Rating: PG - Gen
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Dean is the best big brother ever. But not really.
"P-Please stop singing that..."
"But the weather outside is frightful."
Sam regarded his brother from the depths of his motel blanket cocoon. He wasn't positive but he thought he could almost see his own breath even though they were indoors in a supposedly heated room. Shuddering, he flopped on his bed sideways trying to conserve what was left of his body heat.
"A-Are you sure t-that thing is even really o-on?" He couldn't stop his teeth from chattering.
The circa 1970's thermostat in old yellowed plastic that sat on the wall was fairly dubious. There was something about being extremely cold that always made him some weird mixture of tense and extremely sleepy. All he wanted to do was get under as many covers as he could and never come back out again. Sam had suggested he might actually be entering the first stages of hypothermia but Dean hadn't been incredibly sympathetic.
"Yeah, I told you, it's as high as it's gonna go." Dean shrugged, flipping back the curtain to take a look at the white out that was the world outside. The wind gusted and swirled, their window sill already framed in a small soft slant of accumulated snow. "Man, it's going to take forever to dig her out tomorrow."
Driving through the sheer snow whipped blind of the North Dakota interstate, it was pure luck that the exit they had turned off on happened to have this tiny little hole that passed for lodging. The car probably would be under at least four feet of the stuff by the morning. But it and everything in it would be more or less fine. None of it besides some holy water was affected by any prolonged and radical drops in temperature -- Sam groaned. "Aw crap."
Sam sighed, rolling on his back limply as all his limbs were cocooned and useless. "I left the laptop out there."
"It's going to suck pretty hard when you have to go out there and get it." Dean remarked as the wind whistled and blew, making the window shudder in its frame.
Sam gave a deep sigh. "I don't know dude, I mean, you still have your boots and jacket on and everything..."
Dean let the curtain drop back into place with a sigh of his own.
Sam was sincerely more than grateful when Dean tugged his gloves back on and picked up the car keys.
"Think of all the bookmarks you're saving."
"Yeah, yeah." Dean mumbled. "Try not to eat any other party members while I'm gone."
Sam hunched down into himself when the door opened, the flood of frigid air flowing in with the whirl of snowflakes, blasting whatever heat that hung in the room into oblivion. The wind and Dean slammed it back shut, cutting off the keen howling sound of it back to a dull roar.
It was just then that Sam heard the clank-clank-clank and sudden hiss of the heater finally coming to life. A seep of hot air drifted down from an overhead vent and Sam thanked God out loud.
Slowly, his shivering became less violent and his jaw began to unclench.
He unrolled himself slightly when he realized that Dean wasn't lying when he had said he had put the heat on as high as it could go. And now it was starting to really feel like it. Sam curled back up thankfully in the spreading warmth. Maybe when the room got to the feel of the tropics he'd take a scalding hot shower and melt what was left that had frozen to his core.
Five minutes went by. What was taking Dean so long--
The door burst open and his brother was literally blown inside.
Sam turned to look at him. "What the--"
Dean's jacket was caked with snow, as was his hair, and boots. The seat of his jeans was soaking wet and he pretty much looked like he had just taken a roll in a snow drift for the hell of it.
"The ground is a little... icy out there." Dean grumbled, somewhat breathless.
It seemed Sam wasn't too far off. He looked down at what his brother was holding. "That's not the laptop."
"What do you mean?" Dean demanded.
"Since when do I keep it in my backpack?"
"God damn it." He tossed the bag down on the motel floor and kicked it across the room. Momentarily calmed, he then made a conceding shrug. "Well, I guess that's maybe kinda a good thing because I fell on top of it pretty hard."
Sam was about to say something about how his iPod was in there but from the look on Dean's face he decided to keep his mouth shut.
"So," Dean said looking at the floor, in a strangely determined voice. "I guess I'll be right back. Again."
Sam winced as Dean took a moment to brace himself before yanking the door open once more.
He rolled onto his back and shut his eyes. There was something about the smell of the old motel ventilation that reminded him of being back in the car. That scent of burnt heavy heat that almost seem to boil out of the vents, ebbing and flowing with the engine. It brought him back to even back way then, their Dad silently driving and he and his brother in cocoons of their own, sprawled in every direction in massive back-seat. Watching the snow and sleet zip past the windows as they moved through the day and night.
Dean was back.
Sam chewed at his lip. "Uh, Dean--"
With a small groan, Dean dropped the black canvas computer bag that Sam had stopped using over a month ago because the strap had broken off. He exited the room without a word.
Sam pulled the fleece blanket up over his chin and stretched. There were always ports in the storm when they had needed one it seemed. All their lives. Once there had been some kind of lodge they had stopped at once in the middle of a blizzard like this. Sam remembered the large stone hearth with a crackling fire vividly. Dark wood beams overhead and polished oak floors. There were steaming cups of hot chocolate and the strong scent of Dad's coffee. Watching the tempest at the door and not caring because they were inside, and dry, and nothing could touch them--
Sam smiled at the leather case Dean had finally retrieved. Three's the charm as they say.
"Sam, you wouldn't believe what else I found out there." Dean said stomping out his boots by the door. "It's pretty freakin' cool."
Curious, Sam tiredly rolled over. "What?"
He honestly didn't know how he didn't see it coming. Maybe it was because he had been lulled by becoming something close to room temperature. Maybe it was simple fatigue and the affects it had on one's basest instincts and wisdom. He might have even avoided it if he hadn't been so largely hindered by his own cocooning. But it was already much too late.
The slopping slushy weight of a snowball the size of a small orbiting moon struck his face with enough force to splatter against the headboard and wall behind him. Sam gasped at the freezing cold ice as it slid down in clumps and icy trickles down the front of his shirt and even making it down to his pants. His carefully crafted cocoon had been completely compromised.
Sam slowly wiped away the slush that lingered and covered his eyes.
"I can get ya another one if you want?" Dean offered kindly, trying to yank one of his boots off and not fall over at the same time. "I don't mind ... really."
Sam numbly shook his head.
"Thanks, I'm good."