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Title: Heroes for Ghosts
Author: [info]gaelicspirit
Genre: GEN
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG-13 for language and themes
Spoilers: This story is set in Season 1 after 1.16, Shadow
Summary: In an attempt to save a disillusioned hunter from himself, Dean and Sam are caught in a spell that sends them to 1870 Texas. Surviving the old west is hard enough. Escaping it could prove to be impossible.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. More's the pity.



 

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There was a brief moment of clarity when he registered that he was shifting from oblivion into the tumultuous confines of a dream, but before he could hold onto that assurance—before he could convince himself that none of this was real—he was falling.

There was light above him—brilliant with the promise of warmth and safety. But he was tumbling backward, away from it. He flung his hands out, but came in contact with something smooth, slick, wet. Nothing to grasp, nothing to hold.

Blood.

He could smell it around him. On him. His fingers skidded through it as he flailed, trying desperately to cease the dizzying sensation of falling. He looked up; the light was still there, just as far away, just as close. And still he fell.

Sam!

He called out, forced the sound from his gut, the word tripping against his throat, but he heard nothing. His voice was stolen by the fall, by the smell of the blood, by the sense that any moment he would slam against the ground and it would be over.

DAD! Sam!

Nothing. He began to kick out, feeling madness dig greedy fingers into his heart, gripping and pulling at his skin. Chaos bubbled up inside him, gleefully stripping his bones of its protective skin. He fought, every cell in his body throwing up a shield against the invasion.

But still he fell, his fingers coated in blood, the smell wrapping around him, the light too far away to save him.

"Shhhhh…."

A cool, soft hand stroked his forehead.

"Sam…." He felt his mouth move around the word. He heard the whisper of his own voice.

"Shhhh, it's okay."

Dean's eyes popped open and he jerked to awareness, groaning in reaction to the instinctive movement. The fingers of the dream reluctantly released their grip. Silver light spun around him, filtering in from somewhere to his right. Its presence confused him. He was awake...right? If he was awake, why was the light still there? If the light was there, where was the blood?

He curled his fingers against the palms of his hands, feeling as if his hands belonged to someone else. His head felt as though it was caught in a vice, his skull working to crush the gray matter within.

"Take it easy. I'll get your brother."

He smelled her before he focused on her: sugar, whiskey, and tobacco.

"Stella," he managed, the sound like sandpaper on rocks.

"Hey there," Stella greeted him, her honeyed voice coating the sharp edges of awareness. "Some dream you were having."

"What…what…," he couldn't find the next word. His memory was like a skipping record, searching repeatedly for the one thing that he couldn't grasp.

Something isn't right.

He hurt. Everywhere. And his heart was slamming against his ribs so hard he was certain it was going to break free. For horrifying moment he was certain that he was going to be sick. He pulled in a shallow breath, willing the bile to retreat back to his stomach where it belonged.

"Zeke said you might be a little confused—chloroform does that to people sometimes," Stella said, sliding a hand beneath his neck and tipping his head forward until his lips met the edge of a glass. "Here, drink this. It's from Bird. She said to tell you it won't make you sleepy this time."

He drank greedily, memories flowing back through the fog as the water filled his aching insides.

Infection…wound…stitches…chloroform….

"Sam?"

"He's out there," Stella tipped her head toward the saloon. "Finally got him to leave you for a bit."

"How long?" He hadn't meant to sound quite so desperate; he was glad Sam had been convinced to leave the tiny room. But he wanted him back. Now.

"You slept through the day," Stella replied, misinterpreting his question. "You hungry?"

Dean closed his eyes, thinking. "Yeah."

"Feel like getting up?"

"Yeah," he whispered, not yet fully trusting his voice. "But, I—"

"It's okay, Dean," Stella soothed him with a pat on the leg and a softening of her large eyes. "I'll go get your brother," she repeated, seemingly picking up on his need for this reassurance.

"What's he doing out there?"

"Lightening the pockets of a few n'er-do-wells." Stella smiled her cat smile once again. He suddenly, irrationally, wanted to know what her lips tasted like. "Pretty decent card player, that kid."

Dean grinned weakly. "Taught him everything he knows."

"He said that," Stella said. "You wait here."

She was out of the room before he could tell her not to worry. He wasn't going anywhere fast.

He shot a cautious look over to his right. It was the moon. Moonlight was slipping through the wavy glass in the narrow window. The moon. It was only the moon, not a phantom specter looking to deprive him of safety.

Get a grip, Dean.

