A Vision of Black Steel (Part One)
He heard the sniff behind him and bit down on his lip to keep from smiling. It wasn’t the time or place for it, even if Sam’s sniff was as good as a full out barrel laugh from anyone else. He didn’t allow his eyes to glance behind him either, just one step back, one step to the right, to where Sam was standing, his shoulders tall and straight, eyes glaring at the council before them. They thought Sam’s lack of speech was a lack of intelligence and Dean wasn’t about to prove them wrong. Not because he couldn’t, but because it was Sam’s wish, for them to think him nothing more than he seemed. A wild man. An untamed beast that only Dean’s sharp temper kept in line. If only they knew… but they didn’t. They never would. Much like they had once underestimated Dean because of his sightless eyes. By the time they realized Sam was so much more than a broken creature it would be too late.
“You are bound to keep this creature then?” The head of the order asked, his chin sticking out in a manner than meant disapproval and even without sight Dean could hear it in his voice.
“Yes.”
“Even against our wishes?”
“That I hunt at all is against your wishes. I’ll take him as mine whether you want it or not.”
“We could order him destroyed.”
Dean heard Sam moving, the shuffle of his bare feet against the granite floor, the scratch of denim and then the heat of his body against Dean’s back, standing united with him.
Dean did let out a smile then, his hand touching at the hilt of his sword. Hidden carefully under the folds of his black trench coat was the black steel he’d been gifted by his bondmate. A feral grown rumbled low in his companion’s throat and Dean smiled. “Try it.”
6 Weeks before…
Dean hated working like this, trying to partner up with a hunter who didn’t trust him to hold up his own. It happened. Whenever the council forced someone new to work with him they purposely left out a few details; like Dean’s blindness or his second sight that let him see far more than a pair of eyes ever could.
It might not be so bad really, except that Dean’s temper guaranteed he never worked with the same hunter twice and the council had a bad habit of wanting him partnered up. They never reprimanded him for working alone but he knew it, every time he walked into the council room to receive new orders that they were trying to find a way to bind him to the council, to make him a part of the order in ways he had never wanted.
He was a hunter, not a diplomat, not a politician. The council took care of the way the world saw him and his brethren and he took care of the nasty things that went bump in the night, the things that came crawling out when the clouds rolled through the sky and made lightening dance across the noon vista.
They said the world was changing, that once there had been light during the daytime hours and that clouds hadn’t covered the sun for all but a few patches during the day, but it made little difference to Dean. He sometimes felt the warmth of the sun on his face, and as blessed as it felt, he was a creature of the dark and the cold of that world suited him.
The woman on his left turned to hiss something at him and he pushed her down as the hound passed where her body should have been.
“How did you-“
“Keep your eyes open,” he barked as he turned to see where the others were. The first was already running back into the darkness, waiting for another chance to ambush them. They were hunting Jo, going after her as the weaker hunter and Dean didn’t think she’d realized it yet.
He heard the noise of something under the brush from the right and something else circled from the left. They were trying to trap them in the small glade where there was little room to maneuver and even less room to fight. Jo had a crossbow out but it would only be good for one shot. Even if she got a good shot in it still left them with four hungry black dogs to deal with.
A howl pierced the night and Dean’s head jerked up at the sound of it. It wasn’t the black dogs. It wasn’t a werewolf but it wasn’t wolf either. It could be some other form of supernatural hound or beast but it wasn’t one Dean could recognize. The hell hounds stopped circling at the sound and Dean could tell whatever it was that moved through the woods scared them as well.
He pulled out the long iron blades that he carried at his belt and crouched down, trying to make a smaller target of himself. Jo followed his movements.
The black dogs moved as one, jumping into the small clearing without warning. He heard Jo’s crossbow and the loud thud of her victim falling to the ground. He just hoped her aim was true enough that he stayed on the ground. Dean had his hands too full to check.
One hound came straight for him, teeth flashing dangerously white in the dark of the night. He brought his arm up to use the beast’s momentum to knock it down, then sliced with the hunting knife and felt the warm splash of blood down his wrist.
He rose up high to bring the knife down to its heart but felt the bite of another hound’s teeth in his shoulder. He screamed in pain, but it was wrenched aside before it could strike again. Dean brought his knife down on the one beneath him, delivering the killing blow before he turned back to the others.
