I swung the door open to reveal two bulky and miserable shivering forms standing in the snow drifts on my porch. "Get your butts in here! Where the hell have you two been holed up?! I haven't heard from you in months – and why aren't you wearing real coats?!" I hustled them into the cabin and parked them by the crackling fire. "Sit. You both need to warm up and get something hot in your bellies. Lucky for you I have a fresh pie coming out of the oven in ten minutes."
Dean dropped back into the couch and moaned. "Lord, woman, you have the best timing in the world."
"Thanks, Shiloh," Sam said softly, his hazel eyes shadowed. "It's good to see you."
I studied them more closely and noticed that they both had weeks' worth of scruff on their faces and Dean hadn't settled back into the couch as much as collapsed. Exhaustion had lined both their faces since the last time I had seen them. "Rough week, boys?"
Dean just closed his eyes and I grew concerned. No snappy comeback? No lighthearted remark? That took it from a rough week to downright shitty.
Sam mustered up a weak smile. "Let's just say that warming up by the fire sounds like heaven."
I shooed him closer to the flames. "I've got plenty of wood on the porch. We'll keep her roaring all night long."
Dean hummed deep in his chest, his lack of movement causing me more concern. I bustled into the kitchen and warmed up leftover beef stew and served them up heaping bowls. I dug around in my cabinets until I found cider and poured them each a mug that after a quick 30 seconds in the microwave, filled the air with a sweetly spicy tang. I juggled everything on a tray and quickly made my way back to the living room, afraid they would fall asleep before I could feed them. Sam had stretched out on the floor in front of the fireplace, having shed layers down to a damp white Henley. Heaps of flannel were bunched up under his head and his big hands were tucked underneath to create a lumpy pillow. His lightweight jacket was hung on the fire screen and steam was rising from the soaked fabric. Dean hadn't moved, sprawled across the greater part of the couch with one leg stretched out, his head pressed back between the cushions. He hadn't even gotten out of his thin jacket yet.
"Boys," I said softly, setting the tray on the side table. "Dinner's up."
Sam struggled awake, making sleepy noises that had me biting back a soft smile. He had made those noises as long as I could remember. Dean didn't stir. "Sam, are you both all right? Anything I need to know about?" I felt bad using my no-nonsense voice when they were both so stripped of defenses.
Sam looked up at me blearily, setting his flannel pillow to the side. "Um … 'm fine but Dean? I don't really know. He's wearing his favorite shirt."
Took me a second to process that one. A quick glance at Dean showed that beneath his ever-present leather jacket he had on his dark red flannel. Shit. He only wore that shirt when he was hiding blood. Setting my teeth and knowing he was not going to be happy with my attention, I settled beside him on the arm of the couch. "Dean." I said firmly, trying to rouse him from sleep. Both of them could pass out within moments but were usually light sleepers. For them to both be this exhausted meant that they had been on high-alert far too long. For neither of them to be quickly alert was dangerous. "Dean, wake up." I ran my fingers through his hair. It was shaggy and getting long on top, even the sides were drooping to touch the top of his ears. He hated when it touched his ears. I let my touch drift down and I booped the tip of his nose. His face scrunched, jerking away from me and I couldn't hold back a smile. He hated that too. I did it again, leaning closer to whisper in his ear. "Dean, Sam's going to eat the last piece of pie if you don't—"
Dean jerked awake and glared at me in befuddlement. "Don't let Sam eat all the pie. That's just mean."
I reached out and ran my hand down the side of his scruffy face, letting the rasp of his almost-beard drag against my fingertips. "You need a shave. And a haircut." I cast a look at Sammy and found him sitting cross legged still on the floor but he had managed to drag over his bowl of stew and was shoveling it in like he hadn't eaten in days. "You both do."
Sam looked at me in affront, life starting to come back into his gaze as the warmth seeped in. "Don't come near me with your scissors."
I lifted an eyebrow at him archly. "What are the house rules?"
Sam gave me a mournful look but answered. "If we don't take care of ourselves, you will."
"Darn straight."
"That's more of a threat than a promise," Dean grumbled. "But unfortunately, for Sam, that's what his hair looks like when it is taken care of."
I looked closer and noticed that even with the bit of extra length, Sam's hair did appear to have been cut sometime in the past few months. "Fair enough. But you sir," I shook a finger at Dean who frowned sleepily, "are getting a haircut before you walk back out that door. For now, though, we need to get you both dried out and warmed up. So come on, quit lollygagging and strip."
Both of their eyebrows flew up. "Shiloh, seriously—?" Sam protested.
I got to my feet giving them my sternest look. Damn but they were both adorable. Like pouty little boys. "You both show up on my door half frozen, exhausted, and starved. Neither one of you are taking care of yourselves and nothing is going to convince me you're both in one piece but to see it with my own eyes. Besides, I need to throw your clothes in the dryer. I assume you do have an hour or two to wait for them to dry?" I buried the hope in my gut that I could convince them to stay longer. This cabin got awful quiet in the winter.
