Open Secrets

Chapter 6

A sharp, acrid smell had Sam sucking in a harsh breath before he was even coherent enough to really know what he was doing. He coughed and gagged, trying to rid himself of the odor. His eyes flew open and Snow's face slowly came into focus.

Sam groaned and rubbed a hand over his face.

"Oh good, you're awake," Snow said.

The sharp smell was gone now, but the feeling of it remained; the back of his throat felt slightly burned. Sam swallowed hard, coughed again. "What was that stuff?"

"Ammonium carbonate," Snow said, taking a glance at his watch.

"Huh?"

"Smelling salts, kid," Snow said with a touch of boredom. "I have to say, I didn't expect you to be such a lightweight. Two hits and you're out for the count."

Sam scrunched up his face, feeling a little petulant. "Well, it was the second time I've been hit in the head in one day," he muttered defensively.

Snow raised an eyebrow. "Getting grouchy, huh. Well, fine, I don't have all day anyway, so let's wrap this up. Are you ready to admit you're guilty?"

For a moment, Sam didn't respond at all. This was partly because he was still feeling a little loopy from getting hit in the head, but mostly because he just couldn't believe he'd landed in this insane situation.

"Seriously?" Sam finally asked. "You're just gonna keep beating on me until I admit I'm wrong?"

Snow shrugged.

"So you're some kind of vigilante," Sam said. His eyes darted around the room. Maybe if he kept talking, he'd be able to stall long enough to figure out a way out of this mess. "You kidnap these supposed criminals and then you kill them off, is that it?"

Snow shrugged again. "Just doing society a favor. Can you imagine how many people are wandering around out there who should be behind bars?"

"Like you, for starters?" Sam retorted. A fleeting look to his left told him that Jordan had flattened himself against the cave wall, his knees pulled up against his chest, his head buried in folded arms. Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He looked shaken and scared, but physically unharmed. He allowed his gaze to snap back toward Snow. "Look at what you've done. How many people have you kidnapped? How many have you killed?"

Snow's fists clenched. "Those people weren't innocents. They would have gotten away with what they'd done."

Sam scoffed. "That's crap. You had alternatives. You could have turned them over to the cops. And now look at you. You've become a criminal, just like the people you hunt."

Snow's upper lip twitched, as if he were barely containing his anger. "Look who's talking. You use people. You think the laws don't apply to you?"

Sam swallowed. It'd be easier to argue against Snow if he hadn't so often had these same thoughts himself. There were a lot of things about hunting that he didn't like. He hated breaking into people's homes. He hated cheating people out of money so that his family could keep hunting without having to settle down for a real job.

But now didn't seem like the time to bring up those doubts.

"What we do is important," Sam said evenly. "We save lives, and we don't get paid for what we do. We have to break some laws to keep people safe."

Snow shook his head slightly. "Sorry, kid. That just doesn't cut it. Imagine if everyone thought that way. Chaos." He waved a hand vaguely in mid-air to demonstrate the point.

Sam ground his teeth. He was beginning to get very angry. If he could stand, he would have long ago just taken this guy down. But seeing as how that wasn't an option…

"So are you ready to confess?" Snow asked. "Or do you need a little more persuasion?"

"Why do you want me to confess so badly?" Sam asked, though he could have cared less: understanding the reasoning of a madman was not high on his list of priorities. But he knew a question was more likely to stall Snow than an answer would be.

"Well," Snow said, and he seemed to be honestly considering the question, "two reasons, really."

"Is that right," Sam asked vaguely.

Truthfully, he wasn't paying full attention to Snow. He was trying to catch Jordan's eye. He thought if he could get the kid to distract Snow somehow, Sam might—emphasis on might—be able to get up fast enough to hit him. It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all Sam had at the moment.

"First," Snow said thoughtfully, "it means that you know you've done wrong. And that way you can feel some measure of remorse for what you've done before you die."

"How considerate of you," Sam said dully. Jordan still had his head buried in his arms, and Sam couldn't think of a way to get the kid to look up without alerting Snow.

"And second," Snow continued, "your confession means that I know I'm not punishing an innocent person."

