Fic: Loving the Fall (8/?)
New cover art in this post.
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
Sam came downstairs not long after Dean did. He came into the kitchen warily, giving Dean and Bobby a careful look as they sat together at the kitchen table. He had an ‘I don’t know if I’m walking into a war zone or not’ look on his face, and oddly enough Dean was used to being the one wearing that face. He couldn’t count how many times he’d walked into a room where Sam and John were sharing the same space making that same face.
No need to make Sam walk on eggshells. “It’s cool, Sammy… I told Bobby.”
All the tense lines in Sam’s body melted in a second. He sagged with a sigh. “Finally… and he didn’t freak out, did he?” Sam’s eyes cut to Bobby, locked there, and Dean sat up in surprise. It was posed as a question, but the tone to it wasn’t so much ‘I knew Bobby wouldn’t freak out’ as ‘he better not have freaked out’. There was a hint of warning in his voice, like Bobby had damn well better not shun Dean for Cas or there’d be hell to pay. Dean hadn’t expected to see protective Sam rear his head… not against Bobby, of all people. It hit Dean somewhere deep and basic.
Bobby harrumphed. “Takes your idjit brother thirty-odd years to settle down with someone… you think I’m going to quibble and bitch about their gender?”
That answer made Sam break into a huge grin because the world was all puppies and rainbows. Dean rolled his eyes. When Sam’s eyes met Dean’s, Dean gave him a look that promised great pain if he got mushy on him. For once, Sam relented. He seemed to be in just too damn good a mood to let Dean shoot it full of holes with his machismo.
Instead, the younger Winchester headed toward the stove. “Zo just jumped in the shower, but she woke up starving.” Sam’s lips quirked wolfishly, and Dean had a real good idea why Zoë would be famished. Dean had given his fair share of women a rigorous cardio workout in the middle of the night to know. “I’m going to make a big breakfast, if Cas wants to join us.”
“Sure, I’ll go get him,” Dean stood to go wake Cas.
Of course, Sam couldn’t leave it at that, little brother that he was. “If you guys can make it down in time for breakfast, that is,” Sam called out with a suggestive eyebrow waggle. Dean flipped Sam the bird as he left the kitchen and headed for the stairs.
When Dean reached the master bedroom, he eased open the door and slipped inside. Cas was still in bed, a lump in the blankets with a disarray of black hair peeking out the top. Dean smirked to himself and moved toward the bed. If it were Sam, he would have flown at the bed and leapt on the mattress, the ultimate hope being Sam would startle so hard he’d fall out of bed. The one time Dean tried that with Cas, the former angel woke with a yelp and panic in his eyes. When Dean calmed him down, all Cas would say about the rude awakening was that the jolt reminded him of falling.
So instead of being a jackass, Dean stepped around to Castiel’s side of the bed and sat on the edge. From there, he could see Castiel’s face, eyes softly shut and mouth relaxed. Dean had intended to reach out and shake Cas awake right away, but he found himself just sitting there a moment, hands in his lap, watching and thinking. The confrontation with Bobby had been anticlimactic, to say the least, and now Dean felt really stupid for everything he put Castiel through out of fear of how Bobby would react to finding out about them. Sometimes, Dean was convinced the only reason Cas put up with him was because, as a new human, he didn’t know any different. It was probably Dean’s saving grace that Castiel had never been in a relationship before this… nothing even remotely normal to compare it to.
Castiel stirred, opened his eyes, and looked up at Dean. He blinked. “Hello, Dean.”
“Heya, Cas.”
Castiel snaked a hand out of the cocoon of covers to rub at his eye. “Is this some manner of retribution?”
“Huh?”
“You watching me sleep. You’re right… it is ‘stalkery’.”
Dean snorted. “Funny… no, I was just thinking.” Dean took a breath. “I told Bobby.”
Cas dropped his hand across his chest and looked intently at Dean. “I see… and was he upset about our union?”
Dean screwed his face at the word ‘union’ but shrugged it off. “He’s fine with it.”
Castiel nodded slowly.
“Actually, he was really cool about it,” Dean marveled. “So I guess I should apologize for you having to deal with your nightmares because I was freaking out for nothing.” Dean frowned. “You know, you’d think that when God was ‘rewarding’ you by turning you human, the least he could have done was take away your memories from Hell.” Dean couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into his tone. He hated that Castiel had nightmares like he did.
