Shadow's Sword

[eachdraidhean]

Fic Title: Shadow's Sword
Fandom/Genre: SPN AU
Pairing(s): Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 7152
Warnings: None
Notes: Written for the spn_reversebang challenge. Draft art by vail_kagami

Summary: Dean's position as Captain of the Watch in the city of Aldberg gets harder when a new Chancellor comes to power and begins imposing laws that Dean doesn't agree with. As he battles his conscience, and tries to do the right thing, he takes comfort in the fact that Sam's always got his nose buried in a book, and his studies keep him out of harms way. But Sam has always been good at keeping secrets, and this time, it could get him killed.


Too Late

It was minutes before the curfew bell as Dean walked home. His shift was done, and he’d handed the job of keeping the city safe over to Captain Avery for the night. That didn’t stop him from making sure any stragglers he came across got home safely. The uniform he wore commanded respect and his face was well known in the city. He scolded a couple he found wrapped around each other in a doorway, and sent them on their way with a stern warning, urging them to hurry.

It wasn’t so long ago that people had been free to walk the streets at any time of night, but that was before Chancellor Crowley came to power and began imposing new laws and demanding higher taxes. Dean’s father, John, opposed Crowley, but hadn’t been able to keep him from gaining the office of Chancellor. John blamed himself, and spent longer and longer hours working on ways to stop Crowley, but corruption was rife, and Dean had watched his father become more and more frustrated.

The second year they’d lived in the city, John had been elected to the merchants guild and he worked hard, meeting with the other merchants, hearing their woes and trying to help where he could. He progressed up through the city council, but as the years passed, Crowley, who was known for his narrow views and lack of compassion also rose through the ranks of the council. John and the merchants opposed him at every turn, but he had an uncanny power to charm others with his wit and knowing eyes. When he was elected as Chancellor, things began to change. Small things at first. Higher penalties for petty theft while those in the inner circle were allowed to get away with paying lower wages and putting prices up, which in John’s eyes amounted to a worse crime. And then there was the curfew.

Many citizens who were found out in the open after nightfall were healers, on their way to deliver babies or help with sudden illnesses. Their punishments were harsh, and for the first time, Dean felt the need to speak up openly. His audience with the council didn’t go well, and he was left in no doubt that if he spoke out again, he would be stripped of his command. He silently vowed to do what he could to make sure that those that didn’t warrant punishment were spared it, but he walked a fine line, as did John, and Dean hoped that his father’s open opposition wouldn’t put him in danger.

Dean strode across the Merchant’s Square, slowing when he reached the far side. He walked along the row of store fronts until he came to a narrow alleyway that he knew well. He looked around the corner, then glanced back to make sure no-one was following him, and slipped into the alleyway. He walked with caution towards a long stretch of wall that was covered with thick ivy, and smiled.

Long before long before the idea of a curfew was even thought of, when Dean and his brother Sam were still kids and new in the city, a pair of boys could sneak around after dark exploring with no fear of being dragged off the street and into the jail for the night. And with John working late most nights, Dean and Sam made the most of their time alone. Sam was Dean’s ever present shadow, following him into whatever mischief Dean could find. One night, after scouting out the edges of the merchant district, they’d run around a corner into an alleyway, both laughing at the fat merchant who’d blustered at them as they’d run by him, knocking off his hat.

They hid, waiting for him to pass by the entrance to the alleyway and be on his way. His voice had gotten louder, and they pressed themselves back against the wall, only the ivy gave way behind Sam, and he fell backwards, disappearing from Dean’s view with a muffled yelp.

“Sam!” Dean hissed.

He pushed at the ivy, finding nothing but gnarled woody stems covering the wall.

“In here.”

Sam’s voice was muffled, and Dean edged his way along the wall, finally finding the gap Sam had fallen through. Dean pushed his way through the thick foliage and found Sam staring around at a small, unevenly shaped space between the neighboring buildings. The walls on all sides were high, but no windows over looked the gap. It was as if the space had been forgotten about as the buildings around it grew. Sam decided that it once been a house that had been squashed as the district grew up around it, and although Dean scoffed, the fireplace they found against one wall, was enough to make him think that perhaps Sam was right. The discovery of a cellar beneath the undergrowth made it the perfect place for them to hang out in. It became their lair, a place that was theirs alone to plot and scheme in, to lie around looking at the sky, and the ideal hiding place for anything that they perhaps shouldn’t have had, like the dagger Dean found in a gutter one night.

