A/N: Once again, thank you so so much to the people who have reviewed. I've been extremely busy over the last couple of days and wanted to finish this chapter, but I will be replying to your reviews. Your kind words give me the energy to wrestle a recalcitrant computer.

Warnings: Cursing. Now there's a surprise. And I of course consider anything from season 1 up to and including Provenance as fair game.

Disclaimer: I don't own them. The incredible fun of playing with them is the only profit I receive from the story. Well, that and all the great people I've met in the fandom.

From Chapter 19:

He gently worked the ribbon loose from the spot where it had probably been nestled for over two centuries and was almost surprised when it didn't disintegrate in his hands. It was discolored with age, but its original ruby red color was still visible in spots. Sam's breath hitched and he closed his eyes, seeing the ribbon wound in an intricate love knot through waves of raven black hair. He clenched his jaw, willing the tears not to fall. He opened his eyes, blinking at the moisture on his lashes, and lifted the ribbon in front of his face. Loops of silken thread had been used to affix a small tarnished trinket to its end. The locket danced on the bottom of the ribbon held in Sam's trembling hand, and even through the dark of age, it sparkled to his eyes.

He cleared his throat but his voice was still thick when he spoke. "I think it's time for Daniel to keep his promise."

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The Highwayman Chapter 20

The tender slices of turkey on a crusty roll would have been gone in minutes on a normal day. As it was, Sam had to force himself to finish even half of it. The editor of the local newspaper had dropped off an advance copy of the afternoon's special edition as a favor and it sat on the table at Sam's elbow. Screaming headlines seemed to take up the top half of the front page. "BIZARRE SUICIDE" was followed by a second headline in smaller print: "Fatal Fire and Dramatic Crash Linked to Prominent Businessman's Death". Richard Quincy had been well known in the area and the circumstances surrounding his death had all the earmarks of a sensational story. The local reporters were surprisingly talented. They'd already started to dig out an impressive amount of background, from mob ties and land deals, to ghost sightings, to arson and murder. The icing was the suicide—by antique sword—witnessed by a local preacher and his wife. The local paper had the scoop with its special edition but vultures from more prominent media outlets could be expected to descend now that the local rag had hit the streets and the story was starting to spread. The feds would probably be right on their heels.

Sam's attempt to read the journal after he found Bess' ribbon and locket tucked inside had been firmly vetoed by his brother. Dean had a valid point about Sam's exhaustion being a dangerous liability when the spirits were still in residence…but Sam suspected it had more to do with the fact that exhaustion had stripped away the protective cover Sam usually clamped over his emotions. He'd give Dean the benefit of the doubt and assume his brother was just trying to spare him some pain. The reality was probably more along the lines that Dean shuddered at the thought of having to deal with an oversized little brother blubbering on the bed.

Whatever Dean's motives, Sam had been too tired to argue. He ended up sleeping until almost dinnertime while Dean read through the journal to fill in some of the blanks. Although Sam doubted his claims that he had also spent time doing research in the inn's library. When Dean had returned to the room to wake Sam, the imprint of the material covering the library's couch was easy to see on the side of Dean's face. And research didn't usually cause a mild case of bedhead.

Dean had accomplished what Sam considered the most difficult task not long after Sam fell asleep. The brothers had agreed that Dean would tell Bob the truth about who they were and what they did while Sam slept and the two men ate breakfast together. A string of local investigators would be showing up by late morning, and things could get sticky if Bob mentioned them. And eventually the feds would arrive.

The way Dean related the events back to Sam, Bob hadn't been at all surprised. He'd already decided they weren't telling him the true story. Even slightly foggy after his own nap, Bob had done a good job keeping the brothers out of it when the detectives and arson investigators had arrived around lunchtime. Dean had waited until the last of the official figures had left before waking Sam. He'd gotten Sam settled in the breakfast room with a sandwich in front of him and then managed to disappear somewhere while Sam was picking at it.

Sam stood from the table with a groan and walked his plate into the kitchen. The sleep had put a dent in his exhaustion, but it had also given him a chance to stiffen up and he was feeling every bruise and scrape he had managed to accumulate over the past couple of days. The doors to the tavern were closed when he came out of the breakfast room and he turned towards the front room when he heard his brother's voice drifting down the hallway.

"Just like that…no…now you made it crooked! Go back to the left."

He was greeted by a truly strange sight when he reached the end of the hall. Dean was leaning back on the couch in front of one of the fireplaces, a look of serious concentration on his face. "A little more…Perfect! Dude, we are good."

