fic: Reindeers are Better than People (3/4)

[glovered]

Masterpost - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Art Masterpost



The cold air, the stars fading as dawn approached - all of it felt alien and unhappy as they walked down. The world had just dropped out from beneath his feet, and now he was riding an avalanche, and below him the ice just kept falling away.

"Some family you got," Dean said.

"Look who's talking," Sam muttered. He was exhausted and maybe in shock. It did make him feel a little bit better when Dean's mouth twisted up in a shadow of a smile at that, but only a little.

Sam felt a pang of familiarity upon seeing it. Like he'd known him in another life. And supposedly he had.

As they walked, Sam took in all of Dean's features anew. Where had Dean been all this time? How had they gotten separated?

"So, tell me if I've got this wrong," Sam said. "There's a magic spell on both of us, right? That we have to break? But we don't know how ."

"Jeez," Dean muttered. "Wonder what we did to piss off whoever cursed us."

"Yeah, for real."

"Hey," Dean said, eyes lighting up. "You probably feel pretty stupid now that probably someone else took Sven."

Sam's mood soured again. "As far as I'm concerned, all of this could be your fault," he said. "There's no evidence to the contrary."

"Great, blame me anyway," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "You know, I can't believe I didn't see the brother thing before."

There was an awkward lull and Sam remembered with a new sense of dread how he'd kissed Dean back that morning. He'd kissed him and liked it. Even as he thought about it now, he wanted to do it again.

"You know what, just don't talk to me," Sam said.

Dean seemed to be thinking along the same line. "Yeah, fine."

Sam strode on ahead, taking in deep breaths to clear his head. He still felt like himself, like his memories were correct, but the trolls seemed to have implied not all he remembered was true.

He looked suspiciously at the trail before him. He wondered if maybe he and Dean, and Sven of course, had walked this same trail together, over hill and dale and all that fell between. He frowned and tried to recall anything, but there was nothing he could say for sure. He couldn't remember.

When they found themselves back at Bela's as the sun was going down, the air was chilly in more ways than one.

"Dean," said Sam, as Dean veered toward the building. "We're not stopping."

"You know what," Dean said. "By the look of things, I'm older. Which means I call the shots. And I say I deserve a freaking sauna." He shrugged. "You can join me or not."

Sam didn't answer and Dean seemed to take this as agreement and strode toward the chalet. Sam followed. If anything, Sam was going to be glad to be out of the snow.

When they entered, Bela looked up from a paper she was reading. Sam caught sight of the classified section, but she folded it before he could see what she'd been circling.

"Hello, boys."

"We're going to do the sauna," Dean said. Far too late, he seemed to remember that he was completely broke. "But it's only going to cost...Sam, empty your pockets."

"No," Sam said, offended.

"Sam." He frowned and Sam, not knowing exactly why he was giving in, pulled all but five gold out of his pocket and slapped it on the counter.

"It's only going to cost this much."
Bela counted the paltry amount and sniffed. "Fine, discount for repeat users. Business is slow tonight anyhow. I'll grab you some towels."

"If you'd known it was that easy," Dean said from the corner of his mouth. "You'd probably have saved a lot of mula. Admit it, I'm awesome."

"You're annoying," Sam muttered, wondering how he'd ever found him anything but. "I can still ask for my money back."

Dean patted him on the shoulder in a warning way, like he would be damned if Sam got between him and a free sauna visit.

"Lead the way," he told Bela.

They entered the last room on the left as instructed - the one furthest from the front door, thank you very much. Bela had pointed out the vents to modulate heat and left them to it.

Sam shut the door behind them, then eyed it.

"This is semi-transparent," he said.

"You're not that much of a prude," Dean said.

"You don't know anything about me," Sam muttered, and then turned away when Dean started stripping off.

"You'll probably want to pay attention to how it's done," said Dean. "I know you usually walk around with your junk out, baby brother."

"What! What are you talking about?" Sam said, feeling aggrieved, face heating up. Then, "I do not."

Dean just smirked and then kicked off his boots. Sam turned his back, feeling his neck reddening, and pulled off his shirt, reminding himself that it wasn't like that. He didn't have to be self-conscious around Dean because they were related. Apparently.

He made sure to tie the small towel tightly around his waist anyway before pulling off his trousers.

"So we can only stay here for twenty minutes, tops, if we want to..."