"Trying to keep a clear conscience, are you?" Sam asked. He hadn't meant to, but a very Dean-like tone of fear-fueled sarcasm had crept into his voice.

It appeared to have been a bad decision: Snow's thoughtful expression vanished. He set his jaw and turned anger-filled eyes on Sam.

"Enough stalling," he said harshly. He stood, casting a long shadow in the fluorescent light. "Apparently you do need a little more persuasion." He paused and rubbed at his chin. "Obviously no more blows to the head though. I suppose it's time to get a little more creative."

Sam bit his lip, his heart pounding a painful tattoo against his chest. Creativity didn't sound good.

Snow flexed his fingers, curled them into a fist. "Did you know that Skinwalkers can choose which animal they transform into?"

Sam swallowed. Actually, he had known that. If he remembered correctly, Dad had covered Skinwalkers, shapeshifters, and werewolves during Sam's sixth grade year.

But Snow didn't appear to be interested in an answer. "My animal is the grizzly bear. Did you know that grizzly bears have claws that can be as long as six inches? They're usually used for digging, but they're also very effective for…other purposes."

Jordan whimpered softly, but Sam still heard it from across the cave. His stomach seemed to drop a little. He could deal with all of this. He could even deal with the prospect of dying, if he didn't think about it too hard. But he knew Jordan couldn't.

"Look," Sam said, glancing over at Jordan. "I get that you've got issues with me. But you don't have any reason to keep the kid here. Let him go, and then we'll talk."

Snow shook his head in disappointment. "You know I can't do that. He'd talk. He'd tell people what's really going on here."

"No!" Jordan sniffled. Sam looked over at him. His face was tear-streaked, his eyes swollen from crying. "I wouldn't tell anyone, I promise!"

"He's innocent," Sam said, trying to play to Snow's obvious obsession with the idea. "Let him go."

Snow came forward and crouched down so that he was directly in Sam's line of sight, barely a foot away. "I guess I should have seen this coming," Snow said softly. "Your dad spends your whole life convincing you that you're saving people…I suppose it would be natural you'd want to help the boy?" Snow cupped his chin in his hand and sighed. "I guess that means you're one of those annoying people who'd rather sacrifice themselves than someone else. I had one of those just a few weeks ago."

Sam didn't respond, but he sure didn't like where this line of thinking was going. Neither, apparently, did Jordan. He had stopped crying, but he was staring at Sam with wide eyes.

"Well," said Snow, sounding bored. "Feels a little cliché to me, but whatever works. Sam," he said theatrically, "if you don't confess, I'm gonna have to hurt the kid over there." He cocked his head in Jordan's direction without breaking eye contact with Sam. "Whaddya say?"

Sam dropped his head to his chest, doing his best to look beaten and hopeless. It wasn't a tough sell.

"That's more like it," Snow said with relish. "Now, what do you want to tell me?"

"Okay," Sam whispered, so softly that he barely heard his own voice.

"Didn't quite catch that," Snow said, leaning in slightly.

Which was exactly what Sam had hoped he would do. Instead of answering, Sam put all his fear and fury behind his right fist, landing a solid punch on Snow's left temple. Surprised, Snow lurched back. He seemed a little dazed for a moment, then he sat up and rubbed the spot, working his jaw. Sam took the opportunity to try to stand, but by the time he made it to his feet, Snow had returned the punch. Sam crumpled, hurting more from accidentally putting weight on his leg than from the punch.

Snow took several deep breaths, looking livid. "Maybe another night in here will help you change your mind," Snow spat. Sam didn't look up, but could hear him moving away. "It's supposed to be a cold one."

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Dean flicked his flashlight back and forth across the leaf-strewn ground. Underneath the canopy of thick foliage, it was really too dark to pick up any kind of a clue, even with the flashlight. He knew that he was accomplishing nothing, but he couldn't stand to just sit in his room, alone, and do nothing.

"Sam!" he called out, but it was a half-hearted shout. He'd nearly shouted himself hoarse out here, and he hadn't found anything: no Sam, no trail, no nothing.

