SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar.
DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.
All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!
Like Us, But On Horse Back
"Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."
-Friedrich Nietzsche
Chapter Four: Pink Lemonade
"Gossip is the art of saying nothing in a way that leaves practically nothing unsaid."
- Walter Winchell
…
Celia glanced back as she swung the screen door shut and jogged purposefully across the yard to the round pen where Blackbird was waiting patiently and Strawbury was not. Celia snorted a little at the iffy job that Sam had done of relocking the pen gate, pulling her hat lower around her ears. She rolled her eyes and shoulders starting to untangle the chain that Sam had knotted around the bars instead of slipping into the catch dip. She didn't know the younger brother that well, but she'd heard countless stories about his intelligence and skill.
"Boy can shoot down a skin-walker at three hundred yards and gets a full-ride to Stanford but can't close a damn gate." She muttered and pulled the chain free and quickly caught the bridle reins on Strawbury and pulled him after her before he could break out into the yard. With a quiet snot Blackbird followed the uppity colt and Celia like an overlarge old dog. The cream horse and painted horse flung their head over the gate and nickered at Blackbird as the buckskin walked passed the pasture fence. Blackbird hesitated a step and nickered assuring to them before following into the shade of the barn.
The barn was wide and tall, almost as tall as the house itself. And several hundred yards long to boot. Warm desert air flowed in from sets of massive double, roll back doors on either end of the barn, cooled in the shade and flowed back out. The right side of the barn was a line of fifteen horse stalls, each big enough to house two full grown animals with plenty of room between, wooden and metal doors topped with sloped iron bars slid smoother than some doors did the house and made easy for horses to throw their heads out to look into the five foot wide aisle of hard packed earth. A mountain of square hay bales stacked nearly to the rafters on the left side sufficiently hiding may feral and tame cats and their growing litters. Large plastic drums were tightly lidded to keep varmints out of the different feeds and vitamin stores and pushed against the outward wall of a tack room. A room stocked with thousands of dollars worth of new and old saddlery, both show and pleasure, and the hitching collars and driving leathers. It was also stocked with large emergency and health kits, gallons of medicinal alcohols, oils and liquids and pounds of bandaging, pastes, pills and other drug substances that made some big city vets offices seem insufficient.
A large drag cart for work and a buggy for pleasure both stood in the back left of the barn dutifully covered with protective tarps and far in the back a third tarp covered a car shape completely and was weighted down with bricks. Celia always smiled when she walked into the barn, though there were more pressing matters she smiled anyway.
Celia swiftly knotted the lead rope on Strawbury's halter into the hitch ring of the colt's shared stall and slipped the bit and bridle off his head. She patted the colt and stood back while Blackbird walked around to stand next to his own stall. She walked around and knotted the lead for the buckskin and within a few second gracefully stripped the mustang of the dark leather saddle, blanket and gear. Celia hauled the tack to the feed and tack room in a corner of the massive barn and set the saddle back so the fleece could dry and hung the bridle and blanket up. She set her saddle bags and the rifle case up next to several sets of others and pulled her Winchester rifle free. She checked the gun briefly before setting it aside to put away later. With a practiced hand Celia grabbed a large plastic bucket and large soft sponge, took it out side to fill with cool water at an old hand pump at the near side water trough and dunked the sponge into the water with a little moisturizing soap made especially for horses. She scrubbed down the two animals, sufficiently cooling the colt's hot blood and rubbed them dry. Celia picked out their feet, checked their ears and joints and dosed each of them with a few sprays of fly and tick repellent. Celia unbuckled Blackbird's blue halter and shoved the stallion away from the row of stall doors with a large chunk of sugar. Celia caught Strawbury's halter, unsapped the lead and led the colt down the barn aisle and out the massive double doors with the bucket of bath water in the other hand, she dumped it over and led the colt over to the gate. Blackbird still following them without protest or lead.
"Back up now, Honeycatcher. Ya too Sanuye." Celia ordered.
The painted horse and cream immediately backed away from the pipe gate, Celia pulled the chain and swung the gate open. Blackbird nickered and trotted into the pasture and Celia held the colt back.
"Ya done good, Strawbury. Good boy." She patted the antsy colt's neck and slipped him a chunk of mineral sugar from her pocket. He snuffled in her hand, crunched it down and nickered before bolting out into the pasture with the rest of the herd. Immeadiately the painted horse and cream rushed to meet the colt and buckskin and their heads swung together in meeting, immediately starting up with rushed noises of knickers and whinnies. The colt pranced nervously at Blackbird's side, white flecked rump twitching and jerking in the sunlight glare.
"He'll be real sound one day." Celia said to herself, swinging the gate shut, slipping the chain over to lock. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number next door as she walked back around the barn to the shade of the far side. A massive white Chevrolet Silverado Crew Cab loomed into view. It was a newer truck, bought used for a year in 2005 and had plenty of meat on its bones to do what Celia needed it to, and it hadn't cost her much to get it in the first place. She dug in her pockets for the keys, yanked open the door and hauled herself up into the cab, sliding behind the wheel. Finally someone picked up on the other end as the engine roared into life.
"Sofi Malone? It's Red…yeah. Listen I need to borrow yer flatbed and yer eldest son."
…
"Take it easy on that chain Mickey." Celia ordered. It had taken twenty minuets of Mickey carefully steering and Celia pushing to get the Impala off the shoulder and back onto hard top. She tugged at the corner of her Stetson.
"Sure, Boss Red." The slip of a teenager sighed and tugged the chain a little to straighten it. The boy couldn't have been more than eighteen, ice pick thin and slump shouldered with a matted mess of black hair shading large dark eyes.
He wasn't much to look at but he was reliable and strong. And for an added bonus his family was staying a few days longer than the norm for a Tuscarora family on a holiday. Celia's Silverado rumbled, idling quietly, the massive breaks locked into place, the flat bed that Celia normally used for hauling round bales of hay, borrowed from Mickey Malone's family had it's emergency breaks locked on as well, the ramp pulled out and blocked. Celia wasn't taking any chances with the Impala.
"Poor baby." She soothed, patting the hood quietly.