He trailed off as he turned. Dean was taking a seat on the bench in the cabin, with his towel slung low across his hips.

"... if we want to get a substantial way down the mountain by…." he said, then double checked that the outer door was locked.

He shut the door to the sauna cabin quietly behind them, enclosing them in the small space.

After deliberation, steam curl along the floor and his feet, he sat gingerly as far from Dean as he could. The air was oppressive, the cabin already hot. He scooted further away, but it was a short bench, and their knees could still brush if they both spread their legs far enough.

Which Sam wouldn't be doing. He crossed his arms over his chest, suddenly self-conscious of his perky nipples.

"Hot stuff," Dean murmured.

Sam turned, to look at him, and saw that Dean had closed his eyes, tipping his head back. "Excuse me?"

"I said," Dean said. "It's hot stuff in here."

"It's a hot springs," Sam said. "Bela built her place over it, even though the lands around Arendelle officially belong to the castle. She's known for being kind of opportunistic."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed." Dean's smile said otherwise. His eyes were still closed and he looked peaceful, and like he was smiling for Sam because he knew Sam could see it.

Sam looked down at his hands on his thighs, then, since Dean wasn't watching, he snuck a look at Dean's legs. His feet were nice, Sam thought. He looked at his own feet, then back to Deans, trying to see the similarities. His eyes traveled up Dean's legs, arriving at the faint bulge. It was just covered by the fold in the towel and Sam glanced away.

"You know, we didn't know...uh," Dean said, breaking the silence.

"Hm?" Sam said.

"We didn't know that we were-" he said. "This morning. So it's not our fault."

"Right," he said. He looked at Dean's face. He looked so unguarded, with his eyes were closed, his eyelashes a dark fringe against his cheek. Sweat was beading on his nose and his mouth lips were parted.

Sam shifted as he sat and tipped his head back as well, closing his eyes. He settled back to lean on his hands and felt the sweat bead along the tops of his hands, an almost cool sheen in the oppressive heat.

"Yeah, it didn't mean anything," he said.

Sam could hear Dean's soft breath, and tried to modulate his own. His face was hot, his back was hot, he could imagine the impurities being sweated out of his body.

The air was hot and his skin was already slick with sweat as he glanced quickly back, feeling momentarily faint- from the heat, definitely. He looked back to where Dean's towel stretched across his lap, and found the outline of Dean's dick easily.

"You sick son of a bitch," Dean said.

Sam's eyes jerked to where Dean was watching him. "Sorry," he said, clearing his throat. "Sorry. I'm just...confused."

"Yeah," Dean rasped.

Sam tipped his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. This was so fucked up, but now that he was here, barely clothed with his hands hot on his thighs, he just wanted to touch.

He wasn't surprised when Dean's hand touched his. "Fuck," he said, and Dean fumbled and put his hand over Sam's dick.

Sam thought, with an edge of healthy hysteria as he reached for where he'd seen Dean's dick hard along his leg, that if there was a towel involved, if skin didn't touch skin, it didn't actually count. Sam shifted his legs wide, his knee hitting Dean's before both of them jerked away. He moaned as Dean jerked him harder.

They didn't kiss. They barely even moved, except for Sam working his hand in Dean's lap and Dean touching him in infuriating pulls until Sam came all over his own leg.

Dean finished after, keeping hold of Sam's thigh so hard Sam was sure there'd be marks for days.

It was too hot to breathe any longer, and Sam left first, propelling himself out the door to lean against the wall. The air felt frozen on his skin in the aftermath.

Sam carefully did not watch as Dean stepped out of the cabin to toweled dry with a cool cloth that smelled of mint and lavender. He bent over to get his own legs, and ran the cool, damp cloth over his face, then down every limb, beneath his arms and over his ass before patting himself dry with a towel as well. He pulled on his trousers feeling too languid, too invigorated. He felt a terrible shame in his gut.

"I was just about to come and get you," Bela said. "Time's up."

"Great," Sam managed. "We were done anyway."

He didn't meet her eyes, knew that she'd see everything there. He looked at the wall instead, and his eyes landed on the display beside the counter. Which now boasted a red cloth and a fancy leather belt.

Sam paused, and Dean knocked into him from behind, then jumped back like he'd been burned.

"Hey, that's my belt!" Sam said.

"And mine," said Dean.

"Finders keepers," Bela told them. Then her mouth curled into a smile. "You cna have them back, of course, for a most price."

