Author's Note: Thanks to hitchcock_starlet and to Julia for their friendship and mad beta skills. This is my space for Dean to deal with his time in Hell, so plenty of angst and introspection here, but a fun hunt too and tons of brotherly fun--oh and Christmas! This isn't going to be an epically long piece, and chapter two is ready to post so show me the love on this first chapter and you'll get the next one tomorrow :-) Enjoy and tell me good or bad what you think. Thanks for reading!

Light from Shadows

From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring;
renewed shall be blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings

Chapter One

"I hate being cold," Dean muttered, the word cold coming out like a curse.

"I'm with you, man," Sam agreed, blowing on his gloved hands and rubbing them together furiously. He stopped himself mid-scrub and glanced over to see if Dean had noticed. It wasn't like the motion would make much difference—the gloves were rated for arctic temperatures.

"Even after the burning fires of Hell, I hate being cold."

Sam's smile was hidden under the black balaclava that encompassed everything from the neck up except for his goggled eyes. "How long before it shows?"

"Hopefully before the frostbite sets in."

"Hypothermia'll be first."

"Smart aleck."

They sat shivering in the semi-darkness at the edge of the swiftly flowing ice river, using a large log as a blind as they scanned the tree line with night-vision binoculars.

"You and Dad ever hunt in Alaska before?" Sam asked with a convulsive shiver.

"Dad didn't do extreme temperatures." Dean gave a chuckle of amusement, shaking his head. "He hated the cold worse than I do—always called Wilhelm when there was a below-freezing job."

"Explains why we stayed in the lower 48."

"Yeah, I was always hoping there'd be a nut-job demi-god in Hawaii," Dean said with a grin. "Sunshine, piña coladas, beaches." He sighed dreamily. "And you know what's at the beach, right Sammy? Beaches have girls in—"

"Did you see that?" Sam hissed, cutting off Dean's description of his ideal tropical beauty.

"What?"

"Sixty yards. 2 o'clock. Up high."

"Dude, yetis climb trees?"

"Unless that's a raccoon the size of a polar bear, it would appear so."

Adrenaline warmed them briefly as they watched the creature clambering through the tops of a scraggly stand of evergreens. The trunks swayed crazily and both Winchesters furrowed their brows as they tried to figure out what the yeti was doing up there.

"Looking for food?" Sam wondered aloud, his teeth chattering.

"Playing Cirque du Soleil?" Dean countered, the cold causing his to stutter violently on the last word.

Sam was too cold to answer and he tried to bury himself deeper into the fur-lined hood of his parka. As quickly as it had come, they lost sight of it and finally Sam mustered the energy to speak, the seeping chill slowing his words and his thought processes.

"I think we'd better head back before we freeze to death."

"You mean you don't want your life to end as a Yeti popsicle?"

"Not particularly."

"Yeah. Me either," Dean said, "and my nose hairs are frozen," he complained, standing sluggishly and trying to shake some feeling back into his limbs.

Sam did the same, stomping his feet forcefully on the solid ground. His teeth were chattering harder now and he flicked his flashlight on with some difficulty—his fingers just didn't want to obey. "The guy at the lodge said the temperature would kill you in an hour and we've been out here almost two."

Dean smiled, his grin shadowy in the pale glow of the light that Sam held. "Winchesters have a higher threshold for most things than mere mortals, Sammy."

Turning on his own Maglite, he started down the trail they'd created on the way out to the gravel bars of the Aniak River. Thankfully it hadn't snowed in a couple days and the path was easy to find.

Sam had been looking for a gig in online newspaper archives when he'd found a pile of information on the mystical creature of the North and had convinced Dean that the strange disappearances (and copious amounts of blood left behind) were more than just bear attacks. It was less the evidence and more the desire Dean could see in Sam's expression that convinced him—against his better judgment—to go north for Christmas instead of south.

"Maybe we could see the Aurora Borealis." Sam grinned; his eyes alight at the idea.

"Yeah, maybe," Dean replied, his smile soft at Sam's excitement.

Reaching the Yonder Lodge's mud room in less than ten minutes, the stripped off enough of their sub-zero outerwear to be able to move freely inside and began the trek to their room. Passing through the main foyer, Dean slowed without noticing, mesmerized by the brilliant warmth billowing from the massive stone fireplace against the far wall.

The heat was hypnotically inviting to his cold bones but flinchingly reminiscent of . . . well, Hell. The conflicting instincts—to stay or run—simmered in his chest like a living creature as he stared at the blue and orange flames whirling in the grate.

"Dude, you're starting to steam," Sam said, nudging him from behind with his own armful of gear.

Dean turned his head, glancing at his brother. "Yeah, well so are you," he muttered darkly and started up the massive stairway made of whole timbers.

Sam didn't move immediately, his eyebrows rose quizzically at Dean's snappishness. He looked toward the fire as Dean had done, but nothing struck him as particularly worthy of contemplation. Sighing, he shook his head and followed his brother.

"So, we found the abominable snow man. Now what?" Dean questioned.

There was still an edge to his voice and Sam willed himself not to look up from the laptop screen. Dean was walking the room like a caged feline, stopping every minute or so to stare at the flames in the room's gas fireplace with what appeared to be a combination of open hostility and . . . something Sam couldn't place.

"Well, um . . ." Sam started slowly, more to fill the empty air than because he was ready with a plan. "I don't know. I'm looking for lore, but most of it centers on being killed by yeti, not by killing it," he offered. "The weirdest part about this is that these guys aren't native to Alaska . . ."

"Really. I thought they were all about the snow?" Dean asked, pausing to look at Sam quizzically.

"They are, just not on this continent. They're supposedly only found in the Himalayas."

"So this dude is seriously outside of his fly zone."

"Yes."

"What do you think it is?"

"Well, it wasn't a polar bear, and it wasn't a person," Sam said dryly, "But that's as far as I've gotten."

"Could somebody have brought it here and like . . . released it into the wild?"

"Maybe, but the research is completely inconclusive as to whether or not yetis even exist. I mean, there's less proof than there is for Bigfoot."

"Yeah, well, we've seen a lot of stuff that most people didn't think there was conclusive proof of, Sam," Dean said with a smirk, visibly relaxing.

"True."

Dean glanced at his watch. "You about ready for dinner?" he asked, his stomach growling loud enough that Sam could hear it punctuating the question.

"Sure. Let me close up."

As Sam saved the stuff he was working on and stood, he watched as Dean returned to pacing . . . returned to his staring contest with the glowing fireplace.