Here's the prompt:

stain, tomato, rain, shadows, lurch, lime jello, with an added bonus

for working in danglies.

The Cohen Gang (Plus One)

Seth leaned forward as much as his seat belt would allow and tapped his mother on the shoulder. "So Mom, have I mentioned lately how thrilled I am that you invited me and Ryan to come along to your friend's wedding?" he asked brightly. "Of course, by thrilled you do understand that I mean miserable beyond belief, and by invited I mean dragged, threatened, and otherwise coerced. And I'm sure Mr. Taciturn there agrees, don't you, Ryan?"

Turning from the window, where he had been staring mesmerized at the raging snowstorm outside, Ryan blinked and raised his hands in denial.

"Seth," Kirsten objected absently, without turning around, "nobody dragged you. I just thought it would be nice for us all to attend Blair's wedding as a family. She hasn't seen you since you were a baby. And she's never seen Ryan at all."

"And that, mother, is why we have a little something I like to call the pho-to-graph."

Sandy flashed an admonishing glare back from the driver's seat. "Seth," he reproved, tight-lipped, before fixing his attention back to the road.

Seth widened his eyes innocently. "Hey, I'm just saying."

"The weather forecast only called for light rain in the mountains," Kirsten recalled worriedly. "Who knew it would turn into--"

"A Donner Party style blizzard?"

"Seth!" Sandy and Ryan exclaimed at the same time.

Ryan poked an elbow hard into Seth's side. "Think, man," he muttered. "Cannibal jokes? Really not so funny."

Seth squirmed away, pouting. "Apparently some people lose their senses of humor when they're trapped in a car for five hours in a blinding snowstorm with no food and no water—which by the way, may actually be a blessing because also? No bathroom," he complained.

"Sweetheart, I just remembered why we stopped taking long drives with Seth," Sandy declared. "He learned how to talk."

Ryan snorted in amusement, but Kirsten sighed worriedly, rubbing the end of her scarf across the frosted windshield. "I don't know, Sandy," she murmured, peering into the wind-whipped shadows outside. "Maybe we should just try to find someplace and stop for the night—"

Her last word ascended into a shocked cry as the Rover skidded sideways, fishtailed three times and finally lurched to a halt on an angle halfway off the road.

For one long moment, only ragged breathing broke the tense silence in the car. Then Seth's shaky voice emerged from the backseat. "Okay, Dad," he stammered, "definite points for taking Mom's suggestion, but I don't think she meant for you to stop right here. Or, you know, quite so dramatically."

Sandy swiveled around. "Is everyone all right?" he demanded. "Kirsten? Boys?"

"I'm all right," Kirsten answered. "Ryan? Seth? Are either of you hurt?"

"All body parts accounted for," Seth reported. "At least I think so. Let me see . . . yep, all of them, danglies included. And everything appears to be in working order. I'll just run a systems check." He bobbed his head, wiggled his fingers, and stamped each foot in turn.

"Ow!" Ryan groaned. Kirsten gasped, frantically starting to reach for him around her seat, and he clarified hastily, "It's nothing. I'm fine. Seth just kicked me, that's all."

"That was you? Oops, sorry, dude." Seth grinned weakly into the darkness and retreated against the door, in case Ryan decided to retaliate.

"Yeah it was. And Seth—don't even think about system-checking your--"

"Hey!" Seth yelped. "Watch the language there, dude. Remember? 'Rents in the car?"

"You're the one who said . . . danglies," Ryan growled.

Seth dimpled. "And now you did," he pointed out. "But hey, it broke the tension, right?"

Sandy exhaled ruefully and turned back to the steering wheel. "Obviously, the boys are both okay, Kirsten," he said, with a grateful smile. "Seat belts still on, everybody? Let me see if we can just drive out of here." He turned the key in the ignition. There was a click and a sputtering hum, and then nothing. Sandy tried again. This time the car didn't respond at all.

"Oh God," Kirsten whispered.

