AN: I really wanted to call this chapter Exit, Pursued by a Bear (extra credit to anyone who knows the reference). It is long and there's a lot going on here. I hope it isn't jarring or hard to follow. If it is, you can always let me know!
Thanks for your patience as I took a while to get this figured out, and thank you for reading!
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Dean didn't want to wake up. He really, really didn't. He was tired. And tired of being tired.
Normally, the whole idea of sleep offended him, or at least the need for it did. What an absolute waste of time that could be spent doing important things like reading comics or shooting cans with Dad or making armpit fart noises until Sammy turned red from laughing so hard. But it was the third? fourth? night in a row without enough sleep, and Dean could hardly force himself to open his eyes.
What had woken him up, anyway? He instinctively reached for Sammy. The kid wasn't in his normal spot, but there was a familiar sized lump under the covers at Dean's shins.
"Whadaryadoin', S'mmy," Dean asked through a monster yawn. "Come up here."
The lump didn't move except to shiver. Actually, it had been...trembling. Dean was suddenly much more awake. He pulled the covers back and was relieved to see an apparently uninjured Sammy.
He wasn't exactly fine, however. Sam had his pillow clutched tightly against his ears, and the wide eyes that rose to meet Dean's were brimming with tears. His whole face was red and smeared with tears and snot. The kid was terrified.
Dean wasn't surprised to find himself with an armful of brother. He pulled Sam in as close as he could with both arms, so he could sit up and draw the boy onto his lap. Sam had dropped the pillow and was trying to burrow under Dean's skin, crying and shaking.
Anger burned hot inside of Dean. Who had done this to his little brother? Dean trembled too, with the need to make whoever it was pay. But his hands and voice he kept gentle.
"Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay, Sammy. I gotcha. Shhhhh, shhhhh. Nothin' can get you when big brother's here to protect you. What's goin' on that's got you so upset?"
Sammy took several long, shuddery breaths. One of his hands was twisted tightly in Dean's shirt and the other clutched the toy Impala so hard that Sam's knuckles were white. "Th-th-the kn-knocking won't st-st-stop, De."
Dean frowned harder and listened for anything out of place. He tried to do what Dad said and identify and eliminate every background noise. Ticking clock. Rattling radiator. Sammy's sniffling. There was no knocking. Not so much as a tap.
"You were dreaming, Squirt," he said gently.
"No, De. It keeps waking me up." Four years old, crying, exhausted, Sammy was still completely certain. And while the kid wasn't perfect, he didn't lie or exaggerate. Dean tugged at his mouth in thought.
"Be real quiet a second and let me listen, okay?"
Sam took one more sniff and nodded. Dean listened for all he was worth.
Clock. Radiator. Sam's breathing.
Then Dean heard a tiny little sound. It wasn't a knock, but it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. From the back of the little bedroom, there was a soft scratching, sliding noise. Dean froze, turning just his eyes toward the window there.
The lock atop the old window frame slowly twisted to the unlocked position as if an invisible finger were pushing it. Dean could feel his heartrate double in speed and a vise tighten around his lungs. He had never in his life hoped harder for his dad to appear.
The same kind of sound came from outside the bedroom, slow and drawn out. Ssssssss.
"G-get." Even though he was whispering, Dean's voice faltered. He tried again. "Sammy, get under the bed and don't come out until I say 1967 Impala. Understand?"
Sam lifted his head. He was still flushed and tears kept slipping out, but he nodded miserably. Dean patted Sam's back once more and pulled back, putting on his bravest smile.
Sam slipped to the floor, his eyes huge. Dean pulled the blanket off the bed and draped it over Sam's back. A rattle sounded from the front door and Dean gave Sam's head a quick pat, hating leaving him there so scared. Hoping his own terror didn't show on his face. Hoping Sam hadn't noticed how Dean's hands were shaking.
With Sammy huddled deep under their bed, Dean took the gun out from the nightstand drawer. He eased through the bedroom door, closing it most of the way behind him. He tried to calm his body like Dad said, but he just couldn't. His breath came in short pants and his heart was beating so hard he could feel the pulse in his throat.
Dean crept to the couch and froze as the doorknob slowly began to turn. His hands were shaking so hard he could hardly hang onto the gun, so Dean rested his arms and the butt of the gun along the back of the couch. Having it pointed solidly at the door and whatever was out there made him feel a thousand percent better.
You can't have him, he repeated over and over in his mind. And that steeled him too. He was protecting Sammy. And that he could do, because he had to. There was simply no other choice.
The chair that was wedged under the doorknob slid sideways so it no longer blocked the door. Dean could see that the chain lock and regular locks were already open.
Slowly, the doorknob began to turn again...
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Dean knew that Sam was at the end of his patience waiting to hear about what Dean had remembered. But he hadn't made the kid wait to be a dick. He was trying really hard to put his memories together. There were big holes in them, to the point where Dean wasn't 100% sure he wasn't cobbling a few different memories together to artificially fill in some of the blanks.
But he was absolutely sure he'd heard of these elements before: cold weather, kids with nightmares about ice, and unlocked doors and windows. There was a remembered fear, too, on a visceral level that told Dean he'd been young when he'd experienced it. And chances were good that he or Sam had been in danger. Maybe both.
He put Sam off for a few more minutes to paw fruitlessly through Dad's journal, even though he practically had the thing memorized. Finally, when Sam had huffed for the fourth time, Dean gave in.
"I know you want to hear what I remember." Sam gave him a duh look. "Well, I'm trying. I know I've heard of this before -- ice, kids hearing knocking, and doors being open when they were locked. But I'm having a hard time putting it together. I can't remember what monster it was. I must have been little."
Dean was pacing in his agitation. "Plus, I can't find it in Dad's journal."
Sam's irritated expression had eased at learning that Dean wasn't just keeping things from him. "Maybe you overheard a story, or read about it."
"No, see, I get this pit in my stomach whenever I think about it, like, like remembered fear. You know, how when something scares you when you're a little kid and you can still feel that even when you're old enough to know better." Dean silently appealed for Sam to understand, not sure he was explaining it well.
Luckily, Sam nodded in understanding. "So maybe Dad had a case like this when you were little. Maybe it even targeted you."
"Yeah, maybe. My first hunt wasn't until I was 10, and trust me, I remember all of my early hunts."
Sam looked down but didn't say anything about Dean hunting at such a young age. Since Dad was...gone, Sam had either forgiven the man for a lot of things, or he chose not to talk about them to Dean. Dean didn't really care which. He was just grateful not to hear it.
"Okay. So, is there anything else you can remember, even impressions?"
"No," said Dean, his eyes closed, but he was still thinking. "Cold. Ice...another stupid frozen lake. You...I think you had nightmares. Like Jenna said Zach did. And the song Dad hated: Where Have All the Flowers Gone. And then it's just blank." He ran a hand over his head in frustration.
"So maybe it was targeting me," Sam mused. "I don't remember any of that. That's why you want to call Bobby, isn't it?"
"Man has a memory like a steel trap when it comes to past hunts," Dean agreed. He dropped into the chair opposite his brother, flipped his phone open and set it on the table between them. Something caught his attention. "Hey, you said he called you? I missed a call from him too, but no voicemail."
Dean pushed the buttons to call Bobby on speaker.
"Yeah?" snapped an unfamiliar voice.
"Who is this and why do you have Bobby's phone?" demanded Dean, his voice low and dangerous. Sam was leaning forward on the table, the same tension Dean felt on his face.
"Relax, Winchester. Bob'll be fine. Hospital called me. Bobby and I used to work together and I was still the idiot's emergency contact."
Dean caught that whoever this was knew his last name. He also caught the emphasis on the word 'work' meaning this was likely another hunter. But it was the word 'hospital' that caught most of his attention. "Why is Bobby in the hospital?"
"Hero complex. Our boy stepped in when some thugs were harassing a woman. Took a small stab to the arm and a beer bottle to the head. Stubborn ass will be fine, but they did a small surgery on the arm and he ain't gonna wake up real soon. He's in Pierce County General under the name Agent Willis." Under the caustic words and abrupt delivery, Dean could've sworn he heard affection.
"How --" Dean began, only to have the man continue right on talking.
"I'll take care of the little ghost problem he came here for. Can't stay after that though. When you check up on me, the name will be Ruben Studdard." Click.
Dean blinked at the phone for a minute, then grabbed it.
The nurse on Bobby's floor was more than happy to tell Agent Plant that his coworker was a hero who'd fought off four troublemakers to save a teenage girl. And she confirmed that Agent Studdard was with him. "Hardly left his side," she sighed. "I admire that kind of loyalty." She even went over the injuries, all as "Ruben" had said -- painful but not dangerous.
Sam and Dean briefly discussed heading there. But..."he'd kick our asses if we left here with kids missing when he's not in real danger and his hunt's being taken care of," concluded Sam unhappily.
"And he'd be right." Dean wasn't any happier about it than Sam was. "When we're done here, we'll go get him and stay at his place to annoy him for a while."
Dean's phone rang again. Seeing Chief Larsen's number, he flipped it back open and hit speaker. "Agent Page. Actually, you've got both of us, chief."
"Our guy attempted to take another child."
"Attempted?" Sam repeated hopefully.
"Yup. He's being checked over right now, but seems okay. I'm headed to the hospital to see if he or his parents can tell us anything. Join me?"
Dean pictured where the hospital was. "Be there in 15."
Not bothering to put his suit back on, Dean pulled on his boots.
"Dean, I think I should stay here and keep going through Nukilik's book, and Dad's journal too," said Sam, already pulling the former toward himself.
Dean nodded. Time was pressing harder and harder on both of them. And not only could they not get Bobby's help, the man was hundreds of miles away and hurt.
The drive to hospital wasn't bad because the damn snow had finally let up. It was still about 50 degrees too cold in his opinion, and Dean was grateful again for the parka and other winter accoutrements.
Little Blake couldn't be much older than three. He was cold but unharmed. He answered their questions to the best of his ability but never lifted his head from his mother's chest. As she rocked him and stroked his dark curls, Dean was struck hard by a memory of doing the same thing for a little Sammy.
Nothin' can get you when big brother's here to protect you.
Blake was too young to tell them much. He confirmed hearing knocking and going outside to investigate. That's when his mother jumped in to say that she'd double checked that the door he went out of was locked before going to bed. Blake had found it ajar. Then, he said, he dropped his teddy bear and a monster took it.
He was too tired and upset to say more and was asleep in his mother's arms before they were out the door.
"Chief? Agent?" the mother called softly just before they left. "He never goes anywhere without that bear, and we can't find it."
Another clue that made no sense.
"Got a little while for more questions?" Dean asked Larsen once they were waiting for the elevator. He couldn't help but notice how worn the man looked.
"Of course. Cafeteria? They actually have decent coffee."
It was nearly empty, which suited Dean perfectly. "What can you tell me about Nukilik Olanna?" Too bad Sam wasn't there to be impressed by Dean's pronunciation.
If the cop were surprised to be asked about a woman who'd died eight months before he didn't show it. "Eccentric but well liked. She was one of those people who was always bringing over food or knitting blankets for babies and stuff like that. She was actually a cop for about 10 years before she opened her leather working business."
Huh. Maybe that was part of the protecting thing. "She have any relatives or close friends who are still around?"
But Larsen shook his head. "She had a longtime partner or boyfriend named Niels Kristensen. They were together as long as I can remember, both into that alternative healing stuff. But they never got married or moved in together." He shrugged like there was no accounting for some people.
"Is he...?"
"Died of a heart attack a couple years ago. He was quite a bit older than Nukilik."
Apparently, the mystery woman didn't have any other close connections. "If there's such a thing as friendly loner, she was it," in Larsen's words.
"You don't think someone's holing up in her house, do you?" the chief asked suddenly, almost desperately.
"No. My partner and I actually went up and took a quick look around. We might go back in the daylight some time, but nothing more than exploring all possibilities," Dean admitted.
One silver brow winged up in surprise. "You hiked up that hill through all the snow in the dark? Not much deters you two, does it?"
And because this man cared and because kids were missing and because Bobby was hurt and Dad was gone and it all was making him thinner skinned than usual, Dean let his mask fall. He laid both palms flat on the table and gave Larsen a direct look. "We don't like it when someone hurts kids."
Larsen must have seen something on Dean's face, because he relaxed fractionally. "Any leads?"
"Nothing solid enough to share yet. My partner's looking at patterns. He'll figure it out. And then we'll stop it."
"I believe you."
Shortly after that, Larsen excused himself. Dean didn't leave immediately. But he wasn't thinking about the case or patterns or even the surprisingly good coffee. No, he was reliving a half formed memory of pulling a pillow from Sammy's head and drawing the sobbing tot onto his lap to soothe him from nightmares of cold and ice.
WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER
Sam looked up the hill. If he didn't beat his brother back to their room, Dean was going to kill him. He'd left a note, but he hadn't called, mostly because another day was passing without them finding the kids, and as time passed, the likelihood of finding any of them alive dwindled. He was getting worried, bordering on desperate. He couldn't sit still any longer. And while Nukilik's book was fascinating, it didn't give Sam any clues. But the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he'd sensed a presence outside of her house as they'd made their way down the hill.
Not a malevolent presence, either. And considering that Nukilik's house hadn't been burned according to her wishes, it wasn't a stretch to think her body hadn't been disposed of the way she'd wanted either. And that meant she might still be around.
Sam had quite a bit of experience with protective personalities, and he thought it wasn't much of a stretch to imagine that death hadn't broken Nukilik of her protective ways. Sam snorted to himself. He doubted death couldn stop Dean's...and he couldn't finish the thought. Not with Dad's death still looming.
Sobered, Sam began the climb. It was just after 4pm and already the sun was low in the sky. He did not want to be there when it was dark.
The exercise kept Sam warm right up until he stopped in front of the square little house. He didn't go inside, as he had a feeling that the wardings carved at all entrances would prevent any spirit from getting in, including its owner's.
