A/N: I had hoped to have this posted this morning, but once again we've been sitting in front of line after line of thunderstorms.

As always I am very grateful to everyone who took a moment to review the story. I know I can be a little slow with replies because of the pressures of RL, but believe they mean the world to me. And to anyone that I can't reply to…thank you.

Warning: I'm sure there's cursing in the chapter somewhere. Believe it or not, it's not the way I talk. Much.

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 16:

Sam rested his hands on his thighs, hunching over slightly as his chest strained to bring oxygen into his lungs. God it hurt. He slumped slightly to the side, leaning against his brother's strong chest. It was warm and sturdy under Sam's cheek and Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He was five years old again, wrapped in the feeling of being safe and protected while his big brother kept the monsters away. Dean…please…help me…

"It's okay…I'm here…I gotcha Sammy…" Dean's heart beat strong and steady under his ear, slowing as Dean brought himself under control. He wouldn't allow himself to lose it when Sam needed him. Sam slowed his panicked gasps and let his world narrow down to the wheezing in his lungs. Dean would take care of the rest.

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Chapter 17 Somewhere In Between

"I feel ridiculous," Travis muttered.

The corner of John's mouth lifted but he kept the smirk hidden. Truth was, Travis looked ridiculous. Inside out jeans, inside out shirt, even an inside out baseball cap. "One of us has to be hidden from them," he said instead. The inside out clothing should make the smaller man invisible to the dark fae. At a minimum any spriggans in the woods wouldn't see him. "Are you set? You're going to have to move fast."

"If you can keep her distracted I can block the openings. You sure about this?"

"No," John said flatly. It wasn't the type of thing he would ever admit to his boys on a hunt, but Travis was a seasoned hunter. An equal who could make his own decisions. "But going after a higher level fae is always going to be tricky, and I think this plan's the best we got at short notice."

Travis crouched down and opened the box at his feet while John eyed the dark trees surrounding the small clearing. Normal night sounds filled the air, making the setting seem deceptively peaceful.

"You know, Johnny, I know this town is where all the old hippies went to retire, but there's something not right about me being able to find all the shit on your list. Gets me a little suspicious." He reached into the box and pulled out a corked glass bottle, passing it to John before reaching back into the carton. He shook his head as he pulled out two small flowerpots. Slender arching stems supported hanging flowers, so blue they looked almost purple in the light of the small lantern the men had set up. "What kind of herb store carries pots of English bluebells? Oh, and the old man in there said we're lucky. Another week and he wouldn't have had any in bloom."

"People in this town have always been a little different," John said softly, kneeling down to pull things from his duffle and set up a single burner camp stove. "But I'll have Sam do some research and make sure we haven't developed a witch problem." He put a small pot on top of the stove to heat and arranged a line of plastic bags in front of him.

"I'm still not sure about you just having the silver John." Travis climbed to his feet, brushing his knees off. "It'll slow her down, but it ain't gonna stop her."

"Then you better move your lazy ass and get the iron across both openings pretty damn quick," John smirked at his old friend. "With all the iron around the outside she'll never set foot in the circle if I have iron in here with me too." Travis had spent a couple of hours fighting the underbrush to lay semicircles of iron chain around the clearing, leaving wide openings at the trail on either end. "And I don't just have the silver." John smiled as he ran his hand over the rowan staff next to him. He'd smoothed it out and replaced the tattered strip from Sam's Tshirt with a sturdy red ribbon. His kid had good instincts, pulling the rowan branch down when he suspected it wasn't a pack of dogs attacking him and Dean. "Now get the hell out of here. It's almost midnight."

Travis moved off into the trees to get into position outside of the circle. "And don't go following the will-o-wisps!" John whispered, smiling at the other hunter's grumbled reply. They'd noticed the lights in the woods as they walked to the clearing. Burning steadily, enchanting, the creatures had tried to lure both men deeper into the forest. John hoped Caleb was right, that once the hag was gone all of her little pets would disappear.

John reached into the bags in front of him one at a time and threw handfuls into the heated pot. Dried elderberries and rosemary to attract the fae, and Caleb's suggestion of mistletoe to strengthen the spell. Hopefully it was close enough to Midsummer for the mistletoe to be effective.

