Fic: North
Where the flashlight was before, there is only a compass, shining in the moonlight. It points past the same rock, angling towards true north. It's Dean's compass. He never leaves home without it.
Sam leaves the rest of the pack on the ground and cradles the compass in both hands, following the glowing arrow.
Long thin fingers of tree branches reach out and touch him, trying to trip him, distract him. Stalking, prowling noises pace alongside him, predators just out of his line of sight waiting for him to stumble off the path.
Sam walks until his feet are numb and his teeth are chattering from the cold. Any time he thinks about stopping, he hears Dean's voice from the fog, urging him on.
Dean tells him he's tougher than this, that Dad will tan his hide if he doesn't pick it up, that if he drops the compass Dean will make him do all the chores for a week ... and to not stop, never stop until you see the sky, Sammy.
Finally, the angle of the forest floor turns upward, and Sam finds himself climbing up a hill. The fog begins to dissipate and the glow of the arrow is replaced by the glint of morning sun on the dial.
Sam breaks free of the trees and falls to his knees, exhausted.
"Sam?"
"Mmm?"
"Sammy, you awake?"
Sam opens his eyes and squints into the bright light. He's still cold and tired, sleepy in spite of the rest he's had.
Dean's face blurs into view above him, blocking out the sun. His face is drawn and pale and he has dark circles under his eyes, but he's smiling.
"Mmmm," Sam answers. "Where are we? D'we make it in time?"
Dean's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "Make it where, dude?"
Dean pulls away, reaching for something Sam can't see. Sam starts to float, sitting up without trying to move.
"There. That feel okay?" Dean asks, letting go of the hospital bed controls.
Sam stares at the bright incandescent bulb on the ceiling, the pale walls, and at his brother, who looks like he hasn't slept in days. The low beep of the I.V. pump sings like crickets in the background.
Sam nods dumbly.
"What happened?"
Dean smiles apologetically as he pulls up a chair. "You fell through the ice. Don't remember?"
Sam shakes his head.
Dean swallows and runs a hand through his hair, laughing a little. The laugh sounds slightly unhinged.
"You, uh. You went without air for a while. I, uh. We thought maybe ..."
Sam flexes his fingers, feeling them move, trying to encourage better circulation.
"You thought maybe I wasn't coming back," Sam finished for him.
Dean looks away. "Yeah."
Sam pulls his hand out from under the thick blanket, a small smile spreading across his lips. "It's okay," he offers. "I had this."
Sam holds out the compass and Dean's eyes go wide. "What the ..." Dean shakes his head in confusion. "I haven't seen that since we were kids. Where'd you -"
"Got lost in the woods," Sam says, too tired to explain. He closes his eyes.
Trembling hands pull the blanket up high around his neck, and Sam sighs and succumbs to the gentle pull of sleep.
Sam leaves the rest of the pack on the ground and cradles the compass in both hands, following the glowing arrow.
Long thin fingers of tree branches reach out and touch him, trying to trip him, distract him. Stalking, prowling noises pace alongside him, predators just out of his line of sight waiting for him to stumble off the path.
Sam walks until his feet are numb and his teeth are chattering from the cold. Any time he thinks about stopping, he hears Dean's voice from the fog, urging him on.
Dean tells him he's tougher than this, that Dad will tan his hide if he doesn't pick it up, that if he drops the compass Dean will make him do all the chores for a week ... and to not stop, never stop until you see the sky, Sammy.
Finally, the angle of the forest floor turns upward, and Sam finds himself climbing up a hill. The fog begins to dissipate and the glow of the arrow is replaced by the glint of morning sun on the dial.
Sam breaks free of the trees and falls to his knees, exhausted.
"Sam?"
"Mmm?"
"Sammy, you awake?"
Sam opens his eyes and squints into the bright light. He's still cold and tired, sleepy in spite of the rest he's had.
Dean's face blurs into view above him, blocking out the sun. His face is drawn and pale and he has dark circles under his eyes, but he's smiling.
"Mmmm," Sam answers. "Where are we? D'we make it in time?"
Dean's forehead wrinkles in confusion. "Make it where, dude?"
Dean pulls away, reaching for something Sam can't see. Sam starts to float, sitting up without trying to move.
"There. That feel okay?" Dean asks, letting go of the hospital bed controls.
Sam stares at the bright incandescent bulb on the ceiling, the pale walls, and at his brother, who looks like he hasn't slept in days. The low beep of the I.V. pump sings like crickets in the background.
Sam nods dumbly.
"What happened?"
Dean smiles apologetically as he pulls up a chair. "You fell through the ice. Don't remember?"
Sam shakes his head.
Dean swallows and runs a hand through his hair, laughing a little. The laugh sounds slightly unhinged.
"You, uh. You went without air for a while. I, uh. We thought maybe ..."
Sam flexes his fingers, feeling them move, trying to encourage better circulation.
"You thought maybe I wasn't coming back," Sam finished for him.
Dean looks away. "Yeah."
Sam pulls his hand out from under the thick blanket, a small smile spreading across his lips. "It's okay," he offers. "I had this."
Sam holds out the compass and Dean's eyes go wide. "What the ..." Dean shakes his head in confusion. "I haven't seen that since we were kids. Where'd you -"
"Got lost in the woods," Sam says, too tired to explain. He closes his eyes.
Trembling hands pull the blanket up high around his neck, and Sam sighs and succumbs to the gentle pull of sleep.