THE CURIOUS CASE OF THE MAN AND THE MICROWAVE
Sam has to get his thinking cap on.
Chapter 2
xxxxx
LATER ...
"Fairies, yeah Bobby, that's what I said," Sam snapped; "goddamn fairies."
As he sat at the motel's one rickety table, speaking into his cellphone, Sam pressed a cold facecloth against his face, gingerly nursing the bloodied lip and bruised, swollen cheekbone that his fairy encounter had earned him.
"They've taken Dean again," he sighed; "I need to get after him, Bobby, but I don't know how – they say only first born sons can enter Fairyland."
"Well, he managed to get away last time …" Bobby offered in an attempt to instil some hope into the younger Winchester.
"I don't think they'll let him go so easily this time Bobby, they seemed really determined. I don't think he's going to be able to fight his way out this time."
Bobby huffed in frustration down the phone.
"They pasted the hell out of me, Bobby," Sam groaned; "I'm black and blue."
Sam could almost see the older man's eyes widen at the other end of the line.
"What the hell did they send?" Bobby snorted; "a troll? a redcap?"
Hesitating, Sam wilted slightly when he suddenly realised there were no words in the English language that could make this sound good.
"The Sugar Plum Fairy," he mumbled in a small voice.
The loaded silence on the other end of the line said more than any words.
Sam frowned. "I'm not joking Bobby, there were three of them; she had the Tooth Fairy and Tinkerbelle with her too."
He got the overwhelming feeling that the silent man on the end of the line wasn't impressed.
"I was outnumbered," he added in a laughably unsuccessful attempt to sound a little bit less like a complete pussy.
Sam hung up with Bobby's parting words, 'okay, I'll see what I can do,' ringing in his ears. He groaned long and deep as his abused jaw made its presence felt, and an aching molar gave a foreboding creak.
Slumping down at the table, he opened his laptop, steeling himself for a night of fairy research.
xxxxx
It was stupid o'clock in the middle of the night when Bobby called back. Sam was sprawled across the table asleep, face down in his keyboard.
"Bobby," he croaked, frowning as he glanced into the dust-coated mirror adorning the wall beside him and noticed ASDFGHJ imprinted across his forehead.
"Got you a ticket to Fairyland," Bobby announced. Pausing, he added; "okay, that's probably the weirdest thing I've ever said sober."
"Only first born sons can enter Fairyland of their own volition or at fairy invitation - or abduction," Bobby explained; "but other people can enter if they are given passage by someone who has the ability to commune with the fairies."
"And who would that be?" Sam grunted, running his fingers through the tangled mass of sleep-muzzed hair drooping in his eyes.
"I know just the guy," Bobby announced.
xxxxx
Rhadamanthus Turpin was a seventh son of a seventh son and was someone that Sam instantly believed would comfortably qualify as a complete weirdo.
With a long salt and pepper grey beard that hung halfway down his chest and not a single lonely hair to be found on his bald pate, he squinted at the tall stranger on his sagging wooden doorstep through spectacles that were so thick he must have had outstanding eyesight to be able to see through them.
His house exuded a musty aroma of incense and cats and Sam was determined not to accept anything edible or drinkable from the man on the evidence of the jars he could see stacked up on the kitchen dresser, or more specifically what he could see floating in them.
But all in all, the thing about the fantastically odd Mr Turpin that terrified Sam the most was the knowledge that somewhere out there in the world were six more like him.
Four hours later, Sam left his odd ally armed with a tongue-twisting incantation, a drink involving dew, nettles, hare spleens and toadspawn that smelled even worse than it looked and directions to the nearest fairy ring where he was supposed to drink said concoction after reciting the incantation (presumably whilst trying not to hurl at the same time).
xxxxx
Instructed by the strange Mr Turpin and armed according to his own, somewhat limited, knowledge of fairy lore, Sam approached the fairy ring. It was a broad, almost perfect circle of toadstools nestled within a dense wooded copse miles from anywhere. He was heartened by its secluded location; at least there would be no-one around to ask awkward questions.
Pulling the paper and the tiny sealed flask from his pocket, Sam began to read. That was the easy part. His nose wrinkled in disgust as he uncapped the flask and lifted it to his lips. Perhaps it wouldn't be as disgusting as he thought.
Sighing, he tipped his head back and took a deep draught, guzzling the slick liquid down in one gulp.
Nope, he was totally wrong. It sucked ass.
Shuddering violently, he dropped the flask to the ground moments before sinking to his hands and knees and lavishly vomiting the foul drink back up the way it came, noting that it tasted even worse, insofar as that were actually possible, when travelling in this direction.
He groaned as his spinning head gradually sunk into the cool grass, and he tried to disregard the fact that he was lying face down in what he'd just deposited there.
xxxxx
When Sam came to, he was lying in the grass, but he wasn't inside a ring of toadstools in a heavily wooded copse. He was in an open, sun-dappled meadow beside a crystal-bright stream.
One thing he did note was that he didn't appear to be lying in his own puke anymore which, all things considered, had to be one positive of the whole experience.
Clambering to his feet, he swayed woozily and swallowed back a residual nausea before he felt sure enough to be able to stretch the stiffness out of his bones and take a look around.
This must be Fairyland.
Scanning the horizons on all sides, he studied the meadow in which he stood, and the stream beside him, noticing distant trees in his peripheral vision and a cornflower blue sky above him, heavy with tumbling white clouds.
It was all kind of … well, ordinary.
Sam almost felt disappointed. He really didn't know what to expect of Fairyland, but he was imagining more along the lines of shining castles, talking animals and centaurs. He'd obviously watched far too many Disney movies.
This looked like a sunny day in New England.
As his wits gradually rearranged themselves back into a state resembling conscious thought, Sam realised he could hear something over the sound of the stream which rushed and babbled alongside him.
Voices.
They were nothing loud, or threatening; just the soft susurration of distant voices in conversation.
Without even a second's consideration, Sam headed toward the sound.
xxxxx
tbc