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Chapter Text

There are many names for many gods. Different faiths and different people want the same thing; a savior, a belief, that they’ll be alright.We're all just children, weeping for the safety of a cradle.

Dean’s God has many names: ninety-nine names to be exact. His mama, Mariam, would nestle him between her arms, and in a hush, she whispered all the names. She started with Allah and went all the way to Tha  AL-Jalal Wal-Ekram.

When Dean was four, he climbed into Sammy’s cot and hugged him close, smelling the misk¹ behind his little ears. Baba and Mama argued in the room next door. Dean hoped that by the time he finished murmuring all the names of God into his baby brother’s ears, they’d stop shouting, and his heart would stop hammering.

When the fire ate their small home and took Mama away, Baba threw Sammy, now marked with three dark-brown lines alongside his neck, into Dean’s arms, bestowing a life sentence. 

When they drove away in the Clozer, Dean said the ninety-nine names under his breath like a secret as the fire burnt out Baba from John Winchester’s eyes and made him El-Walid.

They’ve never stopped running away ever since.

The Clozer grew to become their home. In cold nights, in the backseats, Baba came back to replace El-Walid and hug Dean close, who hugged Sammy even closer.

In the morning, it was El-Walid asking Dean to bring his kit as they stopped by a stranger’s house. Dean sat by the corner, watching him read verses from Mama’s old Quran. As a man in front of him twisted at odd angles, and screamed loud and strangely, Dean felt something in him twist and scream as well.

El-walid’s voice was rough; he did not read with a tone like Mama’s.His reading lacked color and was just flat, like a chore. Dean mouthed the words with him, but his voice was a stuttering silent mess. He had lost his voice when Mama left. 

While the people thanked El-Walid, Dean picked up his bag while sitting Sammy on his hip. His brother must have seen something in him, because Sammy, with a weighted tongue, whispered the ninety-nine names. Dean recognized a babble that almost sounded like El-Raqeeb.

At some point, El-Walid became Sedi, and Dean had a more active role in exorcizing jinns. Sometimes Sedi would allow him to read the verses, and he would bite down his fear as Sammy sat opposite him, mouthing the ninety-nine names for him.

As he grew older, Sammy’s limbs grew longer, yet he crouched over himself as if he could hide like a snail.  Yet, he was still taller than Dean. He looked like an outsider, taking on features from Seidi’s part of the family. His skin was lighter with a simple wisp of hair, eyes green and his hair was dirty blonde. The dark-brown mark on his neck didn’t help. 

Dean dyed his hair with henna, but he still looked different. Sammy looked so much like Sedi’s son. Yet, he was the only one who inherited mama’s reading.

When Sammy was 18, all fire to be a man and out, and all anxiety to be a child, he argued with Seidi while Dean secretly mouthed his God’s names. Sammy wanted to study abroad, in America. He even got a scholarship. Yet, Seidi refused, because they needed Sammy. A good reading could do wonders; Malaika ² would sit around you, listen intently. Dean wondered if that's why Sammy turned out all smart and big and wonderful. He was guarded and nourished but the very one who could lift God’s throne.

“ I'm not your tool.” his baby brother said, shoulder lifted high for once as he left the dingy motel room. Dean hoped that Malaika would keep on guarding him.

At night, Baba visited again. He sat beside Dean on the roof of the Clozer and told him many things;how a Jinni visited Sammy once, marked him, then burned their house and killed Mama. How he does what he does to find him; how he makes sure to pry the information from jinns; how they scream their king’s name, Luci. He told him why no one knows him as John; no Arab  would trust a white man to deal with their jinni problems.

Baba had cried about Sammy, while Dean patted his back. Neither of them knew that that would be Baba’s last time talking to Sammy.

A few months later, Baba, El-walid, Seidi, left Dean.

A year later, Dean called Sammy for the first time for Seidi, El-Walid, Baba’s funeral.

The police called Dean; they found John Winchester dead by the sewers from a sudden heart attack. When he washed his father’s body, Dean’s suspicions were proven; he was killed by Jinns. No one wanted to perform the prayer for the dead except a little mosque by the side of the road. Imam Bader helped them out and assembled a group of five or so men to pray with them ( Dean only knew to count the names of God at the time. )

The white cloth did not fit John Winchester; it wrapped around him wrong. The color was wrong. Him laying still there, too quiet, was wrong. When they lowered him into the hole they’d dug out, he felt too light. Fathers shouldn’t feel light, they never feel light. They’re heavy, a weight on the heart.

They talked together later on, on the mosque’s stairs, waiting for Fajir prayer³.  Imam Bader told them about his Jewish friend, Rufus, who helped them out. Told them how they met while studying abroad, and a friendship blossomed from discussing theology and football. Sammy talked about his study group in America, about a classmate named Eileen whom he grew very close to. Dean talked about El-Walid ( It’s embarrassing to call your father Baba with a bearded chin. Aboya was something Sammy would say, and he didn’t feel like calling a dead man Seidi.) He said people were wrong about him; they said he had dwindled with dark magic, Sha’watha, and that’s why they refused to help with the funeral.

They didn’t cry. El-Walid raised them not to cry; men don’t cry.

Yet, when they prayed side by side, as Dean pressed his forehead to the prayer mat, he heard Sammy sniffle beside him. He prolonged his sajda, even though he had nothing to say to his God. Instead, he would repeat the ninety-nine names over and over…It was for Sammy, he wouldn’t lift his head before his brother did. A silent I’m here. 

The next day, they left the mosque with a shiva basket from Rufus and a box of dates from Imam Badder. Sammy had a few days left before going back to the university. He offered Dean a helping hand. Dean did not want his sympathies, but he wanted to prove people wrong; his father would never deal with dark magic.

John Winchester kept a journal with his notes and findings. The exorcizing techniques he learned from Mariam’s father, Imam Ishmael, and a map detailing his trips. There was a place John frequented which they thought would answer their questions.

What were they asking really? 

Did their father use dark magic? 

Were they still brothers?

Was this something that could keep them together or drive them apart ? 

On their way, they slept in mosques and tents set up by the side of the road. They helped a family get rid of the evil eye, and another haunted by the Qareen of the older sister. They laughed, they fought, they blasted songs out loud to shush out their sobs.

The asphalt road soon turned into a make-shift sand road and they stopped at an abandoned old house. Its white-brown walls were cracked and blotchy. The door squeaked when they slid in. There was an answer, but it never truly answered their questions.

Dean broke down in the middle of the room, shouting in anger and tearing up a spell book. Goat hair hung from the roof, and various voodoo dolls. One doll had a mark on its neck and shoulder-length hair. 

Dean held his brother’s shoulder-length hair back as Sammy threw up by the side of the road.

“Does this answer your questions?” asked Sammy, heaving. 

No.

On the back of the spell book was a name. It angered Dean, made his blood boil. He shouted it out loud: “ ROWENA! “

He called out again and again, Sammy holding onto his shoulder and pulling him, asking him to stop. He struggled against the restrain of his little brother, pushed and pushed and shouted until his voice was hoarse.

Rowena came with a puff, purple smoke enveloping her, and eyes glowing. Her hands were clad with gold and henna, and as they spread her blackened fingers stood out. She had a hair of fire, and smelled of expensive Oud. Her lips stretch in a sneer,” Why you’d lose your awful voice my dear boy,” 

When he didn’t answer, she stalked up to him. She was small and short compared with Dean’s big frame. He towered over her but it felt like she had the upper hand. With a calm smile she reached out to take the book but Dean pulled it close to his chest, eyes glaring fire,” you mojo-d my dad you B-“ 

She put a finger to his lips, shushing him, “Oh please! Your father had eyes for one only. Poisonous obsession really.”

Dean fumbled for a second and she took the spell book smoothly and started flipping through it, “He actually stole this from me. Chasing a jinni king? Not wise.” 

“You’re wrong,” Dean bit out, stepping up to punch her,” he’d never—“

Sammy wrapped his long limbs around Dean’s round stocky arms, pulling him away “Stop! “

Dean struggled away and pulled back; the momentum pulling his brother towards him, but he turned on his heel and punched him square in the jaw, causing him  to fall, “Baba would never do dark magic! You know that!” 

“Dean! “ Sammy nearly shouted,” you know Aboya… you know him best and you know him so well you pretend you don’t know him at all!”

