Disclaimer: Supernatural and all recognizable characters within this work of fiction do not belong to me. Dungeons and Dragons and Forgotten Realms also belong to someone who ain't me.
Additional disclaimer: Those familiar with the non-Supernatural aspects of the story be warned - I followed the established rules and settings about as much as the books and computer/video games do. Therefore, things have been changed to suit the story.
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The city of Silverymoon was a quiet, peaceful place. Considered the "Jewel of the North," it was inhabited by peace-loving scholars, mages, and other intellectuals. Unlike other major cities of Faerun, Silverymoon tried to incorporate nature into it's design instead of clearing it out, making it a place of balance - light and dark, innovation and tradition, tamed nature and civilization.
However, Silverymoon was not a place for a wild creature to prowl.
That fact were at the forefront of Sam's mind as he looked up at his brother's face, Selune's light shining through the window making his face glow with an ethereal light.
"Dean?" he said, once his whirling thoughts settled on one final fact, Dean was there. "What are you doing here?"
"What?" Dean asked, and he relaxed a little, more sprawling over Sam rather than holding him down. "A guy can't see his little brother once in a while? I gotta tell you, Sammy; you're out of practice. Too many books making you soft?"
Sam narrowed his eyes at the challenge and twisted, grabbing Dean by the edges of his breastplate and flipping their positions, so that he was the one pressing his brother into the floor. Dean oofed. "Guess not."
Smirking, Sam gave Dean another slight push and rose to his feet. As he gave Dean a hand up he eyed his brother, realizing just how little his older brother had changed since they saw each other four years ago. Dean still wore the same hodge-podge of hide and scale armor; heavy leather boots, metal greaves, snug-fitting trousers made from the leather of some striped beast, fur-lined hide gauntlets that he'd tucked into his belt, and a scale breastplate - also black, but scratched and scuffed with age - over a chain hauberk. At his double-belt hung a spatha, the familiar hilt catching Sam's eye. He knew that when Dean drew it the blade would be pure, black, dwarven steel. His armor was well cared-for, and despite the metal he moved nearly soundlessly, and easily.
In just a light pair of trousers and a linen shirt, Sam felt greatly underdressed in comparison.
"Tell me the truth, Dean," Sam urged, refusing the urge to look towards his bedroom. His two rooms allowed to him were small enough to wake Jess easily, and he thought he could hear movement on the other side of the door separating the two areas. "What are you doing here?"
"Samuel?" at once both Dean and Sam looked towards the voice, and Jessica continued, unconcerned that she was wearing only a shift. "What's going on? Who is this?"
"Jess, uh," for a moment Sam was at a loss for words. He gestured towards his brother. "This is Dean," he said. Glancing to his side, he scowled at Dean's expression. "Dean, his is Jess. She's my girlfriend." He tried to put as much emphasis in the last two words as he could, but Dean was already striding towards her, a familiar smirk on his face.
"Jess, hello," he said. "I have to say that you deserve far better than my brother. You'd make Sune herself jealous."
Jess's eyes narrowed and she turned away. "Excuse me, I suddenly feel the need to leave."
"No, no," Dean replied quickly, "No need for that." His expression changed from merely flirtatious to something more heated. "Please, stay."
"Dean!" Sam snapped, getting tired of repeating himself. "What are you doing here?"
With one last longing look at Jess, Dean walked back to Sam. "Sorry honey, but I gotta borrow your beau for a little while. His family needs his help."
"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, getting frustrated. "You guys don't need my help. You never do." If there was any bitterness in his tone, Dean didn't react to it.
Dean looked Sam in the eye, and every emotion disappeared from his face, leaving it a stony mask. When he spoke his voice as toneless, a match for his expression. "Dad had a job. He didn't return."
Despite all the arguments, all the pain and frustration the man had caused Sam in his life, at that news he felt as if his guts had frozen. His and Dean's eyes held each other for a long moment, Dean's daring, Sam's thoughtful, then, finally resigned.
"Excuse me Jessica," he said finally, looking away from both of them. "I need to go."
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Dean was waiting in the hallway outside when Sam finally left his rooms. Before she closed the door, Jessica gave him one last smile, understanding in her eyes. Not wanting to make a big scene in front of his brother with long goodbyes, Sam bent to give her a goodbye kiss, and turned away before he could change his mind about going at all.
