The End Of Purity (9/? NC17 Dean/Sam, John, Missouri, Jim, OFC)
Title: The End Of Purity (9/?)
Author: ianthe_aveira Siset
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Sam, John, Missouri, Jim, OFC
Rating: NC17 overall
Word Count: 4,124 / 25,742
Spoilers: No, this is AU
Warnings: angst, blasphemy, slash, wincest, underage, violence, language, unbeta'd
Disclaimer: My stories may be disturbing to some readers. Please read my journal disclaimer and all warnings. As always I own nothing :( it makes me sad. Everything belongs to Kripke, lucky bastard.
Notes: Feedback makes me happy :) The rest of my fics can be found here and at my fic comm eroticdiscord
She had tea with Missouri like she said, they sat in comfortable silence smiling at their tea-cups and sharing space. She had always had so much respect for the older woman and after time away it was a nice visit. Morgana tried to keep her mind away from what was happening in the small room downstairs. The two boys who were relying on her, a father desperate and she was afraid she’d let them down.
She finished her tea and hugged her old friend and left the church. She had to be away, the time had come for her to get everything ready. Morgana had sent out a prayer, a plea to the Gods to guide her and give their help with Sam but everything had been quiet. The Old Ones could be stubborn, wanting sacrifice and worship but they were usually willing to help when she asked but there was nothing. She had never felt this way before, alone and unsure. Perhaps there really wasn’t anything she could do.
Walking slowly down the single lane away from the church, the daylight dying on the horizon and she could feel the stored heat of the day in warm waves off the asphalt. She let herself drift.
She found it hard to believe that they’d all just turn away. There were always deals to be made she just had to find the right God or Goddess to make them with.
It had taken almost a day to find the right items and to make her deals and now they all stood breathless in the small room. Neither boy had moved; Sam on his back, eyes open and black. Dean sitting unwavering by his side, eyes open and locked on his brother’s. She couldn’t tell if Sam returned the stare.
Morgana looked around the room; John stood drawn and tense, his worry and fear evident in his every movement. The Priest’s lips moved silently as the rosary clicked through his fingers, she knew he wasn’t happy with her being her or the things she had planned. That was alright, she didn’t need him to believe. Missouri finished setting out the seven small silver bowls that Morgana had asked for, each one was filled with a different substance. She smiled thanks to her old friend and looked over the make-shift alter. Everything she had asked for.
Taking a deep breath Morgana reached for the bundle of sage. She lit the end of the braid with a wooden match, letting it flare for a moment before blowing the flame out. The sweet smell of sage filled the room, purifying and chasing away harmful energy. She cleansed the room swiftly, drawing smoke over each person before smudging the doorway.
“There are Seven Sisters, the lights around the moon.” She started as she lay the sage down on the alter, letting it smoulder in the ritual bowl. “They bring protection and healing.” She picked up the blue and white bundles of sage and nutmeg, held them in her hands as she turned back to the boys. “I can’t banish the dead inside Sam. They have claimed their pieces of him and they would have taken him apart. What’s done is done. They are part of him now, imprisoned by what they revealed.”
“What does that mean?”
Morgana turned and looked at John; it hurt her to see him in so much pain. She knew his story without ever hearing it and she knew how much these two boys meant to him. She’d try for him. She’d do all she could. She couldn’t lie.
“The Demon of course.”
“No, he’s not possessed. We exorcised..”
Morgana held up a hand, her smile sad and shook her head.
“No, he’s not possessed, John. This Demon is Sam.” She had to look away at the look that crossed his face, the horror and pain, the sadness and denial. “The dead that Dean and Sam released entered Sam, they wanted to drag him back with them and use his body for their own purposes. Life is so tempting, something they still want so badly. What they didn’t expect was what was buried deep inside Sam. I don’t know why it is, or where it came from but it has laid dormant for so long. Sam has power over it, he can keep it buried and locked away. When the dead took Sam they released it and brought it forward. It doesn’t have the power that it should, for whatever reason the time is not right.” She could feel their eyes on her, burning into her as she spoke. How can you tell a hunter, a father, that his son held a demonic power and always had?
“I don’t understand.” John finally spoke and it broke her heart to hear the cracks in his voice.
“I don’t either, John. Only what I’ve just told you now. I’ve never come across anything like this before.” She couldn’t tell if he believed her, she was trying to tell him the truth but what she seen, what she knew was so much more than what she had words to describe. Some secrets had to remain secrets until the time came. She couldn’t change these things. No one could. She’d try later, after all this was done to explain it better to John but right now there was no more time; those that said they’d help wouldn’t wait long. Afterwards she’d do all she could to help them mend, help them understand.
“Wait, what do you mean the Demon is Sam?”
