![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A/N: From this chapter on, all flashbacks will be in intalics.
Chapter One
Dean decided to just keep driving north, avoiding the interstates and any major cities, which wasn’t too hard given the fact that this end of Missouri was about as heavily populated as the moon. At least he had gotten them a good distance from Arkansas and he hadn’t seen a cop car since crossing the state line, yet still his senses were on high alert for any sign of law enforcement.
He glanced again over at his brother and felt a fresh wave of anxiety. Sam’s eyes were drooping and his skin was a worrying shade of alabaster. “Hey … You aren’t thinking of falling asleep on me here, are you?”
Dean’s voice made Sam snap his eyes open. “N-no … I’m good.”
“I’m stopping at the next motel I see.” Dean decided firmly. Enough was enough. Sam needed to get that bullet out of him and patched back up.
Of course, Sam in all of his contrary glory had other ideas and shook his head. “They’ll be expecting us to find a motel and there’s probably a BOLO for us statewide. Besides … we don’t have credit cards that the cops haven’t already flagged and our cash is low. We gotta keep going until we find someplace where no one will look for us.”
“Got any suggestions, Sammy? ‘cause I’m fresh outta ideas here.”
“Actually …” Sam let out a pained grunt as he shifted in his seat, “I was thinking … we could go to the cabin.”
“What? We’ve stayed in about a billion cabins before, you’re gonna have to be a little more specific here.”
“Remember? Just after Christmas my senior year in high school -- the cabin in the Ozarks. It’s out in the middle of nowhere and it’s not far. We’ll be safe there.” Dean must not have heard him correctly. Sam couldn’t possibly be suggesting that.
“That cabin?”
“What other cabin in the Ozarks do you think I’m talking about?”
That was it. Sam must have completely lost his mind from blood loss. Dean shook his head vigorously, “No … no way … It’s too far –“
“It should only take us a couple of hours to get to it.”
“A couple of hours, Sam? You do realize that you’re bleeding all over the place, right? We need to get you fixed up.”
“I’m okay … “Sam insisted, but Dean knew he had to be in a lot of pain given the amount of sweat gathered on his brow. On top of that, Dean was not liking the color on his brother nor the way he tried to hide the shivering. “I don’t think it’s all that deep and it’s mostly stopped bleeding. I can make it.”
“This is stupid.” Dean grumbled, taking his jacket off as he drove and handing it to his bleeding and shocky-looking, little brother. He had absolutely no desire to go back to that damned cabin.
Sam had a point however, even if Dean was loath to concede to it.
“Look … I know you don’t want to go there.” Sam read his mind, “Trust me, I’m not too thrilled with the idea either, but its got four walls and a roof and it’s the closest, most secluded place I can think of. We can hide out there for a few days and figure out what to do next.”
Sam leaned his head back on the seat as though exhausted by the short argument, his eyes blinking slowly as he pulled Dean’s jacket up to his chin. Every instinct in Dean told him to find the nearest motel and put Sam back together right this very instant, but his little brother -- pain in the ass that he was -- was right – they didn’t have the money or the luxury of finding a motel.
They had to go to the cabin.
“Alright … fine. We go to the cabin, but if you even think of passing out on me –“
“I won’t.” Sam cut in wearily, his words containing the hint of a slur. “Just drive.”
Dean stomped on the gas and the engine roared in tune to his grumblings and misgivings about that lonesome cabin in the backwoods of Missouri.
That damned cabin ….
December 27, 2000
“Hey –“ Dean reached over and slapped his sleeping brother over the back of the head … not hard, but hard enough to wake him from a peaceful nap with a sudden, and somewhat comic jolt. Sam was instantly awake, his hair sticking out in funny directions and looking about him in confusion, until his eyes hit Dean’s and narrowed in annoyance.
“What was that for?”
“We’re here.”
Sam looked out the window and frowned. “Where the hell are we?”
“Missouri … I think? I dunno, I’ve just been following Dad.”
“You know what this is all about?”
“No, not yet. Dad’ll tell us when he’s ready.” Dean nodded towards the big, black truck parking in front of them.
