Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural is mine, I'm only borrowing Sam and Dean.
Author's Note: This is the sequel to Dream Come True, I recommend reading that one first for Andrea's back-story.
All Wrapped Up
"I'm all in." Dean had his poker face on, and when he went stone faced no one could read him. I knew he had a good hand, though, because he'd given me the signal to fold. I had no problem with that, my 4-7 would have gone nowhere anyway. I'd been pretty good at poker before I slipped into the Winchester's world, but now, with Dean teaching me, I was finding whole new levels to the game I'd never known existed.
We were in a back room of a run down bar just outside Lake Charles, Louisiana. Dean's last credit card had been declined so he'd had to ditch it. Now we had to earn some money the hard way. And it was hard. Anyone who thinks that making money at poker is easy is dreaming. Real money, anyway, and we were going to need enough to keep us in food, gas, and motels until the next credit card came in. That wouldn't be for another week.
The crowd we were playing with weren't Vegas tourists, either. Cowboy hats and Cat ballcaps topped off one of the roughest groups of men I had ever seen. These were men who worked hard, and played harder. After weeks on the road or on the oil rigs they had wads of cash and were looking for some serious action to wager it on. They were also men who wouldn't hesitate to pull out a tire-iron or pistol at the slightest hint of cheating.
I was in the midst of a group of good 'ole boys and I was doing my job well. They were quite distracted. I was also doing a good job of running up the pot by playing at being a complete novice at the game. It was a fine line between being an amusing newbie and being annoying to men who wanted a serious game, and I was managing to ride it. My low cut blouse and high cut skirt were great assets in that department.
Dean, however, was every bit the serious gambler. He rolled his eyes in annoyance at my amateurish fumbling, which made some of the other men come to my defense. Of course, that was all part of the plan. We were pretending that I was his girlfriend, and when he'd 'conveniently' overheard someone mention a poker game in the back and asked about getting in, I'd squealed like an excited bubble-head and asked to play, too. We would have preferred to pretend not to know each other, but since we'd arrived together we'd had to use plan B.
Now, everything we'd made so far was on the line. I prayed that he was holding the Nuts, and that one of these other chuckleheads had a high enough hand to think he stood a chance. There were only two cards standing between a hefty bankroll or ramen noodles for dinner tonight.
The heavy-set trucker with the three day stubble called Dean's all-in, and I saw the corner of Dean's mouth twitch ever so slightly as he held back a smirk. I relaxed. If he was happy enough to let that slip, this one was in the bag. They showed their cards. Dean had two aces, pocket rockets, and the other guy had two kings. The flop had come up Ace, King, Two, and unless another King came up Dean had this one wrapped up and tied with a pretty bow.
The River came up a two, giving each of them a Full House. You could have cut the tension in that room with a knife. There was over two thousand in the pot. The trucker, who's shirt said his name was Bill, but who'd introduced himself as Eight Ball, was sweating bullets. He knew the odds of getting his King were pretty bad, and I got the feeling he couldn't afford to lose the money he'd bet. It looked like things were going to turn ugly as soon as the last card was flipped. I glanced around the room, pretending to be looking for a refill for my empty glass, but I was really checking to make sure our route to the exit was clear.
Our standing plan, in the event violence broke out, was for me to grab as much of the money as I could and make for the door while Dean slowed down the mob. Of course, Dean and Sam had both pressed home the need to be able to improvise, because plans rarely go as… well… as planned.
Practicing what they'd taught me, one of the first things I'd done when we entered the back room was look around for exits and potential weapons. There was a rack of pool cues against the wall behind where I was sitting. I gauged how far I would have to reach to scoop up the cash. It was doable, but I hoped things wouldn't come to that.
The fellow sitting to my right might be a problem. I gathered he was a friend of Eight Ball and would probably back him up in a fight. The rest of the fellows in the room were only acquaintances, if that much, and if Dean won this hand there was a chance that Southern honor would kick in and keep things peaceful, but I wasn't counting on it.
Dean, of course, knew just what to do. He grinned.
Great, I thought, he wants a fight. But after the horrendous run of bad luck we'd been having, I guess I couldn't blame him for wanting a chance to crack some heads. We'd had a flat tire in Utah, a near miss with the cops in Colorado, Sam's laptop had frozen up while we were on a salt and burn in Oklahoma and we'd had to wait for four days while it was being fixed, and, most recently, the credit card thing. Not to mention that almost every job we hit on was already being taken care of by another hunter by the time we got there. After Gordon, the boys were trying to steer clear of other hunters, so we just left them to their jobs and went on our way. Well, there were only two, really, but out of four total jobs in the two months I'd been traveling with them, that's a pretty big chunk. I was beginning to think I was a Jonah.
The last card was dealt. It was a five. "Come to papa!" Dean leaned in to collect his winnings and dodged as a left hook narrowly missed his face. Eight Ball lunged across the table. The other players scooped up their own piles of cash and backed off to watch the fun. I had no chance of grabbing the pot, so I reached back for a pool cue instead. Tossing it to Dean, I got out of the way to let him have his fun. He caught it with barely a glance my way and swung it around in an arc that would have hit the big trucker square on the temple, if the big man hadn't been a lot faster than he looked.
Eight Ball backed off a step or two, then grabbed a chair just in time to use it to block Dean's next swing as he pressed the attack, and more importantly, pushed the fight away from the table so I could scoop up our winnings and get out. Which I did, post haste. Dean wasn't far behind me. By the time I'd made it to the Impala, he was coming out the back door of the bar.
He slid into the diver's seat, grinning like a maniac, split lip and all, "Nothing like a friendly game of poker to get the blood pumping!"
"And that was nothing like a friendly game." I added.
We high-tailed it out of there, the Impala's tires spitting gravel like a parting shot at the angry trucker who'd followed Dean out hoping for a chance to finish the fight.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
Sam had apparently had some good luck, too. When we got back to the motel room he was in such a rush to share what he'd found that it took him almost three whole minutes before he noticed Dean's bleeding lip and the bruise that was forming on his cheek.
"I take it the game didn't go too well?"
"The game was great - it was the after-party that got a little wild." I said, as I pulled out the wad of cash from my purse.
Dean, uncomfortable with his brother's show of concern over his injuries, changed the subject back to the news clipping Sam had handed him. "A desiccated corpse in Richmond, Virginia? Vampires, maybe?"
Sam shook his head, "It was completely dry, not just drained of blood. I've never heard of anything that does that, but the authorities are just as stumped. The woman's friends say she was alive and well the night before. They're blaming natural causes for the death, and 'freak atmospheric conditions' for the state of the body."
"Freak atmospheric conditions? People have a hard time believing in ghosts, but they'll swallow this stuff?" Dean snarked incredulously.
"Apparently." Sam went back to his laptop and switched programs, "I already checked the map, its twelve hundred miles. Interstate all the way. We can be there in a day and a half, less if we sleep in the car and drive in shifts."
I looked at the map on the screen over his shoulder, and then glanced at my watch. It was nine o'clock. "We'd better leave now if we want to avoid the morning rush hour in Atlanta. Believe me, we want to miss that particular freak show." My experience as a truck driver had come in handy so far, which meant I was usually pressed into service as the navigator.
