A CHILL IN THE AIR
Chapter 3
Sam starts to take stock of Dean's situation.
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The first cloud-dampened light of day crept over the windowsill and nudged Sam awake. He stretched long and slow and yawned, kicking off the thin, sweat-dampened sheet which was knotted around his legs.
Laying on his back, he panted in the stale spongy air.
Their poor overworked heater had been burning like a furnace all night, and the room was unbearably hot; it took every ounce of Sam's self-control not to stumble out of bed and throw the door open to welcome the arctic blast that awaited him outside.
He had to check on Dean first.
Rolling over, he took two long gulps of stewed, lukewarm water from a glass on his nightstand and looked over his glass at Dean's bed, noting that all he could see was a large lump burrowed deep under the quilt.
"Hey Dean?" he called quietly.
No response was forthcoming.
He tried again, this time, louder; a little more forceful.
"Dean."
This time he could see slight movements under the quilt, a regular, rhythmic quivering.
He swung his legs off the bed and padded across the room to check all was okay. Normally, Sam wouldn't even have considered disturbing Dean when his quilt was animated. He had once unwittingly done so when he was a curious ten-year-old and was now, accordingly, psychologically scarred for life. But in this case, he considered that his concern from yesterday warranted the risk of a rude awakening for Dean and his own further mental trauma.
As he stood over Dean's bed, all that was visible of Dean, completely swaddled within a twitching cocoon of rolled quilt, was the unruly cowlick that encircled his crown.
Sam looked down fondly at the tiny bare spot at the eye of the spiky whorl and laid a warm palm over it.
"Dean, how you doin?"
Sam suddenly realised with horror that the movements he could see from within the quilt was a continuous shivering.
Dean rolled over, and Sam's heart froze as Dean shrugged the quilt back, and looked up at him.
His hooded, glassy eyes stared out of a bloodless face, pallid and grey as the blanket of cloud tumbling across the sky above them.
"S-s-sammy, s-s-s-o co-o-ld," he whispered through chattering teeth; "hur's so m-much ... sh-shiv'rin' … can' g-g-get warm."
Sam frowned in concern, reaching under Dean's quilt and grasped his hand. It felt like ice.
"Holy crap, Dean," Sam recoiled at his brother's icy touch; "what the hell's going on?"
He stumbled backwards across the room and reached for the first aid kit, tipping it upside down on his bed in a panicked search for the thermometer.
Thermometer in hand, he knelt back down beside Dean's bed, " just gonna check your temp bro'."
Dean's nod was indiscernible from his incessant shivering; "'k-kay," he mumbled without lifting his head from the pillow.
Sam gently slipped the thermometer between Dean's lips; "take it easy, dude, we'll get this fixed."
He timed a minute, and checked the mercury.
Ninety five degrees.
"Ninety-five?" he gasped; "hell, Dean that's borderline hypothermic."
Sam stared nonplussed at the thermometer and then at the wan face that stared up at him.
The brothers were used to elevated temperatures; in the life they led, a fever caused by an infected wound or a dose of flu was commonplace; nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Even hypothermia, although not a condition they had encountered often, was something understandable that they could deal with.
But one thing Sam had never encountered was a case of hypothermia in a room that was heated like a furnace; he was completely baffled.
His head spun as he pulled his own massive hoodie around Dean's shoulders, bundling him up tightly, cringing as he felt the desperate, exhausted shivering through the three layers of clothing Dean was now wearing.
"Gonna run you a hot bath," soothed Sam.
Dean nodded weakly, and pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to make himself as small as possible as he burrowed back into the rumpled quilt.
xxxxx
In the bathroom Sam set about running the bath and his mind drifted as he felt the rising steam increasing the flush of perspiration across his face.
This wasn't right; this was so not right.
If you it was cold, you were cold, then you got colder. If it was hot, like it was in this damn room; Sam cringed at the musk of sweat that was rising off his overheating body, you just got hotter. You did not get cold, and then colder. It just went totally against the natural order of things.
And that meant it had to be supernatural. Didn't it?
But supernatural or not, if Dean just kept getting colder, his body would shut down and he would die. Damn this sonofabitch ice storm closing the roads; how the hell would Sam be able to get Dean to the hospital if he needed to?
Leaning against the white tiled walls, he closed his eyes and lost himself in the sound of the gushing, tumbling water as it echoed around the room.
Splashing.
Gurgling.
Giggling.
Sam's eyes snapped open as he jolted back into awareness.
Giggling?
He turned the water off and listened intently; could he have imagined it?
The faintest echo of a reedy, sharp giggle; thin and haunting and malevolent. He knew the sound wasn't coming from Dean; what the hell did Dean have to laugh about right now? It didn't even sound anything like his brother's rich mellow laughter.
As his eyes scanned the room, he caught glistening flashes of dazzling blue playing amongst the ripples of the bathwater, and a puzzled frown furrowed his brow. What in the name of God was going on?
Sam wished he was imagining it. But deep inside, he knew he wasn't.
xxxxx
Stepping back into the room, Sam returned to find Dean sitting quiet and empty eyed on the bed, burrowed into a mass of thick clothing and the quilt; his spirit dulled by exhaustion and the relentless cold. His teeth were chattering so hard, Sam's own teeth ached in sympathy.
"C'mon Dean," he encouraged gently; "all ready."
He helped Dean up, and together they made a slow and shaky progress to the bathroom; where Dean stood compliantly and allowed Sam to carefully unwrap him, stripping the layers of insulation away from him. Sam fought the urge to cringe at the deathly chill of Dean's bare skin, the gooseflesh that had erupted across it, and how his muscles flickered and twitched as the violent shivers continued to assault his system without mercy.
Sam wrapped an arm across Dean's bare back and guided him toward the steaming tub. "Here we go, dude, nice warm bath for you," he smiled; "if you don't feel any better soon, we'll call a taxi and head down to the ER as soon as the roads reopen, then we can get you checked out."
He considered that if it was something supernatural, going to ER would achieve entirely squat; but he knew he had to coax Dean to stay positive through this misery. "It's probably just some chill or virus or something," he lied.
Dean nodded; "s-s-sucks, S'mmy," he croaked miserably.
He leaned heavily against Sam, gripping his arm with icy fingers as he gingerly stepped over the side of the bath, and lowered himself into the soothingly hot water.
But, as it closed around his waist he let out a breathless yelp of pained shock, and lunged wildly toward Sam, desperately trying to clamber out of the bath.
Swiftly reaching out in response, Sam grasped his brother urgently, lifting him bodily out of the tub and letting out his own shocked gasp as his arms entered the bath water.
Suddenly it was bitterly, icy cold.
"S'okay Dean, s'okay;" Sam reassured desperately, holding Dean as close as he was physically able, trying to transfer some much-needed body heat, but barely able to manage the violent tremors which racked his brother's wet, freezing body.
"S-s'mmy, wha's h-h-p'nin'?" Dean mumbled into his chest.
As he looked over the Dean's shoulder, he heard that chilling giggle again, accompanied by a flash of blue reflected in the mirror in front of him.
"I don't know dude," Sam responded; "but I'm sure as hell gonna find out."
xxxxx
tbc