dime_liora | Polaris-Good Afternoon

Title: Polaris
Wordcount: 10,773
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Notes: The only fic I never transferred over, and my first attempt at a chapter story.
Summary: An intervention of pagan forces splits the brothers when they are young. Growing up apart and alone what will they do to be reunited, and how will they fight what is considered their destiny?

First Chapter

When the phone goes silent Sam drops it, curls around his own knees, and begins to cry. He doesn't want to cry, didn't want to cry when Dean was listening for sure, but he can't help it. Dean's never called him a baby for crying but it's how Sam feels right now. He's failed his brother, and Dean can say whatever he wants but Sam should have done more. Should have tried harder to hurt the big man holding Dean. He saw the gun on the floor, had heard the loud report from Dean's first shot, but he couldn't make himself pick it up. He still remembers the weight of the gun dad gave him when he thought there was a monster in his closet, and this gun was even bigger so the chances of him holding it up were pretty slim. Still, the man was hurting Dean.

The blow to the head had been bad, and Sam had lost consciousness before Dean was taken. Had just enough time to see his brother's eyes rolling up into his skull, to feel the blood dripping from his own head, and then everything went dark. He remembers the dream now as he sits alone in the cold motel room his father has moved him to. Dad said Bobby was coming to get him, and he believes it, but he wonders if that means dad isn't coming back. Sam wouldn't blame him, because Dean was the good son and now he's been taken and Sam let it happen. If dad never talks to him again it won't be punishment enough.

He thinks of the lady in the dream, of how her hands soothed his aching head and how her eyes glowed like the sun. How she pulled him into her arms and rocked him gently like Dean would when he had a nightmare. Her voice had been warm and gentle as she crooned to him in a light accent. "Poor Samuel. Poor little boy. It is alright. It is alright now."

He had let her hold him, let her soothe him even as he thought there was something he should be doing. Someone he was supposed to be helping. When he finally figured it out he started to struggle, but she held him tighter and spoke into his hair. "One day when you are old enough you will look for a woman, a woman who sees far and clear. She will tell you how to find your brother, and you must obey her every word. Until then Samuel you love him, love him as much as you can because he will need it."

Sam woke up before he could figure out what she meant, woke to his father's big rough hands and leather and gun oil scent. Dad shook him for a while and then began asking questions, and Sam managed to answer all of them without crying. It was Dean's call that broke open those floodgates and now Sam can't stop.

When Uncle Bobby arrives Sam is pulled into his arms and taken out of the motel room. "Your daddy wanted me to take you to Missouri. She's a nice lady, and she's gonna take care of you for a while. Ok kiddo?"

Sam fights to breathe through the tears, and when he gets himself composed he's already been loaded into Bobby's creaky old car and they're on the road. "Dean called. He called me."

Uncle Bobby glanced his way once and then turned back to the road. "Did he?" He sounds sympathetic and pitying, and it's not what Sam expected as a reaction. He grabs at Bobby's arm and watches the man give him a soft look and pat his hand. "Sammy I know this hard on you."

Sam purses his lips angrily. Bobby thinks he imagined the call or that he's making it up. "It's Sam Uncle Bobby, and Dean called me. He told me that he couldn't say where he was, and that he had to go, and he was doing it to keep us safe."

There's a long silence where Uncle Bobby simply considers the road ahead of him as the miles slide behind them. Finally he clears his throat and rubs at his forehead before adjusting his cap. "Sam, I'm sorry ok kid? It's terrible, but your daddy and I are gonna find Dean. Until then you just gotta hold it together ok boy? Just keep it all together."

Sam gives up, crosses his arms and slumps in his seat angrily. If Uncle Bobby won't believe him dad will.

----

But dad doesn't either. They have a phone conversation on his second day at Missouri's, and dad does the same thing Bobby did. He doesn't want to know the details of the phone call, just the parts about the actual kidnapping. Sam keeps trying to cut in, but dad never lets him finish. By the time the conversation is done Sam just wants to scream at his father, wants to throw things and break them, but these aren't his things and he can't do that. The first time Missouri separates his food for him he cries so hard the world grays out around him and he almost falls out of his chair. It's what Dean has always done without being asked or making a fuss about it. He's grateful and angry at the same time.

She sits across the table from him after he's gotten a hold of himself and watches him eat quietly for a while. When he's halfway done she reaches out and takes his hand. "You love your brother a great deal do you not?"

Sam nods, swallowing against more tears, and stares at his plate. "I do. More than anything."

Missouri smiles and strokes his hand gently. Her eyes glow golden in her face. "Then believe in him. Be strong for him. He will not let you down so do not let him down. Grow big and strong, and then find the woman who will set you on the right path."

Her voice is changing slowly, becoming softer and dragging out the vowels slightly as it goes along, but Sam accepts this as logical even as he grips her hand back. "Will he be ok? Will he be safe?"

"He will be as safe as buildings."

Sam can't help the giggle, and he lets her smooth and porcelain colored hand go as he covers his mouth. He can't remember when Missouri became white, when she grew bushy golden hair, or when the round soft sides of her face became delicate thin angles. "It's houses. Safe as houses. Everybody knows that."

She nods seriously, but there's a wicked glint in her eyes that suggests she thinks it's funny too. "Yes. This is what I am saying. Now wake up Sam. You are scaring Missouri."

Sam's eyes open to find Missouri's worried face hovering over his. "Sam? Wake up baby. Wake up I got you."

It takes him a while to get full control again, but when he does Missouri smoothes his hair and looks at him seriously. "Sam. Who was talking to you baby? Who'd you see?"

He chews on that for a moment, and then pushes his plate away and grips the table tightly. "Uncle Bobby and dad think I'm imagining things."

She shakes her head and looks almost angry. "For all those men have seen you'd think they'd be a little more open-minded. I believe you Sam, so tell Missouri everything ok baby?"

So he does. He starts with the phone call and then tells her about the lady he sees in his dreams, the one who just now wore Missouri's face and told him to be strong. Most importantly he tells her how the lady wants him to find another lady, but she won't tell him who the second one is. Missouri nods thoughtfully through the whole story, and then she pushes the plate back to him and watches him closely. "Ok Sam. I see now. You eat up ok? You're gonna need the energy."

