The Witch and the Wolfen, Sam/Dean, 5/10
¤ ¤ ¤
Master Post | Prologue + Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 + Epilogue || ART
Chapter 5 - Día de los Muertos
“What the hell were those things exactly?” Sam asked as he brought a heaping tray of food into Dean’s room. Dean had slept for a day, and now that he’d woken up, so had his appetite. He had been leafing through a battered leather journal he’d asked Sam to dig out of his pack.
Dean held his journal out of the way as Sam set up the tray. He glanced up at Sam and smiled. “Dad had an entry in his journal about ice giants like those. They’re called chenoo.” Dean stuffed two pieces of bacon in his mouth and moaned in pleasure.
Sam rolled his eyes and perched on the side of the bed to hear the rest.
Dean grabbed up a fork and waved it, talking over his mouthful of bacon as he began to read from the journal. “Also known as the kiwakwa or apotamkin. A little like a wendigo but icier, the chenoo comes from the northeast. Like the wendigo they were once human beings who... committed cannibalism.” Dean stabbed a breakfast sausage with his fork and sighed dramatically. “According to the lore, this caused their hearts to freeze and turn to pure ice. Eventually their whole body transformed, too.” Dean bit the head off the sausage with relish and looked at Sam. “What a way to go.”
Sam snorted. “I don’t think I’ve ever run into them.”
“Well, normally they don’t even run in packs. Lucifer pulled some big mojo to get a whole group of them together like that.”
“Has he ever left a message like that for you before?” Sam snagged a piece of bacon off the plate.
Dean swatted at his hand, “Hey, no stealing from the sick.” He grew serious as he thought about it, “No, not that I know of, but maybe I’ve been too busy skedaddling to stumble over them.”
“Well, there is some good to come out of this.” Sam finished his piece of bacon.
“Yeah?”
“He didn’t find the Bunker. He staked his chenoo out around Cas, which means my wards are working.”
“Huh! That is good.” Dean nodded through a mouthful of scrambled eggs. “So, what’s next on the agenda? I don’t get the impression you sit around the Bunker all the time.”
“No, I don’t. I’ve got a pretty regular circuit. Next stop is due in five days, Haymanville. It takes two days to get there, so you may need to sit this one out.”
“Oh, don’t underestimate the healing powers of a wolfen, especially with my supercharged tattoo. I’ll be right as rain in no time… but I might need some more of that pie. For medicinal purposes, of course.”
Dean felt better even a few hours later. He didn’t get dressed, just stayed in his loose sleep pants, but put on his grey robe and slippers. He hobbled out of bed and went upstairs to the main level, not quite up to facing the elevator alone. He arrived a bit before the meal. Sam had the potatoes and other veg ready to boil, and the meatloaf in the oven gave the room a glorious smell that tickled his wolfen senses. He watched as the witch finished cutting up the last few apples.
“Oh, so you were really going to make me pie?” Dean hummed in obvious delight.
“Don’t get used to it. I don’t bake much, but I can stagger through this.”
“Then maybe let me help. Dad always said I was the better cook of the two of us.”
“Hmmm, I believe you, but this time, how about you just watch?”
Dutifully, Dean pulled out a chair at the island and watched as the spellcaster finished making the pie. He did finally convince Sam he could at least peel a few apples for him. Halfway through preparations Sam checked the meatloaf, which was almost done, so he put the carrots, turnips, and potatoes on to boil.
Sam, Dean noted, was a good teacher. Clear instructions, concise, but not with the dictatorial attitude his dad sometimes had. When they were done Dean knew he could now make that pie himself blindfolded if he had to. He smiled. There was a hell of a lot to admire about the witch.
Sam offered to play another movie after dinner, and Dean was more than game. “Want to watch the end of Godzilla? You kind of snoozed through it,” Sam teased.
“Nah, I’ll finish it another time. Hit me with something new.”
Sam pursed his lips for a moment, “Jaws it is, then.”
¤ ¤ ¤
“Jesus, Sam, I’ll never go in the water again!”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, it has that effect, doesn't it? Want to watch another one?”
“I’d love to but -” Dean shook his head and yawned, “I think it’s time for bed for me. What’s on for tomorrow?”
“I’d like to show you around the Bunker, or at least a small part of it and leave you to explore. I know your leg is still sore, so we’ll keep it short. Also, I need to sort what supplies I’ll need to take, prepare a couple of cures and lotions that are always needed.”
“Okay, cool. I can entertain myself.”
