Kansas ~ A Supernatural Memoir

Another Kansas Witch

Cshick

Flink

Shriip

"Dean, it's too windy, it's not going to work."

"Hold your horses, little brother, I can handle this, I'm a big boy."

"Maybe Sam's right --"

"Here, Cas, block the wind so I can light this bitch up, will ya?"

"Dean..."

"Just trust me!"

Worried blue eyes wandered towards the sky as a Kansas storm brewed like a witch stirring her hex. Castiel bounced on his heels, rough hands stuffed in his coat pockets, shoulders raised to keep his ears warm from the whistle of the witch at work.

Trying to light a cigarette in this hell weather. Typical.

"Come on..."

He was wearing that face. The one Sam and Cas both knew all too well.

For starters, his lips pucker. His dimples define themselves. His eyebrows furrow and his green eyes stand perfectly still.

Oh yeah.

That's his focus face.

Except this time, he has a tiny white stick stuck between those diehard lips, and he's muttering out the corner of his mouth like a cranky old man.

Shup

Fleepckshh

Snick

"Seriously??"

"Dean it's cold, we should be helping dad prepare and stuff," Sam whines, long arms wrapped around his knees, back against an old wooden support beam.

"Can it, moose."

A shrill gust of the witch's breath shrivels the boys, all three of them tensing up against it. Sam's locks whip about his face, Cas' nose scrunches, Dean shields the lightweight cigarette.

FLICK~!

"Fuck yeah! Check me out, see? I got it, didn't I? Told you I would."

"That's great, now if you don't die from that thing, Dad'll surely kill you."

"Dad doesn't know anything, man, relax. The wind will take care of the smoke."

"Boys..."

Loud footfalls cause the old wooden porch to creak and groan, work boots an obvious sound to distinguish. Dean mutters something about how he just got to fucking light it as he slams it frantically into the dirt and kicks it under the porch. They each scramble to stand shoulder to shoulder, as much as possible, as a severe man steps out into the cold.

"Sam, get the flashlights, batteries, and the emergency candles."

His dark eyes drift over Cas' square features. "Castiel," he begins, throat rumbling, "you get the water bottles from the basement and the snacks from the bottom cupboard. Grab the radios, too, if they aren't already in the shelter."

Dean swallows, eyes fixed somewhere above his father's head.

"Dean, help me get the weapons and put the tarp over the Impala."

Cas watched as Dean swallowed again upon hearing about the guns, before they all split and got to work on securing themselves for what the witch had in store.

Cas fumbled about with an armful of food, only slightly bummed that he'd have to take two trips. He said nothing, dumping out the Twinkies and beef jerky and plastic bottles, scurrying off to grab another armful, Sam in tow with his flashlights and candles and lighters.

They already had their sleeping bags in there, each of them in their own dedicated spot from years of the witch's torture.

Each man had started to bring in their personal items just for storms. Sam had his Harry Potter books, Dean had his porn, Cas had his angel statue, and John had his liquor. Storms were the only time he allowed himself to drink, other than the light rain showers and get togethers with the friend down the road.

"Storm watch for Lawrence, be careful out there, stay inside and get to your basements and shelters, it's going to be a bumpy night. We'll keep you updated..."