Chapter 37

"So," Dean asked tentatively as he and 'Sam' left the hospital as slowly and calmly as they could. "How's it look in there?"

"Not good." Ezekiel replied in a lackluster, monotone voice. "There is much work to be done."

"But he's going to wake up, right?"

"He will."

"So when he does, is he going to feel you in there triaging his spleen?"

"He will not feel me, no. There is no reason for Sam to know I'm in here at all."

"You're joking, no. This is too big."

"And what will he do when you tell him he's possessed by an angel?" Ezekiel challenged, pausing in step to face Dean.

"He'll have to understand."

"And if he does not? Without his acceptance, Sam can eject me at anytime. Especially with me so weak, and if Sam does eject me, he will die.

"Then we keep it a secret for now. Or until Sam is well enough he doesn't need an angelic pacemaker or until I can tell him, I…" Dean hesitated, finally feeling the gravity of it. "As for him being in the hospital, I'll have to figure something out."

"I can erase it all if you like. He will not remember any of this."

Dean couldn't believe the situation he found himself in. Of all the things he and his brother had been through, Angel possession had gratefully never been on the list. That was until Dean put it together. He just didn't know what to do. It was the only thing he thought, or knew, would help his brother.

Eventually he nodded. Ezekiel closed his eyes and began to weave through Sam's memories, erasing the ones that would be difficult or impossible to explain. His salvation relied on deleting the same memories Dean would never be able to elaborate on so there was no need to discus the selection, until Ezekiel found the ones of Death's conversation. He opened his eyes and turned to Dean.

"And the conversation with Death?" he asked curiously.

Dean nearly said delete it all when he remembered what he'd heard through the connection into Sam's mind earlier.

"Can you see everything that happened while he was talking to Death?" Dean asked quickly.

Ezekiel nodded.

"And the woman, Magdalena, yes."

Dean sighed internally.

"Tell me everything she said." He demanded.

"She said very little of importance, but one thing. She said if you or Sam ever needed help, you need only recite the Poem of Asclepius."

"The hell does that mean?"

"I do not know. Would you like me to erase that as well?"

"Huh? Yeah, I guess so." Dean nodded as he delved into his thoughts to try and decipher what Maggie meant. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

Ezekiel nodded and followed the frantically thinking Dean away from the hospital and to their car.

~!~

After doing his best to calm Kevin down, Dean remembered he had something else as important in his mind as the angel tablet.

"Oh, and Kev, do me another favor would you?" he asked as Sam began to disappear to do something else.

"Sure, why not?" Kevin asked sarcastically.

Dean raised a brow to his behavior, but let it lie. All things considered it wasn't a surprise how Kevin was acting.

"I need you to do something for me. There's a spell or a poem or something I need you to find. It's called the Poem of Asclepius."

"Asclepius? Sounds Greek."

"Yeah sure, start there then."

"What's it for?"

"A friend." He replied, turning to leave.

Kevin wasn't sure what to think. It wasn't Dean's cryptic behavior or words, he'd become used to that throughout his time with the Winchesters, it was the way he said 'a friend'. He said it like he was sad, like it was some last ditch effort and hopeless before he even tried it. Usually Dean was mildly enthusiastic, but not that time. It worried Kevin and made him more interested in finding out what the poem might mean.

Kevin searched for what felt like hours before finding anything that was even remotely close to what Dean had asked. Part of him hated that the entire library and all the files weren't computerized, but another part knew the task that it would be to do it. He wasn't going to. True he and Sam both input the information they used for cases, but as for going through everything one by one and putting it into an electronic database, there was no way.

He read through everything he could when he found the name Asclepius. After gathering the information, it took another twenty minutes or better before he found out what the hell the poem was. It was a spell, he figured. Reaching for his phone, Kevin dialed Dean's cell.

"Yeah," he answered when he picked up.

"Hey Dean," Kevin greeted as they tended to, his eyes darting over the page. "I found that poem thing I think."

"Yeah?" this time Dean seemed a little more hopeful than before. "Well, what's it say?"

"It's in ancient Greek or Latin or something. I can't really read it."

"You can read Angel and Demon tablets, but Latin's pushing it?" Dean asked sarcastically.

"Yeah well apparently being a Profit means the Word of God is the best I can do, sorry." Kevin replied in the same tone. "Look, I found it and if you actually want to use this thing, there's a whole process."

"Process? Like a spell?"

