Golem

Fandom: Supernatural

Category/Rated: Slash, NC17

Year/Length: 2009/~12,956 words

Pairing: Sam and Dean

Disclaimer: No profit was made off this. The characters belong the originators of Supernatural. Was all in pure fun.

Warning: Wincest

Summary: The brothers investigate murders that seem more than mere turf wars.

Series: Virtual Slash Season Four

Author's Notes: Yes, the new season has begun for all those who waited this long. We want to thank you for sticking around. Please do comment. We enjoy those.

Dean Winchester sat at the dinner counter. There was a cup of coffee to his right, nearly empty. To his left was a clean dinner plate belonging to his brother, alongside another coffee cup. Before him was a fresh plate of apple pie that sat untouched. Dean was studying it as if there was something missing. His fork was in his hand, ready, but he kept looking at it, making little sounds. Now and again, he would look up, peering down the length of the counter at the very busty, shapely woman behind it. But she was obstinately refusing to look down this way.

Several months had passed since Dean had managed to change things. And he still wondered just how much good it had really done. He wasn't going to hell, and yet something inside him still nagged away at him. Sam didn't have the memories he did. Sam didn't remember all they had been through. He didn't remember their wonderful Christmas. Ashley. Their mom. Or about Dean's abilities.

He looked over at Sam. Since that first time they'd been together they had hardly had sex. Things had appeared to slow down, because, even though they loved each other, both brothers were fighting internal battles over their feelings. It had affected their relationship, even though they loved one another desperately.

Dean pouted, trying to get Sam to notice and take his nose out of the paper. Sam was so much like their father that way.

Sam was busily engaged in looking through the local news in an attempt to find a case for them to work. He'd got several possibles, but nothing that really took his fancy. Not only that, but he could feel Dean's eyes on him, burning holes into his skin as he sat affecting nonchalance. Finally, he tossed the paper aside and glared at his brother. "Dude, what?"

"She didn't get me any whipped cream." Dean looked down at his pie, where it lay still untouched on his plate, before lifting tragic eyes back to Sam.

"So get her attention and ask for some, dumbass!" The small smile Sam was wearing was loving. "You can eat pie without cream though, can't you?"

Dean looked at his pie then shrugged, "Well, yeah but..." He leaned down to look at the girl again. "She couldn't see me around your dumbass paper." He waved and saw her face light up, and she started for them, coffee pot in hand as she approached.

Sam rolled his eyes at Dean and turned to push both their cups forward to her for refill. "Pardon me, ma'am," he murmured sweetly. "My sister here is pining for some whipped cream on her pie. Could you make her happy for me, please? Or she's going to be bitter for the rest of the day."

The woman was pouring the cups, and she smiled then giggled. "Sure thing." She turned away to go behind the counter, and Dean smacked Sam on the back of the head.

"That was so childish. You're just jealous she smiled at me." He turned to watch the waitress's progress, sipping his coffee as he awaited the arrival of his cream.

Grinning, Sam licked his finger and drew a checkmark in the air. "She recognizes caffeine addiction when she sees it, man. That's all. She was wondering whether to feed your habit or stage an intervention." He elbowed Dean in the ribs and winked. "Once you take those first steps and admit your addiction, it all becomes easy. Want me to tell her you've seen the light and want to trade your coffee for herbal tea?"

"Oh no!" Dean protested, horrified. "That frilly stuff is for you, not me. Besides, she was all too happy to serve. Think she wants to give a little more ... service." He grinned up at her as she came back with a jug in her hand.

"Here you go, handsome." She scooped out a large dollop of cream and allowed it to fall on Dean's pie.

"Mmm, thanks, sweetheart," he gave her his most charming grin and watched, satisfied as he saw her blush. She turned and returned to the counter to put the whipped cream back, and Dean watched her ass move as she went. "Like to put some cream on that."

"I'll put cream on your ass for you, dude," smirked Sam as he watched her sashay away. "Maybe it's time to teach you a little lesson in fidelity. You belong to me; you know that."

Reaching for the paper, he showed Dean the article that he'd circled. "Look at this. It might be one for us. He sat back and let his brother take a look at the text. "Three deaths, and all under suspicious circumstances. Could be gangland stuff, but I don't think so."

Dean was sitting gaping at Sam, "Fidelity?" He shook his head as if incredulous, smirking at his brother. He said nothing further though, merely leaned to check out the article Sam was indicating. "Huh, sounds like just human stuff, but then we've thought that before, and it's turned out to be something for us. Won't hurt to check it out." He gave a shrug and went back to eating his pie. "I swear though, if it is gang stuff or just humans fucking with us, I am so gonna kick their asses for wasting our time."

"My first thought when I saw the report was that it was a turf battle between gangs, and if it was in a big city, I'd go with that, because the deceased are all known pushers of drugs, and pretty low life types, but in a place like Harrisburg? Besides, the signature isn't exactly gangland execution style. Three separate people whose heads have been pulled clean off their bodies? That sounds hard to do once, let alone making a habit of it." Sam shuddered. "You'd have to be really strong." He reached out to draw his fingers down along Dean's thigh as he was speaking. "And yeah, fidelity. You don't go chasing waitresses. You chase me instead."

"Ouch! Heads ripped off? Vampire gone rogue?" Dean shifted, liking the feel of Sam's fingers along his thigh but finding it much too distracting in their current location. He batted his brother's hand aside. "Dude, it's just for fun. Besides, check her out. She comes equipped with with flotation devices for any water accidents. You however," He patted Sam's chest. "Will make me sink like a rock." He dipped his finger into the whipped cream and flicked it onto Sam's nose. "Stop worrying your moppy head."

"Could be a vampire, I guess." Sam frowned as he considered. "Gordon did it. It's not their usual MO though, and, besides, why target dealers anyway? Vampires don't often demonstrate public spiritedness." He shook his head. "It's almost as if there was some super-strong vigilante out there."

As Dean was concentrating on his words, Sam reached for a fingerful of the cream and smeared it onto Dean's cheek. "There. That's a good look for you," he murmured, rising to his feet and heading for the restrooms.

Reaching up to wipe it off his cheek, Dean shook his head. He finished his pie, paid for their meal and gave the girl behind the counter a wink and a tip as he made for the door. Pausing at the restroom, he called out to his brother. "C'mon, Sammy, more than two shakes, and you're playing with it."

"Yeah, yeah." Sam fell in behind his brother as they made for the exit. "I guess we're heading for Harrisburg then," he said, dropping his hand onto Dean's shoulder.

The drive from East Hanover into Harrisburg was short, and Sam used the time to find a decent motel for them. It wasn't long before they were unloading the Impala and taking possession of a room that had been imaginatively decorated in red flock wallpaper. Looking around himself, Sam shuddered. "Dude, it looks like a Chinese brothel - or maybe the inside of your digestive tract after a night on the prowl."

"Ha ha," Dean threw his bag upon the bed. "Looks like someone threw up on the walls." He pulled his jacket off and then went into the bathroom to check it out. Good, there was no window. He returned to his bag and started lining the danger points with salt. "Okay, so where should we head first? The coroner's?"

"Yeah, I think so. We need to confirm whether or not the corpses are vampires before we go any further, don't you think?" Sam nodded as he booted up his laptop and took a minute to break into the nearest wireless connection. "After that, maybe we look for any witnesses; what do you say?"

