Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

However alienated by absence, however altered by years, the heart must bow to the sweet and irresistible spell of memory.
— The Pocket Magazine of Classic and Polite Literature, 1832

1947

Castiel loved the smell of colouring pencils. He smiled to himself as he breathed in slowly, savouring the gentle, woodsy aroma. His eyes were half shut, focused on the sound of his pupils scratching nib to paper as they decorated their Christmas cards. He looked forward to having some cards draped from the string along the top side of his classroom, where they would flutter every time someone opened the door.

He leaned on the side of his desk, shoes stretched out in front of him on the floorboards, crossed at the ankle. He was going to miss these children over the holidays, they were all so lively. The seasonal break would be nothing but silent nights, holy nights. His lips twisted at his mental joke, but it wasn’t a true smile.

Among the friendly end-of-year murmurs and childish giggles, a scuffle of laughter caught Castiel’s attention from the other end of the classroom, where a few students were collected around Tommy’s desk. The kid was likely to be scheming, Castiel would bet his tie on it.

Stalking around the edge of the room, Castiel nodded warmly to Barbara, who was often worried by most things. “Carry on, don’t mind me,” Castiel said to her, petting her hair down as he went past. He peered over Louis’ shoulder, smiling at the sight of a red-nosed reindeer on his paper. “Well done, that’s going to look wonderful when it’s finished.”

He straightened and carried on, tugging a rattling window completely closed as he passed it. The draft was perfectly horrible, and even though it was only mid-afternoon, it already seemed to be getting dark.

The children’s parents would be arriving to collect them from the boarding school in under an hour, and then Castiel would have almost two weeks of aimless solitude. Perhaps he could buy himself a new sweater, or even knit one to pass the time.

He wasn’t all that intent on breaking up the group at the back of the class, because Christmas was a time for fun and sociability, but he caught sight of their nervous eyes, flashes of panic, and he immediately knew this wasn’t the average six-year-old’s rendezvous.

“What’s going on here?” Castiel asked gently as he approached. “Tommy, is there something you want to share with the class?”

Mildred and Douglas fled at the sound of Castiel’s voice so close, and Joanne only giggled and shot away when Castiel patted her back. Tommy was left sitting alone at his wooden desk, eyes as wide as coins. He had something in his hand, a collection of dark-coloured cards - which were definitely not the drawing he was meant to be doing.

Castiel tilted his head, intrigue pushing his hand forward. “Do let me see, Thomas.”

Tommy hesitated, then hesitated again, his hair flopping about his ears as he fidgeted.

“Come now, boy, I don’t want to snatch.”

Tommy finally put the set of cards into Castiel’s much larger hand, and Castiel turned them so he could see them.

The bottom surely fell from his stomach as he saw what he held. There was a naked man staring at him from the photograph, sultry gaze cutting deep into Castiel’s privacy. The man’s legs were naturally bowed outward, his hip slung to one side. His physical form was perfect, his sex bigger and more defined than any Greek statue Castiel had ever seen.

Castiel felt defenceless now, shields all tossed aside for the sake of this fantastically attractive man. He was getting excited in a way that ought never happen in a classroom. At once, he clutched the photographs to his chest, pressed to his sweater. “Tommy,” he said, voice rough and dry. “My God, what possessed you to think this was appropriate for school?”

Tommy’s face was understandably drawn of blood; he knew he’d made a mistake.

Castiel didn’t know what to say to him. No punishment could be worse than regret. Shakily, Castiel managed to say to the boy, “I will be telling your parents about this.”

Tommy nodded, eyes down. They were in understanding.

Castiel turned back to the front of the classroom, checking that the other children who had seen this were not upset at all. They were fine; they rushed back to Tommy’s side and pried him with questions, but Castiel didn’t stop them. Children were curious creatures. One day they would understand fully what they’d seen, but for now, all they needed to know was that they were too young to view this sort of material.

Castiel hid the pictures in his desk drawer, and took care to sit down behind the desk instead of perching on the ledge of it. He was not quite as excited as the man in the picture, but he was getting there. His eyes kept down for the rest of the lesson, feeling guilt at his body’s reaction.

That guilt did not stop him from opening the drawer again, just to see...

Oh, that man was so very gorgeous. Castiel’s heart pounded and his skin burned hot, legs twining together tightly to suppress the feeling that refused to fade from between his legs. He couldn’t meet the pupils’ parents like this, not with red cheeks or a bulge raising his slacks. He had to do something about it.

He put the photographs into an envelope to cover them, and the moment the bell rang for school assembly, Castiel told his class to report to the school hall without him. He wouldn’t miss much, only the headmaster telling five hundred pupils how important Christmas was. There were approximately fifteen minutes until the parents would arrive.

When the classroom was deserted and silent of youthful chatter, Castiel removed his Christmas sweater and threw it over the back of his chair, tucked the envelope into the front pocket of his slacks, then darted out his classroom. He followed the gloomy hallway on quick feet, eyes shifting all around to check he was alone.

He hurried straight for the teacher’s restrooms, thankful that nobody was there to see him. He shut himself into the farthest stall from the door, falling back against the tiled walls, frowning at how cold they were. He himself was as hot as a furnace, arousal and guilt fighting for control of him.

He undid his belt and unzipped his slacks, then set one shoe against the seat of the toilet, gasping in reverence as his hand slid into his underwear to touch his erection - just softly. Hot flesh met his fingers, swollen, with velveteen skin dipping under the pressure of his thumb. He looked down and almost whimpered at the sight of himself hardening further.

Lapping his tongue over his dry lips, he pulled himself out of his tight pants. He smiled, seeing his small member flushed red at the tip, the full weight of it pulsing once, twice, pointing towards the ceiling. He fingered the raised veins, sighing at how stimulating that was.

His free hand reached into the sagging pocket of his pants and pulled out the envelope with its flap still unsealed. He paused, wondering if he was brave enough to look.

He knew what he liked, and he knew it was wrong to enjoy it, but... he was alone. These pictures were more than he had ever had access to before, and they seemed to be precisely what he wanted. It seemed silly to resist.

He let go of his cock and took hold of the pictures instead, pulling them all out together. They made a neat stack, a short deck of five. Castiel shuffled them, quickly taking in how each one was different.

Monochrome skin must have been pale in reality - Castiel could even see freckles on the man’s shoulders. Even with the bulge of muscle, displayed in one image where the man flaunted the size of his arm, flirting with the camera through long lashes, he remained sleek, slim. His physique was similar to Castiel’s, and Castiel adored seeing that. He smiled softly as he touched himself, all awareness of the cold bathroom and the distant sound of children singing hymns fading into an echo.

He felt his own hot breaths, felt the heat of pre-come sliding on the back of his hand. He went slow, stroking random, mindless rhythms that were mostly just to keep the ache at bay, because he was so enraptured with the photographs instead.

The man in the photos could only be aged twenty or so, not much younger than Castiel. He had cropped hair and a sharp jaw, clean-shaven. Castiel wondered what colour his eyes were. They seemed bright.

The matte paper’s white border was trimmed nicely, but bumped at the corners; they could’ve been any number of years old. The man would have aged since the photos were taken, but no matter; Castiel was intent on the fantasy: he pretended this man was another soldier who fought in the war.

Castiel had wanted to play the sort of games with his fellow fighters that nobody was allowed to play. He had never tried, because he’d heard about some men who did. They were ridiculed, discharged from the army - and in some cases, beaten or even killed by men who were once their allies. The soldiers weren’t meant to talk about it, but Castiel always listened for whispers. He wanted to know what happened to the other men like him, the ones who liked men instead of women.

That was why he was alone. That was why he went home for Christmas to an empty cabin. He had a secret.

Eyes closed now, Castiel sank his head back against the tiled wall and stifled his moan. He humped at his hand, simulating how it might feel to penetrate this other man, his mouth, or his wet little hole. Castiel thought about a phantom moan, based solely on the kind of noises he made himself when he let himself cry out. He imagined it would be wanton and deep, accompanied by the touch of warm hands and a kiss.

Oh, how he yearned for a kiss.

He fisted his cock as fast as he could, grunting, hips juddering; he watched his grasping fingers slip over and around his hard flesh, breath escaping with involuntary sounds of pleasure. He was dizzy, and hot all over, and he stared at the beautiful man in his hands and accepted this furious desire, let it take over.

“Yes, yes―” he breathed, shocked words lifting off his tongue, because he wanted it, he was lost in this feeling. “Oh, yes...”

His head fell back and hit the wall, and he moaned aloud, warbling and low. Rolling sensations hit him in waves, bubbling spectacularly. He released spurt after spurt of his orgasm, mind turning lucid, not even thinking about where the liquid of his release went. It had been so long, and climax was such a relief. He shivered and grinned at the ceiling, unable to see through bleary eyes.

His lower back was sweating against his white shirt, and his slacks were slipping down his thighs. He pumped his cock through every lingering aftershock, all of the leftover tingles and flashes of heat. He sighed as it finished, and his thoughts paled into perfect blankness. He was so relaxed now.

He shook his hand free of a sticky drip, then reached for the toilet paper to wipe himself clean. The photographs were stuffed unceremoniously back into their envelope, then into Castiel’s pocket as he brought his pants back up to his waist, belting and zipping them closed. He was still sticky in places, but nobody would be able to tell except him.

He took a minute to collect himself, taking deep breaths. Now he had enough fuel to keep him masturbating every night for weeks - months even. He looked forward to going home, for once.

As he left the stall, he caught sight of his reflection over the sink. He tried washing his face with cold water to ease the blush, but he soon realised that the glow was coming from inside him, so it wouldn’t wash away. His spirit had been revitalised by these indulgent acts, all the sneaking around, all the terrible things he liked to think about. He found himself grinning at his own image, seeing the tiny bit of sweat that made his dark hair even darker at the roots.

He was going to meet all those parents and wish everyone a merry Christmas, and nobody would know why he was smiling.

He made himself semi-presentable, and went back to his empty classroom to put his knitted sweater back on, not to keep him warm, but in order to hide the sweat on his shirt. Now he was ready. He would make it through telling Tommy’s parents about what he’d found and brought to school. Castiel was decent enough to do that.

When he regrouped with his pupils at the end of assembly, a few other teachers asked where he’d been. “I had a call to make,” he told them, and none of them could tell he lied.

The packet of photographs seemed heavy in his pocket, but he enjoyed how warm they were, too.

He grinned and saw off each of his pupils to their parents as they swarmed to the front of the school building. They trailed their luggage behind them, handing it all to their parents. Most Christmas cards were offered to parents as Castiel watched, but some were given to him. He beamed, utterly delighted to be handed those, and he crouched to look those generous children in the eye.

“Thank you,” he said to each of them. “Have a very merry Christmas.”

Those words didn’t describe how grateful he really was, though. They were the only cards he was going to get.

When it came to Tommy, Castiel caught his icy-cold hand and told him to wait. “Stay here until your parents come and get you. I need to talk to them about what you did today.”

“My parents aren’t in town,” Tommy said.

Castiel wished to pry, but was distracted by Barbara’s scarf-swaddled lump of a father stomping forward to pluck his daughter from the dwindling crowd. Castiel wished the man a merry Christmas. The man nodded and took his daughter home.

Slowly the children waddled off into the semi-darkness, well-dressed ladies and men with shiny motor cars with engines running idle taking the hands of their children. Some of the older students walked their siblings home.

The other teachers eventually turned inside, eyes cast in Castiel’s direction, wondering why he wasn’t going inside too.

Castiel looked around cautiously at the deserted road. Grass verges were tinged with winter blue, bristled with trampled frost, but there were no parents to take Tommy home.

“I can walk,” Tommy said, but Castiel shook his head.

“I know you live locally, but you’re not leaving until someone collects you. Someone will be here soon. Come inside, where it’s warm.”

They went back into the classroom, and Castiel put all the Christmas cards he’d been given into a line on his desk, then rubbed his hands together and turned around to perch on the edge.

Tommy kicked at the floorboards gracelessly, acting sheepish.

“You don’t have any brothers or sisters, do you?” Castiel asked, tucking his cold hands under his armpits, clenching into the wool he wore.

Tommy shook his head. “None, sir.”

Castiel sighed. “If nobody is here in ten minutes, I’ll make a telephone call.”

Tommy was quiet.

Gulping, Castiel decided now was a good time to pose the questions he had no answers to. “Tommy, may I ask where you found those...” he cleared his throat, “photographs?”

Tommy stuck his hands into the pockets of his britches and knocked his toes together, but didn’t answer.

“Very well,” Castiel said. “You know that bringing them to school was wrong?”

Tommy nodded glumly. “Yes, sir.”

Castiel nodded too. “What do you expect me to tell your parents?”

Tommy searched the floor for an answer. “That I stole them outta my uncle’s dressing cabinet and I shouldn’t’ve done that because it wasn’t mine, and even though they’re funny they’re not proper.”

Castiel smiled in mild satisfaction. So, Tommy’s uncle enjoyed looking at naked men. That secret was safe with Castiel; he wouldn’t show the photos to Tommy’s parents, since that could endanger the uncle.

“You violated your uncle’s trust, and his privacy,” he stated to Tommy. “I hope you know that. But I think all I really need to tell your parents is that you’re sorry.”

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel stood up and approached the boy, setting his hand on the dirty-blonde hair that grew to below his ears. “You’re a good boy, Tommy, I know this isn’t something you’ll do again.”

“Yes, sir; no, sir.”

Castiel smiled, scuffing Tommy’s hair and stepping away again. “So where are your parents, exactly? I’m just worried they might be late.”

“No, they’re working in Maine,” Tommy said. “There’s only my uncle,” he mumbled, eyes still on the floor. “He’s meant to be looking after me.”

“...Meant to be?”

“He forgets to buy dinner, sometimes. Because he’s always working at the fire station, he―”

“Hello...?” a man’s voice called outside the classroom, somewhat distant.

Castiel walked to the door and peered outside, looking both ways before his eyes lighted on a figure that wandered the other end of the desolate corridor, clearly lost. “We’re here!” Castiel called, waving until the man turned in his direction.

Castiel ducked back inside the classroom and smiled at Tommy. “Is that your uncle?”

Tommy shut his eyes tightly. “Yes.” Whispering, he added, “Pl... Please don’t show him, sir...”

Show him...? “Oh,” Castiel realised aloud. “You don’t want me to show him what you brought.” Tommy nodded. “Well, I’m sorry, but if you didn’t want anyone to know you stole something, you shouldn’t have told your friends.”

Tommy swallowed. Castiel did feel sorry for the boy. But then his uncle entered the classroom, knocking on the open door, and Castiel’s emotion drained away as fast as the blood from his face.

The man in the photographs was Tommy’s uncle.

“Hey. I didn’t see this little tyke outside, I thought maybe he’d be in here. Nasty weather, huh? My car wouldn’t start, had to defrost her before I could get out.”

His smile was charming, and he entered the classroom walking with a bowlegged swagger. He was no more than three years older than he was in the photos; Castiel’s age. He had green eyes, and was even more beautiful in reality.

Castiel’s knees had turned weak, and a very faint sound squeaked from his throat.

“You’re Tommy’s schoolteacher, right?” the man assumed correctly, sticking out a hand. “I’m Dean Winchester, elder brother of his old man.”

Castiel reached out and shook Mr. Winchester’s hand automatically, hoping dearly that he wasn’t blushing. “H-Hello.”

Castiel had thought about those full, rounded lips sucking on his erection not twenty minutes ago. Guilt was only a baseline for what he felt now; he was shamed to the core.

“I guess there’s no papers or anything I gotta sign,” Winchester said, glancing at Tommy and scooping his hand around the boy’s shoulders. “I just take him home?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. Yes, uh― But, one thing...”

He panicked. This would be safer and less embarrassing for all parties if he kept quiet. Tommy would be let off the hook, Castiel wouldn’t be exposed, and Mr. Winchester would never need to know where his photos went.

Castiel couldn’t think about anything except how confidently this man had spread his legs.

Castiel caught his wispy moan before it escaped his mouth. He coughed to cover it, and locked his eyes on Dean’s, determined to be professional, perhaps to make up for the lack of such a sensibility earlier. “I need to speak with you, sir.” His eyes darted to Tommy, then back to Mr. Winchester. “Alone.”

“I’ll wait outside,” Tommy offered, and Castiel gave him a reassuring smile, watching him go. Tommy closed the door between them, and Castiel sank down against the edge of his desk, a hand to his forehead.

“What’s this about?” Winchester asked, cautiously.

Castiel licked his lips, then ducked his head low so he wouldn’t have to see how gorgeous the other man was. “Um. This... This may be hard to explain. Ah. Tommy brought something... into school today, something he wasn’t meant to bring.”

“Ahh, shit,” Winchester muttered, and Castiel’s toes curled at the cuss. He’d never heard one flicked off the tongue so easily. “Shit, was it a knife, did he bring a knife? Look, I told him violence ain’t the answer, it’s better to use words and stuff, but― Fuck.” He turned away, running a hand down his face. “He doesn’t exactly have the best role model, I’m crappy at using words.”

Castiel’s heart was fluttering. “You seem to be doing just fine,” he said, enlivened by how the man spoke so casually. Oh, it was dirty. Castiel lost the feeling of guilt as it was overtaken by a newfound attraction, not only for the fantasy of a naked, beautiful man, but for Dean Winchester.

Dean turned, tongue wetting his lower lip. “So it was a knife.”

Castiel balked, letting out a fast breath. “No, no! Not at all, it was―” He had to reach for his pocket, where he kept the photos. He paused when they were out in his hand. He looked at their containing white envelope, kept his eyes on it as he said, “It was these.”

“What is that?”

Castiel swallowed. “Um. It’s probably not right if I show you. Tommy asked me not to show you.”

“Did he now?” Dean said, a little dangerously.

“It’s not, um... These aren’t appropriate school... things,” Castiel stumbled, struggling to find the right words. He was usually so articulate, but this man had his eyes on him, and Castiel knew sooner or later he would see what he was trying to hide. “Tommy doesn’t need any punishment, he knows not to do it again.”

“Let me see that,” Dean demanded, holding out a hand. His hand was pale in the aura that came from the ceiling lights, showing up well-defined lines - and there was a scar across the centre of his palm. When Dean realised Castiel was looking at the scar, Dean curled his hand and stepped closer instead.

Castiel looked up, burning hot all over as he realised Dean was only a foot away, and their knees were almost touching. Dean reached out to take the envelope, and Castiel couldn’t react fast enough to clench his fingers to stop him.

He watched, steeped in cold dread as Dean turned away in a circle, flipping open the envelope and pinching out what was inside.

Dean’s feet stopped when he registered what he was looking at. Then his wide shoulders slumped, and he let out a soft breath through parted red lips. “Fuck.”

Castiel chuckled breathily. “Yes, that was my approximate thought, too.”

Dean’s eyes shot to Castiel’s, and Castiel saw as much shame and embarrassment in his features as he felt himself. “You looked at these?”

Castiel inclined his head, eyes not leaving Dean’s. “I had to, when I confiscated them.”

Dean put a fist over his mouth, eyes on the pictures, then on Castiel. “I thought I burned these.”

Castiel shifted, but didn’t say anything.

“I, um,” Dean said, then released a breath that came out trembling. “It was just after the war, I needed some way to get money to feed the kid after I was discharged, even on compensation pay I was flat-out broke - still am - and I swear it was just―”

Castiel stood up, raising a hand, “Oh no, sir, you don’t have to explain―”

“This guy asked to take these, and I couldn’t turn it down for what he offered me, it was one time, it was only one sex― One set!” Dean gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide.

Castiel’s whole body was bubbling with interest and curiosity, and honest attraction. His gaze shifted between Dean’s green, green eyes, wondering if the fear he saw in his expression counted as confirmation. Was Dean like him, a broken pendulum that swung the wrong way?

Dean slowly lowered his hand, throat pulling up as he swallowed. His eyes dipped to Castiel’s lips, then to the envelope in his hands.

“I won’t tell anybody, sir,” Castiel promised. He was either referring to the photographs, or to Dean’s sexual preferences, whichever Dean chose to believe he meant.

Dean swallowed again, nodding gratefully. “Um. It’s - It’s Dean,” he said. “Not ‘sir’.”

Castiel smiled, because he already thought of Dean by his first name. “Call me Castiel.”

Dean’s gaze lifted to meet Castiel’s. He smiled, just enough that Castiel saw.

“May I ask what you’re going to do with those?” Castiel said, pointing at the envelope that Dean was fiddling with.

Dean scoffed. “Oh, burn ‘em.”

Castiel gasped as his hand shot forward, fingers touching the envelope protectively.

A moment passed, and Castiel grappled with how he could play off his reaction. His eyes shifted up to Dean’s, seeing him peering back, interested.

Castiel gulped and let his hand return to his side. “They’re flattering photographs, is all,” he said weakly.

Dean’s lips curled up on one side, and he stared at Castiel for a long time. A very, very long time. Castiel stared back, breath shallow.

Then Dean looked down and started pulling the photos back out of hiding. “Lemme see these...”

Castiel’s blood ran hot as he watched Dean stand there, in his boots and his loose workman’s trousers and flannel shirt, shuffling between the nude pictures of his younger self. Castiel blushed completely when Dean paused on the image with his legs open, erection pushed to the soft tummy under his navel. He had such a filthy expression on his face in that one. Fuck me, those eyes said.

When Dean looked up, it took Castiel a solid second to pry his gaze off the pictures. He could do nothing to hide the fact he’d been looking from Dean. Dean was smiling in any case.

Then Dean shoved the pictures into the envelope, and handed them to Castiel. “Take them. It’s not like I have any use for them.”

“Wh-What makes you think I’d want them?” Castiel stammered, hands unable to escape the offering when Dean grabbed his hand and put the envelope firmly into it.

Dean’s grin was cocky, while admittedly bashful. “They’re a little damp in the corner.”

Castiel’s jaw dropped open, and he covered his hot cheek with a palm. He didn’t think he’d been so embarrassed in all his life. Dean laughed at him, a dusty, friendly chuckle. He turned around and sat down beside Castiel on his desk, their legs touching.

“Don’t worry about it, man,” Dean said, grasping Castiel’s thigh briefly, then letting go and slapping his hand to his own. “I got a bone to pick with Tommy, but... nah, you’re good.” He bumped Castiel with his shoulder, slipped off the desk, walked halfway to the door, then turned around. “I’m not gonna tell anyone... if you’re worried about that.”

Castiel could only nod in thanks, before he put the photos into his pocket, then went to get some money out of his desk. When he looked up, Dean was gone. Castiel scurried after him, but he got to the open door and Dean was already halfway down the hallway.

“Go on, Tommy,” Castiel urged the boy, who was waiting outside, curled up against the far wall of the hallway. He handed the money to Tommy, who took it in bewilderment. “Tell your uncle to buy you some dinner. And if there’s anything left over, get something for tomorrow, too.”

Tommy looked up with stars in his eyes, then got to his feet.

And then Castiel found his waist wrapped tight with Tommy’s arms, an embrace that almost squeezed the air right out of his lungs. He stroked the boy’s hair down, and then watched, breathless and stunned, as Tommy took off down the hall after his uncle.

December 16th, 1947
We met. And we gave each other what we needed.

Chapter Text

1950

Castiel entered the town’s only Irish pub, coat collar turned up beside his ears. Once inside, he attempted to push the glass door shut again, struggling against fierce gusts of wind which insisted on depositing snow inside the otherwise warm room. When the door clinked and sealed the darkness outside, he sighed.

He turned and carried heavy feet to the bar, flicking his fingers in greeting at old McIvy, who sat at the far table, then to Brennan behind the bar.

“Scotch; put it on my tab,” Castiel said mildly, sitting on a stool at the main bar. He watched through tired eyes as Brennan served out his drink into a wide-mouthed glass.

The smell of alcohol eased his senses, and his thoughts. He tried not to think about how, without his class of children, he had nothing.

The first sip of his drink coursed fire down his throat, and he relished how warm it made him. His fingers were beginning to thaw in the thick air. He considered that he might stay here all night - or at least until the pub closed - mulling over how empty his life was going to be now.

“Hey,” came a voice, from somewhere in the general hubbub of the room.

Castiel looked around himself, first to his right, seeing nobody else, then swivelled on his stool to look behind him, but saw only a few chattering, burly men in the boothed tables. Then he looked to his left, and he saw a man about his own age wearing a brown leather jacket, hunched over the bar. He was looking at Castiel with a certain kind of awe in his eyes, and Castiel thought perhaps something was stuck to his face.

Then the man spoke again, and Castiel’s fingers clasped tightly on the glass.

“C... Ca, something. Cassss. Cas?”

Castiel’s blinked. “Yes. Castiel.”

The man’s open mouth pulled into a very handsome, slightly tipsy grin. “Hey there. I know you.”

Castiel couldn’t do a thing as the man hopped off his own stool and scooted two along, perching directly to Castiel’s left. Human warmth radiated off him, which was surprisingly nice to feel.

“I’m Dean,” the man said, offering a hand. “We met a few years back.”

“Did we?” Castiel only vaguely recalled...

Dean’s lopsided grin lifted a little higher. “My nephew brought my naked pictures into school and you jacked off to them. You really don’t remember?”

Castiel’s heart began to hammer in his throat, and a burst of panic escaped in the form of brow sweat. “Shh-shhhh,” he managed, with a downwards hushing gesture. “Keep it down, don’t say it so loud...”

Dean licked his lips and looked around quickly, only realising then that he should have lowered his voice. “Sorry, man,” he muttered, tipping an amber stream from his glass into his mouth, holding it there, then swallowing. His eyes roamed Castiel’s face lazily for a moment, then he smiled again.

“So what’ve you been doing since I ran into you last, huh?” Dean asked, nudging Castiel’s leg with his own. “Still teachin’ those ankle-biters?”

Castiel lowered his head and his eyes, slowly spinning his cold glass. He lifted it and took a sip, then another sip, then closed his eyes tightly and downed the whole finger in one. He slammed the glass to the bar and flicked his hand for Brennan, calling for a refill.

“Bad day, I take it,” Brennan said, eyebrows raised as he sloshed another finger over the ice.

“As bad as they come, I think,” Castiel murmured, and pressed an unenthusiastic smile between his lips. Brennan saw that Castiel had company, and with a courteous nod, he left them alone.

“What was so bad?” Dean asked, voice low this time.

Castiel swirled the drink in his hand, watching the ice clink together. He sipped, then prepared to say something that he didn’t quite believe himself. “Lost my job.”

“Your job as a teacher?”

Castiel nodded. “Refused to cane a boy on the grounds that it was Christmas, but apparently when you start arguing with the headmaster about it in front of the class, that’s not considered a good thing to do.”

Dean made a breathy sound of disbelief. Castiel expected him to offer words of encouragement or sympathy, to tell him he’d done the right thing, but he didn’t expect a soft touch on his arm. When he looked to see why he’d been touched, Dean’s hand slipped away.

Castiel’s eyes remained on Dean’s hand as Dean turned it over, showing him his palm.

“This,” Dean said, referring to the healed scar across the centre of his palm, “is why I was discharged from the ranks a year early.”

Castiel looked up to meet his eye. Did Dean think a botched caning saved him from dying in battle? “I’m not sure I understand―”

“When I was eleven, my teacher hit me real hard. Broke eight bones, bruised and cut me so bad I couldn’t move my hand for a couple months. God, I can’t even remember what I did wrong, it was somethin’ shitty like turning up two minutes late to class. Hell knows. But it turns out, I’m laid out with a bad hand for life. I can’t grip right.

“Then a few years back, I’m in a trench with my buddy, and he needs his gun, he needs it bad. And I’m trying to pass it to him, right? And I―” Dean smiled, but it wasn’t happy or friendly, it was broken and hurt and shaken. “I can’t hold it, I drop it...

“Next thing I know my buddy’s dead.”

Castiel was frozen with the cold glass in hand, staring at Dean. For all the thoughts he had, all the things he felt, he couldn’t find a word to say.

Dean shut his eyes and laid his scarred hand over them. “A- Anyway. My point is.”

“You’re not supportive of the caning practice,” Castiel said.

Dean laughed behind his hand, tears shining in his eyes when he looked at Castiel. “You could say that.” He swallowed hard. “You standing up for the kid, that speaks to me somethin’ crazy. You’re a real heart, Cas.”

Castiel’s tension eased, for the first time tonight properly appreciating Dean’s presence here. He was supportive in a strange way, but supportive nonetheless.

Dean cleared his throat, sniffing and setting his eyes back on his drink. Castiel watched him take another sip, then took one of his own.

“So, uh,” Dean said, voice gruff now, trying to hide emotion, “What’re you doing here tonight, you just drowning your sorrows?”

“I do this more often than I care to think about,” Castiel admitted, sighing as another mouthful of scotch scalded his throat. He landed his curious gaze on Dean. “You?”

“Ah, I’m just trying to get a little drunk before tonight. I’ve got a Christmas bash to get to, I’m not really looking forward to it.”

“Oh? Why is that?”

Dean shrugged. “I work at the local fire department,” he started, and Castiel nodded. “The guys there, they’re all thirty somethin’, and they think it’s real weird that I’m twenty-six and ain’t got myself a girlfriend. It’s not that I don’t like girls,” he said quickly, “it’s that... well, I’m not really the type to go long-haul.”

“Hm,” Castiel said, brewing thoughts in his glass.

So, Dean liked women. Maybe Castiel’s assumptions from years before had been too hasty, maybe he had the wrong idea entirely. It didn’t matter now; Castiel had been celibate for so long he didn’t care about finding ways to satisfy himself any more. His hand was enough, as it had always been. Thoughts of Dean hadn’t crossed his mind for years.

“But what’s the problem,” Dean went on, frowning as he thumbed his glass, “is that they’re gonna use the Christmas party tonight as an excuse to get me to kiss Kirsty.”

“Who’s Kirsty?”

“She’s one of the firemen. Women.” Dean shrugged, and his leather jacket wrinkled. “She looks after our engines. She’s awesome, but I really don’t wanna date her. She scares me.” With that, Dean swept the rest of his drink into his mouth and swallowed it with barely a wince.

“So your solution is to drink whiskey until you can’t see.”

“Pretty much.”

Castiel pursed his lips.

Dean sniggered, a wobbly grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “You wouldn’t happen to be doin’ anything tonight, would you?”

Castiel examined Dean’s pleading expression carefully. “What... Why do you ask, exactly?”

“It’s only, if you came with me, I wouldn’t be the young one. You’re twenty-something, right?”

“Twenty-six.”

Dean nodded. “Then they could pick on you, too.”

“I fail to see what about that is enticing.”

Dean laughed, head down, wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. Castiel admired his freckles, then his eyes as he straightened up again. “C’mon, man. I’d have some company, at least. I can put out fires with my team just fine, but I can’t friggin’ socialise with them. They’ll eat me alive.”

Castiel would have turned him down, were it not for the story of the scar on Dean’s hand. Castiel saw a scared little boy in Dean, which was also what he saw in the mirror sometimes. Twenty-six was too young to be a veteran. And yet, here they both were, drinking the liquor of ancient men. They’d both grown up without wanting to.

Maybe if Castiel was with Dean tonight, he could be his buddy in the trench. God knew Castiel needed someone like that, too.

“I’ll go. But you’ll owe me a favour,” Castiel smiled, and nodded once.

Dean sniffed, picked up Castiel’s drink, and downed it himself. He gave the barman a wave, then tugged at Castiel’s coat sleeve, trying to pull him off his stool and to the door. “Actually,” he grinned, “I owe you two.”

“Two favours?”

“Uh huh.” Dean held the door open for Castiel, and Castiel gritted his teeth and pushed himself out into the howling, biting wind, flurried with snow. He heard the tiny clink of the bell as the door shut again, and then Dean’s voice through the sweeping air, “You paid for Tommy’s dinner that one time!” he bellowed, grabbing Castiel’s arm and leading him through the snow. “And that meant I had enough to get him a Christmas present that year!”

Castiel’s heart warmed at that, but he couldn’t smile, afraid of freezing his teeth. Already his nose was burning with the cold, skin stung by the oncoming snow. Dean knew where to lead him, and Castiel followed.

After five minutes in the disastrous weather, pushed and battered about on the sidewalk, Dean’s hand slipped into Castiel’s and held it, because it was easier to guide him like that. They walked together through the storm, Castiel pining after what it felt like to have fingers. Dean’s hand was probably very nice to hold, but all Castiel could sense was a faint pressure.

When Dean led him through the side door of a building, the pressure on his hand and the howling in his ears fell away at once. Castiel stumbled on too-light feet, pleased by the lack of snow inside.

They were in a huge warehouse-type building, lit from dangling lights above, empty of everything but two red firetrucks. One truck had no roof, but lots of wide spaces on its side for firemen to stand, and the other had all its bulk at its front: a cabin for the driver. Since both trucks were both so wide, they could each probably seat about five people, but that was a total guess on Castiel’s part.

“So this is where I hang out most of the time, waiting for disaster to strike,” Dean said, cupping his hands together and trying to blow some warmth into them.

“It’s-s v-v-very big-g-g,” Castiel said, through chattering teeth, then laughed at his own voice.

Dean beamed at him, and sauntered off on his curved legs. His once-perky hair was now sodden and flaked with melting snow, and Castiel resisted reaching after him to brush his hand back through it, as he would do for one of his young students. Instead, Castiel watched him go, then realised he was supposed to follow; Dean was waving an arm, gesturing him over.

Castiel strode to the end of the warehouse, and through the door that Dean went through. They were now in a brightly-lit corridor. Castiel walked five steps behind Dean, still shivering.

Dean turned and waited at the doorway at the end of the hall, a slow smile on his lips. Castiel grinned and turned his eyes down as he got closer; he wasn’t accustomed to dealing with attraction, since it happened so rarely for him.

Dean put a hand on Castiel’s wet coat, right between his shoulder blades, and went with him into the next room. This seemed to be the firemen’s mess hall: on the right there was a table where several people were sat in rowdy conversation, on the left there was a small, muted television, propped up on milk crates. There was a staircase set into the far wall, but between there and the doorway where they walked now, there was a silver pole going from floor to ceiling that seemed to be there for decoration alone.

“Aren’t th-those p-poles supposed to g-g-go somewhere?” Castiel asked Dean. Nobody else in the room had seen him and Dean yet.

Dean chuckled. “It used to. We moved it after Davey broke his legs. We stay on one level and just run everywhere really fast now.”

“Oh.”

“Heeyyy!” Dean called to his mates, both arms out to his sides in welcome. “I’m drunk already!”

Castiel hung behind him, wary of the group’s company. He would trust them to save his life in a fire, but he was not so sure about them on a personal level. If Dean could only find them bearable while intoxicated, that didn’t bode particularly well.

Dean was vocally greeted by a few large men who were all similar in appearance: fair-skinned, broad in the shoulder, boyish. Then, Dean was hugged by one pale, muscular woman with dark hair and a rolling laugh. A tall black man with a mustache, and a potbellied older man with a grey beard also lent him a pat on the shoulder, then sat back down.

Dean swung around, gesturing wildly in Castiel’s direction. “That there is Cas, friend’a mine.”

Castiel gave a timid wave, one arm banded around his middle. His hair was dripping down his forehead.

“I’mma go get him a blanket. You guys be nice to him, all right? Back in a minute.”

Dean winked at Castiel as he passed him, leaving the room via a spiral staircase that Castiel hadn’t seen when he came in. Now alone with the loud bunch of back-slapping officers, Castiel gulped nervously.

“So!” The woman swayed forward. She was wearing a white t-shirt, and blue overalls which were unbuttoned at her waist; the sleeves dangled to her knees. “I’m Kirsty. Dean’s never mentioned you before, how come?”

Castiel gaped and racked his brain an answer. “I’m, um. I’m an old acquaintance, I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Ahh, I get it,” Kirsty said, winking heartily and punching Castiel on the bicep. “You’re the carrot.”

“I’m the what?”

“Carrot. The rest of us, we’re the donkey. Except Dean was meant to be the carrot, and he’s throwing you under the bus instead. ‘Scuse my mixed metaphors. He brought you along so we’d tease you instead of him.”

Castiel coaxed up a smile. At least Dean had been up-front about using Castiel as a distraction tonight.

