Stars Verse
Title: Stars shine darkly Part 1
Author: Mikhala_c
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/OFCs, eventual Sam/Cas…and various others in later chapters
Word Count: 4800
Spoilers: Let’s go with anything up to season five.
Warnings: Coarse language, blasphemy, feathered serpents, virginity jokes, excessive booze, abuse of mythological figures, and violence. Lots of violence.
Disclaimer: I own them not.
Summary: AU: The Loa take pity on a dying hero and raise his sons as their own scions. The boys’ illustrious Mother takes it upon herself to rewrite their destinies but can the love of family rewrite the mandate of heaven?
~I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands and wrote my will across the sky in stars.~
Maman Brigitte stared down at the dying man.
Even in his pain he was trying to make his way across the graveyard toward a car parked in the shadow of the trees. She wondered at his determination as she looked from him to the ruin of a blood ceremony he’d ended. The witches had been bartering with dark things and paying their personal dues in the blood of others. It was a nasty underhanded sort of behavior and she was personally glad to be rid of them.
Reaching down she carefully rolled the man over. She was met with a gun pointed at her face. “Careful, one would think you didn’t want help.” The hand holding the gun tremored under the strain of exhaustion and blood loss as his bleary eyes focused on her.
Brigitte knew she was lovely, but the poor man looked like he’d seen a ghost. “Mary? Oh God…the boys..I can’t leave th-..” It was mid word the gun fell as the last of his strength failed. The goddess stared down at the body for a long moment before starting to fish through his pockets. “That was not very damn informative, my friend. You did me a solid and Loa like to pay our debts.”
She finds a flask, lighter, and keys in his coat. Tucking the lighter away, she opens the flask to smell as she gets to her feet. The thought that someone would waste perfectly good flask space on water, even holy water of all things, offends her but its obvious that hunters, as a breed, suffer mental deficiency so she tried not to judge the dead man.
When she opened the car up she knew the source of the man’s drive to return to it as well as the man’s cryptic meaning. The two small sleeping figures in the backseat would be worth anything to a father. One was only a baby and the other was barely more than that…..
She couldn’t just leave them.
Well she could, but that would be cruel to the dead man and the service he’d done for her.
When the police arrived in the morning they found tires treads going into the graveyard and stopping near to the grisly scene, but strangely none to show the vehicle ever left.
To say the Baron was miffed about the lack of inquiry about whether or not he’d like human children in their home would be an understatement. His arguments were well thought out and reasonable, but Maman Brigitte drew herself up to her full height and asked pointedly where the lovely shade of lipstick on his collar came from.
To the victor of the argument go the spoils and Brigitte occupied herself settling her sons into the manor.
There were so many things to do, so many plans to make. She had no intention of letting her sons meet the same fate as their mortal father. If they were going to hunt the damned she was going to raise them to do it right.
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Dean leaned against the bar and twisted the shot glass left to right between his fingers before bringing it up to down the contents. He placed the empty glass down next to its six dearly departed brothers and rapped his knuckles on the wood to get the bartender’s attention.
“I think you should take it easy there, buddy.”
Dean snorted and pulled a wad of bills from his pocket. Peeling off a fifty he pushed it towards the man and his concern. “Ben thinks you should mind your own business and bring me another round.“ The man flashed him a sour look but took the money as he cleared the glasses away. The minute his back was turned a body slid onto the stool next to Dean. A quick snap proceeded the appearance of an obnoxiously fruity beverage with an assortment of paper umbrellas stuffed into the top. “So, this a business meeting or have you finally succumbed to my wiles, big boy?” The voice is just too damn cheery as the speaker leans into his personal space.
“We talked about this, Loki. You’re just too much man for me.”
“It's true. I’d ruin you for anyone else ….so if you didn’t want me, then why did you want me? Not that I don’t like spending time with you, handsome, but you usually invite me out to nicer digs than this. You’re lucky I could even find the place out here in BFE.” Dean could feel the solid line of heat where his friend leaned in close. He wanted to close his eyes and just sink in to the sensation. It was a dangerous temptation, the last time he’d felt that comfortable it had been with The Morrigan; he’d let himself go just for a moment and his heart had stopped beating.
The love of the Divine was dangerous for mortals; even for favored sons.
Warm fingers close over his hand as it dances and skitters over the wet rings on the bar top. “Dean?”
“Its Sam. He’s sick again. Sicker this time. Maman can’t heal it and the Baron….He wants it to run its course. He thinks its time we stop pretending to be normal.”
