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.

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."
-Fredrich Nietzsche

Chapter Ten: Homewrecker

"Homewrecker
I know what you're doin'
You think you're gonna ruin what I got, But you're not
Yeah you little go getter
I'll teach you a lesson
If you get to messin' with my man
You don't stand a chance
No, you're just a homewrecker..."

- Gretchen Wilson -Homewrecker

Sam blinked awake and shifted around on the couch he had a split second to breathe before he plunged off of the couch and slammed into the hardwood floor, his head striking the wood with a painful crack. Sam gasped wetly and whimpered rubbing his skull and trying to force away the throbbing. He slumped onto the floor and groaned quietly. Sam licked his lips and looked around at the ceiling.

It wasn't that he didn't realize where he was or how he'd gotten to this point. It was the lack of immediate interaction with an animal that struck him.

He'd only spent sixteen or so hours at the ranch and he found himself extremely used top the idea that no matter what he did or where her went in the house there was an animal. A dog or cat or a cow or something walking passed him or staring at him.

There was none.

It instilled in him a small pang of loneness. Sam sat up and pushed himself to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen, ruffling his hair and rubbing his noise. He bumped into the wall and suppressed a yelp of pain. He flinched and shrank in on himself in mild agony. He glanced down at his shoulder, the flesh that had made contact with the wall was so red it seemed inflamed. It looked like his skin was caked and dry and starting to bubble. It sent a flair of pain and fear through him. It looked like acid burn. Sam suddenly wanted to know exactly what the hell was going on. He heard crackling and someone speaking over a radio before it died. He looked up, and noticed the walkie-talkie and the shift of paper on the table. He went over and looked down to brief the note. Still disturbed by the bubbling of his skin Sam reached fore the radio and flicked it on, hesitating and licking his dry lips for a second then spoke over the radio.

"Red?"

There was a crackled and hesitation and Sam started to speak again. Then:

"Yeah?"

He sighed, "Red, its Sam."

"Everythin' alright?" Celia's voice was sharp over the radio.

Sam felt a spike of relief at the concern in her tone, "I just woke up, there's something wrong with my skin." He stammered nervously.

There was a sigh from the other end, either it was annoyance or relief. "Sam does it look sort of like bubbles are startin' to come up?"

"Yeah."

"Yer quick on the heal then Sam. Leave it alone, yer skin is tryin' to start peelin'."

"This the kid with the sunburn, Celia?" Sam started a little at the third voice over the radio, rough and thick with Nevada accent and the there was ring of laughter in the male's voice. Sam berated himself for a second before realizing that it was stupid to set to a different channel on the walkie-talkies for everyone. He was unsure how many people were listening so he kept his answers cropped.

"Yeah, Pastor Bill." Celia replied to the other voice.

"Already callin' ya Red huh? Hey kid!"
Sam started at the greeting from the evident pastor and he swallowed dryly. "Um…hey. Thanks Red, I just spooked a little." Sam rushed, wanting to get off the radio in a hurry. Though he was sure that if the line had been secure between himself and Celia he would have probably tried to drag out the conversation as long as possible.

"Alright Sam." She returned and Sam set the radio onto the table. It crackled a little.

"Kid's name is Sam?" The male voice of the pastor asked.

"Yeah, Pastor Bill we're workin' here. Save the gossip for the Birds, will ya?" Red returned and Sam felt a spark of gratefulness for her defense and diversion. He took the note in his hands and read it again with a clearer head and mind than before. He glanced at the time on the note then up at the clock on the wall. He jumped, it was nearly eight-thirty. He hadn't slept so late for the better part of three years. He'd missed the Gatorade round for Dean.

He set the note back on the table, rushed to grab the Gatorade out of the refrigerator and started for the quest room. He didn't hesitate at the door like Celia did and marched right in.

"Dean?" He hesitated then, halfway across the room. Dean had rolled over onto his back, one arm resting across his stomach and the other flung out across the mattress. His hand was limp half curled and his fingers twitching every now and then. He'd stopped sweating and the water bottle was still untouched. Dean didn't move or shift and the shallow rise of his chest seemed non-existent; he seemed more like a cadaver than an illness struck young man.

"Dean." Sam sat on the edge of the bed and shook his shoulder. Dean groaned painfully and grunted thickly as if he was trying to surface from a pool of liquid thicker than water.

"Dean, c'mon man." Sam shoved his shoulder harshly.

Dean muttered incoherently under his breath. His eyes flicked open then shut again; his hands came up and he ground the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"Sam?" He muttered under his breath.

"Yeah Dean, its me." Sam sighed, glad that the deathly still frame of Dean had only be perception. Dean mumbled under his breath and sniffed loudly.

"God, y-you smell like a c-cow." Dean stuttered, his tremors making his voice ragged. Sam tensed up, he hadn't noticed Dean's shivering.

"I'll shower. Dean are you alright?"

"What?" Dean asked blearily.

"You're shaking." Sam observed and lifted one of Dean's arms up into his line of vision, the muscle and sinew was jerking under Dean's skin and his hand shaking. Sam flinched at the heat of his brother's skin. Dean feebly swatted him away and made to roll over, he stopped moving and grit his teeth, hissing in pain the slumped into the mattress and started to fall back into fitful sleep.

"No Dean, stay up. You need to drink something. Here, it's purple, you're favorite." Sam forcibly pulled his brother to sit up and the Gatorade into his hands.

"Leave m-me alone S-Sam." Dean growled and tried to pull away from him. Sam snarled low in his throat.

"Dean, c'mon man."

"Sam-"

"Dean! You're sick, alright. Flung-out-on-your-back sick. Heat stroke, dehydration, the works. Dean it is sickeningly easy to die from that stuff! You don't even seem to be trying to get over it!"

Dean snarled, far from it. All he had been doing was trying to get over it. 'Dean' was trying, 'Survival' was trying but Dean's body was rejecting everything without question. It had finally had enough. The heat stroke had been the final blow, to much for his body having endured weeks of abuse, both inwardly and outwardly inflicted. Dean was so screwed up his body couldn't tell was what good from what was bad and washed out everything on principal that it refused to take any other breed of influence for it's own safety.

There is a reaction in the human body, a survival driven reaction that only comes to head when it is needed. The mind is normally in complete control of the body, but when the mind starts to falter, corrupt and inflict destruction on itself the body sends it warnings. But it comes to a point when the strain is too great and the head and neck twist too far in the wrong direction. The body shuts down, saying to the mind you've lost control, just lie down, rest a little while and I'll take over until you get your senses back. It's called the knockout factor and fighters of all kinds; boxers, police, and all Hunters knew the factor all to well.

It had finally caught up to Dean.

"Sam, just l-leave me alone. P-please…"

The word 'please' struck Sam like a slap across the face. It was a desperation kind of word, at least when Dean used it. Sam swallowed dryly and tried to look his brother in the eye but Dean's head hung low and his eyes half lidded made it impossible.

"Dean. Just try and drink this and I'll leave you alone, I swear. Drink it…please."

Dean flinched, the same reaction Sam had for his use of the word was returned in full. Dean's eyes flicked up briefly and he snarled low in his throat. Sam's eyes had taken that misty, soft 'puppy-dog' shine. Dean wondered if the kid even knew he did it or was it just some natural reaction. A defensive reaction to get Dean to do what ever he wanted him to do. With a low snarl Dean snatched the Gatorade from his brother, practically tore the cap off and choked slugging back a long draw from the liquid.

Sam smiled slightly and sighed in relief. The younger brother looked away and dropped the smile from his face when Dean glared at him.

Sam cleared his throat and watched Dean out of the corner of his eye as the elder Winchester slowly tried to drain the entire sports drink in one setting, even though he was sure that it wouldn't last much more than half an hour in his system before he threw up. God he hated vomiting.

"So." Sam rubbed his hands down his thighs and cleared his throat. "…um…What do you want to do?"

Dean gave him a look like 'are you kidding'. Sam sighed and wrung his hands nervously.

"C'mon Dean, you've been in this room since yesterday. Don't you want to go look around the house or the yard?"

Dean's eyebrow went up and he gave Sam another look. Sam was doing it again, same thing with his heart and when he was in his coma. Sam was trying to rush a recovery; push his brother back into health forcibly if he needed to. It was a reckless, dangerous and selfish reaction, even though Sam wanted his brother back on his feet, he wanted him on his feet NOW. It was a double edged sword that Sam just couldn't keep his hands off of.

"Not really." Dean muttered, Sam drooped, his eyes already starting to go big and soft again.

"Dean-"

"I thought you said you were g-going to leave me a-alone, Florence Nightingale…" Dean bit out a little sharper than he would have appreciated. Sam looked struck and crestfallen. He had to come at this from a different angle if he wanted to get Dean moving.

"Well, what about the fires and predators?" Sam prodded. Dean perked up at the mention of the job.

"Let's hit t-the books, geek boy." Dean snapping into action as much as he was able at his point. "I know Red has something to d-do with this and there's s-something that she keeps saying that I w-want to know a-about."

Dean was shaking, less violently than before and pushed himself slowly up on his feet. He wobbled but moved on his own steam, his hand wrapped tightly around the plastic of the bottle.

Sam got to his feet and rushed to walk beside his brother, resisting the urge to reach out and steady his arm. He knew Dean would only shove him off and probably knock himself over in the process.

…

"Coyote…coyote…god there's a billion and a half sites about coyote lore." Sam muttered, skimming another website of drawings of coyotes in legend. These were more modern ones about cowboys being tricked out of their meals or clothes or horses. He sighed and flicked back to the main search.

They'd been working for hours with Alamo curled up under the table and snoring quietly.

"Yeah well, she won't shut up about the coyotes." Dean muttered, having helped himself to the Greer's laptop, though it wasn't much good his vision was swimming and blurred but at least keeping himself busy was making it easier to keep water and Gatorade and later lemonade down, even finish half a cup of coffee before giving up on it. He was trying to use any information that Celia herself had logging into the computer about the situation out on the plains to build and idea, a pattern of what was happening. He was currently building a migrational map of the fires movement across the plains. He was looking for some kind of pattern, something to give away what was happening.

"Doctor Halen, the guy that came to look at us mentioned a coyote, too." Sam pulled up a page and started to read a new Native American story about coyote and his antics with a spider and a 'Grandfather' rock. Sam sat back and sighed, ruffling his still damp hair. The shower had been short lived; Sam hated the feeling of water running over his sunburn. The star bursts of pain had been shell shocking and Sam had given up, resisting the urge to scratch and tear at the bubbling of his skin and pulled the clean tee shirt out from the dryer to resist the urge to scratch. The aloe gel helped some but just looking at the discolored rises of his skin made him nervous. He tugged at the clean tee shirt and scratched at his knee. The jean fabric felt thick and heavy compared to the weightless flannel bottoms.

Dean had managed to slip a clean shirt on and swapped over to jeans as well but it was obvious that he was suffering more than Sam as his fever stayed steady and made his head hang and eyes droop.

"Dean we need more to go on than just 'coyote'." Sam muttered, rubbing his face, scrubbing at his eyes, he flinched at the pain flaring across his cheek bones and nose bridge.

Dean sighed and leaned forward over the screen, trying to see the movement of the fires better on his animated map. Dean's shivering had subsided some and with it his stutter but the older brother refrained from speaking and so did not respond to Sam's sighs or grumbles.

"Do you remember anything else from the dream?" Sam asked. Dean glanced at his brother, he had chosen to keep a few details about the dream to himself, particularly the part about Valentine and Celia being there at all.

Dean shook his head. "Why do you need more? What you have to work with is normally enough for you."

