Chapter Text
Here is the art that inspired this.
Sam blew a cloud of dust off a small cardboard box he’d just removed from the back of a shelf, sending Dean into another coughing fit.
“God, Sam! Do you have to do that? I can hardly breathe already.”
“It’s just a little dust, Dean.”
“Says the guy without allergies. I’m gonna have to take a handful of benedryl before bed.”
“Let's just finish this shelf, and we’ll quit. We got a lot done today.” Sam was far more enthusiastic about exploring the long untouched storage shelves in the bunker. “You never know what we’ll find, Dean,” he’d pointed out the day before. “Books of lore, talismans, amulets. Records written by the Men of Letters. There’s no telling what we could learn.”
Dean knew that Sam was right, but he still didn’t have to like it. Six hours of dust and grime (and sinus congestion) later, and even Sam admitted they had found nothing remotely of interest. Dean watched him slide open the lid of the offending box.
“Oh, great. Some kind of animal skull. Gross.” Sam slammed the lid back on, and replaced it on the shelf.
“Weirdos,” Dean muttered, and took a deep breath before reaching back into the dark recesses of the shelf. The sooner they finished looking through this godawful crap, the sooner he could take a shower and have a beer. His fingers bumped against smooth, cool glass, and he extracted a mason jar caked with dust. “Great. It’s probably fifty-year-old lima beans.” Dean gave the jar a shake, then nearly dropped it when he felt a distinct fluttering inside.
“Shit, Sam! There’s a moth or tarantula or somethin’ in here.”
“There can’t be anything live in there, the lid’s screwed on,” Sam pointed out sensibly. “And even if there were, it can’t get out. Let’s take it to the kitchen and wash it off.”
“Fine. But you have to carry this nasty-ass thing.” Dean handed the jar to Sam, and took off down the hall, trying to shake the dust off his hands as he walked. He considered going straight to the shower, and leaving Sam to deal with it, but his curiosity got the best of him. He accompanied his brother to the kitchen and watched as Sam squirted some dishwashing soap on the jar and scrubbed it with a sponge.
“You realize we’ll have to throw that sponge away now,” Dean was saying, his nose wrinkled, when Sam suddenly went still.
“Dean,” he said quietly. “Get over here right now.”
“If that’s a spider, Sam, so help me God…” Dean’s voice trailed off as he looked through the newly clean glass.
Both brothers were silent as they stared at the mason jar. Inside was a tiny, living man, clad only in a white loincloth. He had a pair of beautiful white wings, which fluttered frantically. His hands pressed against the inside of the jar, and his blue eyes were wide and frightened.
“Shit,” Dean whispered. “Shit. Let him out, Sam. Hurry.”
“What if he flies off and gets stuck somewhere?”
Dean leaned in close, peering at the little creature, and saw tear tracks on his dusty face. He grabbed the jar from Sam and began to twist off the lid. It was rusty, and Dean had to put some muscle into it, but the lid eventually gave way with a pop. Dean unscrewed it the rest of the way, and gently placed it on the kitchen counter. They waited.
The tiny man cowered in the bottom of the jar, covering his head with his hands. Dean leaned over and spoke to him softly. “Do you understand me? Can you understand English?” The man peered through his fingers and nodded quickly. “Can you talk?” He shook his head and pointed at his mouth.
“That’s okay. Listen, I need you to understand that we’re not going to hurt you. If you come out, we can help you.” The little creature rocked back and forth in distress for a moment, then looked up and nodded. He flapped his wings and fluttered out of the jar, touching down on the counter. He scrubbed a foot over the laminate, eyes downcast.
“What is he?” Dean breathed.
Sam scooped the jar lid off the counter, the movement startling the creature. “Sorry,” Sam told him, and rubbed his finger across a crumbling paper label. “Grace Sprite,” he read aloud. “He’s a sprite, Dean.”
“What, like a fairy?”
“I think they’re a bit different, but basically yes. I think they have less powerful magic, which is probably why he couldn’t escape.”
“Well all right then, little guy. Little sprite. Listen, you wanna get cleaned up? You’re kinda grimy. I’ll find you something to wear. Something to eat, too. Maybe a burger! What do you eat, anyway?”
The sprite stared at him, mouth slightly open. Sam rolled his eyes. “Be cool, Dean. He hasn’t talked to anybody in God knows how long. You’re probably scaring him.”
“Sorry, sorry. Moving too fast. How about I run you a bath in the sink and you can wash off? Sam and I’ll leave for a bit so you can have your privacy and all.”
The sprite appeared to consider this, then nodded. Dean beamed. “Cool. I’ll rummage around and see if I can find you something to wear.” He pulled a couple of dish towels from the drawer and placed them on the counter. “Here, you can dry off with these. Sam, go get the guy some of your fancy body wash.”
