A/N: Okay, here's the story some of you know I've been putting a lot of time into lately. The standard disclaimers apply and no matter how much it sucks I don't make any money from this, don't own the guys. ( Oh how I wish I did!) The names of the people that would be considered mine aren't. They came from a passenger manifest. I just made up their personalities and looks. You'll understand soon enough. By the way, I didn't own the Titanic either. Any similarities to anything in Maine or anywhere else is because of a lot of late night net surfing for research. SORRY IF ANYTHING IS OFF. Seems like someone always tells me that they've been to a particular place I write about and it's wrong. I've only been to Maine in a tractor trailer. Sat in back on the bunk and didn't see jack!
This story has a lot, and I do mean A LOT, of creative liberty taken with it. Some events actually happened and are recorded in history-don't look for anything I used here to be documented other than time lines and something about the mist. Please forgive anything that doesn't ring quite right. I'm sorry if you notice, because it means that you're not enjoying it enough not to notice. This one would be set s3 and maybe just before we got the new episodes. A piece of the hull plating of TITANIC was lifted from the ocean on April 15, 1998. This story is time lined to start on April 12, 2008. The anniversary of the raising of the hull plate is significant in the story. Also something happens later on... well, I'll tell you about that later on.
Skag trendy, you challenged me to this. I hope it doesn't disappoint. I know its not exactly what you sent me but this is what popped into my head so I hope it works. I loved writing it and if it flops...well, I still loved it. HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL. THIS IS FOR YOU.
SHOUT OUTS: Blue Peanut M&M, Sammygirl1963: You've let me bounce scenes off you girls and it has been an immense kick in the arse in helping me feel better about taking on something this monumental for me. My longest, weirdest fic is coming up. Hope you girls enjoy the rest of the story and the scenes you liked so much don't lose anything.
Merisha: Thanks again for the beautiful sketch. I took my fic to work for a friend of mine to read and she had the same reaction I did when she first saw it. She cried. Come to think of it my moms did too! It's so perfect. CHECK IT OUT ON HER HOMEPAGE EVERYBODY!! Its perfect. Drop her a line too! THANK YOU GIRL!!
So anyway, I'm done ranting now. I seriously think this story has damaged me;D) ENJOY AND I HOPE TO HEAR FROM YOU ALL. Hope you really like...
Somewhere in the Mist
Sam glanced up from the laptop on the Formica table in front of him. "So, I think I found something." He said, taking another bite of his donut and a swallow of coffee to wash the sweet glaze down his throat.
"A hunt?" Dean asked, coming up to the table from where he had been sitting on the bed. He slid behind Sam and leaned over his shoulder, looking at the computer screen.
"I think so. Says here, in the past nine years nine ships have sank off the coast of Maine, in the exact same location. It took a while to put it together but every single ship has gone down on April 15th, at just after two a.m. There were reports of the ships seeming to 'hit' something in the water a couple hours earlier. There were also reports of a low lying mist over the ocean limiting visibility for the crew aboard the ships."
"And you think this makes for a hunt?"
"Think about it Dean. The years, the ships, all the same circumstances, all the same night and time. It sounds like the thing with the airplanes going down all at exactly forty minutes in. Y'know, the demon on the plane that gave us such a hard time?"
"Think this is another demon?"
"I'm not sure. I have to do more research I think."
"April 15th. We have three days to find out, geek boy."
"Dude. If we're going to find out what this is we need to get to Bar Harbor, Maine. That's where all the ships that have gone down have last left port."
Dean shrugged and grinned. "At least it's not more freakin' planes."
Bar Harbor, Maine. Twelve hours later.
Dean walked back to the Impala after checking out the shipping office for Bar Harbor Freight Company. It was Sunday. The office was closed. Dean shut the door and looked at his brother. He grinned. "I think I got our way onto a ship to figure out what the hell we're hunting." He held up a piece of paper, "HELP WANTED" screamed at them in crudely scrawled block letters.
"Well," Sam said. "Looks like we're sailors looking for work then." Dean threw the sign in Sam's lap and fired the Impala's engine. A couple miles down the road he found a shabby but clean, and more importantly, cheap motel and checked them in.
