No, scratch that. It’s aggressively cold. This is the coldest weather that Dean Winchester has ever experienced and no doubt will ever experience - after all, it’s not every day that an angel up and whisks you away to a barren winter landscape god-knows-where. He’s not even wearing a coat, for crying out loud. Ice crystals are spreading and settling uniformly in his hair and on his eyelashes like an army of soldiers, and his hands are painfully cold despite being buried in the depths of his pockets.
Maybe, he thinks, it would be better if the angel would just get back here already, instead of disappearing with little more than an “I’ll be back soon”. He shifts his feet impatiently, hardly even moving the frozen snow.
He jumps only slightly (he’s used to his antics by now) and spins to face Castiel. The angel would appear stoic to anyone other than Dean. He knows him better than anyone, though, and the impish glimmer in his dark blue eyes leaves him momentarily breathless.
"Dude, what the hell? I’m freezing my ass off out here." Somehow despite the temperature and his wandering thoughts, he’s able to remain snarky. He would smirk, but his jaw is aching with cold.
"My apologies," He tilts his head, studying Dean carefully. "You’re cold."
"No shit, Cas."
"You should sit down. And close your eyes."
"Why the hell would I do that?"
"Because I have a gift for you."
He does as he’s told, albeit begrudgingly. His lips tug upwards in a reluctant smile - he’d never admit it, but he loves it when Cas acts this way. When Cas is in charge, looking after him, it’s like a weight is lifted off of his shoulders. He feels hands gently brushing against his arm and oh, that’s new. It makes him want to pull the angel closer to him, in all honesty. He shifts slightly. Then something else is sliding onto his arm - something wooden, warm from Castiel’s hands. Beads? A bracelet perhaps, or a rosary. Something shifts in his head, leaving him momentarily disorientated, but when he opens his eyes -
"Oh." Oh. Cas is in leaning over him, soundly in his personal bubble, but that’s not what has left him speechless. A towering pair of wings are arching from the angel’s back, gently reaching around to engulf him in their warmth. The ice is melting from his hair and he feels wet all over, but he doesn’t care because he can see Cas’s wings.
"A monk made this," he gestures to the braclet, voice reverant. "Many years ago. This wasn’t his original intention, but… You can perceive them now."
"I sure can. They - they’re…" Dean reaches out to touch a skewed secondary feather, gently moving it back into place. Castiel preens. "They’re beautiful, Cas."
Dean doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore.