"Naw, hold onto that," Roger said, producing his own blade from his pocket and then balancing Dean's forearm on Roger's bent knee. He took a look at the design -- Roger always had enough artistic skill to get by -- and thought better of it. He moved Dean's wrist to Dean's lap and scooted away a smidgen.

Somehow, even just pushing his sleeve up was enough in the weather to make him shiver once, and when the steel of his own knife was pressed beyond the border of freezing skin, the cold quite literally got inside of him. It wasn't long, though before he'd carved the outline of the sigil to his satisfaction, still angled away from Dean so as not to risk any of their blood crossing.

"Figured we shouldn't use the same knife."