So I seem to have this love of roughing Dean up a bit. Not too much. I guess we all have our kinks. Anyway, this is basically just an exercise in bromance. No real plot just best friend love. Ryback's here too because every tale needs an antagonist and while I'm sure he's actually a lovely fella, it fits in better to make him an asshole. Sorry dude. I'll write you nice next time (I'm lying).

For anyone wondering about my other Dean fic, don't worry, both of these stories are fully written so it's just a case of putting that up. Since that's the long one I'll keep posting it twice weekly and put this one up every week. For those of you not wondering, sorry about the detour there!

1.

How they had ended up travelling with Ryback neither Dean nor Roman was entirely sure. Yet there he was, asleep on the back seat and snoring like a nasally-challenged moose. In and out, snuffle and snort – his lips and cheeks flapping under the effort.

Roman frowned and leant closer to the windshield; trying to blink through the thick flakes of snow. On top of the snoring, the weather had drawn in on them, buffeting their rental like a tent on a hill. The wipers were pounding up and down squeakily but still the whiteness seemed to increase. If Roman wasn't careful he'd lose the highway entirely and the thought made his knuckles tighten stiffly round the wheel.

Beside him, Dean dropped his cell phone down heavily and shook his head,

"It's no good man. We gotta be in some, like, satellite blackspot. I can't get nothin' – I don't know where we are. Geez, is it me, or is this shit getting heavier?"

Glancing through the windshield he blinked in incredulity and Roman's snort was wry in return,

"It's not just you babe."

"Seen any signs yet?"

"Nope," the Big Dog shook his head, "But then I can't see much of any damn thing, so it doesn't mean we haven't gone past 'em. I just ain't seen 'em."

Despite the gloomy sentence, Dean nodded resolutely, habitually chewing up and down on his gum.

"Well then, it looks like we're gonna have to nineties this mutha,"

Roman blinked,

"We're going to have to what?"

Dean leaned forward and slapped open the glove box and as a flood of orange light splashed out brightly, Roman glanced across at him and frowned. A map appeared suddenly – a bit torn and crumpled – but Dean still produced it like he'd found a Viking horde.

Ah.

Roman got it.

"Ta da! I hereby present the nineties. No GPS, no internet and no fuckin' cells."

"Well maybe not for you," Roman countered, teasingly, "But some of us were rocking those construction brick phones."

"Ah," Dean nodded, "The full Wall Street asshole. Did you wear a nice pin-stripe and carry a briefcase full of blow?"

Roman chuckled,

"You mean when I was thirteen?"

"Why? That strange?" Dean shrugged back idly, "In my neighbourhood that would not have been weird."

"Which explains a whole lot."

Dean grinned and stuck out his tongue in amusement before opening up the map book with a dusty sounding creak. Clearly it hadn't been used in decades – that was if ever, which Dean had cause to doubt. It wasn't one of those flip-books either, instead it was a full-on, open-out sheet, which quickly swamped the front of their rental and reached almost clean to the driver's side door,

"What the hell – is that the whole of Canada?"

Dean scanned it quickly,

"You know what? I think it is."

"Any chance there's a little pin in there saying where we are?"

"Nope."

"Yeah, I figured as much."

"But," Dean countered, scouring the paper and dragging a finger up and down the brown-marked roads, "Thanks to my rockin' navigational prowess, I'm pretty sure I can actually work out where we are."

Roman grinned, accepting the challenge,

"I want it to within at least twenty metres."

"I'll do it ten,"

"Oh really? Big words."

There was a snore from the backseat and it cut off their teasing, drawing a stifled grin from each man. The situation was just so nutso – being lost, the blizzard, snoring beauty, the map. Roman shook his head in amusement and rubbed at his stubble,

"So remind me again how we ended up with him?"

