Well, folks, I know it's been a hell of a long time but I'm determined to finish this. A lot of things have been keeping me busy, but it's finally dwindling down. To recap from the last chapter, Dean brought Sam to Bobby's and John was there to greet them. Happy reading!

He remembered everything about that night. The Fire, the smell of burning brick, the cries of his son as she burned on the ceiling and he lay trapped below her. John wished he would stop seeing her everywhere he traveled. He wished that the memory would stop haunting him at night, and more than anything, he ached for the woman he loved to be with him again, with their boys again, happy.

He chalked that up to the list of regrets that had filled his life, closed his eyes for just a moment, and tried to drown out those thoughts. His boys were with him now, they were alive, and as far as he was concerned, his mission to destroy the evil that had tore his family apart could wait; the time would come soon.

"Dad, you going to finish those eggs?"

Right now, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

John pushed his untouched plate toward his oldest, waving away the sensation of hunger from years of trained experience in the military as he continued to babble on about the Impala something or another. He avoided Bobby's questioning gaze, and directed his eyes on Sam, who was perched precariously on a stack of books that littered the kitchen floor, nose deep in what looked to be an ancient tome from the Celtic days. He looked smaller than John remembered, years ago, and his heart ached for all those times he left the boys alone while he was off on a hunt. His children. If Mary had known what became of them after her death, she would be heartbroken.

"Hey, earth to dad, have you been listening to anything I've been saying?"

John suddenly looked up to meet the eyes of his oldest son. Both he and Bobby had been asking him questions since the start of the morning and he had neither been attentive nor aware of the conversation.

"What?" he asked.

Dean rolled his eyes through a mouthful of scrambled egg and motioned to one of the texts spread open on the kitchen table, a hazy image of some decrepit symbol straight out of a horror movie visible on the page. "I was talking about this bean-sithe-he symbol that Sam dug up from Bobby's library. Do you think it's worth looking into?"

"Ben-sidhe," Sam chimed from the floor, smirking.

"Thank you for the correction, geek boy," Dean announced, bits of egg flying from his mouth in the process.

"You're disgusting."

"And you're a girl."

John tried to hide the smile that was threatening to break across his face. How he'd missed the banter between his boys. Instead, he slid the offending page where his plate once resided and examined its contents. It was lore on what the Celtics believed to be a ben-sidhe, or a popular reference: banshee, a woman of the fairy in Ireland.

Dean began to read from the page, ignoring the chagrined looks from his little brother as he purposely butchered the names of the banshee and ancient Celts.

"It sounds like a good fit for what's happened. It's just odd though," said Bobby, reaching for his mug of coffee.

"What's odd about it, besides the fact that we are reading up on monster lore?" asked Dean.

"Monsters are monsters. Doesn't matter who the audience is. It's just strange that they'd be shacked up with one another. Never heard of a shtriga partnering up with a banshee before."

"Yeah, well, shtrigas feed off the lives of kids. They don't kidnap and keep them locked up in abandoned motels like something out of a B-rated thriller," Dean countered, a tinge of bitterness laced in his words. "Besides, I Swayze'd that mother. You'd think Sam would be back to his normal gargantuan self if it really was the shtriga's doing."

"Not necessarily," John spoke, and every eye turned toward him. "Shtriga's are dark creatures that possess powers akin to witches and warlocks. They can disguise themselves as anything. Let's say this one can regress adults into children…that magic might not die when it's source does."

An air of unease settled throughout the kitchen as the men processed that thought. Sam remained silent, staring solemnly at his tome. He couldn't imagine being trapped in the tiny body for the rest of his life. He would not get to hunt anymore, hell, he wouldn't even get that normal life he'd always wanted. He would never get to avenge Jessica, his mother, anyone. A pang of guilt settled in his chest at the thought of her. He had caused her death, and now he would never get to make it up to her.

"If we're talking dark magic here, I might know a friend that could give us a little more help, and maybe the next step in solving this problem," Bobby mused, breaking Sam out of his sad stupor. He reached for one of his many landlines next to the kitchen counter. "His name's Rufus. I think you might have been well acquainted with him, John. Hopefully, he's still open to talkin'. We didn't exactly end on the best terms..."

"That seems to be a similar trend with you, Singer," John said, a slight smirk crowning his features, eerily similar to Sam's when he knew he was right about something.

"Watch it, Winchester."

