Title: Diction
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't be posting on a fanfiction website, now would I?
Notes: My first, short foray into fanfiction, which I blame entirely on Supernatural. Grammar mistakes are inevitable because I am a flawed human being, but try to enjoy it anyways. :]
This time, they weren't even on a hunt.
After disposing of a djinn who had been attempting a ritual amidst its foray into people's minds, they had snatched the book it had been working from and headed to Bobby's. He suggested spending a few days translating it to see what manner of spell a monster would have a use for, the unspoken consensus being something to do with the 'mother of all' they had learned of not two weeks ago.
Dean was eager for the potential of some downtime, thrilled that Sam would have a distraction from strolling- no, charging down memory lane on for his latest guilt trip. Of course, he couldn't say it out loud, so his pleasure manifested itself in the routine mockery of Sam's penchant for research and all things nerdy.
Of course, that left Dean with little to keep himself occupied.
"Go make yerself useful and fix some cars." Bobby growled, shoving Dean out the front door after he had started flicking peanuts at their heads. Dean grumbled fitfully, then strode out into the yard to mingle with the rusted fenders of his flock.
Like the book they had taken from the dragons, the language of their project was an obscure Latinate that occasionally coalesced into a strange marriage between cramped script and vague pictographs that rendered it nearly incomprehensible.
They skipped those parts and began translating what they could from what Bobby had already gleaned from the dragon's book, but the work was exhaustive and tedious and about two hours in they both opted for a break.
Bobby handed Sam a beer, then peered out the window.
"I'm gonna check on that brother of yours, see what damage he's done." He decided, grabbing two more bottles before heading outside.
Sam leaned into his chair, curling back and punctuating the cracks in his spine with a slow exhalation of relief. Giving the clock a glance, he bent over the book once more and flipped idly through the pages, pausing when he chanced upon a two-page spread of ritualistic diagrams. Frowning thoughtfully, he brought the book closer to his face, noting a few familiar symbols lining one of the circles.
Unconsciously, his lips began to move, his hand drawn to the page as his fingers traced the sigils, words unfurling in his mind that resonated and began to echo with an alien tongue, the octaves of a fluting voice fluttering and swooping like a bird's flight marked in song. His blood rushed in his ears with a dull roar, and he was suddenly aware of the approach of a cold, encompassing light that overtook him with a ferocity that snatched him up and sent him flying, falling into darkness.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"Shoulda known you wouldn't be working."
Dean frowned petulantly as a shadow fell across him, rolling his neck to fix the older man with a glare.
"I am working," he clarified, "On a tan."
Bobby rolled his eyes, then squinted up at the sky appreciatively. It certainly was the day for it, and he wouldn't begrudge either of the two of a break in their hectic lives. At least one of them knew how to take one.
"That book'll take more'n a weekend to get through." He observed gruffly, handing Dean a beer before leaning against the car the boy was stretched out on.
"You know, that angel of yours could help rustle up some info about Eve."
"He's not mine." Dean groused. "And he's busy with his cockfighting." He grinned, "Get it? 'Cause they're-"
"Want me to smack you?"
"Philistine." He sighed, then fixed Bobby with a one-eyed stare. "You could call Cas too. I'm not some kind of angel hotline."
"You sure about that? Last I checked, you-"
They both stilled as a familiar rush of wind signaled Castiel's presence.
"Don't fucking say it." Dean snapped at Bobby's sidelong glance. He slid down to perch on the edge of the car's hood, eyeing the angel.
"So, Cas, stop by to chat?"
"No. I came because I heard…" Castiel paused, turning to survey the yard as if searching for something before his eyes snapped to the house.
"Where is Sam?"
"What? What's going on?" That snagged Dean's attention, and he surged off the car and went to stand next to Castiel, followed closely by Bobby.
"Is Sam inside?" Castiel demanded, turning toward him with a hard stare.
"Yeah, why?"
Wordlessly, he reached out to grip both their arms and suddenly they were inside Bobby's kitchen, and it was quiet. Sam was seated where they had left him, hunched over the desk strewn with books and leafs of paper, apparently immersed in whatever he was reading.
"So, why are we here?" Dean gestured to Sam, "He's there, perfectly fine. We're fine. So what's the deal?"
Castiel ignored him again, brushing past to stand next to Sam. He leaned in slightly, brow furrowed as he laid a hand on the man's shoulder.
"Sam."
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
He heard his name called from what seemed a great distance, and abruptly the sensation of a physical force drew him back from… Sam blinked, drawing a hand across his face as he contended with a surge of cognizance, though he was unsure when he had managed to drift off.
Realizing that it was the grip on his shoulder that had startled him, Sam turned and found Castiel beside him, staring down at him unblinkingly.
What? He asked, slightly perturbed at the interruption. He had been… What had he been doing? Twisting in his chair, his gaze fell on the open book and spread of papers. Oh, the translation. He had been taking a break, must've dozed off.
"Sam?"
This time it was Dean's voice. Confused, Sam turned once more and found his brother and Bobby standing in the doorway, both staring him down incredulously as if unsure of something they heard.
What? Did something happen? Sam glanced between the three of them, rising from his chair.
Sam, Castiel repeated. Do you understand me?
Of course I understand you! What's going on? He began to turn to his brother in frustration, but found Dean right in front of him, hands reaching to tighten onto his biceps with an intense expression of concern etched onto his face.
