Okay, so first of all, I want to say a big THANK YOU to everybody who read and reviewed the last chapter! Wow, you guys are awesome!!! Thank you SO much!!!

So this one came along a bit faster than I thought it would - it was supposed to be a Hurt!Dean one, but then I remembered another kind of miserable Dean that I love - and that's Cold!Dean. And then it just wrote itself. So I guess that means there'll be four chapters! Cold!Dean couldn't be left out! He's too adorable! xD

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, sadly.

As usual, sap! warning. What can I say, I love the stuff. :)

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"Gosh, Sam, I can do it myself," Dean snaps, his temper getting the better of him.

Sam huffs loudly, but hands Dean the can of salt again.

Dean takes it irritably, finally manages to get it open, and shakes it over the brown skeleton. He can feel Sam's eyes on him, and forces himself to not say something he'll regret. He's grumpy, but then so is Sam. It's freezing, and raining, and neither of them is particularly happy.

Dean's clothes are frigging stuck to him. He can't feel his toes. Water is dripping off his hair into his eyes. His fingers are cold, stiff, and wet. He can barely close the can of salt.

"Any time you're ready, Dean," Sam says suddenly and irritably.

Dean realizes that he is standing there, fumbling with the salt again. With a loud sigh, he shoves the can at Sam and hunches over, shoving his freezing hands into his pockets. It doesn't do much good, because his jacket's soaked too. Friggin' fabulous.

Sam throws a sideways look at him, and reaches for the holy water. Dean doesn't look at him. They've been really – off – lately. He isn't sure exactly why it started. All he remembers is that it started a few days ago.

Sam had been up before him, looking at something on the laptop, and then when Dean had come back out of the shower Sam had been in a terrible mood. He'd snapped at Dean all day, no matter what he said, and had made several snide remarks about how he was tired of this life. The next couple of days hadn't been any better.

Now they're both so annoyed with each other, not one word that comes out of their mouths isn't nasty. To prove this point, Sam stands up from where he's searching through their duffel bag and sighs loudly. "I can't find the matches, Dean. If you'd just pack the bag a little neater, we wouldn't have to be out here at two o' clock in the morning, in the freezing rain, searching for our matches."

Dean is so taken aback by the ridiculousness of the remark, he can't think of anything mean to say back. He has always just thrown stuff into their bag, it's never bothered Sam before. Instead he just lowers his head and lets a sudden, violent shiver shake his body. His teeth start chattering.

Sam glances at him as he finally comes up with the matches. Dean would like to think he looks a little concerned, but decides it's probably his imagination. And anyway, he doesn't want Sam to be concerned about him. Sam's being so bitchy lately, he'd rather he just stay away. Even as he's thinking that that thought isn't really true, Sam opens his mouth. "You okay?"

Dean looks at him through his eyelashes, not raising his head. "I'm fine, Sam."

"Fine," Sam snaps back, lighting a match and throwing it into the grave. For a bit they stand in silence, watching the fire, that last moment of respect before the soul leaves this world. This time though, it's quickly broken by the sound of Dean's teeth chattering again. Neither of them move for a second, and then Dean starts shivering harder. Sam glances at him. "You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Sam," Dean replies, with a little more force this time. He isn't fine, really. He's totally frozen, and the shivering is becoming painful. The freezing rain is still pounding down on him, soaking him to the bone, and Dean can't remember the last time he felt this miserable. But he doesn't need Sam's help. No way.

Sam rolls his eyes to the sky, and then picks up the shovel. "I guess I'm filling this in?"

Dean grabs the shovel from him a little violently. "I'll do it."

But after an agonizing few minutes in which Dean finds out he can barely push the shovel into the ground he's shaking so hard, it becomes apparent that Sam is going to fill it in. Sam takes the shovel from him with no nasty comment, instead he looks vaguely worried, and his eyes search Dean's face. "You wanna go wait in the car?"

"No I don't wanna go wait in the car," Dean says with no venom in his tone. He doesn't have the strength for it. "Just hurry up." Sam hurries up.

By the time they get in the car, and Sam cranks up the heat as far as it can go, Dean can't feel anything, practically. His toes are a mere memory. His hands are curled into fists in his pockets, and he doesn't think he could open them if he tried. He's shivering so hard, he's getting a headache. This couldn't get any freaking better, Dean thinks. He doesn't even bother demanding to drive, because he doesn't think he could hold the wheel straight anyway.

Sam is eyeing him out of the corner of his eyes. Dean ignores him. He is miserable and cold, and he is going to be miserable and cold by himself, thank you very much.

The drive back to the motel is not pleasant, either. Their clothes are steaming in the sudden heat, but because they're so wet, it isn't warming them up at all. Dean feels like he'll never be warm and dry again in his life.

"Dean? You getting sick or something?"

Dean jumps at Sam's sudden remark and glances at him. "No, why?"

"Cause I'm not shivering anymore, and you still are."

"So?" is all Dean can think of to say.

