Please don't kill me. I know I haven't updated Submersion or the Winchester Mansion, but I had a serious case of writer's block. It's pretty hard to HAVE to come up with a chapter, when you want so hard not to ruin the story with a crappy update. A oneshot was definitely in order to clear the cobwebs! Besides, this was literally all written at midnight last Sunday. Due to time reasons, I haven't even had time to submit it...until now, that is. So honestly, I didn't even use extra time – I'm not going to trust myself to update my other stories at midnight. The result would definitely not due either story justice.

This was written before Hunted, so there aren't any spoilers. It just started off as a random idea and exploded from there. Pretty angsty, I hope it doesn't come off too sappy! I would really appreciate reviews!

The moment was perfect for disaster. Perfect in that it was too, well, perfect – too happy to ever have any real chance of lasting. Because nothing happy ever stayed. The first time true happiness existed as a real entity in the lives of the brothers Winchester, it was shattered with murder. Shattered before the youngest son of the clan ever had a chance to experience true contentment. Shattered by a demon. The demon that would destroy the minute traces remaining of the necessary emotion more than 23 years later by enforcing a bargain that permanently removed the position of "father" from the mix. That singular event had nearly been the breaking of the Winchester family. Current tally? Two Winchesters lost. Two Winchesters left. Mother. Father. Both gone. Because of a demon. A demon that still lived, biding time and slowly whittling away the sanity that kept the bond of brothers together. Emotions were on high. The eldest brother waited, protected, guarded a secret that could potentially shatter his brother. Shatter his brother barely a year and a half after he was shattered by the burning of his girlfriend on the ceiling. Oh yeah, also the handiwork of that same happiness-destroying demon from before. That was the start of it all for the youngest Winchester. The start of the true grieving. The guilt. The hunting of the infamous Demon.

So needless to say, any moment wherein both Winchester brothers were smiling was completely and utterly doomed.

This moment was no exception – although for once, the Demon was uninvolved. Nor was the inherently devastating secret involving said demon's plans for a certain young psychic.

No, this moment was simply the result of the perpetual bad luck that seemed to stalk the two young hunters. Call it being in the wrong place at the wrong time...although a more likely explanation of the looming disaster would simply be the inevitably of Mother Nature's wrath.

For an avalanche was what waited.

And two brothers were about to become its victims. Two blissfully ignorant, unsuspecting brothers who seemed to attract misfortune, reveling in a rare semblance of true happiness that was destined by some divine being not to perpetuate.


Some sort of peace had finally befallen on Sam and Dean Winchester. Emotions had been recognized, hashed out, the situation had been analyzed, and each brother was resigned to get revenge on the evil creature that had stolen away their happiness. That's not to say that secrets weren't still kept, nor that some deep, dark inner workings weren't left unguarded. But it was unlikely that sort of honesty would ever present itself true within the tiny, close-knit unit of the siblings. Each hunter hid something from the other as a way of protection – as a show of love, not mistrust. As long as the love continued to exist – and it would – there would always be certain things hiding under the covers.

Both brothers knew this fact, and both appreciated it. There was some sort of unspoken understanding – an agreement, of sorts – between the two that the other would reveal a secret only when it presented itself as a necessary addition to common knowledge. It had taken some time to reach this unwritten pact; taken tears and heated arguments; but the struggle had ended in that moment on the side of a lonely road when Dean had opened himself up to Sam, fully and completely. It was then that both recognized that the truth would present itself when time demanded it. Each carefully buried, deeply guarded secret would eventually seep out. There was no point in pressing it.

So Sam and Dean had both stopped trying. They began to live, for once, without dwelling on the dark and gloomy aspects of their future. This change had a profound effect on their general mindset. Once forced in their laughter, touchy at every small provocation, and overwhelmingly silent on their standard long car trips, they were now truly enjoying each other's company. All extenuating factors were set aside. They focused on the hunt, reveled in its familiarity, and talked. Just talked. About normal things. They were...dare they think it? Happy.


The moment in question was just as such. Happy. Carefree. Two brothers enjoying a road trip through Vermont, driving past stately mountains covered in snow and headed to the next hunt.

A Yeti.

The humor was not lost on Dean.

"Dude, I can't believe I'm driving to go kill a friggin' Yeti. The Abominable Snow Man. The white version of Bigfoot, man. Insane." The eldest brother pounded his fist on the steering wheel with gusto, though it wasn't an act of aggression or frustration. It was one of excitement, pure and unadulterated.

