Chapter Text
The mud made squishy noises under Sam’s boots as he slowly trudged along the forest trail. He was cold and bone-tired, but the job was done, they were both alive, and Baby was waiting for them at the end of the trail. He was fine, or he would be soon enough.
Dean, on the other hand, wasn't.
"You keeping up?" Sam called over his shoulder.
"M fine bitch, stop worrying so much," Dean responded, almost but not quite containing a shiver in his voice.
They were walking back down from a mountain lake they'd been meaning to stake out since forever. They'd finally chosen to make their move yesterday, a gloomy day in late autumn, when tourist visits would hopefully be non-existent. The supposed monster living in the lake apparently only attacked at night, so they’d arrived at the edge of the surrounding state park in the middle of the afternoon. Hiking uphill to the lake had taken them the best part of 2 hours in the last of the daylight, over the stones and mud of a little used side trail.
They’d stationed themselves with their binoculars and shotguns on a jumble of rocks close to the water’s edge, in full view of any monster, but hopefully just out of reach of its appendages. They had only the fuzziest idea what the monster might look like or how it behaved, but going by the dates of the recorded disappearances at the lakeside over the past decades, Sam had figured that it was going to try and feed one last time before going into hibernation.
It had started to drizzle in the late evening, temperature dropping to freezing as the night went on, the rain eventually giving way to watery snow that melted as soon as it hit the ground. Their boots were waterproofed and they’d had the foresight to buy warm waterproof windbreakers, hats, and gloves (we’re not doing this in just our jackets, Dean), but already before midnight their jeans had been soaked, and they'd both been miserably cold by the time the monster had finally showed, around 2 a.m.
Killing the lake monster had turned out to be ridiculously easy. It had surged up from the dark water, close to the shoreline, a scary ten-feet-wide shape of slimy skin and wriggling black tentacles reaching out to try and catch them. They’d jumped to their feet and started shooting. Regular or silver bullets had little to no effect, but the creature had hissed and paused as soon as it was hit with the first volley of rock salt. It kind of shrank in on itself around the place of the hit, as if burned.
“It’s like a snail!” Dean had yelled. “We can kill it with salt! At it, Sammy! Whoohoo!” And he’d starting firing salt rounds like a maniac into the monster, as excited as a child shooting balloons at a fair, whooping and yelling after each hit.
They’d fired and reloaded their shotguns repeatedly, Sam at a more steady pace, while the tentacle monster writhed and thrashed in the water, apparently too witless or too shocked to just dive under. It was already struggling more feebly when Dean had jogged over to a spot further along on the rocky shore so he could get shots in from a different angle. His foot had gotten caught in a fissure in the dark, though, and he’d pin-wheeled trying to keep his balance before falling backwards into the icy black water.
“You okay?” Sam had yelled, without taking his eyes off his target.
“Fine, Sam, finish it off!” Dean had shouted back, spluttering and gasping but with a strong voice, so Sam supposed he was managing to keep himself alive.
As soon as the creature had stopped moving, Sam had trotted over to help his brother out, who by then had succeeded to crawl onto the shore under his own steam. He was thoroughly soaked, dripping wet like a drowned cat all the way through his clothes down to his skin. He wasn’t really hurt except for a sprained ankle, nothing too serious if you could give it a rest.
Resting wasn’t an option right then, so Sam had fashioned a makeshift walking stick out of a sturdy branch for Dean and shouldered all of their equipment on his own back, after fishing Dean’s shotgun out of the water. They had set off on the trail immediately. The dead lake monster, shrunken carcass floating on the water, would have to take care of itself.
It was slow going on a sprained ankle. The rain had let up, but the muddy ground was slippery and uneven and the visibility almost non-existent in the heavy dark under the forest cover, even with their torches. Sam guessed they had started out down at less than half the speed they’d climbed up. He’d have been tempted to wait for daylight before trekking down, but Dean needed to get into dry clothes as fast as possible. They hadn’t thought to bring any spare ones.
Their speed had further slowed down to a snail’s pace as they went on. Two hours in now, and Sam was getting seriously worried. They’d done less than half the distance, as far as he could tell. Dean’s limp was becoming more pronounced with every step he took, and he’d been shivering for most of the walk. He insisted with chattering teeth that he was fine every time Sam asked, but it was clear that they couldn’t go on much longer like this.