"Yeah right. There's no way I'm paying for my own belt," Dean said and took a step toward the display.
He stopped when Bela said in mild, scary tones, "You try anything, I'll call a very formidable bounty hunter and have her take it from you by force."

Sam sighed. "Come on, Dean."

His heart wasn't in it anyway. A stupid belt meant nothing after all this.

"I'll just hold my own pants up then," Dean said loudly before the door slammed behind them.

Sam took a deep breath of frozen twilight air, silence of the forest hard and clear. Behind him he heard Dean muttering "remorseless bi-" as he rooted around in the snow to tighten his boots.

Sam's damp hair cooled on his neck. "Come on," he said, jerking his head to the far trees.

"What, no nap time?" Dean muttered, and Sam ignored him, wondering how this had become his life.



You don't go trudging down the mountain in the snow, at night and with subpar transportation. You just don't.

But desperate times, Sam thought, hiking up his pants as he walked as far ahead of Dean as he could without losing him. He didn't want to be stuck in a small space with Dean any longer than he had to be. The further from Bela's they got, the more Sam realized that it had been a mistake. The worst part of it all, is he wanted to do it again.

He had to get down the mountain as quick as possible so Dean could get on with his life and Sam could try to forget this ever happened.

After three truly hellish hours ducking low branches and walking into brambles that had crept onto the path, lying dormant under the snow, Sam was deeply regretting this decision.

"Always have to take point, don't I?" Sam grumbled. Wondering if Dean was trailing far behind because he was purposely trying to piss Sam off.

Which was, of course, when Dean almost fell off the edge of a ravine.

Sam wasn't there to see it. All he heard was the faint echo of his name in the distance.

He stopped walking, wondering if he'd imagined it.

"Can you, uh, come give me a hand," Dean yelled, but it was far off and barely audible.

Sam had half a mind to ignore him - he'd given Dean enough of a hand already that night and had been reliving every moment of it ever since - but he sighed and called back.

"Dean?"

"Sammy?"

Sam couldn't immediately see him, which raised his hackles. He turned in a circle, feet shuffling in the snow. He blew into his hands.

"Where the hell are you?" he yelled.

The reply came instantly. "I'm hanging off this cliff, you jackass!"

"Dean!" Sam shouted, and took off at a sprint without another thought.

But it was difficult to run in the snow. He thought wildly that if Sven were here they'd have gotten to Dean already instead of trying to reach him at this slow jog. He was going to reach Dean too late and then Dean would already have-

Sam got to the edge in time and looked over it to where Dean was dangling over the abyss, holding on for dear life. For a split second, Sam saw a similar scene, but somewhere else, some other time. Then it was gone, just a flash. Sam flung himself onto his stomach, wedging his leg between two rocks for leverage, and dragged Dean up with his entire body.

"Wow," Dean gasped, after Sam had thrown him onto his back in the snow. "Really strong. Really, really very strong."

He sat up to breathe more easily while Sam stared at the top of his head. He looked blue in the moonlight, and very much alive. Sam distantly wanted to shake sense into him, yell at him for being such an idiot.

Dean slapped his hands against his knees and took a couple more deep breaths, and then thunked Sam one on the shoulder.

"Thanks," he said. "Talk about upper body strength."

He clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder again, and then seemed to think better of it and dragged Sam into a tight hug, hand fisted in the back of Sam's jacket.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, putting a tentative arm around him. Dean's nose cold against Sam's neck, Dean's hair tickled his face. His heart was beating very fast and Sam lay his hand on his back for a few moments. Then he processed what had almost happened.

While Sam had been pissed before, now he felt something close to rage, the fear of what had almost happened making his hands shake. Dean was so stupid. You didn't just come into someone's life and then end up being their long lost brother, and then fling yourself off a cliff.

Sam pulled back and glared at him, and Dean put up a hand to calm him down. "Just chill, ok? Jeeze. You'd think you were the one who almost...you know."

"Just be fucking careful," Sam said instead of I'm glad you're alive. He shoved him away. "Get off of me. And nice job almost falling off the cliff that ended my sled."

Dean's brow furrowed.

"Sled," Sam said, drawing the word out. "It fell over this cliff a few weeks ago." The irony was not lost on him.

"Yeah, I heard you, genius. But what did you mean your sled? It's down there? Is it the one from that memory..."