"The 'white version of Bigfoot'?" asked Sam with interest. That was a new phrase.

Dean shrugged, momentarily looking confused. "Don't people call it that?"

"," answered Sam simply.

"Oh. Guess I made it up," he said with a slight laugh. "Makes sense though."

"Yeah, sure Dean. Whatever you say." Sam ran his fingers through his hair and leaned back in the Impala's vinyl seat. The act was usually indicative of being fed up with Dean's antics, but it was obvious to the older sibling by Sam's smile as he did so that all was done in good spirit.

"Damn straight it's whatever I say. Whatever I say is always right, Sammy."

Sam sat up, now unable to remain uninvolved in the conversation. "Even the time you told me that tiny elves came into my bedroom and cut my hair, when I was ten? That it wasn't really you, it was some clan of short-haired little men who couldn't stand my 'girlie haircut'?"

Dean laughed, then made his face serious as he turned to face his brother. "Exactly. Still standing by that story, little brother. Those elves tied me to my bed, the mean little bastards. I tried to stop them, Sammy," Dean shrugged, "really I did. They were just too forceful, I'm sorry."

Sam shook his head in disbelief. "I found the scissors in your room later. And you had brown hair all over your shirt, dude!"

Dean remained completely unfazed. "They planted it. They framed me, that's just the elf way. You gotta admit, though, your hair looked better afterwards."

"It looked like someone took a buzzsaw to it!" protested Sam.

"An improvement," said Dean matter-of-factly. "Get past it already, Sammy. Just get past it."

Sam laughed despite himself. That elf story had reminded him of old, lighter times...times that were beginning to come back.

"So..." continued Dean, apparently deciding to change the subject, "this Yeti. What do we know about it besides that it has been scaring the piss out of a few scrawny, and likely hypothermic and delusional, campers?"

"Not much," said Sam. "Nobody even knows if it's real. It just rumors, mainly, but lately some people have claimed to see it."

"Does this even fall under our category? If it's a real creature, it' s not even supernatural. And it hasn't killed anybody..."

"It hasn't killed anybody that we know of," specified Sam. "There have been mysterious deaths over the decades, though. Disappearances, maulings-"

"-maulings?" said Dean incredulously. "Maulings, Sam? Why did you leave that out?"

Sam shrugged. "Figured you knew. People pinned the deaths to bears, but as they hibernate during the winter..."

"Sure, Sam. I knew. Maulings. Of course. Just a common result of hiking up the Vermont Mountains."

"There's no such thing as the Vermont Mountains," said Sam. "They're all the Appalachians."

"Show off college freak," said Dean. "I'm not a dumbass."

Sam was silent after this assertion, something Dean took as a hesitation on his little brother's part to claim his older sibling's intelligence.

"Dude, so not cool. You're supposed to say, 'of course not bestest big brother Dean. You're the most brilliant person I know.' I swear, Sammy-boy, have I taught you nothing?"

"It's not that..." replied Sam distractedly. He was now peering through the windshield, leaning forward and straining his seatbelt to look up at the snow-capped mountains. "Did you hear that noise?"

"What noise?" asked Dean, now on mild alert.

"That rumbling." Just as the words left Sam's mouth, the earth shook. And Dean heard said rumbling.

"What the hell?"

Sam's eyes were wide. "Dean! Drive faster, we have to get past this road, make a turn-off."

Dean seemed calm. Too calm. The calm that settled before panic took hold. "There is no turn-off, Sammy. It's just straight."

"Shit," said Sam. This was what scared Dean more than anything. His little brother was not the cursing type. "What, Sam? What is it?"

"It's an avalanche, Dean! There's always danger this time of year. Probably why the road's empty...the locals would have known..."

In any normal situation Dean would have had a smart-ass remark; likely something along the lines of how screwed they were. But he was silent now. He simply pressed his foot down on the accelerator, wishing to whatever God that was out there that they would get to wherever it was they were going before they were encased in snow.

Wishing never worked for Dean Winchester.


The snow fell, in direct violation of the silent prayers said in the metal confines of the black Chevrolet Impala. In fact, it was almost as if it waited until said prayers were uttered before choosing to embark on its path of destruction.

