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“So, I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Castiel asks as he takes his coffee from Dean’s outstretched hand. He lets the warmth sink into his icy fingers for a moment, thawing the stiffness out of them before he slips on his wooly mittens.
Dean grins as he dusts hot chocolate mix off his red and green Christmas apron. “Seven o’clock is good for you? I can meet you there or pick you up?”
“I’ll meet you there. I live just down the street from The Roadhouse, anyway.” Castiel holds his coffee close to his chest, his cheeks heating with pleasure when Dean’s smile turns dazzling—his green eyes reflecting the shimmering fairy lights hanging from every available surface of the café.
“It’s a date,” Dean says as Castiel backs away. Castiel stalls for a moment, adjusting his Santa hat to sit lower on his brow as he ducks his chin into his scarf.
“Well, goodbye.” Then he turns, ready to push through the door when Dean’s voice stops him one more time. “Oh, Castiel?” Castiel looks over his shoulder and his stomach flip-flops when Dean pulls an elf hat over his perfectly gelled hair. The bells tinkle and the elf ears flop when he does his little jig, and Castiel laughs when his voice gets high and theatrical, just like he was trained to do. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, Dean.” With a deep breath and a cheek-stretching smile, Castiel pushes through the door and steps out into the snowy street. He tucks his nose into his scarf to ward off the blowing snow as he hunkers down in his jacket and hurries up the sidewalk.
The walk isn’t all that far from his dorm room, but the wind is biting cold. Castiel holds his mittened hands close to his face, his coffee cupped between them as he sips, and the hot liquid slithers down to his stomach, warming him to the core. His rubber boots slip and slide in the snow, better for the warm slush of Kansas than the snowy mountains of Colorado, but Castiel hadn’t really thought of that when his parents dropped him off in front of his residence building before tearing off down the road. Now he wishes he had.
That’s not what he’s thinking about now, though, as he shivers and shuffles down the unplowed sidewalks of Nowhere, Colorado. Castiel’s heart is warm and fuzzy, and there’s a barely-there grin on his lips as he thinks about tomorrow and his date with Dean.
Castiel shoves through the door to his dorm, shaking the snow off the top of his hat as he stomps his boots on the W and E of Welcome! scrawled across the scratchy straw. There’s only one other set of boots sitting there, where there are usually five and it only serves as a reminder that Castiel is the only one isn’t going home for Christmas.
He drops his winter clothes by the door, not bothering to hang them up before wandering into the kitchen he shares with his four flatmates.
“Sam?” he says, almost jumping out of his skin when he sees the tall figure hunched over his kitchen table. “I thought you would be home by now?” Sam’s head tips up, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy, and he sniffles as he pushes old flyers and graded assignments out of the way so Castiel can sit.
“Oh, hey, Cas.” Sam wipes beneath his eyes before tucking his cellphone in his back pocket and pushing his shaggy hair back from his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Castiel asks, too polite to just let the man sit here and cry by himself as Castiel wanders around, heating up pop tarts in the awkward silence, even if he doesn’t consider Sam a friend—more like a tolerable acquaintance.
Sam tries to smile as Castiel sits down in the only empty chair—the others being filled with stacks of textbooks and old food containers—with his coffee cup between his hands and real concern in his heart, despite not really wanting to hear what Sam has to say.
“You remember Gabriel?” Sam asks, picking at the edge of the chipping paint that’s been steadily growing in the center of their dining table since the beginning of the semester.
Castiel nods, remembering the loud sex through thin walls and missing Halloween candy that Castiel just knows he didn’t eat. He wasn’t exactly a fan of the pranking little midget man.
“Yeah, well, he broke up with me this morning. Says he’s moving back to California with his roommate and can’t be tied down.” Sam scoffs, throwing his hands up as he shoots from his chair. “He was supposed to come to my family's Christmas dinner with me.”
Castiel turns in his chair, watching as Sam rummages through the fridge before pulling out a plate wrapped in tinfoil.