Nodding with satisfaction, Sam achieved a connection for his computer and then rose to his feet to go stand behind Dean, reaching to slip his arms around his brother's waist. "We can play later," he whispered.

Dean had finished salting the room and was putting the canister back when Sam came up behind him. He looked back at his brother and shook his head, somehow annoyed that Sam couldn't remember the year he'd managed to erase, and all they'd been through. He knew that it wasn't his brother's fault, but even so he was cranky. "Dude, what has gotten into you?" he growled, pushing Sam back.

Sam blinked at him, trying to determine what was bothering Dean, but Dean didn't wait for him to start asking questions. He shifted irritably. "Okay, let's go." Reaching for his jacket, he headed out toward the car.

The coroner looked up from his reports to be faced by a pair of dark-suited gentlemen offering ID that said that they were from the Washington Post.

"I hope you don't mind," murmured Sam, giving the man his very best harmless puppy dog face. "We're doing an article on gang turf wars, and wondered if you could tell us a little about the recent murders."

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a note pad, making as if he was going to take notes.

"Article?" The coroner looked at them and frowned. "You can't get the information from the police?"

"Oh well, we've talked to them already, but we figured we should get it from the source, too," Dean nodded.

"Alright, so what do you want to know?"

"To start with, could you tell us in your own words about the three murders? We hear that the MO was unusual." Sam's voice was soft, and he leaned forward as he spoke, smiling gently.

The coroner waved the two of them over to pull up a chair each. "Well, in actuality, the deaths were a little strange. In each case it seems as if the deceased's head and body were literally torn apart."

"Wouldn't that require some sort of mechanical help? You'd need to be superhuman to do it without any props, wouldn't you?" both men seemed to be impressed.

"One might think that, and one might be right to do so." The coroner leaned back and steepled his fingers, enjoying the way his audience apparently was hanging on his every word. "But we found handprints on the head and shoulders. As difficult as it might be to believe it, it looks as if the slayings were the work of a single individual."

"Single individual? Would have to be a pretty big guy to do something like that. Those handprints you talked about, same size on all the victims? And what about prints?" Dean asked.

"That's the one thing which made it even more strange; we could find no finger prints." The man reached over and sipped from his cup, waiting for their reaction.

"You wouldn't happen to have the locations of where they were killed, would you? You know, so we can take pictures?" Dean asked him with a little smile.

"You need the police reports for that, really," said the coroner. "Didn't you get them?"

"Well, we've really only just begun our research into these particular killings," murmured Sam, trying to sound as though he was juggling vast numbers of them. "We came to you first, because we figured you'd have all the relevant information. The police are next on the list." He smiled his familiar, 'how could you deny me anything,' smile and waited.

"I suppose it doesn't matter if I save you a trip." Leaning forward, the man picked up his phone and issued instructions to his secretary. A moment later a pretty brunette bustled in clutching three files.

Dean kept his eyes on his pad, writing, 'This guy needs to go on a diet. That little ball of sweat at his neck went some place I don't want to look. God, kill me now. What is that smell?' And then a hot chick walked in, and Dean favored her with that all too charming smile of his. "Thank you," he said to her, perfect teeth showing as his eyes gave that look.

She smiled back, big and bright, and handed the folders to her boss, who passed them across the desk as she hurried out of the office. "I can't let you take them away, but if you care to make notes, that will be fine," he murmured.

"I can't thank you enough," gushed Sam as they began to read through the reports.

Dean jotted down what they needed, addresses, names, anything else they might need. He winced at some of the photos. "Talk about losing your head."

The alley where the first body had been found was downtown, a known haunt for dealers and their marks, and Sam wrinkled his nose as they entered the dark, gloomy corridor. Nobody was immediately visible, and the floor was littered with garbage, wet from the recent rain and smelling of mold.

Turning to his brother, Sam suddenly stopped walking. "Dude, I had this weird dream last night. You and I... were in this apartment. A girl was there. Hispanic looking, cute, your type."

Dean smirked, "Yeah well, she have a nice chest? And that is not a weird dream. Sounds kind of wet and kinky."

"Shut up and let me finish," Sam grumbled as he kicked a can out of the way, "There were hell hounds there, and they were cowering before you. Not trying to tear us apart."

Dean stopped for a moment then slowly turned his head around to look at Sam, "Was just a dream, Sammy, let's start looking around." He pulled out his flashlight and began to shine it around. He frowned when he spied some reddish material on the ground, and he crouched down to look at it, because it didn't look like blood.

"You got something?" Sam dropped down beside his brother, craning his neck to see what Dean had found. "What the hell is that?" he asked.

Dean reached out and drew his finger through it. "Not blood," He lifted his finger up and rubbed his thumb over it, smearing it around, "Looks like ..." He turned his head to Sam, "Red clay." Dean stood up and looked about. "Let's go to the other sites and see what we can find there." Dean headed out.

Sam didn't answer straight away, but he rose to his feet with a frown on his face and followed Dean back out onto the busy street. As they went back to the car, he murmured, "Joseph Morton is the next victim. He was killed in his back yard, so that ought to be far less contaminated and much easier to find any clues."

The Impala parked in the driveway, and Dean looked around. The neighborhood seemed pleasant enough, although it fell a little short of middle class. Dean looked down the row of houses before heading to the gate and stopped as he went to open it. "Sammy, look! More of that clay." He gestured at the ground around the gate.

Sneaking into the back yard while Sam looked at the area around the gate, Dean could see that an area had been taped off.

"Red clay..." Sam remained by the gate, lost in thought and only turned to follow his brother when Dean hissed at him to wake up.

There was something about red clay that he needed to remember, but it wasn't coming to him just at that moment. Shrugging, he rose to his full height and followed his brother.

There was more evidence of clay around the cordoned off area, and he wondered when - if ever - his brain would bring to the surface the knowledge he knew was in there.

"Dude, do you think we should take a look in the house?" he said softly.

"Yeah, maybe there's some beer in there." Dean glared around, his expression hostile. The rain in the area was soaking everything, and he was feeling the bite. He entered the house with a sigh of relief for getting out of the rain. Making his way up the stairs, he stopped on the porch, his hand upon the rail where there was evidence of more of the mysterious red clay. "Dude, looks like the guy was dragged out." Pulling open the door, he walked in with Sam at his heels. Inside the scene was chaotic, table and chairs were turned over and scattered about, clear sign of the struggle that had taken place.

"There's something I'm trying to remember," growled Sam, taking in the scene of devastation. He wandered through to the living room as he spoke. The scene he found there was similar - furniture had been overturned, and there were more signs of fighting. Sam bent to gather some newsprint that had fallen to the floor. "Dude, these are press cuttings," he said. "And you'll never believe this." He held out the article he'd picked up, and indicated the report that had caught his eye. It featured the initial murder in the series.

Dean walked over, and peered at what Sam was holding in his hands. "Press cuttings?" He reached out and took the paper, looking at it with a frown. "So what do you think the connection is?" he asked, moving into the next room.

"I guess that depends on who left the cutting, the killer, or the murdered man." Sam dusted his fingers off as he trailed after Dean. "Doesn't look as if whoever did this was looking for anything in particular. More like he just wanted to wreck the place. It's weird."

He made for the stairs. "You want to see the rest?" he asked his brother. "Or shall we go see the third site?"

Dean looked about, "Dude, every place else is like, clean. This thing just came in and took him out back." Dean shook his head, "Let's go to the next one. How much you want to bet we'll find the same clay there?" Retracing their footsteps, the two of them went back out to the car to check out the next murder site.

