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! Once again the character Jamie Freeman is a creation of Sierra Nichole especially for the Like Us universe! No stealies!
DEATH DEATH DEATH! To anyone who DARES use the Wounded Heart brand design it's MINE!
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 Nine: Make Amends in Paradise
"Somewhere in time's own space
There must be some sweet pastured place
Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow
Some paradise where horses go,
For by the love that guides my pen
I know great horses live again."
-Some Paradise Where Horses Go - Stanley Harrison
…
Dean's head was practically spinning, he almost drove off the road, tripped over the stairs up the veranda, and hit Sam in the face with screen door when he pulled it open. Apologizing twice and to preoccupied to even laugh at his brother's misfortune.
Dean's frazzled and whirling mind broke, settling sharply. His mind suddenly blank her stared at Celia at the scarred and battered wooden table in the kitchen.
She looked miserable. Her hair was mussed, hanging in unattractive strands around her face and horns. Her eyes were heavily shadowed and her normally warm, tawny skin was pale and sickly looking. Normally bright blood colored eyes looked dull and glassy, the color was so unchanged from normal it took Dean a few seconds to figure out that she had been crying. She looked like she hadn't slept in a few weeks then on her first nights sleep in had been filled with violent nightmares and thrashing. She retreated into an over large knit sweater of mottled blue-gray and white, like some kind of security blanket, the sleeves pulled well over her hands. Her arms were wrapped around her self, hugging around her neck and shoulders. Still dressed in her green and brown flannel bottoms and socks, but they looked rumpled and thread bare now. Every few seconds her whole frame shivered and a ceramic mug of coffee sat on the table in front of her; steaming still but clearly getting cold in a hurry. Buckshot's large head was resting across her knee, the caramel and black German Shepherd whined softly, his eyes trained on her.
She looked God awful, panic flushed Dean's systems. Even when her unfocused eyes cleared and looked up at them.
The surprise on her face wiped out the misery for a few seconds. She wiped her eyes on the sweater sleeve pulled across her palm.
"Sammy…Dean…thought y'all hit the road…" She whispered hoarsely.
"Celia what's wrong?" Dean asked, in a heart beat crossing the room and sitting in the chair next to her. Sam hung back, unsure still where his place was.
She let out a shaky, broken sigh, letting her hands drop from hugging her frame to rest on either side of the coffee mug.
"Celia you aren't crying over us leaving, right? I told you we weren't bailing." Dean said assuringly, searching her face.
"I wasn't really…well I was…but only after…." She muttered, broken unnatural words. She started shaking harder, the mug rattled between her hands. Dean swiftly removed it.
"Celia-"
"I got a call…my Uncle Kurt Cree died in Elko hospital five and a half hours ago."
Sam and Dean froze. They were use to dealing with familial loss, posing as priests, law enforcement, insurance reps, even councilors. The loss never really hit home.
Jim Murphy, Caleb, Mary and John. That's were the loss was in their lives. They couldn't sympathize with the loss in other's lives, they had to detach or suffer pains continuously. Now…a man they didn't know by name or sight, only as someone important enough to make the 'strong and silent' Celia cry…it bit deep.
"Doc said he'd been callin' me all night…I was to stupid…drinkin'…" Her breathing hitched and tears bit at her eyes. "…and I got to thinkin' 'bout Uncle Kurt…then my daddy and I went lookin' for ya and ya were gone and the Impala was gone…"
"Hey, take it easy." Dean soothed, gripping one of her hands tightly as she started to choke, breaking into racking sobs. Buckshot whined and pressed closer to her side. Sam jumped slightly when Valentine practically knocked him over rushing to Celia's side and pushing in next to the older German Shepherd and nudging at Celia's hip and side.
"Celia, I told you we weren't leaving yet, remember?"
She shrugged her shoulders, "I…have to call…my momma."
"No." The elder Winchester said sternly. "No, not right now."
"But-"
"Red, it's probably best if you sleep a little longer..." Sam advised quietly from the other end of the table.
She looked up at him blearily, studying Sam through gut wrenching sobs and hiccups.
"You're not ready to deal with it." Sam pressed.
"And you're still a little smashed." Dean added quietly.
Celia sniffed heavily, looking blearily between the brothers then nodded, rubbing her face raw with her sweater sleeves and trying to get up from the chair alone. She stumbled on the first try, Sam jumping forward to catch her, Dean already snagging her arm from the other side. She was almost limp weight between them, using Sam to push herself steadily to her feet.
"You okay?" Sam asked quietly.
"My gut hurts…" She pushed away from Sam and Dean, shuffling towards the stairs, hugging herself. Sam started to follow and she tripped on the stairs trying to avoid him. Crashing hard and clumsily to the stairs. She snarled several curses, using the banister to haul herself back to her feet. She jumped when Dean gripped her left arm and guided her up the stairs, relaxing after she realized who it was.
Sam stood back, his ego bruised; Dean waved him off and disappeared with Celia up the stairs. Sam's teeth ground together and he felt a flush of frustration in his stomach boil.
He thought it was unfair that Celia hadn't forgiven him yet. He'd forgiven her barely a few minuets after she'd almost killed him, even supported her when Dean was still acting like she was dangerous. He knew he shouldn't have brought the Hernandez women into Wounded Heart, he'd had good intentions, she new that right? Why the hell was she still acting like he was repulsive?!
Sam sighed, shook himself and calmed the turmoil within.
Celia was like Dean, he reminded himself. To much alike, she could hold a grudge just as easily at his elder brother. Sam needed to just give it time and space, that's how things got worked out with Dean.
She has to come to me…Sam sighed heavily and eased into the chair Celia had just vacated. He rested his head heavily in his hands and grumbled under his breath. Sam jumped when the view of his knees was suddenly obscured by Buckshot's head.
