Lets give my KNIGHT in shining armor a shoutout for betaing this one ;D

Fields Of Jasmine

Chapter 25 ~ No clue how to name this one

Meg was sitting in a chair at the table. Raw meat and organs spread out all over it. The biting scent of death and intestines filling the whole room.

Snarls and whimpers were heard from where Orthos' children were laying all over the wooden floor. All black fur and white eyes.

The one laying closest to the fireplace made a purring sound. He blinked his eyes open lazily and caught sight of Meg staring right at him.

Her hand was covered in bandages and her shirt was ripped open on her left shoulder. The blood had dried and her vessel had been healed. But…it had been her job to get them ready, and all of them were … except for one.

She told herself that she should've known that this one would cause problems. There was always one making problems. That bastard had tried to rip her heart out. It had bit her and ripped into her tender vessel's flesh as she had tried to discipline it with the whip.

She had TRIED.

Then finally, after getting control back, she had managed to get it back on its chain.

There'd be no way to make them break the 13 seals (with Azazel's ritual) when one of them wasn't in the game. That one – number 13 – was a stubborn, useless bastard with its own head.

Not only once it had tried to get away.

But it was no use. The area around this house was protected and sealed. There was no getting away. No breaking out.

She still had time. Twelve of them were ready to do their job. And this one – with the faint hint of hazel in its white eyes – would also be ready soon. Otherwise she'd pay with her black soul for failing her masters.

~ 67' Chevrolet Impala ~

Dean Winchester was a wreck.

He didn't sleep that night, nor did he manage to get into a comfortable position on the couch. Of course he didn't. Because he didn't allow himself to have it.

Not after what had happened last night.

So he was up and about at six in the morning and popped another Vicodin to dull the searing pain in his entire leg. He made coffee first and drank close to the whole pot within two hours, spiking each mug with a shot (or three) of Bourbon.

He checked on Sam every now and then too, but didn't come too close.

The omega was still in the same position as he had been when he and Bobby had put him to bed. On his back. Bandaged arm propped up on a pillow. Snoring softly through the bigger part of the morning.

Dean thought Sam deserved it.

After all he's been through and on top of getting wounded by his own mate …

~ 67' Chevrolet Impala ~

Sam did sleep until shy before noon.

The alpha refilled the coffee maker for the third time today. Stew simmering on the stove beside him. Pita-bread in the oven.

On top of his gigantic fuck up last night, there were Boston and Los Angeles.

Boston, which looked like war had come over the city overnight. It was shut off from the rest of the United States. First the government had thought that it had been a terrorist attack.

But Dean Winchester and all the other hunters out there knew better than that after seeing what civilians wouldn't even notice on the footage they had shown on CNN.

A man. Not just any man. A man, standing and watching another guy killing someone. That man wasn't just anyone.

War …

And what he led on a leash wasn't a huge dog. It had been one of Orthos' children. Maybe not bigger than a German shepherd, but definitely not a dog at all.

Judging by the lack of color in its eyes. They'd been all white.

The LA-Footage Bobby had come up with and had shown Dean that morning. It showed them something pretty familiar.

There had been a man with a black dog too. That one had been thinner and taller than the other guy. The man had white hair and abnormally pale skin. He too kept in the background, watching a group of people pleading other people in decontamination suits to help them.

CNN informed the rest of the damn world that there was an unknown infection spreading in and around Los Angeles and that no one was allowed to wherever leave or enter.

They had talked about a plague …

Pestilence …

So … this was the beginning of the end, right?

How were they supposed to stop the four riders?

Yes. The four riders of the apocalypse. That's who they were. At least two of them anyway. And it'd be just a question of time until the other two would show up too.

Though, they still hadn't figured out what Orthos's children had to do with this …

~ 67' Chevrolet Impala ~

Slowly but surely, Sam's mind crawled back towards awareness. He heard the clattering crockery from the kitchen and the gurgling noises from the coffee maker. He smelled food and coffee and Dean.

The omega's forehead creased.

He didn't only smell the typical musk and metal and moss. There was a sour stench to it, which he decided that he didn't like. As he awoke slowly, crawling out of the dark depths of sleep and dreams, he started to remember what had happened the night before.

Sam still didn't feel mad about it though. Dean seemed to be mad enough for the both of them.

"Dean?", he croaked out, his voice shot.

The alpha stilled as he stirred the stew and let go of the spoon. He practically froze in place. Dean didn't hear Sam saying his name. It was more like a mental call-out to him. A call-out with a strong pull. So much longing and a hint of despair.

