Dean starts it.

He always does.

A snowball hits Sam square in the shoulder. Sam retaliates immediately. Jack hesitates—then throws one too hard, sending Dean sprawling.

Jack gasps. “I’m sorry—!”

Dean laughs, breathless. “Kid. That was awesome.”

Castiel gets hit next. He looks down at the snow on his coat, then at Dean.

“…I see.”

The retaliation is precise. Angelic aim. Dean goes down again.

Gabriel applauds from the porch. “TEN OUTTA TEN.”

Later, they’re inside, soaked, laughing, wrapped in blankets. Jack’s cheeks are red. Sam’s hair is wet. Dean smells like cold and victory.

Castiel stands by the heater, quietly content.