Title: Pixy Stix
Spoilers: S4 – Takes place somewhere after 4x12
Author's Notes: Includes both humor and drama. Many thanks to my beta meg_tdj.
Word Count: 4,616
Summary: Sam and Dean learn that what happens in Vegas, doesn't always stay in Vegas.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.
After the thrill of a hunt subsided, and the comfort of a long sleep passed, Sam was accustomed to the lazy morning that followed, full of the stale smell of peeling hotel walls and cigarette-burned rugs. It wasn't the best thing to wake up to in the morning, but at least it gave him some small comfort that everything was okay for one more day.
He sniffed and frowned.
He smelled bacon.
Sam rolled over in his bed and turned to the sound of bacon sizzling in the kitchen. He half-expected to see Dean, as ridiculous as that sounded, standing over the stove fixing some breakfast. Instead, he saw the shadow of a figure much too small to be a man hovering over the kitchenette.
He looked to his side. Dean was out like a light, not even the aroma of morning bacon rousing him from sleep. Ever since Dean had come back from Hell, he seemed to sleep more often. Sam could only guess the burdens of Hell were wearing him down more than he'd thought. Sam shook his head, wiped the last vestiges of sleep away, and reached for his gun.
Whoever she was, she wasn't Ruby. She wasn't anyone Sam recognized. He slid off his bed and crept closer to the kitchenette, gun drawn, keeping his gaze steady on the girl's back.
She spun, nearly catching him off-guard. Sam leveled the gun at her head, and stopped, blinking as she held out the tray.
"Good morning! I made you breakfast!"
Sam stared at the girl. She hummed happily as she placed the tray down on the small table by the window side.
"Who are you?" Sam asked.
The girl didn't answer him. She bobbed her head from side to side, her spiky reddish-blonde hair catching the rays of the early morning light. She clapped at her masterpiece of eggs and bacon and waved Sam closer. "Come and eat before it's cold."
Sam didn't know what to say. She didn't act like a demon or an angel or anything else they'd encountered. Sam wondered if she was just insane and had wandered in their room, but before he had much time to dwell on it, Dean finally woke up.
"What the hell is this?" he asked, tossing off the bed covers. He looked to Sam, to his gun, and immediately sprung to his feet.
"No, you sit down." The girl waved her hand, and Dean toppled over the side of the bed and crumpled on the floor like a rag doll.
Sam's senses instantly heightened, he aimed the gun right between her eyes.
"Oh, you don't need to do that," she said with a bright smile. "I made you eggs."
"I don't want your eggs," Sam said. While he didn't want to tick the thing off, he needed answers. "Now, who are you?"
"I'm your wife, silly."
"Wife?" Sam blinked.
"Wife?" Dean grabbed onto the side of the bed and pulled himself to his feet, his angry eyes never leaving the girl. "Dude, she's like twelve."
Sam shook his head. "No, this is a mistake."
"Hell, yeah, it's a mistake," Dean muttered. "What's with you and jailbait?"
Sam clenched his teeth, but never took his eyes off the smiling girl. "She's obviously not human."
"Oh, and that's supposed to make it better?"
"Dean." He hoped the sharpness of his voice would be enough to shut his brother up for five minutes. Neither of them had any idea what this thing was or what its motivations could be. So far, it hadn't even attacked them, aside from Dean's little harmless mishap. It just kept staring at Sam in a way that made him very, very uncomfortable.
"What's your name?" he asked the girl.
"What do you want to call me?" She twirled in a little semi-circle as she grinned.
"No, your name."
She said nothing.
"Okay…" Sam cleared his throat. "What do you want?"
"For you to have breakfast." She pulled out a chair and patted the seat. "It's very good. I promise."
Sam glanced at the plate she had made him. He had to admit it looked more appealing than any of the food they kept grabbing at early morning cafes and diners.
Dean came to his side and peered over his shoulder. When he reached out his hand to touch one of the bacon strips, he received a hardy slap on his wrist.
"Not for you!"
He winced and rubbed his hand. While Dean did everything to salvage his pride, Sam could see right through him.
"Come eat now." The girl grabbed a fork and dangled a chunk of scrambled eggs in front of his nose.
Sam had no intention of eating its concoction. While she seemed harmless, he didn't want to inadvertently bind himself to the creature or get himself poisoned.
"Why don't you start without me?" Sam flashed her his best grin and took a step back. "Dean and I just need to talk about something real quick."
She eyed them suspiciously, but finally nodded. "I can do that."
