Sorry for the long delay, been trying to manage things with hubby out of town for the past four months, and with four kids, something always has to give, besides just my sanity. Thanks Haley for kicking my butt to ge this posted, and thanks for reading. Thanks againt to everyone who's following this series and for the awesome reviews. bambers;)

The moment the deputies left the jail with Dean, Rowan was on his feet, and heading toward the door. Pushing aside the feeling of guilt that tugged at his heart, he skirted the building and made his way to the corral. It's not like I owe him anything, he reassured himself as the thought of leaving Dean behind to die continued to nag at the back of his mind. For all I know, he could be a shapeshifter.

After making sure there was no one inside the building, he saddled his horse, and climbed up on her back. With a nudge to her flanks, Shadowslayer took off at a gallop, away from the center of town and from Dean. He seems to know more about me than anyone ever has before . . . what if he's telling the truth? He shook his head, disregarding the notion, but couldn't deny that Dean had known his real name and how he'd become a vampire. Those were two secrets he had never shared with anyone before, and that had to mean something. If I did tell him then it would have to mean that I trust him even more than I trust Micheal Dean . . . and I am letting him hang. Well, that kinda thing could certainly put a crimp in our friendship.

"Sonuvabitch," he muttered under his breath, pulling back on his horse's reins, and guiding her to turn back around. "Come on, girl," he pat Shadowslayer on the side of her long, sleek neck, "let's go save the damsel in distress." Kicking her into a gallop, he made a wide arch around the buildings, and charged toward the small lynch mob.

Through narrowed eyes, he saw Dean kick one of the deputies, and as the man's hand loosened on the rope the newest Winchester in his life had fallen to the ground. Within a heartbeat, they had the rope pulled taut again, and had hefted Dean off the ground, strangling him. So intent on killing him, they never even heard Rowan's approach, or if they had they didn't seem worried about it in the slightest.

With the grace and skill only a vampire could possess, Rowan slipped his leg over the side of his horse, and leapt off of its back as it charged past the deputies. Not about to try and reason with the men, he gripped hold of the tallest of the three, swung him around and slammed a fist into his jaw. As the man fell to his knees his hold on the rope broke, and Dean slid bonelessly to the ground. The two other men turned on Rowan, and dropping the rope, they circled him.

"Look," Rowan uttered in an almost bored tone, not moving a muscle in an effort to defend himself. "I know you're probably thinking to yourself, he's only one guy, we can take him no problem. But the problem with that logic is that I'm kinda pissed off that you guys were tryin' to hang my friend . . . and I'm also kinda hungry, which wouldn't mean a whole helluva lot until you factor in the fangs." Eyes alighting with an unearthly gleam, his lips parted slightly, exposing sharpened fangs. Both men stopped dead in their tracks and gaped in sudden overwhelming fear. He chuckled, reveling in the stark look of terror in their beady eyes. "Yeah, I figured that would probably make all the difference in the world. It's just one of those things about me that always seems to scare the hell out of people."

"Y-you're . . . you're a - "

"I'm someone you never wanna mess with," Rowan was quick to interrupt the shorter of the three men, not about to confirm or deny that he was a vampire. "But let's just say that if you don't hightail it out of here right now, they'll be searching for your bodies for a very long time."

Giving it less than a moment's thought, all three tore off in different directions. Rowan shook his head in disbelief as his deep laughter filled the air. The laughter died quickly on his lips however, recalling how swiftly terror could fill the heart's of men when they believed a monster was in their midst. He'd witnessed it before, watched as normally good people turned on their friends and neighbors, claiming that they were some sort of demonic creature that needed to be destroyed. If the Salem Witch Trials had taught him only one thing, it was that nothing could turn people against each other quicker than their own deep rooted fears, and it was for that reason, Rowan rarely revealed what he truly was to anyone.

Rowan crouched beside Dean, loosened the noose from around his neck and carefully removed it. Deep reddish welts rimmed his throat, rubbed raw from the coarse fibers of the rope. He pressed his eyes closed and listened intently, and breathed a sigh of relief when he detected a weak heartbeat coming from the younger man. If he had waited a few minutes longer to rescue Dean, he wouldn't have been so lucky, and then he would be stuck explaining his death to Michael.