“ Spare me the psychology bullshit.” he snapped,” you really believe this?”

When Sammy didn’t answer, Dean huffed, smiling,” Of course. Of course you do. You weren’t even here, you have no idea. It’s the jinn in you isn’t it?” he pointed at Sam’s mark, a rhythm of hate me hate me hate me hate me crashed into his mind.hat did the kids at school call you? El-Jinni? Well guess what they’re right! And- and maybe that’s why you left, maybe that’s why you think baba would—“ 

Sammy’s eyes dilated, and his chest rose up and down in a steady rhythm, as if he was reading a guide on how to breathe. The image reminded him of another Sammy, less lanky, Smaller, a version of his brother that could fit into dean’s hands. That Sammy looked at him, betrayed, cheeks red just like this one, except it wasn’t Dean who punched him then, but he might as well had.

Dean turned around, disgust settling in the pit of his stomach and boiling, its ugly steam climbing up to his airway.

Rowena, the sick twisted mosha’with was still standing there, watching Sammy with an unreadable expression. When she noticed Dean, she snapped her fingers, purple clouds— no, jinns . So many at her command, swirled around her and she disappeared, spell book gone, leaving them with even more questions.

“Dean—“ said a weak voice behind him. Alarmed, he turned around towards Sammy, who was still on the ground, this time withering and curling into himself, hands holding his stomach. 

“ S-Sammy?” Dean stepped towards him, surprised by the softness in his own voice. He knelt beside  his little brother and pulled him into his arms. Sammy hissed and Dean’s hands came back red, “ Sammy?” 

“ She- she did something.” Sammy coughed. His hands, although big, seemed so small clutching into Dean’s kandoor⁴,” Dean-“ he whispered, voice weak.

He pulled his baby brother to his chest, looking around as the desert sand stretched like a blanket, as if it was putting them to sleep. It was dusty, the sand covering Sammy’s no longer dyed with henna hair, and he brushed it away. His brother would not be going to sleep. 

“Hey hey you’ll be alright okay? You’ll be okay right Sammy?”  

When he didn’t answer, he hugged him closer, not daring to look into his face. He bit back the tears, feeling Sammy’s breath on his neck tremble and then grow shallow. 

He named the names of God.

He started with Allah, moved into Al-Rahman

God has many names, there are many names he can be called.

Dean moved into Al-Raheem and Al-Mulk.

Please please  

He named them,  the ninety-nine names, all the way to Tha Al-Jalal Wal-Ekram. Yet, the only thing he could hear was his pathetic sobbing.

keywords:

1. Misk or musk is an aromatic substance that is used a lot in Islamic cultures, it's even emphasized in the Quran to describe the scent of martyrs. There is a tradition where it’s applied to newborn babies. return to text

2. Angels.return to text

3. Morning prayer, it is performed before the sun rises, and signifies the beginning of the day return to text

4.Traditional white dress-like formal men clothing.return to text

Chapter Text

Sammy had told him, in the Clozer ¹ once, when they were little. They had just picked him up from school, and he was rambling about time and space, hands flailing around and hitting Dean on the shoulder. Voice getting higher and higher. Sammy was excited about how space-time bends with the act of mass. 

“Can you believe that? We can bend something so complex just by existing?”

He almost wished Sam was here now so he could show him how time bent with the dampness and darkness of caves; how in the absence of light, time was but a slave.

What a curious thing light was. He felt a connection to it, as if it was once his name: Dhou, Noor, light. There was barely any of it left of his person and his grip on reality. When all the light faded away, he would fade too. What was the meaning of his existence, when there was no light? 

Yet… although he yearned to have his brother here; although he missed him more than ever, as if someone cut off a piece of his liver and buried it across the river, heart heavy with guilt and regret, Dean wouldn’t wish his brother ill. He wouldn’t wish his brother was here.

He could still feel it, the ghost of his brother’s weight, growing heavier and colder by the second. 

A man had appeared then, looking out of place in the desert with his pale skin, red eyes, and black suit.

“ I can save him, your brother.” 

“How?”

“Just repeat my words.”

He heard Sammy’s shaky breath, felt his chest rise, and with a snap Dean was teleported away, to serve the Jinns of the man, El-Mosha’with. ² He did not know what for. He knows he has been forging weapons for some time, enough to make him forget his name.

Or maybe he had chosen to bury it.

They, the Jinns, called him Deen, faith. It was a mockery; he is a man of faith, who fights Jinns and dark magic. Yet, he had made a deal with El-Moshawith, he had given in to dark magic. 

How shameful, to betray your faith like so.

He claimed the name by twisting it. Rather than Deen, let it be Dean, Daniel, the prophet who told of the comings of prophet Eissa³ and Mohammed, peace be upon them. He remembered finding Mama’s old tales of the book of the prophets and staying up all night reading it with Sammy.

At the moment, he was forging a Jinn’s sword, in a small room in the cave. It was put up for him specially, so he could see the Jinns the least. They didn’t want to risk him losing his mind over witnessing their true forms. He heard a coo above and cautiously lifted his head, surprised to see a … dove? 

It eyed him curiously; something about it felt like it was unfurling his soul like clementine, pushing its fingers in and deeper in, getting out all the juice and cutting him into pieces. 

O neighbor! Are you aware of my situation,

Is your cooing in sympathy for my condition

I have tasted of sorrow and separation

More than you have ever experienced

And the worries I have known

Never occurred to you

Is it possible that you carry sorrow in your heart

While perching on a high branch,

With a respectable distance above the ground

A loud thumping spread around him. Dean accidentally dropped the sword he was working on, and he bent down to pick it up, half glaring at the dove who seemed undisturbed. 

“ Where did he go?”

“Find him!”

The Jinns, most of the time, did not have a voice. They would speak into your mind, like a thought or a hallucination, some of their true form seeping through. Yet sometimes they talked out loud in agitation.It sounded inhuman, like a screech, but Dean could make it out. 

The Jinns shouted all around, and Dean knelt, one hand covering his ear while the other reached out for his fallen sword. He closed his eyes, begging the screeching to stop. He needed to get back to work, lest he angered them, but instead of steel, his hands met flesh.

Dean blinked in surprise, here under the table was a man reminiscent of a sea wave, a sea wave that had fear-filled eyes. They both looked at each other for what seemed like forever, dark brown meeting grey, both haven’t seen a human in so long.  

The thumping grew closer, and Dean bumped his head on the underside of the table as he stood up quickly. He saw yellow smoke sizzling through the cracks, accompanied by gray twisted branches. He felt the handle of the sword touch the side of his arm, and he held it silently, thanking the man underneath the table.

Dean bowed his head, preserving his eyes as the yellow jinni slipped inside

“Have you seen a man?”

“ Other than me?” said Dean,” No. Not at all. Is there anyone else? I thought I was all alone.” Then, seeing the jinni look around, he added,” Is that an excuse to come hang out here? No friends to exchange practical effects tips with?” 

The jinni fired up, or so Dean thought, feeling the heat of the room boil, he grumbled and came closer as Dean sent a silent Dua, hoping he wouldn’t see the man. The jinni bent over the table, watching Dean’s work and noticing a dent in the sword. 

“ Your hands,” demanded the yellow jinni, and Dean put out his hands, palms up, and bit back a scream as he saw the edges of his fingers melt under the heat then reform.

A lesson taught, the Jinni said nothing else and made his way out.

“ Kalb. ⁴ ” said the man underneath the table, causing Dean to laugh silently, folding into himself, pretending that they were tears of laughter rather than relief. 

He was not alone.

Dean was not given any breaks; conveniently he did not feel tired, but he was given tasks instead. When he was done with one he prayed, even when he was sure all his prayers will be rejected. This time, he listened to the runaway man, Benny.

Benny told him all about Crowley: how he’s a Mosha’with with a tongue of honey. He comes to men, women, and even children when they’re low in the ground sobbing. He offers them help, but the price is 40 days’ worth of prayer⁵ and your service for his army of Jinns.

Dean knew that, the price of Crowley’s help. He knew perfectly well what he signed up for. Yet, if you pushed him to the ground again, if you laid Sammy’s bloody weight in his hands again, if Crowley came to him again and asked? He’d say yes, a thousand times he’d say yes.

