Writer's Note: So, I think my favorite part of this chapter (and the last) is that I do away with any mention of potential spinal injury. I took some laughable liberties from the point of view of any professional. Let's just assume that a) John's 1995-era Nokia cell phone had no signal and b) somewhere along the lines, John & Dean set Sam back down on the floor of the basement to assess a potential spinal injury, ruled it unlikely, and prioritized speedy transport to a hospital over waiting for John to drive back into town to hail an ambulance while Dean stayed back stabilizing Sam's head & neck.

You Better Start Swimming

Chapter 4

The shanty-house on the edge of the town was still and eerie. Beyond the house, to the east, lay a dense, untouched forest that extended out and up to the region's hilly and mountainous landscape. Dean hadn't known it, but his sense of unease when he had stepped onto the front deck of the shack had been due to the its subtly tilted foundations given its location on an incline. The steep, uphill road in front of the rickety cabin was corroded due to lack of use. Nature was reclaiming the entire area. It was destroying the roughly-mixed, haplessly-laid cement that had once suffocated the ground. It had weathered the cabin over so many years that it was barely standing; no longer habitable. The woods had crept closer and closer to the house and the basement hatch ten yards out from the back was hidden by vegetation and sealed by rust and soil.

A strong wind blew over the forest, pushing fog down from the higher altitudes, and landed in a downward whoosh across the house, which shivered from the force. The current continued to drearily press over the land and past the parked and empty Impala. The treetops of the woods rustled en masse and the off-kilter house swayed loudly. Crickets and insects picked up their calls. Dusk was coming on.

Suddenly, what sounded like an explosion burst through the surroundings as a heavy boot hit hard and slammed open the spring-less front door to the shack. A man emerged from the shack and jumped the steps to race towards the parked Impala. The door nearly disintegrated as it flung back against the exterior of the house with a sharp clacking bang. Within four seconds, Dean appeared in a similar state of panicked action as he rushed out of the house, only he was weighed down by the burden of carrying a small, rolled up ball of a boy.

One arm under Sam's folded knees, the other under his back, Dean realized the boy was so scrunched that his hands could almost meet as he carried him.

Dean couldn't risk the jump from the porch and thundered down the steps with Sam in his arms, continuously gripping and re-gripping Sam as an unconscious form of reassurance for both of them that Dean was holding him securely.

Sam could only feel his body, suspended in air, exposed to the blustery weather outside, shiver and ache along with quick jolts that he didn't understand were Dean's feet landing on the ground as he ran to the Impala.

"C- co-" Sam barely whispered as his head was jostled between Dean's shoulder and upper arm as they moved. Dean hadn't heard him.

"Dad he's freezing cold!" Dean shouted as he ran behind his father, who was just reaching the Impala to open the back door. "Like worse than shock! Dad!"

"Okay get in!" John called back as John ripped open the back door. Dean ducked inside the car, making sure no part of Sam would hit an edge. John disappeared from Dean's sight from the Impala's interior. John fumbled anxiously with his keys as he ran to the trunk to grab supplies.

Dean set Sam down lengthwise on his right side against the seat in the back of the car. Sam was tucked so tightly into himself that he barely took up a half of the seat space. Dean crouched in the seat well in front of Sam anyway, wanting to get a better look at him.

"Okay Sammy, it's going to be okay, you're okay now, you got it? We're taking you to the hospital…" Dean reassured his brother frantically. He felt his brother's neck and head and Dean realized Sam was so cold he had to be hypothermic. It didn't make sense, but…

"DAD-GET THE THERMAL BLANKET!" Dean shouted out from the backseat as he did quick work pulling apart the remnants of Sam's shirt and throwing them onto the floor of the car. He couldn't afford time to stop to look at the intense bruising that had been covered by the measly pieces of t-shirt fabric that had still clung to Sam before. Dean forced himself to ignore it and shrugged out of his own woolly plaid over-shirt, laying it lightly across Sam for a minute.

"Dean!"

Dean looked over and saw his father handing him the blankets from outside. Dean leaned over to grab them from John.

"It's hypothermia," Dean murmured distractedly, gravely to his father as he took the blankets from his father, laid them against Sam, and coughed a little as he straightened up in the seat well, getting ready to take off his undershirt by moving his hands behind his back.