“It’s not fancy, it’s from Bath and Body Works.” Sam headed toward his room, then stuck his head back in the kitchen door. “You know we’re also gonna have to throw away those kitchen towels away, right?”
Dean looked offended. “Don’t insult the little guy, Sam! We’ll just let him have them for his own.” He plugged the sink drain and started filling it with water, testing the temperature carefully with the back of his hand. When Sam returned with his “Teakwood” scented body wash, Dean squirted a dollop into the water, making a bubble bath.
“All right, little fella. Look, this faucet is touch activated, so when you wanna rinse, all you gotta do is hit it with your hand.” Dean demonstrated to the wide-eyed sprite. “Pretty cool, huh? All right, we’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, just yell, or uh...squeak.” He gestured toward the hall, and Sam followed him around the corner.
“What the hell are we doing, Dean?” Sam hissed. “We don’t even know this...thing.”
“We’re taking care of a sprite in need, Sam.” Dean inexplicably felt more light-hearted than he had in ages. “Now hang out here in case he gets into any trouble. I’m gonna see if I can find him something more decent than that Tarzan thing to wear.”
Dean returned shortly, holding a small set of brown and off-white robes. Sam squinted. “Is that…”
“The robes from the Yoda figure Charlie got me for Christmas? Yep. They might be a little big, but the length is about right. All we gotta do is make some holes for his wings.” Dean had also fetched a pair of scissors, and he carefully cut two slits in the back of each garment.
Sam began snickering. “Dude. You have a naked Yoda in your room.”
“Shut up, assbutt.”
The sprite had evidently figured out the faucet system; sounds of running water, splashing, and furious wing flapping were coming from the kitchen. Eventually the sounds ceased, and the brothers waited for another couple of minutes before peeking around the corner.
The sprite was sitting wrapped up in the kitchen towel, his bare feet hanging off the counter. His dark hair was sticking up in all directions.
“We, umm, brought you some clothes. I know they’re probably not what you’d want, but at least you won’t be cold and...well. Here ya go.” Dean retreated around the corner again. There was a flurry of rustling noises, then a high-pitched throat clearing sound. Dean took a deep breath and entered the kitchen.
The sprite stood solemnly on the counter in the baggy robes. If he weren’t so dignified, the effect would have been comical. Dean grinned. “Not bad, dude. You’d make a good Jedi.” The sprite frowned at him and clasped his hands together.
“He doesn’t know what Star Wars is, Dean. Hey, buddy, would you like something to eat? I mean, do you even eat?” The creature gave a good imitation of what Dean had always called Sam’s “bitch face” and nodded.
“All right, we’ll see if we have something you’d like. You got a name?” The sprite considered this for a moment, then shook his head, looking sad. “That’s okay, man. We’ll figure something out.” As Sam and Dean were also starving, they decided to prepare dinner for themselves and serve their guest tiny portions of the same food. Dean grilled cheeseburgers topped with caramelized onions, and Sam chopped vegetables to make a complicated-looking salad.
They prepared a small plate with tastes of everything for the curious-looking sprite, who sniffed and poked the various foods before trying a bite of burger. His eyes lit up, and he began stuffing pieces of hamburger into his mouth. Once he finished that, he politely began sampling the vegetables. He tried all of them, excepting the bit of radish, but didn’t finish any.
“A guy after my own heart,” Dean grinned.
“Well, excuse me for trying to get the both of you to eat healthy.” Sam had eaten a giant portion of salad, and refused cheese on his burger.
“We need a name for the little guy. Too bad he doesn’t talk.”
Sam considered for a while. “I read in one of the Men of Letters’ books about Castiel, the angel of Thursday. It’s Thursday today, and he has wings...I dunno.”
“No, I like it. It could be Cas for short.” Dean leaned down toward the table and propped his chin on his fist. “Hey, sprite dude. Is is okay if we call you Castiel? If you don’t like that, we’ll find something else.”
The sprite smiled for the first time, and nodded.
“All right, then. Cas it is. Hey, Cas? Let’s see if you like pie.”
When Castiel was presented with a tiny sliver of apple pie, he closed his eyes in delight and made a happy chirping noise. His wings fluttered in ecstasy.
“Look at that. He is just like you, Dean. Hey, Castiel. You’ve got pie on your face.” Sam ripped off a piece of paper napkin and handed to the sprite, who ignored it and continued to stuff himself with pie. Castiel rubbed his tummy, stretched and yawned, curling his legs under his Yoda robe.
“You tired? It is getting late. Let me set you up a place to sleep.”
Dean got a foam pillow for the sprite’s mattress, and cut a piece from a flannel blanket. He set it up on the kitchen counter and gestured toward it proudly. “There ya go, Cas. First-class setup, right there. Oh, wait. You might get thirsty.” Dean searched the cupboards for a small enough cup, and finally settled on the ¼ cup from the measuring cup set. He filled it halfway with water and set it near the bed.
