theymp | Come in From the Cold

Title: Come in From the Cold (1/4)
Author:

theymp
Pairing: Gen
Rating: PG-13
Warning/Spoilers: Set during season 8
Summary: Seeking shelter with a handful of strangers and circled by beasts, who can Sam and Dean trust when they don't even trust each other?
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.

[AO3]

NB: Set just after 8.05 Blood Brother before going slightly off-canon: Sam has met Benny, but Castiel's not back; considered lost.

~#~

Come in From the Cold

I fear the sentence of this solitude
200 years on hold
Oh, and all we ever wanted
Was just to come in from the cold

- 'Come in from the Cold', Joni Mitchell

With a secure arm wrapped around his brother, Dean forged his way through the last of the undergrowth. He emerged from the limited shelter of the trees and breathed a ragged sigh of relief.

Visibility was so poor that it had been more a matter of faith that he had thought he'd seen the church spire from a couple of miles back. Although the building in front of them was disappointing in its obvious dilapidated state, to Dean's eyes, after being caught in an unexpected blizzard, it was like seeing the gates to Paradise.

"Okay Sammy, we're nearly there, man. Just a little bit longer and we can rest and get you cleaned up." The words were more for his own benefit. Sam was too weak to do more than nod and mumble in incoherent agreement, his features all too pale from cold and blood loss for Dean's liking.

Dean took a deep breath and hoisted his brother into a more secure position, ignoring the burning scream of complaint from over-taxed muscles. He made a loping run for the church, feet dragging through the deepening snow building up on the ground, and he squinted into the freezing blast that stung at his face. Somehow he managed to get them to the large wooden door of the church without tripping or breaking their ankles over any of the low gravestones rapidly disappearing from view under a heavy layer of snow. Dean was almost tempted to prayer by the realization that not only did the church seem to be structurally sound, but that the door was not locked and opened easily at the touch of the handle.

He bundled them through the doorway without a second glance, and pushed the door closed behind them with one foot. The crash echoed ominously in the sudden silence, away from the howling of the storm and despite the ringing of ears complaining of their sudden defrosting.

~#~

Hidden high in the dusty rafters, he watched the two men come thundering into his domain. There was something special about these two he realized, although he couldn't quite determine what it might be.

He had a strange impression of the light bending around them in odd, but different, ways as if they somehow seemed more real than the other interlopers in the building. He was distracted from the rest of that thought by the metallic smell of blood, lots of spilt blood. He ran his tongue over his wickedly sharp teeth in agitation. Even the smell of it didn't seem quite normal. Who are they? What are they?

Sensing more movement below, he decided it was safer to retreat for a time and he eased himself further into the shadows.

~#~

At the sound of the door crashing shut, Ted had run to the church entrance thinking that maybe it had slipped the latch again.

"Come in from the cold," he called in welcome to the two young men, dodging a sudden fall of dust from the ceiling as he motioned them through the porch into the main nave of the church.

He was somewhat ashamed to admit that on a second glance the appearance of the men gave him pause, they just looked so formidable. They were too young to number among the vanishingly small parishioner community that he knew by sight and they certainly didn't have the look of the normal tourists.

"Welcome to St. Michael's," he added, eyes widening at the sight of the blood staining the taller man's clothes. His mind turned to the recent, unpleasant reports in the newspapers.

"Michael?" the shorter of the two men pulled a face as if he'd tasted something unpleasant.

"Yes, that's right," Ted answered, realizing that he was shaking with nerves, but he couldn't seem to help himself.

The man muttered something sarcastic under his breath, and Ted might have been mistaken, but it sounded a little like, "Oh, that's just awesome."

The man seemed to collect himself. "D'you have a first aid kit?" he asked making the question sound like an order.

Ted jumped in alarm as the man went into a defensive crouch at the sound of the others coming out of the kitchen. Before he could say anything, the man seemed to dismiss them as any potential threat and relaxed somewhat, but not before Ted spotted the hilt of a handgun soon tucked out of sight.

~#~

His nose wrinkled at the acrid smell of sweat and fear, but from what he'd sensed so far about some of those below, well, maybe that was the only sensible reaction so far...

