Reunited -Part 6 Cowboy!fic
Title: Reunited
Author: Saberivojo
Characters: Cowboy!Sam and Cowboy!Dean AU
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just like playing with the boys.
Summary: Cowboy!AU Sam and Dean find Pa
Thanks again to roque_clasique . She is the most amazing beta.
Follow up to Cowboy!AU Put Away Wet (part 1) http://saberivojo.livejournal.com/26548.html#cutid1, Finding Sam (part 2) http:///saberivojo.livejournal.com/27860.html ,Heading Home (Part 3) http://saberivojo.livejournal.com/28198.html. Revelations (part 4) saberivojo.livejournal.com/34329.html#cutid1 Base Camp (part 5)saberivojo.livejournal.com/45445.html#cutid1 You should read those before this. I am thinking there is one more part to go then I will try to post this in a more coherent fashion.
Dean wakes early, just before the sun starts to rise. Sam’s still sleeping and Dean can’t help but watch for a moment. Sam’s face is slack and he looks all of thirteen again. The kid is really out. It’s a good thing, Dean figures. Sam has always had nightmares. What he dreams about he doesn’t talk about, so on the rare occasions that he sleeps well, Dean just takes it as a gift.
Dean stretches, rolls his shoulders a time or two then decides that while Sam is sleeping, he’s gonna make his way to the stream. Coffee sounds good, but so does a quick bath. Dean takes an experimental whiff of his underarms, grimaces and figures that the few minutes he spends in the stream will be worth it.
He makes his way to the water. Walking without Mac as his legs is always a chore. Clambering down a slippery water into the stream is not something he is looking forward to, but despite unevenness of the terrain he manages to get down to the water in one piece. Dean steps up to the stream with a slow, hitching gait and fills the coffee pot and then sets it on the bank. He pulls his off his shirt, boots and jeans. His union suit comes next. It feels almost as dirty as he does, but doing laundry isn’t likely to happen any time soon so he drops it on the ground with a shake. He shivers once in the early morning air, balls tightening with the cold. Dean never thinks too much about his right leg and the silvery scars that run jagged down his hip. It is a much a part of him as Sammy. But today it catches his eye, spidery raised and puckered flesh that somehow hurts even before he steps into the frigid water. One more stagger step and he is in the stream. He gingerly moves out into deep water and then settles with a splash .
Dean hurries; the water is mountain fed and cold but except for sharp ache of his leg, it feels good. He holds his breath and dunks his head under then uses a little bit of sand to scrub around his neck and head. He lifts his head from under the water and shakes it once like a dog. From the bank he hears a wolf whistle - Sam is standing on the bank dropping trou and heading out to the deepest part of the stream.
“Take you and your stink downstream, Sam!” But Dean laughs as his brother gives a splash in his general direction and settles not too far from Dean.
“Damn, it’s cold,” Sam protests as the icy water grabs his balls. But Dean just laughs again.
“Well, princess, after we find Pa and stop at a town, we’ll get you a fancy bath with hot water and perfumed soap.”
Dean gives himself a final shake and then heads back to his clothes. They feel even grungier after the bath, but there is nothing he can do about that. He picks up the water for coffee and makes his way slowly back to camp. First coffee, then he fixes a breakfast of hard biscuits and the leftovers of last night’s rabbit dinner. It would be easier, he figures to let Sammy help. The up and down is hard on his leg but he bites the bullet and grits his teeth. It’s fucking breakfast, he can do fucking breakfast. Dean wonders briefly if he should rustle up some more game, but decides he‘d rather be a little hungry than risk a shot echoing up and around the mountain. That’s all he needs to have their father realize they are coming and for him to cut and run before they get there. That gives Dean a moment’s pause, because Pa’s not afraid of anything… so why is he so afraid to have his sons join him on this hunt?
Sam gets back from the stream and they eat quietly and then break camp. They move quickly and efficiently, packing away the meager supplies and re-distributing the weight between both horses. Sam carefully douses the campfire and Dean nods approvingly. It’s satisfying to see that despite Sam’s years away, he’s as good on the trail as he ever was.
Dean tacks up Mac as Sam does the same for Howard. He steps his left leg in the stirrup and attempts to swings his right over the saddle. He must be a little tired because he doesn’t quite make it over the cantle, which is frustrating but not unexpected. Dean muscles his leg over and grimaces as the typical ache arcs to a stab and then dissipates. Could be worse he figures, he could not be able to ride at all.
He nods to Sam, already sitting easily on Howard.
“C’mon little brother, let’s find Pa.”
