Finding Sam - part 2 Cowboy!fic
Dean steps off the train in New York.
He hates this city. There is no room to maneuver and very few places for him to stop and catch his breath. That pisses the hell out of him. He is far too young to hurt this fucking much. Days on a train have tightened up his leg and the routine ache is spiking off the charts now.
Dean steps off the train and leans heavily onto his cane. Fuck it. He reaches inside his vest and pulls out his flask, swallows the whiskey in one gulp. It doesn’t help right away but at least it is a bit of a pre-emptive strike.
Damn, he wishes for Mac. He would at least be mobile. But Mac is on vacation back home, eating hay and flirting with girls. Dean should be so lucky.
The train station is busy but his brother is easy to find; Sam is a good head taller than most of the people around him.
He can see Sam searching for him, eyes scanning the crowd. At least the kid isn’t running the other way.
It has been a few years since he saw his brother and the familiar flood of memories hits him almost as hard as the pain in his leg. His little brother looks good. All citified and a little more grown up. Christ, he’s wearing a black jacket, white broadcloth shirt and a black string tie. Looks like a fuckin’ gambler. Dean locks on Sam’s eyes and then suddenly Sam is striding toward him, all long legs and tentative smile.
“Dean!” Sam stops in front of Dean and then the rest of the train station is milling around them both. It is a little awkward but Sam holds Dean’s eyes and yeah, the boy is growing up. Suddenly someone rams into Dean. The abrupt shift in weight has him losing his balance. He braces with his cane but he’s not centered and he’s sure he is going down.
Sam is there in a heartbeat, his strong arm steadying Dean. It is as natural as breathing for Sam. Dean knows this, but it still is hard. This is his baby brother. Dean is supposed to be watching out for him.
“Just can’t keep your hands off me, eh kiddo?” Dean puts the appropriate amount of lightness in the comment and it works. Sam doesn’t stop his support but he gently punches Dean in the arm.
**
They make their way to a tavern not too far from the station. It’s busy but they find a table in the back. Dean settles gratefully in his seat with a small groan. The bar maid comes by. “What’ll it be boys?”
“Whiskey, leave the bottle.” Sam punctuates the sentence with a hand slam to the table and a lopsided grin. The bar maid is back a second later with a bottle and two glasses of questionable cleanliness. She leaves as quickly as she came.
Dean waggles a brow at his little brother. “What are they teachin’ you at that fancy school? How to get fucked-up in the shortest time possible?”
Sam looks determined. “Nope, but I’ve a feelin’ that I’m gonna need the artificial courage and you? Well, you just need a fuckin’ drink.”
“And who taught you to cuss like that?” Dean tries for stern, but there is a smile on his lips.
“M’brother. Our pa tried to beat it out of us, but we’re stubborn little shits.” Sam smiles too and it feels right, he and Sammy sharing a bottle of whisky. It would feel better at home though, out by the swimming hole with a sky full of Texas stars Jesus, he’s maudlin and he’s not even drunk yet.
“So, how’s Bobby?”
“Cantankerous as ever. We should be foalin’ soon so he’s got his hands full.”
Sam nods, moppy brown hair spilling onto his face.
“How about Mac?”
Dean smiles. “It’s his first crop of babies, so we’ll see. But he’s sound and snorty and about as fine as a horse can be.”
Sam pours two fingers in each glass. Slams it back with a vengeance. Dean follows suit and grimaces when the whiskey hits his belly.
Dean leans back against the chair, takes a notice for the first time that Sam’s not packin’. “So college boy, where’s your guns?”
“I’m in school, Dean. A student. How often am I gonna need a gun? What? Threaten a professor for not givin’ me an A?” Sam snorts a bit.
“Doesn’t matter, kid. You should be protecting yourself. What if someone jumps ya or something?”
“I know a thing or two about protecting myself, Dean. I had to routinely beat my asshole brother up.”
Dean laughs then, deep and full.
“Plus…” Sam opens his jacket to reveal a derringer neatly tucked into his jacket.
Dean goes from laughter to outright guffaw. “ A girly-gun? What are ya gonna do with that peashooter…. piss somebody off? “
“It’s very reliable at close quarters, Dean. And inconspicuous. I like inconspicuous.”