~#~

Dean breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a handful of twenty-somethings who all gave off a safe, civilian vibe. He watched as the pastor busied himself with getting them to help find a rudimentary first aid kit.

"Is he all right?" asked a petite, brunette woman, helping him to steer Sam over to a nearby pew.

Dean was too focused on Sam to catch the question, but gave her a tight smile of thanks; Sam was a big guy and, with him still not quite conscious, it was an effort to manhandle him into place. "Let's have a look at ya," Dean muttered, pulling off his brother's soaked jacket and shirt. The woman gasped at the huge claw marks.

A short-haired, slender young man stepped forward with hesitant steps, placed his hand with an almost reverent gesture alongside Sam's jaw and seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"D'you mind?" growled Dean, bristling at the sight of a stranger touching his brother.

The young man looked up and blushed. "Oh, er, sorry, it's just he looked kinda gray. His pulse seems a little thready – I think he might be going into shock."

Dean gave an embarrassed scowl, but let it go. He continued to fuss and fumble around Sam in agitation, cursing himself as his hands shook from a combination of adrenaline and the strain of carrying his brother for so long.

With a deliberate motion the young woman placed herself in Dean's way, "Listen, Donnie's an EMT; he knows first-aid like no one else. Why don't you let him take care of your... er...," she seemed to flounder on what to say next.

"Brother, he's my brother." Dean eye-rolled, Jeez, what's wrong with people? he wondered.

"O-kay," answered the woman with a bright expression as she steered him further out of the way, "Well, I'm Cheryl. You've already met Donnie, and this is Aidan," she said, indicating the solidly-built redhead of near Sam-like proportions who had at some point appeared at her side and was now giving Dean the evil eye.

"And over there's Karen and Lee. We were all gonna go camping, would you believe, when this blizzard blew in. Luckily the good Reverend here took pity on us and was kind enough to give us sanctuary." She gave a smile of relief over to Ted, who had returned with a medical kit that he'd handed to Donnie.

The pastor stood by looking awkward, and it seemed obvious from his body language that he was nervous about something.

"So you were caught out too...?" asked Cheryl raising an eyebrow and making it clear she was waiting for an introduction.

"Uh, Dean. Yeah, my car broke down a little ways back."

"So, what happened to your brother?" asked Aidan, trying and failing to avoid sounding suspicious.

"Grizzly," Dean answered with a smooth lie.

"Really?" asked Aidan, his skepticism clear. "I've camped in these woods for years and never heard of anyone seeing a bear before."

"Well, how else do you explain the scratches?" asked Dean, in an ominous voice.

"Now, now, boys," Donnie interrupted with a forced laugh. "The important thing is that - luckily for Sam - most of the wounds are fairly superficial. He's lost a lot of blood and he definitely needs to take it easy, but it looks a lot worse than it really is." He patted Dean on the shoulder. "He should be fine."

Dean didn't like the weird group, almost as a point of principle, but he was so relieved by this news that he was willing to let it slide. "Thanks, man," he said in little more than a gruff whisper.

Donnie seemed to recognize this for the heartfelt praise that it was and looked pleased with himself. "Ah, it was no problem," he smiled, waving the comment away with a one-handed gesture and turned back to care for Sam. Dean was distracted for a moment by the sight of a long, ugly, jagged scar running across the base of Donnie's skull.

"What was that?" called the man earlier introduced as Lee, pointing up to the ceiling space. Something large and black fell from the high vaulted roof and shattered against the hard stone floor just inches from where Sam lay reclined on the pew. Donnie yelped and covered his eyes with one arm, while flailing around with the other.

"Let me see," Cheryl ordered. With a gentle tug she pulled Donnie's arm away from his face to reveal a small cut and a long streak of blood perilously close to one eye.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," he sighed in embarrassment. "Just made me jump, is all."

"What did you see?" Dean asked Lee.

"I don't know. It was just out of the corner of my eye, something moved... it was too quick and dark to see," Lee apologized.

Ted came over to look at the shattered stone and peered up at the ceiling, "It looks like one of the roof tiles..."

"Christ almighty, does this sort of thing happen often then?" asked Aidan.

Ted winced at the Lord's name being taken in vain, and seemed to struggle to not appear too defensive. "Well, not usually, no, but the church was vandalized quite badly recently and I'm afraid since then it's just not been quite the same."

