A/N: Please see the end of this chapter for a note about the extent of Sam's despair when he accepts his fate in Chapter 13. The proper place for the note would have been the end of that chapter but I couldn't bring myself to dilute the impact of that final scene and poem.

This story is reaching into some painful parts of the Winchester family dynamics and I thank you for giving me the opportunity to share my view of their world. And for accepting my attempts to temper the stark reality with a bit of magic.

As always your reviews and continued attention to the story mean the world to me.

Warning: Here there be cursing. And let's not forget the angst. And fairies. A strange combination indeed.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story.

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From Chapter 13:

Arms were there, strong arms reaching to take his brother away from him, and Dean clutched Sam's limp form tight against his chest in a sudden panic. His eyes skewed sideways to meet the eyes of the man trying to steal Sam from him and anger was a white hot poker spearing his chest.

His face twisted in a rage so strong that the other man took a step back. "You don't touch him!" he hissed. "You've done enough! Just stay away from us!"…

… "No," Dean wouldn't look at him, wouldn't stop walking. He shook his head, denying his father. "No. This is your fault. This is our fault. I believed in you…and look…look at…what we did…"

He covered the last few feet in silence, stumbling as he stepped from the water and his feet scuffed through the coarse sand. NO! He couldn't do this now. He couldn't be weak in front of the almighty and powerful goddamn John Winchester.

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Chapter 14 Ten Feet Under and Upside Down

John's heart was in his throat when he slewed to a stop in the clearing, the truck's big wheels sending up a shower of dirt. The Impala was a welcome sight. No one was better at protecting Sam than his big brother. He ran to the weapons cache in the truck bed, unable to tear his eyes from the Impala's gaping door. Dean would never leave the car open like that unless he was in the middle of a blind panic.

That kind of panic was contagious.

John didn't bother rooting around for specific weapons, just grabbed the smallest weapons bag before slamming the cache lid down. He pushed the Impala's door shut as he ran by, as though making things look normal would have the power to halt this nightmare in its tracks.

The nightmare only worsened when he reached the beach. He dropped the bag at the edge of the evergreens and flew across the sand, his eyes fixed on a sight with the power to devastate his world. Dean was carrying his brother in his arms, Sam's long limbs dangling, swaying with each step, his head hanging back. A broken doll, limp and unmoving. Lifeless. The expression on Dean's face almost stopped John's heart. No. Oh God, no. Mary, what have I done?

He never broke stride, running into the water and to his son's side. Dean continued staring straight ahead, his eyes caught on some fixed point in front of him. He looked like he was in shock, pale and noticeably shivering in spite of the afternoon's heat. Sam…John blinked back tears. Sammy was so still, so pale, a bluish tinge creeping into his lips.

He reached forward to help Dean, shuddering as his skin touched Sam's cold and wet form. Dean reacted as though he'd received an electric shock, jerking away, his arms tightening around Sam. The pain and anger on his son's face rocked John backwards.

"You don't touch him! You've done enough! Just stay away from us!"

The words hit John like a sledgehammer. Hell, he'd known he screwed up within minutes of leaving the garage. As soon as his immediate flush of anger had faded he'd started thinking about Sam's words, Sam's voice. It was the voice that did it. There was no whine, no self pity. There was only his son begging for his help. He'd never even made it out of town, pulling over for a coffee and trying to get his head together.

His gut twisted. How long had he sat there, ignoring the buzz of the phone vibrating on the table in front of him as Sam tried to reach him over and over again? If he had picked it up just one of those times this might have been prevented.

He didn't crack until after the phone fell silent, the quiet heavy and ominous. He'd held out for a little while, and then he was gathering his things, ready to track Sam down and hear him out…maybe even apologize if he could bring himself to do it. That was when Dean called and all of his good intentions suddenly meant jack shit.

"Dean…"

"No," Dean shook his head. "No. This is your fault. This is our fault. I believed in you…and look…look at…what we did…" Something tore in John's chest. He tried so hard to keep his sons safe, but he might very well have destroyed them both.

