Heading Home- part 3 Cowboy!fic
Title: Heading Home
Author: Saberivojo
Characters: Cowboy!Dean, Cowboy!Sam, Cowboy!Bobby
Rating: PG 13 for potty mouth GenDisclaimer: I own nothing, just like playing with the boys.
Summary: Follow up to Cowboy!AU Put Away Wet saberivojo.livejournal.com/26548.html#cutid1 And Finding Sam saberivojo.livejournal.com/27860.html You really should read them before this. It’s the 1800s. Pa is missing. Dean and Sam are heading home. Originally written as a prompt for roque_clasique and her birthday. This is taking a life of it’s own gang. Maybe 5 chapters all together then some one shots. Thanks to Roque and her wonderful beta. Thanks to kimmer1227 for being a sounding board. She is one smart cookie that Kim.
When Dean steps off the train he can’t help but take a deep breath. His leg is killing him, but it isn’t that. He can breathe out here, out west where there are no fences, no crowds of people and hell yeah, no colleges that can rope your little brother into leaving.
He feels bad about the last thought because Sam’s right next to him, and it feels good to have him there. Sam is carrying his tattered valise and Dean’s travel bag, which isn’t much more than a sack with a change of clothes in it. Just the fact that his brother even owns a valise is enough to make Dean wanna give him a good hard cuff to the head.
College boy.
It’s hot, much hotter than back east, and Dean can feel the sweat veeing down his shirt. Sam isn’t wearing his jacket anymore but still has the white button-up and black tie. Sam shifts the duffel to his right arm and gently pulls at his neck, stretching the shirt and relaxing the knot in the tie a bit.
“Y’oughta untie that, Sam. Might just choke yourself out here. ‘Sides, you look like a combination between a preacher and a card shark.” Dean grins when he notices Sam’s expression, the pursed lips and perpetual frown.
They step off the platform. Dean pauses to orient himself and takes a few halting steps toward the livery, while Sam slows his pace to match Dean’s. It’s unobtrusive but so fucking obvious, and as usual, Dean isn’tquite sure how to take it. A part of him wants to tell Sam to get the fuck away from him, but a bigger part breathes a sigh of relief. Sam has his back and that gives Dean the confidence to pick up the pace. Still, it’s slow going.
“So, Dean. What’s the plan here?”
Dean offers a quick curve of the lip. “What plan? Other than get my horse and get the fuck back home?”
Sam glances quickly at the ground and snorts then smiles softly. “Yeah, other than that.”
“Dunno, Sam. We’re gonna have a word or two with Bobby, that’s for damn sure. And since that’s where Pa left, I’m thinking that’s the best place to pick up his trail.”
“Dean, are you sure about this? About goin’ after Pa? I mean, if he wanted us, he would ask for us. Ask - hell, he’d tell us. ”
Dean keeps on walking, or whatever passes for walking. “Yep, I’m sure.”
“Dean…he’s all but ordered you to stay home.”
Dean takes another step. “And how do you figure that, Sam? He never told me to stay.”
“He never gave you the chance to go, Dean.” Sam lets that sink in a second. “Plus, he made sure that Bobby wouldn’t tell you where he was. No, he wants us in the dark, and it’s not like you to disobey him.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I changed some while you’ve been soakin’ up all that fancy book learnin.’” Dean leans on it a bit, puts some growl in his voice . He wants to end this conversation quickly.
Sam takes the hint and shuts up, but Dean can tell he ain’t happy about it.
***
They reach the livery and are met at the front door by Caleb, the kid who Dean put in charge of Mac while he was gone.
Caleb smiles at Dean. “I thought you said your boy was a sweetheart?”
“That wasn’t the exact words I used.” But Dean can hear Mac from outside the livery, can hear the trumpet of a stallion that wants out, NOW, followed by a solid thump of hoof to wall.
“He’s just a little hot s’all.” Dean seems slightly offended as if Mac were an unruly school boy and the teacher had pulled daddy in for a parent teacher conference.
Dean steps into the barn and Mac stops mid-yell. Dean can hear him shift in the stall and then a moment later feels the comforting blow of Mac against his neck.
“Howsmyboy.” He speaks soft and low. Mac lips the tips of his hair and then chuffs into his neck again.
He hears Sam’s voice from behind him.
“Should I get you two a room?”
“Shut the fuck up. You wouldn’t know a good horse if it followed you home. ”
Which isn’t exactly fair because Sam does know horses, he just doesn’t know them like Dean does - but then, there’s not too many people who do.
Dean notes with satisfaction that the stall is clean and Mac’s coat shines even in the dimly lit barn. The stallion tosses his head and offers an impatient pawing hoof to the front of the stall.
“Now Mac.” He rebukes softly but Mac doesn’t seem to care, lifts his front end up, and it’s not quite a rear but he’s obviously unhappy with his life at the moment.
“MAC.” Dean is sharp, no-nonsense. “Knock it off.” Mac pins one ear back and another forward, switches his tail in agitation but settles. It’s a compromise.
Dean opens the stall door and Mac waits for him to slip a lead rope on his halter before he leads him out of the stall. He head butts Dean and oddly enough it doesn’t push him off balance. Mac and he have an understanding of sorts. He is not sure quite how it works. Either he’s intuitively aware that Mac wants a rub and braces, or Mac just doesn’t push too hard. In either case, he rubs the big black between the eyes and the stallion drops his head.
Dean takes a quick look at Mac and it’s all he needs. The horse looks great. He turns to Caleb.
“Good job, kid. I couldna done better myself.”
The boy grins.
Dean reaches into his wallet and hands the boy some bills. “ Here y’go.” Then almost as an afterthought, “Hey, is there a horse we can buy for m’brother here?”