They all shivered as the temperature plummeted. A horrendous crash from the entrance echoed around the church and made them all jump as yet another shower of dust rained down.

"It's that latch again," muttered Ted as he rushed off to secure the front door.

~#~

He had never felt so conflicted as when he'd fled. He had caught the scent in the fresh blood as soon as it had been exposed to the air and had panicked. There was no mistaking the stench of hellfire, although the taint itself was relatively minor. More worrying was the sense of a Fallen One so near and still so recent that it made his skin crawl just thinking about it.

Then there was the shining one - buried deep and almost forgotten, but it was there. He wondered if the power and association with this place was still enough to call it to the surface. Maybe he should do something to encourage it...

~#~

Dean watched Ted's back as the man rushed off to the door muttering under his breath, before shaking himself and turning back to Donnie.

"You're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Donnie laughed, seeming at little embarrassed at all the attention, "It's just a scratch, believe me I've had a lot worse."

Dean remember the scar he'd noticed earlier and watched with curiosity as Cheryl laid a comforting hand on Donnie's shoulder and gave him a small smile of support.

He wondered about the story between the two of them, from the body language he'd have said that Cheryl and Aidan were a couple, but, thinking about it, they had both seemed so very protective of Donnie.

"Don't worry, your brother seems to have the constitution of an ox, he's gonna be fine," said Donnie, breaking Dean's train of thought.

Dean smiled, "Yeah, Sam's a survivor."

"You seem very close. I wish it was like that between me and my siblings," Donnie said wistfully, as he sat back down beside Sam.

Ted returned with a pile of clothes and blankets. "You should change out of those wet things," he said as he put down the bundle of items at the end of the pew a few paces from where Dean sat. "It's not much," he stammered in apology, "but we don't get much in the way of donations these days."

Dean watched as the man rushed off to the kitchen area, his sincere words of thanks falling on deaf ears. "What's his problem?"

Donnie stared after the pastor for a moment as if considering, "I think you make him nervous," he grinned turning his attention back to Dean.

"But I'm one of the good guys!" Dean protested.

Donnie laughed.

~#~

He watched him from the rafters. The light from the man warmed and comforted him even from a distance and despite being buried so deep. It had been such a long time since the age of miracles, he'd thought all of their kind had long departed this realm.

He wanted to prostrate himself, but there was still too much he didn't understand. For now he would wait.

~#~

Dean shifted in the pew, realizing he'd lost himself for a moment. He sat staring at his hands, too tired to move. He looked up at the darkened stained-glass windows and high vaulted ceiling. His mind and soul ached as he struggled to make sense of his thoughts. Please.

He was distracted from his almost-communion with God, by a low whispering with a prayer-like cadence coming from behind him and to his left. Shaking his head to clear his mind he stood and turned to the source of the sound.

Donnie gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you, but I think he's stirring." He lifted his hand from Sam's brow, his mouth broadening to a wide grin, "And his temperature's back down to normal too."

"Was he speaking?"

"No, that was me," Donnie admitted, blushing. "Even when we're unconscious it doesn't mean we can't hear what's going on around us at some level. Hopefully it's comforting for Sam to know he's okay and we're here for him."

Dean arched an eyebrow in surprise; the confession had the feeling of personal experience. Before Dean could ask, Donnie stood and stretched out with a loud yawn.

"I'm gonna get a coffee. You want one?"

Dean gave a distracted nod, barely aware of Donnie leaving as he stared down at his brother who looked so peaceful in sleep.

Dean heard a faint, but distinct, sound of creaking above and behind him in the rafters overhead. His blood ran cold at a small noise like the scraping of talons on flagstone.

He turned in place, his heart in his mouth and his blood hammering in his ears, but there was nothing there. He retrieved a small, pocket flashlight from his jacket and ran the dim light into each corner as he circled the room. Inevitably the flashlight batteries chose that moment to expire. In the movies, this is when the monster attacks the hero, thought Dean.

Dean braced himself and waited.

And waited.

~#~

Sam woke, feeling overwhelmed with thirst. He mouth was so dry that when he tried to call for his brother all he could manage was a faint croak.

Dean was at his side in an instant, looking relieved, but also somewhat distracted.

