Archive of Our Own

Somewhere Along in the Bitterness

“I just don’t get why we have to come here, that’s all. And watch the suspension, won’t you?”

Sam risks a glance over at his brother sitting hunched in the passenger seat. Ordinarily he’d laugh because Dean can be such a big baby at times, but three hours in the car listening to his brother’s endless complaints while negotiating increasingly impassable roads has left his temper slightly frayed. In front of them, the traffic inches along, the ice and snow making any reasonable speed impossible.

“Do you need any more pain meds?” Sam asks, ignoring both Dean’s grievance and the criticism of his driving. In truth, as the hours pass and the weather worsens it’s feeling like less of a good idea than when he’d first suggested it. He also knows that if Dean hadn’t been fresh out of the hospital and still slightly hopped-up on morphine, he’d have put up more of a fight and Sam might have changed his mind.

“Quit tryin’ to drug me,” Dean grumbles.

Neither of them speaks for a moment. The wipers are contending with the snowfall, but it takes all of Sam’s concentration to ensure that he’s ready to stop, should the truck that they’ve been following for the last thirty miles decide to brake suddenly.

They’d been working a case in Montana when Dean’s dull abdominal pains had gone from uncomfortable to ‘I think I need to go to the hospital, Sammy’. Sam had duly obliged because Dean suggesting that he might need medical attention set off the same alarm bells as if he’d said ‘Sam I want to go to an art exhibition’ directly after taking a blow to the head. As ever, their instincts had proved correct when Dean, now lying in the foetal position on a gurney and making a keening noise that had left Sam wanting to check him for possession, had been rushed away to surgery for removal of his now-ruptured appendix.

In a move that didn’t surprise Sam one iota, Dean was requesting his discharge papers almost as soon as he was conscious. Understandably, the doctors had been reluctant to let him go, but even words like ‘peritonitis’ and ‘extremely lucky we caught it when we did’ weren’t enough to convince Dean to wear the patterned gown and piss in a bedpan any longer than necessary.

Sam had been all ready to break Dean out and get him back to the bunker for a couple of weeks’ downtime, but the weather had had other ideas. Knowing his brother’s recovery was non-negotiable, he’d then decided to head to the cabin, since Bobby’s old bolthole was only an hour or so away. The snow had then turned that journey into a torturous trip, conducted at snail’s pace, that still wasn’t over, three hours after they started it.

“How far away are we now?” Dean asks, shifting uncomfortably in his seat like his ass has gone to sleep.

“About five miles?”

Dean makes an unhappy noise. Sam’s got no response because he’s not feeling in the best of moods either, so he focuses on the road and wills them toward their destination.

Almost forty five minutes later, they’ve travelled the last couple of miles, and are pulling up outside. They’ve stayed at the old cabin before, but never during the winter months. As a result, it doesn’t look quite as homey as Sam remembers it, now that it’s blanketed in the heavy winter snow. They sit in the deadened silence for a moment, studying the small building through the windshield.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get in there,” Dean says flatly. “I mean, I’d make a Cabin in the Woods joke, but there’s low hangin’ fruit and then there’s low hangin’ fruit...”

Needled, and aware of the headache gnawing at the base of his skull, Sam climbs out of the car. He takes a moment to stretch, because legs as long as his aren’t built for prolonged periods of sitting in a confined space, before he heads round to the trunk to start unloading everything. With Dean still in the car, he takes their bags and dumps them on the porch. The snow is deep here and his jeans are quickly soaked to mid-calf.

Although lighter than it had been when they first set off, the snowfall isn’t showing any sign of stopping and he thanks his lucky stars that they stopped for supplies on the way so he doesn’t have to head out again later. As the passenger door is thrown wide, he heads around that side of the car.

“You need a hand?” he asks Dean, recalling how gingerly his brother had lowered himself into the seat when he’d picked him up from the hospital.

“I’m good,” Dean replies, his tone advising Sam not to dispute anything he says. He makes an attempt to haul himself out, but the low seat and the snow really don’t help as he tried to pull himself up using the door. Wordlessly, Sam holds out his hand and equally wordlessly, Dean uses the better leverage to get upright at last.

“Thanks,” he says grudgingly.

“No problem.”

Sam knows better than to tell Dean to be careful, but he ensures that he sticks close as they make their way across the snowy ground toward the cabin. Dean is pale as he walks; one hand resting against his abdomen like letting go will allow his insides to fall out. Sam hopes Dean will opt to go and lie down once they’re inside before he falls down, but he’s not going to suggest it for exactly the same reason he doesn’t offer physical assistance now.

“Have you got the keys?”

Sam nods, having checked his pocket before grabbing their bags out of the trunk. They step up onto the porch together, the boards creaking heavily under their feet. Although the lock turns easily, he catches Dean’s eye roll as it takes two attempts to shoulder the door open. The blast of cold follows them in - not that there was any warmth in here to begin with. It’s unlikely that anyone else connected to Bobby uses the cabin, although they know Garth has stayed here in the past - and the abandonment shows.

The cabin is a small rectangular building, with the majority of the space devoted to the main living area. There are twin beds on the far wall, a slightly threadbare couch and armchair near a battered tube television and a small kitchenette with a gas stove, sink and a dining table with two chairs. The bathroom is a cramped affair containing a toilet, sink and small bathtub. The fireplace contains the ashes of a long-dead fire. It’s not quite inhospitable, but it’s not far off. A quick glance at Dean’s face says his brother’s contemplating telling him exactly what he thinks of this unexpected vacation.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing their bags before Dean can start complaining. “We need to get a fire going.”

