Bite the Hand
Title: Bite the Hand
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, OFC: Lorelei
Pairings: Dean/OFC
Rating: PG-13 for language and adult situation
Word Count: 7,828
Orientation: Gen
Timeline: SPN - sometime in season 6
Warnings: none
Notes: Written for lorelei277 for the help_japan auction. She wanted a Lorelei meets the Winchesters story, a nod to "fight the fairies" with a little fade-to-black motel scene with Dean when they find themselves tracking down the same thing. I played fast and loose with the mythology, very fast and very loose.
Synopsis: Lorelei the fairy is on a mission from a goddess. And she meets the Winchesters.
Lorelei had her head bent low over the flower headpiece she was weaving. The lily flowers floating on the lake had been too pretty to pass by, and she had given in to temptation to pluck a few. Temptation turned to determination when she apparently realized how difficult they were to pick, and she might have been a little ... loud … in her acquisition, she had certainly splashed a lot. And there had been cussing, a bit.
Apparently she had drawn the attention of one of the local lake spirits with her disruption. A strange, heavily accented voice said, “Water child, I have need of you. A boon granted for a boon, for you may walk where I may not.” A beautiful Old One gracefully rose from the water of the lake and approached the shore where Lorelei sat, stopping a little way from the shore, when the water reached to her knees. Dutifully, for she knew power when she sensed it, Lorelei set her flowers aside and gave the being her undivided attention.
“What boon would you ask?” Though she did not look away and hide her gaze, Lorelei was as respectful as she could be when she asked the question. The power was coming off the Old One in waves; respect was not the same as fear, not at all.
“That you walk to another place, and seek out my father, find him and stop him, before he may do a mischief that will cause great harm to us all.”
“In whose name would I be doing this task?” Lorelei was wise, she knew better than to involve herself in family squabbles without knowing which side she was on, at the very least.
The Old One touched a graceful hand to her throat and bowed her head in a manner of greeting. “I am sometimes called by Nerthus, in this place and others.”
The name was not entirely unfamiliar to Lorelei, she had heard it in her travels. “When you say stop your father, you don’t mean that I harm him? I do not think I have the power to harm an Old One, Nerthus.”
“You need not harm him. I shall put you on the path he is like to travel. You need only to distract him at the proper time, and to protect the chosen ones from harm. Events will then fall onto the proper path, order will be restored, and the final destiny is averted for this age.”
“How will I know your father, how will I know who the chosen ones are?”
Nerthus appeared thoughtful for a few moments. She looked down at the water around her feet, spied what she wanted and bent to scoop it up. Water spilled from her palm and through her fingers to splash in the lake. There was an odd ‘ploink’ sound in the air and then Nerthus smiled and gave a nod of satisfaction. “This shall do.” She waded over to Lorelei and held out her hand.
Lorelei stretched her palm out and a smooth, flat, entirely ordinary rock was dropped into it. She looked at the rock and then up at the Old One. “You gave me a rock.”
“Is a good rock.” Nerthus said, mildly affronted, her accent heavier now.
Lorelei shrugged. She could sense that the rock was bespelled in some manner. She slipped it into her belt pouch. “What does the rock do?”
“The rock will light from within when you are near to my kin. Listen for the ravens, they shall whisper to you the names of those you must protect, and in this way, you shall know.”
“How will I get back?”
“When your task is done, you shall return here.”
“In return, what boon do you offer?” Lorelei asked. It seemed a simple enough task; go somewhere, and distract a man. She snorted to herself, if she could not distract a man, her sister’s lessons had gone completely to waste and she should be ashamed of herself.
“Anything in my power to grant, I shall grant, whenever you wish for this boon to be repaid.” Nerthus seemed without guile or deceit, though Old Ones could be very tricky, but to be holding an open boon from a water goddess? After a short time thinking over the offer, Lorelei nodded her agreement.
There was a flash of light and Nerthus held her hand out once more, passing Lorelei a black feather. “My brother offers this spell, to aid you in walking among those in the other place. They shall see what they wish to see, and believe you are who they wish you to be. Keep this close to your person. He advises that you travel north.”
Lorelei took the feather and put it in with the rock, though the long plume stuck out of the edge of her pouch and tickled her midriff until she rearranged it. “Where is this place? How do I get ther …” She started to ask, and then found herself elsewhere in the space between one thought and another. “Well, that was fast.”
She had appeared at the side of a paved road. She looked up at the large green signs overhead, but the words did not mean anything to her. One of them had an arrow, and so she began to walk in the direction the arrow pointed her, since it was pointing north, the direction she had been advised to travel in.
“I’m telling ya, Sammy, it’s just weird.”
“Huh? Wha?”
“Oh, were you asleep?” Dean grinned, he knew damned well Sam had been asleep; he’d been snoring, after all.
“I was.” Sam crossed his arms and looked out the window at the fields of green corn blurring past. He glanced over at the speedometer and rolled his eyes.
Dean merely smiled and turned up the volume on the radio, blasting Bob Seger’s Night Moves and singing along. After a few bars, Sam woke up enough to ask, “What’s weird?”
“The strangest thing that’s happened in Wichita this year has been a trail of Little Debbie wrappers that led to the crashed cake truck. So why is Bobby sending us there?” Dean asked,
Sam had woken from an earlier nap to take Bobby’s call on his cell, grunted a bunch of times, agreed readily to whatever Bobby had said with a ‘yeah, uh-huh’ and then hung up. He had looked at Dean, told him “Wichita” and promptly went back to sleep, leaving Dean to sit and stew as he changed course to head North.
“How do you know that?”
“Know what?”
“About the Little Debbie truck?”
“I keep up on the important news, bro. It was Little Debbies. Little. Debbies. All those poor defenseless cakes, drowned in the river.” Dean sniffed dramatically and pretended to wipe away a tear, then slowed the Impala down a bit as the radar detector on the dash started to blink.
Sam yawned, reached over to turn down the radio, and then explained, “Some kind of energy outlay, big power, set off the mojo detectors from three states away. He wants us to look into it, he said there are a couple of other hunters in the area, they might need backup.”
“Oh. Ok. Those poor Little Debbies.” Dean turned the radio up again and bopped his head in time with the Silver Bullet band.
The bar was seedy, but Dean didn’t care, he was used to seedy. He’d left Sam back at the motel, talking with Bobby on the phone, trying to narrow down the parameters of their possible case. Preferring action to inaction, Dean had decided to go prowl the bars.
The second place he hit, having abandoned the first when one too many country songs came on the jukebox, seemed like his kind of haunt; not so crowded that he couldn’t get a spot at the bar, but still populated enough that he could find company.
There was a slinky redhead propped on a barstool to his left, sipping daintily from a glass of red wine. Red wine? In this dive? This was a beer and whiskey joint, but Dean shrugged, to each his or her own. She had nice legs, he noticed.
She looked up through her lashes at him, hazel eyes flicked up and down his face and body, ending back at his eyes. She stared at him and licked her lips, her voice was husky as she said, “You have nice eyes.”
“Right back at ya.” He took a deep draw off his beer and smiled as House of the Rising Son came on the jukebox. “Good tune.”
“Pleasant.” She dipped her hand into the small bowl of mini-pretzels, withdrawing two. She slipped one between her lips, and held the other out to Dean. He smirked, bent, and nipped it from her fingers. Her lips lifted in amusement at the move. She sipped her wine and tilted her head, listening to the song. She had emptied the glass by the time the song ended. Dean waved the bartender over, intending to order her another glass.
“Bring the bottle, open, please.” She requested.
Dean tossed a twenty on the bar when the bartender put the bottle down. She caught the bottle up in one hand, along with her empty glass and with her other hand tugged the lapel of his leather jacket. “Come. I have a room. I can share. I am very good at sharing.”
“I approve of sharing. I wholeheartedly approve.” Dean replied, reaching back to grab the fresh beer the bartender had dropped off along with the wine, and then allowed her to drag him out of the bar towards the motel across the parking lot.
It was like a thousand other motel rooms Dean had crashed in over the years. Unremarkable, mundane and boring, but he wasn’t here for the ambiance, he was here for the sex. She turned on the light by the bed, leaving the room dim, once the overhead was off.
He stripped out of his jacket and tossed it over a chair. She placed her wine glass on the tiny table near the window and tugged the cork out, splashing out half a glass. “Would you like wine?”
Waving the longneck at her, he replied, “I’m good here, thanks.” He felt obligated to make small talk, as she pulled out the chair and settled down into it, raising the glass of blood red wine to her lips. “You in town long?”
“Long enough. I am on … an assignment.” She seemed to linger on each word, measuring the meaning. She crossed her legs, revealing pretty black suspenders holding up stockings, and a lovely glimpse of thigh.
It was his turn to lick his lips. “Small world. Me too, on an assignment.” He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.
“Do that again. Continue to do that.” Her eyes had gone dark; a trick of the light. He smiled and slowly undid the buttons. He’d played this game before, though usually, he was the one in the chair directing the action. But he could improvise.
“Turn around. Now, slowly, let it fall.” Her voice was whispery soft, and yet had an air of command he felt compelled to follow. He let the cotton shirt slide down his arms and then dropped it to the floor. Soft fingers were suddenly at his shoulder blades, tracing across and up, then lightly skittered down and around his back, making shapes and designs. “Warrior scars, you have the marks of battle.”
“A few. My work is dangerous.” He shivered lightly as she explored, standing still, letting her touch.
