A/N: I'm blown away by the response this is getting. It's so great to see new names along with the old and cherished ones. Thanks to all the people reading this for the wonderful response. And to all the anonymous reviewers, your comments are much appreciated. I wish I could thank you in person but this will have to do. Thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy it and will continue to let me know you are! I forgot to mention too, that I did cover art for this one. It's my avatar if you want to pop over and take a look when you're done reading. Ask the girls in the Single Shots Group, I begged for a decent pic of the Impala's back end! I'd have used my own car but she's blue! And safely in the garage for the winter!
Chapter 2
Sam pushed his door open, the squeak of the hinges tearing into his brain. He caught himself and hauled his aching body out of the foot well of the passenger side of the Impala and into the snow and falling sleet. Cold seeped into his jeans and jarred deeper numbness into his cramped legs. He zipped his Carhartt with cold fingers, pulling the hood up. He winced when the hood rubbed over the split in his flesh at his temple. Sam shivered violently, his head throbbing in time with his fluttering heart. He turned back to the car, gasping when he saw the glossy metal mostly covered by snow and ice, the hood buckled against the rough bark of a tree as wide as the space between the headlights.
"Oh god." He said, the words stammered as his teeth chattered. His feet slid as he rushed back to the car, peering through the open door as snow swirled against the black leather. The driver's seat was empty and fear made Sam's head spin, nearly sending him to his knees. "Dean!" Sam cried out, his voice rough, whipped away from him by the wind. Sam spun a circle, looking at the seemingly endless white surface that surrounded him. "DEEAAANNNN!" Sam moved around the car, checking frantically beneath the rough snow, moving anything he could move that looked like it might have a brother sized lump beneath it. He prayed that Dean had not been injured, laying somewhere outside the car, or buried hopelessly beneath the snow and ice. The sky was lightening, red streaks peaking above the horizon, shining though the trees when Sam finally stood up from the last of the large drifts.
Sam winced and shoved red, stinging hands in his pockets, his nails bleeding into the lining of his jacket. He moved away from the car, walking along the base of the ditch, his feet sliding on ice and sending him sprawling. The back of his head cracked off the surface and his vision grayed around the edges as he lay in the snow. He curled in on himself as the cold seeped into his bones. "Suck it up Winchester." He breathed.
Sam pushed himself up on his elbow, groaning as his head and stomach protested the change in altitude. He staggered finally to his feet, hugging his arms to his chest, relieved that it seemed to be less slippery, the snow having drifted and lining the bottom of the ditch. He made his way to a shallow area, climbing up over the guide rail that was partially exposed to the cold. The galvanized metal was covered in a jewel like encrusting of icicles and frost. Sam turned back to the ditch, just seeing the tail lights and his door, the rest obscured with a mass of white.
"DEAN!" Sam barked, clutching his hand to his throbbing head when the sound of his own voice assaulted his ears. Garnering no response from his brother, Sam turned and scanned the area before making his way onto the road. He stayed to the side off the glossy places and kept his feet. The wind bit into his exposed skin, making his nose and lungs burn and his eyes water. He pulled his hood tighter, squinting through the fabric tunnel.
He walked further, eyes scanning for help, for his absent brother. "DEEAAANNNN!" Sam called again, his voice growing hoarse. He stumbled, numb legs and feet screaming at him to stop walking. The wind shifted and the smell of wood smoke reached him. He looked up, seeing the gray plume drifting over trees around a curve. "A house. Dean's gotta be there." Sam's feet moved faster, although he still stumbled, but he finally made it around the curve, seeing a long snowy drive leading to a house sided in cedar shakes, smoke drifting from a stone faced chimney. He stopped, the driveway seeming to lengthen before his burning eyes.
Shaking his head, he began the trek down the drive, the pull of the warm glow of lights from the downstairs windows and the smell of burning wood too powerful to ignore.
Sam finally reached the bottom of the steps that led to the porch, seeing them free of snow and ice, and firewood stacked neatly beside the red painted front door. He vaguely heard music drifting from the house. He recognized the band Hinder and his heart gave an odd pang as the song stirred memories. He lifted a cold foot and stepped up onto the bottom step, his other foot coming up. Sam's boot caught on the step and sent him sprawling, crashing into the hard, cold wood of the steps. His head spun and ribs shrieked as they caught the edge of the middle step before he rolled down to the bottom in a crumpled heap. The front door opened, a laughing female voice ringing into the storm.
