A/N: I've been wanting to write a hypothermia fic for ages, and I finally got my chance with tumblr's 25 Days of Fic Challenge, hooray! Day 2

"Dude, wait, hang on a minute, you can't get in the car like that, you're gonna ruin the upholstery."

Sam stared flabbergasted at his brother, dripping wet and half frozen in the frigid New England air.

"Dude, fricking kidding me?" Sam stuttered, teeth chattering while Dean popped the trunk, rooting around inside.

"Yeah, I'm serious. Keep your icicle ass outta my car till I find you something to sit on."

"Here's an idea, next time, youcan be the one to chase a fricking werewolf across a frozen lake and fall through the ice, how's that? Now unlock the damn door Dean."

"Relax, Sasquatch, I got what we need right here," Dean snapped back, emerging from the trunk with a roll of trash bags in one hand, "Five seconds to line the seat, alright?"

"God, you're such an asshole," Sam growled, leaning on the impala for support, his arms wrapped around his chest so tightly it was making his shoulders ache, and his shivering becoming increasingly more violent each moment he was out in this crap.

"Alright, here, get in," Dean gestured, moving back so Sam could throw himself into the front seat eagerly, knees drawn up tight and shoulders hunched, shivering so hard he had to clench his jaw to keep the chatter of his teeth from drowning out Dean's voice.

"Don't worry Sammy, you'll be alright," Dean assured him, cranking the heat up as high as it would go and angling all the vents in Sam's direction.

Sam made a pained sound as the still cold air blasted him, praying the heating would get warmed up like he never prayed before.

"N-n-no th-thanks to you," Sam grit out, tempted to pull the trash bag on the back of his seat down and lean heavily on the bare leather just out of spite.

"Yeah? Even though I was the one who pulled your gigantor ass outta that big slushie to begin with?" Dean countered, twisting in his seat to back the car up and put them back on the road into town, and Sam snorted, but didn't bother with the effort of forcing an answer through his chattering teeth.

The drive to their motel room was, without a doubt, the longest seven minutes of Sam's life. By the time Dean was sliding her into park outside their room, he couldn't even coordinate his fingers to curl around the door handle tight enough to open it.

Dean was out his side and around to Sam's so fast he missed it, was just suddenly aware of his door wrenching open and Dean gripping his arm and pulling him out, carefully cupping Sam's head to keep it from hitting the doorframe.

"You're alright Sammy, you're alright," Dean kept muttering, slinging Sam's arm around his shoulders as he fumbled for the door key in his pocket, Sam unsteady and uncoordinated beside him.

Sam literally moaned when the door finally opened and Dean guided him through it, the warm air of the room a blessed relief.

"Alright Sasquatch, work with me here," Dean told him, tugging Sam's wet jacket down his shoulders and tossing it through the open bathroom door, the fabric making a wet plop!on the hard tile.

Sam clumsily went for the buttons on his shirt, startled to see his long fingers tinged a faint, bluish color.

Dean said nothing as he took over the task, and Sam made an effort to ignore the wrinkle of worry between Dean's eyebrows that he would never voice. It wasn't long before both of Sam's shirts joined his jacket on the bathroom floor, and Sam was too cold to be embarrassed when Dean thumbed open his jeans and nudged Sam toward his bed.

Sam managed to weakly hook his thumbs into his waistband and peel both boxers and jeans down his legs as Dean knelt to unlace his boots. By the time Dean gathered the rest of his wet clothes up to deposit them in the bathroom, Sam was making shaky progress up the bed to bury himself under the covers as deeply as possible.

"Hey, hang on a minute, you're still wet," Dean reprimanded, coming out of the bathroom with several towels and Sam groaned miserably, tugging back the bedcovers anyway.

"D-d-don't care, cold," he stuttered, trying to shrug off Dean's hand on his arm, keeping him from laying down.

"You'll care when you're sick. Just hold still for a minute, will you?"

"Dean!" Sam said miserably, cowering under Dean's rough handling as his brother put a towel on his head and started rubbing vigorously, and Sam was instantly brought back to being five years old, Dean rubbing a towel over his head just like this after a bath in some motel just like the one they were in right now.

Just when Sam was starting to feel a bit dizzy Dean stopped, pulling the towel off his head and smoothing his hair back out of his eyes gently before tossing the wet towel aside and picking up a dry one, wrapping it around Sam's shoulders and giving them the same treatment.

Sam was fairly sure that if he had any blood left in his extremities, he would be blushing at Dean's acute attention on him, but as it was, he could only shiver miserably and whine as Dean dried him off efficiently.

