Disclaimer: I don't own any of it. Do you?
Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter! I really appreciate it. I've got the winter blues and it's KILLING me. I've also been slogging through this chapter, adding and adding, so this is now the BIGGEST chapter so far. Hope you like it!
Bobby stood at the top of the stairs, his breathe bated as he listened for the sound of Dean's screaming. The house had fallen silent a few minutes beforehand and Bobby couldn't help but wonder if he died or finally passed out. He was exhausted, Sam too.
The night had been a flurry of worry, phone calls, and frustration. From the second the Holy water had mixed in his blood stream, there had been no going back; something that Bobby regretted more than once. They had done everything from debate pulling the bag down to adding another one and if and how to wean it down slowly. Sam decided to finish the first bag, refusing to let Bobby take it down; convinced it was working when Dean had looked at him, panting hard and teeth gritted. Something had passed between them, as with brothers who have spent their whole lives living inside each other's pockets. Sam knew what Dean wanted, and it wasn't to quit after everything he had already been put through.
Once the first bag had finished Dean had gone down hard, unresponsive to the point where Bobby had suggested an ambulance. Sam had adamantly refused, leaving Bobby no choice but to hit Dean sharply with a small dose of adrenaline. It hadn't been pretty to witness Dean buck against the restraints, blood dripping from a bit lip. Dean passed back out as Sam had hung the second bag, only to come back harshly as the Holy Water burned through him, the mist pouring through his pores. By the end of the second bag, it had lessened but not abated.
That time, they had waited until Dean had woken on his own an hour later before offering to stop right there and then. Dean had stared at the bag of fluids in Sam's hand before holding his own arm out, an indifferent look on his face.
That bag had run out two hours ago; Bobby convinced that Dean needed a break between the bags as much as he and Sam needed a break from the screaming. It had been a long, painful night.
He listened again for any sound coming from downstairs. Sam had gone down twenty minutes ago to hang the next bag of the stuff. Bobby shook his head in disappointment when he heard Dean cry out again…he wasn't out of the woods yet. He watched as Sam shuffled to the bottom of the stairs, tiredly climbing them as Dean's volume carried his agony to their ears.
"Not over yet?"
Sam shook his head as a sigh of frustration escaped his lips. "I thought for sure it was…took longer for the mist to start this time…I was hoping it was over for him."
Bobby pointed him toward the couch. "It's slowing down some at least, that's progress."
"I hope so," Sam said through a large yawn. "He's going to hate us for this."
"I'm sure he is, but at least he'll be alive," Bobby admitted. "It's gotta be burning him bad."
"How many more bags do you think it'll take?"
Bobby shook his head, trying to calculate the number. "Until the mist has stopped… I have no idea. Now, you get some sleep and I'll go sit with him for a while; at least until the bag is over and he passes out again."
Sam shook his head and grabbed a pillow from the couch before heading back downstairs. Bobby headed for the front door, stepping out into the quiet morning. He could see thunderheads, a storm on the horizon. He felt his heart skip a beat as the mailman pulled into his driveway. Bobby was down the steps and waiting impatiently before the rusty Jeep even managed to roll up next to him. Bobby frowned at the ever familiar face; quite frankly, he hated his mailman, a young man with a penchant for curiosity, forever interested in the odd assortment of packages that ended up on Bobby Singer's porch.
It wasn't Bobby's fault that his book seller liked to use hex marks to ensure his books a safe journey or that some boxes smelled weird; like the ones from Sweetie, a second generation hippie from Canada, who shipped Bobby boxes of heirloom variety herbs. Sometimes Bobby just wished he could order his things from Amazon like everybody else, at least then his mailman might forget to be curious.
"Morning, Mr. Singer," the man called out as he rustled through a handful of mail. "I've got a package here for you…from Tennessee, if I recall."
Bobby watched the man dig through the crate on the seat next to him, wishing he could put some sort of mailman deterrents around the place. He watched as the man picked up a box, wrapped in plain brown paper. He could see the edges of what looked like a Ho-Tu charm drawn on the bottom of the box. The man turned it over in his hand, admiring the pattern of dots and lines that made up the Chinese symbol. "Interesting design."
Bobby didn't say anything as he turned his attention back to the clouds on the horizon. He wasn't going to explain Chinese charms or the box to the pesky man.
The man hefted the box in his hand, running a hand over the return address. "Abraham Graber…Amish, maybe?"
Bobby grunted and held out a hand to take the package. Instead, the mailman handed him a stack of grocery ads, flyers, and envelopes; one hand still firmly attached to the box while he continued to look through the crate.
"I'm in a hurry this morning," Bobby ground out, glaring at the mailman.
"Aren't we all," the man said cheerfully as he handed the package to Bobby. "Always a package to be delivered somewhere; though not many as interesting as the ones you get here though. Are you trying to assemble a collection of something?"
Bobby couldn't help himself; the man was waiting with baited breath. "Yep."
Without another word, Bobby turned and headed for the steps.
"Of what," the persistent man called out.
