Episode 21: The Sprinting Dead (Part I)
Title: Episode 21: The Sprinting Dead (Part I)
Masterpost: Supernatural: Redemption Road (for full series info, warnings, and disclaimer)
Author: nyoka
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Sam, OCs
Rating: R for Part I
Word Count: ~20,000 for Part I
Warnings: language, sexuality for Part I
Beta: zatnikatel
Chapter Notes: Due to size this episode is being split into two parts, the first airing here tonight and the second airing on 9/13.
Author's Notes: A million hugs of gratitude to my amazing artists for sticking it out for this chapter despite the crazy summer, and for their patience and inspiring work.
Art: Chapter cover and digital designs by animotus, which you can also find here; digital painting by smallworld-inc, which you can also find here; digital paintings by slinkymilinky, which you can also find here; digital paintings by ammo, which you can also find here; and digital paintings by kuma_la_la, which you can also find here (all art contains spoilers for the episode).
Summary: In a jungle of long-ago mystery, Dean and Castiel grow closer as the world around them begins to spin out of control.
"Thus you may understand that love alone
is the true seed of every merit in you,
and of all acts for which you must atone."
―Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio
- - - - -
I. The Call
In the Air over the South Pacific
Fifteen Miles North of Easter Island
Dean slides a shaky hand over his thigh, fingers nervously drumming along to the hard rhythm of Master of Puppets spilling out of the earphones of Sam's iPod. His brother had passed him the music player once they were airborne, probably figuring it was the most effective way of calming Dean down. Dean sucks in a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut tight just as the lyrics fill his head: Hell is worth all that, natural habitat. Just a rhyme without a reason. Never-ending maze, drift on numbered days. Now your life is out of season.
Dean opens his eyes when he feels Castiel squeeze his hand. The angel's seated on Dean's right, his long body leaning in toward Dean as if offering protection, and Dean shoots him a thankful smile before pressing his head back against the headrest and humming softly to himself. The window to his left shows only wide-blue sky. He's seen the same thing for the last thousand miles - the last three hours - and he doesn't really feel any need to see it again. Dean turns his head away.
The problem is that the charter plane is too damn small and too damn cramped, and they've been in the air for way too damn long, as far as Dean's concerned. In the seat across from him, Sam's smiling to himself, oblivious and unconcerned, geeking out to his giant world atlas, which showcases the glossy shine of remote Polynesian islands scattered in a sea of infinite blue every time he turns the page. Dean sighs; at least someone seems to be enjoying their little misadventure.
When the plane rocks around him, Castiel squeezes Dean's hand tighter. Dean breathes in and out, sucking in deep breath after breath for several moments, feeling like some kind of lamaze coach. Or maybe Castiel is the coach, and Dean's the one going into labor. Fuck it, Dean groans, turning off the music and dumping the iPod at his feet. It's not working anyway. He lets his gaze fall out of the window again, onto the expanse of blue ocean rolling out beneath them.
He really friggin' hates planes. Especially these small little-bitty ones they've been hopping around in since they left Brazil. They were able to dump the German tour group at their stop-over in Santiago de Chile, before boarding what Dean assumes is some kind of small smuggler craft. Their pilot, Raúl, is a friend of Harper's, and he'd been traveling with a crate of weapons, everything Sam, Dean, and Castiel would need to kick some serious monster ass in the near future.
Dean turns away from the window, and tries not to think about hurtling two-thousand feet above the Pacific. It's a five-hour flight, and it's been bumpy the entire way going. They're in a four-seater, single-engine Cessna 172 Skyhawk, and Dean knows enough about machines to know this one is older than dirt, probably held together with duct-tape, spit and a prayer. It's noisy too, the engine's racket drowning out most attempts at conversation. It's just the four of them now, and Raúl tosses Dean a thumbs-up every time he straightens the tiny plane out after it lurches unexpectedly. Dean grunts and squirms in his seat.
"We'll be landing shortly," Castiel whispers in Dean's ear, hand squeezing Dean's again. It's weird to be the one being mother-henned, because Dean's so used to being the one looking out for people. But he knows Cas has got his back, and for once he's able to let loose a deep breath and sink lower in his seat. He's managed to keep his lunch so far, so at least he has that much going for him. Since taking off from Santiago, they've made only one fuel stop - on a small, remote South Pacific island with a landing strip hacked into a grassy field. Needless to say, Dean had not been impressed.
"Still don't know why we couldn't have driven," Dean groans, purposely pouting.
Castiel's lips curl softly as he teases the fingers of their joined hands together. "Because even the Impala is not badass enough to drive over two thousand miles of sea."
Sam snickers from across the way, tossing his giant atlas aside and picking up one of the books he'd brought with him. "This contact we're meeting sounds awesome. Modern-day Indiana-Jones type. She wrote this book," Sam pauses, holding up the tattered hardback in his hand, "about the use of magic in the modern age. It's fascinating."
Dean rolls his eyes, sighs wearily. "Thank you, Professor Winchester."
As if on cue, the plane lurches forward again, Sam chuckles, and Castiel kisses Dean's cheek to comfort him. Fuck everything, Dean sighs, closes his eyes, and hums Fade to Black.
- - - - -
The late afternoon sunlight flashes across the still water, and in the distance Dean can see the curved outline of the island, the lush, rugged green coast welcoming visitors to what could easily be the edge of the world.
"Easter Island is thought to be the most remote inhabited island in the world," Sam's saying with nerd-boy glee as he unbuckles his seatbelt. Dean grunts and works to steady his shaking hands in order to unhook his own seatbelt. A moment before, the tiny plane had touched down on a private dirt airstrip outside the port town of Hanga Roa.
"Bienvenidos a Rapa Nui!" Raúl says cheerily from the pilot seat once the engine finally cuts off, and Dean feels like he can actually breathe again.
"Dude, we so have to see the Rano Kau," Sam says, a big goofy smile covering his face as he waggles his Lonely Planet guidebook at Dean.
"Is that some kind of kinky porn?" Dean squints at his brother skeptically. "Should I warn Mira?"
Sam flips him the bird and begins packing his books back into his backpack. Castiel is laughing at them softly, running his hand up and down Dean's arm, a gesture that Dean maybe likes a little too much. "I remember when that volcano last erupted," Castiel comments. "It was magnificent. The ash blackened the sky for almost a year."
Dean tenses, brows arching. "It's not still active, right?"
Castiel shuffles his bookbag onto his back and begins to slowly exit the plane behind Sam. "Not for more than five thousand years," he says with an assuring smile.
"Dude, sometimes I forget you are so friggin' old," Dean huffs, climbing down from the plane behind Castiel and breathing in the fresh, oxygen-rich island air. He looks around at the bumpy dirt runway, frowning at the fact that they seem to have landed on yet another airstrip in the middle of nowhere.
"How old are you exactly, Cas?" Sam says, helping Raúl to unload the rest of the duffle bags and the container of smuggled weapons from the plane.
Castiel looks at Sam for a moment, smiling mysteriously. "Old."
Dean snorts and stands beside Castiel, watching Raúl perform his routine check of the plane. Happy to no longer be trapped in that thing while in the air, Dean closes his eyes and lets himself readjust to the feel of solid ground under his boots. The temperature is mild, and a gusty breeze is coming in from the sea, drying the sweat on Dean's skin.
"So what now?" Sam asks, dumping his duffle bag full of research at his feet and standing on Dean's right side.
Turning from the plane, Dean surveys the desolate landing site, trying to get their bearings after being in the air for so long. Miles of grassy fields surround them on all sides in what Raúl had called an old, abandoned sugar plantation.
Eyes panning over the expanse of remote countryside, Dean takes in the broad, summer-green hills that hug the shores of the white-sand beaches he'd seen from the air.
"I think that mountain to the west must be Rano Kau," Sam says, holding out a map and locating their coordinates.
In the far distance, Dean hears the sound of an old engine, and he cocks his head toward the hills for a long moment before he sees what he'd been listening for.
"The welcoming party," he says, pointing to the sky-blue Land Rover turning the corner of the dirt road, kicking up dust and bumping over the rocky terrain.
When the vehicle grounds to a halt a few feet in front of them, Castiel goes tense, and Dean waits a beat before putting his hand on Sam's shoulder to prevent any forward motion.
They wait another moment, and then the driver's-side window rolls down all the way, and a woman sticks her head out, a broad smile working its way across her face. She pushes her shades up, settling them atop her head, and says, "Sorry I'm late, gentlemen. I got caught up giving a video lecture to a group of researchers from the University of Hawaii on the impact of ancient gods on modern religion."
"Professor Eloni Nam'ulu?" Sam says, stepping forward and circling toward the driver's side.
"That's me," she says and jumps out of the Land Rover, her big boots kicking up sand and dust as they hit the ground. She's short, not more than 5'3, and her sun-browned legs extend from rumpled khaki shorts. She strides purposely toward them and shakes all of their hands as they introduce themselves.
Dean thinks back to all the info Harper had shared about their contact. Professor Nam'ulu is a renowned archaeologist and ethnologist in her early fifties. She's on sabbatical from Oxford, and she's written extensively about Cthulhu cults. Lucky for them, she'd been tracking the weird happenings across the world and has followed the movements of one particular Cthulhu cult across the islands of the South Pacific.
Dean eyes her for a long moment, taking her in. She's rugged in appearance, her voice whiskey-rough as she chats in Spanish with Raúl. She has a full, heart-shaped face with olive skin and thick salt-and-pepper hair twisted up into a sloppy bun. Something about her reminds him a bit of Ellen, or maybe Jody Mills. She seems to have the kind of smile that eases tension, calms nerves, and hints at a wellspring of inner-strength.
"So, you're actually hunting Cthulhu?" she says, her words interrupting Dean's thoughts as she turns to meet his gaze head-on.
Dean responds with a shrug. "Something like that. Looking for a weapon that could stop him."
Eloni shakes her head, eyes closing for a moment before she turns to look at each of them. "I've been fearing this moment would come. All the signs…all the cult activity."
"So you know he's real?" Sam says, brow creasing.
Eloni sighs softly and says, "Spend most of your life digging up ancient civilizations and your outlook on what's 'real' changes. There's evidence of something like Cthulhu going back thousands of years. This is no fairy tale, gentlemen."
"Many myths and legends have an origin in something real," Castiel says, and Dean smiles at that because, hello, angel.
They move quickly then, loading themselves and their bags into Eloni's Land Rover, which she expertly maneuvers back onto the road with no wasted time. The sun is high in the sky as they take the winding dirt road past another farm, and up into the foothills of one of the mountains, its rocky peaks rising lava-brown against the clear sky.
Castiel pushes close to Dean in the backseat, and takes Dean's hand in his own. They've been doing this a lot, joining hands every chance they can, pulling themselves closer together in some way, an outward symbol of what they've always known to be true deep down: every part of them is linked, bound together in this crazy way Dean doesn't have a name for.
Dean glances out at the rolling water of the South Pacific. Maybe theirs is a connection that runs as deep as the ocean.
- - - - -
Twenty minutes later, Sam's tracking their path on the map he's carrying. They're following the main road that winds along the coastline of the island, cows and horses dotting the green hills they pass. The road's unpaved, uneven, and potholed, and it sends the Land Rover bouncing with every mile.
"Think we'll have time to see the giant Moai statues?" Sam asks, twisting his head to take in more of the countryside, his long hair blowing with the wind.
"We head out tomorrow morning," Eloni says, raising her voice to be heard over the vehicle's engine. "But maybe you can spend a couple of extra days here before you head back to the States. The history of this island is a history of a people that survived against remarkable odds."
"They were so cut off from the world," Sam says, recalling what he read in the guidebook.
"It was what sped up the end for them. When they no longer had trees or resources, they were trapped here," Eloni says. "It's a tale of caution, in many ways. You can see pictures carved in the cave walls, depicting people's dreams of escape. Pictures of birds flying toward the sky. With no wood left to build boats, all the Rapa Nui people could do was look enviously at the birds that sailed effortless through the sky. All they could do was dream of flying."
Castiel clears his throat, and Sam turns to see Dean running his hand along the curve of the angel's back, where his wings would be if visible, and it's a motion that Sam knows is meant to give comfort. He smiles, wonders if his brother will ever admit to being in love with Cas.
"We're headed toward Pukao now, a beach on the north side of the island, which is where I am renting a home," Eloni explains. "We'll stay there tonight and then set sail out of the main harbor at Hanga Roa in the morning."
