Chapter Text
“It’s a good thing you’ve got your supplies already,” The Cajun drawl was familiar yet out of place in the middle of Appalachia. “Weatherman says we’re gonna have a White Christmas.”
Castiel picked up the last wooden crates of supplies and tucked it into the bed of his truck. He wiped the sweat off his palms into his jeans. He stared hard at Benny, the slightly older man who owned the general country store and fried up a mean egg-and-bologna sandwich between selling lottery tickets and cigarettes. Unless it was Monday, then he pulled out all the stops and cooked up a spread of Cajun goodies, like gumbo, jambalaya, and melt-in-your-mouth beignets. Castiel tried to time his trips to town on Mondays but wasn’t lucky this time.
Castiel blatantly waved at the enormous expanse of baby blue horizon stretching across the gray mountaintops. Nothing malicious was up there except for a few wispy cirrus clouds that floated by, as usual. He motioned to the little town around them and arched an eyebrow, hoping his disbelief was apparent.
“Yeah, chief, I know. Heaven’s Hollar doesn’t get any snow. Stuff skirts right around us like a holy man around a brothel.” Castiel snorted. “Blessed if you believe the local yokels.” Benny’s tone was conversational as he leaned against the truck bed. “Been too warm this season anyway.” Benny didn’t have his usual peacoat on, just jeans, suspenders dangling around his hips, and his usual henley replaced with a t-shirt. He did sport his usual newsboy cap.
Castiel agreed, as evidenced by his ripped jeans and sleeveless t-shirt. Benny looked elsewhere when he jumped down from the back of the truck. His blue eyes focused on Main Street, decked out for the upcoming holidays with green and red wreaths on doors and garlands with twinkling lights strung between the lamp posts. People and tourists strolled around shopping, laughing, and having fun. Couples strode hand-in-hand, and kids ran around from one place to another. Castiel felt the tiny prick of loneliness when he saw them.
The town worked hard to prepare for the holidays, but the season always felt lacking without snow to cap it off. What Benny said was true; the town experienced mild conditions year-round. Which meant it took a good minute for Benny’s earlier words to actually sink it.
Wait, it’s only December 20th; how much snow are we getting that it’ll stay for almost a week?
Castiel dug out a battered, weather-proof notepad from his pocket and wrote in blocky letters:
How much snow?
“About a foot, give or take.” Castiel’s eyes went wide. “And yeah, they mentioned the Hollar getting it too, but you being further up on the mountain will get it worse. Probably two for you.” A chilly breeze blew between them, and he pulled his hat down. Castiel shivered and looked up at the sky, not noticing Benny’s heated gaze when he crossed his arms against the cold.
“Course, sometimes them weather folks aren’t always correct, but they seemed fairly confident about this forecast.” Benny tried to ease the blow. Still, Castiel mentally calculated his supplies and what needed to be done before the storm. He didn’t remember this being on the radio. He dragged a hand down his face and groaned.
“Look, Cher, I think–”
Castiel shoved two fingers in his mouth and cut Benny off with a long and deafening whistle. Benny grimaced and took a safe step back. He ignored Benny’s stink-eye and scanned Main Street, looking for his wayward companion. A silver bullet shot out from around the corner of the Roadhouse and galloped towards them at full speed. The anxiety that clenched Castiel’s chest every time his dog disappeared from his view only eased up when he was back, sitting next to his leg, tongue-lolling happily. To hide his relief, Castiel ran his hands over the silver hide. At least this time, there’s no trash residue. Dozer had a bad habit of getting into people’s trashcans, including the supposed bear-proof ones. He wiggled his ears and leaned against Castiel, who patted him fondly on the side.
Benny crouched down until he was at eye level with the panting Dozer. “Alright, same deal as before. I’ll give ya a ham hock next time you’re in town if you keep your master alive,” he finished this theatrical whisper with a shake of the dog’s paw. Castiel internally rolled his eyes at the ritual.
