Hey Guys! Just a new one-shot I thought of. Hurt Sam/ Hurt, Hypothermic Dean. Beware Character Death. *Gasps* Shocking, I know! Enjoy!

Glad You're My Brother

Tiny flurries of snow drifted almost alluringly across the icy midnight sky. Soft and placating, they softly blanketed his face, leaking into his eyes. The corners of his mouth crinkled into a smile.

Snow? On a Christmas morning? Always a sign of good things to come.

Sam lifted his lanky arms and danced around in a circle, the pellets of icy dust swirling off his tall frame like a white cape. The sun had yet to rise. The park was dark, empty, and calm, almost serene. Even the hibernating trees, with their ominous scraggly branches covered in mounds of white seemed like this was a dream. It was freezing; his feet trapped within a foot of white. But that small smile remained.

Crunching sounded next to him. He turned and looked up into the bright dazzling green eyes of his big brother. Hands in pockets, with his leather jacket tightened around his tall slender frame, Dean flashed a most sacred grin; one that said "this is for you Sammy. At least it's not Malibu Barbie this year."

Sam's own smile grew bigger and he immediately leapt forward, falling onto his back, and swishing his arms up and down. Dean emitted a small chuckle, shaking his head, before dropping next to him, imitating the same movement.

"I can make my angel bigger than yours," Sam said, moving his arms faster.

"Somehow I really doubt that, midget," was his brother's brusque sarcastic reply.

"Just watch me!"

Twenty minutes later, there were about thirty or more "snow angels" imprinted in the deep snow: one big, one little. The two brothers argued about which was their own, but eventually, understanding how stubborn and tenacious his little brother was, Dean had concurred that Sam had created the larger of the two sizes.

"This is the most fun I've had in a while." Though awkward as it felt, Sam gave his big brother a hug around the waist. "Glad you're my brother Dean."

"Ah thanks squirt. Ha, bet I can make a better snow man," Dean challenged, running off

"Oh no, you can't!" Sam ran after him.

He only managed a few lengths when a pain unimaginable spread throughout his head. Searing. Agonizing. Something torturous chiseled its way right above his left ear, and Sam went down with a yelp. Flashes. Burning, effulgent flashes appeared before his eyes, many tiny white dots dancing all over the dull green orbs.

Next there were horrible sounds piercing into his ears. The sound of shattering glass, crushing metal, and blaring horns-like a car horn.

Sam was confused. He stood up and called for Dean…but Dean was no where in sight. The big block of snow used as the snowman's base was left barren. He looked around in a panic. The pain above his ear intensified and he was left reeling. The influx of flashes struck up again, going faster, and faster, becoming louder; the sound of crashing and the sounds of yelling now added into the mix.

"Dean!" Sam called out into the wide open space. Nothing but his echo responded. "DEAN!"

And still there was no answer.

"Dean!"

"DEAN!"

He called again and then stopped. His voice sounded much different than his twelve-year-old former squeak. It was deeper, smoother, penetrating deeply into his aching skull. Next a series of groans, pained groans entered amongst the murky confusion. What was going on?

The pain in his head magnified, followed by an acute pain coming from…well, everywhere. Sam's breath hitched…

…and he opened his eyes.

Quiet, bone-chilling quiet was all he could produce. The pain hadn't receded, causing him to cringe, regretting opening his eyes, regretting in waking up. The groans reverberated again throughout the interior of his head and it was then he realized the groans were coming up him, soft strangles of pain involuntarily erupting from his vocal cords.

Reluctantly he pried his eyes opened to slits, blinking away several snow flurries dotting his face and neck. The first thing he noticed was a beautiful design of ice, intricate spiny lines and curves. At first he thought it was the biggest snowflake he had seen…only instead the longer he observed the wondrous, beguiling lines, the more he realized they weren't designs off a snowflake…but cracks! Splintered cracks in glass. The fuzziness outlining his thoughts lifted and it was then he understood he was peering up at a fractured windshield.

Fractured windshield? What the Hell?

