FIC: A Midsummer's Snow (Supernatural)
Aug. 3rd, 2007 10:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ficwizeTitle: A Midsummer's Snow
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wizefics
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
State: Nebraska
Warnings: Spoilers through Season 2. Some mild language. Unbetad.
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_50states challenge. I choose to write about Nebraska and the barely recognizable source of the story I wrote can be found here. The details of what I wrote about come from my mother's description and memories of the place. She hales from Nebraska and when I asked her for a good urban legend or ghost story, she jumped to this one right away.
This is my first attempt at a Supernatural fic. Writing a ghost story is a lot harder than I thought it would be! As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
The air was hot and muggy, even after Sam rolled his window down. As far as he could see, corn fields stretched into the distance. Heat waves radiated upwards from the pavement, giving the road a slightly unreal feel, and Sam sighed.
“Dude, you should have sprung of a CD player in this thing.” He said it in equal parts because he was bored and because he knew it would irritate Dean. Sure enough, Dean threw him a look of disgust he usually reserved for the really slimy demons.
”Shut up before I have to exorcise you. That was a demonic thing to say.”
“I’m bored,” Sam retorted flatly. “How long can it take to drive across this state?”
“Longer than we’ve been going,” Dean answered shortly. “You’re the one with the visions, little brother. If you’re bored, have a vision.”
“It’s not that easy…” Sam leaned his head back and stared out of the window again.
“Dean gave him a considering look. “I could always sing…”
“Spare me, please!” Sam sat up hastily and began fiddling with the radio tuner, desperate to find something, anything, that would be clear enough to stop Dean from singing. “As Dean began humming the opening strains of Metallica's The Unforgiven Sam groaned. “Stop. I’d rather have a vision!”
“You’re the one who said it wasn’t that easy,” Dean grinned at him and cleared his voice again. Before he’d even gotten out a single note, Sam jerked back, his head slamming against the seat and glancing off the window. Almost as if summoned, the blinding light that preceded a vision exploded behind his eyes and pain painted the inside of his skull. He threw out one hand and grabbed Dean’s arm, his fingers tightening spasmodically, leaving behind bruises that Dean would never mention. “Ahhhhhh!”
Eyes rolling back in head, Sam saw fire… multiple fires… glowing in random order across a space… something white rolled over the area, obscuring his view. A second later, he heard a voice, booming through his head, and the lights blinked out. In the silence that followed, Sam heard water running.
Then the vision cleared and Sam was aware of Dean’s voice. “Sammy!” From Dean’s tone, it was clear that he’d been calling Sam’s name several times. Dean had pulled the car over on the side of the road and was half turned in his seat, holding Sam’s arms.
Sam groaned, feeling the agony in his head recede, but with a second groan, he jerked free from dean’s grasp and wrenched the door open. Leaning out as far as he could with the seat belt holding him in place, he took a deep breath and threw up the contents of his stomach. He wretched until he was finally empty, although he was slightly concerned when he thought he saw a shoe come out of his stomach. Shaking a bit, he sat back and gratefully accepted the bottled water that Dean held out for him.
Swallowing gratefully, Sam let his head fall against the seat again. The silence in the car was broken only by the sound of a passing car and Sam was aware that Dean was staring at him. Turning slightly, he opened one eye. “What?”
Dean shook his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You should have let me sing…”
Startled, Sam shook his head. “It would have hurt worse.”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk…” Sam replied tiredly, his eyes closing against the sun’s glare, but unwilling to bypass the ritual.
“You were lucky, really.” Dean restarted the car and eased back onto the road. “If you’d thrown up in my car, I’d have had to beat you. It would have made the headache feel like a brain freeze.”
”Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
It was a sign of how worried Dean was that he obeyed. Speeding as fast as he dared, he only relaxed when he saw a sign promising a town in twenty miles. He’d find a hotel and some food. Then, once Sammy was rested, they’d figure out what to do about the vision.
*****************
“You’re sure about this?” Dean asked, tossing the newspaper at Sam across the diner table. He picked up a piece of toast and ate it dry, while watching as Sam picked at his own meal.
Sam spread the paper out on the table next to him, ignoring the runny eggs on his plate in favor of the picture. “Yeah. I think that’s the place.”
“There’s nothing there, Sammy.” Dean pointed out. “It’s a weather report.”
“You don’t think a random snow storm in the middle of summer is suspicious?”
“I’ve never seen a demon mess with the weather,” Dean replied skeptically. “It doesn’t seem… evil.”
“Snow in summer is as unnatural as it gets!” Sam retorted loudly, earning several glances from the other patrons in the diner.
“Be quiet, idiot!” Dean hissed back. Sam subsided and Dean leaned back to watch him for a minute. “This is important to you?”
“Yeah,” Sam met his eyes. “Before,” and the word carried so much impact that Dean didn’t have to ask before what, “my visions were always connected to the yellow eyed demon. But this one feels different. This one feels…” he trailed off and shrugged helplessly.
Dean watched him for a minute longer then nodded and picked up his second piece of toast. “Then we’ll check it out.”
“Thanks Dean.” The relief in Sam’s voice tugged at Dean’s gut and Dean ate the rest of his breakfast in silence.
**********************
“This is it?” Dean stared around in disgust. “There’s nothing here.”
Sam opened the door and climbed out of the car, leaning against the open door and looking around. His expression was troubled; his eyes were vaguely out of focus. “I don’t know…” his voice was subdued. “It feels strange here.”
Dean climbed out of the car as well and walked around to stand next to Sam. Looking around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. “I just see a river bank.”
Sam shook his head and started walking towards the edge of the river. “There’s something else here, though.” He shivered. “It’s cold.”
Dean blinked at him. “Dude, it’s like 90-some degrees out here. Are you sick?”
“No,” Sam shrugged off his concern irritably. “It really is cold.” Turning, he saw Dean sweating and staring at him, his gaze unreadable behind the sunglasses. “You really can’t feel it?”
“No.” Dean’s voice was flat. For a moment, the two brothers stared at each other and then Dean sighed and went to the trunk. Opening it, he rummaged around inside for a few minutes before emerging with something that looked like a walkman. He plugged a cord into one end of it and held out a small metal wand on the other side. Ignoring the look of thanks on Sam’s face, he followed his brother to the edge of the bank. Moving the eco-thermometer around slowly as he walked, Dean shook his head. “This thing isn’t picking anything up either, Sam.” He looked up. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Dean.” The brush grew thicker the further north they traveled and Sam moved away from the river, back to where the ground was more passable. He was shivering; even as the hot Midwestern sun baked the ground enough that it was giving off heat waves, he shivered. Something was most definitely not right.
“Okay, then, Haley Joel…” Dean’s voice was filled with the tight amusement that Sam always heard when things were getting weird and Dean didn’t want to admit that Sam was freaking him out a bit. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“I don’t know.” Sam ignored Dean’s sarcasm and shoved through some brush that was blocking his way forward. He stopped so suddenly that Dean nearly ran into him.
