Beta: Kokoda2007 – as always, she makes my stories better!
Summary: A hunt for a snow creature leads the Winchesters deep into the Montana high country. A brooding teenager, an over zealous big brother, and one hard core, ex-marine father can only lead to an avalanche of trouble.
A response to the 2009 Dec/Jan challenge at TWG.
~* having or being a temperature that is uncomfortably low for humans *~
"You have got to be kidding me Dad, it's the middle of freaking January and you really want to go to the high country?" Sixteen year old Sam rolled his large hazel eyes at his father.
"No son, I don't want to do anything, but people are dying." John Winchester glared sternly at his youngest.
"But Dad, it's the middle of the semester…" Sam stammered out, long arms flailing out in disbelief. "You said we could stay here until spring, 'til after exams."
"No Sam, you said that, not me. I told you, if nothing came up, well, this hunt has come up. We got to go." John said angrily. He needed to nip this tête-à-tête in the butt, Sam would do as he was told, end of story.
"But…," Sam whined, "you promised."
"No damn buts Sammy…get your stuff together, we're leaving. That's an order!" John Winchester's words were firm, leaving no room for argument.
Sam stood stubbornly, eyes glaring in disbelief at his Dad.
"NOW!" John shouted.
Sam shook his head, rolled his eyes with exasperation and stomped off toward the room he shared with his older brother. His fingers clinched tightly into fists, a flushed red hue adorned his young face. He bumped unconsciously against his sibling in his mad dash from the living room.
"Hey." Dean said, shoving at his wayward younger brother.
John dragged his gruff hand through his dark hair, sucking in some air, his eyes darting to his eldest. God, Sammy was such a handful all the time, always arguing - pushing him. He felt his fingers shaking, anger welling up against his chest. He blinked and blew out a steadying breath. He moved in three large steps to the kitchen cabinets and quickly began flinging items into an empty box.
Dean watched his little brother tread heavily past him, slamming their bedroom door behind him with a loud resounding thud. He looked hesitantly over at his father, seeing the rage simmering in the old man's dark brown eyes. A frown rose to his lips. He needed to defuse this situation and the quicker the better.
"He's just brooding, he'll get over it." Dean smirked at John as he sat his already packed duffle down against the tattered tan couch.
"So, tell me about this hunt," the young man asked eagerly, shuffling from one foot to the other, practically bouncing up and down.
John stopped his angry motions, fingers holding a box of cornflakes just above the half packed box. He gazed at his oldest son and smiled. How could his boys be so damn different?
"Well, it's a snow creature Bobby put me on to. It's up near Pilgrim Creek Valley about three and a half miles from Noxon, Montana - killed five hikers so far," John's enthusiasm was obvious.
"So 'bout how long will it take us to get there?" the twenty year old asked impatiently, green eyes dancing with anticipation.
"Well, if we head out this afternoon, we should be there by tomorrow." John nodded at his boy, his over eager son. He grinned and stuffed the rest of the kitchen supplies hastily into the cardboard box, feeling some of his anger dissipate.
Sam had not spoken one word since the Winchesters loaded up the Impala and left Rockford Illinois, the biggest town he had been in all year. He rode in silence, ignoring his older brother's attempts at including him in the conversation he was having with their Dad. The sixteen year old sighed, and gazed out at the passing landscape. He had really liked Jefferson High School, and had actually made some friends there, and met a girl, a nice girl, who talked to him every day. He frowned, wishing he had gotten the chance to tell one Olivia Reese goodbye. He had to admit, their four month stay there had almost made him feel, well, normal, like he fit in, like he could possibly belong somewhere. And the accommodations at the Driftwood Lodge, well, they were okay too, since it was close to school and he could walk everyday, meeting Olivia on the way. No one at school had known he lived in a motel, a fact he relished the most. No one knew that he didn't have a house, a home, and a real family. He chewed angrily on his lower lip as he glared over the bench seat to the back of his fathers head. His Dad had promised him. He swiped his hand roughly up to remove the dampness that was welling against his eyelids. Sucking in another angry gulp of air he stared forlornly out the frosty window.
It was middle of the afternoon when the sleek black Impala pulled into the snow covered parking lot of 'The Lodge' in Pilgrim Creek Valley, Montana. The temperature was a frigid minus five degrees outside, the wind whipping around the car with a screeching howl. Icy snow flakes spit sporadically from the overcast grey clouds. Well isn't this just special Sam thought as he sulked in the back seat and tugged his jacket up closer around his shivering body.