Bob climbed off of the stepladder arranged in front of the dark hearth and rushed over to stand behind Dean's couch. He turned to look at the fireplace and a wide smile split his face. Dean held his right hand over his head, palm up, and Bob slapped down on it in a cockeyed 'high five'. "Dino, you do realize we're bonding over interior decorating, don't you?" Bob stage whispered. His smile became brighter when he saw Sam in the mouth of the hallway. He waved his hand enthusiastically, gesturing for Sam to come stand beside him.

"Well?" he asked excitedly when Sam joined him and turned to examine the painting. Warmth bloomed in Sam's chest at the sight of Daniel Reilly's portrait over the fireplace. Bob's smile turned soft as he watched Sam's face and he placed his hand lightly on Sam's arm. "You really do look like him. George and Martha brought this when they came by a little while ago. Now that you've all filled me in on what really happened back then…well, I'm sorry I ever thought badly of him. And…look!" His hand on Sam's arm tugged gently, turning Sam to face the twin fireplace on the opposite wall. Bess' portrait had been moved out of the library and had a place of equal honor over the other fireplace.

Sam looked away for a second and nodded his head. When he thought he could talk without embarrassing himself he brought his eyes back to Bob's face. Bob's worried frown faded when Sam smiled at him. "How'd you manage to talk them into bringing the painting here? I thought it belonged to the historical society."

Dean had turned sideways on the couch and he reached over the top to nudge Bob. "Go ahead, tell him the rest." Dean watched his brother's face with a small grin.

Bob blushed. "Well, actually, the painting belongs to the Hancocks, not the Society. And they thought this would be a more appropriate place to display it…since they'll be part owners of the inn." He looked up at Sam's raised eyebrows and started to smile as he explained. "There is no will and we've learned there are plans to seize the inn and its contents for back taxes and sell it at auction. George and Martha have the connections to bypass some steps and have already spoken to their attorneys about working things out. It's amazing how much red tape just disappears when you have the money and the connections."

"So they're buying everything? Are you staying on? I know you love it here." The idea of the inn without Bob's presence just seemed wrong to Sam. The small manager loved and respected the rich heritage that infused every square inch of the place. He was truly a fitting guardian of the legends and history that lived within its walls.

Bob's eyes crinkled as his smile grew wide enough to rival one of Sam's. "I said they'd be part owners. I may not have the money to buy the Benjamin myself, but I could certainly handle purchasing a majority share of it with the Hancocks as partners. You're looking at the soon-to-be new owner of all of this." Bob was practically bouncing as he threw his arms wide, the gesture encompassing his beloved inn and everything in it. His smile was a mixture of delighted disbelief and pride, brimming with happiness so contagious that Sam couldn't help himself. He reached forward and wrapped the small man in a bear hug, thumping his back.

"Bob! That's great! I'm really happy for you!"

When he finally released the hug Bob's arms remained wrapped around him, his head tucked under Sam's chin. "Ummm…Bob?"

"Hmmmm?"

"I can't breathe."

"Fair is fair, sweetheart. I haven't been able to breathe since you two got here." Bob took a step back and fanned himself with his hand. "Oh my. I had no idea what you were hiding under those loose shirts. Dino should take you…" Bob's words trailed off as his eyes ran over Dean's clothes and he grimaced. "Someone with some style should take you shopping."

"That's nice coming from a guy who gets his fashion cues from Mister Rogers," Dean grumbled, eyeing Bob's cardigan of the day.

Bob just waved his hand dismissively in Dean's direction. "Window dressing, dear. This is how people want their New England innkeepers to look. Damn Newhart ruined it for us." His face grew serious and he reached out his left hand to clasp Sam's hand while his right hand came to rest on Dean's shoulder. "I want to thank you for all you've done for the Benjamin, and for me." He eyed the bruise and cut on Sam's temple. "I know there's more you're not telling me, and that the two of you were in terrible danger…" he bit his bottom lip and blinked away the moisture in his eyes. "Just…thank you. Whenever your travels bring you to this area, you will always have a place to stay for as long as you need it. And if you ever need help, just call."

Dean brought his right hand to the back of his neck and ducked his face out of view. Displays of gratitude left him uncomfortably tongue-tied, unless they came from pretty young women. Sam smiled at the small man and realized he was going to miss him. "That goes both ways. If you ever need us, you just call."

"I hate to break this up, but we've got to finish this and get the hell out of here before the FBI shows up," Dean said. Sam didn't think the hoarseness in his brother's voice was just from the recent smoke exposure.

