The Witch and the Wolfen, Sam/Dean, 3/10
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Master Post | Prologue + Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 + Epilogue || ART
Chapter 3 - The Bunker
The witch whispered a few words and a keypad suddenly appeared on the nearest wall of the Bunker. When he held his hand against the pad, a metal door materialized, heavy with sigils and runes etched into its surface. It swung silently open, and Sam beckoned Dean into a large lobby beyond.
Off to one side of the lobby was a passageway where Dean could smell fresh hay and oats. On the other side seemed to be a supply room, and directly in front of them was another heavy steel door. Sam entered a code on a keypad and whispered aperta ad lucem apertam ad bonitatem et iustitiam.
The door swung wide, revealing a large staircase on the left and two more doors with numbers above them directly ahead. Sam disappeared inside the supply room and returned with a grey bundle and set it on the floor in front of Dean.
“You can shift here. I need to get upstairs.” The witch dashed forward and hit a button between the two doors. There was a quiet bing, and the doors slid open, revealing a small wood-paneled room with brass accents. Sam stepped inside and pressed something inside the right of the door. “Hit the fifth floor button,” he called out before the doors slid closed behind him.
Dean watched, curious as the buttons above the doors started to light up, first 2, then 3, then 4 and finally 5. Miraculous! He was just about to shift when the lights changed again, this time in reverse. He watched, fascinated as the numbers slowly descended and when it hit 1, the soft bing came again and the doors whooshed open. The witch was not there.
He'd heard of these devices- ‘helevators,’ they were called. To help people reach higher floors rather than take the stairs.
Dean glanced over at the stairs. Surely, they must go to the same destination?
Realizing he was wasting time, he shifted. It only took a blink of an eye and a little concentration, and fur and claws slide seamlessly back into fingers and skin. It always amazed him how his wolfen self could be so large but then somehow collapse into his human body. He rose from the floor to a crouch, his elbows on his knees as he took a breath. He lifted the bundle the witch had left him. In it was a grey robe with an odd image like a squished pentagram embroidered in bronze over the right breast. Besides the robe was a pair of wool-lined leather slippers. He shrugged into the robe, the material decadently soft and warm against his skin, then toed his feet into the slippers, wiggling his toes in the fluffy soft interior. He didn’t think he’d ever put on anything so fine. Everything he’d ever owned had been scavenged out of damp houses or trading posts after the Fall. Dean rubbed his arms, and the grey robe caressed his skin. Everything fit perfectly and smelled new and clean. Dean grinned. Of course they would. Sam was a witch, after all.
Ready, he took one more look at the open door of ‘helevators’ and shook his head. It might be fine for the witch, he could magic his way out of trouble, but the stairs seemed a much safer option. He took the steps two at a time.
On each level there were giant numbers painted on the walls with a door to exit the stairwell. When he finally reached the fifth floor, the stairs ended. Dean took a step through the “5” door and stood there in wonder.
The room he was in was what he imagined a pre-Fall dwelling might once have been. Tall ceilings with wooden beams ran the width of the room. Soft lights dotting the ceiling at regular intervals illuminated the huge space in a cozy way. It was different light than a lantern, more consistent and no oily smell. ‘Lectricity,’ the word slid into place. He’d heard that some of the bigger cities had managed to get it back on, but he’d also heard that it attracted more wraith storms. Somehow the spellcaster had avoided that with all his protections.
The floor beneath him gleamed, light wood that still retained its finish. Nothing like the scuffed linoleum or chewed-up floors of many of the structures remaining in the Blue Zone. Comfortable furnishings, enough to seat all the patrons of Roxy’s bar twice over, were scattered around the room, all new and clean. Along one wall was a long bar with stools on one side and what looked like kitchen equipment on the other. Again, more individual lights, brighter this time, illuminated the bar and cook area. The place was like something out of one of the old magazines Dean had found in abandoned houses. Somehow, Sam had the electricity up and running. And it was warm! Not stifling. like how a potbellied stove could sometimes almost send you out of the room, just a comfortable temperature, and they had only just arrived. Dean shook his head in amazement.
It took him a moment to see the witch, though his nose told him he was in the room. He stood beside a tall table near the glass wall, staring grimly at a map, head bowed, eyes closed. In his hand a crystal on a fine chain dangled over the map. The crystal swayed, and finally hovered over one spot. Dean moved closer. The spot the crystal was pointing at on the map was pulsing blue.
“It’s a locator spell,” Sam explained without looking up. “Cas is still alive, and he’s there.” He continued to concentrate on the map and crystal. Red splotches glowed intermittently in Cas’s vicinity. “I can’t pinpoint them, but I still sense the wolfen pack nearby. We can’t go back out until they’re gone.”
