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Sam wandered into the laboratory, restless and unsettled. It was hard to believe that they’d won, that Chuck was gone. They were finally free. Dean was ecstatic, but Sam’s feelings were all over the place. On one hand, life stretched out in front of him, a life he hadn’t dared to imagine. He could go back to school, get a real job, imagine a future that was more than monsters, blood and death. The fact that he and Dean had survived was both crazy and wonderful.
But mixed with that unexpected, joyful optimism, was crushing grief. They had lost a lot to get their victory; Cas, Jack, Mom, Rowena. Hardly the happy ending he had once imagined. It was hard to process. Dean had thrown himself into domestic life these past few days, doting on Miracle and cooking elaborate meals. Sam however, couldn’t seem to relax and had taken to roaming the bunker looking for something to occupy his mind.
Sitting on the table were the boxes of items he’d taken from Rowena’s apartment. Despite her assurance that she was happy as the new Queen of Hell, he still felt conflicted about killing her and deeply humbled that she’d chosen to bequeath everything to him. Perhaps going through her things would give him a productive task to focus on.
Carefully he unloaded what was left of Rowena’s earthly possessions. It was a small collection of items for such a long life. First, he gathered the vials and pouches of magical ingredients, sorting them onto a separate table. They already had an ample pantry of arcane materials; he’d incorporate these into their stash later.
There were a few personal items he’d collected. Most of the decorative objects in her apartment were just window dressing and had been smashed by the witch Jacinda before he and Eileen had arrived. Still, he’d found a few things that Rowena had obviously cared about based on how reverently they had been protected. An ornately framed photo of a young boy that had sat alone on her bedside table, a small carved stone bird he’d found wrapped in a silk scarf, a beautiful enamel box that held a tarnished claddagh ring and a fine gold chain with a delicate pendant. Reverently he laid these treasures aside.
Finally, the boxes were empty except for Rowena’s journals. They were mismatched and well worn, the older ones faded with age. All roughly the same size and colour, Sam stacked them into piles. The sheer number of the little books was impressive. Rowena had been more of a scholar than he would have expected, although nothing about the diminutive redhead was truly surprising.
Some of the oldest looking books were written in a wobbly cursive, the wavy pages marred by ink blots and foxing. Idly Sam wondered who had taught Rowena to read and write. Rather than spells or incantations, these early works seemed to be mostly lists and ideas, clearly annotated and revised long after they’d originally been written.
Moving on, Sam picked up a book and immediately dropped it. There was dark power emanating from this small journal that made his skin crawl. It was a profound reminder that Rowena’s redemption was a fairly recent turn of events. For a very long time, she had been more than willing to delve into the darkest arts in her pursuit of power. With a shudder, Sam used a pen to nudge the creepy volume back into one of the empty boxes.
More cautious now, he opened another book. This one was newer and written mostly in English except for a smattering of Latin or Gaelic. These incantations were neatly transcribed and appeared to be relatively harmless. Sam flipped a page and neatly tucked into the crease of the journal was a folded piece of paper with his name on it. He was hesitant to read her message. After all, he’d been the one to kill her, although she swore she didn’t hold a grudge. Huffing out a deep breath, he claimed the note and unfolded it.
The writing on the page shifted, swirling into an unreadable blur when suddenly he heard Rowena’s voice.
“Dearest Sam,” she said. Dropping the note, Sam jumped up, heart racing.
“Rowena?” he called as he quickly scanned the room. Crowley had a way of popping in and out of the bunker, but Rowena had confessed at their last visit, that it wasn’t safe for her to leave Hell just yet. Something about consolidating power to the throne. Except for the dust he’d stirred up, there was nothing in the room but him. Feeling foolish, Sam looked at the piece of paper he’d been trying to read. This time the note shimmered with an unmistakable aura of magic. Tentatively he picked it up again.
“Dearest Sam, I hope I didn’t startle you. I put a wee spell on my message so that only you can receive it.” The bewitched paper looked completely normal, yet her voice sounded as if she was standing beside him. Amazing. Sam half expected to be scolded for touching her things, but if he was honest, it was nice to hear her voice.
“Samuel, if you’re hearing this, then I have shuffled off the mortal coil. I presume I have you to thank for that. Hopefully you made it a quick and painless death, but regardless, you mustn’t beat yourself up about my demise. You and your brother are nothing if not noble – misguided on occasion, but noble. So, I can say with certainty, that you wouldn’t have killed me if it didn’t need to be done.”
