Chapter 7: Snow
"What would never happen?" Dean asked.
"Nothing."
"Sam, stop keeping secrets from me. I can't protect you or myself if you leave me in the dark. If something is coming then I need to know about it."
"Dean, nothing is coming, okay. I dreamed you were about to kill me. Like I said, it was a nightmare. That would never happen."
"Was it the shape shifter?" Dean asked.
"No, it was you and we were here, and you had that damn 8 ball. Tomorrow I'm going to bury that thing somewhere."
"Eight ball? What are you talking about?"
"Tonight after you left the game room the 8 ball attacked me."
"What? Why didn't you tell me?" Dean demanded.
"I don't know," Sam replied tiredly. "It was no big deal."
"Where did it hit you?" Dean asked.
"On my back."
"Get up," Dean ordered.
Sam stood up and immediately started to protest. "Dean, I'm all right."
Dean ignored him. He lifted the back of Sam's shirt and found a perfect round bruise just under Sam's right shoulder blade. Sam yanked his shirt out of Dean's hand and pulled it back down around his waist.
"It's just a bruise. I'm fine," Sam announced. He could already see the worry in Dean's eyes.
"I don't like the fact that these things keep coming after you," Dean said.
"Nothing is coming after me," Sam insisted. "We are in a haunted house connected to a haunted lighthouse. Of course we're going to run into the ghosts."
"Still, you're having nightmares again."
"I always have nightmares," Sam replied.
"Yeah, but they weren't happening every night. The past two months had been better."
"I didn't have a nightmare last night."
"But you had a vision this morning."
"Dean, drop it. I'm fine. You are totally making a big deal out of nothing."
"Maybe," Dean said.
"Let's just go back to bed. It'll be morning soon."
"Fine." Dean went back to his bed and climbed in with his back towards Sam.
Sam knew Dean was worried about him and that was why he got huffy, but he didn't want Dean to baby him. Sam really wanted to have the chance to prove himself here. He couldn't even explain why it was so important to him. He just knew that Dean was always taking care of him and now it was his turn to pick up some of the slack.
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After a breakfast of instant oatmeal with raisins and maple syrup dumped in to make it taste like something, Dean and Sam bundled up in layer upon layer of clothing. They opened the front door and began to trek through the knee and even thigh high snow drifts.
"Dude, this is a lot of fucking snow," Dean said. "How the hell do people live like this all winter?"
"I think we're about to find out," Sam chuckled.
"Yeah, laugh it up, college boy, but let's see if you're still laughing after we finish shoveling all of this crap." Dean hated snow and the job that lay before them seemed endless. They need to clean out the driveway, the front walk, a path to the wood pile, and a path to the shed. This was going to take hours!
He was just about to open his mouth to complain some more when something hit him in the back of the head. "What the?" he turned to Sam only to have Sam hit him with another snowball to the chest.
"Sam! We don't have time for this!" Dean griped.
Sam ignored him and reached down to make another snow ball.
"Sam, if you hit me with that thing I swear you'll be sorry."
Sam just had this happy smirk on his face and let it rip. The snowball smacked Dean on the top of his head.
"That's it!" Dean charged Sam and the two fell back into a huge drift. Dean started grabbing handfuls of snow and throwing them on Sam's face. Sam managed somehow to get a little leverage and rolled Dean off of him and started throwing more snow at him. Soon both brothers were laughing and carrying on like kids.
"Okay! Okay!" Dean called, waving his hands in the air. "You win!" He fell on to his back and laid there for a moment trying to catch his breath from all the laughing.
"See, not everything about snow is bad," Sam laughed.
"I still say you won't be laughing several hours from now," Dean replied.
"Maybe not, but at least when we're done we can curl up in front of the fire with some hot chocolate."
"Hey, did you get marshmallows?" Dean asked.
"No, but we've got whipped cream."
"Okay, let's get up before our asses freeze in place and get this done," Dean said and climbed to his feet. He reached down and gave Sam a hand and pulled him up too.
Finally back to business they went in the shed and Dean passed Sam a shovel while he got the snow blower.
"Why do you get the blower?" Sam asked.
"Because."
"Because why?" Sam asked.
"Because I'm older," Dean replied.
"I want the blower," Sam said, handing the shovel back to Dean.
"I do the driving in this family," Dean replied and started the engine of the blower.
Sam tried to complain about getting stuck with the back breaking shovel but Dean just turned the blower up to full speed and drowned out any complaints Sam might have had. Dean flashed him his cockiest smile and headed for the door.
