Gnome Such Thing - Chapter 3
The butterflies had secrets; vast stores of knowledge and the keys to unlock every corner of the universe. And all of it they were willing to share with Dean, for which Dean was immensely grateful. He lay on his bed watching and listening intently as the multitude of winged insects danced in a rhythmic pulse. Butterflies of every size, shape & color. Hundreds of them, coating the walls and the ceilings, all of them speaking to him in a solitary voice.
'The world sits in turmoil,' they said.
Their ethereal voice, a monotone mix of masculine & feminine, buzzed just within the human range of hearing and Dean was immediately entranced by it. He nodded his understanding, because he did. Dean most certainly understood that the world was in turmoil. How to stop the turmoil was another question.
"What do you want me to do? He whispered back, waiting on bated breath for their reply."
"What are they saying?"
Dean's attention swung suddenly to his right where he was met nose to nose by his brother. Having forgotten that Sam was lying beside him, Dean was now caught by the flecks of gold that shimmered in the corners of Sam's hazel eyes. They danced and chimed like perfectly tuned bells and Dean was struck with the realization that he, himself was amazing. He must be amazing to have a brother whose eyes chimed. There could be no other explanation for it. Dean was just that cool. 'This would look great on a resume', he thought. 'Can kill just about anything and has a brother whose eyes chime'. He smiled at his turn of good luck.
"Dean?"
Still clutching Sam's hand, Dean raised his own hand and brought it to Sam's lips to silence his younger brother.
"You're awesome, he said in the same hushed tone he'd used on the ceiling, but you have to keep quiet Sammy. They're about to tell me their secrets."
"The butterflies?"
Dean nodded his head and returned his devoted attention back to the all-knowing insects and was rewarded for his dedication. A soft hum of their wings beat a cool breeze across his skin, eliciting goose bumps up his neck and into his hairline and he closed his eyes, relishing the feeling; soaking in their words.
And he knew that he was truly blessed when a moment later the flutters of their collective wings drew out tiny bursts of light. Pure and golden, the light sparked and rained down each time a wing flickered and soon Dean was watching a cascade of golden sparks falling gently all around and over him.
Like cool water on warm skin, the sensation was overwhelming and Dean gasped, arching up off the mattress, begging for more.
Sam could only stare in quiet shock and wonder if this was the beginning, what else did they have to look forward to?
Sam entered the kitchen, rubbing an exhausted hand up and down his face and then raking his long fingers up into his hair. He looked up to find Bobby standing there, hand out stretched, offering him a cup of coffee with a side of concern.
"Well?"
Sam took the coffee and shook his head. Where did he even start?
"He's been set three tasks, came his stoic answer. He took a sip, watching for Bobby's reaction over the rim of his cup."
"Pardon?"
"Dean is meditating and tells me that he, 'has been set three tasks'. Who even says crap like that? Not Dean!"
"Did you say meditating?"
Once again, Bobby found himself trying his best not to laugh.
Bobby, Sam frowned in a slight warning.
"Look, Kid. I can't help it. This is just…funny. If it had been the other way around and that was you up there, you gotta know that he'd be laughing his ass off."
"Yea, I know. But it's not me, it's Dean. And this is just one more thing, on top of everything else, that I just don't feel like dealing with right now."
"Who says you gotta deal with anything?"
Bobby thoroughly scanned Sam's face, taking in the lines pulled tight around his eyes and mouth; a true indication of Sam's stress. He offered up a hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezed lightly.
"Hey, he's not hurting himself and it looks like he's not in any danger…for the time being. So, let's just let this situation play out, okay? Take it for what it is. The best and longest trip of his life. Hell, I'm tempted to ante up and join him."
Sam's head fell to the side in his classic, bitchy tilt and Bobby immediately felt the heat of Sam's disapproval.
"I said I was tempted. Didn't say I was gonna do it. Geez, Sam, relax a little, would ya? Maybe you oughta give in to a little temptation yourself. Might take the starch outta that damn collar of yours."
"Are you saying I'm uptight?"
The question was said without heat. In fact, Bobby was sure he'd even heard a lilt of amusement in Sam's voice. He clapped the boy roughly on the cheek and smiled fully at him.
"As uptight as they get, Son."
"It's hot in here."
Dean peaked out from beneath his closed eyes and glanced around the room, hunting for the source of the heat he was experiencing from his position on the floor.
Earlier, while completely oblivious to Sam's look of disbelief, Dean had managed to convince Sam to push the beds apart for him so that he could meditate. He pulled the quilt off of his bed and shook it out across the center of the floor, pausing briefly to 'ooo' and 'ahh' over the ripples of color coming off the quilt, splashing like waves around the room. Then Dean had taken up residence in the center of the well-worn blanket and gathered his legs in front of him, to adopt the lotus position.
Sam had stood gob smacked, watching what should have been a near impossibility for Dean as he pulled first one booted foot up into his lap & then the other.
"What the Hell?" Sam had breathed more to himself than to Dean. Shaking his head, Sam had raised his hands in surrender. "Good luck with that," he'd said, turning to leave.
"Thank you, Sammy. The butterflies say that luck is on my side today."
Sam closed the door before huffing a laugh, "The butterflies are full of crap, Dude."
An hour later and Dean was still seated on the floor, but his meditation had been broken by wave after wave of heat that he soon discovered was rolling off of the lone candle in front of him.
He leaned closer, rolling up onto his knees and unknotting his legs from their meditative position. Cautiously, Dean crawled toward the candle, ducking and dodging the waves of heat as they rolled out of the small flame.
