The lost plateau - The lost brother Part 1

[siriala]

April 25th

I haven't written much recently. It seemed at first that all situations amounted to a new kind of emergency we had no choice but to deal with and survive as best we could. Now my silence stems more from the fact that we've settled into some kind of bizarre domesticity, living up a tree in a cabin where we have to share rooms and try to be as congenial as possible to people we feel very unrelated to. Strangely, quarters didn't feel so close and cramped in the tents at the beginning of our trip. The excitement of the journey as well as the newness of the scenery back then probably explain this difference.

Forty-four days since we were stranded here on the lost plateau, our hot-air balloon destroyed and no way to build one anew. Nothing has changed much since that chance encounter with Meg. Each day looks like the previous one. Even the rain is predictable, falling each afternoon around the same hour for ten minutes.

It doesn't mean there weren't a few exciting moments, but I have discovered that even danger can be taken for granted when it's waiting for you behind every tree. At the very least, it kept us fairly busy. Meg taught us how to survive, how to create all those things we used to take for granted in our world, how to avoid dangerous animals and plants - so many of them ! - and to hunt for food. Winchester is definitely the best at it, but I'm beginning to give him a run for his money. True to himself, he enjoys the challenge and eggs me on all the time, pushing me to get better. I guess it means I am at least worthy of his time now, contrary to the way he used to see me when we left for the plateau. The useless journalist, the innocent kid who was going to slow them down, maybe get them all killed. Even Lady Jenn didn't get as much ribbing as I did. Everyone can see that she's been around and that she's more than capable of taking care of herself, while probably saving the reporter in distress.

As I said, nothing much has changed. Lord Winchester is still an arrogant prick at times. Lady Jenn's smiling haughtiness is still unmatched. I'm surprised those two haven't hooked up yet, or maybe they're too alike to bear the other. Thank God ! Their kids would be the most beautiful for sure, but also just as insufferable. Anyway, I don't think anything happened between their lord and ladyship. They've obviously known each other for a long while, perhaps something has indeed happened but came to an end. Here, Winchester sleeps in the cot next to mine each night. He looks a lot nicer when he loses the constant smirk than irks me so much (and he knows it). I wish I had met him before he became the hard-ass persona he shows to the world. I know that's not the only thing there is to him, he's protected us all at the risk of his own health and life more than once. And I often wonder, when I can't sleep at night because of some undetermined jungle's noise, what made Dean the man he is.

The Winchester/Campbell relationship hasn't improved at all, quite the contrary. We're lucky they haven't reverted yet to some ancient ways of dealing with frustration and mutual contempt. They seem often enough close to fists and blows to settle their never-ending disagreements. For some reason, Lady Jenn, though perfectly polite, is hardly more respectful with the professor. He tends to ignore her but that's probably because she's a woman and he tolerates her presence only to assure her financial backing.

When they stop bickering long enough to remember we exist, professors Campbell and Singer keep telling us they'll find a way out of here soon. My guess is they're trying to persuade themselves and piss off each other. I don't think the rest of us ever believed them, no one's that naïve - not even me, whatever Winchester might think - but if anyone did, it's over by now. If at times I look at myself as the least useful member of our merry band, I watch the scientists argue just like they did on that fatal day they decided to go on their big adventure - and I, foolish boy as my mother said, thought it was a good idea to follow, to try and make a name for myself - and then I feel immediately better. I am not a dead weight anymore. Dean is teaching me, and soon I'll be just as good as him.

Maybe we'll find a way out, but I'm not holding my breath. Better make the best of this situation and learn to live with what we've got. Even if it means cohabitating with a womanizer with too much time on his hands and not enough women to chase. Life can be predictable, here on the plateau, but it's never dull next to Dean Winchester.

Sam put the quill down and closed his journal. The constant humidity made it difficult to keep the paper in shape but the name engraved in golden italics - Sam Wesson's Journal - still shone brightly on the leather cover since his mother had given him his already-purchased birthday gift as a parting and be-well offering, right before he joined the Campbell and Singer expedition trying to find the lost world they believed they had rediscovered.

She wasn't happy with him for leaving so soon after coming back from England, where he had been sent by his newspaper fifteen months before, and she made it clear she thought of this expedition as a monumental mistake. But she had never been the kind of woman to try and demolish her son's dreams. She felt strongly that a man had to follow his destiny, wherever it might lead him, even though she may have been questioning Sam's interpretation of the where and how those dreams should take him. A lost, inaccessible plateau on top of a mountain chain with a reputation for killing nine out of ten explorers, somewhere in the depths of South America, was not her idea of a grounding destiny. Not for her gentle, scholarly son, the boy she had raised to think, study and have fun while making this world a better place.

She couldn't know that his living in London for more than a year, far from Boston and his well-known, well-ordered universe, had awakened in him many new feelings and longings. He hadn't been exactly thorough in his letters about his newfound love for sparring, a physicality he had never explored before in which he took joy and pride, or the times he had followed - and sometimes preceded - the police along difficult and dangerous investigations. He was still trying to process those different parts of himself and make a coherent total of them all when the opportunity to go on the Campbell-Singer expedition had been presented to him. It felt like the solution to a lot of questions and problems, including the fact that his boss in London, jealous of some of Sam's successful articles, had kept him on the bench for three months now and given the most interesting articles to lesser colleagues.

It was somewhat painful to admit, even in the privacy of his own mind, that a big part of himself was enjoying his time on the plateau more than anything he had ever done. Meg had offered him the use of her parents' library, so this need in him was equally sated. Sixteen years prior, although stranded just like they were now, the Masters expedition had managed to bring a lot more stuff than Sam and his fellow explorers, who had lost many of their belongings in the tribe's attack that had led them to run for their lives. Climbing into the hot-air balloon and taking off without proper preparation, most of Sam and his companions' possessions were left behind for the animals to eat or destroy. This was how the balloon had suffered its first damages, perforated with many arrows, but forceful gusts of wind had kept it up, lifting the conveyance always higher until lightning bolts had struck it repeatedly, crashing them thankfully on top of the mountain they were heading to, and not on the jagged and too straight side of the unending cliffs setting the plateau apart from the rest of the jungle below.

