A/N THIS IS THE THIRD AND FINAL PART IN THE DARK RIDERS TRILOGY..THE STORY IS COMPLETE AND WILL BE POSTED WEEKLY.
SUMMARY- FOLLOW DEAN AND SAM ON THEIR JOURNEY TO ENGLAND WHERE THEY MEET THE LAST SEER AND REALIZE THE TERRIBLE PRICE THEY MUST PAY TO BEAT THE DEMON BALIAZAR AND SAVE HUMANITY.
Dark riders-http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/845.html
Dark Riders 2 Storm Warning -http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
MANY THANKS TO LOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART, OUR BANNER
AND TO feather_touch FOR BEING OUR FABULOUS BETA THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK.


HONORE ET AMORE
CHAPTER 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/09/20/
CHAPTER 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/5930.html
CHAPTER 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/13/
CHAPTER 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/27/
CHAPTER 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/6974.html

WARNING- CHAPTER 6: Some readers may find the contents of this chapter disturbing. Emotions run very high and we ask you to keep an open mind. It is not our intent to put our beloved characters in a bad light. Even so we will post a DUB/CON WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. Very much top sam in this chapter!

PS Our poor beta has not checked this chapter so all mistakes are ours alone
CHAPTER 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/02/
CHAPTER 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/7555.html
CHAPTER 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/17/
CHAPTER 9 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/8151.html
CHAPTER 10 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/17/
Chapter 11 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/22/
CHAPTER 12 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/28/
CHAPTER 13 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/09/10/
CHAPTER 14 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/9275.html
CHAPTER 15 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/9625.html
CHAPTER 16 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/11/02/

Shortening his stride slightly to match Dean’s, Sam looked with dread at the large remaining standing stones. A chill that had nothing to do with the weather invaded his body causing him to shiver violently. So. This was it, where it would all end? Sam felt more than saw Dean falter, slowing his pace further he bumped shoulders. “Are you alright?”

The closer to their destination, the more Dean hesitated. For once, he was thankful he’d let Sam take care of him after Reggie’s assault. He could blame his resistance on those injuries, avoid the truth. “It’s just a headache.”

Dean knew Sam saw through the lie; he heard it in his own voice. With the hunt he faced death more times than he could count, but there was always the possibility he would survive another day. His heart was beating so hard, he knew Sam could hear it. Hell, he was sure Sam could see it through his shirt and jacket. This wasn’t the familiar excitement, the anticipation. This was fear, and he reeked of it.

All too soon Sam stood at the entrance to the huge stone circle. The grey green stones matching his own color. Yeah sick with fear, good start he thought. Dean looked his usual self, calm and collected, but on closer inspection he could see the tightly clenched jaw.

More time, oh how he wished they were given more time together. Given the choice to go back to never having crossed paths with Dean, not a chance. He would take their short time together over a lifetime with someone else. This was what his mom talked about, knowing that special someone and hanging on no matter what, and that was precisely what he planned on doing here today. No matter how hard, how scared he was, Sam wouldn’t let Dean down. When it was all over he would make the final choice to be with Dean forever. The letter he left Shamus outlined his wishes as regards the disposing of his and Dean’s bodies. They would both be placed on the same funeral pyre and the remaining ashes sent back to the ranch to be scattered. Bumping Dean’s shoulder once again, Sam smiled at his best friend, his soul mate. “Are you ready?”

Dean was certain this must be what sleepwalking felt like. He didn’t remember the walk from the gate to the stone circle. The only thing keeping his hands from shaking uncontrollably was the large bag he carried. Sam bumping him and asking if he were ready brought him back to reality. Afraid his voice would betray him, he could only nod his head yes. Ready? Did they have a choice? It wouldn’t take long before everything was ready.

Like battle hardened gladiators they walked in perfect harmony into the inner circle. The massive trilithons towering over them, their shadows lengthening in the late afternoon sunlight. Two silent figures dressed all in black, both knowing they would not leave the ancient monument. Both knowing that it was as it should be, was always meant to be. As they set down their bags and started to draw the circle of protection, both drew on the strengths of the other.

Nothing was left to chance. Everything precisely calculated. The ritual memorized and practiced over and over again. Dean watched a strong resolve settle over Sam and let it comfort him. While Sam prepared the herbs and oils, Dean proceeded to the sigil of Baliazar. Digging into the hard ground, he furrowed out the double triangle and the three ancient symbols on each of the sides. Filling the reservoir with oil, he lit a match dropping it in the oil. Stepping back he watched the flames as the sigil was burnt into the grassy circle.

Sam watched as the yellow sun made its relentless journey to the far horizon. Pulling the gold hunter from his pocket and pressing the small catch, he opened the cover. It was six o’clock. They had exactly fifteen minutes. A quiet sigh. Closing and solemnly replacing it, Sam looked on as the burning oil flickered and died leaving only the sigil burnt into the ground. Dean looked up, a silent question in his eyes. “Fifteen minutes,” Sam replied. “Is everything set?”

Seeing the anxious look on Sam’s face, Dean thought it best to give Sam a few minutes to collect his thoughts. “I’ll finish up here,” he told the younger man. With shaking hands Dean somehow lit the candles. The only thing left to do was the blood offering when Baliazar was summoned.

Taking a couple of paces and slipping behind one of the still upright stones, Sam leant back against its lichen covered surface and closed his eyes. Carefully he recited the Lords Prayer and then added a few private words that only God would hear. All the while his thumb and forefinger twisted the silver ring Dean gave him. If this was truly what God wanted for him and Dean, hopefully he would guide and protect their souls. All his life faith, honour, and love were drilled into him, and now was the time to put all of those lessons to the test. Feeling a little calmer he opened his eyes to find Dean stood in front of him.

Dean watched Sam step behind the huge monolith. Knowing what Sam was doing, Dean gave him a few moments privacy. Looking towards the heavens, Dean gave up a silent prayer asking God to take care of Sam. Crossing to the stone, Dean stepped behind it, watched Sam as he fidgeted with his ring. Taking Sam’s hand in his, Dean felt Sam’s long fingers tighten around his own. “It’s time.”

Sam allowed one last lingering look. Dean was all things to Sam, lover, soul mate, protector, and best friend all rolled into one amazing package. Wrapping his free hand round the back of Dean’s neck, he drew him forward into a fierce embrace, tucking his own face into the strong shoulder. “I love you and will never leave you. I will always be with you Dean.” Pulling away slightly he held Dean’s face between both hands. Leaning forward he tried to instill all his feelings, all his love, all the things he could not say into that one final kiss.

Dean let Sam draw him into a tight embrace. Holding on desperately, he buried his face against Sam’s neck. Dean blinked back the tears, refusing to let them fall. Sam needed him now more than ever. “Sam, you’ll always be the best part of me.” Sam’s kiss said more than words ever could. They stood there together until there was no more air in their lungs, forcing them to part.

Clearing his throat, “I’m ready.” Stepping into the protective circle Sam knelt down in front of the silver bowl. The words of the summoning he’d memorized readily coming to mind.

“Baliazar who art wicked and disobedient, though has not obeyed the glorious Name of the true God, the Creator of all things, thou shalt forthwith appear in this triangle before this circle to do my will. Come quickly and in peace.”

As the final word was spoken, Sam drew the knife across his palm. Holding his bleeding hand over the small bowl, he allowed the falling drops to mingle with the assembled ingredients. Striking a match and dropping it, a bright white light lit up the monument in the gathering gloom. Briefly their shadows were cast against the ancient stones before the flame flickered and died. Sam looked up nervously seeking Dean’s face.

Glancing around, Dean saw only shadows of the great stones illuminated by the full moon. Impatiently he paced, never venturing more than an arm’s length from Sam. His grip tightened around the knife. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach. Something evil. Suddenly harsh laughter echoed through the circle. Dean watched as a figure emerged from the shadows.

“You are the final pair? I must say I’m a little disappointed.” The dark clad figure walked forward and into sight of the last Guardian and Seer. He turned to Dean, “you are to be my vessel in the coming years?” Walking around Dean he licked his lips and nodded his head. “Acceptable,” another nod and a pursing of aged lips. “More than acceptable.”

Dean eyed the abomination circling him. “You’ll only be here long enough for Sam to kill you.” There was little more than the shell of a man left. Lesions covered most of his face. His arms were blackened and burned. He smelled of sulphur and decay. Dean shuddered at the thought of being possessed, this was evil incarnate.

“No, Dean. You are wrong. You and your lover will fail like all the rest.” Piercing black eyes bored into the pair. Baliazar was impatient, he could taste his freedom. “Sammy’s still the scared little boy hiding behind his mother’s skirt. He can never do what needs to be done. Look into his eyes Dean. You will see his doubt, his fear.”

“Don’t listen to him Dean. He lies. Believe me; I will keep my promise to you.”

Looking at Baliazar, Dean sneered. “Shut your mouth, you son of a bitch. You’ll never be free, we’ll destroy you.”

“What would your mother think of a mouth like that?” He paused for effect. “Oh, I forget, you don’t have one do you? Growing up without a mummy, with no one to teach you right from wrong. No wonder you prefer…” Baliazar shifted his gaze to Sam, “little boys. Never tried it myself. Perhaps I should. What do you think Dean? Think Sam would appreciate a farewell fuck?”

Stepping in front of Sam, Dean gazed into the sad hazel eyes. He saw no doubts, only love. Taking Sam’s hand, Dean handed him the knife. He felt the hot burn of tears as they fell down his cheeks. Caressing Sam’s face he pressed in close. “Sammy, I’ve never loved you more than I do right now.” Slipping the amulet from his neck, he placed it around Sam’s.

“Baliazar, who art commanded by the Lord of Darkness, I give you this body, a willing vessel.”

Baliazar stopped a few feet from Dean, his eyes instead searching the Seer’s face. The boy seemed detached. For the first time in a long time Baliazar felt uneasy. By now, as with all the previous Guardians and Seers, he expected the boy to be cowering and sniveling in fear. And Dean, cocky little bastard, he too seemed on the outside at least, resigned to his fate?

As Baliazar closed in on him the stench became overwhelming. Sean’s body was decomposing before his eyes. Dean stood his ground, staying close so Sam could end it the moment Baliazar took over his body. The longer he waited, the more terrified Dean became. He had faith in Sam, but the slightest distraction would give Baliazar the upper hand.

“A willing vessel? Yes you are, aren’t you?” Baliazar stepped closer, saw the slight flinch Dean could not hide. He smiled, enjoying Dean’s discomfort. “You didn’t answer my question Dean. Do you think Sammy boy would bend over for us one last time?”

Dean lifted his head defiantly glaring into the lifeless black eyes. “Sam will never do your bidding.”

“Would you like that Sammy? Dean to fuck you one last time? I promise to stay in the background; I won’t lay so much as a finger on you. It will be all Dean.” Baliazar fixed his failing eyes on Sam’s curiously lax face. A chuckle escaping his dry chapped lips. “Don’t tell me you are praying? Have you learnt nothing boy? He does not listen and he does not care. He never has. It’s all a lie! Did he stop me taking all the other Guardians? No! Did he stop me taking your parents? No! He sat back and did nothing like he always does.”

Sam saw and heard everything Baliazar said and did. From the moment Dean’s amulet settled against his chest, a feeling of calm settled over him. His mind somehow felt divided, as if he were watching from outside his own body. He saw and heard the demon, but he also saw himself still standing in the protective circle. The hated hurtful words washed over him, but mercifully were not allowed to sink in to cause harm. He saw Baliazar’s puzzled frown, the look of irritation when his taunting had no effect. Still he couldn’t bring himself to worry about it. Instead he was focused on Dean and the carefully laid out plan. He needed to focus, and nothing could be allowed to distract him or interfere.

Dean watched horrified as Sean’s head was thrown back and Baliazar poured from his mouth in a cloud of black smoke. He only had seconds, reaching out he grabbed Sam’s free hand squeezing tightly.

He wanted to scream as the swirling black mass invaded him. Dean felt himself pushed back as the heavy weight of Baliazar‘s black soul filled his body, taking control. He was repulsed by the hate, the anger, the pure rage that flowed through him. It was vile and dark. The small part of his mind he still possessed cried out, begging Sam to end it now.

Dean heard Baliazar’s thoughts in his head. “Ah, Dean, Sam is special. He’s not like the others. Perhaps I’ll keep him around for awhile. A special pet we could take out and play with. I know you would like that. You can’t hide from me, all those carnal thoughts. You are no different than I am, a sinner, a sodomite, a blasphemer. With this face, this body, and young Lord Richards at our side, the world will bow down before us.”

Sam watched Sean’s body twitch and his mouth gape as Baliazar poured forth. Sam felt his muscles tense, especially when Dean’s hand sought his. As the abomination invaded Dean’s body, the sweating hand he held jerked, clung tighter in terror and pain. Nails drawing blood. Sam saw himself bring up the knife so carefully hidden in the sleeve of his jacket and palm of his hand. Releasing his hold on Dean’s hand, he gripped the back of Dean’s neck pulling him forward as he turned and sank the knife deep into Dean’s chest. Luck, more than skill, made sure the blade slipped between ribs and into its intended target.

The heart. The heart now shared by both Dean and Baliazar.

“I conjure thee, fire, by Him, who made thee and all other creatures of this world, to burn, torture, and consume this spirit Baliazar, now and forever more. I call down the wrath of all the company of heaven, the sun, the moon, the stars, and the light of the hosts of heaven.”

Rearing back with a bellow of agony and surprise, Baliazar ripped free of the Guardian’s blade, the knife staying in Sam’s hand. The damage was done, blood jetted out of the open chest wound. Staggering, Baliazar tried to stem the flow, it was a lost cause. In seconds, the black that invaded Dean’s beautiful eyes was once again returned to green as the demon lost his hold and died

Lunging forward Sam grabbed the failing body of his lover, best friend, partner, his Dean, and slowly sank down with Dean clutched to him. Only then did Sam allow himself to once again feel. Emotion poured through him, swamping him with all he had denied and put aside in order to do what he must. To fulfill the prophecy of an angel from an age long forgotten by modern man, and most importantly, not let Baliazar have Dean.

Hot bitter tears sprang from his eyes as he gently pulled Dean against his chest. Pain filled green eyes sought his

Dean watched Sam pull Baliazar in. Felt the white hot heat of the blade as it pierced his skin. Baliazar’s scream echoed through his head. Dean felt Baliazar lose his hold, and then he was gone, dead. He stumbled as his body regained control, as the pain wracked through him. Suddenly Sam’s arms were around him, lowering him to the ground. Dean’s hands were wet and sticky as he reached up grabbing for Sam, for something to hold on to. “Sam,” he whispered.

“I’m right here Dean.” Sam cupped the beautiful face, thumb dragging slowly over his freckled cheekbone wiping away the pain fueled tears leaking from his eyes, before taking both hands in one of his much larger ones. Dean’s hands were shaking and already cold, in fact his whole body was trembling.

Oh God, what was he to say? Hold on Dean, it won’t be long? Or just a bit longer then you will be …dead?

Sam knew this was agony for Dean, but it was pure torture for Sam. Watching Dean struggle and gasp for breath, his fingers clutching tight to Sam’s hand, silent tears running down his face. The almost desperate way he tried to conceal his pain.

Oh God, please make it quick.

Please take him now.

Don’t let him suffer anymore, the silent prayer to God a plea for compassion and mercy. Sam lay his cheek on top of Dean’s sweat soaked hair. “I love you so much.”


Dean couldn’t stop shaking as the cold crept into his bones. Even Sam’s body holding him close brought no warmth. The pain was unbearable. He wanted it to stop. He heard himself gasp for breath, unable to pull any air into his lungs. Choking, he felt himself cough, wet and raspy. The movement jarring his already pain filled body, making him writhe in agony, tighten his grip on Sam. Warm tears ran down his face, he wasn’t sure if they were his or Sam’s. Dean heard Sam’s voice, soothing yet distant. His body felt like it weighed a ton, making it impossible to reach up and touch Sam’s face. “Sammy?”

Sam held tight, felt Dean fight to draw breath to stay with him, to stay alive. Sam didn’t want Dean to die, but neither did he want to witness this terrible agonizing struggle. Lips grazing Dean’s ear so Dean would hear him, Sam asked for the impossible, hoping for once Dean would listen.

“The battle’s over, we won. Please don’t fight anymore. Not for me. I know it hurts. Please, let go, Dean. I promise, you won’t be alone.”

Dean heard the soft whisper in his ear. It was over. They won. Baliazar was dead, Sam was safe. Through half lidded eyes blurred by tears, he saw the sadness on Sam’s face.

“Stay with me Sam.” He choked out.

“Oh Christ.” Sam’s own breathing stuttered as he failed in his attempt to have any control over his wayward emotions. Dean was scared. At that moment Sam would promise Dean the moon if he thought it would help ease his fear.

“It’s okay Dean, I’ve got you and I’m not letting go.”

“Ever.”

Pulling Dean even closer, Sam gently rocked back and forth hoping the motion was soothing and comforting.

Dean couldn’t remember ever being as tired as he was right now. With one last ragged breath he leaned his head against Sam’s chest.

Sam’s anguished howl rent the still night, reverberated off the remaining standing stones, reaching up to the heavens. Huge wracking sobs tore through his frame as he crushed Dean’s lifeless body to his chest. Nothing on earth could ever have prepared him for this. Not time, nor his parents deaths, could compare to the agonizing, emotional, and physical pain he now experienced.

*****
Michael watched the scene unfold. They had been right. This Guardian, this Seer were successful. They had chosen well. Sam raised in a home full of love and faith, and Dean raised with a fierce will and determination to save others from the darkness. A perfect balance, each with their own strength. Together they defeated Baliazar. Willingly they accepted their fate, even knowing the price each must pay.


The love they shared was stronger than any bond Michael had seen in over a millennium. Dean sacrificing himself to save the world from the likes of Baliazar. Giving up the thing he loved most, Sam. His belief that Sam could save him, or at least his eternal soul. Sam’s faith that God would somehow save them both. Michael felt Sam’s grief as it poured off the young man in waves. He knew Sam’s thoughts, watched as Sam cradled Dean’s body even closer, saw Sam’s hand slide down and pull the gun from his holster.

As generations passed, Michael watched each failing to fulfill the prophecy. It was well over a thousand years since Michael stood at The Stones. Now he was needed again. Michael stepped from the brilliant light that preceded him. He looked down at his champions, and then Sean’s discarded body.

Kneeling before Sam, he lifted the tear streaked face. “The prophecy has been fulfilled. Baliazar has been destroyed.” Michael gently pried the gun from Sam’s hand. “Mankind will never know what has happened here this day, the sacrifices made for them. But this,” Michael looked at the gun in his hand, “is not how this day is to end.”

“You got what you came for. Now leave me alone.” Sam fumbled at Dean’s hip for the other gun.

Michael halted Sam’s hand. “Do you know who I am and why I am here?” Michael noted the vacant stare, shaking Sam he waited for the hazel eyes to focus. “I’m here for you, Samuel. This is not what Dean wanted, he prayed for you. He loved you and wanted you to live. What you are planning is a sin against all you have ever believed in.”

“Don’t you think I know?” Came out as a miserable sob. “What am I supposed to do? He’s gone and I’m left here. On my own.”

“Samuel, I am the Archangel Michael, a messenger from God. Do you weep for Dean or for yourself?”

“What do you want from me? Haven’t I given enough?”

“Your faith and love vanquished evil here this day. You are a man of faith. Do not doubt Him. He has not abandoned you. The faithful are rewarded. I ask that you trust me now.
Let me share your burden.” Reaching over to take Dean’s body, Michael was met with resistance as Sam held tight. “Please, Sam.” Michael waited for Sam to loosen his hold.
Placing one hand on the blood soaked chest of his Guardian, and the other on Sam’s head, he closed his eyes and turning his head back prayed.

“Heavenly and most merciful Father, hear my plea and heal thy humble servants.” A gentle blue light spread out from Michael’s down turned palms until it completely covered both bodies. “Thank you Father”

Michael felt the flutter of a heartbeat from Dean’s chest. From the now sleeping Sam, he eased the guilt and grief that consumed him. Once again he laid Dean’s head against Sam’s chest. Standing, Michael placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder, “your prayers have been answered.” Hearing the carriage swiftly approaching, Michael stepped into the light.

******

“Shamus, are you mad? Slow down, the carriage wasn’t built for these speeds!” George’s white knuckled grip threatened to snap the seat rail. An hour earlier the two feckless hounds broke out of the room George secured them in, and proceeded to raise merry hell, scratching and barking at the main door trying to get out.

Magically Shamus appeared, opened the door, announcing that he’d harnessed the horses for the carriage and chiding George for his tardiness. His actual words were, “Get yer ass in gear George, we don’t have all bloody day! “

Spurred on by the actions of the hounds and Shamus’ reckless driving skills, the drive to The Stones was covered in remarkably little time. Jumping down to undo the gate, George held it open allowing Shamus to drive the few remaining yards to the outer circle.

Applying the brake Shamus hastily climbed down, his old eyes seeking the boys. However what he saw stopped him dead in his tracks. Standing in the centre of the remaining circle, stood a man of immense proportions, one huge hand gripping a mighty sword. “Holy Mary, Mother of God!” Sinking to his knees, Shamus stared in awe at the sight before him.

From the light Michael watched the small figure fall to his knees. Recognizing the man, Michael spoke. “Shamus O’Reilly, you have served me well. Let it be known the prophecy has been fulfilled.” With a blinding flash, Michael was gone.

****

Tags: angst, historical romance, horror, nc-17, slash

A/N THIS IS THE THIRD AND FINAL PART IN THE DARK RIDERS TRILOGY..THE STORY IS COMPLETE AND WILL BE POSTED WEEKLY.
SUMMARY- FOLLOW DEAN AND SAM ON THEIR JOURNEY TO ENGLAND WHERE THEY MEET THE LAST SEER AND REALIZE THE TERRIBLE PRICE THEY MUST PAY TO BEAT THE DEMON BALIAZAR AND SAVE HUMANITY.
Dark riders-http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/845.html
Dark Riders 2 Storm Warning -http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
MANY THANKS TO LOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART, OUR BANNER
AND TO feather_touch FOR BEING OUR FABULOUS BETA THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK.


HONORE ET AMORE
CHAPTER 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/09/20/
CHAPTER 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/5930.html
CHAPTER 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/13/
CHAPTER 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/27/
CHAPTER 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/6974.html

WARNING- CHAPTER 6: Some readers may find the contents of this chapter disturbing. Emotions run very high and we ask you to keep an open mind. It is not our intent to put our beloved characters in a bad light. Even so we will post a DUB/CON WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. Very much top sam in this chapter!

PS Our poor beta has not checked this chapter so all mistakes are ours alone
CHAPTER 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/02/
CHAPTER 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/7555.html
CHAPTER 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/17/
CHAPTER 9 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/8151.html
CHAPTER 10 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/17/
Chapter 11 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/22/
CHAPTER 12 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/28/
CHAPTER 13 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/09/10/
CHAPTER 14 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/9275.html
CHAPTER 15 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/9625.html
CHAPTER 16

AN- A quick note to say sorry for the long delay in posting, I have just moved house. So hope you will all forgive us.
Wednesday Morning: Final Day

Dean was spooned against Sam’s back, one arm under Sam’s neck the other across his stomach, fingertips tracing circles on the oversensitive skin of his belly.

Neither of them slept. The too short hours of darkness spent making love and holding each other. Whispered words of want, need, love forever, punctuated by fevered kisses, forceful thrusts and questing fingers.

The heavy drapes were left open allowing them to witness the sunrise. The fiery globe was rising through distant trees signaling the dawn of a new day.

Sam’s sigh was not of contentment but rather of acceptance. Since learning of the fate that awaited them today, he’d fought it tooth and nail. Sometime during the night Sam realized for both their sakes he needed to accept and strangely with that simple honest insight acceptance was granted and with it came peace of mind.

Dean’s fingers continued their path along Sam’s body. The need to touch, to be part of one another was overwhelming. He wanted the night to last, to stay wrapped together like this forever. Dean watched as a calm overcame Sam.

The bright sunlight and clear blue sky belied the darkness awaiting them. For weeks they’d searched for a way out. Time caught up with them. There was only one thing left for them today. If Sam could accept this so could he. He needed to be strong for Sam, to have faith.

Faith, yes Sam, faith. He used to have total and unswerving faith in God. Some part of him still did. He knew Shamus was and would always believe in a higher being, God, for want of a better word. Sam wanted to believe, desperately. Sam’s main source of belief shifted. Total, absolute, and uncompromising faith in Dean would see Sam through today and into what ever came next. He knew he promised but... perhaps God would look the other way, just this once and let him in. There was no doubt Dean earned his place, and all Sam wanted was a seat next to him, with him forever.

Pulling up the quilt to chase away the early morning chill, they stayed there, each lost in their own thoughts. Dean reflected back on his life. He believed in what he did, hunting and saving people. He’d succeeded more than he’d failed. There were some regrets, but didn’t everybody have a few in their life? Sam snuggled even closer, if it was possible. Sam, he would never regret that part of his life. Only that it was too short.

From outside intruded the sound of men’s voices, Sam struggled to catch what was being said, brows creasing when he heard his own name. Digging Dean in the ribs with his elbow he hissed “get up” as he hauled himself out of the too comfortable bed and padded barefoot towards the open window. Looking down Sam saw Reggie and a couple of other members of the Brotherhood. He ducked back as one of them pointed towards the window he was tucked behind. Raised voices drifted through the opening

“We can’t risk it.”

“You saw what he did, swine broke Charles’s nose and insulted me.” Reggie’s pompous voice.

“Reggie you can’t.”

“Sam, what are you doing?”

“Shit!” Bringing a finger to his lips signaling quiet, Sam listened, unfortunately Reggie and his group moved from earshot.

“Dean, I think we have a problem.”

Standing next to Sam, wrapped in the quilt, Dean watched as the small band of men moved away. With everything else today would bring, this was the last thing they needed. “Then we need to stay as far away from the Brotherhood as possible.” There were still several last minute things to be taken care of before it would be time to go to The Stones.

Dean took extra care getting ready this morning. After a hot bath and a shave he started to dress. He was no longer Dean Winchester, gentleman. His familiar black attire set out, from his boots to his Stetson. Once dressed, Dean gathered his belongings from the room. Everything packed in his trunk to be shipped to his father after. Between George and Shamus he was assured his last requests would be seen to.

Entering the parlor, Dean did a mental check of all the items assembled for the evening. He and Sam would go over the ritual one more time. Everything would be packed before they left.

Sam’s room looked much the same as Dean’s. Trunk ready to go, his clothes laid out. Not seeing Sam, Dean knew where to look. Heading back into the bath, Sam was standing in front of the mirror shaving. Dean stood taking in the sight of his lover. It took a few minutes before Sam caught his reflection, turning with a questioning look.

“We need to sign the ledger. Whenever you’re finished, come down to the cellar, I’ll be waiting.” Dean saw Sam acknowledge with a nod of his head.

Back in his room Dean glanced around. He would get his jacket, his holster, and his Stetson when he came back. With the knife secured and the derringer up his sleeve, he made his way down the stairs towards the cellar. Fumbling to unlock the door, Dean felt something connect with his head, then everything went black.

*****

Walking into his room Sam finished drying his face, rubbing one hand over his jaw checking for any stray whiskers. Nope smooth as a baby’s… There was a piece of paper sticking out from under the bedroom door; bending to retrieve it he read the brief note.

They had Dean. The bastards had him. What made Sam feel like he’d been punched in the stomach was the still wet, fresh blood on the paper. Running his hands through his hair in agitation, he paced up and down the room. Thoughts running quick fired through his brain. Weapons would be found, taken away. He would have to rely on his wits, luck, and Dean’s training.

Like Dean, Sam chose the simple and comfortable jeans, boots, shirt, and vest. Tucked into his boot was the silver knife Dean bought him. Though Sam never imagined in his wildest dreams using the knife on a man, he knew with cold certainty that he would have no compunction what so ever if they hurt Dean.

Reggie waited nervously, he knew without a doubt Lord Richards would come. The moment Reggie laid eyes on the two men he saw it, they were men of honour. Men others looked up to. These were men who didn’t need titles or money, they commanded respect, and men would willingly follow both of them into battle. What they had was something all his father's money had never been able to buy him, and he hated them for that. Even with what Reggie had planned, he knew The Guardian and Seer would make their fated appointment. Not for the Brotherhood, but because of the measure of the men they were.