Taking a slow, deep breath, he ran his hands carefully down his body, skipping lightly over his left side. He felt the packing beneath the bandage, the skin tender even under the wrapping. Mentally bracing himself, he rolled slowly to his right side, the movement stealing his breath and sending shivers coursing through him. He made it to a seated position, his legs off the bed and his boots solid on the floor, when Sam came in.

"Hey!" Sam greeted, a sunny grin complete with dimples lighting up his face. "You're awake!"

"Hey yourself, Fast Eddie." Dean returned his grin. "I hear you've been collecting some antique cash."

Sam chuckled. "The cards…Dean, they don't have any numbers on them."

Dean arched an eyebrow. "And yet you still managed to win a hand or two."

Sam made a face at him, then his eyes skimmed Dean's bare chest, resting on the bandages.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," Dean replied truthfully, then caught sight of Sam's expression. "But, uh…kinda better."

"Really?" Sam looked so hopeful that Dean didn't have the heart to be completely honest with him.

Why not let him believe for awhile longer?

There was something wrong inside; Dean could feel it tremble through him. He had no idea what happened when cuts from an ancient demon went untreated by Holy Water, but he was starting to get a pretty decent idea that it wasn't anything good.

"Yeah, really," he replied, infusing the words with false bravado. "Hand me that shirt."

Sam did and Dean worked to keep his motions fluid, relaxed as he slid his arms through the sleeves and fastened the buttons. He didn't bother tucking it in quite yet.

"Gotta piss like a racehorse," he complained.

Sam's grin was wry. "You gotta go outside."

"I was afraid of that."

"Need some help?"

Dean glanced at his brother.

"Getting to the outhouse, I mean."

"Nah," he bluffed. "I'm good." He started to push to his feet. The room tipped crazily to the side and Sam was next to him in an instant.

"Whoa," Dean breathed.

"I gotcha," Sam promised softly.

"You drugged me, man," Dean accused as Sam steadied him. "That was low."

"You telling me you wanted to feel him clean out those cuts?"

Remembering the gut-twisting pain, Dean tipped his head in concession. "Okay, no. Hey—where's my gun?"

"Here." Without question or comment, Sam handed him the holster, the shiny Colt tucked safely inside.

Bracing his legs apart so that he didn't sway, Dean tucked the black shirt into his waistband to get it out of the way, then strapped the Colt and holster around his hips. He felt more balanced, solid, with the weapon close to his body.

"Okay, where to?"

"Out back, across from the Livery," Sam said, leading him out of Zeke's room, along the edge of the now-bustling saloon, and toward the back door.

Dean's legs felt hollow, his chest made of glass. Each breath stretched his skin uncomfortably, and his head ached. But taken as a whole, he felt better being upright and mobile than lying on that narrow bed in Zeke's room. He caught sight of the former doctor behind the bar pouring a shot for one man while talking to another, his eyes constantly moving until they landed on Stella.

The heat Dean caught in that glance had him looking away, eyes skimming across the rest of the humanity filling the saloon. He smelled their sweat, their dirt, the alcohol on their breath. Making his way behind his brother, he imagined he could even feel their worry, their weariness, their fear as if something in the room with them had everyone on edge.

As they paused briefly at the door for Sam to pull it open, Dean felt eyes on him and glanced to his left, seeing a man at a poker table, slouched low in the curved-back chair, dressed all in black—much like Dean. His lips were pushed out, flattened in thought, his eyes oddly bright under the shade of his short-brimmed hat. He nodded once at Dean, who tipped his chin up in recognition of the greeting.

"Sam." Dean plucked his brother's sleeve.

"Yeah?"

"Who's that guy?" He nodded to the left, watching as Sam's eyes tracked in the correct direction.

"The guy in black?"

"Yeah." Dean followed his brother outside into the bracing, surprisingly fresh air of the Texas night.

"Name's Larabee," Sam said. "Stella said he was passing through town. Only one that beat me, by the way."

"You play Texas Hold 'em?" Dean teased.

"Funny," Sam grinned, nodding forward. "Outhouse is there. Just, uh…hold your breath."

"Swell," Dean sighed, grateful that the dark hid his sudden shiver. "Don't suppose they have showers around here?"

"Found out they have a bath house down thataway," Sam jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Seems kinda weird…taking a bath with a bunch of other guys."

"Never known you to be shy, Sammy."

"Dude, you're my brother. It's totally different."

Dean chuckled softly. "Maybe we won't be here long enough."

"Tell you one thing," Sam sighed, kicking the toe of his boot into the dirt. "Already miss my toothbrush."

"Me too," Dean slid him a sidelong glance, then gathered himself.

