Chapter Text
It always starts with a shift in the weather. The timid creeping chilliness of winter trickling down upon them with the fast fading sunlight in the afternoon. The feeling enters the air, impossible to ignore.
Christmastime is here.
Dean historically has a very love-hate relationship with Christmas. And the adjacent festive season. Ever since childhood, he has looked in shop windows, stuffed full with bright red and green bells, glitter hanging off tinsel, the unmistakable figure of Santa Claus and his big white beard. He has watched countless cheap shitty Christmas flicks on the free-to-air TV, each time laughing or rolling his eyes as young boys do. All in order to brush past the aching wanting in his chest.
Dean has never had a Christmas like the ones he’s seen on TV. He tried very hard as a young man, coasting around wealthy neighbourhoods on his bike collecting as many free candy canes as he could get away with. Bringing them back to whatever sad, wet motel they were holed up in for the month. Pouring as much Christmastime joy into Sam as he could, make-believing Santa’s reindeers by knocking on walls and saying “What was that?!” to make his little brother laugh and gasp.
Those dreary childhood christmases were the best he’s ever come. But at least he had a Christmas.
Cas, being an angel and all, never did. And that fact simply blew Dean’s mind, head coming clean off his shoulders.
“What do you mean that you’ve never celebrated Christmas?!” The outrage in Dean’s voice stirred Sam’s attention from his post on their lounge. The bunker was warmly lit, slowly settling into the coziness necessary for the winter season.
“Dean.” Cas was exasperated. “Angels do celebrate Christmas. It’s just nothing like human Christmas, so in your terms, no I have never celebrated.” The Angel had his arms crossed, the trench coat bunching awkwardly at his sides.
The sight of Cas in his dorky little get up makes Dean feel wobbly inside. “You’re missing out man. We’re gonna have to do Christmas bigger than ever, this year, to make up for it.”
Sam interrupted him. “We’ve never done Christmas big, Dean.”
“Oh, screw you! I tried my best.” He knows Sam doesn’t mean it like that, but it doesn’t help the upset broiling in his chest. “It’s our first year post Chuck anyway. We deserve a proper Christmas.”
Cas’ eyes softened. Sam groaned.
“Fine. But it’s your rodeo, Dean.”
-
What kind of bunker doesn’t have Christmas decorations stored somewhere? Apparently this one. Dean was up to knee height in the midst of boxes and random heapings of metal things that clang together with every twitch.
He’d been searching for coming on three hours for anything remotely festive. What better way to get Sam and Cas in a christmassy mood than to set the scene?
It was vital that he find decorations to string up around the bunker. Which was why, after a particularly nasty accident involving stepping onto a wet box that collapsed under his weight, Dean gave up and hopped in the impala. Dollar tree could do the job just as well.
Being late November and all, the second he walked inside the shops, the bright boldness of Christmas assaulted all of Dean’s senses. The corny tunes of some popstar’s newest Christmas album filled his ears as he grabbed a basket- no, a trolley.
Green and red are the classic Christmas colours, so those were the baubles and tinsel he chose. Warm Christmas lights, reminiscent of the ones that Mary would string up when he was very little, remaining only in bleary memories that he’s not sure are real. He thinks that he can remember tasting fruitcake and honeyed roasts, made with love straight from his mother’s kitchen. The good old days.
Dean makes a point to jot down a little list of Christmas-classic meals. He grabs a gingerbread kit. Might as well go all out.
Assuming that the bunker wouldn’t have a tree either, Dean spent a second assessing the options. A small sense of loneliness washes over him, standing alone in the middle aisle, trying to pick a Christmas tree. This was the kind of thing that couples might do, the first Christmas after moving in together. He can imagine leaning back casually as the woman of his dreams hummed over the selection. He can imagine Cas with him, intimidated and petulant, never sure where to start.
The thought of Cas being here with him wasn’t a new one, but it was electrifying as if it were the first time. Dean would never tell him, but he was so thankful that they’d managed to get him back. Christmas wouldn’t be the same without him. Dean wouldn’t be the same without him.
Losing Cas, out of everything Dean’s gone through in his stupid, shitty life, had been by far the worst thing that has ever happened to him. Nothing like bitter irony, realising that you’re in love with somebody who’s already gone.
And then they got him back, and things went back like nothing happened and like Dean wasn’t thrown head first into the never ending black hole of being in love with your best friend. Being forced to act like nothing had changed, at the very least, wasn’t the hardest part of this equation. He has been faking things his whole life.
Their transition into some sort of rhythm- life, Dean supposes, was janky and awkward even without the additional strain of Dean’s feelings. He knows that Sam is feeling disjointed. He’s seen Sam pull up Eileen’s phone number and stare at it before switching his phone off and shaking his head.
They don’t even know how to make real life work by themselves. And then there’s Cas, relearning living in a way they’ve never had the freedom to do before.
