Dean's plan for the New Year's Eve party was simple: the three of them in the Bunker, booze, a bunch of snacks, and a midnight kiss from Dean's boyfriend. That would be, in Dean's book, actual perfection. He's a man of simple needs, after all.
But of course, if can never be that easy for them, can it?
The ringing of Dean's phone seems completely harmless at first, with Cas's picture flashing on the screen. It can't be any imminent danger, not any monster hunt or a big bad hunt—not even a pesky medium selling the New Year's horoscope. Just Cas's lazy ass that can't bother to drag itself here from—wherever it vanished to ten minutes ago.
Kitchen, probably, though it's still over an hour 'til they need to bring out the champagne.
Dean lifts the phone to his ear. "Sam says he moved the glasses to the other cabi—"
"Dean, I've, uh..." Cas's voice is muffled, the sound in the speaker crackling and breaking, but the sentence doesn't take a genius to put together. "I've got a situation."
Dean's eyebrows snap together. "If you broke all the champagne glasses, cups or something are fine."
"No, Dean, this is serious," Cas says.
Dean sits up a little straighter, but still goes for a joke. "If you smashed the champagne, just– don't show y–"
"Dean!" Cas growls, apparently not at all in the mood for jokes.
Dean shuts up and listens. Through the crackling, it takes him a few repetitions to get the gist and even then he's not entirely sure he got it right.
"What do you mean you locked yourself in?" he asks. "How?"
"I didn't s… I locked mys…, I...d I got...cked in," Cas attempts to clarify, voice raised as if that would help him with the breaking dial. "I ent...red and it jus…"
"Okay, okay," Dean cuts him off. It'll go much easier face to face. Or face-door-face, Dean supposes. "Where are you?"
"...room. Our bed...m"
"Sit tight, I'm coming."
"Boyfriend to the rescue!" Dean announces through the closed door, pulling the lockpick from the set he grabbed on the way.
Fifteen minutes later, the door still won't even budge. And Dean's tried everything. After the third attempt at picking the, apparently open, lock, he moved to using his body as a ram, but that's only gained him a ton of bruises. He pushed and pulled and tried with a crowbar, too—to no avail.
"That's fucking it," he grumbles and rushes past Sam to the guy's room.
He's back with a loaded gun in his hands.
"Move away, Cas!" he calls to the imprisoned man and points the weapon at the lock.
"Dean, what are you–?"
Sam's hand lands on top of his gun before he can shoot. "Whoah, how is this supposed to help?" he asks.
Dean purses his lips and lowers the gun. The lock is open, isn't it. The handle, as far as he can tell works fine. Shooting either won't do squat.
"You're right, Sammy," he replies, but instead of putting the gun away, he switches his aim for the door's hinges.
He shoots before Sam can stop him again. The bullet ricochets and flies right by Dean's leg. It was damn close and he's got a hole in the leg of his new jeans to show for it. The door, on the other hand, doesn't have the slightest scratch on it.
"Very smart," Sam mumbles.
"At least now we know there's some mojo involved," Dean offers.
That's definitely not a consolation, though. Quite the opposite of it. Stubborn door he can handle—or rather a nice, sharp ax can. Magic? When does that ever end well.
Dean takes a breath, chill slowly starts creeping up his spine. "You feeling okay, Cas? You're not nauseous or weakened or something?"
"I'm fine," Cas replies, calmly. "A little fuzzy, but that's the alcohol. And I think I kn–"
"There might be hex bags," Dean doesn't let him finish. "Dunno who and how would put them there, but–" he keeps rambling as a complete inventory of possible culprits runs through his head. "Could be some cursed object or– A curse! Cas, could someone curse you? Uh, of course someone could. Do you feel like you got cursed, Cas?"
"Dean, listen to me," Cas calls and somehow manages to shut Dean up. He pauses, his steps move away from the door, then comes back. "I– I think I might have done something."
"Let me repeat that: you knocked down some ass-old book and the door slammed shut?"
"Yes," Cas replies.
Dean shakes his head. "And you couldn't tell us that before I almost shot my foot off?"
"I didn't connect the two right away," Cas explains. After a moment he adds, "It doesn't seem to be trying to harm me."
"That's very generous of it," Dean snarks, glancing at the corridor's exit where Sam disappeared ages ago. "It only won't let you out. It only locked you in without water or food or anything. Not harmful at all."
"I've water," Cas replies plainly, like a bottle or two of water are a solution to the whole situation. "And I'm pretty sure I can find your secret stash of sweets," he adds, softly.
Dean chuckles. "Knock yourself out. Mind that's the only time you'll ever get that permission."
