A/N: This is the next story in a mild AU/canon divergence series called The Other Guardian 'verse. There is a more detailed note about it on my profile, but in brief: after Dean is raised from Hell by Castiel, an entire year passes before the Lilith rises and the seals start to break. During that time, Castiel is assigned to watch over the Winchesters, and finds himself growing closer and closer to Sam.
This story follows "Thanksgiving at Bobby's" and "Darkness Rising," but can be read as standalone. This story will be updated every day until December 25th (or possibly 26th if I come up with an epilogue.
Notes: Cas and Sam centric, slash and pre-slash. Plenty of Dean too, mostly in a humorous capacity. Please enjoy.
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December 3
Sam let his long legs pump under him as his skates slid across the ice. The Boulder Valley Ice Rink was a full-sized rink with a high ceiling and stadium seating, separated from the ice by the clear, plastic walls best known for catching the faces of hockey players when checked. There were no hockey players there now, though. Sam and Cas had come for the Christmas Free Skate from one to three p.m.—mostly in hopes that with kids still in school the rink would be almost empty.
It wasn't packed, but there was a smattering of people: a handful of very young children in little one-piece snowsuits with pom-pom hats alternated between walking awkwardly on their skates and sitting down on their butts under the watchful gaze of red-and-green-clad mothers; a few older boys raced determinedly on colorful skates that certainly hadn't been rented from the public rink; and a group of college-aged girls in leotards and sweats did figure eights and other tricks in the center, laughing and giggling and distracting the boys.
Sam and Cas weren't turning any heads in a good way, or in a bad way, which Sam supposed was the most he could hope for in this situation. The tall hunter shored up his skates against the ice, slowing down and glancing around for Castiel. Green garlands with red bows were draped artfully around the wall surrounding the rink, and yet another rendition of "Jingle Bells" was blaring from the speakers. It took a moment for Sam to remember that he was not looking for the tan trench coat and instead spot the garish splotch of red.
Castiel was ahead of him on the rink, taking the corner. He had both knees bent, no longer pumping his legs but instead just letting the momentum carry him in a wide arc. Cas had not really taken to skating, and Sam hadn't really been able to teach him much. His experiences with skating were limited to one hot summer that he and Dean had spent in Joliet, Illinois. There had been a pool and an ice rink. Dean had just turned eighteen and was the self-proclaimed bikini inspector, so Sam had learned to ice skate—not well, though, and he felt even more oafish and clumsy than usual on the ice.
At least he and Cas blended in with the Christmas crowd and weren't getting any suspicious looks from parents—though that made the tall hunter wince too.
Castiel was almost at a full stop when he finally finished the long rotation of the curve, and he lifted one foot to move forward again. Sam was catching up quickly. He fiddled with the long scarf he wore as he prepared to snag the sleeve of the hideous red sweater on their resident angel.
While one to three was the probably the best time to skate without a crowd, it was also the little kid skating time, so Sam had told Cas the trench coat was a no, and sent him up to change. Sam himself had borrowed a blue windbreaker and paired it was a tacky white scarf covered in snowmen holding various Christmas props, like candy canes and presents. After looking at himself in the mirror a moment, Sam had dug around in the drawers until he had found a couple of little hairclips, also disturbingly with snowmen, and used them to clip aside his bangs. Privately, Sam thought it probably wasn't exactly the image he was going for, but importantly he looked younger—like he could pass for a college student, instead of setting off Stranger Danger alarm bells as he skated between all the little kids.
Castiel was wearing a red knit sweater instead of his trench coat, but Sam could tell he had the entire suit on under it, jacket and all, and the only other switch was he could see was a big-eyed cartoon reindeer with a red nose peeking out from Cas's borrowed tie. The red sweater pictured Mrs. Snowman on the front, with an apron and long eyelashes, and Sam had the vague memory of a similarly tasteless green sweater with Mr. Snowman on the other side of the closet, but he didn't really have the heart to tell the angel that he was probably wearing Mrs. Gerber's clothes. After all, Mr. Gerber was a man of considerable girth, and the fit of the red sweater was better on him. Still, it was probably a good thing that Dean had taken off before them.
Between Sam's hair clips and Cas's flirty Snowwoman, the tall hunter couldn't say he was totally surprised by the reception they got from the blond girl with the fake elf ears who rented them their skates—it was a look he was used to, after all. And even though all she said was "Have a nice time skating together!" Sam heard the references to two queens, and antiquers, and all the clever ways people had to say they were open-minded.
