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It was two-thirty in the morning on the seventh of December. Dean was still awake, opening up two boxes of Christmas lights that he’d ordered to go on the tree in his lounge: the eight-foot-tall, very impressive dark green fir tree.
He had appearances to keep up, after all - or maybe to make good, for the first time. This was his third Christmas living in this fancy neighbourhood, and he’d never quite felt like he’d done the damn thing right. Never quite kept up with the rest of them. And he knew, from the weird looks he got when he tried to talk to any of his neighbours, that they felt the same way.
This year, he was going big. It was a giant tree, and it was going to be resplendent with baubles and tinsel and lights. It was going to be bigger than Anna’s, next door; more sparkling than Charlie’s, along the way; and, without a doubt, it was going to be better in every way possible than the one right opposite, where Castiel lived.
Castiel. Dean rolled his eyes even thinking about him as he unravelled the first string of lights. The guy just always had to one-up Dean. At Easter, it was a big colourful egg display in his front yard. At Halloween, it was spiderwebs strewn through his shrubbery and an automated skeleton that laughed and waved. And at Christmas, it was always the most impressive tree standing proudly in his big front window.
Not this year. This year, it would be the second most impressive tree.
Dean had even shelled out for two boxes of expensive lights that had different settings, that he could switch via a remote control. He tried it now: the first setting was a soft glow, the second a gentle flashing, the third a raucous on-off-on-off that honestly hurt to look at a little bit - Dean quickly turned them back to the first setting. They were a tasteful golden colour, distinctively elegant. Dean switched the lights off, and reached for the second box. When he had these bad boys beaming out through his window, Castiel was going to be sick with envy. That handsome face of his was going to turn green.
The second set of lights came with another remote. Dean inserted the batteries and then tapped it, just to check that this set of lights worked, too - and both sets of lights switched on. The ones from the first box, and the ones from the second.
Seemed as though one remote worked for all the lights. That was useful.
Dean yawned widely. He’d been planning to have his tree completely decorated by morning, so that he could switch his lights on tomorrow and look smugly out over the neighbourhood. He was exhausted, though, and even though it was the weekend tomorrow, he was starting to get the old-man problem of not being able to sleep past his weekday wake-up time.
He turned in, vowing to make his house the most intensely Christmas-ified zone in the local area in the morning. It was going to be practically dangerous levels of festive, he thought as he crawled into bed. Candy canes were going to start growing spontaneously out in his front yard. People were going to have to wear biohazard suits to survive the overpowering scents of cinnamon and mint.
And Castiel wasn’t going to know what had hit him. The guy was so odd - sometimes standoffish, sometimes almost friendly, but always frustratingly distant. Well, he’d have to pay attention to Dean now.
----
Dean woke up and made himself a cup of spiced coffee, while his radio sang Christmas classics to him. He threw a couple more official-looking letters onto the giant pile of mail sitting on his kitchen counter - why did people even send mail anymore? If it was important enough, wouldn’t they just call? He’d get around to opening them all one day, he thought. Maybe. In his robe, fluffy slippers on his feet, he made his way through to the lounge, which had a view out to the front.
When he reached the window, Dean almost spat out his mouthful of coffee.
Over in Castiel’s front room, there was a tree in the window. A tree that was so tall, and decorated so magnificently, that it was breathtaking. A tree that had lights on it that were - well, they were distinctively elegant. They were golden.
They were Dean’s lights, clearly flashing on setting number two.
Had Castiel broken in, and stolen them? The wild thought was quickly dismissed by a quick glance down towards where Dean had left his sets of lights the night before - still there. So, Castiel had got his own, and they just happened to be the same as Dean’s.
Damn.
Damn.
If Dean put his lights up now, Castiel would be able to say that Dean had copied him. And of course he probably wouldn’t actually say anything about it, to Dean or to anyone else - he barely noticed Dean at all - but he’d look at Dean’s tree from across the road and Dean knew what he’d be thinking. Ugh. Not to mention the side-eyes he’d get from the rest of the neighbourhood.