"Dean." He gently nudged the younger man on the shoulder, but he failed to respond. "Come on, Dean, I saved your sorry ass, now wake up." Noticing that Dean's lips were tinged a light shade of blue, he cursed under his breath. Rowan quickly lowered his head to Dean's chest, and listened. Dean's chest barely rose as he drew in a shallow breath and released it, but at least he was breathing on his own. "Damn it, don't you die on me."

For as long as he had been around Micheal Dean and Thomas Samuel, he still sometimes forgot how fragile humans really were. Gently pressing his fingertips to the underside of Dean's neck, he cautiously moved his fingers forward, checking for any deformities. He breathed another thankful sigh when he found nothing that would indicate that they had broken Dean's neck.

With a low whistle to call Shadowslayer back to him, he gathered the unconscious man up in his arms, and pushed himself to his feet. "You do realize this is carrying the whole damsel in distress thing a bit too far, right?" He chuckled, certain that if Dean was awake he would probably try to kick his ass for the comment.

"Easy girl," he soothed Shadowslayer as he carefully positioned Dean on the saddle, and climbed up onto her back. "That's my good girl," he softly purred, reaching around the unconscious man to loving stroke her behind her ear.

Once he had Dean better situated in front of himself, making certain his head wouldn't jostle overly much during the ride, he prodded Shadowslayer into a steady gait, heading toward Samuel Colt's home in Connecticut.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

"Jax?" Sam called, searching his unfamiliar surroundings for his friend. Where was he? Looking up at the large mansion before him, he wondered how he'd gotten there. The last thing he remembered they'd been at Jax's childhood home saving Becca. He patted his pockets in search of his cell phone and came up empty.

A sudden and troubling thought surfaced as he moved up the unpaved walkway to the large stone mansion. Was I possessed again? Is that why I can't remember getting here? He wondered, remembering the last time he'd experienced lost time was when Meg had possessed him. But the tattoo, it's supposed to protect me from that happening again. His mind flitted back to Lucifer stepping out from within the devil's trap Sam had drawn around the demon's feet. If that can't hold him...then maybe the tattoo doesn't protect against him possessing me.

He mounted the few steps to the mansion door and looked for a doorbell. Finding none he lifted the heavy iron knocker on the door, listening to his knock echo through the large entranceway as he waited for someone to answer the door. He hoped to use the owner's phone to call Jax or Bobby. God, please don't let me have hurt them. He thought, remembering the last time he'd been possessed and how he'd almost killed Jo and had shot Dean.

A stocky, dark-haired man with a thick bushy beard answered the door, looking tired and annoyed. "Can I help ya, son?"

"Umm...I was hoping to use your telephone," Sam said with a polite smile. He watched the man's brow furrow and his eyes narrow as he studied Sam more closely.

"My what? Sir, who are you and what business do ya have on my property?"

"S-Sam Winch-chester," Sam stammered taken aback by the older man's reaction to his request. "L-listen Mr...."

"Mr. Colt, Samuel Colt."

"S-Samuel Colt?"

"Yeah, son, I'm Samuel Colt."

Squinting his eyes, Colt studied Sam closely, and it was clear from his growing look of apprehension that Sam had about two seconds to explain his reasons for being there or risk being shot by the famous gun maker. But how could he even begin to explain when he had no idea how he'd gotten there in the first place?

"I - I think I'm lost . . . ." Sam's voice trailed off as he pivoted on his heel to take in the neatly keep, snow-covered grounds of the mansion, and then turned back to appraise the heavy-set man in more detail. If his finely tailored, old-fashioned suit, outdated hairstyle and curling mustache were any indication of who he said he was, Sam would have to assume he was telling the truth. His brows pulled together in bewilderment as he gaped slacked-jawed at the man standing in front of him. "You - You're really Samuel Colt? The gun maker?"

Eying Sam suspiciously, the portly man shuffled nervously on his feet. "I've already said that I am twice now . . . are you alright?" he asked, pointing at the seeping cut on Sam's forehead.

"Yeah, I'm so definitely lost," Sam mumbled, racking his brain trying to figure out not only how he'd gotten sent back in time, but also how he was going to get home. He rubbed the tender bump on the back of his head, and wondered absently if maybe he was hallucinating. "Luci - Nick must've done this to me."

"Did what to you?" Confusion and something akin to outright curiosity warred for dominance on the older man's deeply etched features. "Do you need a doctor, son?"

