Howdy. This is my first ever story in the Supernatural fandom, even though I've been pretty much lurking around for a while. I needed to get my Dean-fix over, so I wrote up this one-shot. Forgive me for my trademark really weird mix of humor and hurt/comfort, it's kind of what I do. I'd love it if you (that means you) readers would review my little story, I'd love to write more for this amazing show.

This takes place sometime in Season 4...I have a certain pleasure in hurt!Dean that I can't explain. I don't think I'm sorry for it.

Disclaimer thingymajig: I do not own Sam or Dean Winchester from the CW's show Supernatural. Nor do I own the Impala. You're one lucky man, Kripke.

It's when the Impala begins put-put-puttering that Dean starts to worry. Not...panic-Dean Winchester doesn't panic-but getting there. Sam moaned in the passenger seat next to him (if he could even call it that...there was a bench seat, and if that divider wasn't there Sam and Dean would have probably been way closer than they wanted to be, with all the car chases they got into), and Dean grumbled something under his breath about ponies and Sam and something that had to do with a nail gun, all the while urging his baby to keep going. But his baby must have been feeling particularly slighted at that moment, because she just kept rumbling and groaning, barely moving across the icy roads. All Dean wanted to do is get to the motel room he and his brother had checked into that morning to sleep, drink, and shower...not necessarily in that order. The hunt they had just finished had taken a lot out of him, both of them. Dean knew he was worse off though, but that was his own fault, because he was the dumbass who left his coat in the car and let himself get thrown around in the cold snow, thank you, Sammy. Damn, that snow was cold. Dean knew snow was just frozen water, he did pay attention in a few of his kindergarten classes, but there was something about this snow that was just so much colder. Maybe the (Mainian...Mainerian...Mainerwhosen...it was from Maine, okay?) snow had a grudge against him. Perhaps it was supernatural snow like that burst of ice that the elemental had sent at him that had hit him in the ass as he tried to draw the sylph away from Sam. He had not run away. Dean Winchester did not run away from anything without taking a few swings at it first. That might have explained why his hands were bright red from frostbite.

But dammit, Sam was not driving his car. He stuck by that, even as it put-put-purted to a stop in the middle of nowhere.

"Dean," Sam spoke in that annoying warning tone he developed whenever he knew Dean had fucked up in some way and didn't want to tell him directly. Seriously, Dean knew he had messed up somewhere along the way, he must have, because the Impala was dying out in the middle of the mountains and he didn't need Sam reminding him right now. "Dean."

The needle wasn't even empty! He had just given her a new battery a month ago, the world had to be shitting him.

"Dean."

"I know, Sam!" Dean roared, slamming his palm on the steering wheel. Sam rolled his eyes as Dean immediately stroked the wheel as if it had actually felt Dean's frustrated hit and was angry because of it. God knew Dean was one of the only people who was willing to apologize to a car. Hell, Dean would do anything for his car. The piece of inherited metal had been resurrected from the dead almost as much as her owners themselves. And that was saying something. It really was.

"We're miles from the motel." Dean groaned, dragging a hand down his face and letting it fall, wincing a bit as it landed on his jewels.

"We're miles from anywhere, Dean!" Sam snapped. He took out his phone from his pocket (thought he was so fancy, with his apps and all that. The joke was on him. Dean could play Tetris.) and checked it before sighing in exasperation and throwing it onto the dash. "No signal. That's great. That's just so typical."

"Stuck in no man's land with nothing but a dead car and a bitchy little sister?" Dean ignored the glare Sam sent him that told him that his 'Samantha' joke phase was getting old and moldy. "I'd say something's fucking with us, wouldn't you say, Sammy?"

Sam's now automatic response of "It's Sam, not Sammy" was cut off as a gust of wind hit their car. It wasn't just any gust of wind, no, it was some supernatural little shit that flipped the Impala up and over the guardrail of the slippery, frozen road that no one was on because no one was as stupid as the Winchesters to actually drive in these conditions. Sam yelled more than Dean did as the Impala rolled and crashed before finally coming to a jarring halt as it connected with a solid tree trunk. Sam immediately nursed the bump on his head he had received when his skull had collided with the sunshield, but pushed it to the back of his mind once he was pretty sure he didn't have a concussion. He dared glancing out of his window, finding that the road wasn't even that far away, only about twenty meters up a snowy slope. They hadn't gotten off that badly.

That was when he noticed the tree branch through the windshield, stretching into the backseat and separating the car nearly in perfect halves, Sam intact on one side and Dean intact on the other. Of course, while Sam's first thoughts after falling off the side of a road were to check on his injuries, Dean could only think that he would have to fix the Impala yet again, because there was a damn tree in his car. That wasn't cool. That didn't fly.