Boots scuffing the stone steps, Sam made no effort to hide his arrival. As he neared the bottom, the cellar door opened. Little could be seen in the gloomy room beyond. Taking a calming breath, Sam ducked his head and entered. Sam’s brain took a few seconds to register what he was seeing. In front of him slumped between two men was a clearly unconscious Dean.

Instinct to rush forward and drag Dean from them warred with the knowledge that was exactly what his enemy wanted. The staged positioning of a clearly helpless Dean pulled at Sam’s heart, as it was obviously meant to. Forcing himself to straighten up, Sam let his gaze fix on the other occupants in the room. Surprise, surprise Reggie was there.

Stepping forward Reggie looked between the two men. Pointing to a chair Reggie indicated for Sam to sit. “Lord Richards, I see you received my note. I’m happy you decided to join us. I have a little entertainment planned for your pleasure.”

With a wave of his hand, Charles appeared with a pail, throwing the water at Dean’s face to rouse the unconscious man.

Dean sputtered as the cold water brought him back. Blinking his eyes he tried to focus, only seeing the stone floor beneath him. He felt two sets of hands holding him up. The pounding in his head prevented him from looking up. Dean’s chin was grabbed roughly, a cold grip forcing his head up. There in front of him was Sam sitting in a chair with two men on each side of him. “Sam, what’s going on?”

“Looks like Reggie here plans on doing a little entertaining and we are the guests of honor.”

Reggie was somewhat surprised by Sam’s calm demeanor. He was so sure of himself earlier. Tightening his hold, he raised Dean’s head up till he was looking in his eyes. “Dean, you forgot your place. That’s Lord Richards, not Sam. Of course you wouldn't know that. You’re little more than a sod buster yourself. An Irish whore for a mother and a bloody Yank father. Its time someone taught you some proper manners.”

“Uh, Reggie, you don’t mind me calling you Reggie do you?” Not giving Reggie a chance to answer, Sam continued. “Is there some point to my being here other than to play witness to a much needed lesson in manners?” Sam picked distractedly at some dirt trapped under his fingernails.

Smiling at Sam, Reggie tried to draw him into the game. “I’m glad you agree. Our lessons are just beginning, please sit back and enjoy yourself.” He turned to his small group, “remember lads, Lord Richards and Mr. Winchester have an appointment this evening, and they mustn‘t be late.” Reggie grabbed the riding crop from the table. With a nod he motioned for the men holding Dean to remove his shirt. Circling Dean, Reggie let his cold fingers glide over Dean’s chest and back. Standing behind the American, Reggie struck him sharply across the back.

Dean stifled the urge to cry out as the crop bit into his flesh. Biting his lip, Dean braced himself for the next blow, never taking his eyes off of Sam.

The second blow was above the first. Reggie held back, not wanting to split the skin. Large red welts marred Dean’s bronzed skin. Placing the crop against Dean’s throat, Reggie forced his head back till Dean was looking at him. “Tell me Dean, have you learned your lesson?” Reggie asked. “Do you know the proper way to address me?”

“Yes.” Dean’s reply was loud and clear. “You’re a son of a bitch.”

His desire to break Dean was growing stronger, but Reggie resisted the urge to hit Dean across his handsome face. He remembered his first thoughts seeing the Guardian, what a beautiful man. Removing the crop, Dean’s head fell forward. That’s when Reggie saw it. There at the base of Dean’s neck was a huge love bite. Looking more closely, Reggie saw other small bruises, their placement could only be from a lover’s touch. Glancing at Sam, Reggie laughed. “Ah, Samuel, I see the American has his uses after all.” With that, Reggie bit into Dean’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood. This he wanted to taste for himself.

Watching Dean squirm as the sadistic bastard bit him was almost too much. Sam desperately wanted to leap from his chair and smash his fist into Reggie’s face. Luckily common sense reared its head stopping him. “Tastes good doesn’t he?” Sam’s sleazy response.

Dean searched Sam’s face for any tell-tell signs. Even though he showed no emotion, Dean sensed the rage building. He would be ready when Sam was set to strike.

Reggie was sure if anything would force Sam’s hand, it was biting Dean. Reggie suspected they were lovers. His reason for taking Dean was revenge for the way Sam humiliated him at the meeting. Sam came to Dean’s defense quickly enough last night, leaving Charles a bloody mess on the floor over a few insults. Now, barely a response from Lord Richards.

“You know lads, the Richards are legendary for their horses. They say they could tame even the wildest horse.” Reggie leaned in close behind Dean, his hot breath against Dean’s ear as he continued. “Tell me Sam, once your horses are trained, do they only respond to one master or can anyone ride them?” His hands slid down Dean’s body, stopping to rest possessively at his waist. Reggie felt Dean tense as his fingers dug into his flesh.

“Well Reggie, I have always been of the opinion that a well ridden horse improves with practice and a change of rider.” Sam cast his eye over the assembled group quirking one eyebrow. “Or should I say, RIDERS?”

Sam slouched slightly in his chair, his hand slipping down the side of his calf towards his boot. His stomach churned and his temper so carefully controlled and hidden behind a mask of bored indifference, boiled ready to erupt when the time was right.

Reggie licked his lips in anticipation. He felt his arousal, his only thoughts the pain he would inflict on Dean’s body. With a nod of his head, Reggie motioned for Charles to clear the table. “Come on lads, you’ll need to hold him down.” The two men holding Dean dragged him towards the table with Reggie right behind.

Using his weight, Dean tried to become immoveable, hoping his distraction would help Sam. The grips around his arms tightened even more as he was pushed closer to the table.

Stopping at the table Reggie pressed in close behind Dean, his hands circling Dean’s waist, pulling him hard against him. Reggie’s cold fingers slid beneath the waistband of Dean’s jeans, meeting at the center as he unbuckled Dean’s belt.

Sitting still and watching the scene unfold without so much as batting an eyelid to stop what was going to happen, was the hardest thing Sam ever did. The only thing stopping Sam from jumping to his feet and smashing his fist into Reggie’s face was the knowledge that timing was crucial. There would be no second chance. If both he and Dean were to come out of this unscathed, Sam would have to bide his time.

And there it was, Reggie with his hand down Dean’s jeans, encouraged by his cohort’s shouts and laughter. The two men guarding Sam’s chair strained to see what was happening, took their eyes off him. In seconds, Sam was out of his chair and the sharp blade of the silver knife was pressed snugly against Reggie’s bare throat.

With his mouth almost touching Reggie’s ear, Sam hissed. “Get off him!” Pressing the blade tighter against Reggie’s throat, “Call your dogs off before I slit your miserable throat.” Taking a couple of steps back he kept a tight hold on the now quivering Reginald.

Before anyone else had a chance to move, Dean swung his fist connecting with the jaw of one of the men who only minutes before had been holding him. Dean couldn’t resist adding a vicious kick to the now prone man.

Reggie felt a small trickle of blood drip down his throat as the blade dug deeper into his flesh. Underestimating Sam’s feigned indifference, letting his guard down was stupid. His lust for Dean and revenge blinded him. Now he had no doubt the seriousness of his mistake. Reggie wasn’t about to risk his own neck. “Lads, you heard Lord Richards.”

“Dean?”

Dean watched as Reggie’s small group of men gathered in the corner. Buckling his belt, Dean retrieved his derringer and knife. Turning to Sam he smiled. “I’m fine Your Lordship.”

“Do you want the job of castrating him, or shall I?” Sam’s cold voice echoed round the cellar.

As Sam lowered the knife, Dean punched Reggie twice in the face in rapid succession bringing the older man to his knees. Picking up his discarded shirt, Dean faltered slightly. Wincing, he hoped Sam didn’t notice. “Come on Sam, we need to get out of here.”

Taking hold of Dean by the upper arm, Sam halted in the doorway looking directly at Reggie, still on his knees on the cold stone floor. “For your own safety I suggest you stay down here until you are let out.” Pausing Sam adds,” And don’t waste time trying to open the casket, without the Guardians knife its impossible”

Pocketing the key after locking the door, Sam slowly accompanied Dean back to their apartment. One look at the tight lines round Dean’s eyes and mouth telling him all he needed to know. The man was in pain and as usual trying his best to ignore it. Once in Dean’s room, Sam headed straight for the bathroom and soaked a cloth in cold water. Wringing out the excess water he returned to find his patient sat on the edge of the bed poking at his shoulder. “Take your shirt off.”

Dean was grateful for Sam’s assistance. Honestly he wasn’t sure he could have managed the stairs on his own the way his head was pounding. He wanted to lay back, close his eyes and wait for it to subside. One look on Sam’s face and Dean swallowed the words to let him be. He was undecided on which was more prevalent, anger or concern. Dean still saw the look on Sam’s face as he held the knife to Reggie’s neck. For a moment he actually believed Sam was capable of carrying out his threat. Taking off his shirt, Dean sat quietly as Sam’s shaking hands wiped the dried blood from his shoulder. He jumped slightly as cold fingers probed the lump on his head, gently cleaning it as well.

Sam winced in sympathy, the bite on the meaty part of Dean’s shoulder was red, angry and bleeding, and as for the goose egg on the back of his head, well that must hurt. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have provoked him last night and then he wouldn’t have tried to...” Sam swallowed the blockage in his throat, “wouldn’t have hurt you. God Dean, I wanted to kill him for touching you, for hurting you.” Sam paused as he held the cloth to the livid stripes on the smooth tanned skin. “The things I said, you know I didn’t mean them?”

Dean flinched as Sam traced the stinging welts on his back. Sam‘s touch cool against the heated skin. “I never thought Reggie would try anything inside George’s house.” Dean turned his head so he was facing Sam, reaching out he stopped Sam from his task. He saw guilt in the younger man’s eyes. “I know you didn’t mean it. Playing his game probably saved our lives.” With a smile Dean caressed Sam’s cheek. “I knew you would save me. You always have.” Dean didn’t want to admit how easily everything could have gotten out of hand.

Helping Dean on with his shirt, once more Sam caught the slight hiss of indrawn breath. “You stay here. I’ll go find George and Shamus. Let them know about the vermin problem in the cellar. Then I suppose we better get ready?”

Acknowledging Sam with a nod, Dean immediately regretted the motion. Unwilling to risk being caught unprepared again, he pointed at his holster. “Don’t be long,” he called out as Sam went to his room. “Take Samson with you in case I have to come looking for you.”

********

George was shocked and Shamus was predictably hopping mad, both promising to take care of the little problem in the cellar.

Shamus pulled Sam to one side. “I’ll be doing me best ta keep them away lad. I’ll not let them interfere.” Coughing a little to ease his discomfort, Shamus continued, “Sam, remember what I taught ya. Faith can move mountains ma boy and ya have it in spades.” Grasping Sam’s jacket to pull the taller man down to his humble height, Shamus hugged him hard. “Your parents would be proud of ya Sam, and so am I.” Sniffing loudly he swiped at a stray tear before pushing Sam away towards the stairs.

Impatiently Dean waited until Sam returned. Reassuring him he was ready, Dean buckled on his holster; Sam helped him with his jacket and he grabbed his hat. Stopping in the sitting room, they gathered everything for the ritual. With the hounds shut in the room, he let Sam help him down the stairs, hoping they could slip out the back unseen.

Tags: historical romance, horror, nc-17

A/N THIS IS THE THIRD AND FINAL PART IN THE DARK RIDERS TRILOGY..THE STORY IS COMPLETE AND WILL BE POSTED WEEKLY.
SUMMARY- FOLLOW DEAN AND SAM ON THEIR JOURNEY TO ENGLAND WHERE THEY MEET THE LAST SEER AND REALIZE THE TERRIBLE PRICE THEY MUST PAY TO BEAT THE DEMON BALIAZAR AND SAVE HUMANITY.
Dark riders-http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/845.html
Dark Riders 2 Storm Warning -http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
MANY THANKS TO LOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART, OUR BANNER
AND TO feather_touch FOR BEING OUR FABULOUS BETA THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK.


HONORE ET AMORE
CHAPTER 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/09/20/
CHAPTER 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/5930.html
CHAPTER 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/13/
CHAPTER 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/27/
CHAPTER 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/6974.html

WARNING- CHAPTER 6: Some readers may find the contents of this chapter disturbing. Emotions run very high and we ask you to keep an open mind. It is not our intent to put our beloved characters in a bad light. Even so we will post a DUB/CON WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. Very much top sam in this chapter!

PS Our poor beta has not checked this chapter so all mistakes are ours alone
CHAPTER 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/02/
CHAPTER 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/7555.html
CHAPTER 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/17/
CHAPTER 9 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/8151.html
CHAPTER 10 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/17/
Chapter 11 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/22/
CHAPTER 12 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/28/
CHAPTER 13 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/09/10/
CHAPTER 14 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/9275.html
CHAPTER 15 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/9625.html

Descending the staircase, Dean and Sam made their way towards the smoking room. A small group of men stood outside quieting at their approach.

“That’s them, the Guardian and Seer.” Someone whispered loud enough for them to hear. Several sets of eyes turned looking the pair over before they entered the room.

Sam lent towards Dean and whispered loud enough for only him to hear. “Stick with me Dean. I’ve come across gatherings like this before. They are like sharks, they attack any form of weakness; anyone they feel does not fit in with their preconceived ideas.”

Entering the room it was immediately obvious to Dean who the head honcho was. He was standing in the center of the room talking to George and a circle of other men. This was a man used to giving orders, letting others do his bidding. A man who was not used to being told no. As tall as Sam, he looked to be in his late thirties, dark hair and gray eyes.

As they walked through the room, all eyes focused on them. Men shaking their hands, clapping them on the back as they passed by, wishing them luck. Uncomfortable with the attention, Dean followed Sam as they made their way towards George.

Spotting his two chums, George excused himself from the terrible bore he’d been stuck with for the past ten minutes and motioned with a tilt of his head for them to follow him. Once at the edge of the room he apologized for the intrusion of the Brotherhood, saying he should have seen it coming. The meeting was called by Lord Reginald Peregrine-Woolsey and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Lord Reginald Peregrine-Woolsey.” Dean mimicked. “What do they want? Why are they here?”

“Why to see you two, old boy.” George grinned. “Only comes round once a generation. You’re something of a celebrity. The new Guardian and Seer. Everyone wants to get a look, see what you are made of.” Pausing to take a worried look around, “you made sure to lock your door didn’t you, we don’t want any unexpected four legged guests?”

“Rose sent up a couple of beef bones so we should be in the clear for a while.” Sam pulled at the neck of his shirt, for some reason it felt too tight tonight. Fond though he was of his childhood friend, Sam didn’t hesitate to issue a caution. “I’m giving you fare warning George, neither Dean, nor myself have the time or patience to sit through an inquisition.”

“George, aren’t you going to introduce me to the guests of honor?” Lord Peregrine-Woolsey interrupted the three men, looking over Sam and Dean with a critical eye.

Back stiffening, George made the introductions. He was more than a little annoyed, he never minded entertaining; in the right circles he was renowned for his lavish dinner parties. The men here tonight were not invited, neither were they particularly welcome. Unfortunately manners and his position dictated he behave in the accepted manner. He could still have a little fun at the pompous ass’s expense. “Reggie,” because he knew Reginald Peregrine-Woolsey hated the diminutive of his given name, “I would like to introduce you to The Guardian, Mr. Dean Winchester, of Kansas, and The Seer, the Earl of Somerset, Lord Samuel Richards.”

Taking Dean’s extended hand Reginald politely shook it, before turning to Sam. “Ah, Lord Richards, I am honoured to make your acquaintance”

“Attention, please.” Reginald addressed the gathering, waiting till all eyes were upon him. “Gentlemen, I present to you the Seer and Guardian, Lord Samuel Richards and Mr. Dean Winchester.”

Mummers and mumbled acknowledgements abounded. Most of the assembled Brotherhood took the time to make themselves known to both of them. Sam noticed a few didn’t. As usual his title meant more than the man it belonged to, and Dean was snubbed by a snobbish few.

“Ah, ma wee boys, so this is where ya pair of wee scamps have been hiding?”

Sam’s breath caught in his throat as he looked around and then down, his face cracking into a genuine smile of welcome and affection. “Shamus!”

With a huge smile Dean watched as Sam and Shamus were reunited, admitting to himself it was nice to see another familiar face. “Shamus, it’s good to see you,” he said as he grasped the older man’s hand.

A gong sounded and the butler walked in announcing dinner was to be served.

Ever mindful of his status, Reginald took up his position next to George as they entered the large dining room. As the Earl of Pembroke took his spot at the head of the table, Reginald took his seat at George’s left with The Seer sitting next to him. Opposite to George’s right, sat The Guardian and the Irishman. Having Lord Richards sitting next to him would give Reginald the opportunity to discuss his plans for the events that would take place tomorrow.

“Excuse me Reggie,” Sam declined his seat at the table, not in the mood to face Reginald’s idea of polite conversation. No, he wanted to join Shamus and Dean, to put up a united front. Walking purposefully round the table to the other side, he tapped a small bearded man, whose name escaped him, on the shoulder asking politely if he wouldn’t mind swapping seats, Shamus moving down a seat to make room for Sam. “Close your mouth,” Sam added as he took his place next to Dean. Shamus’ wicked grin a fatherly mark of approval.

From across the table Reginald watched the three men. It turned his stomach seeing the young English lord consorting with the likes of a bog Irishman and a Yank. He still couldn’t fathom with the reach of the British Empire, an uncouth, ill mannered, American was The Guardian, their saviour. How George and Sam could be so charmed by the uneducated lout was beyond him.

Sam and Dean took the time to catch up with Shamus on news from home. Neither man telling Shamus what they learned about their roles as the Guardian and Seer. They would save that until they had a chance to speak to him in private.

Over dinner, Shamus watched the two young men on whose shoulders so much rested. Changes. Some subtle, some glaringly obvious, all were noted, worried over. He knew there was nothing he could do to change what was to come, no one could. So Shamus did what he did best, watched and waited for an opportunity to take some of the load.

Sam lost weight; there were shadows under his eyes. He sat too close to Dean, their shoulders touching, eyes constantly flitting Shamus wasn’t sure who was on guard duty tonight, Sam or Dean. Both seemed equally intent on the other’s welfare, perhaps they both were.

Dean. Dean in the short time Shamus had known him, was as implacable as ever on the outside. A front. A shell. A protective wall. A hunter’s face and manner. New lines radiated from watchful eyes. The tense set of shoulders, food re-arranged instead of eaten, gave light to the visual lie. Dean was not alright, neither was Sam. How could they be?

The Brotherhood, of which he was a long time member, was here almost in its entirety tonight.
Shamus could only guess, and backed up by the boys disposition, what he feared, was nothing good. Sam uptight and watchful, Dean guarded and on edge. Looking over the assembled group, Shamus sorted the wheat from the chaff, those that could be relied on and those who couldn’t.

Unfortunately, the self righteous figurehead, an ass by the name of Reginald Peregrine-Woolsey wouldn't be content until he learned what the boys discovered. Shamus knew his type only too well, he was a man who wanted the glory, as long as it was someone else spilling their blood. Shamus knew there was going to be what Dean called a showdown; Reginald would have it no other way. Shamus also suspected others would side with Reginald; the boys were not in for an easy time of it this evening.


Although the meal was excellent, Dean barely ate. He was aware of Reggie watching his every move, the all knowing smile as Dean picked up the wrong fork. The same fork Dean wanted to shove down the arrogant ass’ throat. Bits and pieces of conversation from the different groups around the table drifted their way. Some were discussing their role for tomorrow, others talking about how their lives would change if the Guardian and Seer succeeded, their lives free from the Brotherhood. To Dean‘s relief, most didn‘t want to talk about what happened if he and Sam failed; All the while the men from the Brotherhood glanced at Sam and Dean, trying to measure the two of them up.

Standing, Lord Peregrine-Woolsey tapped his glass, waiting for everyone to look his way. He lifted his glass towards Sam and Dean. “Gentlemen, please join me in a toast to the Guardian and Seer.” All glasses were raised. “To your success.”

“George, Lord Richards, Mr. Winchester, I have called for a small meeting after dinner. Please join us.” Even though Reginald said please, his tone left no doubt it was an order.
Dean acknowledged the shouts and cheers with a nod of his head. He and Sam would not fail, but these men had no idea what that meant; the sacrifice that went with it. For a moment a thought flitted through Dean’s mind. If he could talk to Shamus, maybe Sam could be saved. Shamus cast a spell once making Sam forget, could he do it again? Would he do that to save Sam’s life?


Sam drank the wine each time his glass was filled, food was however another matter. Try as he might, Sam’s throat closed up not allowing anything other than liquid to pass. “That’s alright by me, I’m not hungry,” Sam’s inner voice spoke, and judging by the full plate neither was Dean. Slipping the pocket watch loose Sam checked the time, an hour, a whole hour of precious time wasted. Taking the napkin from his lap and placing it on the table, Sam leant back in the chair, an over eager servant clearing away his untouched plate.

Dutifully, Sam sat through Reginald’s not unexpected toast. Reginald was, to the casual observer, politeness personified. Grinding his teeth Sam waited, sure enough as soon as dinner was finished, George relayed Reginald’s summons, thinly disguised in the form of an invitation. Following George plus several other members of the Brotherhood to an adjacent room, Sam grasped Dean’s arm halting him mid stride. “Dean lets not go. There’s nothing they have to say that I want to hear.”

Dean kept an eye on Sam all evening. Saw as he drank several glasses of wine, watched as he became more agitated as the night dragged on. “Sam, if this involves The Seer and The Guardian we should know firsthand We don’t have to stay, we can leave if things get out of hand.” For some reason, at the back of his mind, Dean had a nagging feeling Sam was probably right about them not joining those summoned for the meeting.

Entering the darkened room, Reginald indicated for Sam and Dean to have a seat. Dean watched intently as Reginald motioned for one of the young lords they met earlier in the evening to pour a round of drinks. Besides himself and Sam, George, and four of Reginald’s lackeys were present. Dean was beginning to think perhaps Sam was right, they shouldn’t have come. Turning to look at Sam, Dean caught the familiar smell of pipe tobacco. Looking around the room, his eyes fell on the small figure in the darkened corner. Smiling, he sat back taking the glass offered to him.

Taking a seat directly opposite Sam and Dean, Reggie sized up the two young men. Although Lord Richards had been somewhat brazen at dinner, Reggie was sure he could intimidate the young lord. After all, Sam only carried the title for a year. “Gentlemen, as the head of the Brotherhood of St Michael, I don’t need to tell you how important it is for your mission to be successful. A member of the Brotherhood will be with you at all times tomorrow. All your actions will be recorded. Tell me Sam, what have you discovered in your search to destroy Baliazar?”

Staring into the amber liquid swirling in the bottom of the crystal glass, Sam sought escape. Reginald’s annoying voice dragged him back to reality. Setting the glass down with deliberate caution, Sam glared at Reginald. “I always thought you were a lightweight, a little slow on the uptake. Tell me Reggie, what’s not to understand? The contents of George’s cellar are for the Guardian and Seer only. Not for the Guardian, the Seer, and the remaining members of the Brotherhood, and whoever else fancies taking a look! The knowledge contained in the casket is not meant for any of you here.”

Picking up his drink, Sam took a large mouthful, his eyes settling on Dean before he swallowed. “A word of warning, if I as much as smell, let alone see any of you near Dean or I, here, or at The Stones tomorrow, the deals off!”

“Lord Richards, as a member of the Brotherhood, you have no right to speak to Lord Woolsey like that. You took an oath like the rest of us to follow his leadership.” The short blond man who was constantly at Reggie’s side stated.

“Actually, neither Dean nor I took an oath. And even if I had, my answer would still be the same.” Sam stared daggers at Reginald’s right hand man.

“I’m sorry, Sam, you misunderstood. I wasn’t asking for you to disclose the contents of the cellar. We know that is for The Seer and The Guardian.” Reggie decided to take a different approach. “I was asking to ensure there was nothing new, that we have made all the necessary preparations. We have our duties to attend to, as do you and Dean. By your wishes I will have our men keep their distance.”

“Tell me Lord Woolsey, have you learned anything that we need to be aware of?” Dean stood, pacing the room before he stopped behind Sam’s chair. One hand gripping the top of the chair, the other resting his fingertips against Sam’s shoulder trying to hold him back. “You have to understand, the Brotherhood told us very little. Only what they want us to know it seems.”

“As you know by now Dean, it’s not safe to keep everything together in one place. That’s how it is with us also. If one of us should fall into the wrong hands, there is only so much he would be able to disclose. It’s for everyone’s protection.” Reggie responded. “Didn’t my representative explain that to you when you choose to do this?”

“What are you talking about? There was no representative from you. Sam and I didn’t choose to do this, not like the rest of you. We were born into this. Our destiny. The almighty Brotherhood, taking advantage of two desperate women who only wanted to have children. The only good thing to come from this, is knowing that after tomorrow there will be no more need for the Brotherhood and the likes of you!”

Indignant, the short blond jumped up. “How dare you speak to his lordship like that. He should have you whipped like the dog you are. I suggest Lord Richards; you keep your cur on a leash.”

Sam didn’t think, he reacted. He was out of his chair fist thudding into short and blond, and adding broken nose and bloody to the description before anyone could raise a hand to stop him. It was amazing Sam thought, looking down at the blubbering mess on the floor, how it was possible to hate a man so completely without even knowing his name. But Sam did with a passion.

Rubbing his bruised knuckles Sam rounded on Reginald. “I suggest you keep the rest of your… entourage, on a tight rein.” Turning to Dean, “are we finished?”

Like everyone else in the room, Dean stood there in shock for a moment watching as Sam pummeled the short blond. Rounding the chair, he grabbed Sam by the waist pulling him back before releasing him. Surprised by Sam’s vicious attack he could only nod as Sam asked if they were finished.

Shamus almost sucked the tobacco out of his pipe in surprise. Gone was his gentle, well mannered boy, and in his place was Dean’s equal, fiercely protective and lethal when pushed. Not that Shamus blamed him, not one iota. Reginald had miscalculated badly. Neither Dean nor Sam would be cowed by his position in an order neither willingly served. Slipping from his chair he crossed the room, opening the door he pointed to the sobbing man on the floor and asked the two men standing guard outside to take care of the mess.

Reginald was an ass and always would be, that was the main reason Shamus kept out of Brotherhood business. Why he insisted Sam have no contact with the ancient order until he met his Guardian. Catching Dean’s eyes he asked. “Will ya be joining an old man in a glass o’ whiskey?”

“It would be my pleasure, but I suggest you join us in our apartment. I think this meeting of the Brotherhood is finished.” Turning Sam towards the door, Dean gave him a slight push. “Come on Sam, let’s go.”

Dean looked over at Reggie before leaving the room. “Lord Woolsey, I suggest you take Sam’s advice, keep your men away from us. We know what needs to be done tomorrow and we’ll see to it. We didn‘t ask for, or need your help.”

Entering the apartment, Dean pointed Shamus to the small sideboard where a large crystal decanter of whiskey sat. Holding up two fingers he let Shamus know Sam had enough.

Taking Sam to his room, Dean removed Sam’s tie, waistcoat, jacket, and shoes telling him to lie down. Going to the bath, Dean filled a small basin with cool water, grabbing a cloth before returning to Sam. Careful of Sam’s bruised knuckles, Dean proceeded to wash away the blood covering Sam’s hands. Once finished he pulled up the sheet covering him.

Sam put up with Dean’s fussing, in truth his head was thumping. Tension? Most likely, though the large amount of wine he drank at dinner on an empty stomach would not have helped. Mind you, that pompous ass Reggie and his cohorts had a fair bit to answer for. Sam was not in the least sorry for anything he said or did tonight.

What right did the Brotherhood have to dictate terms and conditions? They were not the ones… Stop it! Don’t think about it! But inevitably he did, sucked once more into the endless downward spiral. There was no escaping. No handing the task to someone else. No, for better or worse, both he and Dean were stuck. Stuck in the waking nightmare that was their life. Life? That was hilarious, Sam sniggered to himself. In under twenty four hours not only his, but Dean’s life would be over. All he could hope was that it would not be in vain.

