The Aspen Spirit
Chapter Two
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"Dean! Wake up!"
He was drifting in cold, dark clouds. Sam's voice pulled him down to the bunk like a tug on the string of a kite. Dean shivered awake, the light suddenly sharp as he opened his eyes.
"Sam? Whassup ?"
His brother pushed a pan under his nose as he sat upright.
"Mac'n'cheese. C'mon, it's getting cold."
The pungent smell of processed cheese powder assaulted Dean's nostrils. He focussed blearily on the congealed orange mass in the bottom of the pan. Sam waggled it again, looking irritated.
"It'll get cold."
"Okay." Dean took it off him, grateful for the warmth against his fingers. "You had some?"
Sam nodded, his face set in petulant lines. "I've been trying to wake you up for ages!"
Look after your brother... Doin' an awesome job of that Dad...
"Sorry kiddo." Dean kept it mild, needing all his concentration to keep his gag reflex in check.
Sam deflated immediately, his mood shifting at mercurial speed from aggrieved cook to approval-seeking little brother.
"It's good." Dean assured him, making a big play of chewing and swallowing and hiding his nausea. Mac'n'cheese was an established meal in the Winchester household and Sam had made a decent attempt at it, considering there was only water and powdered mix available, but despite not having eaten for hours, Dean's stomach was uneasy, his appetite non-existent.
He forced down half under Sam's watchful eye and then pushed the pan back to him.
"You finish it off; I'm gonna chop some wood." He waved off Sam's offer of help. "No point us both getting wet, dude."
Half an hour later he'd chopped enough logs to last them a couple of days, passed another dribble of blood streaked urine and deposited an orange pile of regurgitated Mac'n'cheese at the side of the log store.
By the time he'd dumped the last armful of wood by the stove, his lower back was hurting beyond belief and he felt so ill it was almost funny.
Dean straightened up slowly, closing his eyes for a moment.
"You're getting sick." No flies on young Sam.
"Head rush." Dean blinked his eyelids back open.
"Yeah. Right." Sam sensed his brother's walls were crumbling, the mortar of 'I'm fine' dissolving under an unseen but powerful adversary. He moved in rapidly, taking a measure of control against his faltering sibling.
The wet jacket was peeled down Dean's arms; a mug of coffee thrust in his hands.
"So... are we sitting now, or falling? 'Cause it's time to call Dad."
Right...Dad. Call Dad.
Dean sat down without grace. No electricity for cell phone chargers meant a set check-in time when all cells would be turned on.
Sam regarded him with pity. "I'll call."
Dean nodded. "Don't tell him I'm sick," he warned. "It's just a cold."
Sam's palm slapped against his forehead before he could prevent it.
"You're hot," he said, an accusing note in his voice.
"I know I'm hot." Even Dean's wink felt off somehow. He didn't feel hot, not in any way. Just cold, really, really cold.
"I'm telling Dad. If you're sick, he needs to get us a room in a decent motel..."
Dean cut him off, launching to his feet and snatching the cell in a move that caused the room to tilt and fade. He dropped back onto the bunk, fiddling with the cell until he could see properly again.
"I'll speak to him." He checked the time swiftly and pressed speed dial.
"You're late son. Pre-arranged contact times are there for a reason!" John's deep baritone grumbled into his ear.
"Sorry, Sir."
Dean spent a couple of minutes confirming everything was okay, received a brief rumble of instructions and turned the cell phone back off with an expression of relief. Sam glowered at him, his face twisted into one of the many variations of bitch-face he'd paraded with increasing regularity since stepping angrily into his teens.
"Dad says we might see the owner of the cabin. He ran into him on the way down. Old guy; he was heading up this way. So don't shoot him, okay?"
"You're the trigger happy one, not me." Sam turned on his heel and threw himself on his bunk, producing a text book from the depths of his duffle and tilting the open page towards the lamp light.
He stayed there, nose buried in the book, for the remainder of the afternoon, not even looking up when Dean trekked outside at regular intervals.
Latest mission completed, Dean zipped himself up and took a moment to lean against the cabin wall, trying to ease the throb in his abdomen that had started up during the afternoon. It was eerily quiet; nothing moving other than the tremble of branches in the wind. A few golden-yellow aspen leaves tore themselves free and fluttered away like bright butterflies against the darkness of the pine trees.
Dean turned to go back inside and nearly fell over backwards with shock. A skinny old man was standing just a few feet in front of him, the seams and wrinkles of his weather-beaten face almost obscured by thick straggles of long hair and an un-kept beard.
"Y'must be Dean." The man nodded as he spoke, punctuating the words in a positive way. He grinned at the startled look on the younger man's face, revealing unexpectedly white teeth. "Saw your Daddy on the way down the mountain."
Dean recovered himself with difficulty, horrified that he'd allowed some stranger to get so close to them without noticing.
The man brushed past him, rummaged about under an old piece of tarpaulin in the log store and emerged with a jug of what looked suspiciously like moonshine. Dean raised an eyebrow, wondering if there was any more stashed away.
