Disclaimer: Only the idea is mine. Supernatural and the characters therein belong to the actors, writers, directors, producers, and technicians that bring it to life. Rated T (just in case).

Many cyber cookies (or the treat of your choice) to my reviewers LeighAnnWallace and winchestersunited. Thanks! You are too kind!

Chapter Three

Shoveling went faster than Dean hoped. He chalked it up to being awake early and anxious. Both of them jumped at the slightest sound while they worked, keeping an eye on the woods around the house. After they finished, Dean insisted on going inside, eating, and changing into dry clothes. Then they trekked toward town. There was a pay phone just outside the library, so Dean popped a few quarters in and dialed Bobby's number.

Gruffly, Bobby said, "It better be good to wake me up this early."

"It's Dean. And Sam."

"What's wrong?"

"Who says anything has to be wrong? Maybe we're just calling to check in and see if you've heard from Dad." Dean smiled tersely at Sam, who rolled his eyes and mouthed, 'why bother?'

"You're calling at zero-dark-thirty and pretending nothing's wrong. That alone tells me it's bad. Besides, you checked in two days ago and no, I still haven't heard from your father. Now tell me what's going on. Are either you or Sam hurt?"

Dean seemed to sag against the walls of the phone booth. "No, Bobby, we're both fine. Sam's right here with me."

"Hi, Bobby." Sam leaned forward to call into the phone.

Bobby sighed. "Okay, good. So what's going on?"

It was Dean's turn to sigh. "It's the cabin Dad left us in. There's a ghost. Actually, two. A little kid and some old cadaver guy."

"I can't believe your Daddy left you someplace that's haunted." Bobby all but groaned the word haunted, then asked, "But you've been there for weeks, so why are the ghosts just showing up now? This is the first you've seen them, right?"

"Yeah, it's the first we've seen them. There's been noises and stuff, nothing serious. I figured it was just the house settling or something. Maybe they're recent dead..."

Sam tugged on his arm. "No, not recent. Their clothes were wrong for that. It's the snow. They both showed up during the snowstorms. I think it's got something to do with that."

"Did you catch that, Bobby?" Dean asked, sliding his arm around his brother's slight shoulders and pulling him closer in the phone booth. A few men stumbled out of a run down apartment across the street and Dean instinctively moved so that Sam was hidden from view. The men started shoveling the steps of the building and the sidewalk.

"Not really. What did he say?"

"Sam thinks the ghosts might have something to do with the snowstorms. It's snowed the last two nights. The ghosts showed up during the snowstorms. Before that, I would say there hasn't been much sign of them. And Sam's right about the clothes. Unless they're re-enactors for something, the clothes they were wearing are too old for them to be recent ghosts."

"How did they act? They try and hurt either of you?"

"The little boy keeps his distance. Sam saw him first. Waved at him and the kid waved back. The old guy was looking in the window when I saw him. Sam saw him too, two nights ago. Here, I'll put him on." Dean pushed the phone at his little brother and scanned the street. People were starting to come out into the weather, beginning the process of cleaning up.

"Hi, Bobby."

"Sam. Tell me what you saw."

"I was watching the snow fall two nights ago. I saw a man standing by the trees outside, near the house. A branch broke off a tree, I think from the snow, and when I looked back the man was gone. I waited, but he didn't come back. So, I checked the salt lines around the house and went back to bed. With my gun." Sam's voice trailed off at the end, waiting to be yelled at.

There was a pause, then Bobby spoke quietly. "I'm glad you checked the salt lines and made sure you and your brother were safe before you went to sleep. That was a smart thing to do. But next time, wake up Dean and tell him about what you saw, okay? He needs to know about these things when they happen. You can't keep trying to take on everything by yourself. Promise me that, Sam?"

Shock kept the youngster quiet for a long moment. Glancing up at his brother, he nodded his head, then realized Bobby wouldn't see that.

"I can do that. I'm sorry," he whispered into the phone.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Sam. Your reaction was good. I'm just giving you a way to make it better. Okay?"

"Thanks, Bobby."

"Welcome. Put your brother back on."