She slid around to look up at him. “Danger can be exciting.” Her hands continued the exploration. “Undo this.” She skimmed a hand across his belt and stepped back to sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed, watching him.
Dean kept his eyes on hers as he reached down and undid the buckle of his belt and then the buttons of his Levi’s. He toed off his sneakers, kicking them aside. She waved her hand, indicating he should continue, so he shucked the jeans completely, trying to maintain some level of cool as he stepped out of them.
One graceful finger came up and she beckoned him closer to the bed. When he was within reach, she put a hand out and slid her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, and tugged. He, quite willingly, fell forward onto the bed, into her arms.
“Leave when you wish.” She said later as she slinked across the room into the bathroom. He heard the shower start and correctly assumed that he had been dismissed.
He rolled off the bed, fumbled around for his shorts and jeans and was dressed and gone before she finished her shower. A short, sweet, satisfying one night stand, just the way Dean liked them.
Lorelei was irritated. Lyding was dead. The ravens had found her and told her the first name; Lyding. She had followed the ravens to the place where he was hiding, in a large vacant building. But she had arrived too late; the man had already been torn to pieces by a beast of teeth and claws. There was blood everywhere. This was death by rage.
She left the place and the unfortunate Lyding as she had found him. The ravens had cawed softly to each other and then flown away, leaving her to wonder what had dismembered the man, to wonder at the power of the Old One loose in this world. If this was merely mischief by their standards, then what would true destruction be like?
The ravens returned as she walked through the strange city, pondering what she should do next. They landed on a rubbish bin nearby, and she went over to them. In their strange bird-not-bird language they told her that Lyding’s death was not her fault, she was not to take on the burden of it. They told her the name of the next test was a woman called Dormi.
“Test?” This was the first she was hearing of a test.
The ravens told her that the test was not hers to take on either. She was merely to protect Dormi, if she could.
“Lead me to her.” Lorelei watched the birds take flight and she followed them into the sky, reveling in the feel of the sun on he wings. She might have been tasked to this place because she could walk these grounds, but she much preferred the freedom of flight.
They had spent most of the day tromping around a murder site. Some guy had been torn apart by a big nasty, something with massive teeth and claws. Afterwards, Sam had explored the local occult bookstores while Dean had made the rounds of the hunters Bobby had put them in touch with.
By dusk, after collecting Sam, Dean was looking forward to finding the nearest greasy spoon and chomping down on a big bacon burger, so much so that his mouth was watering at the thought. Flashing red and blue lights from six parked police cars drew his attention on Hillside Street. “What have we here?”
“Trouble?” Sam asked as they pulled up in front of a duplex motel. There was an ambulance parked in the lot, and a crowd gathered around it.
Sam reached into the back seat and handed Dean his suit jacket, which he pulled on as he climbed out of the car. Sam donned his own corduroy blazer and followed his brother over towards the nearest cop. They had learned long ago that the guy the furthest out was usually a weak link in the info chain, often bored with routine watch and crowd control. They might get a hit on a leading question.
Dean flashed his badge and said in a harried tone, “Agents Tyler and Perry, what happened? We were told this was a safe location.”
The brusque approach took the cop by surprise and he stuttered, “Uh, I don’t, I’m not … y’all have to speak to the sergeant. The other FBI agent is over there now.” The cop pointed off towards the building. “Sergeant Bilkin, tall fella, bald, can’t miss him.”
Dean ducked under the yellow caution tape with Sam close behind. Sam huffed out impatiently, but they couldn’t turn back now, it would look bad. They were committed; they’d have to find a way to bluff this ‘real’ FBI agent.
They spotted the sergeant and made their way over. The woman talking with him was slight, with bright auburn hair, dark eyes and a serious demeanor. Her long legs were encased in gray slacks with a white shirt and a tailored navy blue blazer over them; standard FBI field wear for agents. She was nodding at whatever the police sergeant was saying, but obviously not happy, judging by her pouting expression.
Dean looked her up and down, and then saw her face, which made him pause in midstep before he caught himself and continued forward.
“Evening Sergeant, ma’am. I’m Agent Tyler, and my partner, Agent Perry.” He waited for the reciprocal introductions, wondering what the redhead’s name was, he hadn’t bothered to ask at the bar, or at the motel later; it hadn’t seemed important at the time, with the other things going on.
Apparently, she was not happy to see him again; she flashed a badge and said icily, “Agent Lee.” Her badge said she was from the New Orleans branch office of the FBI.
Unaware of what had transpired at another motel on the other side of town the previous night, Sam assumed that his brother had judged the agent as a challenge, as his entire posture now screamed “smarmy” and “on the make” - which was borrowing trouble they did not need right now. “What happened?” Sam interrupted whatever Dean had been about to say with a wave that took in the ambulance and the motel before Dean could start flirting.
“Something chewed a guest’s foot off.” Bilkin tossed his head towards the ambulance, where a moaning and bloody woman was huddled on the gurney as medics worked over her leg.
“Chewed?” Dean asked. “As in, ‘gnaw’ ‘gnaw’ ‘gnaw’ chewed at her tootsies?” He mimed biting at his hand in illustration.
Agent Lee, looking frustrated, waved at the mauled woman and complained to the sergeant. “I was promised that the woman would be safe here, if I left her in the care of your people.”
Jumping on opportunity, Dean said, “As were we, when we checked with the branch office. Perry, maybe you should go check on our informer, makes sure he’s snug as a bug in his room up in the penthouse.” Dean suggested, falling back on their bluff that they were using the motel as a safe house, a safe bet now that they knew another agent was utilizing the place for just that purpose.
“Yeah, yeah.” Pretending to go check on their imaginary protected witness, Sam took the opportunity to dive further into the crime scene, specifically intending to get closer to the victim. This might have nothing to do with their mysterious case of mystic power fluctuations, but it might be connected to the mauling and dismemberment at the warehouse. Since they were here, it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions.
“Who’s your vic?” Dean asked Agent Lee, who tossed her hair in irritation as Sgt Bilkin walked away from her.
She stomped her foot and kicked the tire of the police van behind her. She pushed long hair away from her face and stared after the Sergeant with intense dislike. “Her name is Dormi. She was under protection.”
“Any idea what decided to snack on him?”
“She said a wolf.”
Dean chuckled. “A wolf. In Wichita?”
“That is what she said. I have no reason to disbelieve her. You, however, are lying to me. You are not Agent Tyler.” She cast dark eyes on him and stared at him until he took a step back. The ambulance lights suddenly began to spin across the lot, and in the flash of the multicolored lights, against the broad side of the van; Dean could see the distinctive shadow of wings rising up behind the agent.
“Aw man.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and looked around for Sam. He jabbed a finger at Lee, or whatever her name was. “God damn it, can’t you guys stay out of anything?”
Her back went up and she drew herself up to her full height, glaring at him. “I do not like the way you are speaking to me. I much preferred your manner last night.”
“Yeah, well, sorry babe, but I’ve had just about enough of you and your kind. What are you up to? Why Wichita?”
He didn’t fear her, and that obviously irked her. She flexed her fingers and lightly grazed his cheek with her nails, and Dean felt the spark of power as her fingers trailed away. “My kind? What know you of my kind? I am the only one here in this forsaken place. As to why Wichita, I come here because this is where the protection was needed.”
“Sam!” Dean called, seeing his brother backing away from his conversation with the hysterical injured woman as the paramedics wheeled the gurney towards the ambulance. Sam came over at a jog.
“Not FBI.” Dean pointed to the woman that was now toe to toe with him and breathing menacingly as she glared death and daggers at him. He gestured behind him and upwards with a limp hand as he looked at Sam and added, “Wings.”
Sam looked askance at ‘Agent Lee’ and then tilted his head as he too saw the odd shadowed outline on the van as the ambulance lights flashed before it pulled off, taking the image away and leaving only normal shadows behind. “You’re glamoured.” Sam said quietly.
Her head spun towards Sam and she looked from one brother to the other. “You can see through the glamour? What manner of sorcerers are you?”
“We’re not sorcerers, we’re Winchesters. We should take this someplace a little more private. C’mon babe, I’m hungry, you people eat, don’t you? I damn well know you drink.” Dean grasped her by the elbow; she promptly jerked away, but followed him to the Impala.
“This is your conveyance?” She stopped and stared at the black car.
“Just. Get. In.” Dean said, opening the door and gesturing impatiently.
She huffed and flounced over, and threw herself forcefully into the back seat, shoving at the duffle bag that was there until it landed on the floor with a loud thump. “Oh, I do hope there was nothing breakable in there.”
“I hate angels.” Dean muttered beneath his breath, and yanked his own door open and climbed in.
There was a nearly deserted diner a few blocks from the crime scene. Dean’s stomach was rumbling loudly enough to cause Sam to roll his eyes. He pointed at Agent Lee, “You, no trouble until after I eat. You got it?”
“Got it?”
“You understand?”
“I will eat peacefully.” She replied, nodding regally to Sam as he held the door open for her and she brushed past him.
They took a booth at the back, where there was no one to overhear their conversation and gave their orders to the waitress. Dean ordered blueberry pie to go with his burger and coke, Sam got a chicken Caesar salad. Agent Lee looked at the pictures on the menu and finally pointed to a picture of chocolate cake, which made Dean laugh as the waitress walked away.
“Why are you amused?” Agent Lee demanded.
Dean snorted mildly. “You ordered devil’s food cake.”
She looked confused. “I do not see the humor, Not Agent Tyler.”
“An angel, ordering devil’s food. That’s funny, Not Agent Lee.”