Dean regretted not listening to Sam about the Brotherhood meeting. He knew he was agitated, but he never anticipated Sam resorting to violence. Removing his own tie, waistcoat, and jacket, he tossed them over the chair.

Returning to the sitting room, Dean picked up the glass of whiskey Shamus poured for him. He paced around the room before stopping at the window where he looked out over the garden, illuminated by the moon. Even with his back turned he could feel Shamus’ eyes watching him. Dean always suspected the little Irishman knew more about the Guardian and the Seer than he told them. He believed that was the reason he was here now. Nervously, Dean looked over at Shamus. “Tomorrow, after everything’s done…We left instructions for George, but now that you’re here, we would like you to take care of it for us.”

Dean walked back to the chair and sat opposite Shamus. “When we went to The Stones, Sam remembered a vision he had as a child. Later he recalled his dream; the one where Baliazar visited him. I think you know what I’m talking about.” Dean hesitated. He didn’t want Sam to die. Thoughts of his father, lonely and obsessed came to mind. Visions of James, old before his time. He didn’t want that for Sam. Could he ask Shamus to make Sam forget? He wouldn’t ever want to forget Sam. Coughing to clear his throat, Dean met Shamus’ eyes. “What would you do to save Sam?”

“What would you do to save Sam?” Dean’s question was not unreasonable but the motive was. Messing with someone’s mind was dangerous. Yes, he’d done it to Sam with good reason. To give a young boy back his childhood and save his sanity. But to mess with an adult’s mind was dangerous. Where a child, especially a young child, tended to accept, an adult would always question. Especially Sam. Shamus thought he knew why Dean wanted his help but he needed to hear it for himself. “I think ya owe me an explanation, and it better be a damn good one.”

Maybe asking Shamus wasn’t the right thing to do. Dean wasn’t sure how much to share with the older man, and now Shamus demanded an explanation. Dean was willing to make that sacrifice, to die to save others. But Sam, it wasn’t fair that Sam’s life would be over too. “What if I told you I won’t be coming back tomorrow, that in order to destroy Baliazar I have to die?”

“I know. Have faith Dean.”

“You know? How long have you known? Why didn’t you tell us? You tell me to have faith, what bit of advice are you going to have for Sam? Are you going to tell him good things will come from him plunging a knife in my heart? Guilt is eating him up and he hasn’t even done anything yet.”

“Now Dean, I didna have all the evidence an I still don’t. But I could guess which is why I forbade the Brotherhood from having any influence over wee Sam’s life. He needed to be innocent, free, unfettered by the Brotherhood’s dictates. Yer Da, he raised ya right Dean; ya turned into a fine young man. A self sacrificing, loyal, loving young man. Dean I have faith, in the prophecy, faith in you and ma boy. Faith in the almighty.”

“Is that what you’re going to tell Sam? Have faith. You saw Sam tonight. He beat a man over a few stupid words. That’s not Sam. Did you know Sam is planning on killing himself when it’s over? And my dad, he raised me not to trust anyone. Self sacrificing you say. My dad taught me everyone was more important than I was. Sam was the one who taught me how to love.”

“What did ya say?” Shamus’ hands shook, his pipe tumbling to the floor scattering ash and smoldering tobacco. “Shite! Damn wee egit!” Several other colorful words slipped out as he tried to clean up the mess.

Squatting down, Dean helped Shamus as they cleaned up the mess, making sure all the embers were extinguished. Dean looked over at Shamus. “I don’t know what to do. Is it fair for me to ask him to do something I couldn’t?”

Like most Irish people, Shamus’ family was deeply religious and suicide, no matter the reason, was a grave sin. Well you’re nothing if not successful when ya put ya mind ta it! Shamus admonished himself. All the qualities he’d sought in Sam were now driving him towards suicidal thoughts. The lad loved Dean with a singular passion and it was plain for anyone who took the time to look. Shamus never formed a romantic attachment, never felt the need, nor had the time. Sam filled that particular hole in his life. From the moment the red squealing bundle was placed in his arms by a proud David, Shamus was besotted.

Over the years his love and devotion to the boy grew, Sam filling a huge empty hole in his heart, where a wife and children of his own could never be. Shamus was well aware it would take a very special pair to finish what no other Guardian and Seer could. Inevitably, he faced the thought that both could be killed. What he failed to consider was Sam serving, and then when his mind was unbalanced, taking his own life. Feeling awkward, Shamus patted Dean’s arm. “I could do as ya ask, make Sam forget, take him away from here. Although I have to warn ya, the likelihood is he will fight the spell craft and sooner or later he will remember.”

“Shamus, I don’t want Sam to die.” Dean could feel his embarrassment. “I love Sam. As much as I want him to live, I can’t make that choice for him.”

From his vantage point behind the door Sam listened. It saddened him greatly to realize Dean really hadn’t accepted his decision. Perhaps he couldn’t? Sam remembered what it felt when he woke from his illness and discovered the letters Dean left, together with the loaded gun. He’d been devastated. Shocked that Dean would even think about taking his life. Dean was desperate; he could hear it in the tone of his voice. What it must cost this proud, private man to bare his soul and ask for help Sam could only imagine.

You brought him to this point, why couldn’t you have kept your thoughts to yourself? Look at the harm your thoughtlessness has caused. All Dean sought was peace of mind before he gave his life. Why, oh why, did it take listening to a private conversation to make him understand? The least he could do was offer Dean a small measure of comfort. One year. Dean would know if he suddenly changed his mind, but he might buy the promise of a year. Walking away from the door and any further temptation to eavesdrop Sam called out to Dean.

Hearing his name, Dean excused himself from Shamus. Entering the bedroom, he saw Sam propped against the headboard. Dean sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you need, Sammy?”

“One year, Dean.”

“One year?” Dean was confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Dean, I heard you.”

“You were listening to us? I’m sorry. I was just asking, thinking out loud. I don’t think we would have done anything. I had to tell someone, Sam. And you are the most important person in both our lives.”

“I don’t know whether to believe, Shamus I know can be a devious bastard. All I ask is that you not interfere and I promise to give you one year. If I still feel the same, then it will be my decision alone what I do about it, and I want yours and Shamus’ promise that you will in no way meddle.” Sam didn’t care if Dean believed him or not, all he wanted was for them not to argue. Trying not to think about tomorrow was hard enough without having to worry about what Dean and Shamus might be up to when his back was turned.

One year. That was more than Dean could ask for. Maybe that was even more cruel. Would one year ease the guilt and pain or make it even more unbearable? For once Dean couldn’t read Sam’s eyes. “I promise Sam, neither Shamus or I will do anything, you have my word.”

Returning to the sitting room, Dean left the door between the two rooms open. Picking up his glass he finished the whiskey. Dean looked over at Shamus’ curious gaze. “Sam promised he won’t do anything for one year. I gave him my word that you and I will do nothing to interfere with his decision. Will you give us your word as well?”

“If that is truly your wish, I will not interfere.” Guilt over their conversation being overheard by Sam kept him from saying more.

“It is.” Motioning towards the whiskey bottle, Dean gave Shamus a smile. “You can let yourself out when you’re finished.” He was certain Shamus would be up to see them off tomorrow. Before returning to the bedroom he looked over one more time. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Sam wasn’t really paying much attention to Dean’s and Shamus’ conversation. Already he was regretting his hasty decision, backed into a corner unable to trust either of them not to take his memories; he was left with little choice. At least Dean seemed relieved and that was what really mattered.

The only thing Dean wanted now was to be with Sam. Closing the door behind him as he entered the bedroom, he walked over to the bed. Leaning down he told Sam to scoot over before he slid in next to him.

The sound of their breathing seemed to echo in the quiet room. Dean knew neither of them would get much sleep, if any. He could feel Sam watching him. This was their last night together. There were so many things he wanted to say, but he didn’t know where to start, afraid he’d say the wrong thing.

As the nearly full moon flooded their room with light, Sam watched Dean, drinking in the image. Enough to last a year? Probably not. He wished he had Dean’s talent for drawing; he could have a permanent reminder of what Dean looked like. Instead he would have to rely on memory.

Normally Dean would make a joke to relieve the tension, but there was nothing funny to joke about. “I don’t know if I ever told you, but the first night we met, I stayed awake most of the night thinking about you. After all these months you still have that affect on me.”

Tags: angst, historical romance, horror, nc17, slash

A/N THIS IS THE THIRD AND FINAL PART IN THE DARK RIDERS TRILOGY..THE STORY IS COMPLETE AND WILL BE POSTED WEEKLY.
SUMMARY- FOLLOW DEAN AND SAM ON THEIR JOURNEY TO ENGLAND WHERE THEY MEET THE LAST SEER AND REALIZE THE TERRIBLE PRICE THEY MUST PAY TO BEAT THE DEMON BALIAZAR AND SAVE HUMANITY.
Dark riders-http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/845.html
Dark Riders 2 Storm Warning -http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
MANY THANKS TO LOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART, OUR BANNER
AND TO feather_touch FOR BEING OUR FABULOUS BETA THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK.


HONORE ET AMORE
CHAPTER 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/09/20/
CHAPTER 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/5930.html
CHAPTER 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/13/
CHAPTER 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/27/
CHAPTER 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/6974.html

WARNING- CHAPTER 6: Some readers may find the contents of this chapter disturbing. Emotions run very high and we ask you to keep an open mind. It is not our intent to put our beloved characters in a bad light. Even so we will post a DUB/CON WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. Very much top sam in this chapter!

PS Our poor beta has not checked this chapter so all mistakes are ours alone
CHAPTER 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/02/
CHAPTER 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/7555.html
CHAPTER 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/17/
CHAPTER 9 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/8151.html
CHAPTER 10 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/17/
Chapter 11 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/22/
CHAPTER 12 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/28/
CHAPTER 13 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/09/10/
CHAPTER 14 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/9275.html

The massive fireplace was lit to ward off the chill of the September evening. The warm glow shadowed the huge room. Samson and Delilah were stretched out on the rug at the foot of the bed, their bellies full from Rose’s cooking. With so much on their minds, Sam and Dean barely touched their dinner, much to the hounds delight. Dean was propped comfortably against the headboard. Sam’s warm body lay back against his chest. Running his fingers through Sam’s dark tresses, Dean‘s mind wandered during the lull in conversation.

There was much to be done. Tomorrow he would give George the letters putting all his final affairs in order. He was sure Sam prepared his as well, even though he never saw him do it. There were a few things he wanted to discuss with Sam, but one look at his young lover and he knew this was not the time or place.

Dean missed the idle chatter he was accustomed to when he and Sam were like this. So many nights spent talking about their plans and dreams for the future, Sam’s laughter would fill the quiet air of their room in Kansas. Now they were half a world away and there was nothing to laugh about, their dreams turned to nightmares. There was no longer a future, and their plans…well, he didn’t want to think about that either.

Sam was almost asleep, leant back against Dean, one hand in his hair, the other wrapped possessively across his stomach. Sam drifted in that place between sleep and awake. Forcibly jerking himself awake when he drifted too near sleep, as fear of nightmares made it impossible to sleep. The day’s events kept replaying inside his head, repeating over and over. Dean’s possession and worse having to practice his role with the knife. Sam’s stomach protested, churning violently at the remembered feel of the now hated and feared weapon.

The thought of holding Dean as he died was unbearable, Sam’s mind skittering protectively down another avenue in self preservation. Unfortunately everything he thought about led straight back to their current situation.

Sam was desperately scared of failing Dean, of not being able to do what needed to be done when the time came. Guilt gnawed constantly, he couldn’t sleep and nearly every waking moment seemed to be filled with thoughts of Wednesday and what the Brotherhood and Dean expected him to do.

What was he going to do after? One thing was certain, living without Dean was not an option. If Dean managed to coerce Sam into living, the guilt and knowledge of what he did would drive him insane

That left only one option. Sam never before entertained the idea of suicide, therefore nothing immediately sprang to mind when he thought of methods. Asking Dean was out of the question, or was it? Who else was there? Who else could he trust?

No one. Sam trusted only one person, Dean. Sam cleared his throat, “Dean?” It came out sounding exactly how he felt, small and scared.

Morbid thoughts kept running through Dean’s mind. Their failure was not an option. He was preoccupied with the thought of Sam’s death. It was just the little things, but Dean knew what Sam was planning. Dean knew he’d choose a bullet, but what about Sam? The images of what a bullet would do to Sam’s beautiful body made him shudder.

Hearing his name, Dean drew the quilt up closer, tightening his hold on Sam. There was uncertainty in the way Sam said his name. Dropping his hand from Sam’s hair, he rubbed his hands up and down Sam’s arms trying to warm the goose-bumped flesh. “What is it, Sammy?”

“I need your advice on something. Something I know you’re not going to like, but I have no one else.” Sam’s throat closed up, he thought he could ask but now he realized he couldn’t. Jumping up off the bed and away from Dean, Sam grabbed a robe wrapping it about himself, suddenly very cold. “I’m sorry I don’t know what I’m thinking, tired I guess.” Please, please, please swallow the lie, Sam pleaded silently as he finished tying the sash.

Dean wasn’t prepared for Sam’s sudden departure. The absence of his warm body made him shiver. Getting up from the bed, Dean realized Sam must be thinking the same thing. It was the one thing they disagreed on. Drawing them closer to the fire, Dean wrapped himself around Sam. “I’m here. Tell me what you want and I’ll help you.”

“Why does everything have to be so… so bloody hard? Why can’t we have the life we want? Other people do. Why can’t we? What did you ever do to deserve this? You were just a little kid. Your dad dragged you around with him, forced you to live the life of a hunter, knowing what was in store for you. What gave Shamus and the Brotherhood the right to take our lives, to blindly force us both down a path we have no say in?” Sam knew he was ranting but couldn’t stop. “Why does it all fall to us, Dean? Why should we make the ultimate sacrifice? What right do they have to ask that of us? I’m this close,” he held his finger and thumb a hair’s width apart, “from walking away and letting the Brotherhood deal with everything on their own.”

Sam was voicing so many of the same questions Dean asked himself over and over. Dean knew Sam’s life never prepared him for this. Although generous and sympathetic, he was shielded from the harsher realities of those less fortunate. Out of love, Shamus protected Sam until fate intervened. The circumstances of Dean’s life readied him for this, to sacrifice himself for others, but that was before Sam. Sam was teetering on the brink, and it was up to Dean to pull him back.

Honestly, Dean couldn’t believe he was still alive. How many times had he survived when the odds were against him? Now he was supposed to willingly lie down and let himself be killed? No, it wasn’t fair; would he choose to do this if it wasn’t part of his destiny? The only good thing to come from it all was having Sam in his life. “You know as well as I do why. People live the lives forced on them all the time. You’ve seen with your own eyes what will happen if we don’t stop Baliazar. You couldn‘t live with that on your conscience any more than I could.”

Sam braced his hands against the mantle piece staring into the flickering red, orange, and gold of the fire. “I don’t know Dean. If I had you I think there’s an awful lot I could learn to live with.”

Taking Sam’s arm Dean turned him so they were facing each other. Cupping Sam’s chin he looked into his face. He watched the play of shadows across the high cheekbones, saw the flames reflected in Sam’s eyes. “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for our destiny. You are the best thing that ever happened in my life Sam. I don’t want to give that up, to give you up. But the last few months spent with you make this worth while, if it meant that I would have been alone otherwise.”

Dean took a deep breath, “Sammy, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” Now that Dean started he was having trouble finding the words. “When it’s over…I mean when I’m gone, I know you’ve made up your mind. I don’t want you to suffer. I have something that will help you. It’ll be quick.” He thought about the small vial of potassium cyanide carefully secured in his trunk.


Sam shouldn’t have been surprised, although Dean didn’t have any psychic abilities, what he did have was a sixth sense where Sam was concerned. Hiding anything from Dean was next to impossible. Therefore the next logical step was for Dean to have taken the time and trouble to find an easy way out for him. What it cost Dean to put those thoughts into actions Sam could only guess, at times like this Sam felt truly humble. Meeting Dean’s intense earnest gaze, a softly whispered “thank you,” seemed somewhat inadequate.

Reaching out Dean took Sam’s hand. “Come on Sam, back to bed. We should try and get a few hours of sleep, or at least rest.” Dean was sure neither would be able to fall asleep, but he missed the intimacy the bed provided, even if they were only holding one another. Dean watched Sam climb back into the huge bed. “I‘ll be back in just a minute.” Going to his room, he pulled the small box from his jacket where he placed it earlier. Returning to Sam, Dean slid in next to him.

“Uh…Sammy…” What seemed like a good idea a few minutes earlier, now left Dean feeling nervous and unsure. “I um… I asked George to pick something up for me. I wanted you to have this.” Dean handed the small box to Sam and waited.

Sam looked from the small red leather box in the palm of his hand to Dean’s uncharacteristically nervous face. Carefully opening the hinged lid, Sam saw two silver signet rings nestled inside. Picking the one with his initials, his keen eyes noticed the engraving on the inside. Turning the ring to catch the light, he read the words aloud, “Honore Et Amore.” Honor And Love.

Sam opened his mouth, closed it, only to open it once more. He was truly stunned. He didn’t know what to say, how to express the feelings Dean’s simple heartfelt gift stirred in him. Picking up the second ring it was also engraved with the same words. A matched pair. Dean was watching him expecting a response. “They’re beautiful Dean.”

Dean watched Sam slip on his ring before handing the box back. Taking his own ring from the box, Dean put it on his right hand. Glancing at Sam, he watched as he twisted the silver metal around his finger. “I’m glad you like it. I didn’t think you would mind if I used your family motto for me too.”

“Mind? I think it was a brilliant idea.” Sam continued staring at the band of silver encircling his finger. He could only guess what prompted Dean to make this open display of affection. Against their tanned skin the two rings would be instantly seen and commented upon.

Nervously, Dean tried to explain. “I’ve never belonged anywhere before. I was always the one passing through. Even with the ranch, I probably wouldn’t have stayed until you came along. You and me Sam, you’re the only thing I’ve ever been part of. I’m not good with words, not like you. I wanted you to know.”

“It’s a two way street, what we feel for each other Dean, what we will do for each other. The words are not necessary,” he smiled, “but they are nice to hear once in a while.”

Fluffing the pillows, Dean slid down, extending his arm he waited as Sam nestled into him. Pulling the quilt up, he covered them both, hoping for at least a few restful hours of sleep.

******

Most of the night Sam and Dean drifted back and forth from a fitful sleep, each trying not to wake the other, but neither succeeding. The restless scratching of the hounds to be let out was the final straw. Now bathed and shaved, Dean finished the letters needed to settle his personal affairs. Coffee in hand he paced the room awaiting Sam’s return.

Dean admitted to himself, curiosity had the better of him. From the window he watched as several carriages, wagons, and bands of riders descended on Wilton House. Some of those arriving wore the familiar brown robes of the Brotherhood. Dean could only imagine they were here in case he and Sam failed.

Closing George’s study door behind him, Sam paused a moment. A mental checklist of the things he needed to do now complete. George and Sam used the same solicitor so tying up the estate or what was left of it was fairly simple, George acting as witness to the letters and the will he made. Sam’s share of his Kansas home with Dean he left to Shamus. The London house and funds enough to run it, he left to his staff. The final letter to Dean’s father, John was a little more difficult. After a lot of thought Sam left the bulk of the remaining assets to John to do with as he wished. Money would not make up for the loss of a son, nothing would. Perhaps it would enable John to have an easier life or help other dedicated hunters with supplies, weapons or even a place to stay. A safe house.

A commotion from the front of the house drew Sam’s attention. Not in the mood for socializing, he made for the small hallway that led to the side entrance and the stables, Samson his canine shadow at his heels. Sam knew dogs were perceptive and these two seemed especially so. Since arriving at George’s home the two hounds rarely left his or Dean’s side unless forced to, and since yesterday they refused to leave either of them. Barking and scratching at the door until they were let in.

Entering the stables the familiar sounds and smells eased some of the tension, the ingrained routine of tacking up, relaxing and calming frayed nerves. Leading the mare outside Sam gathered up the reins and ignoring the mounting block he swung his long leg over the saddle. Gathering up the reins he called out to James, the head groom, telling him he wouldn’t be long.

Samson trotted alongside looking from Sam to the large party of riders and carriages gathered at the front entrance. Hackles raised, a low warning growl rumbled in his throat. Samson circled the horse placing himself between Sam and the large party. All activity stopped and low murmurs could be heard as he drew near. Hearing his name Sam looked around. A large bearded man stepped forward calling out, “Lord Richards.” Samson’s warning growl rising to a ferocious snarl, dissuading the bearded man from venturing closer. “Good boy,” was said loud enough for all to hear and for once Sam didn’t care what anyone thought. Ignoring him Sam urged his mare into a fast trot eager to escape the unwanted attention.

Leaving the mare tied to the iron railings, and faithful Samson on the church steps, Sam entered the huge church, the warmth of the late September sun instantly swallowed by the cold of the churches interior. Picking a pew Sam sat quietly, he felt the need to pray in the house of God. Hopefully wherever he was, God was listening, because whether he believe in God or not, he and Dean needed help. Slipping off the highly polished pew Sam knelt on the small red cushion, bowing his head and closing his eyes, he prayed.

Sam never knew if praying helped or not. Brought up in a family with strong beliefs missing church was not as option. Every Sunday the family went to church. Prayers were said at mealtimes and last thing at night before going to bed. As far back as Sam could remember that was the routine and he went along with it. As his mum always said, it couldn’t hurt to have God on your side in a tight situation.

Clearing his mind Sam thought about Dean. Asking for God’s forgiveness for any sins Dean may have committed, he asked for God’s love and protection for Dean’s eternal soul. Lastly he prayed for the strength to do the right thing.

******

The longer Sam was gone the more impatient Dean became, checking his watch every few minutes. Nerves already frayed, he decided to go look for Sam. Calling to Delilah, “come on girl, let’s find Sam.”

Following Delilah, Dean found himself at the Church of St. Mary and St. Nicholas in the town center. Samson was patiently lying on the steps next to the huge arched entry. Entering the church, Dean’s eyes quickly fixed on Sam sitting on a pew in the front, his head bowed in prayer. Taking a seat in the back row Dean silently watched. After everything, how could Sam still have faith?

It was ironic; so much of what he did with hunting revolved around religion and beliefs, from exorcisms to holy water. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to believe. Maybe it was everything he’d seen, so many lives touched by evil. Where was God when he was needed? Why would he allow horrible things to happen to innocent people?

Dean spent a lot of time in churches. For a time as a boy his father left him with an order to learn Latin and the necessary rituals. His life there was harsh, and he bore the scars of his disobedience, forced prayers and confessed sins of an inquisitive and sometimes mischievous child. Father Thomas wasn’t able to beat the sin out of Dean anymore than he could beat the word of God into him. Stubbornly Dean learned his lessons, bided his time until his father returned.

He and Sam weren’t even guaranteed eternity together. Dean knew what awaited him. He knew demons were real, knew Hell was real. After all the things he’d done over the years, that would be his final resting place. He didn’t expect his death to wipe the slate clean.

Sam didn’t deserve to go to Hell. He’d never killed anyone. An ordained sacrifice for the greater good should not be held against him. Suicide was a sin, but wasn‘t it a greater sin to live with the guilt of what he was forced to do? As for what they did, how could love be a sin?

Looking around the huge church, he noticed the windows, like most churches they told the familiar stories from the bible. Sacrifices made in the name of God. Good vanquishing evil.

For Sam he could get on his knees. Dean quietly made his way to where Sam was praying. Slipping in beside him, he saw the surprised look on Sam’s face as he went to his knees. Bowing his head, he asked God to take and watch Sam’s soul.

A rustle of material and a bump against the pew alerted Sam to someone else’s presence. Opening one eye Sam was not surprised to find it was Dean. A few seconds later you could have knocked him down with a feather. Dean sinking to his knees in a church to pray, not something Sam thought he would ever see.

His prayers quickly finished, Dean stood and exited the church. Sitting on the stone steps he waited patiently with the hounds for Sam, the three of them soaking in the warm rays of the sun. The changing season was evident everywhere. The days still warm, the nights taking on a chill. Autumn was always Dean’s favorite time of year.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t hear Sam leaving the church until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Thinking about tomorrow combined with lack of sleep left him jumpy, he gave a nervous laugh at being caught unaware.

“Who found me, you or the dog?” Three sets of eyes followed his progress as he lowered himself to the stone step.

Smiling, Dean couldn’t help himself. “Who said we were looking for you? Delilah was lonely. We came looking for Samson. Can we help it if the two of you are inseparable?” With a more serious tone Dean continued. “You shouldn’t have left without telling me.”

“Sorry, I had a few things to do and… well I know you don’t exactly like church.” Scratching Samson’s belly he joined in the joke. “Hey Samson you lucky dog.” On a more serious note Sam continued, “I take it you saw our visitors?”

“You know it could be dangerous out by yourself, Sam. I was worried about you when you didn’t come back to the room. And our visitors, hard to miss when they show up like that. Did George say anything to you about them being here?”

“We only spoke briefly.” Stopping mid scratch, Sam frowned. “What do you think they want?”

“My best guess is they are expecting trouble, one way or another. Knowing Baliazar could be free other demons might be gathering to help. Or if we fail...”

“Do you think they come every time? I mean someone has to take care of… things after.” Samson leant against Sam’s leg, head resting on his knee.

Reaching over Dean patted Samson's head, his hand touching Sam's. "Probably. Everything has to be recorded in the ledger. And they have to clean up. They can't leave The Stones like that, too many questions might come up."

“I don’t want them there.”

Dean understood Sam’s reluctance to have anyone there. He felt the same. “I don’t know how we can stop them. We can tell them, but that doesn’t mean they’ll listen.”

Oh they’ll listen Sam thought, as he angrily pushed to his feet, there was no way he and Dean were performing in front of an audience. “We’ll see about that.” Striding over to the iron railing, Sam untied the patiently waiting mare while pausing for Dean to catch up.

Dean watched the determined set of Sam’s jaw, saw the flash of fire in hazel eyes. Falling in beside him, they made the walk back to George’s in comfortable silence.

Anger grew as they neared the huge house. Sam was aware of Dean’s scrutiny but for the most part ignored it. Entering the gravel drive all was peaceful once more. The only difference was the two sentries standing guard either side of the main entrance.

Dropping the mare at the stable they entered the large house through the back entrance of the kitchen making their way up to their apartment.

Once in the sanctuary of their room, Dean poured two whiskeys, handing one to Sam before asking him to recite the summoning and the binding curse. Dean listened intently as Sam recited both flawlessly without hesitation while pacing around the room. Trying to calm Sam, Dean told him to sit. Standing behind the chair, Dean kneaded his shoulders to loosen the tension.

Delilah’s low growl alerted them to someone outside their door before the knock ever came. Opening the door, Dean watched an uncomfortable Duffy present a silver tray with a small envelope. Taking the envelope Dean thanked the elderly man. Turning it over, he saw the seal of the Brotherhood of St Michael. Handing the envelope to Sam, Dean resumed his place waiting patiently for Sam to open it.

Sam felt his shoulders tighten once more as he broke the seal on the letter. He knew who it would be from and for some reason he felt irrational anger towards them. It must have shown because Dean gripped his shoulder in a vice like grip holding him down. Unfolding the white embossed paper Sam scanned the terse message. “It looks like we have been summoned.”

Reading over Sam’s shoulder, Dean came to the same conclusion. Although disguised as an invitation to dinner at eight o’clock, there was no doubt in either’s mind. Dean knew one of them needed to keep a cool head. Unsure of exactly what the Brotherhood’s motives were they could only wait and see. “I think we need to prepare for dinner.”

Dressing in their Henry Poole designed and tailor made tuxedos added a certain air of authority. A layer of armor. A layer of civility that Sam in no way felt at the moment. Tucking in the dress shirt he turned to Dean to fix his tie. “Are you ok? You don’t have to go. I'm used to dealing with their sort. The title has its uses at times.”

“Sammy, I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Dean fidgeted as Sam’s long fingers finished with his tie. One look at Sam’s face and Dean knew there would be fireworks before the evening was over. “We are both part of this Sam. We‘re the ones making the sacrifice.”