Sam escorted Dean to the elevator. Dean limping, fatigue setting in. Sam wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist to take some of the weight. By the time they were halfway to his room, Dean was seriously leaning on the witch. “Sorry, Sam, I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”
Sam got him into bed and checked his dressings. There was no bleeding, but Dean had really done too much. “You know, the Men of Letters had an interesting device. I think you’ll like it, and it’ll make getting around that much easier tomorrow.”
“What is it?” Dean looked at him curious.
“Oh, I’ll keep that as a surprise for tomorrow.”
“Bitch!”
Sam’s quickly rebutted, “Jerk.” Seemed to surprise the witch more than Dean.
Dean laughed. “Night, Sam.’
“Night, Dean.”
¤ ¤ ¤
Next morning Dean was already up and dressed by the time Sam knocked on his door.
“Come in.”
Dean laid down the book he’d gotten from a bookcase in the room. It was pretty interesting, about an old man and a whale. Sam came through the door pushing ‘the surprise’ beside him. It looked a bit like a tricycle with four wheels, but the handlebars were up way too high for a kid to reach.
“This is your surprise?” Dean could feel his eyebrows creeping up.
“It’s called a knee scooter, for people with broken ankles or, in your case, gnawed legs. You kneel on it, and it rolls along with you. You’ve even got brakes.”
Dean limped over to the scooter, put his knee on the padded ‘seat’, and gave it a spin. He had to admit it was more restful to his leg than limping around.
“Not bad.”
“Well, let’s get breakfast, and then I’ll show you around.”
“Hey, why don’t I get breakfast and you do the coffee? I might need you to bring me the ingredients, but I make a mean French toast.”
Sam huffed out a breath and went quiet for a few seconds. Dean wondered if he’d just committed some kind of faux pas.
“Yeah, yeah, okay, sounds good.”
Halfway through the tour of the Bunker, Dean had to admit he was happy to have the scooter. He would not have been able to last as long otherwise. The Bunker was deceptively large, with many, many libraries, labs, and research rooms, not to mention mechanical rooms, equipment rooms of various types, and a vast armory. Dean whistled out loud when he saw the equipment there as well as the array of weapons. “I could fix anything here!” Sam wouldn’t let him into the room he really wanted to get into - the Magical Items archive.
“No, no, no.” Sam shook his head.
“But Saaammmm.” Dean pleaded, sounding like a petulant toddler.
“Absolutely not. One touch, and you activate a cursed object that does who knows what, and you don’t have the best luck…”
“I’ve never touched a cursed object before.” Dean looked at Sam funny.
Sam jerked, looking a little flustered, “I mean with Lucifer tracking you and all. No, we leave that for a much later day. Besides, that’s not what I really wanted you to see.”
That turned out to be on level one. First, they dropped in on Cas. Sam mucked out his stall and gave him some fresh hay and oats. The room Sam wanted Dean to see was beyond the impromptu stables.
“Ta da!” Sam spread his arms after he opened the last door labelled ‘Motor Pool.’
Dean gazed around him. There were a slew of cars parked in rows, dust free and in seemingly pristine condition.
“The car pool,” Sam announced unnecessarily.
“Nice. But what did you want me to see?”
“They’re cars, Dean - all in perfect working order. I thought you’d be amazed.”
“These work? Huh, that’s cool. I think I’ve only seen a few still running. Mostly I grew up with them lining the streets rusting. So many parts to keep working. Were these all here when you found the place?”
Sam’s smile faded, “Yeah, yeah most of them were here. Okay,” Sam’s tone was falsely bright, “We can head back then.”
Dean knew he was missing something, but he didn’t know what. “You ever drive any?”
“I have. But not in a while. Uhh, winter doesn’t make it easy to drive.” Sam tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. “Okay then. You’ve seen most of it. Where would you like to go while I work on my spells?”
“The armory, if you don’t mind? Read up on some of those guns I’m not familiar with. Check out all that equipment. Most of it looks like it’s never been used.”
They stepped into the elevator. It stopped at B2 where the armory was. “Don’t worry, I can find my way, Sam.” Dean smiled as he rolled out of the box on his scooter.
“Okay, great. See you at supper then? Around 6:00?”
“Will do.”
As Dean rolled down the hall he kept thinking about the disappointed look on Sam’s face. It surprised him how much it mattered that the witch was disappointed. Things had moved beyond simple physical attraction, he was growing quite fond of the man.
¤ ¤ ¤
The next two days flew by. Dean stripped and cleaned about a third of the weapons in the Armory. After sitting there for so long, they all needed a good cleaning. It reminded him of his dad. He was always fixing or rebuilding various weapons, and he’d shown Dean how to do most everything needed to build a gun from scratch. Sam popped in to see him a couple times a day, bringing lunch with him or inviting him to supper. He even showed him how to access the Men of Letters music library through computer pad hooked up invisibly to speakers in the room.
“See here. You pick out whatever style you’d like to listen to, and it will play a general mix. As you get to know the music, you can also call up exact songs. You can take it to any room in the Bunker, and it will work.”
Sam dropped by more than once and Dean was listening to classical music. Sam tried to point out the rock-n-roll section, Dean liked rock well enough, but he was fascinated by the way the concert music sounded. He thought he caught a look of sadness on Sam’s face when he explained that to him, but it was hidden away so quickly Dean might have thought he’d imagined it. But he knew better. Why was he always disappointing the witch?
Working in the armory, he was even able to cherry pick, with Sam’s permission, a couple of new weapons for himself. Nothing could upstage the pearl-handled revolver his dad had rebuilt and given him when he turned sixteen, but some extra weapons, especially high caliber ones, were always a good thing. Dean took the opportunity to give his gun a good cleaning as well. He'd finish the rest of the armory clean up when they got back.
Dean fell into a pretty comfortable routine. He’d finally convinced Sam that he could boil water, so Sam had reluctantly let him cook. Dean found it relaxing, especially with real ingredients, not rusted cans scavenged from derelict homes.
His recovery had gone well, too. His wolfen side had accelerated the healing process, and by the time they needed to leave, Dean was completely healed. Sam stared at him in amazement as they loaded Cas up with the supplies for Haymanville.
“And you’re sure you’re okay to go?”
“Yes, ma!”
“I’m serious, what if we run into more wolfen?”
“Then I’ll shift and carry you off to safety like a damsel in distress.” Dean smirked.
“I’m serious, Dean.”
“So am I. What can I say? I’m good as new. Now are we going or what?”
¤ ¤ ¤
The trip to Haymanville went well. No wraith storms, and the snow pack through the forest was lighter than expected. They camped in an abandoned home Sam knew of about midway on the trail. A cherry hand carved sign nailed next to the front door named it Polly’s Point. Dean got water from a local stream while Sam set up protections inside. Cas would sleep inside with them as an added safety measure.
When Dean got back from his trip to the stream, he said, “Okay, what’s next?”
“I just need to salt the doors and windows. So pretty much done.”
“Okay, how do you feel about some fresh rabbit for supper?”
Sam smiled and tilted his head. “Really?”
“Yeah, I smelt them on the way back. Be back in a jiffy.”
“Okay then, I’ll grab some more firewood.”
Dean went outside onto the narrow porch and stripped out of his clothes, leaving a tidy stack on a bench near the front door. He stepped out onto the snow with padded feet. In wolfen form it was easy work to track down the warren of rabbits he’d smelled earlier. He caught two fat ones, carried them back to the house, and dropped them on the porch. On a whim he decided to go back into the forest. It had been a while since he’d been able to go on a run.
He disappeared into the trees, lengthening his stride as he went, running just for the sheer joy of it. Somewhere up ahead he could smell a bear in its den, but it was still too early for it to be stirring. He ran until he could smell water and when he reached the stream, he took a long, cool drink. It was hard to describe just how good being in his wolfen form was. His body was strong, his senses clear, and all the complexities of human life just seemed to drop away. He smiled a wolfy grin and howled.
He'd better be getting back, though. His howl might have worried Sam, and he was getting hungry.
As he loped toward the house, he could smell Sam - his shampoo, his soap, just the essential Sam-ness of the man. Dean growled in approval, his cock twitching in its sheath. The witch was just getting back with an armload of firewood.
“Oh good, perfect timing. And you got some. Ever since you mentioned rabbit I’ve been salivating.” Sam grinned and kicked the snow off his boots before entering the house.
Dean stepped onto the porch and shifted quickly. He grabbed up his clothes, opened the door, and yelled inside, “I’m just going to clean these, be right back.”
As Sam finished with his wards and protections for the night, Dean set the skinned rabbits on skewers over the fire and hung a pot from a hook in the middle of the fireplace.
“What’s for dinner?” Sam crouched next to Dean by the fireplace, shoulder’s touching.
“Fried rabbit and beans, with some of that bread you baked before we left.”