God. Cas. Dean rubs his hand over his face, pulling his trolley backwards to let a mother and two kids bumble past.
Dean can never quite determine what he wants to do about the Cas thing. Sometimes he thinks he knows, in scary sure-fire certainty. In small moments bathed in dimly lit light, when something he says stirs a surprised burst of laughter out of the other man. The tugging in his gut when they part ways, slipping into their respective rooms, a voice telling him that ‘wait, wait, you can’t go to bed, you haven’t said it yet.’
However, the guilt he feels when he looks back at Cas, hesitating just before he enters his room, always quashes any thoughts of that. Plus, Cas never looks back at him. That says enough, doesn’t it?
If Charlie were still alive, he knows just what she’d say. And he knows just how he’d react to it, sputtering and shrugging it off, rejecting it because there is no way the angel wants him back. Even Dean’s not delusional enough to believe that.
The squeals of a child dashing between aisles snaps Dean out of his contemplation, and he remembers where he is. Picking a tree- or procrastinating picking a tree. He should probably do that.
In the end, Dean picks one with false snow flaked on the ends. It will probably make Cas smile a little, and hey, maybe he can rope Sam into decorating and lighting the tree with them.
Maybe that will make him feel a little less weird about the whole thing.
A chemist caught Dean’s eye whilst paying at the register. Big, bold advertisements of Christmas candles, diffusers, scents. Practically anything that you’d need to make the house really stink of the season.
Ducking in just before he left, Dean assessed the display table of products. Peppermint hand cream. Cranberry scented yankee candles. Stocking stuffers, really.
Dean dawdled down the aisles, searching for something that might make Cas laugh or Sam sigh, when he saw it.
Peppermint flavoured lube and condoms. Dean snorted out a laugh. Topped off with cartoon Santa plastered over the box and the bottle.
If he slipped a bottle of the stuff into his basket, nobody particularly needed to know. There’s no rules against experiencing a little festive joy privately, is there? If Dean tells himself that it’s just for him, then it is, right?
Besides, it’s not like he’d ever get an opportunity where peppermint flavoured lube would be needed with Cas. He can have a little holly-jolly fun alone, is all.
-
“Dean. Can I ask you something?” Sam said, looking a little worried. His forehead was wrinkled above his furrowed brow.
This question never ended in anything good, but Dean nodded anyway, a little apprehensive.
“Shoot.”
“I called Eileen last night. Asked if she’d be in the area for Christmas, since you said you were going full pelt.” Sam rushes out, his cheeks red. A very sudden understanding washed over Dean.
“Oh my god, you’re finally making a move. Time to be a man, huh, Sammy?” Dean delights in the scowl that twists Sam’s face.
“Shut up. I asked her if she wanted to come and stay in the bunker.” He pauses, eyeing Dean a little uncertainly. “Is that alright, man?”
“More than, you know Eileen’s my favourite.” The big grin came easy, and Dean didn’t miss the droop of Sam’s shoulders, relieved.
“Besides, I’ll be busy enough with Cas. Doing all sorts of Christmassy stuff, y’know?” The look Sam gives him turns his insides into jelly. Why would he say that?
“I wasn’t worried about leaving you out, man.” Sam’s eyes are sharp and perceptive. “You know you could always invite someone anyway, right?”
All of a sudden Dean’s face feels very hot, and his hands twitch a little, hanging at his sides. “Yeah, obviously. Just haven’t met a girl who lasts longer than a night.” The wink he gives is disingenuous, and while Sam huffs and turns away, Dean feels a little bereft. It’s a stupid lie anyway, he’s not slept with anybody for a while and there’s no reason why he should have to pretend he is.
It’s not like anything is stopping Dean from telling Sam how he’s feeling. He’s pretty sure Sam already knows anyway, having witnessed Dean’s state of dishevel after Cas got sucked into the Empty. Sam probably’s just baiting him, Dean knows that.
It’s a different thing, however, to openly acknowledge the truth of Sam’s assumption about him. Dean just doesn’t want to, the truth and unpredictability of it just a little too risky for his liking. And hey, there’s nothing wrong with keeping some things private.
Sam is turned back to the table, eyes glued to his phone as he types out a message (presumably for Eileen) when Dean pipes up again.
“You know what this does mean though?” He waits a tick for Sam to acknowledge him.
“You have to help me set up the decorations.”
-
The look Cas gives him when he holds up the angel topper he’d impulsively bought at the store is withering. Its body is golden, halo feathery and white, and its wings are made out of very cheap fabric.
“It’s so stupid, isn’t it?” Dean says with glee. Sam is in the corner, struggling to unfold the limbs of the tree and connect the three sections together. Cas is sat crosslegged, surrounded by tinsel and glitter.
“I don’t think angels are stupid. I thought you topped a tree with the star.” Cas points out, and Dean shrugs.
