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“Sammy!” Dean reclined on the sofa and propped his legs up on the coffee table as he yelled at Sam’s retreating form. “Bring me back some eggnog!”
He heard Sam grunt in recognition before the door slammed and the car engine turned over. He was just about to rest his eyes when he heard the tell-tale flapping of wings and a deep, gravely voice over his shoulder.
“You normally ask him to bring back pie.”
Dean leaned further back against the couch cushions to look at Cas upside down. “Yeah,” he replied. “But now that it’s the holiday season, the stores will have eggnog.”
Dean Winchester does not do Christmas. But he does do eggnog.
He faced forward again, patting his stomach before gleefully adding, “And I want some freakin’ eggnog.”
Cas made his way around the couch to sit in the recliner catty-corner to Dean. Dean and Sam had invited Cas to spend the holidays with them at Bobby’s house and for once, the angel was actually sticking around. Dean thinks Cas likes spending time with him...um, them. Or getting away from those winged dicks in Heaven. Maybe both.
“What is it?” Cas asked, head tilted in curiosity.
“What? You mean you’ve never tried it?” Dean asked, incredulous. Cas is older than dirt, yet still hasn’t tried eggnog. Inconceivable! Dean mentally snickered at his own Princess Bride joke.
“It’s delicious and creamy and...” Dean trailed off, not really sure how to describe eggnog. There’s nothing else like it. “You’ll just have to try it, man.”
Cas did indeed try eggnog and pulled a face so full of disgust, the three hunters doubled over in a fit of laughter. Dean pointedly ignored the urge to run his finger over the angel’s top lip to erase his milk mustache.
* * * * * * * * *
“Cas, c’mon, you can’t be serious,” Dean exclaimed, surprised at the angel’s inexperience yet again. “It’s a candy cane, for crying out loud!”
Cas bristled where he stood in the doorway, sending goosebumps up Dean’s arms. Cas was kinda hot when he went all heavenly wrath on him.
Whoa, hot? What the —
Dean shook his head to fling the wayward thought elsewhere. He turned his attention back to Cas, who was mid-lecture about made-up holidays and silly human traditions.
“It’s not like we celebrate your ‘Christmas’ in Heaven, Dean,” he concluded, taking the proffered candy cane from Dean’s outstretched hand.
“Yeah, well, you still need to try a damn candy cane,” Dean replied, suddenly uncomfortable with Cas standing so close. He took a few steps back and offered a candy cane to Sam, who was perched on the couch watching the exchange with barely hidden amusement.
“Do I just bite a piece off?” Cas asked, eyeing the small candy cane with bewilderment.
“No, Cas,” Dean rolled his eyes. “You just suck on it.”
Sam snorted, no doubt entertained by Dean’s poor choice of words. Before Dean could shoot him a bitch face, his eyes were caught by the sight of Cas’ tongue darting out to take a tentative lick. Dean’s jaw went slack as he watched the head of the candy cane disappear between those plump, pink lips. He wanted to look away, but he just couldn’t tear his eyes away from the vicinity of Cas’ mouth.
When Cas actually sucked on the damn candy cane and his cheeks hollowed out, Dean’s knees nearly buckled beneath him. He bit back the moan that bubbled up in his throat. His own tongue darted out to swipe across his lips as he watched the candy cane reappear, pulled out between Castiel’s lips with an obscene pop.
“Hmm,” Cas said, appraising the peppermint treat in his hand. “It’s good.”
Whatever Dean was feeling must’ve been written all over his face, because when Cas’ eyes flicked up to meet Dean’s, his whole body stilled and the whites of his eyes were microscopically more visible. For anyone else, that was the equivalent of eyebrows going through the roof.
(Since when did Dean pick up on the angel’s little facial cues? Since when did Dean think a smite-y Cas was hot? Dean Winchester does not do angels.)
The stare down continued, their faces morphing from shock to embarrassment only after Sam cleared his throat comically loud. Dean cast a flustered glance in Sam’s direction long enough to see him smirk. He cleared his throat and made a half-ass attempt at agreeing with Cas before his nerves got the best of him.
Dean snatched his candy cane from the table and scurried from the room, equal parts surprised and horrified that his pants were suspiciously tight.
* * * * * * * * *
Okay so, Dean Winchester maybe kinda sorta attracted to an angel. In a male vessel. Who could probably blink once and strip him naked or blink twice and kill him...
Weirder things have happened, right?
Yesterday, Dean jokingly said “Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal” to Bobby and of course Cas didn’t understand the reference (“What do unclean mammals have to do with Christmas, Dean?”). And of course they had to watch Home Alone, the three of them crammed on the couch and Bobby in the recliner. And of course Dean barely paid attention to the movie because Cas’ thigh was pressed against him, deliciously firm and warm.
