forsakenbeloved

forsakenbeloved @ 2009-12-16T10:39:00

2009-12-16T10:39:11Z

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/
CHAPTER 17 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2009/11/19/

CHAPTER 18

The light faded and still Shamus could not move. Rooted to the spot he could only stare as the being he knew was the Archangel Michael walked into the light and vanished. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder.

“Michael?” George questioned. In his heart George knew it was. He stood in awe, grounding himself through his hold on Shamus’ shoulder.

“Yes, Michael.” Shamus confirmed. “Jesus, Mary, Mother of God, tis a grand day when an O’Reily meets the Archangel Michael.” Shamus crossed himself, then once more for good luck. He accepted George’s hand as he rose to his feet.

“Is it done Shamus, did we win?”

Shamus searched between the Stones, his old eyes seeking what was left of his family that was how he thought of Sam and Dean. What he saw first was the fallen body. His brother Sean, or what was left of him. Shamus quickly averted his eyes and covered his mouth with a shaking hand. Once more he crossed himself as he hurried on towards his goal. With faltering steps, Shamus approached the boys; they lay so still, Shamus closed his watering eyes and tilted his head back. He offered up a silent prayer, please let them be alive. Sam’s arms were wrapped protectively around Dean, neither moved, or so it seemed until Shamus plucked up the courage to kneel at their sides, and rested a trembling hand on Dean’s chest. Dean was alive. Moving awkwardly he shuffled along so he could check Sam. Shamus closed his eyes and sighed with relief when he felt movement and the steady thump of a beating heart. “Ma wee boy” slipped past his lips, heard only by George and the two anxious hounds that gathered up the courage to enter the stone circle and seek out their masters. Neither responded to the hounds franticly licking tongues, both deeply asleep.

Unbuttoning Dean’s blood soaked shirt and pushing aside the sodden fabric, Shamus’ fingers slid through the congealing blood searching for the wound. What he found was a line of raised scar tissue. Looking up he met George’s inquisitive eyes. “Sacrifice, Death and Resurrection.” Shamus quoted. “The prophecy has been fulfilled.”

Muttered curses and sweat were spent in equal measure before Shamus and George had the two boys settled in the back of the carriage, and the horses turned towards home. George drove whilst Shamus sat and watched. His tired old mind flashed back to an earlier time, sitting vigil in a hospital chair after the fire. As before he held Sam’s hand, his thumb stroking back and forth.

A lifetime seemed to have passed since then. Sam’s parents, David and Sarah, were dead and buried. Sam met Dean, the two of them completed a millennia old prophecy, and now it was all over, would hopefully make a new life for themselves. Shamus knelt between the two seats bracketing him. Dean twitched and groaned occasionally as did Sam but neither woke.

Shamus felt both guilt and grief in equal measure, but he knew if he had it all to do again he would, in a heartbeat. Guilt for lying and manipulating Sam over the years, and grief for the loss of his brother Sean. His brother’s body lay unguarded, protected only by the tiny silver cross and chain he slipped over his brother’s head before covering Sean’s face with his own coat. Tomorrow he would recover his brother’s body; tonight he concentrated on the living.

The journey back to Wilton House was by necessity slow, even with the full moon to light their way, George was cautious. Eventually Shamus heard the distinctive sound of gravel scrunching under the carriages wheels and George’s voice. “Whoa!”

The carriage doors were flung open before it ground to a halt and Shamus blocked the door, pistol in hand. Shamus lowered his weapon. Dressed in their robes, the most faithful of Brotherhood formed two solemn lines from the carriage up the stone steps to the open front door.

With great respect and gentleness, the remaining members bore Sam and Dean up the stairs to their apartment.

*****

“Sam.”

“Sam?”

Opening his eyes, Sam blinked in surprise when he found himself seated on the wooden bench in the garden of the London house.

Standing in front of him holding hands were his parents. Sam took a huge gasping breath, tears filled his eyes as he fought for composure. One hand raising to cover his mouth and the other reaching out.

In a quavering voice, he asked. “Mom?”

“Yes, my darling boy. Sam we have been granted but a short time here with you.”

Sam rose on shaking legs, his father strode forward crushing Sam to his chest. “My son.”

Sam was too overcome to speak as he closed his eyes and hugged his father fiercely to him. Another pair of arms slid round Sam’s waist accompanied by the unmistakable scent of roses.

It was a while before anyone could breathe or bring themselves to let go. Sam’s chest and throat ached with the sheer weight of emotion he was trying to hold in.

Eventually they all took a steadying breath and although none let go completely, Sam’s hands were held by his parents. They took a step back so they could savor the sight of each other.

Sam took a good look at each in turn. His father was as he last saw him, in his grey suit, white shirt, and his mother in her pale blue work dress with its covering apron. She even had the smudge of flour on her brow. Sam’s nostrils flared and his throat worked as he fought to keep himself from breaking down in front of them.

“My son.” His father said as he squeezed Sam’s hand reassuringly. “We are so proud of you, of the man you have become, the choices and hardships you and your Dean have faced to save mankind.”

“You know about Dean?” The moment the words left his mouth, Sam wanted to take them back. Of course they knew about Dean, they knew about him long before Sam had even met him.

“Yes,” his mother replied. “Sam, for great evil to be vanquished, great sacrifices must be made. Your father and I made that choice, as did Dean’s. In doing so we set in motion the course of events Michael foretold. We hope one day you will find it in your heart to forgive us. We were selfish, we wanted a child and you were a gift of love we could not deny. I want you to know we are both deeply sorry for the hurt both you and Dean have suffered because of our wish for a child. But in the great scheme of things, I think we all had a role to play, ours was to want a child, to raise you to become the faithful man you are today, and Dean’s was to be the champion of good, a warrior, with you by his side.”

Silent tears ran down Sam’s face as he listened to his mother. “I don’t blame you,” he said quietly. “Either of you.” He turned his head to include his father in the conversation. “We were all pawns in a much larger game. A game with a high price, both for failure and success. It’s over now, and I have nothing.” Sam was aware that this was not real, that he was dreaming. He was anxious to get back to Dean, to wake up and finish what he started. He wanted to be with Dean. He closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them he knew what he wanted to say. “You don’t need my forgiveness, there is nothing to forgive. We were all manipulated. I love you both, but there is someone I love more, and I need to be with him.”

His mother and father exchanged knowing looks, and both embraced him once more before taking a step back and releasing his hands.

“Goodbye my son.”

“My darling boy, enjoy the rest of your life …” Her words faded as did her image.

*****

The last thing Dean remembered was being cradled to Sam’s strong chest, shivering violently from the pain and cold. He pulled the quilt closer, nestling into the warmth. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light. No longer night, late afternoon sun filtered across the room. Under him a crisp linen sheet and soft mattress replaced the cold hard ground. With a gasp Dean sat up, memories of The Stones flooded his mind. Now fully awake his hand went to his chest as he anxiously looked down to where the knife had been thrust through his ribs to his heart. A red raised scar was all that remained. He should be dead. The prophecy demanded his sacrifice, his death.

Dean knew it was too much to ask for this to be heaven, him and Sam together forever. Had they failed? In a moment of weakness had Sam given in to Baliazar to be with Dean? Guaranteed eternity? No. Dean refused to believe that. Sam was the strongest man he’d ever met. Sam gave his word; he’d die before he broke his promise. Was he still dreaming? Dean was afraid he’d wake to some nightmarish reality, visions of hell Father Thomas planted in his mind all those years ago. Pain filled screams, the stench of burning flesh, unbearable heat as flames circled his body. His heart was beating faster.

Looking around Dean recognized his surroundings. This was his room at George’s estate. His clothes and holster were draped across the chair near the window. His boots tucked under the legs, his Stetson perched on the top. Hearing a muffled snore Dean glanced over. Sam was sleeping soundly next to him. Dean reached out his hand, afraid Sam would vanish at his touch. His fingers brushed the warm skin of Sam’s cheek. He let out a sigh of relief when Sam didn’t disappear.

Dean slipped back down and curled his body around Sam’s. His hand caressed warm flesh. Beneath his palm Sam’s heartbeat was strong and steady. Tears welled up in his eyes before they spilled down his cheeks. His lips grazed his lover’s ear. “Sam, wake up.”

Pulled from one dream to what he thought was another, Sam was slow to respond. “I need to wake up.” He mumbled. He pinched his leg and was surprised when it hurt. “Ouch!” He rubbed soothingly at his thigh.

His hands stilled as Sam’s body jerked and a quiet “ouch” slipped out. “Sammy.” Dean spoke louder, his voice full of concern.

Blinking furiously, Sam stared in open mouthed wonder. “Dean?”

For a moment Dean panicked seeing the confused look on Sam’s face. He searched his mind; all traces of Baliazar were gone. “Yes, Sam, it’s really me.”

Sam eyes searched Dean’s face then dropped to his chest. He lifted a shaking hand to press where he’d stabbed Dean. “I’m not dreaming am I? You’re alive and it’s all over?”

“No Sam, it’s not a dream.” Dean shivered as long, warm fingers traced the scar over his chest. Dean tilted Sam’s chin up, peering into tear filled hazel eyes. “What did you do? I’m not supposed to be here. I should be dead.”

Mesmerized by the raised red scar, Sam shook his head “Do? I didn’t do anything.” Sam’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as he tried to remember. There was a bright light and a man with a huge sword. With a gasp Sam remembered. “It was Michael. Dean, the Archangel Michael was there. He laid his hand on your chest and my head and…” Sam shook his head, puzzled. “That’s all I remember.”

So many questions raced through Dean’s head as Sam struggled to remember. “Michael?” If Sam killed him, why was he here? “Why would Michael do something to you? Please, don‘t tell me, you didn‘t…” Dean closed his eyes, dreading what he’d hear.

Hearing the anxiety in Dean’s voice, Sam sat up so he could see Dean’s face. “Didn’t do what Dean? What do you think I did?”

The scar was proof he’d been stabbed. It briefly occurred to him they were ghosts bound to one another forever. He knew Sam. He knew Sam’s promise of a year was said only to placate him. Sam would never leave him, especially in death. His eyes did a visual check of Sam’s body for a trace of a fatal wound. Dean felt Sam’s heartbeat, watched Sam’s chest rise as he took a breath, saw the slightest jump of the pulse in Sam’s neck. There was no doubt they were alive. Dean only knew one way for that to happen. “Did you make a deal to trade your life for mine?”

“What?” Sam could see from the angry expression that Dean was deadly serious. Shaking his head, Sam had no notion of what Dean was referring to. “Dean, I don’t understand… you’re scaring me.”

Grabbing Sam’s arms, Dean eyed him suspiciously looking for any sign he was lying.

Sam couldn’t hide his emotions from Dean if he tried, all Dean saw on his lover‘s face was confusion. If not Sam, then who would trade their life for him? “Think Sam, it important you remember.”

Sam started to shake. He didn’t want to remember anything more. “Dean, I did as you asked. Baliazar is dead and we are alive. Isn’t that enough?” He didn’t want to explain how he’d cradled Dean to him as he died in agony. Didn’t want to explain how a part of him died too. Didn’t want to explain how he had cried, given into his grief and drawn his gun to shoot himself only for Michael to stop him. Though strangely he suspected Dean know what he’d tried to do.

Dean pulled his trembling lover into his embrace. Sam’s words echoed in his mind. Baliazar is dead and we are alive, isn’t that enough? Sam was right, they were alive and together. “It’s alright Sam.” Dean needed to know what happened, but Sam needed a little time. Dean would be there when he was ready to talk

“No it’s not alright. It’s finished but it’s not over.” The instant he thought about what happened, he was once again plunging the knife into Dean’s chest. Dean cradled in his arms gasping for breath, his handsome face contorted with pain and fear. Blood spraying from his mouth and tears slid down his face as he tried to speak. How bad must it have been for Dean to admit it hurt? Sam thought as he held Dean tighter, desperate to take away his pain. It was a double edged sword he didn’t want Dean to suffer but he dreaded letting go, Dean dying.

He didn’t miss the tremble in Sam’s voice, the distant look in hazel eyes. The obvious painful memories his demand invoked. After all, Sam had been forced to kill him. Had they both been returned from death? “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you Sam?”

“No I didn’t hurt myself, but I can’t remember anything after Michael asked me to let you go. How do you feel Dean? You died. I held you and you died.”

“I feel like I just woke up from a nightmare.” Dean shuddered; he’d never forget that feeling of absolute helplessness as Baliazar took control of his mind and body. “It was like falling asleep in a cold dark place.” Silently Dean added, scared and alone. “You’re saying I’m alive because of divine intervention?”

“I don’t know. You asked me what I remembered and I told you. He was there Dean, the Archangel Michael was there. What else could it have been? Sam’s expression softened, he laid a hand against Dean’s cheek. “Why do you find it so hard to believe?”

Dean closed his eyes and leaned into Sam’s touch. Did it really matter? There would be time to think about it later. This is what he wanted, him and Sam together. Taking Sam’s hand, he kissed the open palm.

“I just realized something.” Sam smiled.

Dean quirked his brow as he looked over at Sam, his face lit up, dimples and all. “What’s that, Sammy?”

“It’s over. We beat the odds and came out the other side in one piece. Best of all, we now have our whole lives to live together. Just you and me. Oh and Shamus,” pausing for thought, “and Ruth and Isaac.”

Wrapping his fingers around Sam’s, Dean heard the slightest clink of metal as their rings touched. “You know Sam, if you want to stay here, we can. Merry Olde England has her share of ghosts.”

“No.” He replied without the need for thought. “Too many bad memories. Let’s go home."

********

Standing beneath one of the huge stone arches of the Palladian Bridge, Dean watched the small stone skim across the water before sinking to the river bottom. For the first time in weeks the late September sun warmed him, the cold dread in the pit of his stomach no longer his constant companion. He took a deep breath filling his lungs with the clean autumn air. This was the furthest he’d ventured from Sam's side since that night. Neither willing to let the other out of his sight. Dean pulled his watch from his pocket, with a sigh he called to Samson as he started his trek back towards the house.

George's written invitation to meet in the library was still in his pocket. He knew Sam would be there waiting. Nearing the kitchen entrance, Dean told Samson to wait, the faithful hound stretched out on the warm stone walkway. Dean took in the sights and smells of the warm friendly kitchen. Rose greeted him, a huge smile on her face. Duffy approached telling him everyone was assembled in the library. The older man escorted Dean to the huge door asking him to wait as he was announced.

Dean waited until the older man turned his back before he rolled his eyes. He couldn't wait to get back home. The pomp and ceremony weren't for him; he longed for the simple life of the ranch. Stepping into the library, Dean was aware of everyone watching him. Self consciously he followed Duffy to his seat. George was sitting at the center of the massive table, Sam was seated to his right, Dean took the chair to his left. Members of the Brotherhood assembled around the table.

Glancing around the room, Lord Reginald Peregrine-Woolsey and his small group of followers were hard to miss. Reggie's eye was still swollen and bruised, and the angry red cut on his throat stood out against his skin.

An ancient manuscript lay closed on the table in front of George. Curiosity piqued, Dean watched as the tome was opened and Lord Pembroke leafed through the pages, occasionally stopping to write entries with a flourish of his pen. Near the end of the incunabulum, George silently read the illuminated page and carefully recorded the information before handing the gilded sheet to Dean.

Sam sat quietly contemplating those assembled round the table. His eyes passed briefly over Reggie, his jaw tightened, and his fists clenched under the table. A fond smile brightened his face when Dean entered the Library. His eyes followed Dean’s path to his seat by George’s side, watched Dean glance at the manuscript George handed him. Sam knew what was written on it, it was Dean’s right and his last duty as the Guardian to read it aloud to the assembled men.

Dean stood as George motioned him up. His eyes met Sam’s, saw the slightest nod of his lover’s head. Coughing, Dean cleared his throat before lifting the page. With a clear voice he read:

“Let it be known, on this date, the twenty-fifth of September, in the year of our lord, Eighteen Hundred and Seventy, I, Dean Winchester, the last Guardian, hereby decree the dissolution of the Brotherhood of St. Michael. The prophecy has been fulfilled.”

Shouts and cheers resounded around the room. The majority of the Brotherhood stood and clapped, acknowledging Sam and Dean. Members smiled and hugged their brothers, most discarded their brown robes. They talked and laughed among themselves, the threat no longer weighing down their lives. They were free of the likes of Lord Peregrine-Woolsey.

*******

Hands entwined Sam and Dean stood quietly watching from their window as the men of the disbanded Brotherhood departed George’s estate. The procession of carriages, wagons, and men on horseback returning to their families and lives, further proof it was over.

They barely left each other’s side, the constant need to touch, to reassure one another it wasn’t a dream. The orange and pink hues of the autumn sky alerting them to the hour. Reaching into the wardrobe Dean pulled out his black morning coat and slipped it on. As he headed to the door he grabbed his Stetson. Once nightfall set in the temperature would drop quickly.

Silently he and Sam matched their stride as they walked through the gardens to the estate’s small family chapel. Candles illuminated the old stone interior. Sean’s linen wrapped body looked small laid out on the wooden dais. Shamus kept a constant vigil at his brother’s body.

Dean squeezed Sam’s hand and stayed back watching his partner approach his oldest friend. Reluctant to intrude on the older man’s grief, Dean sat in a pew in the back giving the two men a few moments together.

As Sam approached his footsteps echoed inside the chapel’s deathly quiet interior. Shamus sat, head bowed over his clasped hands. He looked like he was asleep, but Sam saw from the slight tensing of Shamus’s back that he was aware he was not alone. “It’s nearly time, the sun will set in a few minutes.”

Shamus looked at Sam as the younger man took a seat next to him. “I never really knew ma brother. His ma died long before I was born. My da wed a young lass, I was born a year later. Tis a shame I didna know him better, Sean was gone a lot, Brotherhood business.” Shamus patted the draped form of his brother. “D’you know I envied ma own brother? He was taller, better looking, and he had James.”

“So many families, so much loss and grief.” It was a huge price to pay, the alternative however was unthinkable. “We can only hope those that have gone are at peace, that they spend eternity embraced in God’s love and grace.” Sam pulled his gold hunter from his pocket, opening the cover. “It’s time.” He said gently, before slipping a hand under Shamus’ arm helping the older man to rise. After so many hours spent in vigil Sam knew his friend was bound to be stiff and sore.

Shamus’ face was tired and drawn, the past days had taken their toll on the older man. Dean watched the slow progress as Sam helped him to the chapel door where George was waiting. George’s garden staff worked tirelessly the last two days preparing the funeral pyre to Dean’s specifications. They followed his instructions to the T. Dean took a deep breath, even after all these years burning corpses, the process disturbed him. He wasn’t sure if Sam, George, or even Shamus were prepared for what was to come. The incense and fragrant wood wouldn’t mask all the smell. Then there was the smoke, and the popping noises as the bones exploded. There was the wait, seeing Sean’s frail remains, he estimated it would take over several hours.

Shamus accepted George’s help, the decision to burn Sean’s body went against his upbringing and his families religious beliefs as Catholics. Unfortunately after consultation with Dean, Shamus was aware of the very real possibility that his brother could linger on earth as a malevolent spirit. There was no option; Dean explained what could happen, what he had been forced to hunt in the past. Been forced to desecrate the grave and dig up, salt and burn the remains. Shamus didn’t want that for Sean or his family, so he agreed to his brother’s remains being burnt.

Watching George hook Shamus’ elbow in his, young Lord Pembroke escorted Shamus through the estate grounds to the area Dean selected. As the men departed, Dean took Sam’s arm asking him to sit while he tried to explain what to expect. “Sam, I can do this. It might be better if you, Shamus, and George wait at the house.”

A little puzzled Sam asked. “Why?”

Why? Dean hoped his explanation was enough. He should have known better. “The stench is enough to turn your stomach. The heat is intense, ashes and embers fly through the air landing on your clothes and skin. Your parents died in a fire. Do you really think you’re ready for this? Forgive me, I know when Shamus looks he sees his brother’s body, but I see Baliazar. I have to do this.”

Sam swallowed, he remembered all to well what a burning body smelled like, and given the choice he would choose not to experience it ever again. Leaving Dean to take care of Sean on his own was not an option. “No you misunderstand me, I meant, why do you think you have to do this on your own?”

“I’ve lost count of the number of bodies I’ve burned over the years. It’s not something you ever forget. When I asked you to share my life this wasn’t what I had in mind.” Dean let out a sigh, he already knew Sam wouldn’t leave his side. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out the small round tin. Removing the lid he could already smell the heavy menthol. He dipped his finger in the thick salve then dabbed a bit under Sam’s nose before doing the same to himself. “This will help with the smell.”

Dean nodded his head as the lead groom opened the door to the chapel. Walking to the dais, Dean waited as Sam reached down to lift the foot of the wooden stretcher as Dean lifted the head. With little effort the two men carried Sean’s remains to the small cart waiting outside. With the body carefully loaded, Dean accepted the reins for the black mare leading the cart. With Sam by his side, they started the slow walk down the winding path.

Shamus and George were already waiting when they reached their destination. With great care Dean and Sam laid the stretcher on top of the funeral pyre. Dean grabbed the brown jug from the cart then poured the oily liquid over the linen wrapped body, watching it soak into the fabric. With the body saturated, he poured the remaining liquid on the wood. He lit the incense placed around the perimeter before lighting the torch and handing it to Shamus. Stepping back Dean took his place next to Sam.

Sam stroked Delilah’s broad head as he stood beside Dean. As usual the two hounds escaped the room they were confined to. There was a nip in the air, his breaths forming little clouds, clouds, not Demon smoke, he reminded himself as he watched with great sadness his friend Shamus take the few steps with the lighted torch.

Shamus stood before the four foot high pyre, the estate staff had done a good job he thought. He hesitated a moment. “Forgive me,” he said as he leaned forward to touch the torch to the pre-soaked wood at the base. He stepped back hurriedly as with a whoosh the pyre ignited. The heat was intense, Shamus raised a hand to shield his face as he joined his friends.

At first all he could smell was the kerosene and wood smoke, unfortunately the wind shifted direction and Shamus gagged …“Dear God!” Even over the seasoned apple logs and pine, Shamus could smell his brothers putrefied burning remains. A small tin was thrust into his hand.

Dean rushed forward to help the faltering man. From the open tin he dabbed the menthol under Shamus’ nose. Between the fire’s heat, the falling ash, menthol, and grief, tears spilled down the older man’s face. Taking Shamus’ arm, Dean led him back several paces, his tight hold steadying his friend. Seconds later Sam grasped Shamus’ other arm. Strong fingers curled around Dean’s forearm. “Shamus please, let George take you back to the house. I’ll see to your brother.”

“Please go with George.” Sam added his weight to the conversation. “ I promise, Dean and I will stay here and keep watch.”

The adamant look in Shamus’ eyes told them all they needed to know. Shamus would not allow his brother to take this journey alone.

From his pocket Dean pulled the silver flask. Thanks to Duffy it was filled with George’s finest Irish whiskey. Dean lifted the flask in the air. “To Sean Patrick O’Reilly; May the Irish hills caress you. May her lakes and rivers bless you. May the luck of the Irish enfold you. May the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.” Dean took a drink before passing the flask to Shamus.

“O tis a fair crack ya talk young man.” Shamus accepted the silver flash, lifting it he said;
“May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face. May the rains fall soft upon your fields and until we meet again, May the Lord hold you in the palm of His hand.” He took a swig before passing it to Sam.

Sam raised the flask and recited the earlier learnt poem. “May the raindrops fall lightly on your brow. May the soft winds freshen your spirit. May the sunshine brighten your heart. May the burdens of the day rest lightly upon you. And may God enfold you in the mantle of His love.”

George took the proffered and now much lighter flask. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.”

Dean continued to watch over the small assembled group. Hours passed before the bright orange flames died down. More often than not they stood quietly each to their own thoughts. They never wavered in their duty, even Samson and Delilah held their own silent vigil. It would be hours before the remains could be removed. A small lead box ready to receive what was left of Sean. Shamus’ exhaustion was there for all to see. Finally with a lot of coaxing, the little Irishman was persuaded to accompany George to the house.

Duffy was at the boot room door to greet the solemn little party. He hung coats and helped remove tight fitting boots. “Your Lordship, Rose has taken the liberty of preparing a wake in the non formal dining room.”

“Good man.” George replied. “I don’t know about you three, but I smell like a week old kipper and could do with a wash up first. Shall we meet in an hour?”

An hour later freshly bathed and in clean clothes Dean and Sam stepped into the small dining room. Shamus was already waiting, glass of whiskey in hand. Dean was certain it wasn’t his first. With an amused grin he watched Shamus fill three glasses to the brim. By the looks of Shamus he suspected they would be here the rest of the night.

Taking a chair Dean sat down stretching out his legs. The last few weeks had been hard on all of them. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend it never happened. It would be so easy to drink himself into oblivion tonight. Since waking up next to Sam after Baliazar, he’d been afraid to sleep, afraid where his thoughts would take him. Dean sipped his whiskey and listened to the men reminisce.

Sam had never been to an Irish wake before so he was unsure of what to do. Shamus seemed content to drink and talk with George, and Dean? Dean looked… On the outside he looked alright, a little tired. On closer inspection Sam noticed him flinch when Shamus lit up his pipe and the smoke drifted towards him. Saw the clench of his jaw and the gulp of whiskey he took to cover his nervousness.

Beneath the remains of his tan, Dean’s skin was grey, his eyes tracked Shamus’ every move, he lifted the crystal tumbler once more and Sam noted Dean’s hand was shaking. Not enough to spill the contents but enough that the amber liquid rippled and sloshed inside the glass.

Sam could only guess what it must have been like for Dean to voluntarily surrender himself to Baliazar. To let that vile evil invade his mind and body. Dean hadn’t talked about it yet. But he would, Sam would make sure he did. He knew Dean, knew he wanted nothing more than to bury the memory as far and as deep down as he could, to never think of it again.

Even if he had to pry it out of Dean piece by piece, he would make him talk. Sam’s stomach clenched because he knew the same would be expected of him. Dean would expect nothing more than the whole truth and God help him, Sam wouldn’t be able to deny him, he’d tell Dean everything. No matter how painful.

Sitting on the arm of Dean’s leather chair he leaned in close and whispered. “I love you. Can we go home now?”

**********

Pointing out of the dusty train window “Hey Dean is that… it’s Ruth and Isaac?”

Dean strained his neck to see over Sam. He’d spent the last few hours trying to hide his excitement. He watched the scenery change to the open plains, each town one step closer to being home. He couldn’t stop the smile on his face when he saw the older couple. “Yeah it is, Sammy.”

Like Dean, Sam’s face lit up at sight of the older couple. Seeing them felt like coming home, felt real. Tied to the back of the wagon were Merlin and Blaze. Even before the train fully stopped Sam was out of his seat and swung the carriage door open. Pulling his Stetson off he waved it at the waiting couple.

The brakes gave one last screech as the train came to complete stop. Dean laughed as Delilah pushed through Sam’s legs almost knocking the taller man down in her rush to get out, Samson right behind her. Dean took a deep breath; the chilly Kansas air filled his lungs. It felt like years, not months, since he and Sam stepped onto the platform for the first time. With a sharp whistle the hounds stopped, waiting for their master.

Jumping down onto the platform Sam stretched out his long legs working out some of the stiffness, Samson shoving his cold wet nose into Sam’s hand seeking reassurance. Squatting down Sam hugged the large hound, laughing as Samson took advantage and enthusiastically washed his face. Tugging at his scruff Sam tried unsuccessfully to pull the excited hound off. Finally admitting defeat, “Dean, a little help here?”

With a snap of Dean’s fingers, Samson halted his antics, his tail beating a tattoo on the walkway. Reaching out Dean took Sam’s warm hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he helped Sam back to his feet. Together they watched as Ruth hurried her way up to greet them.

With tears in her eyes she threw her arms around Dean. “Welcome home boys. We’re so glad you’re back.” She managed between her sobs.

Dean held on as Ruth squeezed tight, waiting until she finally loosened her grasp. Holding her at arms length he took a good look. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He teased as he wiped away her tears before letting her go.

“Sam, come here.” She held out her arms and waited for him to lean down for his hug.

Accepting Ruth’s welcome Sam returned her embrace, acknowledging Isaac with a nod of his head over his wife’s shoulder. “Thank you for meeting us. How is the rebuilding going?”

Isaac closed the gap quickly. Reaching out he took Dean’s hand shaking it with a firm grip. Nodding at Sam he smiled. “It’s good to see you. I think you’ll be pleased with the progress. I see you’ve made a couple of new friends.” Isaac motioned towards the hounds. Craning his head he looked towards the train, as if waiting for someone else. “Where’s Shamus? We thought he would be with you.”

“Unfortunately not, Shamus has taken his brother’s remains back to Ireland to make final arrangements. Before he left he got wind of a horse breeder selling up there so he might come back with a few new horses.”

Three young porters unloaded their trunks along with several boxes and bundles setting them on the platform waiting on further instructions. Dean leaned down picking up a paper wrapped bundle before handing it to Ruth. He watched her smile as she revealed the bolt of gray flannel. “This is for Isaac’s suit. Remember the one you were going to surprise him with when you took my measurements?” Dean winked as he saw her blush.

Not to be outdone Sam handed Ruth a blue velvet hat box. Inside was the beautiful hat chosen by Rose. The housekeeper assured Sam that any lady would be proud to own such a magnificent creation. Ruth’s face was a picture. Sam, Dean and Isaac watched as Ruth carefully lifted the black and green ladies boater from its satin lined box.

“Well if that’s what it takes for you to be lost for words I’d have gotten you one of those years ago.” Isaac teased.

Ruth looked up with tears in her eyes. “Sam, it’s lovely. It will be the talk of all the ladies come Sunday morning. Thank you.” She placed her precious gift back in the box, careful not to crush the feathers, she replaced the lid

Turning his attention to the two tethered horses, Sam grasped Merlin’s reins drawing the appaloosa towards him. “Have you forgotten me, boy?” He ran knowledgeable fingers gently over his horse’s soft pink nose. Smiling as Merlin butted him in the chest in greeting. Untying the reins he slipped them over the spotted head and without further pause placed one booted foot in the stirrup iron and swung his right leg over the large western saddle. “Ruth, Isaac, I am eager to see the progress you made, would you think it rude if Dean and I rode ahead?”

Ruth and Isaac each smiled at Sam’s impatience. “Go ahead boys. We’ll see that everything here is taken care of.” Isaac replied as he watched their baggage being loaded on the wagon.

“I have a feast ready when we get home.” Ruth added, then looking at Dean she smiled. “Even baked a pie.”

Dean ran his hands through Blaze’s dark mane before he leaned his head against the strong neck. “I didn’t forget you, I have a present for you too.” He pulled a huge lump of sugar from his pocket, hearing Blaze snort his approval. Dean settled into the worn leather saddle. Beneath him he could feel Blaze’s anticipation. He knew the big horse was eager to stretch his legs. God, he’d missed him. “Lets go home.”

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

“Did you get much sleep last night?” Sam watched Dean push the brim of his Stetson up then pinch the bridge of his nose.

For the last five weeks Dean had managed to put off this conversation, always finding an excuse when Sam brought it up. With several miles ahead of them, he knew he couldn’t worm his way out of it this time. Still plagued by nightmares, he’d taken to catching short naps. He wasn’t the only one. He knew Sam constantly watched him and missed out on his fair share of sleep. “About four hours. How bout you?”

“About the same.” Sam confessed. If he wanted Dean to open up it was going to require honesty on his part too. He’d been trying to get Dean to talk ever since waking up back at George’s house and Dean had been stonewalling him. Until now. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m back there and it’s happening all over again.”

“Sam it’s over. You did what had to be done, what I asked you to do. It’s time for you to forgive yourself. You said it yourself; we’re alive and have our lives ahead of us. Together.”

“So you’re not having any problems sleeping?” Sam kept his eyes glued between Merlin’s gently flicking ears. Please, he thought, be honest.

Glancing over, Sam refused to meet his eyes. “We both know you watch me. You know about the nightmares. You’ve seen me wake up covered in sweat, shaking so bad I can’t stop. Sammy, I died. It’s going to take time.”

“Dean I get them during the day, waking nightmares. I’ll be thinking about something and then I’m back there again. Yesterday when we were dining…the waiter was carving the joint and… it’s not going away, and it’s not getting better. I think I’m going insane.” Shaking his head, he looked to Dean. “I must be, because what sane mind sees things like that?”

Dean reached over taking Merlin’s reins, bringing both horses to a stop. “Listen to me Sam. You’re not going insane. Most people never see what’s out there. I wish you could have been spared. I promise you we’ll get through this together.”

“You are a stubborn ass, why can’t you admit you have them to? I have seen you, the way you followed the waiter’s every move with that knife, saw you flinch as he loaded your plate. I’m not blind Dean, neither am I stupid. Pretending it never happened is not going to help either one of us.”

“I’m not pretending. I’m trying to understand what happened.” Dean glanced away, this time he refused to look Sam in the eyes. “I shouldn’t be here walking around. An angel or a demon, it’s not natural I’ve spent over half my life hunting things like me.” He couldn’t help thinking something bad would come of it.

“Dean it was prophesized, your death and resurrection.” He saw the disbelieving look on Dean’s face, like a red rag to a bull. Sam had enough of Dean thinking he was some kind of monster. “And let me tell you something for free. If I ever, hear you talking like that again, I’m going to borrow Ruth’s wooden spoon, hold you down and beat your lily white ass.”

Dean opened his mouth to speak then closed it unsure of what to say. Seeing a twinkle in Sam’s eye it was hard to take his threat seriously. “In your dreams, Sammy.”

Sam’s forehead wrinkled and his face scrunched up as he repeated, “in your dreams, Sammy. What’s that supposed to mean?” He looked to Dean for clarification. Dean was clutching his stomach, laughing. “What’s so funny?”

“Sam, if I let you hold me down, it won’t be so you can beat me.” He watched the flash of crimson in Sam’s cheeks as he realized the intent of Dean’s words.

Sam’s chin nearly hit the horn on the saddle. Then he grinned. “It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

In their hurry to leave England, they took the first accommodations available. It was bad enough being forced to share their stateroom on the overcrowded ship, but once they arrived in New York no private rail cars were available for their trip west. Stolen kisses and lingering touches left them wanting more. “It’s been too long.” Dean agreed. “I intend to remedy that when we get home.”

“You are just going to have to wait, we can’t rush.” Sam looked fondly at the two hounds, tails up and noses to the ground obviously enjoying their freedom.

“Why is that?” Dean asked as he watched Samson and Delilah romp through the tall prairie grass, never venturing far. He was surprised and delighted when George presented them to him before leaving Wilton House.

“You call yourself a hunter? I thought hunters were supposed to be observant. Haven’t you noticed your dog has put on weight?”

Taking a long look at Delilah, Dean shook his head. “I thought it was from being cooped up for a month, not getting out to run. Puppies, just what we need. Delilah’s not the one I’ve been observing.”

“No?” Sam let his hand drop to his thigh running his hand slowly back and forth. “You could always join me on Merlin?” Sam invited a sly smile on his face.

Dean groaned, he was tempted to take Sam up on his offer. “I was thinking of a nice warm bed where we can stretch out, take our time, do it right.”

“Dean, last time I checked we didn’t have house let alone a bed” Sam squirmed in his saddle, his jeans suddenly feeling a bit tight.

“Isaac said we’d be pleased with the progress. I think that means a bed.” Dean pulled Blaze a little closer. “If not, there’s always the hayloft.”

“I don’t think so, I remember itching for a week after the last time you suggested christening the hay loft.”

“I distinctly remember the hayloft being your idea. You didn’t complain about itching when we were in the pond washing off after. Don’t worry Sam. I promise I’ll take care of you.” Watching Sam squirm and the familiar scenery, Dean added. “Lucky for you we’ll be home soon.”

Sam sneaked a look at Dean’s face, smiled when he saw the familiar smirk and grin, the relaxed slump of his shoulders. Taking a deep breath of Kansas air, Sam felt at peace. It was now a year since his parents’ deaths and so much had happened. Finding a lover and soul mate was not on his list of things to do when he set out for America, neither was finding out he was at the centre of an ancient prophecy. With a shake of his head and a quiet snort he marveled at how everything seemed to have sorted itself out.

If the far away look on his face was any indication, Dean too seemed lost in thought. Sam knew there would be difficulties ahead, arguments, differences of opinion but he was no longer worried about Dean leaving. With all they went through, he knew their relationship would weather any storm.

Still, he was a little nervous, not a whole lot, just a little. It wasn’t as if they were together long before the Brotherhood reared its ugly head and he couldn’t quite dismiss the thoughts running through his head. Would Dean settle down after all the excitement? Would he be content with the occasional hunt? But most importantly would he want the kind of life that Sam craved, the family he wanted. He, Dean, Shamus, Ruth, Isaac and the animals? Or would the excitement and thrill of the hunt prove too tempting?

Dean couldn’t ask for more. He would have stayed in England if Sam wanted, anything to be together. For the first time he was making plans for the future. He still had a job to do, but now there was someone to share the heavy load. His life changed so much in such a short time. He had a home where he wouldn’t have to hide his love for Sam. People who cared about him, a family. All he ever wanted.

Riding along the flint covered track through the beautiful countryside, Sam realized what seemed a distant and impossible dream back in England, was now their reality. From this moment on they were free to write their own future. No longer was it preordained, or prophesized and Sam thought it was a little scary. Once again he looked at Dean and wondered if perhaps he was having any of the same feelings.

Glancing at Sam, Dean saw a look of contentment. “Sammy, I told you before, this life’s not easy. Don’t ever know what’s going to happen, but I want you to know… after all we’ve been through, I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Reining Merlin closer to Blaze, Sam reached out his hand curling it round the side of Dean’s face and kissing him with all the enthusiasm he could muster. Breaking off, “me either.”

As they topped the rise to the ranch they both hesitated. The last time they saw the ranch it was in ruin, and they were bound on a course of action neither was prepared for, but both resigned to.

Both he and Dean pulled up and stared in open mouthed wonder. A huge gate now stood at the entrance to the ranch, hung overhead in pride of place was a sign, HUNTERS REST. Burnt onto either end was a devil’s trap.

On the site of the old house, there now stood a newly painted and much bigger ranch house. Constructed on two floors with what looked like a wrap around porch. In keeping with the old house it was painted a light cornflower blue. A newly erected barn and stable block were in the process of being painted. New corrals replaced the old ones. The tornado scoured ground had been replanted with wild grasses and flowers

Dean couldn’t believe what he was seeing, to him their home was as grand as Wilton House. Pleased with the progress was an understatement. Obviously Isaac made the building a priority to have it completed. A large swing hung from the porch. Saplings were planted around the house. In a few years they would provide plenty of shade. It was perfect.

“How far behind do you think Ruth and Isaac are?” Sam queried.

“About an hour.”

Urging Merlin forward, “that’s good, we have just enough time”

Seeing the huge smile on Sam’s face Dean couldn’t resist. “Time for what?”

“Time we christened a few rooms in our new home.”

finis

A.N. Quote from Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, and Irish Blessings

We would like to thank everyone for reading our little adventure (okay, maybe not so little) Thank to our wonderful readers for your kinds words and encouragement. A special thanks to Lou for her amazing banner, and feather_touch, our amazing beta.

P.S. Keep your eyes on the horizon, who knows, we just might be tempted to take our cowboys out, dust them off, and see what new adventures await them. C & L

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-11-19T09:49:13Z

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-11-02T16:17:27Z

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-10-06T12:11:39Z

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-09-21T08:54:33Z

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-09-10T16:19:06Z

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.

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-08-28T14:42:55Z

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-08-22T08:50:03Z

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.

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-08-17T14:54:02Z

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-08-03T08:04:28Z

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.”

*****

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-07-17T09:37:53Z

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-07-07T10:30:52Z

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.
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

Sam’s stomach rumbled loudly reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and it was early evening now. Breakfast didn’t count seeing as it made a return visit. “You hungry Dean? Because for the first time in days I am.”

“What do you fancy?” Sam asked as he jogged down the back stairs to the kitchen. “ The larder is pretty well stocked, there should be ham, cheese, bread, pickles, that sort of thing. I’ll nip down to the cellar and find a couple of bottles of wine to wash it down with.”

“Sounds good.” Dean called out as Sam opened the cellar door. The kitchen had always been a haven to him. Wasting no time he started to gather everything, laying it all on the large oak table.

Sam wasn’t much of a wine connoisseur but he knew what he liked. Grabbing a couple of bottles of claret he blew out the candle and headed back up the stone steps to the hall. He paused for a moment watching Dean work, placing plates and cutlery out, cutting thick slices of bread, opening a jars of pickled onions and chutney. A lump formed in his throat, why did everything have to look so normal? He watched as Dean stuck a finger into the chutney and slid it into his mouth, sucking the thick preserve from his finger before nodding his head in appreciation. How were they supposed to carry on as if nothing changed?

Dean practically raised himself, the familiar routine, just the two of them in the kitchen, gave a small measure of comfort. Being waited on hand and foot made him feel useless. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam watching him. He knew that look only too well, Sam was thinking about the vision. “Hey Sam, couldn’t find the glasses.” He lied, but he needed to give Sam something to do.

“Oh sorry, I’ll get them.” Opening one of the doors of the large oak dresser he selected two crystal wine glasses and placed them on the table. Picking up the corkscrew that Dean thoughtfully placed in front of his plate, he opened a bottle sniffing, before pouring a generous glass for each of them.

“Is red the preferred wine for cheese or the pickles? I don’t remember.” Dean teased taking a drink. He was rewarded with a silly grin. “Everything’s ready. Let’s eat.” He motioned Sam to sit.

Helping himself to a large wedge of stilton and some damson chutney, Sam glanced over to Dean. “So… you going to start or am I?”

Leave it to Sam to get right to the point. Dean knew they were going to have to talk about it, but he didn’t know if he was ready. “Sam, the vision, we don’t know for certain that’s how it will be. All your others have changed. We’ll do whatever it takes to change this one, too.”

“Dean, we know Sean will come. We haven’t found any other way to kill Baliazar when he’s in the body of the Guardian. James has given us the only way out. I won’t let Baliazar have you, it would be a living hell, it would drive you insane.”

“We have a job to do. We have to finish it; no one else is ever going to go through this again. There are always risks with hunting, and this is no different. You’re right; I don’t want to live like that. If that is the only way to destroy Baliazar, then you have to promise me right now that you’ll do it.” Dean watched hazel eyes fill with tears. Kneeling next to Sam he grabbed him by the neck pulling him close. “Sam, you told me once you had enough faith for both of us. James told you in the vision “faith and trust” I have faith in you.”

“Could you kill me? Could you plunge a knife into my heart?” Sam croaked against Dean’s neck.

Closing his eyes Dean felt Sam’s body tremble. Could he carry the terrible burden that was placed on Sam’s shoulders? Could he plunge a knife into his lover’s heart? He knew he couldn’t live without Sam. Taking Sam’s face in his hands he looked him in the eyes. “Yes. If it was the only way to save you.” He didn’t have to add he would then plunge the knife into his own heart.

“If forced, I will do this, but don’t expect me to be fine with this because I can’t. Neither would you.”

Dean stood and pulled Sam into his arms, holding as tight as he could. “God, Sam. It’s not fair. I just found you. We’ll find a way to change it. Do you hear me? We’ll change it.”

Sam pulled back, both hands reaching to cup Dean’s face. He saw desperation and so much love, for a moment it was overwhelming. He wanted to believe Dean, but it was too late. They were out of time and wishful thinking was a luxury they could no longer afford. Cold, hard reality must be faced. “You don’t really believe that, and neither do I. Please, let’s not lie to each other any more?”

He was so close to breaking, he couldn’t, not now. Sam was depending on him. They needed to make every minute count. “There has to be more Sammy, we can’t give up. Why else would James tell you?”

“I don’t know Dean, perhaps that’s what having faith is all about, not knowing the answers, but trusting everything will turn out the way its supposed to in the end.

******
With a little coaxing Dean was able to get Sam to eat. The meal was quiet, leaving each to their thoughts. By the time they were finished and the kitchen put back in order, one bottle of wine was gone.

Telling Sam they needed sleep, Dean followed him upstairs to his room. The exhaustion of the days events showed on the younger man‘s face. He admitted to himself the emotional toll affected him as well. Dean watched Sam undress and climb into bed. Turning out the gas lamp, Dean undressed before slipping under the sheets. Putting his arm around Sam’s waist, Dean pulled him close curling around the warm body.

The sound of their breathing was loud in the quiet of the night. Almost on the brink of sleep, Dean felt Sam shift.

“Dean?”

“Huh, Sammy?”

“Do you think they knew? I mean my parents, your dad, Shamus? Is this the reason we were born? How could they do this to us?”

The same questions played through Dean’s mind after the vision. Sam’s face was shadowed in darkness. “No, I don’t believe they did.” Dean replied honestly. “Go to sleep, Sam. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

It was late morning by the time Dean woke still wrapped around Sam. Disengaging himself from the warm body, he silently headed to the bath to take care of his needs before going to the kitchen to start breakfast.

Dean was taking a pan of biscuits from the oven when Sam walked into the kitchen.

“Morning Dean.” Sam greeted as he reached over taking a piece of fried bacon.

Looking over, Dean smiled. Sam had slipped into a pair of jeans, he didn’t even bother to comb his hair before coming down. Sam set the table and poured coffee while Dean finished making gravy. Soon a small spread was set out, biscuits, gravy, bacon, and an assortment of jams and jellies. Dean told Sam they needed to make arrangements to leave, it was no longer safe to stay here.

Sam excused himself while Dean cleaned the kitchen. Reluctant to let Sam out of his sight very long, he hurried up the stairs. A slight panic overtook him as both bedrooms were empty. Heading to Sam’s parents room, he heard a noise coming from the bath. Opening the door, he leaned against the frame. Sam was in the tub, eyes closed, head laid back. Minutes passed as Dean stood watching, taking in the broad shoulders, the exposed throat. His body stirred at the thoughts going through his head.

Deciding to return to the books Dean stopped in the kitchen first. Opening the second bottle of wine, he grabbed a glass then walked to the drawing room. Settling in front of a huge stack of books and journals, he filled his glass to the brim before picking up the top book.

Engrossed in the book, Dean didn’t notice Sam come into the room. Catching a shadow cross the book, he glanced up as Sam stood next to him. Hair still damp and clean shaven, he watched Sam take a huge drink from his glass. Licking his lips he watched his lover swallow, a second later Sam kissed him.

The kiss was slow and sweet. Closing his eyes his lips parted as Sam’s tongue probed deeper. He tasted the wine still on Sam’s lips. Dean let out a gasp as Sam straddled his thighs, sitting in his lap. A long finger tilted his head back before Sam’s mouth crashed into his.

Holding Sam’s waist with one hand, Dean’s fingers quickly went to work on the buttons of his shirt. Dean’s hand slipped into the now opened shirt, the firm flesh still warm from the bath. Needing air they both gasped for breath. Wasting no time Dean’s mouth went to work on Sam’s throat biting and sucking the sensitive skin. He heard the moans of approval as they left his lovers mouth

He wasn’t even aware Sam unbuttoned his shirt until a thumb brushed against his nipple then a large hand covered his chest. He felt the hand moving away until only the fingertips remained, lingering over his heart, like a feathers touch, barely there.

Tangling his fingers in Sam’s damp hair, Dean pulled him even closer. He could feel Sam’s erection pushing hard against his stomach and knew Sam could feel him as well. The weight on his thighs lessoned as Sam moved back, then stood pulling Dean up with him.

“I saw you watching me in the tub. I know what you were thinking. I could see it on your face.” Sam smiled as he pulled the small bottle of oil from his pocket handing it to Dean.

In minutes their clothes were in a heap on the floor. Sam pushed Dean back onto the chair, again straddling his thighs. Sam held out his hand as Dean poured a liberal amount of oil onto his hand before pouring some in his own as well. Sam wrapped his large hand around Dean’s cock, slicking the hard shaft. Sam shifted back, letting Dean’s sure fingers stretch him open. Sam lifted himself up, positioning himself before sliding down over Dean’s rigid cock.

Dean bit into his lip, Sam was so tight. He dropped his forehead to Sam’s shoulder to keep from coming. It was so good. Wrapping his hands around Sam’s waist, he pulled him down as he drove his hips up. Letting Sam set the pace Dean met him, driving deeper into Sam’s body. The sound of their harsh breathing and moans echoed through the room.

Sam’s hand squeezed between their bodies as he took himself in hand, stroking himself in rhythm to their lovemaking.

Dean watched Sam’s body arch back. He felt Sam shudder as his orgasm moved through him, heard his name called out as he spilled over between them.

Waiting for Sam’s release to subside Dean held on even tighter. The smell of sweat and sex filled the air. He was so close to the edge, with one last thrust Dean’s body arched up pushing hard into Sam. Unable to stop himself he came.

They sat there, spent, holding on, each reluctant to let go. Their hearts beating in tandem, pounding against their chests. Trading desperate needy kisses, they whispered words of love. Time seemed to stop, they stayed there until Dean felt his legs cramp under Sam’s weight. “Get dressed Sam, we have things to do.”

********
Two hours later, Dean was startled as Sam tossed a book across the room. “Dammit, Dean. We don’t know any more now then we did before.”

Pouring the last of the wine into the glass they shared, he passed it to Sam. “We’ll find something, have a little patience.”

“Patience. We don’t have time.” Sam voiced his frustration.

“Sam, until we know for certain there is no other way, I’m not giving up. We’re not the only ones searching. Shamus, my dad, Marie, they’re all looking for answers. You have to believe. You can’t give up now. Besides, you owe me a ride on Merlin remember? Yeah, Sammy, I’ve already made plans. Me and you sitting on the porch at night. We’ll spend our days in the grove watching herds of horses gather around the pond.”

That night as Sam slept, Dean stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow they would be leaving London. Sam was right, time was running out.

*******

Relaxing back into the comfortable seats of the first class carriage, Sam watched Dean’s face, saw their journey through Dean’s eyes. Watched as the scenery changed from, large buildings and factories, smartly dressed ladies and gentlemen caught in the hustle and bustle of city life. To the more tranquil setting and pace of country life. Small fields filled with crops of wheat, barley, cabbage and summer potatoes. Each small field surrounded by hedgerows filled with wild flowers and fruiting trees, crab apple, hawthorn, rowan, elder and damsons. Each small field combining to form a patchwork quilt of color.

Sam tapped Dean on the shoulder and pointed out the huge spire of Salisbury Cathedral
rising high over the city. Standing at just over four hundred feet it was certainly an impressive sight and visible from many miles away. Snaking its way through the city the train eventually pulled into the station, a high pitched whistle and clouds of billowing steam announcing their arrival under the high glass roof

Wasting no time Sam opened the carriage door peering out, he tried to see through the billowing clouds of steam. Ghostly figures materialized through the white clouds; a dimpled smile spread across Sam’s face as he caught sight of his friend. George, never went anywhere without creating a fuss. His friend was flanked by two burly estate staff in their green and gold uniforms. Heavily brocaded mid thigh length jackets, green calf length knickers, white leggings and black shoes with shiny silver buckles. As eccentric as ever, George rushed up to Sam and in a perfect imitation of Shamus, shouted at the top of his voice “WEE SAMMY!”

Sam’s face flamed with embarrassment. God, why did George have to be so loud? He wished the ground would open up and swallow him as countless people stopped to stare, Dean’s snigger behind him not helping.

Trying to cover his embarrassment Sam looked from one of his friends to the other.

“Ahh, Dean I would like to introduce you to an old college friend of mine, Lord Pembroke. My Business Partner, Dean Winchester”

Dean couldn’t help smile seeing Sam’s embarrassment. He would have delighted in telling Lord Pembroke there wasn’t any part of Sammy that was wee. Extending his hand in a firm shake, “Lord Pembroke, it’s my pleasure. Sam has told me so much about you.”

“No need to stand on ceremony, Sam. I’m plain old, George to my friends and that includes you Dean.” Linking one arm through each of the two men, George made for the exit. “So, this is your American chum? I must say Sam; I was absolutely delighted to receive your letter. I’m hosting the summer ball this weekend and the old house could do with a little livening up. “And,” casting his eyes over Dean, “I must say Sam, your friend is certainly going to cause a few hearts to flutter. I better make sure there’s a ready supply of smelling salts.” Chuckling to himself “either that or we will have to lock him up.” George’s chuckle turning into an all out belly laugh.

Sam looked at a stunned Dean over the top of George’s wavy brown hair and winced, mouthing, sorry. No amount of warning ever prepared you for meeting George. This was one of those occasions where seeing, was believing.

Caught off guard, Dean momentarily faltered. “Uh, George, we appreciate you letting us stay, but I’m sure Sam explained our situation. We have a lot of work to do. I don’t know if there will be time for your ball. Of course Sam is free to make his own choice. I know he would enjoy catching up with all his old friends.”

Not one to have his plans thwarted George winked at Sam conspiratorially before turning his attention to his new chum. “Tut, tut, all work and no play will make Dean an exceptionally dull boy, and we simply cannot have that, can we Sam? Shrinking violets will not be tolerated, Dean old boy, and if I know anything about Sam here, it’s that he will have already whisked you off to see Henry. New clothes simply must be shown off don’t you agree Dean?”

The truth was George was looking forward to meeting Dean. Although there was no mention of a love interest in Sam’s letter, George was good at reading between the lines. It did not escaped the Earl’s notice over the years that Sam never took any interest in any of his wealthy cousins, or the countless other suitable young ladies his friend was introduced to. Taking another longer look at the American, there was no denying he was a handsome devil, and if his friend wasn’t so obviously smitten, he might have made a play for Dean, himself.

He met Sam, when they were quite young, the boys were introduced at a tea party his mother was hosting and although there was a couple of years between them they soon become firm friends. Bored with the adult’s conversation the two boys stuffed their pockets with food and went to explore the estates vast grounds. Since that time Sam became one of George’s favorite friends

Seeing the huge smile on Sam’s face, Dean wondered if Sam knew about the ball all along. Glaring at Sam, he gave his most charming smile. “Of course George, it wouldn’t be right to disappoint the ladies.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief, George, could be quite a handful at times and he’d been worried Dean would not know how to take George. If he’d taken a dislike to Dean, George could have made life very difficult. Sam witnessed the young Earl, on more than one occasion turn into an insufferable, pompous ass, when in the company of someone he disliked. Thankfully, it seemed, Dean fell instantly into the category of friend. He watched as the tense line of Dean’s jaw relaxed a bit. Sam was worried; he noticed Dean’s hand massaging the back of his neck several times since leaving London and wondered if Dean was in pain. Perhaps George would allow them some time to settle in before the dinner drinks were served.

Spotting a flower seller Sam disengaged his arm from George and purchased a summer posy, and on the next stall an ounce of pipe tobacco. Tucking the tobacco into his pocket he rejoined his friends as they neared the Earl’s carriage.

A huge black lacquered carriage waited. Dean took a minute to admire the four large grays, reaching out running his hand over the lead horse. Since leaving Kansas he had only been on a short ride for the climb to Castle Duarte. He missed Blaze and the freedom he gave him. Waiting for his host to enter the carriage, Dean looked back to see Sam watching him intently. Climbing into the carriage he was surprised when George indicated he take the seat next to him.