Everything happened in slow motion. The immense wall of frozen liquid painted all the windows with white. Dean was instantly blinded by the snow, no longer able to sense the road. The speedometer read 70 mph, but it felt to both brothers as if they were barely moving at all. There was no longer a way to gauge speed. They were caught in an absurd moment of time. Everything stood still.

Except for the earth. It was – or at least, it felt like – it was moving. The Impala swerved as the road vibrated, and the ears of both boys were drowned by all-consuming noise. White noise would be a suitable name for the effect.

It seemed like hours before the snow finally finished its long descent to the ground, before it finally hit the frozen earth and consumed a certain muscle car.

But when it did, it jerked the Winchester boys from the suspended moment in time with enough force to roll their vehicle. And roll it did. Sam and Dean frantically grasped hold of the bottom of their seats, shutting their eyes and preparing for the worst.

They flipped. Heads lolled as the car was lifted from the ground, stomachs inverted as the center of gravity was reversed. For one long minute, they were completely upside-down. Hanging by their seatbelts and suspended in the air. And then the car decided to right itself.

That particular movement wasn't exactly gentle. With one loud squeal and then a final bang as the tires again met frozen pavement, each boy's head was thrown back with force.

This occurrence hurt one Winchester much more than the other.


It was ironic, in a way, the effect that the fall of a mountain of snow had on the inhabitants of the vehicle it encased. The whiteness, in a sense, had caused a complete and total blackness in the eyes of each young hunter. Utter blackness caused by an utter whiteness.

Dean escaped from the black first. He opened his eyes with hesitation, groaning as all senses slowly returned. His head felt like someone had taken it in their hands and shaken it, then decided to bang it against a brick wall. His ribs ached where the seatbelt had strained against his body, trying to hold him in place as the car rolled. And he was cold. Very cold.

It took him a second to remember what happened. He was aided in his thought process, of course, by the lack of sunlight entering the car, and the whiteness that blanketed all the windows.

Oh yeah. A friggin' avalanche. That was just peachy.

"Sam?" he tried, his voice sounding weaker than intended.

No response.

"Sammy?" he said again, more force, and now a slight air of panic, backing up his words.

Still no answer. Dean moaned as he slowly turned his head around to face the direction of passenger seat. Add one more thing to the list of aches...his neck hurt like hell.

The sight that met his eyes upon finding their destination was enough to make his heart skip a beat. Likely two, in fact.

It was the one thing he had been praying wouldn't happen. And Dean wasn't known for praying.

Sam was unconscious, his head resting against the side window-the characteristic sleeping position of the youngest Winchester brother.

Except he wasn't sleeping. Blood dribbled slowly down the glass, stark red against the white of the outside snow. His face was pale and clammy, but held an expression of complete blankness. And this worried Dean almost more than the fact that his brother had lost consciousness. Because it was the first sign that the injury was more serious than a simple bump of the head.

Sam never had a blank expression on his face. When he slept, each facial feature collaborated to successfully display the inner turmoil the young man was experiencing in dream. Reliving Jessica's death. Revisiting a graphic, gory hunt. Replaying the demise of a random individual somehow connected to the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

On occasion, even when knocked out – something that happened with a bit more regularity than Dean would prefer – Sam's face would hold fear. Sadness. Pain. Dean had seen Sam project virtually every possible emotion with his delicate features while completely unaware of the situation, floating in the land of unconsciousness. He could somehow sense the feeling in the room, either that or he could never really let go the worry he held before his vision went black.

But now, there was nothing.

Dean burst into action, quickly switching gears to big brother mode. He unbuckled his seatbelt, now able to climb over into the passenger seat where Sammy lay. It seemed to take him an eternity. Each muscle in his body protested upon his attempts to use the limbs in which they resided. A jolt of pain followed each movement he struggled to complete, and the imbalance in his head attributed to the previous shift in gravity was causing the interior of the car to spin.

But nothing could prevent the protective sibling from reaching the person who remained his only reason for living. With a gasp as his legs gradually made their way over the median between the two sides of the car, Dean settled his tall body into the small space Sam's form had left along the outer edge of the seat. Leaning back his head to stop the dizziness, he shakily unbuckled Sam's seatbelt and positioned his brother's body so he could lean against his own.

