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“Alright, you boys stay here and Dean—“
“Yeah, I know. Look out for Sammy.”
That was the entire conversation between Dean and his father, John. John dove into fighting the supernatural ever since his wife Mary died by the hands of an unnamed demon. Sam, Dean’s brother, was only six months old when she was killed. Dean still remembers the weight of his smaller brother in his arms as he stood outside his burning home. People chalked it up to a nursery fire but John knew it wasn’t; Mary’s form held against the ceiling, a long rip in her stomach dripping with blood, body engulfed in flames made from nothing. John didn’t talk about their mother much after that.
They’ve been all around the country for five years while John searched and killed for information, some just to save the lives of those affected by whatever supernatural being was wreaking havoc, but they had never been this far north before. Something, Michigan. Population: who gives a fuck. Dean grew more bitter year by year and his now thirteen-year-old angst was bubbling further to the surface as they moved around once again. The only thing he held on tight to was his brother and father which made the trips to these foreign places and itchy motel bedrooms almost bearable.
John parked his 1967 Chevy Impala outside the rundown cabin and stepped out of the car, boots crunching in the fresh snow. Dean was in a bit of shock at how much snow there was on the drive up there. Him and Sam had never seen so much snow in their lives despite their constant moves. John banged lightly on the hood of the car to rattle them out of their awe and laughed as Sam hurriedly jumped out of the car to make a snow angel like he had seen on TV. Dean rushed after him, pulling him away from the bitter ground.
“Dude, you don’t even have a jacket on!” Dean growled, holding firm to his baby brother but gentle. Sam was visibly shivering and he curled into Dean for much needed warmth. John threw two hefty jackets at them and Dean caught both, shrugging one onto Sam first before himself. Sam was his world and it was his responsibility to look after him. Sam peeked up at him through the mop of chestnut bangs clinging to his forehead and smiled, relishing the warmth. The coat didn’t fit his nine-year-old body very well; Sam was lanky and hadn’t started his growth spurt. Dean nudged Sam to go wait by the door and he helped his dad with the last of the duffle bags, four in total. One had the necessities of survival from the supernatural: salt, holy water, multiple weapons including a machete and shotgun, a bible, and John’s ever-growing journal where he wrote about every encounter. Dean read through it as much as possible, learning from his old man and idolizing him along the way. The other three had basic things like clothes, food, toiletries, and some entertainment.
They turned to walk toward the cabin and Dean marveled at it. It looked like it had been abandoned for some time but the wood was still nicely intact, windows frosted over like in a happy Christmas movie, big fir trees surrounding it. The wood was a dark brown and was complimenting to the deep red door that sat in the middle. Sam held open the door for his brother and father and they all went in, Dean and John dropping the duffles on a large, wooden table in the kitchen area. As nice and cozy as it looked on the outside, it was like sadness and regret on the inside. There wasn’t much furniture left. Just a dirty old couch with the most disgusting flower pattern on it, the wood table, a fridge that he doubted still worked, and a coffee table in front of the fireplace.
Fireplace?
Dean and Sam both had never had one and it was a very pleasing site. The cream colored, polished marble now covered in a fine layer of dust outlined the entry of where the logs were put and Dean smiled, thinking about the warmth it could bring them since it was about as cold as it was inside as it was outside. There were some unused logs by the fireplace and John lit them up quickly, savoring the flames that licked upward.
“Dad, how come we don’t have a motel this time?” Sammy asked curiously, looking around the unclean room.
“I needed to save some money and a contact of mine told me this was here and it was as good as any,” John replied, turning to face his youngest son.
“But it’s so cold! Motel rooms have heaters,” Sam pouted, kicking at the hardwood floors.
“Don’t complain, Samuel. This is as good as it’s going to get,” John finalized before reaching into the duffle to take out a small pistol for Dean. “In case anything happens,” he muttered, putting it on the table with a clip next to it. Dean didn’t know when his dad was ever going to trust him to come on hunts with him but he thinks it was more protecting Sam than anything.
John slung the big duffle bag on his shoulder and sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. It had only been five years but Dean’s father looked wearier by the day. Gray hairs poked out of his trimmed facial hair, wrinkles deep-set into his forehead with crinkles at the sides of his eyes. John walked out of the front door and into the snow-ridden landscape after instructing Dean to take care of Sammy. Dean heard the familiar purr of the engine rev up and the grumble as he drove away, sighing softly.
Dean bit his lip and looked back at Sam who was walking around the small cabin. Dean felt bad that Sam had to live this nomad lifestyle; he didn’t even know what his father did. He only had a slight hint that it was dangerous. Sam stopped in front of a window and sighed, fingers twining around the loose thread on his jacket absentmindedly.
