Author's Note: The first chapter of this story was posted as my anniversary fic in 2013.I have received a few PMs on this. Most were kind, some were not. You see—Sadly, shortly after that first post, things got rough. First my feeding tube tried to kill me (See Fortitudine Vincimus) and then as I think I was getting back on my feet, I had another terrible medical experience and less than a month after that my brother died. It was weird, he was literally here one day visiting and the next I was taking a call from the fire department. (That might need to be a story too—only not death fic in the end.) I am back working on this story and plan on posting the next chapter in a week.
Author's Note II: Just a reminder, this is set season four. I've backed it up just a bit to find out how the Winchesters got in that mess.
Chapter Two
Three Days Earlier
The landscape was giving way to the greens of Western Washington as the Impala drove down Snoqualmie Pass. Sam watched the walls of granite go by, wondering if coming to the area was a good idea. They had been tracking a series of disappearances and deaths, and everything pointed to Mount Rainier as the starting point. He had no idea what they were dealing with. His research was coming up blank. One of the victims had looked like it he had been attacked by a wild animal. After seeing the body, he knew it wasn't a werewolf. That was as far as he got.
Dean thought it might be black dogs, but the wounds weren't quite right for that—and Sam knew the damage those creatures did to a human. He'd watched them tear his brother apart—he still did—every time he closed his eyes. It was one of the reasons he skipped sleep most nights. The problem was Dean was often awake too, his dreams haunted by the horrors of Hell. It made slipping out of their room harder—in more ways than one. In the months since Dean had come back, some of the choices Sam made during those long months were bothering him. He tried to resist the pull, but some nights it was just too hard to try and fight it. He would quietly leave and go out to…
"We should call Galen and Rob," Dean said, turning down Black Sabbath.
"Why?" Sam frowned at his brother.
"Some place to crash. Free food and have you noticed they have a washer and dryer? And that coffee place across the street."
"Aren't they vegetarians?"
"Yeah, but it's not like we can't get food from someplace else."
"Yeah, maybe when we're done today?" Sam said cautiously. He wasn't sure he wanted to be around the Emrys brothers. Rob could see things, the things that most people couldn't, and Sam was sure what he had been doing was painted on him.
"Sounds good, we'll go out and check out the area, then head into Tacoma. They might be able to help, they have resources that we don't."
"Like their collection of books," Sam said softly, the memory of those huge bookcases warming him.
"It's a plan." Dean turned the music up again, tapping on the steering wheel, a smile on his face.
Maybe Dean was right, a few days at the Apothecary might give them a break. He wouldn't mind spending some time in front of all those books—not to mention the fact the shop's inventory was broad enough to let them restock the Impalas dwindling supplies. Then there was … He stopped the thought before it formed, he was trying to stop, and dwelling on it didn't help.
"I don't know, it looks like it might snow," Dean said, slowing the car as they pulled off the freeway and onto a local highway.
"There's already snow."
"Yeah, but too much will make it hard to track something."
Sam turned to stare at his brother. "You're kidding!" Sam snapped. Snow would make it a lot easier to follow something, as long as they found the track before fresh snow fell.
"I have a cold."
"What?"
"I have a cold, I don't really want to go traipsing around in the snow this afternoon. It gets dark about four here anyway."
"You have a cold?" Sam couldn't stop the climb of his eyebrows.
"Yeah."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, what's the problem?"
"Dean," Sam huffed. "Two weeks ago you nearly lost four fingers and all you said was 'it's a flesh wound'!"
"It was, this is different. This is a cold."
"And a cold is worse than an amputation because?"
"Because they suck." Dean sniffed pathetically.
"Oh, right, I forgot. Amputation fine, cold bad."
"Yep, exactly, Sammy," Dean said triumphantly and grinned at him.
Sam felt an answering smile on his face—a smile that turned into a chuckle then a laugh as Dean joined him. Rolling his shoulders against tension he hadn't even realized he'd been feeling, Sam leaned back into the seat. "You'll just have to fight through the pain, soldier."
