Vampires Were People Too

Disclaimer: They are mine. Kripke only borrows them for his own nefarious deeds. Wait…scratch that. Reverse.

Beta'd: By the talented Muffy Morrigan. She graciously agreed to beta when Wysawyg experienced technical difficulties with her laptop (or maybe it was the whining that convinced her. Not sure). Thank you!

Special thanks for helping me get the desert scenes all…deserty. BG.

I had homework after she beta'd so any and all remaining errors are mine and mine alone.

Dedicated: To Carocali and Nana56 for being supportive and kind, back when the world of fanfic was a scary, scary place and for sticking by me!

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"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."

…..………..……………………………………………Chapter Five………………………………………………………..

Dean sauntered into the sheriff's office, his eyes raking the comparatively dim interior. One deputy sat at his desk in the back by the city's two jail cells. He'd seen the sheriff outside talking to one of the locals, and the steaming cup of coffee on the second desk meant he hadn't been gone long. It had taken some strong-arm techniques, but he had convinced Sam to remain at the diner while he procured what they needed from the sheriff's office.

"I'd like to turn in money I found on the street," Dean informed the deputy. He tried not to sound bitter, but he hated this plan, even if it had been his own. He had worked hard for this money. However, cops in small towns ate up the Good Samaritan act and it seemed like the best option.

"Thank you for being honest," Deputy Chad said. He swiveled in his chair and pulled a form out of the four-drawer, dusty filing cabinet. It was well-worn and dented on one side, but it did have a lock.

Dean rolled his eyes at the deputy's back. Apparently computers hadn't made it to Lordsburg. "My grandmother lives on a fixed income. If she lost this much money, I'd want someone to turn it in."

Deputy Chad spun back around to face Dean and nodded. "That's true enough. Most folks that live here feel the same way, but you're not from around here. Passing through?"

It was said casually, but a familiar fire of resentment burned in the pit of Dean's stomach. "Not exactly. I'm helping Father Rodriguez on a church project."

"Ah, missionary." The deputy tapped his pen on the desk. "That certainly explains the town gossip."

Dean schooled his features before plastering on a charming smile. "Gossip?"

Deputy Chad laughed. "Yeah, don't let it bother you. It's a small town. The only thing faster than the speed of light around here is the scuttlebutt."

"That's usually the way with these close communities," Dean agreed with words he didn't believe. He pulled the fifty dollar bill he'd slated for this con out of his jeans pocket. "I found it in the diner parking lot."

"Hard to believe anyone who eats at Charlie's had fifty dollars on them," the deputy said. "Must have been someone passing through or a local's grocery money or something. If no one comes to claim it in a week and you're still here, it's yours."

"The church would be happy to accept the donation," Dean said. He almost felt bad for lying about the money, almost, but not quite. He glanced around the room looking for another place the knife could be stored, but the filing cabinet behind the deputy and the one behind the sheriff's desk were the only two obvious places in the small jail.

"I'll be sure notify Father Rodriguez if it is unclaimed," the deputy said. Dean cringed as he watched fifty hard earned dollars he'd won playing darts last week fly away. "Name?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond, when voices at the door drew Dean's and the deputy's attention to the entrance. "Son, are you okay?"

A mumbled response, the tenor of the voice coming through the door was unmistakable to Dean's ears. He turned his attention to Deputy Chad. "Do you think we should check on what's going on out there?"

"I think Sheriff Brady can handle it." Deputy Chad tapped the paper with his pen. "Where were we? Oh yeah, can I get your name?"

"Travis, a little help out here!" Deputy Chad pushed his chair back and rushed past Dean.

Dean resisted the urge to follow on the heels of the deputy. Sam had wanted to cause a diversion to give him time to search the office. Dean had nixed the idea. He wanted Sam to stay out of the line of fire. He had played the 'I'm the big brother and I'm the boss' card and Sam had reluctantly agreed to sit it out. He should have known his little brother wouldn't listen.

The lock on the file cabinet clicked obediently open, and Dean searched the four drawers. Two drawers had files the oldest of which dated back to 1953. One drawer held forms. The last drawer looked like items the police had confiscated from area teenagers. He relocked the cabinet and moved to the sheriff's files.

The first drawer simply contained more case files, but the second drawer in the sheriff's cabinet yielded the prize he'd been searching for. He carefully slipped the plastic bag containing the gold handled knife into his waistband. He pushed the knob to lock the cabinet and went to rescue his brother from the two law enforcement officers.