Sacrifice. Images flashed behind Sam’s closed lids. Unwanted images of him plunging the knife… moving swiftly to the adjoining bathroom, Sam let the sink fill with cold water before splashing it over his face. The images vanished but the memory did not. Twenty four hours, that’s all they had left. Just twenty four hours. “Come on Dean, let’s get this over with.”

The minute the word sacrifice left his mouth Dean knew he said the wrong thing. Sam’s reaction was not unexpected. Dean felt the overpowering need to touch, to comfort Sam. As Sam’s hand reached for the doorknob, Dean stopped him. Reaching up, Dean ran his fingers through Sam’s hair before pulling his head down till their mouths met in a long, slow kiss, telling Sam everything words couldn’t say

Tags: angst, historical romance, horror, nc-17, slash

CHAPTER 13

After plenty of coffee and a small breakfast, Sam and Dean were back in the cellar. A list was compiled of the things they needed for the ritual. Most of the items were readily available. Marie gladly replaced the precious oils needed for summoning and protections that were lost in the tornado before their departure. The various gardens from the large estate provided the herbs. Questioning Dean’s choice of a silver bowl, he explained to Sam that silver repelled evil and in alchemy it was called luna, the moon. Tracing his fingers against the small of Sam’s back, he told him it was represented by a crescent moon.

Pulling out the scroll and books, Dean found he couldn’t help himself. The need to touch Sam, the urge to let his hands linger was overwhelming. They would have to go through the summoning and the ritual step by step. Taking his sketches of the stones, he laid them on the table. Between the visions and the scroll they were soon busy making plans.

Sam tried to pay attention, really he did, but the night time conversation in the bathroom was still too fresh in his mind. He knew the nightmare was just his mind’s way of sorting information, getting it wrong and playing on his fears and insecurities. What he hadn’t expected and perhaps he should have, was Dean’s response. Bolting for the bathroom was the very last thing he expected to happen. Dean was just as scared as he was, but as he later found out for a very different reason. Dean was terrified of what would happen after his death, not of actually dying. No, what scared Dean Winchester was Sam joining him. Sam wanted to allay his fears. Living a lonely lifetime without Dean, living with the knowledge of what he was forced to do was not an option. Much as he hated hurting Dean, there was no way he could do as Dean wanted. Thankfully Dean dropped the subject.

So here they were, once again in the cold, damp, musty cellar researching, fine tuning the summoning they needed to perform. Checking that all the provisions were at hand, nothing could be left to chance, for them and humanity on that night there would be no second chances.

Laying out the scroll, Dean made Sam study it, memorize it. Handing him his sketch pad, he told him to draw the sigil over and over again. Neither dared speak a word, making every noise, every sound echo through the small chamber. When Sam said he was ready, Dean made him shut his eyes and draw it. Placing his hand over Sam’s he guided him on the paper. Again and again, sheet after sheet, until at last he pulled his hand away. Their breathing in tandem, he watched Sam draw the sigil from his mind’s eye.

“Dean if you make me draw that thing one more time I’m going to carve it into your backside. With a blunt knife.” It was a lame attempt at levity, but under the circumstances all he could muster.

Dean leaned in, nipping Sam’s ear. “Why Sammy, you told me you worshipped this body.” Turning, he gave Sam a good view of said backside. “Come on, let’s get some air and check on the herbs.” Carefully locking everything up, they were soon up the stairs and making their way to the garden. Dean knew he was purposely putting things off. He still needed time to face what was yet to come. Taking a deep breath he let the clean fresh air fill his lungs.

Stalling was a favorite Dean tactic, one Sam was only to well aware of. It made him nervous, edgy. Nothing good ever came of stalling and Sam’s unease grew, multiplied. By the time they reached the walled kitchen garden with its beds of vegetables, fruits and herbs, Sam’s skin was crawling. Something was coming, something he just knew he wouldn’t want to hear. Catching Dean’s arm he made him stop. “Dean, whatever it is, just say it. Please.”

Leave it to Sam to get right to the heart of the matter. As much as it annoyed Dean, it was also one of the things he admired about him. Motioning towards the stone bench, they sat down. “Can’t a man get fresh air? I felt like I was suffocating, just wanted to feel the sunshine.” Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes, trying to soak in what little warmth he could in the brisk September air. Several minutes later he looked over at Sam. “I’m sorry about this morning. I can only imagine how…I mean with what has to be done. We have so much to do, and all I can think about is you.” Glancing around, Dean slid his hand next to Sam’s, not holding it, but ensuring they were touching.

As Sam started to speak, Dean waved him off. “I’m too tired to argue, I’m not going to try and change your mind. I understand Sam, I don‘t like it, but I understand. I couldn’t live without you, especially after…” He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “I promise I won’t do anything to try and stop you. But you have to make me a promise, too. If something goes wrong, you have to do whatever you can to destroy him. No matter how long it takes.”

No wonder Dean was agitated. He was probably terrified of being possessed. It would drive Dean insane, his whole life was dedicated to protecting human life and Sam could think of nothing worse than Dean watching in impotent rage as his body was used to wreak havoc and carnage on all he vowed to protect.

“I know I’m new to this... Hunting. But I promise, I won’t fail you. I won’t let him have you.” What the hell am I worried about Sam thought as he took a look around, ever mindful of witnesses. In two days it would all be over. He laid a hand on Dean’s neck urging him closer. Tilting his head he kissed Dean. If anyone saw, Sam didn’t give a damn.

Dean gave in to Sam’s kiss. It was so good, the sweet taste. Coming to his senses, he backed away. A quick check confirmed they were still alone. “We have to be careful. I won’t let your family name be ruined because of me.” To avoid temptation, Dean stood rubbing his neck. “Time to get back to work.” Entering the house, they started towards the basement. Seeing George, Dean asked Sam to wait.

“Lord Pembroke, a minute please.” Dean maneuvered the young lord so they were out of Sam’s earshot. The conversation only lasted a few minutes. Dean slipped the small box George gave him into his pocket. Shaking his hand and thanking him profusely, Dean walked back to Sam.

He saw the questioning look in hazel eyes. Asking Sam if he needed anything before they returned to the cellar, they were through the passage and on their way back to the books.

The Key of Solomon and the journals were again laid upon the table. Sitting down Dean waited, knowing Sam would be full of questions.

Sam’s stomach lurched, a chill rippled over him from head to foot, leaving an uncomfortable tingle in his scalp. Nerves. “Right. I suppose it’s time for me to learn how to summon a demon?” Looking at Dean, “have you ever…?”

“Yeah, I did once. My dad was with me. He wasn’t as powerful as Baliazar.” Dean remembered how scared he’d been. He knew Sam needed to hear the truth. “I kept worrying that I would do something wrong, even though my dad assured me everything would be alright. Once a demon has been summoned he has to come. That doesn’t mean he’ll come as soon as you call him. They like to make you wait.”

“And did he… say things…lie?”

Squeezing Sam’s hand, Dean shook his head. “They know things Sam. It’s like they can see into your head. They lie, they make promises. They offer you things they know you want. He told me I could have my mom back. When I didn’t take his offer he told me she was burning in Hell. Said I would be there with her when my time came. You can‘t listen to them, Sam.”

“But he won’t be saying them will he Dean? It will be you. He’s going to look like you, sound like you, know the things only you know.” Dean’s head shot up, eyes fixed on Sam. Only then did Sam realize the words were spoken aloud and not contained in his head as worried thoughts.

Grabbing Sam by the shoulders, Dean shook him, making him look at him. “Sammy, listen to me. We have to stop this. It’ll drive us insane. I know you can’t get it out of your head, neither can I. But we’re going to have to push it back into the furthest corner of our minds. Can you do that?”

Shaking Sam harder Dean leaned in close, his voice harsh and demanding. “I asked can you do that, Sammy?”

Leaning back in the chair, he broke Dean’s hold. “I try, believe me I do. You don’t have to worry, I won’t let you down.”

“Are you sure? If you can’t, let me know. It’s not like you can run to mummy and hide behind her skirts.”

Sam frowned, where had that come from? Surely Dean didn’t think that? “Dean?”

Standing, Dean started pacing directly behind Sam. “Don’t you ever think I get tired of hearing you whine. Lord Richards, poor little rich boy. As long as you wear the title nobody will stand up to you, tell you the truth.”

Turning in the chair to follow Dean’s movements Sam asked, “What’s this? Some kind of test? If it is its not funny.

“You’re right. I’m sorry Sam.” Dean waited a minute for Sam to relax. Leaning in close he bit into Sam’s ear drawing blood, laughing as Sam grabbed it. “You didn’t mind playing rough when you shoved me against the wall. I thought I would return the favor.”

Pushing back the chair, Sam stood staring at Dean, totally at a loss. “Okay Dean, lesson over.” Swiping at his stinging ear he glared at his still pacing partner.

Dean stopped. “Lesson’s not over till I say it’s over.” Shoving Sam into the wall his face mere inches from Sam’s. “I knew I was nothing more than a diversion for you. Something for you and your friends to laugh about. The stupid cowboy. I knew you never cared, but I played along. You didn’t really think I could love someone as pathetic as you did you? I knew you were useless.” Dean’s hands were around Sam’s throat, squeezing as hard as he could, trying to choke the life from him. “You’re sure as hell not worth dying for.” He spat out.

Something was wrong, very wrong. The angry agitated person trying to squeeze the life out of him wasn’t Dean. Twin spots of vivid color burned on Dean’s cheeks and his eyes were fever bright. Frantic scratching at the door gave Sam the element of surprise needed to break free and turn the tables. Twisting one arm forcefully and no doubt painfully up Dean’s back, Sam pushed him into the wall. A thud of head hitting stone was ignored, as were the threats and bad language. Leaning his entire weight against Dean he grabbed for the amulet. The leather cord came away minus the bronze horned amulet.

Dean felt the air leave his lungs as Sam shoved him hard against the wall. His head was pounding, his heart racing. “God, help me.” He cried out as he tried to free himself from Sam’s hold. With one arm loose he was able to grab his head. Pressing his palm into his forehead he knew he was babbling. “Get out of my head.” Shaking it violently from side to side, he pleaded, begging. “Sammy, help me!”

“Dean fight him, you’ve got to fight him.” Sam’s weight was the only thing holding Dean up. His face was a mask of agony as he fought for control of his mind and body. Fumbling with his free hand Sam pulled the hip flask from his pocket using his teeth to open the top. Holy water splashed onto his hand dripping from his fingers. Inspiration flashed keen and bright, with a wet finger he drew a cross on Dean’s forehead. The reaction was instantaneous, Dean screamed, body twitching and then he went completely limp.

Dean heard Sam’s voice telling him to fight. It sounded like he was in a tunnel or cave. He wasn’t sure, couldn’t remember. Had he fallen? He knew he was pinned against a wall, but where? It was dark and dank, he felt a chill down his spine. He wasn’t alone. Whatever was here was evil. He tried calling out, but the scream caught in his throat. Struggling he tried to free his body. He felt something cold on his forehead which abruptly turned to fire, then nothing but release as he let his body go.

The terrible scratching and howling beyond the door ceased, everything was deathly quiet. Gently Sam lowered Dean to the ground. His training kicking in as he ran a quick visual and physical check, breathing and pulse were a bit quick and his color was still high as was his temperature. Carefully as possible he pulled Dean up so he could heft him over his shoulder. Staggering a little under the weight he unlatched the door. Two anxious hounds darted forward, sniffing his legs then licking at Dean’s dangling hands as they swung slightly from side to side. “Good dogs,” Sam soothed the worried pair; their normally wagging tails were tucked between their legs. “Come on; let’s take Dean for a lie down.”

Thankfully only George seemed to have taken any notice of the howling. His friend was visibly shaking when he saw the four of them. “Sam they didn’t do this did they?” George looked from the unconscious Dean to the two slinking hounds.

“No. No they didn’t. George I have to get Dean settled then I need you to sit with him whilst the dogs and I go hunting. Give me ten minutes then I’ll explain everything.” Not waiting for a reply Sam continued to their apartments. He was grateful George hadn’t offered to help carry Dean, refusing would have been awkward. But he would have, he didn’t want anyone touching him, not even his friend.

Almost as an afterthought he called out, asking George to lock the cellar door and bring the key when he came up.

Sam was slightly out of breath and his legs were burning by the time he laid Dean on the bed in his room. Covers stripped back he carefully removed Dean’s boots and everything else save his underwear, tucking the covers snugly around the now shivering body. Leaning forward he kissed Dean’s forehead then cupped his face, he was still too hot, his thumb rubbed over the high cheekbone, soothing. Dean’s eyes were moving rapidly under his closed eyelids, shaking him and saying his name didn’t wake him.

Two heavy heads lay on Sam’s thigh, needy whines and soulful eyes flitted from Sam to Dean and back again, lingering on the sleeping man. Stroking the two fine heads Sam offered reassurances, not sure if they were for him or the dogs. “He’ll be fine in a while, he just needs to sleep. Then he’ll be right as rain you’ll see.”

George popped his head round the door. “May I come in?”

“Please. George can you sit with Dean for a while? There’s something I need to find. Dean should sleep for a while. I’ll be as quick as I can.” Nearly at the door he called the dogs and told George to lock the door after him.

Two reluctant hounds followed Sam out of the house, pulling the leather cord from his pocket he offered it to Samson, then Delilah. He knew the pair hunted by scent so there was a slim chance that if he followed the path they had taken earlier they just might find it. If the amulet fell off in the house they would have heard it hit the stone or wooden floors which left only the bed or garden. As Dean changed in the cellar, Sam thought it likely the protective amulet was lost somewhere outside.

Noses inches from the ground, tails high, the pair seemed engrossed in the search. Sam’s eyes were glued to the ground, sweeping from side to side as he searched.

Suddenly from up ahead came the sound of shouting and cursing. Running through a brick and rose covered arch, Sam spotted a gardener, one hand jammed under his armpit cursing madly.

Seeing Sam the cursing gardener immediately stopped. Hurriedly explaining that he bent to pick up what he thought was a dropped item of jewelry only to have it burn his hand the moment he touched it. Poking the offending item with his boot he stuck his burnt fingers in his mouth, nosily sucking at them.

“I think you better go into the house and let Rose take a look your burnt fingers, you can never be too careful.”

Waiting till the gardener was out of sight Sam bent, pushing the grass aside, there sat the ugly horned amulet. Cautiously he poked at it with a finger. Nothing happened. No flair of pain, no burnt finger, he picked it up, ready to drop it should it feel even remotely hot. Nothing. Well that was certainly strange. Closing his fist tightly, Sam ran through the garden, through the hall, and up the stairs pausing only when he remembered George locked Dean’s door.

Dean was as he left him, face still flushed, pulse beating rapidly beneath the sweat dampened skin of his neck. Thanking George and promising to tell him what happened the moment Dean woke up, Sam ushered his friend out the door. Rushing to the bed Sam threaded the cord through the amulet, knotting it tightly before lifting Dean and slipping the amulet over his head, laying it back where it belonged, against Dean’s chest.

Pulling up a chair Sam picked up Dean’s hand. This was an uncomfortable reminder of his vigil after the tornado. Dean silently sleeping and Sam worried and scared. Pressing his lips to the back of the sweating hand he began to talk. The dogs settling at his feet in a silent canine vigil

Holding Dean’s hand, Sam fell into a light doze. Over and over what took place in the cellar re-enacted itself behind his closed lids. Neither was prepared for what happened. At the time Sam wasn’t scared. No. That came later as he waited for Dean to wake up. What scared him most was not Baliazar taking control of Dean, but rather the effect it would have on him. Dean had issues, Sam knew better than anyone the deep seated fears and feelings of inadequacy his lover tried so hard to conceal.

The hot hand he held was jerked away, Dean gasping as he backed up against the headboard, his eyes closing, shutting Sam out. Not this time Dean! “How do you feel?” Brushing his fingers against Dean’s forehead it still felt very hot. “Dean, open your eyes please, I need to check you out, you feel a bit hot.”

Dean was fighting, trying to pull himself from the nightmare. If only he could wake up. He’d never hurt Sam, but yet he had. He’d been cruel, he’d drawn blood, worst of all he‘d tried to kill Sam with his bare hands. The words, the doubts hidden in the back of his mind were pulled viciously from him by the claws that invaded his head. With a gasp, Dean sat up. Sweating and panting he was back in his room. He pulled his hand from Sam’s, startling him in the process. Taking deep breaths he tried to calm himself. His heart no longer felt as though it would burst through his chest. He saw the concerned look on Sam’s face. Leaning back against the headboard, Dean closed his eyes. After what he had done he was too ashamed to face Sam.

“I’ll be fine Sam. Give me a little time.” Not opening his eyes, Dean tried to take the coward’s way out. “You don’t need to wait.”

“There is nothing more important than taking care of you. I’m going to sit here and we will talk. And by we, I mean both of us. So talk! I want to know what happened. All of it, not the Dean Winchester edited version. Don’t even think of lying to me.” Sitting back in the chair he folded his arms and waited.

Slowly opening his eyes they immediately went to Sam’s throat. It was still red and Dean saw the start of the bruise where his thumbs pressed tightly against Sam’s delicate skin.

Delilah jumped on the bed laying next to Dean she rested her head on his thigh. Petting her gave Dean the excuse he needed to avoid Sam’s questioning gaze.

“I’m sorry Sam. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was talking to you and then everything went black. I was trapped, couldn’t move, couldn‘t speak. That’s when I felt it. He was in my head. I don’t know how it was possible. I thought we were supposed to be safe.”

Sampson’s heavy head landed on Sam’s thigh, sad eyes flicking from Sam to Dean and back again. I know you’re worried boy; I am too he thought as he stroked the broad head. “You were safe till the cord on the amulet broke; it fell off in the garden.”

Dean’s hand flew to his chest, his thumb running over the now familiar piece. What happened in the garden? It must have been when Sam kissed him. How could he have been so stupid to not realize it was no longer there? All he thought about at the time was how good it was; Sam’s lip pressed to his, wanting him. Sam willing to risk so much for him. Looking up he met Sam’s eyes, there was no hate, just concern. “I’m sorry.”

“Listen to me, it wasn’t you.” Seeing the bowed head he tried again. “Dean, he was in control, not you. It was his words, his actions, not yours. There is nothing to forgive.”

“It was my hands around your throat. I’m the one who would have killed you. I should have been stronger, I let him into my head, didn’t fight hard enough. It was my fault.”

“Let’s get this straight shall we?” Sam watched Dean’s head snap up. “You invited him in, allowed him to use your voice, your body at will? You wanted him to do the things he did? You just let him take over, watched idly as he tried to strangle me? Is that what you’re saying?”

Dean knew it was a mistake the minute he shook his head. He couldn’t put into words how it felt. The pain, the confusion. “No. I don’t know, everything was twisted.” Dean never heard of a demon influencing someone without possessing them. If this were any indication of the power Baliazar held now, he could only imagine him unleashed.

Baliazar taunted him, telling him Sam would be the first to die by his hands, slowly and as painful as possible. Images flooded his mind, Sam bloody and begging to die, to be put out of his misery. He felt his descent into madness as he was forced to watch everyone he ever cared for meet similar fates. He felt their blood as it ran down his hands, as it splashed his face. Their screams still rang in his head.

“Talk to me Dean. Please?” There was more, Sam was certain, would put money on it. Evasive was Dean’s middle name. Sam’s was persistent, and he was not about to give up.

“What I saw while he was in my head, it was horrible. The things he’s capable of doing. He made me watch you die. Not just you, but everybody. Shamus was right. Baliazar plans to destroy anything and everything that crosses his path. Nothing will be left.”

Sam let the soft warm ear slide through his fingers, the almost unconscious stroking calming, soothing frayed nerves. “My visions are sort of like that. You have to remember demons lie, they deceive. I won’t let him keep you I promise.”

Throwing the covers back, Dean slid his legs over till he felt the floor beneath his feet. “We’re not going to stop him if we stay here. We still have to go over the ritual.” Not ready to stand, Dean reached over, his fingers lightly brushing over the bruises marring Sam’s throat, surprised when Sam didn’t flinch or back away. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Dean still looked a little flushed, not his usual self, but there was no point arguing. Dean was right they were running out of time.

***********

Looking around Dean spotted his clothes. Sam retrieved the bundle, hovering close as he dressed. Still a bit unsteady it took a little longer than Dean expected. On shaky legs he leaned into Sam, for once not arguing he took the offered help. Gradually they started their slow descent to the basement, stopping several times before reaching their destination. Dean shuddered as they stepped through the doorway, his hand going to his chest to reassure himself the amulet was there. Picking up the Key of Solomon he turned it to the page he marked earlier. Sliding the book over so it was between the two of them, he pointed out a small passage to Sam. “You need to memorize this, you have to recite this while you summon Baliazar.”

Sam leant over the table, his finger underlining the words as he read. “Baliazar who art wicked and disobedient. Thou has not obeyed the glorious Name of the true God, the Creator of all things, thou shalt forthwith appear in this triangle, before this circle, to do my will. Come quickly and in peace.” He looked at Dean as he finished the first part, saw the closed off look once again firmly in place. Dean was not coping any better than he was.

It took a few moments before Dean realized Sam was watching him. The worried look asking the silent question. Running his hand through his short hair, Dean gave Sam a weak smile. “I’m fine. Again, till you know it by heart.” Dean listened as Sam read it over and over. When Sam nodded he was ready, Dean handed him a sheet of paper. “Can you remember the sigil?”

Normally Sam loved research, all aspects of it. Reading ancient scripts, even modern notes scrawled in Dean’s journal. This time however he had absolutely no enthusiasm what so ever for the task in front of him. Dutifully he reproduced the sigil and recited the first part of the summoning. When he finished he paused staring at his handiwork. That was the easy part. What was to come next, allowing Baliazar to possess Dean. Jesus, he didn’t even want to think about it, let alone stand idly by and let it happen. Closing his eyes, Sam took a steadying breath. He knew they had to practice; trouble is all he wanted to do was run, take Dean with him and get as far away as possible.

Dean would be with Sam at The Stones as they prepared for the ritual. Confident Sam would be ready for the summoning, the only thing left now was the part they dreaded the most. Clenching his fist, Dean could only hope Sam didn’t see his hand visibly shaking. The thought of removing the amulet and letting Baliazar take over his body and mind terrified him. After what happened earlier, he tried to draw on all his experience from almost a lifetime of hunting. Taking a deep breath, he reached out, grabbing Sam’s hand squeezing tight. Trying to draw in and give back as much strength as possible.

Sam was so lost in thought he jumped, snapping at Dean when his hand was touched “What!”

Startled by Sam’s reaction, Dean flinched. Realizing he was still holding his breath he let it out slowly. His nerves were shot, but there was no getting around what was to come. Wishing, hoping, and pretending wasn’t going to make it go away. He saw the pain and anguish in Sam’s hazel eyes, telling him Sam knew what the next step was. Sam’s grip tightened around his hand, neither wanting to break the precious hold. Pulling out the knife he pried his hand away. “Here Sam, take it.” Extending the handle out he waited.

“Dean I don’t…” Sam’s hand stopped inches from the knife, eyes locked on the crème carved handle. Sam didn’t want to touch it, let alone practice what in just a few short hours he would have to do for real. Telling himself it was only a trial run made no difference. Sam’s stomach clenched and his breath locked in his chest. What the hell was he doing? Dean was relying on him and he couldn’t bring himself to touch the damn knife. Sam forced himself to grasp the handle, the instant his hand came into contact with the cold ivory, Sam started to panic, wanted to let go. I can’t do this, warring with you have to, you have no choice. “Dean?” A breathless plea for help. Two anxious pairs of eyes met mirrored in each the emotions of the other.

Dean wrapped his hand around Sam’s. They were in this together. Dean guided their shaking hands as they brought the point of the knife to the lower left side of Dean’s chest. Even though his voice wavered, Dean never took his eyes off Sam’s. “You need to go in through the ribs, thrust up and in. It’ll be over in minutes.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, himself or Sam. “I’ll be right there with you.”

They stayed there, eyes locked on one another. Each struggling with their feelings. As Dean started to falter, Sam reached out his free hand, grabbing his elbow to steady him.

Looking down, Dean saw his white knuckled grasp of their hands still tight on the knife.Loosening his hold, he waited for Sam, his hand still clamped to the hilt. “Sam, you can let go now.” Dean tried to reassure Sam with a gentle voice. Taking back the knife, he returned it to its sheath. They were both still visibly shaken. Sam was white as a ghost, Dean could only imagine what he looked like after what they had just done. Deciding it would be for the best, Dean motioned for Sam to take a seat, then sat down beside him. Returning to the Key of Solomon, Dean showed Sam the last passage needed to complete the ritual. It was imperative Sam memorize it. Dean wouldn’t be there to help.

Reading the final passage Sam realized he would need to make notes. This was too important to trust to memory, especially one that would be under a great deal of stress at the time. Carefully Sam copied the two parts of the summoning and binding curse onto separate pieces of paper. All the while trying to shut out what would be happening as he recited the final words. Dean would be dead or dying. Finally finished, Sam folded the papers and tucked them safely into a pocket. All this was hard, so damn hard on them both.

Tags: angst, historical romance, horror, nc-17, slash
Current Music: ERA, THE MASS

A/N THIS IS THE THIRD AND FINAL PART IN THE DARK RIDERS TRILOGY..THE STORY IS COMPLETE AND WILL BE POSTED WEEKLY.
SUMMARY- FOLLOW DEAN AND SAM ON THEIR JOURNEY TO ENGLAND WHERE THEY MEET THE LAST SEER AND REALIZE THE TERRIBLE PRICE THEY MUST PAY TO BEAT THE DEMON BALIAZAR AND SAVE HUMANITY.
Dark riders-http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/845.html
Dark Riders 2 Storm Warning -http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
MANY THANKS TO LOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART, OUR BANNER
AND TO feather_touch FOR BEING OUR FABULOUS BETA THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK.


HONORE ET AMORE
CHAPTER 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/09/20/
CHAPTER 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/5930.html
CHAPTER 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/13/
CHAPTER 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/27/
CHAPTER 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/6974.html

WARNING- CHAPTER 6: Some readers may find the contents of this chapter disturbing. Emotions run very high and we ask you to keep an open mind. It is not our intent to put our beloved characters in a bad light. Even so we will post a DUB/CON WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. Very much top sam in this chapter!

PS Our poor beta has not checked this chapter so all mistakes are ours alone
CHAPTER 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/02/
CHAPTER 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/7555.html
CHAPTER 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/17/
CHAPTER 9 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/8151.html
CHAPTER 10 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/17/
Chapter 11 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/22/
CHAPTER 12

Sinking into the hot scented water Sam washed away the lingering smell of river water and mud. Sliding down he let the hot water close over his head rinsing the soap from his hair. Sitting up, he reached for the cloth on the chair by the bath, he stepped out, dried his legs and feet, rubbing vigorously, before drying the rest of his long body. Then he went in search of Dean. They had yet to make love in Dean’s room and that was something Sam intended to rectify. The seed of an idea planted a couple of days ago had grown and it was time for the harvest. Sam almost choked when he entered Dean’s room. There truly was a God. A naked Dean stood just where Sam imagined him to be. His magnificent body displayed from various angles by the artfully placed hinged triple mirror.

Sam watched green eyes flare in surprise, lock with his. Slipping arms around the slim waist he pulled Dean back against him. Closing his eyes for a second he savored the fresh scent of soap and Dean, the erotic friction of silken skin on skin. Sam shivered in excitement. They were pressed together from shoulder to feet, hands resting, fingers stroking just below Dean’s navel, one of his favorite spots. Green eyes watched him in the mirror, warm back hard against Sam’s stomach, rounded ass hot against his groin. Dean lifted his hands reaching back to link them behind Sam’s neck. Groaning his cock filled, hardening between Dean’s soft cheeks.

From the mirror Dean watched Sam’s approach. Waiting for him to speak, he watched as he stepped behind him. Sam’s body still warm from the bath, the clean scent of him played on his senses, the full contact of skin against skin, Sam’s hands constricting on him. Dean could feel the change in Sam’s body, hard against him, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Sam’s face reflected in the mirror. Dean’s hands reached back, grabbing Sam’s neck, his fingers sliding through the damp tresses.