He’d have to get some different lights, now, before he could decorate. Thankfully it looked as though Castiel had gone for a red and gold theme with his baubles, where Dean had been planning green and gold, so he didn’t have to rethink absolutely everything.
But his tree would be less incredible and breathtaking now than he’d planned. Damn Castiel and his ever-so-slightly-earlier tree decoration. Dean had been about to conquer the neighbourhood. He’d have been the king of suburbia. The ruler of his local area. People would have made tapestries of his tree. They’d have sung songs about it a hundred years down the line. He was certain.
Castiel just had to ruin it. Not even knowing what he’d done, he’d screwed up Dean’s master Christmas plan.
Dean looked morosely across the room to where his lights were sitting on the floor, with their remote controls beside them. A pity that he had no use for them, now. He’d have to donate them to the nearest thrift shop, or see if he knew anyone who wanted them. Strange, how the remote control worked for both sets.
Dean narrowed his eyes at the lights.
The remote… worked on both sets.
So, it was… it was probably reasonable to assume, wasn’t it, that the remote might work on all the sets of lights that were this model.
Which meant…
Dean looked back across the road, towards Castiel’s Christmas tree, and the soft glow of the golden lights that adorned it. He considered for a long, long moment. He weighed pros and cons.
He took a slurp of his coffee.
----
Enfolded in his thickest coat, with snow boots on and a scarf too, Dean stepped out into the evening. All down the road, lights shone out against the backdrop of the winter’s night. Rudolphs with flashing red noses and Santas with luminous white beards winked and sparkled in people’s front yards, and Dean’s breath was pluming into the air. He paused to rub his gloved hands together, and then patted his pocket.
The remote was still there.
Dean had bided his time. He’d waited for the opportune moment. A few nights of quiet and darkness had passed, and he’d let them, waiting - and his patience had been rewarded. Castiel’s house, right now, was all aglow and humming with the sounds of people talking and laughing.
A Christmas party. A neighbourhood Christmas party, no less, judging by the faces Dean had seen walking in - Anna, Charlie, Gordon, and even Garth had got an invite despite continuing to show up to every function in aviators.
No invite for Dean. Obviously. Castiel barely even looked at him, let alone spoke to him long enough to invite him to a party. Which was fine. It was completely fine. It was good, actually. Because it gave Dean just the opportunity that he’d been hoping for.
He strolled across the street, trying not to be too conspicuous. The guests all seemed to have arrived, because thankfully there was no one lingering outside Castiel’s home. The place was lit up by the display that Castiel had arranged in his front yard - a merrily laughing Santa sitting in his sleigh, pulled by his reindeer, with brilliant stars and gleaming Christmas trees surrounding him.
Dean stepped onto Castiel’s yard, his eyes on the tree he could clearly see through the front window. Those elegant golden lights were on the first setting - they were glowing softly. Just like Dean’s should have been. Dean’s face hardened. He just had to get close enough for the signal from the remote to work. He began to crunch his way across the snowy yard towards the window -
With a hiss of breath through his teeth, he ducked behind Santa.
Someone had come to the window, to look out onto the yard. Peeking round the edge of the pompom on Santa’s red hat, Dean saw a familiar outline. He gritted his teeth.
Castiel.
Dean stared at him. That asshole. Withholding his invites, thinking he was so much better than everyone, thinking he got to choose who was cool in the neighbourhood and who wasn’t. People around the place barely spoke to Dean because Castiel had decided he just wasn’t good enough to come to his parties. And there he was now, surveying his kingdom from the warmth of his house. Probably surrounded by amazing food and Christmas music and laughter.
After a few moments, Castiel turned away. Dean made a break for the house, trying not to outright run in case anyone spotted him through the window and he needed to be able to act casual about the whole thing. He turned at the last minute and slammed his back against the wall of Castiel’s house, breathing a little quickly. He chanced a glance in through the window to his left.
He caught sight of a few faces he knew, through the glass. Mostly, though, he could just see the tree.
The tree, with its golden glowing lights.
