Tír na nÓg 5/5
Chapter Five: Lay Your Claim
Dean crouched behind a bush, peering through the leaves toward the side entrance of the sidhe castle. Daybreak was, he'd been assured, only a few minutes away. On his right was Lisa, once again wearing her heavy cloak with the hood pulled up, her yoga bag strapped crosswise over her shoulder, her hands wrapped around a heavy quarter-staff. She'd been offered a sword or a crossbow but had turned them down, explaining that she felt more secure with a blunt weapon. She didn't want to accidentally chop someone's head off.
Dean himself had gone with a blade, a lightweight longsword much more suitable for his grip and reach than the tiny thing Lola had offered him the last time he'd been here. And sharpened, which was a definite bonus. The sword was strapped into a scabbard on his back, along the straps of which he'd managed to fashion a rudimentary bandolier to hold the extra shells for his shotgun, which he kept cradled in his hands. Lola had hissed when she saw the shells, and gave Dean a hard look.
"Stock in trade, honey," Dean told her. "No dormousing me."
"Just make sure you aim it the right way," she said, still scowling, before turning back to where Rita waited. Dean watched as Rita wrapped her arms around the younger woman, pulling her up into a firm kiss. He found himself trying to work out how they worked around Lola's quills and turned sharply away. That was not the sort of thing he needed to be thinking about just before going into battle.
To Dean's left was Gregor, empty handed -- Dean supposed he had to be, if he wanted to be of any use at all -- and beyond him stood the giant, whom Dean had dubbed Hans, doing a fantastic impression of a tree. The giant's older, much larger brother -- Franz, of course -- was some distance behind them, holding himself in reserve.
"You ready to glamour, Greg?" Dean asked. Gregor grinned, showing off his single tooth, and wiggled his fingers. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."
"Uh," said Lisa. "Wow." Dean turned, only to see another Gregor, this one with Lisa's hair and a single heavy breast. The thing held up the compact magic mirror Ruther had loaned them, and Dean saw a third Gregor staring back at him. He looked back up at Lisa.
"Not your best look," she said.
"Well," Dean answered. "At least we won't be recognized."
Gregor -- the real one -- gave them a thumb's up.
"Did you contact Sam?" Dean asked. Lisa nodded.
"They're in the park. Not all the parents have arrived, but Bobby says they'll be ready."
Dean looked up, noting that the sky had paled out to a deep, rosy pink to the east. "Just about time," he said.
A bank of clouds rolled up from the north at high speed, carrying with it the single, mournful howl of a large dog. Dean cursed.
"Guess the Hunt's coming home."
"We should wait," Lisa said. "Until they're inside."
Dean nodded, tightening his grip on his shotgun as he watched the ghostly riders touch down in the field that surrounded the castle. They had none of the manic energy that Dean remembered from Billy the Troll's bridge, and they milled around impatiently as they waited for the main portcullis to be raised. Dean tried to spot his parents amongst them, but they were too far away and gathered to tightly together to make out anyone distinctly. One of the dogs lifted its nose and sniffed the air. Dean tensed, but the wind was in their favor, and the dog turned its attention to another dog's ass.
The wind shifted, bringing a fog bank up through the trees, and Dean cursed again as it closed in around him.
"That's Franz," said Hans. Dean could just make him out as he puffed his chest proudly. "Our mother was a frost giant."
"Yeah, well, his timing sucks," Dean hissed, and sure enough, he heard the dogs of the Hunt begin to bark as the scent of Rita's army hit their noses. The Hunt's horses shifted, their hooves striking up sparks visible even through the dense fog, and one of the hunters sounded his horn.
It was answered by a piercing, ululating scream, the signal for the attack to begin. The foggy air was immediately filled with the battle cries of the fairy resistance.
The attack was on.
Dean grabbed Lisa's hand on pure instinct and broke through the bushes, running full out for the side door. His knee gave an angry twinge, but he ignored it, pushing his body forward through the lingering soreness and exhaustion that his rather gymnastic activities of the previous night had done little to abate.
An enormous dog leaped into his path, snarling. Dean blasted it full of iron shot without breaking his stride. The dog collapsed onto its side with a yowl, and Dean leaped over it, still pulling Lisa along behind him. His feet hit slick grass on the other side and he skidded, nearly going down. Lisa planted her quarter-staff and heaved on his arm, dragging him back to his feet and yanking him forward as she took the lead.
All around them, the screams of the fairies added a shrill note to the clash of swords and thuds of heavy weaponry against flesh. Dean heard Hans bellow, then felt the ground shake as the giant fell. Another agonized shout split the air, this one in a deep, thundering bass note, and the ground trembled again and again as Franz rushed to his younger brother's aid.
Dean could sympathize, but he didn't have time to dwell as a sword swung out, headed for Lisa's neck. He yanked her down, spilling himself to the ground as well as the sword slashed the air above them and the hunter who wielded it snarled in frustration. Dean rolled as the hunter's horse reared up, hooves flashing -- literally -- through the air, then he and Lisa took to their feet again, running full out. Dean cocked his shotgun one handed and fired backward, letting Lisa guide him as he watched the hunter dissolve into spectral mist.
He had no idea if they were still aimed at the door. The castle walls were formed from solid, pale stone, and they blended perfectly with the fog. He just had to hope that Lisa had kept better track of their direction than he did.
Another hunter rode up, and Dean yanked his hand from Lisa's as he hurriedly reloaded his gun. He looked up to aim, then froze.
Her long, silver hair had been shorn off brutally near the scalp, leaving her nearly bald, with rough, bloodied patches standing out above her ears. Dean couldn't help but think she was still one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. She turned away, aiming a wicked blow with her sword at a redcap who'd come out to join the fray, neatly severing his left arm, then swung her head around again as the redcap fell away. She smiled down at Dean, and he smiled back, his chest so full of doubt and longing that for a moment, he forgot the battle that surrounded them..
"Mom."
"Get on," she said. Dean opened his mouth to ask "get on where?" when he realized that her mount had lengthened, its back expanding until it was easily long enough to fit two extra riders. Dean took a flying leap toward the horse's back, latching onto the saddle with one hand and the tail with the other, nearly losing his shotgun in the process, and managed to pull himself up. Mary extended a hand to Lisa, and with the aid of her quarter-staff, she mounted in front of Dean. Mary shot a smile back at her. "It's nice to finally meet you," she said.
"Uh," said Lisa. "Likewise."
Mary spurred the horse into a trot, nimbly guiding it around the writhing form of the redcap she'd injured. Lisa lurched forward and grabbed onto Mary's back, while Dean held onto her shoulder, his legs squeezing tight against the horse's sides to keep from falling off. The horse picked up speed again, and with a jolt, Dean realized that they had taken to the air.
He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into Lisa's back, trying not to think about it.
Mary took them higher and higher, calling back cheerfully as they went. "Your father's helping clear the way. The hunt master wasn't too pleased with us, but we managed to follow along at a distance. I knew we hadn't seen the last of you two, here. What you've come for is too important."
"You know?" Lisa asked, taking the whole "riding a flying horse" thing far too calmly.
"We've kept an eye on both our boys," Mary said. "John and I wouldn't have done any differently."
The horse aimed downward again, and Dean pressed himself harder into Lisa's back as his stomach rose in counterpoint. When the horse's hooves touched down with a clack against solid stone, he heaved in a breath, trying to regain his equilibrium, and his dignity. He opened his eyes.
The fog was gone, having not yet wormed its way into the castle courtyard where Mary had landed. They were in the far corner of the yard, between the outer wall and the circular keep, next to what looked like a little used storage shed. Dean looked around, letting go of Lisa to hold his shotgun ready, but though he could hear the sidhe forces gathering somewhere nearby, it seemed like the riders hadn't been spotted.
"This is as far as I go," Mary said. Dean jerked.
"What? Mom, no." Dammit, she was right there. "Come with us."
Mary looked back and shook her head. "If the horse goes any further in, it'll turn to dust, and I can't dismount, not yet. The entrance to the Children's Tower is just up ahead, but Oberon may have moved them to his main chambers during the attack."
"May have?" Lisa asked. Mary tilted her head, regarding them both.
"There's no precedence for this," she said. "You two have brought in something entirely new." She smiled. "You've caught them with their pants down."
Lisa nodded and, planting the end of her staff against the ground, slid sideways to dismount. Dean stared at his mother, not quite willing to see her go, yet.
"Mom," he said again. "How?"
Mary turned sideways in the saddle, reaching her hand back to rub it down Dean's cheek. She wasn't the ghost that Zachariah had tried to pass off as Mary Winchester. She wasn't the idealized memory of Mom that Dean had created in the djinn's illusion. This was the grown version of the spitfire Dean had met in the past, furious and powerful even when the world seemed to be falling apart around them.
Whatever tried to steal her form, Dean realized, he would never be fooled again.
"Our family's never been good at staying in one place," Mary said, running her thumb over his cheekbone. "We got tired of Heaven, and John had seen enough of Hell. Not sure where we'll go next. I hear Valhalla's pretty interesting, now that Odin's gone."
Dean found himself grinning at her, even as he leaned into her hand. "Isn't it all drinking and fighting?" he asked. "Dad, at least, will fit right in."
Mary grinned back. "You say 'hi' to your brother for me," she said. "And don't worry. I know you'll find a way to get him back. We'll see you again. Sometime a long, long time from now."
Dean leaned forward to kiss her cheek, then finally, reluctantly, dismounted. Mary took off again the moment his feet touched the ground, letting out her very best valkyrie scream. Dean watched her go, a proud smile on his face, then froze when he realized that the sounds of the sidhe army were getting closer.
"Shit. Bad idea, Mom." He turned to Lisa, who was watching him carefully. He took one last deep breath to refocus himself, then nodded. "Come on. We'll check the Children's Tower, then head for Oberon's throne room from there. You've still got the mirror?"
