A/N: I wanted to write some fluffy fluff, but then it all went a bit dark side. *sigh* oh well … lol

I own nothing and I'm sorry for any and all grammar/spelling mistakes you might find. This story is complete in 2 chapters, chapter 2 coming your way tomorrow or Thursday.

Happy (belated) holidays! Happy, healthy and love-filled New Year to all who read my stories, comment on them, favorite them and just … enjoy them! Hugs and love to you all!

CHAPTER 1

Sam pulled the heavy drapes apart and looked outside. The snow that was supposed to fall in the morning was hours late and the sky was cloudy and gray, snow just a little bit out of reach, just sitting there at the tip of the sky, but not falling yet.

They were able to smell the snow in the air when they went out to get some lunch and a six pack, but there were no snowflakes in site and according to the sky, there would be no snowflakes in site for some time, while according to the skinny brunette doing the weather forecast on the local TV station, the snow was supposed to already be falling and the little town they were stuck in was supposed to already be in a major snow storm.

But … no snow. Anywhere. The streets were wet from some rain that fell when they were driving into town and to the motel, but that was all.

It was a bit … dull actually. It was all just so … gray and ugly and boring and depressing. Snow would pretty this place up, Sam thought as his eyes roamed the parking lot and the road behind it.

There were some cars driving real slow and real careful on the road; people going home to their families, to their tables shaking under the weight of all the holiday food. Potatoes, vegetables, salads, meat, gravy, cakes and pies.

He was supposed to … Jess was gonna do some fancy dinner, make some of her chocolate chip cookies, and then they'd probably snuggle up on the couch for a while, then go out to a party, watch the fireworks … kiss … and go home and kiss some more.

He'd hold her and she'd hold him and … the new year would feel magical – not the bad kinda magical - and brand new, hope for days full of them and maybe the new year would be the year he'd say – marry me.

He swallowed down the lump of nevergonnahappen, sighed and let the drape fall into place, hiding the world outside from him, and getting him stuck in the motel room of horrors.

It wasn't that bad, he'd seen worse, but it was – faded. Everything was brown wood, white sheets over two small beds, a kitchenette with one counter, a mini fridge and a rusty sink.

He wasn't supposed to spend this day like this.

There were no chocolate chip cookies, no fancy dinner planned, there was just some pizza, two cold burgers in a greasy brown bag and a six pack, minus two beers. So a four pack.

He wanted a glass of champagne. Jess would have had some hidden away, just for today.

"Sam?"

His brother's voice dragged him out of his wants and wishes, and put him on solid ground.

They were in this town to do a job and he couldn't believe that he was back in this again. That he was back in the no holidays zone, no celebrations zone. Just kill, kill, kill. Save people, but who was gonna save him?

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

It was sincere. The question. His brother knew him well, there were no walls Dean couldn't penetrate, but for old time's sakes, he lied.

"Yeah, 'm okay."

"You sure?"

Dean could always see right through him, but lying was telling the truth in some bizarre way they had between them. Okay, meant not really, and not really meant, I will be.

"'m sure."

"Well, alrighty then."

His brother was sitting on his pristine white bed, getting dressed. It looked comical and he'd laugh, if laughing wouldn't make him sob afterwards.

He couldn't believe that he was watching his brother getting dressed in ratty jeans and three days past laundry day shirt.

He was supposed to watch Jess getting dressed – well – undressed from a dress she had bought in September, with just this day in mind.

He shook his head and looked down at the wooden floor.

He had to pull it together, had to suck it up.

He cleared his throat: "So, uhh, you wanna tackle this now?"

He really, really didn't want to leave the warm room; the room that smelled of coffee they both chugged down like it was water, grease from their dinner and maybe some sweaty socks and sweaty shirts, but … it was warm. And outside it was freezing. Sure there was no snow, but the wind was bitter and cold and stung like little icicles were being slammed into his skin.

He didn't want to spend the night outside. He really didn't and call him a selfish bastard, but … he wanted to spend the afternoon and night in the room, with his brother, watching some TV, drinking some beer and eating some cold pizza and cold burgers.

He wanted … normal of their kind.

Because he couldn't get normal of his kind. He couldn't get a warm apartment decorated in his and Jess' taste, couldn't get the smell of Jess' cooking, her perfume when she'd squeeze next to him on the couch, couldn't get that warm feeling that always spread through his chest when Jess said 'I love you' and kissed him hard, couldn't get a Christmas tree with all the lights and ornaments that he and Jess would've put up, couldn't get the smell of punch and eggnog that would spread through an apartment illuminated only by the Christmas lights.

"Yeah now."

But his brother was as pig-headed as ever; once Dean got something stuck in his head … it really got stuck in there until Dean could shot, blown or punch away … something. Monsters and shit like that. Or beer cans. That worked too.

"Okay, let's go do this then."

He walked to his bed and flopped down on it. He really didn't want to go out there, into that cold and into that icy wind that was blowing so hard it rattled the trash cans. Because this was what he got away from, for some time, and now it was back and … even on this day, monsters knew no rest.

"Great. And then, we'll come back, get stinkin' drunk and sleep until noon. How's that for a plan?"

He smiled. He liked that plan. He liked it a lot, because that was something he wanted, needed. Just a day to spend with his big brother. Because that was all he had now. Jess was – gone – their dad was – missing – but Dean, Dean was here all the time and he was always the only one that was always there, every holiday, every birthday, every ordinary day.

Dean.

But he was no Jess. No one would ever be Jess.

He sighed.

"Sam, I know this isn't your idea of a great time, but man up and stop sulking. Did Stanford really made you forget what we do? Did it really make you that soft?"

He gulped. No, Stanford didn't make him forget anything. How could one forget what his childhood was like? Four years away could never, ever erase days, weeks, months, years of this … figuring out clues, hunting, killing, adrenaline in his veins, fear for his Dad and brother. No, Stanford didn't make him forget anything. And it especially didn't make him soft, because he – even there – kept on looking behind his back and into all the shadowy corners for monsters.

Forget? Never.

Stanford just made him see and learn about new things. About how life could be when there were no monsters and other creatures out to get you and rip out your throat. He got to know true love, he got to know how it felt like to not walk around all the time with fear stuck in his chest. He got to know how it was to love someone that wasn't family.

"No, it didn't make me forget anything. Just …"

… he just wanted to spend a day, one day not doing that. Not hunting, not killing, not thinking, just … one day. Why couldn't he just have one freakin' day?

Just this one day spend horribly drunk and in hope that next year, things would be better. Dad would be found, the thing that killed their mom would be killed, and he'd be able to go back to college. That was what 'normal' people used this day for. For making vows, plans, dreams and hopes for a better year, better lives.

But in the end, he knew Dean was right. This was what they did. This was what their whole lives had been about. Helping people, saving people, the family business. They needed to go out there, go hunt down the thing that had killed four people in this town and would kill again … they needed to kill it. Today. Now.

He just wished sometimes that … he could just have one day without seeing brain matter getting splashed on the walls, or getting guts on his favorite shirt, or getting chocked to near death, or getting shot, or sliced. Just one day.

He breathed in and straightened up his back. This was what they did. This was their life and whining wasn't gonna change that. And it wasn't gonna get Jess back. Nothing would ever get Jess back. What was dead, was dead. Only memories remained.

"Sammy..."

It never ceased to amaze him just how much his brother could say with one word. Just … one … word.

"It's Sam and yeah, okay. 'm in. Lets go."

And he was in. With his body and soul he was in because being out, could have dire consequences. Like more people dying.

Like Dean getting hurt.

He tied his shoes and waited for Dean to finish tying his own.

"Ready to kill some witches?"

"Was born ready."

A tiny, tiny flicker of a thought appeared in Sam's mind … maybe, maybe Dean really had been born ready.

-:-

The night in winter came fast, damn fast, because winter was funny like that - first it shoved the bright, white, pristine snow up in your face and then fucked you up with darkness at freakin' four in the afternoon.

"Man, point that flashlight to the ground. I can't see anything."

"Yeah, yeah stop whining."

It was dark. Dark. And it was only in the middle of the afternoon and they couldn't afford two flashlights, because even one was too much, because they could get spotted and then what? The hunt would go downhill faster than they could scream and wouldn't that be fun.

But at least they didn't have to trudge through knee high snow to get to where they wanted. Small mercies.

All they had to do was trudge through black darkness and the air smelling of snow, teasing them and making them uneasy. Because if that elusive snow storm would come right now, they were so screwed. Stuck in the woods, with only their flashlight and a duffel full of weapons.

