Title: sunshine turns the sky to gold
Fandom: "Supernatural"
Disclaimer: If you recognize them, they're not mine. Written because lunardreamed is an enabler. Title from "The LA Song" performed by Christian Kane.
Warnings: Major AU. Character death. Rape. Pedophilia. Serious abuse. Cannibalism. Roundabout spoilers for season two, though nothing blatant.
Pairings: OMC/OFC; OMC/Dean; Gordon/Dean; Dean/OFCs
Rating: R
Wordcount: 11520
Point of view: third
Notes: so, lunardreamed made a post of plotwolves in need of good homes. The result of me reading said list is the darkly depressing story that follows.
More notes: I've made Gordon eight years older than Dean.
Also more notes: I've AUed werewolves. They're people who fully change into wolves, though about twice as big as normal ones.
Still more notes: when I refer to a moon within the story, I mean all three nights spent as a wolf.
Spouse of notes the first: werewolves, in this lil'verse of mine, are immortal. They age from the moment they're bitten, stopping at about middle age. Two werewolves mating results in a born 'wolf, which have high status in the pack.
Dedication: lunardreamed who told me to go for it; H.T.Marie who read over it and told me it was good enough to post; violetlily18 for reading an early version, even though it's not her cup of hot chocolate; and fairiekween13 for listening to my rambles over the last month.
Spring 2007
Storm rollin' in. Gordon Walker strides outside, bare as the day he was born, and watches the sky. Dark on the edges, a loomin' gray—gonna be a bad one.
" Rome!" he calls, pitchin' his voice to echo across his property, so the summons can reach wherever his pet has got to.
Cool breeze feels good on his back, chasin' away the early heat. He can taste rain on the air.
" Rome!" he hollers again, wantin' his pet inside 'fore the storm breaks. Won't be any good if he's hurt by fallin' branches or struck by lightnin'—ah, there he is. Lopin' across the ground in quick, smooth strides. Gorgeous creature, really. Best choice Gordon ever made, pickin' his pet.
Dark blond hair, tanned skin, hazel eyes the size of planets—willin' to do anythin' and everythin' Gordon wants.
Rome stops in front of Gordon and lowers his head, avoidin' Gordon's eyes. "Have a good run?" Gordon asks.
"Yes're," Rome answers softly.
Gordon reaches out to caress Rome's bare shoulder. "Anythin'?"
"No'sre. The wards're strong." Rome doesn't move at all, doesn't raise his head.
"Go to my room," Gordon commands. "I'll be up after breakfast."
Rome moves past him and Gordon adds, "After the storm, we'll head out. There's a psychic in Phoenix we need to deal with."
"Yes're," Rome replies and goes inside.
Gordon looks back at the sky, watches lightnin' streak in the distance, and he smiles.
Fall 1987
Dad'd said not to leave the car. To watch out for Sammy. Keep him calm and happy and safe. But Dad's been gone for three hours longer than he should've been and Dean's worried. Really, really close to crying like a baby, too, which'll wake Sammy up and break Dad's orders.
He'll only be gone a minute, and he's got Dad's extra key to the Impala.
Dean checks on Sammy one last time before slipping from the car and locking the door, vanishing into the woods. He follows what he can of Dad's trail, all the way until—darkness.
Summer 1999
The first vision makes him pass out, the second makes him collapse, and the third causes a migraine.
The doctors can't explain it—and Sam Velasquez doesn't mention the things he saw, the fire or the blood or the screaming woman—and write him prescriptions. Mom and Dad do the best they can, and slowly Sam begins controlling the visions, not the other way around. He writes down everything he sees, sometimes calling up Aunt Missouri in Lawrence if things get too bad.
She tells him about his birth parents, John and Mary Winchester, about the fire and the hunt gone wrong. She also tells him about his brother, who has never been found.
Sam doesn't tell Aunt Missouri, but he often dreams of his brother. And he searches for any trail.
By June of '99, after his sophomore year, Sam decides he can't wait anymore and goes on the road, following his dreams and his instincts, determined not to stop until he saves his brother from the man he sees in his visions.
He kisses Mom and hugs Dad, and is gone. He loves them, but he doesn't look back.
Aunt Missouri tells him, "Sam, sweetheart, this road won't end well."
"I know," he responds. "But I have to find him."
"Okay, baby." She sighs. "Be careful. There're forces out there aligned against you. They don't want you and Dean reunitin'."
Sam knows who she means—the dark man with his brother and the yellow-eyed shadow that often laughs in his dreamscape.
Spring 2007
Rome lays spread out over the silk sheets, tan and beautiful. As always, Gordon's breath catches. He can't believe his luck, even now, that he's the one who took this boy.
The scar on Rome's arm, a nasty bite, is almost unnoticeable now. The parallel claw marks across his chest have paled nearly out of sight.
Rome watches Gordon step closer, eyes hooded. Gordon honestly doesn't know if Rome enjoys this—and doesn't care. He belongs to Gordon, bought and paid for by blood.
Gordon kneels on the bed, over his pet, and holds out a hand. Rome leans up, moves into the touch. "Good boy," Gordon purrs, and pushes Rome back against the pillows.
Fall 1987
Dean wakes to pain and the cloying stench of blood. Large shapes move around him, growling and grunting, and Dean flinches.
His arm hurts. Burns, actually, and he whimpers. One of the shapes—gigantic and furry—leans in close, shoving something cold behind his ear. A low growl echoes in the space around him.
Dean tries moving back, but the fire shoots from his arm outward, stealing his breath. All of Dad's training flies right out of his mind; he's never been so scared.
Another beast settles beside him. He tries shifting away, but the creature follows. For the life of him, Dean can't remember what Dad's been hunting.
Sammy. Where's Sammy? Is he safe? Scared? Alone? Sammy hates being alone. Dean has to escape, has to get to Sammy.
Instead, he sinks back under, the pain becoming too much.
Fall 1999
Sam picks up his birth father's trail in Montana. Aunt Missouri pointed the way, told him where John's last hunt had been.
"Your father was found, baby," Aunt Missouri said softly, handing him a mug of hot chocolate. "In pieces, spread out on the forest floor. You were passed out in the car. No trace of your brother. The official explanation was your father came across a wolf pack with pups."
"What really happened?" Sam asked, a flash of blood and dark gray fur in his mind. He could hear snarling and someone's scream.
"He was huntin' werewolves, Sam. The largest pack in North America. He killed one, I think, the alphas' pup." She patted his hand. "So they punished him with death and took your brother."
Sam nodded. That fit with his visions.
"Whoever you find at the end of your journey, it won't be your brother. That boy died years ago." Missouri caught his eyes. "You hear me, Sam? Dean is dead. The man you're lookin' for is just a shell, if that."
"Aunt Missouri," Sam responded, "I'll find him. And I'll heal him."
He will accept nothing less.
Spring 2007
Storm breaks midmornin' and Gordon watches through the window, Rome kneelin' before him, puttin' that pretty mouth'a his to use. Boy's talented, no doubt'a that.
Gordon tangles his fingers in Rome's thick hair, pullin' at the strands. Rome pauses, meets his eyes. "Up," Gordon commands, and Rome rises, waits. Gordon spins him around, pushes him into the wall.
Rome doesn't make a sound. Gordon takes his pleasure with no concern of whether or not Rome enjoys it: his pet is nothin', no one. He bites Rome's shoulder as he comes, breakin' the skin. "Mine," he mutters, voice low and growlin'. "Say it, slut."
"I'm yours, Master," Rome whispers, voice as empty as his beautiful eyes.