"Dean, there is an incredible amount of information here. And it's all either consistent or inconsistent. I mean the coyote is such a staple in Native American lore and even modern myth and good old fashioned urban legend. Sometimes he's the spirit of God; sometimes he is God, a messenger or most of the time a trickster. He's cruel and compassionate. A hero or the devil himself, he gave man fire and brought eternal death to the world, hated by everyone, loved by everyone, made man in the beginning; I mean goddamnit Dean it's to broad, to much information. We need to narrow it down some how."

Dean bit back a growl and bought himself some time by taking a long drink to finish off the lemonade. He thought back and drew on everything he remembered from his fever scorched memory.

"Unanni." He rasped. A foggy memory of a hand brushing through his hair and muffled words over his head.

"What?" Sam asked tiredly.

"Unanni," Dean repeated. "Try searching for 'Unanni'. I think that's the name of it, try that."

Sam shrugged and sighed and typed in the search.

"Nothing." Sam muttered. "Not even a hit on a language."

Dean sighed. Sam glanced at the clock and froze, it was a quarter after noon. Celia said she would be back at twelve. The last thing they needed was for her to come in and find Dean hacking around on her computer in her files.

"Dean!" The older brother jumped, startled and staring at him.

"What?"

"Copy everything on her hard drive and send it to me now." Sam said sharply.

"What?"

"Shit, move!" Sam rushed from his seat at the table to rush around and hunch over the black laptop, practically shoving Dean out of the way, he reached blindly into his laptop satchel and pulled out a blank jump-drive and set it into the . Dean glared at him but watched quietly as Sam copied the entire hard drive, all the files and sub files even website favorites and jpeg files full of digital photos and the work that Dean had done onto the drive, swiftly cleaned the computer of any sign that Dean or himself had even touched the machine and shut it down.

"What the hell was that all about?" Dean growled.

"Red's supposed to be coming back soon. I don't think she would appreciate us hacking around on her computer." Sam closed the laptop and pushed it aside.

Dean grunted and slumped back against the rigid wood of his chair. He shut his eyes and sniffed tiredly. Sam settled his hand on his hip and fingered the jump-drive in the other. Sam glanced at the walkie-talkie, silent for sometime, still sitting on the table. He reached across and lifted it. Dean watched Sam's moves silently.

"Red?" Sam called across the airwaves and waited.

No response. Sam checked to make sure the radio was on and then tried again.

"Red? It's Sam."

"BUSY RIGHT NOW!"

The sharp shout from the other end of the walkie-talkie made both brothers jump and stare at each other. A spike of worry crossed both young men and they straightened up.

"Red? What's going on?" Sam asked sharply over the radio.

"I SAID BUSY SAM!"

"Red-"

"SAM! BACK THE HELL OFF! I'M ON MY WAY JUST SHUT UP!"

Dean bristled at the way that Celia barked at Sam over the radio but both brothers stiffened when an inhuman sound echoed over the radio, a noise between a scream and a roar.

Dean was on his feet so fast that he left dizziness behind.

The scream echoed again but it broke into an almost painful whinny of a horse. Sam and Dean stared at each other startled and uncomprehending.

The same noise, the screaming whinny, then a chorus of barking rattled out of the walkie-talkie, but it was louder and clear; coming from not far off outside.

Dean was first to start for the front door, moving on instinct he followed the flow of the house without hesitation, Sam on his heels they trotted out the front door and looked down the road, stiffening and Dean quickly grabbing the railing to balance himself as fever and dizziness slammed into him painfully.

Alamo followed and stood on the other side of the door, whining quietly and trying to see out of the screen.

They watched in confusion and growing nervousness as a heat distorted shape sped towards them.

They waited with baited breath and flinching at the screaming whinny and the snarling barks of dogs.

…

Celia leaned low over the painted mare, Sanuye's neck and ground her teeth as the mare galloped hotly to keep up with the insane mustang she was driving in. Buckshot and Valentine were trying to keep up, snapping at the mustang's heels and haunches to keep it in check. The animal bucked and reared in mid stride but struck the ground running, trying to kick the two dogs or the mare and rider pressing in towards its side.

The mustang was a bay, light brown fur and black points broken by irregular white markings on her flanks, sides and shoulders. The face was balded white on the left side, she had one blue eye and one brown. Both were rolling and froth and foam sweat flecked the animal's neck and mouth. Lips drawn back to bare teeth in fear and warning it tried desperately to get away from Celia and Sanuye but neither horse nor rider let up galloping stride for stride with it. In desperation the chased animal lashed out, trying to barrel into Sanuye but the nimble mare lunged forward and sidestepped in mid-gallop, avoiding the teeth and hooves easily. Valentine snapped at the mare's flank and danced out of the way.

The terrified mustang tried to outstrip the painted mare and got no where. Celia clicked in Sanuye's ear and tapped her heels into the mare's belly. Sanuye lunged forward, pressing a stride ahead of the mustang and they came even with the open gate of the Greer ranch yard. Sanuye swung sharply right as Celia tugged lightly on the right hand rein, cutting of the mustang and driving the bay painted animal through the gate and into the yard, both horses still at a full gallop. The mustang bucked and flung itself forward, trying desperately to get away from it's dogged pursuers.

Once passed the gate and into the gravel of the drive Celia sat back in the saddle and pressured back on the reins. Sanuye snorted and skidded up, dancing to a prance in place stop.

Sam and Dean watched in shock and confusion as the bay painted mustang tore passed the parked truck and flatbed bound Impala and around the house, panting and frothing the animal was intent on outstripping around the house and back through the open gate. Valentine broke away galloping up onto the porch, as soon at the white dog was sure he was out of the way he stumbled and limped painfully towards Dean to press in at his side.

"SAM! CLOSE THE GATE NOW!" Celia ordered. Sam jumped and stared at her in shock. "NOW SAM!"