"Sammy! Talk to me, what's going on?"
You tell me! Frustration edging his tone, Sam lifted his arms to push Dean away. Why are you all acting so weird?
"Dean."
His brother whipped his gaze to Castiel, an expression of sheer desperation contorting his features for a brief moment that nearly made Sam cringe.
"He doesn't seem to realize, but… He's speaking Enochian."
What?
"What?"
They all stared at Cas. Bobby broke the silence.
"How?"
"The Wall," Castiel spared Sam another glance, features shifted with subtle notes of sorrow, "Something must've caused it to crack."
"Damn it!" Dean's grip on his arms tightened painfully, and Sam made a mild attempt to pull away. "I told you not to scratch, Sam! What, the last fucking time wasn't enough for you?!"
I was just reading! Sam answered furiously, forcefully disengaging himself from his brother's grasp and snatching up the book, ready to shove it into Dean's face, when he froze. He had been reading it, and then…
"Where did you find this?" Castiel slid the book from his hands, had perused it for a few seconds before stopping at the same page Sam had found.
Dean pursed his lips, dragging his eyes from his brother to where the angel stood, face pensive as he skimmed the page.
"On a hunt. There was a djinn who was using it for some sort of ritual, and we wanted to see if it had anything to do with this 'Eve' crap…" He quieted, glanced at Sam. His brother's gaze lingered on the book, but his attention seemed elsewhere.
"Are you…? Cas, how is he… I mean, why-"
"I highly doubt Lucifer spoke English the entire time." Castiel answered absently, not lifting his eyes from the book. "And the progression of time there… Ah." He brushed the page with his free hand, tapping a particular diagram. "A few of these sigils are Enochian. He must've glimpsed them and triggered the memories."
Stop talking about me like I'm not here, Sam ground out. Tell Dean I'm fine.
"Sam says he's fine." Castiel repeated, returning the tome to the desk.
"Yeah, whatever." Dean snapped, glaring at his sibling- who didn't hesitate to return the scowl.
"I must return to Heaven." Castiel said suddenly. He then turned to Sam. "The damage to the Wall appears to be minimal. I do not believe there is cause to worry about a collapse because of this incident."
With that, he disappeared.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Sam was quiet.
After Cas had taken off, Bobby and Dean had accosted him and forced him to assure them- first with wild gestures, then in writing- that no, he wasn't hiding any other symptoms of this latest lapse in the Wall.
Bobby went back to his work afterwards, saying something along the lines of "He ain't dying, give him some time," when Dean had begun to protest Sam's resistance to his vigorous questioning.
Dean could still taste that first rush of horror and utter confusion when Sam had looked at him with his characteristic annoyance and then that nonsense had come spilling out.
Now, his brother sat on the sofa, hands curled in his lap and head tilted down as he muttered softly, testing words on his lips. He had obviously been unaware of his new dialect until Cas had pointed it out, and everything he said since then had a hesitant, thoughtful cadence. Not that Dean could understand any literal meaning, but at this point there really wasn't much to say.
In the meantime there was alcohol, food, and sleep- he only forced the last two on Sam, dropping a plate in front of him and then later giving him a meaningful stare when he had begun nodding off in the middle of Die Hard. Sam's reply had been an indecipherable grumble, but he eventually relented and trudged upstairs.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The vacation at Bobby's had extended beyond a few days now, Dean doggedly keeping Sam from anything he perceived as a potential trigger and danger to Sam's Wall. His efforts lasted until Sam had snatched back one of his more offensive shirts and the knives he had been about to clean with what Dean suspected had been a swear, if the way Sam had snarled at him was anything to go by.
If anything we owned could've triggered something, it would've done it by now. Lay off. Jerk. Even Sam's writing looked annoyed.
"Bitch."
Sam's lips quirked, and Dean felt marginally heartened.
The feeling tripled when later that evening, Sam said something he actually understood.
"Dean."
He nearly dropped his glass in shock, head snapping to the side as he gaped at his brother, who smirked at him. The brat.
"If I…" Sam's words were stuttered and twisted up in an unfamiliar accent, then lost altogether as he fell into his usual Enochian. He broke off with a sound of frustration.
"If… I concentrate, I… c-can…" Ending with a grimace, sweeping a hand through his hair and gesturing futilely. "Shit."
Dean sputtered in laughter, ducking away from a jab at his arm.
"Asshole."
Sam's stream of expletives was accented with continued smacks as Dean kept laughing.
"Girls shouldn't talk like that." He admonished, swatting at Sam's head. His brother lunged at him, and soon they had spilled onto the floor, tussling like when they were children: all flailing limbs and laughter.
They broke apart at Bobby's threat to skin their hides no matter how mentally inept they were.
Sam turned to him with a grin that Dean couldn't help but reciprocate, feeling lighter than he had in a while.
"Whaddya say we hit the road?" He bumped Sam's shoulder, both of them still sitting where they had rolled to the floor.
Sam frowned. "The… translation."
"No." Dean's response was flat. "Bobby can work through the book on his own."
Sam sighed, but didn't press it.
"S-so, hunt?" He faltered, his words caught up in the new lilting quality to his articulation. But his smile was the same.
And as they walked out to the Impala with duffle bags slung over their shoulders, Dean knew his was, too