"It's locked in Boss Red." Mickey said jovially. He like all other local kids loved calling her 'Boss Red'. It was some kind of joke, a mock that had caught on was common practice. There were few that still called Celia by her first name, most called her Red, and everyone that worked under her as volunteer or otherwise she was 'Boss', there would be a time in the near future that there was a whole generation running the town that simply knew her as 'Boss Red' and all other nicknames and tags lost in hometown 'antiquity'. The local kids loved her and it was one of their ideals to be able to help Celia when she called. It was always something to talk about at school the next time there was class.
"Good boy, Mick." Celia said and she walked around the Impala, checking to make sure Mickey, in his overly excited state hadn't short changed the chain, which would easily rip the axle clean out from under the old muscle car and Dean would shoot her on sight for it. Bending low she looked under the Impala's belly and growled at the mangled fuel line. It was going to be hard to get one to fit the old car but she knew people.
Alamo kept his jaws wrapped tightly around the chunk of broken femur bone. He ground his teeth into it and muffled barks, his tail wagging slowly. Celia rose, flinching at the stiffness in her knee.
"Alright Mickey, crank her up." Celia braced her hands on the trunk.
"Yes, ma'am." Mickey flipped the catch bar and the chain started to crank up and coil back into place. Celia gave a slight pant and started to push. The Impala rolled forward lifelessly and Celia was somewhat glad that Dean wasn't there to see how completely dead the old car seemed. With a small grunt of effort the Impala rolled onto the ramp and with some gentle but firm nudging up onto the flat bed.
"Shut her off, Mick."
"Yes, Boss Red." The chain crank died, leaving only the rumbling Silverado engine in tune. Celia sighed and personally chained down the axels and ties to the flat bed. Once she was sure the Impala was safe Celia patted Mickey on the back lightly.
"Good job, son. I'll buy a soft serve on the way back." She pulled the emergency breaks on the flatbed, ready to roll.
"Thanks, Boss Red!" Mickey bubbled. Celia rolled her eyes and shoved the boy towards the passenger side of the truck. Most of the older teenage boys had a healthy crush on Celia. She was one of the few girls that stuck in around town instead of hitting the road running as soon as she turned eighteen. She liked football and rough sport, could handle horses, cars and people better than most and stood apart considering intelligence and common sense. They were all head over heels for her and those that weren't pegged her instantly for gay.
Being called out to help and getting an ice cream for a reward was the epitome of all the teens dreams and a lot of green eyes were going to be throw in Mickey's direction for at least a week once school was back in.
Celia whistled and pulled open the cab door for the Alamo. The elderly collie woofed and wagged his tail, trotting over and standing patiently while Celia lifted him up into the back seat of the cab, shut the door, climbed in and shut her door.
The dog slumped down into the back seat and stretched out.
"Don't get to comfortable, Alamo. We're pickin' up Valentine and Buckshot as we go." Celia said over her shoulder and set the truck into drive and started down the road. The old dog groaned quietly and shut his eyes tiredly. Celia smiled sadly.
Alamo was a collie, and fifteen. That itself was old for a collie and impressive for the breed. His healthy eighty pounds had started to dwindle as sixteen creeped up on him and some of the shine in his coat was going, though the blue merle was still the best that anyone had seen in a dog for a while. He was yellow in the tooth, dull in the eyes, his joints and muscles failing him that he couldn't even jump into the truck any more and couldn't do his job as well as he used to. Maybe once a week on the range and after that he was exhausted. Alamo had done his duty by sitting protectively at the Impala's side for the last hour and a half and now he got to relax.
It was a lump in Celia's chest knowing that the old dog basically retired and not to far off from being buried in the pasture next to several horses, a few cats and oddly a Gila monster.
Feeling the lump tighten she reached back and scratched the dog between his ears, but the old animal had fallen into a deep sleep, the bone still locked between his jaws. The truck ate the four miles to town in a few minuets. Mickey bounced excitedly in the passenger seat, he was one of few to enjoy the view. It wasn't that Celia was overly protective of her truck, just not many people got to ride in it in general.
He reached across and flipped on the radio, dancing across the sound waves to a rock station blaring punk rock. The teen bobbed his head and sang off tune with the screamo band.
Celia looked at the teen like he'd lost his mind and was having a fit. She reached across and shut the radio off all together.
"C'mon man!" Mickey whined.
Celia cocked her head, raised and eye brow and narrowed her eyes. "What was that Mickey Malone?" He tone was sharp and to the point. Mickey wilted, looking a little afraid.
"Nothin', ma'am."
"That's what I thought." Celia nodded, still eyeing the boy and reached over to turn the radio back on, turn the volume low and flipped to a country station.
"Sorry, ma'am."
"Rules boy, driver decides music and shotgun locks his jaw, got it?"
Mickey kept his mouth shut and nodded.
"Good boy." Celia turned in to park in front a general store names Rosa's General. She shut off the engine and slid out, Mickey doing the same.
"Red!" Celia hesitated and turned as a young man in a State Trooper's uniform trotted towards her.
"Mickey, go on in and get yer ice cream, tell Millie I'll be there in a second."
"Alright, Boss Red." Mickey bounded up the steps and across the veranda into the shop with a tinkling of bells a brief bark of noise of Mickey being hollered at as he walked in the door drifted into the street before the door swung shut again.
The Trooper jogged across the main road from his car, the brown shirt sticking to him with sweat. He slowed and whistled, eyeing the Impala appreciatively.
"Nice car, ya pickin' up where yer dad left off?" The Trooper asked, smiling at himself in the drivers side door of the Impala after whipping away dust.
"Naw, Justin. It's not mine."
"Belongs to them boys ya came ridin' in with a bit a go then, huh?" Justin the Trooper asked and squared his stance, reaching out to take Celia's hand. She took it and smiled lightly. She and Justin had both graduated from Tuscarora Highschool in the same year. He was a few years older than her, starting to hit his late twenties while she was on the fresh end of twenty four. She's spooked all her first, second and third grade teachers with her boredom and intelligence and out of pure fear for her to suddenly go destructive on them they promoted her to the fourth grade when she was seven.
