Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! Now onto chapter two, let's see if the boys survived the avalanche ;)

Part Two

Castiel came to slowly. This was a feeling he was becoming more and more accustomed to, being injured more badly, being knocked unconscious. He had to admit, he didn't care for it much.

It took him a moment to remember what had happened. The avalanche had come, and he had tried to get to the others, hoping in some vain way that he could protect them, but he had only been able to reach Sam, half pull him from the snow before they were both buried in it and tumbled head over heels down the mountain. After that he only remembered something stopping him very violently then everything went blank.

He forced his eyes open, curious to see what had stopped him, and found that he was wrapped around the trunk of a tree. Somehow, he had managed not to be completely buried though, just a snow drift over his legs and hips, and for that he was very grateful. He groaned slightly, trying to shift, but he was still stuck fast and the movement made his body scream in pain. It was an all too human feeling and it shocked him. He coughed and something red spattered into the pure white snow in front of him. It took him a moment to realize it was blood. His blood.

He had to move, assess his injuries and try to heal them so he could find the others.

With great effort, he pushed himself away from the tree trunk and forced himself up until he was sitting against it. By that time he was gasping for breath and coughing more blood. He could feel most of his ribcage collapsed in on itself from the impact and winced as he yanked the gloves off his hands and was shocked to feel the bite of cold on his now bare fingers. He was far more weakened than he thought. He bit back a moan as he unzipped the coat and pressed a hand to his chest, summoning all the strength of his fading grace to heal his wounds. The snapping of his ribs as they healed was painful and made him light-headed, but he somehow managed to get them and his lungs back into one piece before he collapsed back against the tree, gasping for breath. There were other superficial injuries he could feel now that the worst was gone, many bruises everywhere and some dried blood in his hair, but they were not life threatening and he could not expend any more energy at the moment to heal them if he was going to find the others. A worrying thought suddenly came into his mind. What if they were injured as badly as he had been? Even if he had enough strength, he couldn't have healed them if he wanted to. He could only hope that that was not the case; that they were, indeed, fine.

He forced himself up onto his feet, zipping his coat up and pulling his gloves back on. He was cold, and he had never been cold before. This was not a good start. He looked around to see if there was any sign of his companions, but all he saw was a dark bit of fabric sticking out of the snow right in front of where he had lain. He quickly knelt and started shoving snow away from it, soon revealing it to be a backpack. He slumped in disappointment, even though he knew it was important to have, and he remembered throwing his off so he could run earlier. He grabbed it and pulled, only to find resistance. He frowned and pulled harder, but it wouldn't move. He quickly dug deeper and uncovered a shoulder and then a hand and a white snowsuit.

Digging upwards, he soon uncovered Sam's pale face, his hair covering his eyes, which were closed and looked frozen together. Castiel dug deeper, pulling the younger Winchester from his snowy prison, all the time, calling to him to see if he would wake.

"Sam," he finally slapped his face and was rewarded by a flinch and a sigh. Castiel pulled Sam's upper body against him and relieved him of the backpack, checking him for injuries, but could see none on his face or chest. Realization dawned on him, that he had actually been what had kept Sam from major injury, acting as a buffer between him and the tree. He was incredibly thankful their positions had not been reversed. Sam would have died with injuries like the ones Castiel had sustained.

"Sam, open your eyes," he commanded, pulling the hood of Sam's parka up around his face. He seemed to have lost his skullcap and Castiel knew he needed to stay warm. Sam moaned as Cas shook him slightly and his head lolled onto the angel's shoulder before his eyes fluttered open, looking up, confused at Castiel.

Cas smiled in relief. "Good to see you awake, Sam," he said truthfully.

"Wh-what happened?" Sam murmured, looking around.

"We were caught in an avalanche," Castiel explained. "We were not buried too deep."

Sam frowned as he caught sight of the blood that still covered Castiel's chin. "Are you bleeding?"

"I was able to heal myself," the angel explained. "Are you injured?"

Sam frowned. "I don't know. I'm too cold to feel anything."

Castiel stood and propped him against the tree. "Let's get up, I don't know where Dean and Bobby might be, but they likely need our assistance." He shouldered the backpack, figuring Sam was too weak to carry it and reached down for the younger Winchester's hands. Sam grabbed hold and was nearly on his feet before he cried out and slumped back into the snow.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asked worriedly, kneeling beside him. "Sam?"

