sketchydean

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The Wanting Comes In Waves

All Sam/Dean, All The Time


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Fic: Lion Lay Down With Me (Sam/Dean, NC-17) Part 1 of 4

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Samuel ran, faster than he’d ever run before. Into the dark forest past the crisscrossed logs that had always been the final boundary marker, straight into the unknown depths of the forest where he wasn’t supposed to ever venture. His promises to his father were long forgotten in the heat of escape. He had no thoughts of stopping and considering if this was the right course.

There was nothing for it, he had to flee, with the witch hunters right on his tail.

Without turning around he could hear them, could tell they were gaining on him. It made no matter how fast he ran, still they grew closer. Zig-zagging through the trees got harder and harder as he continued his breakneck pace, the trees growing larger and closer together, filled in with thick brush that tore at his clothes.

“I see him Roy! There, you are the closest! Get him! Get that witch!”

“Walt I cannot, he is too fast, you must do it! Catch him!”

Samuel ran faster and faster, the land beginning to slope uphill, his legs pounded into the forest duff, feet dodging the rocks and branches, brush tearing at his long hair.  “I’ve lost my hat,” he thought with a crazed laugh, no worries about hats when you’re going to be beheaded or burned at the stake. There was only the need to escape, to survive, to outwit them just one more time.

His feet flew over all the obstacles, clad only in the soft leather shoes his father had made him just before he’d been captured. Their red laces shone and flashed as he ran up through the forest dodging and weaving, straining to hear if the witch hunters were still tracking him. Their voices sounded fainter, the hooves of their horses seemed to have stopped echoing off the rocky cliffs far above. Samuel ducked behind a tree and stood against it panting for breath, wishing he had a water skin.

Then, just behind him he heard, “Walt! The witch is over here! To me, ride to me!”

Samuel took off up the hill, pleased at seeing how steep it was ahead of him, hoping against all hope that it would be too steep for the plodding horses of the noblemen chasing him. His smaller horse, Émeute, would have had no problem at all taking this challenge on. If only he had Émeute here right now! He thought of how nimble she always had been, how she’d move her feet just so delicately, choosing the right path every time. He tried to emulate Émeute now, channeling the memory of his beloved horse to help him make his escape.

The witch hunter again faded back, his horse protesting in a loud bellow of pain. “Roy! My horse will not ascend this hill, follow him, don’t lose that witch!”

Samuel glanced back once to see the second witch hunter passing the first, his horse smaller and possibly more agile. The man looked at him with intense beady eyes and an animal scowl. “Witch, stop this running away, we will only make it harder on you.”

Samuel didn’t answer but turned and set himself back to the task of ascending the now rockier and steeper hillside. With every step he took, rocks would loosen and roll down the hill knocking into the horses below him. They were gaining on him though, steadily and surely, even though he was fleet of foot, he still was a man afoot and not a horse. And running for what seemed an age already had tired him so much that the panic and adrenaline was beginning to wear off.

He gasped for breath, hoping that there would be something he could push down onto the witch hunters down the hill. He moved towards a cluster of boulders that had a tree trunk precariously balanced on top of it with that idea in mind, already beginning to decide in which direction to roll it. Samuel stopped paying close enough attention to the placement of his feet, and tripped on one of the large loops of tree roots protruding from the cliff side.

For a moment he thought he’d just fall there and stay, but no, luck was not his today. He fell sideways and after a wrenching of the ankle that was caught in the root, began an accelerating tumble down the mountain side. He tried to not cry out, but it was impossible; every time he struck the rocks or trees, a sound would punch out of him. He flew past the two riders, startling them with his speed. He couldn’t see how they reacted or hear if they turned to follow him, but of course they would. He was after all, their prey.

Samuel rolled and tumbled and crashed down the mountain back into the more crowded forest below. His descent was finally stopped by the trunk of a large pine.  He tried to stand and keep running, but was unable to rise. The wind knocked out of him as well as his legs no longer holding his weight. He crumpled up into as small a shape as he could manage and hoped they would not see him. But his brightly dyed linen shirt betrayed him in the gloom of the forest, it was hard to hide that bright of a blue. His tears started then, when he realized this was it, he was caught, after everything his father had taught him, after all his running, he had failed.

The triumph in the witch hunters whoops made him ill. The smaller of the two of them said, “We have done it, the lord will be mightily pleased.”

“Roy, you tie him up with the fetters, and we will drag him behind both our horses.”