Sandy unfastened his seat belt and scooted over to give Kirsten a quick, reassuring kiss. "Sweetheart, nobody's hurt. That's the important thing. I'll go and see what the damage is. Just stay calm and don't move." The minute he reached for his door handle, Ryan did too. "Ryan! I mean it," Sandy insisted. "I'll take care of this."

"Yeah, I know," Ryan objected, fumbling for words that wouldn't sound insulting. "But Sandy, do you, well, know anything about cars?"

"He knows this is a Range Rover. And I've seen him pop the hood," Seth recalled helpfully. "True, he was actually trying to open the gas cap, but still . . ."

Sandy pointed a warning finger at his son. "You, funny man, be quiet," he ordered, adding to Ryan, "And you, stay inside. If I need you, I'll let you know."

"If you say so," Ryan agreed doubtfully.

Holding his coat collar closed against the stiff wind, Sandy stepped out and slogged gingerly through the snow to the front of the car. Even Kirsten, sitting in the front seat, could barely see him as he bent down to check the tires, but everyone in the car heard the thump and the muffled cry.

Immediately Ryan flung his door open and plunged outside. Seth and Kirsten were about to follow when Sandy reappeared, snow-covered and supporting himself against the hood. Ryan helped him into the driver's seat. He stood for a moment, shielding his eyes and staring into the whiteout, before he slid back into the car, shutting the door against the bitter air.

"Ice under the snow," Sandy explained, panting slightly. "No harm done. I lost my footing, that's all. Well, that and my dignity."

Seth brushed snow off his father's shoulders, grinning. "Don't worry, Dad. It's not like we'll ever notice."

"Gee, thanks, son," Sandy replied wryly. "Remind me when we get home to cut you out of the will. . . So, the tires seem to be wedged tight, and we're actually at a fairly steep angle. Even if I can get the engine running—or if Ryan can—I don't think we're going to be going anywhere for a while. And in this storm, help isn't likely to reach us very soon either."

Kirsten shook her head, covering her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry," she moaned. "I thought since the wedding wasn't that far away, it would be fun to drive. And now we're stranded here."

"Yeah, except Mom? I'm not sure there's a 'here' here," Seth observed. "How long since we've seen any signs of civilization? The last pizza place was like, thirty miles ago. Not that we stopped there or anything even though some of us wanted to . . ."

"You're not helping, man," Ryan muttered, but Seth's eyes were closed dreamily and he was chanting, "Mmm, thin, crispy crust, creamy cheese, tangy tomato sauce, thick slices of spicy pepperoni . . ."

Ryan's stomach rumbled. "Really, really not helping."

Sighing, Seth nodded in agreement. "Sadly, you're right, dude. The whole visualization thing? Actually just makes you hungrier. So to recap, we're basically lost somewhere in the mountains. In a blizzard. In a dead car. I'm guessing no cell phone reception either, right?"

Immediately, Sandy, Kirsten and Ryan all checked their phones, looking slightly abashed not to have done it sooner.

"No signal," Sandy reported.

"Then it's definite. We're on our own. So what's the GP, RA?"

"What's the . . .? Sandy, what is your son talking about?" Kirsten demanded.

Sandy shrugged. "I don't know, sweetheart. Maybe he hit his head and he's delirious. With Seth, it's hard to tell."

"GP. Game plan," Ryan explained vaguely, squinting out his window through the shifting winds. "I'm the RA . . . Sandy? I think I saw a shape out there—a house or a cabin or something. Maybe there's someplace where we can take shelter. Why don't I check it out?"

"Better question: why don't I?" Sandy countered.

"Um . . . because you already fell once? And, you know . . ."

"He means you're older, Dad," Seth concluded blithely. "If you break your leg, you won't heal as fast . . . Hey, why do I get that furious-father look? Ryan's the one who said it."

Ryan blew out an exasperated breath. "Yeah. Except no, I didn't, Seth. Sandy, we have a flashlight in the emergency kit, don't we?"

