Summary:  It took one demon to turn their lives around. And a second one to tear their lives apart.
FYI:  Young Winchester fic.
A/N:  Thanks to Faye Dartmouth for a wonderful beta job! My God, I seriously don't know where she finds the time.
Oh! And this is my entry to SFTCOL(AR)S. So fellow SFTCOLARS please enjoy!
Disclaimer: All things "Supernatural" belong to Kripke.

Walking On Thin Ice
by Keskonrix

On a frozen pond.
Suddenly we hear ice break
right below our feet.

Instantly your hand finds mine;
together we reach safe ground.

"It’s kinda ironic once you start thinking about it..." Dean stated out of the blue as the brisk air whipped across his face.

"What is?" Sam asked as he attempted to keep up with Dean's pace. The fourteen-year-old may have just had another one of his growth spurts, but he still had a couple more inches to go before he reached Dean's six foot height.

Ignoring his brother's obvious struggle, Dean continued on through the crisp, fall leaves, searching for the yuki-onna their dad warned them about. "We tracking down an ice demon in Erie, Ohio." He paused for a moment, hoping his oblivious little brother would catch on. Sam just stared at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for the punch line. "The town has to be called 'eerie' for a reason!"

Sam simple rolled his eyes and continued to towards Dean. "First of all, Erie is not a town it's lake. Second of all, it's not called Erie because it's creepy or evidently infested with an ice demon. It's named after a Native American tribe that used to live here."

Some may call him paranoid, but Dean could hear the underlining dumbass in that statement. "Still a stupid name...right up there with yuki-onna," he muttered beneath his breath as he continued to walk along the coastline of Lake Erie. Sometimes he swore Sam's head should explode from the pressure of useless facts.

Strange name or not, it didn't hide the fact that four bodies were found deprived of all body heat along the shoreline over the past three months. It wouldn't be too strange for people to die of hypothermia in the chilly regions of northern Ohio, except for it was the middle of September and Jack Frost still had another month or two before he arrived.

So after three days of research, mostly conducted by the fourteen-year-old brainiac, the three hunters found themselves hunting for some type of ice demon that needed body heat in order to stay alive.

"So, what exactly are we looking for again?" the lanky teenager anxiously asked as he continued to try to keep up with his brother. Sam had only started hunting two years ago, and this was his first time hunting a demon of any sorts.

Dean paused for a moment and looked at his too-tall little brother. The kid had better stop growing soon or else he’d surpass Dean. "For a kid with such freakishly large ears, you sure do have a hard time hearin'," Dean taunted as he turned back around and continued his way down the shore.

Sam immediately raised his hand to the side of his head. "I do not have big ears!" he replied, reassuring himself more than his brother.

Rolling his eyes, Dean inwardly smiled at how he still had a domineering effect on Sammy. "Since this is an ice demon of some sorts we are looking for sulfuric traces," he plainly stated as he stepped over a piece of drift wood. Grimacing as the gritty sand filled his shoes, he inwardly cursed at his stupidity for wearing tennis shoes on the beach.

"Anything else?"

Dean turned his brother and smirked. "Anything and everything. That's the magic of demons, anything could be a sign. Anything out of the ordinary, that is." He didn't want to admit it to his little brother, but this was his first time hunting a yuki-onna. Besides Japanese folklore and the typical signs for a demon, there wasn't much else to go on.

"How do we even know to look here?" Sam did most of the research, and while three of the four bodies died of hypothermia along the shore, without a drop of water on them, the second death happened in the woman's house. She was safe in her own bed when the "disease" struck her. She froze to death covered in blankets, hand merely inches away from the phone to call for help. "You know, the last one was found in her bed. Maybe the demon moved on," Sam said in a condescending tone Dean didn't like one bit.

"Dad sent us here. He wouldn't send us here without a reason,” Dean answered, exasperated by the constant onslaught of questions. Dean swore if he didn't shut up soon, the kid would find himself thrown into the murky water. "Hell, Sammy, you read the reports. Every single person was along this shore within twenty-four hours before they died. Where the hell else are we supposed to look?!" Dean asked incredulously.

"I don't know," Sammy shrugged. "I mean if looking here is so important, then why isn't Dad helping us?"

Dean clenched his jaw and bunch his hands into fists. He did not know what was with Sammy lately but ever since he kid turned fourteen he had been constantly questioning their father's decisions. And for some reason, since the kid still hadn't had the courage to face his dad directly, Dean got the joy of hearing most of it. "I don't know, Sam," he ground out. "It's probably because he's busy talking to the victim's families."

"Did he tell you that?"

The twerp must have a death sentence. "Yes, as a matter of fact he did," Dean answered, trying his best to keep his voice under control. "Any other questions, Curious George, or can we finally focus on what Dad sent us here to do?" He turned to face Sam only to find him completely not paying attention. Dean opened his mouth to berate his brother a bit more, but was instantly cut off by Sam raising his hand.

Gelu mos effluo in vestri tergum quod animus

It was just a breath of air, but as it whistled past the boy's ears he could almost make out the words. "I think I hear something," Sammy stated, his head slightly tilted to the side.

Looking at Sam's preposterous stance, Dean couldn't help but take a jab. "Who knew your freakishly large ears would come in handy?"