“I asked Him not to.”
“Dude, why? It’s Hell.”
Cas sat up in bed. “It was our first meeting. I would not give that up just to sleep better at night.”
Dean gaped.
“Although,” Castiel frowned, “I admit, at the time, I didn’t realize how precious a good night’s sleep is.”
Dean chuckled. “You’re an idiot, Cas.”
Castiel glowered at him. When combined with the wild and crazy things his hair was doing, the ‘I know what it feels like to smite shit’ effect was lost. Instead, he just looked all kinds of adorable.
“And apparently I’m an idiot, too,” Dean conceded. Then he waited for Castiel to say something. He didn’t. Dean pursed his lips. “Feel free to jump in any time with ‘you’re not an idiot, Dean, don’t be silly’.”
Castiel cocked his head. “You’re not an idiot, Dean, don’t be silly.” They were the right words, but said with so much sarcasm that Dean barked out a laugh. Castiel answered with one corner of his mouth ticking up.
“Can I presume, now that Bobby is aware of our union -”
“Okay, we have to find a new word for you to use.”
“ - that we don’t have to pretend we aren’t anymore?”
“Yeah… no more pretending.”
In the next instant, Castiel was leaning forward, pulling Dean toward him with a hand on the back of his neck. Their lips met somewhere in the middle. Dean melted into it, because it was what he’d been wanting to do since Bobby showed up. Castiel drew Dean closer, parting his lips with his tongue, and started to lie down. He dragged Dean down with him. Dean’s weight came to rest atop Cas, a fluffy layer of comforter a soft buffer zone between their bodies. Dean wanted nothing more than to dig underneath those layers and find the body he’d come to need so much.
Instead, Dean grunted and pulled his face away from Castiel’s. “Much as I’d love a morning roll in the hay, Sam’s making everyone breakfast. You know how good the food is when Sam’s going all-out to impress his girlfriend.” Dean licked his lips theatrically as he imagined the feast to come.
Castiel’s hands were slowly trailing down Dean’s sides (as if Dean wouldn’t notice if Cas just did it slowly). “I would rather have you.”
The rough gravel of Castiel’s voice raced down Dean’s spine to the cradle of his pelvis. He sat up before he lost all control over the matter. “Sam already expects us not to show, and I’ll be damned if I give him a reason to gloat.”
Castiel sighed, annoyed. “So my sexual satisfaction is dependent on your brother?”
“Wow… that came out all wrong,” Dean yanked back the covers. “Come on… get your ass out of bed.”
“Get your ass in bed,” Castiel returned, pouting.
“Quit being so bitchy,” Dean said playfully. “You get dressed and downstairs for breakfast, I’ll make it up to you tonight.” In case Castiel had any problems deciphering his meaning, Dean winked.
Castiel froze, tilted his head pensively, and narrowed his eyes at Dean. He let his eyes rake hungrily up and down Dean’s frame, and Dean felt it like a touch ghosting over his skin. It was almost enough to make him abandon his own damn deal and jump Castiel then and there.
Which was probably Castiel’s intent. He knew how to manipulate Dean with looks so thoroughly it was scary.
Finally, Castiel gave a curt nod and swung his legs out of bed. “Very well, we’ll go down for breakfast. Tonight, you’re mine.”
‘Not just tonight,’ Dean thought, but that was way too girly to actually say out loud. So he just gave Cas a suggestive look. “I’m all yours, big boy,” Dean agreed.
Like a reflex, Castiel smiled. He was still smiling as he crossed the room to the bathroom. Dean started to get up to go wait downstairs with the others… but then he stopped. He settled back on the bed and just sat there. Lame as it sounded, he liked just being in the same room while Castiel went about mundane, human shit. For him, those were the fantastical moments. To a guy who used to flit from one end of the world to the other on the impetus of a thought, sliding into a pair of blue jeans was nothing short of remarkable.
And Dean didn’t mind the peep show one bit.