“No, you do it Walt, I am too tired to get off this horse even one more time than necessary.”

“Fine, but you owe me an extra tankard of mead when we return to our lodgings.” Walt dismounted and led his horse over to stand over the ball of human misery that was their quarry, he snatched up the leather straps and cuffs and began to loop them around Samuel’s wrists.

“Ho there. What is this?” A new voice asked.

The witch hunters looked up in surprise at a man, obviously a Lord by his dress, seated on an impressively large black horse, “Oh Lord Villeneuve, we were not expecting you out this far,” said Roy.

“It is still my land is it not?” asked Lord Villeneuve, gesturing with one hand at land surrounding them.

Roy nodded, “Yes, yes my lord, of course it is.”

“And so why are you two here? And what are you doing to that poor man?” Lord Villeneuve pointed at the man tied to the horses.

“He is a witch sire, we are bringing him to the trials in Valais,” Roy answered, trying not to show his rising fear in his voice.

“A witch? How do you know this?” Lord Villeneuve asked.

“Everyone knows, he is a seer, he brings death. His father tried to hide him, but we searched him out,” Walt said, finally finding his voice and enough courage to use it.

“Let me guess, there is some sort of reward involved?” Lord Villeneuve sneered.

Walt stood up taller under the Lord’s disapproval, attempting to act as bravely as possible. “Well, perhaps there is, but that is not the reason that we have ridden for days in pursuit.”

“You’ve been chasing this poor man for days you say? How barbaric.  If he was such a powerful witch, would he not have brought you down by now?  Let him go,” Lord Villeneuve said, as if he expected to be obeyed immediately, flicking one finger at their captive.

“No sire, we have been asked by Lord Martigny to find all the witches in the area. The trials in Valais have been very successful to date. Over a hundred of these evil ones have been found and dealt with,” Walt said, sounding as proud as if he’d caught them all himself.

“You mean murdered,” Lord Villeneuve sneered again with real disdain, bringing his horse closer to the other two.

Walt shook his head and waved his hands, “No, set free from the hands of Satan and his minions.”

Lord Villeneuve sat up straighter in his seat and came forward another few steps. His whole face seemed to change into hard-set stone, “Again, I say let him go. He is on my lands, and is thus under my control.”


Roy moved his horse between the Lord and Walt’s. “But sire, it is very important that we bring him back immediately. Lord Martigny is expecting us.”

Lord Villeneuve frowned at the blatant blocking maneuver and stepped his black steed nimbly around Roy’s. “I will deal with Martigny, leave that to me. Untie him now, or I shall be forced to take drastic measures.”

Roy and Walt looked at each other in panic. Roy answered still atop his own horse, “No sire, we will not.”

Lord Villeneuve’s green eyes flashed dangerously, and his hand went immediately to the hilt of his sword drawing it out slowly. Roy drew his also, but he was much too slow, Lord Villeneuve had slashed the leather straps binding the man to Walt’s horse.  “You will leave my lands immediately,” Lord Villeneuve commanded, the point of his sword at Walt’s throat.

“Lord Villeneuve, please, just let us take the witch, we will not ever come back,” Roy asked.

“No. He is not going with you. Your choice is to either leave or die,” Lord Villeneuve pressed the sharp point deeper into the soft flesh of Walt’s neck drawing blood.

“No, the witch must burn,” Walt said, with the fire in his eye of the truly deluded.

“So be it,” Lord Villeneuve said softly, and also slit Walt’s throat to the bone.

Walt crumpled into a heap below his startled horse as Lord Villeneuve swept the limp body of the supposed witch up onto the saddle of his horse. He stared at Roy in challenge. “You may inform Lord Martigny of what has transpired here today. Please tell him that I do not appreciate trespassing nor witch hunting in my lands.”

“Yes sire, of course,” Roy mumbled, lowering his eyes, and trying not to cry for his dead brother lying on the ground in front of him.

Lord Villeneuve settled the newly freed man across his legs and held onto his shoulders with one arm, the reins of his black horse in the hand of the other and sped down the hill out of view.

Roy knelt on the blood-soaked ground holding his brother’s face, “As God is my witness, I will avenge you Walt, I swear it. That witch will still burn and that Lord Villeneuve will pay.”

As Lord Villeneuve rode away, the second thoughts and hesitations that he probably should have considered before impulsively killing a man came into his mind. But then he rode out into the sun and he looked at the man he held and was struck all over again with his beauty.