Vicis mos congelo dum alius permoveo

"Shh! I heard it again."

All joking aside, Sammy sudden case of schizophrenia was starting to scare him a little. Dean cautiously stepped toward his brother. "Sammy, I don't hear anything."

Sam never moved a muscle, as if an invisible angel was whispering him secrets. Eyebrows raised, Dean continued to watch, fear brewing in his stomach. As if sensing his older brother's unease, Sam finally relaxed. His shoulders slumped as he exhaled, almost looking disappointed. "It must have been the wind."

Dean looked around him for a moment, picking up on something that never occurred to him before. "Sammy, there is no wind."

The statement instantly caught the boy's attention. "What?"

"There isn't any wind." Dean was beginning to wonder if Sammy's freakishly large ears worked so great after all.

Face scrunched with disbelief, Sammy walked past Dean towards the lake. The usually lively waters were still as stone. As he approached the edge, he gazed at his glassy reflection, undisturbed by even the smallest ripple. Looking back up at his brother, he whispered, "Nothing's moving."

"Yeah, so?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed with confusion.

Rolling his eyes, Sam explained, "Listen, there's nothing, not even a bird. You're the one who said anything abnormal is a sign. Well, I would consider this pretty abnormal."

Dean glanced around him for a moment before turning back towards Sammy. "Okay, we should definitely tell Dad about this place. Let's head on out of here." As Sam walked past him, he put his arm around the boy's shoulder. "You did good, Sammy."

Sam glanced up and him and smirked. "You don't need to tell me."

Quirking an eyebrow, Dean slid his arm around Sam's neck to hold him still while he ruffled his hair. "Wiseass."

Forem decorus

Sam's eyes instantly snapped open, taking in his surroundings. He automatically knew he hadn't been asleep for long as he gazed around the enclosing darkness. Goosebumps raced up and down his arms as he rolled his head to the side. Dean's soft snores echoed throughout the small room, completely oblivious to Sam's anxiety.

He wasn't sure what he had heard. But something made him think back to the young voice that drifted along shoreline earlier that day.

Sam slowly sat up, alert and ready to pounce on any looming shadows or vengeful spirits. He never woke up in the middle of the night, at least not without a nightmare involved. Seeing no impending signs of danger, he finally relaxed, melting into the soft bed. The moment his eyes drifted closed, a sharp, cold chill raced up and down his spine, snapping him awake once more. Sighing with frustration, Sam groggily grabbed the large comforter at the end of the bed and yanked it on top of him.

Without another sound, he drifted off to sleep, warm in his own personal cocoon.

"Dean?"

Dean turned his head and tried to shut out his little brother's voice. The kid must be part rooster with the insane times he woke up fresh as a daisy. Hopefully, Sammy would get a clue and leave him alone for another hour.

"D-Dean?"

Or not. Sighing, Dean flipped back over towards the voice and grumbled, "What?"

"Sss-Something's wrong."

The soft, scared tone of the boy's voice finally registered in Dean's mind. Bolting upright, Dean turned his complete attention the lump underneath the large comforter. "What?" he asked, praying to God he heard the kid wrong.

"Sssomething's w-wrong," echoed throughout the room, obviously forced through chattering teeth.

In one quick stride, he leaped to the other side of the room and yanked back the covers. "Son of a bitch!" Dean exclaimed as he took in the sight of his shivering little brother curled up in the fetal position. He cautiously extended his hand and placed in on the boy's arm. "Holy shit, Sammy, you're as cold as ice! How long have you been like this?" he asked his eyes wide with concern.

"I-I d-don't know. I j-just kinda woke up l-like th-this." Sammy took in a loud shuddering breath afterwards as if it took all his strength just to talk. His pale lips quivering, he weakly looked up at Dean.

Transfixed by his brother's imploring stare, Dean stated in the calmest voice he could find, "It's going to be okay, Sammy. I'm gonna go wake Dad." He grabbed the large comforter and placed it over his brother and added his own blanket for good measure. Making sure the blankets were tucked tightly around Sammy, he glanced one last time at his brother's pale face. Seeing Sam nod, he quickly walked towards the door.

Burrowing himself underneath the covers, Sammy wrapped his arms around himself. He could hear his brother yelling for his father on the other side of the door. Sam wasn’t an idiot; he knew if Dean didn’t get help soon, he would freeze beneath the blankets. After all, he was the one who hacked into the police station’s database and saw found the photos of the previous victims. Yet somewhere beyond his common sense, he wasn't scared. Dean would fix it. He would find the answer in the knick of time just as he did thousands of times beforehand.

At this point, thoughts of independence and self-sacrifice was the last thing going through Sam’s head. He just wanted to get warm...fast.

As Sam moved his legs around trying to generate heat between them, a soft breath of air whistled past his face.

Forem tener

He heard the soft mutterings, almost maternal in nature, yet he couldn't make out what it was saying. He was pretty sure it was in Latin, after all it was demons' native language, he just couldn't get his numb ears to focus on the words. Before he could contemplate any longer on the floating voice the door slammed open and his father rushed into the room in an old t-shirt and sweatpants.

"Sammy?!" John exclaimed, sounding much too harsh to Sam's sensitive ears. John quickly peeled back the covers to reveal Sam's trembling body beneath. "Dammit, Dean. When did this start?!" he shouted as he turned around to his eldest son standing at the foot of the bed.

Looking down at his feet, Dean answered, "I don't know. I ju-"

That immediately caught John's attention. "What do you mean you don't know? Sammy's your responsibility." He opened his mouth to say more but was cut off by the soft, trembling voice coming from the bed.

"I'm fff-fourteen Dad. I can t-take care of mmm-myself," Sammy proudly stated as he weakly grasped at the comforter and brought it around his lanky body.

Unable to deal with Sam's stubborn nature, John just sighed and ran a rough hand over his face, looking much older than his forty-three years. He turned towards Dean, who was still stationed at the foot of the bed looking down at his feet. "Dean," he stated with an air of authority. Dean instantly snapped his head up, his face void of any emotion. "I have a pretty good idea where I can find this bastard demon. I'm gonna go hunt it down. You stay here with Sammy. If he gets any worse, get him into the shower and spray lukewarm water on him. Okay?"

"Yes, Sir." Dean remained motionless as John walked past him. When he finally heard the door close, he rushed to Sam's side and retucked the blankets around him, making sure his brother was as warm as possible.

Seemingly unaware of Dean's mothering, Sam relaxed against his pillow, his eyes drooping. Dean slightly smiled as he gently rubbed the hand on Sam's head. He swore the kid looked like he was six when he was tired. Why did it always have to be Sammy? It was as if the boy’s sweet, innocent nature called out to the paranormal.

Unable to stay awake any longer, Sam slowly closed his eyes. Forem absentis rang through his head as he drifted off, and for the first time he could understand the words.

Forever gone.

Trying to find a comfortable position on the hard, plastic chair, Dean leaned back and maneuver his legs for what seemed to be the millionth time in the past half an hour. He had an old issue of Motor Trend lying across his lap, still on the same page he happened to open it to several minutes before. There was nothing on the page that caught his eye…well, at least not nearly as much as his shivering brother in front of him. But in his defense, the scantily clad woman leaning against a classic mustang came a close second.

Very close second.

To be honest though, the last thing on Dean’s mind was the woman or the car.

The only thing he was concerned about was the way Sammy’s lips started to turn blue while he slept.

A sharp shiver snapped the young boy awake. Beneath the mound of blankets, Sam rubbed his goose bumped arms, surprised to find he couldn’t feel the cloth of the sweatshirt beneath his stiff fingers. Raising his hands in front of him, he slowly moved his red-tinged fingers one by one. "I-I can’t f-feel my f-fingers," Sam softly stated, his voice high with confusion.

"Sammy, you’re awake," a voice sounded throughout the room, sounding as surprised as he was.

Lifting his head above the blankets, Sam was met with the concerned face of his brother. Dean was only wearing a T-shirt, while he was burrowed under a half a dozen blankets and still shivering. Like his muscles, his mind seemed stiff and old as Sam tried to recall what had happened. He was fine yesterday—wasn’t he? He and Dean had been searching for clues by the lake. "The Yuki-onna…" Sam whispered beneath his breath as realization finally clicked in.

Oblivious to Sam’s battle with his memory, Dean placed the car magazine on the nightstand and scooted his chair closer to Sam’s bed. "Lemme see," he stated as he gestured towards Sam’s hands. He patiently waited as Sam slowly lifted his right hand, taking a note of how uncoordinated his brother’s movements seemed to be. He awkwardly placed the hand within his own. "Jesus, Sam!" Dean exclaimed as his brother’s ice cold fingertips sent chills down his spine. "I know you always wanted to be cool like me, but don’t you think you’re taking it a bit too literally?" he joked as he began rubbing Sam’s hand between his own.

Momentarily stunned, Sam stared up at his brother. His eyebrows slightly rose when Dean's sad excuse for a joke finally made sense in his muddled brain."Th-that was lame," he stated, as he miserably tried to contain his smile.

Dean simply shrugged. "Made you smile."

"Yeah, at-t how re..t-tarded you are." With the way his teeth continued to chatter, Sam knew he sounded just as lame as Dean. Turning his head away from his brother, he clenched his jaw, trying to keep it still. His muscles merely seized, forcing him to unclench and learn to live with the fact he’d have to stutter until his dad got back. Whenever the hell that was.

Unaware of Sam’s struggle, Dean commented, "You know, you should really be nicer to the guy warming up your Popsicle hands." He slowly started rubbing each finger, hoping to start get the blood flowing back to the digits. "How does that feel?" he asked, the edge gone from his voice, as he reached for the other hand.

"Better," Sam whispered as he lifted his left hand. "I h..hear T-Top Nails is l-looking for a mm..manicurist," he jibbed, a smirk forming on his trembling lips.

Dean stopped mid-rub. "Funny," he stated with a quirk of his eyebrow. It was then it hit Dean how pale Sam looked laying on top of dingy white sheets. He almost seemed to disappear within the folds of the blankets. Not liking the thought of Sam disappearing to anywhere anytime soon, he snapped his attention back to warming Sam’s frost-bitten hands.

Dean’s hands continued its methodic rubbing as Sam slowly began to relax. As the minutes ticked by, the only sound that filled the room young Sam’s raspy breathing. Dean tried his best to ignore the grating sound of Sam's breathing. But as each breath entered Sam's lungs, Dean swore it echoed his failure to protect his little brother.

