"Opotipapotaitemako hikuái ha araka'eve ju jevy! Opotipapotaitemako hikuái ha araka'eve ju jevy!"
Sam closed his notes with a snap, and watched in fascinated revulsion as the body of the Ao Ao liquefied, collapsing into itself with a wheeze of putrid air. He thought he'd heard Dean a couple of times and was pretty sure he called a few seconds ago. He turned his head toward the exit and shouted,
"Done! I'll be there in a minute."
At least the freaky little babies had turned into nothing more than foul smelling greasy rat smoke a few minutes into the ritual or he'd have been suffocated under a mound of them. Or had all the flesh stripped off his bones. Like a hundred little land piranhas. How could there possibly have been that many?
The freak who'd started this whole thing should be finished as well – Sam wasn't positive what the ritual would do to him, but it wasn't going to be good. God, he hoped the guy didn't turn into liquid like the Ao Ao because Dean was really going to be pissed if that stuff got on the weapons.
He pulled his equipment away from the flow of putrescent liquid, tucking the stone knife into its sheath, and remembered to pull out his flashlight before he blew out the candles. He'd planned to dump the left over ingredients immediately but feeling a tinge of anxiety about Dean, he just scooped up all the bags and envelopes with the candles and bowls and shoved everything into the duffel. He'd get rid of everything as soon as he checked on Dean.
He shouted again. "Hey, Dean! It's over, I'll be right there." He poured kerosene over the nest and kicked over the patterns he'd drawn, before slinging his duffel over his shoulder. He threw a match, making sure there was a good fire, before walking down the passage, playing the flashlight beam in front of him.
"Sorry, Dean, it was hard to hear you in there. Wherever rat daddy is, he's done for. Man, you should have …" His flashlight illuminated something on the floor. He played the flashlight further back, and his heart about stopped. God, Dean. He ran the few yards between them and dropped to his brother's side, feeling for a pulse. He had a moment of panic when he found nothing. He moved his hand slightly and pushed harder, and breathed out when he found it.
"Dean! Dean, are you OK? Damn it, why didn't you tell me you needed help?" He grabbed Dean's shoulder and tried to roll his brother over and toward him, but his legs were tangled up in something. He was totally out, his head rolling back toward the ground when Sam got him up on one side. He ghosted his hands over Dean's head – no bumps or blood – and noted his right arm tucked up tight against his chest. Sam stood and pulled and jiggled Dean's feet out from between the rocks. OK, random, where were his boots?
"Let's get you out of here". He pulled his brother up and over his shoulders and felt something slap his side. He glanced down – there was some kind of cloth in his brother's hand. Sam made his best speed out of the cave and into the fresh air of the clearing just outside. He laid Dean down again as gently as he could, then tugged a little at the cloth. It looked like a pair of pants? Sam picked up the fabric between his thumb and finger and inspected it. Pleated front khakis – dripping goo? Jesus – the sorcerer. He must have turned into liquid too.
He checked Dean over carefully, noting hives and blood on his hands and arms. His face was gray and he definitely had a blue tinge to his lips. Sam leaned forward to listen to his brother breathe. He wasn't. Airway. Allergies. Oh crap, how did it get this bad? His brother could not be going into anaphylactic shock in the middle of friggin' nowhere. He dug in his duffel for the first aid kit, hands shaking lightly.
First, administer epi-pen. He shook the hypodermic free of the tube, pulled off the safety cap, and slammed it into Dean's thigh. He counted too fast, the numbers coming out all in a rush - onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten - so he counted again and then once more, before pulling back the pen. Check. He rubbed his knuckles over the injection site, counting breathlessly to ten, then to ten again, willing it to work.
Second, remove constrictions. He lifted Dean up, and ripped open his flannel shirt, the buttons shooting off in all directions. He flipped out his knife and cut his brother's tee shirt from collar to bottom hem, then laid him back down and loosened Dean's belt. Check.
Three, start CPR if necessary. He almost shouted "Yes!" when he saw Dean's chest rise when he breathed into him the second time. He kept up the compressions and breaths until Dean's head rolled a little and he could hear his breath wheezing in and out. Thank god, check.
"Dean, Dean, hey man, time to go. Open your eyes and tell me how you are. Come on man, open your eyes, wake up, Dean." He watched the color start coming back into Dean's face, and his breathing seemed easier. Bruises were coming up across his midsection. He pulled Dean's head and chest into his lap, lifting first his left arm, then his right arm up for inspection. Dean's arms were covered in tiny scratches and the cuts were bites, blood still oozing from the worst of them. His jeans were full of holes, probably where the damn things had been able to worry the fabric open. Shit. Sam should have told Dean to run the minute he started to sneeze.