Meg's books were only one of the many reasons why they could call themselves lucky to find the woman. Sam's very life was saved by the apparition of a blonde and fair-skinned ghost pushing him out of the way of the most terrible beast he had ever had the displeasure to face. The scariest, too. Considering he had only dealt previously with his neighbor's dog and a small snake which was probably far more afraid than him, the comparison was not extremely telling, but the rows of three-inch-long teeth that had approached Sam far too closely before Meg's intervention still featured in most of his nightmares since then.

Reeling with the oxygen rarefaction on the high plateau that they weren't given much time to acclimate to before the attack, they had all been much slower back then. Even Winchester had looked unusually sluggish in his attempt to put himself between the dinosaur and Sam, panting while he was getting ready to shoot the big beast right in the head with one of the four rifles he had managed to salvage and bring with him, along with his own pistol and a great deal of cartridges. Luckily, Meg appeared from nowhere in her tiny tanned leather skirt and bra and managed to plant her long lance right through the beast's brain, killing it on the spot.

Since then, they had all pretty much well acclimated to the plateau, apart from the heat that could rise to levels Sam had never known before and felt like his brain was about to boil and leak between his ears. Professor Singer, though not the oldest, had the most trouble dealing with it. Professor Campbell and Lady Jenn had surprised Sam with their obvious adaptability - the professor had already traveled all around the world, and Lady Jenn had taken to lose a lot of her clothing, though not to the point of Meg's state of undress. Lord Winchester hadn't surprised him at all when he immediately trailed Meg to learn everything he could about the local dangers and the way to avoid or confront them and stay alive. But Sam had been amazed when Dean had agreed to teach him in his turn, clearly startled by his request, but Sam hadn't missed the flash of pride on his face that someone would ask him to share his expertise. Their relationship had begun to get better from that moment on. From both sides, as Sam had all but forgotten about his slightly manipulative plan to make Lord Winchester more sufferable and came to enjoy their budding friendship.

Still, Sam liked to spend time alone, and what better occasion than getting to know the area on his own despite Meg's warning. Sometimes, even the huge tree they were living in felt like a too-small cage. They had invaded Meg's space, the sizable, multi-roomed and open cabin built around the trunk by her parents and their friends when they had settled here, and Sam never wanted her to feel bad about her generosity. But still, he needed to get away now and then.

Sketching book in hand, he went down the Tree unnoticed, caring even less about his comrades' whereabouts, and decided to check one of the areas he hadn't visited yet. Quadrant by quadrant, his curiosity took him a little farther every time he managed to slip Meg or Winchester's surveillance. The fact that he had always come back in time and uninjured probably helped his two guardians to relax their stance. He was indeed prudent, if a little adventurous.

Which is why he shouldn't have felt too safe, even in the privacy of his own mind. Not in this place where dinosaurs were a current danger and not a threat of the past. If there were dinosaurs, really, what else could lurk around, ready to gobble him ?

He was more than two hours away from the Tree, lost in his thoughts and quite happy about the pieces and doodles he had already drawn, when he felt something brush past his ankle. He froze and looked down to see nothing but the ordinary soil covered with dead leaves and small plants. Just his imagination then.

But still something felt off, and he finally realized that he could hear nothing, no singing bird or screeching monkey, no answering roars of dinosaurs fighting in the distance ; the whole forest was by far too silent, as if waiting for a big event.

His survival instinct chose this moment to kick in and Sam hurried back, retracing his steps to get out of this chilling area. Fast. Twice, he got the same fleeting impression of some kind of prehensile object brushing his legs, and twice he ran harder and quicker to get back to the safety of the Tree and his fellow explorers.

Then, in the course of two seconds, he cried out and found himself hanging upside down, his right leg tightly gripped by a liana. He struggled and contorted himself until he reached it, but the thing was too thick, too strong and coiled too many times around his ankle and calf to get rid of it.

Focused on this unfair battle, Sam didn't notice when he was moved, explaining why he saw at the very last second the deep bowl-like cavity in which the liana plunged him. When he had first passed by it, Sam had mistakenly thought it was just the remnant of a dead tree, a rotting trunk slowly eaten by termites and other creepy-crawlies Sam didn't want to know about ; he had hardly given a thought to the fact that there seemed to be quite a lot of rotten trunks in this ostensibly devastated area. This was one of the biggest - big enough to accommodate a man his size and then some.

The liquid he was bathed in was so thick it hardly splashed around. Sam had read enough about biology and botany to know this didn't bode well and it probably was a very bad idea to stay here, more than half-immersed in the plant's juice. Even though his body was covered by his clothes, his hands, neck and head weren't and the pool of what he thought to be digestive juice would surely prove acidic enough for a man's skin to decompose if left too long in it.

He tried to climb the border, but between the liana still attached to his leg and the rows of minuscule, stinging hairs growing downwards, it was impossible to get a good grip on the trunk. He spotted some kind of gap, maybe used as an overflow in case of hard rains, and managed to secure his hands in it to ensure he wouldn't slip to the bottom of the cavity, some nine or ten feet below his own long body.

He couldn't escape alone and his only chance to survive was to last long enough in here to give time to the others to worry about him and send a rescue party. Which could still take a long while considering Sam had taken great pains to go unnoticed and left no clue about his direction. He decided to wait for some time before crying for help, to try and spare his voice as long as possible. As long as he had enough force left in him to fight the plant.

Hours passed so slowly that he was pretty sure he should have waited longer before he began yelling that he was here, and that he needed help. His voice resonated twice more than usual in the deep silence of the forest, but it also showed with despairing clarity how alone he was.

Night fell, and Sam's hope with it. He could only hang on for so long before he would drown, before he would fall asleep and sink to his death. Even if Dean and the others did find him, he would probably be half-digested already by then, a meal big enough to help this ugly plant to live for another thirty years at least. His mom had been right to tell him he was a fool to come here.

The hours stretched, silence disturbed only by the snap of a liana catching prey immediately followed by the squealing sounds of some animal who probably didn't have prehensile hands or the ability to swim as its struggle came to an end in a matter of seconds after it was pushed into a nearby pool of corrosive juice. Although Sam saw none of it in the deep darkness of the forest, any moonlight blocked by the thick canopy, the scene appeared twice scarier when it was all rendered through the lenses of his imagination and the very real fear for his own survival.

