Fic: Soul Sacrifice (5/8)
Fic: Soul Sacrifice (5/8)
Series: Special Projects
Summary: Dean and Chloe just fought their way free of a mesoamerican cult in Texas. Now the Winchester Family and the Justice League are headed to Mexico City to finish the hunt.
Author: pen37
Beta: Strangevisitor7
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean, Sarah
Pairing:Chloe/Dean Sam/Sarah
Rating: NC-17 overall. This part is PG-13
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8
In the shadow of the outer temple, Dean stood, glaring down any tourist that looked at him too long for having climbed off of the elevated walkway to explore the site. He didn't speak the language - but his face wore a multilingual scowl that kept any onlooker from lingering.
“If you keep looking at people that way, your face is going to stick like that,” Bobby said conversationally as he poked at a recess behind a stone serpent.
“Good,” Dean grumbled. “Maybe folks will leave the turista alone.”
“What's your problem?” Bobby wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “You're not still mad that we made you fly, are you? You've been twitchy from the moment we flew out of Houston.”
Dean huffed. “Chloe and I are kind of pissed at each other right now - Hey!” He broke off to growl at a eight-year-old boy who looked like he might crawl under the hand rail and join them out amongst the ruins. “ovemay alongay!”
“I think everyone can see that, Dean.” Bobby said. "And that's not Spanish. It's pig latin."
The younger hunter scowled at that as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I told her that her friend Mac was bad news. She didn't exactly listen.” His lips tightened into a thin line. He didn't want to talk about how badly Chloe's rejection of his advice hurt. She was his wife. Wasn't part of the package that they took each other seriously?
Bobby looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “Dean, you married a headstrong woman.”
“I know that,” Dean said. He sighed, threw his head back, and rolled his eyes. “God help me, I really, really know that.”
“And if she wasn't who she is, then you wouldn't have married her.”
Dean snorted at that. “So does that make me crazy, or masochistic?”
Bobby frowned at that. “Boy, I may not be your daddy, but if you talk about the woman you married that way again, I'm going to smack that smart mouth of your'n plumb off your face.”
Dean tucked his chin to his chest and put his hands behind his back. “Yes sir.”
Bobby nodded in satisfaction. “You start talking that way, then sooner or later, you'll start thinking that way.”
Dean lowered his head.
The older hunter looked at him in sympathy. “Women like that - the kind that'll put up with men like us - they don't come along often. When you find one . . . don't take that for granted. You lose a woman like that. Well, you saw what it did to your dad.”
Dean nodded. His face looked troubled.
Bobby's expression softened. He stood and patted Dean's shoulder. “What would you have done if the situation was reversed? If it had been me, or Pastor Jim or Caleb who was gonna' sell you up the river, and Chloe said she had a bad feeling?”
Dean thought about that. About how he'd react to the thought that he couldn't trust one of the men who had practically helped to raise him and Sammy. Finally, he nodded. “I see your point.”
“Thought you might,” Bobby said.
“So what now?” Dean shrugged.
“Well,” Bobby frowned as he stood up and brushed his hands off. Then he turned, and moved toward a circular stone disk with the relief of a sacrificial victim on it. He squinted at it, and then looked at the nearby staircase speculatively. “I think we should head up there and have a look-see.”
“I meant about me and Chloe.”
Bobby shrugged. “Now you make up. Like you always do.”
“Thanks,” Dean said sarcastically.
“Dean,” Bobby sighed. “I've been a widower for longer than you've been alive. I'm old. I like my privacy and I like to be left alone. Maybe I'm not the best person to come to for advice about marriage.”
Dean looked at the old hunter thoughtfully. “Bobby?”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Dean shook his head. Something about Bobby's demeanor was just a little bit . . . off. Dean thought that maybe the old hunter was speaking from experience when he talked about how hard it was to lose a wife. Didn't most hunters have a hard-luck story in their backgrounds somewhere?
He shook his head, and trotted up the stone steps after Bobby. Best let it lie, he figured.
When they reached the platform, Dean turned, and looked up the street to the Zócalo. “I'm starving. You think we'll go past those food vendors again on the way back to the hotel?”
“Stick with room service,” Bobby said. “Eating food from a street vendor is like playing Russian roulette. Or maybe in this case, Montezuma's roulette.”
“Huh?”
“Even with everything there is to hunt down here, you've never been to Mexico, have you?”
Dean shook his head. “Dad never wanted to risk getting picked up at the border.”
Bobby nodded. “John was a hot head. So that was probably a good idea.”
“I've heard bad things about south-of-the-border prison.”
Bobby gave him an incredulous look. “Do you actually know anything about Mexico?”
“Don't drink the water, stay away from Bars that are open from Dusk 'till Dawn and watch out for organ harvesters?”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “I mean, do you know anything about Mexico that you didn't learn in a bad horror movie?”
“No?”
Stick with beer, don't eat anything that hasn't been fried, and stay away from street vendors” Bobby said.
Dean chuckled uneasily, and thought of the chorizo that he'd bought earlier in the square on the way to the temple.
Bobby paused as they came to a carving of a figure with a recessed offering bowl. “What was the name of that god?” He asked.
“I don't know,” Dean muttered. “Acapulco?”
With a roll of his eyes, Bobby pulled out a book and consulted the notes in the margins. “Tezcatlipoca,” he said. Then he pointed to the carving. “You can tell by the mirror he has in place of a right leg.”
“Okay, that's random.”
“Not really,” he shook his head. “The name means smoking mirror.”
“Smoking . . .” Dean trailed off thoughtfully. “How long have demons been mixed up in things down here?”
