Hey!

Yes, I know it's early - it's still Friday afternoon, not Friday evening. But I bailed out of work because of a monster headache that's taken some very heavy duty painkillers to make a dent in it, so here I am - floating a little bit, but we'll see how we go.....

Okay, first, thanks to the usual suspects - Chasidern for another very spiffy story banner, and Ziggy for her eagle-eyed beta-ing - Go Team! :cheer

Second, you might want to listen to the film clip of John Farnham's Chain Reaction on YouTube first before you read the story, as I wove the story around the song. The quality isn't all that flash, and the clip starts off slow before the song actually begins, but bear with it, okay?

Here's the link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bP7OVS2ZDGI

Okay, so we're bouncing back to season 1 for this one - and it's going to be a two-shot. Hope that you enjoy it.

Jules



Chain Reaction – by Mizpah
Chain reaction = a series of rapidly occurring events, each of which precipitates the next (Collins English Dictionary)
Set in Season 1, between the episodes Dead In The Water and Phantom Traveller

Chapter 1

“One shot in the revolution
One drop from a poison pen”

“Paige, I’m home.”

Don Chambers shook himself like a dog as he stomped across the front porch of the modest bungalow he shared with his wife of two years. Raindrops flew from his shaggy hair, splattering onto the front door and falling to the cracked and peeling floorboards. He tossed a wary look over his shoulder as a bolt of lightning lanced across the dark, brooding sky. Thunder rolled a few seconds after; a long, threatening rumble.

“Damned storm’s comin’ faster than I figured.”

He shrugged out of his heavy jacket, hanging it up on the rack beside the door as he pushed his way inside. “Paige,” he called again. “You here?”

No sound greeted the lanky mill worker and he frowned, running a hand through his wet hair. He walked down the short hall, peering into the small but cosy living room as he passed. The room was empty – the worn sofa strewn with glossy magazines, the fireplace cold and filled with ashes.

Don gave a weary sigh and continued on.

The master bedroom looked like a small whirlwind had swept through it. Rumpled sheets trailed from the unmade bed onto the floor, clothes lay scattered across the half-exposed mattress. The coverlet had slid off completely, lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed. A half-eaten apple rested on the edge of the dresser beside a dirty coffee cup, the dregs long since dried to a flaking brown stain. Everything was coated in a fine layer of dust, and the man grimaced as he trailed a hand across the mirror, leaving streaks in the reflective surface.

“Great,” Don muttered, shaking his head in disgust. “Guess you were too damned busy to clean the house again today, huh?”

His shoulders drooped in resignation as he trudged into the kitchen and surveyed the greasy sink overflowing with dirty dishes. Breadcrumbs dotted the tiny counter top, nestled amongst an array of soiled mugs and glasses. Don heaved a sigh as a cockroach skittered across the stack of plates.

He almost missed the note stuck to the tacky surface of the tiny table, half-hidden by an empty wine glass. Picking it up, he read the message scrawled in his wife’s untidy script before crumpling it in one huge hand. Don tossed the wad of paper towards the overflowing trashcan, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“Gone to Emma’s, huh? Well, that’s just peachy.”

Another rumble vibrated through the house, causing the dirty glasses to clink softly together. Don massaged the ache that seemed to have taken permanent residence at the back of his neck before picking up the phone, his fingers rapidly dialling the number from memory. Leaning one shoulder against the wall, he waited for the other party to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Emmie? It’s Don.”

“Hey.”

“Look, is Paige still there? That storm’s comin’ fast – if she hasn’t left yet, tell her to stay put. I’ll come get her.”

“Paige?” Emma Washington hesitated for a moment, confusion evident in her voice. “She’s not here, Don.”

“She’s left already? Damn.”

“Honey, I haven’t seen Paige since Tuesday.”

“But – she left a note…” A sick feeling began to grow in the lanky man’s stomach. He glanced around the shabby home, taking in the all-too-obvious signs of neglect. “She said she was over at your house.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” Anger tinged the woman’s wry tone.

“Em…”

“Sorry, Don, but I’m through lying for that girl.” Don heard a deep sigh. “She’s probably over at the Fifth Wheel.”

“The Fifth Wheel?” Don swallowed convulsively as he pressed his free hand to his temple. “Drinkin’?” Please, God, let it be drinkin’…

“Moe said…Moe saw her with some stranger. Real handsome guy – just passing through town, he said. Paige was – well, Moe said Paige looked kinda taken with him.”

The tall man swayed for a moment.

“Don? Honey – look, I’m sorry, but you had to know the truth.”

“How – how long have you known, Em?”

“As far as I can tell, it’s only been going on for a couple of days. The guy booked into the motel on Monday night – said he was workin’ a job just outside of town, but he didn’t say what. He was talkin’ to Pat Aimes over at the gas station. Had a real nice car, too, Pat said.”

“Yeah.” If there was one thing his young, impressionable wife was a sucker for, Don thought bitterly, it was a great car. “I – I gotta – I gotta go.”

“Don, now don’t you go doing anythin’ stupid. That girl just isn’t worth it.”

“Yeah.” Don hunched over, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. Pain stabbed at his heart and he stifled a gasp, biting his lip as he forced his tall frame to straighten. “I’ll – call you.”

“Don…”

The lanky mill worker hung up the phone, cutting off his oldest friend’s worried voice. Slowly, he turned to face the filthy kitchen, his blurring gaze sweeping over the tattered curtains hanging in the windows, the food-encrusted dishes, and the small army of ants trailing from the back door to the trashcan.

White-hot anger exploded in his gut, and he let out a guttural scream, lashing out with one long arm. Cups and glasses flew from the counter to shatter against the dusty, coffee-splattered floor. Don spun on his heel, took hold of the edge of the table and heaved, sending it slamming onto its edge. There was a tinkling crash as the empty wine glass hurtled across the room to smash against the back door.

His chest heaving, Don Chambers glared at the damage, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw ached with the strain. “Not this time, Paige,” he muttered darkly, turning to stalk from the room. “Not this damned time.”

* * * * *

“One fruit too small and bitter
One tree too proud to bend”

“Dean!”

“Almost got it – just hang on!”

Hang on to what? Sam Winchester wondered desperately, flailing his arms in a futile gesture as the spirit’s ice-cold hand wrapped around his throat, hoisting him off the ground.

“Hurry – up…” Wheezing hideously as his air supply was slowly cut off; Sam shot a desperate glance at his big brother. Dean was standing at the edge of the newly excavated grave a few yards from where Sam was struggling in the grip of the pissed off ghost whose remains they were about to salt and burn. As Sam’s vision began to darken around the edges, he saw a bright flare suddenly erupt from Dean’s right hand.

The elder Winchester tossed the burning matchbook into the grave, stepping back as the remains ignited with a soft whoosh. Flames rose to the lip of the hole, illuminating the scene in a flickering orange light. Spinning on his heel, he was just in time to see the spirit dissipate in a shower of bright sparks – and his half-strangled brother drop like a stone to the cold damp ground. “Sammy!”

What little air Sam had left in his lungs burst forth in a rush as he landed on the handle of the shovel he’d used to help dig the grave. Gasping like a fish out of water, he flopped onto his stomach, pressing his face against the dew-speckled grass. Strong hands slipped under his armpits, hauling him into a sitting position.

Through the roaring in his ears, he thought he heard his brother’s anxious voice, but the words seemed garbled, like Dean was talking underwater. Or maybe he was the one underwater, he mused, peeling his eyes open to find the landscape blurry and wavering.

“Sammy? Talk to me, dude.” Dean wrapped one arm around his brother’s heaving chest, supporting the younger hunter as Sam struggled for breath. “Sam!”

“’M – al’ri’…”

Dean settled back on his heels, a relieved chuckle spilling from his lips. “Dude, I think the jury’s still out on that one. Although I gotta say – nice Godfather impersonation.”

Scowling, Sam decided not to waste precious air formulating a verbal reply. He drove his arm back, jabbing Dean in the ribs with his elbow, his mouth curling in a smug grin when he heard his brother’s startled grunt. The arm across his chest was removed, and he found himself tilting sideways before a hand fisted in his jacket, hauling him upright again.

“Anything bust?”

Gingerly, Sam probed his ribs. “N-no.”

No doubt there would be some pretty spectacular bruising making its appearance in the morning, but nothing was cracked or broken. That probably counted as a successful hunt in Dean’s book, Sam thought bitterly, transferring his hand to his throat. His skin still felt cold from the spirit’s touch, but he couldn’t detect any damage.

A finger hooked under Sam’s chin and gently tilted his head back. Heaving a tiny sigh, he succumbed to his brother’s scrutiny for a few seconds before pushing the elder Winchester away. “Dude, I’m fine.”

“Okay, Don Corleone.”

“Hilarious, Dean.”

Standing up, Dean stretched out a hand to haul his brother to his feet. He studied Sam’s movements carefully, finally deciding that the kid had merely had the wind knocked out of him. There was no sign of any injury apart from a faint mark on Sam’s throat and a slight stiffness in his torso, no doubt caused by a few bruises.

Grinning, Dean retrieved the shovel and handed it to his scowling little brother. “Dude, if you’re finished with your flying lessons, we’ve got a grave to fill in.”

Snatching the long-handled tool from Dean’s grasp, Sam stormed over to the mound of dirt, ramming the blade of the shovel viciously into the base.

Dean watched his moody sibling for a long moment, deep in thought. Sam had come back from Stanford changed – it wasn’t so easy to read him any more. Four years at college had almost turned him into a stranger. There was still enough of the Sammy he remembered to keep him a little off-balance, however, and he found himself slipping into old habits more and more frequently, lulled into thinking that Sam would react the same as he had done when they were younger.

Sometimes, like now, it backfired on him. Ever since Jessica’s death, Sam was often a little hot-headed in his response, and with their dad missing, that put Dean squarely in the firing line to receive the full brunt of his brother’s pissy moods.

Giving a mental shrug and an inaudible sigh, Dean picked up the second shovel and strode to the opposite side of the mound. “So,” he ventured, pushing his booted foot against the shovel blade to drive it in deeper. “I could use a beer once we’re done.”

Letting out an annoyed huff, Sam kept shovelling the excavated dirt back into the grave.

“Oookay.” Dean worked faster, suddenly eager to get the job done and move onto some more pleasant pursuits. And get away from his brooding little brother for a while. Maybe a few beers would help to lighten the mood.

Finally the hole was refilled, and Sam tamped the turf back down while Dean gathered the weapons and tools. The younger man took up his usual position to the left of and a half step behind Dean as they made their way back to the Impala, Sam’s upper arm continually making contact in a warm, reassuring brush against the elder Winchester’s shoulder.

Popping the trunk, Dean tossed the weapons and shovels into the cavernous space and retrieved a bottle of holy water. He fished a handkerchief from his pocket and wet it before applying the cloth to his face and hands, wiping off the worst of the sweat and graveyard dirt. Tossing the bottle to Sam when he was done, Dean slammed the lid of the trunk and stepped around to the driver’s side door.