But when school started, Sam had found his calling. He ate up every lesson, bouncing with happiness on his way home, delighting when he passed tests. And Dean was happy that Sam was happy, but he missed his partner in crime. Sam grew like a weed, pleased when the time came that John secured him a place in the university to study law. Dean’s own calling had lain in protecting people, and he’d fast worked his way up through the ranks of the city Watch.

But long after they grew too big for games, they would meet in the lair and lie together on a bed of moss, closer than brothers had a right to be, but not caring.

At home, Sam seemed oblivious to the stresses and strains his brother and father were under. His nose was constantly buried in a book, apart from those times when Dean insisted that Sam learn to fight and take care of himself. Dean didn’t want him unprotected if anything should happen to him. Sam wasn’t a natural, but Dean taught him as much as he could. As the nights grew darker Sam often spent them sleeping under a desk in the library so he could study after dark. Dean nodded his approval. At least Sam was safe.

Then rumours began to grow about a man who was becoming a hero among those that the new laws were meant to oppress. A healer who was due to be flogged mysteriously disappeared, almost from under the nose of the Watch, and weeks later, Dean got a report that she’d been seen passing through a village on the border. Secretly, he was glad that she was safe, and he began to wonder who the Shadow was. The Shadow almost never engaged with the city guard, only when forced to, although from reports, he knew how to protect himself. Crowley spread rumors of his own, of the Shadow’s supposed violent crimes, to try and turn people against him.

There were other incidents. A diversion allowing a handful of curfew breakers to get away, a witch rescued from a mob who’d been told by unnamed parties that she’d been responsible for the death of a child, and a rich councilman being robbed of his purse. All were put down to the Shadow, and Dean hoped they never met. He didn’t want to have to arrest him, or worse, if he resisted.


Now Dean found himself at the entrance to the lair again, and he pushed his through the ivy. He looked up at the sky, lashing out when a hand covered his mouth. He spun away, ready to take on his attacker, furious that someone else had found the place that belonged to him and Sam alone. But it was Sam who stood there, the last light casting shadows across his face through the ivy.

“Sammy, what are you doing here? It’s almost curfew.”

Sam didn’t answer. He pulled Dean closer, the shadows on his face giving him an unearthly appearance, but the lips that found Dean’s were familiar. He dug his hands into Sam’s hair as they kissed, pressing up against him. Dean wanted more but the first curfew bell rang out and he pulled away.

“We have to get you home.”

He thought for a moment that Sam was going to refuse, but he nodded and followed Dean out into the alley. They both stuck to the shadows on the way home as if they were kids again and doing something they shouldn’t. The house was in darkness when they arrived. There was no sign of John, and Dean followed as Sam walked upstairs and into their room. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Sam was on him, kissing him roughly as he reached behind Dean and turned the key in the lock. Dean tilted his head, giving Sam better access to his mouth, and threaded his fingers into Sam’s hair, pulling him closer.

The arms that circled Dean’s waist were stronger than he remembered from the last time they’d touched, as were the hands Sam snaked under his shirt to splay against Dean’s back. They stumbled the few steps to Dean’s bed, tugging and pulling at clothes until they tumbled onto it naked and needy. Sam’s mouth moved down Dean’s neck, trailing kisses along his shoulder that stuttered when Dean’s hand closed around Sam’s cock and pulled on it. Sam buried his face in Dean’s neck, panting and gasping, his body tensing and arching as Dean worked him, knowing exactly how to bring him to the edge and hold him there.

Sam’s needy whimper turned to a growl of frustration, his hips bucking, but Dean grinned at him and kissed him again. Sam reached down and pulled Dean’s hands away, holding his wrists in a firm grip as he slid behind Dean, his needy dick slipping over the globes of Dean’s ass. Now it was Dean’s turn to moan. Sam held him down with one hand as the other wrapped around his cock as Sam rutted against his ass. Sweat prickled over Dean’s skin and he gave himself up to his brother, pushing back against him and shuddering every time the head of Sam’s dick slid over his hole. Remembering what it felt like to be taken, opened up and fucked, was enough to make Dean come hard, spilling over Sam’s fingers, squirming against the hold on his wrists and groaning as Sam followed him, hot splatters on the base of his spine.

