Vampires Were People Too
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean belong to Kripke, the Civatateo belongs to the Aztec and the errors belong to me! BG.
Beta'd: By Wysawyg who is the absolute ultimate! She's a great author and the best beta! She made this chapter better than it otherwise would have been. Thanks for the great suggestions and for keeping Sam's magical, massaging hair in check. LOL
As usual, I had homework after she beta'd so any and all remaining errors are my own.
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"It'll be okay," Sam said quietly. He maintained eye contact with his brother and placed a comforting hand behind Maria's head, pulling her closer. "We'll take care of this. It'll be okay."
Dean's hard stance did not change, but he nodded once before turning away. A cough tickled Sam's throat and he fought against it, his eyes watering. The urge to cough grew until Sam thought his chest would explode. He abruptly pulled away from Maria, stood and turned his back. The coughing started as quiet bursts of air and soon turned into deep, wet hacks as he tried to eject the traitorous lungs from his chest.
He felt a hand on his back and didn't need to look to know it was his brother's. Maria placed her wrinkled handkerchief in his hand and he nodded a thank you, not able to spare any breath to say the words. He felt light-headed as the coughing fit continued, his lungs starved for oxygen. Black specks appeared in his vision and Sam placed a hand on the back of armchair to maintain his balance.
Finally, he felt something break loose from deep inside his lungs and he coughed it up, spitting into the white embroidered hanky. He sucked in deep gulping breaths and concentrated on remaining upright. Dean's hand left his back and grabbed his wrist firmly. Sam's hazel met his brother's worried green and he furrowed his brow. He followed Dean's line of sight down to the handkerchief still clutched in his hands.
Flecks of sand glittered brightly in a puddle of red.
…………………………………………………………Chapter Three…………………………………………………………
Dean didn't release Sam's wrist as he carefully plucked the handkerchief out of Sam's fist and examined it closely. It was definitely sand granules and blood. Sam's blood. He balled the handkerchief and stuck it in his coat pocket. "We'll return it to you after we get it cleaned," Dean assured Maria. He put on his best charming smile, but he didn't make eye contact with her. His only concern right now was for his little brother.
Sam was panting heavily, trying to catch his breath. The death grip he had on the chair preventing any blood from reaching his chalk-white fingers. Dean moved his grip from Sam's wrist to his elbow, offering himself as a steadying post.
"Thanks," Sam said breathlessly. Sam had to be struggling if he not only accepted Dean's help, but gratefully, and not with the scowl of a little brother wronged by perceived hovering.
"You saw her, didn't you?" Maria asked. Her voice was fearful and her words hesitant. "You saw the civatateo."
"Yeah," Dean said. He tried to steer a mostly pliant Sam towards the door, but Sam grew resistant and turned to face Maria.
"Can you tell us anything else?" Sam asked. He tossed Dean a look of minor annoyance when Dean tugged on his elbow. "Anything at all, even if you think no one would believe you?"
Maria's eyes flitted down the hall in the direction her children had disappeared a few minutes ago. Her gaze returned to the brothers and she knotted the hem of her shirt with her fingers in apprehension. "The legend of the civatateo states that each one was a noblewoman who died in childbirth. That death is considered a warrior's death and she was awarded all the powers of a priest."
"Wait, so she's like a god?" Dean asked. His stomach sank; he had a bad feeling about this. "A blood-thirsty, Aztec god or a beautiful goddess of Greek love, god?" He gave Sam a dirty look for the raised eyebrow that shot up in response. "What? I read." Sam's eyebrow climbed higher until it disappeared behind disheveled bangs.
Maria glanced first to Sam and then back to Dean before continuing. "The civatateo are from Aztec myth and you are correct, our gods were often not benevolent. I do know she follows Huitzilopochtli westward as the sun sets."
"The Hummingbird?" Sam asked, his voice raw from coughing.
Maria's face registered not only surprise at Sam's words, but fear. Not that Dean could blame her. The civatateo was still out there and if she'd attacked Maria before, he could see why she'd be afraid for her family. Dean, however, chose pissed. The soulless freak had cursed his little brother and she was going down.
"Yes, the Hummingbird." Maria gave Dean a stern, disapproving look when he half-snorted. The look faded quickly back to apprehension. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to help you." Tears welled in Maria's eyes and she brushed at them with the back of her hand.
