[FIC] HEART SONG FOR SLINKYMILINKY
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: Heart Song
Author: heavenlyxbodies
Recipient: slinkymilinky
Rating: PG
Warnings: fluff
Spoilers: vague/general S5
Wordcount: 3600
Summary: It’s Christmas, Sam wants it to be perfect, Bobby wants to survive it, and Dean, well, Dean’s enjoying it, even if it’s missing the one thing he truly wants.
Author notes: This holds a blatant disregard for the big End Game of S5 (though Luci was defeated) and therefore S6, what?, who?, never heard of it, lol.
Why Sammy took it upon himself to cook, I don’t know, but he did, and he wouldn’t let go of the reins, no matter how hard I wrestled him for them (which would’ve been more fun with a second bottle of cooking oil and less clothing :p~ still, I don’t think Bobby’s kitchen will ever be the same).
Lastly, I know fluffy and schmoopy weren’t specific to your likes, but I started out to write one fic and this is what it morphed into, so I hope you can get some small pleasure out of it. Regardless, this is why I also did Cries in Silence; I think it will suit your fancies better. :)
~~~~~~~~~
The lightening crashed outside, one of those strikes that lights up the world for a split second and leaves stars behind your eyes. It would have been remarkable if Dean hadn’t been trying to keep the Impala on the road. She might have enough girth to stand up to just about anything, being one step down from a tank, but winds this strong still managed to beat her around and cause her to toss and sway. But Dean knew how to handle his baby when she got put up for this kind of beating.
Dean knew that if the torrential winds died down the rain would turn to snow, the thick stuff, too, and he really wanted to make it at least another 150 miles before giving in and finding a nice garish motel for the night, so he hoped the snow would hold off. If he could get that much road beneath his wheels he’d only be a day’s drive out from Bobby’s and that was a comforting thought.
~o~
It was dark, the stars a spattering of pinpricks over the midnight sky. As the shadows played hesitantly, dark on darkness- a hint of movement and shape, two bodies stood too close for comfort, lost in each other… waiting for one to cross the boundary they had silently agreed upon. …the boundary was broken and lips that had longed to meet pressed together in a hungry union, ecstasy washing over them…
Dean awoke breathless, sitting straight up and gasping for air, Castiel’s name hanging on his lips just as the angel himself had been moments before. Disoriented, he looked around the grimy room, its muted walls covered in something that was once a rich brown and cream floral pattern, but now more closely resembled something you’d find on the bathroom floor after a kegger, and recognized it as the ‘Mom and Pop’ trucker haven he’d crashed at the night before. He felt under the pillow for his gun, taking comfort in its familiar surfaces. Dean rubbed his face in his hands; it had only been a dream, but it had been unnerving- Cas was gone, back in Heaven being all angelic and he was certainly not in the Winchesters’ lives any longer, something Dean regretted more than he cared to admit. Pushing the thought of Cas’ lips on his to the back of his mind, into that small box especially marked for the angel, Dean got out of bed and headed for the shower, might as well get a start on his day.
The sun had just begun to rise when Dean tossed his duffle into the trunk of the Impala, the sky was alight with purples and oranges chasing each other against the encroaching soft blue hues of morning and for once Dean let himself admire the sight. After a few minutes, when it was obvious that the blues of proper daylight were going to win out, Dean climbed into the front seat and started his baby. With this early start he should make it to Bobby’s in time for dinner.
He pulled into Bobby’s old wrecking yard just as the snow began to fall in earnest, hard enough for him to be covered in a light coat of white by the time he actually got to the front door.
“Hey, Bobby,” Dean greeted as the older man hugged him.
“Wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. How many speed records did you break gettin’ here?”
“No more than normal,” he assured, chuckling.
“Idjit,” Bobby called back as he made his way to the kitchen, leaving Dean in the doorway.
Dean smiled as he followed the older hunter into the kitchen and looked around. “Where’s Sammy?”
“Grocery run. God only knows what he’s bringing back. I just hope it’s edible and not that stuff you boys live off of,” he groused.
“I doubt Sammy’s gonna let you starve.”
Bobby huffed a soft chuckle.
Just then the door opened and four large paper bags walked in.
“That’s a good look for you, Sammy, really brings out your eyes.”
The bags landed on Bobby’s kitchen table, exposing Sam with a patented ‘bitch please’ face; his eyes twinkling too brightly for his glare to be anything but playful.
Dean walked over to the table and began examining the contents of the bags, “What is this stuff?”
“We said we’d have a proper Christmas, like we used to, so we’re doing Christmas. Turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce- yes, Dean, I got you the canned stuff, heathen.”
Dean laughed a deep warm laugh- it felt good to laugh like that and he enjoyed every minute of it. It felt good to be here. It would feel even better if… Dean mentally shook himself that wasn’t going to happen- Cas was happy and busy in Heaven- so it really didn’t matter. As much as he’d fight it and refuse to admit it to anyone, he loved Christmas at Bobby’s, it was warm and loving and all those things other people found in family and this year no one was dying and the world wasn’t ending, and for the first time in his adult life he was going to celebrate Christmas there. “Hey, heathen who helped save the world, I think that earns me my cranberry sauce.”
Bobby peered into one of the bags, pulling out a bag of flour and cornmeal, “Christ, boy, it’s not like I don’t have staples here.”
“No offense, Bobby, but when was the last time you actually used any of this stuff?”
The old hunter grumbled and pulled more baking supplies out of the bag.
~o~
It was just getting dark, fluffy white snowflakes fell slowly in no rush to reach the cold ground where they would meet their friends and gather into drifts of white against the sides of the house and cars. Dean leaned against the railing and watched the snowfall; half hoping Cas would show up, half afraid he would, but knowing in his heart he wouldn’t. Dean was a mess and he knew it, but he always had been and always would be screwed up in some way, it was just his Winchester genes. Not long after Cas had left, returning to fill some almighty purpose in Heaven, Dean had begun to realize what it seemed his brother and Bobby had known for months- he had fallen for the angel. It was little things at first, like not being able to call Cas when things threatened to overwhelm him just to hear his gruff voice tell him that he ‘had to find God’ or that he couldn’t come because his ‘search for God was more important’- declarations that were usually followed by a huff and the angel’s appearance. It was not hearing the soft flutter of wings as he popped into being in a crowded diner or right next to him in a motel ignoring their multiple conversations about personal space. It was watching the snow cascade around him and wanting more than anything to show Cas how beautiful it was, and he didn’t care how chick-flick it sounded, he was only admitting it in his head.
Dean stayed outside until the cold night air began to chill his bones, just watching, remembering. Dean made his way inside to the living room where Bobby had the fire roaring and warm. The old hunter and the younger Winchester were basking in the heat, quietly drinking their beers looking at peace, something far too rare in their line of work. Smiling Dean sat himself down on the sofa next to his baby brother. This, this was good.
~o~
When Dean awoke the next morning he found Sam in the kitchen covered in… food, anything more specific would require closer examination and Dean wasn’t even sure the coffee was worth getting that close- he might get caught in the crossfire of whatever had attacked his brother. “Dude, you look like you just went three rounds with a seasick zombie, either that or the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
Sam shot his brother a withering look. “You try doing this!” he snapped.
“Oh, no, Ainsley, I eat, I don’t cook,” Dean quipped, easing past Sam and towards the coffee machine.
Taking a swig of the almost too hot liquid, Dean winced. “What are you workin’ on anyway?”
“Dressing.”
“Isn’t that why God invented Stove Top?” he asked, pushing down another mouthful of coffee.
Sam glared. “If we’re actually trying to have Christmas, we’re having Christmas. God only knows when you’ll agree to it again,” he muttered under his breath; either Dean didn’t hear him, or more likely chose to ignore him.
“Even if that means losing a fight with…” Dean waved his hand to encompassed Sam and all his food spattered glory, “…everything?” he finally settled on.
Sam didn’t speak, but thrust a batter caked ‘something’ in Dean’s direction causing the elder Winchester to make a hasty retreat, managing to make his escape before Sam decided to throw whatever it was at his head.
Dean laughed as he entered the living room, seeing Bobby’s familiar figure poking at the fireplace, “Somebody wanna tell me why Sammy’s making like Martha Stewart, it’s not even Christmas yet?”
Bobby stood and stretched his back, “Boy’s bound and determined to do this Christmas ‘right’, apparently that means cooking everything himself and letting him use us as guinea pigs.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, “Doesn’t that kinda defeat the purpose?”
His eyes squinted and his mouth formed a distasteful, ‘what’ with what was Bobby’s patented ‘what are you on about’ furrowed brow, the one that was usually followed by at least one person in the room being called an ‘idjit’; that one person usually being Dean.
“The food, if he kills us with it first, doesn’t it defeat the purpose?” Dean smirked behind his coffee cup.
Bobby chuckled, shaking his head, “You boys.”
There was a loud clanging, crashing noise from the kitchen, accompanied by a mesh of expletives.
