Sorry this took so long. Unfortunately two weeks is becoming standard for these chapters. I can't update as often as I would like because with the block in general on this story (I really just don't like writing it anymore) it takes a whole week to write one chapter of it. In that time I could write the equivalent of three of these chapters on another story, since I still have lots of motivation. I'm sorry about that.
I won't quit this, though. I can promise you that.
~~~~Approximately 975 AD~~~~~
Dean's arm was slung around Sam's shoulder, her legs wobbling as her vision blurred. She wanted to get somewhere she could rest; she was losing too much blood. And yet, Sam forced her on. Maybe he heard yells of the men in the forest, or maybe he knew that she needed to get to a doctor, and quick.
They walked through the night. At some point, the pain and loss of blood was too much and Dean passed out. She came back a couple of times, only conscious long enough to notice Sam's loving arms wrapped around her, carrying her to safety.
Even those times, though, were blurry and had a certain kind of unbelievability to them. She couldn't trust herself as far as she could throw herself, which certainly wasn't very far in the condition she was in. So, she let herself each time, fade off back into the black.
She trusted Sam. She trusted him with her life.
She woke up the next day, slowly coming to her senses as she tried to remember what had happened.
She was laying down on something, something soft and warm. The room felt warmer than the crisp air of outside, but it wasn't quite warm enough to stop goosebumps from blooming on her skin. Her eyes slowly opened to reveal grey walls and Sam, sitting asleep in a chair next to her, head leaning onto a small end table in a position that could not be comfortable.
Her leg felt restricted. She looked down and stared blankly as she realized why that was. The bleeding had stopped, and there was a bandage wrapped around it.
"Does this have stitches?" She wondered out loud. Sam suddenly awoke, sitting straight up with no pause or delay. He looked at Dean, awake and alert, and relief filled his expression.
The sides of her face were grabbed, and he pulled her in for a sweet, long kiss. She reveled in the taste of her lover, giving a small moan at the feeling. God, this was perfect. How could she feel so good in a situation so complex? Sam was the only person she'd ever met that could make her feel like this.
"I'm so happy you're alive." He breathed out as they broke apart, panting from exertion. She chuckled a little, shifting her body so that she could sit up. Her leg burned and she could feel flesh move; she gave a small flinch. Yeah, there were no stitches yet.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get you to anyone better, the doctor in this town was backed up because of some flu going around. A generous man let us stay in his house for the night when he saw how bad off you were." Sam explained, his hand reaching down and grasping hers firmly.
"You're acting like a woman on me, Sam." She teased weakly. Sam let out a small laugh.
"That's sexist." He pointed out. Then, he continued, "We were really, really lucky. The man said that there isn't another town for miles of here, and we could have been walking for weeks if I hadn't-"
"Sam." Dean interrupted, her heart thumping against her chest. No other town for miles? No. There was no way they had luck this bad. They weren't going through this. There was no damned way this was happening.
"What?" Sam asked, clearly sensing Dean's distress. Dean's hands started to shake.
"This is the only town for miles. Do you remember what the vikings did to your town?" Dean asked. Sam paused, taking a moment to process what Dean had said. Once it clicked, his eyes widened and he shook his head back and forth, as if trying to clear it.
"No. You're not saying what I think you're saying. There's no way-" As he was speaking, they were interrupted by a mighty cry. The cry of a hundred soldiers rushing into battle, rushing away. Dean jumped up, ignoring the awful, hungry pain in her leg as she did. She quickly calculated in her head how far away they sounded.
"Gather as much food as possible. Count to one hundred. If you're not outside by that time, we're both in danger." Dean said, working fast. She rushed down a set of stairs, gritting her teeth to endure the pain. It had, of course, lifted a little with the surge of fresh adrenaline.
"But this doesn't belong to us!" Sam argued. One of Dean's favorite traits about him was how he always cared for others, but this time it was not so endearing.
