BUMBLES DON'T BOUNCE

-- THEY BITE --

By: Karen B.

Summary: Two shot. Snow monsters, fevers, and heroes…oh my! Nothing fancy. Hurt, confused, fevered Sam Brutally handsome, caring, hero Dean.

Disclaim:. I do not own the boys. They are merely action figures in my mind's eye. One eye -- not two. LOL. Kripke is the one with the double vision! Gotta love it!

Thank you very much for your time!

Vaya Con Dios,

Karen

He woke in a sweat. Unable to open his eyes and lost in a dark, damp, faraway galaxy. Sam knew he was drifting in and out of sleep. Once he remembered his eyes opening, but everything was dim and gray, and he couldn't fixate on anything. He coughed and tried to take a breath -- the action bringing nothing but chest pain. He was alone and trapped. How long had he been here? Where was here? His head was spinning, stuffed in a cluttered closet with no door. Or, maybe he was chained to a wall in a dark dungeon. Was there nothing more to his world? Only blackness? He was in unknown territory. Floating amidst the God awful pain - so cold his skin prickled. In the black silence all Sam heard was his own troubled breathing. He tried to control the wheezing, but that only made him choke and sputter. His eyelids refused to work, all gummy and glued shut.

"How you feelin'?" Someone gently squeezed his hand.

"Eh." Sam jolted nervously to the sudden sound, but instinctively squeezed the hand in return.

"Try to rest." The voice spoke directly into his ear.

Sam turned toward the sound. "What?" he gasped.

"This way." Gentle fingers turned his head "Over here," the voice laughed lightly. "Left, right... tough call, huh? You really are messed up, man."

Messed up?

No, he wasn't messed up.

He was hot.

He was cold.

He was hot and cold -- the best of both worlds.

Sam searched for his train of thought, but the train must have derailed. Was this a heating and air-conditioning company gone mad? His body unable to regulate its temperature. He tried to unglue his eyes -- that'd be a no go.

"Where am I?" He heard himself talking -- body disconnected from his brain. "My brother. Need my broth...Dean."

"I got you."

"Who --?" Sam coughed. "Don't know -- you --who?" he groaned, barely making sense even to himself.

"Of course you know who."

A hand stroked up and down his arm rough but soft, caressing. That same low voice kept talking, but Sam didn't understand all the words. Something about being exceptionally well- dressed, dashingly handsome, and dangerously debonair.

"Stop," Sam murmured, jerking his arm away from the feather-light touch.

"Okay, okay, just for today you can pretend to be the dashingly handsome one, but man, nobody gets to be dangerously debonair but me," a soft chuckle.

The hand didn't do as Sam had asked, and he was too weak to make anyone do anything. "Stop now!" Sam desperately tried to free his mind of its jumbled confusion.

"Aw, come on, tone it down with the flipping out, kiddo." The voice sounded frustrated, but the hand brushing across his forehead remained calm-- cool against searing heat -- the sensation soothing and scary at the same time.

Deciding scary out ruled soothing -- Sam pushed the hand away, wanting to yell out, 'don't touch me.'

"Ugh," a moan escaped his lips instead.

"Sh, it's okay. Let me do this. Don't fight."

Trembling fingers eased over his chest, unbuttoned his shirt. Someone's hot breath breezing across his chilled neck. "No, get away!" Sam arched backward.

The fingers paused only briefly, then continued to work their way down. Unable to protect himself, Sam could only weakly thrash about. The fingers tugged at his shirt until the material slipped away. Bare-chested, Sam shivered from fear more than from cold.

"Just want to help you, pal. This will feel good. Have to get you cooled down."

Cooled down? He was a block of ice -- or was he on fire -- he forgot which.

"No…it isn't good. D-don't. Don't need to c-cool down." Sam's voice shook in time with his body. "No!" He flinched violently to no avail."Ghost."

Someone laughed -- this wasn't funny.

"I'm no ghost, and this is no tricky final exam." The voice was kind, but Sam had no reason to trust it, hands flailing. "Stop, buddy. Just stop. Try to wipe that freaky, confused look off your face." The voice struggled to keep steady, but Sam heard the slight warble.

Maybe he was getting to this guy, and like any Winchester would, Sam diligently kept fighting.

"I…I… don't…stay away." Sam thrashed about.

The spirit didn't seem to like that much, restraining Sam further.

Eventually, all the activity of trying to Houdini out of this, started Sam coughing loudly, hacking up something gross. "Ughnnn!" He stopped struggling, grabbing his chest in pain.

"Oh, man, dude. Easy. Be right back."

Sam still couldn't see a thing, just kept trying to untangle the maddening riddle. Who? What? Where? When? Why? He heard an angry curse, heard something fall and shatter into a million pieces -- sensing anger -- anger that scared him. Sam was certain that whatever had him was eventually going to kill him. He tried to pay closer attention -- track the noises around the room. He turned his head -- following -- trying to hear better. Was he blindfolded? He didn't think so. Just couldn't penetrate the fog he was in, hard as he tried. Sam's heart started pounding, his temperature rising higher.

