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Sam’s been tracking Dean for hours when the blood trail appears, bright and unmistakable against the glistening white. Using his powers he’d have found Dean already, but he’s calling on skills learned in childhood, honed in adulthood. It’s more fun this way.
Dean’s bare feet must be shredded by the crusty snow and the crimson stains grow larger as he starts to lose his footing, exhausted and freezing on the Arctic ice. Sam begins to move faster, need spurred, as always, by blood. It won’t be long, he’s limited how far Dean can run. Tonight the room’s an iceberg, ocean on all sides.
Sam follows the trail to the edge, expecting to find his brother there, but there’s not enough blood to indicate that Dean even hesitated before throwing himself over. Sam smiles as he stares at the frigid waves, wonders if Dean really thinks he can escape this way. Power pulls Dean from the depths, terrified eyes the only sign of life. Sam traces frozen skin, presses against icy lips.
Blue’s not your color, baby, you look much better in red. Gonna fuck you hard, warm you up until all your blood’s back on the outside where it belongs.