Sam lugged his bag and laptop inside while Dean did the same and returned to the Impala for a bag stuffed full of weapons that needed cleaned. Inside the bag were knives that needed sharpened, guns that needed rock salt residue swabbed away so they didn't corrode, and an EMF reader that was so busted from Dean's last collision with a wall that he didn't know if he should fix it or toss it.
"Dean, there's something bugging me about this hunt." Sam said as he opened and booted up the laptop, finding a slow but usable signal with the WiFi receiver Dean had gotten after a very successful hustled game of high stakes poker. Dean glanced up at Sam from the gun he'd just started cleaning.
"What's buggin' you Sammy?"
"Well, basically this whole thing."
"Well, that's specific." Dean said sarcastically, going back to the gun in his hands and waiting for his brother to pipe up again in the way that was characteristically Sam.
"Shut up." Sam said, rolling his eyes. He cast a glance back at the screen as he pulled up those newspaper articles again. "What I mean is it doesn't act like a demon."
"It acts more like a vengeful spirit. The repetition, the fact that it's the same time, the same day and the same…well, everything."
"So what then? Water Wraith?"
"Dunno. I'm gonna do some more research." Dean pushed himself up from the bed and set the now clean gun on the second bed in the room.
"I'm gonna go get us some grub. Any particulars?"
"Burgers are fine as long as they don't still moo." Sam said, not looking up from the blue screen in front of him. Dean returned with supper and coffee about a half hour later. Sam sat the laptop aside as Dean joined him at the wobbly little table in the corner of the room.
"Figure anything out yet, Sammy?"
"Just more questions." Sam said as he dug into the bag and extracted his foil wrapped burger. He reached back in and his fingers brushed a Styrofoam cup. "What's this?"
"New England clam chowder. 's good. Had some at the diner." Dean said, pulling a spoon from the bag and holding it out to Sam.
"When in Rome." Sam said. Popping the plastic lid off the container he dug in to find it was good. Dean finished eating ahead of Sam and moved to the bed. Picking his duffel up off the floor, he rifled through it to pull out sweats and a t-shirt.
"I'm gonna grab a shower and hit the hay. I guess we have an interview to go to tomorrow."
"Yeah, guess we do." Sam said as he finished eating. He flipped the laptop back open, sinking into the research again, something still bothering him about this hunt. Dean emerged some fifteen minutes later from a cloud of steam, rubbing a towel over his spiky golden hair.
Dean tossed the towel onto the duffel on the bed and then moved the whole lot to the floor at the foot. Flopping down, he glanced at his little brother's troubled face. "Don't stay up late, Sammy." Dean closed his eyes after burying his head in the pillow he tucked his hands up under. His fist curled around the hilt of the hunting knife he'd put there in its sheath. Sam researched for another hour, repeatedly stifling yawns before he flipped the laptop closed. He grabbed some sweats and a t-shirt himself and went into the bathroom to change. Washing his face woke him up for all of the two minutes he spent brushing his teeth before his eyelids were drooping again. He went back into the bedroom and flopped onto his own bed, the one furthest from the door. Closing his eyes he forced his mind to stop and drifted off to sleep.
Monday, April 13th.
The rumbling of the Impala's engine cut through the chilly April morning as the car pulled to a stop in front of the freight company office. Dean stepped from the car, coffee in hand. Sam followed suit, his own foam cup warming his hands. They pushed open the door to a ringing bell and walked up to the receiving desk where a tired looking receptionist was talking on the phone and looking like she was about to cry.
"Look, I know you want that shipment but we're short on crew right now…." She stopped talking and Dean heard the voice on the other end of the line ring out with anger even from where he stood a couple feet away. He looked at Sam and raised an eyebrow.
"No, no, we don't want to lose your contract but…" she was interrupted again. "Yes, sir. Yes, we'll make the run." She hung up the phone looking dejected and scared. Finally glancing up she looked over the Winchesters. "May I help you?"
Dean smiled that winning smile and pulled the paper he'd snaked yesterday from his back pocket. Opening it up he put it down on her desk and spun it to face her. "We want the jobs, if there's more than one available."
"There's actually room for three able bodied seamen." A man's clear voice rang out from behind them and they turned to take in a tall muscular man. He had sun bleached brown hair with gray at the temples. Although he appeared to be close to John's age he was fit, standing just an inch shorter than Dean. "I'm Barry Davidson. I own Bar Harbor Freight. You boys are looking for jobs?"
"Yes, sir." Dean answered. "I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam."
"Ever work on the ocean before?"
"Grew up around it sir. Our dad was a Marine." Sam said, the lie forming smoothly on his lips.
"No offense meant but," Dean asked, "why are you short on crew?"
"None taken. You boys aren't from around here are you?"
"No, we're from North Carolina. Worked for about a year at the Port of Wilmington."
"Look, normally we have a fully manned freight ship but with this being a small port and with everything that's happened around here, the regular sailors are getting skittish."
"What's happened?" Sam asked, looking at Dean.
"Ships are sinking. There was one last year. A cargo ship that docked here after coming from Italy, before it was suppose to go to go to California. It left and got about a hundred miles off the coast before it reported a load shift or something and sunk a couple hours later. Forty five of the crew of sixty died. Looking back, it's happened every year since before I went into business here."
"Does anyone know why?" Sam asked again.
"No. Listen guys, I have to warn you. I have the jobs open, but it's not going to be easy work. We're a small company; normally have about twenty hard working guys at any one time. Because of … what's going on we only have about six working so we've scaled back on the runs and are only using a ship half the size we normally do. She's 150 feet long and holds about twenty five tons of cargo. We're running lumber mostly. We load and unload with cranes by hand. It's pretty labor intensive and I need a couple guys that hook the boom chains up to the crane's cables and then unhook when the load goes over the side and lands on the docks."
"We're not afraid of a little hard work." Dean said.
"Good. Welcome aboard the Bar Harbor Freight Company and the cargo ship Versa." Barry said as he shook first Dean's hand and then Sam's. "I'll take you to the ship and show you the rig you'll be manning as Stevedores. You guys up for a run this week?"
"Countin' on it." Dean said.
Barry led the way to a small pier and a cargo ship docked there. The Versa. She was already loaded down with what looked to be barrel makings. Crates of iron and steel rings and pallets of shrink wrapped wooden slats filled the cargo hold. Barry introduced them to Rick, the helmsman and Barry's partner in the business and two other sailors that functioned as crane operator and mechanic.
"So where will we be going?" Sam asked.
"Italy. Italian wine barrels are what is in the cargo hold. Which reminds me, give Sarah your passports and driver's licenses so she can get you on the payroll and visa papers. We leave port tomorrow."
"Is there somewhere safe I'll be able to park my car?" Dean asked. Sam rolled his eyes and punched his brother in the arm. Barry caught the look the brothers shared and smirked.
"What is she?"
"'67 Chevy Impala."
"Park her in the garage when you boys show up tomorrow. She'll be safe there. My Olds is in there. You can take the bay next to that. So, I'll see you guys at four tomorrow evening. That's when we're authorized to leave."
"We'll be here." Sam said.
April 14th, 2008.
Barry watched the sleek black car pull into the garage and knew that his two new workers had shown up. He watched the two young men exit the car and make their way over to him.
"Evenin' guys. Nice car Dean."
"Thanks. She means a lot to me."
"I bet she does. It's the same with my Olds." Barry said, pointing to his sapphire blue two-door '64.
"She's a beauty." Sam said, looking the car over.
"So guys, are you ready to work hard and go to Italy?"
"We're ready." Dean said. They pulled two duffel bags from the car, each containing a couple changes of clothing and more importantly necessary and easily hidden weapons and salt and followed Barry aboard the Versa. Once there he showed them the bunks they would use in a small room just off the cargo hold and the rigging they would become very familiar with. An hour later everything needed to begin the journey was done and the guys settled in for a trip through the frigid April Ocean, the potential for a hunt keeping them on high alert.
