World of Winchester-Craft (continued)

Disclaimer: See Chapter One.

A/N: Yay, you like it! You really like it! I'm so thankful for all the reviews :) This is the second half of the dream I had upon which this fic is based. It's just as goofy as the last one, heh. I'll have another, more important Author's Note at the end, so be sure to watch for it!

Chapter Two: No, Seriously, What the Hell?

Dean is stuck between a dragon whose feelings got hurt and a brother-turned-fairy who doesn't want to apologize because he's still scared and won't admit it. Dean isn't ready to deal with this emo crap right now: it's too early, and he hasn't even had his coffee yet. If they even HAVE coffee here, he thinks ruefully. So he rides in silence, his baby's head drooped low as she walks slowly through the forest, while Sam futzes with his amulet's cord. The feeling of teeny tiny knuckles hitting the back of his neck is WEIRD. Dean cringes and gets a teeny tiny punch for his trouble.

"Stay still," Sam grumbles. "I'm almost done." He grapples with the leather knot, easing it open a few millimeters more. The fact that the entire back of the band is caked in years of sweat, dried hair gel, and God knows what else is NOT helping. "How do you even have your necklace back anyway?" Sam asks as he unties the last snag. "I saw you give it to Cas."

"No idea. Just another friggin' mystery." His amulet finally lets up its brutal assault on his Adam's apple, and Dean breathes out—that's SO much better. Sam ties the new knot and walks back to Dean's shoulder. "Thanks, Sammy," Dean smiles.

Sam brushes off his hands, and just as he's about to sit back down on Dean's shoulder, a great rumble crashes through the land. Its tremors rattle up through Dean's body and into Sam, but the fairy refuses to jump, even though every reflex is telling him to. Then the dragon looks up at them and Sam's little arms and legs clamp onto the side of Dean's face of their own accord.

"Dude," is all Dean says. Sam doesn't move, so Dean peels him off and holds him up by his left wing. "You really have to get over this. She's the Impala."

"She's a dragon!"

"Yeah, but she's still my baby, and she still loves us both. Doncha girl..." He scratches down her neck, and she chirrups. Sam isn't at all comforted by it.

"But she's huge," he protests, curled up and tugging to get his wing free from Dean's grasp. "EVERYthing's huge!" Another tug. "And I'm," tug, "NOT," tug-tug, "used," tuuuuuug, "to looking UP!" Sam breaks free on the final word, and he falls onto the dragon's back. The Impala curls her neck around and sniffs at the little guy, and Sam is frozen with fear. She licks him once—a dragon peck on the cheek—and chirps something at Dean.

"He's fine," Dean reassures her. "He's just pissy cos he's not the Ginormotron anymore." Dean smirks down at Sam. "I am." Sam just crosses his arms and pouts. Then the great rumble comes again, shaking Sam off balance. He tumbles over the black-scale cliff, but Dean catches him and sets him back on his shoulder. His hand comes down and pats his six-pack.

"Guess I'm hungry," he mutters. Sam gapes at him, flabbergasted.

"That earthquake is your STOMACH?!"

"You sound surprised," Dean says with another smirk. He leans forward a little and asks, "Think you could find us some breakfast, Babe?"

The dragon purrs and picks up her pace. "I wonder what dragons eat," he asks himself. Sam doesn't say anything, so Dean pats his very little brother on his head. "Don't worry, Sammy! I'm sure fairies aren't part of her food chain."

"Wow, that makes me feel so much better," Sam mutters. Dean either doesn't hear him or ignores him, and Sam doesn't care either way. He wants out of this stupid fairy body NOW, before he gets scared again by the next little thing and loses yet another bit of his dignity.

Two seconds later, a cloud passes over the sun. Sam's arms are clamped around Dean's throat the moment the shadow hits them. Dean sighs and pulls his brother off him again. He opens up his pouch and dumps the fairy inside.

"What the hell, Dean?!"

"If you can't see anything, you won't freak out," Dean tells him. Sam scowls up at him, and Dean nods with understanding. "Yeah, I know, it sucks out loud. But there's nothing we can do about it right now. Let's just get some food and figure things out, like we always do. All right?" Sam nods, though he still looks unhappy. Dean feels for the guy, and silently thanks whoever did this to him for making him big instead of teeny. "Try and get comfy," Dean says. "I'll keep you safe."