The road twists around a hill and then past a rocky cliff that plunges down toward the ocean. Waves break hard against the rocks there, and the air smells of salt and water. Sam thinks how idyllic this would all be if he didn't know what lurked out there beneath the surf. There are little cottages dotting the island, built simply with wood harvested from the towering palms, and there's a small beach just around the next bend, a small cove of calm blue water and white sand.
It's here that Eloni heads, directing the Land Rover inland. Sam glances out of the window, at the wind raking through the tall palms, at the grass huts lining the roadside.
"This community is called te pito o te henua," Eloni says, the road's rocks grinding loudly under the wheels of the vehicle as she turns into the curve. "The navel of the world."
"The middle of nowhere," Sam says as they round yet another curve, following the uphill slope.
"So a question then: where can a guy get a cheeseburger out here?" Dean says from the backseat, and Sam rolls his eyes, shooting his brother a dirty look.
"I saw cows on the hill two miles back," Castiel says, tone thoughtful.
Sam snickers, wondering if this was Castiel's way of offering to provide for Dean. "Seriously, guys?" he asks, exasperated.
"No need to scare the cows, Castiel," Eloni says, smiling from the driver's seat. "I've got food covered."
Dean whoops in satisfaction, and Sam grunts, glancing out of the dusty windshield, eyes widening as the vehicle rounds up a long, curved driveway. Before them the trees part to reveal an immense clearing, backdropped by the cloudless blue sky and lush volcanic hills. In the clearing itself is a sprawling two-story hacienda shaded by palm trees and edged by a landscaped lawn.
The Land Rover continues to wind up the gravel driveway before coming to a stop at the top of the circular drive. Sam manages to close his mouth when the engine cuts off. "Um, wow," he says.
Eloni smiles, shrugging. "One of the perks of finding long lost treasures: governments like to put you up in style, and museums pay very, very well."
Sam chuckles, turning to take in the rest of the villa. The house is made of white stucco and red hand-etched clay tiles, and the entrance is flanked by white marble columns. Orange and red tropical flowers add a burst of color to the scene; they crawl alongside vines up the ornate archway that leads to the front door. Palms dot the lawn, swaying gently with the breeze.
They sit there gaping at the house for a long moment, before the tall, wooden front doors fall open, and a lanky teenager walks out to greet them.
"Everyone, this is my son, Tukuah," Eloni introduces as she climbs out of the Land Rover, Sam, Dean, and Castiel slowly piling out behind her.
The boy's taller than Eloni, with a lean, wiry body and big hands he hasn't quite grown into. He has to dip his head as Eloni leans in to kiss his cheek. She ruffles his curly, dark hair as she pulls away, and asks, "Everything in order for our guests?"
"I've set up everything in your study," he says, nodding at his mother before turning a shy, dimpled smile on Sam, Dean, and Castiel. "Welcome to our home. You can call me Tuk."
"It's an awesome-looking house," Sam says, shaking the boy's proffered hand.
"Wait 'til you see the inside," Tuk says with a smile, motioning for them to follow him.
Sam, Dean, and Castiel quickly unload the vehicle, and arms laden with duffle bags, they follow Eloni and Tuk past a grand fountain and stone steps, and through the main entrance to the house. The entranceway opens into a foyer with elegant ornamentation, and they all pause here for a moment as Eloni whispers, "Hekai ite umu pare haonga takapu Hanau epe kai noruego."
Sam frowns, nudging Cas. "What's she saying?" he asks, voice low.
"It's a prayer recited to appease the spirit guardian of the home," Castiel says quietly. "A chant passed down from the original inhabitants of the island, when they dwelled in its caves."
"Oh, cool," Sam says, recalling reading something about the tradition in the history book he skimmed about the cultures of Easter Island.
"Dude, this place is friggin' ginormous," Dean says from next to him, bringing Sam back to the moment.
Sam nods, humming as he takes in the wide expanse of the luxuriously decorated living room. Sunlight streams through the large picture windows, bouncing off the crystal chandeliers. In the hallway, the whitewashed walls are covered with paintings, while sculptures and art pieces decorate shelves and tables, displaying an array of world cultures that Sam feels the need to stop and investigate at every turn.
Dean shoots him a "you're such a geek-boy" look that Sam takes in stride, because there are masterworks of art in this house, and he has no shame in geeking out over them. Plus, he's feeling good. Like, really good. He's gone weeks without Lucifer daymares, and exercise and meditation have helped him to feel more centered in his body. When Mira first introduced him to a new plan of intense mind-body healing practices she first learned at the hands of Buddhist monks in Nepal, Sam had been skeptical. But during the past three weeks, whenever she stayed over, they'd been getting up early and doing two hours of deep meditation and yoga that worked to calm the mind. It wasn't a cure-all, nothing would ever be. But combined with the right mix of medicine, herbal teas, and the techniques he'd picked up from Jody and her books, Sam has been managing his attacks better. He and Dean probably both need years (no, make that decades) of heavy counseling and other treatment, but for now they were keeping each other going, keeping each other human: making sure they don't get lost in the sharp-edged, dark corners of their memories.
Sam turns to look behind him. The rear of the house opens up with patio doors that lead down to an Olympic-size pool, surrounded by dark adobe tiles. Beyond the pool is a wide expanse of green lawn and then the ocean going into the distance. Not for the first time, Sam wishes he hadn't talked Mira out of taking this trip with them. But she's back at home, working with Tamara, Missouri, Bobby, and every other hunter in their inner-circle to keep the world in one piece while Sam, Dean, and Castiel go treasure hunting. Damn, he would have liked to take her skinny-dipping in that pool though, and from the look on Dean's face, Sam knows his brother is thinking the same thing in regards to Cas. Sam smiles at the Winchester brothers' newfound priorities.
Sam can only shake his head, a small chuckle passing his lips as he makes his way down the hall behind Castiel and his brother. It's been a long while since he and Dean have both been this wound up in other people, and not just each other. It feels like their little world is expanding bit by bit. It feels good.
Sam notices that the deep interior of the house smells of burning herbs and oil, which give off a warm, familiar scent. He looks around for the source of it and sees a bowl filled with leaves and dried flowers situated on an altar at the end of the hallway.
"Harper didn't tell us you practiced," Sam says carefully, shooting Dean a look, knowing how his brother feels about witches.
"You're a witch?" Dean asks, voice sliding sharp with distrust.
"I only work on the light's side, gentlemen," Eloni says, turning to look at them. They're standing in front of the wide, sweeping staircase, preparing to ascend.
Tuk places a hand on his mother's shoulder and adds, "It helps us with our work."
"Meaning?" Dean says lowly.
"It's alright, Dean. I only sense benevolent energies in the house," Castiel breaks in, his voice a soft rumble. "The magic practiced here is one of protection and guidance."
Eloni looks at Castiel, eyebrows arching. "Do you have the second sight, Castiel?"
Castiel frowns, tilting his head. "I don't know? I do have many sights. I'm…I was an angel of the Lord."
Eloni's mouth drops open, but Dean clears his throat loudly, cutting in to say, "Uh, so, yeah, Professor it's good to hear that you're Glinda the Good Witch and all. Me and Sammy haven't had the best experiences in the past."
Eloni seems to ease up at that, and Sam is grateful. "I understand," she says. "Spellcasting helps me in my day job. When I'm seeking artifacts, locator spells and protection spells ensure that I am able to do my job safely."
"And sometimes we have to break curses," Tuk adds as he begins to climb the grand staircase. "You'd be surprised how many dig sites we arrive at only to find objects that are covered with old curses."
"So all the old stories about cursed tombs are true?" Sam asks, eyeing the top of the stairs. Two wings of the house spread out on either side of the staircase, and Eloni and Tuk begin to lead them down the left wing.
"Most of the old stories about most everything are true," Eloni says with a smirk, echoing Castiel's words from earlier.
Sam laughs, nodding. If there's one thing he's learned on the job, it's that. He peeks into one of the first bedrooms, eyes widening. The room is almost as big as most one-bedroom apartments he and Dean have stayed in over the years. In fact, the rooms are actually more like suites, and there appears to be a large balcony attached to each one.
"You all will have this wing of the house to yourself. Any bedroom is yours for the duration of your stay," Eloni says.
The room Sam finally dumps his stuff in is pretty sweet. Nicely decorated with dark wood furniture and modern art, with floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall that overlook the grounds. Plus, the king-sized bed looks big enough for all of Sam's limbs.
Dean and Castiel choose a room a couple of doors down, and Sam smiles because he is more than happy to not have to be scarred for life anymore by the noises he hears radiating from their bedroom at night, thank you very much. He heads into their room and whistles at the view. It's incredible: white sandy beaches with the ocean stretching off into the horizon.
"When we kill this sonofabitch, we're taking a much needed vacation here, man," Dean says, collapsing spread-eagle-style on the bed and sinking his head down into the downy, silk-covered pillows.
Castiel sits beside him on the bed, smiling down at Dean, whispering, "I'd like that."
Sam smirks at the display, unable to resist adding: "Or you guys can just come here for your honeymoon."
Dean flips him the bird and mutters, "Bond chick."
"Wholphins," Sam retorts with a laugh, and damn, Cthulhu-apocalypse or not, it feels good to laugh like this again.
"Rest yourself, gentlemen," Eloni says from the doorway, smiling at them indulgently. "Make yourselves at home, the house is yours. If you are able, please meet me downstairs for four o'clock. I can show you my research."
Glancing at his watch, Sam takes that as his cue to head back to his room. He has two hours. Time enough for a shower, a nap, and a catch-up call to Mira. Oh, and maybe a dip in the hot tub he saw down by the pool.
- - - - -
"Tell me something, Cas," Dean says, because this place is incredible, and brings back all those dreams he had when he was twelve and wanted to be Indiana Jones. "Is this sort of like looking through an old photo album?"
Castiel runs his hand along Dean's lower back before stepping around him to eye the ancient relics covering the table. "It's strange to see things I once saw in their prime, eroded by time," he says after a beat. "It's not something I used to think about. But now, I look around and think of the limited amount of time humans experience here on Earth."
Dean sucks in a sharp breath and winds his hand around Castiel's waist. "You need to think about cheerier things, man."
Castiel meets his eyes and smiles. "If it makes you feel better, I often think about you," he says simply.
Dean feels his face heat up and turns away to look across the room to where his brother and Tuk are pulling books off of one of the shelves. They're currently on the bottom floor of Eloni's villa in a private study the size of most libraries. It houses Eloni's research and private collections, and in many ways this place could be called a private museum, with its rows of dark wooden cabinetry displaying relics and artifacts from around the world.
Floor-to-ceiling dark mahogany bookcases line the walls, crammed with hundreds of books on history, lore, and the supernatural. Dean explores, running his hands along the bookshelves, his hunter instincts telling him to make note of all the books he might need for future reference. Dean definitely wants to introduce Bobby to Eloni because he thinks maybe these two were meant for each other.
While Castiel moves to look around further, Dean follows the row of artifacts before him, a mix of ancient masks, hand-carved wooden statues, tools, weapons, and pottery. Dean pauses for a moment, eyeing one particular mask sitting on a shelf, his hand instinctively running over his amulet. The bronze mask sort of resembles it, a human head with bull-like horns.
"Hey Eloni," Dean says, finding her at a nearby shelf.
Eloni looks up from the copper plate she had been reaching for. "See anything that you like?"
He points to the mask, asking, "What's the story on that? It kind of looks like my bronze charm."
Eloni steps closer to Dean, taking his necklace between her fingers and examining the amulet for a long moment. "I've never been sure of the exact origins of my mask, since horned gods appear in many ancient cultures. I would guess that the one you're wearing is an Egyptian protection deity," Eloni says, stepping back to pick up her mask from the shelf and examine it. "This is something much older. I've always thought this mask was a Sumerian warrior."
"Does it burn hot in the presence of God?" Dean asks, smirking.
Eloni shoots Dean a curious look. "I highly doubt it."
"Then mine is still cooler," Dean says, shrugging. "Mostly though, cuz Sammy gave it to me. Speaking of my brother…" He turns to see Sam pretty much humping a bookshelf as he makes orgasm faces at being near so many old books.
"He's definitely enjoying himself," Eloni says with a soft laugh.
Dean grunts, shaking his head. "A little too much if you ask me, but hey, to each his own."
Eloni pats Dean on his back before making her way over to her son. Before following, Dean pauses to take another close look at one of the artifacts in the cabinet in front of him, a stone carving depicting some kind of joining between man and woman. Kinky.