“Warn someone before you…” The older brother stopped short as the instrument in his hand went haywire. The summer sun was as bright as it had been moments ago, and Dean could still see the hard baked ground, but the sweat on his forehead froze as the temperature seemed to plummet. “Sam…”
The younger brother swayed slightly on his feet as he stared down from the hill upon which they stood. Below them, the river bent and curved sharply away, leaving a clearing that was surrounded on two sides by high bluffs and on the third by the river’s edge. His breath misted in front of him as he stared down at the river bend. “Dean…”
Swaying again, Sam swallowed hard. “Do you feel it now?”
“Yeah.” Dean moved beside him, putting one hand out to steady him on his feet. “Yeah, I do.” He shivered again, the tremor running down his arm and into Sam shoulder. “This is worse than Hollywood …”
Sam’s tremors grew strong enough that Dean was pulled from his thoughts. Shaking his head, Dean pulled Sam backward. “We’re going to need more supplies. I don’t know what’s down there… but it’s strong.”
Dazed, Sam let Dean pull him back towards the car. The further they got from the river bend, the warmer he felt, until finally his shivers ceased. When they reached the car, he was sweating again, but he felt better than he had since they arrived.
“We need supplies and information.”
Dean shook his head and made a face at Sam as he got in the car. “I need a drink, dude. It’s been a long day.”
“Dean, be serious.”
“Okay, fine. I seriously need a beer…”
“You just ate breakfast.”
“Your point being… what?”
They fought for the rest of the drive back to Omaha, passing the sign that told them that they had been parked along side the Missouri River and that if they continued another four miles, they’d be in Cutler’s Park. They didn’t mention the signs, but they both noted them, knowing that once they’d reached somewhere safe, they’d be researching everything that they could get their hands on.
************************
“Winter’s Quarters.” Dean spoke before Sam had a chance to, risking the displeasure of the librarian in the Florence division of the Omaha City Library. She glared at him sternly and he returned her look with a smile that nearly made her blush. Grinning, he turned back to Sam who was shaking his head in disgust.
”You’d flirt with a nun, Dean, to get your way.”
“Yeah, so?” Dean pointed at the microfiche screen. “Pay attention, prude.”
Rolling his eyes, Sam read over Dean’s shoulder, a bit disgruntled that Dean had managed to find what they were looking for first. “It’s a historic park.”
“Yep.” Dean nodded, leaning back and looking very much like the cat that swallowed the canary. “Made historic because a bunch of people died there.”
“It was part of the Mormon Trail,” Sam was reading faster now, culling the pertinent information from the bits of political fluff and back slapping that came hand in hand with politicians deciding that they cared about a community’s roots.
“Winter Quarters, Nebraska, was an encampment formed by approximately 3,500 members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as they awaited better conditions for their trek westward during the winter of 1846-1847. Over 800 shelters were built at the settlement, which was referred to as Cutler's Park by residents.”
“Keep reading, Sherlock. It’s the goldmine.” Dean prodded him smugly.
“…records indicate that, from mid-September 1846 to May 1848, disease caused the deaths of 359 residents.” Sam looked slightly sickened. “Do you think that’s what I was feeling?”
“We both know that death leaves behind a lot of energy, especially when the person dying ain’t exactly happy.” Dean shrugged. “I’d say that 359 deaths are plenty to leave behind lots of unhappy energy.”
”They were pilgrims,” Sam shook his head, his voice saddened. “They never made it where they were going.”
“Lots of us don’t make it where we want, Sammy. They’re dead. They should accept it.” Dean sat forward abruptly, the legs of his chair hitting the ground with a bang that earned another glare from the librarian. Ignoring her, he stood up. “But if they want help moving onto the next world, we’ll give it to them.”
He strode off before Sam had a chance to respond. Watching his brother leave through the front door, Sam couldn’t shake the certainty that he was overlooking something. His visions before… they had all been related to someone he was supposed to help. Ghosts weren’t living… he couldn’t help them, except as Dean had somewhat callously pointed out, to move to the next world.
More worryingly, he couldn’t help Dean either. The calendar in both of their minds was inevitably counting down as they crisscrossed the map, looking desperately for a way to break the hold that the crossroads demon had over Dean.
Smiling an apology at the still irate librarian, Sam gathered his notes and hurried after Dean.
******************
“Dean, wait!” Sam stumbled over the ground as he hurried to catch up with Dean. The elder Winchester was nearly to the top of the hill where they had stopped earlier before Sam caught up with him. Reaching out, Sam caught him by the shoulder. “Wait, dammit!”
”Why?” Dean shrugged Sam’s hand off. “Time’s wasting, Sammy. Let’s put these poor sons-of-bitches out of their misery and let them get on with the business of being dead.”
“Dean…” Sam recoiled from the bitterness in his brother’s voice. Forcing himself to focus, he tried again. “We can’t just rush in without a plan. This place had enough supernatural energy to affect us in broad daylight. It’s nearly dark now. What do you think will happen?”
Dean gave Sam that grin that meant he was about to do something really reckless, knew it, didn’t care what the consequences would be, and figured he’d come out on the other side on sheer luck and nerve. “Let’s find out.”
“NO!” But it was too late. Dean crested the hill and the cold that had been creeping over Sam since they’d parked by the river twenty minutes ago crashed over them both like a tidal wave. Sam staggered as power ripped through him and Dean gasped, his breath blowing out in a white stream from his mouth. He was looking upwards and Sam followed his gaze. His eyes widened in shock when he realized that it was snowing on the other side of the hill. Looking down, he saw the ground covered in a thick white snow.
Looking back to where Dean had been standing, Sam had a moment of panic when he doesn’t see the familiar silhouette. Turning wildly, he spotted Dean slipping down the hill as carefully as he could. The river’s roar was growing gradually louder as the snow fed it. Pausing long enough to look back over his shoulder, Sam wasn’t sure if he was relieved or more worried when he saw that the rest of the river bank was still lodged firmly in summer. The blizzard, for it was quickly becoming clear that this was what the storm was, lay in front of him. And so did Dean.
Taking a deep breath, Sam plunged into the howling wind, the snow stinging his face as he tried to follow his idiot brother. “Dean!”
The older brother didn’t answer as he plunged forward, down the hill, down to where even he could feel the heart of the energy pulsing. He was armed with all the usual tools of his trade – salt, holy water, a shot gun, a pistol, some snatches of Latin prayers, and desperation.
He could hear Sam’s increasingly desperate calls behind him, but he didn’t stop. Forcing his way through the wind and snow, he pressed forward. He could see the bluffs and he knew, instinctively, that he would find what he was looking for there. The wind suddenly shifted directions, pushing him forward and he stumbled.
Hearing a faint shout from the direction he had come, Dean half crouched and turned towards the place where he’d left Sam. “Sammy????”
“Dean!”
Dean couldn’t see Sam through the snow and Sam’s answering shout sounded further away. “Sammy!!!” Hearing nothing in return this time, Dean stood and tried to walk back where he’d last left his brother. “SAM!”
The wind howled, literally shoving Dean back towards the bluffs again. “No, dammit! Sam! Sam!!!!”