I sat on the bed and counted the cash Dean had won while the guys packed up their stuff. I never would have believed how quickly they could fill a space with clutter if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. There were papers and weapons scattered across the table and dresser, and clothing piled between the beds, and dropped in a trail across the room to the bathroom. Almost all of it was Dean's. Sam was much neater, but every electronic gadget he owned was plugged in and recharging, which meant there were wires draped across every surface that had a plug within reach.
Of course they weren't always so messy, just when we thought we might stay in one place for more than a day or two. It kind of reminded me of the room their dad had rented in the pilot episode.
My own stuff, which wasn't much, was all crammed in my backpack, or neatly packed in my laptop case. Both of them were on the couch, ready to go. I've always been paranoid about unpacking my things when I'm in a hotel room. I'm always afraid I'll forget something and leave it behind.
What was really amazing was how quickly they could get it all packed and be ready to hit the road. By the time I'd counted the stack of bills and put them back in my purse Sam and Dean had everything stowed in the trunk.
"Hey, slowpoke, get a move on, will ya!" Dean called from the doorway. I grabbed my bags and hustled after them.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
I stretched out in the back seat with my back against the door on the driver's side, just behind Dean. After four hours in the front seat it felt good to stretch my legs out. Sam was dozing against the passenger side window, and Dean was quietly humming as he drove – is sounded like Metallica, but I couldn't be sure over the rumble of the road.
I watched them for a while. Moments like this were common, but, even after two months, I still couldn't get enough. There was always a tiny, quiet voice in the back of my mind whispering, "This could all end. You could wake up tomorrow morning back in your own world, back at your miserable job, and back with the hateful man you married. Live it while you can, because it may not last."
I wasn't getting much sleep because I was afraid that that voice might be right, no matter how hard I tried to squash it. Dean tossed and turned with worry about Sam. Sam woke choking back screams from his nightmares. I was just afraid to sleep at all.
I loved hunting, and I loved Sam and Dean. I finally felt like I was right where I belong, right where my weird life had been preparing me to be. Dean was amazed at how quickly I picked up the hand to hand fighting he was teaching me, and I was almost good enough to whomp Sam at quarterstaffs. Almost.
I was an excellent shot with a pistol, and I was actually starting to be able to hit what I was aiming at with a crossbow. My almost degree, and my dabbling in Wicca while I was in college were great assets here, instead of useless trivia as they'd been back in my old life. I used to feel like a square peg in a round hole. Now, I fit perfectly.
Well, almost perfectly. There were some rough spots and awkward moments with the guys. They weren't used to traveling with a girl. I wish I'd had a camera the time Sam grabbed my backpack by mistake and opened it to find my undies lying right on top. He turned bright red. Dean occasionally forgets and comes out of the bathroom after a shower with only a towel between him and the world (evil towels), then beats a hasty retreat when he sees me. He's so cute when he's embarrassed.
They were definitely still a little freaked about how much I knew about their past, so I tried to keep references to what I'd seen on TV to a minimum. That wasn't hard though, the subject of their past didn't come up very often. They could speak volumes to one another with only a glance, but they never really talked about it.
Sam was sleeping peacefully for once. It seemed like he slept better in the car while Dean was driving. It was as if he knew that as long as the Impala was moving his brother was right there next to him and he was safe. He'd stuffed his jacket between his head and the window for a pillow, and his bangs were getting so long they almost hid his eyes.
Dean was excited to be on a hunt. He was full of energy, using the steering wheel as a drum to follow along with whatever song was running through his head. I think being on the road in that powerful old car of his was one of his favorite parts of this life. He always seemed to be in a good mood when we were starting off a long roadtrip. Yeah, definitely Metallica, I recognized the beat he was drumming out and the tune he was humming as "For Whom the Bell Tolls."
I should have been sleeping, or trying to anyway. I couldn't stop watching them though. When I said I loved them, I didn't mean just traveling with them. I loved them. Both of them. Head over heels, cupids and hearts love. I did all I could to hide it, to keep things professional and friendly. I'd always been infatuated with them when I'd watched them on TV, but now, after spending so much time with them… They were both a part of me, and loosing either of them would be like loosing an arm. And I could no sooner choose between them than I could choose between my arms. I loved them both in different ways, but equally. I never would have believed that a person could have two true loves, but there it was. It was wonderful and painful all at once. I couldn't have a relationship with both of them at the same time, and I couldn't pick just one to show my interest to. So I accepted things as they were, and tried to enjoy every minute of it, because I knew that, like all good things, it would end eventually.
I'd read spoilers for the episodes that hadn't aired yet, so I'd thought I would have an advantage, knowing a little of the future. Unfortunately, it turned out that when they'd run into me in Idaho, they'd been on their way to LA to investigate a haunted movie set. Since they never got to la-la land they never lived the events that were supposed to happen in Hollywood Babylon. My being there had changed things. I had no idea how much I'd changed the storyline, though. I was still pretty worried about whatever plans the demon had for Sam. Surely my presence hadn't changed things that much.
The rumble of the engine eventually lulled me to sleep despite my worries.
When I woke, Dean was pulling into a gas station just east of Atlanta. It was about five thirty in the morning, and still dark. Even in the Deep South early spring can be cool at that time of morning. Everything was covered with a thick layer of dew that sparkled in the streetlights. I got out to stretch my legs while Dean filled the tank. Sam was still sleeping, and neither of us wanted to wake him. Because we got so little sleep ourselves, we knew how little sleep he got, as well.
Despite having driven all night, over nine hours, Dean was still in a good mood. "So, any ideas bouncing around in that college educated head of yours about what we might be looking for in Richmond?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Desiccated corpses just aren't ringing any bells. I can't think of anything from mythology that would do that."
"Well, we'll know more once we start poking around." He yawned, and I could see dark rings under his normally bright green eyes.
"You need a break. I can drive for a while." I offered, mentally crossing my fingers. He hadn't let me drive the Impala yet, but then, aware of how much he valued his baby, I'd never asked.
He thought about it for a minute, glanced over at Sam's sleeping form, and nodded. "Be careful with her. I've already had to rebuild her once."
"Cross my heart and swear to die, I will treat her as the classic she is," I promised. "You want anything from inside?" I asked before I went to pay for the gas.
"Nah, I'm good."
By the time I got back from the store, he was stretched out on the back seat, fast asleep. That car was a dream to drive, and we were just enough ahead of schedule to avoid the morning traffic jam in Atlanta. I could understand why Dean was usually in such a good mood when he drove her.
Sam woke up just as the sun was rising. We were somewhere near the Georgia-South Carolina state line on Interstate 85.
"Good morning, Sunshine." I said as he stretched and yawned in the passenger seat. He sat up with a start when he realized I was driving and looked at me with a 'huh?' expression on his face. Before he could ask, I put my finger to my lips and pointed to Dean sleeping in the back seat. He grinned.
"Where are we?"
"Just crossing in South Carolina. If you need a pit stop there should be a rest area coming up." I informed him.
"I'm good for a while. If we stop he'll wake up." He glanced at the scenery for a minute, and then reached back for his laptop bag. We rode in silence for a while as he got his broadband card set up and got connected to the internet.
"So, I was thinking, this job feels a little weird."
"Is that hunter instincts weird, or Sam Spidey-sense weird?" I asked.