“You’re kinda pretty too, though, aint’ch’a? Sky-blue eyes,” Kirsty said, wistfully dragging a hand over Castiel’s stubbled cheek.

“Theee...aaaah...?” Castiel droned. He was very, very distracted by the way Kirsty looked at him, hungry-eyed, sharp-smiled - she was almost predatory. He began to understand what Dean was so afraid of.

“Boom, got it!” Dean’s voice yelled, boots clattering down the metal staircase.

He grinned as he returned to Castiel’s side and draped him with a woollen blanket, then grasped each bicep and rubbed him up and down. Castiel stared into his eyes and suffered an ongoing blankness of mind, staring and staring as Dean smiled and rubbed him.

Perhaps it was just the scotch kicking in...

The hazy mind didn’t clear itself up. Castiel followed Dean’s pulling hands for some time, introduced to a set of characters whose names he promptly forgot moments later. He drank what was handed to him, and he laughed when everyone else laughed, because he didn’t want to be the one who didn’t get the joke.

Eventually, after a few drinks, he laughed because he understood, or at least thought he did. Stories about people setting things on fire were funny when told from the mouths of the heroes who put the fires out. Besides, everyone was decently tipsy.

Dean smiled a lot.

The blanket got lost somewhere, and Castiel developed a taste for neat gin very quickly. He stopped caring about his lost job or his gums showing when he laughed, and he was happy to fall on Dean if his arms were close enough, no matter whether Castiel was actually off-balance.

There was a pole. It was shiny and Castiel’s hands fitted well around it. Then there was music and singing, hands clapping, cat calls all around - and Castiel liked to dance. He’d always liked to dance.

He also never much liked clothes.

He did like Dean catching him, though. And he liked being carried, and he liked couches. And he liked laughing and grabbing and spreading his legs out wide so Dean could fall between them.

But he didn’t like being left alone.

He took some time to gather up his thoughts and his consciousness, staring at the dark ceiling, listening to Christmas carols being sung in the next room. He took deep breaths, rested his head and his eyes, and drank the water Dean had given him.

He crawled his way to the bathroom, tried not to look as the mixed drinks vacated his stomach, then found the strength to stand up. Castiel stared at himself in the mirror under the ticking yellow light. His face was sweaty and his eyes were bloodshot, but he did feel satisfied. He remembered some of what had happened in the hours just passed, and he had enjoyed it. Particularly Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean.

Castiel swirled a cap of mouthwash around his teeth, gargled, then washed his face with ice-cold water until his stomach stopped churning. He went and sat down for a bit longer, and eventually decided to rejoin the party.

Just as he was exiting the break room, he bumped into Kirsty. “Hey you, I was just coming to check on ya. Feel up to playing spin the bottle?”

“I just threw up,” Castiel said with a frown.

“Well your breath smells nice and minty, so I don’t see a problem, flutter bum. Come on, would ya?”

Castiel felt he had no choice but to follow her dragging hands, his feet stumbling on the concrete floor, all the way back to the table where the other firemen were sat. Some were still drinking, one was asleep, and Dean was batting a scrunched-up piece of paper over the head of the snoring fireman, playing a crude form of tennis with one of his fellows.

Dean dropped the paper when he saw Castiel. “Cas! Thought you were out for the night. I was prepared to drive you home in the morning and everything. Ride in a firetruck, who wouldn’t want that?” He grinned, his already high cheeks pushed up higher.

“That’s very nice of you,” Castiel said, smiling, going where Kirsty pushed him. “But―”

“Ooh look, mistletoe!” Kirsty shouted, and a cheer went up from the gathered firemen. The snoring man leapt awake, knocking his bottle of beer over by accident.

Castiel looked up, and saw that there was indeed a garland of mistletoe stuck to the ceiling three feet above his head, pinned there with a dart from a target game. It hadn’t been there earlier.

There was now a chant going up from the other men, encouragement for Kirsty, maybe for Castiel. It seemed they wanted them to kiss. Castiel was vaguely aware that she had put him in this spot on purpose.

“I imagine the idea is,” Castiel said, frowning as he picked words carefully, trying to sound like his brain was functioning, “if we are below the mistletoe, we must kiss?”

“That’s it, cutie,” Kirsty winked, her smooth voice turned seductive. “Show mama some love, won’tcha?”

Castiel very awkwardly tried to escape, but Kirsty’s grip on his wrists was strong. His eyes darted to where Dean hovered, hoping he would save him. It was one thing to serve as a distraction so this wouldn’t happen to Dean, but another to be kissed for the first time ever by someone he didn’t really want to kiss. Like Dean, he didn’t see Kirsty that way.

The devolved chanting of ooh ooh ooh ooh became all Castiel could hear, and all he saw was Kirsty’s puckered lips slowly advancing towards his face. He almost wished he could puke on command and embarrass himself out of the situation, but it wasn’t happening.

As Kirsty stretched up to within inches of his face, he really started to panic. Would it hurt her feelings if he yelled “No!” in her face? Were men even allowed to refuse women? Was unwilling participation something that happened to men? He didn’t want her hands on his wrists, he didn’t like this, he didn’t want this at all―

“Outta the way, lady,” Dean laughed, shoving her with minimal effort. She slapped him playfully, but that was all Castiel saw before he saw Dean’s eyes closing and his face get as close as Kirsty’s had been. This time, Castiel just went with it.

He tasted beer on Dean’s breath, and something sweet. He had stubble, which prickled Castiel’s lips. His mouth was warm. His hands were gentle, holding the back of Castiel’s neck. His waist was firm, where Castiel held him. The room was silent.

Castiel’s moan of enjoyment was covered by Dean’s laugh, as the kiss had ended and he was turning away, yelling out a successful whoop to his mates. Castiel saw the toying mirth on Dean’s face, and his open-mouthed laugh, and the way Dean didn’t look at him, but went forward with his arms out to quip with his friends.

It had been a joke. It was...

It was a joke.

Castiel’s first kiss had been nothing to Dean.

Frozen to the spot, Castiel did his best to gather his emotions close and not allow the alcohol in his system to let him weep. He felt like he might weep, either way. What he felt was disappointment and sadness, and it was extremely unpleasant.

He frowned and shook his head, stepping away from the chalked circle on the floor which marked the mistletoe kissing zone. Swallowing down his upset, he headed away, away from everything that was happening here, all the laughs and the yells and the hand-thrown projectiles. Children were less uncouth than this.

He followed the hallway that led out of the mess hall, heading back the way they’d come when he and Dean entered the building. The walls were smaller than they had been before, and they moved more.

The big garage with the firetrucks was incredibly cold, and he shivered. The icy air brought more clarity to his thoughts, and he realised he’d forgotten his coat. His sweater was on inside-out, and one foot was missing a sock inside its shoe. There was a wet stain on his trousers, and he would bet anything that his hair was a wreck.

He had taken his clothes off and danced, swinging himself around the fireman’s pole. Oh, the shame was neverending.

Every time he met Dean, Castiel did something revolting and stripped himself of all dignity. He would never forget Dean again, if only because of how his presence turned Castiel into some kind of senseless harlot.

Castiel only hoped that he had looked good while dancing.

Almost at the side door of the garage, Castiel reached out a hand. Damn his coat and his missing sock; tonight he valued escape over frostbitten fingers.

“Wait!” came a shout from the other side of the garage. “Cas! Goddamn it, Cas, hold still!”

Castiel waited, hand on the door. He could hear the wind outside, and the door was rattling. Dean came around the corner, Castiel’s still-wet coat in hand.

“You didn’t happen to see a sock lying around, did you?” Castiel asked quietly, focused on Dean’s hands as Castiel took the coat from him.

“Did it have tiny reindeers on it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s on the ceiling fan. I thought it might’ve been Bobby’s, but I guess not. Want me to get it?”

“You don’t have to, not right now.”

“Then I’ll get it to Brennan, he’ll pass it on to you.”

Castiel smiled tightly, eager to open the door and leave. He felt a tension, either between him and Dean, or within himself. He thought about how it felt to kiss Dean, and that recollection left him jilted.

“Look, um. Cas...”

Castiel straightened the damp sleeves of his coat, but didn’t look up at Dean.

“What I did. Back there.”

“Kissed me.”

“Yeah.”

Seconds passed.

“I did that ‘cause you obviously didn’t want to kiss Kirsty, but―”

“What made you think I wanted to kiss you any more than I wanted to kiss her?”

“I thought maybe if you kissed me you’d want to kiss me. You sure didn’t pull away, either, so I’m thinking―”

“It was all a big joke to you, Dean,” Castiel huffed, almost laughing. “Thank you for ‘saving’ me, but I’m―”

“If I hadn’t laughed it off afterwards, what then? What would all of them have thought, huh? That I’m some... fairy? Jesus, Cas, they already think I’m a total sourpuss for not getting it on with Kirsty when she’s been throwing herself at me for months. I thought it’d be― God, I don’t know. I thought it would be nice. To kiss you.”

Castiel’s gaze flicked up at last, and he saw hard disappointment in Dean’s eyes.

Dean took a small breath. “I’m sorry if it rattled your cage, all right? I’m not assuming that just because you think I’m nice-lookin’ means you want to make out with me, but...” He wet his lips, head shaking. “I hoped. I hoped, that’s all.”

Castiel swallowed, examining the collar of Dean’s red plaid shirt. He remembered pulling on that collar when he’d been carried to the couch.

Feeling a rush of confliction, Castiel turned for the door again, pushing it open. The wind carried a swirling blitz of white snow past the exit. It wasn’t as bad as it had been earlier, but Castiel still dreaded stepping out into it. He was determined to get home by himself, though; he would not accept a ride.

But, as he was about to cross the threshold, he paused. The wind made something move above him, and he looked up to check what it was.

He smirked, a pool of excitement warming him. There was mistletoe pinned above the door, just inside the building.

Castiel turned around, and smiled widely when he saw Dean peering up at the dangling plant offcut.

Then Dean sighed, his face splitting into a grin. Castiel reached out a hand, grabbing Dean by the shirt and hauling him into his space. This time he pushed Dean up against the door frame, and in his surprise at the shove, Dean gasped, mouth open wide.

Castiel slipped his tongue in, frowning as he closed his lips around Dean’s. That was exactly how he wanted it, their mouths together, Dean’s waist under his hands. Nobody was watching this time.

Their heads turned, prolonging their exposure to each other, and to the hazy white on one side of them.

Dean made a soft, broken noise. Castiel purred at that sound, swallowing around it and nudging his mouth forward for another kiss. One of Dean’s thumbs stroked the side of Castiel’s neck, his other hand tucked into Castiel’s belt, keeping him close.

This was how it was meant to happen. Castiel’s first kiss. Tentative, but still confident. Flurries of electricity buzzed in his bloodstream as fast as the snow outside.

He let free a satisfied groan, eyes still shut as he let their mouths click apart.

Slowly, he peeked out, smiling as soon as he saw Dean’s face, so many freckles on his cheeks and nose, long eyelashes flicked at by the wind. Dean hadn’t opened his eyes yet, he was still basking in how the kiss had felt for him.

Castiel pecked his lips again, eyes open. This time, Dean looked back. They grinned. Castiel ducked away and laughed, letting go of Dean’s waist.

“I liked that one better,” Dean mused, and Castiel nodded.

Their hands clasped then fell separate, and Castiel stepped through the doorway and into the blast of cold weather. He was still leaving; it seemed a bad idea to stay. He took as many as five, six steps out into the snow, before he looked back.

Dean was waiting in the doorway, watching him go.

Castiel waved. Dean waved back.

Then Castiel turned around and went home.

December 17th 1950
We kissed, then you walked away. But you looked back. I’m so glad you looked back.

Chapter Text

1955

“Don’t run off!” Dean shouted, as Tommy scarpered away through the afternoon crowds of the shopping mall. Watching the kid disappear between the masses of people, Dean sighed. He turned to his brother and gestured in the direction Tommy had gone. “You see what I have to deal with, Sam? It’s ridiculous!”

“He won’t go too far,” Sam said, smiling. “Look, he only saw Santa.”

Dean glanced ahead, and saw where Tommy had run to. Then he chuckled and switched his shopping bags to the other hand, and passed Rebecca’s tiny grip over to Sam. Rebecca gurgled and started skipping between the two men.

“I thought he’d be too old for Santa now,” Dean murmured, dodging old people and young people alike as they approached the stall.

Ahead, there was a roped-off area in the centre of the mall crossroads, and inside it, there was a square of fake snow. Abnormally short people dressed up like Christmas elves walked around the border, chatting to children on the other side. In the middle of the area, there was a painted throne, in which sat a man dressed up like Santa, wearing a red suit with white, fluffy hemming.

“You wanna stick around while he talks to Santa, or you wanna go get Bec a snack?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam shrugged, then picked up Rebecca and held her to his hip so she wouldn’t get lost as the crowd got more dense around them. “I guess we could stay. Bec’s never met Santa. Have you?” he cooed at his daughter, and Rebecca kicked her stubby legs.

“She’s too young,” Dean scoffed.

“And Tommy’s fourteen, he’s too old,” Sam countered. “You never really know with kids.”

Dean hummed semi-agreement. They caught up with Tommy, fastened him to their side, and waited patiently to get to the front of the line.

Dean watched absent-mindedly as the child at the front of the line bounced up into Santa’s lap, sat there and talked to him for a while. Their parents waited beside them, and listened carefully.

It was quite ingenious, Dean thought. Talking to ‘Santa’ was an easy way for parents to hear what their offspring wanted to get for Christmas, which made gift-buying easier. However, without the aid of Santa, Dean had bought Sam a collector’s set of model airplanes, and Sam’s wife a new set of dishcloths, since she’d mucked up her last set when she helped Dean fix his car. He wasn’t sure what to get Tommy yet, which was why he waited patiently for the children ahead of them to finish.

The sound of bells echoed about the mall, playing a cheerful, jingly tune. Dean smiled gently. He really did enjoy Christmas, especially when Sam came home and the family was all together.

At last, after more than twenty minutes, the Christmas elf at the rope border let Dean through. “Only one adult,” he said in an obviously put-on voice. “Maybe just the short one. You’re less - hm - imposing.”

Dean caught his laugh behind his teeth, eyeing his brother as he swapped Sam the shopping bags for Rebecca. Sam was a head taller than Dean, despite being four years younger. Since Dean was just into his thirties now, the age difference wasn’t a factor for height any more, but it was still funny that the elf whose head was three feet lower than Dean’s was calling him ‘the short one’. Sam’s face looked like a thunderclap.

“I’ll be back in a minute, you moose,” Dean chuckled, bumping Sam with his elbow when he lurched off to the side. Letting out a breath, Dean took Tommy’s hand and followed the winding path through the fake snow to reach Santa’s throne.

Santa was brushing his lap down from the previous child, not yet looking up. He was fat with padding under his suit, and his white beard was obviously not real, but in Dean’s experience, that was always the way.

“Ga,” Rebecca said, wriggling her arms.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa said, all his attention on the children, particularly on Rebecca as she flailed her way out of Dean’s arms to reach for Santa instead.

Dean winced, but allowed her to sit on the guy’s lap. He smelled like cookies, and Dean assumed a fragrance had been sprayed on the chair to cover up some kid’s accident.

“What’s yourrr name, little girl?” Santa asked, in his big and rumbling voice. Dean bit the insides of his cheeks, holding back the snigger that threatened to escape.

“Bec,” Rebecca said. It sounded like a hiccup.

“Bec? I see,” Santa said. He turned to Tommy. “And yooouuuu...rrr...”

Santa trailed off before he’d finished asking. Tommy began to answer anyway, but Santa’s eyes flitted off the boy and went straight to Dean. The man’s focus drifted from Dean’s belt buckle... to his stomach... then straight up to meet his gaze.

Santa had blue eyes. Young, thirty-one-year-old blue eyes. There were dark, tired dips below them, a neat frown line between them, and laughter wrinkles on both sides that Dean knew were there even if he couldn’t see them right that second.

Dean’s stomach had flipped into next week. “Cas.”

Castiel breathed softly. “Uhhh,” he said. Those pale pink lips with vertical grooves were still as perfect as they were years ago. Dean had never fantasised about kissing Santa, but he sure would be doing so from now on.

The eye wrinkles made themselves visible as Castiel looked down, back to Tommy. “Apologies,” he said in his Santa voice, which Dean smirked at now; it was barely any different to Castiel’s normal voice. “What was your name?”

“Tommy,” Tommy said. He was shifting on his feet, focus intent on Rebecca. Dean wondered if he recognised his old schoolteacher just by his eyes and his voice.

“And what would each of you like for Christmas this year?” Santa asked. He bounced Rebecca in his lap, and she cooed happily, hands in his beard. “Don’t be shy.”

Rebecca clearly didn’t understand the question, but she was entertaining herself just fine. Castiel chuckled, “Ho, ho, ho,” then looked up to Tommy. Dean beamed, seeing a grin on Castiel’s face that was a mile wide. He adored children, Dean had known that already, but he got all warm and fuzzy inside seeing Cas smile again.

“I’d like a train set,” Tommy said confidently. His eyes then lifted from Santa to Dean, to check he’d heard.

“What’re you lookin’ at me for? I’m not Santa,” Dean grinned.

Tommy sighed. “I know Santa’s not real. I want a train set.”

“Not real!” Santa boomed. “Not reeeal?”

Dean burst out laughing, overjoyed to hear Castiel talk like that, and just to be in his presence again. Dean laid a hand on Santa’s shoulder, squeezing. Castiel looked up at him, his eyes sparkling. He was happy to see Dean, too.

“Ga,” Rebecca said.

Dean shot forward and started disentangling his niece from Castiel’s white beard, half of which seemed to be in Rebecca’s mouth. “Ah, c’mon, you nutter. I‘ll get you a fake beard for Christmas, you can’t have this one. Cas needs it.”

Castiel was chuckling as he helped Dean pull Rebecca free. It wasn’t even his Santa laugh, but a gentle and friendly grumble. His fingers touched Dean’s hands far more than necessary, and Dean let it happen, perhaps perpetuated it a bit.

Eventually Rebecca was safely in his arms, and Castiel’s beard was back in place, but damp. Tommy looked confused. Dean cleared his throat, trying to hide his smile by wiggling his pouted lips.

“Um,” he said, so quietly that only Rebecca and Castiel could hear him, “when do you get off work?”

Castiel smirked, leaning back in his painted throne. “Four-thirty, when the mall closes. Ho, ho, ho,” he added hastily, winking. Dean laughed and forced himself to step away, lest he attempt to do something awful like ask one of the elves if he was allowed to sit in Santa’s lap.

Tommy wandered back to the rope edge at Dean’s side, looking at Dean strangely. Dean stepped back into the crowd and met the eyes of other friendly parents with a forced smile on his lips, because the special smile was for Cas alone. When they found Sam in the bustle of the other children and adults, Dean handed Rebecca back to him and took the shopping.

“Tommy wants a train set,” Dean said. “And apparently Santa’s not real, did you know that?”

“Santa’s not real?!” Sam feigned shock so well that even Dean panicked for a second. Then Sam grinned, and hushed Rebecca’s gurgles. “Shh, baby. You don’t need to know that.”

Dean grinned and held Tommy’s shoulder so he wouldn’t run off again. They edged out of the crowds and found their way to the toymaker’s store, where Tommy picked out the exact train set he wanted.

Dean wrote a cheque for the maker happily, relieved to have Tommy’s gift out of the way so soon. He would worry about stocking-stuffers later, but for now, his job as ‘the best uncle ever’ was done.

They wandered between other stores in the huge building, then shared hot cocoas from the inside cafe, the deliciousness of which made Dean’s day so much better by itself.

In the past few hours he had checked his watch a good twenty times, so often that even Sam wondered what he was checking for, and asked about it as they nursed their milky drinks.

“I’m meeting Santa,” Dean explained, a smile playing on his lips as he examined the floor.

“Santa,” Sam repeated.

“Yeah, old friend of mine,” Dean said. He gave Tommy a small smirk, since he was watching Dean very carefully. “He was Tomster’s old schoolteacher, you remember him?”

Tommy nodded. “He never came back after Christmas when I was nine.”

“Good teacher though?”

“The best I’ve had,” Tommy agreed.

Dean grinned, swirling the dregs of his cocoa around the little white cup. “Yeah, uh,” he looked back to Sam, shrugging at his interested expression, “we had a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Mm-hm,” Dean said, nodding into his cocoa cup, trying very hard not to let his face heat up. If it did, it was purely in reaction to the hot drink, not the squirm of delight that burst through his body like a slow, slow firework. He swallowed. “You know. A... a thing.” He looked at Sam pointedly.

Realisation gradually dawned upon Sam’s face. He knew enough about Dean to understand.

Sam’s eyes darted to Tommy, worried he might have caught the undercurrent of suggestiveness, but Tommy seemed unaware.

Sam shot Dean a gentle smile, and Dean flooded with relief he’d been waiting to feel. He gulped down his cocoa and dwelled in the reassurance of how good Sam’s acceptance felt. This was 1955, and attraction to the same sex was something tabooed beyond belief. If Sam hadn’t found Dean’s collection of personal photographs on one occasion, the conversation never would have come up in the first place. And if Sammy wasn’t as patient and loving a person as he was, the current family situation would have been a whole lot different.

Sam was the only person who knew. Dean wanted to keep it that way.

When his watch showed the time was four-twenty-five, Dean muttered to Sam that he was going to meet with Castiel. The mall was about to close, and the crowds were down to nothing. Dean handed both his niece and nephew over to Sam’s charge, scuffed Tommy’s hair and stroked Bec’s cheek, then patted Sam on the back for good measure.

“I won’t be long,” he assured them. “You can drive home if you want. Here, take the keys.” He threw his car keys to Sam, who caught them with his free hand.

“How are you going to get home?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “I dunno. Walk back maybe. Cas might have a car parked.”

Sam hesitated, bundling Bec higher on his hip. “We’ll wait for you in the car.”

“What if I’m ages?”

Sam’s expression was subtle, but he showed Dean that brotherly protectiveness was not unrequited between them. There was a lot of trouble to be had, jail sentences included, if anyone were to find out the reason Dean wanted to meet with Castiel.

Dean knew Sam was right. Dean and Castiel hadn’t bumped into each other again because of fate, or anything of the sort. It was pure dumb luck, and it wasn’t meant to be.

But Dean was still going to see him. He nodded to Sam. “Wait in the car then. Maybe we’ll come out and join you.”

Tommy smiled, and Dean grinned back. The kid looked forward to seeing his old teacher, and Dean could definitely appreciate that.

He found Castiel surrounded by elves, who were helping the janitor pack up the rope borders and sweep the snow that had escaped the enclosure. Castiel himself was further away from the others, taking off his Santa suit, down to the pillow that was strapped under his suspenders.

Dean grinned as he walked up the path towards the throne. He could see that Castiel’s skin was flushed red, having gotten too hot under the velvet clothes.

“Hey, handsome,” Dean said, almost at a whisper.

Castiel turned around, donning a beautiful smile immediately. “Not so loud, Dean,” he said. He reminded Dean of the last time they’d met in a bar; Dean was too rowdy.

So, again, with his eyes set fully on Cas’, in an even quieter whisper, Dean said, “Hey, handsome.”

Castiel nibbled his lower lip, trying to hide his huge grin. Dean wanted to hug him, but they weren’t allowed to do that here.

“Walk with me,” Dean suggested, flicking a hand at his hip. “You live far from here?”

“About ten minutes’ walk, actually.” Castiel grabbed a coat that had been folded behind the throne and put it on. Dean was amused to note it was the same coat Castiel had removed while shimmying around the fireman’s pole, five years previously. “Where are your family?”

“Waiting in the car outside. I got myself a sweet Chevrolet Delray, the whole family fits in the back.” Dean swelled with pride; he loved his car, and his family.

“How are they all?” Castiel asked softly, walking by Dean’s side, heading down a wide passage of the now-deserted shopping mall. The bells had stopped, and the background music cut out at that very moment, leaving them with an echoing silence to travel through.

“They’re good. Sam’s home for Christmas, along with his wife. The kids are happy to see them. Me too - hah, having him back puts me right up on cloud nine. Missed him something crazy.”

Castiel nodded, and he seemed genuinely interested.

Dean tried to walk slowly, since the glass doors of the mall’s exit were already in sight. “H- how are you?” he ventured, almost reaching out to touch Castiel’s arm, but putting his hand into his jacket pocket instead.

“Uh,” Castiel said, smiling quickly. Then the smile faded, his gaze on the polished floor where he walked. He frowned. But he didn’t answer.

“Not good,” Dean gathered. He sighed slowly, not sure if Castiel wanted to talk about it. “Guess I should’ve known, you being here, getting sat on by whiny kids all day.”

“It’s not so bad,” Castiel said, but he was lying. Dean saw how miserable he looked, even in the dimming light when the mall’s main overheads shut off. It was gloomy now, but there was still a faint coloured glow from the Christmas lights which were strung across every high brow of the walls.

For want of something to say, Dean told Castiel, “I started a business. Mechanical stuff. Fixing cars and whatnot.”

Castiel’s head perked up, and a smile made its way onto his face again. “You’re doing well.”

“Yeah, yeah. Kinda.” Dean nodded, not wanting to over-exaggerate his success and be named a boaster. Yet, he didn’t intend to let the opportunity go by: he wanted to find a way to thank Castiel for what he’d done for him and Tommy years ago. Maybe if Dean told Castiel how things had looked up since then, they might get somewhere.

“I rake in a good amount of money each year. Enough to keep the family going, keep ‘em happy. I make almost as much as Sammy now, and he’s a goddamn Ivy Leaguer. People wanna have their cars fixed just right, and no fancy degree is gonna help with that, not matched against someone who’s been working with their bare hands all their life. Y’know?”

Castiel nodded. “I’m happy for you.”

He wasn’t lying when he said it. But he still looked sad.

“Talk to me, Cas,” Dean said, walking closer and slower, batting Castiel’s side with his elbow. “What’s eatin’ you?”

Castiel chuckled quietly, eyes on the glass doors not ten feet ahead, beyond which the lights of the last cars flickered, leaving the parking lot. “There’s not much to tell.”

“Sure there is.”

Castiel waited at the doors, one hand on the silver handle, looking outside. There was no snow, even though it was forecasted. Dean could smell the frost through the door though, and he knew it wouldn’t be long until it came.

“I―” Castiel began, then frowned again. He looked to Dean, letting out a long breath. “After that night you and I were―”

“The Christmas bash, yeah,” Dean offered, knowing they ought not say what happened explicitly.

“I couldn’t pay my bar tab after then. That teaching job was the only thing I had to keep me afloat. The money I gave you, at the time it was nothing, but sometimes I do wonder, if I hadn’t fed your nephew that day years ago, would I have money to feed myself now?”

He laughed, but it was so empty of joy. Every feeling of happiness Dean had amassed over the day disappeared in a wave of sympathy for the other man. He felt his pain, because he’d been in that situation before, having those same thoughts.

Castiel rested his forehead on the glass, eyes closed. “That is not to say I regret it,” he said. “I would willingly go hungry every day for the rest of my life, if I knew that a child wasn’t feeling the same way.” He looked up at Dean with tears in his eyes.

“So much went wrong after I left you there, Dean. Maybe I made a mistake in leaving. We could’ve helped each other.”

Dean shook his head. “A mistake would’ve been to stay. Believe me, people like you and me ain’t stronger together. And besides. If something fucked up in your life, that was a mistake. Blame yourself, blame God, blame the weather. Whatever you like. But, just know,” he shrugged, “Mistakes are made for fixing.

“It’s like with cars,” Dean went on. “They run great, they’re beautiful as heck, and the engine is perfect under that hood. But then there’s a speck of grit in the windshield. It’s just a speck. But it grows, and it collects more grit, and dead flies, and God knows what else. And it’s only a tiny thing, but I can’t fix that with a spanner and some grease. That whole windshield needs replacing.”

“You’re saying I should replace my life?” Castiel chuckled.

“No,” Dean smiled, then gazed out into the darkened parking lot, where the first flakes of snow started coming down. He watched it for a few long seconds, then took Castiel by his forearm, coat in his grip, and he pulled him outside, holding the door for him. “I’m saying sometimes you need a kickstart. New windshield.”

“I - I don’t follow,” Castiel said, his voice bullied by the wind as he hastened after Dean. Dean led him across the empty lot towards his car. Sam had turned the headlamps on, and the tarmac was flooded with bright champagne yellow, showing up snowflakes gently drifting to Earth.

“What do you want to do with your life, Cas?” Dean asked, squeezing Castiel’s forearm. “I’m a part-time firefighter, because hell, I love that job, but I don’t wanna do that all the time. I fix cars the rest of the time, because I don’t have to talk to cars unless I want to, and that’s easier that listening to firemen teasing me about my sideburns or my freckles or the fact I’m still single.”

Castiel was panting a little at Dean’s side, and Dean sensed he was starting to panic. Dean slowed down in reaction, no longer dragging him towards the car. Castiel pulled his arm free of Dean’s hand, and then stopped walking entirely.

Dean stopped too, looking him in the eye.

“I want to sell honey,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded. “Okay. Go on.”

“I - I want to look after bees. I want to run fifty, a hundred beehives at once. I want a protective suit, and enough land to run that kind of a company, and a car that gets me between the hives and town so I can sell the jars.

“And if I can’t ever find a way to run a company, I just want... bees. As pets. I love bees. But I can barely pay rent for one bedroom, let alone anywhere that would let me keep insects.” He puffed out a flighty breath, melting some of the snow that fell in front of his face. “I can’t do any of that, Dean.”

His eyelids lowered for a moment, flickering in the light from the car lamps. “I’m sorry to burden you with all these... empty dreams. I think about it too much, I lie awake when I can’t sleep and I think about how nice it would be.”

Dean was smiling, and had been ever since Castiel had burst out that first sentence. Dean had never thought of Cas as a bee person, but he couldn’t unsee it, now.

“Come here, Cas, I wanna give you something,” Dean said, gesturing Castiel closer.

Castiel took a step forward, and Dean turned to walk to the car again, knowing Castiel would follow. Dean waved to Sam, who waved back, Rebecca on his lap. Tommy was asleep in the backseat. Poor kid, he’d missed seeing Castiel again.

When he was at the car, Dean reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pen, followed by his chequebook. He swiped a layer of snow off the upper rim of his car, then rested the book on it. He smiled as he wrote out Castiel’s name.

“What’s your surname?” he asked, tossing a quick look over his shoulder.

“Quinn. Why?”

Dean completed the cheque. Then he tore it out carefully, sheltering it from the falling snow as he held it towards Castiel. “I think two thousand might be a good starter. Could find a car going cheap for half that.”

Castiel’s eyes were like gems as he took the cheque to see it. He read it, and Dean grinned as he watched that flat line of a mouth slide open, his eyes widening, his shoulders start to shake.

“That’s the new windscreen for your life,” Dean shrugged, grasping Castiel on the shoulder and shaking him warmly. “Maybe you’ll be able to see the road better now.”

Castiel trembled. “D- Dean... I can’t - I can’t take this...”

“You did me good a couple times, Cas. If I recall, I owed you two favours. This is payback for one.” He smiled, taking a step forward, thumbs either side of Castiel’s bare neck. “If you see me around, remind me I owe you something else.”

“Dean... Dean, this changes everything―”

“Yeah,” Dean cupped Castiel’s ear, feeling the round edge of it, cold in his warmer palm. He leaned in and rested his forehead on Castiel’s. Their hot breath mingled, heating up Dean’s numbed nose for a few brief seconds before he pulled away. Castiel was crying in complete silence, tears running from his eyes.

Dean felt more like a saviour than he ever had putting out fires. “Stay safe, Cas,” he said, patting the side of Cas’ neck one last time before he edged past, went around the hood of his car, and climbed into the driver’s seat. Castiel was still standing there, looking at the cheque he held.

Dean started the engine, his whole body juddering at the vibration under him. He reached across to Sam’s side and rolled down the window, and, voice low so he didn’t disturb Rebecca where she slept, he called out, “Put that paper away before it gets wet!”

Castiel ducked to the level of the window, glancing at Sam before locking eyes with Dean in the darkness. “Thank you,” he said. It was so heartfelt that Dean’s chest panged with awesome emotional pressure. He could only nod in farewell.

Then he pressed on the gas pedal, and drove his family for the exit. In his rear-view mirror, he could see Castiel watching them go.

“That was a nice thing you did,” Sam said, very quietly. “You gave him almost a whole year’s wages.”

Dean flexed his stiff fingers on the steering wheel, and smiled to himself.

December 18th 1955
You changed my life.

Chapter Text

1962

Castiel sighed slowly as he stripped his wet clothes off. He’d spent the afternoon shovelling snow off his driveway, only to have it melt into sludge by the time he was done; he may as well not have bothered in the first place.

But, being cold and damp, he had a good excuse to use the bottle of nice-smelling bath salts in his bathroom cabinet. He’d been wanting to try it out since his neighbour gave it to him on his birthday, months back. He imagined there was a romantic intention in that particular gift, but he consistently pretended not to notice her advances, given that he would never be able to explain to her why he wasn’t interested.

He draped his wet clothes on the rail over his bedroom’s gas heater, grunting as he straightened up. His back ached. Turning thirty-eight this year felt monumentally more tiring than being thirty-seven. He wasn’t the sort of person made to shovel snow.

Dragging his feet, and with a fresh change of clothes in hand, he made his way to the bathroom. He removed his underwear as he went, picking up his fluffiest towel as he passed the cupboard.

He let the bathroom fill with steam, the hot water gushing forcefully into his bathtub. He was going to indulge in this, for once. Maybe the heat of it would ease the creak that he had begun to hear from his bones.

As he slid into the full bath, the water felt utterly beautiful against his skin. Scalding, almost. He reveled in how gentle its touch was for him. The bath salts were an added sprinkle of heavenly aroma, even if they were gritty.

He smiled, lay back, and allowed himself to relax.

“People should put goddamn grates on their fires if they’re gonna do something dumb like roast chestnuts,” Dean declared, holding on for dear life as Rufus skidded and screeched the fire truck’s wheels down a residential street. “You’d think that’s common sense.”

Bobby grunted in agreement from Dean’s other side, one of his hands grasping the handhold above his head as the fire truck swerved yet again. Slushy roads were unsafe, especially now that it was dark. The truck’s siren wasn’t on because the roads were clear of other cars, because everyone else had sensible jobs that let them stay at home when it came to Christmastime.

Even squashed between five other firefighters, Dean was so cold in the driver’s cabin that he looked forward to running into a burning building, because it would certainly be warmer than this.

As Rufus slowed down and cranked the truck to a stop, Dean’s eyes landed on the building in question. He changed this mind; he didn’t want to go in.

There were orange flames lurching out of a broken window, tunnelling up past the side of the next house; the fire was only feet away from the bricks. The flames were roaring so high they licked at the stars, enveloping all the air around them. Smoke blacked out the moon.

Dean could feel his chest clenching up at the smell of poisonous fumes. Burning houses meant death for more than just occupants and firefighters; unless it got windy, snowed, or rained, the sky would choke everyone here for days.

Rufus hit the dashboard with a hand. “All right, everyone out. Pull the hose, let’s get this mother drenched to nothing before it gets any worse. Bobby, Ellen, Peter, you’re with me. Cartwright, check the perimeter.”

Everyone was out of the truck by now. While Rufus and the others were all going for the hose, Dean ran ahead, cramming his helmet onto his head. He could feel the heat already on his face, dust making his eyes water.

He ran straight for the woman who stood in the road, both of her hands twisted in her hair. As Dean circled her and grabbed her shoulders to get her attention, he saw her eyes were shining with the light of the fire. It took a few seconds for her to even register his clear shout of, “Hey! Hey, are you all right?”

“I - I’m fine... I’m the one who made the call. But―”

“Do you live here? Is this your house?”

She shook her head, gaping. Her lipstick was smeared on her fingers, her eye makeup dotted with tears that hadn’t fallen far. “M-my neighbour. He’s there, he’s still in there!”

Dean let out a breath and nodded once. “Gotcha. Anyone else?” When she shook her head, Dean nodded again. “Go over there. That’s Ellen,” he said, pointing. “Stay with her, follow her instructions. Answer any questions she asks.”