The lanky young man flung himself off the porch and sprinted to the main pipe gate. He grabbed it and hauled with all his strength, the gate jerked loose and swung sharply. Sam tore after it as it slammed into the six foot round rail road tie that stood as the end of the perimeter fence and gate post. He fumbled when it bounced back a little and quickly and sloppily looped the chain over and in place. He let out the breath he'd been holding and looked around to Celia and Dean for more instruction.

"Good boy Sam!" Celia barked and she jerked Sanuye around, the mare trotting quickly to cut off the bay paint as it crashed around the far side of the house. The animal balked, its hooves tearing into the turf and destroying the grass as it turned on its heels and turned to gallop back on it's path back around the house again. Celia whistled and the painted mare broke into a gallop to chase down the panicked bay paint mustang. The feral horse bolted and shrieked, as if screaming to be left alone, the sweat and foam at its jaws were starting to fleck red with blood. The bay paint tore around and charge, doubling its speed straight at Sam and the gate.

"Sam!" Dean barked in fear, the younger brother already reacting, he flung himself over the pipe gate and crashed painfully into the earth on the other side, he yelped in pain as his burned skin ground into the gravel and dirt and his tail bone throbbed painfully. Sam scrambled back as the bay paint skidded its hooves destroying the dirt pack where only seconds before Sam had been standing. The bay paint flung its head between the bars of the pipe gate and shrieked down at Sam, foam flying and teeth bared. The animal yanked its head back, its jaw hitting the metal with a resonate clang and flung away from the gate at a panicked gallop.

"Goddamnit Sam! Why cain't ya hold yer ground! She gets the idea that men are scared of her she'll never settle!" Celia snarled at Sam in rage from the inside of the gate. "Fuckin' useless!" She spat, her eyes red fire and glaring at him she swung Sanuye around to chase down the bay paint.

The horse side stepped and twisted around and charging at Celia and the painted mare. The mustang slammed into Sanuye's chest. Sanuye stumbled whinnying in pain and rearing back to keep from falling over.

"Whoa sister! Stop it!" Celia barked at the panicked mustang. The bay paint frothed and screamed, galloping a top speed circuit of the entire enclosed yard, passed the round pens and the barn and the pipe gates, the parked vehicles and destroying the earth and garden that unfortunately fell under its hooves.

The bay charged around the house, crashing passed Dean on the porch and Sam still sitting in the dirt on the other side of the gate.

"Little sister! Stop it! Whoa sister!" Celia barked at the frenzied animal. The bay paint charged down on Buckshot, the shepherd lunging out of the way and Celia twisting Sanuye around to brace between the dog and the horse. The bay paint swerved and slammed side long into Sanuye's shoulder and Celia's left leg. Sanuye stumbled and side stepped, Celia's face wrenched in pain and she bit back a scream. The bay paint, tore away, back a round the house for the third time.

Celia flung herself off of the painted mare and threw the reins over the horse's neck, yanking a lariat free from the saddle and slapped Sanuye's rump to move, and stepped out into open space quickly checking to make sure the sleeves of her flannel button down were rolled up tightly to her elbows. Sanuye snorted and doubled stepped to canter out of the way and stand at the closed barn doors. The mare was fed up with the insane mustang and the beatings said animal was inflicting on her. Pinning her ears Sanuye snorted and whinnied critically at the now bucking and rearing bay paint. The mustang berserked, finding no way out to freedom from the yard. Its eyes rolled, mouth flung wide and screaming, it flung itself into the air, kicked, bucked and screamed.

The animal seemed tormented, as if possessed.

The bay paint threw up its head and spotted Celia; planted its hooves and lunged forward, charging down on her. The red eyed woman stood her ground, her teeth grit viciously until at the barest last second side stepping to avoid being trampled. The animal dodged aside at the same time, veering away. The bay paint bucked and lashed out in a rage of fear, twisting dangerously close to the Impala and without warning kicked out. Dean's heart stopped for a brief second that he though the clang of hooves on metal was the sound of his baby being assaulted. The bay paint tore away, the side of the Silverado's truck bed caving in under the impact with a twist of metal and the scrape of the white paint being shorn from the frame. The dent had to have been two and a half feet wide and collapsed in from the hooves at least six inches the strike as effective and easily as the side of an aluminum can.

"GODDAMNIT! THAT WAS MY TRUCK!" Celia barked in rage at the drastic damage to the side of her truck. She bared her teeth at the exploding mustang and hissed, a noise that sounded more like it belonged in the throat of a bobcat or a mountain lion.

Pinning ears, eyes rolling and snorting thickly the bay paint wheeled around and charged Celia again.

Celia snarled and braced herself, stretching her stance out and twisting the lariat into a lasso loop and expertly twirled it through the air.

"Bronco ya done just had yer last bust!" She snarled. The mustang bay seemed to take it as a challenge and lunged all its weight forward to double its pace. Dean and Sam both flinched prematurely at what they supposed would be an impact. Celia sidestepped out of the way and threw the lasso. The mustang lunged sideways but the lariat threw over her head.

The bay paint snorted loudly and sprinted away as if the lope of rope wasn't around its neck at all. Celia wrapped the rope tightly around her forearm and braced her stance. She grit her teeth and hauled back on the lasso.

The mustang lunged at the same, gagged painfully and was hurled over sharply as the lasso tightened like a noose around the neck and pressing into the jaw bones. The rope slid, tightened and tore into Celia's arm, burning and cutting into her skin mercilessly. The animal screamed as its fifteen hundred pound weight toppled over, legs splaying out from under it. It slammed into the earth on its side and rolled, legs flailing through the air wildly as the bay paint thrash madly to get its balance back. The animal screamed in shock.

Celia grabbed a hold of the rope and sprinted forward fearlessly. She grabbed a hold of one of the mustang's forelegs and pulled it over. The mustang rolled over onto its side and struggled to start back to its feet. Celia shoved the bay paint's head into the dirt and knelt down on the animal's neck, her knees braced into the straining and sweating flesh of the neck just below the jaw.

The bay paint continued to thrash, kicking on it's side and roared but with Celia's weight on the neck and one hand pressing down on the side of the muzzle, there was no way that animal could swing its neck up to get balance and back to its hooves. The large blue eye glared at Celia and rolled in fear, massive heart slamming into its ribs. Sides heaving the animal jerked but finding no give finally slumped into the earth, dirt matting its fur with the sweat on its skin.

The animal shivered violently and cried pitifully into the earth, ears pinned and muscles strained and exhausted.

"Sam!" Celia barked, making the bay paint flinch and kicked into the earth. The lanky young man jumped and stared at her from the other side of the pipe gate. "Sam fetch me a halter and led from the tack room!"

Before Sam could even realize what has being asked of him Dean was off the porch and jogging across the yard to the barn. He panted, shoving the door back and rushing down the length of the barn, side stepping as Sanuye pushed in after him and rushed into her open stall with ears throw back. Dean snatched a red rope halter off of a nail and a shank hooked lead, he rushed back to the barn door and out. He was next to Celia in a second, handing her the lead and halter, struck suddenly by dizziness and cramped pains in his stomach; he wobbled but stayed on his feet. Celia didn't know it was Dean until she glanced up at him and jumped. She did a bit of a double take, having a feeling of deja-vu but didn't hesitate to take the rope halter and lead.

"Thanks Dean." She said quietly, trying to calm herself down to help calm the terrified animal. "Help me out." She asked quietly. Dean nodded and the bay paint jerked when Dean moved shakily forward. Celia lifted the pressure from the side of the mustang's head and slipped the rope halter over its muzzle and swiftly tied it in place. Then pressed the side of the muzzle down into the dirt again.

"Easy baby, take it easy little sister." Celia soothed, rubbing a hand feather light over the sweat soaked animal's neck in a repeated slow motion. Sam trotted up, standing unsure what to do. He started a step back in shock, the bay paint's ribs and foreleg was sporting scars of having been badly burned recently, the flesh seemed to have been healing, but was still raw and blistered but fur was starting to grow back. The scars were a stomach turning and heart wrenching sight.

"Breathe baby. It's alright, ain't nobody gonna hurt ya now." Celia said glancing up at him. Sam looked over the heaving animal nervously, it was obvious that he wanted to help. She didn't want him to get hurt but robbing him of the chance was more of her concern. She glanced around at Dean.

"Dean, go pull open the gate of the large ring pen and wait there for me." She said quietly and twitched her head towards the larger of the two ring pens. Dean nodded, pushing himself back up to his shaking legs and started for the pen.

"Sam." The young man jumped and looked around at her, "Sam can you come around and pin her down like this? Same way I'm doin'? Just talk to her sweet and pet her like this. Can ya do it?"

Sam nodded slightly.

"Sam I need yer assurance, there's no half-assin' this. She needs our help and a steady hand."

"I'll do it." Sam said resolutely. Celia nodded and waited until Sam was next to her, pressing his hand into the bay paint's muzzle and settling his knee into place next to Celia, once she moved giving him room Sam settled himself in the exact position on the horse and started long passes of his large hand lightly over the terrified animal's neck and down her shoulder.

Celia was up and starting for the barn.

"Celia!" Sam called and she whirled on him with a hissed hush to keep his voice down to keep from spooking the animal. The mustang jerked violently sharply at his voice and muffled a pained nicker into the earth. Sam glanced at the animal then up at Celia, "What's her name?"

Celia sighed heavily, "She's a mustang Sam. We couldn't pronounce it if we knew it."

"Then what should I call her?" Sam asked in a hoarse whisper. Celia like he was mildly insane. She shrugged.

"I don't know Sam, whatever. She's a homewrecker, call her that." Celia turned and rushed for the barn.

"Homewrecker." Sam muttered, toying with the way it sounded and rubbed slow circles across the sweat soaked flesh on the bay paint's white splashed shoulder. "Hey Homewrecker. Take it easy, alright. Red'll take care of you. Easy girl."

He felt a bubble of oddity at talking to the panicked horse but that oddity ebbed and he felt the same twinges of protective nature that he felt when he was trying to stop someone from being hurt on a hunt. He focused all his energy into connecting with this victim and soothing her. Keeping his hands moving in slow circles over her flesh, carefully avoiding the scaring and pain inflamed skin.

The mare seemed to feel it and slumped a little more; some of her fear slipping away. The mustang let out a pained gasp of air, a sickly sad whinny. For all the world Sam thought it a call for help.

Celia came back toting a leather saddle bag over her shoulder of gear to help the horse and glanced at Sam briefly before she knelt next to the mare. She rummaged in the pack and came up with several filled hypodermics and tested each one carefully. The bay paint lurched violently when she slid the first needle home into the mustang's neck. She depressed the draw and pulled it out before the needle could snap in the flesh. Sam pressed down on the mustang's face and kept talking soothingly to the bay paint.

Sam felt a flair of anger at Celia as the mustang reacted each time that a needle slid into the animal's neck. Six different needles of different vaccines and a mild pain killer.

"Alright baby, yer doin' good." Celia told the mustang, shifting around Sam and unscrewing a large plastic jar she'd pulled from the saddle pack. She dug her bare hand into thick, oily, yellow colored paste.

"Whats that?" Sam asked.

"It's a burn slave." Celia muttered and started layering on the save into the old scars on the mustang's side and down her jerking leg.

"Is she hurt on the other side?"

Celia shook her head and screwed the lid back onto the jar and wiped her hands on a scrap of cloth. She set the empty needles and slave into pack and tossed it aside. She rose and left Sam alone. She trotted over to the large round pen and rushed to the round pen, she stopped to say something to Dean then rushed into the open pen to the iron water trough. It was full to the brim with fresh water and then rushed back out of the pen and to the barn, a few minuets later she came back out lugging a square bale of hay. She tossed it into the round pen, slicing the wires easily and pulling them free. Sam watched her hand the wires to Dean and then started back towards him and the mustang, she was pulling off her thick leather gloves and tucking them into her back pocket.

