Chapter Two: The Baba Yaga

}O{

Sam awoke to a white world. It was the sort of morning that would have his neighbors saying, "Ah, Mother Holle has shook out her blankets!" or, "I see King Frost has been riding by!" depending on their superstitions. Sam shivered into his wool coat and pulled his shawl closer around his arms, standing from his little tree hollow and stretching his frozen limbs. He smiled fondly at his little shelter, grateful for the protection it had offered him. Without that little hollow, cramped and uncomfortable as it was, he surely would have frozen nearly to death in the night. Hopefully it was a sign that Fortune had smiled on him and his way to Dean would be clear.

Sam opened his little pack and took out some mean provisions—just a little dried meat and fruit—to get him going on his way. He ate and walked at the same time, not wanting to waste any time. Unfortunately, the ground was now slippery with melting frost and he found himself skidding along the path, sometimes backwards, sometimes forward, sometimes falling down entirely. A few hours later, by the time he found a little snug cottage amongst some fir trees, he was muddy and wet and so cold that he was convinced he would freeze to death if he stood still for any length of time.

He had a small amount of money and a few items to barter with, so he approached the cottage hoping he could trade for a hot cup of tea and a fire to warm himself by. At the door, he smiled kindly at the little grandmother who was heavily lined in the face and streaked with silver in the hair. Sam was far too good-natured to be put off by such a thing, however, and gave a little bow.

"Please, I am not asking for charity, I have items to barter for a few moments by a hot fire and a cup of something hot to drink," he said respectfully.

"My dear boy," the old woman said in a syrupy-kind voice, "come inside! Do not stand out in the cold or you'll catch your death!"

Sam followed her through the sitting room to the tiny but neat kitchen where a fire roared and a kettle hung on a hob. The grandmother pushed the hob into the fireplace and shooed Sam into a chair. By the fire, an old hound looked Sam up and down and Sam gulped at the view of red eyes in a black furred face. He was starting to understand the house he had walked into because Sam read the right sort of books and was still young and innocent enough to believe in them.

Under the table, a cat rubbed against his legs and out in the yard a tree rustled its branches. Sam gulped and looked around nervously.

"Here we are," Grandmother said, setting down a tea service and a plate of bread and butter.

When the old lady turned to the stove to fry Sam an egg, he threw the dog a piece of bread, and when she went to find some preserves, he tipped some of his creamed tea into the saucer and set it down for the cat.

"Now," she said breathlessly, settling her bony frame into the chair opposite Sam's, "tell me what brings one as young as you all this way into the woods to visit an old lady like me."

Sam told his story, then held up a red kerchief all embroidered with golden flowers. "If you have anything to help me, I would trade you this for it."

Grandmother reached out a hand to the rough linen cloth, her eyes sparkling for she was the sort that liked pretty things. "Yes, yes, I can help you," she said. "There is a castle if you continue on this road, and I have heard a story that a few nights ago, a youth came there, a young man of striking beauty and sweet manners, and that the queen and her prince have quite fallen in love with him and took him into their hearts and home."

Sam marveled at this. It sounded a lot like something Dean could do. He was very handsome, and he could be pleasing if properly motivated. Had he somehow managed to rid himself of King Frost's clutches?

"Thank you," he said, standing. "I am sure I have worn out my welcome now, and will be on my way."

The old grandmother stood as well and made a pretense of going to get Sam's pack and clogs, but of course she meant to do no such thing for she was a Baba Yaga. The minute she turned, the dog said, "Go, child! Leave this evil place! Do not wait for your shoes; better to have your feet freeze off your legs than stay here a moment more!"

"Come," the cat purred, "I'll show you to the back door."

Sam quickly followed her to a small door in the side of the kitchen, hardly big enough for much more than letting the cat and dog in and out, but he managed to squeeze through the tight opening when he angled his shoulders, though a piece of his coat was left behind as the price for admittance. In the yard, he took one of his garters and tied it to the branches of the tree so he could escape that way through the forest where the old woman couldn't see him as well as if he had stayed on the path.

