Chapter 13

A/N: I felt odd using a real character in this story. So, I felt it necessary to say that although Geronimo is not fictional-everything I have conjectured about his motivations and actions is purely my imagination and was manipulated for the story’s structure. Not like I could actually channel him or anything for his permission or take on the whole legend. Okay-read away.

Dean Winchester had never died before. He’d come close-but that only counted in horse shoes. So, he wasn’t sure what he was suppose to be feeling-if anything at all.

When it had first happened, the hunter had felt pain from the knife wound, and then emotional turmoil as his mind dealt with the fact that he was leaving his brother behind. The regret that he’d turned an invisible corner and there was no going back, was overwhelming and consuming. But it was the not knowing that was most frightening. That and the letting go.

Because Dean Winchester was nothing if not a fighter and a survivor.

But more than that, he was first and foremost a big brother. Sam’s big brother. And that overshadowed everything. Including his will to live.

It was true that Dean had his doubts about the whole after life thing, but when it came down to it, everyone wanted to believe that there was something beyond the mortal life-something better. Even realistic-give me the hard cold truth-Dean Winchester wanted to believe he would at least encounter something.

Something more than restless spirits with unfinished business. Anything besides nothingness.

And even though slipping away had seemed a great deal like merely falling into a deep sleep-Dean hadn’t expected to feel the tug of awareness, like one might whenwaking up.

But that’s exactly what it was like.

Like emerging from a long, restful nap.

There was no pain and no fear. And no blazing fire or pit of lava-like his mind had conjured on more than one occasion.

He could feel hot breath against his cheek and something soft, and warm nuzzled his ear, and for a brief moment he was sure all his illusions of Heaven had some how been right on the money-a tropical paradise full of Victoria Secret’s angels awaited him. Damn, he hoped they stocked beer.

Then something rough and wet slid across his face, leaving traces of drool in it’s wake and the young hunter forced his eyes open in a slight panic.

A warm brown gaze met his and for a moment his mind flashed to another pair of pain filled eyes-the memory stealing his breath away with its intensity. Sam.

But then his blurred vision cleared enough to make out the white fur and black nose, and thoughts of his brother disappeared with a groan. “Oh, man-not again.”

“Welcome, Mountain Lion.”

Dean pushed against the dirt covered ground he was lying on and struggled to face the direction that the voice had come from.

Directly in front of him a warm fire danced in the darkness, sending little bits of orange and red glowing confetti into the air, and beyond the light show sat the young Indian that Dean had seen at the inn. The spirit who had taken Monroe. Geronimo.

He appeared to be close to Dean’s age- his youthful face full of sharp angles and sculpted features. His long black hair fell past his shoulders and a white feather hung from one braided piece. The only thing reminiscent of the phantom astral projection of Wakeen was the fierce ebony eyes and the beaded necklace that lay against this man’s bare chest.

“What’s going on?” Dean asked, finally recovering enough to push himself to a seated position. He looked around them and faintly recognized the barren landscape as a place he’d visited before-perhaps in a dream. “Where are we?”

“As I told you on your last visit here. We are no where, yet everywhere.”

Dean frowned, and tried to grasp at the faint memory of actually having been to that exact spot. It came to him in a flood of insight that he suspected wasn‘t his own, and he realized that he had dreamed of this place or had some freaky vision of it when he’d fallen through floor of the old Monroe homestead. “Dude-don’t mess with the dead.”

The young man across the fire from him smiled. “To put it in terms you might understand-this is a type of in between place.”

Dean’s heart sped up-which was ironic considering he was pretty sure that particular organ had stopped for good. The familiar words teased at yet another memory. His mother had told him about the in between place as a boy-but he seriously doubted that Mary had this in mind.

Still, he looked around the darkness-almost expecting to see her smiling face.

“She is not here.” Geronimo motioned around them, obviously reading Dean‘s thoughts as if they‘d been spoken out loud. “This is a plane not for the living or the dead.”

“You’re here. I’m here.” Dean shook his head. “Pretty sure we fall into that latter category.”

“Our souls have not yet moved on.”

Dean frowned, looking down at his chest. There wasn‘t a mark on him. “Why is that exactly?”

“I was trapped for many years. First by my own hate-then by the hate of my Enemy.”

“Yeah, yeah-I saw that movie.” Dean sighed and motioned to himself. “And me?”

“Love holds you here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Your brother-you are under his protection.” Geronimo lifted the black beaded necklace with the white wolf carving that he was wearing. “A power object-your father calls it. You have one also.”