Settling in next to George he fidgeted watching Sam take the opposite seat. George was rattling on to Sam about one person after another. As always Dean took into account their whereabouts, storing the information for later. Leaving the station they turned left on Fisherton Street then Wilton Road where homes and small shops lined the way. They crossed over a railway bridge onto a beech lined road before coming to a large wall. The carriage took another left, more trees lined the road running along a narrow river. Dean heard himself gasp, Sam hadn’t prepared him for this. He couldn’t even describe the massive stone manor before them.

“Welcome to, Wilton House, Dean,” George elbowed Dean in the ribs, “You might want to close your mouth before you swallow a fly, old boy.” Both he and Sam laughed out loud at the expression on Dean’s face, it was truly priceless. “I take it, back where you come from you don’t have anything like this?” George enquired.

Dean was speechless. All he could do was shake his head ‘no’ as the carriage drew even closer. He’d never seen anything like it. To think this was someone’s home. He suddenly felt so out of place.

Sam saw the instant, awe, turned to unease and then quickly settled into panic. Life in America never prepared Dean for anything like this. That was partly why, when he met Dean he kept this part of his life hidden. He and George were used to it, took no notice. But to the ordinary person it was overwhelming. All he could hope was Dean would remember the things he and Wilkins taught him in London. Those lessons together with the clothes would go a long way to building confidence, any little slip ups could easily be explained away by Dean being an American, and therefore, eccentric.

Sam longed to reach forward, and squeeze Dean’s knee to ground him, to let him know that he was not alone, that he would look after him.

Coming back to his senses Dean glanced over at Sam. This was Sam’s world before him, something he would never be part of. He longed for the simplicity of Kansas, especially now. There was enough for them to do without him constantly worrying over embarrassing Sam. George possessed some of the same qualities of Sam, but what of everyone else he would meet while here. He hoped they would be left alone to continue their search in the massive library Sam told him about. The thought of being the oddity at the ball, put on display did nothing to help his unease. This wasn’t how he wanted his last week with Sam to be.

The horses pulled the carriage to the main entrance stopping in front of the steps. Immediately the footmen were in attendance opening the carriage doors and assisting them to step down. George chattered on endlessly giving Dean a brief history of the stately home.

After showing them to the guest’s apartment he told them that lunch would be served in an hour in the small dining room, before leaving them to settle in.

The “small” apartment they were shown to was larger than their home in Manhattan. A series of interlocked rooms, two bedrooms, a modern bath, a sitting room. Dean tried giving George his undivided attention, but only half listened. Sam could fill him in later. Opening his trunk, Dean did a quick inventory, not expecting anything to be gone, just habit. Satisfied he made his way to the bedroom Sam was shown to. “You don’t happen to have a map of this place?” He asked as he flopped down on the bed.

Sam laughed, “No, sorry, I still get lost and I’ve been here many times.” Looking at Dean’s face he could see that he was a little overwhelmed. “It’s just a house Dean. Yes, I will admit a little grander and bigger than most, but it’s still only a house.”

Dean watched Sam gather his things to wash up. He admired the hard muscular body as Sam removed his jacket and shirt. “Did you know about the summer ball?”

Pausing to drop his things back on the bed he turned around a sheepish grin on his face. “He has one every year at this time, so yes, I knew.” Reaching out he trailed a finger along Dean’s jaw, before dropping a teasing kiss on his lips.

Knowing how easy it would be to get lost in Sam’s kiss, Dean pulled back. “Were you afraid I’d run off if you told me? Not gonna happen. I told you before you were stuck with me. Better get ready for lunch. It’ll take an hour to walk to the dining room.” Dean joked.

Once they were both cleaned up and ready for lunch, Sam set out in search of the dining room, If memory served, it was down the back stairs, first left and first left again. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted George through the open door. Seeing Duffy, a long serving member of staff he pulled the small brown paper wrapped parcel from his pocket. The older man turned a genuine look of delight on his face when he recognized Sam.

“Lord Richards, how very nice to meet you again.” He said as he placed a large bowl of salad on the beautifully laid table.

Sam clapped the little man on the shoulder, “Duffy it’s good to see you and please, to you it will always be Sam. I have a small gift for you and Mrs. Duffy.” He offered up the posy and the wrapped tobacco.

Duffy opened his mouth to say thank you but nothing came out so he closed it again, looking at the small gift. Rose would be thrilled with her flowers; no doubt a few tears would be shed over them. His wife had fond memories of the young Lord’s visits. The two boys often sneaking into her kitchen in search of a biscuit or freshly baked bread and homemade jam.

“Well.” George interrupted, easing the awkwardness, “that’s the first time I’ve seen Duffy lost for words. I will send for you when we are ready for coffee, Duffy, go and enjoy your break.” George seated himself at the head of the table and started to help himself to the fresh baked trout.

Dean was grateful for the informal lunch. Watching George help himself to the trout, he wasn’t sure he remembered everything Sam and Wilkins taught him in London. Sam surprised him about his title. He moved from one world to the other with so little trouble. For months they worked side by side, long, hard hours. Dean listened intently as George and Sam reminisced, laughing at childhood antics. He let himself relax, even if only for a short while.

During a slight lull in the conversation, which was entirely due to the delicious summer pudding they were eating George cleared his throat. “Sam and Dean, I have something to tell you both. “

Sam interrupted, “don’t tell me you’re getting married?” He joked. A frown forming on his brow when he took on the seriousness of his friend’s expression.

“I know why the two of you are here.” George stated.

Looking between Sam and George, Dean gave a nervous laugh. For a minute it briefly crossed his mind that Sam was still keeping secrets. The shocked look on Sam’s face told him that wasn’t the case. Sam would never tell George and they barely knew the details themselves. They’d been searching for answers since Shamus told them about their destiny. George couldn’t know, perhaps it was a game the two lords shared. “Why we‘re here for your ball of course.”

“George what on earth are you talking about? Of course you know why we are here. I wrote and told you we would be visiting. A mere social call nothing more.” Sam looked warily from Dean’s calm face to George’s somewhat surprised one.

“I swear that little Irishman is going to feel the toe of my boot one of these days.” Looking at the two men he elaborated, “Shamus was supposed to tell you when the time was right. My family has acted as custodian to some very important documents. I have never laid eyes on them, and to the best of my knowledge neither has anyone other than those the documents were intended for. They are for you Sam and Dean, the Guardian and Seer.”

You know? The documents, where are they? We need to see them. Please it’s very important.” Dean wasn’t above begging. Maybe, just maybe, they would find the answers, the way to change Sam’s vision. “How did your family come to be the custodian?’ Sometimes he wondered if he and Sam were the only ones that didn’t know what was going on. Why didn’t Shamus tell them about George?

“This is holy ground as far back as records go documents in one form or another have been kept here. Long before the house was built, an Abbey stood on this site and before that a priory and before that God alone knows because it’s there that all records cease. With the passing of each generation a member of the Brotherhood passes over responsibility to the next heir and so it falls to me as the latest custodian to give you both access to those documents and with it any help that you might need.”

*****
Wed

To say Wilton House’s library was huge was an understatement. Easily it was the largest one Dean had ever been in. The room was over 60 feet long, books lining the majority of it. Shaking his head Dean didn’t even know where to begin. Apologetically George steered them to a large group of bookcases, narrowing their search to several hundred books, ledgers and documents. Each choosing a section of books, the large table was quickly filled.

Dean and Sam listened intently as George gave them a brief history of the land that became his family home. The first building was a priory of nuns founded by King Egbert around 871. Later the priory was granted lands and manors by King Alfred and became Wilton Abbey, best known for Saint Edith who received the veil by the Bishop of Winchester around 976. Wilton Abbey was dissolved by Henry VIII who presented the estates to William Herbert, the first Earl of Pembroke in 1544. William started building Wilton House shortly after.

“You’re telling us we have over a thousand years of history to go through? Please, George, was there anything special from the Brotherhood to help us?” Dean was beyond the point of caring whether the desperation in his voice was evident. Time was quickly running out.

“Ah the Brotherhood. A very secretive and devious bunch, totally devoted, but nutty as a fruitcake if you ask me.” With a shrug of his shoulders and a wry grin “mind you Dean, uncle Bertie was a tad eccentric.” At a snort from Sam he continued. “Well perhaps mad would be a more truthful description.” Looking at his two chums he asked, “ why may I ask do you two not wear the rather fetching robes if you are part of the Brotherhood?”

Barely containing his anger Dean looked at Sam. “I swear to God, I’m going to kill that damn pixie. The only time Shamus mentioned the Brotherhood was when he told us about James. No one ever said we were part of any Brotherhood.” With a small laugh he continued. “Hell, Sam, you could have saved a fortune and me a considerable amount of embarrassment with Henry.”

Pulling the amulet out of his shirt he dangled it before George. “But maybe this is better than wearing a robe.”

“Well boys all I can tell you is what I was told by the last custodian, my dear uncle Bertie. We are not permitted to view the documents in our keeping. General reference books are kept here in the great library but what you seek is sealed in the cellar in the remains of the priory.”

Tucking the amulet back into his shirt Dean motioned to George. “Please, if your lordship will lead the way.”

Dean waited as Sam fell in behind George. “Shamus said there would be tests along the way. Why couldn’t he just tell us?”

“But then they wouldn’t be tests would they, not if we already knew all the answers. I think he told us all that he could Dean. Perhaps Shamus didn’t have all the answers because if he did he wouldn’t have sent us out here unprepared”

“Well gentlemen if you would like to follow me I will take you to the cellar.”
Now would come the acid test of whether Dean was what he claimed to be George thought to himself. Anyone could have the amulet but only the true Guardian would have the means to open the box.

Dean and Sam followed George down the stairs through one of the large hallways. Stopping midway, George reached up to one of the large panels releasing the hidden door. Lighting two torches that hung right inside the passage George passed one to Dean keeping the other for himself. Old winding stones steps led them down to the cellar. The earthy scent and cold of the underground chamber permeated the area. Coming to a stop, George pulled a large iron key from his pocket unlocking the massive arched door.

“Well, I will leave you two to enjoy yourselves. I am not allowed to be here when the casket is opened. Make sure to secure everything before you leave. Dinner will be at eight in the small dining room Sam unless you wish to dine in your apartment.” George didn’t know whether to be pleased or saddened that Dean was the next Guardian. From the little he had gleaned from his uncle the Guardians always met a sticky end. Closing the door behind him he left to find his dogs.

The room was small and somewhat confining. A desk with a bench pushed under it sat in the center taking up the majority of the space, a chair sat near the door. In the corner was what looked like a huge stone casket. Dean barely noticed as George placed the key on the desk and walked to the door. Stepping closer Dean squatted before the casket. The same runes and symbols that were engraved into the knife were inscribed on the casket lid. Taking the knife he inserted the handle into what could only be a keyhole. Turning it to the right he heard a loud click. Opening the heavy lid the documents and books inside were revealed.

Fully absorbed in the contents of the casket, he handed several of the ancient texts to Sam. Dean watched as he carefully set them on the table not wanting to cause any damage. A group of candles were lit giving the room some much needed light. Reaching back Dean rubbed his neck before pulling out the bench and sitting down. Within minutes he opened the first large book and started reading.

Sam was in heaven, he loved research, always had. Much of his time as a young man at college was spent in the library looking through the fine collection of books. With awe he unrolled a piece of parchment, squinting in the half light to make out the beautifully written script. Unfortunately he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Carefully rolling it back up he set it to one side. The book Dean was squinting over looked far more promising. Sam’s concerned gaze noticed that Dean was once again rubbing at his neck. Pushing back his chair he walked round the table pulling the hand away Sam replaced it with one of his own gently kneading the tight muscles.

Leaning his head forward Dean closed his eyes letting Sam’s long fingers go to work on the tight knots. He felt like Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But wasn’t that what he and Sam were doing? Wasn’t that what Shamus told them? The fate of mankind rested on them, the Guardian and Seer. Truth be told he was beyond exhausted, he knew Sam was too. How could two men be expected to carry that burden?
He wanted nothing more than to lay down with Sam and sleep for the next week. Unfortunately for him another week and it wouldn’t matter unless they could find a way to change Sam’s vision. Hopefully they would find the answers here in this room.

Sam loved touching Dean. Whether it was innocent touches, intimate caresses or the gentle massage he was giving Dean at this moment. All contact was heavenly. Placing a palm on Dean’s forehead he pulled back until the blond head was resting against him. Sam moved the pads of his fingertips in soothing circles over Dean’s temples, looking down he was not surprised to see Dean’s eyes gradually closing. Sam continued for a few more minutes. Gradually Dean’s breathing slowed he was falling asleep. Now came the tricky part. Asking if he was in pain or tired would get Sam nowhere. Dean would deny it, so that left sneakiness.

Yawning loudly several times Sam said “I’m sorry Dean, but do you mind if we leave this to tomorrow. I’m really tired. Perhaps we could take George up on his offer and have
dinner in our rooms and make an early night of it?”

Dean wasn’t sure how much time passed, but if Sam continued he would fall asleep right here. Hearing Sam yawn, Dean opened his eyes. Looking up Dean smiled. He knew Sam was tired, but this little show was for his benefit. There was still work to be done, but it might help to look at it with a fresh set of eyes. Nodding his head he agreed. “Sure Sam, if you’re tired we can have dinner and call it an early night.” Taking Sam’s hand, Dean kissed the palm. “Thanks Sammy, let’s lock these back up and go find George.”

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-07-02T08:04:21Z

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.
PS Our poor beta has not checked this chapter so all mistakes are ours alone

Honore Et Amore Chapter 6

Standing in front of the mirror, Dean looked longingly at his Stetson before placing the round, black bowler on his head. He felt ridiculous. Sam relented letting him wear his cowboy boots, his Sunday-go-to-meeting pair as Ruth called them. Descending the stairs Sam was waiting and ready to go.

A short walk later Sam and Dean entered the huge iron gate that surrounded Hampstead Parish Church. Looking around Dean saw the old cemetery, he imagined the ghosts that resided there. Footsteps echoed loudly in the cavernous room as a young cleric made his way down the aisle. After proper introductions, they were led to a large room towards the back of the church. Pointing out a group of books the young man excused himself, leaving Sam and Dean to begin their search. The large wooden table was filled with rare scrolls, dusty registries, church journals. Books, scrolls and ancient texts that hadn’t seen the light of day for many years were poured over and notes made. Hours passed, the sun was starting to set when the two men were ready to leave the church.

Before leaving Sam walked into the nave and sat in one of the beautifully carved pews. Clasping his hands together, he sat in silent contemplation, letting the peace and tranquility he always experienced when entering a church calm his agitated mind. Slowly edging forward, he slid from the pew onto his knees, head resting on his clasped hands he prayed. Prayed for help, for guidance, and for strength. Sam finished with the Lord's Prayer. As silently as he entered the nave, he left, finding Dean waiting for him loaded down with books.

Once home Sam immersed himself in research, he was vaguely aware of Dean interrupting at times, but it wasn’t until the book he was reading was pulled from his hands that he realized how late it was.

Dinner was served, and Sam again let his food go cold as he refused to take a break. Dean tried to engage Sam into a little light hearted conversation, to no avail. Getting up Dean pried the book from Sam, adding it to a small stack. He urged Sam upstairs. Closing the door to his room he placed the books on the desk before pouring two glasses of whiskey, watching as Sam emptied the glass in two gulps. Telling Sam to get some sleep, Dean took the glass before putting out the light. Taking off his boots and his shirt he waited for Sam to undress and join him. Sam removed his boots and clothing before laying next to Dean. As Dean curled into him, he heard Sam mutter, “I’m tired,” as he turned away.

Some time later Dean heard Sam as he lifted the quilt, slipping from the bed and his room. Dean was exhausted, he’d been trying to match Sam, only sleeping when Sam slept. Now his tired mind and body took over drifting into sleep.

A half nights sleep did wonders for Dean. He quietly crossed to Sam’s room, not surprised seeing it empty. Walking down the stairs Mr. Peel was seated outside the drawing room. A quick glance in the empty dining room and the busy kitchen had him making his way to the drawing room. As he approached, Mr. Peel stood blocking the door. “I’m sorry sir, but his lordship asked not to be disturbed by anyone, especially you sir.”

Heading to the kitchen, Dean poured himself a cup of coffee waiving off Mrs. Peel as she attempted to wait on him. He fixed himself a plate and sat at the kitchen table half listening to the young maid Katie chatter away. She was saying something to Mrs. Peel about a man. She was a pretty young woman, it would stand to reason that she would catch a young man’s eye. She was telling Mrs. Peel the man frightened her, she saw him lurking around the house the last few days.

Finishing his breakfast he heard the door to the drawing room open. Hurrying from the kitchen, he hoped to see Sam. By the look of Sam, he had just woken up, his hair was going every which way, he was unshaven, and dark circles under his eyes. Sam glanced at Dean asking him if he was ready, there were a few more churches to visit.

Looking at the disheveled figure, Dean shook his head. “Sam, you can’t go out like that. You slept in your clothes, you need to shave and clean yourself up. Have you eaten anything?”

“Of course I’ve eaten.” Sam snapped. “Mrs. Peel had breakfast ready by the time I left your room at 6:00. I fell asleep going over some books.” As he looks down at his clothes he adds “You’re right I need to clean up before we go.”

Sam just lied to him; twice. Mrs. Peel told him she was worried about Sam, he refused to eat, only drank a few cups of coffee. Dean knew what time Sam left his bed, he checked his watch. It was a little after two. There was no way to confuse the time. Sam might not have known exactly what the time was, but he would definitely know the difference between it still being dark and after sunrise. Dean had never known Sam to lie to him, he knew how he felt about it. Sam might not tell him everything, but he didn’t lie. Dean wondered what else Sam lied about.

Following Sam upstairs, Dean leaned against the door frame. He watched Sam remove his shirt before gathering his razor, soap, and a towel. “I can do that for you.” Dean offered, remembering the last time he shaved Sam. He saw Sam’s reflection in the mirror, his eyes meeting Dean’s for only a second before shaking his head and glancing away. He watched Sam finish his task and go to change.

As Sam tried to step around him, Dean pressed Sam into the closed door. Reaching
up he drew his head down kissing him slow and deep. Like a slow motion dance Dean felt Sam turn them, finding himself pinned to the door by Sam’s hard muscular body. Sam’s mouth covered his in a bruising kiss, parting his lips he allowed Sam’s tongue into the warm wet heat. Dean grabbed Sam’s hips pulling him closer. Long fingers unbuttoned his shirt. Dean felt the double beats of their hearts as bare skin pressed together. Sam’s palm covered his heart, the amulet trapped between Sam’s hand and his chest

Sam’s body tensed, then the loss of heat as he pushed away, a look of horror on his face. Sam turned his back as he reached for the clean shirt laid on the bed. Dean reached out, his fingers absently caressing the raised pink burn scars, tracing over the now healed scar left from the tornado, moving down Sam’s back to linger on the crescent birthmark. The mark that haunted and terrified Dean most of his life. “Sammy talk to me, tell me what I did wrong. You won’t even look at me.”

At Sam’s continued silence Dean turned “I’ll be downstairs.” he called as he left the room.

If possible Sam’s mood was even worse by the time he climbed down the stairs. Dean earned a glare as he muttered “Christo” half expecting Sam’s eyes to turn black, anything to explain his behavior.

The next few days were much the same. Other churches, hours hunched over obscure documents, trying to find that ever elusive missing piece of the puzzle. Dean watched quietly as Sam would spend a few minutes in prayer before leaving. Dean admired Sam’s faith, even though he couldn’t join in. In silence they would return to the Church Row townhouse, Dean unable to draw Sam out.

Thinking back, the change in Sam was after their time in the garden when he recounted the vision. Was there more? Sam made it sound easy, summon Baliazar and kill him. If it were that easy why had so many failed? What was it James told them? Their bond must remain strong otherwise they would be found. Men were sent to stop them in Mull. What could be so bad that Sam would turn away from him, would lie to him? How far was he willing to go to find out? Weighing his options Dean came to a decision.

Hearing a loud commotion from the dining room, Dean hurried over. Mrs. Peel came running out of the room in tears almost knocking the young hunter over.

“I’m sorry sir, I should have been watching where I was going.” She apologised. “I’m worried about his lordship. I’ve begged, even put out his favorite dishes, he refuses to eat. He’s never raised his voice to me before.” She wiped away the tears falling down her round cheeks.

Doing his best to calm the upset woman, Dean assured her he would see to it that Sam ate something before they departed for the day. Dean’s request that Sam eat was met with a glare. At his continued insistence, Sam stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

By the time they entered the church, Sam’s mood darkened even more. The offer of help from the young cleric declined, Sam reminding him he was Lord Richards, the Earl of Somerset. They were not to be disturbed, if they needed assistance he would be called for. They were led to a large chamber on the third floor. A huge stained glass window provided little light. Dean recognized the scene, St George slaying the dragon. Four massive oak tables with benches sat on a stone flagged floor, against one wall was a bookcase overfilled with dusty books and scrolls.

Scanning through the books, each made several selections, an ever growing stack piled on one large table. Dean spied two books on the top shelf, the hand written Latin text was perfect. Calling Sam over Dean pointed to the book. Sheepishly he looked at Sam telling him he couldn’t reach the top shelf and would Sam mind. Bracing himself for the contact, he refused to move making Sam reach over him.

Dean saw Sam rub the small of his back after handing him the book. “Your back bothering you Sam?” This wasn’t the first time Dean noticed Sam’s pain. “You want me to look at it? I can give you a massage later if it’ll help.”

“No Dean, I’m fine. It’s all the sitting, leaning over books. Once we find what we need we can get back to the physical training.”

Settling in, they continued to search for the summoning and anything on Baliazar. Dean was aware of hazel eyes watching him, glancing away whenever Dean looked his way. Picking up the Latin text, he set it in front of Sam telling him he was having a little trouble reading the hand writing. Pressing against Sam’s back he leaned down, his hand resting on Sam’s shoulder as the passage was read.

His mouth next to Sam’s ear, Dean read aloud, his arm brushing against Sam as his finger underlined the text. He felt Sam shift and turn his head away. He was tempted by the curve of Sam’s exposed neck. Dean wanted to run his tongue around Sam’s ear and down that long throat, to nip and suck the sensitive skin, to hear the little noises Sam made deep in in his throat.

“Christ Dean, this is a church. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? We don’t have time for that. We have to find a way to kill Baliazar without…” Sam caught himself before he revealed his terrible secret.

“Without what Sam? What are you not telling me? I know you’re keeping things from me.”

“Dean….”

Dean grabbed Sam’s chin forcing him to look at him. He needed Sam to understand. “Until this is done, we’re all at risk. Wilkins, the Peels, all of us, do you understand? I need you to send them away.”

Nodding his head, Sam suddenly looked like a lost child again. “But what do I say to them?”

He hated being cruel, but he couldn’t coddle Sam, not now. There would be time for that later. Dean needed to know the truth. “What do you say to them? You don’t SAY anything. You’re Lord Richards, you TELL them to leave. You don’t need their services until this is over. I can’t watch them and you both without someone to watch my back. You’re in no shape to hunt, you’re not eating, not sleeping, distracted. Hell Sam, you even lied to me. When you’re ready to stop acting like a child let me know. We are going to finish this no matter what it takes. I won’t make someone else finish what I started. You‘re not a hunter Sam, you‘re a spoiled child playing a game. When this is over you can go back to being your lordship, the Earl of Somerset. Find your lady, marry, raise a bunch of little lords to carry on the family name. Years from now you and your cronies can laugh about this and the crazy American cowboy over cigars and drinks after your formal dinner parties.”

Sam turned away before Dean could see the hurt he inflicted. There was no time for hurt feelings and tears. He knew he deserved the anger and hurtful words. He’d more than earned them over the past few days. It would all be worth it in the end, once he found a way to prevent the vision coming true. In truth he was tired, jumpy and bad tempered. Hungry no. The mere thought of putting food in his stomach making him feel ill. He knew Dean was worried about him, wanting answers Sam couldn’t, wouldn’t give him. There was so little time left, every moment was needed for research, he couldn’t afford to waste it on sleep and meaningless pleasantries.

*******

Dean hated what he was about to do, but he saw no other choice. He hoped Sam would come to him, tell him what he was hiding, or lash out in anger over the cruel words, but if anything Sam was even more withdrawn. Sam met with Wilkins and the others dismissing them for the time being. The two young maids were excited about their new adventure, Mrs. Peel was beside herself, and Wilkins cast an accusing glare at Dean upon their departure.

Opening his trunk, Dean started to gather everything. He found the small hunters kit he kept for injuries near the bottom. Slowly he removed the bottle. Pulling out the gris gris Marie gave him, he opened the bag and looked through the contents. She told him he would know what to do with each of the items when the time came. She had given him the small vial saying she knew about Sam and the quatre yeux, it would allow him to see what Sam saw.

It was time for the ruthless hunter once again. There was a job to do no matter how much he regretted it. Over Sam’s objections he ordered him to his room telling him he would get some sleep if only a few hours before he would let him back to the books. A quick trip to the kitchen and everything was ready. His own words came back to haunt him, he remembered telling Sam if he stayed he would eventually hate him. Sam would hate him for what he was about to do and he couldn‘t blame him.

Placing the tray in the dumbwaiter Dean blew out the breath he was holding. He couldn’t help himself, his slow ascent up the stairs was like a gallows walk to the hangman’s noose, he was a condemned man. Putting on his poker face Dean walked into Sam’s room setting the tray on the small desk. Handing Sam a cup, he watched him turn up his nose at the awful smelling brew. The young hunter saw suspicion in hazel eyes as they gave him a questioning glance. “This will help you relax,” Dean lied. Sam set the cup on the bedside table without drinking. It was time to put plan B in motion.

Uncapping the dark bottle Dean sat next to Sam. “Lift your shirt, I have something to help your back.” He poured some liquid onto the cloth. As soon as Sam turned Dean grabbed him covering his mouth with the cloth, waiting for the chloroform to take effect. It took all Dean’s strength to hold Sam as he struggled. Sam’s nails dug into the flesh of his arms as he fought to break free. “Shush, Sammy please.” Dean begged. He was careful of his hold, trying his best not to hurt his lover. Tears ran down his face until thankfully, Sam’s body went lax.

Dragging Sam’s unconscious body further up the bed, Dean gently placed his head on the pillow. Brushing the too long hair from Sam’s face. “I’m sorry Sammy.” Removing Sam‘s shoes, he did everything to ensure sure he would be comfortable. Dean removed his own boots before propping himself against the large headboard. Like Sam he turned his nose up as he drank the bitter brew.

Green hills stretched out for miles around him, Dean could see a young boy playing and laughing, then he’s was running towards Dean. The boy stopped before Dean, a huge smile covering his face, bringing out his dimples. His eyes covered by the unruly dark mop of hair. “What’s your name? he asked looking up at the tall hunter his hand shading his eyes from the bright sun.

Squatting down he replied, “My name’s Dean. What’s yours?”

The young boy took Dean’s hand in his, “Are you the one they sent to help Sam? He’s lost and scared. Said someone special would come.”

With a reassuring smile Dean nodded as he said yes, earning another smile. “Come on,” the boy pulled Dean with him. Swinging their joined hands, the boy skipped trying to keep pace with Dean’s shortened stride joking and laughing as they went.

They found themselves in a small garden, three figures were sitting on a colorful quilt spread out across the lawn. A picnic before them all smiling and laughing. A tall, lanky teenage boy was sprawled out, all arms and legs, blushing as he watched the man and woman exchange a quick kiss. “Now, Sarah,” the man teased, “You’ve embarrassed poor Sam.”

