Burn prt 4

[stillrose]

Title: Burn prt. 4
Fandom: Supernatural  
Prompt:
Warnings:   pre Slash (WILL be SLASH in Prt 5), wincest, language, dubious con, bondage
Rating: R-NC17
Summary: Sammy needs to get away from Dean.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Sam and Dean; just borrowing them. All I own is what my cats don’t want.

Thanks to the_ellcrys for betaing!!!

Feedback makes my heart go pitter patter.
Previous parts here

Sam had smiled. At the local diner had been where they had met Granny Mitchum and Granny Mitchum had known what was going on with Sam.

The waitress had just brought Sam’s scrambled eggs and toast along with Dean’s “All American Morning Combo” when Granny Mitchum slid in the booth next to Dean. The Winchester’s had never met Granny Mitchum, let alone heard of her, but that hadn’t stopped her from stealing a slice of bacon from Dean’s plate and signaling the waitress to bring over another cup of coffee.

“Excuse me…” Dean had started to say. 

“We’ll need some more cream, sugah,” Granny had told the waitress who had brought over a fresh cup of coffee. Then Granny had turned a piercing gaze at Sam. 

“You in trouble son.”

Sam had cast a look at Dean. Dean had shifted to the side so he could get a better look at the odd woman who’d just barged into their breakfast and apparently into their problem. The woman was that indeterminate “old.” She wasn’t frail but her youth was far behind her. She was big boned and her flesh hung off her arms and face in a way that spoke that she’d been well toned once or pleasantly plump. The woman wore large black-framed glasses that matched whatever shade of bottle she used to dye her hair.  

Granny had sat, munched on her purloined bacon and sipped her coffee while Dean assessed her.

“Didn’t your mama teach ya it was impolite to stare?” Granny had asked after she chewing the last of the bacon strip. 

“As matter of fact she didn’t,” Dean had replied.

“Can we help you, uh…,” Sam had tried to interject. 

“Now there’s one with some manners. Too bad it’s him that’s in trouble,” Granny pointed a look towards Dean then looked back at Sam. “Most folks ‘round here call me Granny Mitchum. My house could use a good paintin’ if that was your meanin’ on helpin’ but I ‘spect you won’t be ‘round long enough ta see ta that.”

Dean had stiffened. He was getting that cold chill done his spine again. 

“What do you mean by that?” Dean had let a lot of that chill creep into his voice.

“Son, you better settle down and let me talk. Ya ain’t ta old for me ta take a switch ta ya!” 

“Mrs. Mitchum,” Sam had once again interjected trying to smooth the situation and Granny.

“Just Granny will do.” 

“What do you mean?”

Granny had sighed.  

“I woke up this morning and I had a powerful hankerin' for pancakes. Now, normally that’s just too much sugah fer me in the mornings but this morning I just had ta have ‘em. So, I said ta myself, ‘Granny, sumthins up,’” Granny paused to take another sip of her coffee. “So, I got up and came in ta Mytle’s here and had me some pancakes. She really needs ta add more vanilla ta the batter if you ask me. Anyway, I had finished my pancakes when you boys walked in and then I knew.”

Granny Mitchum had stopped and started to drink her coffee again. After a few sips she had put the cup down and waived over the waitress with the coffee pot.

“Just a swaller more, darlin'. Thank ya.”

After the waitress topped off the cup, Granny had sat back and begun to fold and refold Dean’s napkin. 

Dean and Sam stared and each other. Finally, Dean said, “Knew what?”

“Ain’t ya all goin' ta introduce yerselves?” 

“Of course," Sam had replied, once again the diplomat. “I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean.”

“Ah, brothers. Now I see it. I was confused. When you first walked in I thought you were one of them ah ‘modern couples.’” 

Dean had choked on his coffee. Sam had fidgeted in his chair.

“However, brothers would explain the close connection twixt the two of ya.” 

“Ma’am,” Dean tried for a respectful tone, “what is that you th… you know?”

“Well I know Sam here’s got a powerful itch in his pants he can’t scratch."

It had been Sam’s turn to choke on his coffee.

“I’m listening,” Dean had said much more seriously. 

