A/N: Thank you so much for the nice reviews and putting the story on alert. I'm very grateful that you're sharing my love of this lore with me.

Warning: Here there be cursing.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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From Chapter 3:

She held his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. "It has been long since we allowed someone to 'see' us. You have been given a gift here. Now we shall see if you are wise enough to protect it." Her look turned serious and her voice deepened. "Take good care my beautiful young sir. It is wise that your family has taught you to defend yourself. There are some of my kind who do not look upon mortals with my tolerance. They would do you, and others like you, harm."…

...Sam nodded to her one last time before turning his back and starting down the path. He glanced back once but the clearing was quiet and empty, the only movement the random dance of fireflies.

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Chapter 4 "The World's More Full of Weeping"

Now

He had to fight for each inch of movement that he forced out of his muscles. Fight the pain. The knife was still locked in his fist, his fingers tight around it. He ignored the urge to just open his hand and let it fall away. He didn't know what else was in the water, but as he drifted he became convinced that something was there. Lights, barely visible, flickered and moved in the depths under his feet.

He couldn't let go of the knife, not when it might be the only thing keeping them at bay, the iron repelling them. Not when there was no one there to protect his back. Not when he was alone.

Always alone.

It hurt.

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It was almost dark when John pulled the truck into the cabin's dusty front yard. The shadows hid the signs of age, the weathered wood and worn railing around the porch, the slightly warped door and cracked trim. Sitting in the gloom it was easy to picture the cabin the way it had once looked, and he shuddered at the memories.

Occasionally he still heard it outside of the cabin. A phantom voice harping at him, picking at his flaws, always pushing for him to do better. To be better.

"I taught you better than that boy! You pick yourself up and try again before I give you something to cry about! You're gonna do it till I say you're doing it right!"

He pushed the truck door open with a weary sigh and the voice faded back into the past.

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The smell of hamburgers frying on a hot griddle filled the kitchen, and Dean's stomach growled long and loud in approval. He debated moving the smaller pan full of frying onions onto an unlit burner. They were getting a little black and crispy around the edges and Sam didn't like them that way…but Dean and Dad did. Dean smiled as he stirred the onions, leaving the pan over the gas flame. You snooze, you lose. If Sam was gonna be a bitch about his food he should have been there to help cook it.

The screen door smacked against the frame and Dean leaned over to lower the volume of the radio sitting on the counter. The music had hidden the sound of the truck out front, but the heavy tread of work boots on the old wooden floor loosened the small knot of tension that had been building in Dean's gut.

"Hey, I was getting ready to eat without you. Thought maybe you grabbed something to eat at the diner." Or something to drink at the bar. He kept his voice light, his eyes taking a quick inventory when his dad entered the kitchen. Looking for all the little signs that had become way too familiar over the years: a looseness to his posture, a little unsteadiness in his stride, glassy eyes, shaking hands.

His dad was a big boy and Dean didn't begrudge him a harmless trip to a bar, hell, there were enough times that Dean joined him. But there were times when those trips to the bar weren't harmless, when they were attempts to escape pain. The deeper the pain, the bigger the bar bill. And the upcoming date on the calendar might have been unmarked and innocent looking, but in Dean's mind it was circled in red and underlined in bold black slashes. His parent's anniversary had been the trigger for some epic binges in the past.

Normally his dad didn't have any problem handling his liquor. But when he drank under the weight of one of his black moods…things could get real bad, real fast. Sam's penchant for throwing his own drama into the mix only made things worse. When Sam was younger he would just get quiet and scared when John went into one of his bad periods. The older Sam got, the more he seemed to resent the episodes. And a resentful Sam could at times be a little prick. Pushing and pushing, and then acting hurt and angry when John reacted by lashing out and smacking him down.

Right now…things were already bad between the two of them. If Dad started on one of his benders and Sam started up one of his martyr routines…Dean swore to God that this time it would be him who disappeared for a few days instead of Dad. He'd come back when the two of them were done tearing each other apart.

