Rating: PG (language/horror themes)
Category: Dean,Sam (gen - angst/humor)
Disclaimer:, Don't own, don't sue, no money!
Spoilers: Reference to 'Dead Man's Blood'
Notes: For my 2nd spn_halloween prompt. People becoming their costumes.
Sam looked at Dean for a beat, crouched low to the ground, torch in hand and starting to suspect he was having his leg pulled.
“Loki’s what?” he asked, making a sizable hole in the wall of the old empty house with the hammer in his other hand.
“What?” Dean shook his head, confused and Sam huffed an exasperated breath, reaching his hand into the hole and feeling around.
“If you say, ‘who’s on first?’, I am going to give you an atomic wedgie.”
“No, wait, I mean Lokies, as in, the plural of a Lokie, not the God of Chaos’ possession,” Dean clarified, realising what the confusion was and also not wanting to talk in circles for the rest of the night.
“You mean they were named after Loki?” Sam was in the wall up to his elbow now and Dean frowned at him.
“Chicken, egg, who the hell knows? They’re little Chaos demons called Lokies. Only you would drag us into the land of semantics.” Sam was now in up to his shoulder and Dean’s frown deepened. “Look, maybe I should be doing that.”
“Yeah, you could if you didn’t have such stumpy little arms,” Sam paused to grin up at Dean.
“Not all of us can be knuckle-draggers,” Dean snapped without missing a bit and Sam snorted.
Then Sam frowned.
Then he yelped.
“Christ,” Dean grunted, leaning over and grabbing Sam under the armpits, locking his hands around the front of Sam’s chest and hauling backwards. Sam was yanked free of the wall with a belch of plaster, something black attached to one of his fingers. “Hang on, I’ll get it,” Dean said, yanking his dagger free from his back holster. Sam held his hand out, not making a sound even though there was blood now running down his hand and circling his wrist.
Dean wedged his knife into the jaws of the tiny thing that was attached to Sam and then levered the mouth open until Sam was able to retrieve his finger. Sam hissed, holding the bleeding tip in his other hand when he was free as Dean clamped one hand around the little creature’s body and then other around its head.
“Wait, I think I read something about these guys. I don’t think you should-“
There was a tiny snick as Dean snapped the little chaos demon’s neck and then a larger whump as a wave of energy rolled outwards, knocking both brothers off their feet and punching a large, ragged hole through the opposite living room wall.
Dean sat up slowly, ears ringing. “Wow, I was not expecting that,” he grumbled, eyes darting over to see Sam roll to his feet, apparently intact. He then patted himself down, checking that nothing was broken, before getting his own feet under him.
“How many of those things did you say there could be?” Sam asked, brushing dust from his jeans.
“Ah, about fifty,” Dean grimaced and Sam sighed.
“Maybe we’d better find out if there is a way to get rid of them without knocking us on our asses,” Sam mused and Dean nodded.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
Sam had been walking towards the Impala, but stopped and turned in the direction Dean was facing. There were three lizards, the size of small dogs on the sidewalk, getting up on shaky legs. As the brothers watched, one of them unfurled small wings and gave them an experimental flap.
Another hiccupped and a lick of flame came out of its mouth.
Dean’s face was filled with glee, looking like a kid on Christmas morning. “Sammy, dragons!” he crowed. “I haven’t gotten to kill any of these in years.”
“Wait, you’re just going to kill them? They’re babies,” Sam protested, his face taking on the tragic look he had worn every time his Father had said no to a puppy.
“They grow to about twenty feet from tail to tip and eat people,” Dean sighed, rolling his eyes as he dug a small blade out of his boot. “I’m not waiting around for that to happen.”
“Dean,” Sam said, but this time his tone made Dean freeze in his tracks. He caught something orange out of the corner of his eye and swung his gaze to the gutter of the street they were in. Sitting close by were three small bright orange plastic pumpkins with black handles coming out of the top, the kind of novelty pail kids used to collect candy. Dean’s gaze tracked from the three pumpkins to the three dragons and then finally came to rest on Sam.
“Oh no,” he groaned.
Sam had his full-on lecture voice going, and Dean would’ve been annoyed if he wasn’t so busy trying to wrangle three pint-size dragons that were a lot stronger than they looked and seemed to be determined to make him a human chew-toy.
“Chaos demons or Lokies,” Sam read and Dean raised his eyebrows. “Combust when killed, spilling pure Chaos energy. Must draw a circle of binding around the Lokie before killing.” Sam turned the book around and tapped a diagram on the opposite side of the book from the page he was reading. “And here’s a picture.”
“Alright,” Dean grumbled, making to put his foot down on one of the dragons but when Sam glared at him, he settled for trapping it between his ankles. The second he had held in his hands, one hand firmly clamped around the jaws and the other around the wriggling body and the third had made off to the bathroom, having liberated Dean’s wallet from his back pocket.
“Well, at least you remembered what they were called,” Sam said sarcastically and it was Dean’s turn to glare. The struggling dragon in his arms craned its long neck around and bit Dean’s nose, who yelped in surprise and threw it across the room.
