He can't get rid of the mistletoe.
Sam would know if he got rid of it. Sam would see him get rid of it.
And he would never, ever live it down.
But it can't ... it can't be in the car.
Dean can't quite put his finger on why this is.
Because, well, if he isn't into Cas, what's the problem?
It's not like they're going to magically fall under the mistletoe that's in the backseat.
It would take maneuvering.
Maneuvering that he's not going to do.
Because he's not into Cas.
He's not.
Really.
There are definitely not strange flickers of moments between the two of them where he's not sure what's going on - moments where he finds Cas aesthetically pleasing in the same way that he finds Dr. Sexy and guys in Clint Eastwood movies aesthetically pleasing - that is, in a way that he gets off to when Busty Asian Beauties just isn't doing the trick.
And moments where Cas stares at him and he stares back and they've been staring and he's only just realized they're staring and he still doesn't care that they're staring - because no one looks at him quite the way Cas does and Cas...
And moments where Cas not being around feels like a weight - a weight that can be lifted by the gravely sound of his voice on the other end of the phone - or some other girly crap like that.
And moments where he knows, he fucking knows, that if Cas were human and a chick or, maybe even just a chick, he would have maneuveredthem under some mistletoe god knows how long ago.
It is a fact that he firmly and completely denies.
To Sam.
To Cas.
To himself.
Well, that is...
...until the mistletoe goes missing.
They're an hour outside Lebanon when they make their last pit stop. The car needs gas and Dean hasn't eaten since they passed through Albuquerque.
So Sam runs the pump while he grabs grub.
And when they get back on the road, he glances in the rear view mirror, expecting to be reminded of impending disaster.
And it's gone.
The stupid plant he's been agonizing over for the past ten hours is just plain gone.
"Uh, Sam..." Dean realizes this is a mistake and clamps his mouth shut before he gives away his thoughts, but his eyes have already betrayed him.
Sam smiles innocently. Too innocently. "Yeah?"
"Uh...nothing. Forget it."
Sam keeps grinning, and Dean cranks up the volume on the radio.
So the mistletoe is gone. Fine. Whatever.
That was what he wanted, after all.
Right?
The closer they get to the bunker, the more Dean thinks it really, really wasn't.
That those girls in the play weren't reading too much into the subtext of his and Cas' relationship, like at all.
That there's a part of him that's really known that - that's really known how deep he was in... well, if he's completely honest with himself, since Cas going God broke him into a thousand and one pieces - but, since he usually isn't, since every time Cas has come back to him afterwards, he has felt closer to whole.
That there's a part of him that sort of, kind of hopes that Cas feels like that too, that Cas is in just as deep.
So he's pretty sure, by the time he hears the tell tale rumble of Cas' Lincoln idling at the last intersection before the bunker, that having some mistletoe around, to help feel this whole thing out, really wouldn't be such a bad thing.
Because he can't... he can't just...
His breathing is speeding up, and he thinks his hands might be shaking.
"Dean, hey," Sam's hand is on the steering wheel, guiding them closer to the bunker. Because Dean's focus is entirely on Cas and what's about to happen when he gets out of the car. Whatever that is. "Look, I get that you don't want to talk about whatever's going on with you and Cas. I do. But I know something's going on."
Dean swallows hard as he nods. He can't look anywhere but at Cas - Cas who is fighting obstinately with the ropes tying the Christmas tree to the Lincoln.
"Yeah. So, look, the mistletoe's in the glovebox," Sam says carefully. "Because messing with you was fun, before, when Cas wasn't around. But now, I'm not messing with you having a shot at something here. Something real. So, use it if you want, I guess, but believe me, you don't need it."
Dean stops the car. He's not sure he's keeping up. "What?"
"Just trust me," Sam says. "And go help him with that tree while I make myself incredibly scarce."
"Yeah... okay." Dean steels himself with a deep breath before climbing out of the car. "I can do that."
"Go get him, Tiger." Sam claps Dean's shoulder before slamming the passenger door shut, leaving Dean to figure out what exactly he's suppose to say to sum up something like six years of feelings.
He tries his best to act like there's nothing weird going on, as he walks up to Cas. Because there's nothing weird going on.
Just two guys who might be a little bit in love trying to get a tree off a car.
"Heya, Cas," Dean says as their shoulders brush.
Cas, because he's Cas, doesn't pick up on Dean's erratic nerves. He just smiles warmly. "Dean. I could use your help with the tree."
"Can't you, uh, just use your angel mojo to get the tree down?" Dean licks at his lips. He doesn't really want to deal with the tree right now. The tree feels like it's in the way of bigger things. Much bigger things.
"It's a Christmas tree."
"Yeah, so?"
"The branches need to stay intact for decorating purposes."
"Right."
"I can bring it inside when I've figured it out if you don't want to help."
"It's not... I didn't say that. You know what, here."
Dean pulls a knife out of his pocket and starts sawing at the rope. Cas places his hand above Dean's to hold the rope in place.
"When we get this tree down, we, uh, we need to ..." Dean licks at his lips. "Christ."
He ducks his head down and focuses on the knife cutting through the thick, fraying threads. He doesn't think he can do this.
Cas puts his hand on Dean's shoulder and frowns. "You're very tense."
The way he says this makes Dean laugh, which is not at all helpful, especially since it's kind of hysterical, and he can't seem to stop.
"Dean?"
"I, uh, I...we..." Dean, who hasn't really gained any composure, gestures between them fruitlessly. "We're, uh...I think, maybe, we're... a thing?"
Cas considers this. "According to the copious amounts of 'Destiel' fanfiction Metatron read, and mostly missed the point of, yes."
Dean drops his knife. "That douche reads fanfiction?"
"That's beside the point," Cas says before mimicking Dean's sweeping hand movement. "Are we...are we 'a thing,'?"
"You, uh...that...that what you want?" Dean asks.
"Of course it is, Dean... do you truly not know that I say 'I love you' every time I say your name?" Cas asks as he pushes Dean back against the car. The movement is full of all his old powerful righteousness but his words are soft and warm. "Have my actions not always spoken louder than my words?"
"Uh..." Dean's incoherent mumbling is lost on Cas' lips. Because they're now on his lips. And it takes him a full fifteen seconds to entirely process that and get with the program. He cups Cas' cheek in one hand and trails the other through Cas' hair. "Jesus, Cas."
Dean doesn't fully remember where he is or what he's doing until a trail of pine needles cascades onto the dirt road a few minutes later, suggesting the tree itself might not be too far behind.
"We should probably..." Dean says, waving vaguely towards the bunker.
"Yes. Sam will wonder what's taking us so long," Cas says.
"Not so sure about that," Dean says.
Cas squints at him.
"He, uh, he got us something. Let's get this inside, and I'll tell you Sammy's master plan," Dean says.
XXX
After they spend two hours decorating the tree, with an overly enthusiastic Sam, and Cas claims that the tree really did help him find his Christmas spirit, Dean finds himself hanging mistletoe back up over the backseat of the Impala.
"Does it break tradition if we do more than kiss?" Cas asks as he pulls Dean down onto the seat.
"You do whatever you want, Cas," Dean says breathily. "Just...maybe, kiss first."
"Of course."