Chapter 2

Fairy Gifts

This was bad. Very bad.

Dean was doing his best not to panic as he lowered his limp brother onto the nearest sleeping bag. It wasn't dark yet, but by the time he washed and bandaged Sam's wounds and packed up their things, it would be far too late to start the long hike back to civilization. Again, he tried to remember his father's lessons in first aide.

When possible, always disinfect the wound.

With aching arms, Dean grabbed his backpack and dug out a small flask.

"No," Sam whispered, eyes barely open.

"What?"

"I packed Neosporin."

"What?"

"Front pocket. My pack."

Heaving a sigh, Dean took a sip from the flask and shoved it in his back pocket. The Neosporin was right where Sam had said. He pulled back the sleeve on Sam's right arm and inspected the scratches again. Obviously, the tourniquet wasn't working, or had been applied to late. Either way, Sam looked terrible. His face was pasty white and slick with sweat, and his teeth chattered with cold, though his body burned with fever.

"I dunno Sam …" he muttered, slathering the discolored flesh with disinfectant.

"Water."

"Right."

Sam drank deeply from the bottle Dean held to his lips, letting the liquid slide down his chin and neck, drenching his shirt. Somewhat revived, he struggled to sit up and with a little help, finally lay with his back propped against a tree.

"S'bad, isn't it?" he smiled sleepily.

"Yeah. It's bad."

"Can't leave tonight."

"We can try."

"We'll get lost. I can't … I can't … use the compass in the dark."

"I thought you were a boy scout. Didn't they teach you about reading the stars and shit like that?"

"Three months, Dean. Didn't get that badge."

"Right. Well, we can't just stay here."

Sam shook his head, "Better here. We can leave … leave in the morning."

"Look, you're sick. You need a doctor." Even as he posed the argument, he knew Sam would win. His little brother had always been better at this sort of thing, camping, hiking, fishing. Whenever their father would start going on about compass directions and how to properly construct a leg splint, Dean had conveniently been elsewhere, while little Sam soaked up the information like a sponge.

"We need water."

"You still thirsty?"

"No. You have to wash it …" he gestured at his broken leg, flinching a little.

"We've got plenty of water, I'll just …"

Sam made a vague gesture of disagreement and shook his head, "That's drinking water. There's a … a creek close by…" He looked around, forcing his eyes to focus, "That way. I've got … I've got purification tablets in my bag."

"Right. How far that way?"

"Dunno. Not far."

Raking his teeth over his lower lip, Dean nodded and pulled an empty water bottle out of his bag, "I won't be long. Here," he pressed his pocket knife into Sam's shaking hand, "just in case."

"Right."

He sensed the thing before he saw it.

The forest was eerily quiet as he approached the little stream that had cut a steep sided path through the trees, even the babbling of the water seemed muted. Feeling the short hairs on the back of his neck prickle, Dean reached instinctively for the knife he kept in his pocket, cursing silently when he remembered leaving it with Sam. Clenching the water bottle tightly in his hand, he slid down the steep embankment, just managing to catch himself before he tumbled into the creek.

As he knelt to fill the bottle something changed in the air above him. Tensing, Dean looked up to find someone watching him from the opposite bank. He'd just opened his mouth to ask for help, when it occurred to him that this person wasn't a person at all.

"Dean Winchester," the thing whispered in a voice that sounded like dry leaves.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked, realizing he was at a disadvantage

Its wide, thin-lipped mouth curved into what he assumed was a smile, "You killed the troll."

"Yeah." Sam had once said that these forest types respected honesty. It was worth a try.

"I owe you a great debt."

"What?"

"The creature murdered my wife and stole our daughter from her bed. Had you not cut him down, I would have done so myself." It knelt in the dirt and cocked its head to the side, large mud colored eyes blinking slowly, "This very day, I prepared to do battle, only when I arrived, you and your brother had already engaged the beast."

Dean sneered, "Thanks for all the help."

"I tried to save your brother."

"Did a great job with that."

"I was slow. I regret his current condition." Long vine-like hair fell over its face as it bowed its head. "I will help as best I can."

As a rule, the Winchester's didn't trust non-human creatures. There had been exceptions, through the years, but generally they didn't fraternize with the things they hunted. In his mind's eye, Dean saw Sam's pale, sweaty face and he knew this was one of those rare exceptions.

"Can you heal him?"

"No."

Frustrated, Dean growled, "Then what good are you?"

"You must leave this place. Soon. Your presence will not be tolerated for much longer. There are those in the forest who would kill you."

"How does that help me?"

"I can protect you until sunrise."

"And then?"

Long, bony fingers wove together, curving unnaturally with an extra joint, "You must go quickly and be gone by sundown."

Dean suddenly felt like he was negotiating; bargaining for his brother's life. "We can't make that trip in one day. No way. Took two days with Sam walking on his own. You gotta come up with something better than that."

A flush came over its green-brown flesh, "When the sun rises, take your brother and go. Rest only once, when the sun is at its highest. Do not look back and do not stop, no matter what you see or hear. If you can do this, I swear you will reach your destination by nightfall."

