New SPN fic - Charms
To try and prove to myself that I can write SOMETHING other than rps - SPN fic! (though sadly, no wincest. SIGH.)
Notes at the end of the fic.
Title - Charms
Pairing - none
Word Count - ~1900
Summary - Dean, right after Sam leaves for college.
White Magic spells are used to protect, bless, heal, and help yourself or those you care for. They can bless new ventures, help the mind and body, shield people and places from curses and hexes, turn back evil magic spells, reverse bad conditions, break jinxes, and help good dreams and wishes come true.
"Keep a penny in your pocket and you cannot be bewitched." -German
Charms
In Dallas, Texas, Dean checks into a motel room and finds a penny on the floor.
It's nothing that should matter. Dean finds crap in motel rooms all over the place. But the penny is shiny and facing heads up. It lies flat on the floor, glittering between the two beds. Dean's not sure how he knows, but something about this penny is different.
He reaches down to pick it up, and the minute his fingers brush across the copper Dean feels a heat in his blood, a layer of quiet in the room. His eyes fall closed, and in his head, he hears, Sam.
*
Dean fingered the card in his pocket, his thumb brushing across the raised lettering. The corner was rounded and dull with age. Dean wasn't sure how many years the card had been stuffed inside his dad's journal, or if he'd even pulled out the right one. He'd been moving kind of fast, trying to get his shit together and get on the road before his dad came back and saw him poking through his stuff.
There was a name on the card, printed in a loopy script, with a tiny pentagram in the corner. His dad had marked the back of the card with a small W in a circle for white magic. That was what Dean had been looking for.
The address led him to a tiny house, just north of Dallas. It was set on a quiet block, the shingles a dark grey with bright white trim around the windows. Dean could hear a sprinkler going a few houses down. Everything around him looked too normal to be any help to Dean. He was sure he either pulled the wrong card, or that this was going to be a waste of time.
As he stood on the sidewalk, the screen door on the house pushed open. An older woman looked at him, cocked her head to the side, and said, "Are you coming in or what?" Dean looked at the woman and nodded. "Well then come on," she called out, before letting the screen door slam shut as she disappeared.
*
The house was warm and smelled like lemons and vanilla. "Where'd you get my name?" the woman asked. She was facing the sink, washing glasses, then putting them on the counter to drain. Her hair was a dark gold and curled in a bun at the back of her neck.
"My dad," Dean told her. "He had your card and-"
"You're John's boy." She was facing him now, and Dean could see her eyes were clear and a sharp blue. "What do you need?"
Dean folded his hand on the table. "It's my brother," he said. "He left a few days ago and-"
"How many days?"
Dean met her eyes steadily. "Six," he told her.
The woman made a soft sound in the back of her throat. "Still time then," she said.
Dean breathed out. He was glad there was time. He'd wanted to come sooner, try and find someone to help him right after Sam left, but he needed to wait for a job to come up that he could do on his own; something small that his dad wouldn't give him a hard time about when Dean left and his dad had to stay behind. When they got news of the werewolf just north of Dallas, Dean jumped on it.
"What are you looking for?" the woman asked. She sat down across from him, and covered his hand with hers. Dean felt something race under his skin at her touch.
"I need a spell," Dean said, feeling stupid even as he said it. He believed in magic - that wasn't the issue. You didn't live a life like Dean's and not allow yourself a minute to believe in everything, at least once.
And he needed to make sure Sam was safe. Dean couldn't go after him, he knew that. Sam would be pissed and his dad would flip. Dean had tried calling Sam but it went straight to voice mail every time. He didn't know anything about where Sam was going. Just the big looming word - Stanford - but that didn't tell him anything, and Dean wasn't going to be able to rest until he knew Sam was all right.
The problem was, Dean believed in evil more than good. It was all he saw. The bad things, evil spirits. The idea of white magic and spells to protect and heal were foreign to him. He wasn't convinced any of this would work.
The woman shook her head and stood up. "Not while you think things like that," she told him. "I'm not wasting my time or yours."
"Shit - wait." Dean huffed and ran a hand through his hair. The woman turned back to look at him, one hand perched on her hip. "I really need something to protect him, my brother," he clarified. "He's out there alone and-"
"All right, all right." The woman sighed loudly and sat back down, but she was smiling a little as she did. "Give me your hand again, and think about him. Think about what you want the spell to do."