“Sounds great.” Sam grinned and sat down, crossing his legs. “I did want to talk to you about something.” He played with a branch from the stack of wood, slowly stripping the smaller twigs.
Dean paused stirring the beans and looked at Sam. The witch’s expression was serious.
“Now, I know the warding has been working, but if Lucifer corners us, I want you to…I want you to know about a weapon I have that can defeat him.”
Dean straightened, “Way to bury the lede, Sam. How long have you known this?”
“Since you told me it was Lucifer.”
Dean stared at Sam in astonishment. “And you’re just telling me this now?”
“Well, you’re my familiar and my work partner. I thought it was time to trust you with this. And I wanted us to be prepared before we entered Haymanville.”
“What about when we went to rescue Cas?”
“I had it with me. I just didn’t have to use it.”
“Okay, I get that. You didn’t know me from Adam.” Dean stared at Sam, and knelt down, elbow on his knee, the spoon from the beans hanging uselessly in his hand as he reached out and squeezed Sam’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re telling me now. It means a lot. So, what’s this secret weapon?”
“It’s called an Archangel blade.”
Sam reached into his pack and brought out a long, leather scabbard. Dean expected some kind of knife or machete, but what Sam brought out was more like a stretched out dagger. Dull bronze in colour, it was thicker at the base, almost two feet long, the entire thing forged from one piece of metal. Sam passed it to Dean. He hefted it. It was heavy but not bulky; the handle had a good wide grip. His fingers buzzed as he held it. There was a lot of magical energy in this blade. He handed it back to Sam with no comment.
Sam slipped it back into the scabbard. “It’s the only thing, other than maybe another Archangel’s magic, that is known to be able to kill one. You need to stab it through the heart. Hopefully before he takes you over. If we run into him, one of us needs to distract him while the other goes for the blade. That’s the only way we’re going to get him.”
“Almost sounds like you’ve run into him before.”
“Not him, but something similar. He is extremely dangerous Dean. A frontal assault will not work with him. We need to be smart.”
“And while I’m telling you this, I also have another weapon. Not good against Lucifer, but works against a lot of other things.” He patted his thigh where a foot-long blade was strapped in its holster. Dean had seen him put it on regularly, but hadn’t thought it was anything out of the ordinary, other than a massive killing blade.
“It’s called the Demon Blade. And as far as I know it’s the only thing that can actually kill a demon. Exorcisms only send ‘em back to hell.”
Dean grinned, “Jesus, you’re loaded for bear, Sam.”
After supper Sam laid out his sleeping bag near the fire. When Dean started to roll his out across the room, Sam protested, “Hey, none of that. Over here, the building is freezing. We need to sleep close to keep warm.”
“As a wolfen I’m plenty warm.” Dean countered.
“Well then come share some with me. I’m not.”
Hesitantly, Dean laid his bedroll behind Sam’s and tried to get comfortable. Dean rolled so he was back to back with Sam. He lay there waiting for the witch to try something. When nothing happened, he wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not.
.
Out of the darkness he heard Sam say, “Night, Dean.”
“Night, Sam.”
Like the night they’d slept in the same room at the bar, Sam fell asleep almost instantly against Dean’s back, and in spite of his protestations that he was cold, Sam seemed to give off heat like a chimney. Dean lay awake thinking about Sam and his big revelations today. Telling him about the Archangel blade was a big deal. It really went to show how much Sam trusted Dean. And Dean realized he was beginning to trust Sam as well. That realization lulled him to sleep.
¤ ¤ ¤
Haymanville was a bit of a surprise. They should have called it Fiestaville. The main street was hung end to end with Day of the Dead banners, many of which had seen better days, but it was obvious someone was making an effort to keep them up. And all the main street’s buildings and shutters were painted in bright colours.
Sam was smiling as they walked its length. “After the Fall, Haymanville was settled by a group of Mexican refugees. They wanted to make the town as cheery as they could while honoring the dead, so they decided every day should be Día de los Muertos.”
“That’s one approach,” Dean said dryly.
As in Lawrence, Sam set up at the local bar run by Mateo and his wife Carmen, but instead of a storage room, Mateo had given Sam the run of what used to be the manager’s office, complete with one-way glass looking out at the line of people already waiting to see the witch.
Dean helped unload Cas’s packs and get everything set up inside. Then Sam took him aside.
“There’s a double garage out back that Mateo lets Cas board in while we’re here. If you can get him brushed down, watered, and fed for me? I’ll get going right away.”