Sam sighed but took his shovel and followed Dean out of the shed. Dean started to work on the driveway so that once the plow came through he'd be able to get the Impala out. Sam decided he might as well start working on the path from the house to the shed.
After just five minutes of shoveling he had to admit that it was hard work. The snow was so deep that it took several turns of the shovel before he was at ground level. After a bit he managed to get into a rhythm and made quicker progress. By the time he reached the house he was huffing and puffing pretty hard.
He looked at Dean and saw that he was about a third of the way done with the drive. He was also having to work hard. The snow was so high that he couldn't just push the blower back and forth. He had to tilt it and come down on the snow and then tilt it back again for the next spot.
Sam thought about going inside and warming up for a bit but decided against it. The quicker they got it done the sooner they could both go inside and relax.
He moved to the other side of the porch and started shoveling a path to the wood pile. By the time he finished that jab he was really panting hard. His lungs burned, his nose was dripping, and his cheeks were frozen, as were his legs. He looked down and saw that his jeans were wet clean up to his thighs.
He knew it was time to go in the house before he risked getting frostbite. He followed the path he had just made back to the shed and then down the drive way. He tapped Dean on the shoulder. Dean turned to look at him.
"I'm going in for a while to warm up," Sam told him. "You should come too. We've been out here for over an hour."
"I'm fine," Dean shouted over the motor. "You go ahead though."
Sam shrugged but headed for the door. Once inside he pulled off his boots and shed his coat, hat, and gloves. He went to their room and pulled off the soaking wet pants and pulled on a pair of dry ones and then put on some dry socks as well.
He was about to go downstairs when he heard footsteps over head. Something was in the attic. He began to look for the stairs but didn't see a trap door in the ceiling anywhere. He opened what he thought was a closet door and saw it was actually a staircase. He searched for a light switch on the wall but there was nothing there. A window at the top let in plenty of sunlight so he was able to see pretty well.
The attic was full of boxes and cast off furniture. There was a pile of rolled maps, a dress maker's mannequin, racks of old clothes from other decades, even other centuries, and things draped in sheets. It would have been a perfect place for children to play hide and seek in.
Sam opened several of the boxes and began to go through the items in them. Much of it was junk. There were old magazines in there, books, dishes, and bolts of moth eaten fabric.
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Dean was still hard at work. He just wanted to get the job done. He looked back and saw that Sam must have still been in the house. He was taking a long time to warm up. Dean was cold too but he was still out here busting butt.
He turned off the snow blower and leaned on the handle bar for a moment to take a quick break. He looked back at the house. Covered in snow the way it was it looked like something from a magazine. The lights were on, smoke drifted up from the chimney, a wreath had been placed on the front door. Except for it being haunted, it was the nicest place he had ever stayed in.
He looked up at the sky. An hour ago there had been nothing but endless sunshine, now in the distance he saw thick clouds rolling in. He hadn't listened to the weather report this morning. He hoped another snow storm wasn't already coming.
Movement on the side of the house caught his eye. Something was by the wood pile, now out of sight. He followed the clear path around. He smiled when he saw what had caught his attention. It was a deer.
"Sorry fella, I don't have any carrots. Maybe I can have Sam find you something."
The deer jerk to attention and stood stock still. Dean listened carefully to see if he could hear what had frightened the animal. Suddenly the deer bolted through the woods away from Dean and the house.
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Sam was about to close the box he had been looking through when something caught his eye. It was a small leather bound book. It looked very old. He picked it up and opened it. The Diary of Jessica Barrette. The name caught Sam off guard. Jessica. He felt a moment of grief swell up in him but pushed it down. This wasn't written by his Jessica. It had belonged to someone else. He flipped through the pages and saw the dates written at the top of each page. The book started with December 14, 1895. Wow, the diary was a hundred and ten years old. How interesting! He decided to take the book with him back down stairs.
A loud rumbling noise started vibrating across the roof. Sam looked up expecting to see it collapse in or something, but as the rumbling continued he heard the noise sliding down off the side. He knew what had happened, all the snow on the sloped roof had just slid off to the ground below.
"Aw shit," Sam mumbled. That meant the path he had just dug out was probably reburied under even more snow than before. He needed to get back outside and help Dean with the work. He was nice and warm now and Dean was probably wondering where he was.
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Dean looked up when he heard the rumbling. At first he didn't have a clue what it was but by the time he figured it out it was too late. Giant, heavy blocks of snow and ice began to pummel him from above. Dean fell from the weight as literally the entire roofs worth of snow fell on him and buried most of his body. His head was still exposed, thank god, and he struggled to climb out. He never saw the large chunk of ice that snapped off from the gutter three stories up, but he felt the impact as it made contact with the back of his skull. Dean collapsed face down in the snow and passed out.