Daylight twists away as the top of the pouch shuts, and Sam sits down on top of a coin. He leans his back against the suede and lets out a long sigh, wondering just how long this nightmare is going to last.

Sometime later (Sam doesn't know how long, exactly, since his watch is nowhere around), he feels the Impala slow down. The pouch opens, and Dean grins down at him. "Get out here so I can hit you with the 'toldja so's."

Sam stands up and pokes his head out of the pouch. They're coming up to a tavern straight out of yore, thatched roof and everything. Dean points to what's above the building, and Sam is grumpy at once.

"Oh COME ON!"

Two giants are sitting behind the tavern, playing cards. The building is only as tall as their folded knees. "See Sammy? THEY are giants," Dean explains in a condescending voice. "Which means I'M normal and YOU'RE tiny."

"Congratulations," Sam seethes, feeling smaller than ever now that his last shred of hope has been ripped away from him. The Impala stops in front of the tavern, and Dean hops off. Sam is thrown back into the pouch, and Dean gently scoops him out.

"Sorry about that." Sam doesn't answer him. Doesn't even look at him. Dean sets him back on his shoulder and has a look at the place. He can smell something yummy inside and his mouth waters. The Impala rubs her snout against Dean's back, and Dean gives her a pet. "Wait here, Girl. I'll try and scrounge up some dragon food while I'm in there."

Dean steps up to the door and only now sees that he's taller than it by quite a bit. He estimates that he's now about 8 feet tall. His shoulders are wider than the door as well.

"Yeah, YOU'RE the normal one," Sam deadpans.

"Oh sorry, Sam, you're right—being tiny and having wings is way more normal than just being tall," Dean throws back. He feels the glare he's getting from Sam and turns his own glare down at him. Sam's frown wipes off at once, replaced by…intimidation? Now Dean feels bad. He clears his throat. "Coffee first, arguing later," he says as he ducks down, turns sideways, and opens the door wide. The moment he steps in and straightens up, a group of Vikings in the back of the room stand up and thump their chests.

"HAIL DEAN the DESTROYER!" their deep voices call in unison. Dean looks over at him, and they all raise their huge steins in a salute. Dean gives a wave and smiles, and then asks Sam through his teeth, "Why did they just call me that?"

"No idea," Sam says back in the same manner, trying to smile his way out of being glared at by a few of those same Vikings. Dean makes a beeline for an empty table near the back and sits down in a chair that's way too small for him. It cracks under his weight, and Dean hits the floor.

"Dean the Destroyer is right," Sam smirks, stepping off Dean's shoulder and onto the table. Dean just grumbles and looks around for a better chair, only to get an ornate, high-backed easy chair pushed up behind him.

"Deepest apologies, Hero," the plump barmaid says. "Most of our chairs are old and need to be replaced. This one is much more suited to a man of your most honorable reputation." Dean sits down, and the woman moves to the side of the table, her round face a mix of eager-to-please and hope-he-isn't-mad. Sam's face is completely opposite—give-me-a-break.

"What may I bring you and your traveling companion?" she asks, glancing at the fairy.

"Coffee," Dean replies. "Lots and lots of coffee."

She frowns, confused. "Coffee, m'lord?"

"Yeah, coffee. Dark? Smooth? Caffienated?"

"You drink it for breakfast," Sam offers, wanting a cuppa joe just as badly as his brother. "Or if you have to stay awake at night."

The woman lights up. "Oh, you mean slug! At once and without delay." She scurries off to the kitchen, leaving the boys looking at each other with dread.

"Slug," the boys repeat together, making sure they both heard right. Then they sigh and mirror each other as they rub their foreheads. "If she brings out a slug, I'm outta here before the bug juice hits the cup," Dean swears.

"What if it's already mixed up?" Sam asks, just as disgusted. "What if it's some pitcher of slug guts and newt eyes and purple stuff?"

"What's wrong with purple stuff?"

"Nothing if it's Kool-Ade. But if they don't even have coffee around here, what's the chance they'll have Kool-Ade?"

They don't get a chance to ponder, as the woman comes back with what looks like a regular coffee urn and two stoneware cups, one large and one doll-sized. She also has a little chair and table, and she sets those down first. Sam takes his seat, feeling normal for a few seconds, until the gigantic coffee urn is set down right next to him. "Freshly brewed," the barmaid says with a smile, resting both cups on their respective tables, and not spilling a drop from either. "Anything to eat?"

