The Winchester trail part 1

[siriala]

The rolling cart ends its dash and crumbles as it hits the flank of the house, planks immediately igniting with the multitude of small blazes carried by wisps of straw already aflame that the wind picks up and delivers all around.

Too many months of drought have rendered everything susceptible to combustion at the drop of a hat and Sam watches, powerless, as the home he built with his hands starts to go up in flame. There's no water to extinguish it.

Edgar and the other men responsible are far already, their laughs carried by the wind over the sound of their horses' hooves. Roman sent them to remind him that his time on this land is coming to an end and he'd better give up everything he's tried to build these past years. What Roman fails to understand is that the more he's pushing, the more Sam will push back. Or maybe Roman does understand, and this is why he's trying to destroy the reasons why Sam keeps fighting back.

"We have to get after them !" Junior screams, furious.

Junior is worse than him. Sam orders him to stay put, and he doesn’t know if he should be more afraid or proud of his son who grabs a blanket and tries his damnedest to shut the fire down. Madison yells at him to protect Junior and drag him far from the flames, but instead Sam grabs another darned blanket and stands by the kid to beat the fire with it.

The heat is next to insufferable and Sam wants nothing more than to take Junior away but, at 14, his son feels he's ready to take his old man's place and make up for his flaws. Ready to be a man on his own and show the scoundrels of Roman's ilk who they're trying to steal from. He's incredibly brave, and completely stupid for it.

Madison attacks the fire from inside the house and the three of them manage to contain it after Junior and Sam tear off some planks to try and limit the available burning source. Then they push out the furniture still aflame and soon the fire crawls to a slow death.

They're black and hot, reeking of smoke, exhausted, but Sam can still see the deep anger in Junior's eyes. The one he used to feel at his age, because life was unfair and Sam wanted to know why his father and brother had abandoned him all these years ago. This familiar anger that diminished with strokes of unending bad luck and went away with the loss of his left foot at war, leaving in its wake an infinite tiredness and the will to create something better for his family.

As always, Sam has failed in this endeavor.



Since their bedroom went up in flame, Madison built them a makeshift bed out of blankets and pillows in one corner of the living room. In their misfortune, they were lucky enough that she had taken the time yesterday to go to the river - bypassing Roman's men who guard it to make sure Sam won't be able to do anything about the blockade he put in place to redirect it to a tributary and make Sam's land worthless - and most of their bed and household linen were hanging out to dry. On the contrary, most of their clothes have turned into ashes.

Madison is seemingly asleep, her back turned on him again.

They were in love, once. They were good together, and they brought to the world this wonderful son he could never abandon like his own father had done with him, and then Jake, a second boy, two perfect little men who looked so much like Sam that every day he thought he would give them everything he had been refused.

The war had seen to his plans and hopes, making him less than a man.

Then Sam had failed to provide for his family, failed to ensure that they live happy, well-fed and without worry. Failed to save Jake from tuberculosis.

Now he can hear in all of Madison's silences the contempt she never acknowledges. Every one of Madison's stares burns so deep that he's surprised he didn't disappear in smoke already. He's always refused to let her take care of or touch his mangled stump, hardly let her see the deformed thing that's supposed to be the remain of his foot since he's been shot during the war and doctors had to cut it off to fight the gangrene. Never talked about the incredible pain of amputation or the feeling of inadequacy pervading his whole existence ever since the day he woke up not whole anymore.

His own son looks at him with the same disgust, memories of the father he used to admire the only thing to keep him quiet. But he's becoming a man in his own right every day and Sam can see that damn anger settling on his shoulder, in his expressions, every time he thinks his father is a coward and a liability.

Sam has to find a way to keep them safe.



Neither night nor dawn have brought any new idea to get out of this impossible situation. Dick Roman is still the richest man in Bisbee, and Sam still owes him much more money that he can hope to make in less than a week, the date upon which his land will automatically become Roman's possession. Madison, who discovered last night that Sam had lied and that he hadn't been able to reimburse his loan, is still mighty pissed about it, unwilling to accept he preferred to buy necessities and medicine for his family.

He needs only time to make it. A few months at most, after the rain has worked its magic and the grass is green and lush again. Then the cattle will thrive once more and Sam will be able to reimburse all his debts. But he needs time to get there.

"We should go live in town while you repair the house," Madison suggests.

"We don't have the money to pay for a bedroom at the hotel."

"I'm not talking about the hotel. Don Flack offered to let us use the room behind the store."

Sam snorts and Madison's eyes narrow.

"It would make things so easy for you and Flack, wouldn't it," Sam lets his bitterness show.

"I don't know what…"

"We're not going anywhere," he cut her. "We don't need his charity."

"That's not charity. It's called hospitality, and community spirit. A simple extension of the help several men from the city came to offer."

A few people did come, alerted by the sight of the flames in the distance, but Sam knows they were not afraid for the Wessons' lives as much as they feared the fire's spreading farther, maybe even reaching the city.

"I don't need Flack's particular brand of help," he dismisses her for good.

He knows Madison is now just as pissed with him as Junior already is, but he won't budge on this. It's probably stupid of him to hope he will ever be able to win back his wife's affection when he's competing against the handsome and shrewd Flack, owner of the biggest store in Bisbee and provider of any and all necessities. Flack can offer to Madison the life she wants and deserves. But she's still here, and Sam can't see any other purpose to his life than to try and make his family united again.

The last thing of value he owns and is able to spare is the pendant his father forgot to take when he left him at the orphanage, the one framing inside its brass casing a tiny and blurry picture of his whole family. He's not sure if it's some kind of heirloom or a simple, useless gewgaw his brother might have given him to play with, but this is his past he's considering bargaining with, the one and only souvenir of the people he belongs to, just to keep Roman happy and get him to agree to wait longer. Maybe if he can get the loan shark to understand how much the trinket means to him, how hard he's ready to work to get it back…

As usual, Sam gets lost in his memories as his fingers trace the horns on the brass face. His adoptive parents have tried more than once to get him to throw away this thing they thought hideous but Sam held tight on it. He doesn't want to lose it, but he has to think of the future, and if it means leaving his past behind, then so be it. He'll cry about it later, when there's time for looking back.

Decision made, he pockets the pendant and calls Junior. They're going to gather the cattle, then he'll go into town and talk to Roman.



Dean's internal clock is always right on time, and Adam's approach proves its accuracy once again.

"Coach's coming," Adam says, though he knows Dean is aware.

As the years pass, Adam takes his role at Dean's side more and more seriously. He likes to call himself his second in command. Neither of them has ever been in the army but Dean's little gang of hunters - gunslingers and killers who can pretend to act for the good of other people and see themselves as some kind of Wild West Robin Hoods - definitely works in the same way. Dean's orders are law, and God help whoever disobeys.

"Four Pinkertons outside, including the driver, and probably two inside," Adam continues. "And a Gatling."

Here comes the slightly unhinged smile that alerted Dean a long time ago about the dangerous slope his little brother had fallen down. Dean knows it's his fault. He argued with their father to keep Adam close and take care of him when he learned about his existence as the kid was about twelve. Anything to avoid abandoning Adam like they did Sam.

Nowadays, Dean wishes he hadn't found the words to convince John that he would be able to raise him as a hunter, that Adam would be a great help.

Adam is indeed a great hunter, but he lost his sanity at the same time he learned the trade. He was never meant to live the life and his first years, mollycoddled by his mother, hadn't prepared him like Dean for this harsh existence and the necessity of getting rid of their enemies. His first kill was akin to a death warrant for his humanity, along the loss of his soul. Man or monster, it doesn't matter to Adam whom he dispatches as long as the job is done and the supernatural artifacts they're going after are snatched from the Consortium's clutches to join the always growing Men of Letters' collection.

Not that Dean shows more scruples about killing when he has to, but he doesn't feel the need to dispatch always more enemies and monsters to prove to himself that he doesn't care. He's not crazy like Adam.

Or maybe he's too far gone to realize it.

Whatever the answer, the coach is coming fast and Dean already feels the excitement of the chase. Not to mention that stealing from Sinclair is always a bonus. Cuthbert has been a thorn in the Men of Letters' collective body for too long, a traitor who used the knowledge he gained in their midst to create his Consortium when he left to fend for himself and tried to shut the Men of Letters down in the process.

Dean has made it his mission to destroy him and his empire. One artifact at a time, he gets closer to his goal and Cuthbert Sinclair loses his advantage. One day, if it's the last thing Dean does, the man will only be a memory from the past, a foe best forgotten and unable to harm people anymore.

The heavily armored coach Dean's after today contains demons, and Dean is sure he doesn't want to know what Cuthbert plans to do with them. All he knows is that he can't let him keep those, it's too dangerous to let such a man play with that kind of danger. Not only could he get some of his men possessed to ensure they become a formidable threat to the Men of Letters, but he could get possessed too, and then all their secrets would be passed on to Hell.

From the corner of his eye, he can see that Adam has pushed the nearby cattle on the road and the coach is coming fast towards it. Faster yet as soon as Jake, Travis, Cole and Isaac ride at full tilt and shoot to catch the carriage from the back. Posted on the hill with his carbine, Benny quickly gets rid of two enemies, adding to the confusion, while the Gatling catches one of the outlaws' horse and sends his rider down. Dean can only hope that Gunner is still alive.

The collision is inevitable, horses going wild and jumping over the scrawny cows to escape. One of the Pinkertons jumps in his turn to avoid being crushed by the coach that's now running free and goes in the air, wheels-over-cart. Its course ends against a rock, driver ejected against another rock, and Dean imagines he can hear his neck breaking on impact.

