Disclaimer: I don't own the ducks. You know the drill.

Dean wrung his hands through his hair, what in hell's name was he going to do? He couldn't get anywhere and his voice was giving out and Julie was lying out there on the ice, probably getting a blood clot and hypothermia. He had to help her! But what could he do? He didn't have his pocket knife with him to cut away the vines that ensnared the wheels and it's not like he could stand up and walk to her or anything.
But he could try.
Dean took in a shaky breath and raised himself out of his chair, making sure all the weight was on his arms and positioned his feet on the ground so he could stand. He had never tried this before. With a final breath, he let go of the handles on his chair and pulled himself into a standing position.
He wobbled around and fell almost instantly. "Shit," he said, wiping away the snow and branches from his face. "That was so stupid," he muttered.
Now what was he supposed to do? He couldn't get back in his chair and the snow was beginning to seep into his turtleneck, making him shiver.
He had to get to Julie, he had to rescue her. He couldn't walk, he couldn't do anything. Wait, he could crawl - army crawl - just like the doctor had told him to do to build up upper body strength. He began to pull himself through the snow, past the logs. It became easier when he actually got on the ice, it became slipperier. "Jules," he gasped when he reached her. He was terribly out of breath; he hadn't crawled like that for a while.
"Jules, c'mon, wake up," he whined softly, running a shaking cold hand through her hair. He drew back his hand - it was covered in blood. He hadn't noticed the small pool lying next to her head. "Shit," he whispered, wiping his hand on the ice. He began to shake with the cold; it must've been below zero out there on the pond.
Julie's lips were blue and the color was quickly draining from her cheeks - he had to keep her warm. He didn't have any extra clothing though. He draped himself across Julie to retain body heat; he knew that they both had hypothermia.
"PORTMAN?" a voice echoed across the pond.
He looked up sharply, the water leaking from his eyes slurring his view.
"Portman? Dude, it's Fulton! WHAT IN THE HECK ARE YOU DOING OUT OF YOUR WHEELCHAIR?!" the voice screeched.
"Fulton?" Dean said hazily. It was Fulton! He was running to him on the pond.
"What the blue blazes happened to you?" he asked hysterically.
Dean smiled, "Hey Fulton, you here to help Julie too?"
He could see the color drain from Fulton's face; he looked like a ghost with a bandana. "Julie?"
Dean rolled to one side, exposing her frail body.
"Julie?" he squeaked again.
"Adam, he..." Dean said, but felt the cold finally sink into his lungs, trapping them, pulling them, twisting them. He took in a sharp breath and let the world go...

Beep. Beep. Beep.
Dean opened his eyes groggily, his head hurt. A lot. What was that damn beeping noise? Why was everything so white?
"Oh, God," he heard a familiar voice say. He opened his eyes a little more, where was he? He definitely hadn't been here before. "Dean?" the voice called again. It sounded far-off.
"Don't call me that," he whispered gruffly. He could barely talk. When had this happened?
"Portman! You're back!" the voice said again.
"Who the hell ARE you?" he muttered as well as he could.
"Don't you recognize me?" they said again, confusion hinting in their voice.
"I can't see you," he said harshly. Why couldn't he just go back to sleep? People and their damn questions...
A head popped into view, a dopey smile, long brown hair, it was Charlie.
"Captain Duckhead?" he asked.
"Portman!" he yelled.
"Shut up, god, my head feels like it's been cracked open," Dean answered, rubbing his temple. He felt something tugging at his wrist and he looked at hit to see what had happened to it. There was a tube attached to it. He watched in amazement as the tube traveled up to an IV that was resting beside his...HOSPITAL BED?
"Well, you've been out of it for most of the day, but at least you woke up," Charlie shrugged.
"Where's Julie, what happened?" Dean asked, faintly remembering Adam and Julie and the pond. "What time is it, is she okay? What happened!?"
Charlie drew in a shaky breath. "Julie's got the room right next to you. She hasn't woken up yet," he said quietly. "But it's only been a day, concussions can last for weeks on end, you know?" he added quickly. His nose scrunched up, "No, no, that's not what I meant. Julie's going to be fine."
"Adam..." Dean growled, his fists drawing up at his sides.
Charlie rolled his eyes, "Adam is back at the dorms. The superintendent won't kick him out because Julie hasn't decided to press charges yet."
"That bastard almost killed her!" Portman yelled at him.
"Take a breath, I'll get you some water," Charlie said calmly.
"I want to see her," Dean admitted harshly.
"You can't, you've been assigned bed rest for today, maybe tomorrow," a nurse said, popping into his room to swap out the IV bags.
"What?" he yelled at her.
"Keep your pants on, she's not even awake," the nurse chided.
"I'm not wearing pants," Dean said with sudden realization. He was wearing a white and blue polka-dotted hospital gown.
"You can see her in three days - minimum," she responded, checking the clipboard on the end of his bed. "Do you want a cherry popsicle or a grape one?"
"What?" he asked.
"I'll take grape," Charlie chimed in. "Since your on that thing," he pointed to the IV, "you can't have solid foods."
"That makes NO sense," Dean answered tersely.
"Take it or leave it," the nurse shrugged.
"Leave it," Dean spat back.
And the nurse left.
"You know Julie will make it through this, she's a fighter, you don't have to take it out on other people," Charlie said, sitting back in his chair.
"Shut up, Charlie," Dean whispered weakly. "I just want to go back to bed."