Beneath the Magnolia's Boughs - Part Thirteen
Beneath the Magnolia's Boughs - Part Thirteen
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Pairing: Dean/Sam, other characters include John, Mary, Missouri, OMC, OFC, and a person who bears a resemblance to the YED.
Category: M/M, AU, Historical
Summary: In the Old South, the heirs of two plantations are married against their will. One a tool to his father's aspirations, the other struck for life by a repulsive curse, will they be able to make a happy future together?
Part Thirteen
The sun sat low in the sky when Dean led Sam back onto the Winchester plantation. He hadn’t gone up the wide, sweeping driveway, but had continued down the road a short distance until he came upon a secondary, and rarely used, side road. There were enough cart tracks to evidence that it was actually still in use, but Sam was more interested in the fact that it seemed to run between the Winchester and Whitman lands. Dean kept riding, Sam following him in content silence, idly wondering where the path would take them. Finally, Dean drew to a halt at a crossroads of sorts, and Sam at last recognised this place. That auspicious day that his father had driven him over to the Winchesters like so much chattel had brought him to the edge of his home and across this path onto Winchester land. He hadn’t noticed at the time, far more interested in being scandalized and furious, but his father had commented on the waste of land. Sam had assumed he was referring to the whole of the Winchester plantation, or at least these back fields that no one seemed interested in cultivating. Now, however, he thought the greedy man had meant this swath of dirt road.
“I wonder why they bothered to put a track in here. Was there something down here once?” Sam didn’t really expect an answer, only wondering out loud, but Dean spoke up.
“There was never anything that I know of. Back when our families first came here there was some sort of a row over where, exactly, the borders were. They finally came to an agreement and separated them by way of this road.” Dean was leading them along the inside of the Winchester fence line as he spoke and smiled over his shoulder at his husband. “I suppose it means even less now.”
Sam was surprised at this piece of history, but then he supposed he shouldn’t have been. John had probably taught his son the importance of the past and family from an early age, whereas his own father was neither born of this land nor interested in anything but acquiring more of it. Dean, though, was right, and Sam returned his smile brightly. When Dean pulled up in front of a large Magnolia and slid from Impala’s back, Sam followed suit. He looked back and saw that the road had stopped - just stopped - only a few yards from the base of the tree. Shaking his head, Sam commented, “That is plain strange.”
Dean chuckled. “The Winchesters were here very slightly before the Whitmans, and this tree was planted to mark the edge of their land. When they decided on the road, they started it from here. The tree sits on both of our lands, and has since long before we were born.” Shyly, Dean looked up at Sam. “I used to ride out here when everything was...overwhelming. I would sit and let the quiet calm me down, or sleep at the base of the tree. This is my place, Sam, and I wanted to show you.”
Taking a deep breath of the softly scented air, Sam soaked up the serenity of the spot. Just like his clearing by the brook, there was a sense of tranquillity here, as though no one would ever come and disturb you. Dean was a man who liked to tinker, who liked to be doing something, and yet he had come here to get his world back under control when it became too crazy. “It’s very peaceful. I can understand why you picked it.” Dean shrugged, a little embarrassed and a little proud at the same time. “Did anyone ever know you were out here?”
“My father probably knew.” Dean grinned, his expression fond. “He was scary good at finding me whenever I was getting into trouble. But if he knew about this place, he let me be. He never came to get me, or sent anyone else either. I think he knew that if I came here, it was because I needed to get away.”
“You two really are close, aren’t you?” It was still something foreign to Sam, this relationship between the father and son.
Dean’s eyes turned troubled. “We only had each other. I guess that made us close. I have never doubted that he loves me. You aren’t still upset about him leaving, are you? I promise you, he would never deliberately do anything that would hurt me.”
Sam shook his head. “No. We...spoke, this morning. I’m not sure we agree, but we certainly understand each other. I was only curious. My father is about the furthest from yours that you can find, and I have only ever seen...affection between men before. None of the boys I considered my friends cared for their fathers as you do yours, nor the opposite.”
The worry smoothed out of Dean’s face and he smirked instead. “Well, we’re different.” He stepped in close to Sam and wove his arms around the taller man, prompting Sam to do the same in return. “And you had never seen two men in love before, either, but here we are...”