"That one's a fertility idol from Atlantis." Castiel's warm rumble distracts Dean from trying to figure out the spiral symbol carved into the bottom of the stone guy's mammoth-sized dick. Dean turns his head; the angel is standing along his back, his breath pressing warm against Dean's cheek, and looking intensely at the display.
"Are you telling me that Atlantis was real?" Dean asks, skeptical.
Castiel looks up at Dean, his frown deepening. "Of course it was real."
Dean huffs out a breath and shakes his head. "Cas there are just some things you need to ease a guy into."
"Is this about your sex life again?" Sam interrupts, coming up from behind them and frowning at Dean like he just tasted something gross.
Dean groans, and Castiel shakes his head. "No, although Dean and I are taking it slow," the angel says quietly.
Sam's eyes widen. "Okay, way too much information for me," he mutters and turns around to head back across the room.
"Cas, what did I tell you about scaring Sam away with stuff like that?" Dean asks, shaking his head and trying not to laugh.
"Be comforted by the fact that he doesn't look as troubled as the time he walked in while Mira and I were discussing the Kama Sutra's use of Tantra," Castiel assures.
"Wait what? As in tantric sex?" Dean says, because wait, what?
Castiel shrugs. "She'd been exploring the connection between spirituality, worship and sex, and had questions about how humans could tap into tantric energy for not only pleasure, but spiritual awakening and healing. She and Sam had been practicing deep meditation and she wanted to bring that ritual into all of their day-to-day-"
"Wait, please don't say anything else," Dean cuts in, crying on the inside. He has to shake it off. though, so he continues, "Anyway, sex is sex, Cas. We don't need all that hoodoo magic added to it."
Castiel looks up at Dean, a curious expression on his face. "You're made uncomfortable by this, I see," he says, voice soft with understanding. He looks at Dean for a long, searching moment, and Dean feels like pulling his eyes away, embarrassed, but before he does, Castiel adds, "Dean, there's actually nothing to feel shame about. I understand that humans rarely like to connect their unions to spiritual expression, to a sacred act. Even for my brothers and sisters here on Earth, they often had sex as their human vessels had sex, without connecting it to the sort of divine expression angels shared with each other when we joined in our true forms."
Dean lowers his voice and asks, "So angels do have sex? I mean, I know you all can have sex when you're in human bodies, which actually still kind of weirds me out. But, like when you're all multi-dimensional wavelengths and stuff? You have sex like that?" He'd always wondered what that would be like for them.
"Although I've never had the occasion," Castiel says, smiling softly, probably thinking back to the first time Dean had asked him the question, and the resulting failed experiment at trying to get him laid at a brothel. Dean sometimes has the worst ideas. "But yes, we have what is more closely akin to spiritual communion. We experience each other, but also through each other, we experience the divine, the essential oneness of ourselves with our Father's creation."
"Huh," Dean says, because that seems pretty intense. In truth, sex with Castiel has been among the most intense experiences he's ever had in the bedroom, but the thought of connecting on an even deeper level kind of freaks him out.
Castiel is smiling at him, knowingly. "Dean if you'd like, I can introduce you to Tantra. It simply involves tapping into the full expression of our existence, a merging with our combined sexual energies."
"Seriously, guys, are you really still going on about your sex life?" Sam says, reappearing at Dean's side with an armful of books. He shoots them both scandalized looks before saying, "Mind helping us out over there with the research instead?"
Dean happily obliges, shooting Cas a 'please behave' look before following his brother to the large oak table in the center of the room.
"You gotta admit, this place is pretty cool," Sam tells Dean as all three of them take their seats around the table.
"I could tell by the fact you were making orgasm faces at the books," Dean quips, waggling his brows at his baby brother.
Sam shoots him one of his looks, before rolling his eyes at Dean and continuing to whisper sweet-nothings to the 200-year-old copy of One Thousand and One Nights in his hand.
Castiel sits close beside Dean, craning his neck to gaze up into the shadows of the room. "This room is heavily warded," the angel says quietly. "Eloni has done well in protecting her work."
"It's why my son and I have used this place as our base of operation for the past three months, making the move from Chile to here. It allows me the privacy I need to track the Cthulhu cults moving across South America and the South Pacific," Eloni says, joining them at the table. She unrolls a giant map across the surface, and Tuk appears at her side, placing books at each corner of the map to hold it open.
While Tuk takes a seat at the table, Eloni continues to speak. "I didn't make the link between the chain of events happening globally until I started tracking the cults' activities. The disappearances, the strange signs, the cosmic upset - from all that I've researched, they are portents of the Beast's rise. The cults know it too, and they've been making arrangements across the world, especially here in the South Pacific islands, to prepare its way."
"That's why shit's been so bad all over," Dean says, voice coming out thicker than he'd expected.
"The cults are using very old rituals and magic," Eloni says quietly. "Things that I've only heard of in legend."
"In many ways this is a time of legend," Castiel says, voice booming loud and ominous in the solemn quiet of the room. Dean turns to look at Cas, but the angel's eyes are glazed over, his face lost in thought.
Sam throws Dean a curious look, but Dean can only shrug. Sam turns to look at Eloni and says, "Professor, we know Harper filled you in about our plan." He pauses, running his finger along the spine of another one of the tomes he'd been examining. "We need to locate a specific artifact. Along with an artifact we already located in Brazil, our sources say it could help us to stop Cthulhu."
"Hastur's weapons," Eloni says, nodding her head. "I'd heard of the legend so long ago, but when Harper spoke of the sword you'd found, I just knew it had to be the same ones. He asked me if I knew how to use the sword. But I told him I could do something better: find the other artifact."
"That's exactly what we need," Sam says, voice eager.
Eloni runs a hand over the map, fingers trailing across the expanse of the Pacific. "It's said that Hastur made three weapons powerful enough to be used by his followers against Cthulhu," she explains. "Each on their own, or combined together, could do damage to the Beast. Even kill him. Or so the legend says."
"We lost the dagger," Castiel says, voice low with regret, as he reenters the conversation. "So there are only the two remaining."
Dean touches Castiel's knee under the table, looks at Eloni, and says, "And we're hoping the two remaining weapons will be enough to stop him."
Sam voice is quiet, tense, when he asks, "So you can help us locate the third?"
"I can," Eloni says, looking at them all for a long moment. "But there's one more thing you'll need once you attain Hastur's artifacts." She motions for Tuk to retrieve something from one of her locked cabinets.
A couple of minutes pass, and Dean's legs begin bouncing up and down in anticipation. Castiel traces a hand over his thigh, and Dean feels himself calming immediately.
"What is that?" Sam asks when Tuk finally sets a large book down in the center of the table. It had to weight a few pounds.
Tuk smiles wide and answers, "The Necronomicon."
Sam frowns, throwing a skeptical glance at the book. "That's just fiction."
"Yeah, Lovecraft made it up," Dean agrees, taking in the aged, weathered cover of the book. The book is bound shut by metal clasps, and its dark-brown leather hide looks almost like tanned human skin. The symbol on the cover is so rusted it is hard to make out.
"You come here chasing Cthulhu and you're going on about fiction?" Eloni says, huffing out a disbelieving laugh. She leans over the table and looks down at the heavy grimoire for a long moment, running her hand over the symbol on the cover. "No, this is the real thing. The one that inspired Lovecraft's fictional grimoire that goes by the same name. This is the book that Lovecraft based all his stories on."
"Well, shit," Dean breathes out, looking at the aged and beaten cover again, this time with wonder. "That's definitely something we didn't come across at Visyak's place."
"Dr. Eleanor Visyak?" Eloni says, brown eyes widening in surprise.
"Yeah, did you know her?" Sam asks, voice curious.
"I did," Eloni nods. "She taught Medieval Studies at San Francisco University. I ran across her many times in my career. We traveled in the same academic occultist circles, you might say. She'd been looking for a copy of this text for a long time, in fact, but I never revealed to her that I had one of the only copies still surviving on Earth. There was something about her that I just didn't trust. I could sense the black magic coming off of her."
Sam snorts, adding under his breath so that only Dean and Cas could hear, "Probably because she was a nine hundred-year-old monster from Purgatory."
Castiel shifts at Dean's side, and Dean places a hand on his thigh again. Dean knows that Cas is probably thinking about what he did to her in order to gain access to the spell that would open the doorway to Purgatory. It was her blood that Cas used to draw the ritual's sigils on the wall. Dean shakes away the thought and turns his eyes to the old book. "What is it that we need from this book anyway?"
"A spell," Eloni says, opening the book to reveal weathered, yellowing pages filled with small text, sketches, drawings, and sigils.
Dean feels his throat tighten, his neck prickling. "Another one. Of course," he mumbles.
"There's a specific ritual needed to wield the weapons?" Castiel asks, moving his hands toward the book.
"A very powerful one that you'll need to perform before using the artifacts," Eloni says, pushing the book toward Castiel before continuing with, "The book tells the histories of Hastur and Cthulhu. It also provides the spell and a map for where the artifacts are located."
"Why has no one located all of this before?" Sam asks, frowning. "If the book contains this kind of information…"
"Because like you said, Sam, everyone thinks this is fiction," Eloni says, exhaling a tired breath and shaking her head. "There are only five copies of the real Necronomicon in existence. No one believed Cthulhu would rise because no one believed he even existed."
"No one but his followers," Dean says, running a hand through his hair and groaning in frustration. He sits back in his seat and turns to watch Castiel peel back the pages of the book carefully, fully absorbed in his reading.
"Lovecraft did a good job of hoodwinking all of us," Eloni says quietly.
Dean shakes his head again, as if he can shake the craziness of this moment away. He attempts to throw a grateful smile toward Tuk and Eloni, but his lips manage to only curl into a sad grimace. "We really appreciate your help," he says anyway, frowning at the roughness in his voice.
"I didn't know what to do with all this information," Eloni admits. "I've been sitting on this all, at a loss as the world around us goes mad. But when Jonas called, it all made sense. It's like I've been waiting here for you, compiling this all because you were meant to find it."
"Fate," Castiel says, huffing a breath, but never raising his head from the book.
Dean clenches his jaw. "Or something," he murmurs. Cas touches the small of Dean's back, and Dean can still feel the imprint of his hand long after he moves it.
Sam leans forward then, steepling his hands under his chin as he looks at Eloni. "Professor, how did you even get involved with all of this?" he asks, in the sort of curious tone that Dean suspects he used on all his professors back at Stanford.
"I inherited my father's obsession," she says, lips curling sadly.
Dean shoots Sam a pointed look, because, well, yeah, that's something they both know a hell of a lot about. He clears his throat and asks, "How so?"
"My father was an academic like myself," she explains, voice sobering. "He taught history and civilization for over twenty years before he started concentrating exclusively on word religion. He was researching comparative demonology across cultures for a journal article he'd planned to publish. And well, one day he met himself a real demon." She pauses, takes a deep breath and looks at them all steadily. "He survived the possession, fortunately. Unfortunately he became a true believer in the supernatural, and that is what really destroyed him. You see, he tried to tell his colleagues about his experience, but they all thought he'd gone crazy. My father would insist to them: 'These things are real,' he'd say. 'We must do something!'" Eloni quirks her lips in a sad smile, shaking her head. "He lost his tenure, his funding, and his family. It ruined him."
"But you believed him?" Sam asks.
"Not at the time," Eloni says, exhaling deeply. "I thought he was a crazy loon like everyone else did. I hated him in fact, blamed him for destroying our family, breaking my mother's heart. But years later, after he died, I came across boxes of his old research. The things he talked about…they blew my mind. I was in grad school at the time, and it gave me the freedom to look into a lot of what my father had been researching before his death. Look long enough, and you will find the truth."
"True enough," Dean says on a quiet exhale. "Most people though…they don't want to see what's right in front of them. They rather lie to themselves than believe in this stuff."
"The thing about doing the work that I do," Eloni says, turning to glance at Tuk, who's watching her quietly. "The work that Tuk and I do together as a family," she corrects with a smile. "We see all the ways that human society has tried to deal with our boogiemans. Myth and legend, folklore and fairytale. Religion itself. Just words we use to talk about things that the historical record doesn't know what to do with. To talk about the mystery of our creation. Tuk and I, we go where the mystery is."
"Aren't you freaked out by the stuff you find there?" Sam asks, sounding genuinely curious.
"Every damn day," Eloni says, laughing softly. "Every damn day."
"You are brave to do this work," Castiel says, looking up for the first time in a long while. He turns to regard all of them when he says, "This book is very old, very powerful magic, some of which I have not seen used in thousands of years."