****************
Dean was having a dream about his mother. It was Christmastime, the world was full of silver and gold, and everywhere Dean looked he saw Mary. She was in the living room of their old home in Lawrence, hanging tinsel on the tree. She was in the kitchen, offering Dean a slice of homemade pecan pie. She was smiling from the porch at her sons throwing snowballs at each other. She was welcoming Castiel with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She was singing Christmas carols… the one time of year when holiday tunes ousted the Beatles.
They all played like memories, though few of them were. In his dreamscape, it didn’t matter. Whenever Dean dreamed about Mary Winchester, especially the happy dreams, Dean fought waking up with everything in him. He wanted to stay where she was, where the world hadn’t turned so hostile and callous toward two little boys.
He wanted to stay where Mary and Castiel were joining their voices in a melodic rendition of White Christmas.
Of course, he couldn’t stay. Mary drifted away as consciousness crowded in, and Dean woke with a homesick sigh.
The first thing he saw eased a lot of the ache lodged in his chest. Castiel was already up, standing at the bedroom window. He was dressed, decked in jeans and a dark green sweater. Something was niggling at the back of Dean’s head from the second he woke, trying to tell him why he’d woken, but he didn’t really register what it was until that moment. Castiel was singing. Not loudly, almost as if filling the silence for his own benefit, and not in English. Dean recognized enough words to identify the language as Latin. And it was beautiful. Dean lay there a moment, listening.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” Dean said softly (as if he had to match the low pitch of Castiel’s own voice).
Castiel stopped and turned to face Dean. “Dean… I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No, it’s… you never told me you could sing.”
“All angels can,” he said matter-of-factly. Castiel shrugged, a patently human gesture he’d adopted since the fall. “Apparently that is one ability I got to keep.”
Dean sat up in bed, scooting back to prop himself against the headboard. “Really? All angels?” He was trying to picture Uriel or Gabriel having a voice as lovely as Castiel’s. Honestly, that Cas had such a honeyed singing voice was startling, because his speaking voice sounded more ‘phone sex operator’ than ‘Vienna Boys’ Choir’.
“That is one of very few things that your Christmas carols got right.” When Dean looked at him, puzzled, Castiel offered a wry smile, “Hark, the herald angels sing.”
“Oh… how come you’ve never sung before?”
Castiel meandered back toward the bed, eyes not meeting Dean like he was embarrassed or bashful about the reason. “Angels are very rarely permitted to rejoice… we’re allowed celebration of God and all his glory, but ‘holidays’ as you know them aren’t for our kind. The birth of the savior was one instance when the angels were given freedom to fill the Heavens with joyous song.” Castiel sat on the side of the bed next to Dean. “Of course, this isn’t technically the birthday of Jesus Christ, but -”
“Ah!” Dean held up a hand. “Don’t… you’re starting to sound like Sam.” He dropped his hand and regarded Castiel. “You know, you’re not an angel anymore. You can sing whenever you damn well feel like it.” It had been months since Castiel went human, and Dean hated that this was the first time he’d let himself sing when it was obviously something he liked.
“I know… but after millennia being told not to… I suppose I just need to get used to the idea.”
“I sure as hell wouldn’t mind hearing you sing more often. You’re really good.”
“I know.” When Dean snorted, Castiel nearly rolled his eyes. “I was made to be… you wouldn’t have accused me of boasting when I stated that I had wings.”
“Hmm… I don’t know. Sometimes it did kind of sound like you were proud of them. You bragged about them, admit it.”
Castiel gave him an askance look. “Is this like your testosterone-driven pride in your penis?”
Dean laughed. “Hey! You like my penis.”
“I do.”
For a second, Dean could only chuckle. The awkward conversationalist that was Castiel never ceased to amuse Dean. “You know… this isn’t usually the first thing people talk about on Christmas morning.”
“I suspected it wasn’t… so how does one correctly begin this day?”
“Well, I’m not much of an expert, but starting with Merry Christmas is probably a good guess.”
“Very well… Merry Christmas, Dean.”
“Merry Christmas, Cas.” Then Dean leaned over and planted a quick kiss on Castiel’s mouth. It was fleeting and chaste, but Dean wasn’t so quick that Castiel didn’t have time to dart out his tongue to taste Dean’s lips. The brush of Castiel’s soft tongue shot to the pit of Dean’s stomach, and he knew there was heat in his eyes when he leaned back and regarded Castiel.
Castiel licked his lips. “Is that part of the traditional greeting?”
