Fic: A Grand Sneer - Chapter 10/10 plus Epilogue (Supernatural/Discworld BigBang)
Master Post
Chapter Ten
Granny Weatherwax busied herself fixing whatever it was she intended to make for lunch on the other side of the kitchen. Dean pumped water into the basin, drinking a few mouthfuls before using a mug to dump it over his head and wash off the sweat. His sweat-soaked shirt felt clammy here in the dark chill of the cottage, so he grabbed a new one out of the leather satchel - his own t-shirt from home, which felt appropriate. He looked around - Granny Weatherwax must have wandered off somewhere. Satisfied he wouldn't be offending her sensibilities, he stripped his shirt off and splashed his chest and underarms with some of the water. A week with Angua had left him more than a little self-conscious about how he smelled, especially since he hadn't come across deodorant on this world yet. Next to the basin was a jar of goo that smelled like soap and lathered like soap when he rubbed it between his fingers, so he used a bit of it to clear up the worst of the pit stink. He didn't see a towel anywhere nearby, so he just rubbed himself down with the shirt he'd taken off.
"My goodness, lad, you're built like a brick shithouse!" Dean spun around at the words: Nanny Ogg had returned with a large jug in her hand and a teenaged girl in tow. For the girl's sake, he hoped she wasn't normally that bug-eyed and slack-jawed. "Puts those suits of armor up at the castle to shame," she said, fanning herself with her hand.
He shot Nanny Ogg his raunchiest grin. "Thanks, Nanny. I try to keep in shape," he said, snatching up his t-shirt and pulling it over his head as quick as he could. By the time he'd finished rolling it down his torso, the girl had recovered a little bit of her dignity, blushing and looking down. "Granny Weatherwax had me digging out back while you were gone, got a little sweaty," he explained. He threw the soiled shirt back in the satchel. He paused, considering it for a moment. "Hey, uh - Shawn Ogg, the guy from the border station, is he your son?" He'd have guessed grandson, but a little flattery never hurt.
Nanny nodded. "Aye, our Shawn takes care of a lot of odd jobs like that."
Dean buckled the satchel shut. "The folks down in Ankh-Morpork gave me these clothes for the trip, but I won't need 'em once I get home. Shawn looked about the same size as me, and they're practically brand new, just need a wash."
He nudged the bag towards Nanny with his foot and her eyes lit up. "And thoughtful, too. Esme, why exactly is it that we're so anxious to get him home straight away?" Dean turned to his left and noticed that Granny had reappeared - or maybe had never been gone, he wasn't sure now that he thought of it. The corners of her mouth were ever so slightly turned up.
"He's got some unfinished business back home, that's why." She held a plate towards Dean. "Sit and eat, Dean." Dean took the plate, sat down, opened up the sandwich and marveled for a moment at the existence of jam that was crunchy. Then he remembered what Shawn had said and ate the pickle while Granny continued. "Took you long enough to get back. No problems with the birth, were there?"
Tiffany turned towards Granny, and the shift in her expression was like watching someone age ten years before Dean's eyes. "Everyone's fine, but I was glad to have Nanny's help. It was twin girls."
Granny frowned. "Twins? I was up there last week and there was only-"
"Did you know that Miss Caldicott was Miss Level's cousin?" asked Tiffany, interrupting Granny, and Dean had to give the girl credit - she had guts.
What Tiffany had said must've meant something important, because Granny didn't take offense, just nodded. "I see."
Nanny Ogg set the bottle on the table and settled down in a seat. "I spoke with Eunice's mum and told them what to expect. I expect it'll be a mite easier this time round, for everyone involved."
"That's good." Granny joined them at the table. "Tiffany, this is Dean Winchester. He needs to speak to the Feegles."
Tiffany seemed to hesitate for a second when she realized the only seat left was next to him, the mature witch reverting back to teenaged girl, and Dean bit back a grin. For all the times that Sam had coughed "jail-bait" at Dean's hook-ups, Tiffany was way too young to even think about, though she'd be cute enough in a couple of years. Still, it was always nice to know he still had it and this could be fun. He flashed a smile at the girl while she sat. "They tell me you hang out with the little blue guys," he said.
She tried to look him in the eye, failed, let her gaze fall to his chest, blushed, and settled her focus on the table. "Uh, yeah. They, um, when we first got the clacks I told Big Yan to go- but, they're not- give me a second." She cleared her throat. "You can come out, wherever you are," she said in a firm voice. There wasn't any response, although something rattled on one of the kitchen shelves. Tiffany gave Granny Weatherwax a sheepish look. "Nanny?" she asked, and Nanny smiled and started pulling the cork out of the jug on the table. "They have a, uh, lot of respect for Granny Weatherwax," said Tiffany. "But there are some things they can't resist." Nanny Ogg succeeded in opening the bottle and the whole cottage was flushed with a smell of apples that made Dean's eyes water. Tiffany smiled. "You know what that is, don't you?"
