Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without

Title: Come in From the Cold (3/4)
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.

[Chapter 1] [Previous chapter]

Come in From the Cold - Chapter Three

A short time later, Django trotted back into the room and announced his presence by shaking off a thick layering of snow in all directions.

"All safe," he chuffed with satisfaction, oblivious to several sudden cries of cold, wet discontent. Ted just breathed a sigh of relief; one wendigo had been bad enough and the thought that there might be another one out there was disturbing, to say the least.

Dean grinned at the church grim, as he realized how fond he was becoming of Django. "Good boy!"

Django's tailed thumped from side to side in pleasure at the compliment, before he threw himself down at the hunter's feet.

"My purpose," he panted in contentment.

"It is fulfilling to know that one's of use," added Ted, with an introspective hint to his voice.

"If confusing," agreed Django, casting a resentful look over at Sam, who was too busy talking with Donnie to notice the church grim's unfavorable attention.

Django sat up and placed one massive, heavy paw on Dean's lap. "Why not serve yours?"

Dean choked, the old, familiar jolt of fear exploding in his chest. There were so many reasons, where could he start? "Michael's in the Pit," he managed to say at last, his voice coming out in a croak.

Django's ears went back and his fur stood on end. He made a terrible whining sound and shoved his head into Dean's side, only to raise it to lick at Dean's face in sympathy.

Ted frowned in confusion at the dog's reaction until a belated comprehension of the words' meaning dawned on his face in a wide-eyed look of sheer horror.

"How can you bear it? To not serve Heaven's intent?"

Dean looked from Django to Ted, who stared back at him in shock with his mouth covered by his hands.

Dean shook his head. There's no way they'll ever understand. "God isn't even still here. He's not been around for a while."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Well, if all the angels in Heaven couldn't find him..."

"Maybe He didn't want to be found," Ted answered without thinking, letting his irritation get the better of him.

"Yeah, and what's one more deadbeat dad, huh?" said Dean, his voice rising in anger.

Ted and Django both winced in unison. Dean turned away from them, only to catch eye-contact with Donnie, who was sitting on the other side of the room. The expression on the normally cheerful young man's face was somber, obviously having heard Dean's outburst. Dean shook his head; he didn't need anyone else laying their disappointment on him, not when life had always made certain to give him more than his fair share.

"What's the point of a puzzle if someone tells us the answer? We have to trust in God's plan - even if we can't comprehend it – that, despite our free will, He uses us to further that higher purpose," said Ted.

It sounds more like you're trying to convince yourself, thought Dean, but he bit back the comment.

Something sparked in Dean's mind and he had a brief moment of revelation as he considered that Heaven had been purged of corruption and pride, Hell had been reordered into tedium rather than torture, and even Purgatory had been cleared of the worst of its monsters.

Dean shook his head and the thought was gone. Sensing the moment had passed, Ted laid a hand in a comforting gesture on Dean's shoulder before making his excuses and leaving the younger man in peace.

Django cuddled up to Dean, and laid his head on the man's lap. For a long time they sat in silence, in absentminded contentment, as Dean scratched behind Django's ears.

A sleepy Django nuzzled into Dean's side and looked up, his eyes shining. "Do not fear. I sense activity in Heaven once more. They like to put things to new purpose. I'm sure they will find one for you again, soon."

Dean shuddered as a cold chill made its way down his spine.

~#~

It seemed to Dean that he had just dropped off to sleep, before Sam was all back up in his face about Django.

"Seriously? I finally get some decent shut-eye for a change," Dean groused, as he wiped muck from his eyes. Great, it seems like this is the only sleep I'll ever get... "Couldn't this have waited?"

Sam's near-cosmic vibration of annoyance seemed to indicate that, No, it could not. "Who knows how many others it might have killed while we slept?"

Dean did wonder when and where the church grim had wandered off, but he wasn't in the mood to share that thought with his brother. "Well, obviously not me, but God knows I deserve to have someone put me out of my sleep-deprived misery. You wouldn't let someone treat an animal this badly, you hypocrite."

"It's only a matter of time before it hurts someone else, Dean."

"But he saved us from the wendigo."

"Tell that to the guy we found in the porch."

Dean winced, but didn't respond.

"Come on, Dean. How many times have we had this conversation, only usually with our positions reversed? You should be pleased; you were right, you're always right. Once a monster, always a monster."

Dean sighed, almost a gasp of pain, as if his heart had been run through with a blade. He'd been foolish enough to think that he'd escaped the consequences of the rack, but Sam was correct, a small part of him would always be both eager and willing to hold the knife under Alistair's instruction in Hell. Purgatory had proved how easily he'd slipped back into the old ways of kill first or be killed. Dean hung his head in shame and turned away from his brother.

