Vampires Were People Too
Disclaimer: They belong to someone else.
Beta'd: By Carocali whose ability to ferret out what is missing (as well as what isn't needed) and when it should happen astounds me and Muffy Morrigan for all things desert and who always pushes me to pull out more.
Special thanks to Charlie Girl – one of the best gals I know for keeping the physical scenes and flow in her head. Thanks for helping me through that one section!
Special thanks also to a fellow writer who gave me the piece of advice that revived my muse when I got stuck on a particular scene. Don't write it. Thank you!
Time Line: Set between Houses of the Holy and Born Under a Bad Sign.
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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?"
..…..……………………………………………………Chapter Seven…………………………………………………....
Sam stepped out of the bathroom to an empty room. Water pooled at his bare feet, dripped off his hair and rolled down his back. He'd scrapped his clothes; the fine layer of sand filled his t-shirt and the sweats making them both unappealing. Sam gripped the towel tightly in his fist and staggered to his bed. Surely there was at least one clean shirt and a pair of jeans left in his duffel. At the rate he'd been burning through them, he couldn't honestly remember.
It surprised him that Dean had left the room. He'd seemed so hell bent on hovering only minutes ago. He was half-dressed by the time the motel room door swung open, letting in a warm night breeze and a furious Dean. The anger lines slipped from Dean's face to be replaced by the scrunched look of concern when he focused his attention on Sam. "Sorry, I decided we needed something stronger than motel coffee to pull off an all-nighter." He held out a latte as a peace offering.
Sam nodded to the nightstand. He finished pulling on his jeans, and slipped into a clean t-shirt. "Something happen?"
"No, why?" Dean asked, taking a seat on the other bed. He cradled the paper cup in his hands, playing with the rim, twanging the lid.
Sam snagged his coffee from the nightstand, taking a sip. The cup warmed his hands, the hot, bitter liquid his insides. "Dean…"
"Maria called," Dean confessed, not making eye contact with him. "Carmelita's missing."
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. If Carmelita was missing, they didn't have much time to spare. None of the missing kids had been found. They needed to gather the items for the ritual, research the details, maybe they could push the time frame. Everything he'd read said Huitzilopochtli was the key. The civatateo followed the god and the god followed the sun. The ceremony would have to wait unless he found something new.
"Sam?"
Sam looked up at his brother, the lines of concern had reappeared around Dean's eyes. "Yeah?"
"Are you sure you shouldn't just sleep for awhile?" Dean set his coffee down, then sat forward and gently pulled Sam's cup from his loose grip setting it on the nightstand. "I think you zoned for a minute there."
"No, I was just thinking," Sam said, but he could tell by the way Dean narrowed his eyes that he didn't believe him. He hurried on. "I don't think there's a way to perform the ritual any earlier, but it seems like the place to start."
Dean nodded. "I guess Sherriff Brady's been out to Maria's and there aren't any leads, not that that's surprising." He stood, made a quick circuit in the room and returned to stand in front of Sam. The blue of Dean's jeans caught Sam's attention, the fibers blurred and refocused. He felt a cool hand on his cheek. "Jesus, Sam, you're burning up."
A fever would explain his waning concentration. "I'm fine, Dean."
"You know, you're right," Dean said with a touch of irritation in his tone. He sat down next to Sam, their shoulders nearly touching.
Sam nodded in agreement. The head bobbing slowed and he tossed Dean a look of confusion. "Right about what?"
"Saying you're fine when obviously you're not – it is annoying," Dean said with a smirk.
Sam puffed a laugh. "I'm going to hold you to that next time you do it to me."
"Go ahead," Dean replied, a lop-sided smirk appearing. "I'll deny it."
Sam nodded wearily, but a smile touched his face. He bumped shoulders with Dean. "Like there was any doubt."
Dean knocked his shoulder in return. He walked over to the table, picked up a brown bag and the computer. He brought them over to Sam. "Make yourself comfortable, Sam. Looks like we're going to be here for awhile."
Sam scooted until his back rested gingerly against the headboard, propped by pillows. He didn't know if Dean brought him the computer so he could be at ease or to keep him in bed and, quite frankly, he didn't care. He was exhausted from the simple effort of showering. His entire body ached. "Thanks."