“It’d be nice if he shared with the rest of the class.” Sam grumbled petulantly enough to make Dean sigh wearily. They hadn’t even gotten out of the car to find out what Dad had in store for them and Sam was already voicing his discontent. Not that Dean was all that surprised, it seemed like Sam was hell bent on picking a fight with their father whenever he got the chance these days – yet still, it was tiresome trying to maintain the peace between those two.
And lately that was getting harder and harder to do, especially since Dad refused Sam’s request to stay in Pennsylvania until his mid-term exams were taken after the Christmas break. Sam didn’t seem to understand that the Christmas holidays weren’t a vacation from hunting. In fact, they tended to be the busiest time of year for spooks next to Halloween and staying put in that little town after the last case wasn’t an option when there were so many other jobs that needed looking into.
“Just play nice for once. I’m sure there’s a good reason for us to out here in the middle of freaking Nowheresville.”
Dean had to admit to certain amount of curiosity about where their father had led them. All explained to Dean before telling them both to pack up was to follow him. And Dean dutifully had followed the tail end of his father’s truck for nearly 14 hours straight along winding back-highways and now to a seemingly deserted gravel road in the middle of the Ozark foothills, lined on both sides with thick stretches of trees.
Dean saw the driver’s side door of the truck open and his father step out and both brothers took that as their cue to exit the car. Sam climbed out and slammed his door with a little more force than was strictly necessary, causing Dean’s nerves to fray a little. “Hey – watch the car, numbnuts.”
Dean patted the roof of his car apologetically for his brother’s rough treatment. “Sorry, Baby … Sammy’s just being a little bitch, he doesn’t mean it.”
“Quit talking to the car, Dean.” Sam muttered. “It’s disturbing.”
“And talking to you isn’t?” Dean shot back and was lining up another zinger to hurl at Sam when Dad waved at them and beckoned them over.
“Boys, get over here.”
Dean hurried towards his father while Sam took a far less enthusiastic stride until he came up shoulder to shoulder with him.
“What are we doing here?” Sam asked a little impatiently.
John quirked a small grin, “Training,” was all he offered in the way of an explanation.
Sam might not have audibly groaned, but Dean knew by the way his brother’s shoulders and jaw muscles tightened that he wasn’t pleased with being left in the dark. “What kind of training?” Sam pushed for further info.
John didn’t answer right away; instead he went to the tailgate of his truck and opened it up, revealing the small arsenal of weapons he had stashed in there. He grabbed a rifle and a magazine, handing one wordlessly to Dean then repeated the exercise, handing a rifle to Sam as well.
Dean’s felt his eyebrows arch up his forehead. “We hunting something?”
“Yep.” Dad replied, grabbing more items from the back of his truck. He pulled out two backpacks and thrust on into Dean’s hands then the other one into Sam’s.
Dean wanted to know more about what was going on, but knew that his dad would give them the info they needed when he saw fit. Sam on the other hand, wasn’t one for waiting.
“What? This is a hunt?” Sam asked, “I thought we were supposed to be training.” Dean could hear the irritation creeping into his brother’s voice, but thankfully, Dad only shot Sam a glare that silenced his little brother without there being a big show down.
Dad started to explain, keeping a scornful eye on his youngest. “Dean, I need you to drive the car about another mile up the road. You’ll see a trailhead on the right. Park the car in the ditch near it and make sure it’s concealed. You and Sam take the trail into the woods and you should find a cabin about a quarter of a mile in.”
“And what do we do once we get there?” Sam pushed.
“I’m getting to that Sam.” Dad growled, his eyes narrowing on his youngest as he pointed to the packs he had given them, “Everything you two will need are in those packs.”
Sam dug into his and frowned. “There’s only water in this …”
“Exactly. The cabin out there is pretty bare and there hasn’t been anyone in it for years, so you’ll need to use those rifles to hunt, kill, and cook your own food.”
Sam scowled openly. “What? So, this is a hunting trip? As in real hunting? ”
“It’s about time you boys hunted something other than ghosts and there’s plenty of rabbit and deer out in these woods that you shouldn’t go hungry.” John grinned, almost gleefully at the shared looks of disappointment and growing disgust on his son’s faces.
“You mean we gotta eat Bambi and Thumper for dinner?” Dean didn’t mind killing things … that wasn’t the problem, in fact it could be kinda rewarding at times. However, he much preferred his meals to come from burger joints and pizza delivery boys. the thought of having to eat that which he just killed and skinned didn’t fill him with an overwhelming thrill -- he had far too many memories of Bobby dressing the animals he hunted in his backyard and feeding them to them for dinner for it to really be appealing.