"Alright, Sam." She clipped the shank hook lead onto the rope halter and lifted the end coil of the lariat into her hands. "On three stand up and get out of the way. Alright?"

Sam nodded.

"One, two, three."

Sam pushed himself up and stepped lightly away from the bay paint. Celia tugged on the lead and lariat. The bay paint gave a sharp noise and rolled up and lunged to her hooves. The animal coiled to rear and buck but Celia swiftly choked up on the lead, her hand fisting just below the bay paint's chin and yanked forward. The startled mustang lurched to follow, Celia broke into a jog and the jerking mustang rushed to keep up, trying to pull back on the halter. Sam followed at a distance to keep from spooking the mustang.

Celia tugged animal into the round pen and Dean instantly pushed the gate shut and looped the chain into the catch to lock. Before the horse could panic Celia loosened the lariat and slipped it off the bay paint's neck and unsnapped the shank lead from the halter. The fearful mare jerked away and bolted to the other side of the round pen, her ears pinned back and snorting, still sweating and frothing at the jaws. Celia backed out of the pen slowly so the mustang could see everything she did, Celia ducked between the bars of the round pen instead of opening the gate; she was sweating and panting, still favoring her rope burned arm she turned to the two shaking young men, taking the cut wire from Dean's hands.

"Ya boys meet me inside, alright?" she asked already walking away to scoop up the pack and coiling the lariat up tightly. Sam and Dean exchanged looks and glancing at the bay paint started for the house. Dean shaking painfully and straining with each step.

…

They sat waiting quietly at the table. Valentine was pressed close to Dean's leg and whining, Buckshot was curled up under the table with Alamo. Sam glanced at the clock. It was now over an hour in time pass. They stiffened when the screen door opened and Celia marched in. She practically threw her walkie-talkie on the table and pulled a brown pill bottle out of her pocket and set it in front of Sam.

"That's yers." She growled and went to the mud room; she came back with a large first aid kit and went to the sink, turning on the hot water in the sink. She yanked off her flannel and dropped it to the floor, leaving her in the sweat soaked white tee. She lifted her rope burned arm and snarled under her throat, she soaked the cloth in hot water and started to gently dab at the garish stripes of rope bitten flesh. Celia hissed and snarled as she carefully cleaned out the burn.

"Red?" Dean asked quietly, carefully. She glanced around at him then went back to her work, ignoring them all over again. Dean hesitated then rose to his feet and crossed over and leaned over her shoulder to watch. He flinched at the flesh of her arm, raw and torn and starting to bleed in some places. The burn started at the crook of her elbow, spiraled around her forearm up to her wrist and across her palm. It was obvious that the rope burn was painful.

"God, that must hurt like a bitch." Dean muttered. Celia cast a look at him and snorted, staying silent. She whipped lightly at the deepest part of the burn across her wrist. Dean swallowed, slightly unnerved by her silence. He took a deep breath and pressed into her space.

"Here, I'll do it." Dean pulled the soaked cloth from her hand. He felt like her needed to do something to repay her for helping him. Celia pulled back from him, and bit back a hiss. But Dean swiftly grabbed her arm and tugged her forward.

"Easy!" Celia spat as his large and rough hand rubbed across the burns.

"Sorry." Dean muttered, soaked the cloth again and started quick and light passes of the fabric over the burns. Sam sat back and let Dean handle it, the elder brother had more practice with basic medicine and Sam wanted Dean to seriously start participating. Dean had been starting to act normally and Sam was glad for it and in no way was going to discourage it.

Celia sighed, but was thinking the same thing, that Dean needed something to do and probably a way to express that he was grateful for her help without actually saying 'thank you'. So she swallowed her own Dean-like pride and leaned against the counter and let Dean clean her arm up.

"That was insane." Sam said quietly, breaking the heavy silence. He only got glances from Dean and Celia but all the three dogs looked up and trained their attention on him. The silence made Sam nervous and he cleared his throat.

"I mean, what was that all about?"

"That was a homewrecker." Celia muttered, she flinched and hissed when Dean pressed into the burn a little harder than normal.

"Whats-" Celia cut him off, anticipating his question.

"It's a term that we use here in the desert for a rouge mare. They come in like lightenin' and can tear apart a herd social order. Rouge stud, no big deal but a mare…" Celia shook her head. "That's why they're homewreckers, they do just that."

Dean smiled wryly and couldn't help the sly look in his eyes at the nickname for rouge mares.

"It's not normal." Celia muttered. Dean glanced up at her but said nothing, but curiosity bit at Sam.

"What do you mean?"
"It's not in a mare's nature to act that way. They don't rebel like that unless there's some kind of trauma."

"What do you think drove her to it then?" Sam pressed. Dean was listening intently and changed from the long strokes of the cloth into small circles, he was turning and lifting her arm gently to clean the entire rope burn. Celia cast a glance at Sam and jerked hissing when Dean's nails accidentally scraped across the burn.

"Sorry."

Celia snorted, "Some kind of mania. Can be disease or a broken mind." She bristled slightly at the skeptical look on Sam's face, "It's possible, animals are intelligent as ya or me, Sam. They don't get the right stimulation or too much it'll make 'em crazy. Like animals in a zoo. Why the hell do ya think they throw all those stupid balls and shit in seal tanks?"

Sam reeled a little at her defensive reaction for the mental capacity of an animal.

"But ya saw those burn scars." Sam nodded, Celia sighed quietly, "That mare, she's another victim of the fires. Terror and loss…it's the greatest leveler of man and animal. It can alter a body right down to the soul, and that sort of insanity is universal. It's a Breaker."

