And wait, it goes on - Objects in Mirror fanfic
Title: Objects in Mirror – SPN fanfic
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Part 2
Rating: PG-13 Language, err…off screen deaths (it helps keep things in budget), off screen sex (sorry)
Spoilers: Occurs sometime after Dead in the Water. Vaguely. Since this is a Crossover with a book most of you probably haven’t read “Requiem for the Devil” (great book BTW) I suppose there are spoilers for that, although it’s all fairly self explanatory
Description: Gen story, structured like an episode. I wanted to cross Bob, a character from Requiem, and Azariah, a err., um character from the Book of Tobit. So I did. The boys hunt down something that’s eating people in a small college town in Arizona. Vague enough?
Disclaimer: I own none of it. Oh, well.
~~~~~~~
Dawn
Arroyo Estates, Nuevo Pinyon
Ellen Montoya
Though wise men at their end know dark is right, / Because their words had forked no lightning they / Do not go gentle into that good night.
The morning couldn't decide if it wanted to be dark and stormy or just tease Ellen Montoya's bougainvillea vines with a flirtation of rain. All flashy lighting and big bicep thunder with not a bit of follow through. Kind of like her ex.
Oh, was that bitchy? Good.
Though, tease or not, the non-storm was a lot more interesting than the bleeding meanderance of thesi plaguing her desk and gushing red marks like a Biblical plague.
Blah.
Clearly she'd been looking at papers too long. She was starting to think in overwrought sentences.
Normally, this was the sort of grunt work that TAs were minted out to grade, but...yes...well. She wasn't going to think about that. She could deal with that on Monday and, slash with her red pen, my that was an In-ter-esting paragraph. Slash. Slash. Slash.
She stared absently out the window of her bungalow. She stared at the pre-Columbian pottery arranged under glow lights on her oh so IKEA shelves. She looked at anything that wasn't a paper.
Focus.
She gripped her pen and read several more pages. Red several more pages. Slash. Slash. Slash.
The early morning storm continued to be all bluster and thunder. No pitter patter of little rain drops.
Ellen's head was pounding the beat, beat, beat of the tom toms. Head against the wall. She set her red pen free and massaged her right hand.
If there weren't the whole die from electrocution thing, she'd go for a swim before breakfast.
Maybe she'd have a fruit smoothie. Her blender thought she'd forgotten it. Around paper twenty, her blender had stopped calling to her and started weeping softly. Okay, seriously, she'd been grading far too long. Weeping blenders?
That was it, no more Ms. Nice Professor. Monday, she was going to have a good long talk about responsibility with Bob, king of asshole frat boys, and Cyndi, feel my pain. She needed some real TAs. Ones that showed up to study section. Ones that graded papers and tests. Ones that looked up at her as a mentor. As a demi-god. Not whined about stress or beer burped the Carmina Burana. Well, okay, that had been pretty funny, which didn't mean that she wanted to grade the papers for Bob's study section.
She'd worked hard to get where she was. She had tenure. She'd been on digs in Nicaragua. She'd faced down men with guns while holding a tooth brush. She'd been interviewed by the History channel. Twice. She...was declaiming to herself, which was a sure sign that it was time for sugar.
She was slicing a lime when the doorbell rang. It was always the way. She licked a drip of honey and ran to the door. Ellen peered through the peep hole. No one there, but, thinking positively, she had signed up for some Band Candy from Maria down the street. Maybe it was a short school girl bearing chocolate. Could be.
Ellen swung open the door. Not Maria. No chocolate.
There was a burning ceramic pot of, she crouched down and looked at it, water and gasoline. Ellen laughed. Well, at least someone was paying attention in class. There were even some fairly accurate symbols painted on the side of the pot. She leaned out her front door and called out, "You know, that's clever enough to get ten extra credit points on your paper." She looked around at the empty street. "But not if I have to put it out Myself."
The street remained dark and empty and dry. Ellen shook her head and went to get her fire extinguisher.
She'd have closed the door if she'd been thinking about it. Woman living alone and all that. But she wanted food. Wanted a smoothie. Wanted at least one paper that implied that her students weren't all stoned. That they cared. That she was getting through to someone.