"Get together the list of what you need," Dean said, placing the computer next to Sam. "As much as I really don't want to go without you…" Dean trailed off, gazing at Sam appraisingly. "I don't think we have a choice here, Sam."
Sam dropped his gaze, embarrassed at his own weakness no matter how unavoidable. "We don't, not really." He didn't make eye contact with Dean, unwilling to give his brother any more cause to worry. Sam needed to concentrate on finding the final details of the ceremony.
Sam could feel his brother's penetrating gaze, his concern, his frustration with the situation. Tension radiated from Dean in a palpable force. His brother was a hunter, a take charge, rush into danger kind of guy, sitting around waiting for answers was akin to lighting a match and holding it over the powder keg waiting for the explosion.
Sam watched Dean make his first circuit around the room. Seven paces to the coffee pot, add coffee to his espresso, back to the bed; pace in front of Sam drinking coffee. Pull out the sacrificial knife, his pearl-handled Colt and his favorite shotgun. Sit down on his bed. Abruptly stand up ten minutes into cleaning the weapons and repeat. By the fourth trip, Sam was tired just watching his brother.
"Dean."
"What?" Dean didn't look up. He jiggled a leg at Mach one, while he oiled the shotgun.
"Dean."
"What?" Louder this time and he did look up. "What, Sam?"
"We'll stop the civatateo and find Carmelita." Sam hoped he sounded more certain than he felt. "Just, try to relax a little. You're wound pretty tight, man."
"Sam, this thing," Dean pointed at the door with the shotgun. "Has abducted children, been responsible for several deaths and her latest curse is," he stopped, muscles in his jaw jumping while he chose his next words. "Killing my brother. Excuse me, if I'm a little pissed off about it."
Sam bobbed his head in affirmation. "I didn't mean you shouldn't be angry, but you're wearing me out just watching you run laps around the room." Dean's face fell. Sam instantly regretted the words. The last thing he wanted to do was remind Dean how he poorly he felt. He snagged the tablet of motel paper. "There aren't too many ingredients. For the Aztec, it was mostly about the sacrifice." He scribbled out a quick list.
Dean snagged the paper from his hand. "This is it?"
Sam nodded. "Yeah, just a basic purification rite."
"Sage, bottled water, co-copal?" Dean looked up from the paper, his face scrunched. "Copal?"
Sam nodded. "It's from the Nahautl, copalli, meaning incense." He smiled. "You probably would have preferred the Mayan word. They called it, 'porn'."
Dean smirked. "I would have preferred the English word, Sam."
Sam chuckled. "Duly noted." He hit the power button on the laptop waiting for it to obediently light up. His fingers ghosted over the keyboard, not quite typing, the search ideas floating around in his brain. It helped him keep his thoughts straight through the delay. Aztec human sacrifice, civatateo, Huitzilopochtli, hummingbird/sun god…Sam's vision blurred. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. When he opened them, Dean hovered only inches from his face.
Sam started, jerking his head backwards. He blinked hard, Dean's face was grainy. Not good.
"Sam?"
Sam looked over to the computer. He could tell it had finished booting up, but he couldn't read any of the words on the screen. He could barely tell what colors were there. So very not good.
"Sammy?" Dean's hands gripped his shoulders tightly.
Sam shook his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose, scrunching his forehead. If he couldn't see, he couldn't help. Shit.
"Sam!" He felt the hot burn of frustration behind his eyes. A slow trickle started down his face, Dean's hands moved to cup his head. A thumb brushed his cheek. "It's okay."
Double shit. Dean's freaked. "Sorry," he mumbled.
Dean tilted his head backwards until Sam could see Dean's fuzzy outline. He was haloed in a white, sparkling mist. Sam snorted. Dean was a great guy, an awesome big brother, even a hero, but he wasn't a saint.
"Easy, Sammy, I got ya." Dean's face swam closer. The white grew brighter, nearly blinding. When the flash of light disappeared, so did most of Sam's vision. He gasped, breathing hard. He was hyperventilating. Sam could hear it, he just couldn't stop it. "Relax, Sam."
Sam reached for Dean's t-shirt, his fingers finding enough to pull into his fist. "Dean, I can't see."
"I know." Strong hands eased him down until he was lying on his side. Sharp pain exploded behind his eyes.