Sam’s large hands slid up Dean’s sides, narrow waist, and firm muscle covered ribs, soft hair under his arms tickling Sam’s palms. Powerful arms led to fingers exploring his hair. Linking their hands Sam brought them down caressing, stroking the quivering stomach to finally cup Dean’s groin, squeezing gently. The breathy moans that escaped moist lips were almost Sam’s undoing.

Fingers still entwined he cupped Dean’s sack gently, rolling, caressing, releasing to take the hardened shaft that laid flat against Dean’s stomach between their hands. It was awkward, but so erotic. Two hands sliding, squeezing, pulling, twisting in harmony. Their eyes saw all; locked in the sensual game they played. The gasps and moans signaled Dean’s nearing orgasm, Sam stopping, denying his release.

Dean’s eyes squeezed tight then snapped open as he was denied. Searching, questioning, green met hazel, the unspoken “not yet” understood, and obeyed.

Reaching to the small bedside table, Sam’s long fingers reached for the open bottle of red wine. He pressed the cool glass to rest against heated skin, Dean started, then shivered as red spilled in steady trickle between his shoulders, claret against tawny freckled skin.

Keeping his eyes on the mirror, a delicious shiver raced down Dean’s spine. He anticipated Sam’s touch before it happened. He wanted to close his eyes, to feel the sensation through his body, but he was mesmerized by Sam’s gaze. Sam’s hands guiding his, ghosting over his body, touching him. Dean was so close to the edge before Sam took full control. He watched Sam reach for the wine. The coolness of the bottle made him shudder as it hit his skin. He couldn’t help gasping as the cool liquid was poured over him.

Sam chased with finger tips and eager tongue the taste of Dean and wine, exquisite, exhilarating, perfect. The trickle slowed as it reached the small of Dean’s back then disappeared between the shadowed cleft. Sam nudged Dean’s legs apart, and then dropped to his knees eager to follow the wines path. Claret and musk were a heady mix, intoxicating, his hands holding a restless Dean in place.

Sam’s hot breath and warm tongue following the path of wine and fingers had him trembling with desire. Watching Sam drop to his knees he wasn’t sure he could hold on any longer. He grabbed the mirror letting it support him as Sam continued his sweet torture.

Glancing sideways Sam saw Dean’s hands braced against the top of the mirror, head hung between his outstretched arms. Sam’s cock twitched, if possible growing bigger and harder, he wanted, needed, to bury himself in Dean’s warmth. To become one with him.

Sliding the side table drawer open, Sam retrieved the bottle he knew Dean kept there. Gripping the cork with his teeth he jerked it loose, filling the palm of one hand with the slightly scented lubricant. Replacing the cork he tossed the bottle on the vacant bed. Dipping the fingers of one hand in the slippery oil he coated his ridged cock. The rest he rubbed between both hands covering his fingers. One hand snaking round to cup and anoint eager hard flesh, the other hand slipping between baby soft cheeks, index and middle fingers gently massaging, coaxing the tight outer ring of muscle to relax. Slipping the tip of one finger inside, Dean immediately clamped down. Sam pressed his lips against Dean’s lower back soothing gentle, persuasive. Dean relaxed, allowing him in. The questing digit homing in on the sensitive place only Sam knew how to find. The gentle pressure bringing instant results, Dean‘s legs trembling, lips parting, releasing gasps of pleasure.

Sam kept a slow steady stroke on silk clad steel, not enough to bring an orgasm but enough to distract from the uncomfortable stretch that was needed before he could claim his prize, adding more when he felt Dean was sufficiently relaxed to allow it. Sam changed from slowly stroking Dean’s cock to rubbing the smooth warm skin on his stomach and back, palm flat Sam rubbed in gentle circular movements. Hoping to soothe away any discomfort he may cause.

Dean’s legs felt like jelly. He wasn’t sure how he was still standing. The feel of Sam’s hands stroking him, the burn of Sam’s fingers, Sam’s gentle touch as he rubbed his stomach and back. Pain and pleasure mixed with need and desire, each so intense. Letting the last of his resistance go, he gave himself over completely to Sam. Opening his eyes, he caught Sam’s gaze reflected in the mirror. Not wanting the spell to be broken, he refused to speak out loud.

Dean leaned into his touch, sweat glistening on his bronzed skin, light and shade cast by flickering candles caressing the beautiful body Sam loved. Once Sam could move his fingers with ease, Dean relaxed enough to not clamp down every time Sam’s fingers moved. He saw Dean watching him, saw him mouth the word “please?” Dean was ready!

Sam looked down at his glistening cock; rubbed it slowly between oil slicked cheeks. The small depression of Dean’s entrance caught and held the head, allowing Sam the freedom to let go, to drape his long body over Dean’s. Fingers skimmed over strong forearms and hands. Interlocking their fingers they both gripped the top of the mirror. Sam held still, let Dean impale himself. It was slow, exquisite, torture. Sam biting his lip with the need to push all the way in, somehow he controlled the urge, allowed Dean that ultimate power. Dean wasn’t the only one shaking with desire.

Pushing back, Dean slowly let Sam fill him, giving himself time to adjust he waited before pushing back again. One last time he rocked back into Sam until he was buried to the hilt. Their bodies flush, he heard Sam groan, his breath hot against Dean’s neck. Blowing out his breath, Dean watched the small circle of fog form on the mirror’s surface.

Leaning his head against the mirror, Dean closed his eyes. When Sam walked into his room he thought he had never seen anyone more beautiful. Sam’s hands moving over his body, caressing him, touching him felt like fire consuming him. The hazel eyes that never left his, full of love, passion, desire left him speechless.

Pressure built, sweet, intense, and… oh God, Dean impaling himself on Sam’s cock. Groaning into Dean’s neck, Sam bit into the hard ridge of shoulder muscle, felt Dean shudder and gasp. Opening eyes he hadn’t realized were closed he watched their joint reflection. Dean’s head hung low, full lips parted, beautiful eyes half lidded in concentration and sensual delight. Sam almost came then, biting hard on his inner cheek he managed to stave off the overwhelming need.

With a flex and roll of his hips Sam set a slow undulating motion. Mirror Dean’s eyes sought Sam’s, the sensuous push and drag, an erotic torture, steadily building in intensity, sweat forming, trickling down their heated bodies. The vision their two bodies created, fueling the naked flames of passion.

Too much, intense want, need, and heat pushed Sam over the edge, spilling deep within Dean’s beautiful body. Supported by Dean beneath him Sam rode out his orgasm, teeth grazing and biting into the raised shoulder blade.

The sharp sting of Sam’s teeth in his shoulder brought Dean from his thoughts. Gone was the familiar hazel, Sam’s eyes were all pupil, dark with lust and insatiable desire. Turning his head he watched the ripple of tight muscles as they moved together, felt the slide of the sweat slicked skin covering him. The heat of Sam’s release deep inside him, enflamed his own need. Dean was achingly hard. His cock demanding its own release. Sam’s hands were upon him once again, teasing and tantalizing.

Silently slipping free, Sam sank to his knees, large hands trailing over bunched muscles and slick skin to capture the slim hips. Turning Dean slightly he let his gaze travel from the V of muscle between the hips he was holding to bunched abdominals, small flat nipples to Dean’s handsome face. Warm hands cupped his face, murmured words of need and love slipped past eager lips.

Breaking free, Sam let Dean’s hands guide him, touch, and taste exploding on his tongue. Swallowing as much of Dean’s length as possible, Sam let him set the pace, long and slow. All too soon Dean lost his rhythm, hips stuttering, heat flooding his mouth.

The warm wet heat of Sam’s mouth taking him in was overwhelming. Pushing deeper, he felt the tremble as he lost all control. Closing his eyes he called Sam’s name as he let himself go.

Standing, Sam held a very shaky Dean, moving them the few steps to the bed was an effort. Pulling back the covers, Sam sought Dean’s warmth, strong arms enfolding him. “God I love you. There will never be anyone else, ever.”

Pulling Sam tight, Dean tucked Sam’s head under his chin onto his chest. “Love you too, Sammy.” Blinking back tears, Dean made a promise to himself. Come hell or high water he would do whatever it took to make sure Sam lived.

**********************

Dean woke from a restless sleep. While Sam fell asleep quickly, Dean struggled with the thoughts racing through his mind. For the longest time he laid there with Sam in his arms not wanting to let go, not miss a second of the time they had left. At some point the exhaustion overtook him. Now he was turned away from his lover’s warm body. It was still dark. Rolling over, he reached out, his hands finding an empty space where Sam should have been. Looking around, Sam’s body was outlined by the moon against the open window. Dean knew by the set of his shoulders he was deep in thought. Slipping out of bed, he wrapped the sheet around himself to ward off the September chill. Silently he made his way to stand beside him. “Sammy?” Drawing Sam into the warmth of the sheet, he waited patiently for his reply.

“I couldn’t sleep, too much on my mind I guess.” It was true. Whilst he had been the first to fall into sleep, he was also the first to waken. Torn from a nightmare sweating and shaking, retching. It was not really surprising, during the day Sam managed to suppress all conscious thought about what he was expected to do on Wednesday. Once released from the tight daytime control his mind retaliated, hence the horrific nightmare. Again he was at The Stones. This time it was moon lit, Dean lay on the ground at his feet, chest a gory mess. In Sam’s hands were the bloody knife and Dean’s still beating heart.

“Come on.” At his gentle urging he led Sam to the large leather chair in the corner. Draping the sheet over Sam’s trembling body, Dean walked to the small desk pouring a large glass of whiskey. He took a sip before heading back to Sam. Sitting on the arm of the chair, he handed the glass to Sam while he once again enveloped them in the sheet. Putting his arm around Sam’s shoulder, he drew him close to his side. A glance told him all he needed to know. Dean could only imagine the nightmarish vision that awakened him.

Holding the glass Sam sniffed at the contents, whiskey. Taking a large gulp, he swallowed, the heat warming his throat and stomach. “Thanks.”

Waiting a few minutes Dean let Sam settle against him. Between the whiskey and the sheet Sam was no longer shivering. Time was precious now and he didn’t want to waste any of it arguing. They needed to talk, they managed to avoid so much, but it couldn’t be put off any longer. Taking the glass from Sam, he took another sip before placing the glass on the small corner table. “Want to tell me about the dream?”

Sam snorted, “Not much escapes you, does it?” Holding the sheet tighter, he thought for a moment, flicked his gaze to Dean’s, love, worry, comfort, need and protection. All were there if you knew where to look. Sam did. “You really want to know, because its not pretty?”

“You told me once I needed to learn to share. Do you remember?” Dean didn’t expect an answer. “You did teach me a few things.” He was sure this wasn’t what Sam had in mind when they had that conversation months ago.

“Alright, but remember, you asked for it. Stabbing you didn’t work. Dean I…” Sam breathed heavily through his nostrils. “I had to cut your heart out. It was still beating in my hand.” Sam shuddered, he could feel the phantom heart, hot, pulsing in his hand. A red hand dripping with Dean’s life blood. He clapped a hand over his mouth trying hard to hold back the need to be sick. “Dean I’m scared. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to lose you.”

Feeling all the blood rush from his face, Dean grabbed for the whiskey. He was expecting bad, but it wasn’t that. No wonder Sam was in the state he was in. Taking a large drink, he hoped Sam wouldn’t see his shaking hands. Would it be any easier telling Sam how to kill him without cutting out his heart? It was one of the things he needed to do in the next two days. The thought, the image, invaded his brain. Not realizing he spilled the whiskey, he felt something dripping down his hand. His stomach churning, Dean jumped up, quickly making his way to the bathroom.

Pulling a blanket from the bed, Sam ran into the bathroom. As expected Dean was heaving convulsively into the toilet. Sam draped the warm blanket over him, then wet a cloth in cold water pressing it to the back of his neck. Sam dropped to his knees rubbing soothing circles on his back. “I’m sorry Dean, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have told you, it was unfair of me.”

After the last of the retching passed, Dean leaned back against Sam. Strong arms held him securely. “No, Sam, I asked and you told me. It’s unfair, but that has nothing to do with you. I wanted to comfort you and look at us. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I can’t imagine…I mean how…God, Sam, now I know why all the others failed.”

Settling his back against the wall he held Dean tightly, his nose buried in the soft blond hair on the top of his head. “This has to end with us, we are the last, we can’t afford to fail, all those who have gone before, their sacrifice won’t be in vain and neither will ours. You have my word Dean. You won’t be alone. I promise.” He punctuated the last comment with a kiss to Dean’s sweat dampened hair. “I promise.” He whispered.

“That’s what scares me Sam. I know we can’t fail. It’s not even about the sacrifices the others made. We can’t let Baliazar loose. I can’t bear the thought of the blood on my hands if that were to happen. How many would die before he was tracked down and imprisoned again. What scares me the most is knowing what you’re going to do after it’s done. Can’t you please just let me go Sammy?”

Sam couldn’t look at Dean. What was there to say? Lie and say “hey that’s all right Dean. I’ll kill you, even though it will tear me apart. I’ll do it and live what remains of my life in hell. Or admit that I can’t and won’t live my life without you because without you there is no me. I was only half a man before I met you. An empty shell. You are the missing part of me.” Choking back a sob, Sam buried his face in Dean’s neck. His silence louder than any words he could say.

Warm tears ran down Dean’s neck. The sound of Sam’s sobs tore at his heart. He was asking of Sam something he couldn’t do himself. How fair was that? Maybe if he had Sam’s faith, he could believe they would be together forever. But he couldn’t even believe that. He was a sinner. If their sacrifice would wipe his slate clean, maybe then. Sam’s faith was what they had. Turning, Dean pulled Sam to him, lifting his chin he looked into the red rimmed eyes. “It's okay, we'll do what needs to be done.”

Tags: historical romance. angst, horror, nc-17

A/N THIS IS THE THIRD AND FINAL PART IN THE DARK RIDERS TRILOGY..THE STORY IS COMPLETE AND WILL BE POSTED WEEKLY.
SUMMARY- FOLLOW DEAN AND SAM ON THEIR JOURNEY TO ENGLAND WHERE THEY MEET THE LAST SEER AND REALIZE THE TERRIBLE PRICE THEY MUST PAY TO BEAT THE DEMON BALIAZAR AND SAVE HUMANITY.
Dark riders-http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/845.html
Dark Riders 2 Storm Warning -http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
MANY THANKS TO LOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART, OUR BANNER
AND TO feather_touch FOR BEING OUR FABULOUS BETA THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK.


HONORE ET AMORE
CHAPTER 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/09/20/
CHAPTER 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/5930.html
CHAPTER 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/13/
CHAPTER 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/27/
CHAPTER 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/6974.html

WARNING- CHAPTER 6: Some readers may find the contents of this chapter disturbing. Emotions run very high and we ask you to keep an open mind. It is not our intent to put our beloved characters in a bad light. Even so we will post a DUB/CON WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. Very much top sam in this chapter!

PS Our poor beta has not checked this chapter so all mistakes are ours alone
CHAPTER 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/02/
CHAPTER 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/7555.html
CHAPTER 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/17/
CHAPTER 9 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/8151.html
CHAPTER 10 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/08/17/
Chapter 11

Honore Et Amore Chapter 11

Carefully balancing the tray against his knee, Sam opened the door. As quietly as possible he set the tray on the small table, glancing at Dean. He had not changed position. Sitting on the edge of the bed he ran his fingers through the short blond hair. It was not often Sam could observe Dean in sleep. Like himself, the awful situation they found themselves in was taking its toll. Leaning down he pressed his lips to his temple. “Morning sleepy head.” He whispered close to Dean’s ear.

Feeling warm breath against his ear sent a shiver through Dean before Sam’s words penetrated his still tired mind. Slowly he blinked his eyes before opening. His first sight was Sam smiling down on him. Rolling his head from side to side he worked the kink out of his neck. The smell of coffee assaulted him. Sitting up, he stretched out his arms,
before cupping Sam’s cheek in his hand. “Morning Sammy.” He said, hearing his voice still rough from sleep.

Fetching the tray Sam set it on the bed in-between them. “About last night… Sorry... I… I didn’t … Dean, I have to find a way out for us and last night seemed such a waste of time. I made this to say I’m sorry.” Sam indicated the full English breakfast.

Dean coughed, trying to clear his throat around the piece of bacon he was chewing. “I told you before there’s nothing to apologize for.” Pouring them both coffees, he took a drink, not bothering to cool it first. Dean filled a plate handing it to Sam before filling his own, his appetite suddenly gone. Forcing himself to eat, they managed to laugh and talk about the ball.

“You going to join me in the cellar or have you found another lead?” Sam left the bed to let the dogs in.

The dogs running in were a welcome but only a momentary distraction. Dean dreaded this, but knew he couldn’t hide forever. “Give me a few minutes and we’ll go to the cellar.” Dean called to Sam as he was getting dressed. “Can you bring the Key of Solomon with you?”

Sam frowned, “why do you need the Key of Solomon?”

“Please Sam, it needs to wait till we’re in the cellar.” With a heavy heart Dean waited as Sam grabbed the book. Taking the tray they dropped it in the kitchen before heading to the secret passage. Leaning down he told the dogs to stay. Climbing down the stairs, he slowly unlocked the door. “Sit down Sam, I have something to tell you.”

Unlocking the casket Dean pulled out the ancient ledger. “This is a history of the Brotherhood of St. Michael. They claim they do the bidding of the Arch Angel Michael. As you know Michael was the angel in the vision from James. What we didn’t know was that Baliazar was an angel as well. According to this, God gave Baliazar a list of men, those most faithful and deserving to be resurrected on their death. Instead of doing that, Baliazar used his power to resurrect ones he thought were deserving. When he was commanded to return to heaven to answer to God, he refused. God sent Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, and Uriel like bounty hunters after him. In order to escape, Baliazar went to Lucifer where he asked for sanctuary. Lucifer offered him the same job in Hell. All he had to do was renounce God. Baliazar accepted. He became a fallen angel, a demon. We’re talking necromancy here Sam, evil and chaos.” Stopping for a moment, Dean searched Sam’s face seeing him taking in everything he said.

“Somehow Baliazar managed to avoid the angels by constantly possessing men. The vision you saw at The Stones, the ancient one, was the first time Baliazar was trapped. The Stones are said to have magical powers, a portal or prison where he could be held. As long as the altar stone was intact, he couldn’t escape. Once the altar stone was crushed by the collapse of the trillithon, Baliazar escaped. For a millenium he caused havoc until Michael tracked him down at The Stones. He offered him a chance to redeem himself and he refused. With the altar destroyed he couldn’t be held forever. Michael did the only thing he could. He cast him in the abyss for fifty generations. That’s where the Brotherhood comes into it.”

“Where did you find it? It couldn’t have been in the casket because I would have seen it. And… and whose is it?” Sam’s mind was racing with possibilities this was it, this was what he had been searching for.

“It had to be in the casket. I found it while you were helping George. I was frustrated and knocked everything into the floor. It was there when I picked up the books.” Dean dreaded what he was about to reveal next. “I moved it until I could check the Key of Solomon so I could explain it to you.”

Sam eyes drifted from Dean’s face to the ledger then back again. “Why would you do that? I don’t understand… you knew I would want to see it.”

“There was still more we needed. I had to make sure before I told you. There was still a part missing. Do you remember the scroll you found our first time here? The one you set aside to translate? It’s the third part. It’s too important for everything to be kept together in one place, if it fell into the wrong hands, well I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Yes, I remember the scroll, but I haven’t had the time to translate it. George was being unusually annoying and then the ball. If the scroll is one part and the Key of Solomon is another that still leaves one more part and its not the journal.” Sam looked pointedly at Dean, a nasty seed of doubt and fear growing in the pit of his stomach. “Is it Dean?”

“I translated the scroll while you were with George. Do you understand, Sam? We have the history, the summoning has been under our noses the whole time in The Key of Solomon, and the scroll has the sigil. Now we know how to summon him, all we have to do is the ritual.” Tightening his hold on the ledger, Dean saw that look on Sam’s face. There was no escape.

Sam felt the prickling sensation of goose flesh break out all over his body. He shivered. Dean’s body language reeked of anxiety and if he were not mistaken fear. Sam’s heart beat faster and his breaths came in short shallow open mouthed gasps. If Dean was scared…“Dean? Please… tell me?”

Unable to look Sam in the eye, Dean reluctantly handed Sam the ledger knowing what he would find inside. “Sammy, please. I didn’t want you to know until I was sure.” It was a poor excuse for an apology, but it was all he had.

Sam began to read the ancient ledger. The first entry was dated September 870 A.D. a thousand years ago. Followed by two names, Wolfgar and William. Sam read page after page of similar entries. When he reached the end he turned back the pages counting the entries. Two hundred and forty nine total. Two hundred and forty nine times the Guardians and Seers had gone up against Baliazar and lost. Four hundred and ninety eight men lost their lives. Thinking back over what Dean said about St Michael, Sam realized that he and Dean were the last Generation. They were the final Guardian and Seer. The final defense.

“It ends with us, doesn’t it Dean?” Sam noticed Dean was fidgeting, he only did that when he was nervous. “We never had a chance did we? All the hours of research to find a way out. You knew, didn’t you?” He saw Dean flinch, all color draining from his face. “You knew it was a waste of time. Yet still you let me continue to hope, to have faith. Why Dean? Why would you do that to me? You used George didn’t you, to keep me busy? You had no right to keep this from me. I trusted you Dean, and you lied to me!”

“Yes, it ends with us. I didn’t know until I put all the pieces together. I’m not your Guardian Sam, I’m his. Don’t you see? That’s why they all failed, they lost their faith. You’ve lost that and I understand, I do. But I have faith in you. We have to complete the ritual. Do you understand what happens if we fail? I won’t let that happen. You can’t let that happen. Four hundred and ninety eight men have died, but how many others died that we don’t know about? How many more like your parents, and Robert and others from the Brotherhood?” Dean sat on the edge of the table looking down at Sam. “I didn’t lie to you; I was going to tell you. And you’re right, it was wrong for me to use George. When I’m gone, you can have your old life back. It’ll be over, you’ll be free. That’s why I didn’t tell you before the ball. Those are the people that you belong with. They care about you. You and your children will be able to leave your legacy worthy of your family name. I could never give you that.”

Sam heard everything Dean said, but he couldn’t take it in. Couldn’t believe Dean would say this to him. After all they had been through and all they had left to face. Rage welled up in him and before he knew what was happening he had Dean pinned against the cellar wall. Fist drawn back. He wanted to hit Dean, hurt him as much as he was hurting. He was going to hit him; his fist was clenched, poised to strike, at the last moment hitting the wall instead. It was Dean’s eyes that stopped him, the love and self loathing he saw there deflecting his anger. How could he hurt Dean more then the man could do himself? He couldn’t. Dean would punish himself far more efficiently than he ever could.

“Dammit Dean. I love you, but there are times I really don’t like you. Please keep out of my way.” Closing the heavy door behind him, Sam attempted to swallow the huge lump in his throat. Failing miserably he sagged against the solidity of the oak door. Sliding down till he sat with his arms wrapped around his legs chin resting on his knees.

Dean waited for the punch, relished the thought of it. It’s what he wanted. Let Sam hit him over and over. Beat him senseless. Physical pain was easy. It was the pain inside he couldn’t deal with. It was the pain he saw in Sam’s eyes, in Sam’s face that was hard. Instead Sam hit the wall, hurt himself. Dean wasn’t prepared for the restraint, the calm that fell over Sam. He could still hear Sam outside the door, the massive piece of oak separating them. With his back to the door he slid down, bringing his knees to his chest, he wrapped his arms around them resting his head on his arms.

Sam let his head fall back with a satisfying thud. “Damn you Dean, why do you always do this? You can’t hide the truth forever and trying only leads to heartache and upset.” Sam didn’t expect an answer. He was aware Dean would know he was here just outside the door. There were no tell tale footsteps to indicate otherwise.

There was no anger in Sam’s voice, the hurt in Sam’s eyes when he said those cruel things kept haunting Dean. He didn’t mean them, but if he could make Sam hate him, maybe Sam could see the truth in them. See that he was better off without Dean. If Sam hated him maybe he would realize there was something to live for. Leaning his head against the door Dean replied. “I was going to tell you. I wanted to give you the time with your friends. You deserved that.”

“See, that’s what I mean, what gives you the right to decide what’s right or what’s best for me? Didn’t you learn your lesson back in Kansas? You deciding nearly cost us both our lives. Why should I feel any differently than you, remember the letter Dean? I do.”

“Didn’t you do the same thing? How long would you have waited to tell me about the vision? You lied to me and for days, I watched it eat at you, almost destroy you. Sam, you’re all I have, but you have so much more. You have something to live for.” Dean needed Sam to understand.

“That’s not fair and you damn well know it. You saw that vision. You know what I have to do, why I didn’t tell you straight away. How can you compare that to giving me false hope?”

“Look what I had to do to see that vision. I know what you have to do, what we have to do. Now you understand what happens if we fail. I would rather be dead than let that happen. There can be no doubts, no hesitation.”

“You don’t have to worry… I’ll do it… Finish the Brotherhood’s dirty work for them.”

“I do worry. I can’t stop thinking about what you’re going to do after. Once it’s over. And damn the Brotherhood to Hell for what they did to our parents. Taking advantage of them, the price they paid for us. The price we have to pay. Sam, if you die they win. They or someone like them will find another cause, do this to someone else. You can’t let that happen.”

“You are such a hypocrite Dean...You forget one thing…I know you… I know what this is all about. You think you can manipulate me. Well you’re wrong. There is nothing you can say or do that will change my mind… So stop it!”

“You’re wrong Sam.” Turning to his side, Dean placed his palm against the door, wanting to touch Sam, to take in the strength he always gave. “I’m not trying to manipulate you. Yes I’m a hypocrite for wanting you to live. But I don’t want us to fail because of me. I don’t…I’ll be the one to hesitate because I know what that means.”

“I won’t fail you Dean… I promise…” Sam crossed his heart and laid his palm against the door. “I won’t let him have you.” He whispered.

Dean wiped away the lone tear. “I’m sorry Sammy. I told you before, life with me wouldn’t be easy and you would regret it.”

“I’m sorry about a lot of things Dean, but my time with you isn’t one of them. You’re right, its not been easy, but I wouldn’t trade the short time we’ve had together for anything.” Standing up he opened the door, Dean was sat on the floor in much the same position as he had previously been. “It’s safe to come out now.” He smiled as he held out his hand to help Dean up.

Taking the proffered hand, Dean let Sam pull him to his feet. “Thanks.”

“I’m going to the kitchen. You can go get changed we’re going riding.” Sam grinned as he shoved Dean in the direction of the stairs. “I won’t be long.”

Latching onto the doorframe Dean stopped Sam’s momentum. “We have research to do.” Nodding his head at the books and scrolls still scattered on the table.

Sam peered past Dean into the musty old cellar, the books and old papers would still be there when they got back. “No, we don’t.” Tugging on the lapel of Dean’s jacket he pulled him close. Whispered in Dean’s ear. “I have research of a different kind in mind. And I promise you will enjoy it.”

Raising his brow, Dean smiled at Sam. “Promise, huh? Give me a minute to lock these up.” Quickly gathering the books and scrolls, Dean locked them in the casket. Locking the door behind them, Dean let Sam drag him up the stairs.

In the hall Sam pushed Dean in the direction of the apartment with the instructions to change into something comfortable. At Dean’s frown Sam relented, “Go on then, get my jeans out as well.” Dean’s face lit up then he was bounding up the stairs two at a time.

Sam went to the kitchen and after a few words with Rose he ran up to join Dean and change.

By the time Sam entered the room, Dean was putting on his boots, his favorite jeans already on. Sam undressed as Dean searched his steamer. Finding Sam’s jeans he tossed them over. Changing his jacket Dean glanced over. “Are you sure about this?” He asked, indicating their attire. “You are the Earl of Somerset.”

“We only have a few days left, let’s not spend them worrying what others think. I want this time with you to be about us. No one else. So if we want to go out dressed in jeans and Stetsons, we damn well will.” Dressed all in black Dean looked stunning. “Hey you forgot something didn’t you?”

“What’s that Sammy?” Dean called out over his shoulder. Turning around Dean smiled. Holding his holster, he pulled out his colt. Opening the gate he spun the cylinder checking to make sure it was loaded. Satisfied, he buckled the holster around his waist, feeling like he was completely dressed for the first time in ages.