They lay together afterwards, warm and sated.

“I miss you,” Dean whispered in the dark, and Sam pulled him closer.

Dean stroked Sam’s arm, frowning when his fingers found a scar just below Sam’s elbow. Not long ago, he would have said he knew every inch of Sam’s skin, every mole and mark, but this was new.

“When did you get his?”

“A few months back. It was an accident.”

“What kind of accident?” Dean pressed him, fear and jealousy mingling in his belly that Sam had been wounded, even something as small as this, and he hadn’t known about it.

“A stupid one.”

Sam kissed him, slow and dirty and chased away Dean’s fears.


A week later, Dena was on patrol in the merchant district with a company of his men.

“Captain Winchester!”

Dean swung round to face the man who was jogging towards him. The bells for the half hour rang out over the square, echoing down through the town as his second in command, Owen Murphy, reached him.

“Report, Murphy,” Dean barked out the order.

With curfew half an hour away, there were always stragglers to herd back to their homes and with the nights lightening as spring edged towards summer, it was getting harder to enforce.

“A skirmish, Sir, with the Chancellor’s men.”

“Damn,” Dean muttered.

Crowley’s personal guard, the Black Watch, didn’t have the authority that the City Watch did to police the population, but they took delight in causing trouble whenever they could. Secretly, Dean thought that Crowley was happy for them to incite the people of the town to fight as curfew approached, making it easier for him to justify the measure, and the other laws that he imposed. Piece by piece, freedom was leeched away, and despite his position, Dean couldn’t blindly accept the tightening hold the Chancellor had on the city.

“Anders, Bennett? Continue the sweep, the rest of you are with me and Murphy.”

Murphy turned and headed back the way he’d come, followed by Dean and the guard.

“Use minimal force where possible. I want to avoid civilian casualties and I don’t want this to escalate,” Dean ordered, coming to a halt as they reached the fighting.

One civilian was already down, clutching a deep wound in his thigh. Several others were being pushed back as they fought and Crowley’s men were holding nothing in reserve. Dean indicated to his men that they should get the wounded out of the square, and launched into the fray himself, sword drawn more as a deterrent than a weapon, and he hoped it would stay like that. He had places to be once the streets were clear, and he didn’t want to celebrate Sam’s birthday with blood on his hands.

There was a commotion at the side of the square, pulling the focus of the fight towards it and Crowley’s men pressed forward.

“The Shadow!” Murphy hissed at Dean as he moved to his commanding officer’s side.

Dean’s head whipped round, seeing only scattered glimpses of a tall hooded figure. Dean threw himself into the fighting, sword clashing with that of one of the Black Watch. The man scowled at him as Dean pivoted around and kicked him hard enough in the side to send him sprawling. Now he could see that the Shadow was holding the Black Watch at bay while three men made their escape into the alleyways around the square. Dean couldn’t help admire the man, and turned to do the same, engaging with two of the Black Watch, his sword slashing through the air. Suddenly, he was surrounded, hemmed in on all sides as three of the Black Watch turned on him. Now he was fighting for his life, turning to block, pivoting away from danger, lunging at his attackers. All he could see in the dim light were black clad figures, and when Murphy yelled at him in warning, Dean swung round, his sword cutting through leather, skin and flesh, his world moving in slow motion as he looked into the eyes of the hooded man who had been coming to his rescue, not attacking him. He knew those eyes, and he gasped, pulling the blow as best he could, but it was too late to stop it.

"No!" Dean whispered as shock registered in Sam's eyes and he began to crumple.

Dean slid to his knees and caught him, lowering his brother to the ground and cradling him in his arms. Around him, boots scuffled against the cobble stones as the fight raged around him, but it suddenly swept off in one direction, and Dean became aware of Murphy calling to him.

"Captain!"

Dean looked up, and saw Crowley’s men chasing after the last of the curfew breakers, their attack on him forgotten.

"Hunt them down and take them to the dungeons." he ordered. "I’ll deal with this."

Murphy took off, indicating for the other men to follow him and once they'd gone, Dean brushed the hair back from Sam's eyes.

"Don't you die on me now, you hear me Sam? Don't you die on me."