The German Shepherd whined loudly, pawed at Sam's knee. The younger Winchester rested a large hand between the pinned ears and scratched the black and cinnamon fur. A clatter at the door made him stiffen and bristle a little but rose and pulled open the oaken door, leaving the screen door shut until he saw that it was Rosie the Red Fur calf and Alamo. The younger Winchester pushed open the screen, letting the two animals in, shutting and locking the door behind them before migrating to the couch, sitting up watching the early morning news.
…
Celia moved on her own steam, but it was unsteady. Dean acted like a collie, keeping pace with her, his presence steering her in the right direction but he didn't touch her. The way Celia was hugging herself and kept her head tucked into her chest it was clear she didn't want to be touched. Dean stepped a head of her, cutting her off much like a herding dog did livestock, steering her into her room, following her over the threshold.
"I'm sorry about Kurt." Dean said quietly. Celia shivered violently at his words and set herself on the edge of her mattress, one hand braced across her face. Dean settled himself next to her, after a minuet of not speaking or moving lifted one arm and gently wrapped it around her shoulders. Celia naturally leaned into his frame, she scooted back on the mattress, hiking her legs up and hugging her knees to her chest. She let out a pained and shaky sigh.
"Didn't know him that well…knew Jezebel better…"
"That girl that jumped Sam, right?" Dean asked quietly, hugging her closer. She nodded.
"More sick over that pup…she was startin' to wander with Kurt strong and her momma's always been weak…she'll get herself into so much trouble…"
"She'll be fine with you and Eli and everyone else in the family looking out for her." Dean reassured.
"Nobody should lose their father…" Celia muttered. Dean flinched inwardly, staying deathly still for a few long minuets. Before he let the bite of the pain fade from his mind and heart, then he settled, relaxing again.
Dean shifted, bracing himself up with one arm and tangling his other hand in the soft, knitted fabric of her sweater. Fiddling around her collar Dean's fingers touched the hot metal of the necklace around her throat. The silver chain and crucifix. Dean wound his fingers into the chain, unconsciously playing with the charm. He wondered why such a complex person as Celia wore something so simple, so common. The necklace was quickly cooling between his fingers, pulled away from the warmth of her skin and tangled in his hand.
"You need to get some sleep." Dean coaxed, trying to extract himself from her.
She made some strange noise of agreement but pressed tighter to Dean's side.
The elder Winchester sighed and settled back without any struggle, knowing without asking, being asked or trying to remove himself again that he wasn't going anywhere. Dean shifted himself back on the mattress until the sill of the widow over her bed was pressed into his back and his head rested against the cold of the glass, he reached for one of Celia's pillows, tucking it behind his back to ease the discomfort the position otherwise promised. Dean's legs stretched out comfortably across the mattress and his boots, still slightly muddy from the cemetery, hung just over the edge of the mattress. He actually tapped his toes together once while Celia crawled into his frame, curling up tightly into his right side. Dean lifted his hips and sucked in his stomach when her arms threaded around his waist, her fingers linking on his left hip and her face nestled deep into his stomach. Dean draped his arm comfortably around her frame. Every careful, gentle move he made was in thought of comfort.
He felt the fabric of his shirt dampen and sink to stick to his stomach.
Celia spoke simply and quietly, shamelessly wiping her tears on his shirt. "Scared…thought ya'll were gone…"
Dean didn't speak, only letting his right hand rove up and down her side and shoulder, massaging her muscles and skin as gently as he could, but with enough strength to promise that he was solid and by her side. He stayed steady while she quietly cried herself out into his ribs, only moving his right hand soothingly up and down her side or lifting his left hand to pushed her hair back or wipe the sleeve of his flannel shirt over her raw eyes and cheeks. Dean tried to be neutral, even genderless, he doing his best to just be a living pillow or a stuffed animal and save the proud girl the horrific embarrassment of breaking down in front of anyone. The brush of thinking of his current position, Dean reached into her rumpled sheets and quilt, dug out the mountain lion toy he'd given her a two nights ago. He glanced between the puma and a well loved, stuffed black bear. Dean hesitated for a few seconds, wondering of he should make Celia make a choice and if she didn't choose the mountain lion would his feelings be hurt?
Dean decided to opt and set the mountain lion back down, stretching a little and snagging the black bear. He held it under Celia's nose. She blinked once or twice at the offering before burying her face deeper into Dean's side.
Dean set the bear back down, didn't bother reaching for the mountain lion and shifted under Celia for a few seconds before settling again. Dean heaved a deep sigh and continued to gently wind his right fingers in her tangled hair. Waiting, vigilant until her tremors subsided and her breathing eased making sure she was deep in sleep, before letting his eyes drift shut and unconsciousness crush him.
…
Sam ruffled his hair, blinking blearily and working his jaw to try and wake himself up, he felt sleep deprived…or pushing insanity. He was casually running his hand down the coarse furred back of the calf curled up next to his hip. Rosie was like some two hundred pound cat, a wheezing rattle of a noise rolling from her throat instead of a purr. Ever few seconds the calf's legs would twitch or she would grunt before settling. Sam's vision blurred a few times, he honestly couldn't understand why he was exhausted. He'd pulled all nighters and had his fair share of insomnia. Hell he was used to getting up before the crack of dawn. And he had a few hours sleep last night, restless but still sleep.
Sam's head nodded forward. His slowly moving hand over Rosie's back slowed until it stopped.
A sharp pain ripped across the sensitive skin of his right ear. Sam's eyes snapped open and he leaped to his feet, scrambling to put space between himself and the pain, dropping into a fighting stance.
