SUMMARY: Objects of great supernatural existence and design can seem to have a mind of their own. The Colt is no different. It has a consciousness that extends no only to the gun itself but each individual bullet. Even into the shell casings left after a shot taken has some kind of existence. The Colt and final bullet is gone, but Dean clings almost desperately to the shell left over from his single shot that killed the Demon's son. John Winchester said that the Colt was made for a Hunter, like them but on horse back. Could the little life left in the shell casing send Dean and Sam into its place of origin to meet a throwback of those early days of Hunters, where the Moon and the Sun float in the sky side by side, all animals have a human voice and the first thing that Dean lays eyes on is a young woman with eyes the color of fresh blood and looks incredibly familiar.
DISCLAIMER: All characters and plot lines of "Supernatural" belong to their respective creators. Tuscarora and other major land features are existing parts of Nevada and belong to themselves while all characters and lay outs of such places and so on are completely fabricated by yours truly. Several different "spirits" and "gods" are based on Native American legend and creational stories, though they are also completely fictional.
All spirits, gods, individual characters, horses, dogs, Celia Northwind (Red) are © to Mary C. Tripp (that's me). No stealies!
Thanks to everyone for reviewing! I'm glad you guys like the story line, when I have time I can individually respond to the comments but right now thanks to all!
MAJOR PROPS AND THANKS TO MY BETA SIERRA NICOLE! BEST BETA EVER!
Like Us, But On Horse Back
"Not necessity, not desire - no, the love of power is the demon of men. Let them have everything - health, food, a place to live, entertainment - they are and remain unhappy and low-spirited: for the demon waits and waits and will be satisfied."
-Friedrich Nietzsche
…
Chapter Twenty-Five: A Step Behind
"Chase after truth like hell and you'll free yourself, even though you'll never touch it's coat-tails..."
-Clarance Darrow
…
Sam hefted the saddles into the truck bed. He went back for the sweaty saddle pads and decided against doing anything but propping them upside down against the wheel of the truck. He sighed, rolling his shoulders back, tugged off the Stetson and tried to run his hand through his hair, startled to find restriction then remembered the French bid his hair was in. He ran his fingers lightly over the ribs of the braid before struggling and releasing it from the weaving.
Then he turned back to the horses walking up between Ceasefire and Honeycatcher. The blonde stud's head was drooped low, ears slung out and every few minuets he groaned miserably.
Sam's eyebrows knitted in concern.
"Hey buddy, what's the matter?" Sam asked, running a slim hand along the cremello's shoulder.
Honeycatcher's head swung around, ears pinned and he groaned again, a sick, queasy sound.
Sam looked around at the other animals for help. The merle collie Alamo sitting a few yards behind him, Ceasefire close on his left side, Topmoon Goldfinch and Cottoneye Cloud in the stalls in front of him. Honeycatcher continued to groan and pine miserably.
Sam experimentally ran his hands over the cremello's sides, unsure what he was looking for but hoping that something would simply leap out at him. Sam felt the slow churning and grinding of the massive gut, the thudding of the heart and the stretch and fall of the lungs in breath.
"C'mon big guy, give me something…"
Sam's hands roved over the cremello's body, searching for anything, the single thing that would tell him why the stud seemed in pain. It remained illusive. He sighed turning and putting Ceasefire into the stall with the buckskin appaloosa filly. Then he turned back and looked at Honeycatcher, hoping somewhere in himself that the last few seconds with his back turned the horse's ailment would have exploded into obviousness.
Sam sighed and reached out to gently scratch the blonde horse's jaw. Honeycatcher gave a painful groan, hiking his head up draped it over Sam's shoulder. Sam sagged a little under the weight but found it natural to wrap his arms comfortingly around the stud's neck. Sam could literally feel the pure sorrow pouring out of the horse, he felt the large frame shiver and the sickly sounds rippling out of his throat and gut.
Sam couldn't place where he had ever seen behavior like this.
Loss.
It slammed into the younger Winchester violently. The horse was grieving. It was the only thing that made sense, the groans and sighs of pain, the depressive, sick behavior, a need for physical contact, Sam had seen them all before in people that he and his brother had interviewed and manipulated for information, treading recklessly on the sacred grieving period of countless mothers, fathers, brothers, sister and friends.
Honeycatcher was suffering a loss. Sam buried his face into Honeycatcher's neck, where the jaw connected with the throat and held tighter to the animal.
Sam personally didn't know why he did this, trying to comfort the horse. Maybe he was trying to make up for when he couldn't take the time to comfort those grieving and unwitting informants. Maybe he was taking a minuet for himself, letting Jessica's image drift back to him, his mind brushed lightly over her cracked and fading image, he didn't realize that the ache was slowly beginning to subside, others pushing into the once exclusive space. Their father, all the ones Sam couldn't save, Madison.
Sam let out a shaky breath before patting Honeycatcher on the jaw and turned the blonde horse into the stall with Cottoneye Cloud. Sam shook himself and turned back to the truck, he patted the merle collie Alamo lightly between the ears as he went.
Sam rolled his shoulders, suddenly feeling the weight of his adopted clothing and stripped off the brown leather chaps, folding them neatly and walking over to the truck, pulling open the passenger seat and tossing them inside.
He stiffened, sitting not three inches away from his hand as Nathaniel Greer's journal. Celia must have only just tossed it inside. Sam's teeth ground together, bouncing on the balls of his feet he reached out and brushed his fingers over the rough, worn suede cover.