"Sam, you're okay. You just need to rest, y'hear."

Sam nodded. "Thirsty," he somehow managed to gasp through his parched throat and cracked lips.

His vision was blurred and he sensed rather than saw Dean dash off, before he gave in and allowed his eyes to slam shut again.

His nose wrinkled at the rank smell of the hot breath wafting across his face.

He opened his eyes, ready to complain about his brother's poor oral hygiene. Whoever the dark figure was, he knew it wasn't Dean. The deep growling was a dead giveaway.

~#~

The man laid out in front of him was so weak and vulnerable that it would be such an easy thing to rip his throat out. He was hungry too, he was always hungry.

Still, this was no mindless rabbit or blasphemous desecrator, this was a vessel and a fairly recently used one at that. He whined in frustration as the stench of hellfire burned his sensitive nose. Just one bite...

He watched as the man's eyes fluttered and opened, showing the purity of the light of the soul within. Convinced at last, he grabbed himself a consolation prize. Then he turned tail and ran off into the shadows, leaping up into the safe confines of the rafters.

~#~

There was a strange vibe in the tiny kitchen, where everyone seemed to have gathered for warmth. Dean didn't think it was only his rampaging paranoia that made him think people had just stopped talking about him as he'd walked in.

"Sam's awake," Dean explained, the relief clear in his voice.

"That's great news," smiled Cheryl.

There was a short, awkward silence during which Ted gave him a suspicious look, but then seemed to catch himself with a guilty start. "Is anyone hungry? There's enough food for sandwiches."

The prospect of food seemed to break the weird mood as people smiled and answered in agreement.

"I can always eat," Dean smirked, trying for a little charm offensive, "but I think Sam could do with some water right now."

The other woman, Karen, filled a glass of water from the tap and handed it to him with a tight-lipped smile, not making eye contact. Dean realized that he'd not heard her speak once.

He gave her an easy grin in return, not missing, but ignoring, the split-second scowl it earned him from Lee.

It was difficult to make out anything once he returned to the dark gloom of the church, after the blinding fluorescent lights of the kitchen, but he could see... someone... bending over his brother.

There was a loud crash from behind him, and he couldn't fight the instinct that made him turn towards the sound, only to see an apologetic Karen picking up a pile of trays while Lee glared at her. When Dean turned back, the figure was gone.

"Dean, is that you?" called Sam in a quavering voice that highlighted his exhaustion.

"Hey, it's me, Sammy. How ya feelin'?" Dean asked, putting on an uncharacteristically cheerful voice.

He tried to give a discreet scan of the area for any sign of the figure, but all it did was make him feel dizzy. With black dots crowding out his vision, he somehow managed to disguise his light-headed staggering by sinking into the nearest pew.

Sensing another presence, he glanced back towards the rear of the church and caught eye-contact with Donnie, who was standing in the doorway. The young man held his gaze with an odd, intense look and gave a single nod before retreating back into the kitchen area.

~#~

Sam groaned. His brother had taken to talking to him in that voice he always used when Sam was injured. It was a sure sign that Dean was going to start treating him like he was eight years old again and made of glass.

A large man loomed over him, "Here, drink this," he said, thrusting a large, chipped mug of vegetable soup towards Sam.

"Thank you, er...?" said Sam with a weak, but grateful smile.

"Aidan. Don't thank me, Cheryl made it," Aidan sniffed, "Donnie reckons you need to build your strength up."

Sam didn't recognize the man, or any of the names he mentioned, but Dean was nearby and seemed to trust them, so that was good enough for him. He shivered as he considered that it was far from the first time he'd woken injured, in unfamiliar surroundings, and reliant on the kindness of strangers.

"You should have said you were cold. I'll get you another blanket," grumbled Aidan.

~#~

Dean watched in amusement as Ted led the procession from the kitchen with a tray full of food. The pastor seemed more relaxed than before as he busied himself with laying out the plates of sandwiches and assorted snacks on a bench at the rear of the church.

People helped themselves and sat to eat in the pews.

Donnie handed Dean a cup, "Here's that coffee I promised you. Sorry it took so long – that's thanks to the mother's meeting out the back. I totally vouched for you by the way, so you better not be killing us in our sleep. Anyway, hope you take it black 'cause we're out of milk."

