Notes: sequel to The Bright Waters Meet, but can probably be read on its own. All you really need to know is that Sam, Dean, and Cas are retired and together (post-s7), and Sam speaks Enochian. Title comes from the Simon and Garfunkel song A Hazy Shade of Winter.

Warnings: implications of some pretty nasty psychological stuff related to sexual assault of the Sam/Lucifer variety.

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It's cold.

Winter came early to Michigan this year, and bright orange jack-o-lanterns stand out against the snow. They were meant to ward off demons, way back when. It's kind of ironic, then, that Sam never made one. You know how I feel about Halloween.

Her face flashes through his memory, and then it's a different face, hers but not her, and he remembers why he's sitting out here in the first place.

"Sam."

Cas' voice is quiet, but it still makes him jump. Suddenly, Cas is beside him, standing over him, and Sam tenses, wants to hide, to fight, to leap off this second-story balcony and just run –

Cas sits.

"Sam," he says again, and this time he sounds worried.

Snow is still falling. It gathers on Sam's head and shoulders and legs, soaks through hair and flannel and denim. He is not shivering. He keeps his eyes on the sky. There is a gap in the clouds, and he can see stars. He read somewhere that it would take one hundred and twenty thousand years to reach the nearest one. He thinks the people who wrote those books didn't understand at all.

Castiel follows his gaze.

"It's a very pretty night," he says, almost a question. "Perhaps it would be better appreciated from inside."

Sam knows that he should answer, but he knows it like he knows the distance of the stars, without believing. He feels like Cas and his words are somehow separate from him, like his body is nothing but a mechanical thing in which he resides, like he is sitting inside of his head watching through the portholes of his eyes as the snow falls and falls and falls.

He is aware of his mouth moving, hears the words flow out as if they belong to someone else. This angelic language was not meant for the likes of him, and there is not a single part of his body which has ever been his own.

"I think He loved me."

Enochian has many, many words for love. The one Sam uses loosely translates as 'to cradle in one's hand.' It carries the implication of fragility, the ephemeral beauty of spider webs and innocent eyes. Hold it too tightly and it will break.

Castiel is silent for a long time.

"I think He loved you," he says at last, and the word he uses loosely translates as 'to cherish.' It carries the implication of possession, the jealous sequestration of priceless treasures and dangerous secrets. Loosen your grip and it will escape.

There are things to say. Things like don't tell Dean, because this is one thing which Sam cannot bear to see forced into black-and-white. Things like I'm sorry, because he's twisted beyond belief and Cas shouldn't have to deal with that. Things like thank you, because Cas deals with it anyway. Sam cannot form words.

Cas' hand brushes gently against his arm. The warmth is burning against his frigid skin, and suddenly he's shivering, shaking like a leaf, teeth chattering as his whole body jerks and shudders. Cas is brushing ice from his body, wrapping him in the battered trench coat and it's too small for his shoulders but it smells like Cas and Dean and grace. Like home.

Sam struggles to his feet, Cas helping him all the way. Castiel's hands are strong, but kind, asking permission at every step. A single sound of protest and he would retreat. It makes all the difference.

There are needles in Sam's fingers and ears and toes as Cas peels his damp clothes from his flushed skin, but they have subsided to a dull ache by the time he allows the angel to guide him to the bed. Dean grumbles in his sleep, pulls his feet away from Sam's but throws an arm across his chest, as if sensing the need for shared warmth.

"Your brother loves you," Cas says, softly, voice blending with the somnolent warmth of the house as he undoes his tie. The word he uses loosely translates as 'to defend.' It carries the implication of bloodshed, the violent passion of blind devotion and vengeful fury. Get too close and it will burn.

Cas slips into bed beside him, fingers tracing Sam's ribs. Sam lets his eyes slide shut, and thinks he can sense wings above him, sheltering him.

"I love you," Cas says, in his ear, on the edge of his dreams, and the word he uses has no loose translation. It means 'you are every beautiful thing I could ever hope to be.' It means 'I am terrified of what I would do to make you smile.' It means 'you break my heart.'

It means, quite simply, 'I love you.'