Sam's eyes fluttered open and he focused on Dean's face for long enough to gasp out one word before he passed out. "Lair …"

Dean looked around and considered his options. He had to move fast, and their old lair was closer than home. He knew it wouldn't be wise to take Sam home anyway, so he hauled Sam to his feet, and half carried, half dragged him off towards the merchant district.

Getting an unconscious Sam through the opening into their hideaway was harder than he'd anticipated, and eventually, he had to push Sam through and pull him further in once he was through himself.

"Gods, Sammy, what am I gonna do with you now?" Dean laid his brother on a soft patch of Ivy and moss, and tore away his clothes so he could get a better look at the wound, but moonlight wasn't the brightest light to work with, and Dean growled in frustration.

There was a noise behind him, and he turned, drawing his sword, shocked at the sliver of light glowing on the floor of the hideaway as someone opened the trapdoor that led to the cellar.

"Show yourself!" Dean spat out, putting himself between Sam and the widening patch of light. A woman climbed slowly out of the depths and she gasped at the sight of Sam laid out behind him.

"Sam! what happened?" She ignored the sword that Dean brandished at her, and ran around him to kneel at Sam's side, hissing when she saw his wound. She looked up at Dean, unafraid. "Are you Dean?"

"Who are you?"

"Myra, I'm a healer. Sam was helping me and my daughter. Help me get him inside and I'll see what I can do for him."

“How do I know I can trust you?”

“He told me that this was the lair he shared with his brother and if anything happened to him, I should seek you out and give you this.”

Myra pulled something from her pocket held it out to Dean. Dean’s fingers closed around the metal of the amulet he’d given Sam to wear years ago. He nodded to her and between them, they got Sam down into the space below ground. Dean glanced around, taking in the sleeping spaces in the far wall, the long table set with dishes and a fireplace opposite. Sam had obviously been busy while Dean thought he was sleeping in the library. The lamps around the room provided more light than the moon had, and Dean blanched as he saw the full extent of the wound he’d inflicted on Sam.

“Beth, clear the table so we can lie Sam down.”

A young girl appeared from where she’d been hiding at the back of the room, eyeing Dean warily as she did as she was asked, and moved the pitcher and plates. Dean laid Sam down and Myra immediately began to cut away his clothes. She worked fast, barking orders at Dean which he followed without question, tamping down the fear that this was Sam they were working on. She cleaned out the wound, and sewed up tissues inside that had been perforated before she closed it up.

“I’ll bring you water to clean him with. Be thorough. I have a poultice to prepare that will help suppress infection.”

Dean nodded, and stripped down to his undershirt. The girl brought him a basin of warm water, scented with a herb that Dean didn’t recognise.

Dean first removed the rest of Sam’s ruined clothes, cutting them off where necessary, then washed his own hands before he picked up the cloth and gently cleaned the sweaty streaks of dirt from Sam’s face. He worked down Sam’s neck, remembering the trail of kisses he’d left there the last time they’d found each other at the entrance to the lair. Dean wondered now if Myra and her daughter had been hiding below them then. If that was why Sam had been there that night, hidden in the tangle of ivy.

Dean swiped the cloth across Sam’s chest and shoulders, noting the strength in them. He dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out before moving down Sam’s right arm, lifting it to make sure he could clean every inch. When he got to Sam’s hand, he paused, stroking the fingers with his own. What if Sam didn’t recover? What if he’d killed his brother? Dean trembled, and started at a soft hand on his arm.

“Have faith. Believe for both of you, since he cannot.” Myra replaced the bowl of water with a fresh one and left Dean to his task.

Dean walked around the table and worked on Sam’s left arm. He cleared his throat and spoke, his voice low.

“When you wake up, we are going to have a conversation about keeping secrets. Why didn’t you tell me, Sammy? You know how much I hate the curfews and the witch hunts. How many people have you helped that the Watch don’t even know about, huh? I’m so mad at you right now, but I’m proud of you too. You’re a hero, and I never knew.”

Dean carefully worked around the newly stitched wound, down one leg, stroking the cloth over his thigh and calf, then up the other. Once he was done, Myra placed the poultice against the wound and wrapped a bandage around his waist to keep it in place.

“I don’t want to move him yet. Help me make him comfortable.” Beth brought a pillow over from one of the beds, and Myra found a clean sheet to cover him with.

