Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, but if it ever appears on ebay…
A/N: This is the result of a very short story which got just a little out of hand. Hope you enjoy!
Summary: Dean is somewhat sceptical when Sam tells him about the fairies at the bottom of the garden.
-----------------At the Bottom of the Garden
Sam Winchester nodded, barely managing to hold back his laughter as his older brother strode once across the floor of the dingy hotel room in which they were staying, before turning to face him where he sat on one of the two sunken beds, his long legs folded beneath him.
"Yep." This time, Sam didn't bother to hide his grin, white teeth flashing in an all too rare smile.
"Dad's sending us after fairies?"
"Yes, Dean," repeated Sam patiently. "Fairies. As in they who live at the bottom of the garden. The little people. Think Kylie Minogue in Moulin Rouge."
Dean halted his pacing and turned to stare at his brother. "You've seen Moulin Rouge?"
Damn. "No…" Sam's answer sounded pathetic even to his own ears.
Dean's mouth quirked as though he were about to laugh, yet in the next instant his expression had darkened once more as his mind flickered back to the cause of his anger. "I can't believe Dad would actually send us after something like that!" he groused. "We're hunters, not…not…people who chase after fairies." His face stony, Dean shoved his hands into his coat pockets and turned to face his brother front on. "How do we know they even exist?" he demanded abruptly of the younger man, who merely raised an irritating eyebrow.
"This coming from a twenty-six year old who believes in the Easter Bunny?"+
"Shut up." Dean strode over to the other bed which lay only a few feet from the first in the cramped room, and dropped onto it, the mattress sinking heavily beneath his weight. "Come on, Sam! We're talking about fairies here!"
The other hunter shrugged. "Dad seems to think they're real," he reasoned logically. "Otherwise why would he have sent us these coordinates?"
Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Maybe you got them wrong. Here, let me look at that." He tugged the map which Sam was holding out of the other hunter's grasp, ignoring the annoyed protests with a skill born of practice, and slid his phone out of his jacket pocket to check the coordinates given in their dad's most recent message.
For his part, Sam simply leaned back against the headboard of his bed, stretched out his legs, and closed his eyes. "I'm not wrong, Dean."
"We'll see about that," was the only reply as the older Winchester lowered his head and bent studiously over the map.
A minute and a half later, Dean raised his head and glared at his little brother.
"Are you satisfied that I'm right yet?" Sam enquired, his eyes still closed. Taking the low grunt which sounded as a sign of acquiescence, Sam opened his eyes and swung his long legs off the bed. "I'm gonna start packing."
Dean cast a surprised look at his brother. "Why are you so eager?" he demanded suddenly, his brow furrowing slightly. When Sam did not reply, the beginnings of a smirk started to spread across the older hunter's face. "Don't tell me. You want to see the fairies."
Dean did not. "Does little Sammy wanna see the fairies at the bottom of the garden?" he asked mockingly.
Ignoring his brother, Sam began to fold the couple of t-shirts which hung over the edge of his bed, then placed them into his duffle bag which was lying on the floor. "I thought that you were the one who always did what Dad sai-" Sam's voice dropped abruptly into silence, the words bringing back unwanted memories of Roosevelt Asylum with a nasty jolt.
To his credit, Dean did not say anything, instead merely turning and beginning to shove his belongings into his bag. "Fine. We'll go." He picked up a shirt which had been sitting loosely folded on the floor in-between the beds, eyed it critically, then scrunched it into a rough ball.
Sam looked at the creased wad of material which only barely resembled an item of clothing, and glanced Dean. "What was the point of that?" he asked dryly. "It was folded already."
Dean flashed a grin at him. "Why bother? It's yours." He chucked the shirt towards his brother and it hit Sam in the chest with a soft thud. The older man's expression darkened. "But I swear to you, Sammy, if Tinkerbell turns out to be nothing more than the imaginings of a paranoid old grandma, it's your ass that will be kicked."
"Mine?" called back Sam over his shoulder as he disappeared into the bathroom to gather up any stray clutter. His voice had an echoing tinge to it as it floated out into the main room of the motel. "But it was Dad who sent us the coordinates!"
"Yeah. But he's not here, is he?" Dean smirked as Sam stuck his head out of the door to glare at him.
"Anything yet?" Dean asked, green eyes remaining fixed on the road ahead of them as the Impala rolled over the many miles to the state of Virginia.
"Cottingley, England, 1917," Sam replied, fingers moving swiftly over the laptop keyboard. "Two girls, Frances Griffiths and Elsie Wright, find fairies in the bottom of their garden and produce a photo of them which was published in a newspaper. Public reaction varies; from total disbelief, to those who believe the girls like Sir Arthur Conan Doyle-"
"He wrote Sherlock Holmes. Totally believes the girls, even goes on to write a book about the existence of fairies. Since then, people have analysed the photos, hoping to either prove it a hoax or, in some cases, as authentic.