"Th..the Y-yuki-onna said some..thing to me," Sam finally spoke up, his eyes half drooping.

All attention on his brother’s words, Dean instantly leaned forward. "Come again?" he asked, his eyebrows raised with concern.

Sam lazily brought his arms around himself, burrowed his head into the pillow. "Last n-night, I h..heard ss..some-" he was instantly cut off has a large shudder wracked through his body. Softly moaning, he moved his legs up closer to his body burrowed further underneath the blankets.

"Take it easy," Dean warned as he stood up and repositioned the mound of blankets around Sam.

"I h-heard ‘ff..forum absen..tis,’" he stuttered more to the pillow than to his brother. He slowly flipped over on his stomach and brought his legs up beneath his body while wrapping his arms around himself. Feeling a warm hand on the back of his head, he knew he brother was nearby. "I-it mm..means f-for..ever gone," he stated as loud as he could to make sure his brother heard him through the pillow.

Running his hand through his brother’s long, tangled hair, Dean breathed, "I know what it means."

Sam softly moaned again, breaking Dean’s resolve a bit more. He glanced at his watch. Their father left over two hours ago. What the hell was taking him so long? Didn’t he know most victims only survived several hours before they froze? Dean glanced down at the mound of blankets with only a small amount of hair peeking out form the top of it. "I’ll be right back. I know we have soup somewhere in here." Not waiting for a response, he rushed out of the room.

In his own personal cocoon, Sam fidgeted beneath the blankets trying to get his muscles warm. Each breath felt like icicles scraping down his throat, sending chills down his spine. He inhaled sharply and tried to hold his breath for a couple seconds, just to feel the burn in his lungs, but the tremors wracking through his body made it impossible.

God, he was so cold. Why was it so cold? Wasn’t he inside? He could feel the weight of the blankets on top of him, yet none of them were providing the warmth he craved. He peered out from beneath the blankets to see if Dean was as cold as he was. Maybe there was something wrong with the heater.

Glancing around the room, he noticed Dean was nowhere in sight. Had he and his father left and forgot about him? He lifted his head to gaze out the widow across from him. Leaves were falling…it wasn’t even winter. Why was it so cold then?

Holding the bowl of soup, Dean pushed the door open with his side. He barely made it halfway across the room before Sam’s weak voice reached his ears.

"Ssso c-cold. W-why is it s-so c..cold?"

Dean stopped mid-step and looked up at the mound that was his brother. "…the yuki-onna got a hold of you," he stated bluntly. He paused and waited for Sam’s smart ass remark. Something simple, like, “I know that, dipshit,” would suffice. After a moment, he continued to walk towards the bed, balancing the bowl of tomato soup in his hands. Unfortunately, his heart dropped to his stomach with the delayed response from his brother echoed throughout the room.

"Th-the what?"

Dean closed his eyes and prayed for his father to return soon. Sam’s confusion was palpable; he had obviously reached the second stage of hypothermia. Sitting down on the bed in front of his blanket-covered brother, he placed the bowl of soup in his lap and laid a hand on the small bump that he assumed was Sam’s head. "The ice demon. Sam, you know this…you’re the one who researched it," he softly said, hoping to trigger the boy’s memory.

A shaky sigh was heard from beneath the covers. "Th-that’s rr..right. I remem..ber."

"Good. Now sit up, I brought ya some soup." Dean held the bowl of soup still as the blankets shifted beneath him. After waiting several seconds without Sam appearing from the mound of sheets, Dean reached over gently helped his brother sit up.

"Th-thanks," Sam whispered as he peered up at his brother through his bangs. Just yesterday the fourteen-year-old was striving for independence, now he needed help from his brother just to sit up.

"No problem, bro," Dean nonchalantly stated as he lifted the bowl up and stirred it for a second. He glanced up at Sammy for a second before lifting the soup-filled spoon out of the bowl and motioned it towards Sammy.

Unable to voice his contempt, he stared at the spoon for a moment before he found the ability to speak. "Wh-what do y-you th..think you’re d-doing? I c..can fff..feed myself." He may not be able to sit up, but he’d be damned if he was fed to like a baby.

Dropping the spoon back into the bowl, Dean raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Not with the way your hands are shaking," he stated. He did not the patience or the time to deal with his brother’s pride. He had no idea how much longer his father would take, and Sam’s condition had been declining fast.

Sam glanced down at his hands. They were so numb he didn’t even notice how bad they were trembling. Cold or not, teenage defiance still surged through the boy, and he had no better pleasure than proving his brother wrong. "G-give mm..me the b..bowl," he stated, holding out his shaking hands.

Quirking his eyebrow, Dean’s inner respect for the kid slightly grew. "Fine, just don’t blame me when you spill it all over yourself," he commented. He may have tolerated the boy’s stubbornness, but that didn’t mean he had to clean up after him, even though, they both knew he would in a heartbeat.

Sam cautiously grabbed the bowl from his brothers hands and brought it slowly to his mouth, drinking the savory broth. The warm liquid traveled down his throat with ease, warming his insides for a brief moment before the demon’s spell froze them once again. He heartily drank the bowl, ignoring the slight dribble the trickled down his chin.