Sam caught up to Castiel easily on the ice, brushing his fingers against the red sleeve and sending the angel a smile. Cas's face remained fixed in an intense look of concentration as he tried to move his legs like Sam had showed him. Sam bit back a grin. Castiel was highly intelligent and he grasped the concept of most things almost immediately, but sometimes Sam wondered if the angel would ever be comfortable in a human body. The simplest of things like bowling and catch seemed to forever elude him, his limbs simply unable to make natural human movements. Dean thought it was funny, because Cas was failing and he seemed to enjoy watching people do that—something the younger Winchester had first-hand knowledge of. Sam just thought it was endearing, because an all-powerful angel was struggling to skate with an insignificant human—and though Dean seemed keen to forget, Castiel really didn't have to do these things.
It didn't make him any more graceful, though, Sam had to admit. One of Cas's skates slipped backward, and the tall hunter winced slightly as a few flecks of ice sprayed upward; he could almost hear the grinding beneath the blade of the angel's skate. Castiel hadn't fallen once, but whoever was driving the Zamboni was going to mystified by the deep gashes in the ice here and there which no human could have made. Sam had skated a little past his companion and was preparing to try and turn around—as ill-advised as that might be—when his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket.
Sam pulled it out, glancing down long enough to recognize the number that Dean was currently using before skating over to one of the openings along the wall and stepping off the ice. The rubbery floor made his steps spring awkwardly as he made his way over to a relatively empty bench, bringing the phone up to his ear.
"Dean," he greeted. Thankfully the music rocketing over the speakers was dampened a little bit over the bleacher-like metal seats around the rink, but still Sam had trouble hearing his brother's return greeting. He lifted his other hand, covering his ear; it only helped a little, and Sam realized that whatever the noise was, it was coming from Dean's side of the line.
"What is that?" Sam wanted to know, trying to place the strange sounds that might have been music. The noise dulled a little, and Sam figured Dean must have moved away or found some way to block the phone.
"That, apparently, is a marimba band." Dean's voice was cranky, and Sam could imagine the pinched look on his face. "You ask me, Boulder people are crazy." Sam could barely picture a marimba in his head, with the xylophone like keys on the top and the huge tubes hanging below. The clunking sounded more like music when coupled with that information, but he almost felt sorry for his brother.
"So I take it nothing at the concert so far." Sam ran a hand through his hair, careful to avoid the barrettes, and sat down on the bleacher giving his legs a break. "Frosty the Snowman" was playing on the speakers, and even though he knew his brother couldn't possibly see him through the phone, Sam felt self-conscious all over again. Dean didn't seem to notice anything.
"Concert," Dean snorted. "Sure. You know this may be one of your dumbest ideas ever."
Sam winced. With snowman barrettes in his hair and speed skaters darting around the obstacle that was Cas taking another corner with both knees bent at ever-decreasing speed, Sam was tempted to agree. But Dean's head was big enough without anyone ever telling him he was right.
"Well, we haven't really found anything yet either," Sam admitted. He turned away, reaching down to fiddle with the buckles on one skate.
"Yeah, well at least your just kicking back, eating snacks and watching people skate—and you've got Cas to keep you company."
Sam made a non-committal noise, ducking his head even though he knew Dean couldn't see. "Yeah we're just watching skaters," he agreed. Once again, luckily, it seemed Dean's concern with his own bad fortune made him oblivious to Sam's awkward lies.
"As for me," Dean continued, punctuating the word. "I'm stuck at this local-yokels Holler to the Holidays nightmare—and Sam, let me assure you, some poltergeist energy would be an improvement. They've got guys doing a cappella, and none of the girls in Santa dresses look remotely like Rockettes. They look like fat Eskimos." Dean's voice had taken on that particular whining quality by the last that made Sam want to roll his eyes.
"Isn't this thing an outdoor concert?" he asked. "Don't you think the costumes are possibly just weather appropriate?"
"And yet I'm not wearing some crazy parka and hat."
Sam went ahead and succumbed, rolling his eyes skyward and then blinking the brightness of the overhead lights away. Dean had point-blank refused to trade out his leather jacket for a proper winter coat, or even augment with a hat and gloves, because apparently the Gerbers' stuff had come right out of Martha Stewart's fake home and he didn't want to be replaced by a Stepford wife the way Sam had. He was going to get cold, though, and then probably catch a cold. Sam sighed, debating starting up some kind of argument about buying Dean warmer things. In the end he just fingered one of his Stepford barrettes and smiled.
"Just keep looking, Dean," he suggested. "I know it's not much of a lead, but if somebody is trying to cause trouble with these bells, then planting them in places where people are congregating for the holidays is not a bad start." Sam's gaze drifted to where one of the garlands had slipped from the skating rink wall—but it had fallen on the outside of the ice, and it screamed accident, not poltergeist. Still, accidents were exactly what they were looking for. "And be careful, Dean," Sam cautioned.