This time when she touched him, Dean was ready. He felt a tingle across the top of his hand, up his arm, and he thought, I want to protect him, keep him safe. I just want him to be ok.
After a few minutes, the woman pulled her hand back and smiled. "All right," she said. "We can do this."
*
Dean looked at all the crap she had laid on the table and tried to be optimistic. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. He rocked back on his heels and stood at the side of the table.
It looked like a big mess to him. Roots and thread. Tiny flannel bags and a bottle of oil. Dean didn't know anything like this. He knew silver bullets and salt lines. Not candles and charms.
"Stop looking like that," she snapped as she flitted from one side of the kitchen to the other. "You keep standing there with that scowl on your face, and this whole thing will turn around. Wind up wishing wings on him or something."
Dean felt his lips twitch in a smile. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and shook his head. "Sorry. I just…" He couldn't even explain it. "This isn't anything I know."
"You don't have to know it," she told him, eyes clear and bright. She patted Dean's arm, guided him to sit back down. "You just have to believe it. Just for today."
Dean sat down and nodded. He could do that.
*
The spell took longer to cast than Dean had expected. He had to write out what she called a pass, then roll it around the root she gave him and tie it with a white ribbon, knotted nine times. Dean was glad Sam couldn't see him. He could almost hear the eyeroll, Sam's voice pitched low and amused. "Aww, Dean. How sweet," Sam would have teased and Dean would have had to punch him and it would have been nothing but a big mess.
Dean put the root in the bag she handed him. He watched when she slipped other things in there; some dried herbs, a smooth, shiny penny. A fat, white candle burned in the middle of the kitchen table, and after she poured a drop of oil over the top of the wax, she looked at Dean, and waved her hand.
"Ok," she said, as if waiting for something.
Dean raised one eyebrow. "Ok, what?"
"Say your prayer."
"My prayer?" Dean was starting to worry again that this was the dumbest idea he ever had. "Lady, he's not dead, just at college."
"I know that, Dean," she told him quietly. He waited for her to say something else, but she just sat there, watching him and waiting.
"Oh god." Dean took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, because it was easier to do this without knowing someone was watching him. He waited a minute, until he was thinking of Sam, and not in the, Goddamn, I'm gonna kill that fucking punk when I get my hands on him way. He waited until he remembered why he came here in the first place.
"I just want him to be safe," Dean said quietly. He cleared his throat. "That's all."
When he opened his eyes, she was smiling at him gently. "I think that'll work just fine."
*
"So what now?" Dean asked. He was sitting back in his chair, sipping a glass of tea and watching the candle burn. After he opened his eyes, he'd had to breathe into the bag, say some other crap and then drag the bag through the candle flame three times. Dean was half convinced he was going to grow gills or fly home after all this was done. Never in his life had he seen anything like this.
She shrugged at him and pushed back from the table. "Now we wait. We had to modify the spell to begin with because he's already gone, so I'm not sure how long-"
"Wait," Dean interrupted. "You mean we did all this - all this hocus pocus, heebie jeebie stuff - and you don't even know if it's going to work?"
"It's going to work," she said, flatly. "You just need to have a little faith.
Dean snorted. Faith was a luxury in life. Dean didn't have time for luxuries. "Right," he murmured.
He pushed back from the table, and held his hand out. "What do I owe you?" he asked.
She took his hand and squeezed. "Nothing," she told him. He felt that same zing again, heating his blood and making his fingers twitch. "Just keep an eye out for him."
Dean dropped his eyes. "I don't even know what to look for," he admitted.
He looked up when she squeezed his hand one last time, before pulling away. "Oh, you'll know."
*
Dean left the house and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. He had some time to kill before the next full moon and the werewolf, and the weather around here was nice. He started the car and pulled away from the curb heading south, without so much as a backward glance.
*
Two days later, Dean checks into a motel in Dallas, and finds a penny on the floor.
He reaches down to pick it up, and the minute his fingers brush across the copper Dean feels a heat in his blood, a layer of quiet in the room. His eyes fall closed, and in his head, he hears, Sam.
-end-
Thanks to antheia for the beta, and tjournal for the info I needed for this. The spell that Dean does is a slightly modified white magic spell I found on this site. The spell is here, and is the spell to cast to grant someone a safe travel. Again, it's Dean's pov, so I modified it a little to fit the story better, but it is actually based on some sort of real spell, in case you were wondering.