*
The climb is a little tougher than Dean expected, but Mac is up to it and Dean just allows him to pick his way up the side of the mountain. It’s typical terrain for high hill country, some brush and scrub with occasional steep sheer cliffs that make for challenging footing. But the stallion is as sure-footed as a mountain goat and Dean relaxes into the saddle, trusting that Mac can find his way. Sam is riding point - the kid has always been an amazing tracker and Dean defers to his little brother’s skills. Sam pulls up Howard and then drops his reins, Howard standing still with his ears tipped forward. Sam’s eyes glance hard at the ground and then he decides to take a closer look. He dismounts easily and allows the reins to trail on the dirt. Howard stands quietly and drops his head low and snuffles the ground hard. Sam steps in front of Howard then settles back on his boots, his hand gently sifting through the rocks and brambles. Sam turns triumphantly toward Dean with a dark strand of horsehair.
“Well, we got a horse shod all way around and what looks like black horsehair. “ Sam points to the distinctive tracks of horse shoes. He’s right, whatever horse they are trailing, it’s no barefoot Indian pony. “You told me that Pa’s been favoring that blue roan mare so it could be her.” Sam stands, brushes his hands across his thighs dismissively. “Whaddaya think?”
Dean leans forward in the saddle and tilts his head up a deer path that seems to be going the way Pa went.
“I think we better ride careful, Sam. He doesn’t know we’re comin’ but that doesn’t mean he isn’t gonna be ready for someone. Nothin’ like dodging buckshot to make a man twitchy.” Dean means it: his father has always been a shoot first, ask questions later kind of man, which is a direct contradiction to other John Winchester platitudes.
Better be damn sure you know what you are shootin’ at boy.
Still the lessons are ingrained in Dean and Sam as well. They grew up living, eating and breathing John Winchester so who better to track the man than them?
Sam picks up Howard’s reins and steps into the saddle, and though the leather groans under his weight, Howard doesn’t seem concerned. Sam clucks to the gelding and starts to head up the trail. Dean lifts Mac to a jog and moves out ahead of Sam, saying, “I got this, Sam.” Sam shakes his head in agitation but allows Dean to move ahead.
“Why is your life always more expendable than mine, Dean?”
“Don’t be all namby pamby, Sam. You track better, I hunt better. Besides, you and that 17 hand horse of yours make a bigger target.”
“Great, so he’ll pick you off and then nail me.” Sam mutters.
“He ain’t gonna shoot either one of us, he’s not an idiot, Sam. “
Sam chuffs low in obvious disagreement and Dean allows it. This isn’t the time or the place for discussions on their father and his apparent lack of brains. Which Dean doesn’t buy into anyway. His father might kill them, but he sure as hell isn’t gonna shoot them. Dean grimaces a bit as he realizes that particular thought is not as comforting as it should be.
An hour up the mountain, Dean stops so abruptly that Howard almost nails Mac in the ass.
“Shhhh, Sammy.” It’s an order, but low and quiet without the usual bark that often accompanies Winchester directives.
For his part, Sam doesn’t say a word, doesn’t start the incessant bitching that’s often his go to-place when it comes to his brother and his brother’s orders. They both stand their horses quietly at the edge of clearing. Dean strains his ears for a change in the surrounding sounds, listens to the continuous hum of insects and the scream of a blue jay. Mac is quiet under him but tense and Dean has learned to listen to the stallion, too, so he waits. The clearing looks normal but feels off and Dean is one to always follow his gut. He hears Howard shift his weight behind him and there is the soft jingle of his bit as the gelding tosses his head.
“Not too bad for a couple of wet-behind-the-ear kids.” His father’s voice comes from just ahead and to the right.
“Pa?”
*
John Winchester steps out from behind a small outcropping, shotgun slung in apparent laziness that’s belied by the obvious sense of purpose of his movements.
“Hey, boys.” He sounds neither surprised nor terribly angry but his words are rumble dark. There is censure in those two words and Dean feels it as strongly as if his father has clipped him a hard one to the head.
“Don’t tell me you two are taking a break from school and the ranch just to do a little brotherly bonding?” Pa growls the last few words and Dean straightens automatically, sitting his saddle as straight as any well-trained cavalry soldier.
“No, sir.” His father doesn’t want to hear more than that and right now Dean thinks it prudent to give the man what he wants. Sam, on the other hand, has no such compulsions.
“Pa, what the hell is going on? Dean and I need to know -”
John snaps his head at Sam and pins a dark glare at his youngest. “You need to know what I want you to know, when I want you to know it, Sam.” His father leans on Sam; puts just enough emphasis on it to make a point.
Dean sends a sideways glance at Sam, tries to telegraph shut the fuck up. But Sam has moved Howard up a step or two so that he and Dean are riding two abreast. It is Sam’s way of gathering strength from his brother as well as attempting to show a unified front to his father. It’s never worked much in the past but Dean appreciates the thought anyway. Sam’s voice is angry and reminds Dean of teenage Sam but that trip down memory lane is not a journey he wants to travel right now. “We deserve to know, Pa. About what you‘re hunting. About what we’re hunting. About the damn Colt. About everything.”