If this was some kind of hero’s story, I’d just carry Dean down and save the day, Sam thought. He wouldn’t be able to keep that up for more than a few minutes though. More’s the pity, it would have made first rate teasing material for later.
“Let’s take a break,” Sam said when they arrived at a set of large flat rocks.
“You t-tired already, Sam?”
Dean’s attempt at snark fell rather flat given his shivery voice. Sam was not amused, but helped Dean lower himself to sit on one of the rocks anyway, and then sat back on another one for a short moment. Before he could even come up with a plan, Dean spoke up.
“S-sammy you should j-just go on alone. I’ll wait here. You can sleep in the c-car and come back for me t-tomorrow in the daylight, with dry clothes.”
“No way. Who knows what else lives in this forest, and you’re in no condition to fight. Besides, you could die from hypothermia before I can make it back.”
Dean gave a defeated sigh, shoulders shagging.
“I don’t t-think I can walk much l-longer, dude.”
“I know. But I think we’re close to that small cabin we saw when climbing up. We could take shelter there, rest until daylight before walking on down.”
“Huh. You even r-remember where that w-was?”
“Yeah I think so. You stay here. I’ll go looking for it, and come back for you to help you get there.”
Dean didn’t protest this plan, which spiked Sam’s worry level to astronomic heights. He trudged off as fast as he dared.
It didn’t take him five minutes before he saw the log cabin, slightly set back from the trail in a forest clearing. It looked dilapidated and abandoned, but the basic structure seemed sound enough. He put their backpacks and shotguns down on the small porch, and checked the door. Padlocked. No time for niceties. Sam aimed a full-body kick at the door, right next to the padlock's hasp. He could hear and feel wood creaking, but the door didn't budge. Two more hard kicks however and it flew open, the sturdy door undamaged but the door casing splintered to pieces as the padlock staple got wrenched out by the force of Sam's kicks.
Sam peered in by the light of his torch. The cabin had obviously not been used in a long time, and the interior looked filthy, but there was a wood stove and some basic furniture. It would have to do.
Sam trotted back to his brother, who hadn't moved an inch since Sam last saw him. His eyes were closed, and he only looked up when Sam was already right in front of him, eyes huge and glittering, white face standing out in the dark. His shivering had subsided, now that he was resting.
“Found it. Climb on.”
Sam squatted down with his back to Dean.
“What? Think again, Sam,” Dean protested in a weak voice.
Sam sighed, at the end of his patience.
“Dean. You can barely walk anymore. We need to get dry. Climb on.”
Something in Sam’s tone made Dean swallow his protests and comply. He climbed awkwardly onto Sam’s back, his limbs stiff as they wrapped around Sam. Dean’s wet weight felt heavy and cumbersome on Sam’s back, and Sam suspected Dean wouldn’t be able to hold on for long on his own. He hitched his arms under Dean’s thighs to give him support, the torch in an awkward angle in one hand, and proceeded to walk.
The hike back to the cabin while carrying Dean was slow and difficult. Sam felt wary of turning and spraining an ankle himself, what with the double weight and his muscles already tired. The ground hadn’t gotten any less uneven and his muscles were screaming at him with each step, but after ten long and torturous minutes, the cabin came into view. Sam breathed a sigh of relief and lowered Dean onto his feet on the porch.
“Welcome in our humble abode, Your Highness,” Sam joked.
Dean snorted and hobbled in slowly before carefully lowering himself on one of the chairs he found, holding on to the table next to it for balance. He looked around briefly and uttered a simple “Not bad, Sammy,” before sagging back against the chair’s backrest and closing his eyes.
Sam figured Dean was out for the count, closed the door behind them with the indoor latch that fortunately had survived Sam's assault on the door, and looked around, muttering to himself.
“All right, now where to start…”
The first priority was getting a fire going in the stove. It seemed to have been well-maintained, with dry firewood piled up right next to it. The fire soon caught on, the stove spreading an acrid smell as the dust was burning off. Sam thanked their lucky stars that the chimney wasn’t clogged, and then took a better look around the cabin by the light of his torch.
On the plus side, the roof and walls and door and windows were all intact, so it was dry inside and no animals appeared to have broken in. There was a double bed shoved into a nook at the far wall, a large chest at its feet, and also a desk, a book shelf, and a table with three rickety chairs. To the left, a counter with a sink and some cabinets made a rudimentary kitchen. There was a door in the far left corner, leading to a shelved walk-in closet containing tools and basic household equipment.
