Archive of Our Own

Dean and Castiel met for the first time in the coffee corner of their college dorms. An insignificant meeting place, it seemed, if you weren’t the two of them. When Castiel spilled coffee on Dean’s shirt, it should have been the first warning sign. But then Dean cussed, and Castiel took that as a personal offence to God, and that was the end of an interaction unpleasant for everyone in the room, and the beginning of a relationship that neither of them wanted to take part in.

With the months came classroom debates, religious disagreements and stingy jokes. By the beginning of the second year of college they hated each other with a passion. Deep down, Dean was convinced they could have gotten along if only they’d started on the right foot, but it was too late to start fresh now. This was war, and Cas was a vicious enemy. On September 27, Cas “accidentally” spilled hot Chocolate on Dean’s shirt. On October 2, Dean got Cas stuck in the elevator for five whole minutes.

On October 31, Cas wore a Grinch costume and jump scared him. On November 10, Dean stole Cas’ rock collection and buried it in the campus park, replacing on Cas’ shelf a treasure map leading to it. It took Dean four hours to carry out his misdeed, and Cas twice that time to get a hold of his rocks again.

On November 22, Dean’s family showed up in their best attire to the engineering majors’ exhibition – where, as it turned out, Castiel would get his ultimate revenge for everything Dean had ever done to him: he would breach into the troops of the Winchester family, and win their affection.

At half past seven, Dean was putting on a tie in his room.

“Should I wear a tie?” He straightened it and examined his reflection in the mirror.

“You asked that half an hour ago,” his roommate answered. Garth was splayed on his bed, across from Dean’s. He didn’t have to dress up to this stupid event – he was a computer science major, like Cas. Lucky bastards – they didn’t make anything pretty enough to exhibit.

“And you told me no,” Dean grumbled.

“Because you said you hated them. You put on four different ties in that half hour.” He glanced at Dean over his Gameboy. “I told you, you should wear a bowtie.”

“I’m not gonna wear a fuckin’-“ He grunted and loosened the loop of his tie. He did hate them. “This shit means a lot to my mom, okay? I just wanna look decent for her.”

He ended up going without the tie.

The exhibition was much more crowded than he had anticipated. Well, it wasn’t so much an exhibition as it was a… project display. Every student had worked on a project for the past months, and was showing it off on a table of their own. He strolled through the tables, his hands in his jeans pockets, intending on walking straight to his table without looking too much like an asshole who doesn’t care about anyone else’s projects. But he didn’t. He really didn’t care about any of those other nerds.

To his surprise, he wasn’t overdressed. Yes, he wore a white button down shirt and shoes that were more respectable than his worn out sneakers, but most other guys were dressed up in nicer pants and most girls wore dresses.

His project was standing proudly in an isolated corner of the hall. People came and went, and he stood next to his creation awkwardly and smiled at stray guests, explaining his thesis when asked. This wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined this moment – for example, he didn’t feel particularly proud, and there weren’t any roses thrown at him or applause in the background – but he was happy with his share, until a voice behind him stopped his excitement short.

“I don’t understand.” He turned around to find Cas leaning over his project, squinting at it.

“You’re not supposed to understand,” he muttered. “You’re not a civil engineer.” He turned back and faced the guests in hopes Cas would lose interest and go, but the turd didn’t leave.

“Cas, my project’s not a chick. You won’t get laid if you stare at it like that.”

Cas looked up now, and squinted at him. He didn’t say it like a question: “What’s your point with the different materials.”

“You can read the essay. It’s taped to the wall right there.”

Cas glanced at the essay briefly. “It’s too long. Explain it to me.”

“It’s an essay,” Dean fumed. “Of course it’s long. Look, I don’t have time for this. I need to… converse with people.”

“No one’s around,” Cas remarked blandly. “Probably because you’re so reluctant to give out information about your work.”

Dean ignored him. Cas took another look and started walking away.

“It’s a theory,” Dean said, watching him turn around. “That the most functional material hasn’t been invented yet. See, it’s six mini models of the Aqueduct of Segovia, made out of wood, clay, stone, glass, metal and plastic. In the essay I described each of these materials’ advantages and disadvantages. Durability and practicality have improved over the years, but there is still a discussion about which is the ultimate material to use in civil engineering. If you read my essay you’ll…” He paused and squinted. Cas frowned in response.

“What?”

“You don’t look at all disinterested or annoyed.”

“I’m listening.”

“Aren’t you bored?”

“Yes, sort of. I’m glad I didn’t choose to major in engineering, now more than ever. You were saying?”

Dean didn’t manage to shoot back a sardonic remark or recall what he was saying, because just then he saw his mother and little brother make their way through the crowd towards him.

“Go away,” he hissed, but it was too late. His mother was in hugging range now, and she charged ferociously.

“You look so grown up,” she cried. He shrugged awkwardly, trying to ignore the annoyance of a nerd behind him, and scratched his neck; Cas probably thought he was the biggest sap in the universe right now.

Behind Mary, Sam waved at him awkwardly. He was looking around like everything was magic – he was just starting his sophomore year in high school, and he was one of these people – no, possibly the only person in the world – who actually wanted to learn.

“What’s it about?” He asked, pointing at Dean’s project, while Mary put a hand on his shoulder and appraised his outfit. A surge of pride shot through Dean’s chest as he said, “The development of-“

Poof. He glared backwards to see Cas hovering over his project again, with the wood model of the aqueduct lying flat on the table.

“I didn’t mean it,” Cas muttered as Dean angrily replaced the model in its spot.

He turned back to his brother, trying to recall what he was talking about. “The development of materials through history…” He frowned and touched a hand to his forehead. Other voices spoke over his and confused him.