The farther his conscience reached outward into the fringes of reality, the more Sam began to realize how much of a shit situation he was in. Horrid hot pain seared into his sides. He looked down and saw that he was suspended up, trapped within his seatbelt. The straps dug gratingly into the chilled flesh. Gasping, Sam moved, but stilled as the pain amplified.

It was freezing. The cold sliced criminally through his muscles like icy knives. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. His body shuddered, wanting to fall back into the darkened void to escape this overwhelmingly surreal reality. Shivers, harsh shivers wracked through his body, his teeth chattering severely, biting into his lower lip. Steeling his resolve did nothing, as his body's reflexes took over, momentarily paralyzing him.

Sam couldn't think of what happened. The last he could recollect before falling into his memory of that happy Christmas morning was he and his brother on their way to Bobby's in South Dakota. The roads were icy, covered in at least two inches of snow. Dean wasn't driving his usual fear-inducing speeds, but rather ten miles under the speed limit. They were talking about Bobby's porkloins and pumpkin pie, their stomachs aching, and their mouths watering at the thought; about how they couldn't wait for the Christmas feast that awaited them.

The Impala's dash board loomed ahead, splashes of red adorning the tan interior. There was no hum of the engine. No creaking of its door. No cursing from his hotheaded brother.

Flashes. The bright cornea-shredding flashes began again. But this time he saw the Impala's speedometer reaching fifty; the black curve in the road approaching steadfast; the wheels rounding the corner and the flare of two bulbous headlights of a dump-truck driving on the wrong side of the road.

The images slowed becoming one long flow. Sam remembered the truck coming for them at top-notch speed, the quick steering action his brother made on the wheel to avoid it, and the sheer deafening crunch the truck made as it impacted on Dean's side, sending the Hot-Rod through the guard rail. He remembered the up and down motion, his body and head slamming into the passenger window and dash as the car rolled down the long embankment. There was a huge splash, more shattering glass, and then all went dark.

Sam groaned some more, before gasping in surprise. There certainly was a loud splash…but why?

There was a lake. The road they drove upon was outlining a gigantic pocket of water. Then he remembered there was no cursing. If his brother was awake, there was bound to be a whole pitcher of profanity spilt in the car. He glanced down and his heart immediately skyrocketed up his throat.

There wasn't any doubt there was a lake now. The entire driver's side was submerged in the frigid, black liquid, along with his brother. Dean's head sat above the water, pale, his lips blue, tar stains of blood swathing the side of his temple.

"D-D-Dean!" Sam struggled within his confines, his teeth chattering faster. "D…D-dean, t-talk t-t-to m-me."

His brother didn't respond, but remained motionless, his eyes frozen shut, icicles forming at the tips of his hair and eyebrows.

"D-Dean," Sam tried again. "C-Co…come on!"

He was returned again with yet another silent answer. Immediately Sam searched for his phone. He had to get his brother out and he needed help. Pulling the device from his jacket pocket, he thanked his lucky stars there was a signal and he had the number on speed-dial.

"911. State your emergency." The operator's rough stoic tone sounded.

Sam cringed, as another searing pain ripped through his head. "U-uh…" he gasped. "I…I n-need he…help."

"Okay. Tell me the situation."

It was becoming harder to speak with each second. Simply his body just didn't want to obey his command. "C-car c-crash. Truck h-hit u-us head…head on. P-please…m-my br…brother is trapped…under water."

"Alright calm down. Are you hurt?"

Sam huffed, the pain causing to cross his eyes. "Y-yeah. I…I d-don't k-know i-if I can move."

"Can't move," he heard clicking in the back ground. "Sir, can you tell me where you're at?"

"U-um…u-um…I uh…I can't think…I…"

"Don't worry sir. We tracked your cell's signal and an ambulance is on the way. They can be there in ten minutes."

The panic swelled within Sam's gut. "T-that's n-not enough t-time…he…" he slurred, his eyes closing. Exhaustion set in along with the dulling ache, and all he wanted to do was fall back asleep.

"Sir…Sir! Can you hear me?" The operator called.