OoOoO

Two hours later, Dean’s still looking unimpressed, but fortunately not like he’s going to freeze to death. The stockpile of logs under a tarp around the back of the building has enabled them to get a fire going quickly and the generator has juice in it to power the TV and lights. Dean’s currently engrossed in a Columbo marathon on one of the three channels they can actually pick up here while Sam has turned his attention to making them some dinner. The snow has eased slightly, but there’s no reason to risk another journey back along the mountain roads.

“Here you go,” Sam says, handing Dean a steaming bowl of chilli. Dean accepts it with his eyes still glued to the screen as Sam comes to sit beside him. Belatedly he seems to realise what’s just happened and he gives Sam a grateful nod.

“Thanks, man,” he replies, before using his fork to gesture to the TV. “You think someone as smart as Columbo would have figured out that it’s always either William Shatner or George Hamilton, wouldn’t you?”

Sam laughs, having seen most of these episodes himself at some point growing up. They eat in silence while Columbo nabs the bad guy with his usual sang-froid. The chilli is good (if he does say so himself) and he improves Dean’s mood further with the promise of pie. The TV continues to entertain them after they’ve eaten, while Sam periodically gets up to stoke the hearth. When he glances over at Dean, it’s clear that his brother is on the verge of sleep and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel the same. His headache’s gone, but he’s still exhausted from the drive up here.

“Dean,” he says, repeating himself at increasing volume until his brother stirs.

“Huh? What?”

“We need to turn in.”

“M’good here.”

“No, you’re not,” Sam says firmly. “Besides, I need to check your drain.”

This seems to bring Dean round a little, but only in that he gives Sam an unhappy frown. He doesn’t actually go as far as refusing or complaining though. The only reason Dean was allowed to leave hospital so soon after his operation was because Sam had assured the doctors that he had the necessary medical knowledge to complete his brother’s aftercare - that and the fact that Dean makes a truly horrible patient and they were probably glad to see the back of him.

This time Dean allows Sam to give assistance getting to his feet. Once Dean’s upright, he shuffles over to his bed.

“I feel like I’ve been hacked in half,” he grumbles.

Sam acknowledges it with a nod, secretly amused how Dean – who is regularly punched and whacked and bitten and burned – can find ordinary things like a ruptured appendix so disagreeable. He helps Dean onto one of the beds and then goes to grab their medical kit.

While he’s been gone Dean has succeeded in easing his sweatpants down over his hips. Sam returns and studies first his brother’s pinched expression and then the site of the operation. The wound is packed and Sam peels back the dressing carefully to examine how well it’s healing. Just below it, taped to Dean’s stomach to hold it in place, is the small plastic pouch that’s collecting the blood and pus from the surgery. Sam checks the measurements on the side – the volume is as expected – before he turns his attention to the incision where the drain disappears into Dean’s abdomen.

“It’s all looking good,” he pronounces, inspection complete. He fixes the dressing back in place and helps Dean pull the sweatpants back up. “You want anymore meds?”

Dean nods, evidently not about to accuse Sam of trying to drug him again. He hands Dean the pills along with a glass of water before going to throw a couple more logs on the fire. With the fire stoked, he’s about to turn in for the night when Dean, half asleep by this point, mumbles, “Salt lines, Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but obliges both his brother and his own force of habit. He then kicks off his boots and climbs under the covers. Laughably he’s contemplating reading for a while, but he’s asleep before he can entertain any thoughts about actually choosing a book.

Beer and exhaustion throw him into a deep, dreamless sleep. In the bed beside him, Dean is doing the same, having succumbed to the potent pain meds. Neither of them stirs when a face pushes against the window, long, clawed fingers scraping slightly on the glass. The face studies them both for a moment, and then disappears into the night.

OoOoO

Sam wakes to find the bed beside him is empty. It takes him a moment to remember where they are, and he’s just solved that particular puzzle when the bathroom door opens and Dean steps out. He’s walking a little freer than yesterday, but he still looks as if he’s afraid his innards might fall out if he moves too quickly. He sees Sam is awake and jerks his chin.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself. How you feelin’?”

“Better. Sore.” Dean stops, as if he’s exhausted his supply of adjectives this early in the morning. “I was just gonna get the fire going again.”

“I’ll do it,” Sam responds, throwing back the covers. Dean makes a face because Dean always rails against the idea of anyone thinking that he needs taking care of, but he doesn’t actually argue.

“Fine. I’ll make us some coffee.”

“Thanks.” Sam scoops his jeans and his boots off the floor, instantly wishing he’d thought to put them someplace else since they’re now freezing and the last thing he wants to do is put them back on. There are only a couple of logs left so he places them in the hearth and works on getting the fire lit. The coffee’s not ready yet so he figures that he may as well brave the cold and restock the supply of firewood.

The world is still white as he steps outside. The snowfall evidently hasn’t worsened again, so although the car is covered in a healthy layer of powder, it hasn’t disappeared beneath it completely, which was his fear. The world is also silent, the sound of the woods deadened by the weather.

He steps out of the door, yawning deeply. The cold starts to wake him as he trudges around to where the logs are piled under a tarp. He grabs as many as he can carry, wishing he’d been awake enough to put on gloves first, before he heads back to the cabin. Almost at the door, he stops suddenly and frowns. After a moment, he shoulders open the door, glad to feel the warmth that the newly-lit fire is already giving off.

“Dean?”

Dean turns from where he’s pouring coffee and gives Sam an appraising look. “You need a hand?”

“Huh? What?” He remembers that he’s holding an armful of logs and promptly goes and drops them into the basket next to the fire. “No, it’s not that. Have you been outside this morning?”