Bobby and Dean shared a foreboding look. “How many days is it ‘til Christmas?”
~o~
Somehow they made it through four days of Sam and his practice cooking, though on more than one occasion both Bobby and Dean considered locking themselves in the panic room for the duration, either that or ‘finding’ something nasty that just had to be hunted- NOW! But it was Christmas and if it made Sam happy, Dean would suffer through it. Especially when Sam turned those wide, puppy dog eyes on him, the ones Dean was convinced Sam saved specifically for him, the ones that always got Sammy exactly what he wanted from Dean, whether it was to go check out a certain haunting or to have the last cookie. Let it never be said that Sam didn’t know exactly what his puppy eyes did or how to use them.
Now, it was Christmas Eve and Sam had graciously declared the practice period over, he didn’t want to ‘spoil the moment’ by over doing it. Dean really had tried not to laugh, but he still got an elbow in the ribs from Bobby over it.
Regardless of the snickering or sore ribs involved, the end result was a Heavenly respite of meat covered pizza for him and Bobby and something vegan, okay, vegetarian looking for Sam.
The three men sat in Bobby’s living room, leftover and half eaten pizza haphazardly tossed into the boxes on the table, and beers in hand. A calm silence had settled in the room, lights from the small tree in the corner shimmering brightly as the fireplace added that little extra heat to the room.
“It’s good to have you boys here,” Bobby’s voice rumbled softly like the engine of a classic car in perfect tune.
“It’s good to be here, Bobby,” Sam’s words were plain, but the look of appreciation and love in his eyes said so much more than his words did.
“Yeah, Bobby,” Dean added, kicking his brother’s foot, “even if you are letting the Sasquatch over here try to poison us.” He smiled at the two.
“Oh shut up, you liked the stuffing and the pie!” Sam snapped playfully, tossing a pillow from the couch at Dean.
“Hey, now, no armed combat. ‘tween the tree, the fireplace, and you two bozos there’d be nothing left by the time the fire department got here,” Bobby admonished, an overwhelming fondness flowing from his voice.
Dean glanced at Sam, a ‘this isn’t over’ look clearly on his face, but resisted the urge to fling the pillow back.
Once he was fairly certain the boys wouldn’t burn his house down while he slept, Bobby headed to bed; he had a feeling tomorrow was going to be anything but calm. “Try not to kill each other, alright.”
“You got it, Bobby.”
“’night, Bobby.”
He stopped just as he started up the stairs, “Sam, Dean, Merry Christmas.” He took another couple of steps before a soft, “Idjits,” followed.
Sam and Dean stayed in the living room, watching the play of the flames along the ceiling. “So what do you want for Christmas, Dean?”
“What?” Dean stared at his brother as if he’d grown a second head.
“You heard me, what do you want?” Sam insisted patiently.
“World peace?” the elder Winchester snapped.
“Come on, Dean, just you and me here.”
Dean leaned back, shaking his head, “You know,” he said, voice taking on a serious tone, “this is the only place we ever had a real Christmas. Just you, me, and Bobby. That’s how it’s always been.” Dean bit back an unamused chuckle, “You remember that one year Dad left us here, said he’d be back like he always did? Of course he wasn’t, but Bobby… he’d gotten you that damn book of American hauntings, you spent the next six months trying to get Dad to take us to every one in the lower forty-eight.”
Sam started laughing, “Yeah, I don’t think Dad ever did quite forgive Bobby for that.”
Slugging back his beer, “Shoulda known then you’d always be a research monkey.”
“Hey, you weren’t much better as I recall.”
“Hey, I was just being an awesome big brother and supporting you.”
“Riiight,” Sam nodded slowly.
They laughed quietly for a few minutes, remembering simpler, if not better times.
Sam stood and stretched, “I think I’ll turn in, too.”
“You do that Martha,” Dean teased.
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
As Sam trudged his way upstairs, he called back, “You’re still gonna have to answer me, you know.”
“Not tonight, Sammy.”
Sam shook his head, leaving the discussion until daylight hours.
Dean set his beer down and leaned back against the sofa once again, taking a deep, relaxing breath. He didn’t like talking about wishes and wants on the best of days and he really didn’t want to think about them now he actually had one. He closed his eyes and let his head loll fully on the back of the sofa. He let his mind wander over eyes of the purest lapis and coal black hair and lips that much too rarely curled with the slightest hint of a smile. He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, but when he opened his eyes the flares from the fireplace were not much more than a red hot set of logs and ash.
