D U S T [in the] W I N D

[Duncan MacLeod]

This... was proving to be abnormal. Not strange. Or different. Or even odd... It was downright abnormal, and in the context of everything else, Duncan could do nothing except throw up his hands and say, "Why not?". Normal was a mere memory, and even for the Immortal, that was a stretch and a realization that spoke volumes. Though he had lived for centuries, he had maintained some illusion of normalcy... That was, until his the windows of his dojo were broken out by demons and fallen angels, a Watcher her knew all too well could speak a Latin exorcising ritual. Oh, and nevermind that he was taking lessons for a young Immortal that was only perhaps an eighth of his age on the ways of the supernatural world. Things were easier when he lives in the time of barbarians, and that much, Duncan was certain of.

A hand torn back through dark locks of hair and he finally rose, notebook in hand with writing that no one in their right mind would believed concealed within the thin, cardboard covers. To the thunderbird and into the night, Duncan drove to the sulfur plant on the outskirts of town where he had told Dean to meet him after his first "lesson". Duncan had learned of ghosts and demons while he had taught Dean a more controlled form and the proper weight of the sword in his hand... Balance. And now, to test that lesson, he brought Dean to a place that was the epitome of uncertain footing.

Perhaps it wasn't quite on the up and up, to fight a young Immortal just training in such a place, but Duncan knew that those playing the Game were ruthless and they would fight on the cliffs of Everest if given the chance. Alright, so it had been Siberia, for him, but... just the same. Shifting the car into park and stepping out, he leaned against a rail as the acrid stench of sulfur attacked his senses... and he waited. He smirked slightly, knowing that Dean had told him that demons gave off an emission of sulfur when they traveled from place to place... This would certainly throw him into hunter mode, and Duncan needed to see the two together before their lessons could go any further.

The sound of an engine in the distance alerted him to Dean's presence, and for once, Duncan passed on the element of surprise and merely waited, just as the moon shifted behind the clouds. Something heavier was on the boy's shoulders today, and Duncan couldn't quite place if it was merely the truth of immortality setting in... or something more. For now, he would not pry... It was not his way. He was to teach and be taught... The rest would come in due time, as a young Fallen angel had reminded him so innocently only a few nights ago...

[Dean Winchester]

Dean's head was beginning to ache by the time he got back on the road and headed toward where he was supposed to be meeting Duncan. He had already met with the man earlier in the day, just to give him the basics of hunting . . . although there was no such thing as the basics. So he had gone with the simpler crap that he had learned as a kid. It had been a basic lesson of salt deters demons, silver kills this, this, and that, fire does this . . . He had taught the Immortal to draw a Devil's Trap but the lesson had ended there because Dean was feeling dangerously unbalanced with his head chalk full of what Castiel had told him -- and he'd just had to get the hell out, dammit. He knew that his focus was broken, his mind a hundred miles away, and his spirit really wanting to quit right about then . . . It took all that he had just to drive the Impala in the right damn direction and not off a cliff -- not that it would kill him anyway.

He still had not told Duncan anything about his life as a hunter. Not like he had just unloaded his Greek tragedy on Danae -- or the cliff's notes version of it, anyway. She had angered him so much that his lit-fuse temper had taken care of the rest, unloading on her a list of his losses before more or less telling her that he was not adding her name to that damned list. He felt slightly bad about that but he was a powderkeg at the moment and he knew it . . . So when he parked the Impala behind Duncan's own vehicle and climbed out, Dean immediately narrowed his hazel burning gaze. Sulphur. He knew that smell like he knew how to dismantle a gun in under four seconds. For a moment his entire demeanor changed -- just a moment. For a second he tightened, his footing altering, careful and sure over the ground without making a sound, his body ready to spring at a half-second's notice, his eyes searching and scanning, seeing everything that there was to see -- including Duncan and the fact that there was no danger at the moment. Dean relaxed, letting the hunter in him slide back just as quickly as it had come.

"Sulphur plant . . . nice." Dean said by way of greeting, his shoulders set with strain as he made his way closer over the uneven ground. The katana that Duncan had given him was tightly clenched in one hand, feeling like a ten pound weight. The fire and pain in his hazel eyes was barely hidden at the moment because, honestly, he felt like screaming into the bare night and laying into the first fucker that came his way. He was set to go off and he wasn't sure in which direction -- he only knew that he was slowly unraveling at the seams. His fault, this entire damn war was his fault . . . all the people that had died already, that blood was on his hands, and all the people that would die, that blood, too. Dean gripped the katana tighter, stopping before Duncan with his jaw set as though made of granite. Duncan could not understand because Dean had never told him a damn thing about his life and Duncan had never asked . . . So how could the other man understand that Dean had failed everything that John Winchester had raised him to be? That he had failed everything that he had ever been taught.

