Alternate Title: He Will Not See Me Stopping Here

Castiel shook with an indiscernible pain. It wasn't the bloody gashes decorating his torso that caused his borrowed body to tremble and curl in on itself. It wasn't the residual pain of his celestial body, suffering broken wings and overwhelming the human form. It was something else that Castiel couldn't define, because he had never suffered from this before. He fought the shakes, but they only worsened. The extreme temperatures that numbed the injuries were affecting him somehow.

Castiel didn't understand, but he recognized that he needed help . . . and no one knew where he was.

Alone in northern Greenland during the fiercest winter of mortal memory, Castiel only dared wish (however futilely) for the Winchesters. He had learned that with the possible exception of Bobby Singer, the brothers were the only ones left to care about his existence. The body of one of his own brothers lying only a few feet away had finally driven home the total dysfunction of his family. Millennia behind them, divine creation binding them in holy brotherhood, high positions as God's messengers, warriors, and musicians-none of that stood in his defense as sibling after sibling attempted to smite him. In return, Castiel was forced to kill those he loved in order to survive. Family meant nothing to the angels. It hadn't after Lucifer's fall. Or Anna's. Castiel had been a fool to hope it would now.

Sam Winchester had no idea how lucky he was to have a brother who would always come for him.

Although at this rate, Sam Winchester would never find out how jealous Castiel was of "the boy with the demon blood" either.

Idly, Castiel wondered if Anna had been his only chance at a sibling like Dean. If so, it was his own fault that he had lost his family. The mental self-flagellation worked well for a distraction technique, but had limited material. Castiel tried placing each of his brother's into Dean's heroic role as rescuer and protector instead. Imagination had never been Castiel's strong point as one-by-one each angel failed when their true personalities came through. It hurt, but Castiel had long since accepted that Dean Winchester was one-of-a-kind.

Castiel couldn't say what made him do it, but somewhere after Uriel but before desperate enough to try Zachariah he tilted his head back, shouting "Brother!" to the heavens above. It was a generic plea, but that didn't matter. There was no one to answer it, even if they could hear it. Only the voice of his shell had sounded. His true voice was silent, just as his healing powers were diminished, and his ability to fly beyond him with the broken wings he had suffered in the fight. "Brother," he whispered, exhaustion burying him under weight as heavy as the snow that blanketed him.

"The Frosty look is just not a good one for you, bro."

The jolt sent pain through both sets of nerves, and Castiel whimpered until the blessed numbness returned. He was not a Winchester. He had no pride. But he did have an insatiable curiosity. One that made him try to focus on the being that had appeared before him.

"Gabriel?" Castiel asked, confusion lacing his voice.

"Elvis," his cocky brother returned, crouching beside him. Castiel ignored that, because this made sense now. Generic or not, his call had summoned the only angel left with a care for family, even if that care was frustration. His call had summoned the only angel to still call Castiel brother.

Sort of. Close enough.

Castiel was starting to drift away in his thoughts, and he pulled himself back to the current situation by sheer force of will. There was an archangel digging in the snow less than a foot from his face. "Gabriel?" he repeated.

"What?" Gabriel growled.

"What are you doing?"

"Digging you out of a snowbank-don't help or anything."

"Okay," Castiel said slowly. He wasn't sure, but Gabriel seemed to be digging faster now. Castiel struggled to keep his eyes open.

Gabriel finally pulled Castiel free, and to the younger angel's relief, continued to hold him upright. Castiel seemed to have lost all control over his knees, and doubted his ability to support even Jimmy Novak's fragile weight. Gabriel eyed him critically, shaking his head. "Really did a number on you, bro." Still holding him up with one arm, Gabriel pressed the palm of his hand to Castiel's forehead. It was gentle, sweet, a balm of relief and a benediction of love. Castiel closed his eyes, absorbed by the healing process. The gashes in his chest closed. His wings realigned, and flexed softly. Comforted by such a little movement, Castiel opened his eyes.

Gabriel was frowning at him. "What's the matter with you?" the archangel demanded, using both arms to support Castiel now. Not because Gabriel needed the strength, but because Castiel's human form was rather . . . floppy. "Castiel?"

Castiel made himself focus on his superior. No. Not his superior. His big brother. That sounded nice. That sounded like a Winchester.

"Castiel!"

Focus now. Float later.

Castiel measured his words carefully. "I believe I am cold," he decided. That was fitting with what he had gathered from human experience and the extreme temperatures around them.