A faint rumble caught the green-eyed hunter’s attention and he looked up, spotting the roiling bank of dark clouds moving swiftly across the star-speckled sky from the southwest. Lightning flickered deep within the mass, and Dean unconsciously counted off the seconds until the soft but ominous roll of thunder followed. He looked across the roof of the Chevy at his brother. “It’s still about an hour away at best. We’ll go have a couple of beers, and pull out in half an hour. Maybe the worst of it will miss us.”

Sam flicked his gaze from the oncoming storm to his sibling’s face. “Why can’t we just stay another night and wait it out?”

“Because I don’t want to stay another night in that freakin’ rat-hole of a motel!” His good mood evaporating entirely, Dean dropped heavily onto the front seat and pulled the door shut. “I’d rather face the freakin’ storm.”

Dean shook his head in exasperation as Sam folded his long limbs into the car. The motel had been seriously bad, even on their scale of bad. Hardly anything had worked – the television, the coffee maker, and the bedside lamps had all been on the fritz. Even the shower had banged and clanged, emitting a tiny dribble of ice-cold water for a total of two seconds before giving up the ghost. And don’t get me started on the mattresses, Dean thought grimly, suppressing a shudder. There was no way he was staying there another night.

“Fine.” Sam closed the door, crossed his arms and thrust out his bottom lip in an all-too-familiar petulant sulk.

“Fine.”

The Impala roared to life and rumbled through the cemetery gates.

Sam folded his arms tighter against his torso, glaring out the window at the darkness. He was tired, he was sore, and all he wanted was a shower, a soft bed and the chance of a couple of hours sleep before the nightmares began ripping his mind apart in their nightly torture session. But big brother wanted to go out and have some fun – and what big brother wanted, big brother got. Sometimes he wondered why Dean bothered to have him along for the ride. His brother would do just fine without him, he groused silently. Dean would always fall on his feet.

Dean pursed his lips, steering the big car easily with one hand as he threaded through the streets of the town. He could feel the waves of disapproval emanating from the slumped form of his brother, and fleetingly wondered why he had been so happy to have Sam back at his side again.

Granted, the kid had a lot on his plate with his girlfriend dying in the same way as their mother. And he was not unsympathetic towards Sam’s nightly jerk-awake-in-a-cold-sweat act after the inevitable instant replays. He just wished the constant nightmares and the search for answers hadn’t turned Sam into this sullen, brooding pile of angst. To see a smile on that lean face had been a rare occurrence since the night of the fire.

Finally the bright lights of the local bar came into view, and a smile of anticipation lit Dean’s face as he swung into the parking lot. Finding a spot between a dusty pickup and a silver Cavalier station wagon, he switched the engine off and draped one arm across the back of the seat.

Giving a put-upon sigh, the younger Winchester rolled his eyes before peeling his tired frame from the car, reaching over the back of the seat at the last minute to grab the leather satchel containing their laptop. He deliberately slammed the door in a fit of pique, eliciting a muttered curse from his big brother, and stomped towards the door of the bar, easily sidestepping an inebriated trucker who staggered out to fall to his knees beside the entrance. Sam grimaced as the man began to retch, flicking a withering glance at his sibling.

“For God’s sake, Sam – lighten up already,” Dean snapped irritably, throwing a scowl at the heaving trucker. He shoved at his brother’s shoulder, earning himself an annoyed glare, and led the way into the dimly lit establishment. Pausing just inside the door to scope the place out, he smiled as his gaze zeroed in on a likely prospect sitting alone in one of the booths against the back wall.

The young brunette looked up, returning his smile as she toyed with the plastic straw in her glass, running one finger suggestively down its damp length.

“Why don’t you go get the beers in, Sammy?”

Sam let out a disapproving huff as he watched the interchange. “Found something you like?” he inquired sarcastically.

Dean’s grin wavered slightly at his brother’s tone. “Maybe. Seems like my type.”

“Female and got a pulse – that about covers it, doesn’t it?”

The elder hunter’s smile was wiped from his face. Sam took a cautious step back, realising that he’d just stepped over a line, but it was too late to call do-over.

Dean’s wide green eyes glittered with anger. Clenching his jaw, he glared at his brother for a long moment before turning his back. “Go get the beers,” he growled over his shoulder as he made his way towards a small table near the smiling brunette.

Sam bristled, a spark of rebellion re-igniting his own anger. Who did Dean think he was, ordering him around like he was some kind of lackey – or worse, a dumb kid? His incensed stare drilled into his brother’s broad back as the shorter Winchester headed for a vacant table. Dean ignored him, settling onto a chair with his back to the wall to continue his silent flirtation with the young woman.

Fuming, Sam threaded his way through the small crowd to the bar to place their order, sending one last glare in Dean’s general direction. Sometimes his brother could be a real jerk.

* * * * *

“One man to start the trouble
One kiss to seal your fate”

The parking lot of the Fifth Wheel was more than half-full. Don steered his pickup into an empty space beside a dark green Jetta and switched the motor off, resting his hands on the steering wheel while he scanned the assembled vehicles. It didn’t take him long to spot the gleaming muscle car in the next row. The immaculately kept vehicle looked out of place amongst the dusty pickups, mud-splattered SUV’s and a handful of smaller, though no less used, sedans and station wagons.

“So, he’s here,” the mill worker growled softly, his anger building until it formed a tight, hard knot in his chest.

Slowly, Don reached for the driver’s side door handle and tugged at it to release the catch, his burning gaze flicking from the muscle car to the entrance of the bar. Laughter, music and the faint hum of voices spilled from the building, and the lanky man grimaced at the thought of having his wife’s unfaithfulness laid out before his friends in such a blatant manner. The whole town must be laughing their asses off, he thought bitterly.

“Well, so be it. Let the chips fall, as ole Charley Pride would say.”

Straightening his shoulders, Don sucked in a ragged breath and strode towards the front door. He pushed it open and slipped inside, keeping to the deeper shadows while he studied the lay of the land.

There were the usual groups standing at the bar or clustered around the single pool table and darts board over on the rear wall. No one noticed the tall, shaggy-haired mill worker, leaving him free to search the crowd for a familiar face.

At first he couldn’t find her, and a feeling of uneasiness settled in his gut. What if he’d been wrong? What if Em had been wrong? But then a small group of young men near the centre of the room pushed a couple of tables together, redistributing the chairs to allow a few more of their friends to sit down, and through the gap in the press of bodies he saw her.

Paige Chambers was seated in a booth near the pool table, her arm draped around the neck of a stranger.

Don stiffened, his anger growing cold as he watched the woman he loved tilt her head towards the handsome, brown-haired man and kiss him passionately, sliding her hands up his chest and shoulders to interlace her fingers behind his head.

The bartender glanced at the couple in disgust before tossing his soiled dishrag under the counter. He straightened up, one hand sweeping out to grab an empty glass from the bar when he spotted the tall man standing by the door. His palm knocked against the glass, sending it skidding off the edge of the solid timber bar top to shatter on the sawdust-sprinkled floor as he stared at the silent, unmoving figure.

“Don!”

Heads turned at the sounds of shattering glass and the bartender’s shocked voice, the patrons’ gazes darting from him to the door. Gradually the low hum of conversion fell away, leaving the music to dominate the room. All eyes were on the mill worker as he slowly stepped into the light, his face looking like it was set in stone.

Ignoring the glances heavy with a mixture of worry and sympathy, Don moved to the middle of the room, his attention focussed on the oblivious couple in the rear booth. The song on the jukebox in the corner came to an end, and a tense silence fell over the barroom.

“Paige.”

Paige drew away from her would-be lover, her face twisting in shock as she spun to face her husband. “Don – I – it’s not – it isn’t what you –”

“Don’t keep taking me for a fool, Paige.”

The young man by Paige’s side wiped a hand across his lipstick-smeared mouth, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Paige? Who’s this?”

“Shut the hell up!” the young woman hissed, gripping his arm in warning. “You’ll only make things worse.”

Shrugging off the woman’s restraining fingers, the stranger got to his feet, holding up a hand in a placating gesture. “Hey, look buddy – whatever the problem is, let’s talk about it, okay?”

Don let out a short, bitter laugh. “Sure. Let’s talk about how you’re making out with my wife.”

“Your wife?” The man’s shocked gaze switched from Don to Paige and back again. “Hey, man – I didn’t know…”

“Yeah, and I guess it wouldn’t have mattered to you if you did.” Don took a couple of steps forward, his huge hands knotting into fists. He didn’t see the swift glance the stranger directed at a point over his right shoulder. “I know your type.”

The young man’s handsome face hardened into grim lines. “I’d watch my tone if I were you.”

“You’re not me.”

A shouted warning rose from behind the angry mill-worker and he spun on his heels, throwing up one arm in an instinctive defence when he spotted the tall young man standing behind him. The second stranger swung his bottle-filled fist in a lightning fast and well-practiced move, sweeping under Don’s guard and smashing the bottle against the side of his head. He staggered, stars flashing before his eyes, and the unknown assailant bored in, throwing a looping right to Don’s stomach.

The breath rushed from the lanky man’s lungs and he gagged, bending almost double with the force of the blow. Vaguely aware of the mass of bodies shifting around him as a few of the townspeople attempted to wade into the fray; he sank to his knees and wrapped his arms across his throbbing belly.

“Let’s get the hell out of here!”

Don recognised the voice of the man who had brought his world to an end, and snarled through clenched teeth, raising his head in time to see the two outsiders make a break for the men’s room. Turning a deaf ear to the shouted, tear-filled pleas of his wife, he pushed himself to his feet and stood swaying for a moment before lurching as fast as he could towards the front door.

Staggering out into the cold, windy night, Don winced when a bright actinic flash lit up the sky, throwing the parking lot into stark relief. He blinked rapidly, the afterimages fading slowly from his eyes as thunder shook the ground, followed by the light patter of raindrops. Hearing a scuffle and the sound of muted voices coming from the alley at the side of the building, he hurried his pace, pressing one hand to his spinning head as he sprinted to his pickup.

The mill worker yanked the door open as soon as he reached it, and leaned inside, slipping a hand behind the seat. Withdrawing a sawn-off shotgun, he pumped the action before turning to face the two dark figures as they emerged from the alley and headed towards the shining muscle car.

“Holy crap! The crazy bastard’s got a gun!” The taller of the strangers shouted, diving for the gravel surface of the parking lot as the shotgun boomed.

Letting out a screech as the outer edge of the spray of buckshot slammed into his arm, the shorter man staggered for a moment before his friend lunged up from the ground and clamped a hand on his shoulder. Together the two outsiders sprinted for their vehicle, wrenching the door open and practically falling inside. The powerful engine roared to life as the shotgun spewed out its second load, the double-0 buckshot shattering the rear window and eliciting a wild yell from the occupants that was three parts fear.

Kicking up a spray of gravel, the blood red ’71 Pontiac GTO peeled out of the parking lot, fishtailing for a few yards as its tyres hit the asphalt before the panicked driver regained control. The muscle car picked up speed, heading for the main road out of town.