He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter around him. It was a chilly night, and even under the thick covering of foliage, his hair and jacket had long ago become sodden from the steady rain. He kicked at the stump of a tree in frustration. The wind had started to pick up, and the rain was coming down harder. He knew he should just call it a night, but he couldn't bring himself to stop looking when Sam could be out there somewhere, waiting for him.

His cell phone rang, and he automatically plunged his hand into his pocket.

"Yeah?"

"Dean?"

It sounded like Bobby, but it was hard to hear in the wind and rain. "Hold on a sec," Dean said, moving quickly toward the parking lot where he hoped he'd get a better signal.

The rain was coming down with a fury out here where the trees didn't provide any cover. He swore softly as his feet splashed through puddles of icy water until he finally made it into his room.

"Dean? You there?"

"Yeah, Bobby, sorry, I'm here," Dean said. He shut the door behind him. "It's really coming down. Where are you?"

"I'll be there in about three hours," Bobby said. "You got anything new for me?"

Dean shed his soaked jacket and pulled off his mud-encrusted boots. "I went out to the Snows' place a couple of hours ago, but it didn't do me any good. The woman was half-conscious when her husband found her. She doesn't remember where the creature stashed her." He paused. "And besides, she's still too spooked to go out there."

"Did you talk to the husband?" Bobby asked. "Maybe he'd remember."

"He wasn't home," Dean said. "His wife says he was out on a hunting trip, should be home in a few days."

"Hunting?" Bobby asked sharply.

"Moose, not demons," Dean answered wryly. He padded across the carpet in wet socks, shivering slightly. He grabbed a mostly clean hand towel off the vanity and scrubbed it through his wet hair and across his face. "But Bobby, I'm like 90 percent sure her husband's up to something, and I'm not sure we can trust her either."

Bobby didn't answer for a moment, and Dean could hear the frown in his voice. "What makes you say that?"

"I think I figured out a pattern," Dean said carefully. "Remember I told you that cop I talked to said that all the victims this time around had criminal records of some kind? Well, I looked up all of the names of the old victims, and almost all of them committed crimes too."

"Dean…" Bobby sighed. "When you told me about the cop's idea, I think the words you used were 'nutcase' and 'conspiracy theory.' And now you want to buy into it?"

Dean squirmed a little, seeing as how Bobby was right. Dean had thought the cop was just trying to get his name mentioned in the "documentary." But he'd had a few hours to do some research, and to his surprise, the theory had paid off.

"I think this is worth checking into, Bobby," Dean said stubbornly.

"Don't you think you might be seeing something that isn't there? I know how badly you want to find Sam, but…"

"Sam fits that pattern," Dean said insistently. "He's committed crimes."

"Dean, creatures don't attack like that. What you're talking about, that's something spirits do. You sure you're dealing with a creature?"

"Positive. Dad saw it, when he was here before. Besides, I have a theory. I think that maybe James Snow is controlling it somehow."

"Controlling it? Dean…"

"I know it sounds a little crazy, but it makes sense!" Dean persisted.

Bobby sighed again. "Son, I wish I could believe you…but what you're saying just doesn't make sense. You don't even know what you're hunting yet. How could you possibly know whether this man could control it?"

Dean flopped bonelessly into the chair next to the table, staring out the rain-drenched window. "Bobby, I know it's a long shot. But I do have some decent evidence. I looked up all the names, right? And they had all been arrested at some point…except James and Michelle Snow and Matthew Smith."

"And Matthew Smith was Sam's alias, when he was a kid, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said, as he looked back over his notes. "So obviously, he wouldn't have any kind of a record. But Sam found out that James Snow used to be a cop, before he got in some serious trouble for planting evidence. Sam thinks he was more interested in putting someone behind bars than he was in making sure justice was carried out."

"So, what, you think he's gone vigilante or something? And he's getting some kind of Bigfoot-looking thing to do his dirty work?" Bobby sounded like he was trying hard not to sound utterly incredulous.

"Well…yeah," Dean said lamely. Less than ten minutes ago, all of this had made perfect sense. But Bobby's doubt was infectious; maybe Dean really was grasping at straws.