Caleb eyes up Sam and all of his six foot four body mass. “Uh, yes, sir. But let me see who‘d best suit him.”
Sam smiles. Dean knows he’s used to making due when it comes to horses. Out here horses of any size are draft horses, not particularly quick, but manageable as long as they’ve been broken to saddle. Sam had outgrown most of the quarter horse stock by the time he was 16, and Dean knows he’s gotten use to little horses that don’t quite feel right, or big old plow horses that don’t have the spunk that Sam would prefer.
“Hey, I think I know… Howard. Wait here, he’s out back.”
Dean looks at Sam and Sam just shrugs.
Dean puts Mac back in his stall, figures he’ll tack him up as soon as they get a horse for Sam.
Caleb walks in the barn leading one of the biggest-boned light horses Dean has ever seen. The horse has a big white blaze down the middle of his face and four white socks with one that goes almost up his stifle. He’s big, but not quite a heavy draft hors, is a little lighter than that. It’s a weird combination that seems to work.
“Here’s Howard.” Caleb looks dwarfed next to the gelding. “His mama was a Clydesdale mare we used for all ‘round work at the farm and his daddy was a thoroughbred we were boarding for a while. “ Caleb drops his head and blushes a bit. “He’s a freak and a mistake. My mistake actually.”
Dean looks at Caleb like he must be confused, rubs the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. “How in the hell’d you get a mistake like that?”
“Left the gate open. “ Caleb meets Dean’s eyes and smiles ruefully. “Well, Pa ain’t quite forgiven me for it yet, but he let me keep him. And since he’s my mistake, I had to break him. He’s well broke, Mr. Winchester. He’s big, strong, and a might quicker than he looks. “ Caleb nods to Sam. “Now he don’t have much cow-sense, sir. But he’s honest and solid and despite his size, he’s got some speed. “
Dean stands next to the horse, runs his hand down his legs, checks out his dinner plate-sized hooves and then quickly slides his hands over the big gelding. The horse has a good weight on him and is well muscled. Dean checks his teeth. “What is he - about four?”
“Yes, sir.” Caleb pats the gelding. “He’s just a baby but he ain’t afraid of nothing. Don’t know if that’s his mama’s side or his daddy’s, but he’s a gutsy sonofabitch.” The boy blushes at the curse. “Sorry, sir, my mama would kick my butt if she heard me talkin’ to a customer like that.”
Dean smiles at the boy, all shaggy blond hair and earnest eyes. “We’ll keep it our secret, Caleb.”
Sam is on the other side of Howard and for the first time in a long time it looks like he might actually fit on a horse.
“I kinda like him, Dean.” Sam grabs a curry and starts brushing him off a bit while Caleb starts on the other side and within a few minutes they have him sufficiently cleaned off and tacked up. Sam mounts easily, and Dean can’t help but feel a twinge as his brother casually slides his leg over and picks up the reins.
It only takes a few minutes for Dean to know that Caleb is right. Howard is big but moves easily and Sam seems to fit him. He may be built like a fuckin’ freight train but he moves like a smaller horse, is animated and forward, something that a lot of big horses just don’t seem to get.
“Whaddaya think Sam?
Sam pulls the big bay up. “Howard it is.”
That’s how they head out of town. Sam riding a big bay gelding with four white socks and Dean on Mac. They make an unusual pair, but Dean feels free for the first time in a long time, his brother beside him and his horse under him. There’s a ways to go before they hit the ranch, but it’ll do.
***
“Dammit, Bobby!” Dean stagger-steps toward the older man. “What the fuck do you mean, you ain’t talkin’?”
“Just what I said, Dean. You havin’ a problem with your hearin?” Bobby’s pulling the saddle off a buckskin mare, and he keeps right on working. Hefts the saddle and puts it over the saddle rack, then turns the saddle pad wet side up and drapes it over another rack. It’s hot and there’s a big old wet spot under the saddle. “Hand me that curry will ya, Sam?”
Dean watches as Sam grabs a curry off the box and hands it to Bobby. Bobby starts in circular motions, pushing the wet hair up, letting the hair ruffle and air dry. He pulls a rag from his pocket and starts drying the buckskin in bits. The mare isn’t drippin’ wet, just hot under the saddle.
“Bobby, talk to me man.” Dean leans over the wet mare, his body a little sticky with her sweat.
“Make yourself useful, Dean. She ain’t gonna dry off herself. “ Bobby hands an extra rag to Dean and he continues currying with one hand and drying with the other. Dean shakes his head and starts to work on the other side of the buckskin. Halfway done he stops and looks at the rag in his hands then eyes Bobby over top of the mare again. “What the fuck am I doin’ this for? “
“’Cause she’s a little hot and I want her cleaned up a bit before Sammy here walks her cool.”
Sam cocks his head. “I’m coolin’ her down?”
“Yeah, you gotta problem with that?”
“No, sir.” Sam shoves his hands in his pockets and looks all of ten years old.
Dean takes a deep breath. “What the fuck? What’s goin’ on here? We know he told you something, you know it too, so spill, dammit.” Dean isn’t quite yelling, but he knows it’s about as loud as he can make it and still keep civil.
Sam arches a brow in Dean’s direction. Dean ignores it. Doesn’t care. Bobby glares hard at Dean with a look that Dean knows like the back of his hand. Bobby doesn’t often throw his weight around, that’s what John Winchester is there for, but Bobby isn’t gonna take any shit either.
“How about you just relax, Dean. Before you say something you’re gonna regret.”
Bobby isn’t loud. He doesn’t need to be.
Dean rakes a hand across his face, tries to take a deep breath.
