Title: Frozen (Extended version)
Author: November'sGuest
Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester
Category: Angst, Hurt & Comfort
Rating: K+
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are property of Eric Kripke and the CW. This is for fun only.
Summary: This is the extended version of the drabble. After Dean takes a plunge in icy waters in the middle of nowhere, Sam pushes to find them shelter before it's too late.
A/N: Because I just couldn't leave this one alone, for better or worse. Normally, I would post this on first and then here, but for the first time, I'm giving my LJ friends first crack at it. I have no idea if there will be more or not. I really, really have to focus on "What Comes After," but, then again, if I feel so inclined and inspired, there is the small possibility that I will add to this from time to time. Look at this as a one-shot as of now because I'm making no promises. Hope someone out there enjoys it!
Special thanks to thruterryseyes for taking a look at it before I posted. Her eyes are the only other ones to see this besides mine (until now) and I'm grateful for her praise and encouragement that led me to going ahead with this posting.
Frozen (The Extended Version)
They'd been walking for hours. Nothing but a sea of white behind, nothing but a sea of white ahead. The only other thing to see, besides the endless white-wash of snow, were proud oaks and pines towering over them. His soggy clothing had frozen stiff in places–ice crystals clung to his stubble where his breath ghosted out. His feet by-passed excruciating blocks of pain miles back to settle into a sort of blissful numb.
But the worst, what he hadn't told Sam, was the breath in his lungs was now frozen along with the rest of him. It was getting harder and more painful to draw in the frigid air, reducing him to a desperate gasping pant. He guessed it hadn't helped that he'd already been sick before coming out to this godforsaken deep freeze.
Dean didn't know how much further he could go. His legs verged on mutiny and his head felt like his feet—a weighted block of numb. The only thing keeping him going was the fear if he quit, so would Sam. Sam, who doggedly pushed ahead, determined to find shelter. His brother was the only reason he kept moving, but with each clumsy, halting step, he forgot why that seemed important. A single thought blossomed and grew into a steady rhythm in his head. Sam's only chance is to leave me behind.
As if fate agreed, his boots collided with an immovable object hidden beneath the blanket of white and he pitched forward, sprawling face first into the snow. Hearing the commotion, Sam stopped his dedicated march long enough to turn and call out, "Dean?"
Man, he was so friggin' tired. Maybe sleep could sweep him away from the pain and exhaustion—he could just lie there and let it come, stop fighting it so hard. It seemed as good a place as any… But Sam was waiting and that was enough. Dean forced his rubbery arms to push himself into a sitting position–but it was wrong, all wrong. With a sinking heart, he realized he wasn't taking another step.
"J-just l-leave me," Dean stuttered, making no attempt to stand. "It's o-over, Sam. I'm d-done."
"No. No way." Sam quickly covered the few feet separating them. "You have to keep going. Gotta get you out of these wet things and find shelter."
Sam used his comfort-a-victim voice, soft and encouraging, but Dean recognized it for what it was—fear. He cursed himself for his weakness, shaking his head slowly.
"C-can't. C-can't feel m-my legs anymore–too numb." Dean said. "It's o-over. I c-can't." I can'tbreathe.
"Yes, you can." Sam knelt in the snow and ducked into Dean's line of sight. Resting a hand on his knee, he gave it an encouraging squeeze. "C'mon, Dean, this is the hypothermia talking. Remember? Dad always said your head is your worst enemy in this situation. You can't give up."
Dean braced himself for the sharp stab of inhaling and pushed out, "No. No, S-sam. Th-this is it. I'm d-don—" his throat closed off with a deep, rasping cough that left him gagging, breathless and seeing stars.
Sam moved his hand in soothing circles on Dean's back, his face tightening, lips thinning. When Dean was able to draw in enough breath to go on, he whispered, "Can't. N-no more. Just l-leave me."
His brother's hand stilled, then abruptly, Sam stood. He paced away from Dean and stood with his back to him. In angry, jerky movements, he turned and stalked back. Sam's voice shook and his hands waved around manically. "How can you ask me that? Huh? I can't just leave you. You wouldn't leave me—I'm not leaving you!"
Dean shook his head again, desperation strengthened his voice to as near a shout as he was capable of. "What p-part of I can't freaking walk anymore d-don't you understand?! I can't. Do. It." He ended on a gasp and suddenly his lungs started sawing air in and out in ugly rattles. Dean pressed a hand against his chest as if that could help relieve the tight, oppressive weight there.
Alarmed, Sam dropped to a crouch in front of him again, a hand curling around Dean's arm. "Dean? What's going on?"
Dean grit out, "I'm. Okay. J-just hard to…to breathe. You've…got—got…to leave me. P-please."
Sam's head dropped between his shoulders, hand sliding away to hang limply. He stilled for a long, uncomfortable moment, his breath fogging out steadily. Nodding, he stood, shoulders pulled straight, eyes on Dean. Sam swallowed hard, then nodded again. "Okay. Okay."
He didn't bother asking, just grabbed Dean under his arms and hauled him into a stand. Then he bent, gripped Dean's wrist and pulled him across his shoulders, lifting him into a fireman's carry. Sam trudged forward with unshakable determination in every step he took, as if Dean was nothing more than a well-stocked backpack.
Embarrassment burned Dean's cheeks, made his chest heavy with shame. "Put me down. Now, Sam."
"No," Sam huffed, "we're in this together. I'm not leaving you behind. No one's dy—staying behind."
Dean's free hand curled in his brother's heavy coat, stabilizing his weight, trying to make Sam's burden easier. "Don't…be stupid… too heavy. I'm sl-slowing you down."
"Yeah? Tough. Just—" Sam shifted Dean more evenly across his shoulders, "hang on and stop talking. Can't carry your heavy ass and talk at the same time."
Minutes of nothing but the whistling wind, Dean's intermittent coughs, and Sam's boots crunching in the snow passed. Finally, when he could no longer keep the words in check, Dean tentatively ventured, "Sam?"
"Yeah?" Sam's head angled toward him.
"M' sorry," Dean whispered.
Sam halted a beat, then resumed walking, saying, "Dude, nothing to apologize for. I've gotcha. We're gonna be fine."
The End.