The contents of the pot began to smoke, fragrance filling the air. The already loosened cork came out of the glass bottle with a pop and John poured the dark amber liquid into a small mug. He swirled it before taking a sip, releasing its aroma to the night. His lip curled up at the sweet taste of the elderberry wine.

"John, you said the spriggans were disguised as dogs, right?" Travis's whisper barely reached him through the stretch of trees.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Never mind. I'm pretty sure it was just a fox."

John leaned back against the fallen log behind him, swirling the wine and taking another sip. His casual pose hid the unease tightening his muscles. Elves weren't Santa's little helpers. They were higher level fae, unpredictable and dangerous, dark or not. There was no way of knowing just how powerful this one was. She was no Black Annis, but at a minimum she would be able to cloak herself in invisibility and move quickly when she felt threatened. They had to surprise her and trap her.

The fallen tree was solid against his back and he imagined her there, less than two days ago, sitting on the log and waiting to entice Dean. His son. Anger burnt through the unease. They were going to end this bitch.

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C'mon…where were they? Dean stabbed at the call button again, adding his voice this time. "Need a little help in here!"

Sam slumped against his chest, his shoulders heaving as his lungs fought to pull in each painful sounding wheeze. Dean kept his hand moving in little circles against his brother's shuddering back, ready to scream in frustration. Sammy couldn't breathe and there wasn't a damn thing Dean could do about it. Except be with him. "You're doing great kiddo. I'm gonna make sure they fix you right up. Just hang on."

He'd almost lost it when he'd looked up to see Sam's flared nostrils and the cords of his neck standing out as he struggled to breathe. Red numbers flashed on the monitor, lower and lower. He was losing the battle for oxygen. This could not be happening. It was some kind of frigging nightmare.

His brother was fine five minutes ago. He was freaking fine.

Sam lifted his hand, his fingers scrabbling to find purchase, finally twisting into the bottom hem of Dean's shirt sleeve and holding tight. Anchoring him. "I gotcha Sammy. You just hold onto me." Hold onto me Sammy, because I'm falling here.

He couldn't wig out on his little brother. He couldn't show that he was scared enough to lose everything in his stomach. His heart leapt at a flurry of activity in the doorway as Dr. Bauer strode into the room, a male nurse trailing her.

"He can't breathe!" Dean snapped, cursing himself for the waver in his voice. Sam needed him strong.

The doctor moved to the side of the bed, calmly pulling the stethoscope from around her neck as she approached. Dean grit his teeth together, ready to lash out at her for her composure. Couldn't she see he was losing his brother here?

"Hey, Sam. You just wanted to see me before I went off shift, didn't you." She smiled as she sat on the edge of the bed across from Dean, but he saw the skin around her eyes tighten as she glanced at the monitors. "Mark, how about if we get Sam back on the non rebreather," she said quietly without even looking at the nurse.

She pressed the stethoscope to Sam's chest, allowing him to stay in his position leaning against Dean. Her eyes shifted away from them as she concentrated on listening, gently moving the stethoscope's chestpiece from spot to spot. She gave a little nod and sat up, turning her attention to Dean as the nurse replaced the nasal cannula with a mask. "Did this come on quickly, or has it been building?"

"It was quick," Dean answered. He lifted his hand out of the doctor's way as she placed the chestpiece against Sam's back. His fingers found the rigid cords in the back of Sam's neck and massaged them with the lightest of touches as they alternately tensed and loosened, the rhythm set by his brother's fight for oxygen. "If it was slow don't you think I would have called you a while ago?" he snapped out.

She nodded again, ignoring his tempter, and let the stethoscope dangle from her neck as she leaned forward to look at Sam's face. "Sam, I know you're having trouble right now, but we're going to make that better. I think your lungs got pretty irritated today and now you're having what's called an acute bronchospasm. It's like asthma. We're going to get you set up with some albuterol in a nebulizer and see if we can't get that under control, okay?"

The head leaning against Dean's chest moved in a short choppy nod and the doctor climbed off of the bed. The nurse opened a small closet in the wall behind Dean and efficiently pulled equipment from it. They must have set the room up with the things Sam might need. Dean swallowed dryly at the intubation kit still sitting in the closet and began praying that it would stay on the shelf. It didn't take a genius to figure out that Sam getting tubed again would be a monumentally bad sign. He tore his eyes away, dropping his gaze to the top of the dark head against him. He lowered his face and rested his mouth on the mop of hair. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. Just hang in there."