“That’s Sam with his mum and dad,” the boy pointed out.

Dean felt the momentary envy, having so few memories of his mother, even less of happy family memories.

Again the child pulled Dean from the scene. It was darker now, angry flames leapt into the night sky. People were running, screaming, confused. Dean watched Sam run into the burning manor house. Saw the ceiling collapse on him. Dean tried to run towards the house only to be held back by invisible hands. He watched as Shamus freed Sam, his body blackened and burned.

“That was when Sam stopped being happy.” A childish voice said.

Dean blinked, it was again daylight. Late afternoon. Sam was sitting, leaning against a tree. Dean was laying on the ground, his head in Sam’s lap, they were laughing and talking, watching a small herd of mustangs at the pond. Dean felt Sam’s lips pressed to his as Sam leaned down and kissed him.

Giggling, the boy closed his eyes, “That was when Sam was happy again.”

Dean found himself smiling down at the boy, this time seeing a frightened face. It was dark, they were in SAMS LONDON garden. Sam was sitting on the bench crying out in pain. Dean saw a circle made of massive stones, two figures, one bathed in darkness the other in light. Dean covered his eyes as a white light flashed before him. He was watching two men performing an ancient ritual, one of the men looked like Shamus, the other with sparkling blue eyes.

Shocked, Dean watched as the men performing the ritual became Sam and himself. He could see the anguish and horror on Sam’s face, he watched the demon enter his own body, his eyes turn black. He saw the pain and tears in Sam’s hazel eyes as he plunged the knife that he now carried into his heart. He watched himself convulse before he saw himself die.

With his eyes closed he heard James tell Sam to trust and have faith. Sam’s voice was crying out, begging God, he heard the despair in his lover’s voice. Opening his eyes he watched sobs wrack Sam’s body. He saw Sam’s eyes the moment Sam decided to lie. Now he understood. He watched himself as he ran into the garden to comfort Sam.

“Dean?” He was again aware of the child holding his hand. Leaning down, he felt a small hand wipe tears from his face. “Can you help Sam?”

Not trusting his voice, he shook his head yes. “Good. Now Sam won’t be so scared. I can’t play anymore, it’s time for you to go.”

Sitting upright, Dean’s hands were visibly shaking as he checked the still unconscious man. He stumbled as he stood, his legs like lead weights not wanting to move. It took several minutes to make his way to the bathroom. Having not eaten since breakfast there was very little in his stomach as he heaved into the basin. Standing in front of the mirror Dean placed the cool cloth over his face, hoping he could wipe away any evidence of his tears. Removing the cloth all he saw were black eyes reflected back, mocking him.

It wasn’t fair. They were supposed to have a destiny. This was it? This was their reward for destroying Baliazar. A couple of months of true happiness. That was what his life came down to? His life, a few weeks and it would be over, he would be dead. And Sam, that was the most cruel thing of all. Sam forced to be God’s instrument killing Dean. How could Sam still have faith? Was this their punishment for their sin, for loving one another? With a sigh, Dean made his way back to Sam’s room.

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

Sam was stuck in the vision, he couldn’t wake up. He knew he was dreaming but no matter what he tried nothing worked. He was forced to watch as he stabbed Dean over and over again. A silent scream, building in his chest trying to break free. He wanted to “wake up” please let me wake up.

Sam was thrashing about the bed, his eyes blinking rapidly under his lids. Dean knew it was time to wake him. He would have hell to pay once Sam was fully awake. Grabbing Sam by the shoulders with a rough shake. “Wake up Sam.”

With a gasp Sam woke, sitting up so swiftly that he nearly head butted a worried looking Dean who was leaning over him at the time.

Only his hunter reflexes kept Dean from being hit as Sam sat up. The after effects of the chloroform would be similar to what Sam experienced with the visions. Dean had water, a fresh cloth, and a basin ready in case one was needed. Staying close he waited for Sam to focus, “It’s alright Sam, I’m here.”

“Dean what happened?” Sam tried to focus on a swaying Dean. “I ...I don’t feel so good.” A bowl was thrust into his hands just in time . When he was done, a cold cloth was placed on the back of his neck and a glass of water placed in his hand to rinse his mouth out. While Dean took care of things Sam drew his knees up and ran shaky fingers through his hair. He had a thumping headache and for a moment he couldn’t think why. Then it all came back to him. Dean grabbing him, holding a sweet smelling cloth over his mouth and nose. He remembered struggling to get free and then…the nightmares.

One look at Sam’s face and Dean knew he remembered what happened. Taking the bowl, Dean left the room. A glance in the mirror showed the guilt written all over his face. It was time to face the music. Hurrying back to Sam, Dean looked straight into his eyes. “Oh God, Sam. You should have told me.”

Sam scrabbled backwards until he was as far away from Dean without falling off the bed. “ What… What did you do to me?” He gasped

As he paced back and forth Dean rubbed his neck. What he had done was deplorable. He owed Sam the truth, no matter the consequences. “The tea I brewed had something in it. I just needed you to drink it and fall asleep. When you didn’t I used the chloroform. Once you were asleep, I took a dream walk and saw your vision.”

Sam couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You did what! Why would you do that to me? I told you what I saw… “ As the cobwebs in his mind clear he realizes Dean would have seen the whole vision not the edited version he told him about. Looking at Dean face he knows he’s been found out. “Oh… You saw everything didn‘t you?”

“Yeah Sam,” Dean stopped pacing and shook his head. “I saw everything. After all that’s happened to us, you could just lie to me?”

An icy blanket of shame settled over him. He shivered, bowing his head h shamed, he couldn’t bring himself to look at Dean and he certainly didn’t want to explain himself now. Pushing up and off the bed he headed for the door Turning his own guilt and anger against the one person who didn‘t deserve it. “I’m going to get a coffee. One that’s not been tampered with.”

“No you’re not.” Dean blocked the door. “I said you’re not leaving this room until you’ve had some sleep. You’ve barely slept the last two days.”

“Dean, get out of my way.” Sam said in a deceptively quiet voice as his hand reached for the door. He was in no mood to argue, he had a thumping headache and he was so angry at Dean he needed to leave the room before he did or said something he would later regret.

Dean refused to move, glaring at Sam he silently dared him to defy him.

Squaring up to Dean, Sam’s face became an icy mask “Move!”

Centering his hands on Sam’s chest Dean pushed him back further into the room. “I said you’re not leaving.”

In one quick fluid movement Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist pulling him off balance and twisting his arm up his back as he pushed him face first against the wall. Leaning against Dean, Sam snarled “I told you to move”

With his left hand braced against the wall, Dean pushed his body back trying to dislodge Sam. “Let me go.” He growled, only to have Sam press him further into the wall. He threw his head back hoping for a glancing blow to allow his release.
Incensed by the attempted head butt Sam grabbed a handful of Dean’s hair forcing the side of his head against the wall “Stop it!” He hissed,. letting go, he repositioned both arms above Deans head, immobilising them in his one large hand As Dean continued to struggle Sam became aware that he was getting aroused. His jean clad cock pressed tight against Dean’s backside.

Dean let out a small yelp at the painful jerk of his hair as long fingers pulled tight. Continuing to struggle he felt a momentary release when Sam let go of his trapped arm. Before he could react Sam used his full weight pinning him as his arms were pulled above is head. “I’m going to kick your ass when I get loose.” He angrily threatened.

“Those are big words for a man with both hands pinned above his head Dean. Wish you’d let me out now?” Sam ground himself against Dean suggestively

Sam’s warm breath against his ear sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. In his struggle he hadn’t realized the full contact of Sam’s body. Now he was fully aware as he felt Sam’s erection against him.

Holding both hands above his head Sam slid his free hand down the underside of his arm and side, easing off on the pressure making room for his hand to ease between the wall and Deans body. He made quick work of undoing Deans jeans before tugging them down. Dean began to struggle in earnest, once he realized Sam’s intent

Dean was surprised at the strength of Sam’s grip as his wrists were still held firmly in place. He felt the slide of Sam’s hand across his waist as long fingers brushed against his groin as they sought the buttons of his pants. Moving slightly he heard a low growl in his ear. Sam’s touch, like his voice, was demanding, not a request. He let out a gasp as Sam stripped him down. Of all the reactions he was expecting, this was not one of them. Sam was angry and not thinking properly The more he fought the stronger Sam became.

“Stay still” Sam advised, unbuttoning his own trousers Sam had little else on his mind except sinking into Dean, punishing him for finding out, for exposing his guilt and fear. Pushing Dean’s trousers down to his ankles he kicked his feet as far apart as they would go. Using nothing more than his own leaking desire and saliva as lubrication he positioned himself between Dean’s cheeks. “Dean you better relax or this is going to hurt.” He warned

The impact of Sam’s words Dean stopped his struggle. The feel of naked flesh against flesh had Dean taking in a deep breath. Silently counting to ten he let it out. Bracing himself against the wall he took another breath. Slowly exhaling he tried to relax his body.

Feeling the tense body relax Sam slowly pushed in, stopping once the head was in, allowing Dean a little time, before he continued, ignoring Dean’s groan as he slowly pushed all the way in. He wanted this, needed it more than kind words or comfort and on some level he knew Dean needed it too.

Slowly Sam filled him, inch by inch. Dean welcomed the pain. He needed to feel something other than the rage, the betrayal, the numbness that settled over him when he saw the vision. The pain meant he was still alive, he was here with Sam.

Still holding tight to the hands over his head, Sam uses his free hand to feel between Deans legs, finding him half hard. In time to his own thrusts he pulls and squeezes. All the anger, fear, frustration fade away as he looses himself in Deans unresisting body.

His wrists would be bruised later, Sam was holding on desperately. Closing his eyes Dean let his senses take over. Sam’s breath was warm against his cheek. He heard the moans escape his mouth as he caught the rhythm of Sam’s hips, as the warm hand stroked him. Licking his dry lips, he tasted the salty sweat that dripped down his face.

Lost in his own needs, Sam felt his orgasm nearing; dropping his head to rest it against Dean’s shoulder, opening his mouth he bites hard. Eyes squeezed shut he rides out his release. His breaths ragged puffs of hot air against Deans neck

Dean let out a sharp hiss of pain as Sam bit into his shoulder. He felt the shudder of Sam’s body as his release surged through him. A moment later Dean came, spilling over Sam’s hand. Sam’s ragged breaths echoed through his ears. Prying his wrists loose, his legs were like jelly, the only thing keeping him upright was Sam’s body still pressing him against the wall

With the gradual slowing of his breathing some sense of normality returned and with it came, deep burning shame. “Oh God what have I done?” Backing away from Dean he pulled his trousers Up, opened the door, and ran.

He ran to the one place the he might find solace, his parents room. Curling up on the huge bed he took one of his mother’s pillows, hoping against all logical hope, that it might still carry her scent. Burying his face in the cotton covered goose down, he inhaled deeply. Magically it was still there, the faint yet unmistakable scent of roses.

For a few moments time seemed to stand still, then as he continued to inhale the sweet floral scent, to reverse taking him back to a period in time where he felt safe, and loved to a time of childish delights

Sliding down the banister to the ground floor he crept along the hallway ever mindful of the creaking wooden floorboards and the early hour. Peering round the kitchen door, “Oh,” he sighed. No matter how early he got up Mrs. Peel always beat him to the kitchen.

For as long as he could remember Sam and Mrs. Peel had an understanding. An understanding born of necessity and self preservation.

Having left a pristine kitchen the night before it had no doubt come as a shock to the poor woman to find her once clean and tidy kitchen covered in flour and in the midst of all the mess, kneeling on a kitchen chair, a flour covered little boy trying unsuccessfully to remove the too sticky bread dough from his fingers.

Instead of flying into a rage and shouting at him, she instead turned round, and as Sam later found out, to hide the giggles, taken a calming breath, then set about restoring order to her kitchen. Half an hour later with one clean boy and one clean kitchen she taught him to making his own bread.

From then on when ever they stayed in London, Sam would race downstairs in the morning to help with breakfast. Bread making was fun, scrambled eggs was a bit tricky. Frying sausages was dangerous even with one arm wrapped in a cloth, and a long handled fork sticking out the end, the sausages still spat at him

So they came to an arrangement, Sam, made bread and scrambled eggs and Mrs. Peel cooked the sausages, bacon, mushrooms and fried tomatoes. Wilkins made coffee and tea, and Sam’s favourite, the best hot chocolate in the world.

When everything was ready and loaded onto the dumb waiter Sam would race upstairs and with Wilkins help present his mom and dad with breakfast in bed. More often than not he would climb in-between them and they would share breakfast together. Laughing and joking about crumbs in the bed, dad always spilling his coffee on his nightshirt and mom threatening to make him wear a babies bib. That tradition continued as he grew although out of necessity he had taken to perching on the end of the bed to share their early morning meal.

Those were now treasured memories, but they still hurt. It was nearly the first anniversary of their death. So much happened since they were taken from him. His life turned upside down, some for the better some for the worse. Dean was definitely the former and the whole vision/Seer/Guardian thing was the latter.

“Why mom? Why did you make the deal? Did you know what would happen when you and dad made it? Because if you did, it was a pretty poor one. Why give me Dean to love only to take him away? Why is it necessary for us to love each other? Is this all Dean’s and my life is about, this endless fight between good and evil? Were we born for this one purpose? Did we ever have a choice or a chance at happiness? Mom I‘m not like James, I can’t live my life without Dean.“ He wipes the tears away with the back of his hand. “Why does everyone I love have to die?”

Of course there is no answer, he hadn’t really expected there to be, it had just been an outpouring of emotions that could no longer be contained. He should have come here earlier, let off a bit of steam. Now he has taken his frustration and rage out on the one person who least deserved it. Dean. Dean who gave and never expected anything in return. Dean who was not only used to being taken advantage of, but expected it. Dean who was probably right this minute thinking that this was somehow his fault, that he deserved what Sam did to him.

With a deep sigh Sam looked up at the ceiling. “How am I going to fix this mom? I’ve lied to him, taken my anger and frustration out on him and worst of all punished him for leaving me, for dying and it hasn‘t even happened yet.” Again there was only silence and the lingering scent of roses.

Well one thing was for sure, he couldn’t leave things as they were. He needed to make sure Dean was not hurt and they needed to talk.

Taking a steadying breath he pushed up off the bed, pausing, hand resting on the door knob. Now all he had to do was pray that Dean not only listened but would open up enough to talk to him. “Well you’re not going to find out hiding in your mother’s room.” he said to himself as he pulled the door open and nearly bumped into Dean.

*******

Sam was out the door before Dean even moved. With shaky hands he pulled his jeans up. He started to follow then stopped. Sam needed this time to himself. The door at the end of the hall opened and closed, Sam seeking refuge in his parents room. He’d be safe there, Sam couldn’t leave without him knowing it.

Returning to his room, Dean ran his hand through his hair. Moving to the desk he poured a glass of whiskey. He needed to think, to get back in control. His head was spinning.

After what he’d done, Sam had every right to be angry, and still Dean pushed. He didn’t expect Sam to fight or what happened after that. He could have resisted, broken Sam’s grip any time, could have told him to stop, but he didn‘t. He needed Sam. He needed to know Sam felt the same rage, the betrayal of their destiny.

Could Sam ever forgive him? All he did was hurt him. He made promises, ones that would be broken. He didn’t want to leave him, but the choice was no longer his.

Dean wanted to take back the cruel words he said at the church. Would Sam stay here, find a wife, raise a family? He didn’t want Sam to be like his father, an obsessed bitter man. He couldn’t live without Sam, but Sam had to live to make all this worthwhile. Tomorrow he would telegram Shamus, Sam needed him more than ever.

Could the vision be changed, all the others had? It was even more important now for them to find what they could on Baliazar. There was no time for mistakes. Time, that’s all they needed, the one thing they didn’t have. Dean knew one thing, if his time was limited he wanted to spend it with Sam.

The prophetic words he spoke to Sam in Manhattan the first time they argued over the hunt haunted him. “Are you ready to kill me to keep me from turning into a monster?” Could he do it, could he kill Sam? Is that why the others failed? He would rather die than turn into that “thing” from the vision. They had a job to do, no one would ever go through this again.

Tipping the glass back Dean savored the burn of the whiskey. It was a familiar comfort. He remembered his first taste, he couldn’t have been more than fourteen. His first solo hunt. A rite of passage his dad called it, declaring him a man. It was time to act like a man. He didn’t have time for self pity, Sam needed him. Getting up he started the slow walk down the hall. He had to talk to Sam..

*****
I'm sorry," the words were blurted out at the same time.

“Sam, I’m sorry.” Looking up Dean saw the pain in Sam’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but I had to know the truth.”

“Sorry! What have you got to be sorry for? You haven’t been lying and…Oh God Dean, I forced you, I…” He reached out a shaking hand then let it fall to his side. Sam desperately wanted to touch, to hold Dean, but was very much afraid he‘d given up that right.

“You didn’t force me, we both know I could have stopped you anytime. After the vision I was numb and angry. I goaded you, wanted you to take a swing at me. I needed to know you felt something so I pushed and pushed. I went into your mind without asking. What happened wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes it was Dean. I could have walked away, but instead I used you and for that I’m sorry.”

Grabbing Sam by the shoulders, Dean gave him a shake. “Sam listen to me, you didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t give you the chance to walk away.”

“Well it looks like we have both done something we regret.” Sam looked at Dean, saw the worry, the love in his eyes. Pulling Dean close he wrapped his arms round his shoulders and held tight, needing the comfort and security that only Dean could give him.

“Yeah Sammy, I guess we do.” Dean agreed. Closing his eyes he let Sam pull him close. Together they would make it through. Sam was all the faith he needed.

Chapter 7 finds our boy's meeting up with an old friend of Sam's. George Herbert, Earl Of Pembroke, where they stay at his beautiful home WILTON HOUSE http://www.wiltonhouse.com/

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-04-27T14:21:11Z

HONORE ET AMORE

2009-03-27T15:22:32Z

forsakenbeloved @ 2009-03-13T12:51:00

2009-03-13T13:05:32Z

HONORE ET AMORE

2008-09-27T14:37:12Z

HONORE ET AMORE

2008-09-20T10:17:35Z

DARK RIDERS 2 STORM WARNING

2008-07-05T06:44:39Z

Title: Dark Riders 2 Storm Warning
Authors: ForsakenBeloved
Pairings: Sam/Dean
Ratings: NC 17/adult
Warnings: Slash/Angst/Violence/Wincest/Au
Disclaimer: Don’t Belong To Us
Summary: Sam follows Dean to his ranch in the flint hills of Kansas. When disaster strikes, will an ancient prophecy and a pact made by their parents before they were born, bring them closer together, or tear them apart?
Status: Complete. Posting weekly
Word Count: 38630 APROX
A/N: Thank you to all the readers who have asked about a second story. Well here it is, hope it does not disapoint. The story is complete and will be posted once a week [or you ask real nice and then we might post sooner lol] This is the second in a series of stories that follow Dean and Sams adventures.
A big thank you to Louy for the awesome banner thanks mate, you rock!
Previous story DARK RIDERS can be found here http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/

Storm Warning Chapter 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
Storm Warning Chapter 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
Storm Warning Chapter 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/3113.html
Storm Warning Chapter 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/05/17/
Storm Warning Chapter 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/3774.html
Storm Warning chapter 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/3981.html
Storm Warning chapter 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/4221.html
Storm Warning Chapter 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/06/13/
STORM WARNING CHAPTER 9 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/06/21/
STORM WARNING CHAPTER 10 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/4956.html
STORM WARNING CHAPTER 11
AUTHORS NOTE - THIS IS THE FINAL CHAPTER OF STORM WARNING. DARKR RIDERS STORY 3 HONORE ET AMORE. WILL BE POSTED SHORTLY AND WILL FOLLOW DEAN AND SAM TO ENGLAND AND A FINAL SHOWDOWN WITH BALIAZAR.

“Jesus, Dean, I can't get my head round all of this can you? It’s too much to take in.”

“I can't believe it. God, I need some air.” Dean leaned his back against the closed door.

Sam looked up a little worried, “You’re going out?”

Walking back to the bunk Dean grabbed his boots, "No, we're going out” Dean picked up Sam's boots, handing them to him, he asked, "Need some help?"

“Yeah, if you don’t mind, my back’s a bit sore.”

Trying to be careful Dean helped Sam put his boots on, then reaching his hand down he pulled Sam up.

“Where are we going? Don’t think I’m up for a long walk,” holding onto Dean’s hand he rubbed his thumb over the warm flesh. Craving the feel of skin against skin even if only for a few seconds.

"Think you can manage a short ride?" Dean asked placing his arm around Sam's waist letting him lean on him for support.

Not wanting to disappoint him Sam agreed, “Yeah, I think so,” though privately he wondered if he would be able to. Merlin would be eager to run after not being ridden for a while and would probably pull like a train.

They made their way slowly to the door. Once outside Dean made Sam sit on the old bench. “Wait here, I'll get Blaze.”

Could it be possible that what Shamus said was true that they had been destined to be together? Sam thought back to the first time he had seen Dean. It was strange but there had been an instant attraction even if he had not fully understood it at the time. Watching the handsome retreating figure Sam knew he would move heaven and earth to keep him.

Dean hoped as he walked to the corral that he was doing the right thing. He had to be careful of Sam's injury. He just couldn't stay here for now. He didn't want to see anyone but Sam; he wasn't ready to share him, especially with Shamus. Blaze trotted up to meet him, he was as eager as Dean to get away. Dean made short work of putting on the bridle, pulling affectionately on the soft black ears, “Hello, you handsome black devil. Gonna take me an Sammy for a ride an you better behave, otherwise you’ll be missing a few vital stallion parts.”

Merlin feeling a bit left out butted Dean in the back with his large head. “Sorry, boy, but Sam’s not up to taking you out yet,” he scratched the soft pink nose then pushed the large horse away from the gate so he and Blaze could leave.

It didn't take long for Dean to return leading Blaze by his reins. “If I push the bench over, do you think you can climb up behind me?” With a wink, he teased, "You think you can hold on?”

Sam smiled as he realized what Dean had been planning “Sure, no problem.”

Dean pushed the bench to the edge, helping Sam step up he waited to make sure it wouldn’t tip over. Grabbing the reins and using the steps Dean swung his leg over Blaze’s broad back before he guided him as near to the bench as he could, waiting for Sam to climb behind him.

Carefully seating himself, Sam wrapped his arms tightly round Dean’s slim waist molding himself to the warm body. He was so aware of Dean’s frame in front of him. God, this was going to be torture.

“Hold on tight, Sammy, wouldn’t want to lose you now.” Dean told him as Blaze started a slow walk. Dean loved the feel of Sam’s embrace. He had missed the closeness they had shared before he let his foolish pride get in the way of everything.

All thoughts of the conversation they’d just had and the pain from his back disappeared The gentle back and forth flex of hips was playing havoc with Sam’s self control, he could already feel his jeans getting uncomfortably tight and he knew that Dean would be able to feel the hard bulge pressed against his lower back.

Dean could feel warm breath against his neck, and could feel Sam’s hardness through the heavy fabric of his jeans. This was going to be a shorter ride than he had planned. He guessed he wasn’t the only one who had missed being together. Turning Blaze he headed for the nearest pond.

Sam felt himself getting increasingly turned on; his questing fingers sought and found the buttons to Dean’s shirt, undoing enough to slip his hand in to lay against his lover’s quivering stomach muscles. He heard Dean suck in a sharp breath as his fingers found and gently pinched a nipple. Loosening Dean’s belt with his other hand and undoing the buttons, Sam slipped a hand slowly inside, surprised to find Dean naked under his jeans, his eager hand closing round silk clad steel. Dean moaned, his head falling back to rest against Sam’s shoulder affording a wonderful expanse of neck to feast on. Wiping his thumb over the crown collecting the escaping fluid he removed his hand from Deans jeans, pushing his thumb into Dean’s panting mouth. At the same time he latched onto the soft skin of his neck gently nipping and sucking,. Dean mirroring his actions with his thumb. Groaning against the heated skin trapped between his teeth Sam ground his erection against Dean’s back. Quickly removing his thumb Sam once again grasped Dean’s hot heavy erection squeezing and pulling in time to the gentle sway of his hips and the horses’ movements. Feeling the now familiar tingle up his spine Sam bit hard into Dean’s shoulder as he exploded in his jeans, feeling Dean arch back against him as he came coating Sam’s hand and his own stomach before going limp in Sam’s arms

Dean hadn’t been expecting Sam’s actions. Not that he really minded but this wasn’t exactly the place he planned on being when they were together again. Dean shuddered as Sam’s long fingers stroked him finding the perfect rhythm. He felt a warm tongue glide over his neck where moments before teeth had nipped at the sensitive skin. God, he had missed Sam’s touch. He almost jumped when Sam’s thumb brushed over the head of his aching cock. Sam pushed his thumb up to Dean’s mouth. He could taste himself as he licked and sucked before gently biting down. This was a first; he had never experienced anything like this before. Between Sam’s fingers and Blaze’s motion it wasn’t long before Dean could feel his control start to slip away. He could hear Sam’s breath hitch and knew that Sam was as close as he was. A few more strokes of Sam’s knowing fingers and Dean couldn’t take any more before he was spilling over Sam’s tight fist. Spent Dean collapsed against Sam.

“God, Dean, we should do this more often,” Sam’s breathing gradually slowed “Merlin’s turn next time.”

Dean snorted a laugh. “Damn, Sam, I was just planning on a little fresh air and talking. I know it’s been awhile, but I wasn’t expecting that. Not saying I didn’t like it, cause I did. But Merlin’s gonna have to wait.”

“All joking aside, what do you make of what was said?” he tucked Dean in, and rebuttoned his jeans. “I mean, do you even believe any of it?”

"With everything I've seen, I know anything is possible. I've heard about deals being made all the time. I just never figured I was one of them."

“Not just you, Dean, if we’re to believe Shamus, then both our lives were planned even before we were born.”

As they approached the pond, Dean's mind raced. He knew Sam was thinking some of the same things. He waited for Sam to slide down before he slid down next to him. Walking to the water’s edge, he leaned down and washed his hands, wiping them on his jeans to dry them. Standing he waited as Sam did the same, holding out his hand to help him up.

Picking what looked like a comfy spot on the grass Sam eased himself down. So many thoughts raced through his mind clambering for attention but one in particular would not be ignored. Were the feelings they had for each other genuine or manufactured to suit a higher purpose?

Sitting next to Sam, Dean knew what was foremost on Sam's mind. "I don't care what they say, I know how I feel about you. Nothing, no plans, no destiny, had anything to do with that."

His too expressive face must have betrayed his fears because Sam found himself listening to the answer to his unspoken question. “How can you be sure, Dean, I mean how can we be sure of anything? How do we know we’re not still being manipulated? Look what happened when you tried to leave. If Shamus is to be believed, my getting sick was no accident.”

“I refuse to believe it. Do you believe Shamus or Ruth or Isaac created the tornado? He said we’re all human. If it were destiny it would have been easy. There was nothing easy about what we’ve been through. Do you doubt how you feel about me?”

“I’m as sure as I can be that what I feel for you is genuine, but how can we know for sure?” Drawing up his legs Sam hugged his knees, sighing, “At the end of the day does it even matter, as long as it’s real to us?”

Nudging Sam’s shoulder, Dean grinned, “So if it’s all planned then from now on everything between us should be smooth sailing. You honestly believe that? I’m just going to fall into line and no more arguing, or being selfish, or anything else. Come on, Sam, you know me better than that.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Hey, I was just thinking... if I get the visions d’you get something too? I mean it’s hardly fair, I get blinding headaches and you get what? A necklace?”

