Summary: Conclusion. Here cometh the little bit of crazy, and little bit of Bobby.

Thank you so much for sticking with.

Sunshine, Karen


The wind howled a low mournful sound, like it was crying, things outside blowiing harder and hitting the cabin all around.

"What the..." I must have fallen asleep. Quickly, I scrambled up off the floor eyeing every wall, nook, and cranny. Something felt off…way off.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang, like a freight train colliding with another freight train.

Sam sat bolt upright teetering -- eyes automatically riveted to mine.

A bright flash of light filled my vision, a thunderbolt crashed through the roof striking the center of the wooden floor. A whirlwind of thick, green fog descended into the room, rain and debris twisting around inside the cabin. The flashlight went out -- candles, too. Out? Hell, they were pulled into the spiraling mist.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, his voice dosed with fear. "What's happening?" The violent whirlpool nearly drown out his words; sucking up everything like a vacuum hose --sucking up the mattress -- sucking up Sam.

"Sammy!" I took in a deep breath, half stumbling, half-crawling my way over to him, fingers scrambling to latch on to any part of him. The pea soup type fog tugged, now threatening to suck us both up into its vortex. I glued my feet firmly to the floor.

Dead weight, Dean.

Dead weight.

Dead weight.

The only thought racing through my mind as I drug Sam off the filthy mattress just before it was flung to the otherside of the cabin.

I couldn't see the door or a way out. I backed Sam into a far corner wishing I could nail him to the wall. Hunching down protectively in front of him, I faced the storm. Extending my arms, and bracing them against each wall, forming a trinagular barrirer with my own body, desperate to keep my feet on the ground -- Sam safe.

Everything shook -- churned -- twirled, the temperature dropping twenty degrees. We hunkered down, the air energized with more static charges and pops from the freak storm. Squinting to see through the dark, I watched an unnatural cloudy mist form. My eyes strained to see and my body shuddered as I became thoroughly aware that something besides wind, rain, green fog and roof shingles had entered the cabin. In the center of the cabin -- where the lightning had struck -- stood an utterly still and shadowy figure.

"Dean." Sam nudged me from behind.

"I see it, Sam."

With hurricane- force, the wind and rain gusted, still threatening to suck us up, yet the shadow never moved.

"What is it?" Sam questioned.

I felt around the wall, searching for anything I could grab hold of -- nothing.

A loud bang lit the cabin, lighting up our mystery form. Wild, shining, deep blue eyes glared at us. Her skin was pale green, bony fingers, sharp as talon nails, and a clump of long hair that clung around her wrinkled face like brown, stringy slim-- the kind of clumpy, brown shit you pluck from a clogged drain.

"Sure the hell isn't Kelly Clarkson," I announced, pressing Sam further into the corner when ugly took a step towards us. Her eyes crystallized, a low and furious growl coming from between foul, pointed green teeth.

"Storm Hag," Sam educated me.

"Crap-tacular!" I yelled over the wind.

What was a Storm Hag doing here. No telling why she'd left her favorite feeding grounds -- at the bottom of a lake or ocean -- snatching boats, the crew. Carnivorous bitch was...

"Dean, they eat …"

"Don't say it," I hissed, visions of Hannibal Lector dancing in my head.

I scanned the room, spying the weapon's bag still sitting on the floor, shocked the pack hadn't been sucked up into the twister. Didn't matter -- no ganking a Storm Hag -- only one thing to do -- get out of her way -- good luck with that now that she literally had got the drop on us.

An angry black cloud filled the room, lightning bolts lashing out. In the length of one heartbeat, the crazy hag burst forward, yanking me away from Sam, and flinging me to the farthest corner of the room. I hit the wall -- nearly KO'ed. Pain ripped through my already pounding head, but I staggered to my feet, fresh blood dripping down over my ear. Seaweed for hair was smart, stalk and hunt down the wounded, weaker quarry first. Between flashes of brightness, the howl of the wind, and my spinning vision I could hear her singing. She had Sam smashed into the corner -- wooing him. He seemed paralyzed, her long arms wrapped around him. The whole room seemed to explode. Silver bolts shot through the cabin like twisted rope; the wind was strong, pushing against me, immobilizing me like a bug trapped in an ice cube tray. Sam's head was bowed downward, the storm blowing his hair in a tangle over his eyes. Somehow he'd managed to get a hand around the Hag's throat, squeezing, causing her singing to falter. Sam tilted his head up, his face milky white, eyes slowly rising to meet mine.