Bobby’s like family, which almost makes it worse, because right now Dean is a hairbreadth’s away from slamming an uppercut to Bobby’s jaw. Just like he might if Sam was giving him grief.
But this ain’t Sam, it’s Bobby, and damn if Dean will punch Bobby. Bobby put him on his first horse. Bobby showed him how to rope. Hell, Bobby caught him with his first cigarette behind the barn, something Pa never found out about but Bobby made damn sure that Dean knew he had fucked that one up big time.
Bobby had been pissed then, and he’s lookin’ a little pissed now.
“Bobby. You sure as hell better tell me what I need to know or so help me…” Dean lets the threat linger. It sits there unsaid, hanging like a noose over the conversation.
“Or you’ll do what, boy?” Bobby has moved from pissed to a second away from losing his shit. He cants his head a notch in Dean’s direction.
Cards on the table, bluff, call or fold.
Dean takes a deep breath. He drops his head. This man is more than just a foreman. He is family.
Dean swallows hard; his voice shakes just a bit.
“Bobby, please. I gotta find him.” Dean speaks so quietly it’s almost a whisper. Dean Winchester doesn’t beg, doesn’t ask for much, doesn’t need much, but now, well, it’s obvious that he needs this.
Bobby shakes his head, tilts his hat back. Looks up at the Texas sun with a squint. He hands the lead shank to Sam.
“Well, hell.”
Dean looks at Bobby, sees Sam behind him with a shy smile on his face. Bobby turns quickly and Sam drops the smile like it’s a hot poker.
Sam clucks softly to the buckskin and leads her off to cool her down. Dean might have wondered if Bobby would give in, but Sammy didn’t seem that worried at all.
***
Bobby waits until dinner. Both Sam and Dean have done a shitload of work and they’re tired. Dean’s backed a half dozen babies today: young, green and they all had a buck or two in them.
Dean doesn’t believe in bronc bustin’ but that doesn’t mean that a two year old might not have a grudge about having somebody sitting on his back. Most of them offer just a hump or two in warning - they’re good horses from good stock.
Dean’s a little sore, but riding is easy for him, is as natural as breathin’. He likes the work and the satisfaction that he’s accomplished something. But he is not back home to break babies. He needs to find his father. Dean’s anxious to hear what Bobby has to say, but Bobby’s workin’ on his own time, and pushing him ain’t gonna help anything or anybody.
Dinner is good. It’s beef stew, thick and hearty and even though it’s hot outside, it tastes great. Sam stretches out at the kitchen table, pushes his chair back and Dean can see that Sam’s trying to relax. This ranch doesn’t have the best of memories for him. He runs his hand through his sweaty brown mop of hair, slicks it back against his scalp .
Bobby gathers up the dishes, drops them in the sink and walks back to the table, then grabs a bottle of whiskey and three glasses.
“It’s bad enough that we all gotta have a drink first?” Sam’s voice waffles between amusement and worry.
Bobby turns, pins a serious look at Sam. Shifts his gaze to Dean.
“It’s worse.”
***
Dean considers himself an easy goin’ man. He handles most shit that comes down the pike without too much drama. He’s never let himself get pigeon-holed into thinking one thing or another. He’s flexible.
But he’s also pretty sure that Bobby has lost his fuckin’ mind.
That’s disturbing.
Sam’s sitting across from Bobby, clutching his glass of whiskey like it’s a lifeline. Maybe it is.
Dean eyeballs Bobby. “So, you’re tellin’ us that Mom was killed by some kind of demon and that Pa’s picked up its trail. And you expect us to believe that shit why?” Dean cocks his head in Bobby’s direction, furrows his brow. “I mean the old man doesn’t want us around and this is your solution to keepin’ us here? Helluva story Bobby.”
Bobby traces a finger on the table, studies his half-empty glass of whiskey.
“Wish it was, kid. Nobody can come up with a story like that.”
“And we never knew about this. Never knew how mom died, never knew about hunters, never knew our Pa was one.” Sam chimes in but his voice is sluggish. He’s had a little too much to drink, and Dean doesn’t blame him.
“Your father wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. The best way for him to do that was to keep you away from the shit he was doing. To keep you two out of range of that sonofabitch. What better way than here? It’s isolated; he has total control over everything at this ranch. This place has more sigils and hoodoo than any house in New Orleans ever had. The land has been blessed by every denomination known to man, including several Indian tribes.
"Think about it, Dean. Your daddy’s gone quite a bit, isn’t he?”
“Well yeah, business trips. Sometimes hunting trips, but he always would tell us where he was goin’. This…” Dean gestures vaguely in the direction of the front of the house as if the house itself is in some way offending him. “This shit is plain fucked up. Besides, businessmen have business to attend to.”
“Okay, what about all the training? The Latin? All the practice with guns and knives? What about you and Sam pounding on each other like a couple of prizefighters? Most kids don’t spar like you and Sammy did. Don’t you find that a little weird?”
“No, Bobby I don’t. Latin? I dunno, Pa never needed a reason to want us to do something. Maybe just wanted us to learn the classics. And fighting? Boys fight. Pa just figured it’d be better if we knew how to fight right. We hunt, we track, so what? Lots of people do. Food is food. Bobby, I like it as much as the next person and the best way to eat is to hunt.”
Bobby rubs a hand over his face.
“Did it ever occur to you that you might not need venison or rabbit? That you’re sitting on 500 head of the finest cattle in Texas?”
“I dunno, I figured the old man liked variety or something.” Dean knows he sounds a little petulant but it can’t be helped.
“Besides, Dean. What father hands you six bullets and tells you to make sure you come back with six kills or he’s gonna kick your ass into next week.”
Sam’s eyes are slitted he tilts his head down just a bit. The kid is well on his way to smashed. He offers a quiet chuff and then looks at both Dean and Bobby. “I just figured he was an asshole.”
