dean finally agreed.  “Fine, you can come with us, but, you keep your mouth closed and you act like a garden gnome, you got it?”   

“Got it,” Al breathed as he drug a hand across his snotty face.  “I won’t say a word, it’ll be like I’m not even here.” 

“Good, fine,” Dean snapped as he reached out to grab the doorknob.  Just before he stepped over the threshold, the tiny gnome at his heels, Dean glanced back at Sam and snapped, “Why don’t you wipe that smirk off your face and work on getting us this Paul guy’s address.” 

Not wanting to push his brother’s already strained temper, Sam worked to compose his face and replied, “Will do.”

888

“Damn, man, this is one fine ride you got here,” hooted Al as he once again popped up from the back seat, his head thrust forward between Sam and Dean. 

Dean drew in a deep breath as he tried to keep the tenuous hold he had on his anger.  Though normally he felt an affinity for anyone that appreciated his car’s classic beauty, he couldn’t help the surge of annoyance that crept through him every time the little guy complimented the Impala.  It didn’t help that each compliment was accompanied by the gnome’s button nose poking into the front seat.  It was like riding in the car with a misbehaving dog, only Al wasn’t as cute.   

Without bothering to answer, Dean simply reached back with his right hand, planted his palm directly over the creature’s face and pushed, shoving the gnome back down before anyone could spot him.  “Stay down or I’m putting you in the trunk,” Dean ground out for what felt like the hundredth time. 

Of course, it was up to Sam to play mediator.  “He hasn’t been out of the house in three months, Dean.  He’s just a little excited.”  To Al, he simply reminded, “You can’t be seen, because, we can’t explain you.” 

“Sorry, sorry I just forgot.  I’m wound a bit tight,” Al apologized from somewhere near the vicinity of the floorboards.  “What I could use is a cold one, not to mention a little action.  I got a case of the blue-balls like you would not believe.” 

“Aw, gross,” Dean spat at the sudden image that rose unbidden in his mind.  “Will you stop talking like this is some kinda party bus.  You’re not getting a beer and I sure as hell ain’t getting you laid, in fact most likely this little trip’s gonna end with us salting you and setting you on fire.”

“Noooo….” Al moaned.  “Please you gotta help me.” 

Determined to ignore the snuffling sound that drifted up from the floorboards, Dean questioned his brother, “So this guy Paul, you dig anything up on him?” 

Sam leaned back in his seat and glanced down at the notepad he held in his hand.  “Not really, Paul Smith graduated from a small high school in Arkansas.  He’s here at Delaware Valley with a full ride.” 

“What’s he studying?”  Dean questioned. 

“Biotechnology,” Sam uttered as he read from his notes.  “That’s the study of—” 

“I know what it’s the study of professor, I don’t need a lecture,” Dean snapped. 

Sam’s chin shot up as he looked over at Dean.  “I know, I was just pointing out that he’s working with the agricultural side of it,” he replied in a patient tone. 

Aware that he’d overreacted, Dean gestured for Sam to continue. 

“Anyway,” Sam continued, “I don’t see anything in his background that suggests he’s into the occult.” 

“The occult?”  Al chimed in as he clamored up onto the backseat once more.  “You mean like witches and devil worshiping and shit?” 

Fed up with Al’s interruptions, Dean checked his rear-view and slammed on the brakes bringing the Impala to a shuddering halt.  As planned, Al lost his precarious hold on the back seat and flew forward into the back of the front seat with a thud.  He then dropped to the floorboards with a groan. 

“Dean,” Sam snapped, as he bent to pick up the notebook he had dropped. 

Dean didn’t bother to smother his deep-throated chuckle as he got the car moving once more.  “You were saying, Sam.” 

“I was saying that whatever happened I can’t find any indication there was anything supernatural in nature.” 

“Except for our two foot buddy here,” Dean replied with a glance toward the moaning heap of gnome. 

“Right, except for him,” Sam agreed.   

“Okay, then what about the other dude Phil, or this chick Carrie?” 

“Carrie had nothing to do with any of this, she wasn’t even there that night,” Al piped up from the backseat. 

“Stay down, Tattoo, or so help me next time I’ll splatter you across the windshield,” Dean ground out.  “You were fighting over this chick that puts her smack dab in the middle.” 

“There on the left, Dean.  The white cape,” Sam interrupted gesturing toward a run-down house set on a small scrap of property. 

Dean parked well back from the house, and set the car in park.  He then glanced toward Sam and asked, “So, what’d you think?  Staties?  Feds?  I mean they crossed state lines, there’s a good chance he’s buried in some sand dune in Jersey.” 

“Actually, I was thinking cousins.  The whole, haven’t heard from him in awhile bit,” Sam replied. 

With a grimace, Dean nodded.  “Will that work, Tiny?” he questioned. 

“Yeah, say you’re Tom and Gary, he’ll recognize the names and you’re close enough in age,” the gnome replied.  “But listen, guys, I think you should let me come.” 

“No” was Dean’s emphatic reply. 

“Seriously, I can tell you if he’s lying or not.  Come on,” Al whined, his voice reaching an octave high enough to break crystal.  

“No,” Dean said again with a firm shake of his head.  There was no way he was gonna enter that house with a gnome tucked under his arm.

“You know he’s right.  It would make things easier…”  Sam’s voice trailed off in response to the glare Dean sent his way. 

“I’ll just sneak under a window or something, they’ll never know,” Al pleaded. 

Dean had to admit, even if it was only to himself, that having the victim listen in on their conversation would make things easier, but he was still determined that no one see him with the gnome.  Decision made he climbed out of the car without a word and headed for the trunk.  In minutes, he’d emptied out their largest duffle bag.  With a bit of a smirk he walked around to Sam’s side of the car and wordlessly held out the bag as he waited for his brother to climb from the car. 

“You’re kidding,” Sam groaned as he took the proffered bag. 

“Nope,” Dean said with a grin.  “You want the little freak to come, then this is the way its gonna be.” 

With a sigh, Sam opened the rear door of the car and held the bag out toward the creature that sat on the floor looking warily up at the brothers.  “Here’s the deal, Al. You want to come you’re gonna have to stay hidden.” 

To Dean’s surprise, Al didn’t even hesitate.  “I’ll be quiet honest.” 

With a nod, Sam laid the bag on the sidewalk and waited as Al climbed out of the car and into the bag.  Careful not to pull the zipper all the way shut, Sam hesitated only a second before he gingerly picked up the bag. 

“I’m so kicking your ass for this,” he muttered to his brother as he stalked past Dean. 

“You’re welcome to try, kiddo,” he called out as he watched his brother carry their passenger down the sidewalk.  

 Chapter 7 

As Sam followed his brother up the cracked and crumbling sidewalk he noticed the dilapidated white cape looked even worse from close up.  The three steps leading to the front door sagged under the men’s weight and for one scary moment Sam was certain they would simply collapse.  Luckily, the wood held, though from time to time it groaned ominously. 

The steps weren’t the only thing groaning, Sam could feel the bag in his hand wriggle as if it were filled with lives snakes.  The gnome was obviously finding his accommodations less than accommodating.  Problem was his movements were completely obvious and Sam had little doubt that Paul Smith would notice. 

Doing his best not to draw Dean’s attention to the problem, Sam shook the bag slightly hoping Al would take the hint.  The movement only worked to elicit a low growl and an even greater flurry of movement. 

“Stop fidgeting,” Dean snapped with an elbow to Sam’s side for good measure. 

With his patience already fraying, Sam shot a glare at his older brother and snapped, “I’m not.” 

Dean followed Sam’s glare to the bag and watched as the olive green canvas suddenly bulged on one side.  With a grimace, the older hunter shot Sam and ‘I told you so’ look and then took a knee next to the duffle. 

“Listen up, gnome, you move one more time and I’m gonna have Sammy boy here toss you onto the front lawn and we’re gonna have ourselves a little gnome bonfire.  You got that?” 

“It’s hot in here,” was Al’s whining reply. 