Celia's cocked an eyebrow at him, wrinkling her nose. She looked several shades better than she had several hours earlier. Clean, unrumpled clothes that fit her frame; jeans, a black tee shirt and blue flannel unbuttoned over her shoulders replaced the over sized sweater and pajama bottoms. Her hair was brushed and loose around her shoulders and horns while she fiddled with band in her hands. She showed no signs of crying hysterically or hangover.
"Goddamn Sam, yer nothin' but a spooked horse, ya know that?" She said quietly, the younger Winchester tried not to show the shock on his face at the emotionless tone of her voice.
"You didn't have to flick me in the ear." Sam muttered in response.
"Ya better consider yerself lucky that's all I do to ya. Breakfast in ten, get cleaned up." Her boots thumped softly on the floor as she walked into the kitchen. Sam stayed in his fighting stance, watching her then Dean as his elder brother filed passed. Dean flicked his green eyes at Sam, then shook his head.
"Bitch."
Sam bit back a response and disgruntled stalked into the bathroom, snatching clean cloths from his duffle as he went. After a shave and brushing his teeth he felt more relaxed and calm, at least until he stepped into the kitchen, Dean sitting at the head of the table, drinking coffee and reading the paper, the sound of the three dogs crunching heavily through their kibble and Rosie lowing for attention and treats as Celia extracted homemade, drop biscuits from the oven, dumping them into a bowl and sitting them on the table along with apple butter and marmalade that Dean had slipped into the groceries, hand churned butter, a large jar of gold honey that Sam could only figure as collected directly from the hives out on the desert and coffee. Sam sat down next to Dean and stayed very still and quiet as Celia continued to pile food onto the table. Adding a large dish of thick slices of bacon and fat, venison sausages, fried in pepper and honey; a plate of scrambled eggs heavily mixed with cheese, wild mushrooms, and small green flecks that Sam would learn a little later were chopped jalapeno peppers. A glass pitcher of frosted milk, straight from one of the Greer's Guernsey dairy cows and a pitcher of orange juice were set in the middle of the table.
"What's all the food for?" Sam asked quietly, not moving even to pour himself a cup of coffee.
Celia was clearly sober and in her right mind. The way she had reacted towards his advances in a slightly drunken state gave him an idea that she didn't want anything to do with him. If she was like Dean, which she was, he was still on very thin sheet of ice over very cold and deep water.
"Jezebel and her friend are comin' in from Elko. She doesn't want anythin' to do with the city or the hospital or her momma right now." Celia informed him calmly, pulling out a large ceramic mug and pouring a thick cup of coffee for him and adding cream and sugar the way that Sam preferred it.
He accepted the cup and sipped it gingerly. Comfort food, in a few short hours Sam had forgotten that another male member of the Greer family was dead. He wondered if the line was cursed…was Elijah next?
Sam gagged at the thought, his throat constricting at the idea, coughing and choking, nearly dropping the coffee mug. He got some help from Dean and Celia pounding on his back until Sam could breathe easily.
"Ya alright?" Celia asked, looking a little shaken, her hands were actually shivering.
"I'm fine." Sam rasped.
"Ya sure?"
"Yeah, sorry." Sam panted. Celia rested a hand on his shoulder. Sam could feel the tremors in her palm and arm. "Red you're shaking."
"Just got scared for a second is all." Celia explained quietly. "I can't take another death…."
Sam looked at Dean, the unnerved feeling in Sam's stomach was written on his elder brother's face.
"Another death?" Dean asked quietly. "All he did was choke on coffee."
Celia shook her head. "Ya can die chokin' on coffee." She growled defensively and brushed them off, continuing to set the table, setting out a stack of dishes, glasses and a ceramic pot filled with knives, forks and spoons.
"Like I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by my brother trying to kill himself." Dean snorted, picking up the paper and folding it to a certain page and setting it on the table. "Celia, there was another grass fire-"
"The hell!" She dropped the mug she was holding and snatched the paper off the table. She feverishly read the article and looked at the map. "Goddamnit it was south of here…I didn't get a call so maybe there weren't any-"
Her cell phone, sitting harmlessly on the counter near the door, jumped to life, humming out a Garth Brooks song. Celia stared at it like the phone was a rattle snake.
She carefully set the paper aside and picked the cell up, flipping it open and pressing it to her ear. "Red."
The brothers watched in silence, waiting, they understood that little piece of plastic and hardware had caused Celia more pain in the last twelve hours than any inanimate object should.
"How many?" Celia asked; her voice hard and tight. One hand braced across her jaw, her nails digging like claws into her own skin. "Where the hell does that put us!?!"
The sound of someone knocking on the front door drew their attention. Celia waved the brothers to deal with it while she cursed and scribbled notes from whoever was speaking to her.
"Well goddamnit I don't know how the hell to stop a natural disaster!"
Dean and Sam slipped through the kitchen, living room and into the front hall, pulling open the door and pushing back the screen door.
"Jamie?" Sam rasped.
The pretty, mocha skinned girl looked up in surprise. "Hi, Sam." She managed out. One of her arms was wrapped tightly around the shoulders of Jezebel Cree. The young woman looked like she was in complete shock, her face emotionless. It was sort of queer, disturbing even for Sam to see the girl that was practically Jessica Moore's doppelganger being comforted by the petite equestrian that he'd had a short fling with two days earlier.
"Hey Jezebel." Dean injected.
"Dean." The blonde muttered.
"C'mon, Celia's in the kitchen." Dean coxed Jezebel out from Jamie Freeman's shadow and steered her towards the kitchen where Celia was cursing violently. Sam and Jamie watched them go for a second before he turned his attention back to her.
"Jamie, I really didn't expect…"
" 'Bel and I went to school together. She and her parents lived up in Mountain City when we where kids." Jamie explained, stepping over the threshold and stripping off her dark red jacket. Sam took it and hung it on a hook in the front hall.
