Chapter 6: The Coming Storm
Notes: Sorry it has been so long since the last chapter. Between the bad eyes, laundry, housework, and my job life got really busy…probably since I was so busy typing that I kind of ignored it all for a week or two! Then I got side tracked because of The Journey Home episode. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this next installment.
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By the time Dean got them back to the lighthouse the first large puffy snowflakes were just starting to fall. Dean hopped out of the car and opened the doors to the shed. He wasn't about to let his baby get buried under twenty inches of snow. He motioned for Sam to drive the car in and then he closed the double doors behind him.
They hurried to the house to get out of the blistering wind.
"I'll go start the lighthouse," Sam offered.
"You sure?" Dean asked. So far the light house had kind of been his job.
"Yeah. Why don't you go play with the radio and see if you can get us a weather update."
"Okay. After that I'm going to haul in some fire wood. I have a feeling we're going to need to light some of these fireplaces tonight." Dean started walking to the small office that was upstairs next to the game room and Sam went to the back of the house and climbed all the stairs.
He noticed the climb didn't seem so bad this time. He stepped up to the control panel and turned on the light and then turned on the rotation device to make the lantern turn. He didn't turn on the fog horn since there wasn't any, and besides, with the wind blowing like it was, no one would have been able to hear it anyway.
He stood by the windows and looked out into the distance. The water was rolling violently and crashing onto the shore below. The swells were enormous. He never would have thought that a lake could have such large waves, but then these weren't just your average little lakes. Lake Michigan was a huge body of water.
He looked at his watch and saw that it was only three o'clock, but the cloud cover and the falling flakes made it seem much later.
"I love being here."
"Ahh!" Sam exclaimed and almost tripped and fell. He looked over to see and old man standing not to far from him. He was tall and slightly hunch back. Wire rim spectacles were perched on his nose and his clothes were from the 20's or 30's. He had a pleasant face and a contented smile.
"I've spent many a day and night standing in this spot watching the waves roll in and out."
"Caleb?" Sam asked.
Now the man turned to look at Sam. His face changed. The smile disappeared, his brows creased deeply, and his lips clamped together in a grimace. "You have to lure it to the light house. It's the only way."
"Lure what?"
"Lure it to the lighthouse. It's the only way." Then Caleb, who had seemed solid, began to fade slowly away until he was gone.
"Wait! You have to tell me more!" It was too late. Sam was alone.
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Dean dumped a second load of wood in the bucket next to the fireplace in their bedroom room. He marched down the stairs again. He pulled his collar tighter around his neck before going outside for another load of cord wood, this time for the living room fireplace.
The minute he opened the door the wind blasted him and caused the door to fly back and hit the wall.
"Crap," he grumbled. He grabbed for the door and pulled it shut. He moved as quickly as he could with the wind pushing against him to the side of the house and pulled out another heavy load of wood from under the tarp. Once his arms were stacked with as much as they could carry he hurried back to the front door.
He juggled his burden and grabbed the knob but it wouldn't turn. He tried again and realized he was locked out. He used the door and his knee to balance the wood as he dug around in his pockets for the key. He didn't have it. Of course, Sam had been the one to park the car. Sam had the house key.
Dean pounded on the door for Sam to let him in. After a minute Sam had yet to open it. Again he pounded.
"Come on, Sam. It's freezing out here," he complained. He beat on the door furiously. Still there was no Sam. He dropped the wood on the porch and moved to the window next to the door. He peered through the lace curtains. He couldn't see Sam. He rapped at the window.
"Sam! SAMMY!" he called. "SAM, LET ME IN!" As soon as the words left his mouth the wind carried them away.
He thought about breaking the window but decided against it. Then the house would be cold and he'd have to find a way to patch it up. He went back to the door and pounded once more. The door and even the windows shook from the force of his blows.
Damn it. Every time Sam needs me I'm there for him. Every time. The first time I need his help where the hell is he? He's up playing in the damn lighthouse and I'm out here fucking freezing to death.
The angry thoughts pulsed through his head. His fists curled and uncurled with fury.
