A mari usque ad mare - Part 11 (12/14)
A mari usque ad mare - Part 11 (12/14)
3,351/28,777 of R rated Gen (with an edge of subtext) crack!fic in which Dean revisits his past in unexpected ways. (That Old Wet Magic)
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue
Part 11
Immersion
Lawrence, by unspoken mutual consent, was where they chose to jump ship.
‘Ouroboros,’ said Sam, who was apparently still going for word gold, unaware that Dean had pulled out of the competition in preference to sitting on the sidelines with a stiff drink. Of course, it was a stiff drink of tea because that was all Sam would let him have apart from orange juice. Controlling bastard. Sometimes Dean just wanted to punch his father ... uh, brother.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ Dean replied. The idea of a serpent swallowing its own tail had always seemed a little too kinky and Freudian even for Dean who’d seen a lot of strange things behind bars right across the country.
‘We’ll close the circle by going back,’ Sam insisted, refusing to admit the possibility of failure. He was still insisting that they not let any negative energies disrupt the ritual for the entire day before the solstice. He’d spent hours on the return trip talking about the need to focus, ground and centre, which sounded to Dean as if he was suggesting they consider an alternative career as gardeners. If they got out of this mess he might even think about that, if Sam asked nicely.
Dean thought metaphysics was a bunch of crap, but he was great with anything mechanical or electrical; he knew damned well that a closed circuit gave you an endless path for a current to flow. What happened if Sam was right and their attempt to undo the curse was successful? Did that get them home, or did they become part of some weird causal sequence? Dean was buggered if he was going to let either of them get caught in a crazy loop. So, while Sam continued to accentuate the positive, Dean was busy coming up with ways to put a spoke in the cosmic wheel if necessary.
♒
‘Summertime and …’
‘Are you singing? Voluntarily? I thought we’d agreed that was a b … not a positive thing.’ Dean’s memories of asking Sam to sing to him weren’t at all good. ‘What was that?’
‘Porgy and Bess.’
‘It disturbs me beyond words that you know the lyrics,’ Dean said. ‘Why are you singing Gershwin, and now of all times?’
‘Some Wiccans think that appropriate music helps set the mood,’ Sam said with barely a trace of a blush.
Dean groaned. ‘Oh, Sammy, the sooner we get back to our decade the better. This New Age stuff is turning you into a girl too. Besides, you do know most of them aren’t playing-acting with a full deck, don’t you?’
‘If you mean that what the majority of them do is make believe, I agree with you,’ Sam replied. ‘But enough of the original elements have leaked down through the centuries, that and every now and then, one of the amateurs gets lucky.’
Graham. Dean wanted to kick something to make himself feel better, but he didn’t want to ruin his pedicure - that would be a big negative. ‘I must have missed Dad’s master class in witch music,’ he said with positive irony.
‘I’m field-testing different melodies,’ Sam said indignantly. ‘I have this theory that some of the different components might increase the effectiveness of the spell. Like chanting, it’s more about finding the word or sound that resonates on the right frequency. I’m not taking the chance on missing anything that might help us.’
Dean knew when to just let Sam run with an idea, no matter how odd. ‘Can we at least call it a working? It sounds less …’
‘Effeminate?’ Sam queried, casting a critical look over Dean’s latest outfit.
Less like a game of Scrabble. ‘More Marinelike.’
‘Whatever you say, Butch.’
♒
‘I didn’t want to say this …’ Dean began.
‘Say, what?’ Sam asked, not looking up from where he was busy incising symbols into the turf of their parent’s backyard.
Heh. Dean shouldn’t have enjoyed that so much, but it was nice to hear Sam say it for a change.
‘What?’ Sam repeated.
Still good for me. Oh, now he’s pulling the look. Damn it, he knows I can’t stand that. How do I get out of this one? ‘Uh … I didn’t want to say this because it makes me sound like a geek, but …’ he paused just for the sheer pleasure of the irritant factor.
‘But?’ Sam asked dangerously, finally focussing on Dean.
‘But I miss the internet,’ Dean admitted in a rush.
‘Please tell me you’re not thinking about surfing for porn, Mom,’ Sam said with a wince.
Dean almost said he was, because that was less embarrassing than the truth. ‘For the research.’ He waited for Sam to pick himself off the grass before continuing. ‘Doing all this the old-fashioned way has cost us time we didn’t have. The solstice is tomorrow, what if we don’t get it right?’ He hated that he sounded so needy, and unsure, and negative, despite Sam’s orders to ‘come on get happy.’ He was supposed to be the one in control all the time. Dean wished he could blame this on hormones, or the baby, but he knew it was the thought of not being able to save Sam that was causing his meltdown.
‘We’ll be fine, we’re doing this, and it’s going to work,’ Sam insisted. He’d gotten up and was once again invading Dean’s personal space to put his hands on Dean’s shoulders and look truly, madly, and - damn him - deeply into Dean’s eyes, as if belief made a difference in the world.
Dean didn’t shrug him off; they both needed the connection more than ever. But, damn it; if wishes were 385 bhp, Dean would have had them out of this by now. ‘What if ...?’ We’re trapped, and nothing I’ve done has changed anything?’
‘Stop being the emo one for a change.’ Sam shook him, hard. ‘Snap out of it! I can’t take it. I need you to be you.’
Okay, that hit home. ‘Fine, but I’m not gonna clap my hands for fucking Tinkerbell, even if you bribe me with ice cream.’
Sam smiled. ‘Now, that’s my Dean. This time tomorrow, we’re out of here.’
Dean wasn’t sure if his inner child was convinced. He was almost positive he could feel the baby frowning.
♒
‘A ritual what?’ Dean was standing at the front door, keeping a wary eye on Donald while he listened to Sam babble on about yet another important part of their working.
‘Bath. You know, that’s where people deliberately get themselves wet. We both need to be purified twelve hours before the actual solstice starts.’ Sam grinned at him. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure no matter how long you’re under, you won’t shrink any more than you have already.’
Dean ignored that brotherly dig, he was too busy wondering if it would hurt if he added some foaming, scented bath salts, he really liked playing with the bubbles and he knew the baby would too.
♒
‘Candles? And flowers? I thought I supposed to be the girl here. Did you bring me chocolates as well?’ Dean was being facetious because it was all so close now, and he was scared to death that nothing was going to work.
‘For that smart ass remark you’re setting the altar. I’ve got a nice flowered tablecloth just for you,’ Sam joked. The closer it got the calmer he seemed.
Dean wished he was handling everything that well. It really was the baby’s fault. Being a man was so much easier.
Earth - salt of the Earth, and the Earth meant fertility, Dean guessed the baby had him there. Air - feathers (unfortunately not Donald’s, he’d been too quick to fly off so Dean had had to find an alternative), and a knife. Fire - candles, and blood. Water - they had an abundance of that thanks to Sam’s “idea.” Besides ...
‘Just as well I’m an Aquarius,’ Dean said happily.
‘Uh, Dean? Aquarius is an air astrological personality.’
That made no sense at all. ‘But I’m an Aquarius doesn’t that make me water?’
‘No you’re air, the water carrier who cares for the Earth.’
‘Who’s Earth?
‘That would be me.’ Sam answered quietly.
Oh. Well, at least they had everything covered whichever way you looked at it.
Okay, I can do this. Saucepan acting as cauldron in the centre, red sun candle to the right, green Goddess candle to the left, bowl of water in front of the Goddess, sunflowers went to the north. Confusing as it all was, he was happy to leave the completion of the intricate intertwined Fibonacci spirals in the lawn to his brother.
‘Dean, what the hell are you singing?’ Sam asked.
‘Echo & the Bunnymen,’ Dean replied sheepishly as he realised he’d been bopping around the altar singing out loud while he arranged everything just so. ‘And I wasn’t singing, I was ... uh ... chanting.’
‘Dean? They weren’t on the list.’ Sam very kindly didn’t say anything about Dean’s inability to bop in time with the music.
‘I’m adlibbing. All that Latin during the rehearsal gave me another headache.’
‘But the Bunnymen? Aren’t they a bit emo for you, Dean?’
‘My Goddamn hormones have run amok, okay?’ Dean said with an irritated snarl. ‘Just don’t even try me on this.’
Sam held up his hands as he backed away a few steps. ‘Just tell me what made you pick that particular song, Dean.’
‘Killing moon? How could I not? Besides, the lyrics will work. You’ll just have to trust me on the soundtrack for this spell ... I mean, working, okay? If I left it to you we’d be singing Celine Dion in Latin. We want to break the curse, not inflict a new one on the world.’ Dean said with a huff as he added the final flourishes to the altar. Black for the end of it all.