Dean opened the door and the scent of hot asphalt buffeted him. He looked around, expecting to see Sam talking to the police. He was surprised to see Sam sitting hunched on the ground, cradling his head with Deputy Chad standing over him with an umbrella and a bottle of water.

Dean crouched low, ignoring the questioning looks he received from both police officers, and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sam?"

"I'm okay." Sam's voice was thick and raspy. It sounded much like it had after the lamp cord had wound tight around his throat a year ago.

"You know this guy?" Sheriff Brady gazed at Dean appraisingly. Dean recognized the look. The sheriff was sizing him up, judging his worth, estimating his strengths, and gauging his weaknesses. Dean did the same thing with every possible opponent he met, which included just about everyone the brothers came across. He respected the sheriff instantly.

"My kid brother," Dean said, keeping his tone light. He stood, keeping his fingertips on Sam's shoulder and leaned closer to the sheriff. "Dad asked me to bring him along. He thought it was time for Sam to get out of the classroom and back into the real world. I said I'd watch out for him."

There was enough truth in Dean's statement for it to resonate with the sheriff. "You need to get him out of the heat," Brady said gruffly. "He's looking sick." The gray-haired, barrel-chested sheriff rested a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Son, the desert is a beautiful woman. Admire her, respect her and she'll treat you right. Turn your back on her and she'll cut you down so fast you won't know what hit you."

"Yes sir." Dean nodded. "Understood." He knelt down and hooked his arm under Sam's. "Ready, Sam?" The rosy red blush on Sam's neck stood out in stark contrast to his pallor. Whether it was embarrassment or sunburn, Dean didn't know.

"Yeah." Sam dropped his hands and made eye contact with Dean.

"Sammy," Dean breathed. His little brother looked impossibly worse in the light of day.

"I'm good, Dean," Sam reassured him. "Let's just go."

Dean hesitated, waiting to see if Sam was steady on his feet before pulling away. "I thought we agreed you'd wait in the diner," Dean admonished under his breath. He could practically hear Sam's eye roll.

"Sorry," Sam apologized. His tone contained just enough edge to let Dean know he would be getting an earful once they were safely ensconced in the Impala.

"Boys!" Brady called. The brothers twisted in unison to face the sheriff. Sheriff Brady tossed the water bottle Deputy Chad had been holding to Dean who caught it expertly in one hand. "Make sure he drinks it all."

Dean saluted the sheriff with the bottle and resumed walking to the car. After they were out of earshot of the officers, he addressed his wayward brother. "What did you think you were doing, Sam?"

"I thought I had your back," Sam replied calmly. "The sheriff was headed inside and I didn't want you to get caught snooping around. You did get it, didn't you?"

"Dude, that's not the point. I had it covered." Dean used the hem of his shirt to open the door handle to the Impala. He'd learned the hard way how hot the metal would be. He addressed Sam across the roof of the car. "And of course I got it." Dean waited until Sam sat down to join him in the car. He immediately started driving to force air into the stifling interior.

The cool obsidian dagger rested in his waistband. He reached back and carefully removed it, holding it out for Sam. "It's heavier than I thought it would be."

Sam took the knife out of the bag and slowly turned it in his hand, examining the glyphs. "I think the handle is solid gold. But it almost looks like a hunter's or warrior's knife."

"Not a priest's?" That surprised him. He assumed it was a sacrificial dagger, not a weapon.

"I'm not sure." Sam paused for a moment to examine the knife, turning the blade over and over in his hand. He flipped it front to back and side to side several times. "You know, the gold handle makes me think priest and the blade is definitely thick enough and sharp enough for a sacrificial knife, but the balance, the heft…it just feels more like a combat dagger."

Sam leaned closer to Dean and held the dagger up so he could see. "See that symbol right there?" He tapped the symbol on the right near the end of the hilt. "I think that's the symbol for the jaguar. The jaguar was the highest ranking warrior or hunter in the Aztec social system."

The metallic scented wind whistling through the windows was the only sound in the car as Sam continued to turn the knife slowly, examining it. "What?" Dean asked, knowing Sam had stopped talking because he was piecing facts together.

"Amini," Sam said, shifting back to his own side. "I found the translation while I was waiting for you."

"For all of five minutes," Dean interjected. He glanced over to Sam and frowned. He didn't like what he saw. Sam was deteriorating before his eyes.

Sam sighed heavily at the repeated lecture, but continued unabated. "It means hunter. Dean, she knows you're a hunter."

