As It Was - Dean Winchester

Part 53

"Something's wrong with the kids in this town," Dean announced as we walked back into the motel room where he had ditched Sammy.

"Yeah. Tell me about it," Sam muttered, looking on his computer. "So, what do you know about changelings?"

"Ohhh," I hummed, suddenly understanding.

"Evil monster babies?" Dean commented with a raised brow.

"No, not necessarily babies," Sam shot in.

"They're kids. Creepy, 'stare at you like you're lunch' kids," Dean said in realization. 

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "There's one at every victim's house." 

Sitting down next to the younger hunter, I raced over everything I knew about the lore. "The lore popped up all over. Scandinavia, Western Europe, Ireland, Scottland. A creature climbed in thorugh windows and took the human child and replaced with one of their own, spelled to look exactly like the human child."

"Y'know, there were marks on the windowsill at one of the kid's houses. Looked to me like blood," Sam informed us. 

"The changeling grabs a kid, assumes its form, joins the happy fam just for kicks?" Dean asked for clarification.

"Not quite. Changelings feed on the mom: synovial fluid. The moms have these odd bruises on the back of their necks. Changelings can drain them for a few weeks before mom finally croaks," Sam explained. 

I made a face in disgust, this job just kept getting weirder. What was wrong with the usual heart or maybe sucking out the blood? Synovial fluid? Really?

"And then there's dad and the babysitter." Dean began to rummage around in one of the bags.

"Yeah. Seems like anyone who gets between the changeling and its food source ends up dead," Sam surmised. 

"It's like Dean and his hangover food," I mumbled.

"Oh, shut up," he complained, but Sam grinned at me.

"And fire's the only way to waste them?" He held up an improvised fire thrower made from a kerosine tourch, and my eyes grew big. 

"Yep," Sam once again confirmed.

"I want one of those," I pointed to the kerosine tourch.

"You have an unhealthy love for fire and explosions," Dean muttered, but handed me what I wanted. I quickly looked over at the changes he had made and aimed it out in the middle of the room where no one and nothing was in the way. "Hey, hey, hey! Stop, what do you think your doing?" 

"I just want to test it out," I explained. 

"Not in here!" Sam exclaimed, his voice sounding a bit higher pitched than usual.

"It's fine, I'll just– Hey!" 

Dean snatched it out of my hands. "I thought you were the smart one."

I rolled my eyes, I would have had it under controll. 

"Great," Dean mumbled sarcastically to me, then turned to his brother. "We'll just bust in, drag the kids out, torch them on the front lawn. That'ill play great with the neighbors. What about the real ones? What happens to them?"

"According to lore, they stash them underground somewhere. I don't know why, but if it's true, the real kids might be out there," Sam sighed.

"We better start looking." Dean snatched up his jacket as we all started to fiddle with his keys. "So, any kid in the neighborhood is vulnerable?" he leisurly asked, but I knew he who he was concerned for.