A/N: As before, # ... # denotes typed or texted words.
"You want a piece of him, you'll need to come through me."
There was a roar of laughter around him and some calls of "Baby, I'd love to come through you". Sam thought about what he'd just said. His felt his lips quirking up and his cheeks began to burn. Crap, he was blushing. So much for the tough guy image.
But he still had something to say to the stud guy. He took a step forward. "You are way too close, man. Back off. I'm taking him home."
The guy held his hands up, but whatever he was trying to say was drowned out by more gales of laughter. He dropped his shoulders and raised his hands in surrender. He felt something behind him, and spun around.
Dean was holding his arm, looking around the room with wide eyes. He said to the crowd, "This is my brother, Sam." He then looked between Sam and stud guy. "Sam", he said, "meet Jack. Jack, my brother, Sam."
Sam huffed out a laugh, as Dean turned back to the pool table to line up a shot.
Jack reached out a hand, which Sam shook. "Nice to meet you, Sam. Look, they don't mean anything by it. Good looking straight guys always take a some heat in here, that's all." Jack gestured toward Dean's back and said, "I take it you're usually right there?"
Sam nodded, and said, "Yeah. That's my place. We cover each other."
Jack said, almost apologetically, "He asked me to stay behind him until you got here, said it made him less jumpy." They both turned when there was a commotion at the table.
Dean shook hands with a couple of guys before he set the cue on the table and turned toward Sam, visibly swaying. "Maybe it's time to go?"
Sam nodded and got one of Dean's arms up and over his shoulder. It took a few minutes to get out of the bar even with Jack running interference. Sam was blushing furiously again by the time they got outside. Mrs. Pelham might have years of experience, but compared to this crowd, she was an amateur.
Sam deposited his brother in the passenger seat and closed the door. He looked down at Jack. "He's usually not very trusting. Thanks for watching out for him."
"Wasn't a problem, he looked like someone who needed a hand. I'm real sorry you heard the guys saying those things - I wouldn't have let anyone do more than look anyway. Tell Dean, if he needs anything else, he knows where to find me." He started back toward the bar, and then glanced at Sam. "Does Dean have any children?"
Sam looked back at him blankly. "No. Did he say he did?"
Jack grinned and said, "No, nothing like that. Tell him that I agree on the rambunctious, OK? Tell him just like that. He'll know what I mean." He waved and disappeared back into the bar.
Sam climbed in the car and got them back on the road toward the motel. Dean was leaning back against the door, head in his hands. Sam reached over and touched his leg.
Dean started up and looked at him. "I'm OK, just tired." He rubbed his eyes. "And the headache's pretty bad."
Sam made go on motions with his hands.
"I had something to do. And I wasn't going to just sit in the room, Sam, waiting for you to get back." He cleared his throat. "I wanted to know what I could do if this… well, if this didn't get better soon. I didn't hustle anyone, just shot some pool, but I could have gotten some money. And the wind noise wasn't too bad."
Sam started the car, and headed south. It wasn't that Dean wouldn't do what Sam asked, he did when it was important. And Dean almost always thought what Sam wanted was important. But Sam had left him behind, and Dean had always been a stubborn jackass. Sam knew full well that leaving Dean like that was, for all intents and purposes, handing him an engraved invitation to do just the opposite.
Sam sighed and glanced over at his brother as he pulled into the lot in front of their cottage. At least he had got him back in one piece. Dean managed to get the car door open by the time Sam came around the other side, and walked mostly under his own power into the room. Once he sat on his bed, it was if all the strings had been cut. Sam stopped his topple toward the pillows long enough to get him down to his boxers and tee, then let Dean's natural attraction to mattresses pull him flat.
Sam ordered in, and pulled Dean up and to the table when the pizza arrived. He handed Dean his prescriptions before he could take a bite. Dean was feverish and distracted, intent on pulling the toppings off his slice one by one, but he was aware enough to extract the painkiller from his palm and hand it back to Sam.
"I'm not taking another one of those, Sam. I can't string two thoughts together between them and the damn noise."
Sam was able to get a few pieces out of the box before his brother finished the pizza, eating first the slices, then all the toppings. After scraping the cheese off the bottom of the box and eating it, Dean even eyed Sam's salad as a potential meal, until Sam shoved a box of hot wings across the table. It was like throwing scraps to a lion.
After dinner, Sam powered up the laptop and Dean turned on the television and lay on the bed, flipping through channels with the volume muted. Sam got in a good couple of hours of research and was working his way through a series of articles on the island's eastern European workforce, when he heard Dean groan and mutter.
He didn't look up at first, just said, "You OK?" It took him a full second to realize what he had done. Sad and a little embarrassed, he looked over toward Dean's bed. Dean was asleep, still holding onto the remote, but moving restlessly, and talking softly. It looked like he was having a nightmare, the first one since they'd arrived here.
Sam approached the bed and kicked one of its legs until Dean started to stir. When his eyes cracked open, Sam sat down next to him and held one shoulder.
"What's the matter, Sam?"