"What, you talking about Rip Van Winkle? I don't know man, he just kinda showed up. I turned around in the rental car place and he was just stood there, like a big old lost puppy or, you know, some kind of hog,"

Roman grinned as another snore rattled them, the snuffle only adding to the porcine effect. Not once since they had set off had Ryback offered them assistance; with driving, with paying, with navigating, with shit. It probably wasn't all that surprising – since Ryback was a pretty antisocial kind of guy – but it didn't help Roman's growing suspicion that it was actually he and Dean who'd been taken for a ride. At this point he was running a glorified taxi but without the meter tallying the cost.

"Okay," Dean offered, stabbing down a finger and tearing a tiny little rip in the map, "Fuck. I think I've figured out where we are or – you know – were the last time we saw a sign and it looks like there's some sort of town coming up, so if we don't see it in the next ten minutes – ,"

"We're definitely lost?"

Dean grinned broadly,

"Pretty much."

"Then I guess we'd better keep our eyes peeled for lights then."

"Aye, aye Captain, I'll take first watch."

Around them, the highway seemed deserted, which wasn't surprising given the storm. The locals all seemed to be tucked inside smugly – probably laughing at the out-of-town schmucks on the road. Roman wouldn't have blamed them for it either since – given the choice – he'd have been in the warm. But that was the wonderful thing about wrestling, there was no choice. It was either show up or go home and even in the midst of a blizzard they were all of them too darn pig-headed to say no.

Still the snow continued to flurry, painting the landscape with a vivid luminescence that battered off the slowly encroaching night. On their left side dry twigs took up most of the vista in a never-ending bank of pencil thin trees, that stood resolutely under the blizzard like sentinels protecting the rising mountain peaks. On their right side however, the ground sloped off stiffly, leading towards a wide frozen lake. The ice forming over it looked smooth and almost beautiful it was so unspoilt by any human hand. If it wasn't so cold and downright scary, Roman could almost have marvelled at it all. But then Dean leant forward in his seat in excitement and pointed quickly, breaking the mood,

"Hey, is that a light, or am I going crazy?"

Roman squinted,

"I think that's a light."

"That means a town, baby. What did I tell you?" Dean threw his arms up, voice rising to a yell, "I'm a map-reading god – I'm fuckin' Chuck Norris. You want a grid reference? Shit, I'll give you that as well."

Roman chuckled, enjoying the triumph, which was just so fucking adorably Dean. What neither of them had banked on however – or remembered – was their hitch hiking Sleeping Beauty squashed in the back and at the combination of laughter and yelling, he suddenly woke up again and broke in with a growl,

"Hey, you guys mind turning the noise down? Some of us are trying to get some shut eye back here."

"Yeah, we'd noticed," Dean snorted in derision, "You were snoring like a god damn bear and not like Baloo or Yogi either, not some cute little animated one. You were more like the one in Prophecy that's all mutated and kills everyone."

Ryback merely blinked at him slowly,

"I'm like what?"

Roman stifled his chuckle in a coughing fit, his lips curving jovially at Dean's side-eyed grin. It was a strange and pointless talent his friend had – the gift to utterly bamboozle at will. Even people that really knew him still got a little bit caught out at times. But Roman wasn't one of them and nor had he ever been. He had always just got Dean's flow. Ryback on the other hand, didn't even try to and as the best friends sniggered he peered dead ahead,

"Is that snow?"

Geez it was like they were riding with Kojak.

"Yeah man," Dean replied with a flourish of his hands that essentially said the words well duh, "It's Canada. I mean, what were you hoping for? Sandy beaches? A swimming pool?"

"No but – ," Ryback blinked in confusion, "There's, like, a lot of it."

"Tell me something I don't know."

As Roman had feared the highway was fading, blending into the white-banked sides and with the light continuing to weaken around them, he was having to follow the waning tracks in the road. It would keep them straight but it was already slippery and as the back skated slightly he let out a curse,

"Shit."

"You're doing great buddy," Dean replied instantly, tracing their route with his finger on the map, "That town should be coming up like, any minute, or my name ain't Bear Ambrose Grylls."