"Oh, toasty warm clothes fresh from the dryer …" Dean moaned dreamily. "I'm down with that."
Sam eyed me from his spot on the floor. "Come on, you aren't really going to make us strip down, are you?"
"I most certainly am. Usually one of you is of sound mind and body and can explain to me what needs attention, but right now I wouldn't believe either one of you." I waited for either of them to pipe up but the room was quiet and I softened my tone. "I've never seen you both this worn down."
"We're all right, aren't we, Sammy?" Sam was already buried back in his stew and Dean ran a hand through his scruff, tilting his head against the back of the couch to watch me closely. "Just thought since we were in the neighborhood that we could swing by and see how you were doing."
I snorted. "Right."
"Besides," he flashed me a soft grin that made me melt, "your pie is to die for."
I raised my eyebrows. "You want pie? Then strip."
"Sounds dirty when you say it like that," he waggled his eyebrows, his voice still just a shade raspy from sleep.
I rolled my eyes. "Only you, Dean, could make the fact that you both have frostbite and are almost hypothermic about sex."
He just grinned and I waited patiently for him to make a move. He eyed me expectantly. "Well, you're not going to stand there and watch, are you? I mean, we do have our modesty to think of. You're only what, two years older than Sammy? And like a year and a half, two years younger than me?"
I just raised an eyebrow at him. "What do you think I'm going to do? Swoon at the sight of your bare chest? Come on, Dean. It's nothing I haven't seen before."
"Who knows what could happen! You're stuck up in this cabin all alone… maybe you've turned into one of those man-hungry psychos who can't control themselves around good-looking young men. We would never know until it was too late!"
I snorted. "That's sick, Dean." It had always been like this between us. It started when I was nine years old and thought I was God's gift to the ragged and standoffish Winchester boys. They lived in our small town for ten months that year. The Impala had broken down and my father was the only mechanic in town. John refused to let anyone else touch his car but had worked out an arrangement with my father to get the parts he needed and access to the necessary tools. There were a lot of conversations behind closed doors between John and my father. Had I been older I would've known to pay closer attention to the tension between them, but my only concern had been that Sam and Dean needed mothered. Badly. They followed their dad around like shadows and their eyes had seemed to get darker by the day so at the sage age of nine and three quarters, I had decided God had appointed me their caretaker. And now, fourteen years later, I still felt the same.
"Come on." I clapped, getting to my feet. "Quit messing around. If you don't get out of the wet stuff you're both just going to get sick. So. Wet clothes off-now."
"All right, all right, no need to get pushy." Dean grumbled, moaning loudly as he rolled to his feet. He shrugged out of his jacket stiffly and toed off his boots, pulling frozen socks off his feet. His toes were a little blue but he wiggled them stiffly and relief settled in my bones. No frostbite. He wadded up the socks and handed them to me with a grin before starting to flop back on the couch.
"Not so fast!" I barked and he froze, coming back to his full height. Damn but he had gotten even taller. He towered over my five foot three by nearly ten inches now. "Shirt, pants, all of it, Dean. I refuse to let you get sick on my watch-"
"Assault, assault!" Dean protested halfheartedly.
"Might as well give in gracefully," Sam said in amusement, quickly shucking his Henley and jeans, passing me the bundle along with the flannel he had been sleeping on. I tossed him a fleece blanket and he wrapped it over his blue boxers with a shiver.
The clothes were soaked clean through, the bottom of his jeans caked in snow and ice. I ran my gaze over his long muscled frame, skimming over all the bruises in search of blood and open wounds. Relief settled in when he appeared to be in one piece. I checked his hands and feet for any signs of frostbite but his coloring looked good and he was moving easily despite the fact his right ankle was rapidly swelling now that his shoes were off. He saw me focus in and he winced a little as if he had forgotten that his ankle was the size of a softball. "It's fine, Shiloh. I just stepped in a fox hole and—"
My attention narrowed. "There's no fresh water for miles, Sam. The only foxes around here are down by the Callahan property. How far did you guys hike?"
Sam darted a glance at Dean who quickly donned a playful grin. "Come on, Shi, it wasn't that far. Besides, you know we're used to the nature … thing."
I gritted my teeth. "Where's the Impala, Dean? I know she couldn't make it up these hills in the snow." Damn. Why hadn't that occurred to me? The last set of hills she could've managed was about ten miles down the mountain. And that ten miles stretched into fifteen if you hiked following the roads.
"Don't get yourself worked up. We're here. In your cabin, already warming up and thawing out and you're about to feed me the most delicious pie in this whole world. So let's not argue. I'll even give in to your request for my clothes though I will fight you if you try to take advantage of my weakened state. And we really should discuss your habit of requiring that your guests strip for you. It's kinky."
