Come in From the Cold - Chapter Four

[theymp]

Title: Come in From the Cold (4/4)
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.

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Come in From the Cold - Chapter Four

Donnie stepped out into the freezing night, pulling his thick, winter coat closer around him. Even now, after years of living here, there was still something he found disturbing about this degree of cold and the memories it conjured, if only because he felt he would never be completely free of his past.

He took several deep, calming breaths as he focused on the present; taking a childish delight at the sight of the smoke-like plumes of his exhalations and the burning sensation as the frigid air entered his lungs. The warmth of the church had been comforting in its own way, but it had all started to become a little claustrophobic and, as amazing as he found the grim, he still wasn't quite sure about Django.

He saw Karen wandering about just ahead of him; it looked like she was going to check on the generator. He didn't know her that well, she was more a friend of Cheryl's, but he'd always got an impression of steel underneath her surface appearance of vulnerability. He thought she was probably stronger and far more capable than anyone, including herself, realized.

Let's hope we're all more capable, he considered, as he thought about recent events. Poor Aidan, all he ever wanted was a chance to get to know some of Cheryl's friends a little better.

He watched Karen as she reached the storage shed that Ted had pointed out to them earlier. He decided that he ought to at least offer to give her a hand - not that he knew what he was doing - since the last thing any of them needed was to be plunged back into darkness. He was about to call out a greeting when he stumbled in the snow, only just catching himself from landing on his ass. He tutted as one of his gloves slipped from his grasp and was carried by the wind behind one of the large banks of snow.

As he bent to the retrieve the offending item he noticed a figure pass by in the distinctive green of Aidan's parka. It always made him smile that the man had chosen a color that clashed so terribly with his hair...

Oh!

Donnie's thoughts dissolved and were lost in the scene of horror that unfurled before him. He threw his hands across his mouth to stop himself from shouting out in shock at what had just taken place.

He watched as Karen's body was dragged into the shed and out of sight. For many long, uncounted moments he sat shivering with cold and fright as he curled up in the snow.

A figure flickered into view, like bad inference on an old television set. Donnie felt too numb to even feel phased at seeing a spirit, but he still flinched at the force of the naked fury on her face.

"I'm so, so sorry," he whispered, but she couldn't hear as she stalked right through him in her determination to reach the church.

He hesitated, unsure which direction to take. Karen was gone. There was no guarantee that she'd even be able to cross the Winchesters' protection sigils. There were others he needed to think about. What if Cheryl was next, or Sam? That decided it. He steeled himself and, silent as the ghost he'd just seen, made his careful way to the outbuilding.

~#~

"So, what'cha doing?" asked Cheryl, intrigued by the Winchesters and bored after seeming to have been abandoned by her friends and lover.

"Protective sigils," Dean grinned up at her from his inscribing on the church floor, as if that explained everything.

"And those will really stop that creature?" asked Cheryl, not making any pretense of hiding the skepticism in her voice.

Sam nodded from his seat on the pew. "Some say that it's the intent that's the important part, but in practice we've found that it's also the weight of tradition that's a deciding factor, particularly with the more sentient beings."

Cheryl blinked, as it felt like her mind had skipped a track, before Sam's words hit home. "There's even more out there than just this, isn't there?"

It was Dean's turn to nod this time, in what she could only imagine was an apology at the destruction of her world view. "Don't let their appearance fool you, these things are ultimate hunters and far more clever than you or me."

Cheryl snorted at Dean's obvious, proud-big-brother exclusion of Sam from that category. "So is that all we've got going for us; some chalked graffiti on the floor?"

"Don't knock it, sister, this stuff actually works! Don't get me wrong; a wendigo's main vulnerability is fire, but unless you've got a flamethrower tucked away somewhere..."

Cheryl shrugged and let Dean get back to his work, but she did rummage around in her bag until she'd retrieved her disposable lighter.

~#~

Sam bit the sides of his mouth to stop himself from screaming in irritation at his brother. Task completed, Dean had spent the last twenty minutes pacing from one side of the church to the other, unwilling to leave his Sam's side. At long last Dean paused and Sam sighed in weary relief.

"Did you hear something?" Dean demanded, his voice sharp, so tense he was almost quivering.

Sam pulled himself up in his seat and made a show of listening carefully; he was well versed in playing along with this 'game'. Dean had made no bones about missing the purity of purgatory and the simple moral choices of 'kill or be killed'. There, Dean had explained, the fight was constant and unending, with something around each corner that was ready and willing to attack.

This eternal waiting around must be torture for him.

"Nah, it's just the wind," Sam said in a slow voice, after a moment.

Dean nodded in distracted disbelief, before resuming his pacing. "This is all my fault," he muttered to himself, over and over.

Sam had had enough. "It's not your fault, Dean."

Dean glared at him, his eyes piercing and haunted. "No? Well who led those things here?"

