(no subject)
"Sam, are you really freaking sure we should be doing this?" Dean stared at his brother, forming his features into his best 'I'm-pissed' face. "You're messing around with some serious mojo, kid."
Sam glanced up from his spot on the floor amidst chalk markings and smoking candles. "I'm not a kid, okay, Dean? I'm going to be 18 in 2 months."
"Oooh... look who's ready for a walker."
"Bite me."
"That vocabulary get you into Stanford?"
Sam threw a hand in the air and aimed a certain finger that was all too familiar at Dean. "You're insufferable. Better?"
Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "You're going to screw up. I don't know why the hell you want to speak with a Eleventh Century whore anyway. You can't use her in your paper, moron."
"Anne Hathaway was not a whore, and she, with her husband William Shakespeare, lived in the sixteen hundreds. Did you ever pay attention in any of your classes?"
"Mostly to the girls in class. There was this one girl, Shirley, in my English. Man, the way she'd perk up in class when she knew an answer would put her ass in perfect--
"And I can use her perspective for context, Dean. I don't need to take what she says and use it verbatim," Sam interrupted with slightly pink ears and a lot of irritation. "Now, will you help me out, or shut the hell up?"
Dean sighed. "What do you need me to do?"
-x-
"Sam?" Dean picked himself up off the ground in confusion. He was pretty sure he had just been sitting cross-legged in front of his gawky, idiotic brother at their place in Iowa. He patted some dust off his jeans, and looked around.
Wait.
"What hath become of mine azure stockings?!" He picked avidly at the strangely puffy and horrifically orange pant-like things that clung to his legs. Then he noticed the tights. And the weird shoes. And the inordinate amount of dirt, which he guessed showed how poor he was here. Wherever here was. Although he had a pretty good idea...
He heard a shuffling sound and an "unnngh..." coming from his left that sounded like his soon-to-be-dead little brother.
"Samwise Winchester!" Dean grit his teeth and stomped in his stupid little shoes. "Father will have thine head for this misdeed, scoundrel!" Those were not the words he'd intended to say. His would have been much worse. And definitely R-rated.
He heard an embarrassed cough and glanced up to see a young girl, dirtier than he was, holding a basket filled with what appeared to be potatoes. "Good morn, master. Accept mine apologies fer disturbin' thee."
Dean stood stalk still for a moment. He meant to say "s'no problem", instead he said, "do not be bothered, young miss."
The girl ducked her head and continued on her way. When she was out of earshot, Dean bellowed to his brother again. "Samwise!"
"We appear to be in quite the quandary," came his brother's feeble voice. Sam came over the top of a small hill, dressed similarly to his brother and looking extremely embarrassed. "I know not where mine witchcraft went awry." He sounded thoroughly confused and definitely afraid.
Dean sighed and moved to stand beside his brother. Dean eyed Sam for a moment. Sam cowered slightly- ridiculous in appearance seeing as Sam was now the same height as Dean and likely to be the size of a sky scraper within the week. The thought of a skyscraper- and how there weren't any there- reminded Dean exactly how screwed they were. He whipped out a hand and smacked Sam upside the head. Sam ducked and winced, and Dean could see him calculating the chances of success for a return attack.
"Do not consider such a deed, young brother. Verily and forsooth, mine hand would be superior in a duel between us." Sam made a face. "Let us venture town-wards, and make of our destiny as we can."
They fell into step and ambled towards the shadow of a town. "What hour approacheth?" Dean kicked a rock in frustration. He didn't like all this pansyass garbled old English crap coming out of his mouth. He liked Dean-language. It was simple, it was easy, it was understandable. What the hell did he need "-eth" at the end of words for?
"Hark! The sun overtakes the evening!" Sam gestured towards a bunch of clouds lightening ahead of them.
Dean glared at him. The pansy school-lover was probably enjoying this.
"I decree a silence upon us." He somehow managed to say it with authority.
Sam started sulking.
They made it into the town in twenty minutes, just as it seemed to be waking up. People bustled out of run-down homes- if you could call them that, they were more like shacks- and calling ancient greetings to each other.
Dean broke the silence. "How did you come upon the godforsaken piece of prose in the first?"
Sam glanced at Dean in worry. "I fell upon it, amidst mine explorations of the "
There was a drawn out pause.