Wordlessly, Sam pushed the receiver toward his brother.

Dean took the phone, talking as soon as it was at his ear.

"We're at the library right now. It should open soon, unless the snow delays things. If that happens, Sam and I should be able to break in. They don't have a security system, right?" He directed that question at his brother, who shook his head no. "Yeah, no security, so we should be able to get in and find out what we need. Unless we need to go to town hall for records."

Sam interrupted, "Most of the town records are stored here. This place isn't big enough for a separate records building."

"Sam says the records we need should be here. I see someone going up to the entrance of the library. It looks like one of the librarians I've seen the other times we were here, so we're going to go. I'll let you know what we find out with the research, okay?"

"Call me back when you finish. I'll see what I can find out from here and pack a bag. I'm going to come down there and join you. First I need to get someone to watch the phones though. Should call the number your Daddy left too, although I don't think it'll do much good. Just a message place."

Dean could hear rustles as Bobby moved around, gathering things together and looking for something.

"Don't bother calling Dad. By the time you get a hold of him, Sam and I will have this taken care of. You don't need to come out either. We've got this under control."

"I know you do. But I'm planning on coming anyway. Call me when you finish your research."

"Will do, Bobby. Thanks."

A few hours later, Sam set a few books down on the table where he and Dean settled to research. Dean lifted up his head and blinked away sleep.

"Having fun working on your nap?" Sam asked.

"I was awake. Just resting my eyes."

"Uh-huh. Wipe the drool off the table." Sam flipped open one of the books he'd gathered and began to search for something.

Dean looked at the table and saw nothing. After making a face at his brother, he asked, "What did you find out?" He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and tried to focus.

"Some local legends and stuff. I'm trying to sort out fact from fiction now. I'm looking to see who owned the property in the 1880s. There was a bad blizzard in 1888. Maybe that's what happened to our ghosts."

"Okay. How can I help?"

Sam looked at the spines of the books, then passed one to him. "Check this one for death records. Mid to late March, 1888. Weather related deaths, probably. If I find a name I'll let you know."

They searched silently through the books. Eventually Sam found a name connected to the property in the right time frame.

"Okay, so it looks like a guy named Jeremiah Cohenbash owned the house and land in the late 1800's. He bought everything in 1876. Did you see that name in the death records?"

Dean flipped back a few pages in the registry. "Yeah. I saw that name. I noticed because there were a whole bunch of people with that same name listed." He ran his finger down a page, then slapped the book down on the table, tapping it. "Here. There are seven names listed with the same last name and the same date of death. March 23rd, 1888. Jeremiah is the first name, aged 37. Then Elizabeth, aged 32. Mathias, age 11. Robert, age 7. Sarah, age 5. Grace, age 2. Benjamin, 8 weeks."

"It was a whole family. Their whole family died. The boy we saw must be Mathias. He's my age, just about. What could have happened to them?" Sam gazed at his brother questioningly.

Dean shrugged. "Time to find a local newspaper for March, 1888."

"The microfiche machine is over this way."

Sam led the way to the machine, stopping along the way for the appropriate microfiche, making up some story for the librarian about a school history project. She smiled at him and left them alone, after making sure they understood how the microfiche machine worked.

Sam scrolled quickly through the newspaper, starting a few days before March 23rd. The headline for the paper on March 27th told them everything they needed to know.

"Holy crap," Dean whispered as he stared at the headline.

"Yeah," Sam whispered back as he hit the print button on the machine.

They both waited in silence as the copy slowly churned out. Sam took it and began reading.

"Father butchers family during snowstorm. Jeremiah Cohenbash apparently caught cabin fever during our last series of blizzards. Trapped in their cabin on the outskirts of town, the Cohenbash family was running low on food. The patriarch of the family apparently ran low on patience as well. Authorities are unclear on what prompted the attacks, but on the night of March 23rd, Cohenbash murdered his entire family with the same axe he used to chop their firewood. It is believed that he killed his wife first, then systematically killed the children, beginning with the youngest, sleeping in a crib beside his parent's bed."

