Disclaimer: I do not own any rights to Supernatural.

Author's Notes: This is not a crossover with the Leprechaun movies—I just had a mental image of someone asking me that. Also, the story is set in season three after "Mystery Spot." The setting isn't actually very relevant.

Of Wee Folk and Shotguns

Chapter 1

Florence, Alabama

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, stinging when it landed at the corner of his eye. The evening air was chilly, but he felt none of it. The Ecstasy in his body was still at work, leaving him flushed, but it certainly didn't help to calm his fear. His throat constricted when he thought about the drug he'd taken a few hours earlier. Was that what had caused him to trip out? Surely this couldn't be happening. E didn't cause this effect, but how could . . .? Things like this simply didn't exist.

He stopped the cry from leaving his mouth when he heard the strange footsteps approaching.

"No," he hissed.

The road was empty but for a few cars parked along the damp pavement, patrons of the small club he'd just exited. He could hear noise in there, music, laughter. His friends were somewhere in the modest-sized crowd, partying without him. He thought of going back inside. It would be safer there, wouldn't it?

But that was where he'd seen it. No, he couldn't go back in, not yet.

The noise had stopped. Where were the footsteps?

The next building was less than thirty feet away. He crossed the empty road, finding the sidewalk to the closed consignment shop. A nursery set stared out at him from the front window. It was surrounded by sparkling shamrocks plastered against the glass. A flyer beneath announced the St. Patrick's Day clearance the store would be hosting throughout the week.

Cody crossed to the side of the building and paused, the wide blocks slick against his back. He took a heavy breath and turned his back to the shadows, looking around the corner he'd just rounded. The square building that hosted the club had only one unlit sign above its door. The brightest light nearby came from the street lamp in the car-filled gravel lot at the building's opposite side. Cody felt his tension loosen when he saw a shadow walking out of the lot.

A person.

He stepped out slightly but didn't move further, his eyes going back to the club. The door had just opened. He held his breath and then released it slowly, seeing the normal-looking Latino couple standing in the frame. Suddenly the girl stepped out, pushing off the pawing hands of her boyfriend. She pointed at the parking lot and released a short scream.

Cody's eyes widened when he recognized the shadow of the being that had stepped out of the lot. Short and stubby, a tall, narrow brimmed hat on its head, heeled boots on its skinny legs. And a long, sharp object in its hand.

"What the hell?" Cody breathed.

He opened his mouth to speak again and stopped as a cold wind brushed by him and a stinging sensation ran across the smooth skin of his neck. A short, wet gurgle left his lips. Blood sprayed the wall beside him, his hand barely catching the wet mess. His eyes rolled back into his head as the shadows grew hands and pulled him deeper in the alley's darkness.


Sam blinked, once, then twice. But, somehow, the paper held in front of his nose didn't disappear. He reached out, taking the printouts from his brother.

"You must be kidding," he finally said. "Did you look this up while I was sleeping?"

Dean's smile only widened. "What? You believe in angels, why not lucky charms?" He pushed a playful fist into Sam's shoulder. "Come on, Sammy—you know it'll be fun."

"I know it'll be a wild goose chase, Dean." Sam's brow furrowed as he scanned the article. "I really wish you'd quit reading the weird news section of Associated Press."

"What? And miss a case?"

Sam glared. "This is not a case, Dean. This is a knife wielding little person in a green ball cap." He stood to full height, pushing the laptop cover down. Around him, the dull light of a foggy midday lit the hotel room's garbage cluttered furnishings. "This is just your way of trying to distract me from helping you—it's not going to work."

Dean's grin didn't waver. "Come on, you don't think it could be real?"

"Suddenly you believe in leprechauns?"

"We're already packed," Dean insisted. "Florence is only three hours south—these people say they've seen a leprechaun, I say we owe it to. . ." He hesitated, his eyes drifting to the paper, registering a victim's name. ". . .Poor Cody Pierce to kill this son of a bitch."

"So this has nothing to do with you not wanting to save yourself?" Sam sighed, seeing Dean's eyes darken slightly.

"There's been two other spottings in other parts of the county."

"Dean, this is stupid. The modern image of the green hatted, buckle-shoed Leprechaun has only been around for a hundred years or so due to marketing and a few old poems passed down through oral tradition. There's no real evidence in Gaelic mythology that proves that the Leprechaun or the Cluricaun families of faery were any more than manifestations of. . ."

Dean raised a hand to stop his brother from continuing. "I don't know what you just said," he admitted, "but we're hunting this frickin' leprechaun."

Sam's nostrils flared in annoyance. He picked up his computer. "Fine," he announced.

"This is gonna be sweet." Dean smirked, all but skipping out the front door towards the Impala. He turned back around, sticking his head back into the hotel room, a look of concern on his face. "Alabama does have pubs, right? Cause I'm all about some green beer."

Dean nodded in assurance to himself, noting Sam's frown. "Or we can always make some or something," he swallowed, shamefully ducking back outside.

The date occurred to Sam: March 16, a day before St. Patrick's Day. He remembered the last time his brother had enjoyed green beer and clenched his finger around his precious laptop. Vomit and middle-aged Irish women didn't make for an enjoyable memory. Shaking his head, Sam shut his eyes, silently restraining himself from screaming before he followed in his brother's footsteps, muttering under his breath.

"Sweet," Sam snapped.

End Notes: So, my first Supernatural chapter story is rolling now. Sorry about the shortness of this chapter--it just needed to cut off here. I also wanted to mention that this was a challenge for the St. Patrick's Challenge at The Guild of the Fantastic Quill (if you want to read another leprechaun related SPN ff, check out Patricia de Lioncourt's work; she's in my favorite authors). Tell me what you think :)