Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke. Sadly, I do not own any of these guys.


Dean was feeling pretty proud of himself right now. As he and Sam walked home from the grocery store along sidewalks that had only the slightest traces of snow remaining on them, he could see a spring in his brother's step that hadn't been there in quite some time, and he knew it was mostly due to Gabriel patching things up between them the night before. The death of the Archangel had affected Sam in ways Dean had never realized until he came back to them, and he felt terrible for not noticing the way his brother was suffering, instead focusing on the issues between him and Cas and relying on Sam as a pillar of support. As a way of easing some of his guilt, Dean had been the one to suggest that Gabriel do something unusual and romantic, the way Cas had done for him in the past, and Gabriel had been more than happy to agree.

It had obviously worked, and now Sam was cheerier and more energetic than Dean had seen him since the trials began. In fact, it seemed a little of Gabriel's mischief had even rubbed off on him, because when they rounded the corner that would point them straight toward the bunker, Sam stretched his foot out in front of Dean's, tripping him and almost landing him flat on his face before he caught his balance and landed on his knees instead.

"Sammy, what the hell?" Dean asked, standing up and making sure he hadn't dropped any of their dinner ingredients before staring intently at his brother.

"I dunno," Sam said nonchalantly, giving Dean his best I'm-your-little-brother-and-you'd-never-hurt-me look. "I just felt like it."

Dean grinned evilly, recalling a time almost two decades ago when this kind of thing was a daily occurrence for the both of them. "Oh, it's on now." He playfully shoved Sam back, making him lean backwards and stumble to keep himself upright. This wouldn't have been a problem normally, but today there was still a small amount of half-melted slush on the ground, and Sam's foot chose that moment to land right on top of a slick patch. With a tiny gasp of surprise, he slipped and fell backwards, dropping his bag of groceries and tumbling down into the drainage ditch full of snow-melt with a loud splash.

"Oh, shit, Sammy!" Dean shouted, forgetting his own bags and letting them crash to the ground as he scrambled down the edge of the ditch after Sam. The water wasn't deep, probably no more than two feet, but it was also thirty-four degrees – very bad to land in ever, but especially in the middle of winter when the air temperature wasn't much warmer. By the time he got there, Sam had pulled himself out of the water, drenched from head to toe and shaking while he dragged himself along the sloped ground.

"Oh G-God-d, D-Dean…" Sam stammered, hugging his arms to himself and shaking like a leaf while his hair dripped even more cold water down his back and shoulders.

"Okay, alright, come on Sammy," Dean said gently, throwing Sam's arm over his shoulders and leading him up the steep edge of the ditch and back onto the sidewalk. Sam stayed silent aside from the chattering of his teeth, pressing close to Dean's warmer body as they made their way up the street toward the bunker. Dean practically dragged him along, going as fast as he could without sending Sam face-planting onto the cement, and in only a few minutes they had arrived at the bunker's front door, groceries long-forgotten somewhere near the water. Dean kicked the door with the steel toe of his boot, and Cas opened it mere moments later, obviously having expected them to need help opening it with arms full of bags. When the ex-angel saw them, though, his eyes widened, and he flung the door wide while he ushered them in.

"What happened?" he asked with concern as Dean guided Sam to sit down on one of the wooden chairs in the main room.

"Cas, can you get a towel and some blankets?" Dean said instead, working Sam's boots and socks off his feet while the younger Winchester wriggled out of his shirt and then hugged himself with his chin tucked to his chest. Castiel nodded, dashing off to retrieve towels from the linen closet, and Dean watched with pity as Sam tried and failed to unbutton his jeans with his shaking hands. "Here, Sammy, hold still," Dean said, brushing his hands away and unbuttoning them himself before backing off to at least give Sam privacy while he stripped the rest of the way. When he turned around, though, Sam was still in his boxers, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Y'know, you're gonna have to take those off too if you wanna get warm."

Sam shook his head, still trembling like a leaf. "C-C-Cas w-will s-s… will s-see…" It wasn't rational, and normally Sam wouldn't have cared at all, but when one is as cold as he was, they don't tend to think very rationally.

"Oh, for goodness' sake!" they heard Castiel say from behind them. The ex-angel was carrying a large cotton comforter with a fluffy towel balanced on top, and as he approached the brothers he lifted them in front of his face so he could not see Sam at all. "I can assure you there's no need to be embarrassed, Sam. I have seen more of humanity by now than I sometimes care to. But if it makes you feel better, I will not look until you're dressed. Now please, warm yourself."

Sam smiled in thanks, taking the towel and drying himself off while Cas turned away from him and Dean went to fetch him some clothes. Within less than a minute he had returned, helping Sam slip into the warm flannel pajamas after he had slipped on a dry pair of boxers.

"Alright, c'mon," Dean said, pointing toward the couch in the living room. Sam stumbled over toward it and curled up with his legs under him, trying to warm the chill out of his bones. Dean motioned for Cas to follow them, and he stood just beside the couch as he waited for Dean to explain what he wanted him to do. "Cas, you get on his left side, and I'll get on the right." They both settled down beside Sam, pressed as close as they could in order to share some of their body heat while Dean threw the large, thick comforter over the three of them. It was one he'd snagged from a motel about ten years ago, and to this day it only resurfaced when one of them was sick or hurt and in need of comfort.

"Mmmmmph," Sam mumbled, pulling the blanket up until he was only visible from the bridge of his nose upwards. He leaned against Cas, who was warmer than Dean since he'd been sitting by the fireplace all morning, and the once-angel blinked for a moment before throwing an arm around Sam and pulling him into a sort of hug. Dean smiled, both in amusement and encouragement, and patted Sam's shoulder, rubbing his back from behind to bring some warmth back into it. There would be no teasing about any of this later, either. The brothers might give each other and Cas a hard time about "chick-flick moments" under normal circumstances, but there was an unspoken rule between them that anything they did while hurt or sick was not to be used as fodder for jokes.

It didn't take long for Sam's tremors to lessen to slight shivering, much to Dean's relief, and within a few more minutes he'd fallen asleep against Castiel, snoring lightly as his body gave into the exhaustion that re-warming itself had caused. Cas smiled at him, staying right where he was lest he accidentally wake him, and Dean reached for the T.V. remote, turning on some nature show on the animal channel at a low volume so they would have something to do while Sam slept.

Not long after, the two of them began to nod off as well, staying under the blanket in the "Sammich" as they laid their head on the younger Winchester's enormous shoulders and fell asleep themselves. And when Kevin came back from his trip to the library several hours later, he didn't even laugh, just straightening the blanket where it had fallen off of Cas's shoulders and making his way back toward the laundry room. He had a feeling there was a lot of wet clothing that needed washing right now.