Dean looks at him like he’s lost the plot completely. He gestures at his outfit – a thin, faded Henley, sweatpants and socks, the bulk of the dressing and the surgical drain protruding through his clothing. “Really? You think I’ve been for a jog or something while you were knocking out zees?”

“No, but...”

“But?”

“But there are footprints. Outside in the snow.”

Dean makes a face. “You’ve just been outside, Sammy. They’re yours.”

“No,” he replies shaking his head. “I don’t mean where I walked. There are footprints coming up to the cabin door from the woods and then away again.”

He can see from Dean’s expression that his brother’s working through the various possibilities that could solve this riddle, but it’s fair to say that he doesn’t look overly concerned.

“How far’s the next closest cabin?” Dean asks, grabbing the mug of coffee off the side and handing it to Sam, who cradles it in both hands in an attempt to warm them.

“I remember Bobby telling me it was at least five miles.”

“So it ain’t a neighbour coming to borrow some sugar,” Dean muses, picking up his own coffee and taking a first tentative drink.

“There’s something else though,” Sam adds and he hesitates because what he’s about to say next sounds nuts. Scratch that – in their world it doesn’t sound nuts; it sounds like trouble.

“The footprints go to just before the first line of trees and then stop.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, someone walked up to the cabin and then back, but it’s impossible to tell where they came from or where they went.”

“You mean they flew?”

Sam shrugs, increasingly irritated by Dean’s sceptical expression. “Flew, teleported, I dunno. But they’re there, Dean. Something appeared, came up onto the porch and, I dunno, looked in the window maybe, and then went away again.”

“Probably wondering how you go about getting such awesome accommodation.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “We can set off for the bunker if you want-”

“Chill, Sammy. I’m just yankin’ your chain. I don’t wanna risk m’baby in this weather anyway.”

OoOoO

Throughout the day, Sam ponders the mystery of the footprints. When Dean falls asleep shortly after lunch, he throws on his coat and heads back outside, but the snow has been falling again and the footprints are all but gone.

Despite this niggling concern, Sam finds himself increasingly contented with being here. They’re well stocked up food-wise between their own supplies and Bobby’s impressive array of cans and packets, and he’s hooked up their portable DVD player to the TV, so along with the boxset of Fargo that Dean had thrown in the car before they’d set off to their last job, they’ve got a drawer full of old movies that presumably were Bobby’s. The fire is warming the place nicely, so although it might not be the bunker, it’s definitely not the worst place they’ve stayed.

Even Dean seems to have settled in, not that his brother can really complain about a day spent eating, sleeping and watching TV. Mid-afternoon, Sam wakes him in order to check the wound again. Satisfied that it’s healing well, he then has the dubious honour of replacing the pouch part of the drain while Dean dutifully takes his antibiotics and reminds Sam that he’s not completely prepared to call time on his pity party just yet.

They’re about an hour into Bridge on the River Kwai when Dean says, “You’re still worried about those footprints?” It’s a question, but not a question at the same time.

He hadn’t even realised that Dean was still awake.

“Yeah. I guess I just don’t like mysteries.”

Dean, who had been keeping one eye on the movie until this point, looks at him askance. “You do know what we do for a living, right?”

Sam gives him a half-hearted scowl, because it’s a given that he can rely on Dean to be an asshole. He’s about to say something when Dean rolls his eyes, like Sam has no business getting bent out of shape.

“Look. Why don’t we set up surveillance, see if our visitor comes back tonight. We’ve got that spy-cam thing in the trunk. Rig it up and then we can find out what’s going on.”

As much as he’s trying to be annoyed with his brother, he can’t deny that Dean’s idea is a good one. Hopefully it’ll answer things one way or the other. He realises that he hasn’t really been watching the movie so he reaches for his boots and pulls them on.

“You’re welcome,” Dean says, before he turns his attention back to the movie.

OoOoO

By the time darkness is falling, Sam’s managed to set up two separate feeds that he can view split screen on his laptop. There’s no WI-FI here, so the cameras are hardwired to his computer, but he’s confident that he’s managed to hide the wires in the rustic construction of the cabin. One of the cameras will capture anything that comes up onto the porch; the other is pointing outwards so that the approach is monitored too.

The laptop will record the feed, but Sam has every intention of staying awake to watch it live for himself. Dean states that he’ll stay up too, but Sam argues that it isn’t necessary. He’s surprised that Dean doesn’t protest, since he’s the world’s worst patient and hates any kind of mollycoddling, but after an hour of staring at the empty landscape, Dean states that he’s going to bed before he falls into a coma through sheer boredom. Sam doesn’t offer to wake him if anything happens, which is good because he only lasts another hour himself before he’s fast asleep at the kitchen table.

He wakes just as Dean is trying to manoeuvre himself out of bed; his brother’s muttered curses telling him that Dean has not miraculously healed over night. Dean then spots him and an amused expression grows on his face.

“Surveillance that riveting, huh?”

Sam rubs his eyes. He’s annoyed at himself for falling asleep on the job, but at least his computer will have recorded any visitors.

“You wanna watch?” he asks Dean.

“I’d rather watch Bridget Jones’ Diary.”

Sam frowns. “You like Bridget Jones’ Diary.”

“I know,” Dean replies, studying Sam like he’s got a screw loose as he settles himself onto the couch and snatches up the DVD remote. “I found it in Bobby’s secret stash so I’m gonna watch it. You wanna watch eight hours of snow then knock yourself out.”

OoOoO

Dean does throw him a bone by making him some coffee, but it turns out he needn’t have worried about having to watch an entire night’s worth of scenery, because he’s only a few hours in at double speed when he almost head butts the laptop in his haste to pause the feed.