Dean said, "And now he's haunting the place. But what about the kid? I don't get why he's there. Unless maybe the dad didn't kill them? Maybe this Mathias kid did and the cops got it wrong."

Sam looked skeptical. "It's possible, I suppose. But looking at the two ghosts, which one do you think is the more likely mass murderer of his entire family?" His brother frowned, then rolled his eyes.

"Well, when you put it like that..." Dean said, "But Dad always warns us that looks can be deceiving. Just because something looks cute and harmless doesn't mean it is. Hey, just think of the tribble thingies on that re-run of Star Trek we watched last week."

"That was a television show," Sam responded.

"Gremlins. Look cute and harmless, eat your face off."

"A movie."

"Well, dammit Sam, nothing in the real world – the hunting world – looks cute and harmless, except maybe you. Something might look human and harmless, but we both know there's no such thing. So I have to use movies and tv shows to prove my point."

"You just disproved your point."

"Oh, shut up, Sam."

Sam stuck out his tongue, earning a muttered, "Real mature," from his older brother.

Dean pulled the news article away from Sam and said, "We need to figure out where he's buried so that we can get back to the cabin and take care of this before nightfall."

"Yeah. I think that's going to be a problem." Sam turned back to the microfiche reader.

"Why?"

"Because of this," Sam answered, pointing to the screen.

Dean leaned over his brother's shoulder and read the article he pointed at. He smothered a curse, then said, "In the woods? That's the best they could do? The bodies are buried in the woods on the property?" He pushed the chair away from the microfiche machine, regarding Sam with bleary eyes.

"Well – crap. Just crap."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah. Crap."

They sat in silence. Dean stared into space, trying to think of a solution to the problem. Leaving the cabin wasn't an option because... it just wasn't. You didn't run from problems. Face them, fight them, take them down or die trying. That was how a Winchester did it. Except he needed to make sure Sam was safe. They needed to call Bobby again.

Sam scanned more articles on the microfiche reader, looking for more clues. Finally, he found something. It was small, but at this point, he knew anything might help.

"The bodies were buried near water," he said over his shoulder.

It took Dean a moment to respond. "Huh?"

"This article says there was a stream on the property. It created a small pond and Mrs. Cohenbash, umm, Elizabeth, told her friend that she wanted to be buried there. The paper says the whole family was buried according her wishes." Sam printed the page out.

"Good work, shrimp. We'll have to check land surveys on the property and see if we can find the stream they mention."

"Help me put this stuff away and we can go do that."

An hour later they were outside the library, printouts and copies of the land survey in hand. Inside the pay phone booth, Sam huddled against Dean a little. The temperature was dropping. They spoke briefly with Bobby, filling him in on the details of everything they'd discovered. Dean assured him that he didn't need to drive all the way to see them, Bobby assured them that he most certainly would.

"I want you boys to find another place to stay tonight. Can you do that?" Bobby asked.

Dean shook his head, even as he responded, "I don't think so. The whole reason we're in the cabin is because there aren't any motels around here. And I don't have enough money left to get a place anyway. Plus," he looked outside the booth and frowned, "it's starting to snow again. Sam and I need to get back to the cabin before it really starts blowing bad."

There was some static as Bobby slipped his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and swore. He came back on and asked, "You got enough salt and supplies to protect yourselves?"

After giving the question a moment of serious thought, Dean said, "Yes. We should be okay."

"I'll be there shortly. By morning, hopefully."

"Thanks, Bobby."

"You boys keep yourselves safe, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

Bobby sighed. "Okay, son. Get going. I'll see you soon as I can."

The walk back to the cabin was miserable. Because of the snow falling, it took twice as long as it should. They tried running, both to stay warm and get there faster, but the ground was too slick. After Sam fell twice and Dean once, they decided walking was safer. By the time they made it back, nightfall was closing in.

"Get out of those clothes and into a hot shower. I'll make sure all the salt lines are good. Then I'll make us something to eat." Dean shoved Sam toward the bathroom.

"You need to put on dry clothes and get warm too."

"I will once I take care of everything."

Sam froze in place. "No." He glared at Dean.

