Vampires Were People Too
Disclaimer: I do have a lovely signed poster of the boys hanging up on the wall in my office, but alas, I STILL do not own Supernatural or…well….practically anything else.
Beta'd: By the incredibly talented Wysawyg who helped make this chapter so much better than it was!
I played after she beta'd so as usual any and all remaining errors are mine!
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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.
…….…………………………………………………….Chapter Four……………………………………………………….
She sauntered towards him, her white gown fluttering around shapely legs. As she drew closer, he took in her face: beautifully sculpted cheek bones, bronze skin, almond-colored eyes and full lips. Thick, black hair hung loosely around her shoulders and down her back. She stroked his cheek and he melted into her touch. He wanted her like he'd wanted no other.
"Amini," she whispered delicately in his ear.
He shivered at the rush of air from her lips warming his cold skin. He cupped her face with two large hands and pulled her in for a tender kiss. When she stepped away from him, his heart pounded hard against his chest wall. "Don't leave," he begged.
"Camapaca camapotoniliztl, Amini," she said, her smile sliding from warm and inviting to a smirk and finally to a malicious snarl. "Macehualli."
Her form slowly turned to sand and it swirled about him in an angry furor before disappearing.
"No!" he shouted as his heart fractured.
Dean sat bolt upright. In spite of the air conditioning that hummed through the vents, Dean was roasting. He'd kicked all his blankets off while sleeping and they lay in a heap on the floor next to the bed. He wiped sweat off his face with both hands, hands shaking from the aftermath of adrenaline and emotions swirling inside him. "Well that was just all kinds of wrong," he muttered.
He drew in a deep breath and tried to catch his bearings. He felt as if he had been standing out in the desert only moments ago. He could still smell the flowers and herbs she had used to wash and the silken texture of her lips was a feather-light memory on his mouth. As he controlled his breathing the raspy breathing coming from the other bed became the predominant sound in his ears.
Sam coughed several times and a wet mucous sound caught in his throat. He made choking noises and Dean was on his feet and padding over to Sam before he registered the movement. "Sammy, wake up," he instructed, one hand under Sam's neck helping him to a semi-inclined position.
Sam's eyes opened and he coughed and coughed again, each one growing more violent than the last. His eyes watered and a look of panic reflected in them. One hand desperately gripped Dean's t-shirt while the other rested palm-flat on the bed providing a grounding force for the coughing spasms. Every action shouted at Dean that his little brother couldn't breathe.
"Easy, Sam," he coached. "It'll be okay." But it wasn't okay and Dean knew it. The civatateo had cursed his baby brother and he was slowly dying before Dean's eyes. Abruptly, Sam jumped from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. Dean paused for only a moment to flick on the light and followed close on Sam's heels. He stopped short of the doorway to give Sam some personal space while he spat into the toilet.
"I'm okay," a quiet, husky reassurance came from the dark bathroom. Running water preceded Sam's appearance in the doorframe. Droplets clung to strands of chestnut hair and dripped onto his t-shirt. He nodded a reply to Dean's unspoken question and walked slowly back to bed.
Dean sat down on his bed and leaned across the open space between them resting his arms on his legs. Sam pulled the blankets up and over his tall frame stopping at his chin. He panted shallowly and already his eyes blinked sleepily, but he maintained eye contact with Dean.
"A farting beast?" Dean asked. It wasn't what he wanted to ask. He wanted to know if Sam had found anything that would stop the curse, if he was really okay, if he was still afraid of the thing in his closet because right now, Dean was pretty sure he was.
Sam's lips curled in a smile. "So, I uh, talked in my sleep?"
"Oh yeah, spouting off crap about rainbows and unicorns before you drooled all over the computer," Dean teased. He had to sit back quickly to avoid the hurricane that was Sammy. "Sam, what the hell?" Blankets dropped to the floor by Dean's ankles as Sam stumbled past him.
"Where is it?" Sam asked. Hazel eyes flicked around the room; he spotted it on the table and rushed over to it. Sam opened it and hit the powered button before Dean had a chance to reply. Sam's face grayed and he swayed slightly as his recent flight across the room caught up with him.
"Sam, sit down before you fall down," Dean commanded with a mental eye roll. Sometimes for being such a smart guy his little brother was a bit forgetful of the most basic things: eating, sleeping or not fainting like a girl in front of his big brother.
Sam's eye roll didn't go unnoticed by Dean, but Sam dutifully sat down and nursed his head momentarily before looking at Dean. "Did you move it?"
"I think that's a given," Dean stated. "What's the matter, anyway?" He absently rubbed at the spot over his hip where he'd been impaled by the cactus spike.
"That bothering you?" Sam asked, changing the topic. He nodded towards the motion Dean made with his hand. "You did clean it and rub on antibacterial cream, didn't you?"
"Are you kidding me with this?" Dean asked, his mouth agape. "You're not seriously worried about a little jab by a cactus needle are you?"
"Dean, many cactus spikes are covered in bacteria that can lead to serious infections in an anaerobic puncture wound environment," Sam explained in his best, patient teaching tone. "I just think all things considered, it doesn't hurt to play it safe."
"I'll do it later," Dean conceded. He shifted uncomfortably under Sam's intense scrutiny. "I promise," he added at Sam's raised eyebrow response. "If you tell me what has you so freaked."
"I'm not freaked," Sam said in an offended tone, the weight of which was countered by the huge yawn that split Sam's face in two. "It just took me forever to find the translation site and I don't remember if I saved it to my favorites or not."
"You didn't," Dean replied. "I bookmarked it though and the other four sites you had up. You had some kind of document going too which is now saved as 'Sam Winchester Wears Women's Underpants.'" He tossed Sam a lop-sided grin.
"You're a riot," Sam croaked, his eyes scanning the text on his screen. "I had a hell of a time trying to translate from Nahautl to English."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Why are you even trying? We could talk to Maria."
"Because we don't really know what the civatateo said," Sam explained. "Because I'm trying to remember exactly how she said it and there are like a hundred different words that sound almost the same. And maybe because I don't want to put Maria through any more trauma than we have to," Sam yawned.
After another yawn, Sam stood and walked back to the bed. He flopped gracelessly onto the mattress and pulled the blankets high, shivering so hard the blankets trembled. He yawned a final time and rubbed at his eyes, then blinked hard as if trying to clear them.
Dean's lips twitched in amusement. "You know, you look five years old when you do that," he remarked affectionately. He twisted to snag the extra pillow from his bed and tossed it at Sam. "Here."
"What?" Sam scrunched his forehead. He picked up the pillow and prepared to throw it back to Dean.
"Keep it," Dean said, one arm half-raised to defend himself. "You should sleep sitting up a little bit. It might keep you from choking on your own snot."
"Nice, but I'm not going back to sleep," Sam protested. "I'm just trying to get warm, but we should start working now before it gets too hot."
"Sam, it's like four in the morning." Dean stood and walked a few feet away from his brother before spinning around again to face him. "And I don't know about you, but I'm tired."
This time, Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You do realize it isn't my first day as your little brother, right?" He wore the smug expression he usually sported after using Dean's own words against him.
"Okay, how about 'I'm not going anywhere until you've slept at least six hours?' Are you telling me you were in bed by ten o'clock?" Dean sat back down on his bed and dared his brother to lie to him with a single look.
"You know I didn't," Sam replied crossly, stacking the pillows behind him and leaning back. "You left here after ten."
"Huh, that's right," Dean said. He noticed with some satisfaction that while Sam intended to protest, he stayed in bed. Sam glared at him defiantly despite the drooping eyelids. "Are you hungry?"
"Not really." Sam yawned again and this time he did close his eyes. "I think maybe I will sleep a little longer."
"Good idea," Dean agreed. He stretched to reach the light between them and flicked it off. "We both will."
"Mm-hmm…'kay," Sam replied, sleepily.
Dean laid back and crossed his arms behind his head. Just a couple more hours of sleep and they'd finish this thing. Sam wasn't dying, not on his watch.
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Sam stretched to relieve the crick in his back and neck. He froze when a painful muscle spasm tightened around his chest and sucked the air from his lungs. He slowly counted to ten and released a fraction of tension with each number. It helped – marginally. Sam opened his eyes and blinked in surprise. Daylight streamed through the window and lit the room. It wasn't the soft yellow rays of the morning sun, but the white hot light of noonday or later. He focused in on the dust motes dancing merrily in the current from the quiet hum of the air conditioner and it nearly lulled him back to sleep.
Sam's eyes flicked to the clock and he groaned. Dean had let him sleep until one in the afternoon. It took supreme effort and an enormous amount of motivation he wasn't aware he even possessed to crawl out of bed when all he really wanted to do was close his eyes and go back to sleep. He sat on the bed, swaying slightly and stared at the bathroom door willing it to defy the laws of physics and move closer to him.
The obstinately stationary door didn't budge, so Sam pushed himself off the bed and walked on stiff legs to the bathroom. The idea of a warm shower propelled him faster than the call of his full bladder and he turned the taps on high to heat up. He rested a hip on the edge of the sink and undressed. Delicate grains of sand tinkled against the linoleum floor and he shook his head. It just kept coming back as if it was slowly making its way out of his skin.
