Author's Note: I'm so psyched to show you guys this chapter. The prompt comes from Leahelisabeth, who requested, "Dean comes home to Sam's jacket flung over a chair, his shoes by the door, his cellphone and wallet on the bedside table, but no little brother. Also, there is a Brand-new 6'4" snowman standing on the edge of the parking lot. Interpret that however you want, so long as there is schmoop and cuddling." I won't lie, I totally got super excited to do this when I first read this prompt. I spent a lot of time on it and I hope it came out the way you wanted it. Thanks for submitting it! Let's just say this is set in season 1, okay? Please enjoy!

Sam prides himself on being able to put the puzzle pieces together.

He enjoys researching and prefers being cooped up in a library than actually out in the field. He's a lot like Bobby in that sense—though neither he nor Bobby would ever admit it—but Dean makes sure his combat skills are still up to date. Though his brother has never come out and said it, Sam knows that his older brother is worried that his four years at Stanford have produced some sort of new weakness that Dean now needs to guard against. The youngest Winchester knows better, of course. Four years of being a civilian can't wipe away the years of training he endured under his father's careful watch and Dean's helpful hand. Still, he humors his older brother and trains whenever Dean gets anxious about Sam's skills not being up to par.

Maybe he should've spent less time training and more time figuring out who the witch was.

"So, you're the one who's been hunting me?" The sultry voice catches him off-guard, but Sam quickly spins around, knife poised to kill. The witch stands before him in the doorway, a smirk on her ruby red lips. She's gorgeous—silky brunette hair that cascades down her back, a black dress that hugs her in all the right places and the brightest pair of green eyes that he has ever seen—and he idly wonders if this is how she naturally looks or whether it's due in part to some magic.

"You're the witch?" He echoes, knife still ready to strike if need be. He's not sure how she got into the motel room—they have too many wards up—but he's not about to take any chances.

"Witch is such a bad word," She scoffs, sitting on the edge of Dean's bed, making herself perfectly comfortable. Sam's nervousness ramps up. She's got to be insanely powerful—that's the only way she could've gotten in. She's already left a trail of bodies in her wake and Sam doesn't doubt her strength. He can't underestimate her. He can't let his guard down. She seemingly bristles with pride as she adds, "I'd prefer sorceress." Sam huffs out a breath and her emerald eyes lock on his gaze. He feels drawn in and he wonders briefly if this was how she got all her victims. Who would resist such a lovely woman anyway?

"You can't hurt me," He hisses and she tilts her head to the side, smiling softly. "I'm not like the others." The others referring, of course, to her countless victims—all male and all womanizers who had all ended up with a frozen heart. This witch, unlike many others, seemed to use her powers for seeking vengeance and her targets had been sleazy men who had cheated multiple times on their wives. Dean jokingly called them popsicles, but faced with the possibility of becoming like them, Sam no longer finds it funny.

"No," She murmurs her consent, rising from the bed and stepping close to him. With a flick of her wrist, the knife in Sam's hand vanishes and he finds himself against the wall with a thud. Groaning, he blinks the black spots from his vision and she smiles sinisterly. "But you lost someone—a girl you loved." Her perfectly manicured hand traces a circle around his heart. "You're a man with a broken heart, aren't you?" A hint of sadness flickers in her eyes and Sam looks away.

"No." He lies. In truth, losing Jess has done a number on him. The life he had pictured for himself had gone up in flames and now he was hunting again, something he had sworn he would never do again. His father was missing and he felt like he was barely hanging onto things. If it hadn't been for Dean, he probably would've died in that fire.

"You're in pain," The witch continues, gauging his reaction after every sentence. "I can numb it. I can make you forget her." It's a trap he knows, but her eyes are sparkling and for a second, Jess is nothing more than a far-off dream, a distant recollection.

"N-no," He stammers because he would never betray her memory. "I don't want to." The witch pouts and then backs away from her, but Sam is still magically pinned to the wall. She sighs dramatically and gracefully tumbles upon the bed.

"What to do then?" She questions. "You are here to kill me after all. You and your friend—" That provokes a violent reaction within Sam. He struggles against invisible bonds, desperate to get free. Dean is out interviewing a couple downtown whose son had been the latest victim in the witch's wrath. He could walk in on this and be just as helpless—

"Stay away from him!" Sam growls, voice deadly and the witch sits up, eyes dancing in amusement.