Sam closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "You weren't to know. Anyway, what's the alternative? We'd have died out there in this weather."

He shifted to face Dean, but the sudden movement jolted his injuries, making him gasp out in pain, so he didn't quite catch whatever it was his brother had mumbled in reply. In an instant, Dean was by Sam's side, running his focused gaze over Sam's wounds.

"Oh man, I'm sorry," Dean said, his features pale and drawn.

Sam had never felt closer to tears, as anger, frustration, and guilt all vied to be the main culprit.

~#~

Cheryl was just lamenting the lack of suitable pockets in female attire for her new provisions, when she spotted her errant boyfriend.

"Where've you been?" she demanded, making a point of not masking her irritation at being left alone, as Aidan crossed the room towards her. She did a double-take at the uncharacteristic look of vulnerability on his face as he sat down beside her. "Hey, are you all right?"

Cheryl's annoyance faded, and her heart did its usual little blip of joy at the way he looked at her, before the inevitable shutters came crashing down behind his eyes to hide his emotions. She laid her hand on his. "You're freezing! Did you go outside?"

Aidan shook his head. "Why's it so cold in here?" His teeth were chattering, and Cheryl was surprised to see the white plumes of his breath.

Concerned, she wrapped an arm around Aidan; she wondered if he'd left a door open as the temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

~#~

Karen was incandescent with rage. How dare he? How dare he kill me? After everything I've been through? I always thought he looked down on me, and he barely even knew me...

She thrust her hand back into his chest and smiled as her fingers burned through his heart and into his very soul.

It seemed that being a vengeful spirit was its own reward.

~#~

Complaints about the lack of heat were soon forgotten as Cheryl became aware of a growl so deep and low that she could feel the ribs in her chest start to vibrate in sympathy. She tried to swallow, her mouth as dry as bone, as the huge church grim started a slow, menacing pad towards them.

She wanted to call out, or turn towards the Winchesters for help; after all, Dean seemed to have an affinity for the creature, didn't he? But it was as if her body had betrayed her, too frozen in the depths of its own terror to respond to her instructions.

The - whatever-it-was - had saved her earlier; surely it wasn't going to hurt her now? She noticed that it was staring towards Aidan, not her. She tried not to think too much about the condition of the dead man she'd discovered earlier, but part of the reason everyone had fled the main room was to escape the tension that had ratcheted up between the Winchester brothers over the actions and trustworthiness of this very animal. She'd known more than a few dog owners in her time who couldn't believe their snarling 'babies' could ever be a threat. She wondered, with a bleak resignation, if Dean now fell into that category.

The animal seemed to stare off into space and made a long, growling announcement. Done, it turned and strode from the room.

Her heart was pounding and she felt sick and shaky, but she managed to get herself back under control. She laid a hand on Aidan's arm, unsure if by the gesture she was giving or receiving comfort. Ironically, Aidan now looked like his color was returning.

"Dean," she called, the tone of her voice attracting the man's immediate attention. "I think there's something wrong with Django."

Dean cursed and she didn't miss the significant look that passed between the brothers, as part of her wanted to curl up in guilt to have introduced yet another hurdle in their relationship.

~#~

Dean and Ted both looked up, cocking their heads in unison, and, despite the tension in the room, Sam struggled not to laugh at the ridiculous image. "What is it?"

"He was talking to someone," Dean answered slowly, and, in an out-of-character move, turned to the priest for moral support.

"Huh?"

"Tiangou," said Ted, seeming to rush to Dean's defense albeit with an apologetic tone that revealed he knew it wasn't going to be what Sam wanted to hear. "He was telling someone to calm down and follow him."

As Dean got to his feet and dusted himself down, he looked around and seemed to notice for the first time that most of their group were missing. He held out an accusatory finger at Sam and raised his eyebrows in an expression that would brook no argument. "You are staying here."

He turned and left before Sam had a chance to pull one of his usual tried-and-tested manipulative expressions. He wanted to imagine he'd have gone for the soulful puppy-eyes, but, given their recent history, it probably would have been what Dean had dubbed his 'bitch face'.

At least it might have shown he's not so keen on dogs after all.

~#~

At first Karen had felt compelled to follow the creature's summoning, but now she was outside she just glared at the dog.

How could it even speak, anyway?

"What do you remember?" the grim asked, its eyes seeming to bore down into her soul.

As her initial surprise at understanding the creature faded, she considered its words while burying her hands in the comfort of its warm fur. The memories came thick and fast in an overpowering onslaught and it was like reliving the experience for a second time.

She recalled how her blood (so much blood) had splashed out over the pristine, white snow as she realized that she'd never lived the life she could have had, or that she'd deserved, only the restricted role imposed on her. She'd courted her own demise, all the while blaming herself for the actions of others.

What a waste.

Her arms were no way long enough to wrap around the creature's body, but she held on tight as she sobbed into its neck.

