December 26th, 2042
"This is a bad idea," Sam said, nervously biting his knuckle.
"Yeah," DJ agreed, taking care not to smudge the chalk lines as he settled the brazier in the center of the sigil. "We should probably be doing this in the dungeon."
He ignored Sam's pissy exhale as he carefully drizzled the sweet-smelling oil over the bowl of spell components; he knew damn good and well that Sam didn't give a shit about the location of the summoning.
"You're sure we don't need any blood?" DJ checked, just once more.
" Yes ," Sam snapped, waving dad's journal around in the air. "I've read it like five times now, man, and so have you."
"Okay," DJ took a deep breath and settled back on his haunches, pulling his Zippo out of his pocket and flicking it open. "Okay; here goes nothing."
The herbs were bone dry; even without the Abramelin acting as an accelerant, they would have gone up like a tinderbox. The flames danced hungrily within the bronze vessel, brilliant orange shot through with streaks of purple. Sam whined quietly as the close air of the bunker took on the distinct aroma of sulfur.
"Hello, boys," the Queen of Hell greeted them, sultry and suspicious.
DJ gave an involuntary shudder as she looked them up and down, taking in their disheveled appearance and grim expressions with knowing, inky eyes.
"If you think for one second that I'm going to cut a deal with you like some common crossroads whore—"
"No!" DJ blurted, horrified by the suggestion. "Jesus Christ, no; I'm not fucking stupid."
"That's debatable," Sam muttered under his breath.
"Good," Rowena said, tossing her curls over her shoulder. "Your da would kill me for even considering it; well, kill me again, anyway."
"I don't want to make a deal," DJ reiterated, pressing his luck while he still had the nerve. "But I do need your help to get into Hell."
The demon blinked rapidly at him, forehead puckering with concern.
"I beg your pardon?" she demanded, crossing her arms. "Whatever for, dear?"
"Uh," DJ floundered, not having gotten as far as planning how to phrase his request. "There's a portal in Hell, isn't there? One that leads to Purgatory."
Sam shrank a little further into his corner as Rowena cast him a shrewd sideways glance.
"Well," she answered delicately, returning her attention to DJ. "There used to be."
It was a story he'd been lucky enough to be told more than once—how his dad had rescued Grandpa Bobby's soul from Hell by way of Purgatory and delivered it to Heaven, where it belonged. The details might be a little fuzzy, but he was clear on the main points.
"Used to be!?" he said, more sharply than he meant to.
"I dinnae ken how much Samuel has told you," Rowena began, raising one eyebrow. "But when I gave my life to seal up that hellmouth before you were even a twinkle in your father's eye, I used a healing spell."
"Okay? So?"
Rowena's other eyebrow shot up to join the first, and her mouth twisted in displeasure. DJ frowned, impatient; he wasn't exactly eager to piss off infernal royalty, but they were a little short on time, here.
"Sooo," she continued, passive-aggressively dragging out the vowel. "I used a spell of my own devising; an exceptionally powerful, highly effective healing spell. It didnae just mend the tear between Hell and Earth; it healed over every wound in Hell. Including—"
"Including the portal to Purgatory," DJ finished, rubbing his face with both hands. "Fuck!"
He shouted wordlessly and kicked the brazier, making Sam flinch and sending sparks and embers skittering across the floor of the war room. Anger was just about the only thing keeping him going at this point; he was beyond tired, and he hadn't eaten anything but donuts and fucking peanut M&Ms in over thirty-six hours.
"DJ, darling," the demon crooned, soothing. "Can you tell Auntie Rowena why you need to get into Purgatory?"
"I fucked up, okay!?" DJ burst out, fisting his hands in his hair. "My best friend is dead because of me, and I've got to make that right!"
" DJ ," Sam gasped, appalled. "Dude, no . That is not on you."
"I didn't even check to see if it was really you!"
"What were you supposed to do, a silver test!?"
"I don't know! Something!"
"Boys," Rowena tried to intervene.
"Lassiter had a gun on you!"
"I could have gone for it!"
"He would have shot you in the fucking face, DJ! Cass was never gonna let that happen!"