He opened a pack of alcohol wipes and started cleaning Dean's arms, talking quietly, saying anything that came to mind, just so his brother could hear him. "Come on, Dean, open your eyes. Time to wake up, bro, it's time to get out of here." He worked the khakis out of Dean's hand by the simple expedient of prying each finger loose in turn. When he got to the right hand, Sam tugged it toward him and starting loosening the fingers as he had with the left. He was finally able to expose the palm.
Dean sat up with a shout, coughing, and jerked his arm back so hard he almost bounced off Sam's lap, hissing air through his teeth.
"Don' touch, don' touch. Leave it 'lone." Dean's mouth was set, his nostrils flared, and his brows were trying to meet over his nose.
"What is it, what happened to your hand?" When Dean didn't answer, Sam got the pen light from the first aid kit and checked his pupils, dodging Dean's attempts to knock him away. "Has to be done, Dean, I have to find out what's wrong. What happened?"
"Happened?" It came out like a croak. "Ao Ao's happened. I was practically wearing them." He pulled in a noisy breath. "Then the pecker head showed up and did the magic whatsit on me but I stopped him." Dean reached out with his right hand, and then pulled it back, hissing in pain. He looked at Sam and whispered out, "I did stop him, right? You're OK? They didn't bite you or anything?"
Sam blew out a sigh. "I'm fine. You stopped him and the ritual … killed him just like the Ao Ao. How are you feeling?"
"Fine, feel fine. Help me get up."
Sam got him to his feet, then helped him sit back down when he staggered a little bit. "You probably need a little more oxygen in you."
He had to think. Dean should already be on his way to the ER for a check up. He pulled out his cell phone, no reception, then had Dean check his phone. No reception. The car was at least two miles away and the pen would last twenty minutes. Which would be enough if the symptoms didn't come back. Normally they didn't - but this was Dean. So the plan was simple enough - walk to the car, drive Dean to the ER, pry Dean out of the car by brute force, and turn him over to the medical staff. Easy.
He checked his watch, figuring. It had been maybe ten minutes since the injection. Dean was breathing better but still loudly. He had fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, before it got really bad again if it was going to, and he could inject Dean at least one more time if he needed to. First thing - start walking. Second, watch for signs of shock and allergic symptoms. Third, keep his brother alive, in the forest, with anaphylactic shock. And all this time, he thought Stanford was a challenge.
"We need to get moving, Dean. Where are your boots?"
Dean looked up and at him and pointed behind him. "Stuck to the ground. Near the opening pretty sure." He winced and his hand jerked. "Gun, too. Watch it – it was hot."
Sam turned his head and spotted Dean's boots a few yards away, standing neatly side by side. The Colt was just few feet past them near Dean's duffel. He almost dropped the gun when he saw bits of burned skin still attached to the grip. He rubbed those off against the pine needles and grass beneath him and tucked the gun in Dean's duffel. Grabbing the boots and the duffel, he took the few steps back to his brother and knelt next to him. The boots were still tied tight. As he untied them, and slid them over Dean's socks, he looked at him again. "How did you get these off without untying them?"
"I just came out of them."
He put his left hand out to Sam, and Sam hoisted him to his feet. He pulled Dean's flannel shirt closed, pinning it with a safety pin from the kit. Without warning, he pulled Dean's right hand out and up, and poured cool bottled water over Dean's hand. He steadied Dean when he closed his eyes and swayed. "I've got to get something on this. This is a burn from the gun isn't it?"
Dean leaned his head back and nodded, breathing air in through his stuffed nose. "Yeah", he gritted out. "Hate freaking magic."
Sam gently dabbed burn cream on the hand, then wrapped it loosely in gauze before letting Dean pull it back to his chest tightly. He put both duffels over his shoulder before Dean could protest, then took his brother by the biceps, turned him, and started to walk them both toward the car.
Dean corrected their direction automatically and moved to the front. "Follow the river. There's a trail there. We'll come out just east of the car."
Sam watched Dean carefully as they walked. Dean didn't initiate conversation, but he seemed alert and replied when Sam spoke to him. He wasn't walking fast but he hummed and tapped his hand against his leg in tempo. He even let Sam walk next to him where the trail permitted. Dean's breathing was rough, and steadily getting louder, but they had walked for a good fifteen minutes before Dean stumbled, then bent over, hands braced on his knees, straining to heave in air. Sam shot out an arm out to steady him.
