Chapter Text
Dean Winchester loved the rodeo season and looked forward to it every year. It was a welcome change in pace and social outlet in a community that he fit into like a glove, some minor exceptions excluded. He had grown up around horses, took over the ranch from his dad shortly before he passed and has been running and expanding it ever since.
What Dean missed out on in academics, he more than made up with in life experience. After the passing of his mom at 4 years old, his dad was never quite the same. The loss of the love of his life left deep grooves of pain and loss, which healed over time but never quite went away. However his dad was a fair, hard and yet reasonable man who showed him everything he knew and never let Dean feel his sadness. However, especially around the day of her death every year, Dean could tell his dad was struggling as was he. All in all the relationship between father and son was close because of the tragedy they suffered through and with how they built their lives moving on from that point forward.
Mary Winchester was a wonderful mom as far as Dean could remember, really only able to go on one year of memories plus a few sparse sparks of visuals that pre-dated his fourth birthday. Her gentle hands lifting him up onto a pony during pony rides at the local rodeo weekend, her surprising him with cowboy boots just like daddy’s and a toddler sized Stetson to complete the look. She would hug him and kiss his owies better before placing a cartoon bandaid on them, simply because little Dean loved them so much. Above all she was generous in letting him know how much he was loved and showed it with affection and attention the way only a mom could.
Dean considered himself lucky and rich beyond his wildest dreams, he had parents who loved him unconditionally and as best they could have, given the life they were dealt and he spent his time around animals out in the country where the horizon was endless and the sky stretched far and wide up above. The rolling hills and generous pastures that were part of the family ranch were his playground from when he could barely walk and still are to this day. Safe for one year of self-discovery around 20 years old that brought him the independence and growth he yearned for, albeit coupled with a bucket of hurt and a number of wounds that ran deeper than bandaids and kisses could cure.
When his dad started talking numbers, accounting and that, Dean got scared and locked up, none of what his dad was saying made any sense. The numbers went right above his head and the terms he was using about credits, debits and the different ledgers, profit and loss statements between the cattle and the horse business felt like a different language.
“Dean don’t you ever let someone keep talking if you haven’t the foggiest about what they are saying, son. You ask questions, for as long as it takes for you to understand, chances are others in the room, if there are others, are just as confused as you are.”
This piece of advice had stuck with him, being curious swiftly became one of the first cornerstones of his identity, it allowed him to come out of his shell when he ended up taking online business classes. His teachers loved him for his keen interest, active participation and observation skills. It was through a few years of basic business acumen studies that he was in the end able to create higher margins for the horse side of the ranch. He did so by compiling the ranch’s purchasing power for animal feed and benchmarking their selling rates for stud breeding and outright sales with their competitors in the region. All the strategic corporate talk Dean brought home went above John Winchester’s head but the trainer quickly became the trainee as Dean and his dad became an unbeatable duo of owners; open-minded enough to rely and learn from one another, constantly bouncing ideas off one another and sharing knowledge.
When his dad started to become more frail by the week, physically speaking, they worked out the last will and testament in a way that saw the ranch transferred over to Dean while John was still alive. That way they could avoid the inheritance tax the state would take post John Winchester’s passing. Despite the formal change of hands, operations on the ranch continued the same for a few more years until one fateful day John peacefully fell asleep one night after a summer BBQ and never woke up again.
The cause of death was undoubtedly natural and Dean made sure to bury him beside Mary’s grave in the small town cemetery about a 5 minute drive away. He took solace in having them close and for quite some time just being on the ranch was hard on Dean. Every task, a lot of the infrastructure, how the books were kept had his father’s handprint on it. It got easier once more people joined him on the ranch and he started building a thick-as-thieves family out of strangers.
He missed his father dearly and would go and talk to both Mary and John a couple of times a week just to keep himself sane in his grief. The downside of loving parents, he decided, was that it made losing them all the harder. He had a few moments over the years during which he was certain he had someone watching over him.
While riding a bucking horse during the finals a year past, he was nearly squashed like a pancake between its body and the barrier on the sidelines, but somehow there happened to be a wrangler there strong and big enough to pull him right on over to the other side while the horse slammed into the wooden beams with enough force to enough to break the top one.