Dean wonders briefly if Sam’s foray into higher education has melted his brother’s brain when it comes to their father. That’s the only rationale he can think of, because John Winchester doesn’t believe in taking orders from his children. He doesn’t believe in taking orders from anyone. And while Dean agrees with the sentiment that Sam is attempting to express, he thinks his way of going about it is just plain stupid.
“Sam. We’ll talk about it okay? Let’s just give everyone a chance to take a breath. We’ll figure this out.” Dean’s voice is soothing with just a hint of big brother edge. He needs to back Sam off right now before this little family reunion ends badly.
Sam plows ahead, unconcerned, needing to make his point. “Bobby told us about everything, Pa. Everything he knows. So you might as well fill us in on the rest.”
John steps toward Sam and Dean figures that his father might just reach up and pull Sam off of Howard. Dean thinks wildly that pulling his big-ass brother off that big ass-horse is not going to be an easy task, but Pa doesn’t make a move to grab his youngest and Dean is thankful for the atypical John Winchester restraint.
“So, Bobby Singer tells you a tale or two and you’re ready to walk into this fists-up and half-cocked.”
“No, sir. That’s exactly why we need to talk.” Sam contradicts his father easily, always has. Dean breathes hard. At least his brother has the common sense to throw the sir in.
“About what?” It’s not really a question, more a demand. His father’s pissed beyond belief and why Sam can’t see that Dean will never know. Then again, maybe he sees it just fine.
“About everything.” Then Sam slides out of the saddle effortlessly and steps toward his father. Dean would never be able to stop a possible fight on his own, but he has Mac, and with a brief shift of his weight and a nudge, the stallion moves away from Dean’s good leg and over in between Sam and Pa.
“Move the fuckin’ horse, Dean.” His father is growling low, still holding the shotgun easily. He isn’t looking at Dean but instead is glaring over the stallion’s back at Sam.
“Yeah, Dean… listen to the old man, you do any other time.” Sam is growling himself, although he doesn’t quite have John Winchesters gravel-throated timbre.
“No.” Dean‘s voice is sharp and then a moment later he tries for a slightly calmer approach. “Come on, we’re all tired. It’s been a hard ride. We can talk after we all cool down.”
“Your brother’s right, we don’t have time for this.” His father voice is steel. It is a dismissal. An order. Shit.
Dean uses his heel to move Mac over another step to the right, to push his brother a little further away from his father, and Sam acquiesces and steps back, turns toward Howard ready to put his hand on the saddle horn and vault onto the big gelding. He mumbles low, “This is why I left in the first place.”
John moves in scowling, places the shotgun up against a tree and clenches his fists. “What did you say?”
Sam turns around, ready to step back into his father’s personal space, and he would, too, except for the fact that Dean and Mac are separating them. “You heard me.”
“Yeah, you left. Your brother and me, we needed you and you left. You walked away, Sam. You walked away.” His father isn’t really shouting -John Winchester doesn’t have to yell - but his voice is loud and laden with venom.
“You were the one who said don’t come back, Pa. You were the one who closed that door, not me.” Sam’s voice rises. “You were just pissed off that you couldn’t control me anymore!”
And then his father’s stepping around Mac so fast that Dean doesn’t adjust in time and Pa grabs Sam hard by the shirt. Despite the fact that Pa’s a little shorter than Sam, he jerks Sam up to him like he’s a featherweight. He gives his youngest a hard shake and it’s that threat of bodily injury that does it for Dean.
Dean jumps off Mac, and the pain in his leg sears white-hot as he hits the ground hard but he ignores it to throw his body in between his father and his brother. He barely stifles the yelp, but the agony will be worth it if he can avoid a knock-down, drag-out fight. He manages to keep the strangled whisper of pain low in his throat.
“Stop it! That’s enough!” It’s loud and harsh and both men stop to stare at Dean. They both seem to realize simultaneously how rough the dismount must have been and that seems to be the deciding factor for backing down. Dean shoves Sam back toward Howard and nods tightly to his father. “You too.”
His father glares hard at Dean, and though it’s a look Dean has always tried to avoid, he holds his gaze. He can draw a line in the sand too, dammit. Then Pa shifts his eyes to Sam. He seems to make a decision.
“Mount up, boys. We have some hard riding to do.”
Pa turns, picks up his shotgun and strides off to the middle of the clearing, probably heading to his mare. Dean is sure she’s tied on the other side awaiting his father. Pa doesn’t stop to see if his boys are following; it’s expected they will. Dean knows there is no way they wouldn’t be. Even Sam, maybe especially Sam, won’t buck the old man now. There’s too much at stake and Sam has been trained far better than that.
Sam spins to Howard and one-armed vaults himself onto the big gelding. It is almost as rough a mount as Dean’s recent dismount and Howard grunts as Sam’s weight settles in the saddle.
