—Excerpt from the Book of the Four Horsemen
And so it was written,
The souls of the Four Horsemen shall be cut in half
at the Dawn of Time, Hidden for a Season times a Season.
Only when they find the Half Soul and cleave unto it,
Then shall they be Whole.
"This sucks."
Dean thought about punching the glass table in front of him out of frustration before deciding against it. The only time he wanted to get bloody knuckles was when he was feeling the crunch of a monster's face breaking under his fist.
Sam looked up from the papers and books strewn around his laptop and did that weird head shrug of his. "Dean, I don't like it anymore than you do, but this was all Bobby could dig up about the ritual and he's not even sure it'll work."
"How did you even learn about this spell in the first place, huh? I mean it's not like we encounter a bunch of people running around invisible!" Dean argued.
"There's quite a bit of lore about the subject," Sam gestured toward his laptop. "There's the Invisible Man and in some cultures fairies and trolls are known as 'hidden people'; the Native Americans have legends of spirits or beings that walked among them unseen-"
"All right, all right, I get it. Come on, Sammy, how are we supposed to hunt if we're invisible? What if we need to talk to someone to figure out what's going on or we crash at night in a motel and some fat dude tries lay on me while I'm sleeping?"
Sam's shoulders shook with suppressed laughter as he imagined that scene.
"It's not funny," Dean growled.
"Do you want to just forget about it then? Sam asked. "I thought with every demon and Leviathan out there riding on our asses this would be the best way to stay under the radar for a few weeks."
"When you want to lay low you go to some place like Vegas or Palm Beach," his brother grumbled.
Sam closed the book nearest him. "All right then. We'll forget about it."
"I just don't like the idea of asking him."
"Neither do I and he's probably not in a very sharing mood at the moment. I've looked through everything Bobby send us and this is the only way the ritual will work."
Dean began pacing the floor, agitated. "So what do we do; find Death and say, 'hey, we need some of your blood to do this ritual thing and oh yeah, maybe some of your skin too, but hey it's going for a good cause, right?'"
Sam glanced down at the glowing screen in front of him to hide his smile. He couldn't imagine his brother talking to Death that way since every time he looked at the otherworldly being he nearly wet his pants.
"Who even came up with these damn rules anyway?" Dean continued to grouse.
"Do you want to just forget about it then?" Sam asked again.
Dean shot his younger brother a look. "I know what we have to do, Sammy," he growled. "Just let me blow off some steam first."
More like throw a temper tantrum, Sam thought. He wasn't too keen on the idea of talking to Death again either. After all, the last time they had met, he and Dean had tried to bind him to them.
"Maybe I should keep looking for another alternative," Sam suggested.
"No, you said it yourself this was the only way. So let's just get this over with." Dean stopped pacing and nabbed their dad's journal off the bed, tossing it to Sam. Still the total nerd that he was, Sam had started chronicling things they learned on the empty pages of the journal. Last time he looked they only had a few more pages to go before it was completely full.
Sam caught the book in mid air and turned to the page where he wrote down the summoning ritual for Death. This time though they weren't going to bind him. He rattled off the necessary ingredients that they needed.
"Awesome," Dean replied sarcastically. "I'll get the sheep's blood." With that he strode out of the crappy motel room and slammed the door behind him.
Sam took a deep calming breath as the incense smoke wafted up his nose and curled around his face. He peered at Dean through the hair covering his eyes and saw that his older brother looked just as scared as he felt.
"Ready?" he asked him.
"No, but we might as well get it done and over with."
Sam took another deep breath to calm his nerves and sent a quick prayer toward anyone who would listen to keep them safe from Death's wrath. He began chanting the ritual words in a steady, measured pace. As he came to the end of the chant, the mixture in the bowl on the table burst into flames, devouring everything, then just as quickly burnt out.
The brothers waited, hardly daring to breath.
Nothing happened.
"Is that it?" Dean asked. "The jerk wad's not even going to show up?"
"I wanted to get myself a hot dog first," said a low voice behind them.
The Winchesters spun around, Dean's hand automatically going to the gun at his hip.
He immediately straightened his posture and let his hand drop to his side when he saw Death sitting on the ugly orange arm chair in between the two beds. His throat felt dry as Death's cold, dark eyes bore into his.
For a moment neither of them could speak. When Sam realized Dean had no intention of starting the conversation he cleared his throat nervously. "First, we want to say we're sorry for— " he coughed uncomfortably.
"Our last encounter," Dean finished for him, trying to smile. It came out looking like a grimace.
Death continued to stare at them for a moment before biting into his hot dog. As he chewed meticulously, he raised his eyebrow as if encouraging them to go on.
"Anyway," Sam glanced at his brother, really wishing he would do this part. "We have all these demons and Leviathans after us…"
"Because your angel decided to play God," Death interrupted.
"Cas didn't know what he was doing," Dean spoke up, feeling the need to defend his best friend even though he was mad at Castiel himself for being so stupid. When Death looked at him, Dean let his eyes be drawn toward the orange chair and shifted his weight slightly.
"We've been trying to fly under the radar yet they keep finding us," Sam continued. "Until we can figure out our next move we need to regroup and…" he coughed nervously again. "Well, I found this ritual that will prevent them from seeing us and we need— "
"You need my blood and flesh to complete the ritual," Death said in a bored tone. By this time he had finished with the hot dog and was crumbling up the wrapper.