Dean nodded. He and Cas had reached a friendly détente. Cas didn’t try to bite or kick him, and Dean promised not to eat him when he was in wolfen form. The occasional apple didn’t hurt, either. After settling Cas in for the night, Dean wandered back to the bar. He waited until the office door opened, and the latest customer left. Dean waved a hand at the witch. Sam ushered him in alone.
“Cas all settled in?”
“Snug as a bug in a rug.”
“Okay, the normal schedule is to work till supper, take a break, and then put in another four or five hours before quitting for the night. The crowd is actually pretty light. I think we can wrap this all up by noon tomorrow.”
“Seriously?” Dean did a double take at the line going out the door of the bar and winding along the side of the building toward the garage. He shrugged, Sam must know his business. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just stay here, go for coffee between customers, and back me up. Sometimes when folks hear what they don’t want to hear, they can get a bit feisty.”
Dean did a little salute. He could well imagine how folks could get, but this was from the man who could shoot fireballs.
“Alright, let’s get this show on the road, then.”
While Dean was gone, Sam had brought out his sage green kimono - Dean’s favorite. His expression was both more calm and more serious. He nodded at Dean and took a seat behind the office desk. Dean let in the next person in line.
It was interesting seeing the witch at work. Sam was unfailingly kind. A gentle touch on the hand, a comforting squeeze of a shoulder as people told him their troubles. Sometimes the cure was a potion or a cream, but often it required the patient to lie down on the leather sofa in the room. Sam’s hands would glow gold,and his tattoos would move, undulating up and down his arms restlessly as though searching for something. Dean watched in amazement as Sam healed one person after another this way.
A couple of hours in, Dean saw for himself just how quickly things could get ugly.
“My wife ain’t dying, mister. Tell her it ain’t so.” A big burly farmer shook his fist at Sam.
Dean was there in a flash, grabbing hold of the man’s fist, and with wolfen strength, gently bringing it down to his side.
“Please, be calm.” Dean urged, “I know it’s hard to hear, but Sam is only trying to help.”
“But she’s so young.” The man turned to Dean, tears in his eyes, visibly shattered by the news. He sank down on his knees beside his wife’s seat.
Dean could see Sam’s lips moving, probably chanting a calming spell.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nash, but with the state of medicine, there’s no cure for an aggressive cancer like this. Not old time medicine, and not magic, unfortunately. I can give Mrs. Nash some pain-killing potions. Stronger than aspirin and the like. She’ll need them.”
“Nathan. Honey, it’ll be okay. You did your best. I want to go home and spend what time I have left with you and our children.” Mrs. Nash reached up and cupped her husband’s face in her hand.
Mr. Nash collapsed completely, sobbing in his wife’s lap. Dean moved back to stand by Sam and give them space. Mr. Nash finally looked up into his wife’s eyes, and their foreheads touched as they whispered loving reassurance to each other.
After a few minutes they gathered themselves together and rose to leave. Sam had the medicines collected and ready to go.
“I’ll be back in two months if you need more.”
Mr. Nash nodded and tipped his hat to Sam.
Dean didn’t invite anyone in after the Nashes. He took a look at Sam and the clock on the wall and decided it was time to take a break. He called out, “Lunch time, everyone. Everyone keeps their same place in line. We’ll be back in an hour.”
He went directly to the kitchen for coffee and to ask the cook there, Maria, if she could rustle them up a late lunch. He noticed that Sam was voraciously hungry when he cast spells. Between patients Sam would snack on a small plate of sugar cookies Marie had supplied him with earlier, but after all this Dean figured he might need something more substantial.
Used to the routine, Maria made him up a platter of nachos and thick, cheese-covered burritos with refried beans and rice, plus a new plate of cookies - gingerbread this time, on the side.
“Thanks, darlin’!” Dean winked as he scooped up the platter and two cups of hot coffee and headed back to the office.
Sam was stretched out full length on the black leather sofa in the office, one arm thrown over his eyes. Dean tried to close the door quietly, not wanting to disturb him if he was asleep, but Sam heard him anyway.
“Thanks for the assist.”
“That happened so fast. I see now why you want back-up.”
“He didn’t really mean me harm; he was just in shock.”
“I know. Come eat while it’s hot.”
Sam wearily walked over to the desk. He was so tired that he only ate half his meal. Dean covered the plate with a handkerchief in case Sam wanted it later, and ushered him back over to the sofa.
“We have half an hour. You catch some z’s, and I’ll keep watch over things.”
