STORM

STORY

-3-

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

We'd only been walking about thirty minutes, the wind had picked up and Sam was already fading-- stumbling -- faltering. He barely could man the flashlight, its usual awesome beam hardly cutting through the darkness and mostly pointing toward the ground. The intermediate flashes of lightning didn't help, only served to make the little hairs on my neck stand on end -- not an easy thing to do.

"700,000 to one -- my ass," I grumbled as the sky lit up again.

Bam!

Thunder cracked, and a tree limb fell, smoldering, only a few feet away from us.

"Holy crap!" I nearly flinched out of my skin, Sam didn't so much as hiccup. I wanted to stop and check his wound, but thought better of it, moving us along. "Sam," I panted, the wind taking my breath away. "We got to… got to keep moving." I hooked him closer to my side. "You think you can?"

I could just make out the small thumbs up sign Sam gave as he leaned weakly against me. The rain had bulked us both down with extra poundage, soaking through our heavy jackets right down to the skin. The drops pelting our faces distorted the area and felt like a thousand tiny ice picks as we weaved in and out of the trees. Sam was having more and more difficulty keeping pace.

"This is nuts. What the hell is going on?" I reached up to swipe away the little bit of blood that still leaked from the gash on my head. Sam didn't answer. "Feel like a couple of drowning moles. I can't see a thing, you?" Sam stumbled, slowing. I pulled him upward. "Okay?" I looked at him. "Sam, I asked if you were okay?"

'Not really.' He shivered his answer, not even an uh-huh.

"Swell. Bro, we can't stop yet," I rasped, spitting raindrops out my mouth. Sam slowed further, I could feel his exhaustion -- his body going limper by the minute, like a melting snowflake. "How's the shoulder?"

"Good." I barely heard the whisper.

"Good, huh? No pain?" Sam lied, nodding agreement. "Then you wouldn't mind pulling a Tarzan Lord of the Jungle. We could swing from tree to tree until we're out of this storm. Me Tarzan, you Jane. " I laughed. "Deal?" Sam didn't answer, his next step seeming to go straight through the soupy ground. "Hey!" I hiked him back up. "You hearing me?"

"D'n." Sam seemed spaced out, fumbling with the flashlight -- I fumbled with Sam.

Lightning flashed and I saw his eyes do little dance and roll.

"Sam!" I struggled to hold him up. "No kissing the earth! Sammy!" My loud, panicked voice seemed to snap him back to attention. Sam murmured something, his equilibrium way off base.

"Hurts. A lot," he finally admitted, gagging once.

"You going to spew?"

"Hope so." Sam lowered his head against the wind, anchor heavy, the flashlight's beam shining up, down, all around.

"Sam, try to keep going," My voice was raw from talking over the wind. I could feel him begin to relax. "Sam, please." If at all possible, I pulled my brother closer, trudging forward.

The wind whirled, and rain pounded against our backs. My fingers were numb -- feet too. A snaggletooth bolt came shooting down from the sky close to striking distance. I cringed hard, Sam only moaned. "Come on, already!" I yelled angrily at the sky. Squinting through the sluices of rain, I could see a charcoal outline. Another bolt of lightning seemed to surge through my veins. "Sammy, I see something, looks like a building or shack of some sort." Poor kid only nodded. "Sam, keep walking." I headed us with renewed speed toward what I hoped would be enough shelter. "Almost there, just a little more."

Sam was done, dragging his feet. We stumbled up three steps to a small porch. I didn't bother knocking at the door, just raised a booted foot and kicked. The door smacked open with the help of the forceful wind. We weren't two steps inside when the flashlight hit the wooden floor, and I felt Sam slip away from my hold. I dropped my pack from my shoulder, catching Sam before he could land next to the Maglite. Scooping him up in my arms, I wrestled my way over to what looked like a mouse-infested mattress in the corner of the single room.

"Here we are, Sam." I laid him down slowly.

"Dean." Sam's eyes fluttered open, shut, then open again. "Don't want to walk anymore."

"You don't have to, buddy." I brushed the wet hair clinging to his forehead back away from his eyes. "Shit," I cursed under my breath, noting Sam was running a fever. The wind sucked the open door shut with a bang, Sam jolted upward, with a cry of pain, trembling all over.

"It's okay. It's okay." I pressed him back." Sam calmed immediately, glancing around the room.

"This some sort of hunting shack?"

I stood, the wooden floorboards creaking loudly. Retrieving the fallen flashlight, I shined the beam on the door -- nice -- broke the lock.

Turning, and aiming the fading beam around the room, I grumbled, "Not the Hotel Bates, or Hotel - Paris - Hilton. You said you'd take anything, Dean," I reminded myself. "This beats the hell out of a cave, an overhang of rocks, or ditch, huh, Sam?" The beam of light fell on a small, dirty sink full of rusted pots and pans, a shredded sleeping bag, an army of dust bunnies, and several obviously empty cookie boxes that were blown around the small one room cottage. "Girl Scout cabin, an unused one by the looks of things. No HBO," I huffed. "Rug Rats didn't even leave us a box of Thin Mints." Chuckling, I turned to Sam, suddenly realizing I was talking to myself -- he was out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The whirlwind outside continued -- crazy-insane -- banging against the roof and rattling all four sides of the rundown cabin. I had Sam's shirt off, on his belly, stretched out on the crappy mattress, threading stitch number five through the jagged flesh of his shoulder, and hoping the walls would hold until the storm passed. I worked by the light of a few candles I found. The awesome flashlight wasn't so awesome anymore, propped up using a few of the rusted pots and pans. Even after changing out the batteries, I was having a hell of a time seeing, my repair job -- piss poor at best. Sam was unconscious, but still trembled beneath my touch. After each stitch I stopped to dab at the wound with a blood-soaked cloth. He was still loosing blood and I just couldn't sew fast enough in these conditions. I continued, having a hard time ignoring the way my brother's body flinched every now and again.

