A CHILL IN THE AIR
Chapter 6
Sam learns more of what Bobby has in mind.
xxxxx
Sam stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at his phone in bemused silence; what seemed like forever passed in awkward silence before he regained the power of speech.
"Sp-springtime?" he spluttered, barely able to form the word; "are you freakin' insane?"
"Sam … if …" Bobby stumbled over the words in his rush to get them out.
"We can't wait for goddamn springtime," Sam hissed furiously, "Dean isn't going to last the week if we don't fix this."
"If you'll let me finish …" Bobby repeated firmly, "springtime is the only thing that is able to see off winter, so my contact is making me up a 'springtime shield' for Dean."
"Springtime shield?" Sam repeated helplessly, pinching the bridge of his nose as his head began to pound; "Bobby, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Yeah; well, it's more of an elixir," Bobby began; "it's made up of the essence of apple blossom, crocus pollen, the rising sap of a deciduous tree, the blood of a new-born lamb, and raindrops from an April shower. We give Dean this stuff to drink and, according to my pal, Jack friggin' Frost won't be able to get his icy mitts anywhere near him.
Sam considered what Bobby was saying. It sorta made sense in a wall-buttingly crazy kind of way.
"Dean would literally become poison to him," Bobby finished triumphantly.
Sam liked the sound of that; "will Dean recover?"
"That I don't know son; no-one does," Bobby sighed. "I don't know if he's too far gone; it's not like this is a run-of-the-mill procedure, so far as I know it's never been done before - this is all theory. All we can do is try it and see what happens."
Sam scraped and hand shakily through his fringe, and sucked in a deep breath; "thanks Bobby, that sounds like the best option we've got."
"Kid, it's the only option we've got," Bobby replied wearily; "as soon as I've got the mixture, I'll head straight over with it."
"Thanks Bobby," Sam muttered, hesitating before he hung up the call; "an' look, I'm sorry I snapped at you."
"Already forgotten," Bobby responded economically; "see ya soon."
xxxxx
Dean drifted woozily, floating in a desperate, frigid nightmare.
His entire body was so unbearably cold, he couldn't think, he couldn't move. He couldn't speak, all he could do was feel. Feel his skin; tight, sore, raised by the relentless chill into hypersensitive gooseflesh. Feel the pain of every muscle in his body cramping, contracting fiercely against the punishing cold. Feel the exhaustion which consumed him, crushing him with a leaden fatigue as his body shivered and shuddered relentlessly, endlessly.
He had forgotten what it was like to feel warmth; a warm touch, the warmth of his own body, warm air on his face.
His extremities burned. Icy cold fingers, toes, nose, ears; all raw and stinging, blazing with the pain of a retreating blood supply.
Even Sam's touch, usually so comforting and so reassuring, seared his skin like the bite of ice.
There was to be no relief, no respite; no end to the torment until the end.
Dean had given up the fight, and he longed for the end; he just hoped now that it would come quickly.
xxxxx
As the hours passed, Sam drifted in and out of a restless, haunted sleep.
In his waking moments, all he could do was sit and watch Dean as he lay, fretting and shivering miserably, his face set in a grimace of pain; surrounded by uselessly frozen, abandoned drip-bags which hung forlornly around him like deflated balloons after a party. Even in darkness he looked as pale and bloodless as a living death.
Still wrapped tightly in blankets, Dean's entire body was completely devoid of any trace of warmth; even from his seat beside the bed, Sam shuddered as he could feel the bone-chilling cold which radiated from his brother.
Sam was jolted out of his musings by the vibration of his phone in his pocket.
"Hey Bobby," he replied wearily.
"Jus' touched down at Burlington Airport," Bobby's gruff voice growled across the phone line; "pickin' up a cab. I'll be with ya soon."
"Great, thanks Bobby," Sam's voice dropped to a whisper as Dean let out a pained moan.
"I got the stuff," Bobby added, anxious to reassure the younger man.
Sam mustered a watery smile.
"Thanks Bobby."
xxxxx
Sam had never been so pleased to see anyone as he was when Bobby was shown into the room by a brusque night sister. Haggard through lack of sleep and stiff from unplanned travel, he shot a brief smile in Sam's direction before he froze in horror at the sight of the suffering figure in the bed.
"Holy God," he muttered, his face rapidly draining of what little colour it actually had.
"He's getting worse all the time," Sam explained sadly. "He feels freezing cold and his temperature is dropping all the time, I've no idea what it is at the moment."
Bobby huffed, scratching his head under his cap; an automatic action that Sam recognised as Bobby's very own individual nervous tic; "I got the stuff," he muttered, voice quaking with concern; "I hope to God it helps."
"So do I," Sam agreed; "he's in so much pain."