“And they won’t be able to find us here?”
“There is a shielding spell on the area. Even if the wolfen cross the border, they’ll be subconsciously encouraged to leave before they can get too close to the building, and without the proper magic, it will be invisible to them anyway.
“How could I see it?”
“I extended my magic to include you, but we’ll need to ward you with the right sigils to make sure you can come and go on your own.”
Dean’s brow rose at that statement. “Any chance Cas will just slowly make his way here?”
“No, the warding I left on him would keep him in place. Besides, he can’t see the Bunker on his own, either.”
“What about, I don’t know, what if there’s something else in the storm?”
“Like what?” The witch stared at him.
Dean shrugged
“Luckily the storm is moving away from us, but to answer your question, nothing so far has been able to get past my warding. That make you feel any better?”
“Yeah.” Dean licked his lips and looked away. There were far worse things out there than wolfen. He didn’t want them following him here.
“We need to get you protected and take care of your warding problem. If the wolfen can’t detect your location, maybe we’ll have a fighting chance against them. But first- I don’t know about you, but I need something to eat.”
Dean’s stomach gave a rolling growl. “Can’t argue with that.”
“How is all this still here?” Dean blurted out before he shoved another forkful of spaghetti into his mouth.
“I think it’s two things. The Men of Letters had this place warded for just about anything, and Lawrence, Kansas, was never really a prime target for the demons. Whatever damage they did was more of the plague and famine variety, and then of course the storms and creatures they pulled up out of hell. Even then in the towns most of the buildings were spared. Also, they had their own geothermal heat source and natural gas, so the building never suffered from damp or decay. Of course, I’ve also done a bit of cleanup and repair since I got here, but basically it was just overlooked.”
“So this isn’t your place?” Dean smirked.
“Well, it is now.” The witch chuckled and ducked his head with a soft blush on his cheeks. “My father was a Man of Letters, so I’m a legacy. So, I think that means this belongs to me more than anyone.”
“Nice inheritance.” Dean slurped a meatball into his mouth. “God, this is good! Way better than any spaghetti my dad ever made.”
“Spaghetti and meatballs - a classic.”
“Before this, I thought the only classic was a 50-year-old can of Chef Boyardee.”
“Well, that is a classic.” Sam’s hand reached across the table towards Dean’s as if to squeeze his hand, but he seemed to think better of it and pulled it back.
Dean’s breath caught in his chest, hurting a little. He wished Sam had finished the move, Dean was shocked to realize he wanted to feel Sam’s hands on him. He shook his head to try and clear it, changing the subject. “How do you know how all this stuff works?” Dean side-eyed him. Nothing in Dean’s experience had ever led him to understand half of what went into making this place run.
“Well, you could say I research a lot.”
Dean finished his meal and pushed the plate back with a satisfied burp.
Sam looked at him and rolled his eyes.
“Hey man, just expressing my appreciation.”
Sam went to check the map. Cas was still in place, and irregular blips of red showed up off and on across the area as the wolfen continued to roam. He sighed.
“How long do you think Cas can last out there?” Dean came to stand beside him.
“Couple of days at least. He’s got water from snow. It won’t be fun, but he’ll live. Unless this is a trap.”
The witch sighed again and walked over to a cabinet with several bottles on it. He poured two drinks of a dark amber colour. Dean’s nose twitched as he passed him one. This wasn’t the cheap rotgut served at Roxy’s.
“We’ll work on you tomorrow. I think both of us could do with a good night’s sleep. Come on.”
Dean moved to reluctantly set his drink down. “No, bring it. You’ve earned it.”
The witch led him down the stairs to the fourth floor. Green tile went halfway up the walls and the floors were a cool smooth concrete polished to a sheen. They went by several numbered doors. The Men of Letters liked labels. When they came to door 407, Sam stopped. “This’ll be your room. I’m right down the hall.” Dean did a double take. His room? Like, all to himself?
The witch opened the door to reveal a bedroom, no windows but warm and welcoming. A double bed sat on one side of the room, a desk and chair and a row of storage cabinets on the other side. On each side of the bed was an end table with more electric lamps. Sam showed him how to turn them on and off.
The bed looked comfortable, and the bedding smelled clean and fresh. Dean didn’t want to touch them. He felt suddenly dirty and unworthy.
“Mattress is the latest tech of the day, memory foam. Once you’ve slept in it, it’ll remember you.”
Dean side-eyed him, wondering if he was joking. Sam’s expression remained annoyingly sphinx-like. He took another look at the pristine room and then down at his dirt-streaked hands.
