A/N 1: So I know that it's been ages since I posted this story. First and foremost, I need to apologize to Elena for leaving her hanging. She is the kindest person and even made me the coolest S1-9 limp!Sam gifset. She never once made the slightest complaint that the story was never finished or even asked for it. I truly am sorry, Elena for making you wait FOREVER for this. Also, it was her birthday last Monday and the plan was to surprise her with this update but life sort of intervened. Once again, she was ever patient as she waited for her surprise. Happy birthday Elena and thank you for being such a great friend. Sorry for being a not so great one.

A/N 2: Part of the reason the update was so late was because of some personal problems I've been having that have caused a great deal of stress and anxiety so I was feeling unmotivated. Also, I wasn't feeling very motivated because, to be honest, not many people seemed very interested in the story. The landscape for Supernatural has changed significantly since I first started writing and story preferences have changed too. I do understand that maybe there might not be as much interest in stories that focus solely on the brothers. However, Sam and Dean will always be the heart and soul of Supernatural, for me. It would mean the world to me if anyone who does take the time to read this does drop a small review just to let me know that I'm doing a good job, or a not so good one. I will take either. I hope I don't sound like I'm begging for reviews but they do mean a lot to me. I am very thankful to the eight people who did read this chapter and reviewed it. Thank-you again.

Dean sat on the cold, snowy ground, continuing to gaze up at the snowflakes above him, like ashes falling from the sky on what felt like his now decimated world. Then he glanced down at Sam who was still pinned by the snow and tree trunk as a snowflake fell into his opened eye, melted and dripped down his face as if he was weeping. He watched the tiny drop of water make a trail down Sam's face and finally it snapped him back to reality. He didn't have time for self pity. If there was any chance of saving Sam, he had to act now, and fast.

He immediately cleared Sam's nostrils and the area surrounding his mouth and face of snow so he could breathe better.

Is he breathing? Dean wondered but he refused to believe he wasn't so he didn't dwell on it.

He didn't have a shovel or anything that could aid him in his effort but he had two hands and he started to dig. He dug under Sam, his mind not having a coherent thought any longer. The words, Dig Dig Dig, running through his mind like a mantra. Somehow in his muddled brain, however, his mind devised a plan that if he could dig enough snow out from under and around Sam that he could push Sam down and slide him out from under the tree trunk. He knew there would be no lifting it on his own. He kept going, not sure how much time had passed, not caring either. Sam's upper half was almost totally free. Then he got up and started to pull, the oppressive weight of the trunk was off Sam's back now. It had been lying there at a sort of crooked slant, one side over Sam's back, the other over his right leg. He tugged on Sam's arm and Dean couldn't help but notice how stiff Sam's arms were that he couldn't even bend them down. He inwardly cringed and bit back a taste of bile, staying focused on the task but he couldn't get leverage. He dug some more, moving snow both under and off Sam's legs and back, guiltily pressing Sam down in the snow in an attempt to free him further. He saw that the trunk was lying across the two piles of snow he had dug through, almost like a bridge and no longer on Sam. Then he got up and tugged again, feeling a give. He was managing to slide Sam out. He yanked harder and finally Sam's legs began to slide forward under the massive trunk. He pulled Sam toward him until he was completely clear.

He grabbed Sam against him. Sam's entire body was rigid, hardly maneuverable. He tried to feel for a pulse and he thought, maybe just maybe there was a very slow beat there. However, he wasn't sure if it was wishful thinking. He knew though that the frigid cold was on his side. People could survive in the cold. The cold preserved things. How many times had he heard stories of people pulled from under the ice after 30 minutes and they survived? Or the stories of children who had wandered away from home, frozen to death, and somehow been miraculously resurrected? He refused to believe Sam couldn't be like them. He banished the thought that those people had the benefit of being rushed to a hospital and Sam did not.

He grabbed Sam's jacket and placed it over his body, knowing deep down it would do nothing to keep Sam warm. He took off his own jacket, lying it flat on the ground and the cold settled into his bones. With all the digging, he'd hardly felt it. Now he felt everything, his fingertips and toes zinging with a stabbing pins and needles sensation, but he ignored it. He yanked Sam again under the arms, aware of what a deadweight he was, on to his own jacket. He tied the sleeves around Sam to hold him in place. It was the best he could do for a homemade sled.

The trip back to the cabin was arduous. He had to carefully drag his brother over the snow while he stepped through drifts that sometimes went up to his knee. Sometimes Sam would sink into the snow and he had to pull with all his might, the fact that he could barely even feel his fingers complicating things. The blinding snow blurred his vision but he was acting purely on instinct. Finally he saw their destination in sight, just a mere outline in the blizzard but a small glimmer of hope giving him the adrenaline burst he needed to pull Sam the rest of the way.

The door to the cabin was half buried in the snow and he had to leave Sam nearby to dig it out. The door was locked but he didn't have time or the mobility in his fingers to pick it so he put what tiny bit of energy he had into kicking the door open. Finally it opened after several tries. He knew on any other given day, he'd have had it open in seconds but he could feel the cold making him feel heavy too, the prospect of hypothermia and frostbite all too vivid in his mind.

He slid Sam into the cold, dark cabin. He could barely see a hand in front of his face. How was he going to help Sam?

Fire. He knew he needed to start a fire first, get the place warm enough. He felt around the place. He knew there had to be a fireplace as he had seen a chimney before. Why hadn't he thought of getting the place sorted earlier? He cursed himself for not first getting a fire started in the fireplace before they set off. He also cursed himself for not just letting his brother stay behind where he'd be warm and safe.

He kept feeling around the dark room, until he tripped over something. It was a stack of wood. He couldn't believe it. Maybe they might have a tiny bit of luck on their side. His eyes were starting to adjust to the inky blackness and he could make out the shape of the fireplace nearby.

He ran back over to Sam, who was still lying there stiffly on his jacket, his eyes with the vacant stare. He also saw that there was a small couch in the room and he braced himself to pull Sam on to it. He removed his coat from under Sam and lifted, the whole ordeal taking an immense amount of effort. However, finally he had Sam settled there.

"You with me Sam?" He asked, knowing full well that Sam wasn't anywhere near with him mentally. However, it helped to talk with him, to feel that he was still there, fighting.

"We'll just get a fire started and get you toasty warm. Then we'll get the heck out of here and go celebrate the New Year."

The words bounced off the sparse walls, sounding empty and hollow even to him.

Dean guiltily took Sam's jacket off of him as he spoke. He knew one of them had to have a zippo or they were screwed, even more so than they already were. He then realized how sodden both coats were now and would do nothing to keep Sam warm anyway. He rifled through the jackets, finally finding the lighter. He threw the wood into the fireplace, but found it incredibly hard to get his fingers to cooperate as he tried to light the lighter. He had to focus just to get it unlatched. Finally it popped open, a flame shining forth, casting an eerie glow through the cabin. He found some old newspaper nearby on a coffee table, grabbing it and balling it up, lighting it on fire and igniting it. Finally a fire blazed forth and Dean soaked in the warmth for a moment. He knew if he wasn't able to warm up slightly, he'd be useless to Sam.

His eyes fixated on the flames. There was dad on the funeral pyre. Sam on the pyre. He flinched in response and was forced to look away.

He took off his gloves and rubbed his hands together taking note how bright red they were, blisters starting to form. Frostbite. He had suspected it. However, there was nothing he could do for now, only slowly try to warm his fingers. He pushed the coffee table aside and ran over to the couch. He pushed it forward, closer to the fire so Sam could get warm. He rushed around the small cabin, taking note of the surroundings. It was only one bedroom, a bed off to the side in the other room and a small bathroom next to it. There was a small kitchen as well. He ran into the bathroom first, grabbing as many towels as he could find, placing them on top of Sam. He dried his brother's face, dabbing at the gash on his head and the cuts and scrapes on his face. Next he dashed to the bedroom, stripping the bed of its blankets and placing them on Sam. He then began to vigorously rub Sam's arms to get blood flowing back into them. He himself had started to shiver but Sam had not. In fact, he hadn't seen any perceptible movement from Sam at all. He felt again for a pulse. This time he felt nothing, whereas before he was almost positive there was a very faint thrum against his fingers. Dean was sure that Sam was fading fast but he wouldn't let himself believe that Sam had faded completely.

