Baba Yaga and the Winchesters
Title:Baba Yaga and the Winchesters
Pairing:Sam/Dean
Rating:Mature
Word Count: 1,963
“Damn it, Sam. Why the hell do we need to be slogging through the forest like this?”
Sam smiled at Dean’s whining. Dean never really liked hanging out in the woods. “Because we’ve got to find Baba Yaga and get her bowl for the ritual Rowena needs to do.”
“I’ve got a bowl in the kitchen I use for pancakes,” Dean grumbled. “Why can’t we use that one?”
“Sam sighed. “You know why. We need it for that spell. Stop griping and keep looking for her cabin.”
“How can we miss it? It’s up on chicken legs and has a rooster’s head on the roof. Not like it’s subtle or anything.” Sam heard a twig snap and Dean curse. “Damn branches. Next time can we find a witch that lives in a high rise?”
Sam sighed again and kept walking. Truth be told, he wasn’t looking forward to finding Baba Yaga any more than Dean was.
The stories in the books back at the bunker told about how Baba Yaga was an old crone and how she trapped unsuspecting travelers in her clutches and sometimes ate them. He shuddered. Hopefully they would be able to negotiate with her for the bowl. Sam didn’t want to have to resort to violence because he wasn’t sure they could win. Baba Yaga was old and very powerful.
They broke through the forest into a clearing. In the center of the tall grasses was a tiny cabin; it was like nothing they’d seen before. Brightly colored miniature onion domes surrounded a large rooster head. The outer walls were brilliant orange and green and red and yellow. Stained glass windows added more to the riot of color that already existed.
Sam couldn’t make out the images on the windows because the cottage was spinning around in a circle on two feathered legs.
“What the hell?” He heard Dean exclaim next to him. “That house is on chicken legs!”
“Part of the mythology, Dean,” Sam replied as he walked closer. He was pretty amazed at the spectacle himself. “Chicken legs, a rooster head and the fence made of bones.”
“Ugh.” Dean shuddered. “Shoulda gone with the pancake bowl.” Sam felt a nudge. “So how are we supposed to get in with it spinning like a dervish?”
“Rowena gave me a spell.” Sam took a deep breath and started to recite.
“Vrashchayushchiysya, vrashchayushchiysya,
vrashchayushchiysya prostaya
Pros'ba prosto pomedlenneye.
Medlenneye medlenneye yeshche medlenneye
Priostanovit' dvizheniye na kholme.
The house started to slow, finally coming to a gentle stop. “C’mon, this won’t last long.”
They hurried to the steps and climbed them just as the house began to turn again. Sam took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“Why are you knocking?” Dean asked, pulling huis gun out from the back of his pants. “Let’s just go in and take the bowl.”
“It’s not that simple,” Sam replied, motioning for him to put away the gun. “You can’t just barge into Baba Yaga’s house; you need to respect decorum or she’ll cast a spell on you.”
”Voydite.” The voice was rough and gravelly.
The door creaked open. Sam looked at Dean, shrugged and entered.
The interior was dark; the only light coming from the patterned colors of the stained glass windows and the crackling fireplace. The furniture was ancient and overstuffed; the fabric was threadbare, with doilies and crocheted throws spread out on the surfaces. An old woman was by the stove, stirring something that smelled divine. She was the epitome of the old crone; her back hunched over, her body covered by a threadbare shawl, wrinkled face with a mole on her nose.
“Uh, Baba Yaga…” Sam began but she hushed him, waving her spoon.
“Sit, sit.” She spoke with a heavy Russian accent. “Eat first, then talk.”
Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged and motioned to the kitchen table. They sat, keeping their backs to the wall as she served them bowls of steaming stew and brown crusty bread with butter.
Sam hesitated, wondering if the food was safe. The old lady huffed at him. “Is good food. Eat.”
She ripped a piece of bread off the loaf, dipped it in the stew and chewed it. “See? Is good.”
Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged again. “I’m hungry, she’s eating it, she can kill us with a look. Might as well.” He scooped up a spoonful and tasted it. “Oh my God, this is amazing!”