"I'm not sure, really. It's just…" he trailed off, searching for the right words, "I feel like there is something big ahead of us, not just another salt and burn. Like whatever happens in Richmond is going to be important." He stared out the windshield, toward a city we were still four hundred miles away from. After a moment he shook his head like he was trying to wake himself from a daydream. "It's probably nothing. Just my imagination." He hit a few keys on his laptop and, in patented Winchester style, avoided the uncomfortable subject with a change of topic. "So, has Dean been sleeping long, I can take over driving if you need a break."
We spent the rest of the trip not talking about his weird vibes.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
Sam was taking his turn behind the wheel when we arrived in Richmond a little after one am. He had an uncanny way of homing in on the cheapest, most strangely decorated motel in the area, and this trip was no exception. The room we ended up in was blue and green with wavy striped wallpaper that looked like something out of an acid trip. Usually we would get two rooms, but since we were working with a limited supply of cash until we could check the mail drop in Iowa, we opted to share one. We'd flip a coin to see who got the couch. Dean adamantly refused to play rock-paper-scissors ever again.
It was good to see Richmond again. I'd lived here for a couple of years when I'd followed my now ex-boyfriend's promises of a better life. I'd dropped out of college and gone chasing a dream that had evaporated under my fingers and left me waiting tables in a truck stop. But that was in another life.
Even if the relationship had gone bad, my memories of Richmond were mostly good. It was a great city. I was looking forward to seeing some of my old haunts again. The strange death had happened in an apartment complex on Elwood St. in the Garden district. That was a neighborhood I was familiar with. My ex and I had split a three bedroom house in the historic Fan district with two other couples. It was a little crowded, but it was the only way we could have ever afforded to live in such a great neighborhood.
Anyway, my point is I knew the area. Dean, having slept most of the day, was anxious to get started looking for clues, so I got drafted to go with him. Not that I minded, I was too exited to sleep anyway. Sam had checked the local newspaper, the Richmond Times-Dispatch, that morning, and there had been a second body found in the same condition. Just like the first one, it was in the Garden District, and she had been found inside a locked home with no sign of forced entry. Whatever killed her hadn't even awakened her two young children, who'd been sleeping down the hall.
We decided to start with the most recent victim first. Any signs left behind would be fresher. We ruled out trying to talk to the children. They were four and seven, and had been sleeping when it happened. Besides, they were traumatized enough without strangers trying to ask them questions, they were probably getting enough of that from the police. The house should be empty, though, so that's where we went.
It was a pseudo-Victorian townhouse about two blocks from the Virginia Museum of Fine Art. The front of the house was too exposed, but the rear was fenced, and had a driveway that opened off the alley. Using the trashcans that were lined up by the fence, we scrambled over the wooden privacy fence.
"Ok, no one can see us back here, so there's no hurry. This is a perfect chance for you to practice." He handed me his lock picks.
I grimaced and took them. I wasn't very good a picking locks at all. I inserted the first piece of stiff metal that I would use to keep tension on the lock while I tried to use the other pick to push the pins up to disengage the lock. I just couldn't get the hang of it. I either put too much tension on it, and the pins wouldn't move, or not enough and they slipped back down again.
He let me fumble with it for a couple of minutes on my own, and then he leaned down behind me and took my hands in his, "Like this." He guided my hands, demonstrating exactly how much tension to put on the first pick. I was too distracted to pay attention to the lesson. There was tension of another sort building up. I could feel his breath tickling my neck as he spoke. His hands were warm and strong, and his muscular arms surrounded me and lay along mine. I swallowed hard and tried to concentrate on the lock. It was sweet torture having him so close. I wanted to snuggle into him, to wrap those strong arms around me, to bury my face in the hollow of his neck and draw that scent that was so uniquely Dean's deep into my lungs.
The lock clicked open. I'm not sure if it was wishful thinking or if it was real, but I think he let his hands linger on mine just a moment longer than he needed to. I clung to that hope, that tiny chance, even though I knew it was useless. If I chose one of them, it would mean giving up the other.
We ducked under the crime scene tape and waited until we were inside with the door closed behind us to turn on our flashlights. Keeping the beams away from the windows to avoid making the neighbors curious we took a look around. The article said she'd been found in her bed, so we started with the master bedroom. Dean swept the room with the EMF meter, but got nothing. There were little yellow evidence markers scattered around the room, and I looked at each of them for some idea of what they might have marked.
"Huh. Take a look at this." Dean called quietly from near the bed. He was crouched down looking at something on the floor. I moved closer and he pointed to what looked like a dusting of sand sprinkled across the throw rug and wood floor.
"Sand? That's odd."
"You're telling me. Salt, sulfur, strange sigils drawn in blood – those are pretty par for the course. Sand is just weird."
I went into the bathroom and found a pill bottle from the medicine cabinet. I dumped the pills and flushed them and took the empty bottle back to where the sand was. Using one of my fake IDs to scrape the sand into the bottle I gathered a sample of it.
"Clever, but what are you planning to do with it?" Dean asked as he watched me.
"Something I saw on an episode of CSI once. Sand is unique, the shape of the grains, and the minerals it's made of can tell us where it comes from. That will let us know if this is from the James River or a trip to Virginia Beach, or give us a set of mythology to look at if it's not local."
"Ok, Gil Grissom. I'm impressed, but we don't exactly have a forensics lab handy."
"Actually, we might. VCU has a top notch forensics school. We just need a good enough excuse to get them to run the tests." I paused a minute, looking at the sand in the bottle and thinking about another movie I'd seen. I decided not to mention it yet, though. It was just too far fetched, even for this reality.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
The next morning Sam and I took the sand sample to the University while Dean went to see if he could get a look at the body at the ME's office.
"So, what's our story?" I asked him as we got off the bus. Dean had taken the Impala, of course. Good thing Richmond has a decent public transit system.
"I was thinking we could pose as students. They have an archaeology department, too. We can say that the sand is from an artifact that we're trying to authenticate for a project."
"Which is a major portion of our grade, of course." I smiled, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course." He smiled back. I liked seeing him smile, he didn't do it often enough.
The forensics lab was on the second floor of an imposing brick building. We followed the signs to the trace evidence lab. Inside were three people in lab coats, two women, and a man. The man and one of the women were young enough to be students, and I guessed, from the way the younger two were listening to the older woman, that she was a teacher.
We paused in the doorway. Sam was playing up his charmingly shy, 'Sorry but is this the right place?' act. I followed his lead and hung back a bit.
As soon as the instructor noticed us hovering she finished up whatever she had been telling her students and came over to us. Her nametag read Judy Blake. "Can I help you?"
"Yeah, I hope so." Sam said, hesitantly. "Um, I'm Sam, and this is Andrea. We're students in the archaeology school. We, ah, well, we've got a project that's a big chunk of our grade and we're kind of stuck on it. We were hoping… well, it's kind of thinking outside the box, but we've got this sand sample from inside the artifact, and we were hoping you could help us find out where it's from. The sand I mean. It might give us a clue about whether or not the artifact is authentic or not."
"Oh, fascinating. Dan, Jeanne, I've got just the project for you two. This will be perfect for getting you some practice with the electron microscope, and spectrum analysis." She waved the students over and we gave them the sample, as Judy explained what she wanted them to do. After getting them started, she turned back to us, "Tell me, what's the artifact you're trying to authenticate? I've always been fascinated with archaeology; I almost went into the field myself."
