Work Text:
"Okay, stay safe. I hear you've got a blizzard on the way," Sam Winchester spoke through Dean's phone speaker.
"At least I'll get some time off work. Call you later, bitch."
"Jerk." And he hung up.
It was the 15th of December and the weather reporter (his name was Andy, he had blue eyes and brown hair and Dean definitely did not have a crush on him) had said that the snow would fall tomorrow morning - or as Dean put it, "There's a freaking blizzard on the way, bring me salt!" - possibly allowing for a snow day or two. Dean looked through the kitchen window to his large-enough-but-not-too-big garden, imagining the blanket of snow he would have longed for at the age of five (and as that was his mental age at times, he still wanted that snow). His lawn was quite bare at the moment, he'd only moved in that September, and he planned on sprucing the garden up next Summer, but the snowdrops at the base of one large tree were growing well enough for him to be content for the moment.
As for his neighbours, Dean introduced himself to the family on the left (the Miltons, they brought over food from time to time, Dean had just started babysitting their 8 year old daughter and 6 year old son, if the parents needed a break), but he'd only briefly met the guy who lived on the right. He was quiet, blue eyes, brown hair (like Andy the weather guy), and had an odd name: Castiel. Who names their kid that?
Sometimes they'd cross paths on the way to work, but that was it. Shame. Then again, that wasn’t to worry about at the moment. What was to worry about was Dean’s car getting screwed over by the cold weather, it shouldn’t, but Dean could help worry about his baby.
Dean looked over to the clock, it was 23:47. Unless he was planning to get a soon-to-be-midnight snack, he might as well head off to bed. The house he’d bought was large enough for a family to live in, and it seemed empty at times, until Sam and Eileen visited with the twins, Michael and Lucy, and then it was more like a playhouse. They’d be coming over for Christmas soon (because in their world, there is no global pandemic and everything is lovely and happy and beautiful).
The alarm sounded at 7:00, beeping too loud because if it didn’t make Dean jump, then he wouldn’t get up for another half an hour. He sat up, grabbed his dressing gown, and peeled the curtains back from the window… it was snowing! He wasn’t sure how long it had been going for, but there was no way he was getting to work today because it was almost a foot deep, and didn’t seem to be stopping.
Dean snatched up his phone and rang his boss, “Hello, Harvelle Pharmaceuticals, this is Jo speaking."
“Hey Jo, it’s Dean, would you let Ellen know I won’t be in today, I can’t get Baby off the drive for the snow.”
“Sure thing Dean, enjoy your lie-in and see you later, bye!" Jo ended the phone call. Dean had worked at Harvelle Pharmaceuticals for the last few years, run by Ellen Harvelle and Jo, her daughter. They paid well, and they lived above the pharmacy, so they could be open even in bad weather - people always needed medicine.
Dean collapsed back into bed and promptly fell back asleep for the next few hours.
The next time he looked at the clock, it was 12:00, so he got up to make himself bacon and coffee.
While he poured his coffee out, Dean stared through the kitchen window at the snow-filled garden that he had been thinking about the day prior, and noticed that over the garden fence to his right (the fences weren’t particularly high, maybe 2-3 foot?) there were at least a dozen snow-y figures on the lawn. It looked like an army. A snow army.
Dean hadn’t registered what was happening until he had just closed his front door, which was that he was now dressed in appropriate snow-day-gear and walking towards the army. He had to think quick, he was getting dangerously close without any reason for intruding on some kid’s game. He could just about see movement, and a shadowy figure walking around, making the head for their latest creation, but they were too tall to be a kid. A blue bobble hat, a knitted scarf, and a five o’clock shadow? Castiel.
There was a pile of snowballs ready before you could say ‘Dean maybe you shouldn’t’, and then Castiel was hit in the shoulder, making him jump.
“Hey!” he shrieked, “Oh, hi."
If this were a cheesy rom-com, Cas would have been the nervous girl tucking her hair behind her ear. But this wasn't. Castiel, unbeknownst to Dean, was very, very clever. He knew what he was doing.
"ATTACK!" Cas lobbed a ball of ice (notably not 'snow') square into Dean's face, knocking him back slightly. In history textbooks, it would have been described somewhere along the lines of 'the great snowball war (16th December 2019, 12:15 - 12:45) was one of the most ruthless wars in American history, between the sides of Winchester and Novak.', but the author did her history GCSE over 2 years ago, and doesn't fancy repeating it. Alternatively you could have the David Attenborough approach: 'And here we see two fully-grown men, throwing frozen water at each other. I used to narrate Amazonian wildlife, now I'm doing this shit'. Take whichever one you would like, because some days, no one cares about action sequences.
The only reason they stopped was Dean shouting "parley" when he ran out of snowballs. Castiel laughed at the defeat, and offered him an arm to get back on his feet. "So, as the loser, I guess I should invite you round for a drink?" Dean smiled, one of those smiles that would have made 40 people sigh in infatuation.
"Yes, that would be nice."
It only took 2 hot chocolates before the R-Rated stiff began. Maybe it was the marshmallows. Or maybe it was something else. It didn't really matter.
"Hello?" a gruff voice answered Dean's phone.
"Hi, I'm looking for Dean Winchester? Is he there? I'm his brother, Sam."
"Oh, hello. He's asleep at the moment, can I take a message?"
"Er, can I ask who I'm speaking to?"
"My name is Castiel. I'm Dean's… friend."
"Okay, I'm not asking. Just let him know I rang. And I'm sure I'll meet you soon. Bye… Castiel." The voice on the other end hung up.
"Who was that?" a sleepy voice came from behind Cas, trudging into the room.
"Sam."
Dean nodded, then took the other man's hand, leading him back to the bed, changing the calendar on their way past.
It was the 1st February.