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Dean and Cas’ hands swing between them as they trudge through the snow in the forest together.
“I told you we should’ve driven,” Dean teases lightly while Cas stares at his sopping shoes and pants.
“It’s a short walk,” Cas says, looking at Dean, “and we got there, didn’t we?”
“I guess,” Dean replies. He squeezes Cas’ hand through their gloves despite his pouting, and it sets a warmth in Cas’ chest despite the cold surrounding him.
The presents swing in their outer hands. Inside the bags rest Jack’s various and plentiful Christmas presents. The ache in Dean’s right arm is sure to be similar to that of Cas’, which makes Cas push a small amount of grace into Dean through their connected hands.
Cas notices exactly how Dean suddenly stands up straight, shakes out his leg and his right arm.
“Cas,” he admonishes, elbowing him lightly, “I told you to stop that.”
“And I didn’t listen,” Cas says, leaning his head onto Dean’s shoulder as they walk.
Dean sighs, shaking his head, and Cas smiles, pleased despite the unpleasant wetness in his socks and on his ankles. Cas looks up at Dean, and he forgets the fact that he can feel the cold now.
They continue their walk, quiet and observant of the world around them.
Cas has done this for millennia. Watched. Waited. He’s patient, known for his patience. So he’s perfectly content here with Dean, walking through the forest on their way home. He’s content to watch the world around them as it passes. It’s still, silent. Beautiful.
“Almost as much as him,” Cas whispers aloud.
“Hm?” Dean asks. “Who?”
Cas catches a flash in Dean’s soul. Unpleasant, sharp. Jealousy. Even though Cas can hardly see Dean’s soul anymore, those things are still vivid and noticeable to him.
“You, Dean. You’re beautiful.” Cas says, and he says it with an air of complete and utter truth. As though he could say it any other way. He says it with a smile, and Dean lets out a small huff of breath.
He doesn’t say a word.
Cas wraps an arm around Dean’s waist and Dean does the same for Cas’ shoulders.
The world goes quiet again, and it stays that way as the first snowflake falls from the sky.
Cas, naturally, pulls out his umbrella. Dean had laughed at him in the beginning, said there was no point, but hey; who’s laughing now?
Well, no one’s laughing, because Cas loves his husband and allows him under the umbrella anyways.
Not that that lasts long.
Dean laughs (immaturely, if you ask Cas,) and sets his bags down before taking the umbrella away from Cas. He throws it to the side, and it lands haphazardly in the snow. Cas squints at it, confused.
“Dean,” Cas chuckles, lurching forward when Dean tugs him forward by his scarf, “what are you doing?”
“I’ve always wanted to kiss someone in the snow. You. I’ve always wanted to kiss you in the snow,” Dean says, and he does.