There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Look, Dean, I agree that it's more than just coincidence that all the victims have a commonality. And this guy definitely sounds like a prime candidate to be our bad guy. I'm just having a hard time figuring out how he could be controlling the creature, that's all."

"Which is kind of a problem," Dean pointed out pessimistically. "We can't kill it if we don't even know what it is." He tried to control the strain in his voice, but he was nearing desperation. He glanced outside; the rain was coming down even harder, as if attempting to reflect his darkening thoughts.

"Have you talked to your dad?" Bobby asked.

Dean gave a mirthless chuckle. "Oh sure. I called him right after I found Sammy's pack."

"He have anything to say?"

Dean thought back over the call. There had been a liberal amount of cussing followed by a round of blistering accusations, with a copious level of "I knew this was going to happen" and "shoulda just done it myself" and "I told you to watch out for him" sprinkled into the mix.

"Uh…yeah, he had some things to say," Dean answered carefully.

Pause.

"Did he have anything constructive to say?" Bobby growled.

"Well…" Dean started. The closest thing to constructive John had mentioned was something along the lines of, "Try not to do anything stupid until I get there." At which point Dean had warily reminded his father that there was no way he could get here, because he couldn't drive on a busted right leg, and even if he did want to try it, they still hadn't replaced the brake pads on the truck, and by the time he managed to find a way out here it would be too late anyway. Which had led to another round of curses and accusations, plus a whole new rant on how important it was to keep both the cars, and not just the Impala, in good repair.

"He…said he'd call back later," Dean finally offered unconvincingly.

Bobby made a noise that was halfway between a disappointed sigh and an angry growl. "We'll talk about it later. For now, you better get some rest, boy. I'm gonna need you sharp when I get there."

"Yes, sir," Dean said automatically.

"I'll give you a call when I'm close."

Bobby hung up and Dean slowly closed his phone. He stared out at the storm for a moment, listening to the wind howl, and hoped Sam wasn't caught out in it.

!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!i!

Sam curled into a tighter ball, rubbing his arms, trying to force some warmth into them. He was shivering so uncontrollably that his whole body ached; he thought that if he could just hold still for one minute, it would be utter bliss. Forget about the busted leg.Forget about the headache and the thirst and the hunger. Shivering, of all things, was the final straw, the thing that was going to do him in.

Except that, come to think of it, he really couldn't even feel his leg anymore. He hoped that this was merely some gift of fate, and that it didn't have anything to do with the fact that his jeans were soaked from the knee down with ice-cold, muddy rain water, but he doubted he could be so lucky.

At least it had stopped raining outside, finally. Or at least he thought it had. It was hard to tell, seeing as how he was stuck underground. It had stopped thundering, and the wind had calmed down. Most importantly, the puddle seemed to have finally stopped growing. Sam hadn't even realized that the floor of their little cave was on such an angle until rainwater trickling down from the entrance tunnel had started to collect in a small pool. Jordan had moved fast enough to stay completely out of the water, but it had taken Sam longer to drag himself across the cave to the higher, drier half, and by the time he made it, his pant legs were saturated.

Sam cupped his hands over his mouth and breathed on them, anything to try to warm himself up. It worked for about ten seconds, and then he was back to that painful, full-body trembling. He glanced at Jordan, who was barely visible under a mountain of khaki jacket. He was still asleep, somehow; Sam could see the gentle rise and fall of Jordan's deep breathing. For the hundredth time, he contemplated waking him up and asking to wear the jacket, just for ten minutes. Scratch that. At this point, he'd settle for five minutes. Three minutes, even. Three minutes without shivering through the relentless cold.

But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and curled up on his side. He wished he knew what time it was. It had to be near morning. He'd been thinking that it had to be near morning for the better part of the last four torturous hours, though, so he wasn't sure his judgment was any good. Morning was the goal Sam had set for himself. He could make it til morning. Morning would mean that the puddle might start drying. Maybe the temperature would even go up. Maybe Dean would come. Maybe…

Sam opened his eyes. Was his wishful thinking causing him to imagine that noise, or could it be…

"Sam?" Jordan whispered, sounding anxious. The voice surprised Sam; he hadn't realized the little boy had woken.