“Dean!” he hisses, even though he doesn’t know why he’s semi-whispering. Dean’s currently wearing a stupid grin as he watches Daniel Cleaver wolfishly discovering Bridget’s ginormous underwear. He turns and the grin evaporates instantly in response to Sam’s expression.

“What’ve you found?”

“I dunno,” Sam answers absently as he’s trying to find the part he wants again. “But you need to come and see this.”

Dean rolls his eyes and prepares to push himself up off the couch. “Better be worth it,” he grumbles.

Sam’s not sure ‘worth it’ is exactly the phrase Dean is looking for, especially when the ideal outcome, given that they’re here to rest and recuperate, would be seven hours of precisely nothing. Once Dean is occupying the seat next to him, he hits the touchpad that starts the feed playing. He’d decided to go with the one pointing outwards first. Currently there are just trees and a lot of snow. The Impala’s rear bumper is just visible in the corner of the screen.

Frames pass and nothing changes. Beside him Dean inhales like he’s about to accuse Sam of wasting his time. And then...

“Holy shit,” Dean breathes.

Exactly, Sam thinks.

“Roll it back so I can see it again.”

In silence, they watch as the figure blinks into view. It’s still for a moment, before it starts to make its way towards the cabin. Although it’s human-shaped, the fact that it basically appeared from nowhere tells them that it isn’t. Sam’s first instinct is that it’s female, but he doesn’t say anything as he wants to hear Dean’s thoughts without influencing them in any way.

“What about the feed that showed the porch?” Dean asks.

“Haven’t looked at it yet.” He glances over at his brother and his eyes are instantly drawn to the bulky shape beneath Dean’s Henley as he sits at the table. Technically they’re not looking for a hunt, but a hunt finding them is definitely not what they need right now.

“We should just get in the car and go,” Sam says, voicing the thought that is currently drowning out all others, and with good reason.

Dean snorts. “That’s the same car that’s currently buried under eight feet of snow, yeah?”

Sam glances out of the window to find that Dean’s right. The problem with snow is that it goes about its business so quietly, he hasn’t realised how much has fallen overnight. In short - they’re going nowhere.

“I’ll get the feed from the other camera up,” Sam says, resigned.

Dean nods, looking neither pleased nor concerned by this turn of events. “I’ll make us some more coffee.”

OoOoO

It doesn’t take Sam long to find the point where their visitor appears. They both sit in silence as the figure comes onto the porch. Definitely female, Sam thinks, although definitely not human. She moves to the door, but makes no attempt to open it. Instead, she raises her hands to peer through the window. It’s dark, obviously, but the fingers appear unnaturally long.

“What are they – claws?” Dean asks, easing himself back into the seat beside Sam with a grimace. Sam looks again, thinks Dean could be right.

“Have you seen anything like it before?”

Dean’s expression is thoughtful for a moment before he shrugs. “Nothing instantly springs to mind, but it ain’t exactly the clearest picture to go on. Even if it was, how we gonna do any research? Ain’t like we’ve got internet access, is it?”

“Don’t need it,” Sam replies.

“Huh?”

He stands suddenly and heads to where their bags are in a heap at the foot of his bed. Out of his duffel, he pulls a small black portable hard drive, which he brings back to the laptop. The computer makes a noise when he plugs in the peripheral.

“Care to share with the class, Sammy?” Dean says, sounding mildly annoyed.

Sam ignores him for a moment, clicking around before then spinning the laptop so that his brother can see the screen. Dean frowns, evidently not sure what he’s looking at.

“When Charlie was at the bunker, she was amazed that we’d not started to create electronic copies of all the information that the Men of Letters had. She offered to start cataloguing it for us and I figured it was a good idea.” He smiles fondly, forcing himself to picture her working at her computer rather than as a lifeless body, murdered by the Steins. “Anyway, she then decided that she’d go one better. She hacked databases and archives for institutions all over the world. Basically, if they held any information she thought might be in our wheelhouse, she made copies for us.”

“Meaning?”

Sam pats the small, black hard drive. “Meaning, this is like having a good section of the bunker, plus a whole load more info that you don’t even have to get on a plane for.”

Dean’s already looking impressed, but his eyebrows rise at this point. “God bless you, Charlie.” He raises his mug of coffee in a salute as he looks upwards. “I hope you’re enjoying super-fast internet up there, kiddo.”

Sam nods his agreement as his fingers fly over the keyboard. “Granted, it’s not complete, but it’s better than having nothing. She also made it so we could do Boolean searches.”

Dean frowns into his coffee mug. “Come again?”

“You know, so we can search for several keywords at once linked with ‘or’ or ‘and’.”

“Come again, again?”

“Never mind,” Sam replies. “Think about our visitor and give me possible keywords that I could search for.”

Dean makes a thoughtful face as he considers the question. “Okay... how about, ‘female’ and ‘claws’.”

Sam types and hits search. Dean drinks his coffee.

“Anything?”

Sam’s about to answer that it’s still searching when the results pop up on the screen. “Four thousand, seven hundred and nine entries.”

“Well, that narrows it down,” Dean replies dryly.

Sam ignores the sarcasm. “We need more criteria. Uh... let’s add in the U.S. No point researching things that have never been seen here.”

When the computer makes the sound to indicate that it’s finished searching, he shakes his head again. “Still almost four figures. What else?”

“Dunno,” Dean says looking thoughtful again. “How about something like ‘night’, since that’s when she came both times. Or ‘snow’. Maybe it’s a winter thing.”

Sam types both suggestions, hits enter and it’s only a couple of seconds before he has answers. “Thirty four hits.”

“That’s more like it. Let’s get to work then.”

