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1.
He picked up the book without even really thinking about it.
What set him off first was the silence. There was no rustling of papers, no quiet mumbling of words, no sound of unhealthy shit being eaten by the other occupants of the living room.
So he looked up. And they were staring directly at him.
“What?”
Their eyes just looked down on the book and then back at his face. Shrugging his shoulders at them and making an exasperated face, he went back to reading.
“You sure you can read that, Dean?” his brother asked.
“Why shouldn’t I be able to?”
“Because it’s in a language you don’t speak?”
“I do, though.” he met his eyes, “I do speak it. And reading a czech book on slavic water sprites is probably better than whatever the translated versions can offer us, man.”
“Read it then.”
“Sure,” he cleared his throat, “‘Pod vlivem Ruského svátku rusalje vznikla p-pžr-pržedstava?” he stopped for a minute, “představa rusalek jako--” he stumbled less and less through the words but ř’s still gave him headaches. He understood what he was saying though, and that made him feel proud of himself
Bobby, with his face already in his book, smiled under his beard, while Sam was just speechlessly staring at his brother, as if he didn’t even recognize him.
2.
It was as if the book just called out to him, it had a pretty yellow cover, a man in red on a horse and a pretty font on the cover and legends were what all his life was about now, weren’t they?
He read about the Maidens' War, he really rooted for Vlasta and her army of girls in that one, because the men were acting like assholes (he learnt that word recently, at uncle Bobby’s!), he really hated the ending of that one, but he wouldn’t dare voice that out loud.
He read about Libuše and how wise she was, how she was a smart ruler, how she solved every problem she came across, how the men once again had no respect at all for her, just for her long hair and because she was a woman. His mom had long hair and she was smart and she was wise and she was fair and he missed her so much.
His mum was Libuše, he decided.
3.
They decided it’s either a rusalka or a vodník, and since they didn’t actually know the gender of the thing (since all it’s victims are missing) one of them is going to have to be the bait.
Dean didn’t like that one bit. So, of course, he volunteered as bait. And to be fair the lakeside was relaxing, he could just close his eyes, lay down on the beach and just… sleep.
A head peaked from the water, it’s skin a moss green and it’s hair (looking very similar to algae) floating around in the water. It was watching him. He’s not a hot chick, but maybe he could play off ‘The Princess from the Mill’ and befriend the thing. On the other hand, he really didn’t want a green man following him and scaring off potential lovers.
“Uh,” he awkwardly waved, “hey there,” the thing tilted it’s head as Dean smiled awkwardly at it and cleared his throat, “vím že, že potř-” frustration layered his words, as he couldn’t pronounce them correctly, he didn’t speak in the language in so long, it bothered him, “že potřebuješ duše, abys přežil.” he really hoped the wording was correct, even if his pronunciation wasn’t.
The thing, the vodník, came out of the water, green skin shining in the moonlight, his clothes once bright were now just dull and soaked with water, he looked tired.
“Já bych rád sladkou vodu,” the thing spoke, it’s voice surprisingly pleasant, only a little rusty from a lack of use, “tahle voda, ona je slaná, a já nemůžu dýchat.” he said, looking devastated.
Oh, Dean thought, this thing just wants some fresh water.
“Dobř-, dobř-,” he couldn’t get it out, “dobrá, uh, já,” he forgot a word, a simple fucking word and he forgot it, he made a little telephone with his hand, “mému bratrovi. Pomůžeme it.” he tried to smile reassuringly at the thing.
“Děkuji mockrát.”
And so they took the thing from the Great Salt Lake in Utah, with no clue how it got there, right to the Utah Lake, and the things colours brightened up, his skin, if possible, was greener and healthier, even his clothes took on a better colour.
They saved a thing for once instead of killing it, and that was that, problem solved. Maybe they should do it like this more often, he thought.
4.
He was anxious. Dean Winchester doesn’t get anxious. Except, maybe he does this once.
But this is the cost of getting better at a language and he’s going to have to pull through.
“Hey,” he said as he walked up to the bar, anxiety swirling in his tummy like butterflies, “You’re czech, right?”
“Who’s asking?”
“I’m uh-” he coughed, trying to hide his awkwardness, because Jesus fucking Christ, this is harder than he expected, “I’m trying to learn the uh, the language.”
“Ooooh,” understanding dawned on her face and then a soft smile appeared, “Yeah, I can help you. Not for free, though, not that kinda girl.” she flashed him a grin, “Okay, wait here for a sec, I uh- I gotta get my dad, I’m not- I’m not exactly fluent, either.” her grin turned self-deprecating and she quickly disappeared behind the ‘Staff Only’ door.
When she came out, her father, a burly old man with only hints of grey in his hair, seemed way more excited about this than either of them, not sharing their anxiety about this at all.
As the man discussed terms and conditions with Dean, he couldn’t help himself, but smile a little brighter.
5.
It was the year 2001 when it happened.
He made a friend. On the internet.
A few months ago, Sam left for Stanford and he was lonely. So sue him. He just wanted a friend that could last a little longer than the week he spent working a case.
One interesting fact about this friend, though, was that they were czech. He could practise his czech with them all he wanted, and they were happy to help. They even recommended some books he might like.
So that’s how he ended up reading the Czech version of A Bouquet by Erben. And he really liked it (He also really appreciated the Czech lessons he got from Nora and her father because he wouldn’t get through most of this book if it wasn’t for them).
Some parts though… they hit deep.
Sometimes when reading, certain verses just found a way to make him feel skinned alive. Like they cradled his soul in their very hands and decided to kick it repeatedly in the most vulnerable parts.
Zemřela matka a do hrobu dána,
siroty po ní zůstaly;
i přicházely každičkého rána
a matičku svou hledaly.
It was the first verse in the book and really, that should have been a red flag for him. The first poem almost making him cry and making him so bitter he could throw the book against the motel wall should make the sirens in his brain flare up and stop reading immediately. But no. He powered through. Because he was a Winchester, and that’s what Winchesters do.
The mother of these orphans returned, though. At least, her soul did. Taking the form of a tiny flower that spread across her gravesite. Mateřídouška, mother’s soul, thyme.
+1
He wasn’t bashful. Using that word felt… weird. He was 36, for God’s sake, he didn’t do bashful anymore. But… asking Cas to train his Czech with him during the whole Mark of Cain thing was… awkward, to say the least.
He agreed, though.
And so they conversed on his bed in Czech while watching Long Live the Ghosts (ironic, isn’t it?) until the early hours of the morning, when they both fell asleep for the first time in ages, with no worries outside of pronunciation and grammar.
Dean really wants to survive this, if only to have more nights like these.