Gabriel's forehead furrowed. "We don't feel the cold," he pointed out, shaking Castiel when the younger angel just wanted to close his eyes and try out this fairly new experience of sleeping. "We don't feel-"

Gabriel had caught on. Good for him. Now what?

"Never do anything by halves," Gabriel muttered, stooping for a second. One arm slid under Castiel's knees, the other was still wrapped around his shoulders, and Gabriel lifted. "Noooo—stupid little Castiel has to make a point!"

The comment, meant to sting, was actually a relief to the angel firmly cradled to his brother's chest. Like Gabriel's grip, the grief was a guarantee that Gabriel would not leave. Castiel inhaled and exhaled experimentally, before deciding the effort was too much and closed his eyes.

"Knock it off," Gabriel warned. "Now where do we need to go?"

The archangel had a point. Hypothermia wasn't a familiar problem for either of them. Mortal body, go to mortal sources. Castiel only had two options. The Winchesters who could be anywhere, or . . .

"Bobby Singer . . . Singer Salvage, South Dakota."

And in a moment, they were there. Castiel didn't even have to open his eyes. He recognized the musty smell of a house cluttered with books, the sound of chaos as they interrupted dinner, a gruff voice swearing, and the splash of Holy Water in their faces, but most importantly-

"Cas!"

Every mortal who cared about his existence was in one place. Castiel smiled, let his head collide with Gabriel's shoulder, and passed out.

Gabriel barely felt the change as Castiel became dead weight. He wouldn't have noticed it at all if he hadn't needed to prepare for fending off angry humans who disliked him intensely. Knocking Dean Winchester back a pace felt good, and Castiel made a good shield, keeping the more rational hunters from drawing their guns.

Dean almost bounced off the wall, and sprang back at Gabriel. The Winchesters always were persistent. Gabriel knocked him to the floor this time, and kept him there with the judicious application of a tennis shoe to the man's sternum.

"You!" Dean shouted. "What did you do to him?"

Now, Gabriel was a reasonable sort of angel-making him somewhat of a rare breed, admittedly-but even with both Winchesters and Castiel under his power, he hadn't done anything worse than a few low blows and a broken nose (which had healed just fine by the looks of it). He wasn't trying to kill anybody. Not for real, anyway.

"I just dragged his pathetic, mangled vessel back here after hauling him out of a snowbank in Greenland." Gabriel made sure to draw out the adjectives to make Dean flinch. "While you were here filling your face in comfort, Castiel was dying," he continued, leaning in to confide his last word solely to Dean, "Alone." Cruel irony, thy name is Gabriel.

"You've got the mojo," the older hunter growled, his focus on the blood-stained clothing. "Heal Castiel before he bleeds out already."

"I did," Gabriel snapped. "I've done all I can, but . . ." He hated asking for help. Hated it. ". . . he's cold," he finished, daring the humans to make of it what they will.

"Angels don't get cold," Dean glared as if Gabriel was trying to put one over on him. As if Gabriel had no motivations outside of messing with the heads of irritating Winchesters . . . well, he did!

"Angels don't do a lot of things until they get cut off from heaven for listening to stubborn, stupid humans," Gabriel snapped. "He is freezing, and he told me to bring him here, so help him already, or so help me, I will smite you where you stand."

Dean grinned, even as Gabriel increased the pressure on his lungs. "Didn't know you had it in you, Gabe." The sudden gasp from complete lack of air had not been planned, but it made the archangel feel infinitely better.

"If you two are finished with your pissing contest, the boy's near blue with cold," Bobby indicated sharply. Gabriel backed off, regrouping.

"Hot bath?" the younger Winchester suggested.

"Hot water's for frostbite, idjit," Bobby shook his head, "No, with hypothermia, body heat is the way to go."

Gabriel tightened his grip on the younger angel for just a moment, before surrendering to common sense. "Angels don't fully use their vessels' bodies. We don't give off much if any body heat."

Bobby sighed heavily. "Get him out of those wet things and give him here," the old hunter instructed, unbuttoning his flannel jacket.

"It's your fault he's wet, old man!" Gabriel argued.

"Don't sass me, boy," Bobby returned. "One can't be too careful these days. Just fix it."