Darkness settled in around the Versa an hour ago and Barry had decided not to travel any further. He and the other two men were playing cards at a table in the helm room. The darkness instantly made Sam and Dean more aware of their surroundings, hunters on the prowl. Dean stood closer to Sam, falling into that protective big brother mode he didn't even realize came as naturally as breathing. It wasn't because of those words, that 'Watch out for Sammy, Dean' that Dean would gladly take a bullet, a set of claws, or even a one way trip to hell for his brother. It was because of the night that his mom and dad had brought Sammy home from the hospital. It was because of those first five minutes, when little Sammy had opened sleepy hazel eyes in a red face and smiled a toothless smile at Dean when his mom had said 'Sammy, meet your big brother Dean.' Dean felt for the gun he had stashed in his waistband, a small caliber pistol loaded with Bobby's special rock salt bullets. He breathed a sigh of relief that it was there and he could do something to protect his brother and the people aboard the ship.
"Dean." Sam whispered, trying not to attract the attention of the three men sitting near the helm.
"I'm still not a hundred percent sure if this is a water wraith or something else."
"I know. Whatever it is we'll take it. This ship is not going to sink I can tell you that." They were quiet for a moment, content to stand shoulder to shoulder at the rail of the ship. Sam looked off into the distance to notice a low lying, thick, white mist shrouding the Ocean horizon. The fog seemed to move in and surround the boat quickly as Dean stood straight and moved away from the rail, the mist now having his attention. He heard the other men take notice and start to move onto the deck with mutterings of "What the hell?" and "When did that roll in?"
"Sammy, move away from the rail." Dean said as Sam continued to stare into the mist, somewhat entranced by a glow he saw in the distance. Dean pulled his pistol and moved to step in front of Sam and herd him backwards towards the center. His hearing caught something he thought may have been… what the hell? Whispers? Before he had the chance to reach Sam's side, the ship rocked violently tossing him off his feet and into the raised doors of the cargo hold. His gun went flying, sailing over the rail to land in the ocean. His head and shoulders hit hard and as an explosion of white crossed his vision he saw his brother's head hit the side of the rail before his body flipped over the side. "SAMMY!" Dean yelled out into the mist as his ears caught a splash over the noise of the men and a still violently tossing ship. He pushed himself to his feet, grasping whatever he could on the deck to stay that way as he lurched the several feet to the rail. He looked over to see nothing but the white mist that had completely surrounded the cargo ship.
"Dean!" Barry hollered as he saw Dean leaning over the rail on the still rocking ship.
"Help me. Sam got knocked over the rail when the ship lurched!"
"Guys, get to the rigs. Rick, get that searchlight and start panning it around close to the ship. He has to be close." Rick lit up a powerful spot light and cut a swath through the fog as he panned it over the ocean. Dean noticed that the fog seemed to retreat when the light touched it. Barry and the other man, the crane operator helped Dean scour the ocean visually for signs of Sam.
Dean followed the light Rick was shining onto the waves. "Sammy! Sam, answer me man!" Something crossed the edge of the light. Dean saw a flash of white.
"Wait, wait!" Dean said, pointing frantically to a spot off in the water. "There! Over there!" Barry panned the light to the spot Dean was gesturing to. The powerful beam cut through the mist to highlight something in the water. "Oh God! SAMMY!" Dean screamed, seeing the light illuminate the back of Sam's head, bobbing face first in the water. Sam's lanky frame was suspended in the water, at the mercy of the waves, his arms floating akimbo of his body. "SAM!" Dean jumped the rail and plummeted to the frigid water. He landed with a smack, sinking beneath the surface as the shock of the water stunned him. He broke the surface, swimming strongly as the boat circled quickly and came up to stop near where Dean now was flipping Sam's unresponsive body over in the water, gripping him in a cross chest hold. Sam's head lolled back against Dean's right shoulder, his face waxen, and lips blue tinged. Blood, mixed with sea water, trailed down his temple to seep into his sodden white button down shirt. "Sammy, c'mon breathe!" Dean struggled to hold his heavy body up out of the water, keeping his head above the water.
"DEAN!" Barry was against the rail, throwing a life jacket connected to a rope into the water. "Try to put it on and hang on to him. We'll haul you up!" The waves on the choppy sea came up to crest over the Winchesters' heads, leaving Dean sputtering and Sam slipping in his arms.