"Ach, Tiffany, tha's nae playin' fair, openin' up a flagon o' scumble here in the cottage o' the hag o' hags," wailed a voice that was much too deep to come out of the little guy who'd appeared at Tiffany's feet, and yep, he was six inches tall and blue, just as advertised. At some point, Dean was going to stop being surprised when that happened.
She leaned down to speak to the Feegle. "If you can help us with this problem, Rob Anybody," Tiffany paused and glanced over at Nanny Ogg, who nodded, "then you can have the whole jug."
"We'll do it!" Rob's response was immediate. There was a rustling noise, and then the room was filled with the little guys, not cute and round like Smurfs, but menacing and made of ropey muscles and all dressed in tiny kilts and furs and this was some freaky-ass shit. Dean held himself very still - where the hell had all these things come from? Somehow the lead guy had gotten on top of the table, and was standing in front of Granny Weatherwax. "So wha's the wee bit o' trouble what defies your hiddlins and hagglins, o hag o' hags?"
Granny Weatherwax wrinkled her nose. "It defies neither my hiddlings nor my hagglings, Rob Anybody. It simply requires your special talents."
The blue man nodded sagely. "Ah, weel then, does it need stealin', fightin', or drinkin'? 'Cos we're prepared tae do any an' all o' t' t'ree." Dean's lips curled to the side: the few words he'd understood sounded like a good time to him.
Granny Weatherwax wore a neutral expression. "It's actually the crawstep that we're interested in."
Rob's eyes flickered over to Dean before he looked back at Granny. "For this huge heap o' bigjobs here, eh?" he said dismissively.
Dean pursed his lips at the unfamiliar term that sounded kind of like an insult, and one of the Feegles who was crouched on the edge of the table yelped, "Waily, Rob, he's got the knowin' o' the Pursin' o' the lips!"
Rob turned about as if to cuff the other Feegle. "Dinnae be daft, Daft Wullie, tha's women's hiddlins and nae even bigjob men have the knowin' o' the- oh." Rob paused as he caught sight of Dean's face. "Actually, tha's a fine Pursin' o' the Lips ye've got there, bigjob, verrae impressive." Dean thinned his lips, furrowing his brow and looking to Granny Weatherwax for some help in defending his manhood, but the women all looked like they were just barely holding back their laughter. Traitors. Meanwhile, Rob had turned to face Dean. He stalked over towards Dean skirting past the tea tray. "I'm Rob Anybody, big man of the Chalk clan. Any friend o' the wee big hag and the hag o' hags is a friend tae us."
Dean nodded. "Dean Winchester, pleased to meet you. Can you take me back to my own world?"
Rob paced, waving his hand and tipping his head from side to side. "Aye, aye, we have that partic'lar talent. But I dinnae ken why ye want tae leave here. Ye had tae have been awfully good in the other life tae come back here, what with all the things around you can fight and steal and drink."
Dean's eyes widened at this and he bit his lips. "Yeah, it's real nice here, and I might need you to bring me back some day, but there's plenty of stealing and drinking to do on my world, and one helluva a fight to be had there."
The Feegles were exchanging looks and murmuring amongst themselves. Rob leaned forward towards Dean. "Is there now? Sounds like a fine place, yer world. So tell us, wos yer story, and dinnae tell us the truth if'n the lie'd be more interestin'."
Nanny snorted at this, and Dean felt himself smiling at the absurd creature before him. "Heh. Uh, okay, there's these angels and demons that want to cause the apocalypse - er, end the world," he amended at Rob's blank look. "It's my job to stop them."
Several dozen blue heads tilted at him. Rob shrugged. "Dreein' yer weird, eh? 'Tis a fine geas, tae be sure, but tha's no' verrae interestin' at all. Ye couldae at least put in a dragon."
Dean remembered reading up on Michael just after Zachariah had dumped the whole Michael-sword situation in his lap. "Come to think of it, there might be a dragon somewhere in there." Not if Dean could help it, but whatever made the blue guy happy.
Rob was nodding. "Allow me a moment tae confer wi' my brothers." A couple of the Feegles hustled over to join Rob, including both the smallest and the biggest of the group. Dean looked at the witches, none of whom seemed terribly surprised by any of what was going on, which was reassuring.
After several moments of hushed whispering, the conference of Feegles broke apart. Rob nodded at the witches before turning to Dean, feet set in a wide-stance and hands on his hips. "We'll get you back tae yer fight, Dean Winchester, and if'n ye find yerself in need o' help wi' slayin' a huge dragon, weel, we might nae be averse to poppin' in fra' time tae time o' maybe stickin' 'round fra' a big fight. If'n, o' course, there's also drinkin' to be had."