He took Sam's bleeding head in his hands, grabbing a t-shirt from the back of the car and gently pressing it onto the side of his forehead, to stop the bleeding. A problem arose when the shirt wouldn't stay, and Dean lacked the strength to hold it there. So he tied it in a sort of bandana around his brother's head, creating a very stylish and attractive look. Sammy was channeling the 70s.

They would laugh about it later.

But not now.

At least Sam was still alive. Dean relished each breath he felt his younger sibling take, was thankful for each heartbeat he felt drum against his fingertips. This was the closest he had been to Sam in a long time. Their relationship had gotten better since his roadside emotional confession, but they never seemed to have retained the brotherly affection of old.

Maybe this embrace, however unfortunate in its cause, was one more twisted step on the Winchester's elusive road to happiness.


Dean had time to analyze their situation as he waited for Sam to regain consciousness. The harsh truth was that there was really nothing they could do.

They had no way in hell of knowing how much snow was piled on top of the car. It could be two feet, it could be twenty. Opening the door to check wasn't exactly a viable option.

They had no cell service. He had already checked. Apparently, both phones weren't able to contract a signal under feet of snow in the middle of Vermont.

Dean decided that technology sucked.

They had a police scanner in the Impala to identify possible supernatural cases in the area. Out. Technology sucked even worse. That had been his last hope.

The largest issue gained in prevalence with each passing minute: they were both slowly freezing. In a car made of metal, it was kind of inevitable. Sam's lips had already turned a pale shade of blue, and he imagined that his weren't too different in appearance.

He would check and see, if the condensation from the air hadn't frozen on the rear view mirror.

He guessed the interior of the car rested at about 20 degrees. And it was getting colder. He tried turning on the engine, but it wouldn't start. The car was too ancient to be capable of warming an engine under snow. That meant no heat.

Sam started to stir, and Dean was awakened from his contemplative reverie.


"Sammy?" Dean tried to keep his voice gentle, but was unable to hide the surge of emotion resultant from the relief he felt.

"De-Dean?" Sam answered, voice quivering. But it was there, and that was all that mattered.

"In the flesh, little brother," Dean replied softly.

"Wha' happened?" Sam sat up slowly, immediately drawing his hand to his head wound and groaning.

"Slow down there dude, you've been out for a while. Take it easy." The elder hunter placed steadying hands on Sam's shoulders, sitting him back gently on the vinyl seat. But he stayed in close proximity, as body heat was now their best defense against the cold.

Sam complied with Dean's request, closing his eyes slowly and taking deep breaths. "I f-feel like I just got hit by a truck."

"Not too far off, but I'd say a giant wall of snow is more accurate," said Dean, old humor slowly returning. "and then the side of the window."

Sam grimaced as he spotted the splatter of red blood across the glass. " 'S just great," he muttered.

Dean looked at Sam with concern. "Are you okay? Besides the obvious, I mean?"

Sam shrugged. "I've b-been worse, I guess. Why? Did I have you w-worried?" Sam now had the hints of a grin on his face.

"No," said Dean quickly. " 'Course not."

"I t-think I did."

"Don't flatter yourself, Sammy. I wasn't that put out. It was nice and quiet, actually." Dean flashed a grin, though it was a bit shaky. And insincere. The worry he had felt was still evident to Sam.

However, at the moment, Sam was paying more attention to the fabric wrapped around his head. He felt the cotton shirt, a confused expression on his face. "W-what the h-hell did you w-wrap around my skull?"

"A Led Zeppelin t-shirt," said Dean with a proud smirk. "Had to stop the cascading blood, Sam-o. Now you look like a hippie."

"Is that h-hygenic?" asked Sam. "It's p-probably all covered in old s-sweat." Sam's voice shook with the cold.

"That was kinda the least of my worries, Sam. I swear, only you would dwell on a sweaty t-shirt – that I saved your life with, by the way – when we're freezing to death (and possibly suffocating, thought Dean, deciding not to express this particular concern) in our car under a mountain of snow."

Sam was quiet at this announcement. There really wasn't anything to say. They both knew that all they could do was wait. For couple of silent minutes, both young men simply sat; watching their clouds of frozen breath swirl around the inside of the Impala.

It was getting colder.

Dean shivered involuntarily, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. He could feel his skin rippling in gooseflesh underneath his brown leather jacket, and the tips of his fingers were beginning to get numb. He could only imagine how Sam must feel. The kid had lost blood, likely lessening his body's ability to deal with the rapidly declining temperature. He subtly scooted closer to Sam on the seat, gladly willing to risk a bit of his masculine toughness if it meant making his brother just a little warmer.

