Gnome Such Thing - Chapter 6
"Oops. "Crap, Sammy. I'm sorry."
Dean pulled a stiff breath in through clenched teeth, cringing at the sight of Sam out cold. He knelt down next to his brother, carding a hand through Sam's hair looking for blood, luckily finding just a trace where the iron had brazed the skin.
"Saved by the hair, Sam. Crowbar must have ricocheted right off of it."
Dean was about to proceed with a more in depth inspection when he pulled up short. Behind him, Dean heard a low, guttural laugh. The dark sound rolled like a tympani drum, filling the room and sending shivers down Dean's back.
"Your fault!" Dean growled, baring his teeth.
He spun on the toe of one boot and found himself nose to nose with the tiny brute that Dean held responsible for his brother's condition.
If Dean's first encounter back at the house had been weird and frightening, coming face to face with the leader of the Gnomes was downright terrifying. Had it not been for the rush of adrenaline and anger he felt, Dean would have recoiled from the strangely imposing Gnome King.
Much shorter than any of the other gnomes Dean had yet to come across, the leader had a wild, tangle of grey hair and matching beard that did nothing to cover up the weather beaten face set with deep grooves and a nasty raw-red scar that blazed across his left brow and down onto his cheek.
But, it wasn't the wild, grizzled appearance that made the miniature man such a daunting figure. No, it was the eyes that nearly set Dean on his butt. Abnormally small eyes, black as night and protruding from dark, sunken eye sockets. They radiated hatred and death. And they bounced back and forth almost comically between Dean and the unconscious figure of his brother.
Squaring off, it growled right back at Dean, gnashing its rotten teeth, the stench of dirt and blood and rotting flesh heavy on its breath. A wave of nausea hit Dean, turning his mouth down in disgust. He crinkled his nose, trying to block out the pungent smell and in that moment of distraction, it attacked.
The little gnome lunged at the hunter, clawing for purchase with razor sharp nails. He was lightning fast, but Dean was faster, bringing the iron bar up as a barrier. Even with the iron between them, the gnome slammed bodily into Dean, knocking him off his feet and landing them heavily across Sam's thighs.
Dean was aware of the sizzle and scent of burnt flesh and hair, but he was more conscious of the fact that the iron wasn't slowing the Gnome King down one bit. The iron wasn't enough. He needed something more and quick, because the gnome's attentions continued to sway between its assault on Dean and clearing the distance between itself and Sam.
Dean didn't need to read its mind to know what it was thinking, but somehow he was. Though it didn't say a thing, Dean could hear it loud and clear. Not any language that he'd ever heard, but it didn't seem to matter. Dean understood it all. It was determined and ruthless and it would tear the older hunter apart to get at the younger. Tear him apart and then have them both.
Have them both for what? Dinner? Dean didn't wait to find out.
Reaching behind him, he quickly ran his hand down the length of his brother's leg searching for the cuff of Sam's jeans. Without taking his eyes off the Gnome King, Dean lifted the pant leg and followed Sam's boot to where he knew there would be a knife strapped.
"You stay away from my brother!"
In one fluid motion, Dean pulled the knife free, slashing it down and adding a new scar to the right side of the gnome's face.
It fell back in a hiss of pain, stumbling away from the brothers to regroup.
Digging into his freezer, Bobby had surprised himself by finding a forgotten homemade cherry pie from Mrs. Thomas.
Mrs. Gertrude Thomas, an elderly woman who had lived down the road from Bobby for the better part of twenty years, had no one to look out for her except her neighbors.
So, whenever Bobby would stop by to cut her grass or clear the snow from her drive, Gert would spoil him in return by baking casseroles, cookies and pies, patting him on the cheek and calling him a 'sweet boy'.
Dean had long ago declared Gert's pies to be, 'The best pies in all of Minnehaha County' and even offered to marry her once or twice just so she could feed him pie every day.
From then on, whenever Mrs. Thomas saw John Winchester's black Chevy Impala pull down the dusty road, she would bustle into her kitchen, strap on an apron and start two pies. One for Bobby, John and young Sam. The other, all for the handsome twenty year old who could make her blush by batting his eyelashes at her.
Nearly ten years later and the eighty-three year old widow was still going strong, her pies as good as anything.