"Oh, don't you worry, honey," She coos, voice dripping in false charm. "He's not my type—now you, on the other hand," She gets up from the bed and crosses to Sam once more. "You are just the kind of guy that I adore." She sweeps his bangs to the side. "You're like a kicked puppy—adorable and dying inside." Her ruby lips tilt up in a smile. "I'll help you." She lays her palm flat against his heart. Cold starts to seep into his bones and Sam throws everything against the invisible bonds, only for them to tighten against him.

"You can't—" He chokes as the ice pierces his heart.

"I'm not going to kill you," She replies calmly. "The weather outside on the other hand? That might do it though." She has a point. The snow has been piling up and it's 10 degrees outside. She grins wickedly and Sam can hear his heartbeat slow as the cold enters his bloodstream. His eyelids feel heavy and darkness claws at the edges of his vision.

"Dean." He whispers as the freezing cold consumes him. Warmth is just a word to him now; he no longer remembers what it felt like. The witch chuckles softly.

"It's such a shame," He can hear her as the darkness overtakes him. "I was starting to like you."

Then, nothing.

It's fucking cold.

That's pretty much the only thought that Dean is able to process that he jogs up to the room and lets himself in. The couple had been a dead end and frankly, Dean was beginning to doubt that even Sam with his freaky, geek brain would be able to figure out how to pin this witch down. He slams the door behind him, relishing the newfound warmth in the room.

"I'm back!" He calls as he rubs his hands together, willing them to warm up faster. He wipes off the snow that managed to accumulate on him from the short walk from the Impala to the room. "Sam?" He glances at the bathroom, but the door is open. Confused, he glances around the room and sees Sam's boots by the door, his cellphone and wallet on the bedside table and his jacket neatly placed over a chair.

And yet, there is no sign of Sam being in this room.

"Sammy?" He calls again, pushing down the feeling of fear and panic that is starting to bubble up within him.

Again, no answer.

"Okay." Dean mumbles, putting his years of training into practice. He scans the room, but sees no signs of a struggle anywhere. Sam just left then—maybe went to get food? He discards that idea when he realizes that Sam would've had to go in his socks since his boots were still here. Besides, he would've left a note. So, where was his little brother?

"So, you're the other one?" She emerges from seemingly thin air and for a second, Dean is struck by how beautiful she is. She smirks at him playfully, but he regains his senses and pulls out his gun. She throws her hands up in a mocking version of being worried. "Please. Don't hurt me!" She cackles and with a flick of the wrist, his gun is gone. He's frozen in place, unable to move. His feet feel like lead and he can barely lean towards the woman.

"Witch." He spats, drawing the conclusion. Chuckling, she claps her hands together.

"And he's smart too!" She mocks. "But as I told your friend, I don't like being called that." At the mention of Sam, Dean violently struggles against the magic in vain. He can't break free and he's pretty sure that this witch knows it.

"What the hell did you do to my brother?" He hisses, summoning up all the fury and rage he can muster, forcing his voice to be deadly. The witch tilts her head to the side, brown hair tumbling behind her shoulder.

"Brother?" She echoes. "I suppose I do see the resemblance—"

"If you've hurt him, I'll kill you—"

"Oh, please," She murmurs tiredly. "Spare me your threats. We both know you can't get out of my spell." She plops down on the bed and plays with a loose strand of the blanket.

"What did you do—?" He's still fighting though he knows deep down that she's right. He can't get out of this spell, but he'll keep trying. For Sam, he would do anything.

"I'm prepared to offer you a deal," She begins diplomatically, meeting his gaze. "I'll let you out of this spell and let you find your brother if—and I mean only if—you let me go."

"Let you go?" He repeats, incredulously. Because why the hell would he let her go after she took Sam and did something with him? Anyone or anything that messed with Sam got the punishment they deserved.

"Or you can stay here, locked in my spell while your brother dies," She continues nonchalantly. "Your choice." She has a clear and valid point so he doesn't hesitate. She's done something to Sam and Dean needs to find him now.

"Deal." He says simply.

"Mark my words," She growls. "You come after me again and cheater or not, I will kill him and you." And with a flick of her wrist, she's gone and Dean can finally move. He rushes out the motel room door, not even noticing the cold.

Sam needs him.

He covers the whole town, but there's no sign of Sam. No one has even seen him all day. Dean's frustrated and worried sick. His brother could be bleeding out somewhere and Dean is just standing here, trying to figure out what to do next. He hates this—being helpless. It goes against everything he stands for. Dean takes pride on being able to change people's lives everyday. He enjoys proving people wrong and showing others that nothing is set in stone, that if they have a little willpower, anything can be accomplished.

