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The first Halloween Dean was actually able to spend with Castiel, was vastly different than any he had ever experienced before. Whereas in years past he’d have been going to his buddy Gabriel’s dirty pumpkin carving contest, or if he didn’t have a case, he and Benny would volunteer to patrol, keeping an eye out for teenagers toting toilet paper and cartons of eggs. Halloween was a feast of tooth rotting candy and mind rotting horror movies, interspersed with adorable little munchkins dressed as superheroes and fairy princesses.
Dean had missed the first Halloween that passed when he and Castiel became a couple. He and Benny had been tagged to help patrol the annual “Trunk or Treat”. It was held at the local fairgrounds. Children and their families would come, dressed in costume, to participate in games, gorge themselves on fried dough and apple cider and trick or treat out of the trunks of cars. All of the vehicles in the parking lot sat with their trunks open and kids would go from car to car asking for sweets. Occasionally there would be a ghoul or two hiding inside ready to scare the hell out of some of the older trick or treaters. After, there had been a scavenger hunt for hidden hollow pumpkins with prizes inside ranging from toy store gift cards and movie passes.
Unfortunately what started as a fun, easy and family oriented day, had ended with Dean and Benny getting a call to the scene of a suspicious death at a party on the north side of town. Apparently best friends Jasper Johnson, 22, and Andrew Hayes, 23, had thought it a brilliant idea to get blitzed on Patron at a rooftop costume party. Sadly, no amount of Jasper screaming go, go gadget arms was able to save his friend from plummeting off of the roof. The young man, lying prone in a blood stained SpongeBob costume would be something that haunted Dean for a long time to come.
No one had been charged with anything because death by stupidity was not an actual crime. Dean had left the station that night, feeling defeated and shaken. Nausea churned in his gut at such a senseless tragedy, and he'd driven home with the faces of horrified parents at the forefront of his brain. Dean had made himself put it away, not wanting to drag the evening's tragedy back to Castiel.
Castiel was a bright, gentle soul. Dean hated sullying him with the darkness of his work. Not that it mattered. His lover always seemed to know, whether Dean said anything or not. That night had been no exception. Dean had barely made it through the door when strong arms enveloped him. Dean had buried his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck, and breathed in the scent of sandalwood and vanilla that seemed to cling to Cas at all times. It was Dean’s favorite smell, it just embodied what had become home to him. Dean hadn’t questioned it when Castiel took hm by the hand and led him to the master bathroom. He hadn’t asked how Cas had known to draw a boiling hot bubble bath at one o’clock in the morning, when Dean had hoped his love would have been fast asleep.
Castiel had urged Dean into the double wide clawfoot tub, before stripping out of his own tunic and yoga pants to slip in behind him. Castiel had proceeded to wash his body, gently, the movements of his steady hands tender, not sexual. By the time the bath had finished, Dean had felt cleansed in more than body, but spirit as well. But that was Castiel. He was a storm, he was like the rain, washing away the the harshness and pain until everything was shiny and pure again.
Dean had fought the guilt, knowing that Castiel had been doing ritual work that night, yet he had put Dean’s needs first, as he so often did. He had apologized as they gathered up Cas’ supplies and placed them on the altar his lover had made out of the window seat. Cas had merely held a finger to Dean’s lips and smiled.
Dean was determined that this year, Castiel’s plans wouldn’t be back burnered for him. Halloween wasn't just a fun, child’s holiday to his husband. It was Samhain. A night to honor the dead, to say goodbye to the summer and give thanks to the goddess for this year’s harvest.
Dean and Benny currently had no open cases, and he had made arrangements to not be on call for the next few days. He hadn’t told Castiel of his free plans when the 31st of October dawned, crisp and clear. Of course, the man seemed to know anyway, if the deep kiss and thank you whispered against his skin was anything to go by.
“Whatever you need, baby, I know how important Samhain is to you. I want you to feel comfortable sharing these things with me. If that’s what you want, I mean. If you want privacy-”
A gentle hand covered his mouth as Castiel sent him a half smile, the amused affection in his cobalt eyes letting Dean know that of course Castiel wanted that, too.
After filling their bellies with apple cinnamon oatmeal and orange juice, they dressed warmly. Dean in a pair of jeans and an old Manny Ramirez sweatshirt. Castiel wore jeans as well, and a comfortably worn sweater of Dean’s, with cuffs that fell over his hands. The damn thing had been washed so many times that the hunter green color had faded into moss. Castiel loved it, he knew, because it reminded him of Dean’s eyes.