----

The years fly by and the dreams change. Instead of the golden haired lady Sam sees Dean. Sees him growing up, watches him cracking wise with strangers or talking about cars. All of it is in first person, as if Sam is really there, and he longs for the dreams. Longs for the nighttime when they come and he can hold the image of Dean close. His brother is growing bigger and stronger, and Sam tries so hard to memorize every little detail. He shares them with Missouri, but not his dad or Bobby. It's not hard, because he sees his dad so infrequently that it's a wonder the man remembers he exists.

The search for Dean is worse than fruitless. Every psychic they consult, every supernatural creature they question, every lead takes them to the same dead end. He overhears Bobby complaining about it one night. "They either say nothing, or they insist he's hidden in some bright light. It's driving John nuts Missy. I don't know how to tell him that maybe-ah shit I don't even wanna say it. But what if it's too late?"

The thought freezes Sam's blood, and he cries himself to sleep that night. He dreams of Dean in a bar, slamming a big blonde man's head into the countertop for saying something bad about Sam. Dean is handsome and fierce, and the other people in the bar look on in admiration and amusement. When he wakes up he knows what he has to do.

He begins the research quietly. Uses school resources and study hall time. It doesn't take long to narrow down the list. Whatever took Dean is powerful, it's Slavic, and it's connected to light. The lore is disconnected, strange, and ultimately minimal because it was more oral tradition than written mythology. Sam finds a number of possibilities, but considering his dreams he's pretty sure he knows which one is right.

But it takes time, and while he's good at being patient there's really only so much he's willing to wait for. He plays along though, bites back his resentment when his father seems to give up on the search entirely. He works hard to keep his face neutral when Dean's name is completely written out of their lexicon, and he never once screams at John. Doesn't, but wants to, wants to so badly sometimes his mouth is full of blood. Missouri's face is sympathetic and caring, but even she has begun to let go of the possibility that Dean will be back with them one day.

They praise him for his achievements, go on and on about how smart he is, but it's all necessity. Sam doesn't care about quadratic equations or diagramming sentences, but he absorbs everything they put in front of him because the faster he graduates the faster he gets to his goal. He starts to hunt with dad because he has to. Has to make it seem like he cares about the hunt for the demon that went after mom. Has to pretend to be a part of the system, because that's how he'll get his hands on what matters most to him.

When his arm is broken and he's in the hospital for blood loss he dreams of Dean shouting, angry, desperate to see him. It makes him feel good, even though the tone of the dream is somewhat sad. His dreams keep up with the same theme for the most part though. Dean getting along as the years pass, and if the golden woman is still there with him all the time Sam doesn't see her. He thinks he feels her, that same warmth and kindness, but he's not too worried about where she is. He'll find her when the time is right. He'll find whatever he needs.

His plan is cobbled together from lore, from understanding, but mostly from the other dreams. The ones that keep coming true, that leave him on the floor in so much pain it's hard to see straight. The migraines and the nausea are bad, but Sam is willing to swallow them all down if it leads to Dean. Willing to take any punishment that he's due to make it up to his brother. Age hasn't dimmed that hurt, hasn't lessened how bad he feels about letting Dean be taken like that. Sure, logically he knows that he was only seven and that there wasn't much he could do. Logic goes out the window when it comes to his brother though. Logic isn't even in the building anymore most of the time.

Sam is aware that the dreams are probably something he needs to tell his dad about. He discusses them lightly with Missouri, and she's not too perplexed. Suggests that Sam is simply touched the way she is. Special. Sam knows better. Knows that Missouri's powers come from some line of succession, some family trait that is inherent in most of the Mosely women. No one in Sam's family is reported as being psychic. At least not that he can find and he's dug around pretty heavily.

Whatever gives him the other dreams, the prophetic ones that temporarily cripple him, isn't blood of that kind. It has something to do with the demon. Sam can feel it, is almost sure of it, but he doesn't have time to figure it out. He's too busy looking for the other woman, the one that will start him on the road to Dean. When he finds her, then the rest of the plan will fall into place.

As if his father subconsciously knows what Sam is planning he gives Sam the greatest birthday gift he ever could. He leaves him the Impala and his journal the day Sam turns twenty-one. He has over four grand saved from jobs he's been taking since he started this whole thing, and now with the journal he finds the last piece. A psychic his father knew in Indiana. One who is supposed to be very good but incredibly prickly. That's ok though, she can be prickly all she wants because nothing is going to stand between Sam and Dean. Not anymore.

Missouri finally catches on to the depth of his plan when she sees what John has left him. He knew it was coming, he just wasn't sure when, and now she's looking sadly at him as she holds out a packed lunch and an envelope. From the heft of it Sam knows what it holds and he shakes his head and tries to give it back to her.

"I've been saving up Missy. I'm good. You've taken care of me all these years, and I appreciate that, but you need this more than I do."

Her eyes narrow and sparkle, suggesting oncoming waterworks that she wants to avoid. "Don't you be stupid boy. I've loved you like my own since the first time you came here. I didn't do that for your father, I did it for you. If I wanna give you money that's my decision and you'll damn well take it. Now hug me and promise me you'll call." Sam notices she doesn't suggest he follow through on the promise, just that he promise it. A side-effect of her gift, she won't ask more from him than he can offer her. He hugs her tightly and feels the way she shakes slightly as she tries to hold the tears in until he's gone.

"Love you Missy. Thanks-thanks for everything."

She nods, roughly knuckles her eyes, and then pushes him away from her. He waves once, starts up the Impala, and rolls away from the only place that he's ever considered home since the day home was taken from him.

-----

Bitchy would have been a better word to describe Madame Zoraster, aka Jean Bellows. She closes the door on him directly after opening it, and leaves him banging on it for five minutes before she opens it again.