“That really sucks,” Castiel murmurs, not knowing what to say, but feeling like he should say something. Maybe if he just lets Sam get it all out, he’ll feel better and Castiel will be able to go about his business and make those new chocolate and honey pop tarts he picked up at the convenience store this morning. His mouth waters just thinking about it.
“Yeah, and you want to know the worst part?” He doesn’t wait for Castiel to answer as he shoves his plate into the microwave after ripping off the foil and tossing it aside. “My parents were so excited to meet him. Do you believe that? He knows how much this means to me and he’s still choosing to leave. Couldn’t he have broken up with me tomorrow?”
Castiel doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. His fingernail picks at the peeling paint as he tries to think of some way to tell Sam it’ll all be fine, which is dumb because how would Castiel know? “Yeah, man. Sucks,” he murmurs, his mind wandering away to what he’ll cook for dinner. Maybe he’ll eat out? Or delivery; that sounds better. But what’s even open on Christmas?
Sam spins around suddenly, startling Castiel into looking up at him, wide-eyed and waiting as Sam points a finger at him. “You’re still here,” he says, his eyes narrowing, and Castiel nods, not getting it. “You’re still here and you have nothing to do.”
“Yeah…” Castiel trails off, but a sick feeling knots his stomach.
“So, come home with me!” He holds his hands out at his sides and grins like it’s the best idea in the world, but Castiel’s not convinced. He doesn’t really know Sam, despite living with the guy for the last three months, and he’s never been great around strangers—parents, especially.
“I don’t know,” Castiel says, trying to tell him no without being rude.
“Come on, Cas! It’ll be fun! You can meet my parents and my brother—we don’t even really have to do couple-y stuff. You can just hold my hand when we walk through the door and tell everyone how we met—simple.” Sam bounces on the balls of his feet, getting more and more excited by the minute as he pulls his plate of leftover lasagna out of the microwave plops down beside Castiel. “It’ll be fun.”
“But, Sam, I’m—I’m seeing someone. I have a date tomorrow; it doesn’t feel right.” Castiel thinks of Dean and the excitement in his eyes about their date. He can’t just sully that with dinner at Sam’s parents’ house, even if it is a fake relationship.
“Oh, come on! It’s not like we’re actually a couple. Just a dinner with a friend and some hand-holding. Maybe a little twisting of events, but nothing this other guy is gonna find out about.”
Castiel hesitates, still not sure about the whole thing, but then Sam breaks out the puppy-dog eyes and Castiel sighs. “Fine,” he says, leaning back in his chair as Sam lets out a whoop, pumping his fist in the air before digging into his food. Sam grins around his full cheeks, cheery and excited, and Castiel tries to smile back. His stomach twists, though, and he can’t help but feel like this is a very bad idea.
Castiel fidgets outside the car, shifting from foot to foot and tugging at the hem of his green and red Christmas sweater under his jacket as he waits for Sam to finish his phone call and join him on the sidewalk. With a bottle of red wine in one hand and a box of his famous peppermint sugar cookies in the other, he’s unable to smooth his hair down, so he just hopes the wind doesn’t mess it up too badly. You know, for first impressions, and all.
He tries to squash the butterflies fluttering in his stomach—to quell the nerves bouncing around like pinballs inside him—but they just seem to get worse when Sam steps out of the car, giving him a reassuring smile as he wraps an arm around Castiel’s waist, and leads him up the front steps of the single-story house he grew up in.
“Mom! Dad!” Sam calls as he pushes through the door. Castiel momentarily forgets his nerves as he hit by a wall of warmth and the smell of turkey and apple pie. It’s wonderful and Castiel can’t help the twinge of longing in his heart—despite his issues with his own family, he misses them dearly.
Mary Winchester rounds the corner in a flour-dusted apron and a cheery smile. She radiates maternal warmth and Castiel can’t help but feel the comfort that oozes from her as she wraps Sam in her arms. Then she turns to Castiel, but her smile doesn’t falter or change in the least.