The boys don't reply, just stare at the murky grey liquid in their cups. "Just wave if you need anything else," she says cheerily, and she moves on to other customers. Dean looks at Sam, then to the cup, then at Sam. Sam does likewise. Dean takes a tentative sniff. To his great surprise, his nose is filled with a java-like aroma.

"The smell's right," he murmurs. "You think…?"

"Only one way to find out," Sam says. They lift the cups to their lips, ready themselves, and take a sip. By some miracle, it isn't gross at all. It's actually great—deep roasted and savory, with a slight peppery taste at the very end. They swish it around, each of them feeling for bug antennae or spider legs, but they find nothing but chicory goodness.

"Huh," they huh. And then they drink again. As the 'slug' calms their nerves, they each have a look around at the other patrons. Sam spots a cow sitting at the opposite corner, chatting to a centaur. Not mooing—chatting, and with a southern drawl no less. Dean sees a lawn gnome, only real and moving and everything, spank a big breasted Valkyrie as she walks by. She promptly whirls around and backhands him through the wall. Then she catches Dean looking at her and offers him a sly smile, sauntering in her gleaming armor as she disappears into another room.

"All right, so this place isn't all bad," Dean says, smiling into his cup as he takes another sip. Sam rolls his eyes and, looking ceiling-ward, sees something flying down at him. He ducks on instinct and hears light laughter, bright as sunshine.

"I'm not going to bite you know," teases a feminine voice. Sam looks up and finds a girl fairy, roughly his age and, to his great pleasure, shorter than he is. Her pointy ears hold back her long, dark hair, and she's dressed in denim capris and a sparkly green tank top. Her blue wings stick right out of her back and through the shirt, but there are no holes in the fabric. Sam twists around to see if his are the same, and sure enough, he sees his wings magically sticking out through his shirt, no tears or folds. Then his chin gets cupped as the fairy gently turns his face to hers. A tiny pair of cat-eye glasses sits on her nose, and she flashes her long eyelashes at him. "I'm Celeste," she says, holding out her hand.

"Sam," he shakes back. "And this is my brother, Dean." The girl fairy looks up at Dean, shudders, turns back to Sam, looking grossed out.

"That oaf is your brother?!" she whispers loudly. "Eww! Were you hit by a curse or something?"

"Eww?" Dean repeats, eyebrows up and insulted. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It MEANS that our kind is better than your kind," she informs him, like it's so painfully obvious. Dean's eyebrows drop into a furrow, and she pats his thumb. "Don't worry," she patronizes as she promptly wipes her hand on her pants, "I don't expect your infantile mind to understand."

The furrow becomes a glare. "Infantile?"

She laughs. "Ohhh, I get it!" She turns to Sam. "He's your parrot! Well, that's giving him way too much credit—parrots are smarter and smell better, too. But a pet barbarian—now THAT makes sense."

Sam laughs—he can't help it. But a death glare from Dean wipes the smirk off in seconds. "Come on, Sam," Celeste smiles, "the VIP section is right above you." She points to the rafters, where a flock of fairies sit in little gilded chairs around tables covered in tiny food and shimmering tablecloths. "You belong up there with us, not down here in the mud."

"No, I—it's fine," Sam says, tugging loose of her hold. "I want to stay with my brother."

"Aw, it's all right, Sam, go sit with your fancy new friend." Dean glowers at the girl fairy and adds, "Maybe she'll give you your very own stick to shove up your ass so you can be just like her."

"Wow, Sam, your pet can actually form long sentences! I'm impressed."

A shadow comes over the table, and all three of them look up and find three Vikings glaring back down. "Excuse the intrusion, Great One," the burly red-beard speaks, "but why do you allow these overgrown flies to live?"

"Because one of them is my brother," Dean tells them, "and the other one ain't worth the squished fairy guts on my hand."

"Squishing," Celeste barks, rolling her eyes. "That's your answer to everything, isn't it warrior? Smash and bash."

One of the Vikings puts his huge fist over her head. "It's always worked for me."

Several more fairies appear, sparkling dust whooshing from their wings, and as they hold their arms out in front of them, all of the Vikings get thrown into the back booth, smashing the table and chairs. The rest of the Vikings storm over now and grab the fairies, squeezing them in their fists. The fairies wriggle free, and all the Vikings tip upside down and are dropped to the ground on their horned helmets. "Stupid brutes!" all the fairies cry—save for Sam, who is just trying to stay out of the line of fire. The Vikings get back up and smack the fairies into the wall. "Little pests," the warriors grumble—save for Dean, who just wants to drink his slug. The fairies and Vikings come back for another round, fists and magic and insults at the ready.

"ENOUGH!" a woman's voice shouts. The fairy vs. Viking brawl freezes as a hooded figure approaches. Her deep purple and silver robes cover her head to toe. Two onyx eyes ringed by glowing white stare out from her shadowed face. She steps forward and shoos the fairies away. "Back to your feasting. I will tell Sam what he needs to know." The fairies each turn their noses to the sky in a group 'hmmpf!' as they fly away. Then the woman turns to the Vikings. "You, too. I have urgent business with the Great One." The Vikings trudge away, grumbling amongst themselves. The woman finally sets her gaze on the boys. "Well? Sam, Dean—you going to invite me to sit down or what? I don't have all day."

She flips her hood back, and the boys' eyes boggle. The now familiar woman frowns at them both, her black hair still curly but colored in shiny gold. "Missouri?!" Sam asks, and she looks at the fairy.

"Missouri? What kind of ridiculous name is that?" She snags the chair the barmaid has brought over and sits down. "I'm Mississippi."

"Oh yeah, that's much better," Dean cracks. She glares at him, and Dean swears he sees real fire in her eyes, so he sips his slug and keeps quiet. Sam clears his throat.

"So, ah…Mississippi…I don't suppose you know—"

"Where you are, what you're doing here, and why you're a fairy and your brother's a barbarian," she finishes. "Well of course I know! I'm a mystic, Sam. I know just about everything, and what I don't know doesn't need to be known because it don't matter." The barmaid pours her some slug, and Mississippi picks up the cup, takes a little sip, and 'mm's softly. She snaps her fingers and a sugar spoon appears in her hands, sugar already loaded—if it is sugar. She tips the contents into the cup and stirs. Takes another sip. Breathes in the aroma. Takes a third sip. Sits content with the cup in her hand. Then Dean ahem-hems her, and she looks up at him.

"So, answers?" He endures another glare, but this time he doesn't back down. "Oh no, it's all right, just take your time. We'll just be over here, wondering what the hell is going on."

"Boy, I travelled nearly 10,000 miles to get here today. You can wait for one minute while I enjoy some refreshments." She takes a few more sips. Dean drums his fingers on the table, and the vibrations rattle the little table and cup in front of Sam. But Sam doesn't comment—he's just as impatient as Dean. Finally, Mississippi finishes her slug and smiles at them both.

"All right! Let's take a look at you both." She takes Dean's huge hand in her right, and Sam's tiny hand in her left, holding it delicately with her finger and thumb. She closes her eyes and concentrates. "Mm-mm-mm," she says with a head shake—same words as the Campbell's Soup ads but sounding aggrieved instead of agreeable. "You poor boys…so much hurt." Her eyes open and she pats their hands. "So much pain in your short lives. It's no wonder why you've been sent here."

"Where is here?" Sam asks, growing frustrated. "Who sent us? WHY?!"

"I'm getting to it," she snaps, glaring at the fairy now. "Honestly, didn't anyone ever teach you not to interrupt?" She resettles herself and starts again. "You're in Fantasia, and NO," she cuts Dean off when his eyes light up, "not the same Fantasia as the book and the movie. I'm so sick of that question from all you travelers."

Dean is surprised. "You mean we're not the first?"

"Hardly. Folks from every parallel world out there have been sent here since time began, all of them with lessons to learn." She smiles at Sam's curiosity. "That's right, Sam. You're in a parallel world. And the only way back to your own is to learn your intended lessons."

Sam looks at Dean. "What lessons?" Dean asks for them both.

"Honey, I'm a mystic, not a psychic. I don't know the answer to that."

"But you just told us you know everything!"

"I told you I know just ABOUT everything. Don't split hairs." She whacks him on top of his head with her sugar spoon. She ignores Dean's "OW!" and looks back at Sam, who wisely keeps quiet. "I don't know who sent you here. I never do. But every traveler that has ever come here has only been able to leave after learning a truth, or a lesson…some very personal meaning that will change his or her life. If you make it out—"

"You mean 'when,'" Sam corrects her.