"Aaagh!" Sam couldn't stop the yell from erupting from his throat. He was long past his endurance level. It felt as if his eyes were being pushed from their sockets. Sam pressed the heel of his hands tightly against his eyes.
"Breathe, Sam," a voice in the dark, his brother's voice. He responded, as always. His chest obediently expanded. He heard the wheezing sound of expelled air. "That's it, Sammy, just keep breathing."
Sam took several more deep breaths before his body gave up the battle to remain conscious.
-0-0-
The air was cool, but not cold. Light flickered on the other side of Sam's closed eyelids reassuring him that he could see if only he could pry his eyes open. A door opened quietly. "Dean?"
The word came out garbled, but it hardly mattered. The approaching footfalls did not belong to his brother. Sam attempted to open his eyes, make another sound, heck, at this point, he'd be happy with a little head waggle. But he couldn't move, blanketed by the thick cover of lethargy and fatigue.
"Dean will be back soon." Sam recognized the voice. It was Father Rodriguez.
"Where?" Sam grated out.
"Where?" the priest asked. This time Sam did manage to nod his head. "To get the herbs you asked for, some lunch and a few medical supplies from a friend of mine."
Sam tensed, his concern increasing ten-fold. Dean couldn't risk too many curious questions and medical supplies usually garnered attention. He struggled to sit up. He needed to call his brother.
Father Rodriguez placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "He should be back soon. He's been gone about five hours."
Sam peeled his eyes open, blinking up at the priest. The Father's outline was grainy. "Five?" he asked, his voice a shadow of its normal volume.
"Yes, it's nearly one in the afternoon." Father Rodriguez stood, moving to his desk.
Sam folded an arm under his head; apparently Dean had taken him to the church. The two chairs from before had been removed, to be replaced by a cot. Sam's feet were pressed hard to one wall, his head had barely a half an inch clearance on the other one. "Are you sure he's okay?"
The priest chuckled, shaking his head. "He's called every thirty minutes like clockwork. I'm sure he's okay."
Sam propped himself up on one elbow. "You're still willing to do what I asked, right?"
Father Rodriguez steepled his fingers, gazing at Sam appraisingly. "I am. What I'm not entirely clear on is how you think you will fulfill your end of the exchange. You can barely hold your head up."
"Don't worry about me," Sam said. The arm holding his head shook. "I can handle it."
"Someone has to worry about you," Father Rodriguez countered. "About both of you." He shook his head. "Well, other than each other. You seem to have your hands full with that alone."
Sam huffed, a mistake he soon realized when it precipitated a coughing fit. He thought for a moment he would pass out again, his lungs straining to take in air. The room tilted, then righted itself. The spinning continued, just at a slower tempo. "Sorry."
A large, sloppy wet kiss landed on Sam's face. He wiped at it with the back of his hand, the other reaching down to pat the owner of the long tongue on his head. "Maximus," the priest said in a commanding tone.
"S'okay," Sam assured him with a half smile. He patted the dog once more before the giant brindle canine returned to his normal spot by the currently-unlit fireplace. The doors to the front of the church opened with a creak, then slammed shut. The sanctuary fell silent. "Dean's here."
The priest glanced at his watch. "I don't think he's had time to get from town."
A light knock on the door was the only warning before Dean poked his head inside. "He awake yet?"
"Only just," Father Rodriguez replied. He tossed Sam a knowing look, standing up from behind his desk. "I'll be in the sanctuary if you need me." He whistled once, short and sharp. Maximus leapt to his feet to follow.
Dean smiled gratefully, patting the priest on the back on his way by. He walked over, sitting down on the edge of the cot. "Got the stuff on your list."
"What happened?" Sam asked, cutting past the avoidance small talk. He ran his fingers over the rough fabric of the navy blanket. Sam frowned, his brow knitted. He vaguely remembered Dean wiping his face with a warm washcloth. "Did I bleed out my eyes?"
The muscles in Dean's jaw jumped. His stony gaze fixed on the two candles lighting the room. When he turned to meet Sam's eyes, the stormy green had softened. "Yeah," Dean said, finally.
"There was sand in it too, wasn't there?" Sam asked, quietly.
Dean nodded. "Yeah." He sat straight again, his hand resting briefly on Sam's shoulder. "We're gonna take care of this, Sam. I won't let this thing take you."