Moving was an easier task when he made it automatic. Thinking about it triggered a fire-brand of pain through his chest and back, slicing across his shoulders and slipping up his neck into his hairline before he even took a step.

Don't think…don't think…just move.

He opened the door of the outhouse and stopped breathing, blanking his mind to the specifics of his task. When he was done he stepped out into the fresh air, catching sight of his little brother leaning against an empty hitching rail, moonlight striking his face and tucking his eyes into pockets of shadow.

In the silvery light, for one horrifying second, Sam looked almost like a ghost.

"You okay?"

"Fine," Dean called back. Something caught his eye on the other side of the Livery, wrapped in what appeared to be a sheet, lying in the back of a wagon. "What's that?"

"Leo," Sam answered, making his way forward until he was standing next to Dean. "Zeke and me wrapped him up, loaded the wagon with a block of salt. They don't, uh…well, rock salt comes in a slightly different form."

"'Course it does," Dean said softly. "You have wood?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Seems…I don't know…weird to just burn him out in the middle of nowhere. No tombstone…or graveyard…."

"He was a hunter, Sammy," Dean reminded him. "You remember what Dad said. There's no consecrated ground for the body of a hunter." He rested his eyes on the small, still body that had once been a man with a history and a family and a home. "One day, we'll all end up that way."

Sam shook his head. "I don't want to think about that."

"Why not? It's true," Dean said softly, watching his brother.

"I don't care!" Sam turned his ghost-face toward Dean once more, his eyes dark shadows in the moonlight. "I don't want to think about…burning the bodies of my family on some funeral pyre in the middle of nowhere. It's not gonna happen to us."

"Sammy—"

"It's not, okay?" Sam snapped.

Dean quieted, running his tongue across his lower lip, thinking.

"Zeke tell you where we could take him?" he asked eventually.

Sam nodded.

Dean sighed. "You want to do this now?"

Sam looked at the wagon. "I don't know how to hitch up the horses."

"I do," came a small voice from the shadow of the building.

The brothers turned. Bird stepped into the moonlight, shrinking back slightly as an especially loud shout echoed from inside the saloon. Dean grinned at the sight of her. Someone—Zeke or Stella, he guessed—had given her a clean change of clothes and her face was dirt-free, her short hair tucked behind her ears.

"Hey, Bird."

"You want horses?"

"Yeah," Dean nodded, moving toward her. "You can help us?"

She nodded and ducked back into the barn.

Feeling eyes on him, Dean glanced at his brother. "What?"

"You're not okay, are you?" Sam's voice was subdued.

Dean looked at him, weighing his options. He waited too long, however, because the light in Sam's eyes shifted, turning dark.

"I got this, Dean."

"Don't be stu—"

"I'll help him," Bird chimed in from the front of the wagon. The huff of horses and jingle of rigging echoed her declaration.

"What is this, a conspiracy?" Dean searched the shadows for the girl. "You don't even know what he's going to do."

"You think I don't recognize a body when I see one?"

Dean pressed his lips together, looking at the ground. "Bird…."

"Go back inside, Dean," Sam said, putting a hand on his arm. "I'll take care of Leo and come right back."

"I don't like this, Sam," Dean confessed. He didn't like not feeling strong enough to do his job. He didn't like Sam going off by himself. He didn't like the almost tangible countdown he could feel inside his own body.

"Yeah, I know," Sam sighed. "But…I came here with him."

Dean frowned. "So?"

Sam lifted a shoulder. "Kinda feels like poetic justice, I guess. Me burying him."

"What do you—"

"If you think about it," Sam rested his eyes on Leo's body, something crossing his face that cut into Dean's heart. "He's only here because of me."

"That's bullshit, Sam."

Sam shook his head slowly. "He came to us, asked for our help. If I'd have been stronger… faster…if I'd gotten him out of that building…I mean, Max isn't here. He got out of the Mission. Could be I…I could've saved Leo, too."

"Don't do this, Sammy," Dean implored him. "If you'd have done any of those things, you wouldn't be here with me."

Sam looked at him.

"And I'm sorry Leo's dead. I am." Dean looked at the back of the wagon. "Dad said he was a good man. But," he shifted his eyes to his brother's somber face. "I'm not sorry to have you watching my back."

After a moment, Sam nodded. "Go back inside, Dean," he said again, softer. "Get something to eat. There's still plenty left to do, y'know."

"Horses are hitched," Bird declared and Dean watched as she climbed into the seat. "You comin'?"

