Fourteen
Title: Fourteen
Author: ZanneS
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG (adult themes)
Characters: Sam (mostly), Dean (in theory)
Summary: If Isis had done it, Sam saw no reason he couldn't do the same for his brother.
Author's Notes: Thank you to kenaressa for beta-ing! This is a twist on how Sam got Dean back from Hell, based on the myth of Isis and Osiris.
Disclaimer: Kripke owns all.
Fourteen
The Egyptians had been on familiar terms with Death. He was omnipresent - in their temples, in their marketplaces, in their homes. They might have spent most of their youthful days professing an interest in Horus or Bastet or Ra, but Death was the final appointment for every king and queen and commoner, and altogether unavoidable. The sheer inevitability of their meeting made anything but due respect a foolish gamble; no one wanted to displease the god that would weigh their worth before sending them on to their final reward.
Only one had escaped Death’s call, one in all of Egypt’s history, and for this feat had earned the honorific Lord of the Dead. Only one who could claim victory over death itself deserved to rule in its name. Osiris had been dismembered by his brother Set in a fit of jealousy, the fourteen pieces scattered to the corners of Egypt for his wife Isis to hunt down and piece together to make her husband whole once more.
If Isis had done it, Sam saw no reason he couldn’t do the same for his brother.
It wasn’t so much that he had to piece Dean back together. There had been some patching and pasting, pushing things in place that had oozed out of the casing of flesh, but his body was there and relatively whole. All it took was a copy of Grey’s Anatomy, strong suture thread, a steady hand, and some mortician’s wax; it was nearly impossible to tell that Dean was any less than perfect once Sam was done.
It was the fourteen steps that showed Sam’s dedication, his commitment to doing the impossible, just as Isis had tirelessly hunted every inch of Egypt for the fourteen pieces of her husband.
Fourteen parts, fourteen pieces, fourteen points, and Dean would be whole once more.
It wasn’t easy - digging out the rituals, translating the texts, doing what needed to be done. The story of Isis was merely a pretty metaphor woven together with words and images, subtle clues binding it together; resurrection wasn’t so easy a task. Not everyone could do it. That was why only Isis had succeeded where none before or after had been able.
It was messy and horrible, and while the stains on shirt or on his hands might wash away, Sam knew the stains on his soul were permanent.
But, in the end, he faced the same dilemma Isis had so long ago. Despite all of her searching, there was one piece Isis failed to find. Set’s jealousy had made sure it was destroyed past finding, and Isis’ only alternative was to craft her own replacement, the final piece necessary to reanimate her husband.
Whereas Isis only had to concern herself with a missing body part, Sam had larger concerns.
The final step, the missing piece, was something he was unable to get his hands on, no matter his begging or bargaining.
The last step, the ultimate piece, the one thing he could not pry from the hands of Hell or Heaven.
That fourteenth thing, so seemingly inconsequential, was the one thing he needed to ensure this would work.
So Sam did as Isis had done; he bent over his worktable and crafted his own, but instead of soft, malleable gold, he focused his attentions on the hardness of bronze, something that was familiar, hardy, and able to withstand anything. He carved and crafted the tiny charm in perfect imitation of the pendant that had always hung around his brother’s neck, heavy with the meaning of a lifetime.
Into that tiny, bronzed bauble, Sam poured what was necessary, forcing it into what it needed to be to make his long odyssey reach completion.
On that final day, the fourteenth step was completed, and he rested the horned god back around his brother’s neck. When it nestled in the hollow of his brother’s chest, Sam saw the muscles jerk and twitch as Dean breathed in at long last, his eyes snapping open as he struggled to sit up.
And swinging on that leather cord around his neck, Dean’s soul glittered in the dim lights of Sam’s workshop.