Dean crawled over to the edge again and peered over. Sam's stomach dropped out, and he forcibly reminded himself that Dean could hold his own, or he could after Sam had rescued him once, anyway.

"Yes, that one," Sam said, tone clipped. "Sven and Charlie and I totalled it. It flung right off the cliff, and we almost flew off to our mutual destruction right along with it. Charlie gave us a replacement."

"Well, come on then," Dean said. "Let's go get it."

"What?"

"We can't just leave it down there. It's important."

"You seriously want to take a detour down into the bottom of the ravine, all of the broken pieces of my old sled," Sam said. "Right after you almost died."

"That's our sled, man. You're saying it's down there, then let's go get it. You wan to just let our sled rot as some pile of scrap wood to be picked up by travelling squirrels? No way. I'm going down there. And so are you. We're getting her back."

"Oh, so she's a 'she' now?"

"Sam." Dean looked suddenly serious. "It's us, man. Part of our history." He shook his head. "I swear, it's like you have no sense of loyalty."

Sam scowled. "Well, it's a good thing I have a sense of when you're falling over a cliff, then, isn't it."

But Dean wasn't just talking about the sled, Sam knew. He was trying to salvage what he could of his life, and Sam had a sudden understanding that if he didn't help Dean get that sled, Dean would leave. That eventuality seemed like the worst thing in the entire world.

"Ok," he said, trying not to feel warmed by the grin that immediately broke out across Dean's face, or think about him in the sauna, or his mouth parting against Sam's in the shelter that felt like years ago. "Ok fine, we have to find a way down. Don't go fucking jumping off any cliffs or anything."

"That's my boy," Dean said.

"I'm not your boy," Sam grumbled, and they started down.

They reached the bottom of the ravine when the sun was cresting the trees, and from there found the wreckage of the sled easily. All that was left was a heap of painted wood, the thing broken into pieces from the fall.

"Are we really going to pull that thing all the way down?" Sam groused, feeling highly skeptical about the likelihood of getting the remains down the mountain. "Dragging ice down myself the other day was not fun, and that was with an actual sled."

"We're not going to just turn back now," Dean said, sounding distracted as he examined the splintered runner. "Whoo, this baby could use a tune up."

He grinned at him like things weren't totally fucked. He then made Sam find fallen branches to lash together as a makeshift sled. It was a giant waste of time, but something about this rescue mission helped put the unspoken into the background for the time being.

They pulled it for a couple hours, the thing bumping and gliding over the snow. Sam spent the majority of the journey racing back to pick up fallen pieces, Dean shouldering the rope and keeping them on course. They spoke at first, but the consensus seemed to be that if they didn't speak, they wouldn't have to talk about anything potentially life-ruining.

Eventually, they reached a clear space, and Sam recognized it as a thoroughfare where traders often passed on their way to Arendelle proper, feeling a crazy desperation. His arms ached, his feet were sore. He managed to wave down the next sled that came by, a trundling ox cart driven by a man in a wide-brimmed hat.

"Y'all headin' into town here?" he asked, yanking his thumb in the direction of the castle.

"Yes, sir," said Dean. "You wouldn't happen to have room for a pair of well-behaved hitchhikers, would you?"

"Name's Nick," the man said. "Hitch 'er up."

"Thanks," Sam said. "It's a huge help."

"What animal you got pulling the sled before it broke down?" the man asked as he slapped the tasseled whip at his ox. The ox lowed before resuming its drag through the sleet and snow. "Bit unwieldy for a cow."

Sam felt the loss of Sven acutely. "A reindeer, sir," he said, fervently. "He was no cow."

"Oh, hey! Ever had reindeer burger?" The man nodded like he was reliving the memory of something delicious. "Best damn burger I ever had."

Thankfully, Dean cut in, although whether it was because he'd seen the look of horror on Sam's face or because he was bored of talking about this Sam couldn't say. "Now let's not talk about this kid's sob story. What brings you to these parts? Feisty ladies?"

"Well, I don't mind saying that I do have a feisty lady waiting for my return, although she'd smack you one with this rump whip if she heard you saying so. Bergljoth is a fine woman, with a fine eye for livestock. Bit of a gambler, but what man doesn't like a woman with a few Aces up her sleeve?"

"I couldn't agree more," said Dean.

