A/N: Disclaimer: They don't belong to me; never have, never will.
They're on a hunt in Montana when it happens, stumbling through the craggy foothills of the Rockies.
Dean slips on loose stone, just happens to glance up, and there it is, peaking out from behind steely grey clouds that hover low above their heads. For a moment the light warms his ruddy cheeks and illuminates the rusty red of the rock beneath his boots.
"Sam," he calls out quickly, "Look!"
But before Sammy can, the moment disappears and the dreary rain that has become such a part of their lives for so long begins to fall in earnest once more.