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Christmas at the Winchesters isn’t nearly as overwhelming as it sounds. The first time Castiel accepted Dean’s invitation to join, he’d been skeptical and worried because of his understanding of the intensity of family traditions during the holidays (as relevant to other families, not Castiel’s own) as well as Dean’s propensity for making a Big Deal out of everything he cares about.
But, no. Christmas at the Winchesters is a mild affair, informal and relaxing. Even the exchanging of presents is made less stressful by everyone diving in at the same time in a frenzy between breakfast-eating, instead of the opening of each present being highlighted one by one. Castiel likes it, loves it, and is thankful for Dean’s inviting him every year since they’d become roommates at college.
It’s Castiel’s third year now doing this, and although he hasn’t the sheer amount of experience as the others, he thinks he’s become somewhat of an expert on what to expect.
There’s Mary and Ellen, mixing drinks at the side table. There’s Bobby teaching Sam a card game, both of them concentrating hard. And there’s Dean and Jo, arguing loudly over which movie to watch while Adam watches them judgmentally.
The living room should feel crowded, but it doesn’t. Castiel supposes it’s the lack of expectation that makes it so; he could choose to walk outside and get some fresh winter air should he want to, and that would be all right.
“Cas!” Dean yells from the couch. “Tell Jo who got first pick last year.”
“What, is your memory that bad?” Jo scoffs. “Sam had first pick, and he chose Gremlins.”
“No,” Dean says slowly, “You got first pick, and you went with Santa Clause. We put Gremlins on after. Cas! Back me up here.”
“Sorry,” Castiel says. “I try to only retain important information in my brain.”
Adam snickers, which turns into outright guffaws when Dean slants a sideways look at him. “You’re not even gonna get halfway through before it’s dinner time,” Adam says. “What’s even the point.”
“I hereby revoke every single movie pick privilege you have,” Dean says. “You, too, Cas!”
“Oh no,” Castiel says. “How awful.”
The debate continues, but Castiel drifts away to study the Christmas tree, which has been set up in a different corner this year. This time it’s at the junction between the living room and the hallway that leads upstairs, and there’s a swathe of new decorations all around the middle section, with all the used Christmas wrapping paper arranged in a neat-ish pile underneath. It appears that the theme this year is wilderness, because there’s an assortment of non-matching ornaments, trinkets and ribbons with animals on them. Castiel clasps his hands behind his back so to not be tempted to touch a glittery killer whale.
According to Dean, it’s mainly Ellen who manages care of the tree, since Mary and Bobby have enough on their hands with the decorations outside the house. Dean used to help out before he went to college, and he promises Castiel that it used to be more awesome when he was the one in charge of the tree. (Sam disagrees.)
Ellen, Jo and Bobby aren’t Winchesters, but Mary and Ellen might as well be sisters seeing as they grew up together. Plus the fact that Ellen, who’d been widowed for longer, moved into the house after John died, and brought Jo along with her. As for Bobby… to be honest, Castiel still isn’t sure how Bobby ties into this.
But no matter. It’s a full house on Christmas, and they need not be related by blood to have an invitation, as evidenced by Castiel’s presence.
“Dude,” Dean says, appearing at Castiel’s side and nudging him with an elbow. “Do you remember if we took my laptop out of the car?”
“I know I took out my laptop,” Castiel says. “Wasn’t yours on the seat next to mine? You should have seen it.”
“Okay, but I don’t remember if—”
“Guys,” Sam says loudly.
Castiel turns just as Dean does, and to his surprise sees almost everyone in the room looking at them in various degrees of affection and humor. (The exception being Adam, who is texting away on his phone.)
“What?” Castiel says.
“Mistletoe,” Jo says helpfully.
Castiel starts and looks up. True enough, there’s a sprig of mistletoe above their heads, dangling from a light fixture by a short green ribbon.
One: mistletoe isn’t new to Castiel’s experience of Winchester Christmases. There’s been mistletoe hung around the house before, and so far never in the same location. Castiel has also borne witness to various combinations of kisses, which includes his own kissing Ellen on the cheek last year.
Two: what is new to Castiel’s experience of Winchester Christmases is his being under the mistletoe with Dean.
“Heyyyy,” Dean drawls. “Pucker up, you lucky dog.”