Working with animals that are larger, stronger and heavier than you, carried a certain level of risk with it. All it took is for a cow to spook or a horse to see or smell something off and you’d find yourself at the receiving end of a hoof or the strong bite of the teeth from a horse's mouth. All reactions of fear, not with intent and that’s one thing Dean loved about spending time with animals. They blissfully lacked the politics, ulterior motives and calculating mind that characterized so many humans.
The ranch of course didn’t run on its own; he had help to maintain, muck stalls and many other jobs that needed doing every day. Running a ranch like this was not a one-man job and as much as he appreciated animals for company, his people skills were sharp and honed well over the years. Whether he had to charm a new horse owner for boarding, wanted to sell a horse to someone, negotiate rates for supplies and equipment it all involved people. He figured that this was why the Winchester Ranch was so popular, his dad and him both were never the awkward farmer who doesn't talk types.
This year’s rodeo was a special one to Dean; it was the first one where he’d be participating in a new event and bringing a few of his horses with him to sell. The event in the past did not feature any horse sales but as an added opportunity and interest they added a day to the schedule on Thursday where participating riders or interested horse breeders could bring their animals to a market place. Dean had high hopes for the three horses he was bringing in, it was a tough choice to sell instead of keep and raise to breed. Both trains of thought and decisions yielded differing outcomes financially and time wise. Selling a horse just after breaking it in could yield a substantial amount of money all at once but the rancher loses out on that horse’s future earnings whereas keeping the horse and training it for racing, ranching or breeding would yield longer-term and ultimately near passive income. Dean ran the business as a hybrid business where he would make strategic choices based on his gut feeling and wealth of experience that allowed him to assess a horse accurately for character, physical strengths and weaknesses.
Coupled with a veterinarian assessment he had not gone wrong so far and prided himself in even making his assessment method a side-business with quite a few of his friends in the area calling on him when it came to evaluating a horse that they were thinking of buying.
This brought about the second core value of Dean’s identity; honesty and fairness. It would have been easy for him to claim that a horse wasn’t any good and then behind the other person’s back buy it for his own gain. That just wasn’t how Dean was wired though and he liked himself that way. Yes he could spin a story endlessly if he needed to but he always did it in a way that could be backed up and not at the expense of friends or with malicious intent.
His dad’s old friend Bobby would be going with him to the event this time around together with Jo Harvelle, his oldest friend in this whole wide world and their newest ranch hand Brendan. Jo and him first met each other as babies, went to school together and connected over their joint love of horses and anything to do with them. She was the one who had his back when he first started exploring his sexuality, not with her, but backed by her because Dean wasn’t quite sure if John Winchester was ready for a gay or at the very least bi-sexual son. Heck the area they lived only slowly came around to anything other than heteronormative folks in the present day. Montana was as beautiful as it was traditional in some ways. Some of these aspects Dean loved, others not so much but life is not about having everything exactly how you want it, the world would be a sad dreary place if there were no differences of opinion.
The weeks leading up to the largest rodeo they attended every year was more sharply organized than a Swiss made watch could run, everyone had their tasks and responsibilities and when the day came to start driving the caravan of a large RV the three of them would share and a pick-up truck with horse trailer combo they departed with time to spare. Bobby and Brendan in the RV and Jo and Dean leading the way in the pick up truck.
The Winchester Ranch was located in Big Timber Montana. The drive to the Greeley Stampede was a two day drive for the caravan of two with breaks for horses and humans included. It was a beautiful trip through the rolling green hills of Montana and through the state of Wyoming before entering Colorado. The total driving time was just about 10 hours in total, very manageable with the rodeo crew Dean had going. They always packed plenty of hay and alfalfa bales for the horses as well as apples, carrots and pellet food. Most importantly they had their fresh water tanks filled up and a couple of large coolers with snacks, sandwiches, drinks and water for all the humans on board.
