(no subject)

[frostian]

Title: Sam I Am
Rating:PG-13 for language
Fandom(s): Supernatural
Pairing: None
Warnings: Spoilers for seasons 1 and 2
Disclaimer: I wish I created them. No such luck.
Summary: Sam eats a cursed candy bar while watching Fellowship of the Ring. Massive confusion as to the name Sam ensues. Dean also has to deal with an entire town gone homicidal.


Dean gave a tired grunt as he finally managed to fit Sam into the backseat of the Impala. Little brother wasn’t so little anymore, and boy was Dean going to remind him of that unforgivable fact as soon as Sam regained consciousness. Just for the hell of it he kicked Sam’s boots and got a grunt for his troubles. Feeling neither mollified nor satisfied he gave a stronger kick. This time Sam actually groaned and opened his eyes.

Dean’s glare grew sharper and deadlier. As soon as Sam could stand he was going to pummel him back to the ground, and maybe few feet deeper. It was all Sam’s fault. All of it. Okay, maybe not all of it, but enough to more than earn Dean’s wrath. He was the one who convinced Dean to go with him to see Fellowship of the Ring playing at a second run theater. Sam couldn’t believe Dean deliberately missed the movie during its first release until Dean pointedly told Sam why he was one of twelve people who skipped the phenomenon the first time around.

First off, elves were evil little fuckers. They had sharp teeth and wings that could cut skin like a razor blade. And their sense of humor left parents screaming in terror, as the friggin’ Fair Folk would switch little Susie or Stevie with a hunk of wood, then hold the kid hostage until they were appeased. As far as Dean was concerned all they were good for was target practice.

Second, even though Liv Tyler was a definite ten-plus in the eye candy department, she could make Melanie Griffith sound like Darth Vader. There was only so much Dean's ears could take before he surrendered to his better judgment and skedaddled out of the theater.

Thirdly, Sam convinced Dean to read the books when they were kids. After listening to Sam rave about the epic Dean was expecting Valhalla-worthy tale. Instead he got characters that burst into song and poetry, and did other things that made no friggin’ sense to Dean. It was as if Tolkien hit Andy’s bong once too often before he picked up his pen. Obviously Sam was out to get him, and, really, Dean should’ve known better. So, after seventy-odd pages he had chased Sam around the apartment, trying to dent his brother’s head with the books.

Sam, the miserable asshole, convinced Dean that in spite of these very reasonable doubts he should see the movies anyway. Dean knew Sam hated going to the theater alone so against his better judgment Dean agreed. Okay, Viggo Mortensen was cool, but that dude made Lucifer look cool so he fully expected Aragorn to be made of awesome. And Dean genuinely liked the Hobbits. He totally understood where they were coming from. Those guys knew what was important in life: food, family and fun. Elijah Wood was a little freaky with those doll eyes but still, the kid pulled off a hell of a performance and Dean was never one to begrudge praises, especially when the person worked his tail off to earn them.

That wouldn’t stop him from beating the crap out of the actor if he ever set eyes on Elijah Wood. As it was Dean was seriously contemplating tracking down “Frodo” and give the guy several good reasons to bawl his eyes out for real.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam groaned out loud as he vainly tried to crawl out of the car.

“I hate you. And I’m seriously contemplating fratricide right now. Consider that fair warning.”

“What? What did I do?”

“What did you do?!” Dean exploded, wildly painting the air with his hands. “You made me Samwise, you asshole!”

“What?” Sam asked weakly, rubbing his face.

“You made me the fat guy in the story!”

“Obviously you didn’t get it the first time: What?”

“Oh, that does it!” He snarled and dragged Sam out of the car. Dean violently manhandled his confused brother against the Impala until Sam was able to stand on his wobbly legs. Then he searched his pockets until he found a candy bar wrapper. He shoved it under Sam’s nose.

Sam looked down, then his eyes widened to comical proportions.

“Holy shit…”

“Yeah!” Dean roared. “You have some serious explaining to do, little brother. And if I were you, I'd start talking. Fast.”

Earlier that day

Dean mentally filed this investigation under the section titled 'total bust'. Even with Ash’s techno-wizardry both he and Sam agreed there was nothing supernatural going on in Springfield, Ohio, save for the fact that the entire town sported a hard fetish for corn. There was even a corn festival, complete with Corn Queen, which they mercifully missed by two weeks. Dean managed to get few good jokes off of the Corn Pageant before Sam bitchfaced him into silence.

