Delayed Secret Satan
I'm sorry this is so late - I had a serious attack of the Holidays and many things got delayed.
Title: Welcome Home, Dean Winchester
Author and Artist: just_ruth
Recipient: azzyj
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. Characters/Situations are being borrowed for entertainment purposes only. You think anyone would pay me for this?
Warnings: AU, assorted spoilers, the usual suspects, unusual suspects and occasional swearing
Summary: Two years after the Apocalypse didn’t happen, friends help the Winchesters to celebrate Christmas
Word count: 2965
Pronunciation guide: Nuwisha = Now - WE - shah
Note: this story originally started as something totally different and did a one-eighty in the course of the writing of it.
****
Then:
Sam shut the old book and took a long pull that finished the bottle of beer.
“What’s on your mind?” purred the dark hair demon sprawled seductively in his bed.
“It says here that Lilith can only be killed ‘by the man who first cursed her name.’ Isn’t that Adam?”
“I told you that book didn’t know shit,” Ruby chuckled. “Adam? He saw Eve and didn’t think twice about her. It was Caine that first cursed Lilith.”
“Caine?” Sam turned to look at her.
“Yep, Abel found out the woman Caine married was his father’s first wife. Caine didn’t believe him and Abel learned the hard way he should have kept his mouth shut.” She opened her arms. “Come on, I can think of something a whole lot more interesting than that old book.”
*****
Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back. (Beep)
Sam Winchester sighed and put the phone back in his pocket.
“Well?” asked Ruby, a slight smirk on her lips as the innocent, possessed woman in the trunk began to pound and cry again.
“Yeah,” Sam nodded, turned and slapped his hand to her forehead. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus!”
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
“What I should have done before,” Sam’s jaw tightened. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus.”
He finished the exorcism and watched Ruby’s borrowed corpse drop to the ground. He pulled out a small knife and pricked his finger. With the blood, he drew a strange symbol on the hood of the car.
“What are you doing?” screamed the voice of the demon within. “No! Not him!”
“Hello, Sam.”
He turned. “Hello, Caine.”
The Master of the Wild Hunt, wearing a leather motorcycle jacket, folded his arms. “What’s the word?”
“Ruby wanted me to kill Lilith. She’s in Illchester, Maryland at St. Mary’s Convent.”
“No one is killing Lilith except me.” His eyes took on an unearthly glow.
“Agreed.”
****
In the angelic “green room” Dean paced his prison, every so often glaring at the wall and the painting of the Archangel Michael slaying a dragon.
A door that hadn’t been there before burst open. “What has your brother done?” shouted Zachariah.
*****
Lilith turned from the bloody, re-desecrated altar. Her beautiful face froze in shock. “You!”
“Hello, darlin’,” purred Caine. “Miss me?”
*****
“What happens now?” demanded Dean.
It was over. Lucifer would never rise because Lilith had been the final seal. Caine killed her to avenge his brother Abel; if Sam had killed her it would have opened the gate of Lucifer’s prison, but her death at Caine’s hands locked it tight.
“I’m leaving,” Sam looked at Caine. “I summoned Caine and now I have to pay the Hunter’s Price. I’m riding with the Wild Hunt.”
“Well, that’s just great,” Dean slammed his fist on the trunk lid of the stolen car. “It's like deja vu all over again. I am sick and tired of chasing after you, Sam. Fine! Screw you! Do what you want!” He turned his back.
Sam shook his head and mounted the black motorcycle to follow Caine and the rest of the Hunt.
Now: Two years later
Sundance Greysong McCoy went to her dancing circle. It wasn’t a real dancing circle like at the Elder’s lodge; it was a birch surrounded clearing at the rear of The Last Call that she had made her own. Papa Joshua helped her place four white rocks for the four directions in the ground and Mr. Wade had helped her make a medicine bundle to put in the center.
Frost crunched as she walked the first circle. It was cold, but the weatherman said there was little chance of snow until next week. She bit her lip; Papa Joshua might be mad she took his smudge bundle - but this was a special dance and she needed to smudge the circle. She struck a match and touched it to the tightly wrapped bundle of sage and other herbs. Quickly blown out, it smoldered with scented white smoke.
She sang as she danced around the rocks. It was a morning song - the Preacher said it was good to celebrate the day as a gift from God. A song like that called the good spirits to watch and protect. She danced until the song finished and taking a minute to get her breath back, placed the smoldering smudge in the center of the four rocks.
