Thanks ever so much to all who have reviewed so far...it really does spur me to write on when I might otherwise be too lazy to do so. Special thanks to Zatnikatel for letting me steal her canon.
The only sound was the squeaking crunch of their boots in the snow. After a stop at Kathleen's house to gather supplies (a small arsenal, really, fit enough to start a war), they drove out to the now-snow-hidden two track that led deep into the woods, and at the end of which lay the burned out ruin of the Bender's ramshackle farmhouse.
The dark clouds had given birth to a heavy downfall of sleet, tiny wet flakes that were more rain than snow, which quickly soaked through their jeans and coats. Though Dean and Sam shivered under the onslaught, Kathleen marched resolutely forward as if unaware of the cold and the ice and the ever-darkening sky. Step after step, deeper and deeper into the forest.
The ruts of the road lay hidden by snow, drifted knee deep here and there. Only the gap in the trees, just wide enough for a truck or a van, led them on. The branches closed over the path, twining their naked fingers together to create a living tunnel. Occasionally a gust of wind would shriek through the trees, making the branches creak in protest, but otherwise it was silent as death.
Just when Sam was sure he could trudge no farther without his limbs freezing solid and breaking clean off like icicles, the lopsided façade of a weather-beaten barn hove into view. Dean stopped short, breath catching at the sight of where his nightmare had begun. His duffel bag slid from his shoulder and dropped, unheeded, to the ground. Memory after memory assaulted him, piling one on top of another until he wanted nothing more than to run, to haul ass back to town and clean out of Minnesota. All that remained of the farmhouse itself was a blackened concrete foundation and a few charred, broken beams crisscrossing in a jumbled pile. A wave of panic swelled in Dean's throat, tasting of bile and adrenaline, and he clutched unconsciously at Kathleen's elbow. She gently removed her arm from his grip, and put her palm into his. They stood for a few seconds, hand in hand, just staring. Remembering.
"Let's get it over." Sam's voice jarred them from their trance, and Dean nodded dazedly. Sam dumped his own pack on the ground, knelt in the snow, and dug through the bag until he came up with a large can of lighter fluid and a box of household salt. "All the evidence should have been taken away by the feds, but who knows what other stuff is buried around here that they didn't find." He glanced at Kathleen. "Did they ever identify Riley? Forensics or DNA or anything?" She just shook her head, mouth tightening into a thin white line. He grimaced apologetically. "Start with the barn."
Kathleen looked over at Dean, squeezed his hand. "Together, right?" He nodded and squeezed back, swallowing back his fear, banishing it to the pit of his stomach where it roiled and burned. He released her hand and ducked to pull a two-liter bottle of kerosene out of his duffel, and Kathleen retrieved a large Ziploc bag full of road salt.
The barn was dark and murky, and Dean had to flick on his flashlight to push back his fear. Terror niggled at the back of his mind, danger hid in every shadow. Don't you dare…don't you dare, Lee. The cages were gone, taken by the police no doubt, and there was no sign of the horrors that had been perpetrated in that dusty barn, but the memories that all three carried inside were more than enough. Too much.
Sam began splashing lighter fluid around, liberally soaking a few bales of moldy hay that were stacked by the door. Dean followed suit, pouring kerosene around the perimeter of the walls, and Kathleen followed on, scattering handfuls of salt across the floor like a farmer sowing seeds. Dean found his breaths coming few and far between, as if holding his breath would ward off the presence he felt lurking in the shadows. Just your imagination, knock it off, Dean…
Sam flicked his lighter and touched it to the bales of hay, which caught light with a muffled whoomph.
And then all hell broke loose.
A shadow, thick and dark as pitch, appeared from nowhere and enveloped Sam. He fell backward, tumbling perilously close to the now-blazing hay. The fire spread up the walls with terrifying speed, consuming the dried and brittle wood with a ferocious roar. Sam managed to roll away from the inferno, shielding his face from the intense heat with his hands.
Dean screamed Sam's name and tried to race toward him, but he found his legs in a tangle and he fell, a heavy weight pinning him down against the floor. A wraith, black and shadowed, settled atop him, sliding up his legs toward his face, paralyzing him as it went. As it slid up over his face, it was as if he was suddenly struck blind, the darkness so black that he would have to stick a finger in his eye to see if his lids were open or not.
"Sam!" he howled again, trying to struggle away from the horror that was smothering him, but he was unable. He felt, rather than saw, a flash of movement, and suddenly Kathleen was there, swinging an iron pipe like a baseball bat and scattering the shadow like mist in the wind. But while the weight disappeared from Dean's body, Kathleen staggered back as if struck a heavy blow and she crashed against a stall with a sickening thud. The rotted wooden slats cracked and she crumpled with them, falling into the stall with arms and legs akimbo.