Sam knew he was staring but he couldn’t help it. Dean oozed sex and Sam wanted him. Wanted him badly enough to think about canceling his plans. No, he would wait it would be worth it. “I don’t suppose you brought mine…” He asked as he pulled on the shorter boots.

“Course I did.” A fast check of Sam’s colt and Dean was dropping holster and gun onto the bed. Doing a once over, he gave Sam an appreciative nod of his head. “I told you once, I would follow you anywhere.”

“You get the horses and I’ll get the rest. Meet you out front.” Stepping behind him, Sam slid his hands round Dean’s waist letting them rest against the silver buckle. He mouthed one earlobe, tongue flicking out tasting. “Don’t be long.”

A shiver of desire flooded his body as Sam held him close. The warm breath and tongue against his ear, Sam‘s promise. Not wasting any time Dean was out the door and down the stairs. He was well aware of everyone looking at him, staring with their mouths open, pointing and whispering. Dean grinned at the shocked look on George’s face as he took in his attire. He could imagine everyone’s reaction when Lord Richards walked through the doors. The grooms saddled the familiar bay and the grey, and with a sharp whistle, George’s hounds came running.

Picking up the Stetson, Sam followed aware of the curious glances and whispers his attire caused. “Morning Countess, George.” He called in greeting as he sped past heading for the kitchen.

Rose had done him proud. Two large leather satchels were filled and a large picnic rug was waiting for him.

“Go careful with this one, there’s a bottle and glasses.” Her rosy cheeks glowed, “enjoy yourselves.” Bending down she retrieved a brown paper wrapped package neatly tied with string. “Oh I nearly forgot, this is for Samson and Delilah.” Seeing the frown on his lordships face, “The hounds.”

“Ahh! Thank you Rose.” Slinging the bags over his shoulder and taking the rug and package, Sam waited outside for Dean.

Samson and Delilah? Sam laughed only George would name his dogs like that.

Sam was waiting in front of the stately manner by the time Dean rode up. Dividing the bounty between the two, Dean couldn’t resist, “Are you sure you brought enough?” At the shake of Sam’s head and a laugh, they were soon making their way down the long private road leaving the estate.

Cutting through the market square, past the old church and graveyard, they turned into North Street and then into Castle Lane. Before them stretched the beautiful meadows, huge willows lined the banks of the river. The hedges that divided the fields were full of wild blackberries, and the scent of late flowering wild roses filled the air

The two hounds bounded ahead through the long grass, ears flapping, tails held high. Crossing an open wooden bridge, if Sam remembered correctly, there was a delightful spot a couple of miles upstream where the river widened and became shallow enough to cross.

“George and I came here when we were boys; we brought a huge pack lunch and our fishing rods. We didn’t catch anything, probably because we were too noisy, but we did have a great time.” Sam hoped a little time spent away from books, over-eager friends, and research might lighten their mood. They were running out of time and the last thing he wanted was to spend their remaining time together at odds with one another.

Sam pointed out the various sites as they passed. His enthusiasm still amazed Dean, sometimes childlike in his wonder of the world around them. It was one of the things that drew Dean to him in the first place. The contrast between the two of them, where he saw light and darkness, good and evil, Sam still looked with both eyes open full of awe.

Dean wished he brought his pad so he could sketch some of the beautiful countryside. The meadows were still abloom with late flowering plants. Signs of the small wildlife that called the meadows home were everywhere. Small burrows covered the ground around them keeping them to old worn roads and pathways. The sounds of nature surrounded them. The trill of birds calling their mates. The fresh county air and the warm sunshine were refreshing after the cool dark cellar. Dean drank in everything around him.

Listening intently to Sam reminisce, he hung on to each word, played them through his mind. Imagined his childhood had been one filled with joy and laughter. Not all times with his dad were filled with the hunt. They too had fished and hunted, not for the pleasure of it like Sam, but some pleasant memories still lingered. He eagerly shared them now so they wouldn’t be lost.

Reaching the group of four willows Sam pointed out the collapsed river bank where they could cross to the other side. “See that?” He nodded his head at the knotted rope hanging from a branch. “George and I used to swing out over the river on that and yes we did fall off. Wonder if it’s strong enough to take our weight?” Once over the river, they dismounted and removed the tack. This side of the river was well fenced and the horses could graze in safety.

Spreading out the picnic rug, Sam tossed Dean the brown paper parcel; he couldn’t help grinning at the names written in neat script on the front.

Dean watched Sam spread the rug with his usual finesse. Catching the parcel he smiled. “Samson and Delilah, huh. What a pair.” Unwrapping the paper he called them by name for the first time. Wasting no time they surrounded Dean, waiting anxiously for the bones he held. With a short toss they were on them before they hit the ground.

Grabbing the other satchel, Dean handed it to Sam before sitting on the rug, just taking in everything around him. Fresh baked bread, several different cheeses, pickles, apples, and salad vegetables came from Dean’s bag.

Opening his, Sam held up a heavy thick glassed bottle. “Remember this?” He held out the champagne bottle for Dean to open.

Remember it. It was something Dean would never forget. Sometimes it seemed so long ago, that day by the lake. Dean pointed the bottle away from them before working the cork loose, letting it pop, watching it land a few feet away. This time he was ready for the fizz and the bubbles. “I know you don’t need Dutch courage now Sammy.” He handed the bottle back to Sam.

Fishing out two glasses he handed one to Dean, filling them both with the golden bubbling liquid, clinking the two glasses together. “To love and faith.” The look in Dean’s eyes said more than words ever could. Sam could only hope that all he felt was also clear for Dean to see. Downing the glass in one, he pulled fresh wild berries and cream from the bottom of the bag laying them carefully next to a couple of plates and the cutlery.

What else did they have? Dean knew how much Sam loved him, he showed it with everything he did. He knew what Sam was willing to do for him, what Sam was going to do. They weren’t here to dwell on that. It wasn’t much, but he could at least give him that gift today. “Come on Sam, a man could starve waiting for you.”

With two healthy appetites the meal was soon eaten, all that remained were the berries. Plucking one of the larger strawberries and dragging it through the thick cream he offered it to Dean. Gasping as his hand was held, soft lips closing over his forefinger and thumb warm wet tongue snaking over the sensitive fingertips. His stomach tightened.

Knowing Sam’s fascination with his mouth, Dean continued to tease. Releasing Sam’s hand, he ran his tongue over his upper lip, first from one side to the middle and then the other, before doing the same with his bottom lip. He watched Sam swallow, saw the tip of Sam’s tongue as he drew his bottom lip in with his teeth. Grabbing a berry he mimicked Sam’s earlier action, dragging it through the cream before dropping it into Sam’s mouth, making sure to leave some of the cream on Sam’s lips.

Swallowing the sweet berry and not taking his eyes off of Dean even for a moment, Sam leant forward. Using his thumb he removed the cream before pressing it into the slightly parted lips to be sucked clean. Warm velvet softness engulfed his thumb, a slick tongue swirling round the pad. Intense green eyes locked with his the entire time, added to the erotic sensations curling in Sam’s stomach and groin. Wrapping a hand round the back of Dean’s neck he pulled him closer, “I want you Dean,” came out more of a predatory growl. As he lay back, the warm pliant body moved with him. Tangling his fingers into the soft blond hair he brought their mouths together, Dean as eager as he was

Dean tasted the champagne as it mingled with the cream and the berries as Sam‘s tongue probed his mouth. Large hands held him firmly in place. Surfacing for air, it was only moments before Sam’s mouth was back, his teeth tugging at Dean’s lip, his right hand started a slow slide from Dean’s neck, down his back pulling him even closer. Rolling to their sides, deft fingers worked between their bodies seeking out buttons, ghosting over flesh as each one gave way. Sam’s mouth moved against Dean’s jaw line slowly making its way to his throat leaving a trail of little kisses and warm breath. He could feel his shirt being pulled from his jeans, Sam’s warm hand sliding between flesh and fabric, moving up and down his body from shoulder to waist leaving a trail of goose-bumps everywhere it touched.

Rolling over, Sam straddled Dean’s hips. Pausing for a few moments he stared in wonder as the sight beneath him. Dean was perfect. He would never tire of looking at him, touching, tasting. Leaning down he captured an earlobe drawing it into his mouth nipping, “do you have any idea what you do to me?” Scooting back settling on hard thighs, Sam slowly licked and kissed Dean’s neck, tongue catching on the faint stubble over his Adams apple. Tongue lapping at the hollow between collar bones, down further over broad chest muscles. Blowing softly on dusky nipples watching them tighten, pebble, under his watchful gaze. Dean’s groan as his tongue flicked out touching, teasing, sucking first one then the other. Dean writhing under him, fingers digging into his back.

Sam knew all the right places, all the right touches, and still every time he touched Dean, it was like something new. Sam’s tongue left a trail of white heat as it slid over his skin. Pure pleasure burning into his flesh. He couldn’t get enough. Just anticipating what was to come was enough to consume him. Dean couldn’t help himself, moving his body trying to get closer. He couldn’t stop the noises that told Sam of his need and desire.

Nudging Dean’s legs apart Sam lay between them, slowly undoing the holster followed by the ornate silver belt buckle, now all that remained were the buttons on the front of the black jeans. Popping the first one Sam kissed the extra skin it revealed. Tongue following the fine trail of blond hair downwards as each successive button was popped. Jesus! Dean was naked underneath, his cock springing free from the confines of the too tight denim. Dean was propped up on his elbows watching, smoldering green met hazel, “I see you came prepared?” He chuckled, “Can you lift up for me?” Sam tugged the denim down, at the last moment realizing that he needed to remove the ornate boots.

Undoing a couple of his top buttons Sam reached a hand to the neck and pulled his shirt over his head, Dean watching his every move. Taking off the boots, Sam stood up and unbuckled the holster, dropping it to join the pile of discarded clothes. Legs slightly parted, the belt was the next casualty pulled slowly from the loops. It too joined the mound. Searing gazes locked as each button was popped. Sam smiled as it was revealed that he too was prepared. Kicking the heavy weight denim free he stood waiting, watching. Looking down at Dean through the long hair falling across his face he asked. “See anything you like?”

Dean took in the sight of Sam standing tall and naked over him. Gone was the shy, unsure young man of months past, Sam was a strong and confident lover. Once he tasted Sam, Dean knew he would always hunger for more, he would never get his fill. With a growl, he reached up grabbing Sam’s hand pulling him down next to him. Shifting slightly his mouth covered Sam’s, forcing his tongue into the warm cavern. He savored the taste. He was addicted to that mouth, each kiss left him craving more, and oh, god what it could do to his body. Kissing deeper he swallowed the moans as they tried to leave Sam’s throat.

Coming up for air, Dean rolled over reveling in the feel of the hard body beneath him. The smooth skin of Sam’s jaw was a contrast from his own rough stubble. Dean continued to kiss and lick Sam’s exposed throat, marking him as he bit and sucked the smooth flesh. He could feel Sam’s shiver as it moved through his body. Their bodies flush Dean could feel the double beats of their hearts against his chest, hard muscle flexed beneath him and he didn’t know who was trying to get closer.

Scooting back Dean straddled Sam, he couldn’t take his eyes off Sam’s flushed face. In hazel eyes he saw lust and desire and love. Dean’s fingers brushed over the firm hot flesh of his lovers body. Trying to commit every inch of skin to memory.

Leaning down, he started to lick a path down Sam’s body. He could taste the salt as his tongue licked the sweat that ran down his skin. He could feel Sam squirm, hear him whimper. Holding Sam‘s narrow hips firmly in place, he waited for Sam to look at him. “Tell me what you want Sam.”

“Want to forget, help me, Dean."

Sam’s voice was broken, so raw with pain and emotion. “I’ll help you, Sammy.” Gently
Dean tried to reassure him. “Now tell me what you want.”

“You Dean. I want you.”

Pulling himself back up covering Sam, Dean kissed away the tears that clung to Sam’s lashes, his tongue lapped up the salty trail of tears following their path to Sam’s ear. I’ll take care of you.” Dean’s whisper promised before he found Sam’s lips.

Inching down slightly Dean wanted to drag out every second they were together. From the hollow of Sam’s throat, he continued his journey. His teeth found a taut nipple, taking its twin between his fingers he waited to hear the familiar gasp, then moan knowing he found the right point between pleasure and pain.

Sam held on to Dean’s shoulders; it never ceased to amaze him the feelings Dean could awaken in him. A look, a touch, a kiss could drive him mad with desire, want and need. And to have Dean buried within him, holding him, telling him he loved him was all his dreams come true.

With Sam’s hands on his shoulders he let him guide him. Licking his way down the hard flat stomach he stopped, dipping his tongue into the younger man’s naval. He felt Sam’s erection bumping under his chin. He could smell the intoxicating scent of sweat mixed with the familiar musk.

Scooting down further Dean ran his fingertips down Sam’s thighs. Sam was bucking up under him, heard him call his name. Looking up hazel eyes watched him, he blew across the head of Sam‘s cock, seeing goose-bumps rise off his young flesh.

He continued to drag his fingers over Sam’s thighs feeling the flex of the hard muscles at his touch. Capturing the hard shaft with his hand, Dean started a slow, steady pace stroking up and down. He heard Sam moaning and pleading, his hips thrusting up, trying to catch the rhythm of Dean’s hand.

Bringing his mouth down he licked the pulsing flesh from root to tip, his tongue circling the crown. Licking and sucking Sam’s huge cock, Dean brought Sam nearer the edge over and over again, before pulling back not allowing Sam’s release.

Blanket held in his white knuckled grip Sam arched into Dean’s mouth as he begged for release. “Please, please Dean.”

Reaching across Sam’s body, Dean hooked his jacket dragging it closer. Digging through the pocket he found the bottle of oil he placed in it before they left the manor. With shaking hands he uncorked the bottle. Pouring a liberal amount in his hand he felt it drip between his fingers. Stroking his cock he coated it with the oil. Pulling his hand away he moved it down to Sam’s entrance. Slowly he worked in a slick finger, heard Sam gasp at the intrusion. Dean waited for Sam to adjust before adding another, stretching him as he went.

Using his knees, Dean spread Sam’s thighs wider. Pressing his throbbing cock into the tight entrance he waited as Sam caught his breath. With a nod Dean pushed further into Sam’s body until he was sheathed inside. Dean bit his lip to keep from coming. He leaned down till he was covering the hard firm muscular body of his lover. He felt powerful thigh muscles as Sam’s legs wrapped around him, pulling him in deeper. He started moving, slow deep thrusts before finding a steady rhythm.

Sam’s large hands were holding onto him desperately, bruising, like he would never let go. And Dean didn’t want him to. “God Sammy, I love you so much.” He heard himself say. Dean felt the body beneath him still for a moment before Sam was arching into him again, matching each thrust.

Dean felt hard knuckles against his stomach as Sam’s hand slipped between their bodies.
The feel of Sam’s hand stroking himself, need and desire had Dean twisting his hips, driving him deeper. He felt Sam tense, then the warm rush of his release between them. With one last thrust Dean lost all control, shuddering as his orgasm moved through him.
Shaking and spent Dean collapsed on Sam. Strong arms wrapped around him pulling him closer as their breathing gradually slowed. Slipping out of Sam, Dean rolled to his side taking his lover with him, holding on for all he was worth.

Sam snuggled into Dean’s embrace, his body and mind relaxed, sated, doubting either of them had the energy or will to move. Sounds gradually returned as his breathing slowed. The tearing of grass as the horses grazed, the rasp and scrape of canine teeth on beef bones, bird song and buzz of insects. Dean’s arm tightened about him, a kiss against his brow. Lifting his head Sam looked up noticing a frown marring the perfect features. “Dean?”

The warm afternoon sun beat down upon them. At the mention of his name, Dean brought his elbow up, propping his head on his hand. “Sammy, when this is all done you know what you have to do.” Dean waited for Sam to meet his eyes. “Promise me you’ll burn my body.” The thought of that much evil having taken it over terrified Dean.

“Don’t. Please Dean.”

“You have to do it. There’s no one else. Promise me you’ll do it. You’re the only one I trust.” Dean pleaded. “I have to know there’s nothing of him left.”

“Dean there won’t be time… time to… I have written a letter for George, he’ll know what to do. He’ll take care of things for us.”

“It can’t wait for George. You have to do it as soon as I’m gone. I’m begging you, please.” Blinking back tears, Dean caressed Sam’s cheek. “I’ve never asked you for anything before.”

“Oh God.” Full of pain and anguish Sam sat up, arms wrapped about his head, knees drawn up he rocked back and forth. “No! I can’t. Please… please don’t ask me to do that.”

Sitting up Dean took pity on Sam. He wrapped his arms around him, stilling him. “It’s okay. We’ll talk about it later.” He kissed Sam’s forehead willing to let it go for now.

Sam sat watching the dragonflies and other small insects by the water’s edge. A sudden dart of blue catching his eye, tapping Dean’s arm to gain his attention then putting a finger to his lips to signal silence he slowly pointed a little upstream. There sat on a slender branch overhanging the waters edge a bright blue and orange kingfisher, beak full of wriggling minnow. “Bet you wish you had your paints and paper,” he whispered close to Dean’s ear.

A low growl and scrabble of canine feet saw Samson and Delilah jump off the bank into the river. Standing to see what caught their attention Sam pointed out a water vole swimming along the opposite bank before ducking into the entrance to his home in the river bank. Two very disappointed hounds were sniffing at the entrance with not a hope in hell of catching anything.

“Come on, let’s get cleaned up.” Sam called over his shoulder as he picked his way gingerly on bare feet over tree roots to the rope hanging from the overhanging willow. Giving it an experimental tug he stepped back a few paces before launching himself out over the water and letting go. The huge spray of cold water hitting Dean as Sam went under.

Dean gasped at the unexpected splash of cold water. Grabbing the rope he waited till Sam surfaced. Choosing his spot he swung out over the edge dropping with a few feet of him. Coming up for air, he saw the huge smile on Sam’s face. Laughing like a couple of kids, they swam and splashed around.

All too soon the sun was slipping towards the horizon and it was time to pack up and head home. Drying themselves on the rug they dressed hastily. The early evening brought a nip to the air. Catching the horses and tacking up, they were soon crossing the river once more, two tired dogs close on their heels. Entering the estate a groom came out to greet them. Dismounting they handed over the reins, Dean whistling for the dogs to follow, they went straight to their apartment in search of a hot bath and something to eat.

Tags: angst, historical romance, horror, nc-17, slash

A/N THIS IS THE THIRD AND FINAL PART IN THE DARK RIDERS TRILOGY..THE STORY IS COMPLETE AND WILL BE POSTED WEEKLY.
SUMMARY- FOLLOW DEAN AND SAM ON THEIR JOURNEY TO ENGLAND WHERE THEY MEET THE LAST SEER AND REALIZE THE TERRIBLE PRICE THEY MUST PAY TO BEAT THE DEMON BALIAZAR AND SAVE HUMANITY.
Dark riders-http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/845.html
Dark Riders 2 Storm Warning -http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
MANY THANKS TO LOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART, OUR BANNER
AND TO feather_touch FOR BEING OUR FABULOUS BETA THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK.


HONORE ET AMORE
CHAPTER 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/09/20/
CHAPTER 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/5930.html
CHAPTER 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/13/
CHAPTER 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/27/
CHAPTER 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/6974.html

WARNING- CHAPTER 6: Some readers may find the contents of this chapter disturbing. Emotions run very high and we ask you to keep an open mind. It is not our intent to put our beloved characters in a bad light. Even so we will post a DUB/CON WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. Very much top sam in this chapter!

PS Our poor beta has not checked this chapter so all mistakes are ours alone
CHAPTER 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/02/
CHAPTER 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/7555.html
CHAPTER 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/17/
CHAPTER 9 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/8151.html
CHAPTER 10
Honore Et Amore Chapter 10

The sound of scratching woke Dean. Glancing over he could see Sam’s body sprawled across the bed. He knew he should get up and chase the hounds away. They had taken to following him every chance they got. Stretching out he thought back to yesterday.

With a little of George’s help, they managed to keep Sam busy and distracted. Several of George’s guests for the summer ball had arrived. Old family friends and acquaintances of the Richards family were happy to see and catch up with the young lord. Dean watched how easily Sam slipped back into being Lord Richards, the Earl of Somerset.

Excusing himself after all the introductions, Dean returned to the cellar and back to the research. After finding the ledger, everything started falling into place. The ledger directed him back to the Key of Solomon. From there finding the summoning was easy. Now he would just point Sam in that direction. There would only be a few days to prepare. Maybe it was better that way.

George requested Dean join them for dinner. Although he wanted nothing more than to decline, Dean owed it to George for all he had done for them. He was somewhat grateful to find himself at the opposite end of the table from Sam. Curious stares and a steady barrage of questions kept him occupied, but he was constantly aware of hazel eyes glancing his way.

Dean was dreading tonight, the summer ball. The social event of the season. Teasing, Sam offered to give Dean dance lessons, only to be surprised when Dean told him he knew how to dance. Marie taught him when he was younger. They were in New Orleans his dad recovering after a hunt gone bad. It was one of the few times his life seemed normal.

As he started to get up, Sam’s long arm reached out, pulling him close, nuzzling into his neck. Shutting his eyes he nestled into Sam, soaking in his lovers warmth. The loud barking of the dogs brought Dean out of his bliss. With a frustrated groan, he rolled away from Sam. “Damn, dogs. Better get them before everyone in the house is up to see what’s going on.” Dean looked back at Sam stretched out invitingly on the bed. “Come on, Sam. Time to get up. We have a few hours. If we go now we can get some research done.”

Once in the basement, Dean tossed Sam Sean’s journal, watched the slight hesitation as Sam opened it and scanned the pages looking for something Dean might have missed, doing the same with the letters. Setting out scrolls for Sam to translate and more texts, soon they were both immersed in their elusive search. An ever growing collection of notes and entries testament to their many hours of work. Dean checked his watched, knowing their presence would be missed, he informed a reluctant Sam it was time to go. Dean watched the dejected set of Sam’s shoulders as he followed him up the stairs.

******
A bath and shave and it was time to get dressed for the ball. Everything was laid out waiting. Dean would have preferred fighting monsters instead of facing all these people. He didn’t care what they thought about him, but he didn’t want to embarrass Sam, and as Sam‘s guest what he did would reflect back on him. This was Sam’s life before, and could be again. It was time for Dean Winchester cowboy, hunter, bounty hunter, to become Dean Winchester, gentleman.

With great care he started to dress. Standing in front of the mirror he admitted Henry had been meticulous with the details. The black trousers were a perfect fit. He hadn’t been in suspenders since he was a child. Braces, they called them braces, he reminded himself. The white cotton shirt contrasted nicely with his bronzed skin. He quickly donned the black socks and low shoes. He missed his boots, but it was only for a night. Slipping into the waistcoat he grabbed his jacket and went to wait on Sam. No matter how hard he tried, he would have to ask for help with the bow tie.

Entering Sam’s room Dean was surprised. Sam’s clothes were still laid out waiting, Sam nowhere in sight. Making his way to the bath, he caught Sam deep in thought. He saw the sadness reflected back in Sam’s eyes from the mirror. Dean knew what weighed so heavily on the young lord’s face. It was the same thing that occupied his mind during his waking hours. Destiny. Shamus said the Guardian would be tied to the Seer for his lifetime. Did he know what that lifetime was? A cruel twist of fate, or in his case a twist of the knife.

Clearing his throat, he waited for Sam to acknowledge him. “ Need to get dressed Sam. We have to be downstairs soon.”

This was supposed to be the highlight of the social calendar. The Wilton House Ball. Everyone who was anyone would be there. Earls, Barons, Dukes, Lords and their Ladies. Rubbing his hand over the steamy mirrors surface, Sam scraped away the last of his beard, fingertips checking for any stray whiskers. Finding none he washed off the shaving crème and dried his face.

Staring at his reflection, Sam realized he’d changed so much since he was here a year ago. For one his parents were still alive, his mom excited about meeting old friends and catching up on the latest gossip. Usually consisting of which lucky young woman managed to capture the eye of an eligible bachelor. Sam always tried to stay well out of the way showing enough interest to satisfy his parents and George before slipping away into the beautiful peaceful gardens.

Dancing and social chitchat he could tolerate in small doses, but after a couple of hours of being perused even Sam’s patience had worn thin. From old and widowed, to young and simpering, Sam did his duty and behaved like the gentleman he was brought up to be

Sam was aware for some time that something was missing in his life. Pondering what it might be.

Well, he certainly found it in spades, Dean, the Brotherhood, and a Demon named Baliazar. Would he swap this year for last? Truthfully some of it he would. But not Dean. Never Dean. In such a short time Dean became Sam’s whole universe, his sun, moon and stars and he knew Dean felt the same about him. There was nothing they would not do for each other… and that was at the basis for all of Sam’s anxiety. So far nothing he looked at seemed to offer even the slightest hope of a way out for them. Time was rapidly running out and if he could not find it in time he would be forced…

How was he to do what Dean and the Brotherhood demanded when he was having the greatest difficulty even saying it? Let alone thinking about, and worse still planning the best way to do it. Knowing Dean that little discussion along with one other would soon be on the table. One of them was definitely not up for negotiation. He also knew that was the one thing that would break Dean’s heart.

Turning, Sam stared in wonder; Dean looked every inch a gentleman. Henry had done himself proud. The tux fitted perfectly, knowing Dean concealed a small arsenal of weapons. Walking around him, Sam inspected the rear view, just as good as the front. “You look very handsome Dean.”

Dean waited for Sam to finish his inspection. Smiling he couldn’t help himself. “You’re not so bad yourself. But I prefer you to keep this look,” reaching for the towel that covered Sam, “just for me. Get dressed.”

Neatly sidestepping the grasping hands, he slipped out of the bathroom and into his bedroom. Dean remained standing, watching as he dressed. Shrugging into the jacket he finally turned to look at Dean. “What do you think?” He asked raking one hand through his hair

Seeing Sam, Dean held his breath. Sam was right, the clothes did make the man. He never looked more handsome. With an appreciative nod of his head, “You look pretty good yourself.” Shrugging his shoulders, Dean held out his bow tie. “Can you give me a hand with this?” He asked, moving closer to Sam.

Taking the proffered black tie, Sam stepped closer draping the black cotton pique round the stiff collar before neatly tying it, gently tugging on the ends he made sure it sat correctly. “All done, can you do mine?” Sam indicated the loose ends hanging either side of the collar. Dean looked up, their eyes making contact. Oh God. It would be so easy to fall into those eyes and never climb back out.

For all the times he’d been this close to Sam, Dean was suddenly nervous. He was all thumbs. Sam waited patiently as he fumbled with the loose ends. Finally on the third attempt, he got it right. A last glance in the mirror, Dean knew it was time to join the ball. He’d been dreading this since George and Sam mentioned it. “Are you sure they’re expecting us? Can’t we just stay here?”

Cupping his hand round the back of Dean’s neck, Sam closed his eyes letting his forehead rest against Dean’s. “There’s nothing I would like more than to stay here, you know that.” He knew Dean was nervous. Funny, he could face a vampire, but quelled at the idea of a few hours in the company of his fellow man. “You’ll be fine Dean; I promise if I spot some wicked young thing trying to have her way with you I will rescue you.”

With a quick kiss to Sam’s lips, Dean stepped back. “My knight.” He teased. “I’m not quite the catch as your lordship. I’m afraid you’ll be fighting off your own flock of followers. I’ll probably be the one rescuing you.” Walking to the door, Dean pulled it open. “Shall we go Lord Richards?”

Walking down the wide staircase, Sam was more than aware of the looks they were both receiving. He whispered, “if it gets too much, sneak into the garden that’s what I do.” Standing by the entrance to the ball room Sam handed their card to the announcer. Leaning in close, “its only for a few hours, I’ll try to keep an eye on you.”

The announcer read the invitation and in a clear loud voice “The Earl of Somerset and guest, Mr. Winchester.”

*******

Stepping into the Ballroom Sam nudged Dean’s shoulder then pointed out the refreshments. Both making a beeline for the white linen covered table. A huge silver punch bowl, engraved with a hunting scene, took pride of place.

As they entered the room Dean wasn’t surprised by the number of eyes on him and Sam. Curious stares to see Lord Richards’ business partner. Outright leers from others. He’d often been told he was handsome. But there was only one set of eyes that mattered to him.