"Damn right you are," Gordon laughs, slappin' his pet's ass. He pulls out and rolls his back, crackin' his neck. "Check the ammo; I'm goin' get a sandwich."
"Yes're," Rome says.
Fall 1987
He wakes to people on either side of him. The woman is watching him, eyes sad, and the man still sleeps.
"I'm sorry, sweetie," the woman says softly. "But you're Pack now."
He stares at her, uncomprehending. The man at his back rolls closer, his body warm and strong.
The woman continues, "I'm Katharine. He's my mate, Stephen. The hunter, your father—he killed our son, Nicholas. So we killed him and took you."
His arm hurts. His chest hurts. He strains, trying to recall anything, but it's all a big blank. He looks around, pulling away from Stephen, sitting up.
"What's my name?" he asks, voice wavering and hoarse. He can't remember.
Katharine's smile is sadder than her eyes. "We don't know. What do you like?"
He looks at the ground, smells dried blood. "I like Sam."
Katharine reaches out, tucks him against her. "Sam it is, then, sweetie. You'll replace our Nicholas."
It feels wrong, but he just can't remember what was right.
Winter 2000
Sam speaks to hunters—contacts of Aunt Missouri—about werewolf packs. The largest, the one that killed John Winchester, was called the Nox Pack—dangerous and deadly, like a wolf pack on steroids.
One of them, an older guy named Bobby Singer, says that werewolves are just humans who turn into gigantic wolves three nights of the month—night before, night of, and night after a full moon. Not bloodthirsty monsters, just a family trying to survive.
Not many hunters share his views.
Rumor has it that John killed a pup—on purpose or not, no one knows—earning the Nox's enmity. So after he tracked them to their woods, they attacked en masse and tore him apart.
No one knows about Dean.
Sam was found by a pair of hikers, Daniel and Rosemary Velasquez, and they took him in after the discovery of his father's fate.
Sam spends a month in Montana, from the end of November to Christmas, and learns that the Nox Pack was massacred in early 1990, from the alphas and their pups on down. No member was spared, not even newborns.
A young man named Gordon Walker led a group—considered wildcards, most other hunters had nothing to do with them—that vigorously believed in the supremacy of humans and the extermination of all else.
Most of the group died in the woods, but Walker and a handful of others escaped. By all reckoning, Walker is the man from Sam's visions.
And Sam hates him.
Spring 2007
The storm blows through by late afternoon and they're on the road less than an hour later.
Rome has a leather bracelet on his left wrist, and Gordon smiles every time he sees it. Less noticeable than a collar and far less cause for civilians to worry, it still symbolizes his control over Rome.
Rome silently sits shotgun, only speakin' if Gordon asks him a direct question. He doesn't move or make a single sound.
To think, this obedient pet is that same feral boy he found in those woods—Gordon chuckles deeply and reaches out to grip Rome's shoulder, pullin' his pet to him.
"When's the next moon?" he asks, even though he knows, pushin' Rome's head down.
"Day after next," Rome answers, undoin' Gordon's jeans. He's a good boy, Rome is, the best pet a man could hope for.
"We'll stop for food at sundown," Gordon says. "Wanna get to Phoenix for the moon, that way I can put you to good use."
Rome doesn't respond, not that Gordon wanted a reply.
Winter 2000
With knowledge of the pack's death, Sam travels south, heading for Walker's last known location. He's a hard man to track, one of the best hunters in the northern hemisphere, a man with few friends and numerous enemies.
Sam discovers that he can move things with his mind in February, and that he can manipulate people in March. He practices with those abilities, too. He can't force visions, unfortunately; they still come when they will. But they get steadily clearer, longer, and he can remember everything about them.
In mid-March, he finds Gordon's house abandoned. But inside, there's long-dried blood and a bit of black cloth. He touches the rancid puddle and the fabric, getting a vision—hate-filled hazel eyes and Walker with a whip.
When Sam finds his brother and his brother's captor, Walker will die. Painfully. Slowly.
Sam will kill him with a smile.
Winter 1988
He knows nothing but Pack. Katharine treats him with kindness, though Stephen is gruff. The pack accepts him.
He is the alphas' pup, Samuel. The name never feels correct, though no other ever comes to him. He answers to it readily enough.
Monica, an older 'wolf, is his teacher. He has much to learn: the history and lore of all 'wolves, the particular legends and history of Nox, the ceremonies and procedures of his pack. He is being groomed as the heir, the future alpha of the pack once Stephen steps down. There is much he must know.
Other pups shy away from him, either put off by his status or that he wasn't born a 'wolf. He doesn't know which, nor does he much care.
Monica tells Katharine and Stephen his training is coming along well, to be proud of him. The elders respect her word and treat him accordingly.
His first moon is also his first hunt; he helps Stephen bring down a buck. No one can deny him after that.
Samuel learns to fight as a wolf, though he is already proficient as a human—part of the life before the pack that he cannot recall. By his fifth moon, only Stephen and three others in the pack can defeat him in combat. By his seventh, only Stephen does.
The pack controls from North Dakota to the Pacific, from Canada to Mexico—the largest territory of any 'wolves in the world. The only other major pack in North America rules part of Canada, the Azure. Their alpha, Darius, acknowledges Samuel easily.
In his ninth moon, one of the males, Adam, follows him down a path away from the pack. Samuel delights in running alone beneath the dark sky, howling. He never knows whose call he waits for, but he always waits.
The pack respects his need for solitude and leaves him be until sunrise. But the third night of his ninth moon, Adam follows him into the woods, runs beside him. Samuel is half-grown, though strong, and not on the lookout this night.
So when Adam lunges for him, knocking Samuel to the ground, all breath gone from his lungs, Samuel is shocked. Almost a year he's been safe, protected by the whole pack. Adam's jaws close around the back of his neck and Samuel knows better than to move.
He whimpers and Adam growls, settling his weight on Samuel's back. Samuel knows, though he isn't sure how, that sunrise won't save him.
Spring 2007
Gordon gets them a hotel room for the night. Rome waits till he's settled before crawlin' beneath the blankets and curlin' beside him. Gordon gently rubs his head, threadin' his fingers in Rome's hair.
He's in a good mood, and Rome was excellent for the whole day. So Gordon asks, "Have I told you how you got your name, Rome?"
"No'sre," Rome replies softly.
Gordon pulls his pet closer, kisses his neck. "I saw you in the forest, covered in hunters' blood. You were in wolf form, snarlin' and growlin', most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. George took aim at you and you lunged for him, tore out his throat, then bounded off through the trees. I followed." He nips at Rome's skin, tightenin' his grip on Rome's hip. "You covered miles that night and I barely kept your trail. As the sun rose, I found you. You'd collapsed by a tree, pantin' for air, and you watched me with feral, wary eyes." Gordon pauses. "Do you remember, Rome?"
"Yes, Master," he whispers, nuzzlin' close, barin' his throat.
"The sun hit you and your fur rippled, a half-grown wolf turnin' back into a boy. You kept pantin' and scurried back, hit the tree. You never made a sound." Gordon smirks, rememberin' that boy, with his long, dark blond hair and huge hazel eyes, his tanned, half-grown body, defined well for someone who couldn't be more'n thirteen.
Gordon wanted him. Still wants him. Can't get enough of him, of his mouth and his ass. Took him in those woods, a massacre miles away. Spent all day makin' that wild, dangerous boy his own. Fucked him with only sweat and blood for lube.
And the boy never made a sound.
"You were a wolf-boy and I remembered my history, of Romulus and Remus." Gordon pushes Rome over and his pet spreads himself on the bed, silent as always. "My sister wanted to go to Italy," Gordon murmurs, sinkin' all the way in. "And so I named you Rome."
Spring 2000
Sam goes home to Tulsa, stopping in Lawrence to see Aunt Missouri. He tells her everything he's found, everything he suspects.
"Gordon Walker is dangerous, sweetie," Aunt Missouri says, patting his shoulder. "You don't want him for an enemy."
"He has my brother," Sam responds. "So he can't be anything else."
Aunt Missouri shakes her head. "You still have a future, Sam. You can go back to school, can become something. You don't have to let this crusade consume you." Like it did your father goes unsaid, but he hears it loud and clear.
Sam looks at her. After a moment, Aunt Missouri drops her gaze. "I will find Dean," Sam vows. "And I will save him."
Aunt Missouri sighs, nods. "You will."
Winter 1990
Stephen meets hunters in town. They don't recognize him as an alpha. He hurries back to the pack and tells them to go to ground. The pack scatters, mothers hiding with their pups, sentries taking position.
And then the sun sets.
With the moon come the hunters, over two dozen, armed by guns and blessed silver bullets.
Stephen, roaring, lunges for the leader, only to be felled by a dozen shots. Some 'wolves flee but most fight and die. They take their killers with them.
Samuel flees into the woods and a dark hunter follows. He does his best to lose the human but cannot shake him. Finally he falls, collapses at the foot of a tree, unable to run any farther, and recognizes the place as where Adam had him.
The sun rises and Samuel warily watches the human as he changes back into a boy. The hunter stares at him and Samuel moves back, hitting the tree. The man steps forward, kneels in front of him; Samuel bares his teeth but keeps quiet. He has no fight left.
The pack is dead, and that's all he was.
The man grabs Samuel's shoulder, yanking him forward. Samuel remembers Adam sharply and almost resumes his struggle—but he's tired. So tired.
There is snow on the ground and the hunter drips sweat. Samuel has a cut on his back, where a bullet grazed him. Flurries fall, freezing and delicate. And Samuel doesn't fight as the hunter mates with him even though it hurts.
Spring 2007
Gordon wakes and watches his pet sleep. Gorgeous boy, all sleek muscles and silky skin. Obedient to a breath, quiet and deadly—the perfect soldier. The perfect hunter.
And the best part? Gordon thinks, trailin' his fingers along Rome's ribs. You got no mind of your own.
Rome opens his eyes, watches Gordon. "Get up," Gordon says. "We're showerin'."
Rome slips from the bed and pads to the bathroom, starts the shower. He gets under the spray and Gordon joins him, soaps him up. Rome preens beneath his attention, archin' into the touch.
"Say it," Gordon whispers, pushin' Rome into the wall, pressin' against him.
"I'm yours, Master," Rome breathes, nuzzlin' into Gordon's neck, lickin' a stripe from the base of his throat to behind his left ear.
"Good boy," Gordon mutters. "My pet."
Rome rubs against him, silent but pleadin'—so Gordon gives them what they both want.
Summer 2000
Every night in June, Sam dreams of his brother and the hunter who has him. He sees the pack's massacre, the death of elders and pups. He sees Gordon Walker following Dean into the forest. He sees Gordon taking Dean in every way possible.
And Sam loathes him more by the night, until the hatred almost consumes him. He leaves Tulsa again, picking up the trail. He follows the mad hunter across the country, practicing his gifts—telekinesis, telepathy, and the newest: pyrokinesis.
Sometimes he hears the yellow-eyed shadow speaking to him, telling him to harm those who get in his way, to kill hunters before they turn on him. Sam ignores the shadow, does his best to drown it out with exhaustion.
By August, he's back in Montana, back in the bloodstained woods, back where his father died and his brother was taken.
He spends a week beneath the moon, beneath the naked sky, seeking a hint of where to turn now.
His eighth night, he hears a low growl as he attempts sleep and shoots upright, meeting a large gray wolf's amber gaze.
He'd forgotten tonight was the pre-full moon.
Shit
Winter 1990
Samuel wakes in the back of a car, wrapped in a blanket. His whole body aches, burns.
The radio plays jazz. Samuel forces his way up, realizing his hands are bound wrist-to-wrist. The driver is humming, drumming his fingers on the wheel.
Samuel glances around, searching for a way out. He tries the door but the lock won't budge. He slams his hand against the glass, feeling trapped, gasps for air.
"Calm on down, boy," the driver calls, voice deep and smooth. But it just adds to Samuel's terror.
He wants the pack, Stephen's gruffness and Katharine's scent. He wants the wolf den and the human house, wants the forest.
Samuel remembers the massacre, the death and the blood, the roars and the screams. He remembers this man.
It's still snowing outside.
"You got a name, boy?" the hunter asks. "Mine's Gordon Walker, but you'll call me Sir or Master."
Samuel bares his teeth. Only Pack gets such respect, and this hunter is not Pack.
They're in the middle of nowhere, a lonely stretch of road. Samuel knows it as part of the Nox territory. Walker pulls off the interstate a little ways and gets out of the car, opens the back door. He has a knife—curved and gleaming, smells like wolf blood—in one hand and reaches for Samuel with the other.
Samuel scurries back, plasters himself to the opposite door. He's snarling and angry, more scared than he's ever been.
But Walker grips his wrists and pulls, yanking him out. Samuel fights but he's tired and aching, bound, nowhere near his top form. The blade bites into his throat and he freezes.
"You will call me Sir or Master, boy. You're mine now. No one'll come for you—your entire pack of monsters is dead. You're a werewolf; no one cares about you." Samuel trembles, heart pounding, and Walker chuckles. "Now you're gettin' it, boy. What's your name?"
Samuel doesn't answer, can't—chest heaving, he can't think of any words. Samuel is not his name, anyway; he still has no memory of his life before Nox.
"C'mon, boy," Walker says, pulling away the blade.
Samuel sees no way out. The pack is dead. No one will take him from this killer.
"No name?" Walker asks. "Fine—I'll call you Rome."
Spring 2007
Gordon sends Rome to fetch breakfast and calls up Nathaniel Roberts to triple-check the plans.
The psychic he's after is legendary, though young. Didn't appear 'til about five years ago, already powerful beyond belief. Nathaniel tells Gordon it's still on, that the group is ready.
" Winchester hasn't left his house for two days," Nathaniel says. "Up to you if you wanna go through with it."
"This monster needs to go down," Gordon decides, turnin' to watch Rome enter the room, a tray of food in his grip. "He's a threat to everythin'. We'll do it."
"Good luck, Gordon," Nathaniel says. "Call me when ya'll're done."
Rome sets the tray on the table and serves Gordon, hands him the plate. He waits until Gordon is eatin' to serve himself.
"You ready to hunt?" Gordon asks, sippin' his apple juice.
"Yes're," Rome answers, bitin' into his sausage biscuit.
"He's a psychic named Dean Winchester. Leader of the freaks in the US. He's a dangerous, crazy sum'bitch." Gordon scoffs. "Sick fuck. World won't be safe 'til he's dead."
Rome looks up. "May I ask what abilities he has?" Rome keeps his tone soft and respectful; Gordon grins. He did good when he broke this boy.
"All of 'em, from what we can tell. That's why we need to hunt him, you and me."
Rome nods. "Will we wait for moonrise?"
Gordon pushes back from the table, lets his knees fall open. "C'mere, boy," he commands.
Rome puts down his forkful of strawberries and smoothly rises to his feet, strides around the table. He kneels before Gordon and watches him with calm, beautiful, empty eyes.
Gordon touches his cheek, trails his knuckles along Rome's jaw. "What're you waitin' for?" he rasps.
Rome reaches out and Gordon says, "Good boy."
Summer 2000
The wolf doesn't move; neither does Sam. He barely breathes, doubting his eyes could get any wider.
The wolf inhales deeply and cocks its head; Sam doesn't know if it's male or female, since it's crouched down.
He doesn't sleep that night, never looks away from the wolf. It's the longest, most nerve-wracking night of his life.
But finally the moon sets. The wolf ripples and groans, becomes a naked woman with dark hair and sad eyes. "You're Samuel's brother," she says. "The son of Nicholas' killer."
Sam gapes at her "Dean?" he exclaims. "You mean Dean?"
She shrugs. "I am Katharine, the alpha of Nox Pack. My family is dead. Why are you here, boy?"
Sam slowly climbs to his feet, rifling through his bags for a shirt. He tosses it to her and she shrugs again, pulling it on. "I'm lookin' for my brother. Everyone tells me he's dead, but I know he's not."
Katharine's large green eyes stare at him. Sam can tell she's not all there—part of her, a huge part, died with her pack, ten years ago.
"Samuel was a good pup," Katharine says. "He would have been an excellent alpha, perhaps the best our pack ever had." She rises to her full height, nearly as tall as Sam's six feet. "I searched the bodies, identifying who I could. I never found Samuel. I followed his trail—I'll take you there."
She strides off to the north, Sam running to keep up with her.
Winter 1990
Walker—Sir, Master—drives. Samuel— Rome—sits in the backseat, hands still bound, buckled up. He watches out the window as they cross the territory, ever east. Samu— Rome. He is Rome now, Walk—Sir's property
He almost wants to fight. To make Sir bleed, to rip out Sir's throat. But there is no point, no point at all. It would only result in more pain, and that's something he's sorely tired of.
The pack is dead. He must survive, to carry on the memories, so the traditions remain.
Sir speaks. "Hungry?"
Rome waits a moment.
"Well?" Sir demands.
"Yes're," Rome says, quietly and carefully.
"Quick learner, huh?" Sir asks, chuckling. "Good. That'll make things easier."
Silence for a bit, then Sir inquires, "Any questions, Rome?"
Rome searches for how to phrase it. He keeps his tone respectful and soft as he asks, "What do you… Sir, what are you goin' do to me?"
Sir turns his head and smirks. "You're my property, boy."
Rome stares at him. He's tired and he's sore and the pack is dead and he's terrified—and anger settles in his belly. Rage and fury mix with hatred, swirl around in him. But not yet whispers in his blood. He drops his gaze from Sir.
"You need a keeper, a teacher," Sir continues. "Someone to show you the ropes. That'll be me."
Not yet whispers again, lighting a fire in Rome's soul. Wait 'til we meet up again—wait 'til you learn your name.
Rome listens as Sir keeps talking, listing what is and isn't allowed. Instant obedience, constant respect, no backtalk or hesitation when Sir gives an order. It's almost familiar and Rome nearly slips into the role—but something seems off.
Before the pack… was this his life? A slave? No… not quite. Before, there was love.
"You hear me?" Sir barks, turning in his seat to glare at Rome. "I asked you a question, boy."
Rome bolts upright and replies, "Yes, sir!"
Master smirks again. Rome already loathes the expression. "If you leave the car while I'm gettin' food, I'll shoot you without blinkin'. We clear?"
"Yes're," Rome says.
---
Katharine remembers when bison herds stretched across the plains, when the Earth-children respected Pack power. She recalls wind in her fur as she raced with Stephen beneath the summer storms, the pack at their heels. They were as numerous as the stars and their territory touched two oceans, spanned a continent.
She is old now, weak, leading the powerful boy to his brother's resting place. She'd known Samuel was more than a hunter's pup—strength sang in his blood, called to her.
Stephen told her they should kill him, but Tyrese—the oldest member of Nox, a wolf who crossed the Atlantic to settle Jamestown—cautioned them, said the Spirits were in the boy.
"He is wolf now," Tyrese told Stephen while the boy slept that first night. "We must keep him until his brother returns." Tyrese looked at the moon, their goddess. "And then…" He threw back his head and howled packsong.
But the hunters came and the pack died, and Katharine has waited. Finally, the brother is here.
His step is loud in her ears, his breath harsh at her back. Power sings in him, more even than Samuel, who'd more than Tyrese had ever known.
Katharine stops at the base of the tree and settles, back against the trunk. "I wish you luck," she says, already fading. "Find your brother. Remind him that he is wolf."
Katharine remembers nights with Stephen, remembers holding her newborn son, remembers packsong. She has done her duty; Samuel's brother has finally come.
She can go home now, return to Stephen and Nicholas. She is finished.
---
Spring 2007
Gordon dresses in his usual outfit: jeans and a T-shirt. No need to stand out. Hunters who attract attention don't last long. He arms up with three daggers—all blessed silver—and two guns with holy silver rounds.
Rome also puts on jeans and a T-shirt. Gordon wishes his pet could go naked, a beautiful sight, but that would definitely catch eyes and be easy to recall.
They scope out the house. "One psychic inside," Rome confirms. "Two humans."
"Get in there and kill the humans," Gordon commands. "Do not engage the psychic. Kill the people and come out."
Rome slinks up to the house and vanishes around the side.
Summer 2000
The woman settles against the tree; Sam can hear the forest moan.
"Ma'am?" he asks quietly. "Ma'am?"
She smiles up at him, eyes still sad but also at peace. "I wish you luck," she murmurs. "Find your brother. Remind him that he is wolf."
Sam reaches out with his mind; her eyes blink once and she's gone. He waits by the body for hours, just to be sure, but her spirit doesn't come back.
The sun sets and he summons fire, holds the flame on Katharine's corpse, burning her to ash.
The forest is empty, but he hears howling. Night of the full moon and there's rushing through the trees, wolves calling to each other.
His link to Dean is gone. For all his power, he can't find his brother. Can't even find that bastard hunter who took him.
Sam rises to his feet. Nowhere to go but back to Lawrence, and leave the ghost wolves to their forest.
Spring 1990
Rome shares Master's bed, bathes when Master bathes. Master trains him in fighting and tracking, honing the skills the pack taught him. Master only punishes him—with flame, leather whip, and mating—if he fails at something or talks back.
Rome quickly learns to only speak when spoken to, and to never offer his opinion.
His first moon with Master, Master confines him in the pitch-black basement. Rome beats himself bloody trying to get out. His second moon, Master chains him in the barn out back and holds fresh lamb meat just out of reach. He speaks commands, but Rome is too crazed to understand.
Master punishes him at moonset with three knife slices and seven lashes from the whip, and no food for the remainder of that month's moon.
The third moon, Master chains him in the same barn and holds a man at gunpoint. Rome sits on his haunches, silently watching.
Master prods the man forward and he hesitantly steps, never taking his gaze off Rome. Once the man is in reach, Master murmurs, "Attack."
Rome lunges, jaws closing in the man's throat. He rips and tears, bringing the man down.
Master calls, "Stop!"
Rome doesn't. Hungry and maddened by blood, he feeds, yanking out large chunks of the man's flesh, gulping it down. Master steps forward and Rome snarls.
Master yells something and brandishes his gun; Rome leaps up, teeth bared, and Master cracks him across the jaw. Rome falls on his side, dazed, and Master pulls the corpse to the edge of the barns, then leaves.
Rome paces the length of his chain, whimpering and whining. Those few precious bites of meat barely whetted his appetite; his stomach demands food and he can smell it—but can't touch.
Just after dawn, Master comes back. Rome lowers his head, kneels at Master's feet. His punishment will be severe—he tried attacking Master.