“Nope… that’s just for you. So don’t try to lay one on Bobby when we go downstairs.” Although seeing the hunter assaulted with a holiday smooch from the former angel might be a good show.
“So what were you just singing?” Dean asked as he raked his fingers through his hair in a half-ass combing.
“I suppose you’d call it a seasonal hymn… angel Christmas songs don’t involve snowmen and sleigh rides.”
“No, I guess they wouldn’t.” Dean reached out and gave Castiel’s knee a jostle. “You know, I’m not a bad singer myself.”
Castiel’s eyebrows rose.
“I mean, I fake being bad in the car just to annoy Sam, but when I want to, I’m not half bad.”
“I see… is that your way of suggesting we should make beautiful music together?”
Dean’s mouth dropped open, speechless.
Castiel’s deadpan expression cracked, giving way to a smile and a wicked gleam in his eye.
“You dick,” Dean said with a smirk.
“If it’s not your genitalia that preoccupies you, it’s mine,” Castiel sighed in mock-defeat.
Dean rolled out of bed to get dressed. “I don’t remember you bitching about it last night.”
Castiel made a humming noise that was borderline pornographic. “If I had, you might have stopped what you were doing. I could not allow that.” The gravitas with which Cas said that made Dean laugh as he padded into the bathroom. When he came out and went to the dresser to pull out some clothes, Castiel was standing by the window again, eyes turned skyward. Dean wondered if Castiel missed flying. It was easy to look at the awkward human and forget that he was once a powerful angel of the Lord. No matter how much Castiel claimed to enjoy his new humanity, it had to feel like being crippled and thrown to the wolves when he lost his grace.
As if he could sense Dean’s thoughts had taken a dark turn, Castiel turned his head to look at Dean. He smiled.
“What’s up, Cas?”
“I would like to sing with you sometime.” Gone was the teasing that had filled their earlier conversation on the matter.
It was a simple thing, but it carried a lot for so few words. Castiel choosing to use a gift from God - given so that the angels might celebrate on the rare occasions that God saw fit - whenever he wanted, to celebrate what made him feel joyful… that was choice and freedom at its best.
Next
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
Sam came downstairs not long after Dean did. He came into the kitchen warily, giving Dean and Bobby a careful look as they sat together at the kitchen table. He had an ‘I don’t know if I’m walking into a war zone or not’ look on his face, and oddly enough Dean was used to being the one wearing that face. He couldn’t count how many times he’d walked into a room where Sam and John were sharing the same space making that same face.
No need to make Sam walk on eggshells. “It’s cool, Sammy… I told Bobby.”
All the tense lines in Sam’s body melted in a second. He sagged with a sigh. “Finally… and he didn’t freak out, did he?” Sam’s eyes cut to Bobby, locked there, and Dean sat up in surprise. It was posed as a question, but the tone to it wasn’t so much ‘I knew Bobby wouldn’t freak out’ as ‘he better not have freaked out’. There was a hint of warning in his voice, like Bobby had damn well better not shun Dean for Cas or there’d be hell to pay. Dean hadn’t expected to see protective Sam rear his head… not against Bobby, of all people. It hit Dean somewhere deep and basic.
Bobby harrumphed. “Takes your idjit brother thirty-odd years to settle down with someone… you think I’m going to quibble and bitch about their gender?”
That answer made Sam break into a huge grin because the world was all puppies and rainbows. Dean rolled his eyes. When Sam’s eyes met Dean’s, Dean gave him a look that promised great pain if he got mushy on him. For once, Sam relented. He seemed to be in just too damn good a mood to let Dean shoot it full of holes with his machismo.
Instead, the younger Winchester headed toward the stove. “Zo just jumped in the shower, but she woke up starving.” Sam’s lips quirked wolfishly, and Dean had a real good idea why Zoë would be famished. Dean had given his fair share of women a rigorous cardio workout in the middle of the night to know. “I’m going to make a big breakfast, if Cas wants to join us.”
“Sure, I’ll go get him,” Dean stood to go wake Cas.
Of course, Sam couldn’t leave it at that, little brother that he was. “If you guys can make it down in time for breakfast, that is,” Sam called out with a suggestive eyebrow waggle. Dean flipped Sam the bird as he left the kitchen and headed for the stairs.
