Title: Shades of Comfort
Author: ghost4
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
As always: All comments, good, bad, or indifferent are welcome.
**
They had left the freaky bathroom as quickly as possible. Owen and Gillian were walking together a few feet behind Dean and his lighter, and in front of Sam.
The halls had been quiet for the last while. No shades had flickered past, no odd noises or lights, no sign that anything was wrong here. Briefly, Sam played with the idea that the spell had run it's course, that the shades had faded away on their own…but then he remembered the feel of their hands, the way the shadows had just wrapped around him, pressing him down, holding him still… the unearthly power of them – gentle, but solid and constant and strong.
No. There was no way this spell was going to end by itself. The door that had been opened was too wide, the amount of energy being feed to the shades too strong for it to just peter out. All his instincts, all his knowledge as a hunter, told him that they would have to close this spell, turn the fount of energy off at the source.
But to figure out how to do that he needed specifics. He needed to know about that spell that had been used.
Sam opened his mouth, felt the throb in the tissues of his esophagus, and snapped his jaw shut in frustration. How the hell was he supposed to ask Owen about the spell when he couldn't speak?
Hating every second of it, Sam picked up a pebble and tossed it, hitting Dean on the shoulder. Dean turned, irritated. He looked his question. Sam cocked his head, nodded at Owen and mimed opening the book again.
Dean rolled his eyes.
Sam arched his eyebrows, his face set.
Dean sighed.
"Owen," Dean said, sounded resigned. "Tell us about this spell book."
Owen shuffled uncomfortably. "There's not much to tell. I bought it off this guy on campus. I saw it in his bag, and asked him about it – I'm in Latin class, so I was curious, you know?" Gillian patted his shoulder. Owen seemed to take strength from her.
Sam tried not to be nauseous.
"I knew it was a spell book as soon as I opened it," Owen said, now sounding proud. "I know all about the Occult –" and Sam could swear he could hear the capital in Owen's voice " – and I knew what I'd found. When I found a spell for reviving the shades of the departed, I jumped, you know? It was perfect. A real chance to summon ghosts." He looked between them, his face holding all the energetic excitement of a puppy. "It was so cool!"
Sam rubbed a weary hand over his face. He leveled an impatient look at Dean. Move him on. Before I shoot him.
Dean gave him a look right back. Shut up. "Owen," he said out loud, "tell us about the spell. We need to know what you did, so that we can figure out how to stop it."
Owen shrugged. "I just followed what was in the book. Burned the herbs it said, repeated the words. The hardest part was drawing that symbol. It was so swoopy that it was hard to get the lines just right."
Swoopy lines… it sparked an old memory. Sam could remember studying different traditional sigils when he and Dean had but working that Tupla case in Texas. There had been a swirly, swoopy one that had caught Sam's eye… Sam smacked himself in the head. Dean jerked to a stop.
"Sam? You got something?"
Sam just looked at him. No, I hit myself upside the head because it was fun.
"Knock off the sarcasm. Just tell me what you got."
Sam made the book sign again.
Dean frowned. "We need the book?"
Sam went over to the wall. He carefully outlined the sigil from the floor of the morgue – leaving it incomplete, but definitely recognizable.
Dean nodded. "The sigil, right."
Sam outlined the swooping curve of the lines with elaborate care. He drew a spiral over the glyph, ending with a tight circle in the middle.
Dean frowned. "The sigil's pulling something in?"
Sam tilted his head, nodding a little. Close.
Sam drew two lines arching from the broken sigil, with stuff exploding from between them – then ran his hand over the whole picture, wiping it out. He looked at them expectantly.
"A volcano?" Gillian guessed.
Owen looked at her. "Is it like charades?"
"More like Pictionary," she responded absently. "It's fun. You should play."
Sam fought the urge to smack them. Instead he turned to Dean, gritted his teeth and hissed, "Tupla."
Agony scrambled through his throat like a nest of fire ants. It tickled and burned and itched, and Sam fought the urge to cough knowing that that would only turn the ants into shards of glass.
Dean frowned. "Not smart, little brother."
Sam glared at him, one hand wrapped protective around his neck, as if he could somehow smother the fire from the outside. He moved the other hand questioningly. Do you get it?
Dean huffed at Sam before speaking. "I get it. It's like what happened in Texas, right?"
Sam nodded, relived.
"What?" Gillian asked.
Dean motioned at the half destroyed picture on the wall. "The lines are the energy coming from the sigil. The energy you guys summoned. The spell calls up the energy, and the sigil works like a lens. It focuses that energy, feeding it back to fill the psychic ruts of the area. The sigil is like a faucet, pumping raw psychic energy into this place. We need to shut off the tap. Without the energy pouring in, the shades will just… evaporate. Good thinking, Sam."
Sam nodded, eyes closing briefly in relief. The burning sensation was fading again. He spit out another mouthful of saliva, not daring to even try to swallow after trying to speak. He wasn't going to wake that fire up again for anything.
"So how do we do that?" Owen asked, looking between them. "Turn off the tap?"
Sam debated, then mentally shrugged. So long as none of them needed 'medical assistance', they were all safe enough. There was no real need to get the civilians out to protect them. Besides, in quite a few spells, the caster who started them had to be the one to shut them down. It had to do with the psychic 'fingerprint' that a caster left on the ritual. It was the same reason that two people couldn't trade off in the middle of an exorcism. Using a new reader meant that the ritual had to start over from the beginning.
Besides, the Occult Expert had started this; let him clean up his own mess.
Sam stepped up to Owen – ignoring his slight flinch – and tapped him on the chest. Then he held up one hand, opening and closing the fingers like a puppet.
Owen stared at him with wide eyes. "I have to say something?"
Sam shrugged and bobbed his head at the same time. Maybe.
"You did start the spell," Dean joined in. "A lot of times only the caster can end the…casting…?"
He looked at Sam, eyebrows arched. Sam shrugged. Sounded good to him. The 'Occult Expert' should buy it.
Owen's hands fluttered nervously. "How do I know what to say?"
Sam rolled his eyes. He mimed opening the book again.
"I should look it up?"
"It should be in the spell, dumbass," Dean snapped. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked at Sam. "Remind me to thank Bobby real good for this little errand he gave us." Then, to the group, he said, "C'mon. Let's go get that damned book."
**