Sam dropped a few pills in Dean's hand, and handed him a glass of water.
"Antacids, again?" Dean scrubbed his face.
Sam nodded, and let out of relieved heave of air as Dean swallowed the pills, without spotting the painkiller Sam had slipped in. He stood up and brought back the laptop, pushing Dean over so he could sit next to him, leaning back against the headboard, shoulder to shoulder.
He thought for a minute and typed: # when you went to see Russian kids #
Dean said, "Yeah, day before yesterday…" He rubbed his eyes.
Sam continued, # did you notice anything unusual #
"Uh, unusual how? I told you about how spooked they were by the storm."
# anything around the house? someone holding something? #
When Dean didn't reply right away, Sam looked up.
Dean was smiling. "Do you always move your lips while you type?"
Sam quickly typed # no #. He'd hadn't realized it but he'd been talking out loud.
He pointed at the screen again. # anything weird? #
Dean thought for a minute and rubbed his temples. "When I was leaving there was a table by the front door. They'd put bread and salt on it. Like a welcome mat, maybe? I didn't get too good a look since Milanka was pretty much pushing me off the porch by then."
# bread, salt, anything else? #
"A knife, I think. And, they had this axe on the table, blade up. Stupid sharp…"
Sam caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see Dean regarding his thumb.
Dean looked at him and yawned. "Sorry. I just barely touched the blade and it sliced right into me. I mean, who other than me sharpens an axe like that anyway?" He turned his thumb toward Sam. "The cut's pretty much healed now anyway. Just looked like some old world superstitious witchcrafty shit."
Sam typed furiously # you BLED on the old world superstitious witchcrafty shit!? #
Dean squinted at the screen. "No, Sam, I didn't. It was like a razor cut. It didn't bleed until I squeezed it."
Sam winced. # we are going back to see them tomorrow, ok? #
Dean yawned again. "Yeah, I can drive you right there. Do you have something?"
# think so, need to research more. you go to sleep, ok? #
Dean didn't reply, but turned off the TV and threw the remote onto the bedside table. He scrubbed his face. "All I'm good for anyway."
Sam tapped Dean until he looked up. He typed # not true #.
Dean frowned a little, and waved it off with a "Sure".
Sam typed # Jack said he agreed with you on rambunctious #
Dean laughed out loud but wouldn't explain the joke. Soon enough, Dean was almost asleep, his eyelids at half mast, and he didn't complain when Sam rearranged the pillows and got him lying down again under the covers.
Sam brought himself and the laptop back to the table. After a few minutes, he confirmed what he had suspected. An Ala, a Russian storm demon – in goddamn coastal North Carolina. But what the hell was it doing to Dean? He checked a few more sites before he found it. He grabbed the laptop and went back to Dean's bed, kicking the bed again until Dena's eyes opened.
"Could you quit it with the bed? I'm not going to kill you, you know."
Sam shrugged, and sat down next to Dean again, nudging him awake. He pointed at the lap top and typed # found it – it's an Ala #
Dean pushed himself up on one elbow and stared at the screen, rubbing his eyes. He squinted. "A what? An Ala? From Russia?"
Sam stared at him. And Dean called him an encyclopedia. All he typed, though, was # yes from Russia #
Dean looked up at Sam's face. "You think the kids imported us a demon?"
# pretty sure they did. are the kids unhappy? #
Dean hitched himself into a sitting position. "Probably, some of them. Milanka said they have handlers who move them around like cows … cattle. And they were packed in those houses … um, yeah, packed." He yawned and said, "But what does an Ala have 'gainst me, other than I might kill it?" He waved at his ear. "What's with the noise?"
Sam grinned and typed # I think she loves you. wants you to be her Aloviti man #
Dean was clearly struggling to stay awake. He leaned into to peer at the screen. "Aloviti –she wants me to be her … deaf boy toy or something?"
Sam could hear the repugnance in Dean's exhausted voice. # think she wants your appetite #
"Well, fuck that." Dean yawned again and blinked slowly. He licked his lips. "I'll go on a diet."
# tomorrow, we'll find her tomorrow #
Sam helped Dean back under the covers, and then went back to the table with the laptop. He was deep into his research when Dean's deep voice surprised him so much he jumped.
"Is Croatan the same thing as Croatoan?"
He looked at Dean and nodded his head yes.
Dean yawned and said quietly, "Thought so. Let's not come back here."
Sam nodded again.
When Dean woke up the next morning, Sam had once again left the room. He'd left a note, BACK WITH BRKFST, clipped to some printouts of information on the Ala and Aloviti. Dean dragged himself out of bed and scrubbed his face. He tossed the papers on the desk, and pulled the tracking device and sensor tags out of his pocket.
One tag went deep in the lining of Sam's jacket, wiggled through a tiny hole and left to rest on the left side hem. He considered for a minute, finally settling on Sam's boots as the next tag location since he'd wear those for a hunt. Dean clipped the tag to the loop of leather on the back of the left boot. He was pretty sure Sam wouldn't notice it – hell, he probably couldn't even see the back of his size 28s when he was tying them. The last two tags would have to wait until Sam got back.