As if reading his mind, Sam said, “Now I’ll show you the bathroom. It’s communal, made for the whole floor. So you’ll have your choice of showers.” Sam grinned. “You can leave your drink here for now.”
Dean gingerly set his drink on the gleaming table and followed Sam. They passed a couple of rooms, and Dean could smell the witch’s scent coming out of room 409, clean and bright with just a hint of sandalwood and some of the herbs he was sure Sam used in his spells. Dean thought he could now detect the witch’s scent anywhere. “Just over here.” Sam interrupted his musings.
The vast bathroom was tiled in white with two rows of sinks back to back and clean unscarred mirrors running down the middle. Dean was used to looking at himself in brooks or cracked hotel room mirrors crazed with mold or scratches. To the right of the sinks were a row of stalls. The witch opened the door to one, and inside was a clean functioning toilet with crisp white toilet paper. The spellcaster was certainly living the high life here.
“And you can shave and brush your teeth here. I’ll leave out a new toothbrush.”
Sam turned a tap at one of the sinks. Dean’s eyes widened when clean cold water came out of one and hot water out of the other. “My god! This all still works?”
“Urinals are over there.” Sam waved to his left and kept moving.
Dean nodded, feeling overwhelmed. He’d seen and used facilities like these that people had kept going or jury-rigged, but nothing so bandbox clean and shiny.
“And over here we have the showers. Great water pressure, too.”
Dean followed the witch in a daze.
Sam fiddled with the shower taps and water jetted out in a lovely, fanned cone. He stuck his hand under the flow and adjusted the hot a bit more.
“Takes a while for the boiler to get the heat up to temperature, so you have to adjust for a bit. But once you have it, it should be good for the shower. Soap and shampoo are here.”
The witch strode over to a cabinet and took out a bottle and a bar. He also grabbed two of the fluffiest white towels Dean had ever seen. “Soap, shampoo, a couple of towels and a toothbrush, green. You can drop the dirty towels off there.” He pointed at a hamper that had another towel hanging out of it.
“I’ll get you some clean clothes and a clean robe from our stores. Just throw this robe in the hamper too. I’ll wash it later.”
Sam reached out as if to clap him on the back, but almost immediately he snatched his hand back, pressing his fingers together, and stared at Dean. “Ahh, I think that’s everything. Any questions?”
Dean shook his head, “I’m good.”
“Okay then, I’m off to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The witch strode toward the door. He looked back at Dean, his gaze inscrutable, as though he were looking for recognition. Dean blinked. “Night, Dean.” He chewed on his bottom lip and turned away, leaving Dean standing in the steam-filled room.
Dean hung his robe on a hook in the shower area and ran his hand under the water the witch had left running for him.
The water was warm, like the best rainfall, even and fine, falling with just the right force on his skin. He set the soap and shampoo in the niche under the shower. He closed his eyes and tilted his head up, standing there for a few minutes, letting the water beat against his skin. He turned and ran his fingers through his hair and watched the dirt swirl away through a drain beneath his feet.
He squirted some shampoo in his hand. Like everything else in this place, it was gentle and smelled good. He washed his hair a couple of times, and then reached for the soap. It lathered easily in his hands, nothing like the handmade soaps he was used to. He ran his soapy hands all over his body, groaning out loud when he stripped his cock with the filmy stuff. His nose twitched at the scent of it, it smelled like Sam. He chewed at his bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut, as his hand continued to glide up and down his shaft. Images of the witch - walking through the beaded curtain, the lamp light falling on his face, the slight twitch of a smile on the witch’s pink lips - urged him on.
Dean was used to finding his pleasure with either sex, but the witch was… Dean’s hand twisted, slip-sliding, catching the rim of his cock. The witch grabbing his fur so firmly as they made their escape. The witch under him, taking every inch of him as he pushed into him slow and tender. The witch, crying out his name. Dean came hard and fast against the shower wall. His heart thundered in his chest as a cry ripped from his lips. Breathless, he rested his head against the tile, warm water streaming over him as he watched his spend wash away.
When Dean finally turned off the shower, he thought he might melt into a puddle right there. Never in his life had he felt so relaxed, so clean. He picked up one of the towels Sam had left him and growled appreciatively as he rubbed the soft material over his pinkened skin.
He felt guilty as he dropped the towel and his grey robe in the hamper. Outside this building they would have been good for several more wears.
He glanced around and spotted Sam’s promised clothing just outside the doorway to the shower room, another neatly stacked bundle. It contained another grey robe, a soft pair of blue cotton drawstring pants, all smelling sweet and clean, as well as a brand-new pair of jeans and some shirts, socks and underwear and a new pair of slippers on top. Dean whistled in appreciation. Everything looked like it just came out of the factory or wherever they used to make pre-Fall new stuff. He quickly donned the sleep pants and slipped on the new grey robe. Warm and clean, exhaustion started to set in. He yawned as he finished tying the robe’s sash.
