Still don't own them…

Supernatural

Cold earth beneath his body. That was the first thing Sam was aware of when he came too. The next was the nausea rolling through his stomach. He opened his eyes to see a canopy of trees looming over him, the moon obscured by their branches. As a second wave of nausea hit, his mind wandered back to how he had gotten there.

Dean and I had had an argument, or more like a disagreement, about Reggie Myer-possibly an evil shape shifter. He left to go somewhere-probably a bar-and I decided to go talk to Reggie's sister Rachel. While walking a blue van drove past me… The blue van. The rest of the night's events came flooding back and Sam sat up too quickly.

He was unable to hold his nausea at bay, his breakfast and lunch making the second appearance he did not want to see. When his stomach was empty, he wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and looked around.

He was, in fact, in a forest. Wow, Sammy, Stanford has really expanded your intelligence, a sarcastic voice, sounding exactly like Dean's, snapped back. Just the thought of Dean made Sam wish his brother were there. A small groan snapped Sam out of his thoughts. His eyes swept across the forest floor and landed on a figure lying a few feet from him.

"Hello," he said his senses on alert.

"Sam," a familiar voice responded.

"Dean?" There is no way my psychic powers are that good, he thought as he slowly crawled over to his brother. By using the light from the moon, or the small sliver supplied by the branches, Sam was able to see his brother's face.

His brother's eyes were opened but slightly out of focus. He was breathing through his nose, Sam knowing chloroform (and he could only figure that was the only way his brother got there without much of a fight) can really screw with your stomach. Not to mention it can cause liver damage, kidney damage, and death if breathed in too much, his mind supplied making him curse his habit of taking in every single piece of information he came across.

"Hey, are you okay," Sam asked his hand hovering over his brother's hair.

"I think I'm gonna…" Dean didn't finish his sentence. His face turned briefly green and Sam quickly responded. He turned his brother onto his side and listened to the splatter of Dean's stomach contents landing on the forest floor. He rubbed slow circle into his brother's back, mumbling unintelligible words of comfort. When nothing but dry heaves wracked through his brother's body, Sam pulled him against his chest.

They sat like that for a moment or two, Dean slowly getting his breathing back under control. The older Winchester finally pulled away from his brother, his eyes sweeping across the forest just as Sam's did.

"Just what we need, an unplanned camping trip," Dean muttered dragging himself to his feet. He swayed dangerously and dropped back to the ground with an audible 'Oof.'

"I don't think standing is the best idea," an amused, female voice said. Both brothers whirled around, their eyes landing on a girl standing a few feet away from them. Dean attempted to pull his gun out of his pocket but found nothing.

The girl chuckled, waving a silver gun at them. "Looking for this," she asked as she stashed it in her own coat. Dean tried to jump up and attack her, but Sam grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the ground. "Who are you?"

"My name is unimportant," she replied crossing her arms.

"Then may I call you Bitch," Dean asked darkly. Sam could just make out the Winchester glare on his face.

"That hurt deep, Dean," she said holding her heart in a mock distress.

"I'll make you hurt deep," Dean muttered.

"As much as this conversation has intrigued me, I have to go." The girl made to turn around.

"Wait," Sam called her back, making her freeze. "You can't just leave us out here."

"That's exactly what I am going to do," she responded casually. "But I am so sure we'll meet again." And with that she was gone, running into the shadows of the forest.

"We have to go after her," Dean said pushing himself to his feet a third time. He was able to gain his balance after wavering a few seconds. He held his hand out, waiting for Sam to take it. Holding back his arguments, Sam took his brother's hand and was hauled to his feet.

He grabbed Dean's arm when the trees started spinning. He kept a tight grip on the black fabric of Dean's jacket until he was able to keep his balance. Then he let go and started following Dean through the woods.

They trekked through the woods, in silence, for fifteen minutes. Either the girl had a ride waiting for her or she had some kind of teleportation power. Yeah, that's all we need: A teleporting psycho.

Dean fell onto a rock, Sam surprised he found it in the dark, and asked, "Do you have anything in your pockets?"

"Um…" Sam bit his lip and reached into his coat. He found nothing, but a manila envelope he did not remember putting in there. Eyebrows raised, the word 'TRAP' echoing through his head, he pulled it out.

