AN: This was somewhat inspired by the Polar Vortex of January 2019, in which the kids were off school for two entire weeks (and we rarely cancel school for snow, since we are so used to it, averaging 80" of snowfall per year), and during which I drove six hours through blizzard conditions because I was too stubborn to stop. The prompt options (for yesterday…late again!) were: Earthquake / Extreme Weather / Power Outages. I made it pretty generic, so you could set it a lot of places, but I just watched Appointment in Samarra, so I'm setting it in season 6 just because. It makes the comfort part of the h/c especially poignant, IMO.
Lena: My gosh, that was incredibly sweet and wonderful of you! Yes, I blushed. And read it like twenty times. You are so very kind, and it gives me so much joy that my little stories bring you pleasure.
scootersmom: Thanks! I do love some Teenchesters!
JaniceC678: Yay for bunker secrets! I had fun writing the boys as teens, especially their antics. Do you remember the name of the story with the running out of air scene? I'd love to read it! I'm glad you like the different format of Cas telling his story. And thank you for your nice words, as always.
Stormysea-breaks: I think you touched on everything about this chapter that I enjoyed. I wanted to focus on Dean straddling that line as a teen with a lot of adult in him – but still wanting to be the child when push comes to shove. But then stepping up in a huge way. The part of John and Bobby having a glare-off made me giggle too. And I can't write Teenchesters without a few antics! Thank you for your wonderful review.
Shazza19: I wasn't going to have Dean call 911, but then I couldn't figure out how he could get Sam back up the riverbank! And I love writing the Teenchesters any time; I'm sure the boys were heroic even back then.
waitingforAslan: The trolls climbing the bridge like spiders creeped me out! And I'm glad you liked the way chapter 26 opened. It's always so nice to hear what writing devices work and what don't. And I just adore Bobby…I find a way to get him and his adorable grumpiness in every story I can!
"We are not storm chasers!" Dean sounded so disgusted that Sam laughed.
"We track patterns, remember? Weird phenomena that result in people dying." Sam dipped one of his French fries in Dean's Frosty.
"Cut it out! That's nasty! And it's my Frosty. Speaking of frosty, maybe we can find something a little further south maybe?"
"I don't have a Frosty, so I have to use yours," responded Sam with perfect little brother logic. "And if we had picked up on this earlier, we could have caught it just north of Houston. Or in Oak Creek, Colorado."
"I know, I know, and it happened two places in Mexico before that. And I get that it's weird, and the storms are killing people, but what do you think we're hunting, El Niño?" Dean slapped Sam's hand away before he could sully Dean's Frosty with another fry.
"I don't know what we're hunting, but I know that storms are popping up without any meteorological reason, disappearing and reforming days or weeks later other places, totally the wrong direction for any jet stream. And storms don't actually kill many people, but every time one of these forms, exactly 12 people die." He opened his laptop and his eyes darted back and forth as he read. "A house collapsed while those around it were fine. A door burst open, so a little carpet store flooded and all employees drowned, while everyone in the rest of the strip mall was fine. Lightening struck a barn where four teenagers were waiting out the storm, and when they ran out, lightening struck four more times, killing each of them."
"Okay, okay. Maybe it is our kind of weird." Dean leaned forward and looked at the screen, giving Sam an opening to swipe yet another fry through his Frosty. "Touch my Frosty again and you'll be wearing it!"
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
"Actually, we're storm chasers," Dean was saying to a cute bartender. "We study unusual weather patterns and we also sell footage of the storms to The Weather Channel. But mostly, we just want the data to help make the world a little safer place."
Sam took a sip of his beer to cover a snort of laughter. Nobody, but nobody could bullshit like his brother. And he had to admit, it was a pretty good lie. The brunette was impressed and it gave them a reasonable explanation for running around town in terrible weather.
And it was getting terrible. Sam had flat out guessed at the next place the storm would hit, and they got lucky for once. They'd been in town for all of six hours, and the snow was already coming down. In fact, they ended up leaving the bar early, to Dean's chagrin. But the time had been productive. Sam had figured out that each storm was a near perfect circle, and with some very impressive detective work, had deduced that there was a cave system in the center every time. Whoever or whatever was behind it all seemed to like to find a cave from which to wreak havoc. And Brandi (or was it Brenda?) the bartender knew of a small lumber camp just north of their little town on a hill that was dotted with caves.
