Supernatural: Frozen Solid
Chapter 1: Bitter Winds, Bitter Hunt
The biting wind whipped across Sioux Falls, South Dakota, carrying with it a promise of more snow. Dean shivered, pulling his leather jacket tighter around himself. "Remind me again why we're hunting a freaking Wendigo in the dead of winter, Sammy?"
Sam, a towering figure even bundled in layers of flannel and a heavy parka, consulted his worn leather-bound journal. "Because people are disappearing, Dean. Three hikers gone missing in the last two weeks. All within a five-mile radius of these woods. Classic Wendigo MO."
Dean grunted, adjusting the shotgun slung across his back. The Impala was parked a good mile back on the logging road; the snow was too deep to risk getting her stuck. The air crackled with a cold that seeped into your bones, making even breathing a chore.
They pushed deeper into the woods, the skeletal branches of bare trees clawing at the grey sky. The snow crunched under their boots, a stark reminder of the Wendigo's natural camouflage. Dean scanned the treeline, his senses on high alert. Wendigos were fast, powerful, and hungry. One wrong move, and they'd be the ones disappearing.
"Anything?" Sam asked, his voice low.
Dean shook his head. "Just the damn cold. This thing is good at hiding. Probably holed up in a cave somewhere."
They continued their trek for another hour, the silence broken only by the wind and the crunch of their footsteps. Finally, Sam stopped, pointing to a set of tracks in the snow.
"Deer tracks," Dean observed.
"Yeah, but look." Sam knelt, brushing away the snow to reveal a second, larger set of tracks superimposed on the first. "Something was following it. Something big."
The tracks were vaguely humanoid in shape, but far larger and with disturbingly long toes. Dean felt a knot of unease tighten in his stomach.
"Wendigo," he confirmed. "And it's fresh."
They started tracking the creature, moving with renewed purpose. The wind picked up, swirling snow around them and making visibility difficult. Dean gripped his shotgun tighter, his thumb hovering over the safety. This was it.
Chapter 2: The Chase
The tracks led them to the mouth of a dark cave nestled into the side of a snow-covered hill. Dean exchanged a look with Sam, a silent agreement passing between them.
"Alright, Sammy, let's do this."
Dean took the lead, his shotgun raised. Sam followed close behind, armed with a machete and a silver-plated hunting knife. They entered the cave cautiously, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.
The cave was cold and damp, the air thick with the smell of decay. They moved deeper inside, the silence pressing down on them. Suddenly, a low growl echoed from the depths of the cave.
"Showtime," Dean muttered.
A hulking figure emerged from the darkness, its eyes glowing with an inhuman hunger. The Wendigo. It was even more terrifying in person, its emaciated body covered in matted fur and bone shards. Its long, sharp claws scraped against the rock floor as it stalked towards them.
Dean fired a shot, the blast echoing through the cave. The Wendigo roared in pain as the rock salt pellets peppered its flesh, but it didn't stop. It charged, its speed surprising despite its size.
"Sam!" Dean yelled, firing another shot.
Sam lunged forward, swinging his machete. The blade connected with the Wendigo's arm, drawing a screech of fury. But the Wendigo was too strong. It swatted Sam aside with a powerful blow, sending him sprawling against the cave wall.
Dean emptied his shotgun into the creature, but it barely seemed to notice. He dropped the empty weapon and drew his hunting knife, preparing for hand-to-hand combat. This was going to be tough.
The Wendigo lunged at Dean, its claws slashing at him. He dodged, narrowly avoiding a fatal blow. He stabbed the Wendigo in the leg with his knife, causing it to stumble. He seized the opportunity, tackling the creature to the ground.
They wrestled in the dirt and snow, the Wendigo's strength overwhelming. Dean felt its claws tearing at his clothes, its hot breath on his face. He struggled to keep it from biting him, knowing that a single bite could mean death.
He managed to get a hand free and reach for the silver-plated knife at his belt. With a desperate lunge, he plunged the knife into the Wendigo's heart.
The Wendigo roared one last time, its body convulsing before going limp. Dean pushed the heavy creature off him, gasping for breath.
"Sam!" he shouted, scrambling to his feet.
Chapter 3: Ice and Agony
Sam was struggling to sit up, clutching his shoulder. "I'm okay," he grunted. "Just…winded."
"We gotta get out of here," Dean said, helping Sam to his feet. "This thing might have friends."
They stumbled out of the cave, the wind hitting them like a wall. Dean supported Sam as they started back towards the logging road. The sun was starting to set, casting long shadows across the snow-covered landscape.
They had been walking for about ten minutes, when the Wendigo started to stir, it wasn't dead. Dean looked around and saw an axe that a logger probably left behind, he snatched it and plunged the axe into the Wendigo's neck, decapitating it and finally killing it.
Dean took Sam's arm and hoisted it over his shoulder. "We're good to go now, let's get back to the car."