Dean reached into his pocket, and drew out the remote. There was a chance this wouldn’t work, he knew. Even though he was so close to the tree, there was still a pane of double-glazed glass between him and it. The signal might not get through.
He held out his hand and pointed the remote control towards the tree. The sounds of people laughing and chatting inside was a buzz in his ears. After just a moment of hesitation, Dean pressed Off.
Immediately, the lights went out. In a rush, he smacked his back against the wall again, out of everyone’s line of sight from the window; from indoors, he could hear people saying awww and a little kerfuffling of footsteps.
“No, it’s alright,” Dean just about caught someone say - a deep voice, less muffled by the glass than other higher voices. Castiel. “- got the remote here.”
Dean grinned out into the night.
He saw the lights on the tree come back on, the glow spilling out of the window and onto the snow on the ground, painting it gold. Dean waited a whole two seconds before leaning round and switching them off again.
“That’s strange,” Dean heard Castiel say, as he quickly leaned back out of sight. Other people were making suggestions, one on top of the other, all confused and blurred to hear through the closed window.
The lights came back on.
“The control seems to be working fine,” Castiel said.
This time, Dean turned and switched the lights to setting number three.
Setting three, the frenetic flash and glare, the instant migraine. He heard several raised voices cry out in surprise, and couldn’t resist taking a peek in through the window. Charlie was covering her eyes, while Gordon was standing beside Castiel and trying to take the remote off him. Anna plucked the remote out of both their scrabbling hands and turned the lights off.
There was a general sigh of relief.
Dean, one hand raised to cover his mouth and keep his laugh in, switched them back on again.
“What is happening?” he heard Castiel say, and this time Dean didn’t bother to hide - just kept watching Castiel and the rest of his party guests looking on in perplexion and consternation. The lights switched from off, to frenzied flashing, and back to off again, Dean stabbing at the remote at random, now. He was snorting with laughter into his glove. This was better than being invited. This was where the real party was. Out here, in the cold, making them all hide their eyes and make stupid suggestions like breaking the remote control they had or trying it closer to the tree - or switching the lights off all together.
“I’m already doing it,” said Castiel’s voice, much closer than Dean expected - and then he realised that Castiel was right by the window, ducking down behind his Christmas tree to find the kill switch for the lights.
Castiel was halfway to a crouch when he caught sight of Dean, staring in.
Dean gawped at him, his own remote control still in his upraised hand. Castiel’s eyes very slowly travelled from Dean’s face, along the length of his arm, to the remote.
Without saying a word, Dean lowered his hand.
Castiel looked back into his eyes.
Dean watched him. He didn’t know what to do but wait. If he ran, now, he was pretty sure Castiel would call out and everyone would look and they’d all see him making a break for it, back to his own house. If he waited, then in all likelihood Castiel would say something anyway, and they’d all come and stare at him through the window. But -
But as Dean watched, he realised that - only at the very corners - a small smile was appearing on Castiel’s face. They stared at each other through the window, unmoving, and Castiel was smiling at Dean, and Dean found himself pulling a face and then shrugging, and smiling back.
Someone said something that Dean didn’t quite catch through the window, in a questioning tone.
“No, I think it’s alright,” Castiel said. “I think I found what was happening. It should stop now.”
His tone sounded far too assured. Dean raised his eyebrows, and then lifted the remote control again. Castiel’s eyes narrowed.
Dean pointed it in the direction of the tree.
Castiel shook his head.
Dean nodded, and angled the remote more deliberately, about to press it back onto setting number three.
Castiel lifted a single finger. He mouthed, wait there.
And then he stood up abruptly, and shuffled out from behind his tree. Dean considered changing the lights setting again anyway, just to see the look on his face - but repressed the urge. Castiel hadn’t immediately busted him, and that was worth a truce, however brief. He leaned back against the wall beside the window once more, and realised that his heart was beating fast and hard. The adrenaline of getting caught, he thought. What was Castiel going to do? What would he say? Was he actually gathering all of his party guests now to come outside and point at Dean and laugh?
