Vampires Were People Too
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean belong to Kripke. I own nothing. Ratsafras!
Beta'd: By Wysawyg, the Beta Guru. You can't have her though. She's mine! All mine! Or…not - I suppose not. Um, yeah, don't own her either, darn it!
Time Line: Set between Houses of the Holy and Born Under a Bad Sign.
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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 appeared amongst the food and bile, twisting and churning through it. It flowed away from the vomit and into 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 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."
….…………………………………….………………..Chapter Six…………………………………………………………..
Sam's skin crawled. He could feel insects in his pant legs and making their way north. He scrambled to his feet and frantically brushed his jeans. He pulled on the fabric and shook it vigorously, hoping to dislodge the invading force.
"Sam?" Dean's hand squeezed his shoulder gently and concerned green eyes met his. "What's wrong?"
"Gotta get them out," Sam puffed out breath in staccato bursts. He fought back a cough causing his eyes to water and he felt his chest tighten. All he wanted right now were the bugs out of his clothes.
"Sam?" Dean's face swam in his vision and Sam changed his focus from his clothes to remaining upright as his equilibrium tilted. He fisted Dean's t-shirt with one hand and grabbed his forearm with the other. Dean's hands came up and gripped Sam's biceps. "Sam!"
"I'm okay," Sam insisted weakly. "I have bugs in my jeans and…" He stopped abruptly and twisted to see his back. His already compromised balance deserted him and he stumbled sideways, held upright only by Dean's strong grip.
"Easy, Sam." Dean moved from a restraining position on his arms to a support gesture with one arm tucked around Sam's back and the other at his elbow.
"Can't, Dean," Sam said. "It's my back. There're bugs on my back." He squirmed, attempting to break free from Dean. "Please." The last word came out as a whispered plea. The sensation of tiny legs on his skin was driving him insane.
He was propelled forward and hit the hood of the Impala with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. The cough he'd been holding at bay exploded out of his chest and he fought to catch his breath. Distantly, Sam felt Dean rubbing his back under his shirt. His brother's hands strangely cool in the warm, desert night air.
"No bugs," Dean announced. "There's nothing there, Sam."
The muted sensation lingered and Sam squirmed on the hood. "Let me up," he said through gritted teeth. The metal hood was quickly growing too hot, although the confining nature of Sam's position against the car and the bugs were the real reasons. The pressure on Sam's back immediately disappeared and Dean pulled him off the hood.
Sam twisted and rested his backside on the Impala. He took a deep breath and ran a shaky hand through his hair. His vision grayed. He felt himself slowly sliding down the slope of the hood, but a tight grip around his biceps halted the motion. Sam knew it was Dean, but he couldn't get his eyes to focus. The dark shadows of the night were melding into one blurry point.
He heard Dean call to him, but Dean's voice sounded odd, like Sam was hearing it from under water. His ears popped, forcing a groan from his constricted throat. "Sam! What's wrong?" The panic came through Dean's voice if nothing else.
Sam's fingers dug into his brother's arms. He couldn't speak, couldn't get his mind to form the words to speak. His knees buckled. "Sammy!" For one brief moment, Sam thought he would be able to maintain consciousness. That was before everything wavered and tipped, sending Sam crashing towards the ground held upright only by his brother's arms. "I got ya." A quiet reassurance through the dark and then Sam felt no more.
-0-0-
The familiar rumble of the Impala's engine and the gentle rocking motion it made traversing the gravel road woke Sam. His head rested on the warm window. He fought back a wave of nausea and growing fear. Things were not going well. He felt ten times worse than he had this morning and he worried he would not have time to complete the research he still needed to do.
Sam didn't want to die, but he wanted Dean to live more. With every passing hour his strength ebbed as the curse ran its course. He worried that if they figured out how to stop the civatateo it would be too late, at least for one of them. He could only hope he had the ability to stop Dean if he tried something stupid.
The gentle waves of moving air across his face from the partially opened window helped calm his nausea. He blinked several times, trying to clear the grit scratching his eyes. In the end, he kept them closed. It required less effort. Sam shifted in the seat trying to get more comfortable and moaned.