When Dean woke up with his head on Cas’ shoulder, hours after Bobby and Sam went to bed, he tried not to freak out. He really did. But one long, affectionate gaze from Cas and the butterflies in his stomach sent him flying off the couch and to his room with nothing more than a mumbled, “Night, Cas.”
Dean Winchester does NOT do butterflies.
Dean briefly thought his attraction to Cas was due to proximity and after the holidays, when Cas wasn’t around as often, it would subside. But that’s not true and he knows it. No sense in denying it now since both Cas and Sam basically saw him pop a boner while watching the angel suck on a candy cane. Especially now that Sam and Bobby had seen him snuggled up to Cas on the couch and nobody said anything.
He wanted to tell himself things couldn’t possibly get worse, but that was before this morning when he opened his mouth and put his foot in it, telling Cas he’d teach him how to make a cherry pie. Family recipe. A Winchester holiday tradition. That wasn’t actually a tradition until today. Jesus H. Christ on a cracker.
Thank Chuck Sam and Bobby went into town to do some Christmas shopping. They wouldn’t have to see this — the two of them standing awkwardly in the kitchen. Dean, with hands on hips, stared at Cas and wondered absentmindedly how things had gone this far. Cas stood in the middle of the kitchen and looked expectantly at Dean, awaiting his instruction.
Eyes on the prize, Winchester. There’s pie when this is all over.
Dean’s internal monologue snapped him back to reality. He rubbed his hands together and clapped once before springing into action, pulling Cas along with him.
Dean sprinkled some flour on the counter as he instructed Cas on how to roll the dough out for the pie crust. He left the angel to it and turned his attention to the cherry filling. He would’ve preferred apple, but Bobby already had cherry filling and this isn’t actually a family recipe.
So, it’s not from scratch. Sue me, Dean thought as he mixed the filling. He glanced over his shoulder to check on Cas’ progress and almost laughed at how pitifully slow Cas was rolling the dough.
“Here, Cas,” Dean chuckled as he moved over into Cas’ space. “Let me help you.”
He placed his right hand over Cas’ on the rolling pin and, for a second, the world stopped spinning. He sucked in a small breath as the tingling sensation in his fingers moved up his arm and rooted in his chest. Dean was instantly caught up in this electrical wave flooding his body, but that didn’t stop him from noticing the sudden tightness in Cas’ shoulders or the way his body froze at Dean’s touch. The angel’s uneven breathing and trembling fingers didn’t escape his notice either.
Dean’s body moved forward without his brain’s consent. Dean’s left hand reached around Cas’ body, finding his other hand on the rolling pin, effectively trapping him between the counter and Dean’s hips. He usually saves this move for the college girls at the pool hall, not an angel in his kitchen. But if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it...right?
Dean waited for Cas to freak out. To ask Dean why personal space didn’t matter when making pie. To push him away or yell or something.
Neither moved.
Dean wanted nothing more than to turn his head just so, to brush his lips against Cas’ ear, the stubble on his jaw. His tempting mouth. Instead, he settled for feeling Cas’ body under his, those strong shoulders working in time with the rolling pin as Dean guided his movements. Only after the crust was finished did Dean release the angel’s hands. He made to step back from the counter, but Cas turned quickly and grabbed his hips, holding him still.
“Dean…”
That voice. That voice alone could leave Dean a quivering mess of hormones. What did him in though wasn’t the sound of his name whispered in that reverent tone. It was the feeling of Cas’ jean-clad erection pressed against his own. The thought that he, perhaps, might be able to make this angel feel something was enough for Dean to throw caution to the wind. He’s going to kiss Cas, to feel those lips under his, right here in the kitchen. Right now.
They were cut short by the sound of the front door swinging open, announcing the return of Sam and Bobby.
* * * * * * * * *
Ever since that encounter in the kitchen, Dean couldn’t get Cas out of his head. Every waking moment was spent fantasizing what Cas’ lips might feel like or conjuring up ways to tell the angel how he felt. Every minute that passed, his confidence weakened. Maybe this isn’t a great idea. Maybe he’ll forget about those fantasies after Cas leaves. Maybe Cas doesn’t really want Dean like Dean wants Cas.
But when Dean’s shoulder brushed past Cas in the hallway or his hand grazed Cas’ at the table or their thighs touched as they sat on the couch, Dean almost believed that the angel was just as affected as he was. When Cas tensed up or stopped breathing or trembled slightly, Dean wanted so badly to believe that Cas felt the same way.