" Rome," Master says, using a dagger's blade to raise Rome's chin. "What happened last night?"
"I was hungry, Sir," Rome explains, avoiding Master's gaze.
"You think that excuses your actions?" Master's voice is soft, firm. His touch is gentle on Rome's face.
Rome hates him.
He answers, "No, Sir. I have no excuse."
The fingers on his chin tighten, digging into his skin. The blade bites his neck and Rome raises his eyes to meet Master's. "I beg forgiveness, Master," he whispers.
Master pulls away the blade. "Eat your supper," Master says, popping Rome across the mouth. "I'll be back later with your punishment."
Rome waits until Master is gone from sight then grabs the key from its hook, beyond his reach as a wolf, and unchains himself, crouches over the man he killed.
He feels no guilt as he eats, savoring the taste of bloodwarm flesh.
Later, Master mates with him again and puts him the basement for the next two nights of the moon. As Rome slips into sleep, his back still burns from the dozen lashes, and he knows Master will be down to mate at dawn.
Spring 2007
Rome is gone for near-on twenty minutes. He hurries across the open ground and halts before Gordon. He is calm and efficient, quietly says, "Sir, the humans are dealt with. One in the kitchen, preparing a meal; female. One in the first floor bathroom, showering; male. The psychic is on the second floor, sleeping."
"Good job, Rome," Gordon tells him. "We'll wait for moonrise."
Winter 2001
Sam stays with Aunt Missouri. He lets Mom and Dad know he's safe and well, helps Aunt Missouri with her work, takes a job at a small shop. He sets aside a tidy bundle of cash and plans how to find his brother.
Aunt Missouri lets him do what he wants. Doesn't mention when he overworks himself while mastering his powers, which have grown in leaps and bounds. He can read minds, not just manipulate them. All four elements are under his control, not just fire.
But he still can't find his brother. Still can't see Walker. So he focuses on one of Walker's few friends, a man named Bill Harvelle.
By December, Sam has a location: a tiny little speck of land in the middle of Nebraska
---
His power grows by the day and it frightens her. She shields her feelings from him as best she can, but it's a useless enterprise—he's simply too strong.
She's done as good a job as any could with this boy, young Samuel Winchester—though, he goes by Sam Velasquez now. Hasn't been Winchester in a long time.
He had no one to ground him as a child, to block off the full potential he's swimming in.
And this crusade he's on, to find his brother…
She's done her best, all she could. It's out of her hands, now.
Sam's on the road to ruin because Dean isn't Dean anymore. Her dreams have been hard lately, full of blood and fire, and the feral creature that sweet, adorable boy with giant hazel eyes has become. If Sam and his brother reunite…
Missouri hasn't prayed since her mama died, but now she lowers her head and closes her eyes and whispers to God for those boys' lost, damned souls.
---
Summer 1990
Soon Rome learns to follow Master's commands while in wolf form. He listens for Master's voice, to the tone and inflection, knows what Master means by tilting his head or cocking an eyebrow.
By his seventh moon with Master, Rome has mostly forgotten his years with the pack, has forgotten the stories and the lore, the traditions and the procedures.
Faintly, though, he can recall the packsong, when they all howled in chorus.
The second night of his seventh moon with Master, Master drives them to a nearby town. Rome is stretched out on the backseat, half-grown. Master has told him he'll be fairly big for a 'wolf, gorgeous. Rome preened beneath the praise.
"I've marked two humans for you to bring down," Master says as Rome leaps from the car. "Find them, take them, and return them to the barn by an hour till moonset."
Rome trots off, searching the wind for any hint of Master's mark. If he can get them early, within the hour, Master will reward him, he's sure of it.
He ghosts through town, ferreting out anything that doesn't fit, and finally—there. A man who smells like sage and blood, a scent Master calls psychic.
Rome tracks the scent to a house with a dogdoor at the back. He slips in and noses around, finds the stairs.
A large Rottweiler male challenges him as he sets foot on the first step. Rome is in his territory, a threat to his pack. Rome doesn't have time for this, so he spins around and lunges, rips out the dog's throat.
He slinks up the stairs, follows Sir's mark to the master bedroom. There are five humans in the house besides the psychic: four children and one woman. Unless the children leave their beds, they'll be unharmed. The woman, though, lies next to the psychic.
Rome bites her neck and she dies gasping for air. The psychic wakes, screaming, and Rome turns to him, tears out his throat.
Master left no way for Rome to get the psychics to the barn. Before he can tackle that problem, though, he needs to get out of the house with his prize.
He has eight hours till moonset. He bites into the psychic's leg and heads off for the barn, over half an hour by Sir's car.
After leaving the psychic in the barn, a bit worse for the wear, Rome lopes back to the town. He now has slightly more than six hours.
This time, he catches the scent immediately, follows it to a house on the other side of town from the first.
The mark is in the fenced backyard, slumbering in a flimsy tent. Children rest inside the thin material, three little girls. Rome doesn't hesitate and kills them all, then carries away the scented one.
He makes it back to the barn four hours before moonset and stretches out next to his prizes, waiting for Master's arrival.
Spring 2007
Rome leads the way to the pool house. He waits for Gordon to make the first move once they're inside. Gordon holds out a hand and Rome steps forward, nestles into him.
Gordon doesn't know who Rome was before he claimed the feral boy. By all the research he's done, he knows Rome isn't a born 'wolf. Sometimes he wonders if Rome has a family out there, parents or siblings lookin' for him.
But Rome is his, now, his pet. His prize.
Rome bares his neck and Gordon bites down, hardly breakin' the skin. "Say it," Gordon whispers, hand slinkin' into Rome's jeans.
"I'm yours, Master," Rome murmurs, archin' into the touch.
Winter 2002
Once he reaches Harvelle's Roadhouse, Sam goes by Dean Winchester. Their father, John, is scarcely remembered now—it's been nearly fifteen years since he died, and he died before leaving much of a mark on the hunting world. The name Winchester means nothing.
Sam will change that.
Bill Harvelle doesn't know much, hasn't spoken to Walker in weeks. Sam rifles through his memory, scouring for a location; Harvelle fights him, but the hunter is no match.
What Sam finds angers him: Walker has been hunting psychics, killing them as children. Harvelle doesn't condone it, but he hasn't fought Walker over it, either. Hundreds of children murdered, each reputed to have gifts.
Sam burns the Roadhouse to the ground and smiles as Harvelle screams at him. Hunters mill around, hands on their guns; Harvelle's wife and daughter stand beside him.
"Send Walker a message," Sam announces. "And all his followers. Dean Winchester wants to speak with him."
Harvelle straightens. "He'll consider this an act of war."
Sam smirks. "That's what it is."
Winter 1991
By November of '91, Rome is completely obedient. Master rarely has to punish him anymore and mating is now a reward. Rome desires only to please Master, to keep him happy and safe.
Packsong is erased from his mind and the voice that told him to wait no longer whispers to him. He's forgotten that he ever hated Master.
Rome lives to do as Master commands, whether it is hunting, killing, or mating. His entire world is Master's voice and Master's body.
Master takes him on hunts across the country, setting him on psychics. Rome always brings his mark down, and sometimes Master rewards him with mating right there where the psychic fell.
Spring 2007
The sun sets. Rome's skin ripples and he doubles over, changes into a full-grown wolf, dark gray and gorgeous. He's gigantic, easily twice the size of a Rottweiler, like most werewolves are.
"Hunt," Gordon commands, with a harsh pat to Rome's flank. "Bring the psychic down."
With Rome at his back, Gordon walks to Winchester's front door and kicks it in.