Ash was prompt in his apology even though he was puzzled as to why Springfield lit up his laptop like a lighthouse in the middle of a Nor’easter. At first Dean was ready to leave the small town but Sam wanted to stay and spend Halloween in Springfield. Dean agreed. After all, they already scanned the area and nothing was brewing so they would have at least one quiet Halloween. There also was a Wal-Mart and a Target on the outskirts of the town. Dean figured after Halloween both stores would be slashing prices on the leftover candy, and he wanted to take full advantage of the sale. And though their room proudly displayed the town’s partiality towards its main crop, it was actually clean and the bathroom even cleaner - a rare treat for both men. So, Dean cheerfully dished out another $39.95 for the night.

Dean made plans to meet up with Sam later and left to hustle up some money at a local bar. And it was a bar, not a dive where the very air seemed to be a breeding ground worthy of a CDC raid. After winning nearly three hundred dollars Dean left the pool table. He actually liked the people he was scamming and didn’t want to risk leaving behind some very pissed off locals.

“I’ll have whiskey, your best, please.” A very polished voice ordered next to Dean as he chugged down the last of his beer.

The man’s accent made Dean curious enough to look. His companion was a thin man, dark, dressed in an outfit that made Dean mentally chuckle.

“I notice you play an excellent game of pool,” The stranger commented without turning his head.

“I like the game,” Dean responded cautiously.

“So do they,” The stranger said with a nod to the men Dean had challenged earlier. “Smart of you to leave them before they didn’t.”

Dean shrugged noncommittally. “What are you doing here? You’re not from these parts.”

“Sorry, my name is Ethan. I’m here as a favor for a friend, and taking some time off for myself. I needed to clear my head and figure out which direction my life was going.”

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Very well, actually. Must be all this fresh air. I worked in California for a while. That was hell, let me tell you.”

“California isn’t a favorite of mine either.” Dean agreed amiably. He finished his beer and paid the bartender. “Take care, Ethan.”

“What is your name, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Dean.”

“Nice to meet you, Dean. Hope you have a safe Halloween.”

“Thanks,” Dean said with a genuine smile. “Good luck with everything.”

Dean checked his watch as he left the bar. He had just enough time to pick up dinner before returning to the motel. Dean glanced back at the bar. He decided he actually liked this Ethan. Okay, so the dude’s taste in clothing needed some work. His outfit was what Dean suspected Ted Nugent would wear to a funeral but the guy pulled it off with class - something Nugent lacked by the metric ton. He hoped the guy’s plans actually panned out. He didn’t meet many strangers who were so polite to him from the get-go. Most of the time he had to play the alpha male to get any sort of respect, so it was refreshing to have a decent small talk with someone other than Sam.

Ethan finished his whiskey and ordered a second, promising himself it’ll be his last. The spell was draining his strength and he knew he would have to push himself to finish in time. He glanced at the door, wondering if Dean was going to stay in Springfield for the night. It was distressing, really. Though he’d just met the American, Ethan liked him. But it would be sadder if he did something so foolish as to convince Dean to leave before night fell.

After the debacle that was Sunnydale his reputation suffered massive blows, and now some of his old acquaintances were rumbling about their dissatisfaction with his work. Ethan knew he had precious little time left to change their minds before they decided to take action, which in all likelihood would end in his untimely and gruesome death.

So, he chose this small, humble town to pull off a spectacular stunt. His dealings with Sunnydale had taught him many things. In fact, the scheme involving the cursed candy was work of genius, especially given the small resources utilized to cause such wide-scale havoc. Ethan decided to repeat the process but this time with bloodier results. Smiling slightly he pulled out a ripped page from the TV Guide.

USA Network was running a Hannibal Lecter Marathon. TNT - an all-out Halloween orgy, beginning at six with the original movie starring Jamie Lee Curtis. And oh dear, Sci-Fi was doing its usual gruesome twosome with Eli Roth as their focus. That didn’t even begin to cover the heavier cable channels. He took a quick glance and saw Scream and its sequels. Then there was the Japanese horror movie fest being held by two independent channels.

Lovely.

Ethan decided to bring everything to head around nine. That left three hours, enough time for the carnage necessary to win back the good opinion he so desperately needed. And those he served would definitely be pleased with the bloodfest that was scheduled to go off in less than four hours. He also calculated the massacre would continue once those under his spell snapped out of it and realized what they had done.

