Stars in the Growing Night

Chapter One: Summoning Aid

"Are you sure?"

Sam looked up at the quiet question. Castiel had been working on sketching out the spell diagram they needed, but now he had risen to his feet. His expression was uncertain.

Sam frowned, looking back at the spell book on the work table beside him. He'd been using it as a reference as he crushed herbs and mixed the components together.

The spell they were working on was a dangerous spell. There was almost a full page of warnings before the actual spell ingredients and rituals. Done wrong it could obliterate the casters, and quite possibly a large portion of the area in which they resided. Or it could leave them all alive but damaged, physically incapacitated or brain dead.

Or instead of calling the saviors of the world, it could call it's destroyers instead. Instead of discovering a last-ditch chance to save humanity, they'd effectively end it.

Sam's lips pinched together. The world was pretty much ending anyway.

Six months ago, Cas and Rowena and Crowley had destroyed the Mark of Cain. And in doing so, unleashed the Darkness.

The Darkness. It sounded like a cheesy name for a children's nightmare or a crappy horror flick, the kind Dean liked to watch and laugh at. But the reality was anything but.

Within a month, supercharged monsters had started showing up. Werewolves that couldn't be killed with straight silver. Demons that crossed Holy Water like it was never blessed, and licked salt lines off the floor. Ghosts that didn't need physical anchors to hold them and had to be exorcised like demons. Including the spirit of Kevin Tran.

Within two months, they'd received word that Garth's pack, the most pacifist pack they'd ever known, had wiped itself out of existence. Garth himself had come to them, bleeding and on the last edge of sanity, and so crazed they'd finally chained him in the dungeon and risked shooting him up with diluted silver nitrate solution to calm him. It had worked, but he'd been violently ill, and he'd refused to risk leaving the dungeon since. Not even with silver manacles on wrists and ankles to restrain him.

Jody, Donna and the girls had holed up in Bobby's old panic room, still standing after the Leviathans had destroyed his house. So far, they were safe, but who knew how long that would last, especially after the latest developments.

Cas had critically wounded Crowley, after being trapped in a spell cast by Rowena. None of them knew what had happened to the King of Hell. What they did know was that Rowena had taken over. Rowena, transformed by the Darkness and the Book of the Damned into a Queen of Hell that would have made Abaddon tremble in fear.

Naturally, Rowena had unleashed all the forces of Hell on Earth to cause chaos. The body count was massive, the possession count was staggering, and the damage caused by omens was horrific. According to Cas, if things weren't fixed, there'd be famine next year.

And that wasn't the end of it. Cas had gone to Heaven's Gate, to try and speak to his brethren about what to do and how to help. He'd barely made it back alive, and his wounds had required nearly a full week to heal.

Heaven's Gate, and Heaven itself, were under attack, besieged. Specifically, besieged by Metatron, transformed by the Demon Tablet into a Knight of Hell, on par with what Dean had become under the influence of the First Blade. There was no telling if he and Rowena were allies or not, but if they weren't, she clearly didn't have any issues sharing her forces with him. Practically the entire town around the playground where the Gate Spell was drawn had been possessed. Hannah had tried moving the portal, but it had done no good. All it had done was cost the lives of two angels. Cas hadn't been able to save them.

That was when they'd started looking through the Men of Letters information. Looking for anything, anything that could turn the tide. A spell to re-open Heaven, a stronger exorcism, any information they could get on the Darkness. Anything that might help.

And finally, in the very back of the Bunker, in the area where things the Men of Letters generally considered too damn dangerous to mess with normally were stored, they'd come across this spell-book. The book had been marked with every warning, from 'Dangerous' to 'Do not open unless the end of the world is upon us!'. Well, everything in that store-room had been.

In the book had been several spells. Spells of mass destruction. One spell that could freeze everything in a 5 mile radius into stasis for an undetermined length of time. Spells that would transform the caster into an insanely powerful (and most likely insane) entity for a preset period. Cas had claimed those, reminding both brothers that he had been there, done that, and was the one most likely to survive such insanity.

None of them had dared mention to each other what the cost was likely to be if they went that route. The consequences listed in the book for those spells were horrendous, and the memories between them made it all the worse.

Which led them to the spell they were currently looking at. A spell that, if done correctly (and it was very, very precise) could summon chosen warriors of God to lend their aid in a time of ultimate crisis. There was even speculation in the book that the spell might summon God himself, or his chosen emissary, to guide the appointed force.

If ever there was a time for Divine Intervention, it was now.

Of course, casting the spell called upon the very founding elements of creation, unheard of amounts of power, the life force of the casters, etc. Screw it up, and they could literally tear the fabric of the universe apart. Or just themselves.

"Sam?" Sam jerked, startled out of his thoughts. Castiel was watching him with concern.