He tucked the rest of his booty under his arm and wandered out. As he strolled past the row of mirrors, he paused to take in his reflection. Broad shouldered with a narrow waist, he was only a few inches shorter than the witch, but whereas the witch looked strong and healthy, he looked gaunt. He’d lost a few more pounds since the last time he’d seen his reflection, and his brown sun-streaked hair was in desperate need of trimming, not to mention his beard, a shocking ginger colour under the lights. He stared at the bottle-green eyes looking back at him. A few more wrinkles than the last time, a few more miles on the road. He fingered his beard thoughtfully. He didn’t have the energy tonight, but tomorrow it was coming off.
He glanced around at all the bounty in the room. Sam had offered him shelter, all this clothing, and the opportunity to re-charge his protections. All without asking for anything-yet. Certainly, none of the crude favors all the other witches Dean had dealt with traded in. He couldn’t help but think this witch was playing some kind of long game, but he could do nothing about it right now. He needed his protective sigil recharged.
As he walked by Sam’s door he could hear him tossing and turning, like he was in the middle of a nightmare. Wolfen ears picked up the faint, “God, no, Dean, no…”
He froze. Why would the witch be dreaming about him? And why was it a nightmare? He squeezed his bundle of clothing tighter and hurried to his room, quietly closing the door. Wearily he dropped his supplies on the dresser and grabbed his drink before sinking onto the bed. The burn was punishing as it slid down his throat. He set the glass down, tossed his robe over the back of a chair, and burrowed under the covers.
This whole setup was just a little too good to be true. His wolfen hackles were rising. He needed to get out of here just as soon as the Witch fixed him up. Cas could fend for himself. As it was he was already putting Sam in danger just by being here, no matter what he said.
The mattress, like everything else in this place, was unprecedented in Dean’s experience - firm, but comfortable, no body-shaped sag in the middle or smell of must. And it would remember him.
He didn’t even have to worry about disturbing a nest of mice. And the pillow. Dean sniffed. He didn’t think anyone had ever even used this pillow. He clutched it under his head. He tucked a knife he’d palmed at supper under his pillow. It wasn’t anything like the comforting presence of his own blade he’d had to leave behind when they left Cas. He didn’t expect to sleep, but like the night before he felt strangely safe. What was the witch doing to him?
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A sharp rap on the door and Sam’s muffled voice woke him.
“Hey, I got breakfast cooking.”
Then receding footsteps. Dean groaned and pulled the pillow over his face. He didn’t want to get up. Didn’t want to leave this bed, this place. Just wanted to hide here forever.
He sighed and sat up. “Time to pull yourself together, Winchester, you know why we can’t have nice things,” he muttered and grabbed up his new clothes.
He was still rubbing his hands over the soft cloth of his new green flannel when he reached the top floor. The delicious smell of food and the witch’s coffee filled the room.
Sam turned, hair damp from his shower, a soft smile on his face as he watched Dean enter. “Looks good on you,” referring to Dean’s new clothes. Sam’s cheeks pinkened, and he turned back to the stove. Dean rubbed his hands over the soft flannel of his shirt and gazed at Sam. He could have said the same about him. This morning he wore another knee length kimono, dark blue, with runes embroidered around the elbow length cuffs. Under it was a dark blue Henley and jeans. The kimono brought out the blue in his swirling hazel eyes. Dean’s gaze narrowed appreciating the long graceful line of the witch’s body as he worked.
“I’ve got eggs, sausage, and toast if that’s okay with you?”
“Sounds great. And I would love some of your coffee.” Dean gave his shirt one more rub and sat down at the long island. Sam added food to two plates. With a mechanical click, four slices of bread popped up from a device. Sam snatched them up and buttered them.
“We can sit over here by the window. Great view of the valley from there. If you want to grab our cups?”
Dean grabbed the two mugs of hot coffee and followed Sam to a table near the window. In the daylight he could see the whole valley. Far to the east, a barely visible speck, was Lawrence.
“Impressive view. Can they see us?”
“No, it’s part of the shielding spell. We just look like more trees to anyone out there.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Impressive.” He set the mugs down on the table and looked at his helping of food and then at Sam’s, and grimaced. “You trying to fatten me up?”
“I think you could do with a little meat on your bones,” the witch replied frankly.
Dean wrinkled his brow and decided this was a battle he was happy to lose. He took a forkful of the fluffy eggs. “Mmm, my god. Do you put a spell on all your food?” He speared a section of sausage and moaned as the meat touched his tongue.