Dean checked the fireplace screen so that no stray sparks would accomplished what Bobby was convinced he and Sammy would and burn down the house; slipped on his jacket and went outside for some fresh air. He pulled his jacket collar up around him, it was cold, but it was also beautiful and calm, a pristine peace in the night, it was times like this that Dean could see the otherworldly and not have the kneejerk reaction to stop it. The wind picked up sweeping swaths along the fallen snow before disappearing into the night once again.
A rich, “Hello, Dean,” came from behind him causing Dean to reconsider his kneejerk reaction.
“Cas?” he asked, turning, unwilling to believe the angel was standing before him.
“Yes, Dean, that is my name,” he deadpanned, eyes twinkling.
“Am I dreaming?” Dean asked incredulously.
Castiel shook his head and moved further into Dean’s precious personal space.
“Then why are you here?” a slight sneer creeping into his tone; he wasn’t in the mood for any ‘end-of-the-world’ visits right now.
“Í understand it’s customary for humans spend today with those they care most for.”
Dean chuckled half-heartedly. “Yeah; still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” he retorted, though he wished it did.
“Must you make everything in so difficult?” Cas snapped, rather uncharacteristically.
Dean’s head jerked back the way it did whenever Cas surprised him with his vehemence as if those few centimetres would make the difference between being yelled at by the angel and being smote.
Cas sighed and his shoulders slumped as he turned around, away from Dean, “This was not a good idea.”
Without thinking Dean reached out and grabbed Cas’ shoulder, “Cas, man, I’m sorry.”
The angel turned hesitantly and Dean released his shoulder.
“It’s just… wasn’t expecting you to show up… again… ever…” Dean let out a small huff of laughter at how ridiculous he sounded.
Blue eyes sparkled and the angel’s lips curled softly in one of those small almost smiles that made Dean’s heart jump.
For long minutes, longer than usual, longer than Dean would have normally been comfortable with their eyes locked in what Dean steadfastly refused to call ‘eye-fucking’ the way Sammy insisted on studying or perhaps refamiliarizing themselves.
Finally, Dean looked away, a smile on his lips. “Come on,” he gestured towards the door with a shrug. “Sam and Bobby are asleep, but there’s beer in the fridge and it’s warm- not that that’s ever bothered you,” Dean added before the angel could make some smart comment about temperature or drinking not being a concern of angels.
Castiel relaxed at Dean’s invitation, gladly following him into the old hunter’s house. He stood by the fireplace letting the warmth cover him. He may not feel heat and cold or any number of other sensations the way humans did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy them; he smirked, it was one of the benefits of almost Falling, he understood more.
“Here,” Dean tapped Cas’ shoulder with a cold beer, surprised when the angel took it from him.
“Thank you,” he said, popping the cap off and taking a deep pull. Grimacing, “I had hoped this would taste better now.” He looked meaningfully at Dean, “It does not.”
Dean laughed outright at the angel, his smile brightening with the sound of his laughter. His laughter died down and his smile faded to a more somber almost melancholy thing. “I missed you,” he admitted softly into his beer.
Somehow the distance between the two men disappeared, leaving Castiel and Dean toe to toe not quite meeting each other’s gaze; their eyes focusing further down their faces.
“Did you?” Castiel breathed too close to Dean’s mouth, the air blowing over the man’s lips in the most sensual of kisses.
Dean gulped, wondering if this would turn into another dream, if he would awaken suddenly, breathlessly, having fallen asleep on Bobby’s old couch. If it was a dream it felt more rooted in reality than any of the others, and there had been so many. Finally, he made himself answer, “Yes.”
The word didn’t seem to make it passed his lips before his angel was swallowing it down as their mouths fit together in an unreal combination of softness and heat, a forcefulness that neither seemed able to control.
“Cas?” Dean managed to pant out when the angel let him up for air.
The angel pressed their foreheads together as they panted harsh warm breathes against each other’s skin. “Always.”
“Why?” he asked hoping the angel would understand, not sure he could find the words in his addled brain.
A hand snaked around the nape of Dean’s neck possessively. “I didn’t know if I would be welcome otherwise.”
Dean barked out a laugh, “So you chose Christmas to show back up?”
“As I said, it is a time humans spend with their loved ones. I had hoped that I was at least still a friend.”
“Cas,” Dean wrapped his arms around his angel, “I don’t think you’ve ever been ‘a friend’, not to me.”
The smile that graced Castiel’s lips was not the thin hint of upturned lips, but a full open smile.
If those small smiles made Dean’s heart jump then this one made his heart sing. As he closed his eyes, moving in for a deep, slow kiss Dean knew he would see more of them.
