A/N: Written between 6.22 and 7.01. Warning for character death.
To the Woods and the Waters Wild
Dean never did figure out how Ash managed to get a message patched through to his cell phone. He only wished he could respond with more than an occasional fleeting thought of thanks and a hope that Ash could hear it.
Big trouble in Little Heaven, amigos—Sam's persona non grata up here. The way is shut. I'm really sorry; ain't the same up here without you two. Hope you're able to find an afterlife that suits you better than this mess.
That had been some time ago, when the Being Formerly Known As Cas (Dean refused to call him "Godstiel" or anything similarly ridiculous) was still trying to get the brothers to worship him and Sam had managed to torque him off. Dean had suspected then that the decision was less punishment than blackmail—"submit and I'll let Sam back in" was never stated, but Dean inferred it.
He would have thought the whole supernatural world would know by now how he reacted to blackmail.
But time went on, and there was no indication that Cas' Purgatory equivalent of a PCP overdose was wearing off much. Sam, Dean, and Bobby were running out of hiding places, out of steam... out of time. As valiantly as Sam fought the aftermath of the Wall coming down, Dean could tell he wasn't getting any better. And Ash hadn't written back to say that the Pearly Gates were open to Sam again.
Dean hadn't liked Heaven all that much the first time around. He definitely wasn't going back alone, without Sam. No way they were going back to Hell, either. And Bobby made him swear that they wouldn't hang on as ghosts.
Both brothers were wrung out after a bad hunt and a worse Hell spell this particular night, with a wrenched knee for Dean and bruised ribs for Sam plus assorted cuts and scrapes and who knew what internal injuries, and Sam probably had the flu on top of everything else; but as exhausted as Dean was, he couldn't sleep for worrying. In years past, he might have been willing to give up and let the injuries claim them both, but if death was no longer any kind of release, what could they do?
His morbid thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched laugh like a peal of silver bells. "Ah, 'tis a funny one you are, Dean Winchester," said a highly amused young woman's voice with what sounded like an Irish accent. "You've not forgotten the fair folk, surely?"
Dean sat bolt upright in shock and found himself staring at a reasonably human-looking woman sitting on the foot of his bed, dark-haired and grey-eyed, clad in green and glowing with moonlight—perhaps the most human-looking fairy he'd ever seen, apart from that stupid leprechaun and the even more stupid Tinkerbell wannabe. "What do you want?" he demanded hoarsely.
"Why, 'tis my birthday tomorrow, and I thought to invite you to feast with us."
Dean blinked. "Do I know you?"
"No, no, we've not met. But 'tis the talk of the courts you are, my bold one, and I wished to see for myself what manner of man you are."
"Courts? There's more than one?"
"Aye—and I'd like naught better than to steal you from Oberon's." Her smile turned slightly seductive as she reached out and caressed his face. "If you'll consent."
Dean swallowed hard. "I'm not goin' anywhere without my brother. Not this time."
She glanced over at the other bed and blinked. "The tale was, he had no soul."
"He didn't then. He does now."
She got up and walked over to Sam, who was making pained noises even in his sleep. Her face grew troubled and sad as she looked at him, then hardened in anger as her fists clenched. "They'd no right to treat him thus. None." Then she gently brushed Sam's hair back from his forehead, and Dean could see him relax into a deeper, painless sleep.
"'Tis a fair geis you ask, Dean," she said as she turned back to him. "I must ask my father, but if he agrees, we'll come for you both tomorrow at sundown."
"Sundown," Dean agreed.
She came back to him and kissed him... and that was the last thing he knew for several hours.
Bobby, predictably, called him an idjit, but he didn't try to talk Dean out of it. They all knew that Dean was fae-touched and that it was only a matter of time before the fairies came to collect. And despite the good rest, he and Sam were both still beat to hell, and Sam was still feverish and mostly out of it. Once Sam finally understood what Dean was saying, though, he sniffled miserably, nodded, and mumbled, "'S better than this."
Bobby was close enough to the boys' motel to be able to come pick up the Impala and say goodbye just in case they really were going for good. Dean didn't want to leave the car, but Bobby argued that the fairies weren't likely to agree to take it as it was—if anything, they'd turn it into a horse.
"I could live with that," Dean shrugged.
"Dude," Sam wheezed, "at least get the iron stuff outta the trunk."
So Bobby cleared out the trunk and pulled out all the personal stuff he could find in the interior while Dean hobbled around the room doing his usual look-out-for-Sammy routine, though Sam was too sick to respond much. And once Bobby had finished and they'd managed to say their goodbyes without crying much, Dean crawled into bed with Sam, cradling his little brother's head against his shoulder, and dozed off.
Precisely at sunset, there was a knock at the door. The brothers stirred, but Bobby answered the door and let in the fairy who'd appeared to Dean the night before, along with two others who looked a lot like her, one of whom kissed Bobby on the cheek as she passed.
"Hey," Dean smiled at his fairy. "Happy birthday."
She smiled back and kissed him. "Thank you, my bold one. The feast is prepared; only the two of you are lacking. Come on!" she added, tugging at his hand.
He laughed and let her pull him to his feet, suddenly feeling whole and well in a way he hadn't in years. The other fairy who hadn't kissed Bobby did the same with Sam, who suddenly didn't look or sound sick anymore, and once Sam was vertical, his fairy gave him a long kiss.
"Mm!" she exclaimed when she'd finished. "You were right, sister. I do like this one."
Sam cleared his throat, a little flustered. "Really?"
She grinned cheekily at him. "Aye, my champion, and I'm yours if you'll have me."
Sam actually blushed.
Dean's fairy laughed. "Come, come! Let's waste no more time!"
"Can we take my car?" Dean asked as she pulled him toward the door, Sam and his fairy hard on their heels.
"In a fashion. Come away, come away! There'll be music and dancing, and food such as mortal lips have never tasted, and such games we will play, my loves!"
Dean laughed and glanced over his shoulder at Sam. "You okay, Sammy?"
Sam grinned, happier and healthier than Dean had seen him in a long, long time. "Yeah, dude. Better than okay." And he kissed his fairy suddenly, much to her evident delight.
"Come away!" the fairies cried again, and then they were out the door, and Dean's fairy chanted something that turned the Impala into a huge black charger that both brothers could ride easily. The fairies mounted their own horses, and away they rode.
But no music was sweeter to Dean's ears than Sam's laughter as they left their cares behind.
Bobby watched the boys go for as long as they remained in mortal sight, savoring the image of both of them, especially Sam, whole and free at last. Then he sighed and turned to go back into the room—and paused.
The Impala was still sitting in its parking spot.
Frowning, Bobby went over to look at it. Everything appeared normal, but the metal felt cold and lifeless under his hand, void of the sense of love, of home, that had always clung to the car for as long as it had been Dean's. Bobby couldn't figure out why...
... until he noticed that the little green army man was missing from the ash tray on the back passenger door.
Bobby ran a hand over his mouth and chin, steeling himself to go back into the room, fearing what he would find. Sure enough, there were the boys, still curled up together, their faces more peaceful than Bobby had seen them since they were kids. And they weren't breathing.
Bobby held himself together long enough to get the room cleaned up, to get the bodies into the shell of the Impala and get home to commit his heart's sons to the flames. But even as he finally let the tears fall, he heard the last words that third fairy had said to him when she kissed him again on her way out the door:
Don't weep for them, mo croi—you'll join our frolics soon!
And really, he had to agree with Dean. There were worse fates.