Another black dog jumped him but the knife ran clear through its throat as he looked over to Jo. She had her crossbow back up, sliding a new bolt in place and it brought his attention to the remaining beasts. It was then he realized another hunter had joined into the fight.
Dean rushed forward as the man plunged a knife into a black dog’s heart and turned to face the next one. It was injured with blood covering its snout and it only took a moment for Dean to realize it was his blood. The black dog was limping on one side and he didn’t know what the other hunter did to it but it wasn’t at its fighting best. Dean moved closer but the man at his side suddenly backed away. He crouched low and brought his knives up as if Dean was a threat to him. He heard the zing of Jo’s arrow and the last muffled bark of the black dog but he was focusing on the other man, pulling into himself to allow his senses to take in just the man. He didn’t like leaving Jo to have his back, didn’t trust her enough to protect him, but he didn’t know what was happening just yet.
“Dean?” Jo’s voice was threaded with caution but she wasn’t moving towards him. She hadn’t pulled another bolt into the bow either so they were safe for the moment.
“Who are you?” Dean asked the man before him.
Man was an interesting word for the creature that crouched there, his back to a tree, his hands up where Dean could use his sight to see the broken, dirt encrusted nails as they clutched ancient looking knives. Runes ran up and down the blade and even if the man before him was filthy, his blades were clean. The pants he wore were ripped and torn and the shirt on his back was little more than a rag, covering little of his torso which had a scattering of wounds alongside old scars. His feet were bare and his mouth was open in a snarl.
Dean held up his knives and then wiped them quickly on the cloth at his belt before sheathing them. He held his hands back out then. “My name is Dean. I’m from the Ordo Latro, a hunter,” he said softly.
“Dean, this is a bad idea.”
He gave a slight grimace as the man’s eyes tracked over to Jo, his body coiling up tighter as if to strike. “Hey,” Dean moved, making sure to make as much noise as possible. He walked slowly between the guy and Jo until the man seemed to relax a bit more. “Jo, put the crossbow down.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Jo, put it down and back away.”
“Dean, you have no idea what he is.”
“He’s not evil Jo. Whatever else he is, I can see that.”
“How? You can’t-“
“Jo!” He took a deep breath to keep from losing his temper. He wasn’t known for keeping his temper in but he had no doubt if he lost it the man would run, or attack, and Jo would take a shot at him either way. “Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I can’t see better than you. I thought you’d have picked up on that by now, seeing as we’ve been hunting together for two weeks. Since it’s escaped your attention though, I can see evil. This man might be wild, but he isn’t evil.”
“You call that a man?”
He spared a look for Jo over his shoulder, his glare causing her to take a step back. “Go back to camp. Clean up. When I can, I’ll bring him back with me. If you can’t handle it, you’re welcome to be gone by the time I get there.”
“They said you weren’t the type to take a partner but damned if they said you liked beasts over your own kind,” Jo sneered. “Don’t look for me to be there.”
Dean’s eyes were already on the wild man as he let out a deep breath. “Good.”
He decided to make himself more comfortable. He sat on the ground, hoping to make his new friend a little more at ease. He didn’t want to do anything else while Jo was grabbing her bolts from the dead black dogs. She was muttering under her breath and he refused to remind her that his hearing was pretty damn good as well.
He knew the elders had resorted to sending female hunters, hoping sex would entice him to form a partnership. The sex was a nice little bonus, but it wasn’t enough to make him work with anyone long term. He didn’t know how they expected him to choose someone to have his back when most of them didn’t trust him to take care of himself in the first place. As good a hunter as he was, and even at his most modest he knew he was one of the best, his reputation and temper made him unpredictable.
He wasn’t the only hunter without back up but he the Order’s most defiant and he knew the people they sent were meant to reel him back into the Order’s folds. It wasn’t happening, but as long as they kept sending him back up on the jobs he needed it, things were working out just fine by his standards.
When Jo was out of the clearing the wild man watched her go, head tilting to the side as if listening to see if she was well and truly gone. Dean smiled at that and gave a small nod. It took a few minutes before the man focused back on him and Dean took it as a sign that he believed Jo was finally gone.
The wild man’s focus was intense, as if he was trying to read into the heart of who Dean was. Maybe he was. It was hard to tell. Most people looked away upon seeing Dean’s murky white eyes but the man’s gaze never wavered.