OoOoO

They stop when the alarm sounds on Sam’s phone. Dean makes a face, but acquiesces once again to Sam’s dispensing of antibiotics, pain meds and the inspection of his wound. Dean lies on the bed, pointedly looking in the other direction while Sam moves onto checking the drain because he’s never been a fan of bodily secretions, even his own.

“The good news is another twenty four hours and it can probably come out,” Sam announces as he tapes the equipment back into place. “Then it’ll just be making sure the wound’s healing okay.”

“Awesome,” Dean replies, accepting Sam’s hand to help him sit up. He grimaces, then heads back to the table where their laptops are set up, while Sam goes to start on lunch. Both work in silence for a few moments before Dean says, "huh."

“This could be something,” he adds, when he sees that he’s got Sam’s attention. “There’s a legend about an old woman with ‘long, claw-like fingers’ who is only seen in the winter months.” Dean stops reading for a moment and rolls his eyes. “And she’s a witch. Why do they always have to be witches, huh?”

Sam smiles and goes back to making their sandwiches. “Does it say why she appears?”

Dean scans the text, then sighs. “False alarm. Apparently she’s searching for ‘a female whose looks she can steal’. Obviously there are no ladies here, so there’s no reason for her to have come back for a second time.” He grins suddenly. “Unless of course, she saw your girlie hair and thought she’d found herself the hot chick she was looking for?”

“Funny,” Sam replies, as he hands Dean his sandwich and a can of soda. He sits back down in front of his own laptop while Dean makes a few appreciative noises as he eats.

“So, my witch is obviously a bust. Have you got anything?”

Sam doesn’t respond because he’s reading and suddenly everything has ceased to exist. When Dean clears his throat loudly, he finally looks up.

“I asked if you had anything?”

“I, uh, I was about to say no, but I think I might have found something.”

“Okay,” Dean replies, around a mouthful of sandwich. “What is she?”

Sam hesitates, then allows a faint smile to creep onto his lips. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“Try me.”

“She’s a fairy.”

Sam watches as his brother chokes on his lunch for a moment.

“A... a fairy? Goddamit, Sam. That ain’t funny.”

“I did tell you that you wouldn’t like it.”

“Excellent deduction, Captain Understatement.” Dean glances at the sandwich in his hand like this news has severely ruined his appetite. He drops it back onto his plate and scowls. “What makes you think it’s our visitor?”

“Because of this?” Sam replies, spinning his laptop around so that Dean can see the screen. “She’s called Caelianyx – Fairy Queen of the Winter Night.”

“Ah.” Which is all Dean can think of to say at that moment.

They both study the drawing, but it’s impossible not to miss the likeness between it and the creature that came to their door last night. Dean sighs and sits back.

“Great. So now we know it’s my second least favourite supernatural douchebag, is there any information about what she’s actually doing here?”

“Well, now we’ve got a name I can search again-”

“Doing that Boo Radley thing?”

“Boolean,” Sam says, making a face, even though he’s never sure whether Dean’s joking or not when he pretends to be ignorant about technology. “But yeah. Hopefully we’ll get a few more hits.”

One hundred and seven to be precise.

It turns out they don’t need most of them as the Men of Letters have fairly comprehensive information about Caelianyx. Sam is currently reading through it while Dean looks over some other documents from the Penn Museum.

“Okay,” Sam says once he figures he’s got a handle on things. “I think I know why she’s here; she’s looking for a prince consort. Apparently, if she finds someone suitable, she’ll visit on three consecutive nights, returning on the third night on the stroke of twelve to take her chosen one.”

“Oh no,” Dean groans, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “This is because of that Oberon, King of the Fairies crap, right? I knew Indiana would come back to haunt me at some point. Fucking fairies...”

“Actually, I don’t think that’s it,” Sam says, eyes scanning over the text on his screen. “I mean, there’s no mention of her wanting someone who’s had previous contact with fairies, or even a first born son.”

“So it might be you she’s after?” Dean says, brightening somewhat.

Sam frowns, because seriously? It’s not like his brother should be getting any kind of comfort from this possibility. Evidently realising that his comment isn’t one of his most tactful, Dean offers Sam a helpless shrug.

“Sorry. So, uh... I guess what we really need to know is how we stop her.”

“Yeah, that’s not a bad idea,” Sam says dryly, before he returns his attention to his laptop. Several minutes pass in silence. With nothing to do, Dean takes their plates over to the sink and begins to make a cursory attempt at washing up.

“Okay, here’s something,” Sam says. “Apparently, when she’s chosen her intended, she returns on the second night to mark them. According to the Men of Letters archive, her markings can be seen on the hands of the intended under a Wood’s lamp.”

Dean rolls his eyes as he leans against the sink. “Because we’ve got one of those handy.”

“Actually, it’s not gonna be a problem. A Wood’s lamp is just a UV light – we’ve got the stuff we need to make one.”

“You’re a regular boy scout, Sammy. What do we need?”

“Uh, a flashlight, some tape and a blue and a purple Sharpie.”

“Sure you don’t want a nice pink one?”

“Funny.”

“Okay, I’ll see what we’ve got.”

The tape and the flashlight are easy enough, but Sam has to go out to the car to get the set of Sharpies they keep in the trunk for drawing sigils. He’s on high alert as he steps outside, even though the lore says that Caelianyx will only return at night, but there’s nothing but the empty whiteness that blankets their surroundings.

Although it’s no longer falling, the snow is over the Impala’s wheel wells. It’d take serious effort to dig the car out enough to open the doors, let alone drive it out of here. Any hope he had of bailing is gone in an instant, unless of course, they try to do it on foot.