“…And the future search for the perfect material,” Cas helped. Sam nodded, and Mary smiled.

“Are you two friends?”

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but Cas was quicker.

“Besties,” he replied in the most natural tone a guy like him could muster. And then he did something Dean had never seen him do before.

He smiled.

Dean felt as though his eyes were about fall from their holes and roll away on the linoleum, but his mother and Sam didn’t mind him. They listened to Cas as he explained to them about the project using his Talking to Adults tone – Dean knew that one well: it was articulate and quaint, with no trace of the usual sarcastic edge.

Dean watched the three of them; and for a moment he was thankful for the quiet, for the insignificant weight Cas had lifted off his shoulder by entertaining his family. But then Mary turned back to him and flooded him with questions about his project. He started reciting the essay to her, his brother listening eagerly beside. When he turned to demonstrate something on his project, Cas was nowhere to be seen.

Essentially, the difference between them was that nothing changed for Cas that night. But for Dean, life turned several times more exasperating, and more confusing. Somehow, in one night, his life shifted from calm and uneventful to his mother believing he was best friends with this tall handsome practically-stranger who was going to the high tech industry and made jokes that she – for God knows what reason – found funny and endearing. It was the equivalent of unintentionally marrying a pain in the ass successful doctor, if the doctor wore sweatpants to his early classes, and he didn’t live with you, but your mom thought he was living with you, your mom already hung pictures of your children in her living room, your mom was giving out Christmas cards with your faces on them-

He was overthinking.

He sighed and put the glass he’s been drying too excessively on a shelf. It was almost five and Charlie’s shift was about to begin, which meant she would appear out the staff door any moment now – and there she was. She practically skipped in his direction and settled by the coffee maker, waiting for him to take a customer’s order.

“So,” she said when he turned around to make a double Frappuccino mixed ice latte.

“So,” he responded apathetically.

“What was it this time?”

“I dunno what you mean.” He knew what she meant, and he turned around and handed away the Frappuccino before she had a chance to speak. He had enough of the Turd as is – he was sick of the Cas talk, and he didn’t want to hear another word about him for the rest of existence.

“Your mom and her favorite subject to talk about – what’d she say this time?” She leaned against the counter, grinning. She would have hopped and settled on it if they weren’t at work – gays these days; couldn’t sit straight and normal for the life of them.

“Just the usual,” Dean lied as he delivered a triple iced strawberry macchiato to a waiting customer. “Asked me to send the prick her best.”

If he was being honest with himself, he could have told his mom Cas was lying that night after the exhibition, that the two of them didn’t stand each other and that Cas only said what he said to upset Dean. He wanted to believe that he didn’t quite know why he didn’t come forth, but that would be a lie. He did know – he was hoping that someday, his fake-friendship with Cas might come in useful. And to his discontent, that day has come.

“And?” Charlie asked. There weren’t enough customers to justify telling her to get to work, but for once, Dean wished there were.

“There’s an and?” He asked coolly.

“Your expression says there’s an and.”

My expression says you’re an annoyance – was what Dean would have responded with, hadn’t he turned around and found himself face to face with Castiel.

“Send your mother my undying thanks,” he said, his voice seeping irony. His arm was resting on the other side of the counter, cash already in hand.

“And what are the prick’s tea time desires this fine afternoon?” Dean asked, wiping his hands with a nearby towel and throwing it onto his shoulder. He wasn’t in any particular need of towel-dried hands, but he always thought he looked cool doing that.

“The prick,” Castiel leaned in slightly, as he did. Dean resisted the urge to bite his lip. The thing he had so confidently promised his mother he’d do, he wanted to run away from now with his hands flailing in the air. “Would like a hot chocolate to go,” Cas continued, his eyes dropping onto Dean’s lips for half a second, as if he read Dean’s thoughts.

Dean shot Charlie a look, and she separated from the counter with a disgruntled huff, reaching for a small disposable cup. Dean took Cas’ money and typed in the order. He was unusually quiet, his lips pursed, and Cas tilted his head at the anomaly.

Cat got your tongue? Dean expected him to tease, but he just said, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Dean mumbled back. He glanced up at Cas, smiling nervously, and looked at their hands, meeting in the middle of the counter when he handed Cas his change. “’Ere you go.”

“You’re awfully pleasant,” Cas commented cautiously, his eyebrows furrowing. Without looking up, Dean shot him a “Right back at ya.” He waited a safe amount of time until he was sure Cas was gone. Then he looked up from the cash register.

Charlie was propped against the counter again, holding a cup of ice cream. “What was that about?” She wondered, shoving a spoonful into her mouth. Dean sighed, rubbed his eyes tiredly, and told her. He told her everything.

When he was done, Charlie looked at him wide eyed. “Well, shit,” was all she said. “Welcome to the club, bitch.”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered. “Thanks.”

“You know you gotta do it, though.”

“Yeah, I know.” Someone had to clean up the mess he made. And hell if he wasn’t gonna embarrass himself in front of his arch nemesis before he was gonna be caught in a lie.

The door to Cas’ room had a sign on it that read in red and black: ‘Stay away, demons’. Dean didn’t know whether the person who put it there was Cas or his roommate, Balthazar. Standing before it, Dean straightened his shirt and put his fist up to the door, taking in a nervous breath before he brought his fist to the door. It flew open mid-knock.

“Dean,” Cas said stiffly behind it, as though pointing out a moth on the wall.

“Am I interrupting?”

“What? No.” Cas’ hair was disheveled, and his lids fell over his eyes – not in the usual suspicious squint, but in a grumpy frown.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Were you napping? At eight p.m.?”