He had watched the chase for a short while this morning, it was hard to miss with those two buffoons crashing about his forest after all. The man they chased had caught his eye as being so very graceful, the power of his strong legs carrying him effortlessly through the trees, the strength of his arms pulling him forward, and the beautiful long hair flowing behind him as he ran from his pursuers. But seeing his face this close, the sharp nose, the cutting cheekbones, the strong chin and prominent high forehead. They were all so perfectly formed. Lord Villeneuve slowed his horse and stopped at a small creek side to let her drink her fill of the cool mountain water and to drink his fill of this man’s ethereal beauty.

The man began to stir when they came to a complete stop, sensing the change even though he had seemed to be unconscious. Slowly his eyes fluttered open to meet the lord’s.

“You’re so beautiful,” the man sleepily, with a small smile, then seemed to come back to himself, asking sharply, “Who are you?”

Lord Villeneuve smiled at the man he held, “Be calm sir. I am Dean Leon de Villeneuve, lord of these lands you’ve been running through. The witch hunters have been dispatched.”

“But why would you save me?” The escapee asked, struggling a little against the strong arms that supported him.

Lord Villeneuve loosened his hold a bit as the man he held struggled. “Settle sir, I will not drop you. I saved you, because I do not hold with trespassers, nor witch-hunters in my lands.”

“But they mean to kill me lord,” the escapee said with wide eyes conveying how scared he was at the prospect.

Lord Villeneuve shook his head, almost angrily, “Not on my land they won’t, and certainly not without a proper trial.”

“You would do this for me, a complete stranger? One who they accuse of being a witch?” The man asked, searching the stranger’s face who held him for the truth about this essential question.

Lord Villeneuve smiled again at the man’s searching eyes, and tried to project how deeply he believed in what he was about to say, “Yes, there is something wrong with this whole witch-trial business, it stinks of corruption and I do not believe in it at all. May I know your name sir?” He felt the man relax in his arms, becoming heavier, but in a way that made him want to still offer him the comfort of his arms.

“Oh, yes, uh, of course, I am Samuel de Marietta. My family is from Martigny,” Samuel said, relieved to finally be asked to introduce himself to his rescuer.

“Well met Samuel. They have hunted you all this distance?” Lord Villeneuve asked.

Samuel closed his eyes and took a few breaths, as if he was reliving his panicked flight, then seemed to steady himself so that he could answer, “Yes, it has been a journey.”

Lord Villeneuve heard the tiredness and the fear in Samuel’s voice and chastised himself for not noticing earlier, “It is so rude of me, you must need sustenance. Here, have some wine.”

“If you wouldn’t mind sire, I’d like to drink from the stream,” Samuel said, turning his head against Lord Villeneuve’s arm to peer at the twinkling water below.

Dean realized that he was still cradling this man on his lap, holding him close in his arms, and was suddenly reluctant to let go of him. But he did not want to frighten this man any further today. “Of course Samuel, of course, I’ll lower you down the side of Pala, here you go.” He slowly released Samuel down until his feet could touch the rocks of the creek bank.

“Ow! Oh no!” Samuel cried out, losing his balance and falling to his knees, hands splashing into the water.

Dean instantly felt terrible that he’d injured this man further, and quickly slipped from the back of his mount, coming to Samuel’s side with a hand gently on his back.  “Are you quite alright Samuel?”

“No, my ankle is more injured than I’d though. When I stepped upon it, I could not stand,” Samuel answered, his head bowing down further towards the water’s surface. He lowered it the rest of the way dunking it under the clear flowing water, submerging his whole head, then drinking deeply.  He tossed his hair back, inadvertently flipping water all over Dean and then looked up.

Dean’s breath caught, because again the beauty of this man stole it away, the sunlight hit the water droplets on the planes of Samuel’s face, and lit up the many colors of his unusual tilted eyes.

“What is it lord?” Samuel asked Dean stared at him.

“You. You are beautiful,” Dean said in a voice strangled with the effort to not actually say out loud what he was finding himself saying. “And I should not have said that, I apologize. Just returning the compliment. Let me help you with your ankle.”  Dean ducked his head in embarrassment, attending to removing the cleverly made, soft soled leather boots that Samuel wore, untying the jaunty red laces. “These are lovely boots by the way.”

“My father made them for me. Before they…” Samuel said, softly touching the boots that Dean still held.