"Right here." Lisa patted her pocket under her cloak, and Dean realized the glamours Gregor had worked had already faded. He hoped that didn't mean something had happened to him. He was butt-ugly, but Dean had started to kind of like the guy.
He held out his hand for hers. "Let's go."
*
The Children's Tower was empty, though there were clear signs that the kids had been there not long before. The long dormitory at the top of the tower was cluttered with scattered clothes and scrawled notes and pictures, statements like "I want to go home" and long lines of hash marks freshly carved into the walls. Dean swallowed hard when he found one of Ben's t-shirts crumpled up in the corner. It wasn't the dungeon, but that didn't mean that these kids hadn't been locked away, hurt and scared. He could only imagine what must have gone through their heads when the sounds of battle started up outside the barred window.
"Oh god," Lisa whispered, running her fingers over the hash marks on the wall. "Dean, some of these kids were here for years."
"Yeah." Dean tugged her gently away from the wall, moving back toward the door, left open when the kids had all been taken out. "Just be glad Ben wasn't here that long."
"He might've been." Lisa pressed her lips together and hefted her staff. "Time isn't always shorter here. There are stories of people gone for ages when only days passed in our world."
Dean hadn't known that. He'd only heard about it working the other way around. He pulled the map Lola had made them of the interior of the castle from his pocket, taking a moment to plot out a path he thought would have the least number of sidhe along it. "Come on," he said. "The throne room's this way."
It was impossible to avoid going past any other rooms on their way to the center of the castle, but it seemed like all of the sidhe and their flunkies had gone out to join the Hunt in beating back Rita's army. There was no way to tell how the resistance was faring -- the fog had risen up to enclose even the windows along the towers. Only the continued sounds of battle let him know that they hadn't been wiped out entirely.
Fifty fairies. Against an entire castle full of trained soldiers and powerful monsters. Jesus, how the hell had he thought that Rita and Lola and all of the others stood a chance? The nay-sayers had been right, and Dean himself had talked them into joining the fight, anyway.
He tried to reassure himself that they were only fairies. It didn't work.
They had to double back and hide a few times as they drew closer to the throne room and small groups of sidhe, all dressed in fine silk and velvet robes, bustled along the hallways. They seemed almost excited by the battle, gossiping and placing bets about how long they thought the fighting would last. Not a one of them seemed at all concerned that the attackers had a chance at winning. Dean remembered Lola's earliest comments to him. "How medieval," she'd said. He wondered if the sidhe went in for bear-baiting, too.
Their luck ran out outside the throne room itself, which was guarded by a long line of armored fairies of all shapes and sizes. Dean thought he recognized the brownie he'd seen lounging outside the dungeons, standing straight and proud now with a morning star twice his size. Dean counted ten of them in total as he ducked down and peered around the corner, Lisa at his back, keeping watch in the other direction. Ten soldiers, versus one hunter with a sword and a shotgun and a yoga teacher holding a staff.
They were completely screwed.
"Well?" Lisa asked.
"We're completely screwed," Dean told her. "There's ten of them. Well armed."
Lisa leaned past him to take a look, then straightened back up. "Maybe I should have grabbed that crossbow, after all."
"Bit late for that now," Dean said. He cracked open his shotgun, double checking that it was loaded. "You ready?"
Lisa hefted her staff. "Not even a little."
Dean nodded. "Right then. On three." He looked back around the corner, braced the shotgun in both hands, and took a deep breath. "Three." He swung around the corner into the hallway, shot gun raised and ready. "Hey fuckers!" he shouted. When the guards turned to look, he let loose with both barrels, firing right at the biggest looking one in the middle. "Never bring a mace to a gun fight!"
A cloud of white burst over the guard Dean had shot, and he winced. He'd managed to load up with salt instead of iron. He tucked the shot gun away in the straps of his scabbard and reached for the hilt of his sword as Lisa came screaming around the corner behind him, quarter-staff held high.
It took them a second to realize the guards weren't attacking. Each and every one of them had dropped into a huddle around where the guard Dean had shot had been standing, picking at the floor and counting angrily.
"Right," Dean said. "The salt thing. I'd forgotten about that."
Lisa stared at him, her staff still raised.
"Good battle cry, though," he told her. "Very intimidating."
Lisa let out a hard breath, still staring at him, then started forward. "Let's go," she said. "They're going to have heard that inside."
"Right." Dean leaned his sword against the wall just long enough to reload the shot gun again -- using the salt rounds purposefully, this time -- then picked it back up, holding it ready in his right hand while he gripped the shotgun with his left. "Time to save the day."
Having lost the element of surprise, Dean decided to go with the most aggressive entrance he could. He kicked the double doors of the throne room open, managing not to wince at the pressure the action put on his bad knee, then strode in with Lisa at his side. He fired the shot gun into the air as he walked, making a beeline straight for the far end of the room, where the thrones themselves sat high on an opulent raised platform. Several of the sidhe -- all more dressed for a party than they were for a battle -- fell over each other in a scramble to count the grains, and Dean smirked. He was starting to wonder why he'd let himself be so intimidated by these guys. It was like being scared of the actors at a Renaissance fair.
"Alright, you sons of bitches," he said. "We're here to collect what's ours."
A man seated in the larger, sturdier looking throne rose smoothly to his feet, his head held high, a smirk of his own on his face. "Well," he said. "It looks as though our prodigal prince has returned. Oh." He tilted his head gracefully to one side. "And he brought a friend!"
Dean aimed the shotgun at him. "Lord Oberon, I presume."
The man nodded.
Dean had half expected Oberon to look like Hugo Weaving from the Lord of the Rings movies, all pointed ears and thin little eyebrows and douchey hair. Oberon had the ears, certainly, and even the brows and the hair, but Hugo in his best days couldn't even dream of matching this guy in the pretty department. Oberon's features were exceedingly delicate, his cheekbones high and sharply defined under his pale, smooth skin. His eyes were the brightest green Dean had ever seen, and his stick-straight hair was a deep blue-black, falling in even lines down past his shoulders. He wore a simple gold circlet, patterned with ivy filigree, and a shimmering forest green robe, decorated about the collar with a line of opals. He spread his hands and smiled down the barrel of Dean's gun.
"Shall I take it that this foolishness outside is your doing?" he asked, then continued on without giving Dean a chance to answer. "Really, the house sprites are so easily misguided. It's a wonder they hadn't managed to get themselves killed sooner."
"Where are the kids?" Dean asked.
"Are you asking if we keep goats?"
Dean fired his shotgun at the wall over Oberon's shoulder. The fairy king didn't even flinch.
"Ah," he said. "The human children." He gestured to the side, and a line of kids came out from behind the throne platform, six in total, all holding hands and looking like they were seconds from shitting themselves. Dean didn't recognize a single one of them.
"You took seven," Lisa said.
"Yes," said Oberon. "But I'm afraid the Morrigan was feeling a little peckish."
"You son of a bitch." Dean strode forward, dropping the now empty shot gun to the floor as he hefted his sword. "Where is he? Where's Ben?"
"Now now, Dean Winchester." Oberon lifted his hand and Dean froze, sword still raised to strike. He could feel the fairy king's power wrapping around him, holding him in place.
This was why they didn't use real names around here, he realized. It was more than just convincing a pixie to tell the truth. Names had power, and Lord Oberon knew exactly how to use that power.
"Kneel," Oberon commanded, and Dean dropped to the floor.
"No." He could hear Lisa step back behind him, and hoped to God that Oberon hadn't had a chance to learn her name.
Oberon stepped down from the platform, his robes swishing softly as he moved. The kids all huddled tighter together, but the fairy king didn't even glance in their direction. His eyes were glued on Dean alone. "You see, Dean," he said. "You're mine. Your soul is worth more than any other my people have ever encountered." He circled around Dean as he spoke, reaching out his hand to rest it possessively on Dean's head. Dean tried to jerk away, but Oberon's fingers clenched in his hair, holding his head still. "A first born son -- those are always the best, so tender and filled with such high hopes and expectations. Heir to a dynasty --" Dean opened his mouth to protest, and Oberon let go of his hair to cuff him in the back of the head. "-- Not a strictly royal one, I know, but then, we were never much concerned with the strict rules your people put on yourselves. And best of all," Oberon leaned in and sniffed, his eyes rolling up in pleasure. "Prized by Heaven's angels themselves, yet still untouched. No angels or demons have wormed their way into your head, have they? Oh, sure, you're marked, all scorched and tattered from all those years in Hell, but that just adds flavor. Now." He stopped in front of Dean, bending down to look him levelly in the eye. "Did you really think we'd let you go, just because you fired your little gun around at us?"
"Oh, I don't know," Dean said, amping up his bravado to cover how hard he was struggling to break Oberon's invisible grip. "Seems like you haven't managed to hold onto me for long, yet."
Oberon smiled. "True. You're a wily one, I'll give you that. But you have your weaknesses, just like any other human. What was the boy's name? Ben?"
Dean struggled harder, managing to wrench his arm up and aim his sword at Oberon's neck. "What have you done to him?"
"I think I struck a nerve." Oberon stood back up, and as hard as he tried, Dean couldn't raise his sword any higher. "The boy is fine, Dean. Oh, a little terrified, perhaps, but you know how children are. I'll tell you what. I'll offer you a deal."
"No dice."
"Now don't be hasty. You don't have to decide until you've heard the terms." Oberon folded his hands. "I'll return Ben, right back to where I found him, if you stay with me, willingly, as my manservant."
"Alternate deal." Dean forced the sword a little bit higher. Oberon's grip wasn't permanent, he realized. It was slowly fading, the longer the fairy king went without saying Dean's full name. "You let Ben and all the other children go, and I won't rip your throat out."
Oberon laughed. "And again with the demands. Really, Dean, did you think that would work? You have no greater claim on the boy than I do."