"What year is this?" Sam asked, ignoring Colt's question, still trying to figure out if it were actually possible to travel back through time. And if it so, what had happened to Jax, Becca and Luke in the future? If Sam was here in this time frame, had the demon killed all of them? "How the hell am I supposed to get back home?" he muttered to himself. "Not like there's some DeLorean hidden behind a billboard that I can speed back through time with." A half-crazed laugh slipped past his lips, thinking how much Dean would have appreciated the pop-culture reference, Colt on the other hand, didn't look quite as impressed.

"It's 1835." With his hand on the door, Colt took a backward step toward the inner safety of his home. "An' maybe you should be movin' along before I have someone round up the sheriff."

Sam's head shot up, sudden understanding dawning on him."The year you made the Colt?" If Lucifer had sent him back to this moment in time, it must have had something to do with the demon killing gun. "Have you made it yet?"

"I've made a lot of guns, son."

"No, I'm talking about the Colt . . . the one that can kill anything . . . ." Sam's voice once again trailed off as he wondered about the legend of the Colt. A lone man had come to Colt one night before the comet passed overhead and commissioned him to make the special gun. Sam had the knowledge of the gun . . . not necessarily the knowhow to make it a demon killer, but still he could describe it in great detail. What if he had been the one who had told Colt how to make the gun in the first place?

"All my guns have the potential to kill anything . . . deer, bears, mountain lions . . . you name it, an' you can probably kill it with one of my weapons." Colt boasted, although from the look in his dark eyes, he was also being evasive to a certain extent.

"I'm talkin' about a gun that can kill bad things," Sam clarified, hoping that if Colt understood that he knew about demons, he would come clean on his own beliefs. "Evil things."

Tilting his head to the side as if to better appraise Sam, Colt narrowed his eyes on him as he scrubbed a hand through his thick beard. "I don't know what you're talking about," he finally said after a few moments. Before Sam could even think to react, the older man reached behind his back, yanked out a gun and aimed it as his chest. "I think you'd better leave."

"I'm leavin'." With hands raised, Sam slowly backed down the steps. He was now certain that Colt knew exactly what he was talking about, and was afraid. His first thoughts that he might have told the gun maker about the Colt were wrong, someone already had discussed the plans with him. And if that were true, there had to be another hunter around, someone he could talk to who wouldn't think he was out of his mind. But how the hell was he supposed to find the man when he wasn't even exactly sure where he was? "By any chance is there a local bar around here?" he asked, pressing his luck that the older man wouldn't shoot. If there was one thing he knew about hunters, it was that they drank . . . sometimes they drank a lot, and so his best bet was to search the man out in one of the establishments in town.

With his gun barrel, he gestured off to the right, then leveled it back on Sam. "There's Molly's place and The Wild-Eyed Joker about ten miles up the road."

"Thanks." Sam gave the man a tight-lipped smile as he cautiously backed away, not about to turn his back on any man holding a gun.

"Don't mention it an' don't come back because next time I won't be so amicable."

"Yeah, you've been a real peach," Sam muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

A slight jarring motion, startled Dean awake, and he blinked hard against the early morning sun. His first thought was that maybe Rowan had put a quarter in the magic fingers machine on his motel room bed, but vaguely realized he was sleeping in an upright position.

For some reason the inside of throat burned as if he'd swallowed acid, and as he touched his fingertips to his skin he felt deep welts rimming his entire neck. Then with sudden, startling clarity the memory of almost being hung came rushing back to him.

"Welcome back to the world of the almost living," Rowan chuckled from behind him. "Did anyone ever tell you, you talk in your sleep?"

"Wh-what happened?" Dean rasped, clutching hold of the sides of his neck as intense fiery pain seared the inside of his throat.

"Yeah, you probably shouldn't talk for a while." Rowan laughed, reaching behind himself to grab a canteen, and handed it to Dean. "I stopped in town and bought this canteen for ya. I don't have much need for water, but figured you would probably need it."

"Thanks," Dean whispered, wincing as the pain didn't lessen even while talking softly. Taking a slow swig of the cold liquid, he immediately began coughing. Plumes of white mist rose into the cold morning air as his harsh barking cough filled the quiet that surrounded them.