"I thought you were Norris."

Dean shrugged,

"That's how good I am. I'm not just one of them baby, I'm both."

As the grinning tones of his best friend swept over him, Roman felt himself relax. His fingers unclenched around the wheel just a little and his shoulders dropping down from where they'd clung round his neck. Dean's unique brand of Ambrose reassurance had done wonders. Well, it had on him at least, because as the rustling of the map drew Ryback's attention, he jabbed down accusingly at the thin crumpled sheet,

"What the hell's that? Are you shitting me – we're lost out here? Is that what's happening? Is that what this is?"

His chunky finger landed somewhere in Nunavut and promptly tore another fucking hole and in response Dean folded the yellowed page closer and frowned at him hotly,

"Hey man, look out."

Ryback however was not about to be mollified and suddenly it seemed the whole storm was Dean's fault.

"This is crazy. Are you some kind of moron?"

Dean's face twitched visibly. Am I some kind of what? Fortunately however it was Roman who responded, already having heard more than enough. No one insulted Dean – fucking ever – and definitely not anywhere near his watch.

"Hey. The storm knocked out the GPS so the map's just covering our bases, alright? Don't be throwing insults at him – not unless you want to walk."

Ryback grumbled something incoherent and Roman's eyes found him out in the mirror,

"You got something you wanna add?"

The responding silence was resentfully clear and in the swirling vortex of alpha-male tension, Dean couldn't help but smile just a bit. His childhood had been rough – to put it fucking mildly – and not only had he spent the majority of it dirt poor, he had also been lanky and truckloads of quirky which a good combination for the mean streets had not made. He'd fucking lost count of the times he'd been set upon, beaten up, choked out and everything else. He'd had friends sure – he'd always had buddies – but nothing unbreakable. Nothing that strong. Then Roman had shown up and given him a brotherhood and someone that always had his back.

Adulthood had been kind to Dean Ambrose, especially when it came to his friends.

As Roman's eyes slid across to him silently, Dean threw his comrade a sly little wink. Thanks for that man. The Big Dog snorted, his lopsided smile speaking volumes of its own.

Up in the distance the little light was drawing in on them and shining like a beacon through the thick, swirling snow. Closer up, Roman could see it was a porch-light and it was joined from several windows by a warm orange glow. Somewhere inside he guessed a family was sitting, maybe round a table or a crackling fire – warm and cosy, snug and protected. Was it wrong to be so jealous of people he didn't know? Sighing he glanced round and noticed Dean staring, as their brains murmured the exact same two bitter words.

Lucky bastards.

"Soon," he murmured, "That'll be us soon – a fire, a feed – ,"

Dean grinned at him,

"A drink?"

Roman chuckled and shook his head fondly,

"Whatever you want babe – whatever you want."

After all, it seemed unlikely they would make it fucking anywhere so what could it actually hurt to agree? Sensing the easement, Ryback leant in again and cleared his throat boldly.

An apology? Wow.

"Do you even know how to read that thing properly?"

Ah.

Roman's eyes rolled. Obviously not and as the focus shifted back to Dean's supposed lack of map skills, the Big Dog snorted and jerked across a thumb,

"Who him? Haven't you heard? He's Chuck fucking Norris,"

"Or Bear Ambrose Grylls. I'm not precious about which."

Ryback blinked back at them both in bewilderment,

"What the hell does that mean? He's what?"

Roman grinned wide, Dean's talent was rubbing off on him and knowing it the man in question chuckled back. It wasn't a noise that made Ryback any happier and sensing that he was the butt of the hilarity his anger grew then promptly broke,

"This isn't funny. There's a blizzard out there and I wanna know we're not completely lost."

Dean groaned heavily,

"Not this again, look – ," turning sideways he moved the ripped sheet towards the middle, angling it down so their passenger could see, "This is where we are, we're travelling on this road and this is the town – 'kay man? We're practically there."