"I'm sorry I had to run off so fast." Sam pressed, looking at her, almost hungrily.
She shrugged, "Its no big deal, Sam. We all had to rush out of there, my mother always used to say that Pajacock would come down on you when you least wanted."
"Who?"
She smiled a little, "The weather, Sam." He smiled back and they walked together to the kitchen where the smells of the breakfast had filled the room. Dean was sitting next to Jezebel, being as gently charming as possible and coaxing a few smiles out of her while Celia stormed up and down the veranda, cursing and yelling into her cell phone. Sam pulled out a chair and waited for Jamie to take her seat before easing himself down next to her.
The four watched as Celia stopped just outside the door, snapping her phone shut and yanked her hat off her head, she threw it to the hard wood and looked remarkably like Yosemite Sam as she pitched a fit, stomping on the Stetson, cursing violently and throwing punches into the air.
After as half a minuet she stopped, took a few heaving breaths and fit her hat back into place on her head and stepped back into the kitchen.
"Alright, y'all hungry?" She said, somewhat breathless. Jezebel smiled genuinely for the first time.
It took nearly and hour and a half of good food and purposefully light hearted conversation before Jezebel started to participate and relax in their company. Celia offered her to stay in the Greer home but it was quickly refused by Jamie, who nearly broke into a rant about how she'd 'called dibs' first. Dean was glad for the decline. The imminent return of the Greer family that night made his stomach twist up in knots, having a grieving twenty year old in the house would have put him over the edge. But he was more than happy to entertain Celia and Jezebel while Sam chatted up Jamie on the other side of the table. A few casual glances in his brother's direction and Dean had to admit that the Winchester charm had not all been lost in his baby brother, just more subdued.
The casual brunch died suddenly when cell phones started to ring.
Celia's was first, another call about the recent fire to the south which she quickly dismissed, promising that she would get there as soon as possible.
Her cell rang a second time for the same reason and while she took it the conversation had lasted a total of a minuet and a half. Each time she snapped the cell phone shut it was clear that Celia's was getting more and more agitated.
The third call was to Sam, he took one look at the Treo screen, had a very small aneurysm and excused himself to take the call. Dean hoped that it had been Bobby or Ellen with some kind of help on their whole demonic possession and unnatural natural disaster case. Sam returned somewhat subdued.
"That was Mrs. Hernandez." He said sliding back into his seat. Celia froze for a second; her teeth gritting and trying very hard to get a hold of herself. Next to her Dean tensed, while the other two women at the table looked between them in mild confusion.
"They wanted to know if they should come back-"
"That hell do ya mean 'should come back'?"
"They're over at that little inn on main-"
"The Sand Rose?! Ya didn't send 'em home!?! What the hell is wrong with ya Samuel Winchester!" Celia barked, getting to her feet, pushing back one of the newly repaired chairs of the table and threatening to topple it completely to the floor.
"Damnnit Sam." Dean groaned.
"Red I just-"
"No." She barked, Celia stretched, reaching around and snagging her wallet from a small pile of her things on the counter top. She practically ripped out a twenty dollar bill and shoved it into Sam's hands.
"Red-"
"Here's what yer goin' to do, Sam." Celia said in a low, dangerous tone that was absolutely final. Not to be argued with. "Yer goin' to go saddle up a horse and trot into town, right up to the Sand Rose and ask Eileenn to call those ladies down. Yer gonna say 'I'm sorry, this was a big mistake on my part and I am very appreciative that ya made the trip all the way out here to give me a hand' ver batum, Sammy. Then yer goin' to use that money to take them over to the General, see Millie and yer goin' to buy them breakfast, thank 'em again and send 'em on their way."
"Red-"
"No. Sam." She growled warningly.
"Celia if you just talked to them-"
She let a noise slip from her lips, something between a snarl and a sigh. Celia placed a hand on the table in front of Sam and the other on the back of the chair was he was sitting in, leaning heavily over him and right into his face. Sam actually edged back and away from her.
"Sam…do ya honestly want to put me back into a room with the creatures that I consider responsible for the death of my father?"
Sam swallowed thickly, practically slunk out of the chair, careful to avoid touching her and casting an apologetic look back at Jamie and Jezebel pulled on his boots and slipped out the door. Buckshot and Rosie, dozing casually on the veranda, perked up and trotted after him as Sam crossed the yard, glancing sideways to look at the injured, paint mare he'd dubbed Homewrecker and guilted Celia into trying to train. The mare looked antsy, totting in long-legged steps around the pipe fencing of the ring pen. She stopped dead in her tracks at seeing him, her ears jerking forward she snorted loudly, huffing air through her nostrils.
Sam stopped, the Red Fur calf and caramel and black German Shepherd trotting passed him. Sam made eye contact with the mare, studying her. She snorted loudly and stomped a hoof.
Sam let out a short, low whistle in return. The mare jumped, staring at him. Her ears swatted side ways then perked forward again. She whinnied, eyes locked on him waiting to find out what he would do. Sam couldn't help a small smile at the fact that Homewrecker was probably as fascinated by him as he was by her.
Sam whistled in return.
The mare nickered, bobbing her head and pawing at the earth. She snorted and whinnied again. Sam returned the whistle and it only seemed to please the painted mare more. She whinnied loudly. Encouraged Sam took a step towards the ring pen. The mare pinned her ears and spooked, jolting away from the near side the fence and galloping to the far side. Her eyes wild again she snorted warningly.
Deterred Sam turned back and continued on his way towards the barn, feeling the light pressure of failure in his heart. The mare watched him walk away and took a few steps towards the fence following Sam's progress until he was out of sight. Entering the barn Sam found the stalls empty. He followed the line of stalls to the end, hoping that one horse might have been penned in.