"You finished playing already Molly?" The Great Dane came round the corner, shaking snow off her big ears. "Molly?" The woman looked from the dog to the base of the stairs, seeing the snow covered, crumpled heap topped by an ice covered brown hood. "Oh my god. Molly, inside." She said as she stepped down the stairs and knelt at the hooded figure's side. "Come on. Can you walk?"
"C-c-cold." She stopped dead as she recognized the stammering voice. It was the sweetest sound she'd heard in a long time, and the most dreaded.
"Sam? C'mon, let's get you inside." The brown hood lifted and pained blue greens looked up at her, trying to focus and failing. The head fell forward and she caught him before he could strike the stairs again.
"No, nonono. Sam, please. You're too heavy." She struggled to pull him up the stairs, unable to move him. "Molly!" she called for her big dog. The Dane came running, her hundred and thirty pound frame eager to play. The woman rolled Sam over onto his back and the dog sniffed him eagerly, warm breath ruffling his hair. She pulled his hat down and unzipped his coat.
"Tug, Molly. C'mon girl, let's play." She begged, hoping the dog was willing to play tug of war. She moved to Sam's long legs while the dog gripped Sam's hood in her powerful jaws and let the dog win the battle as Molly pulled Sam by his jacket right through the door and into the house. Sam's prone form slid across the hardwood floor, leaving slowly melting ice across the boards. "Whoa girl, easy. Stop, girl." She said when the dog had Sam in front of the fireplace, its flames warming the room. The dog stopped, releasing Sam's hat. She sat back and whined happily. The woman removed Sam's damp coat, seeing his clothing was just as sopping. She wrestled him out of his clothing and down to his boxers, quickly covering him in the quilt she kept on the back of the couch. She tucked a pillow under his head and went for a warm washcloth, wiping cold water, snow and dried blood from Sam's wind burned face. She applied some butterfly bandages to the deepest of the cuts on his face. Finally feeling she'd done all she could do until he warmed up, she sat on one knee at his side, resting her hands on her other knee as she lowered her cheek, watching the man she thought she'd never see again.
***
Dean groaned, shoving the tree branch off his torso, his ribs screaming at him to just lay still, the lethargy wanting to swallow him whole, to take him deep under. He stood, his feet slipping before he caught himself and began walking down the icy road. He walked uphill, stumbling on numb feet. He fell hard, curling in on himself, belatedly realizing his chills were gone. He pried his eyes open, the desire to keep them closed nearly overwhelming him. He forced himself to his knees, looking around as he fought the urge to black out, a picture of Sam crumpled in the foot well of the car spurring him on.
The wind stirred the trees and Dean looked twice as the movement exposed the peak of a roof. Hope flared within him and he made it to his feet, walking towards what was hopefully help for him and his brother. He walked down a snow covered drive and saw the broken down old farmhouse. There were no lights on, or smoke from the chimney. Dean walked up on to the snow and ice covered front porch, seeing the door hanging crookedly on its frame. He pushed it aside and went in. Although the house was cold, and snow blew through cracks in boards and window panes, it was warmer than out in the storm. Dean shook snow off his jacket, hugging himself as he moved through the rooms. The furniture was gone, dust covering the floor in an undisturbed sheet save for areas where animals had moved through, small clawed feet having made prints in the grime. Dean walked into the kitchen, his heart sinking when he saw the phone jack on the wall, but no phone.
***
Sam pushed the covers off him, the heavy weight across his lower body making him sweat. His hands were rough and dry and his head throbbed. He pushed his eyes open as he heard a snuffling sound, feeling warm air ruffling his hair against his face. He started when a large white face with a long muzzle and big ears came into focus over him. "Molly." A female voice called from another room. The large dog looked up, whining happily before moving away.
Sam looked around, eyes finally focusing and his surroundings becoming clear. He was warm to the point his back and neck were sticky with sweat. He felt his hair sticking to a feverish forehead. He pushed up on his elbows, falling back as weakness assaulted him.
He felt hands on his bare back, holding him steady, long hair cascading over his shoulder as he regained his balance only to have his world knocked for a loop by a voice he recognized.
"Easy Sam."
Sam pushed away from the voice, startled. Scrambling up, he turned to the person, disbelief and sadness/anger/fear etched across his features. "Jess?"
She looked up from where she still sat, her knees tucked to her left, a hand on one. She smiled, tears in her eyes. "Yeah, Sam. It's me." She stood, smoothing her top and pushing her hair back over her shoulder.