Bobby turned slowly, taking a minute to look that way and that as though he was looking for spies. "Barbie dolls…vintage ones, this is the last one I needed to finish my collection."
The man looked flustered as Bobby walked up the steps, triumphant in knowing that would probably be the last time his mailman pestered him, much less talk to him.
Bobby looked at the package; it was indeed the one they had been waiting for. He didn't bother to acknowledge the mailman as he pulled away. The screen door slammed behind him as he hurried to the table, pulling a knife from the drawer to liberate the books from the brown parcel paper Abraham had wrapped around the box of books. He threw everything onto the other end of the table, scanning the note Abraham had included with the books; including firm instructions to not mail them back, that Alice would retrieve them herself.
He thumbed through the first of the books, it was heavy in his hand. Bound in worn leather and smelling like musty parchment, he was amazed at the block pressed drawings that were scattered throughout the book. Alice hadn't been kidding him when she had said the books were older than dirt.
"Those from Alice," Sam asked, startling him. "I took the IV bag down…I think Dean needs a break."
Bobby nodded before turning back to the pages before him. "It's going to take the rest of the day and night to read through these," he said as he headed to the fridge. Without a word he set a beer in front of Sam before sliding a book across the table to him. "If you can't sleep, get reading."
Sam eyed the beer before turning to Bobby. "Not going to give me any crap about drinking and taking pain killers," he asked with a crooked grin.
"Not this time," Bobby said with a shrug. "Just don't get into the hard stuff. I can't imagine that this is going to be easy to get through, not when we're so involved. How's Dean?"
Sam shook his head lightly before flipping the book open. "He passed out, I figure that's pretty damn good at least. I've got the door shut and locked."
Bobby nodded his approval before turning back to his own book.
They spent the day shuffling through pages, making notations on scrap papers littering the table. Every half hour they'd take turns trudging downstairs to check on Dean. Bobby wasn't happy, neither was Sam. The fever had gone down, yet kept right on trying to come back. Dean went from being lucid to overcome with hallucinations nearly every hour, rambling about banquets and white eyed men. He'd calm down long enough to ask where he was and to tell Sam he didn't need to hover over him, even as he cast fearful glances around the room. It was a painful cycle for Bobby and Sam to watch.
It was near dark when Bobby heard the telltale sound of someone pulling into the yard. He glanced at Sam; his upper body slumped on the table, finally having given in to the sleep that kept creeping up on him. He pulled a sawed off shotgun from his hallway bookshelf, loaded with salt rounds, and stood inside the doorway, shadows keeping him out of sight as he watched the visitor. He hadn't been expecting anyone.
He was surprised to see a 1953 Indian motorcycle pull to a stop in his yard, a sidecar visible. The rider didn't turn toward the house as they climbed off the motorcycle; yanking the canvas cover loose from the sidecar exposing duffel bags, a rifle case, and a wooden crate . Braided hair shook loose from the helmet, the last of the evening light catching the auburn hair. Bobby didn't need to see her face to know it was Alice. No one but her would come unannounced and a day early.
She grabbed the duffel bag from the sidecar and hefted it over her shoulder before trudging across the yard, her boots heavy on the steps. She smiled somewhat coolly into the dark shadows of the doorway. "Hello, Bobby. You going to shoot me or help me with these bags?"
He swung the door open and stepped outside, knowing she couldn't come in yet. "You made good time," he said casually, wondering how she managed it. And if it was really her.
She shrugged. "Had a good reason, I guess."
Bobby grunted and held out a silver flask. "You know the drill."
Alice glanced at her bike, a deep frown on her face. "Singer, you know I can't be possessed."
Bobby didn't respond, only tapping his boot on the wooden porch. "When you find a way to prove that to me, we'll talk about skipping the formalities. Now drink up."
Alice frowned in irritation and unscrewed the silver cap, downing the Holy Water, frowning at the slight tingle. It wasn't anything new, just enough to remind her she wasn't human; that she hadn't been in a long time. "Happy now?"
"You want to explain to me how you got here so quick from Florida?"
"I dropped the case I was working on and flew back home. I stripped the plates off the car and left it in long term parking. Hated it anyhow…I packed the bike and hit the road. That good enough," she challenged, catching his eye with a daring glare.
"Nope," he grumbled as he glanced at the setting sun. "I'm not going to ask again. If it was one of us who showed up a day early, you'd be suspicious too."
Alice crossed her arms over her chest, standing eye to eye with him. "You want my help or not?"
He held his ground under her smoldering gaze. "I've got two Winchester's inside that need help and you're wasting everyone's time. You want to keep this going? Or get it over with? I want to know how you got across country that quick."
With a glare, Alice dropped her duffel bag on the floor with the loud thud before pulling her leather jacket off and throwing it into Bobby's arms in a huff. Without a word, she turned her back to Bobby and yanked her gray tee shirt over her head, pulling her braids to one side. Bobby stared at the design on her back. It was a large circle, spanning from one shoulder blade to the other, that contained eight points and a ring of sixteen symbols. He vaguely recognized it as one of the magic circles that only a few dumbass hunters would have dared to ink onto their own skin. Even as he watched, the circles spun under her skin, the symbols moving along with them; as though someone had spun a top that hadn't yet quit.
