The Golden Touch 6

Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot of yet another motel room. Sam heard him let out a sigh overhead, green eyes peering towards where Sam was sitting. The ride had passed uneventfully, the sprite settling down into a deep sleep not long into it and Sam climbing back up to his perch on Dean's shoulder. It was a safer place to sit than on the actual seat of the car when you're only a few inches tall. He could hold onto Dean's collar there, and not worry about the shirt sliding off the seat with him still on it if Dean had to slam on the brakes. And somehow, sitting next to his big brother like this reassured Sam despite all his misgivings. It made him feel... like he had a place in the world. A home.

Not to mention, he hated sitting so far down. He could barely see Dean's face from there, reminding him of exactly how different they were now. He couldn't help but feel like he was sitting worlds away from Dean like that, no matter how close they were in reality. It hadn't been so bad while Nixie was awake. He'd spent at least an hour talking about her world, and all the differences there were between how their peoples lived. Once she'd fallen asleep again, lulled by her continuing weakness due to her injuries, he'd wanted to go back to where he felt the safest, the most welcome in a dangerous world.

Talking with her had been fascinating. Learning about the forests she lived in... for millennia with only her sisters and Lityerses for company. Never aging, never dying. It was like having time suspended around them, nothing changing in all those years aside from Lityerses' determination and rage. A bittersweet realm. A realm of eternal twilight.

Dean glanced over at him from the corner of his eye while Sam was lost in thought. "Coming in with me to get the room?"

Sam checked outside from where he was sitting. From what he could see, Dean had parked the car away from everyone else, in a forgotten corner of the parking lot. "Eh, I think I'll stay here with Nixie. You can handle it alone, right? Or should I go and hold your hand?" He stood up with a grin, stretching his arms over his head.

Dean snorted. "Hold my hand? You're talking about the hand that holds you, shrimp." While he was talking, he held his hand out to Sam, keeping still while Sam climbed on. Sam found himself lowered back down to the seat and watched while his brother climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him.

Nixie stirred at the earthquake Dean caused at their level, waking disoriented. "Where... where am I?" She sat up quick and hissed when her wings tried to stretch.

"We're still in the car." Sam helped her sit up without hurting her wing more. "Dean's getting a room at the motel right now."

She sat back against the wall of the bench seat behind them with a sigh. Rubbing her hand over the seat, she stated, "I hope this will all end soon. I miss my forest. This... everything is so artificial here. So lifeless and cold."

"It's not all like this." Sam wrapped his arms around his knees, settling down next to her. "You've only seen a small bit of our world. There are... beautiful mountains, and forests and lakes out there. Teeming with all kinds of life."

"Have you seen these mountains and these forests and these lakes?"

"A bit, before I got cursed." He closed his eyes at the memories. A time when he could still look down on things instead of it all towering over him. He remembered longing to finish growing up so he could be taller than his dad. Well, that's never going to happen, he thought truthfully. "I went hiking with my brother a few times. And one time, a friend of our Dad's took us hunting."

She recoiled at that. "Hunting in the forest?"

"Oh, hey," he said, realizing his mistake. He tried to reassure her. "He ended up getting mad at us. Neither of us could shoot a deer. All we ended up learning that time was how to track in the woods."

She still eyed him suspiciously. Sam realized the thought of humans stomping through the forest bothered her. "Look, my brother and I are hunters. But we don't kill animals. We hunt monsters, things that hurt people like you and me and Dean. We'd never hurt animals like that."

She turned away. "Is that why your brother eats animal flesh?"

Sam frowned in thought. "It's what all humans eat. Even I eat meat when I can. He certainly doesn't think of it that way. People in our world can't survive on plants alone like you. It's who we are."

She sighed, wings wilting. "I'm sorry. I should not judge you so harshly. I am grateful for your help. You are just so - different - from my sisters."

Sam smiled. "It's okay, I understand exactly how you feel. I'm getting used to a lot here too. Like this," he gestured around the inside of the Impala, towering high over them both. "When I was a kid, I used to ride in here everywhere. Our dad, he traveled a lot. We never stayed in one place for long. But then, I got hit by this curse. I had to live like this, separated from my father and Dean. Long story short, I only just met back up with Dean not long ago. And... now this car, which used to be my second home, is... huge. Foreboding. It's a little scary, how small I am now. I can't even open the door without Dean. Everything is different... I never used to think that way, before Dean came back into my life. But now, I can't think of anything else. And as far as we know, this curse is permanent. I might be like this forever."