“I’m not an angel, and so it is not funny.”
Dean waved towards his back, and then towards hers. “Wings.”
She shrugged. “Not an angel. Guess again, Not Agent Tyler.” She crossed her arms on the table and stared at him evenly.
“Demon, Not Agent Lee?” Dean leaned across the table and met her stare for stare.
Sam slapped the table to break up the tension and pointed to himself and then at his brother. “Ok, getting a little ridiculous here. Sam, Dean. You?”
“I am called Lorelei, and I am most assuredly not a demon.” She wrinkled her nose at the reprehensible thought.
Sam took over the questioning, since Dean seemed to be antagonizing the girl. “So, not to be rude, but most winged folks we meet are usually angels or demons, what are you if you aren’t either of those?”
She smiled brightly, showing teeth and leaned in to confide, “I’m a fairy.”
Dean nearly leapt out of the booth in his effort to back as far away from her as he could, Sam was blocking him in, or he might have left his seat completely instead of rising up on his heels and half-standing in place with his hands out in a warding motion as he squeaked, “Don’t hit me, Tinkerbell!”
“Dean!” Sam hissed, pulling him back down onto the pleather cushion.
“What? You remember, one of them bashed the shit out of me, and that one was only six inches tall, imagine what this one could do, she’s ginormous!” He eyed Lorelei nervously as the waitress brought their drinks and set them down on the table.
Lorelei smiled at Dean maliciously and picked up her cup of water. “Good. Proper respect. This I can live with.”
Dean fiddled with the paper from his straw, from the way his eyes moved, he was obviously judging the distance to the door from his seat, ready to bolt if the fairy raised a finger in his direction.
Sam, always the more diplomatic of the pair, folded his hands in front of him and tried to steer the conversation back towards the case at hand. “You said the woman at the motel, Dormi, was under your protection, why?”
“I was to keep … someone… from getting to her.” She said quietly and looked down at the tabletop and confessed, “I failed, this was my second charge and I failed again.”
“Again?” Sam prodded gently. “Who else were you supposed to protect?”
She looked up, startled, probably regretting her confession. But Sam had a way with people, and getting them to talk to him, and she sighed and quietly said, “Lyding. But I arrived too late to the place where he was. He was already dead, torn apart.”
“Klempner Storage, over in the factory district?” When she looked at Sam blankly, not understanding the question, he clarified, “A big empty warehouse, to the south of town?” Lorelei nodded. “We saw the crime scene. How does a fairy come to know how to work a con and pass for an FBI agent?”
She reached up under her hair and tugged out a few strands bound together with twine around the ends of a long black feather. “A gift from the Old Ones, a spell, to make others see and know what they need to see in order to believe I belong. And the ravens speak to me and tell me things too, things about this place. Some things are the same wherever one walks, it seems.” She glanced at Dean knowingly, “Men, food, drink, authority.”
“Who?” Sam asked. “Who tasked you to protect these people?”
“I do not know if I can reveal that. An Old One tasked me to do this, to find another Old One and keep him from causing trouble. I do not know the name of the aggressor; names are pointless between the realms, changed on a whim.”
“How’d you end up here then, in Wichita?” Dean found his tongue again as the waitress brought their plates.
She shrugged her shoulders and took a sip of her Coke. “I was sent. I was there and then I was here.”
Sam drummed his fingers on the table. “How will you find him, this Old One?”
She dug around in the pocket of her gray slacks and placed a rock, about the size of a half dollar, on the table in front of her and pointed to it. Sam and Dean leaned in and looked at the rock, then at the fairy, at the rock again and then at each other before looking back at Lorelei, identical expression of skepticism on their faces.
“It’s a rock.” Dean said, reaching for the ketchup and upending it over his fries.
“It is supposed to glow when I am near him, when he is getting near the one I am to protect.” She eyed Dean having trouble with the Heinz bottle.
Sam picked at his salad. “Now what? Your target, Dormi, is on her way over to Wesley Medical Center for emergency care, surely that will be protection enough for her?”
Plucking the ketchup bottle from Dean’s hand, she batted it on the bottom once, hard, sending the perfect amount of tomato goodness out onto his fires. He smirked up at her and snagged a dripping fry. “Thanks.”
“Dormi is no longer of consequence; the damage is done, according to the ravens. I must find the next to protect, the name is Gleipnir. She looked at her cake, picked up the fork and poked at it with curiosity. “There are no devils in this?”
Sam shook his head. “No, it is just a name. You said according to the ravens? Ravens as in ‘caw, caw’ black bird type ravens?”
She nodded and bit into the cake, a look of bliss crossing her face as the flavor hit her tongue.
“You talk to birds?” Dean asked.
“Not usually. These talk to me. Messengers.” She dug into the cake, smiling happily.
“Gleipnir. How do we find him or her?” Sam wondered aloud.
She waved her fork in the air and said casually, “The ravens will lead me, they did before.”
“But not quick enough, your girl got noshed on, supposedly by a wolf.”
“Wasn’t that the damndest thing? A wolf, in Wichita! Was that your friend, honey, I’m so sorry.” The waitress had come over to slide Dean’s pie across the table to him. “I’ve lived here all my life and never heard of such a thing. Attacked right out there in the open.” She walked away clucking her tongue.
Lorelei’s fork clattered to the plate and she slumped in her seat. “I am failing at this.”
“What happens if you fail?” Sam asked kindly, the girl was obviously miserable at the news.
“She said the final destiny would be averted for this age if I succeeded.” The opposite was obviously true if she failed.
Sam sat back thoughtfully and tapped one finger against his chin. “Lyding, Dormi, Gleipnir, final destiny. This is familiar.”
“Oh, damn, are we talking bookwork and prophecies and such, Sammie? Is this connected to why we’re here?”
“Could be. I don’t know. Finish up, let’s roll.” He stabbed the last two pieces of chicken from his salad and waved at the remnants of Dean’s fries.
Lorelei looked at each of them and said, “I wish to return to my room.” She was up and out of the booth before they realized she intended to go immediately.
Sam moved to follow, but Dean grabbed his sleeve and held him back. He casually lifted another fry and dipped it in a puddle of ketchup on the edge of the plate. “Let her go, I know where she’s staying.”
“You? Oh, Dean, you didn’t? Is that why …? Is that where you were last night?”
“Uh, could be.” When Sam shook his head at him Dean sputtered, “Well, I didn’t know she was F’ing Tinkerbell, did I?”
The next morning, after coffee and donuts, they headed over to the motel where Dean assumed Lorelei was still staying. Sam had a chocolate donut in the bag for the fairy, but insisted it was not a bribe to get her to like him when Dean suggested it.
She opened the door at Dean’s knock and looked up at them miserably. “They said I should ask for your help. We need to move around this city and see if the rock glows.” She elbowed past them, heading towards the car.
“The talking birds?” Dean asked.
She nodded and tugged open the rear door of the car.
“I guess we’re helping the fairy.” Sam said to his brother over the roof of the car.
“Guess so. Hey Tinkerbell! Sam bought you a donut.”
They drove around all morning, but the rock in Lorelei’s palm never changed. They returned to the same diner as the night before to have lunch. Dean convinced the disheartened fairy to have a slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream to cheer her up, insisting that it was impossible to be miserable and eat pie at the same time.
When they stepped out of the door of the diner, they noticed that there was a pair of ravens sitting on the Impala.
“Oh, look, its Hu and Mu.” Lorelei flitted down the steps and over to the car.
“She really talks to birds.” Dean said, watching her.
Sam followed the fairy and asked, “Hu and Mu?”
“Their names. That one is Hu and he is Mu.” The ravens began to chatter at her. “They say that I must follow, quickly, the wolf is stalking again. I must reach Gleipnir before the wolf finds a new host.”
“This is so familiar.” Sam mumbled, getting into the car. He pulled out his cell phone for the fastest information he knew how to get, and made a face when it went to voicemail and he had to leave a message. “Bobby. Run some names for me. Lyding, Dormi, Gleipnir, Hu, Mu, final destiny. Call me back.”
Dean pulled out of the parking lot, following the ravens, with Lorelei leaning over the seat, pointing at the birds and telling him where to turn, much to his annoyance, which he took every opportunity to voice.
The place the ravens led them was a park, almost empty of people, which was mildly surprising, given the time of day; mid-afternoon at the park was prime time for rug rats and the after lunch crowd. Perched on the top of the monkey bars was a little man with a goatee and a long gray ponytail. He regarded them with mild curiosity as they approached.
“Are you Gleipnir?” Lorelei called up at him.
“I might be.”
Hu and Mu landed with a chorus of caws on either side of the man.
“You should not be out in the open, it is not safe.” Lorelei warned him, gesturing at the open fields around the swings, slides and climbing structures.
“I might be.” The man repeated.
The fairy grumbled something beneath her breath. “I am sent to protect you, old one, come away from this place.”
The old man smiled. “Have you chosen a champion?”
“I need no champion, I protect myself, I fight my own battles.”
The old man shook his head. “That is not your role, little one. Choose a champion.”
She huffed out a breath and looked from Sam to Dean. Humoring the old man might make him come down. “Very well, I choose Dean Winchester, he bears the marks of many battles, and must therefore be a suitable champion.”
“So stands Tyr.” The old man clapped his hands and Dean suddenly jerked bodily and went down to one knee, dazed. “It begins again.”
“Dean!” Sam called out, going to his brother’s side.
“I’m all right, just a little mystical whammy of some kind.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I don’t feel any different.” He stood up and rubbed his neck, watching the old man warily.