"You know in the old days, they didn't fight wars in the snow. It was more civilized."
"What?"
"You didn't know that? Where were you during history class?" Dean was still grinning and Sam was glad. Things felt almost normal.
"In class, I seem to remember you skipped that one."
"Pretty sure I skipped them all. I saw it the other night on the History channel. They were having a marathon."
"You were watching documentaries?" Sam asked with a laugh then stopped. Had he been out that night?
"Yeah, and you were sleeping through the best of them. I tried to get you up for the one on Vlad the Impaler—fun guy—but you threw the phone at me."
"Right." Sam did remember that.
"I was just trying to help you further your education."
"Thanks. I thought you gave up on that after the seven millionth showing of Heavy: the Story of Metal."
"Not me." Dean grinned. "What was the mile marker?"
Sam looked at the map on his lap. "The next one."
"Gotcha." Dean slowed the car down, a red truck sped past, the driver flipping them off as he did. "Nice folks out this way." He pulled the car off the road onto the broad shoulder. Trees crowded close to a fence that ran along the highway and with the cloud cover, it was already twilight under the trees.
Sam opened the door, a few flakes of snow swirling into the car as he got out. It was cold, but there was no wind, the snow drifting leisurely onto the trees. "Quick, we need to make hot chocolate. It will keep snowing if we do. You always have to have hot chocolate when it snows, Sammy." Dean's voice played his head along with the memory of looking out a hotel window, watching the snow start to cover the parking lot. The scent of chocolate filled the room as Dean made instant cocoa for them both.
"Sammy?" Dean asked softly, it was the voice from the memory, not the man who had returned from Hell.
Sam turned to face his brother, there was a hesitant smile on Dean's face as if he, too, were remembering one of those magical snowstorms from childhood. Snow was always special, and no matter when it happened, they always took a "snow walk" then had chocolate to guarantee enough snow for building snow forts during the day. Sam smiled as he remembered all the times Dean had gently awakened him so they could sneak out and walk in the snow. "We should get hot chocolate on the way back into town," Sam said, still caught in the memories.
"We will," Dean promised gently. "I'd hate for it to stop snowing—after we're done of course."
"Of course." Sam grinned at him and wandered towards the trunk.
"Let's try out those new rounds I made," Dean said, opening the trunk and handing things to Sam. "I want to see if they are any good, I'm not sure about the blue ones."
"The blue ones?"
"Yeah." Dean grinned. "They're extra special." He held out a box of ammunition to Sam. "Here is the patented Dean Winchester Mixed Ammo Box."
"Patented?
Dean slammed the trunk. "How about Acme Mixed Ammo?"
"That makes me more confident."
"Preferred by coyotes the world over."
"Sometimes I think you watch too much TV, Dean."
"I only watch the important stuff," Dean said, walking to the fence.
"Like cartoons."
"Yeah?"
"They're important?" Sam held the barbed wire as Dean slipped through.
"Oh, hell yeah."
Once Sam was through the fence, they set off through the trees. The world was quiet, the snow muffling the usual sounds of the forest. A crow called from above them. Sam looked towards the crow and he caught the flash of dark blue out of the corner of his eye. "Dean!" he called, and headed in that direction.
"Sam! Wait for me!" his brother snapped as he caught up, then stopped. "They didn't leave much did they?" He nudged the bloody jacket with his boot. "Huh."
"What?" Sam looked up from the blood-splattered snow.
"Look up there, that's just weird," Dean said pointing at a tree .Sam glanced to up. The tree was full of crows all silently watching them. "Why aren't they down here finishing off the bits?"
"I don't know," Sam answered slowly. "Maybe they can smell the creatures?"
"And they don't eat demonically tainted meat? Makes sense."
"It does?"
"If you had a choice, would you eat those leftovers? There are tracks heading that way." Dean looked back to the jacket. "We don't have time, but we'll come back and take care of the body on the way out."
