Autumn hit Purgatory like a punch in the gut. Cold days and bitter nights swept over them in an instant as the leaves fell from the trees in troves. Dead foliage blanketed the earth, stealing any stealth they might have had, and ground the progression of their aimless wandering to a halt.
At first Dean loathed Castiel for his ability to not have the weather touch him. Then he clung to it. The nights were the worst with howling winds and no shadowed hole safe to claim sanctuary within. So it was in this fashion that Dean curled within Castiel's coat; pressed against the heat that the angel could provide, just to keep from shivering long enough to get a few minutes sleep. Cas watched over him in those deepest hours while he struggled to rest and replenish; gentle fingers trailing along the small of Dean's back.
With autumn as bitter as it was, Dean truly feared the effects of winter. Where vampires and shape-shifters were unable to do him in, it would be the elements that got to him instead. First he would lose his toes, then infection would set in and take away the rest. Dean counted the days until this bastard place finally sliced away every piece of him, leaving only icy bones in its wake.
It was a small miracle to find the cave. Cas made quick work of the inhabitants while Dean shivered in the leaves outside. The wind sliced against his skin until he was too numb to feel it anymore. When the place was secured, Cas had to carry Dean, he was too cold to move, and then lay pressed against him in the deepest corner of the cave until feeling returned to him once more.
Thinking that the cave would be the end of the cold was laughable. Cas dared not use his grace with so many Leviathan searching for him, and a fire would certainly attract anything else the grace hadn't. Food was nearly impossible to come by, and after months of it already, Dean was just so damned sick of the struggle.
When he turned around one night and lifted his head to look into Cas's eyes, it was the ceaseless fight that weighed heavy upon his mind. There were no thoughts of Cas or what he desired because that never changed. That never faltered. It was the desperate need to feel something other than the struggle and the fear and the pain that finally tipped him over the edge. Castiel was right behind him.
Their lips met without thought or ceremony. There was no confliction; no discussion; no question of what one wanted and if it was the same as the other. They both knew what they wanted: To feel. And if that meant that this was the only way to do it, then fuck if they weren't going to try.
The kisses were hot and desperate. Wordlessly they moved through motions of tongue and mouth. Biting at lips and licking on jawlines. Castiel moaned softly, the only noise either man made, and then suddenly their clothes, once a necessity of survival, became an annoying intrusion between them. They pulled at the cloth; shedding it from goose-fleshed skin, and then they were intertwined; absorbing heat from each other. It was just enough to keep Dean from shivering.
The hard want of their bodies pulsed in rhythm to the shallow breathes pluming out around them. Both men rutting with lips parted and mouths hung agape; sucking against the cool air which dug its claws into Dean's lungs.
Cas worked him open, slow steady fingers, and the angel knew just how to get Dean going. How to bring him to the brink. When he finally slipped inside, Dean shuddered from the burn. Cas stared at him. Eyes open and in awe of what was happening between them as though he still didn't quite believe what his body was doing.
Dean's hips worked, bucking into the air, and drawing Cas deeper as he laid back against the cool stone of the cave floor; the chill of the world around him a great difference in contrast to the fire of Cas on him and in him.
The angel enveloped him; molded him; tore him down only to rebuild him once more while Dean focused solely on the lick of fire that burned in his stomach every time Cas thrust into him again and again. When they reached that desperate end both desired, it was with as much reverence as when they first began. Dean urgently wiped away his own release as it chilled against his stomach before Cas collapsed against him; panting and damp with sweat.
He looked holy. He looked like salvation. He was the only anchor of good in this bastard of a place, and Dean clung to him as he lost himself to the moment. For the first time in days, he felt warm.