Bobby knew that if there was anything in the world that would get Dean to crawl out from beneath whatever rock he was hiding, Gert's cherry pie would be it.
He set the pie on a baking sheet inside the preheated oven and just as he was setting the egg timer, his hunter's instincts flared up. Bobby froze on the spot and listened through the open kitchen window. A cool summer breeze blew in, carrying with it the scent of the fast approaching rain and soft roll of thunder. But that wasn't what had caught Bobby's attention and set his nerves on edge. He wasted no time, tossing the egg timer on the counter and snatching up the only weapon in sight.
Heading directly out the door, Bobby took the front steps two at a time & jogged out into the yard in search of his boys. It didn't take him long to find the disturbance. A slew of angry shouts and curses led Bobby out to a building at the back of the lot, but when he approached the door, the building fell eerily silent.
"Dean? You in here?"
Bobby entered the shed, one of the boys' sawed-off shotguns leveled dangerously in his hands. He paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness and discovered Dean hovering protectively over Sam's prone form.
"God, Sam."
He hustled to Sam's side, laying the gun aside and began checking the young man's vitals.
"Jesus. What happened here?"
He looked to Dean for an answer but found the young man glaring murderously at the empty air space directly in front of him, a crowbar in one hand and Sam's silver bladed Bowie in the other.
"Hey! What's the matter with you?"
When Dean's focus remained centered on his invisible enemy, Bobby reached across Sam and smacking the older brother's shoulder sharply with the back of his hand.
"Dean! Snap out of it!"
"Can't look away."
"What?" Dean's words had been so hushed that Bobby wasn't sure he'd even heard them.
"Can't look away, Bobby. If I look away, it'll move in on Sam. Move in on all of us…from the corners."
He paused for a moment to adjust his position. The barely noticeable movement was a warning; a miniscule lunge to show their attacker that he was still very much present in their battle of wills. He shook his head, ever so slightly, his eyes hardening more and his lip drawing up in an inaudible growl.
"No. It won't stop with the earwax, Bobby. No intentions of stopping. Sam's weakened and he's been upgraded…to lunch."
Bobby grimaced at the disturbing thoughts swimming around in Dean's mind. It was clear, that despite first appearances, the boy was not at all in control of his senses. At this point, Bobby would give his right arm to go back to the butterflies and the insane giddiness of this morning. That had at least been comical and entertaining. But Dean's trip had turned dark and ominous and the man himself, erratic and uncontrollable. Bobby became resigned to the fact that once he could get Dean corralled, he would have to be restrained, if for no other reason, than his own safety.
"It's my fault, Bobby, what happened to Sam. But I'll be damned if I'm gonna let that little bastard anywhere near my brother again.
"We ain't got time for your psychotic delusions, Boy. You're brother is bad off."
"I know!" Dean barked, turned to glare over his shoulder at his friend.
His features softened when he saw the concern etched all over Bobby's face and when his eyes flicked to his prone brother, lying frighteningly still at Bobby's feet, Dean's voice became much gentler. "I know. Look, get Sam to the house. I'll cover you."
"And how exactly do you figure I'm gonna be able to lug his heavy ass all the…"
"Crap!" Dean interrupted.
He'd been diverted. His attention had swayed to Bobby and away from the little monster that was stalking the three of them. And now it was gone. Dean did a quick sweep of the building, watching from the corner of his eye, only to find the room empty. Panic set it immediately.
"Crap!" he repeated, throwing aside his weapons to free his hands. "We gotta move. Now!"
Unable to ignore Dean's urgency, Bobby was quick to follow his lead. Together they caught Sam beneath the arms and made to pull him to his feet.
"On three," Bobby called. "One…"
"Three!"
Digging deep, Dean found the strength to pull Sam up from the floor almost entirely on his own. He wrapped an arm around the small of Sam's back, hooking his fingers beneath his brother's leather belt, Bobby repeating the action from the other side.
"Come on Sammy. Rise and shine, Kiddo. Time to go."
Bobby had to run to keep up with Dean, dragging Sam's feet behind them. Halfway across the yard, thunder rolled deeply above and rain began to pepper the ground, the ice cold summer rain sending immediate shivers down Dean's bare back and spurring him to move faster.