"Dean, I don't want you doing anything stupid. Please, promise me." He watched Dean's face as emotions flitted across it, finally settling on determination, forehead scrunching slightly, lips pinched.
"I'm sorry, I can't," Dean said, dragging a hand down his face from nose to chin. 'You're my little brother, Sammy. I can't just stand by and watch you die."
"Maybe that's not a big brother thing. Maybe it's just…" Sam trailed off, unable to continue past the lump in his throat.
"Maybe it's just what, Sam?" Dean asked, his voice sharp, eyes vulnerable.
"A brother thing." Sam finished quietly.
Silence hung in the air around them, Sam not backing down from his brother. "Then I guess we better make sure it never comes to that," Dean said. He stood, reaching out a hand to Sam. "Feel up to a road trip?"
"Absolutely." Sam gripped Dean's hand, his brother's fingers closely tightly over his, pulling him upright.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The two hour drive to the mesa was quiet, each brother lost in his own thoughts for most of the trip. Dean cast a sidelong glance at Sam as he pulled up to the mesa. Sam had grown increasingly quiet, his head bobbing until he'd finally fallen asleep. The hot wind whipping through the open window had done nothing to keep them cool. It was the worst time of the day to be out in the remote desert.
The front wheels hit a rut, jarring the occupants one last time. The movement woke Sam. "Where are we?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes.
"You need to stop doing that," Dean reprimanded, pulling Sam's arm down. "Your eyes are really red."
"I'll try not to," Sam said lightly, his lips twitching in a ghost smile. He sat up, looking around. "Are we there yet?"
Dean knew Sam couldn't see well, but the words brought an unbidden chuckle. His eyesight, however, was perfect, and Sam's death glare only amused him further. "Between you rubbing your eyes and those words…I swear Sam, you sound four."
Sam made a sound somewhere between a snort and a huff, slumping back against the seat. The grumbled response sounded vaguely like 'whatever.' Dean's smile faded slowly, the small moment of normalcy disappearing as quickly as it came.
Dean squinted against the bright desert sun. He pulled the Impala to a stop in the crossroads, craning his neck, taking in the view of Blood Rock. The orange-pink mesa sloped upwards nearly a half mile, a silent giant in the great expanse of sand. "Son of a bitch," he whispered under his breath.
"Impressive, isn't it?" Sam's words were meant to lighten the moment, but the weary tone drove Dean's fears home.
"It has to be on top?" Dean asked, hoping Sam had thought of a loop-hole in the already Swiss-cheese plan. "The land surrounding the altar should be holy as well."
"True," Sam conceded. "But the rituals all took place on pyramids and stone altars. The blood is supposed to flow down the western side, following Huitzilopochtli towards the setting sun."
Dean pinched his lips between his forefinger and thumb. He really hated this plan. "Daylight's burning, Sammy. It's going to take at least an hour in this heat to get up that hill."
Sam nodded. "I know."
Dean slapped Sam lightly on the knee. "Gonna get the stuff out of the trunk." He slipped out of the car, the door falling shut with a soft click. His boots crunched against the crusty salmon sand, the metallic granules squeaking in protest beneath his soles.
He emptied the weapons bag of its usual contents, filling it instead with water, the extra medical supplies, the sacrificial Aztec dagger and the purification ingredients his brother had requested. Dean paused, then threw in his Colt and a flask of holy water for good measure. He hadn't kept his family safe all these years by being unprepared.
He rounded the car. Sam's door was open, his long legs resting on the ground. Sam cradled his head in his hands, the mop of sun-bleached, light-brown hair obscuring his face. Dean placed a hand on his little brother's shoulder. "Sam, there is another way."
Sam twisted his head, glaring at him from under a veil of sweaty bangs. "There's a sandstone and obsidian ledge near the summit," Sam said, ignoring Dean's words. "That's where we're headed."
Dean squinted against the bright, white rays. The hill loomed as a daunting task. The heat, the climb, on a good day it wouldn't be his idea of fun. Today, with a dying brother, it felt like one more time they'd have to pull off the impossible. "Piece of cake."
Sam puffed a laugh, the lines of pain around his eyes giving way to creases of amusement. He looked at the hill, up at Dean and dropped his head. Dean frowned, then with perfectly tuned big brother ease, put together the unspoken dilemma. He hooked an arm through Sam's, bending low for leverage. "Thanks," Sam said quietly.
