Disclaimer: Everything belongs to their respective owners, Eric Kripke, the CW.

A/N: Well, we've had a freezing cold streak here at my house, so I wanted to see what Sam and Dean would do in my situation. I got a little carried away... Check it out!

Hypothermia

"Dean, I'm cold."

"I know Sammy. Hold on." Dean scurried around the room, worrying constantly that his little brother would freeze.

About two days ago, John had left 12-year-old Dean and 8-year-old Sam behind at a makeshift house in the middle of nowhere to go hunt a potential poltergeist with hunter, and family friend, Bobby Singer. Being in the middle of winter, Dean was worried that the house wouldn't be warm enough, especially since the place had no heater. It was about 30 years with no one living in it for the last 15. But John had insisted that he would be back soon and had left the brothers standing on the front porch, Sam clutching his brother's hand, wondering where their father was going. Surprisingly, the first night had not been that bad. They had managed to keep warm enough and Dean had kept Sam entertained so he wouldn't get cabin fever. It was the second night that was the trouble.

An hour ago the wind had picked up and the snow had begun to fall, but only 5 minutes ago had it turned into a full-out storm, the worst Dean had ever felt. It was then that Dean really noticed how old the house was. At that point in time, Sammy was huddled, shivering fiercely, under the living room's blankets while Dean did everything he could to keep the cold out. This was the only part of the house that wasn't missing a part of the roof nor had a broken window. But now Dean was using old pieces of wood and torn towels to plug the holes that littered the walls.

"Dean," Sam murmured through clenched teeth.

"Hold on," Dean whispered, shoving a worn yellow towel in the crack under the windowsill. The wind outside was rocking the house, and sleet was covering it, and making it's way into any crevice it could find and breaking its way through any place Dean had already fixed. Finally Dean had to use his own jacket to cover a hold on the wall, only two feet from Sam's head, which had been spraying him with sheets of snow. Dean was left with nothing else, so he joined Sam on the small couch.

"Better?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his frozen head. Dean's protective instincts then reared its head. Lying down, Dean clutched Sam's body close to his own and tucked Sam's head under his chin. Wrapping his legs around Sam, Dean finally pushes Sam forward so he is entirely enveloped between Dean and the couch. His shivering finally quieted before he fell asleep. Dean wasn't so lucky...

The next morning, Sam woke up, began to move around, and noticed his was covered with something. His mind was sluggish, but he finally remembered the night before. Dean was on top of him.

Sam shoved. "Dean, wake up. Ger'off me." Finally getting his arms free, Sam pushes on Dean's chest. Instead of a familiar grunt or a wave of the hand, Dean actually only fell off the couch, making no attempt on his way down to stop himself. "Dean?"

Dean hit the ground, his head smacking against the... snow? Sam looked around the room and noticed that almost everything was covered in a moderate to thick layer of snow. Then looking at Dean, Sam saw his big brother's own body layered with frozen icicles. "Dean!"

Sam jumped off the couch, feet hitting the snow, and attempted to shake his brother awake. Upon touching Dean's skin, Sam noticed Dean's body felt ice cold. "Dean! Wake up! Please, wake up! Deanie!"

The ground rumbled. Sam took off out the door and encountered John exiting the Impala. "Daddy! Daddy!"

"Sammy? What's wrong? Where's Dean?" John growled, panic filling his chest at his youngest son's tear-stained face.

"Dean's hurt! Daddy!"

"Sam, show me. Now!"

Sam didn't hesitate. He turned around and barreled back into the house. "Deanie!" he shouted on the way.

When John's eyes fell on his oldest boy's face, John literally stopped in his tracks. Dean's skin was actually blue in the morning light. His lips were a pale white, and his skin was sparkling with ice.

"Dean!" Sam shouted again, crying hysterically. This snapped John out of his stupor.

Rushing over to Dean's side, John tried to shake him awake while whispering for a miracle. Dean had a pulse but it was very sluggish. "Dean, wake up. Son?"