He was still alive by dawn, but he could feel himself weakening by the minute, his hands still grasping at the gap, but in his fewer and fewer moments of lucidity he could tell that it was more thanks to the cramps than sheer force. In the light of day, his clothes now clearly dissolved save for his boots, he was able to see the redness taking his skin up to his shoulders, anesthesia settling in to forbid any bit of feeling everywhere the juice surrounded him.

And suddenly he heard them.

"Sam ! Mr. Wesson ! Sam !"

Winchester first, and then Professor Singer. Feebly, he pushed his voice as high as possible to attract their attention, and this time the silence worked in his favor. He tried to warn them about the danger but soon the sound of a machete told him Dean had come prepared and he was fighting off the plants to reach Sam.

He didn't even feel the liana releasing his tied leg, just saw it falling next to him, lifeless and clean-cut. And then two pairs of hands were hauling him up outside of the cavity to dispose him on a carpet of cut-off lianas.



He couldn't move, hardly think.

"Thank you," he muttered, because even speech was difficult right now.

But he was alive, they had saved him, and hope was back with his friends.

"Look at his skin," he heard Dean say, remembering distantly and with a touch of amusement that he was naked - save for his boots.

"That's the effect of the carnivorous plant's juice, Mr. Winchester," Professor Singer answered. "Nothing we can't cure, I'm confident. I've seen some Carpobrotus along the way, we'll collect it on our way back. It's been used for centuries to treat skin conditions, small wounds or sunburn. I'm sure it will help our young friend to recover."

"Alright. And all these lianas are gonna come in handy in place of ropes to tie the makeshift stretcher I'm gonna build. Take care of him, I'll be quick."

Sam more or less followed Dean's movements by the noise he made tearing branches apart to build his stretcher. The professor used the time to help Sam drink from his gourd and then clean him with the dead leaves carpeting the forest ground.

"Water would most likely be better," he explained, "as I'm not sure what's in the juice you're covered with and if it's still active now that you're out of the pool. But we don't have enough of it. I'd prefer you to drink what we have, bit by bit, at regular intervals. So until we're back home we'll have to make do with these leaves, if you're in agreement, Mr. Wesson."

Sam smiled faintly. Anything that would help him get better was okay right now, especially if it didn't involve him moving in any way. He wanted to sleep for a week at least and forget his ordeal. Beyond the pain and the itching, beyond his terrible tiredness, he felt so safe with those two men watching over him.

He let the professor turn him over to clean his back and really lost consciousness through the gentle movements that seemed so similar to a massage, despite the pain awakening everywhere his skin had been cleaned up.

He jolted awake when his saviors joined forces to lift him onto the stretcher.

"Hey, princess," Dean joked, "your carriage is ready."

He was on his back this time, and Dean shed his vest to cover his nether regions and protect his modesty.

"Wouldn't want the ladies back home to swoon, would we ?" he winked at Sam.

"Thanks," Sam blushed, laughing and yawning at the same time.

He couldn't quite keep his grasp onto consciousness as they made their way through the forest, losing big chunks of time to a blissful state where pain held no power, brought back now and then by the men losing their footing on the uneven ground.

"Can we stop for a minute ?" Dean said as they reached the end of the field of carnivorous plants.

"I thought you'd never ask !" the professor replied, visibly more than relieved to be able to stop for a while and catch his breath. "Mr. Wesson is a quite heavy young man ! As heavy as he is tall."

They gently disposed the stretcher on the ground, making sure not to jostle Sam too much in the process. Both porters moved their arms every which way for a moment, quick workout after the unusual strain they had been submitted to, then Professor Singer found a rock to sit on while Dean dug out of a pocket a piece of white chalk and began to draw a skull on the bark of all the trees he could reach while keeping in view of Sam and the professor.

"I'm not sure your meaning will get through with all voyagers," Singer praised him when Dean came back, "but it's still a good idea."

"I've found in my travels that a few ideas get through everywhere, and whatever the language. This is one of the most common. And that's the best I can do. Hopefully, most of the tribes out there know the danger already."

Their next stop happened as soon as they found a stretch of the medicinal plant they would need for Sam's skin.

"This is interesting," the professor said as they were gathering the plants. "Carpobrotus originates from South Africa. One species acclimated to South America, and I guess birds brought the seeds up to the plateau."

"If you say so, Professor," Dean replied, visibly uninterested. "I'm just damn glad they're available to heal Sam !"

They took the time to use the first batch to squeeze the juice out of the leaves and slather Sam's whole body with it. Their own hands itched a bit after dipping them into the pool to draw Sam out and ridding his body of the remnants of the gooey liquid, and they were able to experience firsthand the benefit of the treatment. Sam seemed to enjoy too the sensation of renewed coolness, and his pain-filled moans diminished in frequency and level.

"Samuel, do you know this plant ?" the professor asked to distract his attention from the pain. "Its common name is pigface, or ice plant. In French, a species is called witch's claw, witch's fang, or even witch's finger. Don't ask me why ! I researched the fact to see if I could find some semblance of reality explaining this peculiar name, but no luck so far. The closest the English language comes to it is through a species called cat's claw, which is more easily explained and not as potentially dangerous. Anyway, you'll be happy to learn there doesn't seem to be anything witchy about this one. On the contrary, the juice of its leaves will help your skin heal faster and the pain will abate."

By some unspoken agreement, the professor avoided any particularly erogenous area on Sam's body when they began treating him, leaving to Dean the responsibility of dealing with his ass, upper chest and groin. Dean voiced no complaint, but when he grimaced at the sight and hot feeling of Sam's reddish though very limp cock, it was out of sympathy and no perverse leaning.

They gathered so much Carpobrotus to take back home that both men had to take off their shirts and tie them into a ragbag to collect it all. Dean wore the bundle on his back for the last leg of their trip while the professor kept what was left of Sam's boots - not easily replaceable here so they would try their best to salvage them - tied around his own neck by the remnants of their shoestrings, obviously good quality since they hadn't dissolved with the rest of his clothing.