“What? No,” Cas protested. “I was studying.” His hand flew in a wide bow to gesture at a desk, on which a pile of books rested. An open notebook sat there with crooked pages. Dean eyed is suspiciously, then he eyed Cas’ hair.

“What did you want?” Cas grumbled. Pushing past him, Dean said,

“Can I come in?”

“Make yourself comfortable.” He yawned and closed the door after Dean, who looked around the room.

“Where’s your friend?”

“He’s not my friend.”

Dean flashed a smile. Getting on Cas’ nerves was just so easy, it almost felt like he had no choice.

“Some party,” Cas answered anyway after a moment. “Look,” he said, scratching his head, and Dean thought that if Charlie were here she’d most likely be spelling the word dreamy on the wall behind him with a sharpie.

“No offense,” Cas went on. “But I really have nothing at all to get back to. So if you don’t mind…”

“Sure.” Dean cleared his throat. “I… kinda came here to ask you a favor.” He touched a pyramid of marbles on the desk, and the thing fell apart in a second. “Shit. Sorry.” Cas waved his hand in dismiss.

“What kind of favor?” The marbles rolled all over the floor. It was embarrassing.

“My family… I- I might have let on to my mom that we were dating.”

He’s had about twenty different mental images of how Cas would react when he uttered these words, but as his natural self, Cas took him by surprise. he tilted his head and started smiling.

“Impressive,” he said. His staring made Dean uncomfortable. “You’re incredibly productive at doing things that serve the opposite of the result you desire.”

“Yeah, ok,” Dean muttered. “T’was a joke, alright? And she took me seriously. I just wanted her off my back with the whole bestie thing, like suddenly I have a friend for once, next thing I know she’s telling me how unconditionally she loves me and I need to explain to her that I’m not gay, I’m bisexua-“ He cut himself off abruptly, pursing his lips. He hadn’t meant to tell Cas something so personal, but it was too late to take it back now. He stared at the floor, not seeing Cas’ face, so when Cas spoke in a completely indifferent tone it took him by surprise.

“So?” He said and sat on his bed.

“So?”

“If you came into my room after school hours and disrupted my alleged nap just to tell me that your mother thinks I’m gay now, Dean, so help me God.”

“No, um.” He scratched the back of his head. He didn’t know whether to break into laughter or start crying; he settled for neither. “So you know how winter break is coming up,” he said. He sat down at the desk, facing Cas.

“Yes.”

“And you know what comes with Christmas.”

Cas nodded. “The birth of Christ.”

“No,” Dean clenched his fist, trying not to drive his palm to his forehead. “No, Cas. Couples’ invites.”

Cas’ eyes narrowed, and Dean could tell he was trying not to tilt his head again. “You need someone to go back home with you.”

“I need you.” He held his breath, closing his eyes, because those were words he never imagined he’d have to say to his turd of a fake boyfriend.

“You don’t seem too happy about it.” He couldn’t see Cas’ face behind his closed eyelids, but Cas’ voice sounded taunting. More than that – amused.

“I’m suffering from every moment,” Dean let out exasperatedly. “Look,” he spun on Cas’ office chair to face the door. The thing was ancient, and it creaked with every movement. “Just tell me you’ve got plans and get it over with.” Cas had a poster on his side of the wall – just a rectangle of tiny dots. When Dean squinted, he saw that every dot was a number. The first digits, at the top left corner, were 3.1415.

Nerd had the entire extended number of Pi on his wall.

He waited for an answer, but Cas was quiet. When he turned around, Cas was just looking at him, as if he was asking Dean to read his thoughts. He looked like a blue-eyed puppy. “You don’t have plans?”

Cas shrugged halfheartedly. Dean threw his hands in the air. “Unbelievable.”

“Is that your way of thanking me?” Cas raised an eyebrow.

“Take what you can get. I’ll pick you up the last day of classes, eight p.m. It’s a couple hours’ drive.” He stood up and reached for the door. With his hand on the handle, he turned around. “Thanks,” he said. Cas nodded at him. And that was their last conversation for the next month.

By the time they got to Dean’s house, the shittier half of Kansas’ holiday decorations were already hung all over the property. Admittedly, it was past ten p.m. on Christmas Eve’s eve, but it was still strange to see the decorations all hung up without having contributed to the group effort to make the house look like a frosted birthday cake. He hated that feeling – realizing he was growing up. He shot Cas a nervous smile, then realized what he was doing and pulled his lips into a frown. His eyes dropped down.

“Fix your tie,” he muttered. Cas looked down at his chest as if nothing was wrong with his turned-over, loose tie. Dean grunted and stepped closer to fix it. His lips parted in concentration. Cas’ eyes followed the snow fall down and pile up softly on the ground.

“Better,” Dean mumbled when he was done. Cas looked more than presentable, with his white button down shirt and trench coat – he looked pretty good, actually, for a guy who usually walked around in a T-shirt and jeans, though Dean would never admit it aloud. He turned and knocked on the door, his hand hovering just above the handle. The door opened before he touched it.

Mary was wearing a red and white festive sweater that made Dean’s eyes cut to Cas’ face; his mom was a dork. Cas looked undeterred by the mom-ness, though.

“Dean!” She said, pulling him into a hug. Then she let go of him and hugged Cas.

“It’s good to see you, Mrs. Winchester,” he said. Suck up. “Thank you for having me.”

“Of course! Come on inside, we’re letting the heat out.”

Inside was what remained of the Winchester tribe: Sam and his girlfriend Jessica, and Jo leaning against a kitchen counter with a mug in her hands. Bobby and Ellen must be upstairs, asleep already.

“How was the drive?” Mary asked. She walked to the kitchen and poured them both cups of  eggnog.