“Now you,” she said sternly to Dean.

“I’m not hurt,” Dean growled, lingering near Sam.

“No, but you’re exhausted and hungry and you need your strength for when he wakes up.”

“I’m not hungry,” Dean insisted.

“Yes you are,” Myra insisted.

She pushed a chair towards him, and walked over to the fire as he sat down and took Sam’s hand. As he watched over his brother, Dean wondered what their lives would have been like if they’d never settled in the city. If they’d kept moving from town to village instead. Sometimes he missed the open road. After their Mom died, John packed Dean and Sam into a wagon and left the town that Dean had begun to grow up in. They travelled, following the seasons, John taking work where he could get it, always enough to keep them fed and give them somewhere warm to sleep. John made contacts along the way; leather workers, blacksmiths and crafters of finer weaponry and began to build a reputation for himself as an honest and trustworthy trader. And when they arrived in Aldberg just in time to celebrate Sam’s tenth birthday, one of John’s best customers persuaded him to stay.

And now Sam was lying near death, almost a stranger to Dean. How could he not have known what Sam was up to? They’d grown apart over the last year, yes, as Sam threw himself into his studies. Dean snorted and shook his head. At least that’s what Dean had thought he was doing. It hurt that Sam had deceived him. The man in the square had been more than a passable fighter and that kind of skill came with practice. Dean glanced around the room and imagined Sam coming here, using their childhood sanctuary to hone his skills and grow into a different person while Dean was looking the other way.

That was finished, Dean swore to himself. When Sam was on his feet again, they were going to have a long talk about keeping secrets. Dean couldn’t let himself think of the alternative. That Sam wouldn’t survive, that he’d killed him. He squeezed Sam’s hand tighter, willing him to wake up, and started when Myra put a hand on his shoulder. She handed him a bowl of the soup she’d been heating, Dean had to admit that he was starving.

“Thank you.”

She smiled at him, and bustled about in the background as he ate. She shooed Beth off to sleep in one of the nooks in the wall, pulling a light curtain over the opening as Beth lay down.

“Sleep tight, love.”

Dean heard Myra whisper, and saw her bend down to kiss the girl’s forehead. Dean’s eyes filled with tears as he remembered his own mother doing the same for him when she was still alive. Sam had never known her. He’d only had Dean and John, and Dean had tried to be there for him when he needed him, putting him to bed when he was small and watching out for him.

Dean watched the sheet move up and down as Sam breathed, willing it to keep up the sure and steady rhythm. Dean got to his feet, stretching to work out the knots in his muscles.

Myra was back at the fire, adding logs to keep it going. She poured out a glass of water and passed it to him.

“Will anyone miss you?”

“What?” Dean gulped down the water gratefully and handed back the glass. “What do you mean?”

“The Watch. Will they miss you? Will they come looking for you?”

“Damn.” Dean ran a hand through his short hair, and looked over at Sam. Practicalities had been forgotten in the rush to save his brother.

“I know you don’t know me,” Myra said, “but we know him, and we owe him our lives. We can care for him until you can come back. There’s food and water enough for a week, he made sure of that.”

“How many others have been here?”

“You can ask him that when he wakes up.” She smiled and patted Dean’s arm. “Go and do what you have to do, and when it’s safe, come back. I’ll sit with him through the night.”

Dean didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay, to be there when Sam woke up, but he was Captain of the Watch, and if he disappeared, the search would be thorough. Perhaps too thorough. He couldn’t risk Sam like that, especially when he was vulnerable. He put his jerkin back on, and his jacket, buttoning it up. He slung his sword around his waist, and buckled the strap.

“Take care of him for me.”

“I promise.” Myra smiled.

Impulsively, Dean kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”


Dean weathered the stern gaze of his commanding officer to give his report on the incident the night before. It was brief and to the point. After coming across several of Crowley’s men fighting with a small group of townspeople, Dean and the watch had gone in to break it up. A man had joined the fight, Dean had wounded him, but not as badly as he thought and as soon as he and Dean were left alone, he’d knocked Dean down and made his escape. Dean had followed, but he’d lost him.

“This man, was he the one known as the Shadow?”

“His face was obscured by a hood and a mask, but I can’t say for certain that he was the Shadow.”