“After, John. There is time for all things after.” She could tell he wanted to say more and she wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t but there was only silence and she took a deep breath to steady herself.
“These sisters are of the sacred feminine and they usually only give their blessings to women.” She took the bundles over to the bed, careful not to touch Dean she reached across and with fingers lightly on Sam’s chin opened his mouth. She slid the white bundle of sage between his teeth and tenderly closed his mouth around it. The boy didn’t stir.
She placed the remaining bundles on his body; one on the center of his chest; just above Dean’s splayed fingers, one on his stomach, one on the open upturned palm of each hand and one at his feet. She prayed softly as she did, asking the Goddesses for their help.
It was this next part that she was worried about. How far would John let her go to save Sam? She had already sprung the Demon information on him. She looked up at John, he was watching her intently, his eyes a dark brown of sadness and worry and she took a deep breath. Taking a few steps to her bag she withdrew an intricately carved rosewood box. The carvings were spiritual symbols that helped keep the magic of the item inside charged.
“There are symbols” She began, talking softly and calmly as she walked back over to the bed. “Of each God and Goddess, each Demon and Devil. They have marks they leave to empower or claim, curse or bless. The Seven Sisters are no different.” She placed the box on the alter and reverently opened it.
“The Sisters were the ones who came when I called; it’s unusually for them to want to help a male, since they are very feminine powers. I asked them why they were offering, grateful that they were but curious as to what their motivation. Not even the Gods work for free.”
Morgana chuckled softly, reaching into the box to withdraw a long hollow silver needle. She held it in her hands for a moment, the light tingle of power making her finger tips buzz.
“It’s not for me to say what they want from Sam; a time will come when he will be obligated to pay his debt.”
“Wait.” John spoke up, taking a step forward and Morgana turned to look at him. “I can’t just agree to whatever they want. Somewhere down the line, what? They come to Sam and demand his obedience and if he doesn’t?” He looked angry and Morgana smiled softly, she wanted him calm…well as calm as possible and she couldn’t tell him what the Goddesses told her.
“John, when that time comes it wont be for you to decide. The decision will be Sam’s, and he will choose to agree or refuse.”
“I can’t just sign him away like that, Morgana. What if…”
She didn’t let him continue; she held up a hand and shook her head.
“They are not malevolent, John. They are good and pure. They won’t harm Sam and they won’t ask him to do anything that is evil. You have a choice, you’re his father. You can stand back and let me do what I can or you can say stop and Sam will..” She glanced over to the boy, pale and motionless. She didn’t need to continue, it was all too clear.
John frowned, looking at his son. He was quiet for a long time before nodding and stepping back again. Missouri put a soft hand on his shoulder in comfort and Morgana nodded.
“John, could you go to Dean and break the connection he has with Sam? Just gather him in your arms because when the connection is severed he’ll be unconscious, I just need to turn Sam over and then we can re-establish their link.”
John stepped forward, crossing the Devil’s trap without hesitation and went to his oldest. Wrapping his arms around his son, he gently eased Dean away from Sam. Instantly Dean sagged in his arms, dead weight and John pulled him to his chest and cradled him like he used to when Dean had been a child.
Morgana sat the needle back in the velvet lined box before turning to Sam. She tapped each of the bundles laying on his body three times three, whispering a prayer before plucking them up one by one and laying them on the alter in a silver bowl that she quickly covered with a silver lid. They would need to burn them later on, the energy that they had soaked up was evil and impurities and fire was the only way to destroy it.
She was small but she had strength and she easily turned the Sam over onto his stomach. She cradled his head, turning it to the side so his face wasn’t smashed into the pillow. She was glad the boy was shirtless, she wouldn’t have to wrestle him out of his clothing and she slide the sheet down to bare the full length of his back. Tucking the sheets around his hips she looked down at the smooth pale plains of Sam’s back. He was so young and he’d carry these marks for the remainder of his life. She felt no hesitation.
“Ok, sit Dean back down and place his hand on Sam’s arm. He must be close, but not in the way.”
John did as she asked and as soon as Dean’s hand was back on Sam’s skin he returned to his previous state. Deeply entranced and lost in his brother, but able to sit under his own power without tumbling off the bed.
Picking up the needle again she turned it over in her hands, running it through the smoking incense to purify it. She then poured alcohol into a long narrow bowl and let the needle soak. She didn’t speak as she worked and she could feel three sets of eyes following her every move.
She brought out seven small glass vials, each one a different color, dyes that she had prepared earlier when she had returned from her walk. Her visions had prepared her well and she was grateful. Inside each was dye that she had boiled down from berries, flowers and roots. These natural items made perfect dyes for tattooing.
She took pinches of the powdered herbs and rock and sprinkled a bit of each into each of the vials. The color inside seemed to brighten, intensify as she recited the right incantations to imbue the dye with the power each of the seven held.
