Sam tugged back the curtain as he waited, peering out into the darkness hoping against hope that there would be a dark impala waiting there, but there was nothing. He was alone. He glanced down at the thermometer in his hand with a dying sense of hope. No, nothing had changed. He chewed on his bottom lip nervously. Dean's fever hadn't broken. It had gotten higher since Sam had last checked.

Sam quietly cursed and rinsed out a new cloth to lie on Dean's forehead. It wasn't working. Nothing was working and Dean was dying.

He shouldn't have listened to his brother when he said it would be fine. He should have demanded he went to the hospital to get stitched up and treated with antibiotics instead of letting him do it at the motel with some whiskey.

"C'mon Dean," Sam pleaded. "This can't be it!"

Dean wasn't supposed to die! Especially not because of some crazy lunatic with a knife in the motel parking lot. Their dad had barely pulled out of the lot when it happened. It just wasn't fair. The motel phone rang, cutting through the silence.

"Dad?" Sam pleaded as soon as he up the phone.

"Sorry, Sam. It's me," Pastor Jim replied. Jim had been his second call, after his dad had shown no sign of answering the first. Dean had been awake then.

"Hi, Pastor Jim," Sam said. "You got my message? Are you coming? I don't know what to do," Sam's voice cracked with tears at the end of his sentence. He didn't know what else he could do to help Dean.

"Yes, Sam. I'm coming. I'll be about three hours. Don't worry, alright? Just try to stop his fever from rising any higher," Jim coached.

Sam nodded, but then he realised Pastor Jim couldn't see him. "Okay," he answered.

He put the phone down feeling more alone than ever, even knowing that the was help on the way. He knew how much could happen in a few hours. It would only take a second for Dean to die.

Sam bit his lip nervously, alternating between pacing the room and staring down at his brother. He checked Dean's fever again. Too hot, he needed to cool down.

Almost as though the spirit could hear Sam's thoughts, a white haired youth flew down and landed lightly outside the window.

~An Unlikely Friendship~

Jack had being flying on the air, weightless, directionless, and free of all obligations and responsibilities, cheering and soaring and tossing frost and snow wherever he pleased. A small mountain town had caught his attention when, beneath him, the wind changed, scooping him up and whisking him away as she was prone to do when she wanted him to do something.

Jack hummed thoughtfully as he was tossed and turned through the air, a little rougher than he was used to. The wind seemed upset about something. Jack certainly hadn't seen any sign of a storm coming, this was a new upset. Something was wrong.

The wind beneath him whooper and wailed, communicating in a wordless language that Jack had long ago become fluent in. Something was wrong with Sam. Jack didn't mind being pulled from his day to visit his best friend, but he hoped that that was all this was. A visit. Not something worse.

However, as soon as he dropped onto the outside sill, spotting the flash of pale skin and dark hair, he knew that something was seriously wrong.

The winter spirit rapped his knuckles on the glass. Once. Twice.

Sam spun around to stare, eyes darting to the salt line on the sill and to the runes that were doubtlessly left somewhere on the door. None of them could keep Jack out, but he was always glad that Sam checked them first.

Jack was momentarily stunned by the worried and panicked look in Sam's red-rimmed eyes. He had seen his best friend sad before, he had seen him scared, but this was something else. This was a deep terror and despair.

Jack's mind whirled, he wondered what had happened. Where were Sam's brother and father? Had something happened?

Sam rushed over and opened the window for Jack to climb in the room, allowing him to ask.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Jack said, instantly, before he finished tumbling gracelessly into the room. Immediately, he brushed his hands over Sam's covered arms, searching for any injury. He didn't like the look on his friend's face. He wanted to fix it, however he could.

"It's…" Sam pointed over to the bed that Dean lay in.

The older hunted was pale, with pink flushed cheeks, a feature that Jack was familiar with, but there was something off about it. Jack moved to the sleeping hunter, warily. He stood over Dean, who was sleeping fitfully.

Jack kept a safe distance away, but he could feel the extreme heat radiating from the hunter. "What's wrong with him?" Jack asked.

Sam choked out a sob. "He got hurt, stabbed, and then it got infected."

"Can't you bring him to a hospital or something?" Jack wondered, glancing between the brothers helplessly. Isn't that what people did when someone was hurt? He had seen it plenty of times.

Sam shook his head. "No. Dad says no. Pastor Jim's coming over to help but he's hours away."

Jack looked between the two Winchesters. "What are we supposed to do?" He asked, forcing some certainty into his voice. Sam needed him calm, and he would do anything for his best friend.

"Cool him down, I guess," Sam said, shaking his head helplessly.

"Cool him down?" Jack repeated in disbelief. Sam was pretty smart. Surely, he saw the obvious solution here?

Sam nodded, biting his lip, his eyes not leaving his brother.

Jack laughed. Finally, he knew the perfect way to make Sam smile again. All he had to do was help Dean, and Jack was the perfect person to do so. "Be glad you're friends with a winter spirit, then."

~An Unlikely Friendship~

Pastor Jim arrived an hour and a half after Dean's fever broke, an hour after his unwilling cuddle with the winter spirit first began.

Pastor Jim sent Sam to sleep in the bed beside the window, allowed Sam to see the white haired teen still hovering outside. Sam smiled at Jack, who answered with a gleeful grin and a thumbs up before sliding away on the ice that he was doubtlessly creating.

Sam fell asleep watching Jack spread frost on car windows and wondering what the sand floating in the sky was.