¤ ¤ ¤
After the break Dean was surprised to see only ten or so groups left to see. They might even finish early. Dean wondered how Sam did all this on his own. No wonder he had looked so weary at Roxy’s.
¤ ¤ ¤
By nine o’clock Dean ushered the last group of the night out, a young couple that wanted to get pregnant but were having troubles. Surprisingly, Sam had asked the young man, rather than the young woman, to lie down on the couch. Once he was done, Sam said, they should have no more problems after this; all they had to do was keep trying. Dean chuckled at the absolute looks of glee on the couple’s faces as they rushed out of the office to go ‘try again.’
“Hot damn, Sam, that’s quite the way to end the evening.”
Sam laughed and reached for a cookie.
“Want to have another nap before we go grab supper?”
“Would you mind? I’m really tired for some reason.”
“Well, you just did some major mojo on me and now a full day of this. I don’t know how you keep up this schedule, plus the actual travelling. I’ve never heard of a witch with as punishing a schedule as you keep. All the other ones lay low and let folks come to them. You’re known far and wide in the Zone because of it.”
Sam mumbled something as he stretched out but was asleep before Dean could ask him to repeat it.
Dean grabbed Sam’s bedroll and gently spread it out over him. He brushed aside a stray strand of hair that had fallen over Sam’s face. He marveled at how young the witch looked in sleep with all the cares of the world set aside. His finger tingled where it had touched Sam’s warm skin.
He snatched his hand back and rubbed it over his shirt. He needed to get out of there.
Outside the air was still brisk, but you could almost smell spring. Mariachi music was coming from the bar. He asked a passerby what was up with the band; it turned out it was the weekend, and everyone came to town to do their trading and buying. The smells coming out of the kitchen were delicious.
He decided to drop in on Cas. The donkey nipped gently at him, but by now Dean knew the score. He had the requisite apple in his pocket, and Cas knew it.
“Hey, thath not your donkey!” a fierce little voice scolded from the darkness.
Dean looked around and saw a young boy, maybe five, hiding in the shadows. He tried to hide his smile. “Well, you got me there, partner. Cas ain’t mine, but I do know his owner.”
“You do!” The little boy hobbled out of the darkness on a crutch. “Wait. Whath he look like?”
Suspicious little get, wasn’t he? Kinda reminded him of himself. Dean smiled, “Welp, he’s about yay big,” Dean help a hand up over his head, “And smart as a whip and a powerful wizard.”
“A wizard! He never thaid he was a wizard. I just thought he wath a witch.”
The little boy stepped closer, his small hand within petting distance of Cas now. The donkey leaned into it.
“Whoops. Now I’ve done it. That was supposed to be a secret. Do you think maybe you can keep that just between us? I don’t want Sam to get in trouble. You know what a secret is, don’t cha?”
“Oh yeth, I can keep a thecret. I kept a thecret from my thithter Maddy.”
“Oh yeah? What was the secret, or do you mind saying?”
“You won’t tell, willya?” The little boy looked up into Dean’s face, earnest expression on his face.
“Never, cross my heart!”
“And hope to die?”
“Yes, sir. And hope to die.” Dean waved his hand up and down over his heart. “And the name’s Dean.”
“Well, I broke her Barbie’th head off. I didn’t mean to, but it wath her favorite. I got it hid now.”
“Hmm. Serious stuff. Are you going to bring the Barbie to Sam to take a look at?”
“Oh, thath’s a really good idea, Mithder Dean.”
“It’s just Dean. Pleased to meet you.” Dean stuck out his hand.
The little boy stopped petting Cas long enough to put his small hand in Dean’s “I’m Bobby.”
“Pleased to meet you, Bobby. And you want to know a secret of mine?”
Bobby’s eyes went wide. “Thure.”
Dean held his hand up conspiratorially in front of his mouth, so Cas couldn’t see. “I have an apple for Cas he doesn’t know about. I was looking for someone special to give it to him.”
Bobby’s eyes went wide.
“Do you think you could feed him?”
“Thure!” Bobby’s smile was a mile wide.
Dean surreptitiously snuck the apple into Bobby’s hand, then stepped back.
“Go ahead, he won’t bite you. He’s just a greedy Gus after the apple.”
Cas for his part was a complete gentleman and nibbled politely on the apple in Bobby’s hand.
“It tickleth.” Bobby giggled as Cas crunched happily on the treat.
Dean rubbed Bobby’s hair. “Good job, Bobby. Thank you.”