Jenn was waiting for them impatiently as they returned to the Tree, the other two members of their group still out searching for Sam. The stretcher was discarded and Sam's arms passed around his porters' shoulders so that they could easily help him up to the cabin. The pulley-and-load-actioned lift felt like a benediction in this moment more than ever, able to take them up the Tree in less than a minute.

Jenn ran before them to prepare Sam's cot so that they could lay him down, then she brought a basin of clear water in answer to the professor's request, with which they all proceeded to clean him up more thoroughly. Sam hardly reacted through all of it, dead weight but an easy patient. He never realized that Meg and Professor Campbell were finally back, happy and relieved to find him there and with good chances of recovery.

Dean stayed awake that night, watching over the younger man's sleep, so deep that neither the next day dawning nor the continuous treatments managed to wake him up.

"What if the carnivorous plant's juice was poisonous ?" Dean voiced his worst fear aloud the next day, when he found himself alone in the bedroom with Professor Singer, save for Sam who had yet to regain consciousness.

"I don't think so, Mr. Winchester. I'm more worried about Mr. Wesson's generally weakened state. Truth is, Carpobrotus can only do so much. He's going to be in a lot of pain for some time. Best thing for him right now is to sleep it off, and I guess that's what he's going to do for most of the next two or three days. I just wish we could do more for him."

"What are you thinking of ?"

"Morphine, opium, or even willow bark to cure his predictable headaches and possibly reduce his fever."

"Maybe Meg knows where to find it, or something close anyway."

"Good idea, Mr. Winchester. Stay with Samuel, I'll go and ask her. If he wakes up, make him drink as much as possible."

Dean told himself repeatedly that sleep was Sam's best medicine but still he felt a lot better when this guy he had found often boring and annoying at first finally opened his eyes again while Dean was applying the treatment yet another time.

"Hey, sleeping beauty, how're you feeling ?"

He had never really given much attention to those eyes but he found himself studying their colors, the hazel and blue and green, their seductive shape. The absence of the usual glint revealing the sharp intelligence that had helped Sam to learn so fast and so well to deal with a deadly environment his previous life had never prepared him for felt like a disastrous loss.

Fortunately, from that moment on, Sam's health only got better and better, especially with the help of the willow bark.

"How do you feel ?" Dean wondered once more as Sam looked to the glassless window of their bedroom with undisguised envy, stuck as he was in his bed.

"Hot and itchy," he finally replied, trying to get over his severe case of cabin fever.

There were only so many hours in a day when he could stand looking at the osier-braided walls of his room before he felt like screaming.

"Still better than liquefied and digested, right ?"

"You don't say."

Dean asked Sam to turn over before he began to spread a new layer of soothing juice over Sam's skin.

"My head is killing me," Sam whined as he settled on his back.

"I'm sure that's the effect of Professor Singer's many lectures."

That got a smile out of Sam.

"Don't be so harsh with the poor man. Aren't you interested to know how this vegetative life-form could do that to me, a sentient and supposedly evolved being ? How the juice it uses to dissolve skin and bones works ? Wouldn’t you like to know if it might be the result of some flesh-eating bacteria, or something else entirely, some acid maybe ?"

"Not particularly. I'd prefer to know how to get rid of it so that your hide will never be at risk again."

"That's sweet of you, but very short-sighted. Besides, you would be very appreciative of the plant's power if it preyed on dinosaurs only."

"You got me there. We should use them as a trap. Attract one of the big beasts with a red flag, run till we get to one of those horror trunks and hope not to end up with the dino in the cavity."

Once Dean had finished applying the salve to his chest, Sam pushed up onto his arms and rested on his elbows to watch him work.

"Shit !" he exclaimed.

"What ?" Dean worried. "Did I hurt you ?"

"No," Sam replied in annoyance. "God, I just realized that damn juice ate all my hair !"

Dean burst into laughter as Sam watched him with outrage.

"Are you mocking me ?"

"No, no, Sam, I just had this image… Sorry, sorry, just don't talk like that in polite society."

There were only so many times Dean could talk seriously about juice without breaking into crude jokes. And now this !

"Do you really think I would talk about pubes in polite society ?!"

Dean snickered.

"I'm sure you were brought up like a gentleman. Even if you look like a plucked chicken right now."

Sam wanted to get angry but he just couldn't, laughter taking him to join Dean while the other man continued applying the cooling substance all over his itchy skin.

The next time Dean came to play nurse, he found Sam already awake and waiting for him, bored out of his mind. Reading was still difficult because of his headache, but he just couldn't sleep as much as in the first few days. Dean had kindly braved danger again to go fetch his sketchbook, forgotten in the depth of the forest, but it had been for naught so far. Sketching was still out of the question when the mere sight of convoluted drawings showing lianas and trunks could make Sam feel nauseous with the remembrance of his adventures, not to mention the fact that his drawing hand shook too much with weakness to achieve anything worth doing in the first place.

Dean took pity. Instead of going back to whatever task he had been enjoying out in the sun, the hunter went to fetch a deck of cards and stayed to play gin rummy until Sam fell asleep again.

May 2nd

Dean asked Lady Jenn to prepare a cake for me - what looked mostly like a cake anyway, made out of local ingredients - and he brought it to me decorated with some kind of straw planted in its middle, to which he set fire right before he exclaimed "Happy birthday !"

I was so surprised I almost let the cake burn, the straw consumed much quicker than I thought.

I guess Professor Campbell told them about my upcoming birthday but I had to explain to my roommate turned nurse that this is not the real date, just the one when I was found alone and crying, waiting in a slum for my missing mom. The date when my adoptive mother took me in and offered me a second chance at life.

Dean said he didn't care. For all intents and purposes, this is my birthday and I shouldn't let it pass without celebrating.

He might be right after all. Without him and Professor Singer, I wouldn't be here today to enjoy life and the third chance I've been offered.

The cake was delicious.



Two weeks later and Sam felt definitely better. He had done nothing but rest for the last few days, coddled and helped by everyone to a perfect healed state. The group had authorized him to walk to the dining room or the walkway circling the cabin only within the past three days, previously making sure he didn't exert himself too much by bringing his meals directly to the bedroom and visiting him one after the other to encourage his recovery and keep boredom at bay.