Sam placed a hand on her shoulder when a small sob escaped her lips. "Are you going to be okay?" Sam asked, softly.
Maria graced Sam with a watery smile. "Eventually." She dabbed at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.
"I know it's hard for you to talk about this," Sam said, his eyes conveying his sincerity. "We appreciate your help."
Maria drew in a deep breath and sighed, her brown eyes radiating with her heart's anguish. "I wish I knew of a way to defeat her, but surely the answer is in the old legends." When the tears started afresh, she sniffed, "One of you must die to save the other. It is the only way I know works for certain."
"No one's dying here," Dean said harshly, his eyes flicking up to Sam's. "You hear me?"
Maria sniffed again. "I think I need to be alone. I am sorry."
"It's okay, we're leaving," Dean said. He took a step closer to Maria and whispered. "How much time have I got here?"
Maria looked up at Dean, her brown eyes swimming with tears now and her cheeks wet. "It is different for everyone. When Pedro, when he…" Maria trailed off and lowered her gaze. When she continued her voice was barely above a whisper. "It had only been three days and I was very sick. If Pedro had not summoned the civatateo I believe I would have died that night."
Three days? That was hardly any time at all. Panic flared in Dean's chest, but he ruthlessly squashed it. "Thank you for talking to us."
Maria nodded at Dean. She turned her attention to Sam and offered him a small smile. "For what it is worth, I am sorry. I know what you are going through. If you need anything, my home will be open to you."
"Thanks," Sam replied simply. He swayed nearly imperceptibly and placed a hand on the arm chair to steady himself.
Dean motioned to Sam and waited until he headed for the door to follow. Sam walked slowly and carefully picked his way to the door. Dean frowned and closed the gap in two quick steps. Sam's gait resembled an old man, an old man with arthritis and a bad case of gout. "You gonna be okay?"
"I'm fine, Dean," Sam said. He opened the door and the smell of rotting flesh assaulted the brothers' senses.
Dean scrunched his face in disgust before a horrifying thought occurred to him. "Is it back? Do you see her?" He pushed his way past Sam's lean form and out onto the front steps. He peered into the blackness, but other than the scent increasing, he couldn't find a trace of anything unusual.
"I think it's the yucca from along the main road," Sam stated. "Its blossoms are supposed to smell like rotting meat to attract bats and crows for pollination and scent travel for miles out here."
Dean stood agape for a second before a crooked grin appeared on his face and he raised his hand to backslap Sam on the chest only to stop midair. He didn't want to precipitate a coughing fit. "That's my geek-boy," Dean quipped. "Good thing you've still got it, Sammy. I think we're gonna need it."
Sam gripped the railing and stepped down the stairs. A cool breeze carried the scent of night-blooming flowers and chilled the air. Stars twinkled brightly in the dark sky and sand crunched under their boots as the brothers walked to the Impala. Sam rested his hand on the handle of the passenger door and looked at Dean over the top of the car. "You know, we may not be able to figure this out in time." Sam's quiet tone included a hint of apology at his perceived future short-comings.
"We will," Dean insisted, firmly. He opened the driver's door and motioned with his head for Sam to sit down. Even in the dark, Dean could see Sam roll his eyes before slipping inside the car. He waited for the passenger door to close with a gentle slam to join Sam in the Impala.
He could see the look on his brother's face, the one that Sam used when he was trying to look impassive and failing miserably. The tight-lipped, squinchy-eyed, furrowed brow, I'm a tough guy look that just didn't quite fit on Sam's face. There was no clearer sign that his little brother was scared and internalizing a shit load of emotion that he didn't want Dean to know about.
"We will, Sam," Dean repeated. He didn't need to complete the rest of his thoughts out loud, nor did he need Sam to tell him what the small huff of disapproval meant. Instead, the silence in the Impala spoke of insecurity laced with resoluteness. Neither willing to admit they were afraid, but both determined not to let the other do the unthinkable.
Dean wanted to flick on the radio, blast the speakers and lose himself to the pounding strains of music if only for a few minutes. He didn't though, one side-glance at Sam was enough to keep his hand off the dial. Sam's fingers were hidden underneath increasingly wild locks of brown and were rubbing his temples.
Sam broke the silence first. "You're headed back to the motel?"