“Yeah, well I ain’t denying that one, but boys, he knew what he was doing. He knew he had to be tough. He needed to make you boys tougher. The best shots, the best riders, the best hunters. Because he knew that he could only protect you so long and then it was up to you.”
“Protect us? C’mon, Bobby. So we can fight, shoot and ride. Hell yeah, probably better than most, but how would that stop something like this. How in the hell did he figure that keeping us in the dark would help? How could you figure that? I mean if this story is true, then there ain’t too many places we are safe and Pa? Well, he ain’t safe at all.”
“John always figured he would kill it. He planned on killing it years ago and save you boys the pain of knowin’ what it was. But days turned into months, then years. Then you got hurt, Dean, and that changed everything.”
Dean looks hard at Bobby. “Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He’s unconsciously rubbing his leg, doesn’t even occur to him he’s doing it.
“Dean what do you remember about that night?”
Dean leans back. He tries not to think about it, doesn’t dwell on it. He had been 17 and full of piss and vinegar. His father had bought the stallion for his bloodlines and only that. The horse was downright mean. Never broken to saddle, barely able to handle. They were gonna try him on a few mares and if the results weren’t good enough, Pa had already said he was gonna put a bullet between his ears.
Dean had strict orders not to go near the sonofabitch. Orders that ended with “So, help me God, boy you touch that horse and you and me are gonna dance.”
But Dean could never back down on a challenge. The price of a lickin’ was worth the thrill of the ride. And Dean could ride. He could handle anything. The big black stallion wasn’t gonna be easy but he wouldn’t beat Dean Winchester. And he hadn’t. Dean rode him.
It was midnight and he was all alone. Nothing but horse and raw energy and teenage boy.
The stallion did everything in his power, which was considerable, as Dean remembered, to throw his ass. Finally, hot, sweaty and both of them ready to quit, the stallion reared, one last-ditch effort to get the boy off, and Dean wasn’t quite ready but he threw his weight forward, trying to compensate for the upward motion of the horse and bring him back down on all fours. What happened then was a blur. The stallion lost his balance, unable to carry the off-kilter weight of Dean or maybe just pissed as hell and determined to get the kid off. No one would really know, but he fell over backwards and hit the ground hard with Dean pinned under him.
It should have been okay then, because Lord knows, horses don’t stay down in that situation. Dean might have been hurt or bruised or hell, even had gotten a busted leg. The stallion should have scrambled up, should have gotten to his feet and maybe drug Dean around by the stirrup or something.
But he didn’t.
Dean remembered the moon was bright and he was breathin’ hard and there was 1200 pounds of horse laying on his leg. But there was no heavy breathing from the black. No frantic scramble for footing, no thrash of a horse hurt and down and struggling to regain his feet. There was nothing.
Just the dark pool of blood under his body and the terrible weight of the horse on his leg.
In the wave of pain and panic Dean had thought he had seen something. A wolf maybe. He could see the yellow eyes melting into the tree line. But then every thing just faded into darkness.
It was Sam who found him. How in the hell did he know? What made his 13-year-old brother wake up from a deep sleep and run out to the corral? Dean could never figure that out but Sam was there, cradling his brother and yelling for help.
The docs didn’t think he would make it. Figured he’d loose the leg at least. They threw around words like massive trauma and significant blood loss and if it hadn’t been for his father and the fact that he refused to let them amputate, he would be without a leg at all. Through it all his father was there. Day and night he ran a vigil in the downstairs bedroom. It was a long, long time before they thought that Dean would live, longer still that he would ever walk, but Winchester toughness runs deep.
Dean was out of it a lot. Pain. Morphine. Pain. He could never be sure exactly what he remembered after the accident. Bits and pieces.
One thing he could never figure out was why his dad slept in his room at night with a loaded shotgun across his lap.
“Because he was protecting you, Dean.”
Dean shot his head up. Did he say that last part out loud?
“Protecting me? From what? Myself? This??” Dean taps his leg hard, welcomes the sharp pain and growls low. “This is my fuckin’ fault. I just had to go out and prove I could beat that damn horse. Me. Not Pa. Not even the fuckin’ horse. All. Me.”
Bobby shakes his head. “No, Dean. It’s not just that. You were old enough then, strong enough and your daddy was fixin’ to tell you. See, there’s this gun, made by Sam Colt and it can kill anything. It can kill what killed your Ma and your Pa heard of it that summer. But he couldn’t leave. You were too sick, too close to dead, your daddy couldn’t take a chance.“
“And now?” Dean prompts.
“Well, the ranch is doin’ good. You got a handle on it. Sam is… was safe at school. Your Pa got word it was back and now he’s goin’ after it.”
“What about me, Bobby? Why’d he leave me here?”
Bobby coughs once and it ain’t like him to be embarrassed. “I guess he just figured you’d be better off watchin’ the place. Keepin’ things running here.”
“Fuck that. Fuck him! He figured I couldn’t do it, right? Figured me and this bum leg would be better off sitting home while he’s off playing Ranger and killing the shit that hurt my family. It ain’t happenin’ Bobby. I may be a fuckin’ cripple but I’m not worthless. I can do this. ” He looks pointedly at Sam. “We can do this.”
Dean is so mad that he wants nothing better than to take a swing at somebody. He doesn’t get real angry real often, and he‘s surprised at himself but it feels good. He feels good. He looks at Sam. Sam’s eyes are bright with whisky but he’s not out of it. His glance meets Dean’s solidly from across the table. He curls his lip up, part snarl, and part grin.
