Work Text:
Make My Wish Come True
The precinct Christmas party was in full swing by the time Dean showed up. With budget cuts continuing, the Lawrence Police Department had literally opted to have their holiday party in the break room of their building, spilling out into the bullpen. There was a buffet table in the break room, along with a few kegs that the uniformed officers had donated, and the music was throbbing. (How anyone actually on duty was supposed to get any work done was a very good question.)
Dean had worked from six in the morning until four that afternoon. (He was the homicide detective on call this month, and got called to a crime scene at six that morning—college student found dead in the alley behind a popular club. They were a college town, so a lot of their crime involved college students, but, thankfully, not many of the homicides involved the college.) On his way out to go home and shower for the party (and, honestly, catch a power nap—being on call was messing with his sleep schedule), Cas had stopped him and asked him if he was going to the party that night.
Oh, Cas.
Castiel Novak was a C.S.I. who had been showing up at a lot of Dean’s crime scenes lately. He was slightly shorter than Dean, lean from running and swimming, and pale because he was an indoor kid. But, Christ, if Dean had a moment of weakness, he had to admit that Cas had the big blue eyes and messy dark hair that got him every time, regardless of gender. And he had tried to flirt with Cas, ask him out for coffee, but Cas, beautiful nerd that he was, seemed to miss the subtext every time and thought Dean was just a friend or being nice.
Some days, Dean wanted to just ask him if he wanted to go back to his place and get naked and see where the night took them. And seriously, Dean had been getting close to asking just that. (His little brother, Sam, thought Dean was being incredibly weird, not pointblank asking Cas out. But Sam didn’t seem to get that Cas was just different from anyone else Dean had dated. There was no one night stand with Cas. If he started dating Cas, he wanted things to last. He could picture a whole future with Cas and, dammit, that scared the shit out of him.)
But (and there was always a big ‘but’ in these situations), Cas had been a little distant lately. A new guy who was working in the evidence locker, named Balthazar, had been hanging around Cas and even going to lunch with him. Logical conclusion? Cas was more interested in Balthazar than Dean. And, seriously, Dean did not know why. Balthazar was one of those people where everything was an innuendo, and he felt like he could sleep with anyone. (Gross.) And, based on the quality of the watch and clothes, and from what Dean knew about the pay range for evidence locker jobs, Balthazar lived way above his means. (Unless he had a trust fund. But if that were the case, why work a crappy job like the evidence locker?) He didn’t seem like someone Cas would like—Cas seemed to love just talking over a cup of coffee, simple gestures (like Dean bringing him his favorite cookie, snickerdoodle, one morning) and, cooking, of all things. (Dean had gotten to sample his food—great stuff.) Cas also like religious history, archaeology and Christopher Nolan movies.
Well, whatever, he was hoping to win Cas back tonight with his awesome present. Which he had tucked into his jacket pocket. He’d actually made the present himself—he looked up some of the ancient religions that Cas was interested in and found a symbol for loyalty. He’d used some metal to make the charm and attached it to a leather bracelet. Manly jewelry. (Although Sam was still giving him shit about buying his potential boyfriend jewelry.) Handmade and tied to his interests—boom. Take that Balthazar.
Someone had tacked some mistletoe up on the ceiling in a few places, Dean noted as he walked across the bullpen, scanning the room for Cas. No Cas in the bullpen or the kitchen, but he stopped in the kitchen anyways to grab a solo cup of hard cider.
Now to find Cas.
Dean did one last scan of the bullpen. Nope. He took a swig of the hard cider (emphasis on the hard part, dammit, what got dumped in there?) and headed down the hall towards the Forensics lab. (Sometimes the lab techs started their own party in their area.)
Nope… wait.
Cas came out of the lab, followed quickly by Balthazar. Dean’s heart sank into his stomach. Damn it all, fucking Balthazar. He was too far away to hear their conversation, but he watched for a moment as they exchanged words. Cas looked fairly neutral (but Dean also knew that was his resting face) and Balthazar looked like some Shakespeare character declaring his love. Balthazar pulled Castiel into a hug, which Cas returned.
Okay. Enough of this shit. Cas wanted Balthazar and Dean was not going to stick around and add insult to injury. He always knew there was a chance that Cas wanted someone else, but he’d talked himself into believing that his gift would be enough.
God fucking dammit, every time. Every. Time. He talked himself into believing that his stupid crush on someone was going to turn into a lifelong relationship. What in the hell was wrong with him?
He turned quickly and strode back towards the bullpen, figuring he’d play things off like he was just coming from somewhere down the hall. Someone with a little forethought planted a trashcan at the end of the hall, just inside the bullpen. Dean reached into his jacket pocket and threw the small, neatly wrapped present into the trash. Wouldn’t be needing that.