"D-dude. Are y-you trying to h-hug me?" asked Sam, incredibly surprised. Dean usually shied away from any type of touch. Except touch from the feminine persuasion, of course.

"You're n-not really my type, Sam. Just trying to get warmer." He purposely didn't mention the fact that for the duration of Sam's period of unconsciousness, they had been virtually piled on top of one another.

Nope, not yet a necessary tidbit of information.

Sam, however much he had been taken aback by Dean's offering of body heat, was now seeming to take advantage of it. He leaned somewhat awkwardly into Dean's form, instantly feeling his brother's warmth seep into his body. Some of the ice in his veins seemed to melt just a bit.

"No m-mention of this later," said Dean quickly. "To a-anyone. Understood, S-Sammy?"

"If t-there is a l-later," muttered Sam under his breath.

"What was that?" said Dean. The quiver was gone from his words. "Don't you dare give up, Sammy. We're getting out of here."

Sam raised his head. "How, D-Dean?"


"HOW? W-what's your b-brilliant plan?"

Dean lost just a bit of his confidence with Sam's blunt question. "I'm...working on it."

Sam looked up at his face dubiously, his eyes watering with lost hope. It tore Dean's heart out of his chest to see Sam look so defeated.

And he could do nothing about it. A plan, sure. He and Sam were helpless, and that was the truth of the matter. It was his job to protect Sammy. It had always been his job, and he had always been successful in the effort.

But this time, it seemed he would fail.



"Y-yeah, S-Sammy. I...I k-know." Dean wished he had a magical touch to soothe the pain in his brother. He wished he could throw the car doors of their hinges and step into bright sunlight. He wished he could shout as loud as a bullhorn to call attention. He wished he could feel his fingers and toes. He wished he could save Sam like he always used to, that Sammy would look at him with the hope, trust, and admiration as he once had in times of crisis – when Dean was still his superhero.

Most of all, he wished none of this never happened. He wished he had never been so blindly tempted by a hunt, wished he had read some of the warnings in the newspaper about avalanches this time of year.

And unless the Yeti was going to come and save them, he didn't see these wishes going away anytime soon.

But as previously established, wishing never worked for Dean Winchester.

The damage was already done anyway.

Sam was hurt, worse than he led on upon waking up after they were hit with snow.

Dean's initial instinct upon seeing Sam's slack face had been right.

It had been five hours, and Sam had become steadily worse as each long minute ticked by. He was nearly incoherent, mumbling unintelligible words that Dean had taken to simply nodding to in response.

Blood loss was the likely culprit. Though the wound was wrapped, the warm liquid was steadily absorbed into the cotton fibers of the t-shirt. With each drop of blood, warmth was drained from his brother's body. And with each second, the temperature gradually went down in the interior of the solid metal vehicle. It wasn't a good combination.

Dean could no longer stop the shivers. He had given up his coat two hours ago to Sam, figuring that he needed the warmth more. He didn't regret the action, but wished at the same time that the coat was large enough to fit around them both.

But it wasn't. He'd already tried.

He was tortured by the fact that they had a first aid kit. Of course they did.

The problem was, it was in the trunk. No more than six feet from where he sat, but it might as well have been a thousand miles for all the good it did him.

Just great.


Dean was drifting.

He no longer had any idea how much time had passed since the accident.

It felt like an eternity.

He could no longer move his head to see his watch, a phenomenon caused by some strange combination of cold, weariness, and pain. He felt like the life had been drained out of him.

His arms were still wrapped around Sam, although he could barely feel the touch due to the numbness in his limbs. He left them there simply to watch if they continued to rise and fall with Sam's breathing-he doubted his body still held any useful warmth.

It seemed like this was the end.


It was funny how the mind took to replaying memories when it seemed like the body could no longer deal with a present situation. Dean found himself hearing voices in his head. Dad, telling him he was proud of him right before he died. Cassie, telling him that she loved him.
And Sam.

Sam...just being Sam. Calling him a jerk. Giving him a small smirk at a joke. Hell, even reaming him out for being an ass. He'd give anything to hear the deep drawl of his brother's voice right about now.

But Sam continued to remain in the land of black, wherever that was.

A fleeting image flashed before his eyes.