Nothing. Following some ingrained instinct Sam stepped into the tack room, snagging a blue, nylon halter and lead rope off a hook on the wall. Stepping out of the tack room and after heaving to push it open, stepped out of the massive double doors into the Wounded Heart open pasture. Sam took a few steps into the short grass and scrub, Buckshot and Rosie pushing passed him to wander off, the Red Fur calf catching sight of part of the herd far off and broke into a gallop, her identification tags jingling on the leather collar as she loped across the land.
Sam looked around, spotting a few horses several hundred yards off. Sam filled his chest with air and whistled as loud as he could. The small group of horses' heads jerked up, ears flinging forward. A few of them nickered, a few heads dropping back to continue grazing. Sam whistled again, dimly wondering why he was going to the trouble of catching, tacking and riding a horse into town when he could have easily taken the Impala.
Maybe it was because Celia told him too, or maybe it was that mystique of a little nowhere town with roads still unpaved only packed earth…like Tuscarora…and with public hitch posts for horses out front of a slatted wooden boardwalk along the store fronts…like Tuscarora…where there was little use for gasoline and motor vehicles except to do the heaviest of hauling or make long trips for supplies…like Tuscarora. Sam watched as four of the six horses broke off their grazing and started trotting towards him.
It startled Sam suddenly, thinking about Tuscarora itself. It couldn't exist, it wasn't a reality anymore. Lines of family owned and run shops, only the greatest of necessities. General stores, tack and feed shop, no local police just a posting of the Nevada state Sheriffs department and State Troopers that considered themselves the local police. A public stable that went majorly unused and an old rodeo arena and spectator stands that were only in use for small shows when the few miniature local towns in the county decided to have an oversized barbeque. A little white church and a cemetery with stones as old as the town itself, a tiny hospital that really was just the refurnished barn and stable of the local doctor and similarly for the vet office, working out of their own ranch homes. A bank that still had iron barns where in modern day they had been replaced with solid steel. A small elementary and high school, the pride and joy of the whole town the little, senior football team. Residents living in the small apartments over their shops or on the vast acreages of hundred year old family farms, like the Wounded Heart ranch that was nearly seven miles out of the main cluster of the town. If there were parking lots they where made out of a layer of gravel over the dirt hard pack over two hundred years old.
It was a town where there were more horses and cattle than people. Surrounded by the rolling, short grassed and scrub prairies for miles until the horizon met the sky; backwoods, canyons and clear slate rivers. In the spring, the dogwoods and blossom trees and bloom, and the lazy heat summer with nothing but green, the browns and reds matched by the rolling fields of gold in the approaching fall and the still peace of a thick blanket of white. Most of it never feeling the impression of a human step, only the tracks of predators and hoofed animals to speak of.
A place where the earth and wilderness didn't suffocate the lives of the town tucked into its embrace, it helped the town breathe and exist.
The Winchester had never done anything but travel from place to place, hunting and hiding. But never a place so set in the past like Tuscarora.
The four horses picked up their paces, trotting up to him then slowing to cluster around. To Sam's relief one of them was Cottoneye Cloud. Sam easily slipped the halter over the palomino's head and buckled it into place, snapping the lead rope into the chin ring and tugged the massive quarter horse after him.
The other three animals each accepted a pat before casually returning to grazing. Sam was a little more than lost in thought as he went through the motions of tacking up Cottoneye Cloud.
How could a place that was supposed to only exist within a Lonesome Dove novel or a western movie be here in reality? So untouched by industry and mechanization…Some people called that place the holy land, sacred and pure.
Sam sniffed, laughing a little deep in his throat. There was a poem that he'd studied in one of his English classes at Stanford.
Some Paradise Where Horses Go. A work by Stanley Harrison. The memory of the poem prompted Sam to speak; the only way he'd ever memorized poems and sonnets was by reciting them out loud over and over.
"Somewhere in time's on space, There must be some sweet pastured place."
Cottoneye Cloud nickered, flicking his ears back towards him. Sam unclipped the lead rope from the palomino's halter, backed him up a few steps and slipped his boot into the stirrup. With a single bounce Sam vaulted into place on the saddle, settling himself and slipping his boot into the other stirrup.
"Where creeks sing on and tall trees grow, Some paradise where horses go."
Sam clicked his tongue and trotted Cottoneye Cloud along the line of stalls and out into the yard, stepping around a small, scarlet pick up truck, a Ford Ranger.
"For by the love that guides my pen-"
"I know great horses live again." Someone finished.
Sam jumped, startling the palomino horse. Cottoneye Cloud nickered sharply, spinning in place until Sam tugged his reins to hold still.
"Sorry, Sam."
Sam let out a breath of relief, "Jesus. You scared me, Jamie." Sam sighed smiling and relaxing. "Are you leaving?"
"Yeah, after that whole thing it kinda got uncomfortable, we needed to head out anyway. But look at you, poetry?"
Sam blushed slightly, dipping his head.
"And Stanley Harrison on that. One of my favorites, that 'paradise' poem." Jamie leaned back against the side of the red pickup. Sam smiled, feeling a little tight around the collar.
"You know she isn't mad at you, right Sam?"
Sam cocked his head at her.
"Red, I mean."
Sam snorted out of his nose, trying not to roll his eyes.
"She's not Sam. She's really fond of you, you know that?"
"Sure she is-"
"Sam." Jamie spoke sternly. The pretty, mocha skinned young woman flicked a few locks of chocolate hair behind her ear. "We saw you and that mare. First thing she said was 'Damn, he sure as hell can speak the language'. Sam that is a huge compliment, especially coming from someone like Red. She's just a little upset about whatever the hell you did…" She looked at him questioningly, leaving the sentence open.