Under blue moon ... Fate ... Through the thick and thin ...
♒
‘Now, we need to ground and centre. Let’s start with centring,’ Sam said soothingly. He was cross-legged on the grass, a veritable New Age pin-up boy.
Dean closed his eyes, and tried.
‘No, you need to uncross your legs.’
‘Not till after the third date, Sam.’ Dean snickered over the sound of Sam grinding his teeth.
‘It works better if you don’t have any part of your body resting on any other part.’
Dean snuck a peek out of his left eye. Yup, now Sam was flat on the ground, arms and legs apart exactly like the guy on that stupid da Vinci t-shirt he liked to wear. What the fuck?
‘Eyes closed, Dean,’ Sam said, without opening his own.
Huh. Where the fuck were his Chakras anyway? Dean concentrated; then tried harder, nothing. He shook his head to loosen his neck before taking a deep breath. Ooh, maybe that was one. It was all green and shiny, and so damned bright. Oh. Nope, just the baby. He tried again. Find the colours, line everything up like target shooting, and merge.
‘Dean?’ Sam’s voice sounded worried, calm, and somehow mellow at the same time if that were possible.
‘Uh?’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Dunno. Am I supposed to feel all floaty?’ Wow. Lots of light. Last time he’d felt like this he’d drunk a lot of Tequila.
‘Floaty?’
‘You know, all astral projecty,’ Dean said vaguely. It was kind of nice. Pretty almost. The baby certainly liked it.
‘No, that’s fine. I think you’ve got it.’
‘Or maybe I just need to see a man about a water dragon, if you know what I mean. Too much tea,’ Dean confessed, fidgeting around on the bumpy earth.
‘No, you’re there, Dean. Mind over matter. Just concentrate, and let everything go.’
That was what Dean was worried about.
‘Next stage.’
Sammy could be a pushy bitch. Dean was quite happy right where he was in the light. Warm. What was he supposed to be doing next? Oh, yeah. Feel the earth. That just sounded silly.
‘Concentrate on grounding, Dean.’
‘Sweetheart, I’m going to get so grounded, I’ll be dirty,’ Dean said with a smirk. This whole meditation deal was for the birds. He’d spent most of his time thinking about ...
‘Dean!’
Dean sighed, sometimes Sam was such a prude. ‘I’m grounding as fast as I can, okay?’ Here we go, journey to the centre of the Earth. ‘Going, down.’ Aum …
‘Oh, God,’ Sam groaned.
‘Ssh,’ Dean hissed. ‘I’m grounding.’ Draw the energy up slowly? The hell with that! Dean decided to speed things along by grabbing on and giving a good hard yank ... Wow. Sam’s earlier description of energy flowing out of the top of your head like a fountain, before it flowed back into the Earth was a little understated. ‘That was a blast!’ Dean yelled excitedly, after he got over the shock of the way everything had just erupted through him.
‘Dean?’
‘What?’
‘Did you pay any attention to what I said earlier about doing this to cleanse and restore your energy levels?’
Um. No?
Sam sighed. ‘This is only the first step, Dean. Think of it like putting fresh oil in the Impala, not throwing a match into the fuel tank.’
Oops. Still, Dean could hear little Dean shrieking, ‘Wheeee!’ in the background behind Sam’s careful, slow, repetition of what they had to do next.
Sweeping? What did Sam mean; they had to sweep the area deoseil? Dean hated being a woman; it was nothing but work, work, work.
♒
Dean rolled his eyes as Sam faced south intoning ‘I celebrate the mid-of-summer, held in honour of the Blazing sun God …’
This had better work, because he felt ridiculous. Dean turned to face the altar they’d set up on John’s workbench. It had been a bitch for both of them to drag out of the garage, but it had seemed strangely appropriate. Now which candle was first?
‘Green,’ Sam whispered from his place in the circle.
Dean wasn’t sure why he was whispering because there was no one around apart from Donald carefully perched out of Sam’s line of sight on a power line.
‘Oh Mother of Nature …’
If Sam ever told anyone about this, Dean was going to kill him.
Red to overcome injustice and bring about change.
‘Oh, Father of all things ...’
Herbs.
‘... burn away the hurtful …’
And nuke them. That bit Dean was fine with. But trying to keep in verbal synch with Sam and remember all the words was hard. Sam was just showing off by doing his part in Latin. Dean was betting their lives that intent mattered more than which language you chose. And he knew Sam would have asked a number of awkward questions if Dean had suggested they try and do it in Old Norse for the hell of it.