She met his eyes. "So, maybe I am not the only one who needs to adapt."

"Yeah, maybe," he said, hanging his head. Then he raised it again, curious. He remembered something she'd said, the first time she'd seen him. "Nixie... when we first met, you touched my chest and did something to see that I was a human under a curse. What did you do? Could you dispel the curse if you had your magic? Make me normal again?"

For a long moment she stared at him with her expressionless eyes. Then she glanced away, a frown etched on her face. "Sam... That curse is beyond my power to break." She raised a hand, brushing it over his face. "What was done to you, was done to your soul, while you were still growing. It is a unique style of magic that leaves a pattern on the soul itself. All I can do is see the etchings, the tracings of the magic. The curse itself is beyond my touch. I know of no ways to help you." She scooched further from him on the vast shirt and refused to meet his eyes. "Sam... I am sorry."

"Nixie..." He sighed. "It's not your fault. Don't blame yourself."

Dean chose that moment to open the door, making both of them jump in their seats from the sudden loud disruption. "I miss anything good?" He said with a smirk, looming right over them. "Got us a room, ready to go you two?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam called up. Damn he hated how nervous he still got like this.

He and Nixie kept still, waiting as a huge arm scooped up the shirt around them. There wasn't much they could do to help here, aside from staying in one place.

When Dean stood, he was holding it cupped against his chest. The two tiny people lost sight of the outside world, surrounded by the soft fabric walls on three sides, and the solid surface of Dean's jacket behind them, his arm forming a platform beneath for them to stand on. It was the best way for them to stay out of sight, but disconcerting how much they had to rely on Dean. Their whole world rocked in time to the gait of his footsteps, growing even darker as he went into the motel room.

The walls fell away as Dean lowered them to the table. Sam and Nixie stood unsteadily on the cushiony ground as Dean went to turn on the lights, brightening the room. He left them there on their own while he went back out to the car to get the rest of the stuff.

Once he had everything settled in the room, Dean came over to the table they were on, stripping off his jacket. "So, I'm gonna head down to the news station, see if I can get a name on the man meeting with Lityerses. You two want to come with or hang out here?"

"I should rest my wing." Nixie settled down into the shirt they were on as though that was the end of the conversation.

"Sam?"

"I'll stay here with Nixie, in case anything happens. Can't leave her alone, injured like that." Sam walked off the shirt, getting back onto solid ground where he didn't have to worry about tripping over every step. "Hey, mind leaving out the laptop for me?"

Once Dean had the laptop set up on the table for them, he left to get into his FBI getup. Sam watched him go into the bathroom with all his clothes. Once they were alone, he loaded up the computer, entering in the password Dean had set up on the computer, jumping from key to key. He had to change that at some point. If anyone ever got ahold of the computer, the stuff that Dean had on it would either get him committed or arrested. Or both. They needed much better security.

Nixie stayed on the giant shirt the whole time, relaxing into it and sleeping away the time while the brothers did their own thing. She still needed to get her strength up, and the rest would do her good. The bruising patterns on her arms were even darker now, a huge contrast between her delicately light blue skin and the contusions marring it.

Dean came back out, dressed up in a black suit a little while later. Sam couldn't help but snicker. Dean didn't look comfortable in the suit at all, standing there stiffly. Dean noticed Sam laughing at him and scowled down at his tiny brother while he was straightening the tie. "Alright, you can say it. I look like one of the Blues Brothers."

"Aw, I wouldn't say that," Sam said, smirking. "You look like a seventh grader at his first dance."

Dean glared at that. "You know, I really hate this thing. Feel like I'm wearing a monkey suit."

Sam laughed as he turned back to the computer. He couldn't help but be grateful he didn't have to dress in a suit like that. One of the few small perks of being so small he had to avoid interacting with any other people. A thought crossed his mind. "Hey, how are you going to get in there, anyway? People don't just let you in with a pretty suit, right?"

