Tecumseh

By Tidia & MOG, May 2006

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Chapter 17/18

Frankie looked at the pot of water resting on the nightstand and shook his head. It had been boiling when Scarlett brought it in. Why the woman associated Dean’s condition with birthing a child, he’d never know.

The water was cooler now and Frankie used it to clean the cuts and scrapes Dean acquired at the mission. There was nothing broken and everything would heal in time. People forgot how strong the human body was, and what it took to break the body. The mind on the other hand, was easier to break. It just happened over time, instead of from one instance.

Frankie pulled up the antique rocking chair and leaned forward, lowering his head toward Dean’s ear. He whispered the story he’d learned at his grandfather’s knee.

“The Shawnee believe in Moneto, who rules the Yalakuquaku-migigi - the entire universe - and who distributes blessing on those who earn his favor, and sorrow upon those who merit disfavor.”

He rested a hand on Dean’s right arm. “I know you have earned His goodwill and I ask him to dispense His blessing and favor to you.” Frankie moved his hand to Dean’s chest. He watched as Dean took a long breath in, and he knew that Moneto was with the younger man.

Dean ran through the darkening woods. Twilight shadows stretched out across the forest floor, making it difficult to see possible hazards. At fourteen, his legs were longer and stronger than ten-year-old Sam’s. He prayed they could maintain their distance from the dark presence pursuing them. Slowing his pace, he positioned himself behind his brother. He would protect Sam. He would always protect Sam.

“Keep going!” Dean prodded, “just a little farther.”

“I can’t,” Sam wheezed out, using all his breath to keep running. “I’m. . .scared.”

Dean didn’t want to admit that he too was frightened. “It’s okay, Sammy,” he called out, mustering all the bravado he could. He heard the heavy footfalls behind them. Something moving fast, pushing out hard, hissing breaths.

Dean looked over his shoulder, trying to see if their pursuer was gaining. Sam imitated the motion, glancing back like his brother, but his sense of balance wasn’t as strong and he stumbled several times before going down.

Dean tried to stop; however, his momentum carried him forward, and he crashed down onto his brother. He recovered quickly, shielding Sam’s small body with his own. Whatever followed them would have to go through him first. But Sam wasn’t moving.

Carefully, Dean pushed himself up to check on his brother. He was suddenly aware of being his adult self and he recognized the twenty-two-year-old form of Sam, unmoving on a gravel road.

A cut on Sam’s forehead bled freely, making a spider web design on the side of his face. His clothing was dirt-smudged and smelled of smoke. Dean’s hands frisked the still body, trying to pinpoint the source of injury.

A contusion was palpable at the center of Sam’s chest – his heartbeat, however, was not.

Dean’s stomach tightened and a wave of warmth and dizziness rolled over him. He tried to speak - to yell his brother’s name - but all he could push out was a barely audible whisper.

Above them, bare branches shifted and creaked. Moonlight spilling through the tree’s skeletal hands laid shadows across Sam’s face, keeping him half in the dark, half in light.

Dean scanned the surrounding darkness, sensing something was close. From the shadows, the figure of a man formed. Desperate for a weapon, Dean scrambled for his knife but his pocket was empty.

The man was tall with a lean, muscular frame and long, straight black hair swept away from his tanned face by a wide band of cloth tied around head. A nose ring added to his intense appearance and Dean’s eye fell to the small, iron-head axe clutched in one hand.

Though still on his knees next to Sam, a flood of protective feelings broke through Dean’s earlier inability to speak. “Back off!”

The man took in a deep breath, then exhaled. His breath fogged in the cold air and moved like a wraith towards Dean. With it came a whisper.

‘Ne-noth'tu…Maya'musigi skweta…’

Dean recognized the words from when he and Sam saw the floating orb at Louise Ann Metis’s grave. He also remembered the phrase that came to him then.

‘The Warrior and the Seer’

He instinctively knew who the man was who stood before him - this was Tecumseh.