Title: Heart Song
Author: heavenlyxbodies
Recipient: slinkymilinky
Rating: PG
Warnings: fluff
Spoilers: vague/general S5
Wordcount: 3600
Summary: It’s Christmas, Sam wants it to be perfect, Bobby wants to survive it, and Dean, well, Dean’s enjoying it, even if it’s missing the one thing he truly wants.
Author notes: This holds a blatant disregard for the big End Game of S5 (though Luci was defeated) and therefore S6, what?, who?, never heard of it, lol.
Why Sammy took it upon himself to cook, I don’t know, but he did, and he wouldn’t let go of the reins, no matter how hard I wrestled him for them (which would’ve been more fun with a second bottle of cooking oil and less clothing :p~ still, I don’t think Bobby’s kitchen will ever be the same).
Lastly, I know fluffy and schmoopy weren’t specific to your likes, but I started out to write one fic and this is what it morphed into, so I hope you can get some small pleasure out of it. Regardless, this is why I also did Cries in Silence; I think it will suit your fancies better. :)
~~~~~~~~~
The lightening crashed outside, one of those strikes that lights up the world for a split second and leaves stars behind your eyes. It would have been remarkable if Dean hadn’t been trying to keep the Impala on the road. She might have enough girth to stand up to just about anything, being one step down from a tank, but winds this strong still managed to beat her around and cause her to toss and sway. But Dean knew how to handle his baby when she got put up for this kind of beating.
Dean knew that if the torrential winds died down the rain would turn to snow, the thick stuff, too, and he really wanted to make it at least another 150 miles before giving in and finding a nice garish motel for the night, so he hoped the snow would hold off. If he could get that much road beneath his wheels he’d only be a day’s drive out from Bobby’s and that was a comforting thought.
~o~
It was dark, the stars a spattering of pinpricks over the midnight sky. As the shadows played hesitantly, dark on darkness- a hint of movement and shape, two bodies stood too close for comfort, lost in each other… waiting for one to cross the boundary they had silently agreed upon. …the boundary was broken and lips that had longed to meet pressed together in a hungry union, ecstasy washing over them…
Dean awoke breathless, sitting straight up and gasping for air, Castiel’s name hanging on his lips just as the angel himself had been moments before. Disoriented, he looked around the grimy room, its muted walls covered in something that was once a rich brown and cream floral pattern, but now more closely resembled something you’d find on the bathroom floor after a kegger, and recognized it as the ‘Mom and Pop’ trucker haven he’d crashed at the night before. He felt under the pillow for his gun, taking comfort in its familiar surfaces. Dean rubbed his face in his hands; it had only been a dream, but it had been unnerving- Cas was gone, back in Heaven being all angelic and he was certainly not in the Winchesters’ lives any longer, something Dean regretted more than he cared to admit. Pushing the thought of Cas’ lips on his to the back of his mind, into that small box especially marked for the angel, Dean got out of bed and headed for the shower, might as well get a start on his day.
The sun had just begun to rise when Dean tossed his duffle into the trunk of the Impala, the sky was alight with purples and oranges chasing each other against the encroaching soft blue hues of morning and for once Dean let himself admire the sight. After a few minutes, when it was obvious that the blues of proper daylight were going to win out, Dean climbed into the front seat and started his baby. With this early start he should make it to Bobby’s in time for dinner.
He pulled into Bobby’s old wrecking yard just as the snow began to fall in earnest, hard enough for him to be covered in a light coat of white by the time he actually got to the front door.
“Hey, Bobby,” Dean greeted as the older man hugged him.
“Wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow. How many speed records did you break gettin’ here?”
“No more than normal,” he assured, chuckling.
“Idjit,” Bobby called back as he made his way to the kitchen, leaving Dean in the doorway.
Dean smiled as he followed the older hunter into the kitchen and looked around. “Where’s Sammy?”
“Grocery run. God only knows what he’s bringing back. I just hope it’s edible and not that stuff you boys live off of,” he groused.
“I doubt Sammy’s gonna let you starve.”
Bobby huffed a soft chuckle.
Just then the door opened and four large paper bags walked in.
“That’s a good look for you, Sammy, really brings out your eyes.”
The bags landed on Bobby’s kitchen table, exposing Sam with a patented ‘bitch please’ face; his eyes twinkling too brightly for his glare to be anything but playful.
Dean walked over to the table and began examining the contents of the bags, “What is this stuff?”
“We said we’d have a proper Christmas, like we used to, so we’re doing Christmas. Turkey, dressing, cranberry sauce- yes, Dean, I got you the canned stuff, heathen.”