“Don’t take it out on Howard, shit head.” Dean grouses as he stagger-steps toward Mac. “That horse puts up with more of your shit than I do.” But his voice lacks heart as he slowly pulls himself up onto Mac, a low groan escaping as he manhandles his leg around.
Dean shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Having his brother and his father together again is pretty much what he figured it would be. He’s not so sure that Sam sees the eye roll but he doesn’t much care anyway. At least they have found Pa.
Well that certainly went well.
*
Pa is riding the blue roan mare. His father’s always preferred mares to geldings, solid horses to paints, but just like everything else in Pa’s life, form follows function and how pretty his horse looks doesn’t matter one whit if she can’t get the job done.
This mare looks like she can do that and more.
Dean can’t help but allow his horseman’s eye to run over her top line appreciatively. She is a big mare, she needs to be because his father is a big man but she is well proportioned. She has a long, sloping shoulder and powerful hindquarters. She is a blue roan alright, but her color is so clean throughout that she looks almost like a steel gray. It relaxes Dean, this careful appraisal of horse. He evaluates horses like some men evaluate woman. The roan mare passes the test but that’s not surprising, his father wouldn’t be riding her otherwise. Pa doesn’t have time for horses who can’t pull their weight. Which is exactly why they have some of the finest quarter horses in Texas at their ranch. Dean searches for her name - they run about 150 head at the Rocking W and except for new babies on the ground, each horse has a name. It makes Dean cringe a little that it takes a bit of mental shuffling before he finds the roan’s name. Dean smiles to himself when it clicks. Blue. Her name is Blue and why the hell was that so damn hard? He figures the strain of the past few weeks has finally caught up with his brain.
Pa is riding point, Sam in the middle and Dean at drag. It’s their standard formation whenever they all hunt together and that small detail gives Dean some comfort. Pa hasn’t spoken since the almost-fight and thankfully neither has Sam. Dean offers a silent prayer to keep it that way, at least until his hot-headed father and brother can get their shit together. He can tell by the tight set of Sam’s shoulders that his brother hasn’t forgotten, though. A quick glance ahead of Sam and Dean can see that his father’s shoulders mirror Sam’s. Dean wonders if either one realizes how damn similar they are to each other. He snorts quietly to himself. Probably not.
Dean figures his father will fill them in when he wants them filled in and that’s the best he can hope for right now. It’s a shitty way to run a family but it’s nothing new and there’s nothing that Dean can do about it anyway.
They stop for a break and what passes for lunch. They loosen the girths of the horses and turn them loose to relax while the three Winchesters eat a cold lunch of dried beef and hardtack. It’s palatable but barely, and Dean takes a bite then washes it down with water.
Sam has settled on a large rock, Dad is leaning up against another. Dean waits and watches as Sam nervously bounces his knee.
“So, Bobby told you everything huh?” Their father doesn’t have any of the morning’s growl in his voice.
“Yes, sir.” Dean answers.
“Sonofabitch never could keep a secret.” Pa doesn’t sound particularly mad.
“Well, he kept your secret for twenty years. I’m thinkin’ the man did a pretty good job.” Sam is bristling just a bit.
And for some reason that seems to break the ice. Pa looks hard at Sam and then he softens and a small smile plays on his face.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Bobby Singer has kept a lid on things for quite a while. Still, don’t think he and I aren’t gonna have a little chat when we get home.”
Dean smiles too. “I don’t think I wanna be there when you two old bulls decide to lock horns.”
“Who are you callin’ old, boy?” Pa grins again and it feels good. Dean breathes a slow sigh. This is the man he knows. As much as the world sees a tough pain-in-the-ass, his father isn’t always a dick.
“So what’s the game plan, Pa?” Dean asks quietly. The timing is right, he can feel it.
“The colt is up here, Dean. Up in these mountains. A man by the name of Daniel Elkins has it. “
“So who’s this Daniel Elkins?” Sam’s voice holds none of his earlier anger and his father reacts in kind. They’re two peas in a pod, Dean thinks again.
“He’s a good man and he taught me a lot about hunting. Daniel knows his way around a hunt, knows his way around, period. But he’s a little long in the tooth, too old to be fighting, and the man needs to hang up his hunting rifle. That’s gonna be our ace in the hole boys.”
“So that’s the plan? We’re gonna snake-oil the gun away from an old man? Or better yet, ride in there like outlaws, kill gramps and steal the gun? Don’t you think we’re comin’ in pretty well armed three to one against one old man?” Sam’s voice starts to hold just a touch of pissiness.
Pa’s eyes glint dangerously. “Just because I said he was old doesn’t mean he’s a pushover, Sam. Daniel Elkins has forgotten more about hunting then you’ll ever know. He’s smart and he wants to kill this bastard almost as much as I do, and that’s what I’m countin’ on.”