As Dean watched in breathless horror, still barely able to move, the shadow closed in on Kathleen. She groaned, trying to sit up, spitting out a mouthful of blood, and it stained her mouth like garish lipstick. The shadow loomed over her, spreading as if to swallow her, and she cringed away, lifting an arm to shield her eyes. She opened her mouth to scream, but a cold blast of wind stole her breath and she could make no sound. No, please, Riley, don't…please…A slashing pain tore across her shoulder and this time she did scream, a wail of pain and horror and rage. Not like this…
Dean forced his limbs to obey him and he managed to pull the pistol from his hip. He rolled onto his stomach, and from a prone position he sighted and blasted the shadow full on. There was an unearthly shriek, maybe the wind and maybe more, and the darkness evaporated in a swirling whirlwind.
Dean crawled to Kathleen's side and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her forward, and together they reeled out of the now-blazing barn, collapsing to the ground outside. Sam staggered out after them, coughing and scrubbing at his streaming eyes, and fell to his knees, heaving for breath. Dean called his name and Sam help up a hand, hacking up a mouthful of sooty phlegm. "M'okay," he rasped.
Dean dropped his forehead into the snow and took a few long breaths, then pushed himself to his knees and crawled to Kathleen's side. "Did it hurt you?" he asked stupidly, staring at Kathleen's bloody face.
"Chivalry in brass knuckles, that's you," wheezed Kathleen. "But your timing could have been better." She closed her eyes, wincing against the pain. "Thanks."
Dean thumbed the blood away from her lips. "It's the boots. Can't resist 'em."
Kathleen's laugh deteriorated into a wracking fit of coughs and she clutched at her side. When she finally caught her breath she moaned, "Maybe cracked a rib."
"You've got a nasty slash there too…" Dean softly touched the gaping wound on her shoulder, just above the swell of her tricep. She flinched away from his touch. "Pretty deep."
"Just get me up," she ordered in a shaking voice.
Dean snaked an arm behind her back and he helped her to her feet. "I can carry you," he offered, but she cast him a scornful look.
"It's my ribs, not my legs." But she didn't protest when Dean wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close to his hip and letting her lean on him. But as she tried to take a step she couldn't suppress a cry of pain.
Dean lowered her back to the snow. "Gonna have to wrap those ribs," Dean said apologetically. "You'll feel much better once we do, and we'll make better time getting back to the road."
Kathleen nodded, sucking in her lower lip. "Just don't use this as payback for the gintrap," she warned as Dean gingerly helped her out of her coat.
Dean smiled grimly. "You really were a butcher." He leaned across Kathleen's lap and pulled her duffel bag toward them, and retrieved a pack of heavy gauze. "Lose the shirt."
"Charming." Kathleen flinched again, unable to suppress a hiss of pain as she stripped off her t-shirt. "Don't get all handsy," she warned.
"I think we're way beyond that by now." Dean placed the end of the gauze against Kathleen's side. "Hold this." She pressed the fabric against her ribs and Dean began to wind it around her, pulling it tighter with each pass.
Kathleen gave a low groan and Dean glanced up to meet her pained gaze. He opened his mouth to apologize but she cut him off. "Just hurry up," she ground out.
Dean finished as quickly as he could, pulling the last pass tight and tying it off. He leaned back and regarded it with a critical eye. "It suits you. Very Sarah Connor."
Kathleen struggled to her feet. "Come on. Let's get the fuck out of here before that thing comes back." She started stumbling away from the burning barn, but Dean stopped her with a hand on her elbow.
"Might want your shirt." He snatched the shirt from the ground and slipped it back over her head. She groaned again as she threaded her arms through the sleeves.
"That's no ghost." Sam was still on his knees, sucking wind. Dean just nodded, helping Kathleen back into her coat.
"So what is it?" Kathleen clutched her arms tightly across her midsection to try and press away some of her pain.
"It's a shadow person." Sam pushed himself to his feet, listing slightly to port and succumbing to another wracking cough. "More than a ghost, less than a demon…"
"So it's not Riley?" A note of hope took Kathleen's voice to a higher register and she clutched at Dean's jacket.
Sam shook his head. "It still could be. They can be conjured through black magic, or they can be created by events of extreme physical or emotional trauma…" Sam knuckled his eyes, trying to rub away the sting of the smoke. "It's like the horror of the event gets poured into it, and all the pain and fear is caught in the shadow."
Kathleen paled, knees going weak, and she tipped sideways against Dean, nearly falling. He caught her and looped an arm around her waist, supporting her against his hip. "So all that's left of Riley is the fear and the pain…" she whispered.
"We don't know that. It could still be something else…" Sam coughed again, then started staggering away from the barn. "Come on."
Dean started to walk after him but Kathleen didn't follow, and she would have dropped into the snow if he hadn't stopped and caught her weight. Fear panged in Dean's chest as he looked at her blank and slack-jawed face. Her eyes were empty, vacant, staring at nothing. And all that Dean could think to do was scream. "Sam!"
