I've been writing for years, but this my first go at fanfiction so let me know what you think. Rogue

Player of Games

Chapter One: How Long Can You Hold Your Breath

I am a Player of Games. But as with any good game there must be a worthy opponent. Someone on which I can hone my deadly skills. Some would call them my prey. They would be right. My only objective is to win. I am as of yet undefeated.

Sam Winchester glanced around at his surroundings in awed puzzlement, wondering how he'd gotten there. A vast endless desert of glistening snow stretched out as far as the eye could see in any given direction. Not a single skeletal tree or brambling bush marred the pristine landscape.The sky as pale as grey ash was tinged crimson on the western horizon, a not so subtle indication that nightfall was hastily approaching.

A chilled breeze swept past Sam, ruffling his deep chestnut bangs as the gale grew in strength. Wisps of snowy flakes danced lightly upon the ground before swirling upward in ghostly white vortexes. His mind whirled in perfect precision with the snowy cyclones thoughts scattering and disappearing as quickly as the powdery flakes. Only one thought kept a constant vigil in the far recesses of his mind. Where was Dean?

With each breath Sam expelled, plumes of soft white smoke billowed from his mouth attesting to the frigid temperature. Yet, even though he wore only a white cotton t-shirtand equally white pants, he wasn't cold in the least. His head dropped back onto his shoulders and he gazed into the darkening skies. Snow began to fall lightly on his face, melting from the heat of his skin. Cool droplets of water trailed down his cheeks and over his jaw, snaking a path toward the base of his throat and soaking into the collar of his t-shirt.

The snow began to fall in earnest, his clothes quickly becoming drenched. Snowflakes clung to his hair, melted and turned to ice in the rapidly cooling night air. He shivered, gooseflesh rippling up and down his bare arms. Sam hugged his arms around his chest as he trembled, his earlier awe turning to panic as he realized Dean was no where around. He was alone and couldn't even begin to imagine which way would lead him out of the vast forest of nothingness.

"Dean?" he shouted, his voice echoing off the peaks and valleys of crisp, freshly fallen snow. "Dean, where the hell are you?" he called again when he heard a faint rustle of noise that seemed to come from everywhere all at once.

The snow swirled more violently around him, biting at his exposed skin and stinging his eyes. The skies once ashen now turned a deep indigo, clouds overshadowing the pale moon. Night had descended with a vengeance, winds howling and rushing past him with ominous veracity. A whispered voice carried on the breeze, so faint at first Sam was forced to crane his neck to hear it. Louder and deeper the voice grew, its tone rich and silky smooth.

"I am the Player of Games," it said, its voice ringing in Sam's ears, and Sam swung around to try and find whomever had spoken. Nothing but endless snow met his hazel eyes."Do you deem yourself a worthy opponent?"

"Where's Dean?" Sam hollered as he squinted into the darkness, training his sights on the moving shadows off in the distance. "What the hell have you done to my brother?"

"There is no Dean here," the voice responded. Its sudden laughter whipped the snow into a fevered frenzy, a wall of white shrouding Sam's view of the shadow he had seen a moment before. "Only two can play the game." Here the voice hesitated, its deep rich laughter rumbling the earth on which Sam stood. "And there can only be one winner. The rules are simple. There is really only one. You die, you lose."

"Not gonna play your freakin' game." Sam swung around on the spot as he squinted, trying to locate the creature the voice belonged to, but saw nothing beyond a wall of white rapidly closing in on him.

"Then you choose to forfeit?"

"Said I wasn't playin'." Sam trembled violently as a sea of cold white snow washed over him, knocked him off his feet and buried him waist deep within its frigid depths.

"To forfeit is to lose. Rethink your options."

Large, fat snowflakes began to descend more rapidly from the sky above, piling on the snow that already covered Sam. His skin burned with the cold, fingers and toes going numb as the onslaught of snow continued without cease.

"How do I win?" he finally asked, teeth chattering loudly.

"Thought that was obvious. You survive, you win."

Sam hesitated for a moment as he thought of any other way in which to escape, but without knowing where he was, he realized he didn't have any other options open to him. "Alright, I'll play your stupid game," he conceded with a hateful snarl. "But when I win, I'm gonna be coming after you."

"Good. A worthy opponent."

Powerful gale force winds blew past Sam carrying away most of the snow that had covered him. Sam pushed himself up on his haunches, and tried to stand. His arms thrashed around like overworked windmills as he slipped and slid on a bed of glare ice. Legs coming out from beneath him, he crashed to the ground, and heard an ominous crack. Slowly he inched his way backward, the earth cracking and splintering underneath him. Inch by agonizing inch, he crab crawled his way across what he now realized was a frozen lake. Sam cautiously placed his hand behind him, a thunderous crack reverberated through the air and stopped him dead in his tracks.

"First game is called, how long can you hold your breath."

The ground beneath Sam rumbled, split and gave way. A mere second later, Sam crashed through the ice, dropping feet first into the darkened watery abyss. Icy water leapt up to greet him as he clawed at the huge chunks of ice floating and bobbing in the murky greyish-blue water. Powerful undercurrents dragged him downward, his arms and legs growing tired and useless against the struggle to keep afloat. His clothes now heavy and drenched with water, clung to his skin, weighing him down.