"You want to tell me what possessed you to draw that on yourself," Bobby asked as he reached to touch it. As his fingers touched the cold ink, the design moved over her skin like ripples in a pond.
She shrugged away from his touch and pulled her shirt back on. "So I could break every speed limit between Tennessee and South Dakota with a guarantee that I'd make it safely while not attracting any unwanted attention."
"And here I thought nothing could kill you," he chuckled. "Worried about kissing the pavement, huh?"
"It's not me I was worried about," she quipped as she motioned to her bike. "That's all original. I'm not looking to replace it anytime soon. I wanted to zip through traffic without losing any paint."
Bobby scowled at her. It was reckless; marking your body with symbols always came with a price. Especially when you did it to protect a motorcycle. It was just like Alice to tempt fate and be flippant about it.
She grabbed her duffel bag back up and reached for the door. Bobby shook his head slowly, making her drop the bag again with another loud thump. "Bobby, this is going to get old, real quick."
"Try it then," he said with a small smirk as he pointed to the door knob.
Alice reached for it before drawing her hand back, suspicion on her face. "What did you do?"
"Added a few things around the house," he said slowly, not willing to admit just what he had done to the house. Alice was one of the few non-human beings he would allow into the house, but it didn't mean she could enter on her own. He wasn't that stupid.
Alice turned to him, her eyes anger filled. "You mean to tell me I drove all the way up here to help you and you went and put some sort of anti-Alice hex on your place? This is bullshit, Bobby."
Alice grabbed her bag and stomped across the porch. She was down the steps before Bobby whistled and tossed her something small. She caught it and turned it over in her hand; it was a small leather bag covered with writing.
"What is this? Some sort of hex bag," Alice asked angrily.
"It is. And it will allow you to come and go as you please. For now," Bobby stated. "You value your privacy above all else…so do I. I get that bag back when you leave or else I'll turn it into a proper hex bag once you're a mile or two down the road."
Alice stuffed it into her pocket before climbing the steps once more, pushing past Bobby and into the house. She remembered the layout, having been in Bobby's house some time ago. She tossed her bag on the floor near the stairs and headed for the kitchen, pausing at the sight of Sam sleeping at the table.
Bobby followed behind a few paces, watching Alice as she maneuvered though the house with ease yet with the slow pace of someone who expected something to jump out around every corner. He watched as she paused in the kitchen doorway, taking a minute to lean against the doorframe, her arms crossed.
"Guess it's been a while since you've seen the boys," Bobby commented quietly.
Alice didn't take her eyes off of Sam as she nodded. "He's grown."
Bobby snorted. "He's been that big for years, Alice."
Alice turned and followed Bobby to his desk. "I meant grown older. He looks like he's been through the ringer."
Bobby tossed his cap on the desk. "They both have…the life is hard. They've lost a lot of people. John's death was hard, especially the way he went down…Sam's demon blood…then Dean went and did his own stint in Hell…They've got damn good reasons to look the way they do. They've been through a lot on their own."
"Is Dean downstairs?"
"He's been in and out of it all day. Don't expect much."
"I'll be amazed if he has anything to say to me at all," Alice muttered as she strode across the house and let herself into the cellar.
Dean woke to the sound of plastic being ripped. He tried opening his eyes and immediately regretted it. In fact, he regretted having regained consciousness at all. He hurt everywhere. Not like the usual 'ass got kicked by a fugly' kind of hurt either, this was the kind of hurt where it seemed like every nerve ending was sending a 'help me, Sammy' pain signal to his brain. It was the kind of pain that didn't die down a notch after a minute or two of deep breathing. It was continuous and incredibly akin to awakening from being tortured. He felt his chest seize in panic. He struggled to open his eyes, wanting—no, needing to see that he was still safe. He spotted the panic room's door and relaxed somewhat... He was still in Bobby's house. 'You aren't in Hell…yet,' he told himself as his eyes closed in agony, the light overhead far too bright.
He knew trying to move wasn't going to help any either.
"Sa—," he tried to say, before realizing just how much his throat hurt. It was like fire or barbed wired had torn through it, leaving him raspy and coughing painfully. "Sam—"
He felt a hand on his brow and calmed down. It had to Sam or Bobby. Either way, he wasn't alone and that was what he wanted to know…that he was still safe.
He felt the hands gently move his arm and tuck the quilt back around him. The small motion made him hiss in pain, his muscles were stiff. He could feel someone inspecting the IV in his arm, he knew what his arm being turned this way and that meant. He had done it to Sam over the years. Someone was looking to start something…another bag of Holy Water maybe…
He painfully pulled his arm away; it limply fell to his chest. "No….," he choked out.
He heard a sigh, definitely not from Bobby or Sam. A feminine sigh.