Dean looked at his brother, giving in to the necessary. Sam was right: there was plenty left to do. Getting Jake and getting home being the first two on the list. Dean didn't have enough left inside him to be everywhere.

"You be careful," he ordered.

"I'll be back before you know it."

Dean nodded, feeling cold as he watched Sam climb into the wagon seat next to Bird—shrinking her with his bulk—and head off into the shadows of the night.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Dean jerked violently, spinning to face the new voice. "Jesus!"

"Sorry," Zeke stepped into the moonlight. "I thought you'd heard me."

"You thought wrong," Dean worked to catch his breath, a hand instinctively going to his throbbing side. His head pounded, causing his vision to blur slightly with the incessant thrum. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long," Zeke said. "I got worried when you two didn't come back."

"I figured you were too busy making eyes at Stella to notice we'd left," Dean commented dryly as he slowly made his way back to the back door of the saloon.

Zeke's mouth tipped up in a half grin. "Stella and I…have an understanding."

"I'll bet you do," Dean said, pausing next to the other man. "What was your question?"

Zeke looked at him for a moment, and Dean saw something he couldn't identify shift through his eyes. "I guess it doesn't matter. Not really." His focus pulled in, his gaze on something Dean knew was buried in the man's memory. "Y'know…I've seen a lot of brothers. Never had one of my own; mother apparently thought once was enough. But I've seen brotherhood forged in battle and brothers torn apart by the same thing."

"What are you saying?"

Zeke looked out toward where Sam and Bird had disappeared into the night. "You two…there's something different."

Dean arched a brow. "Different…how?"

This time Zeke's smile was sad. "I'll let you know when I figure it out," he said cryptically. "Think you could eat something? It'll keep your strength up…help fight off the infection."

Dean looked at him a moment, realizing Zeke knew. He knew Dean wasn't going to get better. Not without Ramirez's help. "Sure, Doc. I could eat."

The saloon was alive with a sea of voices, out-of-tune piano music, and tired laughter. Scattered like confetti throughout the cluster of men in dark clothing were several women—girls, really—with boldly colored corsets and skirts that didn't quite reach the floor, brazenly exposing narrow, heeled, lace-up boots. Lips quirking in appreciation for the surplus of skin the women offered, Dean sat at a vacant table; he smiled up at Stella when she set a plate of stew and biscuits in front of him.

"It's the only thing I know how to cook," she shrugged.

"Looks delicious," he said honestly.

"Is Sam coming back?" Stella asked.

Dean grinned. Puppy-dog eyes gets 'em every time. "He'll be back soon," he said. "Just taking care of…a friend."

Stella nodded and he watched her walk over to the table where the man Sam had identified as Larabee sat. She rested her hand on the man's shoulder and he watched as Larabee tipped his face up toward the light from one of the burning lanterns hung from hooks on the support beams. The man smiled at Stella as she continued on, letting her fingers trail across his shoulder, then dropped his eyes to meet Dean's once more.

Dean nodded at him, then focused on his food. It had no taste; the biscuits turned to dust on his tongue, the stew sat heavy in his gut. Thankfully, the coffee was hot and strong, cutting through the muck in his mouth and chasing away a to-the-bone chill that seemed to wrap around him.

Need to find Jake, kick his ass, and get home…. That or find Ramirez….

Neither option seemed likely at the moment. So engrossed was he in his own misery, Dean missed the first few beats of an argument brewing at the bar. Frowning, he stood as he recognized the man with the flying saucer of a hat who'd been searching for Ray and Fox earlier staggering back away from a smaller man with dark eyes and a pock-scarred face.

The man in the large hat was obviously drunk, barely able to stand on his own; this didn't seem to deter the other man as he advanced, a gun in each hand, hammers cocked. Zeke, Dean saw, had foolishly stepped between the two and was now caught smack in the middle.

"I really don't have a problem killing you, Zeke," the man with the weapons growled, and Dean felt the room quiet, chairs scraping back as people began to scatter away from any stray gunfire.

Dean instinctively put his hand on the butt of his own gun, blinking as he caught Zeke's eyes searching for his.

"I get that, Ivers," Zeke said, emphasizing the name.

Feeling his heart drop, Dean released his grip on his gun and moved around the table slowly, weighing his options. The man who had saved his life—saved Sam's life—was now being threatened. Dean knew what he would do were he back in his own time, with his own weapons and his own means of escape. He wasn't sure the same approach would work in a world where arguments were more often than not solved via justice-by-gun.

His eyes were full of the confrontation in front of him; he had no thought to the other patrons in the saloon.