"He's out of the house. He'll probably be dead, and he can't use it then now, can he?" She asked. Sam seemed to lose his conscience at that small reminder, grabbing things and putting them into a small bag.
There was a scream, much too close for comfort. Dean hadn't been able to find much beyond her trembling hands and pumping heart, but she knew that their lives depended upon them leaving now.
"Sam." She commanded, walking towards what she assumed to be the back door. She must have been correct, because Sam didn't stop her, following along and reaching out to take the things she had grabbed, slipping them into his own bag. Usually Dean would protest, but her leg was in too much pain right then to be arguing.
They bursted out of the backdoor and began to run.
It was torture. Every step made Dean's bandage looser, her skin burning and her cut muscles objecting to beind worked, entire body eventually pulsing with pain and the desire to stop. The woods spanned out around them from every corner, and for the first time, they felt like a cage. Dean wanted to stop, she wanted to sit, she wanted to let herself have a moment, but she couldn't.
Eventually, her bandage came undone. It fluttered to the ground as she ran, Sam not taking notice. She enjoyed the fresh air on her hot skin, but she knew what that hot skin probably meant.
Infection was no joke when it came to wounds like her own.
Eventually, when her lungs burned and her body no longer registered pain, Dean found herself falling to her knees. Sam stopped beside her, concern filling his face and body language.
"Dean, are you okay?" He questioned, lightly smacking her face to try and get her to focus. Dean looked at him, mumbling a little.
"I-I'm tired. I need a break. There'll be a feast tonight, they won't come after us, we're far enough away." She eventually managed to choke out. Her chest heaved with the effort of supplying air to her almost numb body.
It was cold. Yes, she was used to the cold, but this was even worse. Ice and snow lay around in small sheets or blankets, the patchwork proving that wherever they were, it was probably not Greenland.
"Okay, Dean, okay." Sam said. He took a seat next to her, his hand slipping into hers as he did. Slowly, her breathing regulated itself, and she laid her head on his shoulder.
"We're going to have to live off of one meal a day until we find someplace with food." She said, sniffing. She was tired again, and wondered how late she had slept in at that man's house. It was lucky she woke when she did.
Then again, judging by the way the sky was already beginning to turn varying shades of pink and orange, blushing with the colors of the sunset, it had been about time for her to wake when she did.
"We'll survive." Sam said, smiling. Dean found herself smiling too, lulled into security by Sam's lovely, upbeat cheer. She couldn't help but think that this, despite the circumstances, was probably the happiest she had been and the happiest she could ever be. She wouldn't feel guilty for loving Sam;she couldn't. It was a part of her nature. It would be like trying to tell a bird to be guilty for building a nest, or a cat for catching mice.
"I don't know if we will. You know how much I love food." Dean said, placing a hand firmly on her belly. Sam let out a bellowing laugh, no doubt remembering the first time he had saw her eat. Yes, she loved food.
"I don't know how you keep that figure." He teased. Then, after a few moments of silence, he said, "There was a rock face, a few places back. I think it would be a good idea for us to go and find a place to sleep for the night."
"That's a great idea. How does a rock face help?" Dean asked, slowly beginning to stand up. Her muscles were twitching and burning with their use.
"Well," Sam stated, "I saw a cave in it, dumbass." Sam teased. Dean rolled her eyes and patted Sam's shoulder, gesturing for him to get up, too.
The walk back to the place Sam had described was not long. It was actually quite relaxing, to be slowing down after so long on the run, adrenaline fueling every move. Dean's stomach started to complain, loudly, but she diligently ignored it.
"So," She said, once they were finally there, "This is it?"
The rock face was shallow, just deep enough that they would be able to both fit in comfortably without limbs hanging out eveywhere. The ceiling was low enough that she had to crouch to get in, but it was still a pretty solid place. Somebody who was looking for them would most likely pass it up.
She crawled in, hating how she felt her heartbeat in her leg. Sure, she wasn't bleeding anymore, but the wound was still open, her body unable to keep it scabbed over. She was going to have to deal with it, and hope that it got better.