He forced his eyes open, wincing as he tried to squint through the too bright lights. He glimpsed a flash of red hair and fiery eyes before closing his eyes again. He struggled to open them again. He flinched, startled to see her face inches from his own; her mouth in a tight, worried frown and her eyes burning like hot coals. Without a thought he let a disapproving sigh slip out.
"Happy to see you too," Alice said sarcastically as she laid a hand on his fevered forehead. "Now I see where my quilt ran off to."
She watched in mild amusement as Dean gripped the edge of the quilt in his hand, his knuckles turning white. She knew the pain he was in and understood what this small gesture of 'mine' had cost him.
"I didn't drive cross country to kick your ass over a quilt," she said as she sat back down on the other cot, picking up the IV bag she had prepared. "Its fine, Dean, nice to see it getting use anyhow. Goodness knows you're one of the few people who've ever used it."
She watched out of the corner of her eye as Dean's grip on the quilt lessened slightly, but only slightly. Dean watched her, fighting the bright light overhead until Alice got up and turned it off, leaving the room to be lit by the small lamp on the table. She moved back to Dean and pulled her own cot closer before sitting down. "You hurting?"
Dean rolled his eyes, knowing the pain that would come with answering the question. He rubbed at his eyes, his vision still not back to normal. He knew Alice wasn't human, but he didn't remember the brightness in her eyes. Must be the Fay poison still at work.
Alice rattled a pill bottle in one hand. "This bad? Or, this bad," she asked as she held up a syringe. She knew getting Dean to swallow anything had been impossible for Bobby and Sam, and that had been before he had spent hours painfully screaming his lungs out. It would be a miracle if he could speak more than a word or two without completely losing his voice.
Dean shook his head lightly, frowning at the pain that seared through his neck. He didn't want either one. He wanted away from the nightmares as much as he wanted to be away from the pain. At least pain kept him grounded. The nightmares were impossible to escape. They made it hard to know reality from the near identical horror filled versions that snuck up on while he was somewhere between awake and asleep.
"You're hurting, Dean. Anyone can see that. You want to just grin and bear it when you don't have to," Alice said, frustrated. "Just like your dad…"
She caught the words as they tumbled out of her mouth. Dean was staring at her, his expression un-readable. She thought maybe she could see hate in his eyes. Or maybe sadness; John's boys could be so hard to read sometimes. Like he had been.
"You need anything," she asked, changing the topic away from John. "Something to eat, maybe?"
Dean shook his head and began the painful task of rolling over with the limited range he had. Bobby hadn't removed the restraints yet. He didn't get very far before he gave up, indignant frustration on his face.
Alice stared at Dean, one eyebrow raised slightly. She remembered the difficulties Dean had overcome with his appetite after his possession by a Wendigo spirit. "Bobby tells me you wouldn't eat earlier either."
His eyes trailed to the syringe on the cot, wondering if maybe he could just sleep. He didn't want to deal with her questions or theories. If they wouldn't let him join the fight, he's just sleep until it was over. Why had Sam let her down here? He knew Dean didn't want her help in the first place and now he had just abandoned him to her poking and prodding.
"I know what the problem is," Alice said quietly. "I know the lore. It's been a while since I've been through it, but I remember it pretty damn well. And if I'm right, then I'd almost have to guess that you're not quite sure yet who is real and who isn't. You're heads probably clearing up some, but not all the way. Am I right?"
Dean froze at her words. In his bouts of consciousness he fought to recall being rescued and the drive to Bobby's. But around the edges of his vision there were tall figures, circling him. He couldn't tell if they were really there.
"I thought so. See, some of the lore recalls that the simple act of eating Fay food is what allowed the Fay to keep a human for eternity. It was easy…a banquet maybe, anything to tempt a human into eating something that would damn them forever," Alice explained as she watched Dean. She could see he was trying his damnedest to follow along.
Dean was having a hard time keeping up with her words as the fever boiling under his skin again. Dean didn't say anything, but looked up at her, relaxing against the cot as another heat wave hit him. There was nothing to do but wait it out. Or die. Waiting seemed like less of an effort.
"You're not as dumb as all that…Bobby said you've been ranting about men being tied up, probably other Teinds. I'm going to guess you figured it out and fought off whatever they kept offering you," Alice said, her eyes boring a hole through him. "But you ate a bite, didn't you? Back at the cabin in Virginia."
Dean nodded slowly, uncertainly boiling up in his chest.
Alice sighed and shook her head. She knew what Bobby had said, that it had been unmistakable. "I'm amazed that girl was able to keep you from going with them then. Now we know it messed with your head. Bobby said you were calling out to people that weren't really there. Might be the cause of this fever of yours too..."
Dean tried to keep up with the words tumbling out of her mouth, wondering if she had a point or was just musing aloud what everyone already knew.
"So, I'm guessing that while most of you is convinced that this is real and we are really 'us' that maybe deep down, some part of you thinks one us will give you the magic pastry that will send your ass back to fairy land. Am I right?"