His face had gone another shade paler and he was breathing hard through gritted teeth. "My-my ankle. I think it might be broken."

"Oh, Sam," Castiel said worriedly as he peered at Sam's ankle even though it didn't look any different in his boot. He noticed for the first time that neither of them had any snowshoes anymore. Perhaps losing them in the fall had caused Sam's ankle to wrench.

"Go find Dean and Bobby," Sam urged him. "I'll be fine here."

Castiel shook his head, reaching down again. "I'm not leaving you here, Sam, not with that creature roaming the woods. We'll find a place to rest, somewhere sheltered, and then I'll go out and look for them."

Sam didn't seem to have the energy to argue. He allowed Castiel to pull him to his feet, and leaned gratefully on his shoulder. Castiel wasn't sure where to go, but he hoped there might be some place sheltered nearby, maybe they could start a fire. Something warm would help both of them, and he'd need to get Sam's ankle tended to or it might get worse. In any case, they were in a dire situation, and he could only hope that Dean and Bobby were better off than they were at the moment.


Dean blinked groggily, his eyes feeling stiff, if that was at all possible, his eyelashes stuck to his cheeks. He groaned and tried to turn and wipe his eyes on his shoulder, but seemed unable to move. He coughed and grunted as he shifted more violently. Something fell on his face, startling him and he finally got his eyes open.

Everything was dark, and though he couldn't see, there was a closeness to his surroundings that he didn't like one bit. He couldn't move, he could hardly breathe, and he had no idea where he was. His mind went back to when he had gotten out of hell, woken up in a coffin. Panic settled in his chest and he tried to fight it back, but he hated tight spaces. His breathing was ragged in the close space and he wriggled as hard as he could, screaming in the tight space before he felt his arms moving more freely. Whatever he was stuck in, it was moveable. More of it fell onto his face, and into his mouth, cold, melting, and then he realized it was snow, and remembered what had happened. The avalanche. He must have been buried in it.

Not that that helped how he was feeling. He was still stuck under who knew how much snow, and could barely move, with no way of knowing which way was up or down. He vaguely remembered stories about people spitting to see which way it fell, but his mouth was too dry with fear, and he couldn't see anyway.

With a huge effort, panting for breath now in the tight space, he managed to free one arm, and clawed at the snow around his face, making a bigger hole. He felt pretty confident that he was facing upward, and so without further ado, he attacked the snow, trying to keep his panic at bay as he shoved it, only really succeeding in burying his lower body more.

Then something occurred to him. He still had his backpack, and with much maneuvering, he was able to reach for it, and pulled out his pistol. He yanked off his gloves to use it and forced his frozen hands to work. He pressed the muzzle of the gun up into the snow above his head and closed his eyes as he fired. Then he did the same several more times, hoping he might have loosened the snow.

He used the butt of the pistol to hack at the snow now, a bunch of it tumbling down on top of him. He was sweating under his snowsuit and he knew that wasn't good, that he would freeze when he got out into the wind again, but at the moment he didn't care about anything but getting out of the ground.

Another thought hit him then, as his panic subsided. Sammy. Sammy might be buried like this too. As if Dean needed any more incentive to get out of there, he fought even harder through the snow just with the thought of his little brother caught in a similar way. Sam didn't like tight spaces any more than he did.

Finally, he was rewarded for his labors as a large chuck of snow fell down into his lap and he was greeted by brilliant sunlight. Dean almost sobbed in relief and wriggled until his legs were free and then hauled himself out of the snow, collapsing in the powdery stuff and gasping for breath.

"I friggin' hate snow," he whimpered as he rolled onto his back and looked up at the sky. He allowed himself a few minutes to recover, checking his body for injuries, before he forced himself up, immediately falling to his knees in the deep drifts. He had lost a snowshoe and decided the other one wasn't going to do any good. He was surprised that one had stayed on. He hauled his backpack up higher on his shoulders and looked around, half hoping to see any one of the others tromping through the snow looking for him, but he knew it was too much to hope for. They were probably all just as stuck as he was. He only hoped they were similarly uninjured. It seemed the snow had done well enough to cushion Dean's descent. He had to admit it was good for that, if nothing else.

"Sam!" he cried anyway, his voice ragged, but echoing through the trees. Good thing he hadn't hit one of those. "Cas! Bobby! Sammy!" no one answered. He cursed and knew there was nothing else to do except go looking. He wondered how far down the mountain he had fallen. He had been too shook up to tell.