Dean recovers, wipes a tear from his eye. His 6-foot 4inch brother is carrying a gun that he could hide in his fuckin’ bear paw.
Sam smiles, whether it is because his brother thinks his choice of handguns is insane or whether it’s something else, Dean’s not sure. Dean takes another slug of whiskey. Then watches as Sam pours him another and drinks one himself. Sam’s face is suddenly serious.
“So, Pa. What’s up with him?” For the first time, Sam doesn’t sound sure of himself. There is a barely noticeable tremor in his voice. Dean doesn’t need to look at his brother to know that they are treading on sensitive ground.
“I dunno, Sam.” Dean looks away then, not quite able to reach his brother’s eyes. “He’s been gone for a little over three weeks. Nothin’. No sign, no trail, just gone.”
“Maybe he’s down south, drinkin’ cheap Mexican tequila. “ Sam ventures.
Dean shakes his head. “Nope, that ain’t it. I don’t know where he is but Mexico ain’t likely.”
“The high country then. He can get just as drunk there. “
Dean growls a little. “Why are you so sure he’s laying face down in a puddle of his own puke, Sam? Why do you think he’s drunk off his gourd somewhere?”
“Like father; like son.” Sam points to the whiskey bottle.
Dean twitches. “There ain’t no way you’re drinkin’ like this routinely, Sam. Your grades are too fuckin’ good so I ain’t buying that shit.”
Sam seems to ponder it a minute. “So how do you know about my grades, Dean?”
“I know everything little brother. Don’t think for a minute I don’t.”
Sam tilts his head in Dean’s direction and if Dean didn’t know any better he’d think the kid might just pitch a fit over that one. But he just sighs. Like little brothers everywhere. He doesn’t need to know how Dean watches out for him, just that Dean does it. Dean wants to leave it that way.
“I dunno, maybe he’s holed up with some senorita somewhere. I mean it’s been years since mom died.”
In a flash Dean’s eyes darken; he reaches across the table in a lightening quick move and fists his brother’s shirt, he jerks hard and pulls Sam to him, powerful arms moving all of Sam’s weight like it’s nothing.
Sam has the good common sense to look away then. A moment later his eyes meet Dean’s. Damn that kid and his puppy dog eyes. It’s all Dean can do not to pull him into a rough hug.
“Sorry, Dean.” Sam speaks softly. Dean shakes him once roughly then drops him back in his chair. He settles back into his own with an involuntary hiss.
It’s quiet then. They nurse their drinks for a few minutes, the waitress comes back to check on them and they order chili. Dean thinks there must be something wrong with ordering chili in New York but Sam seems okay with it so it can’t be too bad.
They eat. And the chili is alright. The bread is better, slathered with butter and cut thick.
“So, Sammy.” Dean takes a hunk of bread and slops up the remaining chili. “When can you get your shit together? I want to be gone by tonight.”
Sam stops eating. “I uh, appreciate the visit, Dean. It is good to see you, really. But I can’t come. “
“What do ya mean, you can’t come. ‘Course you can. Just pack up your stuff and come on. Wherever he is he has a three-week head start on us and by the time we get home it’ll be a month. “
Sam purses his mouth and offers a tight shake to his head.
“Ain’t comin’ Dean. He doesn’t want me there. He said as much. So why the fuck do I wanna stop what I’m doing to hunt him down. Especially, since I’m not all that worried about him anyway.”
“Well, I’m worried, damn it.” Dean rakes a hand across his short hair. “Sam. I need your help here.”
“No you don’t. You can do this on your own.”
“Well, maybe…” Dean rubs the back of his neck. “But I don’t want to.”
“Dean, I don’t think I can do it. Really. I mean me and Pa? It’s like fire and water and I don’t’ want another fight. Things are good here. I’m doing good in school. I have a girl, I left that life behind.”
“What life, Sammy? What did the man do that was so wrong?” Dean is trying to keep it cool. “He was tough, hell still is tough, but it made us even tougher. So this is what you want? This…” Dean gestures to the front of the tavern; even from where they sit it’s a mad house of people. Bicycles and horses and noise. “This…. city.” The word sounds like a curse.
“Yeah, Dean, It’s what I want. And that oughta be enough.” Sam speaks quietly, almost to himself.
