Fic: Hidden Treasures 1/3+Epilogue
Title: Hidden Treasures
Author: astri13
Movie Adapted: Indiana Jones
Genre: SPN AU
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Sam, couple of familiar faces from the show
Rating: R for imagery and lots of cursing
Word Count: 13.218
Warnings: non-graphic slash
Notes/Credits: created for reel_spn
I combined elements of "Raiders of the Lost Ark" with "Temple of Doom." Just because I could. :) And because I' m saving "Last Crusade" for the sequel. :)
Also, the guys are not brothers in this one and while Indiana Jones basically is a one-man-show, SPN is not, so don't fear gentle readers, both boys will get their chance in the spotlight.
My deepest gratitude to katjad for a lightning-quick beta-job. You all don`t wanna know how this fic would have looked without her. *g*
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit.
Summary: What happens when a whip-wielding archaeologist and a sharp-tongued, floppy-haired law student stumble upon their greatest adventure? Even the Ark of Covenant itself might pale next to this dynamic duo.
Prologue
-- Honduras, 1935 --
"Score." Dean grinned victoriously when he spotted the little wooden figure on top of the ancient altar.
Carefully he stepped deeper into the cave, his hands tearing through the spider-webs littering the walls. This had once been a sacred place to the native Lencas, and while they had been a rather simple people, Dean had learned the hard way not to underestimate ancient cultures' ingenuity in creating booby traps.
Click. He almost didn't hear the sound in time, but instinct as well as the fact that he kept his body in top condition saved him again. Dean threw himself to the ground with a shout, just before a salve of arrows whizzed through the air from both sides of the cave with deadly precision. Their paths criss-crossed in the very space Dean had occupied just a moment ago, before they neatly embedded themselves in the opposite walls.
Sharpened iron tips, Dean thought when he got up slowly, dusting off his pants and his well-worn leather jacket. Dean combed through his sandy brown hair once before donning his fallen hat. His father tended to frown at his ´scoundrel attire, unbecoming of a real gentleman', as the old man put it, but Dean felt more comfortable dressed like this than he ever did wearing a suit in the lecture halls of Stanford. And it was a lot more conductive to crawling around in caves in the jungle, too.
Rising back to his feet, Dean noticed another trigger mechanism just a foot in front of him. A slightly raised spot on the floor was half-hidden in the dust and would most likely be activated through pressure.
He slipped past it and walked up to the heavy stone-block that had been used as an altar. His fingers closed around Xipe Totec, a minor Aztec fertility god that people in this area used to worship. The artefact in itself wouldn't have been all that unusual, had it been found in Mexico. The fact that Dean currently was deep in the territory of Honduras and the statue showing clear markings of the Lenca culture, however, made it a priceless rarity.
Cautiously, Dean lifted the statue from its resting place. The thing was rather primitively carved but its maker had given it an impressive representation of fertility that made Dean grin.
"I believe this belongs to me, Dr. Winchester."
Dean spun around at hearing the oily voice. Damn it, Lehne. And of course he'd brought his usual posse of dim-witted but muscular henchman.
Freddy Lehne was technically a fellow archaeologist but, as far as Dean was concerned, he was nothing more than a grave-robber. Lehne's vulture-like mentality when it came to historical artefacts had earned him the nickname 'Old Yellow Eyes'.
"Unless you're working for a museum now, Lehne, I don't think so," Dean scoffed.
"Ah, Winchester, still the idealist." Lehne smiled. "And quite the storyteller, too, from what I hear. Your thesis on the existence of demons has made some waves at Stanford."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "You know as well as I do that demonic entities are a part of folklore all over the world. With surprisingly detailed and similar--"
"Please spare me the lecture, Dr. Winchester." Lehne waved him off. "I believe in what I can see and touch. For example, that little wooden carving in your hand. Now, if you would be so kind." He held out a hand towards Dean, the gesture obvious enough even without the accompanying gun in Lehne's other hand that was pointed straight at Dean.
Dean tried to assess the situation. Old Yellow Eyes himself was standing a bit too close but his three goons were in the right position.
He held up Xipe Totec. "You want it, you dog? Then go fetch." With that he tossed the statue at Lehne while simultaneously threw himself forward to land on the second trigger stone. It worked like a charm, and again Dean heard the sound of arrows whizzing through the air. Only this time it was mingled with screams and a few gun shots that ricocheted from the walls around them.
Idiots, Dean thought. Miraculously, he wasn't hit. Uncoiling the whip he wore at his side, Dean jumped to his feet and took a quick glance around. Two of Lehne's muscle were down for the count, one had an arrow protruding from his throat - dead, Dean figured. The other was still moving weakly but didn't look long for this world either.
Number Three had apparently been spared but, luckily for Dean, seemed to have crashed into Lehne, bringing them both to the ground. Lehne, though, was already stumbling back to his feet, and still had a solid grip on the gun.
Dean was faster. Striking out with the whip, he slapped the weapon out of Lehne's hand, then caught Lehne around the ankles with his next strike of the braided leather.
Dean pulled, and the other man lost his footing once more, crashing right into Number Three, who had just been in the process of getting up. With one last glance at the little object he' d come for - too far out of reach and he' d overstayed his welcome anyway -- Dean dashed out of the cave, Lehne's curses ringing in his ears.
He'd escaped with his life, but he'd lost the statue. This round went to Old Yellow Eyes, Dean thought angrily. But he'd make damn sure the next wouldn't.
* * *
Chapter 1
-- Shanghai, six months later -
Dean entered the nightclub warily. He would have preferred a different setting than Chen-Ling's own turf for the trade-off, but the Chinese businessman had insisted on it. And unfortunately, Chen-Ling was in possession of something Dean had been looking for for years.
On stage a group of exotic dancers was performing a rather raunchy routine. That in itself wasn't an unusual sight, but the main dancer definitely was. Even from Dean' s removed position, it was clear that he wasn't looking at a female but a male in a dress. Now, even that wasn't completely unheard of. With a certain form of cabaret becoming fashionable lately, you saw a lot of men in dresses and women in suits and ridiculous moustaches. Dean was pretty sure in a few months people would have moved on to something else.
The men cast in this sort of role were usually rather petite and feminine-looking, however. You certainly couldn't say that about this particular guy. Dean guessed he stood 6'4" or 6'5" easily, giving him a good three or four inches on Dean' s own, not unimpressive frame. And the little red sequined number they'd squeezed the giant into accentuated a lean but muscular body.
The guy was very handsome, too. High cheekbones defined his heart-shaped face. And while Dean couldn't make out the color of the guy's eyes, he'd guess warm brown from the mop of unruly hair that was currently weighed down by a ridiculous tiara-like headdress.
One thing was clear, however: he wasn't God's gift to dancing. Long limbs swayed awkwardly to the music and Dean wondered how the guy had ended up in an upscale Shanghai nightclub. Clearly of Caucasian origin, without a trace of oriental about him, he could be a who'd found himself down on his luck. A quick glance to Chen-Ling's table solved the mystery. The old Chinese's eyes were practically devouring the young man, his thick lips smacking in anticipation.
Dean's own mouth curved into a sneer of disgust, but he reminded himself that he hadn't come here tonight to save manly damsels in distress. So he shrugged and went over to Chen-Ling, who gave him a pleasant - and utterly fake - smile.
"Dr. Winchester, how nice of you to honor my humble club with your illustrious presence."
Right, Dean thought. If it wasn't for the little urn currently in Dean's pocket, he was pretty sure 'illustrious presence' wouldn't be allowed to step foot into the club.
"Let's get down to business, Chen-Ling. Do you have the amulet?" Dean asked curtly.