Dean laughed a deep warm laugh- it felt good to laugh like that and he enjoyed every minute of it. It felt good to be here. It would feel even better if… Dean mentally shook himself that wasn’t going to happen- Cas was happy and busy in Heaven- so it really didn’t matter. As much as he’d fight it and refuse to admit it to anyone, he loved Christmas at Bobby’s, it was warm and loving and all those things other people found in family and this year no one was dying and the world wasn’t ending, and for the first time in his adult life he was going to celebrate Christmas there. “Hey, heathen who helped save the world, I think that earns me my cranberry sauce.”
Bobby peered into one of the bags, pulling out a bag of flour and cornmeal, “Christ, boy, it’s not like I don’t have staples here.”
“No offense, Bobby, but when was the last time you actually used any of this stuff?”
The old hunter grumbled and pulled more baking supplies out of the bag.
~o~
It was just getting dark, fluffy white snowflakes fell slowly in no rush to reach the cold ground where they would meet their friends and gather into drifts of white against the sides of the house and cars. Dean leaned against the railing and watched the snowfall; half hoping Cas would show up, half afraid he would, but knowing in his heart he wouldn’t. Dean was a mess and he knew it, but he always had been and always would be screwed up in some way, it was just his Winchester genes. Not long after Cas had left, returning to fill some almighty purpose in Heaven, Dean had begun to realize what it seemed his brother and Bobby had known for months- he had fallen for the angel. It was little things at first, like not being able to call Cas when things threatened to overwhelm him just to hear his gruff voice tell him that he ‘had to find God’ or that he couldn’t come because his ‘search for God was more important’- declarations that were usually followed by a huff and the angel’s appearance. It was not hearing the soft flutter of wings as he popped into being in a crowded diner or right next to him in a motel ignoring their multiple conversations about personal space. It was watching the snow cascade around him and wanting more than anything to show Cas how beautiful it was, and he didn’t care how chick-flick it sounded, he was only admitting it in his head.
Dean stayed outside until the cold night air began to chill his bones, just watching, remembering. Dean made his way inside to the living room where Bobby had the fire roaring and warm. The old hunter and the younger Winchester were basking in the heat, quietly drinking their beers looking at peace, something far too rare in their line of work. Smiling Dean sat himself down on the sofa next to his baby brother. This, this was good.
~o~
When Dean awoke the next morning he found Sam in the kitchen covered in… food, anything more specific would require closer examination and Dean wasn’t even sure the coffee was worth getting that close- he might get caught in the crossfire of whatever had attacked his brother. “Dude, you look like you just went three rounds with a seasick zombie, either that or the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
Sam shot his brother a withering look. “You try doing this!” he snapped.
“Oh, no, Ainsley, I eat, I don’t cook,” Dean quipped, easing past Sam and towards the coffee machine.
Taking a swig of the almost too hot liquid, Dean winced. “What are you workin’ on anyway?”
“Dressing.”
“Isn’t that why God invented Stove Top?” he asked, pushing down another mouthful of coffee.
Sam glared. “If we’re actually trying to have Christmas, we’re having Christmas. God only knows when you’ll agree to it again,” he muttered under his breath; either Dean didn’t hear him, or more likely chose to ignore him.
“Even if that means losing a fight with…” Dean waved his hand to encompassed Sam and all his food spattered glory, “…everything?” he finally settled on.
Sam didn’t speak, but thrust a batter caked ‘something’ in Dean’s direction causing the elder Winchester to make a hasty retreat, managing to make his escape before Sam decided to throw whatever it was at his head.
Dean laughed as he entered the living room, seeing Bobby’s familiar figure poking at the fireplace, “Somebody wanna tell me why Sammy’s making like Martha Stewart, it’s not even Christmas yet?”
Bobby stood and stretched his back, “Boy’s bound and determined to do this Christmas ‘right’, apparently that means cooking everything himself and letting him use us as guinea pigs.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, “Doesn’t that kinda defeat the purpose?”
His eyes squinted and his mouth formed a distasteful, ‘what’ with what was Bobby’s patented ‘what are you on about’ furrowed brow, the one that was usually followed by at least one person in the room being called an ‘idjit’; that one person usually being Dean.
“The food, if he kills us with it first, doesn’t it defeat the purpose?” Dean smirked behind his coffee cup.
Bobby chuckled, shaking his head, “You boys.”
There was a loud clanging, crashing noise from the kitchen, accompanied by a mesh of expletives.
Bobby and Dean shared a foreboding look. “How many days is it ‘til Christmas?”