Castiel rolls his eyes, which at least gives him a second to deal with the leap of his heartbeat, his pulse jack-hammering so loudly in his ears that everyone else’s voices have dropped to a vague murmur in the distance.
At least Dean is being Dean, which in this case includes grinning widely and turning to Castiel with an exaggerated air, his face set at an angle as though in breathless anticipation of a big smooch.
Castiel, at least, knows what his role is to be here. He is to make an exasperated face, as though suppressing his true fondness at his best friend’s antics, and kiss him on the cheek before moving on. It is nothing, it is trifling, it is a mere blip in the socialization rituals of this family. Sam, Dean and Jo even make a sport of it when any combination of them are found under the mistletoe, and Castiel should be flattered to be considered belonging right here with them.
He’s amassed enough experience over the past few years to set his brow in an exasperated frown, before leaning in.
But then Dean says, “C’mon, I know you’ve been waitin’ for this, what with your big ‘ol crush on me.”
Castiel’s face falters. He didn’t even know it was possible to feel one face’s crack open like this, leaking vulnerability out where another might see. It only happens for a second – actually, not even that, it’s maybe only half a second – and everyone else is too far to see it, anyway. Unfortunately, the only one up close is Dean, who has also amassed his own experience in knowing Castiel, and whose eyes go fractionally wide as Castiel leans in.
It passes quickly. Castiel plants a kiss on Dean’s cheek and turns away, and there’s no need for Castiel to see anything else because it was nothing and of no importance, and Castiel’s attention has already shifted to other, more interesting subjects. Like the Christmas tree. And Dean’s computer.
“I’m not going outside to check,” Castiel says.
“What?” Dean says.
“Your laptop. I’m not going out to check if it’s in the car.”
Dean blinks. “Oh, right. Yeah. I should get on that.”
“Or,” Castiel says, “you could make it your offering to Santa.”
Jo laughs. “Santa wouldn’t want Dean’s malware-infested computer.”
“You don’t know that,” Adam says. “Santa could be into… what’s that thing. Sam, what’s that thing?”
Sam looks up from cards with a mildly dazed expression. “Recycling?”
“Okay,” Dean says, hands on his hips as he turns to his siblings. “Nobody here talk smack about me to Santa. It’s freaking Christmas, y’all already racking up points for next year?”
Castiel lets out a small exhale of relief and makes his retreat, quietly walking the perimeter of the room until he reaches the side table and sits down next to Mary. He smiles at the Ellen and Mary, and accepts a concoction they offer.
Crisis averted, Castiel thinks, until he glances up and catches the confused way Dean is looking at him.
He and Dean didn’t hit it off immediately. In fact, Castiel’s pretty sure that they wouldn’t have become friends at all if they hadn’t been assigned as roommates, and survived that initial period of awkwardness due to the crucial bonding experience of rescuing each other from a frat party neither of them wanted to be at.
After that, Dean seemed to decide Castiel was a friend and all that entailed, and Castiel decided that perhaps he could give this friendship a shot when he’d only ever just hoped to have a tolerable living arrangement. The fact that Dean’s idea of friendship varied from Castiel’s was less of a hurdle than it should have been, perhaps because neither of them cared about changing the other – Dean is a loud-mouthed, charming geek, while Castiel is neither loud-mouthed nor charming.
Regardless, a friendship in itself was already unexpected. Further feelings on Castiel’s side? Even more so.
He doesn’t even know exactly when it took root, or which of Dean’s many casual acts of unexpected understanding is to blame. Perhaps it’s how Dean finds Castiel’s eccentricities funny instead of annoying, and in returns feels free to tell Castiel as many bad jokes as he knows. Perhaps it’s how they watch each other’s backs during parties and protests, without either having to ask for it. Perhaps it’s that they can spend weekends together in their shared living space not talking to each other much, yet the atmosphere stays comfortable and easy.
When Castiel first realized the extent of his affection for Dean, he’d been annoyed. What was the point of that, he’d asked himself. It went away after a few days, most obviously when Dean said something crass about one of their female professors that so offended Castiel that he’d been relieved to no longer be smitten with a person who could be so rude. But then it came back when Dean went for a grocery run and bought some of those strawberries that Castiel liked without prompting. (“What?” Dean said, when Castiel pointed it out. “Oh yeah. You like those, right? Just saw ‘em and thought of you.”)
