Snowed In

[x]

Dean woke up to Cas's whistling and the persistent smell of something burning.

His head shot up from his desk in alarm. It had been a stressful night; Cas had run of to God knows where, Sam was angry and unhelpful, and the whole time he'd been worrying about the Mark. It was a persistent weight on his shoulder, a wound that worsened with each day. Dean was running out of time to fix it.

He stumbled into the kitchen, half expecting it to be on fire. But no, it was only Cas, a proud grin stretched across his face, a frying pan in one hand. Dean saw a sizzling hunk of what was probably a pancake smoking and hissing inside. On the counter, a tin of hot chocolate powder was on its side. Dean noticed a broken mug on the floor.

"Cas?" he grumbled. "What are you doing?"

Dean tried to keep a straight face but couldn't, and burst into light-hearted laughter. With a warm chuckle, he pulled the pan from his angel's hands.

"Here. This is how you do it." he said, pouring in a new spoonful of batter. Cas smiled gleefully.

They settled down into the frayed armchairs Sam had convinced Dean to put in the bunker. Although Dean constantly complained that they were too girly, too old-fashioned, too boring, he secretly liked the comfy antiques. Whenever he and Sam weren't on a case, Dean would sit here with Cas and stay up until sunrise. It was here, actually, that he and his angel had first said to each other what they'd been feeling for years: I love you. Simple, simple words, but with the power to change Dean's life. Suddenly, he no longer had to pretend. He could be exactly who he wanted to be.

Cas somehow convinced Dean to go outside. The two of them bundled up beneath layers of sweatshirts and jackets; and, of course, flannel. The cold was a shock, but the pristine carpet of untouched snow that surrounded the bunker was rewarding. Dean gave a gentle push on Cas's back and sent him tumbling into the snow. He was met with a snowball to the face.

"Easy there, buddy." he said, leaning to throw one of his own. It hit his angel square in the nose. Cas looked surprised for a minute, before scooping up another handful of cold snow.

"I've seen human children do this." he remarked. "Are we not to old for this, Dean?"

Dean shook his head as the two engaged in all-out war. He ducked behind a frost-coated tree, grinning. Cas stepped silently around the edge and tackled Dean. A warm feeling grew in Dean's chest, the stuff of romance novels and cheesy movies. He wondered if Cas felt it, too.

They must've been out there for a few hours. Sam joined them and they made snow angels. Cas, who hadn't quite grasped the concept, used his wings to scorch an imprint them into the snow. Dean brought out hot chocolate (the kind Cas had horribly failed at making) for them to sip, as they reveled in the unexpected happiness the snow had brought.

Dean knew that tomorrow might not be like this. The urgency of the Mark was pressing, and Cas had his own issues to attend to. For God's sake, he was a hunter- days like this were as rare as winning the lottery.

But that didn't matter. Nothing really did, not right then. Because he and his angel were happy. He and his angel were in love.