Fic: Loving the Fall (3/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
Sundays Dean normally woke up alone. Castiel got up early to attend church. At first, Dean had tried to go with him for Castiel’s sake, but that had lasted all of two weeks before it came to a head. Dean could buck up and be the good little soldier with the best of them, so he was going to grit his teeth and do this because faith still meant a lot to Cas - and while God could go suck eggs as far as Dean was concerned, Cas was important to Dean - but Castiel saw Dean’s ‘take one for the team’ act right away. And he wasn’t pleased.
“I don’t understand why you can go for the love of me, but not for the love of Him,” Cas lamented.
“You should know the answer to that better than anyone, Cas.”
“He’s God… he deserves better than your mere tolerance in his house of worship.”
“Well, sorry, but I can’t care about him like you do.”
“Why not?”
“Because other than you, he’s never given me a damn thing.”
Cas went quiet, looked long and hard at Dean, and eventually said in a calmer voice, “I see…”
“Don’t, Cas… I know what you’re thinking, and don’t even go there. It’s not that I don’t… you know I…” Dean let out a frustrated sigh, “Look… before you fell, if I ever met God, I’d have nothing but shit to say to him. Now, if I met him… well, I’d still have a lot of shit to say to him… but I’d also thank him for giving me you.” Castiel’s stern look softened. “But one great thing in my life isn’t enough, man… it can’t make me celebrate him like you do. All it can do is make me think ‘you fucked up a lot… but you got one thing right’. That’s the best I got to offer him, Cas… and I’m sorry if that’s not enough for you.”
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Then Castiel said, “I don’t blame you, Dean… yours has been a difficult path.” Dean snorted. “But he’s my Father, and he will always have my devotion. I know you understand that.” And yeah, Dean did. To the towering heights of its greatest pathology, he got that. “So I will love Him enough for both of us.” Castiel crowded into Dean’s personal space. “And stop coming to church when you don’t really want to be there… your indifference distracts me from my prayers.”
Dean laughed and pulled Cas closer.
Ever since that argument, Cas got up Sundays and went to church while Dean slept in.
Strangely enough, not long after that fight, Sam started going to services with Cas. And apparently Sam meant it, because Castiel never asked Sam to stop going with him. It seemed really screwy to Dean that the angel cast of out Heaven and the former meat-puppet of Lucifer were finding God together, but Dean supposed odder things had happened.
That meant Dean’s Sunday morning companion was Zoë. When her parents were possessed by demons and killed by hunters, her feelings toward a higher power went from mostly-agnostic to antagonistic. She decided any God that would let that happen to her parents was a God she wanted no part of… and that Dean got.
When Dean hauled his ass downstairs, he found Zoë standing in front of the tree, her back to him as she just sort of stared at the mass of lights and ornaments. She was swimming in one of Sam’s shirts, and really, all she needed was a belt to make that thing a dress. Her feet were bare, and Dean couldn’t help but think that Cas would be bitching about how cold the floor was in her place.
“Hey, Zo,” Dean grumbled sleepily as he came up behind her.
She startled and looked back at him. “Oh… morning, Dean.”
Dean came up alongside her. “What’s up?”
Zoë gnawed on her bottom lip and frowned while she turned a small, wrapped rectangular box over in her hands. Dean had seen enough watch boxes to know one when he saw it, wrapped in Christmas paper or not.
“Um… nothing… well, no… I just… I have a present for Sam,” Zoë looked down uncertainly at the box, “I just don’t know if he’s going to like it.”
Dean looked down under the tree. There weren’t many gifts there. While Dean and Sam had relented to the freaking festive explosion in the house, they’d balked at effusive gift-giving. It seemed so trite and pointless when just having a real Christmas was more than they could have imagined a year ago. Plus, a full-out, three hundred sixty degree Christmas was a concept the warped and damaged Winchesters would need to ease into.
So the landscape under the tree was pretty barren. There was a badly-wrapped package from Dean to Cas, an envelope addressed to Dean in Castiel’s precise hand-writing, a bottle of the good stuff for Bobby in a gift bag, a modest-sized box addressed to Dean and Cas together from both Sam and Zoë, and (without any agreement before-hand on the couple gift-giving) a small envelope for Sam and Zoë from Dean and Cas. That was it. Sam and Dean hadn’t even gotten each other gifts, and their ‘others’ had refrained from gifting each other. Dean had noticed the lack of gifts between Sam and Zoë, but just assumed the presents they were exchanging were of the bedroom variety that couldn’t be wrapped and put under the tree.
Maybe he ought to suggest that to Zoë, because obviously she was worried a watch wouldn’t be much of a present. No way Sam would ever not like a sex gift from his girlfriend.