Sam stopped listening after a time, lulled by the sway of the wagon and the soothing sounds of Dean's voice. Just twelve hours before, he'd been waking up after a dream, warm in the little shelter next to Bela's. He thought again of Dean pulling a shirt over his head, Dean leaning into his space, Dean tipping down to meet Sam's mouth, their breath mingling. Except in this dream he didn't notice the amulet. In this dream, maybe Dean had put it in a bag somewhere, safe and unknown, and he'd let Sam press him down onto the floor of the hut, his eyes going lidded when Sam crowded over him, mouth parting to be kissed again.

"Earth to Sam," Dean said, and then shook his head pretended not to notice when Sam spluttered something obvious and flustered.

The driver eventually dropped them at the mouth of town before continuing off down the frozen road that would lead him to larger towns yet. They reached the castle at past the time the moon set, what time Sam couldn't be sure. But the guards were awake and interrupted their game of cards to show them to rooms that had been prepared for them.

Walking through the deserted halls, Sam felt bone-tired and weary. He and Dean didn't even say goodnight as they went into their matching rooms, one next to the other. They closed the doors and Sam undressed without thinking too much about anything, unable to process his life for the time being, and crawled under the covers and fell asleep for what felt like forever.



It was no better in the morning. A servant drew him up a hot bath, which Sam felt supremely awkward about but accepted after the servant let hi know how bad he smelled, and then Sam went in search of Charlie. He needed advice.

The clanking of swords took him down to the training green, and he found her outfitted in red leather armor, pacing before a hundred or so soldiers holding wooden practice swords aloft.

"Chivalry is not dead," she shouting as Sam neared. "So, I expect honorable behavior, following a code befitting the knights of Arendelle. Is that understood?"

"Yes, your highness!" they responded in unison.

She caught sight of Sam, then, and nodded to a bald man whose mouth was set in a good natured smirk.

"Henriksen. Lead drills while I speak to this commoner."

"At your service, Your Majesty," Henriksen said, and stepped in to take over. "Alright, folks. Gather round and I'll show you how it's done."

"Sam," Charlie said, falling in step beside him.

He smiled, feeling worn around the edges but happy to see her. They wandered to a fallen log and took a seat in the shade.

"So, how'd it go? Your, you know," Charlie asked, elbowing him. "Your trip."

He watched Henriksen do a backflip and then chop a block in half with his wooden sword. Sam picked at a blade of grass. "It was...I'm not actually sure how to answer that question. Hey, did Dean leave? This morning, I mean?"

"Not that I know of. Last I heard, he was up early this morning, talking to the mechanic to see about tools, and then he was in the courtyard fixing up that old sled."

Sam was utterly, embarrassingly relieved at the news. It meant that Dean still felt there was a reason to stay.

"You know, Sam, if you didn't like shiny new things, you could have said." She pouted. "I didn't have to go all the trouble to have you one custom-made."

"Hey, it wasn't me," Sam said. "He's the one who made a big deal about getting it back. I am absolutely happy about the one you got me."

"Why'd he want your old sled, anyway?" she asked.

"Well," Sam started, before cutting himself off. Charlie's eyebrows drew together and Sam shook his head.

Although he'd come to her for advice, he realized he couldn't tell her about the curse. It would only lead to many uncomfortable questions, none which Sam had the answer to.

"You know what," he said. "I think I need to go this one on my own. I'll tell you when I figure things out."

"Brave knight, Sam of Snowy Mountain," she said. "I believe in you."



One Week Later…

Sam was sitting at the bar in Harvelle's for the fifth day in a row, feeling little interest in the beer he'd been nursing.

While Dean spent the week avoiding him and putting together the sled, Sam had been going over memories, examining them for signs of Dean. If one memory had been changed by the curse, then all of them could have been. There was a feeling of wrongness now, his summer memories of rolling down grassy hillside and jumping naked in the lake seemed only partial. How he'd bundled up in deerskin jerkins and cuddled up with Sven in caves on long winter nights. He and Sven had always been on the move, searching for critters to hunt with fake swords and imaginary princesses to save.

"What's going on, Sam my man?" said Ash, coming to sit beside him at the bar, gesturing at Jo for a beer. Jo gave him the finger for his trouble and told him to pay his tab.

"Drinking this early?" Sam joked.

It was three in the afternoon, but Ash had just woken up by the look of things. His fancy doublet had obviously been slept in, the puffed sleeves rumpled and his ascot had come undone.