"Got that covered." Dean reached into his jacket, pulling an ID out of one of the inner pockets. He held it out for Sam to see.

"Agent DeYoung, FBI," Sam read off with a smile. "Hey, isn't that the..."

"Yep, from Styx. Good to see you remember the classics." Dean smirked as he put the ID away. "I've got enough of these to almost get into anything. FBI, Health Inspector...." he pointed at Sam with a wink, "Bikini Inspector."

"What use is that?" Sam wondered aloud.

Dean just laughed at that, grabbing his keys from the nightstand. "Alright, you two keep out of trouble. I shouldn't be gone long. Anyone tries to break in, Sam, you know what to do."

---

Sharon sat at the front desk of the television studio. Aside from the brief excitement that day over the most recent story about the gold statues found at Biggerson's, her day was incredibly boring. Almost no one had come in or out of the station so far, and the majority of the reporters were out, trying to dig up more information on the mystery statue.

No one knew where they had come from, or how they'd got there. They were found a little past mid-day, and none of the patrons at Biggerson's remembered seeing them appear. One minute, nothing. The next moment, enough gold to make P. Diddy squirm in envy.

And here she was, stuck at the front desk. Nothing to do but greet the few visitors that came through. So many years now she'd spent like this, just bringing home a paycheck to pay the rent. They'd never considered her for the part of a newscaster, or a reporter. Said she didn't have the 'charisma' they were looking for.

While she was ruminating over the year's she'd wasted waiting for her big break, the doors to the studio slid open, heralding the entrance of a man dressed up in a black suit. She couldn't help a smile at his entrance. She hadn't seen anyone seem so uncomfortable in a suit for years now, not since her prom.

He came right up to her counter, giving her a flirtatious smile. She smiled brightly back at him, glad to have something to break up the monotony of her day. Especially something so... easy on the eyes. "Hello, what brings you in?"

He leaned on the counter, "Hello Miss..." his eyes slid down to her nametag, "Sharon. My name’s Agent DeYoung." He paused to pull an ID out of his jacket and held it out to her. She read it with surprise. FBI. He suddenly seemed even cuter. "I heard about the excitement you had earlier today. Something about... mystery gold statues that were found in a parking lot?"

"Oh yes," she breathed. "Big deal around here. Normally the most excitement we get around these parts is when some conservationists put a camera on an eagle. Saw our town from a bird’s eye view."

"Heh," he laughed. "Sounds like riveting TV."

She leaned forward and met his eyes coyly. "And what makes the FBI so interested in a story about mystery statues?"

"Well, let’s just say it caught the eyes of my superiors." He arched his eyebrows at her. "And what they're interested in, I investigate. Another hard day in the life of the FBI." He sighed deeply.

She smiled at that, unsure if he was trying too hard, or actually serious. "So, what can I do to help? You must have come for something."

"Yes, in fact. There was a newscast that aired early this afternoon, when they first found the statues." Here he leaned forward, catching her gaze with his green eyes. She'd never thought green was such a sexy color before today. "I need to see that video, and any others that might have been taken at that time. There's a man in it I need to ID."

She blushed at how close he was to her now. "Um... yeah. We actually have quite a few videos taken at that time. They're saving them for later casts, to keep the public interest as long as possible. Not that that's hard here, considering the normal level of excitement here."

She paged one of the assistants working. "Cal? You on your break?"

"No, why?"

"I have an FBI agent here that needs to check out the tapes from earlier today. From the Biggerson's parking lot. Can you show them to him?"

"Yeah, of course. I'll be right up."

She turned her gaze back to the FBI agent. "He'll be up in a moment. Cal's a good guy. Hope you can find what you need." She pushed a piece of paper to him that she'd put the file numbers for the vids he needed. And a small surprise for him too.

He took the paper from her, arching his eyebrows when he read it. Once Cal came up and lead him away, he left with a wink at her. She sighed, blood rushing from her face. What the hell was that? I never give my number out to anyone!

And yet, she found herself hoping he'd call.

---

Sam contemplated the drop off from the table.

