Title: Hoodoo (Extended Remix)
Author: Mad Server
Rating: T
Characters: Dean, Sam, OMC, Ruby, Bobby
Word Count: 500, on the nose
Summary: A hoodoo priest does some badness. Confusion abounds. Confusion and snuffly hypothermia.
A/N: Big thank yous to CiZiwejes and NC Girl for the wanting to see more. Hat-tips to The Poisonwood Bible and Enkidu07 for the inspirational hoodooness.
Disclaimer: I don't own these guys.
1.
Red brick house, cracked foundation.
Wind whistles around Impala; engine rumbles, loud, unstealthy.
"Where is he?"
"Beats me."
Chilly boots. A voluptuous shudder.
"Fuck, it's cold."
Warm air shushes through vents. Black sky, bare branches, glittering stars.
Belly tap. "Wake up."
Adrenaline. Fogged windows. Dead car. Headache.
Sticky mouth. "What'd I miss?"
Sam shrugs - "Priest-guy never showed" - gets out. Snow blasts Dean.
He follows.
White parking lot. Motel's.
"Sam..."
Hot, close room, yellow light. Sam strips, climbs into bed.
Dean's stupid with sleep, sore-necked, thick-tongued. Sits on his sagging mattress, squinting. Regrouping.
Wakes up thirsty. It's dark out. Sam's gone.
2.
Fluorescent bathroom. Dean dials between glasses of water. Sam doesn't answer.
Air's still now, freezing, dry. He coughs, brushes off the car with his sleeve. Heads toward town.
Highway yields to closed restaurants, strip malls, a park. Residential streets. No Sam.
The priest guy...?
Snow squeaks under tires as he parks. Windows are dark. He steals up the driveway, into the pale backyard.
Candlelight inside. Fog-breathed, shivering under the clouds, Dean hesitates.
Side door swings open. Man steps out. Dean reaches into his pocket.
"I know who you are," says priest-guy.
"Yeah, likewise."
Dean draws.
Chanting. Feathers. Dust.
Spots. Spots.
3.
Dean's gone.
So's Sam's buzz.
He flags Ruby down as she's pulling out, climbs back in.
"He probably went out for a drink, Sam."
Impala. Footprints. Priest's backyard. Dean's down, on his back, shut-eyed, white-faced, blue-lipped.
Frantic cheek-patting. "Oh, shit. Dean, hey."
A frown, a crackling cough. Muzzy squint; deep, gravelly voice. "Dean?"
Sam puffs. Glances at Ruby, who scans the dark house, leaves. "Close enough."
Chattering teeth, sleepy sneezes. Dean lets Sam tug off his wet clothes, bundle him into bed, accepts hot chocolate: "Thanks, Dean."
"Drink up," Sam snorts, steadying his frigid hands above the ugly polyester comforter.
4.
"Dean?"
Sam crouches beside the bed, frowning. "It's Sam, actually."
Dean scratches his head, drags off the itchy wool cap. Sam practicedly replaces it. "You feeling any better?"
Dean swallows, sighs jerkily, cracks an eye. "Time 's it?"
"Four."
Ashy forehead creases. "Late f'r exam." He hauls himself to sitting, sneezes spastically onto a goosebumped wrist.
"Whoa, whoa." Sam wraps him in a blanket, soothes him back down. "There's no exam. You're good."
Dean snuffles, focuses on Sam's face. Purple lips, a convulsive shiver. "Dean... sure?"
"I'm not..."
Dean's out.
Sam plugs in the kettle, stands watching the steam rise.
5.
"He's confused. I'm confused. We're losing it, Bobby." Sam chews his nails, watching Dean sleep from across the room. "Do you think it's the hypothermia?"
"The symptoms don't add up. If it's bad enough he seems drunk, Sam, he shouldn't be shivering too. My money's on the hoodoo priest."
Dean coughs, rolls dozily toward Sam. He's raccoon-eyed, lips cracked. The hat's off again.
"Could you... can you fix it?"
"Hang in there, kid."
The sky's turning pale behind the curtains.
"Dean?"
Sam slides forward, lies down beside Dean, drapes an arm over his trembling back. "Yeah, Sammy. I've got you."
end