Dean shrugged off his hand and started forward again, muttering, "I'm fine, not far, be there in a minute."
"Let's rest for a minute, Dean. I need to check you over." He had to step in front of Dean to stop him.
Dean focused on Sam's face, and he smiled broadly. "Hey, Sam. What'cha doing? I was…" he glanced around, "'jus' coming back from … did we leave the bar? Should be around here somewhere."
Not so alert then. "Sure, Dean, it's just around the corner. How do you feel?"
Dean looked down at his chest. "Tee shirt's too tight." He pulled the flannel away and looked underneath it. "'K, chest's tight. You know that Heather chick there? She was hot."
"She was, was she? You'll have to introduce us." Dean was pale, and Sam could feel how hot he was. He led Dean to a stump and pushed him down. "What was she like?"
He shrugged off the duffels and knelt on the ground next to them. He opened Dean's duffel and began to root around for the epi-pen that Dean carried. Another shot, car, ER, still good. He glanced up when Dean pulled a noisy wheezing breath – he was staring intently in the direction of the river.
"Dean? What are you looking at, man?" He tapped Dean's thigh to get his attention. When Dean swiveled his head around to look at Sam, he tried again. "Tell me about Heather. What kind of music does she like? Does she play pool?"
"She likes rock and roll, course, kept picking the best songs on the jukebox." Dean leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees, and pulled another noisy breath in through his mouth.
"What about pool?" Sam finally upended the duffel and repacked it, inspecting each item before placing it back. He unzipped and searched the outer pockets in turn, finding M&M wrappers and spent cartridge casings.
"Nah, not pool. Too classy for that. She's a nurse." Dean wheezed in a breath, whistling as he breathed out. "Man, did you hear that? Here, I'll do it again." He performed another wheeze whistle to his evident satisfaction. "Heather could tell me all about that, couldn't she Sam? I bet she'd like to get me in for some hands on nursing care." He grinned and waggled his brows. He tried for the whistle for a third time and ended up coughing.
"What did you talk about tonight?" Sam upended his duffel and rechecked the first aid kit.
"Sam, um, I don't feel good." He struggled to his feet and almost pitched forward before Sam caught him. "I don't even remember drinking anything."
Sam held him through the nausea, then helped him to sit on the ground. leaning back against the stump. "It's just a reaction to the adrenaline, Dean, you'll be fine in a minute."
He repacked the duffels and turned back to Dean, having to shake him a little to get his attention. "Dean, do you remember where your epi-pen is? I need to find it right now." He listened to Dean's breathing again. "You've got to slow down your breathing."
"Hurts like a bitch, too."
"Do you remember what you did with your epi-pen, Dean? It's not in the duffel. You didn't leave it in the car and bring M&Ms or something, did you?" He saw Dean's expression change from almost comical concentration to wide-eyed realization.
Dean's head came up and he smiled. "The rougarou near Mobile, um, last month, remember? Chacalochee Bay. The crocodile guy. The silver rounds weren't penetrating." Every few words were punctuated by a wheezing breath.
Sam frowned. He didn't remember that hunt fondly. It took him an hour of near panic to find Dean, trudging back after he'd disappeared riding the damn were-crocodile like he was Steve Irwin with a mid-western accent. "Yeah, I remember. We figured to try to inject it. I didn't know you used the epi-pen."
Dean was frowned a little as he sucked in air. "Needed the auto-injection system. Took it apart, got the longer needle, you found that colloidal silver. Blessed it, had silver suspended in holy water. Supercharged the auto-injection. Man, it was awesome. Noise was so loud I thought for a minute he died of a heart attack. It took that sucker down flat." Dean blinked at him. "Forgot to put a new one in. Sorry."
"Ok, well, um, no worries then. Here, take these." He held out two more of the antihistamines Dean had taken earlier. It took Dean a couple of tries to swallow them. Sam was sure his lips were starting to turn blue. "Second, I need you to sit here for just a minute. And I mean sit here, don't try to stand or come after me. I'll be right back."
"OK, Sam. I'm sitting." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Sitting and breathing slowly." Dean looked up at him, "Sitting and not so much breathing."
Sam grabbed his duffel with the Ao Ao paraphernalia and bolted down the path, watching the riverside. He thought he could hear Dean's strained wheeze long after he couldn't see him.
A/N: Sam was speaking Guaraní, the people in whose mythology I found the Ao Ao. It's a very rough translation but should mean something like 'Leave us, monster, and die'.