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Reaching up and tugging his tie away from his neck to let some chilly winter air soothe the nervous sweat gathering at the back of his collar, Castiel gave what he hoped was an interested-looking nod to the overdressed mechanic in front of him.
“You’re barely hearing a word I’m sayin’, huh?” the guy said, not unkindly.
“I, uh—” Castiel flushed deeply, caught. Well, shit. “I’m sorry, I’m just—I’m very tired, and—”
“Don’t sweat it, cher,” the burly, blond-bearded man said, reaching across to slap Castiel on the shoulder.
Despite "sweating it" being exactly what Castiel was doing, he did his best to offer the guy—he thought his name might have been Benny, but he wasn’t going to say it aloud in case he was wrong—a warm smile. “Really, I apologize.”
“It’s okay. Dean told me you weren’t the best at all this stuff,” Maybe-Benny said, jerking his thumb back over his shoulder to the cleared out warehouse in downtown Sioux Falls, behind Dean’s garage.
“He did?” Castiel internally cringed with embarrassment. Had Dean had to warn all of his employees about how awkward Castiel was?
Alright, guys, I’m bringing my boyfriend to the staff Christmas party. He’s super weird, can’t read social cues, and couldn’t catch a reference with two hands and a mitt—
Crap, Possibly-Benny was still talking.
“My Andrea is like that, too,” he said, his voice kinder and warmer than Castiel expected. “She gets real anxious around folks she doesn’t know. Dean said I should bring her tonight, ‘course, but she just wasn’t up for it.”
Castiel nodded. “Yes, well, I, uh,” he said eloquently.
“You could’ve stayed home too, no one would’ve judged ya.”
The permanent knot in Castiel’s chest loosened. “I didn’t want to let Dean down. He’s been wanting me to come down to the shop for months, and—well, I am, technically, an employee.”
“That you are. Dean’s always talking about how good you’ve been for the numbers side of things. You’re gonna be full time in the new year, huh?”
Tugging his trench coat around himself more firmly to ward off the frosty air, Castiel nodded. “Yes. I’ve been part-time for about nine months now, but the work is increasing enough that I can finally leave my other job.”
“And what was that?”
I scrape Hannah’s sticky pastries off of dirty plates and wash hundreds of coffee mugs per day. “Uh, coffee,” Castiel went with. “I work at the cafe near the Astronomy Museum.”
“Oh, Heavenly Bodies? That explains why Dean goes there so much, I guess.”
Castiel smiled fondly. Even though they’d been together for most of the year by then, Dean’s regular ‘not-date’ visits to have coffee with Castiel during his lunch break were still a thing, as often as Dean could manage it.
He’d miss that, when he was only doing accounting—full-time hours split between the businesses Dean had inherited from Bobby, Singer Salvage, Singer Auto Repair, and Singer Classics, the specialty detailing business Dean had built up himself .
“Looks like Jo’s gettin’ a little outta hand over there,'' Hopefully-Benny announced, nodding toward the bar. “I should go save Garth before he ends up as pink as his shirt.”
“Thank you for talking to me,” Castiel said, then instantly flushed as he realized how pathetic that sounded.
“Don’t have to thank me, I like talking to people—” His chuckle was deep and rich and, Castiel thought, a little teasing. “—unlike some folks. Oh, and the name’s Benny, by the way. In case you’re up in your head wonderin’ about that.”
Castiel let out a low sigh. “Benny. Right.”
Laughing, Benny clapped his shoulder once more and peeled away from the wall where they’d been standing, under the awning that reached out from the side of the warehouse. He strode out across the snowy patio to the other side, where most of the outdoor action was happening—a makeshift bar that Dean had hastily constructed from a few tables and stools, next to the open door that led into the warm warehouse.
Castiel’s eyes shifted to the crackling fire pit in the middle of the patio as Benny passed it. Sam was standing there with his half-brother Adam, deep in discussion with a brown-haired woman that Castiel hadn’t been introduced to. From the way the small group were moving their hands, he realized that they were using—or attempting to use, in Sam’s case—sign language.
Ahh—so that must be Eileen.
Dean had told him about her. Adam, a vampire like the Winchesters, had met her during the summer while he’d been tracking a murderous Men of Letters’ operative named Ketch. She was a hunter, but a "good one," he claimed.
After learning that there were good vampires, the existence of honorable hunters wasn’t such a surprise to Castiel anymore. Not everyone was like his traditional, uber-conservative Men of Letters family.
And thank God for that.