He was completely annoyed that Dean had left him and Nixie up on the table, but had left the majority of Sam's stuff and everything else all the way over on the bed. All he had with him was the bag he kept on his person at all times. Dean had jokingly named it his 'borrowing bag,' stuffed as it was with most of the equipment he needed to get around in a world made for humans without help. And of course enough extra room so he could stash his findings if he ever needed to. The rest of his belongings might as well have been worlds away on that bed. He sighed, turning back to Nixie.

Her injured wing had started twitching in pain a bit after Dean had left, slowly shaking the strings Sam had secured it with free. He wanted to set it again, but needed to get more toothpicks before he could manage that. One of them had snapped, leaving him short enough supplies to help her with. If only Dean had left the two of them on the bed, or better, under the nightstand where Sam usually stayed. But he realized his brother had been in a hurry when he left. Neither of them wanted more people to get hurt, especially if they could have prevented it.

Nixie had collapsed, completely passed out on the black shirt. The loss of the... ichor... in her wings was sapping more of her strength than they'd first thought. They needed to get her to a spring as soon as possible. In the meantime, if he could just get her wing set properly again, it might help her keep up her strength as long as possible. Without her, they would have no way to break the curse on the people turned to gold, and no way of contacting the sisters she claimed existed in that other realm. They'd be stuck at square one.

Sam grabbed his fishhook, finding a good place to secure it so he'd be able to use the table leg to climb down. Once he was certain it would hold his weight, he slowly slid off the edge of the table. It was nowhere near as safe as when he'd climbed up Dean, even though the distance was actually much less to the ground. Here, if he slipped off, there was no one around who'd be able to catch him. And the fishing line gave him much less of a grip than his brother’s jeans.

Sam rolled his eyes at his inner monologue. You did this for years without Dean around, this is no different than any other time you climbed a table. You're getting soft, having him around to help you out. Pulling together every scrap of determination he had, he made it the rest of the way down without incident.

Leaving the fishhook on the table for when he got back, he hiked across the thick carpet, less nervous than the last time he'd traveled across the floor in an empty motel room. The last time he'd done this had been the day he'd been reunited with Dean for the first time. That time he'd been afraid of being caught out in the open. Before he'd had a human he could rely on to help him out in any situation. Still, he hated the feeling he got walking past the monumental furniture in the room. His insignificance gnawed at his stomach.

He finally reached the bed Dean's duffel was laying on. Running around it, he groaned when he saw the covers didn't drape down far enough for him to climb up. The second bed's cover stretched to the ground near the foot of the bed. Dean, you couldn't have made this any harder for me if you tried, could you?

That wasn't completely fair though. Dean just didn't consider how hard things were for Sam. Everything had always been same size for Dean, making it hard for him to realize leaving the bag a few feet away on the bed pretty much created a huge obstacle course for Sam.

Going around to the second bed, Sam pulled himself up, thankful the cover was much easier to get a solid grip on than the fishing line. It took him around ten minutes to get around the beds, hopping over the nightstand to cross between them. Luckily the jump was only two inches from the nightstand to each bed, since he didn't have anything to bridge the gap with on him. He finally reached the giant duffel bag, bracing himself against it for a moment to catch his breath.

"Alright, where'd Dean put you?" He grumbled under his breath. He pulled himself up to one of the huge pockets, grabbing ahold of the zipper. It was bigger than both his hands together, and he had to brace himself against the side to get it to move. "Sonovabitch," he muttered, straining. It just figured he could barely even get a pocket open without Dean around.

The zipper finally moved, opening up a large enough hole for Sam to slide inside. He opened it up as far as he could, trying to angle the pocket so the light from the room leaked in. He wasn't honestly sure what pocket Dean had put the items he needed into.

He sighed with relief when he caught sight of the toothpicks and floss sitting at the bottom, along with the rest of Dean's first aid kit supplies. Unfortunately, the bottom of the pocket would be over his head once he jumped down, and he had a feeling he'd lose what little light was making it in when he let go of the lip. He memorized the layout of where everything was as much as he could before dropping himself in.

He crashed into the bottom, buried under the odds and ends that Dean kept in there. Groaning, he shoved aside a container of first-aid cream that was the same size as he was. He worked to get his feet under him somehow in the closed, crowded accommodations.