Mass murder followed by mass suicide.

Hell was going to feed nicely tonight for a change.

Ethan whistled his way back to the only motel available in this pitiful excuse of civilization, stopping to admire the beautiful Impala parked behind the building. Honestly, whoever owned that car deserved to be knighted for taking such good care of it. He wondered if the owner would still be alive tomorrow, and if not he would gladly take over the ownership of such a fine vehicle. He slowly caressed the car, enjoying the feel of cool metal under his palm.

Lovely, indeed.

“No,” Dean said, not even bothering to look up from the newspaper he was lazily perusing.

“I didn’t say anything.” Sam quietly said.

His brother's serene attitude didn't fool Dean for a minute. “I can hear your brain from here. You’re about to ask me something. Something I don’t want to do or buy or whatever.”

“Oh, you know me so well.”

Dean’s right eyebrow rose but his gaze remained firmly planted on the newspaper spread out in front of him. Thank whoever they got cable because Halloween night offered up a buffet of horror movies of which he was a connoisseur. Then he heard his brother sigh again.

“Damn right I do, Dorkus. That’s your fourth sigh and that one was loud enough to wake Godzilla. That particular sigh means you want something, and you know I’m not going to be happy about it but you want it badly enough to ask me anyway.”

Sam’s lips tightened as he rolled his eyes. Without a word he returned his attention to his laptop. Three awkward minutes passed by before he barked,

“How do you know you won’t like it?!”

“Because I won’t.” Dean answered, finally affording a glance at his brother. “What the hell is it anyway?”

Sam narrowed his eyes, unconsciously signaling to Dean he was doing some heavy mental calculation. “There’s a movie I want to see.”

Dean snorted, “Skin Channel or are you going for the classic Playboy…”

“Fellowship of the Ring, actually.” Sam interrupted. “It’s playing downtown.”

“Dude, this town is so small downtown is uptown is skanktown.” Dean frowned then, “Wait a minute, isn’t that the Tolkien shit that hit the fan few years back?”

“You didn’t see it?” Sam asked, not bothering to mask his shock. “Holy cow, how did you manage that? For three years?”

“’Cause I hate that crap,” Dean snapped. “I remember wasting an entire weekend to find out how much the books sucked."

“They did not. You just don’t like books that don’t come with colored illustrations of half-naked women.”

“That would’ve helped. But man, no, no way am I paying good money to see bunch of men playing Dungeons and Dragons, waving around swords and wands and other foofy shit.”

“It has Liv Tylor.”

Dean shook his head. “I knew that the first time around…”

“And Cate Blanchett. As the most beautiful elf in the world.”

“That’s not exactly a stretch for her,” Dean said then scrunched his nose - a sure sign he was giving serious consideration. “She’s in it? Seriously?”

“How could you possibly not know that?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Watching bunch of people say hither, dither, pray tell, and break into song is hardly something I need in my line of work.”

Sam swerved his laptop until Dean saw the screen and the full-blown picture of Cate Blanchett in all her elven glory. Dean blinked once. Twice. That was all Sam needed to see. Just out of habit Dean put up a spirited argument on the drive to the theater but Sam was in too good a mood to be pulled into it. However, Dean’s cautious enthusiasm dimmed dramatically when they arrived at the theater to discover they were the only patrons. Sam patiently pointed out it was Halloween night so everyone else was either trick-or-treating or partying.

Dean got the popcorn, the largest size possible while Sam bought the drinks. He knew better than to buy one since Dean drank Coke like he drank coffee. The two settled down comfortably, something of a rare treat for Sam. He remembered when he went to see The Fellowship of the Ring. It was right before he left for Stanford. He desperately wanted Dean to come with him but his brother went on a solo hunt instead. Something he had been doing with increasing frequency. Even though Dean came back for Christmas Sam couldn’t shake off the bitter doubt that next year he probably wouldn’t even see Dean for the holidays.

How prophetic that suspicion was, though it was not any fault of Dean’s.

As The Fellowship of the Ring neared its end Dean tried to hide his sniffles. If his brother noticed Sam wisely kept silent. Since he hogged the popcorn, the movie was a friggin' epic, Dean suspected Sam might want to pick up something to eat before heading back to the motel. As if they were sharing a hive mind Sam dug out a candy bar from his jacket.