When Dean reached the master bedroom, he eased open the door and slipped inside. Cas was still in bed, a lump in the blankets with a disarray of black hair peeking out the top. Dean smirked to himself and moved toward the bed. If it were Sam, he would have flown at the bed and leapt on the mattress, the ultimate hope being Sam would startle so hard he’d fall out of bed. The one time Dean tried that with Cas, the former angel woke with a yelp and panic in his eyes. When Dean calmed him down, all Cas would say about the rude awakening was that the jolt reminded him of falling.
So instead of being a jackass, Dean stepped around to Castiel’s side of the bed and sat on the edge. From there, he could see Castiel’s face, eyes softly shut and mouth relaxed. Dean had intended to reach out and shake Cas awake right away, but he found himself just sitting there a moment, hands in his lap, watching and thinking. The confrontation with Bobby had been anticlimactic, to say the least, and now Dean felt really stupid for everything he put Castiel through out of fear of how Bobby would react to finding out about them. Sometimes, Dean was convinced the only reason Cas put up with him was because, as a new human, he didn’t know any different. It was probably Dean’s saving grace that Castiel had never been in a relationship before this… nothing even remotely normal to compare it to.
Castiel stirred, opened his eyes, and looked up at Dean. He blinked. “Hello, Dean.”
“Heya, Cas.”
Castiel snaked a hand out of the cocoon of covers to rub at his eye. “Is this some manner of retribution?”
“Huh?”
“You watching me sleep. You’re right… it is ‘stalkery’.”
Dean snorted. “Funny… no, I was just thinking.” Dean took a breath. “I told Bobby.”
Cas dropped his hand across his chest and looked intently at Dean. “I see… and was he upset about our union?”
Dean screwed his face at the word ‘union’ but shrugged it off. “He’s fine with it.”
Castiel nodded slowly.
“Actually, he was really cool about it,” Dean marveled. “So I guess I should apologize for you having to deal with your nightmares because I was freaking out for nothing.” Dean frowned. “You know, you’d think that when God was ‘rewarding’ you by turning you human, the least he could have done was take away your memories from Hell.” Dean couldn’t help the bitterness that crept into his tone. He hated that Castiel had nightmares like he did.
“I asked Him not to.”
“Dude, why? It’s Hell.”
Cas sat up in bed. “It was our first meeting. I would not give that up just to sleep better at night.”
Dean gaped.
“Although,” Castiel frowned, “I admit, at the time, I didn’t realize how precious a good night’s sleep is.”
Dean chuckled. “You’re an idiot, Cas.”
Castiel glowered at him. When combined with the wild and crazy things his hair was doing, the ‘I know what it feels like to smite shit’ effect was lost. Instead, he just looked all kinds of adorable.
“And apparently I’m an idiot, too,” Dean conceded. Then he waited for Castiel to say something. He didn’t. Dean pursed his lips. “Feel free to jump in any time with ‘you’re not an idiot, Dean, don’t be silly’.”
Castiel cocked his head. “You’re not an idiot, Dean, don’t be silly.” They were the right words, but said with so much sarcasm that Dean barked out a laugh. Castiel answered with one corner of his mouth ticking up.
“Can I presume, now that Bobby is aware of our union -”
“Okay, we have to find a new word for you to use.”
“ - that we don’t have to pretend we aren’t anymore?”
“Yeah… no more pretending.”
In the next instant, Castiel was leaning forward, pulling Dean toward him with a hand on the back of his neck. Their lips met somewhere in the middle. Dean melted into it, because it was what he’d been wanting to do since Bobby showed up. Castiel drew Dean closer, parting his lips with his tongue, and started to lie down. He dragged Dean down with him. Dean’s weight came to rest atop Cas, a fluffy layer of comforter a soft buffer zone between their bodies. Dean wanted nothing more than to dig underneath those layers and find the body he’d come to need so much.
Instead, Dean grunted and pulled his face away from Castiel’s. “Much as I’d love a morning roll in the hay, Sam’s making everyone breakfast. You know how good the food is when Sam’s going all-out to impress his girlfriend.” Dean licked his lips theatrically as he imagined the feast to come.
Castiel’s hands were slowly trailing down Dean’s sides (as if Dean wouldn’t notice if Cas just did it slowly). “I would rather have you.”
