Cold is the absence of heat and warmth. The physical sensation is mostly just a discomfort, but it can be deadly if it's extreme enough or is allowed to remain for extended periods of time. Cold can also refer to people and is synonymous with unemotional or uncaring.

Everything is always so cold… He used to be cold and unfeeling (or at least, he pretended to be) until he rescued Dean and began spending time with him and his brother and their surrogate father. Then, he started growing cold in the physical sense. It started off as an unusual ache in his chest at times with seemingly no cause.

It happened when Sam or Dean got hurt. It happened when they were okay and found the other to be okay, followed by an engulfing hug and a 'never do that again' even as they both knew the other would do it again. It happened when they would laugh and joke, even if just to pretend that everything was okay and the world as they knew it wasn't crumbling around them.

The ache would subside when he was closer to the Winchesters, sometimes. Sometimes it only got worse. It's quiet when he's wrapped in someone's arms where he no longer has to think about the weight of the world resting firmly on his shoulders, but comes back more forcefully when they have to part.

He used to be able to manage it. Now, having lost his wings and his home in one fell swoop thanks to Metatron and his own naivety, he can't manage much of anything at all.

The ache is there almost constantly, and he's always so cold… He never had to worry about temperature as an angel, when he could regulate his internal body temperature with barely a thought. Now, three layers of clothes and two blankets later, sitting up alone in the early morning hours of the day, he still can't remove the chill that's settled deep and heavy in his now-human body.

He was constantly shivering and shaking when he was homeless, before the Winchesters pitied him enough to take him in. Now, he gets cold whenever he's forced to be outside the Bunker, half-afraid that once he's out, he won't be allowed back in. He gets cold when it rains and it soaks through his clothes whereas he used to enjoy the company of the weather no one seemed to like. He gets cold when he forgoes eating whenever he overhears Sam and Dean talking about running low on money, knowing that it must be his fault if they only talk about it when he isn't there.

He gets cold when his head begins aching and his limbs start refusing to move and shivers wrack his body again right before he falls to the floor. He gets cold when he wakes up to find Sam and Dean looking over him worriedly, because it seems like all he's done since he got there with nothing but the clothes on his back is make them worry. He's still cold when they start scolding him and calling him a dumbass, informing him that he's 'gone and got himself sick,' like he's done this on purpose.

He gets cold when he watches Dean fuss over a pot of tomato rice soup as Sam tries to figure out whether to give him an adult or child medicine, given that he's never taken any before. He gets cold when he realizes he's intruding on yet another Winchester family tradition by eating the warm bowl of soup that he subsequently throws up. He's just something to deal with, to 'fix'.

They've called him family before, but only to convince him to come back to them when they were unwilling to kill someone they may have once considered their friend, and that was when he had powers and things to offer. Now, he's not worth the effort it takes to keep his body from shutting down, let alone running efficiently and as it should be.

But he tries to get better anyway. Sam and Dean are pleased when his fever breaks, but he still just feels cold and empty; they wouldn't have had to do any of that if he wasn't here… He gets cold when he's scolded and yelled at. He gets cold when he watches Sam and Dean whisper about him in the early morning hours that they have yet to realize he's active during, unable to rest without being plagued by a millennia's worth the nightmares that take turns playing in his head.

He gets cold when he's forced to hold a gun and shoot at a target, if he's to become a hunter like Sam and Dean want him to be, like he wanted to be, not so long ago. Maybe he's tired of killing. Maybe he just wants to live out the rest of his human life with Sam and Dean and not have to share them with any monster they stumble upon. But that didn't even work when he had lost his sanity fixing one of his many mistakes, so he picks up the gun and shoots anyway.

He's tired of the cold. He just wants to feel warm again, even if feeling warm doesn't equate to being an angel and getting the wings he doesn't deserve back. He just wants…—but he can't have, and he knows it. So he'll just have to settle for wanting.

It seemed like a better idea, at the time. Even after returning from night after night of pool at the local bar, Sam and Dean were still murmuring about being low on money. He knew it was because of him, so he decided to leave. He knew Sam and Dean would be upset, so he packs all his things at night in one small bag and leaves.

It's snowing, but Castiel doesn't have a jacket or anything, so the sharp bite of the harsh winter air rushes right through his clothes. He walks away anyway in slow, measured steps, following along the side of the road, as if the smooth asphalt will give him direction in life and tell him what to do now.

The sun begins creeping up into the sky, hopefully to alleviate some of the hindering shivering of his body. Sam and Dean either don't notice he's gone or don't care, since they have yet to try calling him. He can only hope his phone battery is dead, but he's afraid to check and see if it isn't. Castiel tries to reassure himself that this is what his goal was, to leave without being seen or discovered or forced to go back, but that thought makes him cold, too, so he stops thinking and keeps walking. No cars stop to ask if he needs a ride. Castiel doesn't know what he'd say if they would.

It's not until much later, when clouds are gathering in the sky again and he can't tell if it's going to rain or if it's approaching dusk, that a sleek, black car finally stops for him. He keeps walking past it, determined not to even look at it as the door squeaks and the driver gets out.

"Cas!" Dean starts, getting out of the vehicle and stepping into the cold himself. But Dean is prepared for it, wearing a thick coat to block out the more pressing side effects of the chilly weather. "Cas." Castiel keeps walking, wishing his tired, frozen legs could move faster, but Dean quickly catches up and places a hand on his shoulder that only expels the cold for a few seconds. "Cas."

"H-hello, D-Dean," he manages through clattering teeth.

Dean just huffs and tries to guide him back to the car, relief all over his face. "C'mon, I'm gonna take you home, Cas."

The cold feeling comes back with more power, and Castiel allows himself to be guided into the idling Impala's passenger seat. Once he's inside, the exterior coldness begins melting off of him as the Impala's heat engulfs him and warms him up. But he begins shivering again, anyway.

Dean gets inside and, after typing out a quick text message presumably to Sam, starts driving back the way they came from, back to the Bunker. From inside the heat of a car, the distance seems like nothing. When Castiel was traveling on foot, it felt…significant. But it isn't.

"What the hell were you thinking, Cas?" Dean snaps a few minutes later. "Are you trying to get yourself killed, or did you really like being sick that much that you wanna go get sick again?" Castiel can't think of an answer that will worry Dean any less, so he remains silent. "Freakin' dumbass," Dean mutters under his breath, shaking his head. Castiel feels just a little smaller and just a little colder. The Impala can't combat it this time.

"I didn't mean to worry you," he tries, swallowing. Great. Now his body is demanding water.

"Then what were you trying to do? 'Cause from where I'm sitting, it seemed like you were trying to run away." Castiel remains silent, but Dean isn't having that. "No, you don't get to do this and then play the Silent Sam card. C'mon, talk to me."

"I didn't realize it would concern you," he eventually says, but Dean looks like he's been punched at those words, so he tries again. "I didn't realize my actions would worry you. They never seem to have before."

That seems to make it worse. Before Castiel can say something to try to remedy the situation, Dean asks tightly, "Why do you say that?"

"Why wouldn't I? Even when I was fighting a war in Heaven, or losing my sanity, or working with Metatron on the spell that made the angels Fall, you never concerned yourself with what I was doing," Castiel replies a little bitterly, hating to remind Dean of his worst mistakes but feeling like he has to if he wants to get his point across. Judging by the scowl suddenly washing over the man's face, he's succeeded. Fantastic.

"It's not that, Cas," Dean starts before abruptly stopping with a sigh. "Look, we just…had a lot going on."

"You always do," he mutters before he can stop himself, feeling cold and small. Castiel turns away from Dean to lean his head against the cool window as the heat blasts from the vent and hits the side of his neck.

Dean doesn't say anything for a long moment. Finally, he says, "We were really worried about you, Cas. You haven't been right since…hell, maybe since Purgatory spit you out. We could only hope you kept going on this road, so Sammy went one way and I went the other."

Castiel isn't sure how to respond to that, so he just says softly, "You didn't have to do that."

Dean ignores him, continuing, "Sam thought you were kidnapped or something. Probably by pissed off angels still blaming you instead of that Metatron dick." Dean clearly gives a place for Castiel to press for more, but when he doesn't, Dean keeps talking anyway. "I couldn't stop thinking about what you said when you got out of Purgatory. Thought you might've done something stupid."

Castiel just frowns. "I thought you'd forgotten about that."

"Dude, who could forget their best friend telling them they're thinking about offing themself?" Dean shakes his head and makes a left turn, alerting Castiel that they're dangerously close to the Bunker.

"Well, I thought we weren't talking about that, then," Castiel snaps, still refusing to look at Dean.

"Yeah, well, maybe we should. Just like we should have right when you said it."

"Dean—"

"No, Cas. This kind of thing is a big deal, all right? Not the kind of thing you ignore until it hopefully goes away." Castiel opens his mouth to argue when Dean adds, "And, yeah, maybe I did some hoping back when you said it that those thoughts would go away, but that doesn't mean I don't care or that I forgot about it."

Castiel can't figure out what to say that won't add to Dean's worries or keep this conversation going, so he doesn't say anything. They slowly pull into the Bunker and Dean shuts off the vehicle, though neither of them climb out. Eventually, Sam comes into the garage and taps on the window to get their attention.