Armitage grunted at Dean, scowling. “The Chancellor is asking questions, and I can’t protect you if he has proof that you let the Shadow go.”

“I understand, Sir, which is why it’s just as well that I can’t be certain he was the Shadow.”

“You’re dismissed, Captain. Make sure your men are well briefed before they go out again,” he paused. “And Dean? Watch your back.”

Dean saluted and left, heading straight down to where Murphy waited for him.

“What happened?” Murphy asked under his breath as they walked across the courtyard.

“It’s better you don’t know,” Dean answered.

He trusted Murphy, they were of the same mind about Crowley, but Dean didn’t want to put him in danger by telling him anything. Back in the barracks, his men crowded around, wanting to know more about the Shadow.

“Watch!” Dean barked and his men stood to attention. “Until we arrest the man known as the Shadow, there will be no further speculation about him. Now, Donnat and Archer, tonight I want a close sweep of the south quadrant. Civilians were injured last night, and I don’t want that happening again.”

Behind him, the door burst open as several of Crowley’s men forced their way inside.

“Gentlemen,” Dean addressed them. “What can the Watch do for you?”

“The Watch aren’t my concern, Winchester.” Captain Walker strode towards Dean. The triumphant smile on his face unnerved Dean, and the hair prickled on the back of his neck. “You are my concern. Seize him!” Walker ordered his men.

The Watch surged forward, ready to protect their captain, and the sound of swords being drawn echoed around the room.

“Stand down!” Dean commanded, proud of his men for coming to his defense, but fearful that the situation could escalate out of control and he didn’t want any of them to die for him. His arms were pulled behind his back and heavy cuffs fastened around his wrists. Several of his men took another step forward. “Murphy, you’re in command until I get back.”

“You really think you’re coming back?” Walker whispered in Dean’s ear, then stood back. “Captain Dean Winchester, you are being arrested on suspicion of being the vigilante called the Shadow.”

The room erupted again with cries of disbelief.

Murphy faced off with Walker. "He was there last night and so was the Shadow. You know it's not him."

"The man he supposedly wounded and then let escape last night was a decoy, meant to throw you off his scent. And it worked, but luckily for the safety of the city, the Black Watch aren't as easily fooled."

Murphy's hand gripped his sword, inching it from its scabbard.

"Murphy!" Dean demanded his attention, but didn't get it until he added softly, "Owen, I need you to take command here."

Murphy blinked, and stood back, nodding slowly, his eyes never leaving Walker's.

Dean hung his head, relaxing in his restraints, waiting for the moment when the two men who were holding him thought he was no longer a danger, then he lunged at Murphy, whispering two words against his ear.

"My father."

The two guards pulled him back. Walker nodded to his men and they dragged Dean away. He hoped that Murphy understood what he wanted and acted on it. Sam was already in danger and Dean had no way of knowing if he’d recover, and if Crowley had arrested Dean, then he could only guess that John would be his next target. It was no secret that John had opposed Crowley at every turn.

At the other side of the citadel, Dean was taken down into a dungeon and shackled to the wall, hands above his head. Pulling on the shackles was fruitless, but he did it anyway, trying to stay focused and not think of Sam. At least Sam was hidden away, as safe as he could possibly be.

Keys jangled in the lock of the heavy dungeon door, and it creaked as it opened and Crowley himself stepped inside. Walker followed and strode over to where Dean hung. He ripped Dean’s shirt open and off, and pulled his head back as Crowley approached, testing the sharpness of the dagger he held in his hand as he got closer.

“Captain Winchester, a pleasure as always,” Crowley smirked.

“You know I’m not the Shadow,” Dean spat.

“Oh yes, I know,” Crowley agreed. “I also know who the Shadow is, and have done for a while. Little Sammy grew into a fine, upstanding young man, don’t you think?”

“Sam’s not the one either,” Dean insisted.

“Oh but he is.” Crowley’s fist slammed into Dean’s face. “Don’t lie to me, boy. First it was your father, too noble for his own good, but he never quite managed to stop my rise to power. Then there’s you. The incorruptible captain of the watch, and now Sammy.”

Dean bristled at Crowley’s use of the name only Dean was allowed to use.

“He turned vigilante right under your nose and gave me the perfect opportunity to get rid of you all. To pluck the thorns from my side.” Crowley grinned. “And you’re going to tell me where he is.”