Castiel watched as Sam laughed, his long hair flopping out from behind his ear as he gazed at Eileen, enraptured.
Interesting...very interesting. Castiel made a mental note not to mention that possible development to Dean. He’d only take it as an opportunity to rib Sam with all his might, and Sam deserved better. He’d been alone a long time.
Until he’d met Dean, Castiel had been an expert on loneliness. He couldn’t begrudge his friend having someone in his life, be they hunter or vampire or anything in between.
“Hey, handsome,” came Dean’s voice in Castiel’s ear, making him jump.
“Dean! You scared me, I didn’t see you coming at all.”
Dean chuckled low, wrapping his arms around Castiel from behind as he affected a terrible faux-Transylvanian accent and whispered into Castiel’s ear, “I am the night!”
“Dork,” Castiel muttered, shoving Dean away affectionately. “What are you doing over here? Shouldn’t you be socializing, mister boss man?”
“Eh, I have,” Dean said, shrugging as he moved around to Castiel’s side and entwined their fingers. “I’ve shown my face everywhere it needs showing, had a couple of drinks, done the ‘party responsibly’ speech. I figure I’m off the hook now.”
Castiel looked over at him, raising an eyebrow.
“No one really wants to party with the boss anyway,” Dean pointed out. “And I saw you talking to Benny. He’s a great guy, but it looked like you might want a rescue.”
“I didn’t use the sign,” Castiel pointed out. “Not yet, at least.”
Not long after Dean had first started slowly introducing Castiel to his friends, family, and co-workers, they’d developed a secret sign: if Castiel caught Dean’s eye and surreptitiously tugged on his ear, then he was getting overwhelmed. Dean would swoop in and subtly extract him, and they’d leave, without question.
Castiel loved their sign, and he loved Dean for suggesting it.
Dean grinned. “I know. Proud of you, Cas. But really, we can go, I’m ready to get outta here.”
Relief crashed into Castiel. “Oh, thank God,” he said, ignoring Dean’s immediate laughter. “Yes, let’s go, thank you. What about Sam, though? Didn’t you give him a ride here?”
“I left him Baby’s keys. Figured we could take a little Christmas Eve walk back to my place,” Dean suggested, jiggling Castiel’s fingers between his, “if you’re up for that.”
“Sounds wonderful,” Castiel admitted. “Even though I’ve been standing out here for a couple of hours, I still feel like I could use some fresh air.”
“Knew it.”
“Shut it, you,” Castiel muttered, jabbing Dean in the ribs.
They slipped out of the back entrance to the warehouse, cutting down a short alley to the street. Downtown was beautiful and still, a glorious, Christmassy sense of waiting hanging in the air.
It hadn’t been Dean’s first choice to hold the Singer Christmas Extravaganza, as he’d been calling it for months, on Christmas Eve. But it had ended up being the time that worked best for most of his employees, so he’d agreed.
“Do you need to stop by your apartment for anything?” Dean asked as they walked along, his words puffing from his lips in a white cloud.
Castiel shook his head. “No, I hid yours and Sam’s gifts at the house days ago.”
“At the house?” Dean spread his hand dramatically on his chest for a moment, aghast, before shoving it back into the warmth of his pocket. “I can’t believe you hid them right under my nose like that.”
“It was fun to be able to smirk to myself every time you walked right past them.”
“Oh, you’re a mean one. Our first Christmas together, and this is the treatment I get.”
Castiel shrugged nonchalantly. “I had to keep them hidden; what if you were bad and ended up only deserving coal? That could’ve been awkward if you’d already seen them.”
Dean’s grin turned coy as they turned off the main stretch of downtown streets and began to head uphill, their boots crunching in unison across old, iced-over snow. “I thought you liked it when I was bad.”
“Haven’t had much time to be bad or good recently,” Castiel said, before quickly catching himself and wincing. “Sorry.”
“Ouch.”
“It’s okay. I know you’ve been busy.”
“Clearly not okay, or you wouldn’t have said it,” Dean pointed out calmly, looking straight ahead.
“It’s not okay, but I do understand. You have three businesses to run, I don’t expect you to make time for me every day.”
“But you should ,” Dean said firmly, his brow wrinkled deeply. “Jesus, Cas. You should expect everything , because that’s what you deserve. I know I’ve been a shitty boyfriend this last month or two with work getting so busy. I'm going to make it up to you, though—”
“Dean,” Castiel interrupted softly, squeezing his hand tight. “Really, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to fight, or get into some kind of discussion about it. I don’t know why I even said it.”