He started chest compressions in an effort to get Sam's heart pumping. He'd pause only again to check Sam's pulse. Sam's breathing wasn't even audible, his chest not rising and falling. Dean could only guess that Sam wasn't breathing either or maybe his lungs were just too cold to push air. Dean was aware that he had begun to shiver violently, his body's temperature trying to regulate. The warmth coming back to him was actually painful, but not as painful as the fact that he still couldn't detect a pulse from Sam.

He didn't quit though. His arms trembled as he continued to pump on Sam's chest, He would pause only to rub Sam's arms some more. He was aware that Sam's body wasn't as stiff as it was, as the cabin began to warm up, the fire doing its job. He felt again for a pulse and this time he felt it, so faint and slow that had it not been for his intense focus, he would not have felt it at all. He pressed his ear to Sam's heart and he could hear that too, ever so faintly like a tiny melody from a broken music box. For a moment, he kept his head there, just listening to the pitiful yet beautiful sound of it.

Then he raced off again. He ran around the house, grabbing more blankets from a linen closet. He covered Sam in them, tucking them around him like a tight cocoon, all the while taking note of his vitals. He found some men's clothing in the bedroom closet and he got out of his wet clothes and changed into them. They were a few sizes too large but they would have to do for now. He gingerly pulled off his socks but felt relief when he saw that his feet and toes had fared considerably better than his hands and fingers. He approached Sam again, putting his hand against Sam's skin. It was still icy to the touch, but Sam's pulse felt slightly stronger. He noted that Sam's limbs had lost some of their rigor and he pulled Sam's arms down carefully, taking care since he still didn't know the extent of Sam's injuries, and tucked them under the blankets. He also gently closed Sam's eyes and for a moment, Sam looked just like he was sleeping, peacefully, wrapped in the blankets but Dean knew better, Sam was precariously perched between life and death, in a frozen limbo. Even Sam's hair was frozen, just starting to drip and shed some of the ice particles and his skin still held a slightly blue hue to it.

He ran to the bathroom, rifling through cabinets and drawers, searching for a first aid kit. He did a silent cheer when he found one, mostly intact. He walked over to Sam, got a pair of scissors, and began carefully unwrapping Sam from his tight blankets. Sam was beginning to tremor ever so slightly and Dean knew this was a positive sign. Sam's body temperature was rising. He cut away at Sam's wet clothes and prepared himself for the injuries he would see. However, he wasn't prepared for the array of bruising that decorated his brother. Sam had bruises covering his entire right side and Dean had no doubt that his ribs were either broken or severely bruised. He wondered how much of it was from the werewolf too. He gingerly flipped Sam on his side and gasped at the colorful display on his upper back. Dean knew that this is where the tree had laid across his brother and the bruises were just the surface injury. He gasped at the idea of what kind of damage could be done to Sam' lungs. Sam's lower back was also heavily bruised and Dean couldn't be sure if Sam's back had been broken too. He did a mental checklist of which organs were located in that region and he knew Sam's kidneys could potentially be at risk. He also saw that Sam's leg looked swollen and disproportionate, guessing that it was most likely broken. He didn't think it was advisable to maneuver Sam's injured body but he knew the more layers he had on the better. He grabbed another flannel shirt from the closet and carefully worked Sam's arms into it so it was backwards but he was clothed. He then put the blankets back in place, wrapping Sam carefully like swaddling a baby. He had done it many times as a child, Sam just a cooing infant, when they had to cut and run on cold frosty nights.