So, she didn't close the door.
It was a dark and almost stormy morning. A fluttering cloud detached from the sky and swirled through the open door. Outside it began to rain. Outside, lightening cracked the sky and thunder boomed.
Inside, Ellen began to scream.
After a few minutes, the only sound was the rain thundering on the pavement and her front door creaking back and forth in the breeze.
A figure overwhelmed by a glossy black raincoat darted forward to reclaim the ceramic pot.
~~~~~~~~
Kokopelli Motel – Vacancy
Let those who are in favour with their stars / Of public honour and proud titles boast, / Then happy I, that love and am beloved / Where I may not remove nor be removed.
Sam stretched.
He felt, carefully good. The last traces of the early morning thunderstorm had faded away. He'd pulled back the Kokopelli curtains. Between scudding clouds, sunshine was streaming in. Bright and clear. The dust wiped clean. Maybe his glass wasn't half full, but it wasn't half empty.
Dean's bed hadn't been slept in. Obviously he'd had a good evening. Maybe he was a gamboling goat. Sam snickered to himself. Sam had an odd image of Dean grabbing the glass, drinking it down and ordering another glass, maybe with a side of fries.
Chuckling, chortling, snickering, and feeling, no, actually good, he went back to his papers spread across his bed in a vain attempt to hide the Kokopelli bedspread.
Although, there was nothing he could do about the matching Kokopelli shaped table lamp and ceiling lamp, the Kokopelli wall paper, and the Kokopelli partying their way across the hand painted headboards.
Dean really did have the most amazing ability to pick hotels. Like a homing instinct for kitch. Kitchdar? Maybe Dean'd built a kitchometer into the car from the scattered electronics parts arranged on the Kokopelli legged table.
Be just like him. He was always taking things apart and building whatsits when they were kids. Lips sticking out. Hunched over the internal organs of some thrift store household item. Dean should of been a technician riding to the rescue or a mechanic like Dad was. Before.
Shoulda. Coulda. It was a beautiful day and Sam wasn't ready to let go of sunshine with moldy thoughts.
The Kokopelli painted door opened and Dean came in bearing breakfast, wearing yesterday's clothes and sunglasses. Looking hung over and satisfied with himself.
Dean smiled at Sam. Sam smiled back.
Dean handed Sam a cherry Danish and a cup of coffee, proving there was good in the world. "Thanks," Sam mumbled around a sugar saturated cherry.
Dean took off his sunglasses and closed the curtains. "So, find out anything last night between naps?"
"Mmm, yeah." Sam swallowed his bite. "Most of the bodies have been found North of town near the site of an Indian village. And according to local lore, there's some sorta black cloud that's protecting buried treasure or something."
"Huh." said Dean. "While I was getting our breakfast, I ran into some officers of law getting their morning sugar. They were more than happy to talk shop with a fellow officer on vacation."
Sam put his coffee cup down. "Please tell me you got something."
Dean sat at the table and smiled around his bear claw. "I got something." Dean swallowed some coffee. "Another body was found this morning in her home. She was an anthropology professor at SWA."
Sam swallowed his coffee. "That makes sense. Maybe the professor picked up something she shouldn't have and instead of hikers dying, the curse has moved into town."
"Worth a look." Dean held up a piece of paper. "I got the professor's address."
Sam bit into his Danish. Patterns if you could see them.
Hopefully not Kokopelli patterns.
~~~~~
Arroyo Estates, Nuevo Pinyon, Arizona
Sometimes I sleep, sometimes it's not for days / And people I meet always go their separate ways / Sometimes you tell the day by the bottle that you drink / And times when you're all alone all you do is think
Dean's felt like a family of ferrets had held a party in his mouth last night. Earlier the rain cleaned air had pounded spikes through his eyeballs, but thankfully the clouds were rolling back in. He hurt in muscles he didn't normally know he had.
Worth it.
That wannabe rebel had played some amazing games, even half plastered on tequila, and Dean had still taken him to the cleaners. And somewhere after that had been this chick. Seriously into yoga. She'd done things Dean'd a thought took five people and a trapeze. Mmm…trapeze. He'd woken up in the Impala feeling seriously impaired and richer by three weeks of funds.
