Author: Mistofstars

Pairing: Dean Winchester / Castiel [Destiel]

Warning: AU, swearing / curse words, fluffy, romance, ficlet

Author's note: This was supposed to be a -!short!- ficlet, but I lost the ability to make anything short. Hahah. Sobs. Oh, you know. Just something I wrote one whole day long. If you haven't seen the incredibly cute advertisement of Duracel, you totally should! It's here on YT youtube dot com /watch?v=-mQZqKLiMIg it was so cute, I almost cried. And a certain someone (myself) wrote on tumblr "Wouldn't it be cute when your OTP met like this for the first time? And had to hold hands?" Yeah... That certain someone wrote this ficlet now. Despicable me 8D For Faith Valconbridge / fvalconbridge, I feel like she needs a gift =)

Disclaimer: Neither Dean Winchester nor Castiel belong to me; they are fictional characters and property of the writers and creators of Supernatural. No copyright infringement intended. All of this is super duper made up. The Duracel campaign is also not my idea, I needed to borrow it for this ficlet. Also no copyright infringement intended.

Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Joanne Harvelle (mentioned), Sam Winchester (mentioned), John Winchester (mentioned)

Rating: PG13 or "teen and upper audience"

Word Count: 4214

Summary: Just two strangers in a cold winter night, who have both missed the last bus home. Luckily, there is a bus shelter that provides warmth – as long as you hold hands to close the electric circuit. Too bad that Castiel appears pretty infuriating to Dean. Or is it something else? =P Inspired by the Duracel campaign "Moments of Warmth".

Heat powered by you

Where Dean Winchester lived, the winters could be long and cruel. Hell, they could freeze your balls off and make you think the air you breathed in was nothing but sharp razors. During the years he had gotten used to the cold months, though. He, like everybody else who lived in this latitude, was prepared for the worst: degrees below zero, biting wind gusts, sleety rain... None of these things really bothered you when you were wrapped up in a nice, thick warm coat. The army coat his father had brought him last year was the heartfelt wish he currently ached for.

It was a very late Friday night, and he had traveled a considerable amount of miles by bus to meet up with Joanna, an old dear friend of his. They had went to a local nightclub and partied and drank as if there were no tomorrow. Of course Dean had handed off his beloved coat to the checkroom; he didn't wear his favorite, sanguine wifebeater for nothing. It exposed his ripped torso, his broad shoulders and his muscular upper arms. Dean Winchester was young, trim and single. His plan to ensnare someone did have one blemish though, and he noticed it too late: Whenever he partied with Jo, everybody automatically assumed they were a couple, so no one ever approached Dean. After a few hours, Dean and Jo were both completely sloshed, and Dean decided to call it a night – he still had to overcome about 20 miles per bus, and the last bus for this night would depart pretty soon. When he wanted to pick up his coat where he had left it, the big surprise hit him hard. Some jerk had stolen his coat (what kind of person did that?!)– how that could have happened, nobody claimed to know. He was beyond fuming, but he laughed when Jo offered him her tiny, thin jacket that was furnished with silly rhinestones. No fucking way.

"I'll survive," he had said with a shrug. "The bus will take off in twenty minutes and I'll be at the bus station in ten. No worries, you go home and I'll call you tomorrow."

Jo was so wasted, but Dean didn't have to be apprehensive for her being possibly molested – she lived directly across the street. She hugged him hard and giggled, then she pressed a damp kiss on his cheek and ran off to the near house entrance. Dean smiled, his hands shoved into his warm jeans pockets, and watched her get inside safely. Then he sauntered to the bus station. It was so cold that night, the air was crisp and the sky above looked veiled by a cloak of icy mist. The stars glowed white and brightly. Dean stomped through the meters deep snow that crunched loudly underneath his boots. He could see his breath in the form of little clouds in front of him. Thankfully, he was so drunk, he barely felt the frostiness. He knew it wasn't healthy to run around in the middle of winter with nothing but a wifebeater, jeans and some boots, but it wasn't like he had plenty of other options. He rubbed his arms and breathed upon his clammy fingers, trying to warm them.