Standing in front of the north side of the house, Sam used a gloved finger to "draw" a symbol he'd learned from Nukilik's book onto the wall. It was the first step of a purification ritual she'd apparently performed on every solstice and equinox. Technically, the solstice wasn't until the next night, but Sam hoped that the familiarity of the ritual would both draw the spirit and prove his intentions were good.
Sam had just finished the second wall and the sun was barely visible when the temperature seemed to plummet. An inky heaviness coated the very air. A woman's voice whispered a word seemingly in Sam's ear.
There was an answering feeling of furious negation, and every icicle hanging from the eaves began to tremble.
Sam's eyes went wide. As weapons went, sharp, heavy icicles were pretty formidable.
Sam put his arms up to protect as much of his head as he could and began to run. Some instinct made him duck and the first missiles flew harmlessly above him. But then one struck his shoulder, and another his calf. He fell onto his side in the thick padding of snow and, as he stood again, something just clipped his forehead. It wasn't near a direct hit, but the ice was sharp and opened a cut that immediately poured blood into Sam's eyes and made it nearly impossible to see.
Still, he couldn't stay and be pummeled. As he half ran, half crawled down the slope, the woman's voice spoke again, aloud this time. It was chanting in a language Sam didn't know, and as it trailed off, Sam heard a new sound above the sound of the hurtling missiles striking him and the snow around him and the noises of his own exertions. It was a great flapping noise.
Sam wiped blood out of his eyes just in time to see the greatest flock of birds he'd ever seen completely engulf him.
The birds were small, but there were so many that he couldn't see any light at all.
This did not help his disorientation. He didn't even bother shooting the shotgun, even though just swinging it like a bat could have brought down dozens of the creatures. Instead, he just let gravity show him which way was down the hill and kept on his stumbling flight.
He fell almost every third step and was truly grateful for the snow for the first time since he was a kid. He vaguely realized that he hardly ever touched a bird despite how tightly together they were packed.
Sam couldn't see. He couldn't hear anything except the flapping of a thousand wings. He was surrounded by a teeming blanket and didn't think he'd find the SUV until he literally ran into it.
Man, I hope I run into it, Sam thought as he lurched up from yet another fall. Instead, his next step met only air, and he plummeted helplessly down.
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AN: Up until this point, I haven't tortured you with many cliffies, so you had to know one was coming soon!
With apologies to John Winchester, Where Have All the Flowers Gone is a fantastic song. A lot of people have covered it, but it was originally Pete Seeger.
Kat: Are you an Agatha Christie fan? She holds a special place in my heart for her gift at writing mysteries but also because my mom loved her books too. I liked what you said about Nukilik and it made me think that Sam would recognize and trust a protector because he's lived with Dean for so long. I hope this chapter didn't send things off kilter!
Shazza: I loved writing Dean and Jenna's conversation from Sam's POV. Dean did remember some more here. More flashbacks and memories to come, too, as well as the reveal of the baddie.
muffinroo: Snarky Sam is my spirit animal! But I love shy Sam and Baby Sam too...all of the Sams. I loved writing the scene with Jenna from Sam's perspective because Dean is just so sweet and nobody knows that like Sam. I promise to say what they're up against soon! And thank you for your kind words!
MaddyWinchester2000: Dean did share! And he wasn't the one who went off on his own like an idiot! You reminded me to include something that Sam will remember. I love protective Dean too, and Dean with kids. And I love the boys appreciating each others.
Timelady66: Every time I write Dean saying something like that, I want to go back in time and shake him until he realizes that he deserves the same grace he extends to others.
Princess of the Fae: Thank you!!
Kathy: I have your reviews from chapters 3 and 4. I don't know why it takes a while to for me to see your reviews, but I sure appreciate them! I know how you love the Weechesters...do you still love it when it's kind of creepy?
Scealai: No wonder you hate the cold so much! Yikes! My house is full of blankets and hats and scarves and the like because I like to knit...wish I could share some with you. I've even done Bernie Sanders mittens. *g*
Lena: Aw, I'm so glad you like it! You and the Dean whump. :-) The book comes into play here. Did you bring up the tie thing? I didn't remember that, I'm sorry. I bet you WILL recognize the part that came from you! *g* I guess I figured the book trap just had a certain amount of oomph and then was done. You know, a supernatural taser! I'm sorry RL hasn't been nice to you and hope that the story at least gives you a smile or two!
sfaulkenberry: There isn't much that's cuter than a tough guy being all sweet with a little kid, is there? Thanks for your nice words. I do love the word gobsmacked!
writingtrainingwheels: You're so right! I love that trait in Dean, and wanted to acknowledge it in this story...and have Sam recognize it.
stedan: Thank you! I hope you continue to enjoy this. More information coming soon.