"You useless dog!" she scolded when she saw Sam had fled. "Why did you not warn me he was leaving?"

"For twenty years I have kept the wolves from your door, ungrateful woman," the dog answered, "and you have hardly given me the hard crusts to eat, but he gave me his whole piece of bread and butter. Why should I have been unkind to the only person to ever show me kindness?"

Baba Yaga lifted her cane as if to hit him, but he growled and snarled so at the threat that her courage left her and she instead turned to the cat. "And you! Showing him your door to leave instead of crying out to me! Why, you cry out at anything day or night, why would you let my tasty morsel escape me?"

The cat twitched her tail aloofly. "Why should I bother myself to care for your needs when you have never seen to mine? For fifteen years I have kept the mice from nibbling your stores and you have hardly given me fresh water in a bowl. He gave me tea and cream in a porcelain saucer. Why should I have not shown him the way out if he asked for it?"

Baba Yaga once again raised her cane, but the cat showed off her long, ivory claws and teeth, reminding her how easily she might slice through flesh with such sharpened blades at her disposal, and Baba Yaga lost her nerve to punish, lest she lose her life's blood in the process. Angry, she turned to the garden and looked this way and that down the paths leading to and from her house, but could see nothing of her prize and all his soft, tasty flesh.

"You!" she admonished her large, lusty fir. "How could you have let him go? I would have buried his bones beneath your branches and allowed his marrow to nourish your roots."

The tree swished happily its branches, now decorated with a yellow garter. "I have shaded you from the harsh sun in the summers and shielded you from the wild North Wind in the winter for sixty years, old wretch, and you have never even given me a piece of twine to hold my branches steady. He has given me his own garter for decoration, and see how beautiful it looks on my boughs! Why should I wish him harm when he does so much good?"

"I will burn you to the ground!" Baba Yaga shouted, shaking her cane at the tall fir.

"Burn me, and I will topple over onto your cottage and burn you with me!" the tree threatened.

Defeated, Baba Yaga returned to her cottage to mourn the loss of her dinner.

}O{

Sam hurried through the woods, trusting on his sense of direction to keep him going relatively northward. It was cold and painful, after the loss of his shoes, and the sock not held up by a garter kept slipping down his calf to the point that he finally took it off. Within a half hour, a trail of blood flowed behind him on the path of pins and needles, and Castiel watched helplessly, unable to do anything more than direct his path. Gabriel was helping him with his magic today since helping animals and trees talk took a lot of work, as did obscuring Sam from Baba Yaga's all-seeing eyes.

"Here's a good spot for him to set up camp for the night," Gabriel decided, scrying ahead on Sam's route. "These trees should give him shelter."

Castiel nodded. Both he and Gabriel were nearing the end of their power, and Sam still had a long way to walk.

"Is he going to be okay?" Dean asked anxiously, staring intently into the mirror.

"He'll be fine," Gabriel promised, his head spinning and feeling weak. "Hey, Dean, could you go down to the kitchen and make us some tea? We'll finish up here, and then we'll need some forification."

Dean nodded, hurrying off to accomplish the task. He had felt pretty useless while his two captors worked to keep Sam safe, so having something to do, something that required his hands, was a welcome relief. Plus, he was doing it for Castiel, and that made him all the more anxious to do it well and right. Within a half an hour, he had a tray prepared with bread, butter, tea, cream, maramalade, and sausages. He covered the tray with a large silver dome and carried the whole thing up the stairs where Castiel and Gabriel gratefully accepted the offerings.

"Keep an eye on Sam for us while we recharge," Gabriel suggested, shoving a sweet roll into his mouth.

Dean didn't need to be asked twice to keep an eye on his surrogate brother.

Gabriel's hands shook when he picked up a cup and saucer, and Castiel just stared at the tea set, afraid that his hands were even worse. Working magic from long distances was not a sustainable medium. Once or twice, sure, several months apart, just short bursts. The last three days he'd worked several spells a day, and he was starting to worry he might do permanent damage to himself.