Chen-Ling's smile slipped a bit at the brusque tone, but he maintained his expression and politely inclined his head, motioning for Dean to take a seat. "I trust you have kept up your end of the bargain, Dr. Winchester?"
Before Dean had a chance to answer, they were joined by the young dancer. He was still wearing the stupid dress but he'd lost the headdress, at least. Now Dean could see how young he still was. Practically a kid. Also, Dean had been slightly off about the guy's eye color: curious and slightly relieved hazel eyes fastened on his face.
"Oh, I didn't mean to intrude. I'll go back to my room for the night." The melodic voice addressed Chen-Ling in fluent Mandarin -- better than Dean's own, he had to admit.
Chen-Ling, it seemed, had other ideas. He gripped the kid's elbow with a meaty hand and dragged him down on the seat beside him, firing off an angry salve in Mandarin as well, obviously assuming Dean couldn't understand a word.
Usually Dean was fine with leaving his opponents with such a misconception - being underestimated had saved him life and limb on many occasions - but for some odd reason he felt compelled to at least let the kid get out of there' instead. So he joined the conversation, this time in Mandarin as well. "I think it's best we talked this through in private."
Chen-Ling's eyes narrowed. "I didn't know you spoke our language."
"I'm full or surprises." Dean gave a big, fake smile of his own.
The kid heaved a relieved sigh and was about to shimmy away from the table, but once more Chen-Ling grabbed him, pulling him halfway onto his lap this time. "I assure you, Sammy " -- the old Chinese man patted the kid' s leg clumsily -- "is absolutely trustworthy. But let me introduce you formally. Dr. Winchester, this is Sammy Morgan, a fellow countryman of yours, if I'm not mistaken."
The kid's - Sammy's - eyes widened. "You're the crazy archaeologist from Stanford?"
Dean frowned. "I'm not crazy. And what the hell do you know about me anyway?"
"I went to Stanford."
"Were you in one of my classes?" Dean tried to recall the kid's face from his lectures but drew a blank. The vast majority of his students were female, so a male face, and especially that face - not to mention body - should have left a lasting impression. As an admirer of the finer things in life, Dean didn't differentiate much between genders. Yet his memory came up empty.
"Of course not." The kid had the audacity to look affronted. "I can think of better uses of my time than digging around in the dirt for broken pieces of old pottery. I studied law," he said proudly.
Chen-Ling was apparently growing impatient with the conversation. "This is all very fascinating, I'm sure, but I think we should conduct our transaction now."
Dean shrugged. "Fine by me as long as I get the amulet."
Chen-Ling discreetly patted his jacket pocket. "And now the urn, please."
Dean smiled. "You first." It was a calculated insult and Chen-Ling's face darkened. But still, he produced a rather unimpressive-looking piece of jewellery and showed it to Dean.
"What is that?" the Sammy-kid asked, looking dubiously at the little golden plate with the perfect circle in the middle.
"An amulet," Dean answered curtly.
The kid rolled his eyes. "I got that. What does it do?"
"Ideally, I can pawn it to buy my very own place in the dirt. Full of broken pieces of old pottery if I'm lucky," Dean said sarcastically. He reached inside his own jacket and pulled out a bundle of cloth, handing it over to Chen-Ling.
The old Chinese unwrapped the package with greedy fingers, falling silent and reverent for a second when he caught sight of the little urn inside. "Nurhachi," he murmured. Then he looked up at Dean. "Excellent, Dr. Winchester, most excellent. Your reputation is well deserved."
"Yeah, well, thank you. I guess our business is concluded now." Dean made to get up from the table, pocketing the amulet.
"Leaving so soon, Doctor Winchester? I had hoped to convince you to trade the amulet back to me." Chen-Ling said amiably.
Dean snorted. "Why the hell would I do that? I doubt you have something better to offer."
Chen-Ling smiled enigmatically. "How about your life, Dr. Winchester?" The Chinese man nodded to his left where Dean could see two men sitting at a nearby table, training their guns on him under the cover of their napkins.
Damn it. Dean should have known something like this was going to happen. "We had a deal," he forced out between clenched teeth.
"And I have honored it. Now I'm simply looking to make a new deal." Chen-Ling smiled while the kid looked on between them with wide, unsure eyes.
More than anything Dean wished for his trusty whip now, to show the smug Chinese businessman how Dean Winchester dealt with those looking to double-cross him. Sadly, the whip had clashed a bit with his smoking and thus had been left behind.
Well, time to improvize. Luckily, Fortuna smiled down on him, and right that moment a waiter was passing their table carrying a giant plate full of an exotic-looking meal with little sparklers in it. Pulling out the amulet as if he was bowing to Chen-Ling's request, Dean quickly jumped to his feet and grabbed the plate from the dumbfounded waiter, throwing it at the table with the two armed henchmen. One of the henchmen's suits caught on fire, and a few people nearby started screaming.
Dean hadn't counted on Chen-Ling, however, who had half-risen from his chair and produced a firearm of his own, obviously intent on ending the very promising career - and life - of one Dean Winchester here and now.
The kid proved to be the unexpected ally. Possibly in retaliation for the earlier groping, he grabbed onto Chen-Ling's arm and brought it down hard against his upturned knee, knocking the weapon out of the other man's grip. Then he rammed his knee into an even more vulnerable body part, and Chen-Ling doubled over in pain.
Dean grabbed the fallen gun from the floor and fired two shots into the air. Predictably the crowd in the club panicked and Dean escaped in the chaos, tucking the precious artefact away again.
When Dean exited the club and found himself on the busy street outside, the kid suddenly appeared beside him, freakishly long legs easily covering more ground than Dean, even in that stupid dress. In passing, Dean heard the words, "Wait for me."
I don't have time for this. Ignoring the kid, Dean flagged down a car by jumping in front of it. He then ripped open the door and effectively did away with the driver by throwing him out onto the sidewalk.
Distantly he heard the kid's shocked gasp, but it didn't register until Dean found himself with an unwanted passenger as the kid climbed into the car as well and pinned Dean with a hard glare.
"I told you to wait for me! That was inexcusably rude and you're a lout… and oh my God, drive!"
What an inhuman shriek. Dean's ears were ringing. Still, the kid had a point: Dean glanced in the rearview and saw that an absolutely infuriated Chen-Ling had just come out of the club, along with a group of heavily armed men. So Dean slammed his foot down on the accelerator and the car sped away.
Chen-Ling and his man were soon chasing them in their own car, and Dean really could have done without the kid's running commentary. "They're closing in on us. Do something!"
"You wanna drive, kid? Be my guest," Dean barked.
"My name is Sam, not kid," he was informed in an indignant voice.
"Whatever you say, kid." Dean really had other things on his mind right now.
They were speeding along the streets, swerving all around those goddamn bicycles and rickshaws that seemed to be everywhere. After a few sudden turns, it looked as if they had lost their pursuers. Maybe it was their lucky day after all.
Or not. Dean groaned when he realized they have pulled onto a tiny airfield containing nothing but a miserable-looking transport plane, from the looks of it built by the Wright brothers themselves. It seemed about as ready for take-off as it would ever be. A man stood beside it, eyeing them. Predictably, it gave the kid all the wrong ideas.
"Oh my God, do you see that? We're saved!" Unconcerned with his unusual attire, the kid jumped out of the car and ran over to the man, whom Dean assumed to be the pilot, talking to him rapidly.
Dean, still in the driver's seat, didn't at all like the pointing and nodding in his direction. His plan had been to make it to the harbor where a little freighter was waiting for him. But the unexpected car chase hadn't let that plan come to fruition.
Damn, he should just put the car back in gear and leave the kid right here and… damn his stupid conscience, it was too late. The kid returned with the pilot in tow and opened the driver's side door.
