Title: Hunter's Crossing

Author: Signs of Sun

Notes: Thanks all for taking the time to read this story.

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Hunter's Crossing

Chapter 5

The first waking sensation that swept to Dean's body was of breathlessness. He struggled against the heaviness of sleep in search of control of his muscles, of just his lungs even, but the progress was arduous. Sheer exhaustion had submerged him into a place where swimming up to resurface was like pushing the weariest of bodies through a strong undertow.

Focusing solely on breaking the surface he inched his way closer. From breathlessness Dean's body progressed into alarmed oxygen deprivation. The lining of his lungs ached, burnt, desperately for a single deep breath and the loud throbbing of his blood inside his ears tore into him. Dean's intellect screamed that there was air somewhere, he just had to surface, and he'd be rewarded with it.

He just had to save himself from drowning, save himself from being starved of the precious life force.

The break through the resistant barrier came with a small gasp for air and relief spread through his body as the oxygen raced outward through his system. Opening his eyes Dean's found himself gazing up at the ceiling, a faint light illuminated the white paint there. Rolling his head to the left in the direction of the light's origin, he found the window of the bedroom. Dawn was just breaching the sky and had crept through the thin white fabric of the curtains covering the window, letting in a soft gray glow to the room. Just to the right of the window sat Sam fast asleep, his upper body curled up into the corner of the oversized chair. The laptop sat on the table a foot away from his head, opened but darkened in its idleness.

The need to quench his thirst, to take in icy cool water over his parched lips, won out over Dean's distaste for rising at such an evil hour. So in rapid succession he sat up, twisted around, and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The instant his feet hit the carpet he knew it had been a mistake. Every inch of his torso, arms, and neck hurt. The muscles there ached fiercely and his skin was bone dry and felt like it had been stretched so taunt it would crack apart upon a single touch.

"Son of a bitch," he mumbled out, delivering a harsh blow to the mattress with the palm of his right hand. It was more irritation packed than pain filled though. If just sitting up had delivered that much discomfort then what was going in search of his precious water going to bring. What had to be done, had to be done though. A passing thought of lying back down and waiting for Sam to wake had been tempting, but nothing he would allow himself to give into to. Instead he clenched his hands into steeled fists, braced them down on the mattress on either side of his body, squeezed his eyes tight, and stood up. Red hot pain tore through his chest, sending the aftershocks rippling out through his arms.

"Holy cr…!" he started to spit out aloud, but reigned it back in upon his eyes opening and his gaze landing upon his brother. Dean closed his eyes and stood waiting for the wave to completely wash away in his body before moving again. After a half minute only a faint residue remained and he peeked his eyes opened once again. Sam hadn't stirred in the chair a bit thankfully so Dean set out on the mission for water.

By the time he made it to the doorway of the bedroom he settled upon that limiting the use of his upper body would be the best strategy. Fortunately Sam had left the door out into the living room wide open the night before. Dean let out a chuckle at the occurrence. When they were younger Dean had to practically follow behind his brother, switching off lights, closing doors, and picking up things left forgotten. Sam was always focused on the future, on the hopeful someday, or on the ghost filled past. His mind rarely seemed to visit the present. Dean always figured that lovely area had been left to him.

The living room was drenched more entirely with the return of daylight and he made it quickly through to the kitchen. On the third try he found the cupboard that held the glasses and turned towards the sink. His hand on the knob he spotted the dispenser on the front of the refrigerator. He left the sink behind and arrived in front of the appliance. He briefly wondered if the person who owned the house might require their services more often because he could get used to the incredibly comfortable bed, nap worthy chairs, and fully stocked kitchen. He dismissed the thought though deciding he didn't wish any further supernatural encounters on anyone whether he knew them or not. After filling the tall glass with a combination of crushed ice and water Dean took a long spill.

"From hell to heaven in under sixty," he commented then drank down every last drop in only a few heartbeats. The sensation of the liquid was blissfully icy and his dry lips, mouth, and throat lapped up the moisture gratefully. A brief blast of a headache resulted from the intensity of how cold the water was, but once it passed Dean placed the empty glass down on the counter and glanced at the refrigerator. The relief brought a smile to his lips and just for an instant he would have liked to have thrown himself at the stainless steel appliance and given it a big old hug for what it had done. But he suspected that it would be just his luck that Sam would wake up and find him like that so instead he refilled the glass to the very top and gave the fridge a pat of thanks as he headed out of the room. He stopped in front of the window nearest the door and looked out at the early morning. The lake was a dark gray and the trees surrounding it tousled their leaves gently in the breeze. The scene was inviting compared to the how stuffy the house was. Dean set the glass on the end table beside the couch and trudged back to the bedroom where he located his discarded jeans and shoes. Gathering them up he visually checked on Sam. After sleeping in the same room for so long it only took a few seconds to see that his brother was sleeping deeply. There was no distress in his expression, no sweat glistening on his skin, and no mumbling. His brother was getting some quality sleep so between the two of them they were at fifty percent at least. Returning to the living room he slowly pulled on his jeans over his boxers. Then succeeded in first stuffing then shimmying his feet into the shoes without ever needing the use of his sore arms. Scooping back up the glass he had abandoned earlier he exited the house through the front door.