"What do you feel?" asked the grim, as it licked away her tears.

Watching her own body cooling in the snow had been like staring at a stranger. But then the anger had kicked in and it had seemed so powerful; it had felt so righteous.

But it wasn't.

It would have led to nothing but more pain and death. She didn't need it anymore. Now she knew that she wasn't that victim anymore.

I won't allow it.

Despite the lack of working lungs, she still managed a snort at the cliché of the tunnel of warm light that appeared and led off into the heavens. As she followed that path, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the faithful, four-legged companion trotting along at her side and gave him a small smile.

Thank you.

She gave him a brief pat on the head when he'd come as far as he was able, but found that she wasn't even tempted to look behind her. It just wasn't her problem anymore. The answers she wanted, the questions she hadn't even imagined, were waiting ahead of her. Her eyes widened.

Oh!

She left her old life behind and moved on to the next stage of her existence.

~#~

As Donnie slipped through the door into the shed, he tried, with only limited success, to not look at what had been done to Karen's body. He had seen a lot in his life, much of it disturbing and unpleasant, but somehow he was still surprised by the depths of depravity in the human soul.

It's strange the things your mind chooses to notice in stressful situations, Donnie considered, feeling light-headed as he realized the man in the green coat with his back to him, hard at work with a knife, had black, not red, hair.

He gasped when he realized that he might not be the only one who had been confused as to the identity of the killer. Or the extent of his kills.

"Donnie. I just... found her like this," said Lee in a low, calm monotone as he turned towards the source of the sound. He wiped the back of his hand - still holding the knife - across his mouth leaving behind a long smear of blood.

"I know it was you... you killed them all, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Lee, with a smirk.

"Don't deny it, I saw you."

"What you gonna do, go running after your Sam like the little bitch you are?" Lee sneered, seeming to have moved across the room in an instant to hold his blade against Donnie's neck. "I've seen you panting all over him, you're pathetic."

Donnie laughed. "I don't love him, you moron. He's like Elvis... I worship him."

Lee looked at him with an expression of utter disgust.

"You don't even know who he is, do you?" snorted Donnie, his lips twisted in disdain. "He was Lucifer's chosen vessel on earth. One day he'll see sense... and then he'll rule over Hell and lead us all to salvation. It's meant to be."

"You're crazy."

Donnie laughed at the irony of the source of those words and he shook his head as much as he could, given the circumstances. "No, I'm devout."

Lee frowned in confusion and pushed the blade closer.

"Sam would never harm a human being," said Donnie, as his eyes went pure black. "Which is why I'm gonna do it for him," he hissed, as he grabbed the knife and forced it into Lee's chest.

He wasn't quite demon enough to really enjoy taking human life, but it didn't bother him too much; he was used to making sacrifices for others.

~#~

"And she'll get better? And it won't come back?" He winced at quite how desperate he sounded, even to his own ears.

The beautiful woman in the ball gown smiled, displaying the feral white teeth of a predator, her refined appearance at odds with the run-down, deserted country-crossroads. "Yes, as per the deal, your sister will go into complete remission, and she won't die of that cancer."

Something bothered him about the wording, but, in his agitated state, the specifics escaped him.

"So? Ready?" the woman asked, raising a single, perfectly arched eyebrow.

He took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself, but he knew he must look every inch as wrecked and vulnerable as he felt. "Will it hurt?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Oh, yes. It's eternal torment, did I forget to mention that part?" laughed the red-eyed demon, as she leaned in and kissed him, ripping the soul from his body.

~#~

Donnie stood frozen in numb shock, as he stared down at the still-twitching body. It had all seemed so straightforward at the time. He couldn't quite bring himself to regret his actions, something had needed to be done to stop this... monster, but he did wonder how he was going to explain it.

Sam's going to be so cross with me, he thought, devastated.

He didn't even realize he still held the knife until it dropped from his hand. The clang of the metal of the blade hitting the floor brought his attention back to his current situation. He peered closer, surprised to see that there was still a small spark of life remaining, but he'd have to work fast; it wouldn't last for long.

Now it seemed that it was his turn to scrawl out ancient symbols. They weren't like Sam's; they were in blood, not chalk, and they weren't keeping something out. They were most certainly inviting someone in.

Donnie chanted the final words of the summoning and sat back, exhausted, waiting to see if it had had any effect. He'd already decided that he'd taken too long when Lee opened his eyes; for a brief instant they flashed a dark, murky grey, like storm clouds over a summer sky.

'Lee' gave a broad grin. "Hello, stranger. Long time, no see."

Donnie hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath until he released it in an explosive sigh of relief. "You sure you weren't followed?"

Lee sat up and looked around with visible interest. "No worries, I took the scenic route." His eyes took on an unfocused gaze as he lost himself in his own thoughts. After a moment or two he shuddered. "Urgh, this guy's nuttier than a bag of squirrels, isn't he?" Lee complained, as he pulled himself the rest of the way to his feet.