"Just don't see any point to killing this guy," Zeke continued. "He's about gone on whiskey."

"He was supposed to bring two men to me today," Ivers snapped. "Two men to replace the one you got killed."

Zeke raised his hands. "Now, now, that's not exactly true. I mean…to be fair…you killed Cutter."

Ivers smoothly shifted the barrels of his weapons from the man in the hat to focus on Zeke's forehead. Dean heard Stella's gasp from across the room and the sound pushed him forward as if she'd rested her hand on his back.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice unnaturally bright. Zeke turned incredulous eyes on him, his lips tight and his teeth clenched as he mouthed get back. Ignoring him, Dean moved on instinct: distract, evade, conquer. "You Ivers?"

The man with the guns turned slowly to look at him. "Yeah. Who the hell are you?"

"Name's…Young. Angus Young," Dean replied, offering the man a dead-eyed grin. "Hope I'm not…interrupting anything." He let his eyes fall with disinterest on the drunken man and his protector before continuing. "Heard you were hiring."

Ivers tilted his head, studying Dean a moment, then released the hammers on his weapons. "You heard right."

"You're down two men?"

"Seems that way," Ivers nodded. "You got two others in mind?"

"My brother and me," Dean said, quickly eyeing Ivers' guns. "We're, uh…new in town. Could use some work."

Ivers studied him once a bit longer, then holstered his weapons. "What can you do?"

Dean shrugged, then moved in closer to Ivers. "I'm good with a gun."

"Your brother, too?"

"He's better with a knife," Dean replied, reaching the bar and leaning against it, his position turning Ivers around, his back now to Zeke. "What are you looking for?"

Zeke moved, grabbing the drunken man whose life he'd just saved by the collar and dragging him back away from the bar, dropping him in an empty seat at the table Dean had occupied, shoving his face down.

Ivers was still watching Dean; he felt as if the man were somehow turning his skin transparent with his gaze, peering into his soul and seeing the lie. Dean emptied his eyes, turning his face impassible and met the other man's look of scrutiny with an opaque stare.

"I'm looking for men who obey without question," Ivers said, his voice losing all amiable warmth. "I'm looking for soldiers."

Dean felt his stomach tighten and he forced himself to blink slowly. The chill that chased the edges of the man's words shifted Dean's confidence, but he made himself play through.

"Yeah, well...we might not be soldiers, but...we've been to war," Dean replied, the rest of his words fading as Ivers stepped forward. Dean felt the air around him constrict. His heartbeat turned sluggish for a moment before speeding up and slamming his aching head with a rush of blood.

It's just a man, Dean. A bastard of a man. He is nothing. He is nobody. Do not let him shake you up.

Then Ivers' eyes slid black. All black, no irises, no whites, just ink-black.

Oh, shit….

It happened so quickly that Dean had to blink to refocus, but it was enough to send him off-balance, exposing him by laying bare his recognition. Ivers pressed his sudden advantage and quick as lightening, grabbed Dean by the throat, turning him, and shoved him backwards against the bar. Dean's hands instinctively flew up to grip the man's wrists, unable to do a thing to relax Ivers' grip.

"You think you can best me, hunter?" he growled against Dean's ear, his voice hot, the spit that flew from his lips seeming to sizzle on Dean's cheek like acid.

Dean couldn't breathe for a moment, the pain in his side playing second fiddle to the soul-numbing shock of being seen for what he really was: a man raised to recognize evil and destroy it. The heat radiating from Ivers' body seemed to melt into Dean, making him shake from the intensity.

"First the priest and now you?" Ivers said, his face so close to Dean's that he choked on the feral breath. "You guys really need to find some different tactics."

"I-I don't know what you're t-talking about," Dean forced out, his lungs folding from the pressure of Ivers weight against him, bending him backwards over the bar. His side had become achingly cold. Dark spots started to gather at the corners of his eyes.

"You...," Ivers spat, his lips pulling back in a snarl and exposing yellowing teeth. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. And if I wasn't so damn close to opening that gate, I'd sacrifice you here and now."

The roll-click of a revolver was the prettiest sound Dean had heard in a long while. His eyes shot past Ivers' angry features to see the long barrel of a gun pointed directly at the man's left ear.

"You have a barrel of a Remington revolver set to open up the side of your head," declared the voice connected to the gun. "From this distance, it's guaranteed to kill you and make a helluva mess on my clothes. Let him go and we won't have to worry about either of those things."


a/n: Remember the phrase 'it's always darkest before the dawn'? Yeah, well…keep that in mind as we move forward.