"What are we going to do?" Dean asked, situting herself against the wall. Sam lay down after her, snuggling up and reaching back, grasping blindly for her hand.
"Pick a direction, and keep going."
~~~~~~~~London, England. Year 1689 AD~~~~~~~~~~
Dean walked through the market, hood pulled taught around her face to stop the rain from falling on her pale skin. She had taken a break. In fact, a two month break, in which she hardly left the house for fear of persecution. She had too much on the line right then, too much to live for to be killed in the name of a god she would never follow.
She was going now to get herbs. She had some people, regular customers, who needed to have their usual orders refilled. She had heard that they burnt two so-called witches, so she should be safe for awhile.
She walked up to the door of her usual herb girl, knocking in a specific pattern so that they would know it was her. She waited a few moments, looking aimlessly around at the empty alleyway, before she noticed it was taking longer than usual and raised her hand to knock again.
A man opened the door, one she recognized from her many times here. He looked her up and down and his red, swollen eyes hardened with anger. "Get the bloody hell away from my house. You're not welcome here."
"I'm sorry, but excuse me?" Dean asked, feeling anger rise within her.
"You heard me. Get away. Go home. Never come back here." He growled, his eyes filling with tears.
"Okay, listen here. I'm just looking for your-"
"Yeah, I know who you're looking for." He interrupted, venom seeping from his words and into her bones, "She's dead now, because of scum like you. Got accused of witchcraft because she grew herbs. I hope riding the Devil's dick was worth it." He said, spitting at her feet. Dean jumped back.
"She's...?" She questioned, feeling her heart hammer against her ribs. Oh, no. This was not good.
In fact, she'd better get out of here. People liked to spread rumors about who came and tried to see the witches once they were already burned, and the last thing she needed was talk like that. She turned on her heel and kept her eyes low to the ground, deciding not to yell at the asshole today. It would cause a scene she couldn't afford and he had just been through a major loss.
As she walked back to her and Sam's little house. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to stop the tears from falling down her face. She loved Sam, loved her job, but there were times like these when everything seemed to get her down. Complications were around and it seemed like everything was falling apart and it was all her fault.
Because while no, she didn't hold the fire up to that poor girl's stake, that had been one of the few human friends Dean had, and now she was dead because of her. Well, more because of the few witches in this town in general, but it still felt like it was her fault. She didn't want things to be like this. She wanted stability, security, she wanted to be able to practice her beliefs in peace, but no. She was forced to hide and lurk in the shadows, helping people when she could and fearing everyone when she could not.
She didn't even realize she was home until she almost ran face-first into her front door. She opened it, and the door rattled on it's hinges as it shut behind her. Sam turned from where she was sitting, fear in her eyes.
"Are you okay?" She questioned, standing in front of the sink, using water from a bucket to wash out Dean's now-dusty kettle. Dean took another breath, and this time, she let the tears fall down her face.
Sam's expression morphed into one of concern as she slinked forward to wrap her arms comfortingly around Dean's torso. "What happened?"
"She's dead. We have to grow our own herbs now, and she's dead, and I'm scared that that will-" Sam cut her off with a sudden and passionate kiss, her body curving around Dean's in the low light.
"Don't you ever say that." Sam gasped, as they broke apart. In between small and passionate kisses, she continued, "I would" kiss, "never, ever" kiss, "let anything like that happen to you."
"Yes, I'm sure the villagers with their stakes and fire would be terrified of a small cat." Dean said. And, despite her sarcasm, she did feel better. Sam made her feel safe, her arms warm and her hair soft and her lips slightly chapped. She tasted like blood and anger sometimes, and others like honeysuckle and musk. She was what Dean needed when Dean needed it.
But Dean was afraid to lose her, too. Dean needed something she knew she wouldn't lose.
Two months later and Dean had a small herb garden in the back.
She had enchanted it many times to keep away predators, make it blend in with the scenery, and make sure fae don't try to steal her herbs. However, it doesn't seem to work as well as she hoped it would. Her green thumb was not up to par.