"Terrific news. Ho-Min here has agreed to take us with him for a small fee. He's going to Delhi and I told him who you are and that you have well-situated friends there who'd pay him double." He beamed.
Dean was starting to feel a major headache coming on. "Kid…"
"I already told you, my name is Sam," the kid informed him, frowning. "And I'm sure we can work the money issue out. So what are you waiting for? Didn't you hear, the pilot kindly offered to take us with him."
"Yeah, yeah, I heard it, all right," Dean grumbled. "Doesn't mean we have to take him up on the offer."
"Are you insane? This is our chance. Chen-Ling might be here at any moment." The kid glanced around nervously.
"But why does it have to be by plane? We can drive down to the harbour, I've got a ship waiting there," Dean protested.
Sam looked at Dean like he'd grown a second head. "Are you afraid of flying? I thought you were this famous adventurer, traveling the world. How do you ever get anywhere if you don't fly?"
"There are other means of transportation. Besides, I fly when it's necessary," Dean grumbled.
"I'd say it is necessary."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Kid…"
"I already told you, my name is Sam. S.A.M," Sam spelled out, "so could you please stop calling me ´kid'?" He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You know, ´Mr. Morgan' wouldn't be totally off, either, seeing as we just met."
"My, my, aren't we prim and proper." Dean chuckled.
Sam only fixed him with an icy glare, his whole body conveying his exasperation with Dean.
The boy would make a fine lawyer, Dean found himself thinking. In the interests of peace he relented. "Alright, Sam, I'll…"
He was cut off by another car pulling onto the airfield. And damn it to Hell, it looked like Chen-Ling had caught up to them pretty quickly. Dean leapt out of the car and yelled at the pilot to get his piece of crap ready.
The kid - Sam - didn't feel above a huffed out "I told you so" as they both sprinted to the plane. They'd just closed the hatch door when the first gunshots rang out. The pilot cursed and demanded triple the money.
"I'll pay you whatever. Just get us in the air already," Dean yelled. All the while his stomach was knotting itself tightly, and Sam had the audacity to smirk smugly at him. For a minute there Dean entertained the thought of throwing him out of the plane just like he'd done with the unlucky car-driver earlier, but suddenly they started to rise in the air, and Dean needed to focus on not losing his dinner.
After an hour of blessed silence, Dean got used to the feeling of having millions of ants crawl through his stomach and he even started to relax a bit.
"So, what's the deal with this amulet?" Sam asked suddenly.
Dean blinked at the non-sequitur. "It's a priceless artefact. That's what it is."
"So what, you're going to sell it? You're nothing but a fortune hunter," Sam accused.
"You've known me all of" -- Dean looked at his pocket-watch -- "thirty minutes and you already think you've got me all figured out, Sammy?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't call me Sammy."
Dean smirked. "It's either that or 'kid', so take your pick."
"You're impossible, anyone ever tell you that?" Sam threw up his hands in disgust.
Dean nodded, "Once or twice."
Sam managed to keep his mouth shut for exactly ten minutes before he started in again.
"So, if you don't plan to sell it, what's it for?"
Holy crap, that kid was nosier than anyone Dean had ever met. He capitulated.
"It's something like a map," he explained.
"Of what? And what's so special about it?" Owlish hazel eyes looked at Dean curiously.
"I thought you didn't care about archaeology. So what's with the sudden interest?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "We're on a multiple-hour flight and you're the only source of conversation here apart from the pilot, and he's got to concentrate on flying the plane," he explained.
"You could sleep," Dean offered.
"I'm not tired. I'm just bored."
"Holy hell, I' m stuck on a plane with an overgrown toddler in an evening dress," Dean mumbled under his breath.
"What was that?" Sam glared at him.
"Nothing."
"No, I heard you. And I' m not an overgrown toddler. I'm a respectable law student," Sam informed him, "And as for the dress, I've been told it brings out my eyes."
Dean had to admit Sam looked adorable when he pouted. He decided there was no harm in teasing him a little bit. "And how was it that a respectable law student like you ended up an exotic dancer in a Shanghai nightclub?"
"Well, I…" Sam fiddled with the dress. "A month ago I came to Shanghai with a couple of friends. And…it was supposed to be an adventure. I haven't…really been anywhere before, you know. I think they only brought me because I speak fluent Mandarin, though."
"Yeah, I noticed that. How did you get to be so good at it?" Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam questioningly.
"Um… back home in San Francisco, there was this Chinese dry cleaning service in the neighbourhood. And the owner was very nice to me. He taught me."
"Good for him." Dean nodded, impressed. "So, what happened with your friends?"
"Well, those so-called friends turned out turned out to be disloyal jerks." Sam's voice grew embittered at the last part, and despite himself Dean felt sympathy welling up. "They tried to do a little opium deal on the side?" he guessed.
Sam nodded.
"And when it went downhill they left you behind to fend for yourself?" Dean went on.
Another nod. "They stole from Chen-Ling and I guess you could say he took a liking to me."
Dean coughed uncomfortably. It had been pretty obvious what kind of liking the old Chinese man had taken to the young man in front of him.
Inexplicably Sam brightened. "I managed to trick him, though. At first I played the shy, little… well, you know and he seemed to like that game but for the last few nights I guess he got impatient so I drugged his tea."
Sam looked proud, and Dean had to give it to him. The kid had acquitted himself well in a difficult situation.
"I don't know how long that would have worked, though." Sam looked thoughtful. "So I guess I owe you."
"Don't sweat it, Sammy. I'm as far from the proverbial knight in shining armour as you can imagine." Dean waved off the stuttered display of gratitude. "Once we reach Delhi, I'll put you on a plane back home and before you know it, you' re back to being buried in dusty old law books. Bet your family will be overjoyed, too."
Dean had already guessed Sam didn't come from a rich or influential background, otherwise he'd never have gotten into this predicament in the first place.
"I'm… my parents are dead," Sam said quietly.
Damn, Dean cursed himself for sticking his foot in his mouth. "Sorry to hear that…My mother… she died too," he offered awkwardly.
Sam looked at him in surprise at the revelation, with quickly turned to sympathy. "I'm really sorry."
"Yeah, well, happened a long time ago. I was only four so I barely remember her." And Dean had absolutely no idea why he'd just shared his family history with this near stranger. Even his friends always complained how you'd have to pry open his mouth to get something private out of him. Dean just didn't do heart-to-hearts.
An uncomfortable silence descended over the little plane until Sam seemed to decide to switch back to the start of the conversation. "So, this amulet is a map…"
"Dear God in heaven, you' re like a dog with a bone." Dean cut him off with an eye-roll.
Sam only crossed his arms in front of himself and looked at Dean with determination. His whole body language clearly said, Yes, I'm still bored, and no, I won't let it go.
Dean heaved a huge sigh. "Alright, alright. Last year they discovered the ruins of what is believed to be an old city named Tanis--"
"Tanis? The lost city and rumoured resting place of the Ark of Covenant, the chest where the Jews kept the ten commandments?" Sam cut him off excitedly.
"You're sure you never stumbled into one of my glasses? Accidentally, maybe?" Dean looked at Sam suspiciously.
Sam snorted. "I already told you, no. I just like to read, that's all."
"So you're a bookworm, is what you' re saying?" Dean smirked.
"If you want to call it that." Sam held his head high. "But I can carry on a conversation on a myriad of topics. Even with a scruffy-looking archaeologist."
"Hey, I'm wearing my best smoking today." Dean looked down at himself, affronted. Sure, the thing didn't look as neat now as it had when he'd put it on this morning, but come on, scruffy-looking?
"Yet you didn't feel the need to shave," Sam pointed out.
"It's called being a man, kid," Dean shot back.