At least he didn't have to worry about it tonight. His dad looked steady on his feet and Dean could detect no whiskey fumes drifting through the kitchen.

John threw a small stack of envelopes and assorted junk mail onto the kitchen table before crossing to the sink. "I got held up talking to Phil at the garage. He's finalizing plans to open the second shop. And I stopped at the box for the mail since you and your brother are both too lazy to do it," he muttered the last line as he squeezed orange cleaner into his hand and began scrubbing at his fingernails with a small brush.

Dean wasn't setting foot in the post office as long as Janice and Sara were both working there. He didn't have that kind of death wish. Nah, he'd rather be called lazy. "So what'd I miss in the shop today."

John smirked over his shoulder. "Old man Reynolds brought in that sweet old mustang of his for a once over."

"Damn! I've been dying to get my hands on that car! I can't believe I missed it!" He shot a glare at his dad. "Especially for nothing. You know as well as I do that I could have worked today." He held his hands up in surrender when his dad sent a silent look over his shoulder. "Okay. But I'm working tomorrow."

His dad turned back to the sink, his point made. "Where's your brother?"

"He went for a run. He should be back soon. Look, Dad, I know Sammy's been a pain in the ass lately, but he was pretty upset when he left here."

John sighed as he turned the water off. He grabbed the towel before turning and leaning against the counter. "What's the problem now?"

Whoa, don't strain yourself with fatherly concern there, Dad. "Remember the kid he tutored for a couple of months after the holidays?" He frowned at his father's blank look. "You were just getting started with therapy and we needed extra money around here. He tutored a kid for a while before he got the job with Eric's dad. That kid was killed up at the lake today. Sam's a little freaked about it."

An unexpected death was guaranteed to spark the older hunter's interest. "What happened? How'd he die?"

"So far they think it was a severe asthma attack. Kid didn't have an inhaler or anything with him." He could see the moment when he lost his dad's interest. Nothing supernatural about asthma.

John shrugged and threw the towel onto the counter. "People die. Sam's gotta learn that there are times we just can't do anything about it."

"He liked the kid. I just wanted to give you a heads up so if he's quiet or anything when he gets back here you'd know he's not sulking or trying to pick a fight. He's just a little down." He began flipping through the envelopes John had dropped on the table, holding his breath while he waited for his father's reaction. Implied criticism of the way his dad dealt with his brother was about as safe as juggling nitro.

"Is that your subtle way of telling me you think I should lighten up on your brother?" A small smile pulled up the corner of his dad's mouth and Dean nodded, relaxing at the mild reaction. One of the envelopes caught his eye and he pulled it from the pile, tearing the flap open. He chuckled as he looked at the contents.

"God, he is such a dork," he said, shaking his head.

"What's that?"

"Sammy's report card," Dean said, waving the paper in the air. "They mail the last one. The little freak got straight A's. Again." He couldn't help the proud smile that spread over his face as he looked over the year end report. It wasn't just the grades. Almost every teacher had felt compelled to add a comment in the 'remarks' section. "Sam is an exceptional student with clear leadership qualities." "Sam is a pleasure to teach." "Consistently gives outstanding effort." "What a geek," Dean said softly. He put the paper down on the table and carefully smoothed it out, his fingers running over the comments.

John crossed to the table and read over Dean's shoulder. "Pretty impressive. Now if only we can get him to put the same effort into his training," he snorted.

Dean's fingers stilled for a second on the paper. Dad used to puff up like a peacock over Sam's report cards. When had that changed…and why hadn't Dean noticed? A small chill moved down his spine on the heels of an unwelcome memory.

"You don't see it, Dean, but I do. Nothing I do is ever going to be good enough. I'm never going to be good enough for him."

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Sam got home as Dean was pulling the cookie sheet of frozen French fries out of the oven. Soft footsteps halted midway across the front room, as though Sam was debating between going to the kitchen or heading towards his bedroom. "Get your butt in here Sam! It's time to eat!" The footsteps hesitated for just another second before slowly approaching the kitchen.

