Chapter Text
… • ɴow • …
Wakefulness came in an instant to Sam. Not jarringly so as if woken by a sudden noise or a sense of imminent danger, but simply one moment he had been sleeping, then the next he was aware.
Blinking open his eyes to see the dimly coloured side of the canvas tent, Sam took a sparse moment to orient himself. Then he looked down towards the entrance of their shelter, he noticed the faint blue light filter through the thin seam that made up the two parts of the tent flaps.
Dawn was cresting.
Shifting slowly, Sam moved his blanket off himself and came to his knees on his bedroll. Mindfully moving about so as not to inadvertently elbow or knock into Dean, who still slept on unawares next to him on his own bedroll, or Miracle, who was curled up in the folds of a wool blanket situated above where his and Dean's head had lain.
Leaning back onto his heels, Sam proceeded to fold the blanket back over onto the padding of his bedroll before he rolled up the pallet tightly. A few tugs on the ties he made secured it in place. All was done near soundlessly and with a practised ease of many years having done just so.
Setting it aside to be packed onto Charger, his black gelding outside, once they made to break down camp and move on, Sam felt a shallow breeze ghost against the back of his neck. Its chill was a sharp contrast against the warmth within the confines of the tent. The outside air had yet to be warmed by the heat of the still rising sun, but it felt colder than usual for just an early morning. Even for a winter’s dawn.
Turning about, shuffling so as to ensure he didn't accidently kick Dean’s legs, Sam caught the frigid bite the breeze carried. It was one he knew well, one that the wind had carried threat of for the last several days, and in gingerly slipping his arm through the seam of the tent flaps to lift it away to see out, it confirmed his suspicions.
Snow had fallen during the late hours of the night, piling high about the ground and covering the trees in several inches of powdery white. It clung to the sides of their bark which told Sam the snowfall had come in upon a heavy wind, casting the snowflakes sideways which explained why it seemed to gather unevenly against one side of the trees or rocks he could still distinguish despite the blanketing of winter.
Moving gingerly to stand, crouched still, to step out of the tent and stand upright fully, Sam looked about the small clearing they had set up camp in. As he stretched his arms above his head to loosen his back and arms up, he saw the same uneven piling of it against his side of the tent whilst less had accumulated at the front and Dean’s side. Sheltered those sections had been by the unwavering direction of the wind during the night.
The breeze was faint now, hardly enough to stir the air let alone carry any flurries up, but still blew steadily enough to find every parted crease or opening between his clothes to slip into, causing goosebumps to spring unbidden along his limbs. It was an icy chill. Every breath held an edge to it, scraping against his throat and nose in its attempts to freeze the flesh it glided across.
Clouds laid in thickly throughout the sky, unmoved and a dull grey hue that bordered upon a coal-ish colour of their centres. A ghastly alteration to their usual lighter colour, even in winter months they didn't hold such ominous tinting so soon after a snowfall unless it meant a storm was on the way. These certainly looked to be heralding another snowfall, likely sometime before nightfall judging by their low height in the sky.
They would have to move to find better shelter than a mere tent before then, Sam noted as he stepped further out. He ensured the flap closed against the other without dropping too much snow into the inside and without leaving a gap for any of the cool air to seep past. No use in losing the warmth from within whilst Dean still slept, soon enough they would have to face the cold. A tent wouldn’t be an ideal place to shelter through a snowstorm, no matter how oiled the canvas was or how many blankets they carried.
A mist riddled fog hung about the air, thin enough to see several metres ahead, but still thick enough to blur the distance and create a haze of white throughout the snow-laden forest. Branches of the trees bowed downwards under the weight, needles and portions of bark obscured by the heavy blanket of white.
The subtle embittered breeze cast itself about the muffled wood, causing a few branches to give away under such strain, the clumps of snow all at once slipped off their perches down to the ground whilst the boughs sprung back into their rightful place lightened from their wintery burden. A dull thumping sound each time it occurred, the noise swallowed up the muffled quality heavy snowfall always caused.
Only then did Sam step over towards their stone-constructed fire pit. Mostly unscathed by the snow, only a little bit of digging was necessary to reveal the burnt embers from the night prior which had been mostly kept dry by the large fry pan being draped over them. It was salvageable, especially with the oilcloth wrapped bundles of wood they kept for the sole chance of ever being without access to dry wood.
Dusting it off from where it had been lightly buried under the snow near the entrance, he unwrapped the fascicle to pull out three split pieces to set in the burnt coals of the night before. Striking a flint a handful of times had sparks quickly catching the pitch he’d spread across one of the logs and the fire was burning low, working against the algid temperature, hungry for the fuel and bolstered by the slight current despite the cold.
Adding some tender brought the flames up and had them latching onto the other logs, burning in earnest only a few moments later.