Or maybe Dean could practice a little restraint and good taste. If Sam and Cas agreed he could use some work on those, there must be something to it.
“Whatever you give Sam, he’s going to like it,” Dean assured. It was a real Christmas present…it could be a dead cricket in there and Sam would light up.
Zoë nodded distractedly, “Yeah… I hope so.” She bent down and added her small box to the pithy pile.
“Sam say what they were bringing back after church?” Dean asked. As a concession to those at home dubious at best about the man upstairs, Sam and Cas picked up lunch on their way home.
“Cas mentioned something about Hildegard’s,” Zoë mumbled.
“Because nothing says Christmas like curly fries.”
That finally got Zoë to crack a smile. Then, without warning, she turned to face him, all seriousness. “Dean… do you think Sam’s happy?”
“Huh?”
“Do you think Sam’s happy here?”
Dean blinked, taken aback at the blunt question. Seemed Dean wasn’t the only one having a little holiday freak-out moment.
That was a quirk of Zoë’s… she seemed carefree on the surface, but when her no-nonsense side came out, it did on a dime. That was when Dean saw the damaged person the demons had left behind when they got her parents killed. He actually admired how normal and not-fucked up she seemed the rest of the time. That was a trick he’d never really mastered. Out of respect for the survivor Zoë was, Dean always gave her a straight answer where his instinct had always been to lie. “Yeah, I think he is.” He thought a moment. “I’d say Sam and I are both the happiest we’ve been in a long time… if ever.”
Little by little, Zoë visibly relaxed. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”
Awful lot of fretting over a watch, if you ask Dean. Though maybe he should just take heart that Zoë was going to such lengths to make this Christmas so special for Sam. The kid fucking deserved it.
“So…” Zoë said, “what’s this Bobby Singer like?”
And just like that, all of Dean’s issues came flying back into his face. The cozy aura of Sunday morning was instantly gone.
“Uh… well… kind of a hard guy to describe, really. He’s a hunter… been in the business a long time. Rough around the edges, but he’s the one you want at your back when the shit hits the fan.” His worthiness as a comrade-in-arms probably wasn’t what Zoë meant when she asked about Bobby, but it was one of the best things about Bobby that came to mind when Dean was put to the question. It probably said a lot about Dean’s psyche that that was the first measure of a person that came to mind for him. It was really in the million little ways that the depth to which they were stained ‘hunter’ came out in this transition to civilian living.
“Sam said he’s like a father to you guys.”
“He is… and Sam would say a damn sight better than our real one…” Dean added under his breath, “not that it would take much.”
Zoë made a face. “I was kind of hoping you’d say he was just a friend who needed a place to go for Christmas… now I feel all this pressure to make a good impression.”
Dean chuckled, “What, and if he was just some drinking buddy without a family for the holidays you’d put forth zero effort?”
“No… I might bathe.”
“Eh, don’t worry… Bobby’s all bark. Get to know him, and he’s a big teddy bear.” Dean paused, “But if you tell him I said that, I’ll steal the alternator out of your car and hide it somewhere you’ll never find it.”
Zoë giggled. “I make no promises if you or Sam get me drunk.”
“Keep Zoë Harrison sober all through Christmas, got it.”
“Since it’s clearly imperative I not slip up, I’ll keep out of the eggnog this Christmas,” Zoë quipped.
Dean hated the long-term sobriety of anyone being on his conscious, but in this case he’d make an exception.
The two of them were still standing in front of the tree talking when Sam and Cas came through the front door. Cas was hunched in his permanent winter stoop of misery, clutching a plastic bag close to his chest (Dean suspected more for the heat from the food inside than fear it would drop). He caught sight of the two by the tree and announced, “We have curly fries.”
“Hallelujah,” Dean drawled with a wink.
Before Cas could decide if Dean was blaspheming, Sam came inside and closed the door behind him, doing a quick-step in place to warm himself. “Man, it’s getting cold out there.”
Dean beckoned Castiel to him. “C’mere, Cas.”
Cas went, as always, and when he reached Dean, Dean took the food from him, set it down on the coffee table, and wrapped Castiel up in a big hug. Castiel sank into the warmth, sighing as he snaked his arms around Dean’s waist. And Dean may be blasphemous, but he was also forgiven.
“One day,” Sam groaned, “I’d like to go just one day without having to see my brother and his boyfriend all over each other.”
That earned Sam a swat on the arm from Zoë, but also made Dean freeze up. Cas felt it and pulled away, giving Dean a wounded, confused look as he went.
Dean sighed… and the day had started out so well, too.