"'Breaker'?" Dean asked quietly, setting the cloth aside to inspect the wound and make sure that it was thoroughly cleaned. She flipped open the first aid kit and handed him a small brown bottle.

"Iodine?" Dean asked with some mild shock.

"Ya gonna do it or am I?" She asked, already starting to pull her arm out of his grip. Dean glared at her and tightened his grip on her arm. He instantly lightened it at her flinch.

"What's a Breaker?" Sam prodded while Celia coiled herself tightly and braced for the sting of the iodine.

"A 'Breaker' is a destroyer, Sam. They don't try to work things out or alter present behavior for the better; it just comes in and obliterates everythin'. Like a horse-breaker. SHIT!"

Deana and Sam flinched at her bark of pain; the elder Winchester freezing mid-swipe of the iodine soaked cloth up her arm. All three dogs whine quietly.

"Red-"

"Finish it Dean, in a hurry." Celia spat and grit her teeth, resisting every urge to rip her arm away from his grip. Dean nodded and steeling himself quickly pressed the stained cloth into the rope burns. Celia's face pinched in pain, ground her teeth together and hissed; the same dangerous noise that she had made at the bay paint, a bobcat or puma hiss. Dean and Sam refrained from speaking while she suffered.

Dean felt his throat go dry and he bit back his natural reaction to protect. He hated inflicting pain on anyone or anything. Sure he smirked and quirked when he burned dry bones or brought down a skin-walker or some other creature, biting out sharp remarks or teasing, laughing up the kill but he hated it. He hated hurting anything, even if it was dead or a demon. He could only think that it had lived, been human, uncorrupted at one time. He only found it bearable because more people lived by the death of another, cutting losses. But no matter how paranoid he was about Celia, fed by the odd short handed files in the computer and what he experienced in her presence. He looked passed the fact that she was red eyed and could make out the faint lines of what looked like tattoos on her shoulders through the sweat dampened tee shirt. As far as he knew she was human and felt pain and he was inflicting it on her. It made him sick. He bit back a dry heave and forced her stomach to stay still.

Celia started to pull away but Dean tightened his grip, dumping the iodine stained cloth and grabbed a fresh one off the counter and wetted it with hot water.

"Little trick, to stop the stinging." Dean reasoned. He'd learned the trick from Caleb when he was ten.

Celia cocked her head slightly and hissed sharply when the heat touched her already pained and starting to inflame arm. She relaxed with a heavy sigh and smiled slightly. The sting and bite of iodine dimmed considerably.

"I'm gonna have to remember that." She sighed and smiled gently at him. Dean didn't resist the urge to throw her charming smirk. He couldn't help his player nature and lightly ran his calloused fingers over the sensitive skin of the inside of her wrist. The touch was an attempt at comfort, borderline seduction and apology for hurting her. The move backfired when Celia flinched in pain and pulled her arm away from his grip.

"Thanks Dean." Celia said and puffed cool air onto the scrapes in her skin. Dean started to reach for a cloth wrap bandage. "No Dean, it's only a few layers of skin, I'll just air it." She waved him off and inspected the rope burns.

"I thought that's what it's called, 'breaking'?" Sam asked. "When you're training a horse. Don't you break horses? Like Strawbury."

Celia sniffed and looked down on Sam with hardened pride bristling at the accusation. "I don't break, Sam Wilson." She almost tripped on his name. "I gentle a horse, work with 'em. I'll never be so cruel and hateful as to break an animal."

The venom in the words were overdone and pressured by Celia's irritation, both physical in the inflammation of her arm, work strain in her muscles and the fact that she had a two foot dent in her Silverado as well as mental, the strain of keeping herself in check with the boys and with the ranch. The flush of embarrassment on Sam's face and the hardened glare in Dean's eyes told her she was treading on dangerous grounds.

"I'm sorry." Sam said quietly, "I didn't mean to offend."

"Well ya did." Celia bit out. The shock on Sam's face made him look like a child and it bit into Celia. She was sure just by the look in his eyes that Sam was reevaluating her from what he experienced so far. Celia took a deep breath and figuratively backed up a step. The last thing she wanted was Sam; and Dean for that stand, changing their minds about her because she was in a bad mood. As far as they knew she was bad tempered all the time, not just having a rough day. She wished they shake whatever whammy had them and just treat her like they used to. Especially Dean. She saw a flicker of it as he'd clean up her arm but it fled again.

She took a deep breath and settled herself as best she could; she reproached Sam with a calmer voice and lighter words.

"Sorry Sam. It's been a long run, it don't help me none that I've got a homewrecker in my round pen. I'm sorry for bitin' yer head off just now."

Sam's lips twitched in a slight smile that died in a hurry, but the uncertainty and turmoil in his eyes had settled. Dean visibly relaxed a little, too. Sam played it off, like it didn't matter and shrugged a shoulder.

"What are you going to do about her?" Sam asked, passing the terse subject. Celia sighed and shook her head, she tugged her Stetson hat down to keep from pulling it off and yanking a handful of hair out and exposing her horns to the boys at the same time.

"Well, I hate to say it but she'll probably end up put down, euthanasia or a bullet."

Sam started, "No!"

Dean looked at the horror on his baby brother's face and instantly agreed for Sam's sake. Celia sighed and rubbed a hand across her eyes.

"Sam-"

"You can't shoot her!" Sam was on his feet in a second, towering intimidating over Celia. She bristled slightly and tensed up; Sam's action screamed fight.

"Look Sam sometimes thats the only way things can go." Celia kept her voice even and steady.

"Can't you do something?" Dean asked, trying to diffuse the situation.

"That mare is over the brink, she's messed up. One of the worst cases I've ever seen."

"One of the worst cases." Sam barked, "There's been others."

"And they end up dog food." Celia said harshly, shocking the taller but younger man. "Sam, she cain't go back out on the range. She'll get herself killed and there's slim to none chance that she'll gentle enough for a saddle."