Sam forced himself into a seated position. "Come here, buddy," he whispered to Jordan. The boy scrambled over, cowering against Sam's shoulder.

The opening of the trap door sounded ominous with its squeaking hinges. A dark shape slowly lowered itself downward into the cave, splashing down into the puddle. Sam threw a protective arm around Jordan, forcing him back up against the wall. He wasn't sure exactly what was coming, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

Sam did his best to look intimidating as Snow hooked the lantern to the ceiling and switched it on. He doubted he'd accomplished his goal, though, based on the unimpressed look Snow was giving him. He wondered if the shivers and the fact that he couldn't stand up had anything to do with that.

"Well, Sammy," Snow said. "Time's up. I imagine you had a long night. You sure you want to drag this out any further? 'Cause, see, here's the thing. With that leg, and the fact that I'm not gonna feed you anymore, you've only got a couple of days anyway. Might as well just end it now."

"Sorry," Sam spat. "Not happening."

Snow rolled his eyes. "Must I threaten the boy again?"

Sam smiled, trying to look smug. "You won't do that."

"Really," Snow said, sounding unconvinced.

"No," Sam answered. "You want to know why?"

Snow threw his arms up. "Enlighten me."

Sam took a deep breath. He really hoped this theory would pay off, because if it didn't, he was practically selling Jordan out. "You won't hurt him. You threatened him last night, but you didn't touch him. It's because you know he doesn't deserve it. You're a monster, but you won't hurt an innocent person."

Sam shivered silently, waiting for a reaction. He'd spent most of the night—between the shivering and the not-sleeping—wondering about the two facts that just didn't seem to add up, and had come up with a reasonable idea. Now he just had to test it.

Snow cocked his head, and Sam saw his self-assurance slip just a little. "You don't think so?"

Sam shook his head. "Last night, you couldn't follow through on your threat. And then I got thinking. Twenty years ago, when all these attacks were first going on, you and your wife were the first ones to go missing. But you were separated from your wife for a while, weren't you? She got locked up in a cave, just like I am now. You know what's really weird about her story though? She says that the creature that tossed her down there kept allowing her to almost escape, but she never made it out until you came and found her."

Snow stared down at Sam. He didn't look nervous, exactly, since he clearly still had the upper hand, but he did look anxious. Like he really didn't want Sam to finish this thought.

Sam plowed on before Snow could say anything. "So I got thinking. Why would you transform, become that creature, and then kidnap your wife? And why would you mess with her mind like that, not allow her to get out? And why, after days of keeping her in a cave, did you transform back into your human self and 'rescue' her?"

Snow's lips were twitching, as if he were trying to hold back his anger. "Shut up," he said, but it came out weak, barely audible.

"But then I figured it out. Because I know how Skinwalkers are created, Mr. Snow." Sam paused. He had suddenly become painfully aware that Jordan was sitting next to him, and that Jordan was just a kid. Did he really want the boy to have this information?

Snow's face looked agonized, and that was what made up Sam's mind for him. His first priority had to be trying to get Jordan out alive. He could deal with the emotional turmoil later.

Sam's shivers picked up slightly, and his voice shook. "The lore says you have to kill someone, Mr. Snow. And the strongest Skinwalkers are the ones who take the life of a close family member."

Snow's wiped a shaking hand across his face. Time to drive the dagger home.

"So how did it go down, exactly, Snow? You killed some poor idiot, but that didn't give you enough power, am I right? You decided you needed more. You decided you needed to kill your wife too."

There was a tense pause. Snow's back was to Sam, making it impossible for Sam to gauge the situation. Had he angered a psychotic killer, or was it possible that he might be able to reason his way out of this nightmare?

"I couldn't finish the transformation," Snow whispered, and Sam could feel the pain in his voice. He might have felt pity for the man, if he hadn't known him to be a killer. "I was…horrible. More bear than man." He looked up at Sam. "You don't understand. I couldn't run or move properly. It was like I was just…stuck halfway between the change. It was agony."

