Fandom: Supernatural/Chronicles of Narnia
Title: Sam, Son of Adam
Author: Maychorian
Characters: Sam Winchester, various Narnians
Category: Drama, crossover
Rating: G
Spoilers: 3.16
Summary: "I don't…I'm not…no throne, no," Sam protested. His voice sounded utterly weak to his own ears, though, and so very easy to ignore. "I just want my brother."
Word Count: 1200
Disclaimer: I'm sorry for making you roll over in your grave, CS. I know this doesn't belong to me and I'm being a very naughty girl. :(
Author's Note: Written for the Fandom Firsts Crossover Challenge at sncrossovers. It's a little cracked.

Sam knelt in the dirt of yet another world that didn't hold Dean and scraped out the circle diagram with a stick, muttering the familiar Latin incantation. This world was cold and dark, and empty but for raging storms above and heaving seas below. But it wasn't Hell. Why couldn't Sam just find Hell? That was all he wanted, all he'd been searching for. This extra-dimensional portal spell was supposed to be just a simple door to Hell, but instead it had led him through a myriad of strange and awful places, beautiful or terrible, uplifting or horrifying by turns. All of them no good to Sam, because none of them were Hell, and none of them had Dean.

He frowned as he sprinkled herbs at the four compass corners, murmuring the appropriate words for each. His little component pouch was running low on sage. Hopefully this next world would be one that grew plants.

A pillar of light shot up from the circle, brilliant and opaque. Sam stood slowly, feeling the ache in his knees. How long had he been doing this, without pause, without rest? No telling. His face was scratchy with stubble and his eyes stung for lack of sleep. But he wasn't even close to done.

Sam shielded his face with one arm and stepped into the portal.

In the next world, he stood still, blinking, waiting for the bright spots to clear from his vision. Well, he could definitely smell plants in this one, so that was a plus. He also heard a stream. Bird song.


The white splashes finally cleared away, and Sam blinked again. A short guy, just about as high as his waist, with a long red beard and grumpy eyes, was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest. And next to him, a naked guy, taller. No, not naked—the bottom half of his body was…furry. Like a goat? And, and there was beaver as big as the first guy, maybe even taller, and, and…

Sam needed to sit down. So he did, abruptly, landing with a thump in the wet grass.

"Welcome to Narnia, son of Adam," said the beaver.

"Thanks," Sam said faintly.

There was movement at the corner of his eye, a graceful, shifting curtain of shimmering leaves and twisting branches, slender and alluring. Sam turned his head slightly and watched the nymph moving toward him, her head tilted to the side, hair made of twigs and blossoms flowing in the air behind her like a long scarf. "Oh, he's a tall one," she said in a voice like falling leaves, a soft susurration in the crisp spring air.

He was really tired, that was all. He just needed a nap. And all of this would go away.

"I knew that Aslan would send us another," the faun said to the dwarf, eager and excited. "When High King Peter and his brother and sisters left, didn't I say that we wouldn't be left lonely for long? Narnia always flourishes best with a son of Adam on the throne."

"I don't…I'm not…no throne, no," Sam protested. His voice sounded utterly weak to his own ears, though, and so very easy to ignore. "I just want my brother."

"Ooh, a brother," whispered the nymph, flowing closer, bending over him so that hair of leaves and flowers hung down around her face like a curtain, so very close to brushing his cheek. "Is he as handsome as you, son of Adam? You will make fine kings."

"Well, that's very tempting, but, but I have to find him, he's not with me, he's…"

The dwarf grunted grumpily and moved a little closer, in order to kick the bottom of Sam's foot. Like a buyer kicking the wheels of a used car, Sam thought hazily. "I don't know about this one. He looks used up to me. What have you been doing, little son of Adam? You look like you've been ten rounds with the White Witch and lost every one."

"Oh, leave the poor child alone," said the beaver, hustling over to put a paw around his shoulders. Oh, it's a mother beaver, Sam realized. "Can't you see he's weary and nigh-on sick? Come back to the lodge, dearie," she said to Sam, "and I'll fix you some onion soup. Mr. Beaver has already widened the room a bit so it's more comfortable for you large folks, and I think you'll be able to have a lie-down." She hummed uncertainly, passing an assessing gaze over his broad shoulders and long, long legs. "Well, you may have to scrunch up a bit. But it will certainly be more comfortable than sitting here."

Well. They wanted to help him. Sam could work with that. "That sounds nice," he said to the motherly beaver, sitting up a little straighter with her friendly help, nudging his arm. He turned his head to look at the surrounding creatures, though the forest glade took a slow, dizzy lurch with the movement. "You're all very kind. I…I didn't expect to find such kindness."

It wasn't hard to make his voice humble and soft. It wasn't even half of a feign. "I'm not sure that I would be a good ruler for you though. I'm used up, like he said." A nod at the grumpy dwarf. "And my brother, my older brother, he would be a better king." He heaved a long, sad sigh. "He is very handsome, yes. But he's gone. I wish I could get him back."

"A handsome high king," the nymph sighed softly, flowing back toward the forest. "A sorrowful thing that he should be lost. All of Narnia will mourn for him."

"But I think that I might be able to get him back," Sam said eagerly, leaning forward. "I just…I don't know the right magic. But this world is so full of magic, so full of beauty… Maybe you can help me."

More movement, from the other side, this slow and majestic, heavy and large. Sam jerked his head around and almost fell over yet again. It was a centaur, powerful muscles rippling in torso and flank, long chestnut beard tied in tiny braids. His face was deep and wise, terrifying in the knowing look he leveled at Sam.

"Your brother is lost beyond the usual ways of going, son of Adam." His voice was rich and full, and made Sam think of the brass section of a world-class orchestra. "I can see and hear this in your face and voice. Where has he gone? What fell magic took him from you?"

Sam dropped his head. He could feign nothing in the weight of that stare. "He gave himself for me," he whispered brokenly. "He died in my place. I just want to return the favor."

"That is deep magic." The centaur's voice was closer, the ponderous hoof steps bringing him right to Sam's side. The powerful creature bent himself to be down at Sam's level, and he felt the hot breath on his face. "The deepest and the oldest. This is what Aslan did for another son of Adam, not so very long ago. Yes, we can help you."

Sam looked up, into eyes as dark and old as time itself, and for the first time since beginning this awful, interminable journey, he felt real hope.