Summary: How the hell did he end up in a freezer? Last thing Dean remembered, he had been fighting a freaking normal ghost… somewhere in S1. No pairings.

Pairing/s: None.

Warnings: Swearing.

Disclaimers: I don't own Supernatural.


Fucking hell, it's cold. If he did not know better Dean would believe he was in a freezer.

Wait a minute…

His eyes opened and met nothing but darkness and a chill that seemed to work its way into his very bones. He pushed up, felt a lid, frosty, filled with fucking ice, tried to get it up without success and the air he sucked in was cold, too fucking cold, he could not breathe properly, he was in a fucking freezer, what the hell??

"Someone!" he screamed. "Sam?! Sammy, you better come right this fucking moment! Sammy!"

He banged on the lid, felt around to see if there was anything else and he grasped something. He felt along it and felt his heart hammering, it was a leg from a human, a human leg it was a freaking human leg oh god oh god oh god.

"Oh fuck," he said. "Sammy! Sammy, get me out of here! Sam!"

He was fairly certain he had been fighting a ghost just moments ago with Sam. A nasty one, who had killed over ten people already. Then his eyes widened in the darkness. The bodies were never found. He was in a freezer with a human leg as company. The sick fuck killed people; he must have then chopped them up and put the parts in a freezer. It was the only reasonable explanation Dean could come up with at this whole fucked-up situation. I'm so screwed, I'm so fucking screwed and then he was banging on the lid again.

Just what was holding this lid from hell close?? He started kicking up with his feet, pushed all he could with his arms but the damn thing would not move. He felt tears down his cheeks, did not care, he was allowed to panic here, he was allowed to, but he was not going to die here, he could not die here.

"Sammy!" he screamed.



Sam whirled around the room once more, feeling his heart up his throat. Once second Dean had been with him, the next both his older brother and the ghost was gone. He had been running around the whole house now once, not finding a sign after Dean except for his phone near where he had been standing before going missing.

Finally he stopped up and tried to think about the information they got. This house once belonged to the spirit, a crazy guy named Hank Johnson, and it was here Hank most likely dragged his victims and killed them. He had to have taken Dean wherever he killed the victims, but Sam had no found any good place for that on the first sweep of the house. He mentally, but hurriedly, went through each room he had run through, thinking of any traps he might have missed, any secret rooms.

The attic? No.

Third floor? Nope.

Second? Nada, zip.

First? Not a damn thing.

"Basement?" he asked out loud. He had not seen if the house had a basement. "Alright, I'm gonna check if there's a basement." He had no idea why he spoke to himself, but it was comforting enough.

Plus he had to find the bones to the spirit. It might be hidden too, as no body had been recovered. No one had really searched through the house after Hank had stopped showing up at the store closest to his house, and after a few years as a missing-person the police had listed him as dead. No one really felt sorry for him, because they had found something else while searching through the house; in the kitchen had been a freezer, and in the freezer they had found transparent plastic bags containing parts of his wife who had gone missing years before that. He had chopped her up nice and good, and stored her in a fucking freezer.

That stopped him for a moment, and Sam began to think, really think. And suddenly he wondered why he had not realized it earlier.

Freezer… victims never found, the wife's remains…

"No," Sam whispered. The thought of finding parts of his brother in a freezer made bile rise in his throat. He had to find Dean.


Dean felt like he had ice in his throat, that the coldness were freezing his insides slowly but surely and god, where is Sam? He was so cold he could barely move anymore. He felt his whole body shiver but could not do anything to stop it. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to have his eyes open but it also hurt to close them. He had long lost the feeling of his fingers and toes, and it was slowly working its way up his arms and legs.

His lungs could not take in much air, and so he got dizzy with the lack of oxygen. Not that it was much oxygen in a freezer. He closed his eyes and kept them close. That was nice. Keeping them close, he wished he could curl up and wake from this nightmare.

He had imagined his death ever since he was sixteen. Battling a werewolf, fighting a vicious ghost or perhaps a demon… but freezing to death in a freezer? Not at the top of his list of possible deaths. Well, it sure was a new way. Not that he wanted it to happen to him.

He felt sleepy. Dean tried to shake himself awake only to find he could no longer move his body. His joints were frozen, his limbs unresponsive, his eyes refused to open.

This is it, I guess. Fuck. Never wanted to go this way. Never got to find dad. God, Sammy, please don't find me like this. Go find dad and leave my corpse here, lil' bro. Don't want you to find me like this…

Dean slipped into a new darkness.