"We'll have to hike to it," Sam warned as they drove back to their motel. He peered through the windshield in some dismay. When they were kids, they'd loved the snow, and when they drove through a snowstorm, they'd pretend they were on the Millenium Falcon going to hyperspeed. Like so many things, snow was a lot less fun as an adult. The snowflakes falling now were fat and heavy, and the roads were already messy with slush.
Dean groaned. While he hated putting his baby through this, especially once they started salting the roads, it was a whole lot better to ride than walk in this crap. That thought came back to him the next day when they woke up to nearly a foot of the white stuff on the ground, and it was falling more heavily than ever. The snowflakes were now smaller, as the air temperature had dropped rapidly. Worse, it was early in the season, which meant the lake that made the town such a popular tourist destination was still warm. As the cold air contacted the warm water, heavy steam to rose to obscure the wooded hills, and sporadic, machine-gun fast bursts of lightening struck.
It was a nightmare storm.
The only good news was that the boys had stocked up on cold weather gear on their way into town. After walking two buildings over to grab donuts for breakfast, Dean pulled the ski masks out of the trunk too. This hunt was not going to be pleasant.
As they layered up with long johns, extra socks, heavy boots, parkas, hats, and the like, Sam had to wonder how well they could fight like this. Apparently thinking something similar, Dean called out, "I can't put my arms down!"
Though they were firmly in the snow belt, and the town was well used to and well equipped to plow snow, it took time, and there was no way that Baby would have been able to get them where they needed to go, so Dean paid the motel owner's son Chris to take them in his plow-tipped pickup. "I'll be plowing all day, but call any time for a ride back," he told them, concerned about their outing. "I'm putting the chains on the tires, so I'll be able to get to you. And be careful. My mom likes you two, and I don't want to have to tell her you're a coupla popsicles."
Amused, they assured him they'd be fine and loaded his phone number into their phones. It wasn't like they wanted to head out into the middle of nowhere in a snowstorm, but Cantor's Hill was the clear center of the storm.
Sam hoped they were telling the truth. The snow was falling so thickly visibility was only a couple meters. Every few minutes, wind came down the hill to lift the flakes in blustery spirals. "How are we going to find the caves?" Dean asked, having to lean close to Sam to be heard.
"The majority will be very close to the foresters' equipment. The densest tree growth is in the area immediately around the caves because the soil that washes down the hill gets caught up there, making it the richest soil."
Sam couldn't quite make out his brother's response, but heard the lightly mocking tone and could guess at its general content.
They didn't talk much after that, but made their way steadily up the hill, having to lean into the wind more and more. The snowfall grew impossibly thicker, too, until Sam grabbed a handful of the back of Dean's jacket just to make sure they didn't get separated. If he didn't know that the storm would rage until a dozen people were dead, he would have suggested that they go back. It was already one of those hunts were things were stacked against them: too little information most of all. Still, that had never stopped them before.
Suddenly, Dean went down, and Sam very nearly went down on top of him. He looked around for a threat even as he pulled Dean up to his feet by the back of his coat. Dean pointed down, clearing enough snow away for Sam to see the tree trunks lined up on the ground. Sam blinked and used the back of one hand to clean snow off his eyelashes, then break the ice that had accumulated on the ski mask in front of his mouth. They hadn't even been able to see that they'd arrived at the lumber camp.
The heavy harvester formed a bit of a snow break so the delimber and skid weren't completely buried, but the rest of the equipment was only snowy lumps to them. Just above the hill from all of it were two uneven rows of cave openings, dark against the white everywhere else. Shielding his eyes and wishing for snow goggles, Sam looked further up the hill, at least as much as he could. He could make out vague shadows that were more caves yet. With a sigh, he pulled off his heavy outer layer of gloves and stuffed them in his pockets to he could actually manipulate weapons.
As Sam took out his handgun and flashlight and made sure his long knife was accessible, he noticed Dean was already finished. Somehow with only his eyes visible, Dean still managed to convey, ready yet, Francis?
They started at the cave farthest to their left and lowest on the hill. It was a bit of a relief when they found caves deep enough to explore, because they escaped the wind briefly. Some of the caves were too shallow to warrant more than a glance, but some were gouged deep into the hill.
The boys were in a second layer cave when a screech rose up higher than the wind. The cave was narrow, and Sam could only just glimpse the creature around his brother's broad shoulders. It was a flamboyant looking thing, mostly man, but with a fan tail and headdress of rainbow feathers that would have made a peacock jealous. It wore no clothes, its brown-skinned chest bared to the elements, but its lower half covered in small, downy feathers, except for naked bird feet.
