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It’s 0 degrees Fahrenheit and the only reason the light is still on in the freezer is because it was wired incorrectly.
Dean is wearing a hole in the floor, pacing back and forth in attempts to stay warm. Castiel is off to the side, staring at the door like it has personally offended him. It has. Dean can see his breath due to the below-freezing temperatures, and he almost laughs at the irony because it was a ghost hunt that trapped them here. Cas isn’t at full power right now, so escape is out of the question until Sam figures out something is wrong. Who knows how long that’ll take. Dean chuckles bitterly. His phone died minutes ago. It wasn’t built to withstand such cold temperatures. Coincidentally enough, neither are humans.
Dean swears his jacket is getting thinner because no matter how tight he pulls it around himself, he still shivers. He risked a glance at Cas, who was casually leaning up against one of the shelves. Other than failing to smite the door by simply staring at it and the inconvenience of being trapped in a small metal room, he seems unaffected by the situation. Dean, however, can’t relate. He’s starting to walk a little slower and feels like he’s trudging uphill in the snow both ways. He eventually pauses, and can’t seem to make himself start back up again, so he sits on the floor instead.
“What are you doing?” Cas asks, half confused and half concerned. The question hangs heavy in the frozen air. Dean gets the impression that what he is doing is stupid, but can’t place exactly why.
“I’m tired.”
“You’re hypothermic.” Cas deadpans in return.
Dean shrugs. “Nothing I can do about that.”
He pauses, wondering how long they’ve been trapped, but halfway to his pocket, remembers that his phone is dead. Dean’s mood sours even more and he mumbles something under his breath about the useless modern technology. The room falls silent once more, and Dean pulls his legs up to his chest to preserve his warmth. His mind supplies that the floor is sucking the heat away from his body, and maybe his body has adjusted to the temperature because he’s starting to feel warm now so he shucks off his jacket. This draws Castiel’s attention again, who quickly pushes himself away from the wall and throws himself down on the floor next to his hunter, pulling the jacket back over his shoulders.
“Dean.” His name is a question, a statement and a command, all rolled in one.
Dean blinks up at his friend and tries to remove the jacket once more, but his strength is lacking compared to that of an Angel of the Lord, even one who is running low on grace.
“You’ve stopped shivering.” Cas states and Dean’s mind is brought back into focus. He knows enough to instinctively realize: that isn’t good. “Keep your coat on. In fact,” Cas pauses, straightening up enough to remove his trenchcoat and hands it to Dean. “It is in your best interest to wear mine as well.
And if that isn’t enough to get Dean’s fog-riddled mind working. “Hey, hell no.” He exclaims, shoving the offending piece of fabric away. “Ain’t having you freezing on my behalf.”
Cas sighs. “Need I remind you I am an-”
“-Angel of the Lord. We get it. Put the damn thing back on. You ain’t you without it.”
“Of course I am,” Cas states, confused. “Why would I stop being me without the clothes my vessel is wearing? That doesn’t follow any sort of logic.” Dean rolls his eyes but smiles slightly at the unbridled curiosity Cas keeps with him wherever he goes. He’s pretty sure Cas is messing with him but is amused nonetheless. It reminds him of simpler times.
Cas settles beside him, holding the trenchcoat in his lap as if he suspects Dean will change his mind soon, and it’s not worth putting it back on. Eventually, Dean does end up taking the extra layer.
“At least I have something to sit on,” Dean remarks in passing, tucking the long flaps of fabric under himself. “The floor is fucking cold.”
Cas reaches over with a frown, brushes frost out of his hunter’s hair, and lets his hand linger, grace seeping down through Dean’s body, warming him slightly. Dean lets his eyes fall shut and leans into the touch for a second, before his mind, no longer screaming cold, cold, cold, catches up.
“Whoa, geez Cas.” Dean ducks away from the angel’s touch, regretting it immediately as the cold finds its way back in, settling into his bones. Cas leaves his hand hovering there as if he expects Dean to come to his senses and lean back into it. “You’re low enough as it is.”
Cas glares at him like a petulant child. “I may not be to my full strength, but I have more than enough grace to keep you warm.”
“If your lips weren’t turning blue, I’d believe you. Keep your grace to yourself. If you’re not strong enough to get us out of here, then you’re not strong enough to share.” Dean punctuates his sentence by crossing his arms.
“You are insufferable,” Cas says, and in lew of a proper, dignified response, reaches over and pulls Dean into his lap. Dean, who definitely doesn’t let out a squeak in surprise, realizes Cas isn’t letting go anytime soon and huffs in faux annoyance. The trenchcoat is subsequently settled around his shoulders. Whether it was because Dean admitted defeat or because Castiel simply grew tired of his hunter’s incessant shivering, neither will tell. The end result, however, is enough to satisfy the angel for now. And, if Dean mutters something about Cas being as bad as Sammy with his mothering, its teasing Cas is willing to take.