"And Sam?"

"I cannot help him, but if you do as I say, he may live."

"May?"

"Here." With one elongated hand, it removed a small green pouch hanging from its belt and tossed it down to Dean, who caught it easily, " Mix a pinch of this with his water and make him drink it. That should bring down the fever and lessen his pain."

"Just a pinch?" Dean asked, loosening the draw string and peering into the little bag. It was filled with tiny seeds.

"Anymore will do more harm than good. Now, hurry back to your brother, there are things in this wood that mean you both harm."

Frowning, Dean looked back up and said, "Thanks …" but the creature was gone.

Back at camp, it was obvious, even from a distance that there was trouble. Sam's back was ridged against the tree trunk and his knuckles were white as he gripped the pocket knife, as though he expected an attack at any moment. He seemed very relieved to see Dean approaching and managed a tight smile.

"There's something here, Dean," he said, voice harsh. "Something bad."

"Yeah … I know."

"You know?"

"Had a little run-in myself."

Sam's brown eyes widened with panic, "We can't stay the night here …"

"Let me worry about that." Dean tried to sound reassuring, "I've got something that should make you feel better."

"What?"

"Look, I don't think we have anything to worry about tonight. One of those things is on our side and he gave me something to help with the pain."

Swallowing hard, his brother nodded, "You sure?"

It was a difficult question, because, in all honesty, he wasn't sure about anything. The creature could have been lying. The seeds in the little pouch could kill Sam outright. As soon as darkness fell, they could be over run by skinny tree men with big mouths and long fingers. The entire situation had every chance to end tragically, but sometimes, and it killed him to admit it, you had to have a little faith.

"Yeah. I'm sure." His hands shook a little as he opened the little green bag and added just a few tiny seeds to Sam's water. They dissolved when he shook the bottle. "Drink that. A few mouthfuls, at least."

Reluctantly, Sam did as he was told, "You should …" he bit his lip hard, then, "you should take care of my leg."

Setting his jaw, Dean nodded.

Once, when Sam was about twelve years old, he'd caught a bad flu. Their dad was gone, leaving Dean to care for his younger brother, alone. His fever was nearing 104 degrees and he'd been vomiting for at least ten hours straight. It was clear that he needed a doctor, but they had no insurance and the hospital would be obligated to call social services when they were unable to reach John. So, Dean made his brother a bed on the bathroom floor and forced him to sip at a bottle of Gatorade, despairing when Sam threw up even that small amount of liquid.

As a last resort, he'd called Bobby, who promised to be there as soon as he could. In the mean time, in an effort to reduce the fever, Dean was to run a cool bath and make Sam soak in it. If that didn't work, he needed to add a few buckets of ice to the water; anything to keep his temperature low.

Bobby was as good as his word, arriving the next afternoon, but Dean would never forget that horrible night. Sam's pale face peering at him from under a pile of blankets, sweat glistening on his upper lip, eyes blood shot. He hadn't even been able to cry. Fearing Sam might stop breathing while he slept, Dean lay on the bed beside him, one hand on his chest counting every heart beat. When the fever finally broke, Sam's little hand had curled into his and they both fell into an exhausted sleep.

Now, laying on his sleeping bag, listening to his brother's labored breathing, Dean decided that this situation, wasn't so far removed from that time when Sam was young. The real difference was that, out here, there was no help coming, no one he could call for advice, not even a tub of cool water or bucket of ice. They were on their own. He tried not to think about it too hard. Sam needed him to be clear-thinking and level-headed; needed him to be strong, but he was just so damned tired.

"Sleep," a soft voice whispered from nearby.

"Can't," he answered, without thinking.

"I have the watch. Sleep," it promised.

Muscles aching from the long day, Dean rolled to his side and put a calloused hand on his brother's chest, letting the steady beat of the younger man's heart lull him to sleep.

"Don't you stop breathing," he whispered, as darkness took him.

Dean woke before the sun. In the dim predawn light, he gathered together the few things they would need for the long walk back to the car. Hurriedly, he dumped one of the backpacks and refilled it with drinking water and the little food they had with them. The Neosporin and purification tablets also went into the bag, along with their extra clothes and the little pouch of seeds. The rest of the camping equipment would have to stay behind. It was a waste, but there was simply no way he could carry it all and Sam. The light was growing brighter as Dean shook his brother awake, noting the way his eyes dilated and the grey color of his skin.

"Hey. We gotta get going."

Sam blinked slowly, but nodded.

"Sun's not up," he observed, shivering a little in the dewy chill.

"It's a long trip. You hungry?"

"No. Thirsty."

"Do you want more of that stuff? Did it help?"

"Helped me sleep, but … no. Just water."

After watching Sam drink a little water and making sure he didn't throw it up, Dean hefted the backpack onto his shoulders.

"We'll start off like before. When you get tired, we'll figure something else out."

"Okay."

Working together, they got Sam to his feet, leaning most of his weight on Dean.