“Good,” Cas said, accepting his cup, at the same time Dean said, “Horrible.” Mary stared at them. Jo watched from the kitchen, face blank.

“There was no ‘real music’ on the rock station,” Cas explained. Mary laughed.

“One man’s heaven is another man’s hell,” she said. “You can take your drinks up; I’ve made your room.”

They stood at the door to Dean’s room, unsure of how to proceed.

Well – he knew that inviting his evil arch enemy to his house for Christmas wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, but he never let himself think of the details too much. Now, he put his cup down on his dresser and closed the door behind them. And here was another thing that hadn’t occurred to him: before, every moment alone with Cas was torture. Now it was a gift from the heavens, because it meant he didn’t have to pretend they were smooching.

“How do we play this?” He asked. They both eyed the bed. It was big enough for two people – two people who were anyone but Cas and him. He didn’t think there was a bed in existence that was big enough for both Cas and him.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Cas offered. He hesitated.

“It’ll look strange. Why would I have invited you and then let you sleep on the couch?”

“Well, you can’t sleep on the couch. It will look even stranger.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” he suggested. There was enough space between the bed and the window.

“In your own house?” Cas said. “I might be an evil mastermind, or whatever you call me behind my back, but I’m not a monster.”

“I don’t call you an evil mastermind behind your back. I call you a twat.”

Cas just looked at him and shrugged. They stood there for a moment longer, as what had to be done became more and more apparent. Dean looked at his bed, and then back at Cas.

“If you touch me-“ he started , but Cas cut him off.

“Don’t worry, I brought a hand sanitizer.”

“Ouch.”

Fifteen minutes later, they were in the same position, but horizontal, and Dean was pouting even harder. “Turn the light off, will you?”

Cas was on the side closer to the night lamp. He clicked it off.

“Good night, Pumpkin,” he said sweetly.

“Don’t call me pumpkin,” Dean muttered into the dark. He was staring right up at the ceiling. After a moment he added, quietly, “Night.”

He wasn’t going to fall asleep with Cas lying a foot away from him – he didn’t even try. It was too much of a risk; he might accidentally roll over and find himself snugging Cas in the morning. He’d have to wash his entire self with hand sanitizer, then.

He stared out the window, counting the same four stars he could see again and again. Damn light pollution. It was ten minutes or so before Cas spoke.

“Dean?”

He didn’t answer, but Cas must have looked at him and saw he was awake, because he went on.

“What’s the deal with that cousin of yours?”

“Jo?”

“Yes.”

“She’s not my cousin. Bobby and Ellen are family friends – I’ve known her since I was little. We’re pals.”

“Her face lit up when you came in,” Cas said, his voice closer now, like he was facing Dean. Dean kept looking at the stars insistently. “But when she saw me, she looked like the air had been blown out of her.”

“Have you ever tried signing up for a poetry class?” Dean stung. He glanced at Cas, just to twist the knife a little.

Cas was pursing his lips. “I just wouldn’t want to come between anything.”

They both looked away then.

“You’re not,” Dean said. It came out flat. “It would have never worked between us.” He rolled over to face away from Cas and readjusted his pillow. “Good night.”

Christmas Eve day passed by tediously slow. He’s gotten used to not particularly enjoying the holidays in the past few years, but this was something else: Cas was there, everywhere he went or looked, chatting it up with his mother, giving his brother advice on how to build his plane models. By late afternoon, Mary was completely updated on Dean’s college life – that’s right, the prick didn’t speak a word about himself. And quite disturbingly, he knew a lot about Dean. Like his least favorite vegetable. And his social security number.

“Your mother is delightful,” Cas told him, leaning against the fridge. It was quarter to eight, and Mary was making the table in the dining room. Dean pulled out drinking glasses from the cabinet. He’s barely said a word to Cas today, and he wasn’t keen on changing that.

“I’ve heard at least eleven embarrassing stories about your childhood before it was five,” Cas went on, looking at a magnet picture on the fridge with his arms crossed. Dean glanced at it; it was from his high school graduation – Dean and Sam bro-hugging each other’s shoulders. It was a decent picture of him, at least. His hair was messy just the right amount and the afternoon light reflected in his smiling eyes alright.

“Take,” he said shortly and handed Cas eight glasses at once. Cas closed his arms around them, struggling to bring them to the dining table safely. That gave Dean another moment of quiet. 

He knew he shouldn’t hate Cas so much. He knew he invited him here, and that he needed to treat him better. But the guy was just so fucking irritating.

He knew he should start treating Cas as his honey boo bear if he didn’t want his entire family to discover he was a pathetic liar.

Apart from that, he got Cas here, while he could be somewhere else. He didn’t want to ruin Cas’ Christmas.

Through the kitchen archway, he could see his mother putting a thankful hand on Cas’ shoulder as he brought the glasses to the table. Cas came back to the kitchen, and Mary smiled at Dean.

“You’re lucky she likes me,” Cas said, reaching out to take the plates Dean was holding. “I’m not even sure she likes you.” 

Dean took the plates back and set them on the counter. Cas tilted his head.

“Did you swallow an ant?”

“What?”

“You look deeply disturbed.”

“No. I’m…” He looked at Cas’ face and swallowed. “Kiss me.”

“What?” Cas frowned. He crossed his arms defensively – you could think Dean had just asked him for sexual favors.

“I barely even looked in your direction all day,” Dean scratched his head. “We’re supposed to be in a loving relationship.”

Cas kept pouting. But then he said– “No. You kiss me.”

“No,” Dean said, forgetting all about his mental monologue about holiday morals. Cas rolled his eyes. He glanced in Mary’s direction, and took a step in Dean’s direction. And stood.