He felt Sam's mind tugging at his again. But he couldn't bring himself to move, nor to answer his mate's call, at least not instantly.

The first audible thing he heard was the creaking of the bed and a soft sound, much like a pained moan.

Dean still couldn't bring himself to move.

He had hurt him. He had nearly killed him. He was a danger to the person he loved.

That was a fact he couldn't quite process.

On top of that, he had called Sam stupid and idiotic and had practically called him worthless. Or at least that was how Dean Winchester felt about it. That was the feeling he had felt coming from his mate as soon as the words had come over his lips.

But it wasn't that way. Dean didn't even know why he had said that. Three miserably chosen words which'd cut deeper than the sharpest knife ever could.

Sam was still fragile without his memory and all that…with his seizures, which could hit at any time. As if the omega didn't feel bad enough about needing someone to look out for him.

He was only making it worse by calling him names like that. It wasn't only about what he had said. Also HOW he had said it. The disgust which had swung with his words was directed at himself and not Sam. But it had been obvious, that the omega must think that it was Sam he was disgusted of.

And that was even worse.

Dean didn't want him to think that something like that could ever happen. Because it wouldn't.

So yes, Dean Winchester had a bunch of issues which he usually kept deep in his mind, locked behind a door with seven sigils.

Usually.

Dean mentally kicked himself. His mind telling his body to move and get his ass going. To man up and talk about it to Sam, even when he wasn't the biggest of talkers.

They had to talk about this, otherwise it'd weigh upon their relationship and would come up again to hit them right in the face.

Eventually, Dean's body obeyed his mind's command and he turned off the stove. Dean – only hesitantly – went into the bedroom, where he was kind of surprised that Sam was still in bed, only having changed his position.

The omega gazed up at Dean, a rather concerned expression on his face. Okay, it wasn't just concern. He also looked hurt. Not only physically.

"You need something for your arm?", Dean finally managed to get his mouth to open up. But that wasn't quite what he wanted to ask. Actually he wanted to know, if Sam was up for a conversation.

"It's not that bad.", he mumbled and blinked sleepily up at the other man.

"Good." Really, Winchester, that's all you can muster? Dean sighed and rubbed over his face. This needed to be done. He was a guy. A hunter. He didn't run from monsters, so why hide from a conversation with his mate?

Dean made his way around the bed and sat down on the opposite side from where his mate lay. He crawled onto it and inched back until his back was flush against the headboard.

Sam still gazed up at him, watching him closely. He wandered if Dean was still mad at him for being so stupid. He should've known, right? After all he'd been a hunter in his past life. No matter if he could remember or not … these kind of things had to be some kind of instinct, right?

Even when he wasn't an hunter … Sam should've known. Now that he thought about it, it was crystal clear. Right? Hunters were always on edge. They had to be.

Maybe he truly was a stupid idiot.

Dean laid his hand on Sam's head and brushed over his hair.

"Because of yesterday ..." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. That knife … It shouldn't have been where it was in the first place. And I'm sorry for calling you a stupid idiot. I shouldn't have said that either." He brushed over the omega's soft hair again. "You're not stupid, you know? You're doing a lot of things … and you're real clever ..."

Sam gave him a look. "I don't do anything, Dean. I'm either sitting around, or watching TV, or reading books … I ..." He sighed and sniffed. "I do everything wrong." Sam swallowed. "I can't even cook."

Dean smirked down at him. "Not everyone can cook like me."

Sam huffed out a breath.

"What?" The ex-hunter's voice high-pitched.

Sam snorted.

"What?", he asked again.

"Nothin'. - It's … You tell me that I'm not stupid. I didn't say that I'm stupid. But neither am I clever. I can't even go out there among other people, Dean. I'm freaking out each time." Of course he was right with that, but that didn't mean that it had to stay that way.

""Sammy.", he sighed and shook his head. "Look … it's just … you haven't time to prove it to yourself."

That may be a point. In between being sick, owner of a parasite and that surgery … he didn't really have time to recover enough to prove himself to the others. Nor to himself.

"So … how's your arm?" Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"It's okay.", Sam answered and cast his look aside.

That meant he was uncomfortable with the question, or that he was lying.

"Can you move your fingers?", He asked again.

Sam wiggled his fingers slowly. It hurt. He made a small sound in the back of his throat.

There was silence again for a longer time than any of the both men liked.

Finally, Sam spoke. "You know I'm not the fragile thing you think I am."

The alpha sighed heavily and sucked in a deep breath.