"What?"

"We'll both check the salt lines, then get out of the wet clothes. We can both take a shower to warm up and then we can make dinner together."

"First of all, you're 10. You don't get to boss me around. Second of all, your plan is just stupid. It makes more sense for me to get things started while you're in the shower and then take my shower after everything else is done."

"It's not stupid. Your way means you could get sick. Plus it means we aren't together, which means I can't watch your back. And you promised." Sam remained stock still, now regarding Dean with serious and pleading eyes. Dean started to shake his head, and the pleading doubled.

"You promised," Sam said.

Dean felt his resolve weaken. But who could blame him? Sometimes saying no to Sam felt like kicking a puppy. It was just something no decent person ever wanted to do. "Fine," he said. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "Go check the kitchen window, and the back window. I'll get the front door and the front window. Then we'll meet in the bedroom, check that window, push the beds together and put a salt circle around them. Just in case. Then I'll change while you check the bathroom window and shower. I'll check the salt circle around the couch and start dinner. You can finish while I shower. Does that plan work for you, Major Tom?"

"Yep. Let's go." Sam nodded and got to work.
Ten minutes later, all the salt lines were checked and the house was as secure as they could make it. By the time Sam was out of the shower and dressed in dry clothes, dinner was well underway and Dean was dry.

"I'll finish dinner. Go take a hot shower and get warm," Sam told his brother.

"I'm fine," Dean answered.

"No. Your fingertips are blue and you're pale. You need to get warm." Sam tried to stare him down, looking so much like their father that Dean grinned, which only made Sam scowl harder. Holding up his hands in surrender, Dean said, "Okay, okay. I'm going. Don't let anything burn."

The dinner dishes were cleaned and put away. Both boys were sitting on the salt surrounded couch, watching television, dozing really. Lack of sleep the night before was catching up with them. Sam succumbed first, pillowing his head on the arm of the couch. Dean wedged the shotgun between himself and the couch arm, pointing to the floor. So far, except for the storm outside, it had been quiet. When he started to fall asleep sitting up, he didn't to stop himself. If he didn't get at least a little sleep, he'd be useless tomorrow. He knew one of them should be keeping watch, since there was nothing else they could do tonight, but somehow his fuzzy thinking couldn't think of a solution. Sleep, his tired brain kept telling him.

When the rattling woke him up, he realized he'd been 'dozing' for a few hours. It was a little after midnight. The noise disturbed Sam as well. He was bolt upright on his side of the couch, grasping the crowbar so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Easy there, Sammy. Take it easy." Dean tried to be soothing but knew it was a losing battle when he was reaching for the shotgun filled with rock-salt shells.

"The wind?" Sam looked around the cabin, searching for the source of the sound.

"Could have been. You stay here while I go check."

"Nyuh-uh."

Glaring at Sam, Dean motioned for him to stay on the couch. His little brother just glared right back, following behind. Dean sighed, but kept his mouth shut. Arguing with Sam when he made up his mind was like trying to dance with lightning: incredibly stupid and potentially deadly.

"Only ten years old and already acting like he owns the joint..." Dean muttered under his breath.

"You say something?"

"Nope. Nothing at all."

They advanced to the front window, moving slowly and cautiously. Sam gripped the crowbar while Dean led with the shotgun. A slight tug on the curtain revealed that there was nothing to be seen in the yard. The door rattled again, more violently than the previous time.

"What do you think is out there?" Sam whispered.

"If we're lucky, it's a door to door salt salesman looking for a place to ride out the storm. If we're really lucky, it's the Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders and they'll need some help warming up." Dean smiled at his own joke.

"Gross. I'm ten. And you just turned fifteen. The Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders are not going to be interested in anything you can do." Sam grimaced, distracted momentarily from the danger.

"Yeah." Dean scoffed. "The fact you just said that proves you're only ten. Someday, Sammy, you will appreciate all life has to offer." Dean looked at his brother for a beat, then added, "well, maybe, with a lot of help from your big brother."

The door shaking against its hinges overrode Sam's protest. The tempo of the rattle increased, growing more tenacious as the bolts began to slowly ease out of the hinges.