"What's that," Dean asked standing and crossing the few steps to stop at Sam's side.

"I don't know," the younger Winchester replied. The envelope was too flat to hold a bomb, the only indication something was in it was a small, rectangular shaped something at the bottom. Sam flipped open the tabs and pulled it open. He pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to Dean, and tipped the envelope upside down. A box of matches fell into his hand. Scrawled across them, in block letters, were the words: Good Luck.

"Good Luck," Sam muttered the message baffling him.

"What?"

"The matches say, 'Good Luck.'"

"Good Luck? What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't…" Sam pushed open the matches, pulled one out, and struck it. He held it up, grabbed the note from Dean, and read it aloud:

Congrats Boys,

You have been personally selected to become the next two participants in my game. It has been boring without players; the last two were months ago.

But that's for another more depressing time. This is about you. You and all the fun we'll have. As you can see, or maybe not, straight ahead is the way out.

BUT (oh come on there is always a 'but') you have to get past my obstacles. If you are as good as they say you are you should do just fine. And if not… well, I'm sure something will eat your starved corpses. The game begins at dawn. Good Luck.

XOXO,

Nina

P.S. There are no rules to my game. Anything can happen (just so you know).

"At least we know her name, now," Sam muttered putting the match out and letting it drop to the floor.

"So, are you telling me that she killed Reggie Myer on purpose, planted that skin in her tub to make it look like she was a shape shifter, just to get us here," Dean asked, ignoring his brother's comment. Sam nodded slightly a little startled when Dean yanked Nina's note out of his hands. Dean's eyes scanned the letter, looking for a clue that Sam knew wasn't there. When he didn't find anything helpful he shoved the letter back into Sam's hand and stalked back to his rock.

Sam scanned the letter a second time, seeing no hidden meanings behind the words. He folded the page, sticking it into his left coat pocket. He looked down at the match book, reading Good Luck again. He had no idea who this Nina girl was, but he had a feeling they were in for a long day tomorrow.

SUPERNATURAL

Bobby hated surprises; it was as simple as that. Some surprises he could easily take with a smile, let them slide. Like when the Winchester boys were younger. Both boys had drawn countless pictures that ended up stuck to his fridge, made an array of crafts from stuff around his house, and there was the catastrophic breakfast of '88. A nine-year-old Dean and a five-year-old Sam got up very early and tried to make breakfast for John and Bobby (Bobby was cleaning eggs and pancakes off his ceiling for weeks after that).

But those surprises he took with a smile-and somewhere in his attic was a box labeled: Gifts from the boys. Finding out that Reggie Myer wasn't a shape shifter but an innocent bystander was one surprise the older hunter couldn't stomach.

Bobby had been crashed out on his couch, legs and his right arm hanging off the edge, when his phone rang. Thirty-five years of hunting had honed his five senses to react to even the slightest noise or movement. He was off the couch in seconds, his legs tingling with renewed circulation and his back pretty much bitching at him for sleeping on the damn couch at all. How Sam can tolerate that damn thing is beyond me, Bobby thought as he picked his phone up off his desk.

At first, he thought it was Dean or Sam calling for help or for more information. One look at his watch, however, knocked out that assumption. It was two in South Dakota, making it four where the boys were. Bobby was pretty sure neither one were awake, Sam normally up at five-thirty, a quarter to six.

Of course, a small voice said in the way back of his mind, they could have run into some kind of trouble. It's the Winchesters; can they ever really avoid trouble? Convinced he was about to hear a very weak, pain-ridden voice of one of the two boys he had helped raise, he answered the phone with a worried, "What happened?"

"As flattered as I am that you are worried about me, Singer. I regret to inform you that your worry has been wasted. I am about as A-Okay as I was when we last spoke." It wasn't the guys he expected, but it was a familiar voice nonetheless.

"Jefferson, you find anything," Bobby asked breathing a sigh of relief.

"Yeah," Jefferson responded his voice losing its amusement.

"What'd you find out?" Bobby's worry peaked again, that small voice repeating, the Winchesters are like a magnet for trouble, over and over again throughout his mind. He gripped the phone tighter, hoping to calm any shaking that may or may not occur.