"N-no! You're not real. You died. I watched you burn!"
"Sam…"
"No! I died that night! With you. I finally put it behind me…never forgot, god, I could never forget. But I moved on and…" Sam fell silent, his hand over his mouth before he swiped it hard up over his face and ripped it through his hair. He pushed by her, leaning against the mantle as a wave of pain swept through him, leaving him shaking and feeling oddly detached from his body. His legs melted from beneath him and Jessica rushed forward, catching him and slowing his descent to the hardwood floor. He buried his head in her shoulder, breathing the same perfume he breathed a year ago. He made a sound somewhere between a sob and a cry of joy before he wrapped his arms around her. "I loved you. I love you. I miss you."
Jessica ran her hand gently over the back of his disheveled hair. "It's okay Sam. I'm right here now. I'll explain everything. For now though, your clothes are dry. Get dressed, let me change your bandages and we'll talk." She cooed in a voice so rational, so Jess, that Sam's mouth twitched at the memories her tone stirred.
"Wait…where's Dean?! He…we wrecked the car."
"Your brother? He was with you?" Jess asked, pulling back. Sam stood hastily and grabbed for his clothes draped over the back of a chair near the fireplace. He slid into stiff but warm jeans and grabbed his shirt, looking around for his boots.
"I gotta find him."
"Sam, it's really bad outside. You're hurt, you almost died…"
"And Dean still could!"
"You can't find him on foot. Tell me where the car is and I'll call Dad's friend who works for the Roads Department. He's gonna be the only one out, he'll find Dean."
"We need to get help, Jess. Paramedics…. Someone. I don't remember much of the wreck. I don't know how hard we hit. Dean could be…" Sam trailed off, shaking his head in denial.
"I'll make some calls. Please, Sam, sit down and tell me what happened."
Sam told her what he could remember, and by the time he was done talking and she'd made some calls, Sam had slid down to sit on the hearth, barely able to hold up his own weight. Jess returned from the kitchen with a steaming mug in her hands. She sat it down on the coffee table and reached for Sam, helping him to his feet and to the leather couch. He sat and she pushed the coffee into his hands. "The highway patrol is going out. I told them to call us just as soon as they find anything. Jasper, Dad's friend is also out along where you said. They will find him. He's strong. He'll make it. I promise."
Sam took a sip of the hot brew, just how he liked it with sugar, cream and just a little cinnamon. It seemed to stick in his throat as the question he dreaded asking pushed it's way out. "Jess…why?"
Jessica looked down at her hands and sighed. "God, I didn't want to, baby. I didn't want to leave you." She looked at him, a single tear tracing down her cheek. "The weekend you left with Dean, to find your dad… something happened. I went shopping with Becky and when I came back this strange man was in the apartment. He said he knew you, and he needed me to do something for you. With the way you left and the way he was talking…I thought something was wrong. So I listened to what he was saying and when he went into this destiny stuff and setting you along your true path… it freaked me out. I tried to get away and he…his eyes turned this weird yellow and the doors slammed. I couldn't open them. I was so scared."
"Then he said that if I didn't leave you, he would make you suffer. He said he'd take Dean from you while you watched, the way he took your mom from your dad. Then he…he showed me what he'd done. I saw you in your crib; I saw it and I couldn't let you go through that. It was awful. I know what your brother means to you, I saw it that weekend, the way you acted with him. I couldn't let you be hurt like that. He told me to take what I could carry, that he'd let me do that. I tried to pack some things, a picture of us, my diary, but I couldn't lift them. It was like they were stuck to the desk. He told me that I couldn't take anything you'd notice, that you couldn't ever suspect I was alive or he'd hurt you. The cookies and the note were my goodbye. I'm so sorry, baby. I just couldn't let you get hurt." Jess finally stopped speaking, tears dripping onto her hands as she looked back down into her lap.
Sam sniffed. "It wasn't a man. It was the thing that killed my mom, a demon." Sam cleared his throat and took a sip of coffee before he spoke again, "Do you know how you died? He pinned you to the ceiling in our bedroom, slit you open and burned you Jess. The apartment burned with you in it."
Horror streaked across Jessica's features as her eyes roamed over Sam's face. "Just like my mom. Dean got me out…again. I lost you, the demon made me see you burn, just like my dad saw my mom. Just like you watched."
"God, I'm sorry." Jess whispered. "I'm so sorry baby." Jess leaned into Sam, pulling his head down against her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing tight.
