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Most stories start unremarkably.
In most stories, the event that triggers a series of wacky hijinks is just a small bleep on the radar, an error in the data, a fly in the ointment.
Most stories actually start with something completely unrelated.
Such as Dean's big little brother making coffee and humming.
It wasn't the fact that Sam was whistling and awkwardly yelping bits of lyrics in a very girly voice, while shuffling to the rhythm of coffee dripping into the pot. It was his choice of song that was so entertaining. But Dean could roll with this. He managed to roll with Taylor Swift that one time. This? This was nothing.
Dean managed to sneak up on Sam somehow, and now he stood, leaning, in the kitchen door, waiting for the opportune moment.
And, finally, it came.
"Waterloooooo," Sam wailed. "Couldn't escape if I wanted tooooo!"
Sammy was better at singing than Dean, and Dean had to grudgingly admit it. He cringed, remembering his demonic karaoke stints.
"Waterloooooo," Sam kept on wailing. "Knowing my fate is to be with you!"
Dean figured a duet would be fitting. He took a deep breath and joined in.
"Waterloo! Finally facing my Waterloo," he croaked. Damn, his voice was still hoarse with sleep.
Sam spinned on his heel and stumbled, but managed to find his balance eventually.
"You little shit!" he said, embarrassed, voice still pitched higher than normal. He cleared his throat. "I mean, the coffee is ready."
This time, he sounded normal.
Dean smiled in what he called his best shit eating grin. "Don't stop on my account, Sammy! Come on. My myyyy-"
Sam thrust a mug of coffee at him with a bitchface. "Merry Christmas, now shut up."
"Merry Christmas," Dean replied, quite content, and sat at the table. "Hey it could be worse. It could've been that Folgers jingle. You know, best part-"
Sam just shook his head, his stupid long hair falling over his face. "Don't push it. Charlie made me read fanfiction inspired by that commercial."
Dean knew his bitchface was not even close to his brother's, but he tried anyway. Charlie tried forwarding him some of those, too. He was not impressed. Chuck's books were bad enough, but this fanfiction thing was just creepy.
Dean tried to push the thoughts of Becky and her crazy friends writing their crazy little stories by focusing on a plate of gingerbreads. They were nice, if a little too spicy. Sammy should try to moderate his eagerness in experimenting with spices. The gingerbreads were probably gluten free, diary free and fuck only knows what else free, but it was Christmas, so Dean might as well try to enjoy them.
Coffee's smell apparently managed to reach Cas. The angel appeared in the kitchen quietly, and plopped down on the chair. Dean was up and handing him a mug of coffee instantly. Poor guy was still traumatised after that awful spell. Dean knew PTSD when he saw it, and frankly, was appalled by the carefree attitude Sam had. Both Winchesters went through hell, quite literally, and had their share of trauma, and Dean remembered how much a bit of TLC would be good, if he only allowed it. Dean wasn't sure if angels even could get PTSD, but since Heaven kind of blew up, he was guessing everything is possible.
"Dean?"
"Hm?" he turned around to look at Sam. He didn't even notice when he got up.
"Unhand the angel, maybe?" Sam said, slowly, his voice uncertain. Not alarmed however. Dean looked down. Oh.
He let go of Castiel's hand.
Cas didn't seem to mind, he just stood beside Dean, head cocked, eyes wide.
"Sorry," he said and returned to the table.
But the breakfast only continued in similar vein. Sammy was humming, Cas drank his coffee, trying to explain how Christmas really happen, and Dean wanted... Something, he really didn't know. Wrap Cas in a blanket, maybe? Tell him everything would be okay?
Late morning and early afternoon wasn't as eventful. Sam was pretty adamant about making making Christmas a thing, which Dean took as a sign of his brother finally getting used to the Bunker being a home. Only took him three years, but better late than never.
Cas was helping out, too. As far as Dean was concerned, Cas had moved in already anyway. He wondered how the angel was doing, as far as bedroom went. The decor in the bedroom. Because he wasn't thinking about other things to be done in the bedroom. At all.
Except, he was. Dean totally was thinking about other things in the bedroom with Cas. When he was helping Cas hang mistletoe around the bunker, and Cas was standing on the ladder, and it was one of those rickety aluminium things, and Cas' borrowed t-shirt rode up and Dean got an eyeful of protruding hipbone and tan skin beneath the hem of faded black cotton.
He was thinking about it when he let go of the unstable ladder and the thing wobbled and Cas wobbled with it.
And he was thinking about how pink his lips were and how his eyes seemed even more blue than usual in the shitty lighting of the library, when he steadied Cas on the ladder.
Cas was smiling at him, pointing to the mistletoe. Dean stapped from his hazy, ridiculous thoughts, trying to listen.
"...this tradition," Cas said, apparently ending a longer sentence.
"Hm?" Dean hummed eloquently. This was getting ridiculous. He wasn't the most verbose person around, but grunts and monosylabbles were not his usual style, either.
"I said, that we have Gabriel to thank for this tradition. The mistletoe," Cas pointed at the twigs hanging from the door frame.