Yellow for male energies, for good luck on a journey, most potent of all on Wednesdays.
‘Great Goddess and Great God, from Thee all powers flow forth ...’
Dean couldn’t stop thinking about their parents as they continued the ritual. This wasn’t just about saving Sam and getting themselves home, they had to bring their parents back too.
‘The two that are one, Great spirit of all-that-is ...’
Sam. All my fault. He needed to fix this. Remember.
‘By thy powers ... Air, Fire, Water, and Earth ... Sun, Moon, and Stars ... By thy powers ...’
Dean let everything that had happened burn away in his mind. Ashes. He held out his hand to receive the bowl of Sisomso water from Sam.
‘... let this water be pure and new ... may it bless and renew us ... Mother Goddess ...’
Mom.
‘Father God, may your rays ...’
I’m not going to screw up this time, Dad.
‘... may your blessings sustain us as we journey …
Black at end.
Dean tilted his head up to allow Sam to trace the pentagram on his forehead.
‘Let my mind be open to the truth ...’
Lips, hearts, palms, soles of their feet. Turn, and turn about.
‘Let our feet ever walk upon the sacred paths ...’
Phew! Dean was glad that bit was over. Unfortunately spells always seemed to leave the hardest parts until the bitter end.
He watched Sam pick up the surrogate knife they’d taken from Bobby’s. It was a good knife, but it wasn’t Sam’s and never would be. Dean held his hand out for it. This time he was going first. He took a moment to run his thumb gently over the still fresh wound spiralling across Sam’s lifeline. Created for the dual purposes of this ritual; and the activation of Sam’s knife, binding it to Sam, and linking it to Dean, for life.
‘Blood of my blood. Flesh of my flesh.’ He made it quick.
‘Dean? You’re supposed to be reciting the bit out of Genesis in Latin, not quoting Dracula.’ It wasn’t pain that was making Sam wince.
‘I could try and translate Dracula if you really wanted,’ Dean said as he watched the blood flow from the second, reversed, spiral.
So, he was taking a few liberties with Sam’s careful ritual. But the way Dean looked at it; this was about both of them, he had to make it his ritual too. Besides, if you did it his way it sounded a hell of a lot cooler.
Sam cut with less speed and more care. Even though he went with tradition, surprisingly, his Latin vow sounded almost as cool as Dean’s. Perhaps being a Winchester helped with that.
As they stepped as one onto the mathematical runes Sam had carved deep into the Earth, Dean thought about all they’d learned here, and the questions they had yet to answer. Sam had finally convinced him that there was no way they could change their past, or prevent the tragedies that would soon wash over their family. What had happened; would still come to be. There wasn’t any mystical grand plan or hope of deliverance; their parents’ fates were sealed. Their own task was merely to survive, together, as best they humanly could.
Putting all that aside, and fixing his mind on its one constant, Dean began; he pacing sunwise, Sam tuathal, each meeting the other once in every circuit, spiralling ever closer until the reversed paths of their individual sequences merged in one united centre, and bloody hands reached, clasped, and held firm.
Dean grinned reassuringly at his brother. ‘This had better work, Sam. But I tell you now, if we wake up naked in a convent being fondled by nuns, I’m going to be pissed.’
Sam’s grip just tightened. Neither of them was letting go until it was all over. Dean knew D.J. was sensibly buckling himself in too.
Looking down at the shallow ripples of seawater and feathers being blown west by the wind, Dean suddenly realised he’d forgotten to say goodbye to the Impala, and ask it to take care of wee Dean. He blamed that on the baby who was prone to bouts of pouting and jealousy. He was just glad it was something he’d grown out of.
Dean bit back an urge to toss a coin in the wading pool Sam had set up next to the garage and say, ‘Make a wish.’ He didn’t want the last thing he ever might hear to be, ‘Don’t be such a girl.’ Looking at his watch, and counting down, he decided to go with another classic instead.
‘Don’t even think it, Dean.’
Sam really knew him much too well, and in some ways not at all. That was like dangling bait off a fishhook. There was no way he wasn’t going to jump for it now.
He pulled his brother up onto the edge. ‘Come on Sammy, let’s wash this time right out of our hair.’ As one, they jumped.
And for a moment, the sun really did seem to stand still, the only sound the beat of a raven’s wings overhead, before everything simply turned and was gone.