Continued in Part 6, here: http://gaelicspirit.livejournal.com/83830.html



Comments

( 31 Tall Tales — Tell Me A Story )
faithburke
May. 31st, 2010 02:30 am (UTC)
I have never before reviewed on your lj, though I think I have on ff.net. I enjoy this story greatly. Boys as cowboys, Dean is surprisingly good with a horse, and unless I miss my guess you just snuck in a Magnificent Seven crossover. Yay!
gaelicspirit
May. 31st, 2010 03:03 am (UTC)
Well, hi! And welcome! I'm glad to see you over here. :) Thanks for letting me know you're reading and enjoying. My hope with this story is to entertain; no other purpose.

If you're having fun, then I've done my job. :)

And yep -- there's a Mag7 character in here. It was a special request from the gal who asked me to write this story. It's not meant to be officially a crossover or anything. Just the insertion of a fictional character in a fictional story.

Having Dean be good with a horse is a selfish fantasy of mine. :) I just...wanted that to be the case, saw it could be potentially possible, and...there you have it. :)

Thanks again for your time! I'm very happy you're enjoying so far and hope you continue to for the chapters to come!
nong_pradu
May. 31st, 2010 03:44 am (UTC)
Was it Larabee who pulled the gun on Ivers?

Oh this chapter was just delicious! The Dean!pain was everything I dreamed it could be, and better yet, there's a PLOT to this story.

*sighs contentedly*

My only complaint is having to wait for updates. That's really not working for me. ;)
gaelicspirit
Jun. 4th, 2010 01:23 pm (UTC)
*grin*

I'm glad you're enjoying the plot. Makes me laugh a little... "I read for the plot...." *wink*

You'll know if it was Larabee as soon as I post the next chapter...which, if all goes well, will be tomorrow. I'm sorry to make you wait. Yes, the story is essentially done, but I always tweak and adjust and shift and...well, it takes me about 4 hours to post a chapter and I want to make sure I leave myself time to say THANK YOU for reading. :)

So...THANK YOU for reading.
simplycolourful
May. 31st, 2010 07:56 am (UTC)
So Ivers a demon! I wonder if Jake knows about this, and how he's going to react.

Can't leave Dean by himself for too long, without him getting into trouble :)

Looking forward to the next update
gaelicspirit
Jun. 4th, 2010 01:24 pm (UTC)
Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying this.

The extent to what Jake did and didn't know before he hatched this crazy scheme doesn't come out until the final chapter, but I hope you enjoy the ride as we get to all of that. :)

erinrua
Jun. 1st, 2010 05:43 am (UTC)
Larabee! *dies* You are PRICELESS!

Meanwhile, very much enjoying this. The boys' displacement is so believable and Dean's injury just makes my guts turn. Love all your OCs, too, and just - *waves hands*

This is fun. :-)

Just a couple items of note, if I may. One, they would have chamber pots, so maybe Sam can procure one so Dean doesn't have to hobble to the outhouse every time? ;-) Two, they do have toothbrushes in 1870. They're just made of boar bristles rather than nylon, and they'd have to use tooth *powder* rather than tooth paste. It would work like the old powdered hand soap gas stations used to use, add water to make a sort of paste.

Okay, but who is this Ivers if he's NOT a man and who just stuck a Remington in his ear? EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! :-)
gaelicspirit
Jun. 4th, 2010 01:31 pm (UTC)
LOL! Look at your avi!! *points* That is awesome!

Kelly (the gal who asked me to write a western) only asked two things: put Chris Larabee in the story and have one of the brothers save a kid.

I couldn't write a full-on crossover...I just don't know Mag7 well enough and I don't really like reading crossovers anyway. But I could pull a cameo.

So, yay! That you're having fun!

Good points, both, on the chamber pots and the toothbrushes. You're right, of course, but I was trying to think of what Zeke might have on hand in his back room and what the boys might think to ask him for midst everything else they were going through.

Sam asking for a chamber pot -- or Dean using one -- didn't really feel like something that they would naturally think of (or maybe I just felt squirmy writing it, who knows...).

Plus...I wanted to get them outside in the moonlight. ;)

As far as who Ivers really is...because I set this in Season 1, I had the benefit of not having to identify the demon by name (since they didn't really do that until, what, Season 3?). So, like Meg, he'll just be identified as Ivers.

But, he's a bad, bad non-human.