“Yes.” Sam sighed, lowering his lips to meet the upward tilt of Dean’s. “Here we are. What are we going to do now that we are?” Dean moved his lips higher, whispering a wicked suggestion into Sam’s ear and making him shiver as wafts of warm breath teased over surprisingly sensitive flesh. Humming his approval, Sam whispered, “I think we can manage that. Just let me grab the blanket...”
***
John walked into the quiet house, gathering that the boys had not yet returned. He made his way into the library, snagging a bottle of Scotch from the bar on the way. Sitting in his favourite armchair in the slowly deepening gloom, he took a sip of the amber liquid, enjoying the burn as it slid smoothly down his throat. He had had quite a productive day. His suspicions had been completely and guttingly confirmed. Now he could proceed with the next step. Only...how did he do that? His thoughts had been so focused on, first, helping and, then, seeking out the truth, that he had barely even considered what was to follow. He took another swallow. It was going to be a long night.
***
Sam had laid the blanket out under the great Magnolia and Dean had immediately begun pushing him down onto it. That was how Sam ended up lying on his back with his wiry husband straddling his waist. Dean was playing with the tie on Sam’s pants, a mischievous glint in his eyes. It was a good look on him, Sam thought. Then again, he liked most expressions on Dean’s face, except hurt, pain or anger. Dean gave a soft laugh. “What were you just thinking?”
“Hmmm? Nothing much. Why?”
“You got this little frown on your face. It was...cute.” Dean teased.
Sam was affronted. “Cute! I’ll have you know I’m big and strong and manly, never cute.”
Dean nodded, but it was in agreement with his own thoughts rather than Sam’s. “Yes, I can just see it now; a little boy with green slanted cat eyes and an adorable little frown on his face.”
That made Sam’s heart stutter and race. He reached up and smoothed over the smiling crinkles at the corners of Dean’s eyes. “God, I want that, Dean. I want to see our child, to hold him and love him.”
“Or her.”
“Or her.” Sam agreed, half sitting so he could capture Dean’s lips and pour all the overwhelming emotion he was feeling into a kiss. Dean responded just as fervently, his hands now moving with purpose to untie first Sam’s pants, drawing out his hardening member, and then his own. He reached into Sam’s jacket pocket and took out the vial Sam had admitted to carrying with him. Sam went to take the vial, but Dean pressed Sam’s hands to his hips and poured the oil onto his own fingers instead. Dean pulled back from the kiss, his breath still ghosting across Sam’s face, when he had to reach back behind himself. Sam watched Dean’s eyes, watched the change in them as he prepared himself to open to Sam. Aroused beyond measure by the display, he murmured, “You are so amazing.”
His response was a slight blush and a small smirk, and then Dean was shifting above him. Dean’s hand wrapped around Sam’s erection, coating it with the remaining oil and then holding it steady while he slowly lowered himself on its length. This feeling of Dean’s body making way for him, clenching at him with silky walls, never lost its allure for Sam. He liked knowing that Dean enjoyed this, that he could make Dean feel good while buried so deep within him. He had never felt so connected with another person, beyond the physical, beyond the friendship and attraction. He understood this man - not everything, and he hoped it stayed that way, but he understood what lay in his heart, what drove him, and the hopes he held so dear. Sam didn’t think he had ever known someone like his Dean, and was only deeply grateful to whichever deity it was that had watched over them. He moaned his pleasure when he sat fully sheathed, and Dean was softy panting with the effort to control his movements. Sam took his hands from where they had been placed on Dean’s hips and found his husband’s hands, twining their fingers together as tightly as he felt their souls were.
Dean looked down into Sam’s eyes; every emotion laid bare for him to see. He felt full, and it had nothing to do with the hard flesh he had buried within him. He was in love, which was amazing in itself, but he was also loved in return, something he had never dared to allow himself to hope for. Sam was everything he hadn’t known he wanted, and he couldn’t believe he held this incredible man’s heart. Their clasped hands helped to ground him, and he started to lift up, sliding down again only slightly faster than he had the first time. Sam twitched beneath him, obviously fighting the urge to thrust up, or simply take control of the coupling, and Dean took pity on him, making his next move quicker. It was unusual for Dean to be the one directing their actions, but he revelled in the freedom of taking his own time, clearly driving Sam insane. Naturally, Dean’s own needs were soon clamouring for more, and he picked up the pace, plunging down on Sam forcefully. He would always deny the small, keening sounds of pleasure escaping his mouth as he did so.