It was time to get serious. She straightened her black hair, making sure her braids were tight. She’d asked Mr. Sam to braid her hair special and put in blue ties because this dance was for him and if it worked it would be a surprise that would make him smile again. She had put on her best dress and the blue-beaded moccasins Miss Althea had given her for her seventh birthday last month.
She began to stamp her rhythm as she circled the white stones. Over and over she stamped the circle until she felt the rhythm was just right.
“Here am I,” she sang in Cherokee. “In this place. I am dancing in this space. Angel Cas - ti - el come with dance me.”
She sang it over seven times, once for each clan of the Cherokee. She puffed a little as she kept the rhythm of the dance. Seven times sung, seven times not sung and then she wasn’t sure what else she was supposed to do.
Six times around the stones and the smudge - then seven and then . . .
“Who are you, child?” Sundance squealed and spun around. A tall (but not as tall as Mr. Sam) man with dark hair, eyes that were bluer than Papa Joshua’s and a rumpled grey coat stood just outside the circle.
Sundance hopped into the space inside the stones and grabbed the smudge. She’d seen bad things choke on the sacred smudge.
The man cocked his head a little to one side. He spread both hands to show he was unarmed. “Forgive me. I did not mean to scare you. I am Castiel. Who are you, child and why have you called me?” He frowned. “You are a shapeshifter.”
“I am Nuwisha, a great-grandchild of Old Man Coyote,” she said proudly. “I am Sundance Greysong McCoy of the Blue Clan of the Eastern Cherokee.” She was uncomfortable under his direct stare. “I n-need your help. It’s Papa Joshua’s friend, Mr. Sam.”
“Sam?” Castiel’s eyes widened. “Do you mean Sam Winchester?”
Sundance made him wait until she had sung a thank you song to the good spirits that had helped her.
He nodded approval. “It is good to give thanks.”
She brought him into the Rest through the back door to the bar. It was a good-sized place; a half-wall divided the bar from the dining room. She brought him a drink of water from the kitchen. He accepted it: not thirsty, but acknowledging her good manners.
“Mr. Sam came to tend bar nearly two years ago when Papa Joshua re-opened the Last Call. He said he was tired. He’s been so sad,” she bit her lip. “Mr. Wade and Mr. Grant said he used to be a hunter with his brother. Miss Althea said I should sing for you, Mr. Castiel, and you w-would help Mr. Sam find his brother.” She shrugged. “It’s Christmas, and - and family should be together at Christmas. He’s part of my family and I want him to be happy.” She tugged on one braid.
“Sundance Greysong, I will gladly help you.” She liked his smile.
“Sunny!” Papa Joshua came in the kitchen. “Where have you been ---?” He paused and frowned, looking at Mr. Castiel.
“Is she here Josh?” Sam Winchester followed Joshua. He froze and went pale. “You!”
“Hello, Sam. It’s been a long time.”
*****
“It’s the Abominable!” bleated the blond elf. “Quick! Douse the light.”
“You’re a wuss, Hermie,” Dean Winchester pronounced as he turned off the television. He scratched his bare chest, having put on only his boxers after his shower and glared at the plastic boot enclosing his right foot from toes to mid-calf. Simple salt-and-burn and then the damn ghost had to go and break his driving foot by dropping the headstone on him as its bones went up in smoke.
Dean fed a quarter into the Magic Fingers and took a swig from his flask. He closed his eyes and gave a low sigh of pleasure. He had a flask of Jack, two double bacon cheeseburgers with extra onions, a huge three-foot long bag of popcorn, a super-duper 44 ounce Slushy. He had been stuck here a week but would be just fine as soon as he figured out how to get the cast off. Just in time for the next evil son-of-a-bitch to get ganked.
“Hello, Dean.”
Startled, he yelled and fell off the bed. “Christ Almighty, Cas!” He roared as he staggered back to his feet.
“You still persist in blasphemy.” Castiel wrinkled his nose, “and questionable food.”
“And you are still trying to give me a heart attack,” Dean sputtered. He took a deep breath. “It’s been two years, Cass.”
“I am glad to see you too.” He sat down on the bed. “I need your help.”
“Oh, sure, of course you do.” Dean sighed.
“You will have to put on your pants.”