Ignoring the shouts from the bar’s patrons as they spilled out of the building, Don threw the shotgun onto the passenger seat and climbed into the cabin. He slammed the door, turned the key in the ignition and fired up the motor, jerking the gear lever into Drive as he floored the gas pedal.

The battered pickup careened wildly as Don sent it hurtling down the street in pursuit of the men who had taken away his dreams.

* * * * *

“One kid that needs some action
One link in a chain reaction”

Sam sat alone at the table, moodily turning his half-empty beer bottle around and around between his hands. His brother and the leggy brunette had disappeared around twenty minutes ago, and it didn’t need any great stretching of the imagination to figure out where or why. Sighing impatiently, the youngest Winchester indulged in a full-blown sulk as he shot a glance at the rear door of the barroom.

No familiar lightly freckled face dominated by a smug grin showed itself through the milling crowd. Sam huffed, shoved the beer aside and dragged the laptop from its case, setting it up on the table. Soon he was immersed in the continuing search for their missing father, calling up a few websites he’d bookmarked earlier in the day. A frown drew his brows together as he leaned towards the screen to study the information displayed.

Oblivious to the crowd of revellers, Sam jumped when a firm hand suddenly grasped his shoulder. He spun around on the seat, looking up into the grinning face of his brother. “Crap, Dean!”

The elder Winchester wagged a finger in his sibling’s face as he settled onto the other chair. “Kinda lettin’ your guard down, there, Sammy. Getting sloppy, dude.”

“It’s Sam,” the shaggy-haired hunter growled in annoyance.

“Whatever.” Leaning back in the chair, Dean snagged Sam’s unfinished beer and drained it in one long swig. He signalled one of the bar staff for another round before tugging the laptop around to look at the screen, ignoring his little brother’s exasperated snort. “Whatcha doin’?”

Sam snatched the computer back. “Looking for Dad,” he stated pointedly, adding a silent like you should be doing.

Dean’s eyes narrowed fractionally, almost as if he heard the unspoken criticism. Whipping out his hand, he slammed the laptop lid shut, almost trapping Sam’s fingers in the process.

“What the hell –”

“You know what?” Dean glared at his moody brother as he raised his hand to eyebrow level, palm facing downwards. “I’ve had it up to here with your freakin’ pissy attitude. I’ve been putting just as much effort into finding Dad as you have, if not more.”

“Yeah, I can see you’re chasing down every possible lead,” Sam shot back. “So tell me, did your informant give you the heads up on Dad’s location before or after you banged her brains out?”

Dean fisted a hand in Sam’s hoodie, dragging the younger man halfway across the table. Ignoring the startled gasp from the waitress as she came to an uncertain halt a few feet away, he locked gazes with his brother for a long, tense moment, seeing a spark of worry in Sam’s expressive eyes. “Go wait at the car, and don’t say another word or so help me God, I’ll knock you on your college-educated ass so hard, you won’t get up for a week.”

Jerking out of his brother’s grasp, Sam stuffed the laptop back in the satchel with shaking hands. His chest heaving, he avoided Dean’s incensed glare as he hooked the carry strap over one shoulder and stormed out of the barroom. The long, threatening rumble of thunder as the door closed behind the younger hunter’s rigid back seemed like an omen of things to come.

Giving vent to an aggrieved sigh, Dean motioned the nervous waitress forward, paid for the beers and twisted the cap off one of the bottles. He drained it in record time and picked up the second one, turning the bottle idly in his hands as he stared into space.

There had been a time when Dean had been the hero in his brother’s eyes. His word had been law in Sam’s world, even during the tempestuous teenage years when Sam had been determined to drive their father up the wall with his constant questions and sullen acts of mutiny. But he’d never rebelled against Dean, not seriously. Not until the night he had packed up his meagre belongings and left for Stanford with rage in his heart and tears in his eyes.

And then had come almost four years of silence, followed by a wild weekend of ghost hunting ending in fire and pain and death. A stranger had arisen from the ashes – obsessive, critical and quick to anger.

Sometimes Dean found himself wishing that this new version of his little brother had come complete with an instruction manual.

Wearily shaking his head, he opened the second beer and took a few long swigs before leaving the almost empty bottle on the table, along with a generous tip for the waitress. He got to his feet, tossed a smile at the brunette whose company he had enjoyed for a brief time, and headed for the exit.

A flash of lightning lit the sky as Dean pushed open the door, almost blinding him. Blinking rapidly, he cleared the spots from his vision and glanced up at the rapidly approaching storm. Thunder shook the ground, and he realised that his little interlude might have cost them a comfortable margin in trying to outrun the storm.

Great, he thought to himself as he strode towards the Impala, and the tall dark figure waiting tensely by her side. That’s gonna make Sunshine Boy even happier…

Sam folded his arms tighter as his brother approached, anger simmering in his gut. He wordlessly stepped aside, waiting for the doors to be unlocked before heaving the satchel onto the back seat. Turning to face his sibling, he held out his hand as he blocked Dean’s access to the driver’s side door.

Dean looked at his brother in confusion. “What?”

“Keys.”

“What? Why?”

The younger man scowled in annoyance. “’Cos you’ve been drinking,” he replied with exaggerated patience.

“Oh, come on! I’ve had a couple of beers, that’s all. Nowhere near enough to make me drunk.” Gritting his teeth in anger, Dean grabbed his brother’s arm and hauled him out of the way. “Just shut up and get in the car already, and stop being a bitch.”

Seething with anger, the young hunter stumbled a few paces before regaining his balance. He spun on his heel, shooting his brother a dark glare as the elder man dropped onto the driver’s seat. Letting out a quiet huff, Sam stomped around to the passenger’s side and flung himself into the car as Dean turned the key in the ignition. “We’re not done with this discussion,” he snapped.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, yes, we are.”

The first few drops of rain pattered onto the gravel parking lot as the Chevy headed towards the low foothills on the outskirts of town.

* * * * *

“I got a fever, a fever in my soul
No I don’t want to die
Before I get old”

The winding mountain road kept blurring before his eyes.

Don shook his head, and decided immediately that it was a bad idea when a sharp pain speared through his skull. Raising his hand, he felt gingerly at his throbbing scalp where the second stranger had hit him with the bottle. His fingers came away wet, and he grimaced as he looked at the ruby smears of blood on their tips.

“Son of a bitch!”

A light scattering of raindrops splashed against the windshield, followed by a flash of lightning that almost blinded the pissed off mill worker. He cursed, blinking rapidly to clear the spots from his vision.

A hundred yards head of his speeding pickup, the brake lights of the Pontiac GTO flared briefly in the darkness as the blood-red muscle car skidded around another bend in the road. So far he had managed to keep the fugitives in sight, although the GTO was slowly increasing its lead as the road gradually became steeper. If he didn’t catch them soon, he ran the risk of losing them on the treacherous mountain highway.

If that happened, Don vowed to himself, then he would just keep driving over the mountains and into the next town – he was bound to catch up with the strangers there. With a little luck they would be lulled into a false sense of security, thinking they had ditched him or that he had given up the chase, and decide not to travel any farther in this weather.

“I won’t give up that easily, you bastard,” he muttered, his hands tightening on the steering wheel as another bolt of lightning threw the dark countryside into stark relief. Thunder cracked across the sky a bare second later, and the rain began to fall in earnest.

Don flicked the windshield wipers to high speed, but kept his foot pressed hard on the gas pedal, sending the pickup careening around the bends at breakneck speed. Up ahead, he could still make out the faint red glow of the Pontiac’s taillights through the downpour. They suddenly vanished, and Don smashed his fist against the dashboard in frustration. “No! No, you don’t!”

The engine of the ageing Dodge began labouring under the strain of the high-speed chase and the increasing incline of the road. Don ignored the faint shudder that ran through the vehicle and rammed the gas pedal against the floorboards. Suddenly the truck began to fishtail as the tyres fought for traction on the wet asphalt, and the lanky mill worker reluctantly slackened the pace a fraction, struggling to get the vehicle back under control. It wouldn’t do to get himself killed, he thought bitterly. At least, not before he’d caught up with the bastard who had stolen his wife from him.

After that – he didn’t care. He hadn’t thought much beyond smashing the guy’s face in. If he was truthful with himself, Don didn’t want to think beyond that – didn’t want to think about facing his lying, cheating wife, or going back to the filthy house that until that evening he’d stupidly referred to as his happy home.

His thoughts snapped back to the task at hand as the Dodge slid sideways around the next curve, the tyres squealing on the wet road. Frantically spinning the wheel, Don managed to straighten the vehicle back up again just before the passenger side fender scraped the guardrail. Breathing hard in reaction to his near miss, he threw the truck into another tight turn, fighting the pull on the steering wheel as the tyres tried to follow the camber of the road.

The storm lashed the countryside with its fury – the bright beam of the Dodge’s headlights illuminated the almost solid curtain of wind-driven rain and the rippling sheets of water skating across the asphalt. Common sense told him he should slow down, but anger overrode any reason. He was almost at the summit of the range – it was all downhill from there, and he could regain what speed he had lost on the ascent. It looked like the full force of the storm had unleashed itself against this side of the mountain, so he would soon be out of the worst of it.

Gritting his teeth, Don sent the pickup hurtling into the next curve, not caring that he was veering onto the wrong side of the road.

He didn’t see the glow of oncoming headlights until it was too late. With a wild yell, the lanky man hauled on the steering wheel, trying vainly to get back on his own side of the road. The other vehicle’s rear end began to drift sideways as its driver tried to avoid the speeding Dodge.

Tyres screamed, scrabbling for purchase on the steep, rain-washed road. Don tensed as the two vehicles skidded inexorably towards each other, waiting for the sickening jolt of the inevitable collision. Painfully aware of the long dark shape of the other car bearing rapidly down on him, he jammed his foot on the brake pedal, knowing in his heart it was hopeless.

Metal screeched and glass shattered as the front passenger side fender of the pickup ploughed into the rear passenger door of the oncoming vehicle, sending it into a spin. The Dodge lurched, tearing free of the other car, and continued its out of control slide across the wet road. Don pumped the brakes in a futile attempt to stop the truck, but the momentum was too great. With his breath freezing in his lungs, he sat helplessly as the vehicle slammed through the guardrail and tipped over the edge into the black abyss beyond.

* * * * *

“It took some time just to bring me here
Nobody’s gonna put me down
Do I make myself clear”

“I’ve called every contact in Dad’s journal – I’ve put feelers out every place I can think of. If that’s not enough for you –”

“That’s not the point, Dean, and you know it.”

“No? Then what is the point?”

Sam let out a frustrated sigh, curling his hands into fists. “The trail’s gone cold. We’ve got nothing – no leads, no clues. We should go back to Jericho, and –”

“No. No way. How many times do I have to tell you, there’s nothing in Jericho – all he left behind was the journal.”

“We don’t know –”

“Yes, we do!” Dean gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to pound his fist against the dashboard as his anger grew. “Damn it, Sam, you saw the freakin’ room! There was nothing there. Dad wouldn’t have given away anything like that if he wanted to disappear.”

