A/N: Thanks for the positive feedback, guys. Oh, and please note, Sam and Dean's reactions to Om Shanti Om in no way reflect my own love of the film. That said, forgive the language in this chapter, hee.
Chapter 4: Om Kapoor is a Douche
"Man, he wasn't that bad," Sam insisted. He unfolded long legs out onto the hotel bed, pushing aside a few of the photocopies spread out around him, his computer balanced on the pillow over his lap. Distracted by the information on the screen, he still muttered, "He was a good performer."
"Sure," Dean agreed, "a real talented douche bag. Don't know why you're defending a man who called himself 'O.K.' and had his shirt blown off. Fan-service, it's the definition of douche."
Sam glanced up to see his brother walking away from the bathroom mirror, drying off his bare chest with an extra towel, wet hair dripping down his neck. Dean slipped on his jeans, plopping down on the opposite bed.
Sam shook his head. "I concur."
Dean snorted, as if the used of the word "concur" was an affront. "Yeah, well, you liked that movie just a little too much for a straight man, Samantha."
Instead of throwing his fist, Sam leaned back onto the head of the bed, scanning the computer again curiously. "I'm not the one who cried during Shanti's death."
"You can kiss my ass," Dean snapped. "I wasn't crying."
"You had to take an intermission."
"Chick was hot. Had needs."
"Sure." Sam smirked. "You used tissue, all right."
"Dick." Dean tossed him the finger before leaning back onto his elbows. "So," he cleared his throat. "Did we actually learn anything from the movie or was that just another two and half hours of my life I'll never get back?"
Sam huffed, shaking his head. "No. Well, maybe." His brow wrinkled. "It doesn't make sense."
Dean frowned. "I dunno. Thought the plot was pretty easy to follow, for a foreign movie and all."
The pillow hit Dean across the face. He chuckled before sitting straight again. "Yeah, yeah, I know. The reincarnation theory. Doesn't mesh with Amy committing suicide."
Sam nodded. "If you wanted to kill yourself to move on to the next life, why wouldn't you, well, move on? Shouldn't these girls be going towards the light instead of fighting it?" He shuffled through the papers at his side. "And something else that doesn't make sense, the message on Amy's window."
"Karma," Dean provided. "The haunting's a vengeance thing, then? Maybe she's trying to tell us she was murdered and that her Bollywood dance numbers are her only way of getting revenge on the bastard."
"Could be interpreted that way. If said bastard isn't a fan of Farrah Khan." Sam looked more interested in something on his computer screen. "While you were in the shower, I called Bobby, and he directed me to this site that compared Karma to one's purity. Now, I didn't see how that tied in at the moment, but then I thought about the Western interpretation of reincarnation versus the Eastern interpretation."
"Dude, just move on to the relevant part," Dean begged.
Sam groaned. "This is relevant, Dean. Western religions often tie reincarnation and past lives to the Devil, associating it with completely different subjects, like demon possession, but, in actuality, reincarnation takes place at the fetus stage."
"So, babies are pure, good karma and whatnot. What's this have to do with Amy?"
"I'm not sure yet, but there was a story on the same site that tied into demons." Sam pulled a face. "Knowing our luck, I thought it might be a good idea to apply it to the current situation. If I'm right, we've got a very big problem."
"Don't leave me in suspense, Sammy. What's the story?"
"During the Dark Ages, there was a story of a maiden being sacrificed to a demon. In some translations, dragon can actually refer to a devil, or demon, in man's form."
Dean nodded. "Possession. Why virgins?"
"The demon was tired of being in his current state, so he decided to he needed a true flesh and blood form. The only way to do this was to be physically reborn."
"Reincarnation." Dean winced. "Damn it. He wants a baby." He cocked his head. "I'm still not getting what this has to do with Amy."
Sam sat his computer aside, throwing his feet over the edge of the bed. "In order to be reborn in such a form, his karma has to balance out. The demon needs to fill himself with purity, the blood of virgins. Baptize himself in it. Absorb their souls."
"Amy, her friends." Dean closed his eyes. "Poor kids never even got laid." When his eyes opened again, they were wide. Panicked. "Sam, the roommate. Katty."
Sam winced, ashamed that it had taken him so long to catch up. "She's pregnant," he breathed, slapping down the computer screen. "She's carrying the demon's baby."
The corridor was brightly lit but excruciatingly quiet. Katty didn't seem to mind, her footsteps snapping down against the tile, her jaw set in anger. The building was almost completely empty, but for a few straggling professors working late in their offices. Katty knew that her target preferred the dark more than any of the others; after all, the cover of night had been how she and Dr. Mallard had first began arranging their sweaty trysts.
She passed the staircase, moving to the last door before the emergency exit. Her hand hovered over his office door only a moment before she opted not to knock. Katty turned the handle, stepping into the darkened room.
"I'm tired of this," she snapped.
A single, dull, lamp lit the area around the desk. But Dr. Mallard wasn't sitting in his usual seat, instead standing with his back to Katty, his eyes starring at the moon-lit floral outside his window.
"So nice for you to finally show, Katty," he said, his voice distance.
She rolled her eyes. "You promised me a check," she said, brushing back her ponytail with a flick of her wrist. "You said that if I kept the baby, you'd take care of me. I've got to put a deposit on the apartment, Ken. I need the money."
"I'll take care of you," Dr. Mallard assured. His tone was filled with a measured annoyance that lost on the young woman at his doorway. "Come closer," he continued. "Shut the door. I've got something special to show you."
Katty did as he asked. Her feet hesitating only when a strangely metallic scent hit her nose.
Dr. Mallard turned to greet her, a small smile on his face. Light passed threw the window blinds, crossing his body with pale lines. A smudge of red could be see on his chin.
Katty was about to comment when her gaze lowered to his hands. He held against both palms a wide bowl filled to brim with dark, thick liquid. It glistened slightly around the edges, as red as the smudge.
She took a steadying breath. "Is that. . .?"
Dr. Mallard chuckled. "Grade-A karma, sweetheart. But I'm a bit full. Why don't you have a sip?"
Katty stepped back too late. A scream replaced her words of protest just as the blood splashed across her face.
End notes: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter, but the story is close to wrapping up. I hope you're still enjoying it. Review and tell me what you think.