It was cold. Frost carved designs on motel windows and steam fogged car windows on interstates. Breath clouded like smoke, obscuring shadowed faces. Feet shuffled down salted sidewalks and snow crunched underfoot.
More specifically, Dean was cold. Then again, he'd been cold for a long time, now.
Ever since he'd lost Sammy.
Dean couldn't be warm after that. He couldn't be anything, really. Just empty and cold.
But his glass was full and the fire was warm. At least, he supposed it was, though the warmth never reached him.
Burning whiskey slid down a raw throat and red eyes stared sightlessly at dancing flames. Dean was oblivious to the bustle outside of his motel room. Car lights came and went, briefly passing over his hunched figure in the window as people enjoyed their holiday with family. It was that time of year, after all. Dean hadn't celebrated it in years and now, without Sam, he most certainly wasn't going to.
That was, until there was a knock at his door.
Pouring another glass, Dean ignored it. Pretended he hadn't heard it. They just had the wrong room. They'd figure it out.
They didn't figure it out.
"S'the wrong room," Dean finally called, voice scratchy from pain and words slurred from alcohol.
"I highly doubt that, Dean," came a familiar reply. Familiar enough for Dean to tense in his seat and put the glass down, his heart fluttering for the first time in months. "Will you please let me in? I do not think my vessel likes this cold."
Dean stood, though his legs did not want to cooperate as he staggered across the room, finally slumping against the door. He fiddled with the lock for a good two or three minutes before it finally did as he liked and the door opened. He stumbled backwards, though Castiel reached out and grabbed his arm to steady him.
"Thanks," Dean muttered, too tired to protest as Cas then proceeded to help him over to a bed. He still asked for two of them when he rented a room. Just in case. "Cas, buddy, what're you doin' here? Don't'ya have have other stuff to do? With heaven an' all…"
"I have more pressing concerns at the moment. I'm sorry I've been gone for so long, Dean. You need me right now and I've abandoned you."
Dean shrugged a shoulder, rolling onto one side of the bed so his back was towards the angel. "S'fine. You've got important stuff to worry about."
Cas sighed, placing a hand on Dean's arm. He didn't notice the way the man seemed to almost immediately cave into his touch. "It's not okay. I should be here for you, right now. Heaven can take care of itself. I need to be here for you."
A moan was the only response that came from Dean, and Cas had to wonder if he'd even been heard. He didn't have a chance to ask, though; within seconds of the muttered noise, a snore resounded through the motel room, and he knew his charge had fallen asleep.
Daylight filtered in through blinds that Dean could have sworn he'd closed ages ago. Almost immediately Dean felt his pounding head and with an exaggerated groan he draped an arm over his eyes to protect from the dizzying light. God, had he really gotten that drunk? He couldn't even remember.
Silverware clanked against the sink in the small kitchen, causing Dean to jump up, grabbing the gun he always kept tucked beneath his pillow and directing it at the intruder. "Who's there?! Wait, Cas?" The threat assessed and dismissed, Dean immediately regretted moving so quickly. Sinking back onto the bed he buried his face in his hands and tried to tame the pounding of his brain against his skull.
Footsteps moved quietly across the carpet and then Cas was kneeling in front of Dean. "I made breakfast," he said, but received no response more than a pained sigh. "Here, let me help." Cas placed two fingertips on Dean's temple, causing the man to tense slightly. "Just trust me, Dean."
"I do," Dean whispered in a way that came out to soft and to sweet, not even aware he'd said the words until after they were out of his mouth. As always, Castiel was oblivious. Dean studied the angel, who had closed his eyes and seemed to be focusing very hard on something. "Uhh, Cas? Think you could hurry it up? I've gotta, uh…" Dean's stomach had begun to churn violently, yet a moment later the sensation, along with the headache, was gone.
"There," Cas said, standing slowly. "How's that feel?"
"Umm...much better. Wow. Ultimate hangover cure," he grinned, tilting his head back to study the angel. "Now, what was that you said 'bout making breakfast? It ain't gonna give me food poisoning, is't?"
Cas squinted his eyes in confusion, cocking his head in a way that Dean just found so damn adorable. "No, Dean, why would I want to give you food poisoning? That would not be very good of me."
"Naw," Dean chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he stood, "it wouldn'."