Yet, in the midst of his mental tirade of shocking expletives, only one thing made it out of his mouth. "Sammy?"

Sam gulped, running a hand through his air and making sure that the car was really upright and that he really didn't have a concussion. "Yeah?"

"...I think something's fucking with us."

The no shit, Sherlock, was unneeded. No thank you, Captain Obvious with a cheery response of you're welcome, Lieutenant Sarcasm was going to fix the fact that they had fallen off the goddamned road during a blizzard in Maine on a road that no one would travel on for a good twenty-two hours in the best case scenario.

And it was fucking cold.

"Yeah." Sam wheezed out, fumbling at his seatbelt and throwing open the passenger door, nearly tumbling out into the snow. "Maybe...we didn't burn the right bones of the spirit controlling the sylph."

"Right." Dean muttered, still not making a move to remove his seatbelt or get out of the car. "We need to get back to the graveyard."

"We need to get back to civilization, Dean." Sam snapped. "The best thing we can do is walk forward until we find that small village we passed on the way to the job."

"That place's only commercial buildings were a post office and a tea shop." Dean hissed.

"And a bed and breakfast." Sam added. "So get up. We can go there and call for a tow truck in the morning to pick up the Impala."

"Nuh uh, no way!" Dean grumbled. "I am not leaving my baby here."

"Dean, the windshield is shattered!" Sam argued. "We'll freeze."

"Not with our winter coats, Sammy! Because these things," Dean held his up with false enthusiasm. "These things can make me puke rainbows and shit gold out of my ass!"

Sam pulled Bitchface Number Twelve on him as Dean seethed. He hated Bitch Face Number Twelve. Sam shakily pulled himself out of the car, leaving Dean to his own devices as he went around to the trunk to see if he could salvage any of their stuff. As soon as Sam was out of eyesight Dean shifted painfully in his seat, wincing as he maneuvered out of the way of the small branch that had ripped open the skin on his side, leaving a gooey, bloody gash. Dean covered it with his jacket and opened the driver side door, attempting to hide his pained expression from Sam as he leaned against the car frame, his feet sinking into the snow. Sam didn't look at him, and Dean sighed in relief as he composed himself. Once they got back to the motel or wherever they were going, he'd fix himself up. Right then he had to get Sam out of the bitter cold before they froze to ice.

"You ready, man?" Sam called, slinging his backpack up over his shoulder. He tossed a bag to Dean and he caught it clumsily, his breath breaking a bit. Sam raised an eyebrow as his brother blinked harshly and stepped toward him. "You okay?"

"What? Yeah." Dean rolled his eyes. "Let's get out of here before you become a Samsicle."

"That was really bad."

"Ignore it."

The two brothers began making their way up the hill, Dean biting the inside of his mouth to mask the sharp pain in his side. It's not even that deep. He hissed at himself. You'll be fine. Just get Sammy to somewhere warm. Then you can deal. Sam and Dean launched themselves over the divider and onto the icy road. Sam slipped but caught himself on Dean's coat, lurching his brother to the side. As Dean struggled to hide the ripple of agony going through his body, Sam stayed clueless and fixed his posture, kicking at the ground.

"Black ice." He speculated. "If the elemental didn't crash the Impala, the road would've."

"No way, Sam." Dean scoffed. "I'm a great driver."

"Without a real driver's license." Sam pointed out smugly.

"Shut it, Gumby."

"You alright, Dean?" Sam smirked, starting to walk. "Your jokes are making less and less sense."

"Don't judge me. I saw that backbend there."

Now it was Sam's turn to scoff. "Have you ever even seen Gumby?"

"Sure, he's that creepy green clay flexy thing." Dean replied.

"You don't even know what it is."

"I don't watch kids' TV a lot, okay?"

"You watch Spongebob."

"Only when I'm drunk."

Sam chuckled. "Well, if I'm Gumby, you're Pokey."

"What is that, an STD?"

As if offended by that notion, the wind started to pick up, pelting both of the Winchesters with harsh, nipping ice. Snow. Whatever. Sam whacked Dean on the shoulder and started walking faster down the road, sheltering his face with his arm. Dean followed his lead and they made their way down the road as quickly as they could, jogging as fast as they dared. A faceplant was not Dean's plans for the day. After about a couple miles the wind picked up even more, making the snow whip about and block their view of anything that wasn't three feet in front of them. When a particularly strong gust of wind nearly blew Sam off of his feet, Dean steadied him, dragging a hand over his eyes to get rid of the snowflakes making homes in his lashes.

"Whoa, Gigantor." Dean shouted, the wind so harsh that he couldn't hear anything over the rush of the air and the crunch of their feet in the steadily rising snow. "We gotta find shelter, we won't make it to town in this blizzard."