Sam chuckled, only picking at his plate, his large hands wrapped around his coffee mug. Dean demolished his breakfast in an embarrassingly quick time and couldn’t help but look longingly at Sam’s near-untouched meal.
“Help yourself.”
The witch pushed his untouched plate toward him. Dean smiled in child-like glee and tucked in. He had almost finished when Sam looked out over the valley and the storm clouds moving toward them.
“Wraith storm’s moving our way. Something you want to tell me?”
Dean choked on his last mouthful of eggs and glanced guiltily away. Damn, this witch was perceptive. He debated lying, but then figured after everything Sam had done and was going to do for Dean, he owed him the truth.
“It’s after me.”
“A whole storm, after you?”
“Yeah, well, not the storm itself but who controls the storm. He’s been tracking me, and he’s followed me the first time I came to Lawrence to scout you out.”
The witch simply waited.
“A demon, well no not… really… a fallen angel. Lucifer. He wants me… bad. That’s why I need new wards to help me stay hidden and one foot ahead of him.”
“And why does he want you?”
“I’ve only heard some of this through the hunter grapevine, but since the Fall, he’s been burning through vessels. He wants something more permanent. Few years ago someone close to us betrayed us. Lucifer captured my dad and me, did a bunch of tests on him. Something about our blood, he said our family line would make the perfect vessel. And now he had an heir and a spare.” Dean looked off into the distance. He could see his father’s gaunt face in the cage next to him. See him furtively filing at the loose strut on the metal bed frame.
Dean’s fork clattered to the plate, “But my daddy, well he clocked out before the Morningstar was able to make that happen. In the blood bath that followed that little error, I was able to escape. I’ve been on the move ever since. There’s no way in hell I’m letting that bastard take me over.”
“But he has to get your consent. He’s an angel.”
“Who fed you that load of bull? Tell that to the thirty-nine people he’s burned through in the last fifty years. None a’ them ever gave consent, except maybe the first one, nutcase named Nick. Hunters say each time he takes a new vessel, he remakes it in Nick’s image.”
Dean stood abruptly, nervously jamming his hands in his new jeans pockets. “Listen, I lied to you. I didn’t care. I thought you were like all the other dickbag witches I’d met. I thought I could get what I needed and be gone before any of this touched you. But I was wrong and so far, you don’t seem to be anything like the others. So, let’s just get this thing done so I can leave before anything bad happens to you.” Dean turned to stare out the window, fidgeting. He felt like he was vibrating out of his skin.
Sam’s hand darted out so fast Dean didn’t even see it. It clamped around his forearm, stopping Dean in his tracks. The tattoos below the witch’s rolled up sleeves writhed like snakes.
“Don’t worry Dean. I will keep you safe. First, we’ll get you warded. Then we’ll figure out what our next move is. Some of my warding is made up of Enochian sigils. We may already be safe from Lucifer, especially if he isn’t looking here specifically.”
Dean snarled and tried to jerk out of the witch’s hold, but even against wolfen strength he wasn’t letting go. He stared into Sam concerned eyes; they were glowing. Their color shifting from blue to green. Dean bit at his bottom lip and looked away, “Sam, I don’t want you to die because of me. It could take me days to recuperate. Mor’n enough time for Lucifer to track me here.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve got some experience with this. And I don’t know what kind of witches you worked with before, but I plan to have you back on your feet tonight. Now, follow me.”
Dean’s eyebrows quirked at the witch’s confident tone. He watched as the he strode toward the ‘helevator’ and pushed the button, the doors sliding open obediently. Dean stared out the windows at the angry wraith storm bearing down on them and then followed. He paused at the ‘helevator’ entrance.
“Come on, Dean, it won’t hurt you.”
“What if we get stuck inside?” Dean swallowed hard. Something about climbing inside this overly bright box made him feel ill.
“Look, escape hatch.” The Sam pointed to a specific tile overhead that had a metal edging. “Trust me.” He held out his hand. The tattoos had stopped moving, and Dean found himself reaching out to be drawn into the moving box.
Sam’s hand remained a comforting presence in his. He squeezed Dean’s fingers ,and with his other hand, punched B5, which didn’t appear above the ‘helevator’ door.
“Basement level where all my equipment is.”
Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping his breathing even as the ‘helevator’ lowered them through the building. A mechanical hum resonated in the background. He breathed through his nose and out his mouth as his Dad had taught him in an attempt to calm himself down. He didn’t want a panicked shift in the middle of the ‘helevator’ ride. Three hundred pounds of upset wolfen showing up wouldn’t do him or Sam any good.