He hadn't answered the angel's question. "Yeah. Yeah Cas, we're sure."

"Sure about what?" Dean came through the door to the work room, carrying more component ingredients.

"Are you sure you want to attempt this spell?" Cas's eyes flicked over the diagram on the floor, the assembled ingredients. "It's...very complex. More difficult than anything I've ever tried, even as an angel."

Dean dumped his load on the table. "Well, considering the other options are one of us going supercharged kamikaze, or just letting the world end...I don't see we have much choice."

Cas's mouth tightened. "I still think I could handle those spells...and there may be other options."

"We don't have time to look for other options." Sam sighed. "And those spells..."

"Maybe you could take the heat, but I ain't watching you burn again." Dean's tone was blunt. "We've been over this, Cas. It's this or we're screwed."

Cas exhaled, shoulders slumping a little, then he nodded. "Then we should continue preparations. I've mapped out the diagram we need to follow." He gestured to the floor.

Sam did a quick comparison to the rendering in the book. It looked right. But then, he'd seen Cas free-draw spell diagrams of all kinds with pinpoint accuracy. He and Dean were both competent at spell-work, but Cas was a master. He wasn't sure if even Rowena was as good. Though she did tend to harness forces that Cas couldn't or wouldn't touch.

Still, he and Dean were both letting Cas do the drawing and the recitation on this one. For one, the spell was in a language that neither of them could read, which Cas identified as a very old, almost pre-Enochian dialect. He knew it, but neither of the brothers would have been able read or even translate the first word, let alone guarantee their pronunciation. And a mispronunciation here would have disastrous consequences.

Sam looked over the spell components gathered. Candles, white and every color of the rainbow (something about light frequencies). All new. Gold dust, blessed in a special ceremony and mixed into a weird kind of paint, to trace over part of the diagram. Silver dust, same way, same purpose. Holy water. Holy oil. Cas said it was to represent the sacred forces of cleansing and of destruction. Blood from all three of them, to tie their life-force into the spell. Cas had somehow captured a bit of his Grace for it as well. Neither he nor Dean had been willing to ask how the angel had done that. Not after seeing the look on his face afterward.

Sage, and half a dozen other plants. Clay, the element of creation. The clay had to be kept moist, mixed with an herbal concoction, and painted over the lines of the diagram that the silver and gold didn't cover. The candles were to be set at specific junctions of the diagram, each traced with symbols in blood and oil and water.

The spell itself had to be read and finished exactly at sunrise, the moment when darkness gave way to light. On their own, Sam and Dean would never have managed it. But Cas had an impeccable sense of time and he knew his own recitation pace down to the millisecond. As he had pointed out during preparation, it was a gift he possessed as a seraph. Besides, as a commander in heaven's garrison, he had been known for his skills in spell-casting and sigil-crafting. There were others who were better, but he had been accounted as highly skilled nonetheless.

Dean looked over the stuff on the table, then grimaced and removed his over-shirt. "You got everything drawn out?"

Cas looked over the diagram, then nodded. "Yes. I believe so."

"Then let's get this set up." Dean surveyed the components, then grabbed the clay. "I'll let you two do the fancy painting. I can put a good coat on my Baby easy, but that kinda detail work's a pain in the ass."

"Right." Sam picked up the bowl full of silver, then passed the gold to Cas.

The next two hours were spent in meticulous drawing, all of them on hands and knees. At any other time it would have been almost comical, seeing Cas crawling on hands and knees around the floor, meticulously painting symbols. The angel had shed his trench-coat and suit jacket, and his shirt-sleeves were rolled up. He looked very different from the Warrior of God or Holy Tax Accountant image he usually presented.

Finally, all the lines were drawn. Cas double-checked them, then stood up and dusted off his hands. Then they put down the candles, the symbols in blood and oil and water.

And then they were done with the set up. All three of them carefully cleaned up, making sure there was no blood or oil or anything else on them. The ritual was sensitive enough that having elements out of place might damage it. Sam set up and filled the braziers of scented woods that would be the only light they'd use during the invocation. There was nothing that prohibited using the electric lights, but as sensitive as the whole thing was, none of them were willing to chance it. That done, all three of them washed up and changed into fresh, clean, new clothing. Clothing that none of them had ever worn in battle, ever worn hunting. Even Cas changed out of his suit into simple slacks and a plain shirt.

The ritual called for things untouched by death and destruction. There was nothing that any of them could do about the various stains and scars on their bodies minds and souls, but they could clean up that much at least. They were also barefoot, to avoid any possible taint of leather, and all of them were weaponless.

Afterward, they re-entered the chamber. Dean lit the braziers. Sam doused the overhead lights. Cas collected the book. That done, they made their way to the ritual circle in the center of the complicated web of lines and symbols they had drawn. The gold and silver glittered in the firelight, the clay providing a dull and eerie contrast.

Cas stood in the center of the circle. Dean and Sam collected matches, then joined him, standing on either side of the angel. At different points during the reading, it would be their responsibility to light the candles.

"Cas?" Dean settled into position, then looked at the angel.

"Five minutes." The angel's eyes were distant, his mind clearly elsewhere, hopefully tracking the movement of the heavens in preparation for beginning.

Seconds ticked past with agonizing slowness. Sam fought to avoid fidgeting. Dean was twitchy, shifting from foot to foot and passing the matchbox back and forth between his hands. Then Cas's posture changed, eyes focusing on the room and the book in his hands with a sharpness that could have cut. Sam jumped into position as the angel's eyes flicked toward him.

Cas started to read. Harsh, yet somehow liquid phrases poured from his mouth, a language Sam and Dean didn't know, but which seemed to resonate with energy.

Ten minutes in, Sam recognized that Cas was reaching the end of the first invocation. He drew a match, poised to light the first candle, a white one on his right.

Cas finished the first phrase. Sam lit the candle, saying a quick prayer of gratitude when it caught the first time. He didn't want to throw the angel too much off his rhythm. That might have disastrous consequences.

Cas started again, so smooth you could barely tell there had been a break in his chanting.

And so it went. Cas chanted, reading the spell from the ancient book. At the end of each invocation, Dean or Sam would light a candle, and Cas would continue. Time passed. The air grew thick and hot. Cas was unaffected, but Sam could see Dean sweating, and his own shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his back. He had to marvel at Cas's endurance. His own throat would have been wrecked by the nonstop chanting that had been going on for hours now.

Finally, Castiel reached the final invocation. As he spoke, he shifted the book to one hand. This final invocation would require him to light the last candle himself, to seal himself into the ritual. Dean stood by, matches ready to strike in his hand.

Cas began the last phrase. Dean struck the match and set it in the angel's hand. Sam moved to take the book. He took it from the angel's hand just as Cas shuffled a half-step forward and touched the lit match to the candle with one final, guttural exclamation.

The candle lit. Everything seemed to freeze into a moment of perfect stillness, the calm before the storm.

Then all the flames in the room exploded, leaping towards the ceiling. The holy oil sigils ignited with a flash, causing Cas to stagger back with a gasp of pain. Dean and Sam both choked, pain igniting in their chests as the blood sigils also caught fire, burning with an otherworldly radiance.

The flames encircled them completely, trapping them in a circle of light and heat. Then the world seemed to tip sideways and fly apart at the seams. The ground seemed to wrench out from underneath all three of them, then replace itself with a gut-churning lurch that even floored even Cas.

Then they were standing outside the circle, each at a different point. Cas was wide-eyed in surprise. Sam didn't feel much better. The positions outside the circle were supposed to be for the chosen. He didn't understand how they'd crossed the circle, or why. Dean was poised to fight.

The flames whooshed, then seemed to shatter somehow, exploding off the candles, gathering into four distinct pillars of fire. Sam watched in trepidation as forms seemed to solidify. Then the light swelled, exploded, and the room plunged into darkness.

Author's Note: And so it begins...

**Belated Author's Note: It has been brought to my attention by a guest reviewer that I present the impression of trying to favor Sam by shifting the blame for his mistakes, aka the release of the Darkness, to other characters, and treating him like an innocent. As this is not my intention, I would prefer to clear up the misunderstanding here, before it becomes confusing later. If you do not have this impression, feel free to ignore this note.

When I say 'Cas, Crowley and Rowena had destroyed the mark of Cain and unleashed the Darkness' I mean it in the most literal 'this is what happened' sense. Because they did. Cas coordinated the effort. Cas and Crowley together gathered the ingredients. Rowena cast the spell. Sam was, at the time, several hundred miles away in an abandoned mexican restaurant preoccupied with things like 'oh god I'm gonna die and Dean's gonna kill me' followed by 'holy shit, Dean killed Death'. And even if he had been there...these three characters are all powerful supernatural beings. All of them can more than handle Sam. He couldn't MAKE them do anything they didn't choose to do. So any efforts on the spell were voluntary on their parts. Yes, Sam is the instigator. Yes, he coerced/coaxed all involved participants into helping him (except Crowley, whom Cas convinced). Yes, he failed to call Cas and tell him to stop the spell because it might be dangerous. He is not innocent of being the instigator and driving force behind the effort. Not at all. I am aware of this. So is the Sam in this story. But he is not solely to blame for what happened. Not when everyone else in the equation is capable of knocking him unconscious, killing him, restraining him etc with the wave of a hand.