Disclaimer: I do not own Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, their sweet Impala, or their kick ass show. I just own this little story based off my little idea. *Any relations to persons in this story are completely coincidental!


Chapter One: The case

"Let's go, Dean!" Sam yelled, ready to get back on the road. They had to drive 200 miles, at the very least, to get to the town of Abrams, Wisconsin.

"Hold on!" Dean hollered back behind the doors. Sam glanced at his watch: 7 PM. Which meant they'd arrive at Wisconsin by 9, and Abrams by 11 if they were really lucky.

Dean swung the bathroom door open, clad only in a towel which hung around his waist tightly.

"You're not even dressed yet!" the younger Winchester practically yelled, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation.

"Dude, relax! We got time. I mean, it's not like we have a deadline to be in Wisconsin." the older brother quipped, heading towards his bed.

"No, but if we want to get whatever's burning people alive in Abrams, then we should get there sooner rather than later." Sam said, annoyed with his brother's nonchalant attitude.

"Oh, I do, believe me." Dean replied, throwing on his clothes as Sam packed up their belongings in the bathroom. "Whatever's barbecuing the town's residents needs to be stopped. I just don't see why we can't wait until morning to go there. I mean, by the time we get to Winter Wonder Land, it'll be late as hell."

Sam returned with the packed toiletries and tossed them in his duffel bag.

"Late at night beats early in the morning. We'll sleep easier." Sam replied as he closed his duffel and slung it over his shoulder. Dean did the same and threw his towel on the bed. After a harsh look from Sam, the towel was moved into the hamper.

The drive to Abrams was extremely long, tiring, and cramped, and the snow wasn't much help. By the time they got to a cheap motel in the town, they were traveling at a reduced speed of 10 mph due to the heavy snowfall.

"This is not normal. No matter which way we're facing, the snow's blowing right at us." Dean said in a half-whiny voice. After putting the car in 'park', he was lost to Sam's vision behind the violent whirling snow outside as he went to get a room.


Dean must've rung the service bell a dozen times before an old, scruffy-haired man emerged.

"Stop that damn bell! I ain't deaf." the man croaked.

Dean noticed a hearing aid and took his hand off the bell. "Right, sorry."

"What do you want?" the man asked, his voice hoarse and croakey-sounding,

"One room, two beds." he answered, glancing outside. He could just barely see his baby among the swirling lakes of ice.

"How long will you be staying?" the man asked, seemingly annoyed at the prospect of a paying customer.

Dean handed the guy a wad of cash, sliding it across the counter. "End of the week."

He was handed a sign in log and a key, and after scrawling down a hake name, he snatched up the key. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, preparing himself to brave the cold yet again. He walked briskly, yet carefully along the parking lot, only slipping on a patch of ice once this time. He returned to the Impala, parked in front of their room, and unlocked the door to their warm oasis.

He barely looked around at the décor before belly flopping on the closest bed, becoming dead to the world.


The sound of a snow plow rumbling by woke the Winchesters from their dead slumber.

After Dean left to grab breakfast, Sam scanned the local news.

"The string of arsons continued last night when local resident, Patricia Mackson, 78, was found dead by her daughter, Claire. Patricia, like the previous victims, was found in her bedroom. Tune in later tonight for more news on this tragic death." the reporter announced, her voice sounding like it was a forced type of sorrow.

Sam compiled his notes on the case. Three weeks ago: Jack Kelsy, 80 years old, Krakow, Wisconsin. Two weeks ago: Samantha Gradst, 30 years old, Chase, Wisconsin. Last week: Jennifer Samps, 54 years old, Abrams, Wisconsin. And now there was Patricia Mackson.

The door opened and Dean stepped inside, carrying a bag of food.

"I hate Wisconsin in the winter. Even if no snow is falling, traffic is slow." the older brother mumbled, taking a huge bite from his breakfast burrito as he tossed the other to Sam.

"So, there was another death last night." Sam announced, turning off the TV.

"What? We were supposed to have two days!" Dean said, almost spitting out his half-chewed wad of burrito.

"I know. The past three deaths have happened on a Wednesday, like clockwork, all in a different town. But our latest victim also lived in Abrams." Sam replied, his mouth free of half-chewed food.

"Does our latest vic have any connection to the previous vics?" Dean asked, swallowing another glob of burrito.

"Besides living in Abrams? No, not that I could find. All four victims are different ages, ethnicities, different social statuses, even different sexual orientations." Sam answered, clicking away on his laptop.

"So we got bubkis." Dean stated flatly.

"We might find something at Patricia's. Maybe whatever's doing this got sloppy." Sam said, turning off his laptop as he reached for his winter jacket.


A/N: Sorry, no Cas or Bobby or anything like that in this story. Just the Winchester brothers, and a monster to hunt!