Before Castiel can leave the vehicle, Dean is jumping out and leading Sam to the corner. The two talk unsubtly and with a copious amount of hand gestures, glancing over at him every once in a while, and Castiel knows that they're obviously talking about him even though he can't hear anything they're saying. When they finally finish, Sam and Dean open the door and lead him back inside the Bunker. The Bunker is much warmer than the garage.

Before anyone says anything, Dean's turning around and pulling him into a hug. He's quietly talking about how worried they are or something, but all Castiel can focus on is the warmth that fills him, completely and wholly, up until Dean pulls away.

Before Dean can start saying something, Castiel remarks in quiet amazement, "It's…not cold."

Sam and Dean both frown before Sam asks, "What do you mean?"

"For so long, I've just been…so cold. I'm not sure why. But now I'm…not."

"How long have you felt like that?" Dean asks, voice tight.

"I'm not sure. It's been happening since before the Apocalypse with Lucifer, but the feeling was…fleeting. Now, it's almost constantly there."

"Cas," Dean breathes, sounding worried and looking even more concerned than he sounds.

Castiel isn't sure why, but he still says, "I'm sorry." If anything, Dean looks even more worried at that. Should he try apologizing again…? "I…"

Before he can finish the thought, Dean's hugging him again, and Sam quickly joins in, leaving Castiel squished in the center of a group hug. The position is familiar, but the warmth that floods Castiel and washes over him from the inside out is not. For the first time in so long, he feels warm and content and safe.

But, like all good things, the sensation doesn't last. Sam and Dean pull away, their faces geared for a conversation Castiel would rather avoid, as Sam and Dean usually do when something uncomfortable and feelings-oriented makes itself known. Despite this, his newfound warmth remains, even as he's filled with dread. It's very confusing.

Instead of scolding him for running away or doing something stupid again, Dean starts, "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"It…didn't seem like it was of import," he replies, glancing away.

"Of course it was important, Cas," Sam tells him. "Don't you remember? You're family. And maybe we haven't been acting like it lately, with everything that's been going on, but you're still our family, Cas."

Castiel looks between them dubiously, but doesn't say anything. Dean, however, must notice. "You need us to launch into another speech about how you're family?" he asks, only half-joking. "'Cause we will."

"No." Yes. "I just…thought that was something you said at that time, to make me change my mind."

"It was, partially," Dean admits. "And, yeah, I wish everything would go back to how it was and Bobby was still here and everything didn't suck. But it's not gonna be like that anymore, so we have to make the best of it and stick with the family we've got."

"And that includes you, Cas," Sam adds with an encouraging if watery smile. "It has for a while."

Castiel's not sure what to say, so he settles for a quiet, "Thank you."

"Don't thank us," Dean snaps, eyes suspiciously wet. "Should've said that a long time ago, and just saying it isn't enough."

"We're gonna prove it Cas," Sam continues. "We're gonna help you. You might not be okay now, but you're going to be. Just hold on."

Castiel wonders what all this is supposed to mean, wonders how Sam and Dean are going to try to 'fix' him now when he's been broken and cold for so, so long. After all, there has to be a limit before something is too broken to fix, right? Let alone worth the effort…

But then he remembers all the times they've helped him and cared for him, even before they really trusted him, even before he proved himself to be trustworthy. So maybe the Winchesters aren't the best at showing or saying that they care for someone, but they try their best, anyway, until everything is warm and relatively okay again.

So, even with everything that's happened and all the uncertainty of the future, Castiel says, voice laden with emotions he doesn't understand, "Okay."

Everything does not magically fix itself after that. Sam still suffers from something like chronic fatigue from the Trials, Castiel regaining his grace and wings doesn't seem like it's going to be in the cards anytime soon, and it sometimes seems like Dean does nothing but worry about them.

But things are better. Sam and Dean sometimes sit down and start talking about how they're feeling about certain things instead of bottling things up until something like a Mentos is dropped and everything explodes. They also encourage Castiel to talk about his feelings more, too. With great reluctance, he told them he doesn't understand emotions, not really. He hadn't when he was an angel and he still doesn't as a human. If anything, he understands it less, now that he can't even use his grace to help figure out what people are thinking or feeling.

But Sam and Dean take it in stride, even as Castiel's description of his feelings involve things like colors and textures and physical sensations, because that's just what they feel like to him. He can tell they don't really understand it, but they don't make fun of him for it or force him to think of it differently. After a time, they even begin to figure it out and understand it better than Castiel does, to the point where they can recognize what he might be feeling and describe it accordingly, even if it's just by asking 'yellow?' and later explaining that strange trepidation he's feeling is caution and maybe a little fear.

As he talks about his feelings on things more and more, the coldness that had made itself comfortable in his chest and deep in his bones slowly begins to leave to make room for an all-encompassing warmth. That's not to say he never feels cold, but a hot drink, a hug from his family, and a blanket and spontaneous group movie night later and he's…he's okay. They're all okay.