“Well then, I reckon we got a job to do, Dean.”
saberivojo.livejournal.com/34329.html#cutid1 part 4
Author: Saberivojo
Characters: Cowboy!Dean, Cowboy!Sam, Cowboy!Bobby
Rating: PG 13 for potty mouth GenDisclaimer: I own nothing, just like playing with the boys.
Summary: Follow up to Cowboy!AU Put Away Wet saberivojo.livejournal.com/26548.html#cutid1 And Finding Sam saberivojo.livejournal.com/27860.html You really should read them before this. It’s the 1800s. Pa is missing. Dean and Sam are heading home. Originally written as a prompt for roque_clasique and her birthday. This is taking a life of it’s own gang. Maybe 5 chapters all together then some one shots. Thanks to Roque and her wonderful beta. Thanks to kimmer1227 for being a sounding board. She is one smart cookie that Kim.
When Dean steps off the train he can’t help but take a deep breath. His leg is killing him, but it isn’t that. He can breathe out here, out west where there are no fences, no crowds of people and hell yeah, no colleges that can rope your little brother into leaving.
He feels bad about the last thought because Sam’s right next to him, and it feels good to have him there. Sam is carrying his tattered valise and Dean’s travel bag, which isn’t much more than a sack with a change of clothes in it. Just the fact that his brother even owns a valise is enough to make Dean wanna give him a good hard cuff to the head.
College boy.
It’s hot, much hotter than back east, and Dean can feel the sweat veeing down his shirt. Sam isn’t wearing his jacket anymore but still has the white button-up and black tie. Sam shifts the duffel to his right arm and gently pulls at his neck, stretching the shirt and relaxing the knot in the tie a bit.
“Y’oughta untie that, Sam. Might just choke yourself out here. ‘Sides, you look like a combination between a preacher and a card shark.” Dean grins when he notices Sam’s expression, the pursed lips and perpetual frown.
They step off the platform. Dean pauses to orient himself and takes a few halting steps toward the livery, while Sam slows his pace to match Dean’s. It’s unobtrusive but so fucking obvious, and as usual, Dean isn’tquite sure how to take it. A part of him wants to tell Sam to get the fuck away from him, but a bigger part breathes a sigh of relief. Sam has his back and that gives Dean the confidence to pick up the pace. Still, it’s slow going.
“So, Dean. What’s the plan here?”
Dean offers a quick curve of the lip. “What plan? Other than get my horse and get the fuck back home?”
Sam glances quickly at the ground and snorts then smiles softly. “Yeah, other than that.”
“Dunno, Sam. We’re gonna have a word or two with Bobby, that’s for damn sure. And since that’s where Pa left, I’m thinking that’s the best place to pick up his trail.”
“Dean, are you sure about this? About goin’ after Pa? I mean, if he wanted us, he would ask for us. Ask - hell, he’d tell us. ”
Dean keeps on walking, or whatever passes for walking. “Yep, I’m sure.”
“Dean…he’s all but ordered you to stay home.”
Dean takes another step. “And how do you figure that, Sam? He never told me to stay.”
“He never gave you the chance to go, Dean.” Sam lets that sink in a second. “Plus, he made sure that Bobby wouldn’t tell you where he was. No, he wants us in the dark, and it’s not like you to disobey him.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I changed some while you’ve been soakin’ up all that fancy book learnin.’” Dean leans on it a bit, puts some growl in his voice . He wants to end this conversation quickly.
Sam takes the hint and shuts up, but Dean can tell he ain’t happy about it.
***
They reach the livery and are met at the front door by Caleb, the kid who Dean put in charge of Mac while he was gone.
Caleb smiles at Dean. “I thought you said your boy was a sweetheart?”
“That wasn’t the exact words I used.” But Dean can hear Mac from outside the livery, can hear the trumpet of a stallion that wants out, NOW, followed by a solid thump of hoof to wall.
“He’s just a little hot s’all.” Dean seems slightly offended as if Mac were an unruly school boy and the teacher had pulled daddy in for a parent teacher conference.
Dean steps into the barn and Mac stops mid-yell. Dean can hear him shift in the stall and then a moment later feels the comforting blow of Mac against his neck.
“Howsmyboy.” He speaks soft and low. Mac lips the tips of his hair and then chuffs into his neck again.
He hears Sam’s voice from behind him.
“Should I get you two a room?”
“Shut the fuck up. You wouldn’t know a good horse if it followed you home. ”
Which isn’t exactly fair because Sam does know horses, he just doesn’t know them like Dean does - but then, there’s not too many people who do.
Dean notes with satisfaction that the stall is clean and Mac’s coat shines even in the dimly lit barn. The stallion tosses his head and offers an impatient pawing hoof to the front of the stall.
“Now Mac.” He rebukes softly but Mac doesn’t seem to care, lifts his front end up, and it’s not quite a rear but he’s obviously unhappy with his life at the moment.
“MAC.” Dean is sharp, no-nonsense. “Knock it off.” Mac pins one ear back and another forward, switches his tail in agitation but settles. It’s a compromise.
Dean opens the stall door and Mac waits for him to slip a lead rope on his halter before he leads him out of the stall. He head butts Dean and oddly enough it doesn’t push him off balance. Mac and he have an understanding of sorts. He is not sure quite how it works. Either he’s intuitively aware that Mac wants a rub and braces, or Mac just doesn’t push too hard. In either case, he rubs the big black between the eyes and the stallion drops his head.
Dean takes a quick look at Mac and it’s all he needs. The horse looks great. He turns to Caleb.
“Good job, kid. I couldna done better myself.”
The boy grins.
Dean reaches into his wallet and hands the boy some bills. “ Here y’go.” Then almost as an afterthought, “Hey, is there a horse we can buy for m’brother here?”
