Chapter Fourteen
Sam had gone up first, taking the satchel and his dinner with him. Dean took his plate back to the table, cleaning it again while she barred the storm doors. She suspected him of wolfing his food to avoid further talk, but he thanked her well enough and went up himself. She left the single lamp on low in the saloon and took herself upstairs after him. The clock insisted it was half ten, thunder rumbling or no. The Astoria Saloon was closed, a rare thing.
Clara and Lisabet were in their respective rooms, both dozing. Marie-Rose considered rousing them, as the warriors had returned, but decided to forebear. The wind rattled the shutters. They were trusted guests and then some, now, but still they teased her like a cat with a feather and by God why wouldn't men just speak straight out? She stepped into the closet and sat down on the bench.
The lamp was turned down low, the room lit gold by the stove. Dean was lolling in the tub, a wet cloth over his head. Sam must have been in and out right smart; he sat between the tub and the stove, a blanket around his bare shoulders, chin on arm, arm on tub rim. Big as he was with his wet hair and wrapped in the blanket, she had the notion she was looking back in time, seeing them as they had sat when they were pups, the Knight of Wands soaking in the water, the Page of Cups bathing in firelight. Sam was speaking with the kind of tense that made her suspect a tiff was brewing.
"The Millers and the college kids came through, and you didn't."
"Took a while to find the Walters guy. Still can't track down the Sterner couple."
"You found Walters?"
"Dead. I think the Sterners must not want to be found."
"Dead? Damn. You said you'd check back in."
A pause.
"I got a little sidetracked. A man could get to like it here, Sam. Rough and ready. The Wild Frontier."
"The Millers said you were heading south."
"You got scared sitting all by yourself in a ghost town? With no ghosts?"
"To Topeka."
"I wasn't going to Topeka…"
"I wasn't sitting, I was keeping the park rangers out of the way, protecting the portal, and dealing with the people you sent back through. Learned some things about what was going on. And I got worried."
"Okay, okay."
"So you were just having a good time."
"Hell, yeah. Lots of positives. Sex is fun. Guns are legal."
"There are minuses, Dean. Disease is everywhere. Guns are legal. Fleas."
"Those girls need some attention."
Sam snorted. Marie-Rose almost did.
"You going to make me do all the work myself? C'mon, Sam, that Clara was sizing you up like a prize side of beef."
"Life is short and brutal. Average age of death is—"
"Makes for a shortage of handsome men in these parts. It's not like the girls got any options in this day—"
"There is no shortage of men. And the vibrator was invented in 1869."
"You cannot frickin' know that! Jesus!" Dean bellowed a laugh. "And everything is legal, sort of."
"You want to think about those girls' life chances? This isn't the Ponderosa, Dean."
"Still a damned sight better than—"
"Did you want to be found?" So quiet and intense, that voice. Damnation. "You want to stay."
A somber peal of thunder had time to roll across the prairie before Dean answered.
"Been thinking about it."
Sam inhaled. "Okay." Marie-Rose heard the click of ammunition being loaded in that voice. It was going to be a fight, then.
"Anyway, job's not finished. Taking time to smell the cow pies, that's all." Dean idly poured water through his hand.
"Okay."
"I said 'thinking.' I wasn't going to just—"
"It's okay, I get it."
"Get what? Damn it, Sam, quit making it like… You could go back to school. You could be free of me sucking you into my troubles."
"Our troubles, Dean. Remember?"
The firelight had him in silhouette, but she could see Dean turn his head away from Sam as he spoke.
"I wasn't going to just take off."
"I know."
"I guess you wouldn't like it here. Everything is dirt."
"…I'd manage."
"You shouldn't have to manage." Another thunderclap rumbled over the town.
Dean spoke up with newfound enthusiasm. "We know stuff! You could invent Pez. Be rich. Or find cures for things."
"I don't think that will work."
"We could find Samuel Colt."
"Died in 1862." Sam's voice was deadly matter-of-fact.
"Oh, damn," Dean said softly. "Oh, God. I wasn't thinking about…" The timbre in his voice had changed.
"You forgot."
"No! Jesus, no, I wasn't going just leave you to—"
"I know."
"Wait—"
"That's what I meant, Dean. It's this place, this time."
"What is?"
Sam cleared his throat. "Remember the fight in the saloon? What did you call that guy?"
"What? Who?"
"The one the girls tossed off the balcony."
"Those girls are something, huh? Uh. A skunk?"
"A crowbait skunk."
"Just picking up the local lingo, what about it?" Dean was puzzled. Sam continued.
"What name have you been using?"
"William Anders Carlyle. Great name, huh?"
"Who's that?"
"Dude, a pop quiz? Would you pick a ques—"
"Not Clint Eastwood? Hannibal Heyes?"
"So you do remember Alias Smith and Jones! And 'Ben Cartwright' is fuckin' hilarious, so what?"
"Ben Cartwright is fictional. Who's William Carlyle? Where'd that name come from?"
"Hannible Heyes and Kid Curry, one for gunning and one for cunning, just like us—"
"It just came into your head, didn't it? Why'd you even use an alias?"
"Um…"
"When did you learn to saddle a horse, Dean?"
"When did you?"
"Answer me."
"I don't know, it… Um. Shit."
Sam's shadowed head nodded. "I think the longer you're here, the more you become… like you're from here. Those people that are still missing? I think they— I think they forgot who they were and became someone else."
The frontier does that to people, boys, thought Marie-Rose, away from civilization and easy living.
"Honeysuckle and lilac."
"Uh?"
"I could, um, identify those smells…"
"'kay, yeah. Like that."
"I can remember who I am…" Dean said. "Damn, that's weird. I can remember other stuff…" He became more agitated. "I remember remembering. It was when I was talking to Tully, and he asked if I had a brother. I had to think…"
"Thanks."
"I had to think." Dean Winchester's voice quavered. That was something to hear. His jaw was working.
"It sneaks up on you, I think." Absolution from Sam.
"Damn. Damn. I went native. That's why it's been hard to find some of them, they blended in. How long does it take?"
"Don't know."
"How… What if I had forgotten everything? The way home. Would I have forgotten—"
Sam didn't let him finish that thought. "Don't know."
Another pause.
"How do we get back?"
"It's in those books."
"How much time have we got?"
"I'm not sure."
"What's two plus two?'"
"Bite me."
"So what do you know?"
"I think… I think the moon phase is important. I've got to go through those books to figure out how Hilliard opened the portal from this side." There was a small sloshing of water.
"You didn't forget anything."
"I was watching out for it."
"Why'd you use a phony name, then?" She'd known Indian trackers that would get lost on the trail of their conversation.
"So I wouldn't have one picked out for me. And less embarrassing if I found you in jail."
Dean snorted. "So as long as we keep sharp we'll stay 'us'? Okay. But you can get back, right?"
"You like it here that much?"
Dean laughed. "Are you kidding me? It's been frickin' great, man. Fought stand-up gunfights. Was chased by a herd of buffalo so huge I couldn't see the end of it. Rode with an Ogallala Sioux war chief. And the U.S. Cavalry. Saw more stars in the night sky than I would have believed. Whiskey and poker and horses and women. Having the time of my life, Sammy."
Sam managed a smile, but said nothing.
"Well, not women yet, been on the move. But once we find the Sterners, it's Miller time!" His voice had a gleeful chirp that promised a bonfire for Clara or Lisabet. "Why don't I have a harmonica? I should have a harmonica."
"So it's just the job, right?"
"I'm okay, Sam. Can't a guy just have some fun?"
Sam was silent, but she suspected there was a look being given.
Dean's voice picked up again, softer."Yeah, okay, it's not just the job. Well, it is, but it means something. Being something."
Sam straightened up. "What? You are something." Nobody insults big brother, even big brother. She smiled.
"No, I mean… somebody… Nevermind."
"Tell me," said Sam softly.
Dean cleared his throat.
Then Sam spoke, declamatory, as though quoting.
"Around Dodge City and the territory out west, there's just one way to handle the killers and the spoilers, and that's with…"
"Shut up! You freak."
"…a U.S. Marshall that smelled of gunsmoke." There was a silence long enough to be meaningful.
"Laugh it up."
"I'm not laughing."
And he wasn't. Sam continued: "I'm that man. Matt Dillon, United States Marshall. The first man they look for and the last they want to meet. It's a chancy job, and it makes a man watchful and a little lonely."
Dean splashed him. "I'm not looking to be the new sheriff. Not the big hero type."
You don't think you always been that to Sam? She wondered whereabouts Dodge City might be.
"I'm that man. Dean Winchester, United…"
"Shut up." More splashing. Okay, maybe a little laughing there. Must be one of those Books for Boys.
"But this isn't Gunsmoke, Dean."
Dean's voice went dead serious. "I shot a man today, Sam."
"Yeah, I was there."
"Sorry, but when I saw him… With Hilliard's mojo, it wouldn't have been a fair fight."
"Okay, yeah. Thanks. Either way, he had it coming. Does it—"
"I know it had to be done, and yeah, it bothers me. And you know what? The Law said it had to be done. Looked me in the fucking eye and said so. No hand-wringing, no bullshit system to appease, just 'it had to be done.' Finito."