Eloni cants her head, expression wry. "How old are you exactly, Mr. Angel of the Lord?" she asks, her voice a low tease.
Dean, Sam, and Castiel all answer at the same time, laughing: "Old."
Eloni arches a brow. "Okay, then," she says, smirking and sitting back in her chair. "What other questions do you have for me?"
Sam reaches out and slides the Necronomicon in front of him, eyeing it carefully. "What else can you tell us about this? About any of this stuff? I feel like we need to be as prepared as we can be before taking this on."
"We do," Castiel agrees with a nod, running a hand over his stubble in a way that Dean always finds a bit endearing. Dean smiles to himself and looks away as Castiel continues to speak. "I do not know very much about the Great Old Ones myself," the angel admits quietly. "Their time is before even that of the angels."
Eloni still looks like she wants to play 20 Questions with Castiel, Angel of the Lord, but she lets it go and says instead, "Alright, then. But if I'm giving a lecture on Cthulhu history, I need to get some food and wine in my system. How about we reconvene upstairs in the dining room, and we can talk more about this over dinner?"
On cue, Dean's belly lets out a low, rumbling growl, and everyone around the table starts laughing. Dean sighs, giving them all dirty looks before he says, "Please tell me there's pie."
Sam makes a face and stands up from the table. "Ignore my brother, professor."
"Shut it, Sam. I had to ride in a death machine over two thousand miles of ocean. I want some pie," Dean mumbles, and Castiel leans over and massages his back, whispering in his ear that even if he doesn't get pie tonight, Dean will definitely get something else just as sweet.
Dean smiles because, yeah, that'll work too.
- - - - -
The formal dining room is as breathtaking as the rest of the house. Paintings and mirrors cover the walls, dark draperies hang across the wide windows, and a low-hanging chandelier casts the room in a delicate ambient light.
Castiel is helping Tuk and Eloni with dinner, but Sam finds Dean standing by himself, a troubled frown on his face. His brother is looking up at a painting hanging over the far right wall of the dining room when Sam comes up behind him to examine it. "Damn, that almost looks like an original," he breathes out when he sees it up close.
Dean jumps, seeming surprised to find Sam there. "What are you on about?"
Sam points to the painting. "The original is definitely in the Louvre right?"
Dean looks confused. "What original?"
Sam squints, moving closer to examine the painting in more detail. It's definitely a really good replica of Raphael's famous masterpiece picturing Michael killing Lucifer. "It's called 'St. Michael Slaying the Dragon'," Sam explains, trying not to let it remind him too much of the Cage. It doesn't really remind him of it at all; the two angels' actual battles resemble nothing of the soft, almost tranquil scene in the painting.
"Whatever it is, it's creeping me the fuck out," Dean mutters, turning away from the image. "I remember seeing the same painting in the Green Room Zachariah trapped me in."
"Then we definitely won't be starting with The Book of Revelation," Eloni says, joining the both of them by the painting, bottle of wine in her hand. "The history we are here to talk about precedes it anyway. It fact, it inspired it."
Sam turns to her and asks, "What do you mean?"
Eloni answers softly with, "And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent called the Devil, and Satan which deceiveth the whole world; he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him."
"From Revelation 12:9," Sam says, all too familiar with the passage.
"Yes," Eloni nods. "But Lucifer wasn't the only thing cast into the earth. There were Dragons aplenty before him. And there's a reason he was also called the Dragon or the Beast." She pauses and looks at both Sam and Dean for a long moment before continuing. "Take a seat, gentlemen. Let's eat and talk all about the beasts of old."
- - - - -
Sam feels a little guilty for digging into his plate as he watches Castiel and Tuk move back and forth from the kitchen, placing hot dishes on the table as they become ready.
But according to Dean, Cas has become somewhat of a Top Chef contender in the kitchen. It's kind of funny, and sometimes Sam imagines what they all would be like as normal people, living some idyllic domestic life. Dean and Cas would host Sunday dinners, and Cas would own a little bakery shop on the corner of some small-town Main Street. Sam would own a couple of dogs that Dean would spoil rotten and try to steal away from him with slices of bacon in his pocket…
"Yo, earth to Sammy," Dean says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "You eating your roll?"
"Dude, gross, please swallow," Sam says automatically before taking a very pointed and big bite of his roll. Sam meets Dean's glare with a flippant grin.
"Shut it, bitch," Dean mumbles, but his frown turns into a wide smile as Castiel walks back into the room with a huge steaming pan of what looks like glazed lobster.
"Are you sure we can't help?" Sam says, taking the pan from Castiel and placing it in the center of the table.
"Everything's just about ready," Castiel says, taking a seat beside Dean. Tuk and Eloni arrive a moment later, placing the last items onto the table and taking their own seats. Eloni settles in at the head of the table and passes a bottle of expensive-looking red wine around, which Sam uses to fill both his and Dean's glasses.
A colorful array of food items now covers the table. Seared salmon and stuffed lobster, fresh salads and steamed vegetables, creamy potatoes and baked pork chops. Rolls warm and buttery enough to melt in their mouths. Sam licks his lips, and begins to fill his plate, only pausing when Eloni dings her spoon on her wine glass to get their attention.
"To safe journeys," she says, raising her glass in a toast. Sam follows, and he sees Dean directing Cas as well in the toast.
"To safe journeys," they say all together, sipping from their glasses.
They pass serving bowls and dishes amongst each other, and for a long while no one speaks, the soft clanking and clacking of silverware against plates the only noise in the room as they all take the time to enjoy a home-cooked meal.
A while later, stuffed beyond stuffed, Sam picks up his spoon and samples the vegetable soup. Spicy and garlicky, just the way he likes. "This is all amazing," he says when he manages to pause in between sips, smiling over at Eloni and Tuck. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"Your angel here was great help with dessert," Eloni says, casting a smile Castiel's way.
Dean seems to light up at that, and Castiel flushes when Dean nudges the angel's shoulder, and Sam really needs for them to get married already and adopt kittens. Seriously.
"Truth is, this is the least I could do," Eloni continues, heaving a heavy breath. "Seeing as you're trying to save the world. The next few days are not going to be easy."
"So, this is like the last meal before the execution?" Sam says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and settling back in his chair.
"Well," Eloni says, running a finger along the edge of her wine glass. "Your last meal before confronting an eons-old tentacled sea beast."
"Same difference," Dean mumbles, pushing forward in his chair to fill up what Sam suspects is his third plate.
Sam grabs the last bread roll before Dean can reach it, and smirks when his brother shoots him another murderous glare.
"Don't forget to save room for dessert," Tuk says in amusement as Sam swallows his bread in two easy bites.
"I always have room for dessert," Dean says around the bite of food in his own mouth. "Ain't that right, Cas?"
Castiel makes a non-committal noise from the back of his throat, but keeps on eating even though Sam can tells he's smiling to himself in the way the angel sometimes smiles with his eyes. Sam shakes his head at the two of them, and spoons more potatoes and steamed veggies onto his own plate. Second serving in hand, he turns to look at the professor and says, voice pitched low, "Why is any of this Cthulhu stuff even happening?"
Eloni puts her fork down gently and wipes her hands on her napkin before placing it back on her lap. "Prophecy?" she says, opening her hands wide as if to say 'who knows'. "Your guess is as good as mine, Sam."
Sam sits back in his chair, sighing. "I wish we knew," he says, rolling his napkin between his fingers and trying not to let all of the uncertainty swirling around in his head unsettle his stomach.
"What I do know is that the Necronomicon is said to be one of the most powerful grimoires of black magic," Eloni says into the quiet of the room. "It even predates the Lesser Key of Solomon when it comes to rituals for demon summoning. It foretells the rise of Cthulhu's sunken city of R’lyeh, and the awakening of Cthulhu and the other Great Old Ones. It also has spells to help bring several powerful deities, multi-dimensional beings, and monsters from the underworld into our world."
Eloni pauses, looking up when Tuk arrives with pie, coffee, and tea. The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulls Sam's attention away for a moment as Eloni helps Tuk pass cups and saucers around the table before continuing. "The book's stories, incantations, invocations, sigils, rituals, spells, and prayers are based on pantheons and traditions older than most modern religions, but I've found that the book also relies heavily on Sumerian cosmology and spirituality," she says.
"Isn't Sumerian religion thought to be the basis and inspiration for most modern religions, including Judeo-Christian beliefs?" Sam asks, cutting himself a piece of cherry pie, the rich aroma filling his nostrils. He knows Dean will be pleased.
"Yes," Eloni says around a mouthful of pie. She swallows, sips from her coffee before continuing. "That's why many of the themes you'll find there are replicated throughout several religions. We even see it with Cthulhu. Think of Tiamet or Dagon of Babylonian mythology. Or the Leviathan of Christian mythology. Legendary sea gods representing chaos and destruction."
"Are they all based on the same creature?" Dean asks, pouring himself and Cas cups of coffee.
"Many of them, possibly yes," Castiel breaks in, taking his cup of coffee from Dean and sipping at it slowly before adding, "Some represent the same primal, chaotic cosmic force, just renamed by different religious traditions. But that's not always the case for all of the Great Old Ones. There are times when many of these are separate deities, whose powers simply manifest in similar ways."
Sam recalls the Sumerian rituals and rites of purification and invocation they've used many times in their line of work. "But for the gods that represent the same forces across traditions," he says, understanding dawning, "it would explain why so many rituals and protective sigils that are based in this overarching Sumerian belief system work across the board, right?"
Eloni taps a finger on the cover of the Necromonicon. "Exactly," she says. "And another thing that's true across all traditions: the fact that so many ancient, malevolent gods are constantly striving to break into our world through a gate or door that leads from the outside in. They are waiting for the age of the old gods to begin anew. In the case of Cthulhu and the Great Old Ones, their followers are always looking for ways to open the gates. Or to take advantage of an opening that already exists."
"The rips between the worlds," Castiel says, eyes widening. "We've seen them happening in many places across the globe. It's what these deities are using to come through."
Dean hands Sam a fresh cup of coffee, and Sam lifts his cup to his mouth and watches his brother over the rim as he drinks. Dean looks worried, his eyes clouding over as he glances at Castiel. After a beat, Dean pushes his half-empty plate away with the tip of his fingers. He leans back and drums his fingers against his coffee cup. "And they're not stopping."
There's a moment of heavy silence, and Sam feels his belly twist uncomfortably. He sucks in a breath and releases it, turning to look at Eloni. "Where does this connect with the modern pantheon?"
"Well," Eloni says, picking at the crumbs on her plate. "The Old Ones are said to be the basis of our subconscious fears of the dark, of the unknown. The reason the Christian Devil came to personify symbols such as the Dragon and the Beast is because these were archetypes ancient cultures were already familiar with. These symbols were the powerful gods that represented chaos before Christianity's rise." She continues by reciting: "'And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.'"
"They named the devil after a collective memory of a great evil that had already been thrown into the underworld," Sam says, shaking off the image of Lucifer in the form he had known him by in the Cage.
"But," Dean says, tossing his napkin down and leaning forward, pressing his knuckles against the table. "Where did these 'gods' even come from?"
"The Great Old Ones, according to legend, were the original inhabitants of the world," Eloni says. "They were a giant primordial race of ancient deities that ruled the Earth."
"Like the Titans," Sam offers, sipping from his cooling coffee.
Eloni bobs her head. "Same story, different tradition."
Castiel looks up, brows furrowed as if deep in thought. His voice is low and rough when he finally speaks. "We were taught that the Great Old Ones came before the creation of humans, angels, and other monsters and beasts. They were among the first creations of the Father. They were powerful, strong, and destructive. But they were too powerful. They threatened to consume and destroy everything in my Father's creation, so he banished them to the darkness."
"The first origin story. This is why across cultures there are so many stories of chaotic entities trapped for the good of the world, cast into the sea or the underworld and locked away," Eloni says.
Dean clears his throat, rubbing a hand behind his neck. He looks at Cas for a long moment before looking at Sam and Eloni. "So, you're telling me we're dealing with things older than angels?"
Castiel meets Dean's eyes and nods. "Before Satan, there was Cthulhu."
Sam leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. Damn.
"Cthulhu: the beast who would rise from the sea at the Apocalypse," Eloni says, voice somber and prophetic. "At the right time, when the stars and the earth were rightly aligned, some powerful force from outside would liberate him, and he would come to reclaim his kingdom."