"Let me speak to him, okay?"

Sam nodded and walked off, too lost in his own pain to see that of his brother's.

~#~

Dean leaned into Django's warm fur, running his hands over the animal that had its head resting on his lap once more. They sat for a long time before Dean spoke.

"You know it was wrong to kill that man, don't you?"

Django looked up with puzzlement and a hint of disappointment. "Didn't kill. Just chased. Then found dead."

"So... those animal bites weren't you," said Dean, trying to keep the sound of hope out of his voice.

"Ah." Django's ears went back and Dean's stomach dropped. "Was hungry," Django whined.

"How could you?"

"Sorry... but he was chopped up and left out. Still much left... you want?"

"Eww, no I don't want to eat him. Hey, what did you mean by 'chopped up and left out'?"

"Like sandwiches. I prefer those. There more sandwiches?"

~#~

"So you're saying that the man was killed by this wendigo," summarized Ted, after listening in to Dean's explanation to Sam. "Isn't that unusual?"

Ted laughed at Sam's questioning look.

"I have been around, you know," said Ted with a tight smile. "Especially in some of the smaller, poorer parishes... you hear things. And you soon learn that flashlights in a cemetery after dark don't always mean amorous teenagers."

Donnie snorted, then held up his hands in apology.

"Hunters have been reporting incidents like this for a decade or so, now," explained Sam, enjoying the rare opportunity to go into lecture mode for an audience. "The world's getting smaller and the natural habitats of many of these things are being destroyed. These aren't normal creatures that are just gonna go extinct, so with nothing else to hunt, increasingly they're forced into contact with humans."

"It's adapt or die," added Dean in a choked voice, but one so soft that he could barely be heard. Django nodded to himself in agreement.

Sam looked stricken for a moment, before continuing his lecture. "Even a couple of years ago there's no way you'd get two wendigo in the same region, let alone sharing hunting. But yeah, actually coming into a building? That's a new one on me. I guess primarily they're attracted by the warmth."

"Dude, are you like the David Attenborough of the cryptozoology world, or something?" Donnie laughed. "You should totally write for Fortean Times."

Aidan rolled his eyes and interrupted. "Can't you just send your dog-thing out to get the other one?"

Dean turned to Django with a cocked eyebrow.

Django whined and rested his head on his front paws with a disappointed sigh. "I'm church grim. I cannot leave grounds."

"But what if the church didn't exist anymore?" asked Ted, sitting up with a sudden crazed look.

Django looked up at him with wide eyes and a cocked head, as if he'd never heard of anything quite so ridiculous. He considered for a moment. "Then I would die," he added simply.

Ted looked devastated.

Dean frowned and made to speak, but Ted cut him off with a discreet shake of his head, making it clear he had something to say later for Dean's ears only.

"So, have you always been here?" Dean asked, to change the subject.

"Yes, but asleep," Django answered in a slow voice as if unsure himself, while Dean continued to repeat the grim's responses for the benefit of the others.

"What woke you?"

"There was... violent death on grounds." The grim considered for a moment. "Was day snow started."

"Oh, that's when we got here..." Donnie added, looking up in surprise and, although he hadn't intended it, catching Aidan's eye.

Aidan flushed, his face matching the red of his hair, and he fidgeted in his seat as he rubbed at the back of his neck. Cheryl laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving him a gentle tug towards her.

"It's okay," she said, trying to reassure him in response to his tight smile. "It's not your fault. You had no idea that all this was going to happen, and we're all adults, we all decided to come too."

"I'm sure no one's trying to apportion blame," Ted smiled. Dean quirked an approving eyebrow at Sam at the underlying, commanding tone in the priest's voice. Hey, padre's got a pair.

Lee sighed in exasperation. "Whatever," he said as he sat back down next to Karen, taking a break from pacing around the room. "We need to focus on the thing that's still out there."

"Is there no way to reason with it?" Ted asked in a bland voice.

Dean didn't even dignify that with an answer, although he may have made a sound of disgust.

Ted shrugged, unembarrassed. "I know, but someone has to at least ask."

"It's pure predator, yes? It's hungry and cold, so it's only a matter of time until it finds us. There's nothing else for miles around; that's why we all came here. We can't get away, so we either kill it or it'll kill us," said Karen in a quiet voice. Everyone stared at her in surprise, for many of them it was the most they'd ever heard her speak in one breath.