" Boys! "
The queen's voice was commanding and thunderous, and the surge of raw energy she channeled to amplify it sent the lights flickering. Sam swallowed heavily, the gold receding from his eyes as they went quiet and gave each other some space.
"Sorry," DJ mumbled, biting his lip and hissing as he reopened the split. "Sorry; it's just—"
"I know," Sam cut him off, sounding strangled. "Believe me, I know."
"That's better," Rowena sniffed, satisfied. "Now, am I to understand correctly that you're trying to retrieve a soul from Purgatory? The feisty one?"
"Yes," DJ answered shortly.
"Cass," Sam supplied. "My brother; his name is Cass."
"And how, exactly, are you planning to smuggle him out?" she wanted to know. "Purgatory's a jealous mistress."
"Soul absorption spell," DJ replied, gesturing broadly at the rest of dad's journals spread haphazardly across the map table. "And a resurrection ritual; dad's done it before."
"Aye, and he wasnae the first," Rowena said thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. "Do you have any idea what that sort of magic entails? You'll have to bind a second soul to your own; it's not to be undertaken lightly."
"I know," DJ bluffed shamelessly; he hadn't, not until just now. "I understand."
She hummed skeptically, scrutinizing his expression, but DJ didn't have a tell; dad was the one who'd taught him how to play poker.
"There are other ways into Purgatory," Rowena admitted at last, perching lightly on the edge of the table to page through one of the journals. "But there won't be another lunar eclipse until the spring, reapers are more like glorified bookkeepers these days, and all the archangels are dead. Which leaves us with only one option."
"Which is what?" Sam prompted, bemused.
"A pair of enchanted shears belonging to a certain Greek goddess," she replied, smiling disarmingly. "They're said to be able to cut right through the Veil; we could use the shears to open a rift and retrieve your dearly departed brother."
"Are you… are you talking about the shears of fate?" DJ queried. "The ones that cut the thread of life?"
"The very same," Rowena confirmed with an approving nod.
"But you said they belong to a goddess," Sam pointed out. "How do we get her to let us borrow them?"
"Dinnae worry your poor wee head about that," the demon replied, graciously pretending not to notice when Sam jerked back from her attempt to pat him on the arm. "I have an old katadesmos that should do the trick."
"A kata… what now?" DJ asked, lost.
"A Greek binding spell," she explained, all business as she rolled up her sleeves. "The ingredients are simple enough; the intent matters a great deal more than the form. Tell me, is this old burrow still fully stocked?"
"Yeah? Yes; I mean, I think so," DJ stammered, thrown off by the question. "We can always raid dad's trunk, if not."
"Right then; I'll prepare the binding ritual while you boys get cleaned up," Rowena informed them, sauntering in the direction of the storerooms. "You look terrible, dears."
"She has a point," Sam sighed, sagging into a chair as she disappeared down the hall.
"What?" DJ asked distractedly, preoccupied with intrusive mental images of all the mischief the Queen of the Damned could get up to if allowed to wander the bunker unsupervised.
"I mean…" Sam trailed off, clearly uncomfortable; he couldn't meet DJ's eyes. "You… you're still… you've got Cass' blood all over you, dude."
"Shit," DJ breathed, stricken. "Sorry, I… shit."
"Just take a shower," Sam mumbled, scrubbing at his face and neck. "I'll keep an eye on the evil queen and see if I can't find us something to eat."
DJ practically fled the room, disgusted with his own thoughtlessness as he made his way to the bunker's showers. He chucked his clothes into one corner, managed to scrounge up a sliver of soap and a faded, scratchy towel from another, and let the stinging water pressure pound some of the stupidity out of him. Though his skin was raw and tingling, he did feel slightly less insane by the time he was finished.
"Can I borrow a shirt?" he asked Sam, rummaging through his duffel as he came back into the war room in just his jeans.
"Sorry, dude," the other man said, tearing open a bag of chips with his teeth. "All my stuff is in your van."
When he got DJ's message, Sam had dropped everything, pulling a one-eighty in Rockford and burning rubber all the way to Lebanon; there weren't really any words to express how grateful DJ was for that level of trust, so he clapped Sam on the shoulder instead.