“It’s only for a couple of days while I help out Caleb with another hunt. I’m sure you two can handle it and this’ll be good training just in case you two find yourselves in a situation where you need to fend for yourselves without a McDonald’s nearby. So, no cheating – no leaving the cabin for anything other than hunting and gathering firewood and no driving into town for take-out. Use of the car is strictly for emergencies, understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” Dean replied quickly even as he frowned. He didn’t voice how much he hated this idea, but he knew his father would be checking the odometer when he got back to make sure that he and Sam didn’t leave the forest for a joyride, so he knew that they were going to be stuck out here and it was useless to argue.
Sam didn’t seem to get the memo however, and pulled a classic and spectacular bitchface before speaking up. “So, that’s it? You’re just gonna leave us out here? What about helping you and Caleb?”
Dad’s scowl deepened. “It’s only a two-man job, Sam. And I have my reasons for sending you both out here. Now, I suggest you get with the program real quick before I change my mind about sending you back to school after the break.”
Sam was taken aback, his face darkening. “What? You can’t do that.”
“You don’t think so?” Dad straightened up to his full height, pushing himself into Sam’s face. Sam may have shot up like a weed recently and now stood a full inch taller than their father, but that didn’t stop Dad from appearing larger than life itself. “I’m your father Sam – I say what you do and what you don’t do -- You’re almost eighteen – plenty old enough to leave school and focus more on the hunt like you should. You want to stay in school, then you will do as I say – am I clear?”
Sam’s jaw worked furiously as he ground out a venomous, “Yessir.”
Dean groaned internally. This was the same fight – over and over again. Dad thought Sam studied too much, causing him to fall behind on his hunting skills while Sam thought he didn’t study enough and that hunting was holding him back from having a ‘normal’ life. Both of them were too stubborn to concede the others’ points and it was always up to Dean to break the tension.
Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder with a forced grin and a playfulness he didn’t feel. “C’mon, Sammy. You, me, guns, and killing things all weekend? This’ll be fun, eh? I’ll even let you cook the first night.”
Sam tore his gaze away from their father to give Dean a roll of his eyes and even Dad seemed to relax a little.
“Why do I have to cook?”
“’Cause it’s woman’s work and you’re the only one here.” The face Sam gave Dean was priceless and with the tension now successfully broken, Dean grinned as his Dad backed off.
“I’ll see you boys in a few days.” Dad nodded towards them both before turning on his heel and walking back to his truck, never looking back. Dean watched until the big, black truck roared to life and peeled away from the two young men standing in front of the Impala.
Dean turned towards his still irate, but resigned little brother who glared at the back end of the truck as it drove further and further away.
With his boot, Dean kicked Sam in the shin, eliciting a yelp, satisfied that his little tactic worked to tear Sam out of his dark mood.
“Ow – jerk.” Sam punched Dean across the shoulder in retribution which started a playful, spur- of- the- moment sparring match and ended with Dean getting the upper hand on his brother, holding him tight in a headlock. Even though Dean was older, more experienced and clearly the more awesome fighter of the two, Sam didn’t back down and took him by surprise when he swept a foot around Dean’s ankle and knocked him off balance, sending them both to the gravel and landing in a heap.
Both panting and covered in dirt, they grinned and laughed at each other. Dean slapped Sam on the shoulder affectionately before standing and offering a hand out, pulling his little brother off of the ground. “C’mon, Sammy … can’t sit around here all day, we got forest critters to kill. “
Despite his own misgivings about this little hunting adventure their Dad was sending them on, Dean plastered a smile on his face while grabbing his pack, “let’s go find this damn cabin already.”
OOOOOO
Dean pulled the sleek, black car off the road and into the ditch, far enough into the trees where it would be difficult to see by any passersby’s – if there even were any out this far into the forest.
He killed the engine and turned to Sam who, true to his word, had managed to not pass out before reaching their destination. However, Dean knew by the way his little brother sluggishly blinked that he was just barely maintaining consciousness. He reached out and touched Sam on the shoulder and his eyes opened a little wider, meeting Dean’s.
“You gonna be able to walk?”