“Where’d you get that?” Dean whispered.

“Bought it from a girl I interviewed earlier,” Sam answered.

“Give me some!”

Sam shook his head, finished the chocolate bar as Frodo heaved Sam into his boat. Dean’s attention quickly slipped back to the Hobbits on screen so he didn’t see Sam’s eyes grow wide or a strong wind tussle his hair. The lights went on and Dean stood up to stretch his body. He turned to Sam, fully expecting his brother to bitch and moan about how cramped the movie seats were. Instead he found Sam staring at him in what could only be described as rapture.

“You okay, Sam?”

“Why are you calling me Sam?”

Dean suddenly froze. Since when did his brother speak in an English accent? He narrowed his eyes in annoyance. Sam was just messing with his head. And boy was it not funny. Sam’s sense of humor was always a bit of mystery to Dean and it wasn’t because Sam was a platinum card member of MENSA. It was because at his core Sam was a bona-fide one-hundred percent weirdo. Like all those bizarre facts he stored in that freaky brain of his and would pull out on occasion, stunning Dean into silence. And then there was his love of heirloom tomatoes and muesli.

“Sam, have you wasted another night at The Green Dragon?”

Dean could only blink as his answer. Something was seriously wrong here. Sam wasn’t screwing around. He had full-frontal dewy-eyed look, and Sam usually reserved that particular arsenal for recalcitrant witnesses or when Dean was dying. Since neither situation was present something else was triggering Sam to bring out the big guns.

“Sam?” Sam asked, “Are you unwell?”

“Why are you calling me Sam?” Dean unconsciously echoed Sam’s earlier question, half-dreading the answer.

“You have been heavy in your cups!” Sam said with a broad smile.

“I have heavy what?”

Sam stood up and looked around for a moment. In spite of the crappy lighting Dean saw Sam turn dismally pale.

“This is not the Shire.” Sam whispered. “Where are we, Sam?”

“Springfield,” Dean answered automatically. “Why are you calling me Sam?”

“Because you name is Samwise Gamgee.” Sam said, his voice nearing panic. “What has happened to us?!”

Dean quickly shut his mouth. He wanted nothing more than to freak out but since his younger brother was reaching the critical stage of hysteria Dean wisely decided to shove his emotions into a box and kick it into a corner until he had the time to deal with them later.

“We are resting … here, in Springfield,” Dean said cautiously.

Sam looked at him. “Why? I thought we were to make our way to Rivendell!”

The box exploded on Dean’s face. For a moment he just gaped at his brother. “Sam? What are you saying?”

“Gandalf told us to visit the Fair Folk to decide what course we must take. East to Rivendell and to the House of Elrond Halfelven. I already sold my home to the Sackville-Bagginses and convinced the others I was moving to Crickhollow so we could go about our business without raising suspicion.”

That wasn’t in the movie, Dean thought. He sighed and asked, “How are you feeling …” Dean paused for a moment before choking out, “Frodo?”

“Well as can be,” Sam answered weakly. “Though I do feel light about my head.”

Dean quickly scanned the theater. They were still alone, which meant whatever zapped Sam missed him either by accident or by design. And since Dean was the one who usually pissed off people it was likely he escaped only by luck. Dean cautiously eyed his brother, avoiding Sam’s worried stare. It wasn’t long before he saw the open candy bar wrapper in Sam’s grasp. He gently took it, straightened out the crumpled edges and read the writing. At first it looked innocuous but second glance revealed something more worrisome. There was writing on the inner foil. Dean only had rudimentary grasp of ancient languages but he knew enough to guess that what was written did not bode well for anyone who ate the candy.

“Frodo,” Dean said slowly, trying to get used to calling his 6’4” brother by his Hobbit name. Seriously, Merry could be standing on top of Pippin’s head and they’d still be unable to clear Sam’s chin. “Do you remember where you bought this?”

Sam shook his head, “No, not at all. Do you suspect that is why I am unwell?”

Dean nodded slowly but before he could speak the door to the theater burst open and two cops came rushing in with guns drawn. One had a nasty gash on his head and the other sported a jacket that looked like it went couple of rounds with Freddie Krueger. Sam gave a loud gasp and immediately ducked behind Dean’s smaller frame. It would have looked comical save for the fact the cops looked even more spooked than Sam.

