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 Thirty Six: Separation Anxiety
"Do not measure your loss by itself; if you do, it will seem intolerable; but if you will take all human affairs into account you will find that some comfort is to be derived from them."
- Saint Basil
…
The desert stretched on for miles of low scrub and red earth, small and large boulders; far off the ridges and folds of mountains. The sky above was pale blue, clouds of grays, blacks and white promised some kind of storm. They drifted along lazily but if he watched they lurched for a few seconds, speeding a head in time before settling again. Dean shivered and staying as still as he could in the wind that tore at him. He felt the ragged fabric of his jeans shifting across his legs; the wind snapped the lighter cloth of an open flannel shirt across his bare chest.
No pain.
Dean looked down at his chest and side, he crinkled his nose and lifted his hand and grazed it over where there were supposed to be swollen flesh and the countless ridges of stitches keeping him together. The skin was smooth, where he had expected scars to be there were black tribal designs painted onto his torso. Dean pressed his fingers into the ink and rubbed, it stayed in place as if it had been tattooed into place. Dean traced the design, following curls and curves across his stomach and up his ribcage. Touching painted circles, dots and stripes and little painted symbols woven in with the shapes. Little stick figures that looked like they belonged on a rock wall, not his skin. Dean traced his fingers over the shape of a man, then a horse, the tiny wings of a crow and a beaver's back and tail. He studied the curve of an otter's body and finally moved his eyes to a symbol that could have been a wolf or a dog.
He knew it was a coyote.
Dean sniffed, pulling his eyes away from the black marks, but his hand continued to travel from the base of the paint at his pelvis up his torso to practically his arm pit.
Dean twisted looking around the desert, feeling the wind snap at his face and bare skin. The boots on his feet crunched in the rocky earth when he stiffly turned in a circle, swallowing repeatedly to wet his throat and prepare to call out to the land.
He stilled his voice and locked his jaw.
"Not again." Dean growled and took a reactive step backwards.
The brown and white painted horse cocked his ears forward and lifted his head, bright blue eyes locked on Dean. When the elder Winchester stepped back the mustang stepped forward. Dean retreated another two steps and was perused. Dean stopped and the Chieftain did the same.
Dean rolled back onto his heels and set his weight low, tensing. He felt the quickly rising heat around him snap for a second then return as a shadow passed over his face. Dean's eyes flashed to the black feathers and wings of the Crow that landed lightly on the Chieftain's shoulder.
The horse snorted loudly and the Crow's eyes snapped to Dean and it croaked.
We need to speak…
"She told me that you two were gods." Dean called back over the wind. "I don't talk to gods."
The horse's nostrils flared open and his ears pinned back.
You know us? The Crow ruffled her feathers and clicked her beak.
"Yeah. Yeah I know you." Dean said, shifting and instinctively hugging an arm across his torso and dug his fingers into the painted symbols. "The Horse Chieftain and Crow. Real gods. The big guns."
He shifted in place; the heat was quickly becoming unbearable. Sweat trickled down his skin, settling in the hollow of his collar bone before spilling down his bare chest. Dean felt his muscles and skin twitching and shifting. He was shivering.
Chieftain wants to speak with Ahote…
"Can't he speak from himself?!" Dean barked, his voice cracked on the last words and he doubled over, coughing heavily.
Chieftain does not speak-
"To anyone or just me!?" Dean couldn't help the feeling of panic and anger bubbling up into his throat. He knew somewhere in his gut and soul that the Chieftain had done something to him, he felt it. And he hated the damn mustang for it. He didn't care what it was.
That horse had cheated him.
"I'm not talking to you!"
Dean stumbled when he turned and launched himself into a run. He staggered into a rhythm, his boots slamming into the baked and rocky earth. Dean pushed himself, he was already winded and the heat was choking him, but he ran with every ounce of strength and speed he had, feeling every muscle in his body burning and his breath was short and strangled. He wasn't near fast enough.
The Chieftain pinned his ears back and snarled. The Crow croaked and leapt into the air as the mustang lunged forward. The animal closed the distance in a few short galloped strides. The mustang's hooves slashed into the earth and ripped clay and rock up behind him. Dean didn't even try to serpentine, he just pushed his speed until he felt like collapsing. The Chieftain leaped a head of him, cutting off his path and twisting to face him. Dean reeled back, toppling backwards to get away from the Chieftain rearing up in front of him; ears pinned back and fore hooves swinging at him.