Maybe he hadn't made a mental note of the time, or maybe his steps were slower due to his buzz and the amounts of snow he had to struggle with – when the bus station came in sight, he saw - in utter shock - nothing but the backlights of the bus he needed to get home. A yelp of frustration escaped him and he made a few, futile steps forward, stumbled through the white blanket that hindered him... but it was too late. The bus had already driven away. Jesus fucking Christ. He was screwed. He was so screwed.

Frantic thoughts shot through his head. He calculated his opportunities. Pretty soon he realized his dilemma: He had missed the last bus for this night. There was no other connection. He didn't have enough money for a cab. Everybody he knew was either too drunk to drive him home or had no car. He had no coat to keep him warm. His cell had a low battery, was almost dead. Fuck. Shit. The slightest ray of hope was the roofed bus shelter, it seemed all over surrounded with glass that sheltered from the lethal night wind. At least he wouldn't die from cold. With a loud sigh, he accepted his fate and moved forward. He entered the booth and was pleasantly surprised that it was a bit warmer in here. With a grimace, he studied the timetable that was attached to one wall. It seemed to mock him, for the next bus would come in four hours. Damn this town and its ridiculous lack of connections. What a hicktown.

Suddenly, the glass door was torn open and a guy about his age rushed inside, a furious look on his face. He bent down and scrutinized the timetable. Dean watched him attentively, how his shoulders slumped in annoyance. The guy wore a navy blue, thick winter parka, black slacks and way too thin, black Chucks. He was pretty pale, though his cheeks displayed a healthy red because of the cold. His dark hair seemed savage and wild, especially as he ruffled through it angrily.

"Fuck!" he cursed and kept looking at the timetable as if the digits could magically change to his advantage.

"Last bus already left," Dean explained pointlessly. The stranger turned his head and glared at Dean, not exactly pleased. Surprised, Dean detected he had way too blue eyes, inhumanely blue eyes. They looked sharp and frighteningly beautiful. Also, the stranger had long, natural lashes and plump, pale pink lips that were simply too die for. Dean felt his stomach making somersaults. Heat shot straight to his cheeks. His heart throbbed so severely, he could feel his pulse in his throat. He was totally flabbergasted and couldn't help but stare at the other guy with his jaw dropped. All evening he had searched for someone who had that certain something. That guy seemed to have it.

"Do tell!" the guy responded snippy, a humorless smile on his kissable mouth. He straightened, and Dean recognized the stranger was an iota smaller than him. The guy acted as if Dean wasn't there, he kept staring out at the lifeless streets as if there was something exciting going on there. Obviously, they were the only idiots that were still out this night. Everybody else must have been sane enough to stay indoors, in front of a warm fireplace or a lovely, cozy bed. A few, silent minutes passed, and Dean caught the stranger glimpsing at him now and then. He grinned inwardly and wondered what he must look like to him. He had smartened up today, which meant that his hair was slightly spiked and that he wore a fine line of black eyeliner on his lower eyelids. He knew his jeans as well as his shirt underlined his slim hips and his taut stomach. Heat coiled in his abdomen when he felt the blue pupils travel up and down his whole body. Pins and needles prickled at his spine, he felt giddy. He built up his courage and turned his head – the guy swiftly looked away, appearing shy, which was just too damn cute. Dean grinned.

"Why aren't you wearing a jacket or something?" the guy asked in a low grumble.

"Some asshole stole it from me. Figured it didn't matter because it would be warm in the bus home."

The stranger nodded pensively and bit on his lower lip.

"You need to take the 641 as well?" he asked, still averting Dean's nosy eyes. Dean hummed affirmatively.

"You know we have to wait four hours?"

"Yeah, I can read."

To his surprise, the guy turned his head and smiled cheekily at Dean. Dean couldn't help but return the smile, it was infectious. The other looked gorgeous, how that smile reached up to his eyes and made them sparkle with mischief.

"You may not have, perchance, a few bucks for a cab? I have fifteen dollars and eighty-three cents," the stranger said with an innocent, hopeful mien that made something tear at Dean's heart. He screwed up his nose dissatisfied.

"I've got..." he dug around in his pockets and produced rumpled dollar bills, "twelve lousy dollars. Cab costs at least forty."

They both sighed exasperated and let their heads hang down. After a couple of seconds, Dean let his eyes roam about the small bus shelter, searching for an occupation or anything interesting for the next four hours of waiting. He frowned when he made out a sign with a drawn hand on it – the sign looked like a control panel. Interested, he let his gaze wander, and recognized another panel on the other side of the shelter. The stranger to his right caught his searching eyes and copied his behavior. When Dean threw his head back to contemplate the ceiling, he saw the slogan "Heat powered by you" and a logo of intertwined hands. Something clicked in his brain, and he understood immediately how this thing worked. If they held hands, they would close the electric circuit and the heaters would be turned on. He gave the stranger an appraising look – the other just seemed petrified, his pink mouth gaping open. Their eyes met, and Dean laughed inwardly when he detected the slightest blush beautifying the man's features.

"No fucking way. We're not holding hands," the guy declared and looked away. Dean scoffed and regarded the sulky pout the guy wore.

"Just saying, apparently there are some heaters. And if we held hands and touched these control panels,-" Dean persuaded, unperturbed by the stranger's unwillingness. However, the guy interrupted him and snatched Dean's right hand quickly with his left one. Dumbstruck, Dean observed him touching the panel to his right while their slender, ice-cold fingers intertwined. His heart thud slowly and strong against his chest, giddiness rioted within him. Maybe it was the alcohol, but holding this guy's hand made Dean feel as if the rug was pulled out from under his feet. Two blazing eyes were fixed on him, and Dean froze with exhilaration. He smiled warily and appreciated how abashed the guy looked at him.

"Would you stop eyeballing at me and touch that damn panel?" the stranger muttered, and Dean smirked. He didn't want to enrage this weird stranger further, so he put his left hand on the panel – all at once, a swooshing noise was audible as an airstream wafted through the small shelter. Divine heat poured down on them, like a warm, constant summer breeze. Dean sighed in pleasure when it hit his exposed upper arms, he seemed to thaw from head to toe. His muscles relaxed, a tension he hadn't been aware of left his body. The guy next to him squeezed his hand gently and smiled tenderly at him.

"That's fucking awesome," Dean moaned. He rolled his head like a cat that leaned into a loving palm. The other let his thumb stroke over Dean's back of the hand, which felt all kinds of nice. He turned towards him and blinked slowly at him, a reassuring gesture.

"While we're on it, holding hands and all, I'd like to know your name at least," he said.

"Fair enough. I'm Castiel."

"Dean."

The warm smile that spread on Castiel's lush lips spoke volumes, and Dean felt sorely afflicted by it. It made him speechless and enraptured in every way imaginable.

"What you're doing out here in the dead of night? You don't look like twenty-one."

Dean scoffed in disbelief, an amused grin was plastered on his lips.

"What, are you a cop? You don't look twenty-one yourself! I could ask you the same."

"Busted, I'm twenty. Went to a frat party of a friend, they were all too pissed to drive me anywhere. I live far off their house, go to a different college."

"And let me guess, you don't have a car."

"You really ate intelligence with a spoon, right?"

Dean rolled his eyes, not too sure he liked this dude's snarky remarks. And that from someone who held hands with him...

"No offense, man! I'm not judging you or anything. I don't have a car myself, wasn't born rich. Hope I will inherit my old man's car when I'm twenty-one, though. Two more years."

"So you're trying to tell me you're nineteen, right?" Castiel said snidely. Dean exploded. Who did this guy think he was? Had politeness passed out of use? He pulled his hand back and tensed up his shoulders, glaring at the older man.

"Hey, is sarcasm your second language? It's not exactly charming for that pretty mouth!" he spat back. He was so irritated, he hadn't even noticed the heaters had stopped giving off warmth as he had withdrawn his hand. He crossed his arms and turned away from Castiel, who gaped at him stunned. All right, so Dean was probably still a little drunk and he probably overreacted, but he didn't have to listen to this stranger insulting him as if he were dumb. Even if he froze to death, right now he didn't give a damn. Tense silence expanded in the bus shelter, their exhales were terribly loud now that he heaters were off. Tiredness assaulted Dean, and all he wished for was his warm bed. It would be a long, cold night. He fetched his cell phone and wrote Sam an SMS that he wouldn't be home tonight and that he should go to sleep.