"So you decided to kill your wife. But you couldn't do it."

Snow shook his head. There was a faraway look in his eye, and Sam wondered if he was reliving his memories. "I kept coming back. I was going to do it. But then I just couldn't bring myself to it. I could hear her crying…" his voice trailed off. "I gave it up, finally. I couldn't hurt her." He looked up at Sam, his eyes burning, as if daring Sam to disagree. "I'd rather endure the pain of being half man, half bear than having to…. She was innocent. I did this, I became this thing so that I could punish the people who slipped through the justice system. If I had hurt her, I would have been just like them."

Sam allowed a moment to pass, barely breathing, before he spoke.

"We're like that too," Sam said gently, in his most reasonable voice. "Jordan hasn't done anything wrong. You can't hurt him any more than you could hurt your wife."

Snow's eyes flicked toward Jordan. Sam could see the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching.

"Please," Sam said gently. "Let us go."

Snow held his gaze for an eternity, and Sam tasted freedom. But then Snow's face hardened again before Sam could even begin to mentally celebrate. "No. I can't do that. I'm sorry, Sam. Now, I'll give you one last chance. You have your choice. I'm a merciful man. Admit you're guilty, and I'll make it quick. Refuse, and it will take days." He paused. "Either way, you're going to die."

Sam felt his gut clench unpleasantly, but he set his jaw. His chance at freedom had slipped away, a wisp of smoke on the wind. But he was not going to give in so easily.

"No," he said softly, but with as much venom as he could put into the word. "No. I've spent the last two years of my life trying to do normal. I've been at school, like a normal person. I haven't been hunting. I haven't done any of the things that go along with hunting." His voice became stronger, and he could see Snow getting angrier. "I gave up my family to do normal. I've made my mistakes, but that was how I was raised. So, no. I'm not gonna admit I'm wrong. But if I were you, I'd think hard before you do anything to me."

Snow's eyes narrowed. "Are you threatening me? You can't even stand!"

"Yeah," Sam said, feeling a little reckless. "You know why? Because if I don't make it out of this, you're gonna have two seriously pissed off Winchesters coming after you."

Sam took the hit before he was entirely sure what had happened. He ducked his head, but it was too late; it landed full on, hard enough that he immediately worried about damage to the bone around the eye socket. His hand automatically came up to cup the side of his face gently. There was a ringing in his ears, but he thought he heard Snow mutter something about, "I guess family really does mean everything to you hunters."

Sam forced his eyes open; the right was watering with pain, and the left was already swelling, so everything was a little blurry, but there was no mistaking what he was now seeing.

Snow was changing: his shoulders bulged, his hands and feet lengthened. His hair darkened and seemed to spread from his head, across his neck and face, which was jutting outward into a muzzle, down his back. The changes occurred faster and faster, and all the while, the creature that moments ago had been James Snow made small, inhuman sounds: a sort of deep-chested huff, followed by a tortured growl.

A moment later, the transformation was complete. The finished product was grotesque: a mishmash of limbs and muscle which clearly didn't belong together. The muzzle was disproportionately long on a skull which had remained human-sized. Its eyes were small and its ears overly large. It stood on only two legs, which seemed too stubby to be supporting such brawn, but its spine appeared too short to allow it to stand on four legs.

With just these factors, Sam might have found the creature pitiable, perhaps even laughable…except that the overly large feet and hands ended in six inch claws. Long, sharp, gleaming teeth extended past the creature's black lips, overlapping dysfunctionally, like a crocodile in need of braces.

The creature took a single, lumbering step toward Sam. It bent awkwardly at what might have been the waist, and laid one of his heavy paws on top of Sam's broken leg. Utter agony exploded from the injured limb, and Sam bit down hard on his lower lip. The creature's lips parted, baring teeth, and it took Sam a moment to realize it must have been a cruel smile. The paw lifted, and Sam gasped in relief.

The creature awkwardly stood again, splashing through the puddle across the cave, then using its long claws to force its way up the narrow tunnel. The trapdoor slammed shut, and then Sam heard a scraping noise.