As he hit the dirt Dean's head snapped back and slammed hard into the rock hard earth.
Green eyes snapped open. He heaved a breath into suffocating lungs and shoved at the weight crushing in around him. He needed to get the damned horse off him.
"Whoa, easy Dean. Stop it."
The elder Winchester froze at the south western drawl. It took a second for that voice to register and allow him to relax, before his heart lurched back into an erratic rush. He felt smothered, the heat trying to swallow him. Dean shoved again at the weight on his chest. Pain flared up his side and across the back of his skull. The heat was trying to strangle him; Dean bit passed the pain and shoved harder.
"Dean! Stop it!" Celia barked from next to him. All his effort thwarted to get away from the heat as it was sharply shoved back into place. Dean shivered and panted at the heat before pushing again, fighting to get away.
"Dean!"
He froze when a small but unnaturally strong hand practically scruffed him. Her fingers dug into the over heated skin of his neck and tangled in his hair. Like a trapped animal Dean arched his neck and back away from the hand, his eyes blearily registering the blurred colors of the truck cab and the terrain outside the glass. Dean hissed and grit his teeth. Her hand and fingers were ice cold on his skin. His heart thundered in his chest and for a second he thought to lash out.
Then her fingers shifted and it rolled the taught muscle of his neck in just the right way that it settled his churning gut and crashing heart.
"Ya gonna calm down so I can turn ya loose?"
Dean didn't answer; he just slumped down into his seat and went still with the feeling of that rope of muscle gripped perfectly in her hand. The grip relaxed and soothingly drifted up to scratch his head for a second before falling away completely. Dean heaved a shaky sigh and felt his teeth chattering, though he was far from cold. The stifling heat was still trying to choke him.
"I'm hot." The elder Winchester croaked.
"Yer goin' to have to suck it up Dean, ya got a chill, not a fever."
Dean's green eyes twitched towards her voice, his vision was blurred and slowly clearing at the edges. He could make out Celia in the driver's seat, one hand on the wheel, the other itching at her thigh and ready to reach out to him. Dean registered slowly that he was still in the truck and that the Silverado was moving.
"What…happened...my head…" Pain flooded back into his skull and side.
"Went a little to fast over a bump and ya made contact with the head rest there, Dean. Ya alright?
Dean heard the crackle of concern in her voice.
"What did I do?" Dean muttered.
Celia sighed heavily and ground her teeth a little. "Ya were growlin'…like an animal…"
"…Sorry…"
"Doesn't matter, Dean."
"Honeycatcher…where is he?" Dean's voice hardened, solidifying for the first time since he'd snapped out of the nightmare. Dean didn't like the rattling silence that followed.
"Celia…" Dean twisted his head towards her. "…tell me now."
She drew in a shaky breath and let it out through her teeth. "He's hangin' on...Strain hasn't called me to euthanize him so he's stable."
"Not better?"
"……He'd call me if he was better…."
Dean's breath rattled in his chest. "Celia, I'm so sorry…I should have just stayed out of that fuckin' canyon…I got him killed-"
"Shut up, Dean!"
The elder Winchester's jaw snapped shut at her barked order. Celia gripped the steering wheel tightly and ground her teeth together.
"He's not dead and it's not yer fault."
"Celia-"
"Go back to sleep, Dean. We're only part of the way through Utah." Her voice was sharp and cut, almost violently cold. Dean swallowed heavily and shivered.
"How bad is he?"
"Dean-" Celia growled.
"I need to know, M'amin." Dean ground out. He heard her grunt at the name.
"The only difference between ya and him is he's got a spilt hoof and he's a horse. Both of ya are practically shattered on the inside, both of ya should be in a hospital under supervision and both of ya are actin' like ya got pneumonia. Go to sleep, Dean."
The elder Winchester was craving more information. He tuned his wavering vision towards the radio console. The numbers danced for a few seconds before he made out that it was pushing nine at night. He looked out of the window, searching the sky and for a few seconds convinced himself that the sun and moon where both still in the sky together, but the swiftly growing dark told him otherwise. The terrain outside the window was a mish mash between scrub desert and forest territory. He twisted enough to get the right kind of angle and glimpsed a flash of silver and black. The Impala and Sam just beyond the Silverado and red stock trailer.