“Naturally.” He looked longingly at his feast, shook his head and limped for his duffle.
*****
Even Sam had to climb on a ladder to reach the top of the Hayes’ tree and settle the star. The decorated evergreen dominated the huge dining room on the main floor. When Ted Newlands went berserk in a Texas courtroom and gunned Jefferson Hayes down, his sister and his niece had inherited the house at Wolver Creek while three wives battled over the rest of the estate. Evie knew Jefferson had always thrown a Christmas party for his entourage and assorted guests - at the urging of her daughter, this year the party would include the people from the town that had been the most affected when Jefferson Hayes died.
Sunny paused look out the big French doors that led to the deck. The waterfall that had been the reason Jefferson Hayes built his house here was plunging between frosted boulders. Patches of white still hugged the shadows; they never did get much snow around here.
Butterbur, Miss Althea’s big marmalade cat, rubbed against her legs and purred, reminding her that Miss Althea was making gingerbread.
Sam folded the ladder and stored it behind the china closet. “What are you looking at, kid?”
Sunny turned back. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “I gotta help Miss Althea in the kitchen.”
“Sunny,” Sam’s voice was gentle. “I know what you’re doing.” Sunny froze. Sam bent down to cup her face in his big hands.
“You’re running all over the place, helping everyone, and never really slowing down. I did the same thing when I lost my Dad and someone else I really loved. You run and run and think you can outrun the pain,” he shook his head. “But you can’t, honey. You can’t.” He squatted down. “It catches up; your Papa and I love you; we want to help.”
Sunny started to shake her head. She shivered. “Momma said . . .” her voice broke. “Momma said Christmas was for family and . . . and . . .” She tried to stop, but couldn’t. Sam scooped her into his arms and let her cry into his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” his voice was rough as tears filled his eyes. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. It was never going to be okay. Sam rubbed her back as she started to hiccup from crying; maybe if Mr. Castiel found Sam’s brother it wouldn’t hurt so much. Miss Althea said making someone else happy made you feel happy too.
******
“No,” said Dean. “I’m not going anywhere by angel zap. Where I go, my baby goes with me.” Defiantly, he leaned against the front bumper of the Impala and folded his arms. At least the cast was off - although he had to listen to Cas get sappy about the amazing number of bones in the human foot and what a marvel that was.
“As you wish,” Castiel shrugged and tapped the front fender with two fingers.
Dean fell off the bumper and sat down on wet leaves.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” he sputtered when he finally found his voice.
“You never asked.”
“Well, don’t do it again!”
The Impala was in the lower curve of a circular driveway crammed with cars and trucks. A large house was alight in the falling twilight and the murmur of music and laughter trickled out within. Next to the great door was a window set with votive candles framing a small, decorated tree, as a trickle of snow fell from the sky, Castiel stood in the light from that window, smiled and gestured.
“Enter and be welcome,” he said. “Someone’s waiting for you.”
“Are you kidding?” Dean balked. Who could be waiting for him? “Is this some other kind of angelic ‘green room’ thing?”
“No, it’s not. It’s a child’s wish being fulfilled.”
More confused than ever, Dean rang the bell.
******
Sunny heard the doorbell. She started to find a grown-up but Butterbur rubbed hard against her legs and butted her with his head. He purred deeply and pushed at her with his shoulder, his stripy tail tickling the back of her legs.
"You want me to answer the door?" The cat purred louder and butted her with his head again.
Sunny opened the door, letting in a rush of air. She didn't recognize the tall man in the leather jacket; but Castiel was with him and that could only mean one thing.
"Are you Dean?" she asked, she couldn't help but give a cheer at his puzzled nod. She ran to Castiel and hugged him.
"You did it! You did it!" She laughed. He patted her shoulder and nodded.
"Did what?" Dean asked. Sunny grabbed his hand and towed him through the crowd. Oh, this was going to be good - it had to be.
******
She was a cute kid; big brown eyes, coppery brown skin and two shiny black braids. Her red dress looked homemade. She dragged him at full speed across the room. The crowd turned and looked.
“Sunny!” someone called. “What are you doing?” Joshua McCoy, someone Dean hadn’t seen in years, pushed through the crowd to chase them.
They reached the bar just as the bartender turned.
“What’ll it be?” Sam’s eyes widened. “Dean?”