When the front door of Castiel’s house opened, however, it opened for Castiel alone. On quiet feet, Castiel came over to where Dean was standing, and leaned against the house beside him.
For a few seconds, they just stood there - the two of them looking out over the front yard. Dean wasn’t sure what to say. Sorry wouldn’t be honest - he wasn’t feeling particularly apologetic. Hi seemed kind of flippant. Why didn’t you invite me to your party would clearly be unnecessarily aggressive. It wasn’t as though Dean cared, anyway.
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said eventually.
Dean cleared his throat.
“Uh. Hey,” he said.
“So. This is what you spend your time doing instead of coming to parties.” Castiel put his head on one side, still looking out over his own front yard as Dean watched him. “I do see the appeal.”
“You know how it is,” Dean said, because it was something to say.
Castiel looked at him.
“I... know how it is, when you somehow manage to find out what Christmas lights your neighbour has, so you order the same model to get hold of the same remote control so that at the neighbourhood Christmas party you can decide to stand outside in the cold and make everyone confused for five minutes?” he said.
Dean breathed out.
“To be fair,” he said, “I ordered the same lights. There wasn’t any recon. I just had this.” He waved the remote.
“Ah. I see.”
There was a pause. Dean watched Castiel, who was now looking upwards, towards the night sky. He really was an attractive guy, Dean couldn’t help thinking, even though he couldn’t think of a less appropriate time to be thinking that about someone than after attempting to sabotage their Christmas party. Which he hadn’t been invited to. While wearing a giant coat and oversize gloves, like a dork. Had he ever looked less dateable in his entire life, he wondered.
That didn’t stop his brain from running away with itself, thinking about all kinds of things he’d like for Christmas.
“Do you want to come in?” Castiel said.
Dean looked away, grinning a little humourlessly.
“Nah, it’s okay,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Castiel shift.
“I see,” he said.
Something about the coolness of his tone made Dean think that maybe he didn’t see, exactly.
“I just prefer to go to parties I’ve been invited to,” he said. “You know, instead of ones I crashed by flipping the lights on and off a few times.”
“You were invited,” Castiel said. Dean snorted. As if Castiel inviting him just now really counted.
“Yeah. I mean, I like to be invited before the crashing.”
“You were,” Castiel said blankly.
Dean turned to look at him. They met each other’s eyes.
Damn. Castiel’s gaze was steady and intense. His eyes were so blue.
“What?” Dean said.
“I sent you an invitation a month ago.”
“You - what? You don’t even have my mobile number,” Dean said.
“I put it in your mailbox,” Castiel said.
“My what?”
“Your -”
“Why would you put it there?”
“Because… that’s where letters go?” Castiel said, sounding unsure of himself. “Isn’t it?”
Dean could only look at him for a few moments. In his mind’s eye, he was seeing the giant stack of mail on his kitchen counter. The letters that he’d assumed were from the bank, or from insurance companies, or something.
“Wait,” he said. “Wait.”
Castiel was staring at him, still. Dean could feel embarrassment rising in him, hot enough to melt the snow in a five-foot radius.
“You mean… all these parties that I wasn’t invited to,” Dean said. “The Easter breakfast and the Halloween Spook Night and the Carolling last week - you mean, all of them, I was…”
“Of course I invited you,” Castiel said, with an expression of some consternation. “You live right across the road. It would have been incredibly rude to miss you out.”
“Well,” Dean said, and then stopped.
“You thought I was that rude?”
“Well… yeah.”
Castiel was frowning, but after a few seconds he nodded.
“I suppose I did also think that you were very rude,” Castiel said.
“You did?”
“Of course. You completely ignored every single one of my invitations. You didn’t RSVP once, Dean. In fact, I’m afraid you’re fairly notorious for it.”
“I am?” This explained a lot of the dirty looks that he got around the neighbourhood, Dean was thinking - he could feel things falling into place. It all made sense now. The way no one wanted to really talk to him. The way Castiel always seemed distant.
“Oh, yes. Even my friends living in other cities - and other countries - know all about you.”
