Challenge issued by: earth_dragon
Challenge: To write a fanfiction based on the song Hurrican by Bob Dylan and Me & My Uncle by Grateful Dead.
Disclaimer: I only own my wings and dreams. All other feathers are theirs.

The Storm Hits Me and My Brother

Here comes the story of the Winchesters, coulda been the saviors of the world but one time deep in the heart of Texas where the customs ain't changed since the sixties… of the eighteen hundreds.

They rolled in to town on their iron horse, automatically singled out as the strangers. Parking the Impala out of sight and out of mind they strolled into the local salon in the early morn of the dusty town. Two days in the saddle of the Chevrolet, you know their bodies hurt as Sam tried to wash away some of that dusty dirt.

Dean could take a man out with just one punch, but he never liked to talk about it all that much. "It's my work he'd say. I do it to get laid."

Sam jokingly hit his shoulder as they walked in to the Klondike style Saloon and took the back corner. Dean's shoes scuffed along the creaky wooden floor as he bowed his head to avoid the stares. Sam sat down and put his feet on the table as he crossed his arms over his chest. Dean threw off his leather jacket and wore his flannel shirt open. Sam looked at him. "Whiskey."

Dean nodded and headed over to the bar, taking in every detail of the layout. With a sly smile he observed the poker table and innocently asked questions of the bartender. He returned to their table with a bottle of Jack. Taking a swig he fell into the chair and handed the bottle Sam.

"It's pay day." Dean said smiling as he whispered at Sam. "It's perfect."

Sam raised his eyebrows. He looked around. "Are you sure?" he leaned forward. "I mean these are some pretty tough characters."

Dean looked around the saloon taking note of the girls standing beside the tall muscular men in steel toed boots. The girls were giggling, hanging off the every word of those with cash. "We can take 'em."

With liquor and money, the Cowboys loaded down. So soon after payday, you know it seemed a shame. But you know Dean, he started a friendly game.

Winchesters started winning, the Cowboys got sore. They accused them of cheating. Dean blinked his green eyes at them and smiled, "Whoa no, it couldn't be. I know my brother- he's as honest as me."

Sam threw his hands up. "I'm as honest as a gambling boy can be."

One of them Cowboys starts to draw- Dean shot him down he never saw but fainted as the bullet grazed his ear. He grazed another, and in the confusion Sam grabbed the money off the table.

As chaos started to break out the doors burst open unnoticed in the ensuing scuffle.

The waitress, Emila, looked up as she heard shots and screaming. She ran out and saw the bartender in a pool of blood, "My god-they've killed them all!"

And another man named Bellow moving around mysteriously. "I didn't do it!" he says and he throws up his hands. "I was only robbing the register I hope you understand!"

Emila threw down her towel and glared. She picked up a fallen gun and dared him to move. Within her minutes, her screams brought the Sheriff and his officers to the scene.

The Sheriff, who had been nearby to begin with, began to look around, "Wait a minute boys, this one's not dead!"

The helped the scruffy blonde in the strange flannel up. His shoulder was bleeding from a bullet. He mumbled something strange and they took him to ole Doc's infirmary. As they walked out carrying the hazy green eyed man they saw a blood trail that lead out of the saloon before it disappeared. Thinking nothing of it, they dropped the survivor at Doc's.

"Who's the kid?" Doc fumed.

"Just keep him alive." The Deputy huffed. "Sheriff's got questions for him."

Doc shrugged and walked over to the man in his chair. Grabbing his worn pliers he gripped the stranger's shoulder and yanked the bullet out. Green eyes opened immediately and started cursing.

"Son of a bitch!"

"You're welcome, son." The Doc said as he dropped the bullet into a tin container. He handed Dean the bottle of gin he'd been sipping. "Here. This oughta take the sting away."

"Thanks." Dean glared taking a big swig. "Where's Sam?"

"Who?" The Doc raised one eyebrow. "Ain't nobody left son. You're it."

Before Dean could ask anymore questions the Sheriff strolled in. The Doc nodded a curt hello as the Sheriff stepped towards Dean.

"We don't take to kindly to strangers 'round here." The Sheriff said in slow tones as he chewed his tobacco.

"I didn't mean to cause trouble…" Dean started to explain. "I didn't hardly see, but I can identify the guiltily man…"

The Sheriff held up his hand to silence him. "Here's the story, kid-"

Dean gritted his teeth.

"-you come into my town and starts fight with my citizens, and you expect me to trust you?" The Sheriff chuckled dryly.

