The Year of Redemption

Chapter 16: Shiver

"It appears personal space has flown out the window," Cas commented, looking down at Dean leaning against his chest. Again.

Dean awkwardly pushed himself away from the angel. "Where are our packs?" he asked, looking around. They must have left them at the top of the hill somewhere before they had started rampaging through the forest chasing each other.

Castiel vanished, then reappeared about three seconds later with the backpacks. Dean started rummaging through them, pulling out poles and stakes and a tarp and, finally, the tent. He began connecting the poles, then looked over at Cas. "You gonna help, or just keep standing there like an idiot? Here," he said, handing the angel a couple of poles to connect. Castiel looked at them, dumbfounded, so Dean grabbed them back and showed him what to do. "You just stick the end of that one into the hole of that one," he instructed in a somewhat condescending tone. Cas still looked a bit confused. "Come on, if there's one thing guys know how to do, it's stick things in holes," Dean remarked, demonstrating what to do again.

Castiel gave him an odd look, then went back to his poles, determinedly fiddling with them until they were properly connected. He held them up proudly. "Like this?" he asked, searching for approval.

Dean inspected the length of poles that Cas was holding. "You actually did it right. Good job," he said almost mockingly, patting the angel on the back.

The thunder was louder and more frequent now. Dean laid the tent out and started feeding the poles through it. He motioned for Cas to do the same. "Pole. Hole," he said, pointing to Castiel's pole and the tent. "Penetrate," he instructed.

It was as if this man could think of nothing else but sexual intercourse, Castiel mused incredulously. It must be all the alcohol, he conjectured. Cas looked at Dean and narrowed his eyes. "Just insert the pole into the hole, genius," Dean said.

"I know, I know," Cas muttered under his breath. He did as he was told, and Dean laid the tarp out, then moved the tent on top of it. Amazingly, with a little more insisting and pleading and awkward physical contact, the tent was up.

Dean then showed Cas how to stake it down, referring to the loopholes on the corners of the tent. "Here's a stake. All you have to do is pound it in the hole," he said, handing over a hammer as well. Castiel sank the stake into the ground with one swing of the hammer. "Damn, pounding that hole deep, huh, buddy?" Dean observed, losing all sense of decency and restraint. Castiel rolled his eyes and held back a reproachful comment, sensing that it probably wouldn't sit very well with the hunter at the moment.

Dean threw the backpacks into the tent, then climbed in himself. It was now dark, and the storm was right overhead. He rolled out his sleeping bag and threw on an extra jacket. The air was quickly starting to get chilly. Dean climbed in the sleeping bag and laid down. The thunder boomed, and flashes of lightning illuminated parts of the tent momentarily. Dean heard a few splashes land on top of the canvas, and soon it was pouring rain.

Castiel suddenly burst into the tent. "What are you doing?" Dean demanded.

"I didn't want my coat to get wet," he said innocently, straightening his trench coat and brushing it off.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well close the door behind you," he said, motioning to the still-open flap of the tent. Cas turned around and zipped it back up. The tent was too short for him to stand up in it, so he laid down on the floor next to Dean's sleeping bag.

Dean rolled over, facing away from Cas, and closed his eyes again, shivering from the cold. All of a sudden, Dean felt a layer of warmth cover him. He opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder, right into Castiel's face. He noticed the shadowy outline of the angel's wings on top of him. "Jesus," he exclaimed, immediately moving away, back into the cold air outside of Cas's wings.

Castiel retracted his wings again. "Dean," he said, receiving a low grunt in reply. "Breathe," he commanded. Dean grumbled, but complied. He took a shaky breath, still shivering uncontrollably, huddled up in his sleeping bag. Cas draped his wings over Dean again, causing the hunter to start rolling away. Castiel wrapped his wings more tightly around Dean, resisting the hunter's attempts at escape.

"Cas," Dean started, annoyed at the angel.

Castiel cut him off. "Breathe," he commanded again. Dean groaned. He drew in a deep breath, which was much less shaky than the last. "Again," Cas ordered. Dean rolled his eyes, but filled his lungs again with the warm air under Castiel's wings. His body automatically relaxed, his muscles un-tensing as they thawed and submitted themselves to exhaustion. "Better?" Cas asked.

Dean was still less than thrilled about the situation, but he succumbed, the feeling of warmth overtaking his desire to uphold his dignity around the angel. Cas hardly understood the concept of dignity anyways, Dean speculated. "Fine," he agreed. "But no spooning."

"What is...? Cas started.

Dean anticipated his question and cut him off. "I'll tell you when you're older, Cas. Now shut up, some people around here actually need sleep."

Castiel fell quiet. The sound of the wind through the trees, the thunder overhead, and the raindrops splashing on the tent momentarily faded. All Castiel could hear was Dean's unsteady breathing. He listened intently as it gradually returned to its normal pace. The angel could feel every breath Dean took against his wings. It sent an almost imperceptible shiver through Castiel's body, to know something so precious and fragile lay just underneath his angelic embrace.

Castiel had always seen himself as Dean's protector, ever since the angel had been summoned – chosen, even – to rescue Dean from Hell. There had been a natural, unforced connection between the two of them. Castiel figured that was probably what happened when you bring someone back from the dead, ripping him out of the burning flames of perdition and piecing him back together, then depositing him safe and sound in his grave.

But somehow, this was different. This felt... well, that's just it – this felt. Cas didn't have enough experience with feelings – he didn't have any, to be honest – so the angel didn't know how to describe what it felt like. He had no idea what he was supposed to do about it. Angels are not programmed to have feelings, he kept telling himself. But there was something more that pulled him towards Dean, something that the angel side of him did not recognize. He just knew, somehow, somewhere in his body, that the feeling was there, and it was increasingly hard to ignore.

While Castiel was preoccupied with these thoughts, Dean gradually relaxed under his wings. As he drifted off, the hunter slowly straightened his body, and he eventually stopped trembling from the cold. He had almost completely fallen asleep when Cas – momentarily distracted by his own contemplations – loosened his grip ever-so-slightly. But it was just enough for Dean's barely-conscious body to notice. A narrow column of cold air crept under Castiel's wing and into Dean's sleeping bag. Dean shivered again, and, without thinking, he slid his body a few inches closer to Cas, seeking more of the angel's warmth. Castiel also slid closer to Dean and wrapped his wings a little tighter around the hunter. "Mmmm," Dean let out impulsively, almost inaudibly. Then he fell fast asleep against the angel.

Dean remained warm and content throughout the stormy night, all wrapped up cozily underneath the protective wings of his fallen angel. Cas sighed and shook his head, listening to the hunter's breathing become even again. It was in moments like these – usually when Dean was unconscious – that Castiel remembered why he put up with the jerk in the first place.