**I do not own any characters. Dean Winchester,Sam Winchester and Castiel belong to Supernatural. No copyright infringement intended.**
Dean Winchester had been living in the Colorado mountains for as long as he could remember.
The cabin he lived in was small, sure, but it was comfortable. He had plumbing, and heat, and in his opinion that was all a guy needed to get by. He had the occasional visitor, but it was very rare, seeing as how it was a five mile trek up a constant snow covered mountain to get to his cabin.
He took a trip once every few months down the mountain to the nearest town for groceries and necessities. Every in the town knew who he was, but they all considered him some kind of Grinch, because he never socialized with anyone in town, and nobody knew anything about him except his name.
Dean didn't mind though, he loved the peace and quiet of the mountains. Dean chopped wood and brought it to town in exchange for food and necessities. After his tumultuous childhood, Dean appreciated the little things more, like no one constantly telling him what to do or bugging him when he didn't want to be bothered.
The only visit's Dean ever received were the occasional visit from his brother, Sam, who lived in Kansas. Sam didn't understand why Dean had chosen his hermit lifestyle, but he respected it and paid Dean the occasional visit and they shared weekly phone calls. Sam tried to get Dean to move back to Kansas, he tried telling him that there were plenty of places to hide there, but Dean was adamant he wasn't hiding from anything. Dean simply stated that he was content in the mountains, and the peaceful, isolated way of mountain life was for him.
Sam feared that Dean would never find anyone, and the loneliness would get to him eventually. Dean swore he didn't mind, that he didn't need anyone, because another person could break him, tear and shatter the perfect peaceful circle he had built around him in the snowy mountains.
Dean woke up to the smell of smoke. It was everywhere, wafting through his house like a forgotten meal on a stove. Dean rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, scanning his two room cabin for any signs of a fire. He was sure a fire in the mountains of Colorado was almost impossible. There was snow year round, and anyway, before it could get out of hand, someone would see it. Town was only five miles away. It sounded long on foot, but in a car, it was nothing, even in the rough snow ridden terrain. Dean slid out of bed and pulled on his boots that were sitting next to the bed. He grabbed his coat off the wooden chair in the corner and pulled on his comfy winter hat. He walked to the door and cracked it open a bit. The wind was howling, and the clock in the corner said 3 am. He shut the door firmly and went to check his rooms for signs of a fire.
Dean's cabin had only had three rooms. A large bedroom/living room and an attached small bathroom and kitchen. All the appliances were off and safe and everything appeared normal. The wind blew against the windows of the small cabin and the smell wafted once again through Dean's cabin. He stood there, wondering how he could even smell the smoke if it was outside the cabin. He suddenly felt a breeze blowing across his skin and he turned to see the window in his bedroom cracked slightly open.
He crossed his room to shut it, glad that the source of the smoke had been outside and not inside. When he reached the window, he looked outside. A flicker or orange caught his eye, and he pressed his face against the glass, peering out and trying to see the source of the orange. Suddenly it hit him. Someone was burning something outside. Dean grabbed his shotgun from the small closet next to the bathroom and decided to check it out. He once again opened his door and stepped out into the snow. The orange caught his vision again, and he followed the flicker.
He walked the small, snow covered path from his house to his small shed, keeping a look out for any sign of fire or human life. He saw the occasional footprint track, but he assumed they were his from the many trips he took to his shed. The wind whipped around him and stung Dean's cheeks and eyes, but he was used to it. Finally, when he was a few yards past his shed and almost to the tree line, he saw the source of the flicker. There was a man, huddled around a small fire right at the edge of the forest. He had a big winter coat on, but he still looked frozen.
Not the kind of cold where you shiver, but a cold so deep it seems to permeate your bones. He had tattered mittens on his hands, and he rubbed them together to try and soak up any heat at all from the barely lit and slowly dying fire. He appeared to have no belongings, not a sleeping bag, or even a hat. It was just him, his coat, and his mittens. He didn't look up as Dean approached, and Dean began to fear that he was very frostbitten.
"Hello?" Dean called against the wind, hoping the man by the fire could hear him.
The man looked up, and his eyes locked with Dean's. Dean was now almost directly in front of the man, and he stopped, his gaze caught with the mysterious mans. He had brilliant blue eyes and messy, dark brown hair, cut short. He was frail, and appeared very thin, and malnourished. He looked to be about 22, maybe a bit older, but Dean wasn't sure.
"Do you need some help? Are you hurt?" Dean asked.
The man nodded, and Dean reached his hand out as an offering to help the man. The small man began to reach for Dean's hand, until he saw his gun on his shoulder, and he immediately cringed and pulled his hand away.
"I won't hurt you." Dean said softly.
He had seen the man's reaction to his gun, so he placed it gently on the snow beside the tree and walked a few steps towards the man.
"Come with me, please. You'll freeze to death out here." Dean said.
"I'm already dead." The man said. It was the first time Dean had heard him speak, and he could barely hear him over the howl of the wind against the trees. Dean felt cold all over, even in his warmest clothing. He didn't understand what the man meant, but he was sure he was trying to tell Dean that he was dead inside. Dean understood that, and sometimes he felt like he was too.