"And stealin'!" said one of the Feegles standing on the shelves.
Dean's eyes widened, and even the witches looked a little surprised. "That's very generous of you. Thank you," said Tiffany after Dean took a beat too long to make his mouth work.
Rob grinned. "Weel, we're verrae gen'rous people, we Feegles. There's just one more thing. We need tae ken where we're goin'." The smallest one stepped in front of Rob. "This here's Awfully Wee Billy Bigchin, our Gonnagle, and he has the hiddlins o' the findin' o' the way." Billy had a strange device strapped around his shoulders.
Dean shifted in his seat. "Will you be able to get me to the same time I left, too?"
Tiffany blinked at his question. "I didn't realize that was an issue. Awfully Wee Billy Bigchin, is that the sort of thing you can do?"
The tiny Feegle nodded. "Aye, lass, the crawstep's near as good fra' the when as fra' the where. As fra' the findin' o' the way, i's just a wee thing, lad, but we'll need ye tae sing fra' us." He looked down, tugging at a pipe attached to the device. "Nae much, ye ken, don' need a strong voice, but from the heart." Billy looked up into Dean's eyes. "Do ye know a wee bit o' song that'll tell us just where ye've come from, lad?"
Dean guffawed. "You're kidding, right?" The tiny Feegle shook his head slowly and gravely. "I don't really, uh-" Dean glanced up, and every face in the room was looking at him expectantly, even if Nanny's eyes were sparkling with laughter. His own face fell. Shit. "Right," and of course his voice would go and crack on the word. Dean straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat, and thought for a minute. He knew lots of songs, but which one was the right one - and more importantly, which one wouldn't make him sound like a complete jackass? Then Billy began to play the instrument he carried - like tiny bagpipes - and Dean could barely hear the high-pitched sound, but it was filled with sadness and longing and "'Leaves are falling all around, It's time I was on my way...'"
The music from the pipes shifted to fit and Dean made it through the second verse and chorus of "Ramble On" before the music faded away. Billy nodded with approval as he slung the pipes back. "'T'was a fine singin' lad, and thank ye." Billy turned to Rob. "Whenever we're ready."
The witches had all stood up at some point, and Nanny and Tiffany had Dean's jacket, cloak, and sword in their hands. Dean got to his feet and took his possessions - he'd picked up a couple extra, hadn't meant to, but the cloak and the sword were his now, and he wasn't leaving them behind. Nanny teetered on tip toes to help him fasten the cloak's pin. "You take care of yourself, dearie boy," she said, wrapping him in a hug. He only hesitated a second then squeezed her firmly before setting her back. She stuck a wrinkled finger in his face. "You're far too young and pretty to go and die just because the world's ending. Help's been offered: don't be too proud to take it." She stepped back and retrieved a pipe from someplace - Dean wasn't going to think too hard about that - and chomped on the stem. "Now go and set your world straight, and don't be a stranger if you can avoid it."
Dean smiled. "Got it, Nanny." Next was Tiffany, who was looking at something very interesting behind him. "Thanks, Tiffany, I really-" Dean started, but she interrupted him.
"Do you have a diary?"
Dean's brow furrowed. "Huh? Uh, yeah, something like that."
"Get a lock for it. A good one. And don't let them have the whole bottle at once." She pushed the re-corked jug of booze at him. "You'll have to figure out the rest yourself. Good luck." Now she was looking down at the floor.
Dean looked at the bottle and glanced back at the girl. "Okay." He licked his lips, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you." Tiffany blushed, her eyes wide again as he straightened out and with a little bit of his own swagger having recovered from the whole singing-incident, he couldn't resist giving her a wink before turning to face Granny Weatherwax, who had one eyebrow cocked at him. Dean shrugged and she sighed, schooling her features into their normal stern positions.
"You'll remember what I said," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, ma'am." And how was he supposed to tell her how much it meant? "I, uh-" Dean looked into those blue eyes and realized that he didn't have to say it: she knew, and that was enough. "Thank you, Granny." He offered her his hand and after a moment she took it and shook it.
"You're welcome, Dean Winchester. So long as you remember to use your head. I've no patience for fools." She folded her arms. "Best to get this gang of them out of my house quickly, then."
"Yes, ma'am." He looked over at Rob. "So, how do we do this?" Dean controlled the urge to yelp and jump as dozens of Feegles climbed onto him. The largest one stayed on the floor as did Billy, each of them grabbing one of Dean's feet.
"It's all in the ankle, ye ken?" said Rob Anybody from his position clutching Dean's lapel.
