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It's still hard to believe it's over; that the yellow-eyed demonic bastard they'd spent their whole lives hunting is finally dead.

Sam figures it'll sink in eventually. Given everything else -- right now he's still pretty numb.

He's also desperately tired, but that doesn't matter. There's something he needs to do, and he can't afford to delay.

He waits until they've settled in for the night, and then waits still longer. Once Dean's been asleep for half an hour, Sam picks up his messenger bag -- already stuffed with books and his computer -- and heads straight for the bar.

He orders black coffee and snags a table with a good view of both doors and the stairs, then pulls out the first of the old texts and starts to search through it.

There's work to do.

Date: 2023-02-02 04:14 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (005)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
She shakes her head. "I know Bobo had one of them dragged across the line, as punishment," she tells them.

"He was still alive after weeks, but... that's all you could say for it."

Date: 2023-02-02 05:08 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (020)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
"Sixty-eight," Waverly says. In the distance, a low building comes into view. "Wynonna's killed nine so far."

Date: 2023-02-02 05:21 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (020)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
"It's the Blacksmith's."

She pulls the truck to a halt a fair distance from the building, which looks like a house and shop pushed together, the yard filled with metal detritus. There's a no trespassing sign that she chooses to ignore, unbuckling herself and reaching for the skull and wine. "Let's go see what she has to say."

Date: 2023-02-02 05:40 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (007)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
"Nope."

She clutches the bottle in one hand and the box in the other and starts crunching across the snow, headed toward the barn that seems to function as a workshop. As she comes nearer, the door slides open, and a dark-haired woman with an exasperated expression steps out. "You did see the "No Tresspassing" sign, didn't you?" she calls, annoyed.

"Uh – " Waverly swallows and finds her courage. "I was wondering... I need to talk with you."

The Blacksmith looks her over. "And you think an eight dollar bottle of pinot's going to make me listen?"

Date: 2023-02-02 06:15 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (007)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
"Uh-huh." The Blacksmith glances over Sam and Dean, sizing them up. Although she's a woman alone out here by the woods with no company but the lonely prairie, she doesn't seem afraid or worried, only annoyed. "I know she's an Earp. Second one I've seen today."

With a tip of her head toward Waverly. "Who are you?"

Date: 2023-02-02 06:29 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (007)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
The Blacksmith narrows her eyes at him, but Waverly jumps in before she can say anything else. "Please," she says. "My favorite uncle in the world just left me this."

She tips the box so the woman can see the skull inside. The Blacksmith steps forward, glance dropping to the skull, and sighs. "Curtis McCready," she says. "I shoulda known."

She turns and strides back into the workshop, gesturing for them to follow. "Hurry up."

Date: 2023-02-02 07:12 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (002)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
The Blacksmith jerks her chin at a table, over which hangs a series of antique cattle prods. "Take off your coat," she tells Waverly. Inside, the shop is almost uncomfortably warm from the fire blazing off to one side, so Waverly does as she's asked, watching as the Blacksmith goes to stoke the flames with a poker, muttering to herself as she does.

"Come here," she says, finally, and motions for Waverly to kneel near the fire. "Set that skull here."

Here being a small table made of hammers, their heads pointed inward. Waverly sets the skull atop the metal circle they make, and, at the Blacksmith's gesture, puts her hand on top of the skull.

Date: 2023-02-02 10:36 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (002)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
"The Keeper of the Bones must be bound to the skull," the Blacksmith says, stirring coals with the poker. When she stops, she leaves the iron there to slowly turn crimson with heat. "I did the same ceremony for her uncle."

Date: 2023-02-02 10:42 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (018)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
"She is charged with protecting the skull," the Blacksmith says, stooping as she does to collect some scrapings of ash from the fireside. "Do you want to ask questions, or will you let me work?"

Date: 2023-02-02 10:48 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (020)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
In answer, the Blacksmith looks at Waverly. "Your boyfriend seems like the over-protective type."

"Not my boyfriend," Waverly tells her, then gives Sam a comforting smile. "It's okay, Sam. If Uncle Curtis was bound like this, it couldn't be all that bad, right?"

Date: 2023-02-02 11:11 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (020)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
Waverly presses certainty into her smile. "I'm sure."

She nods to the Blacksmith. "Go ahead."

Date: 2023-02-02 11:18 pm (UTC)
totalitarstupetballs: by Lizzie @ helpersofindie (tumblr) (021)
From: [personal profile] totalitarstupetballs
The Blacksmith nods, then takes up a pinch of the soot she'd gathered. Leaning over, she begins sprinkling it gently over the hand Waverly has on the skull. "I ask the Earth to give up this ash," she says. Recites, really, her voice careful and gentle as though she were in prayer.

When a small pile of ash has collected on Waverly's hand, the Blacksmith bends closer. "I ask the air – "

She cups her hands around the space where Waverly's hand and the skull sit, then blows gently, scattering the ash off Waverly's skin with a slight tickling sensation. " – to silence its name." The Blacksmith turns, cupping her fingers into a bowl of water, and drizzles it over both hand and skull. "I ask the water to cleanse this girl."

Waverly breathes, keeping her hand steady, making faces but not moving an inch.

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Sam Winchester

February 2023

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