"I guess. I don't really know. Back then everything was done with some kind of ceremony, ya know? I mean hell, they had a ceremony to eat breakfast in the morning." He said simply. "So it's kind of hard to tell, but there are supplies."

"Yeah… sounds like a spell." He mumbled.

"Well, if you want to do this, I think we have everything here, so it's up to you."

"Okay, well just make a list or something, just in case. Okay?"

"Sure."

Dean said his thanks and hung up. Kevin tossed his phone onto the table, took a piece of scrap paper and a pen and began to write down the ingredients needed for the poem. Honestly, Kevin was starting to lean more towards it being a prayer of some kind.

Thankfully, The Men of Letters had translated the things needed into English, leaving the actual poem in Latin. He didn't know why, but the little bit of English helped.

Sam and Dean came back later that night. Kevin was ready to leave in spite of everything because of what Crowley told him, but Dean managed to hold onto his friend for just a moment longer.

"Oh," Kevin remembered. He turned to face Dean again. "The stuff for that prayer or whatever's right over there."

Dean followed Kevin's pointed finger and saw a book resting on the table top, a section marked by a piece of paper sticking out from somewhere in the middle. Dean smiled weakly and nodded to his friend.

"Thanks man."

Kevin nodded and went to his room, exhausted, heavy with everything and not sure what else he could really do.

When he was gone, Dean walked to the table. He fingered the pages before finding the bookmark and pulling open the aged text. He glanced over the words that were indeed in Latin, something Dean was glad he could at least read even if he didn't understand it, and the list wedged in the spine. Dean took the list written on half of a torn envelope.

It called for the basics, at least compared to what he usually had to use. He had to draw a sigil in salt from the Red Sea. Five candles would be placed around the outside of the mark forming a small circle. In the middle of the sign would be a brass bowl for the ingredients. It called for Holy Leaves and Wormwood, herbs Dean knew were used in hoodoo to attract helpful spirits and the like. It broke his heart to think of Maggie as a spirit, but maybe that was what she meant by telling Sam this was how she could help. Maybe the poem was to summon the spirit of someone you knew, a friend or family.

There were a few more things, not a lot, but enough he'd have to search. The ritual also called for something called Mojo Beans. Dean didn't know what they were, but Kevin had scribbled down meanings and notes on the paper too. Apparently Mojo Beans were made for wishing, like a coin tossed into a well type of thing. He also needed something personal for who he planned to contact, a picture, lock of hair, handwriting, whatever he could get that was a link to the deceased. Dean had a few things, two really, but nothing he really wanted to part with because at the bottom of the page it had one simple word. Burn.

Dean felt his heart drop as he looked over the list again, making an internal checklist when he spotted something he hadn't noticed before. Just above burn, it said personal sacrifice from the one seeking. That made his stomach drop and twist into knots. Personal sacrifice? That could mean so many horrible, horrible things. Thankfully, Kevin wrote a note beside that too. There were a few options ranging from the mundane offerings to Dean's blood. Greeks… leave it to them to bleed for everything at the drop of the hat. Apparently they figured if they were willing to draw their own blood for something they wanted, the chances of it being granted was higher. Who knew? Maybe it was. Who was Dean to argue when he was standing there considering the same thing?

Running his fingers through his short hair, Dean closed the book and took it with him as he went in search of the things he'd need. The herbs and the like were relatively easy. Apparently the Men of Letters alphabetized almost everything so all Dean had to do was check the list then find the corresponding letter. A brass bowl was sitting not too far away and deciding it was as good as any, he grabbed it and threw the herbs inside.

As he set it on the table with the book and went to grab the Red Sea salt, Sam came back into the room. As astute as the pair was, it didn't take long for him to recognize the obvious spell work. His pace slowed as he eyed it and his brother.

"What are you doing?" he asked as Dean returned with a glass apothecary jar of salt.

"Uh, I'm not too sure actually." He answered, setting it down and glancing to the list again.

Sam raised a brow while Dean retrieved some candles.

"You're about to do a spell, and you have no idea what it does." Sam repeated in mild disbelief.

"Well," Dean sighed, trying to act calmer than he felt. In truth he was conflicted. He didn't want to be excited incase it was a total wash, but he almost couldn't help it either. "I kind of know what it does, but I'm not all that sure it's a spell."

"You're using candles and herbs. It's a spell." Sam said in a deadpan voice.

