Killing them should have been easy. A couple of witch killing bullets, making sure to leave no witnesses... It should've been a piece of pie. But of course, nothing in their life could ever be simple, could it?
Dean was thrown against the wall. The youngest of the witches, a child, really, had bracelets to enhance strength, and boy, did they work. The girl couldn't have been more than thirteen at the most, but her mother had needed the blood of a virgin for a spell, and who better to use than her own daughter? So, the girl had been brought in on the secret. What was supposedly her mother's book club (A book club? Again? Really? Could they not be a little more creative?) was actually a coven of witches. Originally, it was just a way to be able to get a lucky break or two, but the young girl had quickly realized that it could be so much more than that, quickly corrupting what used to be the adult's gig. The days of good luck and petty revenge had quickly escalated into death and destruction, all while the families involved were thriving.
Back to the matter at hand though. Sam was still fighting, but Dean? Dean could barely move his eyes to look around, let alone the rest of his body, despite the fact that there was nothing physically holding him back. Dazed, he tried again to sit up. Still not working. He keeps fighting, but blackness soon takes over.
Sam is surrounded. Absolutely surrounded. What was supposed to only be six, maybe seven witches max, had turned into thirteen. Unlucky number thirteen. Huh, of course, just his luck. These bitches had included their children in the horrid practices, and while the youngest was only thirteen or so, that was still pretty messed up. They started chanting, chanting in a round. One or two witches would start the chant over at each sentence, leaving Sam confused over what he was hearing. The chanting seemed to surround him, blocking out all other sounds. Looking down, he tried to step away, but learned that he couldn't move. He was standing on some sort of large mat, disguised as a rug. It was obviously a type of amplifying or directing device. He tried to step off. He tried to break the chanting, by shooting at the witches, but to no avail. The gun was yanked from his hand, and a sense of immense dread soon replaced it. The ominous chanting lasted for several more minutes, with the last two minutes having Sam crouched low on the floor, covering his ears, trying to block out the sounds.
Non male dicentibus vobis, Sam Wynton '. Nos benedixerit tibi erit unhuman. Ex hac die altera a te et non esse plene humanus, et te et eris eis duabus creaturae quod tu es, qui maxime plene comprehendunt. Maledicimus vos utraque nummus tenebris lucem. Vos a die autem illa duo animalia per quos magicae videbitur tibi retro maledicere. Dum venator tu nunc una quae ad scopum. Non enim shapeshifter non versipellem esse, non Skinwalker, sed aliquid aliud. Data est nobis in qua potestate non est creaturae non erit, ut commodo, magna relati, maledicetur in illo sentire quod non sit ultra habeas super eis et benedictionem. Et maledic ei, ad intellectum, sed etiam cum non est remedium. Maledic ei, ut non animadverto est id quod fit, non est usque ad sero. Maledicent illi mora temporis. Maledicat illum filiali. Idoneum virum unum de creatura formam Lucifer. Maledicat illum Christus, dic nobis. Maledicent illi, et non hominem curare. Ita dicimus, ita esse necesse est.
Abruptly, the chanting cut off. There was no warning, no signal given that the room would be filled with silence, which, somehow, was even louder than the chanting could have ever even hoped to have been. The witches shuffled out, their goal seemingly completed. All but one of them had left, but the remaining one had yet to even move. Whispering, she leaned closer to him. "I'm so sorry, we didn't have a choice. He said he would torture us if we didn't do this. I didn't want to, I swear! Please, we didn't have a choice. We didn't kill those people, we didn't curse anyone, you have to believe me! It was the man. The man with the black eyes, he made us do it, and did those awful things!" She turned and left, never looking back. As she walked out, her eyes found the other brother. Dean Winchester, still crumpled on the floor, the Mark of Cain plainly visible on his forearm. Her eyes flashed black in disgust, looking at the weakling who thought he had what it takes to accurately wield the Mark.
If Dean had been able to open his eyes at this point, he would have been able to see the girl's eyes flash, and many headaches could have been avoided. However, since he was still rather unable, the demonic sign went undetected.
Sam tried to get to his brother. He tried so fucking hard to reach his brother, before finally, he reached into his jacket, grabbed a knife, and tore at the fabric of the mat he was standing on, allowing him to break the circle, and thus step away. After doing so, he rushed to his brother's side. Reaching him, he checked for a pulse. His trembling fingers searched, and after a few moments, he sighed in relief. It was weak, but it was there, and that meant there was still hope. Sam placed his arms under his brother, and in one quick move, scooped him up to carry him. He gave no thought to the witches who had been in the house just minutes before, more concerned about the state of his brother. Rushing out to the Impala, he got Dean situated, before hurrying back into the house to grab their weapons… There was serious carnage, and he didn't want to leave any evidence behind. Plus, Dean would whip his ass if he left the guns behind, they could be hard to come by – legally. He grabbed what he deemed necessary, before hurrying back outside, his hand reaching into his back pocket to get the keys.
The car started, he quickly takes off, heading back to the motel. Sam was an expert at treating wounds, and while this wasn't the simplest of injuries, he knew how to treat a concussion. Pushing the ritual he was just subjected to towards the back of his mind, Sam began to stitch Deans wounds.
Please R/R! It would be much appreciated, and honestly, it would just make my day!
Latin Translation (according to Google Translate):
We curse you, Sam Winchester. We curse you to be unhuman. From this day, from this second, you shall no longer be fully human, for you shall also be those two creatures which most fully encompass who you are. We curse you to be two sides of a coin, the dark and the light. You shall, from this day, be those two creatures whom magic shall see fit to curse you with. While you were a hunter, you shall now become one of the very things that you target. Not a shapeshifter, not a werewolf, not a skinwalker, but something else. There is no control given to us over which creatures you shall be, so please, great magics, curse him with that which he will feel to be both a burden and a blessing. Curse him with the understanding, but also with no cure. Curse him to not realize what has been done, until it is too late. Curse him with a time delay. Curse him with initial fear. Make one of his creature forms suitable for our master Lucifer. Curse him, we say. Curse him, and cure not this man. So we say, so it must be.