“I know I’m right.” With a leer, Dean raised his eyebrow, “Besides I know how to make you feel better. And I got a knife. I don’t know how this works. Never been part of destiny before.”

Sam could feel the huge smile spreading across his face "Yes, you do know me. As for destiny, guess Shamus can tell us what we need to know."

“After everything you still trust him?” Dean asked. “We should have been told. How could they stand by and let all those things happen? How many lies have we been told? To think our parents did this to us. Now he just walks in here and says it‘s up to us to save mankind.”

“They lied by omission. God, Dean, I don't want to have to think about all of this. I want to remember my parents as they were, loving and kind, not making deals that would involve me in Christ knows what.”

“I’m happy for you, Sam that you can do that, but I can’t. Maybe if I had the life you had, I could too, but I didn’t. What about your dreams to rebuild the ranch?”

“I said I'd like to remember them like that, but I'm scared that all I'll ever remember is how they lied to me. How they lied to both of us.”

Standing, Dean reached out to help Sam up. “Come on, we need to get you back. I know we’re going to have to hear what Shamus has to say, but not until you’re ready to talk to him.” Taking Sam’s face in his hand Dean looked into his eyes. “Sammy, I know your parents loved you, there‘s no way they couldn‘t.”

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

Ruth busied herself around the small cabin kitchen. She had hoped that the conversation with the boys could have waited a bit longer. She had grown so fond of both of them. The look of hurt and betrayal in Dean’s eyes had been almost too much to bear. She looked over at the table where Isaac and Shamus were sitting, and knew they were feeling the same.

“Well we made a fine mess of that,” she said, close to tears.

Shamus settled himself in an armchair, reaching into an inner jacket pocket he drew out a small wooden pipe and leather tobacco pouch. Opening the small pouch he proceeded to fill his pipe, Shamus always did his best thinking while smoking. Lighting his pipe he sat back, soon filling the small cabin with the smell of pipe tobacco. “O, ‘tis a shame for sure They’ll get over it. Wee Sam’s not one to bear a grudge for long.” Frowning he added “Not too sure about that young ejit!

Getting up Isaac walked to the stove pulling his wife into a tight embrace, waiting for her to compose herself. Once Ruth had settled Isaac poured three cups of coffee setting them on the table, before he and Ruth rejoined Shamus. “You’re going to have to talk to Sam. Dean’s not going to listen to us.”

Hearing voices Shamus walked to the window, sending up small puffs of smoke like a miniature steam train. “I’ll be having a talk with them both when they get back from their little jaunt.” Shamus watched almost enviously as Dean helped Sam to mount the big black horse. Finally acknowledging that his role of caretaker was over, the position more than ably filled, if Ruth and Isaac were to be believed, by the young man sitting in front.

“He’s not an idiot, Shamus. We know you were worried about Sam but we feel the same way about Dean. He can hold a grudge.” Ruth chided.

“Don’t be fooled by the country gentleman, butter wouldn’t melt on the image the lad projects. Young Sammy can be a holy terror and a devious little shite when he’s a mind.
What’s he like, this new guardian? Looks capable enough, but what’s he like inside what makes him tick?”

Know you’re enemy Shamus, m’lad, if he was to convince the boys he would need all the information he could get his hands on.

“He’s more than capable. Dean’s had a hard life. After Mary’s death, John took the boy and they just drifted for a few years. We would hear things from time to time. He taught Dean to hunt when he was still a boy. He’s done what he had to in order to survive. He’s a proud man, Shamus. He believes in what he does. He will be a good Guardian.” Ruth said with pride for the young man.

“In his own way John prepared him for what was to come.” Isaac added. “What we had to do was easy compared to what they will be facing. We still have to help make sure they’re ready.”

“How’s Sam’s training coming along? He’s a natural with horses and books. And a quick study when properly motivated. Regretfully, I was hindered in the lad’s preparation by his ma, a very strong-willed lass. Determined she was that her son have a normal childhood.”

Shamus smiled at an almost forgotten memory of Sarah, with her pale skin, blue eyes, and red hair, she was a real beauty. But as her coloring would suggest she had a temper to match it. Young Sam had followed him like a young puppy, his gentle manner a gift when working with horses. But it was his thirst for knowledge that got the pair of them in trouble. Sam had asked about the old shillelagh and seizing the opportunity Shamus had started teaching him the ancient art of Irish stick fighting. Trouble was that he forgot that all young children liked to show off….especially if they had an audience.

Wee Sam had picked his moment, unfortunately in front of a wealthy potential buyer. He’d carefully sized up his opponent the unwitting carrier of a cane and challenged the man to hit him. Playing along, the unfortunate man had ended up on the end of the “jig kick” an illegal, well if there were rules and it was a fighting competition, move that blocked the attacker’s move then disabled him with a swift kick between the legs. Needless to say, Sarah had not been amused. The young lass had no need for a stick. Her tongue was all the weapon she needed, the lashing he received had him ducking for cover for several days.

“Sam has trained very hard. He still has more work to do. Dean’s a good teacher, but he’s a bit overly protective of Sam. Dean will follow Sam. It’s more than the bond.”
Ruth said as she refilled their cups. “You have plenty of tricks up your sleeve, Shamus, the time has come for you to share them. They‘re going to need all the help they can get.”

Laughing, Isaac looked at his old friend, “I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes. You have two very angry young men, who still have a lot of questions. You’re going to have to watch your temper. We know you love Sam like he’s your own, but Sam’s not so easily influenced anymore. He made his choice as well.”

Ruth watched with amusement as Shamus looked around for someplace to empty his pipe. “Shamus, I let you smoke that in my home, but don’t be leaving your ashes all over the place. Take that outside. There’s plenty of room to empty it there.”

With a rueful grin he stood up, shite the woman was house-proud. He wondered how Isaac ever slipped anything past her. Perhaps he didn’t.

To say that he was dreading what he must do next was an understatement. Sam had been a constant companion almost from the moment he was born. He’d watched, encouraged, played with, and comforted the lad for all his life. To see that role now taken by another was a bitter sweet moment. Even the knowledge that he himself had pushed Sam in the right direction to find Dean was not really helping. Ruth and Isaac had been able to allay some of his fears as to Dean’s suitability. They were good honest folk and he should trust their judgment.

But still there was that nagging doubt, it wasn’t that he disliked the lad, he didn’t know him well enough to do that. Dean was an unknown quantity. Perhaps the lad would grow on him, he hoped he would. Sam clearly loved him and he owed it to Sam to at least try to get along with Dean. His inner voice chose that moment to make itself known “you’re a silly old fool Shamus Patrick O’Reilly tis bloody jealous you are.”

“Shut up,” Shamus muttered to himself. His right hand unconsciously sought out the knobbed head of his stick as it had for many years. Cursing under his breath he snatched his hand back stuffing it into his jacket pocket. He felt naked with out its protection, as if a part of himself was missing, its absence a further reminder, if he needed one that he was no longer Sam’s protector.

He remembered the moment he’d laid his shillelagh, on the sleeping man; remembered thinking to himself that it was like losing a friend. A part of him, a small very selfish part hoped that it would reject the slumbering man before him. But it had not. The amulet and knife had accepted Dean as the rightful Guardian. The knife would only reveal itself and transform in the presence of the true guardian. Even to Shamus the knife had only ever been his trusty old shillelagh.

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

By the time the bunkhouse came into sight, Dean could tell how tired Sam was. He was slumped against his back, head laid on his shoulder. He was pretty sure Sam was nearly asleep. Making for the bunkhouse Dean waited as Sam got down before he slid from Blaze’s back. Helping Sam inside to the bunk, he made sure Sam was comfortable before telling him he would be back as soon as Blaze had been taken care of. Once outside Dean grabbed the reins as he led the stallion to the corral.

Opening the gate Dean walked into the corral. It only took a few minutes before the bridle was taken off. “Life was easier when you were the only one I had to talk to. You’d listen and never talk back. We need to get you a barn built.”

Opening the cabin door to dispose of his pipe ash Shamus saw his opportunity to make his peace. “That’s a fine horse ya have there.” His knowledgeable eyes roamed over the black horse.

“Thanks,” Dean said with pride. He appreciated the compliment. Sam had told him what an excellent horseman Shamus was. If Sam’s skills were a tribute to the Irishman, then the man truly had a way with horses.

Closing the gate behind him, Shamus felt warm breath against his ear followed by a nudge in the back. Turning round he came face to muzzle with a beautifully spotted leopard appaloosa. “This cheeky wee chap Sam’s?” he rubbed the soft nose, swallowing the painful lump in his throat when he thought of the loss of the beautiful horses that had been his life’s work.

“His name’s Merlin. The first time I saw Sam he made a bet with his owner that he could train him. I spent most of the day watching them. I had never seen anyone do that before. He told me how you taught him.” Dean smiled at the memory and how he had taken a page from Shamus’ book when it came to Sam himself. “When Sam was down with the fever he said your ship was sunk. Said you and all the horses drowned. How did you survive?”

“Instinct bo…Dean, do you trust it?” Shamus watched the back in front of him stiffen and the hand cease it’s careful brushing of the ebony coat.

Dean could feel the tension, he didn‘t want to argue, but to be reminded of his life, his “destiny” was almost too much right now. He was still angry. Taking a deep breath he replied. “I’ve had to live by my instincts since I was a kid. Lives depended on what I did.”

“Good! A man after me own heart. Because it’s instincts that have kept me alive. Instinct that made me catch an earlier boat. Instinct is what will keep you and Sam alive, that and the visions.” He continued the comforting stroking of the soft spotted coat. “Work with me Dean? We both love the same person, admittedly in different ways.” He couldn’t resist a sly wink. “Try ta meet me half way even if it’s only ta save Sam’s feelings.”

Dean felt himself blush at Shamus’ words. What he and Sam had would always have to be kept a secret. But now, at least here they wouldn’t have to hide it. “I will do whatever I have to in order to protect Sam and keep him alive. Or I’ll die trying.” Dean extended his hand, “I’ll try for Sam’s sake.”

“Well can’t ask for more. Come lad there’s much I have ta tell you and Wee Sammy. He hates me calling him that, but I can’t resist. One o the simple pleasures in life, teasing Sam.”
Finishing up with Blaze, Dean and Shamus walked towards the bunkhouse. Smiling Dean thought to himself, he couldn’t agree more, teasing Sam was one of many pleasures. Maybe he could find common ground with Shamus after all. Opening the door he allowed the little Irishman to enter first. Dean walked to the table pouring three shots of whiskey, handing one to Shamus, before heading over to Sam’s bunk. Dean sat on his own bunk letting Shamus sit next to Sam.

Seating himself down Shamus cast a fatherly eye over Sam. He was pleased to note some colour had returned to his face. Christ he felt awkward, so much would rest on the shoulders of these two young men. And depending how he handled the next few minutes would determine whether he would be believed or kicked out on his backside.
“How ya feeling Sammy, ready for a wee chat?”

Re-positioning himself so that he could face his old friend Sam lent forward pulling Shamus into a fierce hug. Closing his eyes he breathed in the familiar and comforting smell of pipe smoke. “God it’s so good to see you.” Sitting up he held onto his friend, drinking in the time worn craggy features he’d adored since a child. “Well as you can see I’m feeling a lot better, so I suppose we had better have that talk you promised us.” His eyes drifted to Dean, surprised and relieved to find the earlier animosity had gone.

“The knife and the amulet that you now own are part of an ancient prophecy. Sacrifice, Death and Resurrection. The two of you, Dean the Guardian and you Sam the Seer must defeat an ancient evil. Ta aid you both you have been given certain gifts. Dean the Amulet will hide you and by means of your close relationship you will also hide Sam from its searching Eyes. Make no mistake here, if your relationship falters Sam will be exposed and you will be found.”

Dean rubbed the smooth metal of the amulet between his fingers. When he woke up with it around his neck he could feel the power vibrate through it. He didn’t know what part it played in Sam’s recovery and he wasn’t willing to risk Sam’s life. That’s why he didn’t remove it. In his bones he knew it was connected to Sam in some way.

“The Knife is the only weapon on earth that can kill it. I carried it for many years as an old fighting stick, knowing that it would only reveal itself when in the possession of the Guardian, you Dean must never be without it for ta lose it would be unthinkable.”

“Sam, as the Seer you have received the gift of vision. This evil walks among us, you are the only one who can see through its disguise and recognize it for what it really is. Your visions will guide the two of you and together you must kill it.”

Shamus waited for the barrage of questions that were bound to come, knowing that for some at least he would have no answer.

Pulling the knife from its ancient leather sheath Dean turned it over in his hands. It was beautiful. He had never seen such workmanship. The handle was engraved with runes and symbols. Some familiar, some he had never seen before. The six inch blade had been finely honed; it was also engraved in a language Dean did not recognize. “Do you know what it says?” He asked as he passed it to Shamus.

“See Dean, there’s a wee problem, its not that I ’m being evasive. I don’t have the answers and it’s going ta involve a journey ta get the answers.” Shamus waited for the expected explosion he felt sure would be coming his way.

“I thought you knew. Sam said your stick had the same runes. You’ve had it for years, what’s different?” Dean hated not having answers. “A journey? Can you tell us where or don’t you know that either? “

“Its back home isn’t it?” Sam looked earnestly at Shamus. “I have to take Dean back home, to Scotland and then to the stones.” flashes of a half remembered dream floated just out of reach. Frowning he tried to hang on to the wisps of receding memories but it was no good, the harder he tried the faster they seemed to retreat. Finally thumping the bed in frustration he gave up.

“Yes lad, you’ll need to find the last Seer he’ll be the one ta answer your questions. But you need ta be quick we‘re running out of time. The beast will have sensed the passing of power and he‘ll be looking for you. He’ll do whatever it takes ta stop you.”

“You say it’s an ancient evil. You called it the beast. Do you know what it is?” Dean looked between the two men. “And you’re telling me we have to go to England.”

“Tis all your nightmares and fears rolled into one, and yes, Sammy, you get ta go home.”

finis

Thank you to all of our readers and especially those of you who took the time and trouble to review. Well Riders 2 Storm Warning has come to an end , we hoped you enjoyed it as much as we enjoyed writing it and sharing it with all of you.
join us in the final story HONORE ET AMORE which we will post shortly.
Many thanks C & L forsakenbeloved

DARK RIDERS 2 STORM WARNING

2008-06-28T10:37:51Z

DARK RIDERS 2 STORM WARNING

2008-06-21T07:02:18Z

Pairings: Sam/Dean
Ratings: NC 17/adult
Warnings: Slash/Angst/Violence/Wincest/Au
Disclaimer: Don’t Belong To Us
Summary: Sam follows Dean to his ranch in the flint hills of Kansas. When disaster strikes, will an ancient prophecy and a pact made by their parents before they were born, bring them closer together, or tear them apart?
Status: Complete. Posting weekly
Word Count: 38630 APROX
A/N: Thank you to all the readers who have asked about a second story. Well here it is, hope it does not disapoint. The story is complete and will be posted once a week [or you ask real nice and then we might post sooner lol] This is the second in a series of stories that follow Dean and Sams adventures.
A big thank you to Louy for the awesome banner thanks mate, you rock!

Previous story DARK RIDERS can be found here http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/

Storm Warning Chapter 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
Storm Warning Chapter 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
Storm Warning Chapter 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/3113.html
Storm Warning Chapter 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/05/17/
Storm Warning Chapter 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/3774.html
Storm Warning chapter 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/3981.html
Storm Warning chapter 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/4221.html
Storm Warning Chapter 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/06/13/
STORM WARNING CHAPTER 9 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/06/21/

While still many hundreds of miles away, Shamus had known the moment Sam become ill. Even knowing that this was the way it would happen, the way it had always happened was little comfort. The constant battle of good against evil was wearing him down. Soon he would be able to pass his heavy burden to the next guardian. Rubbing the ancient talisman that had lain around his neck for many decades, he prayed the boy had chosen well. Much would rest upon the new guardian’s shoulders. Separated from his charge by more than mere miles Shamus cursed the forces of evil that had interfered with his plans. Plans that had been made and set in motion many years ago, before the lad had even been born.

Many sacrifices had been made, were still being made. A move had been orchestrated
against Sam in England one which he’d foreseen and god forgive him he had let happen. Sam had been saved and that was all that mattered. Losing his friends had been hard but necessary. Sam needing the push that only losing his parents would provide. Shamus had not had a choice, mistakes had been made and the debt paid for with the Richards’ lives.

One of the hardest things Shamus had ever done was to encourage Sam to leave England. He couldn’t love the boy anymore if Sam were his own son. The thought of not being there with the lad for the first time in over 20 years was disturbing, but it had to be done. Sam had to find his partner and the future guardian and it would never happen if he were there to interfere.

But he was needed now, Sam was very ill and without his intervention he would be dead before morning. Opening the bunkhouse door he slipped quietly inside.

Tired bloodshot eyes blinked open

“Well young fella ma lad, tis not difficult to see why he chose you.” closing the door behind him Shamus tried to calm his unruly mop of hair by patting at it. But as usual Shamus suspected it looked like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards.

Dean blinked several times trying to clear his gritty eyes, to force his mind to make sense of the strange sight before him. A smallish figure with shocking orange hair, wrapped in a traveling cloak and leaning on a carved stick stood before him.

Tightening his arms around Sam he caused the sick man to squirm and groan in pain. “Shush Sam it’s alright, I‘ve got you.” Dean whispered against Sam’s ear.

Walking with a slightly rolling gait Shamus approached the bed.” I’m, Shamus, but I’ll be guessing you know that already.” His sharp old eyes took in the exhaustion, the distress, the way he held Sam firmly but gently to his chest. The rhythmic stroking of the long brown hair.

“Sam said you were drowned at sea.”

Shamus smiled then nodded his head. “So the visions have started.”

“How could you know that?” Dean straightened slightly. “What are you?” Slipping his hand under the pillow he searched for the knife.

“Don’t be daft lad; you’ll not be needing a pig sticker. I’ve not come to hurt you. I’m here to help wee Sam”

“Wee Sam?” how anyone could call six feet four of muscle, sinew and bone ‘Wee” was beyond ridiculous Dean thought. “How can you help him?”

Walking to the head of the bed Shamus placed his hand on Sam’s head, feeling the intense head radiating from him.

“Don’t s’pose you’d leave if I asked?” having no need to look at Dean to know that he was shaking his head as he said.

“No!” Was Dean’s curt reply.

Not taking his eyes off of Sam, thus giving Dean no warning, quicker than a viper he lifted his hand placing it on Dean’s head; he said, “dul a chodlah.” As the now sleeping Dean’s head rolled back to rest against the wall shamus said. “Thought you’d say that boyo.”

With Dean temporarily out of the way the little Irishman took his first good look at Sam since saying goodbye to him at Southampton docks. The hair was longer than he remembered, but that was no surprise. Even as a small boy Sam had never liked having his hair cut. Pulling the sheet aside his eyes sought the festering wound, carefully removing the dressing. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Green and yellow puss oozed from the inflamed seven inch open wound. Dark red lines spiraled out from it like the legs of a giant spider, the smell was appalling.

“Tis a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into ma lad.” He couldn’t help feeling responsible in some small measure for Sam’s condition. But rules were rules and when the time had come he had no choice but to send Sam on his way. Even knowing that the lad he’d cared for, had guarded for over twenty years would be in mortal danger till he found his life partner and the role of guardian could be passed on.

Looking upon the face of the new guardian he thought Sam had chosen well. More heavily muscled than Sam’s lean form. A kind handsome face. Shamus could sense the ruthless streak that ran through the man. Good. He would need that in the years to come. Deeper still at his core was a good soul, honest loyal, self-sacrificing. All wrapped up in a handsome package. “You‘ll do boyo.” Yes he would make a fine guardian.

Stepping back a couple of paces he removed the traveling cloak laying it on a nearby bunk. “Now for the heavy work,” he muttered to himself. Moving to the foot end of the shared bed he grabbed Dean’s ankles, then bracing one foot against the end of the bunk he pulled. As he’d hoped both men slid down into a prone position. Dean underneath, Sam still on his side held tight in his arms.

Picking up his trusty shillelagh, he lovingly caressed the polished surface. Every rune, every ancient word carved into its surface known to him. To pass it on would be like losing an old friend. Bringing the shillelagh to his lips he mumbled his farewells, kissed the guardian rune then reverently laid it on Dean’s chest and stomach. Rolling Sam over until the shillelagh was covered by their two bodies.

Shifting once more to the head of the bed he laid his hands on Dean’s head. “ Ón seandhuine go dtí an duine nua, anois tugaim ról an Chaomhnóra duit.” lifting his hands he removed the Guardian’s talisman from around his neck. Slipping the leather cord over Dean’s head he settled the horned amulet against his chest, then placed a hand on each of their heads he spoke, “ leigheas.” Then stepped back.

From between their two bodies a beautiful blue light grew until it encompassed them both in a brilliant bubble of pulsing blue light. Raising a hand to shield his eyes he watched for a few seconds before picking up his cloak and leaving the room. His task complete.

Stumbling to the nearby cabin he was relieved when the door opened and a glass of whiskey was thrust into his hand. “Welcome Shamus, it’s been a while.” Isaac smiled helping his old friend into a chair.

“Jesus he’s a stubborn shite!” Shamus exclaimed.

“True.” Ruth nodded her head in agreement. “But he’ll make a good guardian, but does it always have to be so hard?”

Shamus thought the ordeal cruel but could not interfere. It was necessary to test the bond that had formed between the two men. Dean’s loyalty was no longer in doubt, he would rather die than be without his partner, that’s how it should be, the guardian could never leave the seer. Shamus thought the ordeal cruel but it had been necessary, at least Dean had learned from it, had at last given himself totally to Sam, to the role he would play for the rest of his life.

Gaelic to English translations.

“Dul a chodlah.” [“go to sleep”]

“Ón seandhuine go dtí an duine nua, anois tugaim ról an Chaomhnóra duit.” [“From the old to the new the role of guardian I now pass to you.”]

“leigheas” [“heal”]

*******************************************************************
Sam’s body shifting in his arms brought Dean from the depths of slumber. Slowly he pulled his arm from under Sam. Shaking it he tried to get some feeling back, the slight tingle telling him it was working. Sam was breathing easier, and although he still had the sheen of sweat, when he placed his hand to the younger man’s forehead the scorching heat was gone. The fever had broken. He watched the slow even breaths. Sam was sleeping peacefully. He couldn’t believe it, last night he was sure Sam wouldn’t pull through. Not wanting to wake him, Dean sat up, just watching Sam sleep.

Standing, he tried to stretch the kinks out of his tired body. Dean walked over to the warm stove, pouring fresh water in the basin. He washed up before heating the coffee that was still in the pot. Rubbing his sore neck, he had a nagging feeling that someone had been there; he vaguely recalled being awakened when someone entered the bunkhouse. God knows he had been exhausted, maybe everything had finally caught up to him, perhaps it all been a dream. Dean remembered a small man. He said he was Shamus. Sam said Shamus was dead, was his vision wrong? Had he actually survived? If it was him, why wasn’t he here with Sam now?

Dean looked down at the strange amulet hanging around his neck; fingering it he felt the smooth metal. Did it have anything to do with Sam’s recovery? What about the knife? he wondered, it was beautiful, engraved with strange symbols. Someone or something placed them there and he was going to find out. Dean didn’t believe in miracles. Everything he had ever seen to indicate one always had some kind of strings attached. Usually something that involved evil. He hadn’t done anything, not even prayed. Sam didn’t know anything about making deals, Dean had seen to it. He couldn’t bear the thought of Sam touched by evil. He was sure Ruth and Isaac would never do anything like that. He had questions, now he needed answers.

Feeling like he was being watched, Dean looked around, surprised to see Sam staring at him. His hazel eyes seemed clear, gone was the glassy unfocused gaze he had seen the last few days. Dean filled a cup of water taking it to Sam waiting as the younger man sat up to drink. “How you feeling, Sam?” He asked nervously.

“My back still hurts, but not like it did.” Dean took that opportunity to peel the bandage back. Gone were the red streaks, the awful smell, and the wound no longer seeped. Sam would have another scar, would still need a few days to recuperate. The most important thing was he would live.

Dean sat down, he knew Sam well enough to see the wheels turning in the younger man’s head. Sam had questions, lots of questions.

The large room was quiet as the minutes passed. Chewing nervously on his lower lip, Sam glanced over, not surprised to see green eyes watching him. “So, um…how long have I been ill?”

“It’s been almost a week since the tornado. You weren’t too bad Sunday, Monday you started to run a fever. After that you were pretty much out of it. What do you remember?”

“So you mean I lost four days? To be honest Dean I don’t remember much. Bits and pieces, feeling hot, then cold. I think I remember you being there, but not much else.”

“I was right there next to you the whole time even when I was sleeping,”

“Really?” Sam asked, a little surprised. “You stayed with me? So I didn’t imagine it then?”

“No, you didn’t imagine that. Where else would I be?”

Sam sighed, looking down and picking at the blanket, “Well …after we argued I thought…I didn’t think you would want to…I thought you would leave.”

Dean waited for Sam to look up, “I wouldn’t have left you. Not like that.” Taking a deep breath he continued, “I don’t know how to explain it, but you were dying. You should have died. You scared the hell out of me. Don’t ever do that again. I don’t know if you even heard with the fever, but I promised I wouldn’t leave you.”

“Why the sudden change Dean? I need to know. For me it still feels like the last day we argued.” Sam’s eyes kept darting back to Dean. He wasn’t going to force Dean to keep a promise out of pity. “Dean you don't have to stay. I won't hold you to your promise. After all, you thought I was dying and as you can see I'm not.”

“You're right I thought you were dying. That‘s when I knew I didn‘t want to be without you. You will probably regret it, but you're stuck with me now.”

“Dean you have to be sure. I can't ever go through this again.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. It's not gonna be easy. I don't know how this works.”

Shaking his head, Sam grinned. “Dean since when has anything with you ever been easy, or boring?”

“Come on Sammy, you love a challenge.” Dean teased as he leaned in and brushed his lips against Sam’s.

Sam pulled Dean in closer reveling in the feel of him. “I love you. I think I knew from the moment we met.”

“I’ve never felt this way with anyone.” Dean’s voice was almost a whisper.

“Me either. Not that I have anything to compare it to.”

Dean flinched slightly, pulling back he wanted Sam to see the truth. “Sam, that's all in the past. This is a chance for a fresh start for both of us, for us to build something together.”

Sam hesitated a moment, not wanting to start another argument. “What about all the other things Dean? Hunting, you can't give that up. I won't let you. Its too important. But no planned solo hunts. And I will be coming with you soon.”

“No I can't give up hunting, and you're still not ready. But you almost died from an infection. The tornado could have killed either one of us. Anything can happen. I'll try to do it your way. But you’re not hunting until I decide you’re ready.”

“No Dean, when we decide. That’s all I ask.”

“Alright when we decide. I've been on my own for so long it's going to take time to get used to.”

Hazel eyes met green as Sam asked. “Would you really have gone Dean?”

“Honestly, I don't know.. I was being torn in two. I wanted you, but I know I'm bad for you Sam.’ Dean turned away his voice trailing off. “ I just want to protect you. I don’t know what will happen if I lose you.”

“I feel the same. I cannot be without you, not now. Dean as long as we have each other there is nothing we cannot face together and just for the record I want to protect you. But your worst enemy is yourself.”

With a sad laugh Dean shook his head agreeing with the younger man. “That's what I'm afraid of Sam. You haven't seen what I'm capable of doing. How can you have faith in me?”

Sam grabbed Dean’s neck dragging him close, until their foreheads were pressed together. “Because I couldn't love you if I didn't.”

“You make it sound so simple, but it's not. Not for me.” Dean tried to pull away but Sam held even tighter.