~#~

Karen's words reverberated around his head like the discordant, clanging peal of a bell. It had felt like she had addressed the words directly to him and the truth of them terrified him. He wondered if she had seen through his false facade down to the real him. Such a speech must surely be a cryptic warning and the snakes moving within his flesh responded by lashing back and forth in increasing agitation.

It all made sense now; he'd taken her silence as a sign of stupidity, but now he recognized it for the cunning disguise it was. He was the stupid one for not spotting it sooner; the way she always seemed to be hovering in the furthest doorway as if just passing, ready to make an escape, hidden in plain sight. Always watching, always listening. What secrets would she tell?

He scratched and worried at his inner arms, hoping to relieve or release the ever-present vipers twisting and turning now just beneath his skin. Unfortunately, it seemed that the snakes were not so easily distracted, and instead his efforts merely reopened the wounds from before, his blood oozing down his arms.

As his life force dripped onto the flagstones beneath his feet, the sight of the red liquid seemed to calm the dark beast within him. But he knew that this was only a temporary relief; such a threat could not go unpunished. Karen would have to die and she had only herself to blame.

~#~

Like the others, Donnie was feeling a little stir crazy and there was just something about the threats of maiming or death that seemed to make sleep somewhat more elusive than usual. Before he knew it, his feet had brought him back to the kitchen. While he didn't really want a coffee, it was something to do to occupy the time. He pulled a face as he wondered if it was possible for his body to cope with any more caffeine without heart palpitations.

He jumped back in surprise at the sight of the church grim. The creature pulled its head from the depths of the kitchen trashcan, its eyes glowing a dull red as it started a low, menacing growl. My what big teeth you have, Donnie thought, with more than a touch of hysteria.

"Nice doggie!" said Donnie, trying not to let the thread of fear sound too loud in his voice. "See, I'm not scared. That's what you do with dogs isn't it? Don't show fear? Or is that cats?"

Django sneezed and a sour expression came over his face.

"Ah! Er, not that I'm calling you a cat or anything."

The church grim sneezed again.

"Gesundheit! Or, well, bless you, then since I guess we're in a church... Oh, I get it! It's the see ay tee word, isn't it? Sorry, bro, it won't happen again."

Django cocked his head to one side with an expression of intense curiosity and after a moment seemed to relax.

"Cool," Donnie sighed with relief. "See, who's a good boy, then?" he added, reaching out to pat Django on the head. A short, sudden growl made him withdraw his hand and jump back with a little high-pitched shriek.

Django sat back on his haunches and panted, his tongue half-hanging out of his open mouth. Donnie narrowed his eyes at this doggie equivalent of a grin. "You did that on purpose!"

The creature gave an amused, affirmative huff.

"So, we good then?"

Django swiped a large, rough tongue up the side of the young man's face.

"Ew, gross!" cried Donnie in disgust, but he gave the dog-like beast a small, shy smile before he walked off with a spring in his step.

The church grim watched the young man leave, before turning his attention back to the trash. There was definitely something pungent smelling down there near the bottom that was worth eating.

~#~

"So... What's our plan?" asked Sam, easing himself back down into a lying position on the pew he seemed to have adopted for himself.

"Well, I hate to say it, but with you not exactly at the top of your game, and these things practically letting themselves in... I think we need to sit this one out," Dean answered apologetically.

"What? We can't let that thing carry on out there."

Dean allowed his face, for just a second, to show in agreement with his brother, before he schooled it back into a more usual, harsh expression.

"Of course not," he frowned, trying to placate his brother into lying still before he re-opened any more stitches. "But we could do with some flares and... I dunno, maybe a flamethrower? Perhaps we should see if Garth can send a little help in our direction."

"For a wendigo?" Sam scrunched his face up as if in pain. In his youth he'd always said he didn't care about the Winchester name, but now, for some reason, the idea of just handing the hunt over to someone else really bothered him.

"Yeah, well it seems that starvation don't make 'em weak, it just gets 'em ornery. And don't forget we still don't know what really killed that guy we found."

Sam gave a noncommittal grunt and allowed himself the luxury of sulking for a couple of minutes. "Okay, so what do we do in the meantime?"

"Well, like I said, this place is a little too much like Grand Central Station for my liking. We should see what we can do to secure the exits. How much of those Anasazi protection symbols can you remember?"

Sam sighed. "Man, it's been a while since we last faced a wendigo."

Dean pulled an odd expression, as if recollecting an unpleasant memory.

Sam winced and mentally kicked himself for breaking the unspoken agreement not to talk about Purgatory. "I'm sure that together we can manage enough to get by," he added, forcing himself to sound far more optimistic than he felt.

