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It’s Christmas Eve. Supposed to be one of the most wonderful blah blah pie and partying family days of the year. Time to appreciate crap and send all the shit to the back of your mind for one day and be merry and gay, damn it.
And he could - be merry. Put up a show. The gay part sure as shit wasn’t going nowhere.
He’s got everyone here. Everything he’s ever wanted.
So why was his heart racing so damn fast and his voice trapped in his chest; his thoughts moving faster than Sammy at last call at the salad bar?
Why was he sitting here, exhausted and alone, like a miserable bastard, watching as the people he loved enjoyed themselves? Made plans. Moved on from the horrors, if only for a day.
The warm lights of the Christmas tree reflected in the amber liquid in his glass. The rim was dusted in sugar and pressed with some kind of edible Christmas pudding picture, curtesy of Claire. He’d lost track of the time he’d been nursing the drink. The ice was long since melted, but his knuckles, still weeping a little blood from a cut that kept reopening, were otherwise stark white from his grip. Dean thought again about joining them all. Painting on a bullshit smile and baking up his famous Christmas pie for dessert. But he couldn’t.
He wanted to, so badly. But he couldn’t.
He wasn’t deep enough in his shit to think he wasn’t wanted there. They’d all reached out more times than he deserved. But he was so damn tired. So trapped in a vicious state where everything inside him is so loud - too loud to make sense of. Right now, he couldn’t speak if he tried.
It was a hell of a thing, he’d come to learn: not wanting to die, but having no damn idea how to start living.
“It’s a process,” Seb’s voice rang in Dean’s head. “There’s freedom to starting over. Only you know the life you’ve led and the things you’ve faced. Whether you’ve accepted it yet or not, you’ve survived it.”
Dean swirled the whiskey around in his glass, watching Sam hoist Eileen onto his shoulders to fix mistletoe to the wooden beam spanning the ceiling. It was like watching television; everything felt far off and false. Like they were all still trapped in Chuck’s favourite snow globe, just waiting for him to shake it up and let fresh chaos rain down upon them again.
They were free. Cas, Sam, everyone he loved, they were okay. Dean had survived, the shrink was right about that. Accepting it… that was the hard part. Seemed like a bullshit answer when Seb repeatedly reminded him that it would take time. The fact that Dean had sought out help at all – even Dean had to admit he was pretty proud of that. But Seb wasn’t there to “shrink Dean’s head” or make a lifetime of crap disappear with a couple of hundred bucks and a few round trips into town. He was just… there. And somehow, the son of a bitch got it.
It helped that the dude knew the life. Seb was an ex-hunter; born and raised in it, like he and Sam were. The first few sessions, Seb had done most of the talking, mostly because Dean flat out refused to go first. He wasn’t about to go spilling his guts just because this dude had spilled his fair share in the past. Seb didn’t go into detail; he was always careful to say just enough to let Dean know he understood the kind of horrors he’d faced, but never pushed too far. Never played the game of Who Had It Worse. It wasn’t about that.
Seb was one of a handful of ex-hunters who’d took to school after leaving the life. Couldn’t quite shake that instinct to help people, if only in different ways. Dean had to hand it to the guy, it was a damn good call. The dude wouldn’t – couldn’t – tell him how many other hunters he had pencilled in his dorky little diary, but it was enough to know there were others out there. Like Dean.
It was enough to know when he felt like a lost cause that he wasn’t the only one.
He was alive. He was building a life. He just had to learn the right tools to be a part of it.
Dean glanced toward the kitchen, catching Cas laser focused on fixing the reindeer headband on Jack’s head. The kid was grinning up at Cas, an oversized Christmas jumper drowning his body. Nothing but pure joy on his face. Dean made the mental note to sew it up for him; shorten the sleeves, take in the arms. Maybe pry off a couple’a those bells while he’s at it.
When Cas was done, he gave Jack a thumbs up. The whole rented cabin was decked out in enough lights that Dean was sure the damn thing could be seen from space. It was funny how it all felt black and white compared to that smile on Cas’ face.
That’s what a dad should be, Dean thought. His Cas – he was never meant to be a father, but he took to the job like he was born to it. He loved that kid, and Jack loved him too. Shit, part of Dean knew Jack loved Dean too.
His chest swelled, and Dean wanted to smile so badly right then. But there it was: that emptiness. That damn void that choked off his lungs and took all his energy to just sit there and fight off the darkness or numb feeling within, whichever got to him first. His lungs gave a painful squeeze, his breathing shallow. The palm of his hand was sweating, marking the glass with condensation. Everything felt too loud, too much, too sudden. And at the same time, he felt like he wasn’t enough. That none of it was enough. That it couldn’t be real because he didn’t deserve it to be and he'd been ruining it all by pushing them away when all he really wants to do is–
Dean stood. He left the undrunk glass atop his chair and walked on silent feet from the lake house. It was easy to slip by unnoticed; the looping Christmas playlist and holiday cheer still going strong.
It was early in the evening; the pale sun lost behind snow filled clouds, already threatening to retire for the day. It was cold enough that the windows were ringed with frost and the door handle like ice to the touch. In the two hours since Jody and co arrived, another couple of inches of snow had fallen. The only footprints belonging to a solitary bird; it’s red and brown feathers puffed out in an almost perfect circle. The rainbow-coloured lights running along the exterior of the building sparkled over the snow.
The cold air stung at his lungs, but at least now he was breathing again. With every step, the muffled Christmas songs faded away with the knot in his chest. By the time he reached the frozen lake, Dean’s boots were starting to fill with snow. The lone wooden bench he’d stupidly been hoping to use for fishing on this trip was at least four inches deep in snow, too. Sighing, he used his forearm to wipe away a spot over the backrest of the bench and sat, resting his feet on the bench seat.
He gazed out at the snow-capped mountains encompassing the lake, their broken reflections cast upon the ice. Here, the world was cold and quiet in a way other than what Dean was experiencing inside. It was peaceful, instead of suffocating. Calming, instead of lonely.
The melted snow in his boots forced Dean to focus his body. To remind him to try those stupid jedi mind tricks Seb had trained him in. He let his attention flow to his feet, feeling the cold, the weight, the minor aches and pains. He breathed. He felt that weight creep up his calves, reaching his knees. He inhaled, long and slow. When he felt his legs relax with the reminder that he was the one in control of them, he focused on his arms. On their strength, on the small cuts and bruises along his knuckles. He relaxed his palms on his thighs, feeling his shoulders droop as he exhaled.
He kept it up until he felt in control again, until his lungs belonged to himself and not his fear. When he was ready, when his heart was calm and his voice rose about the surface once more, Dean leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees, to take in the beauty of this place for the first time since they’d arrived.
It was hard to imagine ice becoming warm, trickling water; snow giving way to green grass and soft earth for flowers. But this was different to the quiet at the end of the world. This was real, temporary as it was.
It was life.
And Dean Winchester was alive.
A familiar rustle sounded to his left, and Dean felt the heat of his angel’s wings ward off the cold before Cas came into view.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean smiled softly, pulling Cas’ hand from his shoulder to press a kiss to his warm palm.
Cas frowned, his head tilted to the side as he studied Dean through weary eyes. “You’re cold.”
Dean shrugged. He dusted off a pile of snow to his right and scooched over to give Cas the mostly dry patch he’d made with this ass. He knew what Cas wasn’t saying – what he wouldn’t say. They’d talked it out plenty, how to handle his bad days. It was hard to fight off the guilt of having one of those days on what’s meant to be a good one.
But Cas had ‘em, too. Nothing this good, this important, came without work.
Dean slipped his fingers through Cas’ own once the angel was at his side. “Missed you,” he mumbled softly, his eyes fixed on a branch trapped in the icy lake. He didn’t need to look to know Cas was smiling. The angel’s thumb trailed along the back of Dean’s own, and Dean settled into awareness of that touch; how it made him feel. Safe. Loved. Home.
“I missed you, too,” Cas said. His voice was gruff, but faintly amused. Something in his tone warmed the chill of Dean’s heart. It meant a lot to realise, even in quiet ways, that whatever dark shit was going on inside Dean wasn’t destroying this thing with Cas just by being near him. That Dean having a bad day, didn’t have to mean he was making everyone else’s worse. He’d spent enough time believing that his very touch, his presence, corrupted.
He thought about all the work he’d put in, for himself, for his family, for Cas. How hard he’d been fighting that familiar instinct to burn it all down; to make everyone see the world for the ugly thing it is. To make some smart ass remark that was really only meant for himself.
He didn’t have to hate the world for all the horrible things it had done to him. He didn’t have to hate himself for all the false choices he’d been given, and worst paths he’d taken. The angel at his side, he’d given Dean the tools to save the world. It was up to Dean now to build something beautiful from it.
So, Dean breathed. He watched the sun dip lower beyond the mountains, and acknowledged the cloud of breath that plumed from his nose with each breath. He rested his head on his angel’s shoulder, and slowly felt the world become a vast and infinite thing once again.
Snowflakes began to fall in earnest, like the white clouds above rained down upon them as the sun dropped beyond the mountains. The flakes were huge, weighing down his lashes and clinging to his cold-flushed skin. He realised then how warm the rest of him had grown, and shot a glance at the invisible wing wrapped around his torso.
“Put ‘em away, hot wings,” Dean joked, “A little snow don’t hurt.”
A single brow rose on Cas’ forehead.
Since the dude came back with his full mojo intact, he’d taken every chance he got to stretch his feathers and show off his superpowers again. Not that Dean was complaining. Didn’t matter a damn to Dean if Cas came back halo or no, so long as he came back to Dean. So long as he stayed.
“You complained since Charlie suggested the trip about the affect of snow on the Impala,” Cas deadpanned.
Damn straight. “And I agreed to leave her at home, didn’t I?”
Cas rolled his eyes and shoulders in one dramatic movement that made Dean want to push him off the bench and jump his bones right after. But the angel’s eyes softened as he said, “We should go back.”
Not yet. Though Dean felt much better now, his thoughts clearer than they’d been in days, he wasn’t ready to go back just yet. It was a damn fine thing having everyone they loved under one roof for the holidays, but nothing cut it like getting time alone with Cas.
“Nah, they don’t need me grinching up the joint,” Dean teased. He should have realised Cas would miss the mark and assume that meant “I’m feeling sorry for myself” and not “I need a little more time to make a move on my hot angel.” Which was stupid really. It’d been over a year since they’d finally, finally confronted this thing between them. This was the second Christmas Dean had woken up with his face buried in the angel’s neck, Cas’ lips pressing kisses to his forehead. Whispering those same words that’d once got him torn away from Dean for the worst weeks of his damn life. And still, no amount of time would make Dean believe that he’d gotten this lucky.
He was holding his best friend’s hand. He could lean in right now and kiss him, and tell him for the thousandth time how loved Cas is. It would never get old.
“You’re staring,” Cas pointed out, without a trace of bemusement on his face. “What are you thinking?”
Dean broke into a grin. “You ever made a snow angel, angel?”
A small “v” knit between Cas’ brows, and god, it was beautiful. “I don’t understand.”
Without hesitating, Dean leaned in and kissed the concern on Cas’ brow away. Hand reluctantly pulling out of the angel’s grasp, Dean swung his legs over the bench and gestured to the snowy ground behind them. He was going to regret this in a minute if it didn’t end with him being crushed into a pile of snow beneath the full weight of his angel.
His knees cracked in protest as Dean carefully plopped himself down onto his back in the snow. Cas stood, his eyes raking unabashedly over the exposed sliver of skin at Dean’s navel as his shirt rode up. Dean winked, and at the flush of Cas’ cheeks, he felt some much needed warmth pool in his chest.
“This is how it’s done,” Dean said, waving his arms through the snow to create a wing effect. Cas watched, his expression a mixture of confused and unimpressed but reached out to help Dean back to his feet without comment.
Dean shook off the snow, all too aware of the wet patches running all along his back. Certain there’d be puddles in his boots by now if the melted snow hadn’t already turned to frost between his toes.
“Not bad, huh?” he nodded to the flailing Dean-shaped print on the ground.
Cas had that look about him, one of Dean’s absolute favourites. The guy could scowl professionally, but that sparkle in his eye gave him away. He loved that sparkle. It was practically foreplay.