“You’re doing great. We’re almost there.” Sam’s voice was low and calm, and Dean clung to that.
When the ‘helevator’ finally stopped and the doors slid open, Dean’s exit to the lobby beyond was a blur; again, his incisors had lengthened on their own. He leaned over, panting, hands on his knees as he tried to get his body under control before Sam could see.
“Woah. Dean. Are you okay? I guess I really underestimated how claustrophobic you are. I’m so sorry.”
Dean quickly looked away. He could feel his teeth receding. “I just…old run in with some demons. They, they kept me in a box… I’ve had trouble with tight spaces since.”
“Oh. Sorry. There is a back stairwell. It’s got a ton of security warding on it. Once we’re done, you’ll be able to take that if the elevator still bothers you.”
Dean nodded still quivering, relieved he wouldn’t have to do that again, so maybe he could keep his body under control. He straightened.
“Okay, just down here,” Sam said.
They walked down a blue-tiled hallway past several sturdy metal doors until the witch stopped at one. The sign at the door said, “Magic Lab.”
“The Men of Letters weren’t usually witches themselves. They just studied the craft and its implements in depth. I put it to more practical use. Come in.”
Sam flicked a switch on the wall, and light filled the room. The space smelled both medicinal and a little like a garden. Dean’s nose twitched, and he sneezed.
One side of the room looked like it was yanked out of a pre-Fall library. Floor to ceiling bookshelves as well as a few free standing ones were filled with volume after volume of books. Most were old, the spines cracked from use. The center of the room had several long metal tables filled with all kinds of equipment - glass beakers, flasks and test tubes and vials, along with jars filled with liquid and things suspended inside. Overhead was a veritable forest of herbs and grasses hung to dry. And to the right were more shelves chock-a-block with jars and boxes and tins all neatly labeled and catalogued.
Behind the tables was a reclining chair with a steel tray attached to the side. A large three-headed light hung overhead. Dean imagined that’s where Sam would work on him.
“Okay, first I’d like to see what I’m working with. What wards do you have? Is it medicine bundles, or gems, or are they actually on your skin?”
“Uh, the last one, I guess.” Dean winced, suddenly uncomfortable. He hated this part.
“Can you show me?”
Dean nodded mutely.
Sam’s brows knit. He watched closely as Dean shed first his new flannel and then the green Henley beneath it. He was a little broader than Sam, but not in a bulky way. The light skimmed over Dean’s lightly muscled torso as he stripped. He was covered in a smattering of scars, even a bullet wound or two over his chest and abs. From experience he knew his scars didn’t deter his lovers, maybe even enticed them. Sam seemed to be no exception, as a curl of arousal filled the air. Dean hid a satisfied smile and slowly turned, showing off his well developed bicep’s and trim waist. When he presented his broad shoulders and back to Sam, he heard a faint gasp.
“Oh, my God, Dean.”
Dean knew what he saw, knew the tracery of silver that was all over his back. He had been awake for each drop of magicked hot metal that had been painted on his flesh.
He flinched as Sam’s finger brushed against his skin. “I…”
“Nah, it’s okay. Keep going, it don’t hurt now.”
Sam’s hands meticulously followed each flowing line of the sigil. Dean knew what it looked like. He’d seen himself in the mirror-the octagon shape imprinted on his skin, braided with flame. The flames licked out over the back of his arms, tendrils of flame reaching down over the top of his ass, terrible and beautiful at the same time. Inside the octagon was a series of runes ringing the pentagram. Dean could hear the wonder in Sam’s hushed voice.
“It’s…it’s beautiful, but so, so unnecessary.”
Dean whirled around, staring at Sam in shock.
“He said this was the only way.”
Sam’s hands hung in midair. He collected himself.
“What I should have said is that this seems vastly overdone as a ward. A simple tattoo would have done the job. The only benefit I see to the silver tattooing is it provides a spell strong enough to shield others.”
“Yeah, and I needed that.” Dean replied, his voice rising in anger. “Before…me and my dad we travelled together. I needed to keep him safe. They were after us both, and I needed something big to protect us from being tracked. Hurt like hell, but it’s lasted for over four years. Only way they even caught us was a fluke. A human we trusted like a brother betrayed us, led a den of vamps working for Lucifer right to us.”
Dean shook his head. “Anyway, I would’a gone back to him - Ched, the witch that did the work - but he was killed by a raiding band of lampira.” Dean shuddered/ Lampira were nightmare creatures of the fae. They stalked their victim through the forest, surrounding and pinning him to the nearest tree with their tentacles. The lampira would feed off him for a few days or a few weeks, giving him just enough fluids to keep him alive as they drained him dry. The whole process was painful, and the victim was conscious the entire time.