"I am a man. I' m taller than you and probably outweigh you by a good thirty pounds."
Dean frowned. "Size and weight isn't everything."
"You' re only saying that because you're short." Sam stuck out his tongue at him.
"I'm not short." If Dean sounded like a petulant five-year-old at the moment, surely he had an excuse. The nerve on that kid. "And now shut up and go to sleep. I don't care if you're tired or not."
"You're bossy and short," Sam told him gleefully.
Where was a damn whip when you needed one?
Obviously correctly judging Dean's current murderous expression, Sam wisely waved a hand. "Alright, alright, I'll sleep." He then pushed a few crates to the side and made himself comfortable with an old blanket he'd acquired from God knows where, turning his back on Dean.
Meanwhile Dean revisited his original plan of throwing Sam out of the plane -- surely it wasn't too late -- before an uneasy slumber took him, too.
* * *
They reached Delhi without further problems and, after a quick phone call, they'd sorted out payment with their pilot.
As luck would have it, Dean's old friend and colleague Jim Murphy was currently in Delhi overseeing an exposition at the local British museum. Jim specialized in religious artefacts of all kinds. Dean had often thought the man would have made a good priest if he hadn't gone into academics.
Jim had made arrangements for Sam to take the next available flight to Europe and then back to the States. He had nearly had a heart attack from anticipation when Dean had showed him the amulet. Discovering a relic like the Ark of Covenant would be bigger than anything either of them, heck, anybody had done before.
Short of finding the Holy Grail, there was nothing to beat this, and both men knew it. Jim had even expressed an interest to join Dean on the quest, even though the older man usually busied himself with research and was happiest with his books back at Stanford.
Since both Sam and Dean's respective modes of transportation -- a plane for Sam and a ship for Dean -- wouldn't be leaving for almost a week, Sam had expressed an interest in experiencing the local culture. Dean snorted; the kid was a bona-fide scholar. Unsurprisingly, he and Jim had hit it off immediately. Sam had even refrained from making scathing remarks about the merits of archaeological work.
Of course Dean was the one assigned to babysitting duty, and in the last three days Sam had dragged him everywhere. At least Dean had been able to trade the smoking for more comfortable clothing. He'd even gotten to purchase a new whip and hat.
Sam, too, had exchanged the red dress for a pair of neatly-pressed grey wool pants, a white shirt and a light brown jacket. Dean had to admit, the kid cleaned up nicely, especially since he was dressed as a man for once.
'Today they were at the bazaar again. They'd come here before, but ever since they'd arrived this afternoon, he hadn't been able to shake off a certain feeling of unease, as if they were being watched. Once more Dean wished he were already on the way to Cairo, the map safely in his hands instead of tucked away at the hotel with Jim.
Dean was still a little worried about what had happened in Shanghai. He had tried to keep his transaction with Chen-Ling as quiet as possible, but the world of fortune hunters was small and had good eyes and ears everywhere.
Meanwhile Sam was shrieking with glee over the colorful wares at the bazaar. He'd even taken to grabbing Dean's hand and drag him from booth to booth. And of course, he needed to see a real fakir and snake wrangler. Dean despised snakes. But since Sam already knew about his little problem with flying, Dean didn't say anything; he felt it prudent not to give the younger man any more ammunition. The kid had a real sharp tongue on him.
As Sam stood captivated by the sight of a loin-clothed man lying on a bed of steel, Dean's gaze searched over the sea of faces around him worriedly. For a second, he thought he'd seen a blond head in the masses. The bad feeling in his gut started to intensify.
He turned to Sam to inform him that they were leaving, when to his great chagrin he found the spot beside him empty. Swiveling his head around, Dean called out for his companion.
"Sammy? Sammy?" Then louder: "Sam?" Damn it. How could you lose a floppy-haired giant like that? "Kid?" Maybe that would help.
A few rows down a familiar form stepped out from behind a display of beautifully-woven carpets, and Dean heaved a sigh of relief. Sam had probably been checking to see if they could fly, since they were in India, although Dean was sure he wouldn't admit to it because a respectable law student from Stanford didn't believe in folklore.
Stomping over to the younger man to drag him away from this damned bazaar once and for all, Dean caught sight of the blond head from earlier once more. Only this time, he could make out the face too. His eyes: it was Meggie Marsters. This couldn't be good.
Meggie was Lehne's right hand, and her being here right now spelled nothing but trouble. He began to sprint over to her when a scream made him turn his head around. "Dean. Dean! Help me!"
Oh no. Sam. He turned back in Sam's direction to see two big burly man dragging the kid away. Sam struggled valiantly but the way they were holding him made it impossible for him to get free if he wasn't a trained fighter. And it looked like he wasn't.
Cursing, Dean ran off to help him when he found his way blocked by another freaking giant. Scars lined the man's face, giving the permanent impression of an ugly sneer. The guy drew a huge sword and expertly swung it around.
Behind him Dean could still hear Sam's frantic screams, though they were getting dimmer. He really didn't have time for this. Luckily, he'd taken care to not only bring the whip but also a gun today. He swiftly pulled it out and shot the would-be sword master right between the eyes. The guy had an almost comical look of betrayal on his face but Dean simply jumped over him, intent on getting to Sam.
Unfortunately, the distraction had given the captors enough time to make away with their prey because Sam was nowhere to be seen. And somehow Dean knew that this time he wouldn't simply appear from behind a carpet.
Still, he raced through the booths, peeking into dark doorways, rudely shoving people out of his way as he went. Damn it, by bringing him here he'd become responsible for the kid. And he'd let him get kidnapped right from under his nose. There was no sign of Meggie either which wasn't a big surprise.
With that bitch being here, all the signs pointed to Lehne. Which meant Lehne most likely was in on Dean's current treasure hunt, and this was his way of saying hello. Apparently he knew Dean well enough to know that despite his protestations to the contrary, Dean was enough of an idealist or, let's face it, noble idiot, that he'd care about the young man's fate.
Dean could only hope Lehne considered Sam a worthy enough prize not to harm him for the time being.
Dejectedly he walked back to the hotel where he informed a worried Jim about the recent events. At least they still had the map, and Lehne would mostly likely be willing to trade it for Sam. Though Dean intended to snatch both Sam and the map back safely from Old Yellow Eyes.
First step, however, would be to find the guy. Thankfully Dean had someone who could help him with that.
He dialed and asked for a long distance call.
After a few rings, a sleepy voice answered, "Reznicky."
"Ronald, get your ass out of bed. I have a job for you."
"Dean? Dean Winchester?" The voice already sounded more awake.
"The one and only, Ron."
Dean grinned. Ronald Reznicky was nothing more than a small-time crook, to the larger public that was. For a small group of insiders Ron was a never-ceasing well of information. He knew about everything and everyone and had an amazing knack for figuring out patterns. Even better, since Dean had saved his life a couple of years ago, he considered the guy a personal friend, and Ronald seemed eager to work off his debt to him.
"Where are you, Dean? Last I heard was you got chased out of Shanghai. Had to take a plane, no less." Ron chuckled at that.
"Damn, you're fast. Hopefully you're this fast in helping me locate someone else," Dean said.
"If we're talking about Lehne here, and I think we are, he is rumoured to be in Cairo. He's trying to get the government to give him access to the Tamis ruins," Ron informed him cheerfully.
Dean cursed inwardly. Lehne was fast. Still, it was a start. "Damn it, Ron, you're good. Next time we're out at O' Flannagens, drinks are on me." Dean smiled. Finally a bit of luck.
"Wait, Dean, what are you--"
"Sorry, Ron, I have to go. Bye." Dean disconnected the call and turned around to a waiting Jim. "Looks like our destination hasn't changed. Cairo, it is."
