This is entirely based on the movie "Holiday in Handcuffs." If you haven't yet seen it, I recommend it. And if you already have seen it and think you know how this story will play out, then you should know it's not completely like the movie.
Two days before Christmas…
The loud irritating noise of the alarm clock woke him up at an ungodly hour. Dean extended his arm until it reached the small electronic device and he found the snooze button. He groaned, rubbing at his eyes. His shitty apartment was colder than usual. The last thing Dean Winchester wanted to do today was get out of bed, especially from under the warm layers of thick blankets on top of him.
He had to get up, though. Dean knew this much. He had a long day ahead of him, and going through the list in his mind made him seriously consider staying in his own little cocoon and blocking out the rest of the world forever.
But that would be a dick move. Granted, Dean was full of flaws, but being a dick was not one of them.
That was what finally got Dean out of bed.
Dean set the coffee maker and waited for the rich black liquid to drip down into his white mug. He yawned, folding his arms in front of him because it was still fucking cold.
After his mug was full, Dean turned off the coffee maker and took a careful sip from his coffee. It was black and bitter, and it scolded his tongue just the right amount.
Dean yawned again as he strode back to his bedroom. He set his mug down on his nightstand and scanned through the pathetic amount of clothing confined in his small closet. He was interrupted by a phone call. Before he even reached for his phone, Dean knew who it was.
"Hi, mom," Dean said, placing the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he returned to his closet.
"Good morning, Dean." Mary's chirpy voice was a comfort in the morning, even though the reason for her phone call wasn't. "Hope you got enough sleep last night."
"Yeah," Dean lied. He'd gotten home at 3:30 A.M. from his shift at the Roadhouse, and his stupid alarm clock woke him up at 6:30 A.M. so no, of course he didn't get enough sleep. "I was just about to get ready for my interview. That is why you're calling, isn't it?"
Mary sighed on the other end of the line. "Dean, I'm just looking out for you. I know you want this job more than anything, and I want you to get it. Remember, your dad put in a good word for you, so you've got all the luck on your favor."
Dean snorted. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure that's really going to help me. Listen, I gotta finish getting ready or I'm going to be late for my interview."
"Are you still coming to the cabin at four?" Mary asked. Dean closed his eyes, pressed them tight together, as though that would change anything.
"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there," Dean said. If Benny even agrees to go. "I'll go straight from the Roadhouse."
"Great. Should I set the dinner table for six, or just us five?"
Dean frowned. His family would be expecting him to introduce them to his new boyfriend. They knew nothing about him, and Dean didn't have a history of serious relationships, so Benny was kind of a big deal. Dean had only been dating him for two months, and he'd kept Benny so far from his family that they didn't even know his name. Truth was, he didn't even know if he liked Benny enough to introduce him to his family, much less to spend an entire weekend locked away with him.
On the other hand, Dean was tired of his family looking down on him for not settling down with anyone. They'd never been opposed to his sexual orientation, but they were always bothered by his lack of commitment. Dean just wasn't that guy. And he didn't know how to make his parents understand that.
"Make it for six, mom," Dean finally agreed. "I'm bringing him today."
"That's fantastic, son," Mary said, sounding honestly excited. "I can't wait to meet this secret man in your life."
Dean made a strangled noise. "Oh, you'll…you'll love him." Hopefully enough for the both of us.
"I have no doubt about it," Mary said. Dean could clearly hear the smile in her lips. At this moment, the prospect of his job interview seemed much simpler than spending the holidays away with his family.
"Well, I'll let you go," Dean said. "I need to look decent for this thing."
"Oh, wear your favorite sweater. The one I bought you with the patch of an angel right in the middle. Oh, Dean, you look lovely in it."
Dean sighed, reluctantly agreeing to wear that hideous thing in the back of his closet. He bid his mother goodbye and finally got ready for his job interview.
Leviathan Enterprises was easily a ten minute drive from home, so Dean figured that he had time to pick up a donut on the way. He didn't have food stocked in his fridge at home, and he didn't think being in an interview with a loud grumbling stomach would make a good impression.
Dean could picture himself working at Leviathan Enterprises. He'd have a nine to five job in a cubicle all of his own, doing the same thing, over and over, for the rest of his life. The thought induced a tiny shiver from him, and it swelled up in his throat in the form of a knot. He knew any job at that fancy building would grant him way more than what he was making at the Roadhouse, even when he got good tips. But the more he thought about being chained to an uncomfortable chair in front of a computer screen for eight straight hours, the more he felt like he was condemning himself to a jail sentence.
He shook off the miserable thought and got back in his Impala. He still had fifteen minutes to spare before his interview. Dean set out to the road in his shiny car and waited behind a long trail of unmoving vehicles.
"Why the hell aren't we moving?" Dean mumbled, sticking his neck out of the car window. Up front, he noticed two cars had recently crashed. It wasn't a big deal, just hood to bumper contact, but they apparently refused to move until the cops arrived. Dean groaned in desperation. "What a lucky fucking day."
Twenty minutes later, Dean had finally made it to the fifteen-floor skyscraper where Leviathan Enterprises resided. God even the business name was obnoxious. Dean took the stairs up to the seventh floor, where his meeting was being held. He figured his legs would be faster than any stupid elevator in the building. His theory might have been correct, but one thing he failed to account for was the sweat factor.
Dean was wearing a suit (without a tie), and the building did a marvelous job at blocking out the freezing cold Kansas winter weather from outside, so by the time he reached the seventh floor, Dean was drenched in sweat. And, quite honestly, he was completely out of breath.
Nonetheless, Dean hadn't lost his hopes, yet. He went straight to the receptionist, yelling—more like gasping—that his name was Dean Winchester and he had a job interview at 8 A.M. and he knew he was ten minutes late, but dammit he was there now.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Winchester," the receptionists said, in a tone that led Dean to believe she wasn't sorry at all. "But Mr. Novak is already seeing his next interviewee. He couldn't wait for you."
Dean blinked, and his eyes fucking burned when that one drop of sweat fell into them. "Well, can't he see me after this interview, or at lunch? I got all day."
The receptionist—Becky, according to her badge—frowned and shook her head. "Again, I'm very sorry, but there isn't anything I can do to help you." She paused, glancing at Dean's sweaty image. "You can help yourself to a cup of water in the corner. Free of charge." Becky smiled, looking satisfied with her remark. I can afford a cup of water, thank you very much.
Dean scowled at Becky before he turned and reluctantly headed for the water. Dean took his tiny paper cup and filled it up with water, drinking it slowly. The water could have as easily been poison because it was making Dean sick. Maybe it was just the anger. What a fucking douchebag, whoever that Mr. Novak was. His dad had put in a good word for him, but John didn't know a Mr. Novak. Of course! There must have been a mistake.
Tossing the paper cup into the trash, Dean turned back around and headed to the receptionist again. "Hi. Okay, I think you got me confused. My dad arranged the interview with Michael Milton. I don't know who this Mr. Novak is, but I'm clearly not here to see him."
Becky pursed her lips into a tight line. "Mr. Milton had to leave unexpectedly on a family emergency, and Mr. Novak filled in for him. So, clearly, you were here to see him. But I'll say it again, if it makes you feel better. Mr. Novak will not see you today. Very sorry."
Dean busted into laughter, sounding clinically insane. Maybe he was. After all, he wanted to work in this place.
The door behind Becky's office opened and a woman walked out, turning to thank Mr. Novak before shutting the door behind her. Dean looked at Becky, and she narrowed her eyes on him, warily. He didn't hesitate any longer. Dean moved swiftly next to Becky's desk and barged into the office that belonged to none other than Mr. Novak Fancypants.
Dean locked the door behind him, and Becky knocked on it, coming to the rescue of the man sitting calmly behind a large wooden desk.
Mr. Novak picked up his landline and dialed a quick number. "Yes. No, I think I will be alright. Thank you for your concern, Ms. Rosen." He hung up the phone and folded his hands on the table. Dean took a minute to notice that Mr. Novak had eyes too big and blue to be proportionate or real. And despite his suit (with a blue tie) he had a perfectly long head of tussled hair that Dean could have sworn Mr. Novak woke up with and simply didn't bother to tame.
Dean took a few steps towards Mr. Novak, cautiously so. "Hi, there," he said, offering his best grin; the toothy Colgate Winchester charm of a smile that helped him pick up women at bars on several occasions.
The other man didn't change his firm expression. He simply stared at Dean with those ridiculous pair of eyes. "Can I help you?" Mr. Novak said, his voice deep and gruff.
"Actually, yes," Dean said. "Can I sit down?"
Mr. Novak blinked, not smoothening any of his features. Whoa, who put that stick up your ass, Mr. Fancypants?
"I'm going to sit down anyway," Dean said, taking the seat in front of Mr. Novak's desk. "Why don't we start over? My name is Dean Winchester. I don't intend to give excuses for me showing up late. I don't want to take up any of your time, but I just need you to give me another chance. I'm here on behalf of John Winchester. He's friends with Michael Milton, and I was meant to see him today. I hope you can give me another chance, Mr. Novak."
Mr. Novak tilted his head to the side, blinking again. "Are you suggesting I break the rules to play favorites?"
"No, not at all," Dean said quickly. "I'm already here, so why don't we just get to the interview. I'm sure I'd make a great fit at Leviathan Enterprises, and I—"
"I never agreed to start the interview," Mr. Novak interrupted, cutting Dean off midway.
"Oh."
"Please leave, Mr. Winchester, before I call security to escort you out."
"But I—"
"Now."