She sanitized her hands and taking up the needle she dipped the sharp hollowed tip into the vial of blue. The air in the room was energized, she could feel the apprehension from the three at her back and the blackness that swirled over Sam and Dean seemed to spike and shift chaotically as if the energy knew exactly what she had planed.
“Alcyone, hear us please.” She whispered, the name of the first of the seven as she steadied her hand and brought the needle to Sam’s back. She began work on the symbol, tattooing the soft skin between the boy’s shoulder blades. She worked quickly and skilfully at the design then cleaned the needle before tipping it into the red.
One color for each Goddess. Blue for Alcyone, the center and most powerful. Red for Sterope and yellow for Celæno. Magenta for Eleckra and Brown for Maia. Green for Merope and Orange for Taygeta.
Each symbol the size of a silver dollar all lined to form a cross, from the back of Sam’s neck down to the base of his spine, two forming the shorter piece on each of his shoulder blades.
Finally it was finished. Morgana didn’t know how much time had passed but she it must have been hours, her back was stiff and her hands sore. Looking down at the raised lines of color she took a deep breath, reciting a chant over and over again softly she picked up the cup holding the tea of holy water, pepper and basil and using a gauze pad she wiped down the tattoo with the tea, cleaning it of blood and dye and purifying the fresh marks.
The blackness that swirled around the boys was almost frantic now; it leapt off their bodies in sharp jagged spikes, curling at the peaks like smoke and drifting into the air. The ritual was almost complete, one last thing to do and the dead inside the boy would be locked away.
“The symbols will lock away the dead. They will still be inside him and I don’t know what will come from that, but they will not have free reign. He will not be a slave to them but they will be slaves to him.” She took the iron dagger from the alter, it was cold and heavy in her hand.
Taking what remained of the seven materials she rubbed them each over the blade as she spoke the last prayer, she repeated each three times before walking over to where Dean sat.
“Missouri, can you reach Dean? Like before when you called him back, can you reach him now?”
He felt warm and safe in the darkness. No fear and no pain, it caressed over his skin and held him tight like an embrace. He couldn’t recall ever feeling this way, perhaps this was what it was like when his Mom had held him, he wished he could remember. Dean closed his eyes and drifted on the feeling, lost in nothing and everything and he never wanted to leave.
Missouri’s words tried to rouse him, tried to bring him away from the comfort he was feeling. He didn’t want to go.
“Dean, you have to listen to my voice, sweetie. You have to concentrate.”
“I don’t want to.” He wasn’t sure if he spoke, but it was there floating in the darkness around him. Words like whispers and soft caresses and he wanted the darkness to hold tighter to him and keep him where he was.
“You want to help Sam don’t you?”
Sammy? Of course he wanted to help his Sammy. Images floated past; Sam as a baby with his fat little fist stuck in his mouth and eyes wide and sparkling. Sam and him sitting on a motel bed watching G I Joe cartoons and eating peanut butter out of the jar with their fingers. Sam older, lips soft and open and the taste that Dean could never get enough of. His brother. So much love.
“Yes. Is he ok?” Dean struggled against the darkness, no longer holding him in comfort and protection but now trying to hold him down and keep him away.
“He’s ok, baby, but I need you to help him. Help him come back out of the darkness. Can you do that for me? Can you do that for Sam?”
He thought he could. It was his job. It had always been his job; to protect Sam, to help Sam. He nodded, struggling weakly against the darkness. It held him tight, constricting around his limbs and torso the more he fought against it. He struggled harder, muscles finally waking and it took eternity but finally he felt something snap. It was like a rubber band stretched too wide and when it finally snapped he felt it. Felt everything rushing back into him in brutal crashing waves and he wanted to be sick. He wanted to sink back down into the darkness and his mother’s arms. Sam needs me. I can do this. He needs me.
Dean stood in the darkness, perfect black all around.
“Missouri?” The name echoed around him.
“I’m here. I need you to walk, keep walking until you find Sam and when you find him you hold on tight and you don’t let go, Dean. Do you hear me? You don’t let go.”
Dean frowned. Just walk? Walk where? Everything was the same, no direction. Dean started walking. It doesn’t matter. Everywhere leads to Sammy. He smiled at the thought. It had always been true.
One minute or a million, there was no way for him to know. His footsteps echoed and he kept walking. He kept Sam in mind. Small moments through their lives, entwined together until it felt as if they were one. One body, one mind, one being.
Dean stopped suddenly. He wasn’t sure why but one moment he just couldn’t step forward anymore. Realizing he had had his eyes closed, perhaps from the first moment he couldn’t tell, he opened them to find himself standing in front of a door. The darkness was still there, still all around and the door looked like it was hung suspended in the inky blackness. I know this door. He did, but he couldn’t place it. The memory was just out of reach but he knew it was a door from sometime important in his life. Reaching up he pressed his palm to the white painted wood, it felt warm under his touch and there was a dull hum tingling his fingertips.