Adam is the first to dismount for his favorite part, the moment he can show how much of a badass he really is. He goes through the wreckage, shooting the wounded and the dead to make sure no one's left who can endanger Dean or abort their mission. While he's busy at it, Christian gets to the carriage and uses first a bullet, upgrading to dynamite when it doesn't work, to break the padlock and access the sigil-protected boxes inside which the essence of five powerful demons are stored.

Dean's attention is attracted by Adam's voice a few feet to his left.

"Remember me, Pinkerton ?" Adam preens.

"Sure, you're Winchester's whore," the hated voice of Victor Henriksen replies. "The little brother who loves nothing more than raise his ass in the air for big bro to fuck him hard and fast."

Adam shoots him right in the guts. Dean gets closer just in time to see the bounty hunter turned Pinkerton topple over after. Even as he regrets the further toll it's gonna take on Adam's soul, Dean can't help but feel a little bit of satisfaction and relief, knowing that Henriksen won't be around anymore to obey Sinclair's orders and see to his client's every whims without trying to get the bigger picture. He's been a formidable enemy for years, one who cost him many men but always escaped unscathed. Seems his luck has run out today.

But Victor's not dead yet and he raises his head as he hears Dean approaching, his face a blank mask as he tries to hide the terrible pain that surely wrecks him right now.

"And here's the monster himself," Henriksen rasps. "Come to gloat, Winchester ?"

"Just saying goodbye to an old foe. I'll make sure me and my men share a drink in your memory after we're finished here, Victor."

"Kill me already, or I swear I'll be the one killing you !"

"Now, Victor, where would be the fun in shortening your suffering ?"

"Go to hell !"

"No worries, man, we'll see each other again out there sooner or later."

Dean turns his back on him, sure that Adam will see to it that Victor can't get to a weapon before he's truly dead or they're already far away, and he heads back to the coach to check on the boxes.

Dean only accepted his dimwit Campbell cousin in his team a few months ago, after he was imposed on him by the Men of Letters' Council, and there's no love lost between them. Christian is an arrogant asshole who's been challenging his decisions and command at every turn, earning himself two ass-kicking and one very public, very memorable whipping for insubordination leading to the death of two other men. Dean now makes sure to keep an eye on him permanently, as do his men who turn back to search the wreckage and herd the cattle away once they're sure Christian is supervised.

Dean keeps looking at him, sensing something is amiss. He watches as Christian takes the boxes out, one after the other, and then finally understands what's bothering him when he realizes Christian didn't seem to find the fourth box as heavy as the others. Something happened in there, and Dean is sure he knows what.

The sigil is scratched on the fourth box. The accident and the close proximity of a human were enough for a powerful demon to overcome momentarily the strong pull of the protection mark and impress the feeble mind into letting them run free as well as offer a convenient vessel.

Dean raises his Colt and aims at Christian who's bringing the fifth box next to the others to set it down on the ground.

"What's the matter, Winchester ?" Campbell asks in a mocking tone as he raises his hands in a far too relaxed way, as if he knows a simple bullet can't kill him.

Which would be true if it were a simple bullet, and a simple Colt. But this is the Hand of God, its power vibrating against Dean's palm, only man allowed to use it, and the demon Dean's sure is currently wearing his cousin has no trouble finding it inside the human's memories when Dean doesn't flinch.

His raised hands come forward in protection as much as supplication this time.

"Which one are you ?" Dean asks, taking another quick look at the boxes to try and read. "Alastor, that it ?"

"Alastair. Seems this meatsuit was right about you : all brawn and no brains."

Dean knows better than to let that kind of jibes get to him, but still it stings, for all the times his father accused him of relying too much on his physical abilities instead of learning always more. The demon sees it, of course.

"You know there's very little chance your pretty toy will work on me, and I don't think your friends at the lair would be very happy to lose the opportunity to study something like me."

"Don't worry, they'll get over it."

"Maybe, but you won't kill your own cousin," the demon taunts him.

"Watch me," Dean answers, and he shoots.

The demon doesn't wait to see if the Hand of God might kill him ; the black smoke flies immediately out of the not-yet dead body. The bullet enters Christian's skull as he opens his mouth in shock and disbelief, the demon trying to escape before the other hunters react, but Jake is a fast thinker and he was there already, holding the damaged box open to force it back in. It's fascinating to witness how Alastair can't resist Sinclair's trap, like a magnet calling to iron, but Dean can't take the time to admire the view. Before Talley's shut the box, he completes the sigil with his own blood, copying the figures he can see on the other boxes.

The job is done.

"Boss !" Cole alerts him from a few feet behind him.

What now ?! Dean thinks impatiently.

With a simple move of his head, Trenton directs his attention towards the top of the hill where two men, one adult and one still in his teenage years, are watching them, clearly stunned by the show they were just unwillingly offered. The way they dress and their general allure scream rancher and son to Dean's insight.

Dean leaps on Impala and rides to the hilltop.

"Morning," Dean salutes, collected and affable as usual in front of civilians.

