Mistletoe Kiss, a supernatural fanfic

So I thought I'd better do something Christmassy, and ended up with this! Meant to upload it yesterday, but everything just went a bit mental and hey, better late than never.

And yes, I did watch 'A Very Supernatural Christmas' the other day. How could you tell?

Thank you so much for being so lovely and supportive, have some Destiel nonsense as a thank you present. And merry Christmas!

Dean swears quietly under his breath as yet another fat snowflake manages to make its way inside his suit collar and melt down his back. The freezing trickle of water only adds to his discomfort caused by the itchy, starched shirt that offers no protection against the biting wind and the shoes that pinch the edges of his feet but that he has no choice but to wear. They're his only pair of halfway decent dress shoes, and nobody's going to trust an FBI agent dressed in a suit and Doc Martens.

He slams shut the trunk of the Impala and, drawing his jacket tighter around his chest, makes a dash for the motel room. The lights are on, meaning the others are in, and sure enough the door opens when he tries the handle. He all but collapses into the room and immediately starts struggling out of the tight shoes and ill-fitting jacket.

"The daughter doesn't know anything. Neither does the brother. I'm starting to think..." he trails off as he turns and takes in the sight in front of him.

"Merry Christmas!" Sam contributes when nobody speaks for a few seconds. He's grinning, face flushed and hair slightly dishevelled, and it's clear he's been rushing around trying to get all this done before Dean got back. He stands leaning forward slightly, playing with his hands, expectant, waiting for Dean's reaction.

His brother just stands there, mouth hanging open slightly. The first thing that draws his attention is the tree in the corner of the room. It's a proper Christmas tree, pine needles and all, only just fitting into the space between the ceiling and floor. Dean doesn't know where Sam got it from, or how he managed to get it into the room, and a part of him suspects he doesn't want to know. It's decorated too; shiny baubles hanging from the branches, their plastic packaging visible in the tiny waste bin.

When he tears his eyes away from the tree, he scans the room slowly. Tinsel taped to the wall, running along the length of the room. He turns, and there's a plastic wreath hung on the back of the door.

"So... you like it?" Sam questions. Dean doesn't know what to say. Last time he actually celebrated Christmas, it had been a few months before he went to Hell. Sam had done the same thing then, albeit not as impressive. But still; the last-minute decorations, the tree, even Sam's expression, a mix of hope and childish glee, it all reminds him of that day. He hadn't really gotten into the Christmas spirit then, he'd had too much to worry about, but he'd pretended, for Sam. And even though all that was over now, he was alive and well with no demon deal hanging over his head, his blood still ran cold whenever he thought of that year.

But that was over. Things were different now. As if to confirm that, he hears a rustling from the corner and turns to see Cas emerging from behind the tree.

"I hung the last of them," he tell Sam, then notices Dean and his face splits into a welcoming grin. "Hello, Dean."

"Hey, Cas," Dean smiles back. Out of everything that's changed in their lives since Dean went to Hell, the arrival of the angel in the trenchcoat probably made the most impact. It's embarrassing to admit it, but Dean can't imagine life without him. He faces Sam again. "Thanks. I love it."

Sam's shoulders relax and Dean realises his brother was worrying about his reaction. He was probably thinking the same thing; that it would remind them too much of the last Christmas they spent together. They'd pretty much ignored the holiday since then, and he has to wonder what's provoked the sudden descent into seasonal spirit. As if reading his mind, Sam nods towards Castiel, who has disappeared into a bag of Christmas decorations.

"Can you believe he's never celebrated Christmas before?" Sam's eyebrows are raised so high they're in serious danger of vanishing into his hairline.

"Dude, a lot of people don't celebrate Christmas."

"Well, yeah, but he's an angel. I thought that was their kinda thing. I mean, the whole heavenly choir appearing before the shepherds deal. Plus, it was his brother who told Mary she was pregnant with God's child."

Dean is about to question Sam's seemingly unlimited geekiness when it comes to lore of any kind, religious or otherwise, when Cas' deep, gravelly voice interrupts him.

"Yes, and believe me, that was not a task Gabriel was enthusiastic in doing. He complained endlessly about having to fulfil his duties as an archangel. What's this for?" He holds out a plastic star, painted gold.

"Uh, it's for the tree. You put it on top," Sam offers. Castiel studies the ornament quizzically.

"Why?"

The brothers look at each other. Dean shrugs.

"You can take this one, Bible boy." he mutters, and has to hide his grin when Sam treats him to one of his classic bitchfaces.

"I think it's supposed to represent the star that led to Bethlehem," he offers, and Castiel frowns.

"Yes, well, they wouldn't just listen to directions," he grumbles. "So this goes on the top?"

"Let me do it," Sam offers and shoots Dean a smirk. He rolls his eyes as his baby brother plays the 'you may be older but I'm the tallest' card, stretching up to place the star on top of the tree. As he does it, Castiel takes a step back, standing next to Dean and studying the tree. He squints.