Sam could tell from the set of Dean’s shoulders how tense he was. His eyes swept the huge room looking for exits and assessing the level of threat that the situation posed. Dean the hunter in a tux was something Sam would never forget and so it would seem neither would a lot of the guests. Dean was certainly attracting a lot of attention and not all of it female.

From the linen covered table, Dean was able to survey the entire room. It was obvious no expense was spared for lavish occasion. At the end of the room a small orchestra played. Late summer flowers filled every corner of the room.

Women in all their finery. Ruffled gowns in silk and taffeta, white and pale pastels for available young women in search of husbands. Richer colors for those spoken for, even a few in widow’s weeds. Men dressed in tuxedo’s, or military uniform with braids and sashes, chests full of medals.

From the corner of his eye Dean saw George approaching, with a number of women in tow, an almost apologetic look on his face. He couldn’t help but notice the resemblance of the women.

“Samuel,” George began, “I’m sure you remember my cousin, Lady March. And her daughters.” Starting from the oldest to the youngest. “Alice, Emma, Beth, Jane, and Lucy.”

“Lady March, this is Samuel’s business associate, Mr. Dean Winchester, from America.”

Lady Elizabeth March and her five daughters top of his list. Out of politeness he put up with them each time they met at a social engagement, but not tonight. Tonight he had neither the patience nor the will to play nice. Like Dean he was here on sufferance and he fully intended to get away as soon as humanly possible, taking Dean with him.

Following Sam’s lead, Dean made at slight bow at each of the introductions, aware of Lady March’s scrutiny. Soon their names were inscribed on each of the young ladies dance cards, along with that of their mother Lady March.

As the music started again, Dean found himself escorting Miss Alice March to the dance floor as Sam took his place with Emma. With each turn on the floor, Dean’s eyes sought out Sam. Glad to see he wasn’t the only one miserable by their circumstances. Once the music ended the young women were escorted back to their mother. Switching off, Dean noticed the differences of the sisters as they waltzed around the room.

Alice was talkative, chattering away. Emma distracted, her attention wandering to another young man. Beth, flirtatious, enjoying the attention her loud laughter brought from around the room. Jane was shy, barely speaking a few words. And Lucy had a rebellious streak about her that Dean found refreshing. Lady March was full of questions, obviously searching to find out if Dean would be a suitable husband for any of her daughters. Dean felt bad for the women, put on display to find a husband. Viewed as little more than property.

Never ending introductions, one after another, Dean was constantly trying to remember them all. His name added to more dance cards. Sam was faring about the same. They would meet back at the table after every couple of dances. Just enough time to exchange a few words before they were again separated from one another.

Some of the gentlemen took a keen interest in Dean as well. Asking about the business venture that brought Dean and Sam together. Dean telling them Sam was interested in purchasing land he was reluctant to let go of, and a partnership was formed. Years of practice let him easily slip into the role he played. With his quick wit, soon the conversation changed.


Dean was practically dragged to the dance floor by a lovely Countess. She was almost as tall as him, her dark hair fell in loose curls almost to her waist. Flawless olive skin. The sapphire color of her gown brought out the blue of her eyes. Her ample breasts threatened to spill out of her gown. Dean noticed the wagging of tongues as the ladies kept glancing their way, whispering behind their fans. As the dance progressed she pressed her body closer. He saw the open invitation in her eyes. A lifetime ago he would have accepted it.

But now Dean knew it wasn’t soft round curves he wanted in his bed. It was the feel of a hard muscled body pressed against him. Large hands that would hold him firmly in place or pull him in deeper. It was a hard jaw line, Sam’s mouth leaving him babbling like an idiot, begging for more, marking him, claiming him. It was looking up into hazel eyes that told him everything he wanted to know.

Looking around Dean didn’t see Sam anywhere. It wasn’t like Sam just blended in. Impatiently he waited for the music to end, quickly escorting the Countess back to her seat. Excusing himself he remembered Sam telling him he would often sneak into the garden. With that in mind, he went in search of Sam.

******

Stepping outside Dean took a deep breath filling his lungs with fresh air. He reeked from the mixed scent of the perfumes that clung to him. The almost full moon illuminated the statues and fountains. Scanning the vast grounds he didn’t see Sam. He could be anywhere, the garden was huge. Feeling the familiar thump of a tail, he looked down, George’s hounds, his almost ever present companions waited patiently. “Let’s go find Sam.” Following behind, Dean was lead to the gazebo where he could make out Sam sitting in the shadows, his head buried in his hands. Approaching quietly, he entered, “Sammy?”

A cold wet nose thrust into his face made Sam jump; it was one of the dogs. Dean would not be far behind. When he slipped out of the patio doors he spotted the two hounds patiently waiting. Both dogs attention focused on the interior of the ballroom, large soulful eyes no doubt searching for Dean. Since their arrival the two fox hounds seemed to have formed a deep attachment to Dean. They followed him everywhere, much to George’s and Sam’s amusement. Even when barred from the room Dean was in, they would lie down outside and patiently wait for him to come out. Sam unconsciously stroked the broad head and the velvet soft ears while he waited. The scrunch of shoes on the gravel path betraying Dean’s approach.

“Sammy?”

Dean waited for Sam to look up, but he continued petting the dogs refusing to face him. Sitting next to Sam, Dean put his hand on Sam’s arm. Sam was always the one to make contact first. Somehow Dean knew that Sam needed him to be the one to reach out, to touch him.

Sam continued stroking the large bony head and warm soft ears, he felt like he was slowly drowning. Nothing made any difference. All the research was a waste of time, he’d read most of the books. They were nearly out of time. There was no escape. Not for Dean, and consequently not for him.

Knowing what weighed so heavily on Sam’s mind, Dean lifted his chin, making him look at him. Gently he brushed away the tears that still clung to Sam’s lashes. Sam’s eyes couldn’t hide anything, he was breaking and there was nothing Dean could do to stop it. Pulling Sam into his arms, he tried to give Sam his strength. Tried to hide how much he was breaking, too. Knowing the dogs would alert them to anyone coming, Dean kissed Sam, the taste of whisky still on Sam’s tongue. Pulling back he looked into the anguished hazel eyes. “Talk to me, Sam.”

“It’s nothing. I just needed a little air.” He fiddled with the hem of his tuxedo.

“Me, too. It was getting stuffy in there. All those people. They were asking about you. Said you weren’t yourself.” Stopping Sam’s hands, Dean repeated himself. “Talk to me.”

“We should be researching not… I need to research, time is running out. I have wasted enough time. George wanting help with guests and tonight the ball. Do you have the knife on you? No one will notice if we slip into the cellar for a while. There must be something I haven’t seen or translated properly, some clue I missed that will help.”

“You’re wrong Sam. People will notice. These are your friends, they care about you. All those books, they’ll still be there tomorrow.” Thankful for the darkness, Dean continued. “I promise, we’ll find something.”

Searching Dean’s face he saw only love and the need to protect. Sam desperately wanted to believe. Oh God, he wanted, needed it so badly it was almost a physical craving. But wanting and needing would not make it come true, no matter how hard he wished it. With a weary sigh, Sam stood up. “Dean, don’t promise what you can’t deliver. It’s worse than lying. Do you want to go back in or call it a night?”

Dean stood taking Sam‘s face in his hands, looking him in the eyes. “Remember what James said. You have to have faith and trust. That’s why all the others failed. I’ve seen your faith Sam. I trust you to do the right thing. You can’t give up. A few months ago you didn’t believe monsters existed, you didn‘t believe in fairy tales. Now you know. You’ve seen with your own eyes. What would you say if I told you I wished for you? It’s true. One night I made a wish. Wishes are magic. It doesn’t take much to make a wish come true. Do you know the best time to make a wish? It’s a full moon, a crescent moon, or the equinox. All you have to do is close your eyes and repeat three times. Sammy I know it sounds crazy, but I swear to you.”

“Yeah, well faith only gets you so far Dean. The rest is usually down to hard work. I can’t research dressed like this. I’ll go get changed then I’m going to the cellar. I need you to unlock the casket for me.” Sam stopped a couple of paces away from Dean, “and as for wishes, I stopped believing in those about a year ago”

“No Sam, you’re not going to the cellar. We’re going back inside. You were the one that wrote George asking to stay, you came here knowing about the ball. You‘re going to walk in there and act like Lord Richards. There’s nothing I would like more than to give you back your life with your parents. It was a poor bargain, me for them. Sam, I love you so much it hurts. You can spend the next few days mad at me if that’s what you want to do, its your choice. I hope you make the right one.”

What ever comeback Sam thought Dean would deliver, it was not that. He immediately felt deep shame for his earlier behavior. Dean was right about several things; his friends did not deserve to be on the receiving end of his bad mood, and he was letting the family name down. But God help him he was so very wrong about one thing. The bargain.

Dean’s face normally so readable was now a closed book. His eyes normally so expressive. Sam was the first to look away. “You’re wrong.” He continued but it was little more than a whisper, “I was given the bargain of a lifetime. You.” Thoroughly ashamed of himself he strode back towards the ballroom.

Quickening his pace, it took a few moments for Dean to catch up to Sam. He felt guilty as hell for being mean. It was for the best. The next few days would be hard for both of them. Dean hated the sadness in Sam’s eyes. As they approached the doors, Dean stopped him. “Sam, promise me something.” Dean took a deep breath as Sam turned to face him. “Promise me you’ll stay away from the Countess, I don’t want to see her hands all over you.”

Sam appreciated Dean’s efforts to lighten the mood. “Sorry Dean, too late, the countess was the last dance partner before I left.” He smiled hoping Dean would swallow his change in attitude. Pulling out the pocket watch he pressed the catch opening the gold case, it was ten o’clock. Hopefully the festivities would die down about twelve. He could do it. Put on a show for two hours. Pretend everything was wonderful, that he was enjoying himself, make conversation. Be Lord Richards. He would become Dean for a while, hide his true feelings, his frustration, his hurt and his anger and deal with it later.

Dean knew Sam was making the effort because it was the proper thing to do. It was what was required of Lord Richards. Putting on a smile Dean decided if Sam could do it, so could he. He would never be happier to see this evening end. Even though Sam laughed, Dean meant what he said about the Countess. It wasn’t just her, it was all of them. He realized how much he hated sharing him. Dean had never been jealous before with any of his lovers. Sam was different, he was more than just his lover. He was everything.

The human body had an amazing capacity to deceive not only itself but others. Sam danced, ate, drank, made polite and informed conversation and even laughed when there was need. Through it all he felt detached as if something or someone else was in control of his body. Time passed but he was unaware until Dean caught his arm and whispered in his ear.

Keeping an eye on his watch Dean waited before approaching Sam. The last dance for the evening would be announced soon. If they started saying their farewells now, Sam could politely give his regrets to anyone wishing to dance. Catching Sam’s arm he breathed into Sam’s ear, knowing the effect it always had. Maneuvering him to George’s side, Dean smiled as several of the guests started towards their host. With his most charming smile he recounted his pleasure at meeting everyone.

Once the farewells were said, Sam followed Dean into the hall and up the wide staircase. He could feel the tension falling away. His footsteps got slower and he used one hand to pull himself up the last few steps. The walk to their apartment took ages and all he wanted was to fall on his bed. Sam wondered if Dean felt the same way.

By the time Dean made it up the stairs he’d already removed his tie, his jacket, and his waistcoat. He even managed to untuck and unbutton his shirt. He was never happier for a day to be over, even knowing what it meant for him and Sam. Now he wanted nothing more than to lock the door against everyone else. Just him and Sam in the world they shared. Unlocking the door, Dean let Sam enter first, waiting for some sign Sam wanted him to stay.

As Sam stepped past him, Dean felt the slightest brush of fingertips against his hand. An invitation to stay. That was more than he could ask for. Dean removed his shoes as he watched Sam drop onto the bed before laying back. Moving to the bed, he crouched down. “Here let me help.” He offered, lifting first one foot and then the other he removed Sam’s shoes and socks.

Squatting on the floor removing Sam’s shoes and socks was the persona of Dean Winchester, Bounty Hunter and Killer of all things evil, the man others never saw. This side of himself Sam knew was reserved only for him.

Sam waited for Dean to look up, leaning forward he cupped the back of his head drawing him into a lazy kiss. Not a promise of sex, rather one of love, trust and understanding.

Shrugging out of his jacket, Sam dropped it to the floor along with the tie, trousers, shirt and underclothes. Climbing naked between the sheets he held the covers open for Dean to join him. Strong arms pulled him onto his side tucking him against the warm muscled body.

Sam draped his arm across the slim waist linking their two hands, as usual Dean’s other hand was against his head, fingers idly playing with his hair. They were both secure enough in their relationship now, there was no need for words. Sam pressed his lips to the smooth skin, felt Dean’s kiss on the top of his head and both relaxed drifting towards sleep.

He should be exhausted after the last couple of days. Glancing over he almost envied Sam lost in dreamland. Almost, but he never tired of watching him in the depths of slumber. Since being together he spent hours doing so. Unable to sleep, Dean slipped away from the warmth of Sam’s body.

Putting on his trousers he made his way to his room, opening his trunk he found what he was searching for. Returning to Sam’s room, Dean pulled the chair next to the bed. The near full moon illuminated the room with a soft glow, giving him all the light he needed. Taking out his pad, he started to draw.

Sam’s dark hair half covering a tempting lobe, contrasted against the white pillow. Dean sketched the shape of Sam’s face, his strong jaw line partially cast in shadow from the glow of moonlight. The long neck Dean loved to nuzzle, exposed and inviting. Strong shoulders gave way to well defined arms, his left arm outstretched awaiting the return of his absent lover. He admired the bare chest, hard firm muscles, and flat stomach, before he captured them on paper. Sam’s right hand grasped the sheet covering him from the waist down.

Dean knew what pleasures awaited there. Stifling a yawn he set his pencil down. Feeling drowsiness overcome him at last, he put the chair back in the corner. Undressing he climbed back into bed. Wrapping himself around Sam’s lean body, he let the sound of Sam‘s soft snore lull him to sleep.

Tags: angst, historical romance, horror, nc17, slash

 

A/N THIS IS THE THIRD AND FINAL PART IN THE DARK RIDERS TRILOGY..THE STORY IS COMPLETE AND WILL BE POSTED WEEKLY.
SUMMARY- FOLLOW DEAN AND SAM ON THEIR JOURNEY TO ENGLAND WHERE THEY MEET THE LAST SEER AND REALIZE THE TERRIBLE PRICE THEY MUST PAY TO BEAT THE DEMON BALIAZAR AND SAVE HUMANITY.
Dark riders-http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/845.html
Dark Riders 2 Storm Warning -http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
MANY THANKS TO LOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART, OUR BANNER
AND TO feather_touch FOR BEING OUR FABULOUS BETA THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK.


HONORE ET AMORE
CHAPTER 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/09/20/
CHAPTER 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/5930.html
CHAPTER 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/13/
CHAPTER 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/27/
CHAPTER 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/6974.html

WARNING- CHAPTER 6: Some readers may find the contents of this chapter disturbing. Emotions run very high and we ask you to keep an open mind. It is not our intent to put our beloved characters in a bad light. Even so we will post a DUB/CON WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. Very much top sam in this chapter!

PS Our poor beta has not checked this chapter so all mistakes are ours alone
CHAPTER 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/02/
CHAPTER 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/7555.html
CHAPTER 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/17/
CHAPTER 9 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/8151.html 

Opening his eyes Sam found that he was once again at the stones. For some reason they seemed much larger at night, scarier, his young mind imagining monsters lurking behind the massive stones. Lightening split the sky overhead and Sam dropped to the ground in fear, bony knees drawn up to his chin, skinny arms wrapped around his head. Ever since he could remember, storms frightened him. He would run seeking safety in his mother’s arms. She understood, did not tease him about his childish fears. His dad would say, “you’re a big boy now Sam. There is nothing to be afraid of.” Then he would ruffle Sam’s hair and change the subject. But Sam was not convinced.

 

  A deep growling rumble of thunder shook the ground, accompanied by forked lightning.   Sam whimpered, he wanted mom, failing that he wanted Shamus or his Dad.  Tears filled his eyes spilling down his cheeks.

 

Laughter sounded in front of him, he risked looking up, one small hand scrubbing the tears away.  A man leant against one of the tall stones; he was dressed from head to toe in black. 

 

“Hello Samuel”

 

  Sam gasped “H….H…How do...How do you kno…know my name?” Standing up he took several faltering steps back, the man felt funny.

 

 “Oh Sammy, I know all about you. Everything you have done and everything you will do.

“Did you enjoy your trip here today?” Watching the small boy squirm, enjoying his fear he continued.  “Did you see anything interesting?” Watching with amusement as the color left the horrified child’s face, the tremors that shook the small frame. He mocked, “You’re not a very brave little boy are you, Samuel? I can’t imagine young Dean wetting his trousers, but then you’re not Dean are you?” He tugged the collar of his coat up and tipped his hat further back on his head revealing his face and hair.

 

The first thing Sam noticed was the shocking red hair, next was the long scar that ran from his right eye to his chin. Sam’s tummy started to hurt like he was going to be sick. He stepped back once again, not daring to risk turning round to see where he was going, too afraid that the man would grab him.

 

“Would you like to know what I’m going to do Samuel?” Ignoring the shake of the child’s head he continued, “I’m going to see that interfering brother of mine, he’s caused me so much trouble I’m going to kill him very, very slowly and painfully. Would you like to see that, see me kill Shamus?” Looking at the child’s deathly white face he continued once more. “Then I am going to pay a little visit, a visit to that pretty little mother of yours.” He licked his lips, “I will play with her and when I get bored I will have a house warming fire. Daddy will have a ring side seat Samuel.  He will be watching, enjoying, laughing, as mummy crackles and pops on the fire and then dear daddy will join mummy on the fire. A Richards Roast, won’t that be a tasty treat, eh Samuel?”

 

Sam wanted to run wanted to scream, he was so utterly terrified he could do neither. He shook so hard that his teeth were chattering. His legs gave way and he fell onto his hands and knees violently ill.

 

The man laughed, studying his small victim enjoying every moment of the boy’s pain, fear, and wretchedness!   “Then I will come for you boy and there will be no one to stop me. I’m going to enjoy myself so much with you, Samuel.  Take pleasure in your pain. In your gasps and moans. You won’t like it and you certainly won’t survive it. But you will be an interesting little plaything for a while. I think Dean would make a more worthy distraction, but I need him. For later.  You, are somewhat superfluous, a weak cowardly little boy who clings to his mother’s skirts.”  He knew the moment his eyes turned black, heard the terrified boy’s screams. “Be seeing you Samuel! “

 

Sam sat up in bed screaming, frightened eyes darting round his bedroom looking for the man with black eyes. Blankets held against his heaving chest in a white knuckled grip.

 

The bedroom door opened with such force it banged against the wall, Shamus and his parents rushing to his side. His trembling, sweat soaked body was scooped up and cradled on his mothers lap. Soft lips pressed against his forehead, soothing words mumbled against his cold clammy skin.

 

 “Shush, little man, shush, I’m here, you’re safe now.” She rocked him, a soothing hand carding his hair.

 

“No! No!” Sam cried. “I’m not safe. He...He’s coming to get us.”

 

“No little man, it was only a dream, no one is coming to get you.” Sarah kissed her son’s cheek.

 

“N, no. “Sam sobbed, “it wasn’t a dream, he said, he said he was going to kill Shamus and then he was going to kill us.” He clung to his mother’s neck.

 

Shamus knelt in front of Sam. “Sam look at me. Look at me Sam!” The tear streaked little face turned to rest on Shamus’ familiar features.  "What did the man look like? Think carefully now Sam, tis important”

 

Sam calmed slightly, sobbing giving way to hiccupping, hitched breaths and sniffing. “He looked like you Shamus, but taller and he, he ha, had b-b-black eyes.”

 

Shamus looked from Sarah’s anxious face to David’s. Shaking his head he said “not in front `o the boy. David, come with me.” Just as his hand touched the door he heard Sam ask “who's Dean, mummy?” Shamus stumbled, David catching his arm preventing him from falling. Looking up he hissed “I need ta talk ta you now!” Making for his bedroom he closed the door firmly behind them. “David we must act quickly, he’s found Sam and by the sounds of it, Dean too! He’s scaring the boy and that’s his intention. In time he’ll frighten the boy so much, he’ll be useless to us and Dean when the time comes.”

 

“What can we do Shamus? Sarah and I have done all you asked of us. We have loved Sam, kept him safe. Not exposed him to any of the Brotherhood as per your wishes. Even though, those among the Brotherhood have wished it otherwise. They wanted access to him, wanted to train him to fight, but we did as you asked. Now what are we to do, Sam is clearly terrified, it is not something he will ever forget?” David grabbed the little man’s arm “Tell me! What are we to do?”

 

“Calm yourself David, ma boy. I know a way ta make this right, but I need ya permission."   Shamus knew David would do anything for the little boy he loved so much.

 

“Anything, Shamus, anything, you know that. You have my permission.”

 

“I can make young Sam forget.”

 

“What? How? You mean, forget?”

 

“Yes, I can make him forget everything. What happened at the stones today and what happened here tonight. It will be as if it never happened. Young Sam will grow up as we intended him to.  Innocent, with an open mind and without the crippling fear that bastard has filled him with today. God alone knows what he told the boy.  He will remember nothing of this day until the time is right, when he needs to remember. Not before.”

 

“What do you need Shamus? Name it and it will be yours.”

 

“Nothing. Just leave me and the boy alone for a while and when he wakes tomorrow morning, he will have forgotten.”

 

“You won’t hurt him, will you?” David asked worried for his son.

 

“David I would never willingly hurt Sam, you know that. Take Sarah downstairs and stay there till morning. If this is to work I must do it now.”

 

“Give me a minute with my son and Sarah, and then we will do as you say.”

 

Fifteen minuets later Shamus sat on Sam’s bed. The sleeping draught he’d given the boy was starting to work. The little hand gripping his ever so tightly was starting to relax.

 

Shamus had sought permission for what he was about to do to Sam.  Lock his memories away until he came into his powers. He had no compunction about the spells effects on the rest of the household. They along with Sam would loose this days memories. Only he would be immune to the magic he would weave here tonight and that was as it should be. Needed to be for Sam’s sake….

 

Sam knew he was dreaming, tried to wake himself up. He didn’t want to see any more, he wanted Dean.  Wanted to Wake up!  Find, Dean. He wanted, needed Dean!

 

********

Returning to their rooms, Dean washed and changed.  Pacing, restless, and hurting he came to a decision.  Scrabbling a quick note asking that he or Sam not be disturbed, he checked on Sam before making his way downstairs.  Seeing Duffy, he handed him the note asking it be passed on to Lord Pembroke.  Taking a small detour, Dean stopped in the large kitchen.  Rose was more than happy to accommodate any friend of Lord Richards.  Bustling around the large warm kitchen she prepared a light dinner at Dean’s request.  As Dean ate, Rose recounted several stories from Sam’s childhood. Finishing his meal, Dean thanked Rose and slowly made his way to the secret passage leading to the basement.

 

Glancing up and down the hall to ensure he wasn‘t seen, Dean quickly slipped through the doorway.   After entering the small room, Dean locked the door behind him.  Within minutes a collection of scrolls and books were laid before him on the table.  Chastising himself, Dean thought of the time he wasted when he should have been researching.  Maybe his dad was right all along maybe he allowed himself too many distractions. 

 

Lighting a new candle, Dean wasn’t sure how much time passed.  Stretching out, he tried not to let his mind wander from the task at hand.  A cup of coffee would be a godsend, but he didn’t have time for little luxuries.  Taking another stack from the chest, he rolled his neck before sitting down.  Even knowing Sam was safe he worried about him, wished he was here, missed his presence.   The look in Sam’s eyes at the stones kept flashing in his mind, even worse, Sam’s withdrawal.  Reminding him of what he’d done.

 

Shaking his head, Dean pulled a small journal from the top of the stack.  A packet of letters fell to the floor.  Retrieving the bundle, he placed them on the table before opening the book.  Inside the cover the book was inscribed by the owner; Sean Patrick O’Reilly.  His personal diary.  Scanning the pages, Dean passed through the first several years.  One item did catch his eye.  Sean talked about losing his mother as a young boy, how a few years later his father married again.  His new wife giving him a brother, Shamus.  Glimpsing through the years, he talked about meeting someone special.  Dean knew immediately he was speaking about James.  Sean told of a strange man approaching, of becoming the Guardian, of the daunting task ahead.

 

Untying the faded ribbon that bound the letters Dean turned them over.  Curious he started to read.  The first few letters were written before their destiny was revealed.  Letters of undying love and devotion.  The last two were of doubt, of desperation. 

 

Sean told of confessing his sins to his priest.  His sin, loving James.  He told of the priest’s revulsion.  He was a sinner, a sodomite.  He would be cast into the fires of hell.  He could only be redeemed if he gave up his lover, if he changed his blasphemous ways.  The letter from James tried reassuring Sean.  Telling him to have faith and trust.  They would overcome. 

 

Faith and trust.  That’s what James told Sam in his vision.  He and Dean could defeat Baliazar with faith and trust.  They were like Sean and James, a man of faith and a sinner.  Is that how it was with all the Guardians and Seers?  Is that why they all failed?  Dean would rather die than give up Sam. 

 

After reading the diary and letters, Dean was no closer than when he entered the room today.  Over half the books didn’t have what they needed.  He was beginning to believe there was nothing.  The walls were closing in, he needed air.  Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to take a break, he locked the door behind him.  Reaching the top of the narrow stone steps, he listened intently.  He couldn’t afford to be seen entering or exiting the hidden passage.  Hearing nothing, Dean unlatched the door, cracking it open, George’s hounds were laying there waiting.  Once they saw Dean they sat up, tails wagging, happy to see him. 

 

Telling them to stay, Dean climbed the stairs to their rooms to check Sam.  Peeking into the bedroom, Sam was sound asleep.  He was turned on his back, Dean watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, heard the soft snore.  God, he wanted to lie down beside him and sleep.   But he couldn’t, not knowing if he was welcome.   Besides, he had work to do. 

 

Taking the back hallway he slipped into the kitchen.  Rose cheerily made a fresh pot of coffee, popping a warm tart from the oven.  Setting Dean at the table she propped open the back door letting in the evening breeze.  He listened to the excited chatter as preparations for the ball were well underway.   Closing his eyes, Dean felt the warm atmosphere only a kitchen could provide.  The heart of the home.  Wrapping his hands around the cup, he drank in the dark brew.

 

Finishing up, it wasn’t long before he was back in the cellar, nose in yet another ancient tome.  Dean didn’t remember the last time he felt so defeated.  He promised himself, promised Sam, they would find a way out of their destiny.  Each road led to a dead end.  Frustration and anger mounted like the ever growing stack of books.  Why were all these books here if they didn’t help with the prophecy?  

 

Taking his arm Dean swept the large pile into the floor, books landing helter skelter.  Looking at the mess, he didn’t care if he was acting like a child.  Dean buried his face in his hands.  He wanted to scream, to cry, to vent his rage at the unfairness of it all.  So many hours and nothing.  Hours he could have spent with Sam.  Sam, he heard Sam’s voice in his head.  “Stop wallowing in self pity, we’ll never find the answers.”

 

Kneeling down Dean started gathering the books.  The gilt edges of ancient ledger caught his eye.  He didn’t remember seeing it earlier.  Setting it aside, he cleaned up the mess.  Sitting down he examined the cover.  Something was familiar.  Closing his eyes he concentrated.  The seal, somewhere he knew the seal.  Mull, Robert, Duncan, the Brothers.  Opening the ledger, his fingers glided over the ancient parchment, the illuminated pages, the archaic script, The Brotherhood of St. Michael.  The Archangel Michael.  Michael, the angel in the vision.  Michael the angel of autumn.  The ritual must take place on the autumn equinox.  Michael the warrior, the protector, the healer, the guardian.  Dean was the Guardian.  Michael, the angel of repentance, righteousness, mercy and salvation.  Was this their salvation?  Michael, who sent God the prayers of the faithful. Sam was faithful.  James said they must have faith and trust.  This was it.  This was what they’d spent weeks trying to find.    