Notes at the end of the fic.
Title - Charms
Pairing - none
Word Count - ~1900
Summary - Dean, right after Sam leaves for college.
White Magic spells are used to protect, bless, heal, and help yourself or those you care for. They can bless new ventures, help the mind and body, shield people and places from curses and hexes, turn back evil magic spells, reverse bad conditions, break jinxes, and help good dreams and wishes come true.
"Keep a penny in your pocket and you cannot be bewitched." -German
Charms
In Dallas, Texas, Dean checks into a motel room and finds a penny on the floor.
It's nothing that should matter. Dean finds crap in motel rooms all over the place. But the penny is shiny and facing heads up. It lies flat on the floor, glittering between the two beds. Dean's not sure how he knows, but something about this penny is different.
He reaches down to pick it up, and the minute his fingers brush across the copper Dean feels a heat in his blood, a layer of quiet in the room. His eyes fall closed, and in his head, he hears, Sam.
*
Dean fingered the card in his pocket, his thumb brushing across the raised lettering. The corner was rounded and dull with age. Dean wasn't sure how many years the card had been stuffed inside his dad's journal, or if he'd even pulled out the right one. He'd been moving kind of fast, trying to get his shit together and get on the road before his dad came back and saw him poking through his stuff.
There was a name on the card, printed in a loopy script, with a tiny pentagram in the corner. His dad had marked the back of the card with a small W in a circle for white magic. That was what Dean had been looking for.
The address led him to a tiny house, just north of Dallas. It was set on a quiet block, the shingles a dark grey with bright white trim around the windows. Dean could hear a sprinkler going a few houses down. Everything around him looked too normal to be any help to Dean. He was sure he either pulled the wrong card, or that this was going to be a waste of time.
As he stood on the sidewalk, the screen door on the house pushed open. An older woman looked at him, cocked her head to the side, and said, "Are you coming in or what?" Dean looked at the woman and nodded. "Well then come on," she called out, before letting the screen door slam shut as she disappeared.
*
The house was warm and smelled like lemons and vanilla. "Where'd you get my name?" the woman asked. She was facing the sink, washing glasses, then putting them on the counter to drain. Her hair was a dark gold and curled in a bun at the back of her neck.
"My dad," Dean told her. "He had your card and-"
"You're John's boy." She was facing him now, and Dean could see her eyes were clear and a sharp blue. "What do you need?"
Dean folded his hand on the table. "It's my brother," he said. "He left a few days ago and-"
"How many days?"
Dean met her eyes steadily. "Six," he told her.
The woman made a soft sound in the back of her throat. "Still time then," she said.
Dean breathed out. He was glad there was time. He'd wanted to come sooner, try and find someone to help him right after Sam left, but he needed to wait for a job to come up that he could do on his own; something small that his dad wouldn't give him a hard time about when Dean left and his dad had to stay behind. When they got news of the werewolf just north of Dallas, Dean jumped on it.
"What are you looking for?" the woman asked. She sat down across from him, and covered his hand with hers. Dean felt something race under his skin at her touch.
"I need a spell," Dean said, feeling stupid even as he said it. He believed in magic - that wasn't the issue. You didn't live a life like Dean's and not allow yourself a minute to believe in everything, at least once.
And he needed to make sure Sam was safe. Dean couldn't go after him, he knew that. Sam would be pissed and his dad would flip. Dean had tried calling Sam but it went straight to voice mail every time. He didn't know anything about where Sam was going. Just the big looming word - Stanford - but that didn't tell him anything, and Dean wasn't going to be able to rest until he knew Sam was all right.
The problem was, Dean believed in evil more than good. It was all he saw. The bad things, evil spirits. The idea of white magic and spells to protect and heal were foreign to him. He wasn't convinced any of this would work.
The woman shook her head and stood up. "Not while you think things like that," she told him. "I'm not wasting my time or yours."
"Shit - wait." Dean huffed and ran a hand through his hair. The woman turned back to look at him, one hand perched on her hip. "I really need something to protect him, my brother," he clarified. "He's out there alone and-"
"All right, all right." The woman sighed loudly and sat back down, but she was smiling a little as she did. "Give me your hand again, and think about him. Think about what you want the spell to do."
This time when she touched him, Dean was ready. He felt a tingle across the top of his hand, up his arm, and he thought, I want to protect him, keep him safe. I just want him to be ok.
