The Ritual




“En citen li tonom vennae poraetii e non elbiru rahn en tachia…”

The words fell easily from Sam’s tongue as he read from the ancient text, having memorized the ritual months ago. The new moon was directly overhead, unseen but known to be there by his calculations. The dank crypt smelled of mold and decay. A baby wailed as Sam circled the raised tomb in the defiled cemetery. Lamb’s blood painted his unclothed chest with archaic symbols. Flames flickered on thirteen black candles placed at each point of the complex pentagram etched on the crypt floor with the same lamb’s blood desecrating Sam’s skin.

In the center of the pentagram, on the raised tomb, lay Dean’s corpse.

“…diatawist beldentae maehn non elbiru rahn en tachia. Setatarip e la rowta naebbira vassilii din naemorae…”

Sam lit the shallow dish of herbs at Dean’s bare feet. The herbs did little to mask the scent of death that clung to them both. Sam continued his circle around Dean, moving counterclockwise. His mouth formed the phrases fluently and the symbols on the ground began to glow.

“…Eht tien sanida deifiri retawest a li en panii alos tudumontae rae e…”

The blood on Sam’s skin started to burn. The ritual was working. Soon, Dean would be released from Hell and returned to where he belonged.

“…non elbiru rahn en tachia. Doomarae imajii dessesbo grimmae a mea retlaw frea laicio dei e non elht rahn en machia…”

Sam set the book next to the bone-crafted chalice at Dean’s head and picked up the knife he’d purified with the fresh blood of 665 innocents. The baby’s squalls pierced the crypt as Sam retrieved her from the corner. Holding her in the crook of his arms, Sam’s words rang loud and clear over her cries.

“…Li netta ejoro en elinevien noitacavii a ebrua esouh e ni noitisomae eganaro iiatu!”

The baby silenced abruptly. The knife dripped with the blood of the 666th innocent. Sam filled the chalice to the rim with the deep red liquid and cast the infant’s husk aside.

Sam sliced his left palm with the knife and added thirteen drops of his own blood to the chalice. Setting the knife aside, he lifted the chalice to his lips and drank. The thick, copper taste coated his tongue and slid down his throat. The symbols painted on his body burned white-hot and he squeezed his eyelids shut against the pain.

When the burning stopped, he held the last sip of blood in his mouth. He set the chalice down, parted Dean’s lips, and gave him a blood-filled kiss.

Dean’s nude body jerked as if he’d been jolted with electricity. Sam drew to the side of the raised tomb, watched, and waited. He felt nothing – no hope, no fear, no doubt – until satisfaction settled over him as Dean opened his eyelids.

“Sam?” Dean said, the haze of the risen dead fogging his eyes.

Sam smoothed his fingertips along Dean’s cheek. “Welcome back.”

Confusion lined Dean’s face. “What did you do?”

“What I had to,” Sam replied, helping Dean to sit up. “Are you hungry?”

“Ravenous.”

Sam fetched the baby’s corpse and gave it to Dean. “Enjoy.”

Dean’s smiled wide, his lips stained red with blood.

With the crunch of bones, everything was right in Sam’s world again.



End


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