Chapter Text
Australia in the summertime looks like this: imagine a world painted in the brightest of hues, and then someone accidentally knocks a pot of grey washing water over the canvas. Everything is overdone, the sky is too blue and the earth too brown, but at the same time everything is dying or aching to die. It looks how Castiel feels: hot, every inch of skin sticky and dripping with sweat. He hears the humans compare it to Hell and he knows they’re not far wrong.
He is absolutely aware of where his body is, in a way he never thought possible. He tries to stand so that his armpits are open, so that his neck does not crease or his thighs touch. He wants nothing more than to stretch out on cold tiles in a dark room. If asked at that moment Castiel would claim that his hobbies include putting his head in a freezer.
The desert is long and flat and empty. Castiel can see it in every dimension, and in every dimension it is this over-coloured misery. If his true form were more mortal his wings would droop, his heads panting, mouths wide open and tongues lolling.
His vessel is sweating. He tries to make it stop, but like breathing and blinking it is ingrained into the flesh, and the body that used to be Jimmy Novak, human, does not listen to his request.
Castiel, angel, alone and dripping, adjusts his grip on the shovel and begins to dig.
After several hours he looks at the sky from the bottom of the ditch he has made.
"Fuck," he says. He climbs out. He looks at the ditch and then, laboriously, with a slight twinge of guilt at having thought of leaving it, he fills it in and walks away.
He looks up at the sky. His eyes cannot see the stars, but he knows where they are. He walks a few steps east. Then south. He is back at the ditch he dug, the loose dirt in a mound. He glares at it. He walks away, finds a new spot, and begins to dig.
"Bloody hell," says Dean, a thousand kilometres away.
"What?" asks Sam, twisting off the lid of a beer and passing it over.
Dean twists, angling his phone upwards as high as he can reach. "No signal. Fucking Australia, man.”
"Huh," says Sam. He bends down to look at his laptop, which is sitting on a towel on the boot of the Impala. Sam bats flies away from his face. "I've got some."
"Well, fuck you," says Dean easily. He drinks the cold beer, and then presses his forehead against the glass. He thinks he might have been sunburned, but he's not sure and if he asks, Sam will give him a lecture. The shade of the tree isn't much, but it's all there is. “Has Cas emailed?”
Sam clicks. He always has signal. From Sydney to Karratha, he has signal. Dean’s afraid to ask how.
They’ve stopped because Dean was tired of driving, and Sam needed to piss. The truck stop is a narrow, dusty piece of dirt off the freeway with a thin tree keeping guard over a sun-blistered park bench. A road train rumbles by, sending dust up everywhere.
Sam doesn’t answer, so Dean leans over him, “Look, just,” Sam swipes him away. He checks the usual sites, then closes the laptop.
“Nothin’,” he says. “Wanna go?”
Dean shoos away flies. “Lemme finish my beer.” Sam sighs and leans back on the Impala, carefully keeping his bare skin away from the hot metal. He’s in jeans - they both are, but their arms are bare to the sun.
“You got burned,” says Sam. Dean twists his arm, and sees nothing.
“Pah,” he frowns. “She’ll be right.”
There’s a mob of camels. They’re watching Castiel as he digs. It’s his third try, and although as an angel he’s not meant to get tired, he does. Perhaps it’s just his free will burning through. He doesn’t want to be digging. He wants the artefact to be found. He half-forms a curse in his mind against the one who buried it here, but he doesn’t complete the words. No point cursing him, anyway. Bastard’s in hell. Where he should be.
The camels chew cud and watch him. They’re a yellow-brown, like the dirt. The sun is sinking towards the horizon but not fast enough. For a moment he considers giving up and going to the beach. If he’s careful he can focus and hear the waves crashing on a shore a long, long way south of where he is.
But no. He has to find the bloody artefact in the bloody desert with a mob of bloody camels staring him down.
“If I didn’t love you,” he growls. The camels chew a little longer. When he’s dug so far that only his hair is poking out of the hole they wander away. One turns slightly when there’s a shout of triumph, but doesn’t pay it anymore attention.
They’re camels. They’ve got the whole desert to enjoy. Angels don’t matter.
“Maccas?” asks Sam. There’s been signs for ten kilometres now, big yellow Ms telling them how far it is until they can get a burger.
“Nah,” says Dean. “Pie.” Sam hums in approval. Bakery food is better than Maccas, every time. The bakery’s shut, though, because small town bakeries are open at such odd times that really it’s a wonder they ever manage to get pie. They step out of the cool car into the burning sun, and then sit down again on cool plastic in McDonalds.
Dean looks suspiciously at his burger. “This isn’t right,” he says. Beyond them, at the counter, a bored girl with purple hair plays with her phone. They’re the only ones in the place.
“It is quiet,” agrees Sam.
“Nah, ya yobbo. The burger.” Sam looks at the burger. Dean’s pulled it apart. “What I wouldn’t give for a-”
There’s a rip in the air, and then Castiel is beside him.
“What’s up with you?” asks Dean. “You look like you’ve been sittin’ in a pile of dirt.”
“I have,” says Castiel. He sets a heavy object wrapped in a shirt on the table. Castiel is in a once-white singlet and dirty jeans. Jimmy Novak tried, but a suit was never going to last long around the Winchesters, and Castiel got tired of fixing it up. The trench coat stays in the back of the Impala, for use in winter, or Melbourne. “You eating that?” he gestures at Dean’s burger. Dean’s already given up, and pushes it across.
“Should you be eating that?” asks Sam.
“He’s not about to put on weight.”
Castiel shrugs, and swallows. “I enjoy the taste.”
“Think the sun did a number on you,” says Dean, who has started on the chips with a bit of a grimace. Sam thinks he only likes greasy food, but Dean does actually have taste.
“When I have enjoyed the taste I remove it from my body,” says Castiel simply. “The first part of the eating experience is enjoyable. The process of digestion is not.”
“Where was it?” asks Sam, pushing his food to one side and the laptop to the other. He unwraps the shirt and looks at the artefact almost reverently.
“In the fucking desert.” The others look at him suspiciously, and then Dean chuckles, and claps Castiel on the shoulder. Beneath the table their legs are uncomfortably pressed together. It’s too hot for physical contact, but Castiel is always gone for so long that Dean doesn’t mind so much.
“You hangin’ with us for a few days?” he asks hopefully.
Castiel swallows the last of the burger. “Yes.”
Dean presses his leg a little closer against Castiel’s, then picks up the artefact and turns it over. “Do we know what it does?”
“No,” says Sam. “Hold it up.” He takes a photo. “I’ll see if Bobby knows.”
“Good,” says Dean, wrapping it back up in Castiel’s discarded shirt. “He can fossick around and we,” he looks at Sam with grim determination, daring him to challenge his decision, “can find a place with a pool.” Sam is sweaty and tired of sun. A pool sounds nice, as does a bed, and he doesn’t care to argue that they should be on the road. He goes to close the laptop when it gives a little ding.
“What?” asks Dean, thinking that perhaps Bobby knows what the artefact is off the top of his head, and is going to call them names for not knowing.
“Charlie. Wants to know where we are.” Sam frowns at the screen. “She says it’s Christmas.”
“Bullshit,” says Dean. “What’s today?”
“The twenty-first.” The brothers look at each other. Castiel gives a small cough.
“I thought you knew,” he said. It was why he wanted to spend several days with them. “Christmas is important to humans.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “And it’s not to angels?”
“Not in the same way,” he says. The words are careful, and he’s not looking at Dean. Dean’s used to that. Castiel has enough secrets, and he doesn’t push unless it’s important, and this isn’t.
The girl behind the counter doesn’t even bother spending the effort of sneering at them as they go back out into the heat.
“Dean,” says Castiel. Dean pauses in the car park. He can already feel sweat dribbling down his spine. “You got burned again.”
Dean looks ruefully at the reddened skin. His right arm, his driving arm, has more freckles than his left, and between the freckles the skin is darker. He doesn’t like it, but he’s resigned to it. Castiel touches him, gently, on the burned skin, and immediately it feels cooler.
“Shotgun?” asks Castiel hopefully.
“Not even a little bit, Hawkeye,” chuckles Dean. Castiel grumbles, but then, he wouldn’t know what to do if Dean let him sit in the front seat.
They drive for a few hours, until they hit another town where there’s trees dripping purple all over the road and the horizon is fuzzy with hills. Sam pays for the room while Dean makes sure it’s safe: no hex bags behind the beds, under the mattresses, behind the fridge, in the cracks of the couch. He puts a bottle of salt on the bench. He unzips his bag and lays a knife down. Pulls a gun out and sets that next to it. Then, and only then, does he kick off his shoes and socks and go to the bathroom to wash his face.
“Where’s Cas?” asks Sam, sliding the door shut behind him.
“Dunno,” says Dean. “Didn’t see him. Whatcha got there?”
Sam holds out an icy pole, wrapped up in blue.