XX-XXX

Dean sorted through the various files in Bobby's endless collection of books and articles on the supernatural, trying to find any information on a spell that could reverse his literally "little" brother's situation. He couldn't stand to see the kid look so miserable anymore, and decided to spend his time trying to help research for a possible cure. John and Bobby had gone out to visit Rufus after a brief confrontation over the phone that resulted in cursing, more cursing, gruff laughter and finally awkward apologies. He wasn't sure if this Rufus guy knew anything about dark magic, or monsters for that point, but any friend of Bobby's couldn't be all bad.

Even if most of them are on the up side of crazy.

Left to his thoughts, Dean was drawn back to the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach that had started before they'd even arrived at Singer Salvage. While he was glad to see his father again, it still puzzled him as to why the man had chosen to show up here, and now, after all of the times they had called for him before. After all the times we needed help on a hunt. After Kansas. When I was dying..

Dean tried not to let those thoughts get to him, but he still couldn't help but feel a little betrayed that his dad hadn't even called to check on them after Sam had called. Whatever it was that was leading John back to them, must be big.

The sound of Rumsfield's barking broke him free from anymore negative thoughts. Thinking that the two stubborn hunters had returned, Dean quickly grabbed a few texts and headed back into the living room.

"Sam, I think I'm going to need glasses by the time I'm done reading this shit. How did you ever get through two semesters of college?" Dean jibed, expecting to be greeted with indignant eyes and an exasperated huff.

The room was vacant of any occupants, aside from the cacophony of books scattered about the floor, his brother's tome from earlier still resting, opened, where he had left it. Rumsfield was barking madly now, and Dean set his findings on the couch next to a worn, wool blanket and peeked his head into the kitchen to investigate, expecting to find at least his father or Bobby walking through the back door. Once he saw the room to be empty, he sauntered over to the door and precariously peered through the curtains to spy on whoever was outside.

After not seeing a soul outside, Dean decided to get back to the research. He was tempted to find his brother, but figured he would give the poor kid some time alone.

Thirty minutes of uninterrupted reading later, and the elder Winchester was ready to throw the volumes in the fireplace, seeming to get nowhere with this newfound, unhelpful knowledge. He was a hunter after all; research was not his forte. A buzzing in his jacket pocket brought him the relief he needed.

He answered with an appreciative hello, and was instantly taken aback by the feeble, shy voice.

"Dude, what's up, the stairs getting to be too much for you? Mr. Healthy is always preaching about exercise," Dean said, sarcasm evident in his tone.

His brother sounded nervous, almost on the verge of hesitant, and Dean half wondered if this whole situation was starting to become more of a problem than he could handle.

"Dean, I…um, might need you…to come pick me up," Sam responded, sounding more anxious than anything. The tone was starting to worry the older brother, but it was masked by confusion.

"Um, ok, did you have a bad dream…" Dean stated, suddenly feeling awkward. His brother loved to talk and express his emotions whenever he was feeling down, but it always made Dean uncomfortable to talk about matters of the heart.

"What, no? Nothing like that. Wait, what?"

"Nothing. Forget it," Dean quickly stated, a wave of relief washing over him. "What's up?"

Sam, again, sounded hesitant in his answer. "Well, it's kind of a long story.."

Dean found himself annoyed that his brother had taken off again, but this time, he was feeling slightly uneasy about his destination. How could his brother be so smart, but such a giant idiot at the same time?

The South Dakota Public Library was only a few miles away from Singer Salvage, and somehow, his stubborn little brother thought it would be a great idea to walk to it, alone and weaponless, without letting a soul know of his plan. Sure, he couldn't fault the kid for being determined to want to find anything that could help the current situation, but that was just it. Physically, he was just a kid. Anyone could so easily snatch him and take him away to a house of horrors like the Bender's -he shuddered having to relive that memory- or worse off, get hit by some jackass who wasn't paying attention to the road.

Dean, although angry, had to give his brother credit. The kid had walked a long way to get what he had been looking for, successfully locating the library with directions scrawled out on paper from Bobby's desk drawer, and managing to persuade one of the ample looking librarians to let him use the printer "all by himself." The kid could be persistent when he wanted to.

"You just excel at this whole disappearing thing, huh?" Dean greeted a somewhat-nervous looking Sam. He was sitting outside the steps of the library, clutching a few distorted papers in one hand and a bottle of water in the next, probably given to him by one of the adoring librarians, looking young and out of place amid the long staircase.