Dean settles in his lap, leaning back against Castiel’s chest and reluctantly letting himself relax. He tenses up once more as his shivering starts up again, which, while annoying, Cas takes as a good sign. “Dammit, Sam,” Dean growls to no one in particular as another shiver wracks his body, shaking him from head to toe. “Not all of us are enjoying the nice Arizona sun.”
“I doubt he finds it particularly pleasant, digging up the grave by himself and now having to fend off the ghost we were supposed to distract.” Castiel offers as if it’s supposed to make him feel any better.
Dean twists a tiny bit from his perch, throwing a look over his shoulder to take in Castiel’s condition. His gaze meets one of electric blue and he can almost see the grace pulsing behind stormy eyes, but too it’s reminiscent of the frigid air that surrounds them, so Dean quickly averts his attention, pressing into Cas for warmth.
“Better than here.”
Cas shrugs. “I am more than capable of warming you up, Dean.”
“What are you proposing?” Dean asks, mirth lining his voice.
“I have sufficient enough grace.” Cas offers and Dean sighs, any coy undertones gone.
“I’m not running you dry. Is there anything else you can do? Fly us outta here? Snap up some blankets, maybe?”
While Dean was mostly joking, (blankets would be nice though) Cas paused, deep in thought. “I could manifest my wings.”
“And what, burn my eyes out?”
“With enough control, I could let you feel them, and perhaps some of the heat that radiates off them, which could be useful for staying warm.” Cas spouts this off like it’s nothing, but Dean stares at the door skeptically.
“And this wouldn’t burn through your grace?”
“No, it is simply balancing my wings between two planes of existence. It would just require intense concentration. I won’t be very good company if this is what we choose to do.”
“I think I can handle a couple of hours of silence if it means keeping my toes,” Dean admits, but he isn’t fond of the idea.
Cas nods. “I suggest you get comfortable because it would be better for you to stay still as possible. Despite the fact my wings will only be partially manifested in this plane, I advise you not to touch them.” Dean shuffles around the best he can, as his shivering and stiff joints give him limited motion control. He ends up facing Cas, straddling his legs, resting his head on his shoulder and tucking his frozen digits into the back of Cas’s shirt. Cas tightens his hold on Dean, and a faint humming is heard seconds later. Dean buries his face in Cas’s shoulder as the room lights up, but it dims quickly and Dean can feel the heat before he even opens his eyes. When he does, he leans back as much as Cas’s grip will let him and looks around, spotting faint shadows hovering around them, cocooning them in warmth.
“Man, you were kidding when you said not to move much.” Dean comments, and then realizes he won’t be getting a response. “Right…”
Cas is unmovable, seemingly trapped in time, his eyes staring blankly out in front of him. He’s so convincingly unresponsive, that if Dean hadn’t been warned ahead of time, he’d be afraid that the angel froze solid.
“Might as well get comfortable,” Dean says to the empty air and settles down against Cas once more.
An hour later, this is how Sam finds them: Dean curled up in Cas’s lap, his shivering looking more like seizures and extremities turning blue while Cas looks dead to the world, faint shadows hovering to protect them from the cold.
“Dean!” Sam’s rough and weary voice drags Dean back to the land of the living. He tries to sit up and rub the sleep out of his eye but doesn’t get very far. It takes him a solid five seconds of staring and blinking at Cas’s unmoving form before he remembers what is going on.
“Took you long enough,” Dean grumbles to himself, before shouting back to Sam. “You’re gonna have to help me out here, I’m so cold I can barely move.” He hears Sam’s boots clunk against the freezer floor and has enough time to warn him. “Don’t touch Cas’s wings.” He feels Sam clasp a hand around his shoulder and the warmth that seeps from it is enough motivation to get him moving. They manage to maneuver Dean out of Cas’s stony grip, and Dean scampers to the door, basking in the heat. Sam follows shortly after.
“Now what?” Sam asks, ever serious, ruining Dean’s daydream of basking in the sun for the next three hours.
“Did you gank the ghost at least?”
“No thanks to you.” Sam scoffs, “But I meant in regards to Cas.”
Dean’s trying to rub some feeling back into his hands, and he realizes, he doesn’t know. Cas offered to help but didn’t tell Dean how to get him out of his little trance. He figures, just interrupt his concentration. So Dean fords his way back into the freezer, Sam close behind, and gives Cas a little shake.
“C’mon Cas, Sam found us. We’re gonna go back to the bunker and chug hot chocolate in front of the furnace.”
