Dean took his time in the store, telling himself it was so he could warm up a little before heading out again. He went meticulously over Sam's scribbled list, checking everything three times just to be completely sure. But by the time he'd paid for the supplies and stepped back into the cold, Castiel still hadn't returned.

The trudge back seemed twice as long without the stern-faced angel keeping him company. Worse, the snowfall had become a blizzard, and white flakes gathered on his eyelashes until he could barely see. Now he bitterly regretted not taking a pair of gloves; his hands felt like they were frozen against the plastic bag handles.

When he finally trudged back to the motel, Dean wondered if he'd ever be warm again. He passed the Impala in the parking lot, wheels still frozen up and with a fresh layer of snow obscuring the windscreen. Dean fervently wished the weather would let up so they could get out of this place before they froze to death. How the locals could bear winters as harsh as these he'd never understand. He stomped back up to the room, his numb fingers clumsy with the key before he finally opened the door.

Sam hadn't moved since Dean had left, still dozing on top of the bedcovers with an open book lying forgotten across his chest. He stirred at the sound of the door closing. 'How'd it go?' he yawned without opening his eyes. 'You were gone for ages.'

'In case you hadn't noticed, the snow is knee-deep out there, Sammy.' Dean dumped the bags on the floor and kicked off his snow-caked boots. 'And it's also friggin' cold.' By way of demonstration, he planted a frozen hand on his brother's face and smirked as Sam yelped and swatted it away. 'How's your foot?'

'Better than it was,' he admitted, sitting up. 'I'm not gonna be tap-dancing anytime soon, though.' He glanced pointedly towards the door. 'Where's Cas?'

'He, uh, vanished again. Guy doesn't like to stick around, you know how he is.' Dean shrugged, wandering into the bathroom. 'I should think he's got more important things to do than carry groceries.' He ran the hot tap and sighed as stabs of painful warmth assailed his frozen fingers. Why did they never get cases at sunny beaches? Surely even demons liked the odd vacation or two.

When he came back into the room Sam was watching him expectantly, arms folded. Despite the sleep-ruffled hair and pillow under his foot, he pulled off the disapproving parent face surprisingly well.

Dean stared back at him. 'What?'

'You're a terrible liar, Dean. Cas showed up here about a half hour ago and said he was going to be away for a couple days.'

He frowned. 'And?'

'And he looked like someone had kicked his puppy. What did you say to him?'

'Nothing!' he insisted, too quickly, then cursed inwardly as Sam raised his eyebrows. 'We just had a- a minor disagreement, okay? It's not my fault he's so damn touchy today.' Dean collapsed onto his bed, exhausted. After a while, Sam gave up waiting for a more satisfactory answer and returned to his book.

The silence dragged for several minutes. Finally, Dean sighed. 'Fine, I threw a snowball at him. Happy?'

Sam blinked up at him, mid page-turn. 'What?'

'Just to lighten things up, you know. I was bored.' He was baffled when Sam laughed and shook his head. 'What's funny?'

'You threw a snowball? At an angel?' Sam slotted an old receipt between the pages and set the book down. 'Only you would be dumb enough to try something like that.'

'What's he gonna do, smite me?' Dean scoffed.

The humour abruptly faded from his eyes. 'I doubt he could if he wanted to. But he's done a lot for us, Dean. And he's got problems of his own to deal with right now.'

'Yeah, he's not the only one.' He stared up at the ceiling, where a patch of pale green mould was growing in the corner above the bed. Castiel rarely spoke of his own personal quest to find his father, but whenever anyone mentioned the man upstairs he'd become quiet and evasive until the subject was changed. The angel wasn't one to show much emotion, but lately some of the fire seemed to have gone from his eyes. Joshua's news must have hit him pretty hard. Guilt stabbed at him.

Sam sighed. 'I'm just saying we need to stick together on this one. We're all kinda stressed out right now and we can't afford to fall out over- over things like this.'

'Alright, you don't have to rub it in.' Dean pulled out his cell phone and scrolled through the contacts, some vague idea of an awkward apology forming in his mind. Not many people could say that they had an angel in their phonebook. He found Cas' number and pressed "call".

NO SIGNAL

'Man, I love this town.' Dean groaned in frustration and tossed it onto the nightstand. 'Why would a ghost even come here, anyway? It's just the middle of nowhere!' he cried. Come to think of it, if Cas was busy trying to find his dad then there was a good chance a ringing cell phone wouldn't be good for any stealth attempts.

'Maybe they like the peace and quiet,' Sam suggested, opening up his book again.

Dean shuffled into a more comfortable position and closed his eyes. 'Don't we all.' Now that the biting winds were gone, warmth began to trickle back into his bones and he began to feel sleepy. That walk had taken more out of him than it should have. He could use a nap.

But even as he began to relax he thought about the Apocalypse, and the enormity of what they were trying to do hit him once again. Team Free Will: two hunters and a rebelling angel versus just about every nasty thing that cared to show its face. Castiel had given everything to aid them in a battle that seemed impossible to win. You couldn't blame the guy for being a little prickly. Dean remembered his desperation to find his own dad and the emotional rollercoaster that had followed , and wondered if they were more alike than they realised.

Dean kept his eyes shut and tried to turn his mind to less depressing things like hot chicks in bars and driving down (warm) country roads, but guilt kept pulling him back to their argument.

As Sam turned the page of his book, Dean slowed his breathing and focused on thinking as loudly as he could.

Castiel.

No reply.

Cas?

Hey Chuckles, I wanna talk to you.

Please?

Look, I know you can hear me.

Castie-elll...

I'm gonna keep on annoying you until you answer me.

Cas

Cas

Castiel

Casserole

Casbutt

Cassy-poo

Come on grumpy-wings, stop sulking in the clouds. I'm serious.

'Woah, you weren't kidding. Looks pretty rough out there now.'

Dean opened one eye, his concentration broken. Sam was leaning over and peering out of the window. Behind the curtains, snow was piling up against the glass.

'Yeah.' Dean sighed and looked up at the ceiling. If you turned your head a little, the cracks in the faded paint looked a bit like wings. Listen Cas, I'm sorry okay? I've got a lot on my plate right now. I forget that you do too.

His eyelids drooped as soft snow blanketed the edges of his mind. You never tell us when something's on your mind. Problem shared is a problem halved, y'know. We're not exactly miracle workers but we're your friends. You might be an angel but that sure as hell doesn't make you indestructible.

Snow began pattering against the building, like tiny fingers tapping out a hundred different rhythms. Dean closed his eyes.

You've helped me out a lot these past few months. Just stay safe, Cas. I know you'll find your dad eventually.

Snowflakes settled on his closed eyes, but they were warm like summer rain. When sleep rose to greet him like a long-lost friend, he welcomed it gratefully.

And he could have imagined it, but just before he faded from consciousness Dean was sure he heard a distant Thank you from the snow clouds overhead.