Dean gave him his most charming smile, the one that usually went a long way with the women in the villages that he visited, and tried again. “My name is Dean,” he said in the same soft voice he’d spoken in before. “Dean,” he pointed to his chest.
“De.” The voice was dark and rough, like his throat was thick from disuse.
Dean gave him an encouraging smile. “Yes, Dean. What should I call you?”
The man sat up straight suddenly and Dean moved to his feet, hearing something in the distance. It was too far away to make out just what it was, but the other man rushed Dean, pushing him back towards the path Jo had used. There was something abysmal in his eyes, where a moment before there had been calm acceptance. “What is it?” he asked.
The man pushed again and Dean stumbled back. “De. Go.”
He ran in the opposite direction then with a grace that spoke of familiarity and a speed that Dean knew he couldn’t keep.
He watched a few more minutes, listening to the sounds of the forest as it remained calm around him. When the other man didn’t come back, he reluctantly returned to his camp, finding Jo was no where to be found.
Thunder barked in the background and Dean sighed as he watched the lightning dance across the sky. It bothered his senses to be out in the unnatural weather. In the ruined cities he was surrounded by enough metal and concrete to shield him from it, but out in the wilderness in the old country it grated against his sight in ways he couldn’t fully explain to the others. He’d met a psychic once who’d understood, but then she’d tried to converse with a creature from the other side against his warning. She’d lost not only her eyes but her tongue as well. When Elder Winchester had touched her fevered forehead, she’d passed into a coma she had yet to wake from. Dean mourned her loss of consciousness more than the death of any hunter he’d come across. She had known what he was, understood what he could do, and she’d let him be the man he was without thinking any more or less of him for it. It wasn’t a lot to ask for in life, but for him it was more than anyone else had ever given him.
There was at least one more pack of black dogs in the hills and Dean’s orders were to stay until they were all destroyed. Three weeks in the forest and he’d found the scent of each pack. Jo had been gone a week and was probably already telling the elders how he’d forced her to leave. Gone a week and he couldn’t care less if she ever crossed his path again. Gone a week, and all he wanted was for the enigmatic wild man to come back.
He didn’t kid himself about that and he made a practice of never lying to himself either. He knew he was looking for him as he tracked the black dogs. He knew that once the last pack was gone, he’d keep looking. He didn’t know what else was out there, but the wild man was more interesting to him than the orders Winchester would send his way. He was worth the ache that ran down his spine and through his limbs as the heavens shattered with lightning once again.
The last pack’s trail was clear and that in its self bothered Dean. No matter what else black dogs were, they were rarely easy to track. Between bounding a few feet between marks they could also take to low lying branches and had a tendency to jump back and forth, mudding their own tracks so it was hard to figure out where they were coming or going from. Whatever they were doing, they were chasing something, but there was no sign of whatever they’d been after. It was either better at hiding its trail or they’d demolished it in their race.
He drew his daggers out as he came to the top of a small rise. His senses were telling him something was waiting for him on the other side but it was neither good nor evil. Unfortunately, not all supernatural creatures gave off an evil feel, no matter than humanity deemed them evil. Pure intention went a long way to make something feel good or to mask the inherit immorality of their deeds.
He crouched as he moved to the only cover he had and pressed his back to the tree. He took a deep breath, stilling his body and preparing himself for whatever was about to come. He slowly rose up high enough to see over the ridge and then turned slightly to see around the tree.
His vision was clear but Dean couldn’t decipher what his vision was showing him.
“De,” the voice was just as rich and rough as he remembered it.
Dean pushed away from the tree, his knives back in their sheaths as he scrambled down the rise to where the wild man stood. It was obvious he was waiting for Dean, the pack of black dogs were strung from branches around the clearing, bleeding over the dark forest floor.
“You did this?” Dean asked, though he knew the answer and he knew why.
The man nodded as he came closer. He eyed Dean cautiously and moved deliberately, his back straight, shoulders pressed back. He was taller than Dean, broader across the shoulders and with muscles that rippled under his torn clothes, but Dean didn’t feel a threat from him. He could be wrong, he had been in the past, but whoever the man was he was trying to please Dean.