"Of what? Hippies with marimba sticks…hey what are you looking at?!" Sam pulled the phone away from his ear a little bit as his brother's voice grew louder. He was ninety percent certain the last hadn't been meant for him. Dean was such a joy at Christmas. "What were you saying?" his brother asked.
"That you should be careful of accidents, Dean. A harpist fell through a stage there yesterday." Sam hoped that if he could say it sharply enough it might penetrate the thick layer of stupidity around his brother's head. As a teenager Sam had dubbed it the bozone layer—a mixture of booze and idiocy that protected people like Dean from good ideas.
"Yeah, yeah," Dean said distractedly, and Sam thought he could almost hear the ping of his warning bouncing off. "Your new mom pals on your mom blog warned you all about it, I know."
Sam looked heavenward again, this time searching for patience, but he didn't bother to set his brother straight. He had been looking for signs of poltergeist activity online, and without anything big showing up in news sources, he had found the accident at the outdoor stage in an online college newspaper, and a warning about a number of accidents at the ice arena on a soccer mom's safety watch website.
Sam looked up suddenly, realizing he had lost track of Cas. His eyes scanned the rink slowly, but the angel was no longer among the Christmas-clad assortment. The tall hunter stood, trying to squint at other areas of the stadium seating, feeling oddly like either a mom looking for a child she took her eyes off for just a moment, or a high school student worried about being left in the middle of a date. He wasn't really sure which was worse. Then the garish red of the sweater caught his attention, and Sam felt his heartbeat slow back down. Castiel had skated off of the ice and was sitting alone in the penalty box across the rink.
"Sam." Dean's voice cut in with a whine that made Sam think his brother had probably said something else before dragging the name out.
"Well, I'm going to keep looking around here," Sam said, trying to speed the conversation to a finish. "And I think there's a no cell phones allowed on the ice rule, so…" The tall hunter realized his mistake a moment after he said it, and wished he could shove the snowman scarf down his throat until he choked and died, or maybe just hang himself with it.
"On the ice?" Dean said with glee in his voice. "You guys are skating? Seriously, like…skating? Cause I thought Cas had that icicle shoved too far up his ass to…"
Sam squeezed his eyes shut before moving pointedly toward the rink. "Sorry, Dean—I'm going through a tunnel and running out of battery while hanging up on you." Sam pressed his thumb over the button despite the fact that Dean was still talking, and then ignored the vibrating in his pocket, joining the throng of skaters but staying toward the edge.
He stepped off into the penalty box, taking a few stuttered steps to get rid of extra momentum and sitting down next to the angel. Cas was frowning out over the ice, but he spared Sam a glance when he sat down on the bench. Sam considered for a moment trying to explain the meaning of the penalty box, but that conversation would have to start with hockey.
"Hey, Cas," he began instead, resting his hands on the bench and leaning back on his palms. The angel didn't respond at first, just kept staring out at the people going round and round on the ice. Sam tried to follow his gaze, see if he was looking anywhere in particular, but sometimes with Castiel it was impossible to tell. Sam licked his lips, trying to decide what to say, when Castiel spoke up suddenly, turning to pin the tall hunter with his dark eyes.
"Are we finished skating, Sam?" the angel asked seriously.
Of all the things Sam expected Cas to ask him, that wasn't it, and he wasn't even sure why. It was a straightforward question—simple and direct. The air escaped Sam's lungs in a slow exhale. He stared at Cas's questioning expression, the red snowman sweater, and suddenly Sam wasn't sure why he had rented skates and dragged them out onto the ice—dressed them up. Maybe he really was playing at something that he wasn't.
He wanted to meet Castiel's gaze and answer him directly. Instead he looked down at the end of the snowman scarf held between his hands.
"Do you want to stop?" he asked. He could feel the angel's gaze on him, but he didn't look up, keeping his eye locked instead with the black button eyes of the snowman, half cut off by the fringe, who brandished an entire wreath.
"I don't see how this is helping us to locate a bell," Castiel admitted, his voice low and soft. Sam looked across the rink, noting a couple of girls were pointing at them surreptitiously. The penalty box wasn't really a great place to have a conversation.
"I guess it's not," Sam admitted, letting a small smile slide across his face, because Cas was struggling to understand, and that, above all else, was familiar. "It's just…I skated a few times when I was a kid but never in December. The holiday season was…" Sam trailed off. He wanted to explain to Cas, he really did, but he couldn't seem to think of how to tell the angel what he was really trying to say.
Sam looked over finally. Castiel was focused on him, obviously waiting for Sam to continue, his expression serious. Sam felt a little laugh escape his lips, and the sound lightened his chest.
