The Aspen Spirit

Chapter Four

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Something bad had happened. John could feel it in the air as it pressed cold as iced metal against his perspiring skin, could taste it on his lips as he panted his way up the mountain. He'd set off running before first light, running far too fast for his age, the incline, the dim light, driven by a sense of urgency he could not have explained. All he knew for sure was that something was wrong and his children were in the middle of it. So he strapped his kit on his back and ran hard, until each exhale brought the copper taste of blood onto the back of his tongue. About thirty minutes from the cabin his cell picked up and delivered an angry tirade from his youngest. John picked up the pace, the sense of dread like a lead weight swinging in his gut.

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Sam was up and moving before Dean's boots slid out of sight into the silver shimmer of the aspen trunks. Precious seconds ticked by as he scrabbled in the thigh high brown grass until his fingers fastened on the cold steel of the shotgun barrel.

The trees faced him like a beautiful golden wall, their leaves shivering in the breeze, standing delicate and graceful on their silver trunks but somehow forbidding, impenetrable. Sam squared his shoulders, reminding himself that they were just trees. He pushed his way through their front ranks, swiping angrily at the slender, pale twigs as they whipped across his face, leaving tiny, stinging welts.

The drag marks of Dean's boots were mercifully clear but terrifyingly even, as though he was making no attempt to escape. A sick feeling settled in Sam's stomach as he realised his brother was probably unconscious.

He checked his cell; the signal flickered up and down on the screen, jumping regularly between nothing and one bar. He sent John a quick message, praying it would deliver when he hit better coverage.

Suddenly he just wanted to be a little kid again, let Dad and Dean sort everything out. But John was late and Dean was in trouble. Sam pushed down the swell of panic that was trying to send him running back to the cabin. This had fallen square in his lap and he had to deal with it; he was a Winchester and his big brother needed him. He set off at a jog, following the drag marks, his long and sometimes ungainly limbs suddenly under tight control.

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Someone whimpered. Puzzled, Dean forced his eyes open. He was moving quickly under bright leaves, grey sky. It was effortless and mesmerising until his boot heel snagged on something. The movement stopped as he was pulled taut, his back arching like a strung bow. Then a fiery fist punched him in the kidneys and he rode his own sharp inhale of breath back into darkness.

When he came back, he was underneath a dark overhang of rock, lying on what felt like cold stone. He was freezing and for some time his mind floundered around wondering why Sammy had let the stove go out again and where the hell was his jacket?

The gentle voice at his side made him jump and his wandering thoughts snapped abruptly back into his physical body beneath the rock ledge. He was shocked and annoyed in equal measures that he'd not even been aware anyone was there. He started again as cool fingers trailed down the side of his face.

"Shhh."

Dean swallowed, teeth catching at his lower lip with the effort of forcing his tongue to obey.

"S'mmy… where's Sammy?"

"The young one?" There was a hint of a smile in the voice. "He's safe."

"Gotta…" Dean ran out of steam, distracted by the tiny, bright sparks floating in front of his eyes.

"Just relax. It will all be better soon." The voice chided him gently. "There's no need to rush. Your Sammy can look after himself."

Dean felt a twinge of annoyance at the "Sammy" but it wasn't enough to keep his eyes open as the chilled fingers traced the line of his cheekbone, brushed over his lips.

"So beautiful. Just like him." A light touch on his forehead, like the kiss of a snowflake. "I'll save you."

Dean wanted to protest. He was hot… definitely not beautiful, that was kind of girly. But the cold fingers slipping through his hair were soothing, taking his mind away from the fire in his torso. He was very tired. If Sammy was okay, then maybe he could sleep for a while.

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Sam's message pinged onto John's cell as he reached the cabin door. He scanned it, snatched a few things from the cabin and ran for the treeline.

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The trail had faded out where the aspens thinned. Sam cast around, but the ground was hard and he couldn't find anything to follow. He was about to set out in a bigger circle when he heard something coming fast through the trees behind him. He waited, shotgun ready and nerves jumping, coming much closer to squeezing the trigger than he would admit, even to himself, when John's dark head broke cover.

"Dad!"

"Sammy!" John doubled over, hands on his knees, drawing in air like a broken set of bellows.