"Six o'clock somewhere," Ash said. "So, I hear you need some finding."

"Word travels fast," Sam noted.

"All information-" Ash twirled a finger in the air, then tapped the bar, "Ends up here. You need any tracking, finding, or even gossip? I'm your man."

Sam nodded. "Thanks. That means a lot."

Ash was a good guy, solid. He had studied astronomy and mathematics in the Seven Isles but had returned to Arendelle to start brewing his own cider. He pretty much lived at Harvelle's. And given how much time it looked like Sam was going to spend hiding out in the bar for the unspecified future, Sam was probably going to be seeing a lot of him.

"No problem," Ash told him. "You're new to these parts. We're all about hospitality down here."

Sam froze, drink halfway to his mouth. "New to these parts?"

"Yeah. Roll into town a couple years ago with a reindeer from out of town. You used to the culture down here, man?"

"I came from out of town?"

Ash patted him on the shoulder. "You think I don't know? That's the kind of thing people talk about, and I told you, all gossip comes to the bar."

"A couple years," Sam repeated faintly. He shook his head, trying to keep calm. "Right. Did I happen to say where I was from?"

"Nope," Ash said. "You are a man of mystery. Just fit right in."

"Great," Sam muttered.

"At your service," Ash said.

Sam finished his beer in two gulps, and got a couple more pints, passing one to Ash.

"Hey, sweetheart," said Dean's voice, and Sam turned, immediately relieved that Dean was there and appalled that he would ever call him something like that.

But Sam was wrong, Dean had been addressing Jo.

"Hey," Sam said.

Dean glanced at Sam momentarily and then sent Jo a cheesy wink. "A beer?"

"Oh, honey," Jo said, and leaned over to slide him a bowl of dried anchovies to snack on instead. "The act's really not fooling anyone. Besides, I'm very much not interested, and very taken."

Dean grimaced as Jo flipped her hair and left to the other end of the bar to talk to her mother. Jo was awesome.

"Those aren't all for you, are they?" Dean asked, eying the drinks Sam had ordered.

Sam passed one down.

"So, you've been avoiding me," Sam said, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.

"Nothing to talk about," said Dean cooly.

Sam nodded. "I moved here a couple years ago."

"Huh? Thought you said you grew up here."

"That's my point, Dean."

"Well," Dean said, sounding at a loss. "What's it supposed to mean? It's probably nothing."

"Nothing?" Sam said, leaning in to whisper harshly. "I tell you I'm not from around here, and you don't know where you're from. Don't you think that's some sort of clue?

Ash frowned, looking between the two of them. "I'm sensing some tension here."

Dean ignored him, sipping his beer. "Has it ever occurred to you that your… your parental units might be lying? I don't even know you."

Sam felt that like a punch ot the gut. He clenched his fist by his side, mouth turning down. "They wouldn't lie to us."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. And besides, you know yourself that they weren't lying. Why else would you be hiding out all week?" When Dean didn't react Sam leaned in. "You're acting like you don't care, but you can't tell me you don't feel it, too."

"Well, excuse me if I'm a little freaked that I forgot I had a brother," Dean said.

"Whoa," Ash said.

"Dean-" He reached a hand to touch Dean's on the table and Dean pulled away, wild-eyed.

They were interrupted when Ellen turned her head and called, "Dean?"

Dean straightened, turning his back on Sam far too quickly.

"That's your name, boy?"

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said, all fake cheer. He sent another wink to Jo, but then sobered immediately when Ellen rapped the bartop with the wooden spoon.

"You don't happen to be waiting for a letter, do you?" she asked.

He looked about ready to shake his head but thought better of it. He asked instead, "What letter?"

"Hold on a sec."

She left the room through a door behind the bar, Sam watched the muscle work in Dean's jaw. She returned shortly with a sheaf of letters, all folded parchment with the same handwriting on the front.

"Not many folks named Dean," she said, handing them over. "Hope these are for you. They've been coming here for near on two years. I hope it wasn't urgent."

"Let's hope not," Dean murmured, feeling the writing with his hand. He glanced to Sam with wide eyes, and Sam couldn't be mad at him, suddenly. Dean was as freaked as he was, maybe more. Sam thought that if he could remember what Dean looked like as a kid, it would be this.