"I mean 'if'! Stop interrupting me!" Mississippi smacks him with the spoon too, and he wraps his arms around his head as he grunts in pain. She ignores that as well. "Not everyone makes it out of here. They stay stuck as their metaphorical forms forever." She notes their confusion. "The way you look in this world is based on metaphor—in your case, how you two really see each other."

"Say what now?" Dean asks. "You're telling me my brother sees me as a muscle-man with a fur kink?"

"And my brother sees me as a stupid fairy with no shoes?" Sam sasses.

"In a way, yes," she says simply. Both boys frown at that, though more at each other than her. "Dean, your brother has always seen you as strong, capable—a larger-than-life hero. As a child, he even made a comic strip about you, calling you Dean the Destroyer. You were a famous monster slayer and were known throughout the land."

Sam's little face turns red, making him look like a fairy topped with a cherry. Dean grins, but his eyes are awestruck instead of teasing. "You made a comic book about me?"

"It was just scribbles in a notebook…"

"Dude, that is so cool!" Dean gets the bitch face, but he waves it off. "I'm serious, Sam! Do you still have it?"

"Course not," Sam answers with another eye-roll. "I got rid of it before I was a teenager." He's surprised at how disappointed Dean looks at the news.

"That's too bad," Dean sighs. "Man that would've made my YEAR when I was a kid. Why didn't you ever let me see it?"

"Because, Sam also sees you as an overbearing, overprotective jerk whose loud mouth and bawdy ways get you both into trouble all the time. Hence in this world, you're a barbarian: strong, powerful, heroic, but a trouble magnet who often acts before he thinks." She wrinkles her nose. "Not to mention a little dim and a lot ripe…"

Dean gives his little brother a 'really?' look. "You saying I'm stupid and smelly?"

"A few more showers wouldn't hurt," Sam mumbles, still cherry-red. "And have you smelled your armpits today?"

Dean takes a whiff of himself and nearly gags. "Touché," he concedes. "Well fine, Sammy, you're the fairy—magic-me up some deodorant."

"He can't perform magic," Mississippi tells them both. "He doesn't have any magic dust yet. Check your pouch, Dean."

Dean puts the large bag on the table, and Mississippi pulls out one of the vials of sparkly stuff. She gestures for Sam to stand up and turn around, so he obliges, but keeps his eyes on her. She pops open the vial and pours a little over his head. His wings flutter until they're shimmering in the stuff, and then he's airborne. And smiling. He does a loop-di-loop above Dean's head and giggles.

"Sammy…did you just…giggle?"

"No!" Sam does a corkscrew turn and giggles again as he lands on Dean's hair. "Okay…maybe." He flexes his wings, so happy they're doing what they're told now. "I'm not tired anymore! Is that because of the dust?"

Mississippi nods. "You just needs a re-sprinkling every now and then," she tells him as she hands the vial back to Dean. "Fairy magic requires magic dust, and dust can get used up or wiped off. That's why your brother carries a supply, just in case."

Sam flutters back to the table. "But how did Dean know I'd need dust if he's just learning about it now?"

"Because Dean knows what you need. Always has. In fact, it's one of the reasons you're a fairy, Sam." She smiles when he frowns. "He's always looked out for you and put you before his own needs. You want your freedom, he gives you room. You want support, he's right there. You need encouragement, and he's the first one to speak up."

"Still doesn't explain why I'm a fairy," Sam says, though not in a cutting way. She laughs and shakes her head at him, smiling.

"Dean gave you wings, Sam—all your life. Even when he knew you'd use them to leave him, again and again." Sam peers up at Dean at that and finds his brother looking down, unwilling to meet his eye. "That's why you're a fairy," Mississippi goes on, "one of the most powerful and intelligent creatures in our world, complete with wings that will take you anywhere."

"So why can't I have wings but still be my normal size?" Sam vents. "Why do I have to be so short?"

"Because Dean will always, ALWAYS see you as his little brother: small, vulnerable, and in constant need of protection. So wings plus little equals fairy. And then of course there's the snooty factor…"

"Snooty?" Sam balks. Mississippi sighs and nods.

"Unfortunately, fairies KNOW how smart and powerful they are. They're a little snooty about it—kind of like Dean feels you can be with him."