“I don’t know where he is.”

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” Crowley scolded. “What did I tell you about lying?” He drew the point of the dagger down Dean’s chest.

Dean panted through the pain, determined not to give Crowley the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

Crowley stepped up close to him and dug the sharp point into the meat of Dean’s shoulder, and still Dean didn’t make a sound.

“Looks like it’s going to be a long night.” Crowley smiled and twisted the dagger.


Dean lost track of how many days he’d been chained in the dungeon. Crowley came and went, cutting into him until Dean couldn’t take it anymore and he howled in pain. But all the while, he refused to give up Sam’s location. He wondered, during the times he was left alone, what had happened to Sam. He had to believe he’d survived, that Myra had taken care of him and he was alive. The alternative was too hard to bear. John too was never far from Dean’s thoughts. Crowley didn’t have either of them, of that Dean was sure, even though he’d tried to convince Dean that John was in custody. Unless he saw his brother or his father with his own eyes, he wasn’t about to believe the lying snake who was torturing him.

The next time the dungeon door opened, it was Walker who entered, along with a handful of the Black Watch.

“Time to end this, Winchester.”

He unfastened the shackles around Dean’s wrists and Dean crumpled to the floor.

“Bring him,” Walker ordered, and turned to lead the way out of the cell.

As Dean was dragged towards the central square, he was struck by how quiet it was. Executions were rare in the city, and usually drew a large, rowdy crowd. He had Sam had snuck off to see one when they were kids, and wormed their way through the throng, their hearts pounding with sick excitement as voices around them rose in anger as the man was led to the block.

But their excitement turned to horror as they watched the executioner swing his axe down on the man’s neck, severing his head with one blow. Sam buried his face against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean tugged him away from the cheering mass of people, taken him to the safety of their lair.

Dean could still remember the man’s dead eyes staring at them from where his head lay on the raised platform, could still remember Sam’s tear stained face. He closed his eyes and prayed that Sam stayed away. He didn’t want his brother to carry the memory of seeing him executed.

One of the men guarding him pushed him forward towards the steps up to the platform. Dean lifted his head, surprised by the sight of the square filled with people, all standing silently, watching him being led towards the block. There was no ripple of excitement in the crowd, no call for justice, no demands to see his head roll. Crowley sat at the back of the platform, clearly displeased by the lack of enthusiasm. He motioned for the master of ceremonies to continue. The portly man cleared his throat and unfurled a scroll.

“On this day, Dean Winchester, also known as The Shadow, is found guilty of treason, and by the laws of the city, is condemned to death.”

Now there was booing from the crowd. Crowley’s men bristled, and closed ranks around the platform as a commotion at the back of the square caught their attention. Dean was forced to his knees as a tall figure strode into the centre of the square.

“No,” Dean whispered under his breath. This wasn’t an execution, it was a trap. A trap to catch Sam.

“He’s not the shadow. ” A hooded Sam yelled, drawing the attention of the crowd and the guard. “If you kill him, you’ll be killing an innocent man!”

“Seize him,” Crowley ordered triumphantly.

The Black Watch surged through the crowd, knocking people down in their haste to get to the Shadow. Now the crowd became vocal, protesting and pushing back against the armed men, hindering their movements and thwarting their attempts to get to the man who had stood up to Crowley. Then there was a cry, and one of the guard went down. All attention was drawn to the fight breaking out in the middle of the square, even Dean’s, allowing four other hooded figures to slip onto the platform. Two ran at Walker and his men, while the others ran to Dean. His bonds were cut, and one of the hooded men pulled him to his feet. Relief flooded him when he recognized John’s eyes. He nodded and followed him to the edge of the platform where hands pulled him to safety, covering him with a cloak to help him blend in.

Now fighting raged, on the platform as the hooded men fought their way towards Crowley, and down in the square, where the guard were being attacked by armed men hidden in the crowd. Dean looked up at one of the men guiding him away, surprised to see it was Murphy, who gave him a grim smile and a curt nod of his head. Dean glanced back at the platform, and swore under his breath.

“Crowley, he’s getting away.”

“Damn,” Murphy agreed. “He’s heading for the tunnels.”

“We have to stop him.”

“You’re in no fit state to stop anyone,” Murphy pointed out.