I glared at them both. Seriously? They just wanted me to laugh at their little jokes and pretend this was fine? I turned on my heel and took all of Sam's clothes to the laundry room, slapping them wetly on the washer. Damn them both. Didn't have a lick of sense between them—
The timer started buzzing for the pie and I hurriedly got Sam's clothes going in the dryer before hustling into the kitchen. I slipped on oven mitts and opened the oven door, filling my small cabin with the glorious smell of hot cherry pie. I heard Dean come in behind me as I slipped the pie onto the cooling rack and bumped the oven shut with my knee. The drag of a blanket along my kitchen floor warned me he was coming into my personal space just as he slipped his arms around my waist, pressing a soft kiss on the top of my head. "I'm sorry, sunshine. Don't be mad. We're both fine—"
I jerked away from his frigid skin, trying not to snap at him. "Just go warm up for cripes sake. There's stew and cider on the end table if Sam hasn't eaten it all—"
His hands settled on my hips and he halted my tug away from him. His green eyes were sharp, their playfulness all but gone. "Shiloh."
"You're out of luck if you don't like stew, there's not much else ready in the fridge-"
"Hush a minute."
I hesitated, unsure how to interpret the fierceness in his gaze.
"Just …" He reached up and brushed my hair out of my face. "Take a breath. Sam and I are fine. We survived and we burned the thing that had us pinned down, okay? We're here, in one piece, and there's nothing worth you fretting over, all right?"
I clenched my jaw, just staring up at him. Pinned down? How long had they been pinned down for before they tried hiking up a mountain? What if they had gotten turned around out there? What if the Impala had broken down somewhere that they couldn't walk for help? They were both ready to drop as it was. Wordlessly, I fretted with the edges of the blanket, tugging and adjusting it to fit around him more tightly. Goosebumps broke out on his skin as the back of my fingers rubbed over the tattoo on his chest. I brushed my finger over the pebbled skin absently as I tried to soothe myself with the fact that he was here, now, standing in front of me.
"Hey," he rasped softly and I dragged my eyes to his. "…Can I have some of that pie now?"
I slapped his chest lightly and stepped out of his grasp. "I'm still not happy with you."
"But you're not mad anymore, right? You won't be cruel and withhold fresh, hot, melt-in-your-mouth-delicious," he stopped to swallow longingly, "cherry pie, will you?"
"Go warm up," I admonished, giving him a little shove on his blanketed back. "I'll bring it to you."
They had both fallen asleep again in the few minutes it had taken me to plate the gooey dessert and pour two glasses of milk. Sam had reclaimed the floor space in front of the fire, stretched out on his belly with his blanket dropping low on his massive back. He shifted uncomfortably and I came to a dead stop when the blanket slid to reveal a nasty looking gouge just beneath his shoulder blade. He hadn't shone a bit of discomfort earlier which unfortunately meant he had gotten so used to it hurting that he wasn't noticing it anymore. Sighing, I set the pie on the end table and went and gathered my supplies. Damn boys thought they were bulletproof. Dean started to snore behind me as I settled beside Sam, stroking his shoulder soothingly as he shifted again in his sleep.
"Just me, Sammy. I'm going to clean you up a bit but you just go right ahead and sleep. Dean's got your back." He finally relaxed at that, settling deeper into slumber. They had such an odd connection to each other, I never could quite understand it.
Those first ten months we had spent together had been over much too quickly, but my father's shop was the only one for several hundred miles on a county road running right through the middle of the state. The Winchester's travels had taken them by our place every so often and John would pull in for a few hours' rest when they needed to crash. Their visits had grown more frequent as the years passed and my father had started placing regular orders for Impala parts so we could keep their pride and joy running smoothly. This unspoken arrangement had carried on quietly for several years until one night they came bursting through our front door, John carrying a bloody Sam with a raging Dean hot on his heels. I had listened to them argue loudly for most of the night until John had finally taken off back the way they had come, leaving both the boys behind. Dean had been obsessively protective of Sam and wouldn't let me within ten feet of his injured brother. But I had been a faithful nurse, running back and forth for water and towels, needles, thread, whatever he asked for I found and brought to him. That night was crystal clear in my memory because it was the first time that Dean had called me by name. Before that I was referred to as Pipsqueak or Tagalong. But that night had changed everything between us.
Sam groaned in his sleep as the peroxide bubbled the start of infection to the surface of his wound. I rubbed his shoulder gently, bringing my focus out of the memories and back to the task at hand. His back was inflamed but not horrible so, enough that I wanted to keep an eye on it. I cleaned it out as best I could before taping him up. I ran my hand through his hair playfully, brushing it out of his face but he didn't even twitch. I tugged his blanket up to cover his shoulders and stoked the fire back to a toasty crackle, hoping it would be enough to get rid of the chill in his bones.
My gaze finally came back to Dean. He looked like he had fallen asleep the moment he sat down, still propped upright with his head drifting slightly to one shoulder, his bony toes peeking out from beneath the blanket. I settled on the floor beside him, dragging over a blanket of my own before carefully picking up his feet and pulling them in my lap. They were still icy cold and I started rubbing them slowly, trying to get his blood flowing again without disturbing his rest. I watched the flames flicker in the fireplace for a long time, letting my touch run mindlessly over his skin. Eventually I tucked my head against his knee and closed my eyes, enjoying the toasty room and listening to the hiss and crackle of the wood burning.