“Oh Samuel no, did they take your father too?” Dean asked with true concern.

Samuel busied himself with removing his hose from the injured foot, finally answering, “Yes, he was…in trouble with them, for trying to hide me.”

“What they said, about you seeing the future, is it true?” Dean asked, hoping that Samuel would answer truthfully.

Samuel considered all that Dean had done for him already, and what he’d said about the witch trials and decided to trust him with the truth. “Yes, not all the time, I only see people dying in horrible ways. And I can never do anything about it.”

“Are they people you know?” Dean asked, knowing that it must have taken a lot for Samuel to answer that first question honestly, it only seemed right to continue the conversation as if what they were discussing were completely normal.

Samuel shook his head, then looked at Dean with sadness written on his face, knowing he could never communicate how awful the visions were, “Not so far. I can never help them. Just watch them die.”

Dean put one hand on Samuel’s shoulder, hoping to somehow console him. “That seems a terrible gift. Not one that a witch would bring upon themselves, for it would not serve a purpose.”

“I don’t know why I’m like this. I just am. Ever since my birthday two years ago,” Samuel said with a small shrug, feeling the heat from Dean’s hand soaking into his sore shoulder.

Dean moved Samuel’s foot so that it was submerged in the cold water, and leaned down to roll up the pant leg so it wouldn’t get soaked. His fingers burned at the touch of Samuel’s over-heated skin.  He gently massaged the calf and examined the ankle, probing with his fingertips. Samuel gasped at the touch, the intimacy of it surprising him, then the pain flooded through him once more as his ankle was moved. He cried out again.

“We’ll have to wrap it, I’ll take you back to my house and my doctor will attend to you,” Dean said, frowning with concern at Samuel’s pain.

Samuel realized he had not thanked his rescuer yet, and burst out with a hurried thanks, “Thank you Lord Villeneuve, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

Dean patted Samuel’s shoulder again, squeezing it a little, hoping that it would calm the man’s nerves down a bit. “Samuel, please call me Dean, and you shall repay me by sharing my company as you recuperate.”

“Pardon me sire, I mean Dean. That is no sort of payment,” Samuel insisted, hoping that Dean understood that he was not going to just take all of this largesse being offered without attempting to repay him in some manner.

“After you’ve lived in my house for a while, I think you’ll understand what I mean. It is very lonely there. And I have no other company to even dine with, only a few servants,” Dean said, as if he hoped that would explain it all to Samuel’s satisfaction.

“You mean you have no family?” Samuel asked with true surprise.

“No, I do not. My mother died when I was quite young in a fire, and my father recently died, leaving me alone in the house and with all the duties,” Dean said with a voice tinged with regret and tiredness.

“But you have no wife or children?” Samuel asked, because he wanted to be sure Dean was not leaving anything out in the explanation of his strange household. It sounded so improbable.

“No. Life has not gone that way for me it seems,” Dean answered, sounding very neutral about the subject, as if he’d trained himself to not give away his real feelings on the topic.

“It does sound lonely if you don’t mind me agreeing with you.”

Dean laughed, a little bitterly at the thought, then a more genuine laugh as he saw Samuel’s reaction, giving himself over to a full belly sort of laugh. “No of course not.”

“Well, I’m making you laugh at least,” Samuel said, laughing a little himself.

Dean grew suddenly serious, “That is not a requirement of me helping you Samuel.”

“I know, I wouldn’t think that of you, and I’m much too tall to become a court jester. But with a laugh like yours, I do believe I would take on that job just to hear it more.”

Samuel’s reward was another surprisingly loud laugh from Dean, his eyes crinkling up at the corners and his white teeth flashing in a grin.

Dean removed a thick silk scarf from his neck and wrapped Samuel’s ankle, tied the boots to Pala’s harness and lifted Samuel once more to hold him in front of him on the saddle. They rode in a pleasant, companionable silence until Samuel’s eyes drooped lower and lower, finally his body relaxed into sleep.  Samuel’s head relaxed back onto Dean’s arms. Dean chuckled to himself that he was like a small boy all worn out from playing too hard, but then sobered at the thought that this man he held had run for his life for days. He had lost everything he’d ever known. Dean held him a little tighter then, some instinct of wanting to protect and shelter Samuel awakening deep within him. He mused to himself, perhaps you are a witch Samuel, you have put me under your spell so quickly.

Shaking his dead-asleep companion awake took several attempts. “Samuel, wake up, we are almost there, I’d like you to see my home.”

