A/N: Yeah, never caught up. Plan to finish the challenge anyway.

"This is the weirdest thing we have ever done," Sam panted, putting all his weight against the shed door as Dean scrambled to find something to barricade it with.

"And that's saying something," Dean gruffed, pushing a large, heavy tool chest across the dusty floor to wedge tight against the door, "Freakin' witches, man."

"The witch we can deal with, it's the killer snowmen she's animated I'm worried about," Sam replied, running his fingers through his hair harriedly as he paced in the small space, "How the hell do we kill these things?"

"I don't know but we better think of something fast," Dean said, staring at the door, and Sam turned, paling at the snow forcing its way around the seams of the door, "Really wish the flame-thrower wasn't in the car trunk right now."

"Yeah, that would have been helpful," Sam agreed, both of them backing away from the door, "Ok, think! What have got?"

"Handguns, knives, and holy water. Not much good against a snowman army, I was pretty sure we figured that out, Sam."

"There has to be something here!" Sam said with frustration, the snow starting to pile up on the tool chest and the floor ominously as he looked frantically around the shed.

Suddenly, Dean smacked his shoulder, "Sam!"

"What?" Sam whipped around, and Dean was grinning, pointing to several white bags stacked against the wall.

Sam paused, looking at them, then turning to Dean, "Genius. Seriously, Dean, you are-"

"Amazing, I know," Dean said gleefully, both of them going for the bags of rock salt.

They sliced a hole in each one they grabbed, and Dean dumped a healthy amount onto the snowman trying to ooze his way through the door. There was a garbled, screechy sound as the snow started to melt, and Dean flashed Sam a triumphant grin.

They both jumped when there was a loud thump! against the walls.

"That would be the rest of the army, I'm guessing," Dean commented, "We need a better method of attack."

He started rooting around the shed, and Sam threw more salt on the snow still trying to push through the door.

"Ah-ha!" Dean said triumphantly, suddenly emerging from behind a stack of boxes with a snow shovel and a grin,"How's this for a catapult?"

"On the count of three?" Sam said, dumping a hefty amount of rock salt on the shovel, Dean holding it at the ready.

Dean nodded, widening his stance, prepared to fling the salt.

"One, two... Three!" Sam said, pushing the tool chest out of the way and flinging the door open.

"Take this, Frosty!" Dean cries gleefully, hurling the rock salt at the snowmen trying to force themselves through the door. They fell back with a screech, the rock salt embedding in their snowy bodies, "Reload!"

Sam grabbed the bag of salt again, dumping more on the shovel and jumping back as Dean hurled it at the still-coming snowmen.

"Close the door!" Dean shouted, and Sam did, slamming it closed and bracing his shoulder against it. Dean rushed to his side, dropping the shovel to throw his weight against the door as well.

Slowly the thumping slowed, and Sam and Dean exchanged a look, the bangs against the door becoming less forceful by the moment.

"Make a run for it?" Dean suggested, and Sam nodded, leaning down to pick up the bags of rock salt, and Dean manning the shovel.


Sam nodded again, and Dean threw open the door. They leapt over the melty snowmen, making a mad dash for the car, which had the unfortunate habit of being parked a block away.

"Sam!" Dean warned, one of the creepy, zombie-like snowmen closing in on Sam's left side, "Salt me!"

"Got it!" Sam answered, the brothers skidding to a halt, Sam tipping the bag of rock salt into the shovel for another round of ammo, and Dean grunted as he flung the salt at the incoming snowman, who fell back with a screech.

"Keep moving!" Dean shouted, and they pelted toward the car, skidding here and there on patches of icy sidewalk, but managing to keep their feet under them.

Sam threw open the passenger side door, plopping the bags of salt on the floor and slamming the door shut.

"What the hell is he doing?" Sam panted, whipping around to look at the back of the car, where Dean had thrown open the trunk and was rooting around inside.

"What the hell are you doing, Dean?!" He opened the door to shout at his brother, glancing toward the snowman ambling toward them from across the street, "Dean!"

Suddenly there was the snap of a shotgun being loaded, and Dean slammed the trunk, ammo belt slung over his shoulder and shotgun raised.

"Have some salt, snow cone!" he hollered, firing at the oncoming snowman, who immediately keeled over in pieces, rock salt round through the middle of his round, icy body.

Dean whooped and cheered, sliding around to the driver's side and getting in.

"Take some shots, Sammy," he smiled, handing the gun and ammo over to Sam, "Blow off some steam!"

Sam laughed, taking the gun as he slammed the door shut and rolled down his window. Dean turned on the engine and threw her into drive, peeling off down the street. They had a witch to take out.