"Do you think that's why she attacked?" Dean asked.

Sam pursed his lips as he considered the idea. "Maybe. That might explain Pedro as well. This is his knife."

Dean preferred guns, but he could appreciate a fine blade. He had a favorite knife that fit his hand with a comfortable heft, a favorite machete with a large outward curve at the end, even a favorite penknife that he kept in his jeans pocket. Sam, however, seemed entranced by the gold-handled obsidian dagger in his hand.

"You want me to take you back to the motel?" Dean asked, shooting Sam a grin. Sam reciprocated with a death glare and Dean nodded to the dagger. "I mean, if you'd like some time alone with her, I'd understand."

"You're a riot," Sam grumbled. "Actually, I was thinking it might be time to talk to Maria."

"Now you're talkin', Sammy." Dean wanted to bundle Sam off to bed like he did when Sam was little. The only real problem with that plan was he needed Sam at Maria's. Well, that and Sam would put up one hell of a fight, and forcing Sam to do anything now was a great deal more difficult than it had been when he could bribe him with gummy worms and bedtime stories.

Dean flicked the radio on, but kept the volume down lower than normal. He needed some music to think. 'You Shook Me All Night Long' was half over when he waggled an index finger in Sam's direction. "Something about this isn't adding up."

"What do you mean?" Sam didn't look up from the dagger. He ran a finger along the glyphs as if he was trying to absorb the meaning of the symbols through his skin. Sam's sweaty hair stuck to his forehead. He pushed it away with one hand, causing it to poke out in all directions. The wind blowing through the open window didn't help tame the wild locks.

"I don't think Pedro surrendered without a fight." Dean tapped the steering wheel.

"Dean I read the coroner's report," Sam said, looking up from the glyphs. "Pedro held the knife like this." Sam held the point of the dagger to his chest directly at the solar plexus. "And he thrust it upwards…" He stopped talking and threw Dean a shocked look when the dagger was ripped from his hand.

"Don't ever do that, Sam," Dean said harshly. He fixed a hard stare at his little brother and pulled to the side of the road. He threw the car into Park and twisted in his seat to face a wide-eyed Sam. The civatateo had invaded his dreams, there was no telling what kind of affect she was having on Sam. "Just don't, okay?"

"I wasn't going to do anything," Sam said softly. "I was just showing how Pedro…"

"I don't care what you were doing," Dean said dismissively, shaking his head. Sam's death hung closely around him. It skittered in the corner of Dean's vision and mocked him from the dark corners of his mind. "I believe you when you say Pedro killed himself. I don't doubt your research." He held up his hand when Sam opened his mouth. "Let me finish. You're not dying, Sam, I'm not gonna let that happen, but I certainly don't want to watch you re-enact Pedro's death either."

"Okay." Sam's soft voice alerted Dean that his brother was still a little unsure of Dean's mental state. He smiled, trying to reassure Sam that he was fine, but the lines of worry on Sam's face suggested he had missed.

Dean nodded and pulled the Impala back onto the road. "Pedro may have sacrificed himself, but that's not what he went to the church intending to do. He went to kill the civatateo."

-0-0-0-0-0-0-

Sam sat in silence and considered Dean's statement. "You're sure?"

"If that's the knife Pedro chose to hunt this thing, then yeah, I'm sure." Dean plucked the plastic bag from the seat and shook it in front of Sam. "Put it away, Sam, and drink the water the sheriff gave you."

He tossed Dean a withering glance. "You know I was only acting to cause a diversion, right?"

"You know it only worked because you look like shit, don't you?" Dean countered. "Drink the water, Sam."

Sam huffed in protest, but stowed the knife, and picked up the water bottle regardless. The cool water soothed his throat, dry from breathing through his mouth rather than congested nasal passages. "It's up here on the right," Sam said, pointing to the gravel road with the water bottle.

"Let's say Pedro went to kill her," Dean theorized. "He thought the hallowed ground would offer some protection."

"But it didn't," Sam added. "The civatateo have all the powers of an Aztec priest and are endowed with supernatural abilities."

"So, our civatateo tried seducing him again, leading him astray," Dean continued. Sam noticed the odd catch in Dean's rhythm.

"But he broke away and pulled out the dagger." Sam grunted when the Impala hit a deep pothole.

"She got angry, swirled into sand." Dean slowed down as they drew closer to the Gomez's house.

"He thought he didn't have any more options left." Sam visualized Pedro's movements through his final moments. "He was desperate to save the woman he loved and he pursued the only option he thought he had left. He chose an honorable warrior's death protecting his family."