* * *
Chapter 2
Author: astri13
Movie Adapted: Indiana Jones
Genre: SPN AU
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Sam, couple of familiar faces from the show
Rating: R for imagery and lots of cursing
Word Count: 13.218
Warnings: non-graphic slash
Notes/Credits: created for reel_spn
I combined elements of "Raiders of the Lost Ark" with "Temple of Doom." Just because I could. :) And because I' m saving "Last Crusade" for the sequel. :)
Also, the guys are not brothers in this one and while Indiana Jones basically is a one-man-show, SPN is not, so don't fear gentle readers, both boys will get their chance in the spotlight.
My deepest gratitude to katjad for a lightning-quick beta-job. You all don`t wanna know how this fic would have looked without her. *g*
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit.
Summary: What happens when a whip-wielding archaeologist and a sharp-tongued, floppy-haired law student stumble upon their greatest adventure? Even the Ark of Covenant itself might pale next to this dynamic duo.
Prologue
-- Honduras, 1935 --
"Score." Dean grinned victoriously when he spotted the little wooden figure on top of the ancient altar.
Carefully he stepped deeper into the cave, his hands tearing through the spider-webs littering the walls. This had once been a sacred place to the native Lencas, and while they had been a rather simple people, Dean had learned the hard way not to underestimate ancient cultures' ingenuity in creating booby traps.
Click. He almost didn't hear the sound in time, but instinct as well as the fact that he kept his body in top condition saved him again. Dean threw himself to the ground with a shout, just before a salve of arrows whizzed through the air from both sides of the cave with deadly precision. Their paths criss-crossed in the very space Dean had occupied just a moment ago, before they neatly embedded themselves in the opposite walls.
Sharpened iron tips, Dean thought when he got up slowly, dusting off his pants and his well-worn leather jacket. Dean combed through his sandy brown hair once before donning his fallen hat. His father tended to frown at his ´scoundrel attire, unbecoming of a real gentleman', as the old man put it, but Dean felt more comfortable dressed like this than he ever did wearing a suit in the lecture halls of Stanford. And it was a lot more conductive to crawling around in caves in the jungle, too.
Rising back to his feet, Dean noticed another trigger mechanism just a foot in front of him. A slightly raised spot on the floor was half-hidden in the dust and would most likely be activated through pressure.
He slipped past it and walked up to the heavy stone-block that had been used as an altar. His fingers closed around Xipe Totec, a minor Aztec fertility god that people in this area used to worship. The artefact in itself wouldn't have been all that unusual, had it been found in Mexico. The fact that Dean currently was deep in the territory of Honduras and the statue showing clear markings of the Lenca culture, however, made it a priceless rarity.
Cautiously, Dean lifted the statue from its resting place. The thing was rather primitively carved but its maker had given it an impressive representation of fertility that made Dean grin.
"I believe this belongs to me, Dr. Winchester."
Dean spun around at hearing the oily voice. Damn it, Lehne. And of course he'd brought his usual posse of dim-witted but muscular henchman.
Freddy Lehne was technically a fellow archaeologist but, as far as Dean was concerned, he was nothing more than a grave-robber. Lehne's vulture-like mentality when it came to historical artefacts had earned him the nickname 'Old Yellow Eyes'.
"Unless you're working for a museum now, Lehne, I don't think so," Dean scoffed.
"Ah, Winchester, still the idealist." Lehne smiled. "And quite the storyteller, too, from what I hear. Your thesis on the existence of demons has made some waves at Stanford."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "You know as well as I do that demonic entities are a part of folklore all over the world. With surprisingly detailed and similar--"
"Please spare me the lecture, Dr. Winchester." Lehne waved him off. "I believe in what I can see and touch. For example, that little wooden carving in your hand. Now, if you would be so kind." He held out a hand towards Dean, the gesture obvious enough even without the accompanying gun in Lehne's other hand that was pointed straight at Dean.
Dean tried to assess the situation. Old Yellow Eyes himself was standing a bit too close but his three goons were in the right position.
He held up Xipe Totec. "You want it, you dog? Then go fetch." With that he tossed the statue at Lehne while simultaneously threw himself forward to land on the second trigger stone. It worked like a charm, and again Dean heard the sound of arrows whizzing through the air. Only this time it was mingled with screams and a few gun shots that ricocheted from the walls around them.
Idiots, Dean thought. Miraculously, he wasn't hit. Uncoiling the whip he wore at his side, Dean jumped to his feet and took a quick glance around. Two of Lehne's muscle were down for the count, one had an arrow protruding from his throat - dead, Dean figured. The other was still moving weakly but didn't look long for this world either.
Number Three had apparently been spared but, luckily for Dean, seemed to have crashed into Lehne, bringing them both to the ground. Lehne, though, was already stumbling back to his feet, and still had a solid grip on the gun.
Dean was faster. Striking out with the whip, he slapped the weapon out of Lehne's hand, then caught Lehne around the ankles with his next strike of the braided leather.
Dean pulled, and the other man lost his footing once more, crashing right into Number Three, who had just been in the process of getting up. With one last glance at the little object he' d come for - too far out of reach and he' d overstayed his welcome anyway -- Dean dashed out of the cave, Lehne's curses ringing in his ears.
He'd escaped with his life, but he'd lost the statue. This round went to Old Yellow Eyes, Dean thought angrily. But he'd make damn sure the next wouldn't.
* * *
Chapter 1
-- Shanghai, six months later -
Dean entered the nightclub warily. He would have preferred a different setting than Chen-Ling's own turf for the trade-off, but the Chinese businessman had insisted on it. And unfortunately, Chen-Ling was in possession of something Dean had been looking for for years.
On stage a group of exotic dancers was performing a rather raunchy routine. That in itself wasn't an unusual sight, but the main dancer definitely was. Even from Dean' s removed position, it was clear that he wasn't looking at a female but a male in a dress. Now, even that wasn't completely unheard of. With a certain form of cabaret becoming fashionable lately, you saw a lot of men in dresses and women in suits and ridiculous moustaches. Dean was pretty sure in a few months people would have moved on to something else.
The men cast in this sort of role were usually rather petite and feminine-looking, however. You certainly couldn't say that about this particular guy. Dean guessed he stood 6'4" or 6'5" easily, giving him a good three or four inches on Dean' s own, not unimpressive frame. And the little red sequined number they'd squeezed the giant into accentuated a lean but muscular body.
The guy was very handsome, too. High cheekbones defined his heart-shaped face. And while Dean couldn't make out the color of the guy's eyes, he'd guess warm brown from the mop of unruly hair that was currently weighed down by a ridiculous tiara-like headdress.
One thing was clear, however: he wasn't God's gift to dancing. Long limbs swayed awkwardly to the music and Dean wondered how the guy had ended up in an upscale Shanghai nightclub. Clearly of Caucasian origin, without a trace of oriental about him, he could be a who'd found himself down on his luck. A quick glance to Chen-Ling's table solved the mystery. The old Chinese's eyes were practically devouring the young man, his thick lips smacking in anticipation.
Dean's own mouth curved into a sneer of disgust, but he reminded himself that he hadn't come here tonight to save manly damsels in distress. So he shrugged and went over to Chen-Ling, who gave him a pleasant - and utterly fake - smile.
"Dr. Winchester, how nice of you to honor my humble club with your illustrious presence."
Right, Dean thought. If it wasn't for the little urn currently in Dean's pocket, he was pretty sure 'illustrious presence' wouldn't be allowed to step foot into the club.
"Let's get down to business, Chen-Ling. Do you have the amulet?" Dean asked curtly.
Chen-Ling's smile slipped a bit at the brusque tone, but he maintained his expression and politely inclined his head, motioning for Dean to take a seat. "I trust you have kept up your end of the bargain, Dr. Winchester?"