He finally pulled himself to his feet, standing unsteadily on the items in there. Dean, would it kill you to organize for once in your life? The pocket reminded him of the disordered trunk of the Impala, with guns and weapons in places that only Dean could sort through. Sam had a feeling if he ever went into the Impala's trunk, he'd get lost, never to be seen again. He dug through the pocket for a few moments, going by feel because, as he'd expected, the light from above didn't reach all the way to the bottom of the pocket. He managed to grab a few toothpicks, stuffing them in his satchel.

The floss was a little harder. He put one boot against the container, and yanked with all his might. It finally popped open, sending Sam flying back into the pile of crap in the corner of the pocket yet again. Luckily his landing was cushioned by the gauze sitting in that part of the pocket. He still had to dig himself out all over again, though, growling with annoyance. With the way his luck was going so far, his brother would come back and toss the bag off the bed before he even realized where Sam was.

With that thought in mind, Sam renewed his determination to get what he needed and get out. Nixie wasn't getting any better while he was wasting his time in here. He grabbed the floss, using his knife to hack off a dozen pieces as long as his arm. Whatever he didn't use now would probably come in handy later, and he didn't want to go through this all over again. He stuffed them in his bag next to the toothpicks, using one piece to wrap up the toothpicks so they wouldn't go anywhere when he climbed his way back to the table.

Grabbing the wrapped up gauze, he used his knife once more to saw off a long piece, stuffing it into his bag as well. He was almost out of space in the satchel with all this stuff.

He stood straight, staring up at the small hole above his head. Suddenly he found himself wishing he'd pulled the pocket all the way open. It seemed so small and so high up from this angle. Bracing himself as best he could on the constantly shifting ground, he jumped up, grabbing blindly with his hand. He snagged the edge, the teeth from the zipper cutting into his palm. Sam hissed in pain, gritting his teeth. Steeling himself, he hauled himself up with his other hand, happy when he finally tumbled out of the pocket and bounced down onto the bed, landing flat on his back.

He stayed like that for a few moments, relaxing in the open air with a shuddering breath. That was NOT an experience he wanted to go through more than once. Sitting up, he groaned, looking at how far away the table Nixie was on from him. At the least, she was still laying in the same place he'd left her in. Now if only he could just teleport over there, instead of going through all that climbing all over again. He hadn't climbed this much in ages.

He went to the side of the bed facing the other bed in the room and peered over. The cover here was farther down than anywhere else, and with any luck he'd be fine if he dropped down to the floor from there. Otherwise, he'd have to go all the way around to the other bed a second time. One good thing about being small - he could fall further than a human without getting hurt.

He twisted his bag so it was on his back, climbing down off the bed. He really wasn't looking forward to climbing back up the table later on. His arms were already burning from all this work, and the fishing line was far harder to climb up than climb down.

He had finally reached the floor when he heard two knocks come from far over his head, followed by the towering entrance door sweeping forward. Two massive boots walked in, which was all Sam could make out of his brother from where he was standing. Sam darted under the bed as fast as he could when he realized Dean had no idea where he was. The last thing he needed to do was tempt Fate more than he already had this afternoon.

After a few thudding steps into the room, the boots hesitated while facing the table. "Sam? Where are you?" Dean's voice rang out overhead, shaking the air around Sam from the volume.

Relieved, Sam walked out from under the bed, knowing Dean wouldn't take another step without first checking for Sam. Thank God for small favors. "Dean! Down here!" He called up, waving his arms.

The massive boots twisted towards Sam, stepping away as Dean knelt down on the floor. Sam came up alongside one of the hands Dean put on the floor for balance, feeling safe now that he had his brother's attention. "What are you doing down here?" Dean asked, sounding confused.

Sam waved one of the toothpicks he'd grabbed earlier up at his looming brother. "Nixie's wing was getting worse, and I wanted to get her fixed up. Needed supplies."

Dean gave him a look of disbelief, glancing between Sam and the duffel on the bed like he couldn't believe Sam had gone through all that. "You couldn't just wait for me to get back?"

Sam shrugged. "Didn't know how long you'd be, and she was just getting worse while we waited. So I figured I'd take care of it. Not like it's anything I haven't done before. I can handle myself."

Dean stretched out a hand alongside Sam, offering him a lift without having to ask. He waited patiently for his smaller brother to step on.

