Sam woke up the next morning. He smiled as he presented his gift to his mother. She loved the gems and hung them up in the thin beam of light that shone through a crack in the floorboards. It was a sliver of a crack, almost unnoticeable to humans but the light added just a bit of homeliness, dispelled just a touch of gloom, from the small home. They were under the floorboards of the room he had nearly been caught in, tucked back into the far corner under a window. It was cozy, to use the word a little loosely.

His father was a quiet man. He sipped his morning tea, blackberry leaf and willow bark, and watched the dust motes in the beam. "You were out late," he said eventually.

Sam nodded, sipping his own tea. "A couple burst through the door. I had to hide under the bed until they were well and truly asleep." 

His mother frowned worriedly. "They didn't see you, did they?"

Sam shook his head. "No. It was pitch black when I made my run for the vent. No one saw me." He left out the fact that he had felt the sensation of being Seen. Not full eyes knowingly on him, but the faint knowledge that one of the humans had woken up and seen his shape in the shadows. He didn't want to upset his family.

The woman smiled and kissed the top of Sam's head as she passed. "Good. What are your plans today?"

"Kitchen supplies were delivered yesterday," his father said. "Which means those sloppy cooks will have left crumbs and bits everywhere. The Corners, the Lamps and the Fans all are coming as well. Sam and I will scout and bring the information back to plan. Most likely we'll go for the place in the evening, after the late check in."

The small woman nodded. "Alright. Can you find me some more fabric? Something with some color, please." She brushed out her plaid apron. "My dresses are getting thin and so are your clothes." She picked an imaginary piece of fluff from her husband's shirt. "And with winter only a month away, I need time to make you some good clothes."

Her husband rested his hand on hers. "I know. The signs are pointing to a bitterly cold winter." 

Sam broke open the small fruit his father had managed to scavenge last night. The seeds were shaped like a spoon. He sighed. They would be digging themselves out this winter, the old farmer's tale said. His mother glanced at the seed arrangement and shook her head. "Lots of fabric, please," she repeated herself. "So I can keep my boys warm and make some good blankets for trade later."

"Be sure to keep one back for me," Sam said as he ate. "Last year's alone may not be enough this winter."

"Of course, sweetheart," she said. She headed off to her work space where all her clothing and blanket making materials were stored.

Sam looked to his adoptive father as he finished his breakfast. "I'm ready when you are." The two men donned their jackets and bags and headed off into the gloom of the walls.

In the bedroom, Dean and Jess had been awake for some time now. They were talking about plans for the evening's hunt and the groundwork that was necessary in the morning to be successful later on. They lined up their stories about why they were visiting and asking questions. It was pushing seven when Jesslyn's stomach growled.

"I'm hungry," she stated. "This place has a decent little breakfast bar. It's not much according to the reviews on Yelp but it's free."

"Free is good," Dean chuckled. He stretched and slid out of bed, grabbing his clothes and dressing quickly. Jesslyn followed suit, pulling on her skinny jeans, tank top and choosing her black flats over her heels. Her tattoos would make her stand out enough as it was in this town, no need to overdo it by wearing what one woman had referred to as "hooker heels."

Jesslyn looked up to her on-again, off-again partner. The only thing about not wearing her heels was she now only reached his shoulder. She pouted slightly. 

"If you want to wear the damn heels then just wear them," Dean said, knowing all-too-well that face. "We'll be leaving the town for good as soon as the job is done. No one will remember you." Jesslyn huffed and rubbed her arm. "And just tell them how you decorate your body is none of their damn business."

Jesslyn had to smile at that. "Fine. Since you like my heels so much, I'll wear them." She kicked off the flats, sat on the bed and pulled on her strappy black stilettos. When she stood, the top of her head was level with Dean's nose. She hooked her arm through his and, together, they headed outside and to the main lobby. 

The breakfast buffet that awaited them really wasn't anything special. There wasn't even a waffle maker. It was powdered eggs and sausage patties in warming trays, three different kinds of muffins, a couple different pastry options and a drink dispenser with a choice of either pulp-free orange juice or one-percent milk. 

Dean muttered under his breath. "We're better off going to the Waffle House up the road. There's nothing here."

"It's free," Jesslyn reminded him. "So make a plate and hush." 

Dean continued to grumble as he made a plate that heaped with eggs and sausage. "Couldn't even make bacon," he groused. He piled on a couple of muffins and made a face as he fill his plastic cup with orange juice. He claimed a seat on a stool at one of the few tall tables in the lobby and watched his partner pick through the food with a meticulous air. She claimed two blueberry muffins, a pastry and a sausage patty. She chose one of the bottles of water hastily shoved into a bowl of ice instead of suffering the juice or milk. 

Dean did notice a few disapproving looks sent her way; no doubt due to her tattoos, sky-high heels and skin tight jeans. But these were all things Dean appreciated about her. The heels lifted and tightened her ass, rounding it out and making it a pleasant echo of her breasts. All in all, Dean thought she was gorgeous and knew how lucky he was that she kept coming back to him. 