Sam couldn’t help but respond to the little guys plaintive cry, “I’ll unzip the bag farther as long as you promise to stay still.” 

“Will do, you won’t even know I’m here,” Al promised as Sam eased the zipper open. 

With a groan, Dean straightened up and rolled his eyes.  “This is totally not gonna work.” 

Although he had little doubt his brother was right, Sam gave him a half-smile and replied, “It’ll be fine.” 

“Sure”, Dean said as he reached out and rapped his knuckles against the peeling paint of the front door.   

Dean’s knocking was met with silence.  If not for the car in the driveway, Sam would have assumed that no one was home. 

His brother waited for five minutes before he once again pounded on the door.  “Anybody here!” he shouted for good measure. 

At last, Sam heard the distinctive sounds of movement coming from inside.  It was clear someone was home.  Sam only hoped they would hurry up and answer before the three of them fell through the rotten wooden steps. 

There was a muffled curse and a shuffling sound as someone moved to answer.  The tension radiating off his brother was impossible for Sam to ignore.  It increased his own worry and had him switching the straps of Al’s bag from his right to his left hand.  He suddenly wanted his hand free to snag his gun if necessary. 

Dean, unencumbered by a garden gnome, simply tucked his hand inside his jacket and watched the door.  There was little doubt in Sam’s mind that his brother waited, gun in hand, to see what kind of reception they would receive. 

At last, the door was opened a crack.  One lone eye pressed against the opening as a voice asked, “Whaddaya want?”   

“Paul Smith?”  Sam asked careful to keep his tone even. 

The door remained nearly closed as the voice replied, “Yeah, that’s me.” 

This time, Dean responded, “I’m Tom and this is my brother Gary.  We’re looking for our nephew, Al.” 

Sam worked to keep his expression bland even as the bag in his hand jiggled slightly.  With an internal curse, he worked to keep Paul’s gaze from the duffle.  “We haven’t heard from him in months, we’re starting to get worried.” 

The eye in the crack widened slightly at the mention of Al, but the door remained nearly closed.  “Haven’t seen Al since spring break.  You’ll have to try somewhere else.” 

Before the gruff voiced man could get the door fully shut, Dean had wedged his boot in the opening and was now forcing his way forward.  “Yeah, well, I’m sorry but that’s not good enough.  Our nephew’s missing and we aim to find him.” 

The young, scruffy-looking man blocking the door tripped backward from Dean’s assault with a cry.  His dingy grey bathrobe flew open for a moment revealing an even rattier pair of boxer shorts and nothing else. 

“Hey, man,” the guy whined as he struggled to keep his balance.  “You can’t just come bursting in here.” 

Dean continued to move forward until he was only a foot from the kid and smiled grimly.  “’Course we can.  Now, when did you last see Al?”

Well and truly caught the Paul’s gaze darted toward the front door with longing before he at last answered, “I’m telling you the truth I ain’t seen him in months.  Last I’d heard he’d dropped out and gone home.” 

Sam couldn’t help but start in surprise at Paul’s answer.  He also knew it must have struck a chord with Al, as the bag was shaking slightly.  Trying to seem nonchalant, Sam gave the bag a good jerk, and asked, “Who’d you hear that from?” 

The kid didn’t answer right away.  His gaze darted from Sam to Dean as he tried to size up the threat.  Finally, he seemed to realize he had little choice but to answer.  “From Phil Johnson.  He’s the one that told me Al quit.” 

Again, the bag Sam held shook slightly.  Afraid the gnome would give them away, Sam dropped the duffle to the floor with more force than necessary.  He could only hope the tiny creature would take the hint. 

“So your friend just up and leaves town and you don’t bother to find out why?”  Dean questioned. 

“He was no friend of mine,” Paul snapped. 

Sam was surprised by just how much anger could be heard in Paul’s words.  Nothing Al had told them could explain the hostility.  “He used to talk about you,” Sam said hoping to encourage Paul to talk. 

“Don’t know why, he was a backstabbing bastard,” Paul ground out as he jerked his gaping robe shut.   

Paul’s words elicited a slight squeal from the bag resting against Sam’s boot.  The young man glanced about as if searching for the source of the noise.

“Backstabbing?”  Dean asked, his voice louder than normal as he sought to cover-up Al’s mistake. 

Again, Paul’s glance raked across the room before he at last answered, “Yeah, I thought he was my friend, at least I did until I found out he was messing around with Carrie behind my back.” 

This time there was no mistaking the curse that came from the duffle bag.  Paul looked down toward Sam’s boots and frowned.  “What was that?” 

Unsure of how to respond, Sam just stared blankly at Paul, silently willing his brother to come to the rescue.  Sure enough, Dean was quick to jump in. 

“What was what?” the elder Winchester asked his brows drawn together in question. 

“I heard a noise,” Paul stated firmly as he stared hard toward the bag at Sam’s feet. 

Dean made a big show of glancing about the room before he shrugged.  “I didn’t hear a noise.  Did you?”  Dean questioned Sam. 

Sam widened his eyes slightly and met Paul’s gaze steadily.  “Nope, no noise.  Now, Paul, I’m just a bit confused.  Al told us that this Carrie was dating Phil.  You’re name was never mentioned.”

Sam’s question did the trick.  A dull flush began to creep up Paul’s neck as he ground out, “Just because Phil and her hung out doesn’t mean she likes him best.  I’m the one she truly loves!” 

Dean rocked back on his heels at Paul’s exclamation and nodded.  “Sure you are,” he reassured the overwrought kid.  “I guess Al was wrong.” 

“Damn right he was.  Carrie and I are soul mates, no matter what Al or anyone else thinks.”   

It was at that moment, Sam knew they’d lost any chance of questioning Paul.  His eyes had glazed over and he was staring absently toward the front door.  His hands released the robe that he’d been holding closed and dropped to his side, Sam swore he could see a tiny stream of saliva leak from the corner of his mouth. 

Dean leaned forward and sharply snapped his fingers just in front of Paul’s face.  The youth continued to stare slack jawed into space. 

“Well, okay then,” Dean said as he gestured toward the kid.  “I guess we’re done talking.” 

“Seems like,” Sam muttered as he bent to grasp the handles of the bag.  He started for the front door, keeping Paul in sight, and his brother quickly followed.   

“Sam!” 

He was halfway down the sidewalk when Dean’s call stopped him.  Irritation flared at the interruption and he gestured toward the bag he still held.  “I’m thinking I should get to the car, Dean.” 

Dean made a placating gesture and closed the distance between them.  “Get a load of this.” 

He held up a fistful of green for Sam’s inspection.  It took only a moment’s glance for Sam to recognize the handful of herbs.  “Rosemary, thyme, and mint.” 

“Yup, that’s a regular witch’s cocktail and I found them growing in the flower beds at the house.” 

“Huh,” Sam said as he nodded in agreement.  It wasn’t proof of much, but given the fact that Paul showed all the classic signs of a guy under a powerful love spell it was something. 

“Guys, I’m sweatin’ my balls off.  Can you let me out?” 

Dean’s nose wrinkled in distaste as he dropped the greens in his hand and headed for the car.  Sam couldn’t help but groan as he replied, “We’re hurrying.”

888

Carrie ducked down behind the wheel of her Volvo, as she watched the two young men step down the stairs of Paul’s house.  She couldn’t help the smile of appreciation that lit her features as she watched the men continue on to the classic black car that waited just down the block. 

It was the car that had given them away.  She’d arrived here ten minutes ago, but had decided not to park in the driveway when she passed the Chevy.  She had absolutely no doubt that the car was the same one she’d spotted on campus just last week. 

She knew the car belonged to the same two men that had spent last week on campus looking for Al, so she’d stayed well away from the house and watched.  Sure enough after only a short wait the front door had opened to reveal the taller of the two, holding a battered green duffle in his hand. 

Carrie allowed her eyes to roam over the man’s wide shoulders, narrow hips, and long legs.  His shaggy hair and soft green eyes almost made her regret what she was going to do to him.  His partner who was now making his way carefully down the steps was another real looker.  Despite being a couple inches shorter, he looked hard as nails and more than capable of taking care of himself. 