Dean leans back in the chair. Suddenly the ache in his leg seems so much worse. Is it the thought of going back home without Sam? Is it because maybe Bobby was right? Sam won’t come. Sam is doing his thing, with his girl in this fuckin’ city and there is not a damn thing that Dean can do about it.
And in that moment, Sam meets Dean’s eyes and there isn’t two years and thousands of miles between them. It’s just Sam and Dean.
Sam sighs deep, so much like the teenager who’s really not too far back in Dean’s memory that Dean almost rolls his eyes.
“Okay. One month, Dean. You have one month. We’ll find him; we’ll drag his sorry ass home. He’ll rip me a new one, ‘cause that is what he does best. But then I’m gone.”
“One month.” Dean agrees and suddenly he can breathe again.
***
The train leaves late that night and Sam settles in his seat. He sits easily despite all of the body that needs to get stuffed into a seat that was apparently designed for midgets.
Dean opts for a brief walk through the train, wants to move a bit before settling down for a train ride that is gonna freeze his leg up. Halfway down he hears a familiar voice.
“Dean? Dean Winchester?”
Dean turns to see the wide grin of Deacon McClain. “Deacon…been a while!” Dean shakes his hand, a quick pump and smiles at the older man.
“Last time I saw you, I think you were messing with that little red head girl near that saloon outside of Cold Spring.” Dean can’t help but feel the heat of a blush because the red head could kiss like a hooker and Dean had been just fifteen. Far too young to be playing with a seventeen year-old girl and far too reckless to avoid her twenty year old brother.
The bruised ribs had been worth it, Pa’s subsequent what for, not so much.
Deacon smiled too, “Your old man was fit to be tied.”
Dean dropped his chin a notch at the memory. “Yeah, but it was fun while it lasted.”
“Speakin’ of which, what the hell are you doin’ on a westbound train, I woulda thought you and Sam would be hunting that sonofabitch with your daddy.”
Dean tries to school his face, keep the smile. “We’re heading back that way, gonna meet up with him. Sam’s up in the front of the car.”
Deacon tilts his head and Dean can see the conflict in his posture and then he seems to make a decision.
“Good, tell your daddy, I said hi.” Deacon turns to make his way past.
“Deacon, talk to me man. Where is he?” Deacon stops and looks steadily at Dean.
“Dean, if he didn’t tell ya, I’m sure not goin’ down that road.”
“Don’t…. don’t do this to me, Deacon.” Dean stands as straight as he can, pushes his height up against Deacon.
“Look, Dean. I rode with your daddy in the Rangers, we fought side by side and there ain’t nothin’ I won’t do for that man, and that means shuttin’ up when he don’t want something talked about.”
Dean growls low. Deacon McClain might be one of his Pa’s best friends and he may just kick Dean’ s ass right here in the car on a westbound train but Dean isn’t backin’ down on this one.
“I ain’t fifteen anymore, Deacon. I don’t need Pa or you to protect me, what I need is to find him. Figure out what’s goin’ on. I would be beholden to you if you could point me in the right direction. Please.”
Deacon turns away, faces the rush of windows and darkness as the train moves through the night.
He sighs. “Damn it, boy. He’s got a lead on who killed your Ma. He’ s huntin’ him… I’m guessin’ he thinks he needs to do it alone, Dean. “
“Well, how the hell do you know?”
“Dean, once a Ranger, always a Ranger. Your pa has kept his contacts through the years, he’s got a lot of eyes who have been watchin’ out for that sonofabitch to surface. Bobby wanted him to stay, to let sleepin’ dogs lie but John Winchester is a force of nature kiddo, you know that as much as anyone.”
Dean feels a flash of anger, bright and quick. Bobby knew.
“You got anything else for me?”
Deacon looks hard at Dean just as the train lurches through a rough patch of track. Dean compensates but grabs at a seat, barely maintaining his balance. Dean doesn’t see pity in Deacon’s eyes but there is a flicker of something. Regret maybe. Or worry. Dean’ isn’t sure but doesn’t care.
“If your daddy don’t wanna be found, it ain’t likely you’ll find him.”
Dean nods in agreement but it is quick and tight. Until the old man tells him personally to back the fuck off, it ain’t happening.
At least now he has a place to start.
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