Before Dean had a chance to answer, they were joined by the young dancer. He was still wearing the stupid dress but he'd lost the headdress, at least. Now Dean could see how young he still was. Practically a kid. Also, Dean had been slightly off about the guy's eye color: curious and slightly relieved hazel eyes fastened on his face.
"Oh, I didn't mean to intrude. I'll go back to my room for the night." The melodic voice addressed Chen-Ling in fluent Mandarin -- better than Dean's own, he had to admit.
Chen-Ling, it seemed, had other ideas. He gripped the kid's elbow with a meaty hand and dragged him down on the seat beside him, firing off an angry salve in Mandarin as well, obviously assuming Dean couldn't understand a word.
Usually Dean was fine with leaving his opponents with such a misconception - being underestimated had saved him life and limb on many occasions - but for some odd reason he felt compelled to at least let the kid get out of there' instead. So he joined the conversation, this time in Mandarin as well. "I think it's best we talked this through in private."
Chen-Ling's eyes narrowed. "I didn't know you spoke our language."
"I'm full or surprises." Dean gave a big, fake smile of his own.
The kid heaved a relieved sigh and was about to shimmy away from the table, but once more Chen-Ling grabbed him, pulling him halfway onto his lap this time. "I assure you, Sammy " -- the old Chinese man patted the kid' s leg clumsily -- "is absolutely trustworthy. But let me introduce you formally. Dr. Winchester, this is Sammy Morgan, a fellow countryman of yours, if I'm not mistaken."
The kid's - Sammy's - eyes widened. "You're the crazy archaeologist from Stanford?"
Dean frowned. "I'm not crazy. And what the hell do you know about me anyway?"
"I went to Stanford."
"Were you in one of my classes?" Dean tried to recall the kid's face from his lectures but drew a blank. The vast majority of his students were female, so a male face, and especially that face - not to mention body - should have left a lasting impression. As an admirer of the finer things in life, Dean didn't differentiate much between genders. Yet his memory came up empty.
"Of course not." The kid had the audacity to look affronted. "I can think of better uses of my time than digging around in the dirt for broken pieces of old pottery. I studied law," he said proudly.
Chen-Ling was apparently growing impatient with the conversation. "This is all very fascinating, I'm sure, but I think we should conduct our transaction now."
Dean shrugged. "Fine by me as long as I get the amulet."
Chen-Ling discreetly patted his jacket pocket. "And now the urn, please."
Dean smiled. "You first." It was a calculated insult and Chen-Ling's face darkened. But still, he produced a rather unimpressive-looking piece of jewellery and showed it to Dean.
"What is that?" the Sammy-kid asked, looking dubiously at the little golden plate with the perfect circle in the middle.
"An amulet," Dean answered curtly.
The kid rolled his eyes. "I got that. What does it do?"
"Ideally, I can pawn it to buy my very own place in the dirt. Full of broken pieces of old pottery if I'm lucky," Dean said sarcastically. He reached inside his own jacket and pulled out a bundle of cloth, handing it over to Chen-Ling.
The old Chinese unwrapped the package with greedy fingers, falling silent and reverent for a second when he caught sight of the little urn inside. "Nurhachi," he murmured. Then he looked up at Dean. "Excellent, Dr. Winchester, most excellent. Your reputation is well deserved."
"Yeah, well, thank you. I guess our business is concluded now." Dean made to get up from the table, pocketing the amulet.
"Leaving so soon, Doctor Winchester? I had hoped to convince you to trade the amulet back to me." Chen-Ling said amiably.
Dean snorted. "Why the hell would I do that? I doubt you have something better to offer."
Chen-Ling smiled enigmatically. "How about your life, Dr. Winchester?" The Chinese man nodded to his left where Dean could see two men sitting at a nearby table, training their guns on him under the cover of their napkins.
Damn it. Dean should have known something like this was going to happen. "We had a deal," he forced out between clenched teeth.
"And I have honored it. Now I'm simply looking to make a new deal." Chen-Ling smiled while the kid looked on between them with wide, unsure eyes.
More than anything Dean wished for his trusty whip now, to show the smug Chinese businessman how Dean Winchester dealt with those looking to double-cross him. Sadly, the whip had clashed a bit with his smoking and thus had been left behind.
Well, time to improvize. Luckily, Fortuna smiled down on him, and right that moment a waiter was passing their table carrying a giant plate full of an exotic-looking meal with little sparklers in it. Pulling out the amulet as if he was bowing to Chen-Ling's request, Dean quickly jumped to his feet and grabbed the plate from the dumbfounded waiter, throwing it at the table with the two armed henchmen. One of the henchmen's suits caught on fire, and a few people nearby started screaming.
Dean hadn't counted on Chen-Ling, however, who had half-risen from his chair and produced a firearm of his own, obviously intent on ending the very promising career - and life - of one Dean Winchester here and now.
The kid proved to be the unexpected ally. Possibly in retaliation for the earlier groping, he grabbed onto Chen-Ling's arm and brought it down hard against his upturned knee, knocking the weapon out of the other man's grip. Then he rammed his knee into an even more vulnerable body part, and Chen-Ling doubled over in pain.
Dean grabbed the fallen gun from the floor and fired two shots into the air. Predictably the crowd in the club panicked and Dean escaped in the chaos, tucking the precious artefact away again.
When Dean exited the club and found himself on the busy street outside, the kid suddenly appeared beside him, freakishly long legs easily covering more ground than Dean, even in that stupid dress. In passing, Dean heard the words, "Wait for me."
I don't have time for this. Ignoring the kid, Dean flagged down a car by jumping in front of it. He then ripped open the door and effectively did away with the driver by throwing him out onto the sidewalk.
Distantly he heard the kid's shocked gasp, but it didn't register until Dean found himself with an unwanted passenger as the kid climbed into the car as well and pinned Dean with a hard glare.
"I told you to wait for me! That was inexcusably rude and you're a lout… and oh my God, drive!"
What an inhuman shriek. Dean's ears were ringing. Still, the kid had a point: Dean glanced in the rearview and saw that an absolutely infuriated Chen-Ling had just come out of the club, along with a group of heavily armed men. So Dean slammed his foot down on the accelerator and the car sped away.
Chen-Ling and his man were soon chasing them in their own car, and Dean really could have done without the kid's running commentary. "They're closing in on us. Do something!"
"You wanna drive, kid? Be my guest," Dean barked.
"My name is Sam, not kid," he was informed in an indignant voice.
"Whatever you say, kid." Dean really had other things on his mind right now.
They were speeding along the streets, swerving all around those goddamn bicycles and rickshaws that seemed to be everywhere. After a few sudden turns, it looked as if they had lost their pursuers. Maybe it was their lucky day after all.
Or not. Dean groaned when he realized they have pulled onto a tiny airfield containing nothing but a miserable-looking transport plane, from the looks of it built by the Wright brothers themselves. It seemed about as ready for take-off as it would ever be. A man stood beside it, eyeing them. Predictably, it gave the kid all the wrong ideas.
"Oh my God, do you see that? We're saved!" Unconcerned with his unusual attire, the kid jumped out of the car and ran over to the man, whom Dean assumed to be the pilot, talking to him rapidly.
Dean, still in the driver's seat, didn't at all like the pointing and nodding in his direction. His plan had been to make it to the harbor where a little freighter was waiting for him. But the unexpected car chase hadn't let that plan come to fruition.
Damn, he should just put the car back in gear and leave the kid right here and… damn his stupid conscience, it was too late. The kid returned with the pilot in tow and opened the driver's side door.
"Terrific news. Ho-Min here has agreed to take us with him for a small fee. He's going to Delhi and I told him who you are and that you have well-situated friends there who'd pay him double." He beamed.