It’s his job. 

Benny’s tale started simple. He had a family to feed but little money. One day, he was invited to have coffee with Crowley, who spiked it with a spell. The spell made him involuntary backbite people. It did help him get a promotion in his job; he was invited to hang out with the Big People in the company he worked at. They hungered for gossip. 

Benny grew addicted. He tracked down Crowley and asked for more of whatever he had given him, and Crowley said nothing as he gave him more. 

There was a side effect. Of course, there was.

Benny grew hungrier and hungrier by the minute. Nothing could silence his hunger, no food, no drinks, no amount of backbiting. It made him angry and agitated, and he lost his job. 

That is till he woke up one day, the front of his shirt drenched in blood and he was full for the first time. He went out, looking for his wife and daughter, but only found trails of blood. 

Benny had cried, telling Dean how, despite his grief, his stomach hungered for the blood, and he bent down to lick it. Benny was another man who believed God could never forgive him. Crowley had shown up then, offered to take Benny somewhere where he would never hunger, and he did. 

You never hunger in the cave, for neither food nor water nor sleep. 

“ I don’t …” Benny bit his lips,” I can’t imagine my life without them, my wife and daughter, how can I live on knowing I had killed them? Yet… I want this to end, I want the leach he has on me to get off.” 

Benny scratched his beard,” I don’t hunger for blood anymore, not here, but I can still feel it, Crowley’s claim on me.” 

Dean didn’t believe in luck but in guidance. Benny was guided here, to Dean’s forgery, for a reason. 

“ I could help you.” he said,” I’m, heh, I’m an expert in this… thing.” He fumbled with his hands, unsureness seeping in,” the Jinns stuff? Dealt with them my whole life.” He scratched his beard and added rather pathetically,” since I was four.” 

You may not need to sleep in the caves, but you can sleep. It took Dean a while to get a hang of it. He took short naps, trying to stay sane. He asked Benny to lay down so he could read some verses from Surat Al-Mulk, to help him sleep, and other verses to help tempt Benny's dream to show a vision. His voice wasn’t as beautiful as Sammy’s, but it was this or nothing.

In the dream, a cloud of smoke materialized in Benny's eyes. Whispers all around him spoke of a name: Meg.

Meg was a high ranking jinni who sorted out Crowley’s inventory. They concluded that Crowley must have used her to tempt Benny’s hunger.

Benny had sneaked into Dean’s forgery through a series of secret tunnels he found. They climbed through them and crawled to Crowley’s inventory. 

The inventory was a little hole in the cave. Once you climbed through it you found yourself in front of rows upon rows of vials filled with, to the untrained eye, weird stuff. Dean recognized them: the hair, nail, bones, pieces of clothing and weird plants. Spell ingredients. At the corner, there was an ever-growing mountain of Sandals, and Dean wanted to throw up as he noticed the number of kids’ sandals ⁶ among them.

Meg was partway hidden by the mountain of sandals as she bent over a large cauldron. From what they could see, she was like an old tree. Its branches stood out, high and thorny all around as big spiders climbed in and out of its cracks. Each one was ghostly white and dead. Their mouths were open, revealing frogs inside making a constant croaking sound. 

Benny bumped Dean’s shoulder and pointed at a vial on the very top shelf, where a little pink bag was stuffed inside it. 

“ That’s it, my curse.” 

Dean nodded, planning on how to get it. They could sneak in quietly and climb the rows to get to it. He was afraid Meg would notice them. He couldn’t locate where her eyes were, if she had any, and he didn’t have anything to conceal him but the mountain of sandals. 

Finding no other option, he quietly read the ninth verse from Ya Sin:

“ Wa Ja’alna min Bain aydihim saddan wa min khalfihik saddan fa aghshainahum fa hum la yob se-roon” 

And We have put before them a barrier and behind them a barrier and covered them, so they do not see.

On tiptoes, they walked toward the rows, and ducked every time they heard one of Meg’s old branches creak. Dean kept a steady rhythm saying the verse over and over, and kept an eye on Benny who was trailing behind. When they reached the bottom of the shelves, Benny bent down, joining his finger together so Dean could step on them and start climbing. Dean repeated the verse a bit more urgently now. He felt sick that he was grateful that the mountain of sandals was high enough to conceal him to the top.

He was two shelves short from Benny's vial when his rhythm broke. He noticed a dusty vial with red henna dyed hair inside of it. The note on it read his brother’s name,

Sam Bin John. 

He stuttered, and tried to reach out for the vial but his foot slipped. He was about to fall but he quickly got a grip on the shelves. Unfortunately, he caused one of the vials to fall down. 

He saw Benny reach out to stop it from hitting the ground, but there was a resounding crash, echoing through the inventory. 

Dean blinked and suddenly there were eyeless spiders right in front of his face, staring into his soul. He could feel their gaze burning his eyes. A tree branch moved to crease his cheek.

“ What brings the freckled beauty to my inventory?” said a voice reminiscent of the white smoke of mebkhar⁷ . The smell of burnt hair sneaked into Dean’s nostrils. 

He closed his eyes and shied away, remembering that he couldn't look at me for too long. He heard her cackle.

There was a choking sound, and Dean looked down to see Benny scratching at his neck, face turning purple, eyes bulging.

He had to do something. He knew what to do but…

He’s four again, el-walid is waving his bakoora⁸ . He can see it’s slim shadow on the flowery carpet.

“ talk ya walad!” 

He begged his voice to talk, come on come on , but it sat there frozen and stubborn. The memory of his father shouting pushed him to not talk, not utter any word. 

Please.

Please.

He tried to at least say the verses inside his heart, they must account for something right? But his mind felt like dahannah⁹ , the words sticking to the bottom of the dallah¹⁰ , not sticking together to form something coherent. 

Meg cackled louder, and Benny was withering on the ground in pain. Would Benny die here? Where time has no meaning?

If he couldn't talk, maybe he could help in another way. He struggled on and climbed the few remaining shelves, and reached out for Benny's vial. His fingers glazed the glass. He stretched even more just a bit more. 

Yet, just as his fingers brushed the top of the glass, he was pulled away by thorny branches digging into his waist and driving a scream out of him. 

Meg laughed loudly, watching him struggle out of her grip, “ The more you struggle the more it hurts little one.” 

He took a peek at her face, all gray fog and multiple orbs of red light look back at him, floating around and orbiting each other. It took his breath away, deprived him of any feeling except for fear so great that pushes his adrenaline to act as everything else just sinks in.

He stuttered as he started reading out Al-Falaq:“ s-say—“

Meg shook him around as she laughed again, cutting him off and causing her thorns to sink in deeper,” He who claims to have faith?! Do you seek the lord of the daybreak? You can’t even see the sun!” 

Don’t let it get through your mind. Be steady. He had faith, he trusted that the sun was out there, in him, it was a part of him. Light was part of him. Meg was just trying to break through him. He must be louder than her.

“Say, ˹O Prophet,˺ “I seek refuge in the Lord of the day—”  he read loudly, but his voice had a slight shiver in it. 

He pushed his hand into one of the thorns, using the pain to ground him,” D-Day break!” 

He continued on his reading. He stared at Meg, challenging, let madness come, and said,” from the evil of whatever He has created,” 

He made sure to emphasize evil, and felt some confidence surge through him as Meg faltered. Her frogs started screeching, causing the room to shake. Warm blood dripped from his ears but he heard Benny's sharp intake of breath despite it all. It was working 

“and from the evil of the night when it grows dark,”

Bearing it no longer, she threw Dean into the mountain of sandals and curled into herself. The branches swayed and he ducked to avoid them. He continued reading on the next verse as he climbed the mountain and slipped on the sandals over and over before finally jumping and hanging on the shelves to continue his climb. 

“and from the evil of those-, “ he shouted, climbing fast and finally reaching the top shelf. 

He jumped, right on top of Meg and reached out for the shelf again and the vial... 

“˹witches casting spells by˺ blowing onto knots,” 

There was the sound of the crash of Benny’s vial, Meg's scream of anguish and more voices, other Jinns, coming into the inventory. 

Overpowering it all was the sound of Benny’s sigh of relief. Dean held on, but the pain all around his body weakened him. The sounds of so many Jinns turned his mind to mush. 

