A/N: I know I haven't been writing much, this year has been a little rough, but things are getting better and exciting things are coming up. And this (well these) are some gifts for you, in the tradition of those little calendars we all love so much, I give you the Muffy version of an Advent Calendar. Hurt Dean, hurt Sam, Hurt Winchesters, Hurt Emrys. One story a day, until Christmas, and who knows I might be inspired to do a twelve days after by then! There will be four very short stories, some longer one shots and yes I will get chapters of Gifts and Bad Day up as well this festive season.

A/N II So here is the first, a little hurt!Dean.

Snowflakes and Icicles

Chapter One

Drifting Flakes

The snow drifted down lazily, the flakes catching in the branches, whispering softly on the way down. Dean tracked a particularly large flake as it fell, fluttering in the breeze, dropping almost like a living thing from the sky. It turned gracefully as it came down, closer and closer, until it finally landed on his face. It stayed where it was, he was far too cold for it to melt, so the giant flake sat on his nose, mocking him.

He focused on it, wondering if he could make it melt with the power of his glare. Sammy always said he could melt metal when he really got going, but Dean was beginning to think that was just little brother rhetoric. Ha, Sammy, see? I use big words. He wished the delirium was fever, if it was a fever he might survive. This was so much worse.

He'd been tossed into a nearly frozen river by a seriously annoyed wendigo. He'd tried to fight, but the current had tugged him downstream. Dean could still hear his brother screaming his name as the water closed over his head. Sometime later he'd hit a rock—or something solid at least—and managed to pull his numb body up onto it, rolling off it and onto the shore.

And here I am, watching it snow. Let Sammy be okay.

Someday there would be a hunt that was easy, that didn't go wrong. He sighed. It wasn't going to matter soon, the cold was gone, he was starting to slip towards unconsciousness. And that was bad. The bad kind of bad that you didn't come back from. Fine Christmas present for Sam. And this year, you get a Deansicle under the tree. Didn't seem fair to his brother.

Oh god, let Sammy be okay.

His eyes closed.

"Sorry, Sammy," he whispered, lips numb in the cold.

"Dean!" Rough hands grabbed him. He was suddenly hauled up against something warm. "Dean!"

"Sam?"

"Dean, oh god, you're cold." The warmth tightened around him. "Just hang on."

To Be Continued