Thin Ice of a New Day

Thin Ice of a New Day

Chapter 2

As darkness fell, it had become harder to determine where the road ended and the ditch began, both brothers nearly falling into the deep snow along the sides on more than one occasion. Dean had taken to shuffling his feet through the growing drifts, explaining that it was an easy way to make sure they were still walking along the pavement. Sam suspected that the pain from his brother's bullet wound coupled with the physical exertion necessary to trudge through the heavy, wet snow was taking its toll on the older man, but as long as Dean stayed on his feet, Sam would keep his suspicions to himself.

The shuffling sounds of their steps along with an occasional cough from Dean were the only sounds besides the soft whistling of the wind. It seemed that the falling snow managed to blanket the normal sounds of nature, causing an unnatural hush to fall along with the large, wet flakes. The eerie quiet was making Sam wonder if there was another soul alive on the planet.

They hadn't seen or heard the sounds of cars or civilization since leaving the Impala. They had stuck to the road – thanks to Dean's shuffle – but had yet to come upon any sign of Perham. Sam was beginning to think he had read the map wrong when a large dark shadow appeared in the dimness. Quickly making his way to the shadow, Sam was relieved to find the snow covered road sign. Reaching a cold hand up to brush the collected snow away, he was barely able to make out the white lettering in the darkness.

"It's about freakin' time."

Sam turned to look at his brother, his grin fading as he took in the older man's hunched stance. The wind had died down a bit, but the snow had managed to soak their jackets and jeans leaving both men cold and shivering. It had occurred to Sam that they had left their bags back in the Impala, but he figured they could do without a change of clothes for one night. It was hard enough traipsing through the weather without the added burden of the heavy duffle bags, and he was pretty sure his brother was in no condition to carry anything other than himself at this point. Sam could make out Dean's tremors through the darkness and knew they weren't entirely due to the freezing temperature.

"Perham is less than a mile from here." Sam informed his brother, taking in the older man's haggard appearance with concern. "How's the shoulder?"

Dean rubbed a hand across his face. "Numb," he replied honestly. "Of course I can't feel my friggin' feet either. Who the hell would want to live in this shit?"

Sam chuckled, more than relieved to hear his brother bitching about the lovely Minnesota weather. "I'm sure it has its good points. It's probably beautiful most of the time."

"Yeah, if you're an Eskimo or a polar bear. Let's –"

A scream tore through the silence, echoing across the darkness. The brothers exchanged a surprised glance, both quickly pulling weapons, turning to get their bearings.

"This way," Sam called as the scream faded. He took off through the ditch, disappearing into a copse of snow covered pine trees about ten yards from the side of the road. The trees ended abruptly into a snow covered clearing that was free of the bite of the frigid wind.

"Sammy!" Sam turned slightly, waiting as his brother cleared the trees and spotted him, trudging through the shin high snow that blanketed the ground. "What the hell, dude?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply when another scream, this one much closer pierced the night. Both men turned, shoulder to shoulder as their eyes roamed across the small clearing.

"Dean." Sam's whisper caught the older man's attention and he let his eyes follow the slight tilt of his brother's head.

Across the clearing, bathed in what looked like moonlight, stood two figures. Dean blinked, realizing that the blowing snow they had been fighting for the last few hours was not swirling here beyond the trees. He couldn't be sure, but the way his hairs were standing up on the back of his neck made him believe the change in the weather had very little to do with whatever windbreak the copse of pine trees provided.

The two beings, a man and a woman, didn't seem to take notice of the new arrivals. They stood, facing each other in the clearing. The man was middle aged with thinning black hair. He was dressed only in a pair of flannel pajamas, which was oddly inappropriate for the freezing weather. Dean quickly realized that it was the woman that was giving him the familiar itch in the back if his brain.

She was not natural. Her light hair blew freely in the non-existent wind, the robes of her white robe fluttering against the crystal snow. As the brother's watched, the man fell to his knees at the woman's light touch to his chest. The man's choked scream was abruptly silenced and the woman suddenly seemed to glow as he slumped to the ground.

"Hey!"

Dean's voice forced the woman to turn, her piercing blue eyes, glowing across the distance. Before either hunter could react, both ghostly figures faded into the darkness, leaving behind nothing but the howl of the wind and the familiar swirl of the falling snow.

It had taken them another thirty minutes in the mind-numbing cold before they saw the outskirts of Perham. They stomped into the first motel they saw, shaking the snow from their hair and shoulders and trying not to leave wet tracks all over the small but well-kept lobby.

Sam worked his magic at the counter with the older couple working the check-in desk while Dean stayed back and tried his best not to look too pathetic. His failure became obvious when the grandmotherly woman took one look at him, tsked something along the lines of 'poor boy' and thrust a stack of extra towels and blankets at Sam.

Ever the gentlemen, Sam thanked her sincerely before turning to roll his eyes at his brother who stood hunched in the doorway looking like a stiff breeze would knock him flat on his ass.