Sam lunged out of his chair, catching the dragon awkwardly and then holding it protectively against his body. “Dean!” he hissed, outraged. “These are quite possibly children!” The dragon tucked its head into the crook of Sam’s elbow and let out a tragic sounding wail.
“Oh great,” Dean sighed, leaning down to pluck the dragon from between his feet. “It’s a drama-queen just like the big damn girl holding it.”
Sam was still blinking at Dean in confusion when he tilted his chin towards the bathroom. “Go rescue my wallet from the other little monster. If it eats my last twenty bucks there’s no waffles for you in the morning.”
Dean stopped dead just inside the motel room. He had left to pick up a six pack of beer from the all-night mini-mart just on the other side of the gravel semi-circle their motel also resided in. From between that time and getting back into the room, Sam had sacked out on one of the single beds, face first.
That wasn’t the strangest thing.
The biggest of the three dragons, a dusky red creature with fan-shaped ridges across its brow and the traditional demonic pointed tail, was curled up on the small of Sam’s back, nose under one scaled paw. The second, a dark jade colour, was stretched out along Sam’s side, one taloned claw caught up in his shirt and the third, the bright yellow wallet-stealer, was draped on Sam’s right calf, legs hanging off either side and head resting on his upraised heel.
It was the yellow one that opened one eye to watch Dean enter. It watched Dean cross to the other bed, sit down and pop the cap on one of the beers before the eye slid closed again.
All his life, Dean had watched this happen. He would find stray puppies in Sam’s bed, kittens hanging around the various porches of their various homes and horses would cross paddocks just to nudge his laughing brother. Dean had figured it was a weird offshoot of the same attraction that meant demons would go for Sam first as well, something harmless he would put out, like a non-threatening scent.
Now that Sam’s mind was waking up, doing things Dean couldn’t even fathom, he wondered. People had always trusted Sam instinctively as well. He would open those big eyes and put on his earnest voice and spin the most preposterous stories that sometimes even Dean caught himself believing and he knew they were lies.
He wondered if maybe Sam was giving people a tiny mental nudge without even realising it.
Right at that moment though, Sam snorted and rolled over and there was outraged squawking, general chaos and his brother falling off the bed and Dean was laughing so hard, he forgot to be concerned.
“So, Red’s bigger than the other two,” Sam said, picking up the largest of the three dragons and holding it out like Dean hadn’t noticed. They’d argued about what to call them, the argument pretty much ceasing with Dean stubbornly insisting that they just name them Red, Green and Yellow for ease’s sake once he’d accepted the idea of naming them at all and Sam calling him a dick when Dean had asked if Sam wanted to call them Frodo, Pippin and Merry.
“Older sibling taking the younger ones out for trick or treating?” Dean hazarded and Sam nodded, curling Red back into his chest as Red delicately nibbled on a chocolate biscuit held between its front claws.
“The neighbourhood was pretty big, but the parents must have reported them missing by now,” Sam mused, using his socked foot to gently nudge Green away from the hem of his jeans that the little guy was gnawing on with enthusiasm.
“Yeah, but we can’t exactly tell the parents that we have their kids,” Dean said, watching Yellow out of the corner of his eye. Yellow was sitting on the bedside table closest to Dean and looked like it was plotting something.
“They’ll be worried. We could-“
“Ahem!” Dean cleared his throat loudly and brought his hand up to his ear in an imitation of a phone. “Hello, Mrs Bill Bloggs? We have your children. They are perfectly safe but we can’t give them back right now. Why not you ask? Well, we can’t tell you that either. What are two men doing with three small children? I assure you, absolutely nothing dodgy. Why should you believe us you say? Well, let me pass you to my brother and he can explain why it’s much more comforting for your children to be kidnapped rather than missing.” Dean raised his eyebrows and held his hand-phone out to Sam, who slapped it away irritably.
“Alright, point taken, but we need to fix them fast.”
“I have an idea about that,” Dean said, holding up a finger and then digging around in his pack, coming up with the second journal that had come into their possession. “Daniel Elkins had a contact who specialised in returning things to their… natural state. A woman named Madelyn Lane.”
“How far?” Sam asked, not being able to help the little smile that touched his lips when Red nudged its head under his chin.
“About four hours,” Dean said. “Add a half hour onto that.”
“Because we need to go buy a cat carrier. No way am I letting those things chew the upholstery.”
“Not all three of them will fit.”
Dean was holding a hissing and writhing Green and Sam had Yellow and Red draped over a shoulder each, looking perfectly content.
“How about we leave Yellow out? He likes you,” Sam offered and Yellow seemed to look at Sam, then at Dean and back at Sam as if to say, I what?!.
“He’s just a little smarter than the others about biding his time,” Dean grumbled.
“Look, give me Green,” Sam held out a hand and the hissing and general kafuffle stopped as soon as Sam had a hand on the small dragon. He tucked Green into the crook of his elbow and then plucked Yellow off his shoulder and held the little creature out. “Just take Yellow while I get these two stowed and then I’ll hold Yellow the whole way.”
