Thanks to Sam's Folly for beta'ing.

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Soul Survivor

Chapter Two – Into the Deep

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Cut off the head and the body will founder.

That was the grand plan. Sam couldn't remember whose plan it was, but it was working. He was foundering. He knew it, but he couldn't stop it. Sam was all there was left of the body, and he was sinking deeper and deeper, day by day.

It started because he couldn't let Dean go, even though he was already gone. It seemed easier to just pretend and give in to the inane gestures that helped him create his bubble of unreal. He carried Dean's duffel with him, unpacked Dean's clothes and stored them away. Sometimes he'd wear Dean's shirts or use Dean's shampoo and soap so he could feel Dean was near and smell the scent of Dean. He cleaned Dean's gun, even though it hadn't been used since . . .

He talked to Dean, discussing research as he found things and mostly apologizing when nothing connected, when nothing led him any closer to figuring out what had happened. At first, Dean was pensive, even comforting. "It's okay, Sammy. If anyone can figure this out, you can. You're the one with the big brain."

In time, Dean became demanding and critical, reminding Sam of just how useless he really was. "You're the one I depended on the most, Sam, and you let me down—again." His threats and criticisms hung over Sam like a cloud. Sam had failed him, and he desperately needed to find a way to fix this, find a way to win Dean's approval.

It wasn't just Dean. It was Bobby, too. Sam imagined that it was Bobby who picked out which books he should reference. Sam could hear Bobby's voice directing him to put one book down and pick up another with a softly muttered "idjit."

Sam kept a bottle of Jack at hand. Most often, he would just smell it, and although he'd quit shaving, he would open the bottle of Old Spice he kept just to have the familiar, comforting scent fill the air and blend with the smell of whiskey. It smelled like Bobby's house—like home.

Sometimes Bobby was morose. "When it's your time to go, go," he would remind Sam. "I'll be here, on the other side."

Once, Sam got up the nerve to ask, "Is Dean with you?"—even though he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Bobby didn't answer, and Sam didn't hear him again for a couple of days. He guessed that the answer was no, and maybe Bobby was mad that he'd asked. Sam never asked again.

Some part of Sam knew this wasn't healthy. Lucifer had done the same thing—gotten inside his head—and that didn't end well, but Dean was his brother and Bobby was like a father to him. They wouldn't hurt him, and he didn't want to let Dean go. He didn't want to be alone, so he lived with Dean and Bobby, along with his fear and guilt, up on the mountainside in Rufus's cabin, and he closed out the rest of the world.

"Rise and Shine, Sammy!"

Sam opened his eyes to bright sunshine falling across his face. He rubbed his stinging eyes with the backs of his hands and groaned. The lumpy old sofa didn't do much good for his aching body, but more often than not, that's where he finally fell asleep each night. He worked every day—all day—until he could no longer focus on his research, could no longer stay awake.

"Come on. Chop, chop," said Dean's mocking voice.

Sam swung his feet to the floor and pulled his body up. Sitting on the edge of the sofa, he stretched and yawned deeply. His eyes fell to his bony feet. They looked like someone else's feet. He stretched his hands out and gazed at the long thin—too thin—fingers. And God! He was hungry. He pulled his hands back, clawing at his stomach. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten.

He stumbled to the kitchen and pulled out a can of soup, popped the top and drank from the can, barely chewing the lumps of whatever kind of soup it was. Vegetable, maybe? He vaguely registered the taste of what he thought might be a carrot and some peas. Half a can in, a few mouthfuls seemed to quiet the gnawing in his gut, and he grabbed a bottle of water. He downed it quickly, gulp after gulp, until it was empty.

"This can't be good, man. I don't see a thing in this mess that makes any kind of sense. What the hell are you doing?"

"Dean, I . . ." Sam's eyes skimmed across the cans of half-eaten soup or beans. There were even a couple of cans of Spam, the dried, uneaten parts crusted over. His face twisted into a grimace. No wonder Dean was angry. Dean would never have tolerated this mess, and when their dad saw filth like this—well, John Winchester never saw this. He never allowed his boys to let things get like this.

Sam dropped his head. His stomach churned with disgust and self-loathing. Three weeks. That's how long he'd been at the cabin, but it wasn't like he was always this bad.