When they reached the front steps, Dean slipped his other arm around Sam's chest, relieving Bobby of his side. The older hunter snatched up Sam's dragging feet, hauling him up, until the young man's bent knees were cradled in Bobby's hands. He nodded his readiness at Dean and they began to carefully ascend the stairs, then fought their way through the front door, finally depositing Sam with a bounce onto the too small sofa.
Bobby doubled over, his hands posted on his knees for support, panting deeply.
Dean on the other hand, wasted no time. He went immediately to the fireplace and snatched up an iron fire poker, weighing it carefully in his hand and then grabbed a second, handing it off to Bobby.
"You watch him," Dean instructed. "Lay salt lines and keep the iron handy."
"Where the Hell do you think you're goin'?" Bobby argued.
"You're not gonna see them coming at you," Dean continued, not paying Bobby any attention. "Watch the peripherals. They come at you from the outskirts of the room, kind of creeping sideways and they're sneaky. You don't even notice them until they're on you."
"Dean."
"Protect him, Bobby. Protect yourself."
"You're not going anywhere, Kid."
"Don't worry, Bobby, I got this."
Dean turned and ran from the room, Bobby chasing him halfway down the hall until he was stopped by the sound of a groan.
"Dammit!"
Bobby shook his head in frustration, rolling his eyes. He was beginning to question his own sanity for ever opening the door in the middle of the night. Bobby heard a second groan and put Sam back at the top of his list of priorities. Dean would have to wait.
"Sam? You with me, Son?" Bobby grabbed a chair from beside his desk and set down in it beside the sofa.
Sam groaned again, his eyes blinking slowly open, taking a little too long to focus.
"S'umbich," he slurred, groggily finding Bobby.
"What happened out there, Sam?"
"As'ho hi me."
Bobby took just a moment to translate the garbled language.
"Who hit you? Dean? Sam, did Dean hit you?"
"Mmm," was Sam's positive response.
"On purpose?"
Mud and water splashed up over Dean's boots and bare legs as he ran through the rain soaked lot. What had been a light summer rain had quickly turned into a full-fledged thunderstorm.
A crack of lightening seared the atmosphere and Dean stopped briefly to watch the gold streak tear and shred the dark afternoon sky. Everywhere around him, the thunder rolled, and with it came the voices. Dark, angry voices, urging him to see his task to completion now, before it was too late.
"I'm tryin', dammit. What was I suppose to do, let it get at my brother?" Dean's voice was nearly raw with indignation. "I couldn't do that."
Dean felt the blast wave hit him before he even registered the flash. A bolt of lightning blasted down into the lot, striking an old, non-working windmill and scorching the ground below it. Even though he was a safe distance away, the power of the strike knocked Dean off his feet, landing him flat on his back in the mud. Not quite sure if he was truly alive or dead, Dean laid there for a moment, his body buzzing with residual electricity.
Pulling it together, he extracted himself from the mud and tried to shake the ringing from his ears, but that only encouraged a wave of nausea to sweep through his head. Dean bent over at the waist, breathing slowly, trying to take back control of his body.
A long round of thunder rolled over the property causing Dean to cringe in fear of another strike; in fear of the wrath of whatever butterfly God he'd managed to piss off.
"Alright," he conceded. "I'm sorry. What do I gotta do?"
Dean became completely still, listening to the words tumbling out of the clouds overhead. It became perfectly clear. Like the voice of an angel sent down from Heaven, if Dean believed in such a thing, giving implicit instructions, a command not to be second guessed, to be followed to the letter without question. Dean was born for this; soldiering. There was no one better qualified to be set this task and he knew it. Dean straightened with newly reborn confidence.
He had a plan to put into place, a trap to be set; inside the house, on home turf, where the situation could be better controlled.
But there was time. He knew now, that the gnomes had retreated into hiding when the storm had started and they would remain there until the rain receded. Dean also understood that there was indeed a hierarchy to the clan of gnomes. A house of cards with its King of Spades standing boldly on top. Knock the crap out of the King and the house collapses beneath his weight.
But first things first. Dean was a filthy mess. Of all that he had learned or had been shown today the one thing worth remembering was that to be completely worthy of the task, he must be purified. Cleansed of the binding mud that clung to him like clothing. Cleansed of the anger and desperation he'd felt at seeing his brother in danger. Cleansed entirely of the worries and burdens that he carried in this world.