"I am not helping you. You stink of Winchester. My insurance plan doesn't cover Winchester." She glares at him through the cracked doorway, heavy makeup cracking at the corners of her eyes. He holds up both hands to show her he is only armed with ten crisp hundred dollar bills.

"Will this cover finding something that wants to be found?" He tries to keep his voice modulated, pleasant and friendly, but there may be an undercurrent of sarcasm. She's already getting on his nerves and he hasn't made it through the door.

She reaches one willowy arm out and grabs the money at a speed that should be impressive. There's silence from the other side of the door, and then it swings all the way open and she gestures for him to come in. "You get one question and one question only. If I get hurt there's another grand in it. You got me Winchester?"

The interior of her house is darker than he could have ever imagined. A mishmash collection of new-age decorations that are meant to look old and impressive line the walls and display tables. She leads him to a parlor that smells of old incense and sweat, and he swallows down any comments he might have on patchouli stink or dramatic flairs. Pissing her off further would be contrary to his purpose.

He takes the seat she indicates and is only slightly amused when she hauls the big crystal ball off the table so that the space between them is empty. She takes one long look at him and then casts her eyes down at his hands. "What are you looking for?"

"A woman. Her name is Zorya Utrennyaya." He keeps everything neutral, and isn't surprised when her eyes narrow suspiciously. She may know a little bit of the lore. Her heritage and her job choice suggest she should have done some research. Still the look on her face is of someone half-recalling a lesson from childhood, and that's what Sam was betting on.

If she ever fully it remembers it before she begins Sam doubts it. She's too relaxed. Too calm. "I'm surprised. I thought you'd ask about the demon, or at least your brother. I guess WInchester loyalty is as good as I thought it was."

Sam feels a little less guilt about what's going to happen in a moment.

She lays out the paper and then leans back in the chair, a pen firmly lodged in her right hand and a look of calm spreading over her withered features. "Samuel Winchester is looking for Zorya Utrennyaya. Can anyone give us guidance?"

The room drops in temperature, and Sam sees the fine hairs along his arms raise as her hand begins to move, drawing long connected loops all over the paper in front of her. Her face isn't so calm anymore, and he watches as her hand speeds up and her lips purse before going slack.

The voice that comes from her mouth next is deep, male, and almost frightening. It has no inflection and no accent, no human features whatsoever other than its use of the English language.

"You will go to this place, and you will find what you seek, but you will not like what you find. You must go directly before the sun rises and stay until the Zorya acknowledges you. Speak to no one but her. Take no food or drink unless she offers it. If you raise your hand to her you will die. If you raise your voice to her you will die. If you win your prize everyone will die. May God forgive you demon prince."

It isn't the message from his dream, and Sam feels the first threads of unease as Jean falls slack in her chair and her hand leaves the page and drops the pen onto the carpet. He grabs the notebook and leaves, unconcerned about how angry she'll be when she wakes up. After all, it's not like she'll come after him. She knows too much about the Winchesters to try such a thing. None of it matters, not even the changed message, because Dean's here. That's all that matters now.

There are three words connected into the loops. "Finksburg, Maryland, Polaris." The last written so hard it's almost ripped through the page. Sam almost laughs at the irony of it. His whole life it seems he's been wandering around in the dark looking for Dean, and all he had to do was follow the North Star.
----

The bar is set on a corner in the tiny town. The brick face is old and dark, and Sam doesn't miss that it has no windows. The parking lot is empty except for a gorgeous old Charger, and Sam considers it for a minute before approaching. The heavy oak door is just thick enough that Sam can tell there's sound on the other side, but he's not sure what it is. Considering the state of the parking lot the jukebox may still be on, but whoever is in there will be cleaning up after the night before. He tries the knob with low expectations and finds that it opens easily under his hand. The door swings without a sound, and the space that faces him is broad and bright. The floor shines under the directed spotlights, and someone has set in false opaque windows in the walls inside.

The tables are full of people, and they chatter with each other comfortably. Sam looks around the room, takes in the patrons, and then turns to the bar. He expects to see the golden woman there, but instead he sees Dean. Dean smiling and laughing as he pours shots for nine beautiful women lined up at the bar. All of them are staring at him, and Sam can't blame them. In the warm glow of the recessed lights Dean's hair has strange highlights, his shirt hugs defined lines and thick biceps, and the way the green in his eyes catches each glint-

Sam shakes off that weird train of thought and crosses quietly to the bar. He remembers the warning he received, and when the angular Native-American man at the bar moves over to give Sam room he takes the seat without a word. The man's nose is a bit too long, and his smile reveals strangely sharp teeth. He nods once to Sam and then turns back to where Dean is using more flourishes than are strictly necessary to serve the group of women. They giggle as he moves gracefully, each talking over the other.

"Dean you should be a dancer. Look at how you move and-"

"No,look at his smile. He should be an actor. All that charisma and those-"

"You would make a wonderful musician darling. A singer maybe. A frontman definitely. After all-"

They fall silent when the strident screech carries over the crowd. "Hail boy-king."

Sam turns at the same time as the rest of the bar, and sees the three crones staring at him blearily from across the bar. The one who spoke clutches at the chair in front of her as she wobbles and smiles darkly. Her toothless sister leans forward and picks up the chorus. "Hail bringer of destruction."

The last is so withered and old she looks like she'll fall apart, and the curl of her lips is something that could only be considered a grin in the worst of nightmares. "Hail Azazel's Child. Hail harbinger of loss."

The bar goes completely silent, and Sam feels his pulse rate triple as all eyes turn to him. An old man with one eye stands and slams his hand against the table. "You are not welcome here you tainted thing! Be gone now!"

Several people stand behind him, and there are nods and murmurs of agreement through the room. The murmur rises, gains in volume and passion, and Sam feels a hand on his shoulder that he realizes is the Native-American man. Just as two large blondes begin to step forward Dean's voice carries over the sounds in the room. "Wednesday. That's enough. You know as well as anybody that Utre decides who stays and who goes. It'll be her choice not yours."

A few of the patrons look ashamed, but the two blonde men look disappointed. Sam turns his back on them and grips the bar hard, and when he sees his brother's hand move into his sight line he dares to look up.