"Don't worry about it," he said, snagging a can of pop from the pile of snacks Sam had foraged out of the back of the station wagon. "I'll find something."
"Dinnae bother just yet," Rowena chimed in from the library, where she'd set up shop on one of the desks. "I'm not sending you into a realm of monsters without some protection, and we might as well take care of that before you get dressed."
"Uh…" DJ choked on a carbonated mouthful. "What?"
"Calm down," she said, clucking her tongue as she passed one hand over a metal tablet to inscribe it with Greek letters. "It's just a few sigils."
"Why can't he get dressed?" Sam asked, scowling.
Rowena rolled her eyes, pinching measures of herbs into her palm before dusting them off into the medley she was blending; DJ recognized fennel, ironwort, buttercup, and wormwood.
"Sigils bewitch whatever you've drawn them on," she explained, longsuffering. "In this case, a person , not his clothes."
"Ugh, fine," Sam said, making a face as he reached for his own shirt collar to start tugging it over his head.
"Not that I dinnae appreciate a free show," Rowena said archly. "But what are you doing?"
Sam froze with his shirt halfway up around his ears and frowned, confused.
"Don't I need sigils?"
"You cannae go," the demon huffed a short laugh. "You're a werewolf, dear. Living or dead, Purgatory willnae give you up so easily."
"DJ can't just use the soul absorbing… whatever on me too?"
"Certainly not," she replied, crossing her arms. "For starters, your soul's still attached to your body," she paused, looking over to DJ sharply. "Unless you were planning to remedy that?"
"What? No!" DJ blanched, sitting down hard. "What the hell is wrong with you!?"
"I thought not," Rowena continued, ignoring the mostly-rhetorical question. "Even if you did, trying to cram three souls into one vessel for a trip across the Veil is a terrible idea."
"DJ," Sam said seriously, reaching across the table to put a hand on his arm. "We need to rethink this; you can't go to Purgatory by yourself! No offense, man, but you're not the best fighter."
"No," DJ acknowledged, realistic about his own abilities. "But Cass is; and once I find him, he'll have my back until we can get to the portal between Purgatory and Earth."
Sam's grip tightened, and he looked like he was planning to argue further, but Rowena clapped her hands briskly, interrupting.
"There, now that's settled," she said cheerfully, "Who's ready to summon and bind a Fate?"
DJ was definitely not ready for anything of the sort, but the former witch was in her element; she conjured a spark with a flick of her wrist, setting the herbs ablaze.
"Atropos, devro!" she cried, eyes glowing violet as she raised her upturned hands. "Se deo! Se anagkazo me upokouseis!"
Rowena made as if to repeat the incantation, but she hadn't gotten more than two words in when a bespectacled blonde woman in a cardigan manifested between the stacks.
"What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, expression murderous. "You have no right to summon me!"
"Atropos, dear, I'm the Queen of Hell," Rowena said, smirking condescendingly. "I do as I please."
"As do I," Atropos sneered, raising one hand to snap her fingers.
Nothing happened, though it was immediately apparent that the goddess had expected something ; she gaped at the ineffectual hand, snapping again and again in quick succession as a glimmering ethereal band encircled her wrist.
"What have you done!?" She screeched, furious. "Unbind me at once!"
"Oh, I dinnae think so," Rowena scoffed. "We need to borrow something of yours, and you're not known to be the generous sort."
Atropos looked up sharply, seeming to notice for the first time that the demon who'd called her up and constrained her was not alone.
"You must be joking," the goddess spat, wrinkling her nose at DJ as though he hadn't just bathed. "God Himself couldn't persuade me to do a favor for a Winchester ."
DJ could only shrug in response to Sam's questioning glance. His family did kind of have a history of pissing off deities; what was one more, in the grand scheme of things?
"God's indisposed," Rowena intoned dryly. "I, on the other hand, can be quite persuasive when the occasion calls for it; we'll be needing those shears, now."
Sam shoved back from the table abruptly and stood, growling a warning as Atropos took a step back and slipped a possessive hand beneath her sweater.