And there, despite it all, in the flurry of light and heat as everything moved sprung them, the dove sat perched on the very top in the corner at the other side of the inventory, looking at Dean.

O my neighbor, the dove! 

Life has not dealt fairly with us.

Come hither, that I may share

My uneasy feelings with you

Come nigh, and you shall find a soul: my soul

Frail and feeble, in a body that tortures my mind

Must a prisoner laugh while a free bird weeps? 

Shall the sorrow-filled be quiet

While the indifferent wail

The room heated up as the Jinns continued their panic. Their true forms reached out and glazed Dean, burning parts of his body. He hissed, holding on trying not to fall right in the middle of them. Under him were the sounds of donkeys and birds and dogs. He saw wings and claws and beaks and fins. Many eyes and many fangs. He couldn’t see Benny anymore 

In the whirlwind, the dove stood in contrast, it flew towards Dean, growing bigger and bigger. By the time it was right in front of him, it had grown to the size of a Roc¹¹ , more reminiscent of it. Its wings were shinier than the other jinns, it made Dean wonder, just how many colors were there in the world?

Dean thought this was the first time he’d seen the sun in forever.

The jinns screeched in pain as the Roc hugged Dean between its mighty wings, teardrops descending from its eyes and plopping into Dean's cheek like rain in a desert.

O dove, my eyes are more deserving

Of shedding tears than yours

My tears, however, are, in adversity, hard to flow

key:

1. Toyota Land Cruiser Pickup car but its usually named like that return to text

2. a warlock that practices dark magic / sha'watha return to text

3. Islamic interpretation of Jesus return to text

4. Arabic insult that means dog ( so it's like the b-word ) return to text

5. when someone deals with dark magic 40 days worth of prayers are rejected return to text

6. sandals are sometimes used to cast curses and/or spells on their owners return to text

7. Arabic frankincense return to text

8. wooden staff/walking stick return to text

9. the remnants of coffee that stick to the bottom return to text

10. Arabic coffee pot return to text

11. Arabic Mythical Creature who's a big bird return to text

Chapter Text

But the crazy-man changed,

Yet, never forgets in his poems, a desert he doesn’t call “ Ummah!” Anymore. 

( Al-Qassibi ) 

For the first few moments, after the Roc got him out and threw him in the desert, Dean thought the sun and the sand were rivals to no one. He understood poetry that named sand gold and sun life.

A moment later, he cursed both gold and life.

After a while, he truly believed that he had died and that he was bound to forever cross the desert in his wizar ¹ empty-handed.

The Roc must've been an Angel, here to deliver his punishment. He should've known that the dove hid for him no mercy. It looked at him with much remorse.

What kind of dove sits in a cave anyways? 

He remembers Mama’s book of tales of the prophets. There was a big part of it about prophet Muhammad’s journey. He remembers reading about his migration to Madina, how he hid in a cave with his dearest friend Abu Baker. A spider put up its net on the mouth of the cave, and two doves laid their eggs inside giving the impression that no one is there. 

Mama

Do you know?

Do you know what came to be of your little freckled boy?

Do you know what came to be of your little misk scented baby?

Do you know what came to be of your dear husband? 

Mama, Ummi, Ummah, Waledati, Manba’ Albanian.

Her loved ones were taken away from their land, from the sand. They were sent onto a voyage of the sea, looking for pearls not to be found. 

Her boy is thrown back into the desert, yet he feels like he’s still clashing with the mighty waves, drowning.

The water, sand, whatever it is he’s drowning in slithered its way into his lungs, snuck into his heart, filled it up and weighed it down. His heart and lungs are small, they can't take it anymore, whatever it is. 

He squinted at the red-orange hills in front of him, dark brown eyes traced the wavy lines…

Aroog ,

Sammy had told him about how the English use the word desert ; They use it to mean something empty, left by its people, deserted.

Yet, Dean knows to call the hills with their slithery lines Arg, Aroog, veins.

The desert has veins that spread all over. It's full of life, of love. Only The White Man sees it as not.

Only El-Walid couldn't see mama’s love, mistook it for something empty to be filled with vengeance and shouts and prickly love.

They said God took a part of mothers’ livers

He cradled it, shone into it his light

Gave it glee and joy 

Woe and weeps 

Then put it into the hands of mothers

This is your child 

You are forever to be bound 

You are forever to wipe their dolorous 

You are forever to hold their hands

Cutting them off would be reminiscent of cutting off a liver

(Mother, children, and a liver, Noor O Nicholas ) 

Mama, Ummi, ummah, waledati, manba’ Al-hanan,

My dearest, my desert, my mother,

Call me your liver again, read Al-Fatteha on my fevered head again, tell me about the Malaaeka, tell me how they’re watching over me, how they make Sammy laugh. 

Mama, Ummi, ummah, waledati, manba’ Al-hanan,

They cut off your liver. You turned to ash. Your liver lives on.

How can a liver live on when its body is withered?

I wish to gather your ash so I could smell heaven, I wish I could gather your ash so I can be alright.

He had tripped at some point, his legs had sunk into the sand, and he was too weak to pull it out. He fell to his knees and laid down on the sand. The desert raised as if it breathed as if it saw his grief and moved to embrace him. 

Grief huh? Is it what brings vigil to his nights? Is it what makes him see a mother in the desert? 

The roads were long and his voice had left his chest. He missed Mama, watching the golden blanket stretch on the side of the road helped. He wasn’t sure whether the Malaeeka were still watching over him, but he knew Mama was.

Sometimes, Baba would take a turn and drive towards the hills. The Clozer would go up and down and Sammy and Dean would make a long aaaaaaaaa sound, hearing their voices jitter with the car. Baba would put a map and light a fire to prepare some Karak² . Dean would let his fingers touch the cold sand as he told them stories about his home, how he and Mama wanted to move there with them, how they named Sammy Sam so he’d fit in.

Dean thought that’s a cruel name to have, Sam.

Sam, poisonous. 

He can't help but look at his baby brother, reaching out to baba with grubby red hands and a snotty nose, taking his first steps towards Dean, to fall into his lap where he would babble soothingly.

If Sam was poisonous, then Dean would want to be a dead man walking, and maybe he is.

He called him Sammy instead, elevated.

Elevated above all the crap and trash a burnt house would leave, elevated by his hands to the stomach of the sky, where the sun shines, where shadows wouldn't reach him.

Baba named Sam, but Dean named Sammy. 

He reaches out for the sand, holds it in his fist, clenches its softness so it would become rock hard. 

“Mama” he croaks, voice scratchy with thirst, eyes too dry to cry.

Time has gnawed at me, bit me and has cut me. 

Time has harmed, wounded and injured me,

( time has gnawed at me, Al-Khansa )

He thinks there is a shadow there, coming towards him…

He reaches out.

key:

1. a cloth that's wrapped around the waist usually worn as an undergarment for men's traditional clothing return to text

2. Tea made of evaporated milk and spices like cardamom and saffron.return to text

Chapter Text

Dark. Damp. Dead. 

Dean blinked into the darkness. Blink blink blink.  

Each time he would see a dot of light With each blink it grew closer, levitating towards him.

With each blink, something clawed at his feet, grabbed at his hands.

He wanted to reach out for the light, but he was sinking more and more into despair.

Blink.

Dean woke up to see a pair of boyish honey-eyes lined with kohl¹ blinking down at him. The face was young and round, with a button nose scrunching, and brows bending under brown henna dyed hair. 

“AHLAN!” said the boy.

Dean, groggy with sleep, said unsure, “ ahlan?”

The boy (a teen?) grinned, revealing a gap in the middle of his teeth, and stood up calling out, “ BABA! The man woke up!” 

“ Wha—?” Dean tried to lift himself up using his elbows, feeling the kind of weight you’d feel when you’ve been walking for so long, and you finally lay down. His elbows shivered beneath him as he pushed against the thick veil of tiredness. He gave up eventually and lied back down.

He stared at the yellow mud ceiling above him, feeling the familiar scratchy touch of the Sadu pillows beneath him. He couldn’t see them, but he knew they were red with black wide lines and white diamond shaped symbols.hey always are. They smelled of goat hair and hay, and faint misk and Oud.