~o~
Somehow they made it through four days of Sam and his practice cooking, though on more than one occasion both Bobby and Dean considered locking themselves in the panic room for the duration, either that or ‘finding’ something nasty that just had to be hunted- NOW! But it was Christmas and if it made Sam happy, Dean would suffer through it. Especially when Sam turned those wide, puppy dog eyes on him, the ones Dean was convinced Sam saved specifically for him, the ones that always got Sammy exactly what he wanted from Dean, whether it was to go check out a certain haunting or to have the last cookie. Let it never be said that Sam didn’t know exactly what his puppy eyes did or how to use them.
Now, it was Christmas Eve and Sam had graciously declared the practice period over, he didn’t want to ‘spoil the moment’ by over doing it. Dean really had tried not to laugh, but he still got an elbow in the ribs from Bobby over it.
Regardless of the snickering or sore ribs involved, the end result was a Heavenly respite of meat covered pizza for him and Bobby and something vegan, okay, vegetarian looking for Sam.
The three men sat in Bobby’s living room, leftover and half eaten pizza haphazardly tossed into the boxes on the table, and beers in hand. A calm silence had settled in the room, lights from the small tree in the corner shimmering brightly as the fireplace added that little extra heat to the room.
“It’s good to have you boys here,” Bobby’s voice rumbled softly like the engine of a classic car in perfect tune.
“It’s good to be here, Bobby,” Sam’s words were plain, but the look of appreciation and love in his eyes said so much more than his words did.
“Yeah, Bobby,” Dean added, kicking his brother’s foot, “even if you are letting the Sasquatch over here try to poison us.” He smiled at the two.
“Oh shut up, you liked the stuffing and the pie!” Sam snapped playfully, tossing a pillow from the couch at Dean.
“Hey, now, no armed combat. ‘tween the tree, the fireplace, and you two bozos there’d be nothing left by the time the fire department got here,” Bobby admonished, an overwhelming fondness flowing from his voice.
Dean glanced at Sam, a ‘this isn’t over’ look clearly on his face, but resisted the urge to fling the pillow back.
Once he was fairly certain the boys wouldn’t burn his house down while he slept, Bobby headed to bed; he had a feeling tomorrow was going to be anything but calm. “Try not to kill each other, alright.”
“You got it, Bobby.”
“’night, Bobby.”
He stopped just as he started up the stairs, “Sam, Dean, Merry Christmas.” He took another couple of steps before a soft, “Idjits,” followed.
Sam and Dean stayed in the living room, watching the play of the flames along the ceiling. “So what do you want for Christmas, Dean?”
“What?” Dean stared at his brother as if he’d grown a second head.
“You heard me, what do you want?” Sam insisted patiently.
“World peace?” the elder Winchester snapped.
“Come on, Dean, just you and me here.”
Dean leaned back, shaking his head, “You know,” he said, voice taking on a serious tone, “this is the only place we ever had a real Christmas. Just you, me, and Bobby. That’s how it’s always been.” Dean bit back an unamused chuckle, “You remember that one year Dad left us here, said he’d be back like he always did? Of course he wasn’t, but Bobby… he’d gotten you that damn book of American hauntings, you spent the next six months trying to get Dad to take us to every one in the lower forty-eight.”
Sam started laughing, “Yeah, I don’t think Dad ever did quite forgive Bobby for that.”
Slugging back his beer, “Shoulda known then you’d always be a research monkey.”
“Hey, you weren’t much better as I recall.”
“Hey, I was just being an awesome big brother and supporting you.”
“Riiight,” Sam nodded slowly.
They laughed quietly for a few minutes, remembering simpler, if not better times.
Sam stood and stretched, “I think I’ll turn in, too.”
“You do that Martha,” Dean teased.
“Jerk.”
“Bitch.”
As Sam trudged his way upstairs, he called back, “You’re still gonna have to answer me, you know.”
“Not tonight, Sammy.”
Sam shook his head, leaving the discussion until daylight hours.
Dean set his beer down and leaned back against the sofa once again, taking a deep, relaxing breath. He didn’t like talking about wishes and wants on the best of days and he really didn’t want to think about them now he actually had one. He closed his eyes and let his head loll fully on the back of the sofa. He let his mind wander over eyes of the purest lapis and coal black hair and lips that much too rarely curled with the slightest hint of a smile. He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, but when he opened his eyes the flares from the fireplace were not much more than a red hot set of logs and ash.