"Great," Dean mumbled. "You sit tight, Red."
The girl's face turned crimson and she jumped to her feet, startling Sam and Dean into drawing their sidearms again. In a rage, she threw her chair, her whole body shaking. "You don't get to name me!"
"Okay, okay," Sam said, stepping between the two. "We just need to talk for a moment…." He searched the room, looking for anything to name her, before finally settling on a coffee cup on the tray. "We'll be right here, Hazel. Okay?"
She nodded again, seeming pleased with his response. With a sigh, she eased into one of the seats at the table.
Sam watched Dean mouth "Hazel," but just blew off the silent remark and grabbed him by the arm. When they had stepped far enough from the girl to have a conversation, Dean reamed into him. "What the hell did you do last night after we finished that job in Vegas?"
"If you're implying I ran off with a twelve year old…"
"Look, I get it," Dean said. "It's Vegas. I don't expect anything less. I had myself some good times, too. But usually when people do the Vegas marriage thing, they do it with a drive thru Elvis, not go pedo."
"Dean, enough. I didn't run off with an underage girl. I don't even know where she came from. It's not like she was in the car with us last night or even in the motel room when we checked in." He glanced at the girl and lowered his voice. "I think maybe it's a brownie or some kind of house-elf."
"This isn't freakin' Harry Potter."
"But cooking, service…even the hot temper are all signs of a house-elf."
"Problem is this is no house," Dean said. "It's a motel."
Dean had a point. When a house-elf settled into a home, it usually was a permanent one. The fact that they bounced from motel room to motel room would make it impossible for a house-elf to ever get comfortable. The only permanent fixture they had was…
Dean frowned. "Uh oh, what?"
"What if it's attached to the Impala?"
He blinked. "I don't think so. Over my dead body."
"Be careful what you say," Sam warned him. "I heard these things can be nasty when they want to be, and for whatever reason I don't think it likes you very much."
"What was your first clue?"
"I'm just saying let's try to play this cool until we can figure out a way to get rid of it." Sam watched as she played with a bug on the windowsill. He still had a nagging feeling this was going to turn into trouble, but he also knew they couldn't act until they knew exactly what they were dealing with. "Let's see what we can find in Dad's journal or through Bobby."
Sam hoped they would find something quick and easy, but knowing their luck, it wouldn't be that simple.
Dean licked his finger and flicked another page in their dad's journal. He kept his eyes on the little creep as it doted on Sam. The girl – if it was a girl – kept humming as she dusted, cleaned, and straightened Sam's clothes. She'd paused every couple of minutes to lean close to Sam as he typed on his computer, hovering over him in a way that set Dean on edge. He wanted to grab the thing and get rid of her, but every time he was about to make a move, Sam would swat her away and she'd be off humming again until the next time she latched onto him. Dean had no clue why Sam attracted all kinds of weirdoes, but it was starting to bug him.
He glanced down at the journal and flipped to the next page. This was going to be a long night if they couldn't figure out how to ditch Twinkle Toes.
Sam waved at him and pointed to his screen. "I think I found something."
Dean scooped up the journal and started toward Sam. He kept his eyes glued to the girl. She did the same.
He shivered. Creepy.
Dean settled in behind Sam and leaned over to look at the screen. "Pixies?"
"Yeah." Sam tilted the screen so Dean could have a better view. "According to some of the lore, they can take on any shape, but they prefer to take on the form of children or young women."
"I thought those were fairies," Dean said. "Or sprites. Or, hell, aren't they all the same?"
Sam nodded. "Could be. To be honest, Dean, there's so much stuff out there, that—"
"Needle in a haystack," Dean finished for him. He wiped his face. That was perfect. There was so much damn lore on pixies that it would take weeks to figure out what was true, what was country folklore, and what was fiction.
He sighed. "Okay. So, what do we know?" He opened the journal and started to look through it again. "I swear I saw something on fairies or sprites or something in here…"
"They attach themselves to things or people," Sam said. He forced a smile and swatted the girl away. "My guess is that we picked her up when we were leaving Vegas."
"We?" Dean chuckled. "She's pretty sweet on you."
The girl plopped down next to Sam and rested her chin on her hands. As far as Dean could tell, she looked normal. If he hadn't known she had the power to push people with her mind, he'd have thought she was a girl with a little green jumper and spiky reddish hair. But as soon as he looked at her eyes, he could tell she wasn't human. They were green, greener than anything he'd ever seen, and just looking at them gave him an uneasy crawly feeling all through his body.
