AN: Just a nice, calm chapter. Heh.

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"If this turns into a Mummy 2 situation, I'm never coming back to Arizona," complained Dean from behind Sam's shoulder.

Sam had to smile a little, picturing the giant face coming out of the cloud of sand. He remembered watching the first Mummy movie with Dean and being grateful that they didn't have to face anything so terrifying. Yeah, that was a long time ago.

Sam turned away from the women at the window and lowered his voice a little, though they would still overhear if they paid attention. "You think Mara is behind the weather?" he asked. At one time, he never would have considered such a thing possible, but...they'd seen a lot of things that were supposedly impossible.

"I dunno. Either way, we need to lock this place down to keep the ladies safe and the salt lines in place and everything." Typically, Dean cared more about the practical than the why. And he had a good point.

Sam nodded. "We better check to make sure all the doors and windows are sealed."

"We can help," said Barb, her face set and serious. Sam had the fleeting thought that she'd have made a hell of a Hunter. She'd certainly survived plenty of weird in her life already.

"Remember, sand is insidious," Sam reminded them. "It doesn't need much space to get in." He didn't know if Mara could actually travel on the sand, but there was no reason to take any chances. As he spoke, the sandstorm reached them with a dull roar and the entire place trembled from the force. Sam had to raise his voice to be heard over it. "Make sure every single crack is closed or filled."

"If you find a problem, get one of us," Dean directed. As the women acknowledged the instructions, Sam hurried to check the dining room, where he'd be out of everyone's sight. He needed a minute to collect himself away from too-perceptive eyes. Not only had Dean's ministrations not made his hand any better, it was rapidly getting worse. So much worse. Sam's arm felt hot and swollen all the way up to his elbow, and he could feel his pulse in it. He didn't know exactly why, but the "infection" was spreading faster and faster. He whimsically wondered if the holy water bath had pissed it off.

Sam quickly checked the dining room's two windows, not looking at the reddish-brown haze that was all he could see on the other side of the glass. He hurried into the kitchen next, and Dean met him there. "Did you notice that the supposed sandstorm was focused right here?" Dean asked quietly, feeling around the edges of the kitchen window as he spoke.

Sam nodded. "Sandstorms, at least big ones, are pretty rare here. So it doesn't feel like a coincidence. But if it is Mara…"

"She's really upped her game," Dean finished.Sam nodded. The attacks had gotten closer together, and she'd attacked multiple construction workers at the same time. If she was behind this (and coincidences were almost never actually coincidences in their line of work, unexpected Thule incursion aside), it was a huge escalation. "Maybe she's pissed that she can't get to Judy."

"Or you. You shot her," Sam reminded him as they moved in concert to the big living room. The windows rattled harder, and he started to worry about them breaking. They needed to find some place safe for the Firth sisters to go. Actually, they all needed a safe place where they wouldn't get their skin scoured off.

"Or you," Dean argued. "You shot Camilla."

"I shot at her," Sam corrected, but without heat. Dean was right that Sam's actions were more likely to set the crazy ghost off than Dean's, except that if she knew Sam was already, well, dying, she might not bother to come after him anymore. It depended on how rational she was. Not that he was going to bring up the fact that the poison was killing him and they had no way to stop it to Dean.

They worked in silence – well, except for the whole building-shaking and wind-roaring-like-a-pack-of-lions – for a few minutes.

"Sam."

Sam didn't stop checking the outline of the front door, but something inside of him instinctively froze at that tone. When he was little, that tone would cause him to literally freeze in his tracks, then spill his guts about whatever he'd done to earn his big brother's censure. While Sam had long since trained himself not to react outwardly to it, he would probably never be completely inured. "Dean?"

"Why aren't you using your left arm at all?" Dean's voice wasn't loud, but then again, quiet Dean was often the scariest.

Sam schooled his face. He could no longer lift the arm, as Dean must suspect.

"We need to check if there's a sub-basement or crawl space or anything to hide in," he said, turning. "Because every single room has windows except the hallway."

Dean walked toward him, eyes stormy. He noted the three older sisters coming out of the hall but didn't acknowledge them. "Sammy, how – ?"

"Oh, shit! Oh, no!" Barb's yelp interrupted them. Sam and Dean sprinted down the hallway toward her voice. The woman was in the hall between her room and Judy's, trying to force a narrow door closed as sand poured out of it.

"Dryer vent," Sam realized out loud as he and Dean threw themselves against the door trying, probably in vain, to get it to close as sand literally poured through the vent and into the room, frustrating their efforts.