Samuel lifted his head from where it rested on Dean’s shoulder, following where Dean was pointing and whistled admiringly, “I am not surprised to find it’s the most beautiful house I’ve ever seen.”

“Even nicer than Martigny’s?” Dean asked with a disbelieving chuckle.

Samuel nodded in excitement, “Yes Dean, my goodness the view from up there must be amazing.”

“You shall soon see for yourself. On Pala, let’s get home!” Dean shouted with more joy in his voice and heart than he’d had since his father’s passing.

The man on his lap had made him happy just by being there and giving him a chance to help someone, but there was something more, some spark between them already that he’d never felt before with any man. Enjoying Samuel’s oohs and aahs about the scenery surrounding his estate, and the lush manicured gardens was a new thing. It was the first time he’d really had the experience of being proud of the fact that this was all his now.

A short, brown-haired man with mischievous hazel was waiting for them on the front steps of the main house. “Filou, thank you my good man. Here, please help my guest Samuel down, he is injured.”

“Yes my lord, of course.” Filou steadied Samuel as Dean lowered him down to the ground, helping him balance on one foot on the steps.

Dean dismounted and handed Pala’s reins to Filou, “I’ll see to Samuel if you’ll take Pala to Louis in the stables.”

“Yes my lord, right away. Will you be needing baths or refreshments?”

“Both, as soon as you can manage. I’ll be putting Samuel in the room that adjoins mine.”

“Very good sir, we’ll see to the bath water first thing.”

“Samuel, would you rather try and hop, or shall I just carry you up?”

“My pride says I should attempt the hopping, but my ankle says otherwise. If you wouldn’t mind terribly?”

“Not a problem, I’m not the one that’s been running for my life for days,” Dean said, scooping Samuel up into his arms.

Samuel looped his own arms around Dean’s neck to hold on and steady himself as Dean carried them up the steps and through the front door into the entry way.  The high ceiling and chandeliers were impressive, but not as impressive as the sweeping staircase or Dean’s strong arms holding him close.

“All the way up there? Isn’t there a servant’s quarters downstairs you could put me in sire?”

“It’s Dean. Remember you promised? And no guest of mine is staying in the servant’s quarters, as nice as they are, you need to be more comfortable.”

“It is your house, I shall argue no further, Dean.”

“Good, now hold on, we’re heading up and I don’t want us to tumble down the stairs and make you worse.”

Dean ascended the stairs as quickly as he could manage. As wonderful as it was holding Samuel so close, he was rather bulky, and it was a good challenge. He took them past the doorway to his own chambers, to the smaller one next door and gently set Samuel down on the high four poster bed. The deep blue canopy and draperies shook with the movement. Samuel groaned as he lay back on the bed, lifting his injured foot up carefully. Dean found some extra cushions from a chair and placed them underneath it.  “How’s that?”

“It’s lovely, your whole home is, of course it is. Thank you so much,” Samuel said, settling himself back into the softness of the bed.

“Eventually you will have to stop thanking me,” Dean said sounding a little bit exasperated with all the excessive thanks.

“No, no I don’t believe I will,” Samuel responded with a cheeky grin.

“Here is a bit of lunch for you sir,” Filou announced at the doorway, “Would you like me to serve your guest in here, and you in chambers?”

“No, if it’s acceptable to Samuel, I’d like to join him in breaking our fast here.”

“Yes, of course, thank you very much Filou, it all looks wonderful, is that some sort of pastry I spy?” Samuel asked, pointing at a puffy sickle moon shaped dessert with jam on top.

“Yes, my own invention, never can have a meal without something sweet I say,” Filou said brightly, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“Filou loves his pastries, he’ll fatten you right up Samuel. Just you wait and see.”

“Don’t listen to him, I’ve known this boy all my life and he’s never said no to one of my desserts. Not one! The bathwater will be coming up as soon as the kitchen boy can manage,” Filou said, backing through the doorway and closing the door quietly.

“Thank you Filou,” Samuel called out, hoping the friendly servant heard him.

Dean pushed the tray a little closer to Samuel, and sat on the edge of the bed. “Would you like a bit of wine to wash down that sweet?”

“Yes, that would be great.”