Good times.
They were back in the suits and looking pretty wrinkled. Time to hit a dry cleaner again. There was tree sap and blood on Sam's coat. Don't piss off the dryads. Dean said, "We could have just worn our real clothes."
Sam said, "I'd rather not get arrested dude. This way, if anyone's hanging around, we're just here to follow up on the investigation."
Dean twitched. "Whatever grandma." Sam looked good this morning. Bright eyed. Research agreed with him.
Sam bumped into Dean and pushed him off the curb. "Jerk."
Dean shoved Sam's arm. "Bitch." Dean looked down the street. No one in sight. Just dead end suburbs and cactuses sprouting flowers.
Sam shoved Dean back. "Asshole."
"Bastard." The air felt fresh.
Sam kicked a rock. "Clouted canker-blossom."
Dean snorted, "What?"
Sam smiled a happy I know something you don't know smile, "It's Shakespeare. Read a book dude. He's got some great insults."
"Okay, Mr. Handy." Dean started up the steps of Professor Montoya's house. There was a girl, nine years old tops, standing on the porch. Sawing at a bougainvillea vine with a kitchen knife. He said, "Um...hey there. Whatcha doing?" Something was off in this picture. School uniform, but clearly, not in school.
The girl blinked at them. "Hi." She dropped her hand. Hid the knife in the pleats of her long black skirt.
Sam said, "Um, we're here to follow up on the investigation." He looked up and around and down again. Dude. Sammy had about a dozen tells.
Dean shook his head. "Cank, she doesn't care. I'm Dean and," he jerked his chin at Sam, "this is Sammy."
Sam sighed, "It's Sam."
Dean winked at the girl, just to stay in practice. "Bout now, sounds like it's butt monkey."
The girl's black hair was going everywhere in the wind. She said, "You shouldn't oughta call people names."
Dean shrugged. "I do lots of stuff I shouldn't do." He pulled his Leatherman out of his back pocket. Nice and slow. Cut a thorny vine covered in purple flowers. Cleaned the blade on Sam's sleeve, which got him a mock glare from his brother and a giggle from the girl, before putting it away. A clean blade is a happy blade. Dean held out the vine to the girl, but didn't come any closer to her.
She looked at him. Dark eyes measuring. She darted forward and took the flowers. Kept the hand with the knife hidden in her skirts. Hidden, but ready. Good girl. World was full of predators. Demons made sense. People, you could just never tell.
"Oooh. Candy." said Dean. There were several chocolate bars arranged next to the front door in a little pile.
"Don't!" said the little girl. She laid the flowers on the candy. "They're hers. Ms. Montoya's. She bought them. I thought. I thought that..."
"You know the...Ms. Montoya really well?" said Dean.
The girl shrugged. "She bought some candy." A sad smile buzzed static across the girl's face. "She showed me how to write my name in Aztec pictures. She was cool. And...something bad happened to her." The girl looked down and to the side. The cops this morning said it was a little girl who found the professor. Poor kid. Made him want to give her a better knife. That kitchen knife looked dull.
Sam said, "Were you around this morning?" Oh, yeah, Dean hadn't mentioned that part had he.
The girl began to edge back toward the stairs.
Dean shrugged. "Don't pay attention to my brother. He's a cank."
"Clouted canker-blossom." said Sam.
"See even he says it." Dean backed away a little bit, to give the girl more space.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Hey." But there wasn't much juice in it.
The girl stopped edging away. Smiled somewhere deep down. It was in her eyes more than anything.
"We look into this kinda thing." said Dean. "Make sure it doesn't happen again."
The girl chewed on the end of a chunk of hair. Her forehead wrinkled and she said, "Does this happen lots?"
Dean glanced at Sam, who was losing his cherry Danish shine. Dean said, "It happens. Sucks doesn't it?"
The girl nodded. "I told the other cops earlier, but I don't think they believed me." she pushed her hair back behind her ears."
Dean put his hands in his pockets. "Most people are stupid."