"On three?" Dean waited for a head bob of affirmation. "One, two…" Sam groaned, wobbled, then steadied himself.
"You never wait for three," Sam protested with another small groan.
"I never pegged you as a slow learner, Sammy," Dean said, not relinquishing the hold he had on him. He shifted his grip to Sam's elbow. Sam squinched his face, perplexed. "If you know I never wait, why does it surprise you?"
The momentary look of confusion gave way to a slowly dawning comprehension topped with a layer of embarrassment. "I guess it shouldn't," Sam said, his lips curling in a smile.
Dean returned the smile. "Ready?"
Sam nodded. "Let's go."
-0-0-
It seemed Dean had been optimistic about it only taking an hour to hike up the steep, sandy, rock-strewn hill. He'd stopped several times for Sam to rest, drink, and gather his strength for the next stretch of walking. The sun beat down mercilessly, the heat rolling in rippling waves through the air. Cicadas buzzed in accompaniment until the air itself seemed alive. "I think I'm hallucinating," Dean remarked after a particularly long stretch of silence punctuated only by Sam's desperate wheezing.
"Why?" Sam asked, nearly breathless.
Dean halted, easing Sam onto a mid-size rock. It was shaded by the larger rock behind it keeping it cooler. The rocks themselves were hot enough to sizzle flesh otherwise. He fished out a water bottle and handed it to his brother. "I smell chocolate. I think."
Sam stopped drinking and sniffed the air. "I think it's mesquite."
"Smells like dusty, dark chocolate," Dean said, he wrinkled his nose. "Chocolate doesn't even sound good. Now, an ice cold scoop of ice cream beside a slice of apple pie, that's sounds good."
Sam huffed, chuckled and looked up. Dean followed his gaze. "Buzzards," Sam remarked under his breath.
Dean had a strong, irrational urge to take out his gun. "Stupid birds," he muttered. He noticed Sam had finished most of the water. "You ready?"
At Sam's nod, Dean hoisted him to his feet. He looked around carefully, keeping his eyes peeled for dangers both supernatural and ordinary. A long trail of dust on the desert floor below them caught his attention. "Someone else is out here," he said.
Sam craned his neck, leaning as far as Dean's grip allowed. "Looks like a car all right. Doesn't mean much though, you can see for miles out here," Sam said, his tone tentative.
"Not that there's much to see," Dean grumbled. He had thought the desert a ruggedly beautiful place when they arrived. Now that it threatened to engulf his brother, it was just one more thing they had to fight. He cupped a hand over his eyes, looking uphill. Black obsidian reflected sunlight, sparkling brightly ahead. "Almost there, Sam."
Sam snorted. "You've been lying to me about almost being there for a half an hour, Dean."
"Yeah, well, this time I'm telling you the truth." Dean pointed, his arm stretch over Sam's shoulder to guide his gaze. "See?"
"We are almost there," Sam said, the relief evident in his tone. "Let's go."
Dean didn't need any urging. While he wasn't looking forward to the ceremony, he was hoping it would work. He needed it to work. Sam staggered heavily against him as they trudged the remaining steps to the outcropping. Dean touched a hand to the stone. The obsidian was slightly cool compared to the surrounding rocks.
Sam rested next to him, drinking the remaining water in open bottle. "I can perform the purification ceremony while you meditate," Sam said weakly. "That'll cut the time in half."
"Are you sure?" Dean asked. It concerned him, turning his mind inward essentially left Sam's back unguarded.
Sam nodded wearily. "Yeah. I'll be okay. You call the civatateo."
Dean dug through the bag, laying out all the items Sam needed before taking a seat not far from his brother. His job would be easy. He just needed to call the civatateo to him. Five minutes later, he grew frustrated. He couldn't relax, couldn't concentrate. The smell of sage assaulted his nose. He opened his eyes only to see his struggling brother waving a bundle of burning sage over the altar, his face and torso. "Sam?"
Sam spun on his heel, nearly toppling over backwards. "What?"
"I thought sage kept vampires from picking up your scent."