"Sam, you awake?" The innocent question didn't match the residual stress in Dean's voice. A hand on his shoulder offered silent comfort. Sam groaned in response, anything else seemed to require too much energy.
"Sam, I'm taking you to the hospital."
"No," he managed past uncooperative lips. He lifted heavy eyelids and twisted in the seat until he could see Dean. Even in the dark he could see the hard set of Dean's jaw and the tension in his shoulders.
"No more argument, Sam," Dean said. "This has gone too far, you need help."
"You know they can't help me," Sam said softly. He felt too weak to push himself off the window so he scooted on the seat until his back rested on the door to face his brother. "We're the only ones that can stop this."
"You mean, I'm the only one," Dean corrected, his tone hard.
"No, I meant us." Sam bumped Dean's leg with his knee to gain his attention. He needed Dean to listen to him. "I have an idea, I just need to research a little bit more when we get back to the motel."
"We're not going to the motel, Sam." Dean's tone left no room for argument, but that never stopped Sam.
"I won't stay." Sam crossed his arms across his stomach in an effort to fend off the ever-present nausea. "You can take me, but I won't stay."
"Damn it, Sam!" Dean said. He turned to fix Sam in a hard stare. Whatever he saw not only caused his gaze to soften, but worry to settle into his face.
"I must look as bad as I feel, huh?" Sam asked, trying to keep his tone light and failing. Dean's face scrunched at Sam's words. "You have to give me the time to figure this out."
"It looks like we may be running a little short on time," Dean said. He stopped the car and twisted in the seat to face Sam. "If we do this, this is our last shot, our only shot to defeat her. If it doesn't work, I'll take care of it."
"I can't let you do that," Sam replied softly.
"You can't stop me." Dean set another pointed gaze at Sam, then turned in the seat and headed to town.
That much was true. Sam didn't have the speed or strength he'd need to be able to stop Dean right now. "All the more reason not to fail," Sam said.
"I mean it, Sam, I'm not letting you die." Dean didn't take his eyes off the road, but Sam knew what he'd see in Dean's eyes if his brother looked at him. Determination, resolve, Dean meant what he said.
"You're my brother too," Sam replied, his voice weaker than his spirit after the last coughing fit. "What makes you think I'm going to let you die?"
It was the Winchester version of a Mexican standoff, each brother more willing to sacrifice themselves than be responsible for or live with the death of the other. A silence fell in the car, tension as thick as the desert night air. The flickering, multi-colored lights of the small hamlet of Lordsberg glittered like jewels on the horizon.
It was Dean who broke the silence. "So, tell me about this plan."
"I told you, I still need to research it more," Sam said.
"You're just afraid I won't like your idea," Dean shot back. "You're pretty sure already or you wouldn't have said anything at all."
Sam leveled a glare at his brother. "And everyone thinks I'm the psychic," he grumbled.
"I can't read your mind, Sammy," Dean said, his voice lighter than it had been since Sam collapsed. "I just know you." Dean offered him a small smile, quickly turning his attention back to the road. "It would've been a hell of a lot easier growing up if I had been able to read your mind," he muttered under his breath.
Sam rolled his eyes. "I think we need to perform a sacrifice." Dean's head shot in his direction and he narrowed his eyes. Sam winced. He really needed to work on his delivery. "I think Pedro was on the right track. We need to cut out her heart and offer the blood of the cursed one to bring it to life."
Sam could feel the heat of Dean's glare. "The cursed one, Sam?" Anger overpowered the residual concern in Dean's tone. "Don't you mean you?"
"In this particular case, yeah, but Dean…"
"No 'but Dean,'" Dean interrupted, waving a hand at Sam's argument. "We've already been over this. I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself."
"I'm not talking about a blood sacrifice," Sam corrected. "I'm talking about adding blood to the sacrifice to make it a blood sacrifice."
Dean turned to look at Sam with a perfect scrunched version of his 'what the hell' face. He shook his head and turned back to the road. "You lost me on that one." Dean pulled into the motel parking lot and into the spot closest to their room door. He killed the engine, pocketed his keys and twisted in the seat to face Sam.