"That's… yeah."
Dean sighed. "So you think we can't invent things out of order, huh? Well, you still have that big, big brain full of useless facts. When things happen, who wins what war, history buff heaven, right?"
"That's what Hilliard was doing."
"What?"
"Trying to use information from the future for his schemes. Hilliard or Belrose, which ever." The knot in Marie-Rose's stomach tightened.
"He was evil! You'll be the Great and Powerful Sam!"
"Okay. Okay. It'll be great," said Sam quietly.
"We can do everything we always do, but without having to look over our shoulder, without having to worry about credit cards and license plates and crap."
He spread the washcloth over his face and leaned back.
"The Winchester Brothers, Legends of the Wild West. Except we don't make it into the history books. You'd think with the name 'Winchester'… Well, history is weird. Wild, Wild West. You'll make a great Artemis Gordon."
He sighed contentedly. Sam was silent.
"Fits you, too, that's a girl's name. Why'd he have a girl's name?"
Sam was silent.
The cloth came off Dean's face. In the shadowed room it was hard to see their expressions, as Sam looked away, and Dean reached out and poked him.
"So what aren't you telling me?" Took Marie-Rose by surprise.
Sam met his eyes and didn't answer right away. "A month is maybe all you get."
"Huh?"
"After a month, time just… fixes itself."
"…the hell?"
"The people you sent back were all gone less than a month. The ones you can't find, the Sterners, the other ones from earlier, they were gone longer." Marie-Rose wanted to unhear this in the worst way, this confirmation of what she hated hearing, but she was the one that had to know, so had no one to blame but herself.
"Aw, don't tell me that."
"I'm not sure. People's memories were affected, depending on how long it had been since Hilliard pulled them through. You were gone for so long…"
"And so he couldn't get the answers he wanted, because they couldn't remember."
"Or he never figured out who they were in the first place. Or something. He kept trying."
"Wait, how long was I gone?"
"Twenty-seven days." And every one longer than the one before for Sam, don't you think, Dean?
"No way, it's only been a week… Or… Oh, Jesus." Dean stopped to think and Sam let him. "Oh, God, I can remember last winter. Damn. It's like… No wonder you were freaked."
"Lost track of time, huh?"
"Now I'm freaked. You mean 'fixes' as in 'dead,' don't you?"
"Yeah. Like the people you become don't have long. Accidents or something."
"Shit." Dean's head hit the back of the tub with a tinny bang.
"Dean, there's still time for us to get back. We just have to figure out how to get the portal open again."
"How? You were running things from the other side before."
"Those books. If we can figure it out…"
Dean sighed. "If? You go, Research Boy." Then whistled. "Well, it's been a great month. I'm on to it now, so I'll bet I can stretch it out—"
"No way. We have had this conversation. You're not tired, and this isn't Amsterdam."
"You still have time on your clock. Go back, Sam. You—"
"C'mon, don't give me that."
"I fucking am tired, Sam. And why not? Dean gets a happy ending, huh? A ride into the sunset, six guns at my side. You go home and 'be a person again.'"
"What? Dude, don't throw that at me now."
"You told me that once."
"You know I didn't mean it like—"
"Well, here, I'm a person. I have a life. No fences, no fucked-up society that thinks I'm a psychopath, if someone or something tries kill to me, I can kill it back, no questions asked, or not many, and everyone's who they want to be. I get to be the good guy. With six guns. I get a horse. I get the girl. I want this, Sam."
"You get girls all the time."
"A girl. I want— Dammit." Marie-Rose surmised from the muttering and sloshing that the last was not to have been spoken aloud.
"So tell me, Mister Wizard, what's my life expectancy back home? How long before something gets me? Can't get to the first aid kit in time?"
"Dean—"
"Or Henriksen? Yeah, that sounds like a picnic, what he's got in store for us. For me. If I'm gone, he'll forget about you."
"You don't know that."
"Or end up a sad old bastard like Elkins? Or a sick fuck like Gordon? Where's the good, Sam? Even Dad…"
"Knock it off, Dean!"
She jumped at the whip-crack. I don't think little brother cottons to you measuring yourself for your coffin so soon, Dean Winchester.
"This isn't you talking! You are not going to end up like them! You have a life—"
Dean spoke in a strange, high pitched voice. "If I had a life, I'd hate it."
"You're quoting Muppets at me? I swear I never meant—"
"Whatever, alright. Shut up. Both of us shut up."
She could hear them breathing.
"Fuck! Fuck!" Dean sat up abruptly, sending water over the rim. "You dumbshit! Who's keeping the portal open on that side?"