"It does," Sam replied. "But it's a purification herb and the civatateo isn't exactly a normal vampire." Sam walked slowly back towards Dean, waving the sage over him as well and then he dropped it into the small fire. The flames were nearly extinguished, puffs of gray smoke enveloping the brothers before it burned brightly again. Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder to ease himself back to the ground. "Can't concentrate?"
Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "No."
Sam dropped the small chunk of copal in the orange flames. "What's she look like to you?"
"Beautiful," Dean said, closing his eyes for a better mental view. "Slender, but toned, long, silky black hair, coppery skin." He breathed in deeply. "She smells a little like some of the flowers in the desert. Not that one that stinks like rotten meat, the sweet ones."
"Dean," Sam's voice called from far away.
She moved gracefully, one tiny hand cupping his cheek. "Soft lips." He bent his head down towards her.
"Dean." Sam's voice again, firmer this time.
He kissed her gently. "Moconeuh miqui," she whispered in his ear.
"Dean!"
He opened his eyes. Swirling sand was solidifying into the civatateo. She stood between him and Sam, her hand outstretched towards his brother. He had to stop this, had to fight the pull of the ancient vampire. He shook his head to clear it. "Stop!" Dean shouted, the obsidian knife in his belt loop a reassurance.
Dean placed a hand on the civatateo's shoulder, spinning her around. In the same instant, he reached for the dagger, gripping the ornate gold handle tightly. "Miqui!" she hissed.
"Yeah, same to you, bitch," Dean ground out. In one fluid movement he thrust the knife forward. Sand pelted his eyes. "Agh!" He turned his head, driving the dagger blindly. Strong wind buffeted him; the sacrificial knife torn from his grasp. "No!"
Dean fell to his knees. White, billowing cotton appeared in his vision. He followed the material up to her face. Dark almond eyes glittered angrily at him. "Amini." Dean felt his throat constricting. Above the din of whirling sand he heard Sam's ragged, wheezing breaths.
"Sam?"
"Dean," Sam said in a choked whisper.
Dean looked around for the dagger. He couldn't see it anywhere. It was as if the sand had claimed it. He looked up again. The civatateo glared at him, her beautiful young face morphing into an old hag. The symbol of death on her forehead scrunched in fury. She raised a hand to him. "Miqui."
The sand kicked up, engulfing both Sam and Dean in the maelstrom. Dean struggled to stand. Tiny needles of pain, hit his face. "Sam!"
"Moconeuh miqui!" Sand kicked up harder, making visibility impossible. It pummeled Dean as he edged closer to his brother. The wind howled louder and then stopped. Sand rained back to earth. Dean glanced over at Sam. His brother's chest heaved in an effort to take in air.
Sam coughed, expelling puffs of sand in each hacking breath. "M'fine," he said, answering Dean's unspoken question.
Relieved, Dean looked back, gaze traveling upwards to where the civatateo had stood. Instead he saw Father Rodriguez with a gray, necrotic heart in one hand, the gold, sacrificial dagger in the other. Dean sat, his mouth hanging open in shock. "I believe time is of the essence," the priest said.
Dean leaped to his feet. "I, how?"
"Your brother asked me. He said she wouldn't be expecting it."
"She's not the only one." Dean accepted the knife and heart from Father Rodriguez. "Thank you."
"Dean," Sam croaked. "Couldn't tell you. She'd find out if you knew."
"I know, Sam," Dean said, his tone softening. He placed the heart on the stone outcropping, helped Sam stand, and they walked over to the altar. "Are you absolutely sure of this? It has to be your blood?"
"Pretty sure," Sam said, picking up the dagger.
Dean put a hand on Sam's arm. "This could kill you, Sam. I'm gonna need a little more here."
"Okay," Sam said, his lips curled in a smile over the familiar words. "I'm really pretty sure." Sam held the knife firmly against his skin. He looked up at Dean, his eyes seeking approval. Dean nodded, his heart thumping hard against his chest.
Sam slit his arm. He held it over the gray, petrified heart. The dry fibers soaked in the crimson liquid like sand absorbed the rain. Nothing happened. Blood continued to run from Sam's arm, over the heart, but it remained a dry husk.
"It's not working," Sam said, weakly. "I'm sorry." His hazel eyes sparkled an apology. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "I thought it would work." His fingers tightened on the ornate handle of the dagger.
Dean eyed his brother suspiciously. "No more, Sam. Let's get you patched up."