Once he was certain the fire wouldn't be extinguished, he stood to walk over towards the tree they had tied their provisions up in. Unlosing the knot that tethered the sack up, Sam sidestepped the tiny avalanche of snow that fell from the branch above as he, hand-over-hand, lowered the bag that held their food.
He knew it held a few tins of beans, one tin of peas, another of peaches, a single carrot, about four potatoes, four ounces of flour, and some salted beef that had practically turned to jerky, the pieces were so dry. He would have to hunt an animal to add any freshness to their provisions. Fresh meat would be a benefit, something hearty to add to the beans or potatoes that would be warm.
Pulling out the tin of peaches and the salted beef, he hoisted the sack back up into the tree before he brought those back over towards the tent.
Quietly opening the tent to see the curled form of Dean within, still rather soundly asleep, had Sam pausing a second. He had intended to wake him, offering the meagre breakfast of peaches and dried beef whilst telling him he would set out to hunt around before they packed up and left.
Yet he found himself dithering, not something he caught himself doing too often. Debating whether to wake him or not. He knew his brother could use the rest whilst it was peaceful, and they had been scouting for almost a fortnight now and the early arrival of winter would halt their progress of their search.
The early snowfall usually meant they would have to retreat and return before they found anything concrete, but Sam doubted Dean would agree to that. Not with the prognosis hanging over Dean’s health and now limited future.
Biting his thumbnail, Sam tried to move his through away from that, but he had noticed a degree of stiffness to Dean’s movements lately. The kind that usually told of recent injury, or since they hadn't seen any combat nor even a tussle in at least a month, normally bespoke a deep seeded fatigue.
Thus Dean was either growing all the more weary with their search as it dragged on without anything to show for it, or the consumption was growing worse along with the turn of the weather.
The latter seemed more likely than the former to Sam, but he hadn't pointed it out to Dean nor spoke of his observations aloud to his brother. At least not yet.
Dean was always reticent when Sam brought up anything about his health, whether it was concern over the amount of sleep he was getting or if he was eating instead of relying solely on cigarettes, whisky, and coffee to sustain him. Thus Sam had learnt to make passing comments without any true concern showing, whilst he waited for Dean to come to him with it, or to simply be there to catch him when he fell. Whichever came first.
Yet Sam could allow himself this small concession in his resolve. To let Dean sleep in whilst he hunted and brought back fresh meat, something that was sorely needed if he were to grow worse. And with Miracle with them, they’d need something more than the scraps they left for him. Dean couldn't fault him for that small bit of care, especially since it benefitted Miracle.
Speaking of, a soft bark came from the front of the tent and Sam felt his gaze immediately flick over to see Miracle was awake and standing in the part of the tent flap. The small cattle dog’s attention was riveted on Sam, his wagging a bit when he noticed his focus land on him.
Quickly and light of foot, Sam stepped over to the Miracle to gently pluck the dog up into his arms. Immediately he felt the dog go limp in his arms, something the dog did naturally after learning on a few hunts that it was easier to let the brothers manhandle him. It was safer at times when they needed to hurry up onto the horses or when he needed to be pulled to safety.
“Why don't we let Dean sleep a bit longer.” Sam spoke to the dog quietly as he held the dog a touch closer to his chest and walked back towards the campfire.
Settling Miracle on a patch of snow he had levelled out when he was digging out the campfire pit, he retrieved and held out one of the dried pieces of beef to the dog to munch on, having left the tin of peaches inside for Dean to eat when he did wake up. He didn't want to risk opening them and having their scent spread about the woods for any wild animals to track whilst he would be away, and whilst Dean could take care of himself he knew, none liked to be surprised as such when sleeping. Thus he could contend with the jerky for now.
Miracle certainly didn't seem to mind any as he was eagerly tearing into the strip of dry meat, chewing loudly and with eyes half-closed in contentment.
Sam left the dog to his breakfast, looking instead at the sky once more to gauge the weather. He could feel the wind beginning to tick up again, only slightly, but with it came that bitterly cold taint that told of that storm’s presence was growing rather than dissipating. It would pass with the wind, but be brought by it.
A storm that would heighten the depth of the snow and drop the temperature, either by wind chill or the whole of the ambient air about the landscape. The added fact of trying to obtain adequate shelter and maintain a fire during those spells to warm themselves and cook their meals needed to be considered in with that lot.
Shaking his head, Sam turned away from the tent to stoke the fire a bit more and add two more of the split logs from the bundle he had. He kept a small pile along with flint and pitch just for these situations, to ensure there was always dry wood available for a fire and means to start one. No matter what weather he faced. Rain, sleet, hail, or snow, there'd be something to be warm by, as well to provide light and means to cook.
Reaching out to scoop up a handful of snow, then another to place into the kettle they had next to the fire pit, Sam carefully filled it so that enough of it would melt into water to make for coffee.