Dean felt a surge of anger and then one of relief - not that he’d ever worried about Sam since he ran off with the Wild Hunt. “Sam.” He scratched the back of his ear, feeling awkward.
The kid was staring at them, clearly expecting something.
“It’s been two years,” he finally said.
“Yeah,” Sam looked as awkward as he felt.
“Good to see you,” Dean said. He looked at his boots a moment, then reached up and grabbed Sam in a quick hug. Sam was real. He hadn’t doubted it. Sam grinned and punched his shoulder.
The little girl clapped her hands in delight. “I knew it! I knew you’d be happy, Mr. Sam! Merry Christmas!”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m his Christmas present?” He looked for Cas. The angel was looking rather pleased with himself. “Cas? You agreed with this?”
“I thought it would be a good thing for you as well,” Castiel smiled down at Sunny. “I did not mind being summoned.”
Dean was tempted to walk out, but . . .
“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Sam grinned.
“Ah, what the hell, Merry Christmas!”
The crowd laughed, cheered and applauded.
Epilog:
“You left the Hunt?” Dean sat down at the small table in Sam’s one-bedroom apartment.
“Josh needed help.” Sam shrugged. He leaned against the counter. “You probably heard what happened to Jefferson Hayes.”
“Shot by that nut case, yeah.”
“Ted Newlands killed Sunny’s family.” Sam looked away, “They were Nuwisha. I don’t quite understand, but Caine said it violated some ‘law of the Hunt.’ The Hunt went after him - I got Sunny away from him. Josh agreed to be her guardian.”
“And you left the Hunt. Well, hey, Josh has a good set-up now, think he can spare you for a few months. . .”
Sam shook his head. “I can’t. There’s only a few ways to leave the Hunt. This one. . .” he looked at the floor.
“What?” Dean leaned over the table.
“I agreed to . . . it’s called ‘bounds.’ Caine sets a certain boundary and I can’t pass beyond it. If I do, I’m back in the Hunt.” He shrugged. “This is . . .” spread his hands. “Home.”
“Home.”
“Home, Dean. It can be yours too.”
Dean looked down at his hands. “Home.” He repeated. “I’ve got to think about this.” He leaned back and stretched. “Tomorrow.”
Sam nodded.
Title: Welcome Home, Dean Winchester
Author and Artist: just_ruth
Recipient: azzyj
Disclaimer: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. Characters/Situations are being borrowed for entertainment purposes only. You think anyone would pay me for this?
Warnings: AU, assorted spoilers, the usual suspects, unusual suspects and occasional swearing
Summary: Two years after the Apocalypse didn’t happen, friends help the Winchesters to celebrate Christmas
Word count: 2965
Pronunciation guide: Nuwisha = Now - WE - shah
Note: this story originally started as something totally different and did a one-eighty in the course of the writing of it.
****
Then:
Sam shut the old book and took a long pull that finished the bottle of beer.
“What’s on your mind?” purred the dark hair demon sprawled seductively in his bed.
“It says here that Lilith can only be killed ‘by the man who first cursed her name.’ Isn’t that Adam?”
“I told you that book didn’t know shit,” Ruby chuckled. “Adam? He saw Eve and didn’t think twice about her. It was Caine that first cursed Lilith.”
“Caine?” Sam turned to look at her.
“Yep, Abel found out the woman Caine married was his father’s first wife. Caine didn’t believe him and Abel learned the hard way he should have kept his mouth shut.” She opened her arms. “Come on, I can think of something a whole lot more interesting than that old book.”
*****
Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back. (Beep)
Sam Winchester sighed and put the phone back in his pocket.
“Well?” asked Ruby, a slight smirk on her lips as the innocent, possessed woman in the trunk began to pound and cry again.
“Yeah,” Sam nodded, turned and slapped his hand to her forehead. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus!”
“What are you doing?” she shrieked.
“What I should have done before,” Sam’s jaw tightened. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus.”
He finished the exorcism and watched Ruby’s borrowed corpse drop to the ground. He pulled out a small knife and pricked his finger. With the blood, he drew a strange symbol on the hood of the car.
“What are you doing?” screamed the voice of the demon within. “No! Not him!”
“Hello, Sam.”
He turned. “Hello, Caine.”
The Master of the Wild Hunt, wearing a leather motorcycle jacket, folded his arms. “What’s the word?”
“Ruby wanted me to kill Lilith. She’s in Illchester, Maryland at St. Mary’s Convent.”