"Explorations of what, good fellow?" Dean stared at his younger brother.
Sam's mouth moved but no sound came out.
"Samwise! I demand that you doth bestow thine knowledge upon me, in the immediate!" Dean was getting seriously pissed off. Again.
Sam shook his head in frustration. "It is not that I attempt to keep this information from thee, it is that in this fair time, a word doth not exist
to express it."
What the hell did that mean? "I do not understand thee."
"The most valuable tool with which I did discover the spell has not yet blessed the individuals of this century."
Something clicked. "You are a fool, Samwise!" Getting a damn spell of the internet that was meant to conjure some long-dead broad was definitely the stupidest thing Sam had ever done.
"Still thine tongue, elder brother," Sam snapped at him, bristling. "It is neither the time nor location to discuss such incidence."
"Methink'st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee*," Dean hissed. He tried to number the times he'd wanted to kick Sam's ass as badly as now. He was pretty sure this was number three on the list.
Sam let out a sigh beside him. "We shan't succeed in returning by dallying here. Let us move on, and pray we discover a helpful soul."
Dean grunted agreement and they moved further into the town, looking for an indication that someone around could help them.
"Perhaps a priest..."
Dean shuddered internally. That's all they needed, someone preaching about the devil inside all of them. "Lend me thine ear, Samwise. Let us search out fellow hunters."
"Dean," his brother stopped beside him, forcing Dean to look at him. "Tis not uncommon for the priests to be aware and prepared against ghostly beings that plague these poor people."
Dean groaned. "So say ye, lead on."
As if on cue, a church bell began ringing in the distance.
"I doth wonder if we might come upon Friar Tuck."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Let us follow that melodious ringing."
It wasn't long before the church came into view, and Dean began feeling uneasy. He wasn't sure if it was just the church, or if it was
hunter's sense (so much cooler than Spidey sense) or what, but it was growing.
"I feel ill at this."
"Strange food doth have that effect." Sam nodded wisely. "What hath been ingested by thee?"
Dean whapped Sam upside the back of the head again. Did the idiot hit his head on their way here or something? "At our destination, thou frothy fool-born dewberry!**" Now, that one pretty much sealed the deal. People who lived in the twelve hundreds were a bunch of pansies.
Sam scowled at him. "It is most strange for thee to voice thine discomfort."
Dean shrugged. They'd reached the church doors, and stood for a moment, staring at them. Dean groaned. "Come hither," he said in defeat and pushed the doors open.
The inside of the church was quite run down. The pews were made of old-looking wood, and the floors were covered in dirt. There were small, simply designed stain glass windows set high near the ceiling, filtering some light in. The rest of the light came in through tall, slim, tinted windows, set carefully midway down the walls. The ceilings were arched slightly, but not very high. Overall, the church was fairly small, befitting the small town it was in .
The further into the church that they moved, the higher the sun rose, lighting the dust motes floating thickly in the air, making it somewhat hard to see. Dean peered towards the alter in the hopes of seeing some priest or orderly.
Sam wandered towards one of the windows. "I art no believer, but I doth appreciate the beauty of this church."
"It seems Friar Tuck did not deem it fit to attend today," Dean said in frustration but also in relief. He didn't know what was bothering him, but something was seriously off...
"Good morn, fair masters, and may God bless ye with a bountiful harvest!"
Sam and Dean turned quickly towards a side door in the church that neither had noticed. A young man stood there, dressed in a plain
habit.
Sam walked slowly towards the man, coming to a stop before him. Dean stayed where he was, careful to survey. His unease had
returned.
"Father," Sam said reverently. "Mine brother and I come a great distance and art fresh to this townstead. We are quite lost, and unsure as to the best way to return to whence we came."
The Father smiled gently. "My child, thine journey hath brought thee to the right place. God blessed thee in bringing thee here." He patted Sam's arm. "Together, we shall discover an answer for thee."
Dean, sensing no immediate danger, joined them. "Father, our situation be a bit more delicate than that which you speak of. A great misdeed brought us to thine glorious church doors. We know not where we went awry."
The Father frowned at him. "Dost thee question the path the Lord thine God hath placed before you?"