He checked Sam's breathing. It was still very shallow and not completely audible, as was his heartbeat and pulse. They were much slower than Dean would have liked but at least they were present and that was the most important thing. He took some gauze and held it to the gash just above Sam's eyebrow. He secured it there with some tape. He then cleaned up his scratches as best he could. He recognized that both their hands needed warming but for now he'd just focus on raising both their body temperatures. He knew it wasn't the best idea but he then pulled Sam into a sitting position, wrapped a blanket around both he and Sam, and held him against his body, hugging him to keep him warm. He rested his head on top of Sam's, the icy chill of his skin brushing his own. He stayed that way, relishing in the connection and the fact that at least he had his brother with him no matter how seriously he was hurt. Broken bones would heal with time. However, his own heart would never mend if he lost Sam.

He didn't know how it happened but eventually he felt himself nodding off, the adrenaline rush wearing off. Within moments, he was asleep.

oooo

For awhile, Sam just floated. He had no perception of where he was or what was going on. First he felt extremely cold and recalled with horror the moment Lucifer had taken over his body. He remembered the icy chill that had engulfed him before he wrested control of the abomination. Then suddenly he was burning, sweltering in oppressive heat, flames licking at his body, tearing at his insides and peeling at his skin. He questioned if he was somehow still in the pit but then there was a slight sense of security that he was safe, even though he found he could not move his body.

Then there was that otherworldly voice again, telling him he could fix everything. He found himself in the snowy clearing again but this time he no longer felt anything, not the heat, not the cold, just a pleasant numbness.

The setting seemed oddly familiar and profound, like something serious had happened there before. He also pondered how despite the snowy landscape, he felt absolutely nothing.

"Mack! Come on!" A female voice called to him, fondly.

Sam cocked his head, confused. He didn't think he was Mack, or was he? Maybe he knew her somehow?

She ran on ahead of him, laughing, and Sam could see there were three other people ahead of him. There was a couple holding hands, and another guy jokingly tossing snowballs at them. Then just as suddenly the mood changed and someone was yelling for help. There was blood, and vacant stares from dead eyes and Sam felt a scream ripping from his throat until everything went black.

oooo

Dean woke to the feeling of extreme warmth against his skin. He was disoriented and everything seemed fuzzy. He was sitting on a couch with a weight pressed against him when it all came rushing back.

Sam! His mind screamed.

Sam was still resting against him, no longer cold but feeling like he was burning up.

Dean had just managed to get himself up, trying not to panic over Sam's spike in temperature, to tend to his brother when a visceral scream tore from Sam's lips. Sam attempted to clamor away and sit up himself. Dean watched in horror as Sam's eyes opened wide and looked dizzily around the room, looking in empty corners as if seeing something that was not there, then he fell back limp.

For a moment, Dean froze. He had never heard anything quite like the gut wrenching, blood curdling scream that exploded from Sam. Then he reacted. He rushed over to his brother and checked for a pulse. He felt it easily this time as it was racing very quickly. Sam's face was flushed with fever and his breathing was fast and labored, a congested, wet sound coming from his brother's lungs.

"Sammy! Sam!" He yelled, tapping his brother on his face. He dug his knuckles hard into Sam's sternum to evoke a response but Sam was deeply unconscious once more. He wasn't sure what had happened exactly but Sam appeared to be hallucinating. The thought sat like cement in Dean's gut that Sam's wall had come down. He considered the implications of being hit by a tree trunk and whether or not it classified both literally and figuratively as enough force to bring it crashing down, breaking it into tiny pieces. He also felt the immense burden of guilt at the possibility that his gunshot had caused the avalanche that had done this to his brother. However, Dean tossed the thoughts aside and hurried to go wet some towels in an attempt to bring Sam's high temperature down.

ooooo

Sam found himself in the clearing again. His hands were covered in blood, pressed over a large wound on the girl who had just been smiling at him moments before.

She looked like she had been eviscerated by an animal.

Was he that animal?

"Oh my God! Ruth! Ruth!" The other girl in their group was screaming, falling to her knees in the snow. The guy who was with her held her back.