He half expected some kind reaction. There was none and very gingerly Sam lifted the outer cover then stopped and dropped it back into place. If he wanted to look at it he could cask Celia, he doubted that she would deny him the request. Sam sighed.
The Treo squealed to life, drawing all his attention. He dug it out of his pocket and looked at the lit screen. A text message from Dean. Sam's eyes drifted over it for a few seconds. Then his heart lurched almost painfully.
"Are they insane!?" Sam snapped the door shut and took off at a jog back towards the rodeo ring, Alamo, Buckshot and Valentine looking after him.
…
Dean continued to stroke the far side of Celia's throat. After the third miniature 'night terror' and Dean receiving Celia's nails like a set of claws into his chest and side Dean only wanted her to stay calm in her drugged sleep. The elder Winchester understood why Celia hated morphine now. She literally couldn't control herself physically and evidently mentally.
The first fit had scared him. Celia lashed out in her sleep, jerking so violently and catching Dean across the jaw. The noise that had come from her throat as unnatural as they got, a strangled noise between a scream and a moan. Then it was over.
The second fit, about ten minuets after the first, Celia had turned into his support, buried her face into his stomach, teeth clenched and panting in pain. Her whole frame shook, curling up as tightly as she could into Dean's hip and side and her nails again dug into his skin. The whimper into his stomach had been pitiful, unnerving. Dean had passed his hand over her throat in comfort. She soothed and relaxed at the touch.
After that he braced, waiting and begging Sam to hurry.
The third one had been less violent, less distressing, if someone could call it that. Shivering almost violently, and Dean again got the worst side of her nails and she's muttered and mumbled incoherently into his shirt. At least he'd been somewhat prepared for it and blocked out the strips of flare of pain and acted swiftly to curb the behavior. The light passes of his hand didn't stop after that, he even toyed with the silver necklace, running his fingers over the carefully made silver skulls.
Dean's legs were starting to go numb, his back ached but he stayed still. With a sigh, Dean shifted again and looked around for Sam.
Inwardly the elder Winchester continued to fuss, snarling curses and a hundred better, smarter, more constructive things that he could be doing at that moment.
But he stayed at Celia's side, staying true to his word.
"Finally."
Dean spied Sam's mop of brown hair jogging around towards them. Sam slowed, skidding a little into a walk and panted slightly. The younger Winchester lifted his hands in question then let them drop back to his hips.
"What happened?" Sam barked.
"Medic gave her some morphine." Dean sighed, continuing to pet her throat.
"What the hell are you still here for?" Sam practically accused his elder sibling.
"If she's not at awards she forfeits." Dean growled, "After all this shit today I don't think she'd appreciate it all being for nothing."
Sam sighed, his head falling back and he muttered something to the sky, the words too quiet for Dean to hear. The elder Winchester git his teeth to keep from snapping.
"How much longer?" Sam asked. Dean dug for his cell and glanced at the time.
"Five minuets." He muttered.
"Sam."
The brothers glanced up, Luke and Lynn, the Sheridan twins were walking towards them. They looked harried but calmer.
"Hey Lynn." Sam greeted, reaching out and taking her hand. The small woman motioned towards Celia.
"What the hell's wrong with her?" Lynn asked sharply.
"She's sedated." Sam offered.
"Morphine." Dean finished.
"Damn." Luke muttered, stalking a step forward and snapped his fingers in front of Celia's face, he got no response from her but an angry snarl from Dean.
"Are ya tellin' me that she's drugged!?!" Lynn practically wailed, making the three men look up startled at her. "Please don't tell me that!?!"
"She was in serious pain." Dean snapped in defense. "It was either drugs or she passed out from it."
Lynn made a frustrated noise that told Dean and Sam that it was clear that the woman could have cared less.
"I can't fuckin' believe this. Well goddamn see if ya can wake her up." Lynn stormed away. Luke looked apologetically between the brothers.
"Don't let her fool ya boys-"
"What that she really does care?" Dean snapped. Luke shook his dark haired head and set his hands on his hips.
"Naw, she really is a bitch." Luke gave them a crooked grin, then motioned towards Celia, "Ya boys need any help with her?"
"No, we got it." Dean assured, deciding that he liked the male twin over the female any day. Luke nodded, starting back towards the ring.
"Alright, all she has to do is stand there and look pretty, shake a couple hands and she's done. Sam, ya can carry the saddle and ya can get her."
Luke motioned towards Celia and turned and trotted off to the ring as the Reverend Jessee started making announcements about the awards as top rankers started making their ways out into the ring.
"Carry the saddle?" Dean asked.
"I guess she beat out Shakes." Sam muttered, then started around to stand over Celia.
"C'mon Red." He nudged her shoulder and Dean tapped the side of Celia's throat.
The red eyed woman stirred after a few attempts and muttered incoherently. She tried to shake Sam off. The younger Winchester grabbed one of Celia's arms and pulled it up across his shoulders and hauled Celia up. She stumbled, instinct snapping in to try and right her balance but she slumped heavily against Sam's frame. Dean pushed himself up and dusted off the dark colored jeans while Sam tried to right the red eyed woman. Celia's head lolled back, slackly, her Stetson starting to fall and Dean snapped into action, pushing Celia's skull back up right and settled the black Stetson back into place. Celia's head tipped forward to her chin. She muttered incoherently and suddenly pushed herself away from Sam, stumbling but staying on her feet. She shook her head violently, rubbing her eyes. Both brothers stood back giving her a second but proved their readiness to react when she took a side step, wavered and threatened to collapse. Dean caught her arm and pushed back on her weight.