"Sammy. Don't do this." Dean cried desperately, trying to get a firmer grip on his brother while struggling to tread water in the direction of the floating piece of hope that was just a few yards away. "Please," He near whispered, hoping for once they'd catch a break. He reached for the life jacket and latched onto it with rapidly numbing fingers. "GOT IT!"
"Good! Try to put it on." Barry called over the sound of the waves. Dean fought to hang on to the red and white jacket and Sam and settled for wrapping one arm through the shoulder holes and then putting the arm tight around Sam again, clutching his brother to him as he fought against another crest in the waves that broke over their heads. He sputtered again and choked out a yell.
"PULL US IN! I GOT HIM, JUST PULL US IN!" Barry and Rick, Barry's partner in the freight charter business, gripped the rope and hauled against the current to bring the two heavy men back onto the boat. Dean felt his hands numbing and struggled to keep his hold on Sam. Dean was hauled backwards by the men pulling, his back and shoulders hitting the side of the boat with about the same force of the last hit he'd taken from a poltergeist that had tried to leave his full body outline in the moldy drywall of an abandoned motel. He choked when the air was knocked from his lungs and nearly dropped his brother. He felt the pull on his arm as they began hauling them up the side of the boat, about twenty feet, and then he felt the men grasp his shoulders. Both he and the brother he'd barely managed to hang on to landed hard on the deck of the boat, Sam sprawled atop Dean. Dean's head hit the smooth deck hard enough to make him see stars, Sam's weight knocking the wind from his lungs yet again. Barry pulled Sam from Dean's arms and laid him flat on the deck. Sam's face was blue. Dean hauled himself upright in time to see Barry start compressions on Sam's chest, pushing hard. "Sammy!" Dean half crawled, half stumbled to his brother's side, shivering. He gripped Sam's shoulder with numb fingers and stared at his brother's lifeless face. "Man, don't you do this. DON'T YOU DO THIS!" Sam's body was moving beneath Dean's hand with the force of the ceaseless compressions that Barry was doing. Dean jumped when sea water spewed from Sam's mouth, flowing back over his face to join the water already on the deck. Sam coughed violently, his eyes remaining closed. Dean barely registered the feel of an emergency blanket circling his shoulders, placed there by Rick.
Rick placed another emergency blanket over Sam and spoke. "I'm gonna get us back to shore. He needs a hospital."
Dean looked up at that. "How far out are we?"
"Two hours, maybe more. That's at full throttle. In this fog…?"
"Barry, help me get him safe. I'll check him over. Rick, get us to shore as soon as ya can."
"Will do." Rick headed to the helm. Turning the medium sized ship in a wide arc he punched the throttle and headed back to port. Dean staggered to his feet, finally realizing how cold he was as the blanket slid away from his body. His teeth immediately began to chatter. Dean stooped and hauled Sam gently to a sitting position, the other heat retaining foil sliding away to pool on the deck, billowing in the wind. Barry slid in on the other side and helped haul Sam from the deck. Together the two staggered under his weight until they got him to Barry's cabin.
"We gotta get him dry." Barry said as he lowered Sam's feet to the floor. Dean eased down, pulling Sam into his lap. Sam was still beyond shivering, unconscious, with blood trailing sluggishly down his face. Dean checked his pulse to find it strong. Barry turned up the heat in the cabin, and threw the covers back on his bunk. Dean was looking at Sam, lost as to what to do when Barry eased down by his side.
"Dean, snap outta it. We need to get those wet clothes off him and get him warm. Shock and Hypothermia are not what he needs. That goes for you too."
"Yeah, okay." Dean said, moving a hand to the buttons on Sam's shirt. Barry helped ease him out and soon they had him in sodden boxers and nothing else. Dean lifted his brother, refusing Barry's help and laid him on the bed, quickly pulling the covers to his chin.
"I'm gonna go for the first aid kit. He's got a nasty gash on his head." Barry left the cabin and Dean slid a hand under the warm blankets and removed Sam's boxers while the man was gone. He reached for a small blanket that was gracing the arm of the chair that sat in the corner of the cabin, bolted to the floor of the boat. He put the throw under the blankets and tucked it around Sam's waist. Sam never moved.
Barry returned to the cabin with the med kit. Dean took it from him with hands that he had to force to stop shaking. Barry watched silently for a moment before asking, "I can do this. Why don't you go get into some dry clothes?"