♒
Part 12
3,351/28,777 of R rated Gen (with an edge of subtext) crack!fic in which Dean revisits his past in unexpected ways. (That Old Wet Magic)
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue
Part 11
Immersion
Lawrence, by unspoken mutual consent, was where they chose to jump ship.
‘Ouroboros,’ said Sam, who was apparently still going for word gold, unaware that Dean had pulled out of the competition in preference to sitting on the sidelines with a stiff drink. Of course, it was a stiff drink of tea because that was all Sam would let him have apart from orange juice. Controlling bastard. Sometimes Dean just wanted to punch his father ... uh, brother.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ Dean replied. The idea of a serpent swallowing its own tail had always seemed a little too kinky and Freudian even for Dean who’d seen a lot of strange things behind bars right across the country.
‘We’ll close the circle by going back,’ Sam insisted, refusing to admit the possibility of failure. He was still insisting that they not let any negative energies disrupt the ritual for the entire day before the solstice. He’d spent hours on the return trip talking about the need to focus, ground and centre, which sounded to Dean as if he was suggesting they consider an alternative career as gardeners. If they got out of this mess he might even think about that, if Sam asked nicely.
Dean thought metaphysics was a bunch of crap, but he was great with anything mechanical or electrical; he knew damned well that a closed circuit gave you an endless path for a current to flow. What happened if Sam was right and their attempt to undo the curse was successful? Did that get them home, or did they become part of some weird causal sequence? Dean was buggered if he was going to let either of them get caught in a crazy loop. So, while Sam continued to accentuate the positive, Dean was busy coming up with ways to put a spoke in the cosmic wheel if necessary.
♒
‘Summertime and …’
‘Are you singing? Voluntarily? I thought we’d agreed that was a b … not a positive thing.’ Dean’s memories of asking Sam to sing to him weren’t at all good. ‘What was that?’
‘Porgy and Bess.’
‘It disturbs me beyond words that you know the lyrics,’ Dean said. ‘Why are you singing Gershwin, and now of all times?’
‘Some Wiccans think that appropriate music helps set the mood,’ Sam said with barely a trace of a blush.
Dean groaned. ‘Oh, Sammy, the sooner we get back to our decade the better. This New Age stuff is turning you into a girl too. Besides, you do know most of them aren’t playing-acting with a full deck, don’t you?’
‘If you mean that what the majority of them do is make believe, I agree with you,’ Sam replied. ‘But enough of the original elements have leaked down through the centuries, that and every now and then, one of the amateurs gets lucky.’
Graham. Dean wanted to kick something to make himself feel better, but he didn’t want to ruin his pedicure - that would be a big negative. ‘I must have missed Dad’s master class in witch music,’ he said with positive irony.
‘I’m field-testing different melodies,’ Sam said indignantly. ‘I have this theory that some of the different components might increase the effectiveness of the spell. Like chanting, it’s more about finding the word or sound that resonates on the right frequency. I’m not taking the chance on missing anything that might help us.’
Dean knew when to just let Sam run with an idea, no matter how odd. ‘Can we at least call it a working? It sounds less …’
‘Effeminate?’ Sam queried, casting a critical look over Dean’s latest outfit.
Less like a game of Scrabble. ‘More Marinelike.’
‘Whatever you say, Butch.’
♒
‘I didn’t want to say this …’ Dean began.
‘Say, what?’ Sam asked, not looking up from where he was busy incising symbols into the turf of their parent’s backyard.
Heh. Dean shouldn’t have enjoyed that so much, but it was nice to hear Sam say it for a change.
‘What?’ Sam repeated.
Still good for me. Oh, now he’s pulling the look. Damn it, he knows I can’t stand that. How do I get out of this one? ‘Uh … I didn’t want to say this because it makes me sound like a geek, but …’ he paused just for the sheer pleasure of the irritant factor.
‘But?’ Sam asked dangerously, finally focussing on Dean.
‘But I miss the internet,’ Dean admitted in a rush.
‘Please tell me you’re not thinking about surfing for porn, Mom,’ Sam said with a wince.
Dean almost said he was, because that was less embarrassing than the truth. ‘For the research.’ He waited for Sam to pick himself off the grass before continuing. ‘Doing all this the old-fashioned way has cost us time we didn’t have. The solstice is tomorrow, what if we don’t get it right?’ He hated that he sounded so needy, and unsure, and negative, despite Sam’s orders to ‘come on get happy.’ He was supposed to be the one in control all the time. Dean wished he could blame this on hormones, or the baby, but he knew it was the thought of not being able to save Sam that was causing his meltdown.