Sometimes his father drove him through the cabin. "Time to GI this place, boy." John's gruff voice was strangely comforting. Sam had always hated it when John barked orders at him and Dean, as if they were little soldiers, but now he wanted—needed—someone holding him accountable. "Put some elbow grease behind it," John would remind Sam, as Sam scrubbed the cabin free of crusted bits of spilled food, muddy footprints and dirty clothes, horrified at how he'd let things get so bad.

Sam didn't mind it when John drove him or Dean pushed him. He didn't mind when Bobby was morose. It was better than being alone.

"Not that crap." Dean's voice was demanding, irritated. "The crap on the wall."

Sam turned to face the situation wall he'd been working on. Four weeks since this nightmare started. Four weeks he'd gathered data, and three weeks he'd been pinning newspaper clippings, pictures, diagrams and notes across the huge map hanging on the wall. Colorful lengths of thread connected and reconnected the points in a bizarre web-like pattern. Everywhere they'd been—every place anything related to the Leviathan's had happened—was pinned, a hopeless puzzle Sam added to and labored over every day.

"This is the most important job you've ever had, and it's a mess," Dean's voice rasped. "What the hell happened to you, Sam? You always figured out this stuff. You're the brains of this operation. Figure it out!"

Sam stared at the wall, willing something to pop out at him, some clue. There was nothing.

"Crap! This is crap! You got bupkis, and you know it."

Sam's heart fell. "Dean, I—"

"And this place is a frickin' mess! This isn't like you, Sammy."

"I know, Dean. I—"

Someone was outside. Sam heard it clearly, the rustling of leaves, footfalls—heavy footfalls. Someone was spying. It wasn't the first time he thought he heard something, but this time he was sure.

Dean's voice hissed, "Take my gun, Sammy. It's loaded. It's there, on the table. Whatever it is—whoever it is—get rid of it!"

Whitefish, Montana sat in the middle of a broad, flat valley surrounded by the peaks of the Northern Rockies. It was a close-knit community, a pretty village surrounded by forests, ski slopes, lakes and rivers. Kaya Richards grew up in Whitefish. She knew the town and the surrounding country very well. It was, after all, her country.

Kaya was one of a handful of rangers who patrolled the forest of the Northern Rockies. It was a monumental task. Among her other duties, she made rounds through the isolated cabins scattered through the vast forest to make sure no one was in trouble or causing trouble for the wildlife. Some of the cabins were old relics from another age, originally built by mountain men a hundred and fifty years ago. They were kept up and used for hunting, fishing and vacation trips by a few sporting souls who still sought solitude and the beauty of a bygone era, living closer to nature.

There was something exceptionally clean about the smell of the drier air of autumn. It was crisp; trees glowed in bright yellows, oranges and reds. It was her favorite time of year, and Kaya always felt an excitement stirring deep in her soul. Maybe it was the feeling of expectation, the last-minute rush of hurried preparation before Mother Earth would be buried deep in the quiet, still beauty of winter.

Kaya parked her truck and trailer at Lake McDonald Lodge and saddled her quarter horse, a seventeen-hand-high light bay named Penny, whose coat glowed like new copper. It was an all-day trek along a narrow dirt road to check the two old cabins at Fish Lake, but this was part of the job Kaya loved, a chance to trail ride in the wilderness and touch base with the men who owned the cabins.

She understood the men who came out here, far away from civilization. She enjoyed the solitude of her trek through the forest, just like they enjoyed escaping to this peaceful place where they left behind the noises of civilization—the sounds that weren't noticeable until they were gone—the sounds the human brain learned to tune out. In the vast forest that crawled through the valley and up the mountainside, there was no steady hum of traffic or people, no collective background sound of thousands of electrical conveniences blanketing the land in white noise. There was just nature and her soothing quietness—the distant calls of birds, the rustle of leaves, the steady plod of hooves, and the tight squeak of leather as Kaya shifted in her saddle, pushing Penny up along the path.

Albert was a gentle soul. He was seventy, if he was a day, but healthy as an ox. He still chopped his own wood. He'd been spending his summers at his cabin for longer than Kaya had known him. Alone, for the most part, he went into town occasionally to stock up on supplies. For years he'd spent the summers at the cabin with his wife and children. Then, as his children grew up and married, it was just his wife and himself. His wife had been dead for the last fifteen years, but he still spent the summers and sometimes even the winters in the wilderness cabin they'd loved so much. He'd told Kaya it made him feel close to his wife. He said she visited him sometimes. Souls didn't mind visiting such a peaceful place. Today, however, he was packing up to head back to his home in Missoula for the winter.