“What’s wrong, officers?” Dean asked calmly, hoping he sounded reasonable enough not to be ventilated by Springfield’s finest.

“Whatever you do, stay in here!” The cop with the head wound barked. “The entire town’s gone fucking crazy!”

“Crazy?”

“People have gone nuts!” The cop with half a jacket explained. “I swear if I didn’t know any better I’d say someone dropped a ton of LSD into the local drinking water.”

Dean’s eyes widened as he immediately made the connection. “Officers, do either of you recognize this candy bar?”

The wounded cop looked dumbly at Dean. “We just ducked a maniac running down Alder Street with a chainsaw and you want to know about a chocolate bar?”

His partner answered, “That was for a fund raiser for the school gym.”

“What-ever-the-fuck!” The cop barked. “Just stay here, understood?! We’re calling for backup from every county nearby.”

Dean gave a quick and stoic nod and stood still as the two men left the theater.

A very large growling noise came from behind him and Dean turned to see Sam rub his stomach. “I missed supper.” Sam said plaintively. “Maybe that is why I am unwell. Do you think we could find some food quickly?”

This was the first time Sam ever mentioned he was hungry. In fact Dean was beginning to suspect his brother existed on caffeine, the odd sandwich on occasion, and if he was about to keel over from starvation - a hamburger or two.

“Sa … Frodo, you heard the big people. They said it’s too dangerous out there.”

Sam’s face crumpled in utter disappointment. Dean’s Pavlovian response was immediate. “Let’s see if there’s something at the concession stand.”

Sam smiled eagerly but stood still. Dean realized Sam hadn’t a clue what a concession stand was, much less where it was located. With Sam following docilely behind him Dean took a cautious peek around the lobby. It was still lit but there was no one to be seen. Dean took Sam by the elbow and slowly made their way to the concession stand. He was pulling out various candy boxes when he heard Sam shriek on top of his lungs. Dean jerked to stand but ended up banging his head violently on the display case. Cursing loudly he looked towards the direction of Sam’s gaze.

“Well, fuck.”

Sam turned to him, his eyes almost perfectly round. “Sam! What did…”

He never got to finish his tirade. Dean shoved Sam behind the counter and grabbed the salt shakers standing next to the napkin holders. The concession stand girl was standing not ten feet from them but she resembled nothing like the friendly teenager who gave them their food with a cheerful hello and good-bye. No, this thing looked like the freaky murderous bitch from Ringu, a Japanese movie that kept Dean up ‘til the wee hours for almost a week. And just like that vengeful spirit this girl was flickering in and out of his vision, walking in a crooked way that warned Dean her spine was broken.

He popped the stoppers from the salt shakers and threw the contents at the girl. She froze for a moment as salt rained down on her straggly hair and wet clothes, then she sneezed. Loudly and wetly.

Dean frowned. He wasn’t expecting that particular reaction. More like screaming, hissing, and maybe some pyrotechnics. Beggars can’t be choosers, the more practical side of his brain hissed at him. Dean didn’t hesitate to grab Sam by his jacket and make a quick run out the front door as the girl kept sneezing, her head violently ricocheting back and forth.

Dean had to slow down his pace as his brother ran with Hobbit speed, which was to say a dying aardvark with three legs could overtake Sam. They reached the corner, turned left and came to a halt. Dean felt Sam once again shrink behind him. Frankly, Dean was getting tired of cowardly Sam. He wanted the old Sam. The one who’d bitch nonstop but stood his ground as they faced the terror-of-the-week.

“Sam…” Sam whispered in a trembling voice.

“Yeah, I know.” Dean sharply retorted then pointed to the group making their way down the street. “By the way, zombies.”

Lots and lots of zombies.

All coming down Alder Street, and oh hey, there was the psycho with the chainsaw, just like the cops said. And maybe Dean was thinking the wrong film. After all there were more than a few movies that touted killers with maniacal love of yard tools, but Dean was almost one-hundred percent sure it was Leatherface doing the boogie not fifty feet from them.

That was all the encouragement Dean needed to grab Sam and do a complete 180. This time his brother had no problem keeping up with Dean as they ran away from the shuffling mass of freshly-risen dead.

Dean spotted the Impala and got in the car. He started the engine and was about to peel away from the curb when he realized Sam wasn’t in the passenger seat. He got out, ran to the passenger side, slammed open the door and shoved Sam, who was staring dumbly at the approaching mob of zombies, into the car before returning to the driver’s seat.