The third venue was fairly close, and the man who had been killed owned a small hardware store. The yellow tape that the police had sealed the door with proved no barrier to Sam's nimble breaking and entering skills, and, after picking the lock. the two brothers squirmed under the tape and entered the store.

Dean made a face at the smell. He stepped about then paused as he saw what he'd expected. "See! Told ya! You owe me a cookie, red clay."

The place had been turned upside down - the shelving had been overturned and the contents spilled haphazardly on the ground. The thick layer of red mud was smeared on the counter along with other stains that were rather more sinister. "Dude, if ever there was a place where an angry spirit might manifest, this is it." Sam made a face as he studied their surroundings. "Don't see any other clues, and there's something nagging at the back of my mind. I can't think what it is. I need to go do some thinking, see if I can tease it out."

Dean made a face again at the mess. "Okay, well, why don't you go back to the room, see what you can dig out of the hair-strangled brain of yours, and I'll go interview the witnesses. I'll call you if..." Dean paused for a moment, catching sight of something interesting. He looked up into a corner and pointed. "You see that? Security camera. See if you can get a copy of the tape, dude. I'm sure the police have it uploaded somewhere by now." Dean headed back out. "Maybe we can get lucky and actually see what this thing is."

"Yeah. Good call," said Sam. "Although I think we probably need to hit the cop shop as feds. What do you say?" Sam followed Dean back to the car as he was speaking. "Come pick me up after you're done and we'll go do a little leaning on the local police."

Back at the motel, Sam was pacing, wracking his brains as he tried to catch the fleeting thought that was so deeply embedded in his mind. Google hadn't helped, and neither had any of the other search engines. Frustrated, he clicked on the TV, wondering if Days of our Lives was on and if he'd get the chance to watch it before Dean came back and called him a girl.

As the picture came up, it was showing a commercial that featured the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Sam stared at it, glassy eyed, and then slapped his forehead.

"Of course!" he yelled, reaching for his phone.

Dean was heading back to his car when the phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at the number then flipped the phone open, "Please tell me you got something cause all I got was a bunch of slack jawed yokels and puffed up testosterone."

"I know what it is." Sam was pretty much screaming down the phone. "I've got it! Red clay, super human strength... It's a golem, dude. We need to find out who had a grudge against these guys and then we'll have the real killer."

"Golem? Is that that little ugly dude in Lord of the Rings?" Dean asked as he started up the car. "I'll be right there." Hanging up, he turned his car back towards the motel room.

It wasn't long before he arrived, opening the door with a sack of burgers in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. "Okay, tell me, what the hell's a Golem? Oh, brought dinner." He held up the bag and dropped it down on the table near Sam's computer.

"A golem is a creature made from clay, and kind of programmed. Essentially you write what you want it to do and then stick the paper in its mouth." Sam had grabbed for the food and now was talking around the burger in his mouth, eager to explain what he'd discovered. "Once you've done that, you send it off to do your bidding. It was a construct that very holy, devout Jews used to be able to create, or so the story goes. I'm wondering if we're looking for that kind of connection between the three - and their real killer."

Dean was in the act of taking a huge bite of his burger when he looked up at Sam, and, like him, began talking around his food. "Okay so, does this place have a Jewish community. A church for them? We can go ask their priest or whatever they call them."

"Rabbi, you mean!" Sam shook his head at his brother. "Don't go calling them priests; they'll set their golems on you." He grinned at Dean and pulled his computer to him. "And it's not called a church, either. It's a synagogue. They get kind of upset if you get it wrong, I think."

"Jeeze, they need to lighten up. Maybe it's the lack of pork in their diet." Dean grinned. "Okay, so we go check them out. But I have a feeling they are gonna be as tight as a puckered old lady."

"I guess we'd better be feds, trying to trace a connection between the vics or something," said Sam, knowing Dean was trying to wind him up. "Maybe we should dream up some other killings, to put them off the scent."

"Okay, what about those ones in Ohio? Two people falling off the bridge into the river?" Dean offered up. So we go first thing in the morning, get all dressed up and official looking." Dean grinned as he realized his brother wasn't going to rise to his bait.

"Okay," nodded Sam, licking his fingers as he finished off his burger and started in on his fries. "Guess we suit up. You'll be able to wear a tie, won't that be nice?" He snickered as he chomped on a couple of french fries. "Dean, you know I was talking about that dream I had earlier? Well, it wasn't just about the hellhounds and you. It was about mom, too."

Dean was eating, but he stopped mid bite. It wasn't unusual for Dean to react that way when conversations about his mom, but this time his expression had a bit of fear in it, if you knew where to look for it. "Oh? You gonna share, or do I have to fight through the porn in your head to get to it?"

"You're confusing my brain with yours," said Sam, looking pissy. "But that's okay. I'm used to it." He dunked more fries into ketchup and peered at them. "Mom was telling us she was an angel She said you and I were special - that she'd been sent back to protect us. It was so real, dude. It felt more like a vision than just a dream."

"An angel?" Dean tried to play it off. "You would think we would know about that or something." Dean got a brief distant look on his face, one that said he missed his mom. "It was a dream, Sammy, nothing more." He looked at him from bland green eyes as if daring him to argue.

"No, man. I'm telling you, it was more than that." Sam shook his head, unwilling to give up his opinion. "I got the headache and everything. It felt like something that was going to happen, although I don't know when."

"So it was like a vision?" Dean got a slightly worried look upon his face. "But don't your visions usually mean it will happen pretty soon?" Dean had finished up his burger and was halfway through eating the fries, but he'd stopped suddenly as he felt his heart start to race.

"Yeah, they do, but my visions don't usually have us in it." Sam gave Dean a grateful smile as he saw his brother was taking him seriously. "And we were both in it, dude, but not in a place I ever saw. Like I said, there was a beautiful girl there that I didn't know, and then you and me and mom, and there were three hellhounds around you, but they weren't threatening you. They looked like they were deferring to you as their master."

"Definitely a dream," Dean nodded. "You with a dream of a beautiful girl has to be one," he teased, shoving a handful of fries into his mouth.

"Yeah, yeah," said Sam, impatient. "She wasn't doing anything. Just standing in a doorway watching. It was mom that was... dude, she was saying we were special - that you were special. She said we had to find a way to help you invoke some powers you have. Do you suppose that you do? Other than eating, I mean."

Dean grinned, "And sex. Really good at that too. And dude, if I had any kind of special abilities, don't you think they would have come out by now? Look, stop worrying about it. If you have another dream like that, let me know."

"Okay..." Sam sounded doubtful, but he fell silent and went back to his fries. "You're good at sex?" he said, raising one eyebrow as he crumpled up the empty paper that had held his food. "Someone told you that?"

"Years of practice, dude, years of it. You keep it in use, well, you don't get rusty," Dean crumpled up his paper and tossed it at Sam as he then started to lick his fingers.

"Guess that's what's wrong with me then," nodded Sam. "I don't just wanna hook up indiscriminately. I never did." He favored Dean with a long, intense look. "I could be persuaded to put out for you though," he said, lowering his lashes. "There's definitely an attraction there. Must be the special talent shining through."