“No one is killing Lilith except me.” His eyes took on an unearthly glow.
“Agreed.”
****
In the angelic “green room” Dean paced his prison, every so often glaring at the wall and the painting of the Archangel Michael slaying a dragon.
A door that hadn’t been there before burst open. “What has your brother done?” shouted Zachariah.
*****
Lilith turned from the bloody, re-desecrated altar. Her beautiful face froze in shock. “You!”
“Hello, darlin’,” purred Caine. “Miss me?”
*****
“What happens now?” demanded Dean.
It was over. Lucifer would never rise because Lilith had been the final seal. Caine killed her to avenge his brother Abel; if Sam had killed her it would have opened the gate of Lucifer’s prison, but her death at Caine’s hands locked it tight.
“I’m leaving,” Sam looked at Caine. “I summoned Caine and now I have to pay the Hunter’s Price. I’m riding with the Wild Hunt.”
“Well, that’s just great,” Dean slammed his fist on the trunk lid of the stolen car. “It's like deja vu all over again. I am sick and tired of chasing after you, Sam. Fine! Screw you! Do what you want!” He turned his back.
Sam shook his head and mounted the black motorcycle to follow Caine and the rest of the Hunt.
Now: Two years later
Sundance Greysong McCoy went to her dancing circle. It wasn’t a real dancing circle like at the Elder’s lodge; it was a birch surrounded clearing at the rear of The Last Call that she had made her own. Papa Joshua helped her place four white rocks for the four directions in the ground and Mr. Wade had helped her make a medicine bundle to put in the center.
Frost crunched as she walked the first circle. It was cold, but the weatherman said there was little chance of snow until next week. She bit her lip; Papa Joshua might be mad she took his smudge bundle - but this was a special dance and she needed to smudge the circle. She struck a match and touched it to the tightly wrapped bundle of sage and other herbs. Quickly blown out, it smoldered with scented white smoke.
She sang as she danced around the rocks. It was a morning song - the Preacher said it was good to celebrate the day as a gift from God. A song like that called the good spirits to watch and protect. She danced until the song finished and taking a minute to get her breath back, placed the smoldering smudge in the center of the four rocks.
It was time to get serious. She straightened her black hair, making sure her braids were tight. She’d asked Mr. Sam to braid her hair special and put in blue ties because this dance was for him and if it worked it would be a surprise that would make him smile again. She had put on her best dress and the blue-beaded moccasins Miss Althea had given her for her seventh birthday last month.
She began to stamp her rhythm as she circled the white stones. Over and over she stamped the circle until she felt the rhythm was just right.
“Here am I,” she sang in Cherokee. “In this place. I am dancing in this space. Angel Cas - ti - el come with dance me.”
She sang it over seven times, once for each clan of the Cherokee. She puffed a little as she kept the rhythm of the dance. Seven times sung, seven times not sung and then she wasn’t sure what else she was supposed to do.
Six times around the stones and the smudge - then seven and then . . .
“Who are you, child?” Sundance squealed and spun around. A tall (but not as tall as Mr. Sam) man with dark hair, eyes that were bluer than Papa Joshua’s and a rumpled grey coat stood just outside the circle.
Sundance hopped into the space inside the stones and grabbed the smudge. She’d seen bad things choke on the sacred smudge.
The man cocked his head a little to one side. He spread both hands to show he was unarmed. “Forgive me. I did not mean to scare you. I am Castiel. Who are you, child and why have you called me?” He frowned. “You are a shapeshifter.”
“I am Nuwisha, a great-grandchild of Old Man Coyote,” she said proudly. “I am Sundance Greysong McCoy of the Blue Clan of the Eastern Cherokee.” She was uncomfortable under his direct stare. “I n-need your help. It’s Papa Joshua’s friend, Mr. Sam.”
“Sam?” Castiel’s eyes widened. “Do you mean Sam Winchester?”
Sundance made him wait until she had sung a thank you song to the good spirits that had helped her.
He nodded approval. “It is good to give thanks.”
She brought him into the Rest through the back door to the bar. It was a good-sized place; a half-wall divided the bar from the dining room. She brought him a drink of water from the kitchen. He accepted it: not thirsty, but acknowledging her good manners.
