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2:37 PM
“Oh, jesus christ.”
Sam looks up from the case of craft beer he’d been considering and watches in bemusement as Dean gingerly puts a bottle of champagne back on the shelf, handling it like it’s a live explosive. He’s pretty sure he sees Dean let out an actual breath of relief once it’s out of his hands again.
“Dean? You good?”
Dean looks over at him, shocked disbelief all over his face. “Do you know how much that is?” Sam shrugs, stifling a grin at Dean’s tone. Dean points accusingly at the bottle. “That thing is three hundred dollars, Sam. Three hundred. For a bottle of fizzy wine.” He shakes his head. “I could buy… I could get so many flannels for three hundred dollars. Good ones, too, not the shitty Target ones that rip when you move too fast. Sturdy flannels.”
Sam levels him with a cheeky, sardonic look. “Dude, it’s fine. Just… I don’t know, don’t get us anything less than fifty dollars. We deserve a little splurge.”
Dean crosses his arms. “Well shit, what the hell d’you know about champagne, huh? Maybe the really expensive ones are a scam.”
“Y’know what,” Sam says, making the decision and picking up the case of beer he’d been looking at, “never mind. I defer to your good judgement, Dean. I’m gonna go grab the Bailey’s and the wine, okay? Meet me at the cash when you’re done.”
Dean watches him lope towards the wine shelves before turning back to the rows of bottles in front of him. Champagne’s not even that good, he grumbles internally. I’ll take a good old fashioned beer or a glass of whiskey over that shit any day.
Except, uh. Not any day, anymore. He’s been… trying to drink a little less, lately. Not because he thinks he’s got a problem or anything, it’s just…
Well. Doing the shit that’s s’posed to let you live longer doesn’t seem like as much of a waste of time as it used to.
He’s still gotta pick a bottle of champagne, though (preferably one that doesn’t make him wanna wrap it in pillows until it’s time to drink it), so he brushes that randomly sappy, philosophical train of thought aside and scans the prices on the shelves. Ouch, ouch, fucking what, ouch, meh, ouch… c’mon, are twenty dollar swill and liquid gold the only two choices here?
Wait. His eyes catch on a label, and he grins.
Hey. If it’s good enough for Freddie Mercury, it’s good enough for him.
— - —
“Look what I got.”
Sam pockets his phone and looks at the bottle. “Cool. Looks good.”
Dean sighs. “Really? Nothing?”
Sam raises his eyebrows, smiling faintly in that trademark ‘why are you like this’ way of his. “Uh. No? What, you want some applause or something?”
“Moet et Chandon, dude. Killer Queen. I know I’m not the biggest Queen fan, but Mercury could sing.”
They bicker about Sam’s lack of taste all the way through the line and out of the store, their alcohol split up between two big cardboard boxes. They’re just putting the stuff into the backseat of the Impala when Dean’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he rests one arm on the roof of the car as he answers it. Sam mirrors him, both arms pillowed on Baby’s shiny paint job, and for a moment Dean’s thrown back in time to any number of cases where they did exactly this as Bobby or Garth gave them the run-down on whatever grisly murder they were checking out.
“Hello, Dean.”
Then he’s back in the present: it’s almost New Years’ Eve, the most strenuous thing he and Sam are doing today is lugging these boxes of alcohol around, and Cas kissed him goodbye before he left earlier.
“Hey, Cas,” he responds, blinking a few times to dispel the layered afterimages of memory. “What’s up?”
“We need a few more things from the grocery store. Will you and Sam pick them up before you come home?”
“Sure,” he says, something intangible warming inside him at what Cas just said. “Text me the list and we’ll take care of it. We’re done here at the liquor store, so we shouldn’t be long.” Then he grins and waves his free hand at Sam to get his attention. “I got the champagne. It’s Moet et Chandon.”
“Like… the one from the Queen song?”
Dean straightens up, a big, satisfied smile growing on his face. “Hell yeah like from the Queen song. You’re awesome.”
Cas’ voice is indulgently amused in Dean’s ear as Sam rolls his eyes and gets into the car. “Thank you. The sentiment stands in your case, as well.”
Dean’s smile softens, and at a lower volume, he says, “Love you, Cas.”
“I love you too, Dean. Now please hurry up. We have relaxing to do.”
5:13 PM
“Cas, please,” Dean pleads. “I don’t know what that is, but I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Cas says gravely. “I have no choice.”