It's been a long time since he felt the kind of attraction this rancher suddenly evokes in him. Tall and thin and broad, probably not fed enough in this land forgotten by God and men alike, his beautiful eyes are ablaze as he puts himself between Dean and the kid who is more than likely his son. The resemblance is impossible to miss. Too bad it means there's a missus somewhere, waiting for this Adonis. Dean would have taken him to bed in a heartbeat, had they met under more favorable circumstances.

Lips thinned by anger and fright, whole body tense in an anticipation reminiscent of the foreplay to a good fucking, the farmer is a sight to behold and Dean can't stop watching him. His eyes keep coming back to the mole next to the nose, straining to see if there's another one at the base of his neck for a reason he doesn't get immediately.

"We don't want any trouble," the rancher says, interrupting Dean's internal monologue.

"Neither do we," Dean ensures to calm him down. "If you'd be kind enough to dismount without a fuss, we'll make sure you find your horses back on the road to Bisbee."

The rancher seems to gauge him before he speaks again.

"That's my cattle you used down there. I need it back."

"Show some respect, rancher," Adam scowls him. "That's Dean Winchester you're talking to."

The man swallows, hard, but neither he nor his son seem surprised, merely wary of Adam's obvious madness, the stains on his white-leather jacket that mix the blood of several men who died at his hand. Dean knows all too well the kind of rumors that have been passed around for years ; he used them more than once to frighten people into doing his will instead of having to kill.

"No problem," Dean appeases everybody with his most charming smile. "I don't need 'em anymore. Just the horses, to make sure you won't alert the marshal before we're gone."

Dean watches as the rancher uncocks his rifle and puts it back into its sheath on the horse's right flank. He watches even more closely as the man slides down next to his mount and turns his back on him to grab the reins of both horses once his son has vacated his own saddle. The rancher's ass is a treat he wants to grab, an experience in lust he'd love to pursue and sink in that will feature in Dean's fantasies for a long time. But the mission has priority over that sinful temptation.

Won't stop him from dreaming, though. Imagining what might have been.

And he begins right now as he's passed the reins and gets them to Benny who's waiting for him a few feet away like another shadow.



"They're late," Jimmy repeats for the sixth time, placing his watch back into his inner pocket.

He hears the marshal's annoyed sigh but can't keep at bay the certainty that this coach has been stolen too. Another one, and this was definitely something Mr. Sinclair was adamant should arrive safely to his main house.

"Watching the hour won't make it go faster, Mr. Novak," Marshal Cuevas reminds him.

He tries for a cool tone that doesn't make Jimmy feel better at all. If he loses one more coach, he's pretty sure his job is over and he'll have to find something else to make sure Amelia and Claire live decently. If he's still alive to be searching anything, that is.

They took such great care to make sure Winchester wouldn't hear of this convoy. They sent decoys to lure him in the wrong direction ; they even put the ruthless but efficacious Victor Henriksen in charge of the coach. But yet the damn outlaw found out and descended on them once again. For the twenty-second time.

Yes, Jimmy's bitter. He's allowed, isn't he ?

He settles back against the door frame and waits. Nothing else to do until the coach arrives or someone brings the bad news that the men are dead and the cargo has disappeared.



"Help !"

Sam turns towards the voice. He's just stopped gritting his teeth like mad, only way to hide his trembling like a leaf in the wind, after seeing the outlaws riding out to town. The wounded Pinkerton reminds him why he was right to be scared.

He can't believe he came face to face with the infamous Dean Winchester and is still here to tell the tale. That the crazy guy who acted as if he was the outlaw's personal bodyguard let him live after Sam saw him kill several men.

Junior is the first to reach the Pinkerton who's trying with one hand to push himself upward and with the other to make sure his innards won't fall out of his abdomen. But he can't stop his blood from flowing and Sam wonders how long he's gonna survive. He has to take him somehow to Bisbee and a doctor, because though the guy refuses their help at first, it soon becomes clear that he's totally incapable of standing up, however much of his weight Sam and Junior try to carry for him.

The only way to get him into town is to bind planks together to make a stretcher. Sam tasks Junior with finding some in the carriage's wreckage and fetching the rope on his saddle while he checks on the wound and see if there's anything he can do at all.

"I'm Victor Henriksen," the man says suddenly, gripping Sam's wrist with his bloody hand. "There might be a reward for you if you help me get to Winchester and his gang before they disappear again till the next robbery."

To be honest, Sam is convinced the guy would be dead already if it wasn't for sheer stubbornness and he admires his will to live. But there's no way he can ride and stop the outlaws in this state. His only chance is to get to a doctor who will take the bullet out of his guts.

"Sorry, Mr. Henriksen. I'm just a rancher. I'm taking you to Bisbee, you'll have to see with Doc Garth and Marshal Cuevas for help."



Bisbee is a quaint little thing, epitome of the western American town with its dirt roads and washed-up wooden constructions. Adam came once or twice before, years ago, fresh-faced boy in awe of his can-do-no-wrong big brother, and nothing has changed, save for the fact that he's not some fresh-faced, snotty boy anymore and he's now able to do his duty by his bossy brother, the best hunter ever known.