Bringing his hand up to shield his face, he looked down into the dancing amber and was not surprised when whispers began to float toward him out of the heat. Dean strained to make out what the candle was trying to tell him.
"One with nature. Purify. Yes, okay," he nodded agreeably. His face was childlike and open, waiting to be given further instruction. Excited for more, Dean leaned closer toward the candle.
"Too close, too close!" he shouted when suddenly the candle flared at him, sending a spray of heat and flame, whipping around the room like water from a fire hose.
Dean fell back on to his butt, scrambling away from the dangerous flame, but was unable to dodge it completely. It snaked up and around his leg; a searing chain wrapping tight around his calf and thigh, pulling him back toward the candle.
Grasping for purchase at the wooden floor planks, Dean bucked against the flame, hissing through clenched teeth as the fire consumed the fabric of his jeans. All the while in his head, the candle was chanting, 'purify, purify, purify'.
It wasn't until he felt the heat lick upwards towards his groin that true panic set in.
"Oh God! No, no, no, no."
Sitting upright, Dean began clawing and tearing at the denim, anything he could think of to put distance between himself and the scorching flame that was threatening his…his…everything.
With the combined efforts of his tearing and the candle's 'purifying', Dean's jeans soon laid in a smoldering heap on the floor. Using what little common sense was left in his addled brain, Dean stripped off his over shirt and tamped down the burning denim and was now left panting in the middle of the room in nothing but his customary black t-shirt, singed boxer briefs and lace up boots.
He wiped away the sweat on his brow and much more cautiously approached the candle again.
"Okay, I'm purified. What now?" he asked like it was just any other day. He watched and waited as the candle flickered. It swayed and dipped and sucked in the oxygen of Dean's question and pressed out its answer in a burst of orange.
Momentarily frightened by its sudden movement, Dean leaned away, but then he heard the whispers floating toward him once again.
"Guard the borders. Corners?"
The candle flickered one more time before extinguishing itself, a soft trail of grey smoke weaving its way to join the butterflies in nothingness.
"W-wait?" Dean stammered, but it was too late. The last ember on the wick, fizzled out and the whispers were gone.
"What does that mean?"
He slumped back down to the floor, crossing his bare legs and rested his chin in his cupped hands. For several minutes, Dean sat there in a near pout, shivering in his sweat damp underclothes.
And then, out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw it. A quick movement; a dark, blur of a shadow, along the lower wall to his left. His hunter's instincts kicked in, overriding the fuzzy hallucinations plaguing his vision.
In a flash Dean was up on his feet, swaying only once as vertigo threatened to bring him back down to his knees. He used the nearest bed to steady himself and then made his way slowly around the outskirts of the mattress, prepared to pounce on whatever it was that he'd seen skitter along the wall.
"Ah ha!" he shouted, jumping out around the corner of the bed and then frowned down at the empty space.
"Where'd you go?"
Stilling his movements, Dean used his senses to search the room, letting only his eyes move in their sockets. He looked down the plane of his right cheek and held his breath.
It was there. Just outside of his field of vision. Still like a statue, yet constantly moving, watching him as intently as he was watching it.
It side stepped its way into view, just beyond the scope of Dean's full vision, but near enough that Dean could make out a few important details. Firstly it was short, humanlike in shape, but much too short to be human and robust for its small stature. When it moved, it did so in short side to side steps, creeping along the wall like some cartoon spy with its arms stretched out for balance.
Very slowly, Dean began to turn his head towards the little creature, but froze, wide eyed when the thing giggled at him.
It wasn't the high-pitched whimsical giggle Dean had hoped for. It was a low, guttural giggle. A frightening laugh that said, 'Heh heh heh, yea, you look like lunch.'
Dean glanced quickly around the room. Where the Hell were all the weapons? He had nothing at all to use. No guns, no knives, no nothing. Hell, right now, he'd give his left nut for a good solid stick.
It must have read his mind, because suddenly the feel of the room changed dramatically. The atmosphere darkened ominously and all the hair on Dean's neck stood up in preparation for the attack he knew was coming.
The tiny creature growled and from the corner of his eye, Dean saw it hop up and down a couple times before it charged him, eliciting a warrior's cry as it came.
Dean spun around and was shocked to see the miniature man, wobbling quickly across the room, looking strangely dangerous with his hands held up like claws and his bearded mouth snarling in anger. Dean snatched backwards behind him, coming up with a yellow flowered sheet from his bed. He flapped it open, holding it before him like a net and prepared himself for the impact from the creature's assault.
What he wasn't expecting was the strength and power behind the hit. Dean was knocked to the ground, fumbling for control over the little thing that was pounding on his upper body.
Even though he had it wrapped securely in the sheet, the creature did not give up on its attempt to get at Dean. It screamed and clawed and snarled wildly through the thin cotton, sinking a little fist into Dean's cheek and it's sharp teeth into Dean's forearm as Dean desperately tried to defend himself.
"Ow! You little son of a bitch! I'm gonna kick your little eighteen inch ass!"
But no sooner were the words out, than Dean was regretting them. The little monster had torn his way through the cotton and was scrambling up Dean's prone torso towards his face, its claw-like fingers scratching at his shoulders and neck.
It snatched and grabbed at Dean, finally catching hold of Dean's lower lip and using it for leverage. It pulled itself up and used its surprisingly hefty weight to pin Dean's shoulders down to the floor and turn his face to the side.
Dean thrashed and yelled out in pain when tiny little nails bit into the meat of his earlobe.
"SAMMY! "
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