Two pairs of footsteps resounded towards him, one light and the other heavy. Dean ached for the khanjar² he’d usually hide under his pillow, but he was both empty handed and tired. He chose to turn instead and look. 

It was the boy again,  his green Jalabia³ too short for his lanky stick-like frame beside him was an older man, wearing a fitted grey Jalabia with patches sewn into it, some with flowery patterns, some just lines like a Wizar.

The mud-house had yellow walls, but there were green palm trees painted on them, and red dashed lines surrounding the two oval windows which sunlight crawled in. It washed the big mandoos⁴ at the corner of the room, bouncing off the silver nails and pink green lanterns put up in a row on top of it. The sadu pillows lined three of the walls, and Ayat Al Kursi was hanging next to the metal door, behind the strangers, and right in front of Dean.

Under the sunlight, the man and the boy’s eyes gleamed blue and foreign. 

Do eyes never bewilder you ? Those which remind you of the clarity of the skies, and those that reveal to you the treasures of the desert and mirage, and those that take your mind on to a realm of ether full of beauty.

( May Ziyyadah )

When they walked towards him, their eyes turned back to honey brown. The man knelt beside Dean, eyes squinting in assessment under bushy brows and long eyelashes, and said,”  Salam Alaikum⁵ Brother.” 

Dean blinked Up close he could see how oddly patterned the man’s beard and mustache was, stray hairs going in all directions. There was a misbaha⁶ picking out of his pocket made of rocks and irregular wooden pieces. 

Remembering his manners, Dean leaned on an elbow and shook the man’s hand and leaned in so he could bump their noses together in greeting,” Wa Alaikum Assalam⁷.” Then, feeling embarrassed about his state, he added,” I’m sorry, heh, I can’t stand at the moment to greet you.” 

The man shook his head, and with a rough voice as if he smoked all of the world’s sheishah and cigars, said,” it’s alright. I set up the bath for you with some shereesha plants to help with the pain.” 

Dean nodded thankfully then asked,” I… I don’t know who your are or how I got here.” He scoffed,” I don’t know what day it is or if I died.” 

“ Today’s Thursday!” the kid quipped excitedly. “Jammol found you in the desert, you’ll meet him later, he loves people and he loves licking them.” 

“Jammol?” 

“Noor’s camel, he had wandered into our farm a month ago,” the man explained,” I am Kasser, and this is my son Noor. You are alive. I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition, but I lost you on the way and Jammol found you.” 

There was… a lot going on here. Dean’s brain was mushy but he was certain he was rescued by a roc, but then could he really trust a mind that forgot its own name? He chose to diverge his attention elsewhere,” Kasser? As in he who breaks ? That’s not a nice name.” 

Kasser looked away,” I was called that, but I’m not a fan of it.” 

“ What about khamees? Like Thursday?” Dean was delirious with exhaustion, he wished he could stop himself from talking nonsense, but Kasser, or Khamees, seemed content.

Shereesha baths are… special.

Dean remembered when he got sick once helping out a family who had a problem with a group of Jinns causing mayhem in the kids’ room. He was seven, and he tried to hide it from El-Walid.

You don’t want to bring shame to your family, especially El-Walid.

The family had a grandmother they called Ummi, she somehow saw through him when he was gathering El-Walid’s kit. With a voice like leaves scratching on vines, she said,” are you alright Habibi⁸?” 

“I’m alright.” he said, but his body betrayed him and sent him into a fit of coughing. When he looked up, Ummi was looking at him, saying nothing. He felt very small under her gaze, the corners of her eyes were grey and the kohl she had put on was shaky. Her hands looked like desert planes and they shook. She shone with old age and knowledge, and Dean quivered. 

It didn’t take long for him to break. He held her hands, practically begging,” Don’t tell El-Walid please ! He-“ Dean stopped, holding back from telling her about the red marks on his back, the result of serving the coffee wrong in the Majlis⁹, when the men told El-Walid to discipline his son. He feared that if she knew, she’d be like the men. “ He has work to do, I can’t ruin it for him, Ummi, you need to understand.” 

She patted his hands in understanding, and then gave him a warm bath with shereeshah plants. She repeated a prayer over and over. The first part of it he recognized from Surat Mariam, his favorite surrah, as it shared a name with mama. 

“ Kaf Ha’ Ya Ein Sad, Sayakfeek Ho-wa Allah Wa Ha-wa assame’ Al-Aleem” 

The beginning didn’t make sense, just letters that no one knew the meaning of. Yet, the rest… Allah would make up for what’s missing, he hears and he knows. 

It calmed his nerves, the bath, he felt better after it, and El-Walid never found out. When they left, Ummi secretly gave him some shereesha plants wrapped up in a plastic bag, she told him it was for his brother.Two days later, Sammy came down with a fever, and Dean bathed him in the wudu cubicles¹⁰ in a roadside mosque at Fajir while El-Walid talked with the Imam.

Now, Dean felt the tangy tea-like smell waft and wrap around him. Khamees had given him a large bucket of shereesha soaked in warm water, and a smaller bucket to scope up the water and bathe himself with. 

When he undressed, he saw deep red feather drawings covering his back and trailing up his shoulders and down his chest, as if he had been hugged. He saw his reflection in the broken mirror. He was marked, just like Sammy. It made him feel ill. 

The shereesha poured into his skin. His body ached for it, for its comfort, while his muscles untensed and melted. The steam from the hot water enveloped him like a cloud.

He sighed, pushing back the memories of the cave, and inviting the memory of the time he and Sammy went to the valley in winter and he walked on the water. Jalabias were lifted above their hips and tied in knots. Sandals sat on the rock side as dragonflies rested on them. Kelp and baby frogs clung to Sammy’s leg; he screamed as Dean laughed so hard he slipped on the smooth rocks underneath. They stopped at the falaj¹¹, drinking water and washing off the dirt before the farmer chased them away with his staff.

He missed Sammy…Dean… he was out now, free, maybe. Was he really out? Moreover Dean… he didn’t know if he could face his brother, after what he said. The sentences played out in his mind on a loop, the expression on Sammy’s face unwavering, ringing clearer with despair.

Beside the bathroom, Khamees had put a neat blue jalabia with a little thumb-sized bottle of misk, a Miswak,and a silver kohl container attached to a little rod. Dean brushed his teeth using the miswak, applied misk behind his ears and under his armpits, wore the Jalabia, and lined his eyes with kohl. The Jalabia was tailored to khamees’ body, so it fell a bit short. Other than that, it wasn’t heavy nor light, it was just good. It was probably the best Khamees had.

Khamees and Noor’s house was between tall desert hills, and it was surrounded by a wire fence and a makeshift gate. On the fence empty soda cans were hung as decoration. 

The bathroom was separated from the rest of the house, right behind some palm trees. Next to the house was a goat-hair tent. It opened up wide, showing a nice carpet and pillows, and a table in the middle to set up the food on. Next to it was a Ghaf tree and on its branches hung a leather bag to store cold water.

There was a camel with no leash walking around, its mouth munching on something. That must be Jammol , Dean thought. There were sounds of a chicken and a goat. 

Under the shade of a palm tree, Khamees sat on a little white plastic chair, and Noor sat in front of him, head resting on his father’s knee, nodding off while Khamees applied Amla oil on his head, massaging it.They were both barefoot, and from that dean could see that the underside of Noor’s feet were clad in Henna, his hands too, a simple pattern of a circle on the back of his palm and finger hats.

At first glance, it seems as if Khamees didn't wear any henna, but his hands were smudged with orange splotches; a sign that he had done Noor’s henna.

Dean coughed and raised a hand in greeting,” Salam!” 

Khamees smiled and patted Noor’s head as they both stood for greeting. The son passed by Dean and walked towards the house, while the father walked towards him.

“You have many questions.” Khamees said calmly.

Dean nodded , looking around, “ you said you saved me… but how?” 

“ I carried you in my arms, but I dropped you. I’ve been injured trying to get you out.” 

“ But how did you get into the cave?” 

“It was a long process.”

Dean juggled the answer in his head, then chose to switch topics,” Then… how long was I there?”

Khamees was silent for a moment before saying,” A year and 22 days.” 

Dean stopped in his tracks, hands playing with his pocket. He noticed a little hole there. A year? That’s… how many prayers did he miss, heck, what happened to Sammy?