"Barb, put down a circle of salt in the living room and you and your sisters get in it," Dean yelled over the howl of the wind forcing sand through the small hole. "Dammit!" He pushed harder, making the door creak from their efforts and getting it another inch closed, but not stopping the sand from pouring through the remaining space into the hall.

Wait. That wasn't the wind howling. There was something white pushing through with the sand, just a lot slower. Dean was on the far side of the door from the opening and wouldn't be able to see it "Ghost," grunted Sam, pushing so hard against the door he didn't have breath left for more. "Shoot it!" Having only one arm, Sam had abandoned his shotgun in the living room, but Dean had his. Sam felt but couldn't hear Dean tapping on the door to acknowledge and to count down to when Sam should let go and jump back to give Dean space to shoot. On the third tap, Sam jumped back. Or he tried to.

By then, a figure formed of a combination of ethereal white and swirling red sand had nearly formed inside the utility/laundry closet. As Sam stepped back, the figure, larger than life and featureless, slashed out with one hand. It was powerful. The strike gouged the door hard enough to send it crashing open and Sam and Dean, already moving backward, into the far wall.

Boom. Dean hadn't lost the shotgun, and no matter what extra powers Mara had, she dissipated just as neatly as any other ghost.

Sam was on his feet and kicking and scooping aside sand as fast as he could one-handed, ignoring the deep thrum of pain radiating into his shoulder and chest with every movement, or the way his left hand and arm were nothing but dead weight. Or even the way the chill he'd been feeling had turned to a feeling that he was overheating and that his skin was stretched too tautly over his bones. "Close...and salt door," he panted. He wanted to make sure Dean was fine, except his brother had popped right back to his feet too. In fact, he elbowed Sam aside to finish the job and slam the door shut. Sam grabbed up the canister of salt he'd been carrying and laid a hasty but thick line in front of the door.

Dean sent him a look that said it wasn't going to hold. Yeah, Sam figured the same thing, but they had to do something. Dean's gaze flicked to Sam's left arm, but that was just one more thing they couldn't do anything about at the moment.

In sync, as usual, the brothers dashed back to the living room. All of the women were in the middle of the room with a circle of salt around them. Barb held the canister in her hands like she wanted to bash the ghost with it.

All four of the women jumped when Sam and Dean ran into the room, and again when the room rocked and trembled again like something big had smashed into it. There was so much sand and dirt swirling around the windows that it was almost dark inside. There was no way this was just an ordinary sandstorm.

As Sam had the thought, the kitchen window exploded and one of the women screamed. "Get down!" Sam ordered, knowing that other windows could blow out too, sending glass everywhere, not to mention allowing the wind to blow away their salt line. "Get under blankets!" He tossed the two knit blankets down, took the salt from Barb, and started to pour it over the blankets. Hopefully, some would get trapped in the yarn strands and offer some protection. A white figure swooped in from the kitchen, and Sam didn't even look over as Dean shot her again.

"Camilla!" screamed Barb, not lying down with her sisters. Her hair whipped wildly in the wind and she looked a little crazed. "Mara is killing people! She's ruining your roses and hurting and killing people for you! You need to stop her! She can't have anyone else!"

A lightbulb went on in Sam's head. He shoved the salt back into Barb's hand. "Give me the pack of seeds! And get down under the blankets."

She handed him the packet and crouched to obey the rest as several hands shot out from under the blanket to pull her down. Dean moved their way, still holding up the shotgun. He had to have noticed that the ghost had come directly at Sam. Guess she was pissed about him shooting at Camilla after all. But Barb had given Sam an idea.

Four things happened so close together it was nearly all the same time. A huge, white woman with clawed hands appeared outside the bay window at the rear of the living room, said window exploded, a shotgun boomed, and Sam threw himself across the women to try to shield them as much as he could.

Sam landed half on his bad side, and things whited out nearly to oblivion for a while –how long he couldn't be sure. But he was moving, rolling maybe, and there was so much noise that none of it really made sense. Pain was searing from his left hand all the way up to his shoulder and through his chest and stomach and down his left leg too. It was as if the poison in his blood had teeth and was chewing on him from the inside. And something was battering Sam from the outside too, scouring his skin and getting in his mouth and nostrils.