He trudges round to the trunk, breathing hard by the time he gets there. The Sharpies are buried under a bag of clothes, but he eventually finds them and grabs the pack, checking first that it contains the colours they need. The cold is biting and he can already feel the numbness settling upon his limbs as his blood rushes to seek shelter in his vital organs. The return journey to the cabin is equally taxing, and when he thinks of Dean, he realises that his brother’s in no physical condition to hike it out of here.

“Okay, MacGyver,” Dean says as they reconvene at the table. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

It only takes a few minutes until Sam’s holding a flashlight that will now function as a UV light. He looks at Dean.

“You first,” Dean says, making a ‘go ahead’ gesture. Sam shoots him a look before clicking on the flashlight and shining it onto his hand. He glances up to check that Dean is seeing what he’s seeing, then switches it over so that he can check his right hand too.

“Your turn,” he says to Dean, who holds both hands out, looking increasingly resigned now that Sam’s in the clear. When Sam turns the flashlight on his palms, the fluorescent glow is unmistakeable. For good measure, Dean turns his hands over, but the backs are exactly the same.

“Well, that’s just awesome,” Dean grumbles. “I’ve been hacked in two, I’m sparkling like a Twilight reject and I’m about to be kidnapped by a goddamned fairy queen. Does that accurately sum up how shitty my life is right now because feel free to tell me if I’ve left anything out.”

“Okay,” Sam replies, neatly avoiding his brother’s pity party to return to his laptop. “Now we know it’s you she’s coming for, we need to know how to stop her or what it is about you that she’s interested in.”

“Isn’t it obvious? I mean – I’m the eldest, I’m the best looking. I’ve got the biggest-”

“Dean!”

“Hands,” Dean says innocently as he scrubs at the scruff on his lower jaw, his attempt at humour evidently doing nothing for him either. “Okay, well, I guess it’s back to the books if I wanna avoid becoming Mrs. Caelianyx, unless there’s been some kind of miracle with the weather and we can just get the fuck out of Dodge?”

“No miracle, unfortunately,” Sam replies. “So realistically, the only way we could get out of here is on foot, and I’m pretty sure that the appendectomy aftercare guide the hospital gave you doesn’t recommend five mile hikes in waist-high snow.”

“So it’s either death by hypothermia or we stay here and figure out how to stop her?”

“Pretty much.”

After a quick glance out of the window, Dean rolls his eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day when fairies were the preferable option.”

OoOoO

To confirm that staying in the cabin is the more sensible of the two options, the snow starts to fall again, heavier this time. It’s only early afternoon, but when Sam looks outside while Dean’s in the bathroom, the snow piling up against the Impala is almost at its windows. Massaging away the headache he’s getting from staring at the screen too long, he opens up the next file and starts to read.

He’s barely into the first paragraph when he realises that he’s finally found something useful. Dean steps out of the bathroom a moment later and frowns.

“What is it?”

Sam straightens. His posture and expression are a dead giveaway to someone who knows him as well as his brother. “Okay, well there’s good news and bad news.”

Dean snorts. “When is there not?”

“Well, the good news is I’ve found information about what Caelianyx zeros in on when she’s looking for her prince, but the bad news is, it doesn’t make her any easier to stop.”

“Awesome. Okay, tell me what you’ve got.” Dean returns and eases himself into his chair, already looking resigned to not liking what Sam is about to say.

Sam starts to read. “’Caelianyx’s goal is to select herself a prince consort to join her in the fairy realm.’” He ignores Dean’s huff of annoyance. “’Age and status are irrelevant in her male suitor – all she looks for is a person who has something missing-‘”

“What the fuck? She picked me because I had my appendix out?”

Sam glances up at the interruption and is met by his brother’s disbelief. “What? No, Dean, that’s not what it means.” He shakes his head and resists the urge to laugh. “You think a creature who’s basically supernatural royalty, picks her spouse on the basis that he’s missing a completely redundant organ in the human body?” He does laugh now.

Dean huffs, folding his arms across his chest defensively. “We’ve seen stranger things.”

“True,” Sam concedes, then starts to laugh again. In response, Dean grabs a cushion and launches it at his head.

“Yeah, laugh it up, asshole. You’re not the one who’s about to be kidnapped in less than twelve hours by Tinkerbell’s Evil Twin.”

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry. Okay, well, I was about to say, it goes onto say that what is ‘missing’ is something intangible – a belief or emotion that has broken her intended’s ‘greatest relationship’. Resolving this – fixing what is broken, is the only way to prevent her from claiming her consort.” Sam stops, and the weight of this statement hangs in the air.

“I have no idea what any of that means,” Dean says flatly after a moment. “I mean, what the hell is ‘my greatest relationship’? There was Lisa, but look how that turned out.”

Dean’s got a point. “Maybe it doesn’t have to mean a romantic relationship,” Sam muses, before he meets his brother’s gaze.

Dean weighs this up for a moment. “So that would be you then.”

“What?”

“My greatest relationship. If non-romantic relationships count... then my greatest relationship is with you.”

It makes sense, like, really makes sense. “Okay,” Sam agrees, “but I wouldn’t say our relationship is broken, would you?”

For the first time since this conversation began, Dean laughs. “’Unconventional’ if you’re feeling kind, ‘fucked up’ if you’re not, but not broken. Hell, the shit we’ve been through... it’s a miracle that it’s not broken.”

Sam laughs too. “Yeah, I mean, we’ve both made mistakes, but it’s not like we’ve not worked through them.”

Dean makes a noise, which Sam takes as his agreement.

“Problem is, it doesn’t help us kick this fairy-bitch’s ass though, does it?”Dean says glumly.