 

Page after page, Dean read.  Years and years of entries.  Over a thousand years traced back.  He could feel his heart pounding wildly in his chest.  And then, there it was.  Baliazar.  An angel given the task by God to resurrect the dead.   Those worthy by God’s choosing.  Corrupted, he sought sanctuary in hell. Now fallen he joined the forces of Lucifer, given the task to resurrect the dead.  Necromancy.  Those of Lucifer’s choosing.  

 

Dean continued to read.  There in front of his eyes were pages and pages of names.  The previous Guardians and Seers, all those who failed.  The last entry empty.   The last entry.  Dean sat there stunned.  He had to tell Sam.  Minutes passed before Dean started to gather the books.  Carefully he returned them to the stone casket, locking the box he made his way to the door.  Unlocking the door he lit the torch before blowing out the candles.  Securing the door behind him, he started up the stairs. 

 

*******

Entering the room, he heard Sam calling out his name over and over.  Sam was asleep, caught in the throes of a nightmare.   

 

“Sam. Wake up.”  Dean continued to shake the sleeping man.  Sam’s face was pale and sweating.  Dean felt him tremble as he pulled Sam against his body.  Shaking even harder he watched as Sam’s eyes fluttered before opening.  Dean waited a few moments for Sam to focus, waited as recognition set it. 

 

“Oh God, Dean.”  Sam threw his arms around him.

“Dean?” Sam hugged him fiercely. Sam was still caught up in the dream, the memories, emotions and fears of his eight year old self. Gradually as his breathing slowed down he became more aware of his surroundings and released Dean.  Sitting up he pushed a hand through his hair. Everything seemed so real, his dreams as a child, his fear, his parents. Sam could still feel his mother’s arms about him, her lips against his forehead.

 

Giving Sam some time, Dean fidgeted, unsure if Sam wanted him close.  Sam had been angry with him at the stones.  Angry about the visions.  Was the hug just a measure of comfort for Sam coming out of a nightmare?  “Are you alright?  Was it a nightmare or another vision?”  Dean asked trying to keep his voice calm.

 

Sam drew his knees up wrapping his long arm around them. “No. Not visions, or nightmares. Memories, Dean. I was reliving memories Shamus took from me when I was eight.”

 

Watching Sam wrap his arms around his knees like he did, reminded Dean of an eight year old.  He looked young and vulnerable.  Dean wanted to hold him and chase his fears away.  But Sam wasn’t an eight year old.  Dean walked around the bed, sitting down he leaned against the headboard, still close if Sam needed him.  “Why would Shamus do something like that?”

 

“You saw the visions I had when we were at the stones today? Well it didn’t end there. That night Baliazar paid me a visit in my dreams.”  Sam shuddered, the memories still too raw, too fresh in his mind.

 

Reaching over, Dean put his hand on Sam’s knee, wanting to touch Sam and lend his strength.  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

 

Sam scooted back also resting his back against the headboard, making sure his shoulder was in contact with Dean’s. Things had been a bit strained between them and as usual he suspected that most of it was his fault. He now knew why Shamus and his father shielded him from any involvement with the Brotherhood, but he couldn’t help wondering if he would be better off with Dean’s attitude. Wished he was not perceived as the weak link.

 

Releasing the breath he was holding, Sam turned to look at Dean, he saw deep sadness and weariness on his face. Leaning into his lover’s warmth he told Dean the rest of the story.

 

Dean listened intently as Sam recounted his dream.  “Shamus and your parents did the right thing.  They were trying to protect you.  As a child you weren’t strong enough to fight Baliazar.  He’s a demon.  He would have destroyed you.  They gave you a chance to grow up.”   One look at Sam’s face told him what he was thinking.  Dean grasped Sam’s hand, feeling his long fingers close around his.  “You’re stronger than me where it counts.”  

 

“I don’t know Dean, what if we can’t find a way out? I don’t know if I can...”  He looked at Dean’s face, the too expressive eyes, saw Dean glance out the window. “And even if I do, what’s the point? I don’t want to be without you Dean.”

 

Wanting to change the subject, Dean put on one of his best smiles.  “Come on Sam.  You’ve been sleeping for hours.  You missed dinner.  I’m sure Rose kept something warm for you.  Let’s go raid the kitchen.” 

 

*****

 

Tags: angst, horror, nc-17, period drama, romance, slash, western
Current Music: KILLERS

A/N THIS IS THE THIRD AND FINAL PART IN THE DARK RIDERS TRILOGY..THE STORY IS COMPLETE AND WILL BE POSTED WEEKLY.
SUMMARY- FOLLOW DEAN AND SAM ON THEIR JOURNEY TO ENGLAND WHERE THEY MEET THE LAST SEER AND REALIZE THE TERRIBLE PRICE THEY MUST PAY TO BEAT THE DEMON BALIAZAR AND SAVE HUMANITY.
Dark riders-http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/845.html
Dark Riders 2 Storm Warning -http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
MANY THANKS TO LOU FOR THE BEAUTIFUL WORK OF ART, OUR BANNER
AND TO feather_touch FOR BEING OUR FABULOUS BETA THANKS FOR ALL YOUR HARD WORK.


HONORE ET AMORE
CHAPTER 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/09/20/
CHAPTER 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/5930.html
CHAPTER 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/13/
CHAPTER 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/03/27/
CHAPTER 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/6974.html

WARNING- CHAPTER 6: Some readers may find the contents of this chapter disturbing. Emotions run very high and we ask you to keep an open mind. It is not our intent to put our beloved characters in a bad light. Even so we will post a DUB/CON WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER. Very much top sam in this chapter!

PS Our poor beta has not checked this chapter so all mistakes are ours alone
CHAPTER 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/07/02/
CHAPTER 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/7555.html
CHAPTER 8
What was it about these people? Every simple act required some sort of ritual or dress code. Dean wasn’t about to let that put a damper on the day. Rising early he anticipated the ride to the stones as Sam and George called them. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy. As he grabbed his jeans, Sam shook his head before pulling out the riding attire Dean was required to wear. Grumbling he proceeded to dress under Sam’s watchful eye.

The smile on Sam’s face on the way to the stable should have told him there was more to come. George informed the groom they would be riding and a small selection of horses were at their disposal. The bay was a striking animal, his black main and tail contrasted nicely with the light brown coat. Sam explained the hunters were used for fox hunts and were excellent for cross country jaunts.

George had leant them a fine pair of hunters. Dean chose the handsome bay gelding and Sam had taken the grey. Both were in excellent shape. George assuring Sam they regularly took part in the local hunts and would welcome a good day’s exercise.

Dean watched intently as the grey Sam chose was quickly saddled. Looking at the short saddle, Dean cast his eyes at Sam, only for him to look away, a cough badly hiding Sam’s laughter. Asking the groom about other saddle options, Sam broke into a fit of laughter when the groom informed Dean they did have a ladies side saddle available if he preferred.

Thankfully Sam dismissed the groom; Dean didn’t want an audience. Sam gave Dean a brief history of the saddle, pointing out the differences of the English hunt-seat and the stock-seat they used in Kansas. Adjusting the stirrups they climbed into the saddles. Under Sam’s guidance he adjusted to holding the double reins and learned the rising trot. He watched as Sam took his horse over a low hedge to demonstrate. It was Dean’s turn to laugh. English people certainly had some odd habits, but seeing Sam jump with those long legs stuck out in front of him must be about the silliest thing he ever saw. Stubbornly he refused to try saying he would stick with his own way of doing things. They were soon on their way, the bay adjusting to Dean’s hand.
.

Before they left England to return to Kansas he would make it a point to salt and burn the damn saddle. Those thoughts quickly flashed through his mind, before he reminded himself if they didn’t find something soon he wouldn’t be leaving England.

Setting off at 6 AM Sam assured Dean they would make the journey in a couple of hours. He deliberately chose to go the scenic route through the beautiful Woodford valley, rather than use the old Roman road that might have been the more direct route. Sam was hoping that the beauty of the valley would deter them both from thinking to much.

The gentle rhythm of the horses was soothing after so long a time out of the saddle though Sam had no doubt that the pair of them would pay for it later. Perhaps if he were lucky Dean would give him a massage. His stomach instantly tightened, it was amazing the vivid memories that one word could conjure up. Unfortunately snug riding breeches were not the thing to wear with those recollections. And staring at his partner’s backside in his tailored riding breeches was not helping. With a gentle nudge of his heels Sam urged his horse to catch up.

Leaving Wilton House behind they followed the steep hill out of Wilton, huge beech and elm lined the roadside. Crossing the road they headed down Snake Hill and into the valley. The meadows were divided by small hedges into fields providing summer grazing for sheep and cattle. In the winter much of the land would be under water, the overflow from river Avon.

Hacking through the country lanes was made more interesting; two of George’s dogs decided to keep them company. They were a matched pair of hunting hounds George had taken a fancy to and kept as pets. On the whole they were well behaved but the allure of ducks and swans on the nearby river had proven too much. Half an hour later a very smelly but happy pair of dogs was once more trotting in front of the horses. Tongues hanging out the boisterous pair failed to catch anything, but perhaps for them it was all about the hunt not the catching. Their once tan and white coats were now covered in a layer of slimy mud and cow pats the dogs rolled in. Sam had a mind to chuck the fragrant pair in the river on the way home. Wet dog was unpleasant but wet dog liberally covered in fresh cow shit was quite another matter. Sam almost convinced himself that if he squinted just right he would be able to see the stink rising off of them. Still the dogs were only doing what dogs did best and they had proved an amusing distraction.

*******

Dean was grateful Sam chose the longer route. The fresh air and beautiful scenery was a welcome relief after the time spent in the city, much of it confined to the church archives. Frustration mounting with each passing hour as another fruitless search for the coveted documents eluded them. Yesterday a small spark of hope took hold when George revealed the hidden trove of books and scrolls.

Sam was the perfect guide. Taking their time, allowing Dean to adjust to the still unusual feel of the saddle. He pointed out various spots, often accompanied by amusing anecdotes from his younger years. It would seem the young lord had been quite adept at mischief as a child. For the first time in a long time they allowed themselves to laugh. More than once George’s hounds provided the comic relief. To anyone watching, they appeared to be two carefree young men out for a leisurely ride.

*****
The ride was nice one, still Dean was anxious. He could feel his legs cramp and was looking forward to stretching them.

“How much longer Sam?” He asked not wanting it to sound like a complaint. “We are getting close, aren’t we?”

Opening the hastily scrawled map George gave him; Sam smoothed it out over one thigh. “Well if George’s map is correct we need to turn west once we hit West Amesbury then it’s only about a mile and a half.”

The nearer they got the more hesitant Sam became. The grey snorted his displeasure at the almost non-existent pace. Glancing over, Dean saw the far away look in Sam’s eyes, like he was reminiscing.

Dean didn’t know what to expect when they reached the stones. George and Sam told him what they could about the ancient circle. Coming from the fields he could see the hilltop. The stones stood out alone in stark contrast to rolling hills. The closer they got to the gate the true size of the ancient monument became apparent. Dean stopped just taking in the sight. Coming back to his senses he saw Sam had already made his way to the gate.

By the time Dean reached Sam, he had dismounted and was waiting somewhat impatiently. For a moment Dean sat there. The huge standing stones appeared to sprout from the earth. Massive was a poor description, but it was the only one Dean could think of. Dismounting he felt small in their presence. He stood there utterly speechless.

“What took you so long? Sam looked up from where he was loosening the girth on the saddle.

Taking a few minutes to see to the bay, Dean shrugged as his eyes kept returning to the stones. Being this close the full impact of what was coming settled around Dean. They were here for a specific reason. The needed to get this done so they could get back to their books. “Come on Sam, we have things to do.”

Sam’s hands stilled, sighing he slumped his shoulders resting his head on the saddle. He inhaled the sweet smell of leather and horse.

By the slump of Sam’s shoulders, Dean knew exactly what he was thinking. Turning Sam so he was facing him he saw the anguish in his hazel eyes. Gently he caressed Sam’s face. “Wait here Sam, I can do this.”

Unable to speak Sam shook his head “no” before climbing over the five bar gate.

Climbing over the gate Dean quickened his pace to catch Sam. Falling in step, they quickly closed the distance to the ancient enclosure. Dean continued to look up in awe. Little more than half remained of the outer circle. To the east stood a row of eleven stones, four were joined at the top by three huge lintels. As they entered the circle their long shadows merged with those cast by the colossal stones. Three massive trillithons, and two monoliths comprised the inner circle. The stones towered over them at least twenty five feet tall. Smaller stones were scattered through out. Reaching out Dean felt the rough weathered texture beneath his fingers.

Giant toppled slabs littered the ground around them, some still intact. The fallen stones stood at least three feet tall.

Taking out his journal, Dean prepared to take notes and start sketching the layout of the giant ruins. As he walked around looking down he saw it. There was the massive stone from Sam’s vision. This was where he would die.

Looking around Dean noticed what looked like an engraving in one of the massive trillithons. Getting closer he could see what clearly looked like a dagger about a foot in length. Leaning down he reached out his fingers tracing the shape. Except for its size it almost matched perfectly the knife he was given. Not bothering to turn he called out. “Sam, come look at this.”

In the next minute Dean heard Sam scream his name. Turning he saw Sam holding his head obviously in pain. “Sammy!” Dean called as he made his way over to Sam. Dean grabbed hold of Sam’s arms to keep him from falling. As his hands made contact his head exploded in pain. What looked like lightning flashed before his eyes. Unable to hold Sam’s weight, both men hit the ground hard.

*************************

Sam was drawn to one of the huge fallen stones. Once part of the tallest trillithon. Now it lay broken in two, its twin still standing, a silent sentinel. Bending slightly he trailed his fingertips over its rough pitted surface. He snatched his hand away, it was tingling, sort of like pins and needles, but more intense. A lot more intense. The tingling almost pain as it was traveling up his forearm, by the time it reached his biceps it was no longer tingling.

“Aaah!”

Pain. Grabbing his bicep Sam rubbed it vigorously. Looking down at his hand he saw nothing that might have caused this painful reaction.

“Sam, come look at this,” Dean was a couple of feet to his left bent down fingers tracing the flat surface of an adjacent intact trillithon.

Burning, white hot pain shot up his neck detonating inside his head. Eyes screwed tight, head clutched between sweating hands, Sam heard screaming. Knew he was responsible, because he heard Dean’s anxious voice call his name. Felt strong hands grasp his arms. Then, the vision he had come to dread, at last unfolded….

Sam and George were playing, climbing on the fallen stones, suddenly Sam slipped landing heavily, hitting his head hard enough to knock him senseless. He awoken to find himself laid out on the picnic blanket; concerned faces looking down at him. When Shamus asked what happened he says he cannot remember. But he does remember, he remembers everything…

Sam knelt down to touch one of the fallen stones, partially hidden beneath a much larger stone. As soon as his fingers touched the rough surface a painful jolt surged through his hand up his arm, finally exploding in his head. Sam screamed with pain and fear, stumbling back, clutching his hand to his chest. When he turned to look for his mom, she was not there, neither was his father, Shamus, or George. Still clutching his stinging hand he ran around the stones looking for them. Calling out for them, his young mind couldn’t grasp what was happening why his parents left him; perhaps they went to fetch the carriages? Walking back to sit on one of the fallen stones to await their return, he heard voices, relieved he rushed forward. What he saw scared him, scared him so much that his bladder let go, hot wetness soaks into his cloths. Paralyzed, unable to look away, forced to observe.

Two men stand in the centre of the Henge, and as he watches one raises the hand holding the knife and stabs the other man in the chest. Sam screamed as the injured man was lowered to the ground. What looked like black smoke pouring from his mouth...? He hears the sound of crying, looking down he watched the man with the knife, pull the other man until he is laid against his chest, arms tightly wrapped about the still body. He is rocking back and forth.

Much as his mother holds him when he is upset or afraid.

Tears stream down the man’s face.

Sam can just make out the mumbled words. “No, no, no, Dean. No!”

Light flared.

Dimmed.

Flared again.

A man kneels on the ground, before him etched into the bare earth is a large black circle with painted lines and symbols. In his hand he holds a dagger. Slicing the palm of his hand he allows blood to drip into an earthenware bowl. Picking up a strip of cloth he tied it around his hand, stemming the flow. Reaching into his shirt he pulled out a small leather pouch, carefully he untied the cord holding it closed, emptying the contents into a bowl. Using his index finger he stirs the contents, blood, hair, herbs, simultaneously chanting the words needed to call forth the Demon. Reaching to his left he picks out a small piece of burning wood from the fire and touched it to the contents of the bowl. Suddenly, the ever present crows take flight, as if sensing danger they seek refuge elsewhere. The old man looks up at the huge stones that surrounded him; closing his eyes he prays that they will be strong enough to contain the evil he is summoning. Opening his eyes he stares at the altar contained within the blackened circle. Willing the demon to appear.

In the blink of an eye a young man appears in the circle. Cold, black eyes stare unblinking at the old man. “Why have you summoned me here old man?”

Hands already shaking, the old man flinched at the words, but ignores them. He’s scared. Cold sweat trickles down his back, soaking into the rough cloth of his trousers. He has every reason to be afraid, seen for himself what the demon possessing this young man is capable of and he fears either looking or listening to the demon will sway him from his task. Unconsciously his fingers seek the horned amulet that rests against his chest. Caressing it. Gaining comfort and reassurance from its solid metallic presence. It will protect him. He has faith. For evil can never truly be defeated without faith. Without love. Without sacrifice. All of which he is willing to give.

Closing his eyes and concentrating on the memorized words he raises both hands above his head and recites the words of the binding ritual.

Symbols drawn on the face of the stone the demon stands on begin to glow.

The demon hissed. Its body contorting, as if in great pain. The symbols glow, brighter and brighter. Changing color, from blood red, to amber, to yellow and finally to a brilliant white. Head thrown back, the demon screamed, dense black smoke pouring from the mouth of the young man. The symbols flare even brighter. Ensnaring the black smoke in the alter stone. The old man’s tired arms drop to his lap. He opened watering eyes. Leant forward, upending the small bowl and breaking the circle with a scrub of his hand. Tentatively he pulled the young man to him so that his head is resting on his thigh. A sigh of relief escapes his lips as he feels the rise and fall of the other’s chest. Gently tapping on one lax cheek he whispers. “Son? Son, wake up it is over, you are safe. I’m here now.” The old man is rewarded when brown eyes open, recognition flooding their once vacant depths. “Father.” The young man sobs.

**********
With a gasp Dean tried to draw in a lungful of air. The pain in his head was excruciating. Temporarily blinded by the bright white light that played before his eyes, it took a moment to realize they weren‘t even open. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears, could hear a strange noise, but wasn’t sure where it was coming from. His entire body ached. He felt the ground beneath him. A heavy weight lay upon him. Trying to shake the cobwebs from his addled mind only made it worse. Blinking, his eyes opened. Rays of sunlight and shadow were all around him, something huge blocking the full sun.

Reaching down he tried to the move the weight, realizing only then it was a body. As he shifted a sudden and intense wave of nausea hit him. Stopping all movement he waited, praying it would pass. Counting over and over in his head, he began to regulate his breathing, to take back control of his body. Shutting his eyes, he took his mind back. His memories started to return. The last thing he remembered was hearing Sam scream his name and running to Sam to catch him as he fell, then the pain.

Sam. Looking around, Dean tried to gently roll Sam off him. Between the pain and the dead weight, he finally succeeded on his third attempt. Slowly sitting up, he again waited for his own body to catch up. Sam’s face was pale, dried blood was smeared from his nose and across his cheek. Dean watched the steady rise and fall of Sam’s chest. Quickly Dean’s hands checked for any other signs of injury. Finding none, he pulled Sam to him. “Sammy, wake up.” Patting his cheeks he tried to rouse the unconscious man.

Feeling he was being watched he glanced around. Both of George’s hounds were nearby keeping sentry over them. Now Dean remembered, the sound he heard earlier, the soulful baying of the dogs.

Waiting on Sam, Dean attempted to make sense of everything. He recalled checking one of the large stones. What appeared to be a dagger was engraved on its weathered surface. That’s when Sam called for him. What happened next was like nothing Dean ever experienced before. He wondered if that’s what it felt like to be struck by lightning. An intense jolt of pain surged through his body. Then the dream. Only it couldn’t have been a dream. It must have been a vision. Is this what it was like for Sam?

Sam’s body stirring brought Dean from his reverie. Soft groans, and then Dean was rewarded with flashes of hazel as Sam tried to open his eyes.

“It’s alright Sam, I’ve got ya.” Dean brushed Sam’s long hair away from his face as he waited for him to come fully to his senses.

Dean continued to run his fingers through Sam’s hair, waiting. Thinking back, he was only there for one of Sam’s visions, in the London garden. He saw first hand the effects, the pain, how long it took Sam to recover. Back in Kansas when Sam told him about seeing the vampire, he said he’d dreamed a few times about the fire that killed his parents. Sam never mentioned seeing anything as a child.

What ever it was that just happened, Dean knew he saw it through Sam’s eyes. How was it possible? Was he the cause of this because of the dream walk? Or was it this place?

How could they share a vision? This wasn’t just a vision, it was a memory. Sam lived this. As a child Dean witnessed so many things he wanted to forget. Afterwards he was plagued by nightmares, sometimes for years. What he would have given for a mother to reach out and comfort him.

But he was different from Sam. He was raised fighting monsters. For a child like Sam it must have been horrible. And now, to know Sam watched it unfold as a young boy, to see his adult self kill Dean. How would Sam wake from this? And the other sight. The old man and the ritual, the summoning. Dean didn’t know how old it was, but knew it was ancient. The stone enclosure was complete then. The altar stood alone in the circle. Scanning the area, he found what he was looking for. The altar was crushed beneath the massive stone he was now sitting next to.

Hearing a loud moan, Dean’s attention was again drawn to the man in his arms. He watched as Sam continued to blink before his hands reached up to cradle his head. “Come on Sammy.” Dean reassured him. “I’m here.”

************************

Sam could hear someone talking, words broken, mixed up, making no sense. His head hurt. Hurt real bad, thumping in time to his heart beat. Opening his eyes made it worse; loosing a drawn out groan he closed them again.

“It’s alright Sam, I’ve got ya.” Dean’s voice, Dean’s hand on his face brushing his hair back. God even that gentle touch hurt, must have been some party, only he couldn’t for the life of him remember a party.

For a while he drifted, soaking up Dean, comfortable, warm, safe, protected, loved. Sam didn’t want to open his eyes and break the spell, but something was nagging at the back of his mind, something important he had to remember.

Dean, pain, a vision, no. Two visions. Forcing his eyelids to open he couldn’t stop the moan that escaped, as he reached trembling hands to try to hold his head to contain the mounting pain.

“Come on Sammy.” Dean’s reassuring voice “I’m here.”

“Welcome back.” Smiling down on Sam, Dean tried to hide how worried he really was. “Take your time. Can you tell me if you’re hurt? Patiently waiting Dean continued watching Sam, looking for any signs. Knowing firsthand the pain he experienced, he knew Sam’s was even worse. He would sit here as long as it took.

“Head,” Sam forced out between labored breaths.

“Did you hit your head, or from the visions?” Dean asked. “Take a deep breath, let it out slow.” They would take it one step at a time.

Sam listened, tried to do as Dean directed. Taking careful controlled breaths, it didn’t lessen the pain, but it did seem to make it easier to manage. Wiping his running nose with the back oh his hand he replied, “Vision I think.”

Reaching into his pocket Dean pulled out a hanky. He remembered Sam telling him a proper gentleman would never be without one. Dean was embarrassed at the time, especially after seeing the huge initial monogram. Carefully, he wiped the blood from Sam’s face. “Take this.” Handing it to Sam, not wanting to make him feel like a child.

Sam stared at the proffered square of red and white linen, then at the back of his hand, now marred by a smear of red. “Thanks.” Leaning forward he scrubbed at the back of his hand. “What happened, I mean I don’t normally get,” he waved the bloodied linen about, “nosebleeds. And I don't feel this out of it either"”

Dean wasn’t sure if the nosebleed was from the visions or the impact of the fall. “I don’t think it was a normal vision. When I grabbed you I had a vision, well two. Do you remember anything? Do you want to tell me?” Still feeling guilty from the dream walk, Dean decided not to force Sam if he wasn’t ready. Give him the time he needed to recover.

Sam stilled, “what did you say about a vision?”

“I said when I touched you I had two visions. One was more like a memory. You were here as a child with your family. You fell and hit your head.” Dean didn’t want to say what else he had seen. He couldn’t get the sound of Sam’s broken voice crying his name over and over again out of his head. “The other was a ritual, a summoning. It was ancient.”

Sam struggled to his feet, anger, fear, confusion all vying to be heard first

Anger that Dean had once again seen something Sam would have preferred he didn’t. Fear that it was somehow connected to the dream walk in some way and confusion over what to do about it. He knew it was childish, selfish even but he felt violated, his privacy invaded. Rationally he knew Dean would not have done this on purpose but he couldn’t help how he felt and he couldn’t stop it showing on his face. Sam moved away a few feet sitting down and once again holding his aching head.

Dean watched, shocked as Sam shakily made it to his feet, waiving off Dean at his offered assistance. He could clearly see the accusing glare in Sam’s eyes. Dean tried to hide the hurt. Following Sam he leaned down, lifting Sam’s face to meet his. “I swear Sam, I didn’t do anything. I grabbed you to keep you from falling. That’s all. I can’t explain why I would see anything. I don’t know if it’s because our destiny is tied to this place or what.” Standing Dean continued. “I’m sorry, please, just stay here. When you’re ready I'll be waiting.” With that he turned and went to gather his journal from where he dropped it earlier.

Sam didn’t answer; he sat hunched over willing the headache to go so he could think clearly. Why did Dean have to be so damn nice, why couldn’t he get angry and ..? Shit when had Dean become so good at reading him? Sam hadn’t said a word, but somehow Dean knew what he was thinking. He watched Dean retrieve his journal saw him stumble and wince as if in pain. “You’re a selfish bastard Sam” he said to himself “you’re not the only one feeling bad, get up off your backside and get the two of you home then you can sleep it off.” Standing up he walked over to Dean, “Is there anything else you need to do here? If not lets head home.”

Reaching down to pick up his journal, Dean stumbled slightly. Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over, he couldn’t blame Sam for his anger or suspicion. After what he had done, he didn’t deserve Sam’s trust. Still he didn’t think it would hurt so much to be rejected. He only wanted to ensure Sam was alright. He could still feel the lingering remnants of a headache, along with a few aches from the impact of his fall. Nothing he couldn’t shut away. He watched Sam’s slow approach, heard Sam ask if he needed anything, and if not it was time to go. Telling Sam he was finished, Dean motioned Sam ahead, silently following him back to the gate.

Taking the more direct route cut a considerable amount of time off the return journey. Sam carefully kept to the grass verges to cushion the impact through the horse’s hooves and his head. Any juddering or harsh impacts made the pain worse to the point he wished he could just pass out and get it over with. He was having trouble seeing straight and in an effort to hold everything together and get home as quick as possible the ride home was accomplished in near silence.

Sam wasn’t being deliberately rude; he just couldn’t handle the horse, himself and a civilized conversation. He looked at Dean several times, he looked troubled. Sam suspected he was the cause of most of it, he had upset Dean and would have some fences to mend, but it would have to wait till later. For now all he wanted was to do was slip between cotton sheets and sleep.

Finally the stables came into view, two grooms hurried out to take charge of the horses, dismounting he held tight to the saddle for a moment as his sight dimmed, resting his forehead against the seat of the saddle he waited for it to clear. When he looked up it was to see Dean watching him, he didn’t say anything for which Sam was very grateful. Entering by one of the smaller back doors Sam headed straight for their apartment he almost sobbed with relief when he laid eyes on his bed, not bothering to remove even his boots; he collapsed face down on the bed, asleep even before his head touched the pillow.

He didn’t hear the door open a few minuets later, was not aware of Dean tugging at the tight fitting boots to remove, didn’t feel Dean pull a blanket over him, run his fingers through his hair or drop a tender kiss on the top of his head.







AN. Up until the end of the 19th century Americans and Europeans generally rode in what was called the "chair" or “fork" seat, even when jumping. The rider's feet were well ahead of the knees and the rider's upper body came well behind the vertical when jumping. Thankfully riding styles have changed!

Tags: dub-con, horror romance, nc-17 angst