“Hello, dear. You must be Sam’s boyfriend.” Castiel feels heat rise into his cheeks and his insides squirm at the term. It’s weird, being referred to as Sam’s boyfriend, especially since, as of earlier today, he was hesitant to even describe Sam as a friend, period.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” he murmurs, before standing there awkwardly with his hands full. Mary just smiles—soft and warm—and rests her hand on his jacket-covered arm, giving it a squeeze.
“Ma, this is Castiel.” Sam gestures to him with a grin that’s just a little too forced, and Castiel’s blush deepens.
“I, uh…I brought these for you,” Castiel says, holding out his gifts for Mary to see, and her smile widens as she takes them.
“Thank you, Castiel.” She turns to Sam and gives him a wink before heading back for the kitchen, but not before shouting over her shoulder, “Your father and brother are in the living room.”
“‘Kay,” Sam shouts back as he takes Castiel’s coat, and Castiel finally takes a moment to smooth his hair. “Dude, your hair is hopeless. Just leave it.”
Castiel sighs and drops his arms to his sides. He’s not sure why he’s so concerned, anyway; Sam’s not his boyfriend and he’s probably never going to see these people again after tonight.
The thought calms him a little as Sam slings an arm around his shoulders and leads him down the hall to the living room. “Oh, just so you know,” Sam says ducking his head to speak into Castiel’s ear. “My brother can be a bit rough around the edges—a major flirt and all that—but he’s got a good heart, so just…be aware of that.”
“Major flirt with a good heart—got it.” Castiel nods, smiling a little when Sam chuckles. Then they round the corner and Castiel’s eyes fall on the occupants of the room.
His heart stops.
Dean looks up just after Castiel sees him and he watches as confusion colors his features, then shock, then hurt, and Castiel’s heart clenches when it all turns to a blank mask. Dean doesn’t move—doesn’t speak or react—he just watches Castiel as Castiel watches him, wishing he were anywhere but here.
“Dad, this is Cas—my boyfriend.” Castiel tries to smile as John stands, extending his hand to shake, but his heart pounds against his rib cage in a way that’s almost painful, and he can’t help glancing over at Dean every few seconds.
“Nice to meet you, Cas. Can’t say I’ve heard much about you, though.” Castiel forces a smile as John releases his hand. “Both my boys…” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t believe it when Sammy, here, told us he was bringing someone home, and now Dean’s got a date tomorrow?” He grins, flopping back in his chair as he slaps Dean’s knee, and Castiel feels sick to his stomach.
“What?” Sam says as he leads Castiel to the sofa. “You’ve got a date? Since when?”
He feels sick—absolutely sick to his stomach—as he watches Dean’s jaw clench. He won’t look at him, and Castiel just wishes Sam would take his arm off his shoulders. He wants to explain to Dean what’s happening—that he and Sam aren’t dating and they never were—but this isn’t the time or the place.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to work out, actually,” Dean mutters before downing his beer. He shoots up from his seat, every muscle visibly taut as he gathers the empties from the coffee table. “Want a beer?” He looks at Sam, who nods, and Castiel tenses when he’s pulled closer. Then Dean’s eyes shift to his, and they’re cold—not a drop of the warmth from earlier still present. “Cas?” Dean says his name like a curse and it feels like a punch in the gut.
“No thank—”
“Yeah, get Cas a beer,” Sam interrupts. Dean gives him a stiff nod, then he’s gone, hurrying from the room like the whole place is burning down around him. “Loosen you up a bit, jeez. You’re too tense.” Sam jostles him a bit, but Castiel’s not feeling it anymore. He wants to go home—he wishes he’d never agreed to this.
How the hell is he supposed to explain this whole shitshow to Dean? It’s all just so complicated now, and his heart breaks just thinking about the excitement he felt earlier. It’s gone, now—replaced by bitter resentment. He knows it’s not Sam’s fault, but part of him still blames him for it—part of him knows he’ll never forgive Sam for ruining his chances with Dean, no matter that he didn’t know.