"Stay in the car, I'll get us a room." John announced as he zipped up his heavy winter coat, fingers palming on his gloves. The entire car squeaked as he wretched open the driver's door and exited into the cold. He shuffled swiftly toward the lobby.
The cold breeze whisked inside the Impala on John's exit, and Sam sucked in a sub-zero lungful of air. His teeth chattered and he zipped his flimsy jacket up, dipping his freezing hands deeply into his tattered pockets.
"Shit, it's cold," Dean said in an over exaggerated tone as he turned in the passenger seat to look at Sam. He immediately noticed that Sam was curled in on himself, staring out the window and shaking visibly from the cold.
"Dad said he got us both warmer coats, parka's he called them. I guess they're in the trunk," the older brother offered up hoping for some reaction from Sam.
"Humph," the kid muttered, eyes still fixed on the blanket of white around them. "If we stayed in Rockford, I wouldn't need a warmer coat," he spat out vehemently.
"Oh come on Sam, give it a freaking rest. It's been two days already, get over it." Dean snorted, green eyes glaring at his little brother.
"Screw you Dean, you aren't in school, you don't have to make friends every time we move, you don't have to fit in." Sam gazed hostile hazel orbs at Dean.
"Well, I did it for my entire life kid, so I know it can be done." Dean rolled his eyes. Where the hell did Sam think he grew up?
"We could have waited; someone else could have taken this hunt." Sam huffed out angrily.
"You need to grow up Sam, stop throwing fits like a three year old. What Dad does, what we do, it's important. You need to cut him some slack."
"What?" Sam's hazel eyes flashed heatedly at his older brother. Cut Dad some slack, you've got to be kidding me? "I don't throw fits; I just want to have a normal life Dean. There's nothing wrong with that."
"And what the hell is normal Sam…Jesus; you're a piece of work." Dean spat out, intense green eyes staring furiously at his little brother.
Just then the driver's door opened with a loud groan, and another gust of severely cold air weaved its way inside the Impala.
The cold hit Sam like a block of ice and his entire body shivered. It nipped harshly at his exposed face and he snuggled deeper into his inadequate coat.
Dean shrugged up his shoulders and attempted to stave off the cold rush of air.
The hostility in the car was palpable, and John picked up on it immediately as he shut the driver's door. He looked from Dean to Sam, anger obvious on both his son's unhappy faces.
"You boys done, cause I got us a room." The senior hunter advised, curious look pulling to his features.
"Yeah, we're done." Dean said almost hatefully as he turned abruptly forward to face the front windshield. He was no longer interested in arguing with his selfish baby brother.
John eyed them both again, then shifted the car into gear and drove slowly through the icy parking lot.
The sun was barely peaking over the horizon when John Winchester woke his young hunters up, dropping two sets of long johns, thick black parkas, new boots, and gloves down beside the beds.
"Wake up boys, we got to get a move on, get tracking this creature."
Dean blinked, setting upright in the bed. "It's cold in here," he muttered as he pushed the blankets away from his chilly limbs. He glanced over to Sammy's sleeping face, and renewed anger welled up in his chest. Without compassion, he nudged the kid with his elbow and muttered, "Wake up dumb ass."
"Uh, Dean…don't," Sam shivered beneath the blankets, tugging his clinched fist up to ground into his sleep laden eyelids. He blinked against the bright motel light, and watched as his brother quickly pulled on the thermal underwear, and several layers of clothes. He snuggled further beneath the mass of blankets, his eyelids sluggishly closing.
"SAM, GET UP," John ordered. A large hand patted roughly against Sam's lower leg.
The sleepy sixteen-year-old blew out a chilly breath and quickly jumped from his warm cocoon. In a brief few moments, he was dressed in as many clothes as he could find and tugging on several pairs of socks before he grabbed up his new hiking boots. "Shit," he muttered in low voice.
Dean's eyes darted over to Sam. He watched as his little brother looked confusedly inside the boots, another low explicative rolling from his lips. The older brother grinned lightly to himself as he observed Sam forcing his size thirteen boat feet into size twelve and a half boots. Oh, too bad, so sad.