He's done his best to look the part of the down-to-earth rancher, stealing a ragged and patched overcoat and a battered hat on his way to the local marshal's office. His face is not as well-known as Dean's, whose pretty features and sexual prowess assure him a place of choice in the ladies' memories as well as the hatred and jealousy of their husbands, but there's still a risk someone might recognize him, hence the playing a part. He's here to get rid of the marshal and his deputies, not to be thrown in a jail.

Though it could be fun to watch Dean kill everyone to get him back.

As he arrives at the door, Adam assumes an air of absolute thickness and jubilates internally when a man sitting by a desk turns an annoyed stare towards him.

"What is it ?" the man asks.

"Sorry to disturb, sir. Thought you might like to know there was some scramble outta town about an armed coach. Pretty sure it was Mr. Dean Winchester himself that led the ruckus."

"Crap !" a well-dressed guy swears, probably Sinclair's representative. "Dean Winchester again ! Tell me the Pinkertons managed to send them on their way."

"Sorry, sir, no can do. Pinkertons looked pretty dead to me by the end of it all."

"I'm Marshal Cuevas," the seated man introduces himself as he stands up after the well-dressed one is silenced by the shocking news. "Tell me where it happened."

"'bout ten miles east from here, Marshal, right along the road. You can't miss 'em ! The bodies, I mean."

That gets him another hard stare, from both the marshal and his deputy.

"And why do you think it was Dean Winchester ?"

"Beautiful guy as they say he is, and just one man down in the ambush. Seems like his signature all over."

"There's one way to be sure," the deputy replies. "Did you see the Hand of God ?"

Adam's eyes flashes with anger. Are these guys stupid, thinking the mere rancher he's playing would get close enough to take a good look at the outlaws' weapons ?

"I was kinda busier avoiding bullets behind my rock than watching a gun."

"So that's why you didn't do anything ?" the deputy probes, judgement written all over his handsome face.

"Cesar," the marshal warns, "let it go."

"Sure, Marshal. I'm sure our friend here didn't have any… way to help."

It's just as hard for Adam to let go of the accusation of cowardice as it is for the deputy to understand why one wouldn't go against robbers. Adam would love nothing more than to show him why it would be a stupid idea, draw his gun and carve a hole in Cesar's chest, one that would make him die but not too fast, one that would make sure he had time to realize how terribly wrong he's been and let him know who Adam really is.

With a shudder, Adam listens to the marshal's advice and let it go too.

"Sorry, Deputy… ?"

"Deputy Cuevas."

Interesting. Marshal and deputy wearing the same name, albeit clearly being from different origins. Probably same mother and different fathers, or something like that. Half-brothers who stuck together against the harsh world. Adam would respect that, if it weren't for the small fact that they'd both kill him on the spot if they knew who he really is.

"Well, sorry, Deputy Cuevas. I'm but a poor worker in search of a job. Not a dashing deputy upholding the law and watching out for the good citizens of Bisbee."

Adam's not sure any of the men heard the end of his sentence as the marshal, his deputy and Sinclair's man hurry past him right to their horses and leave town in a rush. He watches them disappear in the distance before he gets back to his own horse and rides back to Dean and the gang waiting for him on the other side of the city limits.



Dean's talent doesn't lie in research and his formal knowledge is somewhat limited compared to the masters the Men of Letters shape and educate. He's more the footman kind, but that doesn't mean he can't learn and read. Both Dad and Bobby Singer did teach him a lot.

The demons in the boxes are some of the worst out there, if the names engraved on them are to be believed. Azazel, Abaddon, Alastair - the one he thought to be Alastor, Enochian can be tricky to decipher - Adramelech, Astaroth. Only A's. Which probably means that Sinclair is just beginning with the alphabet, and many more carriages of that kind are to be expected. If only he knew where the rest of them are stored, Dean could arrange to get them all stacked in one secured place, or they could be dispatched once and for all.

Dean takes all of a second to shiver internally and then firmly puts these considerations aside.

Five boxes, five men. For once, the plan is simple.

"You gallop to the lair as fast as you can to bring those boxes to the archivist. Bobby's gonna piss himself with this !" Dean concludes, turning to Adam with a smile.

"And research to his little heart's content until he drops from sleep deprivation," Adam adds as he takes in the precious books a sixth man has gathered in two leather satchels secured on each side of his horse.

"Right," Dean laughs, fondly thinking of their archivist, a former legendary hunter who had found a new and successful career when a bad hunt had left him with a broken back. "Adam, you accompany them. Stay alert, Sinclair might have already sent a team to retrieve his lost items."

Adam turns a distraught stare towards Dean.

"What about you ? Aren't you coming with us ?"

"Nope. We'll meet again at the lair as soon as I'm done."

"Done ? With what ?"

"Unfinished business," Dean answers, and his tone indicates how displeased he feels at his brother's interrogation, especially in front of the men.

Adam backs off immediately.