As they rounded a bend in the path, Dean saw a patch of ice glistening in the fading light. He yelled a warning to Sam, but it was too late. Sam's feet slipped out from under him, and he crashed to the ground with a sickening thud.
Dean rushed to his brother's side. "Sam! You okay?"
Sam groaned, his face contorted in pain. "My…my legs," he gasped. "I can't feel them."
Dean's heart sank. He knew immediately what had happened. The way Sam was holding his legs, the white-knuckled grip… it was bad.
Carefully, he examined Sam's legs. The ankles were swollen and grotesquely twisted.
"Sam, I think… I think you broke them," he said, his voice tight with concern. "Both of them."
Sam closed his eyes, his face pale. "Damn it," he whispered.
Dean knew they were in serious trouble. They were miles from the Impala, it was getting dark, and Sam was in no condition to walk. And the temperature was dropping rapidly. Hypothermia was a very real threat.
He rummaged in his backpack, pulling out his cell phone. He prayed for a signal, but the screen remained stubbornly blank.
"No signal," he said, frustration lacing his voice.
He knew what he had to do. He had to leave Sam and go get help. But the thought of leaving his brother alone in the freezing wilderness, injured and helpless, was almost unbearable.
"I'm gonna go get help, Sammy," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I won't be long. Just… just stay put."
Sam nodded weakly, his teeth chattering. "Be careful, Dean."
Dean hesitated for a moment, then turned and started running back towards the logging road. The wind howled in his ears, urging him on. He ran as fast as he could, his lungs burning, his legs aching. He had to get help. He had to save his brother.
After running for a while, Dean finally got a signal on his cell phone. He quickly dialed 911, his voice frantic as he explained the situation.
"My brother's been injured," he said. "He's got two broken ankles. We're in the woods outside Sioux Falls. I need an ambulance. Please hurry."
He gave them their approximate location, then hung up and started running back towards Sam. He knew the paramedics wouldn't be able to get to them for a while. But he had to get back to his brother. He had to make sure he was still alive.
Chapter 4: The Long Wait
When Dean got back to Sam, he found him shivering uncontrollably. The snow was beginning to fall again, dusting his face and hair.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, kneeling beside him. "Help's on the way."
Sam opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused. "Cold," he mumbled.
Dean pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around Sam, doing his best to keep him warm. He rubbed his hands together, trying to generate some heat.
"Just hang in there, Sammy," he said. "They'll be here soon."
They waited in silence, the cold seeping into their bones. Dean kept talking to Sam, trying to keep him awake and alert. He told him stories about their childhood, about past hunts, about anything to distract him from the pain and the cold.
Time seemed to stretch on forever. The snow fell harder, blanketing the landscape in white. Dean started to worry that the paramedics wouldn't be able to find them in the storm.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they heard the distant wail of a siren. Dean jumped to his feet, waving his flashlight frantically.
The siren grew louder, closer. A few minutes later, the flashing lights of an ambulance appeared through the trees.
Two paramedics jumped out and rushed towards them, their faces grim. They quickly assessed Sam's injuries, then carefully loaded him onto a stretcher and into the ambulance.
"We need to get him to the hospital," one of the paramedics said. "He's going into shock."
Dean climbed into the back of the ambulance, taking Sam's hand. As they sped down the logging road, he looked at his brother's pale face and felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He should have seen the ice. He should have been more careful.
"You're gonna be okay, Sammy," he whispered. "I promise."
Sam squeezed his hand weakly, his eyes closed. Dean knew the road to recovery would be long and difficult. But he also knew that they would get through it. They always did.
The hospital was a blur of white coats and hurried efficiency. Sam was whisked away for X-rays and treatment, while Dean was left to wait in the sterile waiting room, his clothes soaked and his nerves frayed. He called Bobby, filling him in on the hunt and Sam's injuries. Bobby, as always, was a voice of gruff reassurance.
Hours later, a doctor finally emerged, his expression serious. "Mr. Winchester? Your brother has suffered compound fractures in both ankles. We've set them, but he'll require surgery and extensive physical therapy. It's going to be a long road."
Dean nodded, numbly absorbing the information. "Can I see him?"
He found Sam in a hospital bed, his legs encased in casts. He was pale and groggy, but he managed a weak smile when he saw Dean.
"Hey, Dean," he murmured.
"Hey, Sammy," Dean replied, pulling up a chair. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck," Sam said, wincing as he shifted in the bed. "What about the...?"
"Wendigo's gone," Dean said. "Permanently. You don't have to worry about that anymore."
Sam closed his eyes, a look of relief on his face. Dean sat in silence, watching his brother sleep. He knew that the coming months would be tough, filled with pain and frustration. He also knew that they would face it together, just like they always had.
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Sam's sleeping face. The winter wind howled outside, but inside the sterile hospital room, a different kind of warmth filled the air. The warmth of brotherhood. The warmth of knowing that, no matter what, they would always have each other.
The hunt was over, but the battle had just begun. And Dean Winchester was ready for it. He always would be.