Dean fired at it, which was deafening in the small space, and it dove at him too fast to be human. The impact knocked Dean back into Sam, who had taken two steps back to give his brother the space to fight. A second blow, much harder than a creature of that size should have been able to produce, and Sam was knocked back even farther, out of the cave, tripping over the rock, and…falling right past the mouth of the cave below.
The impact with the ground was surprising rather than painful, and Sam had a second of gratitude that he'd landed between the lip of the cave and the harvester instead of on the heavy metal implement. He didn't linger, jumping to his feet to get back to help Dean. Before he could climb back up, the creature reappeared, Dean's knife buried in its chest but no blood visible. It held Dean in one hand, shaking him without apparent effort. He fired his gun at it point blank, and its only response was to toss him away. Luckily, it tossed him to the side, and not down onto any of the equipment.
But then it leaped onto Dean's chest, scratching with those wicked claws. An ostrich can eviscerate a grown man with one swipe, offered Sam's brain unhelpfully. And this thing has bigger claws than that. Feeling frantic and needing its attention off his brother, Sam started shooting.
That got its attention, alright. In the blink of an eye, the angry bird man was in front of Sam, and he was flying backwards into the delimber. The impact was heavy enough that he was more than grateful for the protection of all his layers. How strong was this thing? It screeched and landed heavily in front of Sam again, lifting him by the front of his coat. Fumbling behind him, Sam turned on the loud machine, hoping to distract his opponent. Instead, it slammed him into the delimber, then did it again. The third time, Sam was ready, and twisted his body to use the thing's own strength and momentum against it.
It worked much better than Sam had anticipated. His opponent fell forward, all the way into the machine, and quick as thought, was sucked through. The sharp metal grate did its work in half a second, skinning the monster, and a disgusting red lump and a bunch of shredded feathers were all that emerged. Sam gaped at the nauseating sight, then quickly slammed the machine to off. That was…horrifying…and effective.
But he had no more time for that. There was a distinct lack of Dean. Having to stumble through the heavy snow again, Sam hurried back up the hill. He was shocked at the sight of his brother. Dean's ski mask was gone, the skin of his face blanched white, with a few drops of blood standing out starkly. The blood came from his chest, which was bleeding through long rents in his parka. Sam couldn't see well enough to tell how bad it was, so he quickly grabbed Dean under his armpits and pulled him carefully into a nearby cave that he remembered was deep and took a right turn a short ways in, making it well sheltered from the wind. That done, Sam put both pairs of his gloves under Dean's head, pulled Dean's hood up, and turned on the flashlight he'd stuffed in his pocket at the first attack.
"Sorry about the cold, man," he muttered, hoping Dean would snark back as he opened the jacket and pushed up Dean's shirts. He winced in sympathy when Dean's skin immediately pebbled from the cold, and at the sight of three long, parallel claw marks. By Winchester standards they weren't horrible injuries. Ordinarily, Sam would clean them carefully, stitch them up, and watch for infection. But in a cave in a snowstorm? All he could really do is slap on a compression bandage and put pressure on to try and stop the bleeding until they could get out of there. He didn't want to wait and clean them, either, needing to focus on stopping the bleeding and keeping Dean warm.
Sam's inspection also found a nice, big lump on the back of Dean's head. His pupils reacted fine to the light, but Sam would feel an awful lot better about things once his brother woke up. He did what he could, then put his light gloves back on, put his heavy ones over Dean's, put his own ski mask on Dean, and, as carefully as he could, took Dean's coat off and put it on him backwards. He didn't bother to zip it since it was so torn anyway. He pulled the chemical heat pack out of his backpack, cracked it, and tucked it between Dean's coat and outer shirt over his upper chest.
Sam sat against the wall making a vee with his legs and opened the front of his own coat. He pulled Dean up so his back rested against Sam's chest, and wrapped his arms firmly around his brother. This would allow them to share some warmth, and give Sam a way to keep pressure on the wounds. Shivering, Sam belatedly remembered to put his own hood on.
"Okay, Dean, if you wake up now, you will have a great chance to make fun of me for this. Or yell at me for cuddling you against your will." Sam's teeth chattered, but he kept talking, knowing from experience how reassuring it could be to hear a familiar voice when you were hurting. "We need to figure out a plan to get down from here, because I don't really want Chris to be right. And I want to know what that crazy bird guy was." He winced a little. "Not to mention, I should do something with the body, or Chris will live the rest of his life thinking he drove two murderers to their crime. And hey, once we're w-warm again, I'll buy you a Frosty."