“I have to go now. Mom ith making thupper. Thee you later, Dean!”
“Yes, see you later, Bobby.”
Dean grinned. He wondered what had caused the little boy’s limp. Was Sam treating him? He hoped so. As he strolled back to the bar he decided a cat nap of his own wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened. Back in the office, Sam was still blissfully asleep. Dean rolled out his own bedroll on the floor, snatched a pillow off one of the chairs, and stretched out. He crossed his arms over his chest and told himself to wake up in half an hour. He fell asleep to Sam’s quiet breathing.
Supper was fun. The bar was packed. A live band was playing Mexican ballads in the corner, and they had pushed the tables back to form a small dance floor. Eventually Mateo found them a table at the back, and an overworked waitress took their orders.
No one was really dancing just then, but as the night went on, more people wandered out onto the floor.
“Wow, those were the best tacos I think I’ve ever had - and Dad and I were in New Mexico for a spell, too.”
Sam was still working through his. Dean was still hungry. so he ordered another round of beers and more tacos.
A blush stained Sam’s cheeks once the beer came out. Dean wondered if he was getting the witch drunk.
“I met Bobby today,” Dean volunteered.
Sam’s smile faded to melancholy. “He’s such a good kid.”
“Can you heal him?”
Sam looked up, perplexed, “What’s wrong with him?”
“He’s limping. Got a crutch, and his leg is all wrapped up.”
“Jesus, Maria didn’t tell me.”
“Didn’t tell you what, about the leg? I thought it was an old injury you were treating.”
“No, Bobby’s dad’s a drunk. He beats on Maria, and now that Bobby is getting older, he tries to stop him. Last time I was here, the kid had a broken arm.”
“Jesus. Why doesn’t she dump his ass?” Dean growled in irritation.
“Maria won’t leave him. I don’t know why. She has a good job here, she doesn’t need him. No one will step in. There’s no sheriff in Haymanville. It’s just more of a co-operative. I was worried something like this would happen. At least I came prepared this time. This will be the last time he hurts Bobby.”
“Damn, I’m in. I’ll kill the bastard myself. No one should hurt a kid.”
Sam rose, “I don’t think it needs to come to that but I do need to talk to Maria and see Bobby, heal him tonight.”
“I’m coming with.” Dean didn’t want Sam facing some ugly drunk on his own.
It took a lot of convincing, but Maria was finally persuaded to bring them to her house to see Bobby. It was a little house on the road behind the bar. “I was going to bring him to you tomorrow before you leave,” Maria said by way of explanation.
Sam kept moving toward the house, long strides that forced Maria to half jog in order to keep up.
“I’m healing him now. No need for him to be in pain any longer than necessary.”
Bobby woke up when Maria led them into his room. “Mithder Tham, Mithder Tham! And Dean, too!” The excited little boy sat up, and Sam knelt by his bed and gave the boy a gentle hug.
“Hey, big guy. I heard your leg got hurt. Want me to take a look?”
“That would be great, Mithder Tham. Thometimes it hurts a lot.”
Dean could see Sam’s jaw tighten in anger, but Bobby was oblivious.
“Well, we’ll look right after that. Want to show me which one?”
Bobby giggled. “It’th the one with the bandages on it, thilly.”
“Oh, of course. Okay, stretch out for me, will you? This might feel a bit funny, kinda warm, but it shouldn’t hurt. Okay?”
“Okay, Mithder Tham.” Bobby lay back, and his mom held his hand. Dean stood at the foot of the bed and gave Bobby the thumbs up.
Sam held his hands over the leg and closed his eyes. Dean could see his lips moving again as he whispered a spell, and his tattoos started to move. The golden glow spread from his hands over Bobby’s leg, gradually brightening so much you couldn’t see the leg anymore, just the light.
When Sam was done, he slumped. His hand caught the edge of the bed to keep himself upright.
He gathered himself and asked Bobby, “So, how’s that feel?”
Bobby carefully moved the leg. When he didn’t feel any pain, he bent it farther, and then sat up to unwrap the healed limb. “It’th all better now, Mithder Tham. Thank you.” The little boy flung his arms around Sam, giving the witch a big hug. Dean could see the glimmer of tears in Sam’s eyes.
“Thank you, Mr. Sam.” Maria held Sam’s hands. “You are a blessing.”
“I can ride my trithycle now.” Bobby beamed.
Dean smiled, “You’ll have to show us tomorrow. It’s kind of late tonight.”