Dean takes much longer than Castiel expects, but that’s fine; he doesn’t want to have to sit across from him, sick to his stomach over everything he’s lost without ever really having, and wonder what is going through Dean’s head as he avoids eye contact—what horrible thoughts he’s thinking about Castiel and all the times they’ve met.
Dean doesn’t look at him when he comes back, just hands him his beer and continues to his seat, but Castiel can’t help tracking him across the room. The smooth, bow-legged gait is the same as it was the first time he brought Castiel his tea in the corner table of Periwinkle Café, and he’s still got his polo shirt on with the company logo on the pocket. He’s just as handsome as the first time Castiel laid eyes on him, but not nearly as happy, and it stings.
Castiel understands what Sam meant by his brother being flirty, though. That’s all Dean ever did when Castiel walked through the café doors, and it was his charm that had Castiel agreeing to their date tomorrow. The date that’s now canceled, Castiel reminds himself, but he’s pulled from his thoughts when they’re called for dinner.
Dean barely picks at his food, pushing it around his plate as Castiel tries not to watch. It’s hard, though, since he’s directly across from him.
“So, Castiel,” Mary says after a moment, glancing up at him from her seat beside Dean. “If you don’t mind me asking, why aren’t you home for Christmas?”
Castiel pauses, setting down his utensils as he clear his throat. “I, uh—my family didn’t want to pay for the flight. They thought it would be…more prudent, if I were to stay here for the holidays.” Castiel shrugs, trying to look unbothered, but he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks as Mary looks on with pity. He doesn’t dare to look up at Dean—he doesn’t want to see the same thing in his eyes, or worse; he can’t beat to see that he doesn’t care at all.
“Oh, honey, how awful.” She tsks under her breath and reaches over to clasp his hand. “Well, you’re welcome here anytime, you hear?”
A knot twists in his stomach, but he tries to force a smile. “Thank you,” he murmurs before shoveling some cheesy mashed potatoes into his mouth. He doesn’t know what else to say and this is definitely the most awkward family dinner in the history of family dinners.
“So, Cas,” Dean says from across the table, and it’s bitter and biting even to Castiel’s ears. “How’d you and Sam meet?”
Castiel chances a glance at Dean, noting the raised eyebrow and tight lips. His heart aches and he almost physically flinches at the sight, but he turns to Sam, instead, forcing a smile.
“He’s one of my flatmates.” That’s all Castiel can manage before his throat closes up and his voice catches. He swallows hard and turns back to his food, letting Sam continue telling the story.
He can feel Sam’s eyes burning into the side of his head, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know if he can do this—the look in Dean’s eyes and the feeling in his chest when he sees it tells him he should confess right here and right now. But he doesn’t, piling more food into his mouth, instead.
“Uh, we’d study together after class. Not the same subjects, but he’d help me with my flashcards and I’d proofread his papers. Just kind of happened naturally, I guess.” Sam shrugs beside him, and Castiel has to physically stop himself from leaning away when Sam wraps an arm around him and presses a kiss to his cheek.
“Hey, Dad? Pass me another beer, would you?” Dean asks from across the table, refusing to even look in Castiel’s direction, but there’s a strain in Dean’s voice that Castiel doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.
“Baby, aren’t you having any pie?” Mary looks at Dean as he pushes his chair back from the table, his half-empty beer bottle clutched in one hand and a glassy look in his eyes. He just shakes his head, scooping up his dishes and carrying them to the sink before he disappears from the room.
Sam and Castiel watch him go, and then, when he’s gone, Sam ducks his head to whisper in Castiel’s ear. “Sorry, about that. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.” Sam shakes his head and pushes back from the table. “I’d better go check on him.”
Castiel stands as well, going to follow him out—to explain. “Sam, I—”
“Sam, help me with the dishes, dear,” Mary says, looking over her shoulder with a smile. “Let Castiel talk to your father—get to know him a little.”