"Aren't we going in?" Sam jerked a thumb towards the room door.
"As soon as you explain your verbal acrobatics," Dean said. "We're not going anywhere until I understand what you mean."
"The civatateo are vampires of a sort, but they live off the essence of a person rather than their blood," Sam explained. He pulled out the golden dagger and pointed to a glyph on its hilt. "This is the symbol of Huitzilopochtli. They serve him and accompany him westward with the setting sun, endowed with superhuman abilities of their own. However, like many Aztec gods these creatures crave human blood."
Dean nodded. "I know all this, Sam, we've already been over it."
"Sure, right, but the point is, Dean, the civatateo are dead." Sam placed a hand on the dashboard to steady himself when a wave of dizziness hit. "So, to sacrifice our civatateo to Huitzilopochtli we need to add blood to her heart to make it a blood sacrifice."
Dean opened his mouth to speak and Sam cut him off. "The blood doesn't have to be a sacrifice, because the civatateo is the sacrifice. We just need enough to bring her heart to life. I'm thinking about a pint, no more than a regular blood donation."
"First of all," Dean began his rant. "You still haven't explained why the cursed one needs to donate the blood." Sam opened his mouth to answer and Dean cut into him with a pointed glare. "Secondly, a pint? Sam, normally that may be nothing, but you can't tell me you're not feeling sick and I mean, really sick."
Sam guiltily looked away. "Sam, look at me." Sam steeled himself for the look of pity he was sure would be in Dean's eyes. He was surprised to see understanding glittering from the green depths. "I get why you're trying to hide it, but like I said, Sam. I know you."
"I know you too, Dean," Sam said. He did know his brother, better than anyone else. Sam never doubted Dean's love for him or that his big brother would always be there for him when Sam needed him. What Sam needed now was for Dean to understand it went both ways. "I know why you don't like this plan and to be honest, I can't say I'm overly enthusiastic, but I think it's the only way."
"Why you?" Dean asked. "Why can't it be any old blood, lamb's blood or something?"
"It has to be human blood and, for the curse to be broken, it has to be the one she chose." Sam shifted in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position. The pressure on his joints was making sitting for too long painful.
"Because of me." Dean didn't give Sam a chance to reply. He exited the car and came around to the passenger side. Sam twisted so his back was once again resting on the seat instead of the door. "I really don't like it, Sam," Dean said, opening the door.
Dean reached inside and looped an arm through Sam's, helping him stand. "I know you don't," Sam said, his tone sincere. "I wouldn't like it either if, the tables were turned and, it was you." And there it was - that glimmer of surprise on Dean's face that cut Sam to the core. He entwined his fingers in Dean's t-shirt, not minding the sweat-damp material. "Thanks."
"Let's just get inside and you can rest for awhile. I'll grab us a late night snack and we'll go over the plan," Dean said, quickly going over a mundane check off list. It was a blatant attempt to fill the void of silence with white noise, a classic Dean avoidance technique. He pulled Sam's arm over his shoulder and they stumbled to the door. "You got it?" Dean asked loosening his hold on Sam.
"Yeah," Sam said. He pressed his fingers into the door frame to steady himself. The sun-warmed wood grounded him, kept him steady. Sam tried to keep his balance when the earth seemed to tilt beneath his feet. His shoulder fell hard against the door.
Dean fisted Sam's shirt and held him in place. He opened the door and bodily moved Sam inside and steered him to the bed. "Table," Sam instructed, fighting Dean's pull.
"Bed," Dean contradicted. Sam pulled harder against Dean's grip, but it wasn't enough to stop him.
"Dean, we don't have time…" His protest was cut short when Dean grabbed his ankles and swung his legs onto the bed. "Dean, I'm not a kid anymore, you can't just force me to go to bed. We don't have time."
"We do have time," Dean said, pulling off Sam's boots. "Just a couple hours of sleep, Sam. After that, I'll order pizza and you can play Nancy Drew on the computer."
Sam's ailing body started to shut down the moment his head hit the pillow. "Two hours?"
"I promise," Dean replied. He held up three fingers. "Scout's honor."
