It Never Snows in Southern California

E/O Drabble Challenge, word: Drift

Musketeer word: Egg – hope you had fun with this one, sis – layed it especially for you :-)

Summary: The first real snowfall in life might be fun – if you're not alone in the middle of nowhere with your 8 year old brother...

A/N: This triple-drabble is dedicated to Dizzo, who had to endure my latest ramblings and did so in the kindest way, thanks so much, Dizz – see? I try!

Oh, and happy Birthday, Wolfspack pride – hope you enjoy the snow


He's awake and on red alert the second he hears Sammy yelling.

"Dean, come and see, quickly..."

What-the...

He's grabbing dad's Bowie knife from under his pillow, sprinting like a friggin gazelle.

His brother is standing at the window, shivering, because it's so-not-california cold in the cabin.

And then he sees, though he can't believe his eyes.

Snow. Not the powdered-earth kind. No buddy, the we're-so-screwed kind.

The whole world has turned white. Some sicko seemed to have exchanged boulders, trees and shrubs for giant eggs and 40 feet high cotton candy, drifting on a sea of cream.

Damn craptastic!


He's scared, but he won't show it. Kids can smell fear.

So he tells Sam how they're going to play gold-diggers in Alaska till dad's coming back from his hunting trip.

And he builds snowshoes from coat hangers and cord, so they can gather wood for the fireplace, and they have a snowball fight and laughing fits when Sam gets hit by a small tree avalanche and they build a snowwoman ("sure they have women, Sammy") and Dean doesn't care about their small supplies when he makes pancakes in the evening.

Only laying in bed his thoughts are drifting... crashing...


Four days later there's no fun left.

No food either, just the remnants of a crow Dean has shot. His mom's made him chicken broth when he had the flu, so he figured any bird would have to do the trick.

Cuz Sammy is sick – oh-so-sick, a shivering, feverish, hallucinating little something drifting under blankets, and Dean doesn't dare to leave him, so he just sits at the bed, telling stories, providing cold compresses, praying, yeah – no kidding.

And when he hears a heavy rumbling he starts to cry softly, until he feels strong arms, smells familiar leather.

Daddy's back.