Nothing Left To Fear

18

Dominic is the image of the perfect scholar, he wears an old sweater that's more patch and repair than original design, thick heavy glasses and hair that hasn't seen a comb in at least a week. He is sat in Ellen's kitchen surrounded by empty coffee cups and old manuscripts as he deciphers the demon's counsel.

"It's not that complicated," he says finally, "once you get through the junk, he's telling you to become a figurehead, an icon not a person, and to call the old gods and the Fey."

"Fuck," Dean breathes under his breath.

"He talks about someone else who did this and got burnt at the stake for his bother, his "Burnt Jack" who I'm guessing is Jacques de Molay, but I could be wrong, it makes sense but without asking him I can't be sure, as I said, I'm guessing. If it is de Molay then he is associated with this chap, Baphomet." He turns the book to show a demon sat crosslegged with one arm raised, and a pentacle burning in his forehead.

"Fuck," Dean repeats.

"No, it's not so simple, no one's quite sure who Baphomet is, Aleister Crowley claimed he was a demon, others say it's a corruption of the word Mohamet or Mohammed, and others still say it means absorption into wisdom."

"And what do you think?" Bobby asks, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter.

"I think it's an old god, one of the Forgotten- as you called them." One thing Dominic learned quickly was the terminology. "There is a description of a figure with three faces on one head in some manuscripts." He pushes another book across to Bobby who lifts it.

"That sounds like the true face of an angel." Castiel says from where he is raiding the cookie jar for the crumbs that remain there, sucking them off his fingers with a lewd pop.

"I was thinking that, makes sense of the whole Jerusalem thing, anyway, but there are all these gods who no one remembers or who got co opted into saints or devils or such, right, I'm wondering if that's what happened and then they got mega rich so the pope came in with the thumbscrews."

"What does this have to do with us?" Dean exhales the question.

"Easy, the old gods, we find a way to summon them and then see if we can't ask them to join our army and even the odds a bit. The other bit is about becoming a figurehead, which you already are, and he talks about starting a holy war, so he might be asking you to become Pope, or Joan of Arc, who also burned at the stake, I don't know.

"I don't know how someone becomes a Messiah, which is what he wants." Dominic runs his hand through his hair leaving it even more dishevelled in his wake. "I'll be honest, I've looked at this every way I can, and it makes no fucking sense to me. I'll take the "Golden Bough" to bed with me tonight and see if I can't shag up some summoning rituals that don't involve human sacrifice." He laughs a bit weakly, "see if I can't find a list of warrior gods who might just want to join for the fun of it."

"And the Fey?" Dean asks, numbers matter after all.

"Maybe it's my Irish gram talking," Dominic says standing up, closing the books over, "but you don't fuck with fairies."

"Odin," Dean says, "the whole oak hanging thing, what happened if you survived?"

Dominic shrugs, rolling his shoulders and then cricks his neck, set in place from hunching over the books. "Dunno," he answers, "never heard of anyone who did."