“Mr. Sam came to tend bar nearly two years ago when Papa Joshua re-opened the Last Call. He said he was tired. He’s been so sad,” she bit her lip. “Mr. Wade and Mr. Grant said he used to be a hunter with his brother. Miss Althea said I should sing for you, Mr. Castiel, and you w-would help Mr. Sam find his brother.” She shrugged. “It’s Christmas, and - and family should be together at Christmas. He’s part of my family and I want him to be happy.” She tugged on one braid.
“Sundance Greysong, I will gladly help you.” She liked his smile.
“Sunny!” Papa Joshua came in the kitchen. “Where have you been ---?” He paused and frowned, looking at Mr. Castiel.
“Is she here Josh?” Sam Winchester followed Joshua. He froze and went pale. “You!”
“Hello, Sam. It’s been a long time.”
*****
“It’s the Abominable!” bleated the blond elf. “Quick! Douse the light.”
“You’re a wuss, Hermie,” Dean Winchester pronounced as he turned off the television. He scratched his bare chest, having put on only his boxers after his shower and glared at the plastic boot enclosing his right foot from toes to mid-calf. Simple salt-and-burn and then the damn ghost had to go and break his driving foot by dropping the headstone on him as its bones went up in smoke.
Dean fed a quarter into the Magic Fingers and took a swig from his flask. He closed his eyes and gave a low sigh of pleasure. He had a flask of Jack, two double bacon cheeseburgers with extra onions, a huge three-foot long bag of popcorn, a super-duper 44 ounce Slushy. He had been stuck here a week but would be just fine as soon as he figured out how to get the cast off. Just in time for the next evil son-of-a-bitch to get ganked.
“Hello, Dean.”
Startled, he yelled and fell off the bed. “Christ Almighty, Cas!” He roared as he staggered back to his feet.
“You still persist in blasphemy.” Castiel wrinkled his nose, “and questionable food.”
“And you are still trying to give me a heart attack,” Dean sputtered. He took a deep breath. “It’s been two years, Cass.”
“I am glad to see you too.” He sat down on the bed. “I need your help.”
“Oh, sure, of course you do.” Dean sighed.
“You will have to put on your pants.”
“Naturally.” He looked longingly at his feast, shook his head and limped for his duffle.
*****
Even Sam had to climb on a ladder to reach the top of the Hayes’ tree and settle the star. The decorated evergreen dominated the huge dining room on the main floor. When Ted Newlands went berserk in a Texas courtroom and gunned Jefferson Hayes down, his sister and his niece had inherited the house at Wolver Creek while three wives battled over the rest of the estate. Evie knew Jefferson had always thrown a Christmas party for his entourage and assorted guests - at the urging of her daughter, this year the party would include the people from the town that had been the most affected when Jefferson Hayes died.
Sunny paused look out the big French doors that led to the deck. The waterfall that had been the reason Jefferson Hayes built his house here was plunging between frosted boulders. Patches of white still hugged the shadows; they never did get much snow around here.
Butterbur, Miss Althea’s big marmalade cat, rubbed against her legs and purred, reminding her that Miss Althea was making gingerbread.
Sam folded the ladder and stored it behind the china closet. “What are you looking at, kid?”
Sunny turned back. “Nothing,” she mumbled. “I gotta help Miss Althea in the kitchen.”
“Sunny,” Sam’s voice was gentle. “I know what you’re doing.” Sunny froze. Sam bent down to cup her face in his big hands.
“You’re running all over the place, helping everyone, and never really slowing down. I did the same thing when I lost my Dad and someone else I really loved. You run and run and think you can outrun the pain,” he shook his head. “But you can’t, honey. You can’t.” He squatted down. “It catches up; your Papa and I love you; we want to help.”
Sunny started to shake her head. She shivered. “Momma said . . .” her voice broke. “Momma said Christmas was for family and . . . and . . .” She tried to stop, but couldn’t. Sam scooped her into his arms and let her cry into his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” his voice was rough as tears filled his eyes. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. It was never going to be okay. Sam rubbed her back as she started to hiccup from crying; maybe if Mr. Castiel found Sam’s brother it wouldn’t hurt so much. Miss Althea said making someone else happy made you feel happy too.
******
“No,” said Dean. “I’m not going anywhere by angel zap. Where I go, my baby goes with me.” Defiantly, he leaned against the front bumper of the Impala and folded his arms. At least the cast was off - although he had to listen to Cas get sappy about the amazing number of bones in the human foot and what a marvel that was.