Dean stirred lightly, muttering something incomprehensible. "Yeah, I know," answered Sam, pretending it had been real words. "Winchesters and camping don't mix. I'm gonna check on the storm in a few minutes, see if it's dying down now that…uh…thing is dead." Sam had been going over all the facts in his mind, repeatedly. It was a good half hour hike back to the road if they were both healthy. Could he carry his brother that far? Unlikely, even without the snow. But they couldn't exactly stay, either. He didn't have a clue where Dean's pack was, and they hadn't brought much anyway. There was only so much weight you could carry through heavy snow, and they had hoped to have a quick in and out. So he had some protein bars and water, flares, basic first aid, some tools of hunting (holy water, etc.) and not much else.
For now, Sam decided, he'd keep his brother as warm as he could, and wait for the storm to abate.
"So, did I ever tell you about the first time I ever tried to cook for Jess?"
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Sam was finishing up a story about his disastrous first date with Jess while checking the time on his phone (and checking again if there was service, even though he knew there wasn't). "We didn't want to wait two hours just to get a table, so we decided to walk a few blocks to another place. We took a shortcut through an alley, and there was this punk ass kid who decided we were his ticket to easy money – "
"Fr-fricken c-c-cold!"
"Dean?!" Sam sort of juggled his brother so he could see his face.
"D-don't kiss me," groused Dean, cracking an eye to see Sam inches from his face.
Sam gave a half laugh. "How you feeling?"
"Cold!" It was the tone of a petulant teen and Sam found it ridiculously reassuring.
"And your head? And chest?"
Indeterminate grumbling.
"Give me words, Dean, or I'll take your coat off to check, and then you'll really be cold."
Dean's glare was somewhat diminished by the fact that his eyes kept crossing. When Sam didn't relent, he grumbled again. "Chest is sore, head is worse, little dizzy, stomach off."
Sam nodded. "Think you'll be okay here for a minute while I check outside?"
"Mmm. What happ'n'd to the peacock?"
"It, uh, lost a fight with that thing that grinds the branches off the trees."
A small smile slipped across Dean's face. "Gross," he said with some relish.
Sam laid Dean down carefully, hiding his worry when his brother didn't protest or try to help. "I'll be right back."
"No' going an'where, Francis."
Sam was amazed at what he found outside. Not only had the snow and wind stopped, the air was noticeably warmer. It was still freaking cold, but not frostbite-in-minutes cold. And the sky was mostly clear, which gave him an idea. He pulled out his cell phone and checked…one bar. Fingers crossed, he tried to call Chris. No go, but he sent a text and hoped.
Sam eyed the bloody, gooey mess with a grimace. Just for kicks, he fired a flare at it, then had to cover his face when it went up like a dry leaf. Lowering his arms, he blinked at the pile of ashes that remained. "Well, that was convenient," he said out loud. Supernatural creatures' bodies often burned up easily, but he hadn't expected that, especially given the, uh, wet condition the body had been in.
Suddenly inspired, Sam began to scoop up snow and stuff it into bloody machine. Hopefully, when it melted, it would take most of the blood with it. The exercise warmed him, but the skin of his face was still stinging by the time he finished. And he wanted to hurry back to his brother anyway.
Sam was dismayed to find Dean's eyes closed when he got back inside the cave. "Dean? Dean, c'mon, open your eyes."
"Fine. Fine." He was back to petulant, which meant he was in real pain.
"I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?" As he spoke, Sam pulled up Dean's ski mask far enough to check his pulse, ignoring the hand that batted clumsily at him. To his relief, the pulse was strong. It must be the combination of everything – pain, blood loss, knock on the head, and cold – making Dean so weak and shocky.
"Good." Dean was still visibly struggling to focus his eyes.
"I got enough signal to text Chris. He's coming to pick us up."
"And the bad?"
"We gotta get down to him. Think you can stand?"
Dean gave a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring but mostly looked pained. "Sure."
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Dean remembered the ridiculous little feathered man who had attacked him with such ferocity. Little dude might look like Big Bird, but he was extremely strong and had thrown Dean around like a rag doll. He didn't remember why his chest felt like he'd lost a fight with a cheese grater, but he'd bet that was from bird brain too. And he couldn't stop shivering, which jarred his aching brain and made his chest burn. Too bad the burn couldn't warm him up.
So they had to go down the hill now. Through the snow. Just the thought made Dean shiver again. Sam was there instantly, poorly concealed worry clear to Dean even with his double vision. There was something missing though. "'S your mask?" Sam didn't have on a hat or ski mask.