I struggled, just wanting to move, get to Sam, get us out of here.

"D'n, go!" Sam yelled through grinding teeth.

Sam didn't have enough strength left to hold a monster hitter like her off much longer.

My mind was hazy, but my feet knew the way, planting themselves firmly on the ground. Just as I stood straight, Stormzilla broke Sam's choke hold, sending him hurling -- midair -- landing my injured brother to the floor.

"You bitch," I growled, sucking in a sharp breath, eyes falling on Sam

He tried to call out to me, but his voice faltered. Stormzilla was on him that quick, about to rip the flesh from his face. I only had seconds to do something. With all I had in me, I dropped back to the floor, under the radar of her wind, rolling shoulder over shoulder until I came to stand behind her. Was sound strategy until she turned her gaze on me. With one touch of her hand, a surge sent me flying back across the room. The front door blew open and I went sailing out of the cabin. The door banged shut, and I landed hard -- belly down -- gasping in wet dirt.

Everything was splotchy gray, confusion and dizziness coursing through me. The storm stripped branches, and leaves from the trees sending them flying helter-skelter. I struggled to lift my head up out of the mud, peering through the seething rain at the cabin. The small cottage rocked and shook. Streaks of lightning hit with colliding force, the swift current snatching the cabin from its foundation.

"What the frack…" I watched in horror, and disbelief as the building spun slowly toward the sky. My brain quickly popped back into first gear. I had to protect Sam, save Sam. "No." My voice was weak and trembling. "No." Scrambling, hands pushing off the soggy ground, I tried to stand, but the storm plopped me back down. "Sam!" I screamed, thrashing and clawing in the mud. Like being in a bad dream -- I couldn't budge. I kept my eyes set on the cabin the roar of the wind exploding, bursts of light near blinding. "Sam--get out!" The storm screeched and hissed. "Sammy!" Several windows shattered, and what was left of the roof shot up into the blackened sky. I finally managed to get off my knees, feet following, running through the mud toward the cabin. "Saaaaaaaaam!"

"Dean!" A dark shape rammed into my right side, knocking me back to the shaking ground.

I turned, ready to fight, finding myself staring up into the eyes of... "Bobby!"

"Stay put, boy!" Bobby held me down with one knee to my chest.

Son of a bitch, Bobby!" I snarled in surprise. " Sammy's still in there!" I fought to shove his knee off my chest.

Bobby wasn't Superman, but he was a lot stronger than I ever gave him credit for.

"Bobby, let me up!" I struggled as the sky cracked in two, drips of rain rushing down my face -- or were those tears.

"Dean!" Trust me, I can do this without a fight! You know there's no killing her."

I trembled. What choice did I have? In seconds Sam would be sucked up into the purple-black sky, and I doubted he'd be lucky enough to land in Oz -- kid didn't even bring his ruby slippers -- no way I'd ever get Sam back. "Hurry." I nodded.

Bobby released his hold. Dropping onto both knees in the mud, he raised his hands toward the sky and began to chant/pray in a sing-song tone. Sounded Native American, but I didn't know the words. For what seemed like a long time, nothing happened. The rain tumbled down, the cabin spun, rattling, and hovering five feet in the air as if tied to the sky by a rope. I could picture Sam trapped inside. The Storm Hag tearing him apart. Flinging blood and flesh around the room -- pieces of Sam sticking to the walls like spitballs. A sickening, putrid thing wormed through my gut, and I almost puked. I couldn't wait any longer for Bobby to complete his incantation. Sam needed me. I shot up out of the mud, but froze in utter shock as the wind and rain stopped. The sky lit early-morning gray, and the cabin plunked with a loud, wet smack back to the ground.

"Go, Dean. Get your brother!" Bobby's sharp voice set me back to action.