Next chapter here:
saberivojo.livejournal.com/63754.html
Author: Saberivojo
Characters: Cowboy!Sam and Cowboy!Dean AU
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just like playing with the boys.
Summary: Cowboy!AU Sam and Dean find Pa
Thanks again to roque_clasique . She is the most amazing beta.
Follow up to Cowboy!AU Put Away Wet (part 1) http://saberivojo.livejournal.com/26548.html#cutid1, Finding Sam (part 2) http:///saberivojo.livejournal.com/27860.html ,Heading Home (Part 3) http://saberivojo.livejournal.com/28198.html. Revelations (part 4) saberivojo.livejournal.com/34329.html#cutid1 Base Camp (part 5)saberivojo.livejournal.com/45445.html#cutid1 You should read those before this. I am thinking there is one more part to go then I will try to post this in a more coherent fashion.
Dean wakes early, just before the sun starts to rise. Sam’s still sleeping and Dean can’t help but watch for a moment. Sam’s face is slack and he looks all of thirteen again. The kid is really out. It’s a good thing, Dean figures. Sam has always had nightmares. What he dreams about he doesn’t talk about, so on the rare occasions that he sleeps well, Dean just takes it as a gift.
Dean stretches, rolls his shoulders a time or two then decides that while Sam is sleeping, he’s gonna make his way to the stream. Coffee sounds good, but so does a quick bath. Dean takes an experimental whiff of his underarms, grimaces and figures that the few minutes he spends in the stream will be worth it.
He makes his way to the water. Walking without Mac as his legs is always a chore. Clambering down a slippery water into the stream is not something he is looking forward to, but despite unevenness of the terrain he manages to get down to the water in one piece. Dean steps up to the stream with a slow, hitching gait and fills the coffee pot and then sets it on the bank. He pulls his off his shirt, boots and jeans. His union suit comes next. It feels almost as dirty as he does, but doing laundry isn’t likely to happen any time soon so he drops it on the ground with a shake. He shivers once in the early morning air, balls tightening with the cold. Dean never thinks too much about his right leg and the silvery scars that run jagged down his hip. It is a much a part of him as Sammy. But today it catches his eye, spidery raised and puckered flesh that somehow hurts even before he steps into the frigid water. One more stagger step and he is in the stream. He gingerly moves out into deep water and then settles with a splash .
Dean hurries; the water is mountain fed and cold but except for sharp ache of his leg, it feels good. He holds his breath and dunks his head under then uses a little bit of sand to scrub around his neck and head. He lifts his head from under the water and shakes it once like a dog. From the bank he hears a wolf whistle - Sam is standing on the bank dropping trou and heading out to the deepest part of the stream.
“Take you and your stink downstream, Sam!” But Dean laughs as his brother gives a splash in his general direction and settles not too far from Dean.
“Damn, it’s cold,” Sam protests as the icy water grabs his balls. But Dean just laughs again.
“Well, princess, after we find Pa and stop at a town, we’ll get you a fancy bath with hot water and perfumed soap.”
Dean gives himself a final shake and then heads back to his clothes. They feel even grungier after the bath, but there is nothing he can do about that. He picks up the water for coffee and makes his way slowly back to camp. First coffee, then he fixes a breakfast of hard biscuits and the leftovers of last night’s rabbit dinner. It would be easier, he figures to let Sammy help. The up and down is hard on his leg but he bites the bullet and grits his teeth. It’s fucking breakfast, he can do fucking breakfast. Dean wonders briefly if he should rustle up some more game, but decides he‘d rather be a little hungry than risk a shot echoing up and around the mountain. That’s all he needs to have their father realize they are coming and for him to cut and run before they get there. That gives Dean a moment’s pause, because Pa’s not afraid of anything… so why is he so afraid to have his sons join him on this hunt?
Sam gets back from the stream and they eat quietly and then break camp. They move quickly and efficiently, packing away the meager supplies and re-distributing the weight between both horses. Sam carefully douses the campfire and Dean nods approvingly. It’s satisfying to see that despite Sam’s years away, he’s as good on the trail as he ever was.
Dean tacks up Mac as Sam does the same for Howard. He steps his left leg in the stirrup and attempts to swings his right over the saddle. He must be a little tired because he doesn’t quite make it over the cantle, which is frustrating but not unexpected. Dean muscles his leg over and grimaces as the typical ache arcs to a stab and then dissipates. Could be worse he figures, he could not be able to ride at all.
He nods to Sam, already sitting easily on Howard.
“C’mon little brother, let’s find Pa.”