The only way to free someone from lampira was to set fire to all of them and chop the victim free before he caught fire as well. He and his dad had come across a whole family trapped by lampira. They’d only been able to free the two youngest children. Dean shook his head. He could still hear the parents and oldest child screaming.
“I’ve been looking for someone who was good enough to do the job again. Have I been wasting my time with you?”
“No, no, I can charge the silver, though it will hurt like hell again. Just if you aren’t trying to save someone, I could stick to a simpler series of spells that should ward you for the rest of your life.”
Dean shook his head, “I don’t want to take the chance that I wouldn’t be able to save someone. What if I’m with you, like the other day?”
“Actually, I was boosting your warding, but I understand. I just don’t want to hurt you more than I have to.”
Dean barked out a laugh. “Well, you’d be the first. What part of the world have you been livin’ in, that you don’t know that? Livin’ is pain these days.”
“I guess.” Sam nodded curtly and moved over to the soft yellow seat. He pressed a few buttons adjusting the lounger to a horizonal position. “You can uh… put your shirt back on for now and take a seat. I’ve got a bit of research to do, and then we’ll be able to begin. Grab a nap if you want.”
Dean slowly pulled first his Henley, then his flannel back on, arching his back seductively. Sam simply stood there, frozen in place watching him. Dean smiled and lowered himself into the chair. The seat was buttery soft and warm. He settled his arms on the rests and laced his fingers over his chest and sighed. The sound seemed to jolt Sam into action. He rushed over to his work area pulling various volumes from the wall and made a stack of them on the work table. Dean’s ears twitched as Sam muttered something that sounded like somnus lenis somnus but then he was gone.
He awoke rested and relaxed. With a snarl he jolted up in his chair.
“You spelled me!”
“Yeah, I’d say I was sorry, but I’m not. You’re clearly exhausted, running on empty, and I knew without the spell you’d never even close your eyes.”
“That’s not for you to say.”
Dean was on his feet and had Sam slammed up against a bookcase, his arm braced across the witch’s neck with wolfen speed. Dean struggled to keep his teeth under control as he held the witch in place.
Sam just looked at him calmly. Dean couldn’t sense even a whiff of fear from the witch.
“Don’t do it again, or we’ll be having more than words. I’m done with witches lording it over me.” Dean slowly let the witch go.
Sam stayed exactly where he was. “What kind of things did they do to you Dean?” His voice was so gentle and filled with compassion, it brought a sudden prick of tears to Dean’s eyes.
“Let’s just say, I don’t trust any witch that says they’ll do something for free.”
Dean shoved at Sam as he turned away. He thought of the weeks he had been forced to stay with Ched. His dad had tried to pay, with the pure silver, but the old witch wanted the silver as well as Dean’s services for a month to ink the silver tattoo. His dad had tried to talk him out of it. He said they could look for another witch, but Lucifer was sniffing closer, and they needed to be able to move quickly. His dad had buried himself in a bottle in the nearest town for Dean’s month of servitude. Dean never spoke of it to his dad about the things Ched had made him do…. Dean’s lip curled in disgust.
“Speaking of, what do you want from me for all this?” Dean waved his hands around at the books and the notes.
The witch blinked, “Uhh, nothing. I ask people to pay what they can. You can check with anyone I’ve helped. I’m not in this to get rich. I have everything I need right here, other than the odd item I trade for.” Sam gave him a lopsided smile. “I just enjoy helping people.”
“But why me? And why here?”
“I meant what I said back at Roxy’s. Everything I need to research and repower your wards is here, not in my travel bags. Those are herbs and simple curative spells.”
“So you’re not going to ask for some big favour?”
“I wouldn’t mind your help recovering Cas, but if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I won’t hold you to anything. I do have a job offer if you’re interested?”
Dean snorted. The kind of job offers he usually go ended up with him on his knees sucking some witch’s cock. Maybe this witch wasn’t so different after all.
“Oh yeah?” he sneered.
“Yes.” Sam’s long fingers tapped the table top.
Dean couldn’t look away. The pattern his tattoos made as they moved were mesmerizing. “I could use a bodyguard.”
“What? You?” Dean sneered in disbelief.
“Well, you clearly showed how handy you are. You got us away from the wolfen pack.”
“They were tracking me!”
“Nonetheless, I use the Bunker as my base, but I travel all over the Zone, and things are only getting more dangerous. I could use your help, someone to have my back. That’s it. That’s all. But even if you say no, I’ll still fix your wards.”