Castiel filled two thermoses with coffee, sweet and light for himself, and black for Dean. They started with a nature walk in the trails behind their house. Castiel carried a muslin satchel that hung from his neck. As they walked the path, surrounded by thick trees, Castiel picked up colored leaves and acorns at random to put in his bag. Sometimes an interesting rock would catch his eye as their booted feet crunched along the cold, hard ground.
Sunlight came through the breaks in the trees, between the branches, to paint the forest floor in blankets of gold. Castiel stood in a swathe of that sunlight, examining a particularly large leaf he’d come across. He twirled it by the stem and Dean’s breath caught as he watched. Red and gold glinted in Castiel’s dark, tousled hair and his eyes were a clear, ocean blue and Dean couldn’t help but to snap a picture with his phone.
“What are you doing, husband?” Castiel teased from underneath his lashes, expression somehow managing to be both coy and innocent at the same time.
Dean flipped his phone around. “New screensaver,” he said with a smile, earning himself one in return. His favorite, the one that showed Cas’ teeth and scrunched up his nose.
Dean didn't ask what the leaves and acorns were for, but when he found a perfectly formed pinecone, Castiel urged him to add it to the bag. As they continued to walk, Dean would occasionally add to Cas’ growing collection. A smooth, slate grey skipping stone and a multicolored leaf that to Castiel’s delight, reminded Dean of Fruity Pebbles.
After about two hours, they made their way back to the house. Dean followed Castiel to the living room and watched his husband add their findings to the altar he already had set up. There was a cornucopia with maize, squash, gourds, apples and small pumpkins. A splint of mulled wine stood next to it, along with an empty chalice. Dean watched as Castiel carefully placed each acorn, rock and leaf in place around the altar, as though every one were a precious treasure that commanded respect.
When he was finished, Dean slid his arms around Cas from behind. Castiel rested his head back against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean nuzzled Castiel’s cheek with his own, enjoying the rasp of their mutual stubble.
“It looks beautiful, baby,” Dean said and Castiel answered him with a soft kiss to his jaw.
The next part of the day revolved around chopping vegetables. Dean diced carrots, celery, potatoes and kale to go into the hearty beef stew Castiel had started. It simmered in the crockpot, beef broth, stew meat and barley permeating the air. As Dean added the vegetables, Castiel kneaded dough for homemade bread before covering it and setting it aside to rise.
Dean put the tea kettle on and pulled two lemon-yellow oversized mugs from the cabinet as Castiel rinsed dough from his long fingers. Dean put two Lipton tea bags in his mug and one spiced chai in Cas’. He then plated two pumpkin muffins, placing them and the butter dish with a knife on the kitchen table, as he waited for the water to boil.
Castiel dried his hands and walked out of the kitchen as Dean began to pour the hot water over the tea bags. When he returned, Castiel was carrying a small, wooden box that Dean knew housed photographs of Cas’ family; the ones he was still on speaking terms with, and ones who had passed.
Castiel opened the box and began thumbing through pictures. There was his brother Balthazar, who lived in France and worked as a translator. His sister Anna, who was a waif of a thing, with long red hair and bright ethereal eyes. She lived in New York and was a fairly successful artist. Dean watched as Cas pulled out a picture of his mother, Hannah. She had passed when Castiel was at the tender age of ten, of a brain aneurysm. Cas inherited his dark hair and bright blue eyes from her, and judging by Hannah's smile, her kindness as well. Castiel didn’t speak of her often, and when he did, his tone was often bittersweet. There were pictures of Castiel's Uncle Cain as well. Cain, who had left this house to Cas and been like a father to him when his biological father, Chuck, emotionally checked out. Chuck had never recovered from Hannah’s death. He paid the bills with money from his successful supernatural book series, kept the Novak children clothed and fed, but Castiel had once told him he likened it to living with a ghost. There were no pictures of Chuck in the box.
Castiel reached a hand across the table, palm up and Dean laced their fingers together. They sat like that, in comfortable silence for a while, drinking tea and nibbling on their muffins. It would be a few hours before Castiel would be able to put the bread in the oven, and the rest of his ritualistic work would not be completed until the evening, after dinner.
They spent the rest of the afternoon curled up together on the couch, Dean laying down with Castiel pulled to his chest as they watched Hocus Pocus and Dean’s guilty Halloween pleasure, Practical Magic. Cas teased him about his little crush on Sandra Bullock.
“Everyone likes Sandra Bullock, Cas, get over it.”
When it was time to eat dinner, Dean set the table, pouring them each some of the mulled wine from the altar. Castiel also instructed Dean to pour some in the chalice as well. Dean didn’t question his husband, and just did as he asked. Castiel lit a white pillar candle as a centerpiece, and dished up bowls of stew as Dean sliced into the freshly baked bread. Before they ate, Castiel linked his hands with Dean’s and offered up a prayer.