“Lemonade.”
“Score!” says Dean, ripping open the packaging. He sticks it in his mouth and grins around it. Sam rolls his eyes and finds thongs in his bag. Dean watches him take off his shoes and put his feet into the thongs, and then wrinkles his nose. “Gross, you reek,” he says, and rolls open the door, leaving the flyscreen firmly in place against the mozzies outside. “Oh!” he says. “I see him. Did you get one for him?”
“Yeah,” says Sam. “Since apparently he eats, now.”
“Don’t be like that,” says Dean. “He just enjoys it. Like Gabriel. He’s not going human.”
The brothers walk down the gravel path that runs around the caravan park. They find Castiel in the swimming pool, his clothes folded neatly on the tattered bench against the pool fence, him on the steps of the pool with only the top part of his head poking out of the water. His eyes are closed, leaning against the edge of the pool. Dean pauses before opening the gate, because he looks so serene, and so exhausted.
Castiel looks up when the gate creaks open.
“Hey, Cas, Sam gotcha something.” Dean holds out the icy pole. Castiel blinks at him, not moving. “Fine, fine,” mutters Dean. Awkwardly holding his own he unwraps Castiel’s and passes it down.
“You should get in,” says Castiel, sitting up a little in the water.
“Haven’t got my swimmers,” says Dean, squatting down by the side of the pool and dipping a hand in. “Oh, that does feel good.”
“I haven’t got swimmers,” Castiel points out.
“Did not need to know,” begins Sam.
“Underwear, doofus.”
“Aussie Bum,” adds Castiel, helpfully. Not what Sam cared to know. “This is good,” Castiel looks at the icy pole quizzically, as though able to determine its innermost secrets. “Lemonade? I liked those - what were they? Golden Gaytime.”
“I thought you got enough of that already,” teased Dean. Sam shakes his head and sits down. He tries to one-handedly roll up his jean legs, but it’s not working very well.
“Dude,” says Dean. “Just take ‘em off.” He hands his icy pole to Castiel and pulls his shirt over his head, then drops his pants and steps into the water. He makes an obscene noise of satisfaction, and sits close to the angel to eat. When he thinks his brother isn’t looking he takes his time to lick a lazy line up the length of the icy pole. Castiel makes no secret of watching the red tongue trace along the white ice, while Sam very carefully watches the sunset.
The sun is curving downwards without any fanfare. The sky isn’t even hinting at pink, and the heat is still as stifling as it was before. Sam slips from the edge of the pool right into the water to escape. The top layer is hot from the sun, clinging to his torso, but beneath that it turns pleasantly icy and he curls his toes in enjoyment.
“So,” says Dean. “What’s the plan for Christmas?”
“Bobby’s?"
Castiel notices that they never saying ‘going home’, not even to Bobby’s. The car is the closest thing they have to that, but then, he supposes, he doesn’t have a home either, beyond that car and these two humans.
“I guess. Bobby won’t mind if Charlie’s there.”
“What about Kevin?”
“He has his Mum.”
“Yeah, I s’pose,” says Sam. “Would be nice if we could drop past and see him.”
“Must we? He lives in Canberra,” sneers Dean, and tosses the wooden stick of the icy pole onto the side of the pool and rolls out into the water, floating onto his back.
“Hey, lads,” says a stranger, a man with thick white hair down his sagging chest and across his rotund belly. “Mind if we cut in?” Beside him there is a woman in a bright pink bathing suit, and at their ankles is a tiny dog. Lights flicker on, buzzing into brightness.
“Go for it, mate,” says Sam. He’s looking at the dog. Castiel has most of his attention focused on handling the icy pole. Dean has most of his attention on not focusing on Castiel. They all move out of the way to allow the rotund couple into the pool. The pair sigh in happiness, and eavesdrop obviously on their conversation.
“Canberra is very out of our way,” says Castiel, who does not understand that Canberra is a circular grey world designed for politicians. They only go to Canberra if they know for sure there’s a hunt.
“So, Kevin’s after,” says Dean. Anything to avoid Canberra for a little longer. “Say, New Year’s.”
Sam disagrees. “We should invite Kevin to Bobby’s.”
“Can you imagine Linda at Bobby’s?”
“I reckon her and Ellen will get along.”
“Yeah, can’t wait,” snorts Dean as he sits up, but Sam’s already sliding back through the water, drying his hands on the leg of his jeans and taking out his phone to ask them.
“Where are you boys from?” asks the couple, seeing that their conversation is over.
“Oh,” says Dean. He waves a hand vaguely in the air, dripping water. “All around.” The man looks at Dean, looks at his tattoo and all the scars. He makes his own judgements, and keeps them to himself. The blue eyed man is unnerving him. “You?”
“Mareeba, originally.”
“Oh,” says Castiel politely, when Dean does not speak. Dean remembers Mareeba for a horde of ghosts born out of poor witchcraft. He doesn’t like Mareeba.
“And I’m from Tailem Bend,” says the woman. “Down near the Coorong.”
“Going home for the holidays?” asks Dean, faintly, because he knows polite conversation but he doesn’t know how to talk to people who he isn’t investigating or trying to sleep with, or trying to kill.
“Thought about it,” says the man.
“We still have a few days,” says the woman. Around the edges of the pool the little dog is trotting and sniffing the stones. The woman is keeping half an eye on him, and half an eye on the tall, long-haired man. He’s attractive. Hard edges and old eyes. “We might yet go. We were invited to a mate’s bash over in Kalgoorlie.”
“But that’s a little far from here,” says the man.
“Are you going home?” continues the woman. They’re professional tourists, and they know how to talk, even to people like Team Free Will.
“Nah,” says Dean easily, because his home is his brother, and home is this angel, who is figuring out how to take the last piece of ice off the little wooden stick. “Going to a mate’s house.”
“That sounds nice.”
Sam turns around, water swishing. The woman admires the way his skin twists across his torso. The man notes the scars, the tattoo, the cruel echo lingering around his eyes. “Kevin’s in,” he says.
“Awesome.”
There’s a little splash.
“Oh!” cries Castiel. He looks at the water, where the ice is fast melting. “It fell.”
“Aw, spewin',” laughs the man. Dean pats Castiel on the arm in comfort.
“I'm stuffed,” he sighs. He pushes a hand over his hair, then brings it back to spike up the front. “I'm gonna go crash.” He surges up out of the water in a single sweeping movement, pulls up his underwear to settle them back on his waist, and without thinking about it holds a hand down to help Castiel out. Sam sits on the edge and swings his long legs out, momentarily stretching down to touch his toes. He groans as the tightness of his back muscles ease. The air is still warm, but with the water dripping off them it’s nicer.
The couple breathe a little in relief when they’ve gone back down the path, Dean shoving gently against Castiel’s side and the cockatoos overhead obnoxiously loud.
Castiel lies beside Dean. There is a foot of space between them, because it’s too warm for anything else, but his hand is lightly on Dean’s hip. Sam is on the floor. There is another bed, but it’s too short, and the linoleum is cool. Sam used to not like it, but that was because with Jess he had proper air conditioning and a long-enough bed. On the road he has rattling fans and sandy floors, but he makes do. Sometimes, he nearly welcomes it.
When they wake Castiel is gone. They eat breakfast, and shower off the night’s sweat and find clothes that do not reek. Next town, Sam threatens, they will do the washing. Dean finds a servo and fills the Impala up, and then floors it. He hates laundry, and perhaps Ellen will do it, if he asks nicely. Very nicely.
Castiel comes back somewhere between Bad Moon Rising and Beds Are Burning. He tells them he went to see the sunrise in Perth, and then followed it a little way around the world, before finding some demons in Montreal. Then he changes the song and sits back in the seat, content to just be.
The country rushes past them.
Charlie’s sweating. The fan’s on, but the air con broke and there are more important things at hand. She’s in the middle of a tournament, and it’s not a video game. A company is paying people to remotely hack into their server. She could steal the money, she supposes, but legitimate earnings are less anxiety-inducing, and this close to Christmas she doesn’t want any bother. Any more bother. She’s been hunting, see, and she hurt her arm and needed stitches, and then the police wanted to talk to her. She skipped town fast as she could, and now she’s pretending to be Morweena Halloway.
Her shirt soaks up the sweat and in the corner of her eye Hermione bobbles her head as the fan buffets warm air their direction. The tinsel sticky-taped the wall crinkles, and Charlie types.
The bar is sad. The bar is trying, but the bar is sad.
There is tinsel along the short shelf of bottles, and there is a tree in the corner. It’s a sad tree, a crooked pine that has been decorated by someone who is probably colour blind and definitely has no sense of artistry. There is an angel at the top, playing a lyre.
The boys ignore the angel on top of the tree and sit down to have a drink. Castiel does not, because he is reading the names in the War Memorial. It’s something with him that he insists on doing in every single shitty little silo town they pass through. He reads the names, and he remembers them.