Dean poured a glass and handed it to Samuel, their fingers brushing. They both hesitated at the touch and their eyes met for a long moment. Unasked questions passed between them, both wondering if the other felt it too. Samuel smiled and sipped at the wine, eyes still searching Dean’s face. Dean drank from his own glass, using the moment to enjoy cataloging all the wonderful expressiveness of Samuel’s face while he thought of how to break the somewhat awkward lengthening silence without embarrassing either of them.

“Tell me Samuel, how often do your visions come?” Dean finally asked, wanting to know more about his guest’s affliction.

Samuel finished chewing the pastry that he was eating. “Oh. Well, they are very unpredictable. I would say once a moon or so.”

“A moon, do you mean a month?” Dean asked, intrigued to hear Samuel use that phrase.

“Yes, oh that’s just how my father referred to it, I am sorry if I said the wrong thing.”

“Was your father a witch Samuel?” Dean asked, thinking that there may be more truth to be told.

“My father a witch? No sire, no he was not, he was just a shoemaker, and his father before him,” Samuel explained, hoping that Dean would believe him, because there was no way he could prove it now.

“Those beautiful shoes you wear, you said he made those?” Dean asked, pointing down the length of Samuel’s body towards his feet propped up on the pillow, only one shoe still on his uninjured foot.

“Yes, right before they took him…” Samuel’s voice disappeared into a suppressed sob.

Dean laid his hand over Samuel’s, squeezing it gently, “I’m sorry Samuel, I should not have asked.”

“No, no it’s alright. He… he worked very hard on them, they were a gift for my birth day. I’m glad I have something that he made here with me,” Samuel said, squeezing Dean’s hand back to thank him for his sympathy.

Dean didn’t let go of Samuel’s hand to ask one more question, “You have nothing else?”

Samuel looked over to meet Dean’s eyes, and saw that this man really did care about him for whatever reason. So he took strength from that support and simply answered, “No, they burned our home to the ground.”

Dean listened and sighed a little at Samuel’s response. He closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths, remembering what he was about to share, he had never told another living soul. But for some reason, Samuel’s honesty even though he was in such pain from his injury and the loss of his family and home inspired him to also decide to be truthful.  “Samuel, I know this may sound strange to you. But I am sure that we were meant to meet in the forest today. Filou has been in my household for my entire life, he practically raised me. And he has a touch of the sight as some call it. He has always told me I’d meet and rescue and befriend a tall stranger in need. So if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to call you my friend and offer you a place in my home for as long as you would like to live here.”

Samuel’s jaw dropped open in surprise, and he hesitated, not sure if the lord was making a joke, or if he hadn’t completely understood the offer Dean had made, “I don’t know what to say. You shame me with your offer sir.”

“How so?” Dean asked, tilting his head to one side, as he was considered what Samuel could mean.

“It is so generous, and I don’t know what it is that you expect from me,” Samuel finally managed to stammer out, blushing bright red at all the thoughts that sped through his mind. Not that he minded those thoughts, not at all, having had a few of them about Dean today already. But how could Dean have possibly known that? So Samuel felt that he had to at least ask the question to see how Dean would answer.

Dean turned a matching shade of red, closing his eyes briefly against the embarrassment. He dropped his hold on Samuel’s hand and put both of his up in the air in a surrender gesture. “Only your friendship Samuel, I assure you. That is all. I am an honorable man.”

Samuel shook his head, mad at himself for upsetting his kind host, but only more confused at his answer. “No, I did not mean to imply that you would take advantage, or anything of the sort. Please believe me, I am just confused by your generosity. That is all.”

“I understand, I take no offense then. I’ll leave you now, Filou will assist you in bathing. Rest, and we’ll eat dinner later this evening,” Dean said, rising from the bed and moving the tray to the table where Samuel could still reach it from the bed. He began to turn to leave the room.

Samuel reached out and caught Dean’s wrist, holding it firmly. He looked up at Dean and asked, “Dean, please don’t go. I didn’t mean to ruin everything.”

Dean patted Samuel’s hand that encircled his wrist gently, and looked him in the eye, willing his blush to be faded at least a bit. “You didn’t ruin a thing Samuel, if you would like me to stay, I will, of course.”

“I’ve had a terrible few days, and I just don’t want to be alone. Talk to me about anything besides witch-hunters, please?”

Dean sat back down on the bed, and picked up a hunk of bread with some creamed butter, ate for a while, and then launched into telling a tale about how he had chosen Pala to be his horse. This distracted and entertained Samuel enough that his worries about why Dean was helping him and what would be expected of him in this beautiful home were soon forgotten.

Onto Part 2

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