" 'M fine…" She growled and yanked her arm away from him. Her speech was slurred, cottony and dulled. "What goin'…whats?"
"Awards." Dean said simply.
Celia grunted and her nose crinkled, she blinked her eyes awake widening them unnaturally and rolling her jaw. She rubbed a hand over her face, scrubbing her nose and eyes.
"Shit." She snapped, shaking as much of the drug off as she could and started dizzily for the ring. Dean and Sam fell into step with her, flanking her on each side. She stopped and wavered at the gate of the ring when Luke, in the middle of the dirt arena noticed them and lifted his hand.
Celia swayed in place, shrugging off the brothers when they tried to steady her. She was clearly in a very foul mood. Baring her teeth at both brothers and starting to the ring when Reverend Jessee called her name and the crowd exploded in applause and cheers.
"She's being a complete bitch." Sam muttered under his breath as they started after her.
"Yeah." Dean responded, not bothering to even try and defend Celia's behavior. They stepped up to her sides and stood flanked like bodyguards, over shadowing her small frame with their height and waited patiently while the small string of judges and Reverend Jessee rambled off her accomplishments and broken records that day and received ugly looks from Shakes at the end of the line of top rankers. The crowds cheers seemed to get louder and louder, Celia faked a smile, her eyes glazed and dull. Dean and Sam followed suit, plastering their faces with grins and waited patiently. None of the three were really listening. Celia trying to clear her head, Dean occupied with making sure Celia didn't pitch over and Sam's thoughts were locked around Honeycatcher suffering back by the truck.
They didn't really registered as the head judge, smallish young woman with her hair tied up in a pony tail and dressed in a fringed, red and black sequined shirt, handed Celia a white envelope, a silver and gold belt buckle, two paper certificates and motioned for two wide shoulder volunteers to step forward.
Between the volunteers, they carried a portable saddle stand laden heavily with an ornate dark leathered and silver inlayed stock saddle and bridle set and set it between Celia and the judge. There were flashes of photographs and shaken hands and rounds of applause, whoops and hollers.
Dean just kept thanking what ever powers there were that it was over. Finally they could get back to the job.
…
"Do we have to stay for this stupid party thing?" Dean snarled nudging the gear tub out of the way and stepping further into the truck bed. Celia rolled her eyes heavenward and earned a small glance from Sam. The two brothers maneuvering and rearranging gear to fit the trophy saddle into the bed with the others.
"No Dean, we don't have to." Celia ground out, the elder Winchester looked down at her.
"When you say it like that it sounds like you do want to go."
"I never said I didn't want to go." Celia sighed, her foul mood and patience corroding away at her to a point that her red eyes were starting to fleck black again.
"Then we have to go." Dean grumbled.
"Ya don't have to go." Celia growled, climbing up on the wheel to pry open a plastic tub that had become clogged with the awards and prizes of the day, she was carefully maneuvering the painted plates.
"Yes we do." Dean huffed.
"NO YA DON'T!" Celia barked, her brittle patience snapping and she threw one of the porcelain plates into the earth, it smashed with a rattle of ceramic. Dean dropped his end of the saddle and it landed loudly and awkwardly on the truck bed. The brothers stared at her in mild shock. She even looked a little startled herself at the outburst. She blinked, looking at Dean like he was a whole new animal.
"I need a minuet." She muttered, shoving the envelope and certificates into Dean's hands and dropped off the side of the truck, Dean and Sam watched her shape move around the front of the truck and pull open the diver side door open, then practically crawled into the seat. The brothers looked at each other, unsure what to do, they settled the saddle and the rest of the gear as close to the same way they had earlier that day, Dean settling the rest of Celia's cache of Rodeo Queen into the container but hesitated. None of the white envelopes that had been acquired over the day were there. Dean fingered the last one with Celia's name scrawled in pen across the back. With a sigh he climbed down and walked around the driver's side.
The door was open and Celia was literally curled up in the seat, on her side with her legs pulled up to her chest and her arms hugging her shoulders. The red eyed woman had finally pulled off her hat and the band out of her hair, letting it fall across her face and throat. Her boots were dropped on the earth and Dean had to step over them to get closer, white socks slightly dirt streaked. She was practically in a fetal position.
"Celia?" Dean asked, he felt a spark of concern bubbled low in his chest and he rested a hand lightly on her calve.
"What?" She muttered into the seat cushion.
"Are y-" Dean caught the question and bit it back. He swallowed and started again. "What do you want me to do with the envelope?"
Celia's eyes opened and she heavily lifted her head to look at him. Dean held it up for her to see.
"Keep it." She muttered and dropped her head back and shut her eyes again. Dean blinked.
"What?" He asked.
"Ya can have it. Keep it." Celia muttered, sounding half asleep. "I don't want it…"
Dean looked down at the white envelope. He carefully slit it open and blinked, leafing through the contents.
"Celia, this is fifteen hundred dollars." Dean looked back up at her.
"Buy…yerself somethin' pretty…" Celia mumbled.
"I can't take this." Dean pressed.