“You don’t have to walk like that,” Dean said softly, a small smile passing his lips as the man slumped his shoulders forward immediately. His steps were still forced but Dean didn’t say anything else. He watched as the man walked into the center of the clearing and lit the fire that was sitting there, two logs pulled up on either side just as his camp with Jo had been set up. He didn’t know if the man had seen them before he’d saved Dean’s life or if he’d just paid attention after, but Dean was slightly humbled that he wanted to make him comfortable.
Dean smiled and it hit him that he’d smiled more in the last few minutes than he could remember smiling in a long time. He took a seat on the edge of one log and watched as his wild man moved closer. He sat on one of the logs and bared his teeth in a manner Dean knew was meant to be a smile. “So you remembered my name, huh?” he asked as he pulled one of his water skins out and took a drink. He held it out for the other man to see what he’d do.
The wild man shuffled off the log and moved around the fire until he was resting before Dean’s knees. He took the canteen and sniffed it lightly. “De,” he said softly before bringing the water to his mouth.
It wasn’t graceful, water spilling over the edge of his lips, trailing down the filth to leave a streak of paler flesh under the dirt until it disappeared into torn fabric. He reached out and wiped at the man’s mouth without thinking, trying to dry up a little of the mess, but images flashed through his head. He pulled back, felt the other man fall back and scramble away but it was too late. Images of the wild flashed through his head, images of dark days and darker nights, of endless hunts, alone and uncared for, of something dark and sinister always waiting in the background to bite and kick and hurl the unworthy into the flames.
Dean’s lungs shuttered to draw breath, to draw his senses back to himself. He closed his eyes and focused on the crash of lightning and the sense of wrong that permeated the air. It allowed him to find his center, to be back to himself, but he already knew he was changed. One touch and the wild man had done what the order had never been able to force him to do.
“De,” the wild man looked uncertain, his eyes dancing with a feral light that made Dean want to reach out and pull him close, let him press against Dean’s body, to wrap his fingers in thick dark locks and reassure him with touch and smell. He swallowed against the lump in his throat but the man was already moving closer again, crouching up between Dean’s knees where the water skin lay, emptying its content without notice. He took Dean’s hand and pressed it against his chest where his heart lay, thin fabric stretched taut to cover his life’s beating spirit. “S’m.”
It took him a minute to understand what the man was trying to say, but he pressed Dean’s hand to his chest again and repeated it. Dean nodded in understanding. “Sam.”
The man smiled then, real and beautiful, not the forced thing he’d seen before. “Your name is Sam.”
On to Part Two
“You are bound to keep this creature then?” The head of the order asked, his chin sticking out in a manner than meant disapproval and even without sight Dean could hear it in his voice.
“Yes.”
“Even against our wishes?”
“That I hunt at all is against your wishes. I’ll take him as mine whether you want it or not.”
“We could order him destroyed.”
Dean heard Sam moving, the shuffle of his bare feet against the granite floor, the scratch of denim and then the heat of his body against Dean’s back, standing united with him.
Dean did let out a smile then, his hand touching at the hilt of his sword. Hidden carefully under the folds of his black trench coat was the black steel he’d been gifted by his bondmate. A feral grown rumbled low in his companion’s throat and Dean smiled. “Try it.”
6 Weeks before…
Dean hated working like this, trying to partner up with a hunter who didn’t trust him to hold up his own. It happened. Whenever the council forced someone new to work with him they purposely left out a few details; like Dean’s blindness or his second sight that let him see far more than a pair of eyes ever could.
It might not be so bad really, except that Dean’s temper guaranteed he never worked with the same hunter twice and the council had a bad habit of wanting him partnered up. They never reprimanded him for working alone but he knew it, every time he walked into the council room to receive new orders that they were trying to find a way to bind him to the council, to make him a part of the order in ways he had never wanted.
He was a hunter, not a diplomat, not a politician. The council took care of the way the world saw him and his brethren and he took care of the nasty things that went bump in the night, the things that came crawling out when the clouds rolled through the sky and made lightening dance across the noon vista.
They said the world was changing, that once there had been light during the daytime hours and that clouds hadn’t covered the sun for all but a few patches during the day, but it made little difference to Dean. He sometimes felt the warmth of the sun on his face, and as blessed as it felt, he was a creature of the dark and the cold of that world suited him.
