The Coming Storm: Chapter 2: A Journey of a Thousand Lifetimes Begins With But One Ride
This is a chapter fic, completed.
General, action/adventure with brother angst mingled in.
Series: The Elements
Characters: Dean, Sam, Bobby Singer, OC's
It’s funny how things come about. How patterns and lives fit together. How long it had taken put the pieces together.
“Well I’ll be damned.” Bobby Singer didn’t mean that in the literal sense of course, just an expression.
Demons were on the increase.
Or maybe they weren’t hiding as much as they once did? More and more reported every year and seemingly with a plan. The Demon plan still eluded him, but he’d discovered some truths, hunters, and hopefully the right combination, the elements. He had a plan of his own. Eighteen years he’d been studying and planning. Eighteen years paid off. He kicked himself for taking so long. Quite a while, maybe ten years now, he’d suspected Dean and Sam Winchester were significant parts of the puzzle, but demon hunters of the power he sought always came in four. He had two, he needed four. Funny thing was the other two were right under his nose all along, just as Dean and Sam. Always focusing on the differences he’d suspected, but dismissed them. The day he looked at the similarities was the day it clicked into place. Where once he had two, he now had four, all four elements. One even came with horses, now that just had to be a sign.
There was one slight problem. But he could fix it, he was sure. Bring them together, maybe he couldn’t create the exact force, but would he really have to? It dawned on him slowly all he really had to do was get them to be friends. The rest would follow. First he had to make them friends. He considered his options, writing them down as he went, settling on the best plan he could devise.
Bringing them together wouldn’t be such the chore. They’d known him their entire lives, all he had to do was ask. It was their differences that was their strength. It was their likeness, he hoped, which would eventually build the trust.
Dean, older of the Winchesters, would be the hardest sell. Dropped into the world of hunters at the ripe old age of four he’d actually thrived. He’d been a child raising another child, and himself. Their father taught them to hunt, and defend themselves; it was possibly the only way he’d left to love his boys. But it was Dean who’d taken care of Sam and himself. As far as Bobby could see he’d done a fine job of it too. Childhood left Dean almost to savvy. If the set up wasn’t just right he’d see through it in a second. If Bobby lost Dean’s trust, well…..he didn’t even want to think of that.
Sam would be the second easiest of the four. The only thing needed was for him to sense Dean knew this was what was right and he’d willingly follow his brother without reservation. Sam Winchester would follow his brother through the gates of hell if Dean asked, even if he didn’t ask. The flip side was the fastest way to loose Dean would be to put Sam in harm’s way, so he’d have to be damn sure of how things played out. Bobby knew something of Sam’s psychic abilities, and had a good idea of how far Dean would go to keep his kid brother safe from what those abilities could bring down on them. Bobby saw the great need of those abilities, but no less so than Dean’s uncanny ability to create a safety net for Sam, and sniff out the evils in the supernatural world.
Dante West would only be a slightly easier sell than Dean Winchester. He’d also raised a younger sibling. However he hadn’t been a child raising a child. His parents had died when he was 19, his sister, Concha 11. Unlike the Winchesters this set of siblings had been born into the world of hunters, more precisely trackers. They’d never had to hustle pool or poker to make money for food. And Bobby doubted either one of them would know how to commit credit card fraud. Dante grew up and went off to fight another type of demons on a second from, demons known as terrorists. On second thought Bobby decided the two were the same thing in different skins. Dante however was a team player. Years in the Army had instilled that in him, a big advantage to Bobby’s plan.
Last, but certainly not least, was Concha West. She would be the easiest. The simple reason being Bobby was going to need her help, she’d be his ally. There was no way he could pull anything over on Dean or Sam. And the second Sam found out what sort of education Concha had, he’d put it together. Those boys were smart. Dante’s mantra had always been, “knowledge is power, power is protection and protection is safety.” Bobby figured Concha West was the safest person on the planet.
If the image of Dean Winchester came to mind when Bobby thought hunter, the image of Concha West was what came to mind when he thought tracker. She had a gift, and for her it was truly a gift. Growing up in the world of the hunter hadn’t seemed to dampen her spirit, like Dean she’d thrived, just in a different way. A happy, albeit a bit willful, child she’d become a confident young woman with a quick smile and an understanding of the things hunters fought which at times was almost too deep. Her brother decided early on if she was to be a part of that world, she’d have to learn to function within it. He’d taken an entirely different view of raising a child than John Winchester. Dante literally forced his sister into the ‘real’ world, giving her freedom and autonomy. He’d had to, considering he’d needed to spend time away from home, fulfilling his obligation to the Army. He’d also taught her the ways of hunters. And she learned her lessons well. Not only to handle weapons, spot demons and strike down poltergeists. He’d taught her to live in a world dominated mostly by men, sometimes not very nice men. Dante showed her to fight not with her fists (she’d never be strong enough to out muscle a man’s upper body strength), but her legs and weight. To use her head, and practical things like tie her long hair back so it couldn’t be used against her. To use the fact she was female against anything that might harm, the element of surprise. But when she’d strike, Bobby knew it was like a being attacked by a tigress. Most importantly he taught her to use the weapons she’d been born with.