"As for what happened," Rowan went on to say, ignoring Dean's immense discomfort, "I saved your sorry ass from those men who wanted to see you dangling from the end of a rope . . . so, in my way of thinking you owe me."

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, turning his head to look Rowan in the eyes for a brief moment before refocusing his attention on the snow-covered trail in front of them. "You can forget about it, Rowan," he whispered, "I'm not gonna tell you how you can die until you help me find the Ark."

"So much for the undying gratitude I was expecting."

"You were gonna let them hang me." Dean glanced over his shoulder again, pinning the vampire with a stare, waiting for him to try and deny it, but he remained stonily silent. "What made you change your mind?"

"For as stupid as it may sound, my mind is more at rest knowing there are Winchesters in the world, an' I guess that would include you as well," Rowan conceded with a heavy groan. "But it still doesn't mean I like you."

"Rest assured the feeling's mutual." Dean smiled. Even if Rowan didn't want to believe they were best friends in the future, Dean could still feel the undeniable bond of their friendship growing to span the wide gape separating the two time frames. "How much further till we get to Colt's house?"

"It's about another day's ride if we keep at this pace." Rowan fell silent for a moment as he looked straight ahead into the distance. To Dean it seemed as if the vamp wanted to ask him something or maybe the faraway look on his face was meant to mask his hunger. In the future, Rowan had found other means to quench his thirst, owning his own hospital to assure he could always get his hands on fresh blood if the need arose, but in the past he wouldn't be as fortunate. If he was really hungry, and there was no other acceptable source of food, would he consider killing Dean to get what he needed? "I need a distraction," Rowan uttered, the forced cheerfulness in his voice confirming that he was indeed starving. "Tell me about your father."

"My dad was a Marine before he became a hunter." Dean grinned with a certain amount of pride that his father had always chosen the route of protecting people who couldn't protect themselves.

"I don't understand . . . what's a Marine? An' why would he want to be one?"

Dean bit pensively at his lower lip as he tried to think of the best way to describe the different branches of the military so that Rowan would understand. "He was like a soldier, but the kind who could really kick ass. Only the best of the best can be in the Marines."

"And this makes you proud of him? Why?" The curiosity in Rowan's deeply masculine voice was undeniable. "Wars are stupid . . . people die an' nothing ever gets solved."

"And you don't consider fighting demons as a war?"

"What's your father's name?" Rowan asked, ignoring his question, and from this Dean gathered that the vampire had no intention of sharing anything more about himself than what Dean already knew.

"John."

"Ah, like John the Baptist." Rowan gave a nod of understanding as if his father had really been named after the prophet. "That makes sense . . . a man on the forefront of change. Does he realize the importance of the things that are to come?"

"My father died," Dean somehow managed to choke out through the thick knot that had formed in his throat. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, and he was grateful that the vampire couldn't see his face at the moment.

"Sorry, how'd he die?"

Not liking the idea of dredging up the painful memories of his father's deal to save him, Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Look, I really don't wanna talk about this with you."

Rowan was silent for a moment, and Dean almost believed that he would let the matter drop, but then he cleared his throat, and spoke. "So you're not proud of the way he died . . . or else you feel it was your fault - that's it, isn't it?" The vampire threw back his head and laughed when Dean's shoulders slumped. "I'm right, aren't I?"

"I was dying, and he traded his soul for my life," Dean mumbled dejectedly as he brushed away the lone tear trailing down his cheek. "So, no I'm not proud of the way he died . . . an' yeah, I do feel responsible for it. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Don't be so hard on him, Dean, people have squandered away their souls for a lot less valiant reasons. I think it's really rather noble if you ask me . . . a man facing an eternity in Hell to save one of the people he cares for most in the world. It says a lot about his character as a man, and you should never be ashamed of that."

"If he had just let me die . . . if he had lived instead of me, things would have been a lot different. Better. He was a better hunter than me . . . he could've protected Sam."

"Maybe," Rowan conceded with a shrug. "But there's a lot to be said for fierce loyalty, an' I'd bet my last dollar you have that one covered in spades."

"How can you say that, you don't even know me."

"Of course I do, Dean, we're best friends, remember?" He chuckled as he clapped Dean on the back. "An' besides, I must've trusted the hell out of you if I told you my real name . . . not to mention my aversion to bats."