"Yeah." Sam glanced in the direction of the car. He had the feeling they were being watched, there was a tight ball of tension between his shoulders.
"You feel it too?"
"Yeah."
"Let's get this over with before we're caught in a blizzard."
"I think the snow is stopping."
"You can't trust snow, Sammy." Dean set off along the line of the tracks and Sam fell in behind him.
Sam was watching the trees as they walked. He was sure he could see shadowy shapes moving in the forest. For the last half hour, he had heard soft growls off and on. The tension in his back had grown to actual pain, the air was full of the threat of violence. Once or twice he had been sure he'd seen one of the creatures, but it flitted by so quickly he couldn't be sure if it was what they were tracking or one of the regular forest animals. He was starting to wonder if they were following the wrong path when Dean stopped so abruptly Sam ran into him.
"Shit!" Dean snapped.
"What?" Sam said in the same instant, then saw what his brother was looking at. He had been so busy watching the trees he hadn't noticed the trees were hiding a massive granite wall. "Shit."
"At least we walked right into the trap," Dean said, swinging his backpack off and setting it on the ground. He unzipped the bag and started stuffing ammunition into his pockets.
Sam followed suit, trying not to look at what the creatures had left behind for them to find. Seeing the blood on the snow was enough. "Maybe there aren't many, and that's why they led us out here?"
"When has our luck ever been that good?" Dean laughed grimly and stood so his back was against stone. "I'll take the left."
"Yeah." Sam cocked his gun and stood beside Dean. He hoped some of the work he'd been doing exorcising demons would be helpful. It could turn the tide and not make this the last stand it appeared to be.
They didn't have to wait long. The first of the dog-like creatures appeared within moments of their arrival. It circled in front of them, growling—baring teeth in a blood-covered snout. It let out a high yipping howl and more of the creatures poured into the area. Sam still hoped he could make a difference, focusing his power while keeping an eye on the dogs and his brother. No matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn't force his way past their defenses. He gave up and edged closer to Dean.
When the first of the creatures leaped towards them, Dean shot it. The thing fell, black blood spilling on the ground. Its move seemed to be the signal the others were waiting for. One moment they were circling in front of them, the next they were running—unnaturally fast. Sam raised his gun and started firing. Creature after creature fell, but the pack didn't diminish.
"Where the hell are they coming from?" he shouted.
"I think you answered your own question," Dean shouted back. "Look out!"
Sam saw the thing coming. He was firing at it, but it was bigger than the others. It lunged for him—mouth open, ready to snap at his neck—when he was suddenly shoved to the side. The creature hit them both and drove them against the stone. The rest of the pack moved in, their growls growing into excited yips as they sense their prey weaken. Sam's head slammed into the wall and he was dazed for a moment, then rolled over in time to bring his gun to bear on the closest members of the pack. He was reaching into his pocket for more ammunition when he realized Dean hadn't moved.
"Dean!"
"Here," Dean answered, using his gun to lever himself into a sitting position.
"Are you okay?" Sam shouted as he finished reloading and started firing again.
"I have a cold," Dean said, sounding about five years old. He swung his gun like a club as one of the dogs came at him from the side, then turned in time to shoot the creature before it could get close again. "This just gets better and better."
"Yeah." Sam stood and braced his back against the wall as Dean got to his feet. As they did, the pack backed off.
"That's not good." Dean stepped close enough so their shoulders were in contact.
"No, it's not," Sam said, glancing over at Dean with a smile. Things were bad, maybe worse than that, but this felt right. Maybe for the first time since…
One of the creatures leaped forward, Sam fired and it collapsed to the ground. The other's growled and the one in the front howled and the next instant they charged. The weight of the combined creatures forced them to the ground. Sam was desperately trying to get his gun up to fire when he heard Dean's scream of pain. He saw the edge of the pack step aside. "NO!" he shouted as he watched one of the creatures dragging Dean away. His brother was still fighting, but there was a trail of blood marring the snow. It was the last thing he saw before the pack was on him.
To Be Continued