-1Disclaimer: Now this is important guys, I don't own anything. Not Supernatural, not Frosty the Snowman, not Carhartt either. Not even Indiana or Maine… Sad isn't it?
Title: Attack of the Snowpeople
Summary: While Sam's at school, and John's on a hunt, Dean passes throw a small town in Maine looking for a warm bed and maybe a hot girl, instead he finds a cold new friend.
Dedication: I dedicate this to WanderingAnariel. You helped plot it out and name him so you might as well get some credit right? Long live sexy carnivorous cowboy snowmen!
A/N: Yes, for your information I have lost my mind. I had it a minute ago, sat it down to tie my shoe and when I stood up it was gone. If you've seen it PLEASE contact me. I need that thing.
Dean sighed watching his hot breath freeze on the air, it was too cold, and too late for this. He hated snow. In his fine opinion there were few things worse than hunting with snow up to your ass. The few benefits it offered didn't compare to all the hindering it did, and it was so damn cold. He shook off his dismal thoughts summoning warmer ones, better winter memories than bitter, cold, and bloody hunts.
At the fringes of his memory lay a deep love for snow, the pure white powder laying fresh and coating the world. Hours, bundled against its harsh temperature, were spent in the snow as a child. His mother teaching him to build snow men and laughing when his short legs couldn't conquer the drifts. It was there special little trips, just the two of them would go visit his grandmother in Indiana. Grandma Rose didn't much care for his dad and died believing he wasn't good enough for her precious daughter. But the time spent in her yard was forever engraved in his mind.
Something flew past his ear shocking him back into reality. He spun around in the direction the shot had come from. He caught the movement and ran after it. This wasn't going to be fun or easy alone. If Sammy wasn't at Stanford, and Dad God knows where, he'd be fine but instead he was alone in the woods outside a small subdivision of Maine.
"Frosty where are you?" he muttered under his breath casting about when the trail ran cold. He could follow his own foot prints easily, but the creature he was hunting had the unmanning ability to glide over the snow leaving no tracks behind. "Son of a bitch." he swore when he was pelted in the ass by a BB.
"Frosty's a loser. What self respecting spirit prances around like that?" his prey asked.
"The kind that doesn't want me to kill them." he answered not missing a beat.
"Oooo I'm so scared." The snowman rolled his mismatched button eyes.
The broken carrot of a nose swiveled a little as stick arms aimed the small rifle again. Who the hell gives a snowman a loaded BB gun? Dean asked himself before remembering the snowman's maker, a chubby teenaged girl, the loner type that still got a thrill out of snow angels. Another tiny copper ball flew past his head, good thing this snowball was a bad shot. Dean leapt forward knocking the possessed snowman to the ground. The Carhartt jacket that had been draped over it's "shoulders" and its stick arms had been stuffed through fell off, the gun sliding away useless. However, the black cowboy hat stayed firmly planted on its head. Dean scrambled to get to the head and remove that hat. He grabbed hold of the brim jerking and wrenching to no avail.
"I told you I'm not Frosty. I'm not going to lose my hat so easily." though the pebble smile didn't move a distinctly male voice, with the hint of a southern twang emitted itself from the snowman's head. "Name's Svengali."
"I'd say nice to meet you, but it's not." Dean decided the snowman wasn't going to be able to stand back up so he climbed up from the ground sitting on Svengali's bottom ball, as he dug out a flask of holy water from the inside pocket of his leather jacket.
"What are you doing with that, warm one?" Dean smirked at the sudden spike of fear in Svengali's voice.
"Not afraid of a little water are we?"
"I'm made of water, boy." the snowman feigned confidence rolling back to an erect position, successfully removing Dean from his body.
"Then this won't hurt." Dean mimicked the snow's confidence with a sneer. He twisted off the cap and Svengali started backing away. "Thought, you weren't afraid.."
"I'm not, you should be." the snow around Dean's feet swirled up blinding him and packing the cold, wet, crystals into every available crevasse. The snow quickly melted from his body heat only to freeze seconds later encrusting him in a thin layer of ice. Svengali rushed him, moving faster than logical, of course what was logical about the situation at all? The snowman crashed into him shattering himself in a puff of snow only to reform behind Dean. Dean was stiff, and blind from this unexpected attack. How the hell was Dean Winchester, a hunter that makes evil quiver in fear, getting his ass handed to him in a paper bag by a snowman?
"I've had enough." he growled turning to land a fury of punches to Svengali's midsection going straight through the packed snow. His head fell landing upside down in it's hat. Another mini-blizzard picked up, but Dean wasn't having that either. He dropped on the head, decided he'd either crush the hat or bust the snowman's head. Svengali was howling while Dean dumped the contents of his flask on his head, soaking the hat, which sizzled as the blessed water touched it. The discarded red plaid scarf shot up from the ground wrapping itself around Dean's neck cutting of his air. The sizzling cowboy hat fell out of his hands and he struggled to loosen the scarf. As the world faded away the crunch of snow reached his ears.
As Dean came too his nostrils filled with smoke. He coughed, choking as he fought to sit up. Svengali was a mound of snow a few feet away, he watched it for a long moment waiting for movement, nothing. He released a sigh of relief before remembering the fire. He turned around quickly jumping to his feet and grabbing for his gun.
"Easy, Dean."
"Dad?" he stared down at his father who was squatted over the burning ornaments that Svengali had donned.
"No, Santa Clause." he rolled his eyes. "What were you thinking, coming out here alone? I liked to never found you. You're lucky I did too. You could have" he broke off short of mentioning son's demise.
"Is he done?" Dean changed the subject looking down at the melting buttons.
"Yea, your friend here isn't coming back." John assured him. "Where'd you park the Impala, I didn't see her on my way out?"
"Sam? Come on, dude." Dean reached across the car and smacking his brother's chest.
"Hmm." Sam groaned waking up.
"You sleep like a rock."
"Where are we?" Dean pocketed the keys , locking the Chevy.
"Little town by the name of Macintosh, 'bout an hour outside of Augusta." he answered. "You want to grab us a…" he trailed off as he noticed a snowman standing out in front of the little run down motel. "I hate snowmen." he grumbled under his breath taking in the red little kids cowboy hat, blue flannel cork gun, melted buttons, rocks, and coal.
"Dean?" Sam came up behind him staring in the same direction. "Did Frosty offend you?"
"You've got no idea, Sammy." he shook his head. "Go get us a room I'll be right there." As soon as Sam was gone Dean walked over to the snowman taking its gun away, and laying it on the ground in front of him, just out of reach, before turning to follow his brother.
"Amateur." Svengali rocked forward and picked up his gun, it wasn't as nice as the BB gun had been. He shot it off once, the cork swung on it's string coming back and knocking out the chip of coal that made his right eye. "Son of a bitch."