Sam jerked back to full awareness as a trickle of his own blood poured into his eye. He wiped it away placing the phone back to his ear. "I-I'm…I'm here," his voice was losing control. The cold was unbearable now, the shakes way too much. "J-just please…hurry." He said into the speaker before his fingers went numb and the phone slipped from his grasp, plummeting into the dark liquid.

Shit, Sam thought. Ten minutes was too long. Who knew how long Dean had been sitting in the water. He could be dead already, having succumbed to the devastating effects of Hypothermia. No. No, I gotta get him out of here.

Having given up pushing in the button release on the buckle, Sam sought for his Swiss army knife hidden in his back pocket. Fumbling with the blade as he pulled it out, his hands shook harder from the cold as the metal tore through the nylon straps. His breath shuddered and he paused, seeking the determination he needed. After about ten seconds, he continued with his work.

The last strap broke once midway and Sam fell. Icy deathlike claws pierced into skin, enshrouding him, taking him under. The moment he hit the water, it was like Death itself had found it another victim. Sharp needle-like stings bit into him, jolting his senses into overdrive. The shivers intensified; the chattering non-stop. His blood on impact stopped and froze.

Sam grimaced. Pushing through the cold was tough, but his brother didn't have long…or had any time at all. Torpedoing his hands through the water, he felt around for Dean's belt. He felt none, no strap; no buckle. And it was then he realized that Dean never wore a safety belt when driving-believing it to be too Frank McClusky. They rolled down the hill and Dean more or less was like a rag-doll enjoying the ride. Oh Crap! How he's still in the car beats me!

Instantly, the wonderful relief that befell him was like witnessing a newborn birth. If Dean had his seatbelt on, then he surely would have been strapped down into the seat and would have drowned, rather than floating. Who knew not having a seatbelt would have saved his life?

"I-It's o-okay D-Dean. I'm g-gonna g-getcha out of here," Sam stammered.

His mind was ice. It was so hard to think, to even delegate tasks to his limbs. The cold was becoming part of him now. He shook his head several times, anything to fight past the icy claws of hypothermia.

A single thought wiggled its way through…and he didn't like the option. All Dean was at the moment was dead weight. Trying to lift him out of the water would be like trying to pick up a Friesian with one hand. Yeah, not happening! So that left option number two!

"D-dude, you're n-not g-going to like this. B-but we…we g-gotta s-swim outta here." Sam groaned.

Glad that there was no protest, even if every part of him were screaming, Sam sunk some more into the depths, wrapped an arm around Dean's back. Puffing from the strenuous activity, Sam managed to pull his unconscious brother up. Dean's head softly fell onto his soaked shoulder. He couldn't tell if he was breathing. He couldn't tell if he was alive or dead and he wasn't going to take the time in locating a pulse. Time was running out!

"C-come on. W-we c-can do it."

Strangely enough, as he said that last part, the little worker mice's song from the Disney Flick Cinderella popped in his head- We can do it. We can do it. We can help our Cinderelli! –reminding him of the time when they were teenagers, and as a payback, Dean tied him to a chair all day and put the movie on repeat. The song became stuck in his head ever since.

And now, it was further stuck as it kept playing over and over in his head.

"If w-we m-make i-it o-out of this…I'm g-gonna k-kill you f-for g-getting that s-song stuck in my head Dean," Sam gritted out. "We can do it. We can do it. We can make her dress so pretty. There's nothing to it really."

Pinching the bridge of Dean's nose and clasping his palm over Dean's mouth, Sam dove down and swam through the broken window, pulling Dean with him under the lake's freezing surface. The weight of them both sunk like a rock and Sam kicked hard, despite his own numbness. We can do it. We can do it.

Out into the night, everything was eerily calm and silent. Sam kicked hard, keeping his hand clamped tightly over Dean's mouth and nose. He couldn't afford for his brother to accidentally inhale possible sewage. With one last kick, he broke through the surface, gasping for air loudly. The crisp, icy air pulled into his starving lungs hurt, robbing him of his senses. A bit dizzy, Sam lifted his brother up, tipping his head back onto his shoulder. Dean hadn't stirred a bit, and slowly doubt was beginning to worm its way into Sam's head.