Sam's eyes got wide. He said, "If those bolts come out, there'll be nothing holding the door on."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, so? The thing still can't come in. We'll just go in the salt circle. Or if we get sick of looking at it we can go in the bedroom's salt circle, and make a salt line across the doorway."

"If the door comes down it's going to get really cold in here. And it's windy outside. The wind will blow the salt lines away. It won't be safe in here anymore."

Under his breath, Dean swore as he realized his brother was right. "Sammy, gimme the crowbar. Take the gun." They switched and Dean slammed the edge of the crowbar down against the bolts, trying to jam them back into place.

Sam said, "it isn't working. We need to do something else to make him go away."

"Do you have," Dean pounded at a bolt as it popped out of the hinge another inch, "a better suggestion?"

"Open the door. I'll shoot him with the rock salt. It should buy us a few minutes at least."

"That will blow away the salt too."

"But we should have enough time to put it back after we get rid of him."

"We can't do that all night."

"I know, Dean, but we have to stop what he's doing right now. At least it will give us a few minutes to think."

After a dramatic groan, Dean looked at Sam and said, "Fine. On three." Silently mouthing the numbers, he unlocked the door on two and flung it open on three, stepping back from the shotgun. The ghost of Cohenbash smiled from the doorway. Sam pulled the trigger and rock salt slammed into the abdomen of the ghost. It shrieked and disappeared. Dean was reaching out to shut the door when Sam stopped him. The little boy beckoned to him from the yard.

"Wait. It's him. Mathias." Sam took a few steps forward.

Dean shut the door, blocking the ghost from view and dumping salt in a line across the threshold. "Are you crazy? You can't go out there."

"I think he wants to help."

"You don't know that!"

"And you don't know that I'm wrong! Maybe he can tell us where the grave is. We need to know."

"We'll find it tomorrow. When it's safe."

"How? We have no idea where it is. There's tons of snow on the ground, so even if there is a marker, we won't be able to see it. We don't even know if it will stop snowing tomorrow. For all we know, it could snow all day. Then what do we do?"

"Bobby will be here by tomorrow morning. He'll help us."

"Not if it doesn't stop snowing! He can't drive here through a blizzard."

Dean opened his mouth to argue, then closed it, unable to think of a response. When Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised his eyebrows, Dean said, "You are not going out there. Cause I said you aren't. End of argument."

A gentle tap at the window stopped Sam's retort. He took the few steps to the window and pulled back the curtain. Mathias stood outside, a slight forlorn figure. He smiled a little at Sam.

"Are you Mathias?" Sam spoke to the glass and the ghost beyond. "Nod if you are and you can understand me."

The ghost nodded quickly.

"Cool," Sam said.

"Get away from the window." Dean grasped his brother by the elbow and tried to pull him back, but Sam tugged his arm away from Dean.

"Wait. I want to talk to him." He turned to the window again. "Mathias, did your father kill you?"

There was another nod from the ghost, and a frown. Dean placed a protective hand on Sam's shoulder, but otherwise waited to see what would happen.

Sam asked, "Can you help us? We need to know where your father's body is buried."

Mathias placed his hand against the glass of the window. Dean yanked Sam back as frost began to form where the ghostly hand touched. When the frost had spread about a foot in either direction, Mathias used his fingertip to trace two words into the haze, reversing them so that Dean and Sam could read them easily.

STOP HIM?

Sam surged forward again. Pressing close to the window, he said, "Yes. If we know where his body is buried, we can stop him. He won't be able to hurt anyone else. I promise."

The boy watched for a second, considering. Finally he nodded, and beckoned them with a wave. He disappeared momentarily, then reappeared in the yard, still beckoning.

"C'mon. We need to follow him. Get the stuff. Or at least some way to mark the trail so that we can find the grave tomorrow in daylight. Let's go." Sam raced around as he spoke, pulling on boots and his coat, digging out the supply duffel and filling it with small shovels, more salt, and lighter fluid. He dug around in a toolbox and came out with two rolls of duct tape.