Dean had finished his shower and was reading the printouts by the time Sam returned bearing 24 ounce coffees and a box of doughnuts. "We should go soon. This is about the time I found Milanka at the house, and we may need her again to get us in."
Sam nodded and stood by the door holding the car keys while Dean went through his checklist. Dean drained his coffee, slipped his gun behind his back, and walked to the door, putting one doughnut in his mouth and three more in his left hand. He had a hand free to snag the car keys from Sam, and motioned toward the closed door, which Sam opened with an eye roll.
Dean drove straight to the house, relieved that his internal GPS apparently not affected by loud noises in his ears. Or some From Russia With Love fucking storm demon screwing with him. They both climbed the steps to the front porch. Dean stopped and put a hand on Sam's arm, bringing him to a stop a few feet from the door. "Sam, you knock, then step back a few feet."
Sam nodded and walked to the door. When the door opened, he watched as Sam talked, pointed at Dean, and then waited. The door closed again. Sam joined him at the rail.
"Got any cash? It cost me about forty bucks to get in the last time."
Sam pulled out his wallet, and made a show of pulling out a couple of twenties. He would know as well as Dean that they were being watched.
"Did you ask for Milanka?"
Sam nodded. Dean's closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. He felt Sam's elbow dig into his side, and looked up and around to see Milanka stepping onto the porch. He smiled and stepped forward.
"Milanka, do you remember me from a few days ago? This is my brother, Sam …" his trailed to a stop when he saw her eyes widen in alarm. He raised his hands and backed up until he felt the porch railing on his back. Sam must have said something, as she cut her eyes in his direction, and began speaking, before looking back at Dean with suspicious eyes. She pointed at him, and he couldn't tell if she was angry, or terrified, or both.
Sam reached out and touched her arm, and Dean watched with pride, as the boy turned on the spigot. He was almost glowing with sincerity, going all dewy eyed and concerned. Milanka was looking at Sam transfixed, as if the sun had just risen, until she saw the bills Sam was holding up. She snatched the money, pointed again at Dean, and waved the hand with the money in the air.
Dean said, "Do you want me to leave?"
She nodded vigorously, pointing to the stairs. Sam said a few more words to her, pointing at the porch and his brother, looking anxiously between the two.
"Don't worry, Sammy, I'll just head back to the car and wait for you." Keeping his hand on the railing, he moved toward the steps. Milanka swiveled and stepped back toward the door, never taking her eyes off him. He wasn't sure he'd ever had that affect on a woman before. Sam met him at the stairs.
Dean glanced at Milanka. She gestured and said something. He looked back at Sam and put a hand on his back. "Did she say anything about Aloviti and the Ala?"
Sam nodded.
He leaned a little against Sam, brushing his back again. "Maybe she's just more into skinny guys?"
Sam grimaced and shook his head. He grabbed his pad and wrote PLEASE WAIT BY CAR?
Dean threw his hands up and walked down the stairs. When he reached the Impala, he turned on the tracking device, and watched as it located the tag he'd slipped on the key chain, and then the tag he'd just clipped onto Sam's jeans while they'd been up on the porch. He could see the second tag moving, probably as Milanka led Sam out to the backyard. He tucked the monitor back in his pocket and leaned against the car to wait.
The headache was starting up again, and damn if the wind noise wasn't increasing, getting more complex, and teasing him with an undercurrent of noise that almost sounded like a voice. He looked out toward the ocean.
He growled, "All right, you goddamned bitch. I can hear you. I can hear you." He scanned around him relieved that no one, including Sam, was in sight. He spoke again. "What the hell do you want? And why the hell are you doing this to me?"
The volume amped up suddenly, as did the pain, making him brace himself against the car. "I'm going to find you and burn your ass, you fucking bitch." He started to walk toward the ocean, oblivious of Sam in the house behind him, of traffic on the Beach Road, just arrowing straight for the dunes and the ocean, and toward the black clouds starting to build in the sky ahead of him.
"Bring it on, baby!" He scrambled over the dunes and sand, and stumbled out to the beach, standing in the edge of the surf. "I'll take you, goddamn it, I'll take you right now! Don't be shy, you freaking monster, just say it! Let me hear you!"
The wind hit him again, carrying a smell so strong he could almost taste it. It smelled liked earth and mud, vegetation, and something else, something he knew from the Midwest, but he couldn't place it. The wail of the wind redoubled in his ears, and still the almost words were hiding behind the noise.
He took a few steps back and held out his hands. He screamed at the sky, at the clouds, at anything that could hear him. "TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT!"
Pain cracked down from the top of his skull to the soles of his feet, arching his back. He felt himself scream again, this time in agony. He couldn't move, he couldn't fall, he was being suspended, all of his muscles cramping and spasming.
The baying of the wind changed to a single piercing note, pushing through his head, rattling around his brain. He gritted out, "What the fuck do you want?"
And he got his answer. A voice, reverberating through his head, making his teeth hurt, answered.
"Serve me."