Sam couldn’t help but grin as he watched Dean chow down on the food. He took a bite himself and had to agree that it was delicious. The meat was wonderfully tender, the vegetables cooked perfectly and the broth was rich and spicy. He took a bit of the bread and slathered butter over it. It was a perfect counterpoint to the stew.
“You like?” Baba Yaga asked him.
“Yes. It’s very good,” Sam replied. “Thank you.”
“Good.” She tore off another piece of bread and dipped it in the stew.
They all ate in silence, Baba Yaga hushing Dean any time he began to speak. When they were finished, Baba Yaga took their bowls and placed them in the sink. She sat down in an overstuffed chair in the living area and began to prepare a long-necked pipe.
“So, mal'chikov, you come to see me why?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Baba Yaga, we need a ritual bowl you have. For…for a spell.” He didn’t know why, but he felt uncertain and awkward asking her.
“I have many such bowls. For what spell do you seek?” She puffed on her pipe, the smoke slowly rising upwards around her head. It drifted towards them and made Sam feel a bit woozy when he inhaled it. He glanced over at Dean and could tell it was affecting him as well.
“A binding spell.” Sam wasn’t going to be specific because he was afraid that Baba Yaga wouldn’t let them have what they needed if they knew what kind of binding spell it was.
“Ah, molodoy. You keep secrets.” Sam could feel her gazing at him deeply, as though she could see his very soul. “For such a bowl I will need something in return.” She tapped her pipe against the ashtray on the side table and crushed the embers. Standing up, she made her way to the sideboard which held an array of bowls and cups. Rummaging through them, she selected a medium-sized brass metal bowl with silver sigils embossed on it.
“This is what you seek.” She turned it around in her hands. “But for you to have it, I must have your heart’s desire.”
“Our what?” Dean spoke up with a confused tone. “What do you mean, ‘our heart’s desire’.”
“What your heart yearns for the most. The thing you cannot live without.”
“Oh hell, I don’t know what that is!” Dean began, but she snapped her fingers.
“Hush.” Baba Yaga pointed to Sam. “I want his heart’s desire.”
Sam paled. There was no way he was going to voice what was truly in his heart. It was his dark little secret - his undying oh-so-wrong love for his brother. His mind called up images of Dean working on Baby, muscles bunching under a sweaty t-shirt; fighting monsters, eyes flashing as he took down one after the other; and his favorite image - seeing him smile proudly every time Sam came up with a plan to save the world.
And of course the thoughts that came to him in the dark hours of the night - Dean pressing him against the bunker walls, kissing Sam while his hand dove inside Sam’s jeans to grab his hard cock; down on his knees, worshipping Sam with his eyes as he worshipped Sam’s dick with his lips and tongue; fucking into Sam so hard that the mere thought of it would have Sam coming with a muffled cry.
There was no way he was going to share that.
He saw Baba Yaga’s eyes narrow, then a wide smirk run across her face. “Rebenok, your desire runs deep. It will make a good trade.”
“But I didn’t say anything,” Sam protested, a chill running through his body. “You don’t know what it is.”
“Oh, Rebenok, but I do.” She waved around his face. “It is written all over you.” She made another motion and an amber glass bottle flew into her hand. “Yes, a very good trade.”
She began to chant.
Items throughout the room began to rattle and Sam heard a booming sound - DaDUM, DaDUM, DaDUM…
“SAM!” Sam whirled around to see Dean fall to his knees, hand on his chest. “Sam…can’t breathe…”
“What are you doing to him!” Sam yelled at Baba Yaga. “Stop it!”
“I am taking your heart’s desire, as I said.” She picked up the chant again.
Sam fell on his knees next to Dean and grabbed him. Dean was ashen and sweaty, his skin getting paler as he seemed to be fading away.
“No! You can’t have him!” Sam began chanting a counterspell; one he hoped would work to block Baba Yaga.
The pounding grew louder. Sam felt a pain in his head. Gasping, he kept reciting the spell, over and over, hoping it would overcome a the old witch’s spell.
Suddenly there was a loud crash and the world went white.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Sam opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the pain throughout his body. He was staring at a brilliant blue sky with white fluffy clouds. He turned his head and saw a field of wildflowers.