Bob nodded his head and withdrew his hands after a final squeeze. He walked around to the back of the reception desk and crouched down for a second. When he came back into view he had a small porcelain box in his hand. "I thought this was appropriate to hold it since the Hancocks took the journal to put with the others."

Sam looked at Dean with his eyebrows raised. "They took the journal? Did we get all the info we needed?"

"They wanted to get it into a case before it got damaged. I got a chance to look at most of it, though," Dean said as he pushed himself to his feet.

"And? C'mon dude, what did you find out?" Sam scowled at his brother, impatient for Dean to fill in some gaps.

Dean's grin made it clear he was savoring the experience of being the one who had dug out a couple of juicy details. "First, Catherine thought the bodies were close to the road because of something that was said when Quincy and Reilly had that last go-round out on the road. That's why Richard thought it was safe to start digging a quarter mile in."

Sam nodded his head. That much he had already figured out. He had told Dean the gist of what happened when Reilly was killed, but hadn't given the specifics of the conversation. "Dean, why didn't Catherine rat Quincy out? Why did she marry him? She hated him."

"Part of it was that he forced her to. If he couldn't have Bess and the social mojo that would have given him, then the mayor's daughter would work. The bastard was ambitious. So he threatened to spread it around that she had been 'intimately involved' in Bess' trysts with Reilly. Catherine was the one who set things up for Bess and Reilly to be together. She covered for Bess…she was a regular fairy godmother to the two of them."

"She loved them both," Bob interrupted, nodding his head. "It would have been easy for George Quincy to make it look like she was a participant."

"So? She doesn't strike me as the type who would've caved to that kind of pressure."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude! You're the one who went to college! Think about it! This area was just starting to get away from its Puritan roots. Catherine was a tough broad, she didn't care if it ruined her. But that shit would have taken the rest of her family down too. She was protecting them. And she had her own motives for agreeing. Like I said, she was tough. Quincy didn't intimidate her after they were married." Dean began to chuckle. "She made his life a living hell. When the kids were old enough she told them where the family money really came from. Made sure they'd pass it down to their kids. She was alright."

They had been walking towards the tavern as they talked, and Dean stopped in front of the French doors. "One more thing. The night Bess died? Not a big surprise, but Catherine said it was Quincy who overheard Bess and Reilly making plans to get together after he robbed some British courier. Quincy gave the British a heads up about Reilly planning to come back here. After it all went down, and they missed Reilly, it was Quincy's idea to use Catherine. They needed a way to stop Reilly out on a deserted stretch of road. Some way to get him down off of his horse so he'd be an easy target—in a place with no witnesses. So Quincy went to Catherine and told her the British knew Reilly would be back for revenge, and they were waiting to ambush him at the inn. She wasn't exactly fond of Quincy—"

"She thought he was slime," Bob broke in, "but she knew he was in love with Bess and he seemed pretty broken up over her death."

"And she had no reason to think he was working with the British," Dean continued. "He talked a pretty good game about hating them whenever he was in the tavern. That stretch of road? Bess and Reilly used to meet up there. Near that maple sapling. Catherine knew that if she waited somewhere near there, Daniel would stop when he saw her."

Bob gave a short nod of agreement as he broke in again. "It was probably the only spot where Reilly would stop for her. Where she could break through his anger." Bob sighed dramatically. "So tragic."

It was Dean's turn to nod in agreement before he continued. "She had no idea the British were following them. I don't think she ever got over feeling guilty about that."

Bob nudged Dean's side. "Tell him the creepy part."

"It was pure coincidence that the British had buried those other men so close to where Daniel and Bess used to meet. That really creeped Catherine out." Dean looked at Sam with an expectant smile, but it faded slightly when he took in his brother's expression. "Dude, you trying to catch flies?"

Sam snapped his mouth shut. His jaw had literally fallen open in the middle of the Hardy Boys joint recitation. Apparently the two had bonded over a bit more than interior decorating. And he had just never seen Dean so caught up in a story. He eyed his brother suspiciously. "Did I miss an invasion of the pod people while I was sleeping or something?"

"Dude. Shut up." Dean scowled and gave a little shrug. "The journal was a good read. That Catherine was definitely a piece of work." He began to smirk. "You should hear some of the stuff she used to do to Quincy after they were married." He eyed Sam speculatively and his smirk turned evil. "On second thought, I think I'll keep her list of tricks to myself…for now."

A tiny chill worked its way down Sam's spine. He was going to have to make an effort to be nicer to his brother.

Dean's smirk faded and he gave Sam a steady look. "Are we ready to do this?" He seemed satisfied with Sam's slow nod and pulled the French doors open.