Dean frowns when he doesn’t get a response, and a tendril of icy fear worms it’s way into his heart. Cas’s dark hair is covered in a thin layer of frost, his lips are blue, and his eyes are lifeless. They pulse with grace, but Dean is too overcome by the possibility that Cas lied to him and burnt himself out to notice. Sam does and catches Dean off guard enough to be able to manhandle him away, just in time for Cas to explode in a burst of light. They cover their eyes instinctively but turn back as soon as they can, only to be met with the sight of Cas collapsed on the floor. Dean pulls himself out of Sam’s hold with the force of a reckless lover, throwing himself on the floor next to Cas.
“Hey, Cas. Cas.” Dean shakes Cas ruthlessly as if he does it enough, everything will magically be ok.
“Dean,” Sam says, ever the voice of reason, “let’s get him out of the freezer and into the Impala. Give him a chance to warm up. You too.”
Together, they get Cas settled into the backseat, and Dean doesn’t hesitate to join him. He’s too cold to drive anyway. It’s a long drive back to the bunker, and they stop halfway to get some food, but also to make sure neither of them was going to lose anything to the hypothermia. It’s when they’re nearly home that Cas awakes, and Dean’s shout almost has Sam veering off the road.
Cas looks confused, and it takes him a few seconds to adjust to his surroundings, but his breath gets knocked out of his chest as Dean pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. Sam glances back to double-check they were both okay, his attention drawn by Cas’s small ‘oof’, but pointedly averts his gaze back to the road as Dean gently kisses the angel, before curling up into his side. Cas smiles and returns the gesture, pressing a kiss to Dean’s no longer frozen hair, and relaxing against him. Sam debates asking what exactly happened while they were trapped in there, and why he collapsed but decided against it as Dean’s snoring derailed his train of thoughts. Dean needed the rest anyway, it’s the first time he’s slept since he had found them trapped in the freezer.
They get back to the bunker, and Dean leaves Sam to gather all their supplies, dragging Cas inside. He also cranks the heat up to 80 degrees, but Sam wisely complains about neither. Cas eventually explains that he was holding his wings between two planes of existence, one humans could register and one they couldn't. Manifesting them fully in this plane would be too much for humans to handle, and leaving them where they are normally stored would do nothing to warm Dean. As a result, Cas focused on balancing them between the two, constantly fighting the urge to leave them in one plane or the other. This took massive amounts of concentration, and when Dean tried to get his attention, it threw him off. This resulted in the bright light they saw, as his wings appeared in this plane of existence before Cas was able to regain control and send them back to where they belonged. This was very draining, and Cas promptly passed out from exhaustion. He then apologizes to for worrying them, but Dean just tells him to give a little warning next time.
Days pass and the temperature is back down to its normal 75 degrees but despite the heat, Cas can’t seem to bundle up in enough sweaters. While debating on whether or not to tell Dean, he remembers a faint promise of no more secrets, that while frequently broken, this one small thing is best addressed. He finds Dean poking around in the kitchen, beer in hand.
“Want one?”
“Only if it’ll warm me up.” He replies in lew of a proper response.
“Still cold, huh?”
“My grace is doing it’s best, but the residual cold still lingers.” He admits.
“Let’s see what we can do about that,” Dean says, and turns to the cabinets, gathering ingredients. Cas watches, chilled but content, as Dean makes a steaming cup of hot chocolate and hands it to him. His fingers instinctively curl around the cheap, ceramic mug, seeking out the warmth the beverage provides.
Dean motions with his head for Cas to follow and, ever loyal, he does. They make a pit stop by the library for Dean to annoy Sam away for the lore books long enough to eat lunch by himself, and then by the ‘Dean Cave’ to grab extra blankets. They end up in Dean’s room, which, coincidentally, is Cas’s room too, and settle on the bed. Dean wraps one of the thicker blankets around his shoulders and takes his spot against the headboard. Cas shuffles in position between Dean’s legs carefully, in attempts to not spill his drink all over their bed. Dean then takes the blanket around his shoulders and wraps it around the both of them, the other blankets settled haphazardly in their laps. Dean’s beer was left in the kitchen but he doesn’t miss it. Instead, they trade sips of hot cocoa and Dean places it on the nightstand when they finish. Cas shuffles down, using Dean as a pillow, and curls up under the blankets to nap while his grace recharges.
“Don’t worry,” Dean teases, half-serious as he runs a hand through Cas’s dark locks. “I’ll watch over you.” Cas squirms and wriggles a hand free to poke at Dean in retaliation, but doesn’t say anything. He quiets down, and his breathing evens out, Dean leaning down and gently kissing the side of his head, before relaxing against the headboard, hand tracing swirls in feathery hair. It may be 75 degrees in the bunker, but looking at Cas like this, it’s enough to melt his heart.