The wind was absolutely blinding and Dean jerked his face away from the direct wind, reluctantly. The clearing wasn’t that big… if he couldn’t hear or see Sam it was because something, not the wind and snow, was keeping them apart. Cursing himself for being a thousand types of fool, Dean relented and turned back to the bluff. He was freezing. Jeans and a tee were appropriate for a Nebraska summer, but they left a lot to be desired during a Nebraska blizzard. His arms were going numb and he knew that he had to take shelter and fast. Sam would have to fend for himself…
***********************
“Dean!!! Dean!!!” Sam screamed at his brother, but Dean was gone from view and the wind was pushing Sam away from where Dean had vanished from sight.
Despite his rising panic, Sam forced himself to take a deep breath and think. He was shaking from the cold and he knew that Dean would be equally affected. Thinking rapidly, he noticed that the wind was shoving them apart. Like Dean, he knew that he was going to have to seek warmth. Unlike Dean, he had no where to go. Quelling the nausea in his stomach at the thought of leaving Dean behind, he turned and ran back towards the hill and the warmth of the summer that lay over the ridge. Scrambling on his hands and knees at one point, Sam finally felt the shock of heat as he escaped the supernatural storm.
Kneeling in the balmy summer night, he shook from the cold remaining in his limbs for several long moments before he turned and stared back into the blizzard that was still raging.
A thrill of fear shot down his spine, pooling in his stomach. He could not see anything except for a wall of white as the snow blew and howled in fury at him. "Why Dean?" he screamed at the tempest. "You can't have him."
To his shock, the storm stilled in an instant, the howling fury replaced by a calm quiet that chilled his blood more than the snow had managed. Suddenly, just to his right, a figure appeared. It was semi-transparent and for a wild moment, Sam couldn't figure out why the man was wearing a costume.
"You do not belong here," the man's voice was thick with an accent that Sam couldn't place.
"You can't have my brother." Sam stared down the apparition, unblinking. "He doesn't belong with you."
"This place is for those who no longer count among the living, but who are not yet in the world of the dead."
"Dean is alive!" Sam screamed back, stepping towards the ghost in a move that was part desperation, part bravado.
"He is marked as the dead," the man replied, calmly. "His fate is sealed."
"No it's not." Sam shook his head firmly, his eyes narrowed. "He has time yet."
"He does not want it," the ghost, for that's what it was, smiled at him and Sam cried out.
"He doesn't want to die!"
"Are you sure?" The ghost asked, softly, the howling of the wind echoing in his whisper.
***************************************
Dean staggered into the lee of the bluffs, his eyes drawn automatically to a flicker of light. "Who's there?" he croaked, his voice shaking with the cold. The light continued to flicker, casting a glow out onto the snow, and without any choice, Dean turned towards it. It couldn't be worse or more dangerous than the storm.
Moving with single minded determination towards the light, he stopped when he saw another light flickering further to his right. Confused, he turned towards it and saw another light, and then another. Flickering lights sprang up around the base of the bluff even as he watched.
Shaking his head, he wondered briefly if he was hallucinating. Deciding that even if he was, it was still better to keep moving, he turned back towards the original light. As he got closer, the snow having totally soaked through his clothes now, he realized that he was looking at firelight spilling out from a low entrance into a cave. Gasping, he staggered through the opening, barely registering the shrieks of surprise before he fell to the ground. His limbs felt heavy and strangely warm, even though he knew that he had been freezing cold only moments before. He didn't have time to think about it before darkness swam up and blocked his vision.
When he woke up, the first thing he was aware of was a burning in his limbs. Groaning, he saw a movement and a woman leaned over him. "Shhh! Be still. You gave us all a start."
"Where am I?"
"I'm Sarah Parks," the woman told him, her voice authoritative, but warm and comforting. "This is my house."
Dean blinked and looked around. "This is a cave?"
"Aye. We live here."
"Where is here?"
"Cutler's Park, boy." A man spoke and Dean turned in alarm to look at him. He hadn't even noticed that another person was present and that oversight alarmed him.
"Who are you?" A boy looked around the man's waist, giving Dean another start.
"Dean."
"Well, Dean..." the man's voice was skeptical. "You aren't from around here."
"No," Dean was starting to wince as sharp pains raced up and down his limbs. "The storm..."
"I told you, Samuel. He's a traveler and he got lost."
"He don't look like any traveler I've ever seen."
Dean shook his head, increasingly confused and wondering if it was possible to get frostbite on the brain. "Thank you for helping me."
"Of course we're helping you." Sarah looked pleased all the same that he'd found his manners. "It's what any good Christian would do."
"Ummm, thanks." Dean looked at the people that were staring at him in open curiosity and his memory crashed back into place. "The Mormon Trail."
The three people blinked at him, Samuel frowning again. "What of it?"
"This is it?"
"Aye." Sarah brightened. "Are you a pilgrim, then?"
"Not exactly."
"What exactly are you, then?" Samuel was staring at him suspiciously.
Dean thought about that for a moment, then answered honestly. "Lost."
"Maybe we can help, then."
"How?" Dean asked, bluntly. "You're not going anywhere, either."
"The storm will pass. It always does." Sarah answered with a confidence.
"What about you?" Dean asked, his voice thick with skepticism.
"We'll pass, too, eventually."
************************************************
"No," Sam shook his head. "He doesn't want to die."
The ghost smiled again, and Sam shivered even though he was standing in the hot sun. "You cannot speak for him."
"Yes, I can!" Sam retorted, heatedly. "He spoke for me. He made the decision for me. I can decide for him."
"It does not work that way."
"It does with Dean. It does this time."
The ghost turned, and Sam gasped as he saw something in the man's eyes. A flicker of firelight. "Who are you?"
"I am not but a Sheppard. I lead the members of this flock."
"Lead them where?" he asked slowly. "They've been here for over 150 years."
The ghost smiled at him. "They are safe where they are."
"They are stuck!" Sam stared at the apparition in dawning horror. "Just like you want! What are you?"
"A Sheppard." The man smiled at him, but it utterly lacked all warmth. "I keep them safe."
"You keep them prisoner!"
"They stay here of their own accord!"
"What choice do they have?" Sam demanded. "You keep them here! You've trapped them!"
"They are dead, the snow will not hurt them."
Sam shook his head, his eyes horrified.
************************************************
"How long have you been here?" Dean asked, carefully.
"Since fall. We took shelter here when the weather began to turn."
"We'll get to Utah in the summer!" The boy proclaimed, excitement shining in his eyes.
"What's in Utah?"
"The promised land!" The three faces were staring at Dean with a firm conviction.
"How do you know that's what you'll find?"
"If it's not what we find, it's what we'll make of it." Sarah promised, going to the boy and running her hand through his hair.
"How do you know?"
"It's called faith." Samuel stopped Dean's further questions with that one simple statement.
"We have each other. That's enough." Sarah smiled at her husband and son, and then smiled at Dean.
The smile on her face shot straight through Dean. She looked nothing like his mother had, but the smile, the warmth and love in it, made the comparison irresistible. "I have a brother," Dean said suddenly.
"What's his name?" the boy asked.
"Sam." Dean smiled as the boy turned delighted eyes towards his father.
"Where is he?"
"Looking for me." Dean answered without hesitation. Shivering again, as the cold prickled over his skin once more, he turned to the fire and gasped. At first glance, it appeared normal, but a closer look showed that the fire's center was solid. It glistened like ice, not fire, and Dean shoved to his feet.
"What is that?"
"A miracle." Samuel answered. "We got caught in a snowstorm much like this one. The fires drew us in, showed us a safe place."
"God saved us," Sarah confirmed. "All of us."
"How many of you are there?"
"There are almost two hundred of us living in the caves along the river. The camp stretches for miles to the north."
"And the miracle fire... was just here...?"
"With the Sheppard."
"The Sheppard?"
"He saved us. He helps all Pilgrims find safety..."
****************************************
"He is safe here," the Sheppard told Sam. "He'll never die."
"He won't live, either."
"True, but he will be safe."
"No, he'll be stuck." Sam shook his head, his hand going into his pocket. He pulled out the spare keys to the Impala. "I won't leave him."
"You can't save him."
The demon's words slammed him in the gut and the vision suddenly made sense. His visions led him to help people... living people... "Dean." His voice was tight. "I'm coming."
Running back to the car, he opened the trunk with a bang and began pulling out things in a rush. In no time, he found what he was looking for - an Evian bottle filled with holy water.
With slightly shaking fingers, he took several bullets from an ammunition pouch, bullets that he and Dean had learned to make before they really even understood what they were doing. He dropped them into the water bottle. Turning, he ran back towards the hill, desperate to get there before Dean became truly stuck in limbo. The Sheppard was gone, but Sam didn't think he'd stay away. The demon was obviously attracted to the living. He'd be back, Sam had no doubts of that. He just hoped that he'd be gone long enough. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back into the storm.
***********************************
Horrified, Dean stared at the fire as the pieces clicked into place. These pilgrims were trapped between worlds. They didn't belong with the living and they didn't know they were dead. This Sheppard, whatever he was, obviously wasn't looking out for the best interests of his flock. The Parks, whoever they had been, were apparently unaware that they were not just trapped into a single winter, but had spent the last 150 plus years waiting for summer.
Dean felt a swelling of pity, that was quickly replaced by fury. He stepped back away from the fire. "I had a bag."
"It's there." Samuel pointed at it, sitting on what passed for a table near the side of the sod cave.
"Thank you." Dean, still moving slowly, moved with purpose towards the bag and began pulling things from it. A strong gust of wind made him pause, but he didn't turn around. "They don't even know, do they?"
"No. Why should I tell them? It would only hurt them." The Sheppard's voice whispered through the cave on a second gust of wind.
"Son, go and make sure the skins are stretched as tightly as possible over the entrance." Samuel told the boy, who nodded and went to do as he was told. The Parks were unaware that they had been joined by their false savior.
"You don't care if they are hurt or not. If you cared," Dean replied, his fingers finally settling on what he wanted, "you'd let them go."
"Go where? Into death? Into the unknown? What if they never find their promised land, Dean? What if they spend eternity in oblivion? We don't know what lies on the other side of death."
"Peace."
"Hell." The demon's voice mocked Dean and he couldn't keep the images of his father, who had climbed out of hell to save him and Sam, from his mind. "They could go to hell, Dean. You've been marked. You will go to hell if you don't stay here."
Dean looked up. The Parks were still sitting near the front of the cave by the fire. Their eyes were carefully blank, studiously devoid of all emotion. "What are you doing to them?"
"They care not that they are in limbo. They care not that they will remain here for all time."
"Because you make them not care. Because you've tricked them."
The voice began to almost take on a solid shape and Dean backed away from the apparition warily as it drew together in front of him. "They wanted it! They were dying in the snow storm! They were afraid."
"So what? They didn't ask to be kept prisoner here! Prisoner to you! It's no better than being prisoner to their own fears!" Dean's hands were shaking and he backed away again as the demon stepped towards him. Its face was no longer recognizably human. The ice fire glittered in its eyes and its breath emerged in frozen puffs of white fog. The temperature in the cave began to drop dangerously.
"If you do not accept my offer of sanctuary, you too will go to hell, Dean. You will spend eternity repenting the fact that you could not save your brother or father. You traded your soul and asked a demon to save Sam." He smiled, his eyes cruel. "Are we so very different, you and I?"
Dean stopped, unable to retreat further, his back to the fire. Tears swam in his eyes, but he held his ground. "Yes, we are. I traded my soul. You trade theirs." He didn't look at the Parks, but he felt them shudder as the demon gave vent to some of its rage. "You do not keep them here to save them from the chance of hell. You keep them here to save yourself from its certainty."
For a moment the demon and Dean stared at each other across the cave. "Then you will die, Dean, son of John, brother of Samuel, and you will burn in hell."
"I will live with the consequences of my actions." Dean spat at the demon. "That's how my father raised me. And not you, or anything else, gets to take that away from me." He moved suddenly, the flask that he'd been palming in his hand since the demon arrived glinting in the faux firelight. The cap was off; it only took Dean seconds to turn and dump the contents of the flask directly on the fire.
Demonic fire it may have been, but it could not stand up to holy water, and as the contents gushed down on it, it steamed and hissed. The Parks were suddenly moving, suddenly able to see the Sheppard, suddenly screaming. The demon was shrieking in fury as the carefully crafted fire began to die. It fell back for a second and then lunged forward. Dean threw himself to the side, in front of the Parks, and two shots rang out. The retort of the gun was deafening in the cave, but it was quickly drowned out by the screams of the demon.
Dean turned, saw Sammy standing in the mouth of the cave, looking more frozen than not. He had a pistol held in both of his hands, his feet spread into an easy stance. Taking his time, apparently unaffected by the hellish noises the demon was emitting, and shot again.
The Sheppard staggered back, hands and eyes going to his chest, where the bullets had pierced him. Even as they watched, he began to shatter, his chest cracking like ice, the cracks spreading towards the edges. "NOOOOO!" It screamed now, shock clear in its voice. Ignoring Sam, the demon staggered towards Dean. "You chose hell, Dean Winchester! You will spend eternity burning!"
Sam pulled the trigger again before the demon could reach Dean and it exploded into jagged shards of ice which vanished seconds later. "You first…" Dean whispered into the silence.
Behind him, the Parks turned as one to the cave door. Dawn was peeking over the bluffs, the sun melting the supernatural snow on contact, and the warmth of the Nebraska summer filled the clearing and the cave. Excited, the boy turned and smiled at his parents. "Spring is here."
"Aye." Samuel turned towards Dean, the memory of the demon seemingly absent. "T'is time to move on."
"Together," Sarah added, going to stand next to her husband and son. When the sunlight flooded into the cave, the family of pilgrims vanished, leaving Dean and Sam behind. Sam was still standing near the entrance. Dean had been thrown back against the now empty cave wall and he sat slumped against the stone.
Sam came over to him slowly. "Dean, are you okay?"
Dean shrugged slowly, feeling aches and pains in his limbs. "I'll be fine, Sammy. Let's get out of here."
Sam reached out and Dean grasped his hand gratefully and let himself be pulled to his feet. "Where are we going?" Sam asked, his eyes full of emotions that he couldn't voice yet.
"I don't know." Dean answered, remembering the Parks' quest to find the promised land. "But wherever it is," he added, "we'll go together."
~fin~
Author:
wizeficsFandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam
Rating: PG
State: Nebraska
Warnings: Spoilers through Season 2. Some mild language. Unbetad.
A/N: Written for
spn_50states challenge. I choose to write about Nebraska and the This is my first attempt at a Supernatural fic. Writing a ghost story is a lot harder than I thought it would be! As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.
The air was hot and muggy, even after Sam rolled his window down. As far as he could see, corn fields stretched into the distance. Heat waves radiated upwards from the pavement, giving the road a slightly unreal feel, and Sam sighed.
“Dude, you should have sprung of a CD player in this thing.” He said it in equal parts because he was bored and because he knew it would irritate Dean. Sure enough, Dean threw him a look of disgust he usually reserved for the really slimy demons.
”Shut up before I have to exorcise you. That was a demonic thing to say.”
“I’m bored,” Sam retorted flatly. “How long can it take to drive across this state?”
“Longer than we’ve been going,” Dean answered shortly. “You’re the one with the visions, little brother. If you’re bored, have a vision.”
“It’s not that easy…” Sam leaned his head back and stared out of the window again.
“Dean gave him a considering look. “I could always sing…”
“Spare me, please!” Sam sat up hastily and began fiddling with the radio tuner, desperate to find something, anything, that would be clear enough to stop Dean from singing. “As Dean began humming the opening strains of Metallica's The Unforgiven Sam groaned. “Stop. I’d rather have a vision!”
“You’re the one who said it wasn’t that easy,” Dean grinned at him and cleared his voice again. Before he’d even gotten out a single note, Sam jerked back, his head slamming against the seat and glancing off the window. Almost as if summoned, the blinding light that preceded a vision exploded behind his eyes and pain painted the inside of his skull. He threw out one hand and grabbed Dean’s arm, his fingers tightening spasmodically, leaving behind bruises that Dean would never mention. “Ahhhhhh!”
Eyes rolling back in head, Sam saw fire… multiple fires… glowing in random order across a space… something white rolled over the area, obscuring his view. A second later, he heard a voice, booming through his head, and the lights blinked out. In the silence that followed, Sam heard water running.
Then the vision cleared and Sam was aware of Dean’s voice. “Sammy!” From Dean’s tone, it was clear that he’d been calling Sam’s name several times. Dean had pulled the car over on the side of the road and was half turned in his seat, holding Sam’s arms.
Sam groaned, feeling the agony in his head recede, but with a second groan, he jerked free from dean’s grasp and wrenched the door open. Leaning out as far as he could with the seat belt holding him in place, he took a deep breath and threw up the contents of his stomach. He wretched until he was finally empty, although he was slightly concerned when he thought he saw a shoe come out of his stomach. Shaking a bit, he sat back and gratefully accepted the bottled water that Dean held out for him.
Swallowing gratefully, Sam let his head fall against the seat again. The silence in the car was broken only by the sound of a passing car and Sam was aware that Dean was staring at him. Turning slightly, he opened one eye. “What?”
Dean shook his head, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You should have let me sing…”
Startled, Sam shook his head. “It would have hurt worse.”
“Bitch.”
“Jerk…” Sam replied tiredly, his eyes closing against the sun’s glare, but unwilling to bypass the ritual.
“You were lucky, really.” Dean restarted the car and eased back onto the road. “If you’d thrown up in my car, I’d have had to beat you. It would have made the headache feel like a brain freeze.”
”Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
It was a sign of how worried Dean was that he obeyed. Speeding as fast as he dared, he only relaxed when he saw a sign promising a town in twenty miles. He’d find a hotel and some food. Then, once Sammy was rested, they’d figure out what to do about the vision.
*****************
“You’re sure about this?” Dean asked, tossing the newspaper at Sam across the diner table. He picked up a piece of toast and ate it dry, while watching as Sam picked at his own meal.
Sam spread the paper out on the table next to him, ignoring the runny eggs on his plate in favor of the picture. “Yeah. I think that’s the place.”
“There’s nothing there, Sammy.” Dean pointed out. “It’s a weather report.”
“You don’t think a random snow storm in the middle of summer is suspicious?”
“I’ve never seen a demon mess with the weather,” Dean replied skeptically. “It doesn’t seem… evil.”
“Snow in summer is as unnatural as it gets!” Sam retorted loudly, earning several glances from the other patrons in the diner.
“Be quiet, idiot!” Dean hissed back. Sam subsided and Dean leaned back to watch him for a minute. “This is important to you?”
“Yeah,” Sam met his eyes. “Before,” and the word carried so much impact that Dean didn’t have to ask before what, “my visions were always connected to the yellow eyed demon. But this one feels different. This one feels…” he trailed off and shrugged helplessly.
Dean watched him for a minute longer then nodded and picked up his second piece of toast. “Then we’ll check it out.”
“Thanks Dean.” The relief in Sam’s voice tugged at Dean’s gut and Dean ate the rest of his breakfast in silence.
**********************
“This is it?” Dean stared around in disgust. “There’s nothing here.”
Sam opened the door and climbed out of the car, leaning against the open door and looking around. His expression was troubled; his eyes were vaguely out of focus. “I don’t know…” his voice was subdued. “It feels strange here.”
Dean climbed out of the car as well and walked around to stand next to Sam. Looking around, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. “I just see a river bank.”
Sam shook his head and started walking towards the edge of the river. “There’s something else here, though.” He shivered. “It’s cold.”
Dean blinked at him. “Dude, it’s like 90-some degrees out here. Are you sick?”
“No,” Sam shrugged off his concern irritably. “It really is cold.” Turning, he saw Dean sweating and staring at him, his gaze unreadable behind the sunglasses. “You really can’t feel it?”
“No.” Dean’s voice was flat. For a moment, the two brothers stared at each other and then Dean sighed and went to the trunk. Opening it, he rummaged around inside for a few minutes before emerging with something that looked like a walkman. He plugged a cord into one end of it and held out a small metal wand on the other side. Ignoring the look of thanks on Sam’s face, he followed his brother to the edge of the bank. Moving the eco-thermometer around slowly as he walked, Dean shook his head. “This thing isn’t picking anything up either, Sam.” He looked up. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Dean.” The brush grew thicker the further north they traveled and Sam moved away from the river, back to where the ground was more passable. He was shivering; even as the hot Midwestern sun baked the ground enough that it was giving off heat waves, he shivered. Something was most definitely not right.
“Okay, then, Haley Joel…” Dean’s voice was filled with the tight amusement that Sam always heard when things were getting weird and Dean didn’t want to admit that Sam was freaking him out a bit. “What am I supposed to be looking for?”
“I don’t know.” Sam ignored Dean’s sarcasm and shoved through some brush that was blocking his way forward. He stopped so suddenly that Dean nearly ran into him.
“Warn someone before you…” The older brother stopped short as the instrument in his hand went haywire. The summer sun was as bright as it had been moments ago, and Dean could still see the hard baked ground, but the sweat on his forehead froze as the temperature seemed to plummet. “Sam…”
The younger brother swayed slightly on his feet as he stared down from the hill upon which they stood. Below them, the river bent and curved sharply away, leaving a clearing that was surrounded on two sides by high bluffs and on the third by the river’s edge. His breath misted in front of him as he stared down at the river bend. “Dean…”
Swaying again, Sam swallowed hard. “Do you feel it now?”
“Yeah.” Dean moved beside him, putting one hand out to steady him on his feet. “Yeah, I do.” He shivered again, the tremor running down his arm and into Sam shoulder. “This is worse than Hollywood …”
Sam’s tremors grew strong enough that Dean was pulled from his thoughts. Shaking his head, Dean pulled Sam backward. “We’re going to need more supplies. I don’t know what’s down there… but it’s strong.”
Dazed, Sam let Dean pull him back towards the car. The further they got from the river bend, the warmer he felt, until finally his shivers ceased. When they reached the car, he was sweating again, but he felt better than he had since they arrived.
“We need supplies and information.”
Dean shook his head and made a face at Sam as he got in the car. “I need a drink, dude. It’s been a long day.”
“Dean, be serious.”
“Okay, fine. I seriously need a beer…”
“You just ate breakfast.”
“Your point being… what?”
They fought for the rest of the drive back to Omaha, passing the sign that told them that they had been parked along side the Missouri River and that if they continued another four miles, they’d be in Cutler’s Park. They didn’t mention the signs, but they both noted them, knowing that once they’d reached somewhere safe, they’d be researching everything that they could get their hands on.
************************
“Winter’s Quarters.” Dean spoke before Sam had a chance to, risking the displeasure of the librarian in the Florence division of the Omaha City Library. She glared at him sternly and he returned her look with a smile that nearly made her blush. Grinning, he turned back to Sam who was shaking his head in disgust.
”You’d flirt with a nun, Dean, to get your way.”
“Yeah, so?” Dean pointed at the microfiche screen. “Pay attention, prude.”
Rolling his eyes, Sam read over Dean’s shoulder, a bit disgruntled that Dean had managed to find what they were looking for first. “It’s a historic park.”
“Yep.” Dean nodded, leaning back and looking very much like the cat that swallowed the canary. “Made historic because a bunch of people died there.”
“It was part of the Mormon Trail,” Sam was reading faster now, culling the pertinent information from the bits of political fluff and back slapping that came hand in hand with politicians deciding that they cared about a community’s roots.
“Winter Quarters, Nebraska, was an encampment formed by approximately 3,500 members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as they awaited better conditions for their trek westward during the winter of 1846-1847. Over 800 shelters were built at the settlement, which was referred to as Cutler's Park by residents.”
“Keep reading, Sherlock. It’s the goldmine.” Dean prodded him smugly.
“…records indicate that, from mid-September 1846 to May 1848, disease caused the deaths of 359 residents.” Sam looked slightly sickened. “Do you think that’s what I was feeling?”
“We both know that death leaves behind a lot of energy, especially when the person dying ain’t exactly happy.” Dean shrugged. “I’d say that 359 deaths are plenty to leave behind lots of unhappy energy.”
”They were pilgrims,” Sam shook his head, his voice saddened. “They never made it where they were going.”
“Lots of us don’t make it where we want, Sammy. They’re dead. They should accept it.” Dean sat forward abruptly, the legs of his chair hitting the ground with a bang that earned another glare from the librarian. Ignoring her, he stood up. “But if they want help moving onto the next world, we’ll give it to them.”
He strode off before Sam had a chance to respond. Watching his brother leave through the front door, Sam couldn’t shake the certainty that he was overlooking something. His visions before… they had all been related to someone he was supposed to help. Ghosts weren’t living… he couldn’t help them, except as Dean had somewhat callously pointed out, to move to the next world.
More worryingly, he couldn’t help Dean either. The calendar in both of their minds was inevitably counting down as they crisscrossed the map, looking desperately for a way to break the hold that the crossroads demon had over Dean.
Smiling an apology at the still irate librarian, Sam gathered his notes and hurried after Dean.
******************
“Dean, wait!” Sam stumbled over the ground as he hurried to catch up with Dean. The elder Winchester was nearly to the top of the hill where they had stopped earlier before Sam caught up with him. Reaching out, Sam caught him by the shoulder. “Wait, dammit!”
”Why?” Dean shrugged Sam’s hand off. “Time’s wasting, Sammy. Let’s put these poor sons-of-bitches out of their misery and let them get on with the business of being dead.”
“Dean…” Sam recoiled from the bitterness in his brother’s voice. Forcing himself to focus, he tried again. “We can’t just rush in without a plan. This place had enough supernatural energy to affect us in broad daylight. It’s nearly dark now. What do you think will happen?”
Dean gave Sam that grin that meant he was about to do something really reckless, knew it, didn’t care what the consequences would be, and figured he’d come out on the other side on sheer luck and nerve. “Let’s find out.”
“NO!” But it was too late. Dean crested the hill and the cold that had been creeping over Sam since they’d parked by the river twenty minutes ago crashed over them both like a tidal wave. Sam staggered as power ripped through him and Dean gasped, his breath blowing out in a white stream from his mouth. He was looking upwards and Sam followed his gaze. His eyes widened in shock when he realized that it was snowing on the other side of the hill. Looking down, he saw the ground covered in a thick white snow.
Looking back to where Dean had been standing, Sam had a moment of panic when he doesn’t see the familiar silhouette. Turning wildly, he spotted Dean slipping down the hill as carefully as he could. The river’s roar was growing gradually louder as the snow fed it. Pausing long enough to look back over his shoulder, Sam wasn’t sure if he was relieved or more worried when he saw that the rest of the river bank was still lodged firmly in summer. The blizzard, for it was quickly becoming clear that this was what the storm was, lay in front of him. And so did Dean.
Taking a deep breath, Sam plunged into the howling wind, the snow stinging his face as he tried to follow his idiot brother. “Dean!”
The older brother didn’t answer as he plunged forward, down the hill, down to where even he could feel the heart of the energy pulsing. He was armed with all the usual tools of his trade – salt, holy water, a shot gun, a pistol, some snatches of Latin prayers, and desperation.
He could hear Sam’s increasingly desperate calls behind him, but he didn’t stop. Forcing his way through the wind and snow, he pressed forward. He could see the bluffs and he knew, instinctively, that he would find what he was looking for there. The wind suddenly shifted directions, pushing him forward and he stumbled.
Hearing a faint shout from the direction he had come, Dean half crouched and turned towards the place where he’d left Sam. “Sammy????”
“Dean!”
Dean couldn’t see Sam through the snow and Sam’s answering shout sounded further away. “Sammy!!!” Hearing nothing in return this time, Dean stood and tried to walk back where he’d last left his brother. “SAM!”
The wind howled, literally shoving Dean back towards the bluffs again. “No, dammit! Sam! Sam!!!!”
The wind was absolutely blinding and Dean jerked his face away from the direct wind, reluctantly. The clearing wasn’t that big… if he couldn’t hear or see Sam it was because something, not the wind and snow, was keeping them apart. Cursing himself for being a thousand types of fool, Dean relented and turned back to the bluff. He was freezing. Jeans and a tee were appropriate for a Nebraska summer, but they left a lot to be desired during a Nebraska blizzard. His arms were going numb and he knew that he had to take shelter and fast. Sam would have to fend for himself…
***********************
“Dean!!! Dean!!!” Sam screamed at his brother, but Dean was gone from view and the wind was pushing Sam away from where Dean had vanished from sight.
Despite his rising panic, Sam forced himself to take a deep breath and think. He was shaking from the cold and he knew that Dean would be equally affected. Thinking rapidly, he noticed that the wind was shoving them apart. Like Dean, he knew that he was going to have to seek warmth. Unlike Dean, he had no where to go. Quelling the nausea in his stomach at the thought of leaving Dean behind, he turned and ran back towards the hill and the warmth of the summer that lay over the ridge. Scrambling on his hands and knees at one point, Sam finally felt the shock of heat as he escaped the supernatural storm.
Kneeling in the balmy summer night, he shook from the cold remaining in his limbs for several long moments before he turned and stared back into the blizzard that was still raging.
A thrill of fear shot down his spine, pooling in his stomach. He could not see anything except for a wall of white as the snow blew and howled in fury at him. "Why Dean?" he screamed at the tempest. "You can't have him."
To his shock, the storm stilled in an instant, the howling fury replaced by a calm quiet that chilled his blood more than the snow had managed. Suddenly, just to his right, a figure appeared. It was semi-transparent and for a wild moment, Sam couldn't figure out why the man was wearing a costume.
"You do not belong here," the man's voice was thick with an accent that Sam couldn't place.
"You can't have my brother." Sam stared down the apparition, unblinking. "He doesn't belong with you."
"This place is for those who no longer count among the living, but who are not yet in the world of the dead."
"Dean is alive!" Sam screamed back, stepping towards the ghost in a move that was part desperation, part bravado.
"He is marked as the dead," the man replied, calmly. "His fate is sealed."
"No it's not." Sam shook his head firmly, his eyes narrowed. "He has time yet."
"He does not want it," the ghost, for that's what it was, smiled at him and Sam cried out.
"He doesn't want to die!"
"Are you sure?" The ghost asked, softly, the howling of the wind echoing in his whisper.
***************************************
Dean staggered into the lee of the bluffs, his eyes drawn automatically to a flicker of light. "Who's there?" he croaked, his voice shaking with the cold. The light continued to flicker, casting a glow out onto the snow, and without any choice, Dean turned towards it. It couldn't be worse or more dangerous than the storm.
Moving with single minded determination towards the light, he stopped when he saw another light flickering further to his right. Confused, he turned towards it and saw another light, and then another. Flickering lights sprang up around the base of the bluff even as he watched.
Shaking his head, he wondered briefly if he was hallucinating. Deciding that even if he was, it was still better to keep moving, he turned back towards the original light. As he got closer, the snow having totally soaked through his clothes now, he realized that he was looking at firelight spilling out from a low entrance into a cave. Gasping, he staggered through the opening, barely registering the shrieks of surprise before he fell to the ground. His limbs felt heavy and strangely warm, even though he knew that he had been freezing cold only moments before. He didn't have time to think about it before darkness swam up and blocked his vision.
When he woke up, the first thing he was aware of was a burning in his limbs. Groaning, he saw a movement and a woman leaned over him. "Shhh! Be still. You gave us all a start."
"Where am I?"
"I'm Sarah Parks," the woman told him, her voice authoritative, but warm and comforting. "This is my house."
Dean blinked and looked around. "This is a cave?"
"Aye. We live here."
"Where is here?"
"Cutler's Park, boy." A man spoke and Dean turned in alarm to look at him. He hadn't even noticed that another person was present and that oversight alarmed him.
"Who are you?" A boy looked around the man's waist, giving Dean another start.
"Dean."
"Well, Dean..." the man's voice was skeptical. "You aren't from around here."
"No," Dean was starting to wince as sharp pains raced up and down his limbs. "The storm..."
"I told you, Samuel. He's a traveler and he got lost."
"He don't look like any traveler I've ever seen."
Dean shook his head, increasingly confused and wondering if it was possible to get frostbite on the brain. "Thank you for helping me."
"Of course we're helping you." Sarah looked pleased all the same that he'd found his manners. "It's what any good Christian would do."
"Ummm, thanks." Dean looked at the people that were staring at him in open curiosity and his memory crashed back into place. "The Mormon Trail."
The three people blinked at him, Samuel frowning again. "What of it?"
"This is it?"
"Aye." Sarah brightened. "Are you a pilgrim, then?"
"Not exactly."
"What exactly are you, then?" Samuel was staring at him suspiciously.
Dean thought about that for a moment, then answered honestly. "Lost."
"Maybe we can help, then."
"How?" Dean asked, bluntly. "You're not going anywhere, either."
"The storm will pass. It always does." Sarah answered with a confidence.
"What about you?" Dean asked, his voice thick with skepticism.
"We'll pass, too, eventually."
************************************************
"No," Sam shook his head. "He doesn't want to die."
The ghost smiled again, and Sam shivered even though he was standing in the hot sun. "You cannot speak for him."
"Yes, I can!" Sam retorted, heatedly. "He spoke for me. He made the decision for me. I can decide for him."
"It does not work that way."
"It does with Dean. It does this time."
The ghost turned, and Sam gasped as he saw something in the man's eyes. A flicker of firelight. "Who are you?"
"I am not but a Sheppard. I lead the members of this flock."
"Lead them where?" he asked slowly. "They've been here for over 150 years."
The ghost smiled at him. "They are safe where they are."
"They are stuck!" Sam stared at the apparition in dawning horror. "Just like you want! What are you?"
"A Sheppard." The man smiled at him, but it utterly lacked all warmth. "I keep them safe."
"You keep them prisoner!"
"They stay here of their own accord!"
"What choice do they have?" Sam demanded. "You keep them here! You've trapped them!"
"They are dead, the snow will not hurt them."
Sam shook his head, his eyes horrified.
************************************************
"How long have you been here?" Dean asked, carefully.
"Since fall. We took shelter here when the weather began to turn."
"We'll get to Utah in the summer!" The boy proclaimed, excitement shining in his eyes.
"What's in Utah?"
"The promised land!" The three faces were staring at Dean with a firm conviction.
"How do you know that's what you'll find?"
"If it's not what we find, it's what we'll make of it." Sarah promised, going to the boy and running her hand through his hair.
"How do you know?"
"It's called faith." Samuel stopped Dean's further questions with that one simple statement.
"We have each other. That's enough." Sarah smiled at her husband and son, and then smiled at Dean.
The smile on her face shot straight through Dean. She looked nothing like his mother had, but the smile, the warmth and love in it, made the comparison irresistible. "I have a brother," Dean said suddenly.
"What's his name?" the boy asked.
"Sam." Dean smiled as the boy turned delighted eyes towards his father.
"Where is he?"
"Looking for me." Dean answered without hesitation. Shivering again, as the cold prickled over his skin once more, he turned to the fire and gasped. At first glance, it appeared normal, but a closer look showed that the fire's center was solid. It glistened like ice, not fire, and Dean shoved to his feet.
