Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with Supernatural; unfortunately.

2. Cold

Dean hunkered down in the Impala, his coffee was cold, his burger was cold, and damn it, his butt was cold. This was why he should volunteer to do the research rather than the reconnaissance once in while, he thought absently as he gnawed on the lid on the Styrofoam cup that hadn't managed to keep his coffee warm. He tried not to think dark thoughts about Sam, central heating and cute librarians, and mostly succeeded. What was making this stakeout, if you could call watching a bus stop a stakeout, even worse was the fact that his stereo had died, taking with it his favourite Zeppelin tape. And he was bored and it was cold, and it was starting to annoy him that he couldn't place where he'd seen the face of the ghost before.

His eyes scanned the bus stop again, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

The stop nestled into the grass of the street verge, once upon a time it might have been painted a cheery bright yellow, but now it was a non-descript beige where it could be seen through the posters advertising band gigs and missing persons. The seat was mostly intact and could be green, maybe. One good thing about being in the car and not in the bus stop itself is that Dean didn't have to smell it anymore. Conveniently situated a step and a stumble away from the back entrance to the student union bar, it was also a convenient stop for guys with full bladders after a night full of beer.

Dean suddenly sat up straighter as a group of students tumbled out of the doorway, cataloguing the group he noted a couple of guys who had the look of jocks about them and three very pretty girls, most likely cheerleaders… "What the f…" Dean fumbled for his gun as the passenger door suddenly opened. Sam sniggered at him and climbed in. "Don't do that Sammy I could have blown your head off." Dean grumbled.

"I don't really think I was in any danger from your Twinkie Dean," Sam raised his eyebrows and looked pointedly at the original style Twinkie in Dean's hand. "Unless it's a cursed Twinkie, or maybe you have a slow death planned for me, you know feed me sugar now and I'll die in about forty years from sugar toxicosis."

"You made that up there's no such thing. Dude you better have had a more successful night than I have." Dean looked at the Twinkie, shrugged and then unwrapped it, eating it in one mouthful he waved vaguely at the bus stop, "Those fine upstanding students you see urinating are the fifth set of people to come out here and use public property as a toilet." He knew he sounded officious, but hell he was cold, pretty sure his ass was numb and he'd tried to shoot his brother with a Twinkie. All in all the night so far had sucked. "I'm going to go get a beer."

"You don't want to know what I found out first?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Look Sam, if it had been something important you would have told me already, let me guess, there's been vague sightings, people think maybe it's a homeless person, or some kind of prank, or even just reflections from advertising on the side of the bus. Whatever it is, I'm pretty sure it won't mind if I have a beer." Dean wheedled, and then threw up his hands when Sam stayed sitting in the car, "Come have a beer with me Sam, maybe there's a few more cheerleaders looking for some ruggedly mysterious men, or in your case a rugged geeky guy."

"I'm so not geeky." Sam mumbled as he unfolded his lanky frame from the Impala. "And you know Dean some women appreciate a guy with a brain."

"Right Sammy, you let yourself believe that and I'll buy you a beer, come on dude it's freezing out here." Dean shivered to emphasise his point. "Why is it so freakin' cold?"

"Because it's two weeks til Christmas and we're about 30 minutes from the Canadian border." Sam gave him a look that said 'Wake up dude'.

"Christmas huh?" Dean said absently as he locked the car, how did it come to be Christmas already? It seemed like July was only a couple of weeks ago. Time sure did fly when you spent ten hours a day driving from one small town to the next. Christmas since their Mom had died had been basically a non-event, Dean remembered Sam coming home from grade school one day, all excited about being cast in the school Christmas pageant, as a tree.

It was probably the longest they'd ever stayed in one place since their dad had started hunting; John had left them with an old retired hunter, a woman by the name of Luann and had been gone for two months. Dean had, of course, spent most of his time outside the principal's office at the local middle school, but Sam being Sam had quickly made friends and as usual showed his teacher that he was bright as the proverbial button.

Sam had shown Dean the cast list and the invitation that was sent to all the parents a few weeks later, asking that the parents sew their children's costume. 'Do you think Dad will be back on Christmas Eve in time for the play Dean?' Sam had asked wistfully. So Dean had done his best, phoned Dad's contacts from the payphone down the road, and when he couldn't reach John he'd gone to the local craft and hardware stores and made Sam the best tree costume ever. The bark was rippled in all the right places, the crepe paper foliage shook and shivered; when Sam walked on stage he was going to be the best tree in Bethlehem ever.