“Yes, Mr. Sam and Mr. Dean have to go to bed. It’s very late.” Maria said firmly. “And I think it’s time for you to go back to bed, too.”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “Alright, mom! Thanks, Mithder Tham. Thankth, Dean.”
They quietly left the room, closing the door behind them, and went downstairs to the living room.
“Where’s Frank now, Maria?” Sam asked, his face dark and inscrutable.
Maria shook her head. “He’s over at Ricardo’s. They’re playing cards.”
“When do you think he’ll be back?”
“I’m not sure.”
“We need to speak to him.”
“You won’t hurt him, will you?” Maria glanced back and forth between Sam and Dean.
“Do you trust me?”
Maria nodded.
“Then I suggest you go to bed. It’ll be okay. And Maria?”
Sam’s eye’s flared bright blue as she turned back to him. “We were never here.”
Maria patted Sam’s hand and nodded. She added another log to the potbelly stove in the living room, to keep the fire going through the night, and headed upstairs.
“Was that a little magic I just saw?” Dean had to ask.
“Kind of like hypnotism. She won’t remember that we stayed. It’s for the best.”
“So, what’s the plan, Sam?”
“Frank’s not a bad guy sober. He just can’t stay away from the booze. I have a spell, that’ll make drinking alcohol impossible. He will literally throw up each and every time he tries to drink. If that doesn’t work, I don’t know what will. A little memory wipe, and he won’t even recall we were here.”
“And Bobby should be safe.”
“That’s the plan.”
The plan went a bit messier than expected. When they heard Frank returning, they went out on the porch to meet him. He was drunk, mean drunk and belligerent to boot, ordering them to stay the hell out of his family’s business. It ended in the snow where Dean had to slug him unconscious before Sam could do the spell. Then they dragged him inside and dropped him on the loveseat in front of the fire to sober up and for the spell to take root.
The band had shut down for the night when they got back to the bar, but the music was still coming from an old jukebox. Sam wanted to go directly to bed, but Dean caught him by the arm. “Come on. Let’s celebrate the win. A beer and a song! Then you can hit the hay. Live a little. You might have just saved Bobby’s life with that spell.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Dean flagged the waitress and ordered two more of the town’s home-made beers.
“You know, Lawrence could learn a thing or two about making beer from these guys.”
Sam chuckled, and Dean knew this had been a good decision.
The songs on the jukebox were decidedly more country and soft rock.
Night Moves was playing while Sam and Dean drank their beers, then the distinctive 12-string guitar intro to Wanted Dead Or Alive filled the bar.
Dean slammed down his beer and said, “Oh dude, we have to dance to this. It’s Bon Jovi!”
“I thought you didn’t like rock.”
“Oh, it’s good in its place, but classical is…glorious. Now are you dancin’ or what?”
“Dean… I…”
“No, Bon Jovi, man, and it captures the night perfectly.”
“But we’re two dudes,” Sam protested weakly.
“You think anybody cares? It’s the apocalypse, Sam! Live a little.”
Dean pulled Sam onto the dance floor. where he swayed to the music, belting out the first lines of the song with gusto.
“Ooh, I'm a cowboy
On a steel horse I ride
I'm wanted…”
He nudged Sam in the ribs and the witch finally joined in, both of them singing,
“Wanted!
Dead or alive!”
By the end of the song, the two of them were simply swaying together, Dean’s arm around Sam’s waist, Sam’s around his shoulders. Dean felt happier than he had in ages. They’d helped people all day, and then Bobby. Life was good. The coloured lights from the ceiling lit Sam’s face in a rainbow mix of light and shadow. The witch’s eyes glowed blue-green in the dim light. Dean’s tone softened and mellowed, but he continued to sing with the song on the jukebox.
As the final refrain echoed in the bar, Sam leaned down and for a minute Dean thought he might kiss him, but at the last minute the witch only tossed back his head and laughed, singing:
“Dead or alive
Dead or alive
Dead or alive!”
Surprisingly, Sam hung in there. They had a few more beers and danced to a couple more songs before finally calling it a night. They finished up their last beer, and Dean half-carried Sam back to the office.
As they both lay stretched out, ready for sleep. Sam rolled over on the sofa and laid his hand on Dean’s chest.
“That was a really great night.”
“Yeah, it was.” Dean smiled. “Night, Sam.”
“Night, Dean.” Sam fell asleep with his hand still over Dean’s heart. Dean didn’t move it.
¤ ¤ ¤
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