The wind chill was around zero, the temperature a warm 12 degrees. The visibility was clear, not a cloud in the sky, as the Winchesters made their way up the hiking trail near Pilgrim Creek Valley. John was in the lead, shot gun resting against his side, and various other hunting gear packed neatly in his pack. Dean trudged right behind him, gripping tightly to his own backpack, a wide grin decorating his wind chapped face. And trudging about ten feet behind was Sam, wrapped snuggly in his brand new parka and bright red woolen gloves. He too had on a backpack, the red one he always carried to school. His father had dumped out the school books that Sam had neatly tucked inside, saying there was no room for extra items on this hunt. The senior hunter had shoved in a thermal blanket, granola bars, and a couple bottles of water before he forced it back to an unhappy Sam.
John stopped abruptly, eyes scanning the pristine horizon, snow and evergreens adorning the landscape as far as the eye could see. They were halfway up the trail, teetering gently on the sloping terrain, just beneath the overhang of the rocky cliffs. They had been hiking for almost two hours, moving on an upward ascent toward the top. He dropped his pack to the frozen snow and removed his compass from his pocket. He stared intently at the readings.
"Okay boys keep your eyes open; this is right about where the last two hikers were killed."
Dean dropped his own backpack to the snow, gloved fingers clutching out his sawed off and coiling it in firmly in his grip.
Sam moved up beside his brother, wincing slightly as his feet throbbed with the movement. How come his Dad didn't know what size shoe he wore, gees?
Dean's face shrugged into a slight frown as he heard Sam's grimace. Guess Sam's feet are hurting from the too small boots – go figure.
"Sam," John's voice bellowed as he motioned to his youngest, "You stand right here beneath this tree". He stood stoically waiting for Sam to get into position.
John moved up the hillside. "Dean, get up there, by the overhang," he pointed. "I'll see if I can flush it out. You two - BE READY!"
And with that, the ex-marine was gone.
Both young hunters watched as John disappeared behind the tree line, the snow blowing lightly in his wake.
The time passed slowly, both boys squinting in the bright snow that surrounded them, poised and ready to shoot.
Dean was standing about twelve feet above Sammy, back pressed against the rocks that spiraled up behind him. He glanced down at his kid brother, wishing that they were back on speaking terms. He could see Sam firmly standing beneath the large pine tree, visibly shifting from one boot to the other, and he figured that the kid's feet were probably really throbbing. Guess I should have said something to Dad. Guilt weaved its way into his chest and looked with sympathy at his little brother.
"HeySasquatch , your feet okay down there?" Dean whispered loudly.
Sam's parka covered head tugged upward; his hazel eyes looking directly into Dean's concerned moss green ones - a small smile tugged slowly to the sixteen-year-olds face.
He shoots, he scores, Dean thought happily, as he grinned cockily back at Sam.
Dean heard the shot before he saw his Dad, a mass of arms and legs running quickly past him, heading down the embankment toward Sam.
"Shoot it again, son," his father's large voice boomed at him as he ran hurriedly past.
Dean's finger was on the trigger in an instant as the mammoth creature thudded heavily along the ground behind his father. He quickly sighted it in, then pulled the trigger, the bullet piercing the creature directly in the middle its back. He watched in slow motion as it faltered, then stumbled and fell, a large mass of dark red blood pooling immediately on the center of its back. And another one bites the dust. The large rumbling noise drew his attention from his momentary bliss, and he tilted his head quizzically to the side, eyes moving inquisitively to his father.
John sucked in a large gulp of air as he heard the gunshot behind him, then the large creature falling with a loud thud. He was silently pleased that Dean had gotten the job done. He pivoted slowly on his boots, his brown eyes looking intently at the mammoth creature that was now bleeding, and dead, on the drifting snow. He felt the ground shake lightly beneath his feet and his head rose, eyes staring directly up at Dean.
Their curious eyes met, and at that moment, they both realized what was about to happen.
John yelled loudly to his sons.
"AVALANCHE," he lunged five feet forward, his hands grabbing his eldest by the forearms and pushing him up flat beneath the overhang.
Complete whiteness overtook them.
Sam saw his father run past Dean. He saw the large hairy creature that lumbered along behind him. He vaguely heard a gunshot, as he silently held his breath. He watched as the large animal stumbled and fell. And it was then that he heard the loud rumble echoing around them. His eyes grew wide with fear as he saw the large mass of snow rolling quickly down the mountainside, barreling straight for them. He watched as his father lunged toward Dean, and he distinctly heard the word avalanche as the snow bank slammed against him, forcing him back against the pine tree, and then he knew no more.