Dean shook his head, his wet hair still matted to his head instead of standing up in its usual golden spikes. "I've got it. Then I'll go change." Barry nodded mutely and turned up the heat some more. Dean cleaned Sam's wound, the two inch gash that ran from his hairline to his left eyebrow. Dean set about doing the tiny stitches that would allow the wound to heal with as little scarring as possible. He steeled his hands and pulled the needle and cotton through Sam's skin. Again, and again, and again. When he was finished he cleaned the blood that had seeped from the new aggravation of the wound and bandaged it with gauze. He ran a hand, now shaking with cold and mind shattering weariness, through Sam's damp hair and down his cheek. He lifted his gaze to Barry and Barry stared when his own brown eyes met startling green shining with tears.
"Seven stitches." Dean whispered. "Seven stitches and he didn't flinch. Not once." Dean stroked his brother's cheek, one that was now starting to feel warm again, somewhat human even if it was way too soft and lax to be Sam. "Where are you Sammy?"
Somewhere in the Mist, April 14, 1912
A young woman with long golden hair had strolled to the rail to watch in fascination the way the proud Titanic cut through the ocean. She stood near the back of the ship's impressive deck, watching the wake the ship left as the wind stirred her loose hair. The ship lurched as if it had hit a 'bump' in the sea and she reached for the rail to steady herself. She had cut her blue eyes to the side of the boat and saw a head of dark hair bobbing in the water. "There's someone in the water!" A man ran to her side, dressed in light colored tan breeches and a white shirt. Although dressed casually he had the unmistakable air of power rippling around him. A crew member took down a life preserver and moved quickly to the side of the rail. "Help him!" The crewman looked hesitant about throwing the preserver in the water and the man snatched it from his hands, sending it into the water with an ease and precision that had the young woman looking at the man with the longer golden brown hair, pulled back in a leather thong. She cast her eyes back to the man in the water and saw him reach weakly for the white and red ring that promised rescue. "Oh please." She murmured. She leaned over the rail and her worry got the best of her. "HOLD ON!" She screamed above the waves. The man hauled the rope against him, and began pulling, tugging the dark haired man through the water as he clung to the preserver. Several crew men came over and lent a hand, quickly pulling the sodden man up and over the rail, allowing him to collapse, gasping and cold, to the polished wood deck of the first class promenade.
The man leaned in over Sam as he fell back against the deck gasping, quickly catching his head to keep it from hitting. "Easy. Take it easy. That would have been quite a fall you took there."
Something was familiar to Sam's hazy mind about the man's voice and he blinked against the salt water in his eyes until his vision cleared. "Dean?" Sam half choked out. The man leaned closer to catch Sam's muddled words allowing Sam to get a closer look at the strong jaw, dusted with dark stubble, the nose that was graced with a smattering of freckles, and the hair that was still golden brown and shiny even if it was longer and pulled back, although the leather thong had allowed shorter strands to escape and fly in the breeze. It penetrated Sam's befuddled mind that this was and yet wasn't Dean. "What happened?" Sam asked, pushing up on his elbows just to fall back. The man caught him again.
"I'm Duane Williams, friend. I believe you fell off the ship at the bow. What's say we get you out of those wet clothes? Where's your cabin?" Duane questioned Sam as he helped him stand. Sam wavered and felt something warm slide down the side of his head to his neck. The woman who was watching from the rail gasped. Concern flared in Duane's bright green eyes as he struggled to keep Sam upright in his arms.
"He's bleeding!" She stepped forward and pulled a lace handkerchief from her shawl pocket. She gingerly touched it to the side of his head. He winced and slid nearly to his knees as blackness closed in on him. Duane strengthened his grip and held Sam up. Moving them both, he eased Sam down on a lounger near the promenade.
"You cracked your head when you fell? That's why you're confused." Duane got down in a crouch and lifted Sam's head, taking the kerchief from the woman. "Thank you, miss…"
"Emily." She said; concern in her eyes. "Is he going to be alright?"
A man in a black suit and white shirt stalked across the promenade, attracted by the nervous attention the stranger seemed to be getting. "Emily, just what do you think you're doing?" He scolded as he got her by the arm and spun her to face him.