Benny’s back cracked loudly as he stood back up. Castiel flipped through his boxes of supplies before giving Benny the biggest doe eyes he could manage. Benny shook his head. “Sorry, Cher. No new books this time.” He fiddled with his hat and held it in his hands. To Castiel, he seemed almost…bashful? Odd. Benny was anything but subtle about anything. It was one of the reasons they were friends; they could be equally direct. That was usually a feature he enjoyed. “Ya know, I could probably talk to Ellen if you wanna stay in town for the duration.”
Castiel shook his head, not meeting Benny’s gaze, though. He patted Dozer’s head and pulled out the canary yellow safety whistle he always wore around his neck to show to the other man.
“Yeah, I know,” Benny said. He was used to these odd half-conversations with Castiel. He was the only person in town Castiel saw regularly. Being unable to speak severely limited his options for human connection, which suited him just fine since humans weren’t trustworthy. Benny was the exception, and Castiel still held him at arm’s length.
When Benny exhaled and pulled the cap back on, the bashful was replaced with determination. Uh oh. “You’ve not dealt with a storm this bad before. I know you’re a homebody, but this is a safety concern.”
Castiel crossed his arms and scowled, unimpressed with Benny’s cajoling. He has his chickens and his farm stand to close up. He couldn’t hide in town.
Dozer glanced between them and whined, ears drooped.
They stood for a quiet, heated moment before Benny threw his hands up. “Fine. Remember to check in daily; if I don’t hear the code, I’m sending Jody to check on you.” Castiel nodded. They had an agreed-upon series of knocks over his CB radio, a gift from Benny. Or he’d blow the whistle over it if it was an emergency. Sometimes, though, Benny just talked to him about the local gossip, like he’d forgotten the radio was only supposed to be for emergencies. And yet, Benny could chat Castiel's ears off on a good day.
Benny reached out as if to touch his shoulder but dropped his hand. “Just don’t do anything stupid while up there, Little Bird.”
Castiel ignored the odd feeling in his gut the nickname always gave him. Instead, he saluted.
Benny glanced around to ensure no one was watching them, and then he whispered: “Do you have any spring water left?” Castiel lifted his eyebrows in surprise, and Benny winked. “Gotta stay warm somehow during the storm.”
Castiel pulled a gallon of ‘water’ from his truck, and Benny handed him cash. Their hands brushed gently during the transaction, and Benny pulled back a little too fast.
That was the last gallon he had saved up, though he’d have to wait until after the storm to get going on a new batch.
“Good luck, cher,” Benny strolled towards his store with the gallon, clear liquid sloshing inside. He even did an innocent whistle, which made Castiel shake his head.
Castiel opened the truck door so Dozer could hop up in his rattling, rust-bucket’s cab. Castiel tried not to let Benny’s words feel like an omen as he drove out of town. He waved at passing cars and trucks he recognized on his drive home. As he pulled into the top of the long driveway, Castiel put his head in his hands, overwhelmed with the enormity of the situation. Dozer licked his hand, which helped him break out of the anxiety spiral his mind tried to drag him down.
I don't have time for this. Literally. He swore as a few fluffy white flakes hit the windshield and melted into tiny rivulets. It was time to batten down the hatches. Ensure the chickens were safe and that enough firewood was stacked for the duration. Plus, he had a few hundred other chores he needed to do in the dwindling light of the winter evening.
First things first. He hopped out of his truck and headed to the little shed off his driveway. It was a tiny farmer’s market that ran on the honor system. He grabbed the few sourdough loaves that hadn’t sold, the extra eggs left in the cooler, and pulled down the open sign. He grabbed the payment box and brought it home to count since he was closing the shed entirely. As he returned to his idling truck, a muscle car’s roar tore him from his thoughts.
Castiel watched the big black beast come around the curve and head to town. Dozer barked a few times as the car drove past, tail wagging at the sight. It gleamed in the weak winter sun, and Castiel felt a pang of envy as he watched it drive away, compared to his tetanus trap on wheels.
Castiel shook his head as the car disappeared around the bend and dove his truck back to his cabin. Dozer ran through the woods, following along.