"We have a couple, and there should be a highway flare," Sandy confirmed. "But Ryan, I don't like the idea of you going out there alone. Tell you what. Seth, you set up the flare and stay here with your mother. I'll go with Ryan." Kirsten opened her mouth to veto the entire idea, but Sandy forestalled her. "Honey, if we can find shelter, we should. Don't worry. We'll just check the area nearby, and I'll make sure we keep the flare in sight so we can find our way back."

While he was speaking, Ryan had already scrambled to the back and retrieved the emergency kit. He pulled out the flashlights and handed one to Sandy while he whispered to Kirsten, "It'll be okay. I'll look after Sandy for you, I promise."

Fifteen minutes later, Seth huddled on the edge of his seat, drumming his fingers on his knees. "Not much of a fireworks show, is it, Mom?" he asked, nodding at the stuttering light of the flare in front of the car. "Personally, I'd like a little more color. Maybe some shooting stars, a pinwheel or two, a modest aurora borealis effect . . ."

"Do you see them?" Kirsten asked desperately. "They promised not to go far--"

As if on cue, a shape stumbled into view, and Ryan yanked open the car door and tumbled inside. He was covered with snow, which he promptly shook over Seth, smirking as Seth flailed his arms to protect himself.

"Thank God," Kirsten breathed, before she looked past Ryan and added, "Where's Sandy?"

"We found the cabin," Ryan explained. "It's actually pretty close. Deserted, though. Sandy is waiting there, so he can use his flashlight to guide us back. Everybody ready?" He climbed back out of the car, calling back, "Seth, grab any stuff from the emergency kit that we can use—the blanket, the energy bars, maybe the first aid kit just in case." Ryan stopped, looking doubtfully at Kirsten's feet as he opened the door for her. "You can't walk like that," he objected.

"What?"

Ryan gestured to her shoes, with their thin straps and open toes. "Your feet will freeze in the snow, Kirsten. Seth, get over here. We've got to carry your Mom."

Struggling to juggle the emergency supplies along with his other essentials—CDs, Gameboy, and four comic books--Seth stared at Ryan incredulously. "Right, and we'll what now?"

"Carry your Mom."

"Ryan, that's not necessary," Kirsten protested. "You said it's not far."

"It's too far for those shoes. Seth--"

Seth dumped what he was carrying back in the car and trudged around to join Ryan, shivering. "Okay, it pains me to say this, but Ryan's right, Mom," he admitted, examining her footwear. "Only, dude, how are we going to manage this?"

"We make a chair out of our arms," Ryan said tersely. "One minute though."

While Seth tried out different formations, crossing and uncrossing his arms, clasping his own elbows and wrists, Ryan ducked into the back seat. He dumped everything out of his duffle bag, snatching a couple pairs of socks.

"Take off your shoes and put these on," he urged Kirsten. "Both pairs. They'll be warmer than what you're wearing anyway. And, um, they're clean, I swear."

Kirsten shook her head fondly, then pulled Ryan's face down to her, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, sweetie," she whispered. Swiftly toeing off her shoes, she pulled on the socks and wrapped her scarf tightly around her head. "Ready."

Seth, his arms twisted pretzel-fashion, sidled close to the car door. "Okay, Ryan," he said, his teeth chattering, "I've been known to produce excellent shadow bunnies on a wall, but I really don't think I can make a chair."

"We do it together," Ryan explained. He tied the solar blanket into a makeshift cape around Kirsten's shoulders and slung his duffle bag, stuffed with the rest of the emergency supplies, over his back. Extending his arms, he waited for Seth to do the same, then grasped his elbows tightly. Kirsten slid onto the improvised seat, looping an arm around each boy's neck and clutching the flashlight in her right hand. As soon as she was in place, Ryan kicked the car door closed behind them and he and Seth began to labor through the snow.

"The good thing about this," Kirsten yelled through the wind, "is that I get to hold on to both of you! I like knowing exactly where you are."

"The bad thing about this," Seth bellowed back, "is that you're squeezing me so tight I can't breathe!"

Ryan threw back his head to fling off the end of Kirsten's scarf that had blown into his mouth. "Seth if you can talk, you can breathe! But here's an idea. Don't talk!"