Series: Special Projects
Summary: Dean and Chloe just fought their way free of a mesoamerican cult in Texas. Now the Winchester Family and the Justice League are headed to Mexico City to finish the hunt.
Author: pen37
Beta: Strangevisitor7
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean, Sarah
Pairing:Chloe/Dean Sam/Sarah
Rating: NC-17 overall. This part is PG-13
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8
In the shadow of the outer temple, Dean stood, glaring down any tourist that looked at him too long for having climbed off of the elevated walkway to explore the site. He didn't speak the language - but his face wore a multilingual scowl that kept any onlooker from lingering.
“If you keep looking at people that way, your face is going to stick like that,” Bobby said conversationally as he poked at a recess behind a stone serpent.
“Good,” Dean grumbled. “Maybe folks will leave the turista alone.”
“What's your problem?” Bobby wrinkled his forehead in confusion. “You're not still mad that we made you fly, are you? You've been twitchy from the moment we flew out of Houston.”
Dean huffed. “Chloe and I are kind of pissed at each other right now - Hey!” He broke off to growl at a eight-year-old boy who looked like he might crawl under the hand rail and join them out amongst the ruins. “ovemay alongay!”
“I think everyone can see that, Dean.” Bobby said. "And that's not Spanish. It's pig latin."
The younger hunter scowled at that as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I told her that her friend Mac was bad news. She didn't exactly listen.” His lips tightened into a thin line. He didn't want to talk about how badly Chloe's rejection of his advice hurt. She was his wife. Wasn't part of the package that they took each other seriously?
Bobby looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “Dean, you married a headstrong woman.”
“I know that,” Dean said. He sighed, threw his head back, and rolled his eyes. “God help me, I really, really know that.”
“And if she wasn't who she is, then you wouldn't have married her.”
Dean snorted at that. “So does that make me crazy, or masochistic?”
Bobby frowned at that. “Boy, I may not be your daddy, but if you talk about the woman you married that way again, I'm going to smack that smart mouth of your'n plumb off your face.”
Dean tucked his chin to his chest and put his hands behind his back. “Yes sir.”
Bobby nodded in satisfaction. “You start talking that way, then sooner or later, you'll start thinking that way.”
Dean lowered his head.
The older hunter looked at him in sympathy. “Women like that - the kind that'll put up with men like us - they don't come along often. When you find one . . . don't take that for granted. You lose a woman like that. Well, you saw what it did to your dad.”
Dean nodded. His face looked troubled.
Bobby's expression softened. He stood and patted Dean's shoulder. “What would you have done if the situation was reversed? If it had been me, or Pastor Jim or Caleb who was gonna' sell you up the river, and Chloe said she had a bad feeling?”
Dean thought about that. About how he'd react to the thought that he couldn't trust one of the men who had practically helped to raise him and Sammy. Finally, he nodded. “I see your point.”
“Thought you might,” Bobby said.
“So what now?” Dean shrugged.
“Well,” Bobby frowned as he stood up and brushed his hands off. Then he turned, and moved toward a circular stone disk with the relief of a sacrificial victim on it. He squinted at it, and then looked at the nearby staircase speculatively. “I think we should head up there and have a look-see.”
“I meant about me and Chloe.”
Bobby shrugged. “Now you make up. Like you always do.”
“Thanks,” Dean said sarcastically.
“Dean,” Bobby sighed. “I've been a widower for longer than you've been alive. I'm old. I like my privacy and I like to be left alone. Maybe I'm not the best person to come to for advice about marriage.”
Dean looked at the old hunter thoughtfully. “Bobby?”
“What?”
“Never mind.” Dean shook his head. Something about Bobby's demeanor was just a little bit . . . off. Dean thought that maybe the old hunter was speaking from experience when he talked about how hard it was to lose a wife. Didn't most hunters have a hard-luck story in their backgrounds somewhere?
He shook his head, and trotted up the stone steps after Bobby. Best let it lie, he figured.
When they reached the platform, Dean turned, and looked up the street to the Zócalo. “I'm starving. You think we'll go past those food vendors again on the way back to the hotel?”
“Stick with room service,” Bobby said. “Eating food from a street vendor is like playing Russian roulette. Or maybe in this case, Montezuma's roulette.”
“Huh?”
“Even with everything there is to hunt down here, you've never been to Mexico, have you?”
Dean shook his head. “Dad never wanted to risk getting picked up at the border.”
Bobby nodded. “John was a hot head. So that was probably a good idea.”
“I've heard bad things about south-of-the-border prison.”
Bobby gave him an incredulous look. “Do you actually know anything about Mexico?”
“Don't drink the water, stay away from Bars that are open from Dusk 'till Dawn and watch out for organ harvesters?”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “I mean, do you know anything about Mexico that you didn't learn in a bad horror movie?”
“No?”
Stick with beer, don't eat anything that hasn't been fried, and stay away from street vendors” Bobby said.
Dean chuckled uneasily, and thought of the chorizo that he'd bought earlier in the square on the way to the temple.
Bobby paused as they came to a carving of a figure with a recessed offering bowl. “What was the name of that god?” He asked.
“I don't know,” Dean muttered. “Acapulco?”
With a roll of his eyes, Bobby pulled out a book and consulted the notes in the margins. “Tezcatlipoca,” he said. Then he pointed to the carving. “You can tell by the mirror he has in place of a right leg.”
“Okay, that's random.”
“Not really,” he shook his head. “The name means smoking mirror.”
“Smoking . . .” Dean trailed off thoughtfully. “How long have demons been mixed up in things down here?”