Dean fell silent, and they settled back into comfortable quiet as they wound their way up the long hill to Singer Salvage, and the old, ramshackle house at the back of the lot where Dean and his brother lived.
Overhead, the heavy clouds made the evening darker, street lamps and Christmas lights barely penetrating the cold air. The illuminations they passed seemed to twinkle in the gathering fog, rays radiating out from the dots of light ahead of them like little stars in the dark, velvety night.
“It’s snowing,” Dean observed.
“Is it?” Castiel asked, peering up at the sky, far beyond his eyes, and poking out his tongue experimentally.
“It’s not here yet,” Dean said, his chin lifted. “Can smell it, though.”
“Ahh,” Castiel said, his smile teasing. “How long before my puny human senses get to enjoy it?”
“Just a few minutes, probably,” Dean said, laughing. “My nose isn’t that good.”
“You can smell when it’s going to rain an hour before it happens,” Castiel pointed out as they crossed the street.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “but I can kinda cheat with rain. I can feel it in my shoulder as soon as the air pressure begins to change.”
Castiel’s hand rose out of habit, resting gently on Dean’s shoulder blade that was closest to him. He rubbed a circle on Dean’s khaki jacket above it, a soft touch of acknowledgment for an old injury of Dean’s—an injury that had brought them together, in the end. “Does it hurt?” he asked.
“A little,” Dean admitted, “but it’s really not bad. As long as I keep stretching it and doing the exercises, I don’t think I’ll need to go back to physical therapy again.”
Castiel nodded, content with Dean’s answer. He slid his hand back down, locking his fingers back between Dean’s. His palm felt cool against Castiel’s, Dean’s body temperature naturally running a little lower. Automatically, Dean tucked both of their hands into his warm pocket.
“You should go out tonight, stretch out your muscles a little,” Castiel said as he watched the first few snowflakes begin to fall. Dean was never wrong about the weather.
“Not gonna leave you alone on Christmas Eve,” Dean said, almost chastising.
“Don’t have to be gone for long,” Castiel pointed out. “It’s crisp and clear, just a few flakes here and there...good flying weather. Besides, that means I can get your gifts out and you won’t see where my hiding place is, so I can reuse it for your birthday.”
“Sneaky.” Dean laughed, using his hip to push open the creaky wooden gate that led up the short path to his house, the old, much-loved tri-level ranch that he’d inherited from his uncle Bobby. “You’re sure?”
“Of course,” Castiel answered. “Go ahead. I can take your clothes inside if you want to frolic in the snow.”
“I do not frolic, ” Dean complained half-heartedly, though he was already pulling off his jacket and passing it to Castiel.
His shirt, boots, and jeans followed in quick order, his underwear dropped unceremoniously on top of the pile in Castiel’s arms.
There was a good reason Dean lived in such a secluded spot at the back of the salvage yard, for sure.
“Have fun.”
“Thanks, Cas,” Dean said, leaning over the clothing pile to kiss the tip of Castiel’s nose. “You’re the best. Front door keys are in my jeans pocket, okay?”
With that, Castiel’s boyfriend took off down the path at a run, buck naked.
“Be careful!” Castiel called, watching the moonlight highlight the curves of Dean’s ass and the musculature of his back, until he took a leap into the air and faded into the black.
“SKREEEE!” Dean answered joyfully, flying out of sight.
***
Waking up with Castiel curled against his chest was one of Dean’s favorite things in the whole world. It still felt like the greatest honor of his life to be allowed to behold this gorgeous, wonderful man, who not only accepted him just as he was, but loved him—all of him, wholly, without reservation.
Castiel thought very differently of himself, Dean knew, but that was okay. Dean loved Cas the way he was, too, after all. Though he still made sure to remind Castiel how awesome he was on a daily basis.
Watching how it made his boyfriend squirm when he did was just an adorable added benefit.
“Morning, Cas,” Dean whispered down into his wild, dark hair.
Castiel gave a displeased grunt into the cleft of Dean’s shoulder, burrowing down and tugging up the blanket a little further.
“Oh, come on,” Dean coaxed, shuffling his hands down to find Castiel’s sides and drag teasing, tickling touches up the sides of them. “It’s Christmas morning, mister grump.”
Castiel mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “It’s not fucking Christmas until I’ve had some god damned coffee.”
“My, my,” Dean joked, affecting a high-pitched, southern accent. “What language, Mister Novak.”
Castiel elbowed Dean in the kidney as he turned over and dived into the pillows once more.