Sam looked up at the old man and started towards the monkey bars, demanding in a snarl, “What did you do to him?”
Delightedly, the old man clapped his hands together and looked at the fairy. “Oh, well chosen, little one, well chosen. See how he snaps and snarls? Fenriir, to heel!” The old man snapped his fingers and Sam jerked to a stop, weaving on his feet and clamping his hands to his head.
“What have you done?” Lorelei demanded.
“I need no protection. I protect myself. Prophecies be damned, I shall stop this.” He waved his hands in the air and began to chant, “Fish’s breath and bird spittle, cat's footfall, beard of woman, root of mountain, bear's sinews. Let Fenrir be bound once more, I appoint you your task little Gleipnir.” The old man pointed at Lorelei.
“I am not Gleipnir.” She protested, shivering as something passed over her. “I am Lorelei.” The ravens cawed, and cawed and cawed, harsh, mocking laughter.
Patting her pocket, Lorelei dug out the rock, which was glowing as she held it up between her fingers. “You! The father?”
He inclined his head. “I am called All Father by some.” He glanced over at Sam and waved a hand dismissively. “Your device shall function now. It amuses me to have others sing my praises.”
Sam’s pocket buzzed and he snatched out his cell phone, pressing buttons and putting it to his ear to listen to a message. His eyes widened and he looked around at the others before he slipped the phone back into his pocket. He pointed at Dean. “I am not, I repeat, NOT putting your hand in my mouth, ever.”
“Ah, Fenrir, you protest too much. You shall do what you are destined to do. The roles are cast, thanks to the pretty little one here. Sweet little Gleipnir, a shame you’ll burn up in the binding, but what must be must be.”
“I am not Fenrir, he is not Tyr.” Sam tried to take a step forward, but found himself restrained by an invisible force.
There was menace in the old man’s voice now. “You are if I say you are.”
When Dean tried to move, he too found himself held firm. “Sammie, what’s going on?”
“Ragnarok, the Norse equivalent of the apocalypse; end of days, final destiny of the gods, you know the drill, Dean.”
“Right, yeah. So what else did Bobby say about Tyr, Fenrir, Gleep-glup?”
“Gleipnir!”
“Yeah, whatever, gramps.” Dean ignored the old man and looked to his brother for an answer.
Sam struggled to move, but was stuck. “Fenrir is supposed to kill Odin, and usher in the doom of the gods. My best guess is that he’s Odin, and he’s making a pre-emptive strike to protect himself. Tyr is the champion of the gods, the one that eventually binds Fenrir on their behalf. Lyding, Dormi, and Gleipnir were all the names of the bindings created to trap Fenrir, the wolf.”
“Why here, why now?” Dean asked.
Odin shrugged. “Every age, the dance must be danced. The steps might be different, but the end result shall be the same, should Fenrir succeed. We come, we reside for a time, we dance.”
“Dormi saw the wolf. She said a wolf attacked her. Fenrir?” Lorelei had walked over to Sam, and was pushing at him, to see if she could move him. “I do not wish to burn up, Sam Winchester.” She confided in a whisper.
“Your wolf has been out slaying. You don’t control it, Odin, if I may call you Odin?” Dean called as the old man unfolded himself from his perch atop the monkey bars and climbed down.
“Of course I don’t control Fenrir, fool. If I could, I would hardly let the beast slay me, would I?” Some looks, like the one that said, ‘you dumbass’ were universal, as evidenced by Odin’s sneer at Dean. “I’ll be going now. Fenrir is unpredictable. He might just win this time. Tyr, do try to kill him, if he won’t stay bound.” The old man walked away down the jogging path.
“Now what? I’m stuck. Are we possessed or something?” Dean asked.
Lorelei gave up trying to move Sam, and crossed to try to push Dean from the spot where he was apparently anchored. “I was supposed to distract him. I was supposed to stop this. I was not supposed to burn up and become part of his mischief. Mischief? This is mere mischief?”
“Lorelei, you’re ranting.” Dean pointed out as she shoved her shoulder against his midsection and pushed, to no avail.
“I don’t want to burn up as part of a spell!”
Sam whined mildly, “I don’t want to eat Dean’s hand!”
“What?!?” Dean shouted.
“In the myths, Fenrir bites off Tyr’s hand when he sticks it in his mouth.”
“Easy answer to that, bro. I ain’t putting my hand anywhere near your pie hole!”
They looked at each other and in unison screamed, “Castiel!!!”
Shaking her head when nothing happened, Lorelei asked, “What is casty ell, a spell?”
“An angel. He might be able to break us out of this, or at least separate us.” Sam explained. “Are we possessed? I don’t feel possessed.” Sam wondered aloud.
Dean wriggled in place. “Me either. Any desire to bite anyone? My vote would be for Tinkerbell here.”
She smacked him. “I do not care for that name.”
“Ok, Gleep-glug. Any suggestions for getting out of this?”
She sat on the ground and buried her face in her hands. She shook her head in denial, she was going to die in heat and fire, burned up, it was a horrible fate for the water fairy to imagine. Nerthus had doomed her.
She fingered the feather that brushed her cheek. Nerthus. She looked at the feather. The spell. She stood up and wondered if her mad idea would work. “I shall return.” Then she ran along the path after Odin, concentrating on focusing the spell, on bednign it to her will, what she needed it to do. She wanted the spell to change her, long enough to fool the Old One. She hoped she was not the fool in making the attempt, but she had naught to lose, did she?
“Odin!” She called out when she caught sight of him, her voice now that of Dean Winchester, it sounded odd to her ears, but she did not allow herself to dwell upon it.
“Ah, Tyr, is it all over so quickly?” Odin turned and waited, clasping his hands before him as Lorelei jogged up to him.
She tried to put a little of the swagger she had observed in Dean’s stance into her bearing as she waved a hand and said, “It was no contest, All Father, your Gleipnir chose well indeed, this Fenrir was all words and no bite.”
“Then you shall release us?” She asked hopefully.
He peered at her, and then blinked. And then he laughed. He let out a full belly laugh. “Such audacity! By thunder, I have not met one such as you in many a year, little Gleipnir! You almost tricked me.”
Lorelei slumped. “All father, I do not wish to burn up. I do not wish for my friends the Winchesters to slay each other. Perhaps there is another way to prevent your Ragnarok?”
“It is the traditional way, little one.”
“Traditions may be changed, and may become stronger for it. Another way, Odin?”
He stroked his goatee and pondered for a bit, Lorelei, wisely waited, though she was concerned that the bonds had broken and even now the Winchesters might be fighting. “I suppose a contest might do, if Fenrir agreed, with the loser to take himself away to somewhere else until the next age and time to dance once again.”
Odin began to walk back towards the playground; she followed, dropping the Dean glamour as she went. When they arrived, Sam and Dean were still where they had been, though they were now bristling with anger and hurling insults at each other in voices not their own.
“I’ll tear your throat out, Tyr!” Sam-Fenrir shouted.
“Silence!” Odin called, raising his hands in the air. “Fenrir, a compromise, if you will?”
Sam’s lean and handsome face formed into an ugly lupine snarl. “I’ll tear your throat out, old man!”
“Yes, yes, so you have said, on many occasions. This age is different. The Gleipnir proposes a contest of a different sort.”
“I’ll tear her throat out too.”
“Are you too much the wolf now, or might you be sensible?” Odin asked impatiently when Fenrir continued to snarl and snap. The words reached him, however, and he calmed and stood still.
Seeing an opportunity, Lorelei challenged, “Prove your intellect, prove you are not merely the beast.”
Tilting his head from side to side, Fenrir considered this. “I am not ready for such a challenge, I demand more time.”
“Take what time you need, the challenge will still stand. Perhaps my little Gleipnir will come to judge the contest.”
Lorelei looked down at her feet and did not dare look up to meet anyone’s eyes as she said, “Perhaps.”
Clapping his hands, Odin said, “A delay granted then, until another day. I release you Tyr, my faithful champion. And Fenrir, go and prepare yourself.” Sam and Dean collapsed to the ground as Odin clapped his hands once more.
He turned to Lorelei and fingered the feather in her hair. “I sense another hand in these workings, but no matter. Well played, little one.” He chucked her under the chin with two fingers and then stepped back, glancing at Dean and Sam, now stirring and sitting up. “A shame, really, they had the makings of fine combatants. Fare thee well.”
The old man swayed on his feet and Lorelei caught him and lowered him slowly to the ground. He blinked up at her in confusion. “Where am I?”
“At the park, you took yourself a walk. Do you know your way home from here?” She asked gently.
“Yeah, yeah. Over that way.” He tossed his chin in the direction of the park exit.
Dean appeared beside her and helped to get the old man on his feet, and Sam walked him over to a nearby bench. “Will you and Sam see him to his home? My task is done; I fear I shall not be staying long.”
“You tricked him into letting us go.” Dean said gratefully.
She shrugged and admitted, “I attempted to trick him, but he saw through my ruse. I believe he was amused by my temerity.”
“You succeeded.”
“I did. I was to distract him, and I did that.” She smiled.
Dean’s voice was a little sad as he said, “You’re not from around here, so I guess we won’t be seeing you again.”
She laughed lightly as she felt the touch of magic washing over her. “Perhaps. Life is strange, Dean Winchester, our paths may cross again.”
“It’s been real, Tink … Lorelei.” He raised a hand to caress her cheek, and she disappeared between the space of heartbeats.
The End
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, OFC: Lorelei
Pairings: Dean/OFC
Rating: PG-13 for language and adult situation
Word Count: 7,828
Orientation: Gen
Timeline: SPN - sometime in season 6
Warnings: none
Notes: Written for lorelei277 for the help_japan auction. She wanted a Lorelei meets the Winchesters story, a nod to "fight the fairies" with a little fade-to-black motel scene with Dean when they find themselves tracking down the same thing. I played fast and loose with the mythology, very fast and very loose.
Synopsis: Lorelei the fairy is on a mission from a goddess. And she meets the Winchesters.
Lorelei had her head bent low over the flower headpiece she was weaving. The lily flowers floating on the lake had been too pretty to pass by, and she had given in to temptation to pluck a few. Temptation turned to determination when she apparently realized how difficult they were to pick, and she might have been a little ... loud … in her acquisition, she had certainly splashed a lot. And there had been cussing, a bit.
Apparently she had drawn the attention of one of the local lake spirits with her disruption. A strange, heavily accented voice said, “Water child, I have need of you. A boon granted for a boon, for you may walk where I may not.” A beautiful Old One gracefully rose from the water of the lake and approached the shore where Lorelei sat, stopping a little way from the shore, when the water reached to her knees. Dutifully, for she knew power when she sensed it, Lorelei set her flowers aside and gave the being her undivided attention.
“What boon would you ask?” Though she did not look away and hide her gaze, Lorelei was as respectful as she could be when she asked the question. The power was coming off the Old One in waves; respect was not the same as fear, not at all.
“That you walk to another place, and seek out my father, find him and stop him, before he may do a mischief that will cause great harm to us all.”
“In whose name would I be doing this task?” Lorelei was wise, she knew better than to involve herself in family squabbles without knowing which side she was on, at the very least.
The Old One touched a graceful hand to her throat and bowed her head in a manner of greeting. “I am sometimes called by Nerthus, in this place and others.”
The name was not entirely unfamiliar to Lorelei, she had heard it in her travels. “When you say stop your father, you don’t mean that I harm him? I do not think I have the power to harm an Old One, Nerthus.”
“You need not harm him. I shall put you on the path he is like to travel. You need only to distract him at the proper time, and to protect the chosen ones from harm. Events will then fall onto the proper path, order will be restored, and the final destiny is averted for this age.”
“How will I know your father, how will I know who the chosen ones are?”
Nerthus appeared thoughtful for a few moments. She looked down at the water around her feet, spied what she wanted and bent to scoop it up. Water spilled from her palm and through her fingers to splash in the lake. There was an odd ‘ploink’ sound in the air and then Nerthus smiled and gave a nod of satisfaction. “This shall do.” She waded over to Lorelei and held out her hand.
Lorelei stretched her palm out and a smooth, flat, entirely ordinary rock was dropped into it. She looked at the rock and then up at the Old One. “You gave me a rock.”
“Is a good rock.” Nerthus said, mildly affronted, her accent heavier now.
Lorelei shrugged. She could sense that the rock was bespelled in some manner. She slipped it into her belt pouch. “What does the rock do?”
“The rock will light from within when you are near to my kin. Listen for the ravens, they shall whisper to you the names of those you must protect, and in this way, you shall know.”
“How will I get back?”
“When your task is done, you shall return here.”
“In return, what boon do you offer?” Lorelei asked. It seemed a simple enough task; go somewhere, and distract a man. She snorted to herself, if she could not distract a man, her sister’s lessons had gone completely to waste and she should be ashamed of herself.
“Anything in my power to grant, I shall grant, whenever you wish for this boon to be repaid.” Nerthus seemed without guile or deceit, though Old Ones could be very tricky, but to be holding an open boon from a water goddess? After a short time thinking over the offer, Lorelei nodded her agreement.
There was a flash of light and Nerthus held her hand out once more, passing Lorelei a black feather. “My brother offers this spell, to aid you in walking among those in the other place. They shall see what they wish to see, and believe you are who they wish you to be. Keep this close to your person. He advises that you travel north.”
Lorelei took the feather and put it in with the rock, though the long plume stuck out of the edge of her pouch and tickled her midriff until she rearranged it. “Where is this place? How do I get ther …” She started to ask, and then found herself elsewhere in the space between one thought and another. “Well, that was fast.”
She had appeared at the side of a paved road. She looked up at the large green signs overhead, but the words did not mean anything to her. One of them had an arrow, and so she began to walk in the direction the arrow pointed her, since it was pointing north, the direction she had been advised to travel in.
“I’m telling ya, Sammy, it’s just weird.”
“Huh? Wha?”
“Oh, were you asleep?” Dean grinned, he knew damned well Sam had been asleep; he’d been snoring, after all.
“I was.” Sam crossed his arms and looked out the window at the fields of green corn blurring past. He glanced over at the speedometer and rolled his eyes.
Dean merely smiled and turned up the volume on the radio, blasting Bob Seger’s Night Moves and singing along. After a few bars, Sam woke up enough to ask, “What’s weird?”
“The strangest thing that’s happened in Wichita this year has been a trail of Little Debbie wrappers that led to the crashed cake truck. So why is Bobby sending us there?” Dean asked,
Sam had woken from an earlier nap to take Bobby’s call on his cell, grunted a bunch of times, agreed readily to whatever Bobby had said with a ‘yeah, uh-huh’ and then hung up. He had looked at Dean, told him “Wichita” and promptly went back to sleep, leaving Dean to sit and stew as he changed course to head North.
“How do you know that?”
“Know what?”
“About the Little Debbie truck?”
“I keep up on the important news, bro. It was Little Debbies. Little. Debbies. All those poor defenseless cakes, drowned in the river.” Dean sniffed dramatically and pretended to wipe away a tear, then slowed the Impala down a bit as the radar detector on the dash started to blink.
Sam yawned, reached over to turn down the radio, and then explained, “Some kind of energy outlay, big power, set off the mojo detectors from three states away. He wants us to look into it, he said there are a couple of other hunters in the area, they might need backup.”
“Oh. Ok. Those poor Little Debbies.” Dean turned the radio up again and bopped his head in time with the Silver Bullet band.
The bar was seedy, but Dean didn’t care, he was used to seedy. He’d left Sam back at the motel, talking with Bobby on the phone, trying to narrow down the parameters of their possible case. Preferring action to inaction, Dean had decided to go prowl the bars.
The second place he hit, having abandoned the first when one too many country songs came on the jukebox, seemed like his kind of haunt; not so crowded that he couldn’t get a spot at the bar, but still populated enough that he could find company.
There was a slinky redhead propped on a barstool to his left, sipping daintily from a glass of red wine. Red wine? In this dive? This was a beer and whiskey joint, but Dean shrugged, to each his or her own. She had nice legs, he noticed.
She looked up through her lashes at him, hazel eyes flicked up and down his face and body, ending back at his eyes. She stared at him and licked her lips, her voice was husky as she said, “You have nice eyes.”
“Right back at ya.” He took a deep draw off his beer and smiled as House of the Rising Son came on the jukebox. “Good tune.”
“Pleasant.” She dipped her hand into the small bowl of mini-pretzels, withdrawing two. She slipped one between her lips, and held the other out to Dean. He smirked, bent, and nipped it from her fingers. Her lips lifted in amusement at the move. She sipped her wine and tilted her head, listening to the song. She had emptied the glass by the time the song ended. Dean waved the bartender over, intending to order her another glass.
“Bring the bottle, open, please.” She requested.
Dean tossed a twenty on the bar when the bartender put the bottle down. She caught the bottle up in one hand, along with her empty glass and with her other hand tugged the lapel of his leather jacket. “Come. I have a room. I can share. I am very good at sharing.”
“I approve of sharing. I wholeheartedly approve.” Dean replied, reaching back to grab the fresh beer the bartender had dropped off along with the wine, and then allowed her to drag him out of the bar towards the motel across the parking lot.
It was like a thousand other motel rooms Dean had crashed in over the years. Unremarkable, mundane and boring, but he wasn’t here for the ambiance, he was here for the sex. She turned on the light by the bed, leaving the room dim, once the overhead was off.
He stripped out of his jacket and tossed it over a chair. She placed her wine glass on the tiny table near the window and tugged the cork out, splashing out half a glass. “Would you like wine?”
Waving the longneck at her, he replied, “I’m good here, thanks.” He felt obligated to make small talk, as she pulled out the chair and settled down into it, raising the glass of blood red wine to her lips. “You in town long?”
“Long enough. I am on … an assignment.” She seemed to linger on each word, measuring the meaning. She crossed her legs, revealing pretty black suspenders holding up stockings, and a lovely glimpse of thigh.
It was his turn to lick his lips. “Small world. Me too, on an assignment.” He unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.
“Do that again. Continue to do that.” Her eyes had gone dark; a trick of the light. He smiled and slowly undid the buttons. He’d played this game before, though usually, he was the one in the chair directing the action. But he could improvise.
“Turn around. Now, slowly, let it fall.” Her voice was whispery soft, and yet had an air of command he felt compelled to follow. He let the cotton shirt slide down his arms and then dropped it to the floor. Soft fingers were suddenly at his shoulder blades, tracing across and up, then lightly skittered down and around his back, making shapes and designs. “Warrior scars, you have the marks of battle.”
“A few. My work is dangerous.” He shivered lightly as she explored, standing still, letting her touch.
She slid around to look up at him. “Danger can be exciting.” Her hands continued the exploration. “Undo this.” She skimmed a hand across his belt and stepped back to sit on the edge of the queen-sized bed, watching him.
Dean kept his eyes on hers as he reached down and undid the buckle of his belt and then the buttons of his Levi’s. He toed off his sneakers, kicking them aside. She waved her hand, indicating he should continue, so he shucked the jeans completely, trying to maintain some level of cool as he stepped out of them.
One graceful finger came up and she beckoned him closer to the bed. When he was within reach, she put a hand out and slid her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, and tugged. He, quite willingly, fell forward onto the bed, into her arms.
“Leave when you wish.” She said later as she slinked across the room into the bathroom. He heard the shower start and correctly assumed that he had been dismissed.
He rolled off the bed, fumbled around for his shorts and jeans and was dressed and gone before she finished her shower. A short, sweet, satisfying one night stand, just the way Dean liked them.
Lorelei was irritated. Lyding was dead. The ravens had found her and told her the first name; Lyding. She had followed the ravens to the place where he was hiding, in a large vacant building. But she had arrived too late; the man had already been torn to pieces by a beast of teeth and claws. There was blood everywhere. This was death by rage.
She left the place and the unfortunate Lyding as she had found him. The ravens had cawed softly to each other and then flown away, leaving her to wonder what had dismembered the man, to wonder at the power of the Old One loose in this world. If this was merely mischief by their standards, then what would true destruction be like?
The ravens returned as she walked through the strange city, pondering what she should do next. They landed on a rubbish bin nearby, and she went over to them. In their strange bird-not-bird language they told her that Lyding’s death was not her fault, she was not to take on the burden of it. They told her the name of the next test was a woman called Dormi.
“Test?” This was the first she was hearing of a test.
The ravens told her that the test was not hers to take on either. She was merely to protect Dormi, if she could.
“Lead me to her.” Lorelei watched the birds take flight and she followed them into the sky, reveling in the feel of the sun on he wings. She might have been tasked to this place because she could walk these grounds, but she much preferred the freedom of flight.
They had spent most of the day tromping around a murder site. Some guy had been torn apart by a big nasty, something with massive teeth and claws. Afterwards, Sam had explored the local occult bookstores while Dean had made the rounds of the hunters Bobby had put them in touch with.
By dusk, after collecting Sam, Dean was looking forward to finding the nearest greasy spoon and chomping down on a big bacon burger, so much so that his mouth was watering at the thought. Flashing red and blue lights from six parked police cars drew his attention on Hillside Street. “What have we here?”
“Trouble?” Sam asked as they pulled up in front of a duplex motel. There was an ambulance parked in the lot, and a crowd gathered around it.
Sam reached into the back seat and handed Dean his suit jacket, which he pulled on as he climbed out of the car. Sam donned his own corduroy blazer and followed his brother over towards the nearest cop. They had learned long ago that the guy the furthest out was usually a weak link in the info chain, often bored with routine watch and crowd control. They might get a hit on a leading question.
Dean flashed his badge and said in a harried tone, “Agents Tyler and Perry, what happened? We were told this was a safe location.”
The brusque approach took the cop by surprise and he stuttered, “Uh, I don’t, I’m not … y’all have to speak to the sergeant. The other FBI agent is over there now.” The cop pointed off towards the building. “Sergeant Bilkin, tall fella, bald, can’t miss him.”
Dean ducked under the yellow caution tape with Sam close behind. Sam huffed out impatiently, but they couldn’t turn back now, it would look bad. They were committed; they’d have to find a way to bluff this ‘real’ FBI agent.
They spotted the sergeant and made their way over. The woman talking with him was slight, with bright auburn hair, dark eyes and a serious demeanor. Her long legs were encased in gray slacks with a white shirt and a tailored navy blue blazer over them; standard FBI field wear for agents. She was nodding at whatever the police sergeant was saying, but obviously not happy, judging by her pouting expression.
Dean looked her up and down, and then saw her face, which made him pause in midstep before he caught himself and continued forward.
“Evening Sergeant, ma’am. I’m Agent Tyler, and my partner, Agent Perry.” He waited for the reciprocal introductions, wondering what the redhead’s name was, he hadn’t bothered to ask at the bar, or at the motel later; it hadn’t seemed important at the time, with the other things going on.
Apparently, she was not happy to see him again; she flashed a badge and said icily, “Agent Lee.” Her badge said she was from the New Orleans branch office of the FBI.
Unaware of what had transpired at another motel on the other side of town the previous night, Sam assumed that his brother had judged the agent as a challenge, as his entire posture now screamed “smarmy” and “on the make” - which was borrowing trouble they did not need right now. “What happened?” Sam interrupted whatever Dean had been about to say with a wave that took in the ambulance and the motel before Dean could start flirting.
“Something chewed a guest’s foot off.” Bilkin tossed his head towards the ambulance, where a moaning and bloody woman was huddled on the gurney as medics worked over her leg.
“Chewed?” Dean asked. “As in, ‘gnaw’ ‘gnaw’ ‘gnaw’ chewed at her tootsies?” He mimed biting at his hand in illustration.
Agent Lee, looking frustrated, waved at the mauled woman and complained to the sergeant. “I was promised that the woman would be safe here, if I left her in the care of your people.”
Jumping on opportunity, Dean said, “As were we, when we checked with the branch office. Perry, maybe you should go check on our informer, makes sure he’s snug as a bug in his room up in the penthouse.” Dean suggested, falling back on their bluff that they were using the motel as a safe house, a safe bet now that they knew another agent was utilizing the place for just that purpose.
“Yeah, yeah.” Pretending to go check on their imaginary protected witness, Sam took the opportunity to dive further into the crime scene, specifically intending to get closer to the victim. This might have nothing to do with their mysterious case of mystic power fluctuations, but it might be connected to the mauling and dismemberment at the warehouse. Since they were here, it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions.
“Who’s your vic?” Dean asked Agent Lee, who tossed her hair in irritation as Sgt Bilkin walked away from her.
She stomped her foot and kicked the tire of the police van behind her. She pushed long hair away from her face and stared after the Sergeant with intense dislike. “Her name is Dormi. She was under protection.”
“Any idea what decided to snack on him?”
“She said a wolf.”
Dean chuckled. “A wolf. In Wichita?”
“That is what she said. I have no reason to disbelieve her. You, however, are lying to me. You are not Agent Tyler.” She cast dark eyes on him and stared at him until he took a step back. The ambulance lights suddenly began to spin across the lot, and in the flash of the multicolored lights, against the broad side of the van; Dean could see the distinctive shadow of wings rising up behind the agent.
“Aw man.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and looked around for Sam. He jabbed a finger at Lee, or whatever her name was. “God damn it, can’t you guys stay out of anything?”
Her back went up and she drew herself up to her full height, glaring at him. “I do not like the way you are speaking to me. I much preferred your manner last night.”
“Yeah, well, sorry babe, but I’ve had just about enough of you and your kind. What are you up to? Why Wichita?”
He didn’t fear her, and that obviously irked her. She flexed her fingers and lightly grazed his cheek with her nails, and Dean felt the spark of power as her fingers trailed away. “My kind? What know you of my kind? I am the only one here in this forsaken place. As to why Wichita, I come here because this is where the protection was needed.”
“Sam!” Dean called, seeing his brother backing away from his conversation with the hysterical injured woman as the paramedics wheeled the gurney towards the ambulance. Sam came over at a jog.
“Not FBI.” Dean pointed to the woman that was now toe to toe with him and breathing menacingly as she glared death and daggers at him. He gestured behind him and upwards with a limp hand as he looked at Sam and added, “Wings.”
Sam looked askance at ‘Agent Lee’ and then tilted his head as he too saw the odd shadowed outline on the van as the ambulance lights flashed before it pulled off, taking the image away and leaving only normal shadows behind. “You’re glamoured.” Sam said quietly.
Her head spun towards Sam and she looked from one brother to the other. “You can see through the glamour? What manner of sorcerers are you?”
“We’re not sorcerers, we’re Winchesters. We should take this someplace a little more private. C’mon babe, I’m hungry, you people eat, don’t you? I damn well know you drink.” Dean grasped her by the elbow; she promptly jerked away, but followed him to the Impala.
“This is your conveyance?” She stopped and stared at the black car.
“Just. Get. In.” Dean said, opening the door and gesturing impatiently.
She huffed and flounced over, and threw herself forcefully into the back seat, shoving at the duffle bag that was there until it landed on the floor with a loud thump. “Oh, I do hope there was nothing breakable in there.”
“I hate angels.” Dean muttered beneath his breath, and yanked his own door open and climbed in.
There was a nearly deserted diner a few blocks from the crime scene. Dean’s stomach was rumbling loudly enough to cause Sam to roll his eyes. He pointed at Agent Lee, “You, no trouble until after I eat. You got it?”
“Got it?”
“You understand?”
“I will eat peacefully.” She replied, nodding regally to Sam as he held the door open for her and she brushed past him.
They took a booth at the back, where there was no one to overhear their conversation and gave their orders to the waitress. Dean ordered blueberry pie to go with his burger and coke, Sam got a chicken Caesar salad. Agent Lee looked at the pictures on the menu and finally pointed to a picture of chocolate cake, which made Dean laugh as the waitress walked away.
“Why are you amused?” Agent Lee demanded.
Dean snorted mildly. “You ordered devil’s food cake.”
She looked confused. “I do not see the humor, Not Agent Tyler.”
“An angel, ordering devil’s food. That’s funny, Not Agent Lee.”