Dean seemed to sense his distress and poured a cup of tea, holding it so Castiel could sip at the hot liquid and let it warm his insides. As his strength regained, Castiel reflected on how different Dean was from his other curse victims. So far in his ten year reign, there had only been four others, and all of them had been positively obsessed with him, but not in the caring way that Dean was.

The others were captivated, of course, since the curse made them that way. They had all been controlled by lust, however. Most of them waxed poetical about his appearance, his physique, his castle, everything to do with looks and power. Dean was…he was making things difficult, that was for sure. He noticed Castiel for his intelligence, wit, and quick thinking. Yes, he called Castiel beautiful and his eyes traced Castiel's face and figure, but there was always that underlying emotion underneath it.

Almost like Dean was as fascinated with Castiel as Castiel was with Dean, which was completely disconcerting since the curse should have kept him from being so fascinated. He should have been practically freezing to death, able to do little more than stare at Castiel and do his bidding if a request was made. Dean cared for him. Briefly, hope flared in his chest that it wasn't just the curse.

"I'm fine, Dean," he said, taking the cup in both hands. "Please, can you go to the mirror and tell me what Sam is doing now?"

Dean was quick to do what Castiel asked and studied the mirror, his brow furrowing. "What the hell, Sam?"

"What is it?" Gabriel asked, sitting up in alarm.

"He's helping a little bird get back in its nest," Dean said with wonder, shaking his head a little. "This kid, I tell you."

Castiel and Gabriel looked at each other, relief clearly etched on their faces. Gabriel sank back down into his chair with a happy sigh. "Oh, thank the gods!"

"What do you mean? Why?" Dean came back to them and sat on Castiel's footstool, taking his feet into his lap and rubbing his hands over the black leather boots to help warm Castiel's legs a little.

"Could you tell what sort of bird it was?" Castiel asked, too tired to push the boy away. Besides, he really could feel Dean's warmth through the leather of his boots.

"The nest was pretty high up," Dean mused. "Hawk, maybe?"

"That's good," Gabriel breathed. "Your brother is a genius at quests, Dean."

Dean smiled happily. "Sam is really smart," he agreed, pleased that he wasn't the only one saying that. "The other kids pick on him sometimes for being so smart, call him Teacher's Pet and other names like that, but it's just 'cause they're jealous. Sam is amazing. He can see so much more than normal people."

"Well, he knows what he's doing," Castiel assured Dean. "One of the hardest parts about directing questers is that they take so long to understand that their childhood stories are true and that they need to incorporate what they learned into their quest. Sam seems to have figured this out already, as we saw at Baba Yaga's house. Sam isn't merely reacting, he's actually acting on his own volition."

Dean searched his memory, trying to bring back the stories his dad used to tell him when he was a boy. It was hard with the fog; all he could really recall was the story of King Frost that Sam had read to him all those years ago.

"Basically," Gabriel started, knowing that Dean would need help, "when you are out in the world on a quest to break a curse, if you see an animal in distress, especially a baby animal, helping it will bring you good fortune. Sometimes magical creatures put themselves in peril in order to test young heroes in order to see if they're worthy of the quest. Many of them fail, but the ones who are smart and pure of heart like Sam recognize what must be done. Sam knows that no matter how much of a hurry he's in, he won't gain anything by passing up the chance to help someone out and maybe gain a little information."

"The best part is that now Gabriel and I can relax a little. The fledgling's mother or father will guide Sam to Queen Anna's castle, and she is expecting him."

Dean went back to the mirror to watch the events unfold.

Sam was no longer shivering and his feet had gone completely numb. He was worried about this fact because he was from the north and he was more than well versed in how easy it was for one such as him to die of frost, and being forced to leave Babba Yaga without his provisions had been a huge blow. His tinderbox and warm blanket were inside, and his shoes were certainly gone. The best tool he currently had was his little knife that Bobby had bestowed upon him for his thirteenth birthday, and it was woefully inadequate for much more than whittling a small stick. Sam was, however, well versed in living in the forest thanks to his father, and he knew how to make a fire without a tinderbox. It would be hard since his hands had started going numb, too, but he knew he had to do it or die.