His brother trembled against him, tilting a little more off balance as though he was losing the fight to stay upright and Dean's hand tightened on his shoulder.

Dean needed to ask if he should call their dad. He needed to ask what would happen if the medicine didn't work. What if this was more serious? He needed to ask questions, but he couldn't get the words past a throat that was tight with fear. Right now his little brother was warm and solid and alive against him, and he was terrified to let go of the moment. If he let go it might all slip away.

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The Cailleach was fury and hunger and fear. So hungry. She had not eaten since the delicate little morsel her sister had gifted her with. She couldn't feel her sister anymore, the loss opening a pit of terror inside of her.

Anger was so much sweeter than the fear.

The little one could feel her anger and raced away from her, leading her a merry chase through the woods. But he must be tiring. Normally so fast, he couldn't seem to evade her, always just one step ahead. He should not have stumbled across her path. A ridiculous mistake by a ridiculous little creature.

She would feel his fur between her hands as she ripped him apart. If he changed…so much more delicious. She would hear him scream.

She stilled and tilted her wizened head to the side. Her prey had gone to ground. She could not hear the fox any longer. "Come out, come out, little cousin," she called in a tinkling sing-song. "I'd like to play."

Her feet barely skimmed the ground, moving her silently down the path that the chase had led her to. A shudder ran through her bony frame and her nose twitched in delight. A wonderful promise drifted on the warm night air of the path, leading her forward. Sweet smoke enticing her. The farther she moved down the path, the stronger the pull became. The bells were chiming, calling her. She stopped for a moment, heat rushing through her body at a new scent. Sweet, sweet, wine. It had been so very long and she loved it so.

The path flew by under her. She hesitated as she neared the spot where the path widened into a clearing. Agony. Agony skimmed along her sides. But the way in front of her was open and she continued past the partial barrier, not stopping until she was at the edge of the trees. A quick yip of laughter behind her held her for a second, but the aromas were too tempting. She would deal with her little cousin another time.

A mortal lounged before her. Handsome. Full of life. And she was so hungry.

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The sound of soft chimes drifted through the air and a chill chased down John's back. The bluebells. The lore was right. They chimed when a malicious fairy neared, attracting them. Warning him. He hoped the rest of the lore wasn't as accurate. They were called 'Deadmen's Bells' in Scotland, to hear them ring a harbinger of your own death.

She glided out of the edge of the trees, looking exactly as Dean had described. Same long skirt, same black hair. Same irresistible beauty. John kept his pose relaxed even as his heart sped up. Her eyes were dark, her slow sway as she approached lighting a thin flame of desire in his belly. His hand crept out to stroke gently on the rowan branch beside him and the heat in his stomach banked down to cold disgust. Her step faltered as her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

No no no. He had to keep her distracted until they had her trapped. He swirled the wine in his mug and took a slow sip, his eyes almost closed in enjoyment. When he opened them she was by his side, her eyes fixed on the mug.

"Such a strange place to find a lovely man in the night." Her voice was sultry, pulling at him.

"I like the dark," he said quietly, swirling the mug.

"May I join you?" She was sinking down next to him before he even answered, confident in the strength of her charm. She eyed the rowan wood on the ground on his other side, and John could almost feel the nervousness building inside of her. They couldn't lose her when they were so close.

"Glad for the company," he said with a slight slur. "I hate drinking alone." She relaxed, a slow smile spreading over her face. God, she truly was gorgeous. "Want some?"

He held the mug towards her, his hand deliberately unsteady. She took the mug from him and sipped, a look of pure pleasure washing over her features. A swirl of want curled through him. He took the mug back from her and sipped, the wine smooth on his tongue and warmth spreading through him. Her hand was on his face and his head swirled as she leaned down as though to kiss him.

His arm swung, the rowan club in his hand. It slashed between them and she tumbled backwards, away from it. He prayed there'd been enough time for Travis to block both openings.

She shot to her feet, hissing at him, and immediately began to fade from view. Cold satisfaction washed through John. Sharing the mug of elderberry wine had worked. He could still see her. The pale figure of a hunched hag stood in front of him, almost translucent but outlined in a soft light. She took a step towards him and he pulled the silver knife from its spot under the log before rising to his feet.

She fell back a step, fear twisting her features when she realized John was following her with his eyes. She turned away and flew towards the opening where she had entered, pulling up short with a shriek. Travis had trapped her.

