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The Milligan Christmas Tree Farm was on the distant outskirts of Winchester, even further from the city than the farm. Dean, always one to ride a joke until the wheels fell off, announced that they were crossing over into West Virginia about two miles up the road from Bunker Hill.
“Really?” Jack said, from the truck’s back seat. “I didn’t know we were that close.”
“Oh, yeah,” Dean continued. “Haven’t you noticed the increase in Trump signs?”
“We’re not in West Virginia,” Castiel said, glancing over his shoulder. “Dean just likes seeing people’s reactions when he says that. He did the same thing to me the first time we drove this way.”
Dean chuckled and reached for the radio. To Castiel’s surprise, he turned up “All I Want for Christmas Is You” without him even asking.
“This is my dad’s favorite Christmas song,” Jack said glumly. “It’s always the first one he plays when we decorate the tree.”
“You used to love Mariah Carey when you were little.”
“No I didn’t!”
“Yes, you did. You don’t remember it, but you used to bounce in my lap and laugh when you heard the beginning of this song. That’s one of my clearest memories from your first Christmas.”
“Dad, I was less than a year old. I probably laughed at all kinds of stuff.”
“You did, actually. You were a very happy baby.” Castiel turned to Dean. “You’re right, darling. There’s an observable increase in Trump signs the further we get from downtown.”
“Yeah, well.” Dean flicked his blinker and slowed into a left turn. “There you go, Kate put up a Bernie sign. Or Adam did.”
“I met Kate once at the farmer’s market. Who’s Adam?”
“Her son.” Dean pulled into the parking spot beside Sam’s car. “Few years older than Jack. He goes to UVA; he and Kevin carpool back and forth sometimes.”
“I’m guessing he’s the Bernie fan,” Castiel said.
“Stereotype much, Dad?”
Castiel twisted in his seat for a retort, but a rap on his window interrupted him. It was Sam.
“Hey,” Sam said, once Castiel opened the door. “Eileen and I were just looking at the sign with all the prices. They have replantable trees. Think we should get one of those instead?”
“That does sound more sustainable,” Castiel said.
“What’s that?” Jack said.
“It’s when they sell you a Christmas tree with intact roots. Usually in a pot. That way, you can put it in the ground after Christmas instead of mulching it.” Dean pocketed the truck’s keys. “Does it say what type of tree the potted ones are?”
“Fraser firs?” Sam said, sounding uncertain.
“Alright, yeah. That should do alright, as long as I harden him off as soon as possible and plant him somewhere with good drainage.” Dean hopped out onto the gravel. “That sound good to you, fiancé?”
Castiel beamed across the front seat at him. Even after more than half a year, he was still amazed by how much Dean knew about growing things, nurturing them. In his mind, that corpus of knowledge was one of the many things that made Dean an especially attractive partner.
“Um.” Castiel realized that everyone was waiting for him to respond. “Yes. It sounds wonderful. Fiancé.”
Sam turned to Eileen and signed one hand placing a ring onto the other. She laughed.
“You guys still aren’t tired of calling each other that?” Jack said, as he emerged from the back seat and joined everyone else between Sam’s car and Dean’s truck.
“Oh, give them a break.” Sam led the way through the tree farm’s front gate. “They just got engaged the day before yesterday.”
Right inside the entrance to Milligan’s was an espresso stand advertising cider and hot chocolate, big black letters on whitewashed signs. Next to that was a wreath vendor, then finally the booth where a lean blonde woman and an equally blond young man stood at cash registers underneath a banner reading Farmed Fraser Fir. Castiel supposed they were Kate and Adam.
“They’re right in front,” Dean said, sounding pleased. Castiel looked at him.
“Huh?”
“The potted trees.” Dean pointed at a nearby row, down which Sam and Eileen were already perusing.
“They’re kind of small,” Jack said.
“Yeah, they kind of have to be. The older a tree gets, the harder it is to transplant it. Plus, a bigger tree means bigger roots, which means a bigger pot. Which means you’re getting into forklift territory when it comes to moving a potted tree that’s six feet or more.” Dean raised his eyebrows at Castiel. “Why’re you giving me that look, angel?”
“Look?” Castiel closed his mouth, laughed self-consciously. “What look?”
Jack just sighed and followed Sam and Eileen down the row of trees. Dean returned Castiel’s laugh with one of his own.
“What look?” Castiel said again.
“Oh, you know. The sort of dopey look you get sometimes.”
Castiel elbowed him.
“The adorable dopey look you get sometimes,” Dean amended. He curled his arm around Castiel’s waist.
“Well, when you put it that way.”
Dean hummed, kissed Castiel’s temple.
“Hey, what do you know. Two dudes kissing in the middle of Red America, and no one batted an eyelid.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
They started walking, and Dean commented here and there on the trees they passed—trunk strength, needle coloration, branch density. They seemed to be arranged roughly in order of size, so of course Sam, Eileen, and Jack had made a beeline for the tallest specimens at the end of the row.
“Looks like they’ve settled on one,” Castiel said, nodding up ahead. “It’s almost as tall as Sam.”
“Yeah, I’ll take a look at it. Main thing is that it’s healthy. Otherwise, it’ll end up as blueberry mulch, just like all the other Christmas trees.”
Castiel slowed, then stopped. Dean peered at him quizzically.
“Dean, have I ever told you how much I respect all the knowledge you have?”
Dean blinked. “What? What knowledge?”
“You know how to grow things. How nature works. And you’re so confident and authoritative when you talk about horticulture. It’s very….”
“Sexy?” Dean winked.
“Comforting,” Castiel finished. “And sexy too, I guess.”
Dean snorted. “Well, I appreciate that. Fiancé.”
“Fiancé.” Castiel let the word linger on his tongue as he reached for Dean’s hand. “You know, at least once every hour, I’ve been looking over to admire my ring on you.”
“I noticed,” Dean said, winking again. “Here, before I forget.”
Dean wiggled off his engagement ring and lay it in Castiel’s palm. Every one of the emerald’s facets glimmered in the afternoon sun.
“Uh. Well, you’ll be surprised to learn that this actually isn’t the shortest engagement in my family’s history.”
“Funny.” Dean closed Castiel’s fingers over the ring. “Keep that safe for me. I don’t want to damage it while I’m inspecting the tree. Or moving it, especially if we have to use equipment.”
Castiel smiled as he slipped the ring into his coat pocket. It was still warm with Dean’s body heat, and Castiel kept his hand wrapped around it longer than he needed to, just to feel it.
Of course, Dean could’ve just kept it safe in his jeans, but then he wouldn’t have handed over his engagement ring to his future husband “in the middle of Red America.” With Dean, it was always quiet little things like this that spoke the loudest.
Even now, all these months later, Castiel still couldn’t believe how lucky he was.
“Alright.” Dean rubbed his hands together. “Let’s go get ourselves a Christmas tree.”