"Ok stranger. They'll behave for a bit but you might wanna order and leave." Sam notices there's extra light on Dean's face, and when he turns to look at the opaque false windows he sees that light has begun to swell in them, a mimicry of the sunrise that has begun outside. Dean sees where his eyes have gone and chuckles lowly. "My gift to Utre. She loves those damn things. So what'll it be?"

Sam wants to say, You. I'll take you, because you're supposed to have been there all along. Wants to call Dean by his name, grab him into a hug, just fucking something other than sitting there like he's mute. The man beside him takes up the conversational slack.

"He won't be needing anything from you Dean-o. He's waiting on Utre. Got yourselves a new supplicant here I believe."

Sam sees the way Dean's eyes darken, the way the friendliness is leached from his face. "Oh. Well she'll be a few minutes."

Then Dean turns away, and it takes all of Sam's strength to keep his mouth shut and his hands on the bar. To not call out to Dean and beg him not to look that way. Not to turn his back on him. The Native-American speaks again, voice so low only Sam can hear it. "You better hope she wakes up soon kiddo. They won't keep to themselves for long."

The minutes tick by slowly. The women at the bar leave shortly after the crones call to him, and Sam doesn't miss the way the other patrons avoid him entirely. Dean stays away too, and that kills Sam a little. All these years he's waited and already he's pissed his brother off.

When the door behind the bar opens, and a young woman with a corona of blonde hair and a bright smile enters the sound level in the bar swells again. She sweeps bright golden eyes over the patrons and then looks directly to Sam. Her smile doesn't dim.

Sam watches closely as Dean moves to her, wraps one arm around her shoulders, and leans down to whisper in her ear. He glances towards Sam and then away, and her head nods as she listens. Finally she pats Dean's shoulder once and whispers something back. She steps in front of Sam and leans into his space. "Follow me please."

Several people call out to her, but she ignores them and leads Sam down a long hall and upstairs into an apartment. He takes a seat at the table in the kitchen area when she gestures, and he watches how she claims the spot across from him. She's just as pretty as he dreamed and she hasn't aged a day. She's also the creature that stole Dean.

"You have finally come. Was it hard to find your way here?" She sounds like she's talking to an old friend, and Sam swallows down his ire.

"A little. I've come for my brother." He swallows once and realizes how dry his mouth is. As if she noticed she leaves the table long enough to pour him a glass of water and slide it to him before re-seating herself.

"There is a process to this. Surely you know that?" Her hands move constantly over the surface of the table, and he watches them so she won't see the anger in his eyes.

"Whatever it is I'll do it. As long as Dean comes home with me." He's amazed at how level he sounds, as if this was a conversation about returning a lost dog or a missing set of car keys. As if they weren't bargaining for his goddamn brother's life.

He thinks of how affectionate Dean was, of the casual way he touched her, and his ire rises. She's made Dean into some kind of toy, some plaything, and god help her if Dean's permanently scarred from the damage she's caused.

"It will be a great price for such a thing. Three years of your life spent in this place and in silence. You will serve myself and Dean as we see fit. You will not speak, you will not tell anyone who you are. The best you can do for communication is to nod or shake your head. No writing of any sort. You will stay here and follow every rule we give you. Can you do these things?" The light accent makes her vowels long and soft, and Sam's almost entranced by them. Almost.

"I can. When do we start?" He finally looks up when he hears her laughter, soft and almost rueful. Her hands are holding her face up now, and she looks so young and innocent it hurts him to see it. Hurts worse that her eyes are so damn bright.

"Soon. You may wish to ask your questions before then, as you will not get a chance for another three years." He watches the way her fingers still tap, as if mapping out the planes of her jaw.

"Why did you take him? Why did you make him leave?"

Her smiles slips off her face, and she looks so serious he almost believes she feels bad about the whole thing.

"I will tell you a story. When the story ends your period of silence will begin. Before I start it though allow me to say this one thing; your brother is my main concern. He has been for a long time. Never mistake that."

He hears the door open behind him, assumes it's Dean, and keeps his eyes on her face. She never looks away from him. "A long time ago there were two little girls. They were sisters, and they were different as night and day. Once they were old enough their father gave them a terrible task. A burden that was to consume their lives entirely, but both sisters believed in their father, and they believed in the work he wanted them to do. They agreed to serve him, to work for the sun as it slept and when it woke. They agreed to be split apart, to only see each other for a few moments each day as they passed off the mantle of responsibility. More importantly they agreed to watch against the coming of the end of the world. To be the last line of defense against that terrible day. In doing this they doomed themselves to a lifetime of worry, of struggle, and to the weight of the entire world. A prophecy was laid down, that one day two little boys like them would come, and those boys would bring the end of the world. One sister decided that the best way to stop this was to kill the little boys. To take choice away entirely. The other sister believed that choice was more powerful than prophecy. One day it will be proven which sister was right and which was wrong. Until that day they will continue to guard the door, and they will always be broken apart."

Dean came into his view, settling one large hand on her delicate shoulder. "Telling fairytales again Utre?"

"No name here was asking from where you came and why you are being with me. I was simply explaining these things. It is bedtime for you sweetling." Her face was soft again, warm, and Dean smiled at it.

"No name huh? Gonna have to fix that. What do I call him?" Dean glanced his way once, eyes guarded before returning to her.

"Whatever you wish. I should be going down. Show him my room and allow him to sleep there for the day alright? It would be for the best he not see the special patrons anytime soon."

Dean nodded, waited until she was gone, and then turned back towards Sam. His green eyes are fierce and hard. "Listen, let me go ahead and talk you outta this. No one has ever lasted longer than a week in her service. There's a reason for that kid." Dean watched his face, and since Sam couldn't speak he made it as assured and defiant as he could. Dean studied it for a moment, and then his expression softened and looked sad.

"You kinda remind me of someone when you look like that. Tell you what, let's call you Jimmy ok? Like the rockstar. Is that acceptable?"

Sam nodded, eyes fighting to not go wet. It was close, so fucking close but it wasn't quite there. Wasn't Sammy, a name he'd only ever let Dean call him.