“So – what – that’s it? We just give up?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then what, Dean? What the hell are we supposed to do now?” The younger hunter drew in a ragged breath. “Just forget about Dad, and strike out on our own? You’re the one who wanted to go find Dad in the first place, and now you’re telling me that we should just stop looking?”

“I didn’t say that! Jeez, do you ever stop freakin’ bitching? Ever since you came back, you’ve done nothing but whine – about the food, about the motel rooms, about hunting, how jacked up our lives are – God, doesn’t anything make you freakin’ happy? With your pissy attitude, it’s a freakin’ miracle that Jess didn’t blow her brains out after the first month you were together.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Dean realised he had crossed a line that should never have been crossed. One quick look at his brother’s pale, pinched face confirmed it. “Ah, jeez – man, look…”

“If that’s how you feel,” Sam whispered harshly, his voice barely audible above the swishing of the windshield wipers and the low growl of the Impala’s engine, “why the hell did you come get me?”

“Now, look –”

“Just drop me off at the next town, and I’ll go find Dad myself. You can do whatever the hell you want.” Turning to face the window, Sam stared out at the rain, biting his lip hard to keep the tears from falling.

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna run off again?” Dean felt sick to his stomach. Sometimes he wished his mouth had come with a delete button. “Freakin’ great.”

“I’m not just running off. And I didn’t just run off four years ago, either.”

“I never said anything about that.”

“You don’t have to. I can tell you were thinking it.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, Sam.”

Sam gave a disgusted huff.

“You know what? Fine. You want to act like a spoiled little bitch, you go right ahead.” Resolutely, the elder hunter fixed his gaze on the rain-drenched road, flicking the wipers onto high speed as they headed into the worst of the storm.

“I just want answers! I just want to find Dad! I need to find Dad! How the hell is that making me act like a spoiled little bitch?” Sam yelled, his anger boiling over.

“Don’t you think I want freakin’ answers, too?”

“She was my girlfriend!”

“And twenty years ago it was our mother! You might not remember her, but I do!” Dean’s eyes cut to his fuming brother for a brief instant. “You know what? You’re just like Dad – all you focus on is what you need! And all you do is bitch about everything until you get your own way! The motel room’s not good enough, I eat too much, I drink too much, I don’t do this, I don’t do that – I’m sick of it!”

“I don’t ever say that!”

“Oh, come on! What about back at the bar?”

“You’d had a few drinks!”

“I can still drive!”

“I’ve only got your word for that.”

“Okay, that’s it.” Dean practically vibrated with rage. “When we get off this mountain, I’m pulling over the first chance we get, and I’m gonna kick your ass so hard…” He left the threat unfinished, shaking his head as he gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands.

“Yeah? Why wait that long?”

“Don’t push me, Sam.”

“And that’s another thing! It’s always your rules, your way of doing things! You never ask my opinion on anything! It’s like I’m still a little kid!”

“The way you act? No surprise there,” Dean shot back, sending the Chevy into another tight curve.

It happened in the blink of an eye. Sam’s retort died on his lips as headlights from an oncoming vehicle blinded him. He flung out his hands, realising with sick horror that the car was on their side of the road, and closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable head-on collision.

* * * * *

Now come on, be honest - hands up those who thought Don would find Dean in the bar with his wife?
You forgot my three golden rules:
No Wincest
No deathfics
I love to play with your minds

I especially love to play with your minds...... :fire

yay i've been waiting for another one of your stories. And again...you don't disappoint!

and you play very well ;)
this story is amazing-i was so involved and then at the end I was like:nooooooooo go on please :D
I can't wait for more ;)

Awesome start to this two-shot Jules :cloud9

And in answer to your question, it did cross my mind for a second that Dean might be with Emma, but as soon as the guy nodded to his friend and he hit Don over the head with a bottle I knew it wasn't Dean, as he would want fight his own battle and, therefore, Sam would only join in if others got involved or if Dean was in difficulty!

Love how smoothly each scenario is leading into the other, all creating a chain reaction - you little genius you! :clap As usual everything is perfectly executed :bow Also like how you have the boys relationship as they are getting used to being with each other again. Dean getting annoyed with Sam for his pissy attitude and quick anger is spot on, despite how much he feels for his little brother as he's lost his girlfriend. And both of them are worried about their dad's disappearance too and it is affecting them. However Dean hit way below the belt with his comment about Jess, but Sam dismisses his attempt at an apology and off they go again ... :rolleyes:

Now it looks like the guys in the Pontiac have got away scot free as Don's truck has hit the Impala :car and they are both heading for a crash :thud As you don't do deathfics, the boys must survive, and hopefully get back on track with each other! :huh:

Already looking forward to tuning in next week for the conclusion of this story! D

Have a great weekend sis

Sarah :wave

That was awesome. Wishing his mouth came with a delete button. Man I've wished for that a good many times, or a rewind. Lol(I tend to speak first think later.) But Dean really opened mouth and inserted his foot on that one.

Did you just smash up the Impala? Did you put the boys in danger and leave? I bet you're rubbing your hands and laughing maniacally. :evil

Great start,
Trace

...well, yes, I am, actually....

is that bad? :shrug

:fire

:o Wow, great start! I had a feeling it wasn't Dean with Paige because like you said, you like to mess with our minds! :lol: Can't wait for next Friday!

Cindy.

Yes Jules, I'll admit it too, I thought it was Dean... :unsure: But hey, he has a rep! :lol:

Dean and Sam are really letting it all out arn't they? They don't need chick-flick sometimes (although I LOVE it :wub: !), just a good ol' shouting match to let it loose...

Don is seriously p***ed and it seems with good reason, but there is obviously more to it that what we can see at the moment. Want to know what.

This is a great start to another obviously fantastic story, love the dynamics and the layout - really looking forward to the next chapter. Dean's going to me even more angry now his baby is dented. :bang

Take it easy,
Julie. :D

Brilliant start Jules, this was the way to get my Friday off to a great start :D

Your definitely playing with my mind with this one and what an evil cliffy you left us with :o Will they crash or won't they? Can't wait to find out next week.

Hope you have a great weekend :)

x Loz x

:clap ha that was great Jule and yep you totally had me thinking it was Dean. Awwww do we really have to wait till next week?as ever loved it.

Ahhh Jules its seems so long ago now that Dean went to get Sam and began the long haul to....... who knows where except Kripke. lol

It was a blast of nostalga that went right to my heart, it made me wanna go back and watch season one. SIGH.

Great start


Steffs

Yeah back to old school winchester boys...you had me going there at the beginning, thinking it was Dean with Emma...nicely done..looking forward to the next part!
Lisa

Wow!That was intense.
Jules, you got me big time with the beginning, I thought it was Dean and Sam :)
Ohhh!Lot of tension between the brothers :unsure:
Don's car smashed into the impala and than what... :o You're evil Jules,to leave us hanging like this until Friday.
Can't wait for the the conclusion.

Yep, it's official................I'm hooked!!! :D

The thought that it was Dean crossed my mind, but then I thought that Dean is pretty good at reading people and as much of a horn dog as he is, he wouldn't mess with a married woman!

But you just crashed the Impala!!!! OMG, I can't believe you just did that.

The boys are really struggling with being around each other. So much anger on both sides of the fence.

Great start as always Jules!!!

Can't wait for more!

Michelle

zee Immense now all we need is an update lol cos seriously ya cant just leave it like that ! but loved it much ! =]

Oooh, grumpy Sammy and Dean not wanting to be left alone again... :cheer

Awesome start;- so no deathfics huh? Doesn't eliminate hurt boys though does it..... :P

Laughed for ages about the 'grabbies' by the way, making me smile to think about it! :lol: not long now...

Looking forward to Friday to find out what happens next :D

Well, here we are, at the end of the week from hell.....

Sorry the replies are a wee bit short, but I'm feeling a little queasy tonight, so I'm not really with it at the moment.

And this is the end of another story. Next week sees the start of a new one, and it's quite a departure for me. I'm tackling an apocalypse story. Hell, everybody else seems to be doing one, so I thought - why not have a go as well?

So there will be a lot of angst...no, strike that - there will be a LOT of angst. And tension, and swearing, and......

It's also a departure because this one's being co-written, and I can count on one finger the amount of times I've had a co-author. Yep, that's right - once. Lorrie - the awesome Charmed1of2 - partnered with me for the missing scene What Am I Supposed To Do. She wrote two beautiful flashbacks for me to weave into the tale of how Dean spent the day and a half with Sam's dead body after AHBL1.

Anyway, this joint venture is being co-written with Cookie6, and will be in Futures on this site, but when the first chapter goes up next week, I'll put the link in this thread when I reply to your reviews.

Oh, and it's called Here At The End Of All Things. Ominous, eh?

Anyway, let's get on with the second part of Chain Reaction - let's see how the boys fared in the collision, shall we?

Jules

Amijek – welcome! And thank you! I hope that I never do disappoint.

Ilaria – I do, don’t I? It’s such fun. So happy that you love this one.

Sarah – thanks for that. Yes, the boys had a bit of a bumpy road in the first season, but they soon found their rhythm – and I’m hoping that they will again in S4 or S5…

Trace – oh, me too. I quite often suffer from foot in mouth disease. I think that Dean got both feet in there with the crack about Jess…

Cindy – no, it wasn’t Dean with Paige Chambers – but I couldn’t resist a little messing with your heads there – lol!

Jules – yes, he does, doesn’t he? And yes, the boys are a wee bit testy with each other, but they’re about to get a sudden jolt…..

Loz – glad I can make your Friday special, hon. Whoa!!! I love your new Jensen banner! …*drool*…what do the words say? And as for will they or won’t they crash – well, Dean’s driving…..

Sharon – thanks hon. Yes, I was hoping for that little misdirection…*grins wickedly*…so glad you love it.

Steffs – yes, it does, doesn’t it? S1 seems so carefree now, when we go back and watch it. Days of youthful innocence….

Lisa – lol, that was the plan. But no, it wasn’t Dean with Paige. Hope you enjoy the next bit.

Oceane – I got you? Awesome!! Yep, there was a wee bit of tension, wasn’t there? It was just as stormy inside the Impala as it was outside – let’s see what happens when the thunder stops rolling…

Michelle – LOL! And no, I think Dean has a certain standard – and he wouldn’t want to tangle with an irate husband… Um – did I? Oh, yes, I did. Well, it wasn’t me, it was Don….*grins*….

Jensen&Danneel<3 – a very warm welcome to you. Pull up a chair – I hope you enjoy the ride. Ahh, yes – a word of warning – I love cliffies. Well, I love writing them, lol. Hope you like the next instalment.

Tori – no, no deathfics. I’ll bash ‘em, but I try not to kill ‘em. Not unless I have a very good backup plan… Ah, glad you liked that. I try to get a tiny bit of humour into the stories, even the angsty ones.