Surprised at how easily Sam sipped the soup, Dean commented, "Just be glad I chose tomato instead of chicken noodle."

Sam chose to ignore his brother’s comment, not letting him ruin his moment with the savory soup. He gently tipped the bowl more, trying to drink the last bit of it, when his frozen hand spasmed, sending the bowl tumbling down his stomach. Trembling hands frozen in front of him, he looked down longingly at the soup that splashed on his gray sweatshirt. Even if it only warmed him up for a second, he was really looking forward to finishing the rest of his soup.

Dean merely rolled his eyes, trying not to be affected by his brother’s pouting. "That’s what you get for not listening to me," he stated as he picked up the bowl and place it on the nightstand on top of his magazine. He quickly crossed the room and grabbed his own sweatshirt from the closet, knowing the extra material would help his brother. Noticing his brother still hadn’t moved, Dean instructed, "Raise your arms."

Glancing up at the clean sweatshirt in his brother’s hands, Sam slowly raised his arms. Dean noticed how Sammy’s limbs seemed to move awkwardly, as if he was straining under a great weight. Not wasting anymore time for the now cold soup to seep into his brother’s skin, Dean yanked the stained sweatshirt off and placed the new one on, luckily without any fuss from his “independent” brother.

The moment the sweatshirt was on, Sam buried back under the covers like a groundhog. As his brother was trying to find warmth in the mound of blankets, Dean did a quick scan of the comforter on top. Fortunately, none of the soup splattered on the blankets. During his scan, he noticed how the mound continued to increasingly tremble, as if a volcano was about to erupt. He moved towards the head of the bed and peered beneath the blankets, swearing to himself when a caught a glimpse of Sam’s blue-tinged ear.

His brother was slowly dying and all Dean could do was sit back and watch his brother turn blue. He was used to rushing in, guns blazing, to save the day. Not sit back and try to comfort his brother with false reassurances while he slowly froze to death.

Dean Winchester was a man of action. Nothing could deny that fact.

"Scoot over," Dean warned as he pulled back the covers and climbed in next to Sam.

Sam glanced up at his brother, confusion written all over his pale face. "Wh-What are-"

"What does it look like I’m doing?" Dean cut off. He hadn’t shared a bed with Sammy since the kid was about seven. If he stated his actions out loud he may realize how absurd it sounded and change his mind. Or worse yet, proud, little Sammy may refuse his help. And there was no way in hell Dean was going to sit on the sidelines while his brother slowly froze.

The moment Dean’s head hit the pillow, Sam scrambled his way towards him and burrowed his head into his brother’s warm chest. Dean wrapped his arms around his brother and rubbed soothing circles on his back.

For the first time since the sun rose, Sam started to feel the ice within his bones melt away. He wasn’t sure if the demon’s curse finally lifted or if it was Dean’s warm, comforting hand, but he slowly became relaxed enough to drift off to sleep "Th-Thanks…" he breathed as he pushed up against Dean a bit more.

Startled by Sam’s gratitude, Dean leaned back to look at Sam’s pale face. He bit his lip as Sam’s breathing evened out against his chest.

Some may call it brother’s intuition, but something told him Sam shouldn’t be thanking him quite yet.

Within minutes of bundling up next to Dean, Sam’s shivering slowed to a stop. Closing his eyes, Dean slowly relaxed, listening to his brother‘s soft breaths. Finally, the day seemed to be going in his favor.

Sam’s still body rested comfortably against Dean’s chest. Maybe the curse had been lifted. Leave it to his dad to give him a hell of a scare and the break the curse out of nowhere.

Smiling as he continued to rub Sam’s back, Dean asked, “Feeling better there, Sammy?” His brow furrowed when there was no response.

Maybe he was just asleep.

“Sammy?” he asked again as he moved his body back to get a better look at the boy’s face. Harsh breaths echoed throughout the room, previously stifled by Dean’s shirt. Dean could barely contain his fear as he tapped his fingers against Sam’s pale cheek. “Sam?”

Dean’s heart dropped to his stomach when his warm fingers graced Sam’s frozen cheek.

The curse remained in tact. Even more so, it had progressed to the next stage.

Sam remained motionless against Dean, looking impossibly small in the large sweatshirt. His shallow breaths rattled his chest, completely oblivious to Dean’s poking and prodding.

On thing was for sure, Sam wasn’t asleep.

“Shit!” Dean whipped back blankets and gathered Sam’s unconscious body in his arms. “Sam, wake up,” he pleaded as he rushed to the bathroom. He quickly turned on the shower, stationing the knob directly between the H and C, before placing the young boy and on the tile floor. Waiting for the water to warm up, he started removing Sam’s layers of clothing, leaving the boy only in his blue boxers. Sam remained pliant through it all, his frozen limbs moving to Dean’s will.

“This is your last chance, buddy. Wake up or face the music,” Dean warned as he picked up the body and headed towards the shower. Dean closed his eyes and willed for his brother to wake up, but Sam remained limp in Dean’s arms. “Okay,” Dean breathed as he placed the boy in lukewarm water.

The change was instantaneous. Sam softly moaned as his eyes peeled open.

