Splat!

With the instinct borne of a lifetime of hunting, Dean barely had to awaken to slap at the insect tickling his skin as it brushed, feathery-light, against his cheek. But then, there was stickiness, and rapidly cooling warmth, and he opened his eyes and lifted his head to stare at his hand.

Eww. A rather large dark smear of… something coated his palm; it was hard to see in the moonlight coming through the blinds, so he leaned toward the nightstand and turned on the bedside lamp.

Red. Blood? And…glitter? Well, that's weird. Where the hell am I?

He looked to his right to see a blonde woman lying beside him. Through his still-alcohol- fogged mind, he remembered picking her up in some bar. She'd smelled nice, and felt soft, and was a nice alternative to Sam, who farted and belched and who never hugged him while he slept, no matter what the fanfic insisted.

He wished he could remember her name. And the name of her child, who had appeared next to the bed around two a.m. to tell Mommy she'd lost her tooth. She'd ended up sleeping next to Mommy because she'd been fearful of monsters.

Dean knew what it was like to be afraid of monsters, so he'd had no problems with letting the kid in if her Mommy didn't. (Though privately, he thought Mommy was kind of crazy to let her kid sleep in the same bed with a man she'd just met, but what the hell. It wasn't his kid.) Still—since he liked children (in a normal, non-pedophile kind of way) he didn't mind participating in the whole putting the tooth under the pillow ritual. He'd even sort of enjoyed listening to the child chat herself to sleep, with dreams of riches earned from the losing of teeth.

All this tumbled through his mind during the time it took him to fully awaken and realize he was staring at a sparkly…red…pile of goo next to his pillow. With…one torn… gauzy…purple wing. His stomach sank as he took in the coins scattered around the remains. Oh, fuck.

Beside the woman, the girl stirred. Instinctively, he shifted the pillow over the splattered carcass, jumped out of bed and ran—half-dressed-to the Impala, parked at the curb outside the house. Inside the car, he could see Sam, his head resting against the driver's side window as he slept. Dean yanked the passenger door open, jolting his brother awake. "Drive, Sammy! Drive!" he commanded.

Sam stared at him through sleepy eyes. "Dude. Is that… a wing on your cheek?"

Dean brushed the remains from his face. "Whatever. I think I ganked the Tooth Fairy. Let's jet before the rest of the Fae come looking for us."

And though Dean never spoke of it again, he was often wracked by guilt when confronted by sad children with gap-toothed smiles. It was just another version of his private hell…