This was the companion mini shot to the previous one, kind of in the same vein. Essentially, it's just crack.

Thanks to my guest reviewer Katy for your review as well!

Charatcers/Setting: Dean, Cas / Somewhere in S8

Genre: Crack, humor

Rating: K+ (because angry Dean is vocal Dean)

Good Intentions

How to treat a hypothermic Winchester—and how ungrateful they are about it

Dean woke blearily. He couldn't quite remember what had happened, all he knew was that he had been cold. Freezing. So very frozen, in fact that he couldn't feel the cold after a while. He thought he might have been hunting something. Remembered ice, a door closing, seeing a lot of frozen food…and then that was all he remembered.

But now, he was warm. Very much so, in fact. That was the first thing he realized. He hummed tiredly, too exhausted to pay much attention to the change in his surroundings, figuring Sam had probably just dragged him back to a motel and packed him into bed with a ton of blankets. He was about to drift off again, not really caring about waking up if he was out of danger.

But then he realized the second thing. And the second thing was very important.

Sam was sick back at the bunker. He hadn't come on this hunt at all, so how could he have dragged Dean back to a motel and warmed him up. On top of that, he felt suddenly constricted, like he was bound.

His eyes flew open, hands scrambling against whatever was restraining him—a sleeping bag, he realized with confusion as he felt the silky fabric—and when he looked down he realized he was wearing no clothes. Crap.

Well, okay, he had his boxers on but that didn't count. Someone had undressed him. Someone who's origin he wasn't aware of. This was why he always watched his drinks at bars.

"The hell?" he mumbled.

"Dean, hold still."

He froze as the gravelly voice spoke close—way too close—to his ear, the sound rumbling against his back.

"Oh hell no," Dean muttered. "Cas, what the actual hell?"

"Dean, calm down, you almost died."

"Where the hell are my clothes?" Dean screeched, trying to flail but something was wrapped tightly around his chest and only squeezed tighter. One of his flailing hands hit skin that wasn't his and he stopped, craning his neck as far as it would go to look back at the angel, seeing a bare shoulder—also not his. "Oh my God," Dean said, his voice a croak. "Cas…where the friggen' hell are your clothes?!"

"Skin to skin contact is the best way to treat hypothermia, Dean. Besides we still have on our undergarments…"

"Oh, holy hell you did not just say 'skin to skin contact'." Dean groaned, continuing his struggling. He realized then that he and Cas were somehow both smashed into the back bench seat of the Impala. How that was even physically possible, he didn't know, all he knew was that his supposed Guardian Angel was going to new lengths that involved nonconsensual spooning and he was not happy about it. "Why is this my life?" He muttered against the leather of Baby's seat.

"There was nothing else to do, Dean, the ghost locked you in that freezer. You're lucky Sam insisted I go after you to help on the hunt. I got there just in time but you were still very hypothermic. I was only doing what was necessary to save your life. I don't see why you're so upset."

"Upset?" Dean screeched. "I wake up half naked and forcibly cuddled by a dude and you don't think that's upsetting?"

"It's a common survival technique, not 'cuddling', and you have to admit that you are much warmer, sharing my body heat, are you not?"

"Cas, just stop talking," Dean pleaded.

They were silent for a long moment, neither of them moving.

"Cas," Dean finally said.

"Yes, Dean."

"Can you please get off of me?"

"Are you warm enough?"

"Yes," Dean gritted out.

"Let me take your temperature first…"

"Cas, get the hell off of me!"

"As you wish, Dean."

Cas unzipped the sleeping bag and for a minute, Dean actually regretted the loss of warmth.

But just not that much. This was the last case he was ever going to take that he could get possibly hypothermic in. Well, at least Sam wasn't there so he never had to find out…

"I already called Sam and told him that once you were warm, we would go. You don't mind if I drive?"

Dean was an angry burrito in his sleeping bag, glaring up at the angel who had moved to the front, already mojod back into his clothes and trench coat. Great. Sam knew. This day was just getting more and more awesome.

"Whatever," Dean grumbled, shivering slightly again.

"I'll stop and get you a coffee on the way back," Cas told him as he started the car and turned the heat up full blast.

Dean grunted. Cas was not going get him to forgive this. Never.

"You had better get me some pie with that coffee," he growled.

Cas nodded in acceptance and continued driving.

Dean didn't meet Cas' eye for a week afterward.