"Give me a hand, princess." Dean nodded towards the plates that already had hamburgers on them. Sam waited until Dean slid some fries onto two of them before carrying them to the table. He barely glanced at their dad as he placed a plate in front of him and John never looked up, setting aside the mail he'd been looking at and then turning his attention directly to his food. Dean carried his own plate to the table, carefully watching the interaction…or complete lack thereof, between his dad and brother.

They began eating and Sam was just as quiet as Dean expected. What Dean hadn't expected was that the kid looked like hell. He was pale except for the flush of red still staining his cheeks from his run. He only took a couple of bites of his burger and nibbled a couple of fries. His movements were jerky and distracted as though he was still completely freaked. Instead of calming him down, Sam's run had apparently given his oversize brain time to dwell on things. Dad was right, Sam needed to develop a thicker skin. People died.

It was easy to distract his Dad by talking about the garage and asking about Phil's plans to expand. It wasn't until he and Dad had both made it through second helpings that Dean realized his dad had been humoring him, perfectly aware of the attempted diversion. The deliberate way that his dad wiped his mouth on his napkin, and then fixed his eyes on Sam, clued Dean in that his dad was done with that little game.

"Dean told me about what happened up at the lake today, Sam. I'm sorry about that boy."

"Thank you, sir," Sam said, his eyes fixed on his plate. He looked up with the hint of a smile. "Tommy was a bit of a smart ass, but he was basically a good kid. I liked him." Sam's eyes clouded and he looked away. "I can't imagine how his parents and his brother and sister must feel," he said with a catch in his voice.

John sighed, his own eyes going dark. "It's got to be one of the worst things anyone would ever have to face. Losing a child like that." He waited for Sam to look at him before giving a small, sad, smile. "The fear of it… It's why parents can get a little obsessive about doing everything they can to keep their kids safe."

Sam snorted at that. "Obsessive is one way to put it," he muttered, but the hint of a real grin began to curve his mouth and John's smile grew. Dean felt his own stomach unclench. In their family this qualified as a Hallmark moment.

Dean was watching his brother when John stood up and carried his plate to the sink to rinse it. Sam's hands were fluttering around his silverware as though he was suddenly nervous about something. He opened and closed his mouth several times before finally taking a deep breath, his face settling into determined lines. Whatever Sam was about to spit out, Dean prayed it wouldn't completely demolish the fragile peace that had settled over the dinner table.

John came back to the table and dropped into his chair, his tired groan cutting off whatever Sam had been about to say. "So, you boys gonna be okay here for a couple of days without me?"

Dean looked at his dad with his eyebrows raised, catching the way Sam slumped down in his chair out of the corner of his eye. "Where are you going? Is it a hunt?" Dean couldn't hide his excitement at the prospect of a new hunt. "Don't you need us to come with you?" Sam straightened up, glaring at Dean.

"Nah, I want you boys to hold down the fort here. I don't want to stick Phil with us both leaving if I don't have to, not with that damn festival bringing so many people to the area. Sammy's got his job, and I'm sure he's going to want to go to the funeral." He shot Sam a sympathetic look.

Sam gave a resigned sigh. "The funeral probably won't be for a few days because of the autopsy. If you think you need us—" He broke off and really looked at their dad, worry flitting across his expression. "If it's safer if all three of us go, sir, then I'm with Dean. You should let us come with you."

Well, well, well. Dean gave Sam a quick nod of approval. The kid might be growing up after all. He didn't miss the surprised look of pride on his dad's face either. He could have told his dad that if he just showed Sam some respect the kid would amaze him.

John shook his head, but his smile was grateful. "I appreciate the offer boys, but I know you've both got things to do here. This is really just a one man job."

Dean scowled in disappointment. The worry faded from Sam's face, replaced by a look of relief. Which lasted for all of five seconds before Sam started doing his fish impersonation again and Dean fought the urge to tell him to just spit it out, whatever it was.

"This isn't even really a hunt. More of a recon mission. I'm just going to see if there's any truth to the reports I've heard. If they're right, then when I get back we'll have to figure out how to handle the actual hunt."