"You want to go anywhere with a sandbox in your shorts?" Dean asked. He chuckled silently at Sam's glare. "We need showers, dinner and maybe a little sleep before the sun comes up."
"I agree about the shower," Sam said, his gravelly voice cracking. "There's sand everywhere." Sam glanced around the car and swept some sand off the dash onto the floorboards. "How long do you think it's going to take to get it out of the Impala?"
"That depends," Dean said. "How hard are you going to work on it?"
"Me?" Sam asked. "I thought…"
"That maybe I'd clean out my car and leave you alone so you could research the civatateo?" Dean raised an eyebrow and smirked at Sam. "How can you even think about research when my baby needs attention too?"
"Are you serious?" Sam asked, narrowing his eyes.
Dean held back a laugh and schooled his features. It'd been awhile since he'd been able to pull a fast one on Sammy. "I never joke about my car."
"Dean." Sam's voice was all but a whine of protest. "I don't think that's the…" He broke off at Dean's chortle of amusement. "You're a jerk, you know that?" Sam said, laughter infiltrating his voice.
Dean shifted in the seat and opened his mouth to reply when a sharp, piercing jab attacked his right hip bone. "Ouch," he muttered under his breath. He reached down to scratch and the pain intensified. "Son of a bitch."
"What's the matter?" Sam asked, his eyes radiating concern. "Are you okay?"
"Sam, relax," Dean said trying to reassure his little brother. "Something's poking me and – ouch – damn it!" He struggled to reach whatever was relentlessly burrowing into his skin while keeping one hand on the steering wheel and an eye glued to the road. He had just about reached it when Sam abruptly turned the wheel causing the car to lurch and Dean to lose his grip on it.
"For God's sake, Dean, pull over!" Sam commanded.
"I can do this," Dean growled. His fingers grazed a long, thin inflexible sliver directly over his hip bone. He winced as the movement of grabbing it jabbed it further into his skin. With one smooth tug it was free. "Got it," he said, waving it in Sam's face as proof. Sam snagged it from his hand. "Hey, that was mine."
"And now it's mine," Sam crowed. Dean frowned and mouthed the words back at Sam in mockery; although, he did seem to remember using that logic on his little brother more than once.
Sam reached into the duffel sitting on the back seat and fished out the flashlight. He coughed a couple of times as his lungs protested all the twisting and pressure against the seat and Dean watched him carefully for a moment. The coughing stopped without incident and Dean breathed in a small sigh of relief.
"It looks like a cactus spike," Sam observed, twisting the needle under the light. "You probably picked it up from the sand."
Dean squirmed in the seat and rubbed his hip. It burned where the cactus needle had been. He shifted again. "Stupid thing burns."
"I wouldn't move around so much, Needles McSquirmy-pants," Sam cautioned. "It may not be the only one."
Dean instantly stilled. "You think? I mean, with all the moving around we've already done, don't you think I'd already know."
"You didn't this one," Sam reminded him. "I'm just saying you got off lucky all things considered."
Dean's eyes opened wide as the ramifications of Sam's statement sunk in. "Well hell." Sam chuckled lightly. "Laugh it up, Sammy. Just because you didn't find one yet doesn't mean you don't have one in your pants too."
The grin dropped off Sam's face. "Avoid the bumps," he intoned.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Thirty minutes later Dean eased the Impala into the motel parking lot. Sam yawned deeply, but avoided stretching. He felt like he could sleep for a week and he didn't have time for that. They only had approximately three days to figure out how to defeat the civatateo.
Dean was out of the car with the duffel bag before Sam could get his door open. He thought Dean was in a hurry to get inside and search his clothes for cactus spikes until the passenger door opened. The concerned look on his big brother's face made his heart sink. This hunt was going sideways quickly, even by their standards.
"Are you actually getting out of the car?" Dean asked. "Or were you planning on sleeping here?"
Perfect. Dean's words contained just enough sarcasm mixed with borderline obnoxiousness to let Sam know his brother was a little freaked. "Nah, I figured I'd take pity on you and let you have a head start to the shower. You know that's the only way you're going to beat me in there."
"Not even on your best day, Sammy," Dean said, a smile gracing his features and his mood seeming to lift a fraction. He leaned inside the car and wrapped a hand around Sam's arm. "Lucky for you I'm feeling generous today. You get the shower first."