It wasn’t so long ago Bobby became really aware of Concha’s own brand of weaponry. He’d suspected things of course. Growing up she’d spent a good deal of time with him, though, oddly enough, never crossing paths with the two other children frequenting his life, the Winchester boys. Had he ever seen them in the same room, he would have instantly known. No use fretting over what was past however. Bobby always wondered how Concha, separated from her brother by many miles, and sometimes with no contact for weeks always seemed so sure he was safe, he’d come home, he’d take care of her. Then not so long ago she’d finally confide in him. That’s when it fell into place. He’d discounted her many times before because she was the wrong age. Born in 1979, as was Dean, not 1983 as was Sam. And 1983 for some reason that still escaped him, seemed to be the magic year.
Bobby leaned back and made the first call. It was Monday night now, by Tuesday night Concha’s flight would arrive, by Thursday she’d be on her way into the Grand Tetons to the cabin she and her brother shared. If he was really lucky she’d have Dean and Sam Winchester in tow. Course he only told her about 90 percent of his plan. For that last bit to work, really work her reaction had to be real, no warning. He’d cross that frightening bridge when he got to it.
Two more calls later and Bobby was enormously satisfied with himself. He leaned back, folded one arm behind his head and clicked the TV remote. Yep, life was good; an old movie had just started. He loved old movies, especially this one.
Bobby Singer was a big believer in signs.
If this wasn’t a sign he didn’t know what was.
He sipped his beer and happily watched…..The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Dean shot another glance at Sam, not getting too much of the phone call from Sam’s responses. He thought he’d have to throttle the kid if he didn’t hang up and fill him in soon. As if reading his thoughts Sam flipped the phone closed and twisted in his seat to face Dean, giving his brother an eyes on the road, dude look.
“That was Bobby.” Sam said simply. He finished writing something on a scrap of paper.
Definitely Dean was going to have to pull over and kill him. “So, he just missed us?”
That got a smile from Sam. “I don’t think so. He was asking us to join him, and a couple of other hunters on a job. He said it’s big. There’s a place up in the Rockies where we can do some research, train, prepare.”
Gripping the steering wheel a bit harder than necessary, Dean’s eyes slid to his brother, then back to the road. He knew the look Sam wore. “So, what’s the catch?” Stupid question really, since he already knew.
“Nothing,” Sam shrugged a bit, “just a remote place and a few other hunters and Bobby.” He faced forward again.
The realization hit Dean about the same time it did Sam. Dean could see it all over Sam’s face. “Look, dude, Bobby knows, and he wouldn’t ask us to be around anyone who wouldn’t think first. I’d kill him, and he knows it.”
“They’re hunters Dean! And I just might be-“
“No!” Dean cut him off. “You’re not. We’ve been through this, you’re just not the same thing.” He reached over and smacked Sam’s closest knee. “It’ll be ok. We’ll make sure it’s ok. You and me.”
Sam blew out a breath and nodded, and didn’t look too convinced. “He gave me directions, asked if we could be there by Thursday. I told him I thought we could.”
“We’ll have to take turns and drive straight through.” Was all Dean had to say after looking at the directions.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Two days later they arrived at their destination. Sam was out of the car almost before Dean had it in park, stretched, then hands on the small of his back twisted side to side, cracking it. This was certainly not what he’d expected. Bobby had given them directions and an address to meet their guide up the mountain to this cabin o’info place. Here, in the middle of nowhere Wyoming was a very nice couple of stables. People milled around, and he couldn’t swing a dead cat and not hit a horse. A few horses milled around loose in a paddock, others were in the stables. Two horses where saddled and tethered to a fence a short distance from the drive. It slowly dawned on him just how they were getting to this cabin. He turned to find Dean, share his theory, starting a bit when he nearly knocked his brother down; Dean had been standing that close behind him.
“Do NOT do that!”
Dean grinned, then shoved Sam’s arm with his elbow. “Sam, that’s…..”
“Yeah. A horse Dean.” Leaning sideways, examining the closest horse for a second, he whispered in his most conspiratorial tone, as if imparting the greatest secret known to man onto his brother, “a boy horse.”
“That,” Dean pointed at the horse’s neck, “is a buckskin. Like in your vision.”
“Those too.” Sam tilted his head in the direction of one of the paddocks. Three, similarly colored horses stood at the fence, gazing back at them.
“Great.” Dean shrugged a little. “There was another horse, so not a big deal till we find the other one.”