"The cold in this old cabin is just too hard on my aching bones anymore," he complained. "Here," he said, motioning toward the rail of his tiny front porch. "You tie Penny and come on in for some coffee. I got a warm fire and I'm sure you're cold, riding all the way up here on that horse."

"I could use some coffee," she said, smiling at the wrinkled old face of her friend. "Warm fire sounds nice too."

"Good. I made scones this morning. Had a feeling you might be by."

Kaya dismounted and tied Penny to the rail. She stroked the white blaze on the horse's face, then followed Albert into the house. "You know how much I love your scones. I think it's the old wood cookstove that makes them so good. How you make them so perfect in that old relic is a mystery to me."

Albert smiled at the praise, and they rocked in rocking chairs by the warm stove and talked for an hour.

After she said good bye to Albert with a promise to check in on him when he came back to his cabin next summer, she made her way along the narrow road to the cabin across the lake. She hadn't seen Rufus in the past few years, but she'd seen signs that someone had been at the cabin the last couple of times she'd checked, so she assumed she'd just missed him. A shame, she thought. Rufus was a bit gruff around the edges, but she liked his wry sense of humor and enjoyed bantering with him. He had the strangest stories to tell.

She spotted it the moment she rounded the last curve in the road that led to the last cabin in this wilderness. Apparently, Rufus had picked up a new ride. Well, not new, but it was pretty—a vintage muscle car. She rode Penny alongside and then in front of the car, admiring its excellent condition. Not a spot of rust on it. There was a fine coat of dust from the dirt road, but the car was polished to a high shine beneath that dusting.

It wasn't Rufus who stepped out of the cabin door but a much younger man. He carefully closed the door behind him and stood watching—assessing—her.

Kaya smiled, hoping to put the man at ease, and said, "Nice car."

He was tall, nearly reaching the height of the door. Pale thin feet peeked out from the ragged hem of his faded jeans. He was wearing a thin hoodie more suited to cool summer nights than the brisk chill of autumn in the mountains. He seemed oblivious to the cold, not wearing a shirt beneath the baggy jacket. His shoulders were broad, his clothing hanging on his long, thin—too thin—frame.

"Thanks." He gestured toward the car. "My brother's."

His hair was long and hung limp and dirty past his shoulders. It was hard to get a real idea of his face because it was covered with a ragged beard, at least a month of unkempt growth. He had soulful eyes that caught her, held her, and seemed to beg her. For what, she wasn't sure.

"I'm Ranger Richards, but call me Kaya." She reached down, patting her horse as she eased forward. "This is Penny."

She knew it was there by the pull of his mustache and the hint of dimples beneath all the dark hair, but his tentative smile disappeared quickly. "Sam," he answered.

"I see you've got plenty of wood, Sam." She eyed the large stack of wood piled next to the porch. "Didn't notice any smoke." She pointed toward the chimney.

"I . . ." As if he suddenly realized he was cold, he pulled the thin jacket closer to him. "I just woke up. I didn't realize the fire was out."

"You'll definitely need a fire tonight. Cold front coming through. Most likely get snow. If not tonight, at least by the weekend. Are you staying here long?"

"I'll be here for a while."

"Is Rufus with you?"

"Rufus died," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Not quite two years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that." She felt a pang of regret. She'd liked Rufus. She would miss him. "Are you family?"

"Sort of." His voice became tainted with a touch of bitterness. "I'm the only one left."

It struck her as an odd remark, but then he struck her as a bit odd. He wasn't rude exactly, just standoffish. Something about this man didn't quite fit, but folks didn't come to wild, lonely places because they wanted to be social. He didn't seem like a wilderness kind of guy. Her instincts told her he wasn't here for the beauty or the solitude. He was uncomfortable here. He was running, hiding from something.

"Well, Sam, you take care. Make sure you get a fire built." She pulled a card out of her pocket, and easing Penny closer to the porch, she held it out for Sam to take. If you need anything, there's a number you can call. You have a cell?"

"Yes." He took the card. "Thank you."