“I’m not an angel, and so it is not funny.”
Dean waved towards his back, and then towards hers. “Wings.”
She shrugged. “Not an angel. Guess again, Not Agent Tyler.” She crossed her arms on the table and stared at him evenly.
“Demon, Not Agent Lee?” Dean leaned across the table and met her stare for stare.
Sam slapped the table to break up the tension and pointed to himself and then at his brother. “Ok, getting a little ridiculous here. Sam, Dean. You?”
“I am called Lorelei, and I am most assuredly not a demon.” She wrinkled her nose at the reprehensible thought.
Sam took over the questioning, since Dean seemed to be antagonizing the girl. “So, not to be rude, but most winged folks we meet are usually angels or demons, what are you if you aren’t either of those?”
She smiled brightly, showing teeth and leaned in to confide, “I’m a fairy.”
Dean nearly leapt out of the booth in his effort to back as far away from her as he could, Sam was blocking him in, or he might have left his seat completely instead of rising up on his heels and half-standing in place with his hands out in a warding motion as he squeaked, “Don’t hit me, Tinkerbell!”
“Dean!” Sam hissed, pulling him back down onto the pleather cushion.
“What? You remember, one of them bashed the shit out of me, and that one was only six inches tall, imagine what this one could do, she’s ginormous!” He eyed Lorelei nervously as the waitress brought their drinks and set them down on the table.
Lorelei smiled at Dean maliciously and picked up her cup of water. “Good. Proper respect. This I can live with.”
Dean fiddled with the paper from his straw, from the way his eyes moved, he was obviously judging the distance to the door from his seat, ready to bolt if the fairy raised a finger in his direction.
Sam, always the more diplomatic of the pair, folded his hands in front of him and tried to steer the conversation back towards the case at hand. “You said the woman at the motel, Dormi, was under your protection, why?”
“I was to keep … someone… from getting to her.” She said quietly and looked down at the tabletop and confessed, “I failed, this was my second charge and I failed again.”
“Again?” Sam prodded gently. “Who else were you supposed to protect?”
She looked up, startled, probably regretting her confession. But Sam had a way with people, and getting them to talk to him, and she sighed and quietly said, “Lyding. But I arrived too late to the place where he was. He was already dead, torn apart.”
“Klempner Storage, over in the factory district?” When she looked at Sam blankly, not understanding the question, he clarified, “A big empty warehouse, to the south of town?” Lorelei nodded. “We saw the crime scene. How does a fairy come to know how to work a con and pass for an FBI agent?”
She reached up under her hair and tugged out a few strands bound together with twine around the ends of a long black feather. “A gift from the Old Ones, a spell, to make others see and know what they need to see in order to believe I belong. And the ravens speak to me and tell me things too, things about this place. Some things are the same wherever one walks, it seems.” She glanced at Dean knowingly, “Men, food, drink, authority.”
“Who?” Sam asked. “Who tasked you to protect these people?”
“I do not know if I can reveal that. An Old One tasked me to do this, to find another Old One and keep him from causing trouble. I do not know the name of the aggressor; names are pointless between the realms, changed on a whim.”
“How’d you end up here then, in Wichita?” Dean found his tongue again as the waitress brought their plates.
She shrugged her shoulders and took a sip of her Coke. “I was sent. I was there and then I was here.”
Sam drummed his fingers on the table. “How will you find him, this Old One?”
She dug around in the pocket of her gray slacks and placed a rock, about the size of a half dollar, on the table in front of her and pointed to it. Sam and Dean leaned in and looked at the rock, then at the fairy, at the rock again and then at each other before looking back at Lorelei, identical expression of skepticism on their faces.
“It’s a rock.” Dean said, reaching for the ketchup and upending it over his fries.
“It is supposed to glow when I am near him, when he is getting near the one I am to protect.” She eyed Dean having trouble with the Heinz bottle.
Sam picked at his salad. “Now what? Your target, Dormi, is on her way over to Wesley Medical Center for emergency care, surely that will be protection enough for her?”
Plucking the ketchup bottle from Dean’s hand, she batted it on the bottom once, hard, sending the perfect amount of tomato goodness out onto his fires. He smirked up at her and snagged a dripping fry. “Thanks.”
“Dormi is no longer of consequence; the damage is done, according to the ravens. I must find the next to protect, the name is Gleipnir. She looked at her cake, picked up the fork and poked at it with curiosity. “There are no devils in this?”
Sam shook his head. “No, it is just a name. You said according to the ravens? Ravens as in ‘caw, caw’ black bird type ravens?”
She nodded and bit into the cake, a look of bliss crossing her face as the flavor hit her tongue.
“You talk to birds?” Dean asked.
“Not usually. These talk to me. Messengers.” She dug into the cake, smiling happily.
“Gleipnir. How do we find him or her?” Sam wondered aloud.
She waved her fork in the air and said casually, “The ravens will lead me, they did before.”
“But not quick enough, your girl got noshed on, supposedly by a wolf.”
“Wasn’t that the damndest thing? A wolf, in Wichita! Was that your friend, honey, I’m so sorry.” The waitress had come over to slide Dean’s pie across the table to him. “I’ve lived here all my life and never heard of such a thing. Attacked right out there in the open.” She walked away clucking her tongue.
Lorelei’s fork clattered to the plate and she slumped in her seat. “I am failing at this.”
“What happens if you fail?” Sam asked kindly, the girl was obviously miserable at the news.
“She said the final destiny would be averted for this age if I succeeded.” The opposite was obviously true if she failed.
Sam sat back thoughtfully and tapped one finger against his chin. “Lyding, Dormi, Gleipnir, final destiny. This is familiar.”
“Oh, damn, are we talking bookwork and prophecies and such, Sammie? Is this connected to why we’re here?”
“Could be. I don’t know. Finish up, let’s roll.” He stabbed the last two pieces of chicken from his salad and waved at the remnants of Dean’s fries.
Lorelei looked at each of them and said, “I wish to return to my room.” She was up and out of the booth before they realized she intended to go immediately.
Sam moved to follow, but Dean grabbed his sleeve and held him back. He casually lifted another fry and dipped it in a puddle of ketchup on the edge of the plate. “Let her go, I know where she’s staying.”
“You? Oh, Dean, you didn’t? Is that why …? Is that where you were last night?”
“Uh, could be.” When Sam shook his head at him Dean sputtered, “Well, I didn’t know she was F’ing Tinkerbell, did I?”
The next morning, after coffee and donuts, they headed over to the motel where Dean assumed Lorelei was still staying. Sam had a chocolate donut in the bag for the fairy, but insisted it was not a bribe to get her to like him when Dean suggested it.
She opened the door at Dean’s knock and looked up at them miserably. “They said I should ask for your help. We need to move around this city and see if the rock glows.” She elbowed past them, heading towards the car.
“The talking birds?” Dean asked.
She nodded and tugged open the rear door of the car.
“I guess we’re helping the fairy.” Sam said to his brother over the roof of the car.
“Guess so. Hey Tinkerbell! Sam bought you a donut.”
They drove around all morning, but the rock in Lorelei’s palm never changed. They returned to the same diner as the night before to have lunch. Dean convinced the disheartened fairy to have a slice of pumpkin pie with whipped cream to cheer her up, insisting that it was impossible to be miserable and eat pie at the same time.
When they stepped out of the door of the diner, they noticed that there was a pair of ravens sitting on the Impala.
“Oh, look, its Hu and Mu.” Lorelei flitted down the steps and over to the car.
“She really talks to birds.” Dean said, watching her.
Sam followed the fairy and asked, “Hu and Mu?”
“Their names. That one is Hu and he is Mu.” The ravens began to chatter at her. “They say that I must follow, quickly, the wolf is stalking again. I must reach Gleipnir before the wolf finds a new host.”
“This is so familiar.” Sam mumbled, getting into the car. He pulled out his cell phone for the fastest information he knew how to get, and made a face when it went to voicemail and he had to leave a message. “Bobby. Run some names for me. Lyding, Dormi, Gleipnir, Hu, Mu, final destiny. Call me back.”
Dean pulled out of the parking lot, following the ravens, with Lorelei leaning over the seat, pointing at the birds and telling him where to turn, much to his annoyance, which he took every opportunity to voice.
The place the ravens led them was a park, almost empty of people, which was mildly surprising, given the time of day; mid-afternoon at the park was prime time for rug rats and the after lunch crowd. Perched on the top of the monkey bars was a little man with a goatee and a long gray ponytail. He regarded them with mild curiosity as they approached.
“Are you Gleipnir?” Lorelei called up at him.
“I might be.”
Hu and Mu landed with a chorus of caws on either side of the man.
“You should not be out in the open, it is not safe.” Lorelei warned him, gesturing at the open fields around the swings, slides and climbing structures.
“I might be.” The man repeated.
The fairy grumbled something beneath her breath. “I am sent to protect you, old one, come away from this place.”
The old man smiled. “Have you chosen a champion?”
“I need no champion, I protect myself, I fight my own battles.”
The old man shook his head. “That is not your role, little one. Choose a champion.”
She huffed out a breath and looked from Sam to Dean. Humoring the old man might make him come down. “Very well, I choose Dean Winchester, he bears the marks of many battles, and must therefore be a suitable champion.”
“So stands Tyr.” The old man clapped his hands and Dean suddenly jerked bodily and went down to one knee, dazed. “It begins again.”
“Dean!” Sam called out, going to his brother’s side.