Sam looks out of the window at the white world beyond. He can barely see the trees standing sentinel so any attempt to leave now would be suicidal. He channels some positivity, because what other option is there? “Well, we know other fairy weaknesses, like iron and silver so we’ll just have to throw everything we’ve got at her.”

“Shame she’s too big to fit in the microwave.” Dean muses, wincing as he shifts in the chair and presses a hand to his abdomen. “Goddammit, Sammy.... tell me you’ll rescue me from Avalon or wherever the fuck she’s planning on taking me if we can’t stop her.”

“No need, because we’re going to stop her.” Sam glances at the clock. They need to start making their preparations now so they’re ready for when Caelianyx comes to try and take Dean. It’s far from an ideal plan, but at least it’s something.

“Okay,” he announces, closing his laptop decisively. “I’m gonna go back out to the car and grab everything we’ve got; you check around here, see what Bobby had stashed.”

“Fine.”

The next hour is spent assembling an arsenal that will hopefully convince the fairy queen that she’s got horrible taste in men. There’s everything from silver bullets to some poppy seeds they found in a jar of Bobby’s various spell ingredients. They’ve laid down thicker salt lines, retaining some in case they’re lucky enough for her to succumb to the fairies’ curse of having to count every grain that they spill in front of her.

Next they eat, because there’s no point in trying to bring their ‘A’ game with their stomachs rumbling distractingly in the background, even if they don’t really feel like having any food. Dean takes some more antibiotics, then allows Sam to change the dressing covering the site of his recent surgery. Neither of them comments on the fact that Sam double packs it and places extra tape over the drain to secure it against Dean’s skin, like they both know his days of taking it easy and lying on the couch are over. Throughout it all, Dean is quiet, resisting all Sam’s attempts to stay positive.

It’s impossible not to clock watch. The lore says Caelianyx will come at midnight to take Dean and with just over an hour to go, the distractions are proving less and less successful. In light of the fact that she left footprints and approached the door on both previous visits, they figure she’s actually going to show up as a physical presence rather than just beam Dean out of here. With this in mind, they rearrange the furniture in the cabin so that the battered couch is pushed back into the corner away from the door and windows, giving them unobstructed view of her approach. Realistically, it probably won’t make a shred of difference, but psychologically it’s a comfort to know no one’s getting jumped from behind.

With nothing else to do, they sit side by side surrounded by weapons. Sam glances across at his brother, even though he’s not sure what he’s looking for. There’s no fear - that much he’s certain of. He thinks back to when Dean was about to face off against Cain, when his brother’s apprehension was clear long before he’d said I’m scared, Sam, and this isn’t it. He tells himself instead that Dean looks determined, but resigned is probably more like it. To chase away his own creeping anxiety, conversation is inevitable, but as he goes to draw breath to say something, anything, Dean turns and looks at him suddenly.

“We knows she’s wrong, but why’d you think she thinks our relationship is broken?”

“I don’t know,” Sam says honestly. “Like you said, we’ve lived through a lot of crap that could have broken it. Maybe she thinks we can’t possibly have worked through all that stuff and come out the other side.”

“Maybe.”

There’s something in that one word; something that says Dean has given more thought to the issue since they first found out why Caelianyx had chosen him.

“You don’t think so?”

Dean gives a casual shrug, but there’s a tension that’s risen up between them that wasn’t here seconds ago. It’s not quite on a par with the ice outside, but it’s not far off. Sam holds his words, waiting for his brother to carry on.

“You see, I was thinking about everything. And there’s been some bad shit on both our parts – don’t get me wrong. I mean, take you and Ruby for example. I totally get what happened with the demon blood, because I went there too with the Mark and what I did was way worse than what you did back then. I get the appeal of the power-”

“Exactly,” Sam interrupts, not sure why he suddenly feels so defensive. “You were dead, Dean. I couldn’t get you back so I had nothing to lose, and revenge looks pretty damned attractive in those circumstances. I couldn’t go up against Lillith on my own and Ruby was offering me a way. When you came back... I knew how you’d feel about it, but it was too late to stop. I’m sorry-”

“Hey, you don’t need to apologise to me, Sammy. I just told you, I get it.” Dean shakes his head. “Being a demon was freeing. The power was an added bonus in my case, but it was more about being able to live without feeling guilty for everything, you know? Didn’t mean I wasn’t a world class dick though. Despite everything we both did on our respective journeys to the Dark Side, I don’t think that ever ‘broke’ us.

“Then I thought some more and wondered if it was what happened with Gadreel and Kevin.” Dean stops suddenly, his gaze searching at this point. “I lied to you, Sam and it got our friend killed. You had no reason to feel guilty about that, but I know you did and that’s on me-”

“Hey, Dean, it’s okay. I know I said stuff about us not being brothers, but I was angry and I told you before... before you died, that I didn’t mean it. There’s no way it’s that.”

“That’s what I thought,” Dean answers, his eyes fixed on the gun resting in his lap. “I figured she must have fixated on a time we’ve lied to each other, but you’re right – we’ve worked through that shit.”

“Exactly.”

“But something occurred to me before, and I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. Then I realised it was when I’d asked if you’d come get me from Avalon if we couldn’t stop her.” Dean shakes his head and shoots Sam a humourless smile. “Although ironically there were no actual lies involved that time. You just straight out told me that you didn’t come looking.”

“Purgatory,” Sam says quietly.

“Purgatory,” Dean confirms. “I thought, no way could I still be so bent out of shape about that – it was years ago. Hell, I’ve probably no right to be bent out of shape about it because of the things I’ve done to you since then. But then I wondered if that was what’s missing because to this day, I still don’t understand your reasons for not at least trying to find me.”