"The trail stops. I can't find Dean!" Sam's voice went up an octave with relief and anger. "Where the hell were you? You were meant to be back this morning! You shouldn't have left Dean up here, left us up here. Dean's sick!"

John straightened up, his eyes narrowing.

"Sam, get a hold of yourself son. What took your brother and how is he sick?"

Sam bit back the words he wanted to shoot at his father and grimly, precisely gave a report on everything that had happened since John drove down the mountain. John listened, firing a few questions here and there as he scanned the floor, getting down on his knees and lowering his face almost to ground level as he peered up the slope.

He climbed back to his feet and brushed his pants down as Sam finished. "This way." He took a grip of Sam's sleeve over his biceps and tugged him uphill. "You did good son, but now we gotta find your brother."

Sam, deflated and oddly pleased by the "you did good", was drawn along in the slipstream of the force that was John Winchester, not entirely sure whether he wanted to punch him or hug him.

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Discomfort woke Dean. Everything from his lungs down to his hip bones hurt, hurt enough that sitting up was a series of carefully planned movements that still left him gasping and clutching at the shirt over his midriff.

He'd been taken; he remembered that much. And Sam was alone. Dean scrubbed his palms over his eyes, his fingers dragging the skin down towards his cheekbones. A fierce, tough manly scrub because men didn't cry. He could do this. Getting up and walking off wasn't so hard, not really, not even with the roar of fever in his ears and that odd shimmer that kept eating away at the edges of his vision.

The woman, spirit, whatever, had gone… for now.

Time to get the hell outta Dodge. The internal Dean voice gave him a nudge. Roll sideways, yeah, hands and knees, that's kinda half way.

He walked his hands up the rock wall until he was upright on his knees.

C'mon, Clint wouldn't pass out… get one foot flat on the floor. Gotta get to Sammy. You're a Winchester, you sonofabitch, get up!

He launched himself to his feet, his forehead pressed against the wall as he toppled forwards.

Shit, that hurts…

One slow step at a time, encouraging himself at every step, Dean shuffled out from under the rock and headed downhill towards the aspens.

Two steps for m'Dad… two steps for Sammy, an' another two 'cause Sam is a pain in the ass but... well just 'cause…

He paused, hanging onto a tree, blinking, dizzy.

C'mon asshat… coupla steps for Amy, Metallica shirt and under it… awesome… and two for that cheerleader back in Briston, man she was hot… Bobby, ain't seen him in a while…

Dean rebounded off a tree, almost fell and recovered his balance.

Where's m'jacket? Doesn't matter, Sam'll know.

A stagger, a slip.

Don't freakin' fall… Joy, she sure shocked the jocks, givin' it up to the badass loser from outta town.

Joy shimmered into life, little yellow skirt swinging over her tanned legs as she walked ahead of him. Slow down there sweetheart, m'comin'…

A branch slammed into Dean's forehead. He pushed himself clear, twigs scraping on his scalp, levelling a squint-eyed glower at the tree. If you wanna hurt me, get in line bitch…

Joy was almost out of sight, grinning at him over her shoulder as she shimmied between the silver trunks.

Goddamnit!

Another tree, Dean came to a halt, almost ready to give up when voices sounded behind him.

"You can't have him! Now get goin'!"

There was an argument going on, a man's voice competing with the higher tones of an angry and distressed female. The pale haired woman appeared at Dean's side.

"He's mine!"

"Gerroff me!" Dean batted at her, struggling to keep on his feet. "You come near me, I'm gonna start swingin'!"

A hand took his arm. Dean looked up, dazed. It was the old man from the cabin.

"You alright son?"

Dean stared at him, decided he was real. He licked his lips, concentration creasing his forehead and then spoke very clearly, very slowly.

"I think I need my Dad."

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Thank you all so much for taking the time to read. It's really good to hear what you think and definitely helps me put pen to paper… or fingers to keyboard! Special thanks to reviewers:

Duxe, Minion79, celinenaville, mckydstarlight, iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife, waitingforAslan, ngregory763, onanickle, Beakers47, babyreaper, lenail125, MicheleChadwick, Kathy, DearHart, Irreality, wildandsweet, Tsweeny, Wunjo and Sabidoche.