It was dark in the old tavern, the only light a dancing orange glow coming from the flames crackling in the fireplace. Bob reached over and flipped a switch, turning on a set of small spotlights above the bar. The reflected glow combined with the firelight made the rest of the room feel welcoming and cozy. Sam ran his hand across a wood beam as he passed by it, wondering if Catherine…Bess…Daniel, had ever touched that same spot, experienced the same sense of comfort in the feel of the smooth and solid wood that would remain strong and stable for centuries. Soft murmurs of sound, the clank of pewter and creak of wooden chairs, seemed to hover just out of the range of their hearing. As though the sounds had filled the room before they opened the door, and would fill it again after they left.

"We're keeping the tavern closed for at least a week or two. Until things can be a little more settled legally," Bob said quietly as he crossed to the fireplace. He poked at the logs with a large iron poker before adding another. The soft light on his face caught his small smile, the contentment in his expression making Sam truly happy that the little man would be the caretaker of this spot's rich history. Bob hung the poker on a small hook above the hearth and turned to them, his expression growing nervous. "So what do we do now?"

Dean had taken the porcelain box from Bob's hands when they entered the tavern, and he placed it gently down on a table near the fireplace. Sam eyes narrowed when looked at the tabletop and saw the shotgun sitting in the middle of it.

"Dean!"

"Sorry, dude." There was no trace of apology in the look his brother gave him. "I'm not taking any chances. I would have been happier doing this at some big bonfire in neutral territory. You insisted we be here, and I'm taking precautions." He gave a small shrug and Sam could see the worry behind the cool demeanor.

He knew some of that worry was that things could go haywire in the tavern. It was a spot where Reilly would have some strength, and he'd already proven his willingness to use violence. But the deeper part of Dean's worry was probably for his little brother's welfare. Sam hadn't exactly handled things too well at Bess' grave. But he was learning to separate his emotions from Daniel's. He wondered how much of his grief over Bess was actually an echo of his grief over Jessica. He'd spent some time thinking things through over the course of the long night. Seeing how an obsession over something that was gone had ruined a life in the present… Bess had been gone for so long that it was easy to see the futility of letting his grief over her death overwhelm him. Jessica's death was still new and fresh, but that didn't change the fact that she was as lost to him as Bess was. And allowing his grief over Jess to overwhelm him was just as futile. It was time to start dealing with the loss and thinking of a life beyond revenge. When they had first arrived at the inn Dean had urged him to keep in touch with Sarah. He might not be ready for that type of step yet, but he was starting to think that some day he would be.

"So, are we ready here or what?" Dean lifted the top off of the box and looked at Sam with his eyebrows raised.

Sam moved to one of the windows and nudged the simple curtain out of the way. The moon had risen while he was eating, and moonlight bathed the cobblestones in front of the tavern, a soft silver glow painted over the night outside. He knew if he was looking from the window of his room, above the tavern, the road that Daniel had traveled so long ago would look like a ribbon of moonlight as it came over the brow of the hill.

Look for me by the moonlight. I swear I will come back to you by the moonlight…though hell should bar the way.

"Yeah, we're ready." He moved to Dean's side and reached for the box, shaking his head when Dean looked like he wanted to beat him to it. "I think I've got to do it. Daniel promised that he would return it to her." He kept his voice calm and determined, proud that the small hitch in his breathing hadn't been audible to his brother.

The top of the box was too small for him to easily reach inside, especially when his fingers seemed to have developed a slight tremble. He lifted the box and slid the aged red ribbon and tarnished locket onto the palm of his hand. The firelight was kind to both, hiding the marks of age and adding a rosy glow to the ribbon. The locket felt warm against his skin, and he knew that if he let himself see it, it would sparkle in his eyes.

A current of warmth flowed through the air around them and a feather light touch ran across the back of his neck. The air in front of Sam shimmered, misted, and began to take a solid form. Long waves of black hair flowing over delicate shoulders, a simple white shift that only enhanced the beauty of its wearer.

"Bess." The word came out of Sam's mouth on a soft breath and Sam heard a solid thud as Bob dropped heavily onto one of the wooden chairs. Dean's hand began to edge towards the shotgun when Bess lifted her hand towards Sam's face, but Sam gave him a quick look and Dean's hand stilled.

The palm of her hand was warm against his cheek as she smiled up at him. A gentle lift of the corners of her mouth that spoke of affection and thanks more than love and passion. A hush had fallen over the tavern as soon as the locket and ribbon had landed on his palm, but now a slight noise worked its way through the quiet. A faint clatter from the cobblestones outside of the tavern. Bess' smile grew as tears filled her eyes and she turned her head towards the door.