No matter, he wouldn’t stand a chance against her.  She’d come too far to scrap her plan, despite the newcomers sudden appearance.  Nothing would derail all of her hard work.  Not even the good-looking men that were so interested in Al’s disappearance. 

As she listened to the sound of the engine rumble its way to life, Carrie began to make new plans to deal with this threat.  No one could ever know what had happened to Al her future depended on that.

888

“Okay, mini-me, so what’s going on with your buddy Paul.  He seems to think Carrie was his girlfriend.” 

Al rested on the floor of the car, his red hat tipped slightly sideways, a sheen of sweat covering his face.  “Obviously, Paul’s lost his grip on reality since I…”  Al’s voice trailed off as he realized what he’d been about to say. 

“Yeah, well sounds to me like this Carrie girl is the one to look at.  Seem’s like she’s been passed around quite a bit.” 

“Seriously, that wasn’t Paul talkin’ in there.  The Paul I know didn’t give a crap about Carrie, she was nothing but competition.” 

Sam turned around to face the back seat.  “Competition?” 

Al rubbed his red cheeks and sighed heavily.  “Yup, the four of us were up for the Anderson scholarship.  Paul needed it more than the rest of us.  Well, you saw his house.”

“And this chick she was up for this scholarship also?” 

“Yeah,” Al said as he scratched absently at his blue wool coat, “But she was never seriously in the running.  I had it locked down.” 

Al didn’t seem to notice his use of the past tense and Dean wasn’t about to point it out.  “Well, I’d say with you out of the game, and Paul there going all Big Lebowski, Carrie’s chances have gotten pretty good.” 

“You thinking this Carrie put some kind of spell on Paul?”  Sam questioned. 

To Dean there was little doubt.  The herbs found at Paul’s house and Al’s transformation into a garden gnome seemed to scream witch.  “I’d bet money on it.” 

Dean focused on the road ahead of him as he steered his baby toward the motel.  They had a lot of research to do, and something kept telling him little time to do it in.  Though it was unlikely this Carrie knew they were on the case, they needed to proceed with caution.  Having Al on their side would only help, as he knew the girl and would be able to point her out.  Still, dealing with witches was never fun.  “I hate witches,” he muttered. 

Chapter 8

“So, okay, the herbs found at Paul’s house are used in just about every love potion I can find.  I think we can safely assume that Carrie’s gotten to him,” Sam muttered as he continued to search the web.  When his statement failed to get a response from his brother, he glanced over to where the elder Winchester sat on the edge of Sam’s bed. 

“Dean!” 

Sam’s call did the trick, as Dean seemed to snap awake.  “What?”  he questioned as his eyes slid once more to his own bed. 

“I was just wondering if you were planning on joining this hunt anytime soon?”  Sam couldn’t help but grin as his brother reluctantly focused on Sam once more.

“It’s just wrong, Sam.  So wrong,” Dean mumbled. 

Unable to help himself, Sam sneaked a glance toward where Al slept, cuddled up on Dean’s pillow.  The gnome had claimed his little blue jacket was too hot so he’d stripped down to the white sleeveless tee-shirt he wore beneath it.  As he watched the mythical creature give a loud snort, he found himself thankful that Al had chosen Dean’s bed. 

“All that hair is just wrong,” Dean stated with a shudder. 

Sam had to admit, the thick grey hair that sprouted from the neck of the tee shirt was pretty gross.  It looked as if Al was smuggling a small dog under his shirt.  It didn’t help that the shirt didn’t meet the waistband of his black pants, leaving and wide expanse of his rounded stomach showing as well.  He looked like a drunk on a four-day bender.  Spittle leaked from the corner of his mouth and his snores were loud enough to wake the dead. 

“No way am I sleeping in that bed again, not without at least burning the pillow.” 

With a comment about maturity on the tip of his tongue, Sam halted the words when Al gave a decidedly odd moan and rolled onto his stomach.  The tiny creature then grasped the pillow and hugged it to him while continuing with groaning noises.  “I’ll help,” Sam said with a grimace of distaste. 

“’Kay, Sam, I want this thing gone now.  What’d you find?”  Dean asked as he rose from the second bed and took a seat at the small round table where Sam sat. 

Happy to switch focus, Sam turned to his notes and began updating his brother.  “Well, like I said, the herbs you found in the flower bed are all used in love potions so we can safely assume someone is putting the mojo on Paul.  Given his infatuation with Carrie, it’s no stretch to point the finger at her.” 

Dean nodded in agreement before he asked, “So what’s the deal.  She just looking for some lovin’ or do you think this is some bigger conspiracy to win that scholarship?” 

With a few quick keystrokes, Sam quickly pulled up a new site and turned the screen so Dean could see it.  “This is Carrie Morris.” 

Dean did a double take as he studied the picture.  Sam had little doubt that his brother was following his same line of thought.  Carrie Morris would have rivaled any Victoria Secret model in both form and face, there was no way she was secretly pining over Paul Smith.  If she’d wanted him it would take nothing more than a crook of her little finger to get him. 

“No way could a guy like Paul withstand a girl that looks like that,” Dean stated wryly. 

   “Well, actually,” Sam started, “I think that’s just what happened.”  Another few keystrokes and he called forth the Rampages, the student newspaper.  “Seems as if Al was right, Paul needs the money from that Anderson scholarship.” 

“What’s this?”  Dean asked as he squinted at the page.

“It’s a rundown of the people in the running.  Top of the list is Al, then close behind him was Paul.  Phil’s mentioned as well as Carrie,” Sam said summing up the article.  “’Course this was published months ago.  Since then the competition has dropped off.” 

“So, I guess, sleepy, here was right.  If Paul was set on winning, then Carrie was competition not a potential girlfriend.” 

“Yup, add that to the fact that Paul looked as if he hadn’t left that house in weeks, puts the spotlight right on her.” 

Dean nodded and gestured toward the computer.  “That Carrie chick look familiar to you?” 

Sam turned the screen slightly so he had a better view of the woman in question and concentrated for a moment.  Though he felt as if he had seen her before he couldn’t quite put his finger on the where of it.  “Not sure, what about you?” 

The grin that spread across Dean’s face was clear.  “I never forget a good looking woman, Sam.” 

“She looks familiar,” Sam said as he studied the face for a moment. 

“Okay, take a good look and imagine a voice like Minnie Mouse on helium,” Dean urged. 

“Crap,” Sam whispered, “that’s the girl.  The one from the campus last week that was chattin’ you up about the car.” 

“Yup, that’s the one,” Dean said with a waggle of his eyebrows.  “I never forget a pair of—” 

“Yeah I get it,” Sam said, cutting off his brother in mid sentence.  “Well, that’s not good.  I mean she knows who we are.” 

“Damn witches,” Dean muttered as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

“Just kick him out of your bed,” Sam said as he began readying himself for sleep.  It had been a long night followed by an even longer day and he was done in. 

His brother turned toward the bed and seemed ready to do just that.  At least until the gnome rolled over once more with a hearty moan.  “Uh, yeah, no.  I’ll be just fine here,” Dean stated firmly as he towed a second chair to within reach.  Without another word, he propped his feet on the opposite cushion and leaned back in his chair.  Crossing his arms behind his head, he was motionless in minutes. 

Irritation nagged at Sam and he very nearly moved to toss the gnome off the bed.  After all a spare blanket tossed in the corner of the room and the gnome would be right as rain.  He surely had no need of the entire bed as small as he was.    

“Let it be, Sam.  I’m fine,” Dean stated without opening his eyes. 

“Sam” 

At the threat in Dean’s tone, Sam bit back his argument and lay down with a huff.  One last glance toward Al and the dribble of spit that was soaking the pillow and Sam conceded that his brother might have a point, better to be uncomfortable than to wake up in gnome drool.  As he lay he began to formulate a plan for the next day.