Sam gives Dean a dark look, and Dean shrugs. "What? Just a few seconds ago I asked if you thought I was stupid and smelly. You answered the smelly part but skipped the stupid part, and I think we both know why."

Sam gapes. "You really think I think you're stupid?" Dean doesn't answer him, and it makes Sam even more incensed. "Dean—"

"Boys, please. My head hurts and the last thing I need is your bickering making it worse." Mississippi waits until the two of them look back at her until she speaks again. "Like it or not, this is how you see each other. I'd focus less on what's upsetting you and more on what you need to do to get out of here."

"Fine," Dean grunts. "Where do we start the lesson learning?"

"I'd start by asking the Old Man in the Mountain. He gives good advice. Here," she snaps her fingers and a map appears in her hand. "This will lead you to him. I only hope you're more polite to him than you were to me. He'll smack you down without a thought." She stands up. "But, play your cards right, and you'll get the help you need." She sets some coins on the table. "And looking at you two, you're gonna need a lot of help." She turns to leave. "Best of luck to you both."

"Wait, one last thing," Dean calls. She turns around, and he stands up. "You wouldn't happen to know what dragons eat…?"

A few minutes later and they're on their way again, Sam and Dean munching on something called basket cakes—round waffles made with pancake batter, or something very close to it in both taste and texture. The Impala is happily sated on a fresh serving of gems and limestone, purring away as they race along the countryside toward the foothills in the distance. Dean is reading from a little booklet that Mississippi gave him, entitled Basic Dragon Care: How to Keep Yourself Alive by Keeping Your Dragon Happy.

"This is so cool," Dean tells Sam, who is again on Dean's shoulder. "The limestone reacts with her stomach acid and fuels her fire, and the gemstones break down the rock into smaller pieces so she doesn't get a tummy ache."

"That's great, Dean…" Sam mumbles. Dean looks over at him with a slight frown. Sam's eyes are downcast.

"Sam?"

"Nothing."

Dean keeps his eyes on his little brother. "Sam…"

"Whatever, Dean. You won't want to talk about it anyway."

"What's that?"

"What Mississippi said. "Why we're like this." The little hazel eyes look up at Dean. "How we see each other."

Dean tilts his head once back and forth. "You're right. Don't wanna talk about it."

"But Dean—"

"I think that's the place." Dean points up ahead to a lone mountain. Well, more of a craggy hill than a mountain because it isn't all that high. But it matches the picture on the map, so Dean nudges the Impala to walk that way. Sam huffs and flies off Dean's shoulder, heading toward the mountain. Dean heard the huff, no doubt from Sam being pissed about their lack of Big Conversation, but he keeps his walls up. There's nothing to talk about, Sammy, he thinks. You ARE my little brother and that'll never change. Just like you'll never see me as anything but your stupid big brother who can't do anything right except hunt monsters. And I do that wrong, too. It stabs Dean's heart to think it. It hurts even more to know that he agrees with his brother's judgment. But he won't think about that now—he wants answers first. So he jumps off the dragon's back as they reach the foot of the foothill. Sam is hovering near a tree.

"I think I see a cave way up there. That must be where he lives." Sam flies higher for a better look, leaving Dean on the ground.

"Guess I'm climbing," he grumps.

Sam flutters halfway up the hill, feeling exhilarated and extremely uncomfortable at the same time. The breeze hits his wings like a lover's kiss, urging him to just fly and be free of every care. But the fact that he has wings at all, and now understands why, makes him want to drop to the ground and stomp his way into the nearest hole. It doesn't matter how Mississippi sugar-coated it—Sam heard what he's long suspected, that Dean sees him as his puny little brother who will never, ever be good enough for anything. And why, Dean? I know I blew it on the trust issue, but I'm trying here. Are you ever going to let me stand beside you as an equal? Cos I'm sick of standing behind you like some damsel in distress…

Sam hears rumbling beneath him and rolls his eyes. "How can you still be hungry after all those waffle things?"

Dean, halfway up the mountain, replies, "That…wasn't me, Sammy."

The rumbling starts in again, and the entire mountain shakes. Rocks and tree branches start falling down, and Dean presses himself against the rock face to avoid it. Of course, then the rock face becomes a face made out of rock, and Dean discovers that he's holding on to its nose.