“The protection charm?” Dean’s brow furrowed, and he glanced down at his chest again-expecting to see the familiar amulet that Sam had given him as a birthday present so many years before. But it was gone.

And he suddenly felt cold.

His hand went to his heart, where the metal amulet usually rested. “I never take it off.”

“Mine was taken in death also.” Geronimo touched the smooth carved bone that made up the representation of his spirit guide. “But not by those who cared for me.”

“By Monroe.”

Geronimo nodded. “Or someone working for him. Perhaps the evil shaman, I’m not sure.”

Dean assumed the evil shaman was Dellacrois. “She used it to bind you to Monroe.”

“As your father used your power object to bind you to your brother.”

Dean still didn’t understand. The necklace was special to him-but not because it had supernatural qualities.

Again Geronimo scavenged his thoughts. “The amulet was made powerful by your brother’s feelings for you-as mine was made powerful by my feelings for my enemy.”

“Hate is a powerful force,” Dean muttered. John had said as much in the dream that he’d had of his father.

“But love is more so. It is what allowed you and your brother to set me free, and the others, too.” Geronimo nodded to the darkness around them. “Now-Navarre and I can return to our ancestors.”

The wolf whined, thumping her tail on the ground at the sound of her name.

“We will never be able to thank you enough.”

Dean was glad that Geronimo was going to be able to return to his family, but it wasn‘t the reason he‘d given his life. That had everything to do with Sam.

“No matter your motivation-you have proved yourself worthy, Mountain Lion.”

Dean frowned again, and pointed at his head. “A little privacy, please.”

“There are no barriers on this plane, hunter. We understand one another perfectly. You need not speak at all if you do not wish.”

“I wouldn‘t underestimate my ability to still have difficulty understanding you-barriers or not. I‘m still not clear on the whole proving my self thing?”

Geronimo looked amused, but smiled patiently. “It means that you sacrificed yourself for someone else. You gave your life willingly, and unselfishly-with no regards for the harm that would befall you. You are honorable-unlike many of your ancestors.”

“Yeah-sorry about that whole land thing-and the Small Pox fiasco. I’m not even sure Custard was human, so…”

Geronimo held up his hand and frowned. “You still have a lot to learn-but you show great promise.”

“I’m still not really following you here.”

Geronimo stood, walked through the fire and came to sit in front of Dean. “Do you know my story, Mountain Lion?” he asked, once he was cross legged in front of the hunter.

Dean shrugged, still a little freaked by the man walking through the flames. “Some of it.”

“My family was murdered by the white man. I did not know which ones-but in my mind they all became the same-the Evil that had to be destroyed.”

“Yeah. That sounds familiar.” For several reasons.

Geronimo nodded. “Your father is the same as I once was.”

When Dean didn‘t object the other man continued. “You see, hunter, when I found my family dead, I went to my Grandfather, the great Shaman of our village, and I learned the truth.”

The Indian’s wording was not lost on Dean.

“I learned that there were things beyond the eye that could empower me, and help me exact revenge. The Shaman told me that he had dreamed of the things I would do-great and terrible things-that would bring many eyes to me. He gave me this necklace and said that it would bring me power and protection-that I would be invincible and immortal.”

“The stories say bullets went right through you-like a ghost.”

Geronimo smiled sadly. “I was a ghost.”

“Half a man.” Dean thought about the passage in the prophecy. Maybe it didn’t refer just to Monroe.

“You are smarter and wiser than you think, young hunter. Smarter than myself-wiser than your father.”

Dean frowned, and shook his head. “You don’t know my father.”

“I know that he hunts out of revenge. He hunts to destroy that which robbed him.” Geronimo made a show of raising his arm into the air and clenching his fist tightly. He brought it roughly to his own chest. “I hunted out of revenge-to destroy. We are the same-your father and I. Driven by the desire to kill.”

“I hunt, too,” Dean said defiantly. “I’m a part of it-just as much as he is.”

“You do not hunt for revenge, Dean Winchester.” Geronimo lifted his other arm, his palm open this time, and placed it against Dean’s chest. “You hunt out of love.”

The young hunter’s brow furrowed. “I think you’ve been hitting the peace pipe a little too freely there, Chief. I don’t love anything about the monsters we hunt.”

Geronimo held both hands up, one still clenched into a fist, the other open. He covered his fist with his open palm, gently curling his fingers over his closed hand. “No-you hunt because you love your family-not to seek revenge. You are driven by a desire to protect them and others-not a desire to destroy.”

An image of Sam clutching his shirt as he lay bleeding on the floor flashed through his mind. He had covered his brother’s hand with his own, blood smearing both of them. Dean swallowed hard. “I do love my family.” I love my brother.