Slip-sliding across the mud, I leapt up the three small steps leading to the porch. The half-hanging door creaked loudly as I shoved my way inside, nervously scanning the wrecked room. Parts of the floorboards were buckled and torn up, huge holes shot through the walls -- never mind the missing roof. The few objects that hadn't been sucked from the cabin were tossed around. Several rusted pots were embedded in the walls like a sword stuck in a rock. The mattress was shoved up on its side against a wall, torn and bloody -- no sign of Sam. Had we been too late? Had Sam been sucked out of the cabin? The icy silence kept me rooted in the doorway.

"Sam," I barely could whisper.

"Looking for me?" Sam's voice was shaky as he flipped what was left of the mattress off himself.

"Thank God." I let out a long sigh.

"Ow," Sam uttered a cry his good hand coming to grip at his injured shoulder.

"Killer party, Sam." I crossed the room quickly crouching down and shoving the mattress the rest of the way off him. "Let me see you." I pushed back his bangs, noting several small cuts dotting his face, and more than a few deep purple bruises on his neck, blood seeping through the shredded and dirty gauze of his shoulder blade.

"How's it look?" Sam winced.

"Probably popped a few stitches. You okay?" I asked trying to get my pounding heart to slow.

"S-sure." Sam gave a confused glance around the room. "Where is she?" He tried to sit up.

"Scitso frenique, bitch is gone." Slipping a hand behind his back, I helped ease Sam up.

"How?" He breathed heavily.

"You blithering idgit's want to come on out of there?"

"Ask Bobby." I shrugged, glancing over my shoulder just as Bobby came to stand in the broken doorway.

"You two are a couple of real wild bulls -- and with bulls -- comes horns."

"Meaning?" Sam and I mumbled in puzzled unison.

"Meaning… you two are going to be the death of me, yet. I been tracking that supernatural storm, knowing you were about to have a nasty encounter with…"

"Stormzilla," I injected. "Pffft."

"What the hell does 'pffft' mean, boy?"

"Nothing," I said.

"'Cause it don't sound like nothin'. You want to hear the story or not?" Bobby grumbled.

"Yes, sir." I nodded, adjusting the wrap as best I could against Sam's shoulder.

"That'd be more like it. I came looking for you two girls after you didn't show, mapped out the fact you were headed right for her. Figured you either got caught up in her fury or Dean stopped to have his toenails painted."

Sam laughed out loud. "Ow, ow, ow," he winced.

"Don't laugh, kid." Bobby narrowed his eyes. "Figured you were rolling your hair up with pins and curlers."

"Ha! Ha!" My turn to laugh out loud, wrapping an arm around Sam and getting him slowly to his feet.

"Whatever, Dean." Sam's head bobbed, and I tightened my hold to keep him in upright.

"Found your daddy's car," Bobby continued. "Blood in the driver seat, tracked you to the cabin. Figured it was your blood…" Bobby jerked his head toward me. "Why the hell would you let your brother drive in that weather? You know how the kid zones out."

"Told you, Sam." We took two steps toward the door.

"Told me wha'?" Sam's eyes rolled back up into their sockets, his weight nearly taking us both to our knees.

"Hey, come back here!" I tugged him up. "Sam!" I gave a little shake, still working my way toward the door. "Keep hold of the ball, Sam, not time for a touchdown yet. You hearing me?"

"Not so much," Sam muttered. "Where we going?"

"Forward, pal."

Need a hand with him?" Bobby asked.

"No, " I panted. "I can handle Jeff Gordon, here, but you can grab the gear."

"How 'bout a kick in the pants instead?" Bobby huffed.

We'd obviously scared the crap out the guy.

"No, sir." Sam swayed as we made our way out the door.

Bobby grumbled something else I couldn't make out, following right behind us.

"Bobby, what was that chant, anyway?" I glanced over my shoulder.

"Old Indian hymn that was taught to me -- calms the storm."

I moved Sam as fast as I could through the mud, him making small pain-filled noises with each step.

"You sure you don't need help with super stretch?" Bobby asked.

"We're good."

"I know you need a car," Bobby smirked, passing us by. "Got your sardine can loaded up on my flatbed."

"Come on! That's my baby you're talking about," I growled, gripping Sam tighter, the fact he was shaking too much not escaping my attention.