When both men knew they were close, Sam released Dean’s hands and grabbed his backside instead. He pulled the cheeks further apart and slammed up into Dean as he hauled him down. Dean shouted, arching backwards, and Sam repeated the move, again and again. Losing his rhythm, Dean started to shudder above him, reaching desperately for his own, untouched member and stroking himself roughly. He peaked with another, quaking cry, his muscles fluttering around Sam with the power of his climax. Sam continued to thrust into him through it, until Dean was whimpering above him. “Please, Sam...now...”
It only took another couple of moments after that, and Sam reached his own finish, pleasure tearing through him and leaving him to shake through the aftershocks. Dean had collapsed over him, gasping for breath and smiling like someone crazed. Sam could feel his own lips curled in a matching expression. They didn’t say anything to one another, content to lay and catch their breath in the last rays of daylight. Sam stroked Dean like a giant cat, and the rumble of approval was appropriately like a contented purr.
Finally, Dean stirred. “The light is almost gone. We should go. I wouldn’t like Impala to break her leg on this rough path.” Sam didn’t say anything, only sighing his resignation. They pulled apart slowly, reluctant and lethargic, but quickly put themselves to rights once they were on the move. Dean took the lead again, although Sam knew the general direction in which they were headed. When they reached the more worn, heavily travelled paths nearer the cotton fields, Dean looked over his shoulder with a wild grin. “I’ll race you back.”
Snorting with amusement, Sam pointed out, “There’s no competition in that.”
Patting Impala fondly, Dean offered, “I’ll give you a head start...”
Sam shook his head, but agreed nonetheless. “Fine.” With that, he kicked Bluebell into a canter before leaning forward and urging her to a gallop.
Dean watched him, allowing a fair gap to stretch between them. Impala danced below him with anticipation, and finally, he leaned into her neck and let her loose. She had been built for speed, and in four strides she stretched out, hooves barely touching the ground. Dean whooped as he flew past Sam, just barely catching the other man’s laughter. It was exhilarating; the powerful muscle flowing beneath him, the wind beating at his face and tickling through his hair like a lover’s caress, and the pure speed under his command. All too soon, he was pulling her back, slowing her down so she didn’t overexert herself. Eventually, the house and barn came into view, and Dean drew her back to a slow canter, and then a trot. When they came to a halt, Dean climbed off and ran his hands over her wet, trembling hide. Happy that she showed no ill effects, he led her into the barn and began the process of cooling and rubbing her down. Sam came in some moments later leading a sweaty Bluebell behind him.
“I told you it was no competition.”
Laughing, his eyes still bright with excitement, Dean told him, “It was incredible, Sam. She’s made to run.”
Sam stepped in close, enchanted by his husband’s radiance, and stole a quick kiss. “Just, it seems, as I was made to love you.”
Dean blushed, but replied in kind, “Me too.”
***
Heading towards their rooms to change for dinner, Dean glanced into the library, catching sight of his father out of the corner of his eye. He could also see the bottle keeping his father company and frowned. John Winchester rarely gave in to the impulse to get drunk, and every time he had that Dean could remember had been when something was very wrong. Sam followed his husband’s gaze and didn’t like what he saw. In his experience, a man with a mind to get to the bottom of a bottle was dangerous and to be left well alone. Dean’s experience, however, was clearly different, as he gestured for Sam to go on up to his room while Dean spoke to his father. Sam hesitated for a moment, but then did as he had been told, trusting Dean to not only know what he was doing, but to hold his own if it came to that.
Dean entered the library quietly, but his father’s gaze came to him almost immediately. “Dean? Is something wrong?”
“I was going to ask you the same question.” Dean answered with a small smile, waving his hand in the general direction of the alcohol to indicate the cause of his concern.
John’s smile was tight. “You know me too well. It’s just...I’ve started down a road that may take me somewhere I don’t want to go. I didn’t know, when I started, that it could possibly go the wrong way, but I’ve come to a fork and have to decide whether to take the safe path, or to take a chance.”
“You’ll never be satisfied on the safe path.” Dean told him, because he did, indeed, know his father too well. “But, you know you don’t have to take a chance on your own.”
John shook his head, smiling for real this time. “You’re the best son a man could ever hope for, Dean. I don’t want you involved in this. Not yet, anyway.”