The woman on his left turned to hiss something at him and he pushed her down as the hound passed where her body should have been.
“How did you-“
“Keep your eyes open,” he barked as he turned to see where the others were. The first was already running back into the darkness, waiting for another chance to ambush them. They were hunting Jo, going after her as the weaker hunter and Dean didn’t think she’d realized it yet.
He heard the noise of something under the brush from the right and something else circled from the left. They were trying to trap them in the small glade where there was little room to maneuver and even less room to fight. Jo had a crossbow out but it would only be good for one shot. Even if she got a good shot in it still left them with four hungry black dogs to deal with.
A howl pierced the night and Dean’s head jerked up at the sound of it. It wasn’t the black dogs. It wasn’t a werewolf but it wasn’t wolf either. It could be some other form of supernatural hound or beast but it wasn’t one Dean could recognize. The hell hounds stopped circling at the sound and Dean could tell whatever it was that moved through the woods scared them as well.
He pulled out the long iron blades that he carried at his belt and crouched down, trying to make a smaller target of himself. Jo followed his movements.
The black dogs moved as one, jumping into the small clearing without warning. He heard Jo’s crossbow and the loud thud of her victim falling to the ground. He just hoped her aim was true enough that he stayed on the ground. Dean had his hands too full to check.
One hound came straight for him, teeth flashing dangerously white in the dark of the night. He brought his arm up to use the beast’s momentum to knock it down, then sliced with the hunting knife and felt the warm splash of blood down his wrist.
He rose up high to bring the knife down to its heart but felt the bite of another hound’s teeth in his shoulder. He screamed in pain, but it was wrenched aside before it could strike again. Dean brought his knife down on the one beneath him, delivering the killing blow before he turned back to the others.
Another black dog jumped him but the knife ran clear through its throat as he looked over to Jo. She had her crossbow back up, sliding a new bolt in place and it brought his attention to the remaining beasts. It was then he realized another hunter had joined into the fight.
Dean rushed forward as the man plunged a knife into a black dog’s heart and turned to face the next one. It was injured with blood covering its snout and it only took a moment for Dean to realize it was his blood. The black dog was limping on one side and he didn’t know what the other hunter did to it but it wasn’t at its fighting best. Dean moved closer but the man at his side suddenly backed away. He crouched low and brought his knives up as if Dean was a threat to him. He heard the zing of Jo’s arrow and the last muffled bark of the black dog but he was focusing on the other man, pulling into himself to allow his senses to take in just the man. He didn’t like leaving Jo to have his back, didn’t trust her enough to protect him, but he didn’t know what was happening just yet.
“Dean?” Jo’s voice was threaded with caution but she wasn’t moving towards him. She hadn’t pulled another bolt into the bow either so they were safe for the moment.
“Who are you?” Dean asked the man before him.
Man was an interesting word for the creature that crouched there, his back to a tree, his hands up where Dean could use his sight to see the broken, dirt encrusted nails as they clutched ancient looking knives. Runes ran up and down the blade and even if the man before him was filthy, his blades were clean. The pants he wore were ripped and torn and the shirt on his back was little more than a rag, covering little of his torso which had a scattering of wounds alongside old scars. His feet were bare and his mouth was open in a snarl.
Dean held up his knives and then wiped them quickly on the cloth at his belt before sheathing them. He held his hands back out then. “My name is Dean. I’m from the Ordo Latro, a hunter,” he said softly.
“Dean, this is a bad idea.”
He gave a slight grimace as the man’s eyes tracked over to Jo, his body coiling up tighter as if to strike. “Hey,” Dean moved, making sure to make as much noise as possible. He walked slowly between the guy and Jo until the man seemed to relax a bit more. “Jo, put the crossbow down.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Jo, put it down and back away.”
“Dean, you have no idea what he is.”
“He’s not evil Jo. Whatever else he is, I can see that.”
“How? You can’t-“
“Jo!” He took a deep breath to keep from losing his temper. He wasn’t known for keeping his temper in but he had no doubt if he lost it the man would run, or attack, and Jo would take a shot at him either way. “Just because I’m blind doesn’t mean I can’t see better than you. I thought you’d have picked up on that by now, seeing as we’ve been hunting together for two weeks. Since it’s escaped your attention though, I can see evil. This man might be wild, but he isn’t evil.”