Smiling at his find, he said, "We can use this to mark a trail maybe. What do you think?"

Dean remained motionless by the window. "I think you have lost your ever-loving mind. We are not going out there in a snowstorm, following some little kid ghost who may or may not be leading us to the gravesite of the big bad ghost that wants to kill us without knowing if the kid is leading us into a trap." The words all rushed out in a single breath, and Dean gulped air when he finished, then continued, "Did you ever even consider that the kid could be working with Cohenbash? He's a ghost, Sam. We can't trust him."

"Why do all ghosts have to be bad? Maybe he's sticking around to try and help people. Or to warn them at least, about his father. Or maybe he's still around because he wants to avenge the rest of his family. We're the only ones who could help him with that. Isn't that what this family is supposed to be about? Helping people?" Sam jammed a watch cap onto his head and pulled on gloves as he spoke.

"He isn't a person, he's a ghost. Which part of that are you not getting?" Dean answered.

"But he used to be a person. And he was murdered. Think about it. He was my age. If something happened to me and I became a ghost, wouldn't you want someone to help me?"

Dean glared at his brother before spitting out, "Nothing like that would ever happen to you. I wouldn't let it. And you'd never become a ghost. Dad would give you a hunter's burial."

Sam huffed, exasperated. "You can't protect me forever. We're going to grow up and we won't always be together. Besides, accidents happen. It doesn't matter – my point is – would you want someone to help me?"

Shifting his feet, Dean refused to answer. Sensing a weakness, Sam continued, "We need to trust him just a little bit. I think he wants to help and we owe it to his family and all Cohenbash's victims to salt and burn his body. Mathias can help us do that, if we let him." Sam brought Dean's coat over to him. "We still need to be careful. I know that. But there's just, I don't know... something telling me we can trust him. I think he wants Cohenbash stopped as much as we do."

Dean shrugged into his coat. He shook his head and told his brother, "Dad is going to tan our hides if he finds out we trusted the kid ghost to give up the location of the grave."

"Nah. I say he'll yell like the end of the world is coming and make us do extra workouts for a month."

"Or he could leave both in a boat in the middle of the ocean and tell us we better find a way home in time for dinner." Dean took the boots, gloves, and hat Sam held out and put them on.

"Maybe he'll make us eat his cooking for a month." Sam pretended to vomit.

"No. We'd die from malnutrition. And he wouldn't be strong enough for a hunt if he only ate his own cooking for a month." Dean paused, then smiled a little wistfully. "It's almost worth getting in trouble to get him to stay home with us for a month, isn't it?"

Sam smiled back. "Yeah, it would be nice to have him around that long."

Dean visibly shook off the mood, then started issuing orders. "Okay, you stay close to me, but not in front, in case I have to fire the shotgun. If I tell you to run, you drop everything but the crowbar and you get back here quick. Keep an eye out for Cohenbash, or for any tricks. We have to be fast and careful, Sammy."

"I can carry the bag so that your hands are free for the gun. But here," Sam reached into the duffel and pulled out a small container of salt, "you should keep this in your pocket."

"Thanks. You ready for this?"

"Yep. Let's go."

They walked over to the door together, and Dean motioned for Sam to open it. He did, and Mathias was still waiting in the yard. Dean moved through the door carefully, taking in the scope of the yard. The snowstorm had died down, but still whipped occasional bursts at them as they stood on the porch. Sam closed the door to the house firmly, then took a few steps toward Mathias.

He told Dean, "I'm going to try talking to him again. Don't freak out."

"I don't freak out. I react to danger."

"You know what I mean. Just... don't." Sam waved at the ghost. The boy beckoned to them from his place in the center of the yard. Cautiously, they made their way to him. Dean stopped several feet away, but Sam moved closer and spoke. "If we know where your father is buried, we can stop him from hurting more people. I'm sorry he hurt the rest of your family. Can you show us?"

Mathias nodded, then disappeared. He reappeared about twenty feet away, at the edge of the woods.

Sam echoed Dean's earlier question. "Are you ready for this?"

Dean frowned. "No. But we're going anyway. Be careful and remember what I said."