888

“Up and at ‘em, Sammy,” Dean called out as he entered the motel room.  With a swat to Sam’s blanket covered feet, he then dropped a newspaper on the shaggy-haired youth’s chest and moved to fire up the laptop.  He’d slept horribly, only to awaken early to the dulcet sounds of Al’s snoring and had decided that his only course of action, other than driving a stake through the creature, was to head out for some coffee. 

The small bakery down the street had done the trick, affording him a quiet corner to drink his brew and to peruse the early morning addition of the local paper.  He’d been enjoying his bear claw up until he’d opened up the section with police news.  There a small article describing a local college student that had hung himself in his home the day before, stole his appetite.

“Let’s go, Sam.  We got a crime scene to check out.” 

“What’s going on?”  Sam questioned as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. 

“Paul’s dead,” Dean stated flatly.  “I guess just screwing up his life wasn’t enough, the bitch needed him out of the picture completely.” 

“Paul’s dead?” questioned Al as he stepped out of the bathroom, his blue coat back on and neatly buttoned. 

“It says here there was a note,” Sam piped up as he read the article. 

“Yeah, apparently.  Who wants to bet it’s full of unrequited love poetry,” Dean snapped as he stepped into the bathroom to get cleaned up.  He didn’t bother shutting the door completely as he began to shave.  He knew his brother was already sifting through plans and he wanted in on whatever was running through Sam’s freaky mind. 

“You know there’s little point in going there.  We’re already sure of what happened.  We should work on finding Phil, I mean if she’s on to us it might be causing her to speed up her plans.” 

“But, Paul, he’s dead?”  Al repeated in a daze. 

“Try and keep up, tiny.  Your girl Carrie’s got at least two notches in her belt,” Dean called out as he finished up his morning ritual, “we gotta stop her from making it a trifecta.” 

“Wait, what?  What do you mean she’s already got two notches?”  Al questioned, his tone making it clear that he was beginning to panic.

Dean walked out of the bathroom and resolutely avoided looking at the red-cheeked creature.  He’d already succumbed to pity and had spent a night sleeping in a chair because of it.  He wasn’t about to fall into the same trap again.  Al was dead and nothing they’d seen so far gave the elder Winchester any reason to doubt that.  “You, Al.  You can kid yourself all you want but lets face it, you don’t wake up as a garden gnome if your body’s whole and hale.” 

A loud thump caught Dean’s attention and he spun on the spot looking for what caused it.  There lay Al, passed out flat on his back, his booted feet sticking straight up in the air like a cartoon character that’s been hit on the head.  “Huh,” Dean said as he regarded the creature.  “I guess he took that well.” 

“Dean,” Sam snapped as he gathered up his gear and headed for the bathroom.  “Take it easy on him.” 

Dean grimaced as his brother disappeared into the bathroom.  He knew Sam was right.  It wasn’t Al’s fault that he’d been turned into a mythical creature by a scheming witch.  Still being kind to the little toad went against his nature, hell, there were days when being nice to Sam, went against his nature.  With a sigh, Dean moved to the gnome’s side and took a knee.  As gently as he could he tapped the little bearded face and called, “Come on, Sleepy.” 

As the gnome’s eyes fluttered open, Dean began to tug him to his feet.  There Al swayed for a moment before finally steadying.  Doing his best, Dean said, “You okay there, dude?” 

The tiny gnome took a deep breath, the buttons on his coat straining against the pressure, and nodded.  “Yeah, I just never really believed I was dead, you know?  I just kept figuring this was some kind of nightmare and I’d wake up eventually.” 

Dean had learned long ago that some nightmare’s didn’t go away just because your eyes were open and it was a lesson that life insisted on throwing at him again and again.  That didn’t mean that he took pleasure in watching someone else have the rug pulled out from under them, in fact it was just the opposite.   

“We’re gonna find out what happened to you, Al.  I promise and once we do, well, at least we can make this Carrie chick pay for what she’s done.”  Dean knew it wasn’t much in the way of reassurances but, it was the best he could offer. 

Al, gulped, and threw his arms around Dean’s legs with a fevered, “Thanks, Dean.  I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.” 

Determined to hold his temper, Dean stared down at the tiny creature that was hugging his jean-clad legs carefully replied, “No problem, Al.” 

“Huh, do you two need me to step outside?”  Sam questioned as he stepped out of the bathroom, a wide grin spread across his face. 

“Shut it, Sam,” Dean snapped.

888

Once again, Carrie found herself slumped below the dashboard as she listened to the black classic car roar to life.  It hadn’t taken nearly as long a she’d worried to track down the motel where Al’s cousins were staying.  The locator spell she’d stumbled across had really done the trick.  Once there, she’d simply waited for the two men to exit their room and had taken note of the number.  Though she was certain that neither Al nor Paul’s tragedies could be pinned on her, she wasn’t willing to take any chances.  She had finally gained the future she wanted and she wasn’t about to let anything get in her way.  Not even the two hot looking guys that were determined to stick there noses into her business.   

Certain that the car was long out of sight, Carrie sat up and quickly gathered up the brown paper bag that rested on the seat next to her.  Yesterday, after she’d finished convincing Paul that he couldn’t live without her, she’d done some research, intent on finding the best way to deal with this newest threat.  It had taken only moments to hit upon a spell that would be just perfect. 

In minutes, Carrie had managed to sweet-talk a key out of the motel manager and was preparing to enter the empty room.  She found it funny that despite having all the advantages of her education and her newfound power it was her face that most often gained her the access she wanted.  Well, her face and a couple other features, she thought as she carefully adjusted her push-up bra.  The motel manager had caved in a moment after a glance at her short black leather mini-skirt, which worked to accentuate her long tanned legs and her low-cut tee shirt, which accentuated her other pair of assets. 

“Dumbass,” she whispered as she carefully worked the key in the lock.  With ease, the door opened to reveal a typical motel room.  Two double beds occupied the majority of the space, leaving just enough room for a dresser, which did double duty as a kitchenette, and a small round table with two overstuffed chairs.  The room also held a small mini-fridge, a coffee pot, and a microwave.   

She crept silently into the room and gently shut the door behind her.  Unsure of how much time she had before the men returned she worked quickly.  A glance inside the fridge showed only a couple beers and quart of cream.  She would have been happier using the beers, but honestly she had no way to reseal them once opened.  That left the creamer.  The spell she’d picked was potent enough that it would only take a sip to be effective and a dollop of cream in a cup of coffee would surely do the trick. 

As soon as she’d doctored the creamer and had insured that her presence wouldn’t be detected she headed for the door.  It wasn’t until she was inches from her escape that she noticed a two foot high figurine standing sentry right next to the door.  She stared uneasily at the garden gnome with its beady black eyes and bright red cheeks for a full minute before she realized that she was risking capture.  With a shake of her head, she ducked outside and carefully pulled the door shut behind her.  She was half-way across the parking lot when she felt a pair of eyes staring at her back.  Unease snaked through her as she glanced around, but was unable to find the source.  For just one second she could have sworn that she saw a splash of blue in the window of the room she’d just broken into, but another look proved her wrong.  Confidence growing with every step, Carrie headed to her car. 

Chapter 9

The moment the motel door slammed shut, Al scrambled up onto the chair Sam had sat upon earlier and twitched back the heavy curtain that blocked the window.  A quick glance confirmed that Carrie was heading back to her car.  As he watched, a burning hatred began to build in his chest unlike anything he’d ever felt before.  This one woman had managed to ruin not only his life, but also the lives of so many others with her heartless quest to be the best.   

To make matters worse, she now intended to do harm to Sam and Dean.  Though Al had no idea what she’d poured into the quart of cream that was in the fridge, he had little doubt that it was intended to do damage.  Given Carrie’s track record, he knew the brothers wouldn’t stand a chance against whatever it was.  As he watched the witch slip into her car, he came to a decision.  If Dean was right and his life really was over then there was no reason not to exact the revenge he craved.  