"Yeah." Celia said idly, "What can I do for ya Justin?"
Justin the Trooper sighed and smiled at her, "Ya know that beauty shop is just buzzin' and they brought out the pink stuff, Red."
"Oh Lord, the pink lemonade?" Celia paled and rubbed her face. Pink lemonade was reserved for only the juiciest gossip and maybe saw the light of day when there was a divorce, if some one was in jail, someone cheated on someone else or someone came back after they left town. Everyone dies famous in a small town and the old gossiping birds never left it, even if it was a holiday weekend. "Please no." Celia begged the powers that be.
"Three gallons so far, Red. "
"THREE!?!"
"Ain't helpin' yer case haulin' this car either. They asked me to get some more from yer momma's shop." Justin the Trooper teased, smiling down at the much smaller woman.
"Oh thank the gods Rosa, Eli and Imogene aren't in town, I'd never hear the end of it." Celia whined, grinding her palms into her eye sockets.
"Millie's watchin' the shop?" Justin the Trooper asked his face lighting up and flushing with excitement as he immediately tried to look around Celia into the general store and catch a glimpse of the pretty blonde.
"Justin focus!" Celia snapped her fingers in front of the dazed Trooper's face.
"What?" He asked distractedly.
"All of y'all are hopeless and useless as a blind hound dog in the dark!" Celia barked, embarrassment and frustration getting the better of her in a hurry. To be the subject of pink lemonade most certainly wasn't a highlight in life. "Cain't y'all find somethin' better to do then sit 'round and flap her gums 'bout a body when they're tryin' to help someone!?" She turned on her heel and marched towards the store front door. Justin the Trooper bounded up after her, his eyes lit up and pulling off his hat to try and smooth his brown hair down.
Celia stormed into the store and was met with booming barks and shouts from within as natives drilled Mickey.
Slightly relieved by the interception of the barking Celia turned all her attention on the two dogs scrambling at her legs. She knelt down, scratching their ears and under their chins.
Two massive German Shepherd dogs, both males and each weighing an easy ninety-five pounds. The smaller of the two was white, bright blue eyes and a pink nose, an albino pup. The other was caramel russet brown, dark brown eyes and a black saddle marking on his back, haunches and tail, but the black didn't flow up his face, coming to a halt half way up the back of his neck. They each wore thick leather collars with names carved into the leather in large letters and tags clinked together from steel rings near the buckles.
"Hey dogs." Celia sighed, glad to have a place to hide her face in the caramel colored dog's throat while the white licked the side of her face excitedly.
"Red."
It was said with such finality and calm that it might as well have been a death sentence. She sighed into the caramel dog's throat and rose to her full height. The room was completely silent and looking at her expectantly.
The outside of the building told no lies as the store looked like a grocery and ice cream parlor from the late forties. A long counter of polished black marble, a line of round topped stools, the cushion starting to wear away again and in need of a replacement soon. Hard wood and stone floors scratched from decades of use, little marble top tables with four hard back chairs each and a pool table set off near the large window, the shadow of the words printed on the glass casting onto the green felt. Behind the counter a set of shelves that spanned the whole wall, from floor to ceiling packed with supplies.
Massive wooden barrels stood full of beans, cracked corn, seeds, peanuts, fruits and vegetables, an old ice chest five feet long, two feet wide and three feet deep, cooled fresh milk, eggs and other perishables. Forty pound sacks of flour, sugar, yeast, wheat grind, and dog food were stacked in neat rows. There was a shelf of common medicines, trinkets and toys for younger kids and plenty of glass jars of candies and chocolates.
Rosa General was the store to get a beer, take a Saturday night date after a movie at the Lucky Star Drive- In twenty miles away, kids hung out on the porch, old men played checkers, old women gossiped, young men played pool and had one to many. People had laughed, cried, lived, loved and died in that little shop for the better part of sixty years. The heart of the town of Tuscarora and it stood now ready for the next chapter to be written into the elderly tiled and wooden floors.
Under the lazily turning ceiling fans, and the light of noonday Nevada sun sat the majority of the sensible citizens left in the town, including the town priest, on a holiday weekend sat waiting, sweating, still and silent.
There was anticipation, question, caution, speculation and above all else whole hearted denial.
"What the hell are all y'all lookin' at?" Celia snorted and marched purposefully over to where Justin the Trooper was leaning across the marble top counter to smile shyly at the pretty blonde with bright blue eyes and freckles spattered all across her face. She was smiling back at him, but her eyes flashing between Celia, Justin the Trooper and Mickey who was cautiously spooned scoops of chocolate drizzled ice cream into his mouth.
"Millie Lynch, get me two vanilla milkshakes and one strawberry one, large please. I got Mickey's, too. Mick go get me some of that sports drink stuff from the cooler, green and purple, I think." Celia said defiantly to the blonde, pulled a crumpled twenty dollar bill from her pocket and put it down on the counter. She could feel eyes burrowing into her shoulders and stuck to her pride and refused to acknowledge any of them.
"Sure thing, Red." Millie's smiled never faltered, she dusted her hands on her white apron. The perky blonde happily slipped the bill off the counter and started making the three milkshakes. Including chopping fresh strawberries for the milkshake.
Mickey slipped off his stool and trotted over to the cooler, he rummaged around and came up with a green and purple Gatorade.
"Three each Mick." Celia ordered.
"Yes ma'am." Mickey gathered the bottles and carried them awkwardly back to sit on the counter, then returned to his sundae. Millie quickly putting the six drinks into a paper bag.
"How'd the boy's do for ya?" Celia continued to Millie, keeping her voice light under the scrutiny of eye borrowing into her back for answers.
"Oh just fine, wonder why people in the city never figured on dogs for babysitters in stead of people. Ya can trust a dog better then some of them girls that ya see on the television shakin' children on the 'nanny cams'."
"Mind ya Millie they only show the worst on television anymore." Justin the Trooper said sheepishly, happily taking a sip from a cola.
"Yeah, well I'd trust those two dogs faster then some of those air head girls up at the school anyway. Save that white one." She pointed at the white shepherd.
"What, Valentine?" Celia asked glancing down at the dog sitting quietly at her knee.