“You call that a man?”
He spared a look for Jo over his shoulder, his glare causing her to take a step back. “Go back to camp. Clean up. When I can, I’ll bring him back with me. If you can’t handle it, you’re welcome to be gone by the time I get there.”
“They said you weren’t the type to take a partner but damned if they said you liked beasts over your own kind,” Jo sneered. “Don’t look for me to be there.”
Dean’s eyes were already on the wild man as he let out a deep breath. “Good.”
He decided to make himself more comfortable. He sat on the ground, hoping to make his new friend a little more at ease. He didn’t want to do anything else while Jo was grabbing her bolts from the dead black dogs. She was muttering under her breath and he refused to remind her that his hearing was pretty damn good as well.
He knew the elders had resorted to sending female hunters, hoping sex would entice him to form a partnership. The sex was a nice little bonus, but it wasn’t enough to make him work with anyone long term. He didn’t know how they expected him to choose someone to have his back when most of them didn’t trust him to take care of himself in the first place. As good a hunter as he was, and even at his most modest he knew he was one of the best, his reputation and temper made him unpredictable.
He wasn’t the only hunter without back up but he the Order’s most defiant and he knew the people they sent were meant to reel him back into the Order’s folds. It wasn’t happening, but as long as they kept sending him back up on the jobs he needed it, things were working out just fine by his standards.
When Jo was out of the clearing the wild man watched her go, head tilting to the side as if listening to see if she was well and truly gone. Dean smiled at that and gave a small nod. It took a few minutes before the man focused back on him and Dean took it as a sign that he believed Jo was finally gone.
The wild man’s focus was intense, as if he was trying to read into the heart of who Dean was. Maybe he was. It was hard to tell. Most people looked away upon seeing Dean’s murky white eyes but the man’s gaze never wavered.
Dean gave him his most charming smile, the one that usually went a long way with the women in the villages that he visited, and tried again. “My name is Dean,” he said in the same soft voice he’d spoken in before. “Dean,” he pointed to his chest.
“De.” The voice was dark and rough, like his throat was thick from disuse.
Dean gave him an encouraging smile. “Yes, Dean. What should I call you?”
The man sat up straight suddenly and Dean moved to his feet, hearing something in the distance. It was too far away to make out just what it was, but the other man rushed Dean, pushing him back towards the path Jo had used. There was something abysmal in his eyes, where a moment before there had been calm acceptance. “What is it?” he asked.
The man pushed again and Dean stumbled back. “De. Go.”
He ran in the opposite direction then with a grace that spoke of familiarity and a speed that Dean knew he couldn’t keep.
He watched a few more minutes, listening to the sounds of the forest as it remained calm around him. When the other man didn’t come back, he reluctantly returned to his camp, finding Jo was no where to be found.
Thunder barked in the background and Dean sighed as he watched the lightning dance across the sky. It bothered his senses to be out in the unnatural weather. In the ruined cities he was surrounded by enough metal and concrete to shield him from it, but out in the wilderness in the old country it grated against his sight in ways he couldn’t fully explain to the others. He’d met a psychic once who’d understood, but then she’d tried to converse with a creature from the other side against his warning. She’d lost not only her eyes but her tongue as well. When Elder Winchester had touched her fevered forehead, she’d passed into a coma she had yet to wake from. Dean mourned her loss of consciousness more than the death of any hunter he’d come across. She had known what he was, understood what he could do, and she’d let him be the man he was without thinking any more or less of him for it. It wasn’t a lot to ask for in life, but for him it was more than anyone else had ever given him.
There was at least one more pack of black dogs in the hills and Dean’s orders were to stay until they were all destroyed. Three weeks in the forest and he’d found the scent of each pack. Jo had been gone a week and was probably already telling the elders how he’d forced her to leave. Gone a week and he couldn’t care less if she ever crossed his path again. Gone a week, and all he wanted was for the enigmatic wild man to come back.
He didn’t kid himself about that and he made a practice of never lying to himself either. He knew he was looking for him as he tracked the black dogs. He knew that once the last pack was gone, he’d keep looking. He didn’t know what else was out there, but the wild man was more interesting to him than the orders Winchester would send his way. He was worth the ache that ran down his spine and through his limbs as the heavens shattered with lightning once again.