“Mordor has risen,” Sam whispered dramatically. He turned to Dean, “Oh, Sam, what shall we do?”

Dean had forgotten his brother had stapled him with the identity of the gardener and didn’t answer. Instead, he was mentally checking off the arsenal in the trunk and wondered what other nightmares waited for them.

Sam grabbed Dean by the lapel of his jacket and shouted directly into Dean’s right ear, “Sam! Have you not heard…”

The car fishtailed and nearly plowed into a mailbox. Dean bellowed in shock as he slammed on the brakes. He slapped back Sam’s hands and shouted, “Mordor can kiss my freckly ass! If you do that again I’ll smack you all the way to Gondor, and make you sing Happy Trails while I’m at it!”

The dewy look returned, but this time it was accompanied by waterworks. Dean sighed and slammed his head against the steering wheel. He never hated Halloween. In fact, between the free candy and the all-night horror movie marathon Halloween ranked pretty high on his cool-o-meter. That was until Peter Jackson and company ruined it for him. Dean made a mental note that next time they came across a cursed object, he would Fed-ex it to a museum in New Zealand with a note saying it was a gift from an anonymous donor.

Then sit back and enjoy the mayhem from the safety and comfort of another cheap, cockroach-infested motel in good old U.S. of A..

Viggo was still cool. He was dead man walking, of course. But cool.

Dean turned to calm Sam down to see his brother look at him with terrified gaze. In fact the younger Winchester actually looked frightened enough to cough up a kidney if Dean asked for it.

Dean wanted the dewy look back.

“Sam,” Sam whispered hesitantly and pointed out of the driver’s side window. “I see another Hobbit.”

Dean turned to look and sure enough there was a small figure curled up against a lamppost. Though unlike his brother Dean suspected it was a girl and not some hairy-footed creature. And fictional. Let’s not forget fictional.

As they approached the crying figure something in Dean’s gut started to roll. The crying sounded guttural, not sweet or even shrill as a little girl would sound. And Dean had heard little children cry only too often in his long and varied career as a hunter. His brother, however, began trotting towards the red-hooded figure. Dean’s pace slowed. She wasn’t wearing a hood but a red trench coat with a matching scarf wrapped around her head.

It was the outfit that jarred a long-forgotten nightmare free. It wasn’t a little girl dressed like Red Riding Hood. Oh, hell no. It was the shriveled dwarf from that weird-ass movie with Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland. The only reason Dean watched it was because Todd Macken from American History class told him it had hot sex. His friend wasn’t lying about the hot sex but the rest of the movie made that part trivial. And the trauma it caused lasted for years.

“Don’t go near her!” Dean shouted, running after his brother.

Sam turned around to Dean, his mouth open to protest when the dwarf stood up, surprisingly nimble considering how old she was. Sam saw the red coat swirl from the corner of his eye and barely managed to avoid the butcher blade aimed at his achilles. The move however made him pivot awkwardly on his left foot and Sam went sprawling on the ground. Dean ran faster, knowing all the while he wouldn’t be fast enough.

Sam looked at the wizened face with open horror and Dean feared that he was frozen with shock. But when the dwarf raised the knife Sam immediately reacted. Though he might believe himself to be a creature not more than three feet some odd inches, he was in reality still well over six feet with two-hundred-plus pounds at his disposal. Add to that equation his training, and Sam was a walking arsenal. His kick landed squarely on the attacker’s face and Dean heard the satisfying crunch of broken bones as the dwarf’s head snapped back.

Sam almost outpaced his brother as they ran back to the Impala.

As soon as they got to the motel Dean began packing, haphazardly shoving their belongings into bags. He couldn’t do a proper hunt with Sam in his current state. His brother might as well be in a hospital for all the help he could to give.

“Sam, where shall we go?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Just not here.” Dean answered roughly.

“But what if the evil that is happening here has spread?”

Dean grimaced. Leave it to his brother to ruin a perfectly solid plan. He collapsed on a chair and softly whispered, “Well, shit.”

That earned another round-eyed look from Sam. Dean smiled a little in spite of the horrific situation they were in. His eyes wondered around the room, while his mind calculated a plan that wouldn’t leave Sam thinking he was a Hobbit for the rest of his existence. It was only then Dean suddenly realized what was so wrong with the entire night, barring the horrors currently shambling in Springfield.