“Closer,” Dean hissed. Cas took a step closer; his face was inches away from Dean’s now. He looked at Dean like he was waiting for instructions. Dean grunted.

“No, Cas, I mean, actually kiss me.”

Cas’ bottom lip pushed forward into a deeper frown. He leaned in, and – before his lips touched Dean’s – pressed his fingers to the small of Dean’s back. Dean was out of breath – literally; he hadn’t managed to inhale before Cas attacked his lips. He tried to do something with his hands, but he was too busy with his distressed lungs and the taste of cinnamon and eggnog on Cas’ lips.

“I think that’ll do, Mr. Tongue,” he breathed, pulling away. People were making their way into the dining room. He exchanged nods with Ellen, feeling his face redden a bit. “Who taught you to kiss? Yikes.”

Cas lifted an eyebrow. “You look pretty stunned to me.”

Dean waved him off and walked past him to the kitchen, patting the heat off his cheeks with the palms of his hands.

Dinner wasn’t any better than the rest of the day, although Cas finally shut up pretty much through it. It seemed like his entire relationship with Dean’s family had the goal of vexing Dean (and having ammo against him, to save for a rainy day), and not of trying to win their affection. He didn’t like being the center of attention, Dean observed. It made him uncomfortable. It made his weird come out.

But he did glance at Dean with that delighted, almost-smile expression whenever someone said something he knew would upset Dean.

And Jo was looking at him.

It’s not like she was angry. She just looked sad. And that made Dean feel a little miserable, and a little relieved. That this was out of their way, maybe. Whatever this was. And she did smile at Cas a couple times; he had this effect on people, and Dean was starting to recognize the pattern – they always found him somewhat strange and mildly loveable, but for the parts in him he didn’t try with, rather than the other way around. They laughed when he didn’t make jokes. Their expressions softened at something he didn’t intend on winning their affection with. They put a hand on his shoulder when he seemed sad, even though he tried his damnest not to let it show.

Dean tried to ignore that sadness in his eyes.

“I hope the turkey’s alright,” Mary said. “I left it in a little too long. How did you guys sleep?” Sam and Jess nodded. She looked over at Dean.

“Terrible,” he groaned, at the same time Cas said pleasantly, “Great.”

A few heads turned to them in confusion.

“He kicked me all night,” Dean explained, too aggravated to feel any sort of embarrassment.

“It wasn’t always on purpose,” Cas said with his mouth half full, and there was a wave of laughter through the table. Dean felt Cas’ eyes on him and resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because he knew Cas wasn’t kidding.

He was kicking Dean on purpose at least half the time.

Dean knew it.

Cas had just admitted it.

“How are you feeling here, honey?” Mary asked after dinner. Cas was helping her in the kitchen, after she’d shooed everyone else into the living room. They knew to go without arguing; it was her tradition – or initiation ceremony, depends on who you asked – getting the new addition to the family alone after dinner and interrogating them until death or submission.

“I hope we’ve been good hosts,” she said now. Dean stood in place around the corner, a pile of dirty dishes in his hands, not noticing he’d stopped moving. “I know it’s not easy staying the holidays away from home.”

“You’ve been lovely,” Cas said. “I’m feeling just fine here.”

“Were your folks upset to have you gone this time of year?” This was her making-sure-the-parents-weren’t-neglecting-or-psychotic move.

“They’re dead,” Cas said. Dean almost dropped his plates.

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” Someone opened the faucet; water ran over dishes in the sink. “Do you have any siblings?”

“A few. They also…” Cas didn’t sound so unaffected anymore. His voice was quiet and collected, as if it were a wall around him. “There was a plane crash,” he said. “I’m on my own.”

Mary didn’t say anything. Dean heard the tap closing and imagined her putting a hand around Cas’ shoulders, giving him that comforting look that Dean’s bruises and heartbreaks grew up with.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Cas said for what felt like the hundredth time. Dean was starting to realize that he wasn’t just being polite.

“Is my son treating you well?” Mary asked then, and Dean frowned. “He can be a bit…”

“Frowny?” Cas offered.

Dean could hear the smile in his mother’s voice. “Yes.”

“Don’t worry about him,” Cas said. “He doesn’t like people to see it, but he has a good heart.”

Mary huffed. “My boy’s barely even grown up,” she said, “and I already don’t know everything about him.”

A moment later, without warning, Cas appeared around the corner and ran right into Dean.

“Eek,” he let out as the dishes wobbled between them, and caught them with a steady hand. Then he saw Dean’s expression, and the ends of his lips fell. “How much did you hear?” His voice was deep and low, inaudible to anyone but them. Dean swore, if he met this guy in a dark alley, all Cas had to do was look at him this way with murder in his eyes and Dean would throw money at him and run.

“Nothing,” Dean said. He sounded extremely suspicious.

“Save it,” Cas huffed. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He slumped down on a dining chair, facing away from Dean.

“Alright,” Dean said. He thought about putting a hand on Cas’ shoulder.

He walked into the kitchen instead.

The next day was Christmas day. It was just as tedious as the day before, but with presents. And movie night.

Christmas movie nights were an entire ceremony of its own.

“First, pizza and Home Alone,” Dean told Cas. They picked the second best seat – the far side of the couch, where Cas could have the corner and they still had a good view on the TV. Jo and Ellen sat next to Dean, and Sam and Jess sat on the rug with their backs to the couch. Mary and Bobby sat next to each other on the armchairs with two bottles of beer – a holiday tradition from before Bobby and Ellen even got together. In John’s memory – an unspoken tradition.

“Then, hot chocolate and The Nightmare Before Christmas.” He handed Cas a blanket and settled down on the couch. Sam put the DVD in.

