D'script.: Castiel discovers snow.

Disc.: I don't even own the snowflakes on my tongue. Do you think I own Supernatural?

Love: How awesome and innocently clueless Castiel is.

Mini: Cottony

Castiel had never seen snow before. In all his millennia, he'd hardly come down to Earth, and when he had it had been dreary and rainy or sunny and overly bright.

He had woken up, shifting out of the couch that he had apparently "won" in a game of rock-paper-scissors. Glancing at the beds, he saw that Dean had flung the sheets off in effort to battle his nightmare monsters and was currently shivering from the cold. Sam was curled up, head buried deep in the sheets as he occasionally snored.

Castiel resisted the urge to probe into the boys' dreams, and instead threw his trench over his shoulders and paced to the window. He drew back the blinds slightly, so the streetlights wouldn't wake Dean, who had the bed closer to the door and window.

Castiel's attention was pulled back when Dean sniffled and shivered again. Castiel watched him apathetically before a jolt of sympathy hit him. He leaned over the tired hunter and tugged and tucked the covers back around him. Dean's shivering stopped and his face seemed to relax. Castiel took that as a good sign and turned back to the window.

He saw fluffy white pieces of what he assumed to be cotton drifting down in lazy circles. Intrigued by it, he watched as it floated past the window to land softly on the ground, creating a fuzzy layer. Castiel figured a whole layer of cotton must be warm, really warm. At least warmer than the broken heat in this motel. He glanced back at the brothers before tossing his trench to the nearest chair.

He padded softly to the door and fumbled quietly with the deadbolt lock, eventually unlocking it. Once he stepped out, he was hit with a cold blast of air. Shivering, he decided the best thing to do would be to race to the warm cotton sheets before the cold air made him too cold.

Castiel ran out into the snow, twirling once or twice as snowflakes spiralled to the Earth. He had never known snow, and everything seemed so beautiful, sparkling and shimmering in the white ice crystals. He poised his body before relaxing and letting himself hit the fluffy ground.

Castiel's body was entirely enveloped by the snow and it took a few seconds after for him to realize that it wasn't warm and cozy-it was freezing!

Sam had woken up because Castiel hadn't closed the door and a sharp gust of wind blew in. He spotted the open door and grabbed the Glock that Dean kept under his bed. He threw his sheets off and woke his brother.

"Hey, the door's open and Castiel's missing," he said, shaking Dean awake.

Dean would never admit it, but he cared for the angel. He knew Castiel wouldn't manage in this world without them and he found that he didn't mind looking after the angel all that much. It was kind of like raising Sam again.

Dean got out of bed with a start, joining Sam as they edged to the door. Dean's lips quirked in a smile as he saw Castiel in the snow. Sam was worried as the angel shivered, his teeth chattering slightly.

"Cas, what're you doin' out there?" Dean called, his eyes dancing with amusement even though his speech was sleep-slurred.

"The c-cotton…" he spoke, "It's c-c-cold!"

Sam smiled, "Cas, get inside. That's not cotton."

The angel jumped through the snow, hands rubbing his arms furiously for warmth. He stepped back inside and Dean closed the door just before another burst of air whipped at them.

"Cas, that's snow," Dean explained, "It's cold, made of ice, dude. You don't want to be going out like that."

Sam nodded, "Yeah," he said, brushing off the snow from the angel's shoulder.

Castiel looked at him curiously, wondering about this human gesture. He shook slightly, remnants of snow drifting to the ground.

"You'll catch a cold if you're not dressed properly," Sam spoke before looking at Dean, "Do angels get sick?"

Before Dean could attempt an answer, Castiel sneezed.

Dean nodded in his direction. "Bet you 20 bucks that they do," he said slyly.

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