Sam's mind zipped back to the present and he wished he'd left his last few words unspoken. He hadn't been thinking about their situation, his mind completely wrapped up in the mystery of the civatateo. He could see Dean's wheels turning and wanted to kick himself. It was hard enough to curb Dean's natural tendency towards rushing in where angels feared to tread without pointing him in the right direction and shoving him down the path.

"Dean, I…"

"We're here," Dean announced, an unreadable expression on his face. He stopped the car and without the moving air of the open windows, the Impala immediately started to heat up. The heat rolled off the desert sand in waves, distorting the cacti on the horizon.

Dean's stomach rumbled and he pressed the palm of his hand on it. "How can you be hungry already?" Sam asked. Lunch rested heavy in his stomach. It felt like a lead weight had settled in it.

"Hey, I'm a growing boy," Dean quipped, opening his door. Sweat lined Dean's shirt and stuck to his back. He tugged on the hem to shed the sticky, second cotton skin.

"Amazing how short you are then, considering," Sam shot back. He snagged the dagger and peeled himself out of the car, his muscles quivering with the effort. What strength he had seemed to be absorbed by the intense heat. He couldn't hide how bad he truly felt from Dean much longer. Deflection only worked so well for so long.

"Funny." Dean glanced in Sam's direction before headed up to the door.

The landscape surrounding Maria's house was a texture mat of greens, browns and pinks. Sharp needled prickly pear dotted with green and red mottled fruit, the spear shaped leaves of the yucca and the delicate, feathery tentacles of an ocotillo with rosy blooms dotted the area.

Sam trudged behind his brother, his boots scraping the crusty pink-orange sand. His toe caught on a rock and he stumbled. A small, bright red snake with beady, black eyes and a vibrant yellow belly slithered away from its disturbed home, hurrying to the next shady spot and disappearing into the shadows. Sam regained his footing and joined Dean at the door.

Dean knocked soundly on the door and running feet could be heard in the house. The door cracked open and small brown-haired head poked out. "¡Roberto, cierra la puerta!"

"Pero, mamá, hay personas a la puerta," Roberto said, twisting back to look inside the house.

Maria appeared at the door moments later, her hair in disarray, her face flushed. She opened the door wide when she recognized the brothers. "Sam, Dean, come in."

"Thank you, Maria," Sam said, leaning casually on the doorjamb to keep from falling over. Dean squeezed past him and tapped Sam on the arm as he entered the house.

Sam followed his brother into Maria's home and took note of the food on the table. Bowls of steaming rice, red beans and glistening vegetables were surrounded by three place settings. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to interrupt your dinner," Sam apologized.

"Think nothing of it," Maria assured him. "Have a seat. There's plenty of food."

"We don't want to impose," Sam said. "We had a few questions about the civatateo and Aztec culture, but it can wait until you're finished."

"Sit, eat," Maria said, gesturing to the table. "Please accept my invitation."

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean interjected, grabbing Sam's elbow and steering him towards the table. "Don't be rude. She invited us to eat and I'm starving."

Sam didn't resist the gentle shove Dean used to push him into a chair. It would have been useless anyway, and it would have given away how weak he felt. "Thank you, Maria."

"Yeah, thanks," Dean agreed, flashing Maria a brilliant smile. "It smells unbelievable." He took a deep breath and sighed appreciatively.

Sam puffed a small laugh. Dean could be single-mindedly determined at times, even when it came to something as simple as dinner. Dean always claimed Sam was the obsessed one who forgot to take care of himself, but his big brother was no slouch in that arena. Sam made eye contact Dean and noticed the dark circles under Dean's eyes. Are you sick too, Dean or just worn down taking care of me?

He narrowed his eyes and gazed at Dean appraisingly while he chatted with Maria and her daughter. Dean oozed the normal amount of charm, smiling and nodding appropriately as Carmelita talked. He heaped a healthy mound of rice, beans, vegetables and tortillas onto his plate. Sam gulped hard, swallowing back a gag at the thought of food. He had to eat something, but the thought of food wasn't appealing.

Dean's hand waving in front of his face brought Sam's focus back to the conversation. "Looks like Sam's in there after all, Carmelita. Guess you're right." The little girl laughed bashfully and tossed her pigtails back over her shoulders.

"He's just thinking too hard," Carmelita explained. "Like my papa does - did."