"God, you're such a pansy. Almost done, hold your horses," Dean gruffed at him, finally putting the towels aside and pulling back the covers, helping Sam swing his legs up onto the bed and under them.

Sam sank gratefully into the sheets, closing his eyes and pulling the blankets tight around his body as he continued to shake miserably.

He heard the sound of Dean pulling the blankets from his own bed before their added weight was on top of him, the extra layers feeling better than he could have ever imagined blankets could feel.

"I'll be right back, ok Sammy?" Dean said, patting him on the shoulder firmly and Sam could only hum in acknowledgement, listening to Dean fussing with something before the sound of the door snapping shut was the only echo in the room.

Sam curled in tight on his side, feebly trying to rub the circulation back into his limbs and still shivering miserably. By the time Dean got back, his body had started to tingle, the only indication he had that his body was starting to warm at all.

"Alright Sammy, open up," Dean coaxed, setting something on the floor by the bed and unzipping it, then reaching to tug the cover's out of Sam's grasp gently, ignoring Sam's squeak of protest, "Trust me, come on."

Sam opened his eyes to look at Dean grumpily, which Dean ignored in favor of pulling him into an upright position and reaching into his bag to pull a hoodie out of it and jamming it over Sam's head.

"Oh my god," Sam panted, pushing his arms up into the sleeves and pulling the hood over his head as rapidly as he could when he realized where Dean had gone.

"You owe me fifty cents," Dean informed him, reaching into the bag for a pair of dryer-warmed sweatpants next, "and you're lucky the laundromat down the street is 24/7."

"Oh god, I love you," Sam groaned, pulling the sweatpants up and over his hips after Dean helped him put each leg into them and Dean scoffed, grabbing Sam's ankle to slide a warm sock over his foot.

"Don't be such a hallmark movie, man. Here," Dean grunted, piling their pillows behind Sam's back as Sam pulled the layers of blankets up under his chin again, and Sam's eyes widened at the 24 oz Wawa coffee cup Dean picked up from the bedside table and held out to him, "Hot chocolate."

Sam held out a shaking hand for it, and Dean sighed, putting it down on the table again before Sam could take it.

"Hey! What're you-" Sam started, then frowned when Dean leaned down to unlace his boots and toe them off.

"Scoot over," Dean commanded, and Sam raised his eyebrows so high they almost disappeared into his hair, "What? You want it to end up all over you? Move over!"

Dean plopped himself down next to Sam once his brother made room for him, kicking his legs up and crossing his ankles as he slid his arm around Sam's shoulders and used the other to pick up the cup again, bringing it up toward Sam's face.

Sam extended his shaking hand for a second time, placing it over Dean's and guiding the hot chocolate up to his mouth.

"Christ, your fingers are freaking icicles," Dean complained, but Sam was too busy taking careful, grateful swallows of the hot, chocolate bliss to care.

"Oh god, I love the east coast," Sam murmured between sips, "Wawa has the best hot drinks."

Dean laughed at that, shaking his head with amusement as he helped Sam hold the cup to his mouth again.

"Any better?" Dean asked ten minutes later, the hot chocolate half gone and Sam's shivers significantly subsided.

"I'm starting to feel my legs and arms again," Sam informed him, and Dean nodded.

"Good. You won't mind me having some of this then," Dean smirked, taking a long pull of hot chocolate and Sam nudged him with his shoulder crossly.

"Hey! I very much mind, thank you!" Sam protested and Dean chuckled, licking his lips and wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Where's your Christmas spirit, Sam? Aren't the holidays all about sharing?" Dean said innocently, and Sam gave him a look, so Dean changed tactics, "Hey dude, I bought it to begin with. So stand in line."

Sam just sighed, rolling his eyes and shuffling down to settle more firmly against Dean's side, taking full advantage of his brother's warmth while he could.

"Go buy another one," Sam said sleepily, reaching for the cup again and Dean snorted, but let Sam drink from it.

"I ain't going out in that crap again. It's snowing now."

"Sounds like tomorrow is going to be a hot chocolate for breakfast kind of day, then," Sam smiled, the long, slow pulls of the pure, chocolate awesome pooling comfortingly in his stomach.

"Sounds like," Dean acknowledged, rubbing Sam's arm as he took a few swallows for himself, "Your skin hurt anywhere? Feel numb still?"

"Nah," Sam answered sleepily, "No frostbite. I'm good."

"Good," Dean grunted, letting Sam finish off the last of the drink before twisting slightly to put the empty cup on the bedside table.

"Thanks, Dean," Sam said quietly, and Dean squeezed his shoulder.

"Go to sleep, Sam."

He did. And the hot chocolate waiting for him for breakfast tomorrow was just as good as it had been the night before. Only this time, he didn't have to share.