Dean nodded. He wasn’t hurt that his father didn’t want his help, because he knew that, when the time came, if he did need help, he wouldn’t hesitate to turn to his son. “Alright, then. Are you coming in to dinner tonight?”
Looking at the glass in his hand, considering, John smiled at his son once more. “Yes, I think I will.” Dean just nodded again and turned to go, but John couldn’t leave it at that. “Dean?”
“Yes, Father?” He looked back over his shoulder.
“Thank you.” Dean ducked his head, hiding the pleasure, and strode from the room. John looked out of the window, his gaze seeing much further than what was in sight. “For all that has happened, Mary, I can never be sorry that life gave me my boy. I hope, when this is all over, that you feel the same way.” He swallowed the last of his drink and left the library, knowing now what it was that he had to do.
***
Frederick Talbot didn’t like unannounced visitors, especially when they came in the form of John Winchester. It had only been three days since he had seen him at the bar, and he still seethed over the encounter. That feeling was nothing compared to the fury - and deep-seated fear - that he felt after the man’s latest visit. He had dared to come to his own home and make threats. He knew, he had told him, low voice dangerously rough. Frederick had pretended not to know what he was talking about, but John was implacable in his accusations. He had spoken to the people involved, to others who knew the answers, and had come to a correct assumption. Frederick had still maintained his innocence, telling his neighbour that he was insane, chasing after shadows, jealous... Winchester had had the gall to laugh in his face, letting him know, in no uncertain terms, that there was nothing for him, John Winchester, to be jealous of.
That was why Frederick Talbot now found himself in the seediest bar the city had to offer. Here, a man could meet a man with complete privacy. Here, you could find men that cared ought for the laws of men or God. And just such a specimen sat across from him now. His sharp eyes were very dark, and Frederick didn’t doubt they reflected the very depths of his soul. He was a man renowned for his cruelty and cold calculation. He was just the kind of man Frederick needed.
“I don’t care where or how, but it must be soon.”
Empty eyes lifted to his, and he felt the chill travelling down his spine. “As soon as I have my money, it’ll be done.” Frederick slid the wad of money across the scarred tabletop. It disappeared into the man’s coat. “Fine. His name?”
“John Winchester.”
TBC
Rating: NC-17 (overall)
Pairing: Dean/Sam, other characters include John, Mary, Missouri, OMC, OFC, and a person who bears a resemblance to the YED.
Category: M/M, AU, Historical
Summary: In the Old South, the heirs of two plantations are married against their will. One a tool to his father's aspirations, the other struck for life by a repulsive curse, will they be able to make a happy future together?
Part Thirteen
The sun sat low in the sky when Dean led Sam back onto the Winchester plantation. He hadn’t gone up the wide, sweeping driveway, but had continued down the road a short distance until he came upon a secondary, and rarely used, side road. There were enough cart tracks to evidence that it was actually still in use, but Sam was more interested in the fact that it seemed to run between the Winchester and Whitman lands. Dean kept riding, Sam following him in content silence, idly wondering where the path would take them. Finally, Dean drew to a halt at a crossroads of sorts, and Sam at last recognised this place. That auspicious day that his father had driven him over to the Winchesters like so much chattel had brought him to the edge of his home and across this path onto Winchester land. He hadn’t noticed at the time, far more interested in being scandalized and furious, but his father had commented on the waste of land. Sam had assumed he was referring to the whole of the Winchester plantation, or at least these back fields that no one seemed interested in cultivating. Now, however, he thought the greedy man had meant this swath of dirt road.
“I wonder why they bothered to put a track in here. Was there something down here once?” Sam didn’t really expect an answer, only wondering out loud, but Dean spoke up.
“There was never anything that I know of. Back when our families first came here there was some sort of a row over where, exactly, the borders were. They finally came to an agreement and separated them by way of this road.” Dean was leading them along the inside of the Winchester fence line as he spoke and smiled over his shoulder at his husband. “I suppose it means even less now.”
Sam was surprised at this piece of history, but then he supposed he shouldn’t have been. John had probably taught his son the importance of the past and family from an early age, whereas his own father was neither born of this land nor interested in anything but acquiring more of it. Dean, though, was right, and Sam returned his smile brightly. When Dean pulled up in front of a large Magnolia and slid from Impala’s back, Sam followed suit. He looked back and saw that the road had stopped - just stopped - only a few yards from the base of the tree. Shaking his head, Sam commented, “That is plain strange.”
