The sky was the colour of aged pewter staining the frigid blanket of snow with rivulets of grey.
Beneath the sparse shade of the naked branches Sam pulled Dean close to him as the fallen hunter mumbled in incomprehensible fever, his gaping wound pumping poison round his failing body.
The impact of each delicate flake sent shudders of pain through him and Dean leaned in, his bloodied hand gripping at Sam's, as he writhed and moaned.
Blessed shelter came with the soft susurration of feather and powerful sinew as gentle wings cloaked the hunters.
Pain faded.
"Sleep."
Bade the angel.