Dean didn't ken - wasn't entirely sure what ken meant in the first place. "Not really," he admitted.
"I's nae a problem, we'll tak care o' everything fra' ye on yer first trip, no worries."
Dean swallowed, took one last look around the cottage, not quite believing this was it. "Okay. Let's go." Billy lifted Dean's foot and he stepped forward and -
- the world blurred, and the Feegles were yammering on about this thing and the next but he couldn't follow them worth a damn, just let them move his feet forward one after another and he thought he just might be sick if it kept on like this -
- and he was standing outside a crappy motel. Dean spun around. It was pre-dawn, and he looked up at the sign. It was the motel in New Haven. He turned in the other direction and almost fell to his knees at the sight of the Impala. "Oh, baby." Lunging forward a few steps, Dean caressed her hood before he realized that there wasn't a Feegle in sight, and that he wasn't holding the bottle of scumble anymore. He chuckled and shook his head. What was their room number again? Maybe 304? Dean searched his pockets, but couldn't find the key, so he headed to the room, steeled his nerves, and knocked.
Sam opened the door, dark circles under his eyes which went wide at the sight of Dean. "Dammit, Dean, where the hell have you-" but Dean squeezed the bitching right out of his baby brother - still Sam, Lucifer couldn't pull off that bitch-face. Sam stumbled back and returned the hug. "Jesus, Dean, what the - I searched the whole damn campus and you were just gone and so was the tulpa and it's been ten hours and what's with the hug?"
Dean pulled away and slapped his brother's shoulder with a huge grin - he'd have to ask Billy Bigchin about how the timing thing worked, but ten hours wasn't half bad. "It's been a bit longer for me - long story, Sammy-boy, I'm gonna need a beer first." He looked past Sam and his grin just got wider. "Oh, hey, Cas." Dean gave the angel a jaunty wave and cocked a glance at Sam. "You called in the big guns just for me?" Dean headed for the mini-fridge. "I'm touched. You didn't wake Bobby up in the middle of the night, did you? Man's getting on in years, needs his beauty sleep or else he gets cranky." He kneeled over to grab a beer and caught the handle of his sword against the floor. When he turned back, Sam and Cas were both staring at him. "What?"
"You are wearing a broadsword," said Castiel.
Sam pointed. "And a cloak." Dean shrugged, opened his beer and took a drink. Sam's face got all pinched and confused while Dean took off the cloak and his jacket. "What happened to you, Dean?"
Dean pulled out a seat at the table and swung his feet up onto the bed. "I had a nice little detour."
Sam exchanged a look with Castiel before he slumping into the other seat. "Must've been a hell of a trip - you're still smiling."
Dean took a swig of beer. "Am I?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. And kind of scaring me a little."
Dean shook his head and locked his eyes with his brother. "Don't be scared, Sam." He ran his hand over the grip of his sword. "We're not running scared anymore."
Sam and Cas remained skeptical even after Dean had told the whole story, but Dean just smiled and told them to sleep on it. Cas would come around eventually: he was good like that. Sam's skepticism met a major challenge when he woke up to the sounds of one of the Feegles - Dean was pretty sure it was Daft Wullie, puking in the sink and moaning about how "pished" he was before passing out in one of Sam's boots. After that, Sam listened to Dean's explanation of Granny's offer with a little more attention. In the end, he agreed with Dean's plan to stick around here on Earth for the time being - as long as Dean cleaned up the Feegle vomit before he went back to sleep.
Dean woke up a little before noon and treated himself to the little things: flush toilets, hot showers and mouthwash. He watched an episode of Dr. Sexy and used the Magic Fingers while Sam showered. But it was this last pleasure that Dean had missed the most - that he would've taken the time for even if Sam had said that they should take up Granny Weatherwax's offer straight away. Dean slung himself into the driver's seat. He shut his eyes, savoring the feel of her steering wheel in his hands, and turned the key in the ignition. He sighed at the rumble of the engine. Sam shook his head. "What?" asked Dean.
"You're still smiling," said Sam, now smiling himself.
"It's just good to be home, that's all." He adjusted his mirrors and his breath hitched - the quick blue flash he'd caught was comforting, but something that would take some getting used to - before pulling out of the parking lot and looking over at Sam. "So, where are we headed?"
Sam leaned forward to pull a pile of papers out of his bag. "Bobby had a line on a job down in New Mexico, but before we get there, there's a haunting in Pennsylvania I think we can clear up in a day or two..." and Sam would be rambling on about the background for awhile if it was actually worth looking into. Dean kept his ears open for any juicy details while he shoved Zeppelin II into the tape deck and in that moment, everything was right. Everything was good. He was in the Impala with Sam, back on the road, looking for the next job. This was Dean's home: someone had to fight for it, and he wasn't ready to give up on it yet.