"I still don't understand what hanging coloured balls on a tree has got to do with the birth of the Messiah."

"Hey, don't ask me. I'm just in it for the alcohol and presents." Cas turns to face him and he has to stifle a smile. "Hey, you got some..." he waves his hand and Cas raises his to his face.

"What?"

"You've got bits of tree in your hair. C'mere."

The angel leans forward obediently and Dean starts picking out pine needles that have lodged themselves in Castiel's dark curls. As he runs his hand through Cas' hair, he becomes painfully aware of how close they are, faces mere inches apart, and unconsciously he brushes some of the tangles away from the angel's face and he's looking up with those blue eyes and dammit, Dean, okay, hands by your sides. He laughs awkwardly, aware Cas is looking at him intently.

"Is there a problem?"

"Uh, no. Has your hair grown?" Inwardly, he cringes at the ridiculousness of the question, but he needed a reason to explain why he'd been staring.

"Very possibly. My vessel will not age while I am inhabiting it, although it is likely that normal bodily functions such as hair growth-"

"So, yeah?"

"Yes. Why? Do you not like it?"

Dean exhales loudly, trying to think of how to answer that question but also very conscious of the fact that Sam is now listening to their conversation, an amused look on his face.

"Erm, I... I guess it kinda suits you," he attempts, trying to ignore the fact that his fingers can still feel the texture of Cas' hair, and he quickly smothers the images that leap to the front of his brain, of him combing his fingers through the angel's messy curls, gently untangling the knots, playing absent-mindedly with a few stray strands. Jesus, where had that even come from?

"Guys, stop making out for a second and get over here!" Sam's voice makes him jump, and he feels his cheeks reddening.

"What? No, we weren't... I wasn't..." he trails off awkwardly when his brother looks at him strangely.

"Dude. Joke?"

"Yeah, I know," he mutters in embarrassment, knowing Sam had been expecting him to throw some witty retort back, not to get all defensive. Why was he even being defensive, anyway? His eyes shift to the side and he sees Cas staring at him, inscrutable as usual. His brow is furrowed as slightly, but other than that his expression is unreadable.

"Dean?" Sam's voice snaps him back to reality.

"Huh? Yeah, coming."

When he crosses the room, Sam waves a brightly coloured parcel at him, grinning goofily.

"Presents!"

Dean rolls his eyes.

"Dude, I haven't got you anything."

"No problem."

He roots around in the motel wardrobe for a second, surfacing with two hastily wrapped gifts which he then shoves into his brother's hands. Dean looks down. One of them has Sam's name scribbled on the front, the other has Cas'.

"They're your presents to us."

"Really? What did I get you?"

"I dunno yet. We haven't opened them," Sam smiles widely, looking for a moment like a teenager again, and it strikes Dean that this overgrown goofball of a man is still a child at heart.

They all sit together, Dean and Cas at the table and Sam perched on the end of the bed. Sam goes first, handing the other two his perfectly wrapped gifts, an excited grin on his face. Dean opens his first, ripping away at the paper, while Cas sits there in silence, being careful not to tear it.

"What do you think?" Sam asks his brother when the last of the paper has fallen away.

"It's-"

"It's just I was thinking the other day, completely out of nowhere, about that time we were kids. You were about fifteen, I think? That was the first tape you ever bought. You just listened to it on a loop for about a week. Drove us all mental. And when we kept moving around, staying in different motels, you lost it somewhere. You were devastated."

Dean turns the tape over in his hands. Jar of Flies, by Alice in Chains and yeah, he remembers. He'd never found out what happened to that. He'd almost forgotten about it, but Sam had remembered.

"Wow. Thanks," he looks up, meets his brother's eye, and feels his face split into a grin. "I love it."

"Awesome," Sam beams back, and turns to Cas. "So?"

Cas is quiet, staring at the object in his lap. Impatiently Dean scoots his chair over so he's sat next to the angel, and peers over to see what's lying amongst the wrapping paper which, he notices, Cas has managed to unwrap without ripping it once.

"It's a scarf," he announces, stating the obvious. Sam shrugs.

"He saw it in a shop window the other day. He seemed to like it."

"Do angels even get cold?"

"Why the hell are you asking me?"

They both turn to Cas, who is still staring at his lap.

"Uh... Cas?"

The angel starts at the sound of Dean's voice, and seems to remember himself.

"Thank you. Very much. I've never-" he clears his throat. "Thank you."

"You're, um, welcome," Sam replies, faltering a little at the intense way Cas is staring at him. Cas smiles back and drapes the scarf loosely around his neck. It's a dark blue colour; soft, woolly. It suits him, Dean thinks.

"Dean?"

"Huh?"

Sam raises his eyebrows and looks at the packages Dean has placed on the table.

"Oh! Err," he quickly consults the labels. "I guess... that one's for you..."

He hands out the presents and sits back, watching the others tear the brightly coloured paper off. Sam's the first to open his, a thick book with the name of some ancient author on the spine. He grins cheekily up at his brother.