A good start, he was thankful that Celia's truck was newer model, it gave him a few more options to gather information from. He looked up to a small panel mounted above the rearview. Again the lit up numbers danced in his vision before settling. The Silverado was headed north east; it was about fifty-seven degrees outside. He looked to the dash, they were running about seventy four miles per hour and Celia needed an oil change soon. Dean turned his frame and rested his temple on the cool glass of the window and waited patiently until he caught a highway marker.
State Route 40 in Utah.
He shut his eyes and searched his mind for a mental map of Utah and after a few minuets a spider web of highways and roads stretched across the boarder of the state built in his mind.
"Alright…" Dean muttered his voice cracking as he faded into stifling darkness.
Celia let out a sigh of relief when Dean's congested breathing eased back into a sleep rhythm. She honestly was overwhelmed and couldn't deal with another human being. Even if it was a Winchester.
She'd come ridiculously close to shattering a few hours earlier. Dean and Sam were hurt and too stubborn to roll over, she was exhausted and Honeycatcher was on a thin line. The chance of loss, of the brothers and the horse, still lingered like a bad taste in her mouth. It shook her, down deep into her core. She didn't take to the idea of losing someone else she cared about. Her head pounding and uncaring who saw her; she'd walked back through town from the vet stable to get the Impala. Like she'd promised.
And gotten caught by Elijah.
The eldest male of her adoptive family was leaning casually on the side of the classic car, arms crossed over his chest and waiting silently in the light of the sun and moon for her or a Winchester. She'd been sure that she was busted, but Elijah just gave her a look and asked if the boys were alright.
She'd told him the truth, her belief about the situation and the reality of it. Celia still couldn't shake the small grunt and lingering silence that followed. It wasn't disappointment, it was more like contempt and a little concern. Her brother had simply told her to be careful before walking away.
Elijah's pure ability to understand had always unsettled and comforted her but it was in the Marine's nature. He was too much like Nathaniel had been.
Celia shook herself from her reverie and couldn't help the yawn that stretched her jaw uncomfortably. That was too much of a warning. When she felt tired there was a need to stop. Celia stretched awkwardly to open the glove compartment and slip out a folded map. She held it out, studying the lines and dots and looked towards a small red circle on the dark line that marked the highway she was maneuvering.
"Alright." She muttered and set it next to her on the seat instead of moving Dean to put it back again.
Another ten miles down the road Celia slowed and pulled off the main asphalt to a small motel with wooden doors and tan stucco walls. Each door's numbers lit by a small, tulip shaped lamp mounted on the wall. The parking lot was empty and a flickering neon sign warned passers by about the vacancy at the Pueblo Inn. Celia maneuvered carefully, minding the red stock trailer and shut the engine off. She glanced sideways as the Impala ground up into a space near by as she clicked open the arm rest compartment. It was a desperately handy place to keep things she needed easy access to. She lifted a small fold of leather embossed with a small horseshoe off an extra clip of ammunition and her favorite handgun, the .50 AE Desert Eagle. She unzipped the leather pouch and flipped through the collection of identifications and credit cards and chose a Utah license and a matching credit card under the name Katie Kicks with her picture, in a bandanna of course. She dropped the pouch back into the compartment, clicked the lid shut and slipped out of the cab.
"Everything alright?" Sam asked, his face written with exhaustion and worry.
"It's fine Sam." Celia said assuringly and waving her hand gently at his to settle him nerves. Sam let out a shaky sigh and nodded.
"Why stop, we could make it to Colorado tonight?"
"We're exhausted Sam. We need a minute." Celia stifled a yawn as she spoke. "But if ya want to keep goin'-"
"No, you're right." Sam blinked heavily and rubbed a hand over his face. "How's Dean?"
"Have a look." Celia tossed him the keys to the Silverado and stiffly started towards the office to get a couple of rooms. A plump Latin American woman behind the counter snapped her eyes away from some late night soap opera on a small television next to her. The shiny black hair and eyebrows starting to streak with gray.
"Hey." Celia ground out, her teeth actually clicking as she spoke. The woman jumped at the sight of Celia's face.
"Evein', can I help you?" She asked with a small smile, but her dark eyes were watching Celia's rough speech, badly bruised face and limping walk warily. Maybe a little suspiciously. Celia felt the woman's eyes drift over her shoulder and lock onto Sam in the dim parking lot light. Like most women the thought slammed into Celia at the same time that it did the woman behind the counter.