Ellen turned away from them for a moment, a bottle of booze in one hand, a thirsty customer ready with his coin. "Hang on a second," she said to him and then squinted at the both of them like she was trying to put two and two together. "Sam and Dean?" she asked. "From Winchester?"

"Winchester?" Sam frowned. He looked at Dean, who shook his head.

"Small town, a few week's journey," Ellen said.

"Never heard of it," Dean said.

Her eyes looked far off when she said, "I knew of a man who used to come in here, I thought maybe-" She shook her head. "But it's my mistake. Never you mind."

"So, you gonna open them or what?" Sam asked when Ellen turned back to paying customers.

Dean opened the first letter without saying a word, and read it quickly. His face screwed up in confusion or disappointment, Sam didn't know which. Dean then opened the next, and the next. One by one, he crumpled each. Save the last one, which he folded up and put in his pocket.

Then, he got up to go.

"Dean." Sam stood. "Come on, man."

Dean turned to point at him. "Don't follow me," he said, and disappeared out the door, leaving a pile of letters and a room of patrons giving Sam interested looks.

Sam grabbed one and opened it, then the rest. They were all the same.

Coordinates. The same coordinates on each.

Sam screwed up his mouth and threw some coins on the bartop. He jogged out of the bar and then sprinted to catch up, swiveling his head to look down every alley but found that Dean had just walked straight on and was standing on the dock.

The lake was molten gold, and Dean barely acknowledged when Sam came to stand beside him at the railing. Sam was burning to know what was in the final letter but they stood watching the boats come in, their shoulders brushing for minutes. Sam's breath caught each time they touched. And it was comforting having Dean beside him, even if he had no idea where they stood or if things would ever be ok.

Sam dared himself to imagine his life without Dean for a split second. He wished he hadn't gone to the ball that night. He wished none of this had started, that he'd stayed up the mountain and hadn't met Dean, with Sven by his side and no brother, safe in his cold world where no one else could touch them.

"That's one slow boat," Dean said, nodding to a majestic ship that was scooting on into the harbor like a child's toy.

"Yep," Sam agreed.

The air smelled salty and birds cried overhead. A fisherman spilled his fish haul out of the net into a wriggling mass twenty feet down from them and Sam wrinkled his nose.

"You know," he said, and Dean tipped his head, listening, still watching the water. "If you let me see it, maybe I can help."

Dean snorted.

"Come on," Sam said.

Dean silently pulled the parchment from his pocket and held it out, still watching the water.

Son, it's been over a year. I hope this letter finds you alive. Send word and take care of Sammy.

And then the coordinates again.

"Oh," said Sam. He felt sick again. "Well, this is great, right?"

"We have a dad," Dean said.

"Or a mom."

"No," Dean shook his head. "I remember. A little bit. Something, a guy's face."

Sam swallowed. The news should have been good news, but it all felt too big. Unknown.

"I mean, he thinks we're dead, right? He has to." Dean sounded like he was about to go into full-on panic mode.

"Oh look," Sam said. "We're going to figure it out. We'll find him, and it'll all be ok. No matter what this note means. It's you and me, together, ok?"

"Right," Dean said, obviously not meaning it.

"Are you really going to be a dick about this."

"It's not who we are, it's what we did," Dean said. "This makes it real. Very, very real. And it's not just what we did, it's what I want-"

He cut off. "With my own brother. I've felt sick about it since it happened. I had this dream- this nightmare really. Monsters."

"Don't say that, Dean. We're not monsters."

"That's not what I meant." Dean kicked a rock and it plunked off into the water. He looked out over the water, his jaw working.

"This note says I was supposed to protect you," he said finally, when Sam wasn't sure he was going to say anything at all. He laughed at whatever he saw in Sam's expression, a mirthless sound. "Well, it seems like I've frigged that one up."

Sam sighed. "No you didn't." When Dean raised an eyebrow Sam amended, "We messed up, yeah, but it's not like-"

"So, I can't do this," he said.

"No, listen-"

"Sam, I need some space to live with the things I've done. Can you understand that?"

Sam stared at him, for a long time. "So we're just going to walk away?" he said.

Dean nodded, looking anything but ok. "If that's how it needs to be."

Sam hesitated. He wanted to say no, he didn't understand. But it wouldn't be the truth.

Instead he swallowed hard, nodded.

Dean's mouth screwed up. "Ok, then," he muttered as he turned to go, passing Sam on his way off the dock. "Now quit the theatrics. This ain't no tragedy."