Anything except finding missing little brothers apparently.

Dean curses low and long under his breath.

The sound of children's laughter dimly registers as he sees a few girls staring at a snowman that is at the edge of the snowy parking lot. It's huge—taller than most people—and it's complete with a red scarf, coal eyes, black buttons and a carrot nose. It's the perfect snowman.

"It's big enough to be as tall as Daddy!" The young girl exclaims to her friend. The two then rush to their parents, leaving Dean with an empty parking lot once more. The snowman smiles at him, almost too happily.

And then it clicks.

It's also the perfect hiding place for a witch that froze men's hearts for fun. Before he knows it, Dean is sprinting across the parking lot and is yanking the snowman apart. There's so much snow and it feels much colder than normal snow does, but eventually he brushes against Sam's bare arm. It's like ice, but Dean stuffs down the fear and continues to pull the snowman apart. Sam's limp body falls against him and Dean curses at how pale he is. His lips are practically blue and his pulse is faint.

"Hang on, Sammy," He soothes, pulling him up as gently as he can manage. "I've got you, okay? You just stay with me, you hear? No dying. Can't let that bitch win, right Sammy?"

Sam's silent—doesn't even so much as twitch and that scares Dean more than every creature he's ever fought.

He brings Sam inside and immediately gets the heater running. Surprisingly, Sam's clothes aren't even wet and Dean supposed that had something to do with the magical properties of the snow he had been encased in. Still, even without having to change his clothes and worry about that, Sam's in bad shape. Whether he needs a trip to the hospital remains to be seen. He grabs the small heating blanket they found a few states back and plugs it in.

There is one other thing he can do.

He climbs into the bed, pulls his brother towards him and hopes that Sam's frigid body will absorb some of his own heat. It's a chick-flick moment and Dean would be mortified if anyone found out, but there's nothing he wouldn't do for Sam.

"Anytime you wanna wake up and bitch about this dude." He whispers, but again receives no response.

And then the shivering commences.

It's violent and Dean's afraid Sam's going to hurt himself from all the shaking, but it's also a sign that Sam's body is starting to recover. Dean murmurs reassurances and holds his brother closer, wishing Sam would open his eyes. Checking Sam's pulse, he's pleased to see that it's gotten stronger.

They might just make it through this yet.

"Way to go, kiddo."

Sam doesn't ask about why they're suddenly leaving town without taking down the witch. The details he recalled from his encounter—and the few he had managed to pry from his brother—had painted a clear enough picture that going up against this witch with just the two of them was going to backfire. Still, he had ended up in a snowman? Sam kind of wishes they could go after her. Still, it wouldn't be worth dealing with the fallout and as it was, Dean was pretty much shooting glances his way every five second.

"I'm okay, Dean." He huffs as they speed down the road, the engine humming—Sam's favorite lullaby when he had been a kid and secretly, it still was now.

"Never said you weren't." A calculated, measured response. Inwardly, Sam groans. His brother was going to be stubborn. Fine. Two could play that game.

"You know we shouldn't be leaving like—" Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightens considerably.

"Shut up, Sam." A clear warning—one that Sam ignores.

"I'm just saying," He plows on, ignoring his brother's signs of mounting fury. "This witch is bad news. We should—"

"New rule," Dean snaps, fury dancing beneath his supposedly calm tone. "Shotgun doesn't talk for the rest of the trip."

"But Dean—"

"It's not worth your life, Sam!" He appears shocked that it came tumbling out and Sam lets the surprise momentarily linger on his face, before collecting himself.

"Okay." He murmurs because if it came down to the hunt or Dean, there's no doubt about which he would pick.

"Okay?" Dean echoes, like he's unsure if he really won this argument.

"Yeah."

A pause. Dean nods.

"Good."

Then, with a smirk, Sam adds, "Cuddling though, dude? Really?"

"Shut up!"

"Never knew you were such a softie, Dean."

"Sam, shut the hell up or you will be walking to Minnesota!"

Sam laughs and watches as some of the tension drains from his brother's face. The witch can wait. In the end, all that matters is the man sitting next to him.

"Dean." His brother warily glances sideways at him. "Thanks." A moment of understanding passes between them and then, Dean turns up the music.

Sam just smiles.

Author's Note: And there we go! I hope you all liked it. It's definitely my favorite chapter so far. Please read, review and request!