She smiled a little, "Yeah." Swayed forward a little on her toes. Said, "I was sitting in the front window, eating my breakfast, watching the lightening. And I saw someone put something on the Professor's porch But I thought it was something good. Like a package."
She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. Held it in her fist. Hidden. "And then it was like a cloud kinda flew down the street to her house." The girl sort of fluttered her hands. One hand in a fist. The other clutching a kitchen knife. She was holding the knife right. Good. She said, "It started to rain. So, I went to get my coat. And then, I wanted to leave her candy, but...so....the door was open." She opened her fist, "I thought if someone left something bad, I should leave something good."
She was holding a battered arrow head. The kind you buy for twenty-five cents at a rest stop named Apache Jamboree or the Peach Pit. "Ms. Mendoza liked old things."
Sam smiled his weight of the world smile and said, "I'm sure she'll appreciate it."
The girl nodded, eyes down. Suddenly shy. She put the arrow head on the pile and dashed back down the steps. Stood on the street a moment and waved at them. Smiled. Ran away home.
~~~~~~
Professor Mendoza’s House
Each man's death diminishes me, / For I am involved in mankind. / Therefore, send not to know /For whom the bell tolls, /It tolls for thee.
Professor Mendoza's collection of ceramics was impressive, but there wasn't a single burial urn or grave trinket in the bunch. The stack of papers on her desk were a sad commentary on the American education system, but other than telling Sam that Professor Mendoza was covering Aztec religion, they didn't say much.
Sam sighed and went back to looking at the outline of a human being on the kitchen floor. There was half a dried out lime on the counter and a sad little honey bear laying on its side, oozing honey onto the floor. There was an open container of milk on the counter. It smelled like it was going bad.
The air in the house had that smell. Empty and just a little rotten. Like a thousand other houses they'd broken into over the years. Like the house knew that its owner was dead and gone. It probably did. Violent deaths left a psychic residue. Wounds. Scars. One more thing to not think about. Sam felt the last of his sugar rush fade away, leaving that only that flat feeling.
Dean's little strung together EMF meter squawked.
Sam said, "Getting anything?"
Dean shook his head and slapped the side of the EMF. "If you don't count the ghost of Top 40, no."
"Maybe you shouldn't have used a walkman." Dean flipped him off and walked down the hallway. It was actually pretty impressive that the thing worked at all. Not that he'd ever tell Dean that. Dean'd hold it over Sam's head for the rest of their lives. Plus, Sam hadn't forgotten what Dean had done with Sam's Goodwill Speak and Spell. Sure it had been faster than a ouija board, but some things just weren't right, and then there was the part where it blew up.
A glint of something on the floor caught his eye. He knelt down. There, like some prehistoric creature trapped in amber, a black butterfly was caught in a pool of honey. Sam looked around the kitchen and picked up a white dish towel and a pair of tongs. He carefully pulled the butterfly out of the honey with the tongs. The wings clinked against the metal. They seemed to be made of some kind of stone. Hard and brittle. Sam knew how that felt.
He spread out the butterfly on the dish towel. It had a tiny cat's head and tiny claws made of stone.
Dean came around the counter. "I got nothing dude."
"Dean. Look at this." Sam waved the tongs in the direction of the butterfly.
Dean reached out to touch a wing and quickly pulled back his hand. Shook fat drops of blood on the ceramic tiles. "Sonofabitch." Dean sucked on the cut.
"I said look, not touch," said Sam. "Its made of some kind of stone or glass. I think it may be obsidian. Look at these patterns. They're carved into the wings."
"Huh." said Dean. He leaned over, "You one fugly butterfly."
Sam stared down at it. At just one more way in which their lives were just so screwed up. He wiped down Dean's blood with a disposal wipe from the container next to the sink. An adult's kitchen with those house proud touches. Clean. Lemon fresh with desiccated limes. He said, "I've never seen anything like it."
Dean smiled. "Gotta love this gig. See something new every day."
The twenty-seven hour drive to get here and the stale coffee and the gleaming kitchen and the bloody outline on the floor. The smell of it all. Sam felt like he was suffocating. "What? Driving from cannibalistic Wendigos to cursed suburbs with pit stops in mutant butterflies. Everything on hold so we can drive every day to something new. And we're no closer to finding what killed mom, what killed Jess, than when we started. It's all so," The butterfly moved.