Once they reached the outskirts of Greeley they’d stop at the Walmart on the way in where Jo and Brendan did a restock run for food and drinks. The RV was a pretty skookum Jayco, “Monster” as Dean endearingly called it, it looked like a luxurious rancher on the inside with a proper kitchen, living room and enough sleeping spaces for the four of them. Dean had figured out how to make the purchase of the RV tax-deductible as a legitimate business expense a couple of years ago and it had very much become a 2nd home on wheels for all of them.
Brendan had only been with them for a few months but he slotted in perfectly. They ended up in a spot right beside last year’s rodeo king, Asmodeus Armor, a twangy, slick, sneaky son of a bitch to use Dean’s late father’s words the first time from when they competed against him. Dean scheduled their arrival in a way that meant they would have first pick of spots since it was all first come first serve parking and when the attendant guided them in next to the pompous RV and oversized horse trailer he wasn’t happy at all. Unfortunately, the organizers had changed from pick your own space to pre-assigned spots. Dean literally had concerns about vehicle sabotage because of the proximity to that man. Given that they had no choice he explained to his crew that they should never leave trailer or RV unattended and installed the handy wireless cameras he brought for the exact purpose of keeping their equipment, animals and crew safe.
He had never needed them but there were rumors about Armor and his crew of misfits slashing tires of attendees nearby or mixing horse laxatives into the water buckets. Of course nothing could ever be proven beyond a reasonable doubt and many of the organizers turned a blind eye to it as it would create negative publicity for their event to have the police involved in some random spat without proof.
They settled in with a dinner of sandwiches in folding chairs outside their RV after letting the horses roam in the small paddock adjoining their parking spot. It wasn’t much but more than enough for the colt and two mares to stretch their legs. He hung up three haynets and filled a large water bucket so they could eat and drink as needed. Overnight he’d bring them back into the trailer, as some people could get quite rowdy walking back to their trailers.
He watched Asmodeus and his two burly lackeys that looked more like mafia debt enforcers than horse handlers. The trio wandered off towards the Lucky Horseshoe Saloon, the on-site beer-hall in a large converted red barn. When they were out of sight the door opened again and a tall leanly muscled but still quite lanky kid walked out of the Armor’s RV. When he spotted Dean watching him he immediately averted his eyes and made for the far side of the trailer his body language shy, introverted perhaps and certainly anxious around strangers. He looked to be as tall as Dean yet kept himself hunched over as if pretending to appear shorter than he was. Dean shrugged his shoulders, so far he had managed to bring everyone out of their shell no matter how reserved and he had 4 days to do it.
“Who’s the kid Bobby?”
Bobby looked in the direction Dean indicated with a nod of his head and just saw the back of a young guy puttering around the Armor horse trailer.
“That’s Ass-mos’ stepson, Sam Wesson, solid horse man but very much under the thumb of the big guy. Rumors are he is mute and working for a pittance taking care of the horses. Real good with horses though and hard working.”
Dean let his gaze wander over to the kid once more and watched him feed an apple to one of their horses, petting the pinto horse. It was a fine specimen of a horse and seemed quite skittish earlier but when the young man walked up to him it nuzzled its head across his shoulder as if to hug him. Dean could see the kid’s face in profile from his vantage point and saw cute dimples when the kid smiled because of the tickling, soft touch of the horse.
Their whole group kept their eyes on the kid not really talking. The young man turned around, likely feeling the creepy bunch staring at his back, and when he did his eyes were partially obstructed by his floppy hair but same as before, he immediately dropped his gaze and kept busy.
Dean admitted to himself that the guy was pretty cute, probably mid twenties or so and as much as he could feel the little flutter in his stomach and a low urge to talk to the guy he stuffed all that down deep with ease. He needed and loved his adopted family that he was here with and loved them deeply but in a romantic sense love had been scarce since Arthur. Part of the reason was fear and in greater parts self-preservation simply because of how hard the loss of his parents had hit him and never wanting to feel again what Arthur the bastard Ketch had made him feel.
He had witnessed first hand the severity of grief his father struggled with over losing his mom and he wasn’t sure he would survive such a loss. Better not to get involved, which he knew full well was a cop-out and worst-case, doom and gloom way of looking at things. Perhaps one of these days he’d dig into that part of himself without using being too busy as an excuse not to.