"No, Dean!" Sam ripped his arm out of his grip. "We gotta make it to town, it's only gotta be about ten more miles, maybe less. We can make it!"

"I'm not gonna watch you keel over from a kick in the ass from Jack freaking Frost!" Dean roared. "C'mon, Sam."

Sam shared a look with his brother before he sighed in defeat, pointing a finger over the divider of the road. "The hill is less steep now. It looks like there's a grove of trees or something in there."

"Right." Dean coughed as the cold began to weasel its way down his throat. "Let's go become bush people."

Dean led Sam now as they trekked into even deeper snow that nearly reached their knees. Sam called the A-OK on a large shrubbery that left a decent sized dent between the branches and the ground. Dean, unsatisfied with the amount of space, took his machete to their makeshift ceiling and created a bigger dome. This, of course, earned him a bitchface from his brother. Dean knew that bitchface, but he was too damn cold to place it with its designated number. Ah, screw it, who cared anyway?

"We might be here for a while, Sammy." Dean spoke up, peering outside of the shrubbery and into the storm. The only difference their little shelter made was that they were no longer being pelted continuously with ice or being bonked on the head with golf ball-sized hail. It didn't change the fact that the snow was still steadily rising around them. Dean smashed down his own little seat out of the snow, covering it with the cut branches of shrub for good measure. He didn't think his cut was bleeding anymore, and that was good. It might not have been as bad as he thought. "Might want to settle down, get some shut-eye."

"I'm not going to sleep, Dean." Sam told him, as if simply the thought was ludicrous, but Dean sent him a glare of his own.

"Dude, you didn't sleep last night cause you were doing research, which was shit, by the way, so now it's my turn to stay up. I'll keep watch. I'll wake you up if it starts to stop, and then we can high-tail it to your fru-fru breakfast place."

Sam smirked at him, but leaned back onto his bag to humor his brother anyway.

He was out within minutes.

Dean chuckled to himself, checking his cut to satisfy his suspicion that it wasn't bleeding anymore and then set to work staring blankly out into the snow as if it were his job. He occasionally produced a flask from his coat pocket and took a swig from it without any significant change of facial expression. It was only when his bro-dar went haywire that Dean changed his position, looking back at his baby brother with concern. He was shivering. Hell, Dean was shivering too, trembling, really, it was cold, like sub-zero. At least it felt like that. Without a second thought Dean shed his winter coat and hobbled stiffly over to Sam, draping the source of warmth over him delicately so as not to wake him. The shivering decreased somewhat, and Dean returned to his post, taking Sammy's cold with him. In the middle of freaking nowhere in freaking Maine his freaking jacket was as thin and as useful as a freaking tissue. Shivering uncontrollably, Dean took another drink from his flask. If Sam was warm, then it was okay. Dean could face the cold. He'd show this elemental who was boss. And damn, once he found his way back to that graveyard that spirit was going down.

Sam slept for hours. Dean supposed he should be thankful for that, because he really didn't need his brother bitching to him about wearing his winter jacket in sub-zero supernatural weather when Sam himself could be freezing to death. Priorities, man. Yet, however happy Dean was that Sam was getting some shut-eye and using this...opportunity that the sylph had given him, Dean had to admit that he was getting kind of lonely.

At least it seemed to be warming up a bit. He'd stopped shivering a while ago. He wasn't completely sure if that was good or not, but every time he touched Sam he seemed warm enough under his skin, so he didn't care. It took a while to get to Sam, longer each time he tried. Dean didn't understand it, like, Sammy was only a few feet away, right? His feet wouldn't listen to his brain. Neither would his hands. Stupid hands. Sammy was shivering. Dean hated shivering. He'd already bitten his tongue at least twelve times, so shivering could go suck it.

In fact, Dean wasn't cold at all. His cut didn't even hurt. This was sweet.

Dean licked the top of his mouth, trying to salivate, but his tongue was dry. Which was weird, he had just been drinking, hadn't he? Weird. His feet had fallen asleep. Ew, Dean hated when that happened. He wanted to stomp his feet around, but they wouldn't listen to him. It seemed like so much work, and it would wake Sammy. He didn't want to wake Sammy. Sammy needed his sleep.

It was snowing out. Dean liked snow, always had.

Dean puckered his lips, trying to see them beneath his nose, but he couldn't. Stupid nose, in the way. He dragged the back of his hands across his mouth, pleased at the warm feeling that it gave him. He tried to crack his knuckles, but they wouldn't crack. That was odd. Dean tried to remember what he was waiting for. He had to be waiting for something, it was snowing out and he and Sammy were in a bush. He didn't understand why it was snowing out, it wasn't nearly cold enough for it to be snowing. Well, maybe. His tummy felt a little bit chilled.