They weren’t what Dean would classify as a usual hunt material. Sure he faced zombies but every character they met was something out of a movie, not dad’s journal. Dean’s mouth suddenly dropped open.

It couldn’t be, he thought as he scrambled to the television section of the newspaper. It was. There in plain print was Ringu, Dawn of the Dead, the Remake, and Don’t Look Now featuring that freaky dwarf slasher. He didn’t have to scan the page further to know Texas Chainsaw Massacre was listed also.

This was magic, not a convergence of evil supernatural creatures. Dean called Bobby, praying his friend would hold tradition of keeping watch over his junkyard in order to discourage pranksters. His hope wasn’t wasted.

Dean didn’t even allow Bobby to spit out a greeting. He quickly summarized their adventure.

“Ya know, this sounds awfully familiar.” Bobby said, “Let me check something.”

Dean closed his eyes and prayed harder.

“I found it,” Bobby said, “Happened in a small town in California called Sunnydale. Nasty place - a big hole of evil. Now it's just a big hole. Anyway, the magician responsible for the mayhem is called Ethan Rayne.”

Dean was overwhelmed with a sudden desire to smash the cell repeatedly against his skull but common sense prevailed.

“Let me guess, he’s from England, right?”

“How’d you … Jesus, you met the bastard?”

“Yeah, I did. Goddamn it! I could’ve stopped this!”

“Listen to me, this guy’s real bad news. We’re talking chaos, death, mayhem and that’s when he’s in a good mood. He went to ground few years ago but I’m guessing he’s back.”

“Could you tell me why he’s doing this?”

“Because he can, Dean. The man’s just evil. If you have no choice, don’t hesitate to take him out ‘cause wherever he ends up people die.”

“Got it. Could you clue me in as to how to find this guy?”

“Considering how much power he needs he's got to be putting out enough energy for your EMF to pick up quick. Now, listen - when you interrupt someone while they’re casting a spell you have to be extremely careful. What’s happening at Springfield will stop once the spell is broken but while a spell is being woven it’s brittle, so just one wrong nudge can make it go haywire.”

“How much?”

“It may not be reversible.”

“Great, that’s just great. Okay, so we find Ethan, we can either ventilate him or knock him out. Which one would you prefer?”

“I’d prefer him alive. I have few friends who want couple of rounds with him, and they deserve it. Trust me.”

“Sold,” Dean warily watched Sam as he flipped through their father’s journal. Sam’s hands were actually trembling. “Sorry, Bobby, gotta go. I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

Dean hung up and snatched the book from Sam’s weak hold.

“Sam, why do you have such dark work in your possession?”

“Ummm … it was entrusted to me. I cannot leave it.” Dean answered slowly, trying to mimic Sam’s speech pattern. From the suspicious look dawning on his brother’s face Dean realized he was crapping out at light speed.

Hoping to stop his brother from asking any more questions Dean dug up his EMF meter and turned it on. It screamed so loud Dean nearly dropped it. Sam’s response was complete Frodo-esque. Eyes flaring wide, mouth dropping open and the entire 6’4” frame ready to bolt behind a dresser that real Frodo couldn’t use as a proper cover.

“Sam … Frodo, stay in the bathroom and don't do anything until I come back.” Dean said, but before he could take a single step the door to the room began splintering as something or someone from the hallway was trying madly to get in. An unkempt face with wild, rolling eyes suddenly appeared between the cracks.

"Here's Jo..."

Dean smashed the butt of his shotgun right at the madman's head. "Those twins were way scarier than you, you stupid son of a bitch!" He holllered on top of his lungs. "And how the fuck could you drink like that when you had a sick son to take care of?!"

The man was unable to answer as Dean's well-placed blow had incapacitated him. Whoever said violence wasn't therapeutic was full of shit, Dean thought with a smirk as he stepped over the unconscious figure. He glanced back to find Sam had already fled to the bathroom. With a sigh of relief Dean cautiously began roaming the hall. It was in front of room 147 that the machine short circuited. Dean quietly placed it beside the door and armed himself. He took a deep sniff. The smell was unmistakable. Incense, candles and various herbs. There was also the a strong underlying sweet scent of decay.