When his eyes subconsciously glanced at the glass walls, he realized Castiel was still surveying him with interest. He looked away and kept sulking. After a while, his teeth started to chatter on their own accord. He was trembling violently, but he refused to talk to Castiel again and ask him whether they could make up and get the heaters started again. If anyone in the world was the most stubborn person, it would be Dean Winchester. He hugged himself and rubbed his chill arms over and over again.

"All right, I can't stand by and watch this. You're freezing to death, Dean. Give me your hand."

"I'm not talking to you," Dean said foolishly through his clattering teeth. Castiel laughed.

"You just did."

Dean bit on his bottom lip, uncertain whether he was still angry with Castiel or whether he was about to laugh.

"I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have treated you like that. You're right. Can we hold hands again and get this thing to work?"

Reluctantly, Dean turned around and considered Castiel. Pretty soon he comprehended he behaved stupidly, so he extended his right hand exaggerated dramatically and huffed feigned bugged. Castiel took it and Dean couldn't do otherwise than watch stupidly how Castiel brought it up to his mouth and planted a soft kiss on it. The contact of soft skin on skin made Dean dizzy, he went as red as a beetroot. Castiel looked up at him from underneath his thick lashes and smiled charmingly at him, rubbed his cold hand with his fingers.

"Sorry," he said again, then he drew himself up to his full height and touched the panel to his side again. Dean mirrored his movement and the heaters went back to work. He was still tongueless. The memory of Castiel's pliant lips was etched in his memory. His hand seemed to burn where he had kissed him. He had a queasy feeling in his stomach, he felt feverishly hot. Castiel encompassed his hand gingerly. Serenity lingered in his clear blue eyes and he emanated such calmness when Dean eyed him that Dean relaxed absolutely. All of a sudden, the ice between them was broken.

"So, where do you live?" Castiel asked, and from there on, they kept talking without the briefest interruption. Dean told him about his dad, that John worked for the marine and was scarcely home. Dean couldn't live near campus because he had to take care of his younger, fifteen-year-old brother Sam. Castiel was wide-eyed when Dean told him he didn't mind the extra hours it took to get to college and back. Dean shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. Once Sam is eighteen, we all agreed I could move out. It's not the best solution in the world, but it works. We look out for each other, I make sure he doesn't fuck things up. Our dad is practically gone twenty-four seven. It's just the two of us. Not like I have any other choice."

Dean didn't like the way Castiel looked at him – was it sympathy, or just a sort of deeper understanding? He wasn't used to being treated with empathy. Hell, mostly he didn't even tell anyone about his circumstances.

"What?" he asked defensively, placing a mellow expression in Castiel's splendid eyes.

"Nothing. Just thought you sound older than nineteen. Guess I forgot how privileged I am. Surely, my folks aren't rich or anything, but at least I can live in the college's dormitory. But the room is pretty crappy, though."

"See?" Dean joked. "Fate is against you."

"Who's talking sarcastic now?" Castiel retorted, educing a small laugh from Dean. Meanwhile, it had become fairly comfortable in the bus shelter, so Dean wasn't majorly confused when Castiel let go of his hand. Nevertheless, he wondered at the older man taking off his jacket. He was deeply touched when Castiel put it on his shoulders and wrapped it around him like a warming blanket. Underneath, Castiel wore a black hoodie, so Dean's conscience was rather clear.

"You can have it, I don't need it as much as you do."

Dean leaned towards him and tilted his head. Out of the corner of his eye he could see how Castiel's jaw dropped, how flustered he looked. Despite that, he closed the distance between them and kissed Castiel's cheek.

"That's really sweet of you. Thanks."

Castiel pulled back and made a constipated face. Dean suppressed the urge to grin broadly when he recognized Castiel was as good as steaming, he was so red.

"Guys aren't sweet. Guys don't do sweet things," he objected, making Dean chuckle.

"Whatever, man."

