Sam paced back and forth, from one side of the small cabin to the other. He stopped at a window and stared worriedly out at the accumulation of snow on the ground - it was about an inch away from the roof of the Impala, all that could be seen of Dean's baby was the edges of the black roof. Stepping away from the window, he purposefully made his way over to the phone for what seemed like the hundredth time. This time, he picked it up and even got half way through the dialling process before hanging it up again with a loud sigh.

Dad'll kill me if I drag Bobby all the way out here for no reason. But, dammit, there is a reason - Dean and Dad were due back three hours ago, he thought, glancing quickly at his watch. Make that three hours and eight minutes ago. Where could they be? And, that dream had seemed so REAL. What if it was? What if something's happened to them?

Following his instincts, Sam picked up the receiver again and dialled Bobby's number - not allowing himself to think about what the implications would be if the dream HAD been real. After the third ring, a gruff and familiar voice picked up on the other end.

"Hello?"

"Uncle Bobby?"

"Sam? Is that you?" There was a brief pause, during which Sam could almost picture Bobby looking at the clock. "What in tar-nation are you doin' up at this hour, son?"

The sound of Bobby's concerned voice opened the floodgates deep within Sam and he began talking a mile-a-minute into the receiver. "I'm sorry to wake you, uncle Bobby but, dad and Dean were due back over three hours ago and I don't know where they are and they might be hurt and it's snowing out and -- "

"Slow down, boy," Bobby said, cutting off the babbling brook called Sam. "Where are you?"

"Um, a place called Loveland Pass… near Denver, Colorado."

"Yeah, I know it. What are you huntin' up there?"

"I'm not sure. Dad doesn't tell me much about the hunts since the Wendigo incident. But I did hear him and Dean saying something about a Sasquatch."

"Huh. Okay. I'll get there as soon as I can. Have you tried their cell phones?"

"Yeah, but there's no reception. Because of the storm, I think. Oh man, Bobby, how're you gonna even get here? The storm's really bad!" Sam glanced at the door, wondering if maybe he should go out and begin searching for his father and brother on his own.

"Don't even think about goin' out in that blizzard before I get there, Sam," Bobby chastised him, as if reading the boy's mind.

"How did you --?"

"Because, you're just as stubborn as your dad and Dean. Always ready to sacrifice yourselves to save each other."

"That's what family does, Bobby," Sam argued, though his voice wasn't much more than a whisper, as he stared out the window fearfully. The storm seemed to be getting worse… much worse.

"Yeah, kid, that's what family does… when there's no other option! You got another option."

"What, Bobby? What's my other option? Cuz I really don't see one right now,"

"You're on the phone with it, ya' idjit!" Bobby said, his voice rising slightly. Then the older man took a deep breath and continued in a softer yet firm tone. "Don't worry, kiddo. I'll find a way to get to you. Just hang tight, okay? I'll be there. I promise."

"Okay. Thanks, Bobby."

As John Winchester brought the shotgun up, preparing to fire on their seven-foot, white furred adversary, he realized he was too late as the thing swiped his eldest son across the abdomen with its massive claws, causing the normally stoic Dean to cry out in pain. After only a brief moment of being frozen by that sound, John finally took aim and fired a shot at the large creature. The slug successfully tore into its shoulder but the bastard barely seemed to notice its entry. John watched helplessly as his son was then picked up and thrown into a tree several feet away. The Sasquatch quickly switched its attention from young hunter to older hunter and advanced on John, who, in turn, raised the gun and took aim yet again. But, before he was able to pull the trigger, the 12 gauge was swiped out of his hands by a huge paw and John was picked up and shoved back into the trunk of yet another large tree.

He watched dismally as his gun slid across a patch of ice and came to rest against a large boulder. The creature began to squeeze the oxygen from John's lungs and he saw a blackness taking shape along the edges of his vision. He was gasping for air, felt as if his windpipe was being crushed - which, judging by the size of the hand around his throat, was entirely possible - suddenly, a loud clap of thunder permeated the air around him. Thunder? In a snow storm? Possible, yes. But very rare. Another clap of thunder caused the creature to roar in pain and anger as it released him, allowing him to fall to the snow covered ground below. That's when John realized it wasn't thunder at all but the sound of a shotgun going off. He glanced to the side and saw his oldest son, barely conscious, laying on his side against the boulder, holding John's shotgun… smoke still rising from the barrel, even more noticeable than usual in the cold winter air.

The creature turned towards Dean, a large patch of red now forming on its back to match the wound on its front. Why won't this thing just die? "Dean!" John yelled in warning. He could see that his son's eyes were open - barely - and they were aimed towards the creature, just as the gun was, but Dean wasn't pulling the trigger. "Shoot, son! Shoot!"

Still, Dean waited. Long enough, in fact, that John thought his son wasn't really with him. Concussion. He must have a concussion. I have to do something. He searched his coat for another weapon but there was nothing that could help… then he remembered the knife in the sheath on his forearm. He quickly pulled it out and, holding the blade in his fingers, prepared to throw it at the creature's back. John knew the small weapon would not be able to deliver a fatal blow but it might distract it enough to bring its attention away from Dean and back to John. The older Winchester raised the knife and was just about to let it fly from his fingers when another shot rang out. The creature fell forward, on top of Dean. John heard his son cry out as his legs were crushed into the ground by the overwhelming weight of the Sasquatch.

"Dean!" John called out yet again, slowly making his way over to his injured son. Finally reaching him, he ran his hand through the boy's hair, reassuring himself that his son was there and, more importantly, alive.

"Get it off," Dean grunted, trying desperately to control the pain that was surely coursing through him. He started pushing at the thing himself but John laid a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Just calm down, son. I'll get it off you, okay? But you need to stop moving before you injure yourself even more, you hear me?"

The younger hunter nodded reluctantly as his father knelt down beside him and placed both hands on the creature lying on top of him. Dean could feel the boulder digging into his lower back, and his stomach felt like it was on fire, but he obeyed his father's instructions and remained still - gritting his teeth against the pain..

"Okay. On three," John told him. "One." The older hunter arranged his hands so that one was on the thing's shoulder and the other on its hip. "Two." Both father and son tensed. "Three." John heaved the Sasquatch off Dean's legs, only to be rewarded by a scream of agony from his eldest son.

TBC

A/N You like? Want me to continue? Also, for those of you waiting for the next chapter of Coming Home, it will be up soon, I promise. Just had to get a few other things outta my head first. blush Anyway, please let me know what you think of this one, so far...? Kelcor