"These were entrusted to me at the dawn of time," she said icily, keeping the shears out of sight. "I'd die before handing them over to the likes of you."
"That can be arranged," Rowena replied evenly, not missing a beat.
Atropos snorted, looking pleased for the first time she'd arrived.
"It's nearly impossible to kill one of us; even if you managed it, you'd have to deal with my sisters. You wouldn't dare."
"Is that so? Bet your life on that, would you?"
The demon extended one hand, curling her fingers into a fist in midair. The smug look was wiped right off the goddess' face as she was dragged up onto her toes by an invisible force, gasping and choking helplessly.
"Hey!" DJ broke in, alarmed. "Take it easy, Vader!"
"Sam," Rowena said, ignoring him. "Be a dear and grab those shears, would you?"
Sam approached the task like he'd been asked to handle a live snake, gingerly lifting the hem of the drab cardigan in order to tug loose a rather large set of engraved bronze shears from the sheath hidden at the small of Atropos' back. That done, he backed away slowly, never taking his eyes off the obviously enraged Fate.
"Here you go, your majesty," he muttered, setting them down on the desk.
"There now, was that so hard?" Rowena inquired of Atropos, simpering as she let her down.
"You're going to regret that," Atropos informed her venomously, plucking at a loose thread on her shoulder as she adjusted her mussed clothes.
Rowena hummed dismissively in response, taking a moment to delicately stroke the glossy patina of the ancient implements before setting them aside in favor of her mortar and pestle, muddling still more ingredients in the little soapstone well.
"The protection spell willnae take me very long," she told them, hands busy. "Gather what you need for the journey, and say your goodbyes; once I've marked you with these sigils, we must send you through the rift straightaway."
"Right," DJ swallowed thickly, suddenly terrified. "I should… um… pack."
Sam tilted his head and furrowed his brow, letting DJ know that his pounding heart had not gone unnoticed.
"I'll help," Sam announced, looking to Rowena for approval.
"Away with you," she waved them off. "I've got this well in hand."
"Do you actually have a plan?" Sam hissed, hot on DJ's heels as he made for the most-recently occupied rooms in the bunker.
"Making it up as I go," DJ admitted, opening the door.
Beyond the dusty books and hastily scrawled notes scattered on the desk, few personal touches remained in his dad's old room. Even knowing that dad had long since cleared out, DJ jerked open a dresser drawer, hoping to at least find something unbloodied to wear.
"Take me with you," Sam insisted stubbornly, shoving him. "We'll get Cass back together."
"You heard what Rowena said," DJ countered grimly. "The only way in for a werewolf is to die; you can't ask me to do that."
Sam paled slightly, but he didn't back down.
"What about you, huh?" he demanded, voice a little shaky. "What happens if you die down there? What the fuck am I supposed to tell your dad!?"
Coming up empty on both answers and clothing, DJ shouldered past Sam without a word, heading back out into the hallway and ten doors down.
"Fucking idjit," Sam swore quietly before following.
His father's old room was much better appointed; the sock drawer was full, at the very least. He took several pairs, kept digging until he found a few undershirts, then went in search of his next layer. The closet held denim, canvas, and an abundance of flannel.
"What knives do you want?" Sam asked, standing on the bed to reach the arsenal mounted on the wall above the headboard.
"I don't know; a little of everything?" DJ suggested, choosing a few shirts at random.
He had already mentally abandoned the closet, thinking instead about stocking a travel apothecary and first aid kit, when his fingers brushed across buttery leather.
"Yahtzee," he said, pulling the jacket out to hold it up to the light.
The rich russet was horribly stained and battered, but obviously well-loved; it was evident that someone had done all that they could to clean and patch it up. But it didn't really matter how it looked; animal hide was a good thing to have between his skin and monster claws.
"Goddamn, this thing has a ton of pockets," he commented, rifling through them as he spoke.
"You sound like a girl," Sam remarked, climbing down carefully with his armful of blades.
"Shut up," DJ retorted. "I won't even need a rucksack, there's so many."