"Which means – ," Roman added in case it wasn't obvious, "That no one's lost. Believe that now?"

Ryback huffed. He didn't seem satisfied and with his very next sentence he made that quite clear,

"Well I think somebody else should map-read. Just to make sure we get out of here."

"What?"

The response came from Roman and Dean in tandem as they both tried to work out whether they'd misheard. It was Ryback's solid features which told them they hadn't and he stubbornness only confused them more. Or at least it did Roman – Dean was more outraged.

"You ain't getting my map, man."

"Come on Ambrose – ,"

"Get your own."

Roman stayed quiet, not sure what was happening, much less what to say about it all. What in the hell was wrong with Ryback? He was acting like a wrestling parody for god's sake – an angry, entitled, thick-set, idiot and one who had some kind of issue with Dean.

As a gust of chill wind blew hard across the highway, Roman felt the back of the car step out again and he struggled to keep the steering wheel centred, muttering cuss words across his clenched teeth. It was just the lull their passenger had been waiting on and to give him his credit, Ryback moved fast. As Dean turned to offer support to their pilot, the bigger man positively dived through the gap, enclosing stubby digits around the frail map-book and tugging it roughly,

"Fucking give me that."

"Jesus Christ man, what the hell?"

Instinctively Dean's hand closed tightly around it, holding it firmly but mostly through shock. Ryback was thrashing like a damn barracuda and he shouldered Roman in the midst of the fight. The steering wheel jerked a little bit further and the back of their rental slid round a fraction more.

"Careful."

Ryback didn't listen, so intent was his focus and he hissed as he ripped the map clean from Dean's hands. Unfortunately however, he only got half of it because as he pulled at the weather-beaten sheeting like an animal, it separated suddenly and blocked Roman's line of sight,

"Hey – ,"

It was too late for shouting. It was too late to do anything as the wheels – which had already been battling the ice – locked up completely and slung them off-kilter, spinning the rental in a full fucking circle before bumping them over the opposite curb. The movement flung everyone out of their seats giddily and then down again hard as the wheels hit the bank. The frozen river lay just down beyond them, but luckily the rental sunk into a drift and brought them all to a juddering standstill that rattled their brains up and down in their heads.

For a moment no one spoke, then Roman glanced over and took a shaky look at Dean,

"You alright?" he asked croakily, putting a hand out and laying it over his stunned friend's sleeve, "Hey, look at me. Are you alright?"

Shell-shocked blue orbs blinked across in his direction and then seemed to lock on to what was being asked. Sitting himself upright Dean nodded haltingly and coughed in astonishment,

"Uh, yeah – I think so. You?"

Roman's eyes swept over his surroundings. In truth he was paying as much attention to their rental car as he was to the various parts of himself. Nothing was broken, nothing was fractured, the engine was still purring. He sighed,

"Yeah, I'm good and on the plus side we haven't lost our deposit."

"No, but I almost lost my lunch," Dean grinned at him winningly, "That counts, right?"

"You also lost your map. I'm sorry man,"

Pieces of the paper lay scattered on the console and Roman leant forward and brushed them back off. They fluttered towards the floor like hoard of lost butterflies where Dean collected them into a forlorn little heap,

"Guess you really can't go back."

He meant to the nineties although Roman's words of comfort were promptly cut off by a voice from behind. In their haphazard skid right across the main carriage way, Ryback had been flung from the seat to the floor. It had taken him a while to pick himself up again – landing ass-first on an ice scraper hadn't helped – but now that he was free he was positively furious and keen to share his feelings with them,

"Isn't anyone going to fucking ask how I am?"

"Well you're up and you're talking," Roman frowned back, "So based on that I'm guessing you're fine?"

"You realise I could have been flung through the windshield?"

"Not if you'd been wearing your belt like I told you when we left the damn rental place three hours ago. Besides, this whole damn situation is your fault, so if you're looking for sympathy or a hug or whatever, you can look somewhere else 'cos you ain't getting it from me."

