In alchemy, the symbol for air is a triangle, point side up, dissected one third of the way down with a straight line. In Tarot, air is represented as swords or wands, depending on the deck. Aquarius, Dean's astrological sign, is one of the three air signs. In Enochian lure, Raphael is the Archangel of air, and he supposedly has some power to summon or compel.
The Winchester brothers have spent days researching fairies and elementals. Sylphs are fairies, of a sort; specifically they are air elementals – immortal representations of pure power. Like Death, they can be bound, if you can find the right ingredients, if you have enough magic of your own. Air elementals are considered extremely mobile spirits, sharp, penetrating, changeable, both masculine and feminine, and are associated with blood – both are said to be wet and hot.
Like fairies, iron will repel them; silver – like his favorite hunting knife – will burn them. Unlike fairies, they are not distracted by spilled salt or sugar, and they aren't lured by cream.
Knowing any this will not help Dean. He's going to have to try talking to it. He decides, if needs be, he'll throw in a little reasoning, some cajoling, could end up begging. He wants his life back, so he can pretend that this one just one more sexual assault on his dignity when he was a kid. Stow it away with the others and not talk about it. Then he and Sam can get the hell out of Corpus Christi, out of Texas. Whatever it takes.
Dean scrambles to his feet. "Umm, hello, uh…I don't know your name."
"Names have their own magic. I do not share mine, Dean Winchester, now known as Dean Singer."
Dean licks his lips to try to get enough moisture to speak. He wishes he'd been smart enough to bring water on his run. "Okay, so not a true name, just something I can call you by right now."
"I will answer to Aether, Dean Winchester, and I came when you called this time because your emotions are fierce and penetrating. We do not have long to talk because even now your brother hunts you, and your Christian angel stalks me. I did you favor for favor, did I not?"
The sylph shimmers in the afternoon sun, ephemeral, flickering like she could be in an old motion picture. Dean wonders how he missed her otherworldliness so completely when he first met her. "Aether, well, you did return a favor. I just worded it badly. I wanted long lives, not an age regression."
"Do you not like how supple your body is? How free it is from the aches from years of abuse?"
Dean can't help but stretch at that. It is nice not to feel his joints and bones creak and ache with wear and tear of hitting too many walls too hard too many times, even since Cas rebuilt him. He plans to be careful and polite with this elemental – like Death, like Cas full of millions of Purgatory souls - the spirit is more powerful than he can hope to defeat. Besides, this was his fault, not hers. "I'm sorry Aether, sometimes we humans wish for things without thinking it all the way through. I've left myself open to too many problems – my life isn't a safe place for a kid. It never was."
Aether tilts her head; it's reminiscent of that thing Cas does when he's puzzled by human behavior. "You have been tied too tightly to the events of heaven and hell. Events will always arise to prepare you for the destiny. I see that you have been tormented and always will be as long as your spirit is entwined with the Christian mythos." She shakes her head. "I gave you what you asked for as reward, not punishment."
Shrugging softly, Dean says, "Yeah, well, I guess I'm destined to live a short, sucky life and die bloody."
The sylph moves closer, wafting on the ocean breeze. She sees a deep yearning to be free in him. "You could be free. You could come with me, leave this plane. We can be as we wish, always together, never alone, creating and destroying at will, our will. Why stay here when they have put you through fire, buried you in earth, and drowned you in sorrow? Why stay? Come with me, be air, be truly free."
Something in Dean is perched and ready to say yes. He wants, no he covets, freedom. No weight on his shoulders, no responsibility to weigh him down, no attachments to tether him to the life of a wandering hero. "I never have been a very good hero," he murmurs. Then, torn back to his reality, he says simply, "Sam."
"I will not rush you this time. The second time the golden dawn breaks the sky, meet me here. I will grant you either a return to your old body, scars and all, or an escape to where you will be cherished for all that you are. But you must decide. If you do not show up – things will remain as they are. Until then."
Dean glances down the beach and sees Sam jogging towards him, dogged, determined, tagging along after him because that's what they were raised to do. Sam chooses freedom as often as he can, Dean thinks. I tie him to this horrible life. I drag him into this. Without me, Sam is free. Sam plops down beside Dean on the sand. Takes a daypack off his shoulder and removes two bottles of water. He hands one to Dean. "Long run even for me." Sam offers in lieu of a greeting.
"Perks of being a kid, Sammy." Dean sounds a little too cheerful, given the way things had been between them earlier. Sam studies his brother.
"What are you so happy about?" Sam's not sure what to make of this mood his brother is in. Relieved? Dean seems as though he has stopped worrying, and left his anger behind.
"What? I wanted water; you show up, like a magic Genii … the good kind like Barbara Eden, but not as cute…and give me water. What's not to like?"
Sam can tell when Dean is covering things up. It's actually even easier to do so when his brother is wearing a younger face. Something is up. Something Dean is not telling Sam, and in light of the warnings from the suicide information page, this has Sam really worried. One of the symptoms of depression turning to suicide on the website was "Sudden, unexpected switch from being very sad to being very calm or appearing to be happy."
"Dean, man, you scared me. I can't … I'm not as mature as I used to be either you know. I need you to tell me what you're feeling, what you're thinking." Sam is fumbling his way through this, but he knows his actions earlier pissed his brother off, and he's struggling to find the right way to handle this. He needs his big brother to help him. "Dean, I really hope you're not suicidal because I can't do this without you."
Dean avoids Sam's eyes, stares across the gulf watching the sun's lowered winter light turn the water silver. It is so peaceful here. He turns back to his brother. "You wouldn't have to do it without me. You could go live a normal life, hell, go back to college, if it weren't for me. I was already an anchor little brother. This me, I'd drag you under caring for me because I'm messed up."
What does any loving family member do when someone they love expresses a desire to die? The website says don't argue, don't tell them they have so much to live for, don't shrug it off. Hide the means, like weapons and drugs, and if it is imminent, take the person to an emergency room. Sam wonders if he stands a chance of dragging Dean to an emergency room, and decides to ignore the advice and try arguing with him.
"Did you like Hell that much, Dean? You want to go back?" Damn, Sam thinks to himself. He didn't mean for the words to sound so angry. "Dean…" He tries to be more gentle. "Just, don't, okay? I…no matter how twisted your head is right now…I am not better off without you. You're my family. Please. Don't leave me alone here."
Eyes widening, Dean darts a quick glance at Sam. "But Sam, you want to go back to college. You want to leave me again. You want your apple pie life that has never included me." Sam's surprised he actually has Dean talking, even if what he's saying drives knives into his heart. Sam has never wanted life with no Dean in it.
"You've got that wrong, big brother," Sam says out loud. "Yeah, I went away to college – a long time ago, but I never wanted to cut you out of my life. And the times I haven't had you in my life since then…when you were in Hell, and when you were in Purgatory…I didn't do so great by myself. It took everything I had to just keep going."
Dean shifts again, and Sam watches emotions flit across his unguarded face, sorrow, fear, an achingly deep pain, maybe an ounce of hope. The green eyes that turn to him shine with unshed tears and love, the same unshakeable love Dean has given Sam his entire life. Then he says something that stuns Sam.
"But Sam, what if I have a way to go, to be out of pain, out of this life, but not have to worry about heaven or hell? Do you want me to turn that down?"