"Boys!" Rowena called, urgent and agitated.
"Well, that can't be good," Sam snarled, leading the charge back down the hall.
At first glance, nothing seemed to be amiss. Atropos was still right where they'd left her, incorporeal bindings nice and tight, looking like she'd just bitten into a lemon. Rowena, however, no longer appeared to be the object of her ire. Instead, she was glaring daggers at a second blonde woman, to whom she bore a striking resemblance.
"Just undo them!" the goddess demanded angrily. "I know that you can!"
"Of course I can ," the other woman said, rolling her eyes. "But I shouldn't have to. Do you mean to tell me you're so out of practice that you can't unravel a novice binding spell?"
"Novice!?" Rowena squawked, offended.
"Oh it's good work, don't get me wrong," the woman turned to address the queen. "But the weave itself is quite basic. The curse tablet is a nice touch, though; I haven't seen one of those in ages."
"I've had other responsibilities, Lachesis!" Atropos snapped defensively, arguing her case while Rowena preened. "Unlike some people , I haven't been sitting around knitting doilies for millenia!"
"Doilies are crocheted," Lachesis corrected flatly. "And pining after an unhinged theocrat isn't exactly a career path, Atropos."
"Oh great," Sam grumbled to DJ out of the side of his mouth. "That has to be her sister."
"It was a good job!" Atropos said shrilly, face reddening.
"You need a hobby."
"Ladies," Rowena interrupted delicately. "You asked for an explanation; well, here he is."
DJ folded his arms across his chest, self-conscious under the weight of their combined attention. He wished fervently for a shirt as Lachesis examined him, seeming to weigh and measure him in her mind.
"Dean Winchester," she murmured thoughtfully. "The second. Interesting."
"It's DJ," he said reflexively.
"DJ," the goddess amended smoothly, one corner of her mouth ticking up. "It's a pleasure to meet you; do you know who I am?"
"One of the Fates," he answered, wracking his brain. "The Romans called you Decima, I think."
"Oh, very good," Lachesis purred, taking a step nearer despite Sam's warning rumble. "I'm The Apportioner; I'm the one who gets to decide just how much rope a person needs to hang themselves."
Her tone was warm, but the words were vaguely threatening; DJ shifted uneasily.
"Don't worry," the goddess continued perceptively. "I'm not like my sister. Atropos is very by-the-book; but I'm an artist. When your father and his brother tossed the book out—so to speak—everyone started writing their own stories; plotting their own destinies. And I've got to say, I'm a big fan."
"So… you'll help us?" DJ asked, incredulous.
"Well, I'm certainly not going to stop you," Lachesis said, conjuring a skein of golden thread and a hooked needle before settling into a chair. "Unlike some people , I can appreciate fine craftsmanship."
Atropos made an affronted sound, and a little of the tension went out of Rowena's posture.
"Well then," she said, grinning effusively. "You're in for a treat! DJ, darling? Come to Auntie, would you? The spell is ready."
DJ went, a bit stunned that they weren't all about to be smited. Even though he was expecting it, he still flinched when the demon began to dab the cold, slimy herbal unguent just under his collarbone.
"She got one over me, the slag," Rowena whispered indignantly, pretending that she was taking extra care with the formation of the sigil. "She managed to summon her sister with that bit of string she pulled out of her jumper; good thing for us, they seem to be having a wee tiff."
"Yeah, good thing," DJ agreed quietly, looking down at the rune the demon was painting above his navel.
"Turn 'round," she ordered, twirling her index finger demonstratively. "Just a few more."
He lost his balance as he made to obey; the floor seemed to pitch and roll under his feet, and objects in the room began to swim in and out of focus. He had to catch himself on the edge of the desk to keep from keeling over.
"What the fuck did you put in that stuff?" he demanded, blinking furiously.
"That'll be the nightshades you're feeling," Rowena observed, starting another symbol between his shoulder blades. "The belladonna and moonflower. I've also added wolfsbane, angelica, mandrake, cinquefoil, poppy…"
"Oh Christ," DJ interjected, shaking his head to try and clear it. "I'm gonna be tripping balls."