"What did he think about so hard?" Dean asked innocently, although the question was anything but.

"He thought about lots of things," Carmelita said using her fingers to tick them off. "Mama, us kids, the house," Carmelita leaned closer and spoke in a hushed whisper. "Mama's sickness."

"Did he ever talk to you about it?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned and tore his attention from Dean to Maria. She was busy wiping unidentifiable food from the baby's face and had missed Dean and Carmelita's exchange so far. He remembered how Maria had sent her children out of the room yesterday before talking to them about the civatateo and he had a feeling Maria would not approve of their conversation.

"Maria," Sam said. She looked up from her son, a mother's smile lingering on her face. "Do you know a Nahuatl word that might sound a little like, well, maybe like macaroni?"

Maria laughed. "Macaroni? No, no." She paused and scrunched her face in concentration. "Maybe – macehualli?"

"That's it!" Dean snapped his fingers and pointed at Maria.

Sam turned to look at his brother and his face crinkled in amusement. "Macaroni?"

"Hey, I knew it sounded like a pasta," Dean said with a shoulder shrug.

Maria laughed. "It means a commoner or someone not of noble rank."

"Why would she call Dean a commoner with one breath and acknowledge him as a hunter in the next?" Sam wracked his brain, running through the Aztec social ranking system. "Weren't hunters or warriors considered to be of greater social importance than the common man?"

"She called you a hunter?" Maria whipped her head back to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said. "She said, 'Amini' more respectfully than she had called me macehualli, but she didn't seem any happier about it."

"I doubt she was," Maria said. "However, it does explain why she targeted you if she thinks you're a hunter." Dean and Sam exchanged knowing glances.

"How?" Sam asked. He pushed his red beans along his plate with a tortilla. He should eat, he knew he should be hungry, but there didn't seem to be any room in his stomach.

"Pedro's family is descended from a documented Aztec warrior. That is why he had the ceremonial dagger. It was given to his ancestor when he achieved jaguar status." Maria's eyes had tears in them before she blinked the moisture away. "The police say his dagger will be returned when the case is closed, but I'm afraid it will disappear from lock up and end up in a collector's hands like many other artifacts do. Pedro would be devastated if his family's history ended up in the wrong hands instead of Roberto's."

"I'm sure you'll get it back," Sam said, the weight of the knife suddenly feeling very heavy in his waistband. He wanted to tell her he had it, but he couldn't risk Maria demanding the dagger back until they had used it to defeat the civatateo.

"I hope so."

"¿Mamá, puedo ser dispensado yo?" Roberto asked. He squirmed in his chair and bounced his legs.

"Roberto, speak English around our guests," Maria admonished.

Roberto gulped and spoke slowly. "Mama, may I be excused?"

"Yes, you may," Maria replied. She smiled when Roberto took his dishes to the sink. She turned back to Sam. "If someone needed Pedro's dagger to kill the civatateo, they would have my blessing."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean beat him to the punch. "Not that we have the dagger, because that would be violating the law and making you an accomplice. But if we did, we'd make sure you got it back."

"Just make sure she stays dead," Maria said, her brown eyes flashing. "Forever this time."

"I promise," Dean said, green eyes reflecting his sincerity.

"Dean, you can't promise her that." Sam put down his fork and returned his brother's steady gaze. They were far from figuring out how to defeat the civatateo.

"I can, Sam," Dean insisted. "She's going down."

"Thank you," Maria said, her eyes expressing gratitude. "Carmelita, please take the baby and get him ready for his bath."

"Yes, mama," Carmelita said. She slid out of her chair, put her dishes in the sink and picked up the baby who was nearly one-third her size. She waddled down the hall with the baby. He was making squealing noises and patting her on the head the entire trip to the far end of the house.

Sam turned back to the table and gave Maria a questioning look. "She can read the minds of the people she kisses, can't she?"

The point blank question not only seemed to take Maria by surprise, but Dean as well. "I, I don't know." Maria said. "Pedro did say he had very realistic dreams about her."

Sam nodded. "After she kissed Dean, but before she said the curse, she asked if I was his younger brother."

"She did?" Dean's voice wasn't questioning as much as it was hard and angry. "She deliberately cursed you because she knew you were my little brother?"

Sam ignored Dean and focused on Maria. "Can she?"

Maria crumpled. Her shoulders shook and she looked down the hall in the direction her children had gone. "I don't want to risk my children. Please, just go."