Dean stared at him for a bit and then frowned. "You don't talk a lot man. One of the rules?" When Sam nodded he chuckled darkly. "Well that's a new one. Maybe I shoulda named you Charlie. Anyway, that's the bathroom, that's Utre's room, and that is my room."

Sam stared at the dark wood door until Dean took the hint and turned his head to look at it. His face became odd, dreamy and unsure for a moment, and then it hardened and he shook his head briskly. "We don't touch that door. Consider it the first and most important rule. She didn't mention that in your conditions?"

Sam shook his head and Dean responded by opening her bedroom door and gesturing him in. "Sleep well Jimmy. See you in the evening. That'll be when the real work starts."

----

Sam's sleep was fragmented and choppy. He dreamed he was floating on a lake somewhere, a sky full of stars over him and someone floating beside him. He couldn't turn his head to see who was sharing the water with him, but he knew that they didn't belong there. The voice that floated through the darkness was thick and heavy, male and female all at once. "You've done well so far boy, but there's miles to go you know. Miles to go. Whatever happens don't you trust her."

Above them the stars began to fall, crashing into earth and causing grand explosions as they went. Sam jerked in the water and a clawed hand gripped his arm and kept him still. The touch sent cold waves through his skin, and Sam began to shiver as the water plummeted in temperature.

"You have a purpose Samuel. A purpose you must fulfill. This talk of shirking destiny is for losers and lost causes. You're a winner Samuel. The best of the best. Follow her rules until the time comes, and then you can follow your destiny."

His arm began to bleed where the clawed hand held him, and Sam fought against the rigidity of the water to try to turn his head. To see what was holding him. He felt the life leaving him, his strength fading, and the cold increased beyond the point of pain and into the realm of agony. He heard a dark chuckle, and then the clawed hand let him go and he was left drifting in the water, bleeding out slowly and surely.

"Winchesters. Always entertaining if nothing else. I'll be seeing you soon boy-king."

Something scorching hot touched his arm, the bleed stopped, and Sam was awake and gasping into the face of the golden-eyed woman. Utre. Dean called her Utre.

"You are having a nightmare. I cannot banish this visitor you have brought with you. Dean has taken to calling you Jimmy?"

Sam nodded, trying to make sense of the long line of half-formed sentences she'd given him and not having much success. Visitor he brought? He didn't bring anybody. He noticed that her skin was paler than it had been before, her eyes a dim and burnished copper instead of bright gold. It was as if the color was draining from her underneath his gaze, and whatever brightness he'd seen upon waking was completely gone. She smiled weakly as dark circles formed under her eyes.

"Is close enough for government papers yes? Hurtful but close. I am sorry for this."

Don't you trust her. He shivered and a deep voice from the doorway broke his reverie. "Work Utre. Why can't you ever get that one right?"

She looked over her shoulder and nodded seriously. "Yes. I am always struggling with that one. Sorry Dean."

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to the English language. More importantly, Jimmy get your ass up. Utre needs to go to sleep now. It's an hour past sunset." Dean sounded amused and annoyed all at once, and when Sam got a good look at his face he figured the amused portion was completely fake. He slid out of the bed and watched her roll into it, not even bothering with the covers as one arm covered her eyes and she fell immediately asleep. Dean moved past him stiffly, gathering up blankets and sliding them over her before kissing her forehead.

"Come on Jimmy. The part-timer is working tonight, so I can show you the ropes."

----

Sam stared at the well-polished brewing machinery in the basement as Dean pointed out sacks of ingredients. He slapped Sam once on the shoulder, bordering between playful and reproachful, and then went back to his lecture.

"So it's broken into seven steps ok? Mashing, lautering, boiling, fermenting, conditioning, filtering, and filling. The beer we make here has two fermentations to it, so it's gonna be important that you make sure it goes through both cycles. You gotta add the yeast at just the right time, because if you fuck it up the whole batch goes south, you got me?"

Sam nods and keeps his eyes on his work. Dean sounds so much like dad explaining how to kill something supernatural in that moment that it's hard for Sam to look at him. Hard to know Dean has no idea who he is or what connections he's making. Right now he's Jimmy, the supplicant, and that's all he can be for three more years.

Sam hates Jimmy.

Despite the long list of steps it isn't hard for Sam to pick up the process of brewing. He's always been a quick study, and the grin he returns to Dean when he gets praise is probably pathetic to look at. He can't help himself though. It's been so long since he heard Dean praise him that he's pretty sure he'd do anything to put that proud smile on his big brother's face.

Serving at the bar is a bit different though. The townspeople are told that Sam is mute, and he's the son of some old friend of Utre's. They buy it easily enough, but several of the patrons want to test the limits of Sam's muteness. It's weird how they act like they can shock a voice out of him, and disconcerting because it's possible they could. One slip though and he loses Dean forever. Sam knows that well enough to not make a mistake. He follows every rule that Utre gave him as he moves from table to table serving beer and whiskey, avoiding being dragged into conversations he can't have.

Several of the women eye him up, and one or two decide that after a few drinks it will be fun to pinch Sam's ass every time he crosses in front of them. It's annoying, but not something he can't handle. It's when one of the men crosses that line that Sam freezes in place and glares. The guy does it two more times, and then when he goes to do it a fourth Sam turns to hit him. He doesn't get the chance though because Dean is suddenly there. It's how puffed up and angry Dean looks that really sends home to Sam that this is his older brother all grown up.

Dean has a death grip on the guy's wrist, and he twists slightly while the man howls. "Fun's over Tom. Pay your tab, tip the man extra, and get the fuck out." Dean's tone brooks no argument, green eyes dark like forest leaves and plush lips drawn into a white and angry line.

"Jesus Dean," Tom whines, "it was just a joke man. Calm down."

Dean looks once to Sam and then back to Tom, twists the wrist to just before breaking point. "I don't find it funny and neither does Jimmy. Use this hand to get your wallet out and be glad you still can."