"So, how do we detach the little darling?" Dean asked.
She glared at him.
"It all depends," Sam said, pausing to scratch his chin. "We have to know exactly what we're dealing with before we can do anything."
Dean understood what Sam was implying. They do the wrong thing and piss this little pixie off, then they'd all be paying for it.
Dean flipped through the pages again. "Got it."
Sam leaned forward as Dean read a page in the journal. "What?"
"Pixie. Well, one form of 'em, anyway. They latch onto a human like a leech. They stick around until the person bites it, and latch onto another sucker." Dean rolled his eyes and lowered the book. "You had to go and marry a friggin' parasite."
"Dude, I didn't marry anything." He glanced at her quickly before turning back to Dean. "I've never even seen her before today."
"Well, you picked her up somehow."
They both quieted and looked at the girl. Hazel was watching every word they said, her bright green eyes wide and alert. Her gaze bounced between the two of them. She reminded Dean of some kind of crazy shebot from Mars.
At least that movie had hot babes.
He cleared his throat and held up the journal. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about this in front of your wife."
Sam glared at him.
"What?" Dean asked.
Sam shut his laptop and smiled at the girl, holding up a finger to have her stay and wait a second. When she sat down and crossed her arms in a pout, Sam slid out of his seat and pulled Dean to the side. "Dad's journal said they attach onto someone after their former…partner dies, right?" he asked.
Sam shook his head. "Whatever. We must have passed someone that was dying or had passed away."
Dean blew air through his lips and looked to the ceiling. They hadn't passed any dead people. He would have remembered running into rotting corpses. They'd been hunting a ghost terrorizing gamblers at one of the slot machines. That was it.
"Oh crap." Sam let out a heavy sigh.
"What?" Dean asked. "It do something to you?" He turned to glare at the girl sitting at the table.
"No. I just remembered. You know that last victim?"
Dean nodded. "The guy we saved. He went to the hospital."
"Yeah. What if he didn't make it?"
If the guy kicked it at the hospital and had little miss sunshine with him, then it could have latched onto Sam as they were leaving the hospital. Which if that was the case, that was just peachy. The little twirp could have been hiding out the whole time they were leaving Vegas and none of them would be the wiser. If there was anything he knew about these things, it was that they had a knack for not wanting to be found.
Dean was about to suggest Sam call the hospital to confirm, but he was already dialing.
"I'm calling Bobby," Dean told him as he started for the door. No need for Hazel to overhear them. "See if he has some info on downsizing our family."
Sam nodded and returned his attention to the phone. Dean shook his head, wondering whom they'd pissed off now to get saddled with this problem, and opened the door. He lingered a moment, making sure Sam was safe before he turned to the girl.
He found her intense eyes burning into him.
Whatever this thing was, fairy, pixie or something in between, Dean knew it was trouble.
And she knew it.
Dean shut the door behind him and walked over to the Impala. He leaned against the driver's side, pulled out his cell, flipped the cover, and started to dial. He hoped Bobby was around and not out on some job.
"Hey, Bobby." Dean stole a glance at the door as he held the phone close.
"Lemme guess. You boys are in trouble again."
Dean let out a nervous chuckle. "Come on, man. You know us better than that."
"That's the problem. I know you too well." Bobby sighed. "So what did you do this time?"
"Sam married a pixie."
"He did what?"
Dean shifted his weight and glanced up. The door was still closed. No sign of the little firecracker.
"We think the thing snagged him as we were leaving a job in Vegas," Dean explained. "Do you know anything about these things?"
"I sure as hell do. They're trouble. Big trouble."
"Oh that's great. Just what I wanted to hear."
"Dean, these little imps ain't just pests," Bobby said. "They're life suckers. That thing'll be draining Sam for the rest of his life, however long that is."
Dean closed his eyes and muttered to himself. "Super. So how do we gank mosquito girl?"
"Easy. Just give it some new clothes and it'll go away. As long as you don't name the thing."
Dean froze. "Say what?"
Bobby sighed again. "You boys weren't morons and named it, were you?"
"What happens if you name it?"
"You name it. You own it."
"Do you idjits even think before ya do something?"
"All right. I get the point." Dean kicked away from his car and walked a few steps toward the motel room. He tried to peer into the window, but Sam had the blinds shut tight. "Now how do you get rid of it after you name it?"