“Alright, alright,” Dean said, rubbing at his side. “I’ll put the coffee on and start breakfast. But then you’ve gotta emerge and sit in front of the tree in your pajamas, all rumpled and cute.”
The single blue eye that glared out from under the blanket was threateningly squinted.
“Or not cute,” Dean amended, slipping out of the bed and onto the unfinished wooden planks of his bedroom floor. He tiptoed around to the other side of the bed, leaning down to press his lips to Castiel’s forehead where it poked out of the sheets.
Castiel gave a pleased little hum into the pillow.
Definitely cute.
By the time Dean had made his way down to the chilly, tiled kitchen and pummeled the ancient coffeemaker into submission, Sam had returned to the house from his run. A sharp breeze came through the back door with him, sweeping a few flakes of snow into the kitchen.
“Morning,” he said, pulling off his heavy woolen beanie. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas,” Dean replied, pulling down another mug from the cupboard and holding it up in question. “Coffee?”
“Yeah, please, my hands are freezing.”
“Can’t believe you went running on Christmas day, dude,” Dean said, squinting disapprovingly at the wet footprints Sam left all over the floor.
“I like running, and it’s really pretty out with all the fresh snow. I can’t believe that you’re even awake,” Sam returned as he unwrapped his scarf.
“Cas is here,” Dean explained, stirring the coffees and chink -ing the spoon annoyingly on the side of each cup. “Stayed over last night. Figured we do gifts and all that early, and then have a lazy day.”
“Oh, cool. Well, I’ll stay out of your way then, so you can have some couple time.” Sam beamed warmly, not malicious in the slightest; he’d really warmed up to Castiel since he and Dean had officially gotten together, despite his initial warnings to Dean that the human was bad news.
“That’s not fair, you live here too,” Dean pointed out.
Sam waved a hand before reaching for his mug. “Nah, seriously. It’s your first Christmas together, and I know you’ve got plans. It’s no big deal. I’ll text Adam and see if him and Kate can squeeze one more in for lunch.”
Dean smirked down at the coffee. “Nothing to do with Eileen staying with them for Christmas?”
Behind him, Sam spluttered. “Wh—no! No, of course not.”
“Sure, sure, of course, of course,” Dean agreed sarcastically, before shooting Sam a grin. “Get outta here. And text me before you head back.”
Sam frowned, stood in the kitchen doorway, blowing cool air across his coffee. “Why?”
“Cas is here and you’re gonna be out. Like you said, I have plans, and I can’t be held responsible for where we choose to—”
“Oh, GOD ,” Sam barked, wrinkling his nose and scurrying away down the hallway. “Gross, gross. Text you, got it.”
Dean chuckled under his breath, letting a content grin spread across his face. He really did have plans for the day—maybe not kinky ones, as he’d insinuated, but important ones.
***
Castiel reluctantly shuffled his way down the stairs, avoiding the third one from the bottom out of habit; it made an awful noise and bent oddly when it was stepped on. It was one of a hundred things that Dean had plans to fix around the old house, but with the boom in business he’d had this year, the old Singer home was in no better shape than it had been when they met.
Secretly, Castiel loved it the way it was.
His apartment was falling apart, too, but in a different way—his tiny, fourth-floor abode was simply decrepit, not maintained in living memory. It was the only reason he could afford to live there, alone. Dean’s house was merely old, the stories of so many people embedded in its walls and floors that it flaked a bit under their weight. It felt truly like a home, not like the messy jumble that Castiel lived in.
In the kitchen, Dean was easing bacon out of a pan and onto the edges of two waffle-stacked plates.
“I knew I started dating you for a reason,” Castiel rumbled happily, padding barefoot across the freezing floor. His voice was heavy and sleepy, cracking as he spoke. Mornings. Ugh.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” Dean greeted him, moving across to the other counter to pass Castiel a ready-prepared cup of coffee. “Merry Christmas.”
Castiel took a long glug of coffee, savoring the sweet warmth as it flowed down his throat and brought him closer to awake. Two more sips and he stepped up to Dean, molding himself fluidly to his front to greet him with a kiss. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”
Dean gazed at him so softly, so openly, that Castiel’s heart thumped. He knew that Dean loved him, they’d been together long enough by now that Castiel was pretty confident of it, but in that moment a gentle adoration just radiated from Dean, and Castiel felt like he was melting under it.
“Love you, Cas,” Dean said, his hands on Castiel’s hips.
Castiel smiled over the top of his coffee mug, his arms tucked between them. “I love you, too. Where’s Sam?”