Up and down it went for weeks, and then months. Dean could be careless and selfish, but then he’d be thoughtful and sweet for no reason whatsoever. At long last Castiel gave up and faced facts: Dean would always have moments of being utterly infuriating, but that was just Dean, and Castiel loved him regardless.
Tonight, this Christmas evening and Castiel’s third with the Winchester family, is another such incident of Dean being utterly infuriating.
It’s almost dinner time and mistletoe incident should be forgotten by now, but Castiel can feel Dean watching him instead of doing the decent thing of pretending it never happened and leaving Castiel his dignity.
Castiel’s in the kitchen wiping down cutlery, which Dean collects before heading out to set up the dining table. This should be easy, and Castiel should not be hyperaware of every step Dean makes in and out the kitchen, or the way Dean seems to linger when collecting the pieces from Castiel’s stack.
Mercy.
Dean should know better. They’re good friends – best friends, as Dean likes to say – and he should be able to read Castiel’s body language. They’re certainly able to read each other easily enough in other times of crisis, such as that time when a horrible customer tried to pick a fight with a barista in their favorite coffee joint, and Castiel took point shielding said barista when Dean stepped forward to face off with the customer. Dean knows Castiel.
But no. When Castiel’s down to the last serving dish, Dean stops at the counter next to him and says, “Hey, it’s not a big deal.”
Castiel sighs. “All right.”
“No, I mean…” Dean’s trying for jocular and light-hearted, though awkwardness stiffens his gestures. “It’s totally cool. I’m cool with it.”
“Dean.”
“It’s not even like it’s… I can’t blame you, really. I’m awesome.”
Castiel feels his face pinch tight, this being one of the very few times when Dean’s wide grin is not at all comforting. “Please stop.”
“Dude,” Dean says, not stopping, “I am so used to it, so you shouldn’t feel, like, weird about it or whatever. I mean, you’re in good company, right? There was Benny, Victor, Amara… Hell, back when we were younger even Jo—”
Castiel puts the serving dish down.
He carefully steps back, swerving away from Dean’s outstretched arm. He walks, legs steady from sheer force of will, around the other side of the kitchen to the small bathroom near the back door, and goes inside. He closes the door quietly, and locks it.
Castiel thinks he’s been doing a decent job the past few years learning how to be an adult, to manage his emotions and think things clearly. Hence, it is utterly fucking infuriating to be sitting on a closed toilet seat in a bathroom while hot, unwanted tears run down his cheeks like he’s a fucking child.
He’s not sad, he’s angry. Angry at Dean for a part of it, but also angry at himself for feeling humiliated in the first place. This reaction is useless and benefits no one, but it still burns hot and insistent in his chest, on his face, in his hands.
Castiel tries to take deep, steadying breaths, but he chokes on the first few, and has to put a hand over his mouth.
This is so stupid.
It’s not even like Dean was wrong. Many people are drawn to him and want to be with him – Castiel’s seen enough of that in the few years that they’ve been roommates. Dean is a social creature and enjoys different types of company, the sexual and romantic included. It’s not a surprise that Dean has no lack of choices, but better than that, he’s incredibly sweet and thoughtful with every single partner that he does choose. As far as Castiel can tell Dean’s up front and amiable with all of them even if they’re no longer together, and there was only the one not-so-good break-up when Lydia from Mass Comm had the pregnancy scare.
Castiel tells himself that Dean had a point. There’s nothing shameful about his feelings, and in fact they’re understandable. Dean was trying to be comforting in his own way.
But underneath that was the suggestion that Castiel is just like everyone else, helplessly falling for Dean Winchester because who doesn’t, right? Castiel even likes Victor and Jo, whom Dean namechecked specifically, and Benny… Well, he’s an okay person overall even if Castiel’s not that fond of him. These aren’t people Castiel would be ashamed to be compared to, except he is.
He is.
Castiel’s feelings are his, and unlike anyone else’s. His affections may not be special, but he wants them to be, even if they stay inside this secret place deep inside that’s no longer all that secret.
“Ugh,” Castiel says.