"Sorry, boss. I didn't mean no disrespect, I just don't like the idea of you alone 'round these parts."

"Don't worry, boy," Dean reassures him with a gentle pat on the shoulder before he steers his horse towards Bisbee.

He needs to make a few inquiries.



Dean goes right to the saloon and it's easy to come up with a fake reason to be searching for a rancher in his early thirties, tall and lanky, and learn that the man's called Sam Wesson - of course, he's called Sam. He's got a pretty wife and a 14-year-old son. Another boy died after the war from bad lungs, the very reason why they came here in the first place, following a doctor's advice to find a place with dryer air, but it seems they were too late already and the death of their child turned Wesson more aloof than ever and estranged him from his wife, finalizing the rift that had already taken place because of the war and the injury Wesson had sustained there.

Clearly, luck isn't on Wesson's side, as part of his ranch became ash just last night. Roman's doing, probably, who's been stealing farms along the future railroad for months and selling the land back to the rail company for a huge profit. Roman's a snake who stops at nothing to get what he wants and keeps a few men on the payroll to make sure he gets it.

Dean promises himself he'll see to that guy as soon as the opportunity arises. No one messes with his brother and lives to gloat about it.

He's sure now. Doesn't really know why but he's sure. Sam is his long lost brother, the kid Dean loved so much but that his father sent away for adoption, taking to the grave the secret of where he abandoned him and with who. The why he had shared : Sammy was too young, too much of a hindrance in their fight, a potential target for all their enemies, who wouldn't know how to fight back and defend himself or his family. Dean's anger and resentment were no match against his decision, and no amount of begging or yelling had ever made John Winchester change his mind.

Dean can't believe his search is over and that he's got Sam back. He ceased to trust in God's kindness a long time ago and he's pretty sure it can't be any good entity, in or out of this world, who granted him his longest, most important wish. But whatever the price he might have to pay later on, he won't deny himself the pleasure to reacquaint Sam with his family, to let him know he was never forgotten nor unwanted. He just can't begin to fathom how to broach the subject.

The man who tipped him off has gone away while Dean was being maudlin over his memories, and it's only him and the barmaid now.

"One more ?" she offers, scotch bottle ready to fill his shot glass.

She sends him a flirtatious smile when Dean accepts her offer.

That one's a real firecracker, Dean can tell. She's got a wicked smile and she knows how to attract his eyes to her pretty great bosom in a still chaste but very effective way. She's just his kind of woman, the opposite of shy ; she knows what she wants and how to get it.

Apparently, Dean is good enough to figure on her menu. Who is he to deny her ?

"What's your name, sweetheart ?" he asks to show his own interest.

"Bela," she replies, and he thinks the name definitely suits her.

Not only is she pretty and fiery, but she might help him get past the possibly deviant lust he felt not one hour ago for someone so different - so male and so unconscious of his own charm.

"I thought you looked familiar," he adds. "Bela Talbot, right ? You used to dance and play magic tricks in this joint back in New York, right before the night show. Pretty singer, Carmen Porter. Loved to see her come on stage, I was a huge fan. Do you remember Carmen ?"

"Of course. No one who's ever heard Carmen can forget her. She enticed men because she knew to stay aloof, never giving into their desire. The perfect fantasy, never marred by reality."

"I don't know," Dean muses, leaning over the bar to tuck her hair behind her ear. "There's definitely something to be said for reality."

His fingertips make sure to trail slowly and languorously on her cheek, and then down her throat and the river between her breast, before he takes his glass in hand again and finishes his drink.

"I have something better up there," Bela proposes, and it's clear she's not talking about scotch.

Dean smiles.

"Show me what you got."

Her room is nice and clean, that's more that he can say about many women he slept with. As predicted, Bela doesn't wait to act. She takes his face in her hands and kiss him, biting on his lower lip to make sure she gets his full attention. She's got it already, Dean's own hands covering her breast for a moment before he begins to deftly unlace her dress.

It doesn't take long with their combined efforts to get them both naked. He pushes her on the bed, and soon pushes inside her. She's a real little devil, insatiable, giving as much as she gets. Dean might keep the marks of her nails on his back for a while but he considers it a small price to pay for the pleasure of taking her.

"I wanna ride you," she murmurs against his ear, and then bites it too.

Dean lets her take the position she wants, and it's a glorious view from down here. She seems to take more pleasure than ever in what he does to her.

"Do you really want me ?" she asks suddenly, gripping his right arm with hers, disturbing the balance he got holding her hips in both hands.

"What ?" he replies.

"Do you really want me ?" she says again, and this time Dean, breathless, can only answer in the way he guesses she wants him to, lost in too many incredible sensations to care about anything else.

"Yeah, 'course."

Instead of letting go of his arm, she makes the position even weirder by sliding her hand further up, their forearms tight against each other. Dean's orgasm is coming fast, and the sudden, terrible pain on his arm somehow makes it a hundred times better until he passes out.



When he comes back to his senses, Bela's sleeping. He vaguely remembers some great sex and a pretty bad sting on his arm. Unconsciously, his eyes turn to her arm but there's nothing there, unlike his own which is still red and puffy where it's been touched by something. He'd say she bit him again but he doesn't remember seeing her using her lips, tongue or teeth on his arms. Not like his chest, dotted all along by red marks that don't sting at all. If she's a monster of a sort he didn't know, at least she's not that dangerous.

He moves and dresses again, then settles down for a moment to think about what he should do. His thoughts are already turning away from the woman on the bed, as pretty and fun as she is, to get back to Sam. His brother.

The only reason he kept working with his father for so long, hunting at his beck and call, was the hope to find at last an inkling, a credible lead on Sam's whereabouts. But now that he's here with the possibility to drag Sam back into his life, Dean realizes he's having second thoughts. What if Dad was right after all ? What if Sam was far better growing up without his family of hunters - outlaws and murderers ? Does he have the right to change his life forever ?

Dean thinks more easily when he's doing something else at the same time. He loves to build things, to repair anything that needs repairing. He loves grooming Impala until his black robe shines under the sun. He loves to draw and grasp a moment on a page, making it last forever.

His drawing hand knows the answer to all the questions agitating his mind. Sam's scared face quickly shows on the sketch, his features lovingly detailed.

Silly hand, it's not gonna make the decision for him, one way or another.

He needs to know more, and there's only one way to achieve this.

The idea comes to him as he takes in the moves down in the street, marshal and deputies trying to be stealthy as they position themselves around the saloon. And here comes Sam, rifle in hands.

Time to wake Bela up and say goodbye.



Sam almost feels bad for the marshal, his deputy and the corporate guy - who introduced himself as one Jimmy Novak - when he tells them that Wade and his gang rode right to Bisbee.

"Fuck !" Cesar exclaims. "They played us !"

It's clear the men only want to ride back into town, but they can't leave Sam to deal alone with the wounded Pinkerton. Junior and he have just found their horses where Winchester said they would be. Sam would like to go to his cattle, but the marshal wants him to join them so that he can help spotting Winchester's men, and he still needs to talk to Roman.

"Okay," he agrees to the marshal's request. "Junior, you go round the cattle while I go to Bisbee."

He knows the herd is in good hands with his son, and Junior is safer out there than walking the streets of the city where Winchester's gang is probably feasting right now to celebrate their success.

The ride to Bisbee is short and uneventful, even carrying a wounded guy to the doctor.

Well, doctor might be a stretch, but in time of need…

Jesse and Cesar Cuevas each take one end of the stretcher and bring it in Doc Garth's office. Mr. Novak follows hesitantly, watching the posters adorning the office's walls.

"Are you the doctor ?" he asks.

"That I am, Garth Fitzgerald to help you," Doc Garth replies and offers his hand to shake.

Mr. Novak is still hesitant, it's clear. Pinned on the walls, drawings and sketches of teeth and jaws are abundantly indicative of a knowledge that might not be the specialization needed today. But Doc Garth doesn't let it stop him. He walks to the wounded man who's been installed in a long chair by the men of law and asks for his name.

"Victor Henriksen," Mr. Novak says, "he's a bounty hunter working for the Pinkertons. He was gunned down by the Winchester's gang."

The doc whistles, obviously impressed. Sam is not sure if it is because Henriksen survived or because Garth admires Dean Winchester, like so many men out there who enjoy the tales of his robberies against establishment but never had to suffer themselves from his attacks. A bit of both, probably.

"Okay," Doc Garth says after studying the wound for a short while, "I'm gonna take that bullet out. You should hold him down."

Mr. Henriksen opens his eyes as Mr. Novak comes closer.

"You don't touch me !" he orders. "I won't move, Doc, I never do. Just do your job."

"Alright," the doc agrees and then adds with a smile, "it's nice to have a patient talking to me for once while I'm working."

Mr. Henriksen seems to take in his surroundings at this moment.

"What kind of a doctor are you exactly ?!"

Mr. Novak turns his back on the scene as the doc plunges some nasty-looking pliers into the man's guts instead of answering.

Sam has seen worse at war but he decides he has better things to do than baby-sitting those guys if he can't be of any help. He leaves and marches right to Dick Roman's office. Edgar is outside, watching him approach with a smile that is everything but friendly, probably imagining the next snub he'll get to inflict before Sam is forced to abandon his land. The man is a bulldog but he never leaves traces that the marshal can use to arrest him. Sam is far from the first guy to suffer from his particular talent and Roman's greediness. But he's prepared to be the first one to resist their combined forces.

Edgar lets him walk into Roman's office without searching him or trying to look more menacing, which is a bit humiliating too in a way. Roman hardly spares him a look when Sam enters, his attention on the strange ballet occurring in the street. It seems that Marshal Cuevas has found where Winchester or some of his gang have been hiding in plain view after the robbery. It's such a Winchester move, daring the local law representatives to come and get him, especially after he made a fool of them. Sam thought he had been buying time to get away in the opposite direction but maybe it was too simple and straightforward for the thief.