Somewhere behind him he heard a groan. “Dean!” Sam rolled over and saw Dean trying to get up off the ground. “Are you okay?”
“I feel like I just went three rounds with a Wendigo.” Dean stumbled over to give Sam a hands up. “How are you doing?”
“Everything hurts.” Sam stretched, groaning at the aches throughout his body.
“Where are we?” Dean asked, looking around.
“Looks like we’re in the field where Baba Yaga’s house was,” Sam replied. “I guess the counterspell worked.” He saw a glint by a small boulder and walked over. “Look, it’s the bowl.”
Dean took it from him and turned it over. “Looks to be in good shape. I guess she figured you earned it.”
“Guess so.” Sam studied Dean, making sure, at least visually, he looked whole.
“We should get going,” Dean said, looking at his watch. “Rowena’s gonna be needing this.”
“Yeah.” Sam didn’t know what else to say. He was still a bit in shock over the whole incident.
They were quiet for a while as they traipsed back through the woods to the car. Dean spoke first.
“Sam…” a pause, then, “What Baba Yaga saw…your heart’s desire…”
“It was nothing,” Sam interrupted him, not wanting to go there, hoping the Winchester way of not talking would kick in.
“No, Sam, this is important.” Dean halted and gently grabbed Sam’s arm. “What she saw…It was me, right? I’m your heart’s desire.”
Sam didn’t know where to look. How could he meet Dean’s eyes, knowing that he was in love with him, that he wanted to fuck…no, make love to him.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost missed Dean’s hand caressing his face. “It’s okay, Sam, me too. Me too.”
Suddenly, Dean’s lips were on his, gentle at first, then stronger and more certain. It was exactly as Sam had dreamed. He melted into the kiss, felt Dean’s arms go around him, and swore he could have stayed there forever.
Dean pulled back, pushing a lock of hair away from Sam’s face.
“You’ve always been my heart’s desire, Sammy. Always. Now let’s go home.”
Fin
Voydite - Come in
mal'chikov - Boys
molodoy - young one
Rebenok - child
Pairing:Sam/Dean
Rating:Mature
Word Count: 1,963
“Damn it, Sam. Why the hell do we need to be slogging through the forest like this?”
Sam smiled at Dean’s whining. Dean never really liked hanging out in the woods. “Because we’ve got to find Baba Yaga and get her bowl for the ritual Rowena needs to do.”
“I’ve got a bowl in the kitchen I use for pancakes,” Dean grumbled. “Why can’t we use that one?”
“Sam sighed. “You know why. We need it for that spell. Stop griping and keep looking for her cabin.”
“How can we miss it? It’s up on chicken legs and has a rooster’s head on the roof. Not like it’s subtle or anything.” Sam heard a twig snap and Dean curse. “Damn branches. Next time can we find a witch that lives in a high rise?”
Sam sighed again and kept walking. Truth be told, he wasn’t looking forward to finding Baba Yaga any more than Dean was.
The stories in the books back at the bunker told about how Baba Yaga was an old crone and how she trapped unsuspecting travelers in her clutches and sometimes ate them. He shuddered. Hopefully they would be able to negotiate with her for the bowl. Sam didn’t want to have to resort to violence because he wasn’t sure they could win. Baba Yaga was old and very powerful.
They broke through the forest into a clearing. In the center of the tall grasses was a tiny cabin; it was like nothing they’d seen before. Brightly colored miniature onion domes surrounded a large rooster head. The outer walls were brilliant orange and green and red and yellow. Stained glass windows added more to the riot of color that already existed.
Sam couldn’t make out the images on the windows because the cottage was spinning around in a circle on two feathered legs.
“What the hell?” He heard Dean exclaim next to him. “That house is on chicken legs!”
“Part of the mythology, Dean,” Sam replied as he walked closer. He was pretty amazed at the spectacle himself. “Chicken legs, a rooster head and the fence made of bones.”
“Ugh.” Dean shuddered. “Shoulda gone with the pancake bowl.” Sam felt a nudge. “So how are we supposed to get in with it spinning like a dervish?”
“Rowena gave me a spell.” Sam took a deep breath and started to recite.