"Boy," Bobby called back at me. "'Bout damn time you gave up the crush you have on that car. She's not your type."

"More my type than Stormzilla." I hiked a thumb indicating the cabin behind us.

"You are a chick magnet, Dean," Bobby laughed.

"What about you?" I questioned, looking over at Sam, who was stumbling along like he had the worst hangover ever. "Who's this Indian squaw whispering incantations in your ear?" I continued to question Bobby.

"Never said he, it… never said she was a she…" Bobby tripped over his tongue, and picking up his pace.

I smirked knowingly. "So tell me about her. What's her name?" I raised my voice.

"Whats her name, ain't none of your concern. What you don't know, boy -- can't hurt me," Bobby exclaimed in a gruff tone, climbing into the truck.

"Ah, guys." Sam pointed to his shoulder.

"Bro?" I questioned, locking eyes with Sam.

"I can make it, Dean, jus..." Mouth still open, Sam tripped over his own feet, scrunching his eyes shut.

"Come on Speed Racer, one more lap you get the checkered flag!" I caught him by a soggy arm -- he was totally taxed.

"Rather be Jimmie Johnson." Sam stubbornly forced his eyes open. "I'm fine." Waving me off with a hand he tried to keep walking -- Sam's feet going every which direction.

"What the hell are you doing?" I staggered under his clumsey gait.

"Walking," Sam mumbled.

"That what you call this dance?"

"Funny," Sam garbled.

"Not so much." I sucked in a breath. "Try again with the walking bit, buddy."

"'K." Sam's head plopped to my shoulder, the wind picking up his hair, blowing strands into my nose.

"Dude, you're hair is killing me."

"Not my hair you got to worry about, 's my driving that might kill you," Sam mumbled, putting one foot in front of the other.

We both stopped at the back of Bobby's flatbed, examining the damage done to the Impala.

"Son of a… shit," we both mumbled under our breaths.

Finally making it to the passenger side door of Bobby's truck we paused to catch our breaths.

"Sorry about the car," Sam said.

"Don't worry, Sam, magic fingers…" I wiggled all five. "… Dean can fix anything."

"I'll supply the quarters and the…" Sam suddenly had no control over his eyes as they rolled, jerking violently up into his head.

"Sam!" His muscles tightened. then went slack as he passed out "Sammy." I barely caught his sagging body.

"Crap, boy!" Bobby was out of the truck and by my side. "Kid's blood pressure has to be lower than the belly of a flounder," Bobby said, pressing a cloth to Sam's shoulder. "Bleeding's started up again."

Bobby helped me get Sam in the truck and shut the door, racing around to the driver side, and getting us on the road. One hand on the wheel, Bobby reached under the seat, grabbing a handful of rags and shoved them my way.


"Thanks, Bobby."

I pressed the wad to Sam's wound, landing a hand hard to his back.

"Welcome, boy," Bobby whispered under his breath, damn well knowing I was thanking him for saving Sam.

"Ahhh." Sam gave a low moan, wiggling in my hold.

The bleeding wasn't life threatening, but there wasn't much more I could do until we got to Bobby's place. Sam would need a few more stitches, the thought made me sick. I kept my hand firm to his shoulder watching out the front window. The sky was completely clear now, not a drop of rain. I swallowed, feeling sick, I'd seen Sam bleed plenty of times, and the feeling I got each time never got any better.

"How's our boy?" Bobby asked, fifteen minutes later.

I pulled my hand away and leaned Sam a little forward to get a better look at the wound.

"I think I finally got the bleeding to stop." I eased him back.

"He'll be fine, Dean. He's alive, that's what counts."

I watched Sam's head gently bonking up and down on my shoulder. Bobby maneuvered the truck around the debris littering the roadway.

"Yeah," I sighed sadly. "And he'll have another scar to prove it."

"And it's gettin' those scares that make all of us who we are," Bobby offered up his wisdom.

I relaxed further back in the seat, remembering the first time mom had placed all eight pounds, nine ounces of the cone-headed, red, wrinkled baby in my arms. Sam was only an hour old then -- and crying like a girl already. I recalled how that worried me, kid wailed like he was in awful pain. The first thing I'd asked my mom was if Sammy was okay.

