Author's Note: With Christmas coming up I really wanted to write something winter-themed, but in typical style what started out as a one-shot is now five pages on my Word document, so I'm splitting this into three shorter chapters. I'm not great with canon, but it's set at some point mid season five.
Dean cursed as he skidded on yet another patch of ice and nearly fell into a snow pile in someone's front yard. The three of them had spent most of the week digging up graves in freezing temperatures to exorcise a particularly vicious ghost that had been terrorising the town. Now the Impala was frozen solid and they were fresh out of everything so Dean had bravely volunteered to make the trek up to the store- something he was now beginning to regret.
Not that he'd had much choice. Sam wasn't going to get far with a twisted ankle on these steep roads, though his sarcastic conversation would have been appreciated right now; his replacement wasn't contributing much in the chatting department.
Dean swatted at the snowflakes swirling around his head and squinted at the flapping trench coat several strides ahead of him. Castiel had decided to accompany him on his mission to get supplies, but had conveniently forgotten that whilst he may well have been an angel with magical anti-freeze powers, Dean was only a very cold (and rather pissed-off) mortal.
'Hey, could you slow down a little?' he called, edging around a frozen puddle that the snow had almost hidden. He was sure he could feel the end of his nose turning blue. 'Not all of us have angel superpowers, you know!'
Castiel didn't seem to hear him, staring up at the frozen trees that lined the path as he walked. They'd been walking for nearly ten minutes now, and not once had he faltered in his step. If anything he seemed to enjoy the wintery surroundings, the chilly winds unable to coax the slightest flush in his pallid cheeks. Talk about rubbing salt in the wound. It had been like this for most of the week: Castiel being serious and composed as usual, impatient to get on with the job whilst Sam and Dean shivered endlessly and tried to maintain possession of their extremities.
And Dean realised he was sick of it. Castiel never seemed to understand that his friends were human beings who needed to eat and sleep and keep warm like everyone else. He'd spent most of the week standing impatiently by the motel window, bitching about how important it was that they caught this ghost before it killed any more people. Dean was sick of Castiel's I-forget-how-weak-humans-are attitude, sick of this tiny little town in the middle of nowhere, and most of all he was sick to death of being cold.
In short, Dean needed to let off some steam after a long week. And his preferred victim was currently taking a nap at the motel with a cushion under his foot.
Dean's gaze drifted to the piles of snow by the roadside, and a light bulb went on in his head.
Cold dampness bit into his numbed fingers as he scooped a handful of snow off a nearby wall (he wasn't a girl like Sam- no way was he wearing gloves even in this weather). He brought his hands together and compressed it into a cold ball. As he straightened up, he felt a childish grin spread across his face at the thought of what he was about to do.
Castiel didn't turn around. He hadn't even noticed that Dean had stopped walking. With an aim perfected by years of hurling various pointed objects at bad guys, Dean drew back his arm, focussed in on his target, then threw the snowball as hard as he could.
He'd expected it to vaporise in a puff of smoke, or for the angel to dodge the blow with his superhuman reflexes. It was the moral victory that counted, in Dean's opinion.
Instead, the snowball shot through the air unhindered and smacked Castiel in the back of the head.
'Agh!' Castiel flinched as crumbs of snow went down the back of his neck. He whipped around, eyes wide as he scanned the street for danger, then his gaze settled on Dean's grinning face.
'Hey, thanks for stopping.' Dean walked up to him, doing his best not to swagger. He'd just taken an angel by surprise. 'Thought I'd never catch you up.'
Castiel gingerly touched the back of his neck then examined his hand as though checking for blood. His blue eyes were the colour of a frozen lake as he stared up at him in confusion. 'What was that for?' he growled in his gravelly voice.
'Uh, fun?' Dean spread out his arms, still savouring the achievement. 'It's a human thing, y'know, when we get bored of freezing our asses off-'
'Have I done something to offend you?' he demanded, his eyebrows pulling downwards into a scowl.
'What? No- I-' Dean was a little taken aback at the venom in his tone. 'Hey, it's only a snowball Cas, no need to get your wings in a twist.' This was the same guy who had let Dean run a knife through his heart the first time they'd properly met. Why was he so touchy all of a sudden?
He sighed. 'It's just a game, okay? People throw snowballs at each other all the time. You don't have to take it so personally.'
'I fail to see the fun in disturbing someone whilst they are trying to think,' he snapped, then turned on his heel and continued walking, each footstep crunching in the snow. The sight stirred something in Dean's memory. It took him a moment, but then he had it: Castiel was the spitting image of four-year-old Sammy stomping off in a huff after losing an argument. He even had the pout.
'Oh, you're just being pissy because I caught you off guard,' Dean teased, working hard to keep pace with him. By this time he'd all but forgotten about the cold; there was a vindictive pleasure to be had in winding Cas up. It allowed him to forget about Michael and Lucifer and the upcoming Apocalypse, if only for a while. Somehow it felt like payback for all the times Castiel had shown up and given him half an answer, always too mysterious to stick around and explain himself. Not that he had a grudge against the guy or anything.
'Come on, you throw one! Hit me!' He held out his arms, an open target. 'You might be a warrior of God but I'm gonna make you throw a snowball. Come on, Cas!'
Castiel just shook his head in disdain and continued walking.
'I challenge you to a duel!' he said dramatically, and grabbed another handful of snow.
'Then I decline,' he replied. When Dean threw this snowball Castiel didn't even flinch, and it smashed into an invisible wall a few feet short of his shoulder, exploding into a fine powder that was dissipated by the wind.
'Grinch.' Dean blew on his hands and stuffed them in his pockets. 'You're no fun, you know that?' He fell into step beside him. Castiel made a point of looking anywhere but him, his lips pressed together into a thin line. 'You're allowed to have some fun in a while. Can't you lighten up?'
Castiel whirled around to face him, eyes flashing with anger. 'Has it occurred to you that I might have bigger things on my mind right now than your stupid human traditions?' he snarled. His expression was so intense that Dean actually took a step back. The angel was the most even-tempered one he'd met, but you wouldn't think to look at him at that moment. Castiel looked genuinely pissed off. They stared at each other as the snow fell down around them.
'Have you seriously never heard of snowball fighting?' Dean asked weakly.
'It's not high on my priority list right now.' Castiel closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked weary. Tired, even. 'Dean, I have things to do. Perhaps it is best if you continue this venture alone.'
'For God's sake Cas, it was just a snowball!' Dean cried out. 'Stop being such a drama queen-' He looked over as he heard the rustle of wings. 'Cas?' He crunched to a halt and turned around. Behind him, two sets of footprints extended into the distance. A few paces away, the slightly smaller prints halted as though the person that had caused them had abruptly ceased to be.
'Great.' Dean sighed, a cloud of breath in the freezing air. Castiel was gone.