Sam doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know why Castiel doesn’t try to find out about the living people, but perhaps the dead are easier when you’re just starting out. They’re frozen, and they don’t talk back. He’s asked Dean, but Dean always shrugs. This time, he shrugs and points at the tap, holds up two fingers, and leans back on his stool.
“Should we get them presents?” asks Dean, noticing the piss-poor attempt at wrapped boxes beneath the wilting tree.
“Perhaps,” says Sam. He remembers the last present he bought for someone, really properly bought; the presents for Dean were poor excuses, but at university he’d bought Jess a necklace. It had been thin and gold, and when she wore it, it was like a flash of stardust around her neck. He’d been proud of that present.
“Kevin would probably like a book or something nerdy.”
“Because you have never read a single book in your life,” teases Sam.
Dean rolls his eyes. “Of course.”
A few people walk into the bar then, waving at the bartender and sitting down at a table. The man pours them all drinks and brings them over, and they chat a bit. Sam and Dean drink and debate presents in muted tones. Sometimes Sam finds it amazing that they can spend nearly every minute together and still have something to talk about. He wonders if this is how couples work, if his parents were like this. But then, Sam doesn’t have the same memories of Dean, and likes to think his parents were nothing except happy. In his mind, it was only his mother’s death that sent his father sour.
A woman has sidled up to Dean, having left the table under the guise of asking for a bottle of cider. She leans on the bar and grins at Dean, who smiles back and runs his finger slowly up the condensation of his glass. The woman takes it as an invitation, and flutters her eyelashes, biting her lip. It’s Christmas, and she wants something good this year. Something like him.
“Sorry,” says a thick voice behind her. “He doesn’t root for your side anymore.”
The woman whirls and blushes at the bluest eyes she can remember seeing, an unnatural, other-world colour.
Dean smirks and sips his beer. “Roots is right,” he says. The woman flees, and Castiel frowns at Dean.
“That was unfair.”
“Her choice to talk to me,” says Dean. He wants to kiss Castiel, but not here, not in this bar. He’s too tired from the heat to tempt any trouble. Instead he pushes his drink over for Castiel to take a sip, and their fingers brush on the cool glass. “You took your time getting here.”
“I walked.”
“In this weather?” asks Dean, who understands better than Sam how Castiel’s vessel forgets that is only a vessel, and knows how uncomfortable Castiel is in the heat.
“There was a pleasant breeze,” says Castiel.
Ellen and Jo arrive at Bobby’s house in a whirl of dust to the sound of a dog barking.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s Jasper,” says Bobby, a little haughtily.
“Since when did you get a mutt?” asks Ellen.
“Since when did you like dogs?” adds Jo. Bobby waves his hand vaguely at the sheep dog, who barks once more and then sits, tail thumping in the dirt.
“He rocked up one day. Refuses to leave.”
“Uh-huh.” Ellen doesn’t believe him.
Ash is in the back of the car, and they leave him there with the window cracked until he wakes up and uncurls and, finally, hauls himself out. He walks a little unsteadily, bleary-eyed and a little hungover from the heat, and sits down on one of Bobby’s couches. All the curtains are closed against the sun, but that only makes the room a stifling sort of warm.
“Get up, ya bludger,” says Jo, kicking the couch. “We’re makin’ food.”
“Don’t wanna,” says Ash, but Ellen drags him out to the barbecue, where she commands him to ‘fix it’. Bobby gets a beer and drinks it while he leans against a post, talking idly about nothing at all while inside Jo and Ellen try to make the place look a little more presentable. Bobby’s lazy reprieve doesn’t last long, because Ellen tells him that they need a tree, and the lights are all tangled, and then Ash is sent to fix the fairy lights so they all flicker on and off in turn, and Bobby’s made to fix the rattle in the fan. Jo, having helped with the turkey, is allowed to sit at the table and clean her guns.
“When are they gonna get here?” asks Ellen. Bobby, having taken over the other half off the table with pieces of fan, grunts.
“Last I heard they were out past Tennant Creek. That was a couple days ago.” It’s only a day and a half of driving, full driving, and the boys have driven from Brisbane to Perth before in just over two days. He doesn’t tell Ellen that, because Ellen believes in things like taking naps and not driving for more than a few hours at a time. “Hopefully they’ll be here before midnight tomorrow. I need ‘em for a ritual.”
“Right,” says Ellen. She looks at Jo, who grins. “Monopoly.”
Ash makes a strangled noise of glee.
When Kevin and his Mum arrive later that night they’re in the midst of death-glares across the table, and Linda cracks her knuckles and joins in. Kevin decides to go to bed. He doesn’t get hunters, and Jo has a particularly evil look about her as she rolls the die.
Sam wakes early and stretches. The sun is only just rising and already the air is thick with heat and flies. It feels like Christmas. It doesn’t often feel like Christmas, but this, the cool lino and the harsh sun and desert all around. This is Christmas. Dean is snoring and Castiel is sitting outside under a tree reading a battered book. There is a small group of galahs in the grass next to him. The Impala sits placidly, waiting for the day to start.
“Mornin’,” says Sam, stretching and scratching his stomach.
Castiel’s eyes flick up at him. “Good morning. Is it customary to say ‘Happy Christmas Eve’?”
“No.”
“Okay,” says Castiel, and returns to reading. Sam goes back inside and takes the ice packs out of the tiny freezer in the cabin, and puts them in the esky in the boot of the Impala. He chugs the last of the apple juice, pulls on a shirt, and then takes his laptop and goes outside.
“Do you mind?” he asks. The angel shakes his head, not lifting his eyes from the page. Sam sits down and leans against the tree. He has full signal, and the internet is fast. He plugs in headphones and catches up on vloggers.
After a while Castiel closes the book and goes to wake Dean.
He does this by kissing him, placing cool hands on Dean’s face and brushing his lips lightly over his mouth. His lips taste like salt, the skin dry and cracked. Dean groans, wanting to sleep more, and pulls Castiel down on top of him.
“You’re too warm,” complains Dean, and kisses him, sliding a hand up under his shirt. Castiel lets him, their chests flat together. He can feel Dean’s heart beating a steady rhythm.
“We need to leave now if we’re going to get to Bobby’s,” he says, lips against Dean’s cheek. “Do you want breakfast?”
“Ergh,” says Dean.
“Coffee, then,” says Castiel. He leaves Dean to rub his eyes free of sleep, and calls out through the flyscreen door if Sam wants coffee.
“Bobby thinks he might know what to do with the artefact,” Sam says, as they pull away from the caravan park.
Dean gives a little grunt and doesn’t ask any questions. He’s letting Sam drive because he’s still tired, and he’s lying back in his seat wishing that he was curled up with Castiel in a very big bed in a very cold room. It’s not just sex he wants, though that would be nice. He just wants to touch him. Summer forces distance between them.
Castiel leans forward, puts his chin on the side of Dean’s chair, and searches for a new radio station. They find the Country Hour, and because Dean is mostly asleep he doesn’t complain, and Sam likes to hear things like weather predictions and the latest prices of sheep. It seems like something a normal country-bred Australian would do, and normal is nice, and anyway, sometimes there’s news of a hunt.
Charlie rocks up before the boys, but only barely. The sun has set, and she’s in a bright yellow singlet and short denim shorts. She peels herself off the seat of her car and pulls out a bag of Christmas lollies, knocks loudly and is admitted to eager sounds from Jo, who has heard a lot about Charlie. Charlie has read a lot about Jo. They talk eagerly until Ellen manages to convince them to walk away from the door, and hustles them into the dining room. Ash’s computer is amongst the books spread out over the table, and Jo quickly loses Charlie to Ash, who’s thrilled that someone understands him.
“What’s all the fuss?” asks Kevin, coming to the doorway and frowning in. Jasper jumps up and comes to lick his knee. Absently, Kevin pats him once on the head. “Who are you?”
“Charlie Bradbury,” says Charlie. “Who are you?”
“Kevin Tran. Are you a hunter?” His voice is almost accusatory.
“Sort of,” says Charlie, uncomfortable at saying so because she’s in the same room as Jo and Ellen and Bobby. Compared to them she’s nothing.“Are you?”
“I’m a prophet,” says Kevin, in a tone of voice that conveys exactly what he thinks of his life.
For a second there’s an awkwardness in the air. “Do you play Magic: The Gathering?” asks Charlie. “You look the sort.”
“I do,” pipes up Ash, who is a little in love with Charlie.
“No,” says Kevin.
“Let’s teach him,” decides Charlie, but they’re scarcely through initial instructions when there is the smooth rumble of the Impala.
Jo and Charlie both rush to welcome Dean, who is a little bewildered at the onslaught. Ellen hugs Sam and chides him for how tall he is, and how long his hair is. Dean points out that it’s in a fucking ponytail for god’s sake, and Sam uncomfortably brushes the tendrils of hair away from his skin.