Grateful for the help, Sam braced himself as the hand lifted away from the ground, carrying him over to the table. At least he didn't have to make THAT climb again. Dean lowered him next to Nixie's collapsed form, plucking up Sam's fishing hook from the edge of the table to hand over to him. Sam tucked away his equipment and pulled out the supplies he'd risked his life to get, setting up to work on her right away.

Dean pulled off his suit jacket and tie while Sam worked, making an annoyed face when he tossed them on the bed. "Glad that's over," he said to himself.

Sam glanced in Dean's direction while he braced a toothpick against the wing. "So, how'd it go?" He asked curiously.

"Great. Got a name now." Dean sat in the chair nearest Sam, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt. His huge arms landed on both sides of Sam and the sprite as he got settled, boxing them in with a solid wall of muscle. Sam gulped nervously, realizing Dean hadn't done it on purpose. It wasn't like Dean was going to try and trap them or anything, he was just getting comfortable. Knowing this, Sam felt more out of place than ever. He and Dean saw the world completely different now - innocent movements from Dean came off as huge and threatening to Sam. It was nerve-wracking to be around someone so massive all the time.

"So, wh-what's the name?" Sam asked, trying to keep the tremor from his voice. It didn't work out the way he planned.

Dean arched an eyebrow at him, but didn't comment on it. "George Kenly. Local man. One day last week he just walked out of work, and hasn't been seen or heard from since."

Sam frowned while he concentrated on the wing. One of Dean's fingers came over and helped hold the wing straight while he wrapped the gauze around, bracing it with the toothpick and tying it with some floss. Sam nodded his thanks up at his brother. "You thinking possession?"

"Looks like. Good old fashioned demonic possession. Our demon must have picked up Lityerses for reasons of his own. Those bastards are always up to something."

Sam finished wrapping up the wing, wiping his hands off on his jacket. The main problem about using floss for this was the residue coating it. Whatever its use, it made a huge mess and made him smell overly minty. He glanced up at Dean once his hands at least felt clean. "So, what's the plan?"

"Well, turns out George has a cottage in the woods. Very private. Once upon a time in his youth he'd use it to throw huge parties for his college buddies. I took a look at the maps of the area, there's a lot of small streams around where it is. With any luck, we can gank this demon, find Nixie a spring and take care of Lityerses. Easy as pie." One of the arms near Sam lifted off the table, and Dean rubbed his face. "You up on your exorcisms?"

"Exorcisms?"

---

Roy stalked through the forest, as silently as he could manage.

Ever since discovering the solid gold statue of his hunting partner, Walt, he'd been on a quest of vengeance for his long-time buddy.

This hunt had started out so simple.

They'd caught wind of a demon changing the nature of simple, gentle men into rapists and murderers. Always the same profile - young white male, seen as an 'outcast' either at work or school, and once they met up with the demon they would leave where they were as soon as possible - one from school, one at a café, and the third had been leaving church. After leaving, they would find the first petite brunette who was walking alone. And rape and kill her.

Roy honestly couldn't wait to stick it to the demon. The bastard deserved whatever they did to it. He was envisioning holy water, a little salt down the pipes, all before being exorcised. And of course, nothing fatal in case its meatsuit happened to still be living. As unlikely as that was, he needed to make every effort to save the man. Just like he hadn't been able to save his son all those years ago.

The case had taken an unexpected turn once they tracked the demon down to an obscure, out-of-the way cottage in the woods. Walt had gone in, while Roy hung back in case the demon slipped him.

Because of that, he had no idea how it happened.

By the time Roy realized the demon was gone from the cottage, it was all over. He walked carefully through the foliage, trying to avoid making any more noise than necessary. He came up to the statue, staring in amazement. Every detail was perfect, down to the scuff marks on Walt's boots.

"Walt? Is that you?" He reached a hand up, touching the face in disbelief. The golden eyes stared blankly ahead. "Dammit, Walt. What am I going to do without you?" Hearing footsteps through the forest, he slipped behind a tree. The demon walked past the statue without seeing Roy. He relaxed once the footsteps receded in the distance. If the demon was going out, it gave him time to set a trap, the best way to exorcise a demon, especially if you're on your own.

He went into the cottage.