"Thanks." Sam swung his legs out of the car. "I got it, Dean." He tugged his arm a couple of times trying to free it from Dean's grip.
"I know," Dean replied and in his irritating big brother way completely disregarded it. The strong pull on Sam's arm helped him get his bearings and, if Sam was being honest with himself, his butt out of the car.
Sam leaned heavily on the side of the Impala and Dean slammed the door shut. "Dean, we're going to have to talk about this."
"Not right now," Dean countered, effectively dismissing Sam. "Showers, food, sleep. Then we'll discuss how we're going to beat this thing."
"That's not what I…" Sam trailed off when Dean turned his back and headed for the motel room. Sam sighed and followed slowly behind him. Dean was already in avoidance mode. By the time Sam crossed the threshold Dean was sitting on the bed, untying his shoes.
Sam noticed his duffel was sitting on his bed. He tightened his lips into a fine line. Dean had put it there before sitting down which meant he was on the verge of hovering. Sam stood in the doorway with his hand resting on the frame studying his brother and trying to gauge what he was thinking. He had a sneaking suspicion that Dean was not only feeling guilty for some reason that would only make sense to Dean, but that he was also trying to help Sam without being obvious about it. That usually only meant one thing, he was worried and trying not to let Sam know.
Sam picked the best strategy possible and that was to ignore Dean's behavior until he could call him on it. Right now the best he could hope for would be sarcasm and deflection. He shut the door and crossed the room to his duffel when Dean looked up from pulling off his socks. A small stream of sand poured out of the sock and onto the rock tile floor.
"I'll try not to take too long in the shower," Sam said as he pulled clothes out of his duffel. He'd have to change everything from t-shirt to socks as they were all filled with fine sand.
"No hurry," Dean said, his eyes flicking to Sam before turning his attention back to his shoes. He pounded the heel of the shoe on his palm and puffs of sand joined the pile on the floor.
Sam scrunched his forehead until wrinkles appeared. "No hurry?"
"Nope," Dean replied. He balled up his socks and tossed them in the corner. When Sam remained rooted to the spot, Dean looked up and frowned. "What?"
A deafening sneeze was the response. "Sorry," Sam said sheepishly. He rubbed his nose with his finger. He'd sneezed sand out of his nose and it itched and burned.
A look of concern made a brief appearance before Dean banished it with a smirk. "Go, before I change my mind."
Sam rolled his eyes, but gathered the armful of clothes he had assembled on the bed and headed for the bathroom. The bathroom was small, but the shower had a power nozzle and Sam was looking forward to the massaging action on his aching muscles and joints. He placed his fresh clothes on the counter and turned on the shower water to heat. He pulled his jeans down to his knees before he remembered he should be checking for cactus needles and stopped short. He carefully examined his jeans and, finding them to be needle-free, he let them drop to the floor and walked out of them.
Sam stepped into the shower and sighed. The undulating flow of water on his back felt as good as he had been anticipating. It stung a little where the sand had abraded his skin, but overall the powerful spray was worth the price. Using a washcloth and a great deal of soap he scrubbed all the sand from his body. It took three times of scrubbing his head with shampoo to get rid of all the fine granules in his scalp and he wasn't positive he had gotten them all.
The hot water eased sore muscles and warmed him from the outside-in for the first time all day. Reluctantly, he turned the water off, toweled dry and dressed, his stiff joints protesting. Sam squirted a line of toothpaste and made quick work brushing his teeth. He frowned at the pink tint in the foamy paste and irrationally stopped dead in his tracks, listening for Dean as if his brother would pound on the door any second asking why Sam's gums were bleeding. He huffed at his own thoughts, rinsed out his toothbrush and stuffed it into his toiletry bag.
Sam opened the door and started to leave the bathroom, but changed his mind and turned back around to wipe steam off the mirror. He had been avoiding his reflection. If he looked half as bad as he felt then it was no wonder Dean was being so accommodating. The face that stared back at him was pale with dark circles under his eyes. From the drooping eyelids to the soft wrinkles of pain in his forehead everything spoke of illness and weariness. In short, he looked like crap. It explained why Dean was treating him like he'd fall down if the wind blew too hard.
"You done admiring yourself, Samantha?" Dean asked from the doorway, clearly visible reflected in the mirror.