"SAM, OPEN THE DAMN DOOR BEFORE I BREAK IT DOWN!" Dean beat at the door with his fists like a pro boxer beating on a bag.
Suddenly the door opened and before Dean could even stop it his fist connected with Sam's jaw and sent the younger Winchester flying back and falling to the floor.
"Sammy!" Dean gasped. In an instant his protectiveness kicked in and replaced the anger he had felt just a moment earlier.
He kneeled down next to Sam and helped him to sit up. "Are you okay?"
"What the hell did you hit me for?" Sam asked, rubbing his jaw.
"I didn't mean it," Dean protested. "I've been beating on that door for damn near five minutes, freezing my ass off. Where the hell have you been?" The anger returned to his voice. "How could you leave me out there like that?" he accused.
"Dean, I would never knowingly leave you out in a storm," Sam defended. "I was in the lighthouse. I didn't know you got locked outside. You have to believe me. If I had known of course I would have opened the door."
Dean sighed. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I guess I just got a little angry. Hell, it's my own fault. I should have double checked the lock before pulling the door too."
"I tell you what. Why don't you go sit in the living room and warm up. I'll bring in the rest of the wood."
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to," Sam offered. "Really, you go sit, I'll finish up."
"All right, thanks."
Sam watched Dean go in the living room. He grabbed his coat and his gloves which were next to the door and shrugged them on. He rubbed his jaw gingerly one more time before he headed out. Wow, it was cold and the wind was blowing so hard. He could understand why Dean was so upset at getting locked out.
He collected the wood that Dean had left on the porch and then made a total of eight more trips in and out. He knew that getting the wood would be easier now than it would be come tomorrow. He hurried to the living room to dump the logs on top of the others which were now spilling out of the metal bucket next to the hearth.
"Sam I think we have enough now," Dean said. He was already working on lighting a fire.
"I'm just going to make a couple more trips," Sam replied. "Tomorrow the wood pile will be under twenty inches of snow."
"Good point," Dean replied as he held a lit match to the kindling.
"When I finish up I'll start on making us something for dinner tonight."
"Okay." Dean watched Sam head out into the storm once more. He felt a little guilty. Sam was doing all the work even after Dean had punched him in the face. He should at least go to the kitchen and find something simple to prepare, even if it was just a can of soup with crackers.
Then again, he was always taking care of Sam. Maybe it was time to sit back and let Sam take care of him for a while. It only seemed fair.
Sam filled his arms again and walked back to the door again. He was getting tired and his lungs were starting to burn from breathing the cold air. One more trip after this one and he'd be done.
He opened his mouth and made circles with his chin. His face hurt but not too badly. He had been shocked when Dean punched him, but then it had been an accident. Dean didn't know he was opening the door at that exact moment.
Back in the house he carried this batch of wood to the dinning room. He doubted they would be starting any fires in there, but there was another bucket in there that was empty and Sam decided to put it to use.
Sam headed for the door and as he passed the room where Dean was he saw Dean lying back in the sofa in front of the roaring fire. His feet were propped up on the coffee table and his eyes were closed as he relaxed. Sam smiled. He rarely got to see Dean like this…relaxed…unguarded. He hoped that over the next couple of weeks Dean could see that living a normal life wasn't that bad, that being settled and having a home could actually be a nice thing. He knew he would never get Dean to give up hunting, but he might be able to at least get Dean to be open-minded to the day when he might actually stop.
As he brought in the last load of wood and headed for the kitchen he realized that he had forgotten to tell Dean about Caleb and what happened in the lighthouse. Oh well, he could tell Dean during dinner. He figured he might as well let Dean take a nap while he prepared the meal.
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"Dean, wake up," Sam called.
"Hmm, what time is it?" he asked as he rubbed at his eyes.
"It's going on five. Come on, I've got dinner on the table," Sam called.
Dean stood up and stretched out his back and gave a yawn. He followed Sam. Wow, something smelled good.
Dean entered the kitchen and saw that Sam had gone all out. The table was set and sitting in the middle was roast beef in gravy, mashed potatoes, and corn. Sam had made a ton of food.
"This looks good, but why did you make so much?"
"I figured we'd have the left over spaghetti tomorrow for lunch and then the leftovers from this meal tomorrow for dinner."
"That's good thinking," Dean said. He was still a little groggy from his nap.
He sat down and Sam set two beers on the table before taking a seat himself. Dean began to load up his plate. As he passed the potatoes to Sam he suddenly got a good look at Sam's face. There was a large bruise on Sam's left jaw line.
"Dude, did I do that to you?" Dean gasped.
"What?" Sam asked. "Oh!" He touched his face gently and then gave a shrug of his shoulders. "It was an accident. It'll fade away in a couple of days."
"I'm really sorry," Dean said honestly. "You know I'd never hurt you."
"I know," Sam replied with a chuckle. Dean had spent most of his life protecting him. If there was one thing Sam knew with absolute certainty, it was that Dean would never hurt him on purpose for any reason.
Dean shoved several bites into his mouth. "Hm, this is good. Thanks for cooking."
"No problem." Truth was Sam liked having the chance to do something nice for his brother. Dean was always the one taking care of him. It felt good to have the shoe on the other foot for a while.
"How deep is the snow?" Dean asked.
"Not that deep yet, maybe and inch or two. Speaking of snow, we're going to have to find the shovels."
"There's a snow blower in the shed," Dean said. "It's not to far from the snowmobiles."
"That's good to know. That'll make things a lot easier."
"You know, I can take those stitches out tonight if you want. The doctor in Stars Hallow said they could come out after a week. I think we're actually a day or two late."
Sam raised his hand to the side of his neck and felt the sutures. He had actually sort of forgotten about them. "Sure." He replied. "You'll have to remove the ones on my arm too."
"I'll get the first aid kit as soon as we're done eating," Dean said.
"Great."
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Sam stretched out across his bed. He was actually really comfortable. Dean had removed his stitches and he was now wearing his sweat pants and a well worn and soft t-shirt. He had lit the fireplace in the bedroom and had a really good blaze going. It was making the room nice and toasty. The wind was blowing just as wildly as it had the previous night but the light and heat of the fire made the room feel safe and secure.
Sam was once again reading one of the books about local lore. Mostly it was repeating information he had already gathered. The rest of the book talked about famous ship wrecks or boats that had vanished without a trace. Apparently over the decades a many a boat had gone down in the waters around here, usually due to a severe storm.
The loud crack of pool balls crashing together let Sam know where Dean was. He was two doors down in the game room.
Sam closed the book, turned off the lamp, and rolled over in his bed to stare out the window. He could see the beam of the lighthouse travel over head and make its rotation around and around.
'One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand, six one thousand,' he counted in his head. It took the light six seconds to make a complete turn.
As the light traveled it illuminated the sky around it and Sam could see the giant flakes of snow falling fast and furious. The blizzard was no longer coming, it was officially here and it was quickly blanketing the area.
Another crack of the pool balls let Sam know that he wouldn't be falling asleep any time soon. He suddenly had an attack of the munchies. He remembered that Dean had bought Twinkies and Oreo's and all kind of yummy junk food. It was time to raid the fridge and the pantry.
He got out of bed and started down the stairs. Once more he heard Dean take a shot and then the sound of the ball rolling through the inside of the pool table. He had obviously pocketed that ball.
He continued on down the stairs, past the living room and dining room, and down the hall towards the kitchen door. He pushed open the swinging door and saw Dean sitting at the table with a pile of Oreo's and a tall glass of milk.
"Dean?" Sam gasped.
"Hey, I had an attack of the munchies," Dean grinned.
"But you were just upstairs shooting pool," Sam said.
"I haven't touched the pool table since I've been here," Dean said.
Without a word Sam turned and ran back the way he came. Dean abandoned his midnight snack and followed Sam up the stairs. Sam dashed into the game room and stopped. He looked at the pool table but there was nothing there. The table was empty. He could see all the balls were behind the little window inside the table itself. The sticks were all lined up neatly on the wall along with the rack.