Dean chuckled. “The Winchesters were here very slightly before the Whitmans, and this tree was planted to mark the edge of their land. When they decided on the road, they started it from here. The tree sits on both of our lands, and has since long before we were born.” Shyly, Dean looked up at Sam. “I used to ride out here when everything was...overwhelming. I would sit and let the quiet calm me down, or sleep at the base of the tree. This is my place, Sam, and I wanted to show you.”
Taking a deep breath of the softly scented air, Sam soaked up the serenity of the spot. Just like his clearing by the brook, there was a sense of tranquillity here, as though no one would ever come and disturb you. Dean was a man who liked to tinker, who liked to be doing something, and yet he had come here to get his world back under control when it became too crazy. “It’s very peaceful. I can understand why you picked it.” Dean shrugged, a little embarrassed and a little proud at the same time. “Did anyone ever know you were out here?”
“My father probably knew.” Dean grinned, his expression fond. “He was scary good at finding me whenever I was getting into trouble. But if he knew about this place, he let me be. He never came to get me, or sent anyone else either. I think he knew that if I came here, it was because I needed to get away.”
“You two really are close, aren’t you?” It was still something foreign to Sam, this relationship between the father and son.
Dean’s eyes turned troubled. “We only had each other. I guess that made us close. I have never doubted that he loves me. You aren’t still upset about him leaving, are you? I promise you, he would never deliberately do anything that would hurt me.”
Sam shook his head. “No. We...spoke, this morning. I’m not sure we agree, but we certainly understand each other. I was only curious. My father is about the furthest from yours that you can find, and I have only ever seen...affection between men before. None of the boys I considered my friends cared for their fathers as you do yours, nor the opposite.”
The worry smoothed out of Dean’s face and he smirked instead. “Well, we’re different.” He stepped in close to Sam and wove his arms around the taller man, prompting Sam to do the same in return. “And you had never seen two men in love before, either, but here we are...”
“Yes.” Sam sighed, lowering his lips to meet the upward tilt of Dean’s. “Here we are. What are we going to do now that we are?” Dean moved his lips higher, whispering a wicked suggestion into Sam’s ear and making him shiver as wafts of warm breath teased over surprisingly sensitive flesh. Humming his approval, Sam whispered, “I think we can manage that. Just let me grab the blanket...”
***
John walked into the quiet house, gathering that the boys had not yet returned. He made his way into the library, snagging a bottle of Scotch from the bar on the way. Sitting in his favourite armchair in the slowly deepening gloom, he took a sip of the amber liquid, enjoying the burn as it slid smoothly down his throat. He had had quite a productive day. His suspicions had been completely and guttingly confirmed. Now he could proceed with the next step. Only...how did he do that? His thoughts had been so focused on, first, helping and, then, seeking out the truth, that he had barely even considered what was to follow. He took another swallow. It was going to be a long night.
***
Sam had laid the blanket out under the great Magnolia and Dean had immediately begun pushing him down onto it. That was how Sam ended up lying on his back with his wiry husband straddling his waist. Dean was playing with the tie on Sam’s pants, a mischievous glint in his eyes. It was a good look on him, Sam thought. Then again, he liked most expressions on Dean’s face, except hurt, pain or anger. Dean gave a soft laugh. “What were you just thinking?”
“Hmmm? Nothing much. Why?”
“You got this little frown on your face. It was...cute.” Dean teased.
Sam was affronted. “Cute! I’ll have you know I’m big and strong and manly, never cute.”
Dean nodded, but it was in agreement with his own thoughts rather than Sam’s. “Yes, I can just see it now; a little boy with green slanted cat eyes and an adorable little frown on his face.”
That made Sam’s heart stutter and race. He reached up and smoothed over the smiling crinkles at the corners of Dean’s eyes. “God, I want that, Dean. I want to see our child, to hold him and love him.”
“Or her.”
“Or her.” Sam agreed, half sitting so he could capture Dean’s lips and pour all the overwhelming emotion he was feeling into a kiss. Dean responded just as fervently, his hands now moving with purpose to untie first Sam’s pants, drawing out his hardening member, and then his own. He reached into Sam’s jacket pocket and took out the vial Sam had admitted to carrying with him. Sam went to take the vial, but Dean pressed Sam’s hands to his hips and poured the oil onto his own fingers instead. Dean pulled back from the kiss, his breath still ghosting across Sam’s face, when he had to reach back behind himself. Sam watched Dean’s eyes, watched the change in them as he prepared himself to open to Sam. Aroused beyond measure by the display, he murmured, “You are so amazing.”