"Oh god, Sammy…" John nearly cried as he moved further into the car, an expression of panic and anguish covering his face. He kneeled on the back seat and hovered over him to feel Sam's head, shoulders and chest. Dean was right.

"Okay come on," John whispered as he noticed Dean was ready, a glint of determination in his eye. He grabbed the blankets off his trembling, traumatized youngest child and helped Dean to move from the seat well, over Sam's curled up form, and into a lying down position behind him.

"Okay Sammy, we're gonna de-thaw you like a turkey, okay," Dean whispered seriously, pressing his bare chest against Sam's back and feebly rubbing Sam's left upper arm. "You're like Christmas dinner," he mumbled, pulling Sam up against him. John didn't smile, but in the back of his head, he appreciated his eldest's macabre stab at humor.

They had moved Sam forward on the seat to make room for Dean to go behind him, Dean and John giving soft, quiet reassurances to Sam all the while. They couldn't tell if Sam even knew it was them… Or if Sam knew he was safe, now.

It was busy, hot, and tense in the backseat of the car: emergency whispers of emphatic instructions and anxiety-based comfort words and phrases flew out of Dean and John's mouths at rapid fire pace. Dean settled down around Sam, lying against his right side, accidentally pinning his right arm against him.

"Good. Bring your right arm up under him," John whispered to Dean. Dean swiveled his head to look up at John from his position behind Sam, Sam's ducked head less than an inch away from Dean's.

"Okay." Dean nodded in understanding, then winced as he followed his father's instructions and pressed between the seat's interior leather and Sam's clammy, cold skin.

"Here, I… Gotchya," John said gently as he leaned in close to them, lifted Sam up a little bit, and grasped Dean's hand. Their hands instantly grasped each other in fast cooperation, and John pulled Dean's arm all the way out so he could wrap it around Sam's chest. Dean breathed in relative relief as he resituated himself again with the free arm. He moving around, almost squirming, to make sure that Sam was getting as much exposure to his skin as possible for the heat transference.

Dean forcefully pushed his left arm between Sam's knees and waist, his warm palm open against Sam's cold, hollow stomach. He snaked his hand further up past Sam's solar plexis, sternum, and clavicle. It finally rested against the frigid, goose-bumped skin of Sam's neck, his index and middle finger gently searching for and finding Sam's pulse. It was weak, but steady. Dean could feel Sam's fists knocking against his wrist as he shivered with cold.

Dean struggled to lift his left leg up over Sams'. He was still wearing his green cargo pants, but it'd still provide Sam with a source of warmth along the boy's lower extremities. Problem was, Dean's knees, even if they were bent completely and raised, couldn't make contact with Sam's tucked and locked legs huddled against his chest.

"Dad-" Dean murmured, looking down at the situation, but John had already foreseen the problem after having pulled Dean's hand from out under Sam. He bit his lip as he leaned over the two with worried eyes. Dean saw the expression on his father's face and a fresh wave of worry plunged through him. John's eyes glanced at Dean's.

"I'll be right back," John said as he gracefully extricated himself from the car and went back to the trunk.

"Dad! The blankets!" Dean called to him, as John had yet to cover them.

In the blink of an eye, John was back with a small first aid box and a plastic bag in his hands. He jumped into the seat again, kneeling back on his haunches and setting the bags down on the small shelf behind the seatback of the car.

"Dad what're you-" Dean started, but stopped as he watched his focused father open the box and pull out a sterilizing pad. He ripped it open with his mouth as he reached inside the plastic bag which, Dean realized, held syringes. "Dad," Dean breathed as he watched his father with mounting apprehension. John took out the sterilization pad and used his mouth, again, to pull the cap off the syringe he now held. "What is that?" Dean asked, his voice dull, as he watched John tap the syringe and lightly press the plunger top, squirting a small amount of liquid out of the bevel.

"Muscle relaxant," John replied steadily as he prepared for the injection: he lowered himself and pushed Dean's legs down so he could get a clear view of Sam's right upper thigh. He pulled Sam's boxers down further so he could reach the gluteus maximus and wiped the area with the pad.

"You might have to hold him for this," John muttered gravely to Dean and then, without hesitation, jammed the syringe deep into the muscle and compressed the plunger.

Dean felt Sam tense with the impact and a slow groan escaped his lips. Dean turned back to look at his brother's expression of oblivious pain and moved his arms around, trying to get Sam to recognize his presence. Dean whispered into his ear.