Dean gaped at the man behind the large desk. "Okay. Whatever. Goodbye."
Mr. Novak's stiff posture didn't change as Dean got up and left the office, closing the door behind him.
Becky Rosen was staring daggers at Dean when he came back outside, and he ignored the curious gazes of the other people on the waiting area. If they were all going in to see Mr. Novak, Dean wished them all the luck in the world. All the luck that was simply not his.
The Roadhouse was packed today. It was no surprise, since many people preferred going out for drinks instead of going last minute shopping or caroling or following any of the customary Christmas traditions.
Dean stood behind the counter, ready to serve as many drinks as people requested. Ash was already hard at work, preparing a couple martinis.
"Hey, man, you didn't have to dress up for me," Ash said, observing Dean's unusual attire. Dean had put on his angel sweater on top of his suit, so he looked (and felt) like hell.
Dean let out a tired breath before taking the next order. "I fucked up my interview this morning."
"Maybe it was the sweater," Ash offered, laughing.
Dean rolled his eyes, handing his customer the drinks they ordered. "It's not like I was dying to work at that damn place."
"I hear they kill puppies."
"And souls," Dean agreed, preparing the next order. "Speaking of destroying souls, I might have promised my parents I'd bring Benny to spend the holiday with us up in that cabin they always get. I don't get why they think it's a good idea to lock themselves up in a cabin during the winter. I'm surprised we haven't killed each other in the past."
"Yeah, weird family," Ash said, fixing a drink of his own. "Are you sure Benny will even want to go to this thing? I didn't think you were all that into him."
Dean shook his head. "Hell, I don't know what I'm gonna do, man."
"Hey, speak of the devil."
"What?" Dean looked up, at the direction Ash was facing. Benny walked in, approaching the counter in front of Dean.
"Dean," Benny said, and Dean didn't miss the sourness in his voice. "I wanted to talk to you."
"Uh, me, too," Dean said. "Ash, can you take over while I go talk to Benny?"
Ash nodded. "Sure thing, man. I got you covered."
Dean walked around the counter and followed Benny to an empty table. They sat rigidly across each other. "What's up?"
"Why don't you go first?" Benny said, slowly.
"Oh. I guess I should. I don't know why I've been avoiding telling you this, but I kind of promised my parents you'd come up to the cabin with us for Christmas. So they're expecting you for dinner today."
"What?" Benny said, honestly surprised.
"It's not that loud, Benny, I'm sure you heard me."
Benny sat back in his chair, shaking his head and smiling without contentment. "Dean, this is crazy. I don't even know where this is coming from. Why don't we just say things how they are? Loud and clear, alright? You don't like me, I don't like you. It's over. Don't try to force something more out of whatever it is we have."
Benny's words came at Dean like sharp knives. All he could do was stare at him.
"I gotta be somewhere right now," Benny said, getting up. "Take care, Dean."
"Take care," Dean whispered, staring at the salt shaker on the table.
Dean got up, walked back behind the counter and stared ahead of him, ignoring the waiting customers.
Ash tapped on his shoulder. "You okay, Dean?"
Through the same doors that Benny had just exited, Dean recognized the man who entered the bar. Dean took a moment to realize this was the last place he thought he'd ever seen Mr. Novak again. What was a man like that doing at a bar—at noon? It certainly didn't fit his whole persona. Dean took notice of his long tan trenchcoat.
Mr. Novak walked up to the bar, his eyes glued to the screen of his phone rather than where he was going. "Two beers," he said to no one in particular. Dean shared an annoyed glance with Ash. He'd had enough rude customers to take offense this time. Even if this was the same Fancypants who cut him off for fighting for a job he didn't even want.
"Coming right up," Dean said, filling up the glasses. Dean set both glasses on the counter and slid them closer to Mr. Novak. The man took out a twenty dollar bill and took his drinks without ever looking up. Dean watched him go, and a quick (quite possibly insane) thought ran through his mind as he watched Mr. Novak head to an empty table.
Ash was trying to get his attention, but Dean had stopped listening. He turned around and went into Ellen's empty office. Dean knew it was empty because she was on vacation. Dean also knew the office had a revolver inside her desk. It wasn't loaded, but he knew it was there. Ellen had shown it to him. It meant no harm. It'd been a gift from her father, and she thought it was good luck to keep in her desk.
Dean allowed his insanity to lead him through his actions as he found the revolver and put it in the waist of his slacks. Dean was crazy, absolutely crazy, but it was how far he would go along with this that he wanted to find out, would find out.
Mr. Novak was still staring at the screen of his cell phone, and Dean waited outside of Ellen's office. He waited for the right time. He waited for what his insanity would lead him to do.
He didn't have to wait long. Mr. Novak placed his phone into the pocket of his trenchcoat and a few seconds later, removed said coat and hung it carefully on his chair. He sat firmly at his table, tapping his fingers on the wood. After a single sip of his beer, Mr. Novak got up, heading to the restrooms. Dean watched him go in. When Mr. Novak came back out, Dean was waiting outside the door.