They ran through the schedule for the coming days once more and established who would stay with the vehicles, when they’d hand off and so forth and at a respectable 10pm they all retreated to their beds for the night. Dean checked all the cameras before hitting the hay himself and found them all to be in good working order.
The Thursday marketplace event went by rather uneventfully and all three of the Winchester horses pulled in excellent prices which made Dean happy and they went to renowned and respected ranches that he knew the owners of from years around the rodeo and ranching circuit. After a solid day’s work Bobby, Jo and Dean made their way over to the saloon, had some grub, did a little line dancing and drank just the right amount of beer given it was the night before riding. Jo would take part in the barrel riding competition with her trusty horse Myriad, back at the trailers under Brendan’s watchful eyes.
For Dean the riding would start in the afternoon, bull riding first and then the first round of bareback bronc riding would be Friday afternoon with the finale on Saturday morning. This was followed by saddle bronc riding Saturday afternoon with the finale of that category closing up the event on Sunday. Some years Dean would bring a bronc horse to the event but this year none of the horses in his herd fit the bill.
It was close to 9pm when Ass-mos, as they had begun to call Asmodeus Armor since the first time they ran into him a couple years back, arrived at the saloon with his goonies. Dean didn’t see the gangly Armor kid they’d seen earlier as a threat to their horses or vehicles, so he called Brendan over to join them instead of him having to guard their gear and animals. They all hung out and danced some more. One of the cameras set off a notification on his phone about 10 minutes into Brendan having joined them, but when he checked the footage there was nothing in frame. He decided to go check on things, hugging everyone good night before he left.
He circled around their mini compound consisting of the paddock for the horses, the RV and the horse trailer and pick up truck, all cameras were working and picking him up while he did so. The music from the saloon was only a faint echo out here and the stars were bright overhead, the night clear and balmy. He saw the kid sitting on the stairs of the Armor RV next to theirs reading a book. He could tell that he looked at him but it was too dark to know for sure. Dean gave him a friendly wave, pleased when he saw a hesitant big hand wave back. He figured that the kid had set off the camera earlier, because just walking between their vehicles would trigger at least one of them.
Sleep came quickly for Dean that night and he woke to the delicious smells of a hearty breakfast, courtesy of Brendan who was dishing up bacon and eggs for the lot of them with orange juice and coffee. The ranch hand had tried his hand at a chef career in the big city but wide open spaces and his love for the slower kind of life brought him back to Montana before long, though he was originally from Wyoming. Their plan was to stop at his folk’s place on the way home.
His mom liked to fuss over Dean and Jo both in case they brought any scrapes and bruises home from the rodeo. Neither of them minded in the least because her first aid was always accompanied by a home-cooked meal and home-made pie. The fastest way to Dean’s heart other than through horses was through pie.
The morning went quite well for Jo as she rode herself through the long round run and qualified for the next round without issues. Both rider and Myriad were in excellent shape and Dean welcomed her back just outside the arena with a big smile on his face as he congratulated her on the fantastic performance. Jo jumped off of Myriad and rewarded her with a sugar cube and a drink of water while they walked her back to their trailer together.
As they got closer they saw one of Asmodeus’ goons in a heated conversation with the kid, hands flying, tone urgent and angry, while the younger man curled in on himself and didn’t utter a word. Neither man had spotted Dean or Jo yet as they got closer. Dean’s sense of justice was being riled up just watching from a distance, tone matters son, his father’s voice resounded in his head, no good deals were reached by screaming and punching each other.
The jerk pushed the kid hard in his chest and slammed him up against the side of the Armor branded horse trailer, his head slamming backwards and the kid slid down along the side of the vehicle. Dean had seen more than enough but also there was a pesky voice in his head saying that this was none of his business and that he should not get involved. When the wannabe gangster pulled his foot back however, Dean yelled: “Hey!!” The body language changed instantly, clearly not expecting to have been caught in the act. The guy turned around to them while offering the kid a hand up which he hesitantly took. “Slight misunderstanding between Sammy and me here, none of your business Winchester.” The fact that the guy knew Dean’s name was surprising and if he was completely honest worrisome. He didn’t want them to know who he was or who his people were.