Gathering wood was a little difficult in that there was plenty of it, but it was mostly pine, and what wasn't was largely damp from snow. He finally found a nice little pile, though, and set it up, happy that the exertion of finding the wood had warmed him up some. He cleared brush out of the way, except for what he wanted to use as kindling and set a few stones around his small circle to help contain the fire. Sam knew better than to burn the forest down. Then he started rubbing his sticks into the kindling, watching as sparks flew, knowing that the fire wouldn't hold until sometime after his arms felt like they would fall off.

Sure enough, just when he felt like his arms and hands were so overtired as to be completely useless, one of the sparks finally hit into his little bundle of dried kindling and he had a fragile fire. This was when it could all go horribly wrong and he could add too much wood and smother the fire, so he went slowly and started building, lighting only one piece of wood on fire until he had a tidy little stack and blessed, welcome warmth was flaring before him. He held his hands and feet forward, wincing at how painful it was to warm his feet after they had nearly frozen solid. He found needles around him and wove a new garter out of them to distract himself from the painful sensations shooting up his legs.

Just as he was contemplating a nap, the sound of flapping was heard over the crackling of his little fire and he looked over to see a baby bird in its first molt moving helplessly on the ground. Since Sam had read all the right books as a child, he knew better than to leave the bird for dead. In stories, birds were horribly useful and tended to know all the gossip in a certain area, and many a hero had gotten his princess by helping the children of eagles and ravens. Sam immediately went to the little helpless thing and lifted it with gentle hands.

"What happened to you?" he asked the downy fluffball. It felt so tiny and fragile in his hands.

"My brothers pushed me out," it answered sadly. Sam was not surprised that it talked because that was what always happened in the stories.

"Why would they do that?"

"Because I'm the only girl and they said that I am too weak to be any good in the future."

Sam scoffed. "Well, that's silly of your brothers. Some of the most capable people I know are women. And if it weren't for women, there would be no children."

"My brothers say that the reason Father favors me is because if he didn't take care of me, I'd die because I'm such a weak little girl."

Sam smiled. "I think your brothers are jealous that you're the only sister in the group. In my village, fathers tend to favor their daughters and mothers tend to favor their sons."

"Does your mother favor you?" the little bird asked.

"My mother died when I was just a baby," Sam said sadly. "I never knew her. I just have my father and my foster brother, and they both love me very much."

The little bird looked down. "I loved my brothers. I thought they loved me too. But they just tried to kill me."

"I'm so sorry about that," Sam whispered. "Do you want me to try and talk to them?" At his new friend's nod, he looked up at the tree, trying to think of the best way to scale it. He was a pretty decent tree climber, but he was slightly out of practice since he was growing older and had little time for playing anymore. Most of his days after school were spent at the forge, helping Dean and Bobby fill the orders they had. Still, he managed to climb the tree with the little bird in his pocket. "My name's Sam, by the way," he said as he hefted himself into the first branch.

"I'm Periwinkle," his companion said. "You can call me Perry."

"All right, Perry, how far up is your nest?"

"More than this," she chirped. "You can see the top of the next tree from my nest."

Sam looked over at the next tree and figured he was about sixty feet from being able to see the top of it, so he got to climbing.

"This is so nice," Periwinkle commented. "I like your pocket, Sam."

Sam smiled. The little flutterings against his chest felt like a second heartbeat. "I imagine it's nice and warm in there," he mused.

"Oh yes! I like it a lot!"

It turned out that Periwinkle was a chatterbox who spoke mostly rhetorically. Once Sam realized that she just wanted to chat and didn't care if she got an answer or not, he concentrated on hoisting himself up branches, checking his progress at each one until he finally caught the top of the tree next to him. It turned out that he needn't have asked since the nest was huge and unmistakable. Perry was certainly a baby hawk or eagle, and not a raven since the feathers lining the nest were brown and white. Inside the nest were four more balls of fluffy down, but to their credit, they appeared to be in a state of panic.