Chapter 2

“One shot in the revolution
One drop from a poison pen
One fruit too small and bitter
One tree too proud to bend
One man to start the trouble
One kiss to seal your fate
One kid that needs some action
One link in a chain reaction”

Dean cursed, frantically pumping the brakes and hauling on the steering wheel, sending the Impala towards the wrong side of the road in a desperate attempt to avoid the truck that was hurtling towards them at breakneck speed. The Chevy responded instantly, her back end sliding a little on the slippery road. Dean’s eyes flicked rapidly back and forth, his mind racing faster than the Chevy’s wheels were turning, calculating distances and angles. It would be close – real close.

Suddenly the other vehicle went into a skid as its driver slammed on the brakes. Stupid son of a bitch, Dean thought fleetingly. The truck’s front fender was now aimed squarely at the passenger side of the Impala – at Sammy, Dean realised with a jolt. Reacting instinctively, he flung out his right arm, grabbed a handful of his brother’s hoodie and hung on with all his strength.

Both brothers felt the sickening crunch as the pickup slammed into the rear door and spun them around, the Chevy’s tyres squealing as they scrabbled for purchase. Dean fought the pull of the steering wheel, keeping an eye on the rapidly approaching guardrail as he alternated between the brake and the gas pedal. Too much brake and the big black classic would aquaplane like the truck – skate along the rain-slicked surface with no traction. Too little, and they risked slamming through the rail and careening down the mountain.

Skimming the rail on the wrong side of the road with inches to spare, the Chevy finally came to a halt, giving one last jerk as the inertia bled off. His chest heaving, Dean stared out at the wet stretch of highway, fighting to get his rattled nerves back under control.

Finally he turned towards his brother, swallowing rapidly. “S-sammy?”

Sam’s face was stark white, his eyes blown wide in shock. He stared wordlessly back at Dean, his breath coming in tiny, ragged gasps, one arm pressed hard against the door. Finally he blinked, glancing down at his brother’s hand tangled in his clothes. “You – you c-can let g-go, now,” he stammered softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dean became aware of a slight twinge of pain in his arm as the adrenaline rush began to fade, and looked down in curiosity. “So can you,” he replied gently, staring at Sam’s bloodless fingers locked around his right bicep in a death grip.

Carefully prying his brother’s hand free after untangling his own, Dean searched Sam’s wan face for any sign of injury. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Sam murmured huskily. “Just a – little sh-shaken up…”

“Yeah.” The elder Winchester rubbed a hand across his face before switching off the Chevy’s engine. He exchanged another glance with his brother. “We better go check on the other guy.”

* * * * *

“I’ve got trouble, trouble in my life
And I’ve been livin’
On the edge of a knife”

Don gasped, struggling to drag air into his compressed lungs. Slowly, he opened his eyes and tried to take stock of the situation.

He was sitting tipped forward at a twenty degree angle, his arms draped across the top of the steering wheel, hands trailing onto the glass-dotted dashboard. Rain poured in through the shattered windshield, stinging his face like a thousand icy needles pricking his skin. The lanky mill worker blinked the water from his eyes and looked down at his chest, wondering why it was so hard to breathe.

“Oh, God…”

Fighting back a sudden bout of nausea, Don stared in dismay at the broken branch protruding from the right side of his chest. Frothy blood bubbled around the wet bark at the point of entry, flowing along the branch and disappearing into the rain-lashed night.

The injured man forced his head back, squinting against the fury of the storm as he gazed out at the huge tree towering over the front of the battered pickup. He remembered the hard jolt of the pickup smashing through the guardrail followed by a rending crash and a terrific pressure against his chest.

“God…” Tears of agony welled in his eyes, mingling with the rainwater as they coursed down his cheeks. Pushing against the steering wheel, he tried to move, but it was a futile gesture. He was completely pinned, impaled on the broken branch like an insect. Already he could feel the warm flood of his life fluid pooling under his shirt and spilling across his lap.

Thunder cracked overhead, almost drowning out a shout from the nearby road. Don tried to answer, but found he couldn’t draw a full breath. Footsteps thudded on the wet asphalt, drawing close to the rear of the wrecked pickup.

“Hey, buddy? You okay?”

Don heard a muttered curse, followed by a muted rustling, and then a dark figure appeared at the driver’s side window.

“Hey.”

The mill worker blinked exhaustedly, trying to focus his blurring eyes on the face of the stranger.

“Oh, God…just hold still, buddy, okay? We’re here to help.” The man’s head turned. “Sammy, call nine-one-one, then go get the first aid kit and a spare blanket from the trunk.”

“All right.”

Don hadn’t even spotted the second man standing behind the first. He groaned, trying to see through the driving rain as the stranger scrambled back up the slope to the road. “My – my…”

A sinewy hand came through the window to clasp his shoulder in a firm grip. “Easy, dude. Don’t try to move, okay?” Two fingers rested against the side of his neck. “Just take it slow. Concentrate on breathing. Can you do that for me?”

Nodding, the jilted man leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes, feeling the hand return to his shoulder. He found it oddly comforting. Swallowing, he tried to draw in as much air as he could. “Th-anks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Don suddenly realised that the stranger must have been in the car that he’d hit. “Oh – God – m’sor-rry…”

“Hey, hey, hey! It’s okay. Just breathe for me, dude. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, my brother’s fine – and you’re gonna be okay. But you gotta keep still for me. Help’s on its way. Just hang in there.”

There was a sudden commotion at the side of the Dodge, and Don blinked sluggishly at the sight of the second head looming a couple of inches above the first. He heard a satisfied murmur before something pressed against his chest, and couldn’t help a breathy cry of pain.

“Easy, dude.”

A warm blanket enveloped him, and he raised one arm to grasp the forearm of the stranger, holding on with rapidly fading strength. “Don’ leave m-me…”

“I won’t. I’m stayin’ right here until the ambulance comes, okay?”

“Got – tell y-you – Paige…”

* * * * *

“But I don’t intend to let you down
I’m gonna give you love
Before I hit the ground”

Dean pushed the door open and stepped out into the full force of the storm, catching his balance against the Chevy’s solid frame for a moment. The shock of the accident had left him feeling shaky – he had been so scared the truck was going to hit and seriously injure Sammy that the flood of relief almost sent him to his knees.

Grimly the young hunter straightened up. There would be time for that later. For now, he had to see to the occupants of other car. Falling back on his training, he quickly assessed the position of the two vehicles, and decided that the Impala, although on the wrong side of the road, was a safe enough distance from the hairpin bend that she could be seen by traffic approaching from either direction. Nodding in satisfaction, Dean walked around to the passenger side and waited for his brother.

Sam clambered shakily from the car, blinking rapidly as the freezing rain stung his face. He turned to survey the Impala, wincing at the dent and scrape along her side. Swallowing nervously, Sam closed the door and took a few wobbly steps towards the middle of the road, unsure what his next move should be.

“Sam? Hey!”

Rotating on his heel, the youngest Winchester stared at his brother in befuddlement.

Dean recognised the symptoms of shock. Striding quickly to his sibling’s side, he nudged Sam’s arm. “Hey, focus. Come on, dude, I need you with me.”

“I – I’m with you.”

“Good. Then get to your fallback position.”

Sam frowned, confused. His fallback position – what was his fallback position? If only he could remember...He turned, searching the wet expanse of highway.

Dean grasped his little brother’s forearms, turning the younger man around to face him. “Hey – hey – it’s me, remember? Your fallback position’s me. You keep on me, Sammy.”

Relief flooded Sam’s shocked system. Of course it was Dean. It had always been Dean. It was stupid of him not to have remembered that. “Stay behind Dean...stick with your brother...keep behind me, Sammy...don’t lose sight of Dean.” Dean would fix it – Dean would always fix it. As the elder hunter turned back towards the wrecked truck, Sam tucked himself behind Dean’s left shoulder and stayed close, as if he was glued there.

“Okay, come on, kiddo.” With one last glance to make sure his brother was in his usual position at his wing, Dean headed across the road to where the battered Dodge pickup had come to rest.

Studying the wreck as he drew closer, Dean shook his head in concern. The truck had slammed through the guardrail and begun to slide down the slope before hitting a huge oak tree. From where he stood, he could see a few broken branches, obviously shattered from the impact. “Hey! Everyone okay in there?”

No answer came from the dark cabin, and Dean edged closer, resting a hand on the pickup’s tailgate as he stepped over the mangled rail. He could feel the warm press of Sam’s chest against his shoulder blade as the younger hunter studied the wreck. “Hey, buddy? You okay?”

“Dean – oh, God.” Raising a shaking hand, Sam pointed to the front of the truck, and the splintered branch that had speared through the windshield.

“Son of a freakin’ bitch!” With one hand pressed against the side of the pickup to steady himself, Dean descended the few feet to the driver’s side door. “Hey.”

Inside the truck, the driver stirred, blinking sluggishly as he turned his ghost-white face towards the window. Dean’s gaze dropped to the man’s chest, and the branch that impaled him like a bug on a board. In the faint glow from the truck’s dashboard lights, he could see the dark spreading stain on the man’s shirt and jeans.

“Oh, God…just hold still, buddy, okay? We’re here to help.” Dean threw a glance over his shoulder at his hovering sibling. “Sammy, call nine-one-one, then go get the first aid kit and a spare blanket from the trunk.”

“All right.”

Listening to the sounds of his brother making his way up the slope to the road, Dean turned back to the injured man trapped in the wreck. He saw the stranger’s lips move, and leaned closer to hear the breathless whisper.

“My – my…”

Dean reached in to grab the man’s shoulder. “Easy, dude. Don’t try to move, okay?” Checking the mill worker’s pulse, he grimaced when he finally found the weak, erratic flutter beneath the chilled flesh of the stranger’s neck. “Just take it slow. Concentrate on breathing. Can you do that for me?”

Waiting for a tiny nod of confirmation, Dean rested his hand back on Don’s shoulder.

“Th-anks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Oh – God – m’sor-rry…”

Dean felt the stranger shift in agitation, and hastened to restrain him from moving too much. “Hey, hey, hey! It’s okay. Just breathe for me, dude. Don’t worry about it. I’m fine, my brother’s fine – and you’re gonna be okay. But you gotta keep still for me. Help’s on its way. Just hang in there.”

Sam suddenly appeared from out of the rain-lashed gloom. “Paramedics are on their way.”

Taking the first aid kit from his brother’s hands, Dean flipped it open and rummaged around inside. He heard a click, and the beam of a flashlight illuminated the contents of the kit. “Ahh – gotcha.”

Dean plucked a thick field dressing from the metal box, tore the top of the sealed bag off with his teeth and pressed the gauze padding against the wound, eliciting a pain-filled cry from the injured man. “Easy, dude.”

Unfolding the blanket that his brother passed to him, Dean carefully draped it around Don’s shoulders and chest and tucked it in as best he could. As he positioned his hand to exert pressure on the man’s punctured chest and try to slow the bleeding, he felt a weak grasp on his forearm.

“Don’ leave m-me…”

“I won’t. I’m stayin’ right here until the ambulance comes, okay?”