Dean fell silent, lost in his own thoughts. Given the time to reflect on his growing hunger, Rowan's body grew rigid, hands tightening around the reins. Shadowslayer whinnied in protest, rearing up, and nearly knocked both of them out of the saddle. Rowan immediately loosened his grip, and guided his horse back into a slow gait.

"Damn it, I told ya I needed a distraction . . . you stop talkin' an' all I can hear is the blood rushing through your veins," Rowan snapped harshly, scowling at the younger man. "Maybe I haven't mentioned this before, but I like blood, Dean . . . I like it a lot - So unless you wanna be my dinner, I'd suggest you get over your 'poor me I've had such a tough life' attitude, and start talking."

"That's odd," Dean couldn't help but tease the frustrated vamp, noticing how hard he was trying to control his need to sink his fangs into Dean's flesh. "In the future you can't even stomach the sight of blood. In fact you're kinda like a girl . . . you actually fainted once when I got a small cut."

"Seriously?" Rowan's brows pulled together, trying to imagine what could've happened to make him dislike the taste or sight of blood. "So what do I eat then?"

"Mostly oatmeal . . . you say it's what all the cool vamps eat," Dean said, trying his damnedest to keep a straight face. "Of course, the fact that you've lost your fangs might have something to do with your new preference to mushy food."

"Oh God, please tell me you're kidding . . . or jus' kill me now."

"No, I'm serious, but hardly any one can tell you're wearing dentures - it's probably cause they're too busy noticing your wig."

Rowan swallowed hard, imagining a future where he was bald and toothless. "So . . . in the future, I'm a bald, toothless vampire?"

If there was one thing he knew without a doubt about the vamp it was that he was overly cocky about his appearance. He'd made references to being the better looking of them numerous times, and couldn't resist tormenting him a little more. "You forgot overweight . . . all that oatmeal really packed on the pounds . . . but I've been getting you to work out a bit - you've been kind of a shut-in since the whole rashy, skin condition started." Dean burst out laughing at the look of sheer horror on his friend's face.

"So you think that's funny?" Rowan's frown deepened as he pulled back on the horse's reins, bring her to a halt. "Get the hell off my horse."

"You can't be serious, I was just joking, Rowan," he uttered, meeting the vampire's angry glare, and realized he wasn't kidding. "You said to distract you, an' that's what I did."

"Get off, Dean - Now."

"No." Pursing his lips, Dean shook his head. "You're gonna help me find the Ark."

"If you don't get off my damn horse, I will kill you," Rowan growled, fangs descending to rip through his gums. Blood filled his mouth, igniting his ravenous hunger. Squeezing his eyes shut, he desperately fought off the need to rip Dean's throat apart and gorge himself on his blood. "Please . . . jus' get off an' run."

XxXxXxXxXxXxX

If the long walk to town taught Sam anything, it was that he had definitely gone back in time. Some of houses that lined the road, new and elegant now, would be the historical restorations of the future. Others would crumble and be replaced by larger steel constructions. Several horse-drawn wagons passed him by on the deeply rutted road, and the people inside actually waved and smiled at him. Most of the women he'd seen had worn long woolen dresses and bonnets, while the men looked more like farmers in their cowboy hats and attire. He quickly distinguished the richer townfolk, who rode around in fine carriages, and wore expensive suits much like the one that Colt had worn.

There was a strange peacefulness to this time that Sam had never experienced before in all his life, and he found himself smiling despite the cold. Everything about his life in the future was all about hunting, here things seemed slower in a good way, even if Samuel hadn't been the nicest person he had ever met.

Not having any money that would be useful in 1835, he only stayed at Molly's Place long enough to determine it was a more upscale bar, and definitely not the kind of place a hunter would stay at for any length of time. Wild-Eyed Jokers, one the other hand, reminded him a lot of the Roadhouse, except he could never imagine Ellen or Jo wearing the tight-fitting dresses the barmaids in this establishment wore. A half-grin slid across his features, imagining the comments Dean would have been making if he had seen the heaving chests of the blond and brunette serving beer to the patrons. He would have liked this . I bet he could've been happy here. His smile faded, recalling how broken his brother had looked the night he'd walked out of his life for the last time. He would've never admitted it, but he really had pinned all his hopes on Sam finding a way to break the deal. I'm so sorry, Dean. God, I wish it were me instead . . . you should've let it be me.

