Hi everyone! I want to thank everyone for the Favorites and Reviews. Thank you for finding time to read the weirdness I produce!

I will probably make this a weekly thing, because chapters 7 and 8 are giving me fits, firmly refusing to work with me: they are written, and they are coming up, but I'm picky about OOC.

I hope you enjoy this chapter, which is even weirder than usual!


The rest of the world became white noise.

George's and Sam's voices buzzing far in the background. The plane vibrations disappearing to nothingness. Our heartbeats loud as drums.

Mind to mind contact was the quickest, easiest way to teach someone how to build a mind palace. It could also be used to share memories stored in it and to calm one of the minds in it.

I let the silence stretch between us, allowing Dean's heartbeat sync to mine, becoming slower. Slower. Finally sliding in the regular slow beat of meditation.

I forced my mind into a soft assurance, letting it seep in Dean's. His phobia was snuffed out by my calm. I had made the spell a permanent tattoo after Cal's death, because it made it easier to connect my mind to my psychologist's, Doctor Tanner's mind as placid as a sunny day on a lake.

It was a strange way of perceiving oneself, because all the troubles that plagued only one of the minds fell away, leaving only the common ones, but not making you forget.

"What are you doing?" even his mental voice was suspicious, suddenly trying to put up shields. That was the weird bit: the lines were blurred, but you still were very much yourself.

"Calm. Not hurting you, am I?"

"No, but this is uncomfortable."

"Strange, but not uncomfortable." The connection between us felt sticky, drawing us closer and closer, even while instinct made you want to pull back, shove the other consciousness away.

"Freaky" he corrected.

"Freaky works." I let him feel my amusement. "Now, we can just sit here, quietly, you taking in my calm, and me enjoying the time without my hip trying it's level best to kill me, or we can use the next few hours to get you started on building a mind palace. To go in a private meditation you just have to let go of my hands. It's your choice."

"How are you doing this? Your brother never mind-melded or whatever."

"It's called mind to mind connection, and George could not do this because he hasn't finished his studies, yet. As for how, it's the tattoo in my inner arm."

"Could this be used to hurt someone?" I felt his protectiveness toward his brother.

"No, the connection breaks if one of the participants means harm to the other."

"Why?"

"No idea, George is the one with the scientific answers. I just know it works like that."

"Fine. So how do I build this mind palace." he grumbled even like this. He resented having to ask, but not enough to stay ignorant.

"First thing, stow the grumpiness and I'll try not to feel threatened by your accomplishments."

"What accomplishments?"

"You are probably the best hunter in the world. I'm very good, but I can't boast anything close."

"Dumb luck, mostly"

"You are forgetting I read the books."

"Goddamn books."

"They are actually quite fun."

"They are terrible. And embarrassing."

"Why? Men of Letters will read them for centuries to come."

"Exactly. I could have lived without a bunch of people reading about some of the things in there."

"You mean the sex?"

"Can we please change the subject."

"Oh, come on, Dean, you can't expect me to have skipped those parts."

"I can pretend that you did."

"I even read some fan fiction."

"You did not. And you mention the Wincest thing and I swear I'm punching you. You can take it."

"Nah, I have a brother. That's just weird."

"Good. Now can we please, please change subject?"

"Yes. But no grumpiness, you wanker, or I'll tell you all about how I fangirled when I realized you and Sam were actual flesh and blood men."

"No grumpiness. Now teach."

"Fine. Picture your car. Picture sitting alone in the driver's seat, in as much detail as you can muster. The rumble of the engine. The steering wheel in your hands. The scent of leather and family. Your favorite song on the radio." I let my mind voice go soft, lulling. "You know that car like the back of your hand, so picture every crack in the leather, even scratch in the dash, every little sound and rattle. When you have it, invite me in."

I felt him sink in the picture, concentrating in the deep, gentle way of meditation, and I gave him as much time as he needed. In the meantime I amused myself with the sensations coming from him. I could feel the tingle of his anti-demon tattoo and a warm sensation, like sunshine on his skin, on his left shoulder and it took me a few seconds to figure out that it was the scar Castiel had left on him when he brought Dean back from Hell, and that it probably always felt warm to him. I wondered if he knew the scar was soul deep and that it tied him to the Angel. I was rabidly curious about it, there was enough Woman of Letters in me to make me want to poke at that connection, pull on that thread until I found the Angel on the other end, but I refrained: it wasn't safe to poke at angels and it wasn't the time.

When I finally perceived the pull of his mind trying to coax mine, I followed him, and suddenly found myself in the Impala. After spending all of yesterday on it, it felt familiar to me too, but I wouldn't be able to distinguish it from any other '67 Impala, like I could bet he would.

The radio was blasting out "Cherry Pie". I snorted at that and felt his irritation before he actually frowned at me. Then he kind of kept staring at me with this shocked expression and I looked down at myself. I was in his mind, so I looked like he pictured me. Turns out, I looked like a prostitute.

"Dear God above, Winchester, really? Could you please give me something that covers more than the bare essentials?"

"Son of a bitch." He had not stopped staring even though he was embarrassed. "It's not really my fault!"

"Kindly explain how it could possibly be mine"

"I'm not the one who's been twisting in weird yoga positions in front of me for the past week!"

I gave him a look that should have incinerated him, if such a thing was possible. "Give me clothes, Winchester, or I swear to God I'm putting a statue of you in a loincloth front and center in my mind palace."