"Aw man, I've wanted this for years. How did you know?"

"It's 'cause I'm an awesome brother and I actually pay attention to when you go off on rants about books and college and...salad and whatever it is you talk about all the time." He turns to Cas. "What did I get you? Although obviously I totally know already because I went out and bought these myself and, y'know, put a lot of thought and effort into it."

Cas turns over the object in his hands, and for a second Dean thinks it's another old book and is about to lose interest when he notices something different about it. There's no author name, no title, and it looks new. Brand new. The angel flicks through the pages and he can see that they're blank, creamy white, waiting to be filled.

"I thought..." Sam begins.

"Yeah?" Dean is curious now.

"I thought you could use it as... as a diary. Like our dad used to, keeping track of cases or... Well, you're pretty old, no offence, and you could use it to write down stories. From your past, or I guess you could make them up, if you like writing."

Cas nods gravely.

"I'd like that. Thank you."

The rest of the night passes in a blur of food, alcohol and bad TV. By midnight Sam is asleep, long limbs sprawled out on the bed, snoring softly. Dean looks at him, and for a second he sees the little boy his brother used to be. He feels a wave of nostalgia sweep over him, and he misses the old days. Things were simpler then; he had one job, look after Sammy, and he didn't need to worry about angels and demons and the freakin' Apocalypse, for crying out loud.

But then again, that might be the alcohol talking.

"I'm just gonna go get some air," he announces to Cas, and leaves the room. The cold hits him the second he steps outside, and he lets it wake him up, the chill permeating right down to his bones.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Yeah, sure."

Cas stands next to him, hands in his coat pocket and head tilted up to the sky.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"What is?"

Cas waves his hand to indicate their surroundings.

"The snow. It's so pure. Clean. No footprints or tyre tracks. Just white."

Dean shrugs.

"Yeah, I guess."

"You don't think so?"

"Well, mostly I just have the urge to go jump in it. Make the first marks before everyone gets up and ruins it."

Cas looks thoughtful, tilting his head slightly as he looks out at the snow. The scarf is still around his neck, and it really does suit him. Brings out the blue in his eyes, and yeah, that does sound more than a little gay, but Dean doesn't really care any more. And again, that's probably at least partly the alcohol talking, but it's true.

In fact, now that he thinks about it, he thinks this kind of stuff all the time. Not constantly, but sometimes he'll glance over at Cas and it's like he's seeing him for the first time all over again. He recognises the signs; he's experienced it more than enough times, but never with a dude before. Then again, does Castiel even count as a guy? His vessel is definitely male, but how do genders even work for angels?

"Dean?"

He jumps, and Cas is looking at him, concerned.

"I'm here. I'm fine," he almost shouts in a pitiful attempt to act casual. Cas obviously isn't buying it. He stares at Dean, frowning slightly, lips parted, and for some reason it isn't making him as uncomfortable as it should do.

Yeah Dean, tell me again how straight you are.

Dean is the first to look away, laughing a little to try and defuse the tension, and his eyes travel upwards to the door, anywhere away from the searching gaze of the angel, and his shoulders sag a little.

"What is it?"

Cas has followed his gaze and is staring at the little bundle of leaves pinned to the top of the doorframe. Either this is Sam's idea of a joke or his baby brother is more observant that he gives him credit for.

"It's, uh, mistletoe."

"Why are you looking so uncomfortable?"

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

Yeah, he probably is. He sighs, clenches and relaxes his hands, licks his lips nervously. This could go two ways. Either he could laugh it off, go back into the motel, fall asleep and pretend nothing happened, or-

"There's a tradition," he begins, while his brain struggles to catch up with what's coming out his mouth. Eventually it does, and wait, no, no, what the hell are you doing, shut up Dean, SHUT UP, but he's started now.

"When two people stand under mistletoe, they're supposed to..."

"What?"

"They're supposed to kiss," he blurts out before he can stop himself. Cas' expression doesn't change, and he's regretting opening his mouth and thinking he's seriously misunderstood the situation between them when the angel smiles; a shy, lopsided grin that makes Dean's stomach fill with butterflies.

"I never got you a present," Cas whispers, and for a second Dean is confused. Where the hell did that come from?

He's opening his mouth to ask when Cas leans forwards, pressing their mouths together, and Dean decided that questions can wait. The angel's lips are soft, warm, and Dean is more than happy to stay out here in the cold all night if he's got this to keep him warm. Hesitantly, he lifts his hand and runs his fingers through Cas' hair and for a few minutes that feel like an eternity they stay frozen like that, until Cas breaks away.

"Do you like it?"

"Yeah. What?"

"Your present."

Dean bites his lip and grins at Castiel.

"I love it," he answers, and ends the conversation by pressing their lips back together. The snow falls around them, melting into tiny droplets of water when it touches their clothes and skin, but they don't even notice the cold.

"If this is how Christmas is usually celebrated, I think we should do it more often," Cas whispers into his mouth, and Dean has to agree.

This Christmas is much better than last time.