Ash and Bobby stand back awkwardly, and Kevin gives a very tiny wave and an even smaller smile. He feels uncomfortable around all these people, though he’s glad that the Winchesters are here, and when Dean and Sam both break into huge smiles at the sight of him he relaxes.
“It’s a full house,” comments Dean. “Where are we crashing? And when the hell did you get a dog?”
“What’s his name?” asks Sam, down on his knees and patting the dog vigorously.
“His name is Jasper. Kev’s got your old room,” says Bobby. “It’s just find a surface, I think.”
“Right. Where do you wanna,” he half says, turning to find Castiel. “Where’s that bloody angel gone?” he grumbles. “Cas is with us. I swear.”
“While we wait for him to show up I could use your help,” says Bobby.
Dean narrows his eyes. “Is it gonna hurt?” Bobby shrugs.
“Don't be a wuss. I only need a little of your blood. Be glad you got here before midnight else I’d'a chewed you out for making me waste a shard of dragon bone for nothin'.”
Dean gives a grunt of annoyance and drops his bags to follow Bobby out behind the house. The others trail, both Ash and Jo trying to talk to Charlie, while Jasper races off to chase the chooks back into their pen.
There’s a hole carved into the ground between two rusty utes, and as the dusk rolls in slowly and the air settles down on them he begins a chant.
“Hand,” he says. Dean holds out a hand. “Not you. Sam first.”
“What is this ritual?” asks Sam, obediently holding out a hand.
“Litha-specific. Keeps the dark forces at bay, that sort of thing,” says Bobby. Sam’s blood drips, and he pulls a cloth from his pocket and wraps it around his hand. The cloth is stained from many rituals before.
“And you need my blood specifically?”
“Lucifer vessel,” says Bobby simply, and adds, “Dean, that's you.”
Dean holds out a hand and curses when the knife slices through the skin, a sharp and shiny action. The blood is dark and mixes thickly with Sam’s. Bobby finishes the chant, and kicks dirt into the hole.
“That’s it?”
“There’s some more tomorrow morning,” says Bobby. “But that’s at sunrise, and you don’t need to be there.”
“A ritual built around us?” asks Sam. He isn’t sure he likes that; he imagines half the witching world hunting them down to borrow their hair and blood and bones.
“There’s more than one,” says Bobby. “I don’t know how to use the others yet.”
“Awesome,” says Dean drolly. “Can we drink, now?”
Castiel is watching stars, and thinking of Christmas. Not Yule, or Litha, but the Christian Christmas. When Jesus was born the angels truly were singing, but then, they did a lot of singing. Most of the time they didn’t stop singing. Castiel enjoys having a vessel if only because he need not sing anymore. He can hear them, if he listens, but most of the time he does not. It is peaceful here, in the bush, a chain of stars overhead.
He wishes Dean were there.
He wishes he were with Dean.
He goes home; he goes back to Dean.
“He’d be a terrible king!” cries Sam. Sam is leaning back in his seat with folded arms, glaring unhappily at his brother, while Charlie and Kevin are shaking their heads. Ellen looks at Bobby, who rolls his eyes and shrugs, and refills both their glasses.
“Robb Stark will never sit on the Iron Throne,” says Sam resolutely. Charlie and Kevin had determined that they’re the only ones who have read very far into the novels, while Sam and Dean have only seen the first season.
“What about Dany?” says Dean, glancing at Charlie.
“Girl power!” she says, pumping the air with her fist. “But I like Sansa. She’s badass.”
“Really? I don't think she's ready for it. She's so,” Sam searches for the right word.
“Her and Margaery,” Charlie breaks into a sigh, looking happily into the distance, when Castiel appears in the room. Jasper whirls up, barking.
“Jesus Christ, mate,” says Ash, startled and grabbing at his beer before it topples over. “Warn a guy before you do that.” He tilts his head on the side. “Don’t think I’ve met you.”
“You’re Ash,” says Castiel.
“This is Cas. Cas, this is Ellen, Jo, Linda, Charlie, Bobby, and Kevin.”
“He’s met me,” Bobby points out.
“Hello,” says Castiel politely. He looks at Kevin. “And hello, again.”
“You’re Castiel,” says Charlie. She breaks into a wide grin. “I know so much about you. It’s so great to meet you.” She clearly wants to hug him and Castiel clearly does not want that, so she takes a quick and awkward sip of her drink to still her hands.
Castiel walks over to Dean and sits down next to him. Dean’s in shorts, and Castiel’s jeans feel cool against his skin.
The other’s don’t really see any significance in this, and they’re all too used to strange creatures and Dean’s strange habits that they just keep on with their argument of who should sit on the Iron Throne.
Dean’s cleared a space in the attic for him and Castiel, but even though everyone else has retreated to bed it’s too warm for his comfort. He creeps through the house to the veranda and leans against a post to watch the stars.
“Hey, Dean,” says Jo. She’s scarcely been able to speak directly to him yet, and she’s been watching how easily he talks to Charlie. She’s jealous, and doesn’t like that she’s jealous.
“Hey, Jo,” he bumps his shoulder against hers. He’s holding something, but she can’t smell beer, and it’s only when he lifts the can to his lips that she realises that it’s Coke.
“When did you stop drinking?” she blurts. Dean looks at the can, a little embarrassed.
“I haven’t,” he says.
“I can’t remember ever seeing you drink anything that wasn’t alcoholic.”
“Oi! I like coffee,” he says.
“Did Charlie do this?” asks Jo, because that’s the only explanation she can find, and she’s upset because it should have been her fixing him.
“What? No. Charlie’s a lesbian.”
There’s that long pause people make when they don’t want to be disrespectful, but don’t know how to respond.
“Oh, so, uh,” she fumbles. “Who made you stop drinking?”
“Does someone have to have done this? Maybe I was sick of being like Dad.” He drinks his Coke, and Jo looks away. She didn’t want to make him unhappy.
“Dean,” she says softly. “I missed you.”
He sighs. He didn’t mean to snap at her. “I missed you too. I just,” his voice is gritty in his throat, “I don’t need to be questioned about everything. I get enough of that from Sam.”
“Sorry,” says Jo. More brightly, she adds, “I’ve been seeing someone.”
“Yeah?”
“His name is Andrew. He’s a shearer.”
“You go spotlighting together?” asks Dean. It was what he and Jo used to do. Sam always refused, but that might have had something to do with Sam’s attempt to be vegetarian.
“Sometimes. He’s out in the Kimberlys at the moment.”
“Pity,” says Dean. “Shoulda brought him.” Jo snorts.
“Here? Imagine what he woulda done seeing you cut open your hands. ‘Lucifer’s vessel’,” she sneers. “Normal people don’t deal with that.”
“You need a hunter.”
“Probably,” she says. “I don’t suppose you’re free.” There’s a bit of hope to her voice, an indication that she’ll drop Andrew if Dean so much as hints at an interest in her. Dean feels frozen, the same old awkwardness he always feels when he’s talking about something related to his emotions.
“No,” his voice is soft. “I’m not.”
“Oh my god,” says Jo, almost squealing. “Who?”
“Uh,” Dean looks away, trying to not blush. It’s not a secret. He doesn’t not tell people. It’s just not something he knows how to bring up. “Cas,” he says. His voice croaked, and he’s not sure if Jo heard him properly. “Castiel.”
Jo stares. “Dean, he’s an angel.”
“I’m aware of that,” he snaps, without venom.
“You’re dating an angel?” she cries. Her voice echoes across the paddock of dead cars.
“Jesus,” he hisses. “Quiet down.”
“The sex must be phenomenal,” says Jo. Dean shrugs awkwardly, toying with the metal key of the Coke can. “I never knew you were,” she hesitates. “Bisexual?”
Dean hates this conversation too, because he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. He has Castiel. Beyond that he doesn’t know why it matters.
He shrugs, and fakes a yawn and escapes upstairs to where Castiel is sitting with the window open, reading an old book in a foreign language.
“Jo knows,” he says, shucking off his shirt and rolling his shoulders.
“Sore?” asks Castiel, closing the book and stepping forward. For a moment Dean thinks he’s just going to brush his fingers and heal him, but instead he presses Dean down to the mattress on the floor and starts kneading at his back.
“Ohhh, that is,” he breaks into a groan that’s muffled by the mattress. “Your hands.”
Castiel settles himself more comfortably over Dean, straddling his lower back and sliding his hands smoothly over Dean’s shoulders. The man gives a happy sigh.
“What does Jo know?”
“About us.” The hands still, and Dean twists and catches Castiel before he can back away from Dean. “It’s not a secret. You bloody well know I’m not keeping you a secret.”
“Jo’s opinion is important to you,” says Castiel, sitting up slightly so he’s still over Dean but the man is twisted beneath him.
“Yeah, but she’s not gonna tell me to ditch you.”
“I am an angel.”
“So? Cas, man,” Dean lifts himself up and catches Castiel’s face between his hands. “I love you. Even if she didn’t like it, well, she can stick it. You’re family.”