- - - - -
Episode 21: The Sprinting Dead (Part I Continued)
Masterpost: Supernatural: Redemption Road (for full series info, warnings, and disclaimer)
Author: nyoka
Characters/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Sam, OCs
Rating: R for Part I
Word Count: ~20,000 for Part I
Warnings: language, sexuality for Part I
Beta: zatnikatel
Chapter Notes: Due to size this episode is being split into two parts, the first airing here tonight and the second airing on 9/13.
Author's Notes: A million hugs of gratitude to my amazing artists for sticking it out for this chapter despite the crazy summer, and for their patience and inspiring work.
Art: Chapter cover and digital designs by animotus, which you can also find here; digital painting by smallworld-inc, which you can also find here; digital paintings by slinkymilinky, which you can also find here; digital paintings by ammo, which you can also find here; and digital paintings by kuma_la_la, which you can also find here (all art contains spoilers for the episode).
Summary: In a jungle of long-ago mystery, Dean and Castiel grow closer as the world around them begins to spin out of control.
"Thus you may understand that love alone
is the true seed of every merit in you,
and of all acts for which you must atone."
―Dante Alighieri, Purgatorio
- - - - -
I. The Call
In the Air over the South Pacific
Fifteen Miles North of Easter Island
Dean slides a shaky hand over his thigh, fingers nervously drumming along to the hard rhythm of Master of Puppets spilling out of the earphones of Sam's iPod. His brother had passed him the music player once they were airborne, probably figuring it was the most effective way of calming Dean down. Dean sucks in a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut tight just as the lyrics fill his head: Hell is worth all that, natural habitat. Just a rhyme without a reason. Never-ending maze, drift on numbered days. Now your life is out of season.
Dean opens his eyes when he feels Castiel squeeze his hand. The angel's seated on Dean's right, his long body leaning in toward Dean as if offering protection, and Dean shoots him a thankful smile before pressing his head back against the headrest and humming softly to himself. The window to his left shows only wide-blue sky. He's seen the same thing for the last thousand miles - the last three hours - and he doesn't really feel any need to see it again. Dean turns his head away.
The problem is that the charter plane is too damn small and too damn cramped, and they've been in the air for way too damn long, as far as Dean's concerned. In the seat across from him, Sam's smiling to himself, oblivious and unconcerned, geeking out to his giant world atlas, which showcases the glossy shine of remote Polynesian islands scattered in a sea of infinite blue every time he turns the page. Dean sighs; at least someone seems to be enjoying their little misadventure.
When the plane rocks around him, Castiel squeezes Dean's hand tighter. Dean breathes in and out, sucking in deep breath after breath for several moments, feeling like some kind of lamaze coach. Or maybe Castiel is the coach, and Dean's the one going into labor. Fuck it, Dean groans, turning off the music and dumping the iPod at his feet. It's not working anyway. He lets his gaze fall out of the window again, onto the expanse of blue ocean rolling out beneath them.
He really friggin' hates planes. Especially these small little-bitty ones they've been hopping around in since they left Brazil. They were able to dump the German tour group at their stop-over in Santiago de Chile, before boarding what Dean assumes is some kind of small smuggler craft. Their pilot, Raúl, is a friend of Harper's, and he'd been traveling with a crate of weapons, everything Sam, Dean, and Castiel would need to kick some serious monster ass in the near future.
Dean turns away from the window, and tries not to think about hurtling two-thousand feet above the Pacific. It's a five-hour flight, and it's been bumpy the entire way going. They're in a four-seater, single-engine Cessna 172 Skyhawk, and Dean knows enough about machines to know this one is older than dirt, probably held together with duct-tape, spit and a prayer. It's noisy too, the engine's racket drowning out most attempts at conversation. It's just the four of them now, and Raúl tosses Dean a thumbs-up every time he straightens the tiny plane out after it lurches unexpectedly. Dean grunts and squirms in his seat.
"We'll be landing shortly," Castiel whispers in Dean's ear, hand squeezing Dean's again. It's weird to be the one being mother-henned, because Dean's so used to being the one looking out for people. But he knows Cas has got his back, and for once he's able to let loose a deep breath and sink lower in his seat. He's managed to keep his lunch so far, so at least he has that much going for him. Since taking off from Santiago, they've made only one fuel stop - on a small, remote South Pacific island with a landing strip hacked into a grassy field. Needless to say, Dean had not been impressed.
"Still don't know why we couldn't have driven," Dean groans, purposely pouting.
Castiel's lips curl softly as he teases the fingers of their joined hands together. "Because even the Impala is not badass enough to drive over two thousand miles of sea."
Sam snickers from across the way, tossing his giant atlas aside and picking up one of the books he'd brought with him. "This contact we're meeting sounds awesome. Modern-day Indiana-Jones type. She wrote this book," Sam pauses, holding up the tattered hardback in his hand, "about the use of magic in the modern age. It's fascinating."
Dean rolls his eyes, sighs wearily. "Thank you, Professor Winchester."
As if on cue, the plane lurches forward again, Sam chuckles, and Castiel kisses Dean's cheek to comfort him. Fuck everything, Dean sighs, closes his eyes, and hums Fade to Black.
- - - - -
The late afternoon sunlight flashes across the still water, and in the distance Dean can see the curved outline of the island, the lush, rugged green coast welcoming visitors to what could easily be the edge of the world.
"Easter Island is thought to be the most remote inhabited island in the world," Sam's saying with nerd-boy glee as he unbuckles his seatbelt. Dean grunts and works to steady his shaking hands in order to unhook his own seatbelt. A moment before, the tiny plane had touched down on a private dirt airstrip outside the port town of Hanga Roa.
"Bienvenidos a Rapa Nui!" Raúl says cheerily from the pilot seat once the engine finally cuts off, and Dean feels like he can actually breathe again.
"Dude, we so have to see the Rano Kau," Sam says, a big goofy smile covering his face as he waggles his Lonely Planet guidebook at Dean.
"Is that some kind of kinky porn?" Dean squints at his brother skeptically. "Should I warn Mira?"
Sam flips him the bird and begins packing his books back into his backpack. Castiel is laughing at them softly, running his hand up and down Dean's arm, a gesture that Dean maybe likes a little too much. "I remember when that volcano last erupted," Castiel comments. "It was magnificent. The ash blackened the sky for almost a year."
Dean tenses, brows arching. "It's not still active, right?"
Castiel shuffles his bookbag onto his back and begins to slowly exit the plane behind Sam. "Not for more than five thousand years," he says with an assuring smile.
"Dude, sometimes I forget you are so friggin' old," Dean huffs, climbing down from the plane behind Castiel and breathing in the fresh, oxygen-rich island air. He looks around at the bumpy dirt runway, frowning at the fact that they seem to have landed on yet another airstrip in the middle of nowhere.
"How old are you exactly, Cas?" Sam says, helping Raúl to unload the rest of the duffle bags and the container of smuggled weapons from the plane.
Castiel looks at Sam for a moment, smiling mysteriously. "Old."
Dean snorts and stands beside Castiel, watching Raúl perform his routine check of the plane. Happy to no longer be trapped in that thing while in the air, Dean closes his eyes and lets himself readjust to the feel of solid ground under his boots. The temperature is mild, and a gusty breeze is coming in from the sea, drying the sweat on Dean's skin.
"So what now?" Sam asks, dumping his duffle bag full of research at his feet and standing on Dean's right side.
Turning from the plane, Dean surveys the desolate landing site, trying to get their bearings after being in the air for so long. Miles of grassy fields surround them on all sides in what Raúl had called an old, abandoned sugar plantation.
Eyes panning over the expanse of remote countryside, Dean takes in the broad, summer-green hills that hug the shores of the white-sand beaches he'd seen from the air.
"I think that mountain to the west must be Rano Kau," Sam says, holding out a map and locating their coordinates.
In the far distance, Dean hears the sound of an old engine, and he cocks his head toward the hills for a long moment before he sees what he'd been listening for.
"The welcoming party," he says, pointing to the sky-blue Land Rover turning the corner of the dirt road, kicking up dust and bumping over the rocky terrain.
When the vehicle grounds to a halt a few feet in front of them, Castiel goes tense, and Dean waits a beat before putting his hand on Sam's shoulder to prevent any forward motion.
They wait another moment, and then the driver's-side window rolls down all the way, and a woman sticks her head out, a broad smile working its way across her face. She pushes her shades up, settling them atop her head, and says, "Sorry I'm late, gentlemen. I got caught up giving a video lecture to a group of researchers from the University of Hawaii on the impact of ancient gods on modern religion."
"Professor Eloni Nam'ulu?" Sam says, stepping forward and circling toward the driver's side.
"That's me," she says and jumps out of the Land Rover, her big boots kicking up sand and dust as they hit the ground. She's short, not more than 5'3, and her sun-browned legs extend from rumpled khaki shorts. She strides purposely toward them and shakes all of their hands as they introduce themselves.
Dean thinks back to all the info Harper had shared about their contact. Professor Nam'ulu is a renowned archaeologist and ethnologist in her early fifties. She's on sabbatical from Oxford, and she's written extensively about Cthulhu cults. Lucky for them, she'd been tracking the weird happenings across the world and has followed the movements of one particular Cthulhu cult across the islands of the South Pacific.
Dean eyes her for a long moment, taking her in. She's rugged in appearance, her voice whiskey-rough as she chats in Spanish with Raúl. She has a full, heart-shaped face with olive skin and thick salt-and-pepper hair twisted up into a sloppy bun. Something about her reminds him a bit of Ellen, or maybe Jody Mills. She seems to have the kind of smile that eases tension, calms nerves, and hints at a wellspring of inner-strength.
"So, you're actually hunting Cthulhu?" she says, her words interrupting Dean's thoughts as she turns to meet his gaze head-on.
Dean responds with a shrug. "Something like that. Looking for a weapon that could stop him."
Eloni shakes her head, eyes closing for a moment before she turns to look at each of them. "I've been fearing this moment would come. All the signs…all the cult activity."
"So you know he's real?" Sam says, brow creasing.
Eloni sighs softly and says, "Spend most of your life digging up ancient civilizations and your outlook on what's 'real' changes. There's evidence of something like Cthulhu going back thousands of years. This is no fairy tale, gentlemen."
"Many myths and legends have an origin in something real," Castiel says, and Dean smiles at that because, hello, angel.
They move quickly then, loading themselves and their bags into Eloni's Land Rover, which she expertly maneuvers back onto the road with no wasted time. The sun is high in the sky as they take the winding dirt road past another farm, and up into the foothills of one of the mountains, its rocky peaks rising lava-brown against the clear sky.
Castiel pushes close to Dean in the backseat, and takes Dean's hand in his own. They've been doing this a lot, joining hands every chance they can, pulling themselves closer together in some way, an outward symbol of what they've always known to be true deep down: every part of them is linked, bound together in this crazy way Dean doesn't have a name for.
Dean glances out at the rolling water of the South Pacific. Maybe theirs is a connection that runs as deep as the ocean.
- - - - -
Twenty minutes later, Sam's tracking their path on the map he's carrying. They're following the main road that winds along the coastline of the island, cows and horses dotting the green hills they pass. The road's unpaved, uneven, and potholed, and it sends the Land Rover bouncing with every mile.
"Think we'll have time to see the giant Moai statues?" Sam asks, twisting his head to take in more of the countryside, his long hair blowing with the wind.
"We head out tomorrow morning," Eloni says, raising her voice to be heard over the vehicle's engine. "But maybe you can spend a couple of extra days here before you head back to the States. The history of this island is a history of a people that survived against remarkable odds."
"They were so cut off from the world," Sam says, recalling what he read in the guidebook.
"It was what sped up the end for them. When they no longer had trees or resources, they were trapped here," Eloni says. "It's a tale of caution, in many ways. You can see pictures carved in the cave walls, depicting people's dreams of escape. Pictures of birds flying toward the sky. With no wood left to build boats, all the Rapa Nui people could do was look enviously at the birds that sailed effortless through the sky. All they could do was dream of flying."
Castiel clears his throat, and Sam turns to see Dean running his hand along the curve of the angel's back, where his wings would be if visible, and it's a motion that Sam knows is meant to give comfort. He smiles, wonders if his brother will ever admit to being in love with Cas.
"We're headed toward Pukao now, a beach on the north side of the island, which is where I am renting a home," Eloni explains. "We'll stay there tonight and then set sail out of the main harbor at Hanga Roa in the morning."