“Hey kid, Sam is it?” Dean asked, looking at the young man half obstructed by the gorilla, who nodded in affirmation. “You okay?” he nodded his head a little too fast for Dean's liking and when he winced in obvious pain, Dean grew even more concerned.
Moving past the lackey Dean moved in closer and asked Sam for permission to have a look at the back of his head. “He's fine, just a little bump, kid's got the head of a mule.” The derogatory joke at Sam’s expense died on the brute's face with the icy stare both Jo and Dean laid on him. As a rider Dean had had his fair share of bumps to the head, knock on wood thus far nothing major. He'd more than once been subjected to the concussion related catalog of questions by Bobby and his dad.
“Gonna ask you a few questions Sam, want to be sure you're not concussed, simple yes or no will do for an answer.”
Sam nodded again, a single syllable had yet to leave his lips.
“Look, not moving your head would be good right now, can you do that for me?” Dean laid a comforting hand on the young man's shoulder who jumped at the contact not having expected it but didn't pull away. Sam looked distressed, his eyebrows drawing together, eyes wide and pleading.
“He don't speak, not since his mama died.” the goon explained.
“Alright gentle nods and shakes it is then Sammy, you got this.”
Dean wasn't sure exactly what caused the shy bright smile to appear on the kid’s face but he felt privileged to witness it regardless. Cute dimples cut into his cheeks, beautiful white teeth between handsome lips and those hazel eyes lit up.
Dean realized Sam wasn't quite as young as he thought he was probably in his late 20s. But that smile made Dean's stomach swoop in a whole different way. He ran Sam through the typical EMT questions for concussion symptoms and was grateful for Jo who had pulled jackass no. 1 into a conversation taking his beady mean looking eyes off of Sam and Dean. The only question Sam answered yes to was whether or not he had a headache. Dean instructed him to find the First Aid attendant on the rodeo grounds if he got blurry vision, a pressure in his head got nauseous or felt in any way off.
When he was done with his analysis he offered his condolences for the loss of Sam's mom. He wasn't ready for the glistening eyes that statement triggered in Sam, but up close like this, Dean could see the hurt, the loss, the grief and whatever other hardships life had thrown at this beautiful young man.
“Hey, hey, I'm sorry I didn't mean to upset you. I can relate, lost both my parents. May I?”
Dean accompanied the last question with his arms wide open to indicate that he wanted to give him a hug.
Sam looked around furtively, scanning the area around them for who or what Dean did not know but whatever it was seemed to have come back satisfactory as Sam nodded shyly at him. His arms down the side of his body. Dean moved in and gave him a one armed hug wrapping around a set of shoulders that felt much too bony for Sam’s height and pulled the kid in. For the first few seconds nothing happened and then two surprisingly strong arms clamped around Dean's torso and held like a drowning person would to a life raft. Dean simply let him and just waited him out. Sam’s eyes were blotchy around the edges when he pulled away and Dean could tell by the small moist spot on his t-shirt that he'd been crying.
“Hey Sam.” Dean made sure the big dude was still engaged with Jo before he leaned in and whispered: “If you need help you knock on our trailer, also if you wanna hang out with us and have a beer don't be shy.”
He patted Sam’s check comfortingly and then turned back to beefy guy who seemed all googly eyes over Jo by this point, but Dean knew better and could tell by her body language.
He walked over winking at Sam over his shoulder and then slung his arms around Jo: “Alright sweetheart thank you for enduring my helper complex. Kid's gonna be fine, no concussion based on how he feels right now.” He kissed Jo on the cheek who gratefully played along and holding hands they wandered over to their trailer.
As soon as Dean and Jo were out of sight the goon grabbed Sam harshly by his upper arm and laid into him about colluding with the competition. Sam just let it happen, knew full well the consequences if he reacted would be worse for him. “Oh wait you're too quiet and dumb to collude.” the goon laughed at his own joke clearly it wasn't Sam who was lacking in gray matter here. Sometimes Sam wished he could speak, could get over his own trauma response but it didn't matter, he understood himself well enough to know why he hadn't uttered a word in just shy of a year's time, whenever he tried nothing came out. He wished for not the first time that his emotions were muted alongside his voice.