A lightbulb could have probably been seen above Dean’s head and his green eyes lit up with excitement. Although he didn’t love doing a lot of childish things since he had grown so much during the years of travel, he thought about Sammy and how bored he would be just sitting here in the cabin.
“Let’s make a snowman!” Dean blurted out and Sam turned quickly, giving Dean a hopeful smile and almost skipping over to Dean.
“You mean it? We can?” Sammy squeaked as Dean was digging through their duffles to find the two pairs of warm gloves.
“A’course, Sammy. It’ll be better than staying in this shitty house all day. Put these on,” Dean insisted, handing a pair to Sam and smiled as Sam’s face was just pure excitement, no hint of sadness or boredom.
After they had both put on the gloves and Sam had put on a scarf Dean randomly found in a duffle, they made their way outside into the January chill.
“Okay, so we gotta make a huge ball of snow first to be his bottom,” Dean said, getting on his knees to scoop up plenty of snow from the ground and Sam mirrored him, doing exactly the same. His brows furrowed as his arms got a workout from digging up all the snow and Dean smiled warmly at that; his brother was adorable and he didn’t like to admit things like that but it didn’t hurt to think it and appreciate it. They pushed their piles together and patted the snow until it was semi-smooth.
“Okay, now again, but for the middle, so we have to stack the snow on top’a this one.”
They continued that pattern until they had three balls of snow stacked on one another. Dean was disappointed that they didn’t have any sort of carrot or any buttons to put on him but Sam was way ahead. He stuck his green, glove covered finger into the top and drew a smiley face and punched three little holes for buttons into his middle.
“There! Now we gotta name it, right Dean?” Sam asked, turning to look at Dean expectantly. Dean grinned right back at his baby brother.
“Yep! What do you wanna name ‘im?” Dean queried, raising a brow, waiting for the weird name to pop out of Sam’s cold and red lips.
“Dean,” Sam said simply.
“What?” Dean asked, furrowing his brows. “I’m right here, what do you want?”
“No, De, I wanna name the snowman Dean!” Sam exclaimed, beaming up at his older brother.
“Hey, I do not look like that snowman!” Dean said defensively, holding back a chuckle. “Why Dean?”
Sam began explaining some wild theory, talking about how what if someday that snowman comes to life and his name really is Dean? He just had a strong feeling in his gut is all. Sam was explaining his odd thought process while staring at the snowman—Dean—as Dean bent down to form a circular ball of fluffy snow.
“Hey, Sam,” Dean interrupted, making Sam turn around to face him, mid-sentence. A snowball hurled from his hand and into Sam’s shoulder and Sam brushed the excess snow off of himself before smirking up at Dean mischievously. Dean knew this meant to get behind some cover. He ran nearby behind a big fir tree and Sam was hidden behind the wall of the house. Sam didn’t have nearly as much upper body strength that Dean did so when the snowball landed gently about three feet away from Dean, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle and throw another one but failed and hit the side of the house instead.
Dean’s body moved predatorily through the snow, not making a single sound as he snuck away from his hiding spot and around the house, a ball of snow laying gently in the palm of his hand.
“Dean, c’mon! Don’t give up on me!” Sam cried out and Dean heard another two little snowballs fall to the ground near his tree. He approached Sam from behind and dropped the snow right onto his head and Sam shrieked.
“Dean, so not funny!” Sam grumbled but as he saw Dean laughing, tears almost falling down his cheeks, he couldn’t help but laugh along.
“Alright, man, I’m fuckin’ tired now… Your face is too damn funny when you’re scared,” Dean chuckled still, walking back towards the door of the cabin.
“Well, I was only scared because you snuck up on me, you big jerk,” Sam retorted, knowing his counterargument was lame.
“Yeah, whatever, let’s get inside to warm up. The snow on your head might really make you cold,” Dean said gently, holding the door open for Sam and then closing it behind himself. He had made sure to swat at the leftover snow in Sam’s hair before letting him inside. Sam looked pretty cold. His nose, lips, and cheeks were all red which made him all the more adorable. They both shed their heavy winter coats and Dean put down a blanket and two pillows in front of the fireplace to sit on so they could warm up. Sam nestled himself against Dean’s side and sighed contently; watching the flames dance around like they were alive, crackling wood the only sound in the cabin besides their calm breaths.
“Thanks, De,” Sam mumbled, glancing up at him through his lashes, red leaving his nose and lips but not his cheeks. “I love you.”
Dean smiled warmly, and tugged him tighter against his own body, laying his head on top of Sam’s.
“Love you, too, Sammy,” Dean murmured as he closed his eyes, enjoying the peaceful feeling of Sam warming him up more than a fireplace ever could.