"I know what I want, Dean. And I know what I don't want. And I want you." Sam blushed and let his words sink in. It wasn't easy to talk that way. He felt like it had never been. But those things had to be said. This way or another. "I want you for real. I want to share … more things with you." He paused again, listening to Dean's breaths, trying to judge how the alpha took what he said. "I don't mean that I think that I can have sex with you just yet. - But … someday I want to. And … and I'd like you to know that I'd want that because of me and not because I think I have to ..." Sam stole a glance at his mate.

Dean's face stayed unreadable. Not even his scent changed. That made Sam a bit nervous.

Having the tendency to think that it was rather a bad thing that a good one, Sam grew even more agitated at the lack of change.

"Okay ...", Dean mumbled. "So … you'd tell me if I'd try something you don't feel ready for?" It was hesitant and tentative.

"I would." The omega cleared his throat. "Not that we have done something I haven't liked so far." Sam stole another glance at the hunter.

There was still no shift whatsoever in his features, nor in his scent.

Eventually, Dean looked over at Sam with a fond smile on his lips. Sam looked certain, even with that shy blush on his cheeks and the way he wouldn't look up at Dean while talking. His scent had shifted, but not as if he was lying.

So Sam was telling the truth.

He'd let Dean know when it went too far. Not that Sam would really have to say something. Dean'd be able to smell it too. But sometimes the borders between fear and nervousness melted into each other and with his own arousal rushing through his veins, his foggy mind wouldn't be quite able to tell.

So, Sam telling him to stop was an important part.

"You sure, Baby boy?", Dean asked again, his voice lower than before – huskier.

He inched down until he lay right along Sam and was looking him in the eyes.

"Yeah.", Sam breathed. He held Dean's gaze. "I'm sure … I … I'd like to try … But … I ..."

There was a long moment of awkward silence.

"I get it. You want to try and if you can't go that far yet, you'll let me know, okay?" Dean still smiled warmly when he laid his hand on Sam's cheek.

Sam nodded as he leaned into the warm touch of his mate, breathing him in deeply.

~ 67' Chevrolet Impala ~

Friday afternoon and John Winchester was sitting on Bobby's porch.

It wasn't an everyday thing, that John let himself be carried away like this. Beer in hand, staring into nothing and doing nothing but watching crows picking into the frozen ground.

It wasn't like him to do NOTHING but watching TV and doing research when he could be out there in the wilderness of humanity, fighting evil.

Though, this time he couldn't leave his son alone. Not like that. Not when he knew that Dean was threatened by a being his son didn't see as a danger at all. John had learned the hard way that the devil sometimes came in the shape of an angel. Or in this case an omega.

There was no way he'd let his son go down that path.

No matter what Dean may thought this Samuel was.

It was everything, but not his mate. It couldn't be. First off, his son had hated that gender ever since that night when his mother and little Adam had died. Second, John couldn't imagine that his son's hate was vanishing just like that. Not after all those years. And third: He was pretty certain, that this bastard of a freak was controlling Dean somehow. After all it wouldn't be the first time to meet a psychic with that kind of abilities.

He only had to figure out how to come close to him and that THING in the cabin, without setting his son off. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Dean physically.

HIS Dean would've understood why he left him in that hospital. HIS Son would've seen the importance of following the trail.

But this one? This Dean was definitely a different man.

Not that John Winchester thought only once about the possibility, that the incident in the woods could've changed his son in any way. He was a Winchester. Winchester's were following their road of destination without questioning it.

At least they were supposed to do so.

So here he was, on the porch, sipping his beer and waiting for a certain woman from the depths of Mississippi to show up. Maybe she'd be able to change his son's mind and maybe she'd be capable of persuading him that the omega wasn't his son's mate after all.

Missouri was a damn psychic. That had to mean something, right?

She'd be able to fix his son.

John only had to get to her before anyone else could.

~ 67' Chevrolet Impala ~

It was shy before five when Missouri Moseley arrived in her rust-brown old Buick on the Salvage. When she got out of the car, she didn't even look in John's direction. Her dark-brown eyes were trained on something in the passenger's seat. Not even when she rounded the car to get whatever was so important to have such a focus on it.

The small lady took a bag from the passenger's seat and slung it over her shoulder. The brown leather-straps dug deep into the warm coat she was wearing, telling the oldest Winchester that she had to be carrying something real heavy.

Most likely utensils for a ritual, which likely involved votive candles, a whole lot of different spices and herbs and some more creepy stuff.

Only, when she turned around to take off past Bobby's house towards Dean's cabin, John Winchester was standing right in front of her, blocking the way.