Sam narrowed his eyes. "You were never in the scouts."
"Spit shake then," Dean offered. He made spitting noises into the palm of his hand and held it out to Sam.
Sam grimaced in disgust. "That's okay. I trust you."
"Good choice."
Dean sat down on the opposite bed and pulled out the dagger. Sam watched between longer and longer blinks as Dean examined the symbols on the weapon. He yawned deeply and settled into the bed, pulling the blankets from the far side of the bed over himself. Sam ran through a list of steps he needed to take before they sought out the civatateo as well as the items he needed to verify about the sacrificial rites. He was having a difficult time relaxing enough to sleep. Sam sighed, the deep breath garnering Dean's attention.
Dean frowned slightly, turning to rest his back against the headboard. He set the dagger down and hummed quietly under his breath. Sam closed his eyes. Dean was too quiet for him to pick out the melody, but he listened closely as Dean tapped out the beat of the song on his leg. Bark at the Moon, his mind correctly catalogued, allowing Sam to let go of his swirling thoughts and fall asleep.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Dean glanced over at Sam. His little brother's breathing had evened out though it sounded painfully congested. The beat on his leg morphed into fingers thrumming in agitation. Sam was deteriorating exponentially. Dean didn't know how Sam had made it through the last few hours without resting other than pure Winchester stubbornness. There were times it served them well.
Dean strode over to the table and booted up the laptop. He could do the research too. Right now, Sam needed a break. Besides, he couldn't sleep. He was connected to the civatateo. If he slept, she would visit him in his dreams and she'd know what they were planning to do. Somehow they had to make that work to their advantage, Dean just had to figure out how.
He was hip deep in Aztec ritual when a knock at the door had him leaping from the chair. He glanced over at Sam and frowned. Sam didn't sleep through out of place noises like someone knocking on their door at nearly midnight. Dean peered through the peephole at Father Rodriguez.
Dean swung the door open and moved to fill the open space when the priest tried to enter the room. "Something I can do for you, Father?"
"Actually, yes," Father Rodriguez said. "May I come in?" He waved an arm, gesturing into the room.
"Now's not a good time," Dean said in dismissal, starting to shut the door.
"You did steal the artifact from the sheriff's office, didn't you?" Father Rodriguez asked, his brown eyes snapping in accusation.
Dean moved from shutting the Father out to grabbing him by the collar and dragging him into the room. "What is the problem here, Father?" Dean snapped. "We're here because you needed help with this thing." Dean's voice rose higher in spite of his desire to let Sam sleep longer. "This is how we do it."
"By lying and stealing?" Father Rodriguez asked reproachfully.
"If that's what it takes, yeah," Dean shot back.
"I vouched for my missionary to Sheriff Brady," Father Rodriguez said. "I had hoped that trust wasn't misplaced."
"You vouched for the guys who are trying to help you get rid of an ancient vampire you have no idea how to take care of yourself," Dean snapped, his voice gaining volume. "Under your expert care one of your parishioners ended up torn to pieces in your church." He glanced over at Sam, his concern ratcheting up to high. Sam hadn't moved in spite of the noise. He crossed the divide and sat down next to Sam. His little brother moaned low in his throat when Dean placed a hand on his forehead. Sam was burning up. "Sam?"
"Dean? Time izzit?" Sam mumbled, his words barely intelligible.
"A little after midnight," Dean said. He shifted until he could see Sam's face and the hovering Father Rodriguez at the same time. "We have company."
Sam frowned at that statement and Dean realized what Sam thought. "Father Rodriguez, no unwanted guests." Dean looked over his shoulder at the Father, daring him to contradict his next statement. "He's just checking up on us. Wants to know how close we are to stopping the civatateo."
Sam squirmed to sit up, the effort seeming to cost him when he coughed roughly. "I hope very close," Sam announced. Sam held his head in his hands. "Dean, can you give me a few minutes to talk to the Father alone?"
"No," Dean said, shaking his head. He didn't know Father Rodriguez, not really. During the events in Providence, Father Gregory had shaken his faith in good men doing the right thing. The priest had listened to people's confessions, private or otherwise, and used that information to manipulate them into killing people.