His response was a slight blush and a small smirk, and then Dean was shifting above him. Dean’s hand wrapped around Sam’s erection, coating it with the remaining oil and then holding it steady while he slowly lowered himself on its length. This feeling of Dean’s body making way for him, clenching at him with silky walls, never lost its allure for Sam. He liked knowing that Dean enjoyed this, that he could make Dean feel good while buried so deep within him. He had never felt so connected with another person, beyond the physical, beyond the friendship and attraction. He understood this man - not everything, and he hoped it stayed that way, but he understood what lay in his heart, what drove him, and the hopes he held so dear. Sam didn’t think he had ever known someone like his Dean, and was only deeply grateful to whichever deity it was that had watched over them. He moaned his pleasure when he sat fully sheathed, and Dean was softy panting with the effort to control his movements. Sam took his hands from where they had been placed on Dean’s hips and found his husband’s hands, twining their fingers together as tightly as he felt their souls were.
Dean looked down into Sam’s eyes; every emotion laid bare for him to see. He felt full, and it had nothing to do with the hard flesh he had buried within him. He was in love, which was amazing in itself, but he was also loved in return, something he had never dared to allow himself to hope for. Sam was everything he hadn’t known he wanted, and he couldn’t believe he held this incredible man’s heart. Their clasped hands helped to ground him, and he started to lift up, sliding down again only slightly faster than he had the first time. Sam twitched beneath him, obviously fighting the urge to thrust up, or simply take control of the coupling, and Dean took pity on him, making his next move quicker. It was unusual for Dean to be the one directing their actions, but he revelled in the freedom of taking his own time, clearly driving Sam insane. Naturally, Dean’s own needs were soon clamouring for more, and he picked up the pace, plunging down on Sam forcefully. He would always deny the small, keening sounds of pleasure escaping his mouth as he did so.
When both men knew they were close, Sam released Dean’s hands and grabbed his backside instead. He pulled the cheeks further apart and slammed up into Dean as he hauled him down. Dean shouted, arching backwards, and Sam repeated the move, again and again. Losing his rhythm, Dean started to shudder above him, reaching desperately for his own, untouched member and stroking himself roughly. He peaked with another, quaking cry, his muscles fluttering around Sam with the power of his climax. Sam continued to thrust into him through it, until Dean was whimpering above him. “Please, Sam...now...”
It only took another couple of moments after that, and Sam reached his own finish, pleasure tearing through him and leaving him to shake through the aftershocks. Dean had collapsed over him, gasping for breath and smiling like someone crazed. Sam could feel his own lips curled in a matching expression. They didn’t say anything to one another, content to lay and catch their breath in the last rays of daylight. Sam stroked Dean like a giant cat, and the rumble of approval was appropriately like a contented purr.
Finally, Dean stirred. “The light is almost gone. We should go. I wouldn’t like Impala to break her leg on this rough path.” Sam didn’t say anything, only sighing his resignation. They pulled apart slowly, reluctant and lethargic, but quickly put themselves to rights once they were on the move. Dean took the lead again, although Sam knew the general direction in which they were headed. When they reached the more worn, heavily travelled paths nearer the cotton fields, Dean looked over his shoulder with a wild grin. “I’ll race you back.”
Snorting with amusement, Sam pointed out, “There’s no competition in that.”
Patting Impala fondly, Dean offered, “I’ll give you a head start...”
Sam shook his head, but agreed nonetheless. “Fine.” With that, he kicked Bluebell into a canter before leaning forward and urging her to a gallop.
Dean watched him, allowing a fair gap to stretch between them. Impala danced below him with anticipation, and finally, he leaned into her neck and let her loose. She had been built for speed, and in four strides she stretched out, hooves barely touching the ground. Dean whooped as he flew past Sam, just barely catching the other man’s laughter. It was exhilarating; the powerful muscle flowing beneath him, the wind beating at his face and tickling through his hair like a lover’s caress, and the pure speed under his command. All too soon, he was pulling her back, slowing her down so she didn’t overexert herself. Eventually, the house and barn came into view, and Dean drew her back to a slow canter, and then a trot. When they came to a halt, Dean climbed off and ran his hands over her wet, trembling hide. Happy that she showed no ill effects, he led her into the barn and began the process of cooling and rubbing her down. Sam came in some moments later leading a sweaty Bluebell behind him.