"Slim to none, so there is a chance." Sam accused. "There's something you can do."

Celia sighed "Sam-"

Sam flung himself into the bargaining stage. "I'll help you. With everything, you can teach me and Homewrecker at the same time. I'm a fast learner and I'm sure she is too."

Celia looked at Sam searching his face for a reason why he would offer that, it struck her like a bolt of lightening. "Sam. When I got on ya at the gate, when I called ya useless. I didn't mean it; ya know it's not true."

Sam looked shocked, "It's not about that." Sam said defensively. The remark had bitten, cut him and sent a spike of pain and insecurity through him, even though he had been called worse in his life being called useless by Celia had hurt.

"Sam." Dean tried but Sam glared at him.

"You can't shoot her." Sam said resolutely.

"Sam yer not gonna be here. I'm waitin' on Tim Milano to call me back 'bout the fuel line. He figures he's got one and it'll be in to Elko in 'bout four or five days."

"Four or five days is perfect! Plenty of time!" Sam barked, though he didn't believe it himself. "I could probably be riding her around by then."

"Sam! What yer proposin' is an impossibility! Ya cain't gentle any horse in four days! Hell it'd be a miracle if she let ya touch her in that time! It cain't be done!" Celia barked defensively. "Not with her, she's fried, shot, done. If I even tried it's an everyday job. God it could take years and even then she'll never…she just won't…" Celia faltered at Sam's chocolate eyes, pleading and praying for her to help, do what he asked. "Sam. No…I…she…she's better off with a bullet in her head! She's sufferin', whatever the hell did this to her is still tormentin' her! Hasn't someone ever told ya that ya cain't save 'em all?! She's out of reach!"

Sam shook his head, refusing to accept that, "No ones completely out of reach. Not even when there dead." Sam retorted and received a sharp glare from Dean clearly to SHUT UP. But Sam pressed on.

"I know you can help her, you made the effort to get her here just to give up on her? That doesn't seem like you."

"Ya think ya know me then?" Celia asked sharply.

"From all the work you've done to save these animals just giving up, doesn't make sense. Even helping out me and my brother, you go way out of your way to help hopeless cases." Sam shrugged and Dean had to agree.

"I consider ya and yer brother a far shade better than that mare." Celia growled but having a problem with believing it herself. She hadn't a clue how screwed up Dean and Sam were.

"Whatever, look it'll take time and I'll do everything to help. You can at least start work working with her, and I'll come back to help."

"Sam." Dean said, warning him not to make promises he wouldn't keep. Celia seemed to be thinking the same thing. She scoffed and Sam tensed up.

"Fine. I'll give you a hundred dollars for her." He started to dig into his back pocket where he knew for a fact there was no hundred dollars.

"What?" Celia and Dean chorused.

"I'll give you a hundred dollars for her. You can keep her here for me and train her and everything." Sam said resolutely.

"Sam! We-" Dan started.

"Save yer money, I'll do it." Celia said, both young men looked at her in mild shock.

"What?' Sam asked, stiffening.

Celia breathed deeply and set her hands on her hips. She searched Sam's face; she saw compassion and gratefulness behind his initial shock. She saw that Sam really wanted to save this lost cause, it was against her better judgment to let the animal suffer for the sake that Sam wanted to make pet project of her. But if that was all it was she would have told him flat out no; she saw something in Sam's eyes while he pinned and soothed the mustang. She the cliché and inexcusable feeling that Sam needed to help this mare.

He was trying to make up for past sins through the mustang and at Celia's expense.

And for all the cliché that it was maybe that mare needed Sam, too.

What the hell, Celia finally reasoned and shook her head, "I said I'd do it, at least try and start her. I'm no miracle worker but I'll do what I can." Celia assured Sam. The younger man broke into a heart melting smile and he looked ready to hug her.

"What ever you need me to do I'll do it." Sam swore.

"Ya'll wish ya never made that promise when I'm done with ya." Celia muttered, cursing Sam inwardly for being such a humanitarian and herself for rolling over to him. Loud rapping of knuckles against a door frame drifted through the house from the front door.

"Mind gettin' that?" Celia asked Sam, the younger Winchester turned on his heel and strode out of the kitchen towards the door. Dean watched as Celia reached into the first aid kit and pulled out a bottle of aspirin, she started to struggle with it before Dean smoothly took it out of her hands and opened it for her.

"Thanks."

"You didn't need to yell at him for calling you a horse-breaker." Dean muttered, choosing to attack that subject before the one concerning his brother and the mare.

Celia rounded on him and bristled, "Dean why don't ya go out there and look that mare in the eye, see how destroyed she is then come back and talk to me 'bout not bein' offended." She snapped and Dean went quiet.

…

Sam trotted to the front door with a spark of triumph and happiness in his heart. He couldn't help it, He'd convinced Celia to try and help the mustang and he had every intention of holding his word. He'd saved another life and that always put a bounce in his step for a while. The oak door was still open but the screen closed, someone stood on the other side of the door. Sam pushed it open with a genuine smile and froze; his heart seizing and literally stopped.

It was like he was looking at a photograph from his days at Stanford. Petite, pretty, blonde and eyes so blue they put sapphires to shame.

"Jessica?" Sam gasped like a fish pulled from water.

The blonde woman's eyes went wide for a second then hardened and narrowed. Before Sam could even get a breath it she grabbed him by the collar in small but strong hands, swung his lankier frame around and slammed him down into the planks of the porch. Sam gasped in pain as his skin struck the rough wood and the girl's hundred plus pound weight slammed harshly into his stomach, a knee planted in his abdomen. His head was forced back with the serrated blade of a deer gutting knife pressed down hard into his jaw line and threatening to cut his throat.

"NOBODY calls me 'Jesscia'!" The girl snarled down on him, her blonde locks falling in waves around her face.

That was a long chapter, I NEED reviews y'all! Donate to the good cause, REVEIW!

The Planet Mary and All Her Woes...