He kept calling, though not too loudly, as he didn't want to start another avalanche. Finally, at long last, someone answered his cries with a groan.

"Dean?"

Dean spun around and caught sight of a figure sitting against a rock. He ran as fast as he could, falling several times before he reached Bobby and crouched next to the old hunter.

"Bobby! Are you all right?" he asked, seeing the hunter holding his right arm close to his chest.

"Think my shoulder's dislocated, but besides that, I'm peachy," he grunted. "You find Sam and Cas?"

Dean shook his head, slumping back against the rock alongside Bobby in defeat. "No. I don't know if they might have gotten buried farther up, hell, they might be farther down. They might be dead. I can't move fast enough in this damn snow."

"Calm down, son," Bobby told him firmly. "Ain't nothing gonna get fixed if you keep fretting. First you gotta help me get this shoulder back into socket, and then we can see if we can find the others."

Dean sighed, but knew he was right. He shrugged off his pack and stood up in front of Bobby. He got his footing, and then grabbed the hunter's bad arm, bracing one foot against his chest.

"Ready? On three, one…two…" He yanked and felt the socket pop back into joint as Bobby yelled and spit several curses out as he curled in on himself. Dean gripped his good shoulder until he got his breath back, and Bobby finally pulled his head back up again.

"You sure you're good, Bobby?" Dean asked him, worried about his paled complexion.

"This ain't my first rodeo, boy. Now, help me up."

Dean allowed himself a small smile and pulled the older hunter up by his good arm, and decided to shoulder both their packs. Bobby wasn't happy about it, but he couldn't carry his with his shoulder. He did keep his shotgun though, not about to part with that, and refused the shoulder Dean offered him to lean on.

"I'm good, Dean, stop worrying about me. Let's go find that brother and angel of yours."

Dean nodded, he hoped Sam and Cas were all right. He shuddered at the thought of finding their frozen bodies buried deep in the snow, or worse, eaten by the creature they had come to hunt. He didn't want to think that Cas could be killed by an avalanche, but with his weakening grace, he had no idea what could happen to the angel, and neither did Cas himself.

"You think the avalanche did our job for us?" Dean asked Bobby hopefully.

"I hope so," the older hunter said. "It would certainly be one good thing that would come of this."

Dean nodded, but then, something caught the corner of his eye and he frowned, looking to the right.

"Did you see something?" he asked.

Bobby looked over in the same direction. "Not that I can say."

Dean swallowed hard, unable to let go of the feeling of being watched, and then he saw something again, and this time Bobby also turned in the same direction.

"I saw it that time," he said grimly.

A low growl sounded out from the dense trees and the two immediately grabbed their guns, Bobby wincing as he tried to maneuver his with mostly his left arm.

"I think we've got our answer to your question, Dean," Bobby told him grimly as a shadow revealed itself from among the trees. The two hunters stood their ground as it emerged from its covering. The creature stood easily twelve feet tall, covered in white fur with a vaguely humanoid form.

"What in blazes is that thing?" Bobby gasped.

"I think it might be an abominable snowman," Dean half-joked with a gulp, then as the creature opened its teeth-filled mouth and roared, he decided he wasn't joking anymore. It raised its hands, showing easily six-inch claws extending from each finger.

"Whatever it is, I think we'd have a better chance of running," Bobby shouted, as the thing leapt forward and the two hunters turned tail and ran, stumbling through the snow as it gave quick pursuit.


Castiel and Sam had finally stumbled across a sheltered cleft in some rocks, creating a kind of windbreak so they would be able to start a fire. Castiel sat Sam down, and hurriedly worked on clearing snow away from the ground as well as he could. He finally cleared a spot big enough for them to sit and make a small fire.

"I think there's some fire starters in my pack," Sam told him, rooting around in it.

"I'll fetch some wood," Castiel told him, and before long he was able to get a small fire going, the warmth working a good deal toward making him feel better and a little stronger. He knew he would need all the strength he could muster to be able to go out there and find Dean and Bobby. Walking through the snow was harder than he had thought it would be without the snowshoes, and he didn't think he could afford to use any of his power by flying. It wouldn't matter if he couldn't locate his friends, anyway.

After he and Sam had both drank a little water and put some on the fire to boil for coffee, he turned to the younger Winchester and decided there was no point in delaying the inevitable.

"We're going to have to get your boot off if I'm to see to your injury, Sam," he said quietly.