Dean sighed. "I bet the great detective himself wouldn't investigate reports of fairy sightings," he muttered darkly.
"Maybe they're evil fairies," Sam suggested. "You know, like the one in Sleeping Beauty."
"You've seen Sleeping Beauty?"
The sun shone gaily in the tranquil blue sky as the two Winchester brothers walked down a small road, which was more of a lane than anything else. Thick overgrown hedges hung over the low fences which lined the path, and small colourful buds bloomed down by the wayside. Sam took a deep breath, enjoying the chance to get back to nature. Next to him, Dean sneezed violently.
"Are we nearly there?" he grumbled, his usually deep voice slightly nasal.
"It's just through there, Sneezy," retorted Sam, nodding towards a small break in the fence about a hundred feet ahead of them, where a quaint wooden gate hung half open.
"Thanks, Dopey." Dean quickened his stride, eager to get the job over as quickly as possible so he could retreat back to the technological wonders of civilisation like his car, preferably with Metallica blasting through her speakers.
"Whatever happened to 'College Boy?" Sam enquired, his long legs easily catching up to the older man. "I can't be both smart and stupid."
Dean shrugged. "I'm not referring to your intelligence there, Sammy, just to the fact that neither you nor Dopey have managed to grow facial hair yet." His mood brightening momentarily as his little brother scowled at him, Dean made his way through the wooden gate with quick, sure strides; Sam following behind, doing his best to step on the other hunter's heels. As a result, he almost ran into Dean as the other man stopped just a few steps past the fence.
"What the hell is that?"
The two brothers had emerged into a scene which, thought Sam privately, looked like something from The Secret Garden. Grass grew thick and lush almost to their ankles, laced with splashes of colour from tiny flowers. Dense bushes and thick tree trunks edged with moss were scattered here and there, casting hazy shadows as they swayed in the gentle breeze. Glancing over to where his brother was pointing, Sam grinned and walked forward until he stood just outside a circle of grass which was slightly darker than the rest of the natural meadow. Tiny tan-coloured mushrooms grew on its border, marking a clear circle. "That," Sam said, "is a fairy ring."
"A what?" Dean repeated, coming up beside him.
"A fairy ring. In the stories there's always a darker ring of grass which marks a place where fairies live. The mushrooms indicate where they dance."
"Where who dance?"
"Oh. Of course. The mushrooms indicate where the fairies dance." Dean grimaced. "Can I just state for the record that this is the stupidest hunt I've ever been on! And that includes the time we went after those damn grindylows."
"That's just because they lured you into that swamp. It was your own fault, really."
"Yeah, Dean, it was. Even Dad said so. And he always takes your side."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on, Dean, admit it, you're just annoyed because I'm right."
"No, I'm annoyed because I'm standing in the middle of some enchanted garden talking about friggin' fairy rings!"
Sam shrugged. "Look, man, if you're scared of a few little fairies, I can do this by myself."
Dean stared at him as though he had grown another head, which, thought Sam, in their line of work, wouldn't be all that unlikely. Fortunately, no comment came about him turning into a hydra, as instead, Dean simply turned his back on him.
"Let's get this over with."
Sam watched his brother take one step into the circle. In the next second, he was watching him fly through the air with the greatest of ease. That was, at least until Dean hit the ground with a hard thump.
Hurried strides took Sam rapidly towards his brother, yet before he had gone more than a few paces, Dean had already started to push himself slowly up off of the ground, muttering darkly as he did so. Sam reached a hand down to help his brother to his feet, but the older man shrugged it off and uttered only a single sentence as he strode past the younger hunter, moving with determined strides towards the dark patch of grass from which he had been so rudely expelled only seconds before.
"Tinkerbell's going down."
Two hours later found Sam Winchester sitting opposite his big brother on yet another pair of swaying motel beds, watching the other hunter as he pressed a bag of ice wrapped in a towel against his sullenly bleeding upper lip.
"You've got to admit," ventured Sam carefully. "They put up a pretty good fight. For, you know, fairies."
Dean fixed him with a daggered glare, yet, despite the obvious warning sign, Sam continued with little regard for his own safety.
"I mean, they were so little. Who would have thought they could do so much damage? Especially to you," he added, unable to resist the chance to rag on his brother.
"Shut up, Sam."
"I mean, when that green one with the pink wings sucker-punched you, it really looked like it hurt."