[Duncan MacLeod]

Ever the hunter.... Duncan watched as Dean emerged from his car, sword in hand and his senses more than wired. A slight smile curved the Immortal's lips as he raised one brow. So... he had not been kidding in the least. The stench of sulfur triggered a response and frankly, Duncan was glad to see it. The young Immortal clenched his sword all that much more tightly, knowing it was the weapon he had at hand... Duncan nodded slowly, stepping out of the shadows as Dean drew closer, offering an innocent shrug of the shoulders in response to the greeting.

"Keeps you guarded..." Duncan offered, pushing his hands into the pockets of his trench coat that hid his own katana secured beneath the folds of cloth, strapped to his back with a weight that was familiar, constant... "Come..." And with that, Duncan walked along a beam that stretched over the sulfur mines, the width just enough so that balance was tested, but not deterred. He walked the beam easily then reached the other side, expecting Dean to follow as he lowered to a crouch, glancing around. Duncan thought it high time that he begin to search for the warning signs of some other life out there, if Dean was forced to do the same...

The sheen over his hazel eyes barely hid the depths of swirling emotions within, and even if they had, Duncan had spent the centuries watching the weight that the pains of life took on the mortals near him. The set of their shoulders, the tension in their arms... The elder looked over the young Immortal slowly, knowing by the tension in his body and the tightness of his jaw that he was near to breaking... Near, and perhaps even on the edge. Something passed over the Immortal's dark eyes as he stepped up to Dean once they were on level ground. Tipping his head slightly, he met Dean's gaze and looked deeply, then glanced away. But he had sworn he would not ask...

Instead, he shrugged off the coat and drew the sword, spinning the hilt in his hand, causing the steel to flash through the darkness before he lowered the point to the ground, then raised his head to Dean. "Don't just stand there... Draw your sword, Winchester... And in his words, something lingered; in his voice, there was something more, something that Duncan was not. It was a command, and Duncan wondered if it would have the desired effect. Thus far, Dean had been under the rule of his father, his own conscience, fate, and now, Heaven and Hell sought to rule him. Would he listen to the words of the Immortal as he ordered him to draw his sword or would it be the breaking point?

[Dean Winchester]

Dean found it hard to imagine that this was what he was going to be doing with his nights from now on . . . Training with a sword. It would have been much easier if he could kill other Immortals with a gun because at least then Dean knew he wouldn't require much training. He was a crack shot with a gun and he knew it -- but apparently, that would not get the job done. He found it irritating that on top of having to save the world, he also had to re-learn how to save his own ass from other Immortals looking to take his head . . . He could admit that his brain had not fully wrapped around the concept just yet. It was hard enough to swallow a life of hunting vampires, demons, and other things that went bump in the night but tack on the fact that he could not die unless someone chopped off his head? Buckets of crazy.

Dean stepped forward as Duncan turned and started walking, making his way easily enough over the rocky ground. The elder Winchester glanced around, his eyes combing through the shadows on instinct, his features tight as he studied the surroundings. Nothing. Except the stench of sulfur burning in his nose. Shrugging, Dean turned to follow the Immortal that had brought him here, his hand clenched around the weapon in his hand in a death grip. And . . . balancing lessons. It was clear that Duncan was testing him and Dean wondered how much of his years of hunting skills would help out in learning what Duncan needed him to know . . . Balance was easy enough and Dean made his way across the just-wide-enough beam without any major mishaps, not bothering to look down. On the other side of the beam, his eyes again swept the area, his hearing listening for anything at all -- even the slightest rock tumbling. Nothing. They were still alone in the night . . .

Dean turned darkened hazel eyes to Duncan as he commanded him to unsheath his sword and for a moment, Dean stared at the man before shrugging off his leather jacket and easily setting it over a large boulder sitting idly on the ground. The weight of the sword in his hand, Dean felt his stomach twist into knots. He was supposed to save the damned world . . . and keep his head . . . and protect Sammy . . . and learn new tricks that he never wanted to know . . . and worry about a whole new set of allies that didn't know what they were doing, really . . . and this was all his damn fault in the first place. Dean swallowed, his thumb inching the blade out of the sheath before he finally pulled it free. The metal rang out in the still night and Dean glanced at it, hating it, hating this and everything about his life at the moment, something in his chest tearing and breaking with every breath that he bothered to take. What a hunter he was and Dean knew that he was losing faith in himself, in everything that he stood for and believed in, losing it all bit by bit . . . The broken hunter gripped the sword in his hands and looked up at Duncan, before throwing the sword into the ground between them, blade embedding in the earth. "No. I'm not your guy, MacLeod. Find someone else, dammit." Dean turned away, his jaw tight with strain as he fought to hold back the emotions.

