A/N: Two things. One, I upped my rating, because I don't want this to be yoinked off the site, and it did get a little more... twisted than I had previously anticipated. And two, I've had this last part planned from the beginning, so any similarities between certain aspects of this and P.L Wynter's story The Man In The Dark, (because it involves water :P) are purely coincidental. And not really all that similar. I'm just making sure!
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Sam stared at the chasm that had so suddenly swallowed his brother, a jagged hole in the ice neither brother had seen. Hidden beneath the snow, but not entirely frozen, ran the river Betty and Earl had warned them about earlier.
The shock wore off after a matter of seconds, and Sam vaulted forward, over the small dip and onto the ice, laying down on his stomach to spread his weight out.
Keeping his ears open for any signs of the ice giving way, Sam crept toward the void of black that was such a contrast to the white ground around him.
Forced to stop and back up when he heard a creak, Sam could only stare at the hole.
His mind raced, waiting for Dean to surface, and trying desperately to think of how to get him out.
Or what would happen if he didn't.
---
The shock of the water was enough to steal the breath from his lungs. Dean felt the air escape him explosively, in a burst of bubbles. He clawed at the water surrounding him, kicking his sore legs and feeling the cold not seeping, but forcing it's way into his bones.
Which way was up?
Had he twisted when he had fallen?
If he swam, what was to say he was swimming up and not down?
Oh, God...
They had made it out of that damn basement, and now he was going to die in a fucking river, a plain as day fucking river.
No.
He wouldn't go down like that.
He was going to die fighting ghosts, or saving his family, or some stranger, anything but this.
Eyes closed, he forced himself to calm down.
Humans were naturally bouyant. If he just calmed down, stopped thrashing, his body would right itself. He would float to the top. Bodies sunk, but then they floated. It was just a matter of staying alive long enough.
He let himself go limp, feeling himself tugged slightly by the gentle current of the river, and when he was certain he was righted, he kicked his legs, wanting to scream in frustration when the weak movement barely propelled him.
His chest was tight, consciously fighting the impulse to take in a breath, knowing he would drown for sure if he let his body convince him to breathe.
Sooner or later, though, he wouldn't be able to fight it, and he would be forced to take in a lungfull of water or air. It was up to him to make sure it was one and not the other.
Scissoring his legs and feeling his strength leaving him, he clawed at the water, propelling himself up more slowly than he would have liked, but it was progress.
He refused to let this watery grave claim him.
He would not leave Sam to deal with those bastards on his own.
If Sam would even leave the place his brother had fallen. Knowing Sam, he would stay until he was too damn frozen to move.
Sure, he had to think of Sam.
Not to mention, oh yeah, he was drowning. If that wasn't a motivator, he didn't know what was.
He almost cried out in pain when his fingers jammed into something hard, forcing him down a few inches.
Fuck.
The river was iced over. With the current as slow as it was, he might not have moved much, but he definitely was not going to be in the same place he'd fallen through.
So close, and yet so far.
He opened his eyes, seeing no light shining through the ice, no sign of a way out. Of course, it had to be a cloudy night, no moon, no stars, no nothing to give him any clues.
So close.
He was going to die.
---
"Dean!" Sam shouted, his throat raw from screaming.
He had no idea how much time had passed since his brother disappeared beneath the ice. Know way of knowing if he was alive.
"No, God, no," Sam cried, spread out on the ice, cold seeping in through his clothing.
"Dean!" he tried again, not caring who heard him.
It wasn't fair. Wasn't fair at all.
They had made it this far.
They had escaped, and now this?
To die at the hands of nature?
Sam backed off the ice, slowly, barely feeling his injuries as he stood.
He had no way of knowing how far the current could have taken his brother, but he had to try.
Jogging down the banks, noting how the snow was not as deep on top of the ice, and able to steer clear of the thin ice, he prayed.
Several yards down river, Sam's prayers were answered.
He heard before he saw, the gentle rushing sounds of open water. As he saw the ice had broken up around some old logs and rocks that gathered across the stretch of water, his heart leapt.
And promptly sank as he saw the body, caught by a sleeve, face down, the river pulling at his brother.
"Dean!" Sam screamed, running now, feet sliding in the snow.
He slowed, but did not stop, giving no mind to the sturdiness of the dam of fallen trees. His brother was in the middle of the river, snagged by a branch in some twist of fate, and he was not moving.
Sam's sneakers slipped on the wet logs, as he fell to his knees in some uncoordinated scurry across the wet wood. His fingers were ice as the water splashed his uncovered skin.
He didn't feel it.
He was driven by the fear of his brother lying motionless in the freezing water, and he didn't pause to think as he reached down to pull his brother to him. He turned him over, paralyzed at the sight of his brother's closed eyes and blue lips.
There was no way he could carry him, he realized, cursing, and settled for dragging Dean by the collar of his sweatshirt, to the other side.
Safely on the bank, with no time to think, Sam checked his brother's pulse.
No steady, comforting throb of a vein.
Oh, God.
Placing his ear to Dean's mouth, he searched for a breath.
None.
"Oh, God, Dean," Sam said softly.
Hands trembling, Sam tipped his brother's head back.
Half expecting his brother to snap awake and accuse him of trying to kiss him, Sam breathed twice into his mouth.
Bent over his brother on the banks of the river, he felt his chest, finding the sternum and moving below, placing the heel of his fist in the space between the sternum and his ribs.
"Please," he muttered, pressing down, beginning compressions.
They'd learned CPR at a young age, and had used it before, successfully.
He could only hope it would be enough.
If his brother had been under too long, there would be no saving him. And if he saved him... the brain could only go without oxygen four minutes before death. Less for damage set in.
How long had Dean been under?
He counted fifteen compressions and checked again.
No pulse.
"Damn you, Dean," he said, beginning again.
Counting off compressions, he felt breathless himself, taking in great breaths of air as if it would help his lifeless brother live again.
"Come on," he muttered, pleading with his brother.
Two more breaths.
Blinking back tears with annoyance, he resisted the urge to pound on Dean's chest. Just because it worked in the movies didn't mean it worked in reality. He was frustrated. His brother was not responding. His skin was grey, his lips almost purple, eyes closed, totally motionless.
"No..." the word escaped him, a sob catching in his chest.
Tempted to pound on his brother's chest anyway, not because he thought it would help, but because he was angry, Sam refused to believe his brother would die this way. Maybe a victim of a haunted river, or a... a mermaid attack. Something paranormal.
Dean Winchester would not be brought down by a river.
Except, Dean Winchester was laying on the ground, eyes closes, ice forming on his hair and clothes. His chest didn't rise or fall with breath. His heart did not beat in his chest.
Dean Winchester was dead.