Hello again. New story here. This one takes place at the beginning of season 5, shortly after Sam and Dean are reunited. I promise a wild, emotional ride full of angst and action and cool mythology and folklore references (you know me, after all). More notes about the inspiration of this story and some extra information at the end.

Enjoy! Chapters will be posted once a week every Sunday as usual (unless something happens, in which case I'll try to let you know beforehand).

Chapter 1

Sam was alone in the motel room. He had woken up alone, slightly surprised when he noticed the time said 10:33 a.m. Dean rarely slept in and rarely allowed Sam to do so either, especially now that he seemed to think wiping out every evil thing in their path could somehow make up for the start of the Apocalypse. But Dean was nowhere to be seen, and he had left no note for Sam to let him know he was going to grab food or something of the kind.

For several long moments Sam stood in the empty room and could not think of anything save the reality that Dean was not there. Dean had left him.

It was a common fear since the two of them had started working together once more. Sam had always been convinced he was still on parole, still having to prove to Dean he could be trusted. Dean had seemed to accept Sam readily, but Sam was always on the lookout for signs – signs that Dean no longer wanted to have Sam by his side, that he was no longer willing to trust Sam or, worse, that he was willing to make true of his promise to kill Sam. Had there been any such signs the day before that Sam had missed? Had he somehow done or said something that had sent Dean reeling?

He frantically searched through his mind, through last night's scattered memories, in search of that one thing that could have driven Dean away for good.

xxxXXXxxx

The evening before had been fine. They had finished up a routine poltergeist hunt, ending with the evil bastard dead for good, although not before it had smacked Sam on the head with an antique flower vase. Sam had been stunned for a few minutes, and had woken up in time to see Dean make short work of the poltergeist and then turn to Sam with a fear in his eyes that Sam had not seen for a long time. After all that had happened, Sam had been sure he would never see Dean worried about his safety, but here they were.

They had driven until they had found a hole-in-the-wall motel where they stopped for the night to regroup and lick their wounds. Sam had inspected his bleeding head in the bathroom mirror and wondered if he should keep up the status quo of being capable enough to take care of himself.

"Hey, Dean," he began uncertainly. "Could you…? I mean…I don't think…I might…"

"Whenever you want to finish one of your sentences I'll be happy to answer you, Sam," Dean had drawled from where he was leaning against the bathroom doorway.

Sam pointed unhappily to the first aid kit and then to the gash on his head.

"This might need a stitch or two," he admitted. "But I think my hands are shaking too hard."

Something dark passed over Dean's face and Sam had wondered uneasily if he had broken some unspoken rule in their newly reformed relationship, if he was not supposed to ask for that kind of help anymore. However, Dean took him by surprise when he pulled him out of the bathroom and pushed him on his bed.

"Yeah, like I was going to let your concussed self anywhere near a needle," he said. "Sit tight. I'll deal with this."

"I'm not concussed," Sam muttered in spite of himself.

"Of course not," Dean agreed easily. "You just think walking in a straight line is not in fashion anymore."

The banter, the help, the way Dean was hiding his concern behind jokes and insults, it reminded Sam of the past, of the time when it had been just them, without angel or demons or destiny between them. And Sam had wanted nothing more than to turn back the time, not to stop the Apocalypse or undo his mistakes, but just to be at the place he had used to be with Dean. The thought that he might never get that back, no matter how much things were patched up between them had brought tears to Sam's eyes.

"Hey," Dean said, all traces of lightness gone from his voice. "Hey, Sammy, if it's that bad, we'll get you better help. There has to be some twenty-four hour clinic somewhere around."

And Sam had shaken his head quickly, almost panicked by the idea, because he did not want anyone but Dean close to him right then. He must have told Dean something like that. In fact, he must have told Dean a lot of things, more than he had wanted to – about the time they were separated, about Lucifer, about the self-doubt that sometimes was so bad he couldn't even think properly anymore. And, through it all, Dean had sat and listened and patched Sam up, and had not said one word against him.

More than that, Sam remembered Dean's hand on his shoulder, comforting and solid as it had always been, as if Sam's addiction and Ruby and all the other horrible, unfixable mistakes had not happened. It felt the same as before, and Sam was high enough on painkillers at that point to say that out loud. Dean's response was to tighten his hold even further. They had never needed words, though, had they?

Sam had drifted off to sleep, and Dean had still been there and for that moment everything had felt right between them.

xxxXXXxxx

Now, as he stood in the empty room, Sam wondered if he had not misread the signs the previous evening. Maybe he had done too much, said too much, been too much. And Dean had gone. Dean had finally decided enough was enough and had made true of his previous promise to spend the rest of his life in a different hemisphere from his brother.

"Well screw it," Sam said, picking up his phone. "He doesn't get to do that. Not like this. Not without an explanation."

He dialed Dean's number, fully prepared for his brother not to answer – Dean was a master at avoidance tactics, after all. If he wanted to ignore something, he had no problem doing it. To his surprise, the phone rang shrill and clear in his own room. Sam glanced towards the table and noticed Dean's phone there. He picked it up while it was still ringing.

Sam frowned. Dean was a lot of things, but careless had never been one of them. He would not have left his phone behind. Not if he had really intended to leave that place for good. Sam darted outside, but he already knew what he would find – or, rather, not find. The Impala was not there. That was the first thing he had gone to check when he had woken up to find himself alone, his brother gone with no goodbyes and no explanation.

A cold sinking feeling started to creep into Sam's mind. Things were not what they seemed – as they had not been back in the day when he had thought killing Lilith would bring their salvation -or as it had not been when the Angels were claiming they were trying to stop the Apocalypse. Something had happened to Dean. Sam was now sure he had not left of his own free will. He scowled at the phone in his hand. If this was an Angel again, he vowed he would take down every Angel in creation until they all knew just what happened when they messed with Dean.

Making up his mind Sam searched through Dean's phone until he found what he was looking for. He was never the one to call Castiel – the angel was still uncomfortable with him, and maybe rightfully so. But, if he called from Dean's phone, there was bound to be an answer. He rang and kept his fingers crossed.

"Hello, Dean."

Sam sighed in relief. He had not even realized he had been holding his breath until then.

"Uh...Castiel, hi."

There was a silence at the other end, then-

"You're not Dean."

Well, at least Castiel was the same – stating the obvious and not that good with social situations.

"No, sorry, it's just me. Look, there's a situation – at least, I think there's a situation. We're at…I'm at East Ridge motel…"

"What seems to be the problem?"

Sam nearly dropped the phone when the voice suddenly sounded in the room right behind him. He spun round to find himself face to face with Castiel. If Dean had been there, he would have already delivered some quip about the Angel having to wear a bell and learning the fine art of knocking at the door before bursting in on someone. Sam, however, was not like Dean. He did not even know where he stood with Castiel – although it was certainly on shaky ground still, considering what Sam had done and what Sam had been for almost his entire life.

"Castiel," he greeted uncertainly. "I'm glad you came. This is going to sound strange but do you know where Dean is?"

Castiel frowned.

"You know I can no longer track you, Sam. You are hidden from Angels now. As for Dean – don't you know where he is?"

Sam huffed.

"I know he's not here. I woke up to find him gone. No note or anything."

"What happened last night?" Castiel asked and although he had not said it outright it was clear that what he actually wanted to know was whether Sam had done something to drive his brother away.

"Nothing," Sam insisted. "I don't think there was anything. We had a normal poltergeist hunt. I was a little out of it by the end, but I'm pretty sure nothing more happened. With the Hunt or with us."

Castiel was looking at him in that uncomfortable way of his, as if he was trying to read Sam's very soul. Sam had to fight the urge to turn around. He had nothing to hide this time.

"I think something's wrong," he said. "I think something took Dean. Maybe Zachariah and his cohorts found him."

"I do not think that is likely," Castiel said. "I highly doubt Zachariah was able to find Dean and if he had taken Dean, he would have definitely taken you as well. It is not hard to see what you can use as a bargaining chip if you want something from Dean. Or rather, who you can use."

Sam decided to ignore that last bit.

"Well, something happened," he insisted. "Dean didn't leave of his own free will. Something either took him or made him leave."

He half-expected Castiel to contradict him, to insist that maybe Sam was the cause for Dean leaving and was slightly surprised and unbelievably pleased when the angel did not.

"You said your previous hunt was successful?"

Sam nodded quickly.

"Yeah, it was a milk run. There was this abandoned manor, it's on the other side of the town. It used to belong to some Irish bigwig. He called it Tirnanog."

Castile reached out a hand to him. Before Sam could ask what he wanted they were no longer in the hotel room, but standing in front of the manor. The Impala was there, parked haphazardly beneath a tree. Sam ran towards it.