Dean’s right, because it’s fair to say that they’ve never really had a conversation about it without the spectre of violence looming in the background. Then shittier things happen and you haven’t got the luxury of studying the terrain behind you when the road ahead is tricky enough to navigate.

“We made a promise not to look for each other, Dean-”

“Bullshit, Sammy!” Dean says angrily. “You think if our roles were reversed I would have done the same?”

Sam studies his brother’s face, sees past the anger to the hurt and insecurity that his decision caused. His big brother with his chronically low self-esteem finally given confirmation that he wasn’t worth the time and effort; that without him, Sam could finally move on and find his precious ‘normal’. He’s always felt defensive whenever this conversation has come up, but suddenly he’s not sure what he’s actually defending.

“I’m sorry,” he says, meeting his brother’s gaze before turning inward and recollecting the memories of that time. “You just disappeared – I didn’t even know where to begin. You were gone, Cas was gone, Bobby was gone. I had no one to turn to.”

“Other hunters?”

“I know that now, Dean, but at the time I just... I dunno, it’s hard to put into words. I don’t remember large chunks of time, like getting away from Sucrocorp or what I did next.”

“Then you hit the dog and met, what was she called, Amelia?”

“No.”

“You mean you didn’t hit the dog?” Dean asks, frowning.

“I did,” Sam answers quickly, but it wasn’t how I met Amelia – not at first, anyway.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I already kind of knew her from a support group I attended.” He can tell from his brother’s expression that Dean’s getting frustrated, but he’s honestly not trying to mislead him. “Like I said, I don’t remember much of this, but after everything that happened at Sucrocorp, I got away and checked into a motel. I must have been injured because I took pain meds, had a few beers... The next thing I remember I was waking up in hospital.”

Dean’s face falls. “Suicide?”

Sam shakes his head emphatically. “No... least I don’t think so. But it seemed like I’d had some kind of breakdown. Apparently I talked about you endlessly, which I guess didn’t help me look any less crazy. The most obvious conclusion was that you must have died in some kind of tragic accident and I was unable to accept that you were gone. I was sent for counselling.”

“And you went?”

“Yeah. It was mandatory to avoid being arrested since I was found unconscious and under the influence of drink and drugs behind the wheel of your car. And yeah, partly because I thought it might actually help.”

Dean frowns. “So instead of looking for me, you sunk all your energy into getting over me?”

“You’ve missed the point. I was in the hospital for six weeks, Dean. By the time I was allowed to leave, I genuinely believed that you had died. I even consulted a psychic.”

“Who? Missouri Mosley?”

Sam colours, because this definitely isn’t one of his proudest moments. “From the local paper.” He ignores Dean’s eye roll, because yeah, definitely not thinking straight. “She said you were at peace and in my mind I was honouring our agreement by not looking for a way to bring you back.” He looks straight at his brother now. “I was completely lost without you, Dean, but I believed you were in Heaven and I had no right to take you away from that after everything you’ve sacrificed. If I’d known the truth, of course I’d have looked for you. I’m sorry that I got it so wrong.”

Dean nods, but it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. “What about after I was back, though? You were pretty keen to make me realise that you had every intention of ditching my ass and heading straight back to your cosy new life once we’d fixed the situation with Kevin.”

“Because you scared me, Dean! You weren’t possessed or soulless or anything we could ‘fix’ , but you seriously scared the shit out of me. Sure you laughed and you ate, but it was like you were just going through the motions, like you were just pretending to be human.”

Dean sighs. “Why didn’t you just tell me what had happened?”

“I honestly don’t know. Something about Purgatory just sat right with you – you even said you loved the purity of it. Once you readjusted to life, it hit me that I actually had you back. I figured if I told you that I’d had a breakdown, you’d think I was weak and decide you were better on your own. I couldn’t lose you again, Dean.”

“So you let me think you’d not bothered looking for me because of a girl?”

Sam ducks his head, an embarrassed smile on his face. “I know. Admittedly, it wasn’t one of my best decisions.”

“You think?” Dean says, but he’s smiling too.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam’s about to make his comeback when he realises the time. “Dean!” he says suddenly, the abruptness causing Dean to raise his gun. “It’s past midnight!”

Instinctively Dean consults his own watch. 12:08am. He looks at Sam, daring to hope.

“You think she changed her mind?” Sam asks.

“Maybe,” Dean replies, then he grins. “Or maybe she just decided that she wanted someone with an appendix, after all.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly it, Dean.” He gets up to go and look outside, but Dean grabs his sleeve before he can leave.

“Hey,” Dean says, his expression now serious. “I dunno if us talking is what’s stopped her from taking me to be her Oberon or whatever, but I appreciate you telling me about what happened when I was in Purgatory. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I should have known there was more to it than that.”

Sam smiles and nods. “We good?”

It’s normally Dean’s line, but it’s clear that his brother’s okay with relinquishing it, just this once.

“We’re good.”

OoOoO

Beyond the trees, Caelianyx studies the cabin for a moment. She’s heard every word and watched as the emptiness inside her intended disappeared before her very eyes. No mind; there will be another, but it’s fair to say that she liked this one. She remembers him from before – the one who fought like a tiger when he was brought to Avalon. He would have made a wonderful companion in her winter realm, but it’s clear he belongs to another.

She disappears into the bleakness a moment before the cabin door opens and they step outside. They’ll see her footprints in the snow. She considers the tracks her gift to them – a sign that she has been back and has endorsed their relationship by leaving them alone. But it’s also a warning – a message that should they break it again in the future, she will be back to happily claim what is hers.

After all, a girl can hope.

End