"Sam, can you hear me? You're safe. It's Dean. Come on it's okay," he said. After a beat, Sam reacted again, bucking half-heartedly with a wet cry. Alarmed, Dean turned back to look at his father who was rising up from having finished applying the second injection in the other leg.

"Okay," John said as he threw out the medical trash leftovers out the door onto the ground. He maneuvered around.

"Dad seriously just get on the wheel and drive he needs a hospital-," Dean whispered vehemently, but trailed off at the end, pleading. Ignoring his son, John gently grasped Sam's knee with one hand, ankle with the other, and slowly, minutely started to pull Sam's thighs down from his chest.

"Hhhh… Haaa…" Sam uttered in pain, tears starting to stream from his eyes and fall to the seat. Relentless, John continued with a pained expression on his face, and Sam gave a half-hearted jolt (Dean clamped down on him), then more frequent minute jerks… As if John were a rat Sam only had to scare away with movement.

"AH!" Sam suddenly screamed as John had suddenly extended the leg out too far too fast during the process.

"DAD!" Dean yelled. John nodded, still looking at Sam's legs. Sam's knees were still bent, but they were angled nearly straight along the seat, now. John, overwhelmed by having had to do that to his youngest son, allowed himself a small, brief gesture of affection as he patted his boy's damaged, mottled-with-bruises, legs. Outside, behind him, he heard wind whistling and suddenly felt a gust blow against his back. Sam's body trembled, reacting, and John felt the shake beneath his hand.

"Okay," John whispered. John's movements were quick and decisive. He whipped out the softly crinkling thermal blanket and gently let the brilliantly reflective silver fabric float down softly against his sons. As it covered their bodies and faces, John's last sight of them was Dean turning into Sam's shaking body, pressing himself against him, and raising his knee up and around Sam's waist.

Dean closed his eyes under the blanket as he clutched Sam to him. Dean's muscles were tense, twitching everywhere in fear as he moved around, feeling around Sam, trying to create warmth from friction as well as body heat transference; trying to will every ounce of warmth and heat away from him and into Sam.

Next, John turned and threw the 13-year old lightweight quilt (which Mary had made) over the two of them and clinically pushed the blanket gently closer around the boys' bodies. Next was the heavy wool army blanket that was slightly smaller, but valued primarily for how heavy it was. John then jumped out of the backseat, shut the door, wrenched open his, and slid behind the wheel in what seemed like one single movement.

Blanket after blanket had continually muffled all outside sounds. Dean and Sam's movements, breath, and whispers were amplified as they laid there, huddling under them. Dean kept feeling for Sam's pulse every ten seconds, gently pressing against his brother's neck each time, allaying the anxiety that came in waves as he now heard the sound of Sam's shallow breaths.

Dean let out a slow, shaky breath that he didn't know he'd been holding as he felt the car rumble to life. The sound of his exhale seemed deafening, though, and he wondered if it had startled Sam. Sam hadn't reacted. The Impala suddenly accelerated, its force pushing Sam further back against Dean and Dean met with the back of Sam's head in his face. Dean smelled the rancid stench of his brother's disgusting, matted hair.

"Oh god," Dean breathed heavily, overwhelmed. A brief hiccup escaped his lips in repulsion and grief. Hidden under the safety of the blankets, removed from outside noise and distraction, and aware they were headed for the hospital, Dean gave way. Soft sobs echoed inside the warm cocoon as Sam continued to shake under Dean.

"Hhh," Sam rasped, suddenly, after about thirty seconds. Dean stopped short in his tragedy, falling completely silent; even holding his breath.

"Sammy?" Dean breathed into his brother's ear, his voice quivering. There was a pause as Dean waited, hoping against hope for some kind of a response.

"Dean," Sam hissed, barely moving his lips or tongue. Dean felt tears swell in his eyes.

"Yeah, Sammy, it's me," he cried tenderly in feigned delight. He sniffed and pressed his cheek against Sam's cold one. "It's Dean. I'm here," Dean breathed again. "We're really worried about you," Dean choked out softly as a tear dripped quickly out of his eye. Dean let out a brief exhale then rapidly sucked the warm recycled air back to his lungs to hold his breath again.