“Thought this was more appropriate, seeing as, you know.” Dean gestures towards Cas, and he looks down at himself.
“Because I’m an angel?” Dean chucks the topper towards Cas, who squeaks a little when it smacks him in the chest.
“Exactly. Now, where’d the lights go? Sam, you done yet?” He calls out, only to be met with a groan.
It’s nice to be surrounded by the dregs of family he has left. It feels kind of like what Dean assumes Christmas with his parents would’ve felt like, setting up the bunker for the season. He’s sat across from Cas on the floor, and it’s so easy.
Almost too easy.
The shift is almost imperceptible, but it’s there. Dean doesn’t miss how Cas grows quieter and quieter as the night progresses, nor the uncomfortable frown on his face when Dean brought out the boxed nativity scene he’d bought. Sam doesn’t seem to notice, shoving the characters underneath the tree on the little platform it came with. It’s impossible for Dean not to notice, seeing as he’s spending every other minute sneaking looks at the other man. He’s so bad at this.
Usually Dean would’ve said something already, but the look in Cas’ eyes, just a little bit too red raw to be laughable, stopped him.
“Well. I’m off to bed. Goodnight, you guys.” Sam said, just after hanging the last bauble.
“Yeah right. More like off to call Eileen, huh?” Dean smirked at him, revelling in the responding scoff travelling back up the hallway from which Sam went.
“Goodnight, Sam. I think I’ll head off as well.” Cas made to get up, but before he could think about it, Dean’s arm shot out and grabbed hold of Cas’ ankle. The contact making Dean a little queasy.
Shit. The look Cas gave him was irritated, and questioning.
“Wait. Just wait.” The taut pull of Cas’ leg away from Dean’s hand relaxed, and Cas (begrudgingly) settled back down on the floor.
“What, Dean?” He sighed.
“Is everything alright, man? You don’t seem very happy.” Was the most Dean could come up with under the relentless gaze of blue eyes piercing his skull. Something about Cas in this light makes Dean feel different. Makes him feel quivery inside, like a livewire. Seconds away from being set off, from doing something stupid.
Makes him wish that Cas would lunge, be the keen-eyed predator, so that Dean, the prey in this twisted analogy, wouldn’t have to make a move, conclusion already drafted up.
It occurs to him, distantly, that he should be disturbed by that whole line of thought, with its several, very obvious issues. He isn’t.
“I miss heaven.” Cas said, and Dean’s mouth went a little dry, having been distracted by his own thoughts. He’s never expressed anything like this before. “No I don’t. I- ugh.” The droop of Cas’ head twisted something uncomfortable in Dean’s chest.
“Hey, look, it’s okay. You can talk to me, man.” Dean wants to reach out and touch him, to place a comforting hand on Cas’ knee. The urge is so strong that he’s afraid it’s showing, raw and split open, on his face.
Cas is hurting right now, and Dean can’t even spare one honest second to comfort his friend. He doesn’t deserve Cas, at all, not with feelings of desire and guilt writhing underneath his skin. He’s fucked in the head, Dean is, and there’s no way he’ll ever fix it enough to be worthy of wanting Cas.
“Christmas is supposed to be a sentimental time, is it not?” Cas asks suddenly, snapping Dean out of his thoughts.
“Um, yeah, I suppose?”
“I can’t stop thinking about the old me, Dean. The me who would watch over you silly, little humans doing your holiday traditions, with all of my closest family around me. There are so many of those angels who I will never see again.” Cas closes his eyes for a beat, exhaling loudly. The other man is multicoloured in the warm sparkling Christmas lights, rough around the edges but impossibly beautiful.
Dean would do anything to make Cas feel better. Happy. It’s a truth that scares him, the more he lingers on it.
“I don’t know how to enjoy this without thinking about that. And Jack.” He tacked on at the end. The reminder of Jack, up in Heaven rebuilding paradise, struck a cord in Dean.
“I think I understand, Cas.” The Angel looked back up at him. “Christmas makes me miss things, too. But it’s kind of a good hurt, y’know?” Cas clearly doesn’t know, so Dean continues.
“Like, I remember Christmas with my parents, when I was little. And I remember spending the holidays with Bobby, when he was alive. Yeah, I wish they were here, but at the same time..” Dean’s words dry up in his mouth, lodging themselves in between his teeth.
“It feels like they’re here anyway. You remember them.” Cas finishes for him, eyes so soft and so kind. And he is so perfect, he knows Dean, inside out. It’s the most intimate bond he’s ever had. It’s also, somehow, the most fragile.
“Yeah.” Dean swallows roughly. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Cas’ lips curve upwards, the heavy look in his eyes lessened somehow. Not like Dean was any help, what with his own choking over his words and odd, self centred advice. He’s a mess.
“I’m happy, too.”