“Do any of them think literally anything good about me?” Dean said. By just not opening his mail, he’d managed to gain himself an international reputation as an asshole?
“Well…” Castiel said, and then stopped, and looked away.
“Yeah?” Dean said.
“Well, I mean. Most of them. The ones who’ve seen you. They do…” Castiel was looking distinctly embarrassed. Dean stared at him. What Castiel could possibly have to be embarrassed about in this situation, he had no idea. Whatever it was, there was no way it was as bad as trying and mostly failing to sabotage a Christmas party that he didn’t know he’d been invited to. “It’s nothing,” Castiel said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Uh, hey, if someone’s got something good to say about me in this situation, I wanna hear it,” Dean said. “If it’s a compliment of any kind, I’ll take it.”
“Well,” Castiel said. “Some of them - not me - but some people - think that you’re good-looking.”
Dean had to pause to take it in for a second, and then he snorted with laughter. Partly because it was so unexpected, and partly to get himself through the slight stab of disappointment at Castiel not feeling the same way as these admirers.
“So, what you’re saying is, everyone’s thinking - hey, he’s an asshole and a dumbass, but at least he’s got his looks?” Dean said.
“Everyone except me,” Castiel said.
Damn. He was really ramming that point home.
“Okay,” Dean said.
“I mean, not that I think you aren’t good-looking,” Castiel said, looking at Dean. “I don’t mean to be rude…”
“Oh, no, it’s fine. I mean, you like what you like.” Dean pulled a semi-grotesque face. “Can’t believe this doesn’t do it for ya.”
“It’s not - it’s not that I don’t like - you, I mean, it’s not that I don’t like you, or…” Castiel stopped, and Dean gave up making faces to search his face for a second, trying to figure out what that had been.
“Huh?” he said.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing,” Castiel said.
There was a silence. Dean kept looking at Castiel, who shifted his gaze down to the snowy ground.
Dean was half-tempted to go home, and part of him also wanted to ask if Castiel had been serious about inviting him in, because he was pretty sure there was going to be food inside at the party and that it was going to be really good - but there was a tiny, tiny part of him that was looking at Castiel’s face and seeing his embarrassment and his awkwardness and his denials and then, maybe, his not-denials, and thinking - thinking something.
He could shoot his shot. Out here, in the cold.
After all, Dean thought, he’d disliked Castiel all this time. If Castiel was offended, it wasn’t as though Dean was losing a friendship that mattered to him. And Castiel could just be aloof and distant with him for a different reason than before. He had nothing much to lose.
He was going to do it. He was going to tell Castiel that he was the good-looking one. And maybe things would go from there, and maybe they wouldn’t. But at least he could give it a go. Maybe Castiel would at least feel flattered, even if he wasn’t interested.
Somehow, even though he’d just been convincing himself that the stakes were low, Dean could feel his heart pounding.
“Well,” Dean said, “probably you...” His throat seemed to close up with sudden nerves, and that was as far as he got.
Castiel met his eyes.
“What?” he said.
“Nothing.”
“Oh.”
There was a pause. Dean stared up at the sky, and counted to ten. His chest was tight. Why was he freaking out? He’d asked people out before. He’d complimented people before. This was no different.
Standing beside Castiel, though, it did feel a little different.
There was something there that wasn’t there, normally. Something that went a little deeper than just thinking the guy was attractive and wanting to spend a little time together, see where things went. Something about the tiny smile Castiel had given him through the window, when he’d realised it was Dean messing with his lights. Something about how it felt to be standing out here, together, just the two of them. Dean could feel his hands tingling. His heart was still racing.
If he didn’t say anything, he was going to kick himself all the way home.
“You,” Dean said, and then his throat closed again.
Damn. Damn.
Dean could feel Castiel’s eyes on him, but he didn’t meet them. He’d thought he’d reached the peak of embarrassment in his life fifteen minutes earlier when he’d been caught with the remote control, but it turned out there were new depths of awkward to explore.
“Me?” Castiel said.
Dean looked at him.