"No," Lisa said. She'd been so quiet up until that point that Dean had almost forgotten she was there. She stood in front of the children now, gripping the tallest boy by the hand. "But I do." She lifted Dean's shotgun in her free hand, as the boy next to her raised her quarter-staff. "So back the fuck off."
Oberon took a step back, raising his hands. "I might have known," he said. "A mother can always tell." The air around the children shimmered, and one by one they changed shape. The boy who held Lisa's hand changed last, and Dean smiled when he recognized Ben's game face. It was the same look the kid had gotten when he kneed a bully in the crotch to get his video game back, and now it was aimed full force at the fairy king himself. Oberon looked distinctly unimpressed. "It's of no matter," he said. "They've all eaten. As has our prince here. None of them can leave."
Dean grinned up at him. "That's what you think, asshole."
Lisa fired the shotgun at Oberon's head, and Dean managed to dodge back, avoiding most of the spray. She'd loaded up with an iron round, and Dean had to admit, for someone who'd barely held a gun in her life, her aim was exquisite. The sidhe counting salt grains at the back of the room shouted denials as Oberon's head smashed open, spraying Dean liberally with bits of gore and skull. Dean flung himself back and raised his sword, daring the other sidhe to approach him while Lisa dug out the compact mirror. "Sam," she shouted. "Sam, do it now!"
"You fools," Oberon hissed from behind Dean. He spun back around, sword raised, to see the fairy king standing just where he had been, his head once more intact, though Dean could still feel the spray of his blood drying on his face. Oberon flung out his hand toward Lisa, and she shouted as the mirror exploded in her hands. "You think you can kill me? This is Underhill, that which the Irish called 'Tír na nÓg', land of eternal youth! We are the ageless, the eternal, and your mortal ways are naught but nuisance, the flies buzzing in our ears --"
Dean got tired of listening about halfway through the fairy king's speech, and holding his sword out straight, he charged straight at Oberon, running him through the middle and pushing him backwards, up onto the platform, and right back into his throne. The sword tip pierced the thick padding and the wood underneath, holding the fairy king pinned. He leaned into his face.
"You want me here for an eternity, huh?" Dean couldn't exactly twist the sword when it was wedged into the back of the throne, but he did manage to wiggle it a little, making Oberon's delicate face screw up into a wince. "Well, maybe I can show you the things I learned in Hell that give me such flavor."
A burst of light erupted behind Lisa, drawing shouts from the children. The light swirled and grew until it was taller than Lisa, and the center cleared, showing a cold blue winter sky over an expanse of open grass. Sam had done it. Despite Oberon breaking the mirror, Sam had pulled through. The children, still terrified, refused to go through at first, but between Lisa and Ben, they soon started herding them along. When the five of them had made it to the other side to be gathered up into the arms of their parents, Lisa turned back to look at Dean, her hand still clenched around Ben's.
Dean let go of the hilt of the sword and turned toward the gate. Oberon grabbed him by the wrist, stopping Dean in his tracks, though the grip was weak enough that Dean knew he could break it easily.
"Wait," Oberon said. "Your brother. His soul is lost, yes?" He took a deep breath, bloody spittle rising on his lips. Dean didn't believe for a moment that he was mortally wounded, but he had to admit, the fairy king had a hell of a flare for the dramatic. "Stay. Stay willingly, and we'll return it to him."
Dean stared at him, trying to decide if he was on the level. It wasn't as though Dean hadn't taken worse deals on the hopes of getting Sam back in one piece. He'd spent forty years in Hell so Sam could live, and he would have taken that or worse to get his brother out of Lucifer's cage.
"Dean," Ben called, and Dean shook himself. The portal was starting to close.
Wasn't that the lesson? The one he'd been trying to drill into Sam's head for the last few years, the one that he'd hoped he'd never have to teach Ben. Self-sacrifice always looked good on paper, but it just screwed them over more, in the end. Sam -- the real Sam -- would never forgive him for getting trapped in Fairy Land when there was still a chance at getting his soul back any other way. Neither would Bobby. Or his parents.
Or Lisa.
He wrenched his wrist from Oberon's grip. "Sorry," he said. He yanked the sword back out from Oberon's stomach and wiped it on the fairy king's robe. "Gotta go. That's my ride."
Lisa wrapped her arm over Ben's shoulders and tugged him forward through the portal as it rapidly shrank. Dean followed them at a dead run, using the sword to steady himself as his feet slipped on Oberon's blood. He dove through the portal when it was just a few feet wide, hitting the ground on the other side with his shoulder and throwing himself forward into a roll, careful to keep the sword out to the side so as not to accidentally impale himself. He stumbled to his feet just behind where Lisa and Ben now knelt, their arms wrapped tight around each other, and took a breath, marveling at the faint smell of diesel in the air. Six families clustered together near where Sam and Bobby stood. Several of the parents were crying, but Dean himself felt like laughing.
They did it. They made it. They were back.
Then something tugged hard on his stomach, yanking him back and off his feet. He dropped the sword and doubled over, feeling himself slide over the grass. It was as though a hook had embedded itself in his gut and was reeling him back toward the now tiny portal, determined to pull him back to the other side.
The pear. He hadn't managed to get it all out of his system, after all. He'd eaten the food of the fae, and now their world refused to let him go. He clutched at the grass, ripping it out at the roots as the fairy world continued to drag him backwards.
The children were all safe, tucked tight into the arms of their families, but no one had claimed Dean, yet. He needed his family and he needed it now.
"Sam!"
*
Convincing the parents to come to the park wasn't easy -- they understandably had trouble with the whole "your kids were abducted by fairies" thing -- but the promise of getting their sons back safe and sound trumped their skepticism. Bobby took point, holding his shotgun ready for any fairy interruptions. He hoped they wouldn't have to wait long. Lisa'd said they were just about to raid the sidhe's stronghold, but that still might make it a matter of hours, if not days, on this end.
Sam combined the ingredients in a handmade stoneware bowl he'd found in Lisa's kitchen. It wasn't solid stone like the ritual called for, but he seemed to think it would work, despite the clay and glaze. He'd found an old shirt of Dean's, stiff with dried blood, and Bobby had his fingers crossed that that would be enough. Sam recited the beginning of the ritual, stirring the components in the bowl with a silver knife to keep them active, one eye on the make-up mirror they'd picked up at the local Target, waiting for the signal.
The parents were getting restless, gathered together at one side of the field they'd picked for the ritual, talking amongst themselves. Bobby flashed them a reassuring smile, but he didn't think it helped.
They didn't have to wait too long. At the end of the second hour, the mirror flashed, and Lisa's voice came through. "Sam!" she shouted. "Sam, do it now!"
Sam recited the final words of the opening ritual and struck a match, throwing it into the bowl. The ingredients smoldered, but nothing else happened.
"Dammit," said Bobby. The parents started shifting about, sounding angry.
"It's the blood," said Sam. "It's not fresh enough."
Bobby'd been afraid of that. He'd spent all morning cooking up a plan B. "Use yours."
"What?" Sam looked up at him like he was going senile.
"You're brothers, Sam! If family's strong enough to overcome a fairy claim, it's damn well enough to find Dean in their world!"
Sam shook his head. "Bobby, that's --"
"It's damn well worth a shot, ain't it?"
Sam licked his lips and nodded, rolling up his sleeve to expose his forearm. He pressed the knife against it, opening up a shallow wound, then held it over the bowl to let his blood drip in, reciting the whole ritual again at high speed. He struck a new match and dropped it in the bowl. The ingredients lit up with a flash, and a portal swirled into existence in the air, rapidly growing to about ten feet tall. The parents gasped and hurried forward, calling out their sons' names as five kids came running through the portal. They skidded on the grass, crying out as the portal tried to drag them back, but the pull seemed to vanish the moment their parents got their hands on them.
"Well I'll be." Bobby tugged on the brim of his hat. "It worked."
Lisa and Ben came tumbling through a few minutes later, as the fire in the bowl started to burn low and the portal began to shrink. Bobby hissed through his teeth, sending a mental prayer to the only being he thought might be listening -- Castiel might not hear Bobby, but he was sure somewhere his wife would -- that Dean wouldn't be far behind.
The portal was almost too small for him, by the time Dean came through, covered in blood and dust and carrying a sword. The boy dropped into a roll, then came to his feet swaying. For a moment, the three of them were silhouetted in the portal's glow, Lisa clutching Ben on their knees on the ground, with Dean standing over them, the exhausted, loyal protector. Then the portal stopped shrinking and Dean doubled over with a cry of pain, falling to the grass and sliding backwards. He looked back toward the portal, then sought out his brother. "Sam!"
Goddamn son of a bitch. Of course Dean had taken food from the fairies, and of course he hadn't seen fit to warn them of the fact. Bobby looked to Sam, who was hurriedly reading off his banishing spell, not looking at Dean. "God dammit!"
Bobby dropped his gun and ran forward, diving past Lisa and Ben to grab Dean's arm like he was sliding into home base. Dean kept being dragged backward, and Bobby spat into the grass. "I claim him, dammit!" he shouted at the portal. "You hear me? He's mine!"
But it wasn't enough. The portal kept pulling on Dean, now dragging Bobby along with him. A small hand wrapped around Dean's other wrist, and they both looked up, Dean's eyes wide. "Me too," whispered Ben, and he yanked back on Dean's arm. Dean's face screwed up like he was being torn in two.
"And me." Lisa grabbed the back of Dean's shirt. "You can't have him."
Dean stopped sliding, but his face stayed tight with pain, and the portal remained open. Bobby looked back toward Sam as his grip slipped. "Dammit Sam!"
Sam looked back, his eyes wide, but he stayed where he was, reciting the banishing spell over and over, his hands clenched around the book.