What awful timing. Castiel’s even started to like Christmas these past few years.
He can’t stay in the bathroom forever. In fact, he can’t stay in the bathroom for more than a few minutes, because it’s almost dinner and he’ll be expected.
Castiel’s watch informs him that the agonizing millennia he’d spent calming himself down in this cramped bathroom is actually only six minutes, and that he should wash his face now. He does so, and regrets that he left his phone outside and thus cannot look up tips from the internet on how to deal with a tear-streaked face.
He’s dabbing his eyes with tissue as carefully as he can, when there’s a knock on the door.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice is quiet and muffled. “Cas, I’m sorry.”
There’s no point in answering, so Castiel takes another tissue and starts dabbing at his cheeks.
“Um,” Dean says. “Mom’s asking where you are, I told her you had a stomach ache and… We can start dinner without you, if you want?”
Castiel leans back and observes his reflection in the mirror, turning his head this way and that to check if he’s acceptable. He then sets his face into the fiercest glare he can manage, and opens the door.
“Okay, I’m gonna—” Dean freezes, mouth open.
“Move,” Castiel says. Dean backs up, and Castiel steps out of the bathroom and back to the kitchen.
The connecting door to the dining room is wide open, and Mary and Ellen are moving through it, jointly carrying out the turkey while Adam yells directions to the dining table. Castiel slips back into the fray with ease – he’s the quiet one, anyway – and takes up station at the side table to arrange the bowls of dressing properly.
If anyone else notices anything, they at least are nice enough not to mention it. When everyone sits down, Castiel is between Sam and Jo, and although this sets him opposite Dean at the table, it’s easy enough to focus on the food and not make eye contact.
Dinner is good. Castiel’s predicament aside, the food is excellent and the company more so, and Castiel finds himself smiling again in no time thanks to Ellen’s raucous retelling of an interesting customer she’d had at the Roadhouse the other day, and Jo’s vehement protests that her mother is telling it wrong.
More chatter follows between their eating, and the sounds of a Christmas dinner in full progress wash over Castiel soothingly. Increment by increment Castiel feels himself relax, until even Dean’s talking and laughing across the table no longer cause him to tense up.
Halfway through dinner Sam nudges Castiel’s elbow and says quietly, “Did Dean do something stupid again?”
Castiel frowns. “Don’t say things like that. It’s Christmas.”
“Ah, so he did,” Sam says knowingly.
“Eat your mashed potatoes,” Castiel says. “Santa can still do takebacks.”
“God, you sound so much like Dean,” Sam grumbles.
The first to get up from the table is Jo, who declares that with the dining ritual complete, she is now allowed to assemble her Christmas present as per the agreement she’d made with Mary. Adam lets out a whoop and then they’re off to shove the living furniture around, while Bobby asks aloud whose genius idea was it to get Jo a portable pool table. (It was his idea, with an assist from Mary.)
The last two times Castiel joined them for Christmas, there was present-opening over breakfast, church afterward, dinner in the early evening, and the rest was free-for-all on the unspoken but mutually-agreed condition that everyone be in the living room together no matter what they’re doing.
Tonight Castiel joins the others helping Jo move the furniture around, and then dutifully steps back so not to encroach on the yelling match that will follow the attempt to assemble the pool table. Castiel wisely decides to pick up the little shopping bag he’d used to keep all his presents, and settles in one of the overstuffed chairs (now shoved next to the TV), legs drawn up under him.
Castiel rummages around the bag and takes out the hardback medieval art book that Dean got him. He still remembers the jolt of surprise when he’d opened the present this morning, and the way Dean shot finger-guns at him in response like he isn’t the incredibly thoughtful bastard who’d remembered how Castiel mentioned in passing months ago how wonderful it would be to have this.
The heavy cover whines a little when Castiel peels it open, the sound for a moment drowning out the noise of the rest of the Winchesters-and-others commandeering the living room like a great Christmassy beast.
There’s a card just inside the book cover. It has stylized art of round Christmas ornaments dangling into frame, with the print words under it: NICE BALLS. Dean’s signature is under that, with a little blue-ink drawing of the Impala and a stick figure next to it.
Castiel looks up. He finds Dean, who is standing over his siblings as they squabble over screwdrivers, but is also looking right back at Castiel.