“Upstairs, getting changed after his run. I think he’s going to go to Adam’s for lunch today, leave the house to us.”
“That’s very thoughtful of him,” Castiel observed. “I hope he doesn’t feel forced out of his own home by me being here, though.”
“Nah, Dean said, lifting both of their plates of bacon and waffles and nodding toward the living room. “Sam loves you. If anything, I think he’d like me to move out and you to stay, given the choice.”
Chuckling into his coffee, Castiel moved into the living room. Given that Dean was very much not a decor person in general—his house was always clean but mostly functional—the Winchesters seemed to go all out for Christmas.
At home, Castiel had a tiny tabletop tree that he spent hours persuading his cat, Miggles, not to eat.
Sam and Dean, though, had a huge real tree that they’d actually gone upstate to chop themselves, and it was covered in a million ornaments from their childhoods and that memorialized different events throughout their lives. Christmas, Castiel suspected, was one of the times when Dean felt closest to the memory of his mother, who’d passed when he was young.
“Passed” sounded much nicer than “been murdered by Castiel’s family.”
Castiel pushed down the eternal twinge of guilt. He knew Dean didn’t see Castiel that way, didn’t see him as just a Novak, an old-world Men of Letters’ family who exterminated everything they didn’t understand. But even so, Castiel couldn’t help but spare a melancholy thought for the woman he’d never get to meet, missing her simply because Dean did.
Dean dropped down to his knees in front of the tree, carefully taking the plates down with him. “Breakfast, then presents!” he announced, shuffling Castiel’s plate toward him across the floor before reaching behind the tree to flick on the lights, illuminating the otherwise dim room.
“Thank you for cooking,” Castiel said. He reached across to grab one of the thick fleece throws from the couch, tugging it around himself over his striped pajamas before he dug into his waffles.
“Good idea,” Dean murmured, cocooning himself in the same way before sticking a hand out to snatch his bacon.
“You’re feral,” Castiel noted fondly, watching Dean devour the crisp slices with his bare hands.
“In all forms, and you love me anyway,” Dean agreed, grinning widely.
Castiel nudged their knees together, warm under his blanket despite the old house’s lack of modern heating. He gazed up at the tree while he ate, looking at all the different ornaments—there were some with tiny photographs in, showing chubby-cheeked baby Sam and an over-excited looking little Dean, opening a gift with unbridled glee, all 80s hair and toddler dungarees. There were more recent ones, made of colorful clay and with words like “Law School Grad!” and “Business Owner!” in curly Christmas letters.
And then there were more ornate ones, beautiful glass spirals and lace snowflakes, that had been in the Winchester family for years. Castiel had no traditions like that, given that his mother was a cold, disapproving bitch. Could probably hang her heart on the tree...that was surely made of ice.
Castiel was gazing up at a pretty enamel ornament in the shape of a Christmas gift when Dean nudged his shoulder, pulling him back into the room—and then straight into his otherwordly green eyes as he grinned across at Castiel.
“Glad you’re here,” he said.
“Me too,” Castiel admitted. “It beats Christmas alone with Miggles. Hannah always invited me to spend the season with her family, but honestly, it got awkward after a few years. Miggles chews on the decorations, but at least doesn’t ask how I’m doing in that tone that means, ‘still a loner, huh? ’ ”
“Yikes,” said Dean through a light chuckle. “Well, none of that here, sunshine. Just you and me, modest gifts, and a bottle of whiskey in front of the TV.”
“That sounds, honestly, entirely perfect,” Castiel confessed.
“Well, then,” Dean said, shoving his empty plate aside, “let’s get on with the presents.”
Castiel placed his plate atop Dean’s from where it’d been cradled, empty, in his hands as he stared at the tree. “Do you want to go first?”
“Sure,” Dean said, leaning toward the tree, before suddenly stopping. “Actually, uh—no, how about you go first?”
Side-eyeing his boyfriend's unusual weirdness, Castiel slowly nodded as he reached for Dean’s presents. “Sure,” he said. “That’s not strange at all.”
“Not strange,” Dean said, a little too fast. “Just eager to see what you got for me.”
And eager he seemed to be, ripping into his gifts with a joy not far removed from that of the toddler Dean hanging in the tree. He cooed and oohed over his car magazines, his original Led Zeppelin vinyl, his Dr. Sexy Calendar. The final gift Castiel gave him was tiny, soft, and hard to wrap, so he’d dropped it into a teeny paper bag covered in snowflakes.