"Aye," Rowena chuckled, blowing gently on the markings to help them dry. "In this realm, you would. But in the other? This'll only give you an advantage."
"Advantage!?" Sam barked, disbelieving. "He can't even stand up!"
"I'm fine, Sam," DJ assured him, grimacing as his stomach gave an unpleasant lurch. "Can I put my clothes on now?
Rowena nodded, picking up the shears to test their edge against the pad of her thumb.
"Be quick," she advised, keeping a watchful eye on Atropos and Lachesis. "I dinnae ken how long I'll be able to keep the rift open without any Grace."
"A few seconds, if you're lucky," Lachesis volunteered, concentrating on the needle flashing in and out of her intricate design.
DJ dressed hurriedly, wrestling the t-shirts down over his head and forcing his increasingly uncooperative limbs through the sleeves of the overshirts and jacket, fumbling with the buttons until Sam took pity on him and came over to assist. While his friend tied a machete to his belt and concealed his weapons and ammunition, Rowena tucked a few hex bags into his pockets and pressed a familiar satchel into his hands.
"Samuel should've done a better job with the warding on the boot," she offered by way of explanation. "I took the liberty of adding a few things I thought you might need."
"Thanks," DJ said, oddly touched.
"You can thank me when you get back," Rowena said firmly.
"Maybe it's better if he dies down there," Atropos said to no one in particular, covetously eyeing her purloined possessions. "Considering the fact that he never should have been born."
"That's up to Clotho, not you," Lachesis retorted, laying down her work in order to beckon DJ nearer. "Come here, boy. I have something for you as well."
DJ had to rely on Sam both to steer and to keep him upright, already reeling from the effects of numerous hallucinogenic herbs; his hearing and vision were both distorted, and his spatial perception was shot. It wasn't even fun, like getting drunk or high.
"Keep this somewhere safe," the goddess said, handing him a ball of yarn so shiny that it almost hurt to look at.
"Thank you?" DJ tried, perplexed, slipping the strange gift into a hidden inner pocket.
"And you, werewolf," Lachesis continued, ignoring his bemusement. "Give me your hand."
She didn't wait for Sam to comply, instead snagging him by the wrist and swiftly fastening the tail end of DJ's string around one finger in a tidy bow. The spell flared brightly for a moment as it set—DJ had to shield his eyes—before disappearing entirely.
"What the fuck was that!?" Sam yelped, jumping back and nearly toppling DJ in the process.
"Back in the day, we called it desmos myosotis; a mouse-ear knot, if you're translating word for word. It's named after a flower; I believe in English, you might call it a 'forget-me-knot,'" Lachesis replied, lips curling up in a satisfied smile at the clever little pun.
"What does it do?" Sam clarified through gritted teeth.
"Think of it like a lifeline," the goddess suggested, returning to her project. "If anything happens to DJ, you'll be the first to know."
"Whenever you're ready, dear," Rowena said, holding the shears out in front of her like a set of dowsing rods.
"Yeah," DJ said, letting out a plosive breath. "Yeah, let's do this."
"DJ…" Sam started to object again, but Rowena cut him off.
"Brace yourselves, boys," she warned, snapping the blades shut with a decisive snick .
With a sound like a thunderclap, a bright gold rift split the air in the war room from floor to ceiling, snapping and crackling with energy. Almost as soon as it opened, it began to close again, collapsing down and inward like a melting candle.
"I didnae go to all this trouble for you to just stand there looking at it!" Rowena prompted, exasperated. "It's now or never, Winchester!"
Shrugging off Sam's restraining hand, DJ set his jaw, closed his eyes, and took a leap of faith.
It's been quite a while since I conjugated Greek verbs; I took four semesters of Biblical Greek in college, which was about a decade ago, now. I freely admit that there may be errors. Don't expect to plug that incantation into Google Translate and have it make any sort of sense; some of the words are archaic/no longer in use, and I've also transliterated them (which means that I've written them using the corresponding English letters rather than the Greek alphabet). An approximate translation: "Atropos, come forth! I bind you! I compel you to obey me!" Cover icon via talesmaniac89.