The rough gravel of Castiel’s voice raced down Dean’s spine to the cradle of his pelvis. He sat up before he lost all control over the matter. “Sam already expects us not to show, and I’ll be damned if I give him a reason to gloat.”
Castiel sighed, annoyed. “So my sexual satisfaction is dependent on your brother?”
“Wow… that came out all wrong,” Dean yanked back the covers. “Come on… get your ass out of bed.”
“Get your ass in bed,” Castiel returned, pouting.
“Quit being so bitchy,” Dean said playfully. “You get dressed and downstairs for breakfast, I’ll make it up to you tonight.” In case Castiel had any problems deciphering his meaning, Dean winked.
Castiel froze, tilted his head pensively, and narrowed his eyes at Dean. He let his eyes rake hungrily up and down Dean’s frame, and Dean felt it like a touch ghosting over his skin. It was almost enough to make him abandon his own damn deal and jump Castiel then and there.
Which was probably Castiel’s intent. He knew how to manipulate Dean with looks so thoroughly it was scary.
Finally, Castiel gave a curt nod and swung his legs out of bed. “Very well, we’ll go down for breakfast. Tonight, you’re mine.”
‘Not just tonight,’ Dean thought, but that was way too girly to actually say out loud. So he just gave Cas a suggestive look. “I’m all yours, big boy,” Dean agreed.
Like a reflex, Castiel smiled. He was still smiling as he crossed the room to the bathroom. Dean started to get up to go wait downstairs with the others… but then he stopped. He settled back on the bed and just sat there. Lame as it sounded, he liked just being in the same room while Castiel went about mundane, human shit. For him, those were the fantastical moments. To a guy who used to flit from one end of the world to the other on the impetus of a thought, sliding into a pair of blue jeans was nothing short of remarkable.
And Dean didn’t mind the peep show one bit.
****************
Dean was having a dream about his mother. It was Christmastime, the world was full of silver and gold, and everywhere Dean looked he saw Mary. She was in the living room of their old home in Lawrence, hanging tinsel on the tree. She was in the kitchen, offering Dean a slice of homemade pecan pie. She was smiling from the porch at her sons throwing snowballs at each other. She was welcoming Castiel with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She was singing Christmas carols… the one time of year when holiday tunes ousted the Beatles.
They all played like memories, though few of them were. In his dreamscape, it didn’t matter. Whenever Dean dreamed about Mary Winchester, especially the happy dreams, Dean fought waking up with everything in him. He wanted to stay where she was, where the world hadn’t turned so hostile and callous toward two little boys.
He wanted to stay where Mary and Castiel were joining their voices in a melodic rendition of White Christmas.
Of course, he couldn’t stay. Mary drifted away as consciousness crowded in, and Dean woke with a homesick sigh.
The first thing he saw eased a lot of the ache lodged in his chest. Castiel was already up, standing at the bedroom window. He was dressed, decked in jeans and a dark green sweater. Something was niggling at the back of Dean’s head from the second he woke, trying to tell him why he’d woken, but he didn’t really register what it was until that moment. Castiel was singing. Not loudly, almost as if filling the silence for his own benefit, and not in English. Dean recognized enough words to identify the language as Latin. And it was beautiful. Dean lay there a moment, listening.
“I didn’t know you could sing,” Dean said softly (as if he had to match the low pitch of Castiel’s own voice).
Castiel stopped and turned to face Dean. “Dean… I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“No, it’s… you never told me you could sing.”
“All angels can,” he said matter-of-factly. Castiel shrugged, a patently human gesture he’d adopted since the fall. “Apparently that is one ability I got to keep.”
Dean sat up in bed, scooting back to prop himself against the headboard. “Really? All angels?” He was trying to picture Uriel or Gabriel having a voice as lovely as Castiel’s. Honestly, that Cas had such a honeyed singing voice was startling, because his speaking voice sounded more ‘phone sex operator’ than ‘Vienna Boys’ Choir’.
“That is one of very few things that your Christmas carols got right.” When Dean looked at him, puzzled, Castiel offered a wry smile, “Hark, the herald angels sing.”
“Oh… how come you’ve never sung before?”