Castiel took off the top robe and lay down on the foam pillow. Dean tucked him in, leaving nothing uncovered but his tiny face. The sprite’s blue eyes studied Dean, looking uncertain.
“S’okay, Cas. You’re safe in here. Let’s see, the bathroom’s around the corner, and my bedroom’s down the hall on the left. I’ll leave the door cracked in case you need anything. Night, Cas.” Dean turned out the kitchen light, feeling Cas’s eyes follow him as he left.
Dean brushed his teeth and searched out his softest t-shirt and sleep pants. He settled back onto his memory foam mattress, but sleep wouldn’t come. He worried about little Castiel, alone in the dark kitchen. After half an hour, he got up and tiptoed down the hall to check on him. As he neared the kitchen, he could hear chirruping sobs.
“Cas? Are you all right?” The little sprite’s body was trembling, and his face was buried in the pillow. “Oh, hell. Hey, little guy. What’s wrong?” Castiel did not respond, and Dean hesitated before reaching out and gently stroking Cas’s back with his finger. He feared that he had gone too far, but Cas leaned into his touch, and rolled over and caught hold of Dean’s finger. He made a chirring sound, and rubbed his face on Dean’s knuckle.
“Oh. Well, okay then.” Dean could feel dampness on the tiny face, and his heart contracted. “Cas? Were you lonely?”
Cas nodded, continuing to grip Dean’s finger. “Well. I guess that’s understandable. Out here all by yourself. You want to come bunk with me? I’ll bring your pillow to my room.” He extended his other hand, palm up, and Cas crawled into it eagerly. “All right, then. Here we go.”
When they reached his bedroom, Dean began setting the pillow up on his dresser, but Cas fluttered over to the bed, chirping. “Shit. All right, whatever. Even though this is a little weird. Just don’t tell Sam.” Dean placed Cas’s foam pillow on the other side of the bed, and Cas snuggled into right away, letting Dean cover him with the blanket.
“Sleep tight, Cas.” Dean received a chirrup in return, and although he never would have admitted it, he fell asleep more easily than he usually did.
Sam burst into the room early in the morning. “Dean! I can’t find Castiel anywhere, God knows where he could’ve flown off to…” He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Okay, then. I don’t need to know.” Dean blinked at him, sleepy-eyed, and and Cas covered his head with the blanket. “Two of a kind,” Sam muttered. “If you guys can ever drag yourselves out of bed, I’d planned on making pancakes.”
Dean opened one eye. “Psst. Cas. Ever had pancakes?” The sprite shook his head, his blue eyes solemn. “Well, they’re worth getting up for. C’mon.”
The miniature pancakes with drizzles of maple syrup prepared by Sam warmed Castiel’s heart to him as well, and he settled happily into the bunker. Dean remained his favorite, however, and as he went about his business, there was always a chirping sprite perched on his shoulder, or fluttering close behind. The Winchesters’ phones remained quiet, and Sam found no potential cases, instead using his laptop to research sprites.
“There are air sprites, water sprites, and tree sprites,” he reported to Dean.
“Hear that, buddy? Which are you?” Castiel simply laughed and ruffled Dean’s hair with a tiny hand. As the days went by, Dean thought that Cas felt a little heavier on his shoulder. Probably because he was eating now, Dean thought, and shivered a bit to think of Cas alone in his mason jar.
The next morning, as Dean reached out to wake Cas--the sprite would never leave his warm pillow without coaxing--he noticed that Cas’s feet were poking out from under the blanket. Had Cas grown taller? “C’mon, man. Up and at ‘em.”
Cas burrowed into the pillow, muttering, “Go ‘way, Dean.”
“Hold up, there. Are you talking?” Dean poked him, receiving a grumble in return. He finally convinced Cas to get up, but he insisted on being carried to the kitchen, and would only eat a few bites of breakfast.
“What’s up, Castiel? Would you like some of my egg white omelette?” Sam cut off a portion with a clean fork and offered it to Cas, who pushed it away and muttered, “No.”
“Dean? Is he talking now? Wait a minute. Is he growing?”
Dean sighed heavily. “I dunno what’s going on. I thought he said my name earlier, and I know it sounds crazy but I swear to God he’s getting taller.”
“It’s not crazy. Look at his robes.” Where they had once covered his feet, the Yoda clothes were now up above Cas’s ankles. “Maybe when he was so tiny, his vocal cords were too small to speak.”
“Well, whatever’s going on, it’s not like him to skip a meal.”
“Maybe he’s just not feeling well. Don’t panic just yet.” Sam patted Dean on the shoulder, and headed off to the library.