"I guess we'll find out then," Dean smiled, but it was a hollow-eyed look he gave as he wandered off.

Sam wondered how long it had been since Dean had last had a decent night's sleep, but he suspected that if he asked the answer would be 'not since Alistair'. He pulled another deep sigh, wincing at the sharp pain that the movement caused to his ribs.

As time passed by and he stared up into the rafters, sleep evading him, Sam became aware that he was looking at a familiar looking sigil carved high up in the brickwork. It looked old, perhaps as old as the church itself. In fact, if it wasn't due to his unusual position of lying flat on his back on the pew it might never even have been seen at all. The shape tickled at the corners of his mind; he knew he'd seen it somewhere before. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind; he needed to concentrate on the Anasazi symbols for now. If they managed to survive another wendigo attack there'd be plenty of opportunity to think about strange signs later.

The lights flickered and everyone froze. When the lights went out, everyone screamed.

~#~

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean screamed, yelping with pain as his thigh collided with the hard edge of a pew.

Sam pulled in a deep breath at the strangeness of being in such a deep, unending darkness. "Dean, I'm okay. I'm right here." He reached out and without even needing to think about it, managed to grab hold of his brother's forearm.

He felt Dean flinch and jolt hard beneath what must have been his unexpected touch. Sam cried out in shock and pain as a barrage of wild punches flew out and struck him on the chest and chin.

"Dean, stop! It's me, it's Sam!"

The lights flicked back into life. "It's all right; we must have lost main power. It happens from time-to-time, fortunately we've got a standby generator," said Ted. "And thank you, Lord, that it's actually decided to work this time," he added under his breath.

In the sudden light, Sam stared, still shocked, at the sight of Dean's wild staring eyes and heaving chest.

"S-sam?" asked Dean, in tremulous voice.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," Sam interrupted, horrified to see his older, indestructible, brother shaking like a leaf. He used one large hand to guide Dean to sit down on one of the nearby pews. He felt ill-equipped to deal with this new out-of-character, docile version of his brother and instead decided they both could do with some space.

"Is everyone all right?" he called out to the wider room.

Dean blinked several times in rapid succession as if waking from a deep sleep, then nodded as he averted his face that had already turned a bright crimson.

Donnie made a hesitant approach and hovered at Sam's side. "Your lip, it's bleeding. Come on, let me fix you up."

Sam allowed himself to be led away.

~#~

Donnie tilted Sam's face up to the light and cast a critical look over the new bruise and cut-lip added to the already long list of injuries.

"So, here we are again," Donnie laughed. "I guess there's no danger of me getting out of practice during this vacation is there?"

"Yeah, I appreciate everything you've done for me, man. I'm sorry about all that," Sam apologized with a heavy sigh.

Donnie had noticed that Sam did that a lot. "So, does your brother have flashbacks often?"

"What? Dean? No, he's not..." Sam fell silent as he paused to consider. "Is that what you think?" he asked, his wide puppy-dog eyes seeming to beg, No, please tell me that it isn't true.

Donnie nodded. "Hey, listen, I'm not qualified to make any 'psychological evaluation', I just patch people up enough to get them to a hospital. But given what I've seen so far tonight, what you deal with, it's no great stretch to imagine you've both been through some pretty rough times."

Sam's shoulders slumped and he groaned as he held his head in his hands. "Man, you wouldn't believe the half of it. It just seems like recently, all I've done is let him down. I'm such a terrible brother."

"No, you're not," said Donnie, as he laid a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder. "Anyone can see how much you two care about each other; it's just not always that simple." He rubbed his other hand across the back of his neck, finding an odd comfort in the sensation of his fingers tracing the path of his long, twisting scar. "Sometimes bad things happen and there's absolutely nothing you can do to stop them, but I've found that having someone to talk to about it can help."

Donnie looked out through the open doorway to where he could see Cheryl and Aidan sitting huddled together. Cheryl looked up as if she could sense the touch of his sight, and gave him a quick, brave smile before turning back to her boyfriend. Buoyed up, Donnie patted Sam on the shoulder.

"There, all done. It was worse than it looked, these things often are," he said with a cheeky grin.

"Thanks, Donnie."

"If you want to thank me, go talk to your brother," Donnie laughed, giving Sam a gentle shove in the right direction.

~#~

Dean had managed to get his breathing under control. He missed Django's presence, having already dismissed the creature's offered affection, but it was more important that the grim patrol the boundary of the church grounds again, given how much more vulnerable they now seemed.