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Sam pulled his boots back on and bundled up in his coat, hat, and gloves once more. He opened the door and realized that it was quiet outside. The loud motor of the snow blower was off. He saw the machine still sitting in the drive way. Dean must have finally decided to go in the house and have a break.
He went to the kitchen. He knew Dean wasn't upstairs because he had just come from there. Dean wasn't in the kitchen though. He walked to the living room. Nothing.
"Dean!" Sam called. When he didn't get an answer he figured Dean was still out side.
He left the house and followed the cleared path to the shed and looked inside. Dean wasn't there either, but both snow mobiles were still there so he hadn't left. So where the hell was he?
He stepped out of the shed and called loudly, "DEAN!" He waited. "DEAN!" He started walking back toward the house. Maybe Dean had been upstairs and Sam had just missed him. On the porch Sam finally heard something.
"sam"
Sam turned around and looked once more. "Dean!"
"Sammy."
Dean's voice was coming from around the house. Sam hurried to the wood pile. As he turned the corner he was shocked at what he saw. Dean was lying, almost buried, in the snow.
"Dean!" Sam gasped and hurried to help his brother. He kneeled down next to Dean and started to check him out. "What happened?"
"Uh, snow," Dean muttered. "Something hit me in the head."
"Did you lose consciousness?"
"I…I don't know."
Sam suspected he had. Dean seemed really out of it. Sam started unburying Dean and soon was able to help Dean roll over and sit up.
"Do you think this was an attack," Sam asked, "or did the weight of the snow honestly cause it to fall naturally?"
"I really don't know," Dean replied.
"Come on, we need to get you in the house," Sam told him. "You're freezing."
As if to prove Sam's words true, Dean let out two sneezes. Sam helped Dean to stand and then wrapped an arm around Dean when he wobbled and almost fell back down.
"I can walk," Dean insisted.
"I'm sure you can," Sam said. "Just humor me."
Dean begrudgingly let Sam help him to the house. As soon as they were inside Sam reached for the zipper of Dean's coat and tried to help him.
"Sam, stop it. I'm fine." Dean waved his hand away and then pulled off his gloves and unzipped his coat himself.
"You're not fine. You're dizzy, you're cold, and you have a head injury."
"Dude, chill out. It's a bump, not an injury. I'm not dizzy, and ten minutes by the fire and I won't be cold."
"If it were me right now you'd be making a fuss," Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, well, what can I say? My head is harder than yours."
"You mean thicker," Sam mumbled.
"What?"
"Nothing," Sam replied. "Why don't you go crash in the living room? I'll get you something hot to drink to help warm you up."
"Sam, don't mother me. I'm…achoo…just fine…achoo."
"Right. Now go to the damn living room and lay down. I'll be right back."
Sam headed for the kitchen, ignoring the scowl Dean was giving him. Dean didn't seem to realize how dangerous his situation had been. He was lucky Sam came looking for him when he did or he could have gone into hypothermia out there. Plus, something had hit his head hard enough to knock him out.
Dean got comfy on the couch and pulled the quilt that was draped over the back on top of him. Truth was, he was chilled to the bone but he would never tell Sam that. He didn't need to have anyone coddling him. He'd just warm up a bit, let the dizziness pass, and then he'd get back outside and finish up removing the snow.
Sam opened a can of chicken noodle soup and dumped it into an over sized mug. He added some water then stuck it in the microwave. He tapped his toes for the two and half minutes it took to heat it and tossed a spoon into the cup and took it back to Dean.
"Here, eat this," Sam said.
"What is it?"
"Soup."
Dean took the cup and blew the steam away.
"Just relax. I'll go and finish up the snow."
"I'll be out as soon as I warm up," Dean insisted.
"What ever," Sam said and marched outside. Why did Dean have to be so damn stubborn? Sam actually laughed at his own question. Because that was who Dean was. Life had made Dean the way he was and he would never change.
Outside Sam abandoned the shovel and grabbed the blower. He used the blower to clear the path to the wood pile once more and then did the walk. It was much faster this time around.
Finally Sam tackled the driveway. Like Dean, he had to keep tilting the blower back and forth to remove all of the snow. By the time he finished an hour later he was soaked in his own sweat and he was completely exhausted.
He put the blower and the shovel back in the shed where they came from and went back in the house. Once more he stripped down out of his winter garb and kicked off his boots. He looked in on Dean in the living room and found him sleeping again on the sofa. He picked up the empty soup cup and tossed another log on the fire before leaving Dean alone to sleep.