"…then give it to Sammy…" Celia muttered, she pried one of her arms from across her chest and dug her hand into her pocket, with a small struggle she extracted her keys and blindly fumbled to slip them into the ignition. She turned the key backwards, cranking on the engine to feed off the battery and then reached to the radio, she fiddled and struggled until she found a country radio station and turned the music up just loud enough that someone walking directly passed the door would be able to hear the tones and lyrics.
She let out a sickly sigh, wrapped her arm back into the warmth of her curled up frame and went still.
Dean shifted, when she didn't speak or move other than shallow rise and fall of her chest he stepped back and walked around to Sam he held out the opened envelope. Sam looked down at it, took it then looked questioningly at Dean.
"What?"
"Celia gave it to me, I said no, so she said give it to you." Dean explained.
"All these letters are full of money?" Sam asked already walking towards the truck, he opened the passenger seat and flipped open the glove compartment, shooting a glance at Celia and in a few seconds extracted out all the envelopes marked 'Sam Wilson' and the two labeled 'Dean Wilson'. He shut the glove box with a look at Nathaniel's journal, then shut the door, he stepped back and slipped out a pocket knife, in a few seconds he'd slit open each white envelope and totaled the winnings.
"Dean, without the fifteen there's already eleven hundred here." Sam growled. Dean snatched the stack of cash out of Sam's hands and in a blur counted it.
The elder blinked and counted it again.
"For walking around in circles?" Dean muttered, "We're in the wrong business."
Sam took the envelope with fifteen hundred in it and pulled open the passenger door again.
"Red, we're not taking this prize money." Sam said over the music, setting the letter on top of the suede leather journal.
There was no response.
"Red?" Sam leaned forward, into the cab, then dropped back to the earth. "I think she's asleep."
"Good."
Sam looked a little startled and raised his eyebrows in question.
"She's been a bitch since she woke up." Dean said truthfully, reaching passed Sam into the bed and pulled out his own boots. He crossed over and dropped into one of the folding chairs, struggling off the cowboy boots and pulling on his work boots, lacing them up and moving his toes comfortably in the familiar space.
"Think it's because of the morphine still in her system?" Sam asked. "…Or the demon?"
Dean shrugged, jerking his head and lifting his eyebrows for a second, "That and she's exhausted, probably miserable, too."
Sam cocked his eyebrows at him. Dean shrugged looking a little defensive.
"What? People get tired."
"People? You just said that you think it's the demon."
"The demon's in the person, Sam." Dean sighed and rubbed a hand lightly over Valentine's ears as he passed the dog. Then he reached over the arm and dug into the cooler of food, his stomach rumbled hungrily as the elder Winchester rooted out a square shape wrapped in wax paper. Curious Dean unwrapped the wax and grinned madly at a thick meat sandwich slathered with barbeque sauce. He sniffed once and bit off a mouthful. Sam rolled his eyes at him and reached into the cooler himself, extracting a similar wax paper package and tore into it.
"You feeling better?" Sam asked suspiciously, after sitting in the chair across from his brother tapping his foot silently to the muffled music coming from the truck.
"Yeah, I'm starving though." Dean snorted, trying to force himself to keep from wolfing down the sandwich which he couldn't place what kind of meat it was. It was somewhat beefy but had a smoky , musky taste to it. Not all together unpleasant.
"You haven't really eaten anything in the last three days." Sam said, reached into the other cooler and extracting two Lagers and passed one to Dean. The elder Winchester flinched a little as he twisted the cap off and took a small draw from the bottle. He winced further, blinking and twitching his nose.
"Medicine and poison." Dean huffed out and took a breath to settle his churning stomach before setting back onto the sandwich.
Sam eyed his elder brother, watching as he stretched, reaching over his head and chew on his sandwich and nursed the Lager.
"Did you call Bobby yet?" Dean asked suddenly, watching the backs of a couple of girls in jeans and sequined shirts and fake Stetson hats. Sam blinked at Dean for a second.
"No." Sam muttered, looking down into his beer.
"Sam-" Dean started in on his 'big brother' tone.
"Here we go." Sam muttered. Dean bristled.
"What the hell does that mean?" The elder Winchester snapped.
"It means you're barely back on your feet and you're going to start acting like a jerk again." Sam rolled his head around to look at Dean. The elder raised his eyebrows.
"If acting like a jerk means getting the job done then yeah."
"What job?! There isn't a job here." Sam growled. "Nothing strange-"
"Nothing strange as in we have no memory of an entire life here with a family and their adopted daughter who happens to be possessed by a bad ass demon and has horns growing out of her head? Nothing strange as the fires and animal mutilations that are all centered around Blackriver Pass twenty-five out of Tuscarora? Nothing strange as in psychotic wolves and coyotes and horses-"
"ALRIGHT! Alright, I get it." Sam barked and Dean looked casually satisfied.
"When…"
Sam turned his attention to Dean as the elder sibling took a short draw from the Lager.
"When I was e-mailing her, Thursday night, she mentioned that she had a good idea what was causing the fires." Dean said absently. Sam perked his eyebrows and waited, trying to fight the urge to push Dean to keep talking. Dean didn't continue, his eyes glazed over in thought.
"She knows a lot about the region, local folk lore and spirit regulars…like Kaneonuskatwe." Sam shuddered around the name. "She was practically raised in it, even though she was adopted. Which is unusual but I think the Greers are Native American, too, so the change wasn't really drastic. Just a different tribe."
"Yeah…" Dean muttered, finishing off the sandwich and sighing heavily before forcing himself up out of the chair and walking towards the truck.