"Dean! Look, I did it!" Brown eyes glistened with pride as they looked up at an elder brother for approval.

"Cool, Sammy!" said Dean. "You're really gettin' to be a pro at tying those laces."

Sam smiled. That truly happy, content smile that Dean always wished he could display himself.

"That's three times in a row now. I wanna see if I can do it faster. Can you time me, Dean? I wanna be fast like you." Sam was so eager, so excited. Dean couldn't help but wonder why anyone would ever want to be just like him. But Sam always had.

He looked into his six-year old brother's grinning, innocent face and melted completely. "Sure, Sammy. Anything for you."

The memory ended. Dean felt tears welling in his eyes. He moved slightly in his seat, leaning his head down to look into Sam's face. All he wanted to see were those brown, soulful orbs.

But Sam's eyes were still closed.

With a rattling sigh, Dean threw his head back. The car was spinning more than usual. His body was begging him to give into the pain, to the exhaustion.

He fought like hell. It was his job to keep an eye on Sam, not to surrender to his own discomfort.

Sometimes, though, the body took control over will, no matter how strong.

Dean slowly faded, falling into a deep abyss.

His chest rose and fell steadily with the same rhythm as Sam's.


"Son? Son, can you hear me?"

Dean shakily opened his eyes.

What the fuck?

All he saw was white. But it wasn't snow. It was the familiar white of hospital walls.

How in hell?

The hunter's head turned slowly, eyes blinking rapidly to focus in on the kind face that was leaning over him.

He was only interested in asking one question.

"Where's Sam? Is he okay?" Dean tried to sit up as the panic hit him like a brick wall. Sammy was hurt, and they were in a hospital. He couldn't lie here like an idiot and wait for news.

The doctor pushed the protective brother gently back into a resting position. "Slow there, young man. You shouldn't try to sit up like that."

"Just tell me how Sam is." Dean was adamant.

"Sam is the name of the other man in the vehicle with you, I'm assuming?"

This was crap. "YES, goddamnit! Is my brother okay?"

The doctor smiled. "You're brother is going to be fine. We were scared he was hypothermic, but it seemed as if he avoided it. As did you, I might add. We got that nasty head wound treated, he's just resting now. You two must have taken pretty good care of each other."

"I guess," said Dean dismissively. "Look, can I see him now?"

The doctor gave a small grin. "Of course. But take it slower this time, okay? We'll get a wheelchair for you."

Wheelchair my ass, thought Dean. As the doctor walked out of the room, Dean stood up on shaky legs, walking unsteadily through the dizziness that seemed to still persist. As he entered the hallway, he was instantly greeted by stares. Why, he didn't know. Nor did he care. Probably just some obscene curiosity to see the guy who survived an avalanche.

He found Sam in the next room over.

Sleeping this time, not unconscious. And no red blood. Just a white bandage that wrapped around his head...definitely a step up from a Led Zeppelin t-shirt.

He walked slowly in the room, and Sam stirred as if he sensed his older brother's presence. He sat in the puke green fake leather chair by the hospital bed, grabbing Sammy's hand.

He grinned with relief upon feeling its healthy warmth.

Sam instantly opened his eyes.

As Dean saw the clarity in his brother's eyes, he knew everything was going to be okay. Maybe they could now be happy again.


The incredible story would appear in the newspaper the next day: TWO BROTHERS MIRACULOUSLY RESCUED AFTER AVALANCHE.

Dean read the article with interest, Sam by his side.

Evidently, they had been trapped for a grand total of ten hours. They had been about two hours away from running out of oxygen and suffocating.

The entire time, searchers had been looking for the car – a witness had claimed to see the wall of snow envelop a black Impala.

Of course, they ran to call 911 without making a mental note of the exact location. The avalanche had devoured five miles of road, making the search for one car difficult, to say the least.

The strange part of it all was that the metal of the car's exterior – the very aspect of their accident that had caused the icebox effect – was the very thing that saved them.

Metal detectors located their position.

Dean took a moment to thank whatever entity had been watching out for them.


Happiness returned quickly to the two Winchester brothers.

If anything, it was deeper than before.

As was the love.

Dean thought to himself that maybe moments like this were vital in their relationship, vital to their uncertain future.

If they could survive this, they could survive anything.

And they would do it together, until the very end.


Please review! I'm giving my best puppy-dog eyes!