Next
Sundays Dean normally woke up alone. Castiel got up early to attend church. At first, Dean had tried to go with him for Castiel’s sake, but that had lasted all of two weeks before it came to a head. Dean could buck up and be the good little soldier with the best of them, so he was going to grit his teeth and do this because faith still meant a lot to Cas - and while God could go suck eggs as far as Dean was concerned, Cas was important to Dean - but Castiel saw Dean’s ‘take one for the team’ act right away. And he wasn’t pleased.
“I don’t understand why you can go for the love of me, but not for the love of Him,” Cas lamented.
“You should know the answer to that better than anyone, Cas.”
“He’s God… he deserves better than your mere tolerance in his house of worship.”
“Well, sorry, but I can’t care about him like you do.”
“Why not?”
“Because other than you, he’s never given me a damn thing.”
Cas went quiet, looked long and hard at Dean, and eventually said in a calmer voice, “I see…”
“Don’t, Cas… I know what you’re thinking, and don’t even go there. It’s not that I don’t… you know I…” Dean let out a frustrated sigh, “Look… before you fell, if I ever met God, I’d have nothing but shit to say to him. Now, if I met him… well, I’d still have a lot of shit to say to him… but I’d also thank him for giving me you.” Castiel’s stern look softened. “But one great thing in my life isn’t enough, man… it can’t make me celebrate him like you do. All it can do is make me think ‘you fucked up a lot… but you got one thing right’. That’s the best I got to offer him, Cas… and I’m sorry if that’s not enough for you.”
For a long time, neither of them spoke. Then Castiel said, “I don’t blame you, Dean… yours has been a difficult path.” Dean snorted. “But he’s my Father, and he will always have my devotion. I know you understand that.” And yeah, Dean did. To the towering heights of its greatest pathology, he got that. “So I will love Him enough for both of us.” Castiel crowded into Dean’s personal space. “And stop coming to church when you don’t really want to be there… your indifference distracts me from my prayers.”
Dean laughed and pulled Cas closer.
Ever since that argument, Cas got up Sundays and went to church while Dean slept in.
Strangely enough, not long after that fight, Sam started going to services with Cas. And apparently Sam meant it, because Castiel never asked Sam to stop going with him. It seemed really screwy to Dean that the angel cast of out Heaven and the former meat-puppet of Lucifer were finding God together, but Dean supposed odder things had happened.
That meant Dean’s Sunday morning companion was Zoë. When her parents were possessed by demons and killed by hunters, her feelings toward a higher power went from mostly-agnostic to antagonistic. She decided any God that would let that happen to her parents was a God she wanted no part of… and that Dean got.
When Dean hauled his ass downstairs, he found Zoë standing in front of the tree, her back to him as she just sort of stared at the mass of lights and ornaments. She was swimming in one of Sam’s shirts, and really, all she needed was a belt to make that thing a dress. Her feet were bare, and Dean couldn’t help but think that Cas would be bitching about how cold the floor was in her place.
“Hey, Zo,” Dean grumbled sleepily as he came up behind her.
She startled and looked back at him. “Oh… morning, Dean.”
Dean came up alongside her. “What’s up?”
Zoë gnawed on her bottom lip and frowned while she turned a small, wrapped rectangular box over in her hands. Dean had seen enough watch boxes to know one when he saw it, wrapped in Christmas paper or not.
“Um… nothing… well, no… I just… I have a present for Sam,” Zoë looked down uncertainly at the box, “I just don’t know if he’s going to like it.”
Dean looked down under the tree. There weren’t many gifts there. While Dean and Sam had relented to the freaking festive explosion in the house, they’d balked at effusive gift-giving. It seemed so trite and pointless when just having a real Christmas was more than they could have imagined a year ago. Plus, a full-out, three hundred sixty degree Christmas was a concept the warped and damaged Winchesters would need to ease into.
So the landscape under the tree was pretty barren. There was a badly-wrapped package from Dean to Cas, an envelope addressed to Dean in Castiel’s precise hand-writing, a bottle of the good stuff for Bobby in a gift bag, a modest-sized box addressed to Dean and Cas together from both Sam and Zoë, and (without any agreement before-hand on the couple gift-giving) a small envelope for Sam and Zoë from Dean and Cas. That was it. Sam and Dean hadn’t even gotten each other gifts, and their ‘others’ had refrained from gifting each other. Dean had noticed the lack of gifts between Sam and Zoë, but just assumed the presents they were exchanging were of the bedroom variety that couldn’t be wrapped and put under the tree.
Maybe he ought to suggest that to Zoë, because obviously she was worried a watch wouldn’t be much of a present. No way Sam would ever not like a sex gift from his girlfriend.