Sam hastily stepped forward, giving Dean a dirty look. "No, kind Father, no. Mine ignorant brother doth speak too hastily of that which he does not understand. He merely means that we do not fathom our appearance in this place."
The Father continued to stare at them darkly, as though he felt their faith in God was severely lacking. Dean thought the priest was right on that one, but he couldn't care less. He just wanted the hell out of here.
"I believe, mine children, that thine faith is put to a test. Come, let us speak more of--
"Father!" The same young girl that Dean had seen that morning ran into the church. "Father! His vision hath come again! He doth disturb the peace of the town!" She was breathing heavily, as though she'd come from pretty far away. Sam and Dean stared from her to the Father, who had paled considerably.
"He hath returned?"
"Yes, Father. I beseech thee, please come cast him away!" The Father hesitated and fear flitted across his features. "Please, Father," the girl pleaded.
The man moved towards the door. "Yes," he muttered, then paused mid-step. He turned and swiftly went to the alter. "I shall appear hither. Go, Katherine, tell the townsfolk to disappear to the safety of their homes."
"Yes, Father." She curtsied and was out the door.
The man began to grab various objects from the alter space. A candle, a bowl of what appeared to be holy water, a crucifix and an incense dispenser.
Sam stepped towards him as he was gathering the objects. "Father, what doth fall upon this town to instill such terror?"
But the man simply rushed past him, shoving through the large front doors.
Dean looked at his younger brother. "Those complaints doth sound familiar."
Sam nodded his agreement and they moved to follow the priest.
Once outside, they looked around, seeing nothing. The area was deserted, and even the priest was out of sight.
"Where hath the townsfolk disappeared?" Dean asked, his body tense. He desperately wanted his rocksalt shotgun. Or at least
something made out of iron.
Sam was shaking his head, eyes narrowed. They moved so that they were standing back to back, and turning in a slow circle, their eyes searched the empty road around them.
Dean felt, rather than heard, Sam's startled intake of breath.
"Hark!" His brother yelled. "Tis a ghostly being!"
To be continued...
(ps- can you believe this crack has a TBC? Supernatural has broke my brain.)
* with help from http://www.pangloss.com/seidel/Shaker/index.html? and Shakespeare's play All's Well That Ends Well
** also with help from http://www.pangloss.com/seidel/Shaker/index.html?
Sam glanced up from his spot on the floor amidst chalk markings and smoking candles. "I'm not a kid, okay, Dean? I'm going to be 18 in 2 months."
"Oooh... look who's ready for a walker."
"Bite me."
"That vocabulary get you into Stanford?"
Sam threw a hand in the air and aimed a certain finger that was all too familiar at Dean. "You're insufferable. Better?"
Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "You're going to screw up. I don't know why the hell you want to speak with a Eleventh Century whore anyway. You can't use her in your paper, moron."
"Anne Hathaway was not a whore, and she, with her husband William Shakespeare, lived in the sixteen hundreds. Did you ever pay attention in any of your classes?"
"Mostly to the girls in class. There was this one girl, Shirley, in my English. Man, the way she'd perk up in class when she knew an answer would put her ass in perfect--
"And I can use her perspective for context, Dean. I don't need to take what she says and use it verbatim," Sam interrupted with slightly pink ears and a lot of irritation. "Now, will you help me out, or shut the hell up?"
Dean sighed. "What do you need me to do?"
-x-
"Sam?" Dean picked himself up off the ground in confusion. He was pretty sure he had just been sitting cross-legged in front of his gawky, idiotic brother at their place in Iowa. He patted some dust off his jeans, and looked around.
Wait.
"What hath become of mine azure stockings?!" He picked avidly at the strangely puffy and horrifically orange pant-like things that clung to his legs. Then he noticed the tights. And the weird shoes. And the inordinate amount of dirt, which he guessed showed how poor he was here. Wherever here was. Although he had a pretty good idea...
He heard a shuffling sound and an "unnngh..." coming from his left that sounded like his soon-to-be-dead little brother.
"Samwise Winchester!" Dean grit his teeth and stomped in his stupid little shoes. "Father will have thine head for this misdeed, scoundrel!" Those were not the words he'd intended to say. His would have been much worse. And definitely R-rated.
He heard an embarrassed cough and glanced up to see a young girl, dirtier than he was, holding a basket filled with what appeared to be potatoes. "Good morn, master. Accept mine apologies fer disturbin' thee."