"What are you doing?" Sam asked.
"I'm going to try something." Dean muttered and waved Sam to follow him. With a quirked eyebrow Sam unfolded his lanky frame and walked after his elder. Dean signaled for Sam to move to the passenger side as Dean stepped around to the driver's side. The elder motioned Sam up into the seat and he himself climbed up a little, gripping the handle on the inside off the door and leaned over Celia's curled up frame. He reached over and turned the music down a little lower.
Celia shifted and mumbled.
"Celia?" Dean asked, gently resting a hand on her shoulder. She shivered slightly then settled, he bit his lower lip then reached up and brushed his fingertips over the ridges of Celia's horn. He watched as a small smile played on her face and a low vibration started in her throat.
"Celia?" Dean coaxed, making his own voice purr as much as possible.
"Mmm…yeah?" She muttered, practically talking in her sleep. Dean shot Sam a triumphant look.
"Hey Celia, what's causing the fires?"
Her face scrunched a little but Dean kept stroking her horn, the lines faded from her face.
"Figure…" She muttered, "…figure it's the Birds…"
Dean's eyebrows knit together. "The Birds?"
Sam watched fascinated, Dean coaxing and drawing out information from the sleeping woman.
"… pissed…hate ponies…"
Dean glanced at Sam.
"What Birds, Celia?" Dean asked quietly, shifting to rest his knee on the cushion.
Celia muttered something intelligible and shifted, stretching in an odd way and cruving her spine before slumping back into her position again.
"Celia?"
"…yeah?" She muttered.
"What Birds?"
"The nest…nest outta Blackriver…their territory…" Her unintelligible speech muttered on for a few seconds and the only thing the brothers caught was 'Kaneonuskatwe' and 'bastard'.
Dean rolled his eyes heavenward but his younger sibling was listening intently.
"Why are the Birds setting fire to the plains?" Sam quizzed. "What's the point?"
Celia shifted again, said nothing only twisted her muscles.
"Celia?" Sam pressed, he reached out boldly, lighting his fingers on the horn next to Dean's.
"…hate ponies…" She said again, her eyes fluttered a little and Sam lifted his hand from the horn. Celia's brow crinkled and she tucked her head down towards her chest, as if trying to curl up tighter.
"What if it's not the Birds?" Dean pressed, looking for a little more.
"…I don't know…"
Sam shrugged a little and startled to slid out of the truck but Dean briefly rested his palm over the rippled surface of the horn, as if testing to see if its real, he actually gave a slight tug, jerking Celia's head a little.
"Dean." Sam growled warningly. At the same time Celia yanked her head back, letting out a sharp noise that sounded something like a growl, blinking her eyes a little and squinting at him. Dean froze, caught like a deer in the headlights.
"The fuck?" Celia muttered, her brow crinkled.
"Sorry," Dean said hurriedly, "I was trying to turn the radio station." Dean cringed and hoped desperately that the lie would land.
Celia blinked at him for a few seconds and rubbed a hand across her face, muttered something under her breath and dropped her head back to the cushion and curled up tightly. Dean sighed in relief and reached across to turn the radio back up, flipping the station to the blues one that they had listened to on the way down for good measure; then dropped out of the truck.
Sam practically lunged at him as he walked around the front of the truck.
"Dean, I thought you quit pulling girl's hair in the fifth grade." Sam growled, somewhere between a tease and a scold.
"I didn't pull her hair." Dean snapped in return then brushed off the whole matter. "What birds?"
Sam shrugged.
"Bet its in Nathaniel's journal…" the younger sibling muttered almost bitterly, he glanced back at the truck as he eased himself down into the folding chair.
"You think Nathaniel was a player?" Dean asked.
Sam looked up at his elder brother in confusion. "You don't?"
"She never said he was, just that he and Dad were buds. That doesn't make Nathaniel Greer a Hunter."
"Dad only hung around with Hunters, Dean. Bobby, Ellen and Bill Harville, Caleb, Pastor Jim all Hunters. Why would Greer be any different?"
Dean shrugged his shoulders, returning to his almost forgotten Lager and nursing it all over again.
"You don't think Nathaniel Greer was a Hunter." Sam stated with a sigh,.
"I think he was a veteran working as a cop in small town America trying to raise his kids." Dean said calmly.
"With him being friends with Dad and raising Red. Red who, if I remember from what you said a few minuets ago is 'possessed by a bad ass demon and has horns growing out of her head'. Remember what Celia said about him dying?"
Dean stiffened.
"He was on a job by request of a psychic and chasing a shapeshifter. Why else would a psychic ask to have Nathaniel specifically on the case if he didn't know how to handle it?"
"Well he obviously didn't know how to handle it because he's dead." Dean spat, actually tasting the bitterness in his voice. Sam looked like had been slapped then hardened.
"You better sure as hell make sure Red doesn't hear you talk like that." Sam whispered out harshly. Dean snarled something under his breath, starting to walk away and trying to settle the rock of grief hardening in his gut. He ripped the Stetson hat off his head and tossed it hap haphazardly into one of the empty folding chairs.
"What?" Sam asked.
"I'm going for a walk!" Dean snapped and started away down the dirt track.