Caleb eyes up Sam and all of his six foot four body mass. “Uh, yes, sir. But let me see who‘d best suit him.”
Sam smiles. Dean knows he’s used to making due when it comes to horses. Out here horses of any size are draft horses, not particularly quick, but manageable as long as they’ve been broken to saddle. Sam had outgrown most of the quarter horse stock by the time he was 16, and Dean knows he’s gotten use to little horses that don’t quite feel right, or big old plow horses that don’t have the spunk that Sam would prefer.
“Hey, I think I know… Howard. Wait here, he’s out back.”
Dean looks at Sam and Sam just shrugs.
Dean puts Mac back in his stall, figures he’ll tack him up as soon as they get a horse for Sam.
Caleb walks in the barn leading one of the biggest-boned light horses Dean has ever seen. The horse has a big white blaze down the middle of his face and four white socks with one that goes almost up his stifle. He’s big, but not quite a heavy draft hors, is a little lighter than that. It’s a weird combination that seems to work.
“Here’s Howard.” Caleb looks dwarfed next to the gelding. “His mama was a Clydesdale mare we used for all ‘round work at the farm and his daddy was a thoroughbred we were boarding for a while. “ Caleb drops his head and blushes a bit. “He’s a freak and a mistake. My mistake actually.”
Dean looks at Caleb like he must be confused, rubs the back of his neck with the palm of his hand. “How in the hell’d you get a mistake like that?”
“Left the gate open. “ Caleb meets Dean’s eyes and smiles ruefully. “Well, Pa ain’t quite forgiven me for it yet, but he let me keep him. And since he’s my mistake, I had to break him. He’s well broke, Mr. Winchester. He’s big, strong, and a might quicker than he looks. “ Caleb nods to Sam. “Now he don’t have much cow-sense, sir. But he’s honest and solid and despite his size, he’s got some speed. “
Dean stands next to the horse, runs his hand down his legs, checks out his dinner plate-sized hooves and then quickly slides his hands over the big gelding. The horse has a good weight on him and is well muscled. Dean checks his teeth. “What is he - about four?”
“Yes, sir.” Caleb pats the gelding. “He’s just a baby but he ain’t afraid of nothing. Don’t know if that’s his mama’s side or his daddy’s, but he’s a gutsy sonofabitch.” The boy blushes at the curse. “Sorry, sir, my mama would kick my butt if she heard me talkin’ to a customer like that.”
Dean smiles at the boy, all shaggy blond hair and earnest eyes. “We’ll keep it our secret, Caleb.”
Sam is on the other side of Howard and for the first time in a long time it looks like he might actually fit on a horse.
“I kinda like him, Dean.” Sam grabs a curry and starts brushing him off a bit while Caleb starts on the other side and within a few minutes they have him sufficiently cleaned off and tacked up. Sam mounts easily, and Dean can’t help but feel a twinge as his brother casually slides his leg over and picks up the reins.
It only takes a few minutes for Dean to know that Caleb is right. Howard is big but moves easily and Sam seems to fit him. He may be built like a fuckin’ freight train but he moves like a smaller horse, is animated and forward, something that a lot of big horses just don’t seem to get.
“Whaddaya think Sam?
Sam pulls the big bay up. “Howard it is.”
That’s how they head out of town. Sam riding a big bay gelding with four white socks and Dean on Mac. They make an unusual pair, but Dean feels free for the first time in a long time, his brother beside him and his horse under him. There’s a ways to go before they hit the ranch, but it’ll do.
***
“Dammit, Bobby!” Dean stagger-steps toward the older man. “What the fuck do you mean, you ain’t talkin’?”
“Just what I said, Dean. You havin’ a problem with your hearin?” Bobby’s pulling the saddle off a buckskin mare, and he keeps right on working. Hefts the saddle and puts it over the saddle rack, then turns the saddle pad wet side up and drapes it over another rack. It’s hot and there’s a big old wet spot under the saddle. “Hand me that curry will ya, Sam?”
Dean watches as Sam grabs a curry off the box and hands it to Bobby. Bobby starts in circular motions, pushing the wet hair up, letting the hair ruffle and air dry. He pulls a rag from his pocket and starts drying the buckskin in bits. The mare isn’t drippin’ wet, just hot under the saddle.
“Bobby, talk to me man.” Dean leans over the wet mare, his body a little sticky with her sweat.
“Make yourself useful, Dean. She ain’t gonna dry off herself. “ Bobby hands an extra rag to Dean and he continues currying with one hand and drying with the other. Dean shakes his head and starts to work on the other side of the buckskin. Halfway done he stops and looks at the rag in his hands then eyes Bobby over top of the mare again. “What the fuck am I doin’ this for? “
“’Cause she’s a little hot and I want her cleaned up a bit before Sammy here walks her cool.”
Sam cocks his head. “I’m coolin’ her down?”
“Yeah, you gotta problem with that?”
“No, sir.” Sam shoves his hands in his pockets and looks all of ten years old.
Dean takes a deep breath. “What the fuck? What’s goin’ on here? We know he told you something, you know it too, so spill, dammit.” Dean isn’t quite yelling, but he knows it’s about as loud as he can make it and still keep civil.
Sam arches a brow in Dean’s direction. Dean ignores it. Doesn’t care. Bobby glares hard at Dean with a look that Dean knows like the back of his hand. Bobby doesn’t often throw his weight around, that’s what John Winchester is there for, but Bobby isn’t gonna take any shit either.
“How about you just relax, Dean. Before you say something you’re gonna regret.”
Bobby isn’t loud. He doesn’t need to be.
Dean rakes a hand across his face, tries to take a deep breath.
Bobby’s like family, which almost makes it worse, because right now Dean is a hairbreadth’s away from slamming an uppercut to Bobby’s jaw. Just like he might if Sam was giving him grief.
