Happy Birthday Enkidu07! I love knowing you have my back, thanks so much for dragging me, not quite screaming but perhaps with a well-placed thrust kick or two, into this wonderful world of Supernatural, and then Supernatural fanfic.
This is unbeta'd. Because you're my beta. Another reason I love you.
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It was gorgeous out, sun peaking through the clouds, fluffy snowflakes falling onto already bowed evergreen branches.
"Stupid freakin' nature," Dean wiped snowflakes off the back of his neck, managing to loosen a bit of snow resting just inside his collar, sending it melting down his spine making him shiver and twist at the cold. "Out to get me."
"Yes, Dean. Mother nature has a vendetta. It's not the hunt, it's a little snow that's gonna kill you." Sam pushed past him, striking the trail deeper into the Maine woods.
Four miles in and Dean was getting used to the snowshoes. Getting better at remembering to duck further under branches to account for the heavy pack he carried. It had been a good half hour since he'd last tripped over his own feet, falling face first into the deep snow.
He was getting quicker. Almost quick enough to avoid the branch swung at his head. Just quick enough to shift, take the impact and move with it. Knocked back, but not out. Enough to scream a warning for Sam.
Silence answered, split by gunfire when he got a shot off at the attacker. Watched the dark figure falter to the ground as the iron and salt round did its work. He stumbled to his feet, stabbing through the heart of the long dead mountain man with his iron knife before heading back to the trail, calling for Sam.
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She found them hours later, huddled together under a makeshift lean-to. One half-frozen man wrapped protectively around the other. Blood stained clothes wrapped about them both, snow packed on top to insulate.
"Are you okay?" She reached forward, lay her arm gently against the protector's shoulder. Moved her fingers up to check his pulse. Thready, but holding on. She shook his shoulder slightly before instinctively blocking a back fist to her temple.
She held his wrist, holding her other hand palm up in front of her face. Both protection and a universal sign of pacifism. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."
"Who're you? How'd you find us?" The man freed his arm easily, reached toward his waistband.
"These are my woods you're dying in. Heard some noise, maybe gunfire. Figured I'd check it out, make sure everyone was okay." She glanced over her shoulder, back toward her cabin, he was reaching for what looked like a gun, and no one would ever find her here. "I called the cops. They're on their way."
"Right," he smirked, rolled his eyes toward the other man, lost the smirk completely when his gaze went unmet. He set his jaw, turned back toward her. "No cell phone reception, no land line. No one's coming up here until the blizzard's over. We've got at least the weekend."
She stepped back, out of arms reach, put her hand on the heavy flashlight she carried, her only weapon.
"Hey lady, we're not trying to start anything here. Just resting for a bit before we're on our way."
"On your way? He's unconscious. A blizzard's about an hour out. You'll both die out here. Where do you think you're going?"
Another one of his quick smirks, an almost cocky set to his jaw, "Don't worry 'bout us."
"Yeah, wasn't worried about you, I was worried about him." She pointed toward the still unconscious man. Blood trailed slowly from his temple, thick from cold, spilling through his saturated bandage. His right arm was tied against his ribs, and his left boot was unlaced and opened, she could see the swelling at his ankle. "Did you hurt him?"
"Hurt my brother. No." He moved back in front of the unconscious man. "A branch fell, hit him on the head, knocked him down. Must've twisted his ankle and dislocated the arm on the way down."
"And you?"
"I'm fine."
"Right." She eyed the bruises over his face, the cuts at his neck, cheekbone, temple. "You're fine. Don't know what I was thinking. C'mon." She grabbed both packs, hefted one onto her shoulders before tightening the straps, leaning forward to accommodate the new weight.
"Where?"
"My cabin, only a half-mile away. Can you carry him?"
He bent, tried to shake his brother awake before moving to protect his hurt arm and shifting him over his shoulders to a fireman's carry. "Yeah, I can carry Sam. Lets go."
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At the cabin they settled Sam in a makeshift bed in front of the wood stove. Stripped off the bloodied clothes and piled warmed blankets over his legs. She held him still, both arms wrapped tight about his torso while his brother violently yanked the shoulder back into its socket. She boiled water and cleaned him with a wash cloth while the man, James, he said, but it took him just a moment too long to answer to it, closed Sam's head wound with small, efficient stitches.
Sam was settled, as comfortable as possible, before she turned away, glanced toward the cut at James's cheekbone, the slow trail of blood down his face and neck disappearing into his shirt. "That's gonna need attention."
"I've got it." James grabbed the first aid kit, headed toward the bathroom. He was already washing the wound and leaning toward the mirror for a good view before she muscled her way in. She watched as he took a deep breath, held it, and pulled the first stitch smoothly through his own skin. Repeated the routine twice more, and tied off the knot.
"Jesus."
"You okay there?" He turned toward her, braced her arm with his large hand.
"I'm the one that should be asking." She breathed deep, let it out slow before bending to rummage through a drawer until she found what she was looking for. "Yeah, 'm fine. I've got butterfly bandages, some Neosporin."
She pushed him back until his knees met the closed seat of the toilet, pushed a bit harder until he sat, tilted his head up and let her care for the wound. He resisted a bit as she moved on to his neck and forehead, but a soft push against his shoulder and he stilled.
He stood when she finished, the close quarters of the bathroom bluntly obvious as she tried to step back, bumping up against the bathroom countertop.
"Uhhh. Food, do you want food?" Without waiting for an answer she fled the bathroom.
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Sam woke up a day later, faded in and out before settling into fitful sleep. James slept at his side. Woke to drink coffee, eat food, check on Sam.
The second day Sam was lucid, sleepy, but clearly all there. James got restless. They played cards for chores. Poker she couldn't win, but even when she lost he wouldn't let her go get wood from the shed. Other games she held her own. He lost rummy at dinnertime and had to stumble through heating a can of soup and grilling cheese sandwiches.
The hours passed, and then the days. The storm broke over the third day. Sam was up and moving about by the fourth. On the sixth day she walked in on James repacking their bags, checking their supplies.
"You're heading out."
"Yeah, at first light. Time to move on." He ducked his head, avoided her gaze.
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"Ah, well, thanks so much," Sam bent low to give her a quick hug. "You saved me. So, thanks. A lot." Sam shouldered his pack, grinned, glancing back and forth between them, then strode out the front door, closing it behind him.
"Um. Yeah, thanks for the help."
"No problem." She shrugged it off, moved to open the door for him, before his hand moved up, braced over her shoulder, holding the door closed.
"Really. Thank you. I can't tell you what I'd have done if..." He stuttered to a stop, looked at the closed door, after his brother, then back at her. "Anyway. Thank you." He stepped close, skidded his thumb across her cheekbone before dipping to lightly kiss her lips. "Thank you."
He opened the door, hefted his pack up, and strode toward his brother.
"Bye... James"
He turned back, looked straight at her, "It's Dean."
She breathed deep, bit her bottom lip before mouthing the word silently, shifting slightly toward him before another deep breath, centered herself, "Bye Dean."
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Sam sputtered as a tree dumped snow over his head, lack of sight making him lose his footing, he fell face first into a snow drift. "Okay, you're right, nature's out to get you. Apparently me too."
Dean laughed, flicked a bit more of the white stuff into his brother's face, and thought of the phone number added to a new page in the journal, of his own left unmentioned on her kitchen table, " Eh, it's not all bad."