"Josh called me," Jefferson started.

"And?"

"He did some digging, found out some interesting things."

"Evasiveness really pisses me off, Jeff," Bobby grumbled starting to pace back and forth.

"Sorry, Singer, but I'm not sure you want to hear this," Jefferson mumbled. Bobby growled in annoyance and the younger hunter hurriedly continued. "Remember those two hunters that went missing a few months ago?"

"Um… Henry Beckett and Grant Tucker?"

"Yeah, those two. Well, they had been hunting the same thing, what they thought was a werewolf attack. Instead, someone attacked the man with a knife, killed him, and cut out his heart."

"Wouldn't those two have noticed knife wounds? I mean, I really didn't know Beckett, but Tucker was actually a very good hunter."

"That's the thing," Jefferson pointed out sounding grim. "The guys didn't get to see the body. They entered town, barely got situated, and just vanished."

"So, someone is luring hunters to them?"

"Exactly."

"So, this Reggie Myer person…"

"…was most likely just a girl. Whoever killed her must have planted the shifter skin to make Dean and Sam pursue the case further. Without the help of an outside party, they probably would have passed the case off as a crazy psycho. They'd have let the police deal with it."

"Sam might. Dean would probably want to track the crazy SOB down," Bobby muttered sinking onto his couch.

"Maybe, but that's not my point. Those two might be in trouble, if it hasn't found them yet. You know those two…"

"Of course I do. Like their daddy, trouble seems to always find them."

"Look, I'm close to where they are. Call them; see if you can get a hold of them. I'll check to see if they are okay. Which motel are they at again?"

"Grayview Motel," Bobby replied vaguely remembering Dean mentioning the motel when he called them the first time.

"Okay, I'll be there in a few. Call them, and if we're wrong then… well, you know Dean won't let us live this down."
"I'll buy duck tape, you get the rope," Bobby joked and Jefferson laughed quietly. He hung up a few seconds later.

Sighing, hoping him and Jefferson were being stupid, he dialed Dean's cell first. The thing rang once and then went to voicemail, "Gomez Addams is busy." Bobby rolled his eyes at the boy's choice of words. He had changed it since the last time Bobby heard it.

"Hey, Dean, it's Bobby. I wanted to know if you were okay, but you ain't answering. I don't know if you're sleeping off a night of fun, beer or a girl and I could care less about the details, but when you get this call me. Please." Bobby hung up and then dialed Sam's number.

"This is Sam, leave a message," the voicemail was simple and to the point. The kid was more like his dad then he'd admit. Dean, as John had told Bobby several times, was like his mother.

"Hey Sam, Bobby here," Bobby started feeling his hair graying even more. "I'm pretty sure you aren't awake right now. I hope, actually. When you get this call me. Your brother isn't answering and I have news… Just please, call me back." he hung up, throwing his phone onto the couch. All he had to do was wait for Jefferson to call. Maybe they were wrong; maybe those boys were just sleeping and neglected to hear their phones. And I am the freaking Queen of Timbuktu, Bobby thought burying his face in his hands.

SUPERNATURAL

Jefferson drove past the sign stating the population of the town, noting that there was a little over a thousand people in the place. He hated small towns; they were just a hassle to get any information out of people. No one trusted strangers in a small town and word travelled so fast that you were labeled an outsider within ten minutes of driving into town.

His mind wandered to the Winchester boys. He had met them about two years after Mary Winchester died. He had stopped by Jim Murphy's place to stock up on holy water and there they were. The pastor was watching them while their father went off with Caleb to track down a Wendigo.

The youngest clung to his brother like he was a life preserver while the older one kept a wary watch on the older hunter. But when Pastor Jim introduced Jefferson as a friend, Dean calmed down slightly. He even relaxed his grip on Sam's hand.

Jim had left the kids and Jefferson alone in his living room for a few minutes, going into the adjacent church to get the holy water. Jefferson sat on the edge of Jim's recliner, bouncing his leg for something to do.

"Why do you do that?" Dean had asked sitting on Jim's couch. Sam managed to get on the couch by himself, happy with his accomplishment. Dean flashed him a small smile and turned his green eyes back on the older hunter.