“I’m all right, just a little mystical whammy of some kind.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I don’t feel any different.” He stood up and rubbed his neck, watching the old man warily.
Sam looked up at the old man and started towards the monkey bars, demanding in a snarl, “What did you do to him?”
Delightedly, the old man clapped his hands together and looked at the fairy. “Oh, well chosen, little one, well chosen. See how he snaps and snarls? Fenriir, to heel!” The old man snapped his fingers and Sam jerked to a stop, weaving on his feet and clamping his hands to his head.
“What have you done?” Lorelei demanded.
“I need no protection. I protect myself. Prophecies be damned, I shall stop this.” He waved his hands in the air and began to chant, “Fish’s breath and bird spittle, cat's footfall, beard of woman, root of mountain, bear's sinews. Let Fenrir be bound once more, I appoint you your task little Gleipnir.” The old man pointed at Lorelei.
“I am not Gleipnir.” She protested, shivering as something passed over her. “I am Lorelei.” The ravens cawed, and cawed and cawed, harsh, mocking laughter.
Patting her pocket, Lorelei dug out the rock, which was glowing as she held it up between her fingers. “You! The father?”
He inclined his head. “I am called All Father by some.” He glanced over at Sam and waved a hand dismissively. “Your device shall function now. It amuses me to have others sing my praises.”
Sam’s pocket buzzed and he snatched out his cell phone, pressing buttons and putting it to his ear to listen to a message. His eyes widened and he looked around at the others before he slipped the phone back into his pocket. He pointed at Dean. “I am not, I repeat, NOT putting your hand in my mouth, ever.”
“Ah, Fenrir, you protest too much. You shall do what you are destined to do. The roles are cast, thanks to the pretty little one here. Sweet little Gleipnir, a shame you’ll burn up in the binding, but what must be must be.”
“I am not Fenrir, he is not Tyr.” Sam tried to take a step forward, but found himself restrained by an invisible force.
There was menace in the old man’s voice now. “You are if I say you are.”
When Dean tried to move, he too found himself held firm. “Sammie, what’s going on?”
“Ragnarok, the Norse equivalent of the apocalypse; end of days, final destiny of the gods, you know the drill, Dean.”
“Right, yeah. So what else did Bobby say about Tyr, Fenrir, Gleep-glup?”
“Gleipnir!”
“Yeah, whatever, gramps.” Dean ignored the old man and looked to his brother for an answer.
Sam struggled to move, but was stuck. “Fenrir is supposed to kill Odin, and usher in the doom of the gods. My best guess is that he’s Odin, and he’s making a pre-emptive strike to protect himself. Tyr is the champion of the gods, the one that eventually binds Fenrir on their behalf. Lyding, Dormi, and Gleipnir were all the names of the bindings created to trap Fenrir, the wolf.”
“Why here, why now?” Dean asked.
Odin shrugged. “Every age, the dance must be danced. The steps might be different, but the end result shall be the same, should Fenrir succeed. We come, we reside for a time, we dance.”
“Dormi saw the wolf. She said a wolf attacked her. Fenrir?” Lorelei had walked over to Sam, and was pushing at him, to see if she could move him. “I do not wish to burn up, Sam Winchester.” She confided in a whisper.
“Your wolf has been out slaying. You don’t control it, Odin, if I may call you Odin?” Dean called as the old man unfolded himself from his perch atop the monkey bars and climbed down.
“Of course I don’t control Fenrir, fool. If I could, I would hardly let the beast slay me, would I?” Some looks, like the one that said, ‘you dumbass’ were universal, as evidenced by Odin’s sneer at Dean. “I’ll be going now. Fenrir is unpredictable. He might just win this time. Tyr, do try to kill him, if he won’t stay bound.” The old man walked away down the jogging path.
“Now what? I’m stuck. Are we possessed or something?” Dean asked.
Lorelei gave up trying to move Sam, and crossed to try to push Dean from the spot where he was apparently anchored. “I was supposed to distract him. I was supposed to stop this. I was not supposed to burn up and become part of his mischief. Mischief? This is mere mischief?”
“Lorelei, you’re ranting.” Dean pointed out as she shoved her shoulder against his midsection and pushed, to no avail.
“I don’t want to burn up as part of a spell!”
Sam whined mildly, “I don’t want to eat Dean’s hand!”
“What?!?” Dean shouted.
“In the myths, Fenrir bites off Tyr’s hand when he sticks it in his mouth.”
“Easy answer to that, bro. I ain’t putting my hand anywhere near your pie hole!”
They looked at each other and in unison screamed, “Castiel!!!”
Shaking her head when nothing happened, Lorelei asked, “What is casty ell, a spell?”
“An angel. He might be able to break us out of this, or at least separate us.” Sam explained. “Are we possessed? I don’t feel possessed.” Sam wondered aloud.
Dean wriggled in place. “Me either. Any desire to bite anyone? My vote would be for Tinkerbell here.”
She smacked him. “I do not care for that name.”
“Ok, Gleep-glug. Any suggestions for getting out of this?”
She sat on the ground and buried her face in her hands. She shook her head in denial, she was going to die in heat and fire, burned up, it was a horrible fate for the water fairy to imagine. Nerthus had doomed her.
She fingered the feather that brushed her cheek. Nerthus. She looked at the feather. The spell. She stood up and wondered if her mad idea would work. “I shall return.” Then she ran along the path after Odin, concentrating on focusing the spell, on bednign it to her will, what she needed it to do. She wanted the spell to change her, long enough to fool the Old One. She hoped she was not the fool in making the attempt, but she had naught to lose, did she?
“Odin!” She called out when she caught sight of him, her voice now that of Dean Winchester, it sounded odd to her ears, but she did not allow herself to dwell upon it.
“Ah, Tyr, is it all over so quickly?” Odin turned and waited, clasping his hands before him as Lorelei jogged up to him.
She tried to put a little of the swagger she had observed in Dean’s stance into her bearing as she waved a hand and said, “It was no contest, All Father, your Gleipnir chose well indeed, this Fenrir was all words and no bite.”
“Then you shall release us?” She asked hopefully.
He peered at her, and then blinked. And then he laughed. He let out a full belly laugh. “Such audacity! By thunder, I have not met one such as you in many a year, little Gleipnir! You almost tricked me.”
Lorelei slumped. “All father, I do not wish to burn up. I do not wish for my friends the Winchesters to slay each other. Perhaps there is another way to prevent your Ragnarok?”
“It is the traditional way, little one.”
“Traditions may be changed, and may become stronger for it. Another way, Odin?”
He stroked his goatee and pondered for a bit, Lorelei, wisely waited, though she was concerned that the bonds had broken and even now the Winchesters might be fighting. “I suppose a contest might do, if Fenrir agreed, with the loser to take himself away to somewhere else until the next age and time to dance once again.”
Odin began to walk back towards the playground; she followed, dropping the Dean glamour as she went. When they arrived, Sam and Dean were still where they had been, though they were now bristling with anger and hurling insults at each other in voices not their own.
“I’ll tear your throat out, Tyr!” Sam-Fenrir shouted.
“Silence!” Odin called, raising his hands in the air. “Fenrir, a compromise, if you will?”
Sam’s lean and handsome face formed into an ugly lupine snarl. “I’ll tear your throat out, old man!”
“Yes, yes, so you have said, on many occasions. This age is different. The Gleipnir proposes a contest of a different sort.”
“I’ll tear her throat out too.”
“Are you too much the wolf now, or might you be sensible?” Odin asked impatiently when Fenrir continued to snarl and snap. The words reached him, however, and he calmed and stood still.
Seeing an opportunity, Lorelei challenged, “Prove your intellect, prove you are not merely the beast.”
Tilting his head from side to side, Fenrir considered this. “I am not ready for such a challenge, I demand more time.”
“Take what time you need, the challenge will still stand. Perhaps my little Gleipnir will come to judge the contest.”
Lorelei looked down at her feet and did not dare look up to meet anyone’s eyes as she said, “Perhaps.”
Clapping his hands, Odin said, “A delay granted then, until another day. I release you Tyr, my faithful champion. And Fenrir, go and prepare yourself.” Sam and Dean collapsed to the ground as Odin clapped his hands once more.
He turned to Lorelei and fingered the feather in her hair. “I sense another hand in these workings, but no matter. Well played, little one.” He chucked her under the chin with two fingers and then stepped back, glancing at Dean and Sam, now stirring and sitting up. “A shame, really, they had the makings of fine combatants. Fare thee well.”
The old man swayed on his feet and Lorelei caught him and lowered him slowly to the ground. He blinked up at her in confusion. “Where am I?”
“At the park, you took yourself a walk. Do you know your way home from here?” She asked gently.
“Yeah, yeah. Over that way.” He tossed his chin in the direction of the park exit.
Dean appeared beside her and helped to get the old man on his feet, and Sam walked him over to a nearby bench. “Will you and Sam see him to his home? My task is done; I fear I shall not be staying long.”
“You tricked him into letting us go.” Dean said gratefully.
She shrugged and admitted, “I attempted to trick him, but he saw through my ruse. I believe he was amused by my temerity.”
“You succeeded.”
“I did. I was to distract him, and I did that.” She smiled.
Dean’s voice was a little sad as he said, “You’re not from around here, so I guess we won’t be seeing you again.”
She laughed lightly as she felt the touch of magic washing over her. “Perhaps. Life is strange, Dean Winchester, our paths may cross again.”
“It’s been real, Tink … Lorelei.” He raised a hand to caress her cheek, and she disappeared between the space of heartbeats.
The End