The cool early morning air flooded over Dean's bare arms and chest before he had even pulled the door closed behind himself. He moved to the top of the steps and stopped, letting the breeze dance over his shirtless upper body. He'd left the stuffiness of the house behind and he took in deep breaths for the first time since waking. Glancing around the porch he weighed his options; several big wooden Adirondack chairs, two wicker chairs, and a porch swing with no cushions.

"The stairs it is," he announced and took a seat on the top step. It was the only choice that didn't hold potential for brushing his damaged skin up against something hard and scratchy and he'd give a lot to avoid that.

Finally he returned to long sips of the cold glass of water and looked out over the lake. The gray of dawn was fading away and the first hints of color were painting the sky in pale watercolor shades. The sun would soon crest the horizon and usher in day.

Despite the discomfort from his burns it was a good place to be. The ending of night and the beginning of a new day could never heal everything, but it had always washed away a little of the residue left by darkness. And this day was no different. There was renewed hope and purpose and clarity in the colors that soaked the sky and in the deep orange rays that breathed life into day.

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Sam inhaled deeply and released it slowly. He shifted his head a little higher on the soft fabric of the chair and ran the tip of his tongue over his lips. After a contented trace of a smile teased his mouth he shifted his whole body straighter in the seat. The rare light and warm dream was fading out of sight as he was waking. Repeated attempts to grasp back on to it had gone unrewarded so he mentally wished it a sweet but reluctant goodbye. An exhale later he opened his eyes to the glow of faint daylight trickling into the bedroom. He glanced over to the bed across the room and discovered it empty. Dean must have had trouble sleeping if he was up at such an early hour. Or as his brother had proclaimed in the car he had snored. Perhaps Dean had vacated due to the noise. A little chuckle escaped Sam at the thought. It was kind of humorous if it turned out to be true although he'd never hear the end of it.

Standing up he glanced out the window. The sky was the palest of blues and the large backyard was still under cover of shadows. But the summer sun would probably banish them soon. Although certainly not a full night's rest Sam's body felt slightly recharged. The grumbling of his stomach made him realize that they hadn't eaten dinner the night before. In fact the last time he'd eaten had been several hundred miles south of where he now stood. From what he had determined from his poking around in the kitchen the night before it appeared the house's owner had a caretaker who routinely kept the place cleaned and stocked with supplies. Sam supposed that the house's owner often leant out or rented out the house and maybe even had a habit of flying in for a long weekend. Really the food shouldn't go to waste and he was suddenly very willing to do his part so he headed across the room.

Sam reached the doorway just as the sharp pain ripped through his skull. His body lurched forward slightly as the vision struck and he had to use both hands braced against the doorframe to keep any semblance of equilibrium.

For an instant the image of Dean standing in an inferno pulsed inside his mind.

Followed by thick ebony smoke filling a hallway and stairwell.

Then blackness and Dean's voice echoed the name 'Mathew' in a desperate call.

Fire exploded out through the windows of a building and the sound of shattering glass came at the same instant.

A dark shape backlit by flames.

An elderly man disappeared into endless fire.

More blackness crashed in.

Accompanied by the disturbingly loud sound of a single thump of a heart.

A silent flash of intensely hot bluish white light then everything dropped into slow motion. Every detail vivid, overexposed.

Their father gently ran the palm and fingertips of his right hand down over Dean's face from his forehead to the bridge of his nose. The elongated sad motion of a father closing his oldest son's lifeless eyes forever.

His father drew back his hand and the image pulled outward from a close up of Dean's face to one of his entire body.

He was burned, every inch of him scorched. Head to toe, every piece covered in either areas of crimson blistered or blackened skin.

From there the images traveled to their father seated on the edge of a bed, head bowed, and words falling from his mouth in barely a chanted whisper.

"Take care of him Mary. Do what I couldn't. Take care of our son."

Sam gasped so sharply his chest ached for several heartbeat in its wake. The striking images departed and he was left with only the items that filled the living room before his eyes.

"Oh god!" The words flew out through his lips with a nauseous edge to it.

This had not been a dream. This was not a creation of his emotions and fears. This was a warning, a truthful future chain of events.

Dean had been severely burned.

And Sam and his father hadn't been able to save him.

It looked as if they had been forced to watch him die.

For the first time that he could remember he closed his eyes again and begged the vision to return. He wanted more details, not for the torture it would bring to his heart but so maybe he could find what had led them to that place and find a way to use the information to stop it from happening anywhere else besides inside his own head. There had to be clues embedded in the images, he just had to find them.

There had to be some shred of information that he could use to spare Dean's life. There was still time, their father had been in the vision and he wasn't due for several days.

There was still time. Time to change the outcome.