“Are you going to save him?”

“I’ll do my very best, ma’am.”

Dean signalled to Rufus that he was going in, and Rufus yelled back that they’d cover him. Given that the fire was on one side of the building, he would go in through the front door rather than through a window. He had no idea which room the man was in, or how close to the fire he would be.

Shielding his face from the smoke, Dean ran forward, shoulder to the door to break it open. It didn’t break easily, so he hopped back and returned with full force, boot connecting with the lock. The door splintered close to the frame, and Dean slammed it open.

Inside, it was dark. He could smell the smoke, it stung his eyes and made them water; the darkness in the corners of the entrance hall was blurred with hazing particles that increased in density with every step he took.

“Hello!” he yelled, “If you’re in here, tell me where you are!”

He heard no reply, and he checked every room on the first floor only to get the same result.

Dean started to cough as he reached the second floor; the cloth over his mouth couldn’t do much to stifle the smoke. He slammed open every door as he went, calling out with a hoarse yell, listening for any sound at all. He heard nothing, only the distant sound of flames.

He could see the flicker under the door farthest along the hall; if there was anyone in there, he wouldn’t be able to rescue them. The door was already creaking, groaning; it wouldn’t hold back the fire for long, and it was going to spread.

The sound of the firehose spray gushing over the roof only allowed him a moment of relief.

Unless he found the house’s occupant, he might need to stay inside until the fire was out. Alternatively, he could be forced to retreat before he found them, and leave them to perish. That was his final option, he’d do nearly anything before he allowed himself to abandon someone.

He had two doors left to check. The first was a towel cupboard. He pulled out a towel, then headed for the last room, which he deduced had to be a bathroom. He would soak the towel with water there, and use it to keep the smoke from escaping under the door at the other end of the long hall.

Opening the bathroom door, he choked in reaction, thinking he had walked into another room filled with smoke and fire. But it was only steam, the heat coming from hot water.

Castiel was naked in the middle of the bathroom.

“...Cas?”

Castiel frowned. “Dean?!”

Dean coughed. “Your house is on fire.”

Castiel gaped, hand halfway to a hanging towel. “Excuse me?”

Dean stomped into the tiled room and closed the door to keep the smoke out. “Get dressed,” he said, even though Castiel was already struggling into a pair of dark-coloured underwear, not bothering to dry himself.

Dean’s heavy uniform rustled as he brushed past, pleased to see Castiel’s bath was still only halfway drained. He dunked the towel he was holding into the water, then straightened up, eyes on Cas. He wanted to say something, anything, but this wasn’t the time.

“H-How long do we have?” Castiel asked.

“As long as it takes us to get outside,” Dean replied. “No time to waste. Is there anyone else in the house?”

Castiel shook his head. “I live alone.” He began to shiver as he put on a shirt, not doing up the buttons, then covering up with a fantastically ugly knitted sweater. Dean smirked at the sight of it; he always loved seeing Castiel wearing things nobody else would dare touch, let alone use as clothing.

“The engine is right outside,” Dean said, looking away from Castiel while he pulled on his pants. “We’re blasting as much as we can to get the fire out.”

“How did it start? Where is it?” Castiel gasped, eyes fearful and his breath hurried as he wrestled with a sock.

“Room at the far end,” Dean said, grabbing Castiel’s arm before he had a chance to do up his belt. “Let’s go, we need to get out of here before the smoke gets too bad. Can you hold your breath?” Castiel nodded shakily. “Okay, then hold it as long as you can. I’m going to go plug the smoking door with this towel, you’re going down to the front door. Think you can hold it that long?” Castiel nodded again.

“On my mark,” Dean said, hand finding Castiel’s. His other hand wielded the wet towel. “Three, two,” he put his towel-holding hand on the bathroom door handle, ready to open it, but just as Castiel reached for it as well, Dean darted back and pulled Castiel away too.

“No! The handle’s warm, the fire’s too close. Fuck.” Dean looked around, seeing only one other exit. “Okay, new plan. Does that window open?” Dean pointed at the thin, frosted window over the bathtub. Before Castiel could answer, Dean jumped into the tub, wrapped the wet towel around his arm and elbowed the glass, face turned away, eyes closed. The window shattered, crashing into a hundred pieces, falling into the bath and outside the house. Dean heard the echo of the shards hitting the driveway. He looked outside, seeing the flashing lights of the firetruck. He huffed in momentary success. “Now it does.”

He signalled at his fellow firefighters, watching Ellen and Peter automatically run to get the truck’s ladder cranked up to the window.

When Dean turned back, Castiel was looking at Dean with absolute terror in his eyes. Dean offered him a hand, one foot still in the bath.

“I’m going to have to have to carry you out to the ladder, you’ll cut your feet on the glass otherwise.”

Castiel nodded in agreement, reaching out his hand. Dean gripped it, feeling sweat or lingering bathwater between their palms. The smell of smoke had infiltrated the bathroom, and Castiel coughed, a hand shooting up to cover his mouth.

“C’mon,” Dean said in encouragement, checking that the truck’s ladder was close enough. He stretched out of the window to guide it closer, until it extended to bump on the brick below. “Here we go, Cas, just lean over my shoulder, all right?”

Dean ducked his body forward, and when Castiel set his waist against Dean’s shoulder, Dean used all his strength to haul himself upright. Now Castiel was grasping Dean’s protective suit at his back, his knees pressed on Dean’s chest. Dean’s arm held his thighs tightly as he stood on the ledge of the bath and pushed them both up to the window.

When Castiel’s feet touched the ladder’s topmost step, Dean told him to take his own weight. Castiel’s hand skimmed Dean’s back and cupped his neck before he let go, breath hot on Dean’s cheek.

Dean watched Castiel scoot down the first steps on his ass, before he was brave enough to grab the railing on either side.

Dean waited until Castiel shuffled seven, eight steps down, then he too swung up onto the windowsill, avoiding the jagged shards of glass that edged the window frame. He climbed out into the billowing smoke, coughing immediately to expel what he hadn’t expected to breathe in.

“Keep going, Cas, you’re halfway down,” Dean shouted, in the single moment a gust of snow-scented breeze cut through the acrid blackness in the air, letting him think clearly.

Castiel stumbled, and Dean didn’t waste a moment before sliding down five steps on the sides of his feet, catching Castiel’s waist with his hand. Castiel flopped back against him, and Dean worked on instinct alone as he grappled with the other man’s weight, hauling him back over his shoulder.

They reached the roof of the fire truck like that, then the ground, Castiel panting on Dean’s lower back, hands tight in his suit, Dean’s hand on his ass, the other behind his knee.

He grinned at Bobby as he crossed the slushy, gritty ground, trying not to slip. “Got him! Don’t wanna get his feet wet.”

He took Castiel to the closest car, a Nash Metropolitan with a grossly faded coat of red paint. Castiel grunted and sighed at once as he was dumped ass-first onto the sloped hood, making the entire chassis rock.

Dean held onto Castiel’s wide hips, making sure he caught his eye. “Are you okay, Cas?”

Castiel nodded quickly, mouth open. “Yes. Are you?”

Dean wheezed a little, frowning as his head turned down. The smoke always made his chest sting. He gave an affirming nod after a second. “Yeah.”

Their heads both turned towards a terrible crash on Dean’s left, and he saw part of the roof cave in, directly above the room first affected.

Dean looked back to Castiel before Castiel could even blink. Those blue eyes were glimmering with orange and yellow lights, focus set entirely on his burning home.

“I left a heater on, to dry my clothes,” Castiel murmured, still not looking away. Dean watched how those words shaped his mouth downwards, shock and upset warring across his face. “They must have dripped, or dried quickly and caught fire... I don’t know...”

“It’s okay, Cas. You’re okay.”

Castiel swallowed and inclined his head, then swung his gaze to Dean’s. Something in him had been hollowed out by the events of the past few minutes; he looked so much older now. Or perhaps Dean was just seeing the seven years they’d been apart showing on his face.

“I’m okay,” Castiel repeated, quietly.

Dean wanted to kiss him to make sure, but they couldn’t, not while a crowd was gathered on the street and the firefighters were shouting orders, the hosepipe whistling a hard stream of water straight at the flames. There was so much going on around them, but all Dean wanted to pay attention to was Castiel.

“Castiel! Castiel, you’re all right!” A woman’s sharp voice cut through the roaring in the night, and Castiel’s eyes darted away from Dean’s to see the neighbour approaching. Dean didn’t look at her, but watched Castiel.

“Gosh, I was so frightened, I thought you died!”

Castiel turned his eyes down guiltily. “I’m sorry, Natasha. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“But you sure did, honey. Oh, I’m just so pleased to see you’re okay!”

Castiel swallowed, not meeting the woman’s gaze, nor responding to her harried petting at his face. “Thank you for your concern. I’m okay. Dean―” he looked up, and Dean’s heart starting fluttering, “Dean was just checking that I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you’re― he’s a bit rattled,” Dean told the neighbour, whose hair curlers were dangling loosely beside her ears. “Probably best to give him some time alone, you know.”

“Of course, yes, of course.” She hesitated, then seemed to realise that Dean meant she should leave. “I’m the one who called the firefighters,” she added hastily, and Castiel smiled genuinely this time.

“Thank you, Natasha. I suppose you saved my life.”

Natasha flapped her hand at her face, about to say more, but then Ellen came up behind her and turned her around, soothing words muttered over her shoulder. Dean only had a moment alone with Castiel before Ellen came back, draping a blanket over Castiel’s shaking shoulders. “Don’t get too cold, I ain’t having you toast and freeze on the same night.”

Dean hummed. “He’s all right, Ellen, just a bit outta sorts.”

“Take him somewhere warm and quiet, would you? If he keeps lookin’ at the pretty lights he’s gonna have himself a heart attack.”

Dean had to agree that Castiel’s eyes did seem to be too intently locked on the fire.

“Come on, hot stuff, let’s get you somewhere cosy. How does inside the fire truck sound, huh?”

Castiel blinked a few times, then muttered acceptance. Dean wrapped his arms around him and helped him stand up, socked feet landing squarely on Dean’s ash-covered boots. “Okay, Cas, let’s just walk together, yeah? You go backwards, I go forwards. Like kids do with their papas. Let’s go.”

They rocked their feet, Castiel’s weight all on Dean’s toes, Dean holding tight around his lower back. Dean steered them for the truck, pausing once, twice, as Rufus then Cartwright thundered past in the slush, stomping up ice-cold splashes that made Castiel gasp against Dean’s neck. Dean grinned, pushing the tiniest, undetectable kiss to Castiel’s stubbly jaw.

“That’s it, baby,” Dean whispered, popping open the closest truck door with a hand as they got close enough. “Hop back onto the step, it’s right behind your legs. Grab the handle. That’s perfect, you’ve got it. There, see? You’re doing just fine.”

Dean followed him up, closing the truck door behind them, sealing them into the driver’s cabin. It smelled like leather in here, and for the first time in a while, Dean recognised the smell of something that wasn’t burning wood or grey smoke or dirty snow.

Castiel’s body sagged on the seat, trembling. Dean knew he’d been holding it together out there, keeping face for Natasha and all his neighbours. That was why Dean was being so encouraging, so gentle. Nobody fared well when their home ignited and burned to cinders before their very eyes.

“Hold my hand. C’mon Cas, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Dean tangled his fingers between Castiel’s, scooting closer along the long seat until his thigh was pressed flush to Castiel’s. “Talk to me, tell me what’s in your head.”

“Uh, that― Th-that, there was, there was, um... In my bedroom, where the - the fire was. There was a cheque for you. Been keeping it for years. And it was for you, to pay you back for what you gave me.”

“It’s okay. That’s not important. Don’t worry. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing, Cas.” He got close enough to wrap his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, warm bodies pressed together. With one hand, Dean undid the zipper of his protective suit, shoving it off his shoulders until he was left in his white t-shirt. It was wet with sweat under his arms and down his back, but he could give more warmth to the shivering Castiel like this.

Castiel instinctively sank his hands down Dean’s back, fingers tucking into where Dean’s firesuit wrinkled loose at his waist. Dean’s breaths started to come shallow as he realised Cas was kissing his neck, over and over, soft and wet.

Dean caressed Castiel’s hair, fingers spread through damp strands that clumped as he combed through it. There was ash stuck to him, and he smelled half of fire, half of bath salts. Dean smiled, breathing in just above the cold shape of his ear. “You’ll be okay.”

“I can see it burning,” Castiel said. His voice was void of emotion.

Dean pulled him off his shoulder, then turned around and checked; Castiel was looking right out through the truck window, still watching the flames eat up his house.

“Flip over,” Dean said. “You face away, sit on my other side. Don’t look at it.”

They were joined at the hip as they swivelled on the seat; Castiel pressed his crotch firmly into Dean’s, and Dean didn’t know if he did it on purpose or not. There was a passion in this kind of comfort, but whether or not it was sexual was something that he would let Castiel decide.

Now Dean could see the fire, but he tried to focus on the shadows of Castiel’s face instead. There was a halo of orange around him, moving on his shoulders. Dean could still feel the heat of the fire through the window.

He barely had a moment to collect his thoughts before his mouth was filled with Castiel’s tongue, hot as fire itself, wet and hungry. Dean whimpered with a wave of unexpected bliss as he was pressed into the seat, feeling Castiel’s hand inside his protective suit, holding his genitals. Dean hardened without conscious awareness, all wrapped up in how Castiel’s tongue swept alongside his own, the smallest mewls drifting on his exhales.

Dean broke the kiss, frowning, lapping a dot of saliva from his lip before it got cold. “Cas... Are you sure this is the right time?”

“I don’t want to see it, Dean,” Castiel whispered. There was intensity in those words that Dean couldn’t place to a single recognisable emotion. “I can still see the light in your eyes, I can’t― Oh God, I can’t―”

“It’s okay, baby,” Dean muttered, kissing Castiel’s sweat-beaded forehead. Fuck, he was ice-cold all over, feverish beneath that. Dean needed to keep him focused, or Cas would go into shock. “It’s all right, just go with what feels right.”

“Can I touch you?”

Dean nodded. “If you want.”

“Someone might see...”

Dean jerked around him and slid to each end of the cabin, locking the doors. With a grin, he snuggled back to Castiel. “There. Just breathe a lot, and we’ll steam all the windows up. We’ll be golden.”

Castiel made a soft, breathy sound, surging forward again to sink his lips around Dean’s. Dean’s body rushed with blood that pounded in his ears, shot to his dick. He was hardening in Castiel’s hand, and Castiel’s fingers only held tight to him, like he wanted nothing more than to feel Dean getting aroused for him. And that was exactly what Dean was doing, tongue suffocated by Castiel’s kisses, a hand locked around Castiel’s desperate fingers.

“I swore,” Castiel breathed, teeth on Dean’s lips, breathing the words into his mouth, “I swore to myself. If I ever saw you again, I’d have you. God, I need you, Dean, just... Ah...”

Dean didn’t care that this was an inopportune time. Danger was running in his blood tonight, and if Cas wanted to have him, he’d let him. Fuck, he’d let him have anything he wanted.

There were so few men in the world that Dean had ever met who enjoyed this: kissing other men, desperate to pull clothes off, look at their flushed, hard genitals. Wanting to tug on him, whimpering, writhing in the leather seat, wordlessly begging Dean to touch too. It was crazy and so fucking dangerous. Dean couldn’t resist.

He pretended that was why he kept coming back to Cas, always rekindling whatever it was they had. He told himself, it’s only because Cas was a rare bird. That was all.

But Cas felt it too, all the things Dean refused to let himself believe. That was why Castiel thought about him, swore to himself he’d have Dean. They probably thought about each other the same amount. In Dean’s case, it was a lot. Ever since the time he first met Cas, he’d fantasised, imagining a life with him.

Castiel was the first man Dean had met who he felt a mutual emotional connection to. Some men, the first times he’d sought out sex, they only wanted sex. They were burly guys, looking simply to fuck; no sense of romance at all. Dean enjoyed that detachment to some extent - the sex stifled the wailing desires for a while. But he hadn’t really thought of those men as his ‘type’.

Then there was Cas. Cas, with his hand in Dean’s underwear, making him blush and squirm, breath heated and fast on his throat. Cas, with fingers like a pianist, like a painter; smooth fingertips, light touch, decisive strokes. He made Dean thoughtless, hands clenching, unclenching, wanting.

Cas was special. Dean wanted Cas to be worth what they’d given each other. Hearts fell for hearts, Dean liked to think.

“Mm, Dean,” Castiel’s deep voice murmured. Dean was sweating, eyes rolling back in his head. “Dean, oh, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you...”

“You too, baby,” Dean nodded, kissing, kissing fast, breathing on Castiel’s lips, tasting the smoke on his breath. “It’s been too long. You look so different now.”

“I put on weight,” Castiel chuckled, biting Dean’s ear.

“You filled out,” Dean corrected. “You were scrawny as hell last time I saw you. No wonder you needed so much Santa-padding.”

Castiel grunted, thrusting his cock hard against Dean’s. Dean’s firesuit slid at the movement, and Dean spread his legs so Castiel could fit awkwardly between them. His sock-clad feet were pressed flat to the footwell of the truck, and Dean still wore his boots, legs bent up with his heels on the edge of the seat. The leather creaked, dipping under their weight.

“Could you―” Castiel started, then frowned; Dean felt his forehead wrinkle against his cheek.

“What, what do you want?”

“Put your hand - on―”

“I got ya,” Dean grinned, his breath feverish over his own lips. His fingers dipped inside Castiel’s pants, the belt still undone since Castiel had never done it up. Dean moaned aloud, eyes almost watering in pleasure as he saw the first peek of Castiel’s erection. “Fuck, Cas, look at you...”

Castiel looked down his chest to watch Dean’s thumb massaging his cockhead, pre-come shimmering in hazy, distant firelight. His cock was small, but damn if it wasn’t beautiful. Castiel gave a shaky smile, which turned into a kiss, then a whispered secret; “You’re the first... t- to see me... and touch...! Oh my Lord, Dean, yes...”

Dean wasn’t all that surprised. He snuggled into the warm dip under Castiel’s jaw, nuzzling his Adam’s apple. “Did you wait for me?”

Castiel nodded, “Mm-hmm... Oh, oh... oh―”

Dean stroked lazily, careful to touch every part of Castiel’s cock. He was going to make it good for Cas, even if it took all night to satisfy his needs. Castiel’s back curled over and he hunched against Dean, crying out against his shoulder, teeth digging into Dean’s muscle, dragging his shirt. His hand on Dean’s cock had gone slack, affected strongly by the shock of having Dean touch him.

“Tell me about it, yeah?” Dean whispered. “Why did you wait?”

Castiel attempted to jack Dean’s arousal but only managed three or four strokes before he froze up, gasping, then collapsed forward and started fucking into Dean’s hand, hard breaths pushed over Dean’s neck. “Never met... never anyone I liked... Dean, you’re all mine, aren’t you? Aren’t you...”

Dean laughed, nodding as he sealed their lips together. Maybe it wouldn’t be that way forever, but for those delirious moments when their mouths met and their fingers played each other into dizzy surrender, it was all truth for Dean. He’d never been with anyone he wanted to come back to before, save Castiel.

Dean wasn’t one for the long haul, he’d said it often. But he did think Cas could be an exception. Why else had the feelings never faded? It had been fifteen years since they first met, and Dean still ached for Castiel’s touch when he was without anyone else to hold. Thoughts of Castiel resisted the push when Dean tried to clear his mind; Castiel was firmly remembered as the one man, the one person Dean would bend his rules to allow. He still wanted him after all this time.

“Can we ki―” Castiel didn’t finish his question before their mouths were together again, hands jacking each other. Cas’ hips moved sharply, rolling so he could fuck into Dean’s slick hand, and Dean just craned backwards with his legs anchored to Castiel’s thighs. Cas’ hand skimmed his length, slippery on the liquid Dean’s cock kept leaking out.

Dean turned his head, fingers in Castiel’s hair. He peeked at the drifting shapes behind Castiel’s head, just about able to see through the mist that layered the inside of the windows now. The house-fire made this cabin bright, and Dean could tell by the quality of yellow that the flames were breaking through the roof of the house now - it had spread, eating more and more. He prayed his team would put it out before Cas lost too much.

“Dean, stop looking,” Castiel pleaded, teeth sharp on Dean’s jaw, tongue playing on his stubble. “Don’t look, don’t look.”

“I’m not,” Dean promised, closing his eyes and turning his face away. He met Castiel’s eyes, reassured by the settled expression he wore now. Castiel wasn’t panicking; he was worried, but lust took precedence, and Dean counted that as a good thing. It was easier to keep Castiel grounded when he had something to hold on to.

Dean smiled as he watched Castiel’s hand work on his cock, then dip lower and weigh his ballsack in his long fingers. Dean cooed in pleasure and threw his head back as Castiel squeezed, then returned to fingering the slippery skin of Dean’s member.

“I very much like this part of you,” Castiel said quietly, words mostly made of his breath. “I like all of you, but I like... this. It’s very exciting.”

“You think about this stuff, don’t you? Like me,” Dean muttered, pushing his lower back into the seat and arching his spine, body swept with deep pleasure for a moment. “Ah! Fuck, yeah... You think about sucking dicks and stuff?”

Castiel chuckled, eyelashes touching Dean’s cheek as he kissed him chastely, head to the side. “I think about you.”

“Only me?”

“Before I met you... I liked lots of men. After I met you, all my interests are based on whether - mm - like you, they have green eyes, or... little freckles, pretty red lips.” He kissed those lips, moaning until Dean moaned too, opening his mouth to let Castiel’s tongue skim his teeth, toying with the tip of his tongue. “Sometimes all I want is...”

He trailed off, eyes low, so Dean smirked and finished, “Want you.” Castiel nodded, and Dean nodded. “You’re not the only one. It’s not just you, Cas.”

Castiel closed his eyes and sighed in relief, pressing his forehead to Dean’s. “I thought I was crazy. You’re a stranger to me, Dean. And yet―”

“You’re not crazy.” Dean kissed him furiously. “You’re not, you’re not. I feel it too. Don’t ask me to explain, I can’t. But I still―”

“Want you.” Castiel nodded, panting for breath. “Fuck, Dean, I want you!”

Dean wailed as Castiel started humping him with all the power of a raging sea, first his inner thigh, then his wrinkled suit - then their positions jolted and Castiel was fucking right between Dean’s open legs, woollen sweater brushing his chest, and Dean was crying out in a silent scream of building physical delight, back arched, a hand on the roof of the truck cabin to hold him steady. Castiel had his hands under Dean’s thighs, pounding into his body, rocking ecstasy into him with every heavy, heavy push. Castiel hushed out garbled words, things that sounded like Dean’s name, or like promises, or curses, but Dean didn’t understand or care, he was blinded by his own pleasure.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed, his free hand clenched around a handful of Castiel’s hair. The back of Dean’s head was resting on the back of the seat, mouth open wide as he felt orgasm begin to spill from him, splashed by Castiel’s firm humping. “Nghh― Cas! Cas―”

Castiel laughed against Dean’s throat, then his jaw separated and his lips shook as he yelled at his own climax, without words, bursting out a solid sound of utter enjoyment. Dean laughed too as he felt spurts of semen spread onto his belly, hot and wet, trickling and sinking into his t-shirt. He closed his eyes, elated, as Castiel panted against his shoulder, fingers grasping hard at Dean’s hip and thigh.

“Uoouuhh,” Castiel groaned, long and exhausted. He chuckled again, and Dean felt Castiel’s body relaxing on top of him, making them both sink down into the seat. Soon they collapsed horizontally, Dean buzzing with the leftover high that had yet to fade. Castiel made soft moans of lasting pleasure, nose buried in Dean’s sweaty shirt.

“Dean... Oh, f-fuck, that was perfect,” Castiel whispered, awe lining his voice. “Such terrible circumstances, but... I feel... so good...”

Dean grinned at the roof, which still fluttered with butterfly flames. He heard a thump and yell from outside, but it didn’t seem to come from the same world. “Yeah. Sex is like that.”

“I didn’t realise. It’s so different to how it is when it’s only me.”

Dean smirked tiredly, only half his lip rising. “God, I could fuckin’ lie here forever. You’re so warm.”

Castiel huffed against his shirt, then swallowed tightly. “My house is burning.”

Dean took a deep, slow breath, and gradually felt reality return to him. “Yeah.”

“We need to make ourselves presentable,” Castiel grumbled, already pushing himself off Dean’s chest and going for his pants. “Anyone could find us like this.”

Dean nodded, swiping his lips with the back of his hand as he sat up. Castiel was stretching out beside him, tucking in his shirt and doing up his belt. Dean watched, starting to feel beleaguered again when Castiel took off his sweater so he could do up his shirt buttons.

“Wait,” Dean said, catching his hand. Castiel looked at him, and Dean wet his lips as he shifted closer. “I wanna look at your chest.”

Castiel didn’t fight Dean’s fingers as he pulled his shirt apart, eyes drinking in the sight of the tightened points of his nipples where they caught the light, and the scribble of dark hair that went from his lower stomach past his navel. Dean tried to absorb as much as he could before he nodded and let Castiel finish dressing himself.

Castiel didn’t need to ask why Dean wanted to look. He must hunger for the same sights, the same things to think about that he never had a reference for. Dean would forever remember the tiny freckle above Castiel’s right nipple. Between the two men, Dean with his freckles all over, and Castiel with only a few darker ones, that single freckle was Dean’s favourite.

“How long do you think it will be?” Castiel said. He looked at Dean, throat pulled up in a gulp, the light in his eyes changing with every swoop of flame beyond the steamy window. “How long until I see you again this time?”

“Well, I know where you live now,” Dean muttered, but without any form of hope in his voice at all, because he didn’t feel it. Castiel sensed that, and knew it just the same. His eyes stayed down, and he didn’t reply.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, about the home now lost, and about the distance forced between them. He touched Castiel’s thigh, and curled his fingers when Castiel embraced them with his own.

“Don’t be,” Castiel whispered. He met Dean’s eye. “It’s not your fault that the people in this world don’t know what love looks like when they see it.”

Dean smiled, grateful that Castiel was the first to say the word ‘love’. He leaned in for a kiss, but it was only a soft, short kiss. They had to stop, and it seemed good to stop before they collapsed into emptiness, and needs that could never be satisfied. By pulling away now, Dean hoped they would only skim the surface rather than stab too deep and leave a wound.

Of course, it was too late for that, and they both already knew.

Dean helped Castiel out of the truck, offering him his own boots, since Dean had some spare. Dean cautiously left the truck door open, hoping to air out the smell of sex from the cabin, in case anyone were to notice. When he zipped his suit back up, it hid the stains completely, for which he was glad.

Time passed very differently that night, after they left the truck. Dean knew they were being looked at when they were together, so they stayed apart. Castiel sheltered under his blanket and watched the fire from the roof of his horrible car, and Dean did his best to help his team put out the flames.

It took them hours, and another fire truck with a second team was summoned on their day off in order to help, but they had the blaze out by the time the clock struck eleven at night.

Dean wanted to say goodbye, but their trucks were packing up and everyone was exhausted. From what he heard from Ellen, Castiel was going to stay with Natasha for the night, in a guest bedroom. Dean wondered if something would ever happen between them. He wasn’t sure if he was upset by the thought. It could be years before he saw Castiel again, if ever, and it would only be rude of Dean to hope Castiel would wait for him again.

Dean decided then that he would not wait for Castiel, no matter how badly he wanted to. They were not meant to be. It could never be. Like Castiel had said, the world did not see love between them like they saw.

Dean managed to get Castiel alone for one minute before the truck was set to leave. He held his hand closely so nobody could see, and he tried to find words, but couldn’t. Castiel looked sad.

So Dean shook his head and kissed Castiel’s forehead, a safe place, a soft kiss. One kiss, one single moment, and then he pulled away.

He left Castiel there, on a dark street, lit only by a smoky moon and the flashlights of patient neighbours. Dean knew eyes were watching him leave, and he knew Castiel’s were two such eyes.

He didn’t look back.

December 19th 1962
You saved me from fire, and then you set another within me. This one won’t go out.

Chapter Text

1970

Castiel pulled his hands out of his pockets as he ascended the gradual slope that led to Dean’s front door. His heart was thudding in his head, pouring panicked heat into the still, silent air all around. Fallen snow cast a total blanket over the night, leaving Castiel’s footsteps to make jagged crushing sounds with every shift of his weight.

He reached the porch step, and looked behind him. The only places the snow had been disturbed was where he had walked.

Turning back, he looked up at the narrow two-storey townhouse. The roof was unseen by Castiel, as he was so close to its front. From upstairs there was a single yellow light, but downstairs, there was a flood of it coming through the window. Castiel could see the Christmas tree through the net curtain, bright with coloured lights and baubles.

Summoning up his courage, Castiel took a step closer and knocked on the front door. The wood rattled against the lion-headed knocker he hadn’t used. He wondered whether he ought to use that too, or even look for a doorbell, but by the time he started to look, the door unlatched from inside.

He held his breath as the first line of light opened up, waiting to see Dean’s face.

But it was not Dean. A slim, winter-pale woman looked at him curiously with a smile on her lips, her red hair swept down across one shoulder. “Can I help you?” she asked.

Castiel lowered his gaze to her bare feet, mouth open. “Uh. I think I must have the wrong house.”

“Who are you looking for?”

“I asked at the fire station, they told me this was the place. I’m looking for Dea- Mr. Winchester.”

The woman chuckled, her breath puffing out in a cloud of white. “Oh, he lives here, you have the right house. He’s putting Aidan to bed. Do you wanna come in?”

Castiel sank his hands back into his pockets. “Um.” He really wasn’t sure what he wanted any more.

The woman tutted and stepped back from the door, gesturing him inside. “Come in, silly, you’re making it cold,” she smiled.

Castiel entered up the step, smiling politely as he passed the woman and walked directly into the living room of the house.

The Christmas tree was even brighter up close. There were three boxed presents below it, looking exactly how they were in advertisements and drawings; cube-shaped, with a ribbon on the top. A blocky gas heater warmed the room instead of the fireplace that was behind it.

Castiel looked up to the ceiling, hearing the footsteps of someone in the room above. His stomach turned itself over in excitement: that was Dean.

“What are you here to see Dean about?” the woman asked, her hands around her elbows. She wore a mustard yellow housedress, tied around her waist, and the dress’ hem swayed as she paced towards the door to the next room, a few feet left of Castiel.

“I have something to give him. A Christmas present, I suppose.” Castiel smiled. “It’s been years since I first owed him, I don’t know why it’s taken me so long to get it to him.”

“Better late than never,” the woman smiled, leaning in the door frame, one finger twirling the end of her long hair.

Castiel nodded slowly. “May I ask,” he began, wondering how to phrase his question, “who... are you?”

The woman tipped her head back and laughed, a ringing, warm sound which made Castiel smile in reaction; she had a nice laugh. Something about her reminded him of Dean - a spiritual aura maybe, or a subtle movement that Dean also made - Castiel didn’t know. She breathed again, still grinning. “I ought to be asking you that, don’t you think?”

Castiel’s smile didn’t fall, but became a smile of acceptance, hiding disappointment. “Dean never mentioned me.”

“I’d know if he ever mentioned you if you told me your name,” the woman countered.

“Castiel,” Dean said, appearing behind the woman from the next room, green eyes locking straight on Castiel. “His name... is Castiel.”

Castiel felt like he might burst from how delighted he was to see Dean’s face. Dean had grown so weathered by the last eight years; he had wrinkles under his eyes and a slope to his shoulders, some of the muscle he’d had years ago was now wasted. He passed the woman with a tender look in his eye, a touch to her waist. He smiled, then turned his gaze back to Castiel.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said lowly, approaching until Castiel’s heart was beating so hard he was sure Dean could hear it. “How’ve you been?”

Castiel’s eyes were on his lips, then Dean’s eyes, then his lips again. Dean was smiling.

“Good,” Castiel muttered in reply. He made the effort to look Dean in the eye; greeting kisses would not be suitable for their present company, whoever she was. “You?”

Dean turned his face and smirked at the woman, then back to Castiel. He shrugged. “So-so.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the Christmas tree. “Pretty good this year, actually.”

“I have something for you,” Castiel said, heart feeling as bright as one of those coloured lights. “It won’t fit in one of those boxes, but I think you might like it either way.”

“You came all the way up here just to give us a Christmas present?”

Who did Dean mean by ‘us’? Castiel glanced to the woman, who was still leaning against the door frame. She watched their conversation carefully, and Castiel couldn’t ignore her. To Dean, he said, “You. It’s for you.”

Dean tilted his head. “Okay. You... You wanna...?”

“I’d like to give it to you in private, if it’s all right by your... um, sister,” Castiel said, nodding to the woman.

“Sister?” Dean frowned, looking to the woman, then back to Castiel. “Oh, she’s not―”

“I’m not his sister,” the woman said, pushing off the door frame and coming closer, bewilderment mixed with amusement all over her face. “I’m Charlie. I’m Dean’s wife.”

Castiel took a breath that seemed far colder than the air. Eyes to the carpet, he tried not to feel the tightness in his chest or the biting clench of his fingernails into his palm. He wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t jealous.

No, he wasn’t. He was hurt. He was hurt and upset and he wanted to cry, and he hated himself for thinking he wasn’t the only one who wanted what he did. It had been another eight years since he and Dean had last said goodbye, so what right did Castiel ever have to claim him? He had made the wrong assumptions, and now he was hurting for it. It was his own fault.

“Cas. Hey - hey, baby, look at me. Cas...”

Castiel looked up, gasping for slightly warmer air, blinking through flustered tears, seeing Dean’s face two inches from his own, concerned. He looked so loving even now, and Castiel wondered why he’d ever thought that look would be for him alone.

His heartbeat catapulted itself into nothingness, however, when Dean set his lips to Castiel’s.

Castiel pulled away immediately, eyes shooting to Charlie, to Dean, to the floor, to the window covered only by a net curtain. He clawed for breath. “What - Dean! Why did you―?!”

Dean grinned awkwardly, running his fingertips over his lips. “It’s okay,” he said, gently. But he too looked to the window, understandably nervous now. Charlie touched his arm and gestured to the next room, and Dean nodded. Before Castiel could understand what was happening, Dean took his hand and tugged him through to the dining room.

“Dean...”

“Charlie knows, Cas. About you ‘n me. I told her.”

“Why would you do that?!” Castiel breathed, desperate, blood flaming with ice. “Dean!”

He was so angry. Wounded and scared, an animal with a leg in a trap. Charlie was watching this exchange, and she’d seen them kiss, and she knew Castiel’s name and his face, she probably knew where he lived―

“Cas, don’t worry. Shh, shh,” Dean cradled Castiel’s head against his shoulder, hands around his head. “She’s one of us.”

“One of― What? One of what?! What are we, Dean?”

“Calm down, Cas, you’re gonna wake up Aidan,” Dean whispered, hands now cupped around Castiel’s face. “Look at me. We’re safe. Charlie’s not going to tell anyone, okay? We have to protect our own, you know that.”

Castiel still riled with confusion and frustration, fingers clenching into Dean’s plaid sleeve. “Our own what?”

“Dean, I don’t think he understands,” Charlie said softly, touching Dean’s shoulder. “Spell it out for him.”

Dean gulped, glancing to Charlie, then to Castiel. He let his hands slide down Castiel’s chest, one resting palm-to-heart, one around Castiel’s waist under his coat. “Charlie likes women,” Dean said. “She’s like us. We gotta keep it a secret.”

“You told her about me,” Castiel breathed out.

Dean nodded, smiling slightly. “Told her everything. Once me and her realised what we both were, figured it was just safer to stick together. Nobody asks questions if you’re married.”

Ever so gradually, Castiel started to feel less scared.

He set a hand over his eyes, laughing to himself as he felt tears run onto his fingers. He wiped them away across his cheeks with his fingertips, and smiled at Dean, feeling stronger now. Then he looked over at Charlie, and offered her another smile, less genuine but a smile nonetheless.

“Who is Aidan?” he asked, meeting Dean’s eyes.

“...Our son,” Dean said, looking downwards. “Mine and Charlie’s son.”

Castiel took a small and unsettled breath, but didn’t flare with upset this time. “I see.”

Slowly, he began to smile, because he was glad Dean had something, a family. Castiel didn’t have that, or any support at all, and he was happy for Dean.

When Dean realised Castiel was smiling, he grinned and pressed their lips together, hands sliding into Castiel’s hair. Castiel allowed this one, losing himself to it once his eyes closed. Dean tasted of brandy, and roast chicken. He kissed more smoothly than he had years before, slower, less tentative and hungry.

When they pulled away, Castiel sighed over Dean’s lips. “What you said, about marriage...”

“Yeah?”

Castiel looked at Dean’s freckles up close, feeling warm from their kiss. “I made you something.”

Dean ducked his face away so he could see Castiel completely. Their fingers tangled at their waists, and Castiel checked quickly with Charlie - she sat at the dining table, a wobbly smile on her lips - then Castiel let go of Dean to reach into his coat pocket.

“You’re already wearing a wedding ring,” Castiel said, only now noticing the metal shape under his fingers, “but...”

“Cas,” Dean exhaled, realising what Castiel was pulling out of his pocket. “Oh, Cas, you didn’t...”

Castiel grinned, heat rising on his cheeks, feeling a mild embarrassment. “I’ve gotten quite good with woodwork and metalwork, making beehives,” he said, tipping out two circular bands onto his palm. “I hoped this will fit you. But it doesn’t matter now anyway. The idea was that if we wore them, nobody would ask - and if someone did, we could each say we were married.”

Dean gulped, still looking at the rings. “Eight years is a long time, Cas. What would you have done if I’d moved on?”

Castiel met his eye, taking a breath. “Have you moved on?”

Dean smirked, then shook his head, eyes never leaving Castiel’s. “Still can’t explain it.”

“I could,” Charlie scoffed from the table, “but every time I say the word ‘love’, he makes this―”

“Nghhh―”

“―noise,” Charlie finished, gesturing at Dean, as he had just given a perfect example.

Castiel smiled widely, slipping one ring into Dean’s hand. “You don’t have to wear it.”

“I’ll wear it,” Dean said, fiddling with it. “Maybe around my neck though, so people won’t ask why I have two.”

“It would be fitting, though,” Charlie mused, slumping over the table, fingering the tablecloth. “If you had two rings.”

“Because he likes both men and women,” Castiel surmised. “Yes, perhaps it would.”

Dean huffed. “Damn, Cas. For someone who’s spent about eight hours of time in my company in your entire life, you sure do pick up a lot.”

“It’s hard to forget,” Castiel reasoned. “I’ve never met another man like you.”

Dean smiled shyly, trying on the ring on different fingers. “Yeah. Well. We’re not exactly bold creatures. You might’ve met someone like me and never known.”

Castiel chuckled, touching his fingers to Dean’s as he slipped the ring onto the same hand that wore Charlie’s gold ring. Castiel’s silver ring looked like a partner beside it, perfect - but Castiel knew it could not stay there, no matter how badly he wished it could.

“There is something else, actually,” Castiel said, letting Dean slide away to go and sit at the dining table.

He followed, and pulled out a long, creaseless envelope from his breast pocket. He took a seat opposite Dean, who was beside Charlie. “I suppose this one is for all of you. Aidan included.”

He put the envelope flat to the table and pushed it across the cloth with his fingers.

Dean reached out and pulled it closer, deliberately touching Castiel’s fingers as he did.

Castiel watched, bubbling with a quiet excitement as he watched Dean pull out the single slip of paper that was inside. Dean’s expression changed as he read it; he went from curiosity through to surprise through to shock, and when he looked up at Castiel across the table, his face was starting to pale out.

“This is too much,” he said, words riding on a stilted exhale. He shook his head a little. “This has gotta be a mistake, Cas, this is impossible.”

“Have you ever been to the supermarket, gone to the jams and spreads aisle, and seen the jars labelled ‘Heartland Honey’?”

Charlie sat up straight. “That’s the only kind of honey Aidan will have on his toast.”

Castiel beamed. When he looked back to Dean, Dean looked like he’d been hit over the head with something heavy. “You were my first investor. It seems fitting that you should have a share of the profit. And, need I say it―” He slipped his hand into his coat again and pulled out a folded paper: a contract. “―A future share, also. Fifty percent of the company is yours.”

“N... No... No, no no―”

“Yes,” Charlie snapped, hitting Dean on the head for real and grabbing the contract. “Where does he sign?”

Castiel laughed, leaning over the table to point at the line at the bottom. “Right there. Do you need a pen?” He pulled a pen out of his coat pocket and handed it to Dean. Dean grasped it with shaking fingers, eyes apparently unable to leave Castiel’s.

Charlie tutted. “Dean, sign the paper. Look at what you’re signing. Dean.”

Dean blinked into self-awareness once again, and Castiel bloomed with pride and happiness when Dean picked up the paper to read the contract.

Castiel allowed him five minutes, during which Charlie got up and made tea, and Castiel asked to use the restroom, then came back to find Dean still reading, making notes on a separate paper.

“It’s not all that complicated, you know,” Castiel muttered, plonking himself back into his seat. He thanked Charlie as she offered him his tea, and a plate of cookies. He took his coat off and accepted gratefully.

“Yeah-huh,” Dean murmured, after an extended moment of thought, his head still down. “I ain’t signing shit until I know what I’m signing.”

“His brother’s a lawyer,” Charlie said, peering over Dean’s shoulder. “That sort of thing rubs off.”

Castiel nodded, and had to agree that it was sensible.

Dean did eventually sign the paper, and Castiel put it safely in his coat. He would fax it to his lawyers tomorrow morning, if not later that night.

Even when they were apart, Dean would still be his partner in some ways. That was satisfying for Castiel.

Dean and Charlie took Castiel up to Aidan’s room, so he could see him. The toddler’s bedroom ceiling dangled with mobiles, fish and stars and cars, depending on the corner of the room. Castiel’s favourite was the one with the Christmas bells and reindeer, but it was not Charlie’s favourite - she hit him when he touched it, because it made too much noise.

Even in sleep, Aidan looked like Dean. His eyelashes were long, his nose straight with an upward tilt at the end. He had freckles, too, and brown hair that lay tousled on his tiny pillow.

Castiel rested his hands on the edge of the crib, looking down on Dean’s son and feeling very protective of him. Dean slung an arm around Castiel’s waist and kissed his cheek. Castiel felt safe here, basked in the gentle glow of childhood that seemed to caress the room in soft orange and purple. Charlie was with them, but she didn’t disturb them.

Eventually they went back downstairs. Charlie closed the curtains, and they sat in the living room. Castiel took his shoes off, even enjoying Dean’s teasing about his festive socks. He put his feet up on the couch, and Dean curled up with his head on Castiel’s lap. They had some more tea, and talked late into the night.

Castiel didn’t watch the clock at all, consumed entirely by this amiableness, the feeling of home and family. They laughed, loving each other’s company.

Charlie told them that they were sweet together, and Castiel should come by and see them more often... but Castiel couldn’t help but feel that no matter how welcoming this place was, no matter how much he wanted to linger in this, and have this be his family, it was not meant to be.

If it was meant to be, the world would not tell them it was forbidden. Castiel believed that if he and Dean felt this way for each other, and it was so natural for them, the two of them must have it wrong. The whole world couldn’t be wrong when people all over the planet said romantic love between people of the same sex was sinful. God couldn’t be wrong, not in the teachings that Castiel had grown up learning.

If he and Dean were meant to be, they would be.

So, when Castiel was sure he wouldn’t make it home unless he left soon, they bade each other farewell.

Dean kissed Castiel for several long minutes, and hugged for even longer. Charlie dove in for a hug too, just before Castiel stepped out of the door, and Castiel gladly returned it.

Dean smiled, and Castiel smiled, but the smile was only for memory. Castiel had no intention of coming back to this house. It wasn’t safe to be with Dean here, just as nowhere was safe.

As he left, Castiel walked a snowy path that had already been trodden when he arrived. He followed his own footsteps, and forgot that Dean was watching him go. When he looked back over his shoulder, he was already so far away from the house he couldn’t tell it apart from the others in the street.

December 20th 1970
It hurt me to see you go, but not as much as it would have hurt you to stay. I let you go.

Chapter Text

1977

Driving through the thick coating of snow was interesting if Dean only had to do it once a year. But every time he drove down this road this week, no matter what time of day he went, there was a fresh layer for his wheels to plow through.

The fir trees on the car’s left were unmoving, the air without a breeze, the stillness and quiet broken only by the low rumble of his ‘67 Impala as he made his way home. A sparse, weather-knocked wooden fence bordered the right of the road, beyond which there was a dip of a hill, then sprawling meadows of white. In summer this area was checkered with colour, but now he could barely tell one piece of land from another; even the fence posts were buried, farther out.

Dean was looking forward to getting back. It was Charlie’s turn to make dinner, which meant he was actually going to have a full belly by the time he went to bed that night. When he cooked, he never seemed to do it as well as she did. How she found the energy to do things like cooking outside of her work was beyond him.

Dean slowed down as a bird flew across the otherwise deserted road in front of him. His tyres clumped down and sank into the path a previous driver had left behind in the snow, and he found he had to steer harder to keep from following them off the road.

His eye tracked the other car’s path, and he realised they’d driven into the shoulder and stayed there. The car’s hood was popped, and Dean could see pale fingers clutching it open. Dean smirked; the car’s red paint was faded, and the model was none other than a ‘57 Nash Metropolitan. It wasn’t just incredibly similar to the one he remembered, it was exactly the same.

Dean pulled up at the side of the road once he’d passed by. He was grinning already as he stepped out into the snow, boots eaten by cold all the way up to his ankles. He slammed his car door, but Castiel didn’t even turn around. His shoulders were hunched, his coat limp, his head bowed in disdain.

Dean sauntered up to him, turned around and leant his ass on the front rim of the car. “Car trouble?”

Castiel sighed. “It’s just cold. It started clunking and then gave up.”

“I can tow you back to town, if you’re heading that way.” Dean beamed like a maniac; he was overflowing with excitement now, couldn’t wait to meet Castiel’s gaze and have him realise who he was talking to.

Castiel shook his head, still not lifting his eyes from the engine. “I’ll wait for it to warm up.”

“You do realise it ain’t gonna warm up if you just sit here out in the snow, right? Honestly, man, I’m surprised you’ve kept this piece of shit running for so many years, you don’t know the first thing about these babies.”

Dean’s stomach did a flip as he saw the flicker in Castiel’s expression - not yet realisation, but memory, and then... yes, then hope.

When he looked up, Dean laughed, then leaned forward and kissed him.

Castiel gasped into the kiss, frozen fingertips on Dean’s warmer cheek. Dean’s heart was thumping hard as Castiel opened his eyes, lips parted, blue eyes brighter than the snow around them.

“Oh,” Castiel breathed, his breath tumbling out. “Dean...”

“Hey, babe,” Dean grinned, eyes dipping to look at Castiel’s lips, then meet his eyes again. “Long time no see, huh?”

“S- Seven years.”

“And ain’t that a bitch.”

Castiel frowned and laughed, and then surged another kiss to Dean’s mouth, tongue forcing its way in for only a second, before he pulled away, eyes ablaze with fireplace heat, smile alight with angelic beauty.

“Missed you,” Dean nodded, hand slipping to hold Castiel’s, as he turned around and leant on the car’s rim too. “God, I miss you so bad sometimes I think I’m going outta my mind.”

“Me too,” Castiel nodded, his side pressed to Dean’s with no space between them at all. Their joined hands rested where their thighs met. “Oh... Oh, I can’t quite believe―”

He looked straight at Dean, and Dean became awash with emotions of all sorts; joy, longing, pain, total relief. Castiel had a well of tears in his eyes and a cautious smile on his lips, like he wasn’t sure if the smile would be allowed to stay. Dean tipped his head to the side and chuckled, realising he was teary-eyed too.

Cas had come to mean so much to him. Sometimes he was nothing but fantasy, a male-shaped idea that had a face, something Dean could pine after. Other times, he was fully human and real and he was someone Dean could pine after. He could still be the endgame in the chess match of Dean’s life, if only they could be brave enough to make that last move.

“So much happens,” Castiel said, ducking his head and looking to the trampled snow around their shoes. “In the past seven years - any time we’re apart - I have so many thoughts. I think of things I want to tell you, sometimes I write them down―”

“You write me letters?”

Castiel nodded, swallowing. “I never send them.”

“I burn the ones I write you,” Dean replied, hurt by it.

Castiel understood. “I ought to burn mine too. I just hate that, in keeping secret things safe, they could be gone forever. I might never remember what I wrote.”

Dean leant his chin on Castiel’s shoulder, closing his eyes and breathing out on his neck. His breath was cold, even close up. “Isn’t that how it is with you ‘n me, too? We’re keeping apart, but one day we’ll be gone forever. We’re gettin’ old, Cas.”

“Fifty-three isn’t old.”

Dean’s laugh came out soft and aborted, more of a dry sob. He pressed his grin to Castiel’s shoulder, then with his free hand, pushed back Castiel’s coat. Impossibly, it was the same coat from years ago. Dean rested his nose on the warm wool of Castiel’s Christmas sweater, and breathed in his scent. He smelled of clothes cupboards, and walnuts, and cinnamon. He’d been baking.

“I think, something I wanted to tell you,” Castiel began, then turned his head so his chin was prickling Dean’s forehead. Whispering, he breathed against Dean’s ear. “I love you.”

Dean grinned, closing his eyes tight, moving his head closer, nose nestled between the neck of Castiel’s sweater and his skin. He kissed him there, warm.

He had always known. They’d met thirty years ago, and their fire still burned. Of course it was love.

The time for other loves had gone; Dean’s heart was set on Castiel now.

Dean let Castiel stroke his hair, fingers ice-cold but still pleasant against his scalp. He thought about all the things he wanted to say - there were thousands - but he couldn’t find a place to start.

“How is your family?” Castiel murmured at last, and Dean supposed that was a good place to begin.

“Tommy got married a few years back,” Dean said. “Baby on the way.”

Castiel shuddered, fingers cradling Dean’s face, foreheads together. “I still think of him as a six-year-old.”

Dean kissed Castiel’s cheek, lips lingering as he replied, “I still see you as a twenty-three-year-old schoolteacher. Or twenty-six, throwing your clothes off while you wiggle around that stupid pole.”

Castiel burst out laughing, shoving at Dean’s chest. Dean flailed, skidding on the snow, but was caught by Castiel’s hand. Strong, he pulled him close again, wrapping his arms around Dean’s lower back. He kept his hands warm under Dean’s leather jacket, their noses rubbing as they smiled.

“Every time I see you again, it scares me,” Castiel said, the laughter condensing into seriousness, low voice hanging with his soft words. “I see grey hairs, I see wrinkles. Your eyes have changed, they’re... I don’t know.”

“Older,” Dean supplied. Castiel nodded.

“It worries me that we might go on like this forever. My life has become a rope bridge, Dean. After I see you, it slopes down. I get sad, I miss you. I start to forget. Then I start to remember. I have hope. I wish for times to come, I fantasise. I think of your family, I think of you. Everything I remember about you. Always hoping I’ll reach the next island in the bridge, seeing you again. Obviously you’re not the only person in the world who brings me joy, but...”

He swallowed hard, and Dean stroked his hair back, waiting for him to keep talking. God, he’d missed the sound of his voice. Even that was different, it had become gruffer, aged by almost another decade.

“Sometimes,” Castiel sighed, “you’re the only thing keeping me going. Knowing you’re out there.”

“Thinking of you the same way,” Dean assured him. “I don’t friggin’ understand how this happened between us, you know? I wonder some days, what even triggered it? What made us realise we needed each other?”

Castiel shook his head, not knowing the answer either. “Do you believe in fate?”

Dean smirked until one side of his lips showed his teeth. “Hell, I don’t know. But this is a bigger town than you think.”

“Hm?”

“We’ve run into each other six times in thirty years. Most people run into each other more often than that. Bagging groceries, at the movies, sending a letter off at the post office. But six times, that ain’t a lot. We just―”

“Have a connection,” Castiel said. Dean couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say instead, but he decided to agree with Castiel. He nodded.

Castiel went on, “We fall back to each other. Knowing you’re the only person I’ve ever met who I’ve felt for this way is certainly a good reason to return, I think.”

Dean smiled, a little sadly. “I’m really the only one?”

“You remain to be the only man I’ve let touch me.”

“And women?”

Castiel met Dean’s eyes, thoughtful. Then he looked away, letting his hands fall, resting back against the car once again. “I wouldn’t enjoy it. Without attraction or mutual romantic connection, I can’t bring myself to... do that.”

Dean appreciated what he said, even if he didn’t understand. He himself had been a fully sexual creature, in the past. Such desires had dissipated come the time of marriage and parenthood.

His hand slid to his chest, where he felt the shape of Castiel’s ring pressed to his sternum. He had barely thought about anyone else that way since the last time he’d seen Castiel. Even when they were apart, this man had his full attention.

Castiel had noticed the touch, and his clouded expression broke into a grin. He lifted his hand to show Dean the silver ring on his finger, which caught the light of the snow and almost seemed to glow.

Dean tugged out his ring and let it dangle on its thin leather cord. Castiel reached forward and held it for a while, closed into his ringed hand. With their eyes locked, Castiel leaned in and kissed his own fist. Dean smiled, chest flooded with affection and attraction that still went on, even as Castiel had aged. He had aged well, though.

Dean captured his lips with a kiss, sliding his hand to grasp Castiel’s.

Castiel held the back of Dean’s neck, hands warmer now. Dean pulled him into a tight, tight hug, grappling with another sob as Castiel clung to him too, embracing with a passion and fierceness that made Dean’s chest ache with not only a physical strain, but with upset. He wanted hugs like this every day, yet he never wanted them to mean such a desperate kind of hello.

Castiel forced them apart so they could breathe, and they laughed through painfully cold inhales, gushing clouds over each other’s faces.

“How are Aidan and Charlie? And Sam, and Rebecca?” Castiel asked. There was a tiredness in his voice now, like it upset him just to ask. Dean supposed it was loneliness causing it; Castiel did not have family of his own, which was clearly still true, even now.

“They’re all fine,” Dean assured him. “Maybe you could come see them this evening?” He checked his wristwatch, then flicked a grin up at Castiel. “Dinner’s in a couple of hours, it’ll take me, what, half an hour to get you towed in? Come stay with us, even. We have a guest room.”

Castiel hesitated, and Dean truly thought he might have said yes this time.

But, the reply came, and it wasn’t a yes. “We can’t, Dean.”

Dean sighed, bumping his forehead to Castiel’s like cats did. “The world is changing, Cas. It’s not so dangerous any more. Being gay isn’t even classed as a psychological disorder any more, did you know that?”

“Have you forgotten the stories? All those men, and women as well. Murdered. All for loving the wrong sex. And even beyond that, I still wonder if there aren’t courtrooms that would lock a man up for looking in the wrong direction. They might cover the so-called ‘crime’ up with other charges so nobody knows what they’re really being arrested for, but don’t delude yourself to think it doesn’t happen.”

Dean knew he was right. He was going to be right for many years. The world was changing, that much was true, but it was not enough; it was still not safe.

“Don’t you think you’re being too cautious?” Dean asked. “Don’t you think a few nights of happiness, a few nights spent with a family... don’t you think that’s worth the risk? Don’t stay forever if you’re not ready, if that scares you. But please stay. I can’t― Cas, I can’t watch you leave again.”

Castiel closed his eyes so tightly that Dean could tell he was hiding his tears. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

It was another no.

Dean sighed, and had to let it go. Cas wasn’t staying, and Dean would not be able to change his mind. In his own thoughts, he supposed that Castiel was being the more reasonable. Dean wanted to protect both of them, and if being apart meant they stayed safe, that was always best.

“Although,” Castiel said, a little cheekily, and Dean’s interest piqued.

“What, what’s although?”

Castiel looked up, a playful sparkle in his eye. “You have an hour and a half to get home, yes?”

Dean looked about him, lips pursed as he considered that. “I guess. Don’t you have places to be?”

Castiel shrugged. “I only drove out to check on my bees, they’re huddled up for the winter. I was headed home to make some more jar labels, nothing that can’t wait.”

Dean nuzzled their noses together, blinking. “So what did you wanna do with that time?”

Castiel smooched him, purring out a hot, rumbled note. “Would you be willing to engage in coitus with me?”

Dean would have laughed at Castiel’s awkward phrasing, if he hadn’t moaned instead. God, did he. He’d been waiting for Castiel to ask since 1962. “Fuck yes,” he whispered back.

“Your car or mine?”

Dean laughed, fingertips bristling with excitement, cold-numb toes curling in his boots. “Mine’s bigger.”

“Oh, don’t start that, you show-off,” Castiel swatted at him, eyes crinkling at the sides. “You may be a stone fox, and I may forgive you anything, but I am not having my car be a metaphor for my genitals.”

Dean sniggered out puffs of misty air, catching Castiel’s eye. He schooled his smile away, but it remained twitching at the corners of his lips. “It is literally bigger, though. More space to lie down.”

Castiel’s face came over dark with arousal, and Dean’s blood roared straight downwards, anticipating their activities to come. Castiel’s lips parted with a click, and he leaned in, eyes closing as their mouths met.

This time, they kissed slowly. Dean felt the heat of Castiel’s breath on his tongue, soothing away the biting ice-blue that the chilled air had brought him. Castiel’s kisses were so gentle, and the sounds he made layered velvet ripples into Dean’s mouth.

“Now, Dean,” Castiel murmured huskily. “Let’s do it now.”

“I― I have condoms,” Dean gulped, shaking slightly. He pulled in breaths, trying to clear his muggy head so he could think straight. “There’s a few in my glovebox. And some Astroglide.”

“...Why do you have that in your car?”

Dean chuckled, head tipped down as he grabbed Castiel’s hand and tugged him away from his tiny car and towards Dean’s Impala. “When there’s kids around the house, Cas, you learn to get away.”

“Why condoms?”

Dean paused as he put his fingers on the handle to the back seat. He didn’t want to tell Cas that he wouldn’t be the first person to find their merry way onto Dean’s back seat. The cold of the handle made his skin burn, so he popped open the door quickly, offering Castiel the space to enter first.

“Because, Cas,” Dean decided to say, shuffling into the car after him, knees sinking into the leather, “there’s more fun things to do than just play with your weiner. You’ve never... y’know... played with your... y’know...?”

Castiel squinted as he peeled his coat off. “You mean my anus?”

Dean’s grin fritzed. “Yeah.”

“Of course. But I never thought of... using condoms for that.”

Dean had further thoughts on the subject, but lost them a moment later, eyes roaming Castiel’s figure: he hunched and pulled his decorated sweater off, tossing it over the front seat before shivering at the cold. Dean licked his lips, wriggling along the wide seat until his crotch was against Castiel’s, Dean’s thigh between his.

Castiel sighed slowly, apparently in relief. Dean could feel a partial erection kept down by his pants, and Dean teased him with a set of sort, testing rubs. Castiel’s face relaxed, his frown disappearing, head falling back against the seat.

“Moan for me,” Dean whispered.

Castiel moaned, and Dean’s state of mind bolted directly to heat and sex, wanting everything at once.

“Ah, yeah. Fuckin’ love that,” Dean smiled, kissing Castiel’s throat, only gently. He nipped and tugged the skin, leading down to the neckline of the dress shirt Castiel wore. His tie was old and black, hanging loose.

Dean attempted to undo the tie with his teeth, but grunted and gave up when the rough material made his teeth twinge, all the way up his nose to his eyes. It was a perfectly detestable sensation, and it was better left to his fingers, which were more accustomed to undoing knots.

Castiel watched as Dean let the tie splay outwards, then pulled one end fast and swift, zipping it out. Its end whipped the driver’s seat behind Dean, and Dean grinned. “Let’s get you naked, yeah?”

“We ought to steam up the windows first,” Castiel warned, and Dean nodded, because he was right. If anyone else were to drive past, they might at least assume there was a woman and a man in here.

Dean spent a minute huffing with his mouth open, and Castiel joined him, until they caught sight of each other and simply crumbled into laughter, hands cradling each other, laughing against skin. Dean felt joyous to be so close to Cas, and Castiel was happy to see him too, if the huge smile and the deep crinkles at the sides of his eyes were anything to go by.

Castiel moaned as soon as Dean’s mouth was on him, knocking his jaw up, wanting more. Dean rolled on top of him, and they flopped down lengthways on the leather, legs tangled up against the far door. Dean humped at Castiel until Castiel broke the kiss, looking down between their bodies, frowning, moaning aloud.

“Ouhh, yes, yes... Yes, just like that...”

“I wish we had days to just do this,” Dean whispered. “Years. I wanna have you every fuckin’ way there is to be had.”

“Tell me some ways,” Castiel murmured, putting kiss after kiss on Dean’s jaw, open mouth and teeth. “Tell me how you want it.”

Dean’s bloodstream flowed hotter, a pulse bolstering his semi-erection like a rearing stallion. “Fuck me. Oh, God, Cas, I want you to fuck me.”

“Tell me how.”

“Slow. And f- ah― fast. Sometimes go all the way in, go as deep as you can... But sometimes, I just wanna sit on you, just rock slow, just the tip inside so I just feel it stretching...”

Castiel’s breath was shaking, his eyes dark with want, lips reddened by their kisses. He looked up at Dean with the kind of heated softness in his eyes that Dean had never seen before, the kind of look he’d always wanted to see.

He lay there for a minute, rocking slowly, just observing how Castiel gazed at him. There was something child-like in it - reliance and need, the kind of look a baby would give their parent. But it was so obviously different from that, it was adult in every way imaginable. It was the kind of look for private sight, private moments and spaces. That look was for Dean alone, truly.

“Tell me,” Castiel whispered again, his gaze lowering and falling over Dean’s face, hungry for the way he looked too. “My love, Dean, just tell me everything. Every fantasy.”

Dean grinned, shaking his head. “We only have an hour and a half. Even if I talked a mile a minute I would barely sweep the surface.”

“Then,” Castiel kissed him, tender and bold at once, “show me.”

Dean’s hips sank down with half his weight, causing a burst of pleasure in both their bodies - Castiel called out on a gasp, Dean laughed, hands clutching Castiel’s shirtsleeve in a fist.

“Naked,” Castiel rasped. “Clothes off, Dean.”

Dean nodded hastily, setting his knees down into the leather and kneeling back until his weight was off Castiel. He had to hunch to avoid the roof hitting his head, but there was still more room than there would have been in Castiel’s car.

Castiel remained lying back, and as Dean shed his leather coat and his outer shirts, Castiel unbuttoned his own shirt with deft fingers.

Dean breathed harshly, licking his swollen lips. His eyes roamed Castiel’s prostrate form, gorging on how he looked, the spread of pale skin that showed when he brushed his shirt open. He didn’t remove it completely, but began on his belt buckle instead.

“Let’s get totally naked this time,” Dean said. “God knows when we’ll see each other again. I don’t want you to see me for the first time in years and years from now when I’m lumpy and fat.”

Castiel harrumphed, shoving his pants down a few inches, showing off the points of his hip bones. There seemed to be no excess fat on him at all. “You’ll always be beautiful, Dean.”

“Not with saggy old balls I won’t.”

Castiel sat up straight, hands cupping Dean’s nearly-bare ass. He squeezed, and Dean huffed in delight. With a kiss to Dean’s heart, then, taking the silver ring between his teeth before letting it go, Castiel looked up into Dean’s eyes and said, “You will. If you’re old, I’ll be old too. There’s no shame in our faults.”

“I want this so bad, Cas, I wanna do this with you.” Dean gestured at his half-hard cock, still hidden in his underwear. “But I’m already old. I can’t get any harder than I am now. That’s embarrassing for me.”

Castiel chuckled, hands sliding inside Dean’s underwear, pinching and rolling at the pudge on his ass, a finger dipping into the groove between his buttocks. “So long as I can get inside you, it doesn’t matter.”

Dean blushed, toppling forward over Castiel. Castiel pushed him back up, allowing himself a moment to take off his loose shirt, then he curled up his legs and shoved his pants off.

Dean watched Castiel’s little cock bounce at his movement, then watched Castiel touch himself. His length fitted into his fist completely, and Dean wanted to keep watching that, mesmerised by the movement, as much as he wanted Castiel to take his hand away so Dean could see him clearly.

Castiel seemed to realise what Dean was reaching for before his fingers got there, and slipped his hand away from himself. Dean breathed out a happy smile as he saw Castiel’s erection standing to attention. Dean’s fingers touched it, absorbing the heat of it. Castiel shuddered.

“You’re real pretty,” Dean told him truthfully. “Just ‘cause it’s small doesn’t mean it’s not awesome. Don’t let anyone ever tell you different, all right?”

Castiel grinned bashfully, a sweet blush forming on his cheeks. Dean rolled forward to claim his lips, smooching and tasting his saliva until Castiel shoved his shoulders and he had to back away.

“What’s up?” Dean asked.

“We should be naked,” Castiel reminded him. “You said you’re not hard, but I... I want to see.”

Dean smirked and knelt back, letting out a long, hot breath. The windows were mostly steamed-up now, except for the windscreen, which had a clear view of the snow-white road ahead, leading into town. Dean kept his cautious gaze on that view as he sat back on his bare ass and stretched his legs out, pushing his hands down his legs until everything bunched around his boots.

“We oughta leave our shoes on, right?” Dean asked, checking with Castiel.

Castiel glanced down, then shook his head. “I don’t think I would want to die without having seen the soles of your feet.”

Dean laughed, thinking Castiel was joking, but stopped when Castiel started to kiss him, folded over onto Dean’s side of the seat. Dean groaned loudly as Castiel stuck his hand around Dean’s cock, tugging him hard, gripping fully, pumping and pumping and pumping until Dean had to break the kiss to cry out, back arching, toes tense inside his boots, a hand slapping to the condensation on the window closest to him.

Castiel purred and let go suddenly. Dean was left reeling, moaning under his breath, completely dizzy.

“What was it you were saying, about not being hard enough?” Castiel asked, his voice throaty, smoke over simmering winter coal. “Look how hard you are now, Dean. Oh, I think... you’re hard for me.”

Dean looked down, and almost laughed in surprise. He was actually fully hard, his cockhead leaking pre-come, veins pushing against the soft, thin skin of his gerth. “Holy shit.”

“Too bad you’re not the one who’s going to be inside me,” Castiel rumbled, seductive words pouring over Dean’s lips like filthy lyrics to a song he’d never heard before. “I’d quite like that monster of yours filling me up.”

Dean grunted as Castiel started playing fingertips around his cockhead, smearing his fluid around. “Ahhh... fuck... I’d give you that, Cas. I’d top you. S-someday, maybe. But - mmmmm.... I just... uoh, I want you in me. I want you in me. So bad. So fuckin’ bad.”

Castiel chuckled, then pulled away, sitting naked on the seat to Dean’s right. He crooked his legs up on the seat and took his coloured socks off, wriggling bare, pale toes. His feet were bony, showing slender rises that moved under his skin as he tried to keep his toes warm.

“Now you,” Castiel encouraged. “Take your boots off, Dean.”

“How did you gets yours off so quick?” Dean asked, starting to undo his laces, grunting at the awkward angle he had to make with his back. This car was big, but not big enough.

“I don’t have laces,” Castiel answered. “Socks too, take those off.” Dean did as he said, and as he did, Castiel swept forward and slung a hand down, fingertips playing on the tops of Dean’s feet. “You have very nice feet, Dean.”

Dean sniggered. Nobody had ever bothered to say that before, but it was a pleasant thing to know.

“Now,” Castiel said, matter-of-factly, “where are your condoms and lubrication?”

“Ah, glovebox,” Dean muttered, taking off his wristwatch, then pushing himself up and over the seat in front of him. His cock pressed against the cold leather, making him grit his teeth and whine. He opened the glovebox compartment as swiftly as he could, and got what he needed. “They’re a few years old, but they’ll do.”

He sat back down, and Castiel snatched the condom packet and tore it open, eager fingers fiddling with it until he had the rubber circle out in his hand. Dean waited for him to put it on, but Castiel only looked at it, then lifted it closer to his face to see it clearer.

“Uh...” Dean said. “You... have seen a condom before, right?”

Castiel’s eyes darted to Dean, mouth open. “I’ve seen the packets. They handed them out during the war, but I never...”

“You never even looked at one?”

Castiel shrugged, curling a leg up against his chest to rest his chin on his knee. “I had no interest. Well - that’s not true. I wanted to try them with other soldiers, but I was too scared of what might happen if I chose the wrong partner. And that fear... kept me from learning.”

“I can show you how to put it on, if you want?”

Castiel nodded, holding the condom towards Dean on his open hand. “Yes, please.”

“Uh... on me, or on you?”

Castiel made an excited noise and covered his face with his hands, breathing into them. He was smiling as he pulled away, and paused to sniff his fingers, apparently smelling the lubricant on his fingers. “Um. I wasn’t... I wasn’t really expecting to do this today, obviously... I mean, that is― I know you want it―”

Dean laughed, shaking his head to dispel Castiel’s embarrassment. “It’s cool. I’m better prepped than you, don’t sweat it. Let’s get this sucker on you, yeah?”

Castiel nodded, hand fisting his cock as he breathed a little faster. “I... Yes...”

Dean crawled closer on his knees, arranging his legs and slotting himself underneath Castiel’s spread thighs. Castiel was making elongated moaning noises behind closed lips, his eyes dark with a raw desperation. Dean kissed him to calm him, and it worked to distract Castiel for a bit.

Then Dean looked down along with him, and showed Castiel how to roll the condom onto his length. Castiel moaned as he did it, but once it had covered him, Dean had to laugh. The rubber wasn’t fully unrolled, and tried to roll itself back up again; Castiel’s cock was much too small for it.

Castiel sagged and gave a very disheartened sigh. Dean kissed his cheek and breathed out, not laughing any more. “It’s okay, baby. It’ll still work.”

“How would you feel,” Castiel said, a helpless choke in his voice. “How would you feel if the condom didn’t fit?”

Dean shook his head. “I’m not laughing.”

Castiel turned his head and buried his face against Dean’s neck. Dean heard him swallow hard, then let out an easing breath. “Maybe this is the reason I never want to give myself to anybody. There are things more embarrassing than not being able to get completely hard.”

“Not many people care about this, Cas. Guys compare junk, sure, and maybe tease sometimes, but girls don’t tend to mind what size you are unless you piss them off.”

Castiel hummed dully. “Do you mind?”

Dean shook his head. “I think it’s nice. Cute, too - but not in a bad way. And it sure makes me feel less inadequate, at that.” Dean laughed when Castiel hit him on the ear. But then he looked Castiel in the eye, and the smile stayed. “I wouldn’t want you any other way, you hear me?”

Castiel held his gaze for a long time, and eventually he nodded, slowly. He accepted Dean’s words, and Dean felt a simmer of pride for him.

“Lube, next,” Dean whispered, kissing Castiel’s lips reassuringly. “I’ll put some on your hand, and you wriggle it into my butthole with your fingers, okay?”

Castiel nodded, eyes on his hand to catch the trickle of gloop that poured from the small bottle. He gasped, smiling as it collected on his skin. “It’s very, very cold.”

“Let it warm up a bit, or I’m gonna clench,” Dean advised. Castiel nodded again, taking Dean’s words as law.

Dean kissed him for a while. Dean somehow felt that, while he himself was the more experienced here, he was doing this for the first time. It was his first time like this with Cas after all, with the aside of a fire-lit handjob in the cabin of a firetruck, fifteen years previously. It was hard to imagine that that handjob was the only time Castiel had ever had sexual contact with another person.

Before Dean was expecting it, warm, warm fingers slipped tentatively around his hole. He rounded his mouth and moaned, long and low. He fucking loved being touched there.

Castiel was panting, eyes set fully on Dean’s face, widened with surprise and lust and curiosity. Dean grinned as he watched him, unable to keep from moaning as again as Castiel slipped a finger in very quickly.

“Sorry!” Castiel gasped, removing the finger from Dean’s hole. “It... It just slipped in―”

Dean chuckled. “It’s okay, baby. It’s meant to. Just go in gentle, as much as you can. When I’m ready... ah... yeah, like that... When I’m ready, I’ll tell you.” While Castiel worked, Dean’s fingers combed back through Castiel’s hair. There were streaks of grey here and there, which suited him well.