“As you wish,” Castiel shrugged and tapped the front fender with two fingers.
Dean fell off the bumper and sat down on wet leaves.
“I didn’t know you could do that,” he sputtered when he finally found his voice.
“You never asked.”
“Well, don’t do it again!”
The Impala was in the lower curve of a circular driveway crammed with cars and trucks. A large house was alight in the falling twilight and the murmur of music and laughter trickled out within. Next to the great door was a window set with votive candles framing a small, decorated tree, as a trickle of snow fell from the sky, Castiel stood in the light from that window, smiled and gestured.
“Enter and be welcome,” he said. “Someone’s waiting for you.”
“Are you kidding?” Dean balked. Who could be waiting for him? “Is this some other kind of angelic ‘green room’ thing?”
“No, it’s not. It’s a child’s wish being fulfilled.”
More confused than ever, Dean rang the bell.
******
Sunny heard the doorbell. She started to find a grown-up but Butterbur rubbed hard against her legs and butted her with his head. He purred deeply and pushed at her with his shoulder, his stripy tail tickling the back of her legs.
"You want me to answer the door?" The cat purred louder and butted her with his head again.
Sunny opened the door, letting in a rush of air. She didn't recognize the tall man in the leather jacket; but Castiel was with him and that could only mean one thing.
"Are you Dean?" she asked, she couldn't help but give a cheer at his puzzled nod. She ran to Castiel and hugged him.
"You did it! You did it!" She laughed. He patted her shoulder and nodded.
"Did what?" Dean asked. Sunny grabbed his hand and towed him through the crowd. Oh, this was going to be good - it had to be.
******
She was a cute kid; big brown eyes, coppery brown skin and two shiny black braids. Her red dress looked homemade. She dragged him at full speed across the room. The crowd turned and looked.
“Sunny!” someone called. “What are you doing?” Joshua McCoy, someone Dean hadn’t seen in years, pushed through the crowd to chase them.
They reached the bar just as the bartender turned.
“What’ll it be?” Sam’s eyes widened. “Dean?”
Dean felt a surge of anger and then one of relief - not that he’d ever worried about Sam since he ran off with the Wild Hunt. “Sam.” He scratched the back of his ear, feeling awkward.
The kid was staring at them, clearly expecting something.
“It’s been two years,” he finally said.
“Yeah,” Sam looked as awkward as he felt.
“Good to see you,” Dean said. He looked at his boots a moment, then reached up and grabbed Sam in a quick hug. Sam was real. He hadn’t doubted it. Sam grinned and punched his shoulder.
The little girl clapped her hands in delight. “I knew it! I knew you’d be happy, Mr. Sam! Merry Christmas!”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m his Christmas present?” He looked for Cas. The angel was looking rather pleased with himself. “Cas? You agreed with this?”
“I thought it would be a good thing for you as well,” Castiel smiled down at Sunny. “I did not mind being summoned.”
Dean was tempted to walk out, but . . .
“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Sam grinned.
“Ah, what the hell, Merry Christmas!”
The crowd laughed, cheered and applauded.
Epilog:
“You left the Hunt?” Dean sat down at the small table in Sam’s one-bedroom apartment.
“Josh needed help.” Sam shrugged. He leaned against the counter. “You probably heard what happened to Jefferson Hayes.”
“Shot by that nut case, yeah.”
“Ted Newlands killed Sunny’s family.” Sam looked away, “They were Nuwisha. I don’t quite understand, but Caine said it violated some ‘law of the Hunt.’ The Hunt went after him - I got Sunny away from him. Josh agreed to be her guardian.”
“And you left the Hunt. Well, hey, Josh has a good set-up now, think he can spare you for a few months. . .”
Sam shook his head. “I can’t. There’s only a few ways to leave the Hunt. This one. . .” he looked at the floor.
“What?” Dean leaned over the table.
“I agreed to . . . it’s called ‘bounds.’ Caine sets a certain boundary and I can’t pass beyond it. If I do, I’m back in the Hunt.” He shrugged. “This is . . .” spread his hands. “Home.”
“Home.”
“Home, Dean. It can be yours too.”
Dean looked down at his hands. “Home.” He repeated. “I’ve got to think about this.” He leaned back and stretched. “Tomorrow.”
Sam nodded.