Mr. Novak jumped at the sight of Dean. His brows furrowed, creasing significantly. "Mr. Winchester, what a surprise."
Dean grinned broadly. His insanity had finally reached its peak. "Come with me. Outside."
"No," Mr. Novak said, sounding nearly offended at Dean's request.
"Please?" Dean said, lifting his sweater enough for Mr. Novak to see the revolver that was hidden in the waist of his pants.
"What are you doing?" Mr. Novak said, alarm in his eyes. "Where did you get that?"
Dean smiled, reaching for his gun. He pressed the tip of the gun to Mr. Novak's stomach, and the other man flinched. "Outside," Dean repeated.
Mr. Novak nodded, turning slowly around so he could walk out through the back door. Mr. Novak opened the door that led out to the bright sunny winter day. The parking lot in the back was empty this early in the day. Dean guided Mr. Novak to the Impala, where Mr. Novak halted outside the passenger door.
"Don't do this," Mr. Novak begged, in a quiet voice. A voice of defeat and fear.
"I need your help," Dean said, opening the door for him. "Get in."
Mr. Novak looked back to the Roadhouse. "But I am expecting someone. They will come looking for me."
"Not where I'm taking you," Dean said.
"I have money," Mr. Novak said. "I'll give you my wallet. If you want my phone, it's inside, in my coat. Please, take it."
Dean shook his finger, leaning against the Impala. "That's not going to work for me. I need you. Get in the car. Don't make this more difficult than it already is."
Mr. Novak glanced back at the revolver that was still pointed at him, and he swallowed before getting in the Impala.
Dean rushed to the driver's seat and climbed in the car, still pointing the gun to Mr. Novak. Dean figured he couldn't drive and hold the gun the entire time, so he lunged forward. Dean rounded his hands around Mr. Novak's neck, and the other man jumped again.
"Calm down, I just need your tie," Dean said. He loosened the tie and then removed it from his neck. "Gotta tie you up so you don't go out running like a chicken without its head."
"What exactly is your aim here, Mr. Winchester?" he asked as Dean tied his hands to the hanger on the car. "Because if you don't want my money then I don't see what—wait a minute, is this a form of vengeance? It is, isn't it? You are angry about this morning. And now what are you going to do? Kill me?"
"Give me a break, man. I didn't want the job that bad."
Mr. Novak scowled. "Then let me go."
"Can't do that now," Dean said. It was true. If he'd gone this far, he might as well go all the way.
"Where are you taking me? It doesn't matter. Wherever you take me they will find me."
Dean chuckled and patted the other man's shoulder. "We'll see."
"You're a sociopath, you know," Mr. Novak said as Dean pulled out of the Roadhouse. "I shouldn't pay the price for you not taking your meds today."
"Hey, lighten up. Look at it this way. You get a holiday resort at an abandoned cabin miles from town and I'll throw in a free friendship so you'll stop being so grumpy."
Mr. Novak scuffed. "This is absurd. You are kidnapping me. I have a right to be grumpy."
Dean put a tape into his cassette player and soft rock started playing through the speakers. It was soothing, despite the situation he'd recently caused.
"Why don't we get to know each other better? We have a long ride ahead of us."
Mr. Novak was silent, staring out the window on his side.
"Okay," Dean said. "I'll start. My name is Dean Winchester, but you already knew that. I work at the Roadhouse, though I'm probably fired by now. I like to golf. And I fucking hate the clothes I'm wearing."
"Hmm."
Dean turned to Mr. Novak. He was still staring outside. He was angry, and for a good reason. "What's your name?"
After a minute, Dean thought he'd never respond. Until he did.
"Castiel," he said. "Castiel Novak."
Dean nodded. "Grumpy name for a grumpy man. Fitting."
Castiel turned to Dean just to roll his eyes.
"What's your story?" Dean pushed. "We really have a long drive ahead."
Castiel refused to speak anymore, so Dean spoke for the both of them.
"I know who you are. You were born rich, will marry rich, and will die rich. You get anything you want handed to you on a silver platter, and you don't like to brush your hair. Am I right or am I right?"
"Intelligent assumptions, Mr. Winchester."
"Call me Dean."
Castiel sighed. "Will you tell me where you are taking me now?"
"Oh, you're going to spend Christmas with me and my family in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. And you're going to hate every second of it, trust me."
"And how exactly do you plan on reasoning my being there?" Castiel asked, honestly curious.
Dean shrugged. "You're going to pretend to be my date."
Castiel raised his eyebrows in surprise. "So that's what this is all about."
"Maybe."
"You got dumped, didn't you?"
"I could have dumped him first," Dean said, trying to save the remains of his honor. "If it wasn't for this stupid family thing."