Dean took a deep breath and kicked the door in. The surprise look on Ethan’s face was immensely satisfying, but, before Dean could vocally express his displeasure, pain ripped open his spine. He collapsed to his side and watched helplessly as a stampede of combat boots rushed by. There was a scuffle but he couldn’t care less as he slid into unconsciousness.

Dean slowly rose into a crouching position, feebly fighting off nausea as he raised his head. Ethan’s room was clean. He could even smell bleach. It took Dean some time to gather himself before checking out what he suspected. Someone, or a lot of someone, came from behind, incapacitated him and snatched Rayne. Dean wanted to curse them but he was way too tired to make a proper show of it.

He suddenly remembered he left Sam behind and rushed back to their room. Sam was collapsed on the floor as well. Dean quickly checked for vitals. Everything was steady. He didn’t need any further encouragement to get the hell out of town.

Sam gave another surreptitious glance at Dean. It’s been three long, tiring days since Springfield and Dean hasn’t said a peep about the debacle. Sam expected non-stop teasing about how similar his hair was to Frodo’s, not to mention their emo state, and how all that made them soul mates.

Anything.

But all he received was dead, uncomfortable silence with Dean totally avoiding making eye contact with him. Sam should be grateful for the reprieve but the truth was he was going batshit insane. He watched as Dean sopped up the remaining gravy on his plate with a fry. Before his brother could make an escape Sam used his leg to block Dean’s escape from the booth.

“Dude, what the hell?” Dean asked.

“Finally it speaks,” Sam said. “Why aren’t we talking about what happened in Springfield? You know - actually discuss the case?”

“What’s there to discuss? Evil sorcerer puts the whammy on a town and gets scooped up by some badass people who I hope are teaching him the meaning of the word ‘regret’. We were pretty much bystanders in the entire thing. We should be grateful we got out alive. Me especially. If that taser had been one inch to the left I’d be dead.”

“Is that why you’re so messed up about it?”

“I’m not messed up! If anyone deserves a strait jacket, it should be you. You were the one running around screaming like a little girl. Sorry, little Hobbit.” Dean gave a snort. “That was a bit redundant, yeah?”

“Really?” Sam said sarcastically. “Because I swear you’re more freaked out about this than Burkitsville.”

Dean gave a dramatic shiver. “Dude, bite your tongue. That scarecrow was way freakier than old Leatherface.”

“So you suddenly turned into epitome of discretion because I was a Hobbit?”

Dean rolled his eyes then sighed. Sam wasn’t going to let this topic go and Dean was finally understanding that.

“Sam," Dean paused for a moment. "Sam and Frodo nearly die at the end. I read the ending of Return of the King. How messed up was Tolkien to torture those kids like that?”

Sam wouldn’t have accepted his brother’s explanation even it came encrusted in rubies. “Jesus, Dean. I've lost count on how many times you cheated death. That can’t be what’s bothering you.”

Dean fiddled with his beer bottle before blurting out, “Are they like that in the book?”

“What?”

“Sam and Frodo. They were pretty touchy feely in the movie. In fact, I'd say they were married to each other. So…”

“You’re insane.”

“No I’m not. You asked; I’m talking. So are they all over each other in the book ‘cause I gotta tell you…”

“Shut up, Dean.”

“Exactly my point. Now let me go ‘cause I gotta take a leak.”

Sam watched Dean enter the bathroom and muttered to himself about oversexed brothers. Hopefully he'll take his sweet time in there because Sam's blush would take at least few minutes to completely fade away.

The End

Author’s Notes:

Why didn’t Sam turn into a full Hobbit?

Weaving a spell is difficult work. It’s like singing a nation anthem of a country you have never heard of while there’s a German Oom-pah band playing 'God Save the Queen' right next to you. Though Ethan Rayne is a talented sorcerer he couldn’t have predicted someone like Sam with his demon blood in the mix. So the whammy hit Sam but not full scale.

Written for the Halloween Challenge at spn_halloween, prompt #103: Has anyone ever seen the episode of Buffy season 3, entitled Band Candy, when the school hands out candy that turns the parents into acting like their teenaged selves? What if something like that happened, except there's a set of different ideas that can be used for the results of Mysterious Candy, like: Switches bodies with whoever they eat the candy with; turn into raving possessed person with an appetite for blood; change personalities completely depend on candy wrapper; start bursting into random songs all over the place, original or covers; think they're a comic book hero but have no extra powers, etc.