“Yeah,” he said, with feeling. He tried to put it all into that word, into his face. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to actually say anything.
Castiel was frowning.
“Me,” he said again.
“You,” Dean agreed.
Castiel paused.
Then -
“You,” he said softly.
Dean felt his stomach flip, hard, a rush of feeling.
“Me?” he said, in the same tone that he might have said, really? Me? The person who just tried to kind of ruin your Christmas party? The dumbass who’s been ignoring your invites?
“You,” Castiel said. The certainty in his voice, the look in his eyes, left no room for doubt. He knew what he was saying. And he was saying it to Dean.
Dean wanted to smile but he thought he might have forgotten how. Was he already doing it? He breathed out, and it was kind of a laugh of happiness and kind of an exhale of shock.
One of Castiel’s hands moved forward, ever so slightly. And then Dean’s, just a little. By degrees, they reached for each other, until Castiel had Dean’s gloved hand in his own, and pulled on it, leading him towards the doorway into his home.
Dean wanted to protest - wanted to say that he was pretty sure everyone else inside the house hated him, and he wasn’t really ready to go ahead and try to change their hard-earned opinions of him, and he really only wanted to spend more time out here with Castiel and then maybe find some other place to go together with just the two of them that was maybe kind of warmer and had more food - but he let himself be pulled towards the door. Castiel walked up the couple of steps, Dean in tow. Castiel let go of his hand to open the door, and then stood on the threshold.
Dean, a step below him, watched Castiel turn to face him.
For a moment, they stared at each other. Dean felt as though he should say something about letting in the cold, but his throat still felt all closed up, in a good way, but also in an impractical way.
And then he noticed it. Right above Castiel’s head.
Green leaves, white berries. A sprig of mistletoe. And Castiel had led him here. Now he was standing underneath it, looking increasingly nervous and awkward.
“You…” Castiel said, obviously intending to say that Dean probably didn’t want to do this, and that was okay - but then Dean stepped in close, and stood on his tiptoes on the step below Castiel, and tilted his chin up, and kissed Castiel.
Just a brief kiss, really. Just a moment, when their lips were pressed and their eyes were closed and everything was exactly as it should be, right here in their little world within a world.
When he pulled back, Dean could only look at Castiel, and let his thoughts circle around what and how and wow, wow, damn, wow, and he wanted to do it again - and Castiel had that small smile back on his face, and Dean couldn’t resist it. When he leaned up and kissed Castiel again, he let it go on longer, let his body sway in closer, and then Castiel’s hand was pressed to his cheek, was moving back into his hair -
“Oh,” Castiel said, breaking away. “Oh - I knocked your hat off.”
Dean wanted to say something, but kissing Castiel seemed to only shut his voice down harder. He felt so much. How was he supposed to talk? What was he meant to say? He bent down and retrieved his hat.
“Are you alright?” Castiel asked.
Dean nodded.
Castiel still looked concerned, so Dean cleared his throat.
“Better than alright,” he said.
When Castiel smiled, Dean’s world was brighter than the Christmas lights.
“Come in,” Castiel said.
“I don’t know… they’re not gonna want me…”
“I don’t care,” Castiel said. “I want you.”
It was enough. It was more than enough. Dean followed Castiel into the house, stepping into Castiel’s hallway for the first time in his life, hearing laughter and chatter, smelling mulled wine and pine needles and rich, heady food.
And it turned out that showing up to a party late, having tried to sabotage it, didn’t earn Dean too much ill-will. People talked to him, and laughed at his explanations, and asked questions and wanted to get to know him, even - and all the while, there was Castiel right beside him. Castiel’s hand gently brushing against his, fingers touching the inside of his palm, just now and then. Castiel smiling at his jokes. Castiel tugging lightly at his shirt to get Dean to follow him to the kitchen, where - in quiet, in their own world, without many words but with perfect clarity - they got to know each other better. When they touched, Dean was light, brilliantly light, bursting with it. And when Castiel looked at him, spoke to him, Dean felt it from him, too.
The same light.