Gabriel snapped his fingers, replacing Castiel's standard outfit with comfortable clothes. He ignored the squawk as Dean Winchester found himself in Castiel's wet, bloody, and too small clothing. Carefully, he transferred his unconscious-unconscious, not sleeping, because angels don't need sleep, and Castiel had better still be an angel-brother into the old hunter's lap. Castiel's head lolled back against Bobby's shoulder, until the hunter steadied it. Then the wheelchair bound man locked his arms around Castiel's chest to keep the floppy body from going anywhere and Sam Winchester ensconced both with a heavy blanket.

"Alright, go make up a bed. Use the electric blanket and turn up the heat, Sam. Dean, we'll need the hot water bottle. And change out of those clothes. You look ridiculous."

Castiel had been unconscious for four hours now. Sam and Dean were switching off every half hour, using their body heat to warm up their angel. The bed and even the room at large were too hot to stand for much longer than that. Hence the switching.

Bobby was in the kitchen, whipping up something or another guaranteed to fix Castiel that was possibly brewed, rather than cooked. Gabriel had taken to pacing the yard, turning the wrecked cars into various weird objects. Sam suspected that the archangel was worried and trying to make himself feel better. Dean knew the archangel was just being as annoying as possible.

Bobby knew better than both of them, and realized that both theories were true. Especially since Gabriel disappeared the moment Bobby reassured him that Castiel was no longer in any sort of danger rather than risk what Dean would call "a chick flick moment." The pair of older brothers had a lot in common. Gabriel would be back.

None of that mattered when Castiel lay still as death in their arms-just as still as when Gabriel had carried him into Bobby's house earlier. He was warmer now, but still out, so Sam and Dean continued their routine.

It was during Dean's shift, that Castiel's blue eyes began to flutter. They opened and shut a few times, before settling with a distant gaze upon the ceiling. "Cas, are you with us?" Dean asked. "Cas?"

"Dean?" Castiel rasped finally.

"Yeah? I'm here, Cas. We're all here," Dean hastened to reassure the angel.

"Dean . . . ? Dean . . . we've talked about this," Castiel forced out past his obviously pained throat. Dean leaned in closer. "Personal space," the angel deadpanned.

Dean blinked. Castiel smirked calmly. Then Dean jumped like he'd been shot, falling out of bed and taking half the covers with him. "I knew Gabe was a bad influence on you!" the Winchester accused, pointing at Castiel with a shaking finger, even as he moved to restore the blankets.

Castiel gazed up in confusion. "Gabe?"

"Obnoxious archangel number four . . . or is it five?" Dean tucked the blankets more firmly around the angel, noting the unconscious burrowing in that Castiel performed, and frowned. "What do you remember, Cas? The bastard wouldn't tell us anything."

Castiel concentrated. "I was searching. I fought. Something went wrong. I called upon my brother . . ." Castiel trailed off. ". . . Gabriel came?" he asked, almost uncertainly.

Dean nodded reluctantly.

"Gabriel healed me, but I was still cold. He brought me here," Castiel finished, his words ending with a yawn as his eyes fell shut again.

"Not so fast," Dean shook the angel's shoulder. "We would have come too," he promises. "If we could have known, we would have come, Cas."

Castiel nodded. "I know." The angel blinked, big and blue, just once. He's so tired. "But just this once . . . it's okay that my brother got there first."

It is to Gabriel's serious dark eyes that Castiel woke up to the next time around. There isn't even a little laughter in them, and Castiel felt guilty for the loss.

"Human, Castiel?"

"Not yet," Castiel chose his words carefully, looking away from his older brother. He is still at Bobby's. The Winchesters are no longer in the room, but it is dark beyond the window. They are probably asleep.

Probably unaware of the archangel below them.

Gabriel shook his head. "You're half-way fallen, and it's only going to get worse from here."

"I must do what is right," Castiel tried to make his voice sound very firm, but the humanity in it won't fool an archangel. "I have placed my trust in Dean Winchester."

"And your faith in God," his brother sighs. "Greenland, bro? Really?"

"God did not show himself to me in Greenland," Castiel admitted. "Perhaps . . . perhaps I really am fallen . . ."

A hand slipped under his chin and forced Castiel to meet his brother's gaze. "Don't you dare lose faith, Castiel. We won't have anything worth saving if even you lose faith."

"Raphael believes Lucifer raised me."

"Raphael isn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier," Gabriel returned, a little of the humor seeping back into his eyes. "Why would Lucifer raise an enemy, a true angel of the Lord?"

His faith in God is unshaken.

His faith in himself has taken a beating.

"You believe our Father raised me?" Castiel still can't help but hold out this shining shimmering hope.

Gabriel just grinned. "I didn't take a walk in the snow for my health."