Dean’s eyes are worried.
Castiel smiles, and mouths, “Thank you again.”
A corner of Dean’s mouth quirks upward, but it’s not a full-on smile. Castiel feels a sharp pang at that, but that’s another matter he doesn’t want to deal with right now. He turns back to his book and starting turning the pages, fingertips careful not to smear the printed images.
Later still, while the others are watching the second Christmas movie of the night, Castiel goes upstairs for a shower. There hasn’t been a guest room since Ellen and Jo moved in, but Castiel doesn’t mind sleeping on the pull-out couch in the living room and using Dean’s room and bathroom for everything else.
Castiel has his duffel bag open on Dean’s bed when the door creaks open, and his chest tightens at the sight of Dean. “I already promised that I wouldn’t go through your things,” he says.
Dean’s laugh sounds genuine, yet quieter than what it’d normally be. “So you keep saying.”
There’s little hope that Dean will just leave after that, but Castiel wishes for it anyway, and focuses really hard on rummaging through his clothes for his sleepwear.
“Hey,” Dean says, close to Castiel’s shoulder.
“Please leave me my dignity,” Castiel says.
“No, that’s... C’mon, Cas, look at me.”
Castiel puts his shirt down and turns. He tries not to feel bad at the way Dean flinches and fidgets under Castiel’s gaze, and takes a deep breath. “Yes?”
“You got all the dignity in the world,” Dean says. “Nothing I say could change that.”
All right, so he’s trying to be comforting. “Okay. I’d like to have a shower now.”
“No, Cas, it’s not…” Dean flails, runs his hands in his hair, and grabs Castiel’s shoulders. “How bad did I fuck this up? What can I do?”
Castiel blinks. “No, that’s not—”
“You gotta tell me how to fix this,” Dean insists, teeth gritted and face all twitchy. “Cas, please, I can’t lose you.”
“What?”
“You’re so fucking important to me.” Dean rubs a hand over his face, and Castiel realizes with a start that Dean’s eyes are damp. “It’s fucking Christmas and I just fucked things up with my best friend. I don’t – I know I can be a dumbass, my mouth runnin’ off where it got no business to – and I wasn’t thinking—”
Dean may be blabbering around in circles, but Castiel gets his meaning well enough and is stunned to the spot. Castiel can feel his anger get neatly packed up and set aside in a box – still there, but not relevant for the moment – and steps forward to pull Dean into a hug. Dean gasps shakily, and his arms immediately coming up to squeeze around Castiel, and he presses his face against Castiel’s shoulder.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Castiel says.
“No, but you – you’re—” Dean stutters.
“I’m mad, yes, but I’m not leaving you forever just because of this. Dean, if having to put ointment on that rash you had—”
“Jesus,” Dean laugh-chokes.
“—wouldn’t do it, then this wouldn’t either.” Castiel inhales sharply when Dean tightens his hug, fingers almost clawing into Castiel’s back, his desperation palpable.
Castiel’s known since the start that Dean was a passionate person, and generous with his feelings when it comes to do those that he cares for. But this is intense; far more intense than anything Castiel’s experienced with him before, and God, is it humbling to be on the receiving end.
“I love you, man,” Dean says.
Castiel heart leaps involuntarily, but Dean’s modifier keeps him grounded. This is Castiel’s best friend, and heaven knows that he’s far better than anyone Castiel could have ever wished for on this earth.
“I love you, too,” Castiel says. “And you really need to stop overreacting to every little thing.”
“It’s not—” Dean pulls back sharply, scowling at Castiel. “I hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.”
“I accept. But.” Castiel waits until he has Dean’s full attention is on him. “I am allowed to be upset.”
“Of course,” Dean says quickly. “I wasn’t – it’s not that I—”
“Dean.”
Dean lets loose a long, rattling exhale. “Right. Shutting up now.”
It’s strange – in a roundabout way, Dean’s rambling actually helped. The ground is solid beneath Castiel’s feet again, despite that little box of anger-embarrassment still pulsing away at the corner of his mind. He knows that he’ll work through that, and all it’d take is time. Yes, all he needs is time to get used to being in a world where Dean’s aware of how he feels. After all, Dean knows many people who want him, and he’s continued to be friends with quite a few of them.