His eyes flicked open for a second, but all Sam saw was inky shadows. Whoever this was, whatever its sick plan, it wasn't going to work. He wouldn't allow it. Something damp and cool touched his throat. Had he been drugged? For what reason? What secret did he hold deep inside that even he couldn't remember -- he'd never fucking tell.

"Ah!" Sam struggled, like an untamable horse trying to get away, but his body didn't cooperate. "Not going to work. W-won't work," Sam said, head rocking back and forth -- the only part of his body he seemed to have any control of.

"I'm not going to hurt you." The voice was soft, but desperate. "C'mon, President of the nerd club, you friggin' know that."

Sam's forehead wrinkled trying to remember. "I don't know," he uttered. Nothing made sense.

"It'll be all right."

"What? How?" He was freezing -- again with that damn cold cloth -- making him feel better, but no way he'd let the spirit know that little tidbit. "Leave me alone," Sam gagged, batting the hand away. The cloth just kept coming back -- relentless bastard. Sam was powerless to stop it, only able to twitch and jerk away from the coolness. "Please, no," he pleaded.

"It's for your own good. I gotta get this fever under control." The voice sounded panicked.

"Uhhh," Sam moaned, also panicking, unsure of what was happening. "Don't like…like it," he stammered, making a special effort to stop shivering -- but couldn't

"I know you don't like it. I know. Sh, now. Do this for me, okay?"

"Me," Sam repeated, forced to endure the ice bath, gentle hands only serving to confuse him more. Why would a spirit care so much about him?

"Thirsty? " The spirit asked. "How 'bout we get you to drink something, huh?"

Something sounded good. "W-w-water," Sam begged.

He was thirsty, throat scraped raw and bruised. "W--w--wa--ahhhhhh." Sam tried to say the word again, but this time the only sound that came out was a pitiful groan. There was the clinking of glass, a hand slipping under his weighted head -- lifting. Sam tried to flex his neck muscles. Hold his head up on his own, but it was no use, his head wobbled in his captor's palm weakly.

"Let me do all the work." The spirit sounded sad. Something cool touched Sam's lips, and instinctively he gulped. "Hey, not so fast, nerd boy."

The coolness pulled slightly away -- Sam followed it with his mouth. "Mmm...ore," he croaked.

"Go slow this time," the spirit sternly said, the wet coolness touching his lips once more.

It suddenly dawned on Sam, what if the drink was poison? He turned away with a gurgling gag, still supported in the palm of that hand. What little he had drank dribbled out the side of his mouth.

"P-poison," he sputtered

"Don't be a drama queen. We're not star-crossed lovers, and this...this is no tragic Shakespearian play, Juliet."

Sam almost laughed. He couldn't understand why the spirit held a gentleness, and comfort about it, almost making him feel safe. He didn't and couldn't figure out why this ghost should care about him, wishing he knew, but still finding it necessary to escape from whoever this was.

His head was tenderly lowered back onto something soft. "That's enough for now." The annoying cold cloth was back, but this time Sam allowed the touch, unable to resist the coolness on his flaming hot skin.

Still, he complained. "No…no…no."

"All right," the spirit agreed, taking away the cloth. "Just try to keep quiet, Sam."

"Sam," he parroted. "Who?" he swallowed.

"You, little brother," the spirit's voice low, almost fearful.

For a moment Sam listened to the thing's steady breathing, the sound echoing through the room. Suddenly, he felt like he was coming out of a shocked stupor. That voice -- not a ghost -- Dean. How could he not have known sooner? Some of Sam's fear subsided, and he tried to ease upward. The barking cough came back. growing more powerful. Sam flopped down, yet determine to pull himself out of the dungeon.

"Sam?"

"D'e...gaaa." He tried to respond to his brother, biting so hard on his bottom lip to stop from coughing he tasted blood.

The cool compress gently wiped across his lips, then his bare chest. "You're doing really awesome, Sammy. Soon as this snowstorm is over going to get you to a hospital."

Hospital? Doing awesome? What was big brother talking about?

"T-together?" Sam shook, rocking his head agaisnt the softness, realizing he was lying in a bed, flat on his back -- but why?

"Together would be the plan, bro."

Sam frowned, and licked his bloody lip. "You're here?" he questioned, unsure if what he truly was hearing was real -- was Dean.

"I gottcha, Sam, you're not alone."

The cool compress had moved from his chest to pat at the sides of his cheek causing Sam to shiver. "B-burning up, Dean." Sam's chest rattled. "Too, hot."

"Yeah, you are." The cloth touched his forehead, slid to his right temple, his left. A hard shudder ran through Sam's entire buddy. "Sh, sh, I want you to rest," Dean said, quietly.