“Help me,” Dean called, reaching his hand out. He tried to ignore his embarrassment for having to ask for aid, but his brother’s injuries made him less proud. He would beg if need be.

He disregarded the faint pain in his left arm and chest, and fought the drowsy feeling weighing down his eyelids. He needed to stay awake, for Sam’s sake. He rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Please, help him.”

Tecumseh’s dark eyes were as inscrutable as his expression. Dean felt as if the man was waiting for something but all he could offer were words that he sensed needed to be said to the warrior at that moment.

“My reason to fight is my reason to live - to watch over Sam, my family.”

Tecumseh stepped forward and pressed his palm to Dean’s heart. The older Winchester felt as if a vibration ran through his body. Grasping Dean’s wrist, the warrior moved the hand over Sam’s heart. From his palm, Dean felt a warmth spread and a steady heartbeat where before there had been none.

He bowed his head. Though he felt weak, it was secondary to the overwhelming relief that engulfed him. Raising his eyes, Dean jerked back upon seeing the Native American man with his axe held high.

“The Warrior and the Seer,” stated Tecumseh, as he brought down the blade.

With a yell, Dean awoke. His eyes fixed on the ceiling and he was aware of his increased respirations and the sweat that dampened his clothes. The weight of a hand on his right arm made him glance to his right. Uncle Frankie sat casually in the rocking chair. The older man showed an indecipherable expression and Dean relaxed back into the feather pillow behind his head.

“Man, weird dreams,” he mumbled. “I thought you had an axe.” The words ‘Warrior’ and ‘Seer’ lingered in his mind.

Frankie glanced upward, then back at Dean. “Moneto sent you Tecumseh and he gave you the strength - showed you the way.”

Dean tried to pull his arm away from Uncle Frankie, but the grip stayed firm. He ran the tip of his tongue across his lower lip, uncomfortable with the older man’s knowledge of his dream.

“Sorry, Frankie, I’m feelin’ beat about seven ways from Sunday. I don’t have a clue as to what you’re talking about. The mystic-juju speak is a little over my head at the moment….”

The older man continued as if he didn’t hear what Dean said. “My people have always held a great respect for the snake. It holds powerful magic and has even been associated with the same sacred power as Moneto. Tecumseh’s brother was adopted by the Snake Clan, one of his names means ‘rattling noise on the ground’.

“A warrior who endured the fever and trance of a snake bite, who experienced a vision - he achieved knowledge and power that could not be earned in any level of fasting or praying, or even in battle.”

Frankie released his hold on Dean’s arm and handed over his flask. “I had the same experience forty years ago. Well, not with the rattlesnake - have to say that was different. But, after that experience and the vision I had - I became aware of what I needed to be.”

Dean took a sip, but wanted water more than moonshine. “I was bitten by a pit viper and I end up with you instead of the real doctor? Shouldn’t Ben be in here?”

“Aww, you’re just rattled,” replied Frankie, with a smile. “Drink…it will snake you feel better. You’ll fang me for it later.”

Dean held the silver container an inch from his lips but stared flatly at the other man. “I’m dead – that’s it, isn’t it? Dead and in Hell.”

Frankie nudged the bottom of the flask up so that Dean would take another swallow. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”

“Frankie,” Dean coughed, feeling the burn of the homemade gin, “the ladies like this guy smooth.”

“Maybe that’s my problem.” Frankie took the flask back and drank. “You know now, it’s all different…Some brothers are just siblings - they mark time together for awhile, then move along in their own lives - one doesn’t have to protect the other. This isn’t like you and Sam, and it wasn’t like that for me and Billy.”

Dean closed his eyes. “Dude, I feel like shit because of venom being injected into my bloodstream, not ‘cause of any dreamtime visitor.” Lingering images from the dream disturbed him. He hated that he couldn’t shake the vision of his brother’s unmoving body.