The last pack’s trail was clear and that in its self bothered Dean. No matter what else black dogs were, they were rarely easy to track. Between bounding a few feet between marks they could also take to low lying branches and had a tendency to jump back and forth, mudding their own tracks so it was hard to figure out where they were coming or going from. Whatever they were doing, they were chasing something, but there was no sign of whatever they’d been after. It was either better at hiding its trail or they’d demolished it in their race.
He drew his daggers out as he came to the top of a small rise. His senses were telling him something was waiting for him on the other side but it was neither good nor evil. Unfortunately, not all supernatural creatures gave off an evil feel, no matter than humanity deemed them evil. Pure intention went a long way to make something feel good or to mask the inherit immorality of their deeds.
He crouched as he moved to the only cover he had and pressed his back to the tree. He took a deep breath, stilling his body and preparing himself for whatever was about to come. He slowly rose up high enough to see over the ridge and then turned slightly to see around the tree.
His vision was clear but Dean couldn’t decipher what his vision was showing him.
“De,” the voice was just as rich and rough as he remembered it.
Dean pushed away from the tree, his knives back in their sheaths as he scrambled down the rise to where the wild man stood. It was obvious he was waiting for Dean, the pack of black dogs were strung from branches around the clearing, bleeding over the dark forest floor.
“You did this?” Dean asked, though he knew the answer and he knew why.
The man nodded as he came closer. He eyed Dean cautiously and moved deliberately, his back straight, shoulders pressed back. He was taller than Dean, broader across the shoulders and with muscles that rippled under his torn clothes, but Dean didn’t feel a threat from him. He could be wrong, he had been in the past, but whoever the man was he was trying to please Dean.
“You don’t have to walk like that,” Dean said softly, a small smile passing his lips as the man slumped his shoulders forward immediately. His steps were still forced but Dean didn’t say anything else. He watched as the man walked into the center of the clearing and lit the fire that was sitting there, two logs pulled up on either side just as his camp with Jo had been set up. He didn’t know if the man had seen them before he’d saved Dean’s life or if he’d just paid attention after, but Dean was slightly humbled that he wanted to make him comfortable.
Dean smiled and it hit him that he’d smiled more in the last few minutes than he could remember smiling in a long time. He took a seat on the edge of one log and watched as his wild man moved closer. He sat on one of the logs and bared his teeth in a manner Dean knew was meant to be a smile. “So you remembered my name, huh?” he asked as he pulled one of his water skins out and took a drink. He held it out for the other man to see what he’d do.
The wild man shuffled off the log and moved around the fire until he was resting before Dean’s knees. He took the canteen and sniffed it lightly. “De,” he said softly before bringing the water to his mouth.
It wasn’t graceful, water spilling over the edge of his lips, trailing down the filth to leave a streak of paler flesh under the dirt until it disappeared into torn fabric. He reached out and wiped at the man’s mouth without thinking, trying to dry up a little of the mess, but images flashed through his head. He pulled back, felt the other man fall back and scramble away but it was too late. Images of the wild flashed through his head, images of dark days and darker nights, of endless hunts, alone and uncared for, of something dark and sinister always waiting in the background to bite and kick and hurl the unworthy into the flames.
Dean’s lungs shuttered to draw breath, to draw his senses back to himself. He closed his eyes and focused on the crash of lightning and the sense of wrong that permeated the air. It allowed him to find his center, to be back to himself, but he already knew he was changed. One touch and the wild man had done what the order had never been able to force him to do.
“De,” the wild man looked uncertain, his eyes dancing with a feral light that made Dean want to reach out and pull him close, let him press against Dean’s body, to wrap his fingers in thick dark locks and reassure him with touch and smell. He swallowed against the lump in his throat but the man was already moving closer again, crouching up between Dean’s knees where the water skin lay, emptying its content without notice. He took Dean’s hand and pressed it against his chest where his heart lay, thin fabric stretched taut to cover his life’s beating spirit. “S’m.”
It took him a minute to understand what the man was trying to say, but he pressed Dean’s hand to his chest again and repeated it. Dean nodded in understanding. “Sam.”
The man smiled then, real and beautiful, not the forced thing he’d seen before. “Your name is Sam.”
On to Part Two