All the Way Home

Chapter 2: Let It Snow

A/N: Pure Fluffy McFlufferson. With marshmallows and whipped cream on top.

Castiel staggered to his feet and began to walk, slowly and stiffly, toward the bunker, pausing every few steps to catch his breath and wait for the dizziness to abate. Determined, he walked on despite his injuries until he was less than a half a block there, and then his knees buckled.

But instead of falling onto the frozen concrete, hands grabbed his waist and shoulders and pulled him upright. The grip was firm, strong, and it belonged to…

"Crowley…?"

Castiel was astounded for the second time that night. Through the haze of pain and weakness, he peered into the King of Hell's brown eyes and tried to determine a reason for the demon to help him.

"I waited in the bloody cold for nearly an hour to see if your little scheme would work. Wanted to see if you'd make it back in one piece or several."

"I… I don't understand." Cas couldn't hide the exhaustion in his voice. "Why do you care about what happens to Sam or Dean or… me?"

Crowley shrugged. "Seems a bad omen to sit back and watch an angel die on Christmas Eve. As much as I loathe my mother, her lessons about karma were not lost on me."

Castiel nodded without understanding. The demon's words just flowed together, blocking his way to his true mission—his only mission, really. What else had he been put on Earth for but to protect the Winchesters?

So he continued on, and his legs promptly gave out again.

"Steady, steady!" Crowley said gruffly with annoyance, and the bearded demon hefted most of Castiel's weight, keeping him upright as he determinedly plodded on through the accumulating snow.

"I'm sure they saved some figgy pudding for you—or whatever it is humans eat at Christmas now."

"Have to…make sure…they're safe," Castiel wheezed. Thick white powder coated most of his dark hair and coat now.

"The god is dead," said Crowley emphatically. "You can relax."

Still, Castiel continued on, stopping only when they reached the steps because he seemed to have difficulty lifting his feet and keeping one hand on the railing at the same time.

Crowley huffed and hoisted Castiel's weight upwards, half-dragging the angel until he was leaning heavily against the demon before the giant door of the bunker.

The King of Hell waited, pursing his lips. Finally, he said: "The suspense is killing me."

Castiel rolled his head in Crowley's direction. His sight spun, and he knew he couldn't stay awake much longer. In response, Crowley pounded his fist three times onto the heavy metal door. The two stood, bunched together, listening to the echo of the knocks.

All Castiel could think was: Let Sam and Dean be okay. Please.

A warm relief rushed through Castiel's veins when the door opened moments later to find Sam standing—alive—before them. His smile quickly vanished when he saw them.

"Dean!" he called downstairs. "We have a problem!"

"Sorry… 'm late," Castiel managed to get out. His tongue felt too thick and rubbery.

"Cas—what happened?!" Sam gasped. "Crowley?!"

The demon smirked. "Hello, Moose."

And with that, Castiel lost his grip on consciousness.

Sam's heart thudded in his chest as Castiel tipped forward limply. Crowley maintained his grip on Castiel's left arm, but Sam stepped forward and caught Cas on his other side. In a matter of seconds, he took in the angel's battered face and gash on his left shoulder, streaks of red seeping through khaki. When Sam dashed forward to brace Cas, snowflakes fell from the angel's hair. Sam's breath ghosted in the air, and he turned to Crowley accusingly.

"Who did this? What happened?"

Behind him, Sam heard his older brother's footsteps clomping up the stairs in a hurry and prepared himself for a showdown.

Dean is not gonna like this.

Crowley was as nonchalant as ever, speaking with a tone that implied slight inconvenience, if not boredom, at the situation.

"Castiel found you and Squirrel dead in the bunker. He went back in time to save you from a particularly nasty nature goddess."

Then Dean showed up, wearing a bright green apron with white buttons and red frilled sleeves. The apron was dusted with flour, and he wiped his hands on it—his eyes widening at the scene. Sam bit his lip to hide any amusement that crossed his face when he saw Crowley's reaction to Dean's get-up—a mixture of bemusement and true fright.

"Cas…?" Concern bled through his older brother's voice. "Crowley—what the hell did you do?"

"It was a nature god," Sam began, but Castiel lifted his head and mumbled something. Sam tilted his head to hear.

"What was that?" Dean barked.

Sam repeated, "Alpine goddess of nature."

Crowley nodded in agreement. Dean looked back and forth between all of them, trying to size up the situation, realization showing in his eyes.

"Son of a bitch," the older Winchester muttered. "It wasn't a ghost after all."

Sam thought back to the case that had occupied them for the past week. Deaths at a Christmas tree farm, sightings of a strange woman who disappeared into thin air. Dean had assumed it was a vengeful spirit, and they had salted and burned the bones of two previous owners—both women—with the hope that the spirits had been put to rest and the murders would stop.