That Celia was in some kind of trouble and that man was the cause of it.
It made her bristle at the way even women classified themselves as victims.
"Two rooms, one needs two Queens, please." Celia kept her tone as light as she could and rooted out the fake cards and slid them across to the woman. She flicked her eyes between Celia and Sam several different times as she ran the cards and the i.d. before handing them back, having her sign a recite and handed her two keys.
"Thank ya." Celia said, nodding her head and touching her hat as she turned to step out of the office.
"Honey, are you alright?" The woman blurted sharply, her eyes flashing in fear from Celia's back to Sam.
God, people were paranoid; the public watched too much crime television.
"Yes ma'am. I'm fine." Celia said over her shoulder and slipped out before the woman could pluck up the gumpsion to call her back or the police.
Celia crossed the parking lot at a jog and slowed nearer to Sam. The younger Winchester snapped his attention away from the open passenger door and half conscious Dean and turned it towards her.
"Forgot how scared and blind people can be, been so long since I ran a false card." She muttered.
"Everything go alright?"
"Yeah. And by the way, the woman thinks yer abusin' me."
This snapped both brothers' attention.
"What?" Dean croaked out, more than snapped like he would have liked.
"Red, I would never-!" Sam barked, going completely rigid and rushing to defend himself.
"Easy boys. Easy. I know that." Celia reached out and gently patted Sam's tense bicep and smiling tiredly at him. "Put two and two together. Ya see a relatively small girl with a big nasty bruise on her face and a sasquatch like ya lingerin' all shady like in the parkin' lot. What would ya think?"
Sam settled a little as Celia's quiet reasoning and nodded, letting his jaw unlock, but still staying on the defense.
"I still wouldn't touch you." Sam muttered. Celia let her smile widen for a second before it slipped from her face.
"Alright." She said quietly. "C'mon, big guy, lets get yer brother here into a bed."
"I can do it myself." Dean growled. Neither Sam or Celia responded, just went about extracting Dean from the passenger seat and easing him down to the asphalt. Dean seemed more compliant and relaxed once away from the heavy layers of fabric and out into the cooler air. He didn't realize that he was shivering almost violently. In Dean's mind was still trapped in stifling heat. Sam flanked his brother as Dean tugged at the hoodie, obviously he wanted to take it off, but resisted at Celia and Sam's looks. Celia flicked her eyes to the keys in her hands, remembering which one the woman had said was the two Queens. She jogged a head of the Winchesters and followed down to the room marked with a seven and unlocked it, pushing the door open and standing back as Sam ushered the elder Winchester into the dark and flicked on the light.
"Sam." Celia tossed Sam the key when he looked and cocked an eyebrow at him. "Need any help?"
"I got it." Sam assured and gave her a thankful smile.
"Alright, I'm goin' to shower and I'll check on ya in a few. Keep him warm." She advised.
"Red. I got it." Sam stated calmly.
Celia's chest expanded for a second, then collapsed again. Her face was written in rejection for a second before it was masked and turned back to walk to the Silverado. She made sure the stock trailer was secure before pulling out a small duffle from the back seat and slung it over her shoulder, climbed up to extract the Desert Eagle and the clip. She finally climbed into the bed, unlocked the tool box and extracted a large, Bowie hunting knife and slipped it into her duffle.
Celia rolled her key between her palms and shrugged up the bag before stalking across the parking lot and unlocking the number four door and stepping inside.
Like she'd expected, the room was decorated with cactus, Mexican art influences and had a dash of Aztec to finish it off. Celia tossed her keys onto the small wooden table, letting it click against the clay of two painted pots and dropped her duffle onto the comforter of the king sized bed. Celia stretched and looked around the room, feeling oddly alone and distant from the rest of the world. She'd forgotten what of felt like to be so used to someone's presence it was unnatural to be without. Celia shrugged off the feeling and dug out her bathroom kit and slipped into the small tiled room.
…
Sam jerked at the soft rap of knuckles across the wood of the door. He tensed, casting a look at the portal for a few long seconds before rising and stalking forward.
The knock came again and a voice called through the wood. "C'mon now Sammy."