…
An hour later Dean was sure he'd thrown out his shoulder trying to kill a carnival game and the normal weight in his pocket a little lighter. He was somewhat relieved to find that most of the stalls were still operating. Thirty bucks had pretty much rented him the old fashioned milk bottle game as the operator didn't care much at the loss of his normal crowd of kids and sat back nursing a thick beer and chocolate milkshake and watched a Dean pounded out his frustration on the game.
He'd won several, Toys-R-Us quality stuffed horses, a couple balls, a Nevada state flag and was currently working on another stuffed animal. A mountain lion.
Dean could feel his shoulder throbbing, spike of pain rattling the joint. He was sweating and panting heavily, actually shivering with effort. He had practically been throwing balls nonstop for and hour. His ribs were actually starting to ache.
But Dean grit his teeth, eyes flicking to the tawny fur and green glass eyes.
He needed that mountain lion.
His sweat slicked palm moved over the rough hide of the baseball, twisting his grip to a screw ball and took a breath lining up his target.
Dean heard a distinct pop as he pitched, the pain in his shoulder flared sharply and subsided at the sound of the milk bottles crashing down.
"'Nother good shot, boy." The operator mutter unenthusiastically.
"Just give me the damn lion." Dean snapped back.
The operator shrugged his shoulders and reached up, pulling down the mountain lion and stuffed it into the plastic sack with Dean's other prizes. Dean practically snatched the bag from the operator and turned. He went a few steps and looked around the grounds. It was practically dead, only a few individuals packing up their booths.
"Where is everybody?" Dean muttered.
"Barn party, boy. If they're from Elko county." The operator muttered behind him as he took down strings of prizes. Dean glared over his shoulder at him, then marched on his way back to the truck. He reached into the plastic bag and dug out the mountain lion.
It was also grade toy store quality, not the cheap toys that carnivals usually had to provide, the ones that cost the operators no more than a quarter a piece. The fur was short and smooth, an even tawny color and dark green glass eyes set into the shaped head. A faux leather nose and fishing line whiskers spouting from white cheeks.
Dean sniffed at the toy and shoved it back in with the other prizes. He'd have to ask Celia where the nearest church was, he'd drop the toys off as a donation.
Finally a good deed that didn't require killing something else or putting himself or Sam into danger. He trooped through the practically dead grounds. Well over half of the trailers and trucks and horses that had packed every available corner had left, nothing but depressions in the grass and spilled grain behind. Dean snarled a few well chosen curses at the sight of Shakes' trailer still parked with the massive tattoo design logo.
"How gay is a sparrow anyway." Dean muttered under his breath, shivering again inwardly at the creeping feeling his skin had gotten every time that Shakes' eyes had roamed over his frame.
He trudged up the slope around the permanent stable and spotted Celia's white Silverado. The camp had been entirely broken up, coolers of food and alcohol and folding chairs packed up and away into the bed and the Katana cover clipping place. Dean glanced around and noted only Alamo curled up protectively between the stall doors where the three studs and filly dozed quietly. Ceasefire perked his ears at Dean, blinking his eyes open and giving his head a little shake before nickering, calling the elder Winchester over.
Dean hesitated for a second before answering the called stepping over and setting the plastic bag of toys down and leaned heavily over the wood of the stall door. The elder Winchester held out his hand, palm up and open towards the stud. Ceasefire snuffed in his hand, blowing warm, moist breath across the bare skin.
Before Dean could get his hand away Ceasefire nipped his sharply across the wrist, biting the sensitive skin and jerking his head up and out of the way and Dean yanked his hand back.
"Goddamn horse!" Dean snapped, rubbing the bite, growling a few more curses as the skin darkened quickly into a bruise. Ceasefire seemed to grin back at him.
"He can be a bit nippy."
Dean twisted to watch Celia walk the rest of the way towards him; the elder Winchester said nothing, rubbing the bite.
Celia stopped a few feet off; she twitched, awkwardly stuffing her hands into her pocket. She looked exhausted, but Dean felt a deep seeded satisfaction that there was little of the limp in her step and she actually rested weight on the left joint. The black Stetson was rested back into place on her head, hiding her horns from sight. The black button down she'd been wearing was still in place, but the buttons around her throat had been undone far enough down that Dean could see the white tank top underneath. She hadn't put her boots back on, replacing them with a pair of ankle high hiking boots.
"Hey, Dean." She finally managed out, licking her lips.
"Hey." Dean returned, nonchalantly.
"I'm…sorry 'bout bein' a bitch earlier." She sighed out, her narrow chest collapsing as she spoke.
"Sure." Dean returned stiffly.
"Drugs and I just don't mix to well, Dean. They make it easier for…" She trailed off, then tried again, "The demon…"
Dean's eyes snapped up and locked on her, waiting. But again she let the sentence fall away again.
"…they make me act up, is all." Celia finally put out there and watched Dean's eyes drop from her frame, either in disappointment or hidden disbelief.
"So, I'm sorry." Celia shrugged her shoulders. "And thanks for puttin' up with me."
Dean's eyes flicked up again, studying her.
"Ya didn't have to but ya stuck with me and…and that means a lot to me. So thanks."
Dean kept his eyes on her, waiting, knowing somehow she wasn't finished.
"Yer a good man, Dean."
The elder Winchester felt his heart tighten and his chest puff slightly at the compliment. He didn't get thanks much or compliments unless the particular girl of the night learned something new from him. He was the kind of man that moved on sheer steam that he was helping someone and that was enough. He would have made a great firefighter, or maybe a police officer or soldier if he'd taken the chance. Dean had the same values and drive that those places in society were designed and built off of.