"You'll get no argument from me," said Donnie, "just remember that you have to pass for him. How's the wound?"

Lee paused. "Not good... Ah, he just died," he grimaced.

"He had to be stopped," said Donnie, the defensiveness clear in his voice.

Lee returned a disappointed look. "It's trying to play God that got you into this mess in the first place."

Donnie dropped his eyes to the ground. "Sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be," Lee insisted, "the thoughts and memories in here... vile doesn't even start to describe it. He'll fit right in downstairs." He looked down at Karen's remains, his face twisting in horror. "How are we going to explain what happened to this poor soul?"

"There's a wendigo; it's already killed someone else."

Lee looked surprised. "Really? What have you got yourself into?" He blinked slowly and his eyes went a cloudy grey as he seemed, once more, to lose himself in his own thoughts. "Oh! No, that was this guy as well," he said in a hoarse, horrified voice. He opened his eyes in shock. "And there's a church grim, too?"

It was with a sinking feeling that Donnie sensed the presence of someone behind him, before hearing a low, rumbling growl. He turned, already cringing, to see the grim in an agitated state with its fur bristling and standing on end, making it seem even larger than usual. It stood stock still, giving them a long piercing look that, even if it hadn't had wings, removed any doubts as to its supernatural origin. Donnie could feel that gaze laying him bare, piercing down through layers of darkness to that tiny spark of light that was all that remained of his soul.

Donnie froze, trying not to even breathe, as the creature took another step towards him. He screeched in relieved, mock-outrage as the large, slobbering tongue once again wiped it's way up the side of his face. "Sheesh, I'm not a salt lick. I bet I don't even taste nice, do I?"

Django gave one of his laugh-like huffs, then a curious, but somehow knowing, nod at Lee. He followed with a series of whines and low barks, as he cast a significant look towards the door and back again.

"Sorry, but I'm guessing only the saved can understand you, yeah? And I think we all know that's not gonna include us any time soon."

"Donnie!" hissed Lee.

"Oh, shush," said Donnie, waving a placating hand in his friend's direction, "I'm pretty sure he figured it all out a while ago." He turned back to Django.

"You know what we are, right?" he asked, gesturing at Lee - ignoring the glare the man gave him - and himself.

Django huffed and pulled on Donnie's pants leg with his teeth.

"What's up? Little Timmy fall down a well?" Donnie crossed his arms and tried to stand with at least some dignity, only to fall back as Django barked in agitation. Lee flinched, but tried to otherwise remain still.

"I'm not sure we can go back in there," said Donnie in a low voice, thinking back to the Winchesters' sigils, as he held his head from the pain of the supernatural bark.

An unimpressed looking Django just growled. The meaning was clear: Why are you still talking? Get a move on!

Donnie threw up his arms. "You're right. It'd be a shame for us to come this far only to end up as wendigo chow, as I'm sure it doesn't care about the state of our souls either."

Django cocked his head at a sound that it seemed only he could hear.

"Come on then," said Donnie, sharing a look of alarm with Lee, as they noticed that the grim had changed the object of his growling back to the door. "Let's get out of here."

~#~

He'd been warned, but when it came down to it, he was just too slow. As he was caught and dragged off to be the plaything of some high-ranking demon that wanted to practice its knife work, the other lost souls had done nothing but stare in wide-eyed relief that it wasn't them.

Fortunately, his torturer had soon grown bored with the ease in which it was able to induce terror and had abandoned him for more challenging prey. Bound in chains, and cold beyond all measure, he stared in jealousy at the sight of the souls writhing in the sulfurous lakes of fire. The physical torment of unending, burning flesh was nothing if it meant simulating even a moment of the warmth of His love. Forever lost.

After the longest time he at last realized that all around him were screaming and shouting, but not with horror and despair. That was nothing more than business as usual here; too unremarkable for notice. No, this was an emotion entirely alien to this place.

Hope.

Despite the pain from months of torture, he lifted his head from the rack and watched the smoke-like denizens of Hell flee past him.

"Azazel has succeeded," came the triumphant bellow from a passing Knight of Hell, its immense, misshapen bulk tipping the rack to the gore-soaked ground.

He pulled himself up and was amazed to find that, for the first time in longer than he could remember, he was no longer chained down.

The faded remnants of what might once have been a woman paused and bared its teeth at him in a sickening parody of a grin, its black eyes gleaming. "The Gates are open," it screeched, before fleeing after the lumbering Knight.

He didn't need to be told twice. He pushed and shoved himself up the long, winding corridors and fought his way through the teeming crowds of the twisted, wailing damned; all of them desperate to escape the unspeakable and unthinkable horrors of this realm.

He took one more step and then he felt himself come apart. I'm free! he thought, elated, as his body became a thick, oily smoke that rose up into the cold night air.

As he circled above the cemetery, trying to get his bearings, he caught a glimpse of him, the boy king, standing proud against the demonic hordes. There was no mistaking the beauty of that stained, but still glorious soul. One day, he promised. But first there were things he needed to do and places he needed to go.

Home.

~#~

Even when he'd first laid eyes on the young man and discerned Donnie's true nature, Django had somehow known they still weren't exactly on opposite sides. But to discover not one, but two demons on a path to salvation seemed a little strange and unlikely - to both of them as well, he was sure.

Donnie had muttered that this must have been the longest, strangest game of charades he'd ever played, but in the end they'd managed to communicate a plan to hide the truth from the Winchesters. One silver lining was that it was easier to mime wendigo when you had one scratching at the door to get in.

However, there was more than a little untruthfulness mixed up in the arrangement and, while it was unsurprising that this didn't seem to bother the near-demons too much, it gave Django a vague feeling of indigestion. If this was the 'free will' that had the higher beings all up-in-arms then, in his opinion, it was more than a little overrated.

Sam was the common denominator in everyone's concerns. Donnie gave a worried look. "He's a clever man; he won't be as easily distracted as your master."

Django took a good look around to ensure that the fleet-footed priest was nowhere within earshot. "Don't worry about that, he'll probably think it was me anyway," he snorted. He gave a low whine of unhappiness at the thought of the added upset this was going to cause. "The Righteous One will probably take the blame, as usual. It's only what he's been led to expect. "

He watched as Donnie shrugged, knowing the demon could only perceive his words as growls, but guessing that some of the sentiment still came through.

"It'll be fine!" Donnie smiled.

~#~

Django knew they'd misjudged their plan the moment they ran back into the church. At first they'd all been far too pleased to discover the anti-wendigo sigils had no effect on them to realize what their hasty 'explanation' was doing.

The righteous one was already on the war path and not, it seemed, agreeable to just sitting around on his backside while innocent mortals got picked off one-by-one.

"Stay here and guard them. Okay?" ordered Dean.

His heart ached, but he just couldn't bring himself to ignore a direct order. So he watched his new, beloved master walk into who-knows-what, while he waited.

Protecting the damned.

~#~

"Hey, come here."

Django looked up and cocked his head at the faint sound. Was that Dean? There was a lack of response from anyone else, but he'd noticed that humans didn't seem to hear anything until it was practically on top of them.

"I've got something for you to eat."

Relieved to hear his master's voice, and with the promise of food thrown into the bargain, he didn't need to be told twice. He bounded to his feet and ran to the door.

~#~

Without taking his eyes off the room's exits, Sam shifted in the pew again while doing his best to still his groans from the discomfort of his wounds. He wished Dean was here. The short, bossy jerk. The self-serving part of his brain pointed out that it was that jerk who could always be relied on to take care of him when he was injured, patching him up and numbing the pain by plying him with booze or whatever he could score from the motel car park.

He arched a brow as he realized that he now had not one, but two carers who seemed more than willing to step into that currently-vacant role. Carers who appeared to be arguing. About him.

"Look at his face, he's in agony," Lee whispered to Donnie. Sam wondered when Lee had started to give a damn about something other than himself.

"I can't sedate him with that thing out there! What if we need to get away quick?" Donnie hissed in response. He seemed to sense Sam's attention and turned on a wide smile that made no effort to reach his eyes. "Hi, Sam. You all right?"

"Thanks guys, but I can't risk pain meds while Dean's out there without backup," Sam sighed, oddly touched. He watched confused as their faces dropped and a strange silent conversation seemed to pass between them, similar to the kind of thing he shared with Dean. He hadn't even realized Donnie and Lee were that close.

"Don't worry, Sam. If it comes to it, I've got Dean's back," said Lee with a profound sincerity. For a moment it seemed to Sam that Donnie was about to argue, but Lee placed a hand on his shoulder and another emotionally-charged look passed between them.

"I'll go. You stay here, you both need to rest," warned Donnie, his face twisted in a sick expression of resolution.

Sam found he needed to swallow and turned his gaze away. The whole tableau was way too reminiscent of his dad and Dean and their irrational need to protect him no matter how great the cost to themselves.

He tried to distract himself by focusing on the church grim that had jumped to its feet and was now glaring at the door. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself at the way the grim pawed at the handle in vain, before shouldering open the door with a loud crash.

"I guess that'll do it," muttered Sam, trying to hide his amusement.

He jolted with shock as Django came flying back into the room with a piercing yelp and collapsed to the ground in a boneless heap. A pool of blood spread-out from the motionless body.

A wendigo stalked into the room with what looked like one of the scaffolding poles from the outside of the church in one hand. Despite the threat, Sam couldn't help a fleeting moment of satisfaction as he noticed the mangled remains of its other hand. The creature kept its distance from the inscribed markings on the floor as it stepped around the room with all the fastidious care of some nightmarish, upright cat. Its head twisted and turned in a serpentine manner as if tasting the air. It hissed in displeasure when it found it couldn't reach the room's occupants and instead headed back to the fallen grim.