"He fell off the ship when it lurched a little while ago. I was helping, Robert."
Robert glanced over at the blond man and the bedraggled looking stranger. "Leave him to the riff-raff. He's obviously of that class." Robert sneered, looking over Sam's dark denim pants and loosely worn sodden white button down.
"He's human." Emily said; irate that class was all her fiancé thought about. "Sometimes that's more than I can say for you." She pulled her arm out of his grasp and stalked away, but not before throwing a small smile at the man with the golden hair and the other, the fascinating stranger.
Duane had glanced up at Emily's hushed, obviously angry voice. "You should take care that you don't cost yourself a woman like that. She's a heroine, friend. Might do you well to remember that." Duane said. He turned back to the man he'd pulled out of the water. Sam was looking around, taking in his surroundings with a bemused look on his face.
Sam glanced to the wall of the enclosed Promenade. A sign caught his eye, a plaque. "Holy…" How the hell? I'm on the Titanic?! Sam's heart started to pound, his ears roaring with his own blood and a shout for help never leaving his chest. Dean! He turned to catch the end of something Duane was saying.
"Pardon?" Sam asked; confused as to why he seemed to be seeing things through a tunnel.
"I asked you what your name is. I think, though, we should have you checked by the doctor before we find your cabin."
"No, that's really okay. I don't need a doctor. My name is Sam. I can find my own cabin. Thank you for helping me though. I'm fine, honest." Sam said as he pushed himself off the lounger to stand upright. The change in height made the tunnel Sam was seeing everything through shrink. His ears began to ring and he found the floor of the promenade rushing up to meet him. Duane wrapped his arms around Sam and locked his muscular legs to stop his descent to the floor, which wouldn't do his head any favors.
"Sure you are." Duane muttered as Sam's eyes closed. Duane cast a glance about and saw a crew member of the ship. "Steward? Would you mind helping me get him to my cabin?"
"Do you wish for me to find out which cabin is his? He appears to be a steering class passenger."
"I only know his name is Sam. And it shouldn't matter what class he is to you crewman."
"Yes sir. Sorry sir." The man stepped up to Sam's right side and gingerly got a hold of Sam's arm, flinging the limp appendage around his neck. The two of them dragged Sam to the elevator. Going down to A-deck the steward and Duane soon had Sam settled in Duane's cabin on the bed.
"Shall I fetch the ship's doctor?"
"No. I'll send for him if I think it's necessary. Thank you." Duane said as he handed the steward a tip of two dollars, ensuring the steward would both keep his mouth shut and not do anything about a seemingly third class passenger in a first class cabin.
The man left with a huge smile on his face and the comment. "If you need anything else sir, just let me know." Duane locked the cabin door and looked at Sam lying on the bed. "What is it with these people and class? Life and saving life, that's all it's about. Idiots." Duane rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to the mid point of his forearms and got a damp face cloth from his bathroom. "First class accommodations do have their privileges." He went to the bed and wiped drying blood gently from Sam's head. Sam's brow furrowed and hazel eyes opened seconds after.
"Uunnnhh. What happened?" Sam asked, still slightly confused, as he sat upright on the bed. Memories slammed themselves home and he stood up way too fast. Duane caught him as he wavered.
"Don't pass out on me again Sam."
"I'm okay I think." Sam muttered as he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He opened his eyes and looked around the opulent suite of rooms. "It's real." He muttered under his breath.
"What?" Duane asked.
"Nothing. Thank you for helping me back there. I don't quite know what happened. I mean one minute I was on the deck and the next I was in the water. Seemed like the boat hit something and… Oh whoa…" Sam let his voice trail off.
"What is it Sam?"
Sam was looking around the cabin with a different eye. "Hunter." He muttered. He stood straight and backed away warily. "You're a hunter. I see the wards. The protection symbols."
"Who are you?" Duane asked menacingly, suspicious now of the stranger that knew what he did, was steadily putting together why he was aboard the ship. He quickly pulled a knife and advanced on Sam.
"Hey, hey, wait. Look, I'm a hunter too okay. I just don't know how I got… here."