In a flippant gesture, Cas pointed to the snow print. “That’s supposed to be an angel?”
Dean scoffed. “Can’t all be as handsome as you, partner.” Oh, his plan was working nicely, he thought as Cas rolled his eyes. “Think you can do better?”
A muscle in Cas’ jaw twitched with the effort to keep up that stoic, holier than thou angel crap. Cas had plenty of ways of smiling without actually doing it. And Dean loved every one of ‘em.
“This is silly,” Cas grumbled, but dropped to a crouch on a fresh patch of snow regardless. He lay motionless, staring up at Dean expectantly with his waning patience clear on his face.
Dean bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Lookin’ good, sunshine.”
“Dean.”
“You gotta move your arms, buddy,” Dean flapped his arms at his sides in demonstration. An idea hit him then, and Dean motioned for Cas to wait. He pulled out his phone, turning his back to his wrathful snow angel and lifted his phone high to fit them both in frame. Dean smiled wide at the camera and snapped a picture. Opening his camera roll, he immediately zoomed in on the background, finding Cas glaring at his back, one brow raised on his forehead.
“That’s one for the family album,” Dean smirked, turning back to Cas.
“This isn’t funny, Dean.”
“Aw come on, it’s hilarious,” Dean insisted. “Now show me those wings.”
A smug little smile spread across Cas’ face. A moment later, the soft crunch of snow sounded and two massive wing prints pressed into the snow.
“Holy shit,” Dean breathed. He’d seen Cas’ wings before; towering shadows in flashes of lightning or scorched into the earth. He didn’t want to think about the latter, not ever. This was different. Even in the fast fading light of day, the perfect imprints of feathers seemed to glisten.
Cas got to his feet but Dean’s attention never strayed from the snowy wings.
“I don’t mean to brag, but I believe I win this game of yours,” Cas murmured against Dean’s neck. A pleasant shiver ran down Dean’s spine as Cas snaked his arm across his back, his fingers closing over Dean’s own.
Something swelled in Dean’s chest; not pride exactly, but something other. Something close. Awe and admiration didn’t cut it either. He knew Cas was awesome; that, physically, he was far more than a sexy guy with a hurricane of power all tucked up inside. Dean looked between the two angelic prints next to each other in the snow… one magnificent, one laughably pathetic. There was a time when this would have scared the shit out of him; sent him into a months-long spiral, convinced that the void between the angel and him was too vast. That it was impossible Cas could ever feel anything close to how Dean felt about him.
He knew better now.
Dean pulled up the camera app on his phone once more, snapping a photo of the print. It was humbling, for sure.
Was it weird to call wings beautiful? Seemed like a stupid question to ask, so instead Dean squeezed Cas’ hand in his own. He forgotten all about how cold he was until he felt the heat of Cas’ palms. Angel mojo or not, there was no hiding the pink tip of Cas’ nose.
Dean shifted a little to get a better look at the man he loved. The tips of Cas’ ears were bright pink. His dark hair dusted with snow, and his eyes so bright and brimming with fondness that Dean felt his own cheeks heat.
Cas’ hand moved to Dean’s chin, his thumb slowly brushing along his jawline to tip Dean’s head up. All these years of standing too close, heart racing so hard it felt like it would burst through his ribcage like a cartoon, his lips parting unconsciously for a chance to taste the angel on his tongue. There was nothing to stop them now. No more cosmic cockblocking.
“Cas?” Dean whispered, knowing in his heart that the name would always be a prayer on his lips.
His angel stepped closer, dropping Dean’s hand to brush a melting snowflake from his brow.
The way Cas looked at him, like an angel who’d found all the answers to his prayers in one man. There was a time this intensity scared the hell out of Dean, too. Looking back, he realised there’d been a lot of things he’d been afraid of.
He used to think fear was something he could kill. Losing Cas last year – that shifted something inside Dean, permanently. Set a lot of things straight and brought a lot of dark shit to the light. Dean had never been a child, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t an angry little kid inside him, facing all the cruelty of the world with nervous hands and a heart so big it threatened to break all by itself. He’d learned that it wasn’t violence he feared, but gentleness. It was being known, really known, that scared him shitless. No one knew Dean like Cas did. No one so kind and selfless and hopelessly adorable had ever seen all of Dean and loved him because of it. Forgave him for all of it.