"-I invited the mother and daughter that were victims of Nathaniel Greer's last case into Wounded Heart and pretty much sprung them on Red, hoping she would talk it out with them and kill her grudge."
Jamie hissed a little, her teeth clenched and face twisted in sympathy
"Oh…that was stupid Sam."
He rolled his eyes heavenward.
"-but she's just a little pissed about that and the way the BLM is breathing down her neck. But she isn't mad directly at you."
Sam shook his head and dug his heels into Cottoneye Cloud's sides edging the horse into a walk away from her. Jamie reached out and snagged the reins, tugging the palomino back and stepped up into the animal's shoulder.
"Believe me Sam. You fucked up royally, but she knows you had good intentions and she won't blame you for anymore than that. Trust me, Sam. No one in that room believes you anything but a good man."
Sam searched her face for a second, then in a very Marshall Dillon and Miss Kitty sort of way, Sam bent in the saddle and gently pressed a kiss to Jamie's lips, forcing the petite woman to tilt her head back to deepen the sensation.
And much like Marshall Dillon Sam broke off the kiss, pressing his forehead into hers for a second before letting out a low whistle and tapped his heels into Cottoneye Cloud. The palomino horse snorted and lunged into a gallop. The horse cantered out of the gate and down the main road. Jamie lifted a hand, touching her lips for a second and watching him. Sam was twisted around in the saddle, looking back at her for a second before returning his attention to the road ahead of the loping horse.
"Damn…" Jamie muttered, finally blushing and smiling a little, "…they sure as hell are right 'bout Winchesters…"
…
Sam sat comfortably in the saddle. His position rising and falling in a rhythm of the rolling loping step of Cottoneye Cloud's pace. His mind was spinning with his actions and Jamie Freeman's words. He shook it off, concentrating on keeping Cottoneye Cloud's pace even and lax. He didn't want the palomino to wear himself out. Sam followed the same trail that several days before had taken Sam, Dean and Celia through town, out into open country and through a storm looking for wild horses and Honeycatcher, who was still locked up in the round pen with his stolen family of mustangs. The easy going lope carried Sam over the seven miles from Wounded Heart into the skirts of the Tuscarora main strip, passed the small white church, stables and arena. Sam checked Cottoneye Cloud's pace to a walk as he neared Dubois home. The old woman was out on the porch, like she had never left the spot, with a blanket over her legs. The only difference this time around there was s slender, kind looking black woman tucking the quilt in around Dubois legs and holding a book out to her.
Sam steered Cottoneye Cloud a step over and stopped just in front of Dubois, the grizzled old woman glared at him, her teeth seemed even more knarled and her eyes rimmed in yellow like some predatory animal. Sam dipped his head in respect.
"Morning Mrs. Dubois." He called, putting on his best smile. "I hope you're feeling as fine as you look."
Of course Sam didn't say a word about what she looked like. But the words from a handsome young man hit home right where Sam wanted it to.
She looked a little flustered and lifted a hand to pat her hair. The nurse looked between Dubois and Sam, she gave the youngest Winchester a small, approving smile.
"Well, I suppose I do." Dubois ground out.
"Have a good day, Mrs. Dubois." Sam was seriously laying it on thick as he tapped his heels into Cottoneye Cloud's gut and sent the palomino off at the trot again.
"Fine young man." The nurse said with a smile.
"Yes, very fine." Dubois twisted in her seat to watch Sam's back. The younger Winchester smiled, giving his head a little shake to get his mop of hair out of his eyes. He soaked in Tuscarora and the more he saw more he found his description accurate. Looking left, beyond the main row of shops Sam could see the schools and playing fields, the hospital and vet office. Looking right he was met mostly with the old, but well kept buildings of the Tuscarora main strip, a cluster of non-ranch residences around a kids play park. Sam was curious about the massive statue mounted on a marble pedestal in the middle of the park, surrounded by the sand pit and erected, majorly wood and steel play ground. Sam noticed two, dark haired women sitting calmly on a bench and watching three kids under the age of seven tear around the structures. One kid, a blonde boy stopped short in the game of chase and looked up at Sam on the massive Cottoneye Cloud. Sam dipped his head and lifted a hand, receiving an enthusiastic wave from the kid and lifted hands from the mothers.
His vision was altered a little as Sam could see the small structures connected to almost every building of a small paddock and standing shelter for horses or some other form of livestock. And most of them at least had one horse, mule or donkey behind the wooden fencing.
Tuscarora seemed so alive with the appearance of people, Sam felt a little more at ease. The pure silence and lack of humanity during the holiday weekend made the place seem more like a ghost town than it should have. Now there was activity. Windows and doors were thrown open wide, music poured out of shop fronts. Dogs, cats and a few other animals after being locked into yards and houses for the long weekend strolled through the unpaved street, reconnecting friendships and picking fights with each other seemingly regardless of the humans around them. Everyone was talking and laughing, sitting on benches or leaning against the railing of the boardwalk in front of their favorite shops, or walking on the packed earth in small groups, some even standing in small clusters right in the middle of the roads and intersections, if that's what they could be called. Sam wasn't the only one with a horse. That he could see there was one man leading a large bay horse by the halter across the streets. Several people were casually riding up and down the dirt pack at different paces, some in groups others alone. Sam even noticed a buggy pulled by a pair of matching black horses. There were tacked animals tied by their reins to the hitch posts next to bare backed horses and a few parked work trucks, their paint chipped and peeling most of them several decades old.
Sam felt oddly well hidden in the populace of Tuscarora, most wore the same attire that he and his elder brother kept up with: jeans, tee shirts, flannels, works boots and there was no end to the number of Stetson and faded baseball caps. Those that weren't dressed so relaxed were majorly willowy, heart shape faced women in pale colored sun dresses and hats that belonged in the twenties, thirties and forties. Several of them casting appreciative looks in Sam's direction, one or two fanning themselves slightly, though the temperature was rather mild.