Remembering my suspicions from the night before, I spoke up before Sam did, taking a chance, "It's a Canopic jar, an Imsety jar to be precise," I was wracking my brain for anything I could remember from the classes I'd taken on Egyptian culture. "The liver would have been placed in it during the mummification process. There was no organic material inside, or at least not enough for carbon dating. We don't have a control sample for patina comparisons. The hieroglyphic inscription appears authentic for the period the jar is supposedly from, which is the 13th dynasty period, in the Middle Kingdom, but it could have been forged. We've got a few clues, but we're hoping that there will be pollen or other organics in the sand that might at least place the piece, if not give us a date." Sam's eyebrows had gone up, and I blushed a little in embarrassment, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sound so much like I was lecturing." I stepped back to hide behind Sam, truly embarrassed.
"No, I like seeing a student so passionate about her field. It sounds like you're going to make a great archaeologist, or a great archaeology professor, one day." She turned to watch her students for a moment, "I should get back to them, I don't want them to mess up and ruin your grade. It will probably take most of the day to get your results – do you have a number where I can reach you when we're finished?"
Sam gave her his cell number and we thanked her for her help and left. When we were outside on the building's steps Sam turned to me, "You really know your stuff, but why Egyptian?"
"It's just a hunch, but it's crazy. Let's wait until we get the results back and see what we have, ok?"
"Hunches are good. You've got to be able to trust your gut in this business. Sometimes it's the only thing you have to go by."
"Then why do you have such a hard time trusting yours?"
"What?"
"Yesterday, in the car, you said you had a feeling about this job, and then you spent the rest of the day avoiding the subject. Why?"
"I…" He looked away from me, his forehead crinkling into worry lines. I could see emotions playing across that expressive face of his. "Honestly, they scare me. I'm afraid if I give into them, accept them, I might be giving that yellow eyed bastard more of a hold on me." I could tell that the admission had cost him a lot to say, but I could also see just a hint of relief on his features that he'd finally been able to share his fears.
"I can understand that, and you may be right. But I've also noticed something. Before the visions, and during them, you get horrible headaches, right?"
He nodded, "Yeah…"
"But that time with the poltergeist in Lawrence, you had a feeling that it wasn't over yet, but there was no headache, and what was going on there had nothing to do with the demon or one of the other special kids, right? Missouri is a natural psychic, and she doesn't get headaches, does she? And there was no headache. And there wasn't one this morning, was there?"
"No, but…"
"No buts. There are people with abilities that have no tie to the demon." I lifted a finger for each point as I made it, "The other people with links to the demon all get headaches when they use their powers. Natural psychics like Missouri don't get headaches when they use theirs. Do you think it's possible that the feelings you get that aren't accompanied by headaches are your natural talents? That maybe you had abilities before the demon came along? Abilities that have nothing to do with him?"
He looked down, then off into the distance, anywhere but at me. He leaned on the stair-rail and considered what I'd said. "You could be right. I hadn't though of it that way. But you could be wrong, and I'm not willing to take that risk. Until I know for sure, I can't risk it. I could be putting you and Dean in danger." He looked at me with eyes that brimmed with emotion, begging me to understand. I slipped my hand into his and squeezed it briefly, letting him know without words that I was there for him. I had to let his hand go all too soon, though, as the Impala rumbled around the corner.
Dean pulled up and let us in. "So, what did you two kids find out? Anything useful?"
"Not yet, but hopefully we'll have something by this afternoon. Andrea has a theory, but she's not sharing."
"Only because it's too far-fetched, and I want more information. Did you get anything useful from the ME's office?" I used their own tactics against them and changed the subject.
"Well, the Medical Examiner's assistant is read-headed, with huge… tracts of land," he waggled an eyebrow as he said that, "and she's got a thing for whitewater rafting."
"Anything besides her phone number?" Sam interrupted, trying to get Dean back on track.
"Well, maybe. She showed me the corpse. It was dry as twigs and leather. She said it looked as if it had been mummified."
I gasped.
"What?" Sam and Dean both spoke in unison.
I pointed. We were sitting at a red light, and right in front of us was a billboard advertising the opening of a new exhibit at the museum. The Mummy of the Princess Khait Kepi, the Crowned Tempest. It opened today. "I'll bet that mummy actually arrived just before the first killing."
Sam turned in his seat and looked at me, "That was your theory, wasn't it? That's why you brought up Egypt?"
I nodded as Dean said, "Brendan Fraser eat your heart out. We've got us a real, live mummy. Ok, maybe not live, but…"
"Well, Dean, it looks like I'm finally going to get you into a museum." Sam teased.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
The Virginia Museum of Fine Art is a sprawling building surrounded by crepe myrtles and wisteria vines. It was too early in the year yet for the wisteria to bloom, but the crepe myrtles were a riot of pink and white blossoms. There was a small crowd coming out of the museum, as the unveiling ceremony for the new exhibit had just finished up. We waited for the crowd to clear, watching as they broke into small groups and scattered to their cars.
"Find anything about our royal dead chick, yet?" Dean asked Sam, who was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala with the door open and his laptop open on his lap. Dean and I were standing outside the car, enjoying the warm spring day.
"Not much, she's pretty obscure, historically. Apparently she was the daughter of one of the 9th dynasty pharaohs, and she was known for having a fiery temper. She had a tendency to have anyone who annoyed her killed, hence the 'Crowned Tempest'. She swept a path of destruction through her servants like Katrina through New Orleans. That's all I can find, nothing about how she died, or why she might be coming back."
"Or how to get rid of her?" Dean cut right to the important stuff, as usual.
"Nope. Hopefully we'll have more luck inside. Oh, I did find a connection to the two victims. They were both volunteers at the museum."
"Which is more confirmation that we're on the right track." I added.
"I've never heard of anyone having to take down a mummy. I mean, we may just be dealing with a four thousand year old angry spirit, but it could be more like…" Sam trailed off looking for an adequate comparison.
"Boris Karloff?" Dean supplied. "Come on. It looks like the crowd has cleared out a bit. Let's see what we can dig up on Im-Ho-Tepette."
Sam packed away his laptop and we made our way into the museum. I smiled nostalgically as we passed the huge bronze rabbit sculpture in the entryway. This museum had been one of my favorite places to visit when I'd lived here. The Hall of Antiquities was near the front of the building.
The Khait Kepi exhibit was easy to find, and there were still a number of patrons browsing the displays. We couldn't get to the mummy at first because of the crowd of college students gathered around it, so we started looking at the other artifacts. We worked our way through the exhibit following the flow of the crowd.
Many of the artifacts were typical, but there were a few that stood out to me. They seemed to be in an earlier style, almost pre-dynastic. They would have been antiquities when Khait Kepi was alive - that they were found as a part of her burial was odd, to say the least. I mentioned them to Sam, but as I was trying to explain why they were unusual I caught sight of something else and my voice trailed off. Dean had already seen it. He pushed his way through throng and Sam and I followed. We found ourselves standing before a glass case that held a bronze statue. The head of the statue was identical to the amulets that Dean and I both wore.