Castiel’s breathing became ragged and uncontrolled, eyes lowered to Dean’s chest as his fingers experimented with pushing in and slipping back out. Dean was miraculously still hard, and he wondered how long it would last before it faded again. Already, this was the longest he’d been up in months.

“D- Dean... It’s... Oh, my Lord, it’s so tight. I know I’m small, but how am I ever going to fit?!”

Dean grinned and nuzzled against the top of Castiel’s head, breathing in his scent. “You’ll fit, I promise. It’s real cold in here though, so it’s gonna stay tight. It’ll feel pretty good for you - but hell, I’m gonna be walkin’ funny for a week.”

“...Oh. So that’s what that phrase means,” Castiel muttered, eyes off to the side. Dean didn’t think the words were even meant for him, but he smiled anyway.

Castiel had lived most of his life already and he didn’t know about these things. He’d gone fifty-three years, exposed to the worst parts of the world, seeing war and poverty and loneliness, but bless him, he barely knew about the good parts. Dean wanted to give him that. Fuck, that was all he wanted, just to have Castiel have something good before he got too old to enjoy it.

Perhaps it was a bad time for a prayer, while engaging in ‘coitus’ with another man - sinning, basically - but Dean couldn’t help it. He turned his eyes to the roof of his car, focusing well beyond, looking straight into the sky and up to Heaven, if such a place even existed.

And he prayed that he could be with Castiel, like this, and in so many other ways, before they ran out of time. He prayed they could be together one day, and be able to love freely. Be able to share what they had with the people they loved, be able to kiss in front of them, and hold hands in the street, and not fear death at the hands of someone who thought their love was wrong.

When Dean rested his cheek on Castiel’s hair, he wrapped his arms around him too, cuddling him while Castiel fingered his hole, still working two fingers in and out, stretching and swirling them. The muscle remained as a stiff ring, but the heat of Castiel’s fingers helped; Dean could feel himself opening further under his ministrations.

Dean’s erection had faded, the car was fully misted, and he felt safe, secure, and perfectly warm. He almost fell asleep while Castiel kept going. Shoulders kissed, consciousness slowly hazed away, but when he felt his lips kissed instead, he returned.

“Mh?”

“I think I might fit now,” Castiel said, sounding brave. “Do you think it’s enough?”

Dean could feel three fingers inside him, and he nodded. “You can pull out now, if you want.”

Castiel slowly slid his fingers free, and Dean sighed in complaint at the feeling of emptiness.

The roar of flame was gone, the desperation was gone - as was Castiel’s erection.

“At least,” Dean said quietly, as he slipped the condom off Cas’ flaccid cock, “we can still use this one, right? Not like it’s been stretched out or anything.”

Castiel snorted against Dean’s chest, forehead on his heart. “One day I will find something godforsaken about you that I can tease you about. Mark my words.”

“I dread the day. But for now, let’s work on getting you jonesin’ again, yeah?”

Castiel leaned against the seat, head back. “Go on, then.”

Dean had an idea, and he smirked. “Ooh, you’re gonna love this. Don’t move.”

Castiel perked his head up in fascination as Dean crowded himself into the footwell between Castiel’s open legs, kneeling on the tough carpet, back pressed to the front seat.

With a devilish smirk on his lips, Dean leaned in with his mouth open, holding Castiel’s eye as his mouth surrounded Castiel’s cock and sucked it down.

Castiel gasped in five different installments, finally thumping his head back, spreading his legs inches wider, crying out in pleasured shock as Dean started sucking and sucking and pumping his head up and down, lips sealed perfectly around him. It was easy for him, since Cas was only small, and Dean had done this many times before.

As Castiel started getting hard again, Dean lapped away his pre-come, still tasting the condom latex in the fluid that was left over from earlier. Dean set his hands on Castiel’s inner thighs, rubbing patterns and soothing shapes into his skin, bristling his leg hair.

Castiel was moaning like a crazed animal, legs shaking, mouth open, a frown cutting deeply between his eyebrows. He was arching towards Dean, his toes curled up as his feet rested on the edge of the seat. Dean kept going, not even needing to move away to swallow, as he could easily swallow without removing his mouth from Castiel’s dick.

Castiel sank his hands into Dean’s hair, and Dean realised he was actually affected by this too; every tug Castiel gave his scalp sent a cold burst of electric pleasure through him, and a single wandering hand allowed him to discover that he was getting hard. He pulled at himself, eyes closing in bliss as Castiel murmured a string of blatantly thrilled sounds. Dean loved those noises, the ones that let him know he wasn’t just doing well for Castiel’s first blowjob, but giving a great blowjob in general. Dean was ravenous for the taste, as well as the praises that came in no more than broken words and nonsensical sentences.

When Castiel’s moaning rose in pitch, and his hands in Dean’s hair started to make Dean’s eyes water at how hard he was pulling, he knew Cas was getting close to orgasm. No matter how dearly Dean wanted to lap up Castiel’s come and appreciate that the climax was all down to his skilled lips and tongue, he wanted Cas’ cock in his ass more. Cas had worked him open, and unless Cas pushed inside him and filled Dean up, it was for nothing.

Except Dean started to pull away too late, and Castiel was already coming by the time Dean realised it was about to happen. Castiel had been too much of a wreck to tell him to stop, wanted it too badly - so Dean just went with it, groaning and swallowing Castiel’s hot liquid, which spurted endlessly down his throat. The bitterness bypassed Dean’s senses for the first moments, but then he tasted the saltiness, and the tang that made his teeth feel like they were glowing.

Dean swallowed it all, and kept swallowing until Castiel begged him to stop, shaking all over, sweating and pink-cheeked, whining uselessly.

Dean panted as he freed his mouth, watching Castiel’s cock flop against his scrotum, dragging saliva in a strand from Dean’s mouth. Dean put a hand against his mouth and swiped away the dribbles that were left, then panted for breath. He grinned lopsidedly at Castiel’s stunned expression, the way he looked like he was going to pass out from the extreme physical sensations that continued to make him tremble.

Dean hopped back onto the leather seat, hand on his own cock. “How was that?”

Castiel gurgled, then nodded, eyes not quite keeping track of Dean’s gaze. “Ohhhh... Deeeaaannn...”

Dean felt more than a little self-satisfied. “Hey... Think you could be up for another round sometime soon? I was really looking forward to... having you inside me, and that.”

Castiel grinned slowly, eyes half-closed. His head rolled to the side and he looked at Dean with a heavy gaze, satisfied. “Mm, of course. Do we have another forty minutes? I need a rest.”

Dean bent and rummaged for his discarded wristwatch, and saw that it was only quarter past four. “Got about an hour until we oughta drive off, so yeah. We could manage it just fine.”

He put his watch down and looked up, finding his face pressed to Castiel’s, lips on his own, hand on his cock. Dean murmured indistinctly and sank against the leather. Castiel knelt on the seat on his right, facing him, then straightened out a bare leg and rested it over his lap, foot crooked back so it was under Dean’s knee. Castiel then slid his arm behind Dean’s neck and leaned in close so their chests were brushing, the point of Castiel’s freckled nipple a finger’s width away from the silver ring Dean still wore around his neck.

Their eyes met, and Dean blazed with a slow, inching heat, loving the sultry yet affectionate way Castiel’s gaze lingered on his own. Their kisses were gradual now; Dean let Castiel’s hand work him to full stiffness, but it was without words, or any means of communication outside of touch and eye contact.

God, did Dean love that. They could be near-enough strangers in every way, knowing next to nothing about each other’s lives, families, workplaces - and yet they would find the same thing in each other between chance meetings, always seeing human connection, lust, something honest and romantic. They had no need to fight, and maybe they never would; it was certainly possible to retain peace between them forever. They were there for each other. They were there to give each other this: the leisurely release and the intimacy that slow, loving looks inside a steamed-up car could offer.

And always at Christmas.

Dean smiled and buried his head down low, sighing against Castiel as Cas made him come. He came gently, spilling heat over Castiel’s hand. Dean watched it, but Castiel was watching Dean. Dean could feel his eyelashes rustling on his temple.

Dean sighed as he finished, relaxing into the car seat. Castiel stroked him through the soft tidal waves that came after, which made Dean croon with satisfaction. Castiel stopped slowly so it wasn’t a shock, as well as not letting the touch extend for so long that it started to hurt. He did it perfectly.

Dean rested his head back, and Castiel cuddled up to him, their legs tangled, hands together. Castiel’s hand was still lubricated, which allowed Dean to slip his fingers around and make Castiel laugh softly. He was ticklish on his palms, and Dean liked making him squeak.

Soon their gentle, tired laughs became words, words of thanks. Firstly, for the events of the past half-hour, which made them both smile, and offer praise.

But then Dean thanked Castiel for the money he’d been sending over the years, always an increase from whatever Dean threw at Castiel’s honey business.

“It’s all in the contract,” Castiel muttered, like none of it was down to him.

Dean shook his head. “I know you’re doing good, and all, but I know enough to see when figures don’t match up. I run my own business, remember? Fixing cars for people like you, who think the damn thing’s gonna run if you let it take downtime in the snow.” He chuckled when Castiel chuckled, but then he made his point: “I know you’re sending more than you ought to.”

Castiel lowered his eyes to their winding hands, caught out.

“At least tell me why you do it,” Dean said quietly. “You’ve been doing it for years, so I know it’s not some one-time mistake, it’s your choice. But I don’t get why you do. There’s enough money in those statements to buy half of anything. If you saved up, you’d have... God, you’d have thousands of thousands. You’d be a fucking millionaire, if I calculated right.” He shook his head, because Castiel wasn’t answering. “Just... why, Cas?”

“I... Dean, I have nobody.” Castiel shrugged a bare shoulder, not lifting his eyes from their hands. “I have bees to keep, and land to run, and things to make and do almost constantly, but aside from what I pay my staff, the money I use to advertise, and the money I use to heat my house, I barely use any of my income. I don’t see the point in saving if I already have everything I need.

“I told you, years ago... I told you what I wanted. A car, some land, bees, a protective suit. I have all of that - a hundred times over now. I have enough money in reserve to develop that even further if need be. I have nothing and nobody else to support.

“But you.” Castiel looked up now, and Dean saw a subtle intensity in his eyes; passion. “You have a family. You have a son, and a wife, and a brother with a wife of his own, and their two children - grown now, albeit - but they’re expecting children too. If I were ever to think of anyone as my family, it would be you. All of you, even those who I’ve never met.”

Dean swallowed, feeling unexpectedly loved by that. Secure in ways he never thought he would be secure.

“I send you anything I don’t use,” Castiel continued, getting closer, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder. “I want you to live off it the same way bees live off honey over the winter. You gave me my honey years ago, so I’m giving you honey to feed off and keep you warm.” He gave a sweet, sweet smile, which even made Dean’s toes happy. “I do love my bees very much.”

“I can tell,” Dean said softly. Castiel glowed brightly from inside, very differently to the way he had immediately after sex. The passion was alive in him, buzzing cheerfully. Dean loved seeing that kind of self-fuelled passion in anybody, but seeing it in Castiel was truly wonderful.

“Thank you,” Dean said to him. “You put Tommy and Bec through college, and when Aidan gets to that age, there’s still enough in our account to get him through too. We’re gonna have a hive of honey-funded Quinn-Winchesters.”

Castiel glowed even brighter. Dean kissed him.

They talked for a long time, without aim or intent. Castiel had a sense of humour approximately as peculiar as his taste in sweaters and socks, but it made Dean laugh all the same.

He was such a colourful person. Quirky on the surface, and Dean found he was even more interestingly quirked the better he got to know him. That had been true for years, but perhaps it took the lack of a burning house accompanied by the post-orgasmic mental fuzz to coax out Dean’s settled realisation: Cas was awesome. He was oddly funny, smart, not to mention handsome, which was a combination that ought to be impossible, especially when coupled with his unbelievably generous heart. Dean couldn’t quite believe how lucky he’d gotten.

Except, that feeling drifted away when he realised maybe he wasn’t so lucky. He and Cas didn’t have much time left; they’d talked for much longer than they should have. They would make love, but then they would have to part yet again. Their genders made them unlucky. They were blighted by that, Dean thought.

“We should make it quick,” Dean said, crawling past Castiel and lying on his back, lifting his hips so his back stuck less uncomfortably to the leather. “I don’t wanna go home without having done this...”

Castiel understood, and looked around for their discarded condom. He picked it up off the floor, and it hung sadly from his fingers.

“Ugh,” Dean huffed. “Gross. Just get a new one. Or better yet, don’t bother. It’s not like I can catch anything from you.”

Castiel nodded, but still didn’t move closer. His hand was around his cock, making himself hard as Dean did the same. “I might catch something from you, though.”

Dean stared at the roof as he listened to Castiel leaning across the seat to get another condom.

Dean tried not to be hurt. He tried not to be upset by his own actions, his own past approach to loveless sex. He hadn’t been with anyone for years, but that didn’t make Cas wrong in his assumption.

“It doesn’t bother you,” Dean had to check. He spread his legs out and let Castiel kneel between them, one foot on the floor, his knee supporting Dean’s right leg, since both their bodies were too wide to fit on the seat. “You’re okay with me? You know. Having... slept with a lot of people.”

Castiel shrugged, eyes on the condom as he unwrapped it and flipped it about until he worked out which way to unroll it. Dean watched him attempt to copy what Dean had done earlier, but Dean had to duck in and change his fingering, lest he leave no space for his release to go.

“I can’t change what you did,” Castiel said apathetically, fisting his cock now it was covered. The condom made a sound as he touched, but Dean didn’t think how loose it was would actually make that much of a difference.

“Would you, though?” Dean asked. “If you could tell me years ago that you knew for certain you’d wait for me, that you didn’t want me to sleep with anyone but you, would you have said it?”

Castiel paused for a while, hand stilling on his cock. Dean slowed his own hand, too, waiting for Castiel’s answer.

Castiel looked up and met Dean’s eye where he lay below him. He asked, “Would you?”

Dean’s insides churned. Managing a small, tiny smile, he replied, “Yes.”

Castiel held his eye, taking a few seconds to process. Dean would have waited, had he known. He would have been the only man for Castiel, he would have forgone any other contact. With the exception of Charlie, who birthed Dean a son out of necessity (and, for that matter, had never actually conducted any sexual intimacy with Dean), yes, Dean would have stayed celibate in wait of Castiel. He knew it and he regretted everything and everybody else. Even the good times.

Dean didn’t understand how he could feel so strongly for one man. He knew what love felt like, but he never knew he could be jealous on Castiel’s behalf.

But Castiel only nodded, accepting. “The fact you feel regret means a lot to me, Dean. I don’t think you made a mistake, in moving on while I was gone, but I would... I’d like to thank you. For feeling this way.”

Dean had no more words, so stroked Castiel’s hair back, fingers separating dark, slightly cold locks.

Then Castiel lined his cock up at Dean’s entrance, and the mood changed entirely. Dean’s heart began to drum furiously, a beat that made him gasp in time with it, excited beyond belief. He felt like a virgin again, scared for how it would feel the first time - but this time around, he had Castiel holding his hand, his blue eyes set on Dean’s, giving all the reassurance in the world he needed as Castiel pushed inside.

Dean shut his eyes and keened beautifully, arching his back until it unstuck from the leather. His skin flared hot all over in an instant, a light sweat bursting out of every part of him. He could feel the stretch, the heat of Castiel’s cock, the press of his scrotum against his ass.

He could feel Castiel’s breath on his neck, the partial weight of his chest on Dean’s ribcage. And he could feel a full-body sparkle, like lights beneath his skin. He adored how it felt, because it was new. It soared like a bird, and didn’t fade like a falling star would. It went on and on, carrying through every drag of Castiel’s hips, each press as he pulled out and pushed back inside.

“Uh! Yes, yes... mmm, Cas...”

Castiel grinned, panting and whining without end against Dean’s collarbone. “Dean... My God, this is― Ah! Dean―”

Dean laughed, hitching his legs up in the air and letting Castiel have at him, slipping in and out, along with the wrinkly sound of the condom bunched up. Cas wasn’t really using the lubrication at all, but was sliding mostly inside the condom itself. Dean found the sensation ridiculously tickly, but that didn’t keep him from finding it pleasurable. Castiel’s cockhead pushed the muscle open, and it was sensitive, sending shots of blood-lined static through Dean’s body. Cas’ short length slid in, and Dean moaned then, always, because he loved being filled up, just as far as Castiel’s fingers had gone.

There was no emptiness, there was no need for more. Castiel was big enough to pleasure Dean. Perhaps that was down to his awareness of Dean’s needs - he used his hand on Dean’s erection, after all - but he made it good for Dean. He made it fun, and he made Dean want it never to end. He loved seeing Castiel riding into him, his cheeks heavied by gravity, his face reddened, his lips parted by arousal and shallow breaths. Cas looked at Dean without breaking eye contact, and Dean gazed back, smiling until he fell apart into spasms of groaning and writhing, possessed by pleasure. There was a target spot inside him, and Castiel’s cock had pressed it just right.

When the leather started to burn his skin from his own body heat, Dean begged and babbled that he wanted to change their position. Castiel yowled as he pulled himself free of Dean’s tight heat, but Dean made sure he was quick so Cas wouldn’t be aching for long - he flipped over, leant his weight down on his forearms, his necklaced ring dangled onto his hands. He held tight to it, the same way he would whenever other men fucked him; remembering Castiel.

Castiel laughed as Dean shook his ass teasingly, but all grins turned to open-mouthed moans as Castiel grabbed his hips and guided himself inside, sinking deep, his body curling down over Dean’s. Dean lowered his head and panted, forehead to his fists. Every part of him was shaking, wanting release, wanting this to last forever. In every moment that passed, sparks reignited, shooting from head to toe. Having Castiel inside him felt like a blessing.

Castiel kissed the back of his neck, told him he was perfect, this act was perfect, this was exactly what he’d dreamed of.

Dean cried out against the leather, moaning loudly, coiling about on the seat like he was dying. He hoped Castiel got the message. Dean was in a state far beyond words.

He wasn’t just hard. He was pressed to his own navel, dripping, coating Castiel’s hand with pre-come as he kept on toying with him. Dean wished he could breathe enough to tell him that his rhythm was incredible. For never having played with a cock other than his own, Cas was good at it. He knew just the right moments to pull to have the sensation synchronise with the beat of Dean’s heart, or the flashes of pleasure that coursed in his system like glowing neon lights.

Dean let himself get fucked until his eyes rolled back in his head and he almost lost all sense of what was up and what was down, bumping his head into the backrest beside him, wailing at the total annihilation of senses outside of Cas, and his fantastically small but magnificent cock, his skilled hands, his beautiful words and his soft kisses.

He made Dean feel powerful even while he was trapped underneath. And Dean gave him everything, unable to be anything but whatever Castiel wanted from him.

When Castiel whispered, “Come,” Dean just did it. He simply orgasmed on command without knowing it was going to happen, spilling on the seat, over Castiel’s hand, splashing everything in range and then some. He near blinded himself with the unexpected surges of pleasure that didn’t stop, because Castiel refused to stop tugging him, or fucking him, and Dean all but collapsed into the seat, cock still hard and come still hot.

Castiel didn’t slow down, or seem deterred in any way at all. Dean smirked, lacking energy to do anything else. He tried his best to raise his ass just a little bit, enough that Castiel had a good angle to fuck down, to grasp his ass and fuck him, to keep fucking even as his moans changed, his grip got firmer and his body started to break its flawless rhythm, hitting Dean’s sweet spot every time without fail, pounding harder and harder until Dean’s muscles screamed at the abuse - but he didn’t complain, because he was enjoying it, knowing for certain that he would be limping for a week, two weeks maybe, but that time was nothing in comparison to how long he would remember getting fucked so intensely by the man he loved that he came stars. And he nearly came again, because Castiel burst through the fucking condom as he climaxed.

Dean dragged in a breath that was as delerious as it was delighted. He could feel Castiel’s come inside him. Hot. And wet. He could feel wetness inside him.

That moment held stasis for what felt like entire minutes, but couldn’t be more than twenty or thirty seconds in reality. The caught breath was let free, and Dean sank down further, completely spent.

“Ooooouhh,” Dean moaned, practically vibrating on the car seat. “Caaas, baby, what did you do to meee...”

Castiel chuckled with a heavy, exhausted breath as he pulled out, leaving Dean’s hole gaping wide, somehow still hungry. Castiel’s fingertips then eased the condom out of Dean’s ass; Dean gasped as it pulled and caused another burst of twisty, bristly pleasures in his entire lower half.

“I think...” Castiel paused to breathe, “I think I... fucked you out.”

“Yeah,” Dean shivered. “Yeah, that’s... that’s what this is. Fucked out. ‘m fucked right out. Aahh, shhiiiit...”

Castiel set a trail of smooches down Dean’s back, fingers brushing away the sweat before his lips touched down. Dean trembled, seeing nothing behind his closed eyes, but feeling everything.

Lips on Dean’s lower back, Castiel kindly reminded him, “You still have to tow my car back to town.”

“Aaaah,” Dean complained.

“Where is your watch...?” Castiel started poking around in the mess of clothes on the floor, and Dean got the impression he surreptitiously dropped the broken condom into a corner somewhere in the hope Dean wouldn’t notice. Dean noticed, but he didn’t care. He’d deal with it later.

Castiel called, “Aha!” and turned the watch around. Dean listened carefully, expecting a ‘hmm’ of consideration, not the decisive statement, “It’s five-forty-five.”

Dean bolted up backwards, almost bumping into Castiel as he flailed. “Fuck! I’m meant to be home in a minute! Charlie’s gonna think I had a road accident or something―”

“We had sex for thirty-five minutes?!” Castiel muttered, shaking the watch like it would give a different display. “Dean, is that right?”

“If that’s what the clock says, then yeah? Fuck-fuck-fuck―” Dean grabbed his shoes and crammed a foot into one before realising he needed to get his pants on first, so he started over. He panted for breath, heart racing.

He didn’t think Charlie would be angry once he told her what happened, but he did know she would worry. If only there were a way to contact her from the car, call her from a place that wasn’t a payphone, since all the payphones were in town anyway. Like a telephone that was mobile. That could be useful.

“It felt like a lot shorter than that to me,” Castiel said quietly. “I hoped it would’ve been slow.”

Dean paused while doing up his belt. He looked carefully at Castiel, who seemed very upset now. “You wanted it to be longer.”

Castiel turned his face down and nodded. “I don’t want to go.”

Dean let out a soft exhale and moved closer, fingers sliding over Castiel’s hand where he held the watch. “It doesn’t have to be over. Come back to our place, okay? Spend Christmas with us, have someone with you for once. You told me ‘n Charlie that you were all alone every year. Have it be different this time.”

“But your family. Won’t they ask, won’t they wonder why I’m―”

“I’ll tell them you’re my friend. Which you are. And Tommy knows you already. He talked about you sometimes when he was younger, he asked what happened to you. We told the kids about the honey company; that cleared a lot up for them, I think.”

“What if I wanted to kiss you? Under the mistletoe, maybe.”

“We don’t have mistletoe.”

“Well! What if I wanted to get some so I could kiss you?!”

Dean gaped, confused at Castiel’s outburst. “Cas... Are you―”

“I’m going to miss you, Dean,” Castiel sniffed, tears flooding his eyes. “So, so much, you don’t realise how much.”

Dean would counter that, but really, he knew Castiel was right. Dean had other people to distract him from the absence. Cas had bees.

Dean couldn’t do much more than edge up to Castiel and wrap his arms around his chest, putting a kiss to his shoulder. “The offer isn’t just for Christmastime, all right? You know where we live. Our door is always open to you. Send us a postcard, if you won’t visit.” He kissed him again, then regretfully pulled away to return to dressing himself.

Castiel didn’t say anything else, but he dressed much slower than Dean, so Dean had to get out of the car before Cas was even done. The air was harsh on his skin as he left the comforting warmth of the Impala’s back seat. Out here it was dark, and that astounded him. He hadn’t noticed the sun going down, or the overcast day turning to cloudless moonlight. Now, he looked across fields and he saw glowing emptiness, a dark blue space filled up with bright, twinkling stars.

His breath made a cloud above his head as he turned his face up to look at the sky. He hoped anything or anyone who was up there heard his prayer from earlier. He missed Cas before he was even gone.

Dean took a few minutes to relieve himself, then wash with some snow, boots planted wide apart, squatting behind Cas’ car so he couldn’t be seen from the road. He hissed at the numbing bite on his ass when he cleaned there, frowning at the strikes of pain when he shook his hands to get blood flowing again before he did his belt back up.

He then roped up his car to Castiel’s, slamming the trunk lid on the rope since he didn’t have a tow bar. He closed the hood of Castiel’s car while he was at it, as they’d left it open the whole time.

There were at least ten more sets of tyre tracks down the road. In the time he’d spent with Castiel, Dean had been so involved with him and what they were doing and what they talked about that he hadn’t noticed a single engine go past.

Tears rushed to Dean’s eyes as he pushed Castiel’s car closer and adjusted the rope. He was sad. No, he was heartbroken. He and Castiel were meant for each other, he was sure about that now. He believed in fate, and he believed that people had soul mates - even if there was sometimes more than one soul mate out there to be found. Cas was his, though. Yeah, Dean was a hopeless romantic; that fact didn’t bother him any more. Dean and Castiel were destined to love until their dying day, but the world around them remained their curse.

Dean looked across those fields and he saw beauty created by nature, but the people who tended those fields would not see the same if they looked at him.

“Dean?”

Dean looked back and forced his tears away. If Castiel had control over his emotions, then Dean should have, too. “Yeah, Cas.”

Castiel took a breath, pulling on his coat as he straightened up, ankle-deep in snow. His hair was a mess, his eyes red-rimmed. Dean was glad he’d left the car when he did - they’d both needed time alone to weep.

“What is it?” Dean asked, when Castiel didn’t say anything else.

Castiel shook his head. “Just, thank you. For today, for every other day. For days to come.”

Dean pressed a smile between his lips that he felt but couldn’t fully show. “You too.”

They held hands as they drove into town. Dean had to keep a window rolled down so the misted glass would clear, and by the time Castiel told him he was in the right place to be dropped off, their hands were ice-cold and locked together.

They chuckled as they disentangled their fingers, but stopped smiling when they needed another long moment to touch each other’s hands and remember what they felt like. Dean knew next time their hands would ache with arthritis and be layered with more wrinkles, more of the crooked shapes that came with aging bones.

Dean was crying as Castiel kissed him on the lips once more. Castiel smiled when he pulled away, and stroked away Dean’s tears. He would never be too old to hurt like this.

Castiel stepped out of the car, closed the door, then rested his hands on the rim of the open window, bending at the waist so he could see Dean. Dean gave a twitchy, upset smile, and Castiel only raised the fingers of one hand, a half-hearted salute. Dean tried to wave back but gave up.

And then Castiel turned away. Dean watched his coat sway around his legs, and watched him push his car inside his garage. It was a different house than the one that burned, and Dean was therefore glad he’d never sent a letter, since it would have gone to the wrong place.

Dean had to leave, still wishing he could have sat forever and watched Castiel attempt to warm up his car with a blanket or something equally hilarious. Of all things, he was sad that Castiel never got to look at the soles of his feet. He wanted to stay.

But he left.

He left, and he cried as he went.

December 21st 1977
It hurt more than ever this time. How much more of this before we’d break?

Chapter Text

1980

Castiel entered with his head up, more alert than he’d ever been when walking into a church. The smell of old wood washed through his senses, but beyond inhaling again, he didn’t fall prey to the inclination to close his eyes and ask for forgiveness. He was past that now, and this wasn’t the time.

His heart warmed all of a sudden when he saw the hunched figure seated mid-way down the aisle, in a pew on the left. His hands were clasped on the leather rest before him, his head down. The electric yellow light from above didn’t do a thing to hide the greying hair on his crown.

Castiel approached with respectful dignity, no matter how badly he wanted to run. He cast his eyes around as he went, seeing a few other men and women in the pews. This place was usually near-empty when he came here years ago, but now there were a decent number of people, all whispering in prayer. Perhaps the proximity to Christmas Day drew more people, overworked souls in need of some guidance.

He sidled into the pew beside Dean, and sat shamelessly at his side, their thighs touching. He saw Dean’s eyelids flicker in annoyance - for a stranger, it was probably quite a rude thing to do - but Castiel was no stranger.

He watched Dean for a minute, but Dean did not so much as clear his throat. His eyes were closed, and a frown marked a clear valley between his eyebrows.

Castiel had to say something to him. Quietly, he asked, “What are you praying for?” His voice was low and it broke the bubble of silence around them, but he was sure it would not disturb anyone else.

Dean, however, lifted his head. He stared at the altar ahead of him, eyes widening.

Castiel smiled.

Dean’s lip twitched, then his eyes turned in Castiel’s direction. Castiel’s heart near stopped: three years apart had changed him more than any other time. His eyes were shadowed, aged with the fatigue of not only a hard life, but a hard mind. He looked terrible, and Castiel struggled at first to see how handsome he was through that.

Dean finally answered, a tired drawl in his voice. “I don’t know.”

Castiel couldn’t take his eyes off him.

Dean licked his cracked lips, and returned his gaze to the front of the church. “I’m not really the praying type.”

“I know,” Castiel smiled, lowering his head. “You told me that ten years ago. Don’t you remember?”

“Did I?”

“Yes. At your house.”

“Oh.” Dean swallowed, the soft skin of his neck pulling upward.

“It’s hard to forget,” Castiel went on, shifting an inch closer on the smooth seat. “When religion was such a big part of my life.”

“‘Was’?”

Castiel stayed quiet, didn’t answer. Dean could draw his own conclusions.

When Dean took a breath, held it, then let it out again, he gazed at Castiel steadily. Castiel didn’t look up, but let Dean stare.

“The mustache needs to go,” Dean said.

Castiel chuckled, lifting a hand to finger his upper lip, where fuzzy facial hair had gone unshaven for months. “Is it really so bad?”

“It makes you look old.”

Castiel let his hand fall, as his smile had fallen too. He closed his eyes. “Why are you here, Dean?”

“Shouldn’t I be askin’ you that? You’re the one who cosied up to me. As far as I know, that ain’t something a decent man does when another man’s busy praying.”

“Dean,” Castiel scolded him gently. Dean’s defensive tone was unwarranted, and the automatic barrier he put up was precisely why Castiel was here.

Dean gulped, then sighed and creaked back in his seat. “Where else does a man go when he needs something he can’t quite place?”

“What... What do you mean?”

Dean pressed his lips together, his jaw solidifying as he failed to hide buried emotion. “There’s somethin’ missing. Don’t know what.”

“What sort of something?”

Dean managed a faint smile. “Completion. Satisfaction. Wholeness. All that jazz. I work at projects until they’re done, but...”

“But you’re lacking something.” Castiel leaned back in the pew too, left shoulder pressed to Dean’s right. “I understand.”

Dean took a shaky breath, but didn’t use it to speak. He let it free, and another deep frown carved a line as he lowered his gaze to his fists in his lap.

“What is it, Dean?” Castiel slid a hand over Dean’s thigh, feeling wasted muscle and a soft layer of fat. “What’s wrong?”

Dean grinned, but it was turned down at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes filled up with tears. Castiel ached to see him look so sad, it was a pain coming from deep inside.

“I, um,” Dean started, then had to close his mouth and swallow. “Uh. You know... You know the war. That we fought.”

“Of course I do.” Castiel grew concerned; what was Dean about to reveal?

“Do you ever think about it?”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s thigh, and then held Dean’s hand as he put his weak fingers around him. “Every day, Dean. Every single day.”

“Do you ever think... maybe you send us money because you’re trying to make up for something? Anyone you killed in the battles then, anything you fucked up. Do you ever think...”

He trailed off again, just as a tear broke out of the prison of his eye and spread into his eyelashes, sticking them together.

Castiel couldn’t prompt him, so held his hand tightly until Dean spoke again.

“Cas.”

That was all he said for a whole minute.

Dean shut his eyes tightly and another tear made a track over his freckled cheek. “Um, I... I save lives, almost every day. Right? Fighting fires.” Castiel nodded, and Dean nodded too, breathing out. “It’s worth it. I tell myself it’s worth it. But I do it ‘cause it’s my job. I fought Nazi assholes ‘cause it was my job. I take care of my children and my niece and nephew and my grandchildren, because it’s my job.” He gulped hard. “S- Sometimes I love it. I do, I love those kids to bits,” Dean shuddered as he took in a deep breath, forcing away the tears. Eyes turned to the rafters of the church, he let the emotion fade.

“But,” he said, “sometimes I don’t know why I do it. Why I do any of it. I don’t feel... happy, any more. My kids are all grown up, they don’t need me. Charlie has Dorothy, Sam has Jess. Our finances are secure, the mortgage is paid off. Everyone I know is set for life.” He shrugged carelessly.

Then he looked to Castiel, and smiled. “Cas.”

Dean shook his head, a spark of joy reaching his expression. “Cas. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean, because Dean fell into him, squeezing him in a hug. Castiel felt a hot breath on his neck, and a stray tear falling under his collar, but for the most part he was so just very pleased to have Dean embrace him. He grinned into Dean’s greying hair, nose crumpled up against his scalp.

Dean chuckled, nuzzling Castiel just before he pulled away. His warm hand stayed on Castiel’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing at his collar bone. His smile was wide now, and it made such a difference: he was handsome, eyes sparkling and crinkled at the sides. He easily looked fifteen or twenty years younger. Castiel could have believed he wasn’t a day over thirty-five.

Castiel was smiling in response, but underneath, he was still worried.

“Dean,” he said, so softly. “Dean, tell me what you’re not telling me.”

Dean’s smile abated, but didn’t leave his eyes. He nodded in acceptance, and let his hand slip from Castiel’s shoulder, taking his hand again. “How did you know?”

Castiel smirked. “You remember the day you gave me two thousand dollars?”

“Yeah.”

“I told you what my hopes were. I saw something, a path ahead of me that I couldn’t put my feet onto. You didn’t need to hear about what was behind me, in the end, but you gave me what I needed. But the path behind me... Dean, it was bad. It was the worst part of my life, with the exception of wartime.” Castiel shook his head, holding back the wave of sadness that pushed at his inner dams. “You did ask me what was wrong, but I never got a chance to say. I know what a kept secret looks like on a man’s face.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean said, sighing. “I should’ve stayed and let you talk it out.”

“It’s okay. I’m past that now. What you did for me helped me anyway. But I want it to be different for you, so tell me. Tell me what you’re not saying.”

Dean nodded, but didn’t say.

He was quiet for a long time, and while he held his hand, Castiel wondered if he was praying again.

But then Dean took a breath, and said, “I don’t want to be here any more.”

His lips trembled violently as he said it. Castiel looked around, wondering if they should move, if Dean wanted to go somewhere more private to explain - but then Castiel froze, realising what Dean meant.

Here. Here, as in... alive.

Dean shut his eyes. His shoulders were folded forward enough that his chin hung to his chest.

Castiel held his hand for even longer, while he worked out what to say. It was difficult to formulate words, to know exactly how to convince Dean he was needed, he was valued, and why his worth on the planet was greater than any worth he could have in the planes beyond death.

But Castiel couldn’t find the words.

“I want you to stay,” he said. It was the only truth he had.

Dean was smiling, even if his face wasn’t. Castiel let him squeeze his hand until it ached terribly, but he refused to pull away.

They sat in silence for a very long time. People came and went in the church, and Castiel watched them go, hiding his and Dean’s clasped hands from their sight. He thought about a hundred things to say to Dean, and even when he settled on phrasing, he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

Dean was the one to break their silence in the end.

“Let’s go,” he said.

And they went.

Their hands unlocked when they stood up, and they exited the church as if they were no more than simply friends, perhaps brothers.

In the moments before they stepped into the early night, they stood in the church’s darkened entranceway and watched the path ahead fill with the white specks of softly falling snow. Dean slipped his fingers between Castiel’s. They smiled at each other, then Dean led Castiel into the street.