Castiel keeps his gaze, unblinking, their faces so close their noses are almost touching. “So is she.”
“Yeah, but,” Dean blinks and licks his lips, and surges on. With Castiel he can manage this sort of conversation. “You’re, like, my husband, and she’s my little sister. She’s meant to disapprove of my decisions, that doesn’t mean I’m letting you go. Sam wasn’t thrilled when we first happened.”
“He was jealous,” corrects Castiel. “He didn’t want to lose you.”
Dean snorts and lies back down, the expanse of scarred skin begging for Castiel’s hands to be on it. “Like he could get rid of me.”
Sam’s crashing with Kevin, Kevin on the bed and Sam on the floor. Kevin offered the bed to Sam, but it was too short and Sam doesn’t know if he can sleep on a soft surface anymore. Still, he doesn’t miss the sad look Kevin gives him, look of pity.
“Is this your life?” asks Kevin. “You don’t even get beds? Why did you ever become a hunter?” The question is muttered to himself but Sam answers anyway.
“It’s not like I had a choice,” says Sam. “Dad was missing.”
Kevin rolls onto his side and looks down at Sam, who is lying on the wooden floor flat on his back with a thin pillow under his head.
“I didn’t know that. What happened?”
“He.” Sam pauses, and licks his lips. “There was a demon. Dad died. But the demon killed Jess, and going back to uni just,” he shakes his head, and stops talking.
“Sorry,” says Kevin.
“Nah,” says Sam. “No worries. Shit happens.”
“That’s pretty big shit. How do you stand it? All of this, all the time?”
“It’s not so bad,” says Sam.
“You’ve died,” Kevin points out. His voice is loud and when it dies away the house feels very oppressive.
“But the world’s still here so it all figures out.” Sam gets up to readjust the fan, angling it so that he gets some of the breeze, too. “It’s just the life. It’s how things are.”
He thinks, sometimes, that he should be over dying. It’s just a thing that happens, something to be avoided like breaking a leg, but for the Winchesters death never seems to be the end of the line. But it’s not something he feels any easier about. He feels as though he’s used up all his Get Out Of Jail Free cards, and next time. Next time it’ll be all over.
“Things could be different.”
“How?” asks Sam. “How could I go back to the real world knowing what’s out here? Way I see it, I had that chance, with Jess.” Kevin makes a disgruntled noise in his throat. “Why all the questions?”
“Just,” Kevin rolls onto his back and waves a hand in the air. “Trying to figure it all out. What to do next.”
“Do you wanna go back to school?”
“Can a prophet be Prime Minster?” He sneers at himself. “All I wanted once was to study.”
Sam snorts. “Tell me about it.”
“And now? I don’t wanna be a hunter, but uni’s not going to teach me the important things.”
“Hey, hey,” says Sam. He sits up and crosses his legs, looking at Kevin. “Don’t be like that. They might not tell you how to hunt demons but they do tell you how to make buildings and run companies and be doctors and teachers…”
“Yeah, but you. You save the world.”
“What’s the point of saving the world if there’s nothing in it?” Kevin shakes his head, because he sees the sense in what Sam is saying, but he doesn’t believe him.
“Just think about it,” says Sam. He picks up his phone to check the time. “Hey! Merry Christmas,” he says.
“Yeah,” says Kevin, settling down onto the pillow. “G'night.”
Downstairs, Ash and Charlie are awake. They’ve got beer and Mother, and they’ve each got a computer. They’re not talking, because if they even started talking probably they’d start yelling, but the in-game chat feature is filled with their capslocked screeches as they battle the enemy horde.
Christmas dawns without a single cloud in the sky.
Castiel is sitting on the roof, hands clasped together and elbows on his knees. He’s in shorts and a t-shirt, barefooted and he imagines his wings are stretched out. Sometimes it’s hard to remember his true form, but times like these, when the world is soft and still, the memory is almost tangible.
He watches Bobby let the chooks out before he wanders to the place between two utes where he had made Dean and Sam drip their blood. Jasper is behind him, running about and sniffing things. Bobby takes out a book and reads from the pages. A galah screeches at a magpie, and the world does not seem to change. Bobby slams the book shut and he stamps back inside.
Castiel left Dean sleeping, but when there’s a noise to his side he isn’t surprised to see him poking his head up out of the window.
“Mornin', mind if I join?” Castiel shakes his head and scoots over to make room for him.
They sit, and then Dean turns and presses a kiss to Castiel’s cheek. He turns, and they kiss properly, lips rough and stubble grazing in a familiar way.
“Merry Christmas,” says Dean.
Castiel keeps his gaze. “You too.”
“Got you something.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Dean shrugs. “I was gonna give it to you later, but,” he fishes in his pocket and pulls out a silver ring.
Castiel looks at it. He knows what rings mean, and he looks quizzically at Dean, who blushes.
“No, man, not like. I mean. Just. For you. If you want it.”
Castiel goes to take the ring, but Dean hesitates, so he holds out his hand and lets Dean slide it onto his finger. His left hand, his ring finger. They don’t talk about it, but both of them know. Castiel’s an angel. Dean’s human. Time is short, and they’ve mismatched lifespans.
“I didn’t get you anything,” says Castiel. He considered it, but he had no idea what to get this man. Everything Dean wants is out of Castiel’s grasp to give, and everything else seems too trite.
“Don’t. It’s fine.”
In apology Castiel holds out his hand and Dean takes it. The ring is cool and smooth, and he runs his fingers over it.
A few minutes later Dean’s stomach rumbles, and they take that as their cue to climb back down.
Dean cooks breakfast. Bobby offers, and everyone looks horrified, so he grumbles and sits down to allow Dean to order people about the kitchen.
“You can help me with salad,” says Ellen.
“Salad?” asks Bobby. He looks scandalised. Jo wanders into the kitchen and plants a kiss on his cheek.
“Merry Christmas,” she says, and goes to hug Ellen.
“Wait half an hour then crack the eggs on the Impala,” suggests Sam to Dean. “It’s gonna be hot as hell today.”
“Fuck,” sighs Dean, midway through getting eggs from the fridge, then has an idea. “Bobby, you still have that pool?”
“From when you two were knee high to a grasshopper?”
“That was a long time ago,” says Ellen. “Shut the fridge if you’re not using it,” she adds. Dean complies.
“That’s the one.”
“Should be out in the shed.”
“A pool?” asks Jo.
“It’s just a wading pool,” explains Dean.
“Come help me with it,” says Bobby, glad to escape the kitchen and threats of salad.
There’s a moment between moments where Ellen and Dean are alone at the narrow kitchen bench, the others caught up in morning chatter.
“Jo told me about you.” Dean doesn’t know what to do with that, so he opens the drawer and rattles around looking for a spatula. Ellen picks one off the drying rack and hands it to him. “You and Castiel.”
“Yeah?” He straightens defensively, shoulders square and jaw set.
“Don’t be like that,” she says. “I’m not gonna tell you off. You like him?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Then, good. I’m glad.” She smiles up at him. “You boys deserve some good.”
Dean grins. “Just need to get an angel for Sammy, now.”
“I’m sure there’ll be someone."
There’s a knock at the door, and Jody is ushered in, her esky opened and the beer admired. Dean puts the esky outside on the veranda, and Ellen takes the plate of food and opens the packet of chips already.
Charlie leans against a post and watches Dean cook. She’s bleary eyed from lack of sleep, but they catch up on what’s been happening, hunts and travel and Castiel and pop culture. After a bit Ash joins them and steals bacon and bickers with Charlie about hardware. Castiel talks softly with Ellen and Jody, while Kevin sit at the table eating cereal, and Linda bullies Bobby and Jo about where to put the pool.
It’s loud, and it’s hot, and there’s more people here than Dean has been around for a while. It’s the biggest Christmas the Winchesters have ever been part of, and both of them are happy.
Beyond Cadbury stockings and bottles of alcohol no one has really bought anyone else presents. Dean silently promises himself that he’ll be a little more lenient about Sam’s lifestyle – food and exercise and regular sleep - and Sam promises himself he’ll find a bar and let Dean have Castiel alone in a room every once in a while, but that’s not really a present.
Really they’re all okay with just being around each other, everyone alive, everyone smiling, and no one bleeding. Gifts for hunters would be more silver bullets or a new tome.
They sit outside in the shade waiting for the pool to fill up, talking trash and arguing about things only they can argue about: methods of murder, best sorts of incantations, the weirdest case they’ve ever dealt with. Linda and Kevin sit quietly for most of it. When Kevin sometimes tries to interject the others talk over him.
“Dude!” says Dean, loudly, to Ash and Bobby. “Shut up! We’ve got a prophet here, he knows what’s up. Kevin, tell ‘em they’re wrong.”
“Well,” says Kevin, nervous in the loud company, “if you read The Marks of Chalion-”
“That’s in Enochian,” interrupts Bobby. “I’m working on translating it…”
“You could have asked,” says Castiel softly.
“It’s just a book,” says Bobby. “It’s not important.” He means, of course, that it’s not important enough to take up Castiel’s time. Castiel should be doing big things, saving the world, not translating books for old, washed-up hunters.
“It’s The Marks of Chalion,” says Kevin, amazed. “Of course it’s important. It has calendars for rituals, different sigils to protect against various creatures… There’s even one that stops labour, if the woman is close but she isn’t in a safe place.”
“You’ve read it?” asks Castiel.
Kevin nods, and looks a little guiltily at Bobby. “When I didn’t want to play Monopoly.”
“You played Monopoly without us?” asks Dean. “Aw, spewin'."
"We didn't miss out."
"You're sayin' that 'cos you're rubbish at it. Me? I'm awesome.”
"Whatever," dissmisses Sam.
“Did you enjoy the section written by Mae?” Castiel asks. Kevin chuckles, and says something in a language the others do not understand. Castiel laughs loudly. “Mae was a good woman, and a good prophetess.”
“I didn’t know they had those,” says Dean.
“Of course they do,” chides Castiel. “Anna, Rachel, Abigail, Elisabeth, Mary, Hannah, Deborah, Huldah, Miriam…”
“That’s so cool,” says Charlie, leaning forward. “Who’s your favourite?”
“My favourite female prophet?” Castiel leans back in his chair to consider. “Deborah went to war for Israel, which you might be interested in,” he glances at Charlie, “but I never met her. I liked Leykiki, perhaps because she made these most delightful little dolls. Twelfth century, Pacific Islands. I only spoke to her once, but she seemed very nice.”
By midmorning the air is thick with flies and everyone is sweating. It’s no better inside, where the curtains are all shut in a desperate attempt to ward off the heat, and only the fairy lights around the shelves and over the short Christmas tree are on.
Ash gets sick of sweltering so he goes to check how full the pool is. It’s not big enough to fit all of them at once, but Ash happily pulls off his shirt and kicks off his jeans, and slides into the water with a gross moan.
“You’re going to get sunburned,” says Ellen, and gets up to find sunscreen for them all. Linda follows, certain that, of all of them, she’s the most likely to have some, but they get sidetracked in the kitchen with idea of cold drinks that turns into digging through the freezer for vodka.
“When I was younger I dreamed of growing up all posh and drinking sav blanc on the Gold Coast,” says Ellen, pouring a decent amount into a too-tall cup for Linda. “Cheers,” she says. They down it, and Linda holds out her cup for another. Sure, it’s just gone ten, but it’s Christmas.
“Have you known the Winchesters long?” Linda asks. The hot light of outside spills in, and behind them the fairy lights on the Christmas tree blink from colour to colour. The kitchen feels stuffy.
“All their lives, really. After their mother died, well, it was just me and Bobby raisin’ them, really.”
“They seem to have grown up alright. Jo, too.”
Ellen makes a small noise of pride, because, yes, Jo’s grown up well, and the Winchester boys are birds of a different feather entirely but looking out at them now, comfortably relaxed in their plastic chairs, they look good. Sam slaps his knee in laughter, and Kevin joins in. “You’ve done well with Kevin.”
Linda sighs. “I would have preferred him to be at university studying law or economics.” She swallows the vodka. “But he’s a prophet, what can you do?”
Ellen looks at Jo. “They make their own path.”
“Jo hunts?”
“More than I’d like and less often than she’d like.” Ellen shakes her head. It’s not the life she wanted for her daughter, but it’s what Jo wants and there’s not much she can do to change that.
“I’m terrified for Kevin. All the time,” Linda confides. It’s nice to be able to talk about this. She has her friends, but they don’t know anything, really, at all. They don’t understand pain and anguish and they don’t understand that there is good reason to flinch at shadows.
“You gotta trust,” says Ellen.
“He can’t fight. He did martial arts for a bit, but he never liked it. It was just to stand out to employers.”
“Trust him,” says Ellen. She refills Linda’s cup. “And if you can’t trust him, trust those boys.” They’ve decided to join Ash in the pool and are peeling off their shirts. “They protect their own till the bitter end.”
A loud laugh interrupts them, as Charlie trips over the door frame and Jo has to reach out to steady her.
“What are you girls doing?” asks Ellen.
“Do you know if I packed my other bikini? Charlie didn’t bring one. And we need ice.”
“Just go in your grundies," offers Linda. Charlie makes a face.
“I dunno, you packed bag,” says Ellen. “There’s ice in the freezer downstairs.”
“Did you find the sunscreen?”
“Not yet,” say the women, cheerfully knocking back the vodka.
Dean’s in the pool idly eating the last of the prawns from lunch when Sam jumps up from his chair.
“You know what we haven’t done for ages?”
Dean pauses with a prawn in the dipping sauce that Castiel is holding for him. “Um,” he thinks seriously. “Watched Die Hard?”
Castiel, who has been leaning back with his eyes closed, opens them to glare at Dean.
“No,” he says firmly. “No.”
“Cricket!” says Sam.
“What about footy?” calls Dean, but Sam’s already gone inside of the house, thongs flopping loudly on the ground. Dean sits back down into the water with a growl. “I hate cricket,” he says. “Such a boring sport. Why can’t we play footy?”
“You’re so foreign,” says Ash. “Rugby is where it’s at.”
“Nuh-uh,” says Dean. “Tell him, Cas.”
“Is cricket like baseball?” Castiel asks. “I’ve watched that, once.”
Sam comes out of the house with a frown on his face, and Dean laughs at it. “Bobby doesn’t have a cricket ball, and the only tennis ball Jasper’s eaten.”
“Does he have that old footy?”
“He has a soccer ball,” says Sam. “He’s just pumpin' it up. Help me clear space.”
Dean gets up with a grumbled complaint, knowing that if he doesn’t comply Sam will just bully him until he does.
“Put on a shirt,” chides Castiel. “I’m not healing you if you burn because you’re too bloody lazy.”
“You’re bloody lazy,” retorts Dean. Castiel gives him a look, still in the wading pool in his underwear, hair drying in feathery dreadlocks and eyes heavy from the sun. Dean puts on a shirt and helps Sam.
The others troop out and watch them clear a space, putting on sunscreen and clothes.
“What are the rules for this game?” asks Castiel, tugging a shirt over his head.
“Uh,” everyone says.
“Tell you what,” Dean says. “You can be on Sam’s team.”
“Oi!” says Sam. “No way.”
“Hey, you pick the sport I pick the teams. I get Jo - Charlie!” he yells. “You good at ball sports?” The women giggle. “Not like that, pervs. We’re playing soccer.”
“Has everyone got sunscreen on?” interrupts Linda.
“Mrs Tran! Can you play soccer?” Linda gets an evil glint to her eye. “You’re on my team.”
“You can’t have all the women,” complains Sam.
“I’ll have you know I have played soccer before,” says Ash.
“Yeah, when?” calls Jo. Ash gives her the finger, and they’re sorted into almost teams: Sam with Kevin, Ash, Bobby, and Castiel. Dean with Charlie, Jo, Linda, and Jody. Ellen refuses to play. Instead she brings a chair to the side of their hot dirt field and sits down with an umbrella for shade, declaring herself umpire.
It seemed as though the teams were lopsided at first, but then it’s discovered that Kevin was on his high school team, and Ash really can play soccer. Castiel takes a while, and then Sam gets irritated and puts him on goalie.
“Don’t let anything between these thongs,” he says, pointing them out. Castiel nods uncertainly, because he’s an Angel of the Lord and this is a backyard Christmas game.
Kevin snatches the ball from Jo and dribbles it down the field, and then Charlie runs in to steal it back and they collide, sliding hard in the sand.
“Foul!” calls Ellen. “Free shot to Sam’s team!”
“No fair!” says Dean, but without much conviction. Kevin goes to the side and kicks the ball to Bobby, who sends it flying towards Ash. Jody’s on goals and she blocks the ball easily, passing it off to Jo who teams up with Charlie and races down the field. Sam and Dean are busy blocking each other, scarcely playing, but then right at the end there’s Ash and Kevin blocking the two women and Dean sprints in, takes the ball and tries hurtling it into goals. He’s got such momentum and the field is so small that he collides with Castiel, the ball sailing clear and free between the shoes and out into the yard of wrecked cars.
Dean looks down at Castiel while he pins him to the ground. “Having fun?” he grins.
“You’re heavy,” complains Castiel. “And hot.”
“Damn right I am,” laughs Dean. Castiel’s eyes are nice and blue, not summer blue which is all heat and unhappiness. They’re the sort of blue of deep, cold swimming pools. He kisses him, because he can’t not, not when he’s got a leg between Castiel’s thighs and their damp shirts are pressed together.
“Knock it off, you two,” says Sam, kicking Dean in the leg. Dean grunts and rolls off Castiel, and hauls himself up.