The only reason the younger Winchester got strange looks was because he was unfamiliar, a stranger in a knit community. But no one did much more than cast him a questioning look or nod respectfully at him. Sam picked up Cottoneye Cloud's pace and turned down a street, slowing the animal down again as the trotted passed a few houses, a small trinkets shop that with a glance Sam knew he would have to visit. The windows were full of crystals, large old leather books and other suggestive occult items. The woman sweeping the board walk out front of the open door was dressed in a large, tie dyed tunic shirt and baggy jeans. And like most of the children of Tuscarora, bare foot. Her neck was laden with strings of beads. She didn't seem to even notice him.
Sam checked Cottoneye Cloud's pace as he slid up to the sedan parked in front of an old fashioned, two story inn. The building was made of stone work and carefully laid logs. The boardwalk in front of the building was wider, more of a porch than the boardwalk on either side. Comfortable looking chairs and benches made of raw wood sat empty around the thrown open door and massive glass windows. A few tendrils of ivy still clung to their green as they crawled up the outside of the inn and tangled in a large wrought iron sign on the roof of the porch over hang depicted a blossom and the words: Sand Rose Inn. Sam dismounted, and easily tied the reins of the bridle to one of the hitch rings screwed into place on the rounded log railing of the porch.
Sam dusted himself off, trotting up the steps and in the open door. The lobby of the inn looked more like a small café. Little round top tables and curled backed chairs were set up on the worn and scratched hardwood. A counter top was of polished wood looked like it had been a bar at one time but had in changing times proved to be a perfectly suitable concierge desk. Mail slots, cubbies for fresh towels, robes and sheets, small stacks of clean coffee cups and small dishes had taken up the place one stocked with alcohol and glasses. A few glass displays were laden with cookies, cakes and other pastries were displayed on top of the counter and small packages of exotic coffees for sale were stacked up on a shelf above the cubbies. Two larger coffee machines bubbled happily behind the counter. A large, old fashioned cash machine sat on one end of the counter along with two large books that must have been legers or book keeping numbers.
A plump, gentle looking blonde stood behind the counter and a kid in his late teens scrubbed down tables, the morning rush clearly over as it was starting to push noon.
"Can I help ya?" The blonde asked with a bright smile.
"Hi, would you call down the Hernandezs please?" Sam asked, leaning across the counter between two upholstered bar stools.
"Who should I say?" The blonde asked, already putting the phone to her ear and dialing the number.
"Sam."
The youngest Winchester stepped back, walking slowly around the room with his hands tucked deep in his pockets while he inspected the large pieces of art. Black and white photographs that looked like they were taken of Tuscarora itself or a stock round up. He particularly liked one taken of a silhouette of a cowboy on horseback. The sun was right behind the man, making the picture a monochromatic of golds and black, as the cowboy was caught in mid swing of his latigo rope from atop his horse. Sam noticed it was for sale at a reasonably cheap price for such a large print. He did a double take at the name of the photographer.
C. Northwind, 2001; "Pickup Man I"
Sam snorted a little. "Just when you think…"
"Sam?"
The mop haired man looked up at Marisol and Harmony as the two women made their way down the stairs from their room to greet him
"Is everything alright?" Harmony asked, walking right up to the Winchester brother.
"Not as good as it could be." Sam admitted, he's grown somewhat fond of the two women while they had sat in the Greer home living room, talking casually. "After what happened, Red went out and got herself plowed." He said with some brutal honesty.
"Is she alright?" Harmony asked.
"Dean handled it." Sam assured. "It wasn't a very good idea-"
"Sam you were only trying to help your friend." Marisol assured him. Sam shook his head a little.
"Well, she sent me over to thank you for coming but…" Sam trailed off, rubbing a hand across his neck.
"She wants no part off it." Harmony sighed. "Perhaps if I tried-"
Sam shook his head. "I haven't seen her react so violently before. I mean, all she did was pull a gun on me then try to slice my throat. But lunging at you guys that way…" Thank God for Dean… "…I think I'm going to go with her on this one. I'm sorry you came all this way-"
"Sam, are you sure that there is nothing we can do?" Harmony protested. "I must say that it is somewhat my fault her family is without its father."
Sam bristled slightly, seeing Nathaniel in as much reality as he was last night had connected the man with Sam's view of life. The younger Winchester fought back the urge to lash out verbally or physically and settled himself.
"It was a long time ago, Mrs. Hernandez." Sam pushed his best 'condolences' tone. "And again I really appreciate you're attempt. Can I offer you two brunch, at the very least?"
The two women looked between each other, Sam had a distinct feeling they were carrying on a conversation without him.
"Of course Sam, we would like that very much." Harmony agreed.
"Lead the way." Marisol tried to sound lighthearted. Sam nodded and started for the door.
"Sam." The plump blonde behind the counter said in a means of goodbye.
"Eileen." Sam returned with a dip of his head, not sure if the name came to him from a subconscious glance at her nametag or from a suppressed memory.
The younger Winchester dropped down the steps, crossed and untied Cottoneye Cloud's reins, waiting with the horse for the two Latino women.
"It that your horse?" Marisol asked.
"No, just one of Red's." Sam said somewhat shortly.
"It seems to us that everyone around here rides a horse or walks." Harmony tried to laugh. Sam was starting to get a little frustrated with the two women. He knew she wasn't insulting Tuscarora, just making the same observation that he had. But the way she said it made Sam think irrationally that she was attacking the paradise he'd concocted in his mind.