Dean looked at him, "Of course there is, I'm irresistible." He got up and headed for the bathroom to wash his hands, absently wiping them on his jeans to dry them. "Look, hooking up indiscriminately is not a bad thing. No attachments are ever formed, dude. You have a good time, ease a little tension." Dean walked back into the room, "And somehow I don't think I need to try very hard to persuade you."

"Guess I'm no longer a challenge then," said Sam, swallowing painfully. "I just don't see the point of fucking around. Once I love someone, then that's it for me. They're all I want. You're all I want."

"Oh, c'mon, Sammy," Dean walked over, that pout making his brother look cute. "I know you're that way, but, Sam, we're brothers. And incest doesn't sit well with the outside world. I mean, I love you too, but what do you think Bobby would say if he knew?" Frowning, he sat down beside Sam.

"So don't tell them." Sam rolled his eyes and then spread his hands as if to appeal to his brother. "Nobody else has to know." He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Dean's. "I won't tell if you don't."

"Don't plan on telling anyone but you," He poked his finger in Sam's chest, "Need to chill it in public."

"Not a problem," snorted Sam. "I've never been anxious to find out what it feels like to be tarred and feathered and ridden out of town on a rail." He gave a sigh. "See, I have this feeling that you and I are somehow bound to be together. At the end of the day, we're bonded."

Dean looked at Sam, his eyes drifting to the tattoo upon Sam's chest before looking back up at him, "Yeah, well..." Dean leaned in and kissed him. "C'mon, lets get some sleep."

The kiss was tender, and somehow apologetic, and Sam felt confused, needy, wondering what it was that he was missing. He nodded and rose to his feet to go to the bathroom. "Yeah, I guess," he murmured. "Suppose I'll take a shower."

Dean watched his brother go, and then he looked out the window, his hand going to touch his tattoo. He closed his eyes, remembering how they'd got them. And was Sam remembering? This wasn't supposed to happen. Was the Trickster going back on his word?

The next morning found them sauntering into the police station brandishing ID that named them Special Agents Hotchner and Reid. They'd put together a folder that contained information about another two supposed killings over in Maryland, and they were looking for whatever they could find out about the connections between the three men."

"We'd like to see what you have on the vics," murmured Sam. "They don't appear to be associated in any way at first glance."

The guy looked up at them and rolled his eyes as he turned, putting his donut down and waddling off to fetch the file, grumbling under his breath about agents.

Dean looked at Sam, "Dude, what did I tell you. Lazy, fat, donut-eating cops. This is why we do their jobs." He looked about, "Bet all the healthy ones are out busting drugs or something.

"You reckon there are any healthy ones?" Sam gave Dean a smirk of complicity. "I'm not so sure."

He was about to say something more when the sergeant returned, clasping a bunch of folders to his chest, and flopped down into his seat again. Accepting them from him, Sam opened the first one and began to read. "So these guys were big in the community?" asked Sam, knowing that one of them had been mayor at one time.

"Guess so." The sergeant leaned back in his chair and scratched his belly, apparently enjoying the chance to gossip. "That there Jake Angelino was fixin' to build a big old tourist complex, that I do know."

"So, it would be stupid to ask that he had any enemies?" Dean was looking at another folder. "Whoa, nice tourist complex." He leaned over to Sam and showed it to him. "Dude, gambling and strippers." He was grinning widely.

"A casino? Really?" Sam pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. "Were any of the other vics involved in this at all?"

"Well, Cody Elliott was on the planning council. He was the one that pushed the purchase through. I believe that they all three bought into the syndicate that planned it the development. Should bring in a bunch of money for the community, but I don't know as the entire place liked the idea of a casino. There was some opposition to it at council, for sure."

"You think it was something people might be likely to kill over?" Sam raised his eyebrows. "And who else was involved in the syndicate?"

Dean was looking over the files. "A Janet Beach." Dean handed Sam he file. "The lawyer." He looked over to the man on the opposite side of the desk. "Let me guess, some people in the community got their panties twisted in a wad and protested, and nothing came of it 'til these murders? I see the building got bought."

"Yeah, it did," murmured the cop. "Looks like we're gonna get the casino."

Sam looked at Dean with a frown. "Are you pondering what I'm pondering?" he asked Dean. "This Janet Beach could well be the next one to die."

"That you wear women's underwear?" Dean grinned, not able to resist. "Um," he cleared his throat. "Let's go have a little chat with Janet."

Sam rolled his eyes, but he nodded. "All right," he aquiesced. "And something tells me we'd better hurry, because she's looking like the next in line."

The sergeant had gone back to his typing, but at their request he rose and went to find Janet Beach's address, muttering under his breath all the while about the 'goddam feds who thought that they could just waltz in here and take over.'

Thanking him courteously, the brothers emerged from the police station and headed down the street to find Janet.

Dean pulled up in front of the house and gave a whistle as he checked it out. "Seems she is doing good for herself." He ran his eyes over the house, seeing that there were a couple of lights on inside. She was still up and it seemed as if she was in her study. Outside, the landscaping looked pristine. She even had a BMW in the drive. Dean shook his head. "Lawyers can be such sharks," he said, grinning as Sam huffed at him. He'd intended to become a lawyer.

"Give me some coffee; looks like we're in for a long night." Dean held out his hand for the thermos cup.

"I would've done law, you know," said Sam, pouring some of the fragrant brew into the plastic cup and passing it over. "I wanted to go into family law, see if I could do some good. He fumbled in his pack and found a packet of M&Ms. "You want some of these?"

He shoved a handful into his own mouth and crunched, watching the play of shadow and light on his brother's face as he sipped his coffee. "We gonna go interview her any time soon, or are we waiting for some golem to lob her head at us through the windshield?"

Dean grabbed the M&Ms and chewed on a handful as well. "Dude, it's called a stake-out. And hopefully we'll get to her before anything like that happens. I just want to see what's up. After she goes to bed, we can sneak in and check it out. Look at her papers and see who bought that building.

"I bet she's got a burglar alarm," murmured Sam. "So that's going to be fun for both of us. Dude, why can't we just go ask her?" He reached to wipe away a crumb of chocolate from the corner of Dean's mouth, bringing it up to his own lips. "I'm gonna go sneak around and see whether she does. I'm really not sure about this."

"I can disarm it, don't worry." Dean smirked. Dean reached out and pulled him back. "Just chill for a moment will ya. Let me finish my coffee then we'll go ring her bell, okay? Jeez! I thought I was impatient." Dean shook his head.

Flashing Dean a smile, Sam suddenly leaned in and kissed him, invading his mouth with a chocolatey tongue as he slid his long fingers into Dean's hair. "Okay," he whispered, licking his lips. "Get your caffeine fix, and then we'll go talk to the lady."

Dean looked at him, he shook his head at him, gave him a quick kiss then started drinking his coffee. He stared out into the darkness, watching as the small insects fluttered around the street lights. "So you really wanted to be a family lawyer? Thought it was a tax lawyer."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot of money in that, but you don't really get to associate with real people, just accountants. Law was fascinating though. So much history behind it." Sam frowned. "Not that I'll ever go back to it now. I guess I'm done with school."

"Well, that was a given," Dean answered, scratching at his chest. "I will say it's gotten us out of some jams at times, you knowing something about it, but law ... fascinating? I dunno." Dean drained his cup and then sat it down. "Okay, you do the talking when we get there, you law people speak the same language." He smacked Sam on the leg and climbed out, looking up and down the street before crossing.