Dean frowned and closed his eyes, his fists clenched, held tightly by the restraint. She was right. But that didn't help him any. He couldn't risk trusting the wrong face; he couldn't let himself be taken. He needed to be off the cot, the needle out of his arm, and his vision back. He needed to know what was real and what wasn't; he couldn't make it so easy to be taken again. Like a lamb to the slaughter. He couldn't risk it. He couldn't risk making a mistake. Even with his fever, he could hang onto that truth.
She squeezed his hand as she started talking again. She glanced at his closed eyes before turning her free hand and eyes to her work. She knew what she was about to do was cruel. But sometimes what had to be done was cruel. And better she do it to him than Sam.
"Dean," Alice said as she slipped the bag in place, connecting the IV lines. "Once this is over, the fever, the hallucinations, all of it…you'll know what's real again. You've to trust that we're doing what we can to help you…."
Dean didn't moved until he felt the familiar burn travel up his arm. His eyes flew open and he tugged violently on the restraints. Alice watched him, an apologetic look on her face. She didn't miss the hate in his eyes as he threw his head back in a voiceless scream as the sensation of burning from the inside out overtook him.
She sat on the edge of the cot and watched until the mist finally dissipated, nearly halfway through the bag. She sat until long after he passed out, her jaw set tightly as considered what Dean would have to say to her later. Obviously, he was already mad at her….this wasn't going to help out any either. She pulled the restraints loose before covering him with the quilt. He didn't stir when she ruffled his hair or when the large metal door creaked shut behind her.
"This is impossible," Sam mumbled as he ran a hand over his face. He had finally woken and had an imprint of the book cover across his cheek. He had gone back to staring at the print, getting frustrated by the tedious job of deciphering the overly done calligraphy.
Bobby grunted in agreement as he grabbed another book. "This old scrawl is a pain in the ass. Antiquated jargon. You'd think these guys were getting paid by the word."
Bobby watched as Alice stormed into the kitchen, a look of loathe on her face as she thump the wooden crate down on the far end of the table. He knew something downstairs had gotten to her, she looked like she had when she had seen Sam, only more angry. She went right to prying the top off the crate, ignoring the bewildered look on Sam's face.
"Alice," he asked. It had been awhile since he'd seen her and while she looked nearly the same, he was surprised to find her in Bobby's kitchen. He glanced over at Bobby, confusion on his face. "How long was I asleep for?"
Bobby chuckled and shook his head. "She got here a little before we expected."
"Hello Sam," she muttered as Bobby slid a hammer across the table to her.
Sam stared at her, amazed how she still looked the same. In fact, it looked like he and Dean had finally caught up with her in age; not that it would ever be accurate. Alice would look her age until the world ended or she got tired of it and put herself down.
"Dean still acting like a Holy Water humidifier down there," Bobby asked, glancing at the clock. She had been down there a good long while.
Sam snorted and shook his head at the description; it was damn accurate.
"Dean's still got half a bag of Holy Water left, but the mist stopped a little bit ago," she announced as she grabbed the hammer and continued to pry at the firmly attached lid on the crate.
"Well that's good news at least," Sam said as he slumped in his chair. "Was he talking?"
Alice tilted her head from side to side. "Somewhat. More like angry glaring and some negative body language. He seemed a little bit pissed off to find me standing over him…"
Neither Sam nor Bobby spoke, Dean's earlier words rattling around their heads. He wasn't going to be happy when he woke up to find Alice still in the house. Sam knew Dean had been irritated by the mere mention of her after she had dropped out of sight when John had died. Honestly, Sam had been relieved to not have to discuss it with anyone, especially not someone who had such a strained history with their dad.
"Pain in the ass," she muttered as the top finally broke loose on the box. "Finding anything helpful in the books yet?"
Sam sighed and glanced back down at the page he was paused at. "Some. Most of these accountings vary greatly. Some of them make the Fay out to be mischievous but fairly harmless. Others list them as malicious and downright murderous."
She nodded absentmindedly. "That's the difference between the two courts."
"Two courts?"
She yanked open the fridge and after a small glance at Bobby, grabbed one of the beers that stood inside. "Maybe I should save you two some reading," she mumbled as she sat across the table from Sam and Bobby. "There are two courts, the Seelie which is fairly harmless. They help out humans from time to time, keep them from getting lost, livestock from getting sick, that sort of thing. They tend to like humans for the most part, some lore even account for them keeping tabs on certain humans and helping them along with their lives…They act as a guardian in some cases. It's where the stories about guardian angels came from. They're really not angels, they're Fay. When's the last time an angel got off their ass to hold someone's hand?"
Sam looked up at her, hearing a little amusement in her voice.
"Anyhow, now the Unseelie court is the one to watch out for. They're malicious little assholes who lead people into bogs or other unescapable places. They make people and animals sick. Now, some of them are just annoying; they do things like knot your hair or sheets while you're sleeping, spoil food, and make you lose things. But all in all, the Unseelie court tends to be murderous and vicious. The two courts divided down the middle over several fundamental principles, honor mostly."
Bobby and Sam sat silent, listening to her.
"Now, both have been known to steal humans. The Seelie court takes them for pets, lovers, or sometimes as a way to improve their own bloodlines. They like them pretty, or handsome in those cases."