"What kind of reports? What are you looking for?" Dean leaned over the table, his interest piqued.

John rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced, almost looking embarrassed. "There's been talk of a peri in the area."

"A peri?" Sam choked out. "You'd hunt a peri?"

"Perry? What the hell's a perry?" Dean looked back and forth between his dad and brother.

"A 'peri' Dean." His dad's voice was steady, but his face had tightened at Sam's tone. "They're pretty rare. They're winged creature in old Persian myths. And yes, Sam, if there really is a peri we're going to have to figure out how to get rid of it."

Sam straightened in his chair, his shoulders tense. "Aren't they supposed to be benevolent creatures?" It wasn't really a question. It was more a statement of fact that Sam was daring their dad to dispute. Dean's stomach sank. Was Sam trying to pick a fight?

"A lot of reports describe them as evil." His Dad's voice was still controlled, but frost was starting to seep in from the edges.

"Early reports dad! That changed centuries ago! Has this peri hurt anyone? Are we even going to look for any sign of whether it's good or evil? All of the current lore says that they fight evil!"

Dean got a sinking feeling when John leaned towards Sam, resting his forearms on the table. "And it's just lore Sam! Nothing is clearly documented! Did you ever think that the earlier stories might be the correct ones? We just don't know!"

Dean pushed himself back in his seat as his dad's voice started to rise, trying to get out of the line of fire. One glance confirmed that Sam wasn't backing down. Dean had never seen his brother get quite so worked up quite so quickly.

"We don't know…so we just kill them?" Sam's voice was low and shaking, incredulous. "It doesn't matter if it's never hurt anyone? If it's supernatural it has to die?"

Where Sam's voice had been quietly shocked, his dad's was gaining strength with every word. "They're not human Sam! We don't know how they think or what they might do and that makes them dangerous! The only way to make sure the people in that area are safe is to eliminate the threat! They're not human Sam! Do you get that?"

His father's growing anger only seemed to stoke Sam's. "What gives us the right to kill a creature just because we don't understand it and so we're afraid of it? That doesn't make us hunters, that makes us butchers!" Sam pushed himself to his feet, his hands fisted at his sides. His voice might have caught up to his father's in volume, but it did not hold the same cold anger as John's. Somehow the hurt and disgust that filled Sam's voice was worse. "Sounds to me like we're the monsters!"

Dean didn't know where this came from, but he knew where it was likely to end up if the look on his dad's face was anything to go by. John's eyes had narrowed, his mouth an angry slash. A red flush had worked its way up from the collar of his shirt. Leave it to Sam to set off a nuclear detonation in the middle of a calm evening.

He caught the glance that Sam threw at him and something in him snapped. Oh, no way. Did the little shit actually think Dean would back him on this? The hunting…the things they did to protect people…it was pretty much the most important thing in the world to him and Dad. It was who they were. And for Sam to try to turn it into something ugly pushed a button in Dean that his little brother should have stayed away from. His own anger swelled, hot and strong.

Dean stood slowly, facing off against his brother over the table. "What gives us the right?" he growled "How about the fact that we lost someone to an evil son of a bitch that we 'didn't understand'? We may not know what killed Mom, but we sure as hell know it wasn't human! And if we have to hunt down every supernatural son of a bitch out there to save other people from going through what we did—then that's what we're going to do!"

"Even if they're on our side?" Sam asked quietly.

John surged to his feet, a low snarl announcing that he had reached the end of his tolerance for his son's defiance. He planted his fists on the table and leaned across it, halving the distance between him and Sam. Dean stepped back, his eyes wide, suddenly frightened that one of those large fists would be swinging towards his little brother. It was tearing him up that he didn't know what he would do if that happened. He stood to lose half his soul if he had to choose a side.

When John began to speak the words were as brutal as any physical blows. "You hate hunting? Fine! We get it! But don't you dare look down your nose at us for doing what has to be done! Don't you dare disrespect us like that! You may have your head too far up your butt to see it, or maybe you're just too god damned selfish to care, but we're the only thing standing between a lot of people and a lot of pain! Where do you get off acting like we're some kind of animals for doing what we do?! What the hell do you have to offer that's more important than that?! Your straight A's might make a nice decoration on the refrigerator, but they don't mean a damn thing where it's important!"