Sam nodded wearily and pushed himself up straighter as if to prove that he would be physically capable of the quarter-mile hike. However, the color drained even further from Sam’s face and he wobbled unsteadily in his seat until Dean grabbed his bicep to keep him upright.
“Whoa … Hold on, Sam. Let me come around and help.”
Normally, Dean would have expected an eye-roll or a whine about how Sam didn’t need any help getting out of the car, but Sam was silent. He just bowed his head and nodded, clearly in too much pain and too woozy to put up any kind of a fight.
Dean was out of the car, quickly stopping by the trunk to fill a rucksack with weapons, the med kit, and other supplies before strapping it on securely to his back. He was at Sam’s door a moment later, wrapping his arm under his brother’s shoulder to help pull him out.
“Hang on to me.” Dean ordered and Sam obeyed wearily, draping his arms across Dean’s shoulders and hanging on loosely as Dean dug in his heels and hauled his little brother to his feet. Sam swayed a little, but managed to remain upright as long as Dean had a hold of him.
“You good to move?” Dean asked once he had Sam marginally steady.
“Yeah.” Sam nodded breathlessly. With one arm under Sam’s armpit and his other grabbing hold of the wrist dangling from his shoulder, Dean led them one step at a time towards the over-grown path that led to the lonely cabin buried in the woods. The trail was barely visible, even in the pale light coming down through the trees from the full moon and he wished over and over again that he had thought to take the flashlight. Over the years since they had last been here, it had become barely passable with fallen tree trunks and weeds obscuring the way, and Dean was careful to steer them around the obstacles, making the trek agonizingly slow. Sam was leaning more and more into him the further they went, causing sweat to bead on Dean’s brow and drip into his eyes.
“Almost there.” Dean encouraged his little brother to keep placing one gigantic foot over the other. Sam didn’t answer, but kept his feet moving as a sign that he was still partially helping himself to walk. The last hundred feet were the hardest as he and Sam both were panting and sweating profusely, but hallelujah, the worn and ramshackle cabin started coming into view through the trees.
They almost made it through the door before Sam’s legs completely gave out and Dean had his arms full with all of his floppy, little brother’s 200 pounds.
“Oh crap …” Dean grunted under the sudden shift in weight. “Couldn’t wait … 3 seconds … to pass out? “ It took what little energy and strength Dean had left, but he managed to half-carry, half-drag Sam to the cot sitting across the tiny room and lay him out across it.
Dean started in on his assessment right away, starting with the ABC’s of first aid just as his dad had taught him; first trying to see if he could get his brother awake.
“Sam? “ Dean rubbed Sam’s sternum with his knuckles and that thankfully, had an effect and his brother stirred, trying to swat dean’s hand away.
Sam groaned and his eyes slid open, “gah …”
“Sorry … need you to stay with me here, Sammy. Gotta patch you up and get this bleeding stopped or I’m dragging you to the hospital, cops on our tail or not,” Dean insisted, “but I for one would rather not go back to jail.”
Sam blinked tiredly, but gave Dean a ghost of a smirk and a soft snort, “Really? You seemed …” Sam hissed as Dean pulled up his shirt to get a look at the damage. “Seemed to … like it.”
Dean pulled the ruck off his back and started digging for the supplies he would need all the while trying to keep Sam engaged in conversation to distract him from the pain and keep him alert.
“Yeah, well … it’s not that I really liked it, I just understand those guys, ya know? Besides, did you try that meatloaf – it was unforgettable.”
“I’d rather not remember it actually.” Sam retorted then sucked in another breath as Dean poured a good measure of alcohol over the hole in Sam’s side and wiped away some of the blood so he could get a good look at the wound. It was bright red and puckered, but it wasn’t bleeding much anymore and Dean didn’t mind at all that Sam had been right this time when he said that it didn’t seem so bad. All Dean had to do was get the bullet out and stitch him back up – piece of cake. The only problem was after that, infection would be their biggest worry since they didn’t have anything stronger than antibiotic ointment in their med kit, but Dean figured they would cross that bridge when they got to it – he could only focus on one problem at a time.
“’Kay … s’not too bad. Just gotta pull that bullet out.” Dean pulled out a pen knife from the med kit and carefully cleaned it off with more of the alcohol. He then raised his eyes and met Sam’s. “You ready?”
“Not really –“ Sam grimaced. “Just get it over with.”
“Oh … I almost forgot. “ Dean reached into the bag one more time and pulled out a bottle of amber-colored liquid and handed it over to Sam. “I got some of the good stuff – might help take some of the edge off.”
Sam looked at the label askance. “You call Old Crow ‘the good stuff’?”
“Okay, fine … just call it the ‘good enough stuff’ then – it works just the same.”
“I hate whiskey – “ Sam complained weakly as he unscrewed the cap then chugged a few mouthfuls. His face contorted in disgust and he coughed from the bitter taste of the bottom shelf liquor, but almost immediately, he appeared to relax a little, his eyes glazing a bit under its effects.
Dean got to work after that. He would never consider himself the best at makeshift, do-it-yourself surgery, especially when it was performed in a dirty cabin out in the middle of nowhere, but he would admit to a certain amount of pride on how quickly he managed to get that bullet out of Sam’s flank. He was also proudly impressed how Sam handled it too, he grunted and hissed while Dean probed the wound, removed the bullet then stitched his little brother up, but never did he cry out, bearing the pain stoically. But then again, some of that may be due to the fact that his supposed whiskey-hating sibling had polished off a quarter of the bottle of Old Crow while he worked.
After one last dousing of the wound in alcohol, Dean placed a clean bandage over his handiwork and taped it up. “There – that should do it. Not bad sewing if I do say so myself and I think I could give Betsy Ross a run for her money. What do you think?”
Dean looked up when he didn’t get a response and saw Sam’s eyes had closed and his heart skipped a beat at first, thinking that his brother had lost consciousness, “Sam? Sammy?” He gently shook him.
“Stoppit -- tryin’ to sleep ‘ere.” Sam slurred drunkenly and Dean sighed. Despite his size, Sam was a lightweight when it came to alcohol.
“Fine … go back to sleep. I’ll keep an eye out for anything.”
Sam’s eyes slid open and he glanced about the small confines of the cabin, “It’s still the same …”
Dean himself made a quick scan of the place as well, taking in the broken furniture, the debris scattered about, the small kitchenette with all of its cabinet doors removed and he saw what Sam did, the place was just as they left it – a disaster.
“Yeah, “Dean agreed, “it’s still same …”
OOOOOOOO
“Ahhhh … home, crap home.”
Sam stood shoulder to shoulder with Dean as the front door swung open. The tiny cabin was just where their father said it would be, but its presence was more than a little underwhelming. The interior sported a plain cot on one end, a dirty, blackened fireplace filled with soot, and a small kitchenette. The only other furnishing was a make-shift table made out of cinder blocks for the legs and a warped piece of plywood for the top.
“It smells.” Sam pointed out, not that Dean needed him to tell him that, the place reeked of musky, old gym socks.
“’ya think?” Dean sighed and walked inside, dumping his pack on the rotting, wood floor. “It’s freezing in here. Why don’t you go get some wood so I can start a fire.”
Sam sighed and walked in as well, closing the door behind him. “Why don’t you get the wood and I start the fire?”
“Because I’m the oldest, that’s why.”
“You just like starting fires, you pyro.”
“So? I’m good at it – you can’t even figure out how to light a match half of the time.”
Sam dumped his pack next to Dean and huffed. Dean knew that his brother wasn’t happy with their current situation and he could almost feel the frustration building in him.
“Doesn’t this bug you -- Dad just dumping us out here? Don’t you ever get sick of him ordering us around like grunts?”
“Sam –“ Dean sighed wearily. “Can’t we go two minutes without you pissing and moaning about the man?”
“I’m just saying that we never get a say in anything.”
“We don’t need to have a say, got it? Dad knows what he’s doing and if he says we park our asses in a rat-infested shack out in the middle of nowhere, then we do it.”
“How can you just –“
“Can it, Sam.” Dean cut him off, about to lose his mind with Sam’s complaining. Yeah, being out there sucked balls, but there wasn’t anything they could do about it. “Just get some wood, will ya?”
Sam twisted his face, annoyed, pissed and ready to burst with pent-up frustration. Dean expected him to blow at any second, but instead, Sam just shook his head and huffed, turning on his heels and storming out of the cabin.