“Vrashchayushchiysya, vrashchayushchiysya,
vrashchayushchiysya prostaya
Pros'ba prosto pomedlenneye.
Medlenneye medlenneye yeshche medlenneye
Priostanovit' dvizheniye na kholme.
The house started to slow, finally coming to a gentle stop. “C’mon, this won’t last long.”
They hurried to the steps and climbed them just as the house began to turn again. Sam took a deep breath and knocked on the door.
“Why are you knocking?” Dean asked, pulling huis gun out from the back of his pants. “Let’s just go in and take the bowl.”
“It’s not that simple,” Sam replied, motioning for him to put away the gun. “You can’t just barge into Baba Yaga’s house; you need to respect decorum or she’ll cast a spell on you.”
”Voydite.” The voice was rough and gravelly.
The door creaked open. Sam looked at Dean, shrugged and entered.
The interior was dark; the only light coming from the patterned colors of the stained glass windows and the crackling fireplace. The furniture was ancient and overstuffed; the fabric was threadbare, with doilies and crocheted throws spread out on the surfaces. An old woman was by the stove, stirring something that smelled divine. She was the epitome of the old crone; her back hunched over, her body covered by a threadbare shawl, wrinkled face with a mole on her nose.
“Uh, Baba Yaga…” Sam began but she hushed him, waving her spoon.
“Sit, sit.” She spoke with a heavy Russian accent. “Eat first, then talk.”
Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged and motioned to the kitchen table. They sat, keeping their backs to the wall as she served them bowls of steaming stew and brown crusty bread with butter.
Sam hesitated, wondering if the food was safe. The old lady huffed at him. “Is good food. Eat.”
She ripped a piece of bread off the loaf, dipped it in the stew and chewed it. “See? Is good.”
Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged again. “I’m hungry, she’s eating it, she can kill us with a look. Might as well.” He scooped up a spoonful and tasted it. “Oh my God, this is amazing!”
Sam couldn’t help but grin as he watched Dean chow down on the food. He took a bite himself and had to agree that it was delicious. The meat was wonderfully tender, the vegetables cooked perfectly and the broth was rich and spicy. He took a bit of the bread and slathered butter over it. It was a perfect counterpoint to the stew.
“You like?” Baba Yaga asked him.
“Yes. It’s very good,” Sam replied. “Thank you.”
“Good.” She tore off another piece of bread and dipped it in the stew.
They all ate in silence, Baba Yaga hushing Dean any time he began to speak. When they were finished, Baba Yaga took their bowls and placed them in the sink. She sat down in an overstuffed chair in the living area and began to prepare a long-necked pipe.
“So, mal'chikov, you come to see me why?”
Sam cleared his throat. “Baba Yaga, we need a ritual bowl you have. For…for a spell.” He didn’t know why, but he felt uncertain and awkward asking her.
“I have many such bowls. For what spell do you seek?” She puffed on her pipe, the smoke slowly rising upwards around her head. It drifted towards them and made Sam feel a bit woozy when he inhaled it. He glanced over at Dean and could tell it was affecting him as well.
“A binding spell.” Sam wasn’t going to be specific because he was afraid that Baba Yaga wouldn’t let them have what they needed if they knew what kind of binding spell it was.
“Ah, molodoy. You keep secrets.” Sam could feel her gazing at him deeply, as though she could see his very soul. “For such a bowl I will need something in return.” She tapped her pipe against the ashtray on the side table and crushed the embers. Standing up, she made her way to the sideboard which held an array of bowls and cups. Rummaging through them, she selected a medium-sized brass metal bowl with silver sigils embossed on it.
“This is what you seek.” She turned it around in her hands. “But for you to have it, I must have your heart’s desire.”
“Our what?” Dean spoke up with a confused tone. “What do you mean, ‘our heart’s desire’.”
“What your heart yearns for the most. The thing you cannot live without.”
“Oh hell, I don’t know what that is!” Dean began, but she snapped her fingers.
“Hush.” Baba Yaga pointed to Sam. “I want his heart’s desire.”
