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"Here's your change. Happy Holidays!" The cashier puts five bucks on the counter and pushes a paper bag towards Castiel. His meager Christmas dinner.
"Thank you." Castiel mumbles absentmindedly as he shoves his last remaining five bucks in his pocket and grabs the paper bag. Thankfully he was able to fill up his tank and grab a sandwich for dinner. He'd love a warm cup of coffee, but with only five bucks left to his name he doesn't dare. A full tank is enough to make sure Castiel's refuge — his temporary home — can carry him further.
Castiel is all set — all set to continue the drive to his father's for the dreaded confrontation. Not enough miles to make peace with the fact he has to ask his father for money. Charles will open his checkbook, there's no doubt. Only question to be answered is how much humiliation Castiel will have to endure in the process. He is well aware he's the only one to blame for this situation, Castiel should have never made the deal with Crowley. It doesn't lessen the sting of knowing his father will never let go of reminding him of what a sad lonely failure of a son Castiel really is. Again.
Castiel's movement triggers the automated door to open and the loud ding brings his attention back to the mostly abandoned gas-n-sip. Standing in the open door, cold wind blowing in he adds a weak and delayed "Happy Holidays"
"Hey, Ash!" A tall man calls from behind one of the shelves. He is tucked in a warm coat, beanie pulled low over his forehead, scarf wrapped around his lower face and neck. Castiel can't see much of his face besides striking green eyes as the man tries to get the cashier's attention.
He envies the man for his warm gear as he tightens his trench coat around his body. The temperature drop came as a surprise and Castiel is not prepared. He might dread the inevitable confrontation with his father, but at least the torturous examination of Castiel's latest failures will happen by an expertly lit fireplace.
"Where are the spiced cookies?" The man presses with alarm in his voice.
"Sorry buddy, we're out." The cashier answers with a shrug, he couldn't care less "Just sold the last box."
The man looks around once more — his green eyes peeking out between beanie and scarf, searching — as if to convince himself there's really nothing left on the shelves. He finally taps a finger against the empty shelf. "Man, you know I can’t come home without spiced cookies." Far too devastated for the situation at hand the man stares into the distance.
Castiel's gaze falls into his paper bag: a turkey sandwich, an orange, and a bright red box containing spiced cookies. Namely the last box of spiced cookies the cashier just sold. To Castiel.
Castiel lifts his chin and without so much as a look back he steps out into the cold winter night. Harsh wind tugs on his trench coat, whipping snowflakes around.
He raises his shoulders as if that would protect him from the cold and hurries to his car. Only to stop in his tracks, stares down into the open paper bag once more. There'll be no Christmas to look forward to for Castiel this year — no celebration, no gifts, instead a dreaded reunion to beg for money. Least thing he can do is to make sure another family's Christmas goes as planned.
There are only two cars parked in front of the gas-n-sip: Castiel's golden Lincoln Continental and a black muscle car. No doubt this is the car of the man on a quest for spiced cookies.
Before he can change his mind Castiel closes the few steps to the black car and places the box of spiced cookies carefully on the hood.
Any other day Castiel would have enjoyed finding out whether the rest of the man hidden in winter gear is equally as remarkable as his eyes. Today Castiel just wants to get out of here. There's no use in dragging this out, he has to confront his father and Castiel is acutely aware Charles will make it only harder for him if Castiel dares to be late.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?!"
A loud voice from behind. Strong fingers grab Castiel's shoulder to spin him around and tear him away from the car. "Get your hands off my car!"
Castiel backs away from the car. And the man. The green eyed man who only minutes ago looked at an empty shelf with all the sadness in the world. Castiel holds up his hands in a placating gesture.
The paper bag falls to the mostly dry ground, so the sandwich should be fine - at least that's what Castiel hopes. His dinner just got a severe hit by giving away the spiced cookies, he can't afford to lose the turkey sandwich too.
They're about the same height, the other man might be an inch or two taller, and Castiel does his best to appear smaller, non threatening. It's not a difficult task; cold to his bones his shoulders are tucked next to his ears. Castiel doubts he'll ever feel warm again.
This was a mistake, Castiel should have left. With his cookies. And whatever dignity he has left.
The man steps towards his car — likely assessing it for any damage — and in the blink of an eye the man's belligerence is gone. Gone as if it's never been there.
"What?! How?" The man's eyes quickly dart back and forth between Castiel and the shiny red box of spiced cookies sitting on the hood. He opens and closes his mouth, opens again as if words might find their way to him through the cold winter air.
"I’ve never seen a grown man look with such profound resignation at an empty candy shelf." Castiel chooses his words carefully as steps forward to take the box of spiced cookies from the hood. Voice tense he gives the box a tentative shake. "Figured you might need spiced cookies more than me."