Castiel followed him, having to jog to keep up. Dean scampered ahead like a joyous young creature, looking back with a laugh and a big smile.

“Where are you taking me?” Castiel called, laughing when snow flew out of Dean’s hair and into his face.

“Home!” Dean answered, running ahead. They were both out of breath, and Castiel tried to slow Dean down with a tug on his hand, but Dean was enlivened by something, and Castiel didn’t want to take that away from him. Whatever pains he suffered with daily, they all seemed to be lifted away by the gentle snow and the feel of Castiel’s hand in his own.

“Why?” Castiel asked, twirling around Dean as he was danced down the sidewalk, fresh snow under his shoes. “Why are you taking me home?”

“I want you to see my family, obviously,” Dean scoffed, taking both of Castiel’s hands and leading him backwards. The headlights of a distant car bumped towards them, snow swirling in the flashes. “I have grandchildren now!”

“Yes, you said,” Castiel grinned, huffing a cloud over Dean’s chin as he pulled into his personal space. “I’d like to meet them.”

Dean nodded, cheerfully bouncing away, arms out, turning on his feet as he danced. His cheeks were lit by the car’s lights as it got closer, its engine grumbling in the cold. “They’re technically grand-nieces and -nephews, but I figure they count. There’s Tommy’s twin girls, Francine and Lindsay, and Rebecca’s little Robin. God, baby, they’re beautiful and you’ll love them, I know you will―”

The car’s horn honked long and loud, the lights filling up Dean’s entire side as the engine got close enough to see fully. It was twenty feet away from Dean, brakes screeching, but the road was too wet to let it stop. It was going to hit Dean.

Castiel rammed into Dean’s body and pulled him back onto the sidewalk, yelling his name.

It all happened so quickly. And then it was over. Dean was safe, and Castiel couldn’t breathe.

“What― What?”

“Dean, you idiot!” Castiel shouted, shoving Dean in the chest. “Why were you in the road?!”

“I... I live on the other side. Just there.” Dean pointed meekly at the townhouse on the other side. Castiel knew it was there, but his eyes were locked on Dean.

“You could have died. I could have lost you, Dean! You just walked straight out in front and you didn’t―”

Castiel stopped talking when he realised Dean’s expression wasn’t one of disconnection, or carelessness. He cared. He was upset. He looked like he was about to collapse.

Castiel let out a fast breath and rushed against Dean, wrapping him up tight in his arms. Head down on his shoulder, he squeezed. “Don’t do that again.”

Dean shuddered in Castiel’s arms, trembling all over. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to, Cas. I swear, I wasn’t going to― It was an accident, it wasn’t on purpose, it wasn’t―”

“Sh.” Castiel raised his head and met Dean’s eyes, shadowed over in the blue night, eyelashes sparkling with snow. “I know.”

Dean looked like someone had bitten a chunk out of his mind. He was scared and confused and Castiel just wanted to comfort him and help him be safe again.

“Dean,” Castiel began, hand warming his cheek. “Listen to me, this is very important. Nod if you’re listening.”

Dean nodded, eyes set on Castiel completely. Castiel kissed his cheek, then continued: “You’ve taken lives in the war, we both have. I know it hurts. But you’ve also cultivated lives - both your own son, and Sam’s children. That’s beyond important, it’s invaluable. You save lives every day. It may be just your job, but you’re good at what you do. My own life is proof of that. You saved my life and funded my career, saved me twice over. But believe me when I say this, Dean: the most important life you can ever save is your own. Do you understand?”

Castiel held Dean’s face until he nodded. “Yeah. Y- Yeah, I understand.”

Castiel smiled and let his hands slide down. Dean grabbed his fingers and tangled them up with his own, ice-cold and shaking.

“Thanks, Cas... I - owe you one.”

Castiel kissed their hands, exhaling through his nose, feeling his own breath pour warmly over their skin. “You owe me nothing.”

Dean shook harder, and Castiel knew it wasn’t from the cold. He pulled his body close and hugged him again, and this time they stood there until Dean was calm. Castiel didn’t mind that his coat soaked through with more than just snow; Dean had needed him for three years, maybe longer, and Castiel only had tonight to make up for it.

When Dean was ready, and he’d borrowed Castiel’s pocket handkerchief to make himself presentable, they entered the road like children, holding hands and looking both ways before they crossed.

Dean took Castiel to his front porch, but stopped there.

“Will you stay this time?” he asked, unfocused eyes set on the lion-headed door knocker. “Will you visit, or write, or anything?”

Castiel knew what his answer should have been, but he did not want to make a promise he was too scared to keep.

“No,” he said, saddened that he had to say it. “I won’t. But don’t believe for a second that it’s because I don’t want to, or I don’t think you’re not worth it.”

That felt like a small lie. Or a complete lie. Given how little time either of them might have left to enjoy, even a week together with Dean would be worth having it ultimately come to an end. If Dean got hit by a car next week, Castiel would always regret not being there to rescue him again. Staying would be worth it. Staying away was not, even if they both lived to see each other next time.

And yet Castiel did not feel safe enough to stay. He couldn’t say yes.

Dean accepted his answer, as he always did. He unlocked his front door, and took Castiel inside.

“Mom! They’re back!” came a child’s voice from the next room.

Dean hung up his key on the hook by the door, then shed his leather jacket and hung that on the next rack along. He peered into the house, wondering why they had been announced. He had probably been expecting to come home to quiet rooms and mildly indifferent smiles, but instead the warmth of cooking filled the room, the lights on the Christmas tree were flashing, and there was human bustle coming from the other end of the house.

Castiel smiled, hanging up his coat too.

Charlie came into the living room, tying up her plastic apron. “Hey, guys. There’s a couple of chickens almost done roasting, and I got some potatoes going too. Gravy’s next. Dorothy’s bringing the wine, Ellen’s doing parsnips or something else Dean will refuse to eat. How did it go?”

Dean looked quickly at Castiel, like he would have an explanation for his own wife’s behaviour.

Castiel smirked, because Dean was correct. To Dean, he said, “I dropped by here before I went to meet you at the church.” His eyes slid to Charlie, and he shared a secretive smile with her, then looked back to the bewildered Dean. “We’re having Christmas three days early, I hope you won’t mind.”

“Why?” was all Dean could say.

“Because,” Charlie said firmly, stepping forward to neaten up the tie that showed under the V-neck of Castiel’s Christmas sweater, “Castiel is with us, and he won’t be sticking around, so we figured we’d show him a nice time before he ups and leaves you all lonely and miserable again.” She gave Castiel a hard stare as she said that, and Castiel hung his head; he knew it was cruel to leave Dean, especially now - but he felt they had no choice.

Dean slowly slung his arm around Castiel’s waist. Head turned towards him, he whispered, “You’re staying for Christmas?”

Castiel nodded, and looked back. “Yes. I am.”

Dean took a few moments to register and process that, but when he did, he started smiling again. “In that case,” he said, pointing at Castiel’s face, “you’re shaving that nose eyebrow off before dinner.”

Castiel laughed, covering his mustache with a shy hand. Dean elbowed him in the side, then grabbed him and led him past Charlie, heading directly for the bathroom, and, presumably, a shaving kit.

They had dinner together. They got more than a little tipsy - Sam’s offspring included. Castiel couldn’t believe that Tommy had children of his own now, both of whom ran around the table while the adults laughed. Rebecca was twenty-six, which again baffled Castiel.

When Castiel was with Dean, he felt twenty, and Dean acted like he felt the same - if the gross sculling of eggnog was anything to go by. Castiel felt young in his presence, that was the fact of it. Seeing Dean with Sam’s grown son and grandchildren seemed strangely twisted, wrong somehow.

And on the other hand, it felt completely right.

“You can have my present, Uncle Cas,” two-year-old Lindsay said as she pushed the open box his way. “I want you to have it b’cause I don’t want it.”

Charlie and Dorothy laughed from the table, and someone flicked a ribbon at Castiel where he knelt on the floor beside the tree. No matter how blunt Lindsay had been, Castiel couldn’t bring himself to correct the child her gift-giving manner. He was melting inside, he was sure of it.

He took the doll she’d passed him, and he cradled the box to his stomach, loving it already. “Thank you, Lindsay,” he said, not hiding the warbling crack in his voice. “You’re the first person to give me a Christmas present since... oh, since before you were even conceived.”

For Lindsay that was beyond comprehension, but at the table above, the laughter fell silent.

Castiel didn’t want to look up, knowing he’d see pity in their eyes. Nobody here had bought anything for Castiel, since nobody had expected him. But he didn’t anticipate the other six gifts that were suddenly passed his way. It wasn’t even out of pity (or so they claimed), but because everyone wanted to swap gifts, and Dean had “labelled his gifts wrong anyway”.

Castiel tried very hard not to cry as he found his hands holding a hand-knitted red scarf, a paper hat from a Christmas cracker, a twenty-dollar bill, a bauble off the tree, a colouring book meant for children, and a set of coloured pencils that smelled better than he ever remembered.

He let those tears fall as Dean fell to his knees beside Castiel, and wrapped him up in the scarf. He was grinning widely as he leaned in and kissed Castiel’s cheek, then sighed as their foreheads pressed together.

“I wish I had something to give you, Dean,” Castiel whispered, wiping away tears with quick swipes. “And all of your family. I only came today because Tommy wrote me - if I knew you were going to move your party to tonight just for me I would have planned to bring something.”

Dean lifted his head, looking up at the table where everyone else sat, watching. “Tommy wrote to you?”

Castiel sniffed sharply, only then realising that Tommy hadn’t told Dean about the letter.

Tommy gulped, scuffing a hand back through his shoulder-length hair. He looked so much like Sam had when Castiel had first seen him through the car window, years and years ago. Except now Tommy looked caught-out, eyes darting between Dean and Castiel.

“Apologies,” Castiel said, swallowing the last of his weepy emotions. “I didn’t realise―”

“It’s okay,” Tommy said, lifting his daughter Francine up onto his lap. He looked straight at Dean. “I should probably tell you...”

“Damn right you should.” Dean said, his fist slowly clenching into the new scarf Castiel wore. He frowned, then, more cautiously, he asked, “Tell me what?”

“Why I wrote to Mister Quinn - Uncle Castiel. Um.” He looked at Francine, who squirmed. He let her off his lap, and she ran away to play with Lindsay. Tommy then leaned over the table, and with Sam patting his back, Tommy explained: “We all talked about it, the whole family.” Tommy gestured at them, and they nodded. Charlie, Rebecca, Aidan, Sam and his wife Jessica - even Dean’s coworker, Ellen. “We sort of realised, you weren’t like you used to be. You stopped...”

“Caring,” Aidan supplied, in a mumble. He was only twelve, but he looked like Dean had, once. “You’ve stopped caring about... everything.”

Dean took in a soft breath beside Castiel, and Castiel held his hand, watching his face now. Castiel already knew everything he was hearing; Tommy had said it all in his letter.

“You were sad and mopey all hours of the day. Every day,” Ellen interjected, continuing where Aidan left off. “We thought you’d maybe throw it off after a while, but... it didn’t go. ‘xcept when you talked about this-here fella.” She gestured at Castiel, and Castiel smiled brightly at her.

Dean looked at Castiel, and he became the same man Castiel had seen the day they met. A mystery, in some ways, but Castiel knew what was underneath those layers.

“You get all happy and smiley,” Rebecca said, her voice rich like Jessica’s was. “We all thought it was strange, you still being friends with someone who you didn’t see for years. But then―”

“I had to tell them,” Charlie said softly to Dean. “You know. Told ‘em what you and him are to each other.”

Castiel wasn’t looking at her, but he could tell that she and Dorothy had joined hands over the table. Dean wasn’t quite breathing, and Castiel didn’t recognise the emotion on his face.

“And we thought,” Sam said, “since you weren’t responding to us, what we said or did... maybe there was someone who could help. And Tommy wrote on all our behalf.”

Castiel hadn’t realised quite how much support he and Dean had in this household. He smiled at Dean, and he grasped his hand, stroking it until Dean let him take his fingers, squeezing back. He leaned forward, muttering quietly, “Dean, I came tonight because you needed me. I always thought I was the one who needed you most, I―” He looked around at the gifts that littered the floor, having dropped them around where he knelt. “I thought I loved you more. Maybe I didn’t realise how much worse it would be for you.”

“It’s not―” Dean started, then shook his head. “It’s not bad. I’m fine.”

Castiel looked at him carefully, and felt himself hurting. Dean didn’t want to admit it in front of everyone, even though they already knew.

“Dad,” Aidan said.

Dean broke eye contact with Castiel to took at his son. Aidan looked back, his hazel eyes as stern as his mother’s. “Today is the happiest you’ve been since I was nine.”

“That was the last time you saw Cas,” Charlie supplied. “Or don’t you remember coming back home that night?”

“I remember,” Dean said quickly, eyes down. “Geez, I remember just fine.” He swallowed, and in the few moments of silence that followed, he composed his next sentence. “I, um.” He turned his head towards Castiel, but didn’t look up. “Everything... kinda went bad after then. I never had a better time with you than that, but then we went our separate ways like we always do. And you didn’t want to meet, and I know you were right―”

“You could be safe,” Dorothy said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Charlie and me haven’t been noticed yet, and boy, this family can sure keep their traps shut when it matters.”

The group around the table chuckled, which made Castiel smile.

But he wasn’t convinced yet, and neither was Dean. It was harder for men than it was for women. Women could hold hands in the street and that was almost normal, they were perceived as being nothing more than friends. Men did not have anything close to that luxury.

Dean shook his head, and Castiel could do no more than stroke his hair back. He suspected his own sexuality was in no danger of being exposed here - they were as safe as they could ever be in company. But he was uncomfortable with the whole family watching.

“You know, in terms of a gift,” Sam said, getting up from the table and striding closer, his height causing him to tower in the room, as well as over both Dean and Castiel as they remained kneeling by the tree, “how about a Christmas kiss?”

The table erupted into laughter and playful shrieks of disgust as Sam pulled out a sprig of mistletoe and dangled it from his fingers over Dean and Castiel’s heads.

Dean paled out and blushed at once, and Castiel groaned and hung his head low, butting his forehead on Dean’s chest. Their family was still jeering cheerfully.

Dean stood up suddenly, snatching the mistletoe. “Screw you all. Cas, get up.”

Castiel was pulled up by both hands, and he left his pile of gifts behind as Dean tugged him towards the next room. “Dean, where are we going?”

Dean grinned massively, and shot Castiel a wink. Castiel felt a flutter of excitement in his stomach, and let Dean lead him away into the quiet stairwell, heading upstairs.

“Shhh!” Rebecca hissed, stomping hard on Aidan’s toe. “Would you shush?!”

Aidan snarled and shoved his older cousin out of the way, sticking his ear to his dad’s bedroom door instead. He squinted as he listened, but he couldn’t hear anything.

Rebecca tapped her foot impatiently until Aidan backed away. Aidan expected her to just listen quietly, but instead she grabbed the handle. Just as she turned it to open it, Tommy hurried up the stairs and yelped, “No, don’t―”

Aidan fell inside after Rebecca, straightening up immediately when he saw his father lying on his bed, legs twisted around Uncle Castiel’s.

Uncle Castiel sat up a second later, gasping. His shirt was loose and unbuttoned to his stomach, his lips puffy and pinker than they were earlier. Dean scrambled to turn over, eyes wide and his mouth open. “Aidan! Bec, Tommy, what the hell are you doing?!”

“Toooold you,” Rebecca sang, elbowing Tommy in the gut. Tommy grunted.

“Ew,” Aidan said. “Dad, were you kissing him?”

“No!” Dean hiccuped. He blinked a few times, blushing. “Jesus, would you little shits get out of here?!”

Rebecca grabbed Aidan’s shirt and pulled him backwards, giggling. “Shh, they were making out, oh my God. Aidan, go tell your mom.”

Dean bristled like a startled cat. “What! Why?!”

“Aunt Charlie asked where you went,” Tommy laughed, trying to drag Rebecca and Aidan out of the room, but like Rebecca, Aidan found his eyes were magnetised to seeing his father all wrapped up in a blanket, filled with the kind of happiness that wasn’t really on his face but made him look happy anyway.

Uncle Castiel cleared his throat. “Please tell Aunt Charlie that Dean is busy.”

“Busy! I’m not busy!” Dean squeaked. “I’m the opposite of busy, I’m doing nothing and nobody!”

Aidan laughed and hid behind Rebecca, who was finally retreating.

“Oh,” Tommy said, ducking his head into the room before he closed the door, “Aunt Charlie also says dessert is ready. We have trifle and tart... oh, and apple pie.”

They closed the door, but three seconds later, Aidan heard a muffled reply: “JesusmotherfuckingChrist.” And then a shout, clearly meant for them this time: “Tell her we’ll be down in two minutes!”

When the plates were finally cleared away, Castiel knew he was definitely a little bit drunk. Even Aidan had tried the eggnog, but as Dorothy pointed out, Castiel’s alcohol tolerance level definitely wasn’t up to par, even against a twelve-year-old. He stood in the kitchen and downed half a jug of water in an attempt to clear his head, and then breathed slowly until his brain cells began to pop back into existence.

Charlie came into the kitchen with her hands full of the leftover trifle, which didn’t really count as leftover when it was just a smudge of icing on an otherwise empty dish. She smirked at Castiel, then dumped the dish into the sink for later washing. “I see you enjoyed yourself.”

“How did you tell?” Castiel smiled, rolling back against the kitchen sideboard and resting his head on the higher cupboards that stuck out from the wall.

“You’re smiling.”

Castiel chuckled slowly. “Yes. Well, your family is delightful.”

“Too bad you won’t be around in two days’ time, Tommy’s wife and Rebecca’s husband will both be here by then. We’re gonna do this all again, new presents and everything.”

Castiel sighed, taking the glass of water Charlie handed him. He gulped down a few sips, then stared into the rippling depths, seeing his hand appear skewed.

“It’s simpler than you think it is,” Charlie said, putting a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. “All it takes is the effort not to walk to the front door and put your coat on. It’s negative effort, in fact. Just... don’t leave.”

“I must leave.”

“But why? Dean seems to understand, but I don’t. I’ve been with Dorothy for eighteen years now, if you can believe that.”

Castiel nodded. “I believe it. I’ve seen other couples, same-sex couples, together for years. They’re secretive, but somehow they manage it.”

“What makes you think you and Dean won’t manage it too?”

Castiel stared harder at his glass. He didn’t want to tell her the reason, same as not having told Dean the full story. He counted it as a blessing that Dean had never asked - he must have assumed a more basic reason than the truth.

“It’s complicated,” Castiel said, which won him a slap upside his sore head. He smiled awkwardly and rubbed at his stinging scalp, waiting for his vision to slow its incessant vaulting.

“There you are!” Dean chirped, coming into the kitchen wearing Castiel’s red scarf, which he then used to loop around the back of Castiel’s head and pull him forward into a kiss. “Mmmm...”

Castiel smiled as Dean let him go, then nuzzled Castiel’s cheek, smooching his chin. “You look so much better without the mustache, I promise you. Don’t you dare grow one again.”

“Perhaps next time I’ll try a beard.”

Dean was about to protest, but then he thought about it, eyes on the ceiling. “Hm. That might work.”

Castiel beamed, kissing his smile. “I’m glad to see you looking so much better now.”

“Well, you know what that’s down to, don’t you,” Dean winked, pressing his hips against Castiel’s. “Not that I’m ungrateful for the hour of smooching, Cas, but damn, I wish we’d had more time. So many things I wanna do with you.”

“Ugh, save it,” Charlie tutted, hitting Dean with a dishcloth. “You’re fifty-six, have some decorum.”

“Decorum is for those too boring to know when to stop being sensible,” Dean said. He sounded as grumpy as Lindsay had earlier, when she’d gotten too tired and promptly took a nap under the Christmas tree. “Besides, I wasn’t talking about just sex. There’s so many things to show Cas. And tell him about. I could talk forever.”

Charlie caught Castiel’s eye, and Castiel saw she noticed his non-verbal communication: unless he left now, Dean would keep him here. Castiel wanted nothing more than to stay, but his fear was everlasting, it drove him beneath it all. He had to leave.

“So,” Charlie said carefully, touching Dean’s arm to draw his attention, “why don’t you go and find something to show Castiel, then? Something you reeeeeally want him to see.”

Dean gave a tipsy smile, tugging on the ends of Castiel’s scarf. “Sure thing. I know just where to start. Cas, come see!” He tried to pull Castiel, but Castiel had to resist.

“Just you, Dean,” Charlie encouraged. “Go get it and bring it back, then maybe the rest of us can see too.”

Dean didn’t seem to notice the underlying trickery. Maybe he was drunk, maybe he trusted Charlie more than anyone and didn’t think to doubt her. He kissed Castiel on the mouth as a temporary farewell, and Castiel had to fight to keep him there an extra thirty seconds. Dean was blushing when he fell away, somewhat excited.

“Back in two,” he said, then rushed off.

“Quickly,” Charlie said to Castiel, as soon as Dean was gone. “I’ll get a bag for your gifts. Grab your stuff and run, otherwise he’ll chase you.”

Castiel laughed, but it was painful. He didn’t want to leave, he never did.

They bundled up everything, and Castiel put on his coat as fast as he could. He took a hug from Sam, then all the children, young and grown. Then another from Charlie, and he shook Dorothy's hand. Tommy was the last; Castiel embraced him for the longest, hand on the back of his head. “Take care of your family,” he whispered to the younger man. “Take care of Dean.”

“I will, I promise,” Tommy said, nodding. “Now go on, sir, or he’ll catch you!”

Castiel grabbed his bag, and with a kiss blown from his hand to the waving family, he ran through the snow, down the path and then as fast as he could down the street. The snow was gentle, but as he went fast, it hit his face harder, colder, sharper.

He ran out of breath halfway down the road, and slowed to a walk. Dean wouldn’t catch him, he was just as bad at running. They were both getting old.

“Cas! Look, come see this,” Dean called as he reached the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve been keeping this since 1950!” Sam swallowed, his heart heavy at the sight of Dean’s face so bright and hopeful.

Dean wandered into the kitchen, then back to the living room, looking confused. “Hey, anyone seen Cas?”

He was holding a sock with little reindeers on it. Sam would bet anything that it was Castiel’s.

“He went home,” Charlie said softly, coming up behind Dean and hugging him before he even realised he needed it. “He’s not staying, Dean.”

“He... He left already?” Dean muttered, his expression broken apart like an icepick has hit it. “He’s coming back, right?”

“No,” Sam said. “He doesn’t think it’s safe.”

Dean sat down heavily at the table, laying the sock in front of him.

Sam wondered if Dean would fall back into his deep depression again, possibly even worse than it was before. He prayed it wouldn’t happen. They had all wanted tonight to have been a new start, a new ‘windshield’ for Dean. But maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe it was just a pair of wing mirrors, looking back at things he’d already driven past, things he couldn’t go back to.

Maybe calling Castiel over had been a mistake.

December 22nd 1980
Dean, that was the best day of my life.

Chapter Text

1982

Dean struggled through the crowd, fingers raised to his face to tuck his scarf back over his nose. No matter how many warm bodies were bustling around him, the air was still freezing enough that the fingers curled around his shopping bag were numb, and he had largely forgotten he was carrying anything.

The sky above them poured out the dullest of its light, and all colour refused to be anything but grey. And yet, the cheer was unmistakable here. Festive joy was a hum in the air, chattering voices moving amongst the commotion and the silvery jingles of Christmas bells.

The town ran its Christmas fête every year, but this was the first time Dean had attended. Over the years, he had gotten less and less skilled at knowing what his family wanted, so Charlie had insisted he go out today, adamant that not everyone could be bought off with general-interest gifts purchased en-masse. Since all the stores would be shut from Christmas Eve tomorrow, this fête was his last chance to buy things that could be properly appreciated by each individual. He hoped he would find something decent.

Stalls were set up all around the town square, lined up in rows and on every edge, even bordering the steps either side of the war memorial. The place was no longer recognisable, not through the sea of people, or Dean’s inability to see the ground past the movement.

He bought a small tree, strapped it to the car roof, then went back with an empty bag to buy the things he actually came to get.

There were cake stalls and open-sided trucks selling hot drinks; there were candle-making stalls, popular with the children; there were tables where shelves were set up, displaying hundreds of tiny glass birds, from which Dean bought a fleet of swans, eightfold, for Rebecca. She did love dainty things.

He bought some second-hand books for Tommy, and a supposedly ‘deluxe’ shaving kit for Sam. He’d banked on finding some old Star Trek posters for Charlie, but even when he did find some, he saw the price, and backed away slowly. The recession this year had dipped into the family’s pockets enough that Charlie would thank him better for saving their money than for giving her things she liked.

After an hour or two his legs were getting tired, and even though he hadn’t seen all the stalls yet, he suspected he might have to go home soon. That thought was held static when he discovered a stall he was certain would provide him with every last gift he needed.

The crowd around the table was thick and loud, and if it weren’t for the recognisable bee logo hanging above the stall, Dean never would have seen it.

Heartland Honey made very special trinkets for seasonal events: Easter, Christmas, Hanukkah, St. Patrick’s Day, Independence Day. Dean brightened in anticipation as he approached the stall, hoping to find wooden carvings or finely-crafted honey jars in the shape of teddy bears or cats. Everyone at home loved those.

“Pardon me― ‘scuse me,” he heard as a delivery man pushed past, carrying a box. Dean smiled, glad to see the demand was neverending.

It took over a minute for Dean to move forward; there was not so much a line of people making for the stall as there was a shuffling swarm. Once they had what they wanted, people weren’t leaving.

To say the honey was popular here would be an understatement: Heartland Honey was not only a local delight, but also a multi-statewide phenomenon. It pleased Dean so much to see it happen, but equally, he really, really wished he could get to the front of the damn crowd.

At long last, Dean made it. He grinned at the red tablecloth before him: there were new designs of honey jars on display. Clones of very fat honey-filled reindeer were stacked in a golden pyramid, their little legs stubby and antlers made of holly leaves tied around the jars’ necks. Dean silently praised the glassblowers’ skill; he also saw versions of Santa, polar bears, and the traditional stylised beehive.

He was jostled from all sides by other curious honey-buyers, and he attempted to pull out his wallet so he could purchase as many jars as he could fit into his bag. The three or four sellers behind the tables were moving hastily between customers, wrapped in brown uniform coats, red-cheeked and sore-nosed from the cold.

Dean waved and caught the attention of one young woman, her oval face pasty-skinned, her blonde hair tied in a plait at the back of her neck.

Dean assumed she wouldn’t be able to hear his voice over the tumultuous crowd, so handed over a banknote and picked the honey jars he wanted. Three reindeers, a beehive, two Santas, and a handful of random wooden bee carvings, which Lindsay and Francine would giddily fight over before adding to their joint collection.

The seller handed Dean’s change back, and he pocketed it, then began placing his new honey into his bag.

He was lifting the final reindeer, when his hand was enshrouded by another. Dean’s breath caught in shock, and he felt a sudden, inescapable fear when the hand turned his over and spread his fingers gently, but forcefully, with a thumb into his palm. His scarred skin was revealed. Dean retracted his hand at once, looking up to see who had grasped him so determinedly.

He found himself meeting blue eyes.

Castiel had a beard, flecked with grey; his nose was red at the tip, his cheeks unblemished. He had pale wrinkles under his eyes, and there was a tiredness in the way he looked at Dean - but the tiredness did not last for more than a second. The very moment their eyes met, years lifted away, like a warm wind had come to evaporate the snow.

The sound of the crowd ended, and all Dean heard was his own breath. Warm and misty over his lip, sinking down as he stared ahead.

Castiel broke eye contact first, and the rush of the people around Dean re-entered his awareness. He felt a hand on his own again, and glanced down to see Castiel handing him his last reindeer. Dean took it with a shaking hand, placing it carefully into the already heavy bag.

When he looked up, Castiel was muttering something into the ear of the woman who sold Dean the jars. Her eyes stayed down, but she heard something surprising, and her eyebrows lifted, then her gaze. She landed her attention on Dean’s face, and began to smile.

Dean watched her offer a hand. At first he thought she meant to shake his hand, but just about heard through the roar of sound around him: “I’ll take your bag for you, sir.”

Dean frowned, not comprehending - but then Castiel had a hand around Dean’s arm, having circled the table and pushed back through the crowd so he could come up next to Dean.

“Leave the bag with Gail,” he said. “It’ll be safe here, don’t worry.”

Dean’s knees weakened at the sound of his voice, deep and unyielding. Smiling, he lifted the bag of gifts and passed it over the table. A few people gave him an odd look. He turned away, and shook off any thought of fatigue or home; the remainder of his day was going to be devoted to Castiel.

They fought their way through the churn of people, hands locked, coat sleeves brushing around their fingers. Castiel’s hands were cold, but not as cold as Dean’s.

As they got to the edge of the fête’s body, Castiel let out a soft breath of relief. “I’ve been trying to escape for more than an hour. Thank you for providing me a decent excuse.”

Dean grinned, squeezing Castiel’s hand and bumping his shoulder with his own. “Nothing beats the sudden and unexpected appearance of an old friend, I’ll give you that.”

“Walk with me, Dean,” Castiel nodded, pulling ahead, tugging once on Dean’s hand before letting it go free.

Dean followed, checking a few times that nobody was watching them go. They followed the dry path that was littered with discarded ribbons and empty packets, remnants from the people who had left the fête in this same direction.

“We can go to the trees,” Castiel said, indicating the thin forest area ahead. The path wound into a park-like setting through there, and Dean hastened a step closer, anticipating the privacy.

Their breath and their footsteps were the only sound for a while. Dean’s heart pounded with excitement, and his eyes were unable to keep from shooting quick glances over at Castiel. Every time, Castiel grinned back, and Dean laughed, hurrying onward, waiting for Castiel to catch up.

The trees made a cathedral over them, soughing and shifting, fingered by the cold breeze. Dean and Castiel’s steps became softer, muffled by damp leaves underfoot; the path stretched onwards, a slender valley bordered by slim birch trees, roots curling onto the once-cobbled walkway. Dean didn’t walk any farther towards the light ahead, but pulled Castiel to a bench at the side. He sat, and waited expectantly for Castiel to join him. They were alone here.

Castiel’s bones creaked as he sat, eyes closed as the bench took his weight.

“Been standing up all day, huh,” Dean said sympathetically.

Castiel smiled down at his lap. “Sometimes I feel I’ve been standing up for years.”

Dean put a hand around Castiel’s, smiling widely when their fingers joined without a thought.

“How’ve you been?” Dean asked, shifting closer, so their thighs touched. Everywhere was cold but there.

Castiel tilted his head, eyes looking at Dean somewhat suspiciously. “I’m fine. How are you?”

Dean grinned quickly. “Pretty good, actually.”

There was a silence, and Dean filled the silence with a soft laugh. Gaze sinking down to their wrinkled hands, swallowing once, he said, “Your letters. The ones you sent. They - uh. They’re good.”

Castiel squinted. “Good,” he echoed.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded, squeezing Castiel’s fingers. “Saved... um. Saved my life a couple times.”

He shuddered after he’d admitted it; a frown took over, and he lowered his head to Castiel’s shoulder. Muffled, his next words pressed into Castiel’s coat. “Thank you.”

Castiel’s free hand cupped Dean’s ear. A kiss pressed to his forehead. “The letters you sent me are some of my most prized possessions.”

“You kept them.”

“Of course,” Castiel smiled. His breath was a heatwave on Dean’s face. “Of course I did, Dean.”

Dean’s smile shook. “I feel like you ‘n Sam and Charlie are the only ones who see it, sometimes. How - god, how fucking fragile I can be, you know?”

Castiel smacked his lips on Dean’s temple. “I know.”

Dean dragged in a breath, as cautiously as he might breathe smoke. He made to sit back, and offered Castiel a tight smile as he did. Castiel’s fingers slid down the curve of his face, thumb resting on Dean’s lower lip for a moment before dropping away.

“I miss you dearly, Dean,” Castiel said, shaking his head as if in awe. There was a subtle desperation in his eyes, eyebrows drawn outward. Dean didn’t know what had him so worried, but he could guess.

“You mentioned something,” Dean said, dipping his head. “In a letter - one of the older ones, not that long after we last saw each other. What was it, two years ago? Yeah. I never asked, but I’m still curious why we’re still - you know. Avoiding each other. Charlie suggested there was more to it than what you said, but... I think I need to know. Why?”

Castiel’s mouth remained closed, but his expression had turned grim. He blinked, and lowered his eyes in acceptance. He was going to answer. Dean stroked his thumb on the back of Castiel’s hand, waiting.

“There is more,” Castiel confirmed. Dean’s stomach twisted, fingers tensing. “It goes back a long way, it could take a while to explain.”

“We have all night,” Dean said.

Castiel gave a breathy smile. “Actually, we have until Gail gets frustrated enough to pack up and drive home. We’re sharing a car.”

Dean’s breath caught. “Wait. Are you and her―?”

“Friends,” Castiel said. He met Dean’s eyes with an honest crinkle around them. “She knows about you and I. She’s the only one who does. I’ve been so careful...”

Dean swallowed, then nodded. “All right. Go on.”

Castiel took a deep breath, fingers slipping away from Dean’s as he changed his seated position, leaning forward over his thighs and holding his own hands. “When I returned from my service in the army... I was already scared. Until my deployment, I hadn’t realised what it was like for men like me. I had barely come to understand myself, my - um, preference. I returned to America and knew it was meant to be a secret I took to the grave.

“You, Dean... You were the first man I ever met face-to-face who sparked something, I don’t know. Mutual.”

“Mutual,” Dean repeated, smiling. “Yeah.”

“I kept the photos,” Castiel said, head bowed. His smile melted away. “They burned when my house burned. I’m sorry.”

Dean shook his head, petting Castiel’s back. “No worries, Cas. I wanted them burnt anyway.”

Castiel sighed, running a pale hand over his head, neck-forwards, until it fell and grasped his other hand again. “After the night you and I kissed, I think that - rekindled what we had. I thought I had you wrong, I thought perhaps I’d projected my own desires onto you. But you kissed me... and...”

He trailed off, and the smile returned. Dean mirrored it, feeling it.

“A year before you met me again at the mall,” Castiel went on, “everything had turned very sour. I was living paycheck-to-paycheck, sometimes I had to forego meals to pay for the roof over my head...” He swallowed, eyes on the leaf-blanketed pavement. “A friend of mine returned to the U.S., a sergeant I’d been stationed with during the war. I can’t - I won’t tell you his name. But I cared for him dearly, I really did.”

“As a friend, or... more?”

“When I first met him, I considered that it could become more. I always do, Dean, every time I met another man. I wondered if he would be the one who could keep my secret.” He smiled minutely. “As it turned out, you were the one.” Dean smiled. “But― It was never like that between us. This man, he needed me, he was broken after the war, a... oh, a scrap of a man, that was all that was left. I’d see shadows in his eyes sometimes, it was like looking at the war itself. It hurt to be around him as much as it was a comfort.

“I took him in, we shared the apartment I had. He paid for half of everything, even on the low salary he made. He worked in a shop. That was all he could do, his mind was addled and his body wasn’t fully...” Castiel’s hands clasped his head gently, and Dean lay a hand on his shoulders, fingers curled shut. “He was torn apart in every way.”

Lapping at his lips, Castiel took a breath and brought new energy to his explanation. “He and I would talk sometimes. We would sit and sift through job advertisements in all the newspapers. We were both searching for our freedom. The world seemed... small, after the war. Or too big.”

“The kind of dream that’s actually a nightmare,” Dean said. When Castiel caught his eye, he offered a compassionate smile. “Everything’s quiet and gentle, but you’re left wondering when the other shoe’s gonna drop. Nothing’s real.”

Castiel nodded once, head slung low again, staring at the crumpled leaves under his shoes. “He would talk,” he said, carrying on from where he left off. “Simple things, it was easier to talk about simple things. But every once in a while he would say something that made my blood run cold. Things about men - stories that people were loathe to tell, and at the same time, the rumours ran a wildfire through the streets. About men who slept with men, men found kissing, men whose love letters went to the wrong address and were then incarcerated for life. Those were as much nightmares to me as the tales of war.”