Bobby didn't miss the tone in her voice. "You think they want Dean for that?"
"It could be that the Seelie court spotted him first. But all in all, I think the Unseelie court is one that has been trying to take him…the Unseelie court at times have stolen those desired by the Seelie court. Maybe because they feel that the more desirable human will make a better payment."
"Which court uses changelings," Sam asked.
"Both, from time to time. They replace human children with their own; for two reasons. One, so their own offspring will likely survive. Two, because they have a penchant for stealing pretty things, like babies which they'll raise to be servants. In cases where they take an adult and replace it—"
"Wait! I thought only children got switched with changelings," Sam interjected.
Alice shook her head. "They don't leave a 'living' double when they steal an adult. They leave a living, yet sickly and usually dying, Fay in its place. The family takes care of it until it dies. It's the perfect cover. The family loses someone and buries them; not even knowing their own family member is still out there somewhere. Other times, they leave a life sized wooden doll, looks like the real thing too."
"A doll," Bobby asked, not sure he heard her right.
She nodded. "Whatever befalls the doll, your loved one suffers. It inspires people to take damned good care of it too…People end up unable to go after their lost family due to the heavy burden caused by the doll."
They sat silent, letting the information sink in. It was a lot to take in at once; and Sam knew it wasn't everything.
Sam finally broke the silence. "What's the deal with the tithing? I don't see the link."
"Now that's where the real trouble begins," Alice said as she sat back in her chair, twisting the bottle in her hand. "You know how the Fay came to be?"
"Not really," Sam admitted. "Figured it was just another one of Eve's creations."
"Not at all, actually," Alice explained; her face turned in a hard set frown. "Now keep in mind, this is just based on the most prevalent lore from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. A bunch of dusty diaries full of possessions, Fay encounters, and some first-hand accounts of changeling being traded."
Bobby cast a glance up at Alice, wondering how on earth she gotten her hands on those manuscripts.
"They used to be angels," Alice said with a shrug.
"You're kidding," Sam said.
"Nope. Apparently, back in the day, when God got his panties in a twist over Lucifer's behavior he slammed Heaven and Hell shut. Those in Heaven stayed on as angels. Those who were in Hell, or otherwise sniffing around Lucifer, where forever cast away from God, becoming some of the first and most powerful demons; some claim that demons with true names were actually mutilated angels. None being as powerful as Lucifer, since he did what it took to ensure that he would remain on top… clipped some wings, you might say."
"So where do the Fay come in?"
"Those were the angels that were caught between the gates. They were on Earth and didn't return to Heaven fast enough for God's liking. They were the group that wanted peace throughout, swearing allegiance to neither side. They were the middle and have been ever since. They're motives aren't aligned with Heaven's any longer, haven't been for ages. But ruling over the earth under Lucifer wasn't their desire either. Over the years, their blood has become diluted with humans and they've become what they are today, but they're still a powerful force to be reckoned with."
Sam leaned forward and pulled a book from the stack, remembering some passage he had read earlier. "So if they don't owe Lucifer anything, why are they tithing to him?"
"That part is somewhat sketchy. Some of lore states they created a pack with Lucifer to keep the first demons from hunting them down and slaughtering them, after it became apparent that God wasn't coming back for them. Human souls traded every seven years for being overlooked by their own brothers in arms. That's the version I found the most."
"What's the other," Bobby asked. Forewarned was forearmed, after all.
"One says that the Seelie court doesn't tithe at all; that only the Unseelie do, kind of like paying Lucifer a percentage for all the havoc they cause. Some other lore suggests it's because Fay offspring have no souls. They tithe to Hell so that when their mixed blooded descendants die, Hell will refuse them at the gate. That way they'll end up in Purgatory."
"Why would they want that?"
"Better to roam Purgatory where you can wait for Heaven and Hell to fight over you than end up right in Hell with no escape," Alice mused as she finished her beer. "I have no clue, Bobby. I'm not an expert at this shit."
Sam scoffed lightly. "So far, you're the closest thing we've got."
"So what's the plan," Alice asked. "Want to ring up Crowley and ask him what his part in all this is?"
"You said on the phone that he wouldn't know who's coming his way until the Fay actually pay the tithe, right," Bobby asked.
Alice nodded. "According to the lore, the Fay have all the say in who they send. Except in special cases."
Sam groaned. There was always a catch. "And what would be a special case?"
"Depends if you believe this story at all," Alice said. "Supposedly, if the Fay can't fulfill their tithe quota, then someone, I'm not sure if it would be Lucifer or Crowley or some other Hell delegate, gets to choose a Fay to fill the slot. Usually, a beautiful Fay would be chosen to take the place. Something to sweeten the pot, it's not often they get a live Fay in Hell. I can't imagine the Fay like to see their own in Hell. Who would?"
"Might be why they're trying to get Dean back so badly," Bobby muttered. "Just what they need… someone to finish their quota."