I was hesitant to go too close. It had been a trinket box with a bas-relief of the same figure on the lid that had sent me to this world in the first place. I was afraid that another encounter would send me back. My amulet was a replica of Dean's, I'd bought it on EBay back in my own world because I'd been a fan of Supernatural. Dean's was the real thing, and he was very tight lipped about it. I had no idea what its significance was beyond the fact that it was very early Egyptian. Probably a forerunner of the goddess Bat, who, herself was a precursor to Hathor. But that was all book learning and speculation. To be honest, I had no real idea other than that it was important, and magical.
Sam read the informative plaque below the display, and his eyebrows went up. I caught him sneaking a quick glance at Dean's amulet, then he looked back at me and our eyes met. I was too far away to read the plaque, but from his reaction, it must have been pretty important. He waved me closer.
When he saw that I was reluctant he said, "It's ok. I think I've figured something out. I don't think you have to worry so much anymore." I had told Sam about the trinket box, and we'd spent many hours puzzling over how I ended up in this world. I didn't want to go back, but Sam thought it was important that we find out how I'd gotten here, so that we would at least know if I was in danger of slipping back again. When I was next to him he put a hand on my arm and pointed to the plaque. It read: The bull horned Goddess Be, a little known primitive forerunner of the later celestial cow goddesses of classical Egypt, was revered as a protector, and a goddess of destiny. It was believed that she made sure that the souls of those who had destinies were born into the correct lives, and that they were in the right place to fulfill that destiny.
The plaque went on to say more about the other aspects of the goddess, but I could only focus on the destiny part. Dean was holding his amulet against his chest, and he'd gone just a little pale. His dustings of freckles, usually hard to see, were standing out in stark relief now against his pale skin. Sam's vibes had been right. This was important.
I needed to sit down, and I think Dean did too, but for different reasons. After reading that, I was pretty sure that I really was where I was supposed to be, and that I wouldn't be going back to my previous life. I was more than relieved; I was so overjoyed I was giddy and dizzy at the same time.
Dean, on the other hand, was dealing with something much darker. He'd been brought back from the brink of death twice, and told by a blind preacher that he had an important job to do. He didn't believe in destiny or fate, and he'd just had the very real possibility that his future had been written out for him shoved in his face. The burden of guilt he'd carried for his father's death had just been doubled or worse. It was one thing to half-way accept that your father had been willing to give up his life for yours, but to be faced with the idea that some great scriptwriter in the sky had planned it that way so you could do some 'important job'… He wasn't dealing well.
Sam put a hand on his shoulder, and I slipped my hand into his. We pulled closer, unified, tried to show him that he wasn't in this alone.
It didn't take him long to pull himself together and shake us off. He put up his walls and pulled out the snarky, prickly mask that was his usual armor when things got complicated. "Get off me, Dude, I'm ok," he said as he pulled loose from Sam's grip on his shoulder, but even as he said it he was giving him a look that said, 'thanks, bro.' He squeezed my hand just a little before he dropped it. "We've got a job to do."
He took off through the crowd, making a bee-line for the sarcophagus that was the center of the exhibit. It was as if the milling people in the hall unconsciously sensed his mood, they seemed to almost part for him as he strode through them. Sam and I shared a glance of concern, and then followed.
The mummy and her royal sarcophagus were quite a sight to see. The stone outer sarcophagus was ornate, covered with hieroglyphics in rich colors and gold leaf. The wooden inner sarcophagus was well preserved. The mummy herself looked as though she had only just been laid to rest; her bandages were nearly pristine white, not the deep yellow that I'd seen on other mummies. We couldn't see the body inside, of course, but from the way it filled out the bandages it… well, it just didn't look as shriveled as it should have been.
She was wearing an ornate necklace set with a lapis scarab inlayed with gold. The necklace was more like a chest plate with jeweled wings spreading outward from the scarab to wrap around her neck, apparently clasping in the back. Instead of the more typical sun and moon disk, however, the scarab was holding aloft a cartouche. I cursed myself for not taking the time to learn to read hieroglyphics when I'd had the chance.
The lids of the two sarcophagi were displayed in a separate case near the mummy. The lid of the wooden case was covered with scratches where an inscription had been obliterated, and what appeared to be a hastily drawn second inscription had been added. I pointed it out to Sam and Dean, who were still looking at the mummy.
"We need to find out what that says." Sam said. "I'd be willing to bet it has something to do with why she's back."
"All the plaque says is that the funerary inscriptions were scratched out and the sarcophagus was vandalized, probably by the angry family members of someone she had killed. Not too helpful." I added.
Dean joined us near the lids, "I'm getting some EMF readings from the corpse. There's definitely something going on there." He had his homemade walkman-EMF in his hand with one ear-bud in. I hadn't even realized he'd brought it along.
I crouched down to get a closer look at the vandalized inscription. "Ok, now I'm no expert, and I only know a couple of these symbols. The ancient Egyptians believed they could only enter the Duat, their version of Heaven, if the proper rituals were followed. This inscription that was scratched out would have been part of that ritual, so someone didn't want her to make it to the afterlife."
I examined the symbols that appeared to have been added later, "Now, I recognize that as the symbol for Anubis, and this over here means 'who is true of voice', which would refer to someone who had died, but it's respectful, so it's not referring to the princess if it was inscribed by the same person who scratched out her ticket to a happy afterlife."
"Very good young lady. You must be one of the students from the school of anthropology. Your professor must be proud of you." I looked up at the strange voice, startled. The voice belonged to a distinguished looking gray-haired man in a suit. He was as tall as Sam, and thin, with a hooked nose. "Sorry to intrude, but I heard you explaining the inscriptions to your friends. I was curious to see if you would get it right; so many of the people who come to see her are misinformed or ignorant. I'm Ronald Hammond, assistant curator of antiquities for the museum."
I stood and shook his hand, "I'm Andrea Parks, and yes, I am a student. I'm only just starting to learn to read Egyptian, though. If you have a moment, I have some questions about the Princess, and some of the artifacts that you have displayed here. Quite a few of them seem to be from a much earlier period."
Sam and Dean were right behind me, but they were hanging back. I still had a lot to learn about hunting, but archaeology and ancient Egypt were right up my alley. They let me take the lead for once. I couldn't see them, but I could feel the amused smiles. I'd get ribbed about this for sure when we left.
Mr. Hammond graciously agreed to answer my questions, and he started by translating the vandalism on the sarcophagus cover. "We believe that this was added by a family member of someone Khait Kepi ordered killed. It is a curse, of sorts. It reads: May Anubis recognize the evil in your heart and deny you your place. You have taken from us Banafrit, who is true of voice. You make all you touch wither and die, and you shall do so for all eternity. May you forever hunger for that which you have taken from me."
I glanced back at Dean and Sam. They were thinking along the same lines I was – Khait Kepi was our killer, no doubt about it. I asked a few more questions, and we listened to Mr. Hammond for another half an hour or so, but we had what we'd come for. The fact that the Princess had angered her father by refusing to be touched by a man to find out if she was fertile, or that she'd belonged to an obscure cult that worshiped older gods than where popular at the time seemed inconsequential to our purpose. I'm glad Sam had been paying attention though. I was too busy wondering how we were going to break into the museum. I thought it was going to be a matter of salting and burning the body, which shows how much I still had to learn when it came to hunting.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
We had just arrived back at the motel when Sam's cell phone rang. It was Judy Blake from the forensics lab. They had our results. The sand was from Egypt, the minerals in it were consistent with that area.