Then Gwen ran up, seemingly from nowhere. "I heard shouting," she said. "What -- shit." She ran over, squeezing in between Bobby and Ben, grabbing on to both of Dean's arms. "I'm not losing any more family."
Between the four of them, they were apparently enough. The portal closed with an audible pop, and Dean thunked his head to the grass, breathing hard. Sam finished his final recitation of the banishing spell, and the park fell into silence.
Bobby pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. "Everyone alright?" He looked down at Dean, who'd flopped over onto his back in the grass and stared at Sam.
Dean wasn't okay. He was alive, sure, and didn't look too bad off, physically, but he wouldn't be okay until Sam got his soul back.
And Bobby didn't have a damn clue how that would happen.
*
It was six months before Dean saw another fairy. Driving past a random drainage lake in a random town on their umpteenth tour of the Midwest, Dean happened to look over while stopped at a light. They'd been driving around the country for so long now that Dean lost track of town names. Every place they visited looked familiar, every road half-remembered, like he always knew where it was, but never where it was going. He felt more than half-lost, these days, and had taken to looking around when he got the chance, trying to find the landmarks that would lead him somewhere like home.
Movement in the lake caught his eye and he tracked it, expecting to see a Canada goose gliding over the surface. Instead, he found himself staring down at a smooth, pale face. A woman poked her head out of the water, the dark mass of her hair floating around her, tangling in the stalks of the water reeds. She looked up, her eyes like two pits in her skull, head tilted toward the car as though she could see straight through the sun's reflection and right into his soul.
"Peg," he said, his voice low. She smiled like she knew he was watching, displaying rows of shark-like teeth.
"Dean?" Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean half-turned.
"Do you see --" He looked back, but Peg was gone, sunk back beneath the water or never there at all.
The light turned green and Dean drove on, trying to shake that smile from his mind, shake the certainty that he should dive into the lake after her.
Lisa called that night, a rare enough occurrence that Dean sat staring at the phone without answering until just before his voicemail picked up. Ben called regularly to update Dean on his life, tell him about school and girls and the video games he played. He asked every time if Dean would teach him to hunt, and Dean dodged the question by asking about Lisa, how she was doing, if she'd met anyone. He knew someday he'd give in, go back and teach Ben what he needed to know to survive, but he also knew Lisa wouldn't wait for him to decide to come home.
Lisa had only called twice, and each time, Dean's breath caught in his throat as he wondered if this call would be that one, the one telling him Ben was gone again, this time somewhere that neither of them could follow.
It wasn't that call.
"Have you seen them?" she asked. Dean knew immediately what she meant. He thought he would have even if he hadn't spotted Peg.
"One," he said. "Hiding in a lake."
"Do you think this means it worked? Do you think the resistance won?"
Dean swallowed. He knew he should have wondered, should have been at least vaguely curious how the battle had gone after they'd beaten Oberon and got the stolen kids back, but there'd been too many other things to think about. Getting Sam's soul without destroying his mind. Fighting Eve and her monsters. Trying to help Cas with the war for Heaven. Lola and Rita and their revolution just wasn't as important. "I don't know," he said. "I hope so." He was surprised to realize that was the truth.
They talked awhile longer. Lisa was restless, just like Ben. They were living near Columbus, now, but she talked of moving west, to Seattle or Portland. She asked after Gwen, and Dean made up stories about the other hunter's exploits. Gwen and Lisa had bonded in the short time they'd known each other, and Dean wasn't brave enough to say that he'd shot the woman while possessed by Eve's brain-slug.
He could tell Lisa had something else on her mind, and found himself hoping she wouldn't ask it. Like always, he hoped in vain.
"Do you ever think about going back?"
Dean wanted to say "no", but he couldn't deny the pull he'd felt when he'd spotted Peg. "Lisa, you can't."
"I know." He heard her sigh softly, and pictured her running her fingers through her hair. "It's just -- I guess I finally understand. Why you could never stay. It gets into you, doesn't it? And you can't tell anyone, not really. They had to have been there."
Dean swallowed and looked over at Sam, who was on his laptop, pretending he wasn't listening. "Yeah."
"You can't go home again." She said it so quietly that Dean wondered if she knew she was even speaking out loud. She meant it for herself, he thought, but he couldn't help but feel it was directed at him.
Lisa and Ben were his home, as much as Sam was, had been even before he'd shown up on their doorstep to see them one more time before giving in to Michael. But he wasn't theirs, and he never would be.
"Yoga just seems so boring now," she joked, and Dean laughed, trying to make it sound like it didn't hurt.
"Tell Ben I said 'hi', okay?"
"I will. And you do the same, to Sam and everyone."
"Yeah."
And that was it. Neither of them really wanted to hang up, but neither did they want to keep talking. Dean didn't say "goodbye", but as he hit the button to end the call, he knew it probably was, anyway.
He saw the fairies everywhere after that, never en masse, but a single sprite or brownie, gliding over a wheat field or hanging laundry out to dry. He thought he saw Benny once hand washing a sweater in a laundromat sink, and he'd been on guard for a week, turning down every hunt they came across -- he'd looked her up in Bobby's books, and knew she was only meant to appear before someone died. Each time, he felt the same tug on his gut, like the long ago bites of pear were still pulling at his insides.
He never mentioned them to Sam. His brother seemed stable, these days, and he knew Sam probably knew about the fairies and everything that had happened intellectually, but Dean couldn't risk making him actually remember. Besides, he couldn't forget the way Sam had stayed back that day, had refused to help anchor Dean in the world, and Sam didn't need any more things to apologize for. This Sam would have done it. This Sam would have dropped the book, banishing or no, and claimed Dean as his own. And that was what mattered.
It was early June in Nebraska when they passed the sheep pasture. They were on their way to Oklahoma and a noisy poltergeist, but Dean made Sam pull over. Sheep were nowhere near as plentiful as cows in the States, and it had been ages since they'd last come across a flock.
"Dean," said Sam. "There's bound to be a gas station or something up ahead. Why --"
Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand, already halfway out the door. "This won't take long. There's something I have to try."
He climbed the fence separating the road from the pasture, careful to avoid the electrified wires strung low across it. The sheep greeted him with a quiet, confused chorus of bleats as he walked into their midst and turned counterclockwise in a slow circle.
"Lola?" he called. "Hey Lola, you here?" When he got no answer, he rolled his shoulders and tried one more time. "Brienne! Come on, there's sheep!"
Sam stepped out of the car and stared at him. "Dean?"
Dean flapped his hands at him as the sheep milled around. He hadn't really expected to find her, but he'd thought just maybe --
"Jeez, Groucho." He spun in place. Lola sat astride the largest sheep, her hands on its ears. Dean had to admit, the look on its face was pretty funny. "It's not nice to leave a girl hanging."
Dean smiled, relief flooding through him and making him sag. "You're alive."
"Please. Takes more than some uppity sidhe to get rid of me."
Sam walked up to the fence, his eyes wide. "What -- what --"
Lola waved, kicking her legs out to the side. "Hey. Grumpy, right?"
Sam stared some more, "what"s traded for silent gaping.
"Catching flies?" Lola asked.
"This is Lola," Dean said. "She's a pixie."
Sam turned his stare on Dean. "Okay," he said. He shook his head slowly, that "what the hell did I miss?" expression clear on his face.
"It's a long story," Dean said. "Maybe I'll tell you, someday." He turned back to Lola. "You guys won?"
"Sort of." Lola picked a few brambles from the sheep's wool. "The sidhe are still dicks, but we've made progress."
"Rita?"
"Running wild with the poets again." Lola's quills rose a few inches, the only outward sign that she missed her "roommate". "We don't see each other as much, but at least she's happy."
Dean swallowed, lowering his voice. "Morcum?"
Lola's quills pulled down low over her brow, and she shook her head.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Me too." She closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her grief away with some effort. "Hero's doing well. I look in on you guys, sometimes."
"Yeah," Dean said. It was his turn to fall silent. He hadn't spoken to Lisa since the night after he saw Peg.
"Dean," said Sam, incredulous. "You're making small talk with a pixie."
Lola snorted without ire. "Speciesist."
"That reminds me." Dean folded his arms over his chest. "If you're a pixie, then what are those little glowy naked chicks with wings?"
"New agers." Lola kicked the sheep, and it bleated petulantly. "Wannabes."
They talked awhile longer, Lola about the resistance members Dean had met and their negotiations with the sidhe, Dean about the ghosts he and Sam hunted and the monsters that hadn't gone into hiding when Eve went down. Sam watched it all, a half-baffled, half-amazed look on his face, until the sun started dropping toward the horizon and thunder rumbled in the distance.
"We should get going," he said. Dean nodded.
"It's good to see you," he told Lola, and he meant it. He didn't feel the same drag on his stomach with her as he did with the other fairies, though seeing her was bittersweet in its own way.
"You too," she said. "Well. Bye."
"See ya." Dean flicked her a wave, but she was already gone. Somehow, this farewell seemed much less final than it had with Lisa.
"Sam," he said as they drove south, the storm close on their tail. The air out the open windows was thick and humid. "Where do you want to go, when we die?" Sam frowned at the road, shooting him a glance, and Dean continued. "I mean, we will eventually. I still say sooner than later. Where do you want to end up?"
"You think we have a choice?"
Dean pictured their mom and dad, sitting proud atop ghostly horses. "I've got it on good authority that we do."
Sam blinked, tapping his fingers on the wheel as he thought it over. "I don't know. Not Heaven or Hell."
"Yeah," said Dean. He rummaged through his box of cassettes until he found the right Zeppelin album. He popped it in the tape deck and the crashing howl of "Immigrant Song" blasted from the speakers. "I'm thinking Valhalla."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You just want to bang a valkyrie."
Dean grinned, drumming the air, as the road spooled out in front of them into eternity.