He shook his head. He could hate himself about it later. If he had to, he could grieve later. But right now this wasn't about him. It was about saving Sam, saving Dean. He squared his shoulders, pushing the pain down where it wouldn't get in the way.

Dean might have been in shock, but he was moving quickly, steadily, getting Sam to dry land. If he hadn't been John would have snatched Sam away from him. He wouldn't compromise their chances of helping Sam just to spare himself more of Dean's hatred.

His son stumbled when he reached the beach and John didn't hesitate. His arms were there, taking some of Sam's weight as they rapidly moved a few feet from the water. He steadied Dean and gently cradled Sam's head as Dean dropped to his knees, laying his precious burden onto the sand.

In the distance John could make out the sounds of at least two different sirens approaching. He turned to the children who had crept forward but stopped about ten feet away as though afraid to come closer. "Ambulance?"

"Yes sir, we called for help," one of the boys answered, his voice shaking. "Sam saved us, sir. He cut us free and saved us. Is he gonna be alright?"

John turned his back on them without answering, his throat tightening with bittersweet pride.

Dean pulled his fingers away from Sam's neck and tilted Sam's head back, leaning forward to put his cheek close to Sam's mouth. "He's not breathing," he muttered.

"Pulse?"

Dean gave a jerky nod without looking up and pinched Sam's nostrils shut before sealing his mouth over his brother's. John focused on Sam's chest as Dean breathed into Sam's mouth. It didn't move, denying Dean's attempts to save his brother.

"Damn it!" Dean's low growl was edged with desperation. He repositioned Sam's head and tried again with the same devastating result. "Maybe something's blocking…" His voice trailed off as he raised himself onto his knees and began shuffling into position for abdominal thrusts.

John's eyes ran over his unconscious son, taking in the small rips in his shirt, the blood on his arms. "Dean, wait."

Dean stopped and immediately looked up, eighteen years of conditioning impossible to break even in the heat of anger.

John reached over and gently lifted Sam's right hand, turning it so that Dean could see the inconspicuous bite mark in the midst of the gouges and scratches on Sam's wrist. He had caught every heated word that Dean had spat at him over the phone, and then listened to the message left by Sam. The message about bite marks and closed throats.

The anger at John's interruption faded, replaced by misery. "Oh god…Sammy." Dean's face crumpled and he began stroking his fingers through Sam's wet hair. John fought the desire to push Dean aside and lift Sam himself, cradle him against his chest. That would be giving up. He didn't give up so easily, and he'd taught his sons better than that.

They were playing beat the clock. Empathy wouldn't cut it. "Don't you crack now, boy," he snapped. "Sam needs you." Dean stiffened, his posture straightening. The anger was back in his eyes but he gave a quick nod.

"Keep trying the mouth to mouth. I'm going to stash the weapons and wait for the medics." His broad back hid his movements from the group of children as he slipped the knife out of the sheath on Sam's waist. The ceremonial weapon would raise too many questions. "I'll guide the medics back here as soon as they arrive and make sure they have what they need to intubate." The sirens had been coming steadily closer, they had to be reaching the clearing soon. He wasn't sure if the medics actually could intubate through the closed throat, but he wasn't about to share that fear. If they lost hope, they'd lose Sam. That much he was sure of.

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Dean ignored John's retreat from the beach, shakily adjusting the position of Sam's head and jaw again. Maybe if he got it just right… But the air just wouldn't go in. Dean broke off and rested his forehead against Sam's chin for a moment. "I'm sorry Sammy," he whispered softly. His world was breaking apart around him and there didn't seem to be anything he could do about it.

He caught the movement in his peripheral vision, a small set of knees hitting the sand next to Sam's head. He looked up into the little girl's sympathetic green eyes, momentarily taken aback by the maturity there. Her long hair was poker straight, a silky blonde curtain cascading over the shoulders of her gauzy green sundress.