Dean was starting to feel a major headache coming on. "Kid…"
"I already told you, my name is Sam," the kid informed him, frowning. "And I'm sure we can work the money issue out. So what are you waiting for? Didn't you hear, the pilot kindly offered to take us with him."
"Yeah, yeah, I heard it, all right," Dean grumbled. "Doesn't mean we have to take him up on the offer."
"Are you insane? This is our chance. Chen-Ling might be here at any moment." The kid glanced around nervously.
"But why does it have to be by plane? We can drive down to the harbour, I've got a ship waiting there," Dean protested.
Sam looked at Dean like he'd grown a second head. "Are you afraid of flying? I thought you were this famous adventurer, traveling the world. How do you ever get anywhere if you don't fly?"
"There are other means of transportation. Besides, I fly when it's necessary," Dean grumbled.
"I'd say it is necessary."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Kid…"
"I already told you, my name is Sam. S.A.M," Sam spelled out, "so could you please stop calling me ´kid'?" He narrowed his eyes at Dean. "You know, ´Mr. Morgan' wouldn't be totally off, either, seeing as we just met."
"My, my, aren't we prim and proper." Dean chuckled.
Sam only fixed him with an icy glare, his whole body conveying his exasperation with Dean.
The boy would make a fine lawyer, Dean found himself thinking. In the interests of peace he relented. "Alright, Sam, I'll…"
He was cut off by another car pulling onto the airfield. And damn it to Hell, it looked like Chen-Ling had caught up to them pretty quickly. Dean leapt out of the car and yelled at the pilot to get his piece of crap ready.
The kid - Sam - didn't feel above a huffed out "I told you so" as they both sprinted to the plane. They'd just closed the hatch door when the first gunshots rang out. The pilot cursed and demanded triple the money.
"I'll pay you whatever. Just get us in the air already," Dean yelled. All the while his stomach was knotting itself tightly, and Sam had the audacity to smirk smugly at him. For a minute there Dean entertained the thought of throwing him out of the plane just like he'd done with the unlucky car-driver earlier, but suddenly they started to rise in the air, and Dean needed to focus on not losing his dinner.
After an hour of blessed silence, Dean got used to the feeling of having millions of ants crawl through his stomach and he even started to relax a bit.
"So, what's the deal with this amulet?" Sam asked suddenly.
Dean blinked at the non-sequitur. "It's a priceless artefact. That's what it is."
"So what, you're going to sell it? You're nothing but a fortune hunter," Sam accused.
"You've known me all of" -- Dean looked at his pocket-watch -- "thirty minutes and you already think you've got me all figured out, Sammy?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't call me Sammy."
Dean smirked. "It's either that or 'kid', so take your pick."
"You're impossible, anyone ever tell you that?" Sam threw up his hands in disgust.
Dean nodded, "Once or twice."
Sam managed to keep his mouth shut for exactly ten minutes before he started in again.
"So, if you don't plan to sell it, what's it for?"
Holy crap, that kid was nosier than anyone Dean had ever met. He capitulated.
"It's something like a map," he explained.
"Of what? And what's so special about it?" Owlish hazel eyes looked at Dean curiously.
"I thought you didn't care about archaeology. So what's with the sudden interest?"
Sam rolled his eyes. "We're on a multiple-hour flight and you're the only source of conversation here apart from the pilot, and he's got to concentrate on flying the plane," he explained.
"You could sleep," Dean offered.
"I'm not tired. I'm just bored."
"Holy hell, I' m stuck on a plane with an overgrown toddler in an evening dress," Dean mumbled under his breath.
"What was that?" Sam glared at him.
"Nothing."
"No, I heard you. And I' m not an overgrown toddler. I'm a respectable law student," Sam informed him, "And as for the dress, I've been told it brings out my eyes."
Dean had to admit Sam looked adorable when he pouted. He decided there was no harm in teasing him a little bit. "And how was it that a respectable law student like you ended up an exotic dancer in a Shanghai nightclub?"
"Well, I…" Sam fiddled with the dress. "A month ago I came to Shanghai with a couple of friends. And…it was supposed to be an adventure. I haven't…really been anywhere before, you know. I think they only brought me because I speak fluent Mandarin, though."
"Yeah, I noticed that. How did you get to be so good at it?" Dean cocked an eyebrow at Sam questioningly.
"Um… back home in San Francisco, there was this Chinese dry cleaning service in the neighbourhood. And the owner was very nice to me. He taught me."
"Good for him." Dean nodded, impressed. "So, what happened with your friends?"
"Well, those so-called friends turned out turned out to be disloyal jerks." Sam's voice grew embittered at the last part, and despite himself Dean felt sympathy welling up. "They tried to do a little opium deal on the side?" he guessed.
Sam nodded.
"And when it went downhill they left you behind to fend for yourself?" Dean went on.
Another nod. "They stole from Chen-Ling and I guess you could say he took a liking to me."
Dean coughed uncomfortably. It had been pretty obvious what kind of liking the old Chinese man had taken to the young man in front of him.
Inexplicably Sam brightened. "I managed to trick him, though. At first I played the shy, little… well, you know and he seemed to like that game but for the last few nights I guess he got impatient so I drugged his tea."
Sam looked proud, and Dean had to give it to him. The kid had acquitted himself well in a difficult situation.
"I don't know how long that would have worked, though." Sam looked thoughtful. "So I guess I owe you."
"Don't sweat it, Sammy. I'm as far from the proverbial knight in shining armour as you can imagine." Dean waved off the stuttered display of gratitude. "Once we reach Delhi, I'll put you on a plane back home and before you know it, you' re back to being buried in dusty old law books. Bet your family will be overjoyed, too."
Dean had already guessed Sam didn't come from a rich or influential background, otherwise he'd never have gotten into this predicament in the first place.
"I'm… my parents are dead," Sam said quietly.
Damn, Dean cursed himself for sticking his foot in his mouth. "Sorry to hear that…My mother… she died too," he offered awkwardly.
Sam looked at him in surprise at the revelation, with quickly turned to sympathy. "I'm really sorry."
"Yeah, well, happened a long time ago. I was only four so I barely remember her." And Dean had absolutely no idea why he'd just shared his family history with this near stranger. Even his friends always complained how you'd have to pry open his mouth to get something private out of him. Dean just didn't do heart-to-hearts.
An uncomfortable silence descended over the little plane until Sam seemed to decide to switch back to the start of the conversation. "So, this amulet is a map…"
"Dear God in heaven, you' re like a dog with a bone." Dean cut him off with an eye-roll.
Sam only crossed his arms in front of himself and looked at Dean with determination. His whole body language clearly said, Yes, I'm still bored, and no, I won't let it go.
Dean heaved a huge sigh. "Alright, alright. Last year they discovered the ruins of what is believed to be an old city named Tanis--"
"Tanis? The lost city and rumoured resting place of the Ark of Covenant, the chest where the Jews kept the ten commandments?" Sam cut him off excitedly.
"You're sure you never stumbled into one of my glasses? Accidentally, maybe?" Dean looked at Sam suspiciously.
Sam snorted. "I already told you, no. I just like to read, that's all."
"So you're a bookworm, is what you' re saying?" Dean smirked.
"If you want to call it that." Sam held his head high. "But I can carry on a conversation on a myriad of topics. Even with a scruffy-looking archaeologist."
"Hey, I'm wearing my best smoking today." Dean looked down at himself, affronted. Sure, the thing didn't look as neat now as it had when he'd put it on this morning, but come on, scruffy-looking?
"Yet you didn't feel the need to shave," Sam pointed out.
"It's called being a man, kid," Dean shot back.