Sam gave a soft chuckle at Dean's stunned expression, but then wrinkled his nose when Donnie offered him a sandwich. "Sorry, I don't think I can face it right now."

Donnie shrugged. "Well, I'll leave it right here in case you change your mind." He made a noise of disgust, reached down under the pew and pulled out the damp remains of a shredded pair of socks.

"Ew, gross. Are these yours?"

Dean choked on his coffee when he realized they were all that remained of the wet clothes he'd changed out of earlier.

Sam laughed, but then grimaced at the discomfort that caused, sending Donnie into a paroxysm of guilt-ridden apologizing.

Confused and not really sure why he felt embarrassed, Dean walked back to the table to get another sandwich only to discover all the food was gone.

Ted hovered by his side. "Oh, that's odd. I thought there were some sandwiches left over." He smiled as Dean's stomach growled in sympathy. "Don't worry, there's still plenty of salad left in the kitchen."

~#~

His stomach full, he felt happy and content, if just a little guilty at his actions, as he watched them from the shadows until nearly all of them were asleep.

It was time for an offering of his own...

~#~

Dean woke, blinking bleary eyes and fighting the pull of sleep. He froze when he realized there was something resting across his body. Something large and heavy. He must have made a sound, because the next thing he saw was Ted coming over to him.

"What the? What is it?" Dean called out, pushing the metal object off of him. It clattered on the ground with a loud, metallic ringing.

"It's a sword," said a puzzled Sam, getting a closer look at it.

Ted stared at it, lost in his own thoughts for a moment, before he seemed to figure it out. "It's from the statue by the altar." He looked at Dean with an expression of open curiosity. "It's been missing since the church was vandalized."

Sam peered at the statue with a sudden, horrified understanding. "Michael's sword," he whispered.

"No! I said 'no', you winged douchebags," cried Dean in alarm as he jumped to his feet, now wide awake and thoroughly alarmed. And more scared than he liked to admit, even to himself.

Ted retreated, but not before hearing Sam try to reassure his brother. "It's okay, Michael and Lucifer are still in the Cage."

"You got out."

"Yeah, well after Cas killed most of them, I don't think there's an angel left that would come within a million miles of you."

~#~

He was hurt by the obvious upset and wondered what he had done wrong. He wondered if he was being blamed for damaging it, instead of just returning it. Perhaps there was something else he could give instead, that might also prove his worthiness?

Pleased with himself, he crept off to retrieve what he had been proud to have hidden only a day or so ago.

It was too cold outside, the frigid air and swirling snow deadening the trace of the scent for which he was searching.

Sensing a stranger approach, he paused, frozen in place. He stood hidden in plain sight of the damaged one that staggered back into the building, lost in an agenda of its own madness.

It took much snuffling around through the thick layers of ice, leaves and earth, but he managed to locate what he wanted.

With a happy growl he dragged his find back to the church.

~#~

Unable to sleep following the excitement of Dean's discovery and tracking down a sudden draft to a door left ajar, Cheryl discovered the frozen body of man lying in the entrance.

"Donnie! Donnie!"

Donnie arrived in a flash, eyes wild in panic and chest heaving from the exertion of the full-out run. Seeing Cheryl was unharmed, he calmed in an instant, only then turning to look at the body with an expression of almost disinterest. "Er, he's really dead. A bit beyond even my ability to help, I'm afraid."

"He's completely frozen, I reckon he's been dead for some time," added Sam after kneeling down beside the body to give it a closer inspection. He tried to suppress a hiss of discomfort as Dean helped him back to his feet.

"So how'd he get in here? It's not like the dead can walk," said Cheryl, with just a trace of hysteria in her voice.

Sam and Dean exchanged a significant look that didn't go unnoticed by some of the onlookers.

"Look at the bite marks on him," Cheryl added, her voice made small by the horror of what she could not seem to look away from.

"Maybe it was that grizzly," said Aidan with the tone of someone making an obscure point.

"Huh?" asked Sam looking at him with a blank expression.

"That attacked you?" Aidan added.

"Oh... yeah," said Sam, convincing no one. He pulled his brother to one side away from the more obvious listening ears. "So what do think?"

"Well it ain't no grizzly that's for sure," Dean murmured.