He puts down his card, and Dean slumps forward onto the table as Sam breaks into peals of laughter. Cas grins widely. “Uno,” he says simply. “And that is a plus four.”
Dean groans and adds the four cards to his already ridiculous hand. “That’s evil. You’re evil. I’m holding half the deck, here, you son of a bitch, this is just unnecessary.” He sighs, staring down at his huge fan of cards. “I hope you weren’t counting on getting a kiss at midnight, ‘cause that’s just gone right out the window.”
Sam snorts as he puts down his card, a regular-ass red two, and smiles at Jack. “Having fun yet?”
Dean levels his brother with a bitchface capable of curdling milk as Jack plays his card. “I feel like I’m being conspired against,” he mutters.
Sam ignores him and pops a handful of salted peanuts into his mouth. But then he freezes, eyes glued to the pile.
“I am now. Your turn, Dean,” Jack says brightly. He’s played a skip on Cas, Dean realizes, and the kid winks at Dean with a sneaky little grin on his face.
Dean turns slowly towards Sam and smiles evilly. “Oh. This is gonna be fun.”
Cas still wins. But you can bet your ass Dean has a damn good time making Sam suffer before that happens.
7:22 PM
Dean shakes his head as Miracle jumps off the couch, responding to Eileen’s cooing like the little traitor he is. “You’re not stealing my dog,” he warns over Harry and Sally wandering down a city street together. “That ball of fluff is mine, y’hear? You’ve already got Sam, don’t get greedy.”
She doesn’t bother responding, and neither does Sam except to toss a chip at him, but he sees enough of her smug smile to know she saw what he said.
But then a warm hand lands on his knee. “Don’t worry,” Cas says. “Miracle still loves you the best.”
Dean smiles, and after a quick side-eye to make sure the others are focused on the movie, he sneaks a kiss. “Even more than you do?” he says under his breath. One advantage of having his arm around Cas’ shoulders is that he can fiddle with the neck of his t-shirt with impunity: so, he does. His fingers brush lightly over the ridge of Cas’ collarbone, and the hand on his knee tightens.
“I don’t think I can quantify how much I love you,” Cas whispers in his ear. “I just have to hope that you can tell.” The hand on his knee inches up a little higher, and Dean does his best to stay very, very still. He’s never gonna live it down if Sam catches him and Cas fumbling like a pair of teenagers during a movie.
Then Cas, hidden from Sam’s eagle eyes by the darkness of the TV room and Dean’s head, presses his lips to the sensitive patch of skin just behind Dean’s ear, and it’s all Dean can do to keep from jumping out of his skin. He squeezes Cas’ shoulder in warning, and catches the faintest breath of laughter as Cas readjusts so that his head is pillowed on Dean’s shoulder.
Dean tugs him a little closer against his side and smiles. As long as he’s got Cas here next to him, he doesn’t care what they watch: hell, he could probably even deal with Hallmark movies as long as he had low, contented laughter in his ear and whispered comments about the bad acting.
Everything’s better when Cas is around.
And Billy Crystal is definitely funnier.
9:52 PM
“When did you pick up sparklers?” Dean asks, watching with a grin as Jack runs through the snow-dusted field with Miracle scampering at his heels, waving his sparkler madly. Cas hands another one off to Eileen, who says something cheeky about accidentally getting it too close to Sam’s hair. She shrieks as Sam scoops her up, spinning her around in a circle. Then they wander off towards Jack, hand in hand.
Cas shrugs, pulling a couple more out of the package. “I’ve had them since before Christmas. I thought it might be a nice surprise.”
“Well, angelcakes, you were right. Like you usually are,” Dean says, leaning in to bump his nose against Cas’ temple.
Cas scrunches his nose. “I don’t like that one. Please never call me that again.”
Dean just laughs and lights the two sparklers Cas is holding, squinting against the hissing fountain of sparks as he takes one and pockets his lighter. Cas grins softly at him, and Dean is both forcefully reminded of the night they met and struck by how different the man in front of him is from the cold, calculating angel he’d been back then.
Jeez, all the memories today. What gives?
Cas slides an arm around Dean’s waist as he twirls his sparkler through the air. “It’s a little ironic, isn’t it?”
“What?” Dean asks. He draws a dick with his sparkler and grins.
Cas tilts his head. “Sparks quite literally flew the first time we met face to face.”
Dean shakes his head. “God. We’re just a couple of walking clichés, huh? Too bad we’re chronic rule-breakers, too, or we mighta gotten here earlier.”