"I miss you. I miss you." he murmured, the words becoming a litany that warmed her heart.
"Shh, shh. I'm right here." Jess said, ducking her head as she kissed him. He took over, breathing her in as his lips devoured hers. His fist closed gently in her hair, then tightened as the kiss deepened. He leaned Jess back over the arm of the couch, his mouth roaming down her neck. He nuzzled her collar aside and then worked his lips over her shoulder before moving back up her neck. He bit at her ear, making her shudder before he whispered in it.
"What about your parents?"
"They spend half the year in San Diego." Jess whispered in return, her fingers clenching in his shirt tail as she pulled it up and over his shoulders.
***
Dean left the house reluctantly; although ramshackle he had welcomed the relief from the biting wind, sleet and snow. He made his way back out onto the road, walking along the shoulder, just where the plows had last cleared and still wading through snow and sliding on sleet nearly up to his calves. His legs over his boots soon became freezing cold and numb, the coarse denim of his jeans rubbing the tingling flesh. He stuck his hands deeper inside his sleeves, trying to bring a little warmth and feeling to his fingers. He stumbled, but caught himself, his hand flailing out and plunging into the snow bank, ice cutting the butt of his palm. He didn't even feel the blood dripping slowly from his fingertips, congealing on his flesh. He turned a bend in the road, and walked beneath a tight canopy of tall redwood trees, sheltered from the wind and falling precipitation. He pulled down the zipper on his jacket as the shelter of the trees made him feel warmer. He walked a little further, yawning as he stumbled again. He left the shelter of the trees, his eyes blurring, and breath condensing on the air in short bursts.
Dean finally went up a short hill and the scenery opened up before him, a small house coming into sight. He saw lights on in the front windows and smoke pouring from the chimney in light gray curls. Dean made a bee line for the front porch, going up stairs that were slightly crooked but solid. He knocked on the door and it creaked open, the double barrel of a shotgun poking Dean in the chest, followed closely by an ancient looking woman in a flannel shirt and bib overalls. Dean raised his cold, bloody hands in surrender.
"Please, I need help." he said, his voice nearly gone. The woman stepped back, pulling the gun back slightly. Dean explained. "My car slid down over a bank. My brother's still inside. He's hurt."
"Phone's in the kitchen." The woman said.
Dean stumbled into the old farmhouse behind the older woman, her grip finally relaxed on the shotgun. A wave of warmth hit him in the face once the front door closed. She led him through the living area, where the smell of wood smoke and hickory wood that was stacked neatly next to the hearth invaded his nostrils, to the kitchen and through the old saloon style kitchen doors. On the wall rested an olive green rotary phone.
"Well, there it is boy. Get ya some help for ya brother." The woman said, making a 'shooing' motion with her hand.
"Thank god." Dean lunged for it, never more grateful for a small bit of technology. He spun the numbers with fingers that felt like they would shatter; listening to the ttttttttttttttt for 9-1-1, knowing Sam needed help…and fast. The phone rang once, twice, before a male voice finally answered. "Nine-one-one, please state your emergency."
"I'm at a farmhouse along Route 2, 'bout seven miles outside Stevens Pass. My car is down over an embankment about a mile away." Dean said, his body sliding down the wall as his dwindling spark of energy burned out. "My brother is trapped inside…head injury…hy-hypothermia…"
"Are you alright? What's your name?" The operator asked, his tone turning urgent.
"Uh…Dean…m'names Dean."
"Okay Dean, we're gonna be sending help to both you and your brother. Whose house are you at? Can you tell me…a road or a name?"
Dean looked down at his fingers, the grayish flesh that should be alarming him, merely another thing to look at. He glanced up in the direction he'd last seen the old woman and saw nothing but dust motes swirling through the air as a beam of sunlight shot through a dirty window. The phone pressed to his ear had the utterly complete sound of dead silence, the handset smudging dust and cobwebs over his flesh. It slid from his lifeless fingers, dangling from the springy cord as it bounced and clacked off the peeling wallpaper, tapping him on the shoulder as if taunting him before he slid sideways, laying against the baseboard, a tear making its way from the corner of his eye, feeling cold on icy flesh. His eyes closed as the smell of mildew and dust filled lungs that didn't want to expand again. He felt a heavy weight settle over him and didn't have the energy to fight it.
Just one more chapter and a small Epilogue to go. Hope you'll stick with me! I will try to update by Wednesday evening.