"Yes, that one. He's got a head full of trouble and enough charm to get away with it." Millie said in mock scorn to the dog.
The dog cocked his ears back briefly before throwing them forward to give himself a picture perfect profile, he dropped his chin into his chest to look up and out, his bright blue eyes when soft and sparkled, a grin crossed the dog's face that had he been human would have had every girl in town swooning and put Dean Winchester himself to pitiful shame. It was still quiet a potent smile as he instantly made Millie smiled and reach into a jar to toss the dog a large chunk of jerked beef.
"He's a devil in white fur, I'll tell ya, Red." Millie continued while the white dog chewed loudly but was able to keep him 'smile'. The caramel dog cocked his ears back and snorted in scorn for the behavior of the smaller and lighter dog.
"Speakin' of devils."
Celia stiffened at the words and the voice that said them. Everyone in the room stiffened and everyone could hear the implication and terse hate behind the words. They all knew what it meant.
"Watch what ya say, Ezekiel Lynch." The priest growled warningly. His cinnamon colored hair and chocolate eyes narrowed dangerously. He straightened his broad shoulders, he was built more like a football player then a mad of God. If it weren't for the fitting reverend's collar over the black polo shirt he would have been mistaken for just that. Scars in his tanned skin from a rough childhood. A wide leather belt looped through his dark washed jeans and black boots. Bill Cormac looked like he belonged on a bull in a rodeo more than on a dais with a Bible.
"Don't worry about it Father Cormac. There somethin' I can help ya with, Zeke?" Celia spat out, her teeth grinding together. Both shepherds growled low in their throats. Cormac backed down but hovered ready to act.
"I can think of a few things Red." Zeke, a heavy boned and wide shouldered man about her age rose from his place on a cushioned stool. Heavy leather boots cracked quietly on the wood floor. Zeke's medium length, dirt blonde hair shaded dark blue eyes. Celia bristled as he languidly stepped closer to Celia. The majority of the people sitting around tensed for a possible fight.
It was a rare day that Celia Northwind and Ezekiel Lynch spent more than six minuets in a room without one of them storming out, usually Celia being the bigger man, or they fell to a bloody fist fight, one that Zeke usually ended in scrambling away from on the worse end as everyone who was anyone in town knew that Celia could kick anyone in town's ass and triple that worse if she really wanted to hurt you. Zeke had a few scars left over from their childhood scraps.
No one person could be loved by everyone, no matter how small the town and how sweet the personality, and Celia had her fair share of glares and insults to take and deal out towards choice fellow citizens of Tuscarora, but Zeke was a special case.
No one knew why Zeke had held a grudge against Celia for the better part of twenty years, but that bad blood was always worth pink lemonade.
"Zeke." Millie said warningly, her eyes narrowed at her younger brother threateningly while she pulled out milk and malt mix, sugar and other ingredients. "No trouble, ya hear me."
Zeke gave a quirked eyebrow and a mocking snort. "Nothin' of it Millie, just wonderin' why Ol' Red here don't enlighten us to what she's up to with a couple of strays off the Crossroads."
Celia bristled. Three instincts snapped into place: humiliate Ezekiel Lynch without physically laying him out, keep her pride intact, and defend and protect the Winchester brothers at any and all costs. If she played her cards right she could get Zeke arrested for the night, then maybe the attention would lighten up on the Winchesters until the good doctor spilled his guts to Mrs. Halen, who was reputably one of the gabbiest Birds in the beauty shop.
"'Strays' Zeke?" Celia spat coldly, her eyes darkening to the cold red of dried blood. "Ya make 'em sound like mangy dogs in the pound. How did ya know they came from the Crossroads? Ya start followin' me around?" The malice in her voice made everyone in the room shiver. Except for Zeke, he was used to it.
Zeke snorted and crossed his arms. "Rolled passed and saw that car ya got chained down sittin' there. I figure it's theirs."
"Yeah, and we sure as hell take yer intelligence at it's word." Celia snorted back. Zeke's blue eyes darkened mischievously.
"And yer so much smarter, Red? Ya drug a couple of strangers off the road, and I take it, left 'em alone in yer home. When it comes to being trustin' ya sure as hell are the pick of the litter, ya'd put a rattler in yer pocket if he said he was cold." Zeke growled.
Celia licked her lips. "Ezekiel, don't confuse trust with compassion. I know it's hard, seein' as ya express neither of those."
Zeke's eyes flashed dangerously before cooling again. It was a serious insult in Tuscarora to be accused of lacking in any kind of emotion.
"What ya mean 'compassion', Red?" Justin the Trooper cut in, hoping to draw information and diffuse the situation. "There somethin' wrong with those boys?"
Celia hesitated, debating briefly. It was pride over protection. The smirk on Zeke's face got the better of her, and she reasoned quickly that giving the town enough information on the situation they'd mellow and speculation could be kept to a minimum. "They were out there for a while. Dehydrated, one's sunburned and the other's got heat stroke." Celia said coldly.
She almost nodded approvingly at the round of tight hisses and looks of sympathy. Everyone had been on the losing end of those ailments before.
"Ya takin' care of 'em?" Millie asked, her motherly nature coming out as she measured ingredients.
"Doin' my best 'til Halen gets out of surgery." Celia smiled, she shot Zeke a cocky grin. His teeth were grit menacingly at the nods of approval and smiles as worry faded sharply.
"Ya are a saint, Red." Father Cormac sighed, he wasn't a born native of Tuscarora, not even of Nevada. He knew the pains of heat stroke all to well and considered anyone who went out of their way to alleviate that sort of suffering an angel from God.
"Well, those boys are in a better place then the rest of us ever would be." Millie smiled brightly, dumping the ingredients for the strawberry shake into a blender, then starting on stripping vanilla beans for the other two shakes. "They'll be up on their feet faster than a newborn colt. Then ya can bring 'em round." Millie dumped the ingredients into the second blender and flicked it on with a whir.
Celia shrugged without speaking and making no promises, she seemed calm and at ease, but her hackles were raised waiting for Zeke to speak again.