But this ain’t Sam, it’s Bobby, and damn if Dean will punch Bobby. Bobby put him on his first horse. Bobby showed him how to rope. Hell, Bobby caught him with his first cigarette behind the barn, something Pa never found out about but Bobby made damn sure that Dean knew he had fucked that one up big time.
Bobby had been pissed then, and he’s lookin’ a little pissed now.
“Bobby. You sure as hell better tell me what I need to know or so help me…” Dean lets the threat linger. It sits there unsaid, hanging like a noose over the conversation.
“Or you’ll do what, boy?” Bobby has moved from pissed to a second away from losing his shit. He cants his head a notch in Dean’s direction.
Cards on the table, bluff, call or fold.
Dean takes a deep breath. He drops his head. This man is more than just a foreman. He is family.
Dean swallows hard; his voice shakes just a bit.
“Bobby, please. I gotta find him.” Dean speaks so quietly it’s almost a whisper. Dean Winchester doesn’t beg, doesn’t ask for much, doesn’t need much, but now, well, it’s obvious that he needs this.
Bobby shakes his head, tilts his hat back. Looks up at the Texas sun with a squint. He hands the lead shank to Sam.
“Well, hell.”
Dean looks at Bobby, sees Sam behind him with a shy smile on his face. Bobby turns quickly and Sam drops the smile like it’s a hot poker.
Sam clucks softly to the buckskin and leads her off to cool her down. Dean might have wondered if Bobby would give in, but Sammy didn’t seem that worried at all.
***
Bobby waits until dinner. Both Sam and Dean have done a shitload of work and they’re tired. Dean’s backed a half dozen babies today: young, green and they all had a buck or two in them.
Dean doesn’t believe in bronc bustin’ but that doesn’t mean that a two year old might not have a grudge about having somebody sitting on his back. Most of them offer just a hump or two in warning - they’re good horses from good stock.
Dean’s a little sore, but riding is easy for him, is as natural as breathin’. He likes the work and the satisfaction that he’s accomplished something. But he is not back home to break babies. He needs to find his father. Dean’s anxious to hear what Bobby has to say, but Bobby’s workin’ on his own time, and pushing him ain’t gonna help anything or anybody.
Dinner is good. It’s beef stew, thick and hearty and even though it’s hot outside, it tastes great. Sam stretches out at the kitchen table, pushes his chair back and Dean can see that Sam’s trying to relax. This ranch doesn’t have the best of memories for him. He runs his hand through his sweaty brown mop of hair, slicks it back against his scalp .
Bobby gathers up the dishes, drops them in the sink and walks back to the table, then grabs a bottle of whiskey and three glasses.
“It’s bad enough that we all gotta have a drink first?” Sam’s voice waffles between amusement and worry.
Bobby turns, pins a serious look at Sam. Shifts his gaze to Dean.
“It’s worse.”
***
Dean considers himself an easy goin’ man. He handles most shit that comes down the pike without too much drama. He’s never let himself get pigeon-holed into thinking one thing or another. He’s flexible.
But he’s also pretty sure that Bobby has lost his fuckin’ mind.
That’s disturbing.
Sam’s sitting across from Bobby, clutching his glass of whiskey like it’s a lifeline. Maybe it is.
Dean eyeballs Bobby. “So, you’re tellin’ us that Mom was killed by some kind of demon and that Pa’s picked up its trail. And you expect us to believe that shit why?” Dean cocks his head in Bobby’s direction, furrows his brow. “I mean the old man doesn’t want us around and this is your solution to keepin’ us here? Helluva story Bobby.”
Bobby traces a finger on the table, studies his half-empty glass of whiskey.
“Wish it was, kid. Nobody can come up with a story like that.”
“And we never knew about this. Never knew how mom died, never knew about hunters, never knew our Pa was one.” Sam chimes in but his voice is sluggish. He’s had a little too much to drink, and Dean doesn’t blame him.
“Your father wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. The best way for him to do that was to keep you away from the shit he was doing. To keep you two out of range of that sonofabitch. What better way than here? It’s isolated; he has total control over everything at this ranch. This place has more sigils and hoodoo than any house in New Orleans ever had. The land has been blessed by every denomination known to man, including several Indian tribes.
"Think about it, Dean. Your daddy’s gone quite a bit, isn’t he?”
“Well yeah, business trips. Sometimes hunting trips, but he always would tell us where he was goin’. This…” Dean gestures vaguely in the direction of the front of the house as if the house itself is in some way offending him. “This shit is plain fucked up. Besides, businessmen have business to attend to.”
“Okay, what about all the training? The Latin? All the practice with guns and knives? What about you and Sam pounding on each other like a couple of prizefighters? Most kids don’t spar like you and Sammy did. Don’t you find that a little weird?”
“No, Bobby I don’t. Latin? I dunno, Pa never needed a reason to want us to do something. Maybe just wanted us to learn the classics. And fighting? Boys fight. Pa just figured it’d be better if we knew how to fight right. We hunt, we track, so what? Lots of people do. Food is food. Bobby, I like it as much as the next person and the best way to eat is to hunt.”
Bobby rubs a hand over his face.
“Did it ever occur to you that you might not need venison or rabbit? That you’re sitting on 500 head of the finest cattle in Texas?”
“I dunno, I figured the old man liked variety or something.” Dean knows he sounds a little petulant but it can’t be helped.
“Besides, Dean. What father hands you six bullets and tells you to make sure you come back with six kills or he’s gonna kick your ass into next week.”
Sam’s eyes are slitted he tilts his head down just a bit. The kid is well on his way to smashed. He offers a quiet chuff and then looks at both Dean and Bobby. “I just figured he was an asshole.”