He wasn’t sure he deserved her absolution; killing Rowena haunted him, but perhaps his grief eased a fraction at her words.
“I have left you the sum of my life’s work, Sam. You are not a natural like I am, but you have a sharp mind, and you can learn some real magic if you apply yourself. I know Dean will mump a bit, but I trust you can resist the lure of power. You have a good heart. Don’t bollocks it up.”
Sam squirmed a little at that. He remembered just how easily he’d been manipulated by Ruby and the exhilaration he got from the demon blood. Rowena might have trust in him, but he wasn’t so sure if he trusted himself.
“To guide you, I have collected some easy, practical spells in this journal. Not to worry, no dark magic or blood sacrifice. You should be able to manage these easily.”
She paused and sighed. “I wish I could be there to mentor you, Sam. I have grown very fond of you and your numpty brother but, och, it’s not to be. I’d hoped to have more time to make amends for my past. Perhaps by helping you Winchesters these past few years, I have balanced the cosmic scale a wee bit.”
The wistfulness in her tone cut deep, assuaged only by the fact that Rowena seemed to be thriving in her new role.
“Well Sam, I’ll leave off here before I become ridiculously maudlin. Stay out of trouble, take care of Dean and perhaps think if me fondly once in a while. Goodbye, my dear boy.”
For a long time, Sam sat, rubbing the fine paper gently between his fingers as he considered her words. It was good to hear her voice, and he hoped her faith in him was not misplaced. Eventually, he set down the note and opened the little journal again.
Each page held a spell, handwritten in Rowena’s delicate handwriting. Like a textbook of sorts, there was detailed descriptions of the ingredients, state of mind required, and intended effects. She even provided tips on pronunciation for each incantation. What a wonderful resource.
Flipping around, he stopped on a page. The spell was designed to turn a speck of something into a flame. The instructions seemed simple and he figured this could be a fairly useful piece of magic. He studied the spell, reading the words under his breath until he was sure he had the cadence and emphasis correct. Sam tore a tiny corner off of box and placed it into the palm of his hand.
“Igniculus,” he said, putting intention behind the Latin word.
The bit of cardboard burst into a tiny ball of flame. He could feel the heat from the fire on his face, but his palm stayed miraculously cool. The mini flame balanced in his palm, steady and strong with a little whisp of smoke. How cool! This would really cut down on the number of lighters they bought. For the first time in a few days, Sam found himself smiling. He was so intent on watching the little fire dance in his hand, that he almost didn’t hear Dean’s footsteps coming down the hall.
The spell had an incantation to end the magic, but Sam didn’t have time to read it. Instead, he clapped his hands together, smothering the little flame just as Dean opened the door. Sam plastered what he hoped was a neutral expression on his face and looked up at his brother.
“Hey, I wondered where you’d got to. I brought you a sand…” Dean stopped mid-sentence, a step inside the door. He had a plate in one hand and a bottle of beer tucked under his arm. His eyes narrowed.
“Whatcha doing, Sam?”
“Uh, nothing. Just going through some of Rowena’s stuff.” Sam wasn’t sure what would happen if he unclasped his hands, so he gestured towards the table with his elbow. Although he hadn’t done anything wrong, he felt like a naughty kid caught with his hand in the candy jar. He didn’t feel guilty exactly, he just wasn’t sure he was ready to share Rowena’s message with Dean.
“Uh, huh.” Coming to the table and putting down the sandwich he’d brought, Dean was obviously still skeptical. “Do I smell smoke?” he asked, sniffing the air.
“No. I mean I don’t smell anything?” Sam said with his best innocent expression. Dean stared at him for a moment, then shrugged.
“Okay Mr. Mysterious.” Setting the beer next to the plate, Dean returned to the door. “I’m going make a run into town and pick up some beer. D’you need anything?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
“Alright – well don’t spent all afternoon holed up in here, okay?” With that directive, Dean left, shaking his head as he went.
Once he was gone Sam counted to ten and then slowly pulled his hands apart. Aside from a smidge of ash on his palms, there was nothing to see. Huh? That was cool. He felt a bit bad for lying to Dean, but he’d come clean tonight. They didn’t keep secrets from each other anymore, not about anything important.
Rubbing his hands clean on his jeans Sam pushed the book aside and pulled the sandwich closer. Now that he thought about it, he was pretty hungry. He gazed at the notebooks stacked around him as he twisted open the beer. He saluted the pile of journals with the bottle and took a sip.
“Cheers, Rowena.”