“And I loved my family, ” Geronimo sighed. “But I chose a path that took me away from them-not closer to them.”

Dean thought about his father, and the way he changed after Mary‘s death. “The same path my Dad took.”

The Indian nodded. “Your father was a good man, as I like to think I once was. Now he is a powerful man. He is capable of great and terrible things.”

Unspoken words hung between them, but Dean could see his own deepest fears reflected in Geronimo‘s ebony eyes. “And Sam?”

“He is powerful also- like your father.” Geronimo held the hunter’s gaze, “And he will grow more so as your battle wages. Although he unwillingly hunts because of the same thirst for revenge-he is luckier than myself and the warrior John Winchester.”

“I don’t understand.” That wasn’t the answer he had wanted. Dean had busted his ass his whole life to protect Sam from their father’s fate.

“He has you.”

“I don’t know if that’s any rare prize. I don’t have any great power-or gift to offer him.” And besides- now I’ve gone and got myself killed.

“You have power, hunter. Not like the ones that your brother has been given, but a gift just the same. It is the same gift that your mother had.”

Dean rubbed at his eyes-suddenly weary. Dead people aren‘t suppose to get tired. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sacrifice.”

Dean frowned. As far as he understood, the whole sacrifice card could only be played once. Well-twice for their mom. But Dean didn’t really see himself doing the whole spirit thing.

“My mom’s gone-and now…” I’ve left him, too. It was the first time Dean had doubted his decision. “Now he’s alone.” Well-except for Dad.

“Your father and your brother love each other-but neither know how to meet the other half way. They pull and push and in the end no one wins. Both are merely bruised and battered.”

“Yeah. They’re a lot alike.” And completely different. Dean was all too aware of his father’s and Sam’s issues. He’d been caught in the middle of that tug of war battle many times-feeling a lot like the invisible line drawn in the sand.

“Sam won’t turn out like my dad-will he? He‘ll be okay?”

“Sam will do great things, but only because you will be there to see that he does. You will keep him from getting lost.”

Dean shook his head. “But I’m not there anymore.”

“We are going to change that.”

The young hunter raised an eyebrow. “We are?”

Geronimo nodded and removed his beaded necklace from around his neck. He placed it over Dean’s head. “This necklace gave me invincibility-the chance to avenge my family. I do not need it anymore. But now I give it to you-to heal your wound-and to give you the chance to save your family. I promised your father as much.”

Dean‘s brow furrowed. “I’m going back?”

Geronimo smiled. “You never left.”

After a moment, Dean nodded, accepting the freakiness for what it was-an obvious part of his life now. He lifted the necklace and then grinned at Geronimo. “Dude-does this mean, I’m like really invincible now?”

Geronimo laughed. “I wouldn’t try to stop any bullets-if that is what you mean.”

Dean sighed, and let the charm drop against his chest once more. “Gotcha-one time use only. Like a condom.”

“You are a unique one, Dean Winchester.”

“I‘ve been told that before.”

The Indian nodded. “Safe journey-my friend.”

Dean smiled. “Same to you.” He glanced at the wolf. “And you too, Lassie.”

Navarre barked, and Geronimo closed his eyes. He placed his hand over Dean’s heart, his fingers curling lightly over the white wolf and whispered words that Dean didn’t recognize.

Suddenly a sharp pain raced through Dean’s body and he felt himself falling, as the ground opened beneath him and empty space swallowed him whole.

The landing was hard and his body seemed to bounced with the force of the impact.

He felt a pressure building in his lungs and then an intense aching across his ribs.

Dean gasped as breath suddenly seemed to rush into his chest cavity and every nerve ending in his body sparked to life-almost like he'd been struck by lightning.

“Dean?” A warm familiar hand rested on his cheek, and Dean tried to force his eyes open, as the awkward task of breathing seemed to demand all his attention at the moment.

"Sammy?" he whispered, finally convincing his eyes to cooperate and he wasn’t quite sure if Geronimo had been the dream or if he was still trapped in one long looping nightmare. Maybe that was his private hell.

“Dad?” Dean blinked and tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he was now looking up at the concerned face of his long-missing father. “Are…you real?”

“I’m real,” John smiled, relief flooding through him. He ran his hand over his son’s hair. “How you doing, Ace?”

Dean took a moment to take stock of his situation. His eyes were burning, his throat felt raw and it hurt to talk. There was a dull throb in his chest-but nothing hurt like it had before…before he’d died. The hunter’s hands came up and covered his heart. No hole-no blood-nothing, but a phantom ache where the fatal wound had been. “Dad-what’s going on?”