“I told you it was no competition.”
Laughing, his eyes still bright with excitement, Dean told him, “It was incredible, Sam. She’s made to run.”
Sam stepped in close, enchanted by his husband’s radiance, and stole a quick kiss. “Just, it seems, as I was made to love you.”
Dean blushed, but replied in kind, “Me too.”
***
Heading towards their rooms to change for dinner, Dean glanced into the library, catching sight of his father out of the corner of his eye. He could also see the bottle keeping his father company and frowned. John Winchester rarely gave in to the impulse to get drunk, and every time he had that Dean could remember had been when something was very wrong. Sam followed his husband’s gaze and didn’t like what he saw. In his experience, a man with a mind to get to the bottom of a bottle was dangerous and to be left well alone. Dean’s experience, however, was clearly different, as he gestured for Sam to go on up to his room while Dean spoke to his father. Sam hesitated for a moment, but then did as he had been told, trusting Dean to not only know what he was doing, but to hold his own if it came to that.
Dean entered the library quietly, but his father’s gaze came to him almost immediately. “Dean? Is something wrong?”
“I was going to ask you the same question.” Dean answered with a small smile, waving his hand in the general direction of the alcohol to indicate the cause of his concern.
John’s smile was tight. “You know me too well. It’s just...I’ve started down a road that may take me somewhere I don’t want to go. I didn’t know, when I started, that it could possibly go the wrong way, but I’ve come to a fork and have to decide whether to take the safe path, or to take a chance.”
“You’ll never be satisfied on the safe path.” Dean told him, because he did, indeed, know his father too well. “But, you know you don’t have to take a chance on your own.”
John shook his head, smiling for real this time. “You’re the best son a man could ever hope for, Dean. I don’t want you involved in this. Not yet, anyway.”
Dean nodded. He wasn’t hurt that his father didn’t want his help, because he knew that, when the time came, if he did need help, he wouldn’t hesitate to turn to his son. “Alright, then. Are you coming in to dinner tonight?”
Looking at the glass in his hand, considering, John smiled at his son once more. “Yes, I think I will.” Dean just nodded again and turned to go, but John couldn’t leave it at that. “Dean?”
“Yes, Father?” He looked back over his shoulder.
“Thank you.” Dean ducked his head, hiding the pleasure, and strode from the room. John looked out of the window, his gaze seeing much further than what was in sight. “For all that has happened, Mary, I can never be sorry that life gave me my boy. I hope, when this is all over, that you feel the same way.” He swallowed the last of his drink and left the library, knowing now what it was that he had to do.
***
Frederick Talbot didn’t like unannounced visitors, especially when they came in the form of John Winchester. It had only been three days since he had seen him at the bar, and he still seethed over the encounter. That feeling was nothing compared to the fury - and deep-seated fear - that he felt after the man’s latest visit. He had dared to come to his own home and make threats. He knew, he had told him, low voice dangerously rough. Frederick had pretended not to know what he was talking about, but John was implacable in his accusations. He had spoken to the people involved, to others who knew the answers, and had come to a correct assumption. Frederick had still maintained his innocence, telling his neighbour that he was insane, chasing after shadows, jealous... Winchester had had the gall to laugh in his face, letting him know, in no uncertain terms, that there was nothing for him, John Winchester, to be jealous of.
That was why Frederick Talbot now found himself in the seediest bar the city had to offer. Here, a man could meet a man with complete privacy. Here, you could find men that cared ought for the laws of men or God. And just such a specimen sat across from him now. His sharp eyes were very dark, and Frederick didn’t doubt they reflected the very depths of his soul. He was a man renowned for his cruelty and cold calculation. He was just the kind of man Frederick needed.
“I don’t care where or how, but it must be soon.”
Empty eyes lifted to his, and he felt the chill travelling down his spine. “As soon as I have my money, it’ll be done.” Frederick slid the wad of money across the scarred tabletop. It disappeared into the man’s coat. “Fine. His name?”
“John Winchester.”
TBC