Grinning, Sam straightened his tie and hurried after Dean, catching up with him as he was in the act of knocking on the door.

Janet Beach proved to be a short, very well kept older lady, with fluffy, apricot blond hair and a set of gray silk lounge pajamas. She peered at them doubtfully through the gap afforded by the security chain on the door, but relaxed visibly as the brothers extended their ID proclaiming them to be federal agents. "You'd better come in quickly," she said, opening the door. "I don't want to leave the door off the chain."

"Is there a problem, Ms. Beach?" Sam gave her his best innocent smile.

Dean was tucking his ID away as he stepped in, looking about. "You're nervous about the killings aren't you," Dean turned to her. "Gun on the table. Your security alarm set."

She swallowed, visibly afraid, but shook her head, dismissing Dean's words. "There are always break-ins these days... home invasions. I don't want..."

"We know about your connection to the dead men, Ms. Beach. We're here to help you." Sam was peering out of the window as he spoke, but all seemed quiet. "You're afraid that you're going to be next, aren't you?"

Arms crossed as she looked down then turned and headed into the living room. "And who wouldn't? I'm sorry to say but lawyers are always under the gun so to speak." She picked up her tea, hand shaking hard enough to rattle the cup against the saucer as she drank.

Dean followed her, "Why don't you enlighten us as to what's really behind all these killings, besides the building of that Casino?"

Sighing, she turned to study Dean. "You drew that conclusion?" she asked. "That's very perceptive of you." For a moment she didn't say anything more, and Sam had almost given up waiting when she drew a deep breath and began to talk.

"The land was scheduled for redevelopment, and there was a pretty acrimonious dispute over it. The local temple said it should remain as is, because of the old grave site there, but we were sure that they'd see reason once they saw how much money it brought in. It looks as if we might have been wrong."

As she was speaking, Sam could hear sounds coming from the rear of the house. He was about to say something, when all of a sudden there was the sound of breaking glass and splintering wood.

Dean was about to say something about the grave site. He wanted to ask her if she actually possessed any common sense. But then suddenly it was time to fight. "Stay here," Dean ordered as he pulled his gun out and moved toward the commotion at the rear of the house. He motioned Sam to follow, but pretty soon he could tell that it was useless.

The huge clay creature that lumbered in smashed the doorway apart as it moved towards its goal.

"Holy shit," Dean looked at the huge thing with wide eyes before he fired his shotgun.

"Run!" Sam had grabbed the lawyer by the shoulder, spun her around and thrust her out of the front door, bolting it behind her and turning back, shotgun at the ready.

The creature seemed to be impervious to gunshots. It reached for Dean and batted him to one side, sending him flying into the wall. Sam took aim with the shotgun he was carrying and blasted the thing in the face. It didn't even falter, Seconds later he was flying through the air and colliding with Janet Beach's china cabinet. His only consolation as he lay picking the shards of crystal out of his skin was that he'd heard her roar off in her car as if the devil himself were after her. As the creature burst through the front door, Sam thought that possibly it was.

Dean had hit the wall hard, his gun flying from his hand, his back making an ugly sound as he hit. He sank to the floor, looking up in time to see the thing go after Sam. That gave him enough energy to push himself up to his feet and move. His mind whirled as he tried to think. And then an idea came to him. Quickly, he dashed out to the back yard, grabbing the water hose that was spraying the lawn to keep it lush.

Dragging it around as quickly as he could, he let the sprayer go, wetting the thing. If nothing else, he thought, it would make the sidewalk slippery so that maybe it would fall over.

The golem was lumbering up the pathway slow but relentless, and Sam, head ringing from his collision with the china cabinet, wasn't thinking too clearly. Dean was spraying water all over the creature, and the ground over which it was moving, but the thing showed no sign of stopping. Picking up a chair, Sam ran at the thing and smashed its back with his makeshift weapon.

It was then Dean spotted a dent. The water appeared to be doing something. Below its feet Dean could see the red mud beginning to spread. The chair sank into the creature before part of it broke off. "Get something harder!" Dean screamed.

Soaked to the skin and bleeding from numerous cuts, Sam ran to the Impala, pulling open the trunk and reaching for a tire iron. The thing was almost out of range of the water jet when he charged at it, hitting at its head over and over until pieces of wet clay fell to the ground and a hole appeared in it.

It had turned to strike at Sam when the hole appeared and a small rolled up paper dropped out. The golem stopped dead, no longer anything more than a lump of clay. Dean didn't let up on spraying it until the head was mostly dissolved. Then at last he dropped the hose and walked over, waving a hand in front of it and smirking at Sam. His brother appeared to be a mess - wet, bleeding, but all right overall. Nothing that time wouldn't fix.

Bending stiffly, Sam gathered up the scroll and unrolled it, frowning as he studied it. "This is in Hebrew," he murmured, lips moving as he attempted to decipher it. "Can't do anything with it here. I think maybe we should call the cops and then make ourselves scarce before they arrive."

Dean nodded. "As usual, we do their job," he grumbled as he pulled out his phone, doing his usual, calling in the report. When they asked who he was, he hung up the phone and shoved it away in his pocket as he made for the Impala, "Let's get back to the room, get ourselves dry, then we can figure out where to get that thing translated. Unless you know it?" he murmured, starting the car.

"Yeah." Sam's teeth were starting to chatter. "I don't know if I can translate it or not. I'll take a look in the light and see what I can make of it. Failing that, I guess we could take it to the rabbi." He snickered. "That might be a good idea anyway. If it's him that's sending the golem, it'll put the wind up his sails nicely."

"And he can't send that thing at us. He'll have to make a new one if he wants to get us." Dean pulled away and not a moment too soon. In the distance he could see a couple of cop cars approaching. "They're right on time!" Dean looked at his watch. "Okay, let's get back to the room."

"Whoever he is, he'll definitely have to make a new one now, won't he?" Sam leaned his head back against the upholstery. "And I think a machete or two will help against it. Once the paper was removed from it, it stopped functioning, so we know how to deal with it."

"You reach into its mouth for me, Sammy, I don't want digits lost. I like all my fingers." Dean nodded. "Yeah, well, if he's gotta build a new one, that gives us a little time." Dean pulled up beside their room and climbed out. "Now get in there and take a hot shower, I'll go get us some coffee." He turned to go towards the diner that was just down the block.

"Thanks." Sam watched Dean go, then let himself into the room and went to take a shower. Wrapped in his towel, he was just emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam when his brother pushed open the door and came in bearing the coffees.

Heading over to his duffel he rooted through to find some clean, dry underwear and pulled it on. "That was very cool with the hose and the water, bro. Worked well."

"Yeah well, you needed a bath, and I figured if it was made up of some kind of clay or dirt, maybe it would melt away." Dean shrugged as he set one cup down and took a drink from his own. "You know, I didn't think that Rabbis were that violent, or even Jewish for that matter."

"Dude!" Jared almost dropped the jeans he was about to climb into. "Rabbis are like Jewish priests. I can't believe you didn't know that." He pulled his pants up and fastened them around his slim waist, then reached for a t-shirt. "And they aren't any more likely to be violent than any other priest would be. They're men of God." He pulled a chair out and sat down at the table, sipping his coffee as he began to look at the scroll that they'd taken from the golem.

"This is in some archaic form that I've never seen before. We're definitely going to need a Jewish scholar to translate it for us," he announced after a few moments.