"That cinches it. Full on killer mummy action. So how do we stop this thing?" Dean said as he flopped back onto one of the motel beds.
Sam and I looked at each other and shrugged in unison (great, now I was doing it.) "How did they get rid of Im-Ho-Tep in the movies?" I asked Dean, at a loss for ideas.
"The mummy came back because some idiot read a scroll. They had to burn the scroll, which turned the mummy to dust. I don't think that applies here."
"I don't think breaking into the museum is a very good idea, and I don't think burning the body will work anyway," Sam pointed out. "The sand makes me think we're dealing with more than just a ghost. And did you guys see the state of the body; it looked whole under those wrappings."
"So, we've ruled out what we can't do, what should we do then?" I asked.
"Looks like we'll be staking out the museum tonight. See if our Princess takes a midnight stroll," Dean decided.
"Ok, but we still don't know what to do with her once we have her," Sam pointed out.
"That's what we have your brain for. You two better start researching."
"Oh, and what are you going to do?" I wanted to know.
"I'm going to catch up on my beauty sleep. It looks like it's going to be a long night." He reached back to fluff his pillows and Sam and I both launched pillows from the other bed and couch at his head. "Hey!" He threw them back, and before we knew it all three of us were engaged in a full fledged running pillow fight. We needed the release. It had been a stressful day, and it felt good when the three of us finally collapsed onto one of the beds laughing uncontrollably.
It didn't take us long to get serious again, though. Someone could die tonight if we couldn't figure out how to stop the mummy. Dean ran out to pick up some take-out Chinese for dinner, and Sam and I went into research mode. I pulled out my laptop and set it up at the table while Sam made some calls to Bobby and Jefferson and any other hunter contact he could dredge up.
After about half an hour, Sam hung up for the last time. "No luck there, though Bobby did suggest that it would be a good idea to see if the body remained in the sarcophagus or not when she's out roaming around, that way we'd know for certain if she was a spirit or not."
"We can figure that out just by seeing if she reacts to salt or not. But it does bring up and interesting point. If she's physically leaving the museum, then we could at least trap her until we find a way to destroy her. Hey, take a look at this." I motioned to the screen and he came over and crouched by my chair to see what I'd found. His arm was draped along the low back of the chair, making a warm line across my back. I forced myself to stay focused and pointed to the passage I'd found, "The Egyptians believed that the body had to be preserved in order for the soul to continue to exist after death. We may have to break in and destroy the mummy after all."
"I think it's going to be more complicated than that. That Hammond guy mentioned a cult that she belonged to. They were big into magic, and the main goal of the cult was to find a way to live forever physically." He reached past me to type in a new search, his hand brushing mine. His cheek was right there, so close. I could smell his aftershave and the warmth of his skin. I wanted so badly to brush his unruly hair back from his face, to lean in and nibble on his ear. I had to close my eyes and take a slow, deep breath.
He was focused on the search he was running, but all I could see was him. "Ah there it is. The cult of Abat," he read from the article, "Abat was believed to be one of the gods of the Naqada culture, the prehistoric forerunners of the Egyptians. This cult believed that the original followers of Abat knew the secret of eternal life, and they were trying to find it again for themselves. I think Khait Kepi might have been dabbling in the dark arts, and found herself a way to stay alive after she died. I also think that the curse on the lid reacted badly with whatever spell she had cast, so she's not really alive, but not completely dead either."
I was doing a good job of paying attention to what he was saying, and it made sense. I lost focus, though when he moved his thumb on my back. Was that a twitch, or did he just rub my back? "We need to look into it a little more, but it's a start." He stood up abruptly and moved around the table to his own computer. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination or not, but he seemed to be avoiding looking at me.
I was saved from dwelling on it though as Dean pushed through the door, arms loaded with take-out boxes.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
My knees were cramping up, so I shifted position, again. I'd been sitting on the concrete bench for three hours, and my rear end was going numb. I was posted at one corner of the museum, where I had a view along two sides of the building. Sam was just in sight leaning against a tree at the next corner, watching along the front of the building, and Dean was comfortable in the Impala watching the back.
We'd stopped and bought two sets of toy walkie-talkies. Dean promised that as soon as we had a credit card again he'd splurge on a real set, but for now these would have to do. They were just strong enough for us to stay in contact around the museum, but if we got any farther apart than we already were they'd be useless.
I was doing my best to stay alert, but I was having a hard time keeping my mind from drifting. I was where I was destined to be. The idea was making my brain run in circles. Did that mean that I was destined to be a hunter, or specifically to be hunting with the Winchesters? Did my destiny tie in with theirs somehow? And what did it mean for Dean? I gathered from his reaction at the museum that he hadn't known what his amulet meant or not all of it anyway. He was undeniably surprised by what he'd learned there.
My thoughts were so far away from what I was supposed to be doing that I didn't realize what was happening at first. The wind seemed to have picked up, but then there was sand blowing in my face, in my eyes, everywhere. I felt parched, like I was dying of thirst. I swatted at the sand, I didn't dare open my mouth to scream – I was afraid to let it in. It was hot, and stung like needles against my skin. There was a voice, a woman's voice low and sibilant, "Touch me. I want to feel you. I need your warmth. Love me. Touch me." My vision started to go gray around the edges. The sand gathered together into the form of a woman dressed in a gauzy white linen gown and golden jewelry. Her skin was the color of mahogany. I couldn't move, and she moved her hand down the skin of my arm in a caress. I could feel the moisture being sucked from me at her touch. She was inside my head, and I was seeing, no… I was remembering her life in bits and snatches. The radio that had dropped from my numb fingers crackled with sound. I heard Dean's voice, it was thin and distant, "…on my way."
Sam was there first, pulling me away from the Princess. Then he did the first thing he could think of, which was to punch Khait Kepi right in the face. Amazingly, she spun away from the blow. It had connected. She was solid, but not for long. With a venomous glance at her attacker she dissolved into a cloud of sand that spiraled off into the night.
Sam scooped up my limp form. He held me to his chest, "Come on Andrea, you're ok. Please be ok," he whispered into my hair. I heard Dean running toward us. He touched my face, and then moved his hand down to check my pulse.
"She's alive, but we've got to get her to a hospital. Damn it! Sammy, what happened?"
"It was the mummy. I'll tell you on the way." He carried me around the building toward the Impala.
I was aware of what was going on around me, but I couldn't speak. My throat was so dry, I could do nothing but croak. I wanted to tell them about what I'd seen. Dean drove like a maniac, and Sam was in the back seat with me, my head cradled in his lap. When I tried to speak he shushed me, "No. Take it easy, we'll be at the hospital soon."
"How's she doing back there?" I could hear the worry in Dean's voice.
"She's conscious, but barely. How much further?"
"We're at the turn off now." I felt the car whip around the corner way too fast, the tires squealing. Then we were stopping.
The emergency room was a blur, and I must have passed out at some point. My dreams were full of memories of a life that wasn't mine. I was looking out across a bustling desert city, a wide boulevard lined with palms cut through the center of it. Someone was touching my shoulder, and the hand slid around to cup my breast. A woman's hand. I knew her, she was my lover. No! Not mine, Khait Kepi's. She was Banafrit, and she was beautiful. She pulled me/Khait away from the window and through a gauzy linen curtain, and then the dream memory faded as the real world became solid again.