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| Master Post | Notes and Credits |
Dean crouched behind a bush, peering through the leaves toward the side entrance of the sidhe castle. Daybreak was, he'd been assured, only a few minutes away. On his right was Lisa, once again wearing her heavy cloak with the hood pulled up, her yoga bag strapped crosswise over her shoulder, her hands wrapped around a heavy quarter-staff. She'd been offered a sword or a crossbow but had turned them down, explaining that she felt more secure with a blunt weapon. She didn't want to accidentally chop someone's head off.
Dean himself had gone with a blade, a lightweight longsword much more suitable for his grip and reach than the tiny thing Lola had offered him the last time he'd been here. And sharpened, which was a definite bonus. The sword was strapped into a scabbard on his back, along the straps of which he'd managed to fashion a rudimentary bandolier to hold the extra shells for his shotgun, which he kept cradled in his hands. Lola had hissed when she saw the shells, and gave Dean a hard look.
"Stock in trade, honey," Dean told her. "No dormousing me."
"Just make sure you aim it the right way," she said, still scowling, before turning back to where Rita waited. Dean watched as Rita wrapped her arms around the younger woman, pulling her up into a firm kiss. He found himself trying to work out how they worked around Lola's quills and turned sharply away. That was not the sort of thing he needed to be thinking about just before going into battle.
To Dean's left was Gregor, empty handed -- Dean supposed he had to be, if he wanted to be of any use at all -- and beyond him stood the giant, whom Dean had dubbed Hans, doing a fantastic impression of a tree. The giant's older, much larger brother -- Franz, of course -- was some distance behind them, holding himself in reserve.
"You ready to glamour, Greg?" Dean asked. Gregor grinned, showing off his single tooth, and wiggled his fingers. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."
"Uh," said Lisa. "Wow." Dean turned, only to see another Gregor, this one with Lisa's hair and a single heavy breast. The thing held up the compact magic mirror Ruther had loaned them, and Dean saw a third Gregor staring back at him. He looked back up at Lisa.
"Not your best look," she said.
"Well," Dean answered. "At least we won't be recognized."
Gregor -- the real one -- gave them a thumb's up.
"Did you contact Sam?" Dean asked. Lisa nodded.
"They're in the park. Not all the parents have arrived, but Bobby says they'll be ready."
Dean looked up, noting that the sky had paled out to a deep, rosy pink to the east. "Just about time," he said.
A bank of clouds rolled up from the north at high speed, carrying with it the single, mournful howl of a large dog. Dean cursed.
"Guess the Hunt's coming home."
"We should wait," Lisa said. "Until they're inside."
Dean nodded, tightening his grip on his shotgun as he watched the ghostly riders touch down in the field that surrounded the castle. They had none of the manic energy that Dean remembered from Billy the Troll's bridge, and they milled around impatiently as they waited for the main portcullis to be raised. Dean tried to spot his parents amongst them, but they were too far away and gathered to tightly together to make out anyone distinctly. One of the dogs lifted its nose and sniffed the air. Dean tensed, but the wind was in their favor, and the dog turned its attention to another dog's ass.
The wind shifted, bringing a fog bank up through the trees, and Dean cursed again as it closed in around him.
"That's Franz," said Hans. Dean could just make him out as he puffed his chest proudly. "Our mother was a frost giant."
"Yeah, well, his timing sucks," Dean hissed, and sure enough, he heard the dogs of the Hunt begin to bark as the scent of Rita's army hit their noses. The Hunt's horses shifted, their hooves striking up sparks visible even through the dense fog, and one of the hunters sounded his horn.
It was answered by a piercing, ululating scream, the signal for the attack to begin. The foggy air was immediately filled with the battle cries of the fairy resistance.
The attack was on.
Dean grabbed Lisa's hand on pure instinct and broke through the bushes, running full out for the side door. His knee gave an angry twinge, but he ignored it, pushing his body forward through the lingering soreness and exhaustion that his rather gymnastic activities of the previous night had done little to abate.
An enormous dog leaped into his path, snarling. Dean blasted it full of iron shot without breaking his stride. The dog collapsed onto its side with a yowl, and Dean leaped over it, still pulling Lisa along behind him. His feet hit slick grass on the other side and he skidded, nearly going down. Lisa planted her quarter-staff and heaved on his arm, dragging him back to his feet and yanking him forward as she took the lead.
All around them, the screams of the fairies added a shrill note to the clash of swords and thuds of heavy weaponry against flesh. Dean heard Hans bellow, then felt the ground shake as the giant fell. Another agonized shout split the air, this one in a deep, thundering bass note, and the ground trembled again and again as Franz rushed to his younger brother's aid.
Dean could sympathize, but he didn't have time to dwell as a sword swung out, headed for Lisa's neck. He yanked her down, spilling himself to the ground as well as the sword slashed the air above them and the hunter who wielded it snarled in frustration. Dean rolled as the hunter's horse reared up, hooves flashing -- literally -- through the air, then he and Lisa took to their feet again, running full out. Dean cocked his shotgun one handed and fired backward, letting Lisa guide him as he watched the hunter dissolve into spectral mist.
He had no idea if they were still aimed at the door. The castle walls were formed from solid, pale stone, and they blended perfectly with the fog. He just had to hope that Lisa had kept better track of their direction than he did.
Another hunter rode up, and Dean yanked his hand from Lisa's as he hurriedly reloaded his gun. He looked up to aim, then froze.
Her long, silver hair had been shorn off brutally near the scalp, leaving her nearly bald, with rough, bloodied patches standing out above her ears. Dean couldn't help but think she was still one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. She turned away, aiming a wicked blow with her sword at a redcap who'd come out to join the fray, neatly severing his left arm, then swung her head around again as the redcap fell away. She smiled down at Dean, and he smiled back, his chest so full of doubt and longing that for a moment, he forgot the battle that surrounded them..
"Mom."
"Get on," she said. Dean opened his mouth to ask "get on where?" when he realized that her mount had lengthened, its back expanding until it was easily long enough to fit two extra riders. Dean took a flying leap toward the horse's back, latching onto the saddle with one hand and the tail with the other, nearly losing his shotgun in the process, and managed to pull himself up. Mary extended a hand to Lisa, and with the aid of her quarter-staff, she mounted in front of Dean. Mary shot a smile back at her. "It's nice to finally meet you," she said.
"Uh," said Lisa. "Likewise."
Mary spurred the horse into a trot, nimbly guiding it around the writhing form of the redcap she'd injured. Lisa lurched forward and grabbed onto Mary's back, while Dean held onto her shoulder, his legs squeezing tight against the horse's sides to keep from falling off. The horse picked up speed again, and with a jolt, Dean realized that they had taken to the air.
He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into Lisa's back, trying not to think about it.
Mary took them higher and higher, calling back cheerfully as they went. "Your father's helping clear the way. The hunt master wasn't too pleased with us, but we managed to follow along at a distance. I knew we hadn't seen the last of you two, here. What you've come for is too important."
"You know?" Lisa asked, taking the whole "riding a flying horse" thing far too calmly.
"We've kept an eye on both our boys," Mary said. "John and I wouldn't have done any differently."
The horse aimed downward again, and Dean pressed himself harder into Lisa's back as his stomach rose in counterpoint. When the horse's hooves touched down with a clack against solid stone, he heaved in a breath, trying to regain his equilibrium, and his dignity. He opened his eyes.
The fog was gone, having not yet wormed its way into the castle courtyard where Mary had landed. They were in the far corner of the yard, between the outer wall and the circular keep, next to what looked like a little used storage shed. Dean looked around, letting go of Lisa to hold his shotgun ready, but though he could hear the sidhe forces gathering somewhere nearby, it seemed like the riders hadn't been spotted.
"This is as far as I go," Mary said. Dean jerked.
"What? Mom, no." Dammit, she was right there. "Come with us."
Mary looked back and shook her head. "If the horse goes any further in, it'll turn to dust, and I can't dismount, not yet. The entrance to the Children's Tower is just up ahead, but Oberon may have moved them to his main chambers during the attack."
"May have?" Lisa asked. Mary tilted her head, regarding them both.
"There's no precedence for this," she said. "You two have brought in something entirely new." She smiled. "You've caught them with their pants down."
Lisa nodded and, planting the end of her staff against the ground, slid sideways to dismount. Dean stared at his mother, not quite willing to see her go, yet.
"Mom," he said again. "How?"
Mary turned sideways in the saddle, reaching her hand back to rub it down Dean's cheek. She wasn't the ghost that Zachariah had tried to pass off as Mary Winchester. She wasn't the idealized memory of Mom that Dean had created in the djinn's illusion. This was the grown version of the spitfire Dean had met in the past, furious and powerful even when the world seemed to be falling apart around them.
Whatever tried to steal her form, Dean realized, he would never be fooled again.
"Our family's never been good at staying in one place," Mary said, running her thumb over his cheekbone. "We got tired of Heaven, and John had seen enough of Hell. Not sure where we'll go next. I hear Valhalla's pretty interesting, now that Odin's gone."
Dean found himself grinning at her, even as he leaned into her hand. "Isn't it all drinking and fighting?" he asked. "Dad, at least, will fit right in."
Mary grinned back. "You say 'hi' to your brother for me," she said. "And don't worry. I know you'll find a way to get him back. We'll see you again. Sometime a long, long time from now."
Dean leaned forward to kiss her cheek, then finally, reluctantly, dismounted. Mary took off again the moment his feet touched the ground, letting out her very best valkyrie scream. Dean watched her go, a proud smile on his face, then froze when he realized that the sounds of the sidhe army were getting closer.
"Shit. Bad idea, Mom." He turned to Lisa, who was watching him carefully. He took one last deep breath to refocus himself, then nodded. "Come on. We'll check the Children's Tower, then head for Oberon's throne room from there. You've still got the mirror?"