"You maniac."
Dean smiled. "Insult me all you want. You're going to have to play along with me or I shoot you."
Castiel turned to Dean, frowning. "Seriously? You'd kill me over this?"
Dean kept driving. He glanced at the revolver that sat against his thigh on the seat. Even if the thing was loaded of course he'd never use it.
"It's not loaded," Dean confessed. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"You're still a maniac."
"I bet you've had worse."
Castiel was quiet for a moment before a tiny ghost of a smile sprouted on his lips. "You know, as soon as we get to your family, I will tell them what you did, and I'll be able to go home."
"Already worked that out," Dean lied. Fuck.
That wasn't Dean's only problem. His tank was running on empty. His poor Impala was a brave girl but she wouldn't go on much longer without filling her up. Dean pulled up at the gas station closest to the cabin. It was empty, thankfully. Dean parked the car and got out, hoping he could make this quick and without having to go into the store.
The gas pumps were ancient, though, and they didn't take credit cards. Dean let out a long breath as he stepped inside the store. A woman sat behind the counter, flipping through a magazine. Dean got a few bags of chips and sodas for the rest of the drive and then requested a full tank.
Behind the woman Dean spotted a box of—well, would you look at that. Perfect timing—pink furry handcuffs.
"Can I get the cuffs, too?" Dean asked.
The woman blinked at him. "You kidding me?"
"What? I got money."
"And you clearly got some kinks," she added. She looked out the window, and when she spotted Castiel, still tied to the car, she looked to Dean for explanations.
"Really?"
Dean shrugged. "It's a new experience every day."
The woman smiled, something encouraging. "Good for you. Name's Ruby. And the cuffs are on me." Ruby picked up the box with the handcuffs and slid them over to Dean on the counter. Dean took them.
"Alright, then." Dean handed the woman the money he still owed her and took off.
Castiel was glaring at him from the car. "You are not getting away with this, assbutt."
Dean laughed. The poor man couldn't insult him to save his life. "I bought you some food, in case you get hungry, grumpy." Dean tossed the chips and sodas in through Castiel's window and went to pump in the gas. Once the tank was full, Dean got behind the wheel and started the engine.
"Luck is on our side, sweetheart," Dean said, showing Castiel the handcuffs. "Look at that. Pink and furry with a side of humiliation."
Castiel pulled a face at Dean as he leaned forward and untied his hands. Dean smirked the entire time it took him to pull out the handcuffs and close them around Castiel's wrists. Castiel made a sound of apparent disgust at the sight of his hands.
"You can't deny that they're more comfortable," Dean said, rolling up the wrinkled tie. "I will iron this when we get to the cabin."
"You can keep it," Castiel mumbled, looking out the windshield. "I'm getting out of here as soon as we arrive."
Dean sighed, getting back on the icy road. "I hate to break it to you, huggy bear. That ain't happening."
Castiel didn't say anything. He refused to eat from the chips or drink from the sodas Dean bought him. Ungrateful bastard, had to be.
As they got closer to the cabin, the snow started filling the roads. Dean was bidding his time because as much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't control Castiel. If the man wanted to leave—which he did, obviously—he would take off and Dean would have no way of stopping him. He had to come up with something fast, unless he wanted to ridicule himself in front of his entire family.
When they arrived, the only vehicle Dean spotted outside of the cabin was his parents' blue Toyota. He brought the Impala to a full stop beside their Toyota and turned to Castiel. "I'm going to go inside really quick. The car is locked and you are cuffed, so would you be a good boy and wait until I get back? There are no roads nearby, or other cabins for miles. If you try to escape you might just freeze."
Castiel pursed his lips, furrowing his eyebrows with the stubborn action.
"It's just going to be for two days, then I'll drop you off wherever you want and we'll be done with it. Alright?"
"I will make sure you spend the rest of your life in prison like the criminal you are, Mr. Winchester."
"About that," Dean said. "Call me Dean. We don't need to be so formal with each other."
Castiel scoffed. Dean sighed, turning to trail up the path to the small cabin.
He'd spent so many winters here, secluded from the rest of the world. It was fine when he was four, and he had actual hopes for Christmas. It was also fine when he was twelve because that was the year his parents bought him his first guitar. They thought it was fitting for their son to have a musical inclination, as a hobby, of course. And a hobby it remained.
Poignant smells of cinnamon and freshly baked apple pie filled the room when Dean opened the door, letting himself into the cabin of his childhood.
"Dean? Is that you?" a voice called from the kitchen.
With a bright grin illuminating her features, Mary walked out of the kitchen, followed by John a few feet behind.
"Miss me?" Dean said.
Mary tilted her head, still smiling. She pulled Dean into a warm embrace, and Dean momentarily hid in her long blond locks of hair, trying to find some ground to stand on after the unexpected turn of events from this morning.