The man's eyes widen in horror as understanding sinks in. Castiel presses the box against the man's chest — he's not moving an inch, Castiel nods for emphasis and the man finally grabs the box.
"What are you? A Christmas elf granting wishes?!" The man pulls the box of spiced cookies closer to his chest.
A tentative smile spreads on the man's face. It's mostly hidden beneath the huge scarf, but Castiel can't help but notice — it's a good look on him.
First thing he noticed back in the gas-n-sip was the man's green eyes. Striking green eyes framed by long lashes. Now there's a snowflake trapped in one of those lashes — he is beautiful, there's no doubt. It's distracting.
And even more distracting is the smile growing wider by the second. Directed at Castiel — a smile to melt his heart and make obstacles seem easier to bear.
With a sigh and a shake of his head the man extends his arms to give back the box.
"Enjoy you spiced cookies, it's my fault I didn’t get a box sooner."
With a full body eye roll Castiel takes a step back and crosses his arms in front of his body. See, he's not taking back the cookies.
"I’m sorry for yelling. And shoving you." The man winces at the memory.
"It’s okay." Castiel answers as if by reflex.
"No, it’s really not." The man shakes his head as he tries to make Castiel look into his eyes. "Listen buddy, I appreciate the sentiment. I really do. You were there first. Enjoy spiced cookies with your loved ones."
Castiel looks down as he takes another step back. Loved ones. He tries to suppress a shiver as he clutches his arms around his body; holds himself to make the familiar wave of loneliness washing over him bearable.
"Santa will have to make do with chocolate chip cookies."
What is this guy even talking about? Castiel tilts his head in confusion, welcomes the distraction.
"Those are my dad's favorite." The man lifts the box for emphasis and cocks his head to the side as he remembers. "Bobby. He took us in and upended his entire life to raise my baby brother and me. I was nine years old, Sammy was five — and until today he shares with us everything he owns. Well, not counting spiced cookies."
Castiel knows this story has been told many times before, the man's eyes brightens as he recalls it one more time.
"Bobby made sure we know spiced cookies are Santa’s favorite and every year on Christmas Eve we prepared a plate for Santa. We made a whole ordeal about finding the perfect spot so Santa would find his spiced cookies. Our ritual before Bobby would send us to bed with strict instructions to not interrupt Santa's cookie time."
Castiel feels a small smile spread on his lips.
Not a hint of threat remains in the soft and warm voice of the man as he talks about his father. Castiel made the right decision to place the box of cookies on the hood of his car.
In another life he'd have the kind of father you share loving nostalgic stories about, Castiel notes with a heavy chest and a wistful smile. In another life he wouldn't be a failure to beg his distant and cold father to bail him out. In another life he wouldn't feel his longing for connection as a constant ache clinging to his body.
"Of course, Bobby took care of Santa's plate as soon as Sammy and I were sound asleep."
In another life Castiel would have loved to get to know the man radiating warmth and love. And maybe would have been brave enough to ask him out on a date.
"Bobby stopped preparing plates when he deemed us too old to believe in Santa. That's when I took over, and made sure there'll be spiced cookies for Santa on Christmas Eve."
The man's smile slowly sinks. "And this year I forgot."
"See, case in point. You need spiced cookies more than I do." Castiel bends down to pick up the paper bag containing the sad smushed remains of his Christmas dinner. With a nod in farewell Castiel adds "Make sure Santa gets his cookies. Merry Christmas!"
And with this Castiel turns around to walk away.
Walk away before they'll get wrapped up in idle chit chat and the inevitable question regarding Castiel's plans for Christmas Eve. Get out of here before envy and misery bury their claws any deeper into his chest — he envies the man for a loving father and home, for a decades grown Christmas tradition. He envies a stranger for having a home to return to. A home he wants to return to.
Christmas has never been an easy time for Castiel. This year especially.
One question and despair will pour out of Castiel. One question and he will spill his sad lonely secrets, only to be stopped by pitying looks. It happened before, it will happen again. Castiel hates when people look at him in pity.
More than anything he doesn't want to see the expression of those beautiful green eyes shift from warmth to pity. Castiel doesn't turn around when he hears a muffled "Thank you" and "Merry Christmas". Sadness and relief wash over him as he reaches his car to find shelter from the inhospitable weather. He carelessly throws the paper bag containing his meager dinner onto the passenger seat.
Let's get this over with. To grovel and beg his father for money. To have a chance to get his life back on track, to build a life he wants to live.
Castiel turns the ignition key and like so many times he mumbles come on come on come on in encouragement while the engine stutters to life.
A barely there flicker of headlights.
"Come on, don't leave me hanging!" Castiel pleads.
Another try, another stutter. Nothing.
Please don't Castiel prays to whoever might listen.
Realization sinks in. Castiel just spent his last money to fill up the tank.
As his head sinks to the steering wheel Castiel allows himself a moment of desperation. He'll figure out how to get out of this. Of course, he will. (He always does, he never had any other choice.)
Castiel will figure out a way to make it through this cold Christmas night - preferably without losing any of his toes to frostbite - but for now he'll allow himself a moment of sorrow; arms clutched around himself as if to keep him from being washed away into thick black nothingness.
He jumps at a loud knock on the window.
With a jerk of his head Castiel looks up.
The man he just walked away from is standing in front of the driver's door; a worried and pitiful expression on his face. Great, just what Castiel needs.
Castiel makes a shushing gesture to will the man to go away. But he just laughs and gestures at Castiel to roll down the window.
After a moment of consideration — to collect himself, make sure his mask is back in place — Castiel gives in with a resigned sigh, pulls Castiel gives up and cranks open the window. Regret is immediate as the first cold gust of wind catches.
"Not gonna lie, doesn’t sound like you’re going anywhere tonight in this car." The man leans forward.
"And how would you know?" Castiel sneers. Harsh. Mustering every ounce of patience he can find to keep calm in the embodiment of annoyance and failing miserably.
"Well, I make my living to know..." the man scratches his neck, or at least the small blushing increment he can reach with the huge scarf being in the way. "I'm a mechanic."
Having Castiel's worst nightmare confirmed by a professional takes away the last glimmer of hope, takes away his last chance at plausible deniability.
Castiel's shoulders slump as all fight leaves body, he rubs his eyes.
Castiel is tired.
"Where are you going? Family dinner waiting for you? I can drop you off."
Castiel can't help but notice the man's tone of voice is inappropriately cheerful given the circumstances.
"That won’t be necessary." Castiel pulls the trench coat closer in another futile attempt to protect himself from the cold.
Castiel was not done with his moment of despair. Will he ever be able to get back on his feet? He was about to ask his father for money anyways. What's the cost of some more, apart from additional humiliation? Will it always be like this — his efforts in vain, doomed to end up again where he once started?
"Where do you need to go?" The man insists.
Can't he just let it go and leave Castiel be? Castiel should have just kept the cookies.
Castiel doesn't answer, instead he moves to close the window.
He stops in his tracks when the man's eyes fall on the sleeping bag in the back of his car. Shit. He usually takes meticulous care to hide all traces that might indicate Castiel is currently living in his car.
Today he was distracted; mentally rehearsing the upcoming confrontation with his father. Castiel curses himself. He sees his father's disgusted look before his eyes. Castiel is not only a failure; worse - he's incapable of hiding it. Castiel failed to keep up appearances. Again.
Cheeks burning he angles his body as far away as possible from the window.
Understanding dawns on the man's face.
Fuck.
"Alright, get out of the car." The man demands.
"I will do no such thing." Castiel punches one fist against the steering wheel in a futile effort to release frustration. He was never one to respond well to orders.
The man's eyebrows lifts in surprise only to disappear under the beanie pulled low over his forehead.
Yes, Castiel lives in his car and the only person he has to blame is himself. This guy might have found out Castiel is a total failure — no need to rub it in his face. And more importantly, that's not an excuse to try and boss him around. Castiel should have never given him the cookies.
"I won’t let a generous Christmas elf freeze to death in a crappy car."
Castiel thought he couldn't get any angrier. He was wrong.
Nostrils flared, Castiel's hands clench and unclench.
"You think my car is crappy?!" He presses through his teeth.
Who does he think he is? This car is all Castiel has left. Has left from better days. This car never let him down. Not once! Well, until tonight.
Tonight he wasted most of his money to fill the tank of a car that won't bring him anywhere.
"Eye of the beholder." Unbothered, the man leans forward and rests his forearms on the open window.
Their eyes find each other.
"Look, let’s cut this short. I’m cold, and my gear is significantly warmer than yours. You’ll join my family for Christmas dinner and tomorrow we’ll take care of your car."
This stops Castiel in his tracks. There's no pity or judgement on the man's face. Did Castiel misunderstand the situation so completely?
They look into each other's eyes. A long moment passes.
Castiel doesn't have money to pay someone to take care of his car. He'll need to call his father. He didn't even manage to make it in person to ask for help. What's even more embarrassing than begging for money? Begging for money on the phone because you run out of funds to do it in person.
But that's just a side note. The threat of having to attend a family dinner is much more acute. Endless hours of superficial small talk, each interaction an invitation for judgement. Castiel barely manages to endure dinner with his own family, it's too much to ask to walk on eggshells in a strangers' home.