It came and it sent shivers and a blinding rage across her eyes. So much she was sure that she was ready to lunge at him then and there, probably get herself arrested instead.
"Yeah, Red, bring 'em 'round and we'll all have a real good look at 'em." Zeke hissed.
Celia tensed too tightly at that, Justin the Trooper actually rested a hand on her shoulder, preparing to hold her back.
"Maybe they still need a good look at ya in turn. Ya taken yer hat off yet?" Zeke bit out, he was laughing low in his hiss. He flicked the brim of her Stetson.
Celia did lunge at him then.
"Red!" Justin the Trooper yanked back on Celia's shoulder and practically into his chest, restraining her from killing Zeke. "That's enough Zeke!" The officer spat. The rest of the room was on its feet, ready to act. Mickey crouched close to the marble counter top, terrified at being caught in the crossfire.
Zeke stood with his arms flung out and fisted, clear stance to goad a fight. Both shepherds had their ears thrown back and teeth bared, ready to explode into reaction.
"Zeke! Get out here!" Millie snapped, jabbing a finger towards the store front door.
"Millie-" Zeke started. Justin the Trooper cut her off.
"Zeke ya are lookin' for a fight, get movin' for I let y'all brawl!" Justin the Trooper snarled, his normally friendly and bright hazel eyes dark and dangerous. "Or I'll arrest ya for disturbin' the peace!"
Zeke stood defiant.
"Out Zeke." Father Cormac ordered.
Zeke snarled and stalked out of the store. No one relaxed until he'd crossed the street, no doubt on his way to the beauty shop to plant some character crippling rumors about Celia there.
Celia yanked out of Justin the Trooper's grip and the room was silent, while Millie worriedly poured the three milkshakes into large, plastic cups and fitted tops over them. She slipped the three drinks into a small carry box and dumped in straws and a few plastic spoons. Celia snatched the box and paper bag and started for the door.
"Red-"
"I like wearin' my hat and I have a bad case of hair today." Celia spat deadly before slipped out to the Silverado, the two shepherds rushing to catch up.
The shocked silence that followed was interrupted with a sigh from Millie. "She forgot her change."
"Millie girl, ya know she don't want it." An older, thick set man rumbled. His skin was wrinkled and tanned tawny, mottled with scars and a few liver spots. He adjusted the large belt buckle at his jeans and tugged on his flannel and tee shirt. He was dark eyed and wise in a way and to look at reminded outsiders of a great grizzled old wolf.
"Why ya say that Mr. Carson?" Mickey asked quietly. He couldn't understand why anyone would let up on their change.
"She never wants her change, keep it for that baby of yers, Millie." John Carson reached across and gently patted Millie's hand. "A tip. She's upset, that's all."
"Maybe we should-"
"Naw Millie." Carson rubbed at his jowls, scrubbing the grey peppered goatee. "That's just ol' Nathaniel Greer comin' out in her. And just like him ya gotta let her be."
"She was supposed to be his daughter, I'll tell ya." Father Cormac sighed with a sad shake of his head. "To bad they weren't blood."
"They were stronger than blood, Billy. She adored that man. After he passed it went south for her. It's just catchin' her that's all." Carson rumbled.
"She's ashamed." Father Cormac sighed, again shaking his head sadly. "Been ashamed since the day he fell."
The group sat in silence that was suddenly interrupted by a long droning wail of the Silverado still parked outside the shop. They all jumped and looked around at the truck. Celia had firmly slammed her face into the steering wheel and kept it there.
"Justin, will ya give me a ride home?" Mickey asked quietly. "We are tryin' to leave for the holiday tonight."
"Sure Mick." Justin the Trooper assured with a ruffle of the teen's hair.
…
Celia stormed out of the store and crashed down the steps to the earth. She yanked open the Silverado door viciously and before she could climb in the two dogs took advantage. Valentine's hurled his frame up from the earth into the front seat, scrambled across to sit dutifully in the passenger seat. Buckshot hurled his heavier bulk up after the white shepherd and awkwardly scrambled into the back seat to sit with Alamo. The old collie snorted and cocked his ears back but didn't protest. Celia climbed into the cab, quickly setting the cardboard carton and bag on the cab floor below Valentine and snapped her door shut. There was a hesitant second of silence before she slammed her fists into the dashboard with a snarl of rage. She slumped back against the seat. Celia scrubbed her face and snarled several curses under her breath. She ignored the quiet whines from all three dogs.
"Mickey'll get a ride from Justin." She muttered to herself. "Goddamnit!" She slammed her fists and face into the steering wheel, sending out a blast of noise that made all the dogs jump and whine nervously. The horn blared for a few long seconds before she slumped back into her seat again.
Valentine whined loudly. He was the cuddler and lover of the three dogs. He wiggled closer, his ears back and begging her quietly to touch him.
With a sigh Celia rubbed the shepherd between the ears. "I'm alright, baby. Need to get back to the boys." She reached back to pet the other two dogs assuringly before cranking the engine to life, carefully backing out into the road and continuing towards the Greer family home. The Impala in tow.
…
Celia parked the Silverado in shade to assure the Impala would come off the flatbed into the lee of the house and protected from severe weather. But it would take two people, maybe three to get the Chevy down and Celia left it securely chained for now. She hefted up the carton with the three milkshakes and the bag of Gatorade, kicked open her door and slid out. The ride had cooled her blood enough to settle her thoughts and relax. The three dogs scrambled down from the truck. Alamo dropping to the ground with a pained grunt and a wobble. The older dog walked slowly behind the younger two. Valentine frolicking madly up the steps, Buckshot a sensible and steady trot that conserved energy and Alamo's slow stiff walk. Celia shut the door and climbed the steps up after Alamo and pulled the screen door open. The three dogs trotted into the kitchen and fell on a massive bowl of cool water, lapping loudly. Celia crossed to put the three milkshakes into the freezer and the Gatorade into the fridge. She sighed, looking at the clothes she'd stripped from Dean scattered on the floor and table top. Not to mention Sam's sweat through tee shirt. She gathered the clothes and walked to the mud room adjacent the kitchen to dump them into the washing machine. Buckshot and Alamo slunk under the kitchen table and settled themselves to nap. Valentine was sniffing wildly at the chairs that Sam and Dean had sat in, digging at Dean's leather jacket draped over the back of a chair. Buckshot and Alamo had each taken a few sniffs but not much more.