Dean talked himself in circles up until Sammy, bless him, talked him out of the circle and into some strange shape resembling a heart. Sam waited for lunch time to pounce on Dean in the kitchen.
“Are you still showing Cas all of the Christmas traditions he’s missed out on?”
“Yeah, I guess,” he replied. Dean hadn’t really looked at it that way, but that’s what the last few days had turned into — introducing Cas to eggnog, candy canes, Christmas movies and everything in between. He thought he’d covered it all pretty well.
Sam’s head bobbed in understanding as he finished his sandwich. It went unspoken that Dean and Sam didn’t really experience those Christmas traditions like normal kids either, but they’re all doing it together and that’s what counts.
“Good,” Sam said. “For the record, I think it’s really sweet what you’re doing.”
Sam ignored Dean rolling his eyes and continued, probably knowing if he didn’t get it out now, Dean would never let him bring it up again.
“For real, Cas obviously likes spending time with you and it’s nice to see him with something other than a scowl on his face,” he laughed. His face turned serious before he added, “It’s nice to see you happy too, Dean.”
Dean opened his mouth to object (to which part, he’s not entirely sure), but Sam wasn’t having it. He just charged right through.
"I think this is good for the both of you, and you're — you're good for each other," Sam said as he put his plate in the sink and left Dean in the kitchen with a parting thought. “Besides, you can’t stop now, you’re missing a few.”
Dean’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion at what Christmas tradition he could be forgetting. They’d already agreed not to get a tree because money was tight, but they did splurge on all the typical holiday treats. Hell, they even made Cas try a fruitcake!
He was still standing in the kitchen trying to figure out what he missed when Sam yelled for Dean and Cas to come to the living room. Dean couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding when he saw Bobby and Sam standing near the fireplace wearing shit-eating grins.
Before he could ask, they parted to each side and revealed a tiny Christmas tree, covered in multi-color lights. It couldn’t have been more than three feet tall, leaning to the left and missing a few branches, but it was perfect.
Dean had never had a Christmas tree before, not a real one at least. Something about the lights just made him inexplicably happy. Surprised, he asked Sam and Bobby the only words his brain could form. How? When?
Sam grinned like a little kid and shrugged. “Thrift shop in town had it...figured you’d want Cas to have a Christmas tree, too.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Castiel’s baritone voice surprised them all, three pairs of eyes turning and latching onto the tiny smile forming on his face. They all looked at each other, then back at Cas.
Who knew that one tiny smile could turn Dean’s world upside down and make his heart beat out of his chest? In an instant, Dean realized how far gone he is on Cas. He belongs to Cas now and that smile was the best Christmas gift he could have ever asked for.
Almost.
Sam cleared his throat, kindly reminding Dean he was staring again. Dean turned back to Sam, who was smirking and rocking back on his heels.
“Bobby and I are going to go gather some firewood,” he told him. “Maybe go back into town and grab something to eat.”
Dean’s stomach dropped. Sam was up to something, he could just tell. He wouldn’t have said just he and Bobby explicitly, leaving Dean and Cas out of the plans. Sam gave Dean a pointed look.
“You two still have one more holiday tradition to cover,” he explained as he and Bobby moved toward the front door.
“Oh yeah?” Dean challenged, feeling put on the spot. “And what might that be?”
Dean chanced a glance at Bobby, who raised an eyebrow. Dean could translate that expression from a mile away; he heard Bobby in his head, clear as day, saying “Don’t screw it up, idjit.”
Sam smirked and pointed toward the ceiling before closing the door, leaving him and Cas alone. Dean looked up and groaned, then laughed. Leave it to Sammy to rig up some shitty version of mistletoe to fulfill his duty as wingman.
“What is it, Dean?” Cas asked, eyeing the evergreen air freshener dangling from the ceiling by a single red string.
Dean managed a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture before telling Cas, “I think it’s Sam’s version of mistletoe.”
Cas’ eyes widened in recognition. Dean waited for a question, a step back, a laugh, anything. But Cas just stood there, well within Dean’s bubble of personal space, eyes searching Dean. His eyes flicked down to Dean’s lips as his tongue darted out to wet them. If Dean had any reservations about kissing Cas, they all flew out the window when Cas’ breath hitched and his eyes dilated as he followed the movement.
When their lips met, it felt as though the last two pieces of the puzzle clicked into place. Dean poured everything he had into the kiss, trying to tell Cas what he couldn’t say with words. Every moment they’d spent together flashed before his eyes; their kiss filled with the promise of more memories to come.
But this kiss wasn’t even close to the kiss that had been haunting his dreams. It was a million times better, lighting up his life like the lights on their little Christmas tree.
Dean Winchester does not do butterflies. But he does do Christmas. And angels.