Django gave a blood-curdling, piercing howl, as he was pinned down by the beast that seemed to take great delight in scraping its razor sharp claws along his side.

Sam heard Lee gasp, and felt the man shift at his side. The wendigo turned its attention at the movement and, just for the briefest instant, Sam could have sworn he saw a flicker of shocked recognition in the creature's eyes. The moment passed and, as if realizing its mistake, the wendigo reared back in a sudden, ferocious roar of rage and began hurling itself against the invisible barrier.

~#~

Aidan stepped in front of Cheryl; he didn't think he could actually stop the creature, but just preventing it from being able to look at her made him feel strangely better. Cheryl laid a hand on his shoulder, seeming to draw courage from his strength. She stepped around and in front of him, edging closer but still keeping a wary distance as she raised a spray can of deodorant he'd noticed she'd earlier retrieved from her bag.

She used her lighter to ignite the spray, and the resulting plume of fire made the wendigo scurry back in fear. It howled at her, then turned and ran.

"I'm never going to nag you about your smoking again," said Aidan, the pride and awe clear in his voice.

~#~

Donnie walked back into the utility shed with a heavy heart. A heart that almost burst until he realized that the figure bent over Karen's body with its back to him was Dean. It made sense that this was where he would find him. The guy really needed to stop torturing himself because, as Donnie has learned to his cost, there was no shortage of people who were more than willing to do it for you.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Dean didn't even start. Donnie had a strong suspicion that Dean had heard and identified him from his footsteps before he'd even opened the door. I guess there are some advantages to hypervigilance when you're in his line of work, thought Donnie.

"And you're sure a wendigo did this?" Dean asked in a soft voice, half turning so that Donnie could at least see his side-profile, if not his facial expression.

Wow, I'm really getting the cardiac workout tonight, thought Donnie, not sure how it was that everyone in the whole damn state couldn't hear the deafening pounding emanating from his chest.

"Y-yeah, why'd you ask?"

"No reason..."

Except you don't trust me - you don't trust anyone - you can probably sense I'm a bit more demon-y than I look, and now you're gonna gank me, supplied Donnie mentally.

"Just these wound patterns don't quite match," Dean muttered.

Donnie tried not fidget.

Dean sighed. "It's like a wendigo decided to use a knife..."

An awful, unearthly howling saved him from having to concoct a suitable answer. He ran after Dean, back in the direction of the church, only to almost collide with the man as Dean came to a sudden halt. A still-smoking wendigo ran out in front of them and made a wide circuit of the courtyard as it rounded back at them.

"Run," screamed Dean, dragging Donnie by the wrist towards the safety of the church.

Donnie didn't need to be told twice, sobbing in fear at the wendigo that he was sure was mere inches behind him. His feet struck something large and black that was otherwise invisible in the dark of the room and he went flying. He landed with a grunt, winded, but somehow having avoided smashing his head against the stone flooring.

He looked back in irritation to see that it was Django's body he'd tripped over, and he couldn't help but call out in shock. Shaken, but otherwise not too badly hurt, he leaned over the dog, taking in the extent of its injuries.

"Get in the circle," hissed Aidan from the safety of behind the sigils, obviously not wanting to raise his voice any louder than he had to. Donnie turned to him in confusion, swapping a wide-eyed, terrified gaze with Cheryl.

He couldn't just leave Django there. He started dragging the dog towards the symbols.

A wordless sound of fear from behind was all he needed to hear to let him know that the wendigo was back in the room. He was pleased, but unsurprised to find Dean at his side, helping to drag the dog-thing into the circle.

Both Sam and the wendigo leaped across the room as they simultaneously saw the mistake being made by the men. The wendigo barreled into Dean, knocking him to the ground where he lay dazed. Donnie took a glancing, back-handed blow and it was his turn to fly across the room. His head smacked down hard against the stone flagging and he collapsed to the floor, black dots overtaking his vision. He couldn't help but think it was ironic that he was probably going to die from an injury almost identical to the one that had rendered his host body brain dead.

He looked on with fraternal pride as Cheryl recovered her wits to drive the creature back again with her improvised flamethrower. Meanwhile, Ted, under Sam's guidance, redrew the symbols that had been erased by Django's body being dragged across them.

The creature's face twisted in a parody of an intelligent look as it grabbed hold of one of the pews and pulled hard, its wiry muscles straining. It made a cackling, half-laugh of satisfaction as much of the wooden frame came away in its hands. Almost without any visible sign of effort it swung round and released the wood to go sailing through the air and across the sigil protected area.

Aidan turned just a moment too late, the ad-hoc missile swiping his legs from under him, as Cheryl screamed and ran to his side. Donnie turned to Sam and Lee with a begging look in his wide eyes, before staggering over to join her.