[Duncan MacLeod]

It was as though the whole world paused, waiting for the young man to break, to fall, to hit his knees... Duncan watched the scene in slow motion, his eyes darkened with concern and empathy because he had once thought that his weight was too much to bear. At first, Dean had followed the orders, drawing the sword, but as it fell to the ground between them with a vibrating, hollow tone, Duncan nodded only once, lowering his own blade to the ground and drawing in a slow breath. The man still had free will... At least, he had that.

Sheathing his sword in one fluid motion, Duncan moved forward with an easy grace, his steps silent as he walked to Dean's side. Though the man's head was turned away, Duncan laid a hand to his shoulder, then nodded once more, letting the silence linger. "It'd be easier, wouldn't it? To say you're not the one... To walk away? If you walk away right now, no one would blame you... but yourself." His words were slow and soft, a subtle timbre deep in his throat as his hand fell away and he took a step back, looking out over the sulfur mines that seemed to glow in the brilliance of the moonlight. "The world might end... either way. We all might lose. You might be nothing but another guess for the powers above us... Or maybe not."

Hands behind his back, Duncan did not watch Dean, but stood there beside him, just the same. "It's not fair... I know. You've saved the world too many times, haven't you? You've sacrificed it all, and now you wonder... for what? But you're still standing, so it must have been done for something..." Finally, Duncan fell silent, letting his words hang in the air before he slowly turned to face the young Immortal. His dark eyes said more than the man ever could. He met the hazel gaze of the elder Winchester and even he could not know the labyrinth of pain in his eyes. "It's your choice... It always has been, Dean. Whatever you decide, no one will blame you..." He echoed the words he had said only moments before, except this time, he did not add the obvious. He knew that even if no one faulted the young man for turning away from a weight that a mortal soul should never bear, Dean would blame himself... just as he blamed himself for all else that had befallen him. He would never see that sometimes... no one was to blame.

[Dean Winchester]

There was only so much weight that one man could take before he landed on his knees from the strain . . . Dean had thought that he was strong enough to handle anything but he was quickly finding out that he was reaching his breaking point and then some. It felt like he was splintering apart inside, falling to the edges of insanity because it never ended. He had lost everything but Sam . . . hell, he had even lost Sam once, and both of them had given up everything in the name of doing the right thing, fighting a war that they had never asked for and Dean knew that somewhere along the way, the hunter in him had started to die out and the beaten down man had come to emerge slowly. He was just a man -- not the legendary hunter that he knew some thought him to be . . . Just a man and he was a man that was broken, bleeding, and tired of getting up to fight again.

Dean kept his gaze turned away from the vibrating sword in the ground, unshed tears sparking at the corners of his hazel eyes. Castiel's words twisted in his gut like a knife each time he thought of them . . . they all expected him to save the damned world and he was the one that had caused this mess to begin with. Because he had not been strong enough . . . not like his father had been. Because he had broken down in Hell and given the damned demons what they had wanted . . . And how in the world he could think himself a legendary hunter after knowing that . . . Dean fisted his hand tightly against his side, hearing Duncan come up behind him and the moment the older man's hand touched his shoulder, Dean felt the first tear fall free from the prison of his tormented eyes. He listened to Duncan's words but the only thing that he could hear was how nobody could blame him for walking away . . .

Dean steeled his jaw for a moment before finally turning around to face the other man, his jaw straining to hold back the emotion. "Nobody will blame me? Duncan, goddammit . . . this whole thing is my fault!" He finally shouted, the words breaking out of the prison of his throat, held in since Castiel had told him the truth. " "And it is written that the first seal shall be broken when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks... so shall it break." Dean said, his tone flooding with hate and pain as he quoted what Castiel had told him. Dean turned away from Duncan savagely, his fists tightening until the nails broke the skin of his hands and his tears wept the same as the blood did. "The first seal, Duncan. I broke the damn thing . . . They dragged my father to Hell after he sold his soul to save my life and when I did the same for Sammy . . . when I was in Hell I couldn't . . . I couldn't hack it and . . . " Dean finally felt the levee break and a moment later he had hit his knees on the uneven ground, his shoulders straining as he struggled to hold onto the last shred of strength he might have had.