Sam grabbed it with the tongs. The butterfly began to growl at them. It was almost cute, but a week ago it ate part of someone. Sam looked at Dean.
Dean came around the counter and opened the refrigerator. He pulled out a mayonnaise jar, which he quickly rinsed out in the sink.
Sam put the butterfly in the jar and spun the lid closed. It fluttered and growled and battered itself against the glass.
Dean said, "Like I said, you fugly." Dean gave Sam one of those looks, big brother casual. Sometimes Sam wondered how Dean did so well at poker. Dean said, "I've been all over. Whatever summoned fugly here, it wasn't in the house. Any theories?"
Sam breathed in and out. Repression your name is Winchester. "We know there's been a break in the pattern of attacks. I was thinking that the professor stumbled into something. But the girl said she saw someone leave something on the front porch. Probably some sort of talisman to summon them. The carvings in the wings look like some kind of Meso American design. Aztec, Toltec, maybe Mayan."
"Then we're probably looking for a human. A shaman or some idiot with a text book." Dean made a face. "You know 'Nothing bad ever came from reading a book' and all that."
"That would explain why the pattern changed." Sam shook his head. "We should visit the professor's office. See if her TAs know anything."
Dean picked up the jar and gave it a shake. The butterfly hissed. "Come on Junior."
Sam frowned. "Dean, we can't call it Junior."
Dean glanced back as he opened the front door. "Well, I was going to call it Sammy, but I thought you might cry."
Sam took the jar. "Jerk."
Dean ran down the front steps. "Cloudy canker-flower."
Sam closed the front door. If only it were that easy. He followed Dean to the car.
~~~~~
SW Arizona State
So close no matter how far / Couldn’t be much more from the heart / Forever trusting who we are / And nothing else matters
They parked in hell and gone and walked up a path through a rocky ravine to get to campus. The sky was had gotten cloudy. Muggy. As long as it didn't hail, Dean didn't care. Hail was a bitch on a paint job.
Students were streaming out of the Social Science Building. Sam and Dean swam in against the laughing, shouting tide.
They walked by classrooms full of people caged in little wooden desks. Couldn't talk or move or do. The sickly smell of white boards and dusty chalk and jumbled up didn't matter thoughts. He said, "Hey, Sammy, I see college has its rewards." Dean smiled at a hottie walking down the hallway. He said to her, "Can you tell me where Professor Montoya's office is?"
Chick pointed to a map down the hall and disappeared into the stream. You really shouldn't cross the streams. Whatever. Now is the only thing that's real.
The Professor’s office door was open. Tiny. Walls clustered with beehives of shelved books. There was a stick thin intense chick sifting through papers on the desk; while, crap, Bob was sitting tilted back in a chair throwing paper clips at a ceramic pot covered in black symbols. Looking at Bob, you'd never know he'd drowned seas of alcohol. He looked Dennis the Menace clear eyed and pink cheeked.
Dean said, "Hey, Bob." Had he mentioned Sam's name? The details got fuzzy after the third shot. Course the roll of cash in his pocket was what mattered. Mostly when facing the guy he'd out scammed. "Small world."
Bob let his chair fall to the ground with a thump. "Hey bitch, I love that ride." Okay, so Bob, not big on grudges. Bob continued, "One year, we snuck into Disneyland after hours and rearranged all the figures so they were all going at it. Put strap-ons on all the little Dutch girls. Had the little British boys going all Kama Sutra with the little Indian boys and girls, that kind of shit. It was great. "
Dean's experience with a Small World had been...not that. Gremlins getting a little personal with maintenance staff. Dean turned to Sam. "Bob and I played pool the last night."
"Oh." said Sam.
Oh. Whatthefuck? Oh. How did he think Dean paid for breakfast this morning? Oh. Fine.
Dean walked forward and held out his hand to the intense chick, "Hi, I'm Ozzie and this is my brother Sam." Good view of the window. Always control the entry points to a room. Always.