“Around these parts there’s a legend we don’t talk much about; the Greenbrier Witch.” Dean and Sam cast a look at each other. “Now I don’t mean a witch in the new fangled sense where some one’s gonna scream religious persecution and such nonsense. I mean in the old sense of someone, in this case a woman, who knows the arts. Arts and traditions that can be used for good or ill. And the Greenbrier Witch, why she is a wicked one. Some say she’s human still, others says she’s passed on to the spirit realm, but all say she’s done dealt with the black dog himself.”

“Black dog?” Dean had asked.

“Another name for the devil,” Sam had explained.

“Not only the polite one but the smart one too,” Granny had shook her head. “Such a shame. Anyway, the Greenbrier Witch needs to keep herself in lovers. Some say she needs to take ‘em too keep herself young and others say she collects their souls when they die. Keeps ‘em in a jar so she never gets lonely. Whatever the case, she’s marked Sam here as her next lover and that itch he’s got is gonna grow and grow until he goes to her. And when he does, whatever fate she marked for her other lovers, he’s gonna share.” 

“How do you know this?” Dean had snapped partly in fear and partly in frustration.

“I’m Granny Mitchum and I’m about thirty seconds from gettin' that switch!” Granny had glared at Dean. “Now I’m here tryin' ta do what I can fer ya boys. I know things and I’m telling ya what I know.” 

“The other men, the ones who went missing. This is what happened to them?” Sam had asked.

Granny had cocked an eyebrow and then nodded. 

“How do we break the curse?”

“It’s a hex. And it’s simple really…ya just need a lover’s touch.” Granny had then looked at Sam. Sam couldn’t hide the look of pain. “There’s the rub init? Ya lost yer love haven’t ya, Sam?” 

Sam had nodded.

“Recently I bet?” 

Sam had nodded again. 

“If ya look carefully at all the other men who done gone missin I’ll bet you’ll find the same. All the men hexed by the witch had all lost the one thing that could a saved ‘em; the touch of a lover.”

“Hey,” Dean had tried to interject. “A lover’s touch? We can do that. Sam, we can find some…” 

“Boy, I’m beginning to think I need to tan yer hide just on principle. A lover’s touch isn’t sumthin' ya can just go out and find like a two dollar cheesburger!  If ya can’t understand that then yer thicker than I first thought ya were!”

“Hey!” Dean had growled. 

“Where can we find this witch?” Sam asked before Dean could start in on a tirade.

“Son, ya don’t want ta find her. You find her and yer dead. The closer you get ta her, the more powerful her spell on ya is goin’ ta be and the more you’ll do ta be with her and fer her. ‘Sides, I ain’t never been able ta figure out who she is. None of them marked ones was around long enough or helpful long enough, fer me ta figure it out. ”

“You must know something,” Dean had said.

“I do,” Granny had said. “And I’m tellin’ ya what I know. Sam’s hexed and the only thing that will break it is a lover’s touch. I wish I could do more. I really do. You ask around. Folks will tell ya, most times when sumthins up, a spirit gets too uppity or cow’s milk's gone sour, call Granny Mitchum. But I’ve tried everything; burning sage, cookin' a speckled hen’s feathers in lard for a poultice, and weaving' a witch’s ladder with lavender and garlic. I even tried recitin’ the Lord’s Prayer while sweepin' with a cinnamon broom behind one young feller. Ain’t nuthin’ worked.” 

“How did you even know I was ‘hexed,’” Sam had asked.

“I can see it, Sam. It’s like the cancer’s done eatin' a way at yer shining. I know what it means. I’ve seen it before.” 

Granny then had drained her cup and slid back out of the booth.

“That’s it?” Dean had asked incredulously. “That’s all. Sam’s hexed. He’s going to eventually get so …so needy for this witch he’s going to go to her and die? That’s all you got to say?” 

Granny had nodded. “Do what you boys think you gotta do to make peace with what’s happenin’ but make it soon. Sam’s only goin' ta get worse. I wish I had sumthin' more fer ya.”

Then Granny had pulled out a twenty dollar bill and some ones from her purse and laid them on the table.  She had turned as if to go, and then paused. She leaned over and placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. 

“If ya find a way ta save your brother, Dean, come back and see me. Myrtle will tell ya how ta find me.”

Dean had looked in Granny’s eyes then. He had really looked and in their tobacco brown depths he had seen she was trying to tell him something; something she didn’t want to say and something he knew he didn’t want to hear. A third chill had run down his spine.

TBC in prt 5