"So I'm just wondering…"

"Well, quit w-wondering," Dean interrupts irritably, even more annoyed now that he can't seem to speak properly. Sam's been grumpy for three days, and now he wants to be all nice? Without even explaining why he's been in such a foul mood? Uh uh. Don't think so.

They reach the motel and Sam parks, glancing at his brother again. Dean fumbles with the door handle and shoves it open, climbing out into the freezing rain again. It feels a hundred times colder than it did last time he was in it. Cursing mentally, Dean stumbles to their door and stands waiting, annoyed with himself for letting Sam keep the key in the first place. If he'd kept it himself, he'd be inside right now.

Sam walks up – way too slowly, in Dean's opinion – and unlocks the door. Dean pushes past him and then stands there, unsure of what he should do next. He was planning on collapsing on the bed, but now that doesn't seem like such a good idea, cause then the bed'll be soaked too. And then no cozy dry bed later. On the other hand, he could head straight for the shower, but the effort it'll take to peel off all these drenched clothes is not very appealing at the moment. He glares at the floor until he feels Sam's hand on his shoulder.

"You should get in the shower, man."

Dean doesn't have the strength to say something crude back, so he just looks at Sam. Sam almost smiles. "Come on."

He pulls Dean into the bathroom and turns on the shower, hot. Dean can feel the heat of the water from here, and shivers harder. "You good from here?" Sam asks, and Dean tries to nod, but his head doesn't really seem to want to move. Silently, Sam helps him out of his jacket, manoevering his stiff arms out of the sleeves with strong, capable hands. Dean feels like a five-year-old, but he doesn't really care, he's so freaking cold.

He lets Sam manhandle him out of his jacket and shirt, but when he reaches for Dean's t-shirt, Dean finds the strength to lightly push his hands away. "G-good from here," he manages to say, and Sam nods without arguing. "Okay. Call if you need anything." He leaves and closes the door. Dean is a little surprised that Sam gave up so easily, but he's not complaining. He struggles out of the rest of his clothes, teeth chattering the whole way, and climbs eagerly into the hot water.

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Twenty minutes later, Dean climbs out of the shower, warmer, but still shivering. He decides he'll be fine once he gets dressed, and pulls on his warmest flannel pj bottoms and a t-shirt.

In the other room, Sam is perched on one of the wooden chairs at the table. He looks up. "Feel better?" Dean nods. "Yeah – all yours." He feels a little guilty for having such a long shower when Sam was still out here in his drenched clothing, but Sam doesn't seem to care.

Once Sam is in the bathroom, Dean crosses to his bed and burrows under the covers, pulling them halfway over his head and pulling his knees up to his chest. He's still shivering badly. What the hell? Why can't I warm up? Dean wonders. He's dry, he's in bed – what else is he supposed to do? He sighs shakily and waits.

A while later, he hears the bathroom door open, and then Sam's footsteps. "Dean?" he whispers.

"Mmmm?"

"You're not asleep yet?" Sam says in a normal voice, padding over.

"C-clearly," Dean responds, not looking and trying his best to keep his teeth from chattering. This damn bed is still as cold as it was when he got in.

"You still cold?" Sam leans over and puts his hand on Dean's forehead unexpectedly, and Dean jumps about a mile.

"W-what the hell, S-sam?"

"I'm just checking to see if you're running a fever," Sam says easily. "Calm down."

Dean growls at him in what he hopes is a menacing way, but Sam just rounds the bed and sits down next to him. He looks thoughtful. Dean is getting a little nervous. Sammy looking thoughtful almost never bodes well for him. But then Sam stands up, and goes to his own bed.

Dean is so surprised that Sam didn't do something chick-flicky, like tuck him in, he actually rolls over a little so he can see his brother. "What are you d-doing?"

"Going out for a bit," Sam replies, pulling on his boots.

Dean isn't sure what to say. "Where?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll be back soon. Stay in bed." And then he's gone.

Dean feels a little hurt. Okay, more than a little. He's freezing to death, and Sam leaves? He's known that their relationship lately hasn't been at its best, but Sam's never been this uncaring. Other than when he left for college. But… Sam isn't leaving him, not like that. He'll be back. Dean is sure of it. Pretty sure, anyway. He clings to positive thoughts, shivering harder than he can ever remember shivering in his life, until he hears the door open again.

"S-sammy?" The nickname slips out before he can catch it, but Sam doesn't seem to mind.

"Yeah it's me, Dean."

Dean watches him come over to the bed, holding a bag. "Wh-what's that?"

"I got something," Sam says unhelpfully, putting the bag down and reaching inside. He pulls out a blanket, one of those really fuzzy ones that Dean has always seen in the stores, but they've been too expensive to buy.

"I got one of those polar-fleece blankets… I dunno, I thought it looked really warm," Sam says, looking a little embarrassed, but at that moment, Dean doesn't think he's ever seen something so beautiful in his life. But to his surprise, Sam then pulls the blankets off that Dean is clutching to himself. Dean tries to snatch them back, but Sam lightly pushes his hands away. "Relax, man."