Sam nodded, not sure he entirely agreed.
“BJ.” A female voice announced from behind them.
They turned at the same time, surprised to find a young woman standing behind them, smiling. A brief glance at Dean told Sam his brother was thinking the same thing as he…..how the hell did neither of them hear her?
“Pardon?” Dean turned on his most charming smile.
“The horse, his name is BJ. Well, Betetlgeuse actually, but BJ is easier.” She smiled back, but Sam saw immediately it was nothing flirtatious or seductive, just an open, honest smile. She flipped a chunk of dark red-brown wavy hair over one shoulder, a totally unconscious act and sized Sam and his brother up with startlingly pale blue eyes in a matter of seconds.
Dean laughed, and arched one eyebrow, “you named your horse after a ghost in a movie?”
“No, that was Beetlejuice, his name is pronounced Batelgeese, a star in the constellation Orion. Something I can help you with?”
Sam had the distinct impression her question was merely to be polite. He idly watched Dean dig in his jacket pocket.
“Ah yeah,” a piece of paper was produced from the leather jacket, motioning to Sam, “I’m Dean, my brother, Sam and I, we’re here to meet a C. West. He’s supposed to guide us to a cabin somewhere up in the mountains.”
“The ‘C’ stands for Concha.”
And did she have the same slick smile Sam’s brother had? Sam was going to enjoy this. He eyed Dean as realization spread across the older man’s face. Yep, gonna be fun.
“You’re…” Dean raised one hand the height of his hip, and let it drop.
“I would be. Bobby sent you both?” She looked from one to the other. “And you’ve never really ridden a horse, have you?”
“A little when I was a kid.” Dean drawled.
“Ponies at the fair when you were two don’t count.” Concha said pleasantly.
Sam’s chuckle earned him a murderous glare from Dean, who stepped past him, muttering, “I was three and it was a birthday party.” This just made Sam laugh in earnest.
“You can put your car in there,” she pointed to a large building off to the left and away from the barns. “It’s heated, there are even car blankets if you want.”
More laughter from Sam. Dean grumbled something unintelligible, stomping off to move the Impala. He returned a few minutes later, a duffle bag slung over each shoulder. Sam relieved him of one bag, leaving it hooked in one hand. His other hand reached out to stroke the sleek, burnished hair of the horse. Fingertips stopped just short of their target, he shivered slightly and let his hand drop.
Dean casually moved closer to the horse, himself now between Sam and the animal. “Can I ride this one?”
“Sure.” Concha shrugged just the slightest bit. She hadn’t seemed to notice. Holding the bridle, she waited patiently while Dean clamored into the saddle. Her fingers curled around the straps of Dean’s duffle, “you can tie this behind the saddle.”
Sam smiled a bit as Dean jerked the duffle higher on his shoulder. Dean loved his weapons. “I’ll carry it.” His tone said to Sam he hadn’t meant to seem as freakish about it as it probably looked to anyone else.
Again another half shrug. “Whatever. But it’ll be fine there if your shoulders get tired. Take your feet out of the stirrups for sec, they’re too short, you’ll cramp up.” She fussed with the leather next to Dean’s leg, making him look decidedly uncomfortable. He gazed off in the opposite direction, and squirmed a bit. Sam was really, really going to enjoy this.
Sam was next. The other horse was a non-descript brown. He patted the animal’s neck. “What’s this one’s name?”
“This,” she fiddled now with his stirrups, “is Tug.” Two steps back, studying Sam’s leg for a few seconds longer, her expression as if she was trying to decide something. “How’s that feel?” She showed them how to hold the reins, and gave them quick instructions in getting the animals to go, stop and steering.
Glancing down at his feet, and a bit of nod, “fine. Thanks.” That earned him a dazzling smile, damn she is pretty. He couldn’t resist giving Dean a smug look. “Are you…uh….riding with…??”
“No. Be right back. Try not to wander off without me.”
Concha jogged to the farther barn, shoved the door along its track till it opened fully and vanished inside. Barely a minute later she reappeared, clapped her hands, spoke to someone/something just inside the darkened building and jogged back to them. Sam went completely still, and he supposed lost some color when he saw what followed her.
“Dean?” He rasped out.
“Ye-aahh.” Dean hissed. “Is that?”
Sam didn’t have to see his brother’s head incline toward the horse to know how he’d gestured. Sam swallowed and nodded, glancing back to meet Dean’s eyes. But Dean wasn’t watching him, Dean was watching the horse following Concha. It might have been the biggest horse Sam had ever seen. Solid muscle moved in fluid waves beneath a sleek coat the color of thickening blood. When Concha stopped next to the bed of a pick-up the horse immediately halted behind her. Crimson head turned, the ears flicked forward and the horse stared right at the brothers, as if considering them. Which Sam knew was silly, but….still…..