"Dean, I think I found something that can help…"

"I would hope so. Why didn't you ask me to take you, dude?" Dean questioned, trying hard to conceal the anger in his tone. He knew his brother always had an independent streak and preferred to do things on his own, but there was no reason Dean would have objected to a trip to the library for Sam's sake.

Sam frowned, all traces of nervousness gone. "Does it matter? Look, this is important, Dean, let's just get back to Bobby's. I have to see if this works!"

Dean raised his eyebrows slightly, but agreed. "Fine. What is it?"

The car ride back to Bobby's was filled with a tense silence. Sam had tried to convince his brother that he had come across a reversal spell that would uplift any curse at the expense of the cursed and that it only required a select few items from an occult shop or online, and it sounded legitimate until he learned of the source.

"The freaking Necronomicon, Sam? Come on! You know as well as I do that shit is all evil and dark magic. Not gonna happen, man," Dean reiterated, shocked that his pure no-nonsense brother would even consider that option. "I want you back to normal too, but not in pieces."

Sam stared back at him, incredulous. "What, do you think I just picked out the first page that I saw online? I researched this thoroughly, and I do know as well as you that dark magic can be wicked, if not handled properly," he stated, holding the printed pages up in recognition, "we have the incantation and instruction manual all right here, along with step by step and careful do's and don'ts of the spell. If you would just listen to what I have here, Dean, this could work! And then we can spend some time trying to figure out what did this to me, ok?"

Dean, by this time, had heard enough about dark spells and pulled the Impala back into his usual spot at Singer Salvage. He faced his brother, expression hard.

"No. I don't like it. Not gonna happen."

"Dean, this could be our only chance- "

" -No."

"Just consider- "

" -No."

"What if I can prove- "

"NO."

Dean slammed the door shut just to drive his point home, and stalked back to the house, leaving a very dismayed looking Sam in the process.

XX-XX

"It's called a Kipora. Like a distant cousin to the shtriga, except a hell of a lot nastier and not as easily deceived. Didn't come to mind until Rufus told us what he found last November," Bobby said through the muffled speaker of Dean Winchester's cell phone.

The hunters had visited Rufus Turner, one of Bobby's old hunting buddies that he had helped out in the past on several occasions, and had found himself on the wrong end of the law with the last few years. He helped the men sort through a list of supernatural beings with dark powers that could have been responsible for Sam's regression the last couple of hours, and had even come up with a name that matched the lore. Dean was grateful to hear this, wanting to deliver some shred of hope to his little brother, who had spent the rest of the night in the backyard, probably trying to clear his foul mood over the brother's latest spat.

"Well whatever this thing is, it's going to be dead soon," Dean responded, cleaning the tip of his .45 revolver with one of the used dishrags on the kitchen counter. He had most of the arsenal laid out on the kitchen table, along with polishing juice, cleaning rods and extra ammunition that he had found in Bobby's garage. Surely, the old timer wouldn't mind if he borrowed it for the week.

"Yeah, yeah, we'll get to that, soon. John brought up a good point, son. We have to locate our monster first."

Dean set the revolver down. "Well, where can we start? If it means traveling back to Fitchburg in that crappy ass motel, I doubt it will have stayed in the same place too long."

This time, it was John who responded.

"Dean, we've got that part handled. I need you to stay with Sam until we get back. Bobby and I are going to track down the Kipora. For all we know, it could have moved on, but I need you to watch- "

" -out for Sam until you get back. I got it, dad. I do, but you know he's not going to be happy that he's left out of the action. I get to deal with his bitchy mood for the next few days," Dean said, sighing. He didn't mention anything about the Necronomicon pages from the internet to either hunter, not wanting another confrontation with his brother.

"Thanks, son," John replied. "Alright, you know what to do. Be careful."

The line went dead, and Dean snapped the phone shut. "You too."

The television illuminated Dean's face in the darkness as he sprawled out on the couch next to the study. Some rendition of How the West was Won was airing next, and he was always a fan of John Wayne movies. He settled into the old wool blanket, nursing a beer and planning to relax before the night truly ended.

Sam was still outside, even though it was getting late. Dean fought the urge to drag the kid inside and force him to sleep, God knows he hadn't been getting any lately, but had to keep reminding himself that he was not the four year old that he looked, and that 9:30 was a reasonable time for someone Sam's real age to be spending outdoors. Besides, Bobby's good old guard dog, Rumsfield, was outside with him, and he would alert the hunter to any late night intruders.