Cas only grew worse as the day went on. By lunch, he was hunched over and shivering, and Dean took him back to their room to lie down. By two o'clock, Cas was moaning and writhing in pain. “He’s burning up, Sam. Could you go to a drugstore and get him some baby Tylenol?”
“We can’t do that, Dean. We don’t know if Tylenol is poisonous to sprites; it could kill him.”
“We have to do something, or he’s going to die anyway!” Dean tried to bathe Cas’s forehead with a piece of washcloth, but the sprite pushed it away.
“Hold on, Dean. I know, I’ll call Rowena.”
It was a testament to how worried Dean was that he agreed immediately. Rowena laughed at them when she answered the phone, and warned Sam that they’d owe her, but she agreed to come. By the time Sam let her in and led her to the bedroom, Cas was cradled in Dean’s arms, making sobbing noises.
“It took you long enough,” Dean snapped.
“Do you have any idea how long it takes to find spell ingredients for a bloody sprite?” She retorted. “They're quite rare in this country.” Rowena stepped over to the bed, and ran her hand over Cas’s back. “Ahh. Growing pains. Poor wee mite.” She touched her hand to his temple, and the sprite’s eyes fluttered as he fell into a deep sleep.
“So he is growing?”
“Of course he is. They’re like a fish. You keep them in a little glass bowl, they stay small. You put them in a pond, they’ll grow to quite a size.”
“How was he able to live in a sealed jar for so long?”
“They’ll go into a hibernation, of sorts. Sometimes tree sprites will sleep in a tree for decades, if they’re undisturbed.”
Sam pulled a chair up to the side of the bed. “So he’s a tree sprite?”
“No, that he is not, nor a water sprite. He’s something special, this one. I’ve never seen one quite like him.” Rowena stroked his hair lightly. “He’s got the touch of heaven upon him.”
“I don’t care what he is.” Dean looked into her eyes. “Can you help him?”
“I can indeed. Samuel? Take me to the kitchen and I’ll start brewing.”
Sam thought it unwise to leave a witch alone in the bunker, so he sat at the counter and watched her work.
“Dean seems quite attached to the wee thing.” Rowena scooped the herbs into a cauldron and added water. “Sprites often develop a profound bond to a person, particularly if they’ve aided them in some way.”
“How much do you think he’ll grow?”
“No way to tell, Samuel.” Rowena swept a hand over the pot, and its contents began to boil. “Most sprites grow to about knee high, but as I said, I’ve never seen his like before. Now hush. This next part’s a wee bit tricky. Why don’t you find me something to put this in. About pint size.”
Rowena chanted softly as steam billowed from the cauldron, and Sam found an empty bourbon bottle. He rinsed it carefully and held it up for her to see. “Will this work?”
“That’ll do nicely. Give it a few minutes to let it cool, and we’ll be done.”
When they came back to Dean’s bedroom, Sam carrying the precious bottle of murky violet liquid, Dean was lying on the bed with Cas’s head pillowed on his arm. Rowena handed him a tiny silver spoon. “Every hour, on the hour, until midnight, rouse him and give him a spoonful of the potion. Don’t spill it, for the love of God. I don’t want to come back here twice in one day.”
Dean turned the spoon over in his hand. “What do I do after midnight?”
Rowena shrugged. “Sleep. Watch Netflix. Whatever you want. Just let the potion do its work. Then in the morning...we’ll see. Or you’ll see. I’ll be long gone.”
Sam saw Rowena on her way, then gathered snacks and drinks to take back to Dean’s room. He knew Dean would not leave Cas, and he didn’t want to leave Dean. He spread out the food, but Dean would not accept anything but coffee. He was afraid of drifting off to sleep and missing a dose. Sam set alarms on his phone to ease Dean’s mind, and found them a Netflix series to binge.
At midnight, Dean administered the last spoonful of potion, and placed the bourbon bottle in a dresser drawer. “I’m gonna hit the hay,” Sam said gently. “Call if you need me?”
Dean nodded, weary. The last thing Sam heard before he shut the door was Dean whispering to Cas.
Dean had intended to watch over Cas all night long, but the day had taken a toll on him, and he drifted off around 2:00 am. He dreamed that tiny fairy assassins had come for Cas, and then that he had turned into a jet-black raven, and flew away.
Dean opened his eyes. His bedside clock read 7:00 am, but his bed was so comfortable. He could sleep awhile longer. He snuggled back into delicious warmth, and a strong arm slid around his waist. Nice.
Warm lips pressed a kiss onto his back. Dean sighed happily, then froze. What the hell? He thrashed around in the bedsheets, finally managing to turn over.
The other side of the bed was taken up by a man, almost as tall as Dean, with rumpled dark hair and soft-looking lips. Dean gasped, and the man opened his eyes, which were a startling blue. He smiled.
“Hello, Dean.”