Dean checked the fireplace screen so that no stray sparks would accomplished what Bobby was convinced he and Sammy would and burn down the house; slipped on his jacket and went outside for some fresh air. He pulled his jacket collar up around him, it was cold, but it was also beautiful and calm, a pristine peace in the night, it was times like this that Dean could see the otherworldly and not have the kneejerk reaction to stop it. The wind picked up sweeping swaths along the fallen snow before disappearing into the night once again.
A rich, “Hello, Dean,” came from behind him causing Dean to reconsider his kneejerk reaction.
“Cas?” he asked, turning, unwilling to believe the angel was standing before him.
“Yes, Dean, that is my name,” he deadpanned, eyes twinkling.
“Am I dreaming?” Dean asked incredulously.
Castiel shook his head and moved further into Dean’s precious personal space.
“Then why are you here?” a slight sneer creeping into his tone; he wasn’t in the mood for any ‘end-of-the-world’ visits right now.
“Í understand it’s customary for humans spend today with those they care most for.”
Dean chuckled half-heartedly. “Yeah; still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” he retorted, though he wished it did.
“Must you make everything in so difficult?” Cas snapped, rather uncharacteristically.
Dean’s head jerked back the way it did whenever Cas surprised him with his vehemence as if those few centimetres would make the difference between being yelled at by the angel and being smote.
Cas sighed and his shoulders slumped as he turned around, away from Dean, “This was not a good idea.”
Without thinking Dean reached out and grabbed Cas’ shoulder, “Cas, man, I’m sorry.”
The angel turned hesitantly and Dean released his shoulder.
“It’s just… wasn’t expecting you to show up… again… ever…” Dean let out a small huff of laughter at how ridiculous he sounded.
Blue eyes sparkled and the angel’s lips curled softly in one of those small almost smiles that made Dean’s heart jump.
For long minutes, longer than usual, longer than Dean would have normally been comfortable with their eyes locked in what Dean steadfastly refused to call ‘eye-fucking’ the way Sammy insisted on studying or perhaps refamiliarizing themselves.
Finally, Dean looked away, a smile on his lips. “Come on,” he gestured towards the door with a shrug. “Sam and Bobby are asleep, but there’s beer in the fridge and it’s warm- not that that’s ever bothered you,” Dean added before the angel could make some smart comment about temperature or drinking not being a concern of angels.
Castiel relaxed at Dean’s invitation, gladly following him into the old hunter’s house. He stood by the fireplace letting the warmth cover him. He may not feel heat and cold or any number of other sensations the way humans did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy them; he smirked, it was one of the benefits of almost Falling, he understood more.
“Here,” Dean tapped Cas’ shoulder with a cold beer, surprised when the angel took it from him.
“Thank you,” he said, popping the cap off and taking a deep pull. Grimacing, “I had hoped this would taste better now.” He looked meaningfully at Dean, “It does not.”
Dean laughed outright at the angel, his smile brightening with the sound of his laughter. His laughter died down and his smile faded to a more somber almost melancholy thing. “I missed you,” he admitted softly into his beer.
Somehow the distance between the two men disappeared, leaving Castiel and Dean toe to toe not quite meeting each other’s gaze; their eyes focusing further down their faces.
“Did you?” Castiel breathed too close to Dean’s mouth, the air blowing over the man’s lips in the most sensual of kisses.
Dean gulped, wondering if this would turn into another dream, if he would awaken suddenly, breathlessly, having fallen asleep on Bobby’s old couch. If it was a dream it felt more rooted in reality than any of the others, and there had been so many. Finally, he made himself answer, “Yes.”
The word didn’t seem to make it passed his lips before his angel was swallowing it down as their mouths fit together in an unreal combination of softness and heat, a forcefulness that neither seemed able to control.
“Cas?” Dean managed to pant out when the angel let him up for air.
The angel pressed their foreheads together as they panted harsh warm breathes against each other’s skin. “Always.”
“Why?” he asked hoping the angel would understand, not sure he could find the words in his addled brain.
A hand snaked around the nape of Dean’s neck possessively. “I didn’t know if I would be welcome otherwise.”
Dean barked out a laugh, “So you chose Christmas to show back up?”
“As I said, it is a time humans spend with their loved ones. I had hoped that I was at least still a friend.”
“Cas,” Dean wrapped his arms around his angel, “I don’t think you’ve ever been ‘a friend’, not to me.”
The smile that graced Castiel’s lips was not the thin hint of upturned lips, but a full open smile.
If those small smiles made Dean’s heart jump then this one made his heart sing. As he closed his eyes, moving in for a deep, slow kiss Dean knew he would see more of them.