"It's empty," he said, frowning at how the door had been simply left open.

Dean would never have treated his precious car like that. Not if he was of sound mind.

"Dean!" Sam called. "Dean, where are you?"

There was no answer. Sam made to walk towards the house. He had barely taken several steps when Castiel pulled him back.

"Wait," he said, voice sharp and tense. "Don't step there."

Sam frowned, confused, because he could not see anything unusual. But then he realized that a portion of the grass was flattened and burned in strange circular pattern.

"Is that a crop circle?"

"These aren't crops," Castiel answered completely seriously and Sam had to roll his eyes.

Right. What was he thinking?

"So, what is it?"

"A fairy ring," Castiel answered peering cautiously at it. "Did you step on it last night?"

Sam sought through his memories, trying to put together the scrambled events of the night before.

"No," he eventually said. "No, Dean and I decided to split up. I approached the house from the back. Dean came through here."

"So Dean stepped inside the circle," Castiel concluded.

"Probably. He wouldn't even have seen it at night."

Sam did not like the look on Castiel's face. It was too grave, too dark. It was as if he thought Dean was already lost to them.

"Cas, what does this mean? You said a fairy ring….you meant like…actual fairies?"

Castiel frowned.

"Humans present a very…sanitized versions of fairies. As they do of angels. The truth is the fairies are ruthless. They lack compassion. They follow certain laws and expect everyone to obey them. Dean stepped inside their territory. In their mind, that gives them a right to him. They must have forced him somehow to come to them. I have no doubt they're holding him prisoner now."

Sam grimaced. It was not what he had wanted to hear. But it proved beyond a doubt that Dean had not left of his own free will.

"Fine. How do we get him back?"

Castiel shook his head.

"I am afraid you do not understand, Sam…"

Sam scoffed.

"I understand perfectly. Dean is missing. I have to get him back. It's as simple as that. Now, do you know of a way or not?"

Castiel hesitated briefly.

"There might be a way to get him back. Sometimes, the fairies accept bargains. But Sam, you've been here before. You know what making such deals might entail."

Sam turned his back to Castiel.

"I do," he admitted. "You might not believe it, but I've learned from my mistakes, Castiel."

"So much so that you are ready to repeat them," Castiel pointed out.

There was no judgment in the angel's voice, to Sam's slight surprise. In fact, Sam was prepared to swear Castiel understood and sympathized more than he was willing to admit.

"So how do we get the fairies to bargain with us?"

"We don't. Angels cannot reach them. I would not be welcome to their sacred places, and, trust me, Sam, anyone coming with me would not be receiving any favors."

Sam heard the regret in Castiel's words. He wondered if it was for his sake or just for Dean's. then he decided that it did not matter. Castiel and him both wanted the same thing.

"I'm on my own, then," he said.

"Unfortunately," Castiel agreed. "But Sam, I have to warn you. Even if you do manage to get Dean back…he's already been with them for a while and time moves differently there. You might not like what comes back."

He had not liked the Dean that had come back from Hell, either, mainly because the trauma and the pain his brother had faced had driven knives in Sam's own heart. But he vowed to do things differently now. If Dean came back with further scars, Sam would be by his side, holding him up when Dean couldn't. No more quests for revenge. He would try to help his brother instead of trying to fix the wrongs done to him.

"It's going to still be Dean," he finally said. "And I'll take Dean anyway that I can have him."

xxxXXXxxxx

Dean found himself in a strange, cave-like construction. He had no idea how he had gotten there. He only had vague memories of getting up into the night and walking out while Sam had still been asleep. There was no reason why he should have done that, though, especially not without leaving a note. Sam tended to worry even at the best of times, and since the start of the Apocalypse these were definitely not the best of times.

He got up, swaying slightly. He did not feel hurt, just stiff, as if for a while his body had not really belonged to him. Whatever had happened, he had probably been compelled to leave the motel room. He could not say by what, though. Their previous hunt had been beyond routine, the both of them could have done it in their sleep. Except for the part where the poltergeist had knocked Sam around. Still, it had not been his concussed brother who had decided to go walkabout in the night. It was Dean, and that did not make sense.

Briefly, Dean wondered if this was not yet another of Zachariah's get Dean to say yes to Michael plan. He doubted it, though. The previous times Zach had tried these sort of mind games had not really gone well for him. The last time had even managed to get Dean reunited with Sam, the complete opposite of what Zach and his angel squad had wanted. Dean bet Zach was still seething from that.