Dean's voice was low and even. "I swear, Sammy, if you don't shut up this instant, I am going to hurt you." Dean's tone was threatening, yet Sam was enjoying the aftermath of their most recent hunt far too much to stop.
"I didn't think they'd actually have fairy dust though. Nor that it would be combustible."
"That's it." Dean stood up off of the bed, still pressing the makeshift icepack to his face, and headed for the door.
Sam rose to his feet as well. "Where are you going?" he asked innocently.
"Somewhere where there won't be any annoying little brothers!"
Sam smirked. "Fine." As Dean disappeared rapidly out the door, he called out to him. "Can you bring back something to eat? All that watching your ass get kicked made me kinda hungry!"
The sullen thud of the door slamming was the only reply he got. Sam smiled to himself as he heard the Impala's engine start up and lay back down on the bed, looking forward to a quiet evening of watching some shows he wanted to watch for a change on the room's fuzzy television, and taking a long shower without a big brother having used all the hot water. He began to reach for the remote which lay by his side, yet was interrupted by the sound of the car cutting out abruptly. The soft steps of heavy boots approached the door, then it opened and Dean stuck his head in.
Sam blinked. "What?"
"You're coming too."
"What? Why?" Sam protested, his relaxing evening vanishing rapidly into the distance.
"'Cos otherwise you'll get yourself kidnapped again. Now get your ass into the car."
Sam set his jaw. "No."
"I'm perfectly happy right here."
Dean, however, was not going to take no for an answer. "Get in the car, now," he repeated levelly.
Sam shook his head.
Dean took a step forward.
Sam folded his arms across his chest.
The younger hunter's grin faded as Dean threw his jacket onto a stray chair, car keys clinking in the pockets, and moved with sure, lethal strides to where Sam lay on his bed. Resting his clenched fists on the edge of the mattress, Dean cast a large, looming shadow over his little brother as he leant forward.
"Did you want something?" Sam asked, silently cursing the tinge of nervousness which had snuck its way into his voice.
"Get in the car, Sammy."
"Make me," he replied defiantly.
"Suit yourself." Dean pushed himself roughly off of the bed, then moved over to his own and lay down, folding his arms behind his head.
When his brother took no further action, Sam smirked, triumphant in victory, and reached for the remote to the television. It was gone. He turned his head slowly towards his brother, who had started humming Metallica under his breath. "Give it back."
"Not until you get in the car."
"There wouldn't be much point in having the remote then, would there?"
"Nope." Dean grinned toothily.
Sam sat back on his bed, stumped. Then, his mind started to work over the problem, analysing it, figuring out a solution. After all, he had not been at Stanford for nothing. In little more than a minute, a gleam lit his eyes. "Deeaaan," he began.
His big brother winced. One hand went up to his ear. "I didn't know you could even do that anymore."
"Mainly because I thought that you had grown out of it after about age ten," Dean continued. "Its not gonna work, Sammy."
Sam subsided reluctantly until another idea came to him and he stood up, stalking over to where Dean's jacket was slung over the back of a wooden chair. He felt the other man's eyes on him as he reached into the right pocket and drew out the keys to the Impala, jangling them softly in his hand.
"Whatcha doing there, Sammy?" Dean inquired, his voice deceptively calm.
"I'm going out."
"Somewhere where there won't be any annoying big brothers."
Dean rose smoothly up off his bed, all of the hard grace which he had acquired from hunting the things which went bump in the night evident in his step as he approached his brother. The two faced off.
"Not in my car, you ain't." Dean made a quick grab for the keys, yet Sam jerked them swiftly out of the way.
"Is that all you've got?" he taunted.
Another grab. This time Sam stretched the arm holding the keys up over his head until they hung well above Dean's reach.
Dean didn't even blink, but merely glanced up at his abnormally tall little brother. "I swear, dude, you're like a freaking giraffe."
"A giraffe who's holding the only set of keys to your precious car."
"Screw this." Dean turned on his heel and stalked towards the door. "I don't need keys."
"You're gonna hotwire your own car?" said Sam disbelievingly, knowing that his brother would rather kill before he let anyone damage the Impala.
Dean winced at the word 'hotwire', yet held his ground. "If the occasion calls for it."
Striding over to the door, Dean pulled it open, then stepped to one side and bowed mockingly to Sam. "After you."
In retrospect, Sam knew that he shouldn't have believed him; that Dean, skilled hunter and big brother extraordinaire, would not give in that easily, particularly when the Impala was involved. At the time however, foolishly forgetting that Dean had lost every ounce of fair play he had ever had during his many years of hunting both monsters and Sam himself, the younger man put the car keys in his pocket and stepped out of the door ahead of the other man, only to be knocked off of his feet as a several dozen pounds of big brother slammed into him.