"Not to sound like a total jerk, but why wouldn't they just pick someone else? We've made Dean pretty hard to get to—I mean, Bobby even killed one of them, so why not just choose some other guy," Sam asked.
Alice shrugged. "Does that really matter? We would have no way of knowing if that happens. We can't keep him in there forever. If they come for him again, and they probably will, we'll need to have a plan. But more than that, we need a guarantee he's not Hell bound. Not like this, anyhow."
Bobby and Sam sat silently for a while, eyes falling to the pages in front of them, not a word being read. They were each to busy pondering Alice's information. The house remained quiet until Sam caught himself staring at the crate on the table.
"Alice, what's in the crate?"
She didn't glance up from the book she was reading. "Stuff," she said plainly as she flipped the page.
Sam bit back a small smile. Alice's coarse personality always made him think of Dean.
"What kind of stuff," he asked without looking at her.
"Things," she replied as she slid her empty glass across the table. "Who wants to make dinner? I want to check on Dean."
Bobby sighed and got up. "I wouldn't mind a break from this for a few minutes. I'll make something."
Sam was left to stare at the crate while Bobby rustled through the fridge.
Alice climbed down the flight of wooden steps, wondering if Dean would react to her in a better state of mind. As she stepped down and turned toward the metal door across the room, she paused. The door was open. From where she stood, she could see the cot was empty.
"Shit," she muttered as she glanced around the cellar, looking for Dean. She hadn't expected him to be up so soon, much less mobile. There were only few places large enough to hide him. She knew Dean hadn't come upstairs, so he was had to be down there somewhere. Unless he had been taken again.
She finally headed for the doorway, hoping Dean was still inside the iron room. She was halfway in the door when something hard struck her across the face. Blinded by the sudden pain that flared across her face, she was forced to take a step back; with a string of curses she brought a hand to her bloody nose, watched as Dean stepped into view. He looked like he was barely standing, his stance wide for balance as he swayed slightly on his feet.
"Bitch," he rasped out, his voice barely audible.
"Nice to see you up, Dean," she snapped as she wiped blood from her nose. She had known he would be pissed at her, hell—she would have been pissed at him if he had done the same thing—but all in all, she wasn't sorry that he was up and moving around, only that the Holy Water had hurt him so badly. "Lesson learned, never untie a Winchester…Damn it, Dean…you broke my nose."
He turned to the door, shuffling towards it. Alice didn't say anything until he got to it.
"Not a good idea, Dean," she said firmly, as she wiped blood from her face. "You set one foot out that door and I'll break both your legs. You're not going anywhere."
Dean leaned against the doorframe, knowing that when Alice made a threat, she tended to keep it. He remembered some of what she had said earlier, not every word, but enough to know he was tempting fate by leaving. But he wanted out.
"Sammy…," he tried calling out before trying to clear his throat. His voice was all but gone, only a pathetic whisper coming out; so much for calling out for help if he needed it. "Sam!"
"Stop it, Dean. You need to give your throat a chance to heal up, don't keep making it worse," she snapped as she grabbed a towel from the table of supplies and held it to her nose. "Sam will be down in a minute most likely."
Dean turned and frowned at her before staring out of the open door.
Alice pointed to the cot. "Now, if you want that line out of your arm, I'd be happy to yank it out for you. Then you can get some sleep."
Dean gave her look of indignation before moving to the cot. He was exhausted but he wanted to talk to Sam. He wanted to know what he had missed.
Alice sat down across from him and stared at him; he had aged as well, and like Sam he looked like someone who had been through too much. She felt the familiar pain in her chest; a reminder that everyone around her aged. Everyone would grow old and die. Except her. The boys were just another generation that she would watch, love, and let go. She realized Dean was staring back at her; a questioning look on his face.
She moved the sink, silently kicking her own ass for letting it get to her. She was here for a job; to help one of John's boys, again.
"How long," he rasped out as he sat down.
"Since you guys got here," she asked as she washed her hands in the narrow sink in the corner. "About two days, probably. I got here a few hours ago. Now hold still."
Sam wandered down the steps, hoping Dean was awake. He paused in the doorway of the panic room, a small smile working its way onto his face. Alice and Dean were sitting on the cots, face to face, heads dipped down as Alice worked. He could see Dean fighting to stay awake, his eyes glued to Alice's hands as they pulled the line loose and began removing the tape that Bobby had laced up his arm to keep Dean from tearing it out.
Sam could tell from their stiff body language that something negative had already transpired between them. He cleared his throat; Alice looking up at him. He noticed her bloody nose right away, knowing it must be in part related to their stiff behavior.
"You two need anything," he asked, knowing he couldn't do much with his shoulder still in shambles.
"Bobby have dinner ready yet," Alice asked as she picked up everything around Dean.
"In a few minutes, yeah," he replied as Alice walked out of the room, not saying another word as she passed him, bloody towel in her hand.
He moved to the cot and sat down in front of Dean. "What was that about," he asked Dean.
"What..," Dean croaked defensively, trying not to cough.