Fire, it was raining fire. He tried to move away from the scalding flames, but his muscles weren’t cooperating. He tried to look around at his surroundings, but all he could make out was a bright light and a foggy shape looming above him. His chest felt like it was in a fierce grip as he struggled to breathe through the pain. Somebody, help me.

He tried to move away from the scalding flames, but his muscles weren’t cooperating. He tried to look around at his surroundings, but all he could make out was a bright light and a foggy shape looming above him. His chest felt like it was in a fierce grip as he struggled to breathe through the pain.

Dean tried to ignore his brother’s anguished moans as rubbed Sam’s arms and legs, trying to get the blood flowing again. “It’s okay, Sammy, I’m here. It’s going to be okay,” he kept murmuring over and over again, more to himself than to the boy beneath him.

Someone was talking to him. Sam fought to understand what the figure above him was saying. It didn’t matter either way. The figure obviously wasn’t going to help him get away from the fire pelting down on his exposed skin. Fighting to regain use of his muscles, Sam attempted to scramble away from the flames. Searing hot hands clamped around his arms, halting his movements. Glaring up at the shadow above him, he cursed the figure and its abnormally strong hands. Help me, it burns.

“H-help...burns,” Sam’s weak whisper filled the air.

Dean struggled to understand, but, the moment he did, he wished he hadn’t. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he muttered, hands still clamped around Sam’s arms.

Maybe it had something to do with the way his mother died, but watching Sammy be ‘burned’ was his own personal hell. He knew Sam had a fear of fire, one he had tried to keep hidden from the rest of the family. It was why Dean conveniently always lit the match on any of their ‘salt and burn’ hunts.

Yet, unbeknownst to Sam, it was Dean’s greatest fear too. Not fire, of course. On the contrary, Dean thought fire was a very powerful weapon. He blamed the demon not the flames for his mother’s death.

But watching Sam’s young skin get scorched by flames was a nightmare that woke him up more times than he could count.

So watching Sam hiss in pain as the warm water pelted against his skin made Dean want to snatch his brother and run away. Away from the curse. Away from the demon. Away from the hell of a place called Erie, Ohio.

Yet, Dean knew it wouldn‘t solve anything. He had to keep Sam‘s body temperature up. It was his only chance to survival. “It’s only lukewarm, I swear,” he promised, his tear-filled eyes begging for forgiveness.

Ignoring the water dripping down his face, Dean lingered over Sam, unsure what else to do.

He didn’t have time to make a decision as Sam’s body started convulsing in the tub. At first, it was so bad Dean worried he was having a seizure. But as the thrashing slowed down, he realized it was just the body’s attempt to get the blood flowing again. As quickly as it started, the thrashing suddenly stopped, quickly reducing to slow tremors.

Releasing the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, Dean sat back on his haunches, staring at his brother’s pale face. As the gently spray of water dripped down his brother’s lax features, Dean swore he would go on a yuki-onna genocide, killing every last one of the ice demons.

Sam’s head lazily rolled back and forth, his pain-filled moaning becoming louder. “It’s okay, Sammy. It’s going to be okay,” Dean whispered as he resumed his position over the boy’s body.

Unaware of what just transpired, Sam clamped his eyes shut, shutting out the incoherent mutterings. If the figure wasn’t going to help him, then he shouldn’t have to listen to him. Getting his mind off the flaming rain, he set his thoughts on how to escape. He needed to get out of there. Like a slap in the face, he realized he didn’t even know where he was. He was so focused on the figure and the scorching pain, he never he had no idea where he was or what had happened.

He felt the figure move its hand through his hair, much like Dean used to when he was younger. Eyes wide with hope, he realized Dean must be close by. It was unlike his brother to leave Sam in the hands of a monster. Dean would save him; he just had to let Dean know where he was. Dean!

“De...”

It sounded more like a moan than a word, but Dean automatically knew what Sam was trying to say. Snapping his attention from Sam’s limbs to his face, Dean frantically asked, “Sammy, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Dean watched as Sam turned his head to the side, hazily looking at the side of the tub.

“Dean...” Sam called again, his voice regaining strength. “Dean!”

Sam panted with exhaustion. Dean must have heard him that time. Looking beyond the figure, he frantically looked for his brother to come rushing in. If only the figure would get the hell of his way. Didn’t it realize his brother was coming?

His shirt dripping wet, Dean hovered over Sammy trying to get the boy to look at him. Sam seemed intent on looking around Dean, as if expecting something to happen across the room. “Sam, I’m right here!” Dean exclaimed, desperate for his brother to notice him. Sam merely moaned again as he attempted to lift his head up to look beyond the tub. Dean clasped his hands on Sam’s head and forced the delirious boy to look at him. “I’m right here,” Dean softly said, enunciating every word.

The figure was Dean. Eyes wide with disbelief, Sam weakly tried to grasp Dean’s arm, yet his own arm didn’t want to move. Looking down at his immobile limb, Sam breathed, “Dean...I c-can’t move.”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze and whispered, “I know, Sammy...I know.”

Sam looked up at him, his hazel eyes imploring for help.

The shower still raining lukewarm water on them, Dean quickly moved his whole, fully-clothed, body into the shower, ignoring Sam’s quizzical look. With much maneuvering, Dean slowly lifted Sam up, ignoring his moans of protest as he positioned his body

behind his younger brother’s.