But he would be needing more alcohol.
----------------
A pleasant buzz had settled in. Dean was on his third cup of the wildly spiked cider, and was sitting behind his desk. Turns out, his desk strategically placed him to be close enough to the party to observe the fun and simultaneously far enough away to not meaningfully engage in any of the ridiculous antics, which now included karaoke. Their captain, Bobby Singer, was good-naturedly singing ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ with a pretty and enthusiastic forensics tech named Charlie.
He threw back a swig of the cider and winced. The cider in the punch bowl was rapidly becoming less cider and more rum. Just the way Dean liked his eggnog—a little eggnog with his rum.
“Hey.”
Dean looked up and took a second to focus.
Cas.
Cas?
Cas had come over and was perched on the corner of his desk—the corner that did not have a stack of case files and reports he needed to write.
“Hey,” Dean responded flatly. “Thought you were with Balthazar.”
“Balthazar?” Cas frowned. Dean tried not to dwell on how adorable Cas looked when he frowned or was puzzled by anything really.
“Saw you guys hugging earlier.”
Cas’ frown deepened.
“Mazel tov.” Dean raised his glass towards Cas.
Cas hit maximum frown. And then, seriously, “Dean, do you think Balthazar and I are together? Romantically?”
Dean decided to play dumb. “I don’t know. Are you?”
Cas gave him a withering look. “No.” He paused, and then added, “But I do feel like I should warn you, Balthazar is my cousin and is terribly irresponsible and thinks I should help him with all the problems he gets himself into.”
Wait? Cousins? Dean swiveled around in his chair so he was completely facing Cas. “You and Balthazar are cousins?” he asked, trying to wrap his head around the situation.
“Yes, Dean,” Cas replied, voice long-suffering.
“So there’s nothing there.”
“Nothing weird,” Cas confirmed, scooting closer to Dean on the desk. “I saw you walking away down the hall and happened to glance in the trashcan.”
Dean’s heart nearly stopped, but he still decided to play it cool. “I think all you C.S.I.s enjoy digging around in the trash,” he muttered.
Cas got one of his trademark almost-smiles on his face. “And I noticed someone put a wrapped gift, complete with a tag in the trash.” He paused and moved his left wrist, emphasizing the bracelet. “This is an amazing gift, Dean. Why would you throw it away?”
Oh hell no. Cas was playing him now. Dean decided to go for a shit-eating grin and the truth. “Because I am really, really stupid.”
Cas nudged him gently. “And you jump to conclusions.”
“That too.”
“And we’ve been on four dates already and you haven’t tried to make a move.” Cas’ voice was bland and innocent, but Dean could see the way those blue eyes sparkled with mirth and just a little hint of seduction.
Dean leaned back in his chair. “I think all that goes back to my first point about stupidity.”
“So,” Cas muttered, leaning forward so only Dean could hear him. “I would really like you to kiss me right now.”
Dean grinned. “So forward.”
“You were never going to do it.”
“Oh, believe me, you could be a little more overt.” Dean pushed out of his chair and got into Cas’ personal space. The other man just spread his legs slightly so Dean could get closer, and leaned in when Dean rested a hand on either side of him on the desk. “I thought you thought that we were just buddies.”
“You should really ask.”
“I really should.”
He closed the short distance between them, pressing a firm but ultimately chaste kiss to Cas’ lips. In that one moment, he felt heat run down his spine and knew he wanted more of those soft lips. Cas grinned when he pulled back. “I think you can do better than that,” he muttered.
The next kiss did not disappoint, containing all the heat and fire that the first one hinted at. Dean caught Cas open-mouthed and deepened the kiss, clashing tongues and teeth, wanting to memorize that beautiful mouth as long as possible. His hands went to Cas’ waist, hauling him as close as possible. Cas’ legs tightened around him, and his hands tangled in his hair. Christ, they fit together so perfectly. Cas was warm and solid and real, and this was better than all of his fantasies.
They broke apart abruptly at catcalls.
Dean took a moment to realize that the catcalls were not aimed at them. Chuck, a forensics tech, had gotten caught under some mistletoe and was kissing Rachel, a robbery detective.
Their sighs of relief were almost simultaneous.
Cas caught Dean’s eye as they moved apart. “I was this to still be just us for a while,” he whispered.
“Me too,” Dean replied.
“So,” Cas said, sounding purposefully musing. “Your apartment is closer to here than mine. What do you say we get out of here?”
“Awesome.”
At least that was one Christmas wish down. Maybe all of them.
Fin.
1 January 2017