The thought jolted him and he dropped his hand, with quick trembling fingers he reached for the knob. For a moment he was sure it was going to be locked tight but it turned easily and swung open.
He remembered the room from when he was a child. Perhaps not in perfect details, just snippets imprinted in his mind as his first memories. Perfect white walls, a shelf of stuffed animals mounted above the dresser and a half moon nightlight, the soft ticking from the clock. Home slammed into him so hard that he reeled with it. This was wrong. This place was gone. Sam’s nursery. The place where mom died. Fear and sadness like the sharp tang of blood filled his mouth. He wanted to shut the door.
It’s different. and it was. Instead of a crib there was a bed, a twin bed that Dean recognized as the kind in Jim’s guest rooms and above it a mobile of teddy bears and airplanes. He felt drawn forward, the light so dim from the small moon nightlight and most of the bed lay in shadows. Stepping into the room the door shut behind him, he heard the soft click of the latch and when he turned around there was nothing. No door just blackness like the door had never been. Turning back around he stood for a moment, taking in long steady breaths. He was no coward, the Winchesters were a lot of things but cowardly was not one of them. Steeling himself he stepped forward and approached the bed. As he drew closer he could see farther up in the bed. Something was huddled against the headboards.
“Sam?” Dean’s eyes widened. It was his brother and even as that word left his lips he was there. Sam looked up at him with huge wet eyes like he wasn’t sure if Dean was really there or not.
“Dean?” It was a weak whisper and Dean answered by grabbing his brother and pulling him into his arms. He held Sam tight and Sam clung just as tight to him, he could feel the tremors running through his brother and the soft sobs as Sam buried his face in the side of Dean’s neck.
“It’s ok, Sammy. I found you. It’s ok.” Dean whispered as he stroked his brother’s trembling back. Jesus, Sammy. Is it really you? Sam, I’ll never let go again.
Morgana took a deep breath when Missouri finally nodded. Dean had found Sam, it had taken hours. John and Jim sat together, whispering back and forth too low for her to hear. John looked horrible and her heart ached for him.
“John, I need you.” Both men looked up at her as she spoke and she offered a soft reassuring smile. “Dean found Sam and I need to end this now before…” She trailed off, not wanting to finish. She was still confused herself about what she’d seen, the born Demon and what that meant. John nodded solemnly and stood.
“Just like before, when Dean drops you have to catch him. It should be over after this.” She could feel the shift in the energy in the room. Anticipation and hope from the three adults around her, fear and hate and sickness from the blackness swirling over the two boys. Picking up the imbued iron dagger she reached out and pried open Sam’s mouth with her free hand, reaching inside to pluck out the small bundle of sage she had placed there earlier. It was no longer white. It was black and heavy, dripping with thick vile tar. She didn’t want to touch it, and where she did her finger tips burned and she felt sick to her stomach. It felt almost alive, thudding softly like a heartbeat and she gagged. She quickly placed it on the alter and drove the imbued dagger through its center. The smell was sickening. Rot and decay, the smell of the dead and with that the overpowering stink of sulphur.
“Merciful Jesus.” Missouri gasped and as the dagger pierced the bundle Dean crumbled into his father’s arms. John pulled the boy close but she could tell he was shocked and horrified by what she had just pulled out of his youngest son’s mouth.
“Take him out! Take him out, John!” She gasped and John nodded, Jim stepping forward to help him take Dean from the room.
Morgana was shaking, she felt as if she were going to shake apart. She stared down at the black wet bundle, it no longer throbbed with life but it was no less repulsive and terrifying. She quickly picked up the bundle using the dagger driven through it’s center and placed it in the bowl with the other bundles. She slammed the lid down quickly and turned away.
“We have to burn those. Burn them and bury the ashes.” Her voice was a weak whisper as she looked at her old friend. The older woman looked pale and stricken, her left hand worried the silver cross around her neck and she nodded.
“I’ll have John and Jim take care of it.”
“I think it’s done, Missouri.” Morgana looked down at Sam on the bed. He lay on his stomach; eyes closed breathing deep and soft. The tattoos on his back had been doctored while they had waited for Dean to find his brother and now that she looked at him she could see no more black. She leaned over the boy and gently thumbed open one eyelid, deep hazel underneath and she let out a long shaking breath as she stepped away. She felt like she might collapse. Missouri was at her side in an instant, guiding her over to a chair and sitting beside her.
“By the grace of God.” Missouri whispered as she rubbed Morgana’s back in soft circles.
“By the grace of Goddesses” Morgana answered and she started to cry.
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