Without further hesitation, Bobby rummaged in his pocket and pulled out two small vials of brown soupy liquid.
"Two?" Enquired Sam curiously.
"Yeah, two," confirmed Bobby; "once we give Dean this stuff, we're gonna have one mightily pissed Jack Frost on our hands because we've tainted his plaything."
He hesitated, glancing down at Dean again, "we need to protect ourselves; in this frosty dick's case, revenge really would be a dish served cold."
Sam nodded mutely in agreement; once again, Bobby was talking perfect sense.
"I've already had mine," he added handing one of the vials to Sam. "Tastes like friggin' ass," he added with a mirthless smile.
Sam smiled weakly in return, and took the vial from Bobby. Without question, he removed the stopper with a hollow pop.
"L'chaim," raising the vial to Bobby, he gulped it down in one.
"Guugh," he grimaced, suppressing the urge to vomit as he choked out a shuddering gasp; "ass is about right."
Bobby smiled; "told ya so."
xxxxx
Eventually satisfied that Sam was going to keep the potion down, Bobby turned his attention to Dean.
"Can he drink?"
"I hope so," Sam replied, "he hasn't had anything for a while, he has trouble swallowing."
Bobby rubbed a hand across his beard, "can we risk it?"
Sam sat down on the edge of the bed; "we'll get it down him some way," he looked up at Bobby with eyes of steel and Bobby knew that failure wasn't going to be an option.
Turning to Dean, Sam's face softened as he spoke; "Dean, I need you to drink something for me, okay?"
Heavy lidded eyes stared glassily through him.
Reaching down, Sam slid an arm under Dean's back, cringing at how cold it felt, "I'm going to pour some liquid into your mouth," he spoke quietly and firmly as he gently hoisted Dean to a sitting position; "you've got to drink it, understand? I can't - I won't let you spit it out, however bad it tastes."
He wormed his way back so that Dean was leaning against his shoulder, the force of his shivers vibrating against Sam's chest, and pushing the breath out of him.
"This is going to help you, Dean," Sam murmured softly; "you gotta trust me, okay?"
If Sam was seeking some nugget of acknowledgement, he hoped he'd got what he wanted when Dean managed a wordless, stuttering snort.
xxxxx
Bobby removed the stopper and tentatively handed the remaining vial to Sam who took it with silent thanks and tightened his grip across Dean's chest; "okay, dude, down the hatch."
He gently worked the edge of the vial between Dean's grey lips and tipped it up, emptying the slick contents into his mouth.
Throwing the empty vial onto the bed, he quickly clamped a hand over Dean's mouth.
"Swallow it Dean," he coaxed gently; "swallow."
Dean grimaced against the foul taste, and writhed against Sam's firm but gentle grip.
"C'mon Dean," Sam pleaded; "please, you gotta swallow this crap."
Sam felt Dean retching and gagging beneath his hand and began to worry that he might actually be choking. His fears were calmed when he finally saw Dean's throat convulse as he swallowed the offensive brew.
Sam looked up at Bobby, "he's got it," he sighed.
Lifting his hand from Dean's mouth, Sam recoiled in shock as Dean let out a choking gasp and bucked violently.
Suddenly the room came alive with vivid flashes of blue which crackled and burst, pinballing furiously over the walls and ceiling; a crazed, dancing kaleidoscope illuminating the shocked faces of the figures huddled protectively around Dean like the crackling lights of a firework display.
In the midst of the incandescent chaos, Dean writhed and thrashed wildly in Sam's arms.
Then, like the fresh, clean tranquillity that follows a thunderstorm, the room settled abruptly into eerie stillness.
Dean subsided bonelessly into the solid wall of Sam's chest as the younger man blinked back nauseous shock, looking up at Bobby though eyes still scarred with flickering, swirling ghosts of blue.
"H-holy …" was all that Bobby managed to croak. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the muffled panting of the two shocked figures.
Gathering his scattered wits, Sam glanced down at the limp figure sprawled against him, and his heart lurched, "Bobby, he's not shivering any more."
Bobby knelt down beside him, wincing under a symphony of cracking, popping knee joints; "well … that's good ain't it?" he responded cautiously.
"Well, I guess … yeah, but …"
Sam tightened his grip around Dean, gently rubbing his arms and chest, "C'mon dude," he muttered, desperately trying to convince himself he could feel a heartbeat.
"Dean," he prompted, wishing he could have felt as confident as he sounded, "c'mon man, that stupid blue skank's gone."
He patted Dean's cheek, a sense of increasing dread building within him, and glanced up at Bobby. The older man's watery grey eyes stared back at him in silent fear.
"DEAN man," he began to plead; "for God's sake, answer me."
Dean's ice-cold body lolled weakly against him.
xxxxx
tbc