‘We’ll be fine, we’re doing this, and it’s going to work,’ Sam insisted. He’d gotten up and was once again invading Dean’s personal space to put his hands on Dean’s shoulders and look truly, madly, and - damn him - deeply into Dean’s eyes, as if belief made a difference in the world.
Dean didn’t shrug him off; they both needed the connection more than ever. But, damn it; if wishes were 385 bhp, Dean would have had them out of this by now. ‘What if ...?’ We’re trapped, and nothing I’ve done has changed anything?’
‘Stop being the emo one for a change.’ Sam shook him, hard. ‘Snap out of it! I can’t take it. I need you to be you.’
Okay, that hit home. ‘Fine, but I’m not gonna clap my hands for fucking Tinkerbell, even if you bribe me with ice cream.’
Sam smiled. ‘Now, that’s my Dean. This time tomorrow, we’re out of here.’
Dean wasn’t sure if his inner child was convinced. He was almost positive he could feel the baby frowning.
♒
‘A ritual what?’ Dean was standing at the front door, keeping a wary eye on Donald while he listened to Sam babble on about yet another important part of their working.
‘Bath. You know, that’s where people deliberately get themselves wet. We both need to be purified twelve hours before the actual solstice starts.’ Sam grinned at him. ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure no matter how long you’re under, you won’t shrink any more than you have already.’
Dean ignored that brotherly dig, he was too busy wondering if it would hurt if he added some foaming, scented bath salts, he really liked playing with the bubbles and he knew the baby would too.
♒
‘Candles? And flowers? I thought I supposed to be the girl here. Did you bring me chocolates as well?’ Dean was being facetious because it was all so close now, and he was scared to death that nothing was going to work.
‘For that smart ass remark you’re setting the altar. I’ve got a nice flowered tablecloth just for you,’ Sam joked. The closer it got the calmer he seemed.
Dean wished he was handling everything that well. It really was the baby’s fault. Being a man was so much easier.
Earth - salt of the Earth, and the Earth meant fertility, Dean guessed the baby had him there. Air - feathers (unfortunately not Donald’s, he’d been too quick to fly off so Dean had had to find an alternative), and a knife. Fire - candles, and blood. Water - they had an abundance of that thanks to Sam’s “idea.” Besides ...
‘Just as well I’m an Aquarius,’ Dean said happily.
‘Uh, Dean? Aquarius is an air astrological personality.’
That made no sense at all. ‘But I’m an Aquarius doesn’t that make me water?’
‘No you’re air, the water carrier who cares for the Earth.’
‘Who’s Earth?
‘That would be me.’ Sam answered quietly.
Oh. Well, at least they had everything covered whichever way you looked at it.
Okay, I can do this. Saucepan acting as cauldron in the centre, red sun candle to the right, green Goddess candle to the left, bowl of water in front of the Goddess, sunflowers went to the north. Confusing as it all was, he was happy to leave the completion of the intricate intertwined Fibonacci spirals in the lawn to his brother.
‘Dean, what the hell are you singing?’ Sam asked.
‘Echo & the Bunnymen,’ Dean replied sheepishly as he realised he’d been bopping around the altar singing out loud while he arranged everything just so. ‘And I wasn’t singing, I was ... uh ... chanting.’
‘Dean? They weren’t on the list.’ Sam very kindly didn’t say anything about Dean’s inability to bop in time with the music.
‘I’m adlibbing. All that Latin during the rehearsal gave me another headache.’
‘But the Bunnymen? Aren’t they a bit emo for you, Dean?’
‘My Goddamn hormones have run amok, okay?’ Dean said with an irritated snarl. ‘Just don’t even try me on this.’
Sam held up his hands as he backed away a few steps. ‘Just tell me what made you pick that particular song, Dean.’
‘Killing moon? How could I not? Besides, the lyrics will work. You’ll just have to trust me on the soundtrack for this spell ... I mean, working, okay? If I left it to you we’d be singing Celine Dion in Latin. We want to break the curse, not inflict a new one on the world.’ Dean said with a huff as he added the final flourishes to the altar. Black for the end of it all.
Under blue moon ... Fate ... Through the thick and thin ...