Concha retrieved a saddle and carried it closer to where Dean and Sam waited. She caught sight of Sam as she flung the saddle over the horse’s back. “You ok, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“That’s a really BIG horse.” Dean said a little too quickly.
“He’s a good boy.” Concha rubbed under the horse’s chin. “I’ve had him since he was this….” She held one hand down around her knee, “high. Nothing but a big puppy really. My buddy.” Without warning her entire stance changed, no longer relaxed, easy, she suddenly became wary, tense. One, two, three deep breaths, and a groan.
“Conchita West!” A woman’s voice barked from the barn.
Concha’s head dropped so her chin almost touched her chest for just a second, when she looked up she had her eyes closed, two fingers rubbed between her eyes and she shook her head a bit. She opened her eyes, made a pissy face, then quick as can be put on a sweet smile and turned to the voice. “Margaret. Hey.” Saddle girth quickly buckled snugly in place.
Sam had to consciously keep from laughing, cause damn, she was wearing the same look Dean did when he hustled pool…….the darlin’trust me smile.
“What the hell are you doing riding up the mountain with two strange MEN?!”
“Dante asked me to, that’s what.” Concha avoided eye contact with the other woman, skirted around her back to the pick up. She came back to the horse, Margaret on her heels, grilling her, with an armload of guns. Guns?? Was that a saber?
“You’re brother is an idiot who should be filled with buckshot.”
Concha seemed to consider that option, “Possibly. Knock yourself out.” Sawed off shot gun, loaded, check, secured in its holster to the left side of her saddle, sidestepped the older woman.
“What if they try…..something?”
Sam felt Dean sort of bristle up at that one. Concha stopped, opened her jeans jacket, checked the magazine of a Glock, and slipped it in a shoulder holster, arched one eyebrow and gave Margaret a pained look. When she strapped a Bowie knife to her right calf Sam glanced back at Dean, who was sitting there with his mouth partially open. The way Concha moved, handled the weapons, it was natural, second nature, nothing self-conscious about it. Like she’d been doing it since she was six.
“Dude,” Dean whispered to Sam, “she’s got more weapons than…well….” He pulled a face. “ Me.” Sam thought his brother looked a little sick, or was that jealous?
Finally a long, elegant rifle, Sam smiled a bit, a Winchester Rifle, and a very nice one too. With sniper sights? She checked to see if it was loaded, and as she slipped it into the saddle holster she caught sight of the brothers and froze. She grinned mischievously. “Grizzlies.” A slight nod, as if agreeing with herself. “Lots of grizzlies…..big, mean, hungry grizzlies.” The saber’s sheath was secured to the saddle, in a place it would sit under her right leg.
“Of course.” Came Dean’s reply.
Next supply packs were quickly tied behind her saddle. It was obvious she was trying to get away from this Margaret. Foot in stirrup and in one swift, easy motion she was on the giant horse. “Look, you have his cell number, call him and bitch about it if you want to.” Then she turned to Sam and Dean, spreading her arms wide in a questioning way. “Axe murders? Cannibals? Play inappropriately with chain saws?”
“Um….no.” Dean handed over his own oil slick smile.
“See?” Concha’s hands dropped to her thighs. “Perfectly normal and harmless. I’ll be fine.” She collected her reins and turned the horse away from the woman.
Sam had a hard time not laughing outright. He didn’t think either he or Dean neither normal nor harmless. But that wasn’t what made him smile stupidly. A month or so back, he remembered sitting in one of the endless bars they frequented, watching with only mild interest his brother hustle pool. He’d observed the other men in the place, grumbling, annoyed, agitated with his brother. Every woman in that particular bar was buzzing around Dean. It was something he managed without even trying. That particular night, bored, and with one too many beers in him Sam had idlely wondered what Dean would be like if he’d been born Diane.
Now he knew.
An image burst into his head of his surly big brother sporting a skirt, three-quarter length leather jacket and a cross-bow, which made him sort of giggle, he knew his shoulders must have twitched a bit.
“What you so freakin’ smiley over?” Dean didn’t sound amused.
“Dude, it’s a gorgeous day, we’re in beautiful mountains, and we have a pretty girl to have pleasant conversation with. What’s not to smile about?”
“I’m on an effing horse Sammy! And my car has to live in a barn!”
“You guys ready?”
Sam burst out laughing, barely wheezing out a “Yes.” And along the way if they happened upon a small country in the midst of hostile take over, between what was in Dean’s bag and stowed on Concha’s horse, they could ward off the invasion.
She looked at them, curious, as if wondering what she’d missed. Leaning over she reached for the bridle of Sam’s horse, giving a gentle pull and clucked. BJ plodded along to keep up with the other two. “So, you guys known Bobby long?” Concha let go of Sam’s horse as they left the road and headed into the forest.