He stepped into the shower and sighed as the water warmed his skin. The massaging spray on his tight back muscles soothed the ache and he contemplated the possibility of staying in the shower all day. All too soon he heard the motel room door open and shut followed by his brother's recognizable gait across the stone floor. "Sam, you in there?" Dean called from the other side of the bathroom door.
"No," Sam replied, shocked at how tired his voice sounded. "I figured out how to turn myself invisible and I'm standing behind you."
"Good," Dean replied, refusing to take the bait. "Because I have lunch and a lead."
"Be right out." Reluctantly, Sam turned off the water and toweled dry. He retrieved his clothes from the floor, ignoring the persistent twinges of pain in his back and shook out more sand. He gave them the obligatory sniff test, but they were clean enough to wear; he'd only put them on to go to bed. He shrugged on his t-shirt and bent down to pick up his sweats.
The change in altitude caused a wave of dizziness and a sudden and severe attack of nausea. He braced himself on the sink and breathed slowly and deeply through his nose until the sensation passed. His hands grew slick on the basin and he wiped the sweat of on his shirt. Sam hastily slipped into his sweats and opened the bathroom door.
Dean stood directly in front of him, looking over his shoulder at something on the television, his fist raised to knock on the door. "Watch out!" Sam shouted, knocking Dean's hand away from his face.
"Sorry, Sammy," Dean apologized, sheepishly. "I was a little distracted."
Sam nodded and noted with some relief that his head didn't pop off his neck as he'd feared it would. He squinted and peered in the direction of the television. "Are you watching a soap opera?"
Dean scowled, but turned quickly to turn off the television. "No," he denied in a guilty voice.
Sam mustered up the energy for a half a snort through congested nasal passages, walked the short distance to the laptop and sat down on the hardback chair with a grunt. "Sure, I believe you. Countless others wouldn't, but I do."
"Hey, it's not like there's a ton of options out here in the middle of B.F.E. with only three stations on daytime TV," Dean protested. He took the seat opposite Sam and began pulling containers out of a brown paper sack. "I picked up some real food and even some of the rabbit greens you seem to like."
He looked up at Sam and the grin dropped off his face. Dean's hazel reflected concern and a pinched, worried look accentuated the crinkles around his eyes. "What's the matter?" Sam asked.
"Sam," Dean's voice sounded strangled. "Your nose is bleeding."
Sam ran a hand under his nose and a line of crimson stained the back of it. He stared, mesmerized by the sparkling granules of fine sand drifting down the slope of his hand. He startled when a tissue waved in front of his face. He hadn't even noticed Dean standing up to get it. "Thanks."
He could feel Dean's eyes boring into him, but he ignored his brother and powered up the laptop. "I think she asked if I was your brother," Sam said, continuing as if nothing had happened. "Did she say anything else to you?" Dean continued to stare at him and did not answer. "Dude, what?"
"Nothing." Dean made a show of dishing out steaming food onto paper plates and set one down in front of Sam. "I'll answer your questions, you eat."
"I'm not hungry," Sam said. He dismissed Dean with a small head shake. He didn't feel hungry and he needed to finish the translations while it was still fresh in his memory. Many of the Nahautl words were similar in sound and meaning as it was without time erasing the clarity of recall. He could feel a headache teasing behind his eyes and he rubbed one temple with the fingers on his left hand.
Dean added a salad to the spread in front of Sam. "Amini."
"What?" Sam looked up from the computer at his brother.
"She said, 'Amini,'" Dean repeated. He lifted a fork full of mashed potatoes and gestured to Sam's plate with it. He shoved the bite into his mouth and made a show of exaggerated chewing until Sam picked up his fork. He swallowed hard. "And something like macaroni."
Sam had to swallow fast to avoid spewing food when he puffed a laugh. "Macaroni?"
"I don't know, Sam," Dean said, poking at his chicken with his fork. "It sounded like Macaroni."
"Okay, let's start with amini." Sam rolled his eyes when Dean pointed to his plate again, but he took another bite.
"So, uh, while I was at the diner picking up food last night I overheard some guys talking about Pedro." Sam paused to look at Dean and Dean motioned for him to continue eating. "One of them said Pedro tried stabbing the civatateo in the heart with an obsidian knife."
"A sacrifice?" Sam's curiosity piqued. "That's interesting." Sam stopped eating and pointed at Dean with his fork. "Did you know that some scholars believe that human sacrifice by the Aztecs is a myth perpetrated by Cortes to justify his invasion of Tenochtitlan?"
Dean made a noise of irritation. "Probably the same idiots that say wendigos, vampires and werewolves aren't real."