Nice view down her shirt too.
Intense chick eyed his hand like he was some sort of toe fungus. "Hello." She shook his hand limply and let go right away. Hello awkward. Jump in any time Sammy.
Sam said, "We were working with Professor Montoya on an project and we heard about what happened..."
Bob looked at Dean. Looked at Sam. Said, "You weren't kidding about taller. Cool." Bob bounced in his chair. "Cyndi n' I were Montoya's TAs. That's Cyndi with a y and i. Even her name's messed up." Bob picked up an eraser and began to stab it with the paperclips. "In that right Cyn?"
Cyndi glared at Bob. Looked at Dean. Dude, Betty Davis eyes in a freaky, actually Betty Davis was pretty freaky. She said, "Why are you here?"
Cindy was wearing something on a gold chain. It looked, Cindy glared at him and straightened her shirt. He said, "Professor Mendoza was going over some notes for Sam here, and he'd hate to loose them. Maybe we could look around, see if they're here."
Bob began to molest a Kachina figurine with his tentacled paperclip eraser. He was muttering, "Oh, hente. Oh, hente." It was kinda funny. Sammy was giving Bob that look. Right then. Ignoring Bob.
Cyndi crossed her arms. "I don't know how Mendoza could've helped you. It's not like she'd done anything interesting in years."
Sam started to lay on the puppy dog charm. "You know how it is." Did the little head tilt. "Actually, I've been trying to remember, what her latest project was."
Bob said, "She was doing a study on types of woven baskets or some shit like that." Bob stopped molesting the figurine and started throwing the eraser against the ceiling tiles. "Poked around the Yavapai village site."
Cyndi's shifted a little back in her chair. Good. Dropped her arms. Dean angled over a bit. Now take a deep breath. She said, "So what did you say Mendoza was helping you with?"
Sam cleared his throat. "My project is on um, the ah, reductive recurrence of obsidian butterflies in native folklore associated with the, ah, determine meanings of recursive symbols." Way to go Sam.
Sam pulled out a drawing. "Something like this." He held it out to Cyndi. She didn't glance at it. There was a just a slight narrowing of her eyes.
She took a deep breath. Yeah. That's what he thought.
Bob leaned forward. He said, "Dude, you draw like a five year old." He picked up the paper. "I don't know. This kinda looks kinda familiar." He grinned at Cyndi. "Weren't you looking at something like that in the whatsit, Lucretia Codex at the beginning of the quarter? " And confirmation from the peanut gallery. Either Dean had seen Pirates of the Caribbean one too many times, not possible, or that was some cursed Aztec gold that Cyndi was wearing.
Cyndi said, "I don't know what you're talking about. Don't you have a study section?" If looks could kill, Bob would have been extra crispy.
Bob was made of more fire proof stuff. "Yeah." Bob tossed the eraser one last time at the ceiling. The paper clips embedded in the ceiling and it clung like a pink spider. "Sucks to. Now that the profs dead, I'll have-ta grade their papers. Like I've read the book or something." He slouched to his feet and headed out the door. "Later."
Cyndi's lips got razor thin. "I've got a lot of work to do."
Dean glanced at Sam and nodded towards the door. Dean said, "We'll come back later." Dean grabbed Sam's drawing and went out the door. He glanced back and forth down the hall.
Bob was already gone.
Whatever. Sam could track down this Lucretia codex thing.
Dean walked down the hallway. "Dude, did you see what Cyndi was wearing?"
"A really tight shirt." Sam pushed out the front door. "Man, I thought you were going to start drooling on her."
"Actually, I meant her big freaking gold medallion. Pervert. The one with stamped with the image that looks like this." Dean waved Sam's drawing at him.
Sam said, "It could just be a coincidence."
"She was hiding something." Dean said, "You're the research monkey." Dean smiled at a passing girl in a pleated skirt. "You figure out just what junior is and how to take out his little friends and I'll check out the connection between mixed up Cyndi and Linda n' Howard."
Sam looked stick up his butt grumpy.
Dean tried to think of something stupid to say to cheer him up, but really wasn't in the mood. So, they walked on.
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