[Duncan MacLeod]

A thousand stories, he had heard, but none quite so unbelievable as the truth that fell from the young Immortal's lips. Duncan had lived through the centuries, knowing all along the things that people would never understand. Immortality... Forever... Hardly concepts that a mortal man might know, but this... Dark eyes turned to meet Dean's hazel gaze as the tears pricked his eyes and a shout tore from his throat. As it seemed, it had been a long time in coming, but even now, Duncan knew that there was nothing he could say...

To his knees, a place where no man wished to be, Duncan watched with a mask upon his emotions before he finally dropped to one knee, balanced in an easy crouch before the hunter. "So, you started it, did you? A mortal man made a mistake when faced with trials that were not meant to be his own..." The words were slow in coming because this was not a place that Duncan knew, or a world that he had lived in, but he knew one thing... And that was that there was no harsher critic than yourself. "You were in Hell, Dean... You sold your soul for love, to save your brother... I've read the stories of fiery torment and torture... Any man would break, and at the end of the day, Dean, you are only a man...If the seal was not meant to be broken, then none would have been sent to Hell to break it. Not your father... Not your brother... Not you. Not anyone. But this...is the will of powers we will never know. You are not to blame. They are... You were only a pawn in their game."

A tender gesture, and one so misplaced on the ancient Immortal, Duncan took Dean's chin in his hand and slowly lifted his head, dark eyes boring into him. "You are a hunter. An Immortal. A brother... A son, but you are still human... still infallible. Still imperfect. You cannot do right without doing wrong. You are not a god. You broke the seal because when a righteous man breaks, so the seal will be broken..." The way it seemed, it would have happened either way. If Dean's father could not break the seal, then evil forces orchestrated a power too great to force the hand of one that could, would. "You were doomed an eternity... You had no way to know. What's broken can be fixed, but not if you give up..."

He released his chin, then stood to his feet, holding out a hand. "You've found the strength to break, to fall to your knees. Now find the strength to stand so that your soul's pain was not in vain... So that your brother will know the man you really are. The rest of the world doesn't matter. The ones closest to us do. Stand, Dean..." Ever stoic, Duncan stood unmoving with his hand outstretched to the young Immortal and the seasoned hunter who carried the world on his shoulders. The faith Duncan had in those nearest to him shined in his eyes as Evangeline had reminded him only night's before. He knew that Dean could fight, and that he was the one, if only because it would take the heart that he had in such abundance to save a world that was too far gone...

[Dean Winchester]

Dean might have been wrong but he was fairly certain that he had never been on his knees before and he wondered how things had gotten so bent backwards that he found himself there now . . . and he thanked God that Sammy was not here to see him fall so hard and fast. Dean pushed his closed fists against his temples, trying to block out the images of Hell and the monster that he had become -- the pain that he had inflicted on others just so that he could stop feeling his own pain . . . Dean shook his head, his teeth gritted as his knees dug into the ground. He could hear Duncan speaking and in the back of his mind the words made some semblance of sense, but Dean could barely focus on anything other than his own flashbacks.

Yes, he was only a man. But his father had spent his entire life training him and Sam to be more than that, to be hunters. And hunters had to do things that no man could do, hunters had to make decisions and see things that would make normal men break . . . And Dean had been sure that nothing could ever faze or break him. But he had been wrong, so wrong. Hazel eyes looked up to meet Duncan's as the older man spoke, his hand firm beneath his chin in a gesture that Dean would have usually pulled away from. "A righteous man . . . Yeah, I'm just a man. But down there . . . I couldn't hack the pain and the torture, Duncan. I should have been able to . . . my Dad did. You say it would have happened either way but if my Dad could hold out against them . . . " Dean trailed off, choking on the words and the thought of failing his father and everything that he had been taught.

Dean looked up as Duncan stood and took the man's proffered hand, standing to his feet even though he felt like falling back to the ground. He knew that Duncan believed what he was saying but there was no way for the older man to understand. Dean took a breath, blinking back tears that still fell. "They sliced and carved and tore me in ways... until there was nothing left. And then suddenly I would be whole again, like magic. Just so they can start it all over again. Then Alastair at the end of every day, every one, he would come over and he would make me an offer to take me off the rack if I put souls on, if I started to torture them. And every day I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For thirty years I told him, but then I couldn't do it anymore, I couldn't. And I got off that rack, and God help me, I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls. The things that I did to them." Dean turned his face away, brushing the heels of his palms against tear-bleeding eyes.