"Easiest way to get around out here." Sam supplied, smoothing over his voice. Marisol boldly reached forward to scratch Cottoneye Cloud's nose.
The palomino jerked back, whinnying loudly and rearing up. The noise of the air blowing through the horses' nostrils sounded like a roar.
Startled, Sam grabbed a hold of the reins, yanked the stud horse down to his feet and back. Just like Celia had with Strawbury when Sam had reached for the colt, Sam was quickly turning Cottoneye Cloud in tight, almost uncomfortable circles. The horse calmed almost immediately. Relaxing and following Sam's directing and listening to his words intently. Sam didn't know if he was more surprised by the normally gentle stud's behavior or if it was the small spike of satisfaction the horses' reaction gave him.
"You okay?" Sam asked quickly. Marisol nodded from her place half hidden next to her mother. "Don't know what got into him. He's usually really clam." Sam patted the palomino's jaw.
"I'll take you word for it."
The walk across Tuscarora towards the General store that Celia mentioned was done in silence except for the sound of leather and metal in Cottoneye Cloud's saddle creaking and hoof beats.
Sam looked over the sign above the old general and smiled: Rosa's General.
The younger Winchester tied the reins on a hitch ring again, this time making sure that the palomino was close enough to a public horse trough to reach the water. Sam patted the gold furred side and led the way up the steps, across the board walk and into the Rosa's General. Another blonde, a little older than Sam with bright blue eyes looked up from the article in the newspaper she was reading, a smile broke out over her face.
Sam couldn't help but return it. He glanced around and noticed a few older men playing a game on the pool table by the window, a man in jeans, a black shirt and a reverend's collar and a slender, dark haired man in a Nevada State Trooper's uniform sat at the counter. The Trooper was happily cradling a gurgling, blonde headed baby in his lap.
"How can I help ya?" The pretty woman asked, clearly being formal as he was a strange face to her. Sam had half expected her to recognize and call him out.
"Millie, right?" Sam inquired, feeling the Hernandez women nearer to his back than he would have liked.
"Yessir."
"I needed to get breakfast for these two ladies." Sam carefully herded the two women into stools at the ice cream styled counter top.
"Well alright, how 'bout a Sunday Specials? It's got a little bit of everythin' in it and not just for the Sabbath." Millie coxed with a grin.
"Sounds wonderful." Harmony assured with a warm smile.
"Alright, two Sunday Specials, be right on in a few." Millie immediately went about her business of extracting tools and raw materials to make the food, cranking on a stove top against the wall on the other side of the counter and within a few minuets the general store was filled with the smell of frying bacon and potatoes. Sam was a little surprised but didn't speak. He hadn't noticed a real restaurant in Tuscarora, just the café in the Sand Rose and evidently here at Rosa's General. A quick glance at the painted chalk board menu eased the tension in Sam's stomach and he relaxed at the two meals would only eat about fifteen dollars of the twenty that Celia gave him.
"There a particular reason ya ridin' a Wounded Heart horse, stranger?"
Sam turned his eyes to the casual but clearly inquisitive eyes of the Trooper, still cradling the baby in his lap.
"Excuse me?" Sam asked, instinctively going on the defense.
"That stud's got the Greer freeze brand on him." The Trooper motioned to Cottoneye Cloud casually sucking water over his bit out side the wide front window. Sam's eyes followed the motion of the Trooper's hand to the discoloration of white low on the palomino's shoulder. Sam had always taken it for a scar, never made a connection in his mind that it was a brand. Now that someone pointed it out Sam realized that all the horses on the Wounded Heart Ranch, the cattle and other livestock, even the air ride trailer and the saddles had the same mark.
Dean and Sam had mistaken it for some Native American symbol.
"The heart over W H R." The trooper continued. "Now I know for a fact Wounded Heart horses don't get lent out. Why ya ridin' that stud?"
Sam felt the eyes of everyone in the room on him. He needed to come up with something fast and believable and the longer he stalled the more likely he was to get into serious trouble. They were already running from the law, getting arrested in small town USA would tighten a noose around the brother's necks.
"I let him ride that animal; ya got a problem with it, Justin?"
Sam tensed; the muscles in his back locking up and he twisted to look over his shoulder. Celia stood in the door, still in her jeans but the tee shirt had been replaced with a close fitting red and white flannel buttoned down the front, sleeves rolled up to her elbows and untucked. Her hair was tied back under a doeskin Stetson hat; a pair of dark sunglasses were settled across the bridge of her nose and he had her hands firmly on her hips.
"Just wonderin' there, Red." Justin said, bouncing the baby.
"Pay Millie Sam and get in the truck." Celia ordered.
Sam couldn't tell where her eyes were behind the glasses but it seemed that she was pointedly ignoring the presence of the Hernandez women in the room, and like everyone else in the general Sam could feel the air thicken as Celia's hackles were clearly up. Sam knew she was pushing every once of her self control to keep steady and not lash out.
"Red-"
"Don't argue with me Sam, we a job to do, yer brother's waitin' on ya." Celia's dead response left no room for argument.
Sam hesitated, thinking of rebellion but his resolve broke at the gurgle of the baby barely two feet from where he stood. The younger Winchester slipped the twenty out of his pocket and set it on the counter between Marisol and Harmony Hernandez and swiftly crossed the room towards the door.
"Millie, put that quarter horse in the round pen for me, I'll come get him later." Celia said and turned with Sam to walk out the door.
"Yes, ma'am." Millie said flipping a pancake on the griddle as the pair stalked out of the room. The patrons in the general watched as Sam and Celia approached Dean standing next to the white Silverado, spoke briefly before climbing into the cab and pulling out onto the unpaved road.
"Red's sure as hell fit to be tied 'bout somethin'…" Justin muttered, "…and takin' up with strange folk like that kid…"
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