“Summer is gone,
Winter is near
We humbly thank thee,
For the bounty here
Blessed be.”
Dean was humbled by the earnest tone of his husband’s whiskey-soaked voice. As he watched Castiel dip his spoon into his bowl Dean was overcome with emotion for this amazing man who had claimed his heart.
“I love you,” Dean said, voice husky with the overwhelming feelings inside of him and Castiel beamed at him.
“And I, you,” Cas answered softly.
They talked of inconsequential things as they ate. When they were finished, Dean offered to do the dishes so that Castiel could go make an offering to the earth. As Dean loaded the dishwasher with their dishes he watched as Castiel dished up a small bowl of stew and placed a chunk of bread on the top. Castiel walked out of the side kitchen door with the bowl and the chalice of wine. Dean saw as he went around back of the house and through the kitchen window he could see Castiel as he crouched in front of their vegetable garden. Dean couldn’t hear what was said, but he watched as Cas lifted the bowl heavenward, before placing it down. Dean was transfixed as he watched Castiel dig into the garden with his bare hands. Castiel poured the bowl of stew and bread into the hole, and covered it with soil, no doubt reciting a prayer, if Dean was to guess. Lastly, he saw Cas pour the chalice of wine over the buried meal. Not wanting to be caught staring, Dean quickly soaped up a cloth and used it to wipe down the dinner table.
When Castiel came back in, he stopped to momentarily take Dean’s soapy hands in his and lean up for a kiss. It tasted of butter and wine and Dean sighed into the kiss, relishing in the pure sweetness of it. When their lips parted, Dean rested his brow against Cas’ and grinned at him a little dopily.
“Crazy how you make my head go fuzzy,” Dean admitted sheepishly and Cas cupped his cheek, thumb brushing his skin.
“Same here, my love.”
Castiel nudged Dean aside so that he could wash his own hands under the warm stream of watrer.
“So, what's next?”
“Next is an open prayer to the spirits. Samhain is when the veil is the thinnest. It is a time where we help the spirits journey to their resting place. I need to place a candle in the western doorway, to burn until midnight.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. The kitchen door was western facing.
“So, what, we keep it propped open and just leave a candle lit? What if it blows out?” The detective in him cringed at the idea of leaving the door open.
Castiel didn’t answer right away. First he went to a deep drawer next to the refrigerator where he kept a multitude of candles. He pulled out two thick pillars in deep purple. One, he left on the table, the other he held in his hands.
“If the wind blows the candle out, it's okay. Can you grab me the matches from the mantle in the living room?” Castiel asked as he went to open the kitchen door again. Castiel had told him once that you always used wooden matches in ritualistic work instead of lighters. He’d also told him it was disrespectful to the element of fire to snuff out a candle manually, which was probably why he wasn't worried about the wind doing it for him.
Dean returned with the matches and handed them to Cas. His husband had propped open the door with a stopper and in the twilight he could see the branches of the Dogwood tree rustling.
Castiel lit the candle, hand cupped around the flame as he stood in the doorway. His voice was strong, gritty sandpaper as he began to speak.
“Dear spirits lost,
You need not hide.
Let this candle
Be thy guide
This glowing light
Will shine bright
And be a loving hand.
Through darkest night,
To show the way,
Till you reach the summerlands,”
Castiel’s voice carried over the wind and Dean couldn’t hold back a shiver, either at the cold or the words, he couldn’t be sure. Summerlands, the Wiccan term for heaven, Dean had come to learn in his time with Castiel. Dean offered up his own silent prayer of peace for the lost souls searching for their place in the afterlife.
“I’m going to start a fire,” Dean said in a whisper as Castiel turned around, stormy eyes bright. If their door was going to be open for the next few hours on a chilly autumn night, then Dean was going to make use of the fireplace. “And if Bambi wanders in here, it’s on you,” he teased with a wink.
Thinking that Castiel maybe needed a few minutes to himself, Dean went out into the livingroom to start the fire. By the time it was crackling, he was sitting on the sofa and Castiel had made his way into the living room with the wooden box from earlier in one hand and the second purple candle in the other. Dean watched as Cas pulled two photos from the box, one of them, of his mother, and the other one, of Cain. Castiel placed the items in the middle of the floor, then went to his altar to grab his athame, which was a knife that he used in ceremony whenever he needed to cast a circle, cut herbs, or rope for rituals. Dean watched as Castiel used the athame to etch words into the candle. Castiel looked up and caught Dean’s eye. He walked over to Dean, and he admired Castiel’s smooth gait. Cas always walked like he was gliding, like the movement itself was effortless. Castiel slipped down to the floor in front of Dean and placed the knife on the coffee table before resting his hands on Dean’s knees.