"Can't."

"Sure you can."

Sam shook his head 'no'. Finally able to get his eyelids half-open, he squinted through the haze. The whole bed shifted, the haze gave-way and Sam connected with a set of green eyes. He knew those eyes -- they looked tired.

"Dean," Sam barely whispered past the harshness of his throat. Man, his brother looked like he'd been running a marathon for a month straight -- face unshaven, eyes sunken and bloodshot.

"You remember what happened?" Dean asked.

"I..." Sam blinked away the pounding in his head. "Last-last I knew… y-you were saying something about me skiing down the bunny slope," Sam coughed, fingers fisting the dirty blanket, pain in his chest causing him to arch away from the bed.

Dean curled his hand around Sam's. "Shh. What can I get you?"

"Can--can…" Sam licked his lips… "Stop the fireworks from going off inside my head."

Dean flashed a smile. "I don't hear any fireworks."

"Funny," Sam wheezed, Dean's smile instantly vanished. "About that bunny slope?" Sam asked, changing position, he grunted in pain. Sam needed to know how he ended up feeling like the walls were crumbling around him. How Dean ended up playing nurse feel-me-up. "W-what happened?" Sam's eyesight cleared. Trying hard to orient himself, he glanced around the room. They were in a small ramshackle cabin, with an oak beam ceiling, rustic wooden floors and a log crackling in a stone fireplace. "How'd we get here?" Sam breathlessly asked, gaze landing back on Dean. "Where is here? What's…"

"Ease up on the third degree, officer," Dean snorted. "Be a good, little Winchestr and I'll tell you, okay?" Sam nodded. "Okay. Once upon a time, there was this chalet," Dean began. "The awesomely handsome and dashing, Dean, just wanted to sit in the damn villa sipping hot coco, watch the cute ski instructor's bumbles bounce…"

"Bumbles?" Sam frowned.

"Can I tell the story?"

"Yes."

"Awesomely handsome and dashing, Dean, not normally a fan of fake ones…" Dean jiggled his upturned palms chest level.

"You desperately need help." Sam rolled his eyes.

"Ski bunny could help me any day, those bumbles sure jump started my engine, Sammy boy."

"Wouldn't take much," Sam mumbled.

"Yeah, well, Yukon, we could be warm and dry, but the tall, lurchy kid with Goldie Locks hair rather hunt and melt the damn Abominable, then hook up."

"The Yeti?" Sam's eyes grew wider. "We found the aboma…abomi…bumble?"

"Sure as hell wasn't Little Miss Muffet that put you out of commission," Dean softened. "You don't remember?"

"It's hazy," Sam admitted, remembering only bits and pieces. "What else?"

"Didn't think the damn thing existed, but you were right." Dean took a breath and continued with his story. "So right, big, bad, nasty aboma…abomi…bumble, whatever you want to call it, caught dashing Dean off guard, cut a nice patch across Goldie Lock's chest and sent the kid airborne past handsome Dean, headlong into a tree," Dean cleared his thoat. "You're sporting an awesome fever..." he said, the fairytale obviously over now. "And you've been really out of it." Dean paused again. "Any of this ringing your bell?"

"Sharp teeth, white fur does," Sam mumbled. "What you do? Play dentist? Yank out all snow monster's teeth?"

"Something like that," Dean continued. "Sam, you brilliantly broke some ribs along with the nasty cut on your chest. We were too far from the lodge, and I remembered passing this cabin."

"H-how?" Sam could barely talk, but Dean seemed to understood what he was asking.

"Wasn't easy. I Fireman carried your ass here. Fluke snowstorm. No phone reception. We're going to have to wait for help." Dean got up and paced the small room.

Sam didn't remember much of anything Dean was talking about. Every muscle ached, his heart raced in his chest, his head hurt and it was difficult to breath.

"You-you all-all right?" Sam asked, needing to know as his attention span was losing its footing again. All the storytelling, making him really tired the way it used to when he was four.

"I'm fine!" Dean blurted out.

"Don't look fine, Dean, you look like you're about to..."

"Explode?" Dean pinned Sam with his gaze. "Sam, it's my fault. I'm the one who thought all this Yeti crap was...well, crap!" Dean waved a frustrated hand in the air. "If I was on alert, like a hunter should be..."

"Dean." Sam blinked hard, concentrating on his next breath. "It's okay. We got him. I'll be fine."

"Snow excuse," Dean laughed.

"You missed your calling," Sam gave a humorous snort.

"So did you. You're fever's so high... I need a ladder to bring it down…ba-da-boom."

"Lame."

"High fever, chills, delirium, broken ribs. Sammy, Big Foot dressed in white -- that's lame. Damn fugly nearly gave you open heart surgery...not so lame."

Dean looked scared. Sam wanted to get up, go to him, but his chest felt heavy and he slipped away back into unconsciousness.

TBC -- very soon!

(Two shot)