“Got – tell y-you – Paige…”

The elder hunter frowned. “Paige?”

“M’wife.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Dean resettled his feet against the slippery slope and leaned on the door. He shot a look at his brother before concentrating on the stranger, realising that the man needed to talk. “Okay.”

“Che-cheated – on – me,” Don gasped, holding back a sob. “Guy – red Pon-tiac G – T – O. Found them – bar – Fifth Wheel – confronted…”

“Okay, so the guy was driving a red Pontiac GTO, right? And you found him with your wife at this bar called the Fifth Wheel and called them out on it?”

Don nodded, squeezing Dean’s arm. “Buddy – got me – behind – bottle – ran – shotgun – shot their – rear window – chased – lost them – on road – hit you…”

Sam shifted his stance, leaning more firmly against his brother.

“The guy had a buddy, and he hit you from behind with a bottle so they could book. You took out their rear window with your shotgun, chased them up this road, but you lost them and hit us instead. That right?”

“Y-yeah.” The shaggy-haired mill worker tasted copper on his tongue, and swallowed painfully. “Don – Cham-bers.”

“Dean Winchester. And my brother, Sam.”

“I’m – die…”

“No, you’re not gonna die. You just hold on, Don. Help’s comin’, you hear me?” Dean reached in with his free arm and grabbed the lanky man’s hand. “You stay with me, Don.”

Don’s eyes slid closed, his breathing becoming erratic as his hand slowly loosened its grip on Dean’s. “G-glad…y-you ...here…”

“Easy, dude. Don’t talk any more, okay? Just rest, and keep breathin’ for me. You’re doing good, man. You’re doing good.”

Dean watched the man’s head tip back. Don’s eyes glistening in the faint light as he stared at something beyond the darkness. His shattered chest hitched, his broken body gave a faint shudder, and the breath left his slightly parted lips in a long, soft susurration.

The cold hand relaxed in Dean’s grasp and fell to the bloodstained seat.

Sam’s soft, “oh, no” was like thunder to Dean’s ears. Pressing his lips together, he checked Don’s pulse in the futile hope that the man had merely passed out. Reason won out, and he cursed bitterly before pulling the blanket up over the pale, lax face.

A siren wailed faintly in the distance, growing steadily louder as it approached their position. The brothers moved in tandem up the slope to stand at the rear of the Dodge as the ambulance jerked to a stop, its flashing lights bathing the area in lurid red, like spilled blood.

Stepping back as the paramedics alighted from the vehicle, Dean watched them for a moment before walking back across the road. He perched on the hood of the Impala, staring into the rain. Feeling a warmth at his shoulder as the Chevy’s frame creaked and dipped, he gave a deep sigh.

“You tried, man,” Sam murmured gently.

“Yeah, I know.”

The brothers fell silent, listening to the faint voices of the emergency personnel. Thunder continued to rumble overhead, briefly drowning out the drumming of rain against the asphalt. Almost ten minutes passed before they heard the faint thud and splash of approaching footsteps, and Dean slid from the Impala to talk to the grim-faced paramedic.

Casting a quick glance at the dent in the side of the Chevy, the EMT turned his attention to the two young men. “I’m sorry – there was nothing we could do. The branch crushed his chest, went straight through a lung, and just missed his backbone at the exit point. Even without the punctured lung, he would have bled out before we could have cut him free.”

Nodding tiredly, Dean scrubbed a hand across his damp face, gathered his brother to his side with a look, and thanked the man.

“The cops will be here shortly – they’re gonna need to take your statements.” The paramedic looked the brothers over with a careful eye. “You two okay? You need us to check you out?”

“We’re all right,” Sam affirmed softly. “Just got a little shaken, that’s all.”

“Okay – if you’re sure.”

“We’re sure. Thanks.” The younger hunter waited for the emergency worker to return to the ambulance before turning to glance at his brother. “Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“You all right?”

“Yeah.” Dean settled back against the Chevy, his jaw tightening as he stared into the rain-swept night.

* * * * *

The rain had eased to a drizzle by the time the cops arrived, and the grim-faced elder Winchester waited with ill-concealed impatience while they examined the scene before taking his statement.

Finally the formalities were done, and the brothers thanked for their co-operation. Sam gave the officers a tight smile, staying by his brother’s side as the cops walked away. He glanced at his sibling in concern. “Sure you’re all right?”

Dean drew in a deep breath, shooting a speculative look at his blood-smeared hand. “Get in the car,” he ordered suddenly, his face settling into a mask of grim determination.

Sam obeyed without question, a worried frown creasing his brow. He pushed his wet bangs from his eyes as his brother slid behind the wheel. “Where are we going?”

The Impala roared to life at the turn of the ignition key. Dean listened for a moment to the V8 engine’s deep song before putting the car into gear. “We’re gonna go find that red Pontiac GTO.”

* * * * *

“One cruel and callous lover
One blow below the belt
One chance without another
One heart too cool to melt”

Bo Matheson swiped the worn dishrag through a wet patch on the bar, pretending to take no notice of the little scene going on in one of the rear booths. He hadn’t quite believed his eyes when the two young strangers had returned to the almost deserted bar barely an hour after they had left with an irate Don Chambers chasing their tails. The shorter of the two had gone straight to where Paige Chambers sat dejectedly in the corner, hauled her to her feet, and proceeded to engage in a quiet but heated discussion.

Snatches of the would-be lovers’ conversation drifted to his ears as he went about his tasks – “…crazy husband of yours…..I didn’t start……pay for a new window…..not pinning that on me…..make you…..try something…”

The soft creak of the front door drew the bartender’s attention, and he looked up in curiosity. A frown creased his craggy face as two more young strangers walked in. They could have been cousins of the two who had started the trouble earlier in the evening. Straightening up, he opened his mouth, intending to tell them to take a hike, when something about the newcomers sent a warning tingle down his spine.

Moving with lethal grace, the shorter of the two stepped slowly into the room, his booted feet making almost no sound on the rough wooden floor. He paused just outside a bright patch of light to scan the scattered occupants. Spotting the two arguing lovers almost immediately, he nudged his taller companion’s arm and indicated the pair with a slight nod of his head.

The taller, younger man gave a tiny twitch of his lips in acknowledgement, and searched the deeper shadows of the almost deserted bar. He stiffened slightly when his gaze skated over the tall lanky stranger huddled on a stool at the end of the bar, and bent his head to whisper something to his buddy.

Nodding, the spiky-haired one raised his hand in a signal indecipherable to the increasingly puzzled bartender. The new arrivals separated, the shorter one rapidly making his way over to Paige Chambers and her companion, the taller one fading back into the shadows without a sound.

Intrigued, Bo put down his dishrag and concentrated on the older man as he came to a halt a few feet from the arguing couple.

“Hey.”

Paige frowned, her face flushed with anger at the intrusion. She turned to check out the stranger who had dared to interrupt, and her eyes gleamed with interest, despite the fact that the new arrival was soaked to the skin and had what looked suspiciously like a bloodstain on his hand. Paige swiftly compared him to her earlier conquest, finding her previous lover coming up far short of the mark as she took in the newcomer’s wide shoulders, lean muscled frame, and handsome face dominated by gorgeous green eyes and sinfully long lashes.

Her erstwhile lover wasn’t so easily impressed. Giving what he fondly thought of as a subtle signal to his buddy, he placed his hands on his narrow hips and shot a challenging glare at the new arrival. “What the hell do you want?”

Dean fought down a grin. He couldn’t believe it was going to be this easy. They had found the red GTO in the parking lot of the Fifth Wheel the moment they hit town, and had made their plans on the way to the door. He didn’t have to glance behind him to know that Sam was already moving into position – they were too well-trained for that. “You and me, asshat. Outside, now.”

“Who the hell are you?” The Pontiac driver scowled in confusion. “Do I know you?”

“Nope.” A cocky grin flitted across Dean’s full lips, and was gone as quickly as it had formed. “But I know Don Chambers.”

Holding up a placating hand, the stranger flicked another glance over Dean’s shoulder. “Now, just a minute, buddy – I don’t know what your stake is in this…”

The elder Winchester rolled his shoulders and curled his hands into fists. “Oh, I got a stake in this as big as Texas, you slimy son of a bitch. I just want to know one thing before I break every bone in your body.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“How’d you ditch him, up on that mountain road?”

Smirking, the stranger took a few steps closer to his soaking wet antagonist. “Found a driveway. We swung into it and turned off the lights. Stupid bastard didn’t see us in all that rain – he went right by us.”

At the bar, Bo frowned as he watched the altercation unfold. He recognised the danger to the cocky young stranger as the lanky man slid from the barstool and headed in his direction, an empty beer bottle clutched in one hand. The bartender drew in a quick breath to shout a warning, when he caught a hint of movement from the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he spotted the second shaggy-haired young man gliding across the floor on soundless feet.

Sam came to a halt behind the bottle-wielding stranger, flexing his arms before reaching up to grasp the wrist holding the bottle.

At the sound of the startled expletive behind him, Dean exploded into swift and deadly action. Leaping forward, he snapped out a short, savage uppercut that impacted on his target’s chin and lifted the man to his toes. Giving the brown-haired stranger no time to react, Dean sent his left fist in a pile-driving slam to the man’s midsection, doubling him over. A stamping side kick to the ribs toppled him to the floor, and the hunter bent down to grab a handful of hair.

Dean practically scalped the stranger as he hauled the groaning man to his feet. Gritting his teeth, he proceeded to deal out justice Dean Winchester-style, throwing punch after punch at the other man’s head, his mind on a bleeding wreck of a man dying on a lonely, storm-swept stretch of road. Cartilage pulped, bone cracked and blood spurted under his punishing fists as he concentrated his blows on the guy’s face. Finally, he shot out a deadly right hook, the force of the punch flinging the bloody body onto a nearby table. The flimsy piece of furniture tipped over, dumping the almost comatose man onto the floor.

The green-eyed hunter bent down and quickly frisked his groaning opponent, grinning in satisfaction when he found the stranger’s wallet. He withdrew a small wad of bills from inside, tucking the money into his jacket pocket before dropping the almost empty leather case onto the man’s battered face. “This’ll help pay for the repairs to my baby – since it was your fault she got dented.” Stepping back, Dean blew on his skinned knuckles before turning to see how his little brother had fared.

* * * * *

Sam grabbed the second stranger’s wrist in an iron grip. Ignoring the startled curse that fell from the man’s lips, the young hunter spun him around, hauling the trapped limb behind his back. His other hand clamped onto his victim’s shoulder, his forearm pressing against the back of the lanky man’s neck. Bending the stranger almost double, Sam twisted savagely on the trapped arm.

“Drop the bottle, or I’ll pop it,” Sam growled, giving the man’s shoulder a warning wrench.

The empty beer bottle clunked to the floor, and Sam relaxed his grip slightly. Taking advantage, the stranger slipped from the young hunter’s grasp and spun on his heel, launching a straight left that snapped Sam’s head to the side.