"Hey, Mack. I think she's gone. We need to get out of here," one of the males said.

Sam just sat there staring at her. Had he killed her? He wasn't sure. Something told him that he was responsible though and the blood on his hands was enough proof for him.

He knew deep down that there was still something he needed to fix. Was this it? Was this what he had to atone for?

He felt dizzy and nauseous. He slowly got to his feet but found himself swaying and then pitching face down in the snow.

ooooo

Dean took the wet cloth and held it on Sam's forehead, and wiped down his sweaty face. Then he attempted to unravel Sam from the blankets. The cabin was toasty warm now and given Sam's high temperature, it seemed logical that he no longer needed so much insulation. Sam began to cough, barking sounds coming from deep inside his chest and Dean felt both anger and guilt over going on this hunt at all. He knew Sam hadn't been feeling well and the last thing he needed was to wind up injured too.

Sam's cheeks were scarlet and frostbitten. He had lost the blue color to his skin but his lips appeared purplish in color. Dean knew this was from lack of oxygen based on Sam's breathing.

Sam moaned and turned his face away from Dean.

"Good," Dean said audibly. Sam was waking up again and he was moving.

Sam's eyelids flickered open, revealing glassy, unfocused eyes.

"Sam?" Dean questioned.

Sam looked like he didn't recognize him at all.

"Dead," Sam croaked out. "I killed her."

Dean was taken aback. Who was Sam talking about? They had both killed innumerable supernatural creatures. Could Sam be talking about one of them? He had no idea. Could he be remembering remnants of when he was soulless? Was this proof that his wall was broken? Maybe he remembered everything he did when he lost his soul or even his time in hell.

"No Sam. Everything's fine," he soothed. "You didn't kill anyone."

Sam continued to stare at him with the dazed look in his eyes and Dean was frightened at the implications of his brother's current state.

"We have to get your temperature down," Dean said, getting up to go see if he could find ice cubes in the refrigerator to wrap in a towel. He knew that there was more to the reason he turned away than just the matter of necessity. His little brother didn't seem to recognize him and it was so painful that he couldn't bear it. He only made it about halfway across the room though when Sam commenced screaming again.

Dean ran back over to Sam, never feeling so completely powerless and helpless in his life. The snow was still falling with such intensity that Dean could hear it hitting the roof. He had no means to call for help, his cellphone about as useless as he felt.

He grabbed Sam who was now thrashing, eyes affixed to the corner. Dean stared at the spot himself but could not see what Sam saw and it shook him to his very core.

ooooo

Waking up had been very confusing. Sam expected to wake up on the cold snowy ground with blood plastered all over him, yet he was in a cabin with someone else. He thought he knew him but it was all so muddled in his brain. He wanted desperately to tell him he needed help but he felt completely paralyzed. Then there was that figure again, staring at him malevolently from the corner of the room with accusing eyes.

"Don't listen to him," the spectre instructed. "Everything is not fine. Ruth was my girlfriend and you killed her," he said in a harsh, whispered tone. "We were going to have a future together but now it's gone and it's your fault."

Sam shook his head vehemently, but then he remembered all the blood and he knew it had to be true. He screamed as the figure swiftly disappeared and then flickered, reappearing at his side. He put his hand on Sam's head and then he was back in the clearing.

"Mack, are you okay?"

Someone was talking to him. However, he was facedown and gasping now, the snow from the ground clogging his airway but he couldn't get up, his limbs would not cooperate.

Oooo

Dean tried to grab hold of Sam's flailing limbs but it was extremely difficult. Then he noticed that Sam had suddenly grown still and his face was red, his lips tight and even darker purple than before. Sam was having trouble breathing. Dean instantly lifted Sam up into a sitting position on the couch as Sam pursed his lips and drew in breaths that sounded more like screeching sounds than actual breathing that ripped through his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He rubbed circles on Sam's back trying to calm him, unsure if this was Sam panicking, his lung infection or a combination. Then Sam's struggling stopped and Dean couldn't hear any breathing at all.

TBC

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