How long had he been waiting? Dean brought a hand up to his eyes to look at his watch. He needed a digital watch, this shit was all blurry. Maybe he needed glasses, or contacts, or something. He'd never been to an eye doctor before. Didn't know what they were called, something fancy, started with an 'o'. Dad never really bothered with that, as long as Dean could see what was coming at him and Sammy and he could shoot it. Dean guessed that that was all that really mattered, anyway.

Damn it, it was hot.

"Dean?" A small voice broke into Dean's hearing, and he smiled slightly. Sammy was awake now. He could talk to someone, now. "Dean, what're you-Dean!"

Sammy's hands were suddenly all over Dean's shoulders and face and whoa, dude, personal space, man. Dean sprung back from Sam's touch, surprised. Why the hell were they in a bush, again? They weren't that homeless, were they?

"Dean, Dean, oh my god you moron what were you thinking?" Sam was yelling, and Dean didn't like it when Sam yelled because he sounded like Dad. Sam forced Dean's jacket onto him, and then his winter coat and hey, wait, Sammy, you'll freeze! Sam was suddenly rubbing his hands over Dean's hair, which was weird, because white stuff was coming off of it and Dean Winchester didn't have dandruff, he just didn't. Sam was rubbing Dean's calves and slapping his cheek and rubbing his hands, and Dean thought that maybe Sam should take it a little slower, like, he hadn't even bought him dinner yet. Sammy was breaking all the rules, had Dean not taught him anything?"

"C'mon, man, we gotta get you outta here." Sam tried to heave Dean up onto his feet. Dean gave Sam a look of confusion and amusement, which made Sam want to scream because Dean had reached second base with hypothermia and he didn't even care! "We gotta get you to the hospital."

"What?" Dean pulled his lips to one side, glancing at his brother. "No, we don't. Why, you hurt?"

"No!" Sam snapped, biting his lip. "Damn it, Dean, your fingers are fucking blue!"

Oh, hey, look at that.

"Why didn't you keep yourself warm, Dean? What is wrong with you?"

Dean shrugged carelessly. "Priorities, man."

"I'm going to shove your priorities up your freaking ass."

Well, that seemed a tad graphic. Sammy'd been holding out on him.

"Looks like you got him here just in time, Mr. Page. Your brother is very lucky that you were around. The alcohol in Dean's bloodstream made him more susceptible to hyperglycemia and moderate hypothermia, but he's all fixed up. We've got him on IV fluids and insulin and we've put a humidifier in his room to make him breathe a bit easier and warm up. We stitched up that little nasty cut he had on his side. He responded well to the rewarming, and he's going to be just fine."

"Thanks, doc." Sam nodded to the doctor as she walked down the hallway and into another patient's room. Immediately his concerned face switched to one of anger, and he turned into his brother's room, jaw set.

"You're an ass."

"Thanks. I try."

Sam hissed out a breath and sank into the chair next to Dean's bed, glaring at him. Dean flashed him a smile, now that he could move his lips correctly, and nudged Sam's shoulder with his fist. Sam gave him the middle finger. It was justified.

"Did you call the tow for the Impala?"

"Dean, you could have died."

"Yeah, but I didn't. Did you call for the tow?"

"Why can't you get it into your head that you're more important than your car?" Sam nearly yelled. "You made yourself hypothermic while I was sleeping after you didn't tell me you were hurt."

"Wasn't that bad."

"Needed stitches, Dean."

"Wasn't that bad."

"You're insufferable." Sam groaned. "Just...don't do that again, okay? I can't...not when..."

"Hell, I know." Dean rolled his eyes. He waved his hand in front of his brother's face. "Lookie, Sam, I'm still here! Whoopie. I'm fine, you're fine, dancing flowers and all that shit."

"You're high."

"I'm doped. There's a difference."

"You're on painkillers, Dean. You're an idiot." Sam couldn't help but smile.

Dean leaned forward a bit. "So I realized, right, that sylphs aren't like other elementals, they aren't controlled by spirits, lore says they're spirits of like, pissy women who were like, denied afterlife or whatever. So I think we just ganked her husband or kinky lover or something."

Sam was shocked at the semi-lucidness of Dean's statement. "You could be right. We'll go back in a couple days, make sure to toast the woman's bones. I'll make sure it's the right one this time. We already pissed her off once."

"Yeah, she packs a punch. Hey, Sam." Dean smiled coyly. "Think she's hot?"

Sam didn't even dignify that with a response.

Oh, Dean, why you so stupid? We love you :D

Now...name that alias! (I love this game.) You know, you'd think that eventually that the Winchester's would run out of rock band members' last names to steal...

Thanks for reading! Give the review button (it's more like a box now, no more pop-up) some love!