He would walk into the purifying flames and reappear on the other side a whole man. Now…where were those flames?
The storm clouds growled again, low and distant, the voices withdrawing with the rolling thunder.
Dean turned in the direction of the house, following the retreating voices, soaking in their instructions and soaking in his skin as the clouds opened fully into a downpour.
Leaning back, he turned his face toward the sky, letting the large, icy cold raindrops strike him about the face and chest, like chilled magic fingers. Dean wanted nothing more than to lie down on the lawn and let the rain wash over him.
And so he did. Dean sat down on the too long grass of Bobby's front lawn and began to unlace his boots, pulling them and his socks free of his feet. He wiggled his toes, digging them down into the dark green of the lawn. Dean was so overwhelmed by a deep feeling of freedom that he didn't even try to stop himself when he felt the urge to strip out of the last remaining article of clothing.
"Sam, sit down," Bobby groused in frustration, pressing the ice pack firmly into place over the goose egg growing out of Sam's scalp. He reached down and captured Sam's wrist, bringing the young man's hand up, demonstrating how Sam would need to hold the ice in place for himself.
With the pressure of Bobby's hand pressing against his very sore head, Sam could to nothing but scowl up at his friend and gripe.
"I can't believe this is happening…again. I mean, really. How many times am I gonna lose him today? I'm…I'm like…completely useless," Sam stuttered out of exasperation.
"Not just you, Kid. I lost him too."
"Yea, well…you at least had a reason. Tch," he tutted in disgust. "My dumb ass. Seriously? Who goes and lets himself get clocked by a crowbar? I mean…I saw it comin', Bobby. Honestly, my head was screaming 'Duck, you idiot,' while my heart was saying, 'He won't hit you.' And then, Wham!"
Sam groaned a little as the volume of his own voice beat its way around the inside of his skull.
"Uhhh, kill me now," Sam moaned.
"No sense in doin' that. Now quit your belly achin' and take these."
Bobby dropped a few Ibuprofen into Sam's other hand and waited to hand him a glass of water to wash it down with.
Sam tipped his head back, letting the water chase down the handful of pills he'd swallowed. He took a second long, deep drink and that's when it happened.
Lightning snapped like a bull whip, vibrating through the house, startling both men and plunging them into darkness.
The room wasn't pitch black, but it was dark enough that Sam couldn't make out Bobby's expression. But then again, Sam didn't need to see Bobby to recognize irritation when he heard it.
Bobby sniffed audibly. It was a wet sound followed immediately by the older hunter bringing a hand up to his face to wipe away the remnants of Sam's water.
"God, Bobby. I'm sorry," Sam apologized, angling for sincere but coming away slightly amused.
Bobby, however, did not see the humor in it. He growled a little in Sam's direction and then turned for the kitchen to seek out his extra flashlights, stopping to look out the kitchen window to look for any yard lights from further down the road. There were none.
"That was damn close. Musta hit one of the underground lines. Chances are we won't get lights back until tomorrow. Here, catch."
Even in the dark, and with a concussion to boot, Sam was able to nimbly catch the flashlight. He lit it up and then pulled to his feet.
"That was too close. I gotta go find Dean," he groaned as the head throbbed upon standing. "Preferably before he gets himself electrocuted."
"We'll go together this time. He can't possibly outsmart both of us, together."
Bobby chuckled to himself knowing he'd probably just jinxed them. He turned to follow Sam out the door and nearly bumped into his back, when the wall of a kid pulled up short.
"Oh Gawd," Sam moaned.
"Ya'lright? What's wrong?"
Bobby flashing his light up trying to get a good look at him, but Sam's eyes were locked on a spot in the front yard. Then he half covered his face with his free hand and groaned.
"I found him."
"That was fast," Bobby responded, turning to follow Sam's gaze.
There was nothing or no one in the world that could have possibly prepared Bobby for what he saw.
Dean Winchester, buck naked on his lawn. Bobby tilted his head to one side, thinking that maybe if he examined this from a different angle the outcome might be different. No such luck. Nope, just Dean. Naked. And…doing the backstroke?
Bobby didn't even need to look at Sam to know that the boy's eyebrows had disappeared into his scalp; that his eyes were abnormally wide & his jaw was scrapping the ground in complete disbelief.
"Weird day," Bobby offered quietly.
"Ya think?"
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