The road twists around a hill and then past a rocky cliff that plunges down toward the ocean. Waves break hard against the rocks there, and the air smells of salt and water. Sam thinks how idyllic this would all be if he didn't know what lurked out there beneath the surf. There are little cottages dotting the island, built simply with wood harvested from the towering palms, and there's a small beach just around the next bend, a small cove of calm blue water and white sand.
It's here that Eloni heads, directing the Land Rover inland. Sam glances out of the window, at the wind raking through the tall palms, at the grass huts lining the roadside.
"This community is called te pito o te henua," Eloni says, the road's rocks grinding loudly under the wheels of the vehicle as she turns into the curve. "The navel of the world."
"The middle of nowhere," Sam says as they round yet another curve, following the uphill slope.
"So a question then: where can a guy get a cheeseburger out here?" Dean says from the backseat, and Sam rolls his eyes, shooting his brother a dirty look.
"I saw cows on the hill two miles back," Castiel says, tone thoughtful.
Sam snickers, wondering if this was Castiel's way of offering to provide for Dean. "Seriously, guys?" he asks, exasperated.
"No need to scare the cows, Castiel," Eloni says, smiling from the driver's seat. "I've got food covered."
Dean whoops in satisfaction, and Sam grunts, glancing out of the dusty windshield, eyes widening as the vehicle rounds up a long, curved driveway. Before them the trees part to reveal an immense clearing, backdropped by the cloudless blue sky and lush volcanic hills. In the clearing itself is a sprawling two-story hacienda shaded by palm trees and edged by a landscaped lawn.
The Land Rover continues to wind up the gravel driveway before coming to a stop at the top of the circular drive. Sam manages to close his mouth when the engine cuts off. "Um, wow," he says.
Eloni smiles, shrugging. "One of the perks of finding long lost treasures: governments like to put you up in style, and museums pay very, very well."
Sam chuckles, turning to take in the rest of the villa. The house is made of white stucco and red hand-etched clay tiles, and the entrance is flanked by white marble columns. Orange and red tropical flowers add a burst of color to the scene; they crawl alongside vines up the ornate archway that leads to the front door. Palms dot the lawn, swaying gently with the breeze.
They sit there gaping at the house for a long moment, before the tall, wooden front doors fall open, and a lanky teenager walks out to greet them.
"Everyone, this is my son, Tukuah," Eloni introduces as she climbs out of the Land Rover, Sam, Dean, and Castiel slowly piling out behind her.
The boy's taller than Eloni, with a lean, wiry body and big hands he hasn't quite grown into. He has to dip his head as Eloni leans in to kiss his cheek. She ruffles his curly, dark hair as she pulls away, and asks, "Everything in order for our guests?"
"I've set up everything in your study," he says, nodding at his mother before turning a shy, dimpled smile on Sam, Dean, and Castiel. "Welcome to our home. You can call me Tuk."
"It's an awesome-looking house," Sam says, shaking the boy's proffered hand.
"Wait 'til you see the inside," Tuk says with a smile, motioning for them to follow him.
Sam, Dean, and Castiel quickly unload the vehicle, and arms laden with duffle bags, they follow Eloni and Tuk past a grand fountain and stone steps, and through the main entrance to the house. The entranceway opens into a foyer with elegant ornamentation, and they all pause here for a moment as Eloni whispers, "Hekai ite umu pare haonga takapu Hanau epe kai noruego."
Sam frowns, nudging Cas. "What's she saying?" he asks, voice low.
"It's a prayer recited to appease the spirit guardian of the home," Castiel says quietly. "A chant passed down from the original inhabitants of the island, when they dwelled in its caves."
"Oh, cool," Sam says, recalling reading something about the tradition in the history book he skimmed about the cultures of Easter Island.
"Dude, this place is friggin' ginormous," Dean says from next to him, bringing Sam back to the moment.
Sam nods, humming as he takes in the wide expanse of the luxuriously decorated living room. Sunlight streams through the large picture windows, bouncing off the crystal chandeliers. In the hallway, the whitewashed walls are covered with paintings, while sculptures and art pieces decorate shelves and tables, displaying an array of world cultures that Sam feels the need to stop and investigate at every turn.
Dean shoots him a "you're such a geek-boy" look that Sam takes in stride, because there are masterworks of art in this house, and he has no shame in geeking out over them. Plus, he's feeling good. Like, really good. He's gone weeks without Lucifer daymares, and exercise and meditation have helped him to feel more centered in his body. When Mira first introduced him to a new plan of intense mind-body healing practices she first learned at the hands of Buddhist monks in Nepal, Sam had been skeptical. But during the past three weeks, whenever she stayed over, they'd been getting up early and doing two hours of deep meditation and yoga that worked to calm the mind. It wasn't a cure-all, nothing would ever be. But combined with the right mix of medicine, herbal teas, and the techniques he'd picked up from Jody and her books, Sam has been managing his attacks better. He and Dean probably both need years (no, make that decades) of heavy counseling and other treatment, but for now they were keeping each other going, keeping each other human: making sure they don't get lost in the sharp-edged, dark corners of their memories.
Sam turns to look behind him. The rear of the house opens up with patio doors that lead down to an Olympic-size pool, surrounded by dark adobe tiles. Beyond the pool is a wide expanse of green lawn and then the ocean going into the distance. Not for the first time, Sam wishes he hadn't talked Mira out of taking this trip with them. But she's back at home, working with Tamara, Missouri, Bobby, and every other hunter in their inner-circle to keep the world in one piece while Sam, Dean, and Castiel go treasure hunting. Damn, he would have liked to take her skinny-dipping in that pool though, and from the look on Dean's face, Sam knows his brother is thinking the same thing in regards to Cas. Sam smiles at the Winchester brothers' newfound priorities.
Sam can only shake his head, a small chuckle passing his lips as he makes his way down the hall behind Castiel and his brother. It's been a long while since he and Dean have both been this wound up in other people, and not just each other. It feels like their little world is expanding bit by bit. It feels good.
Sam notices that the deep interior of the house smells of burning herbs and oil, which give off a warm, familiar scent. He looks around for the source of it and sees a bowl filled with leaves and dried flowers situated on an altar at the end of the hallway.
"Harper didn't tell us you practiced," Sam says carefully, shooting Dean a look, knowing how his brother feels about witches.
"You're a witch?" Dean asks, voice sliding sharp with distrust.
"I only work on the light's side, gentlemen," Eloni says, turning to look at them. They're standing in front of the wide, sweeping staircase, preparing to ascend.
Tuk places a hand on his mother's shoulder and adds, "It helps us with our work."
"Meaning?" Dean says lowly.
"It's alright, Dean. I only sense benevolent energies in the house," Castiel breaks in, his voice a soft rumble. "The magic practiced here is one of protection and guidance."
Eloni looks at Castiel, eyebrows arching. "Do you have the second sight, Castiel?"
Castiel frowns, tilting his head. "I don't know? I do have many sights. I'm…I was an angel of the Lord."
Eloni's mouth drops open, but Dean clears his throat loudly, cutting in to say, "Uh, so, yeah, Professor it's good to hear that you're Glinda the Good Witch and all. Me and Sammy haven't had the best experiences in the past."
Eloni seems to ease up at that, and Sam is grateful. "I understand," she says. "Spellcasting helps me in my day job. When I'm seeking artifacts, locator spells and protection spells ensure that I am able to do my job safely."
"And sometimes we have to break curses," Tuk adds as he begins to climb the grand staircase. "You'd be surprised how many dig sites we arrive at only to find objects that are covered with old curses."
"So all the old stories about cursed tombs are true?" Sam asks, eyeing the top of the stairs. Two wings of the house spread out on either side of the staircase, and Eloni and Tuk begin to lead them down the left wing.
"Most of the old stories about most everything are true," Eloni says with a smirk, echoing Castiel's words from earlier.
Sam laughs, nodding. If there's one thing he's learned on the job, it's that. He peeks into one of the first bedrooms, eyes widening. The room is almost as big as most one-bedroom apartments he and Dean have stayed in over the years. In fact, the rooms are actually more like suites, and there appears to be a large balcony attached to each one.
"You all will have this wing of the house to yourself. Any bedroom is yours for the duration of your stay," Eloni says.
The room Sam finally dumps his stuff in is pretty sweet. Nicely decorated with dark wood furniture and modern art, with floor-to-ceiling windows along the far wall that overlook the grounds. Plus, the king-sized bed looks big enough for all of Sam's limbs.
Dean and Castiel choose a room a couple of doors down, and Sam smiles because he is more than happy to not have to be scarred for life anymore by the noises he hears radiating from their bedroom at night, thank you very much. He heads into their room and whistles at the view. It's incredible: white sandy beaches with the ocean stretching off into the horizon.
"When we kill this sonofabitch, we're taking a much needed vacation here, man," Dean says, collapsing spread-eagle-style on the bed and sinking his head down into the downy, silk-covered pillows.
Castiel sits beside him on the bed, smiling down at Dean, whispering, "I'd like that."
Sam smirks at the display, unable to resist adding: "Or you guys can just come here for your honeymoon."
Dean flips him the bird and mutters, "Bond chick."
"Wholphins," Sam retorts with a laugh, and damn, Cthulhu-apocalypse or not, it feels good to laugh like this again.
"Rest yourself, gentlemen," Eloni says from the doorway, smiling at them indulgently. "Make yourselves at home, the house is yours. If you are able, please meet me downstairs for four o'clock. I can show you my research."
Glancing at his watch, Sam takes that as his cue to head back to his room. He has two hours. Time enough for a shower, a nap, and a catch-up call to Mira. Oh, and maybe a dip in the hot tub he saw down by the pool.
- - - - -
"Tell me something, Cas," Dean says, because this place is incredible, and brings back all those dreams he had when he was twelve and wanted to be Indiana Jones. "Is this sort of like looking through an old photo album?"
Castiel runs his hand along Dean's lower back before stepping around him to eye the ancient relics covering the table. "It's strange to see things I once saw in their prime, eroded by time," he says after a beat. "It's not something I used to think about. But now, I look around and think of the limited amount of time humans experience here on Earth."
Dean sucks in a sharp breath and winds his hand around Castiel's waist. "You need to think about cheerier things, man."
Castiel meets his eyes and smiles. "If it makes you feel better, I often think about you," he says simply.
Dean feels his face heat up and turns away to look across the room to where his brother and Tuk are pulling books off of one of the shelves. They're currently on the bottom floor of Eloni's villa in a private study the size of most libraries. It houses Eloni's research and private collections, and in many ways this place could be called a private museum, with its rows of dark wooden cabinetry displaying relics and artifacts from around the world.
Floor-to-ceiling dark mahogany bookcases line the walls, crammed with hundreds of books on history, lore, and the supernatural. Dean explores, running his hands along the bookshelves, his hunter instincts telling him to make note of all the books he might need for future reference. Dean definitely wants to introduce Bobby to Eloni because he thinks maybe these two were meant for each other.
While Castiel moves to look around further, Dean follows the row of artifacts before him, a mix of ancient masks, hand-carved wooden statues, tools, weapons, and pottery. Dean pauses for a moment, eyeing one particular mask sitting on a shelf, his hand instinctively running over his amulet. The bronze mask sort of resembles it, a human head with bull-like horns.
"Hey Eloni," Dean says, finding her at a nearby shelf.
Eloni looks up from the copper plate she had been reaching for. "See anything that you like?"
He points to the mask, asking, "What's the story on that? It kind of looks like my bronze charm."
Eloni steps closer to Dean, taking his necklace between her fingers and examining the amulet for a long moment. "I've never been sure of the exact origins of my mask, since horned gods appear in many ancient cultures. I would guess that the one you're wearing is an Egyptian protection deity," Eloni says, stepping back to pick up her mask from the shelf and examine it. "This is something much older. I've always thought this mask was a Sumerian warrior."
"Does it burn hot in the presence of God?" Dean asks, smirking.
Eloni shoots Dean a curious look. "I highly doubt it."
"Then mine is still cooler," Dean says, shrugging. "Mostly though, cuz Sammy gave it to me. Speaking of my brother…" He turns to see Sam pretty much humping a bookshelf as he makes orgasm faces at being near so many old books.
"He's definitely enjoying himself," Eloni says with a soft laugh.
Dean grunts, shaking his head. "A little too much if you ask me, but hey, to each his own."
Eloni pats Dean on his back before making her way over to her son. Before following, Dean pauses to take another close look at one of the artifacts in the cabinet in front of him, a stone carving depicting some kind of joining between man and woman. Kinky.