Sam finally released his vice grip on the edges of the doorframe and moved into the living room. He dropped down roughly onto the couch. He was grateful for the moment by himself. He needed to decide whether to tell Dean about the vision or not. A nagging piece of him wanted to, to warn his brother of the danger. The stronger part suggested that he could, at least for the moment, handle it on his own. Dean knew as well as he did that every time one of these visions had struck they had always at the very least begun to play out exactly how he saw them. How was he supposed to tell his brother that he had seen him die and that even their father wasn't able to stop it? In a strange way the news that their father hadn't been able to save him most likely would have been more of a blow to his older brother than the part about his death. Somehow Sam could easily see the heartbreak that the detail about their father would deliver to Dean.

Sam flung his head against the back of the couch and forcefully blew out a dense breath. He would keep the vision to himself for now. The knowledge that Dean would consider him holding the information back a lie dug into Sam, but his heart couldn't take the imagined look on his brother's face hearing the details of the future Sam had foreseen.

He pushed his once again weary body off the couch and looked to the other side of the living room. The door to his bedroom stood wide open and the end of the bed was visible. Dean wasn't asleep in that room as he had hoped. Perhaps hunger had awoken him too so Sam moved around the end of the sofa to head in the direction of the kitchen. Passing by the window to the left of the front door Sam caught something out of the corner of his eye and stepped back to look.

Dean was seated on the top of the porch steps sticking his fingertips in a glass of water and sprinkling the moisture on his arms and neck. Sam allowed himself a grin. Dean's eyes were closed, his head tilted back slightly, and by the expression on his face the water was providing great relief from his burns.

Sam stepped to the door and opened it.

"Is this one of those private moments I shouldn't be witnessing?" he inquired.

"Sammy, right now I could care less who sees me. Let them enjoy the view," came his brother's return.

"Yeah, cuz chicks dig the whole bright red thing right?" Sam responded and took a seat on the step beside his brother.

"Don't remind me. I'm depressed enough. I'm at a lake where in a few hours hot college girls will be sunbathing in very small bikinis and it looks like I've been benched out of the game."

"Sorry, man."

"Next time maybe."

"Yeah maybe. You hungry? We didn't eat last night you know?"

"I guess we didn't. Sorry about that," Dean replied quietly after a moment of searching his memory.

"Breakfast it is then."

"You can go ahead. I'm not really hungry."

"You're not hungry? Serious?"

"Serious Sam."

"We haven't eaten in like what fifteen hours. How can you not be hungry? You're always hungry. I don't think I've ever seen you turn down free food."

"First for everythin' I guess. Water probably filled me up," Dean responded, briefly holding up the glass in his hand. Sam wanted to push further but knew it wouldn't get him anywhere so he looked away from Dean and out over the lake in the early morning sunlight. The water was a cool blue and the sky was crystal clear. It was going to be a gorgeous summer day. Sam only wished he didn't know what he knew so it would be just that, just another day. But it wasn't. If he wasn't able to unscramble the puzzle of his vision this would be one of the last day's his brother would be with him.

"Electronics," Dean's voice cut into Sam's thought abruptly.

"What?"

"You asked if I ever thought about going to school. For a while I thought it might be kinda cool to learn more about electronics. I like taking stuff apart and rebuilding it."

"You're good at it that's for sure. When we were kids anything Dad and I broke you were always able to fix."

"You two sure did have a knack for breaking stuff too. Isn't it supposed to be summer?" Dean inquired.

"It's June Dean. This is summer."

"Sure the hell doesn't feel like it." Sam turned his gaze away from the lake over at his brother. Dean's eyes were closed, his chin tucked to his chest, and his body trembled ever so slightly.

"You alright?"

"Fine. It's just damn cold for June," Dean responded, a shiver shaking his voice faintly. Sam opened his mouth to reply with concern, but Dean stood up suddenly, chasing away the words.

"Out here it's the Artic and inside it's the Bahamas. Can't win! But I guess I'm in a tropical sort of mood right now. I'm headin' in," Dean announced and disappeared inside before Sam could even speak.

Turning back to look out into the blue sky Sam's heart sunk. It had taken everything he had not to tell his brother about the vision. It hurt but the alternative would have been agony.

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John Winchester steered the truck into the right turn off Route 7. The private road to the log cabin on the lake wasn't paved and gravel flew up from under the wheels in a small storm when he didn't reduce his speed any for the change in surfaces. He knew the road now. He'd been down along a short piece of it in the truck a only few hours before. That time he had parked the vehicle off to the side in the opening to a wooded path and left it behind to continue armed and on foot. Old habits died hard and he had used the cover of night to scout out and secure the property and check on Dean and Sam. He'd managed to come and go undetected, even stealing a glimpse inside at his sleeping sons. It wasn't necessary for them to know he felt the need to do the checks personally. Dean would have been perhaps slightly taking aback but would have quickly moved on. Sam, on the other hand, would have taken it personally as insult to ability and trust. A chuckle escaped him as the realization came. If he'd been on the other end of the situation he would have mirrored Sam's reaction, tunnel vision at its best. Either way it was a mute point since they would never know. There was no reason for them to. He was sure they'd be surprised enough just to see him this morning. Only shortly after hanging up the phone from telling his sons he'd be in Hunter's Crossing in two days the situation that had delayed him had been abruptly resolved and he had taken off on the highway, northbound.

And now hundreds of miles later he was mere seconds from being reunited with his boys.

To Be Continued…