"Talking," Seth huffed, "is how I deal with disaster."

"Just disaster?"

"Okay, yeah, pretty much everything else too." Seth lapsed into silence for six arduous steps. Then he burst out, "Mom, no offense, but seriously, for someone so tiny, you weigh, like, a lot. How far did you say this cabin was, Ryan?"

"Just . . . up . . . ahead," Ryan gritted. "Keep moving, Seth. See the light waving? That's Sandy."

"Yeah, only no, the crash must have made you delusional, dude. I don't see a light. Wait! Do I? I think . . . Yes, I do! Hallelujah, and thank you Jesus and Moses, we're saved!"

Seth attempted an aborted victory hop that only served to kick up a spray of snow as he and Ryan trudged the last forty yards. Sandy waded out to meet them, scooping Kirsten into his arms and carrying her through the cabin door.

"Aw, it's just like our honeymoon, sweetheart," he grinned as he deposited his wife on the couch and dropped a kiss on her icy forehead. Behind him, Seth and Ryan collapsed against the wall, exhausted. Sandy glanced back at them, then surveyed Kirsten's wind-chapped face, the strange athletic socks on her feet, and the snow-caked blanket tied around her shoulders. "Okay, well, maybe it's a little different," he amended. "Guys, you both okay?"

"Fine," Ryan panted, dropping the duffle bag and starting to unpack.

Seth held up a hand, bent over, and sucked in a few wheezing breaths. "Will be," he gasped. "When I regain . . . use of arms . . . recover from . . . lugging two-ton Tessie over there. Good thing . . . I'm a man of . . . much muscle."

Ryan squinted at Seth skeptically. "And that muscle would be where exactly?" he demanded.

Flexing his arms, Seth replied with affronted dignity, "It would be . . . all right, maybe not there. It would be . . . yeah, probably not there either. Okay, you know what, Ryan? The mind is totally a muscle."

"So you carried your mom with your mind? Well, I guess that would explain why it was so hard for you."

"Hey!" Seth protested. "How about a little grace under pressure here, Ryan? Because that? Was a really rude comment. Now since we're in a code red situation here, I'm going to let it pass. This time. But consider yourself officially warned."

"Got it," Ryan drawled. "I'll be on my best behavior so you don't beat me up with your brain."

"You mock, but you know, dude, I so could."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Right."

Chuckling, Sandy wedged himself next to Kirsten and began to rub her hands, warming them between his. "All right, fight nice, boys," he urged. "Isn't it wonderful, sweetheart? The kids are enjoying this adventure."

"They do seem to be, don't they?" Kirsten agreed. "And they were very chivalrous, carrying me here. I bet they're glad now that we brought them along."

"Yeah, only Mom, really? Not so much." Seth shrugged off his jacket, dropping it onto a chair. Instantly he snatched it back and pulled it on again. "Dad!" he exclaimed, his voice muffled by the collar he tried to pull over his face. "While you were waiting for us, couldn't you have, I don't know, maybe turned on the heat?"

"No heat," Sandy explained. "No power, no phone, no running water. We do, however, have a roof, plenty of blankets—a little moth-eaten, but good and thick—and a fireplace. There's even some wood stacked just inside the back door. Now that you're all here safe, we'll get a fire going."

"Yes, fire. Fire good," Seth agreed, his teeth clicking against each other.

"You know, Seth, your dad's talking about making a fire, not discovering it," Ryan pointed out. "You don't have go all cave man on us."

Seth stamped his feet and blew into his cupped hands. "Not cave man. Cold," he grunted.

Ryan grinned. "Come to think of it, I like Neanderthal Seth. Less wordy. Sandy, I'll bring in the wood and get the fire going.

"Thanks, kid."

"Suck up," Seth muttered, before he turned to his parents, smiling brightly. "Anything you folks want me to do? Preferably something that doesn't involve going outside?"

"Well, sweetie, since you were the one who kept talking about food, why don't you check the kitchen, see if there's anything we can use to make some dinner?" Kirsten suggested.