He closed his eyes, completely unnecessary since we were inside his mind, and a few seconds later I had on jeans and a t-shirt. "Thank you"

He avoided looking at me for a few seconds.

"That was embarrassing"

"That it was" I looked away, too, then refocused on the task at hand. "Allright, back to business. Drive us to someplace you know perfectly well, some place you love. It doesn't matter if it still exists or if it has been destroyed. It doesn't even have to be a building. Just a place you feel comfortable being. Meanwhile I'll anchor the car as your starting point. When you want to access your mind palace, you just have to picture the Impala, like you did a few minutes ago."

"So I always start in the same place? Like a videogame?"

"Yes. Exactly."

A few seconds later we were in a car junkyard.

I recognized it from a few pictures I'd seen both in the bunker and in the files I'd been given when I'd accepted this job.

Bobby Singer had lived here.

In the real world, Singer Auto Salvage was abandoned, the house destroyed, the cars rusting hidden by dried out grass as tall as I am, but in Dean's reconstruction, it looked... Alive. Not well kept or carefully repaired, not by any means, but in the state an old, single man might keep it. I could feel his affection for this place through our connection, the same way that, if I concentrated, I could still feel hard, warm hands on mine. Both feelings were distant, mine and not mine at the same time.

I found it interesting that he hadn't thought of his childhood home, but I didn't comment, and pulled a tiny thread of my soul power to anchor the yard in Dean's consciousness.

Using your soul like an engine could be dangerous, but doing this required very little power, because it was a temporary measure: in a few days, Dean mind would subconsciously integrate this pathway, making it permanent, and my anchor would dissolve. Which was lucky, considering the mind to mind connection was sapping most of my energy.

Building a mind palace on your own could take years of forced focus, this way it only took a few hours and the help of a friend.

When he parked the Impala in front of the mechanic station, I knew it was time to leave him alone. His face had softened in a way that spoke of longing for a man that had been a second - and in my opinion, better - father, to him. He was a proud man, and a strong one, and I knew that he wouldn't feel free to explore and feel his way through the house with me hovering, and he needed to. A mind palace should be anchored in strong feelings and filled with memories, and he wouldn't let himself do that if I was around to watch. So I told him "Go explore, visualize the memories you have of this place and of Bobby Singer in as much detail as you can", squeezed his hands in the real world, and let go, cutting the tie that had bound is together for the past few hours.

I opened my eyes in the real world, climbed to my feet and looked for a way to figure out how much of the flight was left. My brother was meditating, probably deep in his own mind palace, and Sam was asleep, his computer in his lap. Not wanting to bother either of them I went looking for the hostess.

Her name was Ingrid and, while I knew she was originally from Oslo, she rarely went back there. She knew of the Men of Letters since she had been saved from a demonic possession a few years ago, and had happily agreed to work for them when the offer had been made. After all, we paid a lot better than Lufthansa, allowed for more destinations and more free time and the job came with nice bonuses such as protection from demons and other weird creatures, training self defense and a fabulous dental plan.

"Can I help you, Lady Seymour?" She asked, a nice, genuine smile on her face. I had always liked her and often went out of my way to make sure she was part of the crew when I had to take the jet.

"Please, Ingrid, call me Amy, Lady Seymour makes me feel very old"

"Ancient" she quipped, her bubbly personality emerging, "but I'll still be polite during work hours and use your title. Now, how can I be of help?" That made me like her even better: she had spine. I grinned at her.

"I was wondering how long we've been in the air and if I could have something to eat"

"Of course. We took off about six hours ago, both Lord Seymour and the younger Mr Winchester have had lunch and I'll be serving them dinner in about an hour. Would you prefer to eat a full meal now, or just a appetizer, maybe, and wait to eat with them?"

"The appetizer, I'll wait" She waved me back to my place, saying she would bring me a plate ad a nice glass of wine.

While I waited I entered my mind palace and added the new information I had to the oldest Winchester's file. While I was tempted to create some naked statuary, I instead reproduced a framed picture of Bobby Singer and the two Winchesters I had seen in the bunker and linked my private files on them to it, then tucked it on a shelf, just in time for Ingrid to bring me the food.

Dean was still in deep meditation, and Sam was frowning in his sleep, as if he had to concentrate to hold on to the dreamworld, but George had woken up by then. "So, how did it go? Did you start Dean on his mind palace?" he asked, barely waiting for me to have eaten the first bite.

"Yes, he has a good place to start, and a lot of things to process to anchor it fully."

"Will you do the same for Sam, or will you let someone else help him?"

I took a sip of the Prosecco Ingrid had brought with my food, finding that the sharpness of bubbly white wine perfectly complemented the cheese and olives in the appetizer, then answered: "I'll anchor Sam's mind palace too, but right now I'm exhausted. I'll be all recharged in a couple of days. Actually, I meant to ask you to partecipate. You'll have take the test for the Fifth Level in… august right? This could be a useful experience. I'm sorry, I didn't think to offer earlier."

He smiled and waved away my apologies. "I'd be happy to partecipate! It will be so interesting!"

"What will be?" came a sleepy voice from the other side of the plane.


So, weirder than usual. This chapter didn't go the way I planned it, and everyone just sort of did their own thing. I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you think!

See you next Wednesday, hopefully with something better XD