Sam frowned as Dean walked back down the dock. He tried to remember more than the fleeting images he'd always thought to be nightmares. He thought that maybe they'd found the edges of this thing, and maybe if he picked at it for long enough, he could peel away the cover and reveal what had been there all along.

But all of his thoughts circled back to Dean. How up until this point, Sam realized, he'd thought they'd be ok. But everything was ruined. He'd been stupid to hope. He saw now that he'd been wrong.

Sam stayed on the pier for a long time.



The castle was in the throes of excitement when he got back that night, preparing for another celebration. And thank goodness for that. After spending all afternoon loitering on the dock wondering if Dean would ever even look at him again, Sam needed the distraction.

The smell of chocolate was strong in the warm kitchen, water boiling on the stove and wood crackling. Sam collapsed onto the bench and put his head in his arms and listened to the metallic sound of Jess scraping cookies off the pan.

"And he arrives like clockwork," she said, depositing the plate in front of him with a clatter. Then, she noticed his uncombed, wind-whipped hair and general air of despair. "Not here for the cookies?"

Sam shook his head. He rested his chin on his hands and watched as she began squeezing pink frosting out of the pastry bag, decorating some cupcakes with hearts.

"You mean no one else uses the kitchens to bemoan their problems?"

"Just you," she confirmed. "Now, what's up?"

He sighed. He couldnt' even imagine how to answer.

"It's that guy, isn't it," she said.

"Dean?"

"The eyes?" she said.

"Yeah," Sam sighed again. "That's him. Things are...complicated."

"Well, nothing's too complicated."

"No, believe me," he said. "This is."

"What I was going to say is, nothing is so complicated that true love and hard work can't win out," said Jess. Then she gave him a dimpled smile. "And cookies."

He smiled back, albeit more wanly. "You speaking from experience?"

She looked away at that, and busied herself with the frosting before saying, "No."

"Jess-"

"Look, Sam. I'm in the kitchen day-in, day-out." She shrugged. "I highly doubt that the girl of my dreams is going to bump into me down here."

"I'm sure..." Sam started, then tried, "I'm sure it'll work out?"

She laughed. "You should leave the cheering up to me. That was really pathetic."

And when he started to apologize, she grabbed a cake from the counter. "But I haven't lost hope, Sam. And neither should you."



Jess soon let him know, not unkindly, that if he was going to be underfoot, he was going to have to help set up for the party. So Sam joined a servant, Brady, in carrying heavy trays of butter cookies, many layered sugar pastries, and an doilie of mille feuilles up to the main hall.

"She your girl?" Brady asked him with a lascivious smile.

Sam snorted.

"Hey, just trying to make conversation, man."

Brady went pale then, and it took Sam a moment to realize that Anna was behind him, elegant in her crystal-blue gown.

Brady gave a low bow. "Your Highness."

"Sam," Anna said. "May I speak with you?"

"Of course."

Brady disappeared into the woodwork, and Sam joined Anna at a window that overlooked the town. He waited for her to speak.

The orange light of the twilight sun washed over her face. Her eyes looked far off. Sam wondered if she had somehow heard about his situation. Maybe she had eyes and ears down in Harvelle's. It seemed possible.

"I was young when I lost my parents," she finally said.

This wasn't at all what Sam had expected her to say. He didn't know how to respond to this so he just nodded. Everyone knew the story.

"Since that day," she said. "I have cared about only two things. I've cared about my sister and I've cared about the kingdom we are building together."

Sam observed the placid look on her face, and thought for the first time that perhaps Anna was truly happy.

"I wanted to say," Anna said, turning. "I appreciate what you have done for this kingdom. But I've seen how you are with Dean, and the sadness you feel. I know how he comes first. I of all people understand."

"Your Highness?" he prompted.

"I that know my sister has asked you to stay, but I want you to know that Charlie won't begrudge you leaving if there's business you need to attend to."

"Dean told you," he said, more of a statement than a question. He wasn't guessing, he was sure of it.

She turned, a trace of a laugh in her voice. "He told me enough. He seems to really care about you, Sam. I'm not sure what's at the heart of the problem, but I believe that you can make things work."

Sam's smile felt weak on his face. He wanted to tell her she didn't know the half of it, and if she did she wouldn't be so sure of them. But he kept his silence and thanked her. It was his and Dean's secret to bear.

Part 4