"It's a habit," Jefferson replied and his leg went still.

"How long have you known Pastor Jim," the six-year-old asked trying to sound casual. For a young kid he acted more like an adult than some of the actual adults Jeff knew.

"Since I was sixteen," the older hunter replied glancing at Sam. The younger Winchester was humming tunelessly to himself, lost in his own world, oblivious to the conversation between his brother and the older hunter.

"So, like forever," Dean questioned. Jefferson wasn't sure if the kid knew he was prying or not and it was starting to get on his nerves.

"More like ten years," Jefferson responded checking behind him for Jim's return.

"How long have you been hunting," Dean asked when he was sure Sam wasn't listening. The younger kid had pulled a matchbox out of his pocket and was rolling it across the couch cushions. He was supplying the motor sounds, occasionally making a beeping noise.

"Since I was six," Jefferson replied absentmindedly.

"So like…"

"Look, kid, I'm flattered you are so interested in me, but I really don't like talking about my life," Jefferson snapped using most of his willpower not to jump to his feet and stalk out of the room.

"I'm not interested; I was just making small talk. Daddy does it all the time. Uncle Bobby says he's bad at it, but I don't. My daddy is good at everything." The pride in that kid's eyes just mentioning his dad made Jefferson wish he had felt half of that toward his own father.

He snapped back to the present when he drove past a darkened gas station. There was a car parked out front, illuminated by the only light-a flickering streetlight. Jefferson knew that car anywhere. Even remembered the day John handed the keys over to his oldest and said, "You take care of her and she'll take care of you." The look of pure shock and excitement made Dean look years younger. The older hunter was kind of waiting for the middle Winchester to squeal in delight, but then that would have been as unmanly as the teenager could look.

Jefferson pulled into the stations parking lot, parking next to the Impala. He opened his door, pulling himself out of the car. He headed around his vehicle, stopping by the driver side door of the Impala. The door opened easily, the hinges squeaking like they always did.

Shockingly, the keys were in the ignition. That raised several red flags for the older hunter. Next, Dean's and Sam's phones were sitting on the driver side seat, both turned off. Shutting the door, Jefferson walked around the car once, hoping to find any clue as to where the Winchesters were, but found nothing. He stopped next to the passenger door, looking through the gas station windows. Something was lying on the floor, barely visible behind a shelf.

Eyebrows raised, senses on high alert, Jefferson pulled out his gun and headed inside. Using his coat sleeve to open the door, he crept further into the building, past shelves of food and a counter. He stopped next to a body of a young guy, no older than Dean, lying on his back. The man had been shot, blood spreading across the tiled floor. There was no point in checking for a pulse, the older hunter knew the guy was dead. He also knew neither Winchester would ever shoot the man, which meant he was killed while someone was trying to get to one of them.

"Crap," Jefferson muttered heading outside the station. He jumped in his car, driving a few blocks down the street and parking it against a curb. He ran back to the station, cell phone already in hand.

"911," a female voice answered.

"Yeah, I'd like to report a break in at the corner gas station," Jefferson said as he skidded to a halt next to the Impala.

"Your name sir," the voice asked.

Instead of answering, Jefferson hung up and opened the Impala door. He tossed both Winchesters' phones in the other seat, sliding behind the wheel. He noticed, for the first time, that the ashtray was sticking out. Dean's ring and necklace were nestled inside, and on the dashboard were Dean's wallet, Sam's wallet, and the younger Winchester's money clip (seventy-five bucks untouched).

The older hunter started the Impala and squealed out of the parking lot. He didn't remember seeing security cameras near the door, but his luck the damn things would be hidden. He'd have to hide the Impala somewhere, but first he had to call Bobby.

He grabbed the first phone off the passenger seat, deciding it was too much effort to pull his out of his pocket, and dialed the older hunter's number.

"Sam," Bobby answered. He had relief in his voice that Jefferson was about to crush.

"Not exactly," Jefferson responded. "I found the Impala sitting in a gas station parking lot. Everything the boys usually have on them-cell phones, wallets, Dean's necklace and ring, Sam's money clip… All of it was in the car, but they were nowhere to be found. They're gone Bobby, we were right."