Cas shrugs, looking out at the field. “While I don’t disagree about the clichés, especially in your case,” he hedges cheekily, making Dean roll his eyes in mock-affront, “I confess I’m not upset with how we came to be. It may have taken us a long time, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything less. I don’t think we’d truly be us, otherwise,” he ends thoughtfully, staring at his sparkler.
“I guess not,” Dean says softly. Cas looks up and meets his eyes, and Dean smiles. “Now I’ve got you, though, I’m not lettin’ you go. Not for anything.”
Cas tugs him down into a kiss. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he says against Dean’s lips.
They stand together against the car until their sparklers burn themselves out.
11:49 PM
Sam pours the champagne, sparing Dean a knowing smile. “I wondered when this was gonna come up. That’s great, Dean. Eileen and I have been talking about it, too, but we didn’t want to rush you.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean says, crossing his arms and leaning back against the table. “I found a place, and Cas likes the look of it, so. We… we probably won’t move in until sometime in the spring or summer. With Jack’s little gift,” he says, sharing a smile with Sam, “I don’t think we’ll have any problems. I just… I wanted to work a little, make some of my own money.”
“Makes sense,” Sam agrees, handing Dean two glasses. They conveniently forgot that they didn’t have champagne flutes, so they’re drinking out of lowball glasses. Dean doesn’t mind, though. All that fancy glassware stresses him out.
Dean glances at the tv as he walks past, raising an eyebrow at Ryan Seacrest’s blinding, perfect smile. He puts the glasses down on the table and touches Cas’ shoulder, smiling when Cas looks up. “Your champagne, monsieur.”
“Ah, yes,” Cas says, crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. “Give Mr. Mercury my regards.” He takes Dean’s hand and presses his lips to the knuckles, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Dean feels his ears heat.
“You, uh…” he clears his throat. “I was gonna put a record on. You got a preference?”
Cas hums thoughtfully. “The Men of Letters left some big band albums behind, didn’t they? One of those would be nice.”
“Coming right up,” Dean says, and smiles before tugging his hand out of Cas’ grip and going over to fulfill his request.
The first strains of smooth, Glen Miller jazz have just crackled out from the speaker when a hand closes over Dean’s wrist and pulls him out into the open space behind the couch. Dean rolls his eyes as Cas takes one of Dean’s hands in his and puts the other on his waist. “Really?” he says with a grin, putting his free hand on Cas’ conveniently placed shoulder. “Dancing? I’m no Fred Astaire, Cas.”
Cas just smiles and sways him a little. “And I am certainly not Ginger Rogers. This seems simple enough, though.”
Dean watches out of the corner of his eye as Eileen drags Sam up to dance, too. He’s hilariously stiff until she pulls him down to whisper something in his ear. Then he gets with the program.
“Five minutes to midnight,” Dean says, looking into Cas’ eyes. “Is it too early to say see you next year?”
“Next year, and the year after that, and every one to follow,” Cas says lowly. “You’re stuck with me.”
“That’s alright with me,” Dean says, and then Cas rests his cheek on Dean’s as they sway back and forth in the buttery lamplight.
“Hey,” Jack says not long after, startling both couples out of their respective trances. “The countdown is starting.”
They all join in when the count dwindles to ten, the crystal ball above Times Square rippling with coloured lights. At five seconds, Cas puts his lips to Dean’s ear.
“Follow my lead,” he whispers.
“—three, two, one, Happy New Year!”
But before Dean can even think about turning to lay one on Cas, he suddenly finds himself nearly horizontal, Cas’ arm curled around his lower back in a strong, steady support. And all Dean can do is throw his arms around Cas’ neck and hold on tight as he’s kissed within an inch of his life.
Sam wolf whistles, and Dean’s face sets itself aflame as Eileen crows something he thinks is, “Get it, Cas!” He’s a little preoccupied, though, so he can’t be sure.
When Cas finally rights him again and breaks away, Dean can’t do anything but stare.
“Wow,” he breathes, then flushes. Cas just smiles, more than a little smugly, and pecks him once more.
“Happy New Year, Dean,” he says. “Was that a satisfactory start?”
“Satisfactory,” Dean laughs breathlessly. “If that’s satisfactory, I can’t wait to see what good’s like.”
“I’ll be sure to show you,” Cas says with a grin. “We have time.”
Dean smiles, tugging Cas close again. “We sure do. Happy New Year, Cas.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Y’know. I’ve got a good feeling about this year.”
Cas smiles, and it feels like the start of a new day. “Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.”