"Reception's a little sketchy out here, but you should be able to text." She eased Penny back and turned her toward the road. Calling over her shoulder, Kaya said, "I'll be by on occasion. It's part of my job to check on folks." She didn't need or expect and answer and she didn't get one. As she rounded the curve in the road that would take her out of sight, she glanced back and saw him still standing, watching.

He didn't belong here, of that she was certain, but that wasn't her concern. Was he here legally? That was her concern. It was easy enough to find out. If Rufus was indeed dead, the legal ownership of the property he left behind, including the cabin, would be traceable.

It was stone cold in the cabin when Sam woke. Clouds of white vapor poured from his mouth as he huffed and shivered, rubbing his arms and then squeezing his hands in his arm-pits. He was stiff, and his body screamed in protest as he raised up from the lumpy old sofa, walking on numb bare feet to the wood stove. He built a small fire before he went in search of socks.

There were no clean socks. There were no clean clothes. He'd spent yesterday cleaning the cabin, not even stopping to eat, while John Winchester stressed the dangers of germs and infection and the importance of keeping things sanitary, until Sam finally passed out on the sofa. His father's last words of the night still echoed in Sam's brain, and he stood in the cold bathroom on his still-numb, still-bare feet and looked at himself in the mirror. Dad was right. He was a disgrace—again. He hadn't bathed in three days, and he was still in the same filthy clothes.

He didn't bother to heat water. He stripped down and washed his body, finally plunging his head into a tub of frigid water. His body nearly locked up, his muscles frozen from the powerful shock of the cold, but he forced his hands to move as he lathered and rinsed his hair. After finding the least offensive clothes he could, he spent an hour huddled by the meager fire in the wood stove, letting the warmth sink in.

Now that he was warm and had a steady hand he returned to the bathroom with a razor, soap, scissors, and a toothbrush. When he was finished, he peered into the mirror at the smooth face and clean smile he'd not seen in a month. It was time to go to town.

The smells that floated over from the diner next to the laundromat made Sam's mouth water and his stomach roll. A month had passed since he'd been up at the cabin, a month since he'd eaten anything that wasn't cold out of a can, and a month since he'd seen another person other than the ranger who'd come by last week.

He was so weak his hands shook as he delved into the big industrial dryer, retrieving clean dry clothes, warmth seeping into his hands and arms, and when he changed clothes in the bathroom, he sighed at the feel of the warm jeans and shirt against his body.

Life in the cabin, alone with the mostly disapproving Dean, Bobby and John, had become harsh. Sam never lived up to their expectations. He was always a failure, always a disappointment. He slept too much. He should be spending his time researching, finding his brother. He was messy—filthy, actually. Worst of all, he was the one left alive. He was the one left to fix this, and he was a failure. It should have been Dean. Dean should be here. Dean would have found a way. Sam was the one that should be—.

"Sam?"

Her voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to reality, and he quickly tossed the last duffel of clean clothes into the Impala's trunk, slamming it shut.

"Nice to see you in town." Kaya, the ranger, stood on the sidewalk in front of the Impala, gazing at him so intently Sam's nerves started to fray and he had to look away. What could she possibly be thinking? Had she figured out how useless he was?

"I recognized the car." Her smile was friendly, genuine. No one had smiled at him in months. "You look a bit different." She rubbed her fingers over her chin, and her smile became even brighter. "I like the clean-shaven look on you."

"Thanks." He shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted on his feet. "I ran out of clean clothes. Needed the laundromat"—he walked slowly toward her—"and supplies." His stomach rumbled, and he huffed out an embarrassed little laugh. "I was headed to the diner for lunch. I'm not much of a cook, and I was craving something fresh and hot."

"Mind if I join you? I was about to go for lunch myself."

"Yeah, sure." They walked together to the diner. He held the door as she entered, wondering what he would possibly have to say to her. It had been so long since he'd had a conversation with a pretty girl—a normal, human girl. Becky, maybe, but she could hardly be considered normal. She'd cast a love spell on him, tricked him into marrying her and tied him to a bed. God, his life was messed up. What on earth did normal people talk about?

Sam stared at the menu. The wonderful smells of the food once again reminded him just how hungry he was. He laid the menu on the table in front of him and pushed his hands under his thighs, hoping to hide the shaking.