Sam nodded, wincing as he shifted so that his long limb was resting across Castiel's knees. The angel first tried to undo the boot laces, but after several tugs and Sam nearly passing out from the pain, he decided that wasn't going to work.

"You're going to have to cut it off," Sam gritted out. He was lying with his head on the pack, trying to keep his foot elevated as much as possible to keep the swelling down that he knew was causing the boot to have become so tight.

Castiel didn't hesitate to take his angel blade out and easily slit the boot down both sides before easing it from the injured limb. A touch told him all he needed to know as he felt the swelling ankle under the thick sock.

"It is broken," he confirmed grimly and Sam huffed in resignation. "Though it doesn't seem to be anything more than a simple fracture and should be all right if we can find something to brace it."

"There's stuff in the bag," Sam mumbled.

Castiel didn't like his weary tone. He knew he must be in pain, but he couldn't have him passing out, because he had to know if he was too cold; he knew that could be dangerous to an injured person. Humans were such delicate creatures, Castiel was continually amazed they survived at all, but if anyone was a testament to that, it was the Winchester brothers.

"Sam, I'm going to attempt to set it," he said.

Sam looked up, raising his head slightly to see Cas. "No offense, Cas, but are you sure you know what you're doing?"

"I've been…researching," Castiel said, somewhat sheepishly. "I've been reading about first aid and injury treatments on the internet. I thought it would be prudent to do so, now that I cannot heal you and your brother with my powers. You do have a tendency to get injured."

Sam let out a deep breath, his eyes softening through the pained haze as he looked up at his friend. Just another thing that Cas did for them that he shouldn't have had to do. "Do what you need to, Cas," he said, laying back and trying to brace himself for the pain.

Castiel nodded and didn't give much warning before he gave a sharp tug on Sam's foot and the younger Winchester screamed in pain, shooting to a sitting position. Cas gently took his shoulders and pressed him back down, noticing the young hunter was shivering and knowing that was not a good sign. "Just a bit longer, Sam," he urged, and pulled a blanket from the pack, tucking it over Sam's shuddering frame. He swiftly dug around for the first aid kit and pulled out several rolls of bandages and a splint and set to work before decided he had done all he could. He propped Sam's foot up to reduce the swelling and found some pain medicine in the kit as well. He shifted until he was sitting at Sam's head, the young man was panting, his eyes squeezed shut. Castiel tugged one of his gloves off and pressed his fingers under Sam's chin to feel a quick, reedy pulse.

"Sam," he called and the hunter's eyes opened slightly. "Try to take some of this medicine."

Sam nodded and allowed Castiel to raise his head and put the pills on his tongue, followed by a canteen of water. Sam swallowed and Cas left him for a minute to finish making the coffee. He had become fond of the bitter drink and for some reason, really craved the warmth it would offer him at that moment. He poured it from the pot into a cup and waited a second for it to cool before taking a gulp of it. It scalded his tongue slightly but he took another grateful sip before he set his cup aside and poured another for Sam.

"Try and drink some of this, you have to stay warm," he told the young man, and pulled his head and shoulders up into the crook of his arm, holding the cup for him to drink from. Sam didn't argue and sipped the hot coffee gladly. His shivering subsided after about half the cup was drunk and Castiel relaxed a bit. But he was still worried that Sam wasn't strong enough to be left on his own. He knew he needed to make sure Dean and Bobby were all right, but he also knew that Dean would be even more upset if he abandoned his little brother out in the cold while he was injured and half delirious. Cas decided to wait a few hours, though it pained him to do so, knowing that could be crucial to the survival of his friends, but he couldn't quite justify leaving Sam alone, unable to run if the monster decided to hunt them instead of the other way around. It seemed his situation had no real silver lining to it.

He went to add more wood to the fire, and stared into it, feeling the warmth on his strangely cold cheeks. He was still feeling cold, still feeling all too human. He cautiously pulled up a sleeve and found a huge purple bruise on his forearm where it had been aching since he woke up. He concentrated on healing it for a few seconds but the process was much slower than it should have been. He sat back, worry stealing over him. It was taking him longer and longer to regain his strength after doing anything anymore. He wondered grimly, how long it would be before everything just dwindled away completely.

His dour thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud roar that echoed through the mountains.

Sam jerked awake and scrambled for a weapon that was not there.

"What was that?" he gasped, wincing as his movement jarred his ankle.