It was, essentially, a disaster. Yes, she was getting harvestable herbs, but there was a lot of waste, too. She had to give potions in smaller quantities, which made some of her usual customers complain beyond belief, especially when they were for pain. That was all that she could offer!
Eventually, she decided that she had had quite enough. She was going to go to the marketplace, Sam stalking behind her as a feline, and find somebody else who would sell her herbs. Hopefully, if she played her cards right, she could get them to assume she was a chef or making a special meal.
She walked among the market, eyes flickering back and forth between some sellers. She was looking for someone a little shadier than just these out here; someone who may be used to dealing with people looking for herbs that were... unconventional. That was her best and safest bet to get what she needed.
Suddenly, she bumped into someone. Her feet got tangled up and she almost fell, arms reaching out blindly to wrap around the other person. She was a little shorter than Dean, but locked up, refusing to move and holding steady, even as all of Dean's weight came to rest upon her.
As soon as she had her balance, Dean pulled away. The girl had bright blue eyes and lovely pale skin. She was dark-haired and had a full set of lips, chapped in a way that reminded her of Sam's. Dean realized that she had been staring for too long, without any kind of apology, and she blushed.
"Are you okay?" She questioned, clearing her throat.
"Of course. I, uh, are you Dean?" The woman asked. Dean was all of a sudden suspicious. What the hell? How did this woman know her name? If she was from the church...
"Yeah, who's asking?" She demanded, demeanor turning hard and rigid. This woman didn't seem to mind.
"Well, I just did. I, uh, have something that I think you might be interested in, if you'll just follow me here." She said. She looked both ways before turning and strolling into an alleyway, where no vendors were located. Dean paused a moment, trying to decide whether or not it was a trap. She could easily be lured to her death by small propositions like these, leading straight into the hands of people who didn't understand magic.
Somehow, she found her feet moving and eyes darting back and forth suspiciously. She had no reason to trust this woman, other than how painfully familiar she seemed, and yet here she was, walking down a back alley and straight into what could be the belly of the beast. She couldn't even stop herself now, she was already so close to finding out what the woman wanted. Curiosity like Sam's had a hold on Dean, more powerful even than a witch's skepticism.
Eventually, they came to a stop a few feet outside of a set of double doors. The woman turned, looking at Dean with eyes piercing and full of nerves. Dean wasn't quite sure what she wanted that was so unaskable, but...
"I believe you're looking for someone to make your herbs?" She questioned. Dean nodded her head, surprise and warning both fighting to be her dominant emotion.
The woman reached out and grabbed the handle of one of the doors, opening it up.
It was gorgeous. There were flowers and herbs and greenery everywhere. The roof on this place was beautiful and glass, letting an amazing amount of sunlight shine through. There were pots of everything imagineable everywhere, and Dean thought that it was absolutely the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.
"How did you get all of this here?" She asked, breathing in deeply to taste the beautiful nature air. The other smiled just a little, her lip quirking upwards as she watched Dean's enjoyment.
"My father is rich. I asked him to start building it around two months ago. I, uh... He's gone, now. But I still have this." She said. Dean paused, turning back to her.
"He's gone? What do you mean by that?" She asked. The girl shrugged.
"He's gone out to sea. His boat crashed and he won't be back now." She admitted. There was a silence that went on a little too long, the tension starting to build before she cleared her throat and stuck out a hand, awkward and stiff in her movements. "I'm Castiel."
"Well, Castiel." Dean said, looking out to her large variety, "As long as you wouldn't mind having me as a customer, I'll split the profits for potions with you forty-sixty. How about you come back to my place tonight and we make the deal official?" Dean propositioned.
Castiel nodded her head, eyes not leaving Dean's. The look was intense and had a little bit of an underlying sense of wonder and tension, but Dean couldn't seem to tear her own eyes away.
"Of course, that would be lovely." Castiel confirmed, nodding. Dean smiled.
"I'll see you tonight, then."