More angsty needy Dean for the birthday girl, Mad Server.

Where the hell was Dean?

Luck, not good planning, had them arrive at the lake just as the nixie lured a six year old away from his family. What should have been a pleasant winter day skating with friends on the local lake had turned into a nightmare. Sam was shouting a binding spell as he ran forward, pushing startled witnesses further up the shore; Dean rocketed around the families and slid onto the ice. He snagged the boy out of the monster's arms and practically tossed him into Sam's.

The binding was short lived. The nixie recovered and slipped away up the lake and ice to the north, Dean hot on her heels. Sam turned to hand the boy back to his parents.

He hadn't seen Dean since.

The snow that had threatened all day began to fall, quickly reducing visibility around the lake, flattening ambient sounds with its soft hushing. Sam ran at an easy pace, using his long legs to jump jumbles of rocks and wood dotting the shoreline. He called Dean's name as he scouted the shoreline, watching with increasing frustration as the snow covered any possible signs of his brother's passage. After ten minutes, he he tried calling, but Dean's cell went straight to voice mail. Huffing out a cloud of white breath, Sam picked up his pace.

The car couldn't have been more than a mile ahead when a noise as sharp and loud as a rifle shot rang out. Sam ducked instinctively, spinning toward the sound, lost his footing on a patch of ice, and ended up on his ass, staring at the lake as echoes reverberated across the water. That wasn't a rifle. That was… ice cracking. His stomach tried to drop to his feet. If Dean was in the water… Sam was back on his feet and jogging south in a heartbeat, desperately scanning the lake until he finally saw something low and dark right on the surface.

Sam was on the ice running, skidding and yelling Dean's name, before he realized he'd started to move. Long arms wind-milling, Sam lurched to a stop twenty feet from his brother. Gingerly testing each step with his toe, then his heel, he came to a complete stop when the ice underneath his foot seemed to shift. They were still a good seven to eight feet apart.

"Dean? Hold on. Just hold on. I'm almost there."

Dean's head came up, his eyes black against colorless skin. "Was hoping you'd g-g-get here b-before…"

Sam eased down on his hands and knees. "Before what?" He jammed the toe of one shoe deep into a good sized irregularity in the ice. "Dean? Before what?"

"D-don' wanna be be… p-popsicle."

"You won't be. Don't move until I tell you, then kick."

"Not sure legs're w-workin'." Dean looked over his shoulder at the water, then back at Sam, brows drawn over his nose. "M-might not have legs anymore."

"Don't move, Dean." Flat on his stomach, Sam stretched out slowly, one foot anchoring him, the other propelling him minutely forward until he could wrap the fingers of his right hand tightly around Dean's bone white wrist. He looked up in triumph just as Dean's head drooped, his forehead rolling on one snow covered sleeve.

"Dean—you do not get to pass out!" He had to fumble the knife off his belt left handed and use teeth to open it. "Wake up right now. I need help to get you out of there." Desperation and adrenaline fueled his arm and he easily drove the blade of the knife up to its hilt in the ice back by his hip. "Dean! I need you to kick on three. Help me!"

Dean slowly raised his head, vacant eyes tracking left and right. "Sssammy?"

No more than a whisper but the relief was so great he sighed out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Yeah, man. Kick on three. Ready?" He didn't wait, just shouted, "One. Two. Three—kick!" and pulled back, using the knife and his secured foot to pull himself backwards.

"Dean. KICK!"

Dean strained forward, the tendons on his neck and jaw standing out in high relief. For a few seconds, Sam was afraid he wasn't going to be strong enough to pull Dean out, that maybe Dean was too waterlogged, too heavy, Sam should've called 911, he should've… and with a thump, he was back on his ass, Dean having popped out onto the ice like a hooked fish, sliding forward until he was almost on top of Sam.

Sam stayed there for a second, panting, grinning like an idiot, until a groaning noise from the ice brought his head up, eyes wide. Sam backed up until he could stand, then headed for shore, towing Dean after him like a sled until they were safe on shore.

"Dean! Hey!" Sam pulled his unresisting brother up, pulled the crossbow out of his hand, and started to tug at the arms of his jacket. "Gonna call you Flipper. Or Rosebud. Give me your coat."

Teeth chattering, Dean slapped at Sam's hands. "Why'm I'm wet?"

"The Nixie—the water? Remember?" Sam pulled Dean to his feet and steadied him.

Dean swayed, hazy eyes unfocused. "C-c-crappy beach. No chicks."

"Come on, I gotta get you warm."

"You cold?" Dean shrugged off the sodden coat and offered it.

Sam laughed. "How 'bout we switch?" Sam blew on his fingers, then ripped off Dean's sodden flannel shirt, pushing Dean's hands down and out of the way as he manipulated his vaguely protesting brother out of his wet clothes and boots. Sam dropped his coat and stripped his own shirts off. He used a long sleeved Henley to briskly rub Dean's skin dry and red.

"Need m-my 'clothes, Rrrrap-p-unzell. S'c-cold."

"Coming up." Sam toed off his shoes and stripped off more clothes, dressing his brother in a hoodie, the sweatpants Sam'd worn under his jeans, and one of his pairs of wool socks. Dancing with the cold, Sam yanked on everything remaining. Once he'd pulled Dean's arms into the dry coat and zipped and buttoned him in, Sam scanned the ground around them. Gathering the wet clothes into a pile, Sam glanced fleetingly toward where his knife was still stuck in the snow. He shook his head. Except for Dean's wallet and car keys, everything else could be picked up later.

"Come on, bro. Back to the car."

"Where izzit? I leggo… let g-go of it." Dean's teeth were chattering so loudly it was hard to understand him. "I nnnever le'go." His brother held up his empty hands. "Never l-l-lose m'weapon. Dad'll kill me."

Sam snatched up the crossbow and showed it to him. "It's right here, Dean. You didn't let go. I took it." Sam put it in Dean's outstretched hand but it slipped out of nerveless fingers. Dean looked up at Sam with wounded eyes. "Can't hold it. What's wrong with m-me?"

"You're cold, that's all, really cold. I'll hold it for now, okay?" Sam picked up the bow again and hooked it to his belt. "Come on, back to the car." Sam pointed Dean north. "We have to walk for a few minutes."

"G-g-got no legs."

"Yes, you do." Sam wrapped an arm around his brother's back and tugged him forward. "You need to walk to warm up."

Dean staggered at first, shivering so hard Sam thought his teeth would rattle in sympathy. Dean seemed alert, his head up, and while he wasn't walking anything near a straight line, he was moving as fast as his stumbling feet would allow.

After his fifth or sixth course correction, Sam caught his brother staring at him. "Dean? How're you doing?"

"I don't have any shoes." Dean lowered his gaze to his socked feet.

"That's right. Your boots and socks were soaked through."

"Oh." Dean was silent for a few minutes. "Where're we goin'?"

"To the Impala."

"Good." Dean ambled for a few more minutes, muttering about beaches and snow bunnies. He stopped suddenly and thumped Sam's shoulder with useless hands. "Where's… I had…have to go back."

"Your crossbow is right here on my belt." Sam held it out.

"When'd I let g-go? Never let go. Damn nixie didn't know what hit her. Dragged me the fuck all over the lake but I held on."

"You always hold on. You did a great job. Come on, we need to keep walking."

Dean lurched forward. "D-d-didn't do a great j.. job. Lost weapon." He held up his empty hands. "Leggo. Da-Dad taught me better than that."

Sam wrapped an arm around Dean's shoulders, pulling him closer. "Dean, its okay. You didn't let go of the weapon."

Dean brought his head up. "I d-did! It's gone."

Sam winced at the tears on Dean's cheeks and his hitched breath. "Look, Dean, see? The bow…" but Dean didn't listen, wrenching himself loose and stood panting, barely upright.

Sam grabbed his biceps. "Look at me. Look at me." Dean shook his head. Sam gave him a little shake. "Listen to me then. You didn't lose the weapon. You gave it to me to keep safe after the hunt. You hear me? You gave it to me. I'm taking care of it."

Dean wouldn't meet his eyes. "But Dad…"

He was going to break Sam's heart. John had been dead for a year and a half. "Dad won't be angry, I promise."

Dean snorted. "That's a good one." He took a deep breath. "Like you ever knew how not to make Dad angry."

Sam chuckled and got his arm back around Dean's shoulders. "Yeah, well, he won't be angry this time because you gave the weapon to me, and Dad knows I'll take care of it."

"Sure?"

"Positive."

Dean looked up at that. "Thanks, Sammy."

"You're welcome. Now, let's get moving." Standing on his toes, Sam concentrated ahead. "I think I can see the parking lot."

Dean took one step. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" He tugged at Dean's arm again.

"I, uh, think… f-feel like shit."

Sam caught Dean just as his legs gave out, ducking to drape his big brother over one broad shoulder, staggering a bit under the weight. "I got it." He walked for five minutes before he could see the Impala in the distance. He was trying to remember how many blankets were in the trunk when his brother's muffled voice came from the region of Sam's waist.

"Where's your coat?"

He panted out a laugh. "Tell you later. Little busy right now."

Another few minutes and they reached the perimeter of the visitor's center lot and a large wooden bench. Bending over, he carefully settled Dean on it.

"Sam—d-do you know where we are?"

"I know exactly where we are." He brushed snow off the bench with his hands and helped Dean lie down. "I'm going to get the car." He bolted for the car.

Dean didn't fully wake up until Sam was lowering him carefully into a warm bath, and when he did, he came up fighting, arms swing and legs thrashing.

"What the hell?" Wild eyed, he rolled his head. "Lemme g-g-go. Sam!"

"Dean, calm down." Sam clamped down on Dean's shoulders and dragged his legs back over the edge of the tub. "You have to keep your arms and legs out of the water."

"D-don' wanna be in the water! Nixie… the nixie, she's here, Sam. We've got to…"

"The nixie's dead. You killed it. Dean, you're breathing too fast. You've got to calm down or you could have a heart attack."

"Heart attack?"

"You remember the last one?"

"S-s-sucked."

"So calm down. Breathe in, one, two, breath out, one, two. You can do that."

Squinting, Dean observed the room. "'M'I underwater?"

"No. That's it, breath out slowly. Breathe in…"

"F-feels like underwater. Air's all wet."

"That's because you splashed most of the bathwater onto me. I'm going to refill the tub. Just hold still." Sam adjusted the water then dragged a towel over his hair and down his arms. After a few minutes, he found Dean's green eyes intently focused on him. "You feeling warmer?"

"Yeah. You okay?"

"I'm warming up just fine. You need a few more minutes, and then I'll get you into bed with some hot water bottles. You'll feel much better."

"Hate the b-bottles. Always leak. Don' wanna be wet anymore."

"Fine, but you know what that means, right?"

"Be fine."

"Body to body contact. Just 'till your temperature's closer to normal."

"Don' wanna spoon."

Sam smiled. "It's that or leaky hot water bottles."

Dean sighed and leaned back, eyelids fluttering. His breathing slowed and just as Sam thought he was asleep, one eye cracked open. Dean might be exhausted but he could still glare.

"Wear socks. Your feet're always really cold."

"So says Freezer Boy." Sam brushed a hand over his forehead. "Blanket time."

Thanks for reading. I hope you'll review.

A/N: You probably already guessed, my little Mad Server, that this is what I was writing.