He made sure to pray whenever he got the chance, he wasn’t sure if it was morning or night, but he continued on. Even Though he did not believe he was worthy of standing in-front of God, yet there he was, kneeling and stuttering through the readings.

385 days… Dean had only prayed 500 times. He fell short, and that sent fear into him; it shot down his body to his toes. His bones rattled. He was sure they had fallen apart, yet his body stood.

It took a while for Dean to return to the present, and when he did he found Khamees inches from his face. He was so close Dean could count the golden lines radiating from his pupil and contrasting with the coffee-bean brown. 

Dean took a step back , eyes furrowed,” Why did you do it? Why did you save me?”

The man, backlit by the sun shaping a halo around his head, tilted his head, and it broke the halo as he said, voice low like a secret,” You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

“ you haven’t answered me.”

Khamees stared into him, as if looking into his soul and prying at it with his eyes alone. Dean felt he could unfurl like the Sultan’s flower, be cradled and turned into rose water. It brought him fear.

“ Nood El-Deen.” 

Dean blinked, that’s… that’ was his real name, light of faith. Yet there was no surprise there. His heart had died, yet it mourned, it ached hearing it.

“That’s not my name.” 

“It is.”

“ Not anymore. It’s Dean now, just Dean.”

Noor El-Deen died, the day he made a deal with Crowley. 

Khamees invited Dean back to the house, where Noor soon came by holding a finjan in his right hand, and the Dallah in the other. He had too long legs and too long arms. His hair flopped and bounced around, and Dean could hear the coffee sloshing around inside.

Noor stood in front of them, tongue out in concentration as he poured the coffee into the finjan, trying to get the right amount into it before giving it to Dean. It was still a bit too much, but Dean couldn’t care less he hadn't had coffee for so long. He missed it.

He let the rich flavor drown him, let the smell cradle him. Home came in waves of traditions and culture, memories and nostalgia. It was now that he felt that he was finally out of the caves. It was strange to call a stranger’s house home.

“Noor’s mother is Dunia, does it seem familiar?” said Khamees. 

Dean flipped through his memories because it was familiar. It didn’t take long to remember; It was a tragic case.

Dunia was a girl fourteen of age. A man had forcibly touched her honor. El-Walid had taken her case, as the man was possessed by a jinni. 

One who strangely was easy to exorcize. It doesn’t make the case less tragic. 

Dean looked at Noor, all acne and life, and he didn’t have to ask to know the answer, but he did,” How old is he?” 

“ He's fifteen years of age. His mother died in childbirth.” 

El-Walid had told Dunia to get rid of the child. A child conceived like that should never be born. They are of sin, and fathered by Jinn. Yet… 

Dean shook his finjan, feeling too sick to drink another serving. Noor came immediately while Dean repeated the 99 names in his mind to ground him. Yet, instead of taking the finjan away, the kid poured him another serving. 

“Oh no!” said Noor, realizing his mistake. He looked at Dean apologetically, then at Khamees eyes wide. Dean recognized that expression; he himself had messed up serving coffee, and he knew what happened next. He can still hear the majlis men guiding his father. 

Khamees had raised his hand, and Dean flinched, but nothing came.

Khamees just ruffled Noor’s hair and said,” it’s okay Ya Baba, things happen.” 

The kid smiled immediately, feeling content, then he looked at Dean who was still holding the finjan, and frowned. 

He looked at the boy, who was not supposed to be born. Who? If El-Walid had been here, he would've taken him behind the desert hills and finished him off with one shot.

Yet… El-Walid was not here.. he’s.. and Sammy had buried him, didn’t they? 

He could still feel the weight of the coffin. Maybe he was still holding it, refusing to put it down. 

And Dean? He was just tired. He was sore and exhausted. He just wanted to lay down and never stand up. He drank down the hard-to-swallow coffee, gulping down the bile.

key:

1. a black traditonal makeup/cosmitic mostly used in south Asia, the middle east and parts of Africa return to text

2. a short curved blade/dagger return to text

3. traditional clothes both worn by men and women ( differing by design mostly ) and it's more casual and for everyday wear return to text

4. a traditional chest return to text

5. " peace be upon you" return to text

6. prayer beads used by Muslims to count praises to God, it differs in lengths depending on how many beads it holds ( the usual one has 100 beads ) return to text

7. " and peace be upon you" return to text

8. "beloved" return to text

9. a place of meeting or hosting guests return to text

10. places to wash up before prayer (Wudu) return to text

11. a traditional watering system that uses ground water return to text

Chapter Text

This wasn’t Dean’s first time visiting a farm. Once Sedi had dropped them off under the care of Bibi Nzuri at a village and went to solve a case with Abu Joanna.

Joanna, or Jo as she insisted to be called, used to sneak into farms with them. She and Sammy would sit on top of the chicken house and Dean beside it. Jo would sprinkle some water in front of the opening, and after a minute or two the chickens would come out thinking it was raining, then Dean and Jo would rush to catch them and put them in a bag.

They would then sneak into a palm tree farm where they’d meet Ash. Ash was the son of the village’s lilam, who was often working. He’d bring vegetables, rice, and coffee beans he had stolen from the rich family living up the hill.

Jo often cooked the Saloonah. She would cut the onions with her bare hands, and without peeling the layers, she’d throw them in the water while biting on green peppers. She crushed the tomatoes in her hands before putting them in too, and finally, she’d add the munched-on green peppers.

Ash prepared the chicken, he always tried to pull off the feathers one by one, but often got bored and just plunged it into Jo’s Saloonah. He always said that the feathers are a special kind of spice that adds to the flavor and makes it rich. He was the oldest, so they all believed him.

Back then, Dean always cooked the rice, and they always forgot the salt. They never managed to wash it properly; and it was often mixed with specks of sand and rocks. The rice came out wet and too mushy.

Finally, Sammy prepared the coffee. He’d wash the Dallah with water and sand but it wasn’t properly washed. It would come out overcooked with too much water and somehow be very very bitter. 

It was the best meal Dean ever had.

One evening, a Jinni visited them while they were gathering up the rusty dishes in Dean’s wizar¹. Sammy acted fast as he was the shortest at the time. He stood in front of them protectively and recited verses from Al-Falaq, forcing the Jinni to retreat. Dean said they shouldn't forget the salt next time, so they could draw a protective circle around them. 

( There was no next time. Sedi came back alone, Abu Joanna was possessed by a powerful Jinni and killed. There was a funeral, then they left. Bibi Nzuri told Dean to be careful of men in suits.)

Years later, Dean understood what Bibi Mzuri tried to warn him off. She was the wisest person he’d ever met. She traveled the whole world, twice. The last of her travels was to Tanzania, where they named her Bibi Nzuri , which meant good grandma. 

Once she told them to wear pants instead of Jalabias. They didn’t listen, Ash would make fun of them for wearing pants. Dean’s Jalabia got stuck on the fence, and he got chastised by the farmer. 

She warned them of many things, yet they listened to nothing. 

This farm didin’t have Jo, Ash, or even his brother Sammy. This one had a strange man who somehow plucked him out of a cave full of Jinns, and a child whose name was too close to a name he threw away.

He prayed Dhur² with them. Khamees was a very calm prayer, who took his time with each step. Noor was all nerves and movements. He finished his prayer fast and fidgeted through all of it, like Dean.

While Khamees prayed, Noor went to feed Jammol the camel, Laymonah the old chicken, and Antar the goat. Dean went to the ‘kitchen’, which was just a patch of ceramic with a sink on it. There was a cabinet with cutlery and a low stove which he took out. He brought vegetables and rice from the storage room. Guests bring gifts with them, but Dean came here almost naked with nothing to give. He thought he could cook vegetable Biryani for lunch.

After cutting up the vegetables and preparing the spices. Dean washed the rice and put it on the fire, relishing in the little blob blob blob sound. He started to add salt when Khamees’s mountain voice said, “ We don’t like salt in our food.”

“Oh,” Dean said as he made space for Khamees to sit. He put down the salt and stood up to shake the man’s hand and bump his nose to his. Khamees’s hands were big and rough, and his voice was low and strong. El-Walid was like that too. Only while his voice causes trembles, and his hands planted stern warnings, Khamees’s voice was like a mountain underwater, and his hands spoke of a big heart. 