He breathed out a sigh of relief before twisting the knob and opening it. Celia gave him a slight grin and stepped in. She was dressed in red flannel bottoms, the suede and fleece coat pulled over a tank top and a black bandanna tied around her horns and hair line and the red locks were darkened almost black from the water of her shower.
"How's he doin'?" She asked, stepping over towards Dean, the elder Winchester dead asleep on the mattress with the thick comforter wrapped around his frame, every once and a while his body shook then settled again.
"I'm not sure. Alright, I figure." Sam stepped over and eased down to sit on the edge of the other bed and watched as Celia leaned forward and lightly pressed her fingers into Dean's temple.
"It's startin' to even out a little." She said quietly and nodded assuringly to Sam. "He's sweatin' it out. Just make sure there's enough water on hand and he'll be alright."
Sam nodded and rubbed his hands across his face.
"Try and get some sleep, Sammy." Celia said gently and ruffled his hair good naturedly. Sam took comfort in the contact. Dean was usually the one mussing his hair, but Celia made a good replacement for the time being. "He'll be way better in the mornin'. On my honor." She smiled at the small swear before breaking off and stiffly moving towards the door.
"Are you alright?" Sam asked quickly. All his attention had been locked on his brother, he'd al but forgotten that Celia had gone into the river too, that she probably had cracked ribs like the rest of them and the visible bruising on the side of her face that seemed to be getting worse before getting better. In some places the purple had darkened to almost black, where it had been red it was now a sickly yellow color and Sam noticed that her eye was actually swollen, not so badly that it stood out but enough to look painful. Sam was still ignoring his own pains, the welts across his torso had started to fade and his cracked ribs and the small lacerations on his skin were starting to ease in pain. Of the three of them Sam had gotten off lucky.
"I'm fine, see ya in the mornin' Sam." She said and slipped out the door, it seemed easy, almost like detachment from Sam's angle, but for Celia walking out of the small room and leaving the brother's behind had been almost excruciating. She was tempted to go back and ask to crash on the floor. She stood outside the door for a few seconds longer than she should have but swallowed the strain and soldiered on back along the doors to number four.
…
Sam's face scrunched, he tried to block out the voice rippling over his dream about Caribbean waters and white sand.
"Sammy, c'mon."
"…No…not now…" Sam muttered under his breath, burying his face deeper into the pillow.
"Sam."
Sam groaned then jumped out of his skin when a now all too familiar flash of pain rippled over his ear as it was flicked. Sam's eyes snapped open and alarm blurred through him for a few seconds before settling again, wide awake. Sam sniffed loudly and blinked slowly, trying to get the sand out of his eyes.
"C'mon Sam, get up."
Sam grunted at Celia's voice, trying to figure out how she'd gotten into the room. But if she was a player she had probably just picked the lock or went to the office to ask for another one because she was 'locked out'.
"Sam."
"What?" Sam grumbled into the pillow and hugged it closer.
"Come run with me."
The younger Winchester's brow furrowed and he rolled over, twisting to blink up at her. Celia stood right in front of his face, leaning her knees against the mattress. She looked strange, Sam was used to the jeans, tee and flannel shirt layers and the general 'cowgirl' look. He almost didn't recognize her for a second. She was dressed on loose fitting, black work out pants with white stripes running up the outside of her legs. Her hands were tucked deeply into the pocket of am ash gray hoodie, also over large, for her small frame and her red hair held back by the same black bandanna.
Sam's eyes settled on the image on the hoodie for a few seconds before his well above average brain processed it. A cartoonish and simplistic image of a voodoo doll with a stitched mouth, button eyes, a few plugs of hair and several needles with large brightly colored bead ends stuck into the body was surrounded by a thick out line of black; making the bright colors of he image stand out more. The doll was accompanied by bold letters reading 'Whodo Hoodoo? I do.'
"What are you wearing?" Sam muttered almost sarcastically.
Celia looked down at her hoodie then back up at him. "Shut up, I like this. Come run with me."
"What?" Sam groaned, rubbing a hand across his face and struggled to reach his watch sitting on the bedside table and twisted it to look at the hour, it was barely five thirty in the morning. He'd slept almost six hours; that was more than he normally got. He vaguely remembered waking up at one point around one in the morning to the sound of someone fussing with the stock trailer and watched through the cracked door for a few seconds as she checked up and redosed the griffons.
"Come run a mile with me."
