I wrote this story a while ago and thought I would post it here. It will be in both Sam and Dean's POV and is kinda AU. Thanks so much for reading. Hugs, Ember

Echoes the Sound of Silence

The weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so . . . yeah, there's no fire. Only snow. Lots and lots of snow, and it's anything but delightful. Dean said let's flip a coin to see who goes to get dinner, and I'm pretty sure he would have fixed it so he would lose, but stupid me wanted it to be fair for a change. So in the interest of fairness, I grabbed the quarter from him, and what came after sounded a little like this:

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

"Give me the coin, I'm flipping it."

"NO, you're not."

"Yes, I am, Sammy."

Then there was some wrestling . . . back to arguing.

"I told you, I'm flipping the damn coin, lil' brother."

"And I said you're gonna have to pry it from my cold dead hand before I let you flip it, Dean."

More wrestling. Think we broke a chair or maybe it was a table . . . back to arguing.

"I'm not letting you drive my baby in this kind of weather."

"You taught me to drive, dude, think I can manage driving in a little snow storm."

Momentary pause – this is where Dean tried to think of a good argument to counter what I'd said about him teaching me to drive.

Moment over, back to wrestling. Somewhere in the midst of round three, I'm pretty sure I knocked the lamp off the end table. Quick breather, and on to more arguing.

"Why are you being such a jerk about this, Sam?"

"Because you're being a bitch over it, Dean."

Wow, awkward role reversal. Both speechless for several seemingly long seconds, we glared at each other, and then I smirked.

"Jerk," I uttered, setting the whole Winchester Jerk/Bitch World to the rights again.

"Bitch."

Crisis averted, we both cracked a grin.

"Sammy, just let me go get dinner."

"No, you said we should flip a coin and we're gonna flip a coin."

And so now here I am. Driving. In the Snow.

Only one thought keeps running through my head as the windshield wipers flap back and forth relentlessly across the foggy glass, and it makes me chuckle and cringe at alternating intervals. "Roads, where I'm going, I don't need any roads," I say aloud, laughing nervously as I lean forward in the seat, peer out into the darkness, trying to see if I'm even close to being in the right lane or if I'm off the road all together.

I'm a good driver – maybe not as good as Dean is, but I'm pretty damn sure even he would be white-knuckling the steering wheel in this kind of weather. A wall of white. That's it. That's all I see. So, like any idiot driver, I blasted my high-beams . . . for about two seconds. Nothing illuminates how crappy the weather outside truly is like two bright lights shining into a solid sheet of snow. So back to dim lights. Yep, I'm all about the dim lights – they're awesome.

Now I know I'm pretty stupid. I could've been back at the motel working on finding us our next hunt. I could've been in the shower, using all the hot water. I could have been doing any number of better things than driving in a blizzard, but at least I know without a doubt, I'm not as dumb as the guy I see walking along the edge of what I hope is the road. Yeah, I'm a real genius compared to him.

When the headlights of the Impala flashed on him, he turned to face the car, and pulling his hood down over his head with one hand, he stuck out his thumb with the other. A hitchhiker. In a Blizzard. While most normal people would probably be busy feeling really bad for Frosty the Hitcherman, my mind is at work trying to recall if there have been any strange deaths in the area. Nothing. No unexplainable deaths. No near fatal accidents. Nothing to suggest Mr. Freezypop is anything other than a dumb guy out for a walk on the worst night of the year.

So against my better judgment, and knowing full-well Dean would have a coronary if he knew I picked up a stranger, I slowed to a stop a few feet ahead of him. Within a matter of seconds, the passenger's door opened, he ducked his head and peered inside the vehicle.

"Thanks, for st-stoppin," he stammered, teeth chattering loudly. "I ran into a snowbank a few miles ago back, and my damn car stalled out me."

"Where are ya headed?" I asked, studying him carefully as he slid onto the seat beside me.

"Just into town." He pulled off his hood, and brushed the snow from his dark-shaggy bangs. "My Uncle Dwight owns the gas station there, so I figure I can stay with him for the night and then get my car towed out in the morning."

He looked to be a year or two younger than me, and was probably a few inches shorter than I am. Although it was hard to tell with his heavy jacket, I concluded from his narrow face and hawkish features that he more than likely had a lean but not overly muscular body. Nothing about him screamed supernatural, yet I still kept my guard up.

"Alright." With a nod, I pulled back out onto the road. "I'm Sam," I said, and out of the corner of my eye, I watched his every move, waiting for him to turn into a vampire, demon or some other creature. Paranoid much. Sure am.

"Jayson." He smiled politely as he pulled off his gloves and put his hands near the heating vent. "Thanks again for picking me up. My wife's pregnant, and well, she had a craving. Ice cream and olives." He laughed, the pleasant sound of it not the slightest bit ominous. "Better her eating it than me, right?"

"I guess." We both fell silent for several minutes, and I glanced down at his hand, noticing a gold wedding band. "How long have you been married?"

"About a year now." Grin widening, his dark eyes lit up as he went on to add, "We're having twins – two boys. One of those instant complete family things. I'm absolutely terrified, but Annie – my wife, she just keeps telling me I'll be a great father 'cause I still act like a little kid most of the time."

"I'm sure you will be." I smiled awkwardly. What the hell did I know about what it took to be a good father? With my own dad as my only example of what a father should be like, I'm pretty sure most men failed miserably at the job. But then there was Dean. Dean would make a great father. I'm sure he's thought about it from time to time, and I'm almost certain if he wasn't a hunter he'd probably have about four or five kids by now. But he doesn't think about it . . . much – neither of us do. Hell, we won't live long enough to see the day we're both free to live real lives. To have kids. To be married.

Thinking about Dean and wanting a better life for the both of us, my attention wandered for a moment. A split second. It was enough. I never saw the car coming. Only felt the Impala's tires slide and fishtail as I slammed my foot on the brakes. There was a scream – from Jayson or maybe it was me . . . I'm not sure. His eyes went wide, and I saw them flash silver in the beams of the oncoming headlight.

Skinwalker – I should have known better. Dean was going to kill me.

Those silver eyes were the last thing I saw. And the last thing I heard was a crash and the crunch of metal against metal. Then everything turned from blood-soaked red to hellish black.