"Jordan," he said quickly. "Go see if you can figure out what he's doing."

Jordan stared up at him, eyes brimming with tears.

"Hurry, before he's gone!" Sam said harshly. He felt bad for the boy, but it was important to know what was happening.

Jordan got up quickly, sniffling a little, and moved cautiously toward the entrance.

"What's going on?" Sam demanded.

Jordan shrugged. "It kinda sounds like he's pushing something on top of the door. Maybe a big rock or something. I can't see any light through the cracks anymore."

Must be extra security, Sam thought.

A final scrape made Jordan jump a little and fix a frightened stare on Sam. "Can I please come back now?" he whimpered.

The look on his face had Sam softening instantly. He suddenly realized that his tone of voice had sounded exactly like his father giving an order. Wishing he hadn't made that particular connection, he nodded gently.

"Sure thing, buddy," he said softly. "Come on back."

Jordan settled down in his place at Sam's side, and Sam could feel his small body shaking, even as Sam continued shivering.

"Are we going to die?" Jordan said softly, his lip quivering.

Sam swallowed. "No, we're gonna be just fine."

Jordan held Sam's gaze for a moment, then dropped his chin to stare at his sneakers. Sam sighed and let his head rest on the cold stone behind him. Things couldn't get much worse, but at least they were both still alive.

"At least he forgot to turn off the lantern," Sam said, trying to find anything to cheer the kid up. "We've got light."

Fate didn't appear interested in cheering Jordan up, however. As soon as the words were out of Sam's mouth, the light flickered once and died, plunging the cave into damp, cold, darkness once again.

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"Dean."

Dean was awake in a second, sitting up and blinking blearily.

"Come on, boy, there's someone at the door," Bobby said urgently.

"What time's it?" Dean slurred groggily. He and Bobby had been poring over Dean's notes and some of Bobby's books from the moment Bobby had arrived at just past one until almost dawn, and Dean was already feeling the fatigue. He hadn't even bothered to change his clothes the night before, and had passed out on the bed in his t-shirt and jeans.

"Doesn't matter. Listen, kid, there's a man at the door. Who have you told that you're here?"

Dean came a little more awake at that. "No one. Just you."

Bobby nodded, glancing at the door as a pair of light knocks sounded. "I was afraid of that. You go answer the door, or he's gonna wonder where you are, but I'm gonna stay back here. No point telling whoever it is that I'm here too."

Dean saw Bobby slide a handgun into the pocket of his stained jacket, and became instantly worried. "Who do you think it is?"

"Dunno, son, but I've learned that it's always better to be over-prepared. Just in case."

Dean nodded and waited until Bobby slunk into the bathroom and shut the door part way, leaving the light off. Then Dean jammed his own gun into the waistband of his jeans and stepped cautiously toward the door. He made sure the salt line was still in place before unlocking the door and opening it a few inches.

He tried to keep his surprise off his face when he saw who it was. "Mr. Snow?"

Snow nodded. "And it's…Dean, right?"

"Yeah…uh, what are you doing here?"

Snow's face reflected concern, but Dean thought it seemed a little put-upon, and he didn't wear it well. The expression seemed unnatural on his face. "My wife told me you were looking for me. Said you'd lost your brother."

Dean nodded, not trusting his voice enough to say anything.

Snow grinned widely, looking a little feral. "I think I can help you with that."


A/N: Hi everyone! Okay, first off...I have to apologize for taking sooo long to get this chapter updated. Things got a little crazy, and I had some other priorities to take care of. But I promise, coming updates will not take nearly this long. I've nearly finished writing, and we've only got a few more chapters to go. So hang in there. :) Secondly, thank you so much to all of you who are reading. I've been getting way more hits than I expected to, so thank you so much. Last but not least, thank you so much to all those of you who have reviewed so far. You guys totally make my day and encourage me to keep going. Thanks especially to Angela-Marie, jenilee, Left Hook, friendly, and meek-bookworm for your reviews of the last chapter. I really can't tell you how excited I get when I see those new reviews. Keep 'em coming. :)