It’ll all work out. Especially with Dean being so adamant on the value of their friendship, which is all that Castiel could’ve hoped for.
“I still want my shower,” Castiel says.
“Yeah.” Dean backs up, running his hands through his hair. “You do that. I’ll be – I’ll be downstairs.” He stops, scowling at himself. “Why the hell am I such a goober.”
“It’s a mystery.” Castiel makes a shooing motion. “Now go away.”
It’s been a topsy-turvy day, but Castiel is still smiling when he makes it into Dean’s shower.
The pull-out couch in the Winchester living room is comfortable, but sleep usually takes a while coming after the excitement of Christmas day. This night is more of the same, with Castiel drifting in and out, and every so often being thrown by the stillness of the room that had only a while earlier been bursting with activity and energy.
Castiel shifts under the covers, trying to make himself comfortable. He drifts for a while longer, and then turns over and reaches for his phone. New messages from Hannah pull him to full wakefulness, and he spends a few minutes browsing through her photos. There’s a formal one of Hannah, her husband, and their daughter, and then others of the Christmas barbeque that is the tradition of Hannah’s in-laws.
A swell of fondness and melancholy fills Castiel’s chest. He sits up and takes stock of his surroundings: a Christmas tableau well-appreciated, and so very precious. Castiel’s memories of his parents are few and probably incorrect, but he’s quite certain they’d be pleased that he’s found this little corner of happiness, no matter that Castiel’s still not sure how he earned it in the first place.
Movement at the corner of Castiel’s eye makes him start. But no, it’s just Dean, frozen in the motion of creeping back upstairs from the kitchen, and holding a glass of something that could be water but probably isn’t.
“You’re up, too?” Castiel asks.
“Yeah, I’m…” Dean glances away, expression inscrutable. “Not tired, I guess.”
“Hannah sent some pictures. Would you like to see?”
Castiel moves over, giving Dean room to join him sitting on the pull-out. Dean’s never met Hannah but Castiel’s told him enough about his cousin, how she’s the only one from that side of the family he still keeps in touch with.
“Huh,” Dean says. “That her kid? Wasn’t she like, a baby?”
“I’ve been informed that they grow,” Castiel says.
Dean cackles, and his face softens as he scrolls through the remaining photos. “That’s quite a party they’re having. How’re you feeling?”
“Okay,” Castiel says thoughtfully. “Wild horses couldn’t drag me back to spending Christmas with my uncle, though I… Sometimes I miss parts of it? I know I shouldn’t.”
“Family’s complicated. But that’s good though, right? That you still have the good memories and everything else is like…”
“Irrelevant?” Castiel nods. “Yes, that sounds accurate.”
Dean hands the phone back, but makes no move to get up. “Hey, I was like… I gotta tell you something.”
Castiel’s stomach drops. “Dean, I thought I’d made it clear—”
“No, I gotta,” Dean says, firm but gentle. “Been thinking about this. Just – just hear me out? Please?”
Castiel sighs. “All right.”
Dean doesn’t start immediately. His gaze shifts to the middle distance as he concentrates. The only sources of light in the living room are the outside Christmas lights which are filtered through the curtains, and they highlight unusual angles of Dean’s face, making him seem otherworldly. But there is familiarity, too, as it harks back to their quiet conversations late at night in their old college dorm, and how thoughtful and insightful Dean could get, when he was allowed to be.
“I gotta apologize,” Dean says at last. “Not just for reacting badly, but because… Look, I trust you, Cas. Really trust you.”
“I know,” Castiel says quietly.
“I can tell you anything.” Dean’s fond smirk makes him unbearably handsome. “Anything, ‘cause I know you’ll never blab, and I know you’ll actually listen. I’m not even just talking ‘bout the rash incident, okay? It’s everything. I don’t know I ever told you how amazing that is, or how amazing you are.”
Castiel’s face warms. “Dean, I…”
“It’s okay, just listen. So I can tell you everything, right? But you… you can’t. You couldn’t tell me about the way you feel, and that’s on me. I wasn’t doing my part so that you could trust me.”
“You know very well that it doesn’t work that way,” Castiel says. “It’s not so easy to be open with the person you… that you have affections for.”