But hands were winding fabric over Sam's face, and he knew without being able to see that it was Dean trying to help him, trying to protect him from the...sand, that was it. Something nudged Sam's left elbow and the pain struck so hard he almost lost himself again. His right hand clenched and though he couldn't hear it, couldn't even feel it very well, something crinkled in his hand. Seed packet. Yes. He needed to…

There was another explosion of glass and the rushing noise got impossibly louder and Dean tumbled away from Sam's side. Sam pushed to his feet and took one second to study the room through eyes slitted against the wind and flying sand. The sectional had been blown over, the pieces separate and against various walls. The four women huddled together under the blankets in a trembling pile. Dean was up against the fireplace but struggling to get to his feet. Sand lay on everything, but wasn't still, as the wind picked it up in fitful handfuls and threw it petulantly in every different direction. The door was open and Mara's ghost flew through it, circled, and headed for the Firth sisters.

So Sam went against every instinct. He didn't go to his brother. He didn't go to the women who were his friends. No, he went to the front door. He could barely stumble, his left leg reluctant to obey his brain's commands, but he had exactly one weapon left. "Mara, I have the very last of Camilla's rose seeds!" he yelled. Then he stepped outside.

It was like stepping into a blizzard of sand. Two steps and Sam could hardly stand from the force of the wind. Five and he couldn't keep his eyes open. It felt like his eyelids were being shredded. "Camilla!" he yelled from underneath whatever Dean had tied around his head. "Camilla, Mara thinks she's doing this for you! She killed Dante, and now she's killing everyone else around because she failed to protect you! In her anger, she's killed all of your roses. I don't want to burn the last of your seeds, but I will if I have to. Stop her, Camilla!" It was half lie, half bluff. He didn't have his lighter on him or a free hand to use it. Hell, he could barely stand any more. And of course, there were certainly more roses and seeds elsewhere. But he was hoping that if Camilla showed up and faced Mara for the first time, the latter would be shocked into stopping. And maybe…

"CAMILLA! You told Barb –" Sam had to stop and cough. Even opening his eyes for a split second, there was no way to tell if he was headed toward the ruins. Hell, he couldn't see the condo or any other buildings. "You told her you didn't want anything except to see your roses bloom. You don't want anyone hurt, right?" Sam's left...everything...pounded in pain and his chest clenched. He wondered vaguely if the poison had reached his heart as he started to fall.

Somehow, there were hands catching him, fisting in his t-shirt and grabbing his good arm, and Sam nearly smiled. Dean. Of course. Who else could find him in a sandstorm? And naturally, he had nothing protecting his own face. Dean fired the shotgun he was naturally still holding, and it should have been deafening, but there was so much noise around them, it wasn't. Actually, all sounds were getting a bit muffled, and Sam really hoped that it was because his ears were getting full of sand, because the other option was really not good. Really, really not…

Another bark of the shotgun brought Sam back to awareness, and the curious combination of pain and numbness zinging through nearly his whole body made him wish it hadn't. But Dean was swearing against Sam's back. When had he sat down and leaned on his brother? And why was Dean angry again? Sure, the sand was still scouring them, but at least it wasn't so hot anymore. In fact, he felt kind of cold. Click. Click. Oh, Dean was out of ammo. That's probably why he was angry. He really liked shooting things.

The sand blasting let up a little and Sam blinked sand-encrusted eyes open to see something, no, someone, standing over them. She was all white, but she wasn't what he'd expected. She was normal human-sized and didn't have long claws or look freaky at all. She looked young and pretty and, well, dead. Besides the fact that she was all white and somewhat translucent, the only thing that marred her appearance was the frown on her face. She was leaning forward slightly, her hands on her hips. She was dressed in a long dress, but it wasn't affected by the wind that still whipped Sam's hair every direction. Frown deepening, she began to scold them in a clear, young voice, but not in English.

Sam's brain slipped into gear, at least slightly. "Non parlo Italiano, Signora Camilla," he said haltingly, hoping he'd told her he didn't know Italian instead of insulting her dog or something. His lips were beginning to feel numb, and he was pretty sure that Dean was the only thing keeping him from falling flat on his back.

"You! You call me and accuse my faithful castellana of such evil things, and then you threaten the last of my roses!" Camilla didn't miss a beat in her diatribe as she switched languages.

"No, no. She...did this. You can have the seeds." Sam convinced his right arm to flop out and his hand to open and let the packet roll out. "They're...yours anyway." He really should be more worried about the way it was getting hard to breathe, but Sam didn't lose focus. If he was right, Camilla was the only one who could save them now. Or at least, save Dean and the sisters. Sam wasn't entirely sure he was savable at this point. "You know...what happened to you?"