"I am a man. I' m taller than you and probably outweigh you by a good thirty pounds."
Dean frowned. "Size and weight isn't everything."
"You' re only saying that because you're short." Sam stuck out his tongue at him.
"I'm not short." If Dean sounded like a petulant five-year-old at the moment, surely he had an excuse. The nerve on that kid. "And now shut up and go to sleep. I don't care if you're tired or not."
"You're bossy and short," Sam told him gleefully.
Where was a damn whip when you needed one?
Obviously correctly judging Dean's current murderous expression, Sam wisely waved a hand. "Alright, alright, I'll sleep." He then pushed a few crates to the side and made himself comfortable with an old blanket he'd acquired from God knows where, turning his back on Dean.
Meanwhile Dean revisited his original plan of throwing Sam out of the plane -- surely it wasn't too late -- before an uneasy slumber took him, too.
* * *
They reached Delhi without further problems and, after a quick phone call, they'd sorted out payment with their pilot.
As luck would have it, Dean's old friend and colleague Jim Murphy was currently in Delhi overseeing an exposition at the local British museum. Jim specialized in religious artefacts of all kinds. Dean had often thought the man would have made a good priest if he hadn't gone into academics.
Jim had made arrangements for Sam to take the next available flight to Europe and then back to the States. He had nearly had a heart attack from anticipation when Dean had showed him the amulet. Discovering a relic like the Ark of Covenant would be bigger than anything either of them, heck, anybody had done before.
Short of finding the Holy Grail, there was nothing to beat this, and both men knew it. Jim had even expressed an interest to join Dean on the quest, even though the older man usually busied himself with research and was happiest with his books back at Stanford.
Since both Sam and Dean's respective modes of transportation -- a plane for Sam and a ship for Dean -- wouldn't be leaving for almost a week, Sam had expressed an interest in experiencing the local culture. Dean snorted; the kid was a bona-fide scholar. Unsurprisingly, he and Jim had hit it off immediately. Sam had even refrained from making scathing remarks about the merits of archaeological work.
Of course Dean was the one assigned to babysitting duty, and in the last three days Sam had dragged him everywhere. At least Dean had been able to trade the smoking for more comfortable clothing. He'd even gotten to purchase a new whip and hat.
Sam, too, had exchanged the red dress for a pair of neatly-pressed grey wool pants, a white shirt and a light brown jacket. Dean had to admit, the kid cleaned up nicely, especially since he was dressed as a man for once.
'Today they were at the bazaar again. They'd come here before, but ever since they'd arrived this afternoon, he hadn't been able to shake off a certain feeling of unease, as if they were being watched. Once more Dean wished he were already on the way to Cairo, the map safely in his hands instead of tucked away at the hotel with Jim.
Dean was still a little worried about what had happened in Shanghai. He had tried to keep his transaction with Chen-Ling as quiet as possible, but the world of fortune hunters was small and had good eyes and ears everywhere.
Meanwhile Sam was shrieking with glee over the colorful wares at the bazaar. He'd even taken to grabbing Dean's hand and drag him from booth to booth. And of course, he needed to see a real fakir and snake wrangler. Dean despised snakes. But since Sam already knew about his little problem with flying, Dean didn't say anything; he felt it prudent not to give the younger man any more ammunition. The kid had a real sharp tongue on him.
As Sam stood captivated by the sight of a loin-clothed man lying on a bed of steel, Dean's gaze searched over the sea of faces around him worriedly. For a second, he thought he'd seen a blond head in the masses. The bad feeling in his gut started to intensify.
He turned to Sam to inform him that they were leaving, when to his great chagrin he found the spot beside him empty. Swiveling his head around, Dean called out for his companion.
"Sammy? Sammy?" Then louder: "Sam?" Damn it. How could you lose a floppy-haired giant like that? "Kid?" Maybe that would help.
A few rows down a familiar form stepped out from behind a display of beautifully-woven carpets, and Dean heaved a sigh of relief. Sam had probably been checking to see if they could fly, since they were in India, although Dean was sure he wouldn't admit to it because a respectable law student from Stanford didn't believe in folklore.
Stomping over to the younger man to drag him away from this damned bazaar once and for all, Dean caught sight of the blond head from earlier once more. Only this time, he could make out the face too. His eyes: it was Meggie Marsters. This couldn't be good.
Meggie was Lehne's right hand, and her being here right now spelled nothing but trouble. He began to sprint over to her when a scream made him turn his head around. "Dean. Dean! Help me!"
Oh no. Sam. He turned back in Sam's direction to see two big burly man dragging the kid away. Sam struggled valiantly but the way they were holding him made it impossible for him to get free if he wasn't a trained fighter. And it looked like he wasn't.
Cursing, Dean ran off to help him when he found his way blocked by another freaking giant. Scars lined the man's face, giving the permanent impression of an ugly sneer. The guy drew a huge sword and expertly swung it around.
Behind him Dean could still hear Sam's frantic screams, though they were getting dimmer. He really didn't have time for this. Luckily, he'd taken care to not only bring the whip but also a gun today. He swiftly pulled it out and shot the would-be sword master right between the eyes. The guy had an almost comical look of betrayal on his face but Dean simply jumped over him, intent on getting to Sam.
Unfortunately, the distraction had given the captors enough time to make away with their prey because Sam was nowhere to be seen. And somehow Dean knew that this time he wouldn't simply appear from behind a carpet.
Still, he raced through the booths, peeking into dark doorways, rudely shoving people out of his way as he went. Damn it, by bringing him here he'd become responsible for the kid. And he'd let him get kidnapped right from under his nose. There was no sign of Meggie either which wasn't a big surprise.
With that bitch being here, all the signs pointed to Lehne. Which meant Lehne most likely was in on Dean's current treasure hunt, and this was his way of saying hello. Apparently he knew Dean well enough to know that despite his protestations to the contrary, Dean was enough of an idealist or, let's face it, noble idiot, that he'd care about the young man's fate.
Dean could only hope Lehne considered Sam a worthy enough prize not to harm him for the time being.
Dejectedly he walked back to the hotel where he informed a worried Jim about the recent events. At least they still had the map, and Lehne would mostly likely be willing to trade it for Sam. Though Dean intended to snatch both Sam and the map back safely from Old Yellow Eyes.
First step, however, would be to find the guy. Thankfully Dean had someone who could help him with that.
He dialed and asked for a long distance call.
After a few rings, a sleepy voice answered, "Reznicky."
"Ronald, get your ass out of bed. I have a job for you."
"Dean? Dean Winchester?" The voice already sounded more awake.
"The one and only, Ron."
Dean grinned. Ronald Reznicky was nothing more than a small-time crook, to the larger public that was. For a small group of insiders Ron was a never-ceasing well of information. He knew about everything and everyone and had an amazing knack for figuring out patterns. Even better, since Dean had saved his life a couple of years ago, he considered the guy a personal friend, and Ronald seemed eager to work off his debt to him.
"Where are you, Dean? Last I heard was you got chased out of Shanghai. Had to take a plane, no less." Ron chuckled at that.
"Damn, you're fast. Hopefully you're this fast in helping me locate someone else," Dean said.
"If we're talking about Lehne here, and I think we are, he is rumoured to be in Cairo. He's trying to get the government to give him access to the Tamis ruins," Ron informed him cheerfully.
Dean cursed inwardly. Lehne was fast. Still, it was a start. "Damn it, Ron, you're good. Next time we're out at O' Flannagens, drinks are on me." Dean smiled. Finally a bit of luck.
"Wait, Dean, what are you--"
"Sorry, Ron, I have to go. Bye." Dean disconnected the call and turned around to a waiting Jim. "Looks like our destination hasn't changed. Cairo, it is."
* * *
Chapter 2