Then setting about placing the snow-filled kettle amongst the flames, their orange and yellow flares licked at the dry wood eagerly whilst dancing round the soot-coated exterior of the old dingy kettle, Sam waited to hear the bubbling of percolation within before he lifted away to pour some of the water into a tin cup for Miracle and another for Dean to drink before he gingerly tipped in the sparse coffee grounds they had into it. Internally ticking off the minutes until it would be ready.
Whilst lifting a strip of salted beef to chew on for breakfast, Sam’s eyes drifted up to scan about the surroundings of their small encampment once more as he absently set the tin cup for the dog and one for Dean in a pile of snow to cool off.
Their camp was hidden within a thickening of the woods, clusters of trees stood in groups of threes or fours. Their dense foliage stretched out and up to great heights. Although no matter how dense their needles nor the numerous boughs about their trunks, they hadn't been able to block out the snowfall.
The winds had carried it nearly sideways through the land, allowing it to coat the earth in a thick layer of white. It was a dry snow, thus collected easily upon the frozen ground of the forest floor. Driving the tent stakes in the night prior had taken more strength than it usual did in winter, the temperature had fallen so far ere they made camp.
Now they weren't even visible, buried beneath a near half metre of snow.
They had been fortunate that the wind hadn't shifted much during the night, and in having set up the tent facing away from the wind’s direction had created a hollow for the entrance to remain hardly encumbered by the intense snowfall and spared their fire pit from being swallowed entirely.
Gaze shifting back towards the kettle, Sam grabbed its handle to lift it away from the flames and set it amongst the warm embers near the edge of the fire to settle and keep warm. Dean wouldn't forgive cold coffee, not in these conditions, even if they each had to forgive the method it was brewed. And testing the cup of water by taking a small sip, Sam found it to be cool enough, he placed it next to where Miracle sat, licking at his muzzle.
Sam waited a moment to watch the dog bend forwards to lap at the water before he stood to go walk towards the mounts, who had long ago shaken the snowfall from their coats and were either snuffling the ground for any missed strands of hay from the night prior or were dosing where they stood.
Pulling a softened winter apple from his pack to divide it into halves using his knife from his belt, he offered a piece to each animal with a flat palm. Once the treat was gone, he set about laying out flakes of hay for them from the large sachet on his horse’s back, which was equally as well received as the apple slices had been. Checking over the pail of water that had been set out for them the night prior, Sam thumped the surface ice that had frozen over during the night’s chill to break it and remove it from inside the bucket so the horses could drink.
Chores done, he then walked over to Charger, pulling his bow from where it was tied to the saddle, his long barrelled rifle already over one of his shoulders. It was never willingly parted from him, neither was his long barrelled six-shooter nor the modified pistol that was its pair. Knives and other weaponry were stashed about his belt, boots, and concealed elsewhere.
Weapons were essential to their profession and in protection, thus they either were never far from reach or directly on his person. Very few were stored upon Charger since most stayed on his person, but back-ups and extra ammunition were a must in a saddlebag.
Charger nickered softly at him, sparing a short glance before he returned to eating. He was a dark blood bay gelding with a black mane and tail, tall stockings of deep black stretched up each of his legs.
And although he was on the younger side, Charger remained steadfast through every trial he had put before him and loyal to the point Sam wondered at times if he held any concern of preservation towards himself.
Dean’s mount, dubbed Baby despite having a different name when he acquired her, was a fierce, all black mare. One who certainly seemed to believe herself to be invincible, her attitude was only rivalled by Dean himself.
She seemed to only tolerate Dean and begrudgingly Charger. Not even her first owner, who chipped her in during a poker game before tossing in his loot. Dean had won the money, the horse, and a warning from her previous rider that she was impossible to tame. But the man obviously didn't know Dean.
Patting Charger’s neck where the gelding was gingerly pressing his face into Sam’s personal space, not stopping until his muzzle bumped against his chest. Lowly, Sam murmured a few sweet words to the affectionate animal before moving away to head back towards the fire.
Lifting the coffee pot with the old yet thick rag that always sat near the fire pit for this exact reason, Sam poured himself a small amount of the dark liquid into his tin cup. The steam curled out and above the lip of the cup, swirling wisps of heat that stretched upwards in coiled loops. It was quickly overtaken by the cold and dispersed, but more replaced those blown away until they too met the same fate.
Sam let the cup sit in the snow for a moment to cool down enough not to burn his tongue when he drank it. A few moments was all it needed. It was gone within minutes, and then Sam was checking over his weaponry in preparation to set out for hunting what game the forest held on this winter morning.
He stood, guns and bow checked and cleared for action, moving to head towards the direction into the wind so that his scent wouldn't be caught by any animals that way, Sam set out to hunt.
… • ᴛʙᴄ • …