"Run a mile?" Sam pushed himself up to a sitting position and scrubbed at his eyes. Celia sighed loudly and looked towards the ceiling for a few seconds before looking back at him.
"Sam, I'm a workin' animal. When I'm travelin' like this I don't have chores and things so early in the mornin' so…I run…come run with me."
Sam looked her up and down.
"Please?" She shrugged her shoulders a little. Sam's eyes flashed to the other bed in the room.
"Dean-"
"I already checked up on him. His temperatures about normal, he's only a little congested and drank plenty of water. He's squared away and has my cell and yers if he needs help. Come on, Sam."
She sounded direly close to a whine and did a little anxious shift. Sam's eyes flicked down, she was wearing some relatively cheap, but sturdy running sneakers.
"Sam?"
"A mile?" Sam cocked an eyebrow at her.
"Two. Mile out mile in."
Sam groaned.
"Fifteen minutes, tops, Sammy. C'mon, please?"
Sam looked at her, trying to figure out when Celia had suddenly become dependent on his and Dean's company. Sam had gotten used to the cool, collected and ridiculously independent Celia Northwind, the girl that didn't need anyone's approval or company.
Now she was being almost clingy, practically begging for Sam to tag along.
"Alright." Sam muttered, shifting to ease the stiffness in his sore body. "Alright, give me a second."
Celia's face broke into a grin and she moved back to give Sam the room to maneuver. She waited patiently near the door while Sam rooted deeply into his duffle to find his neglected pair of gray sweat pants, a simple black tee shirt and his dark blue hoodie. Sam slipped into the bathroom and changed, then temporarily slipped on his boots to make it out to the Impala and dig around to find his tennis shoes. Celia following along on his heels doggedly, even rocking on the balls of her feet until he was ready, relocked the Impala and the hotel room.
"Ready?" Celia asked hopefully. Sam nodded, ruffling his hair.
"Two miles." He muttered,
"Only two miles." She assured and took off across the parking lot at an easy trot, Sam took a breath and caught up to her in a few strides, he evened out his pace to match hers and when they hit the deserted highway their pace kicked up to a easy going run. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd run for recreational reasons. Just to exercise. Sam had spent so much of his adult life running to and from monsters and emergencies he'd never really made it a point to actually set out an exercise routine.
Dean did.
More than once Sam had woken up in the middle of the night or earlier than normal in the day to catch Dean in the middle of grueling, militaristic sets of floor exercises and calisthenics. Push ups, sit ups, crunches and God knew what else. More than once Dean had been absent from the motel room, no reason and no explanation except Sam's reasoning that Dean had been running when the elder brother came back soaked in sweat. The training that their father, John, had pounded into them, the need to keep in top shape never left the elder Winchester or slacked off like it had Sam.
He found the sudden snap back into conditioning unpleasant and pleasant at the same time. Like most American's exercise was not high on Sam's list of things he found particularly fun, but when your life was nothing but one, ongoing and duressing horror movie it was comforting to do something that not only ensured your future safety without the stress.
It was painful at first, his whole body felt ridiculously heavy and ache was everywhere but after a few long strides the pain started to fade until it was dull enough to be ignored. After that it wasn't hard to settle into enjoying the run.
He liked the relaxation of it; the feeling of his lungs filling completely with cool, fresh air was like a balm to his tired soul.
His longer legs made his stride almost double that of Celia's, but she kept up easily without really quickening her pace. She seemed to be moving in the same stride. Sam remembered that Dean had almost been a little a head. He liked it better to have someone on the same step as him.
"What do ya want to talk 'bout?"
Sam twitched his head towards her. "What?" He panted out.
"When ya run, yer supposed to keep a pace that ya can keep up a conversation. What's the point of doin' that if ya don't talk to whoever yer runnin' with?"
Sam laughed quietly under his breath and couldn't help but smile.
"Alright." He sighed, "So the grif-"
"No Huntin' stuff. We can talk 'bout that all day long, but for fifteen minutes how 'bout somethin' different."
Sam sighed again and rolled his shoulders mid stride. Trying to think of a topic that didn't relate them through Hunting.
"Nathaniel was a cop, right?"
"Yessir."
"Did he study law?"
"Think so."
"You wanted to be a cop, too. Right?"
"If they'd have me."
Sam mulled for a few long seconds, figuring if he should go on. What the hell?
"Did you study law?"
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