"It's harder, but it can be done. These things feed off sugar or anything sweet. But salt's like poison to them. Get 'em to eat some salt, and the pixie will burn inside out."
Dean made a face. That sounded like a nasty way to go. "That's it?"
"That's it? Good luck shoving salt down its throat."
Great. He had no idea how they could trick the pixie into eating salt. Dean knew it must have some kind of defense mechanism it protect it. Maybe he and Sam could disguise it somehow.
"No problem. And be careful. These things are territorial and ain't to be messed with."
Dean nodded into the phone and snapped it shut. He turned to head back to the motel room when he froze. Hazel was standing in front of him, her eyes a storm of green.
"I know what you're doing." Her lips twitched.
Searing pain ripped through his hand. Dean cried out, tossing the red-hot cell phone and moaned, clutching his wrist. The skin had already begun to bubble and blister from the intense heat from the cell. He didn't know how the little freak had done it, but she sure as hell would pay for it.
"Son of a bitch," he muttered, biting down the pain. He glared at the pixie, keeping his gaze level. "You are so—"
He jerked backwards, slamming into the side of the Impala. As he made contact, he felt a numbing sensation snake down his throat before there was an audible pop. Dean went to cry out, but no sound came. He blinked and stared at Hazel.
She gave him a twisted grin.
Dean called out, yelling at the top of his lungs for Sam. No sound ever came. No words. No grunts. Nothing.
The bitch had taken his voice.
No pyro-loving pixie was going to take away his sexy voice. He fumbled behind his back for the knife.
Just as he was getting ready to strike, Sam swung open the motel door. "Dean!" He was breathing hard and his eyes widened as he saw the little pixie looming over Dean's crumpled body. "Hazel, no!"
Dean used the distraction as his last opportunity. He bolted to the Impala and reached into the glove compartment, grabbing a notepad and pen. He stole a quick glance up. When he saw the little pixie had vanished from view, he knew he had little time. Quickly, Dean scribbled a note to Sam on the pad, and seizing his last moment, he tossed the pad out the opposite side of the car toward Sam.
Sam was already running toward him, but Dean knew he'd be too late. There was a laugh, a wicked sick-sounding chuckle of delight coming from behind him. When he turned around, the pixie stood there with a devilish grin. There was no mistaking the malice in her eyes.
"Bye, bye," she said.
And with that, everything vanished in a puff of smoke.
Sam stopped mid-step. He watched in horror as Dean disappeared, literally vanishing into thin air.
All the while, Hazel clapped her hands with glee.
Sam stared at Hazel, his mouth open until the mild shock wore off. He shook it away and set his jaw, reaching down to grab the notepad Dean had thrown. "Bring him back," he ordered.
She just cocked her head and smiled. "You and me now. Just you and me. You and me forever." She clapped. "Want some lunch?"
"I said bring him back. If you want to do something for me, bring Dean back."
She shook her head. "No."
Sam glanced down at the pad in his hands. Dean had hastily scribbled some words on the paper. At first Sam had a hard time making out what he'd written, but the more he stared at it, the more the words took shape.
"Name it, own it," the paper read. "Likes sweets. Feed it salt."
He clutched the pad harder and glared at the pixie. "Where is he?"
"He's everywhere now." She grinned and looked to the sky. She let out a little squeak as she flapped her hands. "No putting him back together again."
Sam stormed back to the motel room. He ran inside and darted for Dean's bed. As Sam fumbled around the bedside, he prayed that what he was about to do would work and hoped for the slim chance that everything would be made right again.
He snatched the open bag of candy and darted to the table. He pushed the cold eggs and bacon aside and dumped the bits of chocolate bars, candy sticks, and lollipops onto the surface. With his hand he spread them out, pausing to grab a few of the chocolates.
He reached for the salt.
Sam heard Hazel glide through the door behind him.
"What are you doing?" she asked sweetly.
Sam poked a hole in the center of two of the candy bars and stuffed salt in the middle. He dumped them on the table and, before he pocketed the saltshaker, he twisted the top to loosen it.
Hazel bounced over to the table, her green eyes wide with bliss. "Candy?"
"Dean's not going to need it anymore," he muttered. He glanced at the door, feeling a soft breeze by the entrance, and felt a sharp pang in his gut. "Have it," he told her.
Hazel squealed and grabbed a handful of candy. Sam kept silent, watching, waiting, as she drew one of the tainted chocolates close to her open mouth. She paused, the slight hint of a frown fluttering over her face.