Dean looked at his brother and smirked. "Course I knew that," he said, trying to fake. He took a seat opposite Sam and reached for the scroll, looking it over, turning it upside down and then right again. Finally he put it down on the table. "Okay, so we go find one to translate."

"Looks that way," nodded Sam, his lips quirking in a smile that spoke of adoration. "I guess I'll head up to the university and see who they have that can translate it... unless you want to go?" He bent to kiss his brother, soft mouth resting against Dean's as he let his eyes drift closed. "We've got a little while, I'm sure. You don't build those things in a few minutes, and we have its brain right here."

Dean had gone to universities in the past, bullshitting his way through to get information. Sam was much better at it. "You better do that. I might get distracted by all the hot co-eds," he answered before Sam kissed him.

Dean had to agree with Sam. Those things didn't look at all easy to build. "God, I hope they don't have some sort of assembly line," he said, imagining a tribe of golems stomping down the sidewalk after him. He would hate that. "Okay, my turn for a shower." getting up, he pulled his outer shirt off and tossed it upon his bed.

"Want me to come and wash your back for you?" Sam sounded diffident, wondering if he'd been brushed off. "You know how hard it is to reach those important little places." He turned to power up his laptop, trying to pretend that the answer wasn't that important to him.

"I'm a big boy, I can handle it," Dean answered as he made his way into the bathroom. He wondered what was up with his brother. Sam seemed so clingy lately and pouty. Yeah, they had been together, but Sam was acting like a rejected girl. Finally, he turned his attention to the shower, thinking he was probably making too much of Sam's behavior, because of the way he was feeling himself. The water had warmed up, and he stripped down, stepping under the spray, so he could clean himself. Damn but it felt good.

Sam watched him go, frowning, and then slipped the piece of paper in his pocket. Reaching for his jacket, he prepared to go up to the university to scope out someone who might be able to translate his scroll. He too was wondering what he'd done to annoy his brother. For a moment he considered taking a cab but then changed his mind and grabbed the keys to the Impala and headed out.

Dean felt better after his shower. He emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. "Let me get dressed and ..." Dean stopped when he realized he was all alone. It seemed that his brother had gone without him. "Little bitch," he grumbled, pulling his clothes out. Sighing, he changed into them and then flopped on the bed to watch TV.

It was well past midnight before Sam returned, stumbling slightly and singing under his breath. He put one finger to his lips and shushed himself as he closed the door, stepping carefully as though he were trying to be quiet. He dropped the keys to the Impala onto the table and began to paw through their first aid kit, looking for Ibuprofen.

Dean grumbled in his sleep before turning over dislodging a beer bottle from the foot of his bed along with the polystyrene carton from the nearby Chinese take-out. He turned over onto his stomach and shoved his hand under his pillow, completely undisturbed by the fact that Sam had come home drunk.

Filling a glass with water, Sam drank it down and then replenished it, putting it down by his bedside along with the pills. Pulling off his clothing, he flopped down onto the bed and sprawled there, giggling softly. A few moments later, he was asleep.

Dean was up early. He turned the radio up loud, and he sang loudly along with it while he was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Yes, he was torturing his brother, but served him right for coming in late. He just knew Sam would have a hangover.

The sound of Dean's voice raised in song roused Sam, and, moaning, he rubbed at his gummy eyes as he reached for the painkillers and water he'd put ready.

Foreigner were playing on the radio, and Sam suddenly conceived a deep and abiding hatred for 'The Eye of the Tiger.' "Dude, quit strangling that cat, willya?" he growled, his voice roughened by the whiskey he'd drunk the night before. Crawling out of the bed, he sat on the edge, waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in.

Dean gave a chuckle. "Aww is Sammy's little head hurting?" He peeked out of the bathroom. "Hope you got lucky last night and didn't scratch my car. I'm guessing you aren't gonna join me for breakfast? Nice fluffy eggs, greasy sausage."

"Shut up," growled Sam. "Your car is fine. I left it at the bar, because I didn't want to risk hurting it, and yeah, I am so going to join you for breakfast. Now just be quiet, or I'll shoot your ass with rock salt."

Dean chuckled again, unable to help it as he went back to brushing his teeth then gargling. Once done he returned to stand surveying Sam with a particularly annoying smirk. "Well get your ass up, let's go, I'm starved." He turned to get his gun out of his bag and put on his boots.

Sam swore softly, but he rose to his feet and stalked into the bathroom, head held high. Showering quickly, he combed back his wet hair and dried off, going back into the bedroom to get dressed. "I got the translation," he said, tonelessly. "No doubt at some stage you'll be interested. Let's go."

"Well, I was letting you put yourself together. I do have a heart," Dean pulled open the door. "Jeez, you sure you didn't have breakfast already?" he asked, snarkily. "'cause you are acting like someone peed in your Wheaties, dude." Dean shook his head in mock regret as Sam snarled.

"Yeah, someone did." Sam stalked past him and turned to wait as Dean locked up. "Where we going?" He shoved his hands in his pockets as he started mooching along. "The translation is definitely an animation ritual for a golem, which we really already knew. It's in some really obscure version of Hebrew which - according to the scholar I spoke to, is only known by a few of the really learned. Unfortunately there are no clues as to who actually wrote the animation spell. I guess we're going to have to go round the Jewish community and see who panics."

"Huh," Dean answered as they reached the car at last. "Well, if there is only a few, we should be able to find who did it fairly quickly. Hey, maybe we can be out of town pretty quickly and take you to Disneyland to get you out of that funk you're in." He aimed a sunny smile at Sam.

"I got him to tell me about the legend of the golem," Sam murmured, ignoring the jibe. "Apparently the word <i>emet</i> is usually written on a golem's forehead, and if you remove the first letter, the word <i>met</i> means dead, and the golem is inactivated, so that's another way to kill it. They weren't always used for vengeance, either. It was considered a great mark of holiness to have a golem servant."

"Okay so, we need to find the holy man that is making them," Dean pulled into the diner and they both walked in, sliding into a booth to check out the menu and the specials.

"The only way to do it that I can see is to show that manuscript around and ask embarrassing questions. Sooner or later someone is going to want to get us out of the picture." Sam held his mug out for the server to fill it. "And I'll get the special, please?"

"Make that two with extra bacon," Dean ordered then looked at Sam, pursing his lips in thought. "Well I'd rather it come after us than someone else, so let's ask around, get that thing to come chase us." He sipped thoughtfully at his coffee as he spoke, evidently enjoying the aroma.

They sat and drank in silence for a while. Once their food had arrived, Sam looked up. "Okay, let's look at what we've got so far. We know it's a golem. We know who the targets are, and it seems to be because of a proposed mall. The one person that the golem didn't find yet has gone into hiding - or she has if she has any sense at all. Am I missing anything?"

Dean shook his head, "Nope, don't think you missed anything," Dean took a drink of his coffee. He shifted, "Hopefully we can find this thing, person who is doing this and end this before anyone else gets killed."

"Especially us," nodded Sam. "I kinda like my head where it is."

Breakfast over, the two brothers rose to go and get on with the task of flushing out the person behind the killings. Sam headed down the street to find the local rabbi and talk to him, while Dean went to see what he could find in the house of the lawyer whose life they'd saved the previous evening. A long discussion with the rabbi and a couple of other men from the temple produced nothing immediately helpful, and he thanked the men profusely, dialing Dean on his cell as he left the building.

"I got nothin'" he murmured. "You?"