Whatever. As fascinating and handsome as Dean Winchester might be, Sam will never see him again and he has a farm to save. A family to feed and support. He takes off the necklace he's been playing with for a while, offering it to Roman's perusal. Another quick glance and the jewelry is discarded the way Sam himself has been first.

"What the marshal and his men doing, circling the saloon ?" Roman asks to Edgar.

"Dean Winchester's in town," Sam replies. "He robbed some coach and killed Pinkertons. Listen, Mr. Roman…"

"Whatever you have to say, Sam, it's not worth it. Your trinket is not worth it either. In a week, your land will be mine. Better admit it right now and leave while you still have time to move your stuff away, because it will all belong to me by then."

"You have to give me more time !"

"Really ? Why should I do this ? Do you have the money I loaned you ? What about the interest ?"

"You know I don't have it. I can't get money if I can't harvest, and I can't get the crops to grow without water ! Stop diverting the river from my land and I'll give you your money back."

"I do what I want with the river flowing on my land, rancher. Get that in your thick head and stop bothering me as long as you don't have my money."

Roman walks past him out of the office but Sam follows. Dignity means little when you're faced with the very real possibility of losing everything else. He tries once again to get Roman to look at his necklace.

"I know it's not worth that much, but it's still something. Please, take this as a show of my good faith. I will get your money back, I promise."

Sam doesn't see the punch coming from behind but Edgar's whole power strikes him hard and the next thing he knows, Sam finds himself down in the dirt, Dick Roman and his henchman watching him with undisguised contempt. He remembers the smiles and the gentle pats on his shoulder the first time he came here to borrow money to see through the winter. He knew it for the false kindness of a loan shark trying to hook a fish dumb enough to trust him, but still it hurts to be confronted with the width of his stupidity.

"Sometimes a man has to be big enough to see how small he is," Roman mocks him from his upside position, making Sam feel smaller than ever. "Railroad's more important than you, Sam, you should get it and leave."

For a moment, as Edgar and Roman walks away, Sam thinks about staying there, laying in the dirt, and wait for death in the first way it will come to him. He's failed everything and everyone. If he has to lose the ranch, Madison and Junior would be better off protected by Flack. But they can't have this unless Sam is dead.

But there might be a quicker way to reach his goal. Dean Winchester should be in there, probably some of his gang too, trigger-happy men for whom one life won't make a lot of difference in the grand scheme of things.

Or maybe… Sam stands up and goes to his horse to retrieve his carbine. A strange kind of hope is slowly taking him. Maybe he doesn't have to die. Maybe there's a reward for arresting the famous outlaw. Some real money he could give to Roman to make him wait. He has to do this, get in there before the marshal or any other man.

He walks right in, ignoring Marshal Cuevas who signals to him to stop right there, and finds Winchester looking at him from the balcony. Bela the barmaid stands behind him and it's not difficult to guess what just happened in her bedroom. For some reason he can't decipher, the idea of Winchester making love to this wench displeases him immensely.

"What's the matter, rancher ?" Winchester asks as he walks down the stairway and comes to the bar, a few inches from Sam, to quench his thirst. "Got your horses back ? Everything's alright ?"

"Your little party earlier today cost me two beasts. Everything's not alright."

Winchester watches him intensely, and Sam almost takes a step back. But then the outlaw takes his purse and chooses a few coins that he pushes along the bar right next to Sam.

"How much do you make in a day ?" Winchester enquires.

"Two dollars an hour," he lies, "when I can find a job."

Another stare and then Winchester pushes more coins his way.

"Here's two dollars for half-a-day."

"What about my son's time ?" Sam pushes his luck.

Winchester starts to look annoyed, but he ends up taking more money out of his purse.

"Will that be all, Sam ?"

"You can always add five dollars for making me nervous."

He's not even sure if it's a desperate joke or another demand, but when he hears the noises made by the marshal and his men moving in, he raises his shotgun and takes aim at the thief.

He's feeling a bit giddy as the marshal handcuffs Winchester. He did it. After everything Roman said, and despite the opinion of his own family, he was the one to arrest the infamous Dean Winchester.

But soon he feels bad. Winchester's gaze is not leaving him, and there's something with the bitter taste of treason eating at Sam's heart suddenly. Edgar makes it all worse by appearing after the event and taking the Hand of God out of Winchester's holster, gloating that the most famous outlaw was arrested in Bisbee. As if he had anything to do with it. As if Sam had nothing to do with it.

"Careful with that gun," Winchester warns him. "It's cursed."

"Really ?" Edgar mocks him. "That why you've been caught ?"

Winchester doesn't stop watching Sam as he answers, and somehow Sam is sure that he knows how much Sam hates the man, and even probably why.

"Laugh while you can," Winchester adds, ominous despite his detachment, and Sam shivers with the dread of what's to come.



Masterpost | Part 2