The two men landed roughly on the gravel of the motel carpark, Dean grabbing at his brother's jacket as they rolled over and over. However, Sam was not about to give up without a fight. Dirt, dust and stones flew up from around them as they fought, each struggling for the upper hand, until finally, Dean managed to pin the taller, yet slighter, man beneath him.
"Get off me," Sam managed, wincing as a particularly sharp stone dug into his back.
"Not until you give me the keys and agree to get in the car," Dean retorted.
Sam shook his head as best he could whilst pinned to the rough ground.
"Have it your way then."
Sam had no chance to protest as Dean switched his grip so his right hand was free whilst the other pinned down the younger man's hands, and proceeded to search his pockets.
"Aha!" Releasing his brother, who immediately jerked away, Dean held up his hand with the keys grasped firmly between his fingers, and grinned at the other hunter. Sam made one last half-hearted grab at them, yetDean had already rolled away and stood up. "Looks like I'm driving, bitch."
"Fine." Climbing to his feet, Sam held up the television remote which he had managed to retrieve from his brother's pocket. "I'm gonna go watch TV."
"Son of a-"
Sam laughed, then bolted towards their hotel room's open door, praying that his giraffe legs, as Dean called them, would allow him to reach its sanctuary before the other man caught up.
Dean tackled him on the doorstep.
Ten minutes later, the two Winchester brothers were sitting in the front seat of the Impala, each breathing more heavily than was usual. Finally, Dean turned in his seat to look at the other hunter. "How did you know how to beat them, anyway?" he demanded suddenly.
"Beat what?" panted Sam, one hand reaching up to push a few strands of too long hair out of his eyes.
"The fairies, dumbass."
A small smile appeared on the younger hunter's face. "I remembered the infamous words of James Matthew Barrie."
"And he was?"
"The guy who wrote Peter Pan."
"Of course. And what were those words exactly?"
Sam smirked and recited: "'Every time someone says 'I don't believe in fairies,' there's a fairy someplace which falls down dead.'"
Dean stared at his little brother, then shook his head in disbelief. "You are such a geek."
"At least I didn't get my ass kicked by a few fairies."
"You shut up," Sam retorted.
"Oh, yeah, that's a real good comeback."
"Better than a dumbass."
Dean revved up the engine. "I'll tell Dad you shot me."
Silence seemed to drown out the loud noise of the Impala's engines as Dean pulled out of the carpark, until finally, Sam responded. "You wouldn't," he challenged, yet there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
"Yeah I would."
Sam set his jaw. "Fine. I'll tell him that you broke into my room at Stanford."
Dean laughed. "You do that. Hell, Dad'll probably be proud of me."
Sam paused. Dean had a point. Desperately he searched his memory for something which he could use against his big brother. An idea came to him and a grin settled on his face. "I'll tell Dad that you tried to kill me."
"Not gonna work, Sammy, 'cause I never did."
"Yeah, you did. Back in St. Loius."
"Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but that wasn't me."
"It sure looked like you."
Dean glanced at his brother disbelievingly as he reached over to turn on the stereo. "It was a shapeshifter who turned into me, who did you expect it to look like?"
Sam shrugged. "I'm willing to bet that Dad hasn't heard about the whole shapeshifter thing and all I know is that someone who looked an awful lot like my big brother tried to strangle me."
"I should have let him strangle you," muttered Dean under his breath. Yet Sam's sharp ears, honed by many years of hunting, heard him.
"I'll tell Dad you said that."
"I'll tell Dad you took my keys."
"You don't even know where he is!"
"Yeah, but I'll get there a hell of a lot faster than you will walking."
"I'm not walking."
"Try to take my keys again and you will be."
Sam just smirked. "You know that I'd kick your ass right now, if some tiny little fairies hadn't already done it for me."
"Or maybe that girl at the Benders could. How old was she, eleven?"
"Thirteen." At his brother's grin, Dean snorted. "She'd probably do better than you would, baby brother."
"So you admit that she could kick your ass? Again?"
"But you just said-"
"Get out of the car, Sam."
Sam blinked at the abrupt change of subject. "What?"
"You want proof that I can kick your ass?"
He nodded silently.
"Then let's go. One on one, no holds barred."
"I'm not going to fight you, Dean."
"Why the hell not?"
Sam shrugged. "No challenge."
Dean ground his teeth together. "I really should've let that shapeshifter thing kill you."
Sam just grinned and cranked up the volume on the car stereo, letting waves of Black Sabbath drown out the sound of his brother's muttered death threats.
Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Reviews are very welcome and thanks for reading!
refers to my other Supernatural story, The Little White Bunny.