Dean stood stalk still for a moment. He meant to say "s'no problem", instead he said, "do not be bothered, young miss."
The girl ducked her head and continued on her way. When she was out of earshot, Dean bellowed to his brother again. "Samwise!"
"We appear to be in quite the quandary," came his brother's feeble voice. Sam came over the top of a small hill, dressed similarly to his brother and looking extremely embarrassed. "I know not where mine witchcraft went awry." He sounded thoroughly confused and definitely afraid.
Dean sighed and moved to stand beside his brother. Dean eyed Sam for a moment. Sam cowered slightly- ridiculous in appearance seeing as Sam was now the same height as Dean and likely to be the size of a sky scraper within the week. The thought of a skyscraper- and how there weren't any there- reminded Dean exactly how screwed they were. He whipped out a hand and smacked Sam upside the head. Sam ducked and winced, and Dean could see him calculating the chances of success for a return attack.
"Do not consider such a deed, young brother. Verily and forsooth, mine hand would be superior in a duel between us." Sam made a face. "Let us venture town-wards, and make of our destiny as we can."
They fell into step and ambled towards the shadow of a town. "What hour approacheth?" Dean kicked a rock in frustration. He didn't like all this pansyass garbled old English crap coming out of his mouth. He liked Dean-language. It was simple, it was easy, it was understandable. What the hell did he need "-eth" at the end of words for?
"Hark! The sun overtakes the evening!" Sam gestured towards a bunch of clouds lightening ahead of them.
Dean glared at him. The pansy school-lover was probably enjoying this.
"I decree a silence upon us." He somehow managed to say it with authority.
Sam started sulking.
They made it into the town in twenty minutes, just as it seemed to be waking up. People bustled out of run-down homes- if you could call them that, they were more like shacks- and calling ancient greetings to each other.
Dean broke the silence. "How did you come upon the godforsaken piece of prose in the first?"
Sam glanced at Dean in worry. "I fell upon it, amidst mine explorations of the "
There was a drawn out pause.
"Explorations of what, good fellow?" Dean stared at his younger brother.
Sam's mouth moved but no sound came out.
"Samwise! I demand that you doth bestow thine knowledge upon me, in the immediate!" Dean was getting seriously pissed off. Again.
Sam shook his head in frustration. "It is not that I attempt to keep this information from thee, it is that in this fair time, a word doth not exist
to express it."
What the hell did that mean? "I do not understand thee."
"The most valuable tool with which I did discover the spell has not yet blessed the individuals of this century."
Something clicked. "You are a fool, Samwise!" Getting a damn spell of the internet that was meant to conjure some long-dead broad was definitely the stupidest thing Sam had ever done.
"Still thine tongue, elder brother," Sam snapped at him, bristling. "It is neither the time nor location to discuss such incidence."
"Methink'st thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee*," Dean hissed. He tried to number the times he'd wanted to kick Sam's ass as badly as now. He was pretty sure this was number three on the list.
Sam let out a sigh beside him. "We shan't succeed in returning by dallying here. Let us move on, and pray we discover a helpful soul."
Dean grunted agreement and they moved further into the town, looking for an indication that someone around could help them.
"Perhaps a priest..."
Dean shuddered internally. That's all they needed, someone preaching about the devil inside all of them. "Lend me thine ear, Samwise. Let us search out fellow hunters."
"Dean," his brother stopped beside him, forcing Dean to look at him. "Tis not uncommon for the priests to be aware and prepared against ghostly beings that plague these poor people."
Dean groaned. "So say ye, lead on."
As if on cue, a church bell began ringing in the distance.
"I doth wonder if we might come upon Friar Tuck."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Let us follow that melodious ringing."
It wasn't long before the church came into view, and Dean began feeling uneasy. He wasn't sure if it was just the church, or if it was
hunter's sense (so much cooler than Spidey sense) or what, but it was growing.
"I feel ill at this."
"Strange food doth have that effect." Sam nodded wisely. "What hath been ingested by thee?"
Dean whapped Sam upside the back of the head again. Did the idiot hit his head on their way here or something? "At our destination, thou frothy fool-born dewberry!**" Now, that one pretty much sealed the deal. People who lived in the twelve hundreds were a bunch of pansies.