Jesslyn slid into the stool and smiled at Dean's face. "I see that look. I feel that look. We've got work to do, Mr. Winchester. Work first, play later." 

Dean grinned. "Then I guess we better work fast." 

Jesslyn couldn't help but snort at that. "Dork," she chuckled. "Dorky-Dean. My sweet Dean, all gruff but really just fluff."

Dean frowned at this. "Hey, no saying that out loud. You'll ruin the Winchester reputation."

Jesslyn laughed out loud at that.

Inside the wall that their table was situated against, two small beings froze at the laughter. Both were used to the noises of the giant beings that would flit through the motel, staying for a day or two at a time before leaving. But the younger man had other things floating through his mind. Mr. Winchester. Dean. Dean Winchester. Could it possibly be? Could it really be Dean? His long lost brother? 

There was a lull in the conversation and Sam's adoptive father had started forward when the man's voice echoed gruffly. He must have had his back to the wall for Sam to hear his words so clearly.

"The necklace? It's an amulet. My... my kid brother gave it to me. He died a year later. It's all I've got left of him." There was a moment of quiet before he spoke again. "Your turn. What's with your tattoos?"

Sam's head was spinning. Wildly. He was gasping for breath as he leaned against the wall. He didn't hear the woman's murmurs. He could barely hear his father asking if he was alright, what was wrong, saying they needed to get moving. All Sam could hear was the man's, Dean's, voice as he responded to whatever the woman had said.

"That's only three, though. Who's the fourth for?" There was a pause, then, "Oh. I see." 

Silence reigned. And in that time, Sam gathered himself. He dared to push the hidden panel in the wall just enough to stare out. His father was hissing at him, trying to pull him inside and away from the door. But Sam was on autopilot. He couldn't pass up this chance to reconnect. He wouldn't be a coward. He had to see his brother. He had just slid out when he felt the prickle of eyes on him. He had been Seen. 

"Mouse!" the woman screamed. "It's a mouse!" She threw her plate at the wall. At Sam. She kicked away from the table in her haste to escape. Her chair tipped backwards and she fell over. Dean lunged to his feet, his own chair skittering away, and knelt beside his partner. 

"Damn, woman," he groused. "Are you alright? All that over a mouse." He glanced over his shoulder and couldn't quite believe what he saw. It almost looked like a person, a miniature person, standing there, inches from where the plate of food was smeared against the wall. He was even more shocked when another small person reached from behind a panel and pulled the first inside and closed the panel behind them. "What the hell?"

He looked back to Jesslyn who was slowly sitting up with a groan. Other patrons were staring and whispering. A few had come over to check on the woman. Dean supported his partner and looked her over. "Jess, we need to talk."

"I don't overreact," she muttered as she rubbed her head. "Don't start. I hate mice."

Says the woman who faces down monsters, he thought wryly. "Right." He looked to the concerned man who came over as he helped Jesslyn to her feet. "She's fine, thanks. We don't need the manager."

"Yes we do!" Jesslyn began to protest. "I am NOT--"

"Hush," Dean hissed in her ear. He gripped her by the elbow and wheeled her towards the door. "That wasn't a mouse." He waved off the concerned manager. "She's fine," he grunted. "We're fine. She just thought she saw a mouse and has a nasty phobia of them. Don't you, dear?"

Jesslyn eyed Dean with suspicion before nodding to the manager. "I'm sorry." The words were ground out, almost against her will. "I'm fine."

She walked with her partner back to their room. When the door was locked behind them, she whirled around. "Alright. Spill. If that wasn't a mouse, what was it?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But it wasn't a mouse. It looked human, except in miniature."

"Borrowers," Jesslyn breathed. "They're actually real."

"Who knows. Either way, don't make a fuss. We'll work this just like any other case. After we take care of whatever is killing in this town," he said. "That takes priority."

Jesslyn sighed and ran a hand through her curls. "Fine, fine. Alright. I'll get changed and we can go visit the morgue." 

Back in the walls, Sam's father slammed him into the wood studs. "What are you doing?!" he growled. "You were seen! I could have been seen! You could have blown our entire existence. You may well have already. What were you thinking?!" 

Sam stared down the older man. "That's my brother. The man was my brother. I heard his name last night and just now. I saw the amulet hanging from his neck. I gave it to him when we were children. I got it from an old family friend. I was going to give it to our dad but he didn't show up for Christmas and Dean wound up stealing some gifts from some family. So I gave the amulet to him." His gaze was steady, rock solid. "That's my brother and I can't lose this chance to talk to him. He probably thinks I'm dead." 

Sam's adoptive father sighed and shook his head. "Even if he is your brother, and that's a big if, you can't go off and just show yourself like that. You risk our whole way of life when you do that. You risk yourself. What if that plate had actually collided with you? How would I have explained that to your mother?" He gripped Sam's shoulder. "You have to be careful. You know that." 

"I know," Sam repeated softly. "But I can't lose this chance. I just can't. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. Whatever comes of it, he has to know I'm here. That I exist."