Winter 2002
Sam travels the country, torching each place where Walker spent any length of time. He tracks down psychics' families and warns them, sending them to Aunt Missouri for aid.
Walker manages to keep one step ahead of him. Sam gets angrier with every vision, with every piece of information.
Hunters come after him, of course. By December he's killed half a dozen, scared a score of others. The name Dean Winchester is spoken in the hunting world with fear and hatred.
Part of Sam loves it, the respect, the reputation. But another part of him thinks maybe it's wrong, this life he's living. Killing surely can't be right.
But Dean, the brother he can only recall in flickering dreams—he needs to be saved. And no matter what it causes Sam to become—he will take Dean from Walker. He will save his brother.
Even if it costs the world.
Summer 1995
Sir tells Rome to take a break. They've been combing the forest for a psychic on the run and the sun'll set soon.
"Let's go for a swim," Sir says, heading for the lake they know. Once he breaks out of the trees, he strips off his shirt, dropping it on the bank. He flicks Rome a glance and raises a brow, kicking off his boots and slipping from his pants.
Rome follows, removing clothing as he goes. Sir splashes into the lake, swimming to the middle and treading water; this lake gets deep swiftly, catching most people off-guard.
Sir smirks as he eyes Rome's body. "You're such a beautiful boy," he says. "You gotta be 'bout seventeen, eighteen now."
Rome slips through the shallows and leaves barely a ripple as he passes. He meets Sir in the middle and waits.
Sir reaches out, pulls Rome close. "How long 'til moonrise?" Sir asks.
"'bout an hour," Rome replies, and Sir smiles, slow and dark.
Sir pushes him away and spins him around, then pulls him close, skin to skin. "Plenty'a time," Sir whispers, hands roaming.
Rome arches his spine, stretching, moving back. He's done good today, followed Sir's orders instantaneously and completely, so he asks, "Please, Sir."
"Say it," Sir whispers.
"Master, I'm yours," he groans, and Sir slides in with a moan.
They stay in the lake till moonrise. Once in wolf form, Rome catches the scent in a heartbeat and Sir tells him to hunt.
Rome rushes through the underbrush, bloodlust searing in his veins—bring down this psychic and maybe, just maybe—Master will let him mate. The thought spurs him and he speeds up, half a mile from his prey.
He catches the psychic a few steps from the edge of the woods, and he lunges, bringing the man down.
The man shrieks, begs for mercy; Rome has none. Sir has trained him well. He kills the psychic with a bite to the back of his neck and then feeds on the fleshy part of his belly.
Sir strides into the clearing and watches. "You're ready, Rome," he says, crouching down. Rome moves over to him, rubbing his flank along Sir's hip. "Such a good boy," Master murmurs.
Sir sets the body on fire and settles at the base of a tree. Rome stretches out next to him. "I think," Master muses, harshly rubbing Rome's ears, "that you're ready for a girl."
Spring 2007
Gordon nods for Rome to go first. Rome carefully pads through the house, leadin' Gordon to the stairs. Rome is silent as a cat, Gordon nearly as quiet.
He doubts Winchester is still asleep. If Nathaniel's charm fails, Gordon knows he's dead.
Rome pauses outside a solid oak door and looks over his shoulder. Gordon readies his gun and touches the knob—the door swings open, and Gordon's finger tightens on the trigger.
Winter 2005
Sam convinces all the hunters but Gordon's extremist faction that the psychics aren't a threat. Sam's voted their chief, but he delegates actual policymaking to Aunt Missouri.
Sam is their defense. His abilities keep swelling, and the yellow-eyed shadow returns to his dreamscape.
"Sammy," it says in one of the recurring nightmares. "You've always been my favorite."
He doesn't know who the shadow is or what it wants, but he knows it can't possibly be anywhere near the realm of good.
Sam doesn't tell anyone about the dreams.
Summer 1995
Sir takes him to a teenage hang-out and tells him to pick a girl. Rome looks—he hasn't been around this many people in a long time, if ever.
Sir chuckles. "Pick, Rome. Any of 'em. You've earned it."
Rome eats his hamburger and watches the females as they talk and laugh, finally settling on a tall brunette with dark green eyes. He points her out to Sir and Sir smiles.
"Lovely choice," he mutters. "Finish your supper."
The brunette is sitting at a full table: four males and two other females. They're all about Rome's age, he guesses. The other girls are blondes, two of the guys are brunet, one's a redhead, and the fourth has a blue Mohawk.
His girl's name is Natalia, and she leaves the bar with one of the blondes. Rome looks to Sir; Sir nods and tosses down some bills, then stands and follows them out. Rome is swiftly at his heels.
Natalia and the blonde(Elisa, he thinks) get in a black Toyota and pull out of the parking lot; Sir follows them in his car.
"Still want this one?" he asks.
"Yes're," Rome answers.
Sir smiles again. "Here's how it works: I'll pass up wherever they're goin'. Then you circle 'round back and break in, grab your girl, and meet me at the car. Don't leave any tracks or marks. Got that?"
Rome repeats, "Yes're."
And so he does. The blonde is showering and Natalia watching TV in the den as Rome silently slips into the house. He pads up behind the couch and swiftly covers her nose and mouth, waiting until just before her heart stops to release her. He scoops her into his arms and leaves the house, depositing her in the backseat of Sir's car.
"Good boy," Sir tells him as he drives away.
Spring 2007
The room is empty.
"Thought you said he was here!" Gordon hisses, warily circlin' around.
Rome shoots him a surprised glance, flickin' his ears. The wolf softly chuffs and stands at attention, eyes on the corner.
"Gordon Walker," a deep, smooth voice says. "Been waitin' for ya."
And he steps outta nothin', appears outta thin air. Fits all the descriptions—tall, broad, wild dark hair, forest green eyes. Nasty, vindictive smirk curlin' his lips.
"Dean Winchester," Gordon replies, raisin' the gun, aimin' it straight between Winchester's eyes.
"No," he says, shakin' his head. "I'm Sam." His smirk softens and his gaze drops to Rome, still standin' at Gordon's feet. "That's Dean."
Fall 2006
Every fall, usually September or October, Sam returns to Montana, to the woods where his father died and this all started. He spends a week alone, trying to keep himself sane.
Ghost wolves prowl the forest, their packsong filling the night air. His dreams are full of Dean, everything he's seen of his brother, and the scant, barely-there memories of life before he became a Velasquez.
His plans have come together well. The psychics are secure and strong, the hunters having backed away. Aunt Missouri is the president of the nation within a nation, a good ruler.
Sam still hasn't found Gordon Walker. The bastard just up and vanished, taking Dean with him. Sam's scoured the minds of three dozen hunters, searched North America twice, and still can't track down the sadistic bastard.
He sees everything Walker's ever done to Dean, knows what that son of a bitch has turned his brother into—and can't do a damned thing about it. Can't kill what you can't find, can't punish what you can't touch—and staring at the night sky, at the full moon, ghosts of wolves howling around him, Sam swears he will find Walker. Dean has to be saved, avenged.
He has an army at his beck and call, an army that loves him. If he sets them all to a single task, there isn't a thing in the world that can stop them.
---
She pulled back the veil for John Winchester, revealed what all lay out in the darkness. She realizes now, as Sam leads the psychics into the light, scaring off the hunters, lost in the impotent rage of his crusade for his brother—it was the wrong choice.
She should have lied to John, should have sent him back into normalcy.
Instead… instead.
She watches Sam as he leads, as he tracks and hunts and kills. In her dreams, she sees his brother, that gorgeous and feral creature, fully gone.
None of Dean Winchester is in that boy, not anymore. Not for a long, long while. But Sam will not accept that.