As he was reading at the dinner table, enjoying the opportunity to dress again entirely and his freedom of movements, a strange young man, as skimpily dressed as Meg, suddenly appeared in the living room, so silently that Sam did a double take when he found himself staring into dark, menacing eyes. He stumbled to his feet when he realized the newcomer had a long, dangerous-looking knife in each of his hands and that his expression was murderous.

Then Meg appeared next to him, followed by a just-as-murderous Lord Winchester aiming his rifle at the stranger. Meg put herself between the two men, trying to get them to put their weapons down.

"Everybody calm down !" she said in a strong, no-nonsense voice.

"Who is that ?" Sam asked, his heartbeat slowly returning to a more sedate rhythm now that he was not alone and unarmed anymore.

"My friend Guyel. Did he scare you ?" Meg retorted with a smile. "Or maybe you are jealous, pretty boy."

Sam blushed and frowned. He didn't feel attracted to Meg any more than he believed she was to him. Probably too female, as her non-clothed ways showed so well. He had never been interested that much in girls, or sexual relationships. Not enough free time, too many matters to study. Possibly some kind of fear to get involved, to fall in love, and to lose that person ultimately. The one girl he had felt something for, Jess Moore, had died in awful and mysterious circumstances, teaching Sam once again the value of detachment by making it clear that he couldn't keep in his life the women important enough to impact it, just like his probably deceased biological mother. The decision to leave for the UK and put some distance between him and his adoptive mom had quite a bit to do with his will to protect her.

And he was beginning to suspect (read : had already concluded) that other kinds of temptations might do it more for him anyway. So he certainly wouldn't admit in front of Winchester that he had really been afraid for a little while. Or that seeing the hunter ready to deal with the threatening intruder had reassured him tremendously. Not to mention that the vision of Dean Winchester, armed and deadly, always turned him hot and bothered. Even his short, black-skinned and very unfriendly opponent was a sight to behold with his compact, lean but strong body on display.

But he had a reputation to maintain, a mask to protect.

"More like pissed," he half-lied to Meg. "Did your friend ever hear about knocking on the door and saying hello ?"

"Not really a custom of his people," Meg shrugged.

"I thought you had been alone since your parents' death ?" Winchester enquired in a deceptively soft tone.

Startled again, Sam took in the hunter's wariness and realized he was right ; Meg had lied about that part of her life.

"Mostly, yes," she answered. "There are many tribes on the plateau, and none of them like very much the people they call the 'all-dressed invaders,' but I would have gone crazy if I never got to meet and talk with other human beings. Guyel is one of those friends. His father doesn't want him to spend time with me so until Guyel becomes chief of his tribe after Uriel has passed, he just comes by every time he can get away with it."

Sam felt Winchester relax at last, satisfied with Meg's explanations. The girl went to her friend and assured him too that everything was alright. Even then, it was clear that Guyel - or Guy, as Meg called him - didn't trust the foreigners that had invaded Meg's cabin through the wary glances he kept sending them, as distrustful as the ones Winchester sent back.

Winchester who never really lost sight of the native man in the few steps it took him to approach Sam.

"You alright there, Sammy ? The guy didn't hurt you before we came in ?"

Sam was just as stunned by the use of the childish diminutive as the obvious and public worry.

"He didn't have time to harm me," he responded, privately wondering why he hadn't forbidden the lord to call him Sammy just like he had with his family and friends many years ago. Probably because it didn't feel contrived, or condescending.

"We're going to leave you two alone," Sam offered to Meg, pushing Dean out of the room with him, "so that you can spend some quality time without the two of us interrupting your conversation."

Winchester protested a bit, clearly unhappy at the idea of leaving the stranger to Meg's watch. But it was easy for Sam to make him forget about it when he mentioned he wanted to go back outside at last, Dean unwilling to let him wander around unsupervised.

It felt so good to be out again, to walk without banging against a wall after ten steps at the most. Even if Dean kept trying to make him sit and rest, made sure his still sensitive skin was well protected against the harsh rays of the burning sun, so protective that he didn't even make up an excuse to leave when they crossed Professor Campbell's path and endured the older man's presence for about ten minutes before he dragged Sam away.

Sam didn't really know how but he found himself back up the Tree thanks to Dean's persuasion as soon as Guyel left, and distracted enough by Meg's suggestion that they go looking for groceries.

"We're going to need to trade for a lot of things now that it seems you're stuck here for a while. Guy used to bring me most of what I needed and couldn't get on my own, but it won't suffice anymore. We need fabrics at the very least, so that you each get a change of clothes, and flour, grains, soap… so many basic things I can't even think about right now !"

"Do you know where we can go and what we can trade ?" Dean asked.

"Guy suggested we go to the Tapuil. The tribe is mostly women, children and old people now, after the men went to war with their neighbors and most of them never came back. They sure could use the temporary help of four strong men. What do you say ?"

"Your friend's tribe couldn't help them ?"

"He wanted to, almost left with their shaman when he decided to go, but Uriel refused."

"Let me guess : Uriel doesn't like other tribes either."

"I don't usually speak ill of a dying man so I won't comment. But our help would mean a lot to them."

"So it's a deal. Let's pack and get there as soon as we can."

"Better wait for the morning, we'll have to walk a good six or seven hours to reach the Tapuil."

"Alright. Sam, you're okay with the plan ?"

Sam was grateful for the way Dean put it, hiding his concern for his health being good enough that he would be able to walk that far.

"Absolutely."

"Good. So I'm gonna talk to Professor Singer and Jenn, will you go to Campbell ?"

"Okay."

Talking twice to Campbell in a day was obviously too much of a hardship for Dean to remember he didn't want Sam to go around alone.

Everyone came into agreement as soon as the project was explained, as well as with the plan to leave first thing the next morning.

They were about to leave, packs ready since before they went to sleep and breakfast already done, when Dean stopped Sam.

"Sam, wait !"

"What ?" he replied with a bit of impatience.

It was more than time to go and he couldn't wait to stretch his legs for more than a few minutes at once.