She made a surprised gasp and her flat palm landed on her chest right above her heart. "John Winchester.", she grumbled, annoyed and was about to get around him. "Don't you do that to a lady."

But he got in her way. Again.

The two of them hadn't parted in the best of ways a couple of years ago. She had told him to let it go and not follow the lead further, that it'd get his son hurt if he didn't. He hadn't listened. Of course Missouri had known that John hadn't been killed back then in the woods too.

The dark-skinned lady knew so many things, though she barely spoke about them.

"Wait. We need to talk, Missouri. It's about Dean. It's important.", he said firmly. As if it was an order. By an ex-marine.

Missouri gazed up at him and tilted her head to the side, as if she already knew what he had to tell. "That's where I'm headin' right now.", she said, and poked her finger into the man's chest.

"No. - You don't understand … when you go in there … try to get my son alone. Talk to him. Tell him it ain't no good to have the omega around." John seemed truly concerned.

She nearly felt sorry for the hunter. He sounded and looked desperate as hell. Though, she had to raise both eyebrows in surprise at his request. She had thought that she'd be here because of Dean's mate … then again … sometimes her psychic abilities were screwing with her memories.

Then she understood and she blew out an heavy sigh. "You haven't changed in all these years." Missouri shook her head and frowned at him.

"The guy who's with him … he's done something. Or is doing something. Missouri, you gotta help him. That thing … the omega … He's gonna drag him down."

The chocolate brown lady pursed her lips as if she was thinking. First her face softened. Then the softness faded and it hardened again. "Get your head out of your ass, Winchester. That ain't humbug. - I'd feel it if your son's mate was a bad guy." She patted the older man's shoulder and nudged him aside. "You'd better apologize to Sam though. It'd fix a lot of things – for once listen to me, John – in between you and your son too. - Leaving him in a damn hospital to rot all by himself wasn't the right call either. He's got all the rights to be mad at you." And with that she was heading past John, who kept standing where he stood, obviously not satisfied with how this talk had ended.

John's gaze followed the lady towards Dean's house, before he headed back inside, leaving the beer on the porch beside the chair.

Missouri adjusted the bag over her shoulder and knocked at the wooden door before her.

Minutes later, the door opened and Dean welcomed her warmly. Then he invited her in and showed her into the kitchen.

Missouri let the bag slip from her shoulder and put it on the floor right beside the chair on which she sat down.

"You had a good drive?", Dean asked as he poured two cups of coffee.

"Yes, darlin'." She eyed him intently, then looked around. "It was a peaceful one."

Dean came with the mugs to the table and put one of them in front of Missouri, the other one opposite of her. The ex-hunter then went to get milk and sugar, so that the lady could dose her own coffee with whatever she wanted.

"SO … where's the patient?", she asked curiously after her first sip of coffee.

Dean sighed and rubbed over his face. "Living-room." He looked up, meeting her gaze. "He's nervous."

She nodded. "Sam had an accident?"

Dean sat up straighter and swallowed thickly. "... kind of. How'd you know?" She still surprised him sometimes.

Missouri gestured towards the bin beside the fridge, where a red-stained piece of fabric lurked over the brim. "You're not lookin' like you're hurt." She rose both eyebrows. "John?"

Dean chuckled nervously and shook his head. "No. Me … He … I ..." He looked guilty as hell to say the least.

"I think Sam knows you didn't want to hurt him." She smiled softly and leaned back.

"Yeah. He told me that. Said he ain't mad at me and … and that it's not my fault." The ex-hunter actually blushed. "I could've killed him. You know?"

"You won't keep that knife of yours under the pillow anymore, so I guess that's a good thing." The psychic emptied her mug and put it back down on the table before her. "So … you wanna introduce me to your mate?"

A smile spread over his face. "Of course."

They moved into the living-room, where Sam was sitting on the couch, a bowl with chopped fruits in his lap. When they entered, he put it aside and jumped up, extending his hand towards Missouri as she stood before him.

His hands were shaking.

"Welcome, Ma'am.", he stammered. Sam only hoped he'd do it right – just as Dean had told him to and that he wouldn't piss her off. Obviously, the alpha had a couple of differences with that woman. At least they had in the past.

She beamed at him and shook his hand. But her smile faltered and she gazed back over her shoulder at Dean. "What did you tell him about me?" Her gaze turned sharp.

Dean froze.

Sam pulled his hand out of her grasp.

"You better sit down, son." she waved at Sam and then gestured Dean to sit down in the recliner.

