![]() That maybe, just maybe, there is one person in the entire damn universe who might not leave Dean high and dry like every other member of his family.Īs the sigil dries, Dean walks back over to his bag and double checks the contents, just in case. Which is why Dean is here, alone in the woods at daybreak, spray painting a sigil into the grass and praying that this soulmate summoning thing actually works. He can imagine the number of hunters who have mothers who died when they were kids, fathers who became hunters and dragged said kids all over the country, and little brothers who had a knockout incoherent screaming match and stormed out promising to never return probably can be counted on one hand. Hell, after last night, Dean probably isn’t going to be even a minority of people. Then again, the other reason that most people are happy to leave it to psychics is because sometimes summoning the appearance of your soulmate can cause a feedback loop and an explosion, but Dean isn’t most people. Most people don’t bother learning it because psychics insist only they can properly use it, but the truth is that anyone can use this summoning sigil as long as they know how to draw it correctly, and the first thing Dean learned to draw after his name was a devil’s trap. Five points, a star in the center, and various symbols of protection and invocation scattered around the edges. It’s a pretty basic sigil, all things considered. After he sets down his bag and walks the area, making sure nothing jumps out at him, he takes out the can of spray paint and begins marking up the clearing, white lines sharp against the green grass. He walks until he finds a small little clearing, where there’s enough room to sketch out a good sized summoning sigil. Maybe someone else would be uneasy walking into a forest in the middle of nowhere when it’s still dark outside, but Dean has a gun and a stake, and he’s not afraid to use either. He dresses in the dark, grabs what he needs from the trunk, and is out and into the nearby woods before anyone can notice. He doesn’t really need to sneak out, since his father is dead to the world and will be so for hours after all the alcohol he consumed last night, but years of long habit keep his feet light and his movements swift. Dean sneaks out of the motel room before the sun has even broken the horizon.
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