Or maybe Dean could practice a little restraint and good taste. If Sam and Cas agreed he could use some work on those, there must be something to it.
“Whatever you give Sam, he’s going to like it,” Dean assured. It was a real Christmas present…it could be a dead cricket in there and Sam would light up.
Zoë nodded distractedly, “Yeah… I hope so.” She bent down and added her small box to the pithy pile.
“Sam say what they were bringing back after church?” Dean asked. As a concession to those at home dubious at best about the man upstairs, Sam and Cas picked up lunch on their way home.
“Cas mentioned something about Hildegard’s,” Zoë mumbled.
“Because nothing says Christmas like curly fries.”
That finally got Zoë to crack a smile. Then, without warning, she turned to face him, all seriousness. “Dean… do you think Sam’s happy?”
“Huh?”
“Do you think Sam’s happy here?”
Dean blinked, taken aback at the blunt question. Seemed Dean wasn’t the only one having a little holiday freak-out moment.
That was a quirk of Zoë’s… she seemed carefree on the surface, but when her no-nonsense side came out, it did on a dime. That was when Dean saw the damaged person the demons had left behind when they got her parents killed. He actually admired how normal and not-fucked up she seemed the rest of the time. That was a trick he’d never really mastered. Out of respect for the survivor Zoë was, Dean always gave her a straight answer where his instinct had always been to lie. “Yeah, I think he is.” He thought a moment. “I’d say Sam and I are both the happiest we’ve been in a long time… if ever.”
Little by little, Zoë visibly relaxed. “Thanks… I needed to hear that.”
Awful lot of fretting over a watch, if you ask Dean. Though maybe he should just take heart that Zoë was going to such lengths to make this Christmas so special for Sam. The kid fucking deserved it.
“So…” Zoë said, “what’s this Bobby Singer like?”
And just like that, all of Dean’s issues came flying back into his face. The cozy aura of Sunday morning was instantly gone.
“Uh… well… kind of a hard guy to describe, really. He’s a hunter… been in the business a long time. Rough around the edges, but he’s the one you want at your back when the shit hits the fan.” His worthiness as a comrade-in-arms probably wasn’t what Zoë meant when she asked about Bobby, but it was one of the best things about Bobby that came to mind when Dean was put to the question. It probably said a lot about Dean’s psyche that that was the first measure of a person that came to mind for him. It was really in the million little ways that the depth to which they were stained ‘hunter’ came out in this transition to civilian living.
“Sam said he’s like a father to you guys.”
“He is… and Sam would say a damn sight better than our real one…” Dean added under his breath, “not that it would take much.”
Zoë made a face. “I was kind of hoping you’d say he was just a friend who needed a place to go for Christmas… now I feel all this pressure to make a good impression.”
Dean chuckled, “What, and if he was just some drinking buddy without a family for the holidays you’d put forth zero effort?”
“No… I might bathe.”
“Eh, don’t worry… Bobby’s all bark. Get to know him, and he’s a big teddy bear.” Dean paused, “But if you tell him I said that, I’ll steal the alternator out of your car and hide it somewhere you’ll never find it.”
Zoë giggled. “I make no promises if you or Sam get me drunk.”
“Keep Zoë Harrison sober all through Christmas, got it.”
“Since it’s clearly imperative I not slip up, I’ll keep out of the eggnog this Christmas,” Zoë quipped.
Dean hated the long-term sobriety of anyone being on his conscious, but in this case he’d make an exception.
The two of them were still standing in front of the tree talking when Sam and Cas came through the front door. Cas was hunched in his permanent winter stoop of misery, clutching a plastic bag close to his chest (Dean suspected more for the heat from the food inside than fear it would drop). He caught sight of the two by the tree and announced, “We have curly fries.”
“Hallelujah,” Dean drawled with a wink.
Before Cas could decide if Dean was blaspheming, Sam came inside and closed the door behind him, doing a quick-step in place to warm himself. “Man, it’s getting cold out there.”
Dean beckoned Castiel to him. “C’mere, Cas.”
Cas went, as always, and when he reached Dean, Dean took the food from him, set it down on the coffee table, and wrapped Castiel up in a big hug. Castiel sank into the warmth, sighing as he snaked his arms around Dean’s waist. And Dean may be blasphemous, but he was also forgiven.
“One day,” Sam groaned, “I’d like to go just one day without having to see my brother and his boyfriend all over each other.”
That earned Sam a swat on the arm from Zoë, but also made Dean freeze up. Cas felt it and pulled away, giving Dean a wounded, confused look as he went.
Dean sighed… and the day had started out so well, too.
Next