Lee gave him a solemn nod of understanding as he ran and retrieved the canister and lighter from where they lay on the ground. Screeching in anger, he ran full tilt at the wendigo.

There was a fiery blast, and Donnie's head fell back against the ground, darkness rising up once more to silence the terrible screams of dying.

~#~

Donnie came back to consciousness to find Dean staring down at him with a faint, approving expression.

"Not bad work."

High praise indeed. "What happened?" he groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"Lee... didn't make it. Sorry."

Donnie tried not to look at the sight of the blackened bodies, twisted together in death, that Ted was thoughtfully in the process of covering with a sheet. He could only hope that his friend and mentor had 'smoked away' in the confusion without anyone noticing.

"Listen," said Dean, with a contrite look, "It... it seems this wendigo wasn't as averse to using tools as I originally thought. Sorry I doubted you."

Distracted, Donnie blinked in shock at the apology. "No problem," he answered, absently, trying not to let it sound like a question. He breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted that both Sam and Cheryl were unhurt.

Dean smirked as he spotted the object of Donnie's attention.

"Y'know Cheryl was really devastated you got hurt. I hafta say, she seems pretty much into that boyfriend of hers, but I'm sure I could put in a good word..." Donnie could almost hear the click as Dean's bad-boy persona slid back into place.

"Oh, no," interrupted Donnie, horrified at the insinuation, "she's... like... my sister."

"Okay, just sayin'," Dean said with wink as he got to feet, dusted down his jeans, and headed back to his own sibling.

~#~

"I'm okay," said Sam, fending off his brother's ministrations.

"Yeah, you say that now, but I really don't want to find you bleedin' out somewhere in a couple of hours' time," argued Dean, pushing closer and inspecting Sam's bandages.

"Jeez, Dean, I'm not a little kid anymore," whined Sam, hating himself even while slapping his brother's hands away. His heart was pounding and he couldn't explain why he didn't want anyone touching him. It was just too much; he just needed some space, not a full-on in-your-face Dean doing his best mother hen impression.

Sam tried not to think about the look of deep hurt that flashed for a brief second across Dean's face.

"Okay, okay, forgive a guy for caring about his family," said Dean, backing up, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. For a moment he looked pained, and seemed to be on the verge of apology, before he shook his head and scowled instead. "You just had to say; there's no need to be a little bitch about it."

"Is he all right?" Donnie asked Sam in a hushed tone, biting his lip and looking on with concern as Dean stalked off with a face like thunder.

Sam looked exhausted. Exhausted and defeated. For one brief moment it was written clear across his face that Sam thought about lying, but then he seemed to slump as if deciding there was no point.

"No. He's not been right for a long time. I think I'm just getting that now."

"Have you tried to talk to him?" Donnie asked in a gentle tone that was only slightly chiding.

Sam pulled a pained expression and fidgeted. "Well, as much as we ever can."

Donnie felt a little uncomfortable himself. "Sometimes even the closest families can... grow apart. Isn't there anyone else he can talk to?"

Somehow, Sam managed to scrunch up his face even more. "In our line of work, we don't exactly have a lot of friends. There is someone, but..."

Donnie laughed. "Let me guess, you... don't approve of him? Think he's a 'bad influence'?"

Sam pouted. "Yeah, let's just say I think the guy's bad news. I'm not sure I trust him."

"Well, I think everyone has at least one 'friend' who's just draining," Donnie muttered to himself, thinking of recent events.

Sam snorted in amusement, although Donnie didn't get what was so humorous.

~#~

"You need to talk to someone," Sam said, not able to stop the automatic frown that he knew would only tip his brother over the edge into defensiveness.

"Oh, you reckon, do you? Look, we've already had our little brother-bonding moment for this week, can't we just move it on?"

"I didn't mean me. Besides, Donnie agrees too."

"Oh well, if Donnie says so," said Dean, rolling his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "So what, you been talking about me? How your big, bad brother needs a shrink?"

Sam picked up Dean's cell, selected a contact, and handed it back to his brother. "Sure, if that's what you want. Or you could just phone a friend."

Dean had his best, blank poker face on as he took the phone and stared at the highlighted number. He looked up, his eyes wide, looking bruised and haunted, catching Sam's gaze in an unspoken moment of vulnerability and hesitant gratitude.

Sam nodded slowly. Dean pressed the call button and started to walk away.

"Hey," said Dean in a soft, cracked voice as the line picked up.

"It's good to hear from you, brother," came the deep, southern twang in response.

~#~

The storm had cleared. "It's good to be shot of those dark clouds at last," Dean breathed, as he gazed through the window up to a clear, pale blue sky.

Django, not listening, instead cast a covetous glance up at the sun and licked his chops. "One day," he muttered. Dean blinked and decided he must have imagined it.

"You gonna be all right?"