"I think it was whatever we're supposed to be hunting," Castiel said grimly.

"Do—do you think it found Dean and Bobby?" Sam asked quietly.

"I don't know," Castiel said, standing up, his angel blade automatically in his hand. "We'll be ready for it if it comes though."

Sam slumped back, not looking reassured at all, and if Castiel was being honest, neither was he. He only knew one thing and that was that they needed to get off this mountain as quickly as possible, or none of them were going to come back alive.


Dean and Bobby ran full tilt down the mountain, the only way they could go fast enough to hope to escape the monster pursuing them. They continuously stumbled, sometimes sliding more than running, and once Dean fell and rolled several feet before he regained his footing seconds before being crushed against a tree trunk. This was not what he had had in mind when he'd set out on this hunt. In fact, nothing about this hunt had gone right so far. He would never take a job in the snow again. Ever.

Bobby tripped and sprawled in the snow, shouting in pain as his injured shoulder protested the movement. Dean reached down the help him up, but before he could get the older hunter to his feet again, the monster was roaring, charging down on top of them. Dean didn't have time for anything but raising his shotgun and blasting it. He thought the bullets hit, but the monster didn't even falter. Bobby grabbed his arm and yanked him downhill again.

"Come on, ya idjit, what are you just standing there for?!"

They ran flat out again and finally couldn't keep their feet any longer; a particularly steep part defeated them and they tumbled several yards before skidding to a stop. Dean hauled himself up, throwing off the heavy packs so he could move, chocking on the snow that had forced its way into his mouth, just in time to see the angry yeti or whatever it was, bear down on them.

"Bobby!" he yelled, gaining his feet at the same time the older hunter did, reloading his shotgun and hoping for a better hit this time, going for a headshot.

Bobby got there first, the reverberations of the gunshot echoing around the mountains. This time, the creature obviously reeled from the hit to the shoulder, but it regrouped all too quickly, even more angry now, and swatted Bobby with the back of its hand as if he were a fly, flinging him into a tree before the hunter slid to the ground.

"Bobby!" Dean cried and snarled at the creature that was now turning to him. "Come get me you son of a bitch!" he shouted, raising his shotgun again and waiting until the thing charged him before shooting right at its eye.

He shot at just the same moment the thing swiped him with its claws and his shot went wide. Dean was flung roughly to skid through the snow, his gun knocked from his hands and all the breath torn from his body. He rolled over and over before coming to rest on his face, gagging for breath, his stomach and chest feeling oddly on fire in the cold snow.

"Hey ugly!" he heard Bobby yell and forced his eyes up to see the old hunter holding a grenade of all things and flinging it at the creature before quickly ducking behind a tree. Dean quickly covered his head with his arms, bracing himself for the explosion. The monster, angry, ran right toward it just as it exploded. The thing howled in rage and hopefully pain, and staggered back, before it started running full tilt up the mountain again, seeming to decide that a retreat was in order.

"Dean!" Bobby cried as he staggered over to the younger man, practically falling beside him.

Dean was still winded, huffing for breath, he grinned at Bobby. "Grenades? Seriously?"

"Saving it for a special occasion," Bobby told him, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Now come on, kid, let me see the damage."

"I ain't hurt," Dean huffed out, but as he said it he looked up and saw the imprints his body had made through the snow, a splash of red in each one. Confused, he allowed Bobby to turn him onto his back, seeming to be too weak to do so himself, and heard the older hunter curse under his breath.

"Balls. It really got you, son," he said in a hushed voice. "You're damn lucky it didn't gut you, though it came close enough."

Dean craned his head to look down at himself, first seeing the pool of blood he had been lying in, and then the mess that was the front of his parka. It took him a moment to make out that most of it had been torn away and what he was looking at was the bare skin of his stomach that had been crossed by four deep gashes that were bleeding heavily.

"Damn," Dean breathed weakly. The wounds hadn't hurt until he looked at them, but now… He curled up, a moan escaping his lips as Bobby grabbed a blanket from one of the packs and pressed it to Dean's stomach, only making it hurt worse.

"Well, that's that, then," he said. "We'll have to get you fixed up and hope that thing doesn't come back to finish the job. Dean? Dean, stay with me, kid, don't you dare make me carry your ass out of here."

Dean tried to listen, but all he seemed able to manage was taking a tight grip on Bobby's jacket and giving him a reassuring grimace, before he passed out.