“Technically it’s a tree ornament,” Castiel said, “so I thought you could add it to your collection. But I’ll also do anything you want if I can get just one photo of you wearing it.”
“Cas!” Dean grumbled, his cheeks pink as he pulled the tiny Santa hat out of the tissue paper. “You are the worst.”
“I know,” Castiel agreed serenely. “But just think how viral that picture will become.”
There had to be, Castiel figured, at least one gag gift. A bat-sized red and white Santa hat was too hard to resist.
“You’ll do anything, huh?” Dean asked, waggling his eyebrows. “Agree to anything?”
Castiel rolled his eyes. “Like you don’t get your way ninety percent of the time already.”
“Well, remember that in a minute when you get your gift, then,” Dean quipped.
They hung the minuscule hat on the tree, and Castiel set about gathering all the strips of ripped wrapping paper that Dean had thrown around in excitement. By the time he’d piled them up for recycling, Dean was ready, his blanket cocoon loose around his shoulders as he sat up straight, watching Castiel.
“I get my gift now?” Castiel asked, shuffling back to his spot beside the tree.
Dean reached across and grabbed his thighs, turning them so that their knees touched as they sat crossed-legged on the floor. “I put a lot of thought into what to get you for Christmas,” he began.
Castiel couldn’t work out why Dean seemed nervous—it wasn’t a trait he associated with Dean at the best of times, and even less when it was just the two of them. Ever since each of them had their deepest secrets exposed to the other, they’d been nothing but open and honest throughout their relationship.
“I’m sure I’ll love it, Dean,” Castiel said reassuringly. “Just being here with you for Christmas is the best gift, anyway.”
Dean smiled at that and it seemed to fortify him. “I was kinda hoping you’d think that,” he confessed.
Reaching up, Dean twisted around toward the tree. At first, Castiel thought that Dean was going for the pretty ornament shaped like a gift that he’d been looking at while they ate, but no. Dean reached beyond it, parting the branches, dipping his hands deep into the boughs of the tree. A whoosh of pine scent released as he pulled his arms back.
Dean held an ornament, barely the size of his palm.
“It’s a bat—” Castiel began, grinning, before his own throat cut him off sharply.
Resting in Dean’s hand, held out like an offering, the slightly sparkly bat ornament had a thin, blood red ribbon tied around its neck.
From the ribbon hung a simple silver band.
“Cas,” Dean said softly, “you said a minute ago that you’d agree to anything I wanted. Well...as corny as it is, this is really the only thing that I’m desperately hoping you’ll agree to.”
Castiel swallowed hard. He was shaking. “Is—Dean, is that…”
Dean nodded, looking a little shaky himself. “Yeah, Cas. It is. Ornaments are kind of a tradition in the Winchester family, and giving you a bat for your first one seemed kinda fitting considering I’m hoping to give you, well...me.”
Overwhelmed, Castiel’s hand flew to cover his mouth.
After pulling in a deep, rough breath, Dean continued. “Castiel, I have never felt the kind of happiness that I’ve known since I met you. I know I’ve been busy, not been the boyfriend you deserve. I wanted to just ask you to move in here with me so that we could be together more, but it didn’t feel like enough. I want more than that, with you. Being attacked by your cat was the best thing that ever happened to me,” he confessed with a chuckle.
Castiel was pretty sure he was crying, but he managed an amused grin anyway.
“So…” Dean said, plucking at the knot that held the ribbon around the bat’s neck to release it. He held up the ring, moistening his lips. “Will you marry me, Cas?”
Oh, Castiel was definitely crying, now. Shaking, snotty sobs that made his chest rattle as he dived forward, throwing his arms around Dean’s shoulders.
Dean was laughing, soothing him with his strong arms, the blanket he’d been wrapped with pooled around his waist. “Is that a yes? I can’t tell.”
“Of course it’s a yes!” Castiel managed to squeak out, thumping Dean’s chest. “Put that ring on me, you jerk.”
Kissing Castiel’s forehead, Dean was beaming as he thumbed Castiel’s tears from his cheeks. When he pulled back and reached for Castiel’s hand, Castiel could see that his cheeks were gleaming, too.
Staring down at the heavy, shining band that Dean slipped up over his knuckle and settled onto his ring finger, Castiel shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t—I really never thought I’d have this, that marriage was an option. I didn't think anyone would ever choose an awkward, anxious mess of a barista for a husband.”
Dean’s arms pulled him back in, and he tugged the blanket up around them both, cocooning them within. “You’re more than an option,” he murmured into the side of Castiel’s damp cheek. “You’re my first choice.”