Sam shook his head. "Why?" Sam asked quietly. "I'm dying anyway, Dean. You have to let me go."
Fear thrummed through Dean's veins, turning to anger hot enough to rival the desert air around them when Sam turned the knife inward and held it tight against his chest. Sam's eyes brightened to blue-green with unshed tears and he nodded.
Dean grabbed Sam's arm, his fingers digging into muscle hard enough to bruise. "I don't know what the hell you think you're doing, Sammy, but I'm not going to let you do it." He ripped the dagger from Sam's grasp.
"You have to," Sam all but whispered.
"I don't think so," Dean said, panic strangely bringing clarity with it. "You're my brother." Sam opened his mouth to interrupt and Dean held up his left hand to silence his brother before he got started. "And I don't think you're the one that's cursed."
Sam's knees buckled and he sat down hard on the edge of the stone altar. "You don't?" He squinted up at Dean.
"I think I am," Dean said, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Listen, Maria said, either the soul dies or the body does. Sam, it isn't two different people, it's one. You're sick because of me."
Sam shook his head. "I don't know, Dean."
"I do." Dean insisted. "She's drawn to me, she knows my thoughts, she gave me the choice. My brother's life or my own, because…" he trailed off, suddenly unsure he wanted to share the revelation with Sam. They didn't need to add emotional blood-letting to the sacrifices of the day.
In the end it wasn't Sam's damnable, puppy dog eyes that broke through his defenses; it was his brother's absolution. "It's okay, I understand, Dean. I do."
Dean swallowed around the lump in his throat and nodded. Without another word, Dean cut his arm, grunting as the knife penetrated deep. A thick stream of blood ran from his arm and soaked into the civatateo's heart.
Red slowly seeped through the gray, slicking the surface. Soon the entire heart was a healthy, dark red. "Dean, that's enough. It isn't working." Sam weakly tried to make a grab for Dean's arm. "Dean, that's enough."
"Not yet," Dean said, his vision graying as the heart darkened. The heart convulsed and beat once, then again and again.
"You did it," Sam said, weakly. He slid off the altar, boneless. Sam moaned, his eyes rolled back in his head and he slipped to the side, his consciousness ebbing.
The blood and centuries old heart continued to meld and Dean swayed as the blood loss overtook him. He lifted the gold handled knife for the last time and plunged it deep into the vampire's heart.
Dean sank to his knees as the heart slowed its beating and stopped, his head resting against the cool stone. He breathed deeply, holding a hand to his arm to staunch the flow of blood. "Sammy?" He pushed himself to his feet with agonizing slowness and stumbled around the altar to where his brother had collapsed.
Sam lay on the ground, sand pouring from his mouth, his eyes, ears and nose. "Sammy!" He dropped to his knees, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. The sand partially formed a face, wailing, then fell to the earth. The sand was gone, the civatateo with it, but Sam wasn't breathing.
A noise to Dean's left drew his attention. He reached into the weapons bag bringing up the Colt. For a fraction of a second Dean saw a man with a bright blue face framed by green feathers in the sight of the gun. He blinked and the man disappeared. Father Rodriguez stepped into view, a sympathetic look on his face. A hand squeezed Dean's shoulder.
"No," Dean whispered. "No!" He dropped his arm, his thick fingers clumsily felt for a pulse on Sam's neck. Dean buried his face against Sam's shoulder and wrapped an arm around his brother's back pulling him into a tight embrace. "You're gonna be okay, Sammy. You hear me? You're gonna be okay."
………………………………………………………………Supernatural……………………………………………………
AN: There is a reader who really is responsible for this chapter. It isn't that I've lost interest in this story, because I haven't! It just isn't an easy story to write because virtually every scene of consequence requires research or consultation. That being said, I tend to pick up other stories when I get a plot bunny and it catches my interest. I can whip something out a little quicker and it satisfies the niggle in the back of my brain when something wants to be written.
But it isn't fair to those of you who have been reading and patiently waiting. This particular reader reminds me ever so often that I haven't updated in awhile. I'm not going to 'out' her publicly, but I hope she knows who she is - Thanks girl, for poking me when I need it!
My sincere apologies for making ya'all wait so long. This was the chapter and there's only one more to go. Thanks for reading!