"We should throw ourselves over the side!" one was wailing. "Our poor sister, why should we have assigned her a fate we are unwilling to face ourselves?"

"We should!" one agreed, and the other two chirped their own acquiescence.

"No, wait!" Sam shouted, pulling himself up to the nest. "I've got Periwinkle here!"

The four brothers started wondering aloud if the strange human could possibly have their sister as Sam produced her from his jacket pocket, and then there was an even louder burst of amazement. Sam started to think that birds were sort of idiots and began to extract himself from the situation. He was forestalled by the arrival of the father, a huge hawk with light brown wings and a dark streak across its eyes.

"What's going on here?" the great bird demanded, digging its sharp, terrible talons into Sam's arm. "What do you want, Human? Tired of trying to hunt me on the ground and failing so you come to my house for my children?"

Sam's mouth opened in pain and surprise, but he was unable to make a reply. Just as he had given up hope, sure that this hawk would dash him to the earth, little Periwinkle poked her head from the nest and chirped, "It's okay, Papa! I fell from the nest and this man picked me up and put me in his warm pocket, then carried me back home. He means us no harm."

The great hawk eased up its talons from Sam's arms. "Boys, is this true?"

Periwinkle's brothers started chirping at the same time, their voices a cacophony that made little sense to Sam, but their father seemed able to interpret their rapid-fire shouts and screeches. Sam stayed quiet during the din, worried that any movement from him might cause the huge hawk to pluck his eyes out. After a few moments of screeching over each other, the fledglings hushed up and the hawk turned back to Sam.

"It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude," the bird said, releasing Sam completely.

Sam sagged against the trunk of the tree, suddenly aware of how very frightened and tense he had been all this time. It was as though his body, now that the danger was eliminated, was finally reacting to it, so now that he was safe, he started heaving, his heart pounded, and his body shook. He worried he'd fall out of the tree due to the violence of his delayed-reaction panic, but he managed to hold onto the branches and stay firmly in the boughs as the hawk watched him with huge, unblinking eyes.

"Thank you," Sam stuttered when he was finally able to speak again.

"I am Evergreen," the hawk said. "You have met my daughter Periwinkle. These are my sons, Ochre, Scarlett, Silver and Umber."

Sam nodded to each of them. "It is very nice to meet all of you," he said. "Thank you for your hospitality, I'll climb back down now."

Evergreen halted him. "I owe you a life debt, Sam. It would be foolish of you to leave now without my help."

Sam nodded, glad that he wasn't the one to bring up the favor Evergreen owed him. He figured it would be impolite to just demand his debt be repaid immediately . "Well, let me tell you what happened," he started, and in a few minutes, he had told his story. "I was told at Baba Yaga's that there was a boy who fits Dean's description at a castle near here, and I thought it was a good place to start."

"I have seen the castle and the youth you are speaking of. I can bring you there so you can see if it is your brother."

Sam gasped at his good fortune. "That is very generous of you, thank you," he said.

It was a few hours before they left because Evergreen had to take care of his children. The giant hawk thought it would be best to go at night when the humans usually sleep because he figured it would be easier for Sam to sneak into the guarded palace that way, and Sam agreed. Soon, though, as the moon began to rise, Sam found himself seated on Evergreen's back, attempting to stay put on the slippery feathers. He had nothing to hold onto, aside from where his knees hugged the bird under its wings, so the flight was not nearly as pleasant as he had originally thought it might be. Still, they covered ground faster than Sam would have walking, managing to go many, many miles in the space of only a few hours.

Just around midnight, a huge multi-turreted castle loomed wide and tall ahead of them, and Sam stared in awe at the silhouette that moved closer and closer as his companion flew towards it.

Like Dean, Sam was completely ignorant of palaces. In his sleepy village, it was no good to talk of them or think of them. Sure, he had seen a few sketches of Amaliensborg and Fredensborg, but the small pictures that were contained on a page held nothing to the sheer vastness of the palace that currently loomed before him. He could not comprehend what the rooms must look like or how many servants there might be inside. His entire village could fit in one tower, he was sure of it.