"I got warm taking care of the body. Storm has stopped and it's getting a lot nicer out there." Dean thought there was something a little off there, but his eyes just wanted to close. "No, no, no sleeping. We gotta get down the hill, remember? Then we can get to the nice warm motel room."
Dean reluctantly opened his eyes again, mostly because Sam was pulling him to his feet. That maneuver didn't go terribly well, with Dean's knees refusing to do their job. But Sam was there again, holding him up, saying something that was probably encouraging, refusing to let him fall. "Thanks, Sammy," he said, or tried to. What came out was more like, "Aks, me."
But Sam must have gotten it, because he muttered, "No problem, Dean," even as he waited patiently for Dean to get his legs under him. Dean covered a groan when Sam hauled his arm across broad shoulders, but not well enough. "Sorry. Sorry, man. Hang in there. We've got some morphine left if you can just hang in there for a while."
Dean answered. Sort of, maybe, then they were walking. The cold sucked and the snow sucked and walking sucked most of all, because Dean's vision couldn't settle down enough to keep the dizziness at bay. Half the time, he was stumbling to the side, but Sam never wavered. Maybe it is a good thing the kid got so freaking big. Another stumble, and this time Dean couldn't get his head back up. He was practically draped over Sam now, his head on his brother's shoulder. He should be humiliated, but his legs were feeling like water and the edges of his vision were gray.
"I'm sorry, Dean," said Sam, sounding like he was talking under water.
"Wha' for?"
"This is gonna hurt."
There was shifting and Dean was falling forward, but not all the way. Then there was something hard against his stomach and he went to protest that he didn't need to be carried, but pain burst across his chest and the lights went out.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
When Dean woke up again, he was warm, and in the motel room, as promised. And the distant, slightly muzzy feeling meant he'd gotten some good meds too. He did a self-assessment without moving. He could feel bandages on his chest, which felt stiff and sore. He head was aching too, but not the pounding, stabbing pain he remembered. There was a slight taste of vomit in his mouth, so he surmised he'd had a concussion, but he must be healing.
He tried to remember getting down the hill, but it was a blur. He had the impression that it wasn't snowing any more, but mostly he remembered barely being able to stumble down. He didn't recall a single thing after that, not the ride back to the motel or anything. He winced at the thought of Sam carrying him. Sure, it had happened before, but it always felt backwards, wrong. Dean didn't want Sam to get hurt of course, but he was much more comfortable doing the carrying and caring than receiving it.
As Dean had the thought, Sam stepped out of the bathroom, and his whole, tired face lit up at the sight of his big brother awake. The transparent joy and relief in the expression tugged at Dean's emotions in ways he couldn't express.
"Hey, Dean. How you feeling?"
"Like I need to brush my teeth."
Sam raised his eyebrows, silently asking for more information. He plopped down on the bed next to Dean and unapologetically pulled Dean's t-shirt up and began to check under the bandages.
Dean grumbled on principle but in all honesty wasn't up for doing much of anything himself. He grumbled more to hide both his embarrassment and gratitude when Sam helped him to the bathroom and gave him just enough leeway to use the facilities – and brush his teeth. He stopped grumbling and nearly fell asleep mid swallow when Sam poured some broth down his throat.
Then Dean noticed something. With effort, he grabbed Sam's wrist and turned his hand over. The back had a few red, mottled patches. Dean focused on Sam's face and saw a few more spots. "Sam, did you get frostbite?" There was a different kind of bite in Dean's voice.
"No." Sam pulled his hand free and held the cup back to Dean's mouth. "No, I swear. The skin got cold, but it warmed up just fine. No permanent damage."
Dean scowled. Sleepily. He wanted to yell and bitch, guessing Sam had focused too much on taking care of Dean and not enough taking care of himself. But what do you say the guy who literally carried you to safety? And it's not like Sam would do anything different the next time, not when Dean's life was on the line.
"I think the thing we killed was Ehécatl, the Aztec god of storms. He's always depicted with feathers, and the first storm was over Mexico City, which was the seat of the Aztec Empire when it was called Tenochtitlan. Who knows what woke him up, but…" Sam trailed off as Dean's eyelids started to droop. "Why don't you get some more sleep, Dean?"
It should have felt a bit smothering, but instead it felt really nice. "Hey, Sam," he said, voice heavy with sleep. "Tell me about the mugger on your first date with Jessica."
"Well, I broke his nose."
Dean chuckled, his eyes closed. "That's my boy."