Quick as he could he dropped flat to the seat and then lowered himself over the edge.  As he hung, his feet dangling inches above the green shag carpet, he couldn’t help but feel a slight wisp of panic at the thought of dealing with Carrie on his own.  Given his current state, he wondered if he wouldn’t be better off waiting for the hunters to return.   

“Suck it up and do what needs doing,” he murmured, the words seemed somehow Dean-like and served to help soothe his nerves.  He had no doubt that if positions were reversed, the hardened hunter wouldn’t hesitate.

With a thump, he dropped to the ground and determinedly headed for the mini fridge that thankfully rested on the floor.  Six feet or six inches it didn’t matter, he told himself resolutely, justice would be served.  While he worked to get the fouled creamer out of the refrigerator, he began to put together the beginnings of a plan to defeat the schemer that had destroyed his life.  As plan after plan flitted through his mind, he couldn’t help but grin at the image of himself locked in an Austin Powers/Mini-me type battle-royal with the busty brunette. 

Given his size, he knew he had little chance against Carrie in a physical battle.  His biggest asset was the fact that he had surprise on his side.  There was no way Carrie could be expecting a two foot gnome to throw a wrench in her plans, Al thought as he unscrewed the lid of the milk.  With a shove, he tipped the quart over and watched as a river of white flowed out onto the rug.  Even though he knew it was stupid, he couldn’t help but stare at the liquid, watching for some kind of indication that the cream had been poisoned.  It didn’t seem right that there was no puff of smoke, no melting carpet, or even a foul odor to suggest that the milk was anything more than a coffee condiment.  The lack fueled his determination even more. 

 It took little imagination to see Sam and Dean, back from their breakfast run and ready to enjoy their morning coffee, tipping the creamer into their mugs.  The image of the brothers writhing on the ground as the effects of Carrie’s potion destroyed them seemed burned in Al’s mind as he tipped the last of the milk out and then headed for the exit.   

As he reached up to twist the gold knob that sat above him, he had a terrifying moment in which he thought he’d be too short to reach.  Rising up on his tiptoes, he released his pent up breath only once he managed to grasp the handle and give it a firm twist.  Certain that he was doing the right thing, Al took a quick look at the quiet parking lot and darted toward the nearest tree cover.  He knew he’d never be able to catch Carrie, but he had a pretty good idea where she was headed next.  Plotting his course, he quickly left the motel parking lot.

888

Sam kept his eyes firmly pinned to the flimsy tray he held in his hands.  He knew he’d catch hell from his brother if he allowed even one of the tiny tater tots they’d bought at Burger King to topple off. 

“Don’t you dare drop my tots,” Dean growled as if he could actually read Sam’s very thoughts. 

With a guilty start that did little to settle the round fried potatoes, Sam snapped back, “I’m not twelve Dean, I told you I can carry the damn tray.” 

The sound of the door opening had Sam taking off like a shot.  Right through the entrance and straight for the table he walked, careful not to loose even one grease laden circle.  “Ha! There you go.  I didn’t drop anything,” Sam crowed as he began sifting through the huge pile of food they’d bought. 

“Very good, Sammy.  I guess that higher education’s finally payin’ —” 

Sam glanced up in worry as Dean’s words ground to a halt.  “What’s wrong?” 

No sooner were the words out of his mouth then Sam grasped what had upset his brother.  There on the floor, near the mini-fridge, was the cream that Dean had bought for Sam’s coffee two days ago.   

“Al’s not here,” Dean growled as he began to search the room anyway. 

Sam moved toward the spill.  “It’s a fresh spill, whatever happened, just happened.” 

“Why the hell would he dump the milk then run?”  Dean questioned as he angrily gained his feet after a quick glance under both the beds. 

As Sam picked up the milk jug, he noticed flakes floating in the dregs of the milk.  Carefully he tipped the container over, catching just a bit of the spilled milk in the palm of his hand.  “Al didn’t do this,” Sam said as he drew a finger through the green flecks he’d found. 

“If not Al, then who?”  Dean asked as he moved to Sam’s side.

Turning his hand, palm forward, Sam showed his brother the evidence he’d found.  “Carrie,” Sam said without a doubt, “this has to be the remains of some kind of spell.” 

Dean didn’t even bother too look at the proof.  Instead, he spun on his heel and grabbed the weapons bag.  Within seconds, he had a pair of antique iron cuffs in his hand.  “Load up, Sammy.  That bitch’s got Al.” 

Sam quickly wiped the palm of his hand on the bedspread and grabbed the sheaf of papers he’d been working last night.  “She’s got to be headed for Phil’s.  He’s the only one left.” 

“Most likely,” Dean agreed as he headed out the door.  “I don’t get it though, why would Al show himself.  I mean he knows what she is.” 

Dean was right, Al more than anyone understood just what the woman was capable.  He would never have willingly gone anywhere with her.  “Maybe she recognized him from the trip.” 

“Yeah, well whatever the reason, you can bet he’s in trouble,” Sam worried as both brothers made a dash for the car. 

“No doubt,” Dean agreed.

888

As Al brought the bright pink, battery operated, Barbie car to a shuddering stop, he couldn’t help but feel that fortune was finally favoring him.  He’d only been two blocks from the motel when he’d managed to boost the tiny vehicle from an empty driveway.  Unconcerned with anyone seeing him, after all, who would really believe they were watching a two foot garden gnome steering a Barbie car through downtown Doylestown, he’d taken the most direct line he could toward Phil’s house.   

Determined to get the jump on the woman who’d ruined his life, Al carefully climbed from the car and trotted across the black macadam of the driveway.  As he edged past Carrie’s grey Nissan, he found himself suddenly hesitant to find a way into Phil’s place.  Up until the day he’d committed the mistake of falling for Carrie’s more than ample charms, Phil had been his closest friend.  Then he’d gone and let Carrie get between them.  Even now that he understood she’d been playing him, he couldn’t help the guilt that threatened to choke him. 

The thought of what he’d find when he at last got the courage to enter the house was the worst part.  He couldn’t loose the image of Phil’s lifeless form swinging from a rope.  That picture is what finally gave him the courage to move.  He would avenge both himself and his friends and stop the witch once and for all. 

With a tug of his long white beard, Al started around the building heading for the back door.  Though Phil had never needed it, the house had come equipped with a doggy door that would perfectly suit Al’s purpose.  In moments, he was ducking through the opening and carefully easing his way into the house.  Once inside the empty kitchen he stood for a moment, trying to pinpoint the low murmur of voices he heard.  

The sound of Phil’s deep voice, gave him hope that he wasn’t too late.  At least that was his thought until he heard his friend moan deeply.  Urged on by the noise, Al headed for the back of the house.  As he crept down the hallway, he couldn’t help but regret the fact that he had no weapons with which to dispatch Carrie.  Cursing himself for not even bothering to raid Dean’s weapons bag, Al decided to leave it up to fate.  After all, according to the hunters he was dead.  That had to work in his favor somehow.   

Another low groan had Al shoving away his fears as he ran down the remaining length of the hallway.  Before he could second-guess himself, he threw his shoulder into the already unlatched door.  His momentum was such that he was halfway across the room before he finally managed to stop.  As he stood facing the foot of the bed, he tried to assimilate what he was seeing with what he’d expected to see.  He’d expected to find Phil struggling for his life as Carrie laughed menacingly behind him.  What he saw, was Phil struggling to do something that should have been physically impossible, and Carrie was urging him on. 

“Aw, god, no.  That’s just wrong,” Al burst out, as he turned away from the sight of his friend and the witch on the bed. 

A scream and a thud followed his own cry, but Al resolutely refused to face forward.  With his back to the bed, he couldn’t help but berate his friend.  “How could you, Phil?  She killed Paul and me and all you can do is get your freak on.” 

“What the frick is that?”  Phil screamed.   

“What am I!  What am I!”  Al shouted as he turned, anger overriding his earlier reluctance to see Phil naked.  “I was your best friend till you went and helped that bitch kill me.” 

Phil had managed to slip into his button down shirt, though it still hung open, and his boxer shorts were on, though his jeans hung limply from one hand.  “Al?”  he asked.  Complete and utter disbelief colored his words. 