Castiel meandered back toward the bed, eyes not meeting Dean like he was embarrassed or bashful about the reason. “Angels are very rarely permitted to rejoice… we’re allowed celebration of God and all his glory, but ‘holidays’ as you know them aren’t for our kind. The birth of the savior was one instance when the angels were given freedom to fill the Heavens with joyous song.” Castiel sat on the side of the bed next to Dean. “Of course, this isn’t technically the birthday of Jesus Christ, but -”
“Ah!” Dean held up a hand. “Don’t… you’re starting to sound like Sam.” He dropped his hand and regarded Castiel. “You know, you’re not an angel anymore. You can sing whenever you damn well feel like it.” It had been months since Castiel went human, and Dean hated that this was the first time he’d let himself sing when it was obviously something he liked.
“I know… but after millennia being told not to… I suppose I just need to get used to the idea.”
“I sure as hell wouldn’t mind hearing you sing more often. You’re really good.”
“I know.” When Dean snorted, Castiel nearly rolled his eyes. “I was made to be… you wouldn’t have accused me of boasting when I stated that I had wings.”
“Hmm… I don’t know. Sometimes it did kind of sound like you were proud of them. You bragged about them, admit it.”
Castiel gave him an askance look. “Is this like your testosterone-driven pride in your penis?”
Dean laughed. “Hey! You like my penis.”
“I do.”
For a second, Dean could only chuckle. The awkward conversationalist that was Castiel never ceased to amuse Dean. “You know… this isn’t usually the first thing people talk about on Christmas morning.”
“I suspected it wasn’t… so how does one correctly begin this day?”
“Well, I’m not much of an expert, but starting with Merry Christmas is probably a good guess.”
“Very well… Merry Christmas, Dean.”
“Merry Christmas, Cas.” Then Dean leaned over and planted a quick kiss on Castiel’s mouth. It was fleeting and chaste, but Dean wasn’t so quick that Castiel didn’t have time to dart out his tongue to taste Dean’s lips. The brush of Castiel’s soft tongue shot to the pit of Dean’s stomach, and he knew there was heat in his eyes when he leaned back and regarded Castiel.
Castiel licked his lips. “Is that part of the traditional greeting?”
“Nope… that’s just for you. So don’t try to lay one on Bobby when we go downstairs.” Although seeing the hunter assaulted with a holiday smooch from the former angel might be a good show.
“So what were you just singing?” Dean asked as he raked his fingers through his hair in a half-ass combing.
“I suppose you’d call it a seasonal hymn… angel Christmas songs don’t involve snowmen and sleigh rides.”
“No, I guess they wouldn’t.” Dean reached out and gave Castiel’s knee a jostle. “You know, I’m not a bad singer myself.”
Castiel’s eyebrows rose.
“I mean, I fake being bad in the car just to annoy Sam, but when I want to, I’m not half bad.”
“I see… is that your way of suggesting we should make beautiful music together?”
Dean’s mouth dropped open, speechless.
Castiel’s deadpan expression cracked, giving way to a smile and a wicked gleam in his eye.
“You dick,” Dean said with a smirk.
“If it’s not your genitalia that preoccupies you, it’s mine,” Castiel sighed in mock-defeat.
Dean rolled out of bed to get dressed. “I don’t remember you bitching about it last night.”
Castiel made a humming noise that was borderline pornographic. “If I had, you might have stopped what you were doing. I could not allow that.” The gravitas with which Cas said that made Dean laugh as he padded into the bathroom. When he came out and went to the dresser to pull out some clothes, Castiel was standing by the window again, eyes turned skyward. Dean wondered if Castiel missed flying. It was easy to look at the awkward human and forget that he was once a powerful angel of the Lord. No matter how much Castiel claimed to enjoy his new humanity, it had to feel like being crippled and thrown to the wolves when he lost his grace.
As if he could sense Dean’s thoughts had taken a dark turn, Castiel turned his head to look at Dean. He smiled.
“What’s up, Cas?”
“I would like to sing with you sometime.” Gone was the teasing that had filled their earlier conversation on the matter.
It was a simple thing, but it carried a lot for so few words. Castiel choosing to use a gift from God - given so that the angels might celebrate on the rare occasions that God saw fit - whenever he wanted, to celebrate what made him feel joyful… that was choice and freedom at its best.
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