Sam muttered "I called Ash, but the cycle was up—"
"So you let the door close behind you? Not knowing how you'd get back? Knowing there's a time limit? What were you going to do, roam the range looking for my lost ass? Dammit, Sam, why would you do a dumbshit thing like that?"
"How can you even ask that?"
The outrage was spoken in a whisper, Dean went silent. She noted that throughout, Dean hadn't so much as sat up, and Sam had only straightened.
Sam spoke again, quiet and plain. "If you want to stay, we'll stay, and make it last as long as we can. Maybe there's a way to get around it. I'll get into those books and hope it doesn't require something gross or death rituals and I wasn't just going to shrug and drive off, and you aren't going to say another fucking word like that's even fucking possible. If you want to know why, I'll have to use the 'L' word."
There was sloshing from the tub and the silence was louder than the storm outside. Ah the threat of the dreaded word was a trump card to send men a-flying. A log shifted in the stove, sending up sparks. Bless menfolk, Marie-Rose thought, brave as angels and dumb as turkeys.
Then Dean groaned, and then laughed, the tension vanishing. "Ohhhh, The L Word. How could I forget The L Word?"
"'Cause you're hard for that chick Max, you sick fuck. You'd miss toothpaste." Those words came from a tentative smile, hopeful and beseeching.
"Hot pockets and Slushies," Dean mused. Marie-Rose counted the years since she'd left New Orleans and pondered what new wonders civilization had wrought.
"Baseball. X-Box."
"Suntan lotion. NFL."
"Spinal Tap."
"Internet porn. Oh, damn. Rock and roll." Dean sighed deeply. "I guess we go back. Well, that's okay. I came here to chew bubblegum and kick ass… and I'm all out of ass."
"Okay, Joel. Much ass was kicked this day, my friend."
Dean laughed. "Okay, Tengu, and it was Crow, not Joel."
Sam's relief was palpable from where she sat.
"Oh, man," Dean sighed. "It was a nice dream… How much time do we have?"
"I think the new moon. Which is soon."
"Then what?"
"I don't—"
"You don't know, yeah, you said. Damn. So no time for fun. As usual."
"Dean, I'm sorry—"
"Nah, you're right. Answers are back home, not here. Just got caught up, that's all."
"Yeah."
"I wasn't going to let you go back alone. Or just ditch."
"I know."
They rarely looked at each other at the same time, saving it up for important times when it was necessary.
They looked at each other.
There was then a period of quiet, which she understood as peaceful.
"I'm going to go see Miss Rose and then get to those books," Sam said.
"Miss Rose, eh? Bit late for calling on the ladies."
"I need a room."
"Make sure there's a Bible in the bedside table." Dean chuckled.
Sam's face was a lemon pucker. "I need to concentrate."
"Hot water, please."
The things she heard weighted her mind heavily, and she wanted them to continue, or she might just damn form and barge into the room to demand a full accounting then and there. But all that went quite out of her head when she was taken full by surprise by what occurred next.
Sam Winchester stood up.
The blanket slid from his shoulders, his long-limbed frame bare beneath it. As he turned to the iron stove, he was bathed in amber firelight. Tall he was, and strong, that had been manifest even beneath his fine clothes. Of the male flesh she had seen most was not worth the candlelight, and a high water mark had been set by Dean Winchester himself this very afternoon. The elder Winchester was a mighty fine wild bronco, no doubt, but the younger was glorious thoroughbred king-of-the-herd stallion. But the muscles on Sam Winchester, Lord! That belly, rippling sepia silk trailing over water-washed riverbed stones, and that chest was a architectural monument. He fixed his grip on the handle of both the steaming brass pots, hefting them with little effort, the muscles of his arms and back gathering into fluid cords. A circus strong man might be wider across, but would be dense as old veiny cheese and ugly as a buffalo's behind. You could build a house with those arms, you could build a house across those shoulders on that broad, tawny plain of his back; then there were those long, long corded legs, that curved and elegant yearling bull neck. There was a metallic clang as he lifted the kettles up, for which Marie-Rose was thankful, as it covered the sound of her gasp. Lord have mercy on a sinner woman, but if that wasn't a living, breathing, walking statue from a fancy Europe museum she would eat every dress she owned and she may just do that anyway to keep her damned fool mouth quiet.
Sam turned back, bringing the kettles up and over to the tub.
Sweet Baby Jesus! It's a wonder the boy can sit on a horse. You be careful, Mister Sam Winchester, because it would be a damned shame to damage my tub by swinging heavy things against it. Meat and potatoes both, saints above, you'd shame a grizzly. She shook herself, amused and annoyed at her discomfiture, and took one last look before getting down to business.
Dean Winchester yelped as steaming hot water cascaded over him.
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