About an hour or two into the movie and the elder Winchester was out, beer teetering precariously close to the edge of the couch along the wool blanket.

The back door of the kitchen leading to the Salvage Yard opened, and Sam walked in, shivering from the chill of the night air. He had gone on a walk to clear his head, and was ready to warm himself up after the temperature had dropped.

He rubbed his arms together, trying to get the blood circulating once again, and stepped into the next room to grab one of Bobby's cozy blankets. He paused, spotting Dean's sleeping form on the couch.

"Hey, Dean," he prodded, tugging lightly at his arm.

The older hunter stirred slightly and nestled deeper into the blankets, effectively spilling the rest of his beer onto the floor below. Sam huffed in irritation.

He cleaned the mess up with a dirty towel that had hung just out of his reach in the kitchen. It took longer than normal, and left the younger Winchester feeling even more useless than before. No longer cold, Sam found that it had been a while since he had eaten, and ventured into the kitchen once again at the loud protests of his stomach.

He knew Bobby had peanut butter and bananas, but the trouble was finding where they would be. He spotted the bananas first, hanging on the fruit hook above the kitchen sink, of course. That was his luck. Another object of his desire that was "just out of reach". Sam pulled one of Bobby's wooden chairs across the room, panting, because the piece of furniture was heavier than it had appeared, but managed to drag it far enough out. Hefting himself up in frustration, he stood on tip-toe as his fingers just barely grazed the bottom of one of the peels.

He jumped up, grabbing for one banana, and barely missed the last in the bunch. His stomach grumbled once again, and he wasn't ready to give up yet. He looked around, determined, and spotted the tome he'd been reading earlier still lying on the floor. With exuberance, he quickly covered the length of the room and scooped the large book with both hands into his chest. He heaved the book and himself up on the chair once again and stood on them both. Success.

Sam had received one of his desired objects, but had expended a lot of his energy. He still needed the peanut butter, along with bread and a knife.

The knife and bread had been easy to get, but with forlorn hopelessness, he spotted the peanut butter on a top cabinet along the fridge. He quickly realized that even with the help of the chair and book, he would not be able to reach it on his own.

To the point of tears from his fruitless efforts, Sam gave up.

He peeled the banana back and slowly bit off a chunk, numbly chewing it as he cursed whatever hell spawn had done this to him.

Through watery eyes, he peered over at the kitchen table and saw his collection of papers from the library, crumpled up, probably going to be tossed in the trash. He glanced side long into the living room at his brother's sleeping form, before making a decision.

XX-XX

The television exploded with the sound of gunfire as the rowdy posse cowered away from the sheriff.

Dean stirred.

Another bang had the older hunter stretching, trying to work all the kinks out of his back from sleeping at an awkward angle. He yawned, eying the the wall clock that read 11:47. With a final stretch, he tossed the blankets aside and headed into the kitchen, intent on checking that the doors were locked. With a groan, his foot collided with the heel of the chair that was placed next to the fridge. "Fuck," he swore under his breath, rubbing the ends of his toes.

Once everything was back where it was, he headed up the steps to the spare bedroom that he and Sam shared since their dad had introduced the boys to Bobby some 20 years ago. He softened his steps, not wanting to wake his brother, if the kid was asleep. Just as he rounded the corner, Dean thought he heard soft mumbling coming from the adjacent side of the hallway. It was dark in the old house, and the only light guiding him to the bedroom was his cellphone.

As he neared the bedroom, Dean heard the murmurs again, this time a little louder in pitch.

Curious, he peered over to the opposite door, which was open a crack, and squinted through the dim light that flooded out into the hallway. He crept closer to the wall, wondering who his brother could be talking to, if it was his brother, that is. Alert, Dean reached back into jean pocket and retrieved his knife, inching closer to the door.

Once he was near enough, Dean peeked through the crack of the open door, bringing the weapon nearer to his side. He saw a towel spread out on the bathroom floor, Sam with his back to the door, and a mat of sorts with black symbols scrawled in various places. Small wax candles lined the outside of the mat. He could hear the murmurs and quickly realized that Sam was reciting some kind of incantation in Latin, and black smoke was starting to rise from the candle.

"Fuck," he cursed, loudly, before kicking the door open. "SAM, STOP!"