Dean clamped down on his tongue to stop from chuckling and in the stormy-sounding silence, Ryback huffed – as in actually fucking blew a stroppy breath out like a middle-aged woman at the back of a queue.

"I don't see how any of this is my fault."

Dean barked in astonishment,

"Come on man, you don't? When you're up here shouting, ripping the damn map in half, shouldering the driver, fucking blocking his view – ,"

"You want to be careful playing the blame game here Ambrose, since technically this mess is your fault,"

"My fault?" Dean echoed, face twisted in confusion, "How the hell did you work that out?"

"How did I work it out? Fucking simple. You're the one who – ,"

"That's enough!"

Without any warning Roman virtually exploded and his deep tones positively vibrated through the car. Dean raised his brows by an inch but said nothing, knowing that the outburst wasn't really aimed at him but at the whole thing in general and at Ryback.

No wait, especially at fucking Ryback.

"Let's just focus on getting to the show in one piece. You sure you're okay babe?"

Turning back to Dean the brown eyes softened and the scruffy blonde smiled.

Not angry with him.

Somewhere behind them Ryback shifted but whether attempting to make himself comfortable or showing his unhappiness Dean couldn't tell. Not that he or Roman really cared much since he was the reason – and screw what he thought about it – he was the reason their car was buried in the snow.

Shifting their rental back into drive, Roman eased his foot across the gas pedal and was rewarded by a powerful sounding growl. The wheels moved with it – they could hear the treads turning and the whole damn chassis bodily jerked – but in terms of covering actual distance they were pretty much helpless.

The car was stuck.

"Damn," Roman sighed and banged on the steering wheel, "That's what I was afraid of."

"Afraid of what? Why? Are we stuck?"

At Ryback's patently obvious questions, Roman groaned and shut his eyes. The guy was an idiot and they were stranded with him. It was going to be a hell of a night. Keen to pull his best friend back out of it however, Dean unclipped his belt with a snap and a sigh,

"Of course we're stuck man, what does it look like? Now are you going to sit in here and play Captain fuckin' Obvious or are you gonna help me push this thing out?"

Dean didn't wait for an answer – he didn't need one, not with the moral high ground on his side – and turning he launched the door wide open and stepped out into the blizzard –

Where the wind promptly hit him like a slap across the face.

Gasping in shock as the iciness clawed him, he fumbled to zip his leather jacket further up, shuddering as the breath was ripped clean from him and coughing in astonishment,

"Holy crap."

On the backseat Ryback shrank into the upholstery and peered out wide-eyed,

"You want me to go out there – in that?"

Even Roman looked ever so slightly dubious,

"Dean, come on man – ,"

Pink cheeks peered back through the whipping flakes of snow and even though it was obvious that Dean was half-frozen the teeth still chattered out a bullish reply,

"What? I mean, we're stuck aren't we? Well then, we need to get unstuck, right?"

From Dean's perspective the issue was a simple one and faced with straight forward Ambrose logic, Roman couldn't help but grin. Dean was the best friend he'd ever had – hands down – and part of the reason that he valued him so fiercely was that unfussy, upbeat, no nonsense kind of groove. Dean was by no means a complicated person and so it was therefore only natural that his plans followed suit.

Unclipping his seatbelt, Roman nodded and poppered his jacket a little further up,

"Right," he agreed, "Let's go check out the damage and get the hell out of here to someplace warm."

Actually getting out however, was one of those things that was easier said than done, thanks to the sheer voracity of the blizzard that was whipping around their stranded rental car. The temperature of the air was actually painful, as if a thousand tiny teeth were nipping at his skin and it made him instinctively turtle deeper into his jacket, thankful for down linings and thick ski gloves. Never again would be bemoan winter clothing given to him as Christmas gifts.

Thanks mom.