“W-what are you...?” Sam asked as he collapsed against Dean’s chest.

“Trying to help you,” Dean muttered as he finally situated himself against the back of the tub. “I got your arms,” he explained as he gently placed his hands around Sam’s wrist. “You just focus on your legs.”

Before Sam could question what the hell Dean was talking about, Dean steadily raised his arms, pulling Sam’s arms with him. The pain was unimaginable. It felt like thousands of needles were being jammed into his arms. Sam pressed his head against Dean’s chest, trying to breathe through the pain.

Trying his best to ignore the pain he was causing his brother, Dean warned, “Sam, you have to move your legs or else you are going to lose them to frostbite. And I’m not spending the rest of my life pushing your ass around in a wheelchair.”

“I can...feel the love,” Sam seethed out, clamping his eyes shut as Dean started bending his arms at the elbow. Breathing hard through his mouth, he focused all of his energy on trying to move his right leg. After a second, he peered down at his legs to see if they had moved without any luck. Determined to get his legs moving he glared at them until finally the right one moved up a bit, bending at the knee.

“That’s it,” Dean encouraged behind him, resting his chin on top of Sammy’s sopping wet hair.

The needles now moving all over his body, Sam turned his head away from the pain and tried to focus his thoughts on something else. Feeling Dean’s wet t-shirt against his bare back, Sam realized that he was only in his boxers. “You...took off my...clothes,” he whispered.

“You’re a quick one,” Sam heard clearly through the pain.

“I’m glad I was...asleep,” he said as he closed his eyes and tried to relax his muscles while his brother continued to move them.

Dean’s answer surprised him more than the shockwave of pain surging through his calves. “Try unconscious, little bro.”

Snapping his eyes open, he tried to move his head to have a good look at Dean’s face. He didn’t remember passing out. In fact, the last thing he remembered was falling asleep against Dean’s chest. Surely he didn’t pass out, he was just tired.

“Sam, you have to keep moving your legs,” Dean said, jerking Sam out of his thoughts.

Sam looked back down at his legs. He thought he was moving them. Wait, why did he have to move them again? He felt fine, just a bit cold. But that was normal, wasn’t it? After all it was September in the Northeast.

“Sam, move your legs,” Dean stated more harshly.

There goes Dean again, giving him orders without telling him why. There was no reason to move his legs, he wasn’t going anywhere and there was nothing chasing after him. He didn’t feel like moving, so why should he have to? He could move his legs if he wanted to, he was just too tired to try.

“Sam, wake up.” There was a sharp slap on his cheek, but he barely felt it.

No.

“Sam, wake up.” Dean’s voice sounded a bit more urgent this time.

No. I don’t want to. Stop telling me what to do.

“Don’t you do this to me, Sammy, wake up.” He felt a slight twinge in his arm. He supposed Dean was pinching him. Good thing he was too numb to feel it. “I know you can hear me! Open your eyes!”

Fine, if it will get you to shut the hell up. Sam slowly opened his eyes, blinking them against the harsh light. He saw Dean staring down at him, his face etched with fear. What was he so scared of? He was just sleeping. Unable to see Dean so frightened, Sam looked beyond him.

There was a figure standing behind Dean. Sam opened his mouth to warn him until the figure shifted into focus. Sam felt his heart stop in his chest. Tears flooded to his face as he recognized the woman with long blond hair staring down at him. Until now she had just been an illusion. Something he had only seen in pictures. And now she was here, smiling down at him.

“M-Mom?”

Hearing the soft whisper, Dean’s heart leapt to his throat. Following Sam’s gaze, Dean looked behind him, only seeing the dirty sink and smudged mirror. He slowly turned his head back towards Sam, trying to hide his disappointment as he said, “Mom’s not here, Sammy.”

Completely oblivious to Dean, Sam slightly smiled as he closed his eyes. The whisper “Mom” died on his lips.

Hearing about hypothermia victims who suffered hallucinations before they died, Dean immediately jumped to action. He placed his arms underneath Sam’s and pulled him out of the tub, never bothering to turn off the water. “Sammy?” he croaked, his voice caught in his throat. “S-Sammy?!”

Dean looked down at the pale body beneath him, desperately waiting for Sam to wake up.

But Sam remained still. Too still.

Holding his own breath, Dean put his ear next to Sam’s mouth, listening for a breeze of air to whistle through. Too many seconds ticked by without a noise. “Don’t you dare, Sammy,” he threatened his voice thick with tears. He placed his hand over the boy’s cold chest, his fingers still with fear waiting and desperately wanting for the steady thump. But it never did.

He had spent too many years protecting Sam for him just to sit by at watch Sam die. It seemed ironic for his mom to be taken by a fire demon, only to lose his brother to an ice demon fourteen years later. But the irony was lost on Dean. Everything was. The one thing he spent his whole life hanging onto was the same thing that slipped away beneath his desperate grip.

He spent the whole day trusting his father. He never once thought it would end like this. He knew it could end with Sam losing a finger or a toe to frostbite. He spent the whole day fighting against that.

But people can live without a finger or a toe.

People can’t live without their heart.

Sitting back on his haunches, he blankly stared at Sam’s still body.