Sam walked down the stairs slowly, shotgun ready. The air was so cold here. He could hear his heart pumping in his ears, his senses sharp, too sharp and his muscles tense. He had met the ghost twice, shooting it both times (although wishing he could make it a bit more painful) and now little Hank seemed to have disappeared into nothingness.

"Dean?" he called out. "Dean, you here? Answer me!"

Nothing. He walked down the last steps, searching the wall for a switch light and found it. When the light was on, he swallowed, steps faltered and he was struck speechless.

Fifteen freezers, all with heavy locks on. Fifteen. And was that what he thought it was? Sam raised the shotgun in case as he inched closer. Bones. Someone's bones. If he was lucky, fucking Hank's bones. He was rather tired of Hank. He walked up to the skeleton and saw the clothing. He fished up a paper and looked at a photo of Hank. The shirt, half-rotten, that the skeleton wore looked a lot like Hank's kind of shirts. Just as ugly.

"Hi, Hank," Sam said as he opened the container of salt. "I'm very sorry about this, but I'm so fucking tired of you right now that it's time for you to go."

Lighter fluid after the salt, and he felt a coldness not coming from the freezer. Turning around he shot right through Hank's ghost and the man disappeared. Striking up a match, Sam quickly threw it down on the skeleton and the shirt caught fire, quickly moving onto the bones. The man wondered if he should stay and make sure the fire didn't escalate but considering it was all concrete here, even the roof, it was safe for now. Time to find Dean.

Going up to the first, he hit until the lock opened. Opening the freezer, he made a quick turn before he actually would vomit.

Heads. Full of heads, cut neatly at the necks, some eyes still open, the bottom of the freezer coated in blood. He was so not eating dinner tonight, and closed the lid quickly.

"Dean, answer me! Dean!"

He did not have time or patience to open all fifteen. He felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins, making his whole body vibrate. He had to find Dean now.


Sam's voice. Sam? Sam was not in his dream. Or was it a dream? Now when he thought about it, he was certain he had not been dreaming.

Dean managed a sound somewhere between a whine and Sam's name and strained to listen. Sam's voice again.

"Sam?" he whispered. Hell, it hurt to speak. "Sammy?" He cleared his throat, coughing raggedly and now louder, "Sammy!"

Sam turned around.


A gentle call of his name again. Sam ran up to one of the freezes, banged on the lid. He got a response, a weak response and he hit on the lock so hard with the end of the shotgun it fell apart at the first swing. Dropping the shotgun to the floor and pulling the lid up, he nearly began to cry.

His brother was nearly white, lips blue and the green eyes looking almost black. Frost everywhere on him, face, hair, clothes and he was beyond shivering, just laying still with minimal movement. Sam reached down, helped Dean to sit up, felt the icy chill that was now his brother and felt unwilling tears slip down his cheeks as he clung to his brother. He couldn't bring himself to care.

"S-Sammy?" Dean mumbled, voice shaky and quiet.

"Yeah, it's me, it's okay, I got you, I got you now, man." Dean could not move very well on his own, his legs failing him the moment he was standing upright, but Sam was ready and held onto him.

"C-cold," the older of them managed. "Where's… where's g-ghost?" His eyes were unfocused, his speech slurred and he gripped one of Sam's arms the best he could.

"Gone, bro. He's gone, come on, let's get you out of here."

Sam had to drag Dean up the stairs since the man's body was no longer cooperating with the mind. Dean tried to walk but his legs folded underneath him each time, he could not even cling onto Sam, he was swimming in a chillness he never thought would disappear. But Sammy was with him, he was with Sammy, that meant everything was okay now and he did not hear the sound of the fire spreading. The younger of them did not care about it, he had to get his brother warm again. Just because Dean was out of the freezer did not mean everything was okay.

Sam wrestled Dean into the passenger seat of the Impala and dug out blankets from the trunk. He managed to take off the leather jacket his brother wore, and tucked him in the best he could before racing to the driver seat. He turned the heat on as much as he could before leaving the house behind. He found himself uncaring if the place burned down or not. Hank the spirit was gone and no one cared about the house anyway.

"Stay with me, Dean," he said as Dean's head lolled against the window. He reached out with on hand and nearly began crying as he felt only coldness under his touch. He grabbed onto Dean's head, made the older man lean against him, hearing Dean murmur something before one chilled hand managed to fist itself into his jacket. "You're okay man, you're gonna be okay."