Daniel was there, his tall form taking shape in front of the old wood. He was dressed like he had appeared in the portrait, the velvet coat and lace gone in favor a simple linen shirt that was open at the neck, exposing the strong column of his neck. His hair was a long queue down his back, held in place by a dark ribbon. Dark hazel eyes settled on the woman in front of Sam and centuries of pain and sorrow fell away. Dimples bit deep into his cheeks as a smile lit his face and his eyes softened, the skin around them crinkling with happiness.

"Dear Lord, there's that smile again," Bob whispered, his voice awed.

In the blink of an eye Bess was no longer in front of Sam. She was in Daniel's arms, and the tears on her face almost glowed in the firelight. Daniel's arms tightened around her and the sounds that had just been slightly beyond their hearing began to trickle into the air around them. Soft murmurs, laughter, a fiddle playing a slow ballad.

Daniel began to move, and Bess flowed with him, their steps a formal waltz. The music gained strength, quickening until it was a lively reel, and the dancers were swept up in it. Laughter, stamping feet, clapping hands, accompanied them as they spun gracefully around the floor.

Sam looked at the ribbon and locket still in his hand. Ruby red and sparkling silver, it was time for them to be returned to their owners. He leaned forward and tossed them gently into the heart of the now roaring fire. The ribbon glowed as fire raced along it.

In the center of the tavern the dancers moved more quickly, their feet seemingly lighter as they lost the tethers that were holding them down. Bess leaned back in Daniel's arms, her eyes drinking in his face as they spun around the floor. Daniel gazed down at her with a look that made it clear he was never letting go.

Inside of the locket the two snippets of hair, one black and one brown, began to smoke and curl. There was a brief spark of fire and the two tiny locks were nothing but a dust of mingled ashes inside of the locket, each indistinguishable from the other.

The smile on Daniel's face was filled with a joy that lit the air around him. The music grew fainter, the laughter and applause softer, until once again they hovered where the conscious mind could not hear them. And still the couple twirled, spinning faster as they were bathed in a radiance that seemed to have its source somewhere within them. Bess threw her head back and laughter bubbled from her throat, a soft silver peel that lingered in the air even after the dancers had faded to a soft glow and then dissipated into shimmering whispers of light that winked out, leaving nothing but a memory. The happiness of that laughter warmed the tavern. A warmth that would dwell inside of its old walls for a very long time.

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A/N Oh, stop rolling your eyes! I warned you I was a sentimental slob! I've wanted a happy ending for Bess and her highwayman since the first time I heard the song and then read the poem. If you still haven't heard the song I recommend running right over to YouTube (or wherever) and giving it a listen. It's 'The Highwayman' sung by Loreena McKennitt on her The Book of Secrets CD.

While I'm on the subject of music, I had a definite song in mind when Bess and Daniel danced. It's on the Celtic Woman CD, and is called 'The Ashoken Farewell/ The Contradiction'. Give it a listen. I dare you to keep your feet still when the fiddle starts to fly and the crowd starts to clap.

At the end of Hozho's Chap 17 I asked "Don't you feel like life should come with a soundtrack?"

TraSan replied: "I think life does come with a soundtrack. The trick is being brave enough to dance to it. :)"

I couldn't agree more.

Thank you so so much for sticking with me while we found the lover's happy ending. I truly hope you enjoyed reading it.

Next up is a rewrite of the story "As the Clock Winds Down". The story was originally posted on the LimpSam site as a contest entry. There was a 5000 word limit and I'm fleshing it out a little before posting here on ffnet. I've already started the revisions so I should be posting it fairly soon.

A/N 2 I'm all for promoting an event that celebrates our Sammy (and Dean!), so I'm going to repeat my reminder about the SFTCOL(AR)S first annual LimpSam awards:

Like I said at the beginning of chap 18, there are categories for fics, graphics, and vids. We love both brothers—c'mon, the magic of the show is their relationship—but Dean already has such a huge cadre of devoted and passionate 'Dean' fans, so the board is just trying to give lil bro a boost and promote the wonder that is Sammy. But we're definitely 'bi-bro', so there are categories that are Dean heavy also.

If you go to the SFTCOL(AR)S forum, the "Limp!Sam Awards" category is in the Asylum section. For some reason I couldn't get the link to post correctly at the start of Chap 18, but if you need it I posted it in my profile.

Nominations are being taken in June, but the top nominees will be posted on the board in July. You should definitely check it out to find stories, graphics, and vids that may have somehow passed you by. What a great way to ease ourselves through summer hiatus!