Dean said something behind him, but all of Sam's attention was on the ghost in front of him. Spirits often had lousy memories, as if they couldn't hold onto too much of themselves. As Sam watched, cruel slashes appeared across Camilla's face, neck, and chest. Then round marks that he realized with a flash of sadness were hoof prints. "I died...Dante killed me," she said angrily.

Camilla darted forward and Sam reflexively held up his hand as if to protect himself. Camilla froze, staring at his bandaged palm. She held up her own, similarly bandaged hand. "Who hurt you?" she asked quietly. Defensive wounds. She recognized them.

"Mara did," growled Dean from behind Sam. Sam held his breath, willing her to believe it, to understand.

As if Dean had called her, the ghostly caricature of a half-woman, half-monster materialized again, to their left. She was even larger than before, her claws like swords. She raised a hand a good nine feet above them, ready to rend the men to pieces. Dean curled his body over Sam's as if it would do any good. But a shotgun rang out – and not from Dean. Sam drooped even lower in Dean's hold. He didn't have enough brain power remaining to figure out where the shot had come from, but he knew Mara wouldn't stay gone long.

"Mara is a, uh, a maga," he stuttered through numb lips. "She was supposed to protect you and went...went crazy when your hus-husband killed you. You're still here because you w-wanted to see your roses in bloom. But she's still here because of you. If you...if you can let go and move on, she'll be gone too. No one else will die." He really, really hoped he was right. But something about Mara's words and actions, once you peeled away the crazy, had reminded him of oddly Myra wanting to do anything to keep her sisters safe even after they were grown and had their own lives and families. Of Dad forcing him and Dean to be strong in an effort to keep them safe. And, yeah, most of all, of Dean's blind need to protect Sam at any cost. Take that kind of devotion, add a big heaping of guilt from failing, stir in some witchy power, and tie it all up with ghostly single-mindedness and you had Mara.

Sam was shaking. Nope. Dean was shaking him, looking angry and scared all at once. Sam was apparently lying almost flat now, with Dean holding his head. Behind Dean, Barb staggered into view, fighting the wind, even though it wasn't as strong as before. She stooped and picked up the seeds, holding them out to Carmilla. "Sweetie, your roses are desert roses. You bred them to be, remember? This storm didn't kill them. They'll bloom again, and they'll keep blooming. The whole horizon will be red with them, just like back home in Italy."

"Like I wanted for my child to see, since this was to be her home," said Camilla, seeming to glide down to her knees. Her hand cupped under Barb's, holding the seeds with her.

It was a lovely scene, except for the part where the last of the swirling sand pulled itself together, coalescing into a twelve-foot-high shape, its face contorting into a twisted, angry visage even as it was still forming. Sam tried to call out a warning, but all he managed to do was whisper, "Dean?"

He really would have liked to have seen what happened next, but the numbness had spread to his eyes, and they closed without permission. He tried to hear what happened, but his ears were giving up, too. Silence fell, and darkness followed.

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AN: So, maybe that wasn't calm after all.

In the 2001 movie Mummy 2: The Mummy Returns, the titular villain chases Brandon Frasier and his movie family with a wall of sand that forms the mummy's face.

Janice: I will always cook for friends and family...provided I don't need to do the dishes! (Do you like jello? I feel like I should make you jello. :-D) I do love reading and writing Dean tending Sam. You weren't wrong about the action here. I didn't think about the (minor) parallels to the second mummy movie until after I wrote this chapter, but I hope you still find it unique. Action is hard but fun to write.

Shazza: I don't say for sure that the sandstorm was caused by Mara, but at very least she exacerbated it and used it. I had to keep Baby safe from the sand, but I think I trashed another rental car! *snicker*

Kathy: I may put Barb in danger, but so far I've never *really* hurt her. So far. I love that you always comment on the shirtless scenes and that you like the boys looking out for the sisters. Thanks for your nice words.

muffinroo: I do love making parallels! And while I tried to leave the obvious (Barb vs Mary) mostly alone, I couldn't resist the sibling bond and protectiveness. And of course, in this chapter I drew parallels to Mara too. I found the word haboob in my research and giggled. Yeah, Dean would definitely find that funny.

Timelady66: You knew it had to be coming! That is a really good point about the situation changing the sisters, and I think it's something that the boys would worry about. I miss the younger, more optimistic boys, too, but I think it's very realistic on the show writers' part.

stedan: Thank you! When I'm writing, Sam's life is pretty much always at stake, if I'm honest. I'm so pleased that you find the brother dynamic on point and enjoy the sisters' mothering.

Colby's girl: I know, right? Why wouldn't Dean like it? Thanks for saying such nice things...I appreciate it!