He roughly rubbed his eyes, frustrated with the situation. “Where’s Sam?”

Frankie wrung out a wet washcloth and laid it across Dean’s brow. “Kid, I know you don’t believe me, but I don’t believe half the shit that comes out of your mouth either. I’m just telling you - you’ve got some special mojo now. Great Aunt Louise probably put in a good word for you.”

“Frankie, I got all the mojo I can handle…” Using his right hand, he pulled off the damp rag and pushed himself up to a sitting position. “Is Sam here?”

Frankie chuckled. “I’m thinking you needed something more if your brother is like Billy.” He shook his head. “Those little shits don’t make it easy. But I always knew where my brother was - that was my connection. You may have a different connection.”

“I knew when Billy and his wife didn’t come home that afternoon. I knew exactly where their car had been forced off the road by a driver who fell asleep at the wheel.” He tapped his chest. “I knew.”

Dean shot him a look; he wasn’t caring much for the direction of the conversation. His body felt weak but that didn’t prevent him from calling out loudly. “Yo, Sammy!” He looked at Frankie. “So, what, you’re gonna give me an Indian name now?”

“Yeah, ‘Idiot Who Doesn’t Listen’.” Frankie stared at Dean for a moment. “Ben’s coming.”

Several seconds later, the door swung open and Sam stood in the doorway, a concerned expression coloring his features. “You’re awake.”

“Nothin’ gets past you, does it, little brother?” replied Dean, watching as Ben checked on the IV before examining the snake bite.

The young doctor wore an amazed expression mixed with confusion. He glanced at his uncle. “There’s no sign of any residual swelling here…what did you do?”

Frankie just shrugged. “Wasn’t me.” He looked at his watch. “Did I set the DVR to record ‘Dr. 90210’?”

Ben shook his head but showed a smile as he held out his hand. “Uncle Frankie, you did good.”

Frankie laughed and pulled his nephew in for a hug. Ben patted his uncle on the back, feeling uncomfortable with the burst of emotion. Pulling back, he pointed to Dean’s arm. “I’d still like to--”

Frankie cut him off. “It can wait. I need a real drink.” He draped an arm over his nephew’s shoulder and guided him from the room.

Sam took a seat in the rocker that Frankie had vacated. “You okay?”

Dean stared at his brother for several long seconds. The visceral emotions and sensations from the tail end of his dream still clung to him, and Frankie’s words echoed in his head.

Sam waved his hand. “Yoohoo? Dean? Anybody home?”

Dean stuttered a quick answer. “Yeah, man, I’m good. No worries.”

His brother, however, sensed otherwise. “What’s going on?”

“No idea,” Dean replied. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. But part of him didn’t care about his brother seeing the raw emotion. He just wanted to get far away, wanted to shake the unbalanced feeling. “We need to get the hell out of Kansas.”

“Oklahoma,” corrected Sam, with a small grin.

“Yeah, that too.” Dean looked at his arm. It still hurt like a son of a bitch and it would be difficult to get sprung by Ben before he was ready. He let his head fall back on the pillow and he stared at the ceiling for a moment before a thought struck him. “Man, all the crap we’ve gone through over the last few days and I still don’t know what the hell a chinchilla looks like.”

“I think Ben said there was one in the front yard a little while ago.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Have you seen all the creepy-ass things in that yard? I’m not wandering around out there.”

Sam picked up the washcloth that had fallen to the side of the pillow and laid it on the edge of the pot of water. “We can get Frankie to email us a picture. He’s around here a lot.”

Dean shook his head. “The things people do for love.”

“Ya know,” he continued, trying to keep a straight face, “a year from now we could come back and find out people flock from all around the U.S. to stay at Scarlett’s B and B just to catch a glimpse of the elusive chinchilla.”

Sam stared back at his brother before they answered simultaneously. “Naaahh.”

“It’s doomed,” added Sam.

Dean nodded. “I don’t care what Cracker says.”

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