"Could it be the wendigo? Maybe it followed us here?"

"Nah, it did actually look like an animal attack. Besides a wendigo likes to keep its food fresh, and it certainly wouldn't be givin' it away."

"So what do you reckon it is then?"

Dean snorted. "Something else."

~#~

Watching for an opportune moment he'd crept unseen through one of the side entrances. Once outside it was only at the last minute that he noticed another wandering among the large headstones that protruded from the ground like broken teeth. He held back, but - thanks to the dark and snow - couldn't make out who it was, but whoever it was they hadn't seen him either. Maybe just out for a cigarette break too?

He liked the numbing effect of the cold; it was like his life, out on the periphery of things, darting in only for long enough to make some life-changing impact on someone without warning. Ha, life defining, more like life-ending.

There was just something special about the contrast of his cold hands and the hot red spray of another's life blood as he pulled their still beating heart from their body. Crushing the heart in his hands. Actually, although he fantasized about it, the reality was that the rib cage was quite strong protection. So far it'd been sufficient just to run his hands through the body's ink. The blood sang to him, whispered in his ear, and he liked to daub the surrounding area with those deep secrets in an ancient script that only he knew.

He'd only indulged a couple of days ago, but already he could feel the influence of his dark compulsion, like the sibilant hiss of a snake in the dark of the night.

The reptile wanted blood, the warmth that was otherwise denied it. He could feel it moving around under his skin with impatience and irritation.

There was nothing for it; he was going to have to kill again. Soon.

~#~

Donnie hovered to one side, shifting from one foot to another. "Sam? I, er, think we should change those dressings."

Despite his own discomfort and the pain of his injuries, Sam gave the young man a broad smile to set him at his ease. "Sure thing, Donnie. I could do with stretching my legs too. You'll help me up?"

Donnie grinned in relief and supported Sam in hobbling to the bathroom, a faint look of awe lighting up his face.

Dean snorted in amusement; it would do his brother good to be at the receiving end of a bit of hero worship for a change. He turned to Cheryl. "So what's his story?"

"He's such a sweetie. I've known him for ages - then I... he was... in a car accident... about five years ago. He was in a coma for a long time - all the doctors thought he was brain dead. Then one day he just... woke up."

Dean looked at her in a flash of sudden understanding.

"You?"

Cheryl's cheeks flamed, "I was in a... bad place. I nearly killed him and in return he turned my life around. Ever since then he's dedicated himself to helping others."

She shifted in embarrassment, looking up at him with tears in her eyes. "Why am I even telling you this?"

"I'm told I have a trustworthy face," Dean said with a wink and as he pulled a silly expression. Cheryl couldn't stop herself from laughing.

"Oh, you're good. I bet you have the ladies eating out of your hand, don't you?"

Dean just chuckled in response.

~#~

"How did you get hurt?" Donnie asked as he cleaned Sam's wounds.

"I was attacked..." whispered Sam.

"By your brother?" asked Donnie, in a tight, liquid voice.

"What? No! Why would you think that?"

Donnie held Sam's gaze. It was hard and unrelenting, and for just the briefest of moments it was a million miles away from the young man Sam had grown to like.

Donnie looked down at his feet, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. After a long moment he looked up and Sam struggled not to flinch in the face of such raw pain and emotion.

"He has a look..." Donnie stuttered, his voice breaking.

Sam shook his head in denial.

"It's one I recognize," Donnie interrupted with a voice so soft Sam could only just hear him. "Most abusers were abused themselves... It's how they say some of us escape our own personal Hell." The tears flowed freely now.

Sam placed a hand on Donnie's arm. Donnie looked at the larger man in wonder; he could almost feel the strength of purpose being lent to him through the contact.

Sam held Donnie's chin and lifted it until they were sharing an intense gaze. "Maybe," he said, "But not everyone who's been abused has to become an abuser." He realized that he'd not felt an instinctive protectiveness like this about someone since Adam. Is this how Dean feels about me?

Sam flicked a quick glance towards the door in Dean's direction. "If there's one thing that my brother's taught me it's that we might not get the choices we want, but we do have free will. No pre-destiny for the Winchesters."