Startled, Sam immediately stopped the chanting, knocking over his candle in the process. The mat quickly caught fire and began to burn, but Dean was already pouring water over it and stomping it out with the discarded towel. He turned to face his little brother, eyes wild with panic. He grabbed his little brother, squeezing him tightly to his chest before checking him over for injuries.

"Dean, please..." Sam mumbled, fear starting to crawl over him at the formidable gaze that had graced Dean's face once the panic subsided.

"What the hell were you thinking, SAM!" Dean seethed, furious. His hands were shaking, sending violent tremors down his brother's shoulders as he still had a firm grip on him. The frenzied glint in his eyes was nothing short of ire, and it burned throughout his face. It was the Dean Winchester fury that appeared when hunting down only the filthiest of beasts. Sam felt his throat constrict; he had never been on the receiving end of that rage. He wanted his brother to know how much he was struggling with this.

"I was almost done, Dean, it could've work- "

Dean stopped him with a sharp swat to his backside, before turning him over so that he was facing Sam. "Go to bed."

"D- "

"NOW."

Sam stalked out of the bathroom and back to the bedroom, infuriated that his older brother had stopped what could have been the solution to his problem. He wiped the tears from his eyes, resenting that Dean felt the need to discipline him now that he could overpower him. That needed to end, Sam thought, envying the days of long legs. He climbed onto the bed just as Dean entered their room. The 26 year old seemed calmer than before, but there was still a hint of vehemence in his features.

"Where are they, Sam?" he asked, softly, arms folded over his chest.

"I don't know," Sam lied, and even he didn't believe those words. He felt his face burn, and refused to meet the emerald eyes. He just couldn't let his brother take away his last shred of hope, no matter how much he refuted the idea.

"Damn't, Sam," Dean said, bristling. "I don't even think you realize what you almost did to yourself. Do you know what the spell could've done to you! What if it didn't work, huh? What if it had killed you!"

"It would've worked, Dean," Sam responded, and he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince his brother or himself. "But you think I don't know what I'm doing. I may look like a fucking four year old, but I assure you I don't think like one."

Dean was livid. He knew Sam still had the papers he had used earlier for the spell, and the kid would be stubborn enough to try it again. He wasn't going to let anything happen to his brother. With one last glare at the kid, he closed the door to their bedroom and closed the gap between them.

Sam backed up to the headboard, but Dean pulled him onto his lap, turning him over onto his stomach. "Promise me you'll burn those pages, Sammy," Dean placated, eyes pleading with his brother. "It doesn't have to go this way. I know you want to be right, and I know you hate this, but that spell is not going to help you."

Sam didn't protest, feeling defeated, but he wasn't going to give up hope yet. He would endure the discipline; Dean was wrong, and he was going to prove it. "No, Dean, you're wrong. It would've worked," he assured, but he did not want his brother to wallop him all night long either. "I can prove it to you right now, or we can just both go to bed. It's late..."

Sam felt tears sting the corners of his eyes, once again, as Dean landed a hard swat to the seat of his pants. Apparently, his older brother didn't agree.

After what felt like an eternity but in reality was only twenty minutes, Sam finally couldn't stand to be silent any longer. "Ok, ok, I get it now, Dean, I'm sorry!"

Dean paused, eying his brother seriously. "Tell me where those pages are, Sam, and I'll stop. That's the only way you're getting out of this one."

Sam felt his heart drop, and he was already fighting back tears. He couldn't stand much more of his brother's very hard hand, and there was no way he was going to break down in front of his brother. He was already mortified at being over his brother's lap at twenty two, but was his dignity worth a cure that could possibly not work?

"Fine, you jerk, OW, come on, I said fine!" Sam shouted, angry that Dean had the upper hand on him.

Dean pulled his brother off of his lap, and laid him across his bed, face down. "Where?"

Sam peered up through the sheet, resigned. He pointed to his pillow, and Dean pulled the offending objects out of the hiding spot. He gave the kid an apologetic look before pulling his lighter out. Sam closed his eyes just as the flame caught on both pieces of paper, feeling sullen as his last piece of hope burned away.

Dean threw the contents into the sink after making sure Sam hadn't moved from his spot on the bed. He turned the light out in their room before climbing into the opposite bed, unwilling to wish the kid a goodnight. Exhausted, both brothers fell into an uneasy sleep, both wishing things would be better when the sun rose.

Next chapter will be up next week. hopefully it was to your liking.