He watches as Sam unfolds the polar blanket and lays it over him, tucking it in a little around the edges. I knew it, I knew the tucking in was going to come at one time, Dean thinks. But the new blanket is way too soft and warm for Dean to care about the tucking in for long.

Sam pulls the rest of the covers back over him again. "I think you'll stay warmer that way," he says, looking a little unsure. Dean watches him with narrow eyes, too surprised to even say a word. He'd thought Sam was mad at him, thought he didn't care. But now he's doing all this – for him?

Sam disappears back to his own bed. Dean immediately misses his presence. For a moment he'd felt that the anger of the past few days had disappeared, that it was gone. Guess I was wrong, he thinks a little sadly.

A moment later, he's too busy being shocked to feel sad. What the hell?? Sam is climbing into the bed next to him, pulling the covers over himself, too. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"What the h-hell are you doing?" Dean curses his pathetic shivering – he'd sound a lot more threatening if he wasn't stuttering with cold.

"Keeping warm. I'm freezing, you're freezing, this is the best plan for both of us," Sam says with a calm tone. Dean actually feels calmed by it, although he's annoyed with himself for it. Then Sam wraps his arms around him. Dean almost elbows him in the gut, he's so surprised. "What the hell, Sam?"

Sam huffs, pulling Dean backwards, close to his chest. "Dean, stop being such a baby. You're freezing, and it's obvious your body is having trouble generating heat. So let me do it for you."

"That sounds s-so wrong," Dean manages to say, "N-not to mention this is awk-awkard."

"Too bad," says Sam. "It's either awkward, or you freeze to death. Your choice."

"Tempting," Dean says, then leans back into Sam's arms a little. "I guess I'll have to go with awkward." It really is awkward. But the thing is, Sam's like a heater. And the warmth feels so good that Dean can't help but get as close as he can, letting it soothe his frozen body.

Sam holds him tight, but not tight enough to make it really awkward. After a moment, he speaks. "Hey Dean?"

"Mmm?" Dean's teeth have finally stopped chattering, and now he's just soaking up the heat, and enjoying the comforting feeling of having his brother so close. He really hopes Sam isn't going to ruin it with a girly talk.

"I just wanted to tell you…" Sam begins.

Yeah, he's going to ruin it with a girly talk.

"I guess I've been kinda… grumpy lately," Sam goes on, he sounds uncomfortable.

Dean rolls his eyes a little, glad that Sam can't see him. "Understatement."

"Yeah. Well I just wanted to tell you why I was… cause… I'm sorry," Sam says.

Dean stays silent. He half wants to have this talk, half doesn't want to. He hates chick flick moments, but he also wants to clear things up with Sam. He can't take being at odds with his brother all the time.

"You know the other day when I was on the computer? Before you came out of the shower? I got an email from one of my old friends, at college." Sam sounds like he doesn't want to talk about this.

"Okay," Dean says slowly, wondering where this is going.

"Yeah, my friend Tim… anyway he was just writing to tell me he got married to his girlfriend, Chelsea. And he always said that when he got married, I was gonna be his best man. It was like, this thing we had. Kind of a joke, but it was serious too, you know? Anyway… so he was just writing to tell me that he wishes I coulda been there." Sam's voice cracks a little.

Dean isn't sure what to say, but then Sam keeps talking.

"It's no big deal I guess, it just reminded me of how many things are getting sacrificed cause of this life…"

Dean sighs a little. "Sorry, Sam."

"You don't have to apologize, Dean. It's not your fault." Sam lets go of him, and Dean realizes he's not shivering anymore. Nevertheless he kind of wishes Sam had kept holding on. And feels like a girl for wishing it.

"Anyway… I just wanted you to know how come I was being so grumpy. Sorry, Dean."

"Hey I was grumpy too," Dean says quickly.

"Only cause I was grumpy," Sam replies, staring up at the ceiling.

"Don't flatter yourself," Dean says, watching him out of the corner of his eye.

Sam huffs and rolls over, his back to Dean.

Suddenly, inexplicably, Dean feels very cut off from his brother. There's something so final about a turned back, especially Sam's turned back. Maybe he's seen it too many times before he leaves. Plus, he's never had anyone ask him to be their best man. He's not sure he can understand how Sam's feeling at the moment. Dean suddenly longs for the contact again.

"Hey Sam?"

"Yeah."

"You can be my best man when I get married." Dean says, holding his breath. He isn't sure if it's the right thing to say at this moment, but he hopes it is.

Sam huffs again, but this time Dean is rewarded by Sam moving backward so his back is against Dean's. He's silent for a moment, then he says "Thanks, Dean."

"I was being serious," Dean says, so it doesn't get too chick-flicky.

"You can be mine, too," Sam says, making it chick-flicky anyway.

"That's if you ever get married," Dean teases, and starts laughing despite trying to control it.

"Shut up," Sam says, Dean can hear him smiling. "Jerk."

"Bitch," Dean says, right on time. Working things out with Sam makes him feel lighter than he has in days – he doesn't even mind that they had to have an extreme chick-flick moment to get there. He settles down, leans against Sam's furnace of a back, and goes to sleep.

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Whew! So what did you think? :D