Once Tom has paid and stalked out Dean turns back to Sam and grabs his arm, hauling him behind the bar. "Why'd you let him take it that far? You like strangers grabbing you?" If anything there's more rage than there was before, and Sam's not sure how to mitigate Dean's anger. He shakes his head once and watches Dean look him over and then release his arm. "Well then next time do something about it. I can't keep jumping the bar to save you every time you get into trouble."

Sam has the feeling though that if it came to it Dean would do just that. It's a good feeling.

----

Their schedule takes a little while to get used to. The daytime and nighttime customers are strictly segregated, and every morning at 3:30 Dean pushes out the last of the stragglers and starts to clean up before the doors reopen at 4. Utre comes down shortly after dawn and relieves him, and the two meet up again in the late part of the day or just before she falls into the bed and slips into what Sam can only call a coma. He's tried waking her once just to see, and nothing seemed to work. His schedule is split between the two, and he finds he likes working with Dean a whole lot more than he likes working with Utre. When Dean is around the daytime customers are a little less friendly, but the townspeople are warm and inviting. They all watch their hands after the incident with Tom.

With Utre the daytime customers, the little gods Sam begins to think of them, show him grudging respect. Most won't look directly at him, but there are no more jibes or insults. Still despite the lack of abuse Sam's uncomfortable around her. He isn't sure what the relationship between her and Dean is. If he could figure out the depths to which she's twisted Dean maybe he could start untwisting him, working his brother back into the man he was before the goddess got her hands on him. It doesn't help that she's always nice, always polite, and usually helpful. She never asks much of him, and Sam begins to feel like a third wheel. When she and Dean eat together he sits silently across from them with no ability to join the conversation other than to nod or shake his head when he's asked direct questions.

The worst part of the whole thing is that he wants to like her. The more he sees the two of them interact the more he feels the urge to like her, because she's good to his brother. Good in every way but the one where's she apparently seduced him. At least that's what Sam thinks until the incident with the old lady.

It's just a little after sunset and the mortal customers have already sat down. Sam's delivering clam chowder when a little old woman grabs at his elbow and arrests his forward momentum. For one horrible second he thinks she'll stand, call him boy-king, but she doesn't. She peers through coke-bottle glasses and speaks in a voice reminiscent of wind in autumn leaves. "Are you another of Utre's boys?"

Her accent is thick, Slavic but not quite Russian, and he shakes his head helplessly in her direction. She squints up and then leans in. "You're the mute right? Her son's friend. He is very good boy."

The old lady across from her nods her head seriously. "Yes. But a little off. Always home with his mother and never dating any of the pretty young things in town. Maybe he is one of the homosexuals."

Sam's literally milliseconds away from opening his mouth when a hand clamps his arm so hard he feels the bruises forming. A voice, sharp and hard and just as accented as the little old ladies has his head turning its way immediately.

"You vill come vith me. Now." Sam can't help but notice how the two old ladies go slack-faced when the woman speaks, how almost all of the patrons have a strange dreamy look on their faces, and then he's being pulled towards the door, one hand still trying to balance the bowl of chowder. The woman dragging him is severe and beautiful, dark, and he knows who she is instantly. His suspicion is confirmed when Dean looks up, sees them, and heads their way with a scowl darkening his face.

Sam manages to lower the bowl to a table before he's pulled out of the door, and he hears someone call Dean's name as the heavy portal swings shut. He's left alone with the woman in the dark cold of the night outside.

She spins on one heel, finger up and accusing before her mouth catches up to it. "Vhat are you doing here? You are not supposed to be here."

Sam shakes his head, tries to step away from her, but he's grabbed again and he can't break the hold. The door slams open behind him and warm hands grip his shoulders and pull him back. He crashes into the solid mass of Dean, shorter than him but suddenly much bigger. It's so familiar it hurts.

"Vecher. You should leave before I wake Utre." Dean's tone is as cold as the woman's skin was, but his grip on Sam is blazing hot. Too hot, and Sam's distracted by it just long enough to miss what the woman is doing until it's done. She spits on him, her fingers forking the evil eye like an old gypsy in a movie.

"I see you have chosen your allegiance Dean Vinchester. Just as I always predicted. Taint over purity every time vith you. My sister deserves-"

The voice that cuts her off is familiar, friendly with an undertone of strange. "Hey now, I missed the daytime rush. Is it too late to get some of that chowder Dean-o? My stomach is rumbling something fierce." The angular Native-American god that Sam has seen so often steps out of the darkness as if the shadows released him. His smile is hard, wide, and shows all of his pointed teeth. Sam feels Dean's arm tighten around his shoulders. Somehow he realizes he's been working here five months and never learned this god's name.

"Yeah man. We can still serve you. Come inside. It's where we were headed."

Dean lets him go, steps away, and Sam hears the door open and then close. There's silence in the parking lot for a second, heavy and deep, and then the little god turns to look at the goddess. "Your sister would be furious if you gave the game away. You played your hand Vechernyaya and you lost. Time to bow out gracefully." He takes Sam's elbow and leads him away as if Sam is feeble or slow. He's not fond of it. Behind him the woman calls out one more time before the door closes.

"Damn all three of you. For vhat you are doing damn you all!" Her sentence is punctuated by the slam of oak, and then Sam is being practically carried to the bar. He doesn't realize he's shaking until he sits down and the Native-American god is rubbing his shoulder.

"She's a tough old bitch I'll grant you that. Never knows when to quit. Damn Utre is gonna be furious."

Sam's handed a wetnap, looks up to see Dean's angry scowl directly ahead of him. "She's got a death wish if she spits on Jimmy again. What the hell was she thinking coming here?" He watches the way Dean's hands move rapidly over the wood of the bar, fingers tapping much like Utre's do. It's a little sharp reminder that his brother is a part of this odd community. This family of mythological figures.

"What's her beef with you-oh shit even if you knew you couldn't tell me." There's a glint to the man's eyes, jocular and easy, and Sam isn't sure if he likes it. "Hey Dean-o, can you get me my favorite man? There's a good boy."

Dean gave him a hard look. "I thought you came for chowder."

"Chowder, liquor, can't a man have both?" He gives Dean incredibly realistic puppy-dog eyes, and Dean rolls his own in response.

"Sure a man can. You're not a man though are you?" Dean goes off anyway, digging through the specialty cabinet.

"That'll take him a minute or two, and then he'll get distracted. Listen, No Name, you need to get your shit straight. That happened just then because you think too loud. Always thinking 'Sammy', and 'my brother'. You want to get through this thing and win your prize? You gotta start thinking 'Jimmy' and 'goal'. Otherwise you're gonna attract trouble that won't get derailed."

Dean dropped the bottle and cursed thickly. "I'll be right back guys, gotta get a replacement from the stockroom." He stormed past them and through the door, and Sam shot an incredulous look at the god beside him.

"My specialty. Anyway, you gotta get it together boy. Otherwise you'll never get what you want. Understand me?" The god squinted one eye and a tongue that was slightly too long wet his thin lips. "Of course you don't. That's your specialty No Name. Not understanding a single thing that's right in front of you. You don't get Utre and Dean, you don't know your purpose, and you definitely don't understand why you're really here."

Dean reappeared from the stockroom and poured the god a stiff drink. "Anything else Old Man?"

He narrowed both eyes at Dean and frowned. "I'm sorry they ever taught you that. No damn respect from you pups anymore. I swear." It had the sound of an old argument, and when Sam heard someone call for a beer he grabbed it from Dean and took the opportunity to miss the fight. Walked away from the dawning realization that he was more relieved that Dean saw Utre as a mother than upset over the incident with Vechernyaya.

----

Sam dreamt about the Native-American god that night. He was leaning back against a tree beside a lake, except he wasn't himself the longer Sam stared at him. He was a man, lanky and overly thin, but he was a pile of dog bones on a mantle of fur, a long sleek coyote panting heavily with an impossible grin, and a mass of darkness and stars that slunk to Sam's side and spoke in a voice that shook the lake.

"I'm gonna help you No Name. I like you, and I think you need it."

Sam wasn't sure if talking here counted against his tasks, so he kept his mouth shut and warily tried to put distance in between himself and Coyote. It didn't work too well.

"Boy, you want to be with your brother at the end of this time or not? I'm telling you this is the only way." Three pairs of eyes and one pair of empty sockets winked at him, and Sam fought dizziness at the sight. When he got control of himself Coyote was on top of him, and Sam had just enough time to struggle, to almost break his silence, and then teeth sank into his shoulder and he began to scream.

He woke to Dean's hands grabbing him, the sound of Dean's panic bright and sharp. "Oh shit. Jimmy you're bleeding bad man hold still. Hold still."

Jimmy managed to get himself under control, to stare at Dean wide-eyed face as he realized what he'd just called himself, and then darkness came back and he was blessedly dream free.

---

The bite wound takes weeks to heal, and until it does Dean and Utre take pity on him. He's given light tasks, spends most of his time in the kitchen flipping grilled cheese sandwiches and stirring soups. He has a special twist he puts on Utre's Pelmeni that makes the customers rave, and she smiles proudly at him while Dean jokes about what a good wife he'll make. He can't remember the details of before the bite, how hard this all was, but he knows distantly that there was some cognitive dissonance then that he no longer has. Time passes so quickly now. He is just Jimmy, working for the prize at the end of the road. Working for Dean even if he can't remember why. It's worth it though, because Dean smiles at him more now, the little gods seem relaxed around him all the time, and he enjoys his work.

They close the bar for Dean's birthday, and the three of them drink to excess and laugh together. Jimmy is more relaxed than he's ever been. When Utre says she is going to bed as the sun is setting Dean waves her on graciously and then turns to Jimmy and smiles broadly.

"Looks like it's just us now. Wanna play some pool?"

Jimmy thought of a man he could barely recall, how his gruff voice led instruction as Jimmy fought to seem interested. He nodded once and followed Dean to the felt-topped tables in the corner.

"I should warn you Jimmy, I'm the best there is at this. You don't stand a chance here." His grin is bright, cocky, and his green eyes sparkle in the overhead lights. Jimmy accepts his pool cue and wonders how he could ever question why he'd want to win this man.

The first few shots suggest Dean is right, but as they settle into the rhythm of the game Jimmy remembers more of the gruff man's instruction. He doesn't win the first game, but it's damn close. Dean nods appreciatively, but there's a spark of competition there now. Jimmy wins the next game, and Dean's mouth moves to a different emotion than his eyes.

"Damn Jimmy. You're a hustler aren't you?" His grin is predatory now as he moves closer, and it occurs to Jimmy they've had enough alcohol to pickle them. He leans the cue against the table and nods while sending his own challenging smile back.

It feels off on his face, slightly forced and desperate, but when Dean leans in so close he can smell the shorter man's sweat and aftershave there's no question why he did it. No question at all. He waits for it, breath held in his lungs and arousal warming his skin, and Dean doesn't disappoint. Firm and dry lips brush the corner of his mouth, and then Dean's claiming him. He feels the way Dean open his mouth, lets strong and callused hands roam up under his shirt, and moans into Dean's kiss.

The taste of him, whiskey and red meat and sunshine is enough to throw Jimmy completely off-balance, but he gets his head back halfway in and takes control of the kiss himself. Holds Dean's head and tilts it just right so he can plunder back, taste more, and it feels like he's trying to lick his way into Dean's skull even as he listens to the appreciative noises being returned to him. It's enough, more than enough, but Dean takes it a step further. A hand brushes his belt, questioningly, and Jimmy nods and lets him go, lets Dean undo the buckle and slide his hand underneath the waistband of Jimmy's boxers. When those fingers touch his cock his erection gets unbelievably harder, and he's fairly certain there's no blood left in his head.

He's pushed backwards onto the table, and then Dean is on the ground and pulling him out of his pants before devouring him. Jimmy's pretty certain Dean's done this before, but can't ask and it doesn't matter. When his time is up Jimmy will be the only one Dean tastes, the only one Dean needs, and that's how it should be. He can't remember why, but he knows it is.