Sam nodded, but Dean stood and angrily pushed back his chair. He slapped his palms on the table causing both Maria and Sam to start. "We will get her, I promise. Come on, Sam, let's go."

Sam pushed up from his chair suppressing a groan as his joints cracked and a fiery burn spread from his knees, hips and shoulders, radiating outwards. He couldn't keep up with Dean and by the time he reached the door, Dean knew it too.

"It's bad, isn't it, Sammy?" Dean's green eyes reflected concern, the tight-line of his mouth told of unspoken anger.

"I'm fine."

"Don't lie, Sam. We can't afford to keep secrets," Dean said. He didn't wait for a response this time and grasped Sam's elbow. He opened the door and a light, warm desert breeze wafted in.

Sam allowed Dean to guide him outside and down the stairs, but he resisted once they reached the path. The velvety night air hung thick around them, in the distance a coyote howled. "Slow down, Dean," Sam wheezed trying to catch his breath.

Dean slowed his steps, but didn't relinquish his hold on Sam's elbow. Dean opened the door to the Impala and eased Sam inside. He shut the door with a light click and walked around the car to join Sam. They rode in silence for several minutes.

Sam caught the sidelong glance from Dean. "What?"

"Sam, do you really think she could read my mind?" Guilt tinged Dean's tone.

"Dean, it isn't your fault," Sam said. Sometimes the things Dean felt responsible for defied all reason. "She's an ancient supernatural creature that may be able to read thoughts of the men she kisses. Nothing that happened is your responsibility."

"Except the kiss." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean cut him off. "I think there's something else."

"What?" Sam asked. A cough niggled his throat and he swallowed hard several times trying to keep it at bay.

"She's in my dreams," Dean supplied. He thumped his hand on the steering wheel. "Not just in my dreams, she a part of them. I can feel her, smell her hair, taste her kiss."

"We may be able to use that to our advantage," Sam said. The cough that had merely been threatening erupted with a savage hacking fit. He coughed and coughed, his vision graying around the edges. He felt Dean's hand on his shoulder and he heard Dean ask him if he was okay, but he couldn't find the breath to answer or the strength to shake his head.

He coughed until it turned into a gag. His stomach contents heaved. Sam thumped on the passenger door several times to let Dean know he needed to pull over. He fumbled with the door handle.

"Sam, stop!" A yank on his t-shirt pulled him away from the door. The car jerked to a sudden stop and this time, Dean didn't prevent him from opening the door.

The gravel slid and turned under his feet as he stumbled to the side of the road. "Not here, Sammy. It's not safe."

Dean's hand on his arm guided him to the lighted area in front of the car. He fell to the ground, gravel imbedding in his knees through the protective denim. He retched several times, and felt Dean's hand on his back. Somehow in spite of the fact he felt miserable, his eyes watering and his raw throat, he felt better. That no matter what happened; his big brother would make everything all right.

Finally spent, he collapsed to the ground, chest heaving as he sucked in a great lungful of air. He jumped when Dean's face appeared directly in his line of vision only inches from his own. "Sammy, are you okay?" Fear mingled with the concern in Dean's voice.

Sam nodded, not sparing the breath to answer. He scooted away from the pile of sick and crab-walked faster when the pile sifted and moved. "Dean," he gasped, his bottom skidding along the ground as he lifted a hand to point at the vomit.

Dean didn't move his hand from Sam's shoulder, but twisted to look over his shoulder. Rivulets of sand churned amongst the food and bile. It flowed away from the vomit and joined the sand at the side of the road.

Insects scurried to the feast. Vinagaroons, ants, spiders and one long-tailed lizard all took advantage of the easy, protein-rich meal. The swarming insects and the amorphous sand created a disturbing image of a living sea of sick.

Dean turned back to Sam. "Well hell."

TBC

..……………………………………………………..Supernatural………………………………………………………

AN: I am SO sorry this took so long to update. I have no excuse other than real life. In fact, I am beginning to fear this story is cursed, Wysawyg's computer the latest casualty. You might want to burn a little sage after reading. LOL

Thank you for reading (and sticking with me on the huge delay!).

As always – it is much appreciated.

AN2: Hey, I actually did get two things posted during the two week period of the auction. Woot! What auction? Glad you asked. K Hanna Korossy is running a Supernatural fanfic auction to benefit a fellow writer in need of a new wheelchair. There are over twenty-five authors, including myself, participating and two vidders! Check out the link on my bio and swing by the auction. It is free and easy to register to bid and one hundred percent of the money goes towards the purchase of the wheelchair.