Next - Epilogue
Master Post
Chapter Ten
Granny Weatherwax busied herself fixing whatever it was she intended to make for lunch on the other side of the kitchen. Dean pumped water into the basin, drinking a few mouthfuls before using a mug to dump it over his head and wash off the sweat. His sweat-soaked shirt felt clammy here in the dark chill of the cottage, so he grabbed a new one out of the leather satchel - his own t-shirt from home, which felt appropriate. He looked around - Granny Weatherwax must have wandered off somewhere. Satisfied he wouldn't be offending her sensibilities, he stripped his shirt off and splashed his chest and underarms with some of the water. A week with Angua had left him more than a little self-conscious about how he smelled, especially since he hadn't come across deodorant on this world yet. Next to the basin was a jar of goo that smelled like soap and lathered like soap when he rubbed it between his fingers, so he used a bit of it to clear up the worst of the pit stink. He didn't see a towel anywhere nearby, so he just rubbed himself down with the shirt he'd taken off.
"My goodness, lad, you're built like a brick shithouse!" Dean spun around at the words: Nanny Ogg had returned with a large jug in her hand and a teenaged girl in tow. For the girl's sake, he hoped she wasn't normally that bug-eyed and slack-jawed. "Puts those suits of armor up at the castle to shame," she said, fanning herself with her hand.
He shot Nanny Ogg his raunchiest grin. "Thanks, Nanny. I try to keep in shape," he said, snatching up his t-shirt and pulling it over his head as quick as he could. By the time he'd finished rolling it down his torso, the girl had recovered a little bit of her dignity, blushing and looking down. "Granny Weatherwax had me digging out back while you were gone, got a little sweaty," he explained. He threw the soiled shirt back in the satchel. He paused, considering it for a moment. "Hey, uh - Shawn Ogg, the guy from the border station, is he your son?" He'd have guessed grandson, but a little flattery never hurt.
Nanny nodded. "Aye, our Shawn takes care of a lot of odd jobs like that."
Dean buckled the satchel shut. "The folks down in Ankh-Morpork gave me these clothes for the trip, but I won't need 'em once I get home. Shawn looked about the same size as me, and they're practically brand new, just need a wash."
He nudged the bag towards Nanny with his foot and her eyes lit up. "And thoughtful, too. Esme, why exactly is it that we're so anxious to get him home straight away?" Dean turned to his left and noticed that Granny had reappeared - or maybe had never been gone, he wasn't sure now that he thought of it. The corners of her mouth were ever so slightly turned up.
"He's got some unfinished business back home, that's why." She held a plate towards Dean. "Sit and eat, Dean." Dean took the plate, sat down, opened up the sandwich and marveled for a moment at the existence of jam that was crunchy. Then he remembered what Shawn had said and ate the pickle while Granny continued. "Took you long enough to get back. No problems with the birth, were there?"
Tiffany turned towards Granny, and the shift in her expression was like watching someone age ten years before Dean's eyes. "Everyone's fine, but I was glad to have Nanny's help. It was twin girls."
Granny frowned. "Twins? I was up there last week and there was only-"
"Did you know that Miss Caldicott was Miss Level's cousin?" asked Tiffany, interrupting Granny, and Dean had to give the girl credit - she had guts.
What Tiffany had said must've meant something important, because Granny didn't take offense, just nodded. "I see."
Nanny Ogg set the bottle on the table and settled down in a seat. "I spoke with Eunice's mum and told them what to expect. I expect it'll be a mite easier this time round, for everyone involved."
"That's good." Granny joined them at the table. "Tiffany, this is Dean Winchester. He needs to speak to the Feegles."
Tiffany seemed to hesitate for a second when she realized the only seat left was next to him, the mature witch reverting back to teenaged girl, and Dean bit back a grin. For all the times that Sam had coughed "jail-bait" at Dean's hook-ups, Tiffany was way too young to even think about, though she'd be cute enough in a couple of years. Still, it was always nice to know he still had it and this could be fun. He flashed a smile at the girl while she sat. "They tell me you hang out with the little blue guys," he said.
She tried to look him in the eye, failed, let her gaze fall to his chest, blushed, and settled her focus on the table. "Uh, yeah. They, um, when we first got the clacks I told Big Yan to go- but, they're not- give me a second." She cleared her throat. "You can come out, wherever you are," she said in a firm voice. There wasn't any response, although something rattled on one of the kitchen shelves. Tiffany gave Granny Weatherwax a sheepish look. "Nanny?" she asked, and Nanny smiled and started pulling the cork out of the jug on the table. "They have a, uh, lot of respect for Granny Weatherwax," said Tiffany. "But there are some things they can't resist." Nanny Ogg succeeded in opening the bottle and the whole cottage was flushed with a smell of apples that made Dean's eyes water. Tiffany smiled. "You know what that is, don't you?"