Castiel smiles back at Mary, but it’s small and strained, and when Sam turns so join her, Castiel doesn’t head for the living room where he knows John is sitting in his chair, kicked back with a beer and watching whatever reruns are on. Instead, he makes his way down the hall to the back of the house where Dean wandered off to. He needs to explain and he needs to do it now.
After a few miss-turns and wrong doorways, he finds Dean on the back porch, leaning against the snow-covered railing in nothing but a pair of fuzzy slippers.
“Dean,” he says as he slides the glass door closed behind him. Dean doesn’t react, so Castiel steps up beside him, a pair of old crocs protecting his socks from the snow. “Dean, I need to—”
“You need to tell him the truth,” Dean snaps, turning on Castiel, and the look in his eyes is like a slap in the face. Castiel flinches. “How could you do that to him? Cheat on him like that?”
“Dean, I—”
“Tell him, Castiel. Or I will.” He shoves past him, knocking his shoulder as he heads for the door.
“Dean, I can’t—”
Dean stops when Castiel cuts himself off and laughs as he shakes his head, his hand resting on the glass and leaving an outline of his warms fingers. “Fine,” he whispers, and slides the door open, only to come face to face with Sam. “Oh, good.” He grabs Sam’s shirt and tugs him onto the porch, barefooted.
“Dean, what the hell—”
“Tell him,” Dean snaps, sticking his finger into Castiel’s chest as a lump forms in his throat. “Now.”
Castiel looks up into Sam’s eyes as Dean watches on, shaking with anger. Castiel takes a trembling breath before he speaks. “Remember that guy I told you about earlier?”
Sam’s brow knits in confusion as he glances over at Dean, but he nods. “The one you’re seeing?”
“Yeah,” Castiel whispers, his voice catching.
“What about him?” Sam leans against the railing and Castiel chances a glance at Dean, noting the utter confusion and shock on his face. Castiel nods at him.
“His name’s Dean.”
Sam blinks a few times, shakes his head, and glances between Castiel and his brother before realization dawns on him. “Fuck,” he whispers, pushing both hands through his hair. “Fuck, Cas! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know, I swear—”
“Yeah, no, I know that, but he thinks—”
“What the fuck is going on, Sammy?” Dean demands, shoving at his brother’s shoulder to get their attention. “You knew?”
Sam’s smile turns sad and he nods, his hands slapping at his sides. “Dean, I’m not dating Castiel.”
Dean’s face pinches. “What—” But Sam cuts him off before he can finish.
“Castiel is my flatmate, yeah, but my boyfriend broke up with me this morning. Castiel was just doing me a favor so I wouldn’t have to explain to everyone why I showed up alone.”
For the first time since he pulled Sam onto the porch, Dean looks at Castiel. “Is it true?”
Castiel can only nod as a lump the size of his fist lodges in his throat, making it impossible to speak.
“Fuck,” Dean breathes, tipping his head back. Then he laughs, and the relief in it is so clear and potent that Castiel’s lips break into a smile. “God, Cas. Here I was thinking I could only get shitty dates, but you…” He trails off, shaking his head before dropping it back down to smile at him. “We still on for tomorrow?”
A burst of laughter bubbles up from Castiel’s chest and he feels as light as air. He hardly notices when Sam excuses himself to go back inside, too busy staring into Dean’s shining eyes. “Seven o’clock at The Roadhouse?”
“I’ll pick you up at your dorm.” Dean’s grin widens and he takes a step forward before stopping. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, tilting his head and biting his bottom lip. All Castiel can do is nod, and then Dean’s mouth is on his—cold and wet and tasting a little like beer and Christmas dinner, but it’s the best thing to happen to Castiel in such a long time.
He wraps his arms around Dean’s neck and pulls him closer, soaking in his warmth as Dean smiles against his lips, and when they pull away, they’re only a breath’s distance apart. “Best Christmas ever,” Castiel whispers, nudging Dean’s nose with his own, and his heart does a little flip when Dean laughs.
“Best Christmas ever,” Dean agrees, with fairy light reflecting in his eyes, and Castiel can’t help but think he could get used to the way Dean’s eyes shine.