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They shuffled the deck again, staring at the card in front of them. They sat cross-legged on their bed, half packed bag next to them, but their focus was not on gathering the rest of their things just yet. Not when the number thirteen was glaring right back at them.
Death.
The card most people feared.
The hunter usually didn’t. It was quite the misunderstood card. As much as it stood for the end of things, it also represented room for new things. A rebirth. A phoenix rising from its ashes.
Still, they needed more than just this vague answer. Another sign of where their path was headed, what the future had in store for them. So, they took a deep breath, and kept shuffling the cards, waiting for one to fall out.
This has become a ritual by now. Their little secret. It started out as this silly, fun little activity to calm their mind. But they always were serious about fate. And why not listen to the universe when you could tune in on its signals?
They liked to pull at least one card before each hunt. For good luck, or to avoid the bad kind. Closing their eyes, they focused on the flow of each card passing through their hands.
The tarot cards were a gift from Rowena. “Just a little something to start with, love. You’ll get the hang of it in no time, I can feel it.” Those words of the redhead lingered in their thoughts ever since.
As the grandchild of a powerful witch, you’d think you’d inherit some of that mojo. But alas, their youth was one fought through with silver bullets and holy water, not with spells. They was raised to be a hunter, not a witch. And after double-checking that Rowena’s gift was neither cursed nor tinkered with, they decided why the hell not?
It did no harm so far.
A card slipped from their fingers, landing right above the XIII. Just as they opened their eyes and reached for it, a firm set of rasps at their door distracted them.
“Are you almost ready? Dean just finished packing,” Sam’s voice came from outside. The doorknob turned and the wood squeaked as he opened it slowly.
Quickly, they shoved their tarot deck in their bag, hiding it from Sam’s view. Minus the two cards on their mattress, which he immediately laid his eyes on. Damn him and his curiosity.
“What’s that?”
Panic rose to their chest as they scrambled for a believable explanation. The Winchesters weren’t beneath magic, but they also killed witches for a living. Among other things. Actually, the brothers didn’t even do that for money, it was just a hunter’s philosophy.
“Nothing, just… uhm—”
Sam stepped closer, picking up that second card. His eyebrows raised in surprise and he flipped it over for them to see.
The Hierophant. Representing a figure of guidance and harmony within a group. At least that was what they vaguely remembered from Rowena’s notes.
“Didn‘t know you did tarot spreads,” Sam hummed.
They cleared their throat. They wanted to lie and say that they didn’t, but why should he believe them now after catching them red handed?
“It’s not serious. Just silly Fortune Telling for Dummies 101” they half-joked, hoping he’d believe them and drop it and also knowing he wouldn’t. Dean, for one, would teasingly call them a wannabe psychic, and they figured Sam was rather wary in this regard too.
“Alright,” Sam smiled, took a seat on the edge of the bed, and placed the Hierophant down next to Death. “What’s the Dummy’s verdict, then?”
They blinked at him, pouting only slightly. At least his teasing was lighthearted, though that took them off guard just as much. He would’ve had every right to freak out, or at least disapprove of them using magic. Sorcery being inherently evil, and all that fun stuff they taught you in Hunter’s Basics.
“I’m not sure,” they mumbled at last, meekly, and cast their eyes down on the two cards.
“Abandoning an old path and following one of tradition,” Sam concluded.
“What?”
“Well, am I that off?” One corner of Sam’s lips twitched upwards and he tentatively scratched the back of his neck. “It’s been a while since I read up on the Major Arcana, I’m a bit rusty.”
A pregnant pause followed. Then they repeated their confused: “What?”
“I borrowed some books from Rowena a while ago, when we were investigating a case… you know what, doesn’t matter.”
Except it did. It mattered the world to them that they weren’t scolded or frowned upon for shuffling through cards. They shook their head, vehemently. “No, it’s just— I didn’t know you were interested in this kind of stuff.”
Sam shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal.
Except it was.
He had no idea how much it meant to them.
“I’m still new to this, but I thought the same thing… kind of, I guess,” they muttered shyly. “Death standing for a new beginning and the Hierophant recommending to go back to your roots. Or something like that.”
Sam nodded, watching as they snatched the cards away and shoved them into their bag. As if the cardboard was something to be ashamed of. He tilted his head, searching their eyes despite them avoiding his gaze. Any hunter knew that expression. Sam certainly did. He spent his entire childhood keeping this big secret and feeling like a freak among others.
“I’m not here to judge,” Sam spoke gently.
They nervously chewed on their lower lip. Maybe it was silly to feel so tense about this. But they were fed all the stigmata about witchcraft ever since they could remember. Rejection was the last thing they needed.
Especially from someone they were looking up to.
“It’s okay, I’m not that serious about it anyway,” they brushed it off, “Tarot spreads and palm reading are just child’s play.”
“Palm reading, huh?”
They didn’t look up, eyes still cast on their lap, but they gave a weak nod.
Then, a large hand entered their field of vision, positioned right in front of them.
“Read mine.”
Blinking back and forth between Sam’s hand and his smile, they wondered if their mind was playing tricks on them. When he didn’t budge though, they realized he was serious. Clearing their throat, they shifted closer, gingerly taking his hand into theirs.
The size difference was ridiculous, Sam’s long fingers dwarfing theirs in comparison. His were slightly calloused, but slender. And warm. ‘Good grief, just focus,’ they thought in silence.
“This bottom line is the life line,” they started, willing their voice to be steady. “Yours looks short, but deep.”
“Figures, with a hunter’s average life expectancy,” Sam half-joked.
“Not at all,” they hummed calmly. Their mouth formed a warm smile as their finger traced the heel of his palm. “It doesn’t necessarily mean that you’ll live a short life. Just that you’re resilient and while there are lots of hardships, you can handle them.”
Sam remained silent. They took it as a sign to continue.
“This crease here is forked. It’s said that people with this feature are following their own heart, but also good at guiding others. Like a liberator, or savior,” they went on.
This was nice, honestly. They were no expert, but pride filled them since they got the opportunity to show off what they had learned so far. Whether it was a lot or very accurate didn’t even matter that much. They were right in their element, rambling on about the meanings of shapes and directions.
“This here can be read as a symbol for knowledge and traditional values. Kind of like The Hierophant,” they added with a soft snort.
“Are you saying I’m your future?,” Sam chuckled.
Immediately their smile faded, now replaced by a dropped jaw and warm cheeks. If Sam was The Hierophant, that must’ve turned them into The Fool. Flustered, they failed to come up with a response.
Suddenly Sam’s hand felt heavy in theirs. Not unpleasantly so. A comfortable weight, which — honestly? — they wished would stay and take the lead. Following Sam’s guidance felt safe. Felt right. After all, he was the first to show interest in their abilities without judgment.
“Are y’all coming or not?,” came Dean’s voice from the hallway, prompting them to flinch.
Sam remained unfazed, grin still on his lips as his fingers wrapped around theirs at last. Encouragement. Support. He gave them a reassuring nod and said: “For what it’s worth, I think you’re on the right path.”