They kept talking effortlessly, and after one hour, Dean thought he knew Castiel for a lifetime. Once he got to know him better, he actually laughed about the way he spoke, with grains of clever irony. Something lingered in the air, though. Something that alluded to more than friendly interest in one another. Every cautious look, every careful smile made Dean's chest narrow. Sometimes it was difficult to breathe when Castiel squeezed his hand or smiled beautifully at him again. They were currently discussing their taste in movies, and a passionate debate took place when they defended their favorite movies – when suddenly, an electric light aroused their attention. They both turned their heads and realized, a bakeshop set to work. There was also a convenient looking café that belonged to the store. When the baker unlocked the front door, Dean's and Castiel's eyes met.

"Let me invite you to a very early breakfast?" Dean suggested. Castiel nodded vehemently, declaring that great minds thought alike. They left the bus station and hastened to the bakeshop. The owner was somewhat surprised to have customers at three in the morning, but he offered them a table where they could sit down. He was an elderly, kind man, who brought them waffles and mugs of hot coffee, and then tended to the preparations for the day and left them alone again. Dean thought it was a bit weird that he and Castiel got along so well. Usually, he didn't chat with strangers for hours or shared a pile of waffles with them. He assumed pretty soon he could get used to Castiel's smiling face. He loved to drown in his deep, blue eyes while they spoke. Hot shivers ran down his spine repeatedly, for example when Castiel laughed heartily and screwed up his nose in the process. He looked to die for. They ate and blathered about everything and anything. It didn't take long, and they played footsie with each other, their shoes and calves brushing against each other innocently. Castiel regarded Dean as if he were a wonder of the world. Dean didn't protest when Castiel took his hand gently in his and let his thumb rub over each of Dean's knuckles. Somewhere along the line, Castiel consulted his watch and gave Dean meaningful looks. They paid for the meal and returned to the bus shelter.

Just when Dean was about to doff Castiel's jacket, Castiel's hands came up and stopped his, keeping them in place. Castiel approached him, his lids weighted down with passion. A wild gleam appeared in his eyes. His lids dropped and he leaned in. Mesmerized, Dean sensed warm breaths fanning against his cheeks. The air they breathed was so thin... his legs turned to jelly the moment Castiel pressed his lips on Dean's. A second of shock made them stiffen, then they melted into each other naturally. Before Dean understood what was happening, he embraced Castiel's back and pulled him into a hug. One of his hands clasped Castiel's narrow waist, the other traveled up into his smooth hair and grabbed a handful of it. Their tongues slid together sensually slow, Dean's heart missed a beat. Castiel's nimble fingers crawled over his red wifebeater. One groped his pectoral muscle, the other sneaked under his shirt and stroked his flat belly. Dean sighed wistfully into their kisses and took the last step between them. Castiel was a great kisser, and real soon, Dean was out of breath and lightheaded. He drew back and looked down at Castiel's face. The other's pupils were dilated, his lips were redder and appeared sort of swollen. He looked terribly tempting.

"We have half an hour left," Castiel whispered, his breaths coming in staccato against Dean's kiss-wet lips.

"You want to turn the heaters back on again?" Dean asked, whereupon Castiel just smiled affectionately.

"Nah, found another way to keep me warm."

He tugged at Dean's shirt and pressed their chests flush against each other. A veil of desire covered his features. Dean felt as moldable as wax as Castiel's hands slid up and down his sides. Their eyes darted over their faces restlessly, estimating where this was heading to. All at once, Dean smiled and seized Castiel's hips. He brought his head down and kissed him tempestuously, feeling him respond in the same, ardent manner. Soon, their petty kissing turned into an eager make out session. Castiel's teeth bit into Dean's proffered neck, and he was leaving hickey after hickey on Dean's throat. Dean couldn't help but feel up Castiel's firm butt and run his palms over the slim back. The glass walls of the bus shelter were already fogged with condensed water, it was so hot in the small space.

"Wanna come with me to my place?" Dean mumbled against Castiel's shoulder and dug his fingers into his scapulas.

"Hm, I'd love to," Castiel responded, rubbing his groin against Dean's. Dean moaned sensually. His eyes accidentally fixed on the slogan of the installed bus shelter: "Heat powered by you". He stifled a grin and thanked the cold night and his misfortune, as well as the company's cleverness. Otherwise he and Castiel might have never collided, the way they did just now.

THE END

Sooo, what do you think? Let me know :-*