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Christmas celebrations have never been much of a thing throughout Dean’s adult life, but when Charlie showed up toting decorations and sugar cookies, he wasn’t about to turn her away. He didn’t really mind the excuse to cook dinner for everyone and top off the evening with a strong batch of eggnog. He also didn’t mind the excuse to invite Cas to stay and join them for the ‘festivities’ (whatever that meant), but he didn’t exactly know how to ask. Charlie had taken care of that part for him – apparently Cas can’t say no to Charlie either.
It’s definitely the best Christmas he’s had in as long as he can remember, good food and drinks with the people he cares about most. They even catch a showing of the Grinch while they’re relaxing and channel surfing, Charlie treating them to a tipsy rendition of the musical numbers. It’s not much longer before she’s conked out against Dean’s shoulder and Sam offers to get her to bed. “Santa?” she mumbles as Sam helps her off the couch.
Dean stays behind to clean up, stacking up plates and glasses, piling them into the sink for tomorrow. It’s Christmas, officially now, according to his watch. The dishes can wait. He’s ready to turn in himself, but he can’t ignore the fact that Cas is lingering, hovering in the doorway, seemingly lost in thought. Cas is often preoccupied, but Dean still worries as he always does, approaches him slowly, brow furrowed in concern.
“Uh, Cas?” he tries. Upon closer inspection Dean notices Cas is actually looking at something, not just gazing melodramatically into middle distance. He follows Cas’s line of sight and oh, okay, so, there’s a sprig of mistletoe dangling innocently above their heads.
“That’s interesting, isn’t it?” Cas asks, perfectly mild, face giving nothing away, head tilted, eyes squinted and scrutinizing.
“Yeah, that’s—” Dean’s voice is suddenly shaking, palms sweaty, as he realizes the position he’s just put himself in. “That’s uh, weird,” he says faintly. Goddammit, get it together, Dean. Cas is probably just wondering why the hell there’s a plant hanging from the doorjamb, one that doesn’t have any warding or protective purposes that Dean knows of – humans and their impractical décor. “I, uh, I dunno how that got there.” Charlie’s a prime candidate, but Sam’s the one with the freakishly long reach, can probably put the star on the tree without a ladder, just like the Bumble in Rudolph. Looky what he can do, Dean thinks disdainfully, fidgeting under Cas’s scrutiny. “It’s like, you know, a tradition, or whatever.”
“You’re blushing,” Cas remarks, sounding a bit surprised and even pleased, unless Dean’s ears are playing tricks on him.
Dean might as well explain it then, because he’s completely failing at playing it cool. “Well it’s just— The idea is—” He squares his jaw and forces himself to look Cas in the eye. “If you stand under it with someone you’re supposed to kiss.”
Cas raises his eyebrows, lips quirking up on one side.
“That’s— I’m not making that up, all right?” Dean cuts in quickly, before Cas can reply, on the defensive. “That’s the tradition, it’s just a thing you do, it’s… it’s Christmas I don’t know, I don’t know where it came from,” he says, almost panicked and good god someone shut him up already.
Cas watches him with apparent interest for a few seconds. Finally he clears his throat. “No one is really certain of the exact origins,” he says quietly, “Although, historically, mistletoe does have an association with fertility in some cultures.”
Dean’s mortified, mouth working silently for an agonizing beat or two. “God,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face, “You knew all that stuff already, of course you did,” he says bitterly. Fuck, he should know better than to underestimate Cas, especially when it’ll keep him from nervously rambling on like a complete asshole.
“Yes,” Cas agrees, and he doesn’t look particularly guilty about it, “But if you have any insight about the significance of that yule log television program, I’d be happy to listen.”
Dean laughs, a bright, sudden burst of sound, his embarrassment fading away. “Nah, can’t help you with that one, sorry,” he admits.
For a moment they just look at each other, smiling quietly. Usually when they’re standing in in such close proximity, Dean will irritably call attention to it, diffuse the situation in case… well, in case. He finds he doesn’t want to, right now, even if he’s not sure what the alternative will be.
Then a thought occurs to him. “You...” He hesitates briefly, “You knew what the mistletoe meant,” he says carefully.
“Yes,” Cas says again, voice almost infuriatingly neutral.
“And you stood under it anyway,” Dean mumbles, stating the obvious before he loses the nerve to actually acknowledge it out loud. Shit, he thought he was blushing before.
Now Dean can actually see the amusement on Cas’s face, hear the slyness in his voice. “I did, didn’t I?” he says, glancing innocently away and back at Dean with a glint in his eye that – yeah, that, that’s new, but Dean’s pretty damn sure he likes it.
Dean has trouble wrapping his mind around that, that this is something he might get to have, but he knows obvious signals when he sees them. And that’s really something, isn’t it, that Cas was so confident that this would work out for him. But even then he still gave Dean a choice, gave him an opportunity, if Dean wanted to seize it. He can’t even be mad at the presumption, can’t find it in him to be self-conscious about being found out – because it’s an honest-to-god relief that Cas sees right through him, knows what’s in his mind and, Jesus, in his heart. It’s a relief that he doesn’t have to talk about it, doesn’t have to say anything at all, he can just…
He can just grab Cas by the lapels of that stupid trench coat, haul him forward and bring their lips together, kiss that gorgeous bastard right on his smirking mouth because hey, it’s tradition. Cas lets out this indulgent, satisfied hum, that smug little shit, but Dean’s toes curl at the deep rumble of it, Cas’s hands finding purchase against Dean’s back, bringing them closer, bodies pressed flush together.
Cas tastes like rum and cloves and he feels safe and warm, exhilarating but… comforting, something like home. Fuck, that’s corny, but it’s true. It almost freaks Dean out how earth-shattering this isn’t, how there hasn’t been a shred of anything in their lives that feels easy, but this somehow does, touching Cas, holding him tightly like it’s the most natural thing in the goddamn universe.
They break apart and all Dean can think about is how he doesn’t want this to end, how this isn’t nearly enough. “You crashing here?” he asks hastily, hands still fisted in Cas’s coat. “I mean, I know you don’t sleep, but…”
“I don’t need to sleep,” Cas hastens to clarify, “But I still can,” He looks steadily into Dean’s eyes. “If I want to.”
Dean swallows hard, takes Cas by the hand and starts leading him down the hallway, towards his room. He’s not sure what he’s offering here, what he’s asking Cas for. All he knows is that he wants Cas beside him tonight, wants him to be there in the morning. And for once, Dean’s fairly certain that he will be.