Donnie nodded. "And do you get the choices you want?" He pulled a face. "Sorry, that was out of line." He busied himself with Sam's re-bandaging.

Sam sucked in a breath. "No, it's okay. Dean and I were forced apart for a while and it's been difficult getting used to travelling together again. I think we've both changed too much and I honestly don't know if it's time I went my own way for good."

"Life rarely deals us a second hand, so when it does you can't waste it, you gotta make the most of what you got," Donnie smiled. "You're a good man, Sam. I have faith that you'll make the right decision."

There was a moment of comfortable silence.

"What happened to you Donnie, if you don't mind me asking?"

Donnie looked down, as if composing himself. "I woke up one day in a hospital bed and it was like my whole previous life had been wiped clean away. I was lucky; I had good friends who welcomed me back into the warmth of their home and their hearts with open arms."

Sam nodded, "We had an old friend – actually, he was more like a father to us - who always used to say 'Family don't end with blood'."

"Sounds like sensible advice." He patted the finished bandaging. "Let's get you back to yours."

~#~

Donnie helped Sam hobble back towards the waiting pew he'd claimed as his own.

"I'm pretty sure it's easing," said Cheryl in a hopeful voice as she tried to peer through the thick stained-glass windows.

"It was a stupid, dangerous time for us to go camping," muttered Aidan.

"Because of the weather?" asked Sam, his curiosity piqued by Aidan's comment.

The couple turned curious eyes to him, "Surely you must have heard?"

Dean frowned in confusion.

"The Maine Murderer? Y'know, the serial killer terrorizing this area for the last couple of months?"

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. Sam shrugged in the face of Dean's glower. "I'd heard there was long history of people going missing in the woods..."

"Sheesh, Sammy. How'd you miss that?"

Sam tensed, his hands balling up into fists. "You're more than welcome to do the research yourself." He turned on his heel and hobbled off to the kitchen, followed by Donnie.

Dean stood motionless and watched his brother go.

"Who are you, really?" asked Aidan. He'd been skeptical about them from the start.

"Huh?"

"Oh come on", said Cheryl, "Ade's got a BS meter that's always hitting the false positives, but if I'm doubting you, well, y'know you've got problems."

"I'm no one special," Dean shrugged. He yelped as something flew through the air and hit him on one shoulder, bouncing off to land on the ground with a loud, hollow clattering sound.

They all spun round, but could see no sign of anyone in the gloom of the church.

"What is it?" asked Cheryl, her heart hammering in her chest.

"It's just an empty plastic bottle," said Aidan, picking up the offending item. He looked at the strange expression on Dean's face and wondered why he thought the man seemed to think it significant.

Dean whitened, making the dark lines under his eyes stand out in stark relief, as a haunted expression crossed his face. "It's a vessel," he whispered.

He pulled a flashlight from his pocket only to curse when he realized it still didn't work. Rubbing at the back of his neck in agitation, he started a slow circuit of the dark corners of room.

He heard the others walk off towards the kitchen, no doubt to have a bitching session about him with Sam. When he got level to one of the darkest corners of the room he heard the sound of breathing and sensed something moving in the darkness.

Dean's heart hammered in his chest at the sight of the huge black dog, with long, white glistening teeth, emerging from the shadows.

"Sammy?" he called, wincing at the thread of fear in his voice.

The dog padded forward and that was when Dean noticed the huge, black, bat-like wings on the animal's back.

"Ah, not a dog then," he quipped; it was odd, but it being a supernatural creature made him feel somehow better.

The creature's mouth widened in the doggy equivalent of a broad grin. Its large pink tongue lolled, as it drooled on the floor. Dean really needed to sit down. The creature gave a happy huff-like bark, its rear end waggling almost as fast as its tail.

"Good boy?" Dean asked in a weak voice.

The creature immediately sat down on its haunches and gave him a sorrowful look that would rival even Sam for puppy-dog cuteness.

Cheryl, Aidan and Donnie chose that moment to walk in from the kitchen and the animal jumped forward with a low growl and placed itself between Dean and others.

"It's okay!" Dean shouted, not sure that it was. The creature turned, gave him an odd expression, then flew off into the rafters.

Donnie gaped at him. "Yeah, that's a dead giveaway that you're probably not who you say you are."

TBC

[Next chapter]

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