"Though, if it makes you feel any better," Cas mumbled, walking after Dean as he started for the kitchen to see what Cas had made, "I didn't actually...make it. I got it from a diner. D-Dean? Why are you laughing? Is that funny?"
"D'ya know what we should do, Cas?" Dean said suddenly, emerald green orbs flashing daringly. It was late afternoon, and the winter sky was already growing dark as it let more frozen flakes fall. They'd spent the day in uncomfortable silence and frankly, Dean was tired of it. He could only shoot so many subtle glances at the angel, whose presence seemed to be the only thing which could make him forget about Sammy, if only for a little while.
"What should we do, Dean?" Hands in his trenchcoat, Cas turned away from the window where he'd been watching the snow past his weary reflection. His eyes ran slowly over Dean where the man was leaning back in an armchair, flipping boredly through the limited stations on the television.
Switching off the TV, Dean grinned over at Cas, standing and moving to pull on his coat. He was quite aware of the angel's eyes following his every move.
"What should we do?" Cas asked again, clearly bemuddled by the man's lack of a response.
"I'll tell you what we should do." Dean grabbed his keys from the counter; when was the last time he'd even picked them up? His poor car, sitting out there, cold and forgotten in the snow. The effect Castiel's presence had on him in just this short time was unmeasurable. "We should go pick out a Christmas tree."
There was a silence. Cas stared in confusion at Dean's broad shoulders and the messy hair on the back of his head.
"A Christmas tree?"
"Yeah, Cas, y'know. Once a year, humans do this crazy thing where they celebrate Christmas. Sometimes, they even decorate a tree for it," Dean teased, rolling his eyes and glancing over his shoulder as he walked to the door.
"Yes, Dean, I am aware of what Christmas is. But why do we want to pick a tree?"
"Because it's Christmas, Cas. You comin' or not?" After a moment of silence, Dean smiled to himself when he heard the angel's mumbled compliance. "Great." He walked out of the room, studying his snow covered car for a long moment before starting the engine and waiting for Cas to join him. As soon Cas slid in next to him- where Sam used to sit, Dean remembered with a twinge of pain, though it was the first he'd thought of his brother since Cas had arrived- Dean pulled out of the motel parking lot.
"How about this one?" Cas asked, walking to the first tree in the picked over selection.
"No way," Dean shook his head. "That one's pathetic. We need something that looks better."
"This one, then?"
"Way too big. You really think that's going to fit in that little crappy motel room?"
Cas gave an uncertain shrug, which just caused Dean to chuckle fondly, fog briefly blurring his vision before he followed after Cas once more, peeking at the remaining trees as they sat buried under the fresh layers of snow.
"What about this one?" Cas questioned some time later, after who-knows-how-many failed attempts.
Dean studied the tree, holding it up straight as he shook snow from its branches. "It's perfect," Dean smiled, speaking softly. He wasn't looking at the tree.
That night, for the first time in his thousands of years of life, Castiel decorated a Christmas tree, ate horrible Christmas sugar cookies from a tin, drank hot chocolate, and listened to Christmas music, which Dean hardly stopped singing along to.
"And the best for last," Dean smiled, moving to the sacks of the few Christmas ornaments they'd just bought. He pulled the angel from the bag, then looked over at Cas. "You get to put it on the top."
It was hard for Cas to even want to refuse by now. He smiled as Dean pulled a chair over to the tree. He stepped carefully up on it, placing the angel delicately on the top. He didn't notice Dean pulling out his phone to snap a photo.
Stepping down, Cas moved back to study the lit up tree with a content grin. This was his family. Sam, when he'd been here, and Dean. Always Dean. He turned to look at Dean at the same moment Dean looked over at him. They shared a quiet smile. A moment later, they shared something else, too.
Naturally, as if this were the most ordinary thing for them, Dean's hand landed on Castiel's cheek. Cas placed his on Dean's scraggly cheek in return, thumb grazing softly across his stubbled jaw bone.. Then their lips were locking tenderly together, soft at first and then more roughly, and the cold outside and in Dean's heart seemed so very far away.
They found themselves curled beneath the sheets of one bed, Cas snuggled against Dean's torso with a hand on his chest while one of Dean's arms draped across Castiel's waist and rubbed his back in slow, thoughtless movements.
It was the best Christmas gift Dean could have asked for.
Music still played soft on the radio in the background.
Have yourself a merry little Christmas time...