The Voss truck trudges south from Sioux Falls as snow drifts gently across the cold asphalt, and the engine's steady hum fills the quiet after a long wrenching six‑hour ride from Bobby Singer's yard.
Inside the cab, young Elias sits rigidly in the seat. His mind cannot let go of the memory of that bitter, frozen ridge where Grayson was driven off days ago.
In the rear, Mara cradles a fresh salt bag from Bobby's crate. Her scarred hands work with deliberate precision, every movement weighed by past battles and quiet resolve. Each exhaled breath forms a small cloud in the chill.
At the wheel, Daniel's bruised arm remains firm on the steering wheel. In the rearview mirror, for a fleeting moment, he catches a tender half‑smile from Mara; a fragile burst of warmth in this dark world.
Elias shifts slightly in his seat, hesitating just long enough to let his timid words fill the small space. "Are you proud, Mom? That we finally finished Grayson?" His voice is low, almost tentative, as if testing the fragile bonds of his newfound strength.
Mara leans forward and, without a word, places her calloused hand gently on his shoulder through his worn jacket. Her voice, roughened by years of struggle and softened by unconditional care, emerges quietly: "Proud as hell, kid. You took care of that bastard right from the start."
Daniel's reserved exterior softens as a rare, genuine smile tugs at his lips. "You've got her stubborn streak in you, Elias. Too damn tough to ever give up."
Elias allows himself a small, wavering grin as he glances back to the road. "I learned it from both of you."
Mara squeezes his shoulder, her eyes steady. "Keep that fire burning, kid. It's what holds us together when everything feels too cold."
Ahead, a slow curve reveals a patch of black ice, the headlights barely illuminating its treacherous glare. Daniel's knuckles tighten on the wheel, and his voice drops into a careful caution, "Ice—hold on tight."
Mara's grip on Elias tightens in silent reassurance, her tone calm and controlled: "Easy, Daniel. Just glide through it."
Elias's senses prick with the imminent danger as the tires crunch against the slick road. "Frost's thick out there," he murmurs, his voice catching with a trace of unease that belies his hardened exterior.
Then, in a breathless instant, the truck shudders. First, a slow, unsettling slide; then a violent drift as the metal groans and glass shatters. Elias slams his hand onto the dash, a jolt of pain radiating through his leg, and salt bags break loose from their secure spot, scattering snow-white fragments throughout the cabin.
Amid the rising chaos, Mara's urgent command slices through the tumult: "Elias—brace!"
A sharp, bone-breaking crack fills the air. In a heart‑stopping moment that seems to stretch into forever, Mara is tossed violently; her body slams against the frame.
The truck rolls once, twice, until it finally comes to a jarring, disorienting stop, overturned in a snow‑dusted ditch.
A heavy silence follows; a silence broken only by the soft hiss of the engine and the slow, almost imperceptible drip of cooling glass.
Elias's breath catches in his throat as he scrambles toward the door, each step punctuated by the crunch of shattered glass and broken ice. "Mom—Mom!" he cries, his voice raw and desperate, only to be nearly swallowed by the howling wind.
Pinned against the wheel, Daniel's arm lies twisted and limp, and he manages a ragged whisper, "Elias, check on her. Go!"
With a racing heart, Elias stumbles to the back of the truck. Each step is burdened by raw pain and paralyzing fear until when he finally reaches the back, he freezes.
There, in the cold unyielding snow, Mara lies crumpled—her head tilted awkwardly, eyes staring lifelessly into the dusk. A slow, relentless trickle of blood escapes from her temple, pooling as stark, dark red against the pristine white of the snow.
Elias sinks beside her, his knees buckling as overwhelming grief and shock take hold. "Mom, no, please, come on. Get up," he pleads, voice thick with sorrow and despair. His trembling hands, shaking as if with the weight of the world, reach out and gently brush her cheek, as if by some miracle he could spark her back to life. "Please… Mom…" The plea shatters into broken sobs, every sound lost to the relentless, mournful wind.
Daniel forces himself free from his confinement and collapses at Mara's side. His face contorts into an expression of deep, raw agony before settling into quiet, unendurable grief. "Mara, no. Not you," he rasps, his trembling fingers hovering over her still face, then drawing back as if in self‐reproach. "It shouldn't have ended like this… I should have seen that ice."
The wind moans around them, cold and unyielding, as snow begins to cover what was once the warmth of Mara's coat.
Elias stands there, chest heaving with pain, and his heart pounding so fiercely it seems ready to break. Every sound is magnified; a cacophony of grief and regret. "She told you to brace," he whispers, voice trembling with a mix of accusation and raw hurt.
Daniel's head jerks up, his eyes swollen with grief and regret as his voice, barely audible, shatters the silence, "I tried Elias, I truly did. I couldn't hold it against the ice…I should have slowed down, should have seen it coming."
Time seems to drag as Elias rocks helplessly, his hands, dusted with melting snow and unshed tears, clinging to the cold ground. "She told you to brace," he repeats, each word heavy with betrayal and unbearable loss.
Slowly, Daniel moves closer, his arms trembling as he cradles Mara's head against his chest. Blood, dark and vivid, stains his sleeve as he murmurs, "I promised I'd always protect her." His voice breaks, thick with sorrow and anguish. "I'm so sorry, Mara… I wish—" He chokes on the sorrow, pressing a clenched fist to his mouth as if to silence the overwhelming grief.
The night gathers quickly around them, shadows lengthening over the overturned truck. Frost creeps up Elias's boots, and his leg throbs with the persistent pain, yet he is rooted there, unwilling or unable to move.
Daniel lifts his eyes from Mara's still form to Elias, his gaze hollow but determined. "I can't leave her here, not in this damn cold," he states in a low, grim tone. Drawing Mara closer as if to hold onto the last vestiges of her warmth, he whispers, "I'll keep her with me just a little longer."
Elias's hand shakes as it reaches out hesitantly, making contact with Mara's cold, unresponsive hand. The contact is startling in its finality; a reminder of everything lost. "She'd want us to keep moving," Elias manages, his voice trembling as he wipes tears that quickly freeze on his cheeks. "She always said that when things got dark, we had to keep the fire alive."
A heavy silence falls over them; thick with sorrow and regret until Daniel, with a resigned sigh that carries the weight of a broken heart, speaks softly, "We gather what we can and keep going, for her."
Elias lingers, his gaze fixed on his mother's peaceful yet vacant face, the snow pooling around her like a quiet shroud. "Don't look back," he whispers, his voice small and determined despite the raw grief etched into his features. "She'd say to keep your eyes forward."
They rise as two now, not three, with Elias limping and shotgun slung, and Daniel shouldering the bag with his arm hanging useless.
Mara lies still, a shape in the ditch with snow veiling her coat like a shroud. They don't move fast, just steps heavy and heads low, and grief a silent weight they carry into the dark stretch of road ahead.