“It can be Dean. All you have to do is believe in me like I do you.”

“ I do believe in you Sam. I don't know if I believe in me.”

“Guess I'll have to do it enough for both of us.” Drawing Dean in closer, Sam’s mouth covered Dean’s in a bruising kiss, demanding entrance, taking Dean’s breath away. Soft full lips parted allowing Sam’s tongue into the warm wet heat of his mouth savoring the taste.

****

A soft knock on the door had Dean pulling back. He crossed the room opening it to see Isaac standing there. Sam saw him nod as he spoke with the older man. He could see Dean smile as the door closed. A few minutes later Isaac returned with the first of several batches of boiling water as the tub was slowly filled.

Dean watched Sam sink down into the warm water, heard him groan his approval as the water settled around him. Dean grabbed the basin, his razor and the soap as he pulled his chair behind the tub. He placed a warm rag over Sam’s face letting it soften the nearly week old stubble as he worked the soap into a lather. Moving the rag he applied the lather. Taking the razor he brought the blade carefully up Sam’s neck, and chin scraping away the rough beard. He repeated the motion, rinsing and scraping over Sam’s jaw, and finally scraped away the small moustache. Satisfied with the job he rinsed away the soapy residue. Careful of Sam’s back, Dean had Sam lean back as he poured warm water over the dark unruly mop of hair. His fingers quickly worked the soap through the long hair, massaging it into the silken strands. After rinsing and briskly toweling the dark tresses, he took scissors and trimmed the too long ends. Once he was finished he sat back and admired his work. Sam’s head was leaned back, his hazel eyes closed as he luxuriated in Dean’s care. Kneeling next to the tub, Dean took Sam’s now smooth face in his hands, leaning in his lips gently caressed Sam’s. He waited for Sam to open his eyes before he trailed kisses up Sam’s jaw to his ear. “I love you, Sam” he whispered. Sitting back on his heels, he watched Sam’s face as the words sank in.

Sam froze, the breath locked in his lungs and even his heart seemed to cease beating. “What did you say?” came out as a strangled whisper

Standing, Dean reached down to help Sam from the tub. "You heard me Sammy"

“No, Dean, I don’t think I did. Perhaps you better whisper in my ear again.”

Shaking his head Dean smiled at Sam, knowing he had heard the words he had been waiting on for so long, bending down he whispered again, " I said I love you Sammy."

“I thought that’s what you said, Dean.” Sam put his wrestling practice to good use he grabbed Deans right shoulder and left hip. Pulling down on the shoulder and pushing on his hip to send Dean with a splash and a surprised yell to land in the bath on Sam’s chest and lap. Taking full advantage of the situation he wasted no time hugging Dean to him. “God, Dean, you don’t know how much I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

There was a loud knock then the door opened, Isaac looked around. He couldn’t help himself seeing the shocked look on Dean's face as he sat sideways in the tub on Sam’s lap. A huge smile broke out on his face as he tried to hold in his laughter. “I can come back later when you‘ve finished your bath.”

Dean felt the heat on his face as he flailed trying to find something to grab hold of to push himself up out of the narrow tub. Seeing no other option, he held out his hand waiting for the older man to help him up.
Isaac could barely contain his laughter, between the smile that radiated from Sam’s face and Dean in such an undignified position as he took his hand helping him to his feet.
Still chuckling Isaac headed back to the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Once the door closed Dean reached down pulling Sam up tossing him a towel as he started to remove his own wet clothes. “You need to put something on. Isaac will be back and Ruth will be bringing chow soon.”

It only took a few minutes before Dean had changed into something dry. He watched as Sam walked towards the table. “Nope, back to bed, Sam.” He waited as Sam made his way to a fresh bunk before crossing to the door opening it to let Isaac know it was safe to return.

Isaac was still smiling a few minutes later when he and Dean lifted the near empty tub. Looking over his shoulder Dean winked at Sam. “Don’t go anywhere, I won’t be long.”

Waiting for Dean’s return Sam made himself comfortable on a fresh bunk. He didn’t want to think what the one he had laid in for the last few days smelled like . If it was anything approaching the rank smell that had clung to his own body it didn’t bear thinking about. Sinking into the tub of hot water had been bliss. Just laying back and letting Dean take charge had been wonderful. Sam had been shaved many times but being shaved by Dean was a whole different experience. Since when had shaving become erotic? Smiling to himself Sam wondered if he has developed a one-track mind.

As he was in for a few more days of inactivity the least he could do was study the journals, read Dean’s notes on the latest hunt and update his own journal. Casting his eye about the bunkhouse Sam looked for the journals. Spotting the saddlebag on the bottom of the nearby bunk, he thought it a likely place for them to be. Opening the buckle and lifting the flap, Sam emptied the contents of the saddlebag onto his lap. Two leather bound journals, Dean’s Colt and 4 letters fell out.

What was Dean’s Colt doing in the bag? He was meticulous about his weapons. There was no way he would casually leave it in a bag. Thumbing aside the gate the cylinder released and nestled. Nestled inside was one silver bullet. Placing the Colt back on the bed he picked up the letters. They were addressed to Ruth and Isaac, John Winchester, Shamus and the last one to William Jones, the lawyer. Staring at the letters a horrible feeling settled in the pit of Sam’s stomach, swallowing nervously he found the envelope addressed to Ruth and Isaac. Turning it over several times in his hand Sam contemplated opening it. Normally one to respect privacy, he hesitated, glancing once more at Dean’s Colt, “Please let 2 and 2 make 5, please let me be wrong.” Sam whispered quietly.

Pulling the letter out he quickly read the letter. “Oh, God!” There was no denying it; there in black and white was Dean’s suicide note. Tears welled up blurring the written word, a huge lump threatened to block his throat, he shook his head in disbelief. There if ever he needed it, was proof of Dean’s love for him. How could he have been such a fool, been so blind?

Opening the door, Dean‘s first thought was to check on Sam. Seeing the shocked look on Sam’s face, it took a moment before Dean recognized the envelope he was holding in his hands. Looking further he saw his Colt lying on the bed next to his saddlebag. Dean felt like he had been punched in the gut, he just stood there for a minute, unable to catch his breath.

The creak of the bunkhouse door followed by a loud gasp drew Sam’s attention. Dean stood framed in the doorway a look of horror on his face.

Slamming the door, Dean crossed over to the bunk trying to grab the letter, only to be held at arm’s length by Sam. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? “ He snarled, not really expecting an answer. “Give it to me,” he demanded holding out his hand waiting for Sam to hand the letter over. Dean watched Sam shake his head refusing to do as he was told. “You had no right to read that.”

“No right!? Jesus, Dean, you were going to kill yourself.” Sam hadn’t meant to shout, but he found it impossible to contain the pain and anguish he felt.

“Yes, Sam, I was. You wanna know why?” He turned his head staring out of the window; somehow it was easier than looking at Sam’s concerned face. “Because I don’t… I can’t be the one left behind.” His voice trailed off. Sitting on the bunk next to Sam's, Dean dropped his head into his hands not wanting Sam to see his face. “I never wanted you to know.”

“Dean, look at me,” when he got no response he crouched with some difficulty, grasping Dean’s face between his two large hands turning him from the window so he could look into the anguished green eyes. Sam needed Dean to truly believe what he was going to say. “Dean, I will never leave you. Never.”

Dean tried to turn away, but Sam held him firmly in place, making him look at him. Those hazel eyes were relentless boring into him, trying to look into his very soul. The thought of what Sam would see terrified him. He had worked so hard to keep everything buried, his weaknesses and fears. What would Sam think if he knew the truth?

Frowning, Sam could see the war going on inside Dean’s head; it was being played out on his for once unguarded face. Sam knew that Dean found talking about himself difficult, if not impossible. Suddenly, as if he had been blind and now could see he was granted insight. Dean for all his physical strength was emotionally crippled. Sam suspected that John had a hand in his son’s condition. Perhaps John had taught Dean that to show your emotions made you a liability, perhaps the man was that way himself and Dean had grown up not knowing any different. Whatever the reason John had handicapped his son, not protected him. Well that was something that was going to have to change. Firstly Sam himself needed to apologize.

“Dean, I’m so sorry. So sorry I doubted you, doubted your feelings for me, for not trusting you.” He was so close he could see his own reflection in the sad eyes.

“Sam, you don’t have to apologize. I tried to tell you, but I’m not so good with words. Not like you, I just thought you knew and understood.”

“It doesn’t matter, Dean. Like you I have had a lot to learn and one of those things I had to learn was to grow up…to learn to read people. I assumed wrongly that everyone talked. Talked about what was important to them. That’s how I was brought up. We shared everything. Do you know there was not a day that went by that my mum and dad didn’t say that they loved each other? I wrongly assumed that you never said it because you didn’t have those feelings for me. How blind I was. I never realized that you didn’t know how to, because you’d never been shown. You had been taught that to show your feeling was a weakness. But all that has, and will, change now, Dean, because I know the real you. Not the Dean Winchester you show the rest of the world, but the kind, loving generous man I fell in love with.”

Dean could feel the heat of embarrassment on his face. He wasn’t sure he was worthy of Sam’s words. He was right. He had been taught to never show weakness. That was a lesson he had learned well, he had guarded that part of himself until Sam came into his life. “Sam, I don’t know if I can change. You can’t afford to show any weakness hunting, you have to understand that.”

“Dean, there’s a lot I don’t know about you. There are parts of yourself you keep hidden from me. I thought if I waited and didn’t push you would eventually feel comfortable enough to tell me. I understand the need to be professional when we hunt, to be careful in public. But when we’re alone I want all of you. I don’t want us to have secrets, to hide things from each other.”

“No one ever cared before how I felt. I’ve always had to keep so many secrets hunting I never stopped to think that it would matter to anyone. I didn’t realize they were important to you. I don’t mean to do it, I’ll need you to help me, to remind me.”

“Loving someone and telling them is not weakness Dean, its strength. Anyone can go through life forever on the outside looking in, but it takes strength to break the ingrained habits of a lifetime and change. Now that you have it’ll be easier,” smiling he brushed his thumbs over the freckled cheekbones before leaning forward to kiss Dean. Pulling back he winced slightly, bracing himself against Dean’s denim clad thighs.

Sam’s touch went through Dean light a jolt of lightning. Reaching out to steady Sam he waited for him to sit back down. Dean cleared his throat, not sure if he trusted his voice. “There are gonna be times when I can’t give you what you need, but that doesn‘t mean... you know, I just want you to understand.”

Smiling, “Dean, we’ll work on your generosity issues later.”

Looking at Sam’s smiling face gave Dean the moment he needed to rebuild the battered walls he hid behind, perhaps this time he wouldn’t need to build them so high or so strong. Standing with a lecherous grin, he leaned down, breathing against Sam's ear, knowing the effect it had on the younger man. “Sam, I plan on being very generous later.”

Dean’s warm breath and promise of later sent a shiver down Sam’s spine. Grasping the letters he handed them back to Dean, “I think you should get rid of these, don't you?"

Taking the letters Dean walked to the stove; opening the small cover he tossed the letters inside, watching the flames as they quickly devoured another chapter of his life.

DARK RIDERS 2 STORM WARNING

2008-06-13T13:00:09Z

Pairings: Sam/Dean
Ratings: NC 17/adult
Warnings: Slash/Angst/Violence/Wincest/Au
Disclaimer: Don’t Belong To Us
Summary: Sam follows Dean to his ranch in the flint hills of Kansas. When disaster strikes, will an ancient prophecy and a pact made by their parents before they were born, bring them closer together, or tear them apart?
Status: Complete. Posting weekly
Word Count: 38630 APROX
A/N: Thank you to all the readers who have asked about a second story. Well here it is, hope it does not disapoint. The story is complete and will be posted once a week [or you ask real nice and then we might post sooner lol] This is the second in a series of stories that follow Dean and Sams adventures.
A big thank you to Louy for the awesome banner thanks mate, you rock!

Previous story DARK RIDERS can be found here http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/

Storm Warning Chapter 1 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
Storm Warning Chapter 2 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2808.html
Storm Warning Chapter 3 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/3113.html
Storm Warning Chapter 4 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/05/17/
Storm Warning Chapter 5 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/3774.html
Storm Warning chapter 6 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/3981.html
Storm Warning chapter 7 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/4221.html
Storm Warning Chapter 8 http://forsakenbeloved.livejournal.com/2008/06/13/
Authors Note: Angel quote from Paridiso, canto 31 by Dante, Poe quote from the poem The City In The Sea

monday
Deciding he needed air, Dean returned to the small pile in the corner. Searching through the growing stack he found a shirt which he quickly pulled over his head. He looked around until he spied his boots near the bunk where he had been placed when he was brought to the bunkhouse. Sitting he put on his boots and grabbed his gloves he had pulled from his saddlebags earlier.

Dean blinked when he stepped out into the bright sunlight. Not a cloud in the sky. Looking at the devastation he put on his gloves. There was so much to be done he wasn’t even sure where to start.

“Dean Winchester, what do you think you’re doing?” he heard Ruth ask as she approached. “I told you to get some rest.”

“Last time I checked, I still owned the place. There’s too much work for the two of you to do on your own.” Turning Dean walked over to where the horses had been herded together in a makeshift corral. Hitching up the wagon horses he led them over to a large area of debris making it easier to move the large pieces. Everything was stacked and separated as they went. Some of the wood could be used for rebuilding; the rest was stacked to be used for firewood. Several random items were found as the larger pieces were cleared away.

The work was enough to keep his mind busy and the day passed quickly. He had taken his lunch outside. Not wanting another encounter with Sam, he let Ruth check on him throughout the day. Dean was thankful for the warm tub Ruth had prepared at the end of the day. The water helped soothe his aching body. He had to admit he was tired as he walked back over to the bunkhouse. Entering he could hear Sam’s soft snore. After the morning’s conversation Dean chose the bunk furthest from Sam. Laying down he was asleep in no time.

Dean awoke to his name being called. Taking a few minutes to clear his head, he realized it was Sam. Looking over he could see Sam’s body moving restlessly in his sleep. Walking to Sam’s bunk, Dean reached down to wake the sleeping man. Shaking Sam’s shoulder, he could feel the heat coming from his body. Going to the table Dean lit the lantern to get a closer look. Sam’s face was flushed. Turning him to his side he tried to lift the bandage on Sam’s back. When the bandage didn’t pull away easily Dean stopped. Taking some of the gauze from Ruth’s basket, he poured a basin of water. Soaking the fabric he squeezed the water onto the bandage to loosen its hold on Sam’s skin. After several attempts he was finally able to remove the bandage. The angry heated red skin was a clear sign of infection. Dean carefully washed the wound trying not to further aggravate it. Sorting through Ruth’s basket, Dean found the salve he was looking for. Placing it on a clean bandage he covered the nasty looking tear. Discarding the old water, Dean poured fresh water into a clean basin. Sitting down next to Sam he wiped Sam’s face, before placing the cloth to cool his forehead, trying to bring his temperature
down. Dean reassured Sam he was there as he continued to call his name. His voice seemed to have a calming effect on the younger man as his movements stilled. The young hunter watched as Sam drifted into a more peaceful rest. Dean pulled the blanket up covering Sam’s body. Knowing it was going to be a long night, Dean made a fresh pot of coffee. Placing the chair as close to the bunk as he could he sat down preparing for his vigil.

Throughout the night Dean continued to bath Sam’s warm skin. To recover him as he pulled the blanket off when the chills subsided and the sweats took over. At times Sam’s mumbling was incoherent, but most of the time he would hear his name called out. When he became erratic, Dean would do his best to calm him quickly, not wanting the wound to be reopened. The sound of Dean’s voice seemed to reassure the young man lulling him into sleep. The night seemed to drag on forever. Catching himself nodding off, Dean would pour more coffee or splash his face, anything to stay awake.

*Tues Glancing at his watch, Dean waited for the six o’clock hour. He knew Ruth and Isaac had been up for some time, but he wanted to let them have a few more minutes together. They had been working so hard, the last few days had taken their toll on the older couple. Checking Sam, Dean sprinted across the yard. When Ruth opened the door he quickly explained Sam’s condition before hurrying back to his side.

Ruth and Isaac wasted no time. They entered the bunkhouse only minutes after Dean. After examining Sam, Ruth looked at Isaac, hoping Dean had not seen the concern on their faces. Hurriedly Ruth gave her husband a short list of the things she would need. Before returning her attention to Sam she noted how tired Dean looked. It had only been a few days since he had also been injured. The last thing they needed was for Dean to have a relapse as well.

Broaching the subject with a tired, frantic Dean had to be done carefully. The only times she had ever seen Dean’s anger had been centered around worry for Sam. “Dean, you need to get a little rest. I will stay right here by Sam’s side. You can’t be of any help if you collapse as well.” Waiting for the tirade she was expecting she was surprised when it never came.

Dean just nodded before he lay down on his bunk. “Wake me in two hours unless he gets worse.” Within minutes he was sound asleep.

Two hours later Isaac shook Dean awake. Dean washed the sleep from his eyes before taking the plate he was offered. Once he finished he took up his spot next to Sam. Sam still alternated between the sweating and chills. Dean continued to wipe the heated skin to keep the fever at bay, and keep him warm when the shivers took over.

Coming to a decision Dean spoke, “Isaac, take Blaze, go into town and bring Doc Daniels back.”

“You know Blaze won’t let me ride him...” Isaac started, “Well then take Merlin!” Dean’s voice was more tired concern than anger.

Nodding, Isaac started to leave before Ruth stopped him. She hurriedly wrote a small note before handing it to him. Kissing him, she told him to be careful

Dean barely moved from Sam’s side. His nerves were frayed. Snapping at Ruth, and then apologizing, when she told him to eat. Dean sent her to her cabin to get some much needed rest. He had checked his father’s journal, desperately trying to find something, anything.

Dean wasn’t sure how much time had passed. His body ached from sitting too long and lack of sleep. He paced counting steps, drank a pot of coffee. Hours ticked by. It was close to dark, when Isaac and Ruth returned. Looking past Isaac, Dean realized the doctor wasn’t there. “Dean, the doctor will be here when he can. He’s given me instructions on what needs to be done. Please Dean, you need to sleep. You won’t be doing Sam any good like this.” Ruth pleaded. “Isaac and I will look after him. I‘ve had a good long nap, I‘ll wake you immediately if he calls or needs anything. I promise.”

Dean shook his head protesting. “Isaac’s worse off then me, I can sleep later.”

“Right now Sam’s calm. Why don’t both of you just take a bunk. We’ll all be here together.” She motioned Isaac to a bunk, which he tiredly sunk down to. “Dean, please?”

Dean caressed Sam’s face before standing. “Take care of him?”

Seeing the worry in his tired green eyes, Ruth reached for him embracing him, as he broke down. She held tightly as he sobbed quietly, his breath hitching every few minutes. “Oh, honey, you now I will.” She held him until he finally stepped away, watching him as he again took the bunk nearest Sam.

Tues /Wed
They were all exhausted. Dean even more so. He had only had a few hours sleep the last two days, but insisting they both rest. Ruth watched as he slept, hoping his would at least be restful. Sam had been even more restless. Not only had his fever gotten worse, Ruth was becoming even more alarmed with the infection.

She watched as Sam started his erratic thrashing again. He was reaching for his head; incoherent words tumbled from his mouth. Knowing they needed to get his fever down, she called for Isaac telling him to get the tub. They would also need cool water. Ruth tried to keep Sam calm and sleeping until they were ready. It would give Dean a chance for a few extra minutes of sleep.

Isaac returned with the tub, and then started his trek to the well. Many pails later the tub was ready. Ruth told Isaac the previous stitches would have to be removed, the wound re -cleaned. The other supplies were gathered and ready. The time in the tub would also make it a little easier to deal with the gash.

With a loud, “NO!” Sam was again pushing up from the bed, his arms waving through the air. It took all Isaac’s strength to keep the young man on the bed. Sam was calling Dean’s name over and over. Ruth approached Dean, shaking him; she waited as he opened his eyes trying to get his bearing.

“Dean, we need to get Sam in the tub to bring his fever down. You need to help hold him. Keep him calm so he doesn’t hurt himself. I want you behind him closer to his back. After the tub we have to try to get the infection taken care of. Are you ready for this?” She waited as he let everything sink in before he shook his head yes.

Dean was shocked at the heat pouring off Sam as he reached down to help pick him up. As Dean and Isaac lifted Sam, he looked at Dean with unfocused eyes. Once the men approached the tub all hell broke loose. Sam was pushing away mumbling, terrified. Dean tried calming Sam as he fought against him. “Sam, let me take care of you. You need to trust me. Can you do that?’ Dean asked softly, hoping his voice would continue to have the same calming effect.

Sam allowed himself to be carried, never taking his eyes from Dean, trusting the man implicitly. Removing the blanket they slowly lowered him into the tub. As soon as Sam felt the water his whole body tensed. “No!” Sam’s voice was frantic. “Not the water! DEAN! He’s dead! I saw it! A vision!”

Keeping Sam still was proving more difficult then Isaac thought, as the delirium worsened. “No Sam. Dean’s right here. He’s not dead.”

Sam was grabbing at air, trying to find anything to hold on to. “Stay out of the water! They’re drowned! All gone!”

“Sam. We’re right here. You have to calm down, you’ll hurt yourself. Sh, sh, I’m right here.” Dean was speaking to Sam near his ear, struggling to hold on as he tried to move into Sam’s sight.

Clutching on Dean’s arms, Sam’s fingers dug in, clawing, drawing blood. “Dean, I saw it! The ship!” Starting to cry he clung even more desperately to Dean. “They all drowned! The ship! Sunk the ship!”

“I’ve got ya, Sammy,” Dean searched the glazed hazel eyes trying to find Sam in them. “Hush, Sam, hush.” Dean kissed his temple trying anything to soothe the young man.

“I’m alone. Promise me you won’t leave. You can’t leave me, Dean. Please?” Sam begged.

“I promise, I won’t ever leave you, Sammy.” Dean watched as Sam closed his eyes nodding his head before he drifted back into unconsciousness.

Dean and Isaac lowered Sam’s now still body into the tub, letting the cool water cover him. Waiting as the minutes ticked by. Isaac left Sam in Dean’s care as he retrieved the linen sheet to wrap him in. Dean carefully lifted Sam wrapping the sheet around him, drying him, before placing him on the bunk.

Sitting next to Sam, Dean waited for Ruth and Isaac. He could see the mottled bruise covering Sam’s back. A festering 7 inch gash was at the root of the problem. The infection had set in quickly. If only Sam hadn’t been so stubborn, if he had told someone, Dean thought. No that wasn’t fair. He would have done the same thing if Sam had been lost.

The tub had brought the fever down for now, they would have to wait and see. Sam was still fitful, but not like he was with the tub. Was it possible that Sam did have a vision? Losing Shamus would destroy Sam. Was it the fever? Dean had seen what a fever could do to a man, when you were so out of your head you didn’t know what was real.

Walking over to the bunk, Isaac set down a bottle of whiskey and shot glass on the table, along with a small pot of boiling water, a knife, scissors and a basin. Ruth’s basket was on the other side of the bunk in easy reach.

Giving Dean a tired smile she told him he would need to keep Sam still while she cut the old stitches and cleaned the infection. Ruth poured some of the whiskey over the knife and scissors to sterilize them. She soaked some gauze in the hot water, and then placed the hot gauze over the wound. Dean felt Sam jerk as the hot fabric hit his already inflamed skin.

Isaac poured a shot of the whiskey handing it to Dean telling him Sam needed to drink it. It wouldn’t stop the pain, but if they were lucky Sam would sleep through most of it. Getting Sam to drink was easier said then done. First Sam was lying on his stomach. Gently rolling him to his side, Dean lifted the glass to Sam’s lips. Leaning in he whispered encouragement. “Sam, you gotta drink this. It’s gonna help.” As the burning liquid hit Sam’s throat, he coughed, spraying Dean with the amber liquid. A little coaxing and Dean was able to get the rest down. Dean handed the glass back, only to
have Isaac fill it again. Isaac motioned to Dean, letting him know Sam had to drink this glass as well. This time there was very little trouble. The young hunter was surprised when Isaac handed the glass back a third time. “Isaac, he doesn’t need another drink.”

“This is for you. It’s going to be bad. You’re going to need it.” Isaac watched as Dean’s brows shot up, before he looked over to Ruth, as she replaced the gauze with another hot soaked piece, causing Sam to moan at the contact. Nodding at him, Dean tipped the small glass back, taking comfort in the burn.

Removing the gauze, Ruth took the small scissors snipping the thread. Dean watched as pus and blood oozed from the puffy wound. Ruth carefully pried the gash open, with clean gauze she carefully wiped away the blood and pus as it seeped out. Dean had to turn away to keep from retching. Sam’s moans at the pain brought tears to Dean’s eyes.

Ruth waited for Dean to compose himself before returning to the job at hand. Finally the last of the blood and pus stopped showing on the gauze as it was cleaned. Isaac had prepared a new pot of boiling water; they would need to replace the gauze with a new hot cloth every 5 minutes. Another half hour and they should be done.

Now that it was clean again, the wound was dried. Ruth spread the salve over the wound letting them know it was important not to let the wound close while there might still be some infection. The gash was then covered with clean gauze. Now they could only wait and see.
***
For several hours Sam’s sleep was quiet and restful. Dean, Ruth and Isaac took turns watching over him, allowing each other to sleep or take care of other needs. Ruth had finally coaxed Dean into eating then sent him outside to get some air. She wondered how he was still on his feet, he was a wreck.

When he entered the room, Ruth and Isaac were trying to hold down a frantic, babbling Sam. Rushing to his side, Dean could once again feel the heat from Sam. The fever was back. Sam stilled a little at hearing Dean’s voice. Watching as Ruth and Isaac exchanged a look between them, he knew it was bad.

A fresh basin of water was brought over as Dean started the ritual of wiping Sam down again, desperate to cool him down. He continued going through the motions, helpless to do anything else. When Ruth tried to take over he refused to move. “Sam wouldn’t leave me, I won’t leave him.” After a moment he looked at her with tear filled eyes that begged her to save Sam. “There‘s nothing we can do is there?”

Ruth’s heart was breaking for this broken young man before her. “No, Dean, it’s not good. We’ve done all we can. It’s in God’s hands now.”

“God’s hands!” He roared. “After everything I’ve seen, I can’t believe in your God. How can your God take someone like Sam? He’s never hurt anyone. He’s barely had a chance to live, he doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Dean, please, God has his reasons why.”

“NO! No. Just go. You and Isaac go. Go back to your cabin. I want to be alone with Sam. Please, just let me be.”

With a sad smile, Isaac placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder, trying to share his strength.
“If you need us we’ll be waiting.” Taking Ruth by the arm, he led his wife out of the door.

Dean alternated between pacing when Sam was calm, and staying near Sam’s side as the sweats and the chills continued to take their toll on his body. Sam was burning up. Dean had seen enough to know there wasn’t much hope. He couldn’t even pray, not to a God who had abandoned him years ago.

With Sam‘s hand in his he looked down seeing their fingers entwined, “Usually deathbed confessions work the other way, but I know you don’t have any sins to confess. I guess it’s up to me to confess mine. I don’t even know where to start.” With a nervous laugh he continued. “I never thought I would fall in love. I don’t know how I was so lucky to have someone like you love me. I love you Sam. I’ve said it a million times, just not out loud, not to you. I should have told you before. Now it’s too late. I should have shouted it out like I did my anger.”

“I don’t even know if you can hear me. You made me promise to never leave you, but you’re going to be like everyone else I’ve ever loved. You’re going to leave and it’s all my fault. I should never have brought you here. If I hadn’t been so selfish you wouldn’t be laying here dying. There’s nothing I can do to save you. Your blood is on my hands. My ride to hell has been paid in full.”