“Don’t forget kindling –“ Dean shouted after him.
OOOOO
Sam was fast asleep. Okay – passed out was more like it, but he was breathing evenly and peacefully, so Dean couldn’t ask for more right at the moment.
Dean took that time to touch Sam on the forehead and check for any signs of fever. His skin was clammy and pale, and most likely a little on the shocky side, so Dean dug out the blanket he had shoved inside the pack and carefully tucked it around his brother. Sam stirred a little, but didn’t wake, sinking back under the cover until he started snoring softly.
Figuring that Sam would be out for a while, Dean decided to use that time to run back to the car and stock up on supplies. The good thing about practically living out of the car was that it was chocked full of stuff and they had all they needed to survive in it. He dug through the trunk, gathering as much crap as he could carry – knives, guns, holy water, salt and an extra blanket. He also found the stash of Twinkies and candy bars he had hidden in the glove compartment and a few bottles of water from the back seat. All of this he bundled into the blanket and hauled back to the cabin.
This time while they were here, they wouldn’t be caught off guard – this time if anything happened, he’d be ready for it.
OOOOOOO
Dean burst through the door, proudly holding his prize in one hand and beating his chest in a manly display of machismo with the other. “Success! Fear not, brother – I come bearing dinner.”
Surprised by the sudden entrance, Sam turned from the fire he had been stoking and turned around. To Dean’s chagrin however, Sam merely cocked an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“What is that -- a rat?” Sam asked.
Dean strode through the door, shutting it behind him to keep the cold, December air out of the cabin then waggled the small, woodland creature in his brother’s face. “It’s a rabbit, dumbass.”
“That’s not a rabbit, Dean – it’s a bunny.”
“Same difference.”
“No … a rabbit is an adult – that thing is barely a baby – making it a bunny.”
“So what? It’s still edible.”
“Barely.”
“Shut up.”
Dean placed the rabbit on the table. Okay, maybe it was a bunny and it was barely big enough to feed the two of them, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and it took him two damned hours to catch the thing. It was almost as if even the animals didn’t want to hang out around this place.
Abandoning his kill, he then headed for the fireplace, stretched out his arms and warmed his chilled fingers with the heat of the flames.
“Alright, Sammy -- time to put all those hours of watching Martha Stewart to good use. Get cooking.”
“You have to skin it first before I can cook it, Dean.” Sam pointed out.
“No … that’s the cook’s job.”
“Whoever kills it, skins it.”
“I just about froze my ass out there and I can barely feel my fingers – My job’s done, so you skin it.”
Sam sighed, but Dean knew he had won the argument and grinned as Sam headed for the table and the limp game lying upon it.
His little brother grumbled as he pulled out his pocket knife and started in on preparing the bunny to be cooked.
“So – do anything useful while I was out?” Dean asked, ignoring the disgusted faces Sam pulled as he cut into the rabbit.
“I did a little digging around the kitchen – there’s not much, but I found a few things.”
“Like what?” Dean asked, turning around so his ass could get as equally warmed as his fingers. Sam pointed towards the small counter top. A few cans and bottles sat on it and Dean left the warmth of the fire to satisfy his curiosity over what his brother had found.
There wasn’t much, just like Sam had said. There were a couple of dusty cans of peaches and beans that looked like they had been in the cabin since canning was first invented, there was also a jar of something – he wasn’t sure what – that had been picked and preserved in a weird, greenish fluid. However, there was one thing that attracted Dean’s attention right away and had him grinning from ear to ear.
It was the tall, glass bottle and it looked like it had never been opened. To Dean’s utter joy, when he picked it up and tested the cap, he found that the seal was still intact – it was probably still good.
“Oh man -- I can’t believe it – this was just left here?”
“Yeah – so?”
“So? This is an un-opened bottle of Glenfiddich 18 year old scotch, except by the looks of things; it’s about 30 years old now.”
“So? It’s probably gone bad.”
“Sammy … this stuff only gets better with age.” Dean gave the cap a twist and broke the seal.
“Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking about drinking that stuff.”
In answer to his brother, Dean got the bottle open and grinned devilishly, “Finders keepers, loser’s weepers.”
He brought the bottle up to his lips and upended it, letting the strong alcohol slide down his throat and hit his stomach. He felt warmth spread from his belly, up to his head and down to his toes.