Sam puffed a small laugh "Probably." He stifled a cough and it came out as a muffled gagging sound. He glanced at Dean and knew he wasn't fooling his brother. "Anyway, most scholars maintain they have historical proof through the accounts of Mayans, hieroglyphics and Aztec converts to Christianity. If Pedro tried it on the civatateo, he must have believed in the sacrifices."
"Yeah, well, it obviously didn't work," Dean shot back, ignoring Sam's foray into anthropology 101. "I think he tried it at the church where he thought he was safest and she not only didn't die, she got angry and killed him outright."
Sam shook his head. "I read the coroner's report," he contradicted. "Pedro definitely killed himself. The angle is right, the force of impact." Sam's mind whirled through the facts he'd read last night. "Although, he could have tried to kill her first and when it didn't work…"
"He used the knife to kill himself," Dean finished. He fished the forgotten water bottles out of the sack and handed one to Sam.
"Yeah, thanks." Sam twisted the cap off his water bottle and sucked down half of it in one breath. "Dean, we need that knife."
"And the police have it in evidence lock up," Dean supplied.
Sam nodded. "Shouldn't be too hard to get it, should it?" The headache behind his eyes tickled his nose. He could feel the sneeze building.
"Not if they're holding it at the local sheriff's office," Dean said. He gave Sam an appraising look. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I, I…" unable to hold back the sneeze any longer, Sam let it go, "aatchoo!" This time he didn't need Dean to tell him his nose was bleeding, he felt the warm ribbon of blood streaming down his face, over his lips and past his chin. He cupped his hand under his face to catch what he could.
Vaguely he heard the sound of Dean's chair scraping against the stone floor and running footsteps before Dean firmly pinched Sam's nose with a tissue. He instinctively pulled away from the pressure on his face and Dean placed a hand on the back of his head and pushed it forward slightly. "The last thing you need is an upset stomach from swallowing blood," Dean rumbled from above. "You'd probably puke up a kidney." It was said in jest, but Dean's words sounded strained not teasing.
Sam nodded and closed his eyes. The cords in his neck tightened from the awkward position and he moaned nearly inaudibly. "Just relax and breathe through your mouth," Dean instructed. A cool hand on his forehead helped take the strain off his neck and shoulders.
It felt as if an hour passed while Dean stood behind him, holding his head and pinching his nose. When Dean finally stepped back a step and released his grip on him, Sam groaned. "That sucked." He opened his eyes and looked over at his brother. He stared, horrified by the blood on Dean's hands. Dean followed Sam's gaze and turned abruptly to wash his hands in the bathroom.
Sam pressed his hands on the table to help lever himself to a standing position. "Just sit tight, Sam," Dean commanded without turning in his direction. Sam sat back down and huffed. He'd never figure out how Dean did that.
Dean returned with another tissue and a wet washcloth. "Thanks," Sam said, gratefully. He wiped his face with the warm rag and washed the blood off his hands. "We should go." He tossed the washcloth onto the table and started powering off his computer.
Dean crouched down next to him and placed a hand on Sam's arm to get his attention. "You lie down and get more sleep. I'll be back in a couple of hours." Sam looked up at Dean and saw the fear before Dean pushed it to the background.
"Dean," Sam replied, quietly. "Getting more sleep isn't going to keep me alive any longer." He hesitated at the look of devastation that briefly crossed his brother's face. "The only thing that will is figuring out a way to stop the curse."
"We know how to stop the curse, Sam," Dean snapped, his voice rough with emotion.
"It won't come to that," Sam insisted. "And if it does, Dean, you have to promise you'll let me go."
"I already made the mistake of promising that once, Sammy," Dean said, his eyes taking on the ferocity of his conviction. "I won't make that mistake again."
Sam swallowed hard. "Then we need to stop figure this out before it comes to that, because I'm not going to make that mistake either."
Dean's eyes hardened in opposition, but Sam didn't back down, his own expression matching Dean's. Finally, Dean dropped his gaze and stood, offering Sam a hand up. "Then let's get busy and take care of the bitch."
Sam nodded in acceptance and grasped Dean's hand allowing Dean to pull him to his feet. "Let's go."
TBC
………………………………………..……………….Supernatural……..…………………………………………….
Thanks for reading!
AN: Sorry for the delay folks! It's PDR time at work and it is absorbing most of my time and nearly all of my will to live. :)
Muffy, I used your response to Sam's anthro lesson for Dean (it sounded just like him). Hope you don't mind. BG.
AN2: My humblest apologies for anyone reading Dead Men Tell No Tales. I swear I was working on chapter six, but I closed down my laptop when the finale started. Unfortunately, the scene I was working on was right in the middle of Sam's headspace regarding the Deal and I couldn't bear to work on it this week.
I was properly poked by someone regarding that story today, so I'm back on it. :)
Thanks for your patience.