"Yes."
"If I were to help, no one else would be able to see or find you. Not even the living," he said. "Only I would be able to."
"Yeah, we realize that," Dean said. "This is only going to be temporary."
Death continued to stare at them unblinking. "And why should I help you?"
Dean felt his heart sink to his toes. He just knew this was going to happen. "Because you need us."
That was the wrong this to say.
"Why would I need two bumbling apes?"
Dean gritted his teeth. "Because you brought Sammy's soul back from Hell in exchange for us taking care of the Leviathan problem."
"A wonderful job you're doing too," Death said sarcastically.
Dean clamped his mouth shut. He so badly wanted to tell Death off, but knew that was a short way ticket to certain eternal torture. To his surprise it was Sam who lost it.
"You know what, we don't need you. If you're not going to help us than fine. We'll figure something out ourselves!"
For several agonizingly long seconds, Death stared at Sam until he turned pale when he realized he had just shouted at the man who could kill him with a snap of a finger.
For once Dean was glad he had kept his mouth shut. He remembered all too well the times he lost his temper and had to endure that stare. Just when the Winchesters were sure they were done for, Death finally spoke. "I will give you my blood and flesh on one condition."
"Okay," Dean nodded eagerly, almost willing to give up his soul just so long as he didn't have to die today.
"If either of you ever attempt to bind me again I will send you to Purgatory for a hundred years and then to Hell for another hundred," his eyes flashed dangerously at them.
"Deal," the oldest Winchester quickly agreed. "Now how do we do this? Do I need to cut your arms or something?"
Death gave him a look of contempt. "You will need a bowl."
Sam rushed over to the glass table to retrieve the bowl they had used to summon him, cleaning it out with a spare towel.
Death took the bowl and walked over to the table, his black overcoat briefly fluttering. As he passed him, Dean felt a cold chill and shivered.
Placing the bowl carefully in the middle of the table, Death took out a jagged looking knife from his inner coat pocket and bared his arm. Without batting an eye, he sliced off a piece of his skin and let it drop into the bowl.
Both the Winchesters winced.
He then dug the knife deeply into his arm and let the blood flow freely into the bowl. Once it was filled Death cleaned the knife and put it away. As he tugged down his sleeve, Dean noticed that the wound was already healing.
Sam moved forward and stirred the blood, adding in some sickly green stuff that Dean didn't even want to know the name of all the while chanting under his breath. When the concoction had mixed thoroughly, he set the spoon aside and held it out for Dean.
"You first."
"That's all right, ladies first."
Sam gave him a dirty look, then glanced around the room in puzzlement. "Where did Death go?"
Dean checked out the tiny room decorated in orange, black, and pink to see that it was just themselves again. "Not big on goodbyes is he? Quit stalling and drink it."
Sam looked at the bowl and grimaced before lifting it to his mouth and drank from it deeply. When he was done he handed the bowl off to his brother and started gagging. A red stain decorated his upper lip.
Dean watched as his younger brother shook his head vigorously with a disgusted expression and wiped his mouth. "Does it taste like chocolate?" He smirked.
Sam shot him another dirty look.
Chuckling at his own wittiness, Dean tipped the bowl over and drank down the rest of the blood. Every instinct told him to stop and fling the thing away from him. The taste of iron was overwhelming. Once he finished, he wiped his mouth and tried to think about eating a thick slice of apple pie.
His stomach rebelled at the thought.
"Okay, that was disgusting."
"But at least now we should be invisible to everyone."
"All right, pack your crap and lets go," Dean bent over to start grabbing his clothes and shoved them into his bag. A funny thought came to him. "Hey Sammy, we could be making our own urban legend driving out of town in a supposedly empty car."
"Anything we touch becomes invisible too, Dean," Sam replied, slightly annoyed.
"Oh," Dean said in disappointment.
"You would know that if you actually read the article I gave you."
"Why would I want to do that when I have you, brain boy," Dean slapped him on the shoulder.
Sam didn't reply silently fuming to himself.
Once they were packed, Dean headed for his Baby parked a few feet away from their hotel room. A man nearly bumped into him, causing him to dodge and step off the sidewalk.
"Watch where you're going, asshole!" he shouted after him.
"He can't see you, Dean," Sam said with amusement.
"Crap, this is going to take some time getting used to."
Sam was just about to agree when a female voice spoke behind them. "Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to Front St. from here?"
The Winchesters turned to look at the young woman in astonishment. She was petite, had short strawberry-blond hair that barely touched her shoulders, and large brown eyes. Dean guessed her to be in her early twenties. She wasn't drop dead gorgeous or even particularly striking, but there was something about her meek spirit that made her attractive.
"You can see us?" Sam asked, glancing at Dean in confusion.
The girl looked just as puzzled. "Yeahhhh," she said slowly, like they were dumb. "So, can you tell me how to get there?"
"Uh, yeah," Sam replied. "Turn left at the first exit on Main St."
"Thanks," she jogged away towards a waiting BMW with another young woman waiting behind the wheel.
"Who were you talking to?" they heard the other lady ask. They didn't get to hear the answer because the girl slid into the passenger seat.
They watched as the BMW drove down the street.
"That was weird," Dean said.
"Definitely," Sam agreed.