Carrie, quicker to the draw, hissed, “I killed you.  This isn’t possible.” 

Al gestured to himself and snarled, “Well then, impossible is standing right in front of you, ‘cause it’s me, baby.” 

“Wait, what?”  Phil asked as he turned toward Carrie.  “You did what?” 

The witch stood only feet away from Al, her black sheath dress outlining every trim inch of her.  “Come on, Phil.  You can’t be that stupid.  They were in my way so I took care of it.” 

Phil seemed to shrink back, distancing himself from the brunette.  “They were in your way?” 

The fact that his former friend was so obviously upset convinced Al that he wasn’t responsible for what had happened.  “She’s a killer, Phil, and I’d bet money that you were next on her list.” 

“Don’t listen to the pip-squeak, Philly.  It’s always been you.”  With a gesture toward her lush body she continued, “This was for you.” 

Phil edged closer to Al and questioned, “What do you mean for me?  I never wanted you to hurt my friends.”  He turned to face Al for a moment before his voice dropped to a whisper, “To make Al a garden gnome.” 

Carrie stamped her foot, drawing Phil’s attention back to her.  “I didn’t make him a gnome, I hit him with it.  Bashed his brains in with that stupid piece of ceramic and then buried him in the dunes.” 

“But why, he was my friend?”  Phil asked

888

A surge of fury rushed through Carrie leaving her nearly breathless in its wake.  Once again, Al was going to ruin everything.  The first time he’d stuck his nose into her life, she’d nearly been too slow on the uptake to do damage control.  Then the second time she’d been more in control, she’d known exactly what to do.  Now, however, as he stood only feet away from her, appearing as that stupid gnome she found herself afraid everything was going to fall apart. 

Al, she could deal with.  It was obvious when she’d conked him over the head with the lawn ornament, his spirit had somehow become entrapped inside it.  A good cleansing ritual and smashing him with a hammer would easily take care of her nightmare, but that didn’t solve her dilemma with Phil.  She’d fallen in love with Phil Similar five years ago when they’d attended Unami Junior High together.  Back then Phil had been something of a catch and Carrie was little more than the geeky science girl that stared at him whenever she had the opportunity. 

Once they’d moved on to high school, Carrie had become desperate to win Phil’s love.  With knowledge that she wasn’t pretty enough to walk alongside the football star, she set out to find a way to become everything that Phil could ever want in a girl.  Her search had led her to witchcraft.  Cheaper than surgery and more effective than any cream or lotion, she’d quickly learned to create glamour’s. 

Determined to take her place beside Phil, Carrie sequestered herself for the entire summer between her junior and senior year in order to perfect her look.  She worked on maintaining the playboy bunny body and model’s face constantly until even she barely remembered the skinny, flat chested girl she’d once been. 

She’d returned to school, citing a sudden surge in hormones and had gone on to take her place beside Phil.  There she’d remained right through graduation and on to college.  Then, Phil had seemed to tire of spending all his time with her.  He’d begun to spend more time with his buddies, doing things that purposely excluded her. 

Certain she’d lost him, she’d sat sullenly silent when Phil had announced that he and his friends were planning a road trip for the summer.  That was the last straw.  Determined to win back her lover’s attention she’d begun plotting.  Everything had been right on schedule, until Al had confessed to sleeping with her.  Phil, whom she’d always been careful not to use her powers on, had been devastated, and the worst part is he blamed only Carrie.  In a fit of rage, she’d cornered Al alone and had hit him with the first thing to come to hand, the stupid garden gnome the boys had been dragging around the countryside. 

After disposing of Al, she’d staged a big blow-up in front of Phil, ensuring that he believed Al had taken off in shame.  It had worked like a charm, at least up until Paul had confessed to seeing what she’d done.  Luckily, Paul was even easier to deal with than Al.  She’d slipped him a love potion and then had sat back and watched as he’d become totally under her spell.  Convincing him last night that he couldn’t live with her had been a cinch and he’d very kindly killed himself. 

A spell would be the only way out now.  With Al’s cousins dealt with, Paul out of the way, and Al himself crushed to oblivion, she would be able to make Phil forget everything.  “He was keeping us apart, Philly.  I couldn’t let him and Paul steal you away from me,” she answered as she eyed the room, looking for something that would work against the interfering gnome. 

“So you killed them?”  Phil’s eyes became awash in unshed tears. 

Carrie snorted at the sight and waved a hand dramatically.  “See that’s exactly why they had to die.  You were completely unreasonable when it comes to those two.  I’m your best friend, you don’t need them.” 

“She’s a witch, Phil. She’s got you under a spell.  You can’t trust anything she says,” Al ground out. 

“A witch.  Really, Phil, I mean come on.  Who are you going to trust the ceramic garden gnome come to life, or me, you’re little honey bunny.” 

“I’m thinking you oughta listen to the gnome, Phil,” a deep voice replied.  “Cause honey bunny’s a witch.” 

“NO!”  Carrie suddenly screamed as her gaze darted toward the tall man that stood in the shadow of the doorway.  Though she couldn’t fully make out his features, his stance was instantly recognizable.  “I killed you.  You can’t be here.” 

“Oh, but I can,” the man replied as he stepped into the bedroom.  “You doing okay, Al?” 

Trapped by the man’s sudden appearance in the doorway, Carrie began sifting through all the spells she knew looking for one that would help. 

“I’m good, Dean.  Just getting ready to kick a little ass,” Al replied as he began to roll up his long blue sleeves. 

A smirk flitted across Dean’s face as he held up one hand.  “Not that I don’t appreciate the effort, dude, but how about you leave this one up to the professionals.  Now, Sam!”

Chapter 10

Sam eased around the corner of the house, noting the small square window that faced the backyard.  Keeping low, he eased up on his toes, and peeked into the opening.  As he’d hoped the window opened up into the bathroom.  He could just barely make out a young guy that had to be Phil, and Al through a door that led to the bedroom.   

The plan, a Dean Winchester special, was for Sam to sneak up on the unsuspecting witch, while Dean, of course, held her attention.  Sam lightly jiggled the pair of cuffs he held in his hands.  Despite Dean’s reassurances, Sam was still doubtful about how well the irons would work. 

“Stone walls confine a tinker, cold iron bands a witch, but a musician’s music can never be fettered for it lives first in heart and mind,” Sam mumbled as he struggled to lift the old wooden window sash.  Though he couldn’t prove it, he had a feeling his brother had pulled that bit of lore out of his ass.  After all, who’d want to confine a tinker, and if cold iron worked so easily for witches why had their father never mentioned it. 

As the opening widened, he couldn’t help but grimace at the low groan the window made.  He paused for a moment and listened.  Content that he hadn’t been heard, Sam looped the irons around his hand, and got ready to hoist himself inside.  Though he’d never mention it to his brother, it really was a good thing that Sam was the one sneaking in.  The high window would have given Dean a lot more trouble.  Even with Sam’s height, the entrance wasn’t easy. 

Finally, quiet as a mouse, Sam dropped to the floor in the tiny space between the toilet and the shower.  With a grimace at the irons, he pressed himself against the far wall.  Out of sight, he waited as he listened in horror to Carrie’s twisted story.   

Al’s declaration of Carrie’s card-carrying Wicca status seemed to make a true impact on Phil.  Sam could just make out the young man who stood outside the door pale faced and shaking.  As Carrie predictably refuted the charges, the youngest Winchester strained for some sign that his brother had also made it inside. 

“I’m thinking you oughta listen to the gnome, Phil,” a deep voice replied.  “Cause honey bunny’s a witch.” 

Sam closed his eyes in relief for a moment as he heard his brother’s theatrical entrance.  Leave it to Dean to get right to the point, Sam thought as he rolled his eyes.  His brother was never one to do things halfway. 