“Then, for whoever survives – usually just Sam and me – Die Hard and ice cream.”

“Ice cream?” Cas grimaced. “In December?” He offered Dean a half of the blanket, and Dean took it.

“Yep. Ben and Jerry’s Cookie Dough.”

“I won’t fall asleep,” Cas promised. Sam pushed play, and the screen darkened and then came to life. Cas readjusted, pushing his legs against the armrest, and leaned his shoulder and head against Dean. “Is this alright?” He asked almost inaudibly. Dean caught Bobby smiling at them and looked away.

It wasn’t that he was mad at Cas. Hell, this is what he’d asked Cas to do – and he was doing a damn well job – he just wished having a partner wasn’t such a big deal, like it meant that he was happy or something. What if Cas was actually his boyfriend? Hooray, everyone, I'm going to spend the rest of my life with a huge twat. Why did him being in a relationship mean his whole family had to be in that relationship too?

“Yes,” he whispered, and Cas settled in place more comfortably. It was like snuggling a cat – he kept puffing out air and stealing the blanket, and he looked at Dean whenever he didn’t understand a reference in the movie – which basically meant that he was looking at Dean most of the time.

But his hair was soft against Dean’s neck. And no one ever leaned on Dean like that before.

The rest of the night went on in a pleasant back and forth:

Cas: can you pass me my hot cocoa?

Dean: sure, baby bear.

(after a minute)

Cas: can you put my mug on the table?

Dean: of course, honey raccoon.

Dean: can you stop stealing the blanket?

Cas (sleepily): no.

He fell asleep halfway into the second movie. Sam had to bring Dean his ice cream, then take it back and add more whipped cream. Out of sleep, Cas finally settled on Dean’s legs. His torso made for an excellent armrest.

Dean could feel him breathe.

“Cas? Come on, we gotta go to bed.”

Cas buried his face deeper between Dean’s foot and the blanket.

Dean yawned. “You don’t have to pretend to like me anymore. Everyone went to sleep.”

“I don’t like you,” Cas grumbled into Dean’s knee. “I like sleep.”

“C’mon.” Dean patted his back and nudged his own foot, aiming for Cas’ face. Cas grunted and stretched (not with his arms; with his back. Seriously. Cat.)

Cas didn’t look at him as they went up the stairs.

“What’s up?” He asked.

“Tired,” Cas replied shortly. Dean skipped a stair up to be at his level and tried to catch his eye.

Cas wasn’t not looking at him. He was avoiding eye contact.

“I won’t laugh, you know.” They were at the door to his room now, and Dean walked in and started changing into a lighter shirt. Neither of them bothered with turning on the light. “Whatever it is.”

“You won’t laugh,” Cas confirmed. “You’ll get pissed.”

Dean smiled at him with furrowed eyebrows, questioning his choice of words. Cas ignored him.

“I won’t get pissed.”

Cas fiddled with his pillow, still avoiding his stare. Dean let it go.

“It’s sort of weird,” Cas said then, and Dean’s head jerked up. Cas was looking at him. “In a week, things will go back to the way they were before.”

Dean’s eyes dropped to the bed between them.

“Yeah.”

“It’s… nice.” The quiet way he said it – Dean thought he knew what he was thinking.

“Home?”

“Home,” Cas echoed. He wasn’t looking at Dean. Dean wasn’t even sure that Cas meant for him to hear it.

He left the room to brush his teeth, and Dean sat on the edge of his bed. He just needed a moment… to sort out his feelings. About another Christmas without a father. About Mary and Sam and everyone else seeming to have moved on a long time ago. About Jo on his one side on the couch, making private jokes that only the two of them understood, and Cas on his other side, being… just being Cas.

An annoyance, Dean made himself think.

An ocean of cool, blue exasperation.

Cas was back from the bathroom, and Dean’s moment was hardly over. He brushed his teeth and climbed into bed. Cas was already a loose ball under the blanket, facing away from him. He stared out the window. It must have been twenty minutes before he spoke.

“Cas?”

Cas unfurled his limbs and looked at him. His eyes were silvery blue in the moonlight.

“I’m sorry. About your family.”

Cas looked away.

Dean’s throat felt dry. He swallowed. “I know you told me not to talk about it. I just... I know how it is to lose a parent.”

Cas stared at a far point in the ceiling, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. His fingers twitched and moved to hold Dean’s hand, lightly, at the wrist. He swallowed again.

Dean wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He looked away, but didn’t pull his hand free. It wasn’t… it wasn’t so bad.

He tried to come up with something to say, but by the time he could think, Cas was already asleep. 

“Do you think they’re buying it?” Cas asked. He was looking past Dean and through the window, his eyes on Dean’s family, inside in the heat. The two of them were outside, on their own. Earlier that morning, while they were in Dean’s room, Cas had said,

“Snow.” He was standing by the window, looking out.

“What?” Dean had asked, taking a break from making the bed to look at him.

“It’s snowing.”

Dean had said, “Nice.” But Cas hadn’t stopped looking out the window, his mouth half agape.

“You never seen snow or somethin’?” Dean had asked, and Cas had shook his head.

No one else wanted to go outside in this freezing temperature. But Cas had never seen snow before. So now they were standing outside, Cas looking in, and Dean looking at him.

He actually looked beautiful in the snow, Dean thought – his eyes were electrical blue, and his hair was pushed forward by his blue and white woolen hat. He tucked his chin into the loop of his scarf and looked at Dean.

“In general?” Dean asked, as they weren’t doing anything worth buying into in particular at the moment. Cas nodded.

“They wouldn’t think I lied,” Dean mumbled. Cas huffed out a breath. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. No, you’re doing a great job.” He couldn’t stand the pure blue in Cas’ eyes anymore. He looked away, at their nearly-finished snowman. “He needs eyes.”