And his stubborn blindness—inherited from his father—will damn them all.
---
Summer 1995
Sir lets Rome use the guestroom. He tells Rome to take his time, make it good. Rome mates with Natalia four times before dawn, then twice more by noon.
At sunset, Sir tells him to get rid of her. Rome takes her out into the woods, mates with her again, and then snaps her neck.
Sir greets him with a nod when he gets back, tells him to sit down. Rome sinks to the floor and waits.
"You're a man now, son," Sir says, sipping whiskey from a glass. "Not a boy any longer. So, I'mma gonna give you more responsibility. Think you can handle it?"
"Yes're," Rome answers.
So Sir begins trusting Rome on missions out on his own. He sends Rome all over the country, not just after psychics but also hunters who might one day get in the way.
Rome is also allowed to mate every now and then; the females he chooses always have dark hair and green eyes, though he can't explain why.
---
Killing the pup is an accident, though that's no excuse.
Leaving Dean and Sammy in the car is foolish, but he thinks they'll be safe. There can't be more than three, maybe four 'wolves in the forest.
He shouldn't go on the night of the full moon, but the pack will hunt him for murdering the pup(and murder is what it is, can't deny that, accidental or not be damned).
He could run with the boys, leave this speck of land in the rearview, but the 'wolves will hunt him down, and that puts his sons in danger.
So he gives Dean direct, concrete orders—take care of Sammy, watch out for him, keep him entertained, I'll be back in less than an hour—and walks into the forest just as the sun sets.
And they're on him before he has time to raise his gun.
---
Winter 2006
"Got somethin', Sam!" Andy calls, galloping into the room. "Max caught a hunter breakin' into his house, and he knows some of Walker's plan!"
Sam raises his head, hope thrilling through him. "Where's Max and the hunter?"
Andy grins and Ansem enters, saying, "On the way, Boss." His smirk is a darker version of Andy's grin. He throws his arm around Andy's shoulder and adds, "A bit worse for the wear. Max hopes that won't be a problem."
Sam shakes his head. "Not a problem at all."
Lily strides in, arms bare, and her smile is radiant. "I touched Rachel!" She lunges for Sam, and he catches her. "Sam, I touched her and she didn't die!"
He spins her around, whooping. "Today's an awesome day!" he yells and Andy crows.
The phone rings and Ansem answers, the others busy celebrating. " Winchester's office."
Silence and then, "Sam!" Ansem whirls to meet his gaze. "Scott just bagged himself a hunter."
Sam cants his head. "Two hunters in the same day? Somethin's up."
Andy and Ansem share a glance. "Think it's a trap?" Andy asks.
With a shrug, Sam replies, "Doesn't matter. Could be, they're tryin' to get in here. Could be… somethin' else." He turns to Lily. "Get Ava. Tell her to take the younger kids and go to ground."
Lily nods and strides out. Sam rubs his hand along his forehead. "Ansem, call Scott back. Make sure the hunter is incapacitated, but not dead." Ansem picks up the phone.
"Andy." He looks up, meets Sam's eyes. "Find Missouri and tell her to make sure the wards're strong."
Andy leaves and Sam settles against the wall, thinking. Walker could be planning a trap, or maybe Sam's luck really is turning.
Either way, he's got two hunters now. And he's not going to let them go.
Spring 1998
Master trusts him completely now, and Rome revels in it. He is no longer just a soldier; he is a confidant, a friend, a… he can barely even think the word, but he is a lover, now
Rome is happy at Master's side, tracking and hunting and killing and mating. Master tells him more about the people they go after, evil and nasty people, who are a danger to everything Master treasures.
They move around weekly, only staying in one place long enough to get their target. Sir has a homebase, though, and he allows Rome to decorate a room for himself, even though Rome never sleeps in it.
In March of '98, Master is wounded on a hunt. His left arm is broken, his left knee sprained, and he's barely conscious by the time Rome finds him.
The voice he hasn't thought about in nearly ten years comes back. This is your chance. Kill him and run.
Rome stands indecisively for a moment before crouching down and gently scooping Master up, hurrying back to the car
No, the voice growls. Kill him!
But Rome ignores the voice. Master trusts him, needs him—loves him.
Does he? the voice hisses.
Rome carefully places Sir in the backseat. They're three dozen miles from the nearest hospital, and a day away from the house. Rome inspects Sir carefully and decides he doesn't need a doctor, just care and rest.
It's two days before Sir wakes up fully, but he's mostly unharmed. His leg and arm heal well, and he commends Rome.
The voice is gone again, thankfully. Rome locks deep inside all thought of it.
Winter 2006
Jake and Ansem wait with Sam in the basement. The building is secure, with most everyone else gone. Sam doesn't think the hunters will be much trouble, not with him there—he's still the most powerful, the only one with multiple gifts.
Once he has the hunters in front of him, he'll know everything about them. Whatever it is Walker's planning…
He jerks his head up, startling his lieutenants. "They're here," he says. "Jake."
Jake slinks back into the shadows on the edge of the room. On the off-chance the hunter has some sort of charm that escaped Scott's search, it won't affect Jake; he's the back-up plan.
Scott shoves the hunter in front of him down the stairs. "Hiya, boss-man," he chortles. "Got myself a prize here."
The hunter is young, no more than thirteen, and pissed, hair mussed and singed. Sam looks him over, sinking deep into his mind. "Sloppy," he drawls, stepping forward, nearly twice as tall as the kid. " Walker's gettin' desperate, lettin' a fetus like you out in the field."
The kid glares even as he backs up. "He didn't let me do anything," he denies, the truth in his mind making him a liar.
"I get that you're mad, kid, pissed at the world for killin' your brother." Sam pitches his voice low and soothing. "But a man like Walker isn't the answer."
Rage shoots through the kid. "Don't talk about my brother," he snarls, fire leaping in his eyes.
"We can help. Walker's wrong about me, about us." Sam holds out his hands placatingly. "C'mon, Michael. I know what killed your brother, and I know how to kill it."
Michael cocks his head, eyes flicking from Sam to Ansem, over his shoulder to Scott, and back to Sam. "Gordon said it was a demon-thing, couldn't be killed or stopped."
Sam shakes his head. "Gordon lied, Michael. He does that a lot." Sam slowly crouches down, keeping eye contact with the boy. "He has my brother. Has had him for almost twenty years. I've been tryin' to get him back, to save him—Gordon hurts him. It's all Gordon does."
Michael swallows audibly. He wants to believe Sam, Sam can tell. Even a kid as wrapped up in fury and guilt as Michael could tell that something was off in Walker. "It can be killed?"
"Yeah," Sam answers. "It can."
The kid sniffles, rubbing harshly at his eyes. "What do I have to do?"
Fall 2000
Rome kills three psychics along the East Coast, then a hunter in Alabama. He sweeps up to the Canadian border, then tears down the US, through Texas, and heads west, meeting up with Sir in Nevada.
Sir tells him that he's doing good, that it's time to step it up a notch. "No more goin' easy on the freaks," Master whispers, hands kneading into Rome's back. "We gotta kill 'em all."
Winter 2006
Aunt Missouri calls him a damned fool, but Sam knows Michael's up for it. "Don't worry," he assures the kid. "Anything happens, Ansem'll swoop in and save you."
Michael nods. "Your brother'll be fine."
Sam almost smiles. "You're a good kid, you know that?"
Michael ducks his head and Ansem lightly grips his shoulder. "C'mon, Mikey."
Michael follows Ansem out and Sam watches them go, wistfully. He wishes he could go out there, but his face is too well-known.