He hadn't noticed her before and he glanced over at Joey, wondering if she was part of that group. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Joey and his friends weren't even looking in his direction, for some reason all five seemed to think it was more interesting to just stare at the lake than to watch the drama on the sand in front of them. His eyes swung back to her, narrowed in suspicion. "Who are you? What did you do?" He laid a hand protectively on Sam's shoulder while his other hand began to creep towards the sheath at Sam's waist before suddenly freezing. Crap. Dad took the knife. Almost subconsciously he hunched forward so that he was practically crouched over his brother's still form, ready to protect Sam however he could.

The child was beautiful, ethereal, her green eyes bright spots of color in her pale face. She kneeled calmly in the sand with her long tapered fingers intertwined in her lap, unfazed by his hostility. The air around her seemed to catch the sunlight and deflect it in a constant shimmer. "I did them no harm," she said softly, her voice lilting, musical. "We turn the attention of others away from ourselves when we must." Her gaze shifted to Sam and her right hand reached forward to stroke across Sam's forehead.

Dean tensed when her hand moved, until he looked at her face. She was looking at Sam with a sad affection that ate through Dean's defenses. Sam was dying in front of him. He was certain of that. And she seemed to know it too. "So sad, so young and beautiful," she murmured, her whisper the sound of wind through the leaves. It should have been absurd to hear this young child call a man three times her size 'young', but Dean had a feeling that this creature was far, far, older than he was. "We reveal ourselves to you in honor of our debt to him." She raised her eyes to Dean and fixed him with a solemn stare. "I have been sent to help him if you will allow it."

'They' owed Sam a debt? The world shifted around Dean as a new reality slid into place. There had been an undercurrent to everything surrounding Sam for days now, but Dean hadn't even noticed the pieces of the puzzle as they fell into place. Not until the sprites in the water had led him to Sam and the puzzle's outline had started to take shape.

He didn't know exactly how Sam was involved with the fae in all of this, but he couldn't find it in himself to be angry at his brother for keeping it a secret. He and Dad had given Sam no reason to trust them. Especially with something like this. They'd forced Sam to handle whatever was going on alone, and now they were losing him. His fingers clenched tight on a fold of Sam's sodden T shirt as though the grip could keep his brother at his side.

"What about—" He gestured towards the trees screening the clearing, drawing her attention to the sirens. For the first time he realized that the sirens sounded muted, their wail strangely drawn out, as though things were moving more slowly outside of the bubble they were in. "They have medicine. Equipment. They can cut a hole in his throat to get to his lungs if they have to!" He wanted her to say that it would be enough to save Sam. He needed her to say it so that he could ignore the part of his own mind that was telling him it was already far too late.

"The lake Cailleach was very strong. Her venom…the enchantment did more than close a vise around his neck and bring a haze to his mind." She brushed her right hand lightly over Sam's throat, her voice sad. "Hers was a dark enchantment. His body will not accept breath, no matter the tricks or medicine you try, until the enchantment is gone." She tilted her head slightly and looked at Dean, the pity in her clear green eyes an almost palpable thing. "The enchantment will fade on its own…but not in time to save him."

Dean was being buried, in a pit with the world falling in on his head. He cupped Sam's cheek in his hand, his thumb idly skimming over his brother's cheekbone. God, he looked so peaceful. "It's already too late to save him," he whispered softly. He tilted his head back, looking up at the sky and willing the tears not to fall. Dad might have been able to fool himself, but Dean had been in the water with Sam. He knew the truth. "It's been too long. Way too long."

She tilted her head to the side. "And yet he still lives, does he not? There may still be time. You do not understand the full effects of the Cailleach enchantment." She looked at the bite mark on Sam's wrist and wrinkled her nose with distaste. "Do not let the crudeness of her methods blind you to her power. I might be able to help him if you will allow me, but it must be now if there is to be any hope. His spark fades."

The sirens reached a drawn out crescendo before slowly trailing off. They had made it to the clearing. If he was going to let her help Sam it had to be before John returned to the beach. Her magic might have changed the way time moved around them, but it hadn't stopped time. John would be coming back soon.

