"So you think we're dealing with a water spirit?" Dean said doubtfully, flipping the channel on the TV for a third time. He glanced at Sam, hunched over his laptop and typing something frantically. Geek, he thought to himself, rolling his eyes. "Sammy, hate to break it to you, but all the water is frozen over around here. Water spirits generally stick to things like fast running water or warm places."

"Right, I know that," Sam said. "I think this one ... mutated, somehow, like that demon evolved to fit the times? What if this one simply adapted to fit its environment better."

Dean squinted at him. "Most ancient beings don't adapt."

"Say this one did. I mean, evolution is the prompting of genetic mutations that result in a better defense or adaption to their enivronment, so what's to say--"

"That this one didn't adjust with the times," Dean said thoughtfully. He flipped the channel again. "Can we kill it the same way?"

"That's the tricky part. It should be basically the same as a water spirit, but if it isn't..." Sam trailed off, tapping a few keys and leaning in again. Dean supressed the urge to tell him he was going to ruin his eyes that way. He looked around the hotel room, eyes resting on the flickering bulb overhead, rusty faucet in the bathroom, and the pile of guns in the corner. Right. Because they were going to live long enough for him to worry about his eyes. Snorting, he stood and stretched.

"I'm going to go pick up some things from the store, you want anything?"

Sam shook his head absently, waving a hand for him to leave. Dean had his hand on the door when Sam's voice reached his ears. "Bundle up before you leave."

He stood there for a second, then slowly turned around to look at his brother, who was hunched further than he was before and had his eyes clenched tightly together.

"I didn't just say that."

"Yeah. Yeah, you did, Sammy," Dean said with the beginnings of a grin appearing on his face.

"Pretty sure I didn't," Sam said, nodding to himself confidently.

"Pretty sure you did. Do you want to give me a kiss before we leave? Tell me to have a good day at school?"

"Shut up," Sam said, attempting to project menacing but sounding suspiciously pleading instead.

"Aww, Sammy, I didn't know you cared! Wanna buy me earmuffs? Maybe a scarf? Oh, I know--"

"Dude, if you want to freeze to death, go right ahead," Sam said, valiantly struggling to sound manful and uncaring. The worried look he shot Dean--clad only in a thin t-shirt and an overshirt thrown on top of that--ruined the effect.

"Fine." Huffing, Dean crossed the room and picked up his leather jacket, throwing it on over his outfit. He held his hands out for inspection. "Happy now?"

Sam shifted under his gaze.

"What?" Dean said, watching as Sam leaned over to dig through his duffel and pulling out a small wad of something black and cottony.

"I'd just--I mean, it's really cold," Sam said, throwing the bundle to Dean.

"No."

"Dean--"

"Absolutely not."

"But Dean--"

"I refuse. These are mittens. Mittens," he repeated urgently. "Dean Winchester does not wear mittens!"

"He just tells his hands to be warm?" Sam muttered under his breath.

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Chuck Norris facts?" Sam prompted. At Dean's blank look, he shook his head. "Never mind. Freeze. Get frostbite."

Dean nodded with satisfaction, shoving the offensive objects into his pocket and heading for the door when Sam's voice stopped him yet again.

"But if your hands freeze, that means I drive the Impala everywhere."

There was a tense moment of silence, then Dean, calling upon a vast repository of swear words, pulled the mittens on and stalked out the door, refusing to meet Sam's knowing smirk.