Cas' smile was all the more brilliant for its rarity, and Dean felt the haze return with full force. He was only vaguely aware of his hands reaching for Cas and setting on the angel's absurdly alluring hips. Cas was just so close, and occupying his whole field of vision, his whole world, really. Everything was Cas.
Everything was Cas for a long time now, Dean realised, when his back hit the door frame and the angel leaned in. Dean could swear he saw stars in the angel's dilated pupils. Or maybe it was just a touch of Grace shining through.
He almost moaned in disappointment, when those eyes fluttered close, and world suddenly felt grey and boring.
No, he did moan, he realised, but it was in delight and surprise. It must've been, because Cas was kissing him. Under the mistletoe. On Christmas. And it was fucking awesome!
Cas' lips were soft and tasted of cocoa they had earlier. Cocoa with extra mini marshmallows. puffy and soft and sweet, just like Cas' lips. His brain was doing a strange feedback loop now, he had no recollection of reaching up to tangle his fingers in the angel's permanently messy hair. It was just marshmallow lips and mistletoe and Cas.
Something was trying to pierce through the cotton candy his brain was wrapped in, something he tried to dismiss, because Cas was really, really good at kissing. Almost like it was something he wanted to do for almost as long as Dean.
"Oh what a laugh it would have beeeeeeeeen, if daaaaddy had only seeeeeeen..."
That was Sam, humming his stupid songs again, but Dean was busy alright?
"Mommy kissing Saaaaaanta Claaaaaus laaaaaaaast niiiiiiiiiiiight!"
That finally did it. Dean snapped out of this fog he was drowning in, disentangled his fingers from Cas' hair, broke the kiss.
"You," he growled, looking at Sam.
"Dean?" Cas said in a low voice. He sounded uncertain, lost a little. Dean was worried that if he would look at him again the fog would return.
"You're fine, Cas," Dean growled again. Or maybe croaked would be a better word. He was't sure, but in any case, his voice was not normal. "We'll get back to it, but first I have to deal with this dick."
"What, already?" Sam piped in. "No going steady first?" he made some lewd kissy noises at them.
Dean was reluctant to let go of Cas, but he did. His Men of Letters slippers were squeaking loudly on the hardwood floor as he gained speed.
"You roofied me!" he howled.
Sam tried to dodge, jumping behind one of the tables. His face showed both alarm and smugness. Dean really wanted to wipe if off his brother's face.
"Dean!" Cas was shouting now. "Stop it!"
Dean got to Sam and swung his clenched fist, but it didn't connect. Instead, his left foot slid awkwardly to the left, and he was falling, backwards, arms outstretched.
"Son of a bitch wood polish!" he manged to spit out before he heard a crack of the back of his head connecting with the floor. Sharp pain erupted and everything turned black.
The floor was cold and Dean's sight was blurry and swimming. The voices he was hearing sounded like they were coming through a thick wall. His head was throbbing in that disgusting, vomit inducing pain. He only managed not to puke in an effort to eavesdrop on the nagging voices.
"...tired of the eye sex!" that was Sam.
"You didn't have to spell him, Sam," Cas replied. Dean had to really concentrate to hear him. "I'm not helpless, you know. I'm an angel. I could've done this any time I wanted. I aqcuired the knowlegdge of seduction when Metatron uploaded Kama Sutra into my brain."
"Please!" Sam let out a bark of laughter. "You two were like lovesick thirteen year olds. All the gazing, the lack of personal space. He would've invite you to share his room if he wasn't so dense. Everyone could see it, everyone."
Cas said something that didn't reach Dean's ears.
Dean was boiling inside. A love spell?! He'll get Sam for it. Wait, what was that about Kama Sutra? He was more of a Henry Miller kind of guy, but the possibilities were endless.
"Yes, but he needed to realise it for himself. You know how that worked so far. The spell only opened his mind up to new possibilities. Christmas spirit and all that. The spellbook swore by it, and it was in the white magic section. And it's weird. It should've worked out of his system like an hour ago."
"So under the mistletoe..?" Cas asked, then let out a gasp, apparently a reaction to Sam's confirmation.
Dean succumbed to the pain and let out a tiny moan.
"He's awake. Better stay away for a little while, Sam," Cas said, tone warning. Then there were footsteps, and Dean's world was all Cas again.
The haze was coming back to him, but it was better now, that he understood what was going on. The nausea also helped with not slipping into the dreamy state again.
"Dean. Are you okay?" Cas' eyes were shining again.
"What was that about Kama Sutra?" Dean warbled.
Cas just smiled, and suddenly, all the pain was worth it. Cool, long fingers touched his forehead, and the pain and nausea were gone. He sat up.
"So you could've had me any time you wanted?" Dean asked, trying for serious, but it came out teasing anyway.
Cas just cocked his head. His lips were very inviting indeed.
"You are a wanton, dirty, amazing angel."
"Shut up, Dean."
"Make me," Dean said, challenge clear in his tone.
And Cas did.