*
The climb is a little tougher than Dean expected, but Mac is up to it and Dean just allows him to pick his way up the side of the mountain. It’s typical terrain for high hill country, some brush and scrub with occasional steep sheer cliffs that make for challenging footing. But the stallion is as sure-footed as a mountain goat and Dean relaxes into the saddle, trusting that Mac can find his way. Sam is riding point - the kid has always been an amazing tracker and Dean defers to his little brother’s skills. Sam pulls up Howard and then drops his reins, Howard standing still with his ears tipped forward. Sam’s eyes glance hard at the ground and then he decides to take a closer look. He dismounts easily and allows the reins to trail on the dirt. Howard stands quietly and drops his head low and snuffles the ground hard. Sam steps in front of Howard then settles back on his boots, his hand gently sifting through the rocks and brambles. Sam turns triumphantly toward Dean with a dark strand of horsehair.
“Well, we got a horse shod all way around and what looks like black horsehair. “ Sam points to the distinctive tracks of horse shoes. He’s right, whatever horse they are trailing, it’s no barefoot Indian pony. “You told me that Pa’s been favoring that blue roan mare so it could be her.” Sam stands, brushes his hands across his thighs dismissively. “Whaddaya think?”
Dean leans forward in the saddle and tilts his head up a deer path that seems to be going the way Pa went.
“I think we better ride careful, Sam. He doesn’t know we’re comin’ but that doesn’t mean he isn’t gonna be ready for someone. Nothin’ like dodging buckshot to make a man twitchy.” Dean means it: his father has always been a shoot first, ask questions later kind of man, which is a direct contradiction to other John Winchester platitudes.
Better be damn sure you know what you are shootin’ at boy.
Still the lessons are ingrained in Dean and Sam as well. They grew up living, eating and breathing John Winchester so who better to track the man than them?
Sam picks up Howard’s reins and steps into the saddle, and though the leather groans under his weight, Howard doesn’t seem concerned. Sam clucks to the gelding and starts to head up the trail. Dean lifts Mac to a jog and moves out ahead of Sam, saying, “I got this, Sam.” Sam shakes his head in agitation but allows Dean to move ahead.
“Why is your life always more expendable than mine, Dean?”
“Don’t be all namby pamby, Sam. You track better, I hunt better. Besides, you and that 17 hand horse of yours make a bigger target.”
“Great, so he’ll pick you off and then nail me.” Sam mutters.
“He ain’t gonna shoot either one of us, he’s not an idiot, Sam. “
Sam chuffs low in obvious disagreement and Dean allows it. This isn’t the time or the place for discussions on their father and his apparent lack of brains. Which Dean doesn’t buy into anyway. His father might kill them, but he sure as hell isn’t gonna shoot them. Dean grimaces a bit as he realizes that particular thought is not as comforting as it should be.
An hour up the mountain, Dean stops so abruptly that Howard almost nails Mac in the ass.
“Shhhh, Sammy.” It’s an order, but low and quiet without the usual bark that often accompanies Winchester directives.
For his part, Sam doesn’t say a word, doesn’t start the incessant bitching that’s often his go to-place when it comes to his brother and his brother’s orders. They both stand their horses quietly at the edge of clearing. Dean strains his ears for a change in the surrounding sounds, listens to the continuous hum of insects and the scream of a blue jay. Mac is quiet under him but tense and Dean has learned to listen to the stallion, too, so he waits. The clearing looks normal but feels off and Dean is one to always follow his gut. He hears Howard shift his weight behind him and there is the soft jingle of his bit as the gelding tosses his head.
“Not too bad for a couple of wet-behind-the-ear kids.” His father’s voice comes from just ahead and to the right.
“Pa?”
*
John Winchester steps out from behind a small outcropping, shotgun slung in apparent laziness that’s belied by the obvious sense of purpose of his movements.
“Hey, boys.” He sounds neither surprised nor terribly angry but his words are rumble dark. There is censure in those two words and Dean feels it as strongly as if his father has clipped him a hard one to the head.
“Don’t tell me you two are taking a break from school and the ranch just to do a little brotherly bonding?” Pa growls the last few words and Dean straightens automatically, sitting his saddle as straight as any well-trained cavalry soldier.
“No, sir.” His father doesn’t want to hear more than that and right now Dean thinks it prudent to give the man what he wants. Sam, on the other hand, has no such compulsions.
“Pa, what the hell is going on? Dean and I need to know -”
John snaps his head at Sam and pins a dark glare at his youngest. “You need to know what I want you to know, when I want you to know it, Sam.” His father leans on Sam; puts just enough emphasis on it to make a point.
Dean sends a sideways glance at Sam, tries to telegraph shut the fuck up. But Sam has moved Howard up a step or two so that he and Dean are riding two abreast. It is Sam’s way of gathering strength from his brother as well as attempting to show a unified front to his father. It’s never worked much in the past but Dean appreciates the thought anyway. Sam’s voice is angry and reminds Dean of teenage Sam but that trip down memory lane is not a journey he wants to travel right now. “We deserve to know, Pa. About what you‘re hunting. About what we’re hunting. About the damn Colt. About everything.”