“Yeah, well I ain’t denying that one, but boys, he knew what he was doing. He knew he had to be tough. He needed to make you boys tougher. The best shots, the best riders, the best hunters. Because he knew that he could only protect you so long and then it was up to you.”
“Protect us? C’mon, Bobby. So we can fight, shoot and ride. Hell yeah, probably better than most, but how would that stop something like this. How in the hell did he figure that keeping us in the dark would help? How could you figure that? I mean if this story is true, then there ain’t too many places we are safe and Pa? Well, he ain’t safe at all.”
“John always figured he would kill it. He planned on killing it years ago and save you boys the pain of knowin’ what it was. But days turned into months, then years. Then you got hurt, Dean, and that changed everything.”
Dean looks hard at Bobby. “Now what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” He’s unconsciously rubbing his leg, doesn’t even occur to him he’s doing it.
“Dean what do you remember about that night?”
Dean leans back. He tries not to think about it, doesn’t dwell on it. He had been 17 and full of piss and vinegar. His father had bought the stallion for his bloodlines and only that. The horse was downright mean. Never broken to saddle, barely able to handle. They were gonna try him on a few mares and if the results weren’t good enough, Pa had already said he was gonna put a bullet between his ears.
Dean had strict orders not to go near the sonofabitch. Orders that ended with “So, help me God, boy you touch that horse and you and me are gonna dance.”
But Dean could never back down on a challenge. The price of a lickin’ was worth the thrill of the ride. And Dean could ride. He could handle anything. The big black stallion wasn’t gonna be easy but he wouldn’t beat Dean Winchester. And he hadn’t. Dean rode him.
It was midnight and he was all alone. Nothing but horse and raw energy and teenage boy.
The stallion did everything in his power, which was considerable, as Dean remembered, to throw his ass. Finally, hot, sweaty and both of them ready to quit, the stallion reared, one last-ditch effort to get the boy off, and Dean wasn’t quite ready but he threw his weight forward, trying to compensate for the upward motion of the horse and bring him back down on all fours. What happened then was a blur. The stallion lost his balance, unable to carry the off-kilter weight of Dean or maybe just pissed as hell and determined to get the kid off. No one would really know, but he fell over backwards and hit the ground hard with Dean pinned under him.
It should have been okay then, because Lord knows, horses don’t stay down in that situation. Dean might have been hurt or bruised or hell, even had gotten a busted leg. The stallion should have scrambled up, should have gotten to his feet and maybe drug Dean around by the stirrup or something.
But he didn’t.
Dean remembered the moon was bright and he was breathin’ hard and there was 1200 pounds of horse laying on his leg. But there was no heavy breathing from the black. No frantic scramble for footing, no thrash of a horse hurt and down and struggling to regain his feet. There was nothing.
Just the dark pool of blood under his body and the terrible weight of the horse on his leg.
In the wave of pain and panic Dean had thought he had seen something. A wolf maybe. He could see the yellow eyes melting into the tree line. But then every thing just faded into darkness.
It was Sam who found him. How in the hell did he know? What made his 13-year-old brother wake up from a deep sleep and run out to the corral? Dean could never figure that out but Sam was there, cradling his brother and yelling for help.
The docs didn’t think he would make it. Figured he’d loose the leg at least. They threw around words like massive trauma and significant blood loss and if it hadn’t been for his father and the fact that he refused to let them amputate, he would be without a leg at all. Through it all his father was there. Day and night he ran a vigil in the downstairs bedroom. It was a long, long time before they thought that Dean would live, longer still that he would ever walk, but Winchester toughness runs deep.
Dean was out of it a lot. Pain. Morphine. Pain. He could never be sure exactly what he remembered after the accident. Bits and pieces.
One thing he could never figure out was why his dad slept in his room at night with a loaded shotgun across his lap.
“Because he was protecting you, Dean.”
Dean shot his head up. Did he say that last part out loud?
“Protecting me? From what? Myself? This??” Dean taps his leg hard, welcomes the sharp pain and growls low. “This is my fuckin’ fault. I just had to go out and prove I could beat that damn horse. Me. Not Pa. Not even the fuckin’ horse. All. Me.”
Bobby shakes his head. “No, Dean. It’s not just that. You were old enough then, strong enough and your daddy was fixin’ to tell you. See, there’s this gun, made by Sam Colt and it can kill anything. It can kill what killed your Ma and your Pa heard of it that summer. But he couldn’t leave. You were too sick, too close to dead, your daddy couldn’t take a chance.“
“And now?” Dean prompts.
“Well, the ranch is doin’ good. You got a handle on it. Sam is… was safe at school. Your Pa got word it was back and now he’s goin’ after it.”
“What about me, Bobby? Why’d he leave me here?”
Bobby coughs once and it ain’t like him to be embarrassed. “I guess he just figured you’d be better off watchin’ the place. Keepin’ things running here.”
“Fuck that. Fuck him! He figured I couldn’t do it, right? Figured me and this bum leg would be better off sitting home while he’s off playing Ranger and killing the shit that hurt my family. It ain’t happenin’ Bobby. I may be a fuckin’ cripple but I’m not worthless. I can do this. ” He looks pointedly at Sam. “We can do this.”
Dean is so mad that he wants nothing better than to take a swing at somebody. He doesn’t get real angry real often, and he‘s surprised at himself but it feels good. He feels good. He looks at Sam. Sam’s eyes are bright with whisky but he’s not out of it. His glance meets Dean’s solidly from across the table. He curls his lip up, part snarl, and part grin.
“Well then, I reckon we got a job to do, Dean.”
saberivojo.livejournal.com/34329.html#cutid1 part 4