"Max just called," Ava says, coming up behind him. "His car broke down and the hunter tried escaping."
Sam snorts. "Idiot."
"Yeah. He's a bit worse for the wear now, but he'll be fine." Ava shakes her head. "I swear, Max needs to work on his anger issues."
Sam scoffs. "Won't happen, Ava."
She sighs. "I know. They'll be here in less than an hour."
Summer 2005
Master takes Rome to Mexico. They hunt a werewolf pack at dawn, morning after the post-full moon. The 'wolves are worn out and weary, easy prey.
One pup escapes the massacre, a little girl with terrified brown eyes. Rome looks at her for a long moment, then at Master, over on the other side of the field. "Run," he whispers, and she takes off without a glance back.
Winter 2006
Max's hunter is a man, full-grown and dangerous, full of bitterness and hate. And his name is Jacob Roberts, one of Walker's closest friends.
Sam uses no caution, just plunges straight in, ripping apart the bastard's mind. He uses Ava to ground him, uses her gentle strength to pull back from the abyss of losing himself in the sick fuck's head.
After he returns to himself, slumped onto Ava, he tells Andy, "This never happened to him."
Andy nods.
---
Never, in all his moons, has Tyrese sensed such power. And in such a small frame—the pup is no more than eight summers, so young.
He is a hunter's child, blood of the man that slaughtered Nicholas. Stephen wishes to kill him, like the pack did his father, but Tyrese knows that they are meant to protect this pup, to ensure he is ready when his brother returns.
"He is wolf now," Tyrese tells Stephen. And he howls packsong, until all of Nox joins in. Ours, he howls, and they follow.
---
Spring 2007
There's a storm on the air and Rome doesn't want to spend the morning cooped up in the house. He leaves Master sated in bed and heads out to run.
The wind feels good on his bare skin as the storm rolls in. He runs for hours, twice around Sir's property, until he hears Sir calling him.
They'll hunt soon. Master's been preparing for months, and Rome knows this is important to him. As he makes his way back to Sir, Rome promises that he'll do everything he can to kill this psychic for him.
Winter 2007
Sam makes plans upon plans. He secrets all the young ones away, putting some of the strongest in place to protect them.
Andy and Ava demand to know just what the hell he thinks he's doing, and Sam ignores them, saying only, "He's got my brother."
Ansem comes back with Michael at the end of January and Sam sends the boy to Missouri after pulling everything he'd learned.
"I'll be going to the house," Sam informs his lieutenants in the beginning of March. "And I'll be staying there alone."
"Sam," Lily tries, "you can't do that. What if—"
He cuts her off. "No. None of you can help. I've been waitin' for this my whole life, and I'm not goin' put any'a ya'll at risk." He meets each of their eyes, Andy and Ansem and Ava and Lily and Jake. "And that's it."
---
He saved her life, pulled her out of her shell, gave her back Rachel and hope. Sam Velasquez—Dean Winchester—is the best man she's ever known.
Lily wants to help him like he's helped her, wants to make the world better for him. But she hasn't the ability.
He came to her and saved her, kept her from killing herself that night after Rachel almost died. He held her, unafraid, and she touched in wonder—her hands caused him no harm.
"I'm special like that," is the only explanation he's ever given her, but she revels in skin-to-skin contact, while searching for a way to touch others.
He gives her a home, a purpose, convinces Rachel to wait. He never lies to her or hides the truth.
And now he's shoved her away, sent her off to stay safe while he confronts a shadow that's haunted him for nearly twenty years.
She doesn't want to go. But go she does.
---
Spring 2007
The night before the pre-full moon, Sam dreams of the yellow-eyed shadow. "Careful, Sammy," it drawls, flitting about him and laughing. "Don't know what forces you're playin' with, here."
"Go away," he mutters, resolutely closing his eyes and waiting to wake up.
It doesn't. It spends the entire dream regaling him with stories from the past. The final one, as he can feel consciousness looming, is about his mother.
"She was beautiful, Mary was," it chuckles. "Second most gorgeous creature I've ever seen. Volatile woman, though, so I couldn't leave her alive."
Sam opens his eyes and glares at the shadow. "Fuck off," he snarls.
The shadow laughs and swirls around him, caressing his face. "As you wish, son. Good luck with that hunter and your brother."
He wakes with a shudder and stares at the ceiling. Mrs. Billin bustles around the kitchen, having refused to take the day off, and her husband is out in the garden. Sam wishes they'd go.
Walker is on the way, Dean with him. Sam wonders if he's ready for this.
Spring 2007
"What?"
Winchester smirks, cantin' his head. "You heard me, Walker." His eyes return to Rome. "Dean," he says, slowly crouchin' down. "You remember me, Dean?"
Rome backs up, a low whine in his throat. His head droops, his tail slips between his legs, and he flattens his ears.
Gordon tightens his fingers on the trigger. "Attack, Rome!" he yells. "Kill 'im!"
But Rome doesn't move. First time in seventeen years he hasn't followed an order instantly.
"You do remember," Winchester croons, holdin' out a hand. "Why don't you come home now, Dean? Come back to me?"
Gordon pulls the trigger.
---
The night she dies, Mary kisses both her sons and John, whispers goodbye without knowing it. She can feel something on the air, though she isn't sure what it might be, and her sleep is restless, uneasy.
She dreams of her life before John, of life with Mama and Daddy, of Uncle Charlie with his golden eyes.
She wakes instantly; something is wrong. Mary pads to Sammy's nursery, goosebumps on her skin, and relaxes when she sees John standing by his crib.
Until she sees John asleep in the den.
---
Spring 2007
Rome doesn't know what to do.
The psychic—bloodsagehomePack—calls him Dean and sounds so kind, so familiar—remember me, Dean, please—and he doesn't know what to do.
Master gives him an order and Winchester crouches down, green eyes calm and loving and sure, so familiar.
BloodsagehomePack. Rome shivers and shudders and whines, looks up at Winchester, at the psychic Master's been hunting for years
BloodsagehomePack.
Rome knows what Master will do a heartbeat before he does it, and Rome lunges up, whimpering when the bullet tears into his back.
Pack.
Spring 2007
"Dean!" Sam yells as his brother flops on the floor, silent and still. His eyes shoot back to Walker, to the bastard that's tortured his brother for years, and he can't control his fury, his hate—doesn't want to.
Aunt Missouri has told him to never let his abilities get the better of him, but Walker— Walker—
Sam lets go.
Spring 2007
When Missouri gets to the house, Ansem, Lily, and Scott on her heels, she fears what she'll find.
The house is silent, empty; all she feels from the walls is rage. "Careful," she cautions the kids. "Somethin' dreadful happened here."
It reminds her of the Winchester house from all those years ago. And that frightens her even more.
"Sam?" she calls, stepping hesitantly down the hall. "Baby?"
Tears well in her eyes, and she knows her boy is gone, dead—lost forever. She turns away, leaves the house in a haze, just stares at the sky.
" Missouri!" Lily calls, then Scott echoes her.
She hurries back in and up the stairs, down the corridor to the master bedroom. Taking a deep breath, she steels herself and enters.
And there they are, the Winchester boys, both alive, curled up together on the floor. "Oh, god," Missouri murmurs in relief, sinking down onto the bed, cradling her head in her hands.
"Oh, god," Lily echoes, and Missouri follows her gaze to the corner, where there's a body in pieces. Blood is splattered on the walls, on the furniture, on Dean and Sam.
"We need to get them and go," Ansem says.
"Yeah," Missouri responds. But no one moves.
"What happens now?" Lily asks, collapsing next to her.
Missouri answers, "I don't know."