Dean had skipped school and gone into the woods to chop down a fir tree with one of the multitude of axes from Luann's closet. The damn thing had twinkled with fairy lights and tinsel, and under the tree was a stack of presents, some for Sam and some for Dean ready to open when they got back from the pageant. He'd thought he'd done a great job until later that night as he and Sam had been dozing on the couch having fallen asleep in the middle of 'The Muppet Christmas Carol'. Their dad had slammed into the house, thrown his bag down and then started yelling at Dean for calling his contacts looking for him. He'd then taken one look at the Christmas tree, gone silent and packed them all into the Impala, leaving behind the tree the presents and Sam's costume. Not that he'd needed it. Christmas had been spent in yet another hotel room, eating spaghetti-O's from the can cold.

Biting down on his anger towards their father Dean turned and walked into the street to follow Sam towards the bar. And then he saw her, the ghost, looking more real than a ghost had any right to be as she walked towards the bus stop and straight in front of the 79 bus as it rolled down the street. He turned to give Sam a head's up and then only had time to register Sam yelling his name before all he felt was pain, and then pain slid into darkness.

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Tate watched in growing horror as a second man ran towards the one currently slumped a couple a feet behind the bus that had just hit him. "Dean!" the guy cried and dropped to his knees next to the unconscious victim. She checked for traffic and then ran out onto the road, pulling her cell phone out of her bag as she went. Stopping beside the two men she dialled nine, one, one and gave the dispatcher a short description of what had happened and where they were.

"He just ran in front of the bus… I couldn't stop in time… is he dead?" The bus driver wheezed over the top of an impressive paunch. The twenty feet to where the guy he'd just hit with a bus was the furthest he'd run in years. "Is he gonna be okay?"

Tate looked down at the guy kneeling on the road and noticed he'd relaxed a little. "Will he be okay?" She echoed the bus driver's question. Oh god he's gorgeous, was the random thought that went through he brain when the guy looked up, his eyes said it all. He was worried, that was clear, but there was a distinct lack of anything resembling distraught.

"He has a pulse, a strong one; I think he only got a little sideswiped." Tate looked at him a little incredulously, how exactly did one get a little sideswiped? "It looks like he copped one on the shoulder and maybe cheekbone. Thanks for calling the ambulance …miss" He looked up at Tate and she worked out he was waiting for a name.

"I've got to go call this in." The bus driver said suddenly and waddled back to his bus.

"My name is Tate, and it's no problem, I feel kind of responsible actually, the bus had to swerve to miss me…" Tate started to shiver as she realised how close she'd come to being the one slumped on the ground. "I… think I need to sit down." She felt the guy steady her as she sat down suddenly.

"Careful there Tate," he smiled at her, and then she noticed that his other hand had never left his…friend, roommate, partner? "I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean, usually he has more to say for himself."

"Shut up Sammy."

Tate and Sam looked down at Dean, his face was covered in blood and he was definitely going to have a scar from the cut above his right eyebrow, it would match the one on the left Tate thought, just a little bit hysterically. She wasn't handling this well.

"Don't move!" Sam tried to tell Dean, but he'd already rolled over, the asphalt had been starting to, literally, get up his nose. He felt like hell. Assessing himself Dean decided he'd live so he opened his eyes. "Dude, are you holding my hand?" he asked Sam, mostly to let his little brother know he was fine, that everything would be okay. And then he saw her, framed by the bright white light of a streetlamp, and it finally dawned on him where he knew her from. "No way, not again. I'm not dead and I don't plan on dying today, tomorrow or even the next day."

"Dean!" Sam was shocked at how rude Dean was being, even more rude than normal, but more concerning was the fact that he wasn't making sense, maybe he had a concussion. He looked an apology at Tate.

"Don't worry Sam, he's hurt…"

"I'm not so hurt that I don't know what you're up to Sneaky!" Dean sat up quickly and clearly his body wasn't prepared to do whatever it was he had in mind because he swore and sagged back into unconsciousness, and was saved from hitting his head by Sam.

"Really he's not usually that rude; I think he's confused you with someone else…" Sam looked apologetically across at the young woman, she was such a tiny thing, with straight dark hair and… It finally dawned on Sam where he'd seen her before. She was the ghost, or at least looked a lot like her. She was pale enough, especially just before she threw up all over him.

Tate had just launched into an apology when the ambulance arrived and Dean was carefully braced and then loaded into the van, the paramedic noted that it was probably a good thing he'd passed out again, because a dislocated shoulder could be very painful. She saw Sam talking quietly to the other paramedic and the stocky older woman walked over and led Tate towards the ambulance.

"What? I don't need the hospital…"

"You're in shock, and your cute boyfriend over there wants to be sure you're okay."

"He's not my boyfriend…" Despite her further protests Tate found herself riding next to Dean on the way to the hospital.