Chapter Text
- NOW, Noon on Christmas Eve-
Cas sighed, setting the second gallon of holy water on the concrete floor of the bunker’s garage. His aching back was one of the thrills of human aging he would never adjust to. But, his joints weren't the only thing irritating him as he cleared tools and relics from the Impala’s trunk.
He asked Dean to take care of this over a week ago to no avail. Cas set aside a crossbow and silver-tipped arrows (which he was positive he had never seen Dean use). "Emergency items only." That's what he had told Dean could stay in the trunk. And yet, low and behold, the grenade launcher. Cas grit his teeth at the sight of it.
He’d barely lifted the thing when he noticed Dean in the doorway, leaning against the frame with that infuriatingly amused smirk.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean said, coming over to pull it away with feigned urgency, “That’s essential gear, Cas. What if we need to blow Santa's sleigh out the sky?”
Cas shot him a look, taking the launcher with more force than necessary, “Funny. I don't remember that part of T'was the Night Before Christmas.”
The flush creeping up his neck betrayed his clipped voice.
Dean grinned, nudging Cas with his elbow, “C’mon, don’t be like that."
Cas exhaled sharply, shaking his head, but Dean caught the almost-smile he was trying to fight back. Dean leaned against the trunk’s edge and Cas could feel him watching as he heaved the launcher and crossbow onto a high shelf. When he made his way back over, Dean pulled at the sleeves of his cardigan before they could find their way back to the trunk.
“Are we sure about Mr. Clause sneaking around stalking kids? You just say the word, and I’ll-” Dean clicked his tongue as he sliced his throat with his thumb.
Cas didn’t dignify that with a response, but straightened, glancing toward the car, “You know,” he said, carefully, “A larger vehicle might be more suitable considering the luggage and—”
“You’re not seriously suggesting ditching Baby? There’s nothing more suitable for a Winchester road trip.”
Cas tilted his head, raising an unimpressed brow, “A Winchester hunting trip perhaps.”
Dean smirked, folding his arms, “Who says we're not hunting? I'm serious about this Santa guy.”
Cas let out an exasperated sigh, throwing his hands up. He busied himself with fitting the remaining 'just-in-case' supplies into the false bottom of the trunk. For all Dean’s growth over the years, there was still this part of him clinging to the familiar, the safe. It was endearing and reassuring and incredibly frustrating. Because Cas understood, he really did, how Dean wanted to hold onto these key parts of his identity. And it's not like Castiel would ever change a thing about Dean Winchester, but...
Then there were hands on his shoulders, as if Dean sensed Cas's train of thought, "Hey, I told you we'll talk all this Billy Joel "Movin' Out" stuff after the holidays. I just want a good trip - no fights, no drama -"
A crash from somewhere inside the bunker cut him off. Dean huffed. With a squeeze of Cas's shoulders, he half-jogged back inside. Cas shook his head, staring down at the pile of supplies still waiting to be sorted. He picked up a bundle of rope and a small bag of salt, tucking them away.
With arms full of presents, Dean returned a few minutes later, muttering about a dropped stack of books. Together they loaded luggage and gifts and snacks. Finally, Dean slammed the trunk and turned to him with a satisfied grin.
“That’s the last of it!"
- THEN, mid-December, two years ago-
"That's the last of it," Dean said as he brushed his hands off dramatically.
Eileen's car was now fully packed with every single one of Sam's belongings, which was a bit pathetic considering he was 30-whatever. He could feel Cas's worried eyes tracking him from across the driveway.
Dean crossed his arms, feeling the same sort of awkward as when he had sent Sammy off to Stanford, "You sure you didn’t forget anything? Last chance to raid the library."
Sam rolled his eyes, "It's not like I won't be back, Dean."
Dean gave a short, noncommittal grunt. Yeah, Sam was going to keep being the new Bobby, and, yeah, that meant he'd make frequent calls and drives to the bunker. But this move was permanent. A real, solid life step. This was Sam starting a new home, elsewhere, leaving Dean to rattle around the bunker like some cranky hermit. Sure, Cas was here, human for good this time, but Dean wasn’t sure what to do with that either.