For once Dean didn't say anything as they headed down the hallway, their strides matching instinctively like they did years ago, back when things were simpler between the two of them. The only thing he did was give the pendant that hung around Sam's neck, the eye-and-candle of Denier, The Scribe, a dismissive glance before he lead the way out.
Despite the late hour the university was still awake - they passed several students either stumbling to bed after a late study session, blinking wearily and rubbing sore eyes, or having awoke early to get a head start on their own studies for the day. The ones not absorbed in their own thoughts gave both Sam and Dean cautious looks and skirted around them as much as the narrow hallways would allow. Dean seemed unfazed, but Sam would look away whenever they passed and, despite his leather armor being his own and worn from use, with Dean he felt like an imposter in a stranger's clothing
Finally, Dean broke the silence as they neared the courtyard leading out of the university. He cleared his throat, and without looking at Sam, asked, "So she knows?"
Shifting his pack, Sam replied in the same tone of voice, "That dad was a mercenary? Yeah."
"You mean we were mercs. You, me, and Dad."
"No, Dean," Sam sighed at how some things really never did change. "Dad was a merc - he just dragged me and you along with him until we strong enough to swing a sword."
Finally Dean looked at Sam, green eyes flashing with anger in the darkness. "Are you still going on about that? Dad did the best he could for us!"
"Are you joking?" Sam asked and stopped walking. Dean took a couple steps without him before he paused, standing stock-still. "Doing his best is not dragging his young children with him to, to caves, or mines, or wherever he had a hunt! No kid should have killed kobolds for money before their voices even changed, and you know it!" Sam strode forward, furious, and grabbed Dean's shoulder and pulled, trying to get his older brother to face him.
Dean whirled before Sam could do more than touch him, and Sam backed away - the expression on Dean's face was thunderous, and Sam feared for a moment that his brother was going to throw a punch.
"He was trying to find the creature who killed mom," Dean said, and Sam could tell by the way he was spacing his words he was trying to keep his temper in check. "He had to do those jobs so he could get information. More importantly, he was helping people. He wasn't sitting around reading books for years - he actually cared."
Sam looked away and huffed, trying not to show how that last comment hurt him. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't help feeling like a little boy who just wanted his brother's approval.
"Listen," he said, doing his best to sound calm. "Do you want my help or not? I have an interview for a sponsorship in a few days - I want to get back before then."
Dean kept his focus on Sam for a long minute before seeming to deflate, running a hand through his short-shorn hair and glancing to the side, where they were gathering a small, curious crowd. "Yeah, fine. Come on, I've got a couple horses for us outside of town - should only be a couple days' ride there and back."
Sam nodded and they were once more heading out, though with greater tension between them.
Sam had to admit to being impressed with how easily Dean managed to get to the closest city gates - Silverymoon was built to work around trees and natural rock formations, and the streets were a maze that had stymied Sam for weeks. Dean seemed nearly at home as he headed towards the gates in as close to a straight line as he could. Almost, Sam considered, as if he'd made the trek many times before.
It wasn't a comforting thought. If Dean was coming to Silverymoon to spy on Sam, and he hadn't realized he was being watched, then the indication that he was being so lax was disturbing.
"So where are we going?" Sam asked. The sky was beginning to lighten, and the citizenry were starting to rouse - mostly men and women heading to the market quarter to set up their stalls, or to one of the many schools or libraries. As the streets began to fill the brothers were getting fewer stares, and Sam began to relax, feeling more comfortable when he was blending in.
Dean of course had to be contrary - just his mere presence seem to invite glances. Which was another thing that just didn't change, Sam thought wryly. Dean was always handsome enough to draw attention, he'd been approached time and again by the temple of Sune, and even the pleasure-seeking Sharess worshippers to join their numbers, but Dean'd remained stubbornly Faithless. He had no qualms about using either Sune's name or his good looks to get what he wanted, but to go as far as actually worshipping the Goddesses of Love and Beauty was too much for him.
When Dean looked over, Sam realized he was staring and looked away quickly, feeling his cheeks heat. He thought things would be different after being apart for so long. Obviously, he'd thought wrong.