The younger Winchester tried to sit up, but his father’s hands quickly restrained him-holding him in his supine position. “Easy.”

“What happened?” Dean pushed weakly at his father’s grip, his struggles bring a round of coughing.

“You took in more smoke than a chimney is what happened,” The booming voice of Morry the mechanic had Dean’s watery gaze swinging his way. “You weren’t breathing. You’re ticker had stopped, too.” The big man grinned. “I’ve mounted animals with more life in’em than you had.”

Dean closed his eyes, and tried to regain his breath. “Nice bedside manner you’ve got there, Morry.” Green eyes fluttered open again and found John, with a slightly panicked glaze. “Where’s Sammy?”

“He’s with Sheriff Landry.” John wasn’t entirely sure where his youngest son was. He’d locked gazes with Sam as he was exiting the burning inn. Sam had been restrained by Landry, and he looked ready to bolt back into the house the first chance he got-that was until he saw his lifeless brother.

Volunteer firemen had swarmed John then and he’d been more concerned with Dean’s state of well being, than Sam’s state of mind. Honestly, he’d thought his son would have been hovering right behind him.

“Is he okay?” John hadn’t even realized his eldest was speaking to him again , until Dean’s hand wrapped in his jacket. “Dad-are you sure he’s okay?”

“He’s fine, son.”

“But…” Dean looked down at his chest and back to his father, “…the spell?”

John smiled. “Was broken.”

“I know,” Dean frowned. “I was there, but...”

John held up his hand and glanced at Morry, who was currently concentrating on trying to take Dean’s pulse. “Morry-could you give us a minute?”

The mechanic looked reluctant. “I’m not suppose to leave the victim until transport arrives.”

“Victim?” Dean looked at the man again-noticing for the first time that he was dressed inturnout gear and a bright yellow hard hat. “You’re a fireman?”

Morry grinned widely. “Volunteer fleet. And I be damned if you didn’t give me my first four-alarmer, Winchester.” The big man patted Dean roughly on the chest. “Not to mention my first resuscitation. I'm beginning to feel as giddy as a virgin at the prom around you , kid.”

Dean’s eyes found his father’s gaze and he whispered roughly, “Please tell me Morrry, the multi-faceted, did not give me mouth to mouth.”

John hid his smile behind a well-timed cough. “I was in charge of compressions.”

“Did a damn good job too-for an amateur.” Morry smiled in approval.

The younger Winchester closed his eyes and groaned. “Said the taxidermist.”

“You are a hoot, kid.” Morry pushed himself to his knees, and glanced at John. “The ambulance should be here anytime. Bowie is just a hop, skip, and a jump from here, but I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

“Thanks, Doc.” John watched as the big man made his way to where the other volunteer fire fighters were still trying in vain to contain the blaze.

Dean opened one eye and glared at his father. “Doc? You do realize you let a mechanic work on me-your first born son-right?”

John grinned. “Somehow that seems appropriate.”

“What the hell happened, Dad?” Dean struggled to sit up and this time his father helped him-keeping a steadying hand on his shoulder in case he toppled over.

“Magic,” he replied with an enigmatic shrug.

“I was dead.” Dean wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

“Technically.”

“I don’t understand.” He was saying that a lot lately and it was really beginning to piss him off.

John wasn’t sure he understood it all himself. He reluctantly let go of his son, and reached into his pocket, pulling out Dean’s necklace. “I used a binding spell, and a few words from your friend, Geronimo. When I crossed over the door of the inn, something happened-and when I got you outside-the knife wound was gone.” John ran a hand through his hair. “You still weren’t breathing." Scared the shit out of me. "But it only took you a minute or so to come around.”

“A binding spell saved me?”

His father shook his head, knowing it wasn’t so simple. “No.” He handed the necklace to Dean. “Your brother saved you. You saved each other.”

Dean tightened his fingers around the pendant, and raised a brow. “Where is Sam? Are you sure he was alright?”

“He was okay.” Okay enough to let me have it. But it was odd that he wasn’t as his brother’s side by now.

John looked over his shoulder, and noticed that Landry was talking to the kid that Morry had pulled from the fire. Sam was no where to be seen. “Landry pulled him out.”

Dean looked towards the crowd of people off to the side of them-searching for the familiar tall form with shaggy hair-that he could place anywhere. “You haven’t talked to him?”

“We talked.”

Dean recognized the set of the jaw, and the dark tone. “Since my miraculous recovery? Right?”

John turned back to face him. “No. I was focused on you.”