At least the wind eased up a bit; the icicles were replaced with a soft, cold caress, which in Sam's book was a great improvement. His knuckles were already dry and all but split open from the cold.

When Dean's hand dropped heavily on his forearm, Sam froze and looked at his brother, who only pointed straight ahead.

Sam squinted and saw.

A cabin in the woods. He smiled remembering Dean rolling his eyes and bitch about 'how cliché' when they put together all the pieces of the puzzle and figured out what, where, who, how and why.

A witch.

In the nearby woods in a cabin.

One Mrs. Buternits.

With spells and curses that turned four people inside out.

Jealousy.

It all felt like a really horrible version of Clue.

But there it was, the cabin looking really pretty and peaceful. But they both knew that peace was always only an illusion and that behind those walls, evil lives. True evil, a woman who lives with darkness, making deals with demons. Killing people.

There were some plants on the windows, a porch with a rocking chair, and lights on in at least three rooms. The whole cabin looked like it was inviting them in for tea and cookies. There were even some Christmas lights on one of the windows, flickering in blue and green.

Sam nodded and stayed silent when Dean put his finger to his own lips.

They knew what to do, had a plan, had their weapons, all they needed to do was to get in there and kill her.

Easy like pie.

Except when it all turned out to be harder than moving a cement block.

She spotted them – of course she did, because the darkness and only one flashlight between them, made them as stealthy as a hoard of elephants – and they had to hide in between the walls.

The walls.

Where there were spiders scattering in every which way on their tiny, thin legs, cobwebs decorating every damn surface available, animal feces on the ground and … bones. Little bones, big bones, animal bones, human bones.

"At least now we know where she hid the rest of the bodies." Dean whispered while bending down awkwardly in the tight space and picking up a femur.

"Where are you, rodents?"

Her voice was shaky, age making it sound like a screech.

At first they weren't sure if 'rodents' applied to them or to actual rodents – she was a witch, anything was possible – but then they figured out that it was them, who were, indeed, rodents.

"Here, little mice, here, here, come out, come out wherever you are."

She was nuts and Dean whispered that to Sam, who just rolled his eyes and tried not to sneeze when dust flakes flew into his nose.

"Rats! You rats will lose your long, thin tails and your beady little eyes! I will chop them down and cook them all nice and soft. Come out, come out!"

She sing-songed and turned her hunched back to them, looking into the room instead of the wall.

There was soft light coming to them - through all the tiny spaces between the wood planks - from a fireplace that was burning right opposite of where they were hiding. It allowed them to see everything.

Dean turned to Sam and made the universal sign for 'what a crazy bitch' with his finger. Sam smirked, because there really was nothing else to add to that. She was insane. All the years spend hand in hand with darkness and the creatures from Hell, made her go crazy.

They knew the feeling, because years and years of hunting down the thing that killed their mom … made them a bit crazy too.

"Come out and play, little mice."

Dean rolled his eyes and had enough of this. No witch would call him a mouse or a rat or any other kinda rodent. The wacko witch had to go.

He thanked whoever was wherever that the wall was thin and wooden so that when he hit it with the femur, it cracked and came down like a stack of brittle cards.

-:-

Mrs. Buternits was an old, gray haired, very short, very wrinkly woman with her thin lips painted blood red and her eyelids shaded with baby blue. But she had spells and curses up her sleeves that made her powerful and tall. And the courage packed into that small, wrinkly package made Sam howl with pain when she screamed a spell at him that made him fall to the floor catching his breath, but not succeeding in capturing it.

But in the end she went down, because Dean had been born to do this. Born to kill whoever, whatever, hurt his little brother. He had been born to protect and not mind that he was killing a 'sweet, old lady, wouldn't hurt a fly' as the locals had described dear, old – now dead – Mrs. Buternits.

"No one calls me a mouse, lady."

She didn't dissolve into a puddle of water – or green goo – she just fell to the wooden floor, with eyes wide open and her mouth still stretched into a curse she was spewing at his brother.

He didn't look at her when he hurried to Sam's side. He didn't pay her any attention, didn't even think about her when he crouched by Sam's side and tried to catch his little brother's eyes.

He did burn her body though. Along with the cabin.

Because what she had been doing, killing all those people, hurting – cursing – Sam, she didn't deserve anything less.

TBC...