Evergreen alighted at the top of one of the towers and pointed Sam to where the trapdoor was that would lead down inside the castle.

"I don't know anything of rooms and human ways," Evergreen said as he and Sam bid each other goodbye. "I do hope you find your brother, Sam. Here is my feather. Keep it close to your heart and don't lose it. If you ever find yourself in mortal peril, hold the feather and think of me. I will come to you immediately, no matter the distance."

Sam took the feather and tied it to a cord that hung around his neck. "I will treasure it, Evergreen. Thank you for all your help."

Evergreen gave Sam the slightest bow, then took off into the night.

Sam's stocking feet froze from contact with the grey stone of the castle. Without Evergreen's warmth under him, his whole body soon followed the path of his feet (pun intended), and he was shivering as he hefted the trapdoor that led into the tower of the castle. Inside, he warmed only slightly, but the huge tower he was in was not being used or warmed in any way. He found his way to the stairs that hugged the curve of the tower and using the moonlight that fell in through the arrow slits in the walls, made his way down to the next level.

Here there were carpets and some tapestries, but the hall he found himself tiptoeing through was musty with disuse and clearly deserted. Sam wondered how wealthy someone would have to be in order to have a whole hall full of rooms—at least sixteen by his reckoning—completely empty. It seemed such a waste.

Before he exited the hall, curiosity got the best of him and he opened one of the doors to find a room as large as the blacksmith shop with a huge canopied bed, a wardrobe that could easily hold his, Bobby's, and Dean's clothes for the past five years quite comfortably, a desk stocked with papers and pens and pots of ink, just laying out as though they were easy to come by and did not cost a small fortune. Sam was tempted to try and scratch out a few words with the precious commodities that he had rarely ever used, but he didn't have the time. He remembered how large the castle had seemed from the outside and worried that it would take him the better part of the week to find the young man he was searching for.

Thankfully, Queen Anna was a cousin of Castiel and Gabriel's, and had been expecting Sam, so after he wandered for a few more hours through empty halls and the servant's hall, growing colder and wearier with every step, he found a cheery apartment all lit with torches and warmed by a huge fireplace. Sam's breath caught in his throat at the warmth and beauty he found here. Everything glowed around his eyes like gold, and his cold, shivering body began to shake even harder. He was so tired and so hungry, and this room was the very definition of cozy from the heavy drapes on the windows to the thick carpets under his feet. There was a sofa and overstuffed chairs by the crackling, cheery fire and someone had left a half-eaten piece of cake sitting in a pretty rose-decorated plate on a low table by the sofa. Sam stared at the plate and tears came to his eyes, bitter and hot, that someone had eaten so much that they couldn't find their way to eating more. He sank to his knees and bowed his head and sobbed at that sad, abandoned piece of cake, so lonely and forgotten in its pretty little plate, all forlorn and unwanted. It was too much. He couldn't even explain what it was. His sobs just kept coming louder and louder and he hardly noticed when he was jerked to his feet by rough hands and the sounds of shouts, incoherent in his sleep-worn, starved ears.

He was pressed against a wall and his cheek was slapped, but not harshly, and the shouting continued until a very soft voice broke through all the noise, and then Sam was pushed into the sofa and a blanket was wrapped around him. His sobs continued, but now and then, that soft voice would speak again. Something warm was held to his lips, and he drank it when it entered his mouth. It was sweet and creamy and he'd never had anything quite like it. Soon after, his world went dark and he felt himself drifting in this strange sea of warmth and softness.

In HCA's story, Gerda wanders upon a conjuring woman, and it's flowers that alert her to the problem. I changed it to Baba Yaga because I love the mythology surrounding her. She is nearly neutral, out more for herself than anything else. She's been known to be helpful, though she's usually not, and meeting her is almost always a bad thing. I did not give her the usual cottage, though, standing on chicken legs. I figured that would have clued Sam in a little too much, so it's just a normal cottage.

I'll be updating again before the end of the week. Enjoy!