"'m okay," Sam wheezed in a weak, high pitch. His reassurance sounded breezy, light-hearted. He didn't realize what had happened; what was going on. Dean let out another exhale, this time with amusement.

"Okay," Dean replied feebly, blinking back tears. There was a pause and Dean let it be as he kept going with his slow movements, trying to warm Sam up around his chest with his wrist and palm.

"He- Tha…He-" Sam tried to say, his breathing more labored.

"We got the hex bag, Sammy," Dean undertoned against his brother's ear. Dean could feel Sam relax a little bit underneath him.

"Cold," Sam exhaled, "M' Heart…"

"I know, Sam," Dean replied helplessly, continuing his ministrations and pulling his left leg up closer to Sam's body. After a few beats, Dean noticed Sam starting to heave his breaths more.

"Sam, you gotta relax. Your breathing-" But Sam had started to move his left shoulder back against Dean, his right shoulder forwards in the seat. Dean shifted back some of the pressure of his body on Sam so he wouldn't have to struggle.

"Sam-" Dean said, surprised he had just implemented his classic stop-being-difficult voice in the midst of this emergency. Sam's movements were jerky, frenetic, as he started angling himself more so that he would face the roof of the car. Dean kept his hand on Sam's chest as he did so, feeling Sam's heart beat pick up.

"Sam-" Dean spoke in concern, about to stop Sam from moving any further when Sam stopped of his own volition, having fully gotten himself to lie on his back, his breathing incredibly labored. Dean saw Sam's shaking, fisted hands clenching and unclenching under his neck, about two centimeters of finger expansion evident. Sam's right hand, his writing hand, made a quick movement to knock against his clavicle, indicating his chest.

"Col-d…" Sam gasped out, his eyes closed. Dean immediately understood.

Dean lifted himself up a little bit, his head creating a tented look to the blankets pulled over them. He couldn't waste time, but he couldn't help but observe how absolutely frail and helpless Sam looked as he hovered over him, waiting for Dean. Dean's stomach gave a sinking flip of urgency and panic as he made haste to gain leverage with his legs and lifted Sam up from the seat a little bit.

A grunt of pain escaped Sam's lips and continued as brief cries as Dean maneuvered one arm around Sam's waist, the other up his back along his spine, his hand landing against the base of his neck.

"Okay, it's okay. I gotchya… I gotchya…" Dean whispered comfortingly to his brother as he moved down and pushed himself against Sam. Dean tried so hard to gently jostle Sam's forearms apart to reach his chest, but Sam's muscles screamed in pain. Sam gasped and started sobbing as his arms pulsed in excruciating pain at the movement. Dean didn't stop until he felt Sam's heart up against his own. Sam had been right: his chest was cold.

"Don't cry, don't cry, just give it a second, just wait it out," Dean murmured in desperate sympathy as he felt Sam's fists now shaking spastically, caught between his and Sam's shoulders.

Sam's cries started to slow down and lessen even though his breathing was still labored from the exertion; his heart beat started to stabilize. Dean slowly tipped them onto their sides so he no longer had to hold Sam up with his own strength. Dean detected a brief hiccup of pain that Sam cut short in the process, trying to manage the pain.

Finally, they settled: Dean lying on his right side against the seatback, pressing Sam to him chest-to-chest. Dean made an effort to have Sam's chin lying over his shoulder so he could breathe against the back of Sam's neck. At the same time, Dean wrapped his thigh up and around Sams', making sure his lower body and extremities would be touching a heat source as well.

Sam's breath was still labored, but Dean could feel it evening out. His heart rate started to match Dean's, too, which he took to mean improvement. Dean slowly rubbed Sam's back, still working so hard to bring warmth back into Sam's body, but the adrenaline was slowly starting to ebb. Exhausted, Dean sank into Sam's freezing cold body a little more and closed his eyes. He estimated everything that had just happened had taken about half an hour: a half-hour of intense panic and coordination to save Sam.

The Impala sped through the town's main streets and past rural homesteads. Its familiar vibrations traveled through Sam and Dean as John drove like a bat out of hell.

In reality, Dean and John had gotten Sam out of the shack's basement and onto the road within five minutes flat. It would take them less than three, now, to reach the hospital.

Writer's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Please please comment/review. Also Happy Memorial Day weekend to my fellow stateside Americans! ~ Alex