Carrie’s vehement denial, predictable in every way, left Sam suddenly impatient to get moving.  All this monologging was wearing thin fast.  At least it was until he heard the witch confirm that she’d tried to poison the Winchesters.  Ready to put the bitch down, Sam tensed, cuffs at the all set, as he waited for his brother’s signal. 

“Now Sam!” 

Dean’s cry had Sam moving before he’d even realized it.  Without thought, he darted out of the bathroom, his target only a few feet away, her slinky black dress making her an easy target.

888

“Now Sam!”  Dean hollered as he prepared himself to spring at the bitch that had caused so much trouble.  He moved forward just as his brother darted from the bathroom.  Sam had the cuffs at the ready and he was fully focused on Carrie.  Dean couldn’t help but grin in victory.  At least until Sam missed. 

One minute his brother was a hairsbreadth behind the witch and the next he was flying across the room.  His grin turned to a wince as Sam hit the far wall with a thunk that rattled Dean’s teeth.   

“Oh, no you don’t, bitch,” Dean growled as he launched himself toward Carrie and quickly wrapped his arms around her.  “Gotcha,” he cried as he tightened his grip. 

“Do you think?  Really,” Carrie breathed as she suddenly began to chant. 

“A little help here, Sam” Dean called out with a hint of panic as the skin of his hands began to grow warm.  Like a slow spreading fire, the heat was traveling from where his skin met hers up his hands and onto his arms.  The urge to put out the fire was nearly all he could focus on.  Tears began to flood his eyes as he locked his hands together refusing to give in. 

“All you have to do is let go,” Carrie breathed. 

Somehow, her words served to make things better.  The idea that the flame crawling across his skin would cease if he just let go, made him tighten his arms even more.  “That the best you got?” he ground out as he focused on locking his muscles. 

Carrie’s eyes narrowed at his words, and she began to chant again.  Though he wouldn’t have thought it possible the heat in his hands increased.  Dean stared somewhat stupidly at his hands, shocked that the skin wasn’t blackened and burned.  “Argh,” he growled as he fought to keep his hold. 

The hard blow came out of nowhere, Dean never stood a chance of retaining his grip on the witch.  One moment he stood focused on the pain, the next he was flying across the room, and Carrie was free.  Shocked by what had happened, it took a moment for Dean to realize the pain was gone as if it had never happened.  Flexing his hands, he looked over to see Carrie lying in a heap by the window.  Al lay on his back only a foot or two away, gasping for breath.  Sam had gained his feet and was now standing over the woman.  

“Careful, Sam,” Dean gasped as he struggled to shake off the memory of the pain. 

Sam shot him a lopsided grin and said, “I’m not too worried.” 

Dean blinked hard, trying to make sense of Sam’s lighthearted reply.  Granted his baby brother hadn’t just felt the fires of hell licking their way up his forearms, but still, the kid usually had more sympathy to spare after watching his big brother get knocked down a peg or two.  With a groan, he struggled to his feet and moved toward Sam and Al.  The little guy had gotten to his feet with much huffing and puffing and now stood by the younger hunter’s side with a disgusted look on his face. 

Still playing catch-up, Dean rubbed his face and shook his head before he at last looked down at the witch that lay motionless on the ground. 

“Holy Crap!”  Dean yelled in horror as he jumped back a foot.  With a hard swallow to push down the vomit that threatened to come up, Dean glanced down at Carrie.  “What the hell happened to her?” 

With a nudge and a grin, Sam said, “Those damn iron cuffs worked, she’s lost her mojo.” 

“Huh,” Dean muttered as he forced himself to note the changes in Carrie’s appearance.  Gone was the long, luscious, mahogany, locks, in their place were greasy strands of hair that at best could be called mousy in color.  Her skin, which had rivaled porcelain in its perfection, was now mottled red and covered in acne scars.  Even unconscious, Dean could see a pair of yellowed buckteeth protruding from under her upper lip.  An upper lip that was hairy enough to rival Dean’s current five o’clock shadow.  The button nose that had been slightly upturned was now more reminiscent of a pig’s snout, complete with hair that waved in and out with every breath. 

“Guh, that’s just wrong,” Dean groaned as he put a hand to his face to block out the images. 

“Dude, are you kidding me?  I had sex with that,” Al cried his voice nearly cracking with his last words. 

Suddenly thankful that he hadn’t stumbled upon Carrie under different circumstances, Dean leaned down and patted Al’s back in sympathy.  “Good point, tiny.  Better you than me.” 

“Uh, hello, I mean, who are you?” a timid voice suddenly called. 

Dean turned to face Phil and sized the young man up and down.  “We’re the guys that just saved you from that,” Dean said as he stepped sideways and pointed toward Carrie. 

Phil frowned as he glanced toward the witch.  “That’s not Carrie, I mean it can’t b—” Phil’s words cut off with a sudden retching noise.  With another groan, the guy turned and ran for the bathroom, with one hand over his mouth. 

“I just don’t get it,” Al moaned as he watched his friend disappear. 

With distaste twisting his features, Dean stuck his boot out and nudged the unconscious woman’s prone form, rolling her onto her back.  “She was working a serious glamour.” 

Sam nodded in agreement and added, “It’s probably been years since she saw her true self.” 

Carrie’s face wasn’t the only thing that had changed.  Though she was still tall, she was now all skin and bones.  The curve hugging black dress she was wearing now hung on her thin frame only serving to emphasize her flat chest.   

As he stared down at the girl who had only ever wanted to be loved, Dean couldn’t help but feel a stirring of pity.  “She destroyed herself trying to become what she figured Phil wanted.” 

“I never wanted any of it.”

Dean turned to watch as Phil stumbled from the bathroom.  “When I first met her, yeah her looks were a turn on.  Only for the first couple of years, it was who Carrie was that I loved, not what she looked like.  It was only later that she began to change.” 

“I guess in the end her power began to control her,” Sam said. 

“She dead?”  Al asked seeming none to upset about the prospect. 

Dean toed the witch again, earning a loud snort for his trouble.  “Naw, she’s just out cold.  You packed quite a wallop in that tackle, Al.” 

Al grinned as he pointed proudly to his chest.  “They didn’t call me ‘Big Al’ for nothing.” 

With a shake of his head, at Al’s bragging tone, Dean turned to his brother.  “You ready to get out of here?” 

“More than,” Sam said as he knelt down next to Carrie.  “Look at the cuffs.”

Dean took a knee next to his brother and for the first time got a good look at the antique iron cuffs.  The metal looked as if it had fused with the skin on her wrists.  Careful to avoid touching the metal, Dean let one finger hover over the smooth silver band.  The heat pouring off the metal was enough to make him pull his hand back in a hurry.  “Looks like whatever she was hexing me with melted these suckers to her skin.” 

“Ugh, gross,” Phil said as he continued to keep his distance. 

The young man still looked a bit shaky to Dean.  His eyes were red-rimmed, his hair stood up on end, and his hands seemed to be shaking uncontrollably.  

“Listen, uh, Phil.  You okay with calling the cops here?  I mean you can tell them what she did to Al, maybe even help them locate his…” here Dean shot a sympathetic glance at the tiny gnome, “body.” 

Dean wasn’t sure if it was the idea of justice being served or simply a matter of having a purpose, but Phil straightened up and nodded. 

“I can do that,” Phil stated firmly. 

“Good,” Dean said, more than ready to get moving.  This job had been beyond weird, and that was really saying something considering his line of work.  “Sammy, Al, let’s load ‘em up.”

Sam nodded in agreement and started moving for the door, Al moved into formation just behind Sam, his little legs moving a mile-a-minute to keep up.  Dean swallowed a laugh as he watched mini-me follow his sasquatch brother out of the room.  He was ready to follow when Carrie let out a low moan.

“Is she…safe?”  Phil said with a audible swallow. 

Dean turned back to stare at the woman that was just beginning to come around.  “Yeah, those bracelets will hold her and there’s no chance of removing them.  You might want to keep track of her, though.  Make sure she’s not building a dark alter in her jail cell.” 

Phil nodded seriously at Dean’s words and then gestured toward where Al had just disappeared.  “What’s gonna happen to Al?” 