Sam paled. There was no way he was going to voice what was truly in his heart. It was his dark little secret - his undying oh-so-wrong love for his brother. His mind called up images of Dean working on Baby, muscles bunching under a sweaty t-shirt; fighting monsters, eyes flashing as he took down one after the other; and his favorite image - seeing him smile proudly every time Sam came up with a plan to save the world.
And of course the thoughts that came to him in the dark hours of the night - Dean pressing him against the bunker walls, kissing Sam while his hand dove inside Sam’s jeans to grab his hard cock; down on his knees, worshipping Sam with his eyes as he worshipped Sam’s dick with his lips and tongue; fucking into Sam so hard that the mere thought of it would have Sam coming with a muffled cry.
There was no way he was going to share that.
He saw Baba Yaga’s eyes narrow, then a wide smirk run across her face. “Rebenok, your desire runs deep. It will make a good trade.”
“But I didn’t say anything,” Sam protested, a chill running through his body. “You don’t know what it is.”
“Oh, Rebenok, but I do.” She waved around his face. “It is written all over you.” She made another motion and an amber glass bottle flew into her hand. “Yes, a very good trade.”
She began to chant.
Items throughout the room began to rattle and Sam heard a booming sound - DaDUM, DaDUM, DaDUM…
“SAM!” Sam whirled around to see Dean fall to his knees, hand on his chest. “Sam…can’t breathe…”
“What are you doing to him!” Sam yelled at Baba Yaga. “Stop it!”
“I am taking your heart’s desire, as I said.” She picked up the chant again.
Sam fell on his knees next to Dean and grabbed him. Dean was ashen and sweaty, his skin getting paler as he seemed to be fading away.
“No! You can’t have him!” Sam began chanting a counterspell; one he hoped would work to block Baba Yaga.
The pounding grew louder. Sam felt a pain in his head. Gasping, he kept reciting the spell, over and over, hoping it would overcome a the old witch’s spell.
Suddenly there was a loud crash and the world went white.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Sam opened his eyes slowly, wincing at the pain throughout his body. He was staring at a brilliant blue sky with white fluffy clouds. He turned his head and saw a field of wildflowers.
Somewhere behind him he heard a groan. “Dean!” Sam rolled over and saw Dean trying to get up off the ground. “Are you okay?”
“I feel like I just went three rounds with a Wendigo.” Dean stumbled over to give Sam a hands up. “How are you doing?”
“Everything hurts.” Sam stretched, groaning at the aches throughout his body.
“Where are we?” Dean asked, looking around.
“Looks like we’re in the field where Baba Yaga’s house was,” Sam replied. “I guess the counterspell worked.” He saw a glint by a small boulder and walked over. “Look, it’s the bowl.”
Dean took it from him and turned it over. “Looks to be in good shape. I guess she figured you earned it.”
“Guess so.” Sam studied Dean, making sure, at least visually, he looked whole.
“We should get going,” Dean said, looking at his watch. “Rowena’s gonna be needing this.”
“Yeah.” Sam didn’t know what else to say. He was still a bit in shock over the whole incident.
They were quiet for a while as they traipsed back through the woods to the car. Dean spoke first.
“Sam…” a pause, then, “What Baba Yaga saw…your heart’s desire…”
“It was nothing,” Sam interrupted him, not wanting to go there, hoping the Winchester way of not talking would kick in.
“No, Sam, this is important.” Dean halted and gently grabbed Sam’s arm. “What she saw…It was me, right? I’m your heart’s desire.”
Sam didn’t know where to look. How could he meet Dean’s eyes, knowing that he was in love with him, that he wanted to fuck…no, make love to him.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost missed Dean’s hand caressing his face. “It’s okay, Sam, me too. Me too.”
Suddenly, Dean’s lips were on his, gentle at first, then stronger and more certain. It was exactly as Sam had dreamed. He melted into the kiss, felt Dean’s arms go around him, and swore he could have stayed there forever.
Dean pulled back, pushing a lock of hair away from Sam’s face.
“You’ve always been my heart’s desire, Sammy. Always. Now let’s go home.”
Fin
Voydite - Come in
mal'chikov - Boys
molodoy - young one
Rebenok - child