Chapter 2— Ice & Hunting

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. It makes me sad, but it's true…maybe for Christmas this year Santa will surprise me with the rights to the show and its characters...but I'd prefer to have Dean waiting under my Christmas tree! ;P

I haven't gotten any reviews tear, but my computer was acting up for a bit this week, so (hopefully) I'll get some reviews for this chapter! Please R&R!!

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"That's the least you could do for waking me up," Dean groused, only half serious as he took an appreciative sip from his Styrofoam cup. "Wait…you said something about a hunt. What's the job?"

"It's not so much a job as a…non-supernatural hunt."

Dean rolled his eyes and snorted, "Look, you know me. I'm not a morning person. As a matter of fact, I hate mornings. I don't function very well this early. Just spell it out for me."

"Okay, okay! Talk about being touchy!" Sam spoke slowly, as if he were speaking to a very small child, "It's Christmas. Are you following me so far?"

Thunk! A pillow was flung across the small space between the two beds and pelted Sam in the side of the head.

"I'm tired Sammy, not stupid."

Sam laughed, only infuriating his brother further, "Alright! For Christmas this year, I planned for you to work for your present. You're going on a scavenger hunt."

Dean's eyes grew wide and his voice came out strained as he said, "Pardon?"

"Yeah. Just think of this as a qualifying round. You took a nasty blow to the head, and I don't want to hunt with you if you aren't up to par."

"I may have taken a blow to the head, but I can still kick your ass whenever I want to," Dean stated as he got up and headed over to his duffle bag to find a shirt to put on over his bare chest.

"Oh yeah?"

There was no verbal response as Dean flew through the air and tackled his brother from behind.

They landed on the floor with a solid thud as they began to wrestle. After 5 minutes Dean had Sam pinned to the floor and was laughing at his younger brother's futile attempts to get out of Dean's hold.

John had taught his eldest son this particular move one time while Sam was at school and they had the rare treat of just wrestling as a father and a son. Both John and Dean had pretended that it was a training exercise, but they hadn't wrestled in years and Dean finally thought he had a fair chance of beating his father at his own game. He'd been sadly mistaken as his father had pinned him using that exact same move.

Sam's voice broke through Dean's memory and he glanced down to see his brother's concerned look.

"What?"

"I asked if you were okay."

"Yeah, I was just remembering something."

"What were you remembering? You had this nostalgic smile on your face."

Dean cleared his throat, "It's nothing. But as I said Sammy, I can still kick your ass whenever I want to, which means that maybe you need a qualifying round," he challenged as he rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ebb the migraine that was threatening to split his skull in two.

Sam saw Dean rubbing his neck and realized that he was still having massive headaches, even though the older Winchester denied it. It reminded him that his brother was still trying to shake off the physical effects of what could have been his last hunt.

He decided to let Dean's abrupt change of subject go for the time being, "Whatever. Now, let's get on with you finding your Christmas present!" He grinned in a way that could only be described as full of mischief.

Dean groaned good-naturedly, "Alright little brother, where is it?"

"You have to find it."

"Seriously?"

"It's a scavenger hunt!"

Dean's posture slumped.

Sam nodded enthusiastically and handed him a piece of paper, "Here's your first clue!"

Dean took the paper and grumbled, "This is great. Just freaking great! First you wake me up from what promised to be a very interesting dream before the crack of dawn and now you're making me hunt for my Christmas present?"

"Mmm hmm!"

Dean growled as he read the first clue: 'I can be used at the dinner table, but you have another use for me…' Dean rolled his eyes and hauled himself to his feet, "You know that I'm a professional hunter, right? This is too easy, you don't give me enough credit! Underneath this ruggedly handsome exterior lies an intellect that could rival Einstein."

Sam let out a whoop of laughter that only served to incense his older brother even further.

I'll show him! thought Dean as he practically stomped over to his duffle bag that held a small arsenal. He pulled the zipper so hard that he was mildly surprised when it didn't break.

Inside, he rifled around to find the shotgun filled with rock salt. He pulled it out and there was a note attached to the barrel of the shotgun with red ribbon: 'I keep your pearly whites…white.'

Dean shot a glance Sam's way and he shrugged, "I couldn't think of anything wittier for that clue."

The eldest Winchester trudged his way into the small, dingy washroom and grabbed his toothbrush that was tied with another red ribbon. The clue read: 'I hold all your contacts and you still treat me like trash…'

Dean stuck his head out of the washroom with one eyebrow quirked, "'You still treat me like trash'? What the hell Sammy?"

"What? Maybe your phone has feelings like you and I," Sam strained to control the laughter that threatened to escape his lips under his brother's disbelieving gaze.

"That's lame."

"I know!" He laughed.

Dean chuckled as he quickly rounded the two beds, headed over to the nightstand and picked up his cell phone with the now expected red ribbon and attached note: 'I hold more fame within me than you could possibly imagine…'

Dean re-read the note to make sure he understood it correctly and to give himself more time to think as a dumbfounded look marred his striking features.

"What did you say Dean, 'an intellect that could rival Einstein'? I'm sure he's spinning in his grave with worry that people will recognize the sheer brain power that's radiating from that face."

"Shut up Sammy! I'm thinking…" Okay Dean, think! Something that holds fame…? What holds fame? Nothing holds fame! Alright, just look at what's in the room and see if any of them can hold fame. His eyes roamed the room, but he came up empty. Nothing in there could ever hold fame.

Dean's closed his eyes and they began moving back and forth underneath his eyelids as he mentally went over his possessions that he couldn't see.