Sam rolled his eyes and pointed his own nose. "Alice's bloody nose. What the hell, Dean? She's here to help us and you haul off and hit her?"
He waited for a response, but was answered by the sound of Dean snoring lightly. Sam watched Dean, sitting up, sound asleep.
"Just great," Sam muttered as he ran a hand over his face. "Right back to their old ways…this is going to be fun…"
Manhattan, Kansas
He usually avoided Kansas, except for this one particular place. The Chef restaurant was an unusual stop on his list; although not because of its incredible menu, but because of its staff. He tended to avoid Fay when possible. They were fast and cunning, even more so than him. When the Fay put their mind to something, they did it well, especially when it came to corned beef hash, so he wasn't horribly distraught over his business stop. He walked past the long line of waiting people, ignoring the looks of unfairness he received. He didn't care much for waiting.
He walked into the kitchen and observed the array of colorful dishes going past before heading for the door to the large walk-in freezer. He caught the eye of the chef, a tall man with the cheekbones and gracefulness to imply his status as a first generation Fay; he gave Crowley a curt nod before leaving his place on the line. Crowley stepped aside as the man opened the door to the refrigerated room; motioning for Crowley to enter.
Crowley had seen Fay magic before and this was no more special than the last time he had dropped by to inspect a Hell bound delivery. Cold air surrounded them for a second as the door shut behind them, sending them into pitch blackness. A second later, a light appeared in front of them. He motioned for Crowley to step into the light.
Crowley stepped through the it, scowling as he stepped into mud. He hated the Unseelie and their perpetual habit of living in wet marshy places. The one good thing about them was that they did tend to make timely payments. The tithe was the one thing that brought the Unseelie and Seelie together, an ancient contract that demanded participation by both parties. It didn't mean they themselves would mingle together. Only combine their culled collections and pay to resume their hatred for each other.
"Come," a Fay said; its voice gravelly and wet.
Crowley was taken back at the physical differences between the Fays. Unlike the man standing behind him, this Fay was taller, lankier, and its skin was a sickly gray color. Obviously, he was Unseelie to the core.
It wasn't often that Crowley had to inspect the Fay tithe. In fact, in the many years that he had stood by and collected the payment, he had only inspected two collective groups of men to be tithed. Not because it mattered, these were simply old fashioned contracts carried out by tradition, and he was unable to alter the contract. Some red tape was just too red to cut through.
"Where are they," Crowley asked as he looked about the place. Small filth covered huts dotted the clearing where they stood, a thick forest surrounding them.
"There," the Fay ground out, pointing to the largest hut. Crowley walked through the mud as carefully as possible, reminding himself to never wear Armani to the Fay grounds again. Such a waste of a fine cut suit.
Crowley stepped through the door and gazed around the poorly lit hut. The smell was overwhelming. He frowned at the Fay standing behind him. "You're going to have to clean them up. Hell might be the wastebasket of the universe, but we've got some standards when it comes to standing payments."
The Fay growled lightly, but lowered its head somewhat. They all knew Crowley could make demands, especially considering their missing Teind.
"They all here? Every last one accounted for," Crowley asked, spotting an empty cot, one in the far corner. It was high in the eave, rainwater dripping onto it.
"All but one," the Fay said, its gravelly voice making it hard to understand.
Crowley's smile was chilling. "Perfect."
He left the hut and headed back to the large slab of stone that stood in the center of the clearing, the first Fay standing next to it. He looked deadly and ethereal, in close resemblance to his angelic ancestry. Without a word, he stepped through the stone and disappeared; Crowley a step behind.
As they moved through the freezer door and back into the busy kitchen, silence overtook the room. Every wait and kitchen staff was standing frozen, their skin nearly glowing as they stared at Crowley. He adjusted his suit jacket and smiled coyly.
"So…, your payment is due in a few days…and you're a man short," Crowley said, trying to vaguely hide his pleasure as he thought back to the contract's fine print. "I don't expect I have to remind you of what that could mean for any one of you. You'd be coming with me, down to Hell for a long visit…"
"We will find him," the first Fay stated, his voice loud and booming.
Crowley turned and looked at him. "You sound confident for a Fay that had seven years to get my order put together. How does a Fay lose its prey? "
"The marker was burned off of his flesh," the Fay stated. "But we will find him."
"Well, don't worry about me," Crowley said with a smile. "I'd be just as happy to take a first generation Fay down for a little chat. Always wondered what it would take to replicate Lucifer's handiwork…I could have my own first demon…I hear getting the loyalty to take just right, is a real pain."
He smirked as he glanced around the room at the faces watching him. "You want to avoid a long walk by my side; you'll find your marked man and get him into that shack…Now, who's up for a little corned beef hash?"
So…I hope the lore in this chapter didn't just make your brain explode. I couldn't leave any of it out cause it's sooooo good! I love research. Bobby is my hero. I did tweak a few parts of it, so if you go looking for sources, let me know and I'll tell you where you're wasting your time.
So, any thoughts on Alice? On Dean situation?
Anyone want to see Dean go South for a little vacation? Bwahahhahaaaa!