No longer able to sit still, Dean pushed away from the chair, walking to the foot of the bed. He stood looking down at Sam. “I told you before I’m so tired. I’m tired of making all the decisions. You were right about me being selfish and a coward. I know it’s not fair for me to put this on you, but I can’t do it anymore. You said I had to share, that you wanted to help carry the load.” Dean dragged his hand across his face, wiping away the tears, “Well Sammy, it’s up to you. You have to decide. It’s your decision. Both our lives are in your hands. I would rather die than live without you. I won’t live without you. So go on, go ahead and die. I won‘t be left behind this time.”

Sam’s hands reached out, but he knew he wasn‘t reaching for him. It was the fever. Moving back to Sam’s side Dean knelt next to him. He touched Sam’s face, turning it towards him. “You have to fight. You have to want to live. I swear to you Sam, I promise, you make it through this, I’ll never leave you. We’ll stay here; you’ll have your dreams. We can rebuild, this will be a fresh start for both of us. Please Sam, I’m begging you. I can’t believe in your God, but I believe in you. I’ve seen how strong you are. If anyone can do this, you can do it.”

While Sam was resting quietly, Dean picked up his saddlebag and his holster. Walking over to the table, he set both on the nearest chair. He pulled out his father’s journal along with pen and ink. Sitting at the small table Dean poured a shot of whiskey sipping the amber liquid, too numb to feel anything. Looking at the journal, he carefully removed several pages. Dipping the pen in ink, he started to write. The first three letters were written quickly, sealed and addressed. The last letter would take longer, he needed a few moments to compose his thoughts. When he was finally ready he began:

Dearest Ruth and Isaac,

At this sorrowful time I take pen to paper. Once again I am in need of your help. Included you will find three letters. Please see to their disposition.

I know what I have done is a grievous sin. I hope that someday you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. You have always treated me like family and for that I am eternally grateful.

I am leaving you the ranch and as Sam has no family it cannot be contested. Please see to Blaze and Merlin.

I love Sam and won’t live my life without him. Please wrap us together side by side for our funeral pyre. Spread our ashes near the large pond where the wild mustangs gather. Sam was always happy there.

Like you, Sam was a believer. When I was a young boy, my momma would hold me and read to me about angels, she said they were watching over me. Could you read this passage over him? It was one of her favorites and I think Sam would be pleased.

“I saw a myriad host of angels, festive all, wings unfurled. Each one distinct in brightness and in kind.”

I think Sam would make a glorious angel for his God.

As for me I have always liked the words of Edgar Allan Poe, and I think this passage is fitting:

“Lo! Death has reared himself a throne, In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West, Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.”

Again I am in your debt.

With deepest affection,
Dean

Now that the letter was written, he carefully folded and sealed it in the envelope, neatly writing Isaac’s and Ruth’s names on the back. Setting the envelope aside he pulled his Colt from the holster. Opening the cylinder he emptied each chamber. He placed the bullets into the empty bullet slots on the holster. Reaching to the back of the slots, he pulled out a solitary silver bullet. Closing his eyes he held it rubbing it between his fingers, feeling the smooth metal, feeling the weight.

Laughing, he thought what his dad would say about him wasting a silver bullet, indulging himself. An ordinary lead bullet could kill him, the irony of adding to his worth at his death. Picking up the gun, he placed the silver round in the chamber before closing the cylinder. Taking the envelope and the gun, he placed them both in his saddlebag where they would be ready when the time came.

Pouring another shot of whiskey, Dean swallowed slowly, savoring each drop. Standing he picked up his saddlebag and made his way over to Sam. Setting the bag at the foot of the bunk, Dean carefully laid down facing Sam. Taking Sam’s face in his hands, he pressed his lips to Sam’s. Dean kissed him, wanting to taste him one more time. “I love you, Sammy.” he whispered as he wiped away his tears. “Love you, Dean.” he heard Sam say. Pulling Sam into his arms, Dean closed his eyes and waited.

P.S.AN THIS BEAUTIFUL CHAPTER IS ALL MY WONDERFUL AMERICAN PARTNERS WORK. MADE ME CRY! AFTER ALL THE DEAN BASHING SHE HOPES YOU WILL FORGIVE HIM AND UNDERSTAND. SHE IS VERY NERVOUS ABOUT THIS CHAPTER JUST AS I WAS ABOUT SEX SCENE IN FIRST STORY SO LET HER KNOW WHAT YOU THINK.

DARK RIDERS 2. STORM WARNING

2008-06-07T09:07:43Z

Chapter 7

Voices drifted in and out through the fog. Everything hurt. Dean tried to open his eyes, but didn’t have the strength. His eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. He laid there trying to concentrate on the voices. He could hear Ruth’s soft voice, comforting and warm. Another familiar voice deep and rich played on the edge of his memory, Sam. Sam was here.

By the time Dean opened his eyes, he could feel the warm sunlight as it poured in through the set of windows. Looking around, he was surprised to see he was in the bunkhouse. His whole body ached. He could see a myriad of bruises covering his bare chest and arms. His head felt the size of Texas he thought as he reached up to press his hand against his forehead, trying to stop the pounding rhythm.

Trying to sit up was proving to be very difficult. Every movement was painful, but Dean could tell nothing was broken. Searching the room, he vaguely recalled voices at some point. Finally his eyes settled on Sam, sitting quietly with his eyes closed. Dean wasn’t sure whether he was sleeping or not. Sam’s face was pale and he looked exhausted. “Sam,” Dean could hear his voice, low and throaty, he needed some water.

As soon as his name was out of Dean’s lips, Sam opened his eyes and was kneeling down next to the bunk. “Thank God, you’re awake. You were out for hours.” Sam wiped away the tears that started to fall. “I thought I lost you, Dean” Sam grabbed Dean’s hand holding so tight he was cutting off the circulation.

“Need some water,” was Dean’s raspy request. He watched Sam as he filled the small tin cup. Sam gently lifted his head as he held the cup to Dean’s mouth. His eyes never left Dean, drinking in the sight of him. Dean saw several small scratches and a few bruises on Sam’s arms and hands, otherwise he looked fine. “Are you alright? How about Ruth and Isaac?” He asked.

“They’re alright, just a few bruises and scrapes. Dean, it’s all gone. The only thing left is this,” he swept his hand around indicating the bunkhouse, “and Ruth and Isaac’s cabin.”

“Sam, it’s ok. Just you and them, that’s what’s important,” Dean could see the after affects of Sam’s ordeal. “C’mere.” Scooting over he made room for Sam to sit next to him on the small bunk.

“You’re hurt. I’ll be fine here.” Sam started to take up his previous perch on the chair.

“Come on Sam, get over here.” Stretching out his hand out, Sam grabbed hold, letting Dean pull him in closer.

Sam hesitated before sitting on the dark blanket covering the bunk, ready to move at the first sign of Dean’s discomfort.

Looking up Dean tried to put on his most charming smile. “So what I miss?”

Snorting back a small laugh, Sam managed a little smile.

Dean reached up pulling Sam’s head down till their lips brushed against each other. The briefest touch, enough to ground them, to reassure them they had made it through. With their foreheads pressed together, they just sat, not speaking, breathing each other in. It had been a week since he had even touched Sam he didn’t want to let go.

Sam pulled back, a sad smile on his tired face. Standing he looked down, “I’m just going to let Ruth know…” Dean watched in shock as Sam dropped to his knees, then fell sideways collapsing on the floor.

“Sam?” Dean called his name, waiting for an answer. When he didn’t answer Dean pushed himself up. Each movement hurt, his head was pounding again, he had to wait a minute for the wave of nausea to pass. “Sammy?” Dean tried again, still nothing. It took everything he had to get out of the bunk. Kneeling next to Sam’s prone body Dean checked to make sure he was still breathing. With a sigh of relief he released his own breath only then aware he had been holding it. Placing his hand on Sam’s neck he felt his pulse, finding it slow but steady. “Wake up Sammy, come on talk to me,” Dean tried to stay calm as he reached to pull the unconscious man close to him. As Dean rolled Sam towards him he could feel something warm and sticky on his hands. He knew exactly what it was. “Oh god!” He thought feeling the panic rise as he looked at his hand covered in blood. He needed to get help now. Dean was in no shape to lift Sam. On wobbly legs he managed to stand. Using whatever was near to brace himself, somehow Dean made his way to the door.

Yelling as loud as he could Dean called out for Isaac, hoping someone was in shouting distance. A few minutes later Dean was rewarded with Isaac stepping out of the cabin. He watched Isaac turn back in saying something to Ruth before the older man hurried across the yard towards the bunkhouse.

Dean pushed Isaac’s hands away as he tried to help him back inside. “No, take care of Sam.” Dean looked over to where the younger man was still laying on the floor. He watched as Isaac lifted Sam placing him onto the nearest bunk. A few minutes later Ruth was making her way to Sam’s side. Isaac ignored Dean’s protest as he helped him back to his recently vacated bunk

Turning Sam over, they were surprised to see the blood that covered his shirt and pants. They didn’t know how they had managed to miss it. When asked, Sam had assured them he was fine. Removing Sam’s shirt, they found the gash on Sam’s back. With the commotion and Sam’s frantic search for Dean, it looked as though he must have re-opened it several times.

Quickly and efficiently Ruth washed and stitched the wound. Speaking quietly with Isaac, Ruth pulled a chair near the bunks where she would be able to take care of both of her charges. The old iron stove had been stoked earlier; a large pot of water was warming on the burner. Ruth busied herself making a pot of coffee. Isaac returned a short time later carrying a large steaming pot and a basket. The heady aroma of the chicken soup made Dean’s stomach rumble. It had been well over a day since his last meal. Gratefully he accepted the coffee and soup, feeling a little better when he had finished. Dean’s eyes kept returning to Sam, pale and unmoving on the narrow bunk.

Again taking note of his surroundings, Dean noticed one corner of the room had collected a growing pile of their belongings. Evidently Isaac had spent a good part of the day seeing what was salvageable from their home; among everything else he saw two saddles. Looking towards Ruth, she smiled telling him the horses were fine.

Dean could only imagine what waited outside the doors of his new temporary home. Sam said it was all gone. He meant what he said about the important things, but he still felt a sense of loss. Dean watched as Ruth checked Sam’s bandage, also checking for a fever or signs of infection.

Hearing Dean muttering, Ruth smiled to herself. “Did you say something?”

“I said have you ever seen anyone as stubborn as Sam in your whole life? I asked him if he was hurt. Why didn’t he tell me? The fool could have died.”

“Yes, Dean, I have met someone even more stubborn than Sam. Why didn’t he tell you? You already know the answer to that. Sam spent the better part of a day worrying about you. He put on a brave front trying to find you; he was terrified of not finding you, or worse, finding your body. When he did find you he refused to leave your side.”

Feeling like a child being chastised under Ruth’s scrutiny Dean started to speak, only to have a long finger pointed at him before Ruth continued. “As to Sam being a fool, I doubt that. What he did was no more foolish than you riding off on a hunt by yourself. Did you ever stop to think about that? What were you thinking? Oh, yes, I remember now. You were worried about him.”

“He wasn’t ready to hunt. I couldn’t let him go. He could have been killed.”

“Dean, stop treating Sam like a child. He’s a man. You can’t make his decisions no more than you would let him make yours. He could have been killed yesterday by the tornado. What if something happened to him while you were off hunting?”

As Sam turned in the bunk, two sets of eyes were immediately drawn to the man’s movement. At the sound of a soft groan Dean was by Sam’s side, brushing the too long hair from his eyes.

“He has to be alright. I can’t lose him.” Looking at Ruth, Dean could feel the warm blush creeping into his face.

“Dean, do you ever listen to yourself? One minute it’s I can’t lose him, the next it’s he can’t be part of this. You can’t have it both ways.” Ruth brushed a wispy tendril of hair that had escaped her usually neat bun. “I’m not blind. I know, we know, about you and Sam. We’ve seen you, you’ve never been happier since Sam’s arrival. I can tell he feels the same way. I see it with the way he looks at you; I hear it in his voice when he speaks of you.”

“Sam deserves better than me. He deserves someone who’s good, someone who cares, someone decent.”

Sitting next to Dean, Ruth took his hands in hers. “You’re a good decent man. How can you think you don’t care? How many people have you saved? Sam knows what he wants, Dean. He wants you. It’s not wrong to want something for yourself.”

Pulling Ruth close, the young hunter gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “I hope one day I’m as smart as you are.” Dean teased the older woman, noticing for the first time how tired she looked.

“I hope so too,” Ruth smiled. “Dean, you have to tell Sam how you feel, but don‘t wait too long.” Isaac picked that time to walk into the room carrying another small load of items.

“Thanks,” Dean’s response was directed at the older couple. “Isaac, take your wife home. You’re both exhausted. Get some rest. I’ll take care of Sam the rest of the evening.”

Isaac helped his wife to her feet. “Do you need anything before we go? If you need us don’t hesitate to holler.”

“Nah, I’m good. See you in the morning.” Dean watched Ruth check Sam one last time before they headed to the door of their little cabin.

“Well, Sammy, it’s just us again.” Dean whispered to the still sleeping form as he dropped a kiss to Sam‘s forehead.

Hours later Isaac opened the door to the bunkhouse. One last check before bed. He wasn’t surprised to see Dean had pushed his narrow bunk next to the one Sam was still sleeping on. Dean was curled around Sam, his arm protectively covering the younger man.

Dean was greeted by the first rays of sunlight as it peeked over the horizon. His body still ached, something he knew would be with him for a few days. His headache was a manageable dull throb. He was reluctant to leave Sam’s warm body, but nature called. Sam was still sleeping, he had barely moved through the night.

Rummaging through the pile in the corner, Dean pulled on a pair of jeans he found. Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders he stepped outside. When Sam had collapsed and he called for Isaac, he didn’t even think to look around. The sight around him stopped him in his tracks. Sam was right. There was nothing left. Huge piles of debris scattered the area. How the cabin and bunkhouse were untouched could only be called a miracle if he believed in those things.

Returning to the bunkhouse, Dean stoked the stove, bringing the half full coffee pot and large kettle to boil. Preferring to sit at the table he drank his coffee. Hearing a creak he watched as Ruth’s head peered around the door. Smiling at Dean she carried her large basket to the table. The basket was soon emptied. Bacon, biscuits, a small jar of jelly and a pail of milk were set out. Looking over to Sam, Ruth saw Dean shake his head. “Let him sleep.”

Both Ruth and Dean were surprised when Sam spoke. “It’s alright, I’m awake.” Sam said wincing as he tried to sit up.

“Just stay there; I’ll fill you a plate. Breakfast in bed Sammy.” Dean smirked at the glare Sam cast him.

Handing Sam his breakfast, Dean asked “How you feeling? The truth this time.”

“My back hurts.” Sam admitted seeing he had no escape. Turning the tables he asked Dean the same question.

Ruth and Sam waited patiently for Dean’s response. “My head still hurts a little, some aches and pains. Nothing serious. As a matter of fact I’ll be out to help Isaac after breakfast.”

“Oh no Dean, neither of you are going anywhere today. You are both staying here until I say you are well enough to be out.” Ruth stood, hands on her plump hips daring either of them to disagree. “I expect you to get your rest. You both need time to heal.”

With a huge smile Ruth watched them both pout as they finished their breakfast in silence. Telling them she or Isaac would be by to check on them, she wished them both a good morning before closing the door behind her.

Each waited for the other to breach the silence. When neither spoke, Sam slid back down into the bunk closing his eyes. He could hear Dean fidgeting, moving around. He heard the scrape of the chair as Dean sat near the bunk.

“No playing possum, Sam. I know you’re not asleep. You’re not snoring.”

“I do not snore.” Sam’s tone was indignant as he opened his eyes looking at Dean.

“Course you do. I’ve heard you more than once.” Dean waited for Sam to sit back up. All playfulness aside he asked, “Why didn't you tell anyone you were hurt? It could have been serious.”

“I had to find you Dean. I didn't think it was that important or serious.”

“It didn't take Ruth long to stitch you up. The search could have waited. You learned with training how dangerous wounds can be. When I saw you collapse the only thing I could think of was I couldn’t help you.”

“Dean I didn't know where you were or even if you were alive. You could have been dying I had to find you. I had to say I was sorry and I am, really sorry. I pushed you too far, made things so difficult that you are leaving. Well, you are not leaving your home. I made a promise to myself when I was looking for you and I will keep it. You need a place not just for you but the other hunters. I cannot take that from you. I will be leaving as soon as I am able.”

“Sam you don't have anything to apologize for. You haven't done anything wrong. That’s not why I’m leaving. I always knew this life wasn't for me. I was foolish to hope I could have it. I’m a hunter. We follow the hunt and if we're lucky, we follow the one after that.”

Dean could hear the exhaustion in Sam’s voice. “I have turned your life upside down.”

“Yeah, Sam, my life has been turned upside down, but look what I've done to yours.”

“I didn’t have a life before I met you, Dean.”

“Sam you have dreams, you have plans, you can still have the life you want.”

“They are not important anymore. Dean, they were dreams. You need someone to share dreams with and I don't have that anymore. I found my someone special, trouble was I wasn't theirs.”

“Your dreams are important to me. I don't even have a home anymore, but you can rebuild all this. You've shown me the sketches. You know how I feel about you. Half the time when you're around I can't even think. I'll end up getting you killed; I won't be the cause of that.”

“I don't want to be a liability to you Dean. You don't have to worry about that any more.”

Taking Sam’s hands in his, Dean tried to let him know how he felt. “Sam I'll always worry about you. I’ll always care.

“But not enough to stay?” Sam asked pulling his hands away.

“I want to. Sammy, I want you so bad it hurts. I tried to change. All I’ve done is hurt you.”

“No! That I did to myself. I should never have tried to change you. I selfishly wanted more and I ruined everything.”

“Sam, you can't blame yourself for that. I chased you and made promises I couldn't keep. I knew I should have walked away from you when we met in Abilene. I wanted you. I was the one who was selfish.”

“So it was all about the chase?” Sam asked, the hurt in voice evident.

Rubbing his neck, Dean tried not to let his frustration make him lash out in anger. “No, it wasn't the chase. You twist and turn everything I say. I've never met anyone like you. I thought I could change for you, but I couldn't. I'm beyond that now. If I stay you will eventually hate me.”

“I could never hate you. I told you before, I love you. But I can’t stay here, not without you. You push me away then I wake up with you next to me.” Sam’s eyes wandered to the bunk pushed next to his. “I know you care, but you can’t have it both ways Dean. I need to be more than just your lover.”

Dean watched as Sam slid back down pulling the blanket over his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he effectively dismissed Dean.

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

Sam listened to Dean walk across the floor to the door, open it and leave. Once he was sure Dean had gone he drew back the blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Wincing as the new stitches pulled the tender skin of his back. Standing up he leant over to look out of the window, his eyes automatically searching for Dean. Not finding him he moved from window to window until he found him bent over a huge pile of wood.

Sam eyes were drawn to Dean like a magnet; no matter what Dean did he always made it seem effortless. Be it target practice, riding or even something as mundane as sorting debris. Just watching him brought a lump to Sam’s throat, the way he moved the way his shirt clung to his muscular back. Sam sucked in a breath as Dean pulled the shirt loose from his jeans tugging it over his head and wiping the sweat from his face and chest before dropping it onto the ground.

Even covered in scratches and bruises Sam knew he had never seen anything as sexy as Dean’s naked torso. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the broad muscular shoulders wanting to run his hands over the warm golden skin. Even the sun seemed to adore him, accentuating the natural blond highlights in his hair. Glistening beads of moisture gathered on his tanned skin before forming larger droplets that ran in rivulets down his spine. Sam longed to follow their path with his tongue; in his imagination Dean lay naked before him. His tongue flicking over the raised points of his spine until they disappeared between the firm cheeks of his backside.

Groaning Sam turned away from the window unsure how long he had been stood there torturing himself. Dean would never be his to hold or make love to again. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him to cope with the anguish, the very real pain he was feeling now. What more could he do? Sitting back on his bunk, elbows on knees chin resting on his upturned palms he wracked his brains for a solution to his problem.

He’d tried standing up to Dean, tried reasoning with him, even giving in, but nothing had worked. Dean for whatever reason was hell bent on leaving, on getting as far away from him as possible. Sam knew deep down that Dean thought he was doing the right thing. That by leaving he was somehow protecting him.

Why could Dean not see what was under his very nose? Without Dean, Sam would give up. He’d felt the beginnings of it when they had first argued. Hope had flared briefly in the hotel lounge, seeing Dean safe and well, drinking in the sight of him like water on a dry sponge. He’d soaked up his image greedily, only to have it wrung out when they had once again argued. This morning had been the final nail in the coffin of their relationship, no matter what he had said or done Dean was leaving him.

Feeling the uncomfortable weight of depression settle over him, Sam had never felt so alone, so helpless, so empty. God this was even worse than losing his parents, because he knew that no amount of time could ever heal this wound.

Some time later Ruth came in to remove the old dressing. Whether it was his general demeanor, lack of small talk or the fact that she was busy Ruth did not stay long. Whatever the reason Sam was grateful. Thoroughly miserable he lay on his stomach, almost instantly falling asleep.

Darkness. All encompassing darkness. Cold and soulless. Endlessly it searched for the caretaker. Always he was hidden by the amulet. It could feel the power rising, building once more. Soon the new Seer would be revealed. Already it sensed the discord between the two, fed upon it, draining the life force from the emerging seer. Perhaps this time, there would be no new guardian and the now unprotected seer would be his. Roiling, agitated in its subterranean cave it sensed danger, too late a piercing pain stabbed through the flesh of its back!

“Agha!” Sam gasped, pain knifing through his back. Sitting up he reached a hand round to check, his back felt hot and sore.

DARK RIDERS 2 STORM WARNING

2008-05-30T06:58:41Z

CHAPTER 6
Christ! Sam was so cross that if Dean hadn’t turned and walked away he would have hit him. How was it possible to love someone so much and yet at the same time not like them? Sighing he rolled his head from side to side trying to ease some of the tension that seemed to have built up in his neck.

He understood that Dean didn’t want anything to happen to him. But Dean failed to see that Sam felt exactly the same way. It felt like he he’d been banging his head against a brick wall figuratively, and literally. He winced at a sharp pain behind his eyes

He groaned raising a hand to rub his forehead as another blast of pain passed through his head. Oh no! Not now, he couldn’t have one here, not in front of the other guests. Pushing back his chair he stood up looking for the exit from the dining room. Pain and light erupted behind his eyes. Sam felt himself falling, crashing into a nearby table. Blinding light seared his eyes. Blinking he found himself outside. Turning round he realized he was back at the ranch standing midway between the house and the barn. Dean was standing a few feet from him, his eyes fixed on something over Sam’s shoulder. Turning he saw what looked like a huge swirling black mass of smoke bearing down on them. In horror he watched as Dean was swallowed up in the swirling blackness. All that remained when it had gone was Dean’s black Stetson

“NO!” Sam screamed

“Mister Richards can you hear me?” A kindly voice asked.

“Is he alright, not having one of those fits is he?” A gravely voice enquired.

“No John he’s not. Did anyone see what happened?” Kind voice requested.

“Mister Richards?”

Someone was shaking his shoulders, calling his name. Opening his eyes he realized he was lying on his back on the floor. Several anxious faces were looking down at him. Blinking furiously to keep the tears of pain at bay Sam tried to gather his thoughts. Taking several deep breaths in an effort to keep the nausea at bay he sat up.

“Mister Richards, I’m Doctor Daniels. Can you tell me what happened?” Sam looked up into the kind brown eyes of a middle aged, smartly dressed, bearded gentleman.
“I... I think I tripped. Probably over my own feet.” He smiled ruefully hoping to allay their suspicions. Thankfully the nausea was fading; the very last thing he wanted was to be sick in front of all of these people.

“Did you bang your head, you seem a little dazed?” The doctor ran his hands carefully over Sam’s head feeling for lumps and any cuts.

“No I don’t think so.” He had no intention of telling the doctor that he had a splitting headache and at that precise moment couldn’t see properly either.
“I think I’m just suffering from a severe case of embarrassment, if you’ll excuse me up I’ll go to my room.” Rising to his feet he noticed the concerned faces and apologized for causing a scene. Sam thanked the doctor and made a hasty if somewhat shaky exit.

Stopping at the base of the stairs he checked to see if anyone was watching him, thankfully they all seemed to have returned to their meals. Taking a firm grip of the banister and his scattered thoughts. Sam hastily made his way to his room. Something bad was going to happen to Dean, the trouble was he didn’t know how much warning he’d been given.

Quickly divesting himself of his city clothes he changed into his jeans, checked shirt, leather jacket, work boots and hat. Grabbing the holster and the colt then fishing out the knives from under the bed he was ready to go.

Catching up with Dean did not take as long as Sam had feared it would. From the initial look on Dean’s face it was clear to Sam that he was not pleased to see him. He was proved right when the first words out of his mouth were “Sam, what the hell?”

“Dean, please, you have to listen to me. I’ve had another vision, a huge swirling cloud of black smoke.” he panted trying to catch his breath.
At Dean’s urging he quickly and with as much detail as possible told Dean everything that he could remember. He watched as Dean’s whole demeanor changed from annoyed to angry, from angry to concerned and finally settled on protective.

“Sounds like a demon, we’d better get home. Ruth and Isaac could be in danger and all the things we need for protection are back at the ranch.”

The closer they got to the ranch the worse the weather became. Huge thunderheads seemed to form before their eyes. The wind picking up from a gentle summer breeze to a breath stealing howl. Collars turned up, bandannas pulled up to protect mouths and noses. Stetsons rammed down on their heads they raced to beat the coming storm

Galloping over the last hill, the heavens opened, hail fell in stinging icy sheets. Ears flat to their heads the two horses tore into the yard making straight for the barn.

Ruth and Isaac ran from the cabin, hand in hand, heads bowed they made for the safety of the root cellar.

Over Sam’s shoulder Dean watched in horror as a funnel of black cloud formed to the left of the ranch house, touching down to form a monstrous tornado. Jumping from Blaze’s back he pulled Sam from the saddle “Sam, move your ass! Get to the root cellar! NOW! I’ll be right behind you.”

Both men fled raising their arms to protect their heads as they were pelted with fragments sucked up and then spat out of the swirling mass. Glancing over his shoulder Sam saw their home swallowed up and then spat out from the tornado like pieces of fire wood. A large piece struck his back throwing him within inches of the open root cellar door. Two pairs of hands grabbed him pulling him to safety.

*****
Sam had just confirmed something Dean never thought possible. In all his years he never believed he would ever find anyone as bull headed as his father. He would be willing to pay to see the two of them go toe to toe, Dean thought as he guided Blaze through the streets of Manhattan. It would be even money. He was momentarily distracted by the noise of someone pounding on the door to the doctor’s office. Reaching the outskirts of town he let the big stallion set his own pace.

Why couldn’t Sam see he had made the best choice for both of them? How he felt about Sam didn’t matter, he was doing it to keep him safe. It would hurt like hell to walk away, like all his other wounds it would heal. Just another scar, carried on his heart where no one would ever see.

Half way back to the ranch Dean heard a horse coming up fast. Turning he was surprised to see Sam pushing Merlin to a full gallop. Dreading another confrontation, he pulled up waiting for Sam’s arrival. “Sam, what the hell?” Dean asked giving Sam a chance to catch his breath.

“Dean, please, you have to listen to me. I’ve had another vision, a huge swirling cloud of black smoke.” he panted trying to catch his breath.

Oh God, Dean thought, a demon. He remembered Sam telling him about the sulfur when his parents died. He didn‘t know why Sam had been targeted, but he had to keep him safe. Looking at Sam, Dean told him he had to know everything, no matter how small the details.