♒
‘Now, we need to ground and centre. Let’s start with centring,’ Sam said soothingly. He was cross-legged on the grass, a veritable New Age pin-up boy.
Dean closed his eyes, and tried.
‘No, you need to uncross your legs.’
‘Not till after the third date, Sam.’ Dean snickered over the sound of Sam grinding his teeth.
‘It works better if you don’t have any part of your body resting on any other part.’
Dean snuck a peek out of his left eye. Yup, now Sam was flat on the ground, arms and legs apart exactly like the guy on that stupid da Vinci t-shirt he liked to wear. What the fuck?
‘Eyes closed, Dean,’ Sam said, without opening his own.
Huh. Where the fuck were his Chakras anyway? Dean concentrated; then tried harder, nothing. He shook his head to loosen his neck before taking a deep breath. Ooh, maybe that was one. It was all green and shiny, and so damned bright. Oh. Nope, just the baby. He tried again. Find the colours, line everything up like target shooting, and merge.
‘Dean?’ Sam’s voice sounded worried, calm, and somehow mellow at the same time if that were possible.
‘Uh?’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Dunno. Am I supposed to feel all floaty?’ Wow. Lots of light. Last time he’d felt like this he’d drunk a lot of Tequila.
‘Floaty?’
‘You know, all astral projecty,’ Dean said vaguely. It was kind of nice. Pretty almost. The baby certainly liked it.
‘No, that’s fine. I think you’ve got it.’
‘Or maybe I just need to see a man about a water dragon, if you know what I mean. Too much tea,’ Dean confessed, fidgeting around on the bumpy earth.
‘No, you’re there, Dean. Mind over matter. Just concentrate, and let everything go.’
That was what Dean was worried about.
‘Next stage.’
Sammy could be a pushy bitch. Dean was quite happy right where he was in the light. Warm. What was he supposed to be doing next? Oh, yeah. Feel the earth. That just sounded silly.
‘Concentrate on grounding, Dean.’
‘Sweetheart, I’m going to get so grounded, I’ll be dirty,’ Dean said with a smirk. This whole meditation deal was for the birds. He’d spent most of his time thinking about ...
‘Dean!’
Dean sighed, sometimes Sam was such a prude. ‘I’m grounding as fast as I can, okay?’ Here we go, journey to the centre of the Earth. ‘Going, down.’ Aum …
‘Oh, God,’ Sam groaned.
‘Ssh,’ Dean hissed. ‘I’m grounding.’ Draw the energy up slowly? The hell with that! Dean decided to speed things along by grabbing on and giving a good hard yank ... Wow. Sam’s earlier description of energy flowing out of the top of your head like a fountain, before it flowed back into the Earth was a little understated. ‘That was a blast!’ Dean yelled excitedly, after he got over the shock of the way everything had just erupted through him.
‘Dean?’
‘What?’
‘Did you pay any attention to what I said earlier about doing this to cleanse and restore your energy levels?’
Um. No?
Sam sighed. ‘This is only the first step, Dean. Think of it like putting fresh oil in the Impala, not throwing a match into the fuel tank.’
Oops. Still, Dean could hear little Dean shrieking, ‘Wheeee!’ in the background behind Sam’s careful, slow, repetition of what they had to do next.
Sweeping? What did Sam mean; they had to sweep the area deoseil? Dean hated being a woman; it was nothing but work, work, work.
♒
Dean rolled his eyes as Sam faced south intoning ‘I celebrate the mid-of-summer, held in honour of the Blazing sun God …’
This had better work, because he felt ridiculous. Dean turned to face the altar they’d set up on John’s workbench. It had been a bitch for both of them to drag out of the garage, but it had seemed strangely appropriate. Now which candle was first?
‘Green,’ Sam whispered from his place in the circle.
Dean wasn’t sure why he was whispering because there was no one around apart from Donald carefully perched out of Sam’s line of sight on a power line.
‘Oh Mother of Nature …’
If Sam ever told anyone about this, Dean was going to kill him.
Red to overcome injustice and bring about change.
‘Oh, Father of all things ...’
Herbs.
‘... burn away the hurtful …’
And nuke them. That bit Dean was fine with. But trying to keep in verbal synch with Sam and remember all the words was hard. Sam was just showing off by doing his part in Latin. Dean was betting their lives that intent mattered more than which language you chose. And he knew Sam would have asked a number of awkward questions if Dean had suggested they try and do it in Old Norse for the hell of it.