On the down side, there was no electricity, running water, or indoor bathroom. The wood of the window and door casings had warped, letting in a strong draft and probably explaining the thick layer of dust and cobwebs covering everything. The indoor air was chilly and damp and smelled moldy.
Sam grabbed a broom from the closet and proceeded to swipe away the worst of the dirt, first off the furniture, and then off the floor and out of the door. The chest held a pleasant surprise; pillows and blankets, musty but clean, so he removed the filthy blankets and sheets covering the mattress, and threw them out on the porch. He covered the damp mattress with 2 blankets, put some pillows down, and then more blankets on top as cover.
Sam looked over at his brother then. Dean hadn’t moved, eyes still closed. In the faint light flickering on his face through the glass door of the stove, Sam could see that his lips had gotten a bluish tint.
“All set now, let’s get dry and warm.”
Dean didn't react, so Sam jammed his torch between their backpacks, pointed upwards so it faintly illuminated the whole cabin, walked over to his brother, and put a hand on his shoulder. Dean opened his eyes, looking dazed. Sam gently helped him to his feet.
“You can take your clothes off now, Dean, the bed’s ready.”
“Mnot that easy, Sam,” Dean muttered.
“Very funny. Now strip.”
Dean tried to comply with stiff fingers, but it was clumsy and slow, so Sam took over to help him along. He shoved the heavy wet mass of Dean's windbreaker down his shoulders and arms, followed by his plaid shirt. Dean's limbs were lax and compliant under Sam’s hands, skin clammy and pale and cold to the touch.
It wasn’t like Dean to allow anyone to manhandle him like this, Sam silently worried.
He unbuckled Dean's belt, peeled his wet jeans off his hips and thighs, and sat him down again. Finally he knelt at Dean's feet to work on the wet bootlaces. It took a while, and halfway through Sam looked up at his brother, expecting a smirk, maybe a raunchy joke, but Dean had already closed his eyes again; lashes dark on his pale cheeks. He looked fragile and only half conscious.
At last Dean was down to his t-shirt and boxers. Those were also wet and would have to go. Sam stood and bit his lip.
“Sorry man, but your underwear will have to come off too if we want to get you warm.”
“Sammy, come on,” Dean protested weakly, opening his eyes.
“Wait. Maybe I can get you something else to wear.”
Sam divested himself of his windbreaker. His jeans were wet, but his long-sleeved flannel button-down and his undershirts were dry. He took off the flannel to dress Dean in it after stripping him of the last of his wet clothes, eyes discreetly turned away while pulling his boxers down.
Sam's flannel was too large for his brother; the sleeves covering his hands and the seam reaching mid-thigh as he was standing there for a moment before flopping down on the chair again. It gave him the adorable look of a child dressing up in grown-up clothes. Sam didn’t have the heart to make a teasing comment though.
“Okay, let’s try to get some sleep. You go first.” Sam helped his brother stand up again and Dean obediently limped over to the bed, climbed in, and rolled himself into a ball under the covers.
The fire was coming along nicely now, radiating heat into the cabin's interior even though the icy draft was still blowing. Sam used the chairs to hang Dean's wet clothes in front of the stove and piled on some more firewood before returning to his brother, who was lying still except for a few stray shivers.
“How are you, really?”
“P-peachy Sam.”
“You’re shivering again.”
“Yeah.”
Sam nodded, reassured. They both knew that was a good sign.
Exhausted by now, Sam stepped out of his jeans and shoes, putting them next to the stove with the rest of the wet gear, switched off the torch, and climbed into bed with his brother, who had already dozed off. He didn’t hesitate before curling himself all around Dean, enveloping him with his own body as much as possible, intent on sharing body heat. Dean didn’t protest, didn’t even react.
The blankets were scratchy, but they were both warm and comfortable enough for now. Sam felt himself relax as the worry for his brother was ebbing away, relishing the relief of having brought Dean to safety, alive and dry and warming up in his arms now. He involuntarily squeezed his arm tighter around his brother's body. Dean snuffled and shifted slightly but didn't wake up.
"I got you, brother," Sam whispered.
He closed his eyes and sunk into the warm darkness while Dean’s shivers slowly subsided. Outside, the rain had started up again, pattering on the cabin's corrugated iron roof, the sound lulling Sam to sleep.