Chapter 1: Fighting Fae
"Man, am I glad that shit-show's over." Dean sighed as he collapsed into the faded comforter.
"Yeah, who thought fairies were such vindictive assholes?" Sam remarked as he put his shoes by the foot of the bed.
The room was different than the ones the boys were used to. Normally it would be a roach-infested motel with all the hallmarks of 1950s Americana, back when traveling cross-country by car was considered a novel idea. But given that they weren't in America, it made pretty good sense that their room was different. The Boar's Arms was an inn-more accurately a pub with a single room to let above it-and while run down to their usual standard, the ways it was a disappointment were entirely new. Unlike most of the brick or stucco coated motels they stayed in, the stone building that housed the inn was centuries old, and centuries of neglect led to interesting results. The rough wooden floor was tilted sharply forward toward the street, the windows didn't open-not that they'd want to open them without screens during the height of summer (with the swarms of gnats and flies), and there were networks of cracks running through the plastered walls, exposing hunks of stone and bits of horsehair through the ruined plaster. Like most places they stayed, it had likely been nice at one time, but it was not anymore.
"Well, Tinkerbell did try to kill off Wendy…" Dean mused as he looked up at the ceiling, kicking off his boots so they landed with a loud thud on the floor.
"Either way, I don't think we've ever had to deal with an entire town being held hostage in a pocket dimension. It was lucky you held onto that soda." Sam gestured to the crushed can that had fallen out of Dean's jacket. The yellow and green logo shimmered as Dean picked it up and tossed it into the trash can beside the nightstand.
"What's lucky is the damn thing actually having lemon juice in it. I never thought I'd say this, but thank God for health nuts screwing with ingredient lists." Dean scrunched his face at the last sentence, in near disbelief over his own remarks.
"I still can't believe that moron thought that breaking into a mill after dark and using a fairy's name in order to try and summon it to do his bidding was a good idea." Sam rolled his eyes. "I mean, really, did he expect it to just do what he wanted?"
"Well as monumentally a bad idea it was, I guess it's almost a good thing it only gave the fairy power over the town, not their lives." Dean commented as he tossed his socks off-Fucking soaked through from that four mile hike in a bog, I hope I don't have some weird fungus because of this. He yawned as he looked out the window, early evening spreading across the sky, "So, what d'ya say? Call Cas now or have him get us in the morning?"
Sam exhaled, "Y'know, since we're done with the hunt maybe we could actually enjoy ourselves for once. The world isn't ending at the moment, Cas is in decent shape, and Bobby's got us on speed dial if anything starts going haywire. I mean, last time we were here to dig up Crowley's bones we just had Cas zap us back a few minutes later. We've never really been anywhere outside the US-maybe just take a couple of days to take in the sights?" Sam put on his biggest puppy dog eyes, the ones reserved for when he knew Dean would say no, and hoped he might have a chance of getting a vacation for once.
Dean quickly averted his gaze from the pleading eyes but their effect had already occurred. He sighed, "Fine, maybe take a day or two… I have always kinda wanted to do a pub crawl somewhere where the beer's not dyed green or tastes like piss."
"Well, don't get too hammered, I want to do more than lug your drunken ass around." Sam snarked.
"That was one time." Dean scowled, Tequila's a lot stronger than I thought it was…
"One time that you remember…" Sam retorted, knowing full well that while Dean could handle his drink, he had a tendency to overdo it when given the option and no immediate consequences-even if he does suffer for it with the hangover when he's finally through.
***SPN-HP***
After getting Dean out of his second Irish pub crawl, Sam suggested visiting London for a day before having Cas zap them back. "After all, you had your fun. Now it's my turn." He said as he pulled up a collection of photos on his phone capturing Dean's steady tour of Ireland's many pubs and the ensuing hijinks.
"I guess London wouldn't be too bad," Dean agreed, nearly recovered from his hangover, "After all, it could be fun to mess with the guards."
Sam rolled his eyes, "Let's not try to get more international police pissed off at us." He flicked to a photo showing Dean being chased by a local police officer for trying to climb a statue.
Dean grinned, "Hey, can you send that to me? I wanna make it my new background. I look just like Benny Hill."
Sam raised an eyebrow.
"British comedian. He came up with using yakety sax for police chases." Dean replied defensively at Sam's bitchface number 3 (Really, Dean?), "I'm allowed to like things."
***SPN-HP***
Two hours later Dean was leaning over a railing trying to keep the meager contents of his stomach still in his stomach instead of in the ocean. "Ugh… this is why we have Cas zap us everywhere!" Dean moaned as he squinted in the bright daylight. God, I feel like warmed over shit… I hate boats almost as much as planes.
"Well, it looks like we're almost there."Sam replied, looking up from his phone as he failed again at the same level on CandyCrush. He pointed through the fog at the nearing coastline.
"Thank God. Finally we can rent a car and be done with stupid European modes of transportation." Dean remarked-being quite glad that travel by boat was normally not necessary for hunting.
After disembarking the two walked to a nearby car rental lot boasting "Low Rates! Great Selection!" on what was easily the third most obnoxious banner either brother had ever seen. After a good deal of disappointment Dean begrudgingly signed a lease, then received the keys to a vehicle.
"I spoke too soon." Dean groused as he begrudgingly pulled the Vauxhall out of the rental lot. "All European transportation sucks. I can see why they call it an Astra. It's a major pain in the Astra drive."
"It's Europe; all the cars here are smaller." Sam shrugged, "Honestly I'm glad that they had something this big."
It was shortly after the third hour of Dean's complaints about the cramped driving quarters, England using the left-hand drive system-Which makes no fucking sense, I mean, you can't even turn on red!, roundabouts, and non-American vehicle craftsmanship that the vehicle seemed to have enough. "Please take the next immed-immed-immed-immediate left at the roundabout onto Qi-pr-x-on-tl Lane…" The GPS stammered.
"What?" Dean said, glancing at the screen then up at the street in front of them. "There's no left turn."
Sam glanced at the screen as the GPS suddenly shouted "RECALCULATING!" and sent them right. "I think there might be something wrong with the GPS. Maybe we should stop and get directions?"
Dean frowned, "Just plug your phone in, use Google." He waved at the cord coming out of the console.
Sam plugged his phone in, only having to flip the cord once, to hear a loud popping sound as the GPS screen now visibly glitched-a large chunk now permanently discolored-in addition to the earlier errors. "Ah! What the fuck?!" he shouted as his phone suddenly heated up, then released a small puff of smoke-the smell of melted electronics wafting off the now worthless hunk of glass and plastic.
"Oh, shit. They use a different current than us, don't they…" Dean muttered, realizing his mistake.
Sam scowled, angry at losing yet another phone-this one not even a casualty of a hunt. Before he could lament his loss the GPS suddenly started shouting as the route had again changed, this time suggesting that they drive through a lake. Sam put on bitchface number 6-I told you so-as Dean reluctantly turned down the road toward the nearest town to get directions.