Dean simply shrugged a single shoulder. He reached for the book and turned it. He studied the sigil and after pouring some of the salt into the palm of his hand, he began to draw it out on the tabletop. Sam stood back in mild disbelief. He wasn't sure if he should be worried yet, only that something 'possibly' not good was going to happen. Knowing their luck, Dean might blow up the headquarters, regardless of the spell.

"Dean," Sam said after a few minutes of silence. Dean hadn't said or done anything as he finished the sigil. He glanced up briefly to Sam but continued to set things up. "What's going on?"

Dean hesitated as he set the final candle in place. He thought quickly on how to phrase what he was about to say. After all, Ezekiel wiped that portion of Sam's memory and Dean couldn't really say he used an angel to spy on Sam's conversation with Death. But he kind of could too.

"Remember when Maggie," Dean's head fell. He put his palms on the tabletop and let his shoulders slump. He couldn't even say the word died and Sam couldn't blame him for it. Dean cleared his throat. "And Death wouldn't bring her back?"

"Yeah," Sam answered heavily. "What about it?"

He remembered the conversation as vividly as Dean did. In fact, Sam was the one that had to hold his brother back while he struggled to hit the Horseman. Death told them Maggie's time had come, that she wasn't meant to survive the fight with Cass and that she wasn't meant to walk the Earth any longer.

"Well I had Kevin looking for something that might bring her back."

"A resurrection spell?" Sam asked, unable to hide his shock. "Dean, that's heavy magic. You can't do that."

"Wha… no." Dean snapped. "God no. I'd need her body for something like that and I…," Dean shuddered and hesitated finish his statement. The thought made him physically ill. But he wasn't sure what words he could use. He wasn't about to tell Sam how desperately he wanted Maggie to be alive again, but he had to tell him something. "It's just summoning her spirit, see?"

Dean reached forward, picked out a few of the Wormwood chunks and showed them to Sam. The youngest brother looked over the inside of the brass bowl and realized that it was nothing like raising her from the dead. After all, Dean was right. In order to bring her back from the life (which was basically impossible for a pair of humans like them) they would need her physical remains, either body or bones. Nothing they had in the headquarters would substitute that and given Dean hadn't made any sudden trips, Sam was certain Maggie wasn't hiding in a cupboard anywhere. Besides, they'd burned her.

"Okay." He nodded slowly. "Need some help?"

Dean seemed a little surprised Sam was so willing to help him, but then again he wasn't. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but there wasn't really anything Sam could do.

"No, I think I got it." He replied before spying the poem. "Then again, how bout you go ahead and read that?" he pointed to the book. "You're better at reading Latin."

"I'm better at reading period." He chuckled under his breath as he pulled the book to him and sat.

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Asshole…" Dean replied. "We still got that printer around here?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, pointing absently over his shoulder as he began to read and sound out the words written a thousand years ago.

Dean walked around the table and towards the printer/scanner they'd bought a year or two prior. It came in handy when they had to print out things like newspaper articles or Kevin scanned pages of some book and emailed it to them in the field. It really was invaluable sometimes.

Reaching into his pocket, Dean retrieved something he looked at more often than he should and couldn't part with. It was one of the few things in the world he just couldn't part with, for more than one reason. Maybe it was out of partial guilt too, knowing that once he left, everything in that version of reality collapsed. Maybe it was because he had a son. He didn't know.

Regardless of his reasoning, he reached into his interior jacket's pocket and pulled out the tattered photograph. It looked a decade old when it was barely a few years, but he took it everywhere. It never left his pocket unless he washed his jacket or he was alone.

The sheen was fading, the corners and edges ripped and dulled and the faces a bit crumpled. It broke Dean's heart to see him, her and the smiling face of a child looking back at him.

Pushing the feeling down and clearing his throat, Dean lifted up the hatch on the top of the printer and slid the picture inside. Setting it back down, he set it to scan and print a copy. Within seconds, he had a faded black and white replica of his picture. Retrieving it from the printer, Dean stowed the original quickly and began to tear at the copy.

He returned to the table, tearing off the white edges of the printer paper and even removing himself and Johnny from it. He tried to ignore the feeling of crumpling the scraps up and shoving them into his pocket, but he only needed the image of Maggie and the original was still safe.

Sam briefly looked up from the book. From the shadows being cast through the thin white paper, he had a feeling he knew what Dean had copied. He didn't say anything and continued to let his brother think he didn't notice.