He smacked his lips appreciatively – that was some damn, fine liquor – way better than any of the usual rot gut he was used to.
“Ahh – nectar of the Gods.”
Sam wasn’t impressed, “It’s just whiskey.”
“Here,” Dean held the bottle out to his brother, “Try some – I promise I won’t tell Dad.”
Sam stopped him with a bloody hand, still scowling as he finished cleaning the rabbit, “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“You’re such a prude.”
“At least I’m a sober prude.”
“C’mon … it’s good stuff – it’ll warm you right up. And it’s just you and me out here, so we might as well have a little fun.”
Sam shrugged, “I’m just not a big fan of whiskey.” He explained, growing quieter, “So, just drop it, okay?”
“Why?” Dean asked, he didn’t know of too many teens that would turn down a chance to get stupid drunk – but then again, his brother was weird and was nothing at all like Dean had been at his age.
“Because – I don’t see how it helps, Dean. You don’t solve any problems or find anything good at the bottom of a bottle. It doesn’t make all of the crap heaped you every day go away –all it does is get you drunk and make the people around you miserable. I don’t want to be like that, I don’t want to be like—you know who --” Sam’s voice trailed off and he ducked his head, hiding his eyes beneath his bangs.
Ahhh … now Dean was getting it. This was about Dad again. Yeah – more often than not, Dad dealt with the horrors and misery of their lives by drowning his pain in alcohol. Dean understood his father’s desire for escape and he had learned over the years how to walk on egg-shells around the man when he was in his cups. And when he was drunk … well … it was best not to piss him off like Sam had gone and done only two days ago.
Sam, in spite of his giant, trivia-filled brain was stupid sometimes and he had picked the worst time of all to try and convince their father to let him finish his semester before moving on to their next job. It had been Christmas, for God’s sake – so of course Dad had been drinking …
Sam was too young to remember what Christmas had been like with their mother – about how much time, love and care she put into the holiday -- how she decorated the tree so beautifully with lights, hundreds of ornaments, and tinsel dripping from the branches and he didn’t know how on Christmas eve she baked cookies and told Dean that he needed to be a good boy and go to bed early so that Santa could bring him lots of presents that he could open morning.
Sam never knew that -- he had no idea what it was really like to have a mom and he never knew how it felt to miss her so much on that day.
So, it wasn’t completely Sam’s fault that the argument got out of control – that it got so physical – and it wasn’t completely Dad’s fault either that he ended up with a slightly bruised cheek.
It was Dean’s fault – he should have found a way to stop it – to make them both see reason.
Dean looked down at the bottle in his hand and suddenly he didn’t feel much like drinking anymore.
OOOOOO
A fire wasn’t really needed, but the spring air had cooled off overnight and Dean saw it fit to start one anyway for Sam’s added comfort and to lighten the dark confines of the cabin.
The fire gave off a muted, dim glow and only the sounds of the wood crackling filled the little hovel. Dean stared mutely into the flames, almost hypnotized as he watched them dance and lick around the logs stacked within the fireplace.
Sam stirred under the blankets Dean had heaped on him and he turned from the flames, his attention snapping instantly from the fire to his little brother.
“Dean?” Sam muttered sleepily.
“Hey – how ya feeling?”
Sam grunted and grimaced as he tried to sit up, holding his side until he was mostly upright. “I’ll live – just sore right now. How long was I out?”
“Only a few hours … you might as well go back to sleep.”
Sam shook his head and shucked off the blankets. “Too hot.”
In the dim light, Sam still looked a little too pale for Dean’s liking and his skin glistened with sweat. Instinctively, Dean reached out and palmed Sam’s forehead.
Sam rolled his eyes and huffed, but didn’t bat Dean away like he would have if he had been more alert and not in pain. He was hot to the touch, but it was hard for Dean to say if that was from a fever or a result of being under too many covers.
“I’m fine, Dean.”
“– Says the boy with the hole in his gut.” Dean came back without any heat.
Sam ignored his retort, his mind clearly on other things, “We need to figure things out. How long do you think we should stay here?”
Dean shook his head, unsure. “I dunno – “
“I’m thinking we should stay a few days at least … let things blow over a little bit before we get on the road again.”