He snuck a glance at Cas, standing off to the side all pensive, pretending not to monitor Dean for emotional instability. Cas’s confession hung between them, not forgotten, just loudly unspoken. Dean just needed more time to figure out what it all meant. The fact Cas dropped the big L word. The fact that, with Chuck gone, any problem between them was now certainly their problem. And the little fact that maybe Cas could also have and not just be if only Dean could stop freaking out and get his shit together.
But, it had been easier so far, for the past month or so, to focus on logistics: the hunting network, their "careers", Sam and Eileen. When he looked back at the pair, he caught the end of Eileen signing something to Sam that Dean couldn't catch.
Sam started quickly, "Hey, so one of Eileen's hunting contacts sent out a message this morning."
Dean quirked an eyebrow, "Yeah?"
"They had some stuff go missing. Devil’s shoestring and sands of time."
Cas tilted his head, "Those are ingredients for summoning rituals."
"Exactly," Sam said, then casually added, "Could be worth looking into."
Dean narrowed his eyes, recognizing the bait, "You’re really gonna pawn off a hunt on me while you two are busy playing house?"
Sam smirked, and there was an edge beneath it, "Got something better to do?"
Sam flicked his eyes to Cas pointedly and Dean bristled. A week or so after Cas got back, they had a drunk night, the four of them. Then, after Cas and Eileen passed out on the couch, Dean let a bit too much slip. Now, every not-so-subtle Sam face was a well-intentioned, obnoxious little nudge.
"Fine," Dean muttered, "We’ll check it out."
Eileen thanked him, knowingly, and he wondered how much of that she had orchestrated.
As the two drove away, he stayed rooted to the spot, watching the car disappear. Cas didn’t say anything, but Dean could feel his presence.
Finally, Dean let out a long breath and said, "Guess it’s just you and me now, huh?"
Cas nodded, his expression unreadable, "It would appear so."
Dean was reheating a pot of stew Eileen had guilted him into making as a going-away/holiday-thing, when he heard the soft creak of floorboards. He didn’t need to look to know it was Cas; the guy was louder as a human.
"What’s up?" Dean asked, not turning from the stove.
"I have information," Cas said plainly, setting his laptop on the counter.
Dean peaked over, "Oh yeah?"
"Eileen’s contact, his storage locker in Colorado was broken into. The two ingredients, devil’s shoestring and sands of time, were the only things taken."
Dean nodded, not breaking his the rhythmic stirring, "Colorado, huh? That it?"
"No," Cas continued, "Male piglets have also been disappearing in the area over the past few months. More recently, there have been reports of-" he paused briefly- "headless corpses appearing daily in Colorado Springs."
Dean turned to face him fully, wooden spoon in hand, "Okay, see, that’s the kinda thing you should’ve led with."
Cas tilted his head, exasperation creeping into his voice, "I was getting to it."
Dean shook his head to himself, "Headless bodies in Colorado Springs. Missing pigs. Storage locker robbed. Sounds..." Dean cringed, "Witchy."
"The-" Cas shifted as he chose his next words, "head stealing started exactly seven days before the winter solstice, which is tomorrow."
Dean frowned, leaning back against the counter, "Sounds like it could be a pagan thing then."
Cas nodded, "For the solstice, Roman Pagans used to honor the god Saturn with a festival called Saturnalia. It was a way of celebrating the rebirth of the sun. That is, until Christians adapted it and assigned the celebration to Jesus’s birth, celebrating him as the 'new son'."
Dean blinked, "So the original Christmas."
Cas pressed his lips into a thin line, "Sure."
Dean turned back to the stove, "So what, you think some pagan nutjob is gearing up for a big blowout tomorrow?"
"It seems likely," Cas said, "The ingredients stolen, the nature of the probable sacrifices, the timing - it all points to a ritual being prepared for Saturnalia."
Dean huffed, reaching to turn off the burner, "Well, ain’t that just holly and jolly. Guess we’re heading for a White Christmas in Colorado after dinner."
Cas inclined his head, "That would be prudent."
"Prudent," Dean muttered under his breath, ladling soup into two bowls. He handed one to Cas, "Your vocabulary, man..."
Cas accepted the bowl, with a small smile, "It’s effective, isn’t it?"
Dean snorted, sliding into the seat across from him. "Yeah, yeah. Let’s eat fast. I’ve got a feeling this is gonna be messy, not to mention the holiday traffic."