I was in a bed surrounded by one of those hospital curtains. Sam and Dean were speaking to a doctor somewhere nearby. "No, she was like this on the floor of her apartment. We have no idea what happened to her." Sam was saying.
"Well, she's severely dehydrated. This is what I would expect to see in someone who'd been lost in the desert for days. This sort of dehydration just doesn't happen over night. We'll have to keep her here for a day or two, on an IV. I've contacted the authorities; an officer should be here soon to get statements from you."
"So all she needs is fluids and she'll be ok? I mean is there going to be any lasting damage?" Dean was in protective mode, I could hear it in his voice.
"No, there shouldn't be any long term damage, as long as she stays on that IV and gets enough fluids into her. If it were any worse, though… well, her organs might have started shutting down if you hadn't gotten her here when you did. She should regain consciousness soon. If she asks for water she can have some, but make sure she drinks slowly." Then the doctor was gone.
There was silence for a beat, then, "Sam, see if you can lift a bunch of those IV bags, as many as you can get, and meet me at the car. I'm going to get Andrea. The last thing we need is to try to explain this to the cops." I heard Sam move off, and Dean pushed through the curtain that hung around my bed.
When he saw that I was awake his expression softened just a bit. "Hey, kiddo, how are you doing?"
"Wa…" I tried to croak out, motioning toward the glass on the little rolling table that was just out of my reach. My throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. Dean brought me the glass. As I drank he took my hand and squeezed it. I tried to drink slowly, as I'd heard the doctor say, but I wanted to gulp it down.
He watched me like I would fade away if he didn't keep me pinned to reality with his gaze. I could see emotions playing across his face, fear, love, anger. My heart seemed to skip a beat. I squeezed his hand back, trying to reassure him that I was ok. All I succeeded in doing was to make him realize what he was doing. He gently pulled his hand from mine, and his mask came back up.
"That thing did quite a number on you, but the doc says you're going to be fine. We've got to get out of here, though. He called the cops."
I nodded and gestured to a folded wheelchair that was propped in the corner. Once I finished the water I tried to sit up. Dean was right there helping me. Moving made me dizzy.
"Stay put." Dean got the wheelchair and opened it, and then he lifted me out of the bed, careful of my IV line. He pulled me close to him as he lifted me and I leaned against his chest. I felt safe with his arms around me, protected from all the nasty creatures in the world. His lips pressed against my hair briefly, and then I heard him whisper, "Great, now I've got two of you to watch out for." But it was said tenderly, and I don't think he'd intended for me to hear it. It was all I could hear though, for the entire trip out of the hospital, and back to the motel.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
Sam carried me into the room and got me set up on the bed. Dean followed with two pillowcases loaded with IV bags and the rolling IV stand they'd swiped.
"Damn. For a freaking pole on wheels this son of a bitch is hard to maneuver."
As soon as they had me comfortable, and my IV bag switched out for a full one, they retreated to the far side of the room. It was a small room, though, and I could hear every word.
"That bandage wrapped bitch! How do we do this, Sam? What's our next move?" Dean was pacing like a caged tiger.
Sam was pulling weapons and charms from the green duffle bag. He stopped and put his hands against the table, leaning forward on them. He dropped his head and I could read frustration in his stance. "I don't know. I've been through every resource we have, and I can't find anything." He shoved the pile of papers and books from the table in anger. "Andrea almost died, and I have no idea how to stop this thing, and someone else out there is going to die if we can't…" He plopped into a chair, rubbing his forehead and temple with his fingers, his elbow propped on the table.
"Listen to me, Sammy." Dean forgot all about his own anger and frustration as he snapped into big brother mode, "We saved Andrea, and we'll do our best to save the next person, but you've got to let go of this guilt thing, man. It's going to kill you. No matter how hard we try, we are not going to be able to save everyone."
"I know, but that's not going to stop me from trying." Sam pulled his laptop across the table toward himself. "There has to be something I missed, some clue…"
"As much as I hate to suggest it, especially after Detroit, it's looking more and more like we're going to have to break into that museum."
"No, I don't think that would work, anyway. It seems like she's up and active at night, and torching a priceless mummy while the museum is open… Neither of us looks good in orange, dude."
I wanted to tell them about the memories, the dreams, but I couldn't speak. I was certain that the images I was seeing held the clue we needed. I tried to raise my arm to get their attention, but I had no energy. My eyes burned, and I had to fight to keep them open. It was a fight I lost. Eventually they slipped closed, and I drifted to sleep. I drifted into dreams of a woman's arms and a torch lit temple in another time and place.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
I awoke to daylight streaming between the curtains. I was lying on my side, and I could see Dean laying on his stomach, his shirt off, sleeping in the other bed. I felt movement on the bed I was on, and I turned over to find Sam sitting on the other half. He was still wearing his clothes from the night before, and looked as if he hadn't slept. He was watching the TV, but the volume was muted. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.
"Good morning," I croaked, softly. My voice was back, but my throat was still raw and hoarse. I must have startled him because he jumped off the bed as though he'd been bitten.
As soon as he realized what he'd done he laughed at himself, "Sorry, I expected you to sleep for a few more hours at least. Can I get you anything?" He seemed embarrassed, but I had no idea why. He hid it so quickly though that it could have been my imagination.
"Water would be great. And my laptop, talking hurts, and I need… there's something…" My voice was giving out already. It really was painful to speak.
He poured me a glass of ice water and brought me my laptop. While I booted it up he changed my IV. I wanted a shower very badly, I still felt like I was covered in sand. But it would have to wait. I had to tell him about my dreams.
Once I had the computer booted, I connected to the internet and fired up my instant message software. I snapped my fingers to get Sam's attention and pointed to the screen. He got the idea right away. He opened up his own computer.
AC47: I think I know how to kill her.
"What!? How?" He exclaimed, loud enough to wake Dean.
"Huh?" I glanced over in time to see him slip his knife back under the pillow as he realized there was no danger. "What's going on?"
"Andrea says she knows how to kill the mummy."
"Well, why didn't you tell us last night?" He was cranky. Dean was not a morning person.
I gave him an annoyed look and typed furiously.
AC47: Because I didn't know last night! I didn't know until I woke up. When Khait Kepi touched me she gave me her memories somehow. I've been dreaming about her life.
Sam read what I typed as Dean scrambled out of bed to join his brother in front of the computer. They both looked at me as if I'd grown an extra head once what I'd written sunk in.
I glared back, one eyebrow raised in a sarcastic 'what?' expression , until they realized they were staring. I started typing before they could ask.
AC47: No, I don't know why or how. But I don't think she meant to, or even realizes. She gave me the key to destroy her. She was a follower of the God Abat. Be is the key.
"Be is the key? What the hell does that mean?" Dean looked at me in puzzlement.
I rolled my eyes in frustration and scrambled at my shirt to pull out my amulet. I held it up.
AC47: Not 'B', Be, the goddess. Abat and Be were polar opposites. Be was a goddess of order, ensuring that everything happened in its proper time and place. Abat was all about chaos. Be, as a goddess of destiny, had a role similar to a reaper, she made sure that people died in their destined time, whereas Abat was all about escaping the bonds of destiny. His followers believed that he could offer them an escape from the eventual destiny of every living thing – death. Khait was a follower of the Children of Abat because she was a lesbian. As a royal princess, she was obligated to prove that she was fertile and could survive childbirth so that she could be married off and pop out heirs to the throne. She wanted to escape that destiny, so she turned to the Abat cult. She dabbled in magic, and she found a way. You were right, Sam, the inscription on the lid was the reason she didn't come back fully. But Banafrit wasn't someone she had killed. Banafrit was her lover. The person who defaced her sarcophagus was Banafrit's jilted husband. He cursed Khait to forever crave human contact, and to kill anyone she touched.