“Put a sword in my hand and I’ll show you what shape I’m in,” Dean growled.

Owen shook his head and grinned. “Yes sir.” The sword he handed Dean was Dean’s own. “I hoped you’d be able to use it.”

Murphy pulled his own sword from its scabbard and followed as Dean made his way back down into the citadel. Dean’s body protested, but he was running on adrenaline, determined to finish the man who had intended to annihilate his family. Murphy sprinted ahead, and disappeared around a corner. Dean heard the clash of swords and found Walker holding Murphy at bay. The Chancellor’s man was an expert swordsman, but so was Murphy, and he pinned Walker against the wall.

“Go!” he yelled at Dean, and Dean headed past them, down the corridor that led to the tunnel that led out into the mountains.

He found Crowley as he was trying to pull open the hidden door but the stone moved too slowly, protesting every inch of the way, effectively trapping the Chancellor where he was.

“You’re not going anywhere.” Dean took a step forward, sword in hand.

“Who’s going to stop me? You can hardly stand, Dean. You neither, Sam.”

Dean swung round, so relieved to see his brother that his knees almost gave way. Sam was at his side in a heartbeat, slipping an arm around his waist and holding him up, but Dean could feel Sam trembling, obviously not fully recovered from the wound Dean had unknowingly inflicted on him.

“Maybe they can’t, but I can.” John strode forward out of the darkness and lunged towards Crowley, who countered the surprise attack at the last moment. But he was no match for John. Dean sank to the ground, Sam beside him as he watched his father take out years of frustration on the man who had caused so many others to suffer. John wielded his two handed sword like a club, knocking Crowley’s legs out from under him and forcing him to his knees. One more brutal blow, and Crowley’s head rolled away into the shadows as his body fell to the ground with a wet thud.

Sam buried his face against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean petted his hair.

“No-one hurts my sons.” John bent down over the body, wiping the blade of his sword clean with the hem of Crowley’s cloak. Dean saw him tense as footsteps approached, but it was Murphy, who helped Sam get Dean to his feet. John looked his youngest son over, and slipped an arm around his back to help him as they walked away from Crowley’s body.

“I think you boys have a lot of explaining to do.”

“Yes sir,” Dean and Sam said in unison.


A month after Crowley had been over thrown, Dean walked through the streets of Aldberg as midnight approached, smiling at a couple who were walking home hand in hand. The curfew was over, and the laws Crowley had imposed were gone. The atmosphere around the city was calmer as if it were no longer holding its breath. John had been elected as the new Chancellor, a responsibility he took very seriously. He’d vowed to be fair, open and honest, and the people had cheered as he accepted the position.

Dean turned the corner into the alleyway, checking first to see if anyone was watching. He slipped between the ivy stems, straight into Sam’s arms. Moonlight lit Sam’s face, but this time he was smiling. There was no need for the Shadow now that Crowley was gone, and Sam had gone back to his studies but Dean could see a restlessness in him, and knew that Sam needed something more. He wasn’t the kid that Dean had helped raise any more, he was a man who had stepped up and saved lives. Dean only hoped that wherever Sam’s life led him, he would still be a part of it.

“You’re late,” Sam chided.

“Yeah, well, I took my time, because we can do that now.”

Sam kissed him then took his hand and tugged Dean towards the opening to the cellar. Myra and her daughter were long gone, back in their shop, trading their herbs and remedies. Dean made a point of checking on them every now and then to make sure they were okay. Myra had saved Sam, and for that, Dean was forever in her debt.

Sam opened the hatch and they scrambled inside. One lamp gave enough light for them to tumble onto one of the beds in the alcove, and Sam began undressing Dean, unlacing his shirt and pushing the cotton open to reveal a collar bone that obviously needed to be kissed. He glanced up at Dean and smiled.

“Now I’m going to take my time,” Sam teased.

Dean lay back against the bed and groaned, happiness swelling in his chest. For Sam, he had all the time in the world.


Notes: As soon as I saw vail_kagami's artwork, I thought of Luck in the Shadows by Lynn Flewelling and Swordspoint by Ellen Kushner, so the title, Shadow’s Sword, is a homage to those books, which I highly recommend you read if you haven’t already.

Thanks to the mods for running the challenge again this year and to vail_kagami for the inspiration for the story.