“How did you get me out?” Dean asked, not quite meeting the man’s thunderous gaze. It drove him crazy, how his eyes seemed blue even though they’re brown. 

Khamees started to pluck some green peppers and swallow them whole” The cave is not really a cave. At least not in a literal sense.” 

“ I’ve been there. It’s a cave.”

“ Do you recall how you got into it?”

Dean thought for a bit, it came back to him all mushy. He had Sammy in his arms. Crowley showed up. He said yes. Then… that was it.

“ The ‘cave’ “ said Khamees, putting up exaggerated air quotes,” exists outside of common frames of reference. A special frame of reference that’s traveling at infinite speed.”

“ uh.. Arabi?³” 

"I'm talking in Arabiya." 

" No, I meant," dean sighed, " can you simplify it for me?"

“ The cave moves very fast outside of where we exist, I mean where humans can exist. The faster its speed, the slower time is. In this frame of reference it’s going very fast. Fast enough that time stops.”

“ But you said I spent a year or so there, you mean on the human plane?” When Khamees noded, Dean remembered his prayers. Did he miss prayers ? If time stopped there, wouldn’t it stop here? It was all very confusing. Dean nearly forgot to turn the rice around. He took the spatula and said,” I did not eat or sleep, I didn’t feel like it. Time felt like.. nothing. It drove me nuts. I thought it was because of the absence of light.” 

Khamees shook his head, plunging another green pepper into his mouth, “ Jinns can bend and cut through space-time. It’s not surprising they’d make a… pocket to build their army in.”

“ They made me make weapons. Swords, machetes, arrows the whole gang. I did not know what they needed it for. You’re telling me they’re building an army?” 

“ They’re preparing for something. I don’t know what it is. Hana, my sister, told me a fraction is trying to cut through to the human world. To make it easier to navigate. My bet is that they’re planning on ruling it.” 

Dean tried to keep his cool,” But you said they can bend space time. What’s so different?” 

Khamees ran out of green peppers, which meant Dean couldn’t add any to the Biryani. He did not care at the moment. Many things were going through his mind. Sammy’s strand of hair was ringing clear in his mind. He did not know what it had to do with the jinn army khamees was telling him about. 

Khamees moved to scratch the underside of his fingernails as he explained,” God had set limits. Boundaries. Jinns exist here but there is a Balance. I think they want to distribute that balance. Have more power to let more in. Use more of their powers, have more access to their true forms. They’re waiting for something… a trigger.” 

“ What is it?” 

“ I don’t know.”

 Khamees brought a big plate with roses spray-painted in the middle of it for Dean to put the Biryani in. He continued,” I had a dream. A young soul was praying for your rescue. I also had Dunia’s words. She was in so much pain, and she feared that if she had died no one would take care of Noor. She gave him to me, told me she owed the man she named Noor after… you.” 

Dean nearly flipped the plate. Some of the rice fell out. He steered the conversation away, he couldn’t fathom someone thinking he was good enough to name a kid after him.

“How did you get in? In the caves I mean. You can’t bend space or whatever. How did you get there?” 

“ The white days,” said Khamees, turning off the stove,” There are entrances that become weak then, they are hard to detect and go through. They are too small for the Jinn fraction to cause the imbalance, but I could get in.”

Dean hefted the lunch plate up,” I have a friend there. In the cave. His name is Benny. Do you think we can get him out?” 

“ I’m not sure,” said Khamees, easily taking the plate off Dean’s hand and leading the way back to the tent,” Your friend might exist in a different universe, a different time. Even if you get him out you’re not sure where he would end up.” 

“ So many are suffering there. We can’t just —“ 

Khamees turned around and stared at Dean. Eyes piercing and reading through him. Knowing that to Dean it was less about saving the people, or figuring out what the Sammy spell is, that Mosha’witha, Rowena, or even Crowley. It was about running away to where he’s not alive. Khamees put the plate in the middle of the tent, and Dean glimpsed long wounds on his back. When he stood up again, he looked at the entrance of the house, where Noor was coming out,” There is no one but I for him. It’s too cruel to leave a child.” 

Khamees, a father, was very different from El-Walid.

During lunch, Noor told them about Laimoonah’s adventure; she got her head stuck in the sand looking for worms. He scooped out the worms to feed her. Khamees listened intently, nodding along and commenting every now and then, gently reminding Noor not to talk while eating.

Later on they got a handful of books. Old academic books about physics, chemistry and biology. Khamees explained a chapter from each, solved equations and debated with Noor about concepts Dean had no hopes of understanding. Dean was concerned about putting a cat in a box, but Khamees did not make fun of him. He explained it, and Dean found himself joining the discussion.

After Asir⁴ prayer, Noor went out for a stroll with Jammol, while Dean and Khamees sat to eat dates and drink coffee. The radio played football commentary overhead.

“There is a village nearby, they have a school there Noori used to attend. They said he was different.” Khamees said as he served Dean coffee,” They said he’s autistic. Which, I don’t mind, I’m proud of him, and I love him no matter what. They expelled him from classes and said they were inexperienced to deal with his case. They kept telling me this is an affliction from God, to test my faith. “ He sighed,” I look at Noori, his love and heart, and I think this can never be an affliction, it is a blessing. I couldn’t let him continue his education there, so I began homeschooling him, and learning all I can about Autism to understand him. In the process, I found that I’m understanding myself too. “ He smiled,” he’s a bright kid, Noori.” 

Dean remembered getting the same treatment at school, although his case was different. He was told he was inattentive.. too active. He read the words wrong, mixed up the letters and numbers, and struggled to keep up with the material. Soon enough, tired of the teachers’ disappointing lectures, he dropped out. He found it easier to help El-Walid. 

Dean poured the next finjan for Khamees himself, trying to say what his voice failed to say. 

You’re a great father .

Their Maghreb⁵ prayer was cut short by Noor, who had finished earlier; He ran in, blood running along the front of his Jalabia, eyes tearful and nose red,” Baba! It’s Laymoonah!”

Khamees cut off his prayer worried about the kid. He quickly checked on Noor who kept pushing him away,” I’m alright! It’s Laymoonah ya baba! Please!”

The little chicken house had a hole in its wire walls, and there was a pool of blood inside it with some white feathers. Next to the house was the body of a fox bleeding out. Noor stood by trembling and stumbling on his words,” I-I saw Laymonah it- it ate it and then I tried to.. to push it away but it- it “ he bit his lip trying to hold back a sob,” I’m sorry baba!” 

Khamees took a look around, and then pulled Noor to his chest. Noor cried like how a small child would cry, surprised by his own sobs and confused as to how to breathe. Each pull of breath scared him and pained him.

” it’s okay Ya Roohi, it’s okay to cry.” 

Dean looked away, choosing to get to work with the clean up. If El-Walid was here… he’d be ashamed to see his son cry. Men don’t cry. They don’t wail. They don’t make mistakes. They don’t breathe. 

He’d comment on how much of a mess Dean had made. That he could’ve done this cleaner, faster. 

But El-walid wasn’t here was he?  He was under the sand and dust and dirt. Dean buried him himself, but he kept forgetting he did. It felt like he was standing on his shoulders, and Dean kept bending downwards, into himself, until one day he’d fall into the sand.

He focused on the wound on the fox’s body. It looked strange. It looked like a bullet wound but the hole was too big, and Dean hadn't heard a thing. It’s eyes were burned off.

He wondered how Noor managed to kill it. 

Something in his mind was nagging him. The answer was there but he refused to look at it.

By Isha⁶, Noor had calmed down and they had parathas with lentils after prayer. Afterwards he brought in a carrom⁷ board and baby powder grinning at Dean,” I need to show you my carom skills.” 

Noor had,well. Skill. Maybe? Dean… Dean wasn’t sure how to explain Noor’s playing style. He wasn’t sure to call it lucky or smart. Dean didn’t believe in luck, so maybe God just loved him. 

The thing is, Noor never hit the pieces in front of him. He stuck his tongue out and leaned all over the board, (Khamees had to physically hold it so it won’t flip over) ,and he sure took his time, tongue out and eyes steady. 

Then when he finally fired the Ghais, it swerved right in between the pieces not touching any, hit the border, then deflected to hit a yellow piece in Noor’s blind spot, and scored ten points.