Dean's eyes batted open, a sharp pain coursing through his head. He struggled for a moment to clear his foggy vision, icy particles resting against his face. He felt a warm breeze blow gently across his left cheek, and he tilted his head sluggishly to the side, resting it against the snow. Snow? It was then that he saw his father's face; eyes closed, pressed closely next to his own.
"Dad?" he whispered shakily.
John Winchester stirred. He blinked slowly, realizing he was perched tightly against Dean's side, bright green eyes staring him directly in the face.
"Dean?" he sputtered, as slow recognition dawned on him. Avalanche- Oh my god.
John thrashed his arms wildly against the icy snow that surrounded him. Both hands pulling the glistening particles away as the bright blue sky appeared above his head. He glanced back over at Dean.
Sudden fear fell heavily between them. Where was Sam?
"Sammy?" Dean whispered with extreme urgency, arms flailing in the snow.
Both men pushed and shoved against each other as they fought to get clear from the snow bank. The soft snow pack made it difficult, but they finally pulled themselves free to lean against the rocky ledge.
Dean's eyes darted to the pine tree, the last place he had seen his younger brother. He stumbled to his feet, running and tumbling down the hillside, his father slipping and sliding right behind him.
"He was right here." Dean dropped to his knees and began to dig feverishly into the soft snow.
John slid in beside his son, both men shoveling the icy substance aside with a maddening force.
"SAMMY?" John yelled.
"Oh God, please…" Dean whispered, tears welling against his lashes and crystallizing instantly against the intense cold.
John caught sight of something red, and scooped vigorously toward it as his fingers yanked the bright red rucksack quickly from the snow. His eyes grew wider as he tossed the item aside, and both men dug faster.
Dean saw the lax red glove and dove toward it, clasping and grabbing at his little brother. His father followed his lead and they pulled Sam gingerly from the snow drift, the kid's gangly limbs flopping limply in their grasp.
They eased him to the snowy ground next to them.
"Oh god, please…please…please." Dean muttered softly, tugging his brother up to rest against his side, his vision starting to blur with dampness.
John sat on his haunches, momentarily stunned and staring with distraught brown eyes at his youngest still form.
Sam's lips were blue, his face slack and void of color, and he wasn't breathing.
John's military training kicked into high gear and he pulled his youngest from Dean's grasp, resting him flat against the snow. He pressed his large hand to Sam's neck, relieved to feel a sluggish heartbeat.
"We got a heartbeat, but he's not breathing." John said anxiously as he tilted his youngest head back with his shaky hands, jutting out his chin. He made sure the airway was clear and then began to give his boy CPR.
Dean watched silently, large tears rolling slowly down his wind chapped cheeks. No, No, No, No….Sammy, please don't do this.
Suddenly, Sam's back arched and he gulped in a large breath of air. He coughed and stuttered, as he continued to struggle to get the needed oxygen into his lungs.
Dean gripped the red gloved fingers with a vengeance, willing his little brother to breathe. Come on little brother, that's it…, just breathe.
John's large hand moved comfortingly against his baby's chest, feeling the faint rise and fall, willing his boy to be okay.
Both hunters watched as incoherent hazel lids blinked slowly open and stared blankly up at them, a large shudder racking the kid's lanky frame.
"Sammy?" Dean leaned in, tugging his kid brother back against his chest, strong arms enveloping him tightly. He gazed at Sam. His brother was visibly shivering, icy eyelashes blinking lethargically open and closed.
John quickly located the red backpack and he jumped to his feet as he stumbled to retrieve it. He yanked out the silver thermal blanket and tucked it securely around his baby boy. "You're okay Sammy….it's goanna be okay."
Sam had yet to speak, hazel eyes blinking blankly at the clear blue sky.
His brothers incoherence was unnerving Dean. Come on Sammy, say something.
"Sammy, can you hear me kiddo?" Dean's warm breathe whispered. He waited impatiently for a reply as he gently rocked his cold little brother in his arms.
Disoriented and confused Sam turned his head slowly upward, unfocused hazels gazing blearily at Dean. He frowned slightly, frozen particles clinging to his face.
"D...D…D'n?" the freezing teen wheezed out.
"It's okay, Sammy, I gotcha, you're okay, I gotcha." Dean's gloved fingers squeezed Sam's shoulder and gave him a small smile.