"What is that?"
"A miracle." Samuel answered. "We got caught in a snowstorm much like this one. The fires drew us in, showed us a safe place."
"God saved us," Sarah confirmed. "All of us."
"How many of you are there?"
"There are almost two hundred of us living in the caves along the river. The camp stretches for miles to the north."
"And the miracle fire... was just here...?"
"With the Sheppard."
"The Sheppard?"
"He saved us. He helps all Pilgrims find safety..."
****************************************
"He is safe here," the Sheppard told Sam. "He'll never die."
"He won't live, either."
"True, but he will be safe."
"No, he'll be stuck." Sam shook his head, his hand going into his pocket. He pulled out the spare keys to the Impala. "I won't leave him."
"You can't save him."
The demon's words slammed him in the gut and the vision suddenly made sense. His visions led him to help people... living people... "Dean." His voice was tight. "I'm coming."
Running back to the car, he opened the trunk with a bang and began pulling out things in a rush. In no time, he found what he was looking for - an Evian bottle filled with holy water.
With slightly shaking fingers, he took several bullets from an ammunition pouch, bullets that he and Dean had learned to make before they really even understood what they were doing. He dropped them into the water bottle. Turning, he ran back towards the hill, desperate to get there before Dean became truly stuck in limbo. The Sheppard was gone, but Sam didn't think he'd stay away. The demon was obviously attracted to the living. He'd be back, Sam had no doubts of that. He just hoped that he'd be gone long enough. Taking a deep breath, he stepped back into the storm.
***********************************
Horrified, Dean stared at the fire as the pieces clicked into place. These pilgrims were trapped between worlds. They didn't belong with the living and they didn't know they were dead. This Sheppard, whatever he was, obviously wasn't looking out for the best interests of his flock. The Parks, whoever they had been, were apparently unaware that they were not just trapped into a single winter, but had spent the last 150 plus years waiting for summer.
Dean felt a swelling of pity, that was quickly replaced by fury. He stepped back away from the fire. "I had a bag."
"It's there." Samuel pointed at it, sitting on what passed for a table near the side of the sod cave.
"Thank you." Dean, still moving slowly, moved with purpose towards the bag and began pulling things from it. A strong gust of wind made him pause, but he didn't turn around. "They don't even know, do they?"
"No. Why should I tell them? It would only hurt them." The Sheppard's voice whispered through the cave on a second gust of wind.
"Son, go and make sure the skins are stretched as tightly as possible over the entrance." Samuel told the boy, who nodded and went to do as he was told. The Parks were unaware that they had been joined by their false savior.
"You don't care if they are hurt or not. If you cared," Dean replied, his fingers finally settling on what he wanted, "you'd let them go."
"Go where? Into death? Into the unknown? What if they never find their promised land, Dean? What if they spend eternity in oblivion? We don't know what lies on the other side of death."
"Peace."
"Hell." The demon's voice mocked Dean and he couldn't keep the images of his father, who had climbed out of hell to save him and Sam, from his mind. "They could go to hell, Dean. You've been marked. You will go to hell if you don't stay here."
Dean looked up. The Parks were still sitting near the front of the cave by the fire. Their eyes were carefully blank, studiously devoid of all emotion. "What are you doing to them?"
"They care not that they are in limbo. They care not that they will remain here for all time."
"Because you make them not care. Because you've tricked them."
The voice began to almost take on a solid shape and Dean backed away from the apparition warily as it drew together in front of him. "They wanted it! They were dying in the snow storm! They were afraid."
"So what? They didn't ask to be kept prisoner here! Prisoner to you! It's no better than being prisoner to their own fears!" Dean's hands were shaking and he backed away again as the demon stepped towards him. Its face was no longer recognizably human. The ice fire glittered in its eyes and its breath emerged in frozen puffs of white fog. The temperature in the cave began to drop dangerously.
"If you do not accept my offer of sanctuary, you too will go to hell, Dean. You will spend eternity repenting the fact that you could not save your brother or father. You traded your soul and asked a demon to save Sam." He smiled, his eyes cruel. "Are we so very different, you and I?"
Dean stopped, unable to retreat further, his back to the fire. Tears swam in his eyes, but he held his ground. "Yes, we are. I traded my soul. You trade theirs." He didn't look at the Parks, but he felt them shudder as the demon gave vent to some of its rage. "You do not keep them here to save them from the chance of hell. You keep them here to save yourself from its certainty."
For a moment the demon and Dean stared at each other across the cave. "Then you will die, Dean, son of John, brother of Samuel, and you will burn in hell."
"I will live with the consequences of my actions." Dean spat at the demon. "That's how my father raised me. And not you, or anything else, gets to take that away from me." He moved suddenly, the flask that he'd been palming in his hand since the demon arrived glinting in the faux firelight. The cap was off; it only took Dean seconds to turn and dump the contents of the flask directly on the fire.
Demonic fire it may have been, but it could not stand up to holy water, and as the contents gushed down on it, it steamed and hissed. The Parks were suddenly moving, suddenly able to see the Sheppard, suddenly screaming. The demon was shrieking in fury as the carefully crafted fire began to die. It fell back for a second and then lunged forward. Dean threw himself to the side, in front of the Parks, and two shots rang out. The retort of the gun was deafening in the cave, but it was quickly drowned out by the screams of the demon.
Dean turned, saw Sammy standing in the mouth of the cave, looking more frozen than not. He had a pistol held in both of his hands, his feet spread into an easy stance. Taking his time, apparently unaffected by the hellish noises the demon was emitting, and shot again.
The Sheppard staggered back, hands and eyes going to his chest, where the bullets had pierced him. Even as they watched, he began to shatter, his chest cracking like ice, the cracks spreading towards the edges. "NOOOOO!" It screamed now, shock clear in its voice. Ignoring Sam, the demon staggered towards Dean. "You chose hell, Dean Winchester! You will spend eternity burning!"
Sam pulled the trigger again before the demon could reach Dean and it exploded into jagged shards of ice which vanished seconds later. "You first…" Dean whispered into the silence.
Behind him, the Parks turned as one to the cave door. Dawn was peeking over the bluffs, the sun melting the supernatural snow on contact, and the warmth of the Nebraska summer filled the clearing and the cave. Excited, the boy turned and smiled at his parents. "Spring is here."
"Aye." Samuel turned towards Dean, the memory of the demon seemingly absent. "T'is time to move on."
"Together," Sarah added, going to stand next to her husband and son. When the sunlight flooded into the cave, the family of pilgrims vanished, leaving Dean and Sam behind. Sam was still standing near the entrance. Dean had been thrown back against the now empty cave wall and he sat slumped against the stone.
Sam came over to him slowly. "Dean, are you okay?"
Dean shrugged slowly, feeling aches and pains in his limbs. "I'll be fine, Sammy. Let's get out of here."
Sam reached out and Dean grasped his hand gratefully and let himself be pulled to his feet. "Where are we going?" Sam asked, his eyes full of emotions that he couldn't voice yet.
"I don't know." Dean answered, remembering the Parks' quest to find the promised land. "But wherever it is," he added, "we'll go together."
~fin~