Which was probably pretty close to the truth.

Once inside the well used, but remarkably clean room, Sam insisted his brother take a hot shower to warm up, knowing the cold trek had probably zapped what little strength the already wounded man had been able to muster after their escape from Colorado. Sam was exhausted himself from the long, freezing walk to town and could only imagine how much more difficult it would be with the added weight of a bullet wound to further enhance the journey.

He could tell by the time Dean had emerged from the shower, half dressed and sluggish that his brother had hit the end of his endurance. Sam quickly and efficiently re-bandaged the wounded shoulder then waited until Dean had lowered himself onto the mattress, his eyes closed and asleep only moments after hitting the pillow.

After making sure his brother was comfortable, Sam arranged the damp shirts around the room to dry and pulled off his own clothes, slipping quietly into the small bathroom for his own warm up. As he stood, allowing the hot water to thaw his frozen fingers and toes, he let his mind wander back to the scene in the clearing.

He hadn't really been able to see the two beings clearly, getting only a vague view of the man while his eyes had been drawn to the glowing woman.

It had to have been a spirit.

Sam was sure of that, but what kind of spirit he had no idea. And, even though he knew his brother would want to stop and investigate, he steeled himself to the fact that they needed to move on as soon as possible. Dean's time was running out and Sam was somehow sure that they needed the Colt if they were going to have a chance to save him. Bela wasn't one to stay still long enough to be tracked easily and they couldn't afford to waste any time getting to Minneapolis.

As the water began to grow cooler, Sam reluctantly shut the flow off and toweled off, slipping into his boxers. As he exited the bathroom, he moved across the room to the space between the beds, pleased to see Dean still asleep. He held a hand to his brother's forehead, relieved to find no sign of fever. At least they had managed to dodge that bullet.

Sam sat back on the opposite bed and sighed as his own weariness finally caught up with him. Stifling a yawn, he lowered himself to the pillows and closed his eyes, letting the distant howl of the wind carry him away.

Dean bolted awake, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar room through the darkness. As the disorientation began to dissipate, he could feel the tightness in his chest and gasped in a breath. His head began to throb in time with his chest, his shoulder suddenly joining in on the beat as he squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated on simply breathing in and out.

Swallowing a groan, he shifted his head to the left, thankful to see Sam in the dim light, his chest rising and falling slowly in sleep.

Slowly rolling his head back, he squinted through the darkness at the ceiling, the ache in his chest beginning to recede as he forced himself to take slow, shallow breaths. After a few minutes, his racing heart had slowed and the tightness in his chest was gone.

As soon as the physical effects of what he could only assume was a nightmare lessened, Dean took a deep breath and tried to recall what exactly it was that had forced him awake to begin with. He had no doubt that something within his hypersensitive imagination had been responsible for his current state, but, fir the life of him, he had no memory of the dream.

Which was weird. He always remembered his dreams. Especially the ones that scared the crap out of him at… he glanced at the bedside clock… 3:24 am..

Damn.

He raised a hand to his face, not surprised to feel a light sheen of sweat on his skin.

Must have been one hell of a dream, he told himself. Judging from his reaction, maybe it was better he didn't remember exactly what his subconscious had been trying to show him.

He took another deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose as he tried to clear his mind and force his exhausted body to relax. He closed his eyes, slumber finally taking him just as the first tendrils of dawn began to filter through the sliver of a gap between the heavy curtains.

The drone of an engine is what finally pulled Sam from slumber. Relishing the warmth of the comforter, he pulled it tighter around him as his mind began to make sense of the sounds beginning to filter into his still weary brain.

The memory of the winter storm and their subsequent journey through it brought a shiver to his body, and he quickly recognized the start and stop of the motor outside their room as a large pickup, and the grating scraping noise as the blade used as the truck plowed the small parking lot.

Hopefully that meant the snow had stopped falling.

With one last sigh of contentment, Sam pushed the blankets back and slowly crawled out of the bed, rubbing a hand down his face as he shuffled to the window. He pulled back the curtain, wincing as the brightness of the snow-covered landscape seared his vision. Blinking back the sudden tears the bright whiteness brought to his eyes, Sam squinted enough to make out a dark pick-up, pushing a mound of snow across the parking lot into a growing heap at the far end.

It looked as if they'd already plowed at least half of the lot, and Sam was ironically grateful the Impala was not in the lot, knowing how anxious the proximity of the plow to his baby would make his brother.

At the sound of the low moan coming from behind him, Sam allowed the curtain to fall back into place, effectively throwing the room back into it's previous state of semi-darkness. Turning, he crossed back to the beds and perched on the edge of Dean's.

"Hey," he called to the relatively brother-shaped lump curled underneath the comforter. "You awake?"

"No," came the muffled grumble response.

Sam chuckled. "It looks like it stopped snowing. Hopefully, there's a garage nearby that'll be able to tow the Impala out of that ditch your questionable driving skills managed to put it in."

Dean's tousled head appeared from beneath the blanket, one green eye glaring at Sam. "My questionable driving skills probably saved your ass from being wrapped around a very large tree, dude."

Sam grinned, but nodded in agreement. He noticed the dark circles under his brother's eyes and frowned with concern. Experience told him that simply asking his brother how he felt would elicit a quick response of 'I'm fine, Sam,' so he decided to wade in cautiously. "How's the shoulder?"

"Awesome."

"You want to take a shower before I change the bandage?"

Dean yawned as he shook his head in response. "Nah." He pushed himself up against the headboard, wincing as the back of his shoulder made contact with the wood. "I'm good," he added quickly before Sam could comment. "Go get ready and then we'll deal with it. I'd rather have you awake and alert before you start playing doctor."

"In your dreams," Sam mumbled as he pushed himself off the bed, ignoring the demented way his brother's eyebrows were dancing.

Ten minutes later, Sam felt vaguely human again. The chill of last night's trek was completely gone and the shower had managed to almost eliminate the muscle soreness that had seeped in as a result of their battle with the demons.

He was glad that Dean hadn't mentioned anything about what they had seen last night in the clearing. Hopefully, the older hunter understood how important their quest to find the Colt was and wouldn't put up any resistance to Sam's plan to head out as soon as they could get the car towed. Quickly dressing in the now dry layers of clothing, Sam opened the door, surprised to find his brother perched on the end of the bed in just his jeans, the T.V. remote in his right hand, rubbing slowly against the bicep of his left. Dean's attention seemed to be glued to the small color television bolted onto the dresser directly across from the bed.

"You ready to take care of that shoulder?" Sam asked as he toweled off the water from his hair. When no answer was received, Sam looked up, frowning at his brother's unresponsiveness. "Dean?"

"Huh?" The older man turned his head slightly, but quickly focused his attention back on the television.

"You okay?"

Dean waved the hand that held the remote in his brother's general direction. "Yeah, come here. Check this out."

Sam shuffled around his bed and dropped onto the other next to his brother. "What?"

Dean just pointed the remote at the screen and pushed the volume up.

Sam's attention was drawn to the morning news anchor who was finishing a story on a local businessman who was found dead in his home earlier that morning. He shrugged. "Yeah. So?"

"You don't recognize that guy?"

Sam took another look at the photo floating to the left of the anchorman's head. "No. Should I?"

Dean flicked the remote as the newsman continued onto another story, effectively muting the tinny sound of the small television. He turned toward his brother, pulling one leg up onto the edge of the bed. "That was the guy we saw last night, dude."

Sam frowned, drawing back a bit at his brother's statement. "The report said that guy died at home, Dean. Not in some clearing a mile out of town."

"I know." Dean tossed the remote onto the bed and grabbed his t-shirt. "But I swear that was the guy, Sam."

The younger man stood and quickly snatched the shirt from his brother, pointing toward the small chair shoved under the wooden desk. "Sit," he ordered, slightly shocked when Dean complied.

"Come on, Sam," Dean continued as Sam unwound the tape from the bulky bandage from his shoulder and inspected the healing bullet wound. "You saw the same thing I did. It was a spirit, or a ghost, or something supernatural. And now the guy is dead. You know we have to check this out."

Sam sighed as he replaced the gauze pad against the exit wound smoothing the tape back into place. "Even if it was the same guy, Dean. We've got something more important to take care of right now. We've got to get the Impala, we've got to get some supplies to take care of your shoulder. We've got a lead on Bela-"

"Which may or may not be accurate." Dean pointed out.

Sam nodded. "But, it's the first lead we've had and we really need to find that gun." He quickly inspected the gauze taped against the smaller entry wound, relieved to see no blood or discharge, and stepped back, holding up a hand to cut off his brother's reply. "Look, I know how you feel, Dean. But finding that gun is our only leverage against these demons. And I have a feeling we're gonna need it to get you out of this deal." He grabbed length of tape he'd just removed and began to wrap it securely around his brother's shoulder.

"Maybe," Dean acknowledged as his brother finished securing the dressings. "But we can't just ignore this, Sam." He picked up the discarded t-shirt and pulled it on, wincing as the wound pulled. "It's what we do, Sammy. You know," he grinned. "Saving people, hunting things. The family business."

He pulled his arm to his stomach and turned to face his brother. "Something is weird here, Sam – our kind of weird. We have to at least check it out."

"Dean…"

"I know, Sammy. I get it." Dean nodded slowly and swallowed, his gaze finding his brother's. "Time's running out." He shrugged, a sad smile lifting one side of his mouth. "But we've got our priorities."

"They've changed."

"No, Sam. They haven't."

Dean waited until he saw the capitulation on his brother's face before slapping him on the arm and grinning in full. "Besides, man. Have you taken a look outside? There's like a ton of snow out there. Unless Bela's traded in that little sports car for a four-by-four or a snowmobile, I don't think she's going anywhere."

TBC