Dean eyed Yellow dubiously, who eyed Dean back. “Fine whatever, just let me get my jacket on,” Dean said, snagging it from the front seat and slipping it over his shoulders, Yellow watching him carefully the entire time. The small dragon was then handed over and Dean was expecting the same kind of writhing and general grumpiness that Green had displayed, but Yellow took one careful, snuffling whiff of the leather coat and relaxed completely, making a contented little burring sound in the back of its throat and shoving its nose under the jacket’s collar and into the hollow of Dean’s neck.
When Sam went to take Yellow back, the small dragon grabbed at Dean’s coat with all four claws and held on. Sam grinned.
“Okay, I’m driving,” he said.
Dean held his hand up to knock, and the door swung inward, the smell of cookies hitting him.
“Hi guys,” a small woman with dark, curly hair smiled, walking back into her house, leaving the door open. Dean and Sam looked at each other, shrugged and followed her in. Both men followed tiny footsteps, the sound of jazz music and the smell of baking to a bright, cheerful-looking kitchen. Madelyn had picked up a steel bowl and was stirring as she thumbed the radio volume down. “What can I do for you?”
“Ah,” Sam set the cat carrier down on an empty space on the kitchen table. “We had a small problem with a Chaos demon,” Sam began, looking to Dean who opened one flap on his jacket to reveal Yellow, dead to the world.
Madelyn snorted. “Is that all?”
“Is that all?” Dean spluttered, scooping Yellow out and waggling the small dragon in Madelyn’s direction. “We’re pretty sure these used to be kids!”
“It’s not necessary to raise your voice at me Dean Winchester,” Madelyn scolded, setting her bowl down. “Missouri said you were a lippy one.”
“You know Missouri?” Sam asked, face interested and Madelyn smiled at him.
“We all know each other mostly, those of us in the trade. Just because you boys rattle around this country in your big black car like no one else is around, don’t mean the rest of us do.” Madelyn’s expression was soft when she said, “You boys don’t ask for help nearly as much as you should or could.”
“We do okay,” Dean protested, feeling a little offended.
“You do at that,” Madelyn nodded. “Just try and remember most of us have an always open door to Winchesters.”
“Look, can you do something about this?” Dean asked, waggling Yellow again who was starting to look disgruntled.
Madelyn took Yellow out of his hands and crossed to the sink, her back to the brothers. There was a tiny yip and then she turned back around, Yellow looking annoyed and with one paw stuck in its mouth. “What did you do?” Dean demanded, feeling strangely protective.
“Just the tiniest bit of blood,” Madelyn said, rubbing her index finger and thumb together, a small red stain on the pads. Her eyes had gotten darker and Dean felt gooseflesh chase up and down his arms. The sunny little kitchen with daisies on the walls had made him complacent, but his hackles now rose as the room chilled.
Dean knew raw power when it skirted past him.
Just as quickly as it started, the room warmed up again and Madelyn’s eyes cleared. “Not to worry,” she said, smiling. “Order will reassert itself.”
“What does that mean?” Dean asked.
“It means that Chaos is not the natural state of things. The power holding these three in their unnatural forms is already ebbing away. They’ll return to normal, probably in the next few hours.”
“You mean all we had to do was wait?” Sam asked, looking relieved but also a little put out.
“No, you had to protect. You kept them safe.”
“Oh, well, I mean, yeah,” Dean nodded. “It wasn’t that hard.”
“Not everything of import is difficult,” Madelyn said cryptically, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “Now, you should probably stay here till they change. I’ll make us some lunch.”
Dean and Sam stood blinking at her until Madelyn shooed them out of her kitchen.
“We have a crazy life,” Sam commented dryly as he opened the cat carrier to let both Green and Red out who looked grumpy but otherwise unharmed.
“You got that right,” Dean agreed.
The costumes were pretty impressive in and of themselves. Fourteen year old Grace and seven year old twins Ollie and Jennifer were all wearing horns, elaborately glittered wings and tails. Jennifer burst into tears, Grace screamed and Ollie just looked bewildered when they all woke up in a stranger’s house, but after some soothing words from Madelyn, cookies and the promise that they would be home in a matter of hours, the children calmed.
Ollie, formerly known as Yellow, after three cookies, latched onto Dean’s leg and stayed there until they were leaving.
“Their parents are on their way,” Madelyn said as she ushered them towards her front door, gently prying Ollie from his death grip on Dean.
“We could’ve taken them back,” Sam said, but when Madelyn just arched an eyebrow, Sam snorted. “Yeah right, two guys in a big black car just dropping their kids off. Okay, I get it.”
As they made their way back down to the Impala, the sound of Ollie’s plaintive wails behind them, Sam stretched as he handed over the keys. “We still have that Lokie infestation to get back to.”
Dean paused, looked at Sam and then sighed. “I hate Halloween,” he grumbled.