Chapter Text
Castiel glowers at the fogged up window in Bobby’s kitchen, listlessly observing the wintery scene outside. He is bundled up in one of Dean’s old jackets – since he can now feel the bitter chill of winter on his skin – with a hot cup of coffee in tow. These items are necessities rather than luxuries in his humanized state. These are bitter reminders of what he has lost.
And yet he relishes in breathing in Dean’s scent from the jacket. The intoxicating aroma brings Castiel comfort. It feels like home.
Home. Heaven. A place where Castiel once felt secure. But now he is banished, an outcast to his brothers and sisters. What will he do now? Where can he go?
In his melancholic reverie, Castiel doesn’t seem to notice Bobby rolling into the kitchen and heading straight for the refrigerator to grab a beer. As he takes a swig of his beer, Bobby gives the crumpled, disheveled Castiel a once over, and then bellows out a rugged grunt. This hardly breaks Castiel out of his trance. Bobby rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath along the lines of, “Ain’t got time for this emotional angel princess crap.”
Bobby then grabs a half emptied bottle from the refrigerator and pours its amber contents into Castiel’s coffee. Castiel finally breaks his attention from the window when he smells the potency of the whiskey in his mug. He wrinkles his eyebrows to match his already wrinkled nose in curiosity.
“Figured you need some Irish in your coffee,” Bobby retorts, his eyes crinkling from his halfhearted smirk.
Castiel purses his lips in response, eventually managing to say “…Thank you.”
“Yea, yea. Just at least try to get your head back into stopping the apocalypse…when you’re ready, son” Bobby then starts heading for his study, mumbling “ya idgit” as he passes Castiel.
When will I ever be ready? I cannot face myself let alone my brothers and sisters… Castiel sighs in defeat as his eyes return to the snow falling outside. He gulps down his drink, embracing the fire that the contents ignite in his throat. It’s a good burn, he resolves. It numbs the pain, it fills the emptiness.
…
Dean has been watching Cas for awhile now. His heart wrenches seeing Cas this way. He knows what it’s like, to feel powerless in a hopeless situation. But that won’t stop Dean from trying. He and Sam had always muddled through, and Cas will be no exception. He’s family. He’s home. There’s gotta be something I can do…
Dean rises from the couch, mumbling to Sam and Bobby about needing a break from research, and walks over to Cas. He crouches by his side, hoping that maybe he could get his attention. When Cas doesn’t react to Dean’s presence at first, he considers touching his hand to break his reverie. To break that personal bubble, to feel Cas’ rough, callous skin touching his, Dean would give anything. But he’s so petrified over it being too much, over Cas not understanding exactly why Dean needs his touch, why he needs Cas. For someone who faces demons, angels, and any other crap that beats a kid’s nightmares, you’d think I could handle just touching the dude’s hand. Suddenly, however, Cas turns his attention to Dean. Dean is secretly relieved, for now he can save his bravery for another day.
…
Castiel suddenly becomes highly aware of Dean’s closeness, and turns around in his chair to see that Dean’s face is merely inches away from his. His skin tingles at the proximity, and he begins to feel his face flush. Is that normal? He and Dean do not lose eye contact for what feels like millennia. Castiel licks his lips as his eyes flick to Dean’s mouth for an instant. Dean then clears his throat and looks down – is he blushing? – at his shoes.
“Cas, buddy, how are ya feeling?” Dean asks nonchalantly, still facing the kitchen floor.
“Dean, I do not understand why you would make that query. You know that I—“
“Yea, Cas, I know. Your angel mojo has left the building. I get that. I don’t really care about that right now…Well, I do, but what I’m trying to say is…how do you feel?” Dean quickly mutters in a hushed tone, as if he were telling Castiel a profound secret. Dean finally looks up at Castiel, his eyes wide with concern.
“Why does that matter, Dean?” Castiel asks so he does not lose focus while under Dean’s gaze.
“I—It just…does. I don’t know man,” Dean looks away in defeat, “You’ve just seemed down since you’ve lost your VIP membership upstairs, and I—I just want you to feel better again.”
“I am aware that the mission is pertinent, Dean, and I am trying to feel ‘better,’ as you suggest, so that I can do what I can help with stopping the apocalypse.” Castiel huffs and gazes into Dean’s eyes, hoping to convey his thoughts without words. I will do what I can so I can be there for you when you need me. You should know that.
Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. “Cas. That’s not what I mean. I’m not thinking about the apocalypse right now. I’m thinking about us—well, ya know, you, me, Sammy, and Bobby—and how we’re all here now. Losing Ellen and Jo, it reminded me of how short life can be, and especially for us. I mean, with heaven and hell are out for our heads 24/7, the chopping block can’t be too far away. I just want the people I…care about… to be happy or to be as close as they can be to it. And you’re one of those people, Cas,” Dean manages the last part in an almost inaudible mumble as his face returns to the floor.
Castiel’s eyes widen at the confession. This is hardly Dean’s caliber of conversation; he usually grunts something about “sucking it up” whenever there were situations like this. Words like these would never pass his lips unless he feels a sense of urgency to say them, let alone to Castiel.
“So, I was thinking that we could celebrate Christmas this year,” Dean continues, “I know that being holly and jolly ain’t our thing, but I figured that since the world is probably going to end soon and things have been hard with Ellen and Jo gone, maybe we could lighten up the mood and think about other things for a little while.” He flashes Castiel a warm smile, and he can’t help but to bloom into a small smile in return. However, what Castiel was feeling inside does not match the action.
“While your intentions seem good, I am not sure if I would be interested in such festivities.” He purses his lips as he watches the hope slightly fade from Dean’s expression. This kills him.
“Why not? It’ll be great! We’ll drink spiked eggnog, get some pie, listen to some sickeningly cheery Christmas music…” Kiss under the mistletoe…
“I just do not think that I, a fallen angel, should be celebrating the birth of the Lord, Dean,” Castiel huffs, as if this is obvious, “Also, I do not think that I belong in such an event with your family. You all deserve a hiatus from this mess, including me.”
“Well, technically, the Christmas we celebrate now actually comes from pagan tradition,” Dean states matter-of-factly. He then seems to process what Cas says, and tightens his jaw.
“Cas. Believe me. You belong here. With us,”--With me-- “We want you around, especially for Christmas. We do deserve a break from this mess, you’re right about that, but so do you.”
“I do not know…” Castiel’s steely resolve is faltered by Dean’s words.
“Please, Cas. Let me help you feel okay again? I swear you won’t regret it.” Dean looks up at Castiel with childlike hope, his sinfully green eyes glistening with anticipation.
“…Whatever you have planned, I am certain it will be fine.” Castiel gives in to Dean’s pleas even though he truly doubts that anyone can help him at this point. Dean seems to see through his façade, however.
“You’ll see,” he says, placing his hand on Castiel’s shoulder ten seconds longer than platonic. Dean then gives him a reassuring smile before he walks back to the study.
Castiel downs the rest of his spiked – now cold – coffee and gets lost in thought as he stares at his mug. Why does he feel the need to do anything for me? I should be useless to him without my grace. He sighs in defeat and lays his head on the table, longing to sulk indefinitely. He then thinks back to the hope that drained from Dean’s eyes when he shot him down. No. I need to try. For him I will try. He rises from his chair and refills his mug with coffee and liquid courage, and shuffles over to the study.
“Need any help?”
All three hunters’ heads shoot up from their books and give each other inquisitive looks.
“You sure you’re up for that, Cas?” Dean carefully asks, hope returning in his eyes.
“I believe that I can manage to be of service.”
Bobby chews the inside of his cheek, but grunts in permission. “Alright then, boy. Grab a book,” He hands Castiel a massive text, “We’ve got a lot to cover.”
Castiel nods in gratitude and sits himself down next to Dean. Dean reddens at the realization that their knees are now touching. Castiel too realizes their closeness and looks down at his book to attempt to ignore the tingling sensation in his knee. The ex-angel and hunter look down at their books, giving the impression that they’re diligent in their research. But all either can think of is each other, and how they wish that they could be closer.
They don’t even realize that they have an audience. Bobby and Sam stare incredulously at the two.
Idgits, Bobby thinks as he rolls his eyes and returns to his books.
Those two are so in love it’s disgusting. Sam snorts at the scene before him and smirks to himself as he looks back down at his laptop. Can they just kiss already? The suspense is killing me.
Sam decides that he should give Cas a talk later to push him in the right direction. To, you know, get their heads in the game about stopping the apocalypse. Totally not to finally get these oblivious idiots together or anything. Definitely not that.