Not on Christmas Eve. Not tonight. Not when he just lost his home.
The more Castiel thinks about it, he'd rather lose some of his toes to frostbite.
"I don’t want to intrude." Castiel presses with a curd nod to signal this conversation is over.
"Well, today is your lucky day." With a wink and a smirk on his face the man leans closer.
Lucky day? What a complete and utter assbutt! Irrational anger spikes at the sight of the smug smile. Castiel scoffs, putting all disdain he can muster in a deadly glare. (If he could smite people like the Angel he was named after, this glare would surely suffice to burn out this assbutt's eyes.)
The assbutt's smirk falls as if it's never been there. The man continues to rest his elbows on the open window, but raises his hands defensively.
"The guy you just gave up your spiced cookies for lives down the road. He owns the local scrapyard and car repair shop. And he’s not only my dad, but also my boss."
Oh, maybe this guy is not a complete assbutt.
"I don’t want to be a bother." Castiel's five bucks won't cover the bill. He knows all he has to do is to admit defeat to his father to get out of this mess, but it's nice to pretend for a bit longer.
The man who might or might not be an assbutt raises a finger, signaling wait a moment. How long has Castiel to pretend he cares before it's no longer considered rude to close the window?
The man takes a step back, pulls his mobile phone out of his coat pocket, hits the speed dial and presses the phone to his ear.
"Hey Bobby, I’ll bring a stray for Christmas dinner. He’ll stay the night." The man casts a glance at the Continental's hood and looks at Castiel resolutely as he adds. "A few nights, not sure if we got all parts at hand to get him back on the road."
He waits for an answer, listens and with a nod he turns to Castiel.
"Bobby wants to know if you know how to play Rummikub." The man raises his eyebrows questioningly and patiently waits for Castiel to consider his answer — because obviously Rummikub is the most pressing issue at hand right now. "I’m Dean by the way."
"I’m by no means a master, but I get by." Castiel answers on auto pilot.
After a moment of consideration Castiel's eyes widen in surprise and he looks around as if searching for someone to confirm that this is really happening. This doesn't sound like the formal nightmare of a Christmas dinner he is used to. "Castiel." he adds as he absentmindedly runs his hand up and down his arm.
"Cas is on board." With a wink to Castiel Dean gives his answer to Bobby.
After a moment Dean scoffs and fondly rolls his eyes. A friendly banter ensues and Castiel must have imagined hearing a chuckled "Idjit" from the other end of the line.
With a warm smile and a shake of his head Dean hangs up and turns back to Castiel.
"Are you sure?" Castiel lifts a single eyebrow and cocks his head. This has to be a joke! And if not: Where's the catch? Down on his luck, Castiel waits for the other shoe to drop. There has to be a catch — in Castiel's experience there always is.
"I am. You're not the first stray. Probably won’t be the last." Dean gently taps against the roof of the car. "Come on, let’s get you out of the cold."
Castiel hesitates, he doesn't know what to do.
"Cas, you're having a shitty day. Or week. Or month. Let me help make it a bit easier." He looks deep into Castiel's eyes. Dean means it.
Castiel casts an uncertain glance over his belongings in the car. All he has left is this car and what's currently in it. Even broken down, the Continental is Castiel's home, and the thought of leaving it behind makes Castiel twitchy.
Gentler than to be expected from a stranger he only met a few minutes ago Dean suggests
"We'll ask Ash to keep an eye on your car until we get back with the tow truck."
And with that Castiel steps out and carefully locks the door.
He shivers. One step - not more than a shuffling of his feet, but it feels significant.
A decision to step forward, to accept kindness. To stop waiting for the other shoe to drop — just for tonight.
Castiel straightens, he faces Dean. Their eyes find each other effortlessly as they had been doing so all their lives.
Dean. A kind and caring man. Beautiful. Of course Castiel meets him when he's got nothing going for him. And nothing to offer.
Castiel trusted the wrong people before, that's how he ended up in the middle of nowhere on this freezing cold Christmas Eve. He could be wrong again. He shouldn't expect too much. But what's there left to lose?
For a long moment Castiel is lost in green eyes. Warmed by the thought of spending Christmas dinner with a family that enjoys each other's company, Rummikub, spiced cookies. And Dean.
The pile of shards he considers life will be waiting for Castiel to worry about. Tomorrow. He'll face his mess of a life again tomorrow. Tonight he'll accept Dean's gift; the chance to put all of it aside for Christmas Eve.
Dean turns to go and with an inviting smile back over his shoulder he offers his hand.
"Wanna get out of here?"
Castiel steps forward, he grabs Dean's hand.
"I'd like that."
Mirrored in Dean's, a smile spreads on Castiel's face. His eyes crinkle when the smile reaches his eyes.