When they were all seated, she brushed with the back of her hand over Sam's cheek, brushing hair aside and revealing the scar on his face.

Sam flinched away from the touch and Missouri stole a glance at Dean, who felt his intestines cringe too at his mate's reaction.

"I am going to have a look at you, boy." Her voice was soft and her smile tender. "It won't hurt. You're not goin' to feel anythin' at all." She brushed with her fingertips over Sam's temple and closed her eyes.

Sam closed his too.

Seconds later, she pulled back and blew out a slow long breath. Her eyes opened, and so did Sam's.

Dean sat on the very edge of the recliner, waiting for her to spill.

She made a soft sound.

Sam inched back until he felt the side-lean against his back, though his gaze lingered on her.

"What is it?", Dean asked impatiently.

"The damage is already done.", she murmured.

Sam frowned and gazed at her curiously.

"Damage? What damage?" Dean rose from the recliner and sauntered over to the couch, where he stopped behind Sam. He laid his hand on the younger man's shoulder.

Missouri looked up at him. "I can still fix it, but you may not like what I am going to suggest." The lady looked back at Sam.

"I can make you remember your past. But … with that comes a price." She paused and let that sink in. "You are now a different person from whom you have been before. You may not like certain things you did and thought before."

Sam nodded pensively.

Dean's frown deepened. "What's the big deal with that?"

She looked up at John's son. "Because he may not be the man who he is now. The part of his memory which he is aware of and parts of his personality formed during the past year. If … if he remembers what's been before, he might change."

Sam nodded again.

Dean didn't look convinced by what he was hearing. That sounded as if Sam wouldn't be Sam anymore if they'd do that. And if they didn't?

"What if he doesn't?"

"The seizures will become more frequent and they are going to damage his brain sooner or later.", she explained calmly.

"Better healthy and different than having a ruined brain, right Sammy?" Dean obviously tried to joke, but it didn't sound like one. Not at all.

Missouri glared at him.

Sam looked stricken. "If I don't do that I'll die. And if I do, I'll die too … like … I won't be me anymore? Will I be the guy I was before?"

Missouri seemed to think about the younger male's question intently before answering. "That may happen. But I can't tell for sure, honey. You went through a surgery to chop off your past life. I can't tell what will happen when I try to connect those parts again."

Sam nodded. He felt Dean's hand on his shoulder tighten and shortly after, the ex-hunter's other hand covered his other shoulder.

Sam reached up and wrapped his fingers around Dean's wrist. "The more I'm going to think about it, the more confused I get.", he mumbled to himself. Then he tilted his head back, resting it against Dean's belly and gazed up at his mate.

Dean looked back down at him, seeming as stricken as he was.

"However you want it to do.", he said hoarsely. Dean Winchester knew exactly what this meant. He could lose Sam. This Sam. And he didn't want that. He didn't want him to change into someone else. After all he didn't know the man Sam had been before and who he would be after this.

So yes, he was scared shitless. But he also knew that Sam would die because of the seizures in the long run. So they didn't really have choices here.

Dean was also afraid, that Sam would not feel the same way anymore afterwards. That he wouldn't want him as an alpha anymore. After all there were omegas out there, who were taking suppressants.

"Your choice, baby boy.", he insisted. "Whatever it is, I'm in." He tried to give him a reassuring smile, but he couldn't.

Sam squeezed Dean's hand. He wasn't sure himself. Most of all, he didn't want to change into someone he didn't know. Someone whose thoughts (during the flashbacks) had been so confusing and off …

Missouri leaned back slightly and watched the both of them communicate without words. It wasn't something she was allowed to witness often.

"Will I still love Dean?", Sam finally asked and turned to look back at her.

Missouri's expression shifted into something more sad. "I don't know, darlin'. - But you are mates. Two halves of a whole. You belong to each other and no matter how, you will find together again."

"How does it work … I mean … Whatever you're going to do with me … when I wake up … Will it be him? Or will I still be me? How is it going to work?"

Missouri sighed again. "I haven't done these things too often. - But I can tell you, that you may change. But not like you seem to imagine it. Those memories will come back to you and you are going to understand your former self. It isn't your whole personality that's going to change. It may only be a few bits and pieces of you." She paused. "It is not as if I'm snappin' my fingers and you're not you anymore."

"But it sounded that way. A lot.", Dean spoke up.

"Sam won't forget about who he became in this past year.", Missouri assured them. "It will be as if two parts fuse into one."

"Are you sure?", Sam asked.

And Missouri nodded. "I am sure. You will understand when you see."

…. to be continued