The old man laughed at him, wagging a finger. "You be keepin' your hands off my 'shine boy, or your Daddy'll be setting a belt to your ass."
A golden leaf skittered in front of them and settled on the wet ground. The old man toed it with his worn boot. "Your Daddy didn't say what you was doin' up here. Doesn't look like no camper, you neither."
Sam appeared around the corner of the cabin, shotgun tucked casually under his arm. The old man smiled widely at him, bringing a puzzled expression to Sam's face.
"And you must be Sam."
Sam looked to his brother for guidance. Dean shrugged, raising one eyebrow slightly. I dunno, wait and see.
"Risky business, bringin' two young uns up here this time of year." The man peered at Sam. "He'll be right enough though." He turned a worried frown on Dean. "You need to be takin' care. Aspens are shedding early this year."
He patted Dean on the arm as he passed, his long fingers brushing the leather sleeve. For a moment they were level, eye to eye, then he was gone, leaving Dean shuddering with cold and with an uneasy feeling running over his skin.
They watched him shuffle away towards the trees.
"What's he mean? There's something off about him, Dean."
"Nah." Dean shook his head, ruffling Sam's hair. "Just some crazy old dude, been up here too long with his moonshine."
But he made sure the door was bolted securely, closing it on a flurry of leaves that seemed to be trying to make their way inside on the chill breeze.
At the edge of the pines, the old man paused, looking back up at the cabin as a little eddy of wind caught at his long hair and lifted it away from his face. For a brief moment his eyes caught the light, a flash of intense color, exquisite in the whiskey shadowed ruins of his face.
The leather jacket was, at last, dry. Dean pulled the familiar comfort around himself with a feeling of profound gratitude as he filled the pockets with shotgun shells; salt in the right, shot in the left. He propped the shotgun up beside his bunk and slipped his knife under the pillow.
"How many people have gone missing?" Sam was distracted, staring into mid-air.
"Too many."
"One or two every year, since 1976?"
"Yeah."
"All men. All about this time of year."
"Dad figures we've got a week before somethin' happens. He'll be back tomorrow." Dean shifted, uncomfortable but watching his brother with concern; it wasn't like Sam to be nervous. "We'll be fine dude."
"WE aren't fine now!" Sam pointed out with asperity. "You're sick." He peered at Dean from beneath shaggy curtains of soft hair. "You should be in bed, somewhere warm. And what did that old guy mean? Why do you need to be careful? And what's the thing with the aspen shedding early?"
"Sam!" Dean shifted again, keeping his expression carefully under control. "I dunno, okay. Dad's got the full records of the missing people now; he's on the way back up. It's some kinda pissed off spirit. We'll do like we always do and then get outta here. Get you enrolled in school before term starts."
"But Dean..."
Dean waved it off. Dad was coming. Everything would be okay. He had to lie down. Now. Bunk, floor, whatever... He rolled slowly onto his bunk, taking care not to lean weight on his back or flank.
"Don't sweat it, Sam."
This sucks, big time... Hope Dad hurries up, I'm not feelin' so good. Gotta stay sharp for Sammy... Feel shitty...
Sam chewed a fingernail, watched Dean edge himself into a position half on his back, half on his side. Not a natural Dean sprawl. His brother was far more sick than he was letting on. With a stranger roaming around and some ghost with murderous intentions on the loose, he was barely holding it together.
Sam waited until Dean's eyelids slid shut and then quietly moved his chair close to his brother's bunk, locating it so he was within arms' reach but had a good view of the door. He checked the salt lines and settled in the chair.
"Crap!" John stood on the brakes and the heavy truck slewed to a halt. Mudslide. Big enough to take out a good section of road.
Surprisingly, cell phone reception was fair. A team would be up at the slide in the morning. John moved the truck to place of safety; he wouldn't be there when they arrived. His kit was ready and as soon as it was light enough to pick his way over the rough ground he would be setting a fast pace for the cabin. His boys needed him. He fingered the folder on the passenger seat, cursing the fact the records hadn't been available earlier. If they had, he would never have taken Dean up the mountain.
"Dean? Dean?" Sam's voice was sharp. He placed a wary hand on his brother's shoulder, giving it a light shake.
There was no reaction other than a sluggish flap of Dean's hand. A sure sign that something was very wrong.
"S'my?" Dean opened his eyes and focused slowly on his brother's face. "You okay?"
"You were moaning."
"Oh. Okay." Dean's eyelids slid back down, dark against his pale cheeks. Sam laid a palm on his brother's forehead, hissing as he felt the dry heat. It wasn't unexpected but it was unwelcome.
Thank you for joining me for this new fic! Really appreciate you reading and thanks especially for the reviews:
Duxe, Minion79, celinenaville, Mckydstarlight, Iwokeuponthewrongsideoflife, waitingforAslan, ngregory763 and onanickle.