Dean shakes his head. “I could’ve done better. I mean, you were right – I acted like an ass when I found out, so you had the right idea. It just grinds my gears, you know? Not just that you had to keep a secret, but that it was making you feel bad. And it’s… I mean.” He clears his throat. “If I’d been better, then you would’ve trusted me, and – and then I would… I could think about it.”
Castiel frowns. “Think about what?”
Dean’s eyes droop, going half-lidded and lazy as they settle at Castiel’s neck, then move to his collar and sweep down Castiel’s chest deliberately. Castiel’s breath catches when he realizes that this is Dean checking him out, openly and unabashedly, and liking what he sees.
This is new, so new that Castiel’s skin prickles and his hands feel clammy. He’s acutely aware that there’s nothing here that Dean hasn’t seen a hundred times over; Castiel’s hair is a mess, he’s in that soft Beauty and the Beast shirt Charlie gave him, and he’s not even sitting up properly. But Dean seems to be seeing something else, something that has him gnawing lightly on his lower lip in sly calculation.
(Castiel had to watch Dean look at other people this way so many times. So many times.)
Then Dean moves, lifting a hand that Castiel expects will be clamped on his shoulder, but no. There is no clamping – Dean’s only interest is in resting a fingertip at the juncture between Castiel’s ear and neck, where the skin is soft. His touch is so light that Castiel can barely breathe, and he continues to barely breathe as Dean trails that fingertip across Castiel’s skin, tracing the shape of him down his neck and to his shoulder.
Dean’s eyes are focused with intent. He’s going to kiss Castiel. He’s thinking about it, and he’s going to do it.
Castiel looks up above his head.
“No mistletoe,” Dean says, voice low. “Just me.”
Dean leans in, but is halted by Castiel’s hand on his chest. Castiel’s hand is shaking – hell, he feels like his whole body is shaking – but this is important.
“That’s not what I want,” Castiel says.
“What?” Dean says, confused.
Castiel shakes his head and pushes Dean away firmly. “If I had to choose between being your boyfriend – kissing you, going on dates, all of that – or being your best friend with all of your bad jokes and stupid puns and getting to spend Christmas with your family…” He glances around the living room, where some of the Christmas décor is still tinkling in the dark, and smiles. “I’d choose to be your best friend. Always.”
It’s clear that Dean didn’t expect this, and is so thrown that he can only stare at Castiel with his mouth open. The air around them that had been heavy with expectation now clears, and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief even as a part of him – a small, small part – is yelling in disagreement.
Dean’s voice is hoarse, almost cracked, when he says, “What about both?”
“What’s that?”
“Why not both?” Dean presses. “Dating my best friend sounds pretty damn awesome.”
“Oh, come on,” Castiel says crossly. “You don’t do that. I know what you’re like when you date someone—”
“Well, well,” Dean says, voice going shrill, “maybe you don’t know everything about me, did you think about that? Maybe there’s parts of me that are – that are still – that are secret, but they won’t be secret anymore if you date me. What about that, huh? Huh? See, I got you there. And hey, as far as I can tell it goes the other way, too.”
Castiel, who’d been staring in disbelief through Dean’s scattered diatribe, now says, “What goes the other way?”
“I would very much be into having all of you.” Dean swallows. “Every single side of you.”
It’s understandable that that statement has Castiel weak in the knees. Castiel’s only human, after all, and it’s only in the past few years that he’s learned how much he could want another person. This want clawed its way deep into Castiel, and only rearing its head every so often and at sometimes inopportune moments (that mistletoe!) though he’d made peace with it simply being another facet of how much he cares for Dean.
Then there’s fear of this going wrong. Castiel would no more be happy at losing Dean’s friendship than Dean would be, so why add another risky venture on top of that?
But a voice in Castiel’s brain pipes up: you could always lose him anyway. To time, to a splinter in interests, to whatever happens after college, to another partner of Dean’s that wouldn’t leave much room in his life for other people. As nice as it would be to think that they would always be this tight, there’s no assurance that this will always be the case.
So accepting Dean’s offer might very well be the most logical route to take, to keep him in Castiel’s life.
Hah. Logical.
“You can be very smooth sometimes,” Castiel says.
Dean’s face brightens. “Was that smooth? I wasn’t even trying.”