Staggering back a few steps, the shaggy-haired Winchester raised his arms to shoulder level, his right hand curled into a fist, his left open and ready to block. Whipping up his right leg, Sam drove his booted foot at his assailant’s midsection. The breath rushed from the man’s lungs in a startled ‘whuff’ as he stumbled backwards, wrapping his arms across his belly.

Gliding forward a pace, Sam shot out his fist, catching the other man just above the ear. He flung his head back to avoid a return blow, swinging his left forearm in a tight arc to knock the stranger’s arm up. Sam’s right fist drove out in a short, savage punch to the centre of the man’s face, pulping his nose and sending him reeling back.

The bloody-faced assailant gave a wild yell and dove for the tall young hunter, his wildly swinging fist slipping through Sam’s guard to smash into his mouth. Sam grunted, seeing stars flash briefly before his eyes. Ducking under the next blow, the younger Winchester inclined his body to the right as he swivelled at the hips. He raised his left leg, curling it towards his belly before lashing out with the full power of his lean, muscular frame. Sam’s boot smashed into the lanky man’s ribs with sickening force, breaking three ribs and sending the man flying backwards to collide with the bar.

His breath spilling from blood-smeared lips in a sobbing moan, the stranger slid to the floor, one shaking hand raised in a gesture of surrender.

Breathing hard, Sam shook out his fist as his grinning big brother came to a halt at his side.

“You okay, Sammy?”

“It’s – Sam,” the younger Winchester huffed, wincing as he tried to grin back. He raised a hand to his throbbing mouth and wiped away a trickle of blood.

“Whatever.” Dean glanced from one supine body to the other in satisfaction. “Job well done, dude. Let’s get out of here, huh? We need a hot shower and dry clothes.”

“Not so fast, kid.”

The growled order sent the elder hunter spinning around in a lightning fast move, raising his hands in defence as he stepped in front of his little brother. He looked into the granite face of the bartender, then his gaze dropped to take in the baseball bat in Bo’s hand before rising to study the hulking, black haired man looming at the bartender’s side.

“Easy, son,” the taller local advised, holding up one huge hand. “We just wanna know what your connection is to Don Chambers.”

Bo nodded in agreement. “Ain’t seen either of you in these parts before, so don’t try telling us you work with Don.”

Dean balanced easily on the balls of his feet, his eyes on the faces of the men before him. “Guess you won’t believe me if I told you we only just met, but we kinda hit it off right away, huh?”

“Why don’t you try us, son?” The huge man gestured towards the bar. He led the way, sinking onto a stool and inviting Dean to do the same.

The green-eyed hunter sat down, his gaze never wavering from the two local men. His brother stood at his side, tense and ready for trouble.

Bo slid two beers along the polished surface of the bar and passed a shot of whiskey to his friend. Indicating the beers with a nod of his head, he looked at the shorter of the two young strangers. “It’s on the house – if we like your story.”

Pursing his lips, Dean glanced at the bottles. “Trust me – you won’t.” He sighed, chewing on his lower lip for a moment as he cast an enquiring look at his sibling.

Sam gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Turning back to face the locals, Dean leant an elbow on the bar. “We were coming in over the mountain road from the next town. There was an accident on a hairpin bend near the top of the mountain – a pickup coming the other way sideswiped us before running off the road.”

The bigger man paled, shooting his friend an anxious look. “And the driver?”

Dean dropped his head to stare at the bar top. “The truck hit a tree a few feet from the top of the road. One of the branches – went through his chest. He was in a bad way when we got to him. We called nine-one-one, but…”

“Son of a bitch!” Bo slammed a fist against the bar. “Son of a bitch!”

“Before he died, he told us what happened,” Sam took up the tale, his soft, deep voice laced with sympathy. “About Paige, and those two guys. So, when we saw the Pontiac parked in your lot, we thought…”

“You thought it was payback time?” The hulk leaned closer, a frown between his shaggy black brows. “Why?”

“Because he didn’t deserve to go out like that,” Dean growled hoarsely. “He didn’t deserve to die out there all alone in the rain, because some bitch couldn’t keep her hands to herself, and some son of a bitch didn’t give a damn that she was married!” He shot a heated glare at the silent wife-turned-widow cowering in the corner.

Bo saw the younger man lean towards his brother, pressing an arm against his older sibling’s shoulder. The spiky-haired stranger relaxed as he let the tension melt away, leaving him looking tired and drawn. Pushing the bottles closer to the two bedraggled young men, Bo poured out two whiskey chasers and placed them on the bar next to the beer. “On the house, boys. Right, Moe?”

“Yeah.” The huge black-haired man cleared his throat. “Damn, how the hell am I gonna break the news to Emmie?”

“Emmie?” Dean frowned.

“My wife,” Moe explained. “Don’s best friend. They’ve known each other since school.” Shaking his head, the big man levered himself to his feet, shook hands with the Winchesters and left the bar, his shoulders bowed with grief.

Dean watched him go, his wide green eyes solemn. Meeting his brother’s worried gaze, he shook his head, downed the whiskey in one shot and got to his feet, indicating the unopened beers. “We gotta hit the road. Thanks for the beer, but we’ll pass.”

Bo nodded, picking up the bottles. “If you boys come through this way again, these’ll be waitin’. And they’ll still be on the house.”

“Thanks.” Waiting for Sam to reluctantly finish his whiskey, Dean shook the bartender’s hand and strode to the door, his brother on his wing. He left without a backward glance at the quietly weeping widow.

* * * * *

“One link in a chain reaction
One link in a chain reaction”

Dean emerged from his shower and donned a clean pair of boxers before walking into the main room. Pulling a tee shirt from his duffle, he tugged it on and perched on the end of his bed, running a critical eye over his sibling.

Sensing the scrutiny, Sam glanced up; his still damp bangs shielding his eyes. “What?”

The elder Winchester’s attention dropped to Sam’s skinned knuckles, and he tutted in mock annoyance as he got to his feet. Fetching the first aid kit from the table on the other side of the room, he sat back down and flipped the case open. “Let me see those.”

Giving a tiny sigh, the hazel-eyed hunter submitted to his big brother’s fussing. He drew in a sharp breath as Dean applied antiseptic to the broken skin. “Ow!”

“Don’t be such a chick.” Dean grinned as he wrapped bandaids over the worst of the grazes. “Saw some of your moves, dude,” he went on; transferring his attention to Sam’s split lip. He gently dabbed the cut with an antiseptic-soaked pad. “You haven’t forgotten much of what I taught you.”

“Ha’hen’ horgo’hen anyhin’”, Sam mumbled, trying not to move his mouth too much.

“Good to hear. I’d hate to have to retrain you. Although…” The green-eyed hunter pursed his lips as he tossed the bloodstained gauze pad into the nearby trashcan. “Left hand up a little higher next time, okay? Come under with the right a little faster.”

“Yes, Mom.”

Giving his little brother a good-natured cuff across the back of the head, Dean closed the first aid kit, placed it back on the table and switched on the kettle. He grabbed a couple of sachets of instant coffee from the courtesy tray, and pulled two mugs from the cupboard under the sink.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Sam pushed back on the bed until his spine rested on the pillows piled against the headboard. “What you said to those local guys in the bar – was it true?”

“About what?”

“About Don. And why you went after those two guys.”

Dean rested one hip against the counter top and folded his arms. “Yeah,” he replied quietly. “It was true.”

The younger hunter dropped his head as he fiddled with a loose thread on his tee shirt. “Hey, Dean?”

“What now?”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Dean arched his eyebrows in curiosity as he studied his sibling’s bowed head.

“What I said earlier – I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean…”

“Jeez, I’m really gonna hafta retrain you, dude. No chick flick moments, okay?”

“But –”

“No.”

An uneasy silence fell across the room. The kettle boiled and clicked off, and Dean made two mugs of coffee, adding a little milk to Sam’s from the small jug he found in the bar fridge. Carrying the brimming mugs to the beds, he passed his brother the milky coffee and settled cross-legged on the end of Sam’s bed as he cradled his own brew.

“Sam.”

The younger Winchester looked up.

“Even I have standards, dude,” Dean explained softly. “One rule is – no married women.”

Sam’s expressive face flushed in embarrassment. “Dean, I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, I know. But I just wanted to make things clear.” Pausing to gather his thoughts and take a sip of coffee, Dean focussed on a spot on the wall. “That guy up on the mountain – he didn’t deserve to be treated like that. Did you see his hands?”

“Uh – no.”

“Rough – callused. Hard work hands.” The elder man turned one hand palm up, exposing the calluses built up over years of digging graves, handling weapons and other hard physical activity associated with the hunting life. “Didn’t smell any alcohol on him, either, or see any evidence of that kind of hard living in his face. He seemed like a straight-up kinda guy, you know?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah.”

“Those two yahoos – the way they ambushed him when he found out that his wife was cheating on him. It wasn’t right, Sammy.”

This time Sam let the affectionate childhood nickname slide. “And that’s why you went after them. And why you concentrated most of your hits on his face. ‘Cos he used his looks to hook women in.”

Dean wagged a finger in his brother’s face. “See? That right there? That’s how the skinny dude got past your guard. You should have been watching him, not me.”

Grinning a little, the younger hunter accepted the quiet rebuke and sipped his coffee.

“Sam – I’m sorry, too, kiddo. About…” Dean shrugged in embarrassment. “Jessica. That was a cheap shot, and I shouldn’t have taken it.”

“I know you are.” Sam stretched out his leg and nudged his big brother’s knee with his toe. “No chick flick moments, huh?”

“Ah, bite me.”

Uncurling his legs, Dean stood up and moved to his own bed, flicking on the bedside lamp. He placed his coffee on the nightstand beside the lamp, checked the salt lines and switched off the overhead lights. Returning to his bed, he was about to pull back the covers when he noticed his brother watching him with fixed intensity. “Dude, take a photograph.”

Sam shook his head, his gaze never wavering. “Dean,” he ventured quietly.

“Ah, jeez, what now? Don’t your batteries ever go flat?”

“I just – I wanted…” The younger man drew in a deep breath. “Up there, on that mountain road – you – you saved our lives, Dean. And you did it with only one hand on the wheel. Man, that was – that was pretty amazing.”

Dean hesitated, his thoughts dragged back to the moment of impact. All he had been worried about was protecting Sam – it came as naturally as breathing to him. He hadn’t given much thought to anything else but had merely reacted on instinct, throwing all his experience into play to pull the Impala up safely and make sure his brother wasn’t hurt. Feeling Sam’s gaze drilling into him, he looked up, almost groaning aloud at the gleam of hero-worship in his brother’s expressive hazel orbs. “Jeez…”

Sam got to his feet, setting his cup down beside his brother’s.

The elder Winchester backed up a pace, raising a hand in a prohibitive gesture. “You try to hug me and I swear to God, I will lock you in the trunk.”

Trying to stifle a grin, Sam pulled back the covers and slid into bed, rolling onto his side to face his wary sibling.