The spent the whole day knowing father would kill it in time. His father always did. So instead of calling 911 and having the paramedics push warm fluids with him, Dean opted for sitting next to him, lending his own body heat. His dad was supposed to come home with another notch in his belt and everything would be fine. That’s what happened every other time.

And now, with a sickening clarity, Dean finally realized it took just one time for everything to fall to pieces.

It took just one creature to get the upper hand.

It took one demon to turn their lives around.

And it took a second one to tear their lives apart.

Tears freely flowing down his face, Dean looked at Sam’s lax face. It wasn’t supposed to end like this...and it wasn’t going to.

Practically pouncing on Sam, Dean placed his hands on the boy’s chest and started doing compressions. “C’mon Sammy,” he encouraged, ignoring the tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s not supposed to be like this, and you know it.” Dean tilted Sam‘s head back and administered a few breaths, making sure his brain got the oxygen it craved.

Sam flopped bonelessly as Dean’s compressions became harder, almost violent in nature. “Don’t you do this to me, Sammy,: he warned through his teeth. Feeling Sam’s ribs shift beneath the pressure, Dean swore, “Goddamnit, Sammy, breathe!”

As if on cue, Sam opened his mouth and took in a large gulp of air.

Speechless, Dean fell back on his butt. It was the one thing he had been desperately wishing for, but the last thing he had expected. “Sammy?” he whispered in disbelief as he continued to stare at his ‘dead’ little brother.

Sam continued to take in large breaths of air, as if he at just emerged from underwater. Making no move to sit up, he slowly brought a hand to his chest, rubbing his bruising skin. “God, Dean, angry much?”

Dean refused to look away, but couldn’t help but smirk at his brother’s comment. Only Sammy would come back from the dead only to complain. “You have no idea,” he breathed, finally snapping out of his reverie.

“What the hell took you so long?!” Dean screamed the moment the front door opened to reveal a muddied and exhausted John. It was less than an hour after Dean brought Sam back to life, and, while Sam was happy spending most of that time cozy in his bed, Dean was stuck with the image of his lifeless brother in his head.

The demon was by no means easy to find. And after tracking it down, cornering it, and setting a flare gun off in its face, all John wanted to do was take a long shower and hit the sack. Evidently, Dean had to decide to take a page out of Sammy’s book and start questioning him from the moment he stepped through the door.

“Dean, you better watch your mouth. I am not in the mood,” John growled, trying his hardest not to scream at the boy. He could barely handle one rebel son. He knew if Dean decided to switch to Sam’s defiant ways it would surely be the death of him.

Dean merely leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms. “So, you killed the son of a bitch.” As Dean raised his eyebrows, It sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Yes, it melted the moment a flare touch its skin,” John said as he collapsed into the old Lay-Z-Boy. His weary mind was going over twenty-five million different reasons why Dean would be acting like he was. Sammy must be alright if he was in the living room hounding him. But the only time Dean showed any emotion was when Sam was involved. “And, I trust that Sammy’s alright,” John stated, easily masking his concern.

Pushing himself upright, Dean finally found his opening to point out how wrong his father was, but for some reason he didn’t. Maybe it was because, all in all, Sammy was alright. Or maybe it was because he could see how tired his father was and getting him concerned wouldn’t prove anything. Regardless of his reasons, Dean’s anger simply deflated as he muttered, “Yes, sir.”

Taking one last look at John, he headed back to his and Sammy’s room where Sammy was sound asleep. Evidently being almost frozen to death took a lot of energy out of the kid.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Dean placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder and gently shook it. “Wake up.”

Sam turned his head into the pillow and moaned.

Dean just shook him harder. “Wake up, Sammy.”

Face still smothered in the pillow, Sam peered out with one eye. “What?” he grumbled.

“Just wanted to tell you Dad came home,” Dean said innocently. He couldn’t blame the kid for being so grouchy, after all this was the third time he woke him up since he crashed on the bed.

“Great, thanks for the update,” Sam replied sarcastically as he turned to his other side, effectively shutting Dean out. He swore to God, if Dean woke him up one more time with some trivial statement, he’d have to slam a pillow in his face. First it was the cleverly masked, “I’m hungry, do you want anything?” Ten minutes after that he was awoken to, “Sammy, the Discovery Channel is doing some special on dolphins...just thought you may want to watch it.”

Sam wasn’t quite sure what happened in the bathroom earlier, but from the bruises on his chest he knew he must have given Dean a good scare. To be honest, the last thing he remembered seeing was his mother standing behind Dean. He knew it was just a hallucination, but she was exactly how he imagined her. It almost made the whole near-death experience worth it.

Thoughts of his mother filling his mind, Sam’s practically melted against the bed and began drifting off to sleep.

“...Sam?”

Son of a bitch! He had forgotten his brother was still there. “What?”

Dean knew the kid needed his sleep, but after the past twenty-four hours, he also knew that there was a thin line between sleep and unconsciousness. And he wanted to make sure Sam never crossed that line again. “Sam, I’m thinking about going to the convenience store. Do you want anything?”

Screw his pillow, Sam didn’t need it. And Dean’s face was just asking for it.

A/N:  Some people were curious as to what the Latin in Chapter One. A direct translation is, "Cold will seep into your skin and bones, unable to ever get warm." And then later throughout the chapter Sam hears, "Forever beautiful, forever young, forever gone." Hope that helps.