He pressed on, however, making his way to the embankment. Fix the breakfast. Do the mopping. They always keep her hopping. Sam rolled his eyes as another verse spilled from his lips, but he kept on mumbling. She's goes around in circles, until she's very, very dizzy. Still they holler: keep it busy Cinderelli.

Soon the sloppy, muddy slope padded the underside of his bottom, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Dean's body floated up to the top and Sam wrapped his arms around his torso to keep him anchored. He back-crawled some more up the embankment, dragging Dean's heavy form out of the water and into his lap. Exhausted, Sam slumped over resting his wet head onto Dean's shoulder. In the background, he could hear sirens.

"Oh t-thank G-God. W-we d-did it." Sam breathed. He tightened his hold as the shivers returned with a vengeance. "H-h-hang o-o-on D-D-Dean. Th-they're a-almost here."

And Dean had yet to respond. That wretched doubt crept back into full force now and Sam could no longer resist it. He had to know. The wind howled, blowing fast against him, the cold insurmountable. His fingers quivered tremendously as he placed them into the spot at the crook of Dean's neck. He waited and shivered. He waited some more, the shivers persistent.

He waited a long time. And he couldn't find it. He tried again, his breathing quickening, the fear of what it indicated profound. Please, please no. Tell me I made it in time.

The sirens sounded closer, a storm of rainbow colored lights flickering from behind him. But Sam didn't have a care in the world for them at that second. His one and only focus was on the heap lying in his lap. He smacked his brother's cheek several times, and tried for a pulse again. Was he just that cold and hardly had any feeling left? Was it because of that he couldn't find it?

It had to be! Dean was a fighter. Though knocked out or not, he wouldn't let a simple case of hypothermia take him. He's put up with reapers, demons, Hell Hounds, Angels…and he's just going to let cold water kick his bucket? That sounded odd, even if it were true.

"Come on Dean. D-don't l-leave m-me h-hangin'," Sam pleaded, placing Dean's heavy arms onto his chest. "Hey wake up," he smacked his cheek again.

Still nothing.

Sam gasped. No, it couldn't be true. No way!

"No Dean. No!" he whispered desperately into his ear. "No, don't do this to me. Come on Dean. Wake up please. Please!"

Beams of light flashed down the slope shining on Sam's back, along with shouts from the paramedics. Sam couldn't respond. He was too distraught. He lost his brother. He waited too long in pulling him out of the Impala's watery grave. And now he was all alone, no longer having his partner in crime in taking on whatever dark destiny that awaited him.

"Dammit Dean!" He cursed loudly and threw down a balled fist onto the man's chest. Angrily he threw it down again, and…

…Dean coughed.

Gasping in surprise, Sam rolled him over, beating on his chest again where copious amounts of black lake water fled from Dean's mouth. Smiling with relief, Sam pulled him up against his chest once more, embracing him tightly. "O-oh m-my G-god, you i-idiot. Y-you s-scared the s-shit out of m-me."

Dean coughed one last time, his breathing ragged as his body, too, succumbed to the chill-induced tremors. "S-ssammm," he slurred.

"I-I'm r-right h-here D-dean," Sam replied.

Dean blinked rapidly. "W-w-what h-happened?"

"L-long s-story."

The paramedics were now transcending down the decline. Sam turned and saw them with ropes, trying hard to fly down the muddy slopes. He also noticed the dump-truck to be nowhere in sight. He huffed, understanding that the bastard had made a hit and run. That's okay, he forgot his plate number, Sam thought seeing the smashed white metal hanging off the guard rail.

He turned back to his brother. "It's g-going t-to be okay Dean. Help is here."

Dean shivered, his teeth chattering violently. "O-okay."

Sam hugged him tighter, closing his eyes, waiting on the help they needed to arrive by their side.

"Hey S-Sam," Dean spoke.

"Yeah?"

"I-I'm g-glad y-you're m-my brother. I really am."

That smile Sam remembered from his memory found its way back. He replied, "Me too."

"Good," Dean answered. "Now get off me."

Finite!

R.I.P. Impala Baby! Don't worry, your death will be avenged!

Hope you liked it! ;p