"Right here." Lisa patted her pocket under her cloak, and Dean realized the glamours Gregor had worked had already faded. He hoped that didn't mean something had happened to him. He was butt-ugly, but Dean had started to kind of like the guy.
He held out his hand for hers. "Let's go."
*
The Children's Tower was empty, though there were clear signs that the kids had been there not long before. The long dormitory at the top of the tower was cluttered with scattered clothes and scrawled notes and pictures, statements like "I want to go home" and long lines of hash marks freshly carved into the walls. Dean swallowed hard when he found one of Ben's t-shirts crumpled up in the corner. It wasn't the dungeon, but that didn't mean that these kids hadn't been locked away, hurt and scared. He could only imagine what must have gone through their heads when the sounds of battle started up outside the barred window.
"Oh god," Lisa whispered, running her fingers over the hash marks on the wall. "Dean, some of these kids were here for years."
"Yeah." Dean tugged her gently away from the wall, moving back toward the door, left open when the kids had all been taken out. "Just be glad Ben wasn't here that long."
"He might've been." Lisa pressed her lips together and hefted her staff. "Time isn't always shorter here. There are stories of people gone for ages when only days passed in our world."
Dean hadn't known that. He'd only heard about it working the other way around. He pulled the map Lola had made them of the interior of the castle from his pocket, taking a moment to plot out a path he thought would have the least number of sidhe along it. "Come on," he said. "The throne room's this way."
It was impossible to avoid going past any other rooms on their way to the center of the castle, but it seemed like all of the sidhe and their flunkies had gone out to join the Hunt in beating back Rita's army. There was no way to tell how the resistance was faring -- the fog had risen up to enclose even the windows along the towers. Only the continued sounds of battle let him know that they hadn't been wiped out entirely.
Fifty fairies. Against an entire castle full of trained soldiers and powerful monsters. Jesus, how the hell had he thought that Rita and Lola and all of the others stood a chance? The nay-sayers had been right, and Dean himself had talked them into joining the fight, anyway.
He tried to reassure himself that they were only fairies. It didn't work.
They had to double back and hide a few times as they drew closer to the throne room and small groups of sidhe, all dressed in fine silk and velvet robes, bustled along the hallways. They seemed almost excited by the battle, gossiping and placing bets about how long they thought the fighting would last. Not a one of them seemed at all concerned that the attackers had a chance at winning. Dean remembered Lola's earliest comments to him. "How medieval," she'd said. He wondered if the sidhe went in for bear-baiting, too.
Their luck ran out outside the throne room itself, which was guarded by a long line of armored fairies of all shapes and sizes. Dean thought he recognized the brownie he'd seen lounging outside the dungeons, standing straight and proud now with a morning star twice his size. Dean counted ten of them in total as he ducked down and peered around the corner, Lisa at his back, keeping watch in the other direction. Ten soldiers, versus one hunter with a sword and a shotgun and a yoga teacher holding a staff.
They were completely screwed.
"Well?" Lisa asked.
"We're completely screwed," Dean told her. "There's ten of them. Well armed."
Lisa leaned past him to take a look, then straightened back up. "Maybe I should have grabbed that crossbow, after all."
"Bit late for that now," Dean said. He cracked open his shotgun, double checking that it was loaded. "You ready?"
Lisa hefted her staff. "Not even a little."
Dean nodded. "Right then. On three." He looked back around the corner, braced the shotgun in both hands, and took a deep breath. "Three." He swung around the corner into the hallway, shot gun raised and ready. "Hey fuckers!" he shouted. When the guards turned to look, he let loose with both barrels, firing right at the biggest looking one in the middle. "Never bring a mace to a gun fight!"
A cloud of white burst over the guard Dean had shot, and he winced. He'd managed to load up with salt instead of iron. He tucked the shot gun away in the straps of his scabbard and reached for the hilt of his sword as Lisa came screaming around the corner behind him, quarter-staff held high.
It took them a second to realize the guards weren't attacking. Each and every one of them had dropped into a huddle around where the guard Dean had shot had been standing, picking at the floor and counting angrily.
"Right," Dean said. "The salt thing. I'd forgotten about that."
Lisa stared at him, her staff still raised.
"Good battle cry, though," he told her. "Very intimidating."
Lisa let out a hard breath, still staring at him, then started forward. "Let's go," she said. "They're going to have heard that inside."
"Right." Dean leaned his sword against the wall just long enough to reload the shot gun again -- using the salt rounds purposefully, this time -- then picked it back up, holding it ready in his right hand while he gripped the shotgun with his left. "Time to save the day."
Having lost the element of surprise, Dean decided to go with the most aggressive entrance he could. He kicked the double doors of the throne room open, managing not to wince at the pressure the action put on his bad knee, then strode in with Lisa at his side. He fired the shot gun into the air as he walked, making a beeline straight for the far end of the room, where the thrones themselves sat high on an opulent raised platform. Several of the sidhe -- all more dressed for a party than they were for a battle -- fell over each other in a scramble to count the grains, and Dean smirked. He was starting to wonder why he'd let himself be so intimidated by these guys. It was like being scared of the actors at a Renaissance fair.
"Alright, you sons of bitches," he said. "We're here to collect what's ours."
A man seated in the larger, sturdier looking throne rose smoothly to his feet, his head held high, a smirk of his own on his face. "Well," he said. "It looks as though our prodigal prince has returned. Oh." He tilted his head gracefully to one side. "And he brought a friend!"
Dean aimed the shotgun at him. "Lord Oberon, I presume."
The man nodded.
Dean had half expected Oberon to look like Hugo Weaving from the Lord of the Rings movies, all pointed ears and thin little eyebrows and douchey hair. Oberon had the ears, certainly, and even the brows and the hair, but Hugo in his best days couldn't even dream of matching this guy in the pretty department. Oberon's features were exceedingly delicate, his cheekbones high and sharply defined under his pale, smooth skin. His eyes were the brightest green Dean had ever seen, and his stick-straight hair was a deep blue-black, falling in even lines down past his shoulders. He wore a simple gold circlet, patterned with ivy filigree, and a shimmering forest green robe, decorated about the collar with a line of opals. He spread his hands and smiled down the barrel of Dean's gun.
"Shall I take it that this foolishness outside is your doing?" he asked, then continued on without giving Dean a chance to answer. "Really, the house sprites are so easily misguided. It's a wonder they hadn't managed to get themselves killed sooner."
"Where are the kids?" Dean asked.
"Are you asking if we keep goats?"
Dean fired his shotgun at the wall over Oberon's shoulder. The fairy king didn't even flinch.
"Ah," he said. "The human children." He gestured to the side, and a line of kids came out from behind the throne platform, six in total, all holding hands and looking like they were seconds from shitting themselves. Dean didn't recognize a single one of them.
"You took seven," Lisa said.
"Yes," said Oberon. "But I'm afraid the Morrigan was feeling a little peckish."
"You son of a bitch." Dean strode forward, dropping the now empty shot gun to the floor as he hefted his sword. "Where is he? Where's Ben?"
"Now now, Dean Winchester." Oberon lifted his hand and Dean froze, sword still raised to strike. He could feel the fairy king's power wrapping around him, holding him in place.
This was why they didn't use real names around here, he realized. It was more than just convincing a pixie to tell the truth. Names had power, and Lord Oberon knew exactly how to use that power.
"Kneel," Oberon commanded, and Dean dropped to the floor.
"No." He could hear Lisa step back behind him, and hoped to God that Oberon hadn't had a chance to learn her name.
Oberon stepped down from the platform, his robes swishing softly as he moved. The kids all huddled tighter together, but the fairy king didn't even glance in their direction. His eyes were glued on Dean alone. "You see, Dean," he said. "You're mine. Your soul is worth more than any other my people have ever encountered." He circled around Dean as he spoke, reaching out his hand to rest it possessively on Dean's head. Dean tried to jerk away, but Oberon's fingers clenched in his hair, holding his head still. "A first born son -- those are always the best, so tender and filled with such high hopes and expectations. Heir to a dynasty --" Dean opened his mouth to protest, and Oberon let go of his hair to cuff him in the back of the head. "-- Not a strictly royal one, I know, but then, we were never much concerned with the strict rules your people put on yourselves. And best of all," Oberon leaned in and sniffed, his eyes rolling up in pleasure. "Prized by Heaven's angels themselves, yet still untouched. No angels or demons have wormed their way into your head, have they? Oh, sure, you're marked, all scorched and tattered from all those years in Hell, but that just adds flavor. Now." He stopped in front of Dean, bending down to look him levelly in the eye. "Did you really think we'd let you go, just because you fired your little gun around at us?"
"Oh, I don't know," Dean said, amping up his bravado to cover how hard he was struggling to break Oberon's invisible grip. "Seems like you haven't managed to hold onto me for long, yet."
Oberon smiled. "True. You're a wily one, I'll give you that. But you have your weaknesses, just like any other human. What was the boy's name? Ben?"
Dean struggled harder, managing to wrench his arm up and aim his sword at Oberon's neck. "What have you done to him?"
"I think I struck a nerve." Oberon stood back up, and as hard as he tried, Dean couldn't raise his sword any higher. "The boy is fine, Dean. Oh, a little terrified, perhaps, but you know how children are. I'll tell you what. I'll offer you a deal."
"No dice."
"Now don't be hasty. You don't have to decide until you've heard the terms." Oberon folded his hands. "I'll return Ben, right back to where I found him, if you stay with me, willingly, as my manservant."
"Alternate deal." Dean forced the sword a little bit higher. Oberon's grip wasn't permanent, he realized. It was slowly fading, the longer the fairy king went without saying Dean's full name. "You let Ben and all the other children go, and I won't rip your throat out."
Oberon laughed. "And again with the demands. Really, Dean, did you think that would work? You have no greater claim on the boy than I do."