Celia was pouring detergent into the washer when there was a distinct splash of water from the first floor bathroom. Celia froze, tense. Valentine's head yanked up, ears cocked fully forward and he was in a picture perfect stance, all attention locked on the sound.
"Shit." Celia whispered and lunged for the white shepherd, tripping and crashing into the far counter as Valentine had already taken off at a sprint towards the sound.
Valentine was a strange dog in more than one way. He was albino and never sunburned, had blue eyes, that odd charming 'smile' and devil of a temperament.
And he absolutely adored baths.
Valentine let out a giddy whine of euphoria and crashed out of the kitchen, around the stairs and sprinting down the hall, Celia desperately trying to catch him but far behind. Valentine tore through the bathroom door, it swung back and slammed into the wall with a sickening bang. The black and white cat, Rocky lunged up, spitting and rushed to get away out the door. Both Winchesters exploded from sleep. Sam lurched up, cracking his head against the title with a yelp. Dean's bleary eyes snapped open. Valentine made an almighty and joyous leap right into the tub of cooling water and on top of Dean. The man let out a wet gasp of pain as ninety three pounds slammed down onto his chest and stomach mercilessly. Valentine took no notice of the occupant and paddled joyously, snapping massive white jaws at his own splashes and slopping water all over the floor.
"VALENTINE!" Celia roared and lunged across the room. She grabbed the white dog around the scruff of his neck and leather collar. She physically yanked the startled and yelping dog out of the water and off of Dean. Soaking wet and yelping in astonishment Valentine's claws scrapped uselessly on the wet title, successfully drenching Sam and Celia as he tried to escape. Celia roughly shoved the dog towards the door.
"Out! Git! Damn fool dog!" Celia snarled after him. Valentine tucked his tail and tore away. Panting and worried Celia rushed to crouch at the tub side, quickly grabbing Dean's hand with one of her own and using the other to brace the side of Dean's head and neck, forcing him to look at her. Dean groaned pitifully, trying to twist onto his side in the water. Instinct trying to put him into a fetal position even though the immediate onslaught of overly excited German shepherd had passed. Dean coughed thickly. The air rushing painfully over his raw throat.
"Dean!" Sam choked, his head still throbbing from contact with the wall.
"Dean, look at me. Ya alright? C'mon. Damn fool dog."
Dean shivered violently once and slumped back into the water, exhausted and unable to support himself. Celia shifted, strained her legs and back to keep his head and shoulders above water.
"Dean?" She asked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. The pressure was returned, weakly but still there. He looked at her through glassy eyes, shivered again and swallowed thickly.
"Shit…" Dean managed. That made Sam relax, the much taller man rubbing his hands through his hair and rubbing at his temples. Sam actually gave a small pained laugh before it died in his throat. Both brothers inwardly admitted that the last forty five seconds were actually the scariest moments of their lives.
Caused by a German shepherd that had only wanted to enjoy a bath.
"Alright." Celia sighed, slightly assured. Now that she could concentrate she noticed with approval that Dean had finally broken into a fever. She had hoped that his blood would go hot instead of cold, his fluxing temperature before the bath was more dangerous than to hot or to cold. A fever, though not the best thing in the world was something that she could work down from. She wasn't pleased that it was as high a fever as it was. Her sensitive skin and practice with a younger sister and older brother Celia estimated a steady 104 temperature, and she was rarely wrong. So long as it didn't climb or start fluxing again Dean was on his way to recovery.
"Alright, sit on up." She pulled him up and forward. Dean flinched painfully, gasping. Red welts were already starting to rise on the pale flesh of his stomach. "He scratched ya up pretty bad Dean." Celia snarled, she looked ready to go find Valentine and rip into the dog's hide but kept herself at Dean's side.
Dean only grunted and flinched as the stinging pain got to him. His water drenched skin struck the air of the bathroom and he started shivering violently.
"Dean?!" Sam didn't like the way his brother twitched and gasped as shivers ran down his spine.
"He's just getting' chilled Sammy." Celia assured. "C'mon Dean, gotta get ya out of that water." She hauled, up on Dean's hand and wrapped an arm around his waist to support him.
"What-"
"Sammy, go to the hall closet and get a couple of towels and a couple of blankets, alright?" Celia ordered. She knew this much about Sam Winchester, if he had busy hands he didn't panic.
Sam nodded and turned to leave.
"It's the door just there on the left." Celia called after him. She helped Dean sit on the edge of the tub. She pulled back his eyelid and brow to look in his eye again. The green orb was still glassy, the life she'd hoped would be there was drowning in a dull film. She checked the other and sighed.
Sam came back in a rush, his arms piled with towels and two blankets thrown over his shoulder.
"Thanks Sam." Celia took a fluffy yellow towel from him and draped it around Dean's shoulders, starting to rub his biceps through the fabric.
"Sammy, I brought back some sports drink stuff, get yerself on and one for Dean." Celia commanded gently. Sam was gone in a heart beat, rushing into the kitchen to get the sports drinks. He glanced around breifely then pulled open the fridge door. He hesitated, spotted the brown bag and pulled it out. He set it on the table and looked in. He stopped for a second.
Purple and green.
Sam knew that Dean liked the purple the best and swiftly grabbed one. Then he went for a green, he personally couldn't stomach any other color. Probably why it had been so hard to keep the orange one down earlier. It didn't register to Sam that the colors had been chosen on purpose.
Sam jogged back to the bathroom.
Celia was gingerly patting dry Dean stomach while the water gurgled and drained from the tub. Dean's eye were shut tight and his teeth grit.
"Damn dog." Sam heard as he passed into the room. This was serious. Dean never idly took mothering like this, not from a doctor, not from Sam and the younger brother couldn't remember John ever getting the chance either, much less from a stranger.
Sam cracked the seal on the purple Gatorade and crouched next to Celia and his brother, handing Celia the Gatorade.
"Thanks Sammy." Celia sighed and Dean huffed out at the same time. Sam smiled as Celia folded Dean's hands around the plastic bottle and helped him drink it, though a little of Dean's spunk was coming back. His eyes were still dull and his shoulders still slumped but he was slowly starting to be resistant. He pulled away from the Gatorade. Celia sighed.
"Dean, ya got heat stroke and yer still dehydrated. Ya gotta get somethin' in yer system or the doc will put ya on an i.v. faster than a rattler can bite." Celia growled.
A spark of fear flashed in Dean's eyes. He hated HATED i.v.s. Sam actually narrowed his eyes at his own phantom pains in his arm. Dean was more receptive then, holding the bottle on his own and slowly downing the drink.
Sam cracked the seal on his own and gluped it down, briefly enjoying the liquid.
"Purple." Dean muttered tiredly.
"Yeah, my favorite." Celia lied, it was hard for her to keep from wincing watching them drink the liquid. She hated the stuff with a passion and only drank it when she was severely dehydrated. There was no lying about the electrolytes and vitamins in the stuff. It put ya right back on track, way better than water. And like all well practiced desert families the Greers always kept a small stock of the stuff just in case.
Dean smiled weakly.
"Sammy, ya boys got anythin' dry to wear? If not I figure ya can fit my brother, he's about yer height." Celia said absently.
"In the Impala." Sam shrugged. "On the road."
"Naw, it's out on the flatbed in the drive. Grab some clothes for the both of ya. And yer brother's gonna need boxers."
Dean and Sam both tensed up, ducking their heads and blushing slightly. Celia looked between them, not comprehending for a second, then rolled her eyes.
"Oh please, get movin'." Celia snarked and gave Sam a gentle nudge towards the door. She turned back to drying Dean off.
The older brother's breathing was evening out and his shivering starting to subside. He gave his head a shake to clear it and winced at the pain in his skull.
"Sam, the aloe too!" Celia called in an after thought.
"Alright Red!' Sam called back from out of sight. Dean breathed out heavily. It didn't assure her that his breathing was still shallow and congested.
"Starting to clear up?" She absently asked Dean.
"Wh…yeah…I just…don't feel good." Dean muttered quietly. Celia drooped. It wasn't in Dean's nature to admit something like that. Not the Dean she knew.
"Yer not gonna for a while." Celia told him truthfully. Dean grunted and choked down the Gatorade. She deemed him dry enough, feeling a slight chill to his skin and the heat layered underneath.
"Alright." Dena muttered and tried to stand, nearly slipping on the drenched floor. Celia quickly caught him and eased his frame back down to the edge of the tub.
"Whoa those ponies, Dean. Yer still in a state." Celia sighed and took the Gatorade from his hands before he dropped it. She set it on the toilet tank and pushed the drenched rug out of the way and draped a light green fleece blanket around Dean's shivering frame.
"Alright, together now, Dean." Celia said, draping one of his arms across her shoulders and her arm around his waist. Dean heaved with a pained gasp and groan and Celia hauled up on his weight.
Shakily and unsteady Dean stood on his own feet and Celia guided him away from the drenched bathroom.
Dean's walk was stiff and pained and as he moved the chill died from his skin and a fever struck full blown. He nearly collapsed. A hand and arm flung out to catch support on the wall, trying to dig his nails into the plaster. Celia hesitated, waiting for Dean's panting to subside and the pinched pain in his face to fade. When his eyes opened the green was glazed over in pain, any clarity that had returned only minuets before drowning again. Celia knew to fact that his vision was swimming and he probably couldn't process any information at all. When Dean took a shaky step in the direction Celia wanted she helped him shuffle the rest of the way down the hall and nudged open the right hand door. A first floor quest bedroom. A king sized bed of aged and highly polished wood stood pushed under a large window and fully made with several pillows and a thick patchwork quilt. Rays of gold sun fell across the room giving it plenty of light. Celia eased Dean around and down on the edge of the bed. She sat next to him and waited for the panting and low moans to subside. Dean hunched forward, bracing his hands on the edge of the bed, his knuckles white from his grip, teeth grit and hissing in pain.
"Dean?" The startled voice of Sam drew Dean back for a minuet.
"Here Sammy," he rasped tiredly.
"Sam." Celia called supportively. She watched the panic flood from Sam's face when he passed through the door and saw his brother looking out at him. Sam slipped in the door with a bundle for clothes in his arms. He swiftly separated jeans, tee shirt and fresh boxers for Dean, a set of jeans for himself over his shoulders. Celia slipped out to grab the Gatorade and came back to set in on the side table of the bed.
"Ya got the aloe?" She asked Sam. He looked confused then reached into the back pocket of his soaked jeans. He handed her the green gel filled bottle.
"Alright Dean, sit back, then we'll leave ya alone." Celia assured. Dean sighed and submitted. He slumped back and braced on his palms. The red welts had developed into fine stinging lines of blood. She sat next to him and rubbed her hand gently over the irritated flesh, wiping the blood away. Dean hissed quietly and shivered under her touch. Celia's hand briefly brushed against the bronze pendant around his neck, nudging it out of the way. It was a startling contrast, the icy cold metal of the horned mask pendant against Dean flushed and burning skin. Her fingers slightly tinged red with Dean's blood Celia squeezed a little of the icy cold aloe gel onto her fingers. She rubbed it a little then into the scratches in his stomach and chest. Dean's head threw back gasping tightly in pain for a second then the stinging subsided entirely and there was nothing but the icy chill of the gel. He sighed heavily and slumped down towards the mattress.
"Alright." Celia sighed, satisfied with the layer of aloe on Dean's scratches. "Damn dog. We'll let ya be Dean, see if ya can finish that bottle of purple." Dean nodded slowly and reached for the tee shirt Sam dumped on the corner of the bed.
"Thanks." He rasped quietly.
"No problem, c'mon Sam." Celia said as she walked passed the taller brother.
"But Dean-"
"C'mon Sam." Celia ordered quietly. The older brother looked at Dean briefly then turned to follow Celia. Dean eased out a sigh at finally have some time alone to assess himself.
He felt like shit and he felt hot and dizzy.