He could see his brother talking to Donnie. His stomach twisted in knots and he looked down to avoid the embarrassment of eye contact as he felt their gaze turn to him. It wasn't difficult to imagine their subject of conversation. It was good that Sam had someone to talk to, and that Donnie was a decent kid, even if he did seem a little skittish around Dean. But who could blame him?

Sam pulled his "man-up" face and Dean knew he was in trouble even before his brother started the walk over to him.

"Listen, Sammy, I was..." he said, failing to take control of the conversation as Sam interrupted him.

"Fighting for your survival, I get that, it's cool. But, man, you gotta understand that I have been too, in my own way. I thought I'd lost everything, Dean. Everything. I didn't know if you were alive or not."

"I'm sorry, Sammy. It was tough there. The only thing that kept me going was the thought that you still were out there and I guess I just assumed you'd want me back."

Sam exploded. "Of course I wanted you back. But back to what? It made me feel like I was being selfish. I thought you were dead. Crowley said you were out of his reach."

Dean went to interrupt, but Sam held up a hand to stop him. "Yes! I did check... Called in a few favors and did a fair amount of holy waterboarding too. I thought you and... Cas were in a better place."

Sam pulled an apologetic face as Dean growled and pushed his hand away. "I know you miss him..."

"I don't wanna talk about this..." grumbled Dean, starting to turn away. Sam grabbed hold of Dean's arm and tugged him back round to face him, shaking with emotion.

"You disappeared with a freakin' angel. For all I knew you were both back in Heaven, was I really supposed to drag you outta that? Haven't we learned anything?"

Dean snorted. "That was wishful thinking and you know it. When has anything ever gone right for us?"

"I just wanted things to be normal and safe," said Sam in a calm voice, glossing over the true state of his mental health at the time. "I'm not you, Dean. I'll go where you lead, man, but I've had it with the hunter's life. What's it ever got us other than a lot of dead friends?"

"Listen, this life is all I know..."

"And don't I know it! You weren't even back a day before you were hell bent on dragging us off on some new holy quest. Only this time it's like you can't even stand me being around. I might as well be back on my own. I certainly couldn't feel any worse than I do now."

"Hey, that's not true!" cried Dean. They paused and the tension eased as they both laughed at the literal meaning of what Dean had just said.

Sam ran his hands through his hair and breathed a gentle sigh. "It just feels like you're pushing me away. I'm not asking you to braid my hair, but maybe let me in a little, huh?"

"Look at our life, dude," Dean said, gesturing to their surroundings. "If anyone was going to understand I thought it would be you."

Sam nodded. It wasn't fixed, but it was healing.

~#~

Donnie watched the Winchesters chalking the complex set of sigils on the hard flagstones of the church floor. It was a weird, if clearly effective, way to bond after clearing the air. The pair certainly seemed to carry around an impressive amount of supernatural lore in their heads. It was even more amusing watching Ted, who seemed in one moment just as intrigued, before being racked with sudden bouts of guilt over the heathen symbols being inscribed in the house of worship.

What had at first looked like random markings, now seemed to be coming together into a logical whole and there was a palpable sense of pressure and unease in the air. Donnie could almost feel the barrier forming around the main room and any skepticism he'd held faded. Instead he wondered, with a tremble, if it was only wendigo that the barrier would act against.

Relevant to that thought, he noticed a number of absences. "I think I'd better go round everyone up, guys," he called. Focused on remembering the complex inscriptions, Sam spared a quick, brief smile, while Dean just grunted without even bothering to look up.

Donnie bid a final farewell that went unacknowledged. He sighed as he slipped from the room with a shiver that wasn't entirely due to the cold outside.

~#~

The church ceilings might be high, but Karen could feel the ancient stones pressing down on her, crushing the breath from her body. The claustrophobic feeling worsened throughout the evening until she felt that if she didn't get out she was going to quite literally explode. There might be some sort of dangerous animal outside, but she didn't trust the people she was with, they all seemed "off" in one way or another. Experience had been a harsh taskmaster, but it had taught her well that by far the deadliest creature was man. She needed air and she'd rather take her chances outside.

The unrelenting darkness and chill of the Arctic-like conditions made her question her choice, but as her Daddy always used to say, once you made your bed you were supposed to lie in it.

Closing her eyes, she breathed deep, filling her lungs and reveling at how the cold bite of the night air both numbed and refreshed her. She stood in a silent meditation for several long minutes until, with an irritated sigh, she heard someone walking up behind her. In the dim light she had to squint to make out the dark figure looming over her. "Aidan?"

She was so cold that she almost didn't feel the swipe of the blade across her throat.

TBC



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