Dean wonders briefly if Sam’s foray into higher education has melted his brother’s brain when it comes to their father. That’s the only rationale he can think of, because John Winchester doesn’t believe in taking orders from his children. He doesn’t believe in taking orders from anyone. And while Dean agrees with the sentiment that Sam is attempting to express, he thinks his way of going about it is just plain stupid.
“Sam. We’ll talk about it okay? Let’s just give everyone a chance to take a breath. We’ll figure this out.” Dean’s voice is soothing with just a hint of big brother edge. He needs to back Sam off right now before this little family reunion ends badly.
Sam plows ahead, unconcerned, needing to make his point. “Bobby told us about everything, Pa. Everything he knows. So you might as well fill us in on the rest.”
John steps toward Sam and Dean figures that his father might just reach up and pull Sam off of Howard. Dean thinks wildly that pulling his big-ass brother off that big ass-horse is not going to be an easy task, but Pa doesn’t make a move to grab his youngest and Dean is thankful for the atypical John Winchester restraint.
“So, Bobby Singer tells you a tale or two and you’re ready to walk into this fists-up and half-cocked.”
“No, sir. That’s exactly why we need to talk.” Sam contradicts his father easily, always has. Dean breathes hard. At least his brother has the common sense to throw the sir in.
“About what?” It’s not really a question, more a demand. His father’s pissed beyond belief and why Sam can’t see that Dean will never know. Then again, maybe he sees it just fine.
“About everything.” Then Sam slides out of the saddle effortlessly and steps toward his father. Dean would never be able to stop a possible fight on his own, but he has Mac, and with a brief shift of his weight and a nudge, the stallion moves away from Dean’s good leg and over in between Sam and Pa.
“Move the fuckin’ horse, Dean.” His father is growling low, still holding the shotgun easily. He isn’t looking at Dean but instead is glaring over the stallion’s back at Sam.
“Yeah, Dean… listen to the old man, you do any other time.” Sam is growling himself, although he doesn’t quite have John Winchesters gravel-throated timbre.
“No.” Dean‘s voice is sharp and then a moment later he tries for a slightly calmer approach. “Come on, we’re all tired. It’s been a hard ride. We can talk after we all cool down.”
“Your brother’s right, we don’t have time for this.” His father voice is steel. It is a dismissal. An order. Shit.
Dean uses his heel to move Mac over another step to the right, to push his brother a little further away from his father, and Sam acquiesces and steps back, turns toward Howard ready to put his hand on the saddle horn and vault onto the big gelding. He mumbles low, “This is why I left in the first place.”
John moves in scowling, places the shotgun up against a tree and clenches his fists. “What did you say?”
Sam turns around, ready to step back into his father’s personal space, and he would, too, except for the fact that Dean and Mac are separating them. “You heard me.”
“Yeah, you left. Your brother and me, we needed you and you left. You walked away, Sam. You walked away.” His father isn’t really shouting -John Winchester doesn’t have to yell - but his voice is loud and laden with venom.
“You were the one who said don’t come back, Pa. You were the one who closed that door, not me.” Sam’s voice rises. “You were just pissed off that you couldn’t control me anymore!”
And then his father’s stepping around Mac so fast that Dean doesn’t adjust in time and Pa grabs Sam hard by the shirt. Despite the fact that Pa’s a little shorter than Sam, he jerks Sam up to him like he’s a featherweight. He gives his youngest a hard shake and it’s that threat of bodily injury that does it for Dean.
Dean jumps off Mac, and the pain in his leg sears white-hot as he hits the ground hard but he ignores it to throw his body in between his father and his brother. He barely stifles the yelp, but the agony will be worth it if he can avoid a knock-down, drag-out fight. He manages to keep the strangled whisper of pain low in his throat.
“Stop it! That’s enough!” It’s loud and harsh and both men stop to stare at Dean. They both seem to realize simultaneously how rough the dismount must have been and that seems to be the deciding factor for backing down. Dean shoves Sam back toward Howard and nods tightly to his father. “You too.”
His father glares hard at Dean, and though it’s a look Dean has always tried to avoid, he holds his gaze. He can draw a line in the sand too, dammit. Then Pa shifts his eyes to Sam. He seems to make a decision.
“Mount up, boys. We have some hard riding to do.”
Pa turns, picks up his shotgun and strides off to the middle of the clearing, probably heading to his mare. Dean is sure she’s tied on the other side awaiting his father. Pa doesn’t stop to see if his boys are following; it’s expected they will. Dean knows there is no way they wouldn’t be. Even Sam, maybe especially Sam, won’t buck the old man now. There’s too much at stake and Sam has been trained far better than that.
Sam spins to Howard and one-armed vaults himself onto the big gelding. It is almost as rough a mount as Dean’s recent dismount and Howard grunts as Sam’s weight settles in the saddle.