That was as coherent as his thoughts got. Pain and heat and disorientation. Dean slowly pulled off his drenched boxers and pulled on the dry ones. He stood shakily and struggled with the jeans. Then the black tee shirt over his head. He struggled to pull his pendent free and away from his skin. The cool of it burned on his skin like an irritant.
Dean felt drained, reaching across and trying to drain the Gatorade without choking with the threat of an i.v. in mind.
He left a little in the bottle and finally gave over to his exhaustion collapsing onto his side in the bed. The mattress gave under his weight comfortably and Dean felt the drawing pull of unconsciousness like the waves felt the moon. He tried to even his breathing and keep his eyes open. He reached towards his pocket, normally towards a pill bottle full of some prescription to keep him up, either caffeine or methamphetamines. There was nothing now, he cursed under his breath.
…
Valentine crouched pitifully, whining terrified, and pressed against the front screen door in the living room. He knew he was in trouble. He whimpered when Celia walked passed him, she narrowed her eyes at the dog and kept walking to get supplies to clean up the water logged bathroom.
Valentine moaned miserably at the shunning. He wouldn't have considered himself lucky, there were dogs that took beatings that left them with broken bones, in this very town. But the look of sheer disproval and disappointment and harsh words from his beloved mistress was heart breaking. He knew that Celia didn't hate him and would probably get over her anger in half an hour but it was torture of punishment while it lasted. He whined sadly, he could see Buckshot and Alamo across the living room and in the kitchen. The other two dogs remained indifferent, offering no punishment or comfort.
Sam buttoned his fresh jeans, unsure what to do with his damp ones and refrained from putting on a shirt. His skin stung and felt tight again, the pain of the sunburn returning as he calmed.
He heard the whining and looked across at Valentine.
The white shepherd sighed as if in mortal pain. Sam glanced at Celia's back for a second then squatted down.
"Hey buddy. C'mere boy." Sam coaxed. Valentine's brows knitted for a second then the dog lurched to his feet and slunk across to Sam's outstretched hand, he was crouched so low to the ground he was practically belly crawling. The large dog by passed Sam's hand and practically tried to get into his lap, slumping down to lie on the floor at his feet. Valentine whined piteously and hid his face shamefully under his paw.
"Hey buddy." Sam soothed. Petting the large dog's pinned ears and thick neck. He turned the leather collar around.
"Valentine huh? Yeah, you didn't mean it, did you boy? It's alright buddy." Sam assured, scratching the dog's ears. Valentine sat up, whining and licked Sam's hand and face apologetically.
"Yeah buddy, it's alright." Sam soothed. Valentine wagged his tail, happy to have been forgiven by one stranger so quickly.
"Valentine." Celia called. Instantly the shepherd pulled away from Sam and slunk into the kitchen for his sentencing. Sam rose to his full height and followed the dog. Valentine dropped to his belly in the middle of the stone tiled floor, he whined, laid his ears back and looked up at Celia's turned back miserably.
Celia turned and leaned her hip against the counter and stainless steel sink.
"Valentine ya've got this ridiculous obsession with water. I don't mind ya spendin' hours at a time in the water troughs or watering holes. Hell, I've never got after ya for messin' with the water pump or the kitchen sink or barkin' at the washing machine!" Celia pointed at the washing machine, waiting on Dean's boxers and Sam's jeans.
Valentine whined quietly. Sam couldn't understand why Celia was talking to the dog like he was a child or another person, but it seemed to be doing the trick as Valentine looked like he was ready to be sick he was so sad.
"But ya cain't go crashin' into the bath tub! No Valentine!"
The white dog flinched at her voice.
"No more in the bath tub! Not by yerself, not with Imogene, not anybody! Do not jump on people! Understood?!"
Valentine whined softly.
"Alright." Celia turned to Sam. "Did ya forgive him?" She asked. Sam only nodded dumbly. She glared down at the dog pressing into her floor. He whined pitifully. Celia sighed and rubbed her face. Like a defeated mother and she slapped her palm against her thigh.
"C'mere." She said tiredly.
Valentine lunged to his feet, rushing and practically slamming into Celia's legs in apology, whining and wagging his tail and licking her hand.
"Yeah yeah, ya damn fool dog." Celia petted him between the ears, assuring him he was forgiven for now. "Now go ask the other one ya jumped on for forgiveness."
Glad to have been forgiven, Valentine bounded out of the kitchen and down the hall; he pushed the door to the guestroom door open and bounded in. He frozen stiffening and suddenly understanding this was a sick room and there were certain rules and ways a dog acted in a sick room. Pinning his ears and sniffing, Valentine whined and tiptoed to the bed where Dean was slumped with his eyes half lidded.
Dean's eyes flashed in memory and he tried to push himself up and away from the dog, but lacked the strength. Valentine pinned his ears and whined sympathetically, stalking over and pressing his pink nose into Dean's slacked hand. He licked the fevered flesh gently. Dean relaxed after a second and stretched a little to gently pet the white dog between the ears. Dean stretched his neck to read the collar.
"Valentine." He muttered thickly, coughing slightly. The shepherd whined again, his big heart suddenly breaking for the broken man in front of him.
He licked the inside of Dean's wrist, trying to sooth the heat away. Dean's eyes shut, accepting the comfort whole heartedly.
Valentine knew he was sick. He could tell, but unlike a human he knew how sick. Valentine could see the sickness in the body, and the sickness in the heart and mind, too. Like the taller man, but that sickness had a different brand, a different scent to it, and outward force. Here it was like the cancers that people in the town sometimes got, they made themselves sick.
With a huff Valentine braced his paws against the mattress and hefted his weight up next to Dean's. The white dog eased himself down to curl against Dean's stomach and legs. The white dog draped his head over Dean's hip and settled back gently. Dean was a little surprised by the comforting weight but reached down and gently pet the dogs shoulder before folding his arms up against his chest.
Dean's eyes drifted, heavier and for the first in a long time he felt secure enough to allow himself to sleep with Valentine sitting sentinel.
Well, not much Dean and Sam in this one, mostly Tuscarora town dynamics…ugh pink lemonade…
The Planet Mary and All Her Woes…