Sam wasted no time. Not willing to chance a rejection, he dumped the salt into his palm from the shaker and grabbed her, clasping his loaded hand over her open mouth.
She squirmed, flailing her arms. Sam held firm, keeping her cemented to the spot, hoping that his sneak attack had thrown her off enough that the salt would do its job before her magical instincts kicked in. He didn't need to have a fate like Dean.
Sam felt his arms shoot to the side without his accord, releasing the pixie from his grasp. She spun around, foam frothing from her mouth, as a deep, rich, bloody sap rolled down her chin. In that instant, the sweet girlish façade faded, leaving him to see her true nature.
She was hideous. She had cracked skin, sagging in pools underneath her festering green eyes. Her nose was flat, her hair a mop of twitching branches and twigs, while green veins pulsed underneath her translucent skin.
Sam swallowed hard. He kept the shaker in his concealed hand, ready to strike again if necessary.
She shrieked, her howl shaking the room, as she charged forward. Sam stiffened, but kept his gaze level, as she rushed him.
Hazel never made it. She stopped and gasped, her entire body started to spasm. As the tremors grew, Sam crept back, quiet, prepared just in case.
The spasm broke into a full seizure and Hazel collapsed. Her eyes pleaded for respite, but before Sam could react, she burbled a flood of liquid from her mouth and her small body caught fire.
Part of him felt a pang of sympathy for the pixie, but that part was fleeting when he focused on all the mischief and heartache the thing could have caused, not only to himself, but also to its many victims.
Her spontaneous combustion ended, leaving Sam with a heap of ash on the ground. He stared at it a moment. Sam had no idea where Dean was or if and how he could bring him back. But he knew that matters would have only worsened if he had kept the pixie around for answers. She would have twisted reality again, or she would have brought Dean back different. Sam wouldn't accept that.
He grabbed his cell and started to dial Bobby to see if he had any answers on how to undo what Hazel had done, when he heard a loud crash outside the front door. Sam stashed away the cell and walked to the door, peering out to the sidewalk.
Dean lay flat on his face, his body limp on the pavement. Sam immediately rushed to his side and turned him over. "Dean?"
At first he didn't move, but after a few long seconds, Dean stirred and pushed himself into a seated position. His face was marred with confusion, and for a split-second Sam was worried that something was wrong with him. Dean looked down at his right hand, wriggled his fingers and let out a silent sigh.
"You all right?" Sam asked, keeping his doubts and fears at bay.
Dean nodded. "Think so." He tilted his head, and smirked at the sound of his voice.
Sam helped him to his feet. "What happened?"
"All I know is that I felt like I was floating, like on some bad acid trip, and then it's all nothing."
"You don't feel off?"
"I just got poofed by Tinkerbell's evil twin." He brushed off his jeans. "What do ya think?"
Sam let out a sigh of relief. Dean sounded fine. He helped him inside the motel room where they both stopped and stared at the remains of the pixie in the center of the floor.
Dean whistled. "It's like Fatal Attraction meets Disneyland." He glanced at Sam. "You poached the bitch?"
Sam chuckled. "Yeah, she's gone." He stared at the ashes. "I guess when she died, any spell work she crafted was undone."
"Thank God for that," Dean muttered. He rolled his shoulders and neck. "I'm going to be sore for weeks."
"Better than being nothing."
Dean made a face and conceded. They both walked over to the table and looked down at Dean's candy stash. Sam grabbed an orange Pixy Stix and handed it to Dean.
Dean accepted it and turned it over before finally throwing it on the table with disgust. "I think I've had enough pixies for a lifetime." He glanced at one of the chocolates. "At least I'll always have Snickers."
"Uh, Dean don't—"
Dean took a bite. Instantly, his face soured and he split it into the barrel. Sam only laughed.
"Ugh, you poisoned my stuff." Dean let his longing gaze linger on the candy before he sighed. "We should pack up and get the hell out of here before you pick up any more crazy chicks."
Sam rolled his eyes, but couldn't agree more. The farther away from Vegas and its surrounding towns, the better.
He followed Dean and helped him pack their equipment and odds and ends. When they hit the road, he wanted to give Bobby a quick call to check on Dean. While he didn't think anything was out of place, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Despite the craziness from the past day, Sam felt a twinge of hope. For that one day, he hadn't felt the distance between them. He hadn't been burdened with the secrets he kept, or distracted by the pain Dean carried. For that one day, it almost felt like things were like they used to be.
Maybe there was a chance for them after all.