Every day for three hundred and seventy odd days, Dean has faced the challenge of looking in those angel blue eyes, seen himself reflected within, and dared not to pull away. He’s allowed himself to touch and be touched in every way he never dared dream of. Trusted his angel with every last inch of his body and felt only pleasure. No fear. No shame.
Dean leaned into the gentle fingertips that caressed his face and pressed the tip of his freezing nose against Cas’ own. “Thank you,” he whispered in the barest space between them. The words dispelled the last of the lingering darkness inside him. His arms curled around Cas’ waist, pulling his body close. Right now, he couldn’t get close enough.
Cas’ head tilted the slightest bit, his eyes never leaving Dean’s own. “What for?”
For all of it, Dean thought. For saving him in more ways than he could count. For loving Dean and letting Dean love him in return. For coming back to him. For every nightmare he’d soothed away with soft kisses and whispered promises, every sleepless night he’d curled himself around Dean’s body, watching over him, and every bleary morning that seemed too good to be true. For being the friend he is, the father he is. For every healing touch and sarcastic comment, every exasperated eye roll and every stupid fight. For everything he’d ever done, everything he’d ever been, and every stray path that led them down this road. For being the one thing Dean had always wanted. But more than anything…
“For staying.”
Dean shut his eyes automatically at the admission, feeling his feet sink into the earth and the weight from his shoulders fall away like drifting snow at the relief.
The answering kiss Cas pressed to his lips was so gentle, such a delicate, questioning thing. Closer to the idea or a dream of a kiss.
The love of his whole damn life smiled so wide it almost broke Dean’s heart all over again.
“Of course.”
#
Nine thousand, four hundred and seventy-one hours since Dean Winchester gripped Cas tight and saved him from the Empty. Three hundred and ninety-four days since Dean had first kissed Cas, his face streaming with tears and his heart pouring long-kept secrets. Fifty-six weeks of happiness; in having, in being, and in saying all they’d never dared admit all these years. And still, Cas smiled as he watched his truth settle in the blush of Dean’s ears and the twitch of the corner of his lips.
A full grin broke out on the angel’s face. It was one thing to have his full grace intact; his wings no longer bent and broken. It was another gift entirely to see the whole of Dean again. He’d missed the ability to see the radiance of Dean’s soul; a bright and burning thing, guiding Cas home with more certainty than any star ever could. To see the flare of Dean’s joy light up his soul because of Cas – because Cas was Dean’s happiness, too.
Cas pulled back the smallest amount, watching in awe as Dean slowly opened his eyes. Between his fingers cupping Dean’s cheeks, he could see the stunning flush of colour brightening around the freckles. Snowflakes fell on Dean’s long lashes, bringing all the shades of green in his shining eyes to life. Plumes of breath ghosted between them in the freezing December air.
Dean held Cas’ stare. The angel felt no shame in the intensity of his admiration, but it was a rare thing that Dean didn’t try to shy away. Instead, Dean leaned forward, his lips already parting for a kiss. But Cas leaned away once more, the grin on his face fading to the sweetest of smiles when Dean looked at him in question.
Cas was quiet as he traced the pad of his thumb along Dean’s lower lip. Watched as Dean’s mouth opened for him instinctively. He tracked the snow as it kissed Dean’s freckles, falling down his cheeks and coming to rest by Cas’ fingers.
“You’re beautiful,” Cas breathed. “All of you. You are so beautiful, Dean.”
He felt the rush of heat on Dean’s cheeks, eyes dropping to his mouth when Dean nervously licked his lips.
“You’re… you –“ Dean’s words died on his tongue as Cas pressed two fingers to his lips. Their eyes locked as Dean gently bit the tips of Cas’ fingers, his tongue pressing between them. A soft hiss escaped Cas’ lips and the pleasant shiver that danced along his spine had nothing to do with the steady drop in temperature. With his own lip trapped between his teeth, Cas tilted his head back and looked down at Dean’s lips as he slowly removed his fingers. Dean’s eyes were glazed, the weight of his body now resting mostly against the angel’s torso.