When Mary pulled away, John leaned in for a short hug. "Glad you could make it, son. Earlier than usual."
"Look at your sweater, Dean," Mary said, chewing off a laugh. "It's almost identical to the one you cried over when you were five. Oh, when I found it at the store, I was squealing with joy. I knew you'd love it."
"I do," Dean said. "Thanks, mom."
John looked out the window, curiously and searching. "Mary said you were bringing company. Did they bail on you, son?"
Dean bit his tongue to hold back from spilling the whole truth right here. John wasn't going to be easy to fool. He'd never buy this charade. Mary, on the other hand, would see what she wanted to see. Dean realized he'd already made his bet. All that was left to do was play this game, and play it right.
"No, actually, Castiel is right outside," Dean said, grinning almost robotically. "He's very shy, though. He's really into role playing—" John make a choking noise, but Dean continued. "So we're doing this whole kidnap thing at the moment, you know, to keep things fresh. He's going to pretend I kidnapped him and dragged him here against his will, but keep in mind it's all part of the role play."
Mary scrunched her eyebrows, concerned. "Does this really work…for the both of you?"
John looked as uncomfortable as Dean suddenly felt. "Dear God, Mary, let's just go along with this without asking any unnecessary questions."
"Right," Mary said. "Well, bring him in."
Without any further ado, Dean spun around and headed to the Impala. Castiel was still pouting inside the car, looking grumpy as ever. Dean opened the passenger door and offered a friendly smile.
"They're ready for you," Dean said.
"Take these things off me," Castiel demanded, raising his hands in front of him. Dean pulled out the tiny key from his pocket and unlocked the furry handcuffs from Castiel's wrists. Castiel smoothed his wrists down and glared at Dean. "I hate you."
"I'm sure you do."
Castiel pushed Dean aside as he got out of the Impala and rushed inside the cabin, where Mary and John had been waiting to greet him.
"Hi—" Mary started.
"Okay, listen up," Castiel began, pointing his long index finger to Dean, who was barely catching up to him, closing the door to keep the cold air out. "Your son brought me here at gun point, only to tell me the gun wasn't loaded halfway down the road. He handcuffed me with these hideous furry handcuffs. If you give me a phone so I can call for help now, I won't press charges."
Mary laughed, while John still looked mildly uncomfortable. "That's very nice, dear," Mary said. "My name is Mary Winchester. This is my husband, John."
Running a hand through his short hair, Dean approached Castiel. "Where are my manners? Sorry, mom. This is Castiel Novak. By the way, the furry handcuffs were entirely his idea."
Castiel scowled at Dean, and for a second, Dean thought Castiel was going to launch himself at him and punch the crap out of him. Fortunately, Castiel's jaw clenching seemed to take up his time.
"Oh my," Mary said. "Well, it's very nice to meet you, dear."
Castiel shook his head, infuriated. "Your son is completely insane!"
"I'm sure that's what makes this work," Mary mumbled.
John chuckled halfheartedly. "Can we get you a cup of eggnog?"
Groaning, Castiel threw his hands up in the air. "What the hell did you tell them, Dean?"
"More than we had to know," John said under his breath. Castiel heard it, anyway.
"You are unbelievable," Castiel accused, stabbing the same judgmental index finger to Dean's chest.
Dean captured Castiel's hands in his own and brought it up to his lips, kissing it. Castiel blinked at him for a moment before jerking his hand away.
A sudden knock on the door interrupted the tension in the room. John opened the door and greeted Sam inside.
Sam, the perfect son, walked inside with a stride worthy of a runway model. His long hazelnut hair ran down to his neck, and it was covered in a soft layer of snow. Sam, the genius—and taller—younger brother, sporting a leather jacket and a scarf around his neck, walked inside with a smile that had actual light shining out of it.
Mary ran up to him and hugged him. Sam laughed, looking actually pleased to be stuck here for the holidays. John did the one-arm hug with Sam, backing away quickly. Their relationship had never been easy, or simple.
"Hey, Dean," Sam said, hugging him last.
"Long time no see." Dean scratched the back of his head, motioning to Castiel. "This is my…boyfriend, Castiel Novak."
Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise. God, did no one truly expect Dean to bring a date along? "Nice meeting you, Castiel. I'm Sam Winchester, the handsome brother." Castiel shook his hand when Sam extended it, but he looked bitter doing it.
"Would you believe me if I told you that your brother kidnapped me and brought me here against my will?" Castiel asked, hopelessly.
Sam turned to Dean, looking so serious that Dean almost thought his plan was going to fail after all. "He's…charming," Sam finally said.
"He's an even better kisser," Dean said, poking Castiel's side. The other man shot him another glare, and Dean decided it might be best to keep his hands to himself from now on.
"So, what's for dinner?" Sam asked, heading into the kitchen with John and Mary.