It would have hurt Sam less if their dad had just hauled off and hit him. Dean could see the chunks that the words were tearing out of Sam. He wanted the words to stop, he wanted to step in front of Sam and protect him from their father. But he just couldn't do it. Not anymore. Sam knew how Dad was. Knew the way Dad had a nasty hair trigger lately. But he pushed and he pushed until Dad exploded. He didn't even seem to notice the collateral damage. He didn't seem to care about the way it tore Dean up when he and Dad went at it. He didn't care that it was always Dean who had to pick up the pieces when the dust settled.

John paused for a second, scrubbing his hands over his face, and Sam's eyes sought Dean out. They searched Dean's face, looking for any sign of support…or for a sign that Dean agreed with their dad's brutal assessment. Sam just didn't get it. He had brought John's temper down on himself. He'd made it clear that he didn't think much of Dean or their dad. And now he was going to tear Dean in two by asking him to choose a side? Fine. Dean would choose a side.

Dean folded his arms over his chest and took a step back and to the side, placing himself almost shoulder to shoulder with their dad. When John dropped his hands from his face and looked at him Dean just nodded. They would present a united front.

John brought his attention back to Sam. The volume had dropped, but the tone was just as cold. "If you don't get your shit together and get your head in the game you're going to end up getting one of us killed. You already came pretty close. You don't like the way we do things? Too bad! The feeling's mutual! You think your opinion matters to me? That I'll change the way I do things because you don't like it? Think again boy! I don't give a rat's ass if you agree with me about things or not! Get it through your head…you drop your holier than thou bullshit and jump when I say jump…or so help me God I'll show you what a bastard I can be! Your brother and I are sick to death of your whining! There's no room in this family for your crap!"

Sam backed up a step from the table, his chair screeching across the floor behind him. Dean didn't think he had ever seen Sam look quite so crushed. He refused to think about the fact that Sam's eyes were fixed on him, not on their dad. By siding with John, Dean had given his dad's words devastating force. Dean fought to keep his expression hard, to stand his ground next to John.

"You're not listening to me," Sam said, his voice soft in the echoing silence that followed John's tirade. "Neither of you are hearing me. I know hunting is important and I respect how good the two of you are at it. How could you think I…" His shoulders lifted in a little shrug. "Huh. I guess I just didn't understand what you…both of you…really thought of me til now." He shook his head with a broken sounding laugh. "You learn something new every day."

Sam looked down at the table, his eyes wide. "Wow. Guess my head has been up my butt about a few things." He looked back and forth between the two of them. "I respect you both and I've always been proud of the way you help people. Always." He straightened his back and squared his shoulders and Dean wanted to be proud of how strong his brother was, but he couldn't get past his fear of the shutters that came down over Sam's face. Closing him out. Leaving Sam standing alone. "But I refuse to believe that every supernatural creature out there deserves to die. And to hunt things just because they're different, without even trying to learn if they're good or evil, with no reports that they've ever hurt anybody…I'm sorry, but that's wrong. You might not think much of me, but I respect the two of you enough to think that you should both know it's wrong."

He spun around, shoving the chair out of his way before walking quickly out the back door, the screen door slapping shut behind him.

"Let him go, Dean." John's quiet words stopped Dean in his tracks. Dean hadn't even been conscious of the step he took, ready to follow Sam. "Nothing was said that he didn't need to hear."

Dean just looked at his dad, his eyes wide with astonishment. Dad wasn't serious, right? A lot of things had been said that Sam never needed to hear. Especially when Sam was at least partially right.