"No," Lisa said. She'd been so quiet up until that point that Dean had almost forgotten she was there. She stood in front of the children now, gripping the tallest boy by the hand. "But I do." She lifted Dean's shotgun in her free hand, as the boy next to her raised her quarter-staff. "So back the fuck off."
Oberon took a step back, raising his hands. "I might have known," he said. "A mother can always tell." The air around the children shimmered, and one by one they changed shape. The boy who held Lisa's hand changed last, and Dean smiled when he recognized Ben's game face. It was the same look the kid had gotten when he kneed a bully in the crotch to get his video game back, and now it was aimed full force at the fairy king himself. Oberon looked distinctly unimpressed. "It's of no matter," he said. "They've all eaten. As has our prince here. None of them can leave."
Dean grinned up at him. "That's what you think, asshole."
Lisa fired the shotgun at Oberon's head, and Dean managed to dodge back, avoiding most of the spray. She'd loaded up with an iron round, and Dean had to admit, for someone who'd barely held a gun in her life, her aim was exquisite. The sidhe counting salt grains at the back of the room shouted denials as Oberon's head smashed open, spraying Dean liberally with bits of gore and skull. Dean flung himself back and raised his sword, daring the other sidhe to approach him while Lisa dug out the compact mirror. "Sam," she shouted. "Sam, do it now!"
"You fools," Oberon hissed from behind Dean. He spun back around, sword raised, to see the fairy king standing just where he had been, his head once more intact, though Dean could still feel the spray of his blood drying on his face. Oberon flung out his hand toward Lisa, and she shouted as the mirror exploded in her hands. "You think you can kill me? This is Underhill, that which the Irish called 'Tír na nÓg', land of eternal youth! We are the ageless, the eternal, and your mortal ways are naught but nuisance, the flies buzzing in our ears --"
Dean got tired of listening about halfway through the fairy king's speech, and holding his sword out straight, he charged straight at Oberon, running him through the middle and pushing him backwards, up onto the platform, and right back into his throne. The sword tip pierced the thick padding and the wood underneath, holding the fairy king pinned. He leaned into his face.
"You want me here for an eternity, huh?" Dean couldn't exactly twist the sword when it was wedged into the back of the throne, but he did manage to wiggle it a little, making Oberon's delicate face screw up into a wince. "Well, maybe I can show you the things I learned in Hell that give me such flavor."
A burst of light erupted behind Lisa, drawing shouts from the children. The light swirled and grew until it was taller than Lisa, and the center cleared, showing a cold blue winter sky over an expanse of open grass. Sam had done it. Despite Oberon breaking the mirror, Sam had pulled through. The children, still terrified, refused to go through at first, but between Lisa and Ben, they soon started herding them along. When the five of them had made it to the other side to be gathered up into the arms of their parents, Lisa turned back to look at Dean, her hand still clenched around Ben's.
Dean let go of the hilt of the sword and turned toward the gate. Oberon grabbed him by the wrist, stopping Dean in his tracks, though the grip was weak enough that Dean knew he could break it easily.
"Wait," Oberon said. "Your brother. His soul is lost, yes?" He took a deep breath, bloody spittle rising on his lips. Dean didn't believe for a moment that he was mortally wounded, but he had to admit, the fairy king had a hell of a flare for the dramatic. "Stay. Stay willingly, and we'll return it to him."
Dean stared at him, trying to decide if he was on the level. It wasn't as though Dean hadn't taken worse deals on the hopes of getting Sam back in one piece. He'd spent forty years in Hell so Sam could live, and he would have taken that or worse to get his brother out of Lucifer's cage.
"Dean," Ben called, and Dean shook himself. The portal was starting to close.
Wasn't that the lesson? The one he'd been trying to drill into Sam's head for the last few years, the one that he'd hoped he'd never have to teach Ben. Self-sacrifice always looked good on paper, but it just screwed them over more, in the end. Sam -- the real Sam -- would never forgive him for getting trapped in Fairy Land when there was still a chance at getting his soul back any other way. Neither would Bobby. Or his parents.
Or Lisa.
He wrenched his wrist from Oberon's grip. "Sorry," he said. He yanked the sword back out from Oberon's stomach and wiped it on the fairy king's robe. "Gotta go. That's my ride."
Lisa wrapped her arm over Ben's shoulders and tugged him forward through the portal as it rapidly shrank. Dean followed them at a dead run, using the sword to steady himself as his feet slipped on Oberon's blood. He dove through the portal when it was just a few feet wide, hitting the ground on the other side with his shoulder and throwing himself forward into a roll, careful to keep the sword out to the side so as not to accidentally impale himself. He stumbled to his feet just behind where Lisa and Ben now knelt, their arms wrapped tight around each other, and took a breath, marveling at the faint smell of diesel in the air. Six families clustered together near where Sam and Bobby stood. Several of the parents were crying, but Dean himself felt like laughing.
They did it. They made it. They were back.
Then something tugged hard on his stomach, yanking him back and off his feet. He dropped the sword and doubled over, feeling himself slide over the grass. It was as though a hook had embedded itself in his gut and was reeling him back toward the now tiny portal, determined to pull him back to the other side.
The pear. He hadn't managed to get it all out of his system, after all. He'd eaten the food of the fae, and now their world refused to let him go. He clutched at the grass, ripping it out at the roots as the fairy world continued to drag him backwards.
The children were all safe, tucked tight into the arms of their families, but no one had claimed Dean, yet. He needed his family and he needed it now.
"Sam!"
*
Convincing the parents to come to the park wasn't easy -- they understandably had trouble with the whole "your kids were abducted by fairies" thing -- but the promise of getting their sons back safe and sound trumped their skepticism. Bobby took point, holding his shotgun ready for any fairy interruptions. He hoped they wouldn't have to wait long. Lisa'd said they were just about to raid the sidhe's stronghold, but that still might make it a matter of hours, if not days, on this end.
Sam combined the ingredients in a handmade stoneware bowl he'd found in Lisa's kitchen. It wasn't solid stone like the ritual called for, but he seemed to think it would work, despite the clay and glaze. He'd found an old shirt of Dean's, stiff with dried blood, and Bobby had his fingers crossed that that would be enough. Sam recited the beginning of the ritual, stirring the components in the bowl with a silver knife to keep them active, one eye on the make-up mirror they'd picked up at the local Target, waiting for the signal.
The parents were getting restless, gathered together at one side of the field they'd picked for the ritual, talking amongst themselves. Bobby flashed them a reassuring smile, but he didn't think it helped.
They didn't have to wait too long. At the end of the second hour, the mirror flashed, and Lisa's voice came through. "Sam!" she shouted. "Sam, do it now!"
Sam recited the final words of the opening ritual and struck a match, throwing it into the bowl. The ingredients smoldered, but nothing else happened.
"Dammit," said Bobby. The parents started shifting about, sounding angry.
"It's the blood," said Sam. "It's not fresh enough."
Bobby'd been afraid of that. He'd spent all morning cooking up a plan B. "Use yours."
"What?" Sam looked up at him like he was going senile.
"You're brothers, Sam! If family's strong enough to overcome a fairy claim, it's damn well enough to find Dean in their world!"
Sam shook his head. "Bobby, that's --"
"It's damn well worth a shot, ain't it?"
Sam licked his lips and nodded, rolling up his sleeve to expose his forearm. He pressed the knife against it, opening up a shallow wound, then held it over the bowl to let his blood drip in, reciting the whole ritual again at high speed. He struck a new match and dropped it in the bowl. The ingredients lit up with a flash, and a portal swirled into existence in the air, rapidly growing to about ten feet tall. The parents gasped and hurried forward, calling out their sons' names as five kids came running through the portal. They skidded on the grass, crying out as the portal tried to drag them back, but the pull seemed to vanish the moment their parents got their hands on them.
"Well I'll be." Bobby tugged on the brim of his hat. "It worked."
Lisa and Ben came tumbling through a few minutes later, as the fire in the bowl started to burn low and the portal began to shrink. Bobby hissed through his teeth, sending a mental prayer to the only being he thought might be listening -- Castiel might not hear Bobby, but he was sure somewhere his wife would -- that Dean wouldn't be far behind.
The portal was almost too small for him, by the time Dean came through, covered in blood and dust and carrying a sword. The boy dropped into a roll, then came to his feet swaying. For a moment, the three of them were silhouetted in the portal's glow, Lisa clutching Ben on their knees on the ground, with Dean standing over them, the exhausted, loyal protector. Then the portal stopped shrinking and Dean doubled over with a cry of pain, falling to the grass and sliding backwards. He looked back toward the portal, then sought out his brother. "Sam!"
Goddamn son of a bitch. Of course Dean had taken food from the fairies, and of course he hadn't seen fit to warn them of the fact. Bobby looked to Sam, who was hurriedly reading off his banishing spell, not looking at Dean. "God dammit!"
Bobby dropped his gun and ran forward, diving past Lisa and Ben to grab Dean's arm like he was sliding into home base. Dean kept being dragged backward, and Bobby spat into the grass. "I claim him, dammit!" he shouted at the portal. "You hear me? He's mine!"
But it wasn't enough. The portal kept pulling on Dean, now dragging Bobby along with him. A small hand wrapped around Dean's other wrist, and they both looked up, Dean's eyes wide. "Me too," whispered Ben, and he yanked back on Dean's arm. Dean's face screwed up like he was being torn in two.
"And me." Lisa grabbed the back of Dean's shirt. "You can't have him."
Dean stopped sliding, but his face stayed tight with pain, and the portal remained open. Bobby looked back toward Sam as his grip slipped. "Dammit Sam!"
Sam looked back, his eyes wide, but he stayed where he was, reciting the banishing spell over and over, his hands clenched around the book.
Then Gwen ran up, seemingly from nowhere. "I heard shouting," she said. "What -- shit." She ran over, squeezing in between Bobby and Ben, grabbing on to both of Dean's arms. "I'm not losing any more family."