It didn't matter what his intentions were or how righteous he felt his cause was. Father Gregory had used people's trust and need for redemption against them and Dean couldn't forgive him for that. He'd shaken not only Sam's faith in himself, but his faith that he could be saved, that Dean alone without some higher force to counterbalance all the lure of evil would be enough. Father Gregory had stolen Sam's remaining hope that they weren't in this fight alone.
Dean looked at Sam. He was pale, had dark circles under his eyes and he slumped against the headboard, too tired to sit upright. Sam was not strong enough to defend himself. Something Dean never expected, never wanted to think about his brother. "No way, I'm not leaving you alone."
Sam met Dean's gaze, his hazel eyes etched by added lines. Sam's brow was permanently creased, drawn lines lurking around the edges of his face. They didn't have much time and Sam needed this. For whatever reason he wanted to speak to the priest, the need rested plainly on his face and in his eyes. "Please, Dean."
Dean caved almost instantly. "Ten minutes, Sam. That's it."
"That's enough." Sam nodded tiredly, offering Dean a small smile. "I could eat."
"Yeah?" Dean asked enthusiastically. "You're hungry?"
"A little," Sam replied, puffing a laugh.
Dean tapped Sam on the shoulder and turned to face Father Rodriquez. He stood close to the priest, his face hardening. "Don't give Sam a hard time about stealing the dagger. He didn't do it," Dean said, harshly his quiet voice carrying all the danger of its normal volume.
Father Rodriguez met Dean's gaze with the strength of his convictions. "I am certain you are telling the truth, Dean. However, you must know I cannot approve."
"Disapprove all you like," Dean said, fixing the priest with a final hard glare. "Just keep it away from Sam."
The priest inclined his head marginally in Dean's direction. "You have my word."
Dean nodded and looked over his shoulder at his little brother. Sam was sitting braced against the headboard, watching the exchange. "Ten minutes."
"Go." Sam waved him off and Dean took his cue, leaving Sam alone with the priest.
The night air carried the sounds of yipping coyotes, the leathery wings of a cloud of bats crossing the moon's path and the goodnight melody of a songbird. The cooling air hung in velvet folds of night sky. From somewhere across the distance, the scent of chapparel drifted across the sand. Dean started the car, flicking off the radio. He didn't want the usual musical score accompaniment to his inner musings.
He headed to the lone gas station in town, bypassing the café on this trip. Despite Sam's words, Dean doubted his brother would be able to eat much or even that he was actually hungry. He tapped his hand on the steering wheel as he thought about why Sam wanted to talk to Father Rodriguez. Staring his own mortality in the face, maybe Sam wanted to talk to the priest about spirituality, but Dean had a sneaking suspicion that wasn't it, or at least not all it was.
Sam had to know that Dean wouldn't let it come to that. He'd meant what he told Sam earlier and he knew Sam knew it too. Although, Sam could be conspiring to keep Dean from being able to carry through with his promise, now that Dean did believe.
No one else was in the parking lot when Dean pulled into the gas station. He made quick work of shopping finding two sandwiches that didn't look too watery, amazingly a fresh apple and a couple of bottles of water with little difficulty in the tiny convenience section of the station.
The goth cashier sported a hooped nose ring, a stud through her tongue and long strands of dark hair that partially concealed her face. She projected an emo image the likes of which Dean had rarely seen. He smiled, trying to coax a reaction other than a sneer of indifference. When it failed miserably, he tossed her the ten bucks he owed for the sandwiches and drinks, resolving to apologize to Sam for teasing him about his brooding ability.
The drive back to the motel passed quickly, the town lights fading into his rearview mirror. He hadn't pulled into the lot yet when his cell began to ring insistently. He checked the caller ID. It was Sam. "Yeah?"
"Dean?" the voice through the phone was higher and less controlled than his brother's.
"Father Rodriguez?" Dean asked. He floored the gas pedal, turning the corner sharply into the lot leaving a line of rubber and a squeal behind.
"Dean, you need to come back now," the priest insisted. Sam's abbreviated yell came through the phone.