But this thanks, and four little complimenting words was enough. He would be able to feed off the little reservoir that Celia had granted him for years if he needed to before he started feeling hopeless in the hunt again.
Dean nodded, staying quiet and his eyes flicked to the plastic bag of toys, he bent and reached in, pulling out the stuffed mountain lion. He fiddled with it for a second before holding it out to her.
"Here, I won it." Dean muttered, his head ducked in slight embarrassment at the cliché of it all. At least he hadn't won it for her...right?
She accepted the stuffed animal out of his hands and turned it around to look in its face, rubbing her thumb across the nose.
"Thanks…thanks, Dean." She sounded a little surprised.
"Yeah…" Dean muttered.
"It's a puma."
Dean's heart dropped, groped for something to tell her, remembering the scars on her arms and throat, the reason her left knee was bad and she couldn't see well out of her left eye was a mountain lion attack as a child. Why did he hand her the mountain lion? There were plenty of stuffed horses in the bag, too. He could have just as easily given her one of them.
"Yeah…I know you told me about what happened to you when you were younger. The attack at the canyon-"
Celia hid a flinch and looked at him expectantly.
"But I mean if you're still scared of them…you could, you know…" Dean fumbled trying harder, "I read somewhere that if a kid's afraid of something you can give them something positive to attach to the negative, like if they're afraid of dogs give them a stuffed dog, and it helps get over the anxiety."
"So ya thought that a stuffed puma would help me when I get the lion heebie-jeebies?" Celia asked turning the toy over in her hands.
Dean actually flushed a little. He shrugged, trying to play it off, "Yeah, I guess."
He refused to meet her eyes, cringing and waiting for it to be over.
"That's real sweet, Dean."
He looked up and saw she was looking at him with true affection, hugging the stuffed mountain lion to her chest.
"Thanks." She stepped up to him, pushing up on tip toe and planted a light kiss on his cheek, near the corner of his mouth. Dean's stomach lurched a little and her lips twitched into a grin before he stifled it.
Celia dipped her head, Dean was unable to see if she was blushing. Dean said nothing, knowing her well enough that embarrassing her further would only push her away. After a minuet she cleared her throat and motioned for him to follow her to the Silverado. Dean dropped in behind her, his eyes watching her step, picking out the very faint limp, the twist in her walk.
"Looks like you're feeling better." Dean said clearly.
Celia didn't respond. She pulled open the passenger seat and set the mountain lion on the seat and took the plastic bag of other toys and set it on the floor before shutting the door.
"Guess that anti-inflammatory and morphine worked." Dean pressed, he noticed the tightening in her shoulders. He decided to press his luck. "Right?"
"I kind of took…took somethin' else." Celia admitted, almost sheepishly. She looked anywhere but his eyes. Dean's green orbs narrowed suspiciously.
"Like what kind of 'something else'?"
Celia shifted, "Dose of Bute."
"'Bute'?"
"Phenylbutazone."
Dean awaited for a second and knew she wasn't going to elaborate. "And it's for what?"
"Its…" Celia shifted and swallowed, she seemed to be drawing in her courage. "It's a pain killer and anti-inflammatory…it's used for performance and work horses…"
Dean's jaw practically dropped.
"You took a horse tranquilizer!?!"
"It's not a trank." Celia growled, bristling. "It's a painkiller."
"Can't you die using that stuff!?!"
Celia shrugged nonchalantly, giving off an air alike to 'so what'.
"Celia-"
"I'm a grown up, Dean. I can make my own choices." She growled. Dean narrowed his eyes, stiffly crossing his arms tightly over his chest, fixing her with a hard look. Celia shifted, still refusing to meet his eyes, she started muttering, trying to justify herself to him.
"It was too painful…I couldn't take it."
Dean sighed. "Are you alright?"
Celia sighed, finally looking him in the face. "Yeah…little light headed and I probably shouldn't drive me truck…but yeah…" She smiled weakly at him. "No pain at least."
Dean sighed heavily, his turn to look anywhere he could to avoid her eyes for a second then looked back her.
"Where's Sam?" He asked, changing the subject
"Out bein' popular. I think it's startin' to go to his head." Celia started walking and Dean followed at her side. There was enough space between them for a horse to pass, but Celia wavered a step sideways and closed that distance easily. She tucked her hands into her pockets, letting her elbows brush lightly across Dean's.
"Popular?"
"He's a real hit 'round here, Dean." Celia said leading the elder brother passed a few other trucks and into the dark stretch of empty field between the stables and the party. "Big thing for the girls when ya add tall and mysterious to natural horsemanship."
Dean snorted, his eye twitched a little, his nostrils flaring.
Celia chuckled a little. "Jealous?"
Dean took a deep breath, sighing and shrugging his shoulder. "Naw, Sammy can have a little glory every now and then."
"Awe, yer so sweet." Celia teased and stepped sideways and bumping into Dean on purpose, forcing the taller man to stumbled sideways.
"Don't push." He snorted.
She scoffed, side stepped again and brushed her hip against his, pushing him.
"Celia, quit." Dean growled.
Again she side stepped and pushed him a little harder, nudging her shoulder into his bicep and knocking him off balance.
"Celia! Seriously!"
Celia blinked at him for a second then dropped back a step and shoved him roughly in the back.