Dean finally moved. His eyelids twitched. "Dean?" Sam whined.

"S- Sammmm." Dean couldn't get his lips to move properly. "Smmmm."

John sighed in relief and began wrapping Dean in his leather jacket before pulling out his phone and dialing the hospital number, which he had made sure to memorize. "My son's in trouble. I'm bringing him to the hospital now. Be ready with warm blankets!" The receptionist on the phone tried to ask him some questions before John slammed the phone shut. He then picked up Dean, and, with Sam in tow, ran to the car. On the way to the hospital, which John knew its location, he asked, "What happened?"

Sam had been quiet since entering the car, but when John spoke to him, his eyes widen in horror and he began to stammer. "He... I... It was storming. Dean... Dad, it's all my fault!" And that was all Sam would say. John prodded him for more answers, but Sam kept his mouth shut and his eyes on Dean.

Finally they reached the hospital, and John rushed his son inside. "Help! Please help!"

Dean had fallen asleep once more, so he didn't protest when a gurney was brought over and he was rolled away with his family on hit pursuit.

"Sir, what happened?" a doctor tried to ask.

John couldn't get words out. Then Dean was rolled into a room and another doctor announced, "This boy has hypothermia. Let's get him warmed up!"

John almost ran away right then and there. He had been away for two day and his son had gotten hypothermia! He knew it wasn't good. He's heard stories about people dying from hypothermia. Maybe, this wasn't that bad...

Dean was shoved onto a bed in a room. "Get some electric blankets and heat packs!"

Then John was ushered out of the room. John was too speechless to protest. Sammy had followed his father quietly with tears running down his face. He still refused to talk. After ten minutes, the doctor finally came to the pacing John. "Your son had stage 3 hypothermia."

"What does that mean?"

"It means his core body temperature has gone below 89.6 degrees Fahrenheit."

"He's not even shivering!" John barks.

The doctor nods his head, trying to calm down the frantic man in front of him. "When the body reaches that temperature it stops shivering. But he woke up at one point. His speech was slurred and he couldn't make a full sentence. He couldn't move his arms or clench his fist. He also didn't know what happened."

"Amnesia?"

"A sign of stage 3 hypothermia."

"What now," John breathes.

"Well," the doctor began, sweeping a hand over his face. "We start by gradually warm up his body. We'll begin with the electric blankets, but if he doesn't warm up we'll have to inject warmed intravenous right into his body to warm him from the inside."

John nodded. He knew he would need a little time to absorb all this. "Can we see him?" John finally asks.

"He's resting right now. But I can get a nurse to escort you to his room. Nurses will be in there monitoring him 24-7. Please do not jostle him. We hope to avoid an arrhythmia, irregular heart beats, which I'm surprised he hasn't sustained already."

John nodded again and followed a nurse in yellow down the hallway and back to the room where his son had first been sent. When the nurse opened the door, John was struck speechless again. Dean lay there, so small on such a big bed, covered on all sides with blankets, and nurses hovering over him constantly. He felt Sam let go on his hand and move to his brother's side. Finally John joined his son in silence.

John had no essence of time. Everything whirred around him. Nurses came and went. Dean was prodded and monitored. But there was no change. All John could see was the sun slowly setting out the window. Time moved fast. Then Dean stirred.

"Dean?" Sam whispered, voice hoarse from silence. "Deanie?"

Dean blinked a couple times and tried to turn his head toward his brother's voice, when a nurse stole his attention.

"How are you feeling?" the nurse asked.

"'M l'right," Dean slurs.

"Are you feeling cold?"

"Nnn... I d'know..." Dean crunches his face as he struggles to remember what happened, where he was, and why he was here.

"Can you lift your arm for me?"

Dean's eyes wanders down his body, as if he is trying to find his arm. His eyes then land on his hand and his fingers twitch. After a few moments though he shakes his head weakly and gives up, looking sadly at the nurse.

