Dean jolts awake, thrown from unconsciousness by the sound of gunfire. His hand creeps under his pillow, sliding across the sheet until it meets the pistol he keeps stashed there. He sits up, listening intently, ears straining for additional clues. The bang and crack are right for bullets, but the speed is all wrong, too irregular, and Dean sighs, realising that they're fireworks. Of course they're fireworks; it's New Year's Eve, for god's sake. He glances over at the clock, and sure enough, it's midnight,
"Happy fuckin' New Year," he whispers, falling back against his pillow. He rolls over, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape, only to turn back when Cas bursts in.
He stands in the doorway, wearing nothing but boxers and holding a pistol of his own,
"Dean?" he demands, clearly worried by Dean's apparent indifference, "What are you doing, there's–"
"Whoa buddy, relax. They're just fireworks," Dean replies, taking a moment to appreciate Cas' bare chest,
"Oh," Cas says, bashful, "I thought… I'm sorry for waking you,"
"Don't worry, I was already awake," Dean said, forcing himself to look up at Cas' face, "Hey, since we're both up, shall we go and watch?" A little twist of nerves run through Dean's stomach, as if he's a fucking 12 year old talking to a crush,
"Yes," Cas replies, straightforward, "I'll go and get dressed."
Dean doesn't move, just watches as Cas turns and leaves, gazing at the way Cas' muscles move under his skin. He stretches, yawning, and shoves the duvet off once again, reaching for his jeans.
Dean steps out to find Cas waiting in the corridor,
"Come on," He says. He almost jogs to the front door, not wanting Cas to miss it. He shivers a little as the cold air hits him, his unlaced boots crunching across the snow until he finds a good viewpoint,
"Here we go," he says. He turns to face Cas, who's already staring up at the sky, mesmerised,
"Not bad, huh?" Dean asks, grinning,
"No…" Cas whispers. Dean should turn back to watch them too, but he finds that he'd much rather look at Cas instead,
"Hey, Cas, have you ever seen fireworks before?"
"Yes, but I've never stopped to appreciate them," he answers, without looking away. Dean glances up for a moment, but turns straight back to watch Cas. Cas is always fucking gorgeous, but the multi-coloured lights casting his face into sharp contrast and the way his eyes are shining give him an almost ethereal beauty,
"They're beautiful," Cas says, voice almost reverent, and Dean decides right there that he and Cas and Sam are gonna get some fireworks of their own, nearly burn down another field,
"Yeah, they are," Dean replies, still gazing at Cas. Dean tucks his hands under his arms, hunching over against the cold. They stand in silence for a few moments, both marvelling at the beauty before them,
"Why do people do this?" Cas asks,
"Tradition, I guess. It's just one of those things humans do,"
"I see. Like the mistletoe," Cas says, and Dean looks at the ground as he remembers Sam's absolutely hilarious idea to put mistletoe in the kitchen doorway and then not say anything until Dean and Cas were underneath it. Cas had looked at him, confused, and Dean had gestured frantically at Sam, who was too busy laughing to be of any help,
"Yeah. Like the mistletoe," Dean says, cheeks burning at the memory of the conversation that had followed. Cas looks back up at the fireworks, and Dean frowns, trying to work out why Cas' expression is so familiar. Cas has been acting like the fireworks are the most incredible things he's ever seen, and yet his expression is almost identical to the one he wears when-
Oh.
His expression is almost identical to the one he wears when he's looking at Dean. Dean scrutinises Cas' face, looking for a difference, for something that means he's wrong, because this has to be too good to be true. There's nothing, except the colour splashed across his face. Dean thinks for a moment, sorting through memories, trying to remember exactly the way Cas looks at other people, if this is just one of his things.
It isn't. His first instinct is to dismiss it, because obviously it's nothing, and why would he ever want you, Winchester? Dean looks at the ground, as if the toes of his boots will help if he stares for long enough. When he finally looks up, the fireworks have finished, and Cas is looking at him with that look on his face,
"Thank you, Dean," Cas says, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, and Dean feels a little guilty, because he should have told Cas about these things already,
"Don't mention it," he replies,
"Are there other traditions?" Cas asks, "Will you tell me about them?"
"Okay." Dean thinks for a moment, "There's New Year's resolutions, which is when you decide on things you're gonna do in the New Year, but I wouldn't worry too much about that one,"
"Why not?" Cas asks, tilting his head,
"No-one ever keeps them. Well, no-one I've ever met,"
"Oh," Cas says, "What are the others?"
"Well…" Dean pauses, because he needs to get this right, "it's kind of like the mistletoe,"
"Sam said I shouldn't talk about that," Cas says,
"Wait, you talked to Sam about it?" Dean asks, mentally listing all the ways he's gonna fucking murder Sam for this,
"I didn't understand why he was laughing so much," Cas says, looking annoyed, "So I asked him. It was… illuminating," Cas looks into the distance, jaw clenched,
"Oh," Dean says, and surely he would've gotten used to the little signs that Cas didn't want him by now, but it never got any easier,
"I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable," Cas says,
"What?" Dean asks. He's not quite sure what he expected, but it definitely wasn't this,
"Sam says I am 'totally obvious' in my emotions," Cas says, and Dean grins at the air quotes, before he realises exactly what Cas has just said. On its own, it's nothing, but Sam saying it, and saying after he'd hung up fucking mistletoe for them? That has to be something, right?
"Emotions?" Dean asks, breathless
"About you," Cas says, staring at his own shoes. Dean holds his breath, muscles tense in anticipation,
"I'm in love with you, Dean," Cas says, entirely too casually. He scuffs his boot through the snow, digging his hands into his jacket pockets, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Dean says, "God, Cas, I'm so in love with you I can't stand it."
Cas looks up at him, ruffled hair and chapped lips and too blue eyes, and Dean wonders how he controlled himself until now. He leans forward and presses his lips against Cas', cupping Cas' cheek in his palm. Cas is still for a moment, unsure, and then his hands fist in Dean's jacket, and the kiss is rough and desperate and almost messy. Dean wraps his arms around Cas, pulling him as close as he can. Cas wraps his arms around Dean's neck, and it's fucking freezing, but Dean's so warm that he could happily stand here forever.
They pull apart when a snowflake trickles down the back of Dean's neck. They've come out of nowhere, falling thick and fast, and Dean almost wants to laugh, until he looks at Cas. He's staring back at Dean with bright eyes and snowflakes on his eyelashes, and he's so beautiful it almost hurts to look at him,
"What were we talking about?" he asks, and he can't stop smiling,
"New Year's traditions," Cas replies, without missing a beat. Dean bursts out laughing,
"What?"
"Well, we're a little late. You're supposed to kiss someone at midnight." Dean runs his fingertips across Cas' cheek,
"There's always next year," Cas says, and Dean stops, because that wasn't any kind of joke. That was Cas stating a fact, and Dean smiles, because that means Cas is planning to stick around,
"There's always right now," Dean says, and kisses him once more.