Dean crawled under the blankets, flipping onto his stomach and sliding one hand under the pillow, his fingers resting lightly on the hilt of the bowie knife concealed there. He turned towards his brother and groaned aloud as he encountered the shining puppy dog orbs still regarding him sappily. “And stop hugging me with your eyes,” he groused.

Sam huffed out a soft laugh, letting his eyelids drift closed as he settled down to sleep. “Hey, Dean?”

“Jeez, what freakin’ now? Glass of water? Want to be tucked in?”

“Tell me a story?”

One sinewy arm reached out to flick the switch on the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. “Once upon a time, there was an awesome, handsome, extremely talented big brother, who had a bitchy, whiny, freakishly tall, pain in the ass little brother…”

“Dude, I’ve heard this one.”

“Suck it up, College Boy. Anyway, one day the awesome, handsome, talented big brother took his whiny, pain in the ass little brother to the local barber for a long overdue haircut…”

“I don’t like this story, Dean.”

“Trust me, you’ll love it. Especially the ending.”

“I’m gonna have nightmares involving huge pairs of clippers chasing me around the motel room.”

“Don’t be such a chick, Sammy. Anyway, where was I…”

“One shot in the revolution
One drop from a poison pen
One fruit too small and bitter
One tree too proud to bend
One man to start the trouble
One kiss to seal your fate
One link in a chain reaction
One link in a chain reaction”

End.

Song: Chain Reaction – by John Farnham

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bP7OVS2ZDGI

"One sinewy arm reached out to flick the switch on the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. “Once upon a time, there was an awesome, handsome, extremely talented big brother, who had a bitchy, whiny, freakishly tall, pain in the ass little brother…”"


And so it ends......or begins ......or........ Whatever


Just love it Jules more than my words can say :bow :wub:

GAH I wish I had Sarah's way with smilies....lol

you just made me remember why I love Dean and Sam sooooooo much.

Looking forward to the next one :D

Steffs

You dented the impala! :car How could you! :o Well I suppose they will be heading to Bobbys to fix it.

Another one put to bed and for the collection. It's getting rather extensive.

Hmmm newie next week, does this mean I better get cracking on the banner. :lol2 Just let me check the schedule :unsure: Okay I think I can fit it in next week. :rotfl

going now :wave

this story is perfect,I love these parts-as always you really describe the boys in perfect way
they both are heroes,what dean did is priceless and sammy can be so cute sometimes:"dean tell me a story!" :wub: :D
great chapter! ;)

The ending was so cute. I love how you tell the story so I can really imagine it happening. I loved it especially the part about 'grabbing sams hoddie during the accident'. I can just see all that happening.

And the hero worship, kinda missing that in season 4 so it's good to get a little big brother/little brother action going. Fantastic story and Thankyou

Perfect second and final chapter Jules :cheer It had absolutely everything to make the story complete :bow and was the perfect start to my Friday :)

Shame that Sam and Dean couldn't save Don, but at least he didn't die alone :mellow: And great that they went to the Fifth Wheel and got revenge on cheating guy and his buddy by pulping them into the ground , which was no less than they deserved. And so loved Dean taking the cash for repairs to the Impala :car (you evil girl, you dented her! :rotfl ) Had little sympathy for Paige, wife-turned-widow, if she had kept her hands to herself Don would still be alive.

Nice too that they had the backing of the barman and his friend, even though he then had to break the sad news of her best friend's demise to his wife Emmie. :(

Perfect ending back at the motel with their brotherly banter and Sam demanding Dean to tell him a story, proof that despite their earlier sniping things were good again between them, but definitely no hugging :rotfl

Just beautiful Jules! :) :cloud9

Hope you feel better soon and have an awesome weekend sis

Sarah

Wow, that was a great story Jules. Its great they got those guys for Don, and I hope that little ....er...wife of his feels guilt for the rest of her life. Man I hate people that cheat.

The story time... :rotfl I loved the story...Poor Sam is gonna have nightmares. :lol:

:cheer Another great story has come to an end, sorry to see end so soon.

But another one next week? :woohoo
I'll be there with bells on...

Trace

Very nicely done!!! :bow :bow :bow :thumbsup

:D Awesome as always Jules! Beautiful. I hope you get to feeling better hon. Take care.

Cindy.

:clap great ending Jules!

'You try to hug me and I swear to God I will lock you in the trunk' :lol: So completely Dean;- really missing the brotherly bond this season (because Kripke is an evil genius!) so it's lovely to have you provide it for me!

Can't wait to read your apocalypse-fic on Friday :wub:

Hope you feel better hon, thinking about you x

Fantastic ending...loved it...could just picture them in bed with Dean telling the story!
great job
Lisa

do not have much time so ill just do this :bow damn your an amazing writter girl.

Arr that was just brilliant Jules - as always. :clap

So much content, great depth, angst, bravery, love and pride. I loved the 'good soldier' heroism of Dean at the hairpin, Don did good to have him and Sam with him during his last moments, if that's the right thing to say...

The little touches are what makes a good story a brilliant one, the clothes griping arm clenching tightness in a moment of needed protection and security, the warm chest to shoulder touch, the wing man effort, the caring of grazed knuckles and the eye-hugs, all those kinds of things make it impossible to not love Sam and Dean - and indeed your writing Jules. :wub:

Those guys got what was coming to them and gold stars all round for the bar-tender and his pal.

The ending was just perfect! :rotfl Very funny and so Sam and Dean.

I am really looking forward to your next story, thank you so much for this.
Julie. :D

Hey Jules! So sorry to hear about your really crappy week! I know how those go though.

I truly enjoyed this short story. Well, short for you anyway!!! I love that you were able to show just how much skill Dean has when it comes to driving his baby. And to do all of that while holding onto Sam. Great job on the description!!!

And the end with them finding them back at the same bar. Awesome!!!

Looking forward to your next story. And how exciting, a co-author!

Thanks for sharing!

Michelle

Loved the ending :)
Dean and Sam kicked the two idiots ass, way to go, they deserved this after what they did to Don.
What a great way to end this story with the famous Winchester banter :D
Nicely done Jules :cheer
I can't wait for your next story :)

Another brilliant story, me loved it :D

Sad that Don died but at least he wasn't alone and got to tell someone about what his wife had been up too. Sam and Dean kicked ass!!

Love the brotherly banter at the end :wub:

Looking forward to your next story :D

x Loz x

Well, the new story is posted. Here is the link:

http://z14.invisionfree.com/Supernatural/i...showtopic=43205

It’s pretty scary, and dark, so be warned.

Replies:

Steffs – thank you. Yes, Sarah does have that knack of finding those really cute smilies, doesn’t she? Oh, and so glad that I have renewed your love of the brothers. S4 is really pushing our buttons, isn’t it?

Chris – it was only a little ding…. Ooh, I love your new avi – when did you pop that one up? Um – well – they didn’t know they could rely on Bobby back then – they didn’t renew ties with him till the end of the season. Silly auntie. You’re getting your seasons mixed up. Oh, haha – you’d better just get cracking on that artwork, or I’ll start poking, and nagging….

Ilaria – thank you hon. Yes, they really are the good guys, aren’t they? So pleased that you liked the brotherly moment at the end.

Amijek – thank you. Ahh, the hoodie-grabbing – that was pure big brother instinct, wasn’t it? One hand on the wheel, one hand holding his brother. And yes, I know what you mean by S4 – both have been changed so much by what they have been through, they’re finding it hard to reconnect on the same level as they had before Dean went to hell. There’s so much weight on their shoulders now…I fear for both boys.

Sarah – and thank you for your awesome beta-ing as usual, sis. Yes, it was a bit bad of me to kill Don, but it was a necessary bit of the plot to allow Sam to see his brother in a different light – Dean the defender not just of Sam, but of others who can’t fight back. And Dean the staunch sentinel, standing by Don and giving comfort while he was dying. Oh, and I did – I did dent the Impala. Naughty Jules…..*hangs head*…. Huh – see you’ve nabbed that new banner….

Trace – thanks hon. Yep, the baddies got what they so richly deserved. And I know what you mean – my ex-husband cheated on me. Doesn’t leave a very pleasant feeling in the heart…. Ah, the bedtime story. Only Dean would tell a story that would give his brother nightmares – LOL! And yep, another one bites the dust, ready for a new one. The new one’s a bit different…And look at you with your groovy story banner!! Woohoo!!!!

Robin – thank you for that. And thank you once again for turning me yellow…well, the story title, anyway. You’re too quick for me – you’ve gone and done it before I have a chance to PM you – LOL! Thanks hon.

Cindy – thanks hon. Oh, and have you figured out what to say to you-know-who yet? Oh, goodness – don’t envy you there. So glad you liked this little one. It was fun to write.

Tori – thank you! Oooh, yes, he’s an evil genius all right. I’ve just about chewed off all my fingernails in worry over what he’s going to do to the boys this season. And yes, that remark was just so Dean – I was rather chuffed with that bit. And the apocalypse story is up – well, chapter 1 is. Be warned – it’s dark…..

Lisa – thanks so much. That story time was rather cute, wasn’t it? I had fun with that bit. Just needed a bit of lightheartedness to balance the angst they’d just gone through.

Sharon – awww…..you’re making me blush again. Thank so much, hon. Hope you will join me for the roller-coaster ride on the next one

Jules – thanks mate! Yes, Don was sort of lucky – if he did have to die, better to have those two at his side. And the hoodie and arm grabbing – well, I just figured that in that instant of shock and uncertainty, they’d both reach out instinctively for each other, like they’d been doing all their lives. Aww, thank you. I do really love all those brotherly moments. And I’ve studied the boys pretty hard to try and get inside their heads – not just listening to their speech patterns but watching their body language and picking up on little things like the way that Sam always walked a half-step behind Dean but leaning slightly forward, and Dean forging the way but leaning slightly back so that their arms brushed. The looks, the silent communication, the way that their eyes always seek out each other to reassure and confirm. I suppose the research has paid off.

Michelle – thank you hon. Yes, short for me these days, anyway – LOL. Oh, well – that bit about Dean’s driving came from a remark of Sam’s – and observation of Dean. In Phantom Traveller, when they’re racing to get to the airport to stop Amanda from taking off in the plane, Sam says something like “…even with you driving,” in reference to them getting there quickly, so I figured he had a pretty good respect for his big brother’s driving skills. And of course, to reach out for Sam and hold on was pure Dean instinct.

Oceane – they did kick some pretty good butt, didn’t they? And those blokes deserved every punch they got, and then some. So chuffed that you enjoyed their little so-not-a-chick-flick moment back at the motel. I think they deserved that after what I put them through – lol.

Loz – thank you! Yes, well – I always intended to kill Don – sad but true. He was SN’s version of the original Star Trek red-shirted security guard – the bloke that you just knew was going to be the first to be popped off. And yep, the boys got to deal out retribution Winchester-style on two very deserving subjects. So happy that you loved their little moment at the end. Even though it was going to give Sam nightmares – LOL.

And to my ever faithful lurkers - thank you for continuing to support me. :hug

Bless you all,

Jules