Django panted with a look of utter contentment as he settled himself back down on his haunches. "Yes, just hungry," he grinned, trying and failing to give an inscrutable expression.

Dean turned his attention to Sam, as his brother limped up to him, looking almost completely rested from the days waiting for the blizzard to clear. "I can't believe Ted packed us a lunch for our trip," he smirked.

Sam chuckled, "It'll help keep you going till the next burger place, I'm sure. Besides, I think he's grateful, this has reminded him that he does actually have faith."

Dean snorted, ever the skeptic when it came to God, but he still cast a thoughtful gaze over towards the pastor who was trying in vain to reattach the broken sword to the statue of Michael, under the watchful eye of Django.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, paused, then asked a different question to the one he'd intended.

"You think Heaven's finished with us?"

Sam focused on Dean with an intensity that was almost painful. "We'll find him, Dean, I promise. Have faith in that."

Not trusting himself to speak, Dean nodded. He cleared his throat and he walked over to the statue as both Ted and Django turned to watch him.

"So, uh, I guess this is goodbye."

"If I may have a moment?" asked Ted, leading Dean to one side.

~#~

Sam stood watching Django watching him in return.

"Well, this isn't awkward," muttered Sam, under his breath. "Nice doggie."

"Woof," said Django, before sneezing over him.

Sam wiped himself down, narrowing his eyes at the grim with the distinct suspicion that it had been deliberate.

"No! There's gotta be a way."

He and Django looked around to the source of the raised voices. Seeing that both Ted and Dean seemed distressed they wandered over.

"What's up, guys?" Sam asked, noticing the guilty look that both men shared.

"I think you should tell him," growled Dean, "he deserves to know."

Ted sighed. "It's the church. What with the constant vandalism and the falling attendance... Well, there's been talk of closing us down..."

Sam made a suitably apologetic face, surprised to see Dean pale and clench his jaw. He frowned at his brother in confusion before following his gaze to the grim and at last catching the implication.

Something tickled at the edges of his mind. "Wait!" he cried as he led them at a hobbling pace back into the seating area of the church. He peered up into the rafters, pushing away Dean's steadying hands, until he located the spot just above the pew on which he'd been sleeping.

"Look," he cried in triumph, pointing up to a carving in the ceiling, faded with age and layers of dust. "I knew you couldn't be a church grim, not with these," he declared, flicking at Django's wings with mock disdain.

Django huffed in irritation and licked at the site of the touch with a glare in Sam's direction.

Dean stared up at the glyph. "Where have I seen that symbol before? It's killing me!" He racked his brain.

"He's a tulpa," Sam explained. "He'll become whatever we believe him to be."

~#~

Django watched the large man dash around in excitement and really, if it wasn't for the pervasive stench of hellfire, he'd have warmed to the stupidly tall, puppy-like human.

He quite liked what he was already and so was somewhat offended at this insinuation he would want to become something else. He might have no recollection of the carving, but he still had a vague recollection of his origin.

"I came from across sea. Men far from home remembered ancient stories. When they moved on, so did I."

He snorted when they didn't seem to get it. "Always been dog. Always will be. "

Ted smiled, giving him a cautious pat on the head. "Of course you will, but I'd like to believe that you might want to come with me to my next assigned church?"

Django grinned, but ducked his head at Dean in a submissive gesture.

Dean waved an unconcerned hand. "Well, I'm not planning on letting an angel up inside me anytime soon..." He scowled at Sam's amused snort. "But I do think the padre here could do with your protection more than us. And you do seem a bit allergic to us," he added, wiping down the spray on his jeans leg again.

Django nodded. Despite the awful stench, he truly could never have asked for a wiser, more self-sacrificing master.

~#~

Sam rolled his eyes at the sound of the blaring-loud, classic rock and the piercing blast of the Impala's horn from outside. He considered how it was just like his brother to try to avoid all the emotional fallout of a goodbye, so it was with some surprise to hear the engine cut out and a moment later for Dean to appear in the doorway of the church.

He watched with a growing lump in his throat as Dean made an obviously fond farewell with Cheryl and Aidan, all the while keeping one hand buried in the scruff of Django's neck.

He turned an apologetic smile on Donnie as he realized he hadn't taken in a single word the younger man had just said to him.

"Thanks for everything, dude," Sam said, the words heartfelt as he wrapped Donnie in a large bear hug and slapped him manfully on the back.

Donnie grinned in delight. "Any time, Sam. It was my pleasure."

Dean finally managed to tear himself away, patting Donnie on the shoulder as he walked by with a cheery wink. "Yeah, thanks man. You take care."

"You too, guys," Donnie called after them, with a bright sparkle in his eyes. "I'm sure we'll meet again one day."

~#~

I know we never will be perfect
Never entirely clear...
...We get hurt and we just panic
And we strike out, out of fear

- 'Come in from the Cold', Joni Mitchell

THE END

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