"What is it?" Dean asked.
"I swear something was in here playing pool. I was lying in bed reading a book and I heard you, or I thought it was you, cracking the balls together taking shot after shot."
"I believe you," Dean said. "Last night you were asleep and I was just getting ready to when the toilet flushed. I went to the bathroom and the tank was still filling itself up. Not only do we have ghosts, but apparently they like to keep busy."
"But what's holding them here. It's not natural for there to be so many here."
"I agree, and I don't know yet."
"Do you think it could have something to do with the light?" Sam said, thinking of the top of his head.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. I was remembering the movie with the little girl, Poltergeist. The short lady, she kept telling it to go to the light. Maybe our ghosts aren't going to the real light because they're getting misguided by the lighthouse."
"Sammy, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard."
Sam sighed. Even he had to admit it sounded pretty stupid. "It was just a thought."
"Yeah, well, I'm going to go finish my Oreo's. You coming?"
"Yeah, I'll be there in a minute."
"Okay."
Sam looked around the room one more time after Dean left. For ghosts they were pretty damn fast. They not only were playing pool but managed to put everything away in a matter of seconds. Oh well. He turned to leave but then stopped when he heard a noise.
He looked at the floor where the noise was coming from. Out from underneath the pool table came the black 8 ball rolling slowly towards him. The ball stopped rolling when it gently bumped into his foot. He bent down and picked the ball up to look at it. This place was strange even for a haunted house.
He set the ball on the table and turned for the door. He was almost out of the room when he heard something hard hit the floor. He looked back and once again the 8 ball was on the floor rolling toward him.
"What the hell?" For a second time Sam picked up the ball. This time instead of simply placing it on the table he actually put it in the pocket.
Again he turned to leave. Just as he was about to exit the room something struck him hard in the back, actually knocking the wind out of him. The he heard the familiar sound of the 8 ball dropping on the floor and rolling across the hard wood.
He rubbed his back and put pressure on the spot where he had been hit. God almighty that hurt. Sam kicked the 8 ball away from him and grabbed the handle of the door and slammed it shut before anything else could fly at him.
All thoughts of a junk food left his mind. He went back to his room with the cozy fire place and crawled into his bed. He looked at the floor real quick to make sure the circle of salt was still there. Satisfied that both he and Dean would be safe as they slept he made himself comfortable on his side and tried to wait for Dean to come back up but he slowly drifted off.
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"Damn it Sammy, I'm sick of taking care of your ass. I swear you're useless. Four years of college and you're still as stupid as you ever were!"
The words were as sharp and painful as any knife. Sam instantly felt his emotions rise.
"It wasn't my fault," he defended.
"It is your fault! It's always your fault! Well I'm sick of it! Do you hear me? I'm sick of it and I'm sick of you!"
Dean reached behind himself and grabbed something from the pool table. The next thing Sam knew Dean had the black 8 ball in his fist and he swung his hand toward Sam's head. The hard object struck Sam in the temple and he went down on all fours.
"No!" Sam called. He couldn't believe Dean had hurt him. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.
"From now on I'm on my own. All you do is slow me down. You can't hunt. No matter what we go after I have to save you from it. Well no more! I always wanted to be an only child. Looks like I'm about to get my wish.
Dean raised his hand with the 8 ball once more and swung down as hard as he could towards Sam's head.
"NOOOO!"
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"NOOOO!" Sam sat up so fast and jerked so hard to deflect the blow that he actually fell out of his bed.
"Sam!" Dean exclaimed as he sat up in bed. He got up and moved to help his little brother.
"Stay away from me!" Sam cried. He pushed himself back against the wall farther out of Dean's reach.
"Sammy, you had a dream. You're okay now." Dean could see Sam was trembling. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No," Sam snapped, and then a little calmer he repeated, "no."
"Okay," Dean replied. "Was it a vision?"
"No, no it was just a nightmare. What I just dreamed would never happen," Sam replied.