After a moment he sucked in a breath and turned to look at Duncan, his gut twisted into knots on the inside. "I'm a hunter, Duncan. I'm supposed to save people, help them . . . and I wasn't strong enough to do that, not like my Dad was. I wasn't strong enough to hold out and the second I spilled blood down there . . . I caved. I might be just a man but, dammit, doesn't make it right. And I'm supposed to save the world now? I don't have it in me, Duncan. I just . . . I don't." He knew that the man made sense on some level and maybe if he could get past the pain and the memories he might be able to see that level, but the only thing he could see at the moment was that he had failed everything in his life and everyone, that he had broken when he should have been strong and that he should have never been brought back in the first place.

[Duncan MacLeod]

In most cases, Duncan knew that the hardest lessons were learned alone, but such things took time, patience, and failure upon failure before the true lesson was learned... Dean had neither time nor patience on his side, and failure was no option, no matter how badly he might have wished for such a thing. In his mind, his own failure had been the beginning..., but would he truly let it be the end? For some time, Duncan considered the young man's words, even as he stood stone still, waiting for the young Immortal to take his hand.

Young... and he had seen more than Duncan had dared to dream in his waking years... A calloused hand slid into his own, and Duncan pulled Dean to his feet with ease, clasping him at the shoulders once he was standing on his own. He looked ready to fall, to break... to collapse all over again, but Duncan knew that he could not let such a thing happen. He had to give him a reason to fight, the edge that he needed so desperately. To win this war, Duncan knew that the world needed the iron-willed hunter that had first walked through his door with Danae. And Dean needed that side of himself too...

What good was there in breaking if you did not rise up twice as strong? All the words that Dean said counted his failures and his mistakes, and still it seemed that he was striving to live up to a god's reputation, rather than a man's. A quiet sigh and Duncan looked away, staring out across the sulfur mine before he dared to turn his gaze back to Dean again. "Don't have it in you? Really?" he question, his head tilting before the Immortal laughed softly, shaking his head once more. "Perhaps you're right... Maybe you don't have it in you, and if you don't, it's only because you don't believe in yourself." And perhaps it had been too long since someone believed in him.

Duncan's dark gaze leveled on Dean, pinning him there and refusing to relinquish until the hunter saw the man that he was inside... "It takes a great man to admit fault, to admit defeat, Dean... But it does not good to know your weaknesses if you do not see your strengths. You say you don't have it in you? I say you're the only one that does. I could never do the things you've done, the sacrifices... You did what you thought you had to do... And if your father did not fail in some way, then... why did they bring you to Hell? Something... happened, or he would still be there, tortured and all of Hell would be waiting for him to break? There are no coincidences..."

He shrugged his shoulders, knowing there had to be some truth in his statement. He had never been a religious man, not in many years, but he knew that the denizens of hell would wait forever for a soul to join their side... So why had they not waited for John Winchester? Why had they claimed his son and used him instead? Duncan wondered, his eyes narrowing before he returned his focus to the young man before him, breaking inside. "You... are not your father, and you cannot live in his shadow. You are a man... A man who lived through Hell, who was raised because you are the only one that can stop this war... No one else, Dean. Not your brother or your father... Not me. No one but you... Because you are the only one... Because the citizens of Hell believe in you... Because your brother believes in you... Because I believe in you..."

Four simple words, but sometimes, they held all the strength that one man could need. A hand curved to the side of Dean's face as Duncan stared at him, seeing himself once upon a time in Dean's eyes. "Immortality means nothing if you do not live for betterment of yourself, those you love... In the end, that is your world. Save them, save yourself... It's your fault? Then right the wrongs, Dean, if for no one else, then for them? You... are the only one, and you were chosen because no one has your heart, your soul, your strength... They do not have your undying spirit or your truth... The things needed to save the world rest in you... and I see it all too easily when I look at you."

Duncan rested his hand on Dean's shoulder, then took a step back, bowing his head and turning away. He knew that perhaps his words would have no effect, that this would be something that Dean would be forced to reconcile on his own, but as long as he stood there before him, he would not let the man fall to his knees. Once upon a time, a man older and wiser than him had held him above the fire and saved him... It was his turn to return the favor because if anyone deserved a hand to pull them free, it was the one standing before him now.