Between the four of them, they were apparently enough. The portal closed with an audible pop, and Dean thunked his head to the grass, breathing hard. Sam finished his final recitation of the banishing spell, and the park fell into silence.
Bobby pushed himself up on his elbows and looked around. "Everyone alright?" He looked down at Dean, who'd flopped over onto his back in the grass and stared at Sam.
Dean wasn't okay. He was alive, sure, and didn't look too bad off, physically, but he wouldn't be okay until Sam got his soul back.
And Bobby didn't have a damn clue how that would happen.
*
It was six months before Dean saw another fairy. Driving past a random drainage lake in a random town on their umpteenth tour of the Midwest, Dean happened to look over while stopped at a light. They'd been driving around the country for so long now that Dean lost track of town names. Every place they visited looked familiar, every road half-remembered, like he always knew where it was, but never where it was going. He felt more than half-lost, these days, and had taken to looking around when he got the chance, trying to find the landmarks that would lead him somewhere like home.
Movement in the lake caught his eye and he tracked it, expecting to see a Canada goose gliding over the surface. Instead, he found himself staring down at a smooth, pale face. A woman poked her head out of the water, the dark mass of her hair floating around her, tangling in the stalks of the water reeds. She looked up, her eyes like two pits in her skull, head tilted toward the car as though she could see straight through the sun's reflection and right into his soul.
"Peg," he said, his voice low. She smiled like she knew he was watching, displaying rows of shark-like teeth.
"Dean?" Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder, and Dean half-turned.
"Do you see --" He looked back, but Peg was gone, sunk back beneath the water or never there at all.
The light turned green and Dean drove on, trying to shake that smile from his mind, shake the certainty that he should dive into the lake after her.
Lisa called that night, a rare enough occurrence that Dean sat staring at the phone without answering until just before his voicemail picked up. Ben called regularly to update Dean on his life, tell him about school and girls and the video games he played. He asked every time if Dean would teach him to hunt, and Dean dodged the question by asking about Lisa, how she was doing, if she'd met anyone. He knew someday he'd give in, go back and teach Ben what he needed to know to survive, but he also knew Lisa wouldn't wait for him to decide to come home.
Lisa had only called twice, and each time, Dean's breath caught in his throat as he wondered if this call would be that one, the one telling him Ben was gone again, this time somewhere that neither of them could follow.
It wasn't that call.
"Have you seen them?" she asked. Dean knew immediately what she meant. He thought he would have even if he hadn't spotted Peg.
"One," he said. "Hiding in a lake."
"Do you think this means it worked? Do you think the resistance won?"
Dean swallowed. He knew he should have wondered, should have been at least vaguely curious how the battle had gone after they'd beaten Oberon and got the stolen kids back, but there'd been too many other things to think about. Getting Sam's soul without destroying his mind. Fighting Eve and her monsters. Trying to help Cas with the war for Heaven. Lola and Rita and their revolution just wasn't as important. "I don't know," he said. "I hope so." He was surprised to realize that was the truth.
They talked awhile longer. Lisa was restless, just like Ben. They were living near Columbus, now, but she talked of moving west, to Seattle or Portland. She asked after Gwen, and Dean made up stories about the other hunter's exploits. Gwen and Lisa had bonded in the short time they'd known each other, and Dean wasn't brave enough to say that he'd shot the woman while possessed by Eve's brain-slug.
He could tell Lisa had something else on her mind, and found himself hoping she wouldn't ask it. Like always, he hoped in vain.
"Do you ever think about going back?"
Dean wanted to say "no", but he couldn't deny the pull he'd felt when he'd spotted Peg. "Lisa, you can't."
"I know." He heard her sigh softly, and pictured her running her fingers through her hair. "It's just -- I guess I finally understand. Why you could never stay. It gets into you, doesn't it? And you can't tell anyone, not really. They had to have been there."
Dean swallowed and looked over at Sam, who was on his laptop, pretending he wasn't listening. "Yeah."
"You can't go home again." She said it so quietly that Dean wondered if she knew she was even speaking out loud. She meant it for herself, he thought, but he couldn't help but feel it was directed at him.
Lisa and Ben were his home, as much as Sam was, had been even before he'd shown up on their doorstep to see them one more time before giving in to Michael. But he wasn't theirs, and he never would be.
"Yoga just seems so boring now," she joked, and Dean laughed, trying to make it sound like it didn't hurt.
"Tell Ben I said 'hi', okay?"
"I will. And you do the same, to Sam and everyone."
"Yeah."
And that was it. Neither of them really wanted to hang up, but neither did they want to keep talking. Dean didn't say "goodbye", but as he hit the button to end the call, he knew it probably was, anyway.
He saw the fairies everywhere after that, never en masse, but a single sprite or brownie, gliding over a wheat field or hanging laundry out to dry. He thought he saw Benny once hand washing a sweater in a laundromat sink, and he'd been on guard for a week, turning down every hunt they came across -- he'd looked her up in Bobby's books, and knew she was only meant to appear before someone died. Each time, he felt the same tug on his gut, like the long ago bites of pear were still pulling at his insides.
He never mentioned them to Sam. His brother seemed stable, these days, and he knew Sam probably knew about the fairies and everything that had happened intellectually, but Dean couldn't risk making him actually remember. Besides, he couldn't forget the way Sam had stayed back that day, had refused to help anchor Dean in the world, and Sam didn't need any more things to apologize for. This Sam would have done it. This Sam would have dropped the book, banishing or no, and claimed Dean as his own. And that was what mattered.
It was early June in Nebraska when they passed the sheep pasture. They were on their way to Oklahoma and a noisy poltergeist, but Dean made Sam pull over. Sheep were nowhere near as plentiful as cows in the States, and it had been ages since they'd last come across a flock.
"Dean," said Sam. "There's bound to be a gas station or something up ahead. Why --"
Dean cut him off with a wave of his hand, already halfway out the door. "This won't take long. There's something I have to try."
He climbed the fence separating the road from the pasture, careful to avoid the electrified wires strung low across it. The sheep greeted him with a quiet, confused chorus of bleats as he walked into their midst and turned counterclockwise in a slow circle.
"Lola?" he called. "Hey Lola, you here?" When he got no answer, he rolled his shoulders and tried one more time. "Brienne! Come on, there's sheep!"
Sam stepped out of the car and stared at him. "Dean?"
Dean flapped his hands at him as the sheep milled around. He hadn't really expected to find her, but he'd thought just maybe --
"Jeez, Groucho." He spun in place. Lola sat astride the largest sheep, her hands on its ears. Dean had to admit, the look on its face was pretty funny. "It's not nice to leave a girl hanging."
Dean smiled, relief flooding through him and making him sag. "You're alive."
"Please. Takes more than some uppity sidhe to get rid of me."
Sam walked up to the fence, his eyes wide. "What -- what --"
Lola waved, kicking her legs out to the side. "Hey. Grumpy, right?"
Sam stared some more, "what"s traded for silent gaping.
"Catching flies?" Lola asked.
"This is Lola," Dean said. "She's a pixie."
Sam turned his stare on Dean. "Okay," he said. He shook his head slowly, that "what the hell did I miss?" expression clear on his face.
"It's a long story," Dean said. "Maybe I'll tell you, someday." He turned back to Lola. "You guys won?"
"Sort of." Lola picked a few brambles from the sheep's wool. "The sidhe are still dicks, but we've made progress."
"Rita?"
"Running wild with the poets again." Lola's quills rose a few inches, the only outward sign that she missed her "roommate". "We don't see each other as much, but at least she's happy."
Dean swallowed, lowering his voice. "Morcum?"
Lola's quills pulled down low over her brow, and she shook her head.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"Me too." She closed her eyes for a moment, then shook her grief away with some effort. "Hero's doing well. I look in on you guys, sometimes."
"Yeah," Dean said. It was his turn to fall silent. He hadn't spoken to Lisa since the night after he saw Peg.
"Dean," said Sam, incredulous. "You're making small talk with a pixie."
Lola snorted without ire. "Speciesist."
"That reminds me." Dean folded his arms over his chest. "If you're a pixie, then what are those little glowy naked chicks with wings?"
"New agers." Lola kicked the sheep, and it bleated petulantly. "Wannabes."
They talked awhile longer, Lola about the resistance members Dean had met and their negotiations with the sidhe, Dean about the ghosts he and Sam hunted and the monsters that hadn't gone into hiding when Eve went down. Sam watched it all, a half-baffled, half-amazed look on his face, until the sun started dropping toward the horizon and thunder rumbled in the distance.
"We should get going," he said. Dean nodded.
"It's good to see you," he told Lola, and he meant it. He didn't feel the same drag on his stomach with her as he did with the other fairies, though seeing her was bittersweet in its own way.
"You too," she said. "Well. Bye."
"See ya." Dean flicked her a wave, but she was already gone. Somehow, this farewell seemed much less final than it had with Lisa.
"Sam," he said as they drove south, the storm close on their tail. The air out the open windows was thick and humid. "Where do you want to go, when we die?" Sam frowned at the road, shooting him a glance, and Dean continued. "I mean, we will eventually. I still say sooner than later. Where do you want to end up?"
"You think we have a choice?"
Dean pictured their mom and dad, sitting proud atop ghostly horses. "I've got it on good authority that we do."
Sam blinked, tapping his fingers on the wheel as he thought it over. "I don't know. Not Heaven or Hell."
"Yeah," said Dean. He rummaged through his box of cassettes until he found the right Zeppelin album. He popped it in the tape deck and the crashing howl of "Immigrant Song" blasted from the speakers. "I'm thinking Valhalla."
Sam rolled his eyes. "You just want to bang a valkyrie."
Dean grinned, drumming the air, as the road spooled out in front of them into eternity.
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