Dean started walking. For a long time he was alone in the narrow tunnel. Then he spotted someone up ahead. It was a middle-aged man dressed in a suit. He was leaning against the wall.

"Hey," Dean said approaching him. "Do you know where we are?"

The man said nothing. He was staring straight ahead, face blank. He acted as if he had not heard Dean at all.

"Hey," Dean repeated. "Talk to me, man."

He reached out to touch the other, hoping to get his attention when a voice came from behind.

"It won't work. It's not that he can't hear you, it's just that he doesn't care."

Dean spun round. He was face to face with a tall woman dressed in green clothes of the old-fashioned kind. She did not look like an angel or a demon, but Dean could swear she wasn't human.

"Alright, I'll play," Dean said. "Who the hell are you and what am I doing here?"

"I am Ceridwen," she said. "I am of the Fae."

Dean frowned.

"What you mean fairies?" he asked, his lips twitching in amusement despite the situation.

Ceridwen's hands clenched.

"Your kind is as irreverent as ever, I see."

"You have no idea, sister," Dean retorted. "I've been irreverent to far worse than you."

"I know," Ceridwen said. "You started the apocalypse."

Dean shook his head. So this was what it was about. But, if so, shouldn't she have taken Sam as well?

"If this is your way of punishing me…"

"If isn't," Ceridwen interrupted. "Not for the apocalypse at any rate. But you did step through one of our rings – you probably did not even realize it."

Dean took a step forward.

"How's this?" he suggested. "Let me go and it won't get personal."

"You've taken everything from us," Ceridwen added, acting as if she had not heard Dean. "You pushed us back, you took away our worshippers and our sacrifices. We have some places here and there that are only ours. And when one of you stumbles into one of them, one of you is fair game. I'm sorry. That's just the way life works."

"My brother will come after me," Dean said.

Even as he spoke, he wondered if that was true. Several years ago, there would have been no doubt. No, much as Dean hated himself for it, he wondered if Sam would even try hard enough. Then he remembered some of Sam's drugged mutterings last night and realized how wrong he was to doubt.

Ceridwen, however, shook her head smiling sadly. She pointed to the man in the suit, still standing motionless behind them.

"He too believed his wife would come for him. But she remarried less than a year after his disappearance. And he is not the only one."

Dean became aware of other people standing all around him, all with blank looks and unnatural postures.

"She thought her parents would do anything to find her," Ceridwen said, pointing to a girl that must have been about twelve. "And they did search for her for years and called the police every six months. Until they had a stone for her in the cemetery and held her funeral there. Then they moved on. As for him," she added, pointing to a man in military uniform. "He said his unit would definitely come get him – they never left someone behind, so he said. But they could not find him, no matter how hard they searched. He too received a soldier's funeral and his loved ones moved on."

"What are you trying to prove?" Dean challenged.

"Whoever's out there looking for you won't do so forever. They'll move on. That's what made all those people give up. That's what will make you too give in to us in the end. The knowledge that the world will move on without you. They don't really need you, Dean. Everything will go on without you."

Dean scoffed.

"I think you'll find out you're way off base when it comes to me, sister."

There was doubt in his mind, though. What if Sam, too, would move on? What if he'd make his own choices again, maybe turning to Lucifer now that Dean was not there to hold him back. It was unfair to think so, Dean know that. But Sam had already fallen once. What was to stop him from falling again?

Notes:

A few months ago I came across an Irish song/legend about two sisters. One (the oldest if I remember correctly) is kidnapped by the fairies and the other spends her entire life looking for her sister. Of course this clicked with my Supernatural muse. I wanted a Sam desperately searching for Dean and I chose season five because an angst-ridden, guilty Sam doing his best to get his brother back is something I really go for (yes, I'm twisted and sadistic that way – aren't we all)

-I know Dean being taken by the fairies was already done in Season 6, but I decided to do my own take – and a less comedic one. I was always fascinated by the notion of fairies or little people. They're in almost every folklore, one way or another, and, unlike how they're portrayed in popular culture, they're actually seen as extremely dangerous to mess with and hard to understand. Not exactly evil but definitely incompatible with human values and emotions. This is what I'll be trying to portray here.

-Ceridwen is either a goddess or a witch from Welsh mythology depending on the legend.