There is the familiar warmth of Castiel in the morning, always. He is a haze of heat in the early hours, a dull and pulsating calmness that folds itself over Dean like a blanket.

Dean wants to weave this tendril of heat and closeness into his jacket, wants to memorize the scent of this luxury, this smoky, dusty body that is flat against his chest. He wonders how he ever survived on the cold rations and midnight cool sheets that his string of One Night Stands awarded him, and he realizes too quickly into his relationship with Castiel (if you could call it that) that he has forgotten what it feels like to be cold.

The ex-angel and the hunter commit the other's slopes and dips and curves and edges to memory, as if by holding onto to such artistic and futile details will mean that the 'relationship' may continue.

This of course, means nothing.

The heat of Castiel is also present as he bends and pulls and cramps over a bucket, or on the ground, and one can feel the sweat and the fever flush of warmth even between all the layers that ride Castiel like suckers ride shark bellies.

Dean often presses his hand to Castiel's back while he vomits. He has noticed how Castiel relaxes and sighs into the soft pressure that reassures him of Dean's comforting presence.

Dean often has to remind himself at times like these, that Castiel is as similar to him as Earth is to Saturn.

Castiel has been alive since the dawn of time, seen humans rise, seen creation freeze and seen war turn friendships into hatreds too profound to be undone.

And Dean? Dean has a string of One Night Stands so long, if you stretch it out, it'll circle the world.

But in all that time, he's never known this kind of heat.

This… this warmth and fire boiling in Castiel's veins?

It's Hellfire.

XxX

'Bit late for visit, isn't it darling?' Crowley paces the Devil's Trap, a bat in the darkness of the barn.

'Cut the crap Crowley. You know what I want.' Dean growls.

Crowley looks up, cruel smirk pulling his face apart, splitting his skin.

'Ahh… You want Hell to stop chasing your fine feathered friend… Or should I say, boyfriend?' Crowley winks.

'Call the dogs off Cas, or I stab you in the face with this.' Dean holds up Ruby's knife, let's the barn lights catch the sheen of the blade.

Crowley is not impressed, holds his head higher, stops his pacing, squares his shoulders, sets his jaw. His eyes flash their true shade of crimson, crossroad blood clearly boiling.

'You think a toothpick like that is going to perturb a man like me? Please, Dean. I'm a king and a salesman.' Crowley smiles wider.

'You… want me to make a deal?' Dean is taken aback.

'In a manner of speaking.'

''m not selling my soul for this.'

'It's not your soul I'm after.'

Dean cocks his head to the side, surveying Crowley. The demon is all whiskey-slick hands and tailored suit tails, all grandeur and charisma and British values. The King of Hell remains as stoic as always.

Noticing Dean's confusion, Crowley sighs heavily. 'I want full Crossroads Demon immunity. You let us continue our deals undisturbed and I can give you a time frame.'

'Time frame of what?'

'How long your angel friend has left.'

'No. Call Hell off of Cas, completely.'

Crowley throws his hands in the air in frustration.

'Dean! Please! You of all people should know that Hell has a mind of its own. I just work there. When a Holy creature becomes an absence, Hell becomes interested. Such a gospel and pure creature as our friend Castiel, has Hell's undivided attention. He's fallen from Grace, and now he's falling into the flames.'

Dean doesn't know what to do. He runs a hand through his hair, takes fevered steps around the barn, tries to breathe away the clenching feeling in his chest. There is no option in Dean's mind, no way around this. Simply stabbing Crowley won't fix his problems, although that's the way he wishes he could go.

Finally he says: 'Where do I sign?'

The contract seems to go on forever. It is a sea and a turbulence of 'sign here' and 'here' and 'initial here'. When all is said and done Crowley curls the parchment and tucks it into his coat pocket, and the air of professionalism and finality the contract seems to give Castiel's fate is heart shattering and world teetering.

'I'm not kissing you.' Dean croaks.

'We'll settle it with a handshake then.'

Dean is unwilling to let his hand wander over the Devil's Trap. Crowley's hand is freezing, frozen in Dean's tight grip.

Dean cuts the handshake short. Dean scrapes away the Devil's Trap.

'Castiel, the Angel of Thursday has 10 days before he joins the pit. Ta, darling.'

And with a flourish, a wave, a wink , Crowley is gone.

10 days.

Dean falls to his knees, feels grief leap over him in arctic frozen waves, icicles hitting the skin where his cheek meets the ground. His chest is hollow. He lets the waves fold over him, curls his knees against his chest at the thought of seeing Castiel's empty body on the ground.

He doesn't know why he feels this way. He's lost friends to battles before.

Perhaps it is because Castiel is no friend, but an unfortunate partner to share the frozen nights with, to replace the silver light of midnight with the amber glow of dawn, to replace the frigid touch of an empty bed with the subtle coziness of fireless firelight.

Dean does not know how long he lies there.

But it is now that he remembers what being cold feels like…

XxX

Dean returns in the early hours, when all are asleep.

All but one.

Castiel is waiting for him under the sheets.

Dean doesn't want to look at him as he sinks onto the mattress, peels his shirt from his marble chest and throws it on the floor. Dean feels himself shaking.

This guy has 10 days before he's six feet. Dean thinks.

'Is something wrong Dean?' Cas whispers into Dean's shoulder, balancing his chin on Dean's clavicle.

'No, Cas. Let's get some sleep.' Dean flips off the lamp and lies back in the bed, Castiel nuzzles Dean's neck and presses his chest flush against Dean's back, arm lacing protectively over Dean's waist.

The warmth of Castiel is calming, but is also sinister.

This is the heat of Hell. Dean cannot help but replay over and over again in his head the thought that Castiel is damned.

A/N 9/10 Crossroads Demons found reviewing very satisfying. Side effects of reviewing include happy author, faster updating increased happiness, smiles and cookie.