“This next part, you are welcome to participate in, or you can just watch, though I doubt it will be all that fascinating for you,” Castiel said with a wry quirk of his lips.
Dean cleared his throat. “What are you going to do?”
“Tonight is a night to speak with the dead. To commune and share things we were not able to before our loved one’s passing. It’s like...it’s like having an internal conversation, that though it may seem one-sided, it is not.”
"Are you going to, uh, commune with your mom and your uncle?”
Castiel nodded seriously, eyes wide.
Dean reached out to card a hand through Cas’ hair and his husband sighed and leaned into the touch.
“I’ve never really lost anyone that close to me,” Dean began, thinking of his parents, his brother and sister and law and his Uncle Bobby, all alive and well, no doubt taking his niece trick or treating at that very moment. “There’s my grandfather Henry, but I was so young. I think I will just watch, if that is okay. If this is something that will work better with me out of the way, just say the word.”
Castiel rose up on his knees and looped his hands around Dean’s neck. “It will be fine as long as you are quiet, maybe silence your phone, just in case.”
Dean did as asked and watched as Cas fluidly stood up. He went to the middle of the room and proceeded to cast a circle around the supplies he had left on the floor.
“I ask of thee, on this Samhain night, to protect me from dark, and allow only light,” Castiel walked in a clockwise circle as he spoke. He then sat on the floor and placed the photos of Hannah and Cain face up in front of him. Castiel lit the candle and arranged himself in the lotus position. Dean watched as Castiel began to take deep breaths. His dark blue eyes were focused now, fixated on the dancing flame of the candle in front of him. Dean could see that wherever Castiel was now, Dean ceased to exist for him. He could tell by the glazed expression in his usually sharp eyes. Castiel was completely enraptured in what he was doing. He blinked and it was almost as though he were looking straight through the flame to somewhere else.
A gust of wind whipped through the house, rattling the doors, yet Castiel did not move. Dean, however, had to bite back a little yelp of surprise. Looking back at Castiel, Dean was alarmed to see tears trailing down his face. He had to fight his first instinct to rush over to his husband and gather him up in an embrace, but he knew better now. He knew that sometimes these ceremonies were emotional. Still, it made his heart ache to see Castiel cry. After what seemed like hours, though Dean knew it couldn’t have been longer than fifteen minutes, Cas shifted. He laid himself down on his side and his gaze dropped from the flame to peer up at Dean on the couch. He didn’t have to ask, Dean just knew. Dean came off of the couch and entered the circle, laying himself down as well, the candle flickering between them. Dean reached a hand out, palm open on the floor and Castiel gripped it tightly. Dean took steady breaths and Castiel matched him inhale for exhale as their eyes continued to lock on each other.
“They say they are proud of me,” Cas’ voice was a whisper, but he had a glimmer of a smile on his face.
“How could they not be, baby?” was Dean’s response and Castiel shuffled closer so he could press a trembling kiss to Dean’s lips. It was wet with the salt of his husband’s tears.
"They're grateful to you, for loving and accepting me as I am," Castiel's gravelly voice shook a little, "and so am I."
"Who you are," Dean said reverently, " is everything to me. Do you hear me? You are my everything."
They laid like that for a while, the fire crackling at their heads and the candle flame dancing between them. Castiel finally sighed and sat up, dragging Dean with him. Dean stood still as Castiel once again grabbed the athame. He began to walk counter clockwise, to close the circle.
“Merry meet and merry part, and merry meet again. My work was done, with harm to none, on this blessed Samhain.”
"You feeling okay?" Dean asked as Castiel blew out a breath, rubbing at his tear stained cheeks with the palms of his hands.
Castiel nodded, and the smile he gave Dean was light, and free of ghosts. Knowing his husband, Dean went to the kitchen and pulled a family sized bag Kit Kat miniatures from the pantry. Castiel always liked something sweet and sugary after ritual work and despite them being too close to the main road for trick or treaters, Dean was not one to pass up a Halloween candy sale.
They sprawled on the couch, Cas' legs over Dean's lap, candy bag between them as they scrolled through the pictures of their niece dressed as Moana, that Sam had sent them. After winding down with some hot tea and the first Harry Potter movie, Castiel gathered his candle from the western door and locked up as Dean took care of the front of the house.
Dean led his husband to bed, undressing Castiel slowly, and indulging in candy flavoured kisses. Dean worshipped his strong, agile body with eager hands, taking Castiel apart, and putting him back together again with whispered words of praise and love. Sucking kisses to thick thighs and greedy slides of toungue. As they drifted off to sleep, Dean clutching Castiel against himself, Dean he mused that he couldn't wait to share in the next Sabbath in his husband's Wheel of the Year.
The End