Thank you for reading and again, I'm really happy you're having fun. That's the whole point of these anyway, right?
erinrua
Jun. 8th, 2010 04:52 pm (UTC)
I'm a billion years late in ... everything! But wanted to say you've made good points. Sam and Dean would have no idea what's available in the 1870's, being the modern dudes they are, so things like chamberpots and toothbrushes might not immediately pop to mind. Though Dean's reaction to literal toothpaste would be funny. *g*

Though funny ain't exactly what the boys are up to, so yeah. Ignore me. ;) BTW, still reading and loving, just haven't had time to comment with a brain! *HUGS!*
crushinator67
Jun. 1st, 2010 09:11 am (UTC)
Dammit, I'm officially hooked. Even though I'm not a big time travel story fan, I will admit this one is simply too good to pass up.

Nice cliffhanger, by the way. Who could Dean's (almost) rescuer be? Hmmm...I'd wager the man clad in all black who Sam was unable to defeat in poker. I wonder if he's Colt...or maybe the hunter Colt makes The Colt for? Or one of the guys from Magnificent Seven, which would be really easy to slip past me, as I have never seen the movie...don't hurt me! I'm putting it in my queue right now!

And that's gotta be one powerful demon to so easily see Dean's a hunter! Poor Dean's gonna get his ass whupped, isn't he?
gaelicspirit
Jun. 4th, 2010 01:44 pm (UTC)
HA! I gotcha! *fist pump*

Honestly? I usually don't go for time travel stories either. When I watch movies/TV Shows where that happens I'm constantly trying to pick it apart. LOL!

But when Kelly asked that I write a western, and after Cas had used time travel in the actual show...it just kinda...happened.

I'm glad you're having fun.

Samuel Colt doesn't come into play as a character...but THE Colt does have a role. I'll give you a hint...we've seen it.

The cameo is indeed one of the guys from Magnificent Seven - and no worries if you haven't seen the movie! It was actually a request from the gal who asked me to write the story, and this particular manifestation of Chris Larabee is from the TV Show.

And yep...Dean's whumping has only just begun. :)

Thank you for reading!
crushinator67
Jun. 7th, 2010 08:26 am (UTC)
OH!! So how does the colt go from where it is to being super special? Is it already super special? "This hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him." I'm guessing the latter, then.

(Is this too spoilery? Delete this if it's too spoilery)
gaelicspirit
Jun. 8th, 2010 03:02 pm (UTC)
Not too spoilery. But I'm playing a bit with John's words. And I'm going to try to bring it all home with the epilogue that will be posted with Chapter 9, the final chapter.

Hopefully it will work for you.

:)
msninacat
Jun. 1st, 2010 10:11 am (UTC)
Really great. I can't wait to see what's next. :D
gaelicspirit
Jun. 4th, 2010 01:44 pm (UTC)
Thank you! I'm so glad you're enjoying. More to come soon.
cryptonomicon63
Jun. 1st, 2010 10:55 pm (UTC)
Oh! I do have commented before. I even promised to send you something I painted years ago for your little muffin to have-who's probably so grown up now the whole thing is pointless- I never forgot, (I just never found it) and I never stopped reading your terrific and wonderfully written stories, as I am doing now.
Life's been unkind to me and even writing (even on a keyboard) has become almost impossible. That's why I don't write my praise and enthusiasm anymore... you don't need it anyway, scores of your readers adore you just as much as I do. But,as things keep on getting darker for me, I must say it: reading you, always makes me giddy; happy; sad(in a good way.)It always makes me remember why I love the character of Dean and your endings always leave me with a smile and a light heart.
Thank you.
M.B.
gaelicspirit
Jun. 4th, 2010 01:49 pm (UTC)
My munchkin would love anything from you. :) No thought like that is ever pointless -- so no worries, and thank you for thinking of her. :)

I'm so, so sorry to hear that life has not been kind to you. That makes my heart hurt. I am sending you light and I hope you're able to get through this latest trial very soon.

And, honestly, everyone needs praise. Especially when they're low. So I am giving YOU praise in this moment -- thank you for taking time from your day to offer me your words and thank you for giving me this piece of you, letting me know that these stories offer you a smile.

You made me feel so good to read that and I hope that the rest of this story -- or anything else you read -- continues to lighten your heart.

*hugs*

Gaelic
jennierenee
Jun. 2nd, 2010 04:02 am (UTC)
Great story hun!! You've done a wonderful job with this. If there's anyone who can take on pirates (Desolate Angels) and time traveling to the Old West, it's you.