"I have something for you," Dean explained. "Here, take it."

Dean was holding in his hand a long knife in its leather sheath and Sam looked at him with surprise.

"You hide it under your clothes," Dean continued. "Your pants are too tight but the shirt should do it."

"But you might need it," Sam protested.

"No worries, I have the machete. Never go without the knife, you never know when it might come in handy."

"Thanks, Dean. It's quite thoughtful of you."

"Well, it might save your life. It might even save mine if I'm incapacitated and I need you to pull your weight. So I repeat, don't lose it. And now let's go."

They left right after, following Meg's directions and Campbell's compass, alert for dinosaurs and any other kind of danger, but the few beasts they saw were distant enough to be able to slink away without being seen or smelled.

The Tapuil seemed wary upon their arrival, but they changed attitude and welcomed them warmly as soon as they heard their proposal. They offered a small cabin to shelter them all during their stay, which was quite nice but made privacy even more of an issue than usual, especially as they had to share with another visitor. Sam couldn't say he really minded during the first days, though, not when he fell asleep in the second following his body lying on the ground. It was clear he was still recovering from his adventures.

Castiel, the shaman of Guyel's tribe, had braved Uriel's orders to come and offer his help to the Tapuil. Body hidden behind a long beige tunic down to his knees, the man was kind of weird, ignorant of common rules like the need to respect someone else's personal space or to avoid staring at your interlocutor, and yet friendly enough. They were all surprised to discover that he could speak English, albeit a little formally, having learned it through his dealings with the Masters expedition, and then in the books lent to him by the explorers.

His relationships with everyone were cordial bordering on bland, except for Dean who seemed to enjoy teasing him out of his usual sternness. Sam didn't really know what to make of the lord's attitude, until he caught them one night seated by the fire, talking about their life experiences.

"I don't understand," Castiel said, "if you're the head of your clan, why you are here instead of leading your people."

Dean snorted.

"My people, as you put it, are dead, or very able to lead themselves. Lord is just a title I inherited from my father, who got it himself from a distant ancestor from another country who passed away without closer descendants. Dad took us to England, hoping we could begin a new life, but instead we lost everything. I'm the last survivor of my family. Friends take care of the house and the domain for me when I'm away."

"But this is your land, your heritage."

"Trust me, it doesn't mean that much when you have no one to share it with."

"Then why don't you have anyone ?"

"I told you, man, my parents and my brother are gone. I'm a family of one."

"Yet I can see every day that you're a born leader. You don't defer to the older men of your temporary clan, and I'm quite aware of the way ladies are interested in you among the tribe, the young ones as well as the widows. Little Shez, for example, would be more than delighted if you suggested that she share your life and become part of your tribe."

"You saw that, Mr. Shaman, did you ?"

"I did. I'm a spiritual advisor, I have to be cognizant of my people's desires."

Sam had seen that too, and he had tried with Meg's help to warn the girl that Dean wouldn't stay. Professor Campbell had made sure to tell them all about the lord's reputation and Dean himself made no mystery of his strong interest in the fairer sex. So Sam refused to let any Tapuil woman fall prey to his beautiful eyes and seductive smile. Even though Meg had declined to translate Shez's exact answer to his well-meaning advice, the girl's anger and her tone had made quite clear what she thought of Sam's intervention. She still ignored him a few days later.

"This is all a dream she's indulging in," Dean commented. "The seduction of novelty, but she doesn't know me at all. The poor girl would be totally miserable in my country and probably unwelcome in most places. I could never make her happy and she'll realize it sooner or later. And what about you, man ? Are shamans allowed to take a wife in your tribe ? Would the terrible Uriel agree to your union ?"

"Marriage is a major decision in a man's life, one a shaman can't take lightly, for he has to care not only for his companion, but for all his tribe's needs. I would have to find someone willing to assist me in my ministry. I should also factor in my preference for the male form, which is what Uriel might frown upon, but it would ultimately remain my choice. So far, you're the first one to make me think of this most important topic in relation to myself."

Sam decided it was time to make his presence known.

"Hey, there," he saluted them as he approached the fire. "Got a place for me ?"

"Absolutely, Samuel. Come sit with us."

As Sam sat down between the men, Castiel offered him some leva, the common drink used around these parts by those who didn't feel like drinking water, a strong flavor of chicory mixed with tonic. The conversation turned less personal and Castiel decided to go to bed once he began yawning.

"The day has been long, my friends. I'll see you two on the morrow."

Dean and Sam saluted him with good-night wishes and fell silent again after his departure.

"I thought you'd sleep with Shez," Sam suddenly said, not embarrassed to let it slip that he had been eavesdropping for a while.

"Yeah," Dean answered with a smile, "she's a sweet, pretty girl. Another time, another place… maybe I'd give it a thought. But she's after more than fun and the last thing she needs right now is some stranger seducing her and then disappearing, possibly leaving her with a bun in the oven. It would be kind of difficult to get parental visitation once I'm back home. And I'm not the kind of sailor to pinpoint the memory of his travels with a kid in every port. Not to mention that I'm not that much into virgins."

Sam hid his grimace by taking a sip of his leva.

"Want to play a game ?" he changed the subject.

They didn't have much in the way of entertainment here in the village, save for the deck of cards Sam had remembered to bring. The professors might have been decent players but they rarely indulged. Meg didn't like the games that much, and Sam still felt uneasy when alone with Lady Jenn. Which left only Winchester, who liked to play but was too impatient and playful to take it seriously, unless there was a deal at stake. Then he morphed into a shark - a pouting, sore loser of a shark every time Sam won. Which was even more fun as Sam mocked him mercilessly.

He couldn't wait to make Dean swallow his teasing grin.

May 16th

When Professor Campbell asked him, full of scorn, if he had ever learned something about agriculture on his vast domain, Dean replied he had been too busy having sex with women to learn anything else.

This is exactly why I have such a hard time trusting him, try as I might, and even though I can see he's much more learned - in agriculture as in many other topics - than he would like us to believe. I don't understand him. Why he wants us all to underestimate him. Don't understand his constant frivolity, his impertinence towards the professors. Don't understand why he winks at me regularly, as if to share with me some joke I'm not aware of.