Turning to Castiel, Dean frowned. "I promise these two days will just fly by and you'll be home safe and sound."
"I'm going to make you pay for this, Winchester."
"Alright, let's make a deal," Dean said. "You start calling me Dean, and I start calling you Cas. If we're going to do this, let's do it right."
"I don't want to do this at all!" Castiel snapped.
Another knock on the door startled Dean. He went to open the door. Uncle Bobby came rushing in, taking a long swig from his silver flask. "Where's the eggnog?" he asked.
"Kitchen, I'm sure."
"Fantastic," Bobby grunted.
Dean offered his hand. "Come with?"
Castiel folded his arms and shook his head.
Dean rolled his eyes. "Suit yourself." Dean turned and walked to the kitchen, when he heard something roll from Castiel's lips that made him pause. "What?" Dean asked, turning around.
"Don't kiss me again, alright?" Castiel requested quietly.
"Alright," Dean agreed, shrugging.
After dinner, and a very nice dinner for that matter, Sam and Bobby turned in early. Dean caught Castiel yawning at the table, but he feared that he'd try to run away through the night. And if he did, then Dean would have no way to stop him. Maybe it was better to just let him go. Even if that meant looking batshit crazy in front of his family.
What had Dean been thinking? Everything he'd done was batshit crazy.
"I'll do the dishes," Dean offered, gathering the plates from the table.
"Let me help you," Mary said, picking up the empty glasses.
John dragged Castiel to the living room while Dean and Mary took care of the dishes. As Dean scrubbed and Mary dried, Dean thought to take the opportunity to request something.
"Can I be the, uh, Keymaster?"
"Really?" Mary wondered, taking a plate from Dean. "You never liked the idea of Keymaster."
"I know, but I'd like to try it this year."
"Okay." Mary pulled out a plastic bag from the freezer, full of everyone's keys. Dean knew where to hide them. He thought it'd be safer that way.
"Thanks, mom."
Mary smiled. "Castiel doesn't seem to like us a lot."
"Did it seem that way?" Dean asked. Castiel hadn't made any effort to talk to anyone during dinner. He just ate in absolute silence. When asked a question, he either nodded or shook his head. Dean had to jump in and make something up so Castiel wouldn't come off as arrogant.
"Do you really care about him?" Mary asked. It came unexpectedly, her question. Dean could fake a lot of things, but caring about someone he hardly knew, someone who denied him the chance for a better job, well that was hard to do.
Dean took a breath, finishing up with the last glass. "I've only been dating him two months. We get along just fine when we're alone together. That's all that matters, right?"
Placing a hand on Dean's shoulder, Mary appeared to try to comfort him. "I'm sorry about the interview. I'll get your dad to make another call to Michael."
"Oh, no, don't worry about it. I'm happy at the Roadhouse."
"If that's what you really want, then I support your decision," Mary said, earnestly. Yeah, she might support his decision, but did she agree with him? Did John agree with any of this? Dean had always sought his parents' approval, but it was hardly ever given to him. Instead, he received looks of pity from them. They pitied his sorry life.
Mary turned to walk out into the living room when Dean called for her.
"Can Cas and I stay in the same room? I hope that's not weird for anyone," Dean added.
"Sure," Mary said, not at all bothered by his request. "I'll go get the room ready."
With his head resting on his hand, plowed on the arm of the couch, Castiel listened as John told him stories of his past. They were the same stories John used to tell Dean and Sam when they were kids. Stories that portrayed John as a courageous fearless man. Dean never knew if the stories held any true value to them, but they made Mary smile every time John told them.
To rescue Castiel from absolute boredom, Dean stood in front of him on the couch. "Want to go to sleep?"
John cleared his throat. "I guess it is getting late." John checked his watch-less wrist and got up. "I'm going to turn in, too. Goodnight, boys."
"Goodnight, Mr. Winchester," Castiel offered. His lids seemed heavy, and Castiel rubbed at his weary eyes. "Okay. Where's my room?"
"Follow me," Dean said, heading down the hallway where the bedrooms lied. Dean's room was the last one to the right. It was the one across from Sam. They were close as kids. Right up until Sam decided to do something with his life—like go to law school and become the pride and joy of his family.
Dean opened the door and switched the light on. Castiel stared at the cozy-looking room. There was a Queen Size bed in the middle of the room, with a large white comforter and three pillows. Dean's suitcase was at the foot of the bed, and Dean picked it up.
"I have some pajamas in here that might fit you," Dean offered. "I'm sure you want to get out of your clothes, so have at it."
Castiel blinked. "If I'm sleeping here, then where are you going to sleep?"
"The bed's big enough?" Dean said, with a question mark obvious at the end.
Dean thought Castiel was going to finally run out on him, once and for all. Instead, the other man let out a breath of reluctance. "Fine. Give me the pajamas. I'm changing in the bathroom."