Sam scowled at him. "It is most strange for thee to voice thine discomfort."
Dean shrugged. They'd reached the church doors, and stood for a moment, staring at them. Dean groaned. "Come hither," he said in defeat and pushed the doors open.
The inside of the church was quite run down. The pews were made of old-looking wood, and the floors were covered in dirt. There were small, simply designed stain glass windows set high near the ceiling, filtering some light in. The rest of the light came in through tall, slim, tinted windows, set carefully midway down the walls. The ceilings were arched slightly, but not very high. Overall, the church was fairly small, befitting the small town it was in .
The further into the church that they moved, the higher the sun rose, lighting the dust motes floating thickly in the air, making it somewhat hard to see. Dean peered towards the alter in the hopes of seeing some priest or orderly.
Sam wandered towards one of the windows. "I art no believer, but I doth appreciate the beauty of this church."
"It seems Friar Tuck did not deem it fit to attend today," Dean said in frustration but also in relief. He didn't know what was bothering him, but something was seriously off...
"Good morn, fair masters, and may God bless ye with a bountiful harvest!"
Sam and Dean turned quickly towards a side door in the church that neither had noticed. A young man stood there, dressed in a plain
habit.
Sam walked slowly towards the man, coming to a stop before him. Dean stayed where he was, careful to survey. His unease had
returned.
"Father," Sam said reverently. "Mine brother and I come a great distance and art fresh to this townstead. We are quite lost, and unsure as to the best way to return to whence we came."
The Father smiled gently. "My child, thine journey hath brought thee to the right place. God blessed thee in bringing thee here." He patted Sam's arm. "Together, we shall discover an answer for thee."
Dean, sensing no immediate danger, joined them. "Father, our situation be a bit more delicate than that which you speak of. A great misdeed brought us to thine glorious church doors. We know not where we went awry."
The Father frowned at him. "Dost thee question the path the Lord thine God hath placed before you?"
Sam hastily stepped forward, giving Dean a dirty look. "No, kind Father, no. Mine ignorant brother doth speak too hastily of that which he does not understand. He merely means that we do not fathom our appearance in this place."
The Father continued to stare at them darkly, as though he felt their faith in God was severely lacking. Dean thought the priest was right on that one, but he couldn't care less. He just wanted the hell out of here.
"I believe, mine children, that thine faith is put to a test. Come, let us speak more of--
"Father!" The same young girl that Dean had seen that morning ran into the church. "Father! His vision hath come again! He doth disturb the peace of the town!" She was breathing heavily, as though she'd come from pretty far away. Sam and Dean stared from her to the Father, who had paled considerably.
"He hath returned?"
"Yes, Father. I beseech thee, please come cast him away!" The Father hesitated and fear flitted across his features. "Please, Father," the girl pleaded.
The man moved towards the door. "Yes," he muttered, then paused mid-step. He turned and swiftly went to the alter. "I shall appear hither. Go, Katherine, tell the townsfolk to disappear to the safety of their homes."
"Yes, Father." She curtsied and was out the door.
The man began to grab various objects from the alter space. A candle, a bowl of what appeared to be holy water, a crucifix and an incense dispenser.
Sam stepped towards him as he was gathering the objects. "Father, what doth fall upon this town to instill such terror?"
But the man simply rushed past him, shoving through the large front doors.
Dean looked at his younger brother. "Those complaints doth sound familiar."
Sam nodded his agreement and they moved to follow the priest.
Once outside, they looked around, seeing nothing. The area was deserted, and even the priest was out of sight.
"Where hath the townsfolk disappeared?" Dean asked, his body tense. He desperately wanted his rocksalt shotgun. Or at least
something made out of iron.
Sam was shaking his head, eyes narrowed. They moved so that they were standing back to back, and turning in a slow circle, their eyes searched the empty road around them.
Dean felt, rather than heard, Sam's startled intake of breath.
"Hark!" His brother yelled. "Tis a ghostly being!"
To be continued...
(ps- can you believe this crack has a TBC? Supernatural has broke my brain.)
* with help from http://www.pangloss.com/seidel/Shaker/index.html? and Shakespeare's play All's Well That Ends Well
** also with help from http://www.pangloss.com/seidel/Shaker/index.html?