“I bet Sam’s taking that so very well.” Dean laughs at that but it comes out bitter and wet with unshed tears. He rests his head against his hands before scrubbing at his face with them. The words from the fight still ring in his ears.
He has no idea where the hate and the venom came from but he can feel the sting of words like a lash against his skin. “He’s run off. Going to live, maybe even die, like a normal human being. Fuck. What’s his problem? Why can’t he be happy? Its not like we all haven’t bent over backwards for him. I’d give him the world if he wanted…”
“Maybe that’s the problem, Dean. The kid’s got to grow up someday. Tough luck he picked today to do it.”
Dean turned his head and glare at the God. “Fuck you very much, aren’t you so helpful.”
“I live to serve. “ Is the cheeky reply delivered with a salute of daiquiri. “Give him some time and space to breathe. He’ll come around eventually. Let’s do something to take your mind off things.”
“Like what? And don’t say Vegas, I don’t want to wake up in Reno tied to a lamppost and missing a month of my life again.”
“I still stand by the fact you had a great time and I have the video to prove it.”
“Loki…”
“Fine. Fine. How about some work? I’ve got some business to do down in Florida and there are a few leads on some hunts you might be interested in.”
Dean balked at the idea, it wasn’t that he hadn’t gone on a trip like this with the God before, it was just he never went out hunting without Sam. Then again, Sam was so keen to ditch him for normal. “Sounds good, let me finish my drinks.” He should have known by the pleased grin he got in return that he was up for some serious trouble.
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Sam had no idea what he expected to find in Professor Avicenna’s home, but it wasn’t this. Admittedly this was his first time in the home of a human who didn’t either work for his parents or hunted them, but he was fairly certain that most California homes didn’t come with a being of divine light chained to a bookcase.
He’s not sure who it is, he can’t get a clear look, but he’s aware of the fact that he’s the only one in the group looking at that section of the library; everyone else is focused on Avicenna as he discusses philosophy and the way its changed the legal system. The topic was very interesting, but it was hard to focus on human perception when you’ve had such conversations with Themis herself.
“Ah, trust one of the young men to be distracted by the prize of my collection.”
Sam jerked in surprise and turned to stare at the man in shock. How could he be so casual about it? Was he going to parade the being before them like a show animal? “I’m sorry, its just..”
“Boys with swords, I understand. It is an exceptional piece. They call it The Sword of Justice.”
It’s a moment before his mind catches up with what’s being said but he follows obediently along behind the rest of the group as the follow after the professor. They walk right past the chained entity without sparing it a glance. All eyes are on a line of silver mounted on the wall just overhead. The blade bears little ornamentation and aside from the high polish that makes every inch of it seem to glow Sam can see little reason for the enthrallment on everyone’s faces. He tries to mimic everyone else but he can’t help but glance out of the corner of his eye at the prisoner.
It’s the wings that startle him. They are so vivid and detailed even with the light the being gives off obscuring everything else. Avicenna’s voice is a dull hum in the background but Sam’s keeping enough focus on the rest of the room to know when the professor reaches out to take the blade down from the wall. The creature keens as soon as the human lays a hand on the metal pommel, it is a sound so full of rage and despair that Sam’s heart clenches in sympathy.
He wants to help, he really does, but he swore when he left for college that he was leaving his old life behind. When he got home he’d send his brother a message, the spirit could wait a little longer for a rescue and he wouldn‘t be directly involved.
“- rumored that the man who possesses this sword will grow to be as wise as the Gods. It might be a bit of vanity on my part but in regards to my profession I thought it would be useful.” The professor holds the sword for everyone to view, moving around among them to allow for a good view before he finally reaches Sam. He holds it out for inspection and in his twisting and turning Sam notices the pointed way the professor brings it close to the being but just out of reach of the questing fingers. The chain is stretched taunt and the feathers rustle and slide along each other as it grabs for the blade making deep sounds of distress.
It was a cold deliberate torture and Sam had seen enough.
As if to agree fate favors him with a view of the script that curls down the blade; Malum triumphus ut bonus operor non factum. Evil triumphs when the good do not act.
“A very lovely piece.” The man flashes a pleased grin and returns the weapon to its place.
“The day is getting late, I don’t want to strand those of you who take the bus. Thank you for coming out tonight and I will see you all in class Monday morning.”