"John!"

He turned toward the sharp call and caught the sheathed knife that Travis tossed to him. The old iron was cold in his hand as he drew the blade from its sheath, the knife eager to spill the blood of the second sister. Almost as eager as John.

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Monitors beeped steadily, assurance that all was right with the world. Finally. The albuterol had lived up to Doc Bauer's expectations and Dean's prayers, easing the constriction in Sam's lungs until he was breathing easily and the O² numbers were climbing. By the time he'd been stabilized both brothers were wrung out.

The kid had held his hand during the treatment. Actually held his frigging hand like he hadn't done since he was six. Although at six his brother didn't have the same massive paws and muscles that he now sported, so Dean's hand had escaped with fewer bruises back then.

The way Sam had clutched at him, the way his eyes were locked on Dean looking for promises that everything would be okay… Yeah, that had pretty much destroyed Dean. Reminded him of everything he'd almost lost. He'd waited until they were getting an x-ray to have his own quiet freak out. He'd sat on the bench outside of the ER doors with every horrific image of the past day running through his head before burying his face in his hands. He'd been shaking so hard that the entire bench rattled.

Doc Bauer had debated plopping Sam's ass right into the ICU in spite of the clean x-ray, but had finally decided to just keep him under observation. For now. One more sign that Sam wasn't free and clear, well on the road to complete recovery… One more freaking glitch and all bets were off. They'd intubate Sam and haul him to the land of hushed voices and whirring machines and constant scrutiny. And Dean would finally complete his nervous breakdown. As it was, someone from the staff was in the room every five minutes.

He didn't pull his phone out to call John until after they got the x-ray. Until after his hands had steadied and his legs felt sturdy enough to keep him upright. Dad would have sensed any weakness, and Dean just wasn't ready for that. He'd downplayed the incident, tapping into his simmering anger for John to keep his voice cool. It was easy to do once he heard the hag was done and he could let go of at least that part of his worry. He'd made it sound like there was no reason for John to rush to the hospital. Morning would be fine.

But the old man had always followed his own schedule. He could show up at any time. Or not at all. Dean wasn't sure how he was going to handle either contingency. Tensions might have eased between Dad and Sam, but the guilty secrets Dean carried now put him right back into the fire between the two of them.

And what kind of hypocrite did it make him, that if the fairy who had helped Sam on the beach had appeared when Sam was struggling to breathe Dean would have chased the doctor and nurses out of the room to let her do her thing?

Dean paced the room, scrubbing his hands over his face. Sam was one of the lucky percentage to get hyped up from albuterol. Nervous and unable to sleep for hours. It was close to dawn and exhaustion had finally pulled Sam under a little while ago.

God, he wanted this night to end. But at the same time he wished he had so many more hours before he had to face his dad. Because he just didn't know how he was going to do this.

He stopped next to the bed and looked down at the quiet form. How could someone so big look so small sometimes? A soft warmth started somewhere in his chest and slowly spread as he reached out to brush long bangs out of Sam's eyes. The sleeping teen stirred and Dean ran his thumb in soft strokes over his temple and the shaggy hair next to it. "Shhhh…just sleep Sammy…it's okay…" Sam sighed softly into the mask and settled back into stillness.

Exhaustion was a lead weight on top of Dean, but he couldn't allow himself to sleep. What if Sam's breathing worsened and the nurses missed it? Doc Bauer had left for the night and Dean didn't trust the new doctor yet. No, it was on him to make sure his little brother was okay.

Always had been, always would be.

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John settled himself onto the edge of the bed, leaving the recliner for Dean. His older son had dark circles under his eyes and that subtle shakiness that came after a completely sleepless night. Exhaustion might explain his weird attitude, but John didn't think so.

Ever since Dean was little and John's closest confidante and partner in the hunting life they led, he'd wanted the details of every hunt when John got home. Every gory bit of information he could pull from his father. The more unusual and complicated the hunt, the more he wanted to hear about it. Hunting dark fae was guaranteed to fascinate him.

But this morning, nothing. All he wanted to know was that the hag was dead and both hunters okay. He'd actually turned his back, physically distanced himself, when John had discussed the hunt with Sam. It wasn't just his imagination that something was off, Sam kept shooting worried looks at his brother too. If it was anyone other than Dean, he'd think they were acting guilty, hiding something from him. But this was Dean. One of the few things that John counted on in his life was that Dean didn't keep secrets from him.