"Great, a love sick lesbian mummy. Could our lives get any weirder?" Dean snarked.
"Ok, so that's interesting, but I still don't see how it helps." Sam pointed out.
AC47: The spell she used to unnaturally extend her life called upon Abat. Be was an agricultural goddess, among other things, and one of her sacred symbols was a bronze sickle. If Abat and Be are polar opposites, then… Oh, screw it… We can kill her by beheading her with a bronze sickle!
I lay back, exhausted but elated. I couldn't believe how much effort it had taken to type that out. But they knew, now. That was the important thing. We had a way to kill her.
"We can lay in wait outside the museum, and catch her when she solidifies. We just need to get a bronze sickle."
"Yeah, that'll be easy." Dean rolled his eyes. "Brass knives, silver bullets, bronze sickles, why can't we ever go up against something that can be killed with plain old lead."
"Because life would be no fun if it was easy," Sam replied, making me laugh.
.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.o0o.
One of the nicer differences of this reality over the one I was born into is that people heal faster. I'd always thought that the reason Sam and Dean didn't have scars all over and were completely healed between one episode and the next was simply a convenience of television, but it wasn't. Over here, you really can get shot and are completely healed within a month. And there is very little scaring from most minor wounds, though Dean does have a quarter sized scar on his shoulder where he was shot by possessed Sam, but even that is fading faster than it would have where I came from.
If I were still in my world, I would have been laid up for a couple of days, but here… By noon I was feeling much better. My headache was gone and my voice was back. Nurse Sam made me stay on the IV all day, and kept forcing me to drink bottle after bottle of water and Gatorade. By three in the afternoon, I was ready to climb the walls, psychedelic wallpaper and all.
Dean had gone out to find us a bronze sickle or two. I'd recommended a couple of places to check, but I doubted he'd be able to find one. He surprised me though. Never underestimate a determined Winchester.
He came through the door carrying what must have been the world's ugliest piece of bronze sculpture. "Sammy, get over here and give me a hand with this thing, will ya."
"If you're sure it doesn't bite." Sam eyed the thing warily.
I'm not sure what it was supposed to have been a sculpture of, a large insect, maybe. The important thing is that it had two crescent-moon shaped things sticking out of its back. I think they were supposed to be stylistic wings, but whatever they were, they were just the right shape to add handles to and make sickles.
A quick lesson in impromptu metalworking later, and the demolition of a chair (swiped from the vacant room next door), gave us useable weapons against Khait Kepi. By the time the sun went down we were armed, and almost ready. The only thing we lacked was a workable plan, and the reason we didn't have a plan is because no one wanted to bring up one uncomfortable fact.
I finally got tired of them avoiding the subject and brought it up myself. "You realize that she's not going to become solid without a good reason, right?"
"We'll just follow her until she does." Dean was being stubborn.
"And how are you going to track a flying cloud of sand? Face it, you're going to need bait, and unless you plan on adding kidnapping to your rap sheets, I'm the only one with the right equipment to interest her."
"No freakin' way," Dean was still being stubborn. "Not gonna happen."
"Andrea, she nearly killed you and she was touching you for less than a minute," Sam argued.
"So you'll both be close enough to me to get there in seconds. It's the only way." I was just pointing out what we all already knew anyway. I didn't really want to be bait, but it was our only option. "I've been thinking about this most of the day. I'll keep the IV in. I can borrow one of your shirts; they are loose enough on me to hide the IV bag inside of. That should give me a few extra seconds of safety net."
"Are you sure? You don't have to do this, we can find another way." Sam wasn't happy with the idea. I could see it in his face. His forehead was practically doing acrobatics, and there was fear in his eyes. But he knew there really wasn't any other way.
Dean stood up and stalked away to the window. He leaned his arm on the frame and looked out into the night. His body was so tense he was practically shaking with it. He was biting back whatever he wanted to say. With a movement that startled us all he punched the wall.
"I hate this. I freaking hate it, but you're right. You're the only one." He turned and leaned back against the wall, anger fading. I could see the weight settling on his shoulders as he gave in to it. Somehow, slowly and without realizing it until it was too late, he'd added me to his short list of people he had to protect. I'd gone from apprentice to family, and I was awed by the honor. "Come on. If we're going to do this, let's do it and get it over with."
I was back on the same bench, but this time I wasn't alone. Sam was hidden in the bushes just behind me, and Dean was crouched in deep shadows only a few yards away. I was trying as hard as I could not to look nervous, but inside I was sweating bullets.
We didn't have to wait long. Barely an hour after the sun set, Khait Kepi came out to play. I gasped when I felt the first tickle of drying sand against my cheek. Thinking quickly, I said, "Please, let me see you." I tried to sound inviting, and I prayed that the fear in my voice didn't give anything away.
She materialized several feet away from me. She was beautiful, and she looked so lonely. She spoke to me, but I couldn't understand ancient Egyptian – at first. Then the memories she'd shared with me surfaced, and I understood, "Are you the one who can save me from this hell? Why did you not wither away like all the others?"
"Yes, I can release you from your torment. Come closer, but you must not touch me."
She hesitated, but her desire for human contact overcame any fear that she had. She flowed closer to me, coming within inches. Her hand hovered over my face, barely a centimeter from my lips. I could feel her, like the hot desert sun. She looked in my eyes with such hope, and my heart ached for her. Then, with a flash of metal, she was gone. Sand sifted down to lie lifeless on the sidewalk where she had been, leaving only Sam and Dean standing before me.
I crouched down and touched the sand, whispering, "I hope you are at peace now, wherever you are." Then I stood and looked at the Winchester brothers. I was so afraid of losing one or both of them, but suddenly I was even more afraid of not taking the chance. I was afraid that I would end up like Khait Kepi, forever craving what I could never have. I wasn't ready to make a huge leap yet, but I did take a little chance. I stretched up on tiptoe and kissed Sam on the cheek, then turned and did the same to Dean. "Come on, heroes. Let's go."
Sam grinned, and Dean smirked, "Killed the monster, got the girl. You can't ask for a happier ending than that."
"Yeah, but she kissed me first," Sam teased his brother as they followed me to the car.
We packed up and moved on the next morning, as usual. But things had subtly changed between me and the brothers. It was hard to say exactly how, but it was there. Moments of tenderness, and awkward moments as well. It was very complicated, so of course it was ignored. We'd have to figure it out somewhere down the road.
The Impala rumbled off into the rising sun, the stereo blaring:
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters
Never opened myself this way
Life is ours, we live it our way
All these words I don't just say
and nothing else matters
Trust I seek and I find in you
Every day for us something new
Open mind for a different view
and nothing else matters
never cared for what they do
never cared for what they know
but I know
So close, no matter how far
Couldn't be much more from the heart
Forever trusting who we are
and nothing else matters
"Nothing Else Matters" -- Metallica
The End… for now.