Dean felt his temper rise. He took a breath. "Look, I'm not a killer—but someone else walked in…"

The Sheriff shook his head and snapped. Bellow shuffled indoors wringing his hands. The Sheriff looked at him, "Thinking you like to play ball with the law?"

Bellow nodded.

The Sheriff pointed to Dean. "Is this who you saw commit the shootings?"

"No wait," Dean protested, "that bastard was hiding under the table he didn't see anything…"

Bellow swallowed. "That's him."

The Sheriff smiled dangerously. "You're free to go."

Dean shook his head. "No, no, they guy you're looking for is six feet tall, with weathered skin… and he's got a large dark red cowboy hat... and his guns were per-"

The Sheriff placed his hand on the hilt of his own pearl encrusted guns as he interpreted Dean. "Enough."

He tipped his crimson hat and glared. "We know you did it. Stop fighting the truth. Doc, is this man alright?"

"Sure is." The Dock nodded and slapped Dean's poorly patched shoulder. "Fit as fiddle."

"Ow!" Dean's eyes widened. "That's the gun! That's it!"

He looked up into the Sheriff's dark weathered face. "You…" he breathed.

"Ain't nobody accuses me of crime, in my town." The Sheriff snarled. "I'm taking your kind to jail."

He threw the metal cuffs on Dean's wrists faster than the boy could blink and grabbed his collar, dragging him outside down the dusty road. Dean struggled against the iron clad grip on his uninjured shoulder. He froze as the Sheriff stopped suddenly.

Down the road was a tall stranger. Dean couldn't see his face under his tipped straw cowboy hat. But he could see the guns he held in his hands with a loose grip as his long arms dangled at his side. He had a wide stance that was comfortable, but ready for action.

"Who the hell are you?" The Sheriff called.

The stranger raised his head slowly. His partially unbuttoned white collared shirt was covered in a dirty brown mixture of dirt and dried blood. "Name's Uncle Sam and I'm brining justice to this town."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Geektastic." He muttered.

The Sheriff pressed down on Dean's shoulder forcing him to his knees. He cocked his gun and aimed point blank at Dean's temple. "You better not be getting any ideas." The Sheriff hissed. "Justice been served here today, we got the criminal right here. Bastard will be hung a midnight."

Sam smiled dangerously. "I guess that's the story, but it ain't over till I clear his name."

The Sheriff laughed. "You aimin' to duel?"

"I ain't aimin' to miss." Sam smirked.

The Sheriff looked down at Dean. "Do not move."

Dean nodded as the Sheriff let go of his collar and met Sam at the center of the road. "Gentlemen, like?" the Sheriff stated.

Sam turned his back as the Sheriff did. "Ten steps." He said firmly.

Dean squirmed as they took ten steps apart. He wiggled, feeling for his gun tucked into his jeans. To his dismay, he realized he'd dropped it in the bar. With his hands handcuffed behind his back, he reached for his ankle holster where hid dagger rested. As eight steps, the Sheriff started to turn around. "Sam!" Dean yelled.

Sam spun around as the Sheriff did. He spun his gun and fired. The Sheriff was momentarily surprised by Dean's out cry and was a split second to late.

The first bullet Sam fired knocked his hat off. The second popped the buckle off his pants, making them fall to his ankles revealing his pink boxers. The third bullet was aimed at the sluggish Sheriff's feet, making him hop in surprise. He stumbled as he jumped with his pants around his ankle and fell face forward.

The Sheriff yelped as he face planted the ground, hitting his skull against a rock. He fell unconscious as Sam blew smoke from the barrel of his gun.

Dean smiled broadly and crawled over to the fallen Sheriff. "Nice shooting, Tex." He yelled at Sam.

"Hell yes." Sam said walking over to Dean.

Dean felt in the fallen Sheriff's pocket for the keys. Freeing himself he stood up and walked over to his brother. "You got the money?"

Sam nodded with a sly smile.

"Then let's get out of here before we get arrested for being a public disturbance." Dean rubbed his wrists to regain feeling. "Or some other ridiculous crime."

They walked around the building to where they had parked the Impala. To Dean's great relief no one had touched his car. They got in, tired and sore and even worse for the wear.

"Can't help but make you feel ashamed to live in a land where justice is a game." Sam sighed.

"Reminds me of a song I heard." Dean nodded as he thrust the keys into the ignition and they drove off into the sunset.

.:The End:.