He paces the corridor, never going further than a few steps away from the door. He glances at the time. Half an hour. This is just great. Sam better hurry with his research, they don't have all night. Dean's finally got a boyfriend to kiss at midnight and he'd rather not have to do that through the fucking keyhole.
"Hey, we could move the rest of the party here." He jokes. "You've got snacks, we've got booze, who needs more, right?"
Cas doesn't answer and Dean's pretty sure he went off to search for that stash. He's gonna have to find a new place for it, which is a shame, the spot has served him well.
"Got it, guys," Sam announces as soon as he appears, carrying a thick register. "And I've got a feeling you're not gonna like it."
"A few hours?" Dean echoes Sam's words, shoulders slumped.
"That's the worst-case scenario," Sam tries to cheer him up, but he fails.
"What's the best-case scenario?"
"A… little less than that?" Dean's brother shoots him a sympathetic smile. "At least we know it's temporary, right?"
"Yeah, what a relief." Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. "And you're sure there's no spell that could speed it up?"
Sam shakes his head. "It must just– stop feeling endangered."
"Books don't feel things!" Dean bursts out. "What does it think it is? It doesn't like being touched so it goes full-on lockdown on someone's ass? What is this, some Indiana Jones bullshit?"
He stops himself from punching the damned door at the last moment. According to the MOL's notes, that would definitely count as endangering and could only result in an additional hour or two of penalty. He really, really wants to punch it, though. Both the door and the book.
"It's better than a giant boulder," Cas supplies from behind the door.
Dean takes a deep breath to calm down. Cas is right, this is a good thing. Cas could have been dead by now—all of them could—had the book's protective mechanism been set to the offense. Not the defense.
Still, it doesn't change the fact that it's only twenty minutes to midnight, which means he's definitely not getting that kiss.
Dean slides down the wall right by the door. "What was it even doing in our bedroom in the first place?"
"I don't know," Cas replies. "It was on your nightstand."
For a split second Dean's brow furrows, then the realization dawns on him.
"Oh. Oh, fuck." He runs fingers through his hair. Of course, he's a fucking idiot. "You mean that book. Oh. Okay, it's my fault then." When is it ever not? He just wanted some light reading before bed and even that he managed to fuck up. "How could I know I'm taking the Word of God's younger, narcissistic brother? It's in English!"
"It's okay, Dean," Cas says somewhere near his head. He must have sat down by the door as well. They're really doing that party thing, aren't they? "I just have to wait it out. It's not a big deal."
"It is a big deal, Cas. It's New Year's Eve! Well, not for much longer," he adds as an aside, to which Sam offers to bring champagne and leaves them sitting on the floor on two sides of the closed door.
"I thought you said it's just another occasion to grab a drink," Cas says, his voice is deep and soft, gently lulling Dean. "All human calendars are rather symbolic. Just a way to mark the passage of time, date events. There are plenty of cultures that don't begin the new year for another few weeks or months."
"Yeah, I guess," Dean mutters. "I think I just– I like the whole 'new beginning' thing. And with you, this time, it's nice to start a new year like that. In– uh," he pauses to take a breath and let the words out properly. "In love." He swallows and shakes off the sentimentality. "But I guess that's just how it is with us, huh? Always apart."
"Dean, I'm here," Cas reminds him. And yeah, he is, isn't he? Right behind Dean. Behind the door, not in a different world, captured or worse. "And I'm really happy to start the new year in love with you."
Midnight comes and goes. They do the countdown and the New Year's wishes and the champagne—or water, in Cas's case. The door remains closed.
And it's still closed an hour later when Sam wishes them good night and goes to his room.
"You should go to bed too, Dean," Cas says, hearing his yawn. "I'm sure you can find a usable one in one of the bedrooms."
"Oh, right, I see, you've barely moved in and you've already kicked me out of our bed," Dean quips.
"You shouldn't have hoarded the sheets," Cas jokes.
Dean huffs a laugh and Cas's throaty chuckle joins him. They remain like that for a while, welcoming the new year, together. It's another hour 'til Cas says he can't keep his eyes open anymore and stands up with a moan to crawl into their bed.
Dean never gets to start looking for a usable bed. He falls asleep where he's sitting, by the door.
A low voice whispering his name wakes him up, and a grasp on his wrist yanking him upward.
"Come on, Dean, let's go to bed, you'll be all stiff in the morning."
Dean lets it lift him up and wrap its arm around him. It takes him a moment to make out Cas's face in the dark.
"Did it open?"
"Yes, just now," Cas replies, leading him towards the bed.
"Wait," Dean stops him. He grabs the front of Cas's shirt and pulls him in for a kiss. "Happy New Year, Cas."
Cas's lips curl up in a smile, still brushing against Dean's.
"Happy New Year."