Cas went to the back of the yard to find acorns. Dean watched him push through the snow and almost reached out a hand to support him. He shook his head and picked up a couple of twigs, sticking them to both sides of the snowman.

He was sick of thinking about Cas. All he’s seen in the past week was Cas – Cas standing across from him, the bed between them. Cas looking at him in the dark, the TV screen lighting the left side of his face. Cas talking to Mary about antelopes.

Only Cas wasn’t just around him anymore. He was in Dean’s head. The way he pursed his lips when he concentrated. The way he parted them in soft surprise when he saw a bee or a butterfly pass by. The way he squeezed Dean’s hand in the dark when they were both half asleep, then said things like, do you think they’re buying it?

Dean hated it. He didn’t ask to feel this way. And the worst part was, he knew that the best thing he might ever get from Cas was friendship, and he still couldn’t bring himself to wish these feelings away. ‘Cause it was painful, the way his chest tightened when Cas looked at him and just barely smiled. But it was an addictive kind of pain.

“Are you alright?”

He looked up. Cas was standing beside him, two acorns in his hand. He leaned closer to Dean, his face deadpan. “Was the snowman verbally abusive while I was gone?”

Dean managed a squint. “What?”

“You look like you’re in pain.”

“I’m good.” Dean took the acorns from his hand and stuck them into the upper snowball. They appraised their creation for a few silent moments.

“It looks pretty good.”

“I would expect so from a civil engineer.”

“By that logic,” Dean said, “You’d have made a terrible snowman on your own.”

“It would have looked like a Mr. Potato Head.”

Dean let out a short burst of laughter. Cas looked at him, and smiled a little.

Maybe they could be friends. If that was something Cas would ever want… It was worth the heartache, Dean thought. Just being there for him.

He shook his head again and looked at the snowman.

“Here,” he said, taking his hat off and putting it on the snow-head. It was a mistake he immediately regretted - his head was now exposed to the freezing temperature, and it was losing heat in an odd velocity. “It’s complete.” A shiver ran through his shoulders, and he tried to play it off as a shrug, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Do you think we should have given it snow shoes?” Cas asked. He pulled his hat off and handed it to Dean, scratching the side of his face thoughtfully with his free hand. Dean looked at the hat, and up at Cas’ face. Cas glanced at him, frowning, his arm still reached towards Dean.

Something happened that moment. Cas had given his hat up without second thought, like it was nothing at all – but that was just it. It was nothing at all to him. No one was watching them, no one was expecting him to do anything for Dean now, not even Dean himself. He wasn’t just pretending to care anymore – no, he couldn’t possibly. He couldn’t possibly be pretending. But he couldn’t possibly care, also.

“Maybe not,” Cas said. He shoved the hat into Dean’s hand and looked back at their snowman. Dean swallowed, and looked away so that Cas wouldn’t catch him staring. But he couldn’t focus on anything, anymore, apart from the notion that all at once, his heart wasn’t his.

Mary insisted that they had another Christmas Movie Night on December thirty-first. Cas and Dean were going back to college the next day – winter break wasn’t over, but Dean thought it better for everyone if they got back early, with the excuse of having to study. Cas didn’t argue.

So Mary made a run for the supermarket to get more ice cream, and they huddled around the TV again – Dean squeezed into the corner of the couch this time, and Cas on the floor before him. He looked up at Dean every couple of minutes or so, smiling or lifting an eyebrow, but Dean always returned a blank stare. He couldn’t concentrate on the flickering pictures on the screen – his mind could only focus on Cas’ shoulder blades leaning back against his knees, and on the untouched drink in his hands which Cas had brought to him before he sat down. When the movie was over, he climbed up to his room without saying a word, only making sure that Cas followed and wasn’t about to fall asleep on the living room carpet.

“Is there something wrong?” Cas asked once they were upstairs, behind Dean’s closed door.

“No,” Dean said, perhaps too forcefully. He wished now that he’d made more of an effort; he didn’t realize Cas was alert enough to notice that he’d dropped his guard. The guy was sharp as a blade, even when he was half asleep. “Why would there be?”

Cas stared at him, and looked away.

And now he felt his feet push forward, past Cas. And he heard himself say, “I’mma take a walk.” He climbed down the stairs and unlocked the front door, grabbing his coat from the hanger.

He realized now how completely irrational he’d sounded – take a walk, past midnight, in the freezing part of winter. In his pajamas. He didn’t care; he’d rather feel the shocking cold seep through his pants and into his bones than spend another moment alone with Cas, pretending he didn’t want anything from Cas, pretending that the way he was thinking about Cas was fair towards any of them. Did his brain ever consider how it’d make Cas feel to know Dean was thinking about him that way? No. Did his hands care how uncomfortable Cas would feel knowing just how badly they wanted to touch his face?

Dean kicked at the gravel of his front yard grumpily, not caring whatsoever if the cold ignited his body through the last of his bones.

Well, pretending not to care.

Pretending.

He walked around for a while, hands tucked in his sweatpants pockets, not having a particular destination in mind. And what would be a reasonable destination, with every single house’s lights turned off, with no shelter from the cold and the wet in sight?

When he was halfway down the street, he heard footsteps carving through the snow behind him. He didn’t say anything when Cas appeared beside him, and Cas didn’t seem to have the intention of questioning him about his mood and his rudeness. They walked through the quiet, their hot breaths pouring into the freezing night in white puffs and mixing together, and for a while Cas’ warmth beside him was a comfort. When he spoke, he stared and the streetlights before them.