The stale, beer-scented air, filled Sam's lungs as he crossed the darkly lit room and took a seat at the bar beside a dark-haired man who didn't look much older than himself. Head lowered, he found himself studying the man out of the corner of his eye. He had the look of a hunter, but that wasn't saying much as most of the rough crowd in the bar had almost the same exact look. Most of the men were unshaven, had several days growth of beard, and from all appearances hadn't bathed in days at the very least. This man, however, was cleanly shaved, bathed, and had a curiously familiar grin.

The dark-haired man suddenly shifted in his seat and gave Sam a brief glance before lowering his head to take a drink of his whiskey. "What?" he asked when Sam still continued to gawk at him.

"Huh?" Sam's brows rose in confusion, and then realized that he had been staring at him. "Sorry, I just thought you looked kind of familiar." Even though Sam knew it was an impossibility, he really did look vaguely familiar.

"Familiar like I owe you money an' you're gonna try an' kick my ass if I don't pay up?" he asked before taking another swallow of his drink. "Cause I wouldn't try it if I were you."

"No, I'm pretty sure you don't owe me any money."

"Well, that'd be a first." The man chuckled, the deep, rich sound of it reminding Sam of the times he had heard his father laugh when he was younger. "My name's Seth." He extended an arm to shake Sam's hand.

"I'm Sam - "

"Winchester, I thought we'd find you here," came a loud, gravelly voice from the doorway, cutting Sam off, and both he and Seth swung around in their seats to stare at eight men heading in their direction. "We've got some unfinished business to take care of."

"See, told you it would be a first," Seth muttered to Sam, not taking his eyes off the burly man in the lead.

"Winchester?" Sam gaped, slack-jawed at the man sitting beside him. "Seth Winchester?"

"Guhh . . . don't tell me I do owe you money," Seth grumbled, seemingly unconcerned about the men who were now standing no more than five feet away from him.

"He one of you?" the man sneered, bobbing his head toward Sam.

Seth shrugged. "Hmmm . . . I dunno, lemme check." He raised his head slightly and sniffed at the air, then shook his head. "Nope, not as far as I can tell, but he is wearing aftershave so I could be mistaken." He parted his mouth slightly, bit at his lower lip, and if Sam wasn't completely mistaken, he could've sworn he'd noticed fangs. "Maybe I should ask him though," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully as he returned his attention to Sam. "Tell me something, Sam, do you prefer your meat extra rare an' bloody or are you more of a fully cooked kinda guy?"

Now certain of two very distinct truths; the first of which being that Seth was somehow related to him, and the second being that he was a vampire, his eye's widened considerably. "You're a-a - "

"Well, there's your answer, boys." Seth laughed good-naturedly, resting a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Stuttering is always a sure sign that he's just learned what I am and is as scared as all hell."

"I'm not afraid of you," Sam snapped, shrugging Seth's hand off of him. "I've killed a helluva lot worse things than vamps . . . an' I'm jus' trying to decide if that's what I should do to you."

"Aww . . . damn it all to hell." Seth's smile faded quickly to a menacing scowl. "Jus' what I needed tonight, another freakin' hunter to add to the mix. "Sam an' Dean are gonna kill me for sure," he mumbled more to himself than anyone in particular. "Not to mention Rowan who's gonna snap my neck in two when he finds out."

"Sam an' Dean?" Sam uttered louder than he'd intended in his sudden confusion. He knew he wasn't talking about him or his brother, but if not them who was he referring to? "Who the hell are they?"

"Not that it's any of your damn business, but they're my brothers."

"They're vamps, too?" Somehow, cosmically that would make perfect sense to Sam. His family was forced into a life of hunting to make up for the past mistakes of his ancestors. And yet, even if they were vampires, and directly responsible for everything his family had endured, how could he kill any of them without risking his own future?

"Actually they're hunters like . . . ." Seth's voice abruptly trailed off as he tilted is head to the side, narrowed his eyes and took a really good look at Sam. "Sonuva - "

"Bitch," Sam finished the sentiment, realizing for the first time how closely they resembled each other.

"This just isn't possible." The vampire shook his head, backing away from Sam. "No way in hell is this possible. We're the only Winchesters left . . . who the bleedin' bloody hell are you?"