As Roman took a moment or two to acclimatise, Dean tried to rouse the rest of their group, stamping an awkward path through the snow bank and unceremoniously hauling open the back door. Perhaps as was to be expected, Ryback was less than encouraged by the move,

"What the fuck man?! It's fucking cold."

"Oh right, sorry," Dean shrugged blankly, trying and failing to sound sincere, "Probably best to get out and move around a bit. Get the blood kind of circulating, you know?"

Pointedly he kept the door open, his face not brooking any dissent and sighing heavily Ryback shifted and pulled his hat on, grumbling with every last effort he made.

"Freeze to death…fucking douchebag…"

Dean remained unmoved by the performance and instead went to join Roman at the back of the car, arriving in a haphazard on-the-heels, half-stumble as the mulchy snow gave way beneath his feet.

"Whoa."

Roman was crouched down low beside the rear wheels, using his waterproof gloves to scrape a path. Dean's gloves were fingerless and impossibly woollen and as he stooped down to help a palm landed on his chest,

"Hey, I got this," Roman offered, "Don't need you getting frostbite on top of everything else."

Dean smiled fondly,

"Over-protective fucker."

"Would you have me any other way?"

"Probably not."

The love-in was interrupted by a grumbled string of cuss-words as Ryback suddenly came stamping into view. Unfortunately for him he skidded on an ice patch and as his stocky arms flew out in blind panic, he stumbled forward and landed elbow-first against the car,

"Hey," Dean grinned, "I literally just did that – like – totally the same place and everything man."

Ryback's narrowed eyes glowed hot fury. Clearly he was not a fan of unplanned comedic symmetry or snowstorms, or travelling or company in general. There didn't seem to be a whole lot the man actually liked and blowing out a long hot breath that curled like smoke in the frozen gale before him, Dean turned back to Roman brightly,

"So, what's the verdict Big Dog? We stranded?"

His best friend snorted,

"Man, I hope not. I figure maybe we just need a little traction. With you two pushing we should make it out okay. Won't know until we try though."

"No time like the present, right?"

Straight-Forward Ambrose – there he fucking was again and as usual Roman couldn't stop himself from smiling as he raised a glove hand and let Dean haul him to his feet,

"I guess not. Hey, you alright to push this thing?"

"Who me?" Dean echoed, feigning mortal insult, "Sure, besides, it's not just me. I've got The Mummy Returns over here as back-up. Trust me. We'll get out just fine."

Ryback's face twitched,

"I'm warning you Ambrose – ,"

Dean held his hands up, ever the innocent and Roman snorted but fixed them with a look.

"Can you two last five minutes without killing each other if I go back and start her up?"

In response his best friend saluted him smartly and Ryback merely curled a lip. It wasn't the most reassuring reception but with the snow still falling and the wind whipping round Roman didn't have the luxury of doubting them and with one final look he headed back for his seat.

"When I hit the gas, give it everything you've got."

Ryback watched him go like some sort of eagle, eyeing him from above a lofty mountain stoop. At the sound of the door slamming his attention switched completely and he spun back to Dean with a dark look in his eye. It was time for payback for those cutesy fucking nicknames and asides that everyone else laughed about. Why? Ryback simply didn't get it – never had done either. He just didn't like the guy. As far as he was concerned Dean Ambrose was an oddity. A god damn bat in a colony of birds. Hanging upside down when everyone was perching and setting off when the rest of them were settled for the night. He just didn't fit but everyone still loved him and the more the thought festered, the more heated Ryback got. Somebody needed to knock Ambrose down a peg and he could literally think of no better time. The snow was swirling, Roman was occupied and the man himself was bent in towards the rental, positioning his shoulder flush against the trunk,

"You alright to take the other side?"

It was a simple question and spoken with a lightness that highlighted how oblivious Ambrose really was. Clearly he had already moved past their disagreement but the fact that he was so fucking magnanimous only served to make Ryback more cross and before the bulky man even knew what he was doing, he'd reached across and whipped the hat from Dean's head.