Dean listened as Sam recounted the vision. He told him how they were at the ranch when he had seen Dean disappear in the swirling black smoke. They needed to get to the ranch now. Isaac and Ruth could be in danger.

Another half hour and they would be home. Dean watched the darkened horizon ahead. Just what they needed another late summer storm. Minutes later the sky opened up. They could feel the sting of the hailstones as it pelted their skin. Coming over the last rise, the wind picked up to ferocious proportions.

Pushing the horses as hard as they could, they pulled into the yard. Dean could only hope Ruth and Isaac had already sought shelter. Dean was yelling as loud as he could to be heard over the deafening roar. He watched as the huge black funnel cloud touched down. “Sam, move your ass. Get to the root cellar. NOW! I’ll be right behind you.” He watched as Sam ran towards the cellar door. He could feel himself being pushed by the wind. All his forward momentum was stopped, it was impossible to move on his own. Dean felt himself being lifted; he felt his body as it was slammed into a hard surface. Slowly he descended into total darkness.

*****

“Quick tie yourself to the beams. “ Isaac yelled above the roar of the wind.

“No! Dean’s still out there I have to get him.” Sam tried to disengage himself from Isaac’s grasp and get back up the stairs

“Sam, we don’t have time, the tornados nearly on us.” Pushing Sam back against the stout wooden support he lashed all three of them together. “Now close your eyes lad and pray!”

The noise was horrendous, a cross between a train, a heard of stampeding horses and what he would imagine screaming banshees sounding like. Jars of pickles and preserves rattled on the shelves, the pressure changed so rapidly that his ears popped. What sounded like the cellar door being ripped off its hinges then smashing glass made him open his eyes. Glass jars and even the wooden shelves were sucked out of the open door. Sam felt his legs leave the floor. The wind now an inhuman shriek tore the words from his mouth before he could give them voice. The only thing preventing him from being sucked from the cellar was the rope tied tightly around his waist. It felt as if the very air was being sucked from his lungs.

With a thump his backside hit the dirt floor. For a few seconds he did nothing but gasp for air. Ruth’s soft hand found his and squeezed tightly. At first he thought he had gone deaf for he could hear nothing. Then he realized the reason he could hear nothing was because there was nothing to hear. Everything had stopped.

Ruth was the first person to break the silence. “Isaac is it gone?”

“Stay there I’ll look.” untying the rope he carefully picked his way between the shards of broken glass, climbed the stairs and poked his head above ground. Announcing it was safe to leave the cellar.

The sight that greeted them was one of total destruction. The Ranch house was gone, as was the barn also the guest cabin. The very land itself looked like it had been scoured. At least a 50 yard wide strip of ground was bare. Grass, wild flowers and saplings all gone. Just a patch of bare brown earth remained. All that was left of the buildings was scattered as far as the eye could see.

“Oh Christ! Dean!” Sam yelled.

Cupping his hands to either side of his mouth he shouted, “Dean!” There was no reply.

Isaac appeared beside him. “Don’t worry son, Dean’s as tough as old boots, we’ll find him. Put these on.” He thrust a pair of work gloves into Sam’s hand. “You’ll cut your hands to ribbons without these on. Gonna be glass, metal all sorts of things mixed up with that lot.” He indicated with a wave of his gloved hand the piles of debris.

All three of them worked tirelessly, starting from the cabin, they searched in ever widening circles until the light faded. When Sam could no longer clearly see his hand in front of his face he paused. Taking off his gloves he pressed one hand to his aching back. The whole right side of his shirt under his jacket was soaking wet. Drawing his hand out he held it up in front of his face. Well it certainly was not sweat. He quickly wiped his hand on a piece of rag, and then hid it in his jacket pocket. Thankfully the dark color of his jacket would hide the injury from prying eyes.

“Sam, I have fresh coffee and fruit cake, come join us.”

Sam looked up at Ruth’s kind face illuminated by the lantern she was holding. Wisps of grey hair had escaped from her normally neat bun.

“Ruth I don’t have time to stop and drink coffee, I have to find him.” He hurriedly put the gloves back on to hide his blood stained hand.

“Sam I understand…”

“No Ruth you don’t.” Sam interrupted, wanting to say more but not knowing how.

Placing the lantern on the ground she reached up holding his face between her two hands.
“Sam, I understand more than you think. I know that Dean means as much to you as Isaac means to me.”

Her kindness and understanding were nearly Sam’s undoing, he fought hard to suppress the tears he could feel forming.

“Ruth, he’s leaving me, he was coming back to pack his things. He said he couldn’t be responsible for me.”

“Sam are you sure?” moving her hands she held one of his hands.

“I’ve pushed him to far, expected too much from him. Took for granted that he felt about me the same way I feel about him. But I was wrong. You can’t force someone to love you just because you love them. That’s what I tried to do Ruth. I was too stupid to read the signs, too stupid to know when to back off and leave him alone. Dean’s right, he does not need me complicating his life. I tried to force my ideas of a partnership onto him and that was wrong. How could I ever have thought that I would be good enough to hunt with him? I mean how stupid was that?” Sam swiped angrily at his eyes.

“Sam please, Dean loves you. He would not want you…”

“No! See, that’s the one thing I do know and Dean made quite sure that I did. Dean does not love me. How could he? He’s only known me a few weeks. I’d be like a millstone round his neck, forever holding him back. Preventing him from doing the one thing he loves most. Hunting. He’ll never stop and I would not want him to. So when I find him, and I will find him, Ruth. I am going to apologize for the dreadful things I said to him and then I will leave him in peace.”

“Sam, you don’t mean that” she looked at his sad face imploringly.

“Yes I do. These past few hours have made me realize that is the right thing to do. If I stay he will leave and I can’t force him out of his home. And if he stays, I would make his life a misery.” Bending down he picked up the lantern to resume his search.

Patting the young man on the back Ruth said, “I will bring that coffee and cake out for you. I expect you to eat and drink everything.” Turning to leave she noticed him wince. “Sam are you hurt?”

“No, it’s just a pulled muscle, nothing a hot bath won’t put right.”
In the end it was Isaac that brought out refreshments, along with a couple more lanterns.

It was just as the sun was coming up that Isaac spotted Blaze. He was standing by a fence post still wearing his saddle, the broken reins dangling down in front of him. As he moved closer he noticed the horse nudging with his nose at something sticking out of the pile of rubble. It was a hand.

“Sam! Sam!” Isaac yelled. “Come quick I’ve found him.” Dropping to his knees the old man carefully removed the large piece of timber that had hidden Dean from view. Quickly feeling for and finding a strong pulse, he sighed in relief.

Sam fell to his knees, breath locked in his lungs in fear, he could not bring himself to look at Dean. “Is… is he alive?”

“Yes, he’s alive Sam. Check him for broken bones and any serious injuries. Then carry him to the bunk house. I’ll get Ruth, some hot water and the kit.”
Sam didn’t see Isaac leave, his whole attention was riveted to Dean’s face. Taking a deep breath, he set about the task he had been given. Dean looked a mess, he lay on his left side, face covered in blood. His clothes were hanging off him in tatters. The exposed skin bruised and battered.

Having checked for any broken bones or serious injuries, Sam slid one arm under Dean’s shoulder and the other under his knees. Lifting carefully he nearly bit through his lip in an effort to hide the pain that flared in his back. Taking a calming breath he carried his precious load to the bunkhouse. Dean’s head nestled safely against his neck.

With practiced ease Ruth set about cleaning and stitching Dean’s head. While he and Isaac removed Dean’s boots, then cut the remains of his clothes off. Using a soft wash cloth Sam meticulously set about washing Dean, taking care to clean the dozens of small cuts that he could now see. Finally satisfied he covered him with a couple of warm blankets. Dean had been lucky, although his body was covered in small cuts, grazes and bruises; the only nasty injury was to his head.

Pulling up a chair Sam settled down to wait. He was determined to be there when Dean woke up.

AN. SORRY MY PARTNER HAS BEEN KIDNAPPED BY HER FAMILY AND WON'T BE BACK TILL SUNDAY SO IT LOOKS LIKE YOU ARE STUCK WITH THE ENGLISH ONE AGAIN, SORRY.
WE ARE PART WAY THROUGH WRITING THE THIRD AND FINAL PART OF DARK RIDERS 3 HONORE ET AMORE
PLEASE DON'T BE BASHFUL LET US KNOW WHAT YOU THINK REVIEWS/COMMENTS ARE IMPORTANT.

DARK RIDERS 2. STORM WARNING

2008-05-23T15:59:50Z

Chapter 5
Dean was up before the sun. Everything had been packed. Placing the envelope on the table where he knew Sam couldn’t miss it he left for the barn. He knew it was just his imagination, but even Blaze seemed to snort his disapproval. Why couldn’t everyone understand he was just trying to protect Sam?

The hunt would take him close to the Nebraska border. With a little luck, Dean would be there first thing in the morning. He needed to get his head in the hunt, but his mind kept wandering back to yesterday. His argument with Sam had been bad. He couldn’t believe the things he had said, how badly he had hurt Sam He didn’t lie about not taking anyone else to his bed, now after Sam, he didn’t want anyone else. One thing he did know, he wasn’t willing to risk Sam’s life.

Dean had been fortunate to come across the small town. Not that he would really call it a town. It was basically two rows of wooden building. There was a small way station that saw to the stages that went through. They didn’t have rooms, but told Dean he could stretch out on the floor for the night. He gratefully accepted the plate of beans and stale biscuits offered for dinner. It wasn’t long before the conversation turned to the recent attacks.

All he knew from the telegram was there had been three deaths, a black dog the likely culprit. Dean had to step outside; afraid he would be physically ill. Three deaths! What the telegram failed to tell him was three young girls had been dragged off from an early evening picnic. A damn picnic, now they were dead. Their bodies had been found two days later. The only thing people could figure was a pack of wild dogs had killed them. Three little girls. He would find that son of a bitch and kill it!

Following the directions he had been given, Dean found the area he was looking for. The dog wouldn’t make an appearance until close to dusk. He set up camp to lure the beast out. As a child he hated the hours of waiting, of being still that hunting demanded, maybe that was why he was constantly moving. He took a minute to re-check his weapons, all guns loaded with silver bullets, two silver knives. One in his boot, the other in the sheath on his belt.

The night passed with nothing happening. Right after dawn Dean stretched out to get some much needed sleep. It was early afternoon by the time he woke. It would be a couple of hours before the dog would be out. If the dog didn’t show tonight, he might have to start looking elsewhere. The sun was slowly moving towards the western sky when Dean noticed the quiet. The familiar noises of the summer evening absent. No cicadas or crickets singing their nightly songs. The young hunter tensed, straining to hear anything in the deafening silence.

He could feel it in his bones. The black dog was close. Scanning the area revealed nothing, but too many years of hunting had his senses on high alert. By the time he saw the red eyes the dog was already in the air leaping towards him. He didn’t even have time to pull his gun as he was knocked to the ground. It took all his strength to keep the razor-like teeth from his throat and face. He felt sharp claws scrape across his abdomen before he was able to turn the beast. Sliding his hand down, he felt for the silver knife in his boot. Pulling out the knife he plunged it repeatedly into the dog’s chest. Its howl filled the night. Scrambling up, Dean pulled his pistol, firing all six rounds into the beast, watching as the red eyes finally stared sightless to the heavens.

It felt like hours as Dean waited for the black dog to burn, to make sure nothing was left. He cleaned the small wounds where the dog had scratched him. They were barely noticeable, wouldn’t even require stitches, in a week there would be no trace of them. He would find someplace for the night, then ride home tomorrow. The only thing he wanted now was to get back to Sam.

Great black thunderclouds hung low on the horizon. Dean had pushed Blaze hard to make it home before the encroaching storm. He noticed there was no light coming from the house. It was late, Sam was probably asleep. Both horse and rider were exhausted by the time they entered the barn. After the lantern was lit, Dean smiled happy to see Merlin in his stall, knowing Sam was only a short distance away.

Within the hour Dean had finished taking care of Blaze. He was filled with nervous excitement as he made his way to the house. The only thing he wanted to do was crawl in next to Sam, to see that he was safe. He felt the first drops of rain as tiny splats of water hit his skin, causing him to quicken his pace. Familiar with the darkness, he made his way silently down the hall.

Dean took a deep breath before softly knocking on the bedroom door. Hearing nothing he quietly opened it. He was stunned. The perfectly made bed was empty. Turning he hurried to the other room. Empty. Where the hell was Sam? Panic overtook him as he went through the house. It was completely empty.

He barely noticed the rain had picked up as he darted across the wet ground to Isaac’s cabin. Pounding on the door, he waited impatiently. Isaac had barely opened the door when Dean pushed inside. “Where’s Sam!?” Dean demanded. “I told you not to let him leave.”

Now awake, Isaac replied. “Sam’s in Manhattan. He was determined to go. We couldn’t stop him.”

“When did he leave? How do you know he didn’t follow me? He could be anywhere.” Dean was getting more agitated.

“Sam didn’t follow you. He’s staying at the hotel.” Isaac tried to assure Dean that Sam was safe.

Dean‘s voice was desperate. “I need to go.”

Dean stopped his frantic pacing as Ruth took his arm. “Sit down,“ she implored. “Dean, you can’t go. You’re exhausted. I doubt Blaze is any condition to make it there tonight, especially in this weather. Go get some sleep. Sam will still be there tomorrow.”

“I’ll take one of the other horses,” Dean said pulling away

“No, Dean, you won’t.” Isaac stepped in front of him blocking his way. “I did as you told me with Sam, when I knew better. I’m not letting you leave tonight.”

“Get out of my way Isaac,” Dean glared at the older man, the anger back, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You do what you have to; I’ll do what I have to.” Isaac looked up not letting the young hunter intimidate him.

Dean took a step towards Isaac, only stopping when he heard Ruth’s surprised gasp. Both men turned to look at the frightened woman. Isaac stepped aside letting Dean pass, watching as he stalked towards the house.

The storm was raging around him as he left the small cabin. By the time he made it to the house he was soaked through and through. He left a trail of water as he fumbled around for the lamp, with a flick of a match the room was cast in a soft glow. Dean ran his hand down his face wiping the water from his wet skin. Sitting down he noticed an envelope on the table with his name written in Sam‘s neat scrawl. Picking it up slowly, he turned it over in his hands. Absently Dean traced his thumb over his name, the blue ink smearing across the stark white envelope where his wet hand touched it. Taking a deep breath Dean tore it open; his hands couldn’t stop shaking as he pulled the single sheet of paper out. The words blurred together before a single teardrop splashed onto the paper.

It didn’t take Dean long to find what he was looking for, he didn‘t remember the bottle being over half empty. At least the whiskey would dull the pain enough to get him through the night. Dean tipped the bottle back feeling the slow burn as the fiery liquid spilled down his throat working its way to his belly. Stepping outside he shivered as the rain cooled air enveloped him. Dean took another long pull of the whiskey, letting the bottle slip down his hand where it dangled between his fingers. Leaning against the porch post, he let it support him as he watched a flash of lightning in the distance, and heard the rumble of thunder. Tipping the bottle back one more time Dean realized it was empty. Throwing the bottle as hard as he could, he heard the glass shatter as it landed in the darkness.

With his back to the porch post Dean slid down until his butt hit the porch. He drew his knees up to his chest wrapping his arms around them. Here sitting in the rain where no one could see, he let his tears flow. The thunder silenced the sobs that wracked his body. It had been years since he cried for himself. Years that had weighed heavily on him. Dean let the rain pour down on him. He wished it was that easy, that his pain could be washed away by the summer rain. Whether it was exhaustion or the whiskey, he finally drifted off to sleep.

“Dean, Dean, wake up,” Ruth’s voice broke through the haze. “Come on, we need to get you inside.”

He felt two sets of hands pull him up. He was cold and wet, his body cramped from sitting on the porch. “No, lem’me be,” he heard himself say as Ruth and Isaac stood him up and dragged him into the house.

The smell of coffee woke Dean. The last thing he remembered was sitting in the rain.
Sitting up, he stretched trying to work the stiffness from his neck and shoulders. Dean’s mind was assaulted by the memories of the previous night. Oh God, he couldn’t believe what he had done. Isaac and Ruth had always been good to him. They had tended his wounds, kept his secret, done everything he asked of them and how did he repay their kindness? He demanded and threatened them in their own home.

Pulling on his jeans, Dean strolled into the kitchen, surprised to see Ruth and Isaac at the table speaking quietly. Pouring himself a cup of coffee, Dean joined them. Clearing his throat, he waited a minute before speaking. “I’m sorry, sorry about last night. I had no right to go into your home and act that way. You were right; I was too blind to see what I was doing.”

“You’re already forgiven, Dean, we understand, you were upset.” Ruth and Isaac shared a knowing smile before she laid a comforting hand on Dean’s arm. “Dean, go talk to Sam. It’s not too late. You owe him that.”

With a tired smile Dean stood, walking around the table he leaned down placing a kiss on Ruth’s head before extending his hand to Isaac. He again apologized and thanked them before he went to his room. He had some thinking to do.

By the time Dean was ready to go Blaze and Merlin were saddled and waiting. Dean had some decisions to make and the ride to Manhattan would give him that time. He had made a mess of everything His life had never prepared him for someone like Sam. His dad was right. Their lives were never meant to be normal. He had been a fool to even believe that was possible. His dad always told him take your comfort where you can get it, then move on. He had broken all his fathers’ rules and look where that got him. He was still alone. How could he have allowed himself to get close to anyone?

Everyone he ever cared for had either died or left. The only thing he had ever done right was hunt. That’s who he was, that’s all he was.

Wherever he went, he left a behind a trail of ruined lives. If he rode away now, Sam’s life could still be salvaged. Sam was young and strong, he would get over Dean.

Dean’s heart was pounding as he entered the hotel. Glancing around he looked for Sam. Stopping at the desk, he nervously waited for the clerk to finish with the people ahead of him. He tried to keep his voice calm as he asked if they would let Mr. Richards know he had a visitor. As the clerk stepped from behind the desk, Dean informed him he would be waiting in the lounge.
He knew he shouldn’t be sitting around moping. The first couple of days in town, he forced himself to get out and act like nothing was wrong. Sam met several new people, being friendly, going through the motions. Smiling when called for, laughing at another joke about how tall he was, or how he talked funny. It was hard to concentrate when his mind kept returning to Dean every time someone mentioned his name.

This morning hadn’t been any different. He was in the middle of his breakfast when he heard his name. Looking up he recognized the friendly looking man. He had to think for a minute before the name came to him. Standing, Sam offered his hand, “Pastor Evans, how nice to see you again.”

“Yes, Sam, I don’t know if you met my family,” the pastor indicated to his wife and daughter as the women approached his table.

“No sir,” Sam said, waiting for the man to introduce the pair.

“This is my wife Martha,” he said as his wife nodded to Sam, “and my daughter Lucy Ann.”

“It’s a pleasure,” he said, suddenly nervous under the scrutiny of Lucy Ann’s stare. It was the same look he had received from young ladies at the balls he had been required to attend when he was younger.

“Sam, I hope to be seeing you again in church come tomorrow…,” the pastor started only to be interrupted by Lucy Ann.

“Yes Sam, please do,” Lucy Ann’s blue eyes fluttered coyly. “Papa’s been working on his sermon all week. It’s how to redeem sinners.” Her smile came out more as a leer, the way she was eyeing him from head to toe.

“Now Lucy Ann,” her father smiled, “Young Sam here doesn’t need to worry about that. Right Sam? Maybe you can convince Mr. Winchester to join us as well.”

“Um…uh... Mr. Winchester is out of town at the moment.” Sam stuttered caught off guard at the mention of Dean’s name.

“Well, Sam we’ll see you tomorrow then,” Martha piped in, “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

“My pleasure. Ma’am, Lucy Ann.” Sam said as he shook the pastor’s hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.”

Sitting down, he pushed away his plate, his appetite ruined. He had planned on going to church tomorrow, hoping that Ruth and Isaac would be there. Dean’s note said he could be gone up to two weeks, but perhaps they had heard something. The thought of meeting Lucy Ann Evans again made him cringe. Great, he would have to listen to a sermon about sinners. In the eyes of the world he and Dean were sinners. Nothing about the way Dean touched him felt like sin. There was something reverent in the way those hands caressed him. He had always been so tender when they were together like that.

Sam stood trying to shake off those memories. He tossed his napkin on his plate, pulling some coins from his pocket dropping them on the table. Quickly he made his way through the lobby seeking out the solitude of his room.

Sam flopped down on the bed. He could feel the dull throb of a headache starting at the base of his skull. Pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes he hoped to stave it off. Opening his eyes Sam checked his watch, it was early afternoon. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Shaking the cobwebs from his head, he rose pouring some water in the basin, washing the sleep from his eyes. He still had a nagging reminder of his headache, but it had eased from the earlier pressure. Putting on a fresh shirt, Sam sat at the desk trying to decide what to do for the rest of the day.

The loud knock at the door echoed through the room startling Sam. Opening the door he was surprised to see the desk clerk. “Mr. Richards, you have a visitor in the lounge.” The timid young man was gone before Sam could even ask who it was. As Sam descended the stairs, he tried to think who would be there waiting.

Standing in the entry Sam thought his heart had stopped. Even with his back turned, Sam would have known him anywhere. Dean was looking out the window; Sam could see the nervous energy coming from the man. Taking a deep breath to calm himself he entered the room.

The only purpose for the window was to let light into the room. The thick lead glass gave a distorted view of the outside world. As Dean stared out the window, he thought how much that mirrored his life. People would be terrified if they saw what was really out there. He was never given the choice to put the truth behind him; his dreams of a fresh start had turned into a nightmare. Lost in his thoughts Dean didn’t hear Sam’s approach.

“Dean.” Sam repeated, this time a little louder. Any other time the young Englishman would have laughed at seeing Dean jump at the noise, but he was too relieved to see him there.

Dean sheepishly looked up at Sam, a little embarrassed that the younger man had surprised him. Indicating a set of chairs in the corner, Dean and Sam walked to the back of the room where they could have some privacy.

“Sam, it’s good to see you.” Dean said, hoping his voice didn’t betray him.

Sam’s eyes did a quick once over looking for injuries. “I see you made it back in one piece.”

“Yeah, told you I could handle it on my own.” Dean flashed Sam his most charming smile.

“I wasn't congratulating you.” the sarcasm in Sam’s voice was obvious.

“Sam, I didn't come to argue. We already did that”

Hearing Dean’s tired drawl, Sam softened his tone. “What did you come for Dean?”

“I came because I owe you an apology. Sam, you were right. I should never have brought you here. I can't be responsible for anything happening to you, you're not a hunter. I don‘t want you to be one”

“You’re right, I'm not a hunter, not yet, but I can be.” Sam searched Dean’s eyes, pleading. “You’ve already taught me so much. I’m asking you to give me a chance, please Dean? You owe me that. As I told you before you are not my father. You offered me a partnership Dean, a partnership means sharing. I'm not going to sit at home like a wife waiting for the day you don’t come back. If that’s what you want then it’s not me, and just for the record I don't want you to be a hunter either.”

“I know that Sam. I told you who I was. I’m a hunter. I can’t turn my back on what’s out there.

“I don’t expect you to turn your back on hunting Dean. I want to help you. Now that I know what’s out there do you really think I can ignore it anymore than you can?”

“That doesn't mean you have to go looking for it, that's not what I want for you. Sam, I don't want hunting to be part of your life. You can still have your dream, you can have the ranch. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“Dean that’s your home. There’s no reason it can’t be our home, it can be our dream. You can‘t just leave” Sam reached out for Dean, only to have him move away from his outstretched hand.

“No, Sam, it can’t, that life was never meant for me. Hunting is the only thing I know how to do. It‘s the only thing I‘ve ever done right”

“So you’re just going to leave, going to hunt on your own?” Sam’s voice dropped an octave. “You just don't get it do you? You really are a selfish bastard; you see one side and one side only. Yours! Nobody else’s views matter at all. Do you think me losing you is going to hurt any less than you losing me?”

“No, Sam, it hurts like hell. I know what's out there for me. I don't want you to become like me, I’m tainted, I destroy everything I touch. You still have faith, you still believe in people.”

“Yes Dean, I believe in you, in us. I believe in a life we could have together, but you have to learn to share. That means everything, not just parts of yourself.”

“I don't know if I can do that. I've tried, I've shared more with you then anyone else, and look where we are, Sam...”

“Then you obviously don't think enough of me to try. Do you realize that you have never said how you feel about me? Never said that you love me.” Sam looked despairingly down at his boots. He could feel it all slipping away. This was not how he had envisaged their reunion going.

“God, Sam,” Dean looked straight into Sam’s hazel eyes. “Don't you know how I feel? I'm doing what's best for both of us. If I leave now you can still move on with your life”

“You know I've just figured you out Dean. You're a coward. You're so afraid of allowing someone in that you shut everyone out. Afraid of anyone getting too close, close enough that you might have to care for them let them care for you. Dean, you don’t have to be scared.” The last few words came out as a whisper he sought Dean’s eyes willing him to believe, to trust.

“So I'm a selfish bastard and a coward? Why would you want to be with someone like that?” Dean attempted to keep his voice even, not let Sam know how much the words hurt

“Because I love you Dean, and that’s never going to change.” Dean had denied his physical touch but he hoped his spoken words would reach him. Would penetrate the protective wall he had built around himself. The wall that kept him safe, kept him from being hurt.

Love, the word hit him like a punch. It wasn‘t the first time Sam had told him, but this time was different. This time it wasn‘t hidden in the darkness, like a secret. It took him a moment to push his emotions down, to re-build the walls, to pull on his mask. “Love, Christ Sam, we don't even know each other. You don't even have anything to compare it to.”

“Like you do, you mean? I'm good enough to share your bed, good enough to share your home, but not good enough to share you feelings. I don't need a long list of conquests to know that you will be the only one for me.”

Looking around Dean made sure the room was still empty. Their conversation was dangerous and could have deadly consequences. “Sam, you deserve better then me. You’re special. You deserve someone good like you. You’re better off without me.”

“If you don't want me, Dean, at least have the guts to tell me instead of making up excuses.” God, he was loosing him, he could feel it. Dean was going to leave him.

Dean wondered if Sam had even listened to what he had said. “I'm not making excuses.”

“You already told me you could find someone else for your bed.” Sam looked away rubbing his neck; he refused to look at Dean. “Someone like Vince? I saw the way the two of you were talking to each other.”

“Vince. You were jealous of Vince? Hell, Sam, I’m not the one he was interested in. I don’t want Vince. I don’t want anyone else. I’m sorry I ever said that. I was angry. I didn’t mean it, you didn‘t deserve it.” Dean’s green eyes begged for forgiveness.

Both men went silent at the loud click of boots on the wooden floor. A group of men entered the lounge walking towards the large leather sofa near the window.

Dean realized this would be the perfect time to leave. One thing he had instilled in Sam was the need to be discreet about their relationship. He knew Sam wouldn’t cause a scene. The possible consequences were too severe. Standing Dean looked down at Sam. “I told you I didn’t come to argue, nothing has changed. I brought Merlin, he’s at the livery. Goodbye Sammy.”

Authors notes, Hi everyone, just a quick word to let you know you will have to suffer my replies to your reviews this week [ yeah you are stuck with the English half lol]. My wonderful, long suffering American partner is away for the week. I think she is hiding after what Dean has done [ We each write one character, she writes Dean and I get English Sammy] Another thing you might like to know, when we write the argument scenes we do them live on I.M. Yes we actually argue can be quite funny at times especially if we get carried away and forget its Sam and Dean arguing not us!
Well off to post be gentle with me lol and hope you enjoyed this latest chapter.