"That one's a fertility idol from Atlantis." Castiel's warm rumble distracts Dean from trying to figure out the spiral symbol carved into the bottom of the stone guy's mammoth-sized dick. Dean turns his head; the angel is standing along his back, his breath pressing warm against Dean's cheek, and looking intensely at the display.
"Are you telling me that Atlantis was real?" Dean asks, skeptical.
Castiel looks up at Dean, his frown deepening. "Of course it was real."
Dean huffs out a breath and shakes his head. "Cas there are just some things you need to ease a guy into."
"Is this about your sex life again?" Sam interrupts, coming up from behind them and frowning at Dean like he just tasted something gross.
Dean groans, and Castiel shakes his head. "No, although Dean and I are taking it slow," the angel says quietly.
Sam's eyes widen. "Okay, way too much information for me," he mutters and turns around to head back across the room.
"Cas, what did I tell you about scaring Sam away with stuff like that?" Dean asks, shaking his head and trying not to laugh.
"Be comforted by the fact that he doesn't look as troubled as the time he walked in while Mira and I were discussing the Kama Sutra's use of Tantra," Castiel assures.
"Wait what? As in tantric sex?" Dean says, because wait, what?
Castiel shrugs. "She'd been exploring the connection between spirituality, worship and sex, and had questions about how humans could tap into tantric energy for not only pleasure, but spiritual awakening and healing. She and Sam had been practicing deep meditation and she wanted to bring that ritual into all of their day-to-day-"
"Wait, please don't say anything else," Dean cuts in, crying on the inside. He has to shake it off. though, so he continues, "Anyway, sex is sex, Cas. We don't need all that hoodoo magic added to it."
Castiel looks up at Dean, a curious expression on his face. "You're made uncomfortable by this, I see," he says, voice soft with understanding. He looks at Dean for a long, searching moment, and Dean feels like pulling his eyes away, embarrassed, but before he does, Castiel adds, "Dean, there's actually nothing to feel shame about. I understand that humans rarely like to connect their unions to spiritual expression, to a sacred act. Even for my brothers and sisters here on Earth, they often had sex as their human vessels had sex, without connecting it to the sort of divine expression angels shared with each other when we joined in our true forms."
Dean lowers his voice and asks, "So angels do have sex? I mean, I know you all can have sex when you're in human bodies, which actually still kind of weirds me out. But, like when you're all multi-dimensional wavelengths and stuff? You have sex like that?" He'd always wondered what that would be like for them.
"Although I've never had the occasion," Castiel says, smiling softly, probably thinking back to the first time Dean had asked him the question, and the resulting failed experiment at trying to get him laid at a brothel. Dean sometimes has the worst ideas. "But yes, we have what is more closely akin to spiritual communion. We experience each other, but also through each other, we experience the divine, the essential oneness of ourselves with our Father's creation."
"Huh," Dean says, because that seems pretty intense. In truth, sex with Castiel has been among the most intense experiences he's ever had in the bedroom, but the thought of connecting on an even deeper level kind of freaks him out.
Castiel is smiling at him, knowingly. "Dean if you'd like, I can introduce you to Tantra. It simply involves tapping into the full expression of our existence, a merging with our combined sexual energies."
"Seriously, guys, are you really still going on about your sex life?" Sam says, reappearing at Dean's side with an armful of books. He shoots them both scandalized looks before saying, "Mind helping us out over there with the research instead?"
Dean happily obliges, shooting Cas a 'please behave' look before following his brother to the large oak table in the center of the room.
"You gotta admit, this place is pretty cool," Sam tells Dean as all three of them take their seats around the table.
"I could tell by the fact you were making orgasm faces at the books," Dean quips, waggling his brows at his baby brother.
Sam shoots him one of his looks, before rolling his eyes at Dean and continuing to whisper sweet-nothings to the 200-year-old copy of One Thousand and One Nights in his hand.
Castiel sits close beside Dean, craning his neck to gaze up into the shadows of the room. "This room is heavily warded," the angel says quietly. "Eloni has done well in protecting her work."
"It's why my son and I have used this place as our base of operation for the past three months, making the move from Chile to here. It allows me the privacy I need to track the Cthulhu cults moving across South America and the South Pacific," Eloni says, joining them at the table. She unrolls a giant map across the surface, and Tuk appears at her side, placing books at each corner of the map to hold it open.
While Tuk takes a seat at the table, Eloni continues to speak. "I didn't make the link between the chain of events happening globally until I started tracking the cults' activities. The disappearances, the strange signs, the cosmic upset - from all that I've researched, they are portents of the Beast's rise. The cults know it too, and they've been making arrangements across the world, especially here in the South Pacific islands, to prepare its way."
"That's why shit's been so bad all over," Dean says, voice coming out thicker than he'd expected.
"The cults are using very old rituals and magic," Eloni says quietly. "Things that I've only heard of in legend."
"In many ways this is a time of legend," Castiel says, voice booming loud and ominous in the solemn quiet of the room. Dean turns to look at Cas, but the angel's eyes are glazed over, his face lost in thought.
Sam throws Dean a curious look, but Dean can only shrug. Sam turns to look at Eloni and says, "Professor, we know Harper filled you in about our plan." He pauses, running his finger along the spine of another one of the tomes he'd been examining. "We need to locate a specific artifact. Along with an artifact we already located in Brazil, our sources say it could help us to stop Cthulhu."
"Hastur's weapons," Eloni says, nodding her head. "I'd heard of the legend so long ago, but when Harper spoke of the sword you'd found, I just knew it had to be the same ones. He asked me if I knew how to use the sword. But I told him I could do something better: find the other artifact."
"That's exactly what we need," Sam says, voice eager.
Eloni runs a hand over the map, fingers trailing across the expanse of the Pacific. "It's said that Hastur made three weapons powerful enough to be used by his followers against Cthulhu," she explains. "Each on their own, or combined together, could do damage to the Beast. Even kill him. Or so the legend says."
"We lost the dagger," Castiel says, voice low with regret, as he reenters the conversation. "So there are only the two remaining."
Dean touches Castiel's knee under the table, looks at Eloni, and says, "And we're hoping the two remaining weapons will be enough to stop him."
Sam voice is quiet, tense, when he asks, "So you can help us locate the third?"
"I can," Eloni says, looking at them all for a long moment. "But there's one more thing you'll need once you attain Hastur's artifacts." She motions for Tuk to retrieve something from one of her locked cabinets.
A couple of minutes pass, and Dean's legs begin bouncing up and down in anticipation. Castiel traces a hand over his thigh, and Dean feels himself calming immediately.
"What is that?" Sam asks when Tuk finally sets a large book down in the center of the table. It had to weight a few pounds.
Tuk smiles wide and answers, "The Necronomicon."
Sam frowns, throwing a skeptical glance at the book. "That's just fiction."
"Yeah, Lovecraft made it up," Dean agrees, taking in the aged, weathered cover of the book. The book is bound shut by metal clasps, and its dark-brown leather hide looks almost like tanned human skin. The symbol on the cover is so rusted it is hard to make out.
"You come here chasing Cthulhu and you're going on about fiction?" Eloni says, huffing out a disbelieving laugh. She leans over the table and looks down at the heavy grimoire for a long moment, running her hand over the symbol on the cover. "No, this is the real thing. The one that inspired Lovecraft's fictional grimoire that goes by the same name. This is the book that Lovecraft based all his stories on."
"Well, shit," Dean breathes out, looking at the aged and beaten cover again, this time with wonder. "That's definitely something we didn't come across at Visyak's place."
"Dr. Eleanor Visyak?" Eloni says, brown eyes widening in surprise.
"Yeah, did you know her?" Sam asks, voice curious.
"I did," Eloni nods. "She taught Medieval Studies at San Francisco University. I ran across her many times in my career. We traveled in the same academic occultist circles, you might say. She'd been looking for a copy of this text for a long time, in fact, but I never revealed to her that I had one of the only copies still surviving on Earth. There was something about her that I just didn't trust. I could sense the black magic coming off of her."
Sam snorts, adding under his breath so that only Dean and Cas could hear, "Probably because she was a nine hundred-year-old monster from Purgatory."
Castiel shifts at Dean's side, and Dean places a hand on his thigh again. Dean knows that Cas is probably thinking about what he did to her in order to gain access to the spell that would open the doorway to Purgatory. It was her blood that Cas used to draw the ritual's sigils on the wall. Dean shakes away the thought and turns his eyes to the old book. "What is it that we need from this book anyway?"
"A spell," Eloni says, opening the book to reveal weathered, yellowing pages filled with small text, sketches, drawings, and sigils.
Dean feels his throat tighten, his neck prickling. "Another one. Of course," he mumbles.
"There's a specific ritual needed to wield the weapons?" Castiel asks, moving his hands toward the book.
"A very powerful one that you'll need to perform before using the artifacts," Eloni says, pushing the book toward Castiel before continuing with, "The book tells the histories of Hastur and Cthulhu. It also provides the spell and a map for where the artifacts are located."
"Why has no one located all of this before?" Sam asks, frowning. "If the book contains this kind of information…"
"Because like you said, Sam, everyone thinks this is fiction," Eloni says, exhaling a tired breath and shaking her head. "There are only five copies of the real Necronomicon in existence. No one believed Cthulhu would rise because no one believed he even existed."
"No one but his followers," Dean says, running a hand through his hair and groaning in frustration. He sits back in his seat and turns to watch Castiel peel back the pages of the book carefully, fully absorbed in his reading.
"Lovecraft did a good job of hoodwinking all of us," Eloni says quietly.
Dean shakes his head again, as if he can shake the craziness of this moment away. He attempts to throw a grateful smile toward Tuk and Eloni, but his lips manage to only curl into a sad grimace. "We really appreciate your help," he says anyway, frowning at the roughness in his voice.
"I didn't know what to do with all this information," Eloni admits. "I've been sitting on this all, at a loss as the world around us goes mad. But when Jonas called, it all made sense. It's like I've been waiting here for you, compiling this all because you were meant to find it."
"Fate," Castiel says, huffing a breath, but never raising his head from the book.
Dean clenches his jaw. "Or something," he murmurs. Cas touches the small of Dean's back, and Dean can still feel the imprint of his hand long after he moves it.
Sam leans forward then, steepling his hands under his chin as he looks at Eloni. "Professor, how did you even get involved with all of this?" he asks, in the sort of curious tone that Dean suspects he used on all his professors back at Stanford.
"I inherited my father's obsession," she says, lips curling sadly.
Dean shoots Sam a pointed look, because, well, yeah, that's something they both know a hell of a lot about. He clears his throat and asks, "How so?"
"My father was an academic like myself," she explains, voice sobering. "He taught history and civilization for over twenty years before he started concentrating exclusively on word religion. He was researching comparative demonology across cultures for a journal article he'd planned to publish. And well, one day he met himself a real demon." She pauses, takes a deep breath and looks at them all steadily. "He survived the possession, fortunately. Unfortunately he became a true believer in the supernatural, and that is what really destroyed him. You see, he tried to tell his colleagues about his experience, but they all thought he'd gone crazy. My father would insist to them: 'These things are real,' he'd say. 'We must do something!'" Eloni quirks her lips in a sad smile, shaking her head. "He lost his tenure, his funding, and his family. It ruined him."
"But you believed him?" Sam asks.
"Not at the time," Eloni says, exhaling deeply. "I thought he was a crazy loon like everyone else did. I hated him in fact, blamed him for destroying our family, breaking my mother's heart. But years later, after he died, I came across boxes of his old research. The things he talked about…they blew my mind. I was in grad school at the time, and it gave me the freedom to look into a lot of what my father had been researching before his death. Look long enough, and you will find the truth."
"True enough," Dean says on a quiet exhale. "Most people though…they don't want to see what's right in front of them. They rather lie to themselves than believe in this stuff."
"The thing about doing the work that I do," Eloni says, turning to glance at Tuk, who's watching her quietly. "The work that Tuk and I do together as a family," she corrects with a smile. "We see all the ways that human society has tried to deal with our boogiemans. Myth and legend, folklore and fairytale. Religion itself. Just words we use to talk about things that the historical record doesn't know what to do with. To talk about the mystery of our creation. Tuk and I, we go where the mystery is."
"Aren't you freaked out by the stuff you find there?" Sam asks, sounding genuinely curious.
"Every damn day," Eloni says, laughing softly. "Every damn day."
"You are brave to do this work," Castiel says, looking up for the first time in a long while. He turns to regard all of them when he says, "This book is very old, very powerful magic, some of which I have not seen used in thousands of years."