“You gonna kiss me about it or not?”
Cas smirked at the hoarseness of Dean’s voice. He ran one hand along Dean’s jaw, coming to rest on his neck. Could feel the erratic pulse of Dean’s heartbeat beneath his fingers. With his other hand, he raked his fingers through Dean’s damp hair, fist closing at the back of his head. It was difficult to fight off the smile as Cas recalled the last conversation they’d had about Dean’s hair, in the smallest hours of the night with nothing but their skin to separate them. How happy the soft, grown out length made Dean. How it gave Cas something to hold on to.
Without giving himself time to overthink it, Cas knocked Dean to his back in the snow, laying his full weight atop him. Their lips crashed together, mouths parting instantly to deepen the kiss. Dean’s hands were ice cold on Cas’ skin as they dipped beneath his sweater, pulling him closer still by the hips. At either side of them, the print of Cas’ wings remained undisturbed, flaring wide in a perfect display of blasphemy. Already, they were panting, rutting, breathless and desperate for more, always more.
“Love you so damn much, Cas,” Dean managed between kisses. Cas’ breath hitched as Dean focused his attention to his neck, his hips rolling against Cas’ own.
Dean was cold. Winter had no affect on an angel, and though he could heal even the most minor cold, it was Christmas. And there was a perfectly warm bed waiting for them just a few blocks away. But Dean kept kissing along Cas’ jaw, breathlessly whispering a string of “I love you, I love you, don’t ever leave me again.”
A soft groan left Cas’ lips as he pressed Dean harder into the frozen earth, kissing him senselessly, desperate to get closer, starving for more. His grace glowed beneath his skin. It didn’t matter that he’d heard the words a hundred times before. Dean loved him, Dean wanted him, and there was no getting used to the overwhelming joy of it. Of being loved. Loved by Dean. Cas trailed one hand beneath the waistband of Dean’s pants, and Dean gasped at the shock of cold. He paused, waiting for an indication to stop or keep going. He allowed Dean to roll him on to his side, their legs tangling and fingers fumbling for zips and buttons.
Dean’s hands were pinkened with the bite of frost. Cas caught them between his own, blowing warm breath against them.
“You’re too cold,” Cas said heavily, the admission like a tragic defeat.
Dean pushed a leg between Cas’ thighs. “’m fine.”
Cas glared. “You could die.”
Dean smiled against Cas’ lips. “I dunno, man. Seems like a good way to go.”
“Dean.” Cas said, his voice deep and the set of his jaw stubborn.
“Come on, sweetheart. I’ll make it worth your while,” he said, pulling back enough for Cas to see his ridiculous pout.
Cas kissed him sweetly, tangling one hand in Dean’s hair before pulling it gently to break the kiss. “I thought we were done dying for each other.”
Dean sighed, nuzzling into Cas’ neck. “Yeah, yeah.” Already he was sniffling, and Cas suspected the close proximity had as much to do with needing warmth as it did needing him.
Cas sighed, contented, if a little frustrated their fun had to be cut short. For now, he told himself, eyeing the darkening clouds above. With one hand, Cas redid the buttons on both of their pants, his other stroking through Dean’s hair. “I love you, too, Dean,” he said, his voice losing strength with the enormity of the words, even as his heart beat stronger than ever. “I’ll love you long after this world fades, no matter what the future brings. You’re alive, Dean, and you’re mine. You’ve always been my heart.”
Dean held him tight enough to cut off his air supply. It was another perk of being an angel; to be durable enough to carry the enormity of love this human man had in his patchwork heart. Dean’s whole body seemed to collapse in relief against him, his exhale long and shaky. Cas wrapped a wing around him, shielding Dean as best he could until he felt that his heartbeat steady once more.
“Merry Christmas, sunshine,” Dean mumbled against Cas’ neck.
“In a few hours it will be,” Cas wondered aloud. Midnight wasn’t far off, and he found he was excited to spend a holiday with everyone they cared about. His family.
Dean pulled back to look him in the eye, mischief gleaming in his own. “I hope so,” he said, wagging his brows.