Unsure of that himself, Dean settled for the truth.  “Not sure, technically once they find his body he ought to move on, but…” 

The kid put his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes for a moment.  When he finally dropped them to his side, he seemed resigned.  “Tell him I’m sorry.  I had no clue…” 

Not sure how that was possible given his girlfriends obvious crazy streak, Dean nonetheless believed him.  “I’ll tell him.  You take care of yourself kid.  Go ahead and make your phone call.”

“Yup,” Phil answered as he moved to pick up the phone extension. 

Dean left the room, content that Carrie would get what was coming to her.  Ready to get lost before the cops showed, he headed straight for the car.  There he found Sam leaning against the passenger door. 

“Where’s the munchkin?” 

Sam jerked his thumb toward the backseat where Al lay curled up on the black leather.  “Phil call the cops?” 

“Yeah, they’re on their way.  We’ll head back to the hotel and lay low for the night.  Head out tomorrow.  Probably wouldn’t hurt to check on Carrie, make sure she’s out of commission.” 

“That works,” Sam said as he opened his door. 

“Yup,” Dean agreed.

888

“Awwww…come on, Dean.  All I want is one beer.” 

Sam couldn’t help but grin as he watched Al sitting dead center in the middle of Dean’s pillow beg for a brew.  “Come on, Dean, what’s one beer,” Sam coaxed his brother. 

“Grrr…fine, you want a beer I’ll give you a beer.  But I’m telling you now, you better not be up all night running to the head,” Dean growled as he pried the cap off a bottle and handed it to Al. 

Despite his brother’s mean growl, Sam had no doubt that Dean was playing.  The older hunter seemed to have become fond of their diminutive friend at some point over the last couple of days.  If Sam had to make a guess, he would bet the change had taken place when Al had saved them from Carrie’s spell. 

Happy at last with his beer in hand, Al leaned back with a sigh and picked up the remote that had been lying next to him.  “Who’s up for a little TV?” 

This time it was Sam that snapped, “No porn this time, Al.  I’m not paying for you to watch “Forest Hump” again.” 

With a leer, made all the worse given his bright cheery cheeks and sparkling eyes, Al said, “Come on that’s a classic.” 

Sam clenched his jaw and turned to his brother so Dean could back him up.   

He should have seen it coming when Dean gestured with his beer and said, “You can’t beat the classics.” 

Ignoring Al’s guffaw, Sam turned back to the laptop that was resting on the table before him and continued his search for their next hunt.  Anxious to avoid the police, the three of them had left Doylestown three days ago.  They were now settled in some backwoods motel, in western Pennsylvania as they waited for word that Carrie had been fully dealt with. 

“You think they found the body yet?”  Dean questioned quietly as he dropped into the chair next to Sam. 

Sam stole a glance at Al, who was laughing hysterically at a scene from Animal House.  “I don’t know.  I mean he’s still here so…”  Sam let his words trail off.  The fact that Al was still here and still a gnome didn’t bode well.  He was at the point now where he was afraid they were going to have to find his body themselves and take care of it. 

“This sucks, I mean we can’t wait around forever.” 

His brother was right, they needed to consider the future.  The hard part was, both Sam and Dean knew what the future would entail if Al didn’t move on soon.  Anxious for a change in conversation, Sam brought up a point that had been bothering him ever since the scene in the bedroom.  “You know those cuffs were pretty handy.  I have to admit I was surprised they worked so well.” 

If he hadn’t been closely monitoring his brother’s face he would have missed the momentary guilt that flashed in his green eyes.  “Yeah, well I told you they’d work.” 

Certain he was onto something, Sam nodded and said, “We need to get ourselves another pair.  I mean, hell, they were just iron cuffs right?” 

This time Dean’s unease came through loud and clear as he fidgeted with the bottle in his hand.  “Well, I mean I don’t know that ‘any’ iron will do.” 

“What do you mean, you gave me that little poem.  I mean iron binds them, right?” 

“Imadethe poemup,” Dean slurred as he refused to meet Sam’s eyes. 

“You what?” 

“Well, I had the cuffs and I was pretty sure they’d work, but I figured you needed a bit more convincing so I made up that cold iron bit.” 

Sam found he wasn’t even surprised enough to get angry.  After all, from the moment Dean had pulled out the cuffs he’d been highly suspicious.  “Where’d you get ‘em?” 

Dean shrugged and said, “Some voodoo shop down in New Orleans, the woman running the shop swore they’d stop a witch.” 

“But you didn’t know for sure,” Sam questioned as he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.  He really shouldn’t find it hard to believe that his brother had based his entire plan on a pair of cuffs that might or might not stop a witch. 

“Well I mean for sure…what does anyone know for sure.  I was,” Dean paused for a moment and seemed to consider something, “I was like 95% sure.  Well maybe more like 85%.” 

Unable to summon a reply to that stupid statement, Sam simply shook his head. 

“Hey, Al, you weren’t worried were you?”  Dean called out good-naturedly. 

Sam didn’t bother to turn, knowing that Al would agree with Dean.  Hell, it seemed as if Al would agree with Dean even if the older hunter declared the sky was red. 

This time however, there was no snappy comeback.  A feeling of dread rose up in Sam as he met his brother’s gaze.  Dean’s expression made it clear what had happened.  Slowly, Sam turned to face the bed. 

There perched on the flower print bedspread was a tiny ceramic garden gnome.  Its cold flat eyes stared up at the ceiling, as it lay prone on the bed.  The only difference between this gnome and countless others was the beer bottle gripped in its left hand. 

“Damn, Al,” Dean breathed as he slowly approached the figure. 

“They must have found his body,” 

“What now, I mean do we give him back to Gerry?”  Dean questioned as he stared down at the lawn ornament. 

Sam shook his head, the idea of returning Al to his former house was abhorrent.  He had hated that house.  “Naw, we need to figure out something else.” 

“Pack your bags, Sam,” Dean snapped suddenly in motion. 

Unsure of what had set his brother off, Sam did as he asked anyway.  “Where we headed?” 

“I know just where we should leave him.  It’ll be a fitting tribute.”

888

“Move him a little to the left,” Dean ordered his brother. 

Sam shot him a frustrated look before he carefully moved Al a bit to the left.  Dean ignored his brother’s cross mood and grinned broadly.  “Perfect, just there.”

As Sam stepped back, Dean picked up his old Polaroid camera and aimed it toward the ornate white porch that Al now sat upon.  With a quick snap, Dean took the shot and then waited until the camera spit the picture out.  “Alright you ready?” 

Sam sighed long and loud, but accepted the beer Dean held out to him.  “Dean, do you really think this is necessary?” 

“Come on, Sam.  Just look at how happy he’ll be.”  Dean studied the large white porch that encircled the ranch and smiled smugly.  “He’d appreciate it.” 

As he accepted the beer, Sam couldn’t help but think his brother was right.  Al would have appreciated this spot more than any other.  Well, with the exception of the backseat of the Impala.  “Yeah, but the Bunny Ranch?” 

Dean shot him a wicked grin and winked, “Come on, admit it, it’s perfect.” 

Unable to deny it, Sam finally broke down and returned his brother’s grin.  He had to admit the ‘house of sin’ was an enlightened choice.  “Fine,” he finally conceded.  “What now?”

Dean turned to face the porch and seemed to admire Al’s placement for another moment.  Sam was just about to interrupt his brother’s musing when Dean lifted his bottle and said, “Vaya con Dias, my friend.” 

Sam tipped his bottle toward the gnome and then took a sip.  “You ready to get going?” 

At his words, Dean turned and threw an arm around his shoulder.  “Aw, come on, Sammy, you don’t actually think I’m gonna pass up this opportunity.” 

Hating the blush that filled his cheeks, Sam groaned. 

“Come on, let’s go get a beer.  Maybe see if Conchita still works here.” 

“Dean,” Sam warned. 

Obviously unafraid of his little brother, Dean tugged him up the steps.  “Let’s just pretend it’s your birthday.”

The End...