"Everlund," Dean said, and it took Sam a moment to remember the question he'd just asked his brother. Dean continued, not noticing Sam's embarrassment. "There's been stories of a monster attacking people traveling there along Evermoor Way. Mostly solitary men, but the survivors' stories all seem to match. A single, humanoid creature, who looks like a beautiful woman. Usual modus operandi for that type - tries to lure them off the path, and when that doesn't work she'll attack outright. Dad was headed for Everlund to talk to the guy who wanted her gone, some merchant. That's the last I heard of him."
Sam paused, uneasy. The town Everlund was only a little over a day's ride away, and as far north as they were, there was little else of interest - the closest major city was a few tendays away.
"What do you think he was going after?" Sam asked instead, mentally going through anything that could be. Nymphs were at the top of his list, but depending on the light and angle they saw her, it could be a bog hag, yuki onna, even a bored woodling…
"Glaistig," said Dean. "All accounts say the same thing - woman with white hair and blue eyes in a river who refused to get any further out than waist-deep. Said she was singing, and they just barely shook off her spell before they went into the water."
Sam nodded, "That was wise."
"So I'm thinking we head to Everlund, ask around, see if Dad ever arrived to claim the award. If not, we seek out the creature, kill it if it still lives, and see if we can pick up his trail from there."
At that moment they'd reached the gates. Even so early in the morning it was congested with people entering and exiting, their progress slowed by the guards checking travelers over, poking through carts and pulling seemingly random people out of the crowd for a pat-down. Though Silverymoon wasn't often attacked, the guards had learned to be wary.
The brothers were quiet while they pushed their way through, focusing more on getting to the other side of the gates instead of conversation. None of the guards spared the two a second glance, and once on the other side the crowd had opened up enough that they were able to make their way to the stables down the road with ease.
Once there, Dean handed one of the stable boys two wooden chips with symbols painted on them, and the boy returned soon after with two horses, already saddled and ready to go.
Dean swung into the saddle of his own horse (black, Sam was unsurprised to find) with the ease of doing it a thousand times, and Sam found himself hesitating before mounting his own roan one. Getting on was the first step to going back to adventuring, leaving Silverymoon, leaving Jess behind. If he left when Dean asked him to once, would he do it again later? And again, and again, and again, until he was more mercenaries than anything else?
"Do you need a block?" Dean's voice broke into Sam's thoughts. Sam shook his head once, as if casting aside such negative ponderings and without answering Dean he grabbed the pommel and mounted, settling as easy into the saddle as if he never left it.
"Alright," Sam said, looking at Dean, who was watching him with a strange expression on his face. "Let's go."
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Dean couldn't help glancing at Sam every few moments, and every time he saw his brother at his side he felt a little thrill. Sam being there felt right like nothing else had for far too long. Every time, for years, whenever he looked around him and saw only his father or, worse, no one, he felt a little bit out of step; it was like the world was dancing to a tune that he could only sometimes hear - every now and again he'd feel like he was starting to get the rhythm, but then he'd lose it and stumble.
He snorted at himself - he was no fruity bard or whatever, what the hell was he thinking?
Fruitiness aside… he glanced again at Sam and grinned.
"So what's with the sword?" he asked.
Sam jumped slightly, as if startled. His horse lurched forward a couple steps in response until Sam soothed it with a low voice and strokes along it's neck. That taken care of and they were riding close enough for their legs to brush, he looked at Dean, brow furrowed. "What do you mean?" Apparently self-consciously he reached back to briefly touch the pommel of the claymore slung across his back.
"Hey, I'm not going to treat you any different or anything. I mean, I know some guys need to compensate with a big sword and all but I'd think you'd take after your big brother."
Dean's grin was fit to crack his face as he watched the steady track of emotions cross Sam's face, first confusion, then realization, embarrassment, and finally annoyance. Sam slugged Dean's arm with a muttered, "Jerk."
Dean just laughed and nudged his horse's sides, cantering forward and out of Sam's reach.
"Don't worry Sam," he called back over his shoulder. "If your lady friend is still with you despite you being tragically deformed, you must be doing something right!" He paused for a moment, and added, "Bitch."
"I hate you!" Sam shouted back.
Dean sighed happily, settling back into his saddle. Gods above, he missed Sam.