John stood, heaving in some oxygen, gloved hands resting on his bent knees, listening to his boys. He sighed; a brief release of tension evident on his face. Sam was okay, just cold, really, really cold. He glanced around the dimming evening light. Okay, now to get his boys out of here.
John pushed to stand, eyes falling back to his sons. Dean sat against the cold blanket of snow holding his little brother. John shuddered at the thought of what could've happened here today.
Sammy whimpered light lines of pain rising to his frozen face.
John quickly moved to his Sam's side, easing down to a crouched position, he looked intently at his boy.
"What's hurt'n Sammy?" he looked compassionately at his youngest son as his large hand cupped the teenager's cheek.
John's eyes grew wide with alarm and he pulled off the thermal blanket and pressed it to the ground. Sammy's words echoed in his head; "You have got to be kidding me Dad, it's the middle of freaking January and you really want to go to the high country?"
"Dean, ease him slowly to the blanket son…slow, that's it."
Dean complied, then watched quietly as John unzipped Sammy's coat, and ran nimble fingers along the length of Sam's cold back, while his brother's body visibly shuddered.
John sighed, nothing felt out of place. "Just bruising, I think." he whispered as he zipped Sam snuggly back inside his parka.
Sam blinked sluggishly up at his Dad, a low whimper escaping from his lips. "I…I'm 'kay."
John smiled, fingers rubbing the cold face gently. "You just lie there for a minute and let me figure this out." He patted Sam's arm gently, "I need to check your legs and feet, okay buddy."
Sam nodded slowly.
John moved his fingers down the length of Sam's long legs, smiling lightly when his son flinched away as he reached the ticklish back of Sam's knees. He untied the youngster's boots and pulled them off.
Sam grimaced, releasing a low moan.
Johns' mouth fell open as he stared in disbelief. Sam's socks were both stained red. He slowly moved the three pair of socks from one of Sam's feet, eyes taking in the blisters that were decorating the side and back of his heel. He cringed. What the hell?
"I think his boots are too small." Dean stammered out willingly.
John's head rose to look directly at Dean, his heart skipping a beat. Holy shit, why didn't the kid say something?
Dean flashed him a guilty look.
John suddenly realized his eldest knew about Sam's too small boots and it made him angry, angrier at himself than Dean. How could I not know this?
"Dean…" John said gruffly, eyes growing wide in amazement.
Sammy mumbled, "D'd…c…c...cold?"
John patted him gently on the leg as he stared wide eyed at Dean. No time for this right now, but later…they would talk.
It was then that John noticed the small trickle of blood that was making a silent path down the side of Dean's frozen face from beneath the hood of his parka. He reached his ungloved hand up and gripped his eldest chin, tilting the young man's face to the side.
"Just a knock on the back of the head, those damn rocks are hard huh, but I'm fine, Dad, just fine." Dean reassured his father, a cocky grin curling to his face.
"Uh huh…" John said flatly as he thumbed the blood from the side of Dean's face. He gingerly pulled Sam's socks back on his foot, leaving off the boots as he tugged at the thermal blanket, cocooning Sam like a papoose. There was no way Sammy was walking out of here under his own steam.
Dean sat silently, snuggling his little brother against him for warmth. He continued to talk to Sam about anything that came to mind as he watched his father build a stretcher from pine tree limbs.
John made fast work of cutting the tree limbs, removing excessive branches and tying them tightly with the rope. One thing he always did was prepare for the worst and hope for the best. He quickly dumped out his and Dean's backpacks and draped them atop the branches. He removed the excess items from Sam's pack, and positioned it on the top of the litter, a pillow for Sam's head. It wasn't the best back woods carry all he had ever made, but it would definitely get his youngest back to safety.
Sam's body was sluggish from the cold. His back hurt, his chest hurt, his feet hurt, and he was freezing. His teeth chattered uncontrollably in his jaw. Dean's voice droned on and on in the background, something about girls and warm weather. He felt hazy and disconnected. He nuzzled in against Dean's shoulder; all he wanted to do was go to sleep. He slowly closed his eyes.
"No Sam, stay awake." Dean said urgently as he gently gave Sammy a light shake.
"T'rd" Sam mumbled. He received another shake and tugged open his heavy eye lids. Dean's head was right down next to his, anxious green eyes staring intently at him, fear evident on his older brother's face.
"I'm up," Sammy trembled.
Dean smiled, and patted him on the shoulder.
Sliding his arms beneath his son's limp shoulder and knees, John hoisted Sammy up from the frozen ground. He placed him gently on the pine tree litter. He appraised it carefully, it looked pretty comfortable, and he nodded in self satisfaction. He dropped the thermal blanket across Sam's prone form and tucked it securely in around the boy. Giving his youngest one last look, he stepped back and glanced over at Dean. His oldest was swaying slightly. He noticed the dried blood crusted on the side of Dean's face, fresh droplets pooling in the top of his black parka. He stepped slowly over, gripping Dean by the forearm.
"You okay son?" he asked with deep concern.
"I'm fine Dad, just got up too quick." Dean offered with a wisp of a smile.
"Probably a slight concussion, you think you can make it back to the car?"
"Yeah, I've had worse. I'm fine Dad….really."
John rolled his eyes. "Come on then, let's go." He moved to the front of the litter, grabbed it up, and started to drag it slowly through the snowy landscape. He looked back over his shoulder to see Dean grasping Sammy's gloved fingers, whispering soft reassurances to his little brother, as he stumbled along.
It was dark by the time the Winchesters made it back to the car, and John was never happier to see 'his baby' in his life. He bundled Dean and Sam into the back seat, swaddling them both up in three more army blankets. He glanced into the rearview mirror, taking in the still frozen figures resting in the back seat. He'd almost lost his youngest today; hell, he'd almost lost them both. He was definitely going to be more careful in the future. He gave his son's one last look as he turned on the heat full force. The car barreled down the icy road and back toward civilization.
"Sam, Sammy…Open your eyes."
The voice sounded distressed.
Sam's eyelashes fluttered.
"Sammy…Sam…Sam, can you hear me", Dean leaned down and whispered sing song in his brother's ear.
The voice sounded calmer this time.
"Wake up little brother…"
Alright already , I just want to sleep.
"Sammmmmy…Wake up, pleaaasssse…"
Was that Dean whining?
"Dean, stop it," a gruff voice barked.
Sam's eyes dragged open to slits as he looked with confusion up at his big brother's face looming right above him.
"Hey bro…" Dean said with a bright smile as he gazed intently down at Sam. "I was beginning to think you weren't ever waking up."
Realization dawned on the horizontal Winchester as he blinked to clear his foggy vision. He was in a hospital . The distinct smell of antiseptic was wafting in around him.
"Wha…wher…" Sam's confused voice said hoarsely.
"Easy son, you're in a hospital…remember?" John tipped a glass of water up to rest against Sam's lips.
Sam gulped at it greedily.
"Not too much." John advised as he pulled the cup away.
"Avalanche - ring any bells there kiddo?" Dean offered up with a slight laugh as he plopped back against an uncomfortable looking hospital chair.
Sam's memory was sketchy at best; he remembered the argument with his Dad before they left Illinois, and he could barely remember that Dean was mad at him for something, but everything else was foggy. He shook his head no, as he blinked innocent eyes at Dean.
"Humph," Dean snorted, "Guess you don't remember the abominable snowman, hell; guess you don't remember being the snowman either." He said sarcastically, laughing loudly at his little joke.
Sam looked at his brother curiously, indistinct memories of snow and ice dashing through his thoughts.
"Dean," John gave his eldest a distinct eye roll as he tugged the white sheets up against Sam's chest.
"Sam, listen," John stuttered out.
Dean sat up straighter in his chair, green eyes staring at their Dad.
"I'm sorry I bought you the wrong size boots, it's just you're growing so fast, I can't keep up." John voiced sheepishly.
Sam smiled; the memory of new boots vaguely familiar.
"It's okay." He whispered.
"And, well, I wanted to tell you I was sorry for taking you on the hunt, I mean for pulling you out of school to go. I know, well, I know I promised you that we wouldn't move 'til after exams, and I...well, I broke my promise."
Sam's wide eyes looked over to Dean, whose eyes were almost wider than his own. Who the hell was this, and what did he do with my Dad? He couldn't find any words to say, as he blinked vacantly at John.
"Well, I think I'll just go…go get some coffee." John said nervously as he backed slowly toward the door, slight grin curling across his lips.
Both Sam and Dean's mouths were left hanging open, stunned expressions adorning their faces.
And the door to Sam's room swung slowly closed.