Still don't own them. Having fun playing though :) This one's a work in progress, I'll just see how it goes.

CHAPTER ONE

The rain was torrential, turning the street into a river and making it almost impossible to tell where asphalt ended and sidewalk began. Sam had the wipers working overtime but it wasn't making a difference. The lights of the small town glared like flares, blurring and burning through the unpleasant night. Sam rubbed at the windshield, hoping to clear it a little. It was nearly impossible to see through.

He was crawling along in the direction of the motel at a snail's pace. His hair was dripping into his eyes from his brief dash into the diner to purchase his and Dean's dinner, and his clothes were drenched and stiff from cold. He was grumpy, tired, and still sore from their last hunt. Losing the scissors-paper-rock battle with his brother earlier had been the final straw. He never lost that game! Tonight it had meant that he was the one who had to venture out into the crazy storm to find them some food. And of course Dean wouldn't settle for something from the motel's own small diner. No, it had to be burgers from the burger joint across the other side of town.

Big brother had grinned mercilessly, reclining on his bed. "Extra onions, Sammy. You know the drill."

Sam had glared, roughly buttoning his jacket.

"And beer. Get us some beer."

"If they don't sell beer in the same place, I'm not looking for it." Sam had scooped up the keys and made for the door, ignoring Dean's comments about him being a sore loser. The door was pulled closed behind him and for a moment he'd stood, staring out at the rain, willing it to stop just so he could make it to the car without getting soaked. Their father had raised them to be prepared to deal with any situation and their supplies included guns, ropes, flashlights, lock picks, camping gear, medical equipment, salt, fake IDs; but never any umbrellas. Why the hell didn't they own an umbrella?

With an audible groan Sam had hunched his shoulders and pulled up his hood. He'd sprinted the distance to the car, slamming the key into the lock and jerking the door open. The noise of the rain on the roof had been deafening as he'd sat, safely inside, catching his breath and feeling his clothes drip all over the seat. Thinking about how annoyed Dean would be to see him soaking the upholstery in such a fashion, he'd allowed himself a brief moment of satisfaction. But it was short-lived as his teeth began to chatter from the cold.

Now, with dinner safely packed in grease-stained bags on the seat beside him, Sam traveled along what he'd thought was the final stretch of road before their motel. Only he couldn't see the motel sign, and the traffic lights ahead seemed out of place because he couldn't recall there being an intersection there. Perhaps he'd taken a wrong turn. He strained his eyes, searching for a street sign. It was like trying to find something on the bottom of the ocean. The raindrops running down the windows blurred his vision in all directions.

As he entered the intersection and turned his head, hoping to recognize the road he was crossing over, he was greeted by the blinding headlights of another car as it rushed towards him. Sam's reflexes had his foot flying to the brake and his hands jerking at the wheel, but there was no time. A great squeal of tires on wet road ripped through the night and the Impala was sent spinning in a spray of water and shattered glass as the other car impacted. Sam felt himself thrown violently to the side, the seatbelt the only thing keeping him in his chair. Searing pain ripped through his chest and head as he was slammed into his door.

The accident was over in an instant, but to Sam it seemed as if he continued spinning forever. Discomfort came in a great wave as his body began to register its hurts and the chaos settled. There was the sound of shouting, and someone yelled to call 911. Sam could smell copper and realized it was his own blood. He tried to raise his head but the movement sent his stomach lurching up through his throat. He struggled to breathe but only managed jerky half gulps.

He felt the door he was leaning against shudder open and hands begin to steady him. Someone was calling into his ear, their fingers against his neck. Sam wanted to respond but the voice began to move away and wobble into the background before he had the chance to catch it.

The rain became a roar, and Sam's pain began to ebb away. Distantly he was aware that his sudden lack of feeling and increasing weightlessness was not a good sign, but he couldn't fight it. He felt fatigue wash over him. He struggled to stay awake. His eyes cracked open for a moment and he saw a man standing outside the car, looking in. The stranger's face was broken, red with blood and rain, his eyes deep pools of sadness and loss. Sam wanted to cry out to him but he couldn't work his jaw to open his mouth. Soon the effort became too much and he gave up completely. Sam felt himself slowly slipping away into unconsciousness and there was nothing he could do.

Time must have passed, though no time seemed to pass at all. Sam's eyes opened again as he was being lifted and laid flat on something hard. Or was it soft? There were faces over him, telling him things, but it was too hard to listen so Sam shut them out.

Something was over his mouth now. He felt himself being strapped down even though he wanted to sit up and pull away. His eyes darted about and he caught sight of a body being lifted onto a stretcher beside him. It was the stranger with the bloody face. A sheet was pulled up to cover the stranger's eyes and head and Sam realized the man had died. But that was impossible, because only a moment ago he had been standing outside Sam's car, conscious and breathing. The stranger's body was moved out of sight and Sam wanted to tell the faces that hovered over him to check the man in case they'd made a mistake and he was actually still alive, but there was a sting in his hand and things began to blur even more than they were already.

Sam tried to hold on but felt himself slipping. He wondered whether he was going to die as well. As he faded away, Sam's last conscious thought was of his brother. He hoped Dean would be able to find it in himself to forgive his little brother for not making it.