Jimmy doesn't last long, makes a noise low in the back of his throat that serves as Dean's only warning, and when it's over he slides down and returns the favor. Relishes in the feel of Dean massaging his skull, pulling roughly on his shaggy hair, and swallows the man down as deep as he can. He gags once, lets himself be led back, and then goes into it again as quickly as is humanly possible. Practice will make it perfect, but at the moment all Jimmy cares about is hearing Dean orgasm, seeing the older man pushed so far over the edge he'll be as silent as Jimmy is. As always, Dean far surpasses his expectations.

Afterwards they stagger upstairs together, fall into Dean's bed in a tangle of half-dressed limbs, and slide off into sleep.

That night Jimmy dreams of a village, devoid of life other than a small group of frightened people. There's a bell in the middle that holds some ominous portent he can't quite remember, but it's the terror on the other people's faces that holds the most sway over him. They're wandering, looking for escape, and Jimmy is right there with them although he doesn't seem to be afraid. When they freeze in place he turns to face a man with bright yellow eyes and a smile that looks bloody and animalistic.

"Hey there boy. You let them take your name. I wish you hadn't done that, but I guess we'll get past it. You remember what I told you?"

Jimmy looks past him at the dark sky, at the stars falling one by one and crashing into the earth. He thinks of Dean, and when he does the yellow-eyed man grabs his arm roughly. "I won't be denied boy. I won't. Let them call you whatever you want, but you'll end up here before it's all done. Dead in the mud just like always, and Dean will follow you down just like he's supposed to. Let that meddling bitch and her antiquated dog do what they want. You'll be mine one day."

There's a dramatic shift in temperature, a warming, and the yellow-eyed man looks over his shoulder at what appears to be dawn. He frowns and then turns back to Jimmy. "When you get your name back boy I'll be coming for you. Play until then, but the work starts soon."

The light crests the hill, the town melts underneath the warmth, and the yellow-eyed man melts with it. Then Jimmy is staring into Utre's golden gaze. She looks concerned, and slightly put-off, but she smiles when she realizes Jimmy is awake. She places one finger to her lips and then gestures for Jimmy to follow. He untangles from Dean and lets himself be led into the main room of the apartment.

"I think it is time for you to start helping in other ways. Dean is a fan of traveling, and assisting people. You have experience with this, so I am going to loan you to him for that purpose. It will give you more time to bond. More privacy as well I think."

Jimmy blushes, but she shakes her head and grins softly. "Nothing to be ashamed about. It is natural progression, growth of love and experience. I am very pleased. Now come downstairs and help me serve until he wakes."

He does as he's told, taking one last lingering look into the bedroom to see the way Dean's eyelashes rest on his cheeks, how his chest rises and falls with his deep breathing.

------

Their first hunt together stirs some distant memory Jimmy can't unlock. It's connected to the same voice that taught him pool, and while he can hear it clearly he can't remember the significance of it. Not that it ultimately matters. He helps Dean take out the two fae, slips a cold iron dagger into one's chest on his own, and then falls back into the motel room feeling alive and aware.

His blood is up enough that when Dean crashes into him he pushes back until they're mostly naked and in the little bathroom. Jimmy adjusts the water temperature with one hand while he tries to peel off both of his socks, and failing to remove the left one entirely shrugs his shoulders and lets himself be pulled into the shower. Dean's hands are everywhere, and Jimmy can only moan under them as he's pressed into the cold tile and inundated with smells and sensations. Blood adds an iron scent to the whole thing, and Jimmy remembers a dream of a lake and falling stars before a thick digit presses against his entrance and green eyes dominate his view. Dean's asking for permission, barely restrained and looking more wild than the things they dispatched tonight. Jimmy nods, and then gives in to the feeling of being opened and possessed.

He can remember things through a haze it seems. He knows for example he's never done this before, and when Dean slides a second finger in and bites the back of his thigh Jimmy keens and presses his overly heated face against the tiles. There's something about this they're not supposed to be doing, some line that Jimmy once knew but can no longer remember. Something to do with the gruff man, and then his thought are abruptly cut off when a third finger goes in and Dean's whiskey-roughened tone reaches him.

"Where are you baby? Come back here. Be here." And Jimmy is, fully and entirely here in the hot steam of the shower and the burning and stretching sensation Dean is causing within him. When Dean stands, nudges at him to spread his legs more, Jimmy pushes his hands against the tiles and realizes he has no way to grip on even as Dean's pushing in. He has to trust the older man to hold him up, to keep him from falling, and there's no hesitation there. No sense of wrongness or concern. He has a feeling he's always trusted Dean, and Dean doesn't let him down. Holds him up and steady as he thrusts in hard and sucks at Jimmy's shoulder, at his neck, at the wings of his shoulders.

He wants to ask for more, for Dean to grasp him or hurt him or something, but he can't. Can't speak or he'll lose everything. Dean reads his mind though, takes him in hand and keeps the other on his hip and then Jimmy is tumbling over the edge and bursting in Dean's hand while his lungs explode from the force of restraining his words. Dean holds him, thrusts to completion, and then they shower for real.

Afterwards they sprawl across the bed, Dean's foot pressed against the joint of Jimmy's knee and his hand on Dean's hard abs. Dean talks in a sleepy, half-distracted voice. "I don't know where you came from man, or why, but I'm glad."

Jimmy nods, he's glad too, and then he's turning his head to meet Dean's intense gaze. "I wish you could talk damn it. I'd like to know what your real name is or where the fuck you came from. What you want so badly you'd give your life up like this for it."

His name is Jimmy, which isn't right, but it's the one Dean gave him and that's ok. He is who he is and he's here for Dean. And Dean's worth it. Worth it and more, and Jimmy's life isn't gone it's just put on hold. He'd say all those things but he can't, so instead he grips Dean's chin and kisses him to shut him up. To make them both mute.

In a month he'll have been there a year. Two more and Dean will be his. Two more and he'll be able to tell Dean everything. Until then, Jimmy prays they can just be happy with this.

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