"Okay," Dean finally said, turning the picture face down in the bowl so Sam wouldn't see it. "Ready for this?"

Sam nodded and stood, moving closer to Dean and sitting on the tabletop only a foot from the altar. He rested the book in his lap as Dean struck his lighter and moved the flame along the candles. When they were all burning, he returned the Zippo to his pocket and pulled out a knife. That was the first Sam had seen of the blade.

"The hell's that for?" he asked surprised.

"Don't worry about it." Dean replied, pressing the blade to his palm and closing his fist around it. He held it over the bowl and looked to Sam. "Okay, let's get this show on the road."

Sam nodded reluctantly. His eyes moved back to the book and he began to read. His voice filled the chamber. Kevin had written notes about what had to be done where. Apparently he understood just enough Latin -likely from his extended visit with the brothers- to know the procedure. While everything was added at the beginning, the ingredients had to be burned and the flame put out by the 'one seeking's blood the same time the wish was made.

So Sam read and Dean waited. When Sam read a particular phrase, he pointed to his brother. Dean -still holding the blade firmly in his left hand- used his right to strike a match and toss it into the bowl. The ingredients immediately smoldered. Pure white smoke billowed from within as the flames licked at the offered herbs and photo.

Still Sam read. Dean steadied himself for the part to come. He had to cut his palm before for angel proofing sigils and the like, but it never hurt any less no matter how often it happened. But he waited patiently, smelling the abnormally sweet smoke until Sam motioned for him again while his nose remained deep in the book.

Dean took a deep breath before raking the blade across his skin. He bit back the groan of pain. Holding it over the bowl, Dean squeezed his fist and let his blood drip into it. The herbs and paper popped and sizzled as the flames were forced out by Dean's offering. All the while he thought about what he wanted, about seeing Maggie again no matter her form, and wished harder than he had for anything that it work. All he could think about were the times she was still real, the 'perfect day' she gave him that turned out to be nothing more than a dream, her being at their side no matter what, and he wanted that again. He wanted Maggie to be okay.

Sam's words cut out around the same time Dean had extinguished the last smoldering ash. He pulled his hand back and waited. Nothing happened for a moment, long enough for Sam and Dean to think it had gone wrong. Without warning, the candles' flames erupted. Fire shot into the air a foot or more above the source. Sam and Dean leapt away from it fearing they'd be set on fire.

Immense heat filled the room from the abnormal candlelight and just as suddenly as it began, it was over. The candles melted down to nothing. Pools and puddles of wax were the only things left behind.

The brothers calmed slightly. Glancing to each other, they daringly stepped closer to the makeshift altar. Something happened, they just weren't sure what.

"Is that it?" Sam asked.

"I guess." Dean shrugged. His eyes looked around the room for any sign of the ghostly young woman he'd meant to summon. "Uh… Maggie?"

He couldn't feel anything but awkward calling her name into the air, but the feeling was to be expected. Sam and Dean both waited for a response and when one didn't come, Sam called for her. Again they waited and again nothing. Dean's heart dropped and turned cold.

"What a waste." He growled to himself. He left the room to not only get away from the disappointing spell, but to bandage his hand.

Sam's brows came together sadly for his brother. He knew how much Dean wanted it to work. Reluctantly, Sam's eyes moved to the open air around him.

"Maggie," he said quietly, sure to keep his voice down so anyone passing by wouldn't be able to hear. "Look, I don't know if you can hear me or anything, but if you're around here somewhere, give me a sign."

He waited for something to move, a light to flicker, anything that would give him a clue there was a spirit in the room. There was nothing. He'd hoped it was the same thing they'd gone through with Bobby, that she just didn't have the strength to show herself, but nothing ever happened. Disappointed and saddened, Sam began to clean up the mess they'd made. He wasn't sure what else to really do. What he didn't realize, what neither of them realized, was the spell hadn't failed. It had summoned something, but Maggie's spirit wasn't it.

Elsewhere:

The ground shook intensely. The glass in the windows rattled and the siding threatened to fall from the side of the house while the earthquake ravaged the area. Towering heaps of anything crumbled to the ground in a loud crescendo. The resident ran for a doorway, hunkered down and held onto anything steady until the shaking slowly began to die.

The earthquake lasted a minute at most, seconds in reality, before it ended. Everyone who felt it slowly began to steady themselves again.