Seth nodded agreement, then stopped in alarm. "Okay, hold it a minute. When you say 'we can use', you're not including yourself, are you, Mom?"

"Ooh. First you insult my weight and now my cooking?" Kirsten managed to make a tiny snowball out of clumps tracked onto the floor and lobbed it at Seth, laughing.

"Just see if you can find any food, son," Sandy ordered.

Pulling an afghan off the back of a chair, Seth shrouded himself in it. "Right, but just let me make sure I've got this straight," he mumbled from behind the smothering fabric. "My father, Mr. Morality, is telling me to steal? Well then again, why not one more crime? Obviously, we're already guilty of breaking and entering here. God, it's like we're the Cohen gang. Plus one, I mean."

"We did not break in, Seth," Sandy retorted. "There was a key over the window frame. And I fully intend to pay for everything we use while we're here."

"Key over the window frame," Seth repeated incredulously as he left. "So why even bother locking the door?" A moment later he slunk back in, noting sheepishly, "Oops. Yeah, so that was the bathroom," before he exited the other way.

By the time Seth reappeared, Kirsten and Sandy had created nests on the chairs and couch with all the pillows and blankets that they could find, and Ryan was kneeling in front of the fireplace, arranging the wood.

"Well, we've been busy little beavers, haven't we? Or, I don't know, considering the weather, maybe polar bears," Seth observed, dropping the box of supplies he was carrying on an end table, and inspecting Ryan's work with avid interest. "So what's the next step, dude? Are you going to rub two sticks together? 'Cause my money says it takes at least two dozen tries for you to get a fire going."

Ryan produced a lighter from his pocket, touched the flame to a twist of newspaper, and held it against some small sticks until they started to spark. "One try," he declared. "Pay up, Seth."

"Whoa! That was not two sticks, my friend."

"Maybe not. But I got a fire going, didn't I?"

"Boys," Kirsten interjected, "remember, fight nice. Ryan, sweetie, carrying a lighter . . . that doesn't mean you still smoke, do you?"

Flushing, Ryan stuffed the lighter back in his pocket. "No," he muttered.

"Really no?"

"Really not for a long time," Ryan amended. Before Kirsten could ask any more questions, he changed the subject. "So what did you find for dinner, Seth?"

"Ah, dinner!" Seth announced dramatically. "We are going to feast tonight, lady and gentlemen. For your dining pleasure, we have--" He picked up cans from the box, waving each one with a flourish. "Chili beans! And . . . beans again! And for the next course . . . why yes, that would be beans! And what's this? Wait for it now . . . ha! It's corn! Fooled you. We also have a jar of black olives, one of tomato paste . . . which is something I hope somebody will explain to me, because tomato plus paste? Sound totally weird. Anyway, to round out our meal the kitchen is proud to present . . . two giant chocolate bars, a box one-quarter full of pancake mix and for dessert . . .! Drum roll, please! A package of lime Jell-O, which hey, we don't even have to mix, since it's pre-sweetened and yummy right out of the box!"

"Seth Ezekiel, we are not eating Jell-O powder out of the box!"

Seth's face fell. "Why not, Mom? It's like pixy-stix."

"He eats it that way all the time, Kirsten," Ryan whispered. "Haven't you wondered why he keeps asking you to buy Jell-O, but we never make any?"

"Traitor!" Seth hissed, clutching the box to his chest protectively. "Anyway, I don't see the problem. My way of serving it is less work."

"Your way of serving it gives people green tongues."

Sandy got up and rubbed his hands together. "All right!" he exclaimed, putting the cans back in the box. "The chef—that's me, by the way—will decide how the Jell-O will be prepared. Boys, to the kitchen. Kirsten, keep the home fire—or the fire away from home—burning. It's time to make some dinner, eat, and hunker down for the duration."

"Dude?" Seth demanded, as he and Ryan trailed Sandy out of the room. "Did Dad just say 'hunker'? 'Cause if he did, this is gonna be a very long night."

FIN (or TBC, I'm not sure.)