Technically it wasn't wrong, none of it was wrong. It’s honestly impressive considering the awful carrom pieces collection they had ( it was a mix between plastic and wooden pieces, some of them were of very cheap quality and broken and some were very rare and of great quality ).

Carrom was part of many of Dean’s favorite memories. In one memory, Baba took Sammy into his lap and taught him how to play, laughing when Sammy’s would grab the pieces and stop him from shoving them into his mouth. Baba was the best carrom player Dean ever saw. It was as if he inhaled all the calmness in the world, and pushed it all swiftly every time he hit the Ghais. He made no sound, and it would move in a straight line like a dancer on the surface of the sea. It felt like magic. Then he would score so easily, piece after piece. Dean only beat him once, on Eid.

On the other hand, Khamees was the complete opposite. The way he positioned his fingers was all wrong. He pulled his forefinger too tight and when he fired, Dean could hear the bones crack. Khamees never took a breath before firing the Ghais. He just did the moment it was his turn, eyes strangely shining blue.The strength he inhabited was enough to explain why some pieces and the board itself was cracked. Most of the time the pieces jumped off the board as if they themselves were scared of his might. 

After the game, Dean asked Noor to bring him some cotton, eggs, and flour. He held Khamees’ now-red fingers and felt the heat boiling underneath them.“You’ll lose your fingers like this.” 

Khamees didn't seem to care.

Dean mixed the egg white in a little metal bowl and then dipped cotton in it, soaking it. He then carefully laid it on Khamees’s fingers while Noor leaned on top of them, watching intently. After wrapping up all the fingers nicely and tight, he covered them with flour, and cut a piece of his Wizar to wrap it around the fingers. 

He gently slapped Khamees’s hand away when the latter began scratching it,” Wait for it to fall off on its own.” 

They went to bed afterwards where there were only two sleeping mats. Dean offered to sleep on the carpet, but Khamees simply picked him up and put him on the mat.

“ Sleep.” He commanded. Eyes blue.

Dean wondered if they reflected the moon shining through the windows. 

Before sleep , Khamees read Athkar⁸ and Noor copied him while Dean mouthed along silently. They hadn’t asked him how long he was staying, and he didn’t know. He didn’t know if he had somewhere else to go. He could contact Sammy but…

Sammy was better off without him. The last time they met he took him on a ride to his very own death. Sammy was dying because of Dean.

Before El-Walid left, he told Dean to take care of Sammy when he came back, but he also said to kill his brother if he had to. He never explained why, but Dean cut that piece of information off, burnt it off his mind and forgot it, or tried to.

 It came in now, taunting him. He was always Seidi’s soldier, he will always be. 

What is a son’s duty if not to obey and obey and obey? What is a brother’s duty if not to preserve and preserve and preserve?

What is a servant of God’s duty if not to pray and pray and pray? 

Even if your father’s dead, even if your brother’s away, even if God wouldn’t forgive you. 

Khamis read the last verse of Surat Al-Mulk:

” Qol Ara’Aitm En Asbaha Ma’Okm Ghowaran Fa Man Ya’tikm Be- Ma’en  Mo’Een?” 

Say, "Have you considered: if your water was to become sunken [into the earth], then who could bring you flowing water?"

After a while, Dean fell into soundless sleep, letting go of his anxieties,or so he thought. They came to him in a dream; he was in a black room, and he could hear so many Jinns around him, but he couldn't see them, only their shadows playing and dancing around him.

Laid in front of him was a prayer mat, green with the drawing of Kaaba at the top, and standing in front of him was El-walid. His expression was unclear in the darkness but he was huge, he looked down at Dean. 

Allahu Akbar Allahu Akbar  

The voice of Adhan Al Fajr⁹, the call for prayer, cut through his dream, and he hung onto it, desperate to wake up 

Allahu Akbar Allahu Akbar  

Dean opened his eyes slowly, heavily. There was something pressing down on his chest, he struggled to open his eyes but they felt as if they were filled with sand.

Ashhadu alLa illaha illa Allah

Whatever it was, it clawed at his chest and his eyes opened up suddenly. He was met with deep black, like the dead of night. It stared at him, he saw his own reflection there. 

It was inhuman—human, all at once. Black all over, clawed hands pressed into his chest and pushed. There was no blood coming out as it just took and pulled out. Its mouth was ajar and as Dean tried to shout, it pulled in all the voice and air. It was kneeling on his paralyzed body, looking down at him, face dangerously close.

A jathoom.¹⁰

Ashhadu alLa illaha illa Allah

Dean called out and out and out, but no sound came. His body was stuck to the scratchy mattress and he begged it to move, to do something. The jathoom grinned into his face, black drool dripping on him. 

The more it crowded into his space, the more he saw his reflection, the more he wanted to gag. 

Ashadu Anna Muhammader rassulol Allah  

There was a shadow, another one looming behind the jathoom. Dean saw flashes of red and yellow, purple, pink, green, and blue as he tried to focus.

Khamees was behind the jathoom, his eyes glowing blue. This time, Dean knew, it was not a trick of the light. 

Ashadu Anna Muhammader rassulol Allah  

Khamees pulled the jathoom off him immediately and turned it around as it snarled and bit into his arm, white pointy teeth sunk in. It hung on his waist, its clawed foot digging in. The makeshift cast Dean made was already falling off. 

Haya Alla As-Salah, Haya Alla As-Salah 

Dean sat frozen in disbelief, watching Khamees and the jathoom clawing at each other. He saw light feathers flying all around. Everytime the jathoom cut Khamees’s face, more feathers flew around. The room was windy, as if the air itself was circling around the two fighting. 

Haya Alla Al-Falah, Haya Alla Al-Falah

The jathoom pushed Khamees on the ground and sunk its hand to his neck as he began freezing up, eyes losing light. Lolling to the side and watching dean. Eyes reminiscent of the dove, reading him.

Assalatu Khairon minna Al-Nawm. 

Dean thought Khamees was done for, but with a twitching hand the man (?) reached out for the Jathoom and pulled its head off, throwing it away. He then pushed the jathoom down and dug into its chest as its hands pulled his face. Khamees, face dripping with the black remains of the Jathoom, looked… inhuman. Eyes glowing and moving with inhuman speed, digging into the flesh of the jathoom as it screamed out. Wings materialized on his back reaching out to cover them, no, cover himself and the Jathoom from Dean. 

Assalato Khairon Minna Al-Nawm  

After a moment, Khamees stood up, and the jathoom twitched on the ground before it pulled itself on its knees and gathered its severed head. It hugged the head to its chest as it galloped out of the window.

Dean watched Khamees. His body looked weird, the bones were all at wrong angles. Human bodies shouldn’t bend like that. He, or rather it , looked at Dean with blue eyes as it slowly fixed its bones and they cracked, the sound of flesh resounding.

Allahu Akbar, Allahu Akbar, La Ellaha Ella Allah

As the last part of the Athan filled the room, Dean reached out for a khanjar he had found earlier and kept close dipped in salt, and without giving it a second thought lunged for Khamees, stabbing him in the heart.

“ You’re a jinni.” He whispered in disbelief, watching Khamees hiss at the contact of salt. Its eyes glowed blue, kohl melted around them and dripping down like black tears. The khanjar pushed back against Dean’s palm.

He tried to push it in but the momentum soon crashed and pushed him back, hitting the wall and sliding down. He quickly recovered and was back on his feet and sprinted towards Khamees , khanjar raised high but a few steps in the jinni’s hand gripped his head, hands covering, no gripping Dean’s jaw, stopping him from reading out verses. 

“ Listen .” he demanded.

key:

1. male undergarment which is a fabric wrapped around the waist. return to text

2. noon prayer return to text

3. arabic return to text

4. afternoon prayer return to text

5. sunset prayer return to text

6. night prayer time/ the last prayer of the day and also the time to have dinner return to text

7. south asian tabletop game played by 2-4 players where there are four holes at each corner and you score a 5, 10, or a 50 by landing the pieces in them. you flick/push the leading piece, the ghais, to land the other pieces in the holes return to text

8. prayers to be said at timings or events for example those are the ones to be said before bed. return to text

9. call for the first prayer in the day, right before sunrise return to text

10. sleep paralysis demon/jinni return to text