"Hey!" Dean barked, stumbling forward but Celia took off, racing a head of him. Dean let out and animalistic growl and tore after her, trying to close the gap in a few strides but Celia was playing with him. Ducking and weaving she tore into the fire and truck light of the party circle and dodged around strangers.
Dean's heart thumped loudly in his chest and he pounded hard after he, trying to dive and skirt around sharp turns as fast as her smaller frame could.
Celia slowed down a little, dancing in a circle to look back, thinking she'd lost him but lunged back into a full sprint when she saw he practically a step behind her. Dean flushed a little driven harder by anger when he saw she was laughing!
Laughing at him! Dean doubled his pace, slamming his thrown shoulder painfully into another man as he exploded after her.
"HEY! SLOW DOWN!"
"Sorry!" Dean hollered to no one in particular, his green eyes completely locked on Celia's back. They tore passed someone that looked like Sam and sprinted back into the dark, dodging between two massive Ford trucks. Dean puffed, pushing himself harder than he had in the last four days but he was absolutely determined to catch (and punish) Celia. He knew she was teasing him, toying with him but it only pushed him harder. He reached, fingers just brushing her shirt before she dipped out of the way, leading him back towards the light and she leaped over a straw bale between two hunched, men with silvered hair. A sharp gasp echoed from the people as Celia seemed to just burst out of the dark. Another gasp followed as Dean made his own leap over the hay bale, thudding into the ground at a run and tearing after the still laughing Celia.
He practically danced to avoid slamming into a brindle Great Dane, swinging his hips out of the way to avoid being bitten, ducking and dipping between people and dogs.
"Dean!"
The elder brother ignored the sound of Sam's voice; all he could really hear was his own pounding heart. Following hot after Celia between a pair of trucks and into the dark again. He was press himself harder and harder, pounding, he was practically gasping to keep up. He needed to end this game. He lunged forward sprinting and reached out, his hand wrapped tightly around Celia's wrist, gripped practically white knuckled and hauled back, locking his legs and dug in.
Celia yelped mid laugh and stumbled backwards, hoping on her right foot and leg to keep from twisting the left and inflicting new pain on the old injury. Dean yanked her into his chest, wrapping her tightly into his arms and held her still while he rasped for breath.
"No more." Dean panted. Celia moved in his arms, jerking and trying to pull away from him, he squeezed her tighter into his frame. Doubling over and forcing her to bend at the waist with him. Their chests heaving tiredly, trying to get their wind back. Dean actually coughed hoarsely a few times. Celia took a few seconds, both of them shaking a little then Celia broke into a fit of laughter. Giggling and slumping, sliding down Dean's legs to sit on his shoes and back against his shins. Dean rested his hands on her shoulders and bent over her.
"Feeling better I guess." Dean muttered, still trying to catch his breath.
"Maybe morphine ain't so bad." Celia shrugged, tilting her head back to look at him, smiling gently. "Want to get a beer and listen to the band?"
Dean twitched his eyebrows up and shrugged, licking his lips and getting his breath back helped haul her back to her feet.
"Sure." He shrugged.
"Sure." She mimicked, even copying his slightly, Midwestern drawl.
"That stuff makes you playful, huh?"
"Little bit." Celia shrugged and started walking back towards the circle of light, Dean on her heels until she stopped short and stepped back, effectively shoving him again.
"CELIA!"
She broke into another fit of laughter and took off again. Dean sighed looking after her for a second, then his heart leaped back into a rapid pace and he tore after her. Celia bounded a head dogging Dean to follow, going slow enough that he could easily catch her but fast enough that he had to run. She balked, twisting and practically sliding across the grass and bounded out of sight, losing Dean. He stopped to a stop, looking around in the thick of the crowd. Most if not all were holding some form of alcohol or food, more relaxed in looser jeans and tee shirts compared to the tight fitting button downs and wranglers that had been seen in the ring, A lot of Stetsons had been abandoned or replaced with worn ball caps advertising favorite sports teams. There were a half a dozen trucks set up in a half circle, three of them front end inwards and lights on, and two massive works trucks backed up and filled with band equipment. Amplifiers and speakers set on the earth or pressed up against the cabs, microphone stands, a standard drum set and a couple of different kinds of guitars as they fiddled with a few individuals. No one was playing and it seemed like a couple were arguing in the bed of one of the two trucks. And the sixth truck was packed with coolers and feed buckets packed with ice, food and alcohol that the group had contributed and picked at as a communal group. Dean twisted to look the other way, he spotted another curve of set up straw bales, he dimly remembered jumping over something like that on his first run though. He noticed a flash of red hair and trotted towards it almost instinctively. In a few seconds he broke out of the main, chattering group towards the bales settled around the pit dug for a small bon fire. Sam was sitting on a bale at the end of the curve and Celia was handing him a beer. They both looked up at Dean walked towards them.
"How did you do that?" He asked.
Celia shrugged, smiling wryly at him and settled on the bale next to Sam. The younger Winchester was looking down, rolling the chilled and damp glass bottle between his palms. The younger man's narrow chest heaved with a deep breath then collapsed again.
"What's the matter with you?" Dean asked.
Sam shook his head and twisted open the beer drinking from it.
"Seems to me that Beaver's dam has rotted a little."
The two brothers and Celia looked up into the weathered and wrinkled face of an old Native American, darks eyes crinkled and knowing, far wiser that either Dean or Sam liked.
Some times you just feel like getting chased...Read and Review! Thanks!
M.C. Tripp