Dean had been going through the place trying to find anything, papers, names, but it seemed this lawyer was one of the few that left her work at work. "Got bupkes," Dean grumbled as he was heading out toward his car. He hadn't noticed someone was watching him as he climbed in his car while talking to Sam.

"Where to now?" Sam was ready to punch walls. He wasn't sure what else they could do now, and he was feeling frustrated. "You gonna pick me up?"

"Yeah, I think we need to check the lawyer's office." He was pulling away, heading off to get Sam as he hung up the phone. Upon reaching where Sam was, after stopping to pick up some coffees, he pulled up, waiting for Sam to get in then handed him the coffee.

"Thanks." Sam took the coffee with a sigh of relief and settled back to brood. "I'm stumped," he growled. "It's annoying. There has to be something I'm missing." Turning to Dean as an idea suddenly struck him, he leaned forward. "Let's go to City Hall on the way to Ms. Beach's office and take a look at those plans for the mall. Something that Rabbi said didn 't make sense to me, but I'm damned if I can think of what it was."

Dean looked around for traffic before pulling out, "Okay, City Hall it is. Should have started there in the first place. I think we are slipping on our job." He shook his head.

There was little traffic, and they found themselves outside city hall before too much longer. They'd changed into suits yet again, and Dean had issued them both with the ID proclaiming that they were federal agents. As they stalked into the planning department, Sam turned to look at his brother. A pang of longing shook him, and he paused for a moment, trying to recover. "Go on," he said, quietly. "I'll be there in a moment."

Dean paused, looking at his brother, not getting why the sudden pause. He then shrugged and then said, "The little girl's room is off that way." He smirked and turned, heading into the planning office. Looking around, he made for the nearest clerk and began to sweet talk her.

When Sam entered the room and looked around for his brother, he could see that Dean had managed to get the girl to show him the plans for the proposed mall. He moved across and smiled at her. "Hi. I'm special agent Angus Young," he murmured, reaching to take the folder of correspondence that accompanied the plans. He began to read through it. "You see anything out of the ordinary, Agent Mustaine?"

Dean just gave a glance over to Sam then went back to the plans. He frowned as he looked at the bottom of the page, "Wait, there are four signatures here," He looked to Sam. He pulled the paper over so that Sam could see and pointed down, "But I can't read the fourth."

Scowling as he attempted to decipher the fourth signature, Sam shook his head. "Beats me," he said. He turned to the folder in his hands and began to leaf through the papers again, looking for any document that might list the applicants. It was a long couple of minutes before he suddenly grinned. "Yes!" he said. "Dude's a doctor. No wonder we can't read his writing. "Dr. Frank Howlett."

"Then let's go pay him a visit," Dean rolled everything up and handed it back. "Thanks sweetheart," Dean winked at the simpering clerk and then headed out, calling for Sam to follow. "Okay, let's go find the guy."

If only it were that easy, thought Sam to himself later as they struck out yet again. The doctor's surgery had a locum. His house was locked and shuttered, and his neighbors had seen no sign of him for over four weeks. Sam sat on the front fender of the Impala, shrugged at Dean and scratched his head, unsure of where to go next. "It's like he just vanished. You think that the golem got him already?"

Dean came up beside Sam, looking at the house. He gave a shrug, his expression mirroring Sam's frustration. "Maybe, either that or he cleared out after those other deaths. but it seems like he's been gone for a while." He shook his head, not sure what to do now.

"I'm gonna go in. Cover me?" Sam looked around himself, trying to decide if they were being watched. He crept around the house, looking for a way in. Spotting a loose shutter in a window around the rear, he pried at it, and a few quick wrenches pulled it free, allowing him to open the window. "You coming?" he called to his brother, slithering through the open window, head first.

"Yeah. Got your ass covered." Dean was pushing at Sam light heartedly. Sam wondered what had happened when he suddenly stopped talking, and his hands were gone from his ass.

"Nothing wrong with my ass," growled Sam, landing with a thump onto musty floorboards. He turned, expecting Dean to follow, but Dean didn't come. "Hey, man? Dean? Where are you? You okay?" Turning to look back through the window, he saw that Dean was lying on the ground, out cold, and a dark shadow of a figure stood over him. He pushed the window a little wider and leaned out to see more. A second later, he followed Dean into unconsciousness.

Dean's head ached and throbbed. He groaned and leaned his head back, only to collide with Sam's. "Ow, shit!" He turned his head as his vision cleared. "Sammy?" he whispered. Twisting - or at least trying to - he realized that he was tired to a chair, and so was Sam. They were back to back, ropes around them, and it was dark in the room. Where were they? Who did this?

"Dean?" Sam sounded groggy in the darkness. "Dean, are you okay?"

Dean didn't have a chance to answer. A light flared, and a man stepped forward out of the shadows. "You've been asking inconvenient questions, and I'm afraid that I'm going to have to send my pet to see that you stop."

"Pet?" Dean squinted into the light, "That over-sized Mr. Bill?" Dean shook his head. Dean's fingers worked and pulled at Sam's, getting him to feel at his back, where he had a knife tucked away hidden.

"You've got a smart mouth, Agent... Mustaine, was it?" The man gave a thin smile. "Frankly, I don't believe that you and your tall companion are federal agents at all. The only reason I didn't send my avenger to you already is that I want to know who you are, and why you're here poking your nose into things that don't concern you. Who sent you?"

"I guess we can't always have the things we want," growled Sam, who, with Dean's assistance, had managed to fumble Dean's knife free, and who was poised to cut his brother's arms free. "We're just not at liberty to tell you who sent us."

Dean nodded in agreement, "Yeah, see, if we did, we'd have to kill ya." He shifted in the chair, "So you really think you'll just get off scott-free from this? I mean, if we followed the trail, don't think someone else will?"

"They'll think that it was instigated by the folks in the temple, if they ever even believe that it's a golem that's doing the damage. I was very careful indeed to lay that trail." The man frowned. "And of course they believe me to be in Florida, hiding out, so, you see, there will be no real problem, once I get you two meddlers out of the way. Who are you anyway? You're definitely not feds."

"Do they... you sure about that?" Dean was slowly rubbing his ropes along the blade Sam was holding. "I mean, c'mon, who flees to Florida and boards up their house? Most in a hurry just leave the place as is and bolt out with a half packed suitcase. Oh, and then there is airport security, and, well, do I need go on pointing out the giant holes you left in your plan that a pair of semi-trucks could pass through, sideways?"

"That's where you're wrong. I actually did go to Florida - I flew there last week. The fact that I turned around and drove back again is something that people will never know." The doctor folded his arms. "But enough of this. I'm going to tie you two loose ends up for good, now. In a few moments, my pet will come visit with you, and then you'll no longer be a problem."

Without further ado, he turned to leave the room, and Sam busied himself, hastily sawing through the twine that bound Dean's hands. "Hurry, dude," he murmured as Dean pulled himself free.

Dean pulled the ropes over his head with his freed hands and then stooped to start working on his ankles. From somewhere deep in the house he could hear a noise that didn't sound good. Quickly getting free, Dean turned and untied Sam. "How do we always get ourselves in these situations. We are so falling down on the job," he grumbled.

"That's true," growled Sam. He was about to say more, but at that point the door opened, and a clay creature almost indistinguishable from the one they'd destroyed began to push into the room. "Oh, God! Showtime."