Dean did not remember how they got to their motel room but suddenly he was standing unsteady by the bed, swaying back and forth and holding a blanket around his shoulders. He looked around the room blearily as he clutched the blanket closer, not hearing his brother until Sam was right in front of him and even then he squinted to see. Then, Sam's hands helping him lying down and faint tugging at his feet. Sam managed to get the boots off and dragged off the socks too, wincing when he saw the slightly blue toes. He undressed his brother as quickly as he could and dug up some sweatpants from his own bag, a clean T-shirt Dean had and one of his hoodies. Dean did not own a hoodie and his shirts were not going to help him getting warm, plus it might ground him somewhat to reality if he felt Sam's scent.

Once dressed, Dean began coughing and each felt like razorblades rushing up his throat. Sam lifted him to a sitting position and felt his worry-level spike up once faint traces of blood stained his brother's lips. Dean needed to ease up his throat again.

"Dean, I need to go for a little bit, okay?"

"Nooooo," Dean moaned. "No, no, no… don't leave me."

"I'm not leaving, I'll be back in a few minutes, Dean, please."

Dean clutched at him even as Sam laid him back down, wrapping his feet in a blanket before tucking him underneath the covers.

"Sammy…" A hand in his shirt and Sam nearly gave in. Then he remembered Dean needed to drink, and they needed food for later, despite what he had seen in Hank's house he was fucking starving, and they had nothing. So he strengthened his resolve, tucked in Dean's hand and said:

"Just a few minutes, Dean, I swear."


"Yes, trust me, bro," Sam said. "Just lie here and take it easy."

Dean had begun to shiver, which meant his body recognized at least that it was cold and needed to heat up. His lips were not as blue as they had been, the dark rings underneath his eyes not so bad but he looked too cold still. The man stared up at Sam for a moment, Sam felt like a child-Dean was staring at him with those big eyes, then the older one nodded. Sam smiled briefly at him and then he was out the door.

Returning, as promised, a few minutes later Sam walked up to the bed first thing where his brother lay.

"Dean?" With a start, Dean woke up and stared wildly at Sam. Sam removed his jacket and shoes and put the plastic bag at the nightstand before climbing into the bed. He pulled Dean up and flush to his own chest, Dean's side tucked against him and the man's head nearly resting on his shoulder. Dean tensed the first few moments, then relaxed as he realized who it was. Sam dug up a bottle of juice from the bag and opened it. He had made sure it was not too cold, as Dean would probably not appreciate that very much.

"Come on, drink this," he whispered. Dean did not remove his hands from where he had tucked them against his own chest, he let Sam hold the bottle and drank the liquid greedily. Once he had finished, his throat was somewhat less hurting and he slumped against Sam's chest, his head swimming. Vaguely he felt his little brother take out his hand from underneath the covers, and a near-whine came out from him. "No Dean, you gotta warm them up. Let me help you."

Sam held the smaller hand between his own, warm meeting cold. He began massaging the fingers, hoping to bring some warmth back into them and when he was satisfied, he did the same thing to the other hand. By now, Dean had already nodded off and his breathing was deep, full weight against Sam's chest but the man could not find it in him to complain. Instead he lay his head against Dean's, feeling the short hair against his cheek and enjoyed the feeling as he tucked Dean's hands back under the covers. He then reached for the sandwich he knew was waiting for him, and settled down to watch his big brother.


When Dean woke up again, his shivers had dropped noticeably and he could think clearly. His body was not yet warm as he wanted it, but it was no longer numb.

"You awake, Dean?"

"Mmm," he managed, wanting to sleep more.

"No, not falling asleep, I made tea, you need something warm." Sam's voice rumbling underneath his ear, funny. Dean blinked a few times.

"Tea, right," he said and lifted his head a bit. Sam is there. Sam's arm around his back, keeping him in place, legs propped up on either side of Dean, surrounding him. Good. Sammy was okay, all in one piece. "Ghost?"

"Gone, Dean," Sam said. "Dude, he locked you into a freezer."

"Yeah, I kinda noticed that," Dean said, managing to roll his eyes. "What about tea?"

Sam reached to the nightstand and plucked a cup from the nightstand.

"It's not scolding hot, don't worry about that. Small sips."

Dean closed his eyes as he drank, let Sam choose the pace, the sips. Once the cup was gone, Sam moved his hands out again.

"They're not cold anymore," he more felt than heard his brother say. "Move them."

Dean closed his hands into fists, feeling a bit stiff but nothing else.


"Bit stiff, that's all," he mumbled.

"Can you feel your toes?"

"More or less. Sammy?"

"Yeah?" Sam did not find it in him to complain about the nickname.

"Do me a favour?"


"No more freezers."

Sam smiled.

"Swear it… no more freezers."


Hope it was okay, I enjoyed writing it –smile-

Until another time,