Sam smiled and turned around. "Don't be a jerk." The demand lost some of its insistence with the delivery.
"I'll stop being a jerk when you stop…" Dean sputtered to a stop when Sam punched him on the arm on his way past to keep Dean from finishing his come-back. Sam bypassed his bed and headed for the computer. "Sam?"
"What?" Sam asked, genuinely perplexed at Dean's disapproving tone. He wracked his brain trying to think what Dean might be upset about when Sam remembered he'd left his clothes kicked under the sink. "I'll pick up my clothes when you're done." He sat down at the table and opened the laptop.
Sam glanced over at Dean who was standing in the doorway gaping at him as if he'd suddenly grown a second head. "I don't care about your dirty underwear, Sam. I wasn't done talking." Dean's eyes narrowed. "Get some sleep, no research." Dean didn't wait for a response from Sam. He shut the bathroom door and Sam could hear the water running almost immediately.
"Whatever, Dean," he muttered to himself. "We can't afford to slow down right now." It didn't take long to power up the laptop and even less time for Sam to immerse himself in the legend of the civatateo.
He was hip deep in Aztec mythology when Dean opened the bathroom door, steam billowing around him and into the room. "I thought I told you to get some sleep." His green eyes flashed in accusation.
"You did," Sam agreed. His fingers danced over the keyboard as he entered 'Nahuatl' into the search engine. "But seeing as how you're not Dad, I didn't feel I had to listen." He looked up and watched as concern flipped to annoyance and back again. "We have a lot of work to do, Dean."
"For how long?" Dean asked. He picked up his shoes and took a seat across the table from Sam.
"How long what?" Sam didn't look up from the computer, but quickly scanned the text, searching for the words she had first shouted at Dean.
The laptop closed on his fingers and Sam looked up. "How long can you keep it up if you don't get some rest?" Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Dean interrupted him. "You were already sick, Sam, and whatever she did, she didn't make things better, that's for damn sure. If you don't take care of yourself it'll only get worse."
"I may not have enough time to figure this out if I do stop," Sam replied, his voice soft. "Three days, Dean, that's not a lot of time to sift through centuries of mythology."
Dean averted his eyes and took a deep breath before turning back to Sam. "We'll figure it out, Sam. We will. But I need to know right now that you aren't going to do anything stupid."
"I'd say you're more the one with the long history of hare-brained ideas than I am," Sam deflected. He tried to push the monitor screen back up, but Dean held it down firmly.
"Sam, promise," Dean insisted. His expression was open, unguarded and it left Sam defenseless against his brother.
Sam pulled his hands off the keyboard and the lid on the laptop clicked closed. "It makes sense," Sam said. His voice softened at the hurt look on Dean's face. "I'm the logical choice." Dean opened his mouth in protest and Sam cut him off. "It would save you."
"Me?" Dean asked, his tone incredulous. "How in the hell do you figure it saves me?"
Sam furrowed his brow. "You'd live." He fingered the white threads of a small hole in the knee of his jeans. "You wouldn't have to worry about saving me from turning into something evil or from having to kill me if you couldn't."
He didn't know what reaction he expected from Dean: anger or denial at his words maybe or a quiet insistence that it would never come to that. What he didn't expect was for Dean to lock down and quietly leave without so much as a backwards glance. Moments later the Impala engine roared to life and the headlights lit the room before Dean pulled out of the parking lot.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Dean popped in a cassette and cranked the volume intent on draining away some of his anger with Metallica. The beat thumped through his chest and into his blood chasing away the rush of emotions he'd experienced at Sam's words. They really shouldn't have surprised him, but they did. Dean knew it wasn't Sam's faith in God that had taken a beating in Providence as much as it was his faith in himself. He just hadn't been expecting to hear his little brother talk about sacrificing himself as the logical choice. It wasn't even an option.
Not that he wanted to sacrifice himself either. He needed to be here for his brother. Hell, he wanted to be here. He didn't have a death wish. He hadn't been lying when he told Sam he was tired. Some days he was so tired of all the sacrifice and all the fighting, but that didn't mean he wanted to die. He just wanted a break. Although, he'd long ago quit expecting the universe to grant him one.