Eloni cants her head, expression wry. "How old are you exactly, Mr. Angel of the Lord?" she asks, her voice a low tease.
Dean, Sam, and Castiel all answer at the same time, laughing: "Old."
Eloni arches a brow. "Okay, then," she says, smirking and sitting back in her chair. "What other questions do you have for me?"
Sam reaches out and slides the Necronomicon in front of him, eyeing it carefully. "What else can you tell us about this? About any of this stuff? I feel like we need to be as prepared as we can be before taking this on."
"We do," Castiel agrees with a nod, running a hand over his stubble in a way that Dean always finds a bit endearing. Dean smiles to himself and looks away as Castiel continues to speak. "I do not know very much about the Great Old Ones myself," the angel admits quietly. "Their time is before even that of the angels."
Eloni still looks like she wants to play 20 Questions with Castiel, Angel of the Lord, but she lets it go and says instead, "Alright, then. But if I'm giving a lecture on Cthulhu history, I need to get some food and wine in my system. How about we reconvene upstairs in the dining room, and we can talk more about this over dinner?"
On cue, Dean's belly lets out a low, rumbling growl, and everyone around the table starts laughing. Dean sighs, giving them all dirty looks before he says, "Please tell me there's pie."
Sam makes a face and stands up from the table. "Ignore my brother, professor."
"Shut it, Sam. I had to ride in a death machine over two thousand miles of ocean. I want some pie," Dean mumbles, and Castiel leans over and massages his back, whispering in his ear that even if he doesn't get pie tonight, Dean will definitely get something else just as sweet.
Dean smiles because, yeah, that'll work too.
- - - - -
The formal dining room is as breathtaking as the rest of the house. Paintings and mirrors cover the walls, dark draperies hang across the wide windows, and a low-hanging chandelier casts the room in a delicate ambient light.
Castiel is helping Tuk and Eloni with dinner, but Sam finds Dean standing by himself, a troubled frown on his face. His brother is looking up at a painting hanging over the far right wall of the dining room when Sam comes up behind him to examine it. "Damn, that almost looks like an original," he breathes out when he sees it up close.
Dean jumps, seeming surprised to find Sam there. "What are you on about?"
Sam points to the painting. "The original is definitely in the Louvre right?"
Dean looks confused. "What original?"
Sam squints, moving closer to examine the painting in more detail. It's definitely a really good replica of Raphael's famous masterpiece picturing Michael killing Lucifer. "It's called 'St. Michael Slaying the Dragon'," Sam explains, trying not to let it remind him too much of the Cage. It doesn't really remind him of it at all; the two angels' actual battles resemble nothing of the soft, almost tranquil scene in the painting.
"Whatever it is, it's creeping me the fuck out," Dean mutters, turning away from the image. "I remember seeing the same painting in the Green Room Zachariah trapped me in."
"Then we definitely won't be starting with The Book of Revelation," Eloni says, joining the both of them by the painting, bottle of wine in her hand. "The history we are here to talk about precedes it anyway. It fact, it inspired it."
Sam turns to her and asks, "What do you mean?"
Eloni answers softly with, "And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent called the Devil, and Satan which deceiveth the whole world; he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him."
"From Revelation 12:9," Sam says, all too familiar with the passage.
"Yes," Eloni nods. "But Lucifer wasn't the only thing cast into the earth. There were Dragons aplenty before him. And there's a reason he was also called the Dragon or the Beast." She pauses and looks at both Sam and Dean for a long moment before continuing. "Take a seat, gentlemen. Let's eat and talk all about the beasts of old."
- - - - -
Sam feels a little guilty for digging into his plate as he watches Castiel and Tuk move back and forth from the kitchen, placing hot dishes on the table as they become ready.
But according to Dean, Cas has become somewhat of a Top Chef contender in the kitchen. It's kind of funny, and sometimes Sam imagines what they all would be like as normal people, living some idyllic domestic life. Dean and Cas would host Sunday dinners, and Cas would own a little bakery shop on the corner of some small-town Main Street. Sam would own a couple of dogs that Dean would spoil rotten and try to steal away from him with slices of bacon in his pocket…
"Yo, earth to Sammy," Dean says around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. "You eating your roll?"
"Dude, gross, please swallow," Sam says automatically before taking a very pointed and big bite of his roll. Sam meets Dean's glare with a flippant grin.
"Shut it, bitch," Dean mumbles, but his frown turns into a wide smile as Castiel walks back into the room with a huge steaming pan of what looks like glazed lobster.
"Are you sure we can't help?" Sam says, taking the pan from Castiel and placing it in the center of the table.
"Everything's just about ready," Castiel says, taking a seat beside Dean. Tuk and Eloni arrive a moment later, placing the last items onto the table and taking their own seats. Eloni settles in at the head of the table and passes a bottle of expensive-looking red wine around, which Sam uses to fill both his and Dean's glasses.
A colorful array of food items now covers the table. Seared salmon and stuffed lobster, fresh salads and steamed vegetables, creamy potatoes and baked pork chops. Rolls warm and buttery enough to melt in their mouths. Sam licks his lips, and begins to fill his plate, only pausing when Eloni dings her spoon on her wine glass to get their attention.
"To safe journeys," she says, raising her glass in a toast. Sam follows, and he sees Dean directing Cas as well in the toast.
"To safe journeys," they say all together, sipping from their glasses.
They pass serving bowls and dishes amongst each other, and for a long while no one speaks, the soft clanking and clacking of silverware against plates the only noise in the room as they all take the time to enjoy a home-cooked meal.
A while later, stuffed beyond stuffed, Sam picks up his spoon and samples the vegetable soup. Spicy and garlicky, just the way he likes. "This is all amazing," he says when he manages to pause in between sips, smiling over at Eloni and Tuck. "Thank you for your hospitality."
"Your angel here was great help with dessert," Eloni says, casting a smile Castiel's way.
Dean seems to light up at that, and Castiel flushes when Dean nudges the angel's shoulder, and Sam really needs for them to get married already and adopt kittens. Seriously.
"Truth is, this is the least I could do," Eloni continues, heaving a heavy breath. "Seeing as you're trying to save the world. The next few days are not going to be easy."
"So, this is like the last meal before the execution?" Sam says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and settling back in his chair.
"Well," Eloni says, running a finger along the edge of her wine glass. "Your last meal before confronting an eons-old tentacled sea beast."
"Same difference," Dean mumbles, pushing forward in his chair to fill up what Sam suspects is his third plate.
Sam grabs the last bread roll before Dean can reach it, and smirks when his brother shoots him another murderous glare.
"Don't forget to save room for dessert," Tuk says in amusement as Sam swallows his bread in two easy bites.
"I always have room for dessert," Dean says around the bite of food in his own mouth. "Ain't that right, Cas?"
Castiel makes a non-committal noise from the back of his throat, but keeps on eating even though Sam can tells he's smiling to himself in the way the angel sometimes smiles with his eyes. Sam shakes his head at the two of them, and spoons more potatoes and steamed veggies onto his own plate. Second serving in hand, he turns to look at the professor and says, voice pitched low, "Why is any of this Cthulhu stuff even happening?"
Eloni puts her fork down gently and wipes her hands on her napkin before placing it back on her lap. "Prophecy?" she says, opening her hands wide as if to say 'who knows'. "Your guess is as good as mine, Sam."
Sam sits back in his chair, sighing. "I wish we knew," he says, rolling his napkin between his fingers and trying not to let all of the uncertainty swirling around in his head unsettle his stomach.
"What I do know is that the Necronomicon is said to be one of the most powerful grimoires of black magic," Eloni says into the quiet of the room. "It even predates the Lesser Key of Solomon when it comes to rituals for demon summoning. It foretells the rise of Cthulhu's sunken city of R’lyeh, and the awakening of Cthulhu and the other Great Old Ones. It also has spells to help bring several powerful deities, multi-dimensional beings, and monsters from the underworld into our world."
Eloni pauses, looking up when Tuk arrives with pie, coffee, and tea. The smell of freshly brewed coffee pulls Sam's attention away for a moment as Eloni helps Tuk pass cups and saucers around the table before continuing. "The book's stories, incantations, invocations, sigils, rituals, spells, and prayers are based on pantheons and traditions older than most modern religions, but I've found that the book also relies heavily on Sumerian cosmology and spirituality," she says.
"Isn't Sumerian religion thought to be the basis and inspiration for most modern religions, including Judeo-Christian beliefs?" Sam asks, cutting himself a piece of cherry pie, the rich aroma filling his nostrils. He knows Dean will be pleased.
"Yes," Eloni says around a mouthful of pie. She swallows, sips from her coffee before continuing. "That's why many of the themes you'll find there are replicated throughout several religions. We even see it with Cthulhu. Think of Tiamet or Dagon of Babylonian mythology. Or the Leviathan of Christian mythology. Legendary sea gods representing chaos and destruction."
"Are they all based on the same creature?" Dean asks, pouring himself and Cas cups of coffee.
"Many of them, possibly yes," Castiel breaks in, taking his cup of coffee from Dean and sipping at it slowly before adding, "Some represent the same primal, chaotic cosmic force, just renamed by different religious traditions. But that's not always the case for all of the Great Old Ones. There are times when many of these are separate deities, whose powers simply manifest in similar ways."
Sam recalls the Sumerian rituals and rites of purification and invocation they've used many times in their line of work. "But for the gods that represent the same forces across traditions," he says, understanding dawning, "it would explain why so many rituals and protective sigils that are based in this overarching Sumerian belief system work across the board, right?"
Eloni taps a finger on the cover of the Necromonicon. "Exactly," she says. "And another thing that's true across all traditions: the fact that so many ancient, malevolent gods are constantly striving to break into our world through a gate or door that leads from the outside in. They are waiting for the age of the old gods to begin anew. In the case of Cthulhu and the Great Old Ones, their followers are always looking for ways to open the gates. Or to take advantage of an opening that already exists."
"The rips between the worlds," Castiel says, eyes widening. "We've seen them happening in many places across the globe. It's what these deities are using to come through."
Dean hands Sam a fresh cup of coffee, and Sam lifts his cup to his mouth and watches his brother over the rim as he drinks. Dean looks worried, his eyes clouding over as he glances at Castiel. After a beat, Dean pushes his half-empty plate away with the tip of his fingers. He leans back and drums his fingers against his coffee cup. "And they're not stopping."
There's a moment of heavy silence, and Sam feels his belly twist uncomfortably. He sucks in a breath and releases it, turning to look at Eloni. "Where does this connect with the modern pantheon?"
"Well," Eloni says, picking at the crumbs on her plate. "The Old Ones are said to be the basis of our subconscious fears of the dark, of the unknown. The reason the Christian Devil came to personify symbols such as the Dragon and the Beast is because these were archetypes ancient cultures were already familiar with. These symbols were the powerful gods that represented chaos before Christianity's rise." She continues by reciting: "'And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy.'"
"They named the devil after a collective memory of a great evil that had already been thrown into the underworld," Sam says, shaking off the image of Lucifer in the form he had known him by in the Cage.
"But," Dean says, tossing his napkin down and leaning forward, pressing his knuckles against the table. "Where did these 'gods' even come from?"
"The Great Old Ones, according to legend, were the original inhabitants of the world," Eloni says. "They were a giant primordial race of ancient deities that ruled the Earth."
"Like the Titans," Sam offers, sipping from his cooling coffee.
Eloni bobs her head. "Same story, different tradition."
Castiel looks up, brows furrowed as if deep in thought. His voice is low and rough when he finally speaks. "We were taught that the Great Old Ones came before the creation of humans, angels, and other monsters and beasts. They were among the first creations of the Father. They were powerful, strong, and destructive. But they were too powerful. They threatened to consume and destroy everything in my Father's creation, so he banished them to the darkness."
"The first origin story. This is why across cultures there are so many stories of chaotic entities trapped for the good of the world, cast into the sea or the underworld and locked away," Eloni says.
Dean clears his throat, rubbing a hand behind his neck. He looks at Cas for a long moment before looking at Sam and Eloni. "So, you're telling me we're dealing with things older than angels?"
Castiel meets Dean's eyes and nods. "Before Satan, there was Cthulhu."
Sam leans back in his chair, closing his eyes. Damn.
"Cthulhu: the beast who would rise from the sea at the Apocalypse," Eloni says, voice somber and prophetic. "At the right time, when the stars and the earth were rightly aligned, some powerful force from outside would liberate him, and he would come to reclaim his kingdom."
- - - - -
Episode 21: The Sprinting Dead (Part I Continued)