Upon pulling into the spot in front of the log cabin, Castiel sighed in relief. There was no feeling like being home by himself. As he got out and watched Dozer check on the chickens pecking in the side yard, he knew he’d done the right thing. He would have been clawing up the motel’s walls if he’d stayed there for potential days. He didn’t like to disappoint Benny, though. The man was kind to him, even when he did nothing to deserve it.
After his fifth trip moving boxes to his living room, Castiel paused to watch a few snowflakes fall lazily from the sky. While being stuck in town might not have been the best idea, he did find himself wishing he wasn’t alone.
Oh, Dozer was an excellent friend, but sometimes Castiel wished for another companion. Someone to talk to, even if he wasn’t the one talking. Benny’s radio chatter only helped so much. But Castiel had chosen this life of solitude and built this life with his own hands. He didn’t need anyone else. Especially not a stranger poking around, interrupting his routines. So Castiel firmly told himself: There's no point wishing for something you can never have.
A few hours later, once all his chores were done and he’d let Dozer out one final time, he could smell that telltale scent of snow in the air. Small flakes flittered through the bare tree limbs as Dozer trotted up. He shook off the flakes that landed on his gray haunches before he headed inside and plopped down next to the crackling woodstove. Castiel watched the snow for a moment before a burst of cold air whipped past him, freezing him momentarily. He went inside, heated a pot of water on the stove, stripped his clothing, took a quick sponge bath, and redressed in warm thermals. He cuddled on the couch under a blanket, book in his hands. His attention kept wandering away from the pages out the window. The snow fell hard and fast, and the wind whistled around his house. He heard the rattling trees outside. Dozer hopped onto the couch, and they stared outside awhile. I hope nobody is foolish enough to be driving now.
He thought about how difficult it was to maintain control of his old truck on the twisting, turning mountain roads on a bright, sunny day. Castiel shuddered at the idea of someone lost in the snow. Someone caught in a storm like this might not survive until morning. He curled up under the blanket and sighed.
He thought about his favorite books and tried to consider how the protagonists would deal with a creature like a wendigo, or a tupilaq. Luckily, he wasn’t above the Arctic Circle, so he didn’t have to worry about a polar bear monster.
Still, Castiel kept watch, the inside of his home warm from beeswax candles and the cheerfully burning wood stove. It popped and crackled. Dozer yawned very pointedly before leaving Castiel’s side to flop back on the rug where it was warmest.
He drank tea from a misshapen green travesty of a mug, one of his first attempts at throwing clay, but was too stubborn to reform it after a dozen tries. The tea was soothing–mint from his garden that summer. Castiel nodded to himself. My home is safe. I've got plenty of supplies, even if it takes a week for the plows to come through. I'm fine, despite Benny’s worrying. He set the cup down and watched the snow fall, feeling his eyes getter heavier and heavier….
~*~
Dozer’s loud, insistent barking startled Castiel awake. He jolted, disoriented by the loud sound and the cabin’s darkened state. The candles were half burned, and the fireplace was down to a hearty set of embers. Castiel rolled off the couch to crouching, moving to grab the shotgun in case Dozer was sounding the alarm about a black bear. The dog could be excitable at the best of times, and he’d barked “Wolf” before because a herd of deer was passing through the front yard.
But Dozer was still barking, aimed at the front door like something was out there. Castiel hadn’t felt afraid of the woods surrounding his home in years. He knew those woods, hunting, foraging, fishing among the trees and creeks. And this wasn’t Alaska, where grizzlies, polar bears, moose, and elk existed. This was the Appalachians. The biggest things to fear were black bears.
The second biggest were humans.
He snapped his fingers to get the dog's attention, then put his index finger to his lips; Dozer quieted but continued to stare out the glass windows towards the woods. His ears cocked forward, nose quivering even though there was nothing outside but whipping icy winds. Just when Castiel thought Dozer was mistaken, there was a large crash on his front porch, right on the other side of the door.
What the hell? Castiel pulled on some jeans and his jacket, grabbed his flashlight and gun, and opened his door to make sure a tree hadn’t crashed close to the house. He barely got the door open when he stumbled backward, horrified.
A man lay face down in a growing snowbank on his front porch.