Lately though, I must say that I really don't like his new friendship with Castiel. I guess I'm afraid he will abuse the poor guy's trust in some way.



After three weeks of hard labor out in the fields and here in the village, Sam was incredibly tired and happy when it was time - finally ! - to get back to the Tree and leave the Tapuil to fend for themselves. They assembled to say their goodbyes on a clear morning. The former leader's wife had a gift for them all to add to the goods they had traded for, gathered in rough cloth bags they would each carry on their back, as well as a speech that Meg translated.

"She said that we could stay here. We're welcome to become a part of this tribe if we want, all of us or individually."

They looked at each other, startled at the unexpected invitation.

"Tell them we can't," Campbell said without even bothering to ask for their opinion as he added a strong "No !" in the plateau's language, one of the few words they all knew by now.

"Tell them we're honored by their offer," Sam added quickly, "but we have our own projects, and we can't postpone them anymore."

Meg opened her mouth to translate but Dean cut her off.

"Tell them also that, should we still be here the next time they need men for the hard work, we'll be happy to help them again."

It was hard to believe they would all be so happy considering Professor Campbell's surly expression, but Meg translated anyway. The Tapuil were disappointed by their answer, it was made clear by their own forlorn expression, and none more so than Shez who seemed to cling to Dean more than ever until they departed for good.

The trip back home went smoothly at first, but they had to change their course when they reached a river they had easily passed on the other way but was now overflowing after a recent storm.

Meg was ill at ease, and even Castiel seemed more alert than ever, clearly searching for any sign of danger. Everyone picked up on their attitude, especially Winchester who took his rifle in hand, ready to shoot.

They recognized the hissing sound before they even heard Professor Campbell cry out, his right shoulder pierced by an arrow that had come from somewhere behind. They all began to run without prompting, Singer helping Campbell every time he stumbled under the pain.

They changed course again and again, each time they could see another attacker ready to aim at them, hindered by the obligation to stay all together ; they knew that if one of them got separated from the group, they would likely be dead in a heartbeat.

It felt like they were running forever. Dean stopped to shoot at their assailants when any of the explorers fell behind and looked out particularly for Jenn and Sam. Judging from the cries of pain, he did strike at least twice. But more attackers seemed to come from everywhere behind the trees and bushes and the arrows kept hissing past them with increasing frequency.

Luck was with them, ensuring that no one else was injured. They thought they would manage to hide and get away when they found themselves running through some kind of alley made of thick bushes where their pursuers wouldn't be able to attack them anymore. The path, funnel-shaped, led to a small clearing obviously dug by the hands of men ; they saw it for the trap it was when they took in the walls blocking their advance, a big circle of more than nine-foot-high logs planted right in the hard soil, but it was already too late to go back.

The doors made of thick branches and leaves they hadn't seen in due time either closed behind them.

"No, no, no !!" Meg cried, hitting the door with her hands multiple times to try and get it to open again. "This is not good ! We have to get away from here now !!"

"What is it you're afraid of, my dear ?" Singer asked, out of breath.

"I'm pretty sure the men we saw are from the Walli tribe," she explained, Castiel nodding at her words. "They're not really concerned about the origin of their meat as long as it's well-done on the outside and I think we've just been added to the menu."

Sam followed Winchester's gaze to take in the mattress of twigs they were standing on, which was covered by some gooey substance, suddenly realizing that only one spark would be necessary to light it all aflame. Then their eyes met and some kind of communication seemed to pass between them, impossible to translate into actual words but just as effective. They could help each other.

"Sam," Dean said, very aware they had to act right now before the fire began, "give me a lift over the wall and I'll open up that door as soon as I'm on the other side."

"Better yet, I go with you in case there's more than one of those Walli guys waiting for an escape, so you can fight them while I open the door and then I help you if need be."

"I don't think they were more than four or five. Beaters who know the terrain much better than us so that they were able to follow or precede us easily, and to force us right where they wanted without giving their trap away. They're good with a bow, I have to give them that, but I'm pretty sure they're not particularly trained for fighting."

"Even then, it's still too much for just one man. I can help."

Dean considered him with a frown.

"You feel ready for this ?"

"I am."

"Okay then, let's go."

Singer gave a lift to Dean, while Campbell tried to negotiate with Sam to take his place but the older man's injured shoulder made this a non-option, for which Sam was glad. He was just as eager to prove himself in front of Dean as he wanted to be a part of the action.

With Castiel's help, he arrived on the other side to find Dean already fighting off three Walli warriors, landing blows and catching a few. He entered the brawl and quickly came to the sad conclusion that he couldn't follow the gentleman's rules his formal boxing training had taught him, because no one here did it. No holds barred was the actual rule, which meant that, coupled with their height and weight and the injuries bullets had previously inflicted, Dean and he got the upper hand in the fight, though the little Walli guys were wiry and agile and they managed to cause a bit of harm, especially to Sam's face which would certainly be sporting a nice shiner soon.

The other explorers didn't idly wait for Dean and Sam to open the cage, trying instead to push most of the twigs and combustible substance far towards one side of their prison walls. They were mostly successful, until a burning arrow passed right by Jenn's head, missing her by a few inches and setting the ground aflame.

Jenn jumped back but it was too late, her pant skirt catching fire immediately. Meg was on her in the next moment, using what was left of the water in her gourd to extinguish the flames, imitated by the professors while Castiel pushed Jenn out of the main fire's way.

Through the brouhaha coming from the cage, giving away the fact the fire had been set and was gaining strength, Dean and Sam suddenly heard a woman's cries of distress - Jenn's voice for sure - and they redoubled their efforts to finish it here to help their trapped friends.

Enemies dispatched, Sam went to the cage's doors and used his knife to cut the cord tying them closed, which Dean recycled to tie their three opponents' wrists together. Sam helped the others rush out of the cage far from the fire. Meg pushed Jenn to the ground and rolled her over to extinguish the last flames still gripping the long and roomy legs of her skirt.

"Jenny !" Dean yelled before he ran and kneeled next to her and then held her, cradling her body against his. "Sweetheart, are you injured ?"

"I'm good, baby, don't worry. It's just a very mild burn."