“I think it’s less impressive when you do try.”
“So is that…?” Dean makes a small sound of surprise when Castiel takes his hand. He turns his palm so they can interlock their fingers together, which feels a little strange, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it?
“Okay,” Castiel says quietly. “I can… I’m okay with giving this a shot.”
“Woo,” Dean whispers. His gaze drops to Castiel’s mouth but he hesitates, his other hand hovering in the air. It’s only when Castiel parts his lips in offering that Dean settles that hand on the side of Castiel’s face, and comes in for his kiss.
God, it’s a good kiss.
Castiel’s not let himself dream of this, but if he had, the real thing is probably better. No, it’s definitely much better, because he’d had no idea either way what it would feel to have Dean’s warm body nearby, his scent in Castiel’s nostrils, his little sounds of contentment ringing in Castiel’s ears. Castiel kisses and is kissed until his jaw aches and he can probably dream of the taste of Dean’s mouth with pinpoint accuracy.
“Hey Cas,” Dean says, voice husky and breath warm on Castiel’s cheek. “You wanna come upstairs?”
“No, thank you,” Castiel says.
Dean laughs. “All right. See you in the morning, then? Or I can keep going, there’s always second base—” He cracks up even more when Castiel smacks him with a pillow, sending him flailing backward and off the couch. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving. Good night, Cas.”
It seems that Mary comes down for breakfast something like five minutes after Castiel finally falls asleep. The click of the kitchen light coming on wakes Castiel with a jolt, after which he lies there groaning softly.
“Sorry, honey,” Mary calls out softly. “You okay?”
“It’s fine.” Castiel sits up and rubs his arms. “I should get up.”
He takes his time getting up, sitting there in that long stupor of semi-wakefulness until the smell of leftovers being warmed up gets his attention. By the time Castiel’s finally folded the sheets and packed the couch back into place, others have come down the stairs – Sam, Ellen, and then Jo – all of them yawning and in various stages of alertness.
They sit at the dining table, the conversation sparse and halting. Castiel scrolls through his phone for a bit, flipping through his news feeds and dismissing various messages.
Then Dean steps into the dining room, and Castiel sits up sharply.
“Good morning, my people,” Dean says loudly. He’s still in his sleepwear but he’s washed his face and combed his hair, and it is so utterly incongruous that Castiel can’t turn away. Dean kisses a befuddled Mary on the cheek and sits in his chair with a flourish. “Merry Day-After-Christmas.”
“Boxing Day,” Sam says groggily.
“That’s not an actual thing,” Jo says.
“Yes, it is,” Sam says.
Ellen frowns at Dean suspiciously. “What’re you up to?”
“Nothing,” Dean says. “Or everything! Hey, Cas.”
Castiel jumps. “What?”
“Do you have plans today?” Dean says.
“You know very well we’ve planned to do nothing until we need to drive back,” Castiel says.
Dean nods exaggeratedly, as though he’s already had his coffee this morning, which should not be possible. “That is awesome. So you’re totally free to join me for a drive through town today.”
Castiel frowns. “What do you need? Would anything even be open today?”
“Oh my God, Cas,” Jo says, “he’s asking you out on a date.”
There’s a clatter of cutlery, a small whoop of surprise from Sam, and Mary very casually resting her chin on her steepled hands as she watches.
“What the heck, Jo,” Dean says.
“They were necking on the couch last night,” Jo says. When Dean yelps, she adds, “If you didn’t want anyone to see, you shouldn’t have done it in the open.”
“Jo,” Ellen says with a sigh.
“Am I wrong?” Jo exclaims.
“The little lady is not wrong,” Dean says good-naturedly. “I must amend my ways.”
“The bakery should be open,” Mary says. “I mean, that’s what I heard. And it should be extremely low traffic today, so you can get the good cruffins, no problem.”
“Sounds good!” Dean turns to Castiel. “You up for it?”
Castiel thinks he should be embarrassed by this, or at the very least self-conscious with so much attention of the room on them both. But this is Dean’s family, whom he’s learned to care for as well, and they are watching them with support and excitement and delight, like this is a bonus Christmas present for them as well, and Castiel feels a wholly different sort of pang in his heart.
“All right,” Castiel says. “Let’s do that.”