The fire had burned down to ashes and a few glowing coals. With a thought Castiel had it roaring again. The sounds of the wood snapping and crackling muffled the roar of the storm battering the cabin. Through the window all he could see was swirling snow and darkness.

They’d taken shelter in an old abandoned cabin once they realized they wouldn’t make it safely back to the motel the Winchesters were staying. Castiel had gotten the fire going, while Dean had called Sam to let him know where they were. The cabin was drafty and cold with no running water or electricity.

Between the sleeping bags from the Impala and the blankets found in the cabin, Castiel had created a nest in front of the fire for them. He didn’t feel the cold, but Dean did. Instead, Castiel lay in the tangle of blankets with Dean, holding him as he listened to the storm and kept the fire going.

Castiel’s fingers stroked over Dean’s bare shoulder, feeling the skin warm and soft under his hand. Dean stirred, but didn’t wake, tired from the hunt earlier that day and their exertions that night. Castiel lowered his head, brushing his lips over Dean’s skin, tasting salt and Dean himself.

In moments like this, holding Dean close like this, Castiel felt at peace with the choice he made to stand at Dean’s side rather than in Heaven.