Dean pulled into the town's one small café and killed the engine. He had been expecting it to be closed and he assumed he'd be picking up chips and deli case sandwiches from the local convenience store. The blue and red open sign in the window had drawn him like a moth to the flame. It had also drawn real moths, gnats and more of the biting flies he'd fought off in the heat of the day. He was beginning to miss the cooler climate of the Midwest where he and Sam seemed to spend the majority of their time.
The bell chimed merrily when he opened the door and Dean found himself the object of scrutiny. All conversation dropped to a standstill and all eyes turned in his direction. He rolled his eyes and continued to the counter. Small towns were annoyingly close-knit at times and yet it amazed him how often people looked the other way when someone they supposedly knew and cared about was in trouble. He'd never quite figured that one out.
Dean rested a hip on the edge of a counter stool and picked up the To-Go Menu to peruse. He knew he wanted a burger and fries, but he wanted something a little healthier for Sam, something that would keep if he couldn't get Sam to stop and eat.
"What'll you have, sonny?"
Dean nearly snorted at the words. He was almost twenty-eight and butting up close to thirty. He hadn't thought of himself as a kid for a long time. He looked over the top of the menu at a gray-haired woman with bifocals that dangled from a silver chain around her neck. If he had to guess, he'd place her at over sixty.
"Cheeseburger and fries for me and…" Dean quickly scanned the salads and nixed them all. "Ah, what do you have that would be okay if it sat out all night?"
"Do you have a microwave?" she asked, snapping her gum. The habit amused Dean and he was reminded of an old show he used to watch when he was younger. Of course, it had been old then too and he couldn't think of the name. That was going to drive him nuts.
He wracked his brain trying to remember if he'd seen a microwave in their room. "I think so," he said.
Belle, that was her honest to God name according to her name pin, smiled a tobacco-yellowed smile at him and cracked, "Didn't realize I was asking such a hard question."
"We're just passing through and I couldn't remember if I'd seen one in our room," Dean explained, uncharacteristically sharing more information than normal. "I'm looking for something a little blander. My brother's not exactly adventurous when it comes to food." It was not entirely untrue, but it wasn't the undiluted truth either.
"Oatmeal and fresh fruit?" Belle suggested. "That'd keep."
Dean sniggered. It was healthy, it would keep and he'd get the opportunity to tease Sam about eating old man food. It was perfect. "Sounds good. It's to-go."
"Kind of figured as much, unless you're keeping that brother of yours in your pocket," Belle quipped, ringing up his order on an antiquated cash register.
"Nah, I'm just happy to see you," Dean responded out of reflex tossing Belle a megawatt smile.
She slapped him on the arm with her ticket book. "Someone's gunning for an extra dessert." Belle placed the order on the ticket wheel and turned back to Dean. "Or a spanking. That'll be fourteen dollars and eighty-seven cents."
Dean handed her a twenty. "Add a coffee and keep the change, Belle," he instructed.
"Well, aren't you a sweet-heart," Belle cooed. She pocketed the change and grabbed a coffee carafe. After filling Dean's mug she set the pot down on the counter and asked, "Do you want a slice of pie? I've got a piece of apple left."
"I never turn down pie," Dean said with a smile. Belle returned his smile and walked away to get the pie. Dean took a sip of his coffee, rested his arms on the counter and nursed the warm cup in his hands. He couldn't help but overhear the conversation taking place over his left shoulder.
"I heard that Indian went and got himself killed at that Catholic Church," a coarse voice remarked.
"Damn fool claimed that some ancient vampire curse was killing his wife," another remarked. "He was talking about it down at the site about a week ago."
"He told me he'd tried stabbing her through the heart with an obsidian knife, thought it might do the trick," yet another man stated.
"His wife?" the first man asked.
"No, you damn fool! The vampire."
Dean shook his head when laughter erupted. If only the stupid idiots knew how close they were to the truth. His attention refocused on Belle when she slid the apple pie between his arms. "Your order will be up in about five minutes."
"No hurry," Dean lied amiably. He wanted to get back to Sam to tell him what he'd overheard. He picked up his fork and dug into the pie. She'd warmed it up for him. "Oh man, now that's the stuff."
Belle smiled and nodded. The bell chimed at the service counter and she turned towards the kitchen. "Doug, ya idiot, I said it was to-go!"