Cas sat up despite Dean’s protests, rolling his eyes hard but losing the battle against his own hopeful smile. “You did promise to make it worth my while.”
“That I did,” Dean managed to pull him in for one last, gentle kiss before Cas pulled him to his feet. “Guess it’s time to go be merry and gay, huh?”
Cas tilted his head. A smile crept along his lips as he nodded in agreement. “In my case, yes. Merry and bi for you.”
Dean snorted. “Well, you got me there, sweetheart,” he said, curling his fingers through Cas’ own as they made their way back.
Stepping through the door of the lake house, they were met with a wave of heat and the overwhelming scent of cinnamon and clove. One glance out of the corner of his eye had Cas’ heart squeeze in relief.
Dean was smiling again.
Dean pressed a quick kiss to Cas’ cheek and mumbled something about a sewing kit. Cas supposed he should take the opportunity to give Claire her gift a day early but found her and Kaia wrapped in an embrace beneath a bundle of mistletoe Eileen had hung up. Neither girl noticed his arrival, so Cas left the gift back beneath the tree, smiling fondly to himself.
An hour later, three mismatching tables had been pulled together and set with steaming bowls of food and several bottles of mulled wine. Rowena sat at the head, swirling the wine in her glass, deep in conversation with Eileen. Sam sat to Eileen’s right, and beside him, Kaia was fixing the braid in Claire’s hair. Jody and Donna faced them, causing Cas to smile shyly as they teased the girls about them both being almost as lovesick as Dean and he were. He sat next to Charlie, who was currently fixing a paper hat to a bemused Stevie’s head.
A moment later, Jack came into view. His Christmas sweater no longer covered his hands or hung almost to his knees, and along with the bells, some of the flashing reindeer ornaments from the tree had been added.
“They match my antlers!” Jack said, pointing to his flashing headband. “Dean did it for me! Doesn’t it look awesome?”
Pride swelled in Cas’ chest at the unfounded joy on his son’s face. He looked up to see Dean dropping into the seat opposite him.
When Jack wasn’t looking, Dean rolled his eyes at the flashing sweater, but the affect was entirely lost with the smile tugging on his lips.
“Thank you, Dean,” Cas said, reaching out to squeeze Dean’s knee beneath the table.
Dean swallowed hard and nodded. Turning his attention to Jack, he said, “looks awesome, right?”
Dinner lasted late into the evening. It was hours before anyone but Cas felt up for moving from the table to the huge living room, but the open fire was too enticing.
The music and merriment went on long into the night. Cas, Dean, and Jack had arrived at the lake house the previous evening. It had been such a long night of putting up decorations (Dean was particularly proud of his contribution of a cowboy hat at the top of the tree) and watching reruns of old Christmas movies that Dean had fallen asleep in his boots and jeans the moment he and Cas had gone to their room.
After their long journeys and heavy meal, it was hardly midnight when one by one, everyone slipped away to their room in anticipation for Christmas morning.
The cold moon of winter bright through their bedroom window; the air charged in anticipation. Cas led Dean to their four-poster bed. The embers in the fireplace opposite and glass lanterns at either side of the bed were all that lit the room.
Learning the map of Dean’s body was much more an honour than a process. Cas knew that if he placed a hand on Dean’s chest anywhere below his second rib, Dean would inhale the softest breath. If he held fast to Dean’s hip, Cas’ thumb would fit perfectly to the groove of the bone. He knew that running his fingers along Dean’s softened belly would cause his best friend to shut his eyes, exhaling softly into the safety of the touch. Yet every now and then, Dean still managed to surprise him.
Twelve years Cas had watched over Dean; stealing glances that broke his own heart all the while. Thirteen months, he’d spent rebuilding his beliefs. Finding faith in a love he never dared imagine he could have. Cas, no longer an angel of heaven, an agent of fate, but a person of his own. He’d torn out the pages his father had written for them and found healing in rewriting their story.
For millennia, the angel believed faith was a thing of duty and obedience, servitude and suffering. Without the wrath of a god grown bored, Cas found that faith was family.
He found that he was loved, more dearly and in more ways than any angel in history had ever been.