"Clearly," said Crowley. "Anyway, your faithful sidekick was about to become an angelic kebab when I stepped in and eliminated the god. Castiel returned to this time, but the act seems to not agree with him."

"Time travel always wipes him out," Sam said, more to Dean than to anyone else. "It might take him awhile before he can heal."

Dean nodded. "He's shivering. Let's get him inside."

The older Winchester took Castiel's left side from Crowley, and the angel winced as the movement pulled at his injured shoulder. In response, Dean whispered something to Cas that Sam couldn't hear, and they gingerly began to move down the stairs with their friend. However, after a couple of steps, Sam paused and looked back at the demon standing in the doorway.

"Do you… Do you want to come inside for awhile?"

"Sam—" Dean tried to interject, throwing his brother a warning glare.

But the younger Winchester protested. "You saved Cas and… We owe you one. It's the least we could do on Christmas Eve."

Crowley stood very still, his face expressionless. Sam thought he might be witnessing true astonishment in the King of Hell for the first time.

"Thank you for the offer, but I think I shall—"

"And Dean made, like, a dozen pies! You have to try a slice!"

Crowley hesitated, then something softened in his face—just for a moment.

"All right," he said. "I suppose I can't turn down a famous Dean Winchester fruit pie. Is the secret that you have to wear that hideously maternal apron during the entire baking process?"

Dean clenched his teeth, and for a second, Sam thought he wasn't going to let the demon inside. But when Castiel sagged against him, the older Winchester rolled his eyes and relented. "Just lock the door on your way in."

Crowley slammed the bunker door shut with a clang, a satisfied little smile in the middle of his bearded face, and he followed the others as they slowly descended the stairs.

Castiel's head lolled from one Winchester shoulder to the other, and Sam used the extra time it took them walking down the stairs to admire the decorations he and Dean had put up within the last few hours. So many twinkling lights—the grand tree by the gigantic table in the main hall, tinsel wrapped around the staircase's banister, red ribbons adorning the columns downstairs. The scent of cinnamon and apple wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the smell of pine and vanilla. Sam felt proud of this place that had become their home.

Their angel friend moaned, and Dean said, "Just a little farther, Cas."

They took him to the den where a cartoon Christmas movie was playing on T.V., its sound turned down. The Winchesters set Cas gently on a cushy brown sofa, and Dean dashed off to get medical supplies.

Sam removed Castiel's trench coat with some coaxing; it was half frozen from the snow and bunched together when he hung it up to dry. The younger Winchester was so absorbed with immediately taking care of Castiel that he completely forgot about Crowley until he saw the King of Hell lurking in the den's doorway.

"Hey—Dean has some really good Scotch hidden in that cupboard," Sam said, pointing to a nearby heirloom piece made of cherry wood. "Help yourself."

Crowley inspected the cupboard, and Sam heard the clinking of bottles and glasses.

"Laphroaig," the demon commented. "Impressive." In a few minutes, Crowley was seated in a leather armchair next to the sofa, drink in hand, and feet propped up, right at home.

Dean grunted at the sight of the demon when he returned but was too preoccupied with fixing up Cas to make a big deal out of it. Sam bit his lip in amusement and at the absurdity of the situation.

Here we are, patching up an angel while the King of Hell sips Scotch and watches "The Grinch" on T.V. Just your average Christmas Eve with the Winchesters.

Dean was about to zero in on Castiel's injured shoulder when Sam noticed the way the angel was cradling his right wrist.

"Cas, can we…?" The angel's too-shiny eyes spoke volumes, that he didn't want to show them his wrist, but Castiel held it out to them anyway. His skin was pale from cold, and Castiel's fingers were splayed with pain.

Sam winced. "Yeah, that's broken."

"We'll just put a brace on it for now," said Dean.

Cas trembled when the older Winchester handled his wrist, but he didn't make a sound.

Then they moved onto the shoulder wound. Dean hissed through his teeth and shot Sam a look that the younger brother instantly interpreted: this gash required stitches.

"Just so you don't lose any more blood," Sam explained to Cas. "Until you can heal yourself."

"I understand," the angel said in a small voice.

While Sam prepared the needle and thread, Dean found an enormous fleece blanket with cats on it, laying it across Castiel's body and tucking in the edges. Then he left and returned moments later with a mug, an enormous dollop of whipped cream on top. He handed the mug to Cas with a grin.

"Drink up," Dean said.

"What's this?" Cas puzzled over the mug's contents.

"Hot chocolate," Dean said.

"And whiskey," Sam muttered under his breath as he worked.

Dean's grin widened. "It's tradition!"

"Thank you," Cas said and sipped the drink thoughtfully. Inevitably, a blob of whipped cream ended up on his nose, and Sam wiped it off with a napkin.

Castiel squirmed at first when Sam began to stitch him up, but he gradually relaxed. Meanwhile, Dean sanitized the cuts on the angel's face, spreading ointment on them. Soon, they were finished.

"Thank you," Cas repeated, his voice calm, his face gaining back some color. "I—I was so worried earlier that I had lost you…both of you… And I didn't know what I would do—"

"Shh," said Dean. "It's okay. We're okay. You saved us both." He exchanged another look with Sam, the "we dodged a big fat bullet again" look.

"We're grateful to you, Cas," Sam added.

Cas rasped, "It was really Crowley who saved you."

"I modestly agree," piped up the demon beside them.

"All right, all right," said Dean. "We have both of you to thank."

The angel sipped his drink, and the demon sipped his. Then Dean had forgotten about a pie he'd left in the oven and dashed out only to return minutes later with steaming slices of apple heaven for everyone. Crowley approved.

Christmas movies were watched. Castiel's eyelids began to droop, and he sank deeper into the cushions, flanked on either side by Sam and Dean, who wouldn't let him out of their sight.

Sometime after one in the morning, Crowley's deep voice said, "Happy Christmas, boys."

When Sam looked at the armchair, the King of Hell was gone.

Dean inhaled another slice of pie and was about to put a striped pillow behind Castiel's head when the angel jerked upright.

"The presents!" he exclaimed.

"Jesus, Cas!" Dean said, frozen in place. "You scared the hell outta me—"

"Easy, man," Sam said more gently. "Don't wanna pull your stitches out."

Castiel blinked a few times, as if just remembering his wounds, although Sam didn't blame him. Within the past few hours, the horror of his friend showing up on their doorstep covered in blood and propped up by the King of Hell seemed like a dream.

"But…the presents," Cas said again. "I completely forgot about them—they are probably still outside." He made a move as if to stand, but Dean put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's OK, tiger. I got this."

Sam distracted Castiel by showing him how to work the remote until Dean came back with two soggy packages, their red and green bows droopy with melting snow. Castiel frowned and took them carefully from Dean, examining them.

"I don't think the water seeped through the boxes," he said slowly and then handed one to Sam and one to Dean with a sheepish look.

"Merry Christmas," Castiel said.

Never one to hold back on holiday festivities, especially when a present was involved, Dean ripped through wet wrapping paper and tore through a cardboard box to reveal…

"It's an…awesome rolling pin!" Dean nearly shouted, holding it up like a trophy, beaming.

Sam looked closer and saw what looked like a normal wooden rolling pin, except that it was embossed with the word AWESOME in maroon letters, and there was something else…

"Is that…the Impala?" Sam murmured.

Castiel nodded. "It's from Poland."

"It's AWESOME!" Dean cried out and drew Castiel into hug that he quickly withdrew from when he realized he was tugging on the angel's injured shoulder. Cas offered a soft smile and turned to Sam, expectant.

Sam took his time opening his smaller present, still smoothing aside sparkly green wrapping paper that practically disintegrated with his touch. Then he delicately opened the cardboard box, pulling out a pair of earbuds.

"Fitclips!" he said, and he laughed. "Cas, how did you know that I lost my old pair?"

"Someone might have hinted to a certain angel about what a certain giant needed for Christmas," Dean said, deadpan. Sam chucked the wad of mushy wrapping paper at his brother and said, "Thanks, Cas. These are perfect!"

Then Dean excused himself to tidy up the kitchen while Sam helped Castiel lie down on the couch (he didn't want to move from his prime position in front of the T.V.), and Sam examined his new earbuds while "Let it Snow" played on the Yule Log.

"Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful. And since we've no place to go…"

Castiel was asleep by the time Dean got back, and the two brothers quietly made their way to their rooms to get some sleep.

"Tonight was one for the books, huh?" Dean said with a yawn.

"Yeah," Sam agreed and inexplicably pulled his older brother into a hug before Dean could protest. "Glad you're okay."

Dean pulled away, his eyes surprisingly shiny in the dim light of the hallway. "Ditto."

As Sam drew his comforter up to his shoulders in bed that night, he imagined he could hear the sounds of nature outside, even though all noise was blocked in the bunker. He imagined the wind grumbling like a demon's voice, and he imagined the snow falling, softer than an angel's wings.

~Fin~

A/N: Suuuuper cheesy at the end, everybody! But I felt like most of us needed something a little sweeter right about now. Happy Holidays, everyone! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing! Virtual sugar cookies of gratitude to everyone!

~Ista ^_^