"I don't care who he is or what you are," the burly man interjected as he grabbed hold of Seth's arm, and roughly yanked him off of his barstool. "Ya killed my little girl, an' we're here ta string ya up."

"Should we take him, too, Ed?" asked a stocky man who was nearly as tall as Sam.

"We should take him," a shorter, beady-eyed man chimed in from his position of safety behind the taller man. "Jus' look at him . . . he has to be one of them."

"Yeah, take him, too," Ed ordered, and the others moved in, gripping hold of Sam's arms. "We don't wanna take any chances."

Seth smirked, not at all concerned about being hung by the lynch mob. But why should he be, Sam reasoned, he wasn't going to die, so why should he care if Sam wouldn't be as fortunate?

"Not that I was around at the time, but I think this is how the whole witch trials thing began in Salem." Seth casually commented as he let himself be led from the bar without so much as a struggle. Behind him, six men dragged Sam toward the door as he kicked and squirmed in their arms. "Someone tells a little white lie, things get blown out of proportion, an' the next thing ya know innocent people are being hung while the guilty still roam the streets at night unconcerned about getting caught."

"Would you shut the hell up?" Sam snarled, casting a venomous glare in Seth's direction.

"I'm jus' sayin' is all." Seth shrugged, feigning a brief look of guilt for Sam's benefit, and then his grin returned and deepened as he eyed the woodsy area they were heading toward. "I've heard that some men wet themselves when they're hung . . . sure hope that doesn't happen to you, Sam."

Once they were far enough away from town, two men strung thick ropes over a sturdy Oak, and tied nooses into the other end, while two others tied Sam and Seth's hands behind their backs. Sam bucked and twisted, fighting desperately against the three men holding him as the ropes were tightly secured around his wrists. No one even seemed to notice or be concerned that Seth didn't even lift a finger to defend himself. If they had, they might have realized that vampires couldn't die by being hung.

"Tell 'em I'm not a vamp," Sam hissed as they tied more ropes around his ankles, and slipped the noose around his neck. "Tell 'em before I make sure they know how to kill you, too."

"What are ya talkin' about, Sam?" Seth asked with a look of wide-eyed innocence, putting up a meager fight as the men placed the noose around his neck so as to not rouse their suspicions. "Everyone knows the only way to kill a vamp is by snapping its neck . . . an' here I thought you said you were a hunter."

"You boys said your final peace to whatever maker ya both were spawned from?" Ed asked, breaking in on their argument, and motioned for the men to pull the ropes taut.

"I'm good, how about you, Sam?" Seth smiled, narrowing his eyes on Sam for a moment before looking off into the distance.

"If I somehow get out of this, I am gonna kill you even if you are family," Sam vowed, casting a hateful glance in the vampire's direction, but Seth wasn't paying any attention to him as he continued to stare into the darkened woods.

Sam opened his mouth to threaten Seth again, when the roped were abruptly pulled even tighter, and he found himself being lifted off the ground by his throat. Gagging, he gasped for air as he dangled several feet above the snowy ground.

"A little higher, boys, an' then tie them ropes off to that tree," Ed commanded, gesturing to a nearby pine tree.

Sam struggled vainly to gain his footing as he was hefted even higher in the air, then suddenly the rope jerked forward and snapped in two. Dropping to the ground, he snaked around just in time to see Seth fall in a heap beside him.

"Betcha ya didn't expect that, huh?" Seth grinned at Sam, bobbing his head toward the trees, and for the first time Sam notice two men on horseback. "Those are my brothers, an' they don't take kindly ta anyone tryin' ta hurt me."

"I'd suggest you all go home now," one of the two horsemen called out, leveling his gun on Ed. "Unless ya all really wanna see how deadly I can be with this gun."

"That's Thomas Samuel," Seth commentated, "he's a bit on the cocky side, but I've seem him put a silver round through werewolf's heart from more than seventy yards out, so if I were them I'd listen to him."

The men, who had witness the brothers' excellent marksmanship and heard Seth, slowly backed away. However, Ed, who was looking for justice for his daughter, was so not easily frightened. He stood his ground, and hastily made for his own gun, but a bullet whizzed through the air, and sliced through his upper arm. A sharp cry of pain echoed through the woods as the burly man clutched hold of the bloody wound.

"My brother told ya to go, don't make this into a bloodbath because you will die - all of you," said the other rider, in a low deadly tone.

"An' that's Micheal Dean," Seth said, pulling himself up into a sitting position. "He's usually the more reflective one, but get him pissed an' ya better run for cover . . . . he's really pissed now."

"Whatever you think my brother did, I can assure you, you're mistaken," Micheal Dean went on to say, never taking his eyes off of Ed.

"He killed my daughter," Ed argued, still not backing down even though all of men had scattered the moment Micheal had shot him.

"Did you, Seth?" Thomas asked, leveling his shotgun on Seth's throat.

"I swear I didn't touch anyone," Seth vowed, and Sam could hear the slight tremor of fear in his voice that hadn't been present until now. "It was someone else . . . something else."

"Well, there ya have it - he didn't hurt anyone, so I'd suggest you leave," Thomas shifted his gun back to Ed, and his finger tensed on the trigger. "You already had your one warning shot, we're not giving you another."

Ed glanced around, realized he was alone and out gunned, and hastily backed away. Amidst the sound of Seth's laughter, he swore his revenge, turned and ran back through the trees.

The two riders guided their horses through the pines, and came to a halt in front of Sam and Seth. They both slid off their saddles in one fluid movement, and were at their brother's side in an instance.

"I swear, Seth," Micheal said as he untied his hands and feet, "one of these day's you're gonna get us killed, an' I'm gonna haunt yer sorry ass."

"Yeah, I know." Seth chuckled, rubbing his chaffed wrists. "But before that happens, I'll turn ya both an' we can go all vampy on these stupid humans."

"Who's yer friend?" Micheal turned his attention to Sam, and drew in a staggering breath. "Sonuva - " his voice abruptly trailed off as he stared open mouthed at him.

"That's what I said, too, when I got a good look at him." Seth chuckled. "Downright scary isn't it . . . thought maybe he was a shifter, but his eyes are a different color than yours an' a shifter wouldn't make that kind of stupid mistake."

"Who the hell are you?" Thomas asked, pressing the barrel of his gun into Sam's back.

"Sam Winchester," Sam hissed, scowling as he recalled how he had thought 1835 seemed so peaceful in comparison to the future.

"I figure he must somehow be a relation to us," Seth interjected, pushing Sam out of the way to grab hold of Thomas' gun. "An' we don't kill family, remember?"

Biting at his lower lip, Micheal looked at Thomas for a moment as if he was trying to decide something, and then refocused his attention on Sam. "Are you related to a Dean Winchester by any chance?"

"Dean?" Sam's eyes narrowed considerably, brows furrowing in confusion. "How could you know that . . . how could you possibly know that?"

"Well, we just ran into him about two days ago in New York, an' he looked so much like Thomas, I just figured . . . ."

"You ran into Dean - short, scruffy-haired," he waved his hand around his hair, "green eyes . . . cocky as all hell attitude, Dean Winchester?"

"Yeah, that's him, except he had some sort of mohawk hair thing going on, an' I think it was blue . . . maybe green . . . weird really."

"He said his name was Dean Winchester, an' Rowan seemed to know him," Thomas continued onward as Micheal apparently contemplated the weirdness of colored hair. "He said Dean was a really distant relation to us, so you're either his brother or this is jus' too strange of a coincidence for my liking."

"Wh-where is he?" Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Sam tried desperately not to get his hopes up, there was no possible way it could be his brother. Tears welled and stung at his eyes at the thought of seeing his brother again, but there had to be some sort of mistake. "I need to see him . . . please, if you know where he is, you gotta tell me."

Micheal pulled off his cowboy hat, and ruffled a hand through his hair. "Last we saw of him, the sheriff was leading him and Rowan away to jail. Think they're gonna try an' hang them . . . so by my figurin', they be here by tomorrow - what would you think, Thomas?"

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

"He's coming here?" Sam's heart leapt into his throat, then made a hasty beeline toward the pit of his stomach. He couldn't believe his brother was alive. He'd thought so many times that he was alive, and had always been proven wrong. Still, even as he tried to convince himself that it couldn't possibly be Dean, hope surged through his entire heart and soul. "You're sure . . . really sure?"

"Yeah, we're sure." Micheal Dean smiled. "Sounds like you've been really missing him, bet he'll be glad ta see you, too, I'd imagine."

"You can't even begin to imagine how much I've missed him."