Dean rubbed Castiel’s back, coaxing the rest of the story out. There was not a word out of place so far; everything Castiel told him was true for Dean, too. People talked, and Dean had to keep his mouth shut, else risk his life.

“And he would insult them.” Castiel nodded, phrasing his words as a statement. “Called that behaviour disgusting and vile, all of those things. Of course I would never say anything - if he knew what I was, what I still am...”

Castiel’s voice cracked, and his hands lifted to cover his face. “I thought he would have killed me. He was my best friend, Dean, and I was sure if he ever knew the thoughts I lived with, the things I fantasised about daily, he would have taken a knife to me.

“I had to pretend.” Castiel sniffed hugely, rolling his shoulders backward until his back rested on the bench and Dean retracted his hand. “If I was to keep my place in the apartment, and not find myself on the streets or dead, I became someone else. I flirted with the women he brought by - I even made him jealous once or twice, but he never found out it was something I was doing to protect myself.”

Dean swallowed, hand resting in the cup of Castiel’s fingers. For Dean, it had been easier. He never had to lie when chasing after women, because he was vehemently attracted to the whole breed. The men he hid, while flaunting his escapades with women. But there never had to be a life of lie, only secrecy.

“But I learned.” Castiel sighed, with a grace of finality. “When you gave me the money to start my business, I had already learned not to allow my preferences to become known to anyone. The man I’m talking about, he had acquaintances, some of whom, as far as I’m aware, have partaken in certain - sports.” The last word, he spat out with venom. “All the game in the world is not always a fox or a pheasant.”

“You mean they - killed people. Men.”

“And women,” Castiel said softly. His face was overcome with sorrow, and Dean squeezed his hand, sharing the surge of upset which flooded them both. “It still happens. Daily, I think. And we don’t always hear.”

Dean nodded. He was sure it was true, and it would be true for a very long time, if not forever. “That’s why you’re scared,” he said, summarising Castiel’s speech. “That’s why you won’t stay with me.”

“Please don’t think I’m a coward,” Castiel whispered.

“I don’t,” Dean promised. Castiel’s fingers turned over his hand, tracing his scar. Every muted nerve sung with sensation; Castiel’s touch held a massive power over him. “It’s been thirty-five years since I met you, Cas. I’ve loved you for most of that. If you didn’t figure it out already, everything you said is why I’m scared too. You’re not the only one. I get it, I totally get it. I only asked because I wanted to be sure that’s why.”

Castiel smiled, but it was only a tilt on his corner of his lips.

“Come on,” Dean closed his relaxed fingers, grasping Castiel’s hand. “Stand up, buddy. You and I are going someplace warm.”

“Hawaii?”

Dean laughed, buckling over his knees as he yanked Castiel to his feet. “Nah. Closer. Coffee shop down the road, I think it’s still open.”

“Is this conversation over?” Castiel asked, trotting up to Dean’s side as they vacated the bench and headed back the way they’d come, bones stiff, shoes slipping on the leaves.

Dean examined Castiel’s bearded face, his child-like eyes that still carried the burden of his story. Dean nodded. “You don’t need to explain, Cas. Unless there’s more you want to say, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“He attacked me when I tried to leave,” Castiel said at once.

Dean stopped walking, feet planted on the footpath.

Castiel clutched both his hands, standing before him on the border between sheltering trees and harsh grey sky. His breath stuttered. “You gave me your money, and I went home that night, I told him I was leaving, and he― He had me up against a wall by my throat.”

Castiel began to tremble, and Dean drew him into an embrace, not too close, but with his hands around Castiel’s neck, watching his turned-down face carefully.

“He tried to kiss me, Dean. I― I wouldn’t. It was too much eventfulness for one night, and I’d already realised I was in love with you. And I could never love a man who tried to take that way. He’d made me hide, he made me a liar out of fear. And it turned out that he was the same as me. Only, he would bed the women for real. Perhaps as a cover, or perhaps he was like you, attracted to both sexes. But the things he said about people like us, the things he told me about...” Castiel shook his head, the sadness on his face mingling with disgust and a sneering hatred that looked out of place on his features. “I simply could not.”

Dean sighed over Castiel’s face, wishing he could banish his pain. Of all things, Dean regretted leaving early that night, taking Sam and the children away and leaving Castiel to walk home alone. At the time it hadn’t seemed a problem, but Dean wished he could have protected him. Dean said as much aloud, so Castiel knew what he was thinking.

Castiel took a sharp breath, pulling himself to his full height and letting Dean’s hands slip away. The soft encasing of warmth between them drifted into the frosted breeze, and Castiel stepped back. “But what’s done is done,” he said, which rather summed up Dean’s thoughts too. “Let’s get coffee and forget it.”

“You won’t forget it though,” Dean said, walking with him, hands in his pockets. “People don’t just forget.”

“Oh, not at all,” Castiel said, managing a real smile. “But things are different now. I told you that night, I said your gift changed everything for me. And it did. New... what was it - windshield. I saw the road easier.”

“That’s awesome.” Dean smiled back, walking into Castiel’s side on purpose so they could touch as they walked. Castiel shoved back, and Dean’s hands left their pockets to flap about for balance. He grinned, and from then on, maintained a socially acceptable distance from Castiel’s side. Maybe a few inches closer.

They were nearing the fête again, and Dean could hear the rumble of busy people.

“So tell me about how it is now,” he encouraged. “Heartland Honey, huh?”

Castiel had happy crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Do you watch television?”

“Oh― OH!” Dean ran ahead into the path, catching a ribbon of his foot. “I saw the adverts! The little worker bee in her dungarees, oh my God. She’s awesome. The posters you sent us are all over Francine and Lindsay’s bedroom, I never get sick of seeing them, I swear.”

Castiel laughed aloud, his eyes not leaving Dean’s. “Did you know she has a name? The bee mascot?”

“The kids call her Buzzy.”

Castiel beamed at the pavement. “It’s Lindsay, actually.”

Dean’s heart swelled with complete adoration. “Jesus Christ, I can’t even tell them that. Francine will hunt you down and kill you out of jealousy if she knew.”

Castiel swept his hand along and tangled it with Dean’s fingers. “There are actually two bees. The adverts are nearly identical, we switch them week-by-week. The only difference is that one has a red hat, one has a―”

“Black hat!” Dean was dizzy with excitement now, he couldn’t wait to tell his grandnieces. “We noticed! We watch real careful, we love seeing them. Fucking hell, this is awesome.”

Castiel swung their joined hands, but had to let go as their path took them past the crowds. “Let me know how they take the news.”

Dean easily imagined how happy they would be. Cas was the best partner Dean could ever dream of, and he tried to tell Cas that. Except, it came out as, “I love you.”

Castiel was still grinning as they bypassed the stalls and crossed straight into the closed-off-street that ran alongside. “I know. I love you too.”

Dean was completely lost to him, and glad of it.

Dean took him into the first coffee shop along the road that was open for business. The bell above the door signaled their entry, and Dean grinned his way to a booth, waving a greeting to a young woman who waited with a notepad beside the till. There were quite a few other customers, and the room was rounded with chatter, warm and muffled.

Dean sighed as he slipped into the booth, shedding his jacket and scarf straight away. Castiel peeled off his Heartland Honey brown uniform jacket, then pulled the red scarf from around his neck. Dean didn’t ask if it was the same one he had gifted Cas, once. He only need smile, and Castiel nodded, confirming.

With a blustering sigh of settled bones, Dean waved again to the waitress, who approached to take their order.

“Coffee, black - and the biggest slice of pie you have,” he said. “Whatever flavour’s going. Cas?”

Castiel looked away from Dean’s face when Dean glanced over. He’d been watching Dean order. “The same for me. But chocolate cake.”

“Whipped cream?”

“Please,” Castiel nodded.

“Oh, me too,” Dean piped up. The girl nodded, asked if there was anything else, but both men shook their heads and thanked her as she left them alone.

“So yeah, about the honey,” Dean said, leaning forward, boxing his shoulders to give himself the feeling of further privacy, as if the earth-red leather booth they had sequestered was not exclusive enough.

“What do you want to know?” Castiel asked, leaning forward too. There were barely five inches between their noses.

Dean shrugged a shoulder. “Well, it’s not so much a question, but... heh. I sometimes think about how weird it is that I’m - well, me and the folks at home - we’re partners in the company, but we nab the jars off the shelves like every other customer. We’re not even sick of the flavour yet. It’s not too sweet, not too runny - man, it’s just right.”

Castiel lowered his eyelashes to his cheeks, which were flushing with red from the heat in the room. “Well,” he said, “my bees are very special bees.”

Dean smirked, recalling something from years ago, a moment when Castiel had compared Dean’s family to bees. “You think so...?”

Castiel lifted his eyes and met Dean’s stare with dazzling veneration. “Very special indeed.”

Dean licked his lips. Over the distant sound of coffee being made, and the chuckle of a man behind his side of the high-backed booth, Dean remarked, “There’s something real nice about pretending the honey is just, like, a family favourite. But...” He trailed off, looking down at his hands and thinking about how the jars’ whimsical shapes fit his palms. “I hold onto every jar, and I can feel your hands holding the same jar. It’s kinda weird, yeah, but we’ve got a connection that way. You know?”

Castiel was smiling. He did look very beautiful in the hazy caramel light. “I do know. Every jar is for you.”

Dean’s breath halted, then escaped all as one. His smile would never leave his face, it was stuck there forever. “Every jar?”

“I started this company, I remade my life. And I did it - all of it - for you.”

“Seriously?”

Castiel tilted his head, eyes flicking upward like he’d had a compromising thought. “Well, perhaps not. The most recent expansion of the business was so I could buy a house, which was definitely for me. So was the new car.”

Dean’s smirk was so firmly embedded into his face it was aching. “Ahh, admit it - you just wanted a bigger car so I wouldn’t get a chance to compare it to your dic―”

“Two coffees, black; one cranberry pie with cream, one chocolate cake with cream.” The plates and saucers tapped down to the wooden table, and were pushed gently towards Dean and Castiel. “Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said, not meeting the girl’s eyes. His cheeks were still flushed, but it was no longer due to the warmth of the shop.

Dean cleared his throat and dug out his wallet before their server could turn away. He tossed her the payment, followed by a large tip, which he pressed atop the other cash with a firm finger. She thanked him, and left with the money.

Dean donned a sheepish grin when she was gone.

“Did you mother never tell you that you talk too loudly?” Castiel said quietly.

Dean’s smile did fade, but only slightly. “She died when I was little.”

Castiel’s gaze shot up, the bashful cheer evaporating. His fingers curled on the porcelain cup in front of him, but he didn’t pick it up. “I’m so sorry.”

Dean shrugged, pressing a careless smile between his lips. “It happens. It’s what got me into firefighting.”

Castiel considered that for a while, in which time Dean busied himself with his pie crust, tapping it with his fork to test it for firmness. It passed his test, and as Castiel took his first sip of steaming black coffee, Dean placed a forkful of pie on his tongue.

Dean’s sun-bright smile came back. This pie reminded him of every Christmas dinner he’d ever had; Sam’s cranberry sauce could have been the main filling in this delectable pastry, and Dean wouldn’t have known the difference. Castiel’s eyes were lit up, taking pleasure from Dean’s enjoyment.

They talked a little. Conversation here, laughter there. Dean tried his best to keep his voice quiet, but Castiel’s words always got him rearing inside, bursting with the kind of enthusiasm that put him on the edge of his seat, cock half-hard out of love, not arousal. He was at total ease. He could have been shouting out every laugh Castiel caused to escape his lips, and the world could have been watching, but Dean wouldn’t have noticed. The world was Castiel and coffee and pie. Nothing and nobody else.

Castiel’s foot rested between Dean’s ankles. Dean liked it there.

When nobody was looking, Dean shoveled a lump of pie into his fork, and whispered hastily, head down, “C’mere. Cas, c’mere, quick. Before anyone sees.”

Castiel’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. “Not here, Dean!” he muttered under his breath, eyes darting around like a startled cat. “We can do that in private later.”

Dean frowned, and realised Cas thought he meant to kiss him. “Naw,” he assured him. “Just taste this, won’t you?”

He slid a cupped hand closer to Castiel, ready to catch any crumbs or sweet pie filling that might fall. Castiel considered the offering like a bird, head tilted. Dean watched his expression slip from one of trepidation to one of interest.

When he’d checked again that nobody was looking, Dean lifted the fork to Castiel’s mouth. Dean’s mouth was open too as he watched Castiel’s pink lips close in a wrinkle around the fork. Dean pulled the fork back smoothly; not a crumb was left.

Dean’s heart was racing as he stabbed his fork into his pie, then hurriedly crammed another mouthful into his own mouth, eyes skirting the surrounding area. Nobody had seen, they were all involved with their own drinks and food, cutlery and babble making a delicate grumble in the air.

Castiel chewed slowly, savouring it. His eyes, set on Dean’s, were filled with the ease of years: he was an ancient soul and a friendly youth at once. He liked the pie.

Not two minutes passed before the coast was clear again. This time, Castiel put some of his cake into Dean’s mouth. He pulled away slowly, stroking Dean’s stubbly cheek and making it rasp against his fingertips. Dean’s belly felt warm, but not from the coffee alone.

The fresh cream of the cake pasted smooth over his tongue, and the dense, dark flavour of the cake itself became robbed of structure by Dean’s teeth. He savoured it as Castiel had done.

It would not be sensible to try again, so they made sure that one instance of food-sharing was relished. It was an odd ritual, one Dean did with his children and his wife - and even his brother when they were younger. But those times were casual, never stirring up shards of want in Dean’s heart, or turning heat in his gut.

Castiel returned to eating his cake once Dean finished his bite, but their eyes did not break contact. Their smiles were not even wiped from their faces by serviettes when their plates were empty.

“I do have to leave,” Castiel admitted rather sadly, after a few further minutes of enjoyable muttering. “I wasn’t joking when I said Gail will drive off without me.”

“I can drive you home,” Dean said. “Come on, it’s no trouble. And besides―”

“I’m going to Gail’s house,” Castiel said. “Not mine.”

“Oh?”

Castiel smiled gently. “I’m spending Christmas with her family.”

“Oh,” Dean said again. His gaze fell to his hands, thumbs rubbing on the edge of the table. He smiled, though, processing what it all meant, then returning his attention to Castiel’s wonderfully blue eyes. “I’m happy for you.”

Castiel inclined his head an inch, appreciating Dean’s words.

“I really am,” Dean continued, making sure Castiel knew he meant it. “You’re not alone for once, thank God. It’s good, right?”

“Very good. Her family can be - ah, let’s say, tiring, not to mention overly opinionated - but they’re very nice.”

“Sounds like it, yeah.”

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

Dean shrugged. “I let Charlie take care of it this time ‘round. I’ve been getting better these past couple years, like I said, but Charlie’s good. She makes sure I’m not doing, uh, too much.”

Dean swallowed. It had been a hard thing to admit to Castiel, even though he’d spoken easily. He didn’t like to say aloud how broken he felt, how weak he was inside. Even Charlie never mentioned it aloud, just went ahead and did things to help him.

Castiel took a breath and let it out, eyes down to the table. He nodded with a small bob of his head, as if he understood completely.

Dean’s hand reached across the table and took the back of Castiel’s. “Come on, babe. It’s getting dark, you should get back.”

Castiel smiled ever so finely. “I do love when you call me that.”

Dean curled his fingers against his mouth to hide his flirty, giggly smile. “I kinda love it too.”

They gradually vacated their booth, inching along, still caught in tiny bursts of conversation. Dean wanted to prolong this for as lengthy a time as possible, but the sky outside was indeed darkening to deep blue; the cars passing in the street made the road become awash with glowing ochre.

Dean saluted their server with two fingers to his forehead, and she gave him a wide smile in return. “Merry Christmas,” he heard her call over the cocooned chatter of other customers.

“To you too,” Castiel called back, before Dean could.

Dean glanced at him, met his eyes. And they smiled. Dean felt like this ought to be normal, this ought to be something they could do together without fear.

They exited the shop for the first time in countless hours, and the full force of winter began to gnaw at Dean’s gold-warmed skin. He could smell the ice in the air, even if snow was not visible anywhere. The world was sunken with blue.

“I suppose I should go,” Castiel sighed, his breath fogging the space between their bodies.

Without warning, Dean grabbed Castiel and led him into the porch of a nearby shop, its windows darkened with the blinds drawn down. They were sheltered on all sides but one; the road was on Dean’s left, and he could hear the echoes of people still enjoying the festival, but mostly he heard his own heartbeat, and Castiel’s shallow breaths. Cas was looking at him with eyes the same colour as the air around them, but infinitely warmer.

“But,” Dean said, “we haven’t had a proper kiss yet. You can’t go.”

Castiel smiled, face turned to the road to check there were no cars approaching, or footsteps growing louder.

Then, he nodded, and took hold of the collars of his coat, lifting them and pulling the coat over his head enough that he made a small hood over himself. Dean grinned and did the same with his jacket, and then pressed his fists to Castiel’s, so their breath met the darkness and their heads were in a shelter. Nobody could see.

Dean sighed in relief as his mouth was taken apart, tongue slicked along his own. It caused pleasure throughout his entire person, a pleasure he’d missed for years. Castiel’s breath tasted of coffee and cream, sour. But also soft, and tender and warm, and so, so sweet.

Dean swept forward for more, tasting more. Always, it was gentle. Castiel cooed, tilting his head. His beard tickled Dean’s sore lips, made him crave another press, because it felt like something. It felt like Cas.

Dean wanted to cup his head and pull him in completely, but that would risk them losing their privacy. He made do with craning his neck, turning his head, drowning in the concord of contented sounds Castiel let free, pooling into the cavern behind Dean’s lips. He ran those sounds under his tongue and tasted those, too. Saccharine, like his saliva.

When Castiel murmured through spit-wet lips, “Mmmwe sh’d stop,” Dean groaned in complaint.

“Noo,” he drawled, smooching some more.

Castiel smiled, but then broke the kiss without much fanfare, simply falling back and letting his coat slump to his shoulders. He breathed through his mouth, lips parted.

Dean simpered, then sagged too, shoving his hands into his pockets. His lips were wet, and he didn’t want to wipe them dry.

Castiel’s face was surely red everywhere below his nose, but in the gloom, Dean could only see a shade. Cas shone with the inner glow Dean had forgotten about until now. Happy, he looked happy.

“My car’s parked back there,” Dean said, shoving a thumb over his shoulder, in the opposite direction to the fête. “So... um. Have a good Christmas, I guess.”

“You too, Dean.”

Castiel patted Dean’s arm, then headed back into the street, eyes lingering on Dean’s. Dean watched him take a few steps, his sides lit with an aura from the car headlights. But Dean couldn’t bear to part like that, so he ran after him.

“How long do you think it’ll be?” Dean said casually, traipsing alongside Castiel. Castiel didn’t seem all that surprised to see him pull up against his side. “It could be months. It could be years. But what if it was next week?”

Castiel smiled. “Did you never notice the pattern?”

“Which pattern?”

“Each day I meet you, it’s a day closer to Christmas. There’s years between each meeting - uneven years, so it’s impossible to tell how many years until I next see you. But, I dare say it will be on Christmas Eve.”

Dean watched a car approach from ahead, pulling up to the sidewalk they strode on. “Wanna bet?”

“I’ll bet,” Castiel agreed. “If it’s not Christmas Eve, I spend Christmas with your family, in your house. If it is, then your family comes up to my house. You could see the beehives, I think that might be fun. All the bees are asleep at this time of year.”

That wasn’t really any losing that coin toss, as far as Dean was concerned. “Deal.”

The approaching car parked on the side of the road, and Dean supposed it was being driven by Gail: he saw a pale, enthusiastic wave through the shadowy windscreen. Castiel stopped walking beside the car, slipping a hand to hold Dean’s briefly. “Before you go, Dean... I want you to know something.”

“Know what?”

“That I may be scared,” Castiel started, holding Dean’s eye, “and you may be scared too. But there comes a point where the fear’s not worth it any more. To be perfectly honest, I think we bypassed that years ago. We could be happy and safe, I truly believe that. I only want to say: the next time I see you, I want that to be the last time we say goodbye. I hate this part - the leaving.”

“Same,” Dean nodded. “Yeah, this is the worst.”

Castiel squeezed Dean’s arm. “The next time I see you, let’s go home together.”

“Home,” Dean repeated. A smile curled upward on his lips, mirroring Castiel’s. “We’ll go home. All right.”

“And before you forget,” Castiel grinned, opening the passenger side door, taking something from Gail’s hand as she offered it, “here’s your bag.” He handed it to Dean, and Dean took it, astounded that he’d almost left it behind.

“Ah,” Castiel smiled, peering into the bag, “I see you have excellent taste in gifts.”

“Excellent taste in honey, more like.” Dean winked. “And men.”

Castiel laughed, head down. His hand toyed with Dean’s jacket, and after a moment, his eyes returned to meet Dean’s. “Take care, Dean,” he said slowly.

Unexpectedly, he turned away, and scampered to the trunk of his car. The car was a champagne classic, silver-rimmed, and, in Dean’s opinion, certainly a better match for Castiel’s opulent personality than the tiny little trashcan he’d been driving before.

“Here,” Castiel said, dumping a gigantic plush bee into Dean’s hands. Dean gasped, struggling to hold it at the same time as his weighty bag of honey, but he managed. “I haven’t named this one. I’ve been lugging it around in my trunk for months, and I hereby deem you worthy of its possession. Merry Christmas.”

“Thanks Cas,” Dean said. “I’ll send you photos or something when it finds a place in the house to sit.”

Castiel smiled, tugging wrinkles into his skin. “I look forward to seeing them.”

Dean smiled fondly. Before anyone in the world could even detect a movement, he leaned forward and kissed Castiel on his cheek. His beard on Dean’s still-sore lips felt good.

“See ya ‘round,” Dean said, circling past Castiel, ready to head to his car. “Hopefully sooner rather than later.”

“Christmas Eve,” Castiel reminded him. “Have a good year.”

“You too, baby.”

“Shh!” Castiel hissed, then laughed. “Talk quieter.”

Dean winked, then turned his back and sauntered off, the fat, squishy bee tucked under one arm, the bag of honey pulling a strain into his good hand. He was still smiling as the engine of Castiel’s car rumbled closer, drew level, then pulled well ahead. A hand waved through the window, but Dean couldn’t wave back, arms full. He laughed to himself, loving the sound of his own laughter for once.

December 23rd 1982
After then, Christmas Eve became more important to me than Christmas. I’d wait forever for you.

Chapter Text

1984

“I still don’t see why we’re here,” Dean remarked, dragging a discerning eye over the uncongested event hall they stood in.

It wasn’t very Christmassy in here, but it was warm, which Dean appreciated. He curled his cold fingers into a little ball in front of his mouth, and huffed over them until he ran out of breath. He caught Charlie’s eye as she wandered past, pulling off her gloves with delicate, fully-bendable fingers.

There were a number of meandering people present, the mass of whom Dean felt inclined to call ‘middle-aged’, before realising he too was a similar age, if not older than most. These people all had smiles on their faces, and were talking closely, separated into small standing groups. Shoes tapped and scuffed in place on the lacquered floorboards, which, besides the numerous dents and scrapes, also sported painted lines for basketball games.

“You’ll see why we’re here soon enough,” Charlie promised, patting Dean’s arm with her gloves grasped in her hand. She wasn’t even looking at him, but her eyes were darting from point to point in the room, examining faces like she was searching for someone.

Dean sighed, folded his hands under his arms and didn’t talk to anyone, even when a bubbly, curly-haired woman came up to them and offered mulled wine. Dean gave a flat smile and declined.

“Spoilsport,” Charlie said, tutting as the woman turned away, holding onto her own crystal flute. “Come on, we could at least sit down.”

The curly-haired woman overheard them, and came back only a moment after she’d left. “Oh, but you’re both beginners, aren’t you?” she warbled, speaking to Charlie rather than Dean. When Charlie nodded, the woman made a breathy sound, which was followed by a lipsticked smile. “Then you’ll be upstairs for the first half-hour. Our first speaker gives a demonstration class. He’s actually the one who called the meeting today, don’t you know. Blazes knows why, it’s really icky timing. I had a dinner to prepare; my husband couldn’t cook a turkey for a prize.” She chewed her cheek for a second, her weight sliding onto one hip in discontent. “Ah well, we’re all here now. Let me take your drink, and we’ll see you back in a half-hour, yes?”

Charlie fussed about with her drink, clearly wanting to keep it so she could drink it, but trying not to be rude in saying so. Dean rolled his eyes as she surrendered it, and then grabbed Dean’s arm and marched him back out of the hall.

“Beginner’s class for what, though,” Dean said, trailing after Charlie like a baffled duckling. “What are we here for?”

“You’ll see!” Charlie insisted, clopping up the linoleum staircase in her sensible heels. “Hurry up, the programme said it always starts right on time.”

“Is this a religious thing?” Dean asked dubiously, panting and aching as they neared the top of the staircase. “Look, I know you’re all for new age cults―”

“Computing is not a cult.”

“―but it’s Christmas Eve, so I’m fairly sure anything going on today will either be Christian or Pagan, and I’m honestly not in the mood for anything that’s not―”

“Shut your pie-hole, would you?” Charlie tutted, dragging Dean through the only door at the top of the stairs. “Ah, good, this is the right place.”

Dean entered, a hand cautiously pushing the unpainted wooden door. Inside was a small, well-lit room, not much larger than the lounge at home, but furnished completely differently. The windows along the left and back were grubby and layered with dust, hung with cloths here and there, keeping the outside darkness at bay. There were four rows of occupied chairs, all facing a point at the front of the room, where there was a wooden workbench. It was like the one Dean used to stand at to tinker with his machines, and probably would have been more suited to the décor of a garage. The table supported a mess of tools: saws and drills, one of which had a cable that twirled underfoot, and Dean had to step over it to get to a free seat.

Some of the people already in the room smiled patiently as he sat beside Charlie, a few rows from the front. They were all waiting for something to happen.

Dean didn’t know what sort of religion made use of sanders and screwdrivers, but it was anyone’s guess that he was soon going to find out.

It was warm in here with so many bodies, so he took off his jacket and laid it across his thighs. He barely had a chance to turn his head and take in the other people around him - even on Christmas Eve, nearly two dozen people had turned up - when the door swung open again, and somebody walked in.

When Dean saw who it was, his breath froze in his throat.

“Good evening, class. Ah, excellent, I see you’ve all found a seat. Is there anyone else coming, are we still waiting?”

When he got only mutters in reply, Castiel closed the door, and clapped his hands together once while eying his students, young and old. “All right,” he said. He walked up to the workbench, and patted his hands down to its surface, a smile on his lips. He did not have a beard, but salt-and-pepper stubble. “Beehives. What do any of you know on the subject already?”

A reedy young voice piped up from somewhere in the back behind Dean, “They’re what the bees live in.”

There was general guffaws all around, people laughing at how obvious the answer was; even Dean cracked a smile, but not for the answer - instead, for the fact that Cas was completely in his element here. He was animated, and didn’t act nearly as old as Dean knew he was.

“The bees can’t always make them perfectly,” Castiel nodded, “especially if we humans want to keep them ourselves. Now! I’m going to show you the basics - just the basics, mind you. There are books available downstairs, I highly recommend you take a gander at those before going home for a lovely Christmas tomorrow. You might even find a last-minute gift, that’s always useful.”

His class was responsive to him, chuckling even at things that weren’t meant to be jokes.

“I know I’ve seen a few of you before - hello Betty. Gilda. Roger, how are you.” Castiel’s eyes scanned the room, right to left. Dean’s heart thudded, waiting for Castiel to notice him. Castiel’s gaze landed on Charlie, and he smiled, “Oh, you made it, hello.” His attention only brushed Dean’s expectant face, then turned away.

“Since so many of you have some experience already, I’ll jump straight in from where we left off last week. Apologies to those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, I’ll rely on you to use your brains and common sense, and work it out for yourself.”

He smiled widely, ducking below the top of the desk, then lifting up a wooden box, unpainted, made with layered slats down the sides like a house would have. “This, ladies and gentlemen, is one I made at home. Took a month, on and off. It’s not yet treated, and I should remind you that treatment is important, or, as you can see here, the wood will be open to the elements, and begin rot.” He lifted a plank of wood that was not yet falling to pieces, but nevertheless, did not look healthy. “Not to mention that bees, as hardy as they are, are very susceptible to a number of diseases, many of which are fatal. But! Some of that can be prevented with proper wood treatment.” He put down the wood, and nodded.

“Dean.”

Dean jumped in his seat, eyes widening as Castiel’s focus lasered in on him. “Uh? What?”

“You have good knowledge of firefighting, I believe.”

Dean gaped like a beached fish. “Sh...sure.”

“I dare say you could tell me an appropriate solution for hive-dipping.”

“Dipping?”

“Or painting. A sealant.”

“Oh. Oh, okay.” Dean licked his lips, cheeks heating. Everyone was looking at him, Charlie included. “Uhhh. Paint?”

“Flammable,” Castiel countered. He wandered to the front of his table, and leaned back against it, crossing his legs at the ankle, folding his arms. His reindeer sweater was loose, rolled to his elbows.

“...Wax?” Dean squinted.

“Oh dear. Paraffin wax is flammable. Surely you learned something throughout your career fighting fires.”

“Well excuse me,” Dean huffed, “anything I can think of would also probably be poisonous to bees, so sorry for actually thinking about that while I’m on the spot, Jesus Christ.”

The room immediately erupted into a mixture of shocked gasps and appreciative chuckles, which only served to raise the temperature of Dean’s face further.

Castiel gazed at him fondly, unaffected by his class’ reaction, or Dean’s outburst. “Hush,” he called, fluttering a hand. With that, the group settled into a ruffled silence.

To Dean, Castiel said, “Preventing flammability is not always in a beekeeper’s best interests - although, of course, it’s a bonus. We actually use a solution of copper naphthenate and turpentine.” He clicked his fingers, his eyes drifting. “Damn. I’ve forgotten the exact measurements for the mixture, but I wrote it down about twenty years ago and it’s in my book. If anyone feels like buying the book, you’ll have your answers.”

The class chuckled again, presumably at the fact that Castiel was shamelessly advertising his own work. Dean, however, was not laughing.

“So it was a trick question,” Dean said, loud enough that Castiel turned, eyebrow cocked. The classroom quietened. Dean swallowed quickly. “You asked me how to not set a beehive on fire, and you’re actually not asking that at all.”

Castiel smirked. “If you recall, I didn’t ask you anything of the sort. I asked if you could tell me something appropriate.”

“And I said paint―”

“Which is a decent answer.”

“―and wax―”

“Which we do use, yes.”

“―so basically you made it look like I was wrong while―”

“I never said you were wrong, I simply said it was flammable.”

“―You’re such a dick.”

The class burst out laughing, Castiel included. Dean’s head was burning, but a small, small twitch of amusement made its way to the corner of his lips.

Castiel straightened from his folded-over position, huffing, eyes watering. He shook his head, and tried his best to quiet the class, but struggled, as he was short of breath. “Sh!” he finally managed, and the group simmered into low rumbles, whispers passed between seats. Charlie shot Dean a cute smirk.

Castiel took a few moments to gather his breath up and stand straight, then he shook his head. Addressing the whole class, he began to speak: “If anyone wasn’t aware already, ah... hehehe... sorry― Um.” He cleared his throat, wiping a tear from under one eye with a finger. “Beehives can become infected. Sacbrood, mites, foulbrood, wax moth invasions - or the dreaded hive beetle, damn the things. The list is nearly neverending, suffice to say. In the event that beekeepers have a lot of hives, it becomes necessary to destroy the infected hives on the spot, rather than let the disease spread.”

The joy had gone out of him, and he hunched back against his desk, arms folded across his middle. “And we do that how?” He lifted his chin, looking to his class for an answer.

A plump woman at the front of the class raised her arm. Castiel nodded to her, and she answered, “Burning the hive.”

“Quite,” Castiel said. He gulped. “Ah. The, um, we have to. I mean.”

He’d stopped making sense, and Dean glanced at Charlie, sharing her concern.

Castiel shook a little, covering his face with a hand. He let out a long breath, then lowered his hand. “Apologies. We did a hive-burning last weekend, I’m still somewhat - raw, over that. I ought stress the importance of trying not to get attached to your bees. Not... not as much as I do. It’s like losing children.”

The class murmured sympathetically. Dean slid his hands into his lap and held tight to his own fingers.

Castiel straightened up, rolling his shoulders back. “On to the main attraction of the evening, I think.”

He stood himself behind the desk, planting a mild smile on his face. “Assembling your first hive. As I already said, this is one I made. And this...” he pulled out a wonky frame from under the desk, “is one that’s not finished yet. I’ve cut all the pieces, I’ll show you how to put it together. It’s like a numbered jigsaw, quite easy really.”

He began to talk about how to line up the edges, and where to drill the holes. He passed a few wood samples around the seated students, including some waxed slides, which - he demonstrated - were slotted into the hive box, and were there for the bees to fill up with honey so the keepers could remove it easily.

He gave a few instructions, drilling holes where they should be, explaining the correct angles to stick the nails. He wore goggles, which made him look very silly, but when he took them off, they rested on his forehead, and Dean supposed that was actually the opposite of silly. He looked kinda clever like that.

Dean noticed a snickering coming from the back of the room while Castiel was talking, but only once or twice. He brushed it off as nothing, instead enjoying the lesson. Castiel taught well. Dean always thought he made a good teacher - Tommy still praised Cas for it, even years on.

Dean passed the example honey slide he was holding to the person next to him, just as Castiel put down his tools to show the class something else.

“And if you could all take a look at this...” Castiel raised a plank of wood, about the length of his forearm. It was warped in the middle - but only subtly. “Now, I want one of you to tell me―”

Castiel was still talking, but Dean turned his head, listening for the sniggering at the back of the class.

A young voice... two voices. Dean recognised the sound of mocking in their tone; echoes of Castiel’s words, in voices that were comically, unnaturally deep. Someone was trying to make a fool out of Cas, and a rage flowed through Dean’s blood immediately.

He stood up. “Hey.” He was facing the back of the classroom. There were two teenaged boys there, perched on the windowsill rather than in chairs. They were laughing under their breath, but the laugh faded when their eyes landed on Dean’s taller figure. “Hey,” Dean said again.

“What?!” one boy said, argumentatively.

“You got a problem back there?” Dean raised his eyebrows. Sometimes he forgot he was sixty years old; he must look like a grumpy old man to these punks.

Boy One was grinning. “No problem, mister.” He glanced sidelong at his friend, then ducked into a wave of renewed sniggers.

“Really?” Dean realised the class was looking at him again, and Castiel had stopped speaking. “Really, ‘cause what I see is a couple of idiots trying to make a laughing stock out of my friend back there.”

“Really,” Boy Two chuckled. “No problem. Nice to know you ‘n him are proper chums, though. Right?”

“Yeah.” Boy One grinned. “We’re only trying to avoid seeing bees as our children...” His voice deepened and became jokingly gruff, clearly a bad mimic of Castiel’s low tones. The other boy laughed heartily.

Dean scoffed. “You’re kidding me. Christ, what is wrong with you kids these days? Why the hell are you even here?”

The boys sobered, but Dean understood it was a front; they were containing their laughter but it was still a joke to them. Dean toyed with the feeling of disgust that rotted something in his stomach, and he used that, channelled it forwards.

“Get out.” He pointed to the door.

The boys didn’t go, their laughter abating for real this time. Dean eyed them sternly. “Either sit down, shut up - or leave. Need I remind you, the weather’s a real bitch tonight.”

The boys’ shoulders slumped, looking glum. Dean snorted. “Yeah, I thought so.”

He turned around and sat down. Castiel, having removed his goggles completely, had stopped his explanation to watch, and was still holding the plank of warped wood.

“Um,” Castiel said. His hands fretted with the wood. “Um, thank you... Dean.”

Dean saluted.

Castiel frowned briefly, then turned his gaze back to the wood. “This plank. Um. What was I saying?”

Someone in the front row reminded him, and he chirped happily as he remembered. “That’s right. Putting the wood together the right way. Dean, may I ask you―”

“Aw man,” Dean whined. The class laughed - as did the boys from the back, but less maliciously than before.