"GIT OFFA ME!" a loud yet strangely familiar voice bellows. The earthquake doubles in strength and shakes Dean into freefall. Sam flies down after him, but he isn't fast enough: Dean's back crashes into a tree, then THROUGH the tree, splitting it like a banana being peeled. Sam lands on part of the broken trunk and looks down into the Dean-shaped hole in the ground.

"Dean! You all right? Speak to me!"

Dean groans and sits up, hand to his aching back. He nods that he's fine, but then his mouth drops when he looks up at the mountain. Sam frowns, so Dean points for Sam to turn around and look. The rocky face has fully formed, complete with a beard made out of red granite, two dark, crystalline eyes, and a cliff that looks a heckuva lot like the brim of a trucker's hat.

"What the hell're you doing crawlin' all over my face?" Bobby the Mountain barks down at Dean.

"What the hell're YOU doing being a freakin' mountain, Bobby?!" Dean shoots back, freaked out and not even trying to hide it.

"I'm not Bobby," the mountain grumbles. "Don't have a name. Some people call me the Old Man on account I've been around for so long…" The eyes narrow. "Do I look old t'you?" Both boys shake their heads vigorously no. The mountain's chin nods. "Uh-huh. So, g'wan…ask your question. It's why you're here, ain't it?"

Dean and Sam look at each other, gesturing for the other to go ahead. They do Rock Paper Scissors, and for the first time in his life, Dean doesn't pick scissors—he picks paper. Sam scowls at Dean's grin before he flies up to Bobby's enormous face.

"Do you know why we're here?"

"To ask a question, genius."

"No, I know that…I mean, Mississippi sent us—"

"Oh yeah? How's she doing?"

Sam is taken aback at the unexpected question. "She's fine," he nods. "She seemed...fine."

"That's good."

The wind blows through the trees as Sam and Bobby stare at each other in awkward silence. Dean finally clears his throat and Sam gets back in the game. "She told us we have to learn some sort of lesson while we're here. Do you know what it is?"

"Yes."

They wait. Bobby says nothing else. "Do you want to tell us what it is, Chuckles?" Dean asks, growing annoyed.

"Doesn't work that way, smartass. How're you supposed to learn anything if I tell you what to learn?"

"So you can't help us," Dean says flatly. "Great, thanks for nothing. Let's go, Sam."

The mountain rumbles. "Well if that's gonna be yer attitude, you'll never get out of here."

"If I could just get some damn answers, I wouldn't have the attitude!"

"Dean, calm down," Sam says. "We can't expect him to just help us like Bobby does. He isn't really Bobby."

"Don't remind me..." Dean gives Fobby (that would be Fake Bobby in Dean Speak) a final glare and turns his back on him, heading back toward the waiting Impala. The mountain thunders out a sigh.

"Fine, if I hafta spell it out for you…" Dean glances back at Fobby's words, and Fobby regards them both. "Most folks come to Fantasia alone. You two arrived together. Think that's a coincidence?"

The brothers look at each other again. "Maybe we have to learn the same lesson?" Sam proposes.

"Or maybe the lesson is about the two of us?" Dean shrugs.

"Congratulations, you're both right. Maybe you two actually have a shot at getting out of here alive after all." The face in the rock begins to fade away. "Now lemme sleep. And don't come back for answers—you already know whatcha need to do." Fobby disappears, leaving the fairy and barbarian alone with their dragon.

"Well that was enjoyable," Dean sighs. Sam flutters up to Dean's shoulder and sits down, sighing as well.

"So we know jack squat and we're in a strange land and have no idea where to go or what to do," Sam sums up.

"Pretty much." Dean looks at him. "So where do we start?"

A/N Additional: Well, answer the man! That is where my dream ended. From this point on, this fic will be written by prompts from you, the reader! Tell me where you want them to go, what to do, who to meet (both in cameo form like Missouri and Bobby and any kind of creature you'd like), what to fight, how to hurt the boys, etc. I only have a few ground rules:

1. NO mpreg. I'm sorry, I think mpreg is stupid. And I'd rather not go into slash, either, although if someone gives me a good enough prompt, I'll make an exception for a chapter.

2. No calling Ruby! I have an idea for that beeyotch later in the story, so I've got dibs, mwahaha.

3. I already have the ending planned and yes, I know why the boys are there and who sent them. So don't ask and don't tell.

Other than that? You got it :) Can't wait to hear what you come up with! I'm posting on both and on my LJ, so I'll take prompts from both…