Your OFC's are great, as always. I'm looking forward to the next chapter.
gaelicspirit
Jun. 4th, 2010 01:50 pm (UTC)
LOL -- yeah, I figured if you 'bought' pirates and had fun with that, then it was likely you might enjoy this. :)

Thank you for reading!! More to come soon.
primrose_1
Jun. 2nd, 2010 05:41 pm (UTC)
I always wait before I read these updates. Mostly because I want to save them for when I REALLY need to read something good, and I know I'm not going to be interrupted. I hope you don't mind the wait :).

This was a wonderful chapter. The scene with Zeke taking care of Dean was brutal. It's REALLY not good that there's no holy water to take care of it either. I had hoped that Ivers would buy Dean's offer of employment. It's NOT good that he pegged him for a hunter right away! I can't wait for more! Thank you!
gaelicspirit
Jun. 4th, 2010 01:54 pm (UTC)
*rubs heart*

Thank you so much for saying that. I so love that you consider my stories "something good" to read. :)

I actually had written a chapter with Dean and Sam working for Ivers, but I wasn't feeling it...the way it rolled out just 'felt' better. If that makes sense. LOL!

More to come soon -- thank you so much for reading!!
(Anonymous)
Jun. 3rd, 2010 01:48 pm (UTC)
Heroes for Ghosts
Hey Gaelic!

You are posting faster than I can read!! I just got my laptop back, so downloaded it all at work yesterday and had a quick look last night. I like Stella - rough around the edges but with a good heart!! What are you doing to poor Dean though?!!

Will try to r/v properly at some point - a bit difficult as I still only have internet at work & not at home.

Take care,
Stella
gaelicspirit
Jun. 4th, 2010 02:01 pm (UTC)
Re: Heroes for Ghosts
STEEEEEELLLLLLAAAAAA!!!

So, you like your namesake, huh? In my head she looks like Susan Sarandon.

And, yeah, Dean's suffering has really only just begun. I'm also going to do harm to Sam. *evil laugh*

Thank you so much for reading and taking time to leave me a comment. :)
annie200
Jun. 4th, 2010 06:17 pm (UTC)
Just got around to chapter 5 and now I'm left stranded worrying about Dean. This works so well in a cowboy universe, kind of makes you want to persuade Jared and Jensen to sign up to this.
I love the way you have researched this and thought of so much detail: no beer in bottles, chloroform,no cheeseburger and fries (poor Dean XD).
Hopefully there's a new chapter on the way soon!
gaelicspirit
Jun. 4th, 2010 06:26 pm (UTC)
Thanks, lady!! I'm so glad you're enjoying this. If all goes well, new chapter tomorrow.

And I'm with you! Let's have a western next season! :)
adrenalineshots
Jun. 5th, 2010 10:00 pm (UTC)
You know, ever since the first chapter, when Dean used the holy water in the forehead scratches and mentioned the fact that he was sure Sam had done the same with the side ones, I had the nagging suspicion that you were going somewhere with that. And here it is! Oh, dude... I cringed at that description of draining the infection. Great description and awesome, nasty visuals.

And a demon has his hands on Dean!! *bites nails*
The chapter can't end like that... and who's the mysterious man who just saved Dean? Again, given the time and what they went there searching for, I have my suspicions :D but I can't wait for the next chapter!

Totally hooked here! Be gentle with my poor heart and give us more!!
gaelicspirit
Jun. 7th, 2010 12:30 am (UTC)
Dean's ongoing pain appears to come to an end in the next next chapter...but appearances can be deceiving.

As for the stranger, you find out rather quickly. :) He's the fulfillment of a special request by the gal who asked me to write this story.

Thanks for continuing to review!!
apieceofcake
Jun. 7th, 2010 01:53 pm (UTC)
So Ivers is going to open the gate and he needs the colt for that..

Before I saw the comment above I liked to think that it was Stella that pulled the gun on him..LOL!

And of course I'm appreciating the Dean whumpage *g*

I want to read on but I have to go and collect Chloe from school, but I'll be back!
gaelicspirit
Jun. 8th, 2010 03:35 pm (UTC)
Y'know? The funny thing is, I never thought about Stella saving them. Mainly because I knew I was working Larabee in as a cameo for Kelly's sake. But with this comment, I could see this scene going a whooooole different way. LOL!

Thank you for reading!
saberivojo
Jun. 13th, 2010 01:25 pm (UTC)
Oohh

*claps*

I should not be so happy over Dean's predicament. Still, I trust you will see him through.

Will have to get to chappy 6 a little later.
gaelicspirit
Jun. 13th, 2010 01:53 pm (UTC)
It's simply the sign of a die-hard fanficcer who finds enjoyment in such a predicament. I'm right there with you. ;)

Thanks for reading -- I look forward to hearing more from you!!
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