Dean pours the rest of coffee into the cup and puts the jug back. His eyes flick to the window, to the parking lot bathed in yellow light. He halts mid-move. There's a person standing outside, a few yards away. Their shape's dark, stiff and familiar. Black sweater, dark hair, head raised to the night sky.
"The hell?"
He sets the cup down with a clank and reaches for the knob. The ice-cold breath of air seeps in with a spatter of the white flakes.
"Cas!" he calls out to the man, still unmoving in the middle of the parking lot. "Get inside!"
A sweeping wave of Dean's hand emphasizes his words, in case Cas doesn't hear him. But Cas hears him, his eyes dart to Dean's face. He doesn't so much as shifts his weight, instead, he just waves back – lifted palm, a flick of a wrist, then his gaze turns heavenwards once more.
Well, that's not weird, at all, Dean thinks, fetching his jacket. Ignoring Sam's question mumbled from over the books, he shoots outside.
He rolls in his shoulders, the jacket hanging off his forearm. It's gotten fucking cold since they got back from the interview a good few hours ago, no wonder it started to snow. Looks like it's time to break out the coats.
"Why aren't you in your room?" he asks before he even gets to him.
There's a layer of white dawn growing on his sweater. Dean brushes it off, before throwing the jacket around his shoulders.
"It's snowing," Cas replies, wrapping it tight around his body.
"Thank you, Mister Obvious," Dean mocks. "That's why you gotta get inside, 'less you wanna get sick?"
"I found the right spell and was going to your room."
Dean looks across the distance to their adjacent motel rooms.
"I'm sure this was the most direct route you could have taken."
"It's the first snowfall of this winter. It seems like a significant event."
So it's one of those freshly fallen Cas versus human stuff things, right.
"Yeah, if you're a kid. Or from California," Dean says amused. He lifts his eyes to the snowflakes swirling in the light from the streetlamp. "It's pretty," he admits with a shrug.
"It is." Cas lifts a palm to catch a few flakes. Dean expects him to start waxing poetic about snow and winter and the world's metamorphosis. But Cas just scrunches his nose at the water covering his skin. "But it's also cold and wet and melts right away."
Dean chuckles.
"Yeah, that's why it's better to watch it through the window. At least until we get you a coat. And a hat," he adds, reaching out to his hair, fingers brushing out the snow. "Let's go, I'll make you some hot tea."
"The orange and cinnamon one? I think it's my favorite so far."
Dean pats Cas's back and steers him toward the room.
"Whichever you want," he mutters, hardly keeping his teeth from chattering. He might need to get that tea for himself too. "So, the spell, does it involve fire?"