It was more likely that Dean still felt guilty about the way everything had gone down with Sam. John had had a chance to think things through, put things into perspective and realize that dwelling on past mistakes gained them nothing. They'd all screwed up, it was time to let it go and move on. Maybe the information John had for the two of them would reassure Dean that he wasn't a completely oblivious bastard.

He took a sip from the cardboard coffee cup in his hand, savoring the moment. "So, neither one of you asked me why I didn't get here until lunchtime."

"Figured you had things to do," Sam shrugged, sipping from the soda John had brought him. "And anyway, I'm not complaining." He reached into the fast food bag on his lap and snagged another fry. He scowled but tossed it to Dean when his brother held his hand out. "You already ate yours, jerk."

"Yeah, and now I'm gonna eat yours, bitch. You heard the doctor. Light food today."

Sam rolled his eyes and stuffed a handful of fries into his mouth, returning his attention to his father. The kid looked good. Alert, not as pale, and his oxygen levels were perfect even though they'd taken him off all oxygen a couple of hours ago.

"I spent the morning at the garage with Phil, discussing the new shop. He's been pushing me to manage it and I finally told him I would."

A small grunt came from Dean's direction, but John kept his eyes on Sam. His younger son's eyes dimmed and he put the soda down on the tray next to the bed. "You shouldn't do that, sir," he said quietly, his gaze dropping to his lap. "It's not fair to Phil to make that commitment when you know you'll be leaving soon."

John couldn't stop the soft grin from curving his lips. "I told him I'd commit to a year."

Dean went completely still in the recliner and Sam's head shot up, his eyes wide. "A year?"

"Yeah, a year." He'd made the decision while he was waiting for Travis the night before. He asked so much from the boys…this life had taken so much from them…that he owed them this. He owed them a year in an actual home. Christ, it was something Sammy had never even had. And this was the best year for it. He figured he could bury his own ghosts long enough to let them stay in the cabin for the year. He sighed and scratched at the back of his neck.

"Contrary to appearances, I'm not blind, boys. Things have been rough lately. I know we need a break from the road, a chance to regroup. This is the logical time and place." He looked back and forth between the two of them. "Don't get me wrong, we're not giving up training or hunting for the year. We can use this as a base of operations for shorter hunts in the area. Phil knows there are times I'm gonna have to go away for a few days, and he's okay with that. And there's gonna be times that I need one or both of you to go with me, and that's non-negotiable." He waited until he got nods from both of them. They both looked shell-shocked.

He gestured at Dean. "You and I working steadily for a year will give us a chance to save up some funds. And Sammy will be able to finish up school in one straight shot, so we won't have that hanging over our heads any more." And if Sam should manage to fit in some sports, and time with friends… He owed the kid that much. "So I'm promising you now, we're here for the coming year." He spoke those words directly to Sam. The stunned look on his son's face sent a little kick of amusement through him.

He would give Sam this chance to get his feet under him, give him a chance to grow up a little. Get school and all of his teenage angst out of his system. And when those distractions were gone, it would be time for Sam to finally accept his responsibilities.

He would give Sam this year, but he expected to gain a committed hunter out of the deal.

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I can't be losing sleep over this, no, I can't
And I cannot stop pacing
Give me a few hours and I'll have this all sorted out
If my mind would just stop racing

'Cause I cannot stand still
I can't be this unsturdy
This cannot be happening

This is over my head, but underneath my feet
Cause by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat
And everything will be back to the way that it was
I wish that it was just that easy

"Somewhere In Between" by Lifehouse

A/N: Well, the truth is out. I know the assumption is out there that the Winchesters spent most of their time on the road, flitting from place to place. But I've always believed that at some point, most logically towards the end of Sam's high school years, they had to have settled into one spot for a while. To not just be accepted into Stanford, but to also get a full ride? That would take more than straight A's and top of line SAT's. They had to be in one place long enough for Sam to gather killer references, and an impressive list of activities. And if he could actually make it to the school for a preadmission interview, even better.

And if 'John's Journal' says differently...I don't care so don't bother to tell me. LOL As far as I'm concerned the only canon are the things they show on the screen.

A/N2: The elements of the hunt for the hag are all taken from fae lore.