“This trench coat makes you look like you’re about to go offer candy to some kids.” He could see what Cas was wearing under it – a T-shirt, and a pair of flannel pajama pants with a tiny pizza print.

“What’s wrong with giving children candy?” Cas asked. Dean let out a weak laugh. He watched the row of houses on the other side of the road, only lit by street lamps and small glimmering Christmas lights. Cas brought his palms to his face, cupping them together, and breathed into them to spark some warmth through his fingers. He rubbed them together. Dean tried not to watch him.

“Cas…” He started. “After this, there’s no chance of us being friends, right? I mean, we’re gonna go back to hating each other in school?”

Cas’ answer came after a few seconds, his tone flat. “Sure.”

Dean took a breath. “Then I think I need to tell you something.”

A dog barked a few houses down the street. He stared at a cloud moving slowly in the dark sky.

I think I’m in love with you. I think I’m in love with you. I think I’m in-

“What is it?”

“Just… give me a moment.”

They saw a bench at the side of the road, and Cas swerved sideways to take a seat. Dean sat down hard beside him, crossing his arms to save some of his dignity. He looked at Cas, memorized the soft patience in his eyes. Cas opened his mouth. He took in a breath, and Dean could hear it – could hear Cas saying his name, quiet as a secret; but he didn’t. He leaned in, checking for Dean’s reaction – his breath caught and he wanted to look away, to play it cool somehow, like he didn’t care what Cas did anyway – and then Cas dipped his head further, and a let out a low murmur that Dean had to push the feel of Cas’ breath against his face to focus on.

“You’re American when you go into the bathroom,” he said.

“What?” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed. Cas pursed his lips and started again.

“You're American when you go into the bathroom,” he repeated. “And you're American when you come out – but what are you when you're in there?”

Dean frowned at him, puzzled, not caring for his attempt at a joke – if this was a joke – or at a distraction, if this was a distraction. Cas, in turn, flashed one of his rare, small smiles, and said, “You’re-a-peein’. European,” he repeated when Dean’s expression didn’t change. “Come on, laugh.” He tilted his head forward, deadpan. “It’s a funny joke.”

Dean watched him, biting his lip. Then he looked away, trying not to smile. Cas had something hopeful in his eyes, something worried and wonderfully hopeful that made Dean turn back and dip his head until their lips touched. And Cas was kissing him back, kissing him like a suave movie star.

“What did you want to tell me?” He asked, letting Dean go. He didn’t even sound affected, but his eyes didn’t leave Dean’s face and they looked like they could set fire to an iceberg right about now.

Dean shook his head and leaned in again, but Cas pulled back. “It seemed important,” he said, his eyes searching Dean’s face, wide and worried. Dean bit his lip.

“Nothin’. Just that… I really like you.”

“You’ve always really liked me.” Cas was kissing down his neck, smiling just barely against his skin. He laughed, wanting to protest, but all that came out was, “Not like this.”

Cas’ smile grew wider, and his lips pressed against Dean’s face, warming his skin.

*

“I don’t understand.”

Dean looked around to see a tall figure leaning over his project.

“You’re not supposed to understand,” he said indifferently. “You’re a computer science student.”

“Explain it to me,” Cas demanded, leaning farther and sniffing Dean’s project.

“Dude,” Dean said, stretching his arms out in annoyance. Cas pulled back. He looked at the piece with intense interest, but he knew better than to touch it this time. When Dean’s family emerged from the front of the room, he hissed at Cas to go away.

“You look so handsome,” Mary cried when she reached his table, Sam standing gawkily behind her. “Doesn’t he look handsome?”

Cas – having, of course, stayed – nodded in agreement and appraised Dean with his own, quieter, stare. Dean’s heart took a moment to flail at the knowledge that Cas didn’t disagree with the assertion that he was handsome.

“First in your class,” Mary said, caressing his cheek. He pulled away from her touch, glancing around in embarrassment. “I’m so proud of you.” At that, Dean sent a wry smile towards Sam, who countered the gesture with, “She’s still relieved you’re not gonna become a mechanic.”

“I still have time to change my mind,” Dean warned.

“Alright, alright,” Mary said, letting him go. “Why don’t you show us around?”

“I should stay here,” he said. “In case anyone wants to know about…”

“Plastic,” Cas completed snarkily. “But I can give you guys a tour.”

With a last glance at Dean, the three disappeared into the sea of people to look at the other students’ end-of-the-year projects. Dean caught Garth’s eyes by the food stand, and his roommate shouldered his way to Dean’s table.

“’Sup,” he said over his burrito, leaning on the wall beside Dean. His eyes followed Dean’s stare across the room.

“Wanted to look good for your mom, huh?” He said doubtfully.

“She loves the suit,” Dean shrugged. By the front doors, Cas accidentally knocked down a part of someone else’s project, and he smiled.

“You’re clean shaven,” Garth commented, raising his eyebrows.

“Bristles are itchy,” Dean excused.

“You've been staring at him and smiling to yourself-“
“-I’m looking at my family-“
“-‎For the past 3 months.”

Dean didn’t know how to answer that. He tried not to think about those past three months, because he knew he would smile. The new way in which Cas’ eyes rested on him lately, slightly amused, impossibly soft, and still so very intense, never failed to make his heart jump to his throat.

“I’ll drop it,” Garth said, and Dean could hear and if in his tone. “…If you name you guys’ firstborn after me.”

“Could be a girl,” Dean argued with a wry smile, giving up the facade.

“See, Garth is also a girl’s name.”

He muted the sound of Garth’s babbling then and glanced across the hall. Cas was on the other side of the room, explaining to the Winchesters things about some engineer's project that were probably very, very wrong. Dean watched his hand gestures, the expressions on his face, and smiled to himself.