He looked at his brother's unmoving form and was filled with memories of Sam's wide eyed wonder at the thought of magic when he was a child. Real magic that could make things thrive and grow instead of destroying things. Sam still believed. Dean knew that. He still caught glimpses of that wonder inside of his brother. It was the reason Sam had fought so hard against the peri hunt.

Oh god. He wanted his brother back. He wanted another chance.

He made a leap of faith based as much in his knowledge that this was what Sam would choose as it was in desperation. "Please help him."

She smiled and opened up her left hand, revealing a large oblong leaf with a pointed end and small hairs furring its surface. Dean's nose twitched at its unpleasant smell. Her graceful hands moved to Sam's face, gently opening his mouth. She held the leaf over him, crumpling it into a ball and squeezing it until liquid gathered and fell, fat round drops that landed between Sam's parted lips. Her hand moved to his throat and began to stroke it lightly with the bruised leaf as she bowed her head over him. She spoke soft words in a lyrical language that Dean had never heard before. Her long blonde hair parted when she leaned forward, revealing the gently pointed tip of her ear and Dean began to shake his head. Leave it to Sam to have freakin fairies trying to save him.

She sat up with a small sigh. "I've done what I can."

Dean's stomach clenched in fear. There was no change in Sam's condition that he could see. "That's it? What now? Is he going to be okay?"

"If he will be okay I do not know. His body is shedding the enchantment. In a few moments he will have much more need of air. You must breathe for him until he can breathe for himself." She took Dean's hand in hers and laid it over Sam's throat. "You will know when it is time." She leaned over and whispered soft words into Sam's ear before placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. Dean could only make out one word and his mouth dropped open. "Sasquatch?"

She pushed herself to her feet with a slight shrug. There was a hint of humor on her face when she answered. "I was merely delivering a message from another." The humor faded and she reached a small hand forward to touch Dean's cheek. "I wish you well. I hope your brother returns to you."

And then she was gone, skipping gracefully towards the trees with her green dress swirling around her. She held her arms out and tilted her head back as she moved, embracing the sunshine as her bare feet danced across the sand. She wreathed herself in joy so easily that Dean knew this was her true countenance, the serious moments that they had just shared the exception.

God he wished Sam could have seen it. It was everything his brother believed in. He lost sight of her in the shadows of the trees on the side of the beach, but not before he saw the fox that had been waiting to greet her.

Sound and movement rushed back in with an almost audible pop. He could hear pieces of equipment clanking together and voices calling back and forth as John led emergency personnel through the screen of trees. Joey and his friends were staring at Sam again, their faces showing stark fear. Under Dean's palm there was a sudden loosening of the tightness in Sam's neck, and the almost non-existent crawl of the pulse under his fingertips began to speed up and gain strength.

He repositioned Sam's head and leaned forward, cursing when his own breath hitched in his throat. please…please…please He pushed air gently between Sam's lips. There was a moment of resistance and then Sam's chest began to rise.

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He did as she instructed, breathing for Sam until the arriving army of EMTs and Medics pushed him out of the way. Apparently a panicked child announcing that there were several children and a man 'drowning' earned a pretty healthy response from the dispatch center. Especially with the current spate of incidents around the lake.

Dean sat back on his haunches and watched as they poked and prodded at Sam, cutting his T shirt away and slapping a mask over his face. He answered questions numbly, his eyes fixed on the blue gloved hands squeezing a bag to force oxygen into his brother's lungs. His calm façade stayed strong until the inevitable question about drugs and alcohol. Statistics said in drowning incidents involving young men Sam's age…

The medic could shove his statistics where the sun didn't shine. There was no way he was going to let these Bozos think they were treating some kind of drugged up moron.