“We winning?” asks Dean, holding out a hand to help Castiel up.
The first time Dean had kissed him it had been like this, Castiel on the ground and Dean holding a hand out to help him up. Castiel had stumbled up too fast, his head spinning, and collapsed into Dean's arms. Dean had been warm against him, and kissing him just felt... right. Sam teases Dean for being a cuddly sap, helping Castiel up or opening the car door for him - as though he needs it - but Castiel knows that it's not that Dean thinks Castiel is incapable, he just liked touching him.
He takes the hand and pulls himself up, and his fingers tangle for a moment in Dean’s, and Dean looks at him with a lopsided fond expression. Then he grins and messes up Castiel’s hair.
“Cheers for the goal,” Dean says, and goes back to rally his team into action.
Dean wins 4-3, and stop only because Ellen declares that it’s probably time for more food and no one can find it within themselves to complain against that.
Charlie’s limping a little from her collision early in the game. Jo notices blood dribbling down her calf.
“Bobby!” she calls. “You got bandaids around here somewhere?”
“Do I look like I keep a well-stocked first aid kid?”
“Well, yeah,” says Jo.
“Not for little scrapes, we don’t,” returns Bobby.
“Come on,” says Jo, catching Charlie under the elbow and letting her fingers slide down the smooth skin of Charlie’s lower arm in a pretence of supporting her as she walks. “You should at least clean that out.”
“It’s nothing,” says Charlie. Dean’s caught up with them, ball under his arm, and looks at Charlie’s leg.
“Cas? Can you fix that?”
“No matter how many references you make to M*A*S*H I am not, in fact, your personal doctor,” sighs Castiel. He looks at Charlie’s leg, brushes his hand on her shoulder, and it’s healed.
“Think you might be, Trapper,” says Dean, slinging his arm around Castiel’s waist. Castiel snorts and turns away, but Dean only takes the opportunity to kiss his shoulder.
“Help me with dinner?” he asks.
“But there’s ice cream.”
“Fine,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I’ll suffer, alone. You’ll thank me for it later when you’re eating.”
“There’s a joke here about meat,” interrupts Charlie.
Jo laughs loudly. “Gross!”
Kevin had gone inside first to wash his face, and now stands in the front room looking at the Christmas tree. He put a present for his mum there, but he didn’t know what to get anyone else so he didn’t get them anything. What would Sam or Dean want, anyway? What they didn’t have they stole or didn’t need. He sees something on the desk there, and goes to look. He unfolds the shirt and touches the artefact, and blinks and gasps, lungs suddenly empty. He crashes to the floor.
There are footsteps, and someone is helping him up.
“Kev!” says Ash. “You alright?”
“Bloody hell,” he can hear Bobby in the distance.
Ash is speaking. “Where did you get that?”
“Dug it out of the desert,” says Castiel. Kevin drinks the glass of warm tap water that is pressed into his hand, and it doesn’t make him feel better but it does wake him up in time to see Ash reaching for the artefact.
“No!” he cries, jumping up and pushing him back. “Don’t!”
“Woah there, just takin’ a squizz.”
“Don’t touch it,” he says.
“What does it do?” asks Dean.
“It locates demons.” Kevin has stood up and is wrapping the artefact carefully into Castiel’s abandoned shirt, holding it to his chest. “You can’t have this,” he says. “You don’t know how to use it.”
“Alright, easy there mate,” says Dean, holding up his hands.
“Guess that’s our New Year’s Resolution in order,” says Sam dryly.
“Not that I don’t enjoy all the magic hocus-pocus,” interrupts Charlie, “but Christmas only happens once a year, and Jody said we can’t have ice cream until after all the salad is eaten.”
“Spoilsport,” complains Castiel, shooting a dark look at Jody.
“Do you want to go put that upstairs?” asks Sam. Kevin nods, and disappears with the artefact. Sam looks at Dean, who shrugs.
“Prophets,” he sighs, with a faint roll of his eyes. Sam nods. He hopes Kevin is alright.
Dean complains the whole time he cooks, and then bullies everyone, even Kevin who doesn’t eat anything that’s been on the barbie, into thanking him for cooking. People weren’t eating the salad so Charlie and Jo walked around forcibly piling more on everyone’s plates. Castiel takes the near-empty bowl and picks it clean.
There’s silence, except for the sound of insects, and a few birds twittering to each other.
Then there’s a sound. A shriek. A sound of something crashing, and Kevin rushes out on the veranda. He’s yelling a little. Or a lot, and the hunters and angel and Ash and his mother all leap up, expecting the worst.
“What is it?” asks Castiel, fists clenched and ready to fight.
“There’s a fuck-,” Kevin gasps. “A goddamn snake. In the fucking bathroom.”
Kevin shakes, and Bobby puts out a hand. “Easy there mate.”
Jody and Ellen are nearly falling off their chair in laughter.
“Who wants it?” asks Dean.
Everyone races to put their hand to their nose, leaving Castiel behind.
“Probably for the best,” says Jo, watching Castiel leave to deal with the snake. “I’d try to shoot the thing.”
“I still need to piss,” says Kevin. He sounds about to cry. Sam waves a hand at the rusted cluster of cars. “There might be more snakes,” he hisses. “I’m never going to pee again.”
“Oh, come on,” says Bobby. “I’ll scope the area for you, how’s that?”
Castiel comes downstairs with the snake curled around his arm, its head moving around to watch where they’re going.
“Is that a copper head?” asks Dean.
“Austrelaps ramsayi,” says Castiel. “Isn’t she pretty?” He strokes the snake’s head.
“Dude!” says Dean, and he doesn’t know if he’s scared shitless or if he’s just going to always be turned on by Castiel doing something badass and dangerous.
“Put that thing in the paddock where it belongs,” says Ellen.
“Haven’t had a snake in the house for years,” says Dean.
“No, not since you and Sam were young whippersnappers pretendin’ to be, what was it?”
“Jedis,” says Sam. He grins at Dean.
“Those were the days.”
“Look!” interrupts Charlie, pointing at a tree. “It’s a koala!”
“Bloody city-slicker,” grumbles Ash as Charlie leaps out of her chair to take a photo of the koala that is making its way down a bough of a tree to reach some leaves. Jo follows her, touches her hand to Charlie’s back and they laugh about something together. Sam raises his eyebrows at Dean.
“Whatever,” says Dean, watching Castiel walk away. He appears to be talking to the snake.
“Stop ogling your angel,” says Ellen, and Dean flushes warm all over because yeah, that’s his angel, and everyone knows and no one seems to mind.
“Where’s dessert?” asks Kevin, and Jody tells him to come inside and help bring it out.
Dessert is ice cream mixed up with all sorts of lollies, and although Ash tries to take the first serving the rest don’t let him, even Castiel takes a few spoonfuls before the near-empty tub is passed around the circle to him. Then there’s fruit and pavlova, but the others happily relinquish most of the fruit so that Kevin can eat that, and there’s a cheesecake that Dean bought on their way through town that’s vegan, and Kevin’s amazed because he hasn’t had cheesecake in years. Dean doesn’t get that it’s a big deal, which amazes Kevin even more.
The sun tumbles down to the horizon and then it lingers there for what seems like the better part of an hour, big and hotly orange, the sky a dim pink. Summer sunsets are as dry and bland as summer itself, and with dusk comes mosquitoes that are worse than flies, so they all pack up the food and hurry inside.
There isn’t enough room for them all, so Ellen and Bobby and Linda all sit in one room, Kevin and Sam sit around the book-covered dining table having a subdued evening, and everyone else tries to crowd around the kitchen table raucously drinking beer and playing cards.
They’re all ridiculously good at it. Dean makes half his wages with this kind of thing, and Jo was raised by Ellen. Charlie’s not so good at poker itself but she is good at lying, Castiel’s face hasn’t caught up on the fact that Castiel has emotions, and Ash is, well, Ash. Jody tries to join in for the first round, but quickly retreats to watch Christmas movies because that’s easier, and kinder on her wallet.
They play a round and then Dean slaps his cards on the table.
“This is ridiculous,” he says. “No cheating. Everyone, no cheating.” He makes them all pinky-swear, and then he deals another round.
It’s a hard game. It’s a long game. In the end they’re all too drunk to know if anyone won, or if they did then who, but the way that angels aren’t affected by alcohol leaves the humans feeling that it definitely wasn’t them.
Castiel folds the rainbow of notes as subtly as he can and pushes them into the waistband of his shorts in lieu of a pocket.
Dean stands up on shaky feet and looks at the clock. He blinks drunkenly at it for a couple seconds before he can figure out what it says.
“Huh. Hey guys. Last few minutes of Christmas. Any last words?”
“This was a good day,” says Charlie. She’s leaning sideways in her chair, toward Jo, who is unashamedly trying to take money from Ash’s side of the table. He slaps her with his hand of cards.
“It’s not like you need it,” she says, snagging another note.