“Don’t take it out on Howard, shit head.” Dean grouses as he stagger-steps toward Mac. “That horse puts up with more of your shit than I do.” But his voice lacks heart as he slowly pulls himself up onto Mac, a low groan escaping as he manhandles his leg around.
Dean shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Having his brother and his father together again is pretty much what he figured it would be. He’s not so sure that Sam sees the eye roll but he doesn’t much care anyway. At least they have found Pa.
Well that certainly went well.
*
Pa is riding the blue roan mare. His father’s always preferred mares to geldings, solid horses to paints, but just like everything else in Pa’s life, form follows function and how pretty his horse looks doesn’t matter one whit if she can’t get the job done.
This mare looks like she can do that and more.
Dean can’t help but allow his horseman’s eye to run over her top line appreciatively. She is a big mare, she needs to be because his father is a big man but she is well proportioned. She has a long, sloping shoulder and powerful hindquarters. She is a blue roan alright, but her color is so clean throughout that she looks almost like a steel gray. It relaxes Dean, this careful appraisal of horse. He evaluates horses like some men evaluate woman. The roan mare passes the test but that’s not surprising, his father wouldn’t be riding her otherwise. Pa doesn’t have time for horses who can’t pull their weight. Which is exactly why they have some of the finest quarter horses in Texas at their ranch. Dean searches for her name - they run about 150 head at the Rocking W and except for new babies on the ground, each horse has a name. It makes Dean cringe a little that it takes a bit of mental shuffling before he finds the roan’s name. Dean smiles to himself when it clicks. Blue. Her name is Blue and why the hell was that so damn hard? He figures the strain of the past few weeks has finally caught up with his brain.
Pa is riding point, Sam in the middle and Dean at drag. It’s their standard formation whenever they all hunt together and that small detail gives Dean some comfort. Pa hasn’t spoken since the almost-fight and thankfully neither has Sam. Dean offers a silent prayer to keep it that way, at least until his hot-headed father and brother can get their shit together. He can tell by the tight set of Sam’s shoulders that his brother hasn’t forgotten, though. A quick glance ahead of Sam and Dean can see that his father’s shoulders mirror Sam’s. Dean wonders if either one realizes how damn similar they are to each other. He snorts quietly to himself. Probably not.
Dean figures his father will fill them in when he wants them filled in and that’s the best he can hope for right now. It’s a shitty way to run a family but it’s nothing new and there’s nothing that Dean can do about it anyway.
They stop for a break and what passes for lunch. They loosen the girths of the horses and turn them loose to relax while the three Winchesters eat a cold lunch of dried beef and hardtack. It’s palatable but barely, and Dean takes a bite then washes it down with water.
Sam has settled on a large rock, Dad is leaning up against another. Dean waits and watches as Sam nervously bounces his knee.
“So, Bobby told you everything huh?” Their father doesn’t have any of the morning’s growl in his voice.
“Yes, sir.” Dean answers.
“Sonofabitch never could keep a secret.” Pa doesn’t sound particularly mad.
“Well, he kept your secret for twenty years. I’m thinkin’ the man did a pretty good job.” Sam is bristling just a bit.
And for some reason that seems to break the ice. Pa looks hard at Sam and then he softens and a small smile plays on his face.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Bobby Singer has kept a lid on things for quite a while. Still, don’t think he and I aren’t gonna have a little chat when we get home.”
Dean smiles too. “I don’t think I wanna be there when you two old bulls decide to lock horns.”
“Who are you callin’ old, boy?” Pa grins again and it feels good. Dean breathes a slow sigh. This is the man he knows. As much as the world sees a tough pain-in-the-ass, his father isn’t always a dick.
“So what’s the game plan, Pa?” Dean asks quietly. The timing is right, he can feel it.
“The colt is up here, Dean. Up in these mountains. A man by the name of Daniel Elkins has it. “
“So who’s this Daniel Elkins?” Sam’s voice holds none of his earlier anger and his father reacts in kind. They’re two peas in a pod, Dean thinks again.
“He’s a good man and he taught me a lot about hunting. Daniel knows his way around a hunt, knows his way around, period. But he’s a little long in the tooth, too old to be fighting, and the man needs to hang up his hunting rifle. That’s gonna be our ace in the hole boys.”
“So that’s the plan? We’re gonna snake-oil the gun away from an old man? Or better yet, ride in there like outlaws, kill gramps and steal the gun? Don’t you think we’re comin’ in pretty well armed three to one against one old man?” Sam’s voice starts to hold just a touch of pissiness.
Pa’s eyes glint dangerously. “Just because I said he was old doesn’t mean he’s a pushover, Sam. Daniel Elkins has forgotten more about hunting then you’ll ever know. He’s smart and he wants to kill this bastard almost as much as I do, and that’s what I’m countin’ on.”
Next chapter here:
saberivojo.livejournal.com/63754.html