"I'm gonna tell you this once, so listen up and spread it around," he snarled. He nodded his head to where Joey and his friends were talking to another EMT and a police officer. "Those kids over there and Sam's friends will back this up. Sam and his friends think the lake is dangerous right now because of the grass. One of Sam's friends found out that his little brother and his buddies were coming up here to swim. He asked Sam to head them off. Sam called our dad and me to meet him up here." He didn't even have to look up at John hovering over his shoulder to know that his father caught the underlying anger in his voice. He could feel the man tense behind him. "Sam got here first and three kids were already in trouble in the water. He saved those kids." He didn't want there to be any doubt in the minds of the people working on his brother. Goddamn, he wanted John to be clear on this point. Sammy was a freakin' hero.

"He risked his own life to cut those kids free and get them to shore. He must have gotten tangled when he cut the last kid loose. You can see where he must have been slashing to cut himself loose. Maybe he panicked a little, I don't know." He nodded at the small cuts peppering Sam's arms and shoulders, the slices down his arm and gouges near his wrist. He felt a moment of nausea at the thought of the underwater battle that would have caused those marks. A battle that his little brother had been forced to fight alone. "By the time he got free it was too late. He swallowed a little water and it caused the spasm."

There was no change in the rapid flow of their movements as they continued to assess Sam, but he didn't think it was his imagination that there was a subtle shift in the expressions on their faces when they looked at his brother. Damn right people. You treat my brother with respect.

"How about you?" the medic who was interrogating him asked brusquely. "Did you take in any water?"

The question startled Dean. He'd forgotten that he probably looked like a drowned rat at the moment. He gave his head a quick shake. "No, none. I'm fine."

Feeling 'fine' went out the window as soon as they pulled out a metal blade and handle and started to maneuver it into Sam's mouth to 'tube' him. There was no way he could watch that. Not without a month of nightmares. He pushed himself to his feet and backed away, turning towards the lake as the metal began to slide more deeply into Sam's mouth.

It was amazing. Subtle, but easy to see if you knew to look for it. The green scum seemed to be collapsing in on itself. At this rate there would be no sign that it was ever there within a couple of days.

The crunch of the coarse sand under a workboot announced John's arrival at his side. His own boots were dropped onto the sand next to him and he crouched down to pull them on without even acknowledging his father. When he stood he took a step sideways, increasing the distance between them.

"Justin's brother…Joey?...gave me both of your phones." John flashed the small phones in his hand but held onto them. Dean's pockets were a little too soggy to stash his. "He said Eric called. Joey told him what was happening."

It was a strange thought to Dean. There were people outside of the family who should be told about what happened to Sam. Not other hunters who needed to pick up the slack or lend a hand. Just normal people who cared.

"Did you have a chance to talk to Sam?" John asked quietly.

"You mean before he went into the water to save those kids by himself?" He was not giving John the details of that last call from Sam. His brother had sounded so scared and alone, almost begging for his big brother's understanding and acceptance. Acceptance that Dean never had a chance to give to him. There was no way he was sharing that vulnerable part of Sam with the man beside him.

John was quiet for a moment and Dean was almost disappointed when he didn't try to justify his actions. Dean needed a focus for the heartbroken anger inside of him. A trigger that would let him release the poison that was building to dangerous levels.

"We need to finish what Sam started here," John finally explained, his voice subdued. "I just wanted to know if he had a chance to fill you in at all."

This was it. This was the point when he had to decide just how much he was going to tell John about what he'd seen, what he'd figured out. Dean understood where Sam was coming from in the fight over the peri now. These things…however Sam was involved with them…John wouldn't care. He wouldn't care that Sam wouldn't have had a chance without them. He would think they were too unpredictable to be trusted. Think they should be destroyed.

Who was Dean kidding? A big part of him felt the same way as John. But it wasn't the way Sam felt, and ignoring Sam's opinions was how they'd fallen to this point. He was going to follow his brother's lead on this. He owed Sam that. No matter how much it tore him up inside to go against almost eighteen years of training and a lifetime of loyalty and obedience. Thinking about what he and Dad had done to Sam? That tore him up more.

"Two dark Fae. A nursery bogie in the water, some type of hag in the woods near the lake. And their little pets. Spriggans. He didn't have time to tell me any more than that. There were kids screaming for help," he snarled.

The look on John's face said that he was reaching the end of his tolerance. The guilt and worry were still there, but Dean could see the hunter looking for information pushing its way to the fore. He had to resist a strong urge to knock the growing impatience off of John's face with his fist. They were shoving a goddamn tube down his son's throat not twenty feet away from him, but all he cared about was the hunt.

"That's all I know. He tried to talk to us last night, remember? We could have been researching this together but we shut him down," he said bitterly. "How could we have done that to him?" Guilt was once again starting to pull at John's features, and Dean pressed on.

"We shove it in his face that people die if we ignore hunts, and then when he's doing what we preach we turn our backs on him! We were supposed to be looking out for him, Dad, and we let him down. We told him he was worthless and then we left him swinging in the wind!" His face twisted and his voice came out in a broken whisper. For some reason the tears filling John's eyes made it all too real. "Sammy might die thinking he's alone." He cleared his throat and looked away, hunching his shoulders as a chill shook him. "This is just so screwed up."

John's hand was a warm weight on his shoulder. "Sam's strong, Dean. He's going to be okay. You've got to believe that. I'm sure he knows we were just angry, that he knows how we really feel about him."

Dean's blood froze at the words and he shrugged his shoulder violently, throwing John's hand off. "You really don't know him at all, do you? Hell, Dad! Open your eyes! With the way you've been treating him I don't even know how you feel about him! Some big brother, huh? Never standing up for him?" His mouth curved into a cold smile. "Hey, maybe you'll get your wish! 'I don't want to hear another word from you.' Wasn't that pretty much the last thing you said to him? Before you hung up on him as he was asking for help?"

He could see the words hit home. Dean hated himself for a moment as the blood drained from his father's face, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize. For the last few days his treatment of his brother had followed a path set out by John. He'd trusted that as harsh as things seemed, ultimately John was doing what was best for his youngest son. He was their father for Christ's sake! Wasn't his son's welfare supposed to be his top priority? But looking back on things…all he could see now were a whole bunch of times when John's harshness bordered on cruelty. And Dean had been right by John's side.

And they expected Sam to fight to survive this? To come back to his 'loving' family?

Out of the corner of his eye he could see medics and police officers crouching down to grab the backboard that they had rolled Sam onto. Dean trotted away from his father without another word, reaching the group in time to take his place at one of the corners. Any hope of avoiding nightmares went out the window when he looked at Sam's face. His slack features and wet tendrils of hair curling across his forehead, the tube taped in place between his lips, the medic keeping pace with them, one large hand holding an IV bag aloft and the other 'bagging' his brother… Yeah, that image was gonna be burned into his brain for a while.

Right next to the knowledge that he and Dad had put Sam on that board.

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How long have I been in this storm?
So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form
Water's getting harder to tread
With these waves crashing over my head

If I could just see you
Everything would be all right
If I'd see you
This darkness would turn to light

And I will walk on water
And you will catch me if I fall
And I will get lost into your eyes
I know everything will be alright
I know everything is alright

I know you didn't bring me out here to drown
So why am I ten feet under and upside down
Barely surviving has become my purpose
Cause I'm so used to living underneath the surface

"Storm" by Lifehouse

A/N: The vast difference between the Sam who had the strength and courage to save those children and the Sam who accepted his drowning might have seemed a little strange, even when you take into account Sam's recent emotional battering and the depressant effects of the venom. We all know how stubborn Sam is. So I'll tell you a little story I already told some people while replying to reviews.

Years ago, in a fandom far away, I wrote another story that involved drowning. Though the characters and circumstances and motivations were different, the stages of the drowning were the same. Because, quite frankly, the stages of drowning are the stages of drowning. Afterwards a reader got in touch with me and we talked a bit. Her mother had been the victim of a near drowning and also read the story. And she said the emotional stages I described were exactly the way it happened to her. The struggle to survive, and then the sorrowful acceptance of fate and letting go. Thinking about the loneliness of that moment still gets to me.

Of course doing that story didn't help at all when researching the medical aspects. No such luck for a variety of reasons. Dang. LOL