Nine Times Dean Needed Sam - Part 5: Really Cold.

Disclaimer: No ownership.

Posted: March 8, 2010

Fellow Players: Onyx Moonbeam, Supernoodle, Sidjack, the lovely Liafrombrazil, Soncnica, Hanson's Angel, IheartSam7, and Enkidu07.

A/N: Happy Birthday to the fabulous Mad Server. I love you the absolute mostest which is why I wrote this so last minute and didn't, ah, get it beta'd. Ahem.

The crossbow quarrel buried itself to the fletching in the Nixie's chest. Her body collapsed into itself as pale watery ichor seeped from the wound. What tissue was left dissolved into a froth of foam on the open surface of the lake, until even that vanished.

Dean braced himself on his elbows, watching the show from the safety of the ice. A slow smile stretched his chapped lips. Damn, he was good. He wasn't the first hunter she'd attacked, but he might be the only one that never let go of his weapon. Dad had drummed that into him long before the nixie dragged him by his ankle up the shoreline, smashing him gleefully into fuking rocks and trees, scree and driftwood and more fucking rocks…

She'd finally spun him like a top out on the frozen lake. When he finally slid to a stop, dizzy enough to puke, she strutted toward him, dancing on the ice and water, an ice blue grin revealing grotesque pointed teeth. She was so sure of herself—right up until he ganked her. Guess it never occurred to her that there was a crossbow hidden under his arm.

He'd taught that watery bitch a lesson about messing with Winchesters. He was really good.

He rolled to one side and ran a hand down his shredded flannel and teeshirt. Scrapes and bruises made him hiss a little, but nothing was bleeding, and after flexing his arms and legs, nothing was broken either. Dean was going to be sore as hell, but all things considered, that was a good hunt.

He just wished Sam had been there to see it. Little bro might never fully appreciate how totally awesome that shot was.

Speaking of his ginormous brother… Dean craned his head around and brushed snowflakes off his lashes with the back of one hand. The lake shore fifty yards behind him and south was devoid of sasquatches. Sam'd might have got stuck calming down the panicky family. That or the nixie had travelled at supersonic speed. Either was equally likely.

Dean turned his head north and grinned stupidly. He knew the nixie had dragged him toward the main road and the Impala but he couldn't be more than a mile away from the car. Man, this was a great hunt! He got his hands down on the ice and pushed up.

Snap. Crackle. Pop.

Cracks radiated away from his hands toward the open water at the center of the lake. The ice underneath him groaned. Crap. Either he was going to drift away on an ice floe or he was going in the drink. His mouth was suddenly very dry.

He reached behind him, scraping at the ice until his gloves found enough purchase to help him start inching toward the shore. He pushed again, straining until his butt was up in the air and he could get his knees underneath him. Grimacing, he blew on his cupped hands and shook them as he scanned behind him for a glimpse of his brother through the heavy snowfall.

Because it really would be a great time for Sam to arrive. Moving slowly and carefully, head down, Dean worked his way toward shore on his hands and knees. The ice held, but his breath caught every time it groaned and creaked underneath him.

This would be actually be the perfect time for Sam to arrive. He could probably braid his hair into a rope and toss it out like a life line. Or go the car and get their rope and toss it, but the picture of Sam doing a Rapunzel to rescue him made him laugh out loud, breath frosting around him.

One hand forward, one knee, other hand… he'd stopped paying much attention, humming Metallica. A sharp crack and his knees broke through the ice. He scrambled for a hold even as he started to slip backwards, his legs dragging him into the water up to his waist, then his chest.

Everything tried to shut down. Nothing worked, not his legs, his lungs, even his eyes were frozen. Someone was talking in his ear, saying something like "Move. Move. Move. Move. Move. Move." After what seemed like hours, he realized that he was talking to himself, lips barely moving.

He had to get out of the water. Now. The crossbow. It was still in his hand. Of course it was. Never let go. Kicking wildly, he lunged up, near panic spurring him up and out of the water, catching at the ice with the butt of the crossbow. Once his torso was on the ice, he drew in heaving breaths, trying to wait out the shivers racking his body.

The cold water encasing his legs felt like it was sucking the life out of him. And it was, literally. He had to move. Hands numb and clumsy, Dean fumbled out a quarrel from its clip on the bow and drove it into the ice ahead of him with all of his might. The point buried itself in the ice, his lip curling as it reminded him of the arrow sliding into nixie's ice cold flesh. Holding the shaft, he dragged himself forward until he could catch the quarrel in the crook of his left elbow. His hips were out of the water.

There was one more quarrel. Panting, he unclipped it from the bow. He could use them like ice picks, drag himself to one then the next until he reached the shore. He rolled to his left, brought his arm high over his head, and drove in the second quarrel.

The noise this time was deafening. Short and sharp like a rifle shot. The ice beneath his chest disappeared, slam-dunking him back into the freezing water.

The shock of re-entering the water drove the air out of his lungs in a rush, leaving him light headed, left arm flailing for a purchase no longer there. He sucked in a lungful of air, another. And here he thought he couldn't get any colder. But he was alive. Blinking slowly, he tried to find out why. He finally focused on his right hand, still holding the second quarrel, secure in the ice.

He brought his left arm up, hooked the crossbow over the arrow and locked his hands together. He just needed to hold on until Sam found him. Because if Sam didn't find him, Dean was screwed. And if Sam didn't find him soon, Dean was really screwed.

Where the hell was Sam?

Please read chapter 2