Doug shouted something back at Belle that Dean couldn't quite hear, but it precipitated a yelling match between the two of them. By the time all the shouting was over, Dean had finished his pie and coffee. Moments later Belle set a paper bag down in front of him. "Have a good night, kiddo."
"Thanks," Dean replied. He stood, grabbed the sack off the counter and spun on his heel.
"Don't be a stranger and bring that brother of yours in next time!" Belle shouted after him. Dean waved a good-bye and headed for the Impala.
A quick drive later Dean pulled back into the parking slip in front of their motel room. The lights were off and he did not see the blue-glow of his brother's laptop either. Maybe Sam had finally listened to him and gone to bed. That would be par for the course now that he had information to share.
Soft congested snores greeted his arrival so Dean avoided turning on any lights. He walked through the room based on memory and placed the to-go sack on the table. He continued on to the bathroom and flicked on the light knowing it probably wouldn't wake Sam.
His little brother was asleep on top of the bedspread, fully clothed, one hand still resting on the laptop that, according to the little blinking orange light, had gone into power save mode. Apparently Sam had decided to obey the letter of the law if not the spirit behind it. Dean shook his head and gently eased the laptop out from under Sam's hand. He was surprised when it didn't wake his brother. Sometimes Dean thought Sam had his computer lo-jacked.
"Sam?" Dean waited for a sign his brother had heard him, but Sam didn't stir. He sat next to Sam and placed a hand on his forehead. Sam had a fever, but then he might have had one before too. Dean wasn't sure because every time he asked or tried to check Sam grumbled about him being a mother hen and that was wrong on so many levels. The lighting was poor, but Dean could see the pallor on his little brother's face and the dark circles under his eyes. "You're not dying, Sam, you hear me?" the words came out of their own volition.
Dean held his breath waiting for a reaction from Sam. He hadn't meant to say anything, but now that he had, he felt better having said them aloud especially since it was clear Sam was fast asleep. "It's not the logical choice, it's not any choice. No one's dying here."
This time Sam did move. He mumbled something in his sleep and his fingers ghosted over the computer that was no longer there. Sam crinkled his brow, but didn't open his eyes. "Dean?" His quiet question contained the rough edges of sleep.
Dean stuffed down feelings of desperation and forced neutrality into his tone. "Yeah?" He shifted to get a better look at Sam.
"She called your car a farting beast." A smile teased the corners of Sam's mouth.
"That bitch," Dean replied, his tone light and teasing.
"Jerk," the automated reply came before the snoring began again. Dean puffed a laugh. Sam had never really woken up completely.
He stood, carried the computer to the table and hit the power button. Five different websites with information on the civatateo, Nahautl, and Aztec mythology popped onto the screen. Dean took a seat and scrolled through the information before he typed his own prompt into Google and waited for a response. "Son of bitch," Dean swore softly when it generated one hundred and eighty-six thousand possible hits.
This was going to be harder than he thought.
……………………………………………………………..Supernatural………………………………………………………
AN1: Thanks to Muffy for the help with the desert details and Charlie Girl for proof-reading.
AN2: So, for those of you who may have read Envy and recall a certain Supernatural moment I had of my own?...
Shelly, one of my Supernatural cohorts at work had one on Monday.
I was running late due to a VERY sick puppy that I had to take to the vet. I arrived at work a bit harried and didn't really notice anyone in particular on the way to my office. I had barely managed to sit down at my desk, my computer still warming up when Shelly appeared in the doorway.
I looked up and said, "Oh, my God, Shelly, what happened?"
She pointed to her scraped chin and road-rash cheek with her splinted finger. The look on her face was the most pathetic look I've ever seen on a grown woman. In a sad little voice she said, "I lost my shoe."
"No way, not you too!"
"Yep, taking out the garbage. My knees are all banged up too." At this statement her face hardened a bit and she grated out, "Whatever vortex you and Ann (the lady that saw me fall and had her own incident later) have going on here, keep it to yourself."
LOL – Although, I'm beginning to think she may be right about the vortex.
AN3: Sorry this chapter is so late. I had a few llamas running around in my head and it took awhile to corral them into behaving. Thank you for your patience.
And yes, to those of you keeping track (that's YOU, Charlie Girl) the one-shot, turned three-shot is now a who-knows-how-long-shot. But it IS all plotted out and ready to be written. :D
As always – thanks for reading!