I sighed. Even then, even at the young age of four -- not much more than a baby myself -- I just wanted to keep Sam close, make sure he was okay, never let him go. Sam shifted in my hold, curling closer, whimpering softly.

"Big baby," I mumbled.

Things hadn't changed all that much. Sam was still big, still had a cone-head, and he was still my baby brother.

Note: Was truly ending the story here, but added a few more lines below. Thank you so much for your time!

Be well,Karen



Bobby had drove the whole way back to his place, forcing me to listen to country radio. If I had to hear one more song about rusty old pickup trucks, chicks busting up a guy's awesome ride, achy-breaky hearts, Elvis's blue-sued shoes, or another, somebody- done- somebody- wrong song -- I might shoot myself in both ears.

Sam was still curled against my side, head on my shoulder, snoring loudly -- warm breath wet on my neck. The bleeding stayed in control, but he was shivering hard, even though we'd wrapped him in a wool blanket and Bobby had cranked the heat in the truck full blast.

"Sam, we're here." I gave a little shoulder shrug. Sam's head jostled back and forth slightly, but he didn't wake up. "Sammy," I whispered in his ear.

"So." I barely heard his faint voice.

"So, you awake in there?"

"Uh-huh." Sam's eyes flickered open.

"Back to that again," I snorted touching his forehead with the back of my hand -- pretty warm. "How you doing?"

"How you think?"

"Think you have a minor infection, you're feverish."

"Hungry. Tired. Kelly Clarkson in paradise," Sam mumbled.

"Dude! I'll share a room, food, the same last name, but hell if I'm sharing my dreams with you," I chuckled, Sam nuzzled closer. "Man, you're drooling on my shoulder, like a Saint Bernard. Think you can sit up?" Sam sighed, stiffly lifting his head, and squinting into the morning sunlight bouncing off the hood of the truck.

"Wait." He leaned back against the seat, looking around as if he was trying to figure out what was going on. "Where's Bobby? What's going on?"

"He's inside." I gestured toward Bobby's house. "Said us two lamebrain's need to wash up, check your wound, by then he'd have kibble and grits ready for us to suck down. Think you can eat something?"

"Dog food?" Sam grumbled.

"Sam, better not let Bobby hear you call his cooking that."

"Uh-huh." Sam scrubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Quit with that, would you?" I hissed, opening the truck door.

"Quit with what?" Sam looked at me with wide puppy-dog eyes, the look that could drown me like a neon tsunami.

"Never mind," I said, inching us out of the car, and heading into Bobby's house.

Didn't take much to get Sam out of his wet clothes and settled, his limbs completely compliant to my every bend. I covered him, and he sighed finally not shaking anymore as he melted in exhaustion into Bobby's couch.

Sam's eyelids refused to work -- flicking open and closed.

"Dean?" He wrinkled his forehead.

"Yeah, buddy?"

Sam didn't say anymore, blinking, seemingly searching for his train of thought -- but Sam's train had sped on down the tracks.

"Just try to rest, Sam." I wrung the dishrag out, dabbing Sam's heated forehead, cheeks, throat.

The ice-water, worked like a fire extinguisher seeming to relax him, bringing down his fever a notch or two. Sam would be up and around soon. Kid was tough, Bobby was right..

Sam finally seemed to find that train, ungluing his eyes. "Why's the room spinning, Dean?"

I ventured a quick look around. "It's not, pal."

"You sure?" he asked weakly.


"Good." Sam gave a pained grimace. "For a minute there I thought I was going to through up."

"Good. For a minute there you had me worried." I leaned in real close. "You're going to be fine, Sam."

"Thank you, Doctor Green eyes," Sam grumbled, arching his back a little trying to get comfortable -- or get away from me.

"You're welcome." I patted his chest.

"What about the Impala?" Sam shuddered

I sat back with a sigh. "My poor baby's been through hell. Bought it on thunder road, when a tree fell. She's all covered in blood, mud, tree sap, and who knows what other kind of crap. May as well have had a box of dynamite blow up inside the trunk. And…"

"Sounds like a country song." Sam smiled, closing his eyes.

I merely grunted.

The end