Castiel smiled sweetly. “I don’t meant to prey on you, Dean. But I do think you know the answer this time. Which way do I put the wood? If we take a fresh piece― Here, this one. See the grain of the wood? This side, when it’s still part of the tree, is the side of the tree’s bark.” He showed the class one side of the pale plank, which had six slim tree rings down its face. He flipped it over. “This side is the belly of the tree.” He slid his hand down the side with more numerous, slimmer stripes. “Which side will the wood warp towards?”

Dean smiled. He did know this one. “It’ll warp towards the bark side.”

“That’s right. So when we make our hives, we have the bark side― on which side?”

“On the inside,” Dean said.

Castiel nodded. “Otherwise, what happens?”

“It’ll warp outwards and pull the nails out.”

“Resulting in gaps at the corners, exactly.” Castiel had his sex glow on. Fuck. “Well done, Dean.”

Dean blushed.

Castiel went on talking to his rapt audience, but Dean was lost into a world of very exciting thoughts. Charlie elbowed him, and he gasped quietly, catching her eye.

“What?” he whispered.

“Down boy,” Charlie hissed back, playfully.

Dean sat quietly from then on, smiling to himself, hands clutching his jacket in his lap.

Castiel had full control of the class, and they did seem to appreciate him, even if there were some more unsavoury types in today’s turnout. If Dean took a guess, those kids were only here to keep out of the cold while avoiding Christmas preparations at home.

The class ended rather abruptly, as someone on the far side of the class lifted up their watch and called, “Time!”

“Ah,” Castiel said, somewhat disappointedly. “All right, I suppose that’s enough to be getting on with. We can’t learn everything all at once.”

He smiled as his class began to pack up their things, gathering coats and bags.

“Now we are back for next year, the first class is set for the last Tuesday of the month. I would apologise for having today’s session fall on such a nonsensical date, but the calendar demanded it. I always look forward to these classes, forgive me for being so awkward about it...”

His voice became a mumble as a student older than he was approached his side. Dean watched as Castiel listened attentively, shaking the man’s hand. His mouth moved on the words “Merry Christmas,” then again and again, as his class passed him to get to the door.

Dean was going to wait until last, but Charlie hit him and told him to put his coat on. He did, and gratefully accepted the spare pair of gloves that she’d brought, which he had insisted he didn’t need when they left the house. He didn’t put them on yet, because Castiel was going to shake his hand.

Dean filed in between Charlie and a young well-dressed woman, pressing a smile between his lips as they all shuffled towards the door.

Castiel shook Charlie’s hand, wishing her a good Christmas, the repeated the same to Dean. Electricity burst under his skin, singeing his body all the way to the roots of his hair. Castiel’s other hand was resting on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing. His eyes were so beautiful.

And then it was over - Dean put on his jacket and gloves and followed Charlie down the staircase, milling in with the other students.

His mind was all abuzz. Cas, Cas, Castiel.

“There’s a meeting next,” Charlie said, touching Dean’s arm. “Come on.”

“No, no,” Dean said, slipping away as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Their fellow classmates drifted along the hallway, talking. Even the two teenage boys skipped along, bantering between the two of them.

“But, Castiel,” Charlie said, which was the entirety of her argument.

Dean gave a wan smile. “I think I got the gist of it,” he said, sighing at his gaze settled on the door at the top of the stairs. Nobody was coming out now. “Look,” he glanced back to Charlie. “I’ll wait outside.”

“The meeting is an hour long.”

Dean shrugged. “I’m okay.”

Charlie started after him when Dean turned away. “But―”

Dean caught her eye and held it. “I’ll be outside,” he said again.

He turned and left, following the slick-floored corridor until his gloved hand met the door, and he pushed it open.

It was night-time. His breath turned the air around his face white, lit by the lamp above him. He strode down the few steps, boots landing on the paved sidewalk. He could hear a single church bell in the distance, clanging in the nonconductive cold.

There was a bench on the grass verge ten feet from where he was. He walked over, breathing in the fresh air. He could smell Christmas on the faint breeze; mulled wine, sugar, roasting turkey, unfallen snow. He could almost taste it.

He grunted as he sat down. The crossroad in front of him was clear of cars, bathed in very thin lights from a set of traffic lights that were working pointlessly on rotation, flashing to an empty street.

He smiled. Castiel won his bet. Perhaps he cheated, summoning Charlie here - possibly calling an entire beekeepers’ meeting in addition, to provide an excuse - but Dean couldn’t deny that it was, truly, Christmas Eve.

The door behind Dean opened, and Dean shut his eyes, waiting. This was it, this was the moment.

But when someone sat down beside Dean, it wasn’t Castiel.

“Go away,” Dean said bluntly.

Charlie looked understandably affronted. “Excuse you?”

“I’m not waiting for you.”

“Well isn’t that exactly what a wife wants to hear every day,” Charlie said sourly.

Dean rolled his head back. “Ugh. You know what I mean.”

Charlie’s grumpy expression fell away, and she smiled. “I know. I came out here to go start the car.”

“You’re not staying for the meeting? I thought you wanted mulled wine.”

“It got cold,” Charlie shrugged. “Besides, I heard there’s more where that came from at Cas’ place.”

Dean’s tummy did a flip that made him feel sparkly all over. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I’ll see you in a minute,” Charlie said, standing up, then setting a cupped hand around Dean’s neck. She bent, kissed him on the forehead, then took a step back. “You and Cas will have to drive ahead, I don’t know the address off by heart. When we get there we can call Sam and he’ll bring the others.”

Dean’s breath fluttered. “How can you be sure it’s gonna happen? Seriously, he might just want to go home alone.”

Charlie’s eyes flicked upwards, seeing something behind Dean that Dean refused to turn around to see. When Charlie’s eyes landed back on Dean, she smiled. “Have a nice trip.”

She swayed off, pulling her woollen hat lower over her swishing red hair. Her shoes clipped on the frosted sidewalk, and Dean shut his eyes, listening to her footsteps growing quieter.

After a minute, the bench juddered as someone else sat down.

Dean smiled, lowering his chin. Slowly, he pulled off his gloves. The cold nipped at his fingers, so he spread them over his thighs, feeling his palms warmed by his denim jeans.

Another pale hand slipped over his left, and held onto him. Not a second passed before a snowflake landed on Castiel’s hand, and melted straight away.

Dean let out a breath that condensed in front of his face. This was it, everything was going to change. His gaze lifted.

Castiel was smiling, his cheeks lit with a single line of gold each side, mellow luminescence coming from the lamp in the building’s porch. Two years had barely made any difference to him at all. He still looked twenty-three to Dean.

“Hey,” Dean said.

Castiel held his hand tighter. “Hello, Dean.”

Dean, his a heart filled with emotion, leaned forward and put his lips on Castiel’s. Castiel sighed and tilted his head, sinking into it.

Snow began to fall, soft and silent. Pure white.

Bells from the church began to play, singing a golden song of good tidings.

Dean had to smile, which broke the kiss, but then Castiel looked into his eyes; he was smiling too.

“Let’s go home,” Castiel said.

He stood up, still holding Dean’s hand. Castiel looked down at him, his face fully cast in light now. He was wearing that same coat, the one that Dean calculated had to be at least thirty-five years old. For the first time, Dean thought it suited him.

“Home,” Dean said. It was a wonderful word.

He smiled and stood up, his shoulder touching Castiel’s. “Well, let’s go then, Cas. Let’s go home.”

Castiel kissed him once more, held his hand, and led him down the street.

December 24th 1984
And that was how it began.

Chapter Text

2013

“For fuck’s sakes, Cas, you’d think you ate the whole table - plates and silverware included - going by the look of you.”

“I’m fine, I barely ate anything,” Castiel said, striding past Dean with his bony shoulders held back. He entered their dimly-lit bedroom with a harrumph of dissatisfaction, and stood himself on the ratty old rug in the centre of the room, between the TV and the bed.

Dean closed the bedroom door behind them, then circled Castiel, who had not moved an inch. Dean rolled his eyes before taking off his green Christmas sweater, grunting as his elbows locked uncomfortably, then released, allowing him to toss the sweater onto the foot of the bed. He sighed as he realigned his bones, then cast his eyes back to Castiel.

“Well?” Dean said. “You’re just going to stand there all night, are you?”

“I’m digesting,” Castiel said coldly.

“You never did look more like a boa constrictor,” Dean muttered, turning away and scratching blunt fingernails on his sagging t-shirt. “You’re getting scaly, too, did I ever mention that?”

“Last night you said I was ‘softer than a damp stick of chewing gum’.”

“You realise that wasn’t a compliment, right?”

“I shall believe whatever I like about the things you tell me I am.”

Dean sniffed. “Yes. Well.”

Dean took a few seconds to fold up the sweater on the bed, then, holding the soft pile in his hands, he returned his attention to his husband. Castiel did look terribly pale, his eternal frown causing at least fifteen additional wrinkles on his forehead. But it was the wounded-deer look in his eyes that betrayed something: he was not his regular grumpy self.

“Cas,” Dean said, more carefully this time. He put down the sweater. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

He moved softly across the overlapping rugs and carpets, decorative socks barely snagging. He stood in front of Castiel and took both hands in his own. They were cold at the fingertips. Dean looked down in shock, seeing them curled weakly in his palms.

“I’m all right,” Castiel said gently. When Dean looked up, Castiel smiled. “I had a very good Christmas, Dean.”

Dean searched his eyes, looking for whatever Cas was hiding. After being in his presence near-constantly for twenty-nine years, Dean knew him well enough see there was a dire secret being kept behind Castiel’s Mona Lisa smile.

“Your hands are cold,” Dean said, bringing their hands together as one, rubbing Castiel’s fingers. “I’m starting to worry about you.”

Castiel smiled. “And the sky is blue, Rebecca makes atrocious gravy, and Francine’s new haircut is not very nice at all.”

“The sky is black and starry, actually, but thanks for making your point,” Dean said. “Come on, you oughta get some rest.” He tried to tug Castiel closer to the bed, but Castiel wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t think we should sleep tonight, Dean.”

Dean pulled a face. “You do remember what I said about you being softer than a damp stick of gum, don’t you? Anyway, I trust you to fall asleep after round one. I’ll spare you the bet.”

Castiel’s face seemed to attempt to express amusement, but instead, folded up as he took in a sad, crying breath.

“Cas―”

“It’s tonight, Dean, don’t you see? I knew it would be soon, but I didn’t think―”

“Cas, what are you talking about?”

Castiel held his eye, a gaze both fierce and helpless at once. “I’m dying, Dean.”

Dean grinned. “No you’re not.”

Castiel was not smiling.

Dean shook his head, needing a few seconds to gather breath to speak: “No... no, Cas... You’re not, you hear me? You’re fine.”

With his arms moving to wrap around the frailer man, Dean released a corrupted breath over his shoulder, where the heat of it was absorbed by Castiel’s red reindeer sweater. Castiel wasn’t kidding. His spine was curving, his stance was wilting like an unwatered flower.

“You’re just―” Dean gulped, “You’re just digesting, like you said. You ate a whole chicken leg this evening.”

“And what a lovely chicken leg it was,” Castiel remarked. “But Dean, please... oh, I need to sit down.”

Firmly in a state of denial, Dean helped Castiel get across the bedroom, holding his hand and taking some of his weight. The bedside lamp ticked with a flash of yellow as Dean switched it on, lighting up the patterned crimson wallpaper that was pasted on every wall. Dean sat Castiel down on the side of the bed, careful as he steadied him.

Castiel’s hand rested on the sweater Dean had folded. He sighed. “Too bad I only got to see you wear this once.”

Dean stood at Castiel’s knee and cupped Castiel’s jaw in his hand, tilting his head so their eyes could meet. “You’ll see me wear it tomorrow if you decide to live that long. In fact, for every day you stay with me, I’ll wear the stupid sweater. Maybe I’ll even let you knit me another one, one that doesn’t make me look like a fairy elf shat on me.”

Castiel tilted his head into Dean’s touch. “I wish I could look forward to that.”

Dean’s heart rushed with emotion all of a sudden, and he gasped as tears flooded his eyes. He wasn’t crying, he wasn’t. This wasn’t happening.

He blinked away his tears as Castiel put a kiss on his inner wrist, his stubble bristly and sharp. “Don’t weep for me, Dean. We’ve had our time. And I’ve had mine.”

“Don’t talk like it’s gonna happen, ‘cause it’s not, all right?”

Castiel’s smile was almost condescending, but he did maintain that softness and sympathy that Dean had always treasured in him.

Dean shook his head and sat down heavily beside Cas, still holding his cold hand. “How long do you have?”

Castiel looked at the ticking clock that sat on the nightstand, under the lamp. Those were the only two things on the surface that were not dusty. All the trinkets there - the wooden bees, the glass birds, the china carthorse - had found their place years ago and had never been moved.

“I will try to last until midnight,” Castiel said. He spoke like it wasn’t the end, but just something that he planned to do, like having a snack or reading a book. “Please don’t hold it against me if I don’t make it that long. I’ve been holding off for hours already, I’m exhausted.”

Dean slumped over his thighs, head down. His left hand didn’t leave Castiel’s, thumb still trying to rub some warmth into him. “It’s the kidneys, isn’t it?”

“I imagine so. I’m dizzy. The anemia is probably causing the cold hands, too.”

“I could get help. All I have to do is shout, someone will come. I won’t leave you.”

Castiel shook his head. “For once in your life, Dean, keep your voice down,” he murmured, not unkindly.

Dean swallowed, forcing away the lump in his throat. He had been resigned to facing this day eventually - they had both expected it for years - but it did seem unfair to have it come at the end of such a wonderful Christmas.

“No, don’t be sad,” Castiel said, an insistent hand reaching up to stroke Dean’s tear-damp chin, turning his face so they could look at each other. “This is the right time.”

“It’s just that... what will the others be like? There’s three generations of our family in this house, and to lose us on Christmas night... And Sam―”

“Us,” Castiel said.

Dean took a breath, unable to finish his sentence. “What?”

“You said ‘us’. Lose ‘us’ on Christmas.”

Dean wet his chapped lips with the tip of his drying tongue. His heart sank, but he didn’t answer.

Castiel held his gaze for a number of seconds, until he discerned that Dean wouldn’t reply. Closing his eyes, Castiel turned his face down, his white hair bristling at the nape of his neck. “I know what your plans are, Dean. I’ve known for a while. I may be old but I’m no stupider than you.”

Dean’s eyes skipped to the drawer in the nightstand, then back to Castiel, too preoccupied by the current happenings to be shocked that Castiel had worked it out. He squeezed Castiel’s hand a little tighter. “At least I don’t have to tell you.”

“Does Sam know?”

“You’re seriously asking if I told my brother that I have no intention of sticking around to look after him if you’re gone?” Dean chuckled. “No, Cas, I never told him. He’d kill me himself for being so selfish.”

“Well it’s a good thing I told him months back, then, because otherwise he would be completely livid with you, come morning.”

Dean gaped at his husband. “You little sneak.”

Castiel near-enough chortled, his blue eyes rising to meet Dean’s. “As I said. We’re no stupider than each other.”

Dean gazed at him fondly, until he had to swallow and look away, mind overcome with so many thoughts he didn’t know what to voice first. “H- How did Sam take it, when you told him?”

Castiel shrugged a shoulder. “He wasn’t surprised. He said, if he didn’t feel such a responsibility to the family, he would do the same if Jessica died. I dare say he was unimpressed, though.”

“But he wasn’t mad.”

“No, he wasn’t mad.”

Dean nodded, taking in a breath, holding it, then letting it out. Castiel stroked his hand, too.

“So, um,” Dean began, “what now? Do we just wait?”

Castiel’s voice was as blithe as ever as he said, “As much as I would prefer to spend my last hours devoted to you, Dean, there are things that could be classified as more important.”

“Like what?”

“My Last Will and Testament, where did you put that?”

Dean stood up quickly and walked over to the maplewood desk on the other side of the bedroom. He turned on the reading lamp, and fingered over the papers that littered the desk. There were letters there that he would never send, but paying bills didn’t seem important any more. He rummaged through a few drawers, and came up triumphant. “Here’s yours, aaaaand... ah! - here’s mine.”

He went back to Castiel, sitting beside him once more. He unfolded the thick paper of Castiel’s Will, and handed it over.

“Pass me my reading glasses, would you?” Castiel asked, while Dean was already reaching for them. He hummed in thanks as Dean helped him put them on, so Castiel didn’t have to let go of Dean’s hand.

Castiel read the first few lines, making a sound of thought and approval.

As he read, Dean’s eyes drifted back to the nightstand drawer, which was closed at present. His heart was in his throat, but strangely, he wasn’t all that upset any more. It was a relief to know that he would not be without Castiel for any more than a few minutes. With a small smile, Dean nudged Castiel’s side, and pried him for his thoughts. “Any changes you want to make?”

“Not really. Not much has changed since I typed this out. Aidan and Gail already have Heartland Honey, so I’ll leave that for the lawyers to amend, since it’s obvious. Sam gets the house, to divide into the grandchildrens’ inheritance as he sees fit, and―”

He stopped there, and Dean worried for a moment.

But then Castiel looked up, wearing a curious smile. “My personal belongings and effects are all intended for you.” He paused, then tilted his head, and said, “Are you really sure you want to go through with this? You’re not as sick as I am, you probably still have a good many years left in you.”

“I had a nice time today,” Dean said, calm as he would ever be. “The best time ever, in fact. I’ve never seen the whole family so happy, you know?”

“Yes, but I don’t see...?”

“I figure the best time to leave is when it’s good. If you’re gone, things will only get worse for me. I’ll start tripping over the goddamn carpet like Tommy keeps telling me I will, and I don’t want to prove him right.” Dean grinned like it was a joke, but he fully meant what he said. “If I go tonight when you go,” he shrugged, “there’s nowhere to go but up.”

“I take it you don’t believe that people who commit suicide go to Hell.”

Dean grinned brightly this time, laughing as he rested his head against Castiel’s, kissing his cheek. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t believe that.” There were plenty of other things Dean ought to be going to Hell for, but he’d forgiven himself for those things, long ago. Hell wasn’t his destination.

Castiel nestled his head under Dean’s chin. He lifted the paper he was holding, then folded it up neatly. “There’s something in here for the whole family. At least they all get something worthwhile out of us leaving.”

Dean hummed and unfolded his own Will. “I left Sammy my car.” He pointed at the statement in question. “See that? That there’s a clause that forbids him from putting an iPod jack in there.”

Castiel laughed softly. “I know you’re trying to prevent ‘douchiness’, but don’t you think that’s overly specific?”

“The man is eighty-five years old, Cas. Have you ever seen an older douche?”

“You said nothing about the iPod I purchased you.”

Dean huffed. “That’s different.”

Castiel was smiling, Dean could feel it.

Resolve crumbled by a smile he couldn’t see, Dean rolled his eyes and stood up. “Fine, I’ll scratch it. Sam can do whatever he likes with the car, so long as he doesn’t sell her. Or take the seats out. Or add those ugly-ass dangling dice things. Or drive her. He’s too old to drive anyways.”

Castiel made no complaints while Dean craned over the desk and pen-scratched out the clauses and re-wrote the corrections in his neatest handwriting. He blew on the ink to dry it as he meandered back to the bed.

Castiel took his reading glasses off with one hand, wiping his forehead as he did. Dean could see sweat beaded on his usually raspy skin.

Gripping Castiel’s shoulder reassuringly, Dean leaned down and pushed his lips to the top of Castiel’s head. He smelled like roasted chestnuts, which the whole family had sat down to enjoy less than an hour previously. The kiss lingered, and lingered, until Castiel lifted a hand and stroked Dean’s cheek.

Dean looked down and met his eye, both of them exhaling as one.

“Come on,” Dean said, holding out a hand so Castiel could pass him his Will. “I’ll change yours too, maybe give all the stuff to Sam.”

“All right. Only, make it quick. Please.”

Dean looked at him, startled. “You okay?”

Castiel shot him a pained smile, clearly forced. “I - ah―” He winced, and shut his eyes tight. “I can feel things... shutting down. My heart is very loud...”

Dean took a quick breath and hurried back to the desk, scrawling out clauses mentioning himself, and changing it so everything went to Sam. He re-read both Wills at the same time, holding one in each hand, mouthing the words as his eyes skipped from one page to the other. He reached the end, then frowned. “Crap.”

“What’s wrong?”

Dean turned around, gnawing his inner lip. “We have separate grave sites. I mean, they’re one along from each other, but―”

“Change it,” Castiel nodded. “Tell them to bury us together.”

Dean grinned and started crying at the same time, crumpling a hand over his mouth. He raked a sob of breath into his lungs as he bent down, clawing his pen over the blank space at the bottom of Castiel’s Will, then repeated the same phrase on his own paper. He read aloud as he wrote, “Bury us in the same hole. Sam can have Dean’s old grave. Screw everyone who didn’t think to sort this out earlier.”

Castiel made a disparaging noise. “Is that level of rudeness really necessary, Dean?”

“Yes,” Dean said, poking the pen nib to the end of his signature. He turned around and went back to Castiel, holding out the papers to him. “Sign this.”

Castiel put his glasses back on and read the papers carefully, lips pressed in a line. He finished, nodded, and rested the page on the nightstand so he could sign it. Dean took the paper, checked it, then returned to the desk and placed both carefully in a newly-cleared space in the middle, held down by the hippo-shaped paperweight they’d bought on their honeymoon.

Dean sighed as he sat beside Castiel again. “You feeling okay?”

“Organ failure, I think,” Castiel said sadly. “Something’s bleeding.”

Dean shut his eyes and gulped. His lips trembled at the corners.

Castiel eased him, fingers curled around his wrist. “Help me into bed.”

“You’re okay dressed like that?”

Castiel nodded. “They won’t do a post-mortem. So as long as this sweater is still intact, I wouldn’t mind being buried like this.”

Dean rolled his eyes, trying to smile - and succeeding a little bit. “Well, if you’re going out dressed like an offence to the human eye, then so am I.” With that, he took up the folded sweater, unfolded it, then pulled it over his head. No matter how many reindeers were on his sweaters, he never seemed to have as many as Castiel did. Actually, now he thought about it, that was probably Castiel’s way of showing mercy.

“You look beautiful,” Castiel said, with a smile that always reminded Dean of firsts. First meetings, first kisses, first nights spent together. His eyes were still as young as they were the day they met; the wrinkles were nothing but lies. They were young inside - or timeless, as was a term that Castiel often used to refer to his gaudy sweaters, wallpaper, and rugs.

“Thanks,” Dean said. “You too.” Unlike the wrinkles on their old faces, that wasn’t a lie.

They held hands, and Dean pulled Castiel to his feet. “Do you need the bathroom?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“You’re not gonna need to go right before you cross over, are you?”

Castiel sighed despairingly. “Dean, just help me into bed.”

Dean smirked, first taking the time to wrap his arms around his husband and bring him into a close embrace. Castiel gave a sigh, hands sliding to bracket the sides of Dean’s neck. Dean felt a kiss on his cheek, then a soft breath.

“I love you very much, Dean,” Castiel said, then his voice broke apart. “So dearly. I can’t remember what it was like not to love you.”

“You barely remember anything that was more than a week ago, so that’s not saying much,” Dean laughed. But he was crying, grinning into Castiel’s warm shoulder, tears soaked up by the red wool. “I love you too, baby. I love you too. I love you too.” His voice got breathy, and he had to stop his mantra to sniffle.

Castiel stroked Dean’s hair, rocking from side to side in his arms as they stood in place. “They’ll miss us, you know,” he whispered to Dean. “They’ll cry when we’re gone.”

“But they won’t forget us.” Dean kissed Castiel’s neck. “They’ve got so many things to remember us by. Nice things.”

Castiel chuckled. “I actually expected you to brush that off, I didn’t realise you’d accept it.”

“What, brush off the fact that they love us?” Dean grinned as he lifted his head off Castiel’s shoulder, wiping his tears with a hand, “Damn, Cas, I’m not completely immune to feelings.”

Castiel watched him softly, bloodless hands still cupped around Dean’s neck. “No,” he said, watching another tear slide from Dean’s eye. “No, I don’t believe you are.”

He leaned forward and kissed Dean. It was a chaste, ultimately loving kiss. It didn’t feel like goodbye, though, not to Dean.

“Bed,” Castiel reminded him.

Dean nodded, pulling out of Cas’ hug to bend down and tuck back the bedcovers. But he had barely touched them before Castiel made a sound of complaint. “No, don’t. I’ll get too hot.”

“Your hands are fucking icy, Cas. You need blankets.”

“You’re warm enough,” Castiel said with a tone of finality. Then he grunted in discomfort, and Dean grabbed him around the waist quickly, holding Castiel as his body writhed, curling up small.

“Okay - Cas, you’re collapsing. Let’s get you lying down, yeah? Hold on, I’ll pick you up.”

“N- No, Dean, you’re not strong enough―”

He gasped loudly as Dean plucked him off the floor, arm behind his knees, Castiel’s head in the crook of his elbow. Dean knelt on the bed and lay Castiel down on the side he always slept on, the side furthest from the door and closest to the nightstand, where Dean was now.

Castiel sighed and relaxed over the maroon bedspread, his limbs straight except for one arm, which rose to stay in contact with Dean. Dean took his glasses off for him and put them down, still grasping his hand, but had to let go so he could walk around the bed and clamber up onto the other side.

He lay down next to Castiel, his heart heavy, his body weakening in sympathy as he watched Castiel blink, his blue eyes growing older and older as Dean held his gaze. His eight-nine years were catching up with him all at once.

“Don’t go,” Dean whispered. “Not so soon.”

“Talk to me,” Castiel said, his voice wispy and dry. “Tell me the best parts. Your favourite moments.”

Dean smiled and wriggled closer, wrapping his right arm over Castiel’s hip. “Highlight reel? All right. Hmm. Sex on the beach in Malta.”

Castiel chuckled, his eyes brightening a little bit. “Yes, that was definitely worth the three weeks of sand in uncomfortable places afterwards.”

“Now you,” Dean said. “Something you loved the best.”

“The day Amy was born,” Castiel said without a thought. “I never... I never thought we’d even have a great-granddaughter. And then I saw you holding her...” Castiel’s face had become radiant, the tears in his eyes ones of pure joy. “No photograph could ever capture everything I saw in you, at that moment. Oh...” He grasped Dean’s hand tightly, pressing it against his lips. He kissed him twice, three times, then knotted their hands together under his chin.

Dean slipped one of his hands free so he could run his fingertips through Castiel’s white hair. “Your bees.”

Castiel squinted. “What moment with them?”

“No moment. Just... all of them. The bees, and the way you feel about your bees. The way you start buzzing like one of them, whenever you get to talking about them. Your - passion. That’s the word. Passion.”

Castiel snuffled over their joined hands, briefly losing his focus as something in him slipped away. Dean shifted closer still, hoping and praying it wasn’t time yet.

“Not yet,” he pleaded. “Not yet, Cas.”

“I’m fine,” Castiel wheezed, face contorted in pain. “Don’t stop talking.”

“Um. Uh, the - the... The day you crashed your car.”

“I almost died that day, Dean,” Castiel said, starting to tremble.

“Yeah,” Dean gulped, stroking Castiel’s hair over and over, “but you didn’t. I promise you, nothing beats walking into a hospital room expecting the worst and instead finding a grumpy old man complaining about Jell-o.”

Castiel laughed, but the laugh instantly dissolved into a cough. Dean’s heart was pounding in fearful anticipation. He cuddled Castiel with both arms, breathing against his forehead.

Dean felt a tear slip from his eye. “The day of our wedding,” he smiled, kissing Castiel’s eyebrow. “You remember?”

“Yes,” Castiel whispered.

“You remember the twins in their mismatched bridesmaid’s dresses?”

“Yes.”

“And the gross homemade cake?”

Castiel smiled. “Yes.”

Dean rubbed his nose along Castiel’s. “You remember saying ‘I do’?”

Castiel nodded. “I do.”

Dean grinned, tears running into the bedspread under his cheek. “Was that the best day of your life?”

Castiel hummed a negative. “The days after were better,” he said, in a voice as frail as tissue paper. “Every day.”

Dean kissed him on the lips, sniffing back another flood of tears. He broke away, trying to meet Castiel’s eyes. He didn’t return the gaze right, his eyes seemed ghostly.

“Hold on for me, Cas,” Dean whispered. “Just a few more minutes.”

A tear ran from Castiel’s eye, dipping beside his nose. “I’m in so much pain, Dean.”

Dean grinned through his emotion, still proud of his soldier for bearing with it so well. His next words were cut short when Castiel gasped sharply and breathed, “It’s - it’s happening... Dean, this is it―”

“Got any last words?” Dean said, panicked, in a last attempt at humour before the end.

Castiel did laugh, but it was no more than a crackle.

And his words came out on a sigh: “Do you believe in Heaven, Dean?”

Dean sobbed into his neck, nodding. “Yes. Yes, I do, Cas, I believe in Heaven.”

“Then... I’ll meet you there.”

Dean felt a warm breath on his hair, a soft rush... and it ended. It went quiet.

“...Cas?”

There was no reply, not a whisper.

Dean held his breath, listening through his own pounding heartbeat, fingers to Castiel’s neck. Castiel had no pulse.

Dean heard only the sound of his own sobs, hollow against a now-soulless body. He let out a fast breath, a pool of tears falling from the well beneath his eye as he turned his head. He sniffed hugely, battling overwhelming weariness, bone-heavy, heartbroken.

He tried to quell it, to dampen his own pain. It didn’t have to last.

He sat up and wiped his eyes, hands over his face. He shook his head, then got up quickly. He stumbled but righted himself, then walked around the bed on legs that wobbled. He ignored his tremors, it would all be over soon.

He went to the nightstand, tugged out the drawer on its badly-oiled runners. He tried not to look at Cas lying on the bed, his hand outstretched to the centre of it, where Dean had pulled away. Cas was just a body now. He was dead.

In his shaking hand, Dean pulled out the bottle of pills that had rolled to the back of the drawer, over notebooks and pens and scraps of papers accumulated over decades. He held the bottle in both hands, reading the label. Zolpidem. Sleeping pills.

His eyes betrayed him, sinking to look at Castiel’s body. His knitted sweater was twisted, his slacks an inch too short, showing off his socks covered in reindeer. Dean suffered a moment of disconnection, not recognising anything around him. Castiel wasn’t real any more, so nothing was real. Dean himself was not real.

Oh, but everything was real. Everything hurt.

It didn’t have to hurt.

Dean gripped the bottle hard, twisting the cap off. He didn’t care what the recommended dose was, he was taking all of them. Cas was asleep, and Dean wanted to sleep too.

He ate one, but didn’t like the dry texture as it rasped down his throat. He put down the bottle and went to the sink in the corner of the room. Old houses had sinks in the bedrooms, Castiel had explained once. Castiel was dead now. Dean filled up the glass that he and Cas usually used when they were thirsty in the night. He carried it back to the nightstand and picked up the bottle again.

There were about twenty tablets inside.

He went around the bed, then sat down beside Castiel’s pillow. Castiel’s eyes were closed; he really did look like he was just sleeping.

Dean put a tablet in his mouth, took a sip of water, and swallowed.

Then he did it again.

And again.

He ran out of water before he ran out of tablets, but he supposed it didn’t matter; ten tablets would be enough. He was old, and he was tired, and he’d drunk plenty of wine tonight. It wouldn’t be long before sleep came.

He sat with his hands on his full belly, thinking.

He thought for quite a while. It wasn’t anywhere near midnight yet, but he didn’t expect to be awake when midnight came.

He didn’t really think about anything in particular. He experienced some thoughts, but they were not very clear.

He did think of Sam, though.

Sam.

Sam Winchester. Dean’s little brother.

Dean got up off the bed and went to the desk. He pulled out the chair, sat down, picked up a pen, and pulled the first piece of paper he found towards him.

Thank you for everything, Sammy. Look after the kids. Don’t be sad, or I swear I’ll haunt you. I wanted it to be like this. Me and Cas both had an awesome Christmas. You can have my serving of the leftover turkey! We love you all. - Dean (& Cas).

He left the paper and pen where they were. His handwriting wasn’t very legible, but his vision wasn’t very good either. Things were dark at the edges, murky and swirly.

Dean walked to the bed and lay down next to his husband. He held Castiel’s hand, and he smiled. Cas was holding his hand, he was complaining that Dean’s hands were too hot. Go to sleep, Dean, you’re keeping me awake.

Dean kissed Castiel’s fingers. He had no pulse, but soon Dean wouldn’t either.

Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel and lay with their foreheads together. Castiel was getting cold without a blanket on.

Dean sighed slowly, blinking his eyes closed until he shut out the light. When all his breath was gone, he took another breath, and whispered, “Hey Juuude... Don’t make it bad... Take a sad... song... and make it... better...”

It was what the whole congregation sang at Dean and Castiel’s wedding - they’d all joined in, smiling and singing and swaying their champagne glasses. It was their song. It was Dean’s song.

Dean took another breath, more difficult than the last. “Re... mem-ber... to let him in... to your heart...”

This breath was the hardest. It was tight in his throat, dense in his lungs. It smelled like roasting chestnuts, and Castiel’s skin. “Then, you can... start... to... make it... be-... tter...”

He took another breath, but it didn’t go all the way in before it escaped again. He opened his eyes. The last thing he saw was Castiel sleeping beside him.

Sam held tight to the papers, nodding as Charlie listed the things that needed to be done today. Funeral parlour, something else, something else. Sam understood what she was saying but was reading the paper instead.

Dean and Castiel’s Last Wills and Testaments.

And a note from Dean. A suicide note, more or less.

Sam read the note fifteen times over, then sighed. He looked up, eyes lingering on the two elderly men who were curled around each other on the bed. Sam’s brother Dean, and Dean’s husband, Cas. They’d only been married for two years.

Still, Sam thought, as he put the very precious papers into the pocket over his heart, they had been a good two years. And a good twenty-nine years, if he were to include the time they had been together but unmarried. The day same-sex marriage had become legal, Dean and Charlie divorced so they could each marry their sweethearts. It seemed terribly unfortunate to Sam that they’d had to wait for so long.

If Sam were to count all of the time Dean and Castiel had known each other, then the total was sixty-six years. That was three quarters of both their lives. For all that time, they’d had to battle the world’s established society to be together. It wasn’t right, Sam knew it wasn’t right. So many people in the world didn’t recognise love when they saw it.

Sam considered again the men lying dead in each other’s arms. It should hurt, seeing them like that, but somehow it didn’t. Dean told Sam not to be sad, so he wasn’t. Of all the ways Dean and Castiel could have died, as would happen eventually, this had to be the best way. The easiest, the softest.

This was a happy ending.

Sam smiled, and took hold of Charlie’s unsteady hand. She squeezed his grip.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “They’re just sleeping. They’ve had tiring lives.”

“Well, I’d be worried if they ever woke up,” Charlie said, with a lighthearted lilt in her crackled voice.

“Don’t start on about the zombie apocalypse now,” Sam complained, leading her back to the bedroom door. “While Dean would approve of your bedside manner, I don’t really think this is the time.”

Charlie wore an old and wobbly smile, pausing at the door to look back at two of her best friends. “Don’t talk to me about time,” she grumbled, narrowing her wrinkled eyes at Sam. “Dean and Cas had all the time in the world, and yet―”

“The time they had together was precious,” Sam interrupted, taking the door from her grip and shooing her out into the hallway. “They used it wisely.”

“Hmph,” Charlie said. Sam smiled again, watching the old woman hobble away, using her walking stick to stay balanced.

Sam glanced at the bedroom door before he closed it, before returning a step inside, looking in.

They were still there, asleep. They’d sleep forever.

Mind empty of upset, Sam took a step back and closed the door. He stood there for a long moment with his hand still on the handle. Then he touched his other hand to his breast pocket, which crinkled with the paper inside. Their last wishes had been for him, and their whole family. That meant a lot to Sam.

Slowly, he began to smile. Towards the quiet room, he imparted a last thought: “Sweet dreams.”

And then he followed Charlie down the hall, ready for whatever came next.

December 25th 2013
It was all worth it, Dean. Every single moment was worth it.