After a few minutes, the woman pulled her hand back and smiled. "All right," she said. "We can do this."
*
Dean looked at all the crap she had laid on the table and tried to be optimistic. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his leather jacket. He rocked back on his heels and stood at the side of the table.
It looked like a big mess to him. Roots and thread. Tiny flannel bags and a bottle of oil. Dean didn't know anything like this. He knew silver bullets and salt lines. Not candles and charms.
"Stop looking like that," she snapped as she flitted from one side of the kitchen to the other. "You keep standing there with that scowl on your face, and this whole thing will turn around. Wind up wishing wings on him or something."
Dean felt his lips twitch in a smile. He rubbed a hand over his mouth and shook his head. "Sorry. I just…" He couldn't even explain it. "This isn't anything I know."
"You don't have to know it," she told him, eyes clear and bright. She patted Dean's arm, guided him to sit back down. "You just have to believe it. Just for today."
Dean sat down and nodded. He could do that.
*
The spell took longer to cast than Dean had expected. He had to write out what she called a pass, then roll it around the root she gave him and tie it with a white ribbon, knotted nine times. Dean was glad Sam couldn't see him. He could almost hear the eyeroll, Sam's voice pitched low and amused. "Aww, Dean. How sweet," Sam would have teased and Dean would have had to punch him and it would have been nothing but a big mess.
Dean put the root in the bag she handed him. He watched when she slipped other things in there; some dried herbs, a smooth, shiny penny. A fat, white candle burned in the middle of the kitchen table, and after she poured a drop of oil over the top of the wax, she looked at Dean, and waved her hand.
"Ok," she said, as if waiting for something.
Dean raised one eyebrow. "Ok, what?"
"Say your prayer."
"My prayer?" Dean was starting to worry again that this was the dumbest idea he ever had. "Lady, he's not dead, just at college."
"I know that, Dean," she told him quietly. He waited for her to say something else, but she just sat there, watching him and waiting.
"Oh god." Dean took a deep breath. He closed his eyes, because it was easier to do this without knowing someone was watching him. He waited a minute, until he was thinking of Sam, and not in the, Goddamn, I'm gonna kill that fucking punk when I get my hands on him way. He waited until he remembered why he came here in the first place.
"I just want him to be safe," Dean said quietly. He cleared his throat. "That's all."
When he opened his eyes, she was smiling at him gently. "I think that'll work just fine."
*
"So what now?" Dean asked. He was sitting back in his chair, sipping a glass of tea and watching the candle burn. After he opened his eyes, he'd had to breathe into the bag, say some other crap and then drag the bag through the candle flame three times. Dean was half convinced he was going to grow gills or fly home after all this was done. Never in his life had he seen anything like this.
She shrugged at him and pushed back from the table. "Now we wait. We had to modify the spell to begin with because he's already gone, so I'm not sure how long-"
"Wait," Dean interrupted. "You mean we did all this - all this hocus pocus, heebie jeebie stuff - and you don't even know if it's going to work?"
"It's going to work," she said, flatly. "You just need to have a little faith.
Dean snorted. Faith was a luxury in life. Dean didn't have time for luxuries. "Right," he murmured.
He pushed back from the table, and held his hand out. "What do I owe you?" he asked.
She took his hand and squeezed. "Nothing," she told him. He felt that same zing again, heating his blood and making his fingers twitch. "Just keep an eye out for him."
Dean dropped his eyes. "I don't even know what to look for," he admitted.
He looked up when she squeezed his hand one last time, before pulling away. "Oh, you'll know."
*
Dean left the house and slipped on a pair of sunglasses. He had some time to kill before the next full moon and the werewolf, and the weather around here was nice. He started the car and pulled away from the curb heading south, without so much as a backward glance.
*
Two days later, Dean checks into a motel in Dallas, and finds a penny on the floor.
He reaches down to pick it up, and the minute his fingers brush across the copper Dean feels a heat in his blood, a layer of quiet in the room. His eyes fall closed, and in his head, he hears, Sam.
-end-
Thanks to antheia for the beta, and tjournal for the info I needed for this. The spell that Dean does is a slightly modified white magic spell I found on this site. The spell is here, and is the spell to cast to grant someone a safe travel. Again, it's Dean's pov, so I modified it a little to fit the story better, but it is actually based on some sort of real spell, in case you were wondering.