Dean was loath to stay there that long, but with the law gunning for them, they may not have a choice, “If our supplies can hold out that long. I don’t want to stick around here longer than we need to – I hate this place.”
“Yeah –“ Sam sighed, “It doesn’t exactly fill me with warm fuzzies either.” Sam closed his eyes and leaned up against the wall behind him, holding his side tight and fighting not to wince and moan. Dean took this as a sign that his brother was in need of some pain relief and he reached for med kit, digging around through it until he found a bottle of pills.
“All we got is Tylenol 3 – “
“Good enough.” Sam mumbled wearily and took the pills Dean shook out of the bottle without complaint, chasing them down with a mouthful of water from one of the bottles Dean had salvaged from the car.
“So – You hungry?” Dean asked, grabbing a Twinkie and waggling it back and forth. Sam shook his head, “Is that all we got?”
“’fraid so … I might have to try my hand at hunting again.”
Sam snorted. “Like that turned out so well last time –“
OOOOOO
“Tastes like chicken – a rubber chicken that is.” Dean complained with his mouth full of the burned and over-cooked rabbit meat Sam had just taken off of his homemade spit. Sam also grimaced as he tried out his cooking.
“Probably would have been better if it had been a full-grown rabbit.” Sam retorted in kind.
“Shut up. Tomorrow you can do the hunting and I’ll do the cooking. At least then, we won’t end up having to eat charcoal – unlike you, I can cook without setting the whole damn thing on fire.”
Sam grumbled something under his breath and Dean grinned at having gotten under his little brother’s skin. Sam was so much fun to pick on.
They were both quiet for a spell, munching unhappily on their meal until Sam’s head shot up and he started looking around the silent cabin.
“What?” Dean asked.
“Thought I heard something.”
Dean shook his head, “I didn’t hear anything.”
Sam was unconvinced, “Sounded like … I dunno … a moan?”
“A moan?” Dean strained to listen, but heard nothing. “You’re probably just hearing my stomach trying and failing to digest this, Sammy”
Sam nodded warily, “Maybe – “ He chuckled softly, “Maybe I’m just a little paranoid.”
“Or crazy.” Dean added with a grin.
Sam rolled his eyes and scooted a little closer to the fire. Night had fallen hard and the chill in the little cabin was pervasive – their only source of light and heat was the little fire they had going in the fireplace, but even that was starting to dwindle.
“Since you’re so good at burning things tonight, why don’t you go and get us a few more logs before the fire goes completely out.” Dean suggested more as a way of distracting his little brother and hopefully to wipe that look of anxiety from his face. Being stuck in the middle of the woods with little to do other than hear things that weren’t there meant that he would need to keep Sam occupied.
Sam huffed. “Fine – I’ll do all of the work while you sit on your ass, Jerk.”
“That’s the privilege of being older, Bitch.”
Grumbling and shaking his head, Sam stood up, resigned to the task Dean had given him and headed for the door. Staring into the fire, he heard his brother grunt and pull at the door knob, jiggling it unsuccessfully.
Dean turned and saw Sam struggling to open the door, “Geez, Sammy. I know you’re a wuss, but even a girl like you should be able to open a door.”
“It’s stuck or something –“ Sam pulled at the door, his face red as he strained. “It … won’t … open …”
Dean sighed heavily and got up, annoyed that he had to leave the warmth of the fire to aid his brother in opening the stupid door. “Here – let me.” Dean insisted, pushing Sam away and grabbing the doorknob. It turned easily, but when Dean pulled at the door, it refused to budge.
“What the Hell –“
“Told you. It won’t open.” Sam gloated as Dean dug his heels into the floor and pulled as hard as he could and still failed to get the damn thing to move.
Seeing that forcing the door wasn’t going to work, Dean kicked at it in frustration with the toe of his boot which did little to open the thing, but did send a shock of pain shooting through his foot. “Shit!”
Suddenly, a low noise began to resonate and echo off the walls as the floor vibrated under his feet. Dean turned from the door slowly; the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention as he felt the air temperature drop and saw his breath mist in front of his face.
“Oh crap –“ Dean muttered.
“Deeeaaan.” Sam whispered anxiously, grabbing a fistful of Dean’s jacket just as all Hell broke loose.
TBC....
( Chapter 2 )( Chapter 3 and Epilogue )