Brandishing the chair to which he'd been tied, Sam went towards the creature. "See if you can erase the 'E' from its forehead. The first character on the word."

"And how you expect me to do that?" Dean shouted as he jumped back from an enormous hand that swatted at him. The chair between them was tossed aside like a feather. "Oh shit!" Dean cursed. "Distract it!" He turned and ran out of the room to find a way around. All he could think of to do was to climb on its back.

"Distract it," muttered Sam as the thing lumbered forward towards him, forcing him back into a corner of the room. It reached for him, and he ducked, rolled, trying to get past it so that he could make his escape. "Don't think that's going to be a problem. Fuck!" The expletive was heartfelt. The thing reached forward as he was rising to his feet again and caught hold of his hoodie, tearing it clean in half. In the nick of time, Sam hurtled out of its reach.

Dean moved through the house as quickly as he could, maneuvering his way around to get behind the giant beast. Upon entering the room, he saw it trying to get at his brother, and as it was grabbing Sam's hoodie, tearing it, Dean threw himself upon its back, clinging tight while he tried to reach his hand around to rub at the face.

Fingers poked eyes as the beast thrashed around, attempting with stumpy arms to grab him off, it backed into the wall, making Dean grunt with the force. Smacking backwards over and over again, Dean found himself getting dizzy from the impact and wondered if they would survive this case. For a moment, it changed tactics, spinning in an attempt to throw him off that way. It circled around a few times, then hit him against the wall again.

Biting his lip with the effort, Dean got his hand around again, this time covering its forehead and tried to wipe.

Sam took his chance and ducked in close, knife out as he tried his best to cut through the clay to find the scroll that animated the thing. He was almost there, had hacked a hole in the golem's face, when a huge hand closed around his throat and began to squeeze. Fight as he may, Sam could feel himself beginning to lose consciousness.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted as he finally found the letters that were etched on the thing's forehead and scraped away the first of them. He felt the thing suddenly stop. He dropped off his perch and hastily cut the clay fingers away from his brother's throat. He pulled each digit away 'til he saw Sam drop. He dropped down with him and looked at him, trying to see if there was anything he could do for him. "Sammy, you okay?"

The world was fuzzy and full of sparkling edges. Sam moaned, gulped air and tried to recover his senses. Dean was right there. Dean had saved him. He reached for his brother and touched his cheek gently before starting to pull himself to his feet.

"I think I'm good," he croaked, voice harsh and hoarse from the pressure the golem had exerted on his larynx. "We have to catch that doctor guy, before he can create any more of these 'pets' of his."

Dean stood up with Sam and nodded, "Okay, the bastard has to have stuck around to make sure the thing did it's work." Dean turned and grabbed the scroll out of it's mouth. He handed it to Sam, "So let's send it after him. It can lead us to him,"

Nodding, Sam frowns, unrolling the parchment Dean's just passed to him. "I think it looks okay. He took a small notepad from his pocket and drew an aleph on it. "Can you put that back on its forehead, while I sign away my life in blood here?"

Retrieving his knife from the floor, Sam stabbed the palm of his hand and, as the red blood welled up from the puncture, he began to use the tip of it to inscribe his name on a blank part of the scroll, finally cutting it loose from the rest and popping it back into the creature's mouth.

Dean looked at the thing then moved over and, standing on a chair, he etched the symbol back onto the golem's forehead. He jumped back as he saw it come to life. Dean looked to Sam then back at it as it didn't move. "These things still freak me out."

"With reason," murmured Sam, torn between triumph and horror that he'd succeeded in animating this lump of clay. He watched warily as it turned to face him, the rudimentary features apparently watching him. "Listen to me," he said, his voice faltering, and the thing leaned closer as if obeying. "Find Dr. Frank Howlett and bring him to me. Don't hurt him, but don't let him go either."

Without any further ado the golem turned and lumbered away. "You think that'll do?" Sam asked Dean. "We have to make sure he's arrested for murder."

Dean looked at Sam, "I thought you were the smart one." Dean watched the creature's slow progress before turning back to Sam. "Whoa, wait. You still have that other scroll? It has his blood on it, showing he wrote it, right? Well why don't we just send the thing to the police station with him?"

"Good call!" Sam gave Dean a friendly punch on the shoulder. "We'll have Gary the golem deliver them both to the copshop, with an order to shut down once he's dropped them off. How's that?" He rolled his head on his neck, trying to find some way of comforting the steady ache that the golem had caused. "And in the meantime, I wouldn't mind a few painkillers."

"Okay, you get started on the next scroll, I'll go get you some aspirins." Dean started to head out to the car but paused to glance back at his brother, glad to see that he was still okay, before jogging out to the car.

Sam boggled a little as he watched Dean go out. Sighing, he turned the parchment in his hand over and studied it. He didn't know what half of the conjuration on it meant, but he meant to do his best. Setting to work, he just hoped that he'd get it right. Failure would result in a clay being of immense strength running amok. Finally he got the wording of the inscription to his satisfaction and began to scribe it in his blood on a page from his notebook.

Dean had searched the trunk before coming back with a bottle. He was shaking it when he returned to the room where Sam was still working. He set the bottle down beside him, along with a bottle of water. Then he took hold of his brother's hand and started bandaging it up. "Dude, you got to stop mutilating yourself," he teased.

"Yeah. I really should," smirked Sam. "I should let you do it for me," he chuckled. "You'd be good at that." He relaxed back against the wall as Dean tended to his hand, smearing it with antibiotic cream and then binding it for him. Dean was just finishing up when there was a sound at the doorway, and the golem stood there, clutching a wriggling, purple-faced Dr. Howlett. Groaning a little as he felt his aches and pains making themselves known, Sam stood to face the creature. "You did good," he told it. "Now one more thing, and then you can rest. I want you to take him, and this, to the police station, wait while they read it, so he doesn't escape, and then I want you to return to the clay. You've earned your rest."

"NO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS. IT'S MY CREATURE!" Howlett shouted.

Dean shrugged, "Well, I think you'll find that we just did it, dude." He nodded to Sam to place the scroll in the Golem's mouth. Dean waved goodbye to it with a smirk, and looked back towards his brother. "Okay, we need to stick around long enough to see if it worked, then head out?"

"I guess so," nodded Sam, reaching for the aspirin and water that Dean had left for him. "Can't wait to read about this in the papers. I wonder how they'll rationalize it." He leaned his head back against the wall. "Gary the Golem is going to take a whole bunch of explaining." Swallowing down the pills and drinking the water to wash them down, Sam pulled himself to his feet. "Okay, dude, let's go."

Dean nodded, "Not our worry any more. Our job is done, so let's go." Dean smacked Sam on his back and headed out. "Hey, look, sun coming up. Think we're going the wrong way, need to ride into the sunset." He looked at Sam with a smile.

"I could sleep for a week," murmured Sam as he followed his brother out into the dawn. "Don't suppose that there'll be much chance of that?" He pulled open the car door and slumped down into the seat. "It's not everyday that one orders one's creation to self destruct. Think I'll make a good evil overlord or what?"

Dean studied his brother, not liking the way he'd used that word, "Yeah, Pinky, you will," he said finally. Starting the car, he looked at the horizon where the sun was beginning to show gleaming copper and orange. He hoped they would continue to see more sunrises together. Reaching to pet his brother's hair, he felt his heart stutter. Sam wouldn't turn evil, and they'd make it through - he'd see to that..

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