Title: Caidil gu math
Summary: A routine stop on the way to a different job may lead to deadly consequences for one of the boys when getting snowed in at a motel leads to something worse. What secrets lurk beneath the façade of a town with seemingly no supernatural history at all?
Disclaimer: I don't own the boys or any of the toys: those all belong to Kripke and the people at CW. However if I could bottle the buzz from a review, I'd be a millionaire (hint hint).
Authors Notes: Yes, this isn't a one-shot. Plot bunny struck me at work (as all plot bunnies tend to – luckily my boss doesn't know).
Timeline is set somewhere in season one before the boys have met up with their father again in Shadows.
This isn't a WIP, all chapters have already been written and at least partially edited. Chapters will be posted according to a complicated formula based on reviews for last chapter, potency of the cliffhanger and how evil I'm feeling.
Un-beta'd as before so apologies for any spelling/grammar/catastrophic plot errors. Anyway, without further ado…. Okay, maybe one more ado (ado!)…
"You think Red Bull is manufactured by a demonic cult?"
"Sure. If you wanted humans to willingly sacrifice themselves, what better way than marketing to students? Look at the positive side-effects, improved thinking, improved agility, growing wings. All physiological changes to make a superior human being. But then have too much, you get dizzy, too much nervous energy, leaving you prime target for possession. Add it all together, insta-hosts."
"And you want to test that theory by drinking all that?" Sam motioned towards the stacked crates of Red Bull.
"What else do we have to do in this backwater, boring as hell town? I mean, the EMF doesn't even twitch here." Dean tapped on the old walkman and then with a grin, turned it to point at his brother, "It twitches when I point it at you."
"Give me that." Sam used his superior reach to snatch the EMF out of his brother's hands and pointed it at himself. No twitch.
"Made ya look," Dean crowed in that sing-song voice Sam hated from childhood.
"Fuck you, Dean. Grow up." Sam leaned back on his bed and closed his eyes. It was only a few moments before he felt something plink off his forehead. For a brief, terrifying moment he had a flashback to Jessica's death but his mind rationally pointed out that whatever hit him was considerably harder than blood and the fact it had bounced off.
Sam opened his eyes just in time to see another shiny red projectile bounce off his forehead, "Dean." He growled, "Why are you hitting me with M&Ms?"
Dean paused with his arm still cocked, the small yellow sweet clenched in his fingers, "Thought you might be hungry?" He offered.
Sam growled low in his throat and then shifted himself up from the bed, pulling on his boots.
"Where ya going, Sammy?" Dean called over, "You have peeked out the window and seen the six foot of snow outside, right? 'cos I know, geek boys and sunlight don't mix."
"Out." Sam stated, hastily tying the laces on his second boot.
"Guessed that much." Dean said, popping the M&M into his mouth, "Why?"
"Because if I don't, I'll double this places' recent death count and it'll be a hell of a lot more violent than little old Mrs Finnegan dying surrounded by her family at the grand ol' age of ninety seven."
Dean snorted, "Seriously, could you imagine ever living in a town where the front page news is 'Women dies peacefully in her sleep'?"
Sam didn't look back as he opened the door out of the crappy motel room they were staying in, he didn't need to as he knew exactly what the expression on his brother's face would be as he said, "Yes Dean, I could."
By the time Sam returned to the motel room he had cooled down, both physically and mentally. He'd even bought a new packet of peanut M&Ms from the little store though he knew if his Dad found out then he would have been subject to Winchester lecture #412: Why supplying the enemy with ammunition is never sound tactics. The only problem was once he got into the room, there was no sign of Dean.
He didn't think it was particularly surprising that Dean might have decided to get some air too except that this town had been built on the architectural concept of a straight line with the motel, store, bar, diner and church all along the same road, just about equidistant from each other. If Dean had gone out, Sam should've passed him on the way back.
Sam's instincts told him to head straight out the door despite the chill. Before his hand touched the handle he could hear his brother's taunting voice in the back of his mind 'What's the matter, Sammy? Can't bear to be left alone for a bit.' Sam withdrew his hand and forced himself to walk back to his bed.
He'd take a shower and change into some dry clothes and then if Dean still wasn't back, he'd go look Sam rationalised to himself as he grabbed one of the few clean towels and headed into the tiny bathroom.
Half an hour later Sam could feel his fingers and toes again and his clothes no longer clung damply to him however Dean still wasn't back. Sam felt the first rising note of panic as he tugged on his still-damp boots and warmest coat. Caution, or perhaps just years of being a Winchester, made him grab the first-aid kit and stow it in his duffel before he left the room.
Outside was still blustering snow and the footprints that Sam had made half an hour before were already mostly concealed beneath a fresh layer of snow. Sam lifted a hand to shield his eyes as he scanned the area for any people but there was no-one and nothing around.
The town they'd found themselves in was too small to have any system for heavy snow beyond just staying inside their houses so the path was still deep in white. It took Sam a long time to reach the store. The shopkeeper, a doughy man in his mid-forties, glanced up as soon as the bell above the door chimed, "Back already?" He asked, "Did you forget something?"
Sam shook his head as he brushed snow off his jacket, "No, just wondering if you've seen my brother?" Sam didn't expect a positive answer. Dean was far more likely to be at the bar but seeing as everywhere was in a line anyway, he figured it was worth a try.
The shopkeeper shook his head, "That man you were in with yesterday? Bought all that Red Bull stuff? Nope. Been no-one in today. Most folk are shut up inside or at the bar. If I do see him, I'll let him know you are looking for him."
It took Sam another fifteen minutes to reach the bar. Inside was almost empty, just the sunken-eyed barman and two grizzled gentlemen propping up the bar. Sam's heart sunk a little lower in his chest as he found no sign of Dean once again.
"What can I get you?" The barman monotoned, liver spotted hands resting lightly on the two pumps.
"N-nothing to drink," Sam shivered, "I was just wondering if you'd seen my brother in here today?"
"Seen no-one." The barman stated in a disinterested tone then paused, "Cold today." That was the closest that Sam had heard the man come to jovial conversation.
One of the men at the bar looking around at the stunted conversation, "Your brother that one with you here last night?" At Sam's nod, he continued, "Tell him he owes me a game of pool. Ain't been hustled like that since my nephew last came to visit."
Sam muttered something affirmative, the words bypassing his brain to go straight to his mouth. The diner was closed when he reached it, having finished lunch and waiting for the dinner crowd. The church, mostly a desperation move by Sam, was empty and somehow even colder than outside. That left Sam out of options as he trudged wearily back towards the moment.
Less than a minute away from the motel, he noticed an odd indentation in the snow drift. His heart, which had sunk almost to knee-level, lurched up into his mouth and he raced through the deep snow, trips and falls marring his progress. It took far too long in his estimation to reach the spot. Frantic brushing revealed a figure face down in the snow and he could barely bite back the cry from his lips as he turned it over, "Dean!"
A/N: Yes, a nice evil cliffhanger. Do you like so far? Dislike? Please let me know!