That uncomfortable realization slammed into him and Dean sank down into his chair. Sam had never hidden that he hated the hunting lifestyle. He hated the way John considered hunting more important than his sons' needs. If Dean was honest with himself, a good portion of Sam's anger on that score had to do with the way Dad treated Dean. Sam hated the injuries and pain that seemed to be around every corner for their family. He hated the never ending fear that some day he would lose his dad or his brother to a hunt. But it had always been clear that Sam understood the need for hunting and hunters. That he respected Dad and Dean's skills and was proud of them.

And Dean had just stood at John's side while his dad turned everything around and threw a warped version of the truth back at Sam. He'd supported John when John made it sound like he had no respect for Sam, or any of Sam's accomplishments. Together, the two of them had clearly painted Sam as the outsider in their family. An almost unwelcome outsider.

He'd been worried for a while that when he fell off of the balance beam stretched between his brother and his father that it would hurt. Well, the fall had been spectacular and the hurt it caused had been even more than Dean anticipated.

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Sam leaned against a tree on the edge of the yard, breathing hard. He'd hear them if either one tried to follow him outside. He'd have time to melt into the darkness of the trees before they could reach him. He needed time to build some defenses before dealing with either of them. His hands were shaking and he crossed his arms over his chest, tucking his fingers into his armpits.

He'd known that he was a constant disappointment to his dad. He always fell short when he tried to earn his dad's respect, and he was used to it. It didn't make it hurt any less, but he was used to it.

But Dean? Dean had been the one constant in his whole life. No matter how many different dives they lived in, no matter how many times John disappeared, Dean was there. He and Dean disagreed about a lot of things, and sometimes they just didn't understand each other, but he'd always thought their respect was mutual. Even when they were angry and arguing, he'd always believed that Dean loved and accepted him. The truth hurt. Dean agreed with John that Sam was a worthless screw up with nothing to offer. All of the times Sam thought that Dean was proud of him, that Dean cared about him no matter what… His brother was a hell of an actor when he was stuck fulfilling his duties as a big brother.

He was eighteen. An adult. He shouldn't need anyone else. But it hurt so damn much that he couldn't take a deep breath. He was in a freefall, his supports ripped away. And he could not, he would not, let them see what they had done to him. He wouldn't give them any more proof that he was a pathetic loser. They wanted him to be the perfect soldier? Fine, he'd start giving them their perfect soldier. Show them that he was as tough as them.

But they would never control the way he thought or felt. Never.

He stared into the woods spreading before him, his eyes caught by the scattered fireflies among the trees. Oh God. He sank to his knees, his crossed arms moving from his chest to his stomach as he fought to not lose the small amount of food he'd eaten. He'd almost told them. He'd been so damn close. The whole way back to the cabin he had been in shock, in a cold sweat, trying to figure out how he would tell them about the encounter. It had never entered his mind to keep it a secret. This wasn't the kind of thing they kept from each other.

How much of a naïve child had he been? He would have blithely handed Titaniea, Sprite, and god knows how many other magical creatures, over to be slaughtered. Could they do that? Could hunters destroy them all? The fairies were adept at protecting themselves. At not being seen, at not being found. But John would have called in other hunters. They had access to so much information, so much ancient knowledge. There were summoning rituals, ways to attract fairies. At the very least there would have been casualties on both sides and the fae would have been driven away.

In his blind trust of his Dad and his brother he would have shared with them the existence of magic. And they would have done everything in their power to destroy it. He had been so damn close.

He couldn't stop the spasms that tore through his stomach, and he hunched over, curled into himself, retching.

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A/N1: The chapter title is from W.B. Yeats "The Stolen Child"

Come away! O, human child!
To the woods and waters wild,
With a fairy hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than
you can understand.

A/N2: Peris are, as John said, winged creatures in Persian myth. They are described as the fairies of Persian lore and predate the fairies of European lore. Some sources—not all—believe that they are actually the source of the fairy lore that we are familiar with now. They share many characteristics of upper echelon trooping fairies, and at least one of their origin myths.

It is true that they were considered evil as originally envisioned, but later accounts were revised to paint them as forces for good. Ironically, their most common foe are Daevas. Maybe if John hadn't been so keen to get rid of a peri the boys would have made out a little better in Shadow.