Help
Dean had walked past the farm house a thousand times. The well had always been dry. Water was now running from it, bubbling and singing.
"HELP!"
The word was one he'd known too well. Too well...It was all he had ever done. All he had ever lived to do.
Dean ran, unable to breathe, unable to think as the northern winds stirred cold and spun the snow. The summer falling snow.
He fought. He paddled to keep above the bubbling, gurgling flood.
The face could not be mistaken for someone else, even though, for a reason Dean had no way to explain, it was older. Aged to match the life he had forsaken.
"Help, please! It-It..It's freezing!"
"Sammy?!"
Sam's eyes flashed to his brother. Sudden amazement. Absolute wonder. He paused, with snow gathering in his soaked hair.
Dean stumbled to him. How?
He shook his head, in tears already. Suddenly, he dove over the side of the well and hauled Sam out in a fit of reaching, grasping embrace.
They lay on the ground in each other's arms for a long moment, panting at the cold. It was a December morning there in the summer forest.
Dean thought perhaps he'd fallen and hit his head too hard. Then, Sam started coughing. He sat up and beat him on the back until he stopped.
Then, he took him by his collar. The Sam who had shattered was in his late 20s. This Sam was age progressed to mid-30s which is how old he would have been if he had lived.
Dean cupped his hand against his face. There was no way this was real.
Sam blinked at Dean three times. Then, he fainted.