"Ach, Tiffany, tha's nae playin' fair, openin' up a flagon o' scumble here in the cottage o' the hag o' hags," wailed a voice that was much too deep to come out of the little guy who'd appeared at Tiffany's feet, and yep, he was six inches tall and blue, just as advertised. At some point, Dean was going to stop being surprised when that happened.
She leaned down to speak to the Feegle. "If you can help us with this problem, Rob Anybody," Tiffany paused and glanced over at Nanny Ogg, who nodded, "then you can have the whole jug."
"We'll do it!" Rob's response was immediate. There was a rustling noise, and then the room was filled with the little guys, not cute and round like Smurfs, but menacing and made of ropey muscles and all dressed in tiny kilts and furs and this was some freaky-ass shit. Dean held himself very still - where the hell had all these things come from? Somehow the lead guy had gotten on top of the table, and was standing in front of Granny Weatherwax. "So wha's the wee bit o' trouble what defies your hiddlins and hagglins, o hag o' hags?"
Granny Weatherwax wrinkled her nose. "It defies neither my hiddlings nor my hagglings, Rob Anybody. It simply requires your special talents."
The blue man nodded sagely. "Ah, weel then, does it need stealin', fightin', or drinkin'? 'Cos we're prepared tae do any an' all o' t' t'ree." Dean's lips curled to the side: the few words he'd understood sounded like a good time to him.
Granny Weatherwax wore a neutral expression. "It's actually the crawstep that we're interested in."
Rob's eyes flickered over to Dean before he looked back at Granny. "For this huge heap o' bigjobs here, eh?" he said dismissively.
Dean pursed his lips at the unfamiliar term that sounded kind of like an insult, and one of the Feegles who was crouched on the edge of the table yelped, "Waily, Rob, he's got the knowin' o' the Pursin' o' the lips!"
Rob turned about as if to cuff the other Feegle. "Dinnae be daft, Daft Wullie, tha's women's hiddlins and nae even bigjob men have the knowin' o' the- oh." Rob paused as he caught sight of Dean's face. "Actually, tha's a fine Pursin' o' the Lips ye've got there, bigjob, verrae impressive." Dean thinned his lips, furrowing his brow and looking to Granny Weatherwax for some help in defending his manhood, but the women all looked like they were just barely holding back their laughter. Traitors. Meanwhile, Rob had turned to face Dean. He stalked over towards Dean skirting past the tea tray. "I'm Rob Anybody, big man of the Chalk clan. Any friend o' the wee big hag and the hag o' hags is a friend tae us."
Dean nodded. "Dean Winchester, pleased to meet you. Can you take me back to my own world?"
Rob paced, waving his hand and tipping his head from side to side. "Aye, aye, we have that partic'lar talent. But I dinnae ken why ye want tae leave here. Ye had tae have been awfully good in the other life tae come back here, what with all the things around you can fight and steal and drink."
Dean's eyes widened at this and he bit his lips. "Yeah, it's real nice here, and I might need you to bring me back some day, but there's plenty of stealing and drinking to do on my world, and one helluva a fight to be had there."
The Feegles were exchanging looks and murmuring amongst themselves. Rob leaned forward towards Dean. "Is there now? Sounds like a fine place, yer world. So tell us, wos yer story, and dinnae tell us the truth if'n the lie'd be more interestin'."
Nanny snorted at this, and Dean felt himself smiling at the absurd creature before him. "Heh. Uh, okay, there's these angels and demons that want to cause the apocalypse - er, end the world," he amended at Rob's blank look. "It's my job to stop them."
Several dozen blue heads tilted at him. Rob shrugged. "Dreein' yer weird, eh? 'Tis a fine geas, tae be sure, but tha's no' verrae interestin' at all. Ye couldae at least put in a dragon."
Dean remembered reading up on Michael just after Zachariah had dumped the whole Michael-sword situation in his lap. "Come to think of it, there might be a dragon somewhere in there." Not if Dean could help it, but whatever made the blue guy happy.
Rob was nodding. "Allow me a moment tae confer wi' my brothers." A couple of the Feegles hustled over to join Rob, including both the smallest and the biggest of the group. Dean looked at the witches, none of whom seemed terribly surprised by any of what was going on, which was reassuring.
After several moments of hushed whispering, the conference of Feegles broke apart. Rob nodded at the witches before turning to Dean, feet set in a wide-stance and hands on his hips. "We'll get you back tae yer fight, Dean Winchester, and if'n ye find yerself in need o' help wi' slayin' a huge dragon, weel, we might nae be averse to poppin' in fra' time tae time o' maybe stickin' 'round fra' a big fight. If'n, o' course, there's also drinkin' to be had."
"And stealin'!" said one of the Feegles standing on the shelves.
Dean's eyes widened, and even the witches looked a little surprised. "That's very generous of you. Thank you," said Tiffany after Dean took a beat too long to make his mouth work.
Rob grinned. "Weel, we're verrae gen'rous people, we Feegles. There's just one more thing. We need tae ken where we're goin'." The smallest one stepped in front of Rob. "This here's Awfully Wee Billy Bigchin, our Gonnagle, and he has the hiddlins o' the findin' o' the way." Billy had a strange device strapped around his shoulders.
Dean shifted in his seat. "Will you be able to get me to the same time I left, too?"
Tiffany blinked at his question. "I didn't realize that was an issue. Awfully Wee Billy Bigchin, is that the sort of thing you can do?"
The tiny Feegle nodded. "Aye, lass, the crawstep's near as good fra' the when as fra' the where. As fra' the findin' o' the way, i's just a wee thing, lad, but we'll need ye tae sing fra' us." He looked down, tugging at a pipe attached to the device. "Nae much, ye ken, don' need a strong voice, but from the heart." Billy looked up into Dean's eyes. "Do ye know a wee bit o' song that'll tell us just where ye've come from, lad?"
Dean guffawed. "You're kidding, right?" The tiny Feegle shook his head slowly and gravely. "I don't really, uh-" Dean glanced up, and every face in the room was looking at him expectantly, even if Nanny's eyes were sparkling with laughter. His own face fell. Shit. "Right," and of course his voice would go and crack on the word. Dean straightened his shoulders, cleared his throat, and thought for a minute. He knew lots of songs, but which one was the right one - and more importantly, which one wouldn't make him sound like a complete jackass? Then Billy began to play the instrument he carried - like tiny bagpipes - and Dean could barely hear the high-pitched sound, but it was filled with sadness and longing and "'Leaves are falling all around, It's time I was on my way...'"
The music from the pipes shifted to fit and Dean made it through the second verse and chorus of "Ramble On" before the music faded away. Billy nodded with approval as he slung the pipes back. "'T'was a fine singin' lad, and thank ye." Billy turned to Rob. "Whenever we're ready."
The witches had all stood up at some point, and Nanny and Tiffany had Dean's jacket, cloak, and sword in their hands. Dean got to his feet and took his possessions - he'd picked up a couple extra, hadn't meant to, but the cloak and the sword were his now, and he wasn't leaving them behind. Nanny teetered on tip toes to help him fasten the cloak's pin. "You take care of yourself, dearie boy," she said, wrapping him in a hug. He only hesitated a second then squeezed her firmly before setting her back. She stuck a wrinkled finger in his face. "You're far too young and pretty to go and die just because the world's ending. Help's been offered: don't be too proud to take it." She stepped back and retrieved a pipe from someplace - Dean wasn't going to think too hard about that - and chomped on the stem. "Now go and set your world straight, and don't be a stranger if you can avoid it."
Dean smiled. "Got it, Nanny." Next was Tiffany, who was looking at something very interesting behind him. "Thanks, Tiffany, I really-" Dean started, but she interrupted him.
"Do you have a diary?"
Dean's brow furrowed. "Huh? Uh, yeah, something like that."
"Get a lock for it. A good one. And don't let them have the whole bottle at once." She pushed the re-corked jug of booze at him. "You'll have to figure out the rest yourself. Good luck." Now she was looking down at the floor.
Dean looked at the bottle and glanced back at the girl. "Okay." He licked his lips, leaned down, and kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you." Tiffany blushed, her eyes wide again as he straightened out and with a little bit of his own swagger having recovered from the whole singing-incident, he couldn't resist giving her a wink before turning to face Granny Weatherwax, who had one eyebrow cocked at him. Dean shrugged and she sighed, schooling her features into their normal stern positions.
"You'll remember what I said," she said. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, ma'am." And how was he supposed to tell her how much it meant? "I, uh-" Dean looked into those blue eyes and realized that he didn't have to say it: she knew, and that was enough. "Thank you, Granny." He offered her his hand and after a moment she took it and shook it.
"You're welcome, Dean Winchester. So long as you remember to use your head. I've no patience for fools." She folded her arms. "Best to get this gang of them out of my house quickly, then."
"Yes, ma'am." He looked over at Rob. "So, how do we do this?" Dean controlled the urge to yelp and jump as dozens of Feegles climbed onto him. The largest one stayed on the floor as did Billy, each of them grabbing one of Dean's feet.
"It's all in the ankle, ye ken?" said Rob Anybody from his position clutching Dean's lapel.
Dean didn't ken - wasn't entirely sure what ken meant in the first place. "Not really," he admitted.
"I's nae a problem, we'll tak care o' everything fra' ye on yer first trip, no worries."
Dean swallowed, took one last look around the cottage, not quite believing this was it. "Okay. Let's go." Billy lifted Dean's foot and he stepped forward and -
- the world blurred, and the Feegles were yammering on about this thing and the next but he couldn't follow them worth a damn, just let them move his feet forward one after another and he thought he just might be sick if it kept on like this -
- and he was standing outside a crappy motel. Dean spun around. It was pre-dawn, and he looked up at the sign. It was the motel in New Haven. He turned in the other direction and almost fell to his knees at the sight of the Impala. "Oh, baby." Lunging forward a few steps, Dean caressed her hood before he realized that there wasn't a Feegle in sight, and that he wasn't holding the bottle of scumble anymore. He chuckled and shook his head. What was their room number again? Maybe 304? Dean searched his pockets, but couldn't find the key, so he headed to the room, steeled his nerves, and knocked.
Sam opened the door, dark circles under his eyes which went wide at the sight of Dean. "Dammit, Dean, where the hell have you-" but Dean squeezed the bitching right out of his baby brother - still Sam, Lucifer couldn't pull off that bitch-face. Sam stumbled back and returned the hug. "Jesus, Dean, what the - I searched the whole damn campus and you were just gone and so was the tulpa and it's been ten hours and what's with the hug?"
Dean pulled away and slapped his brother's shoulder with a huge grin - he'd have to ask Billy Bigchin about how the timing thing worked, but ten hours wasn't half bad. "It's been a bit longer for me - long story, Sammy-boy, I'm gonna need a beer first." He looked past Sam and his grin just got wider. "Oh, hey, Cas." Dean gave the angel a jaunty wave and cocked a glance at Sam. "You called in the big guns just for me?" Dean headed for the mini-fridge. "I'm touched. You didn't wake Bobby up in the middle of the night, did you? Man's getting on in years, needs his beauty sleep or else he gets cranky." He kneeled over to grab a beer and caught the handle of his sword against the floor. When he turned back, Sam and Cas were both staring at him. "What?"
"You are wearing a broadsword," said Castiel.
Sam pointed. "And a cloak." Dean shrugged, opened his beer and took a drink. Sam's face got all pinched and confused while Dean took off the cloak and his jacket. "What happened to you, Dean?"
Dean pulled out a seat at the table and swung his feet up onto the bed. "I had a nice little detour."
Sam exchanged a look with Castiel before he slumping into the other seat. "Must've been a hell of a trip - you're still smiling."
Dean took a swig of beer. "Am I?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah. And kind of scaring me a little."
Dean shook his head and locked his eyes with his brother. "Don't be scared, Sam." He ran his hand over the grip of his sword. "We're not running scared anymore."
Sam and Cas remained skeptical even after Dean had told the whole story, but Dean just smiled and told them to sleep on it. Cas would come around eventually: he was good like that. Sam's skepticism met a major challenge when he woke up to the sounds of one of the Feegles - Dean was pretty sure it was Daft Wullie, puking in the sink and moaning about how "pished" he was before passing out in one of Sam's boots. After that, Sam listened to Dean's explanation of Granny's offer with a little more attention. In the end, he agreed with Dean's plan to stick around here on Earth for the time being - as long as Dean cleaned up the Feegle vomit before he went back to sleep.
Dean woke up a little before noon and treated himself to the little things: flush toilets, hot showers and mouthwash. He watched an episode of Dr. Sexy and used the Magic Fingers while Sam showered. But it was this last pleasure that Dean had missed the most - that he would've taken the time for even if Sam had said that they should take up Granny Weatherwax's offer straight away. Dean slung himself into the driver's seat. He shut his eyes, savoring the feel of her steering wheel in his hands, and turned the key in the ignition. He sighed at the rumble of the engine. Sam shook his head. "What?" asked Dean.
"You're still smiling," said Sam, now smiling himself.
"It's just good to be home, that's all." He adjusted his mirrors and his breath hitched - the quick blue flash he'd caught was comforting, but something that would take some getting used to - before pulling out of the parking lot and looking over at Sam. "So, where are we headed?"
Sam leaned forward to pull a pile of papers out of his bag. "Bobby had a line on a job down in New Mexico, but before we get there, there's a haunting in Pennsylvania I think we can clear up in a day or two..." and Sam would be rambling on about the background for awhile if it was actually worth looking into. Dean kept his ears open for any juicy details while he shoved Zeppelin II into the tape deck and in that moment, everything was right. Everything was good. He was in the Impala with Sam, back on the road, looking for the next job. This was Dean's home: someone had to fight for it, and he wasn't ready to give up on it yet.
Next - Epilogue
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