“Love you,” says Castiel, looking up at Dean. Dean grins, and wavers, considering how wise it would be to bend down and kiss Castiel. He doesn’t, because he’s a little afraid he’ll fall on his face.
“Blegh,” says Jo, and Dean slaps her shoulder.
“Bed,” says Charlie, standing. She holds herself steady with her chair. “Where was I sleeping, again?”
“With me,” says Jo. The others blink at her brashness, but Charlie just giggles a little and holds out her hand. She pulls Jo to her feet and then allows herself to be led upstairs.
“Huh,” says Dean. “Guess Andy’s a bust, then.”
“Andy?” asks Castiel.
“Shearer,” says Dean, as though that explains anything.
Dean finds himself on the mattress in the attic with Castiel wrapped around him. He’s naked because of the heat and Castiel is not, because taking off clothes always feels like a chore. But he has his shirt off, and his skin is hot on Dean’s. There’s sweat prickling between them, and despite of that they refuse to let go of each other. Dean is tired but he cannot sleep, alcohol wearing him down and holding him in the twilight zone.
“Love you,” he mummers into Castiel’s elbow.
Castiel sighs. He’s had Dean drunk in his arms often enough to know how this goes. “I know.”
Dean’s a little turned on but too drunk to do anything about it. He rocks his hips back into Castiel and finds that Castiel is too, but still, Dean’s too drunk to do anything. He rocks again, though, because that feels good, and lazily puts a hand down to stroke himself.
“Dean,” Castiel kisses his neck. “I can do that.”
Dean hums a nothing response, closing his eyes against the fuzzy dim light of the summer night, hand idly squeezing himself. Castiel pushes his own in place of it, and Dean sighs and rolls his body back to press more firmly against Castiel.
“I don’t need to,” he slurs softly. “Just feels nice.”
“You’re drunk,” returns Castiel, grinning into Dean’s shoulder. His hand is soft and slow. He knows Dean isn’t going to come, isn’t even going to get close to it, but he strokes slowly until Dean closes his eyes and sighs his way into a heavy, drunken sleep. Then Castiel takes his hand off him and wraps it around Dean’s stomach and holds him tight.
The next day sees them wandering the house in a heat-affected daze, Charlie spending her time between Ash’s computers and Jo’s side, while the others watch the Boxing Day cricket match and drink beer. They don’t grumble about the heat, because if Australians started doing that with any real feeling they’d never stop. Midmorning Bobby gets a call from a hunter down in Victoria who’s pinned between a bushfire and a ghost. Dean snatches the phone off him and tells the guy not to be an idiot, salt the ground and run. Bushfires are fires, and ghosts don’t stand a chance.
Kevin and Linda decide they’ll head off later that afternoon, but Ellen and Jo are sticking around for a bit longer, because they don’t really have anywhere to be, and Charlie’s stocked up on cash and wants to poke around with Ash’s computers a bit more. Plus, she tells Sam in a whisper by the fridge, Jo’s still here, and she’s damned if she’s leaving before Jo does. Sam turns a bit red around the ears.
“You and her?” he asks, softly.
Charlie shakes her hair and rolls her shoulders. “Dunno. Maybe. I just wanna see. It’s that time of year to give everyone a chance.”
Sam nods and leaves her to it, feeling a little lonely and wanting to be alone to wallow in it. Kevin has the same idea, and they both end up outside together. They put more ice into the pool and sit in it to eat the last of the vegan food.
The worst part of Christmas, Dean decides, is cleaning up after Christmas. With his hulking great brother and that bloody mutt taking up the pool at least he doesn’t have to deal with that, but there’s tinsel and wrapping paper from presents that he didn’t even see, and there’s trash from packaging and paper plates, and then, on top of all of that, the bathroom’s a mess and there’s all this laundry, and everything needs sweeping and mopping.
The women refuse to do it. Charlie cries sexism, and Jo gives Dean a look that reminds him that she knows exactly how to break a man’s neck, and he doesn’t even dare ask Ellen or Linda. Ash is lost to his software world but Dean yanks him out and hands him a mop. He gestures at the kitchen.
“Clean,” he says, and marches upstairs to start on the bathroom.
Castiel stands in the doorway and watches him. He’s tall and stands almost gracefully against the door frame, while Dean is gross and sweating and trying to clean gunk off the shower floor.
“Allow me,” says Castiel, finally.
“You gonna magick it away?” asks Dean. Castiel picks up the bottle of bleach and tosses it liberally on the tiles. Dean leaps back. “Jesus-!” he yells. “Watch it.” Dean rubs his face into the crook of his elbow, which only smears sweat across his skin. “We should find a case in the Snowys. It’s still cool this time of year.”
“I do like Charlotte’s Pass,” says Castiel.
Sam and Dean and Castiel convene to talk about the artefact. Well, Dean and Sam go downstairs and find that Sam is still in the wading pool, pieces of ice floating around him. Dean throws a bit at Castiel, who frowns as though Dean has personally offended him.
“If we can find every demon…”
“In Australia?” Sam scorns. “Aussie’s fucking huge but nothing happens here.”
“We started the Apocalypse here,” Dean reminds him. Sam flinches a little, though the Apocalypse is old news and the reminder doesn’t hurt him as much as it used it. “The gates of Hell are here. I think we’re set.”
“Yeah, but imagine how many would be in America.”
“I think a lot of those are just humans.”
“Humans have a very good imagination for destruction,” adds Castiel. Sam glowers. He doesn’t need reminding of that.
“So we get a list and get in contact with hunters over there,” says Dean simply. “Cas, you’ve run into some, haven’t you?”
“There are a few that I am aware of,” agrees Castiel. “There is one I know personally - Garth.”
“See, Sammy?” Dean says brightly. “So, we finish up here, and then we systematically hunt down and kill every single demon in Australia.”
“Don’t say it’s simple,” interrupted Sam in a hasty breath.
“Wasn’t gonna. It’s gonna be hard as shit and probably we’ll both die twice.”
“Sounds fun,” says Sam. “When do you wanna leave here?”
“I dunno. Cas, you got anything pressing?”
“There are a group of vampires that I have been slowly hunting in Pakistan.”
The Winchesters blink. They both know that Castiel does things while they do mundane human things that bore him, but they never really bother asking what sort of things. “You can fly there from anywhere, right?”
“It is more convenient for me if you remain in one place. Tracking you is difficult, and I prefer to know that I am returning to a safe place.”
“Will you get them cleaned up by New Year?”
“I cannot foresee any reasons I will not.”
"Bonza,” says Dean. “New Year set.”
When Linda announces that they should head off Sam stops Kevin and hands him a pile of books.
“They’re probably out of date by now,” he says. “But, uh, I studied them over summer before uni. Just,” he brushes his hair from his eyes. “Do whatever you gotta, but don’t do something just ‘cos you think it’s not as important. It’s for people like you that we do all this shit.”
Linda pats Sam on the arm in thanks. She still wants Kevin to go to university, despite everything else.
She’s exchanged numbers with Ellen, and the two women hug goodbye. Charlie and Kevin look at each other a bit awkwardly before Charlie throws her arms around him. Kevin looks startled, and the artefact is awkward between them.
“Now, you tell us if you get into any trouble, y’hear?”
“Sure, Dean,” says Kevin, allowing himself to get manhandled into an awkward embrace.
“And whatever readings you get off that thing, you send them to us.”
Kevin rolls his eyes. What else would he do with the artefact? “Yes, Dean.”
“And you know all the right banishing rituals?”
“Yes.”
“And the exorcising chants?”
“Dean,” says Kevin. “I’ll be fine. You’re worse than Mum.”
Dean really isn’t okay with Kevin disappearing with the artefact with him, but the rest of the world either didn’t know it existed or thought it had been buried in some forgotten place.
“You know I’ll check on him,” says Castiel, touching Dean’s arm to make him back off.
“Yeah, well,” he mutters. Kevin’s okay with Castiel checking up on him, because there’s not many creatures on the planet able to joke in Enochian that don’t want to kill him. He later regrets this when he discovers that Castiel’s preferred type of humour is exceptionally bad puns, but by then there’s not much he can do.
Dean leans against the angel, and they wave goodbye, Jasper chasing the car down the driveway.
“You need to fly off to deal with those vamps in Pakistan?” he asks as the others turn inside, hopeful that the answer is no. Castiel rolls his shoulders and considers.
“It’s before midday in Pakistan. There is a man I must speak with, but that has to wait until dinner.”
“You’ve got some time?”
“Yes, Dean, I have some time,” says Castiel patiently. Dean grins.
“Awesome. Let’s go watch a Christmas movie.”
“Not Die Hard. Not again.”
“Die Hard’s an awesome movie.”
Castiel follows Dean up the stairs and into the house. His voice is earnest. “Simply because a movie is set at Christmas, that does not mean it is a Christmas movie.”
Dean chuckles a little, slinging his arm around his neck and kissing his cheek. “Whatever, dude.”