That’s a change. “Did he know…I mean…did you tell him about the binding spell?” Dean was starting to feel panic build. Surely Sam still didn’t believe him dead.

John was beginning to realize his mistake. “I didn’t think he’d go far.”

“Damn it!” Dean swore and tried to push himself to a standing position. But once he was vertical the world conspired against him and had the audacity to tilt on its axis. “Son of a bitch.”

John caught him before he could fall. He could hear the wail of sirens in the distance, announcing the late arrival of the Bowie EMTs. “Hold on a minute, Dean. The paramedics are here. Let them check you out.”

“No way!” Dean shook his head, but didn’t have any such luck shaking off his father’s grip. If the man was waiting for a ‘yes, sir’, he was going to have to wait on hell freezing over. “I’m going to find Sam.”

“You can’t even stand up!” John pointed out.

“Then I’ll crawl,” Dean shot back, trying to right himself enough to at least look intimidating.

“Right,” John ignored his son’s foolish bravado and waved the medics over.

“Are you injured, sir?”

“No. My son is.”

“I am not,” Dean insisted.

The paramedics exchanged looks. The soot covering Dean and the way he swayed when his father released him, said other wise. “Perhaps, we could just check you out, son. You look like you've had a rough night.”

“That's because thisone here is your DOA that I called in,” Morry informed the two men as he joined them once more.

The young EMT with the red hair glanced at his partner and then to Morry. “DOA means Dead on Arrival.”

“I know that,” Morry looked insulted. “He was dead when I arrived.”

Again the paramedics shared confused gazes.

“I brought him back,” the mechanic explained proudly. “Snatched him from the clutches of death-I did.”

“How long was he unconscious?” Red asked.

“He wasn’t unconscious, son. He was dead.” Morry tossed an arm over Dean’s shoulders, giving him a rough shake. “He didn’t have a pulse and he wasn’t breathing. Trust me-I know dead.”

The two obviously knew Morry, or had at least heard of him, because the older paramedic with the gray hair smiled at Dean. “Good thing old Morry didn’t decide to gut and stuff you on the spot, son. You might have ended up mounted on the fire station wall, like that cat he tried to rescue out of old man Gentry‘s tree.”

“Very funny, Hayes,” the mechanic huffed. “Wait until that heap you call a car breaks down again.”

Hayes ignored Morry and placed a hand on Dean‘s arm. “Let’s get a look at you, son.”

Dean pulled back. “I’m good.” Dizziness still assaulted him, but the young hunter tried to push it away, and straighten himself to his usual 6’1 stature.

“Dean.” John glared at his son. “Do what they say.”

His father didn’t say it was an order, but Dean recognized the tone and bristled. “I’m going to find my brother.”

After one step though, his weakened legs gave way and the coughing fit he’d been holding off, overpowered him. “I’m not…going…to the hospital.” He couldn't go to the hospital because he had assaulted half the staff there.

The medics eased their patient back to the ground, and John frowned. “They’ll decide if you need to go or not.”

“But Sammy…” Dean winced as unfamiliar hands poked and prodded.

“I’ll take care of Sam.”

Sure you will. “You don’t even know…where he went...and,” Dean coughed again, suddenly unable to finish his thoughts. He won’t listen to you.

“It’s a small place, Dean.” John looked at the paramedic who was struggling to get the oxygen mask on his son. “Take care of him.”

The older man nodded. “We’ll be taking him to Bowie.”

“Dad?” Dean pushed the mask away. “Find him. Please.”

John nodded. “I will, Dean. I promise.”

For some reason that didn’t offer Dean the comfort he was seeking. His father meant well, and Dean loved him-but promises weren’t the man’s strong suit.

“Now Dean,” Morry was suddenly beside him, taking his attention from the oldest Winchester. “I need to know if you saw any bright lights or heard the voice of God.”

Dean only stared at him, and the mechanic smiled. “You see I’m thinking about writing this book and…”

The hunter tuned him out and turned to speak to his father again, but the man was gone.

Just like Sam. And Dean felt a sudden sense of loss and worry wash over him, as he recalled Geronimo’s words about the other two members of his family.

John and Sam had a way of hurting each other, that wasn’t easily patched up with a first aid kid. The last time that they’d faced off without Dean had resulted in Sam being thrown out of the house-and Dean not having his kid brother around for two years.

Dean clenched his fists-feeling the cool metal of the protection charm he still had clasped in his hand and only hoped that they wouldn’t kill each other or further damage the fragile threads barely holding them all together. After all, Dean had come back to life to protect them. To protect Sammy-even if it was from their own father. And he’d be damned if he was going to fail at it-ever again.

Onto Chapter 14

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