It was dark in the bedroom, and Dean couldn't sleep. He felt guilty, for everything he'd done. Castiel was probably missing his family, people back home. Dean had no right to take him away from his life because he didn't want to disappoint his parents. That was the epitome of selfishness…and insanity.
Castiel had placed the third pillow between them, dividing their space. Dean stopped to wonder if Castiel was even into dudes. It wasn't like Dean had been thinking clearly when he did what he did. Maybe Castiel found Dean repulsive. Maybe the other man just didn't swing that way, and that was part of why he was so pissed about being forced to pretend to be Dean's partner.
Hell, if that was the case, Dean wouldn't blame him.
Yawning, Dean turned on the bed, pulling the covers up to his nose.
"Excuse me," Castiel protested, yanking the covers back to him, uncovering Dean.
"What the hell man? I need my blanket. It's fucking cold."
"Well, you took it from me before," Castiel said in a hushed voice. "I was just taking it back."
Dean couldn't see Castiel, or any of his features, but he felt the sink of Castiel's weight on his left side of the bed. "If you took the pillow away, maybe we could get more of the blanket for us."
"No," Castiel said sternly. "The pillow stays. I don't trust you."
"What? You think I'm going to take advantage of you while you sleep?" Dean said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Dean didn't think Castiel could seriously believe that Dean was capable of such a thing. Although, it probably never occurred to Castiel that the man he refused to interview would later kidnap him.
"The fact that you're keeping me here against my will leaves a lot of chances open for what you could do to harm me further."
"I thought we already settled that I wasn't planning on shooting you," Dean said, feeling frustrated. "I'm not some killer. I just panicked."
Castiel was quiet for a moment, and Dean thought he'd fallen asleep, but then he said, "When I panic, I usually just ramble on about nonsense."
Dean smiled. "There are two kinds of people." Dean yawned again, feeling exhausted enough to sleep. He turned on his side, his back to Castiel, as he attempted to sleep.
"I'm going to make sure you stay in locked in prison, you know," Castiel said, but Dean was too tired to care about the threat.
"I'm sure you will," Dean slurred. "For now, you better get comfortable. I'm the Keymaster. I'm in charge of all the keys and cell phones, and I hid them all very well, thank you very much."
"You ass," Castiel muttered.
Dean might have responded to Castiel's new insult, but sleep finally won over.
There was lightness to the bed that automatically woke Dean up. He felt the pillow between him and Castiel, except he didn't sense Castiel's presence. Dean turned on the lamp on his nightstand and sat up. And just as predicted, Castiel's side of the bed was empty.
"Shit." Dean threw his heaviest coat on and put his boots on, rushing out the door. Outside, the wind was blowing with a mighty speed, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood, alerted of the cold weather. "Damn it, Castiel."
There wasn't a Castiel anywhere near, except for a set of footsteps leading down to the road where they'd come from. Castiel had made a run for it, and Dean had two choices: letting him go and fessing up to his family, or getting in his Impala and trying to find Castiel before he froze to death. For the sake of Castiel, and Dean's peace of mind that he never be called a murderer, he got in the Impala and followed the footsteps on the snow.
Nearly a mile down the road—which was pretty impressive—Castiel was still stubbornly making his way down the road. Dean pulled up beside him, but Castiel kept walking. He'd taken one of Dean's spare coats and a scarf, but he had no gloves on, and his cheeks were almost blue from the cold.
Dean rolled down the passenger side window to try to talk sense to the guy. "You've been walking for too long, I'm sure," Dean called out the window.
Castiel kept his eyes ahead of him, marking every footstep with little apparent tremors. The man was going to fucking freeze and it would all be Dean's fault.
"Get in the car, man. We'll get you back home and you can get some hot chocolate. Better yet, some eggnog. I'll spike it more for you."
Castiel said nothing, just kept walking. Dean had to keep up with him in his car, driving at 5mph.
"Come on, Cas," Dean said. "You're going to die out here. The gas station we stopped at is the closest thing you'll find, but that's still far away from here. And it's probably closed right now. Just get in the car. I'll take you home."
With that, Castiel finally stopped. He shivered as he turned to Dean. "You'll take me back home?"
Dean swallowed, guilt rising up in his throat like bile. "Back to the cabin," Dean said.
"Fuck you," Castiel said, continuing on his path.
"Don't make me beg, Cas!" Dean shouted out the passenger window. "Get in the car or you're going to freeze out here. I will take you home after Christmas, and then you can take your vengeance. I don't care what you do. I just don't want you to die on me."
Castiel stopped, again, and turned to glare at Dean the same way he'd done all day. Dean came to a full stop in the Impala, too, and Castiel finally climbed in.
In complete silence, Dean drove them back to the cabin. "You want that eggnog, then?" Dean asked, hopefully.
Castiel grunted, climbing out of the Impala and pacing back to the cabin.
Dean sighed.