Sam doesn’t pay much more attention to his fellow students than it takes to bid them goodnight and promise he can find his own way home. The bus ride back to his apartment seems like an eternity and his mind wars with itself the whole way home. He knows going back to free the creature himself will risk everything he’s built. If it turns out the creature is a Ghede an his rescue gets back to his family’s ears they’d never stop trying to drag him back home.
That thought starts his hands shaking and lungs burning. He manages to stumble into his bathroom in time to find his medicine before the attack gets so severe he has to call an ambulance. He’s leaning over the sink still spitting out blood five minutes later when the memory of the anguished cry breaks his resolve and he heads into his room to dig the green army bag out from under his bed. This might be one of the stupidest things he’s ever done but there was no need to make it worse by going in under equipped.
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He knows something is wrong when he gets back to the Professor’s house. Its not prescience on his part; the Reaper standing on the porch tells him. It tells him the neighbors are all dead and their bodies are occupied by freeloaders who are very interested in the Professor and his collection. After it volunteers the information the Reaper vanishes before he can even thank it. Truth be told he’s surprised it even chose to talk to him, they have always preferred Dean over him.
It's kinda twisted how agents of death follow his brother around like a gang of groupies.
He lets the macabre thought hang around just as long as it takes to navigate the darkened house. He can hear the creature from the front door. A cry of rage and pain that sets the windows shaking. Sam pauses in the hallway and glances around the corner into the library.
The inside is nothing but carnage.
There is a red ruin smeared across the floor that Sam suspects strongly might have once been Avicenna. Beyond that lay three figures sprawled bonelessly in a circle around the creature. What disturbs him about that is the gaping bloody wounds where the eyes once were and the blackened rings around their bodies. A hazard guess would be that they burned from the inside out. It’s the wet slapping sound the creature’s wing makes as it flops uselessly against the floor that makes his stomach roll.
Lowering his hand to hold his knife in a less threatening position Sam stepped out of the doorway. The being drew back against the bookcase and the sprawling wing spasmed against the floor. A sound very close to a growl came from the spirit. “Shhh. I’m not going to hurt you. My name is Sam and I’m going to get you out of here.”
The silence that followed was only broken by the sounds of Sam’s breathing until, finally, the creature cocked its head to the side to regard him. He fought to maintain eye contact with it to prove his sincerity which was difficult thanks to the fact that from here it looked to him like it had several pair, but they were all the same startling blue. It shifted forward slowly to expose the chain.
Keeping his movements slow and careful, he tucked the knife into his waistband and edged around to look. It was a heavy, thick line, very much like a tow truck chain save for the scrawling black and red lettering that wrapped around each link. The words shifted and slid as Sam tried to focus on them. Giving up on reading it for the moment he turned his attention to the place it connected to the wall next the bookcase.
And proceeded to swear profusely when he saw the link sink directly into the stone.
“Alright, I need to see the collar okay? I can’t unhook you from the wall but if there’s a lock I can get it open.”
The spirit tenses for a moment but leans forward slowly and lowers its wing out of the way to join its twin pressed to the floor. The glow is bright enough to blind now and Sam closes his eyes against it. Following the line of the chain he found the union point with the collar and searched vainly along the smooth expanse for a lock or weak point. It felt almost as if the whole thing was composed of one single piece. Sam pulled his hands back down to the chain itself, if he could at least get the spirit free they could find one of the great smiths to deal with the collar.
A howl cut through his thoughts and he turned his head to look in the direction it came from, which was silly in retrospect as he could not see through walls but some deep instinct warned him about that sound. From the sound alone he knew he didn’t want to be there when the source arrived and if the sudden shifting and rustling was any indication the spirit agreed with him. “Its alright,” he soothed as he pulled his knife free, “ I’m not going to leave you. I can’t find a weak point so I’m going to have to make one. Just hold still.”
A quick bite of steel into his skin and Sam was pressing his bloodied palm into the taunt chain. The script writhed and crackled at the touch but chain seemed unfazed. There were a thousand spells and runes at his disposal but he didn’t have the time to work through them all and the power he felt thrumming under his palm didn’t feel like it would be fazed by most of them. He reached for the gifts his Mother had given him, his skin chilling as he touched the magic.
It felt like shoving his hand into a vat of ice water to feel around for something hidden at the bottom.