She demonstrated her good enough well-being by standing up on her own, as much as Dean and Meg let her anyway.

"I'm so sorry I was too late to stop him."

"I saw you, Dean," Meg said. "You saved her life, the arrow was meant straight for her neck."

Dean and Jenn looked at each other and no words were necessary to express the love and relief they shared.

"Are you boys alright too ?" professor Singer asked as he was bandaging Campbell's wound after taking the arrow out.

"Never better !" Dean answered with a lopsided smile while he was shaking his bloody and clearly hurting right hand.

Everybody smiled at him in return, except Professor Campbell, too intent on cataloguing Sam's bruises even after he had confirmed being well too.

"He's been hurt !" he exclaimed, turning to Dean. "I told you he shouldn't go, but you let him do it. This is all on you."

"My God, old man, chill out. Sam is safe. This is nothing more than what boys suffer when they grow up and learn to defend themselves."

"Maybe that's normal for someone like you, but Sam is too important to risk his life in common fisticuffs."

"Well, that's nice. And you'll excuse me for finding it very out of character that you care for a stranger in such a blatant way, when all those years you were not even capable of showing a shred of interest for your own grandson."

"You need only take a look at that grandson to understand my attitude."

"You're just a big dick," Dean answered, his eyes shooting daggers.

Most of the group had gone still at the huge and so unexpected revelation. Not Lady Jenn, though.

"That's quite enough, Professor. You've made your petty and narrow-minded opinion abundantly clear over the years, we certainly don't need to hear it again."

"And you know," Dean continued, "you've been nothing but a pain in my ass since Sam's sickness. As if I was somehow responsible for what happened to him. Now this ! It's more than time that you realize Sam is an adult, and a very capable one."

"I've learned how to spar, Professor," Sam added to defuse the situation. "I can hold my own in a fight. Now we should go before more of these guys come to see what's happening with their dinner."

"Sam is right," Castiel intervened. "I don't know what this abrasive discussion is about but I'm sure it is both ill-timed and unnecessary. Let's go."

Properly chastised, everyone retrieved the bags of goods they had been carrying and followed the shaman on the way back home, Dean taking the rear to protect the group and make sure no other bad surprise would catch them unaware.

"Is it true what Dean said ?" Sam asked when his steps brought him near Professor Campbell. "You were that worried about me after my encounter with the carnivorous plant ?"

"I was, son. Ellie would have my head if something bad happened to you. She made me promise to take care of you."

"It's extremely nice of you to be looking out for me, Professor, but Dean's right. I'm not a kid anymore and I can take care of myself. I have to take initiatives and help this expedition, do my part just like anyone else here. And I can make my own mistakes without pinning them on someone else. It's part of becoming a man, isn't it ?"

"It is, but your mother…"

"My mother," Sam stopped him right there, "is like any other mother in the world, she wants her son safe at home. But she also knows that's not who I am and I will only ever be happy if I get to see the world and learn to fit in it, whatever way it might take."

"I hear you, Sam, but I never want to have to visit her to announce your death."

"All I ask is that you have faith in me. I've learned so much since our journey began, and I'm learning more every day thanks to all of you."

"Alright, I'll try, if you promise me to be cautious."

"I'll try too, that's a promise."

They both got back into the line and walked silently.

"Do we need to prepare for the return of the cannibals ?" Dean asked when they stopped for a moment to refill their gourds in a river. "Will they follow us ?"

"I don't think so," Castiel answered before Meg had time to. "They are very territorial and they only snatch prey coming onto their land. It is sacred to them and they will not leave it to catch us. We are in no danger from them as long as we don't cross their territory again."

The last stop before the Tree was Castiel's tribe. Guyel welcomed them first, but soon they had the displeasure to meet the infamous Uriel.

"You gunso are not welcomed here," the chief threw at them with a heavy accent.

Then he turned to Castiel exclusively and berated him for a long while in their own language.

"I guess I don't want to know what gunso means ?" Dean asked Meg.

Her grimace was all the answer he needed, especially when she translated some of Uriel's never-ending sermon to Castiel, every punishment he would get for leaving his tribe despite Uriel's orders and being away for so long when his people needed him.

"I see Uriel's as big a dick as I was told," Dean concluded when the man stopped his rant. "And you can translate that."

"I don't think it will be necessary, Dean," Castiel responded, both amused and embarrassed when Uriel's stare quit him to land on Dean. "Your meaning got through perfectly."

"Great, his got through too."

The two men stood still, their eyes conveying something between contempt and hatred mixed with provocation on Dean's part.

"Dean, come on," Sam said, pulling on his arm. "It's not worth the hassle and I'm tired, I want to go home."

Dean turned to him and watched his face, reading his exhaustion and the need for a long rest. Then he examined Jenn and saw the exact same need.

"Okay," he agreed, deciding to ignore Uriel for his friends' sake. "Let's go home."

Dean took only a few steps before he went back to Castiel.

"You'll be alright here ? Sure you don't wanna come with us ?"

Sam stopped on the spot, willing Castiel to refuse Dean's proposition for no reason he could understand.

"Do not worry yourself, Dean," the shaman answered. "My place is here, with my people."

"Okay, but don't be a stranger."

"I'm sure we will meet again soon. Goodbye, Dean."



May 30th

I'll talk about what happened on the way back later. I have much more important news before.

Big news !

Lord Winchester and Professor Campbell are related. Dean is the professor's grandson.

The journalist in me is ashamed that he didn't see that one coming. But to be honest, their very palpable rivalry and dislike, as well as the care they take of not talking to each other if they can avoid it, would make it difficult for anyone to guess. Their names are different and they don't look alike. One comes from America, the other from Great Britain. One is a renowned scholar, the other a reputed sportsman. They could hardly be more diverse in their views and life goals.

They've made it quite obvious there's no love lost between them. I don't know what happened to their family to make them such enemies, but my curiosity won't let me rest until I find out what it is that Dean did to get there. I can't imagine the professor being responsible, not after all the kindness and care he shown me since we met.

But maybe I can help them get past this situation while they're stuck here and I'm beginning to become friends with Dean.



| Masterpost | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Author's notes | AO3 | Art Post |