"Sh." I breathlessly hushed, wincing each time Sam jerked. "Sorry."

I passed the needle through again, bright red blood bubbling up and slipping down the side of his back to soak the mattress. Sam's fingers twitched, then his arms, and legs. Crap, he was coming to, his skin only half-knit together. "Sam?" His eyes flickered, and a chill visibly swept across his bare back -- he was cold, even though he was hot with fever. "You in there, man?" Sam's breathing picked up, slowed, then picked up again. "Easy, kiddo. Just don't move…" I barred my teeth. "... Easy," I hissed.

I sent the needle straight through tissue, tugging the point out as quickly as I could and pulling taunt. The action triggered a muscle spasm, Sam's shoulder bulging, fighting the pain.

"Uhhhhh." Sam recoiled, fingers scrabbling, digging into the dirty mattress. "Dean." He raised his head up off my jacket that I'd used as a makeshift pillow. "Ghaaa!" He half-turned toward me, eyes crossed like he'd been reading a book -- upside down. "Wha' you doing?"

"Whistling Dixie out my asshole," I mumbled in frustration, swiping drops of sweat out of my blurring eyes.

"No, no, no." Sam struggled. "Hurts. Let me up!"

"Sam!" I pressed his head gently back down. "I have to stitch your shoulder back together," I informed, taking his hand, and leaning over so he could see me. "Hold still."

"K." Sam calmed as soon as he saw me, pressing his body into the mattress, but still flinching every time the needle entered his skin.

We'd been here before. Poking, prodding, wrapping, stitching. The pain never got easier. Sam fought hard to keep still, drawing in a harsh breath when the needle pierced his skin, then breathing out slowly as I pulled the sharp point through -- tugging the thread tight. I could tell it was nearly too much for him.

"How many more," he gulped, the side of his face I could see -- twisted.

"So…700,000 to one, bro…guess we beat the odds, huh?" I tried to distract him.

Needle in.

Sam hid his face in my jacket.

Needle out.

"Ehhhh." His tone muffled, but not so much I didn't hear or feel his pain.

"Talk to me, Sam." I dabbed at the wound, clearing away more blood.

"Holy, fucking, shit! Ow!"

"Talk, Sam, not swear."

"About?" Sam's fingers clamped and reclamped in the mattress, holding tight, forcing himself to stay still.

I pieced his skin, causing more hemorrhaging to spurt out, sliding the needle through a thick layer of solid muscle.

"Ow-ha-ha-ha! You son of a bitch!." Sam cursed me, taking in a few deep breaths. "Sorry, Dean," he mumbled his apology.

"Don't worry. Just talk about something."

"L...like wha'?"

"I don't know. Enlighten me with your big brain."

Needle in.

" 'Kay." Sam sucked in a deep breath. " Flying fish…" he choked. " …Can jump out of the water at…grrrr… 20mph."

"Uh-huh."

Sam's skin resisted and I pressed harder to poke the needle out.

"Pine…ehhhhh…gawww…pine…pineapples are a large berry."

"You don't say."

Needle in.

"The typical lovemaking session....shit.... aaaaa…averages 15 minutes."

"Dude, speak for yourself."

Needle out.

"French tickler was invented by a….crap." Sam shivered. "…Tibetan monk."

"You know about French ticklers?" I couldn't help but laugh. "There's hope for you yet, geek boy."

"Not a geek." Sam snarled, then gagged. "Quick-witted."

Needle in.

The wind bellowed a haunting cry, or was that Sam. I couldn't tell as his face was shoved deeper into the jacket.

Needle out -- last time.

"All done, my brother."

"Only five calories in…" Sam panted, squirming as I tied off the last stitch.

"In what?"

"…In a teaspoon of semen." He turned his head to one side, peering at me through wet, pain-filled eyes.

"What possible reason could you ….Dude!" I paused. "Why the hell would you know something like that?"

"Tired." Sam shifted to his side, letting out a long breath, and finally relaxing.

"Yeah, pal." I carefully patted his arm. "You've had enough for now. Just sleep."

As fast as I'd said the word, Sam fadded into sleep as I gently dressed the wound and eased him back into his shirt and jacket.

My hands were shaking by the time I was done, cold numb and coated slick with Sam's blood. I'd seen a lot of gore in my time, plenty, and never lost one cookie, but when it comes to Sam that's a totally different animal. I tore my gaze from my hands, didn't have time to be deleting cookies from my gut. Twisting on the balls of my feet, I glanced over my shoulder at the dirty sink, probably no running water.

I coached myself over to lean against the counter. Keeping myself standing, I turned the faucet on, producing a small stream of brown water -- enough to wash the blood off. My clothes were sopping wet, sticky and uncomfortable. I hadn't even bothered to grab a change -- the least of my worries right now.

I held the back of my hand against my mouth to keep from gagging. Unable to stand on my feet, I slid to the floor, watching Sam, listening to his heavy breathing, the rain washing down, wind whipping, thunder rumbling and lightning crashing.

"It was a dark and stormy night," I grumbled, remembering howI used to tell Sammy bedtime tales -- remembering how much I hated the storm stories.

TBC

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX