"Oh, shit, Cas!" Dean yelled from his room. He came barreling around the corner, his phone still lit up in his hand. His eyes were wide and urgent.

"What's wrong, Dean?" Cas asked, standing up from the table.

"Dude, look outside!" Dean yelled, pointing past Cas and at the kitchen window.

They both looked at the same time and all they saw was white. Cas took a step closer to the small, square window above the sink. He still only saw white. Dean came up behind Cas, shaking his head as they stared at the white on the other side of the frosted glass.

"Sam called to see if I was okay. He said he was suppose to board a plane over here last night but they delayed it due to the heavy snow fall," Dean explained, shaking his head slightly.

"I didn't even know it snowed this much," Cas mumbled, glancing at Dean.

"I should check the news," Dean said after a moment, leaving Cas standing by the sink.

Cas decided he was no use standing in one place anymore, so he went in search of a radio. He crossed the room to a tall, wooden cabinet in the corner, first glancing at Dean who was fiddling with the TV.

"Looks like all the channels are blocked out by the snow or somethin'." Dean stated, flipping through channels of black and white static.

Cas carefully swung open the cabinet doors. An empty, dented beer can fell from a shelf and onto the floor in front of Castiel's feet.

"I meant to put that in the garbage," Dean breathed, coming up behind Cas. He bent down to pick up the can, rising just inches in front of Cas' face.

"Recycling is probably the better option," Cas whispered, afraid to talk too loud when Dean was so close.

Dean glanced down the length of Castiel's face, his eyes naturally settled at his lips.

"Yeah," Dean turned away and coughed. "I agree."

He took a step back and turned to throw the beer can towards the recycling bin. Cas noted his arm twitch when he threw and missed the bin.

"I was looking for a radio. Perhaps we could get a signal through then," Cas added after a moment.

"Perhaps," Dean began, reaching to the top shelf to bring down a small, black radio. "You're correct."

They tried most of the early morning to pull in a clear signal of the news. Dean turned on the gas fireplace and they sat together on the rug, trying to get the 20-something-year old radio to work. They got plenty of oldies country and strictly Christmas songs, but not the weather report. Dean was beginning to wonder if the only apartment snowed in was his. And that he was trapped with a homeless man who he's only formally talked to once before in a bathroom.

And, surprise! It's Christmas Eve.

"I think I know why we can't find a decent weather report." Dean groaned, settling with one of the many Christmas songs playing. "It's Christmas Eve."

Cas nodded and smiled. "Yes. And tomorrow we celebrate Jesus' birthday. Even though tomorrow isn't truly his birthday, but it's when we celebrate it."

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah, whatever." He adjusted the volume of the radio station again.

Cas tilted his head. "I'm sensing that you don't believe?"

"I'm not sure what you'd call it. It all seems like crap to me," Dean laughed and shrugged. "Just, forget about it." He picked at the hangnail on his right index finger.

"Do you not believe because of what happened to your mother?"

Dean's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "How do you know what happened to my mom?" He demanded. He frowned, the lines on his face deepening and staining darker.

"I know because I'm an angel, Dean." Cas explained, calmly.

Dean rose to his feet, glaring down at Cas in fear.

"Nobody knows what happened to my mom. I never told anyone except Sammy. And, now your claiming your some kind of angel? What kind of sick homeless man are you?" Dean asked, his voice shaky and rough.

"I'm only homeless because I've been stripped of my angel grace and thrown out of heaven," Cas countered, standing up from the rug.

"Yeah, whatever you say. You need some serious help, bud, if you think your lazy ass is some kind of angel." Dean spat, pushing Cas on the shoulder with his finger.

Dean wasn't angry. Dean wasn't mad that Cas was homeless or claimed to be an angel. But Cas knew something about Dean that hurt him deep. Cas opened a wound that never quite closed shut. All Dean knew was rage; it's what happens when you wake a nightmare.

"You don't understand, Dean. I am an angel. I serve God and all his creatures. Or, I use too," Cas explained, his eyes turning towards the floor.

Dean shook his head. "Whatever. Whatever you want to believe. Just, get out of here. I don't need to take this from some stranger. Leave."

"But, Dean—"

"I don't care, Cas. Get out. I'm sorry, but you have to leave." Dean muttered, pushing Cas towards the door by his shoulder.

"Dean, wait—!"

Dean threw open the apartment door, giving Cas one last shove so he stood on the other side.

"Bye, Cas." Dean mumbled to himself, swinging the door shut.

"But, I-I can tell you what happened to your mother!" Cas begged, catching the door with his hand.

"I know what happened to her! She died! Okay? End of story!" Dean yelled, glaring at Cas through the door.

"No! No, Dean. I know what really happened. How she really died," Cas said, his voice low.

"She died in a house fire. That's what happened. That's all that happened," Dean growled, his eyes burning into the floor.

"Dean..." Cas whispered, stepping through the door. He gently placed a hand on Dean's arm.

"You don't need to keep lying to yourself."