The chain sparked and bunched in his grip in response as he poured the power into it willing the links to break. The chorus of howls drew closer still and the spirit keened in turn. “Shhhh, its working just-” He’d hoped that the touch would be comforting but the moment he pressed the fingers not wrapped around the knife to the spirit’s back he felt a arch of power rip through him as if the bloody hand clenched around the chain was the completion of a circuit.
Hurry! Your magic will not be fast enough. You must cut me free!
Sam jerked himself free of the connection and stumbled back, the knife slipping free from numb fingers as he stared down at the seared shut wound on his hand and then back to the black brittle section of the golden chain. The spirit made an impatient noise and Sam shook himself. “Cut. Right.” His lips felt numb as he forced the words out staggering toward the knife but pulled himself up short.
He wouldn't be able to get up enough force with his hunting knife to get through the metal even weakened as it was; he needed something heavier. Veering around the spirit where it twisted and tugged on its bindings trying to free itself, he managed to make his way to the wall and the gleaming blade that hung on it. Closing his hand around the hilt he clenched his teeth against the second shock that ran under his skin. This one, unlike the last, was not as physically painful but it felt like something important was ripped open and bleeding out inside.
Something nameless and vital.
The spirit cried out but the ringing in his ears drowned the sound. The blade slammed into the ground as his arm gave out under the weight, even with both hands wrapped around the hilt he could only drag it along behind him as he staggered back toward the spirit.
The world was swirling in a dizzying pattern when he finally hefted the blade up. Sam felt the fine tremor through his arms and prayed gravity would do the work as he let the weapon arch down toward the dark mark; he didn’t think the strength was in him to give this a second try.
The metal screamed on impact and the world went up in a flash of pure light.
Sam could see the shadowy stretch of wings before he hit the ground.
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The festival is loud an chaotic in the way all the best ones are. Dean might be a bit biased toward the Loa’s parties, nobody parties harder than the Lord of Saturday, but the Greeks were something to behold. He was careful to stay on the other side of the clearing from the maenads, but there were plenty of nymphs and satyrs to keep him company with soft skin and raunchy jokes.
He waves away another plate of honeyed dates in favor of a goblet of wine. Its good stuff even if he prefers the harder things. He’s had enough that his skin is flushed and he’s stumbling over his second telling of his fight with the banshee of Tulsa.
“Having a good time?”
Dean rolls his head back to smile at his host for the evening, the messenger god was humming with energy and mirth. “Oh yeah, great party. I think we’re all having a wonderful time.”
Hermes flashed a sharp-toothed grin. “Superfantastic. You let me know if you need anything. I’ll be over there with Demeter, I think tonight is my lucky night.” Dean waved his hand but he couldn’t get any good wishes out fast enough before the god disappeared. He hoped for the best but he’d heard the ‘tonight’s my lucky night’ since he was sixteen. Persistence was a virtue Hermes had in abundance it seemed.
He shrugged off the thought and turned back to his little circle when he felt the slow chill creep up his spine. It was a sensation he hadn’t felt in a long time, several years in fact, and he stop mid motion to feel it out. It was a ripple in the magic that bound their family together that only came when Sam was using his gifts. There was a brief flare of pleasure at the thought that Sam had finally given up playing human but it was drowned out by the concern as to what could have pushed his stubborn ass to that point.
Shoving himself up onto his feet from the couch he reached for his coat. The sudden burst of pain that shot through the connection drove him to his knees. It was like lava pouring into his veins, he choked on a scream as the air punched out of his lungs. Tiny cold hands pulled on him, lifted him like nothing back onto the couch as familiar faces crowded in. The fire rolled over him in waves that arched his body up even with the strength of the hands holding him down and every time it receded it was carving out deep hollow places inside.
The final flood washed over him and drug him along behind it into the dark. The moment was made all the more terrible as he felt Sam slipping away hundreds of miles away as their link was severed.
In the wake of the fire oblivion was cold and still.
Eternity stretched long and bitterly alone before him. The fear that crawled in at the prospect was unbearable.
Dean.
The voice was familiar.
He turned toward it, felt something grab hold of him and pull. The sensation of being slammed back into his own flesh was even more painful than that which forced him out of it. Coughing and gagging on the stuttering ache of his own heartbeat he forced his eyes open.
His father‘s face loomed dark and severe before him. “Easy, Dean. We almost lost you.” He could see the gratitude for that fact he’d survived in the Baron’s eyes but they were still too guarded. Dread curled in his stomach as he mustered the strength to rasp out the most important question in his world. “Sam?”
“My son! My son!” Maman Brigitte’s wail was answer enough.
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