"Prove it." Duane menaced, shoving Sam into the wall of the cabin and holding the knife to his throat. Sam held up both hands in a gesture of surrender before slowly reaching under his shirt for the charm he wore on a leather thong. He gingerly pulled it out from beneath his slowly drying shirt and showed Duane. The other hunter pulled the cord from Sam's neck around Sam's flinch and looked closely at the charm, the knife never leaving Sam's throat, Duane's eyes flitting back and forth between the charm and Sam's face. Duane stepped back and dropped the knife.
"You believe me?" Sam asked cautiously.
"I've seen the charm you showed. It's real enough. What are you doing here?"
"It's a long story I don't have all the chapters of."
"Well then, let's get you some dry clothes and hear what you have."
April 14, 2008.
"I need you to wake up Sammy. Please?" Dean said as he continued to stroke his brother's lax, unresponsive face. Sam was beginning to warm up again; the shivers had returned and now had diminished to fine tremors. Dean on the other hand was shaking badly when Barry pulled him away from his brother's side.
"Dean, man. You gotta get changed, you're still soaked and the dunk in the Ocean didn't do you any favors. Go get dried off."
"Yeah, okay." Barry released Dean's shoulder where he had a solid grip and Dean wavered between leaving to go get dry clothing and his need to stay with Sam and take care of him.
"Go. That's an order, sailor."
"I'll come get you. Now go get your ass dried off and warmed up and get back here. Then I'll see what I can do about getting us to shore as quick as possible."
Dean nodded and jogged to his cabin, trying to get the blood flowing in his veins again. Once there he hastily dried off, running a towel over his head he sent his short spiky hair back into it's usual style , not caring that it was crusted with dry salt water. He pulled on dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt before putting on an army green button down. Putting on a belt he remembered that his pistol was now somewhere in the deep. Reaching back into his bag he pulled his pearl handled Beretta and loaded it with rock salt rounds. He tucked it into his waist band and adjusted his shirts so that the bulge was hidden. Moving to the other bed he lifted Sam's duffel bag up and pulled out clean boxers and a pair of sweats. Holding the bundle to his chest Dean went back to his brother, his shivers finally ceasing as he barreled back through the door of Barry's cabin to be hit in the face by the heat of the room. He turned the heater down and moved to his brother's side. Sam's lips were their normal color, but a little cracked from salt water coating them.
"How is he?"
"He hasn't moved. Help yourself to anything. I'm going to go light a fire under Rick and get us back to shore so we can get him to the hospital." Barry left and Dean moved to the bed. He reached under the covers and removed the small blanket from Sam's waist. He wrestled his brother back into boxers and then pulled the blankets back. During the several minutes it took to get Sam into the loose fitting gray sweats he never moved. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat, went to the small refrigerator and opened the door. Pulling out a bottle of water he broke the seal and moved back to Sam's side. Dean eased down on the bed, dropping the lid on the bedside shelf and pulled Sam up into his arms so that Sam's back was resting against his chest. He tipped the water to Sam's lips and managed to get some into his mouth. Dean angled his head to watch Sam's face, the back of his brother's head resting against his shoulder, Dean's attention on Sam's throat.
"Come on Sammy, swallow. You need this man." Nothing. Dean shifted Sam gently, the water leaking from the corner of Sam's mouth, and raised a now shaking hand to Sam's throat as the other tipped the bottle to his lips again. Dean massaged Sam's throat and he convulsively swallowed the cool liquid. Dean finally breathed a sigh and put the bottle on the shelf next to the bed, not caring that the lid fell to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his brother, pulling the covers up with him. He angled Sam's forehead to rest in the hollow at the base of his throat and put his chin on Sam's head, the chestnut waves smelling of salt and Sam catching in Dean's stubble. "I swear I'm gonna find out what's happening here and I'm gonna get you back." Dean turned his head to the side, his cheek now resting where his chin had, his eyes sliding closed. "I'm. Gonna. Get. You. Back."
A/N: Okay, me again. Hope you all liked that. My longest chapter of a multi chapter fic. ( I think) My brain is fried. ST, hope you like the start. Everyone else, please hit that beautiful button. You people are great! Next chapter tomorrow evening.