"It's okay." Briefly addressing John, the nurse said, "I'm going to get the doctor." She was then gone and the family was momentarily alone.

Silence ensued before Sam suddenly whispers. "I'm sorry Dean."

Dean weakly moves his head toward Sam and shakes it. But his brow creases in confusion.

"Dean, do you know what happened?" John asks his son.

"I-" But he couldn't remember.

"Dean, it's my fault!" Sam cries. "I was so cold, and you warmed me up. I'm sorry!"

Finally Dean relaxes, seeming to remember. "No' yer fault, Sm."

"Yes it was!"

"You din't make the strm come. 'S okay Smmy."

Then Dean turns his eyes to John. John knows exactly what his son is saying. He's yelling at him. Screaming at him for being so reckless and leaving Sam and him in a vulnerable position. Dean really was too. He couldn't figure why his dad would leave Sam so unprotected. His brother could have died from the cold. Dean didn't blame his father for his own misfortune, but only that he had put Sam in danger.

John readied for a verbal assault when the doctor walked in.

The doctor looked at the monitor, checked Dean's pulse and temperature, then said, "We'll need to inject him with some warm liquids. He's not warming up fast enough. If he doesn't warm up soon his organs could fail... Nurse go get it, plus get him a warm, sweet drink."

Dean's eyes began to droop and his memory blanks. His body was so numb and Dean desperately wanted his mind to numb as well. But the doctor's gentle shaking woke him again. "Son, I need you to stay awake to get something to drink." Getting him into an almost sitting position, the doctor tipped a glass to Dean's mouth. He reacted instinctively, slowly swallowing the liquid and allowing it to enter his throat. Suddenly he could feel something. A tiny hand was in his own. Only one person had a hand like that. Drinking about half the sweet drink Dean finally gave Sam's hand a squeeze before he couldn't take it anymore, and he fell back asleep.

The two remaining Winchesters watched Dean sleep. It was only an hour after the IV had been injected right into Dean's body when he began to jerk around. The nurse in the room called the doctor. "It's okay," he assured. "It's a good sign. He's shivering. It means he's getting some feeling back."

It comforted John only a little as the night wore on and Dean's shivering got worse. Sam cried once when Dean yelled in pain. The numbness was slowly subsiding and the frostbitten coldness he had felt began to seep in. Sam's heart broke. Even at the age of 8, Sam knew his brother was in trouble, and he knew there was a possibility Dean wouldn't make it. Somehow he knew the possibilities.

As sunlight broke threw the window, Dean body finally collapsed in exhaustion. He had shivered his way through 6 hours, waking up in intervals. The doctor was there the whole time. Sometimes he gave Dean some IV or a warm drink, constantly checking and recording his progress.

After collapsing, Sam squeezed Dean's hand, unsure if he was even alive now. Dean reacts to the warmth in his hand and his eyes open. "Sam?" Dean asks quite clearly.

The doctor smiled. "Your brother's going to be just fine," he finally announced. Relief flooded the room.

The whole time that Dean was in the hospital for recovery, Sam never left his side, and he adamantly refused to let go of his brother's hand. Dean had assured the whole time that it wasn't Sam's fault. "I would have done it regardless," Dean says. "I wouldn't have let you freeze, Sammy. I promise."

Finally, two days later, he was released. The small family exits the hospital, Dean gripping his brother's hand tighter than ever. John had previously packed all their stuff, so when they entered the car, they quickly put the town in their rearview mirror, pushing that awful memory to the back of their mind.

But Dean was consistent. Over the years, Dean kept his promise. Time and time again Dean protected Sam from the ailments of life, and doing so with a smile on his face. Nothing was going to get his baby brother. Not while Dean Winchester was around. Not even the harsh cold of the wilderness. He would forever make sure of it... even at his own expense.

End

A/N: Hurt!Dean is so sad, so angsty! I really hope you'll leave me a little review. It makes my day!