Yellow for male energies, for good luck on a journey, most potent of all on Wednesdays.
‘Great Goddess and Great God, from Thee all powers flow forth ...’
Dean couldn’t stop thinking about their parents as they continued the ritual. This wasn’t just about saving Sam and getting themselves home, they had to bring their parents back too.
‘The two that are one, Great spirit of all-that-is ...’
Sam. All my fault. He needed to fix this. Remember.
‘By thy powers ... Air, Fire, Water, and Earth ... Sun, Moon, and Stars ... By thy powers ...’
Dean let everything that had happened burn away in his mind. Ashes. He held out his hand to receive the bowl of Sisomso water from Sam.
‘... let this water be pure and new ... may it bless and renew us ... Mother Goddess ...’
Mom.
‘Father God, may your rays ...’
I’m not going to screw up this time, Dad.
‘... may your blessings sustain us as we journey …
Black at end.
Dean tilted his head up to allow Sam to trace the pentagram on his forehead.
‘Let my mind be open to the truth ...’
Lips, hearts, palms, soles of their feet. Turn, and turn about.
‘Let our feet ever walk upon the sacred paths ...’
Phew! Dean was glad that bit was over. Unfortunately spells always seemed to leave the hardest parts until the bitter end.
He watched Sam pick up the surrogate knife they’d taken from Bobby’s. It was a good knife, but it wasn’t Sam’s and never would be. Dean held his hand out for it. This time he was going first. He took a moment to run his thumb gently over the still fresh wound spiralling across Sam’s lifeline. Created for the dual purposes of this ritual; and the activation of Sam’s knife, binding it to Sam, and linking it to Dean, for life.
‘Blood of my blood. Flesh of my flesh.’ He made it quick.
‘Dean? You’re supposed to be reciting the bit out of Genesis in Latin, not quoting Dracula.’ It wasn’t pain that was making Sam wince.
‘I could try and translate Dracula if you really wanted,’ Dean said as he watched the blood flow from the second, reversed, spiral.
So, he was taking a few liberties with Sam’s careful ritual. But the way Dean looked at it; this was about both of them, he had to make it his ritual too. Besides, if you did it his way it sounded a hell of a lot cooler.
Sam cut with less speed and more care. Even though he went with tradition, surprisingly, his Latin vow sounded almost as cool as Dean’s. Perhaps being a Winchester helped with that.
As they stepped as one onto the mathematical runes Sam had carved deep into the Earth, Dean thought about all they’d learned here, and the questions they had yet to answer. Sam had finally convinced him that there was no way they could change their past, or prevent the tragedies that would soon wash over their family. What had happened; would still come to be. There wasn’t any mystical grand plan or hope of deliverance; their parents’ fates were sealed. Their own task was merely to survive, together, as best they humanly could.
Putting all that aside, and fixing his mind on its one constant, Dean began; he pacing sunwise, Sam tuathal, each meeting the other once in every circuit, spiralling ever closer until the reversed paths of their individual sequences merged in one united centre, and bloody hands reached, clasped, and held firm.
Dean grinned reassuringly at his brother. ‘This had better work, Sam. But I tell you now, if we wake up naked in a convent being fondled by nuns, I’m going to be pissed.’
Sam’s grip just tightened. Neither of them was letting go until it was all over. Dean knew D.J. was sensibly buckling himself in too.
Looking down at the shallow ripples of seawater and feathers being blown west by the wind, Dean suddenly realised he’d forgotten to say goodbye to the Impala, and ask it to take care of wee Dean. He blamed that on the baby who was prone to bouts of pouting and jealousy. He was just glad it was something he’d grown out of.
Dean bit back an urge to toss a coin in the wading pool Sam had set up next to the garage and say, ‘Make a wish.’ He didn’t want the last thing he ever might hear to be, ‘Don’t be such a girl.’ Looking at his watch, and counting down, he decided to go with another classic instead.
‘Don’t even think it, Dean.’
Sam really knew him much too well, and in some ways not at all. That was like dangling bait off a fishhook. There was no way he wasn’t going to jump for it now.
He pulled his brother up onto the edge. ‘Come on Sammy, let’s wash this time right out of our hair.’ As one, they jumped.
And for a moment, the sun really did seem to stand still, the only sound the beat of a raven’s wings overhead, before everything simply turned and was gone.
♒
Part 12