Sam watched in fascination as his brother shut his eyes and moved his lips wordlessly, occasionally shaking his head. He's really getting into this! I think he's finally starting to enjoy this particular "hunt"!

Dean's eyes snapped open and he grinned, "I can't believe that I didn't think of it sooner!" He leapt over the two beds and jogged the short distance across the room to the duffle bag that contained his clothes. He began tossing items of clothing haphazardly onto the floor in search of his next item. He pulled out his MP3 player and turned a triumphant look towards his sibling.

"I'm impressed."

"You shouldn't be, Sammy. As I said, I'm brilliant," Dean beamed, still somewhat amazed that he had figured out the clue.

"You keep telling yourself that, maybe one day it will be true," he added with a smirk.

"Shut up Haley Joel."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean read the next clue: 'If you get caught for speeding by the cops, you'll need me.'

"Sammy, don't ever become a writer. These clues are lamer than Pastor Jim's."

Sam winced at the reference to their father's good friend. He was a great guy and extremely knowledgeable, but his jokes had no life to them. They always fell flat and he remembered having to fake his laughter at those atrocities. "Duly noted," Sam barked, doing his best impression of their father while marking off a mock salute.

"Grow up, Sammy!"

"You first!"

Dean sighed from what seemed to come from the very depths of his soul. He walked over to his jeans that were crumpled on the floor where he had dropped them before going to bed and pulled out his wallet. He smirked while opening it, only to have his grin falter from his face when he didn't see any red ribbon within the leather pouch. "What the…?"

"Ha! I got you! You aren't thinking on a large scale."

Okay, if the cops pulled me over for speeding and I would take out my wallet and give them my ID. What is Sam talking about? Realization slowly dawned on him as he realized that they would automatically run his name through their database and he would have been arrested on the spot for countless crimes, including first degree murder. DUH! You wouldn't give them that ID, dumbass! They'd haul you off to jail in a heartbeat! Instead, you'd be your usual cunning self and give them another form of ID…like a police badge and tell them you were speeding because you were on "official" police business. This revelation sent a shiver racing up Dean's spine because those ID's were in the glove compartment of his beloved Impala, which was currently outside in the bitterly frigid night. Dean spun around and glowered at his brother.

"You want me to go outside?" he asked disbelievingly as he moved over to a window and peeked outside.

"Yup!"

"Do you see the weather we're having right now?!" he almost shouted as he pulled back the curtain to reveal the gusting winds and blizzard conditions outside.

"Do you want your present or not?" Sam teased.

"I'm not that desperate. It can wait," he replied coolly.

"Hey, if you're too chicken to go out in this weather, then I can understand that. You need to protect yourself because of your delicate condition," Sam baited.

Dean's chin rose a fraction of an inch and his chest puffed out slightly as he stood to his full height, "I've never been a chicken and I'm certainly not delicate! Do you remember what we do for a living? It's not for the faint of heart."

"All I'm saying is—"

"I know what you're saying!" Dean interrupted. He spun on his heel and snatched his worn brown leather jacket off the back a chair, pulled it on roughly and shoved his feet into his boots without tying them. When he reached the door he grabbed his car keys and heard Sam lumbering to his feet. Dean turned with his hand still on the doorknob. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I'm coming with you."

"No shit, Sherlock. Why?"

"Because it's fun to watch you attempt to figure out my masterfully disguised clues."

Dean shook his head and turned to face his brother, "No Sammy, it's freezing outside and you could get sick. I don't want to have to look after you when you get sick. You're such a baby when it comes to a measly cold."

Sam punched his brother in the arm, "The faster you get out there and solve the next clue, the sooner you can go back to bed."

Although this prospect appealed to Dean, it was Christmas and Sam had gone to all the trouble of setting up this semi elaborate "hunt"; there was no way he was going back to bed after this. It was customary for the Winchester brothers to get coffee and breakfast and watch old Christmas movie re-runs on T.V. "Whatever you say, Shirley."

"Shirley?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah, you're acting like a girl, so you deserve a girl's name. 'Shirley' seems fitting, don't you think?"

Sam reached past his brother and pulled open the door, "After you."

Dean turned and was hit by a sub-zero wind that carried snowflakes that had frozen into ice and stung his face like miniscule particles of flying glass. He zipped his jacket all the way up to his chin and defiantly stepped out into the frigid night, only to have Sam follow in the same fashion, cursing under his breath as he zipped up his jacket and burrowed into it for warmth.

Dean decided to maintain his composure and stroll to the car. All thoughts regarding of his ego disappeared as the cold seemed to permeate into his bones and he quickly jogged to his baby, paying close attention to where he stepped and how he placed his weight, with Sam close on his heels.

As much as Sam vehemently denied it, he despised the cold more than most and he tried to keep up with Dean, however he wasn't paying attention to where he was stepping because his only thought was getting out of the bitter wind. As soon as his foot hit the ground he knew he had made a mistake that would cost him much more than he had anticipated: his pride.

His feet swept out from under him as he let out an involuntarily high-pitched shriek. He landed with a bone jarring thud and his breath wheezed out of his lungs. At least I didn't hit my head, he thought wryly. Maybe the wind was too loud for Dean to have heard my…'scream'.

Sam's eyes whipped to where his older brother should have been standing; he squinted through the sheet of billowing snow, but Dean wasn't there. He looked closer to the ground and there was Dean; on his knees in a snow drift, clutching his stomach with tears rolling down his contorting face. Sam jumped to his feet and ignored the pain in his ankle and he hastily limped over to his fallen brother, "Dean! Dean, are you okay?"

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