"See anything you like?" Kaya looked genuinely concerned and motioned for the waitress to come, asking her to bring some rolls and water right away. "You don't look so good, Sam."

"Just hungry." Something desperate escaped his lips, something between a laugh and a sigh. "Really, really hungry."

"You run out of food at the cabin?"

He looked into her eyes. She had no idea. "No, he answered. "I . . . I got wrapped up in my work. I forgot . . . I think."

"Here." She shoved a roll at him. "Eat this."

There was no way she could miss the tremor of his hand as he took the roll from her, no way she could possibly miss what a mess he was.

He ordered a salad because his body was screaming for the fresh, crisp green of it. Then he ate barbeque brisket, mashed potatoes with lots of sweet, creamy butter and broccoli covered in cheese sauce. Thankful he didn't have to do much talking, he listened as Kaya told him all about Whitefish. She was obviously very proud of her hometown and had lots of ideas of things he needed to see and do.

The hearty meal made Sam feel better. His body responded to the nourishment. His muscles no longer trembled. He lost the desperate feeling and the gnawing unease in his soul. "That was great." He sighed in satisfaction, laying his knife and fork across his empty plate. Looking down at the clean surface, he realized he'd all but licked it clean, using a fifth roll to gather all the tiniest crumbs and juices. He was embarrassed and wondered what she must think of him. The heat of a blush crept up his neck and across his face as he gazed at her. "I was hungrier than I thought."

"I see." She smiled at him, not for the first time, but Sam's mind was clearer than it had been in weeks. Warm and nourished, he'd had a few hours without the self-loathing and guilt he felt at the cabin, surrounded by constant reminders of his failure and the constant reminder that it should have been Dean who survived, not him. Sam looked at Kaya and really saw her for the first time.

She was stunning. Her hair was long, full, straight and shining black. She wore it parted in the middle and braided on either side of her head. Her eyes were liquid-soft and dark brown with a slight almond shape and dark, full lashes. Her creamy complexion was like caramel. When she smiled, as she was doing now, not just her mouth, but her whole face shone.

Sam could feel his face flush even redder. "Sorry. I must look like such a pig."

"Not at all," she laughed. "Well, maybe a little, but you're a big guy. I'm guessing you need a lot of food. You know what? I need coffee and some pie. You like pie?"

"I could go for pie," he laughed in return. "I still have a little room."

After they ordered the desserts, Kaya cleared her throat and took a sip of her coffee. "You know, Sam, I checked on the ownership of the cabin, Rufus's cabin. It's part of my job. We can't have squatters staying in cabins that don't belong to them or that they haven't rented."

"And what did you find out?" Sam took a bite of the cherry pie that had tasted so good just a mouthful ago.

"It's a bit twisted, but apparently Rufus willed the cabin to a friend by the name of Bobby Singer."

Sam had no idea Bobby had inherited the cabin. He tried to keep the raw pain he felt at the mention of Bobby's name from showing on his face. "Bobby's dead."

"I know, and he left everything, including the cabin, to Dean Winchester."

"Dean's my brother." Sam nearly choked on the words. It wounded his soul more than he could say that Bobby had thought of Dean but not him. Why? Was Sam so totally worthless? Had Bobby never forgiven him for what he did when he was soulless? "I have to go." He stood and pulled out his wallet, throwing cash on the table, his hands once again trembling.

"Sam, wait," Kaya pleaded.

She didn't know. She couldn't know, but Sam couldn't stay. He couldn't pretend. He was foundering. He was worthless, useless—even Bobby thought so.

Kaya grabbed his wrist. He paused, but he desperately needed to get away from her, away from here and back to the cabin.

"Where is your brother, Sam?"

He felt the sting of tears behind his tightly closed eyes. A snarling whisper was the best he could give her. "I lost my brother five weeks ago. Everything is mine. I'm the only one left."

Well, that threw a whole new light on the landscape. Kaya watched as Sam strode out of the door. She finished her coffee as she watched the shiny black car slide past the big picture window of the diner and stop at the corner. She thought she saw Sam's head bow and rest on the steering wheel, the left blinker flashing its rhythmic glow as he waited for the stoplight to change to green. Her eyes never left the car or the man in it as he made his left turn and drove out of sight.

Something wasn't right here. She needed to get to the bottom of this mystery that was Sam Winchester.

TBC