"Hey – ,"

Ryback was a child – he felt like a five year old – but damn it made him smile to swing the garment round and round and even better was the pay-off when Ambrose looked up at him, equal parts baffled and deeply annoyed,

"What the hell? Did you just Bogart my hat?"

"You want it?"

Ryback dangled it teasingly and for the first time since they'd bumped into him three hours earlier, Dean watched the rounded face break into a smile. It was oddly unsettling and yet he was the lunatic? The guy was insane. Big and insane. Sighing mildly Dean reached his hand out, only to watch the hat jerk away,

"Come on, it's like, minus ten out here,"

"Not until you say it,"

"Say fucking what dude?" Dean growled back and Jesus Christ it was like being at school again, with one of those bullies who had thought it was funny to steal his shit and throw it around. It had been bad enough to deal with when he'd been a gangly teenager – there was no fucking way he was dealing with it now.

"Say you're a chicken shit."

"What?" Dean screwed his face up, "Why the hell would I say that?"

"Because you are a fucking chicken shit and I've got your hat. What are you gonna do about it?"

Really?

Dean blinked. The whole was fast becoming totally ridiculous and Dean could feel his patience wearing thin. What the hell was wrong with the guy anyway? Were they not giving him a free fucking ride to the show, which – minor car crash notwithstanding – was a damn sight more charitable than anyone else. The rest of the roster had literally abandoned him and not for the first time, Dean could see why.

"You want it? Fine," he shrugged, "You keep it. I hope you're real fucking happy together."

As a piece of snow flew into his mouth, he coughed and turned away from the blizzard, trying to ignore his fast numbing ears and the fact that his whole head painfully craved warmth. What he needed was his god damn hat, not that he was about to admit it and as an unawares Roman floored the gas, Ryback finally – thankfully – lost interest.

Well, sort of.

"Hey, lunatic, here's your hat."

With a flick of his wrist he suddenly tossed it sideways, grinning as it was caught like a paper bag by the wind and sent spiralling away down the snow-covered bank.

"Hey man – ,"

Ryback smirked back at him smugly,

"Hey Ambrose, are you gonna go and get that?"

Fucker.

Dean may not have said it physically but his eyes relayed it none the less and as he trudged off down the bank towards it, he banged on the rental to get Roman to quit. No point in draining the whole damn gas tank while the pair of them stood and bickered in the snow.

His hat had landed by the edge of the lake. Not on it – luckily – but teetering over the side and practically skimming the opaque-looking ice, which made actually getting near it an arduous task. Up beside the wide modern highway, the ground had been even and mostly flat, but as the earth fell steeply away towards the water Dean found it pitted and more difficult to guess. The thick white covering of snow didn't help him and he stumbled and sunk in up to his ankles, cursing both inwardly and externally as well.

"Fuckin' Ryback."

Somewhere behind him he heard the car door slam, although the clarity of the noise was somewhat lost. Despite that though, he guessed it was Roman, coming to see what the hold-up was and suddenly keen to get back and gets things moving, Dean sped up a little.

That was a mistake.

As Dean stepped down heavily right beside his beanie, the snowfall he had carved a path through suddenly turned to ice and without any warning or the chance to balance, he was powerless to stop himself from sliding clean over and landing roughly on the small of his back.

But that wasn't even the worst of it either because fuck if he didn't keep on sliding – slithering straight over the lip of the bank.

"Shit."

His heart did a somersault but barely got to finish before his heels crashed heavily into the ice. The crack as they bust through it was a horrible sound and as he realised what it was, Dean's eyes widened in horror.

No, no, no – fuck, fuck – no.

His hands scrabbled wildly, trying to grab the snowfall in a last-ditch effort to slow himself down. But try as he might there was nothing he could hold onto and he plunged with a yelp into the freezing cold lake.

Hit the button, you know what to do. Tell me what you think so far...