Sam flailed his arms, frigid dirty water splashing into his eyes and mouth. He gagged on the gritty, fishy tasting water as he struggled to draw in air. With heart hammering away inside his chest, he reached for a thick chunk of ice, and tried to pull himself onto it. Under the strain of his weight, the block of ice turned and bobbed on its side, Sam's fingers slipping free of his hold on it. Weedy tendrils wrapped firmly around his legs, and dragged him under. Beneath the water, Sam struggled with the vines and weeds tangled around his legs, and tearing them away from his feet, he kicked his way to the surface. With one deep breath of air he was swept back under, and pulled far below by the current.

Somehow Sam managed to break free of the strong undertow and swam for the surface, his eyes on the narrow beam of haloed light coming from overhead. As he reached the surface, his head collided with a solid block of ice. Fear coiled in his stomach and rose into his heart as he slammed his fists against the ice, but found it was completely solid.

"And so the count begins. One one-thousand . . . two one-thousand . . . three one-thousand." Sam's ears rung with the sound of bone-chilling laughter coming from his opponent as he struggled vainly to escape the underwater prison. "Not such a worthy opponent after all." The faceless being laughed again. "Four one-thousand . . . five one-thousand."

Sam's vision swam in front of his eyes as his burning lungs screamed for air. His arms, too tired to pound against the wall of ice any longer, hung limply out to the sides, floating uselessly in the murky water.

"Six one-thousand . . . seven one-thousand . . . eight one-thousand . . . ."

Too exhausted to fight any longer, Sam's eyes drifted closed and he breathed in deeply, water filling his nostrils and lungs. His heart slowed and he felt himself being lifted upward and beyond the water.

"Sam," Dean shook his little brother, terror filling his heart at how deathly still and cold Sam was, "Sammy, breathe for me. Come on, you can't do this to me. Wake the hell up."

Sam gasped, arching upward in his bed. His breath staggered in his throat as he struggled to draw in air. He peered around the small dingy motel room, his wild-eyed gaze then settled on Dean. "Where were you?" he uttered in a low, shaky breathless voice. "You weren't there."

"Been here all night, Sammy." With the back of his hand, Dean touched Sam's forehead and grimaced at how cold and clammy his brother's skin felt. "Man, you must've been havin' one helluva a nightmare."

"Wasn't a nightmare." Sam leaned back against the headboard of the bed, a deep sigh escaping him as he brushed his dampened bangs out of his eyes. "There was this voice," Sam shook his head, biting at his lower lip as if trying to jar his groggy memory, "and there was nothing but snow everywhere."

"Doesn't sound like that bad of a dream so far," Dean butted in as he adjusted Sam's pillows. A worried frown creased Dean's brow as he noticed that Sam was still shivering despite the almost stifling heat of the room. He reached across the narrow expanse between their two twin beds and grabbed the blue paisley print comforter off of it and wrapped it around his little brother.

"Said it wasn't a nightmare. It was real, I was there." Sam's lips quivered, and Dean noted that there was a slight tinge of blue to them. His little brother's brows pulled together, forehead furrowing in peaks and valleys as he focused on the swirling patterns of blue on the soft downy comforter. "Then I fell through the ice, an' I was drowning. Could taste the water in my mouth and felt it burning my lungs."

"Sam, it's the middle of July," Dean tried to reason, "an we're in Virginia. There's no snow, in fact, it's hot as hell outside." He hesitated when he saw Sam open his mouth to argue, and held up a hand to stave off any protests Sam might have had to the contrary. "It was a dream. A really freakin' vivid dream." Pursing his lips, he shook his head, assured in the knowledge that he was right on the matter. "That's all it was, nothin' more."

"How can you be so sure?" Sam's eyes rounded, taking on the look of a wounded puppy, unshed tears welling in them at the thought that Dean didn't believe him.

"Cause I was in the bed right over there." He gestured to his own bed, a bone-weary sigh escaping him as he scratched at the back of his head, ruffling his short scruffy hair. "Woke up when I heard you hollerin' my name, and saw you kick off your blankets and thrash around on your bed. Got out of bed to wake you an' noticed you were holding your breath." He paused for a moment, drawing in a slow shaky breath as his mind reeled back to the moment he realized his brother wasn't breathing. "Scared the hell out of me, but I'm tellin' ya, you were here the whole time."

"Guess you're right," Sam finally conceded with a curt nod. "It — it just seemed so real."

"Course I am, I'm the older brother which means I'm always right." Dean cast Sam a rakish grin as he playfully punch him on the shoulder. "Now get some sleep. You look like you might be coming down with something, an' I don't want to be stuck in this podunk town any longer than necessary."

Sam returned his smile with a weak one of his own, and slid down beneath the covers, drawing them up to his chin as he still continued to shiver. "Yeah, guess you're right," he yawned, eyelids already drooping closed, "really not feeling very well at the moment."

Once again, Dean checked to see if his brother was feverish, and frowned when he felt how cold Sam's skin still was despite the fact that he was buried deep beneath two heavy comforters in the middle of July. Dean watched his brother for a moment longer, listening as Sam's breathing evened out, and heard him softly snoring. He stood and wrapped Sam's blankets more firmly around him, then pulled a chair up alongside his brother's bed, not about to go to sleep again until he was certain that Sam was okay.