Dean stared at the spellcaster thoughtfully. He couldn’t deny how tempting the offer was. If he was honest with himself, it had been lonely since his Dad’s death. To have someone to travel with, someplace to call home. He’d missed the companionship, and the Bunker seemed like the best place in the world to lay his head. Dean’s teeth snagged on his bottom lip.
“I’d have to be sure they can’t track me here.”
“Fair enough.” Sam nodded with a twitch of a smile. “Then let’s get to work.”
The four additional tattoos Sam inked into Dean’s flesh were painful but tolerable. The witch gave him a roll of leather to bite into if he needed it, but said he would be able to use a numbing spell here. First, like his own, he tattooed a pentagram with a flame around it just above Dean’s heart, so he wouldn’t need a physical amulet. Then he inked two elaborate and beautiful flame tattoos on top of each shoulder blade. Dean could feel it as Sam wound the flames down to meet the silver tattoo, winding them in and around the original sigil so that the two were one.
“This last tattoo will give you the ability to see and find the Bunker and to get in most doors here. And I’ll add your palm print to the systems so the reader will recognize you. You’ll just need to combine them with a couple of verbal spells I’ll teach you after.”
The entry tattoo went down his left side, along his ribcage and abdomen. The tattooing over the ribs hurt like a bitch even with Sam whispering the numbing spell again and again, but tattooing over bone was never fun. Dean ground down on the leather roll and squeezed his eyes closed.
“Okay, done. Well, almost done. Now to power up your original warding. Take a breather, and we’ll get going in a little while.”
First, Sam gathered various ingredients, along with a mortar. He ground each up individually, then placed the ground ingredients in a large copper bowl. When he was done, he arranged a glass dome over the bowl. Dean saw what he was up to. It was a different set-up than Ched’s, the witch who had done his last power-up, but the glass dome would act as a condenser to capture the resulting fumes from the concoction. The condenser had a glass pipe leading out the top and coiled down to an upside down glass jar.
With everything ready he turned to Dean, “We’re getting close now.” He lit the ingredients in the copper bowl and began to chant. Eerie orange and purple flames rose from the bowl.
Ignis amicus, terrenus amicus hunc servum tuum ab omni noxa defendat, ab omni deceptione vel subiugatione vel deprehensione, quia verus corde et dignus est.
As he continued to repeat the spell, the burning bowl glowed, and a blue mist rose from the fire. On cue, the condenser captured the blue mist, delivering it by a long copper pipe safely to the jar. Once the jar was full and the flame sputtered out, he adjusted the chair and had Dean lie face down.
“I’m sorry, I can’t give you a sedative or knock you out. The spell needs to incorporate with you and your wolfen.” Dean nodded. He had done this the first time, but it was nice to know Ched hadn’t been more of a sadistic bastard than he’d thought.
This time Sam took the extra step of binding Dean’s hands and feet in leather cuffs hidden under that table.
“You’ll be grateful for these when the spell kicks in.”
Dean nodded and clamped his teeth around the leather roll before letting Sam bind him. He understood how much pain he was going to feel. His ears twitched as Sam started to chant. He noted a few slight modifications in the spell than from the previous.
Virtus, amicum ignium, terrenum et quemcunque dignum se existimat, tueatur et nutriat. Ab omni malo defende hunc servum tuum, ab omni deceptione vel subjugatione, quia verus est corde.
Power flowed through him, and Dean bore down on the leather bit as Sam poured the jar’s contents over his back. The whole room took on an eerie blue glow as the potion sank into his skin. The silver lines on his back heated like warm water, flowing from his neck down his back over the sigil lines. Sam continued his chanting, his voice louder and louder in Dean’s ears. The tattoo grew hotter and hotter, until he was screaming into his bit, pulling and tearing at his cuffs to get free. It felt like lava traveling down the silver lines drawn into his flesh, and the scalding pain was literally burning him alive. His wolf howled with him. His whole body convulsed in one long line of agony as a seemingly unending supply of blue mist poured down over his body. At some point he would have sworn he could feel his skin actually rippling and moving, he was in so much pain.
Dean wasn’t sure he even stayed conscious the whole time, but finally, eventually, it was over. He lay there panting, his eyes closed, sweat pouring off him as the heat dissipated.
He could feel Sam gently releasing his wrists and ankles from their bonds as he chanted, “Dolor marcescet, dolor gratis, sana hanc memoriam. ”
It only took seconds for the witch’s spell to have an effect, and the words carried away the worst of the hurt like a cooling breeze.
“We’re done, Dean. Try to sleep. When you wake, the pain should be gone completely.”
Dean begged to differ; there was no way he’d ever not hurt again. All he wanted was to sleep until spring, and maybe past that.
“Make me sleep.” Dean tried not to sound like he was begging. He didn’t even hear Sam begin to chant.
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