"I'm here." Dean didn't bother to disconnect the call. He scrambled out of the car and back into the room, the door slamming hard against the wall as he entered.
Sam hadn't made it out of bed. His body arced and he clipped back a scream, tugging frantically at his clothes. Dean crossed the distance in record time. "Sammy!" He held Sam's shoulders in a painful grip trying to garner his brother's attention. "Sam!"
"Dean?" Sam's eyes popped open. Dean cringed at the panicked look in Sam's hazels. "The bugs. They're back."
"Sam, there're no bugs." Dean said with a calmness he didn't feel. "I checked, remember?"
"I feel them," Sam forced out as another wave hit. He pulled on his shirt.
Dean pried the material out of Sam's fingers and lifted his shirt, expecting to reassure his little brother. "God, Sam," Dean whispered. Ropes of undulating movement could be seen under Sam's skin, invisible snakes criss-crossed and looped over Sam's chest, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans and behind his back.
"What are they?" Father Rodriguez asked, bending closer.
"Get the hell away," Dean growled, looking over his shoulder at the priest. He turned his attention back to Sam. "Sam, there's something moving under your skin. It almost looks like the scarabs from 'The Mummy.'"
"S-sand," Sam theorized. "Like the other times."
"Just take it easy, Sam. I'll take care of it." Dean said. How, he didn't know. Cutting the sand out like Brendan Fraser didn't seem like a good idea. This was it. Once Sam was safe, he was calling that bitch to him and either killing her or dying trying. Either way, it would be over, at least for Sam.
Sam grabbed a fistful of Dean's t-shirt and pulled him downwards with a strength Dean would not have guessed Sam possessed. He had to drop a hand to the bed to keep from face-planting on top of Sam. "Don't even think about it," Sam hissed, his voice carrying not only pain, but anger. "We have a plan. Stick to it."
With a shuddering movement, Sam's taut muscles relaxed and he slumped onto the bed. The moving sand once again disappearing. "You really have to quit doing that, Sammy," Dean said. "You're starting to freak me out."
Sam huffed a laugh that turned into a small sob at the end. "Just starting?"
"Well yeah, I mean, a certain level of freakiness is to be expected, but you're just showing off now." Dean tried to smile reassuringly. "Obsessive over-achiever."
Sam smiled. "Impulsive smart ass." His lips turned down into a grimace and his hand fell from Dean's shirt. "Dean, I'm gonna be sick."
Dean stretched, reaching for the trash can. "Here." Sam heaved and a stream of sand hit the basket. He heaved again. A fine sheen of sweat coated his ashen face. The third time Sam heaved, Dean knew his brother was in trouble. His eyes had gone from hurting to wide-eyed panic. Sam couldn't breathe.
Dean tucked himself half-way behind Sam to support him, one hand resting on Sam's back. The other reached for his discarded cell phone. Sam grasped his wrist tightly, panic lending him added strength. A final heave and Sam collapsed against him, panting.
Dean's heart thudded hard against his chest, fear for his brother causing it to race. He heard a litany of "you're okay" in the background. It took him a moment to realize he was the one talking. He didn't know how long they sat, both recovering, until Sam started choking.
"Sam?" Sam's half-closed eyes were glossy, confusion lurking in the hazel. A stream of blood trickled from his nose, glittering with sand crystals. Dean tilted Sam forward, catching him around the chest to keep Sam from falling face first onto the bed. He used the edge of the sheet to pinch Sam's nose shut. "Just breathe through your mouth," he coached.
Sam nodded, apparently not quite as out of it as Dean had feared. Dean made eye contact with the priest for the first time since he'd snapped at him. "I've got it. You can go." The very fact Sam didn't protest his blunt manner with the priest spoke volumes to Dean.
"I understand," Father Rodriguez said. Instead of heading out the door, however, he went into the bathroom. Moments later, he dropped a hand towel on Dean's leg and set a glass of water on the bedside table. "Please tell Samuel I will do as he asked."
Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but only nodded in response. He didn't acknowledge the priest when he turned to walk away. The door shut with a quiet snick and the brothers were alone. Sam's breathing was uneven and punctuated by occasional, muffled, pain-filled gasps. Several minutes ticked by, Dean applying pressure, Sam allowing it. A shaky hand touched his. Dean relinquished his grip on the towel and Sam pinched it to his nose.
"Sam, I know how we can get her to meet us at the altar by the crossroads." Dean continued on ignoring the look of surprise on Sam's face when he turned his head marginally to look at Dean. It hadn't been hard to follow Sam's precise notes. "You know, Blood Rock." Sam nodded against his chest. "When we're ready, I just need to sleep. When I dream, I know I'm somehow actually connected to her."
Sam twisted, attempting to look over his shoulder at him. Dean slid out from behind his brother, replacing his body with three pillows. He moved to sit on the other bed, creating some necessary distance to continue. Sam had his eyebrows raised in question. "The dreams I've been having, Sam. It's like I'm there with her, but more than that. She's speaking in Nahautl, but while I'm asleep, I understand what she's saying."
"Like dream walking?" Sam asked, his voice scratching past tortured vocal chords.
Dean shook his head. "Not from the way I remember Dad describing it. It's more like she's a part of me and I'm a part of her."
"So, more like a Vulcan mind-meld?" Sam whispered hoarsely. A smile teased his lips. He leaned back against the pillows and tossed the towel onto the side table. Spying the glass of water, he snagged it and drank greedily.
"Actually, yeah." Dean frowned as Sam finished the water. He didn't want Sam to get sick again. "I say we go after her now, Sam."
"We can't." Sam shook his head. "The ceremony has to take place as the sun sets."
Dean fought to control his reaction. They couldn't wait another sixteen hours, no way. "Why?"
"Huitzilopochtli is a sun god. We have to wait until the sun is close to setting, when the civatateo journey with him across the sky." Sam coughed and licked his lips. "That's our best chance."
"What are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Dean snapped, his frustration lying not in his brother, but in his helplessness.
"Learn the ritual, prepare for the ceremony." Sam rested his head against the wall.
"Nuh-uh," Dean interrupted. "If we're going to wait, you sleep."
"Dean."
"Sam." Under normal circumstances, Dean would have laughed at the expression of exasperation on Sam's face. There were days he lived for getting a rise out of his little brother. "Look, I can get everything ready."
Sam pulled his knees up towards his chest and rested his arms on bent legs. "I'm not really tired right now. Thought maybe we could work on it together?"
Dean recognized the tentative voice immediately even if it was disguised under layers of deeper tone and years of maturity. Sam was afraid to go to sleep. "Sure. I'll make the coffee." Dean jumped up to fill the carafe and started the coffee brewing. "Do you want me to bring you the computer?"
The scrunching lines of Sam's face eased a fraction. "Actually, I'm going to shower first. I feel gritty." They both understood the implication of Sam's statement and the ever-present sand.
"Don't stay in there too long. There's a lot to do if you're serious about helping." It felt like a good lie. One that Sam would believe and didn't sound like he really just didn't want Sam out of his sight. The quirked eyebrow and small smile on Sam's face told him he was busted.
"I won't." Sam slowly eased his legs off the bed and pushed himself to standing. He walked on stiff legs, groaning like an octogenarian when he bent over to retrieve clean clothes. Dean resisted the urge to hover, giving Sam the space to be independent like he obviously wanted.
"Hey, you still hungry?" Dean called through the bathroom door shortly after Sam shut it.
"A little." Sam's response was muffled by the combination of the door and the running water. "Coffee first."
"It's coming up." Dean paced the room, trying to contain his growing agitation at the forced inactivity. He straightened the twisted blankets on Sam's bed and swore when Sam's cell phone fell out and landed on his foot. It was a good thing he wore heavy boots. He checked the screen, noticing the call to his phone had never been disconnected. He ended the call and placed it on the side table by Sam's bed.
Dean picked up his phone, turned it off and shoved it in his pocket, absently rubbing the sore spot on his hip. Almost immediately it started jingling and playing 'Smoke on the Water.' He glanced at the readout. He didn't recognize the phone number. "Yeah?"
"Dean?"
TBC
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