"But it's corny, right?" He smiled at the angel and the sweater, and the barrettes and the scarf. "Christmas skating—I mean, we both look pretty stupid out there."
Cas seemed perturbed for a moment at the word stupid, looking at Sam and then himself as though trying to figure something out—but whatever he saw, he seemed to reach a conclusion, nodding once before standing up.
"Let's continue skating, Sam." He held out a hand to help the tall hunter to his feet. Sam took the offer, wrapping his fingers in the angel's. Castiel's hands were cool, probably because in all the time they had been skating he had never put them in his pockets or even tucked them into his sleeves.
Sam hesitated for one moment, but then he shrugged the scarf higher around his neck, and this time the smile felt warm on his face. "Let's," he agreed, and instead of letting go of Cas's hand he held onto it, leading them back out onto the ice.
It was harder to skate hand in hand because Sam wasn't all that skilled and Castiel really didn't maintain any kind of pace, but it was also more fun. Sam wobbled on the corner and ended up pulling Cas around faster and then grabbing onto his shoulders from behind as the angel picked up speed. Castiel made another gash in the rink and Sam laughed and would have sprawled into the ice if the angel hadn't snaked a firm arm around his waist. They had to start from a dead stop against the wall, and Sam felt elation as he reached out a hand to find that Castiel had already done the same, their fingers curling around each other in the space between them.
Girls were giggling somewhere in the background, but Sam found he didn't care at all—not even about the barrettes or the fact that he towered over everyone, including the figure they thought was his boyfriend. Skating was more fun than he remembered. The cool of the ice was offset by the warmth of the indoor air, and the exertion of skating brought a flush to his cheeks. Castiel was smiling too, though he never seemed out of breath, and neither of them was really improving, but the angel didn't seem to care anymore either.
The Christmas songs had turned around to "Jingle Bells" again and they were approaching the corner when Sam finally decided to take the plunge, slowing them down and turning around. He took both of Cas's hands in his, as much for his own balance as anything, and attempted to skate backward. Sam had just managed to find a rhythm, staring at Castiel, who met his eyes with no small amount of concern. Sam laughed and glanced over his shoulder to assess the corner—and that's when he saw it. The tall hunter lost all concentration, feeling a strange prickling sensation in the skin of his side, right where the bell sat heavy in the pocket of his windbreaker. Sam knew he had missed the turn, and felt one of his hands slide away from Cas's while his skates went out from under him, but he kept his eyes glued on the little girl—or more specifically, her skate.
The safety buckle had unhooked itself and popped open all on its own, right before Sam's eyes. The girl looked about eight or nine, and had a pink tutu on over her sweatpants and turtleneck. The tall hunter could hear Castiel calling his name as the prickling in his side became sharp and uncomfortable. The other buckle on the skate snapped off violently, sliding under the blade. The girl shrieked and went down in a hard, uncontrolled slide.
Sam felt Castiel's arm wrap around him and brace them as they both fell to the ice, Sam's shoulder hitting the railing as Cas stopped their momentum. The angel's back had hit the wall as well, and Sam had a feeling Castiel had taken the brunt of the impact. And he wanted to glance back—make sure the angel was okay—but the prickling in his side grew more intense and he found he couldn't look away, only watch in horror as the ice skate with the broken buckles flew off, spinning away on the slippery surface at a speed Sam was certain did not match velocity of the girl's tumble.
The blade of the skate turned end over end, and Sam's heart clutched up as he watched it glide maliciously toward a toddler who had slipped down to sit on the ice. It was all the way across the rink at this point, and Sam wasn't even on his feet. There was nothing he could do but watch, and know with a certainty that sunk like a pit into his stomach that this was no accident.
The tall hunter inhaled sharply as the blade neared the baby, felt Cas's grip on him, the air trapped in his lungs. Then a pair of red-and-white-striped arms were scooping up the child and a brunette was hugging the baby to her. The breath left Sam all at once, and he leaned back, half into Cas, half against the wall.
"Are you okay, Sam?" The tall hunter turned to meet concerned eyes and nodded.
Sam really would have preferred to stay sitting for a moment longer, but they were still on the ice, so he dusted his pants, getting up slowly. Castiel did the same. "I think I know where the bell is," Sam said, turning the accident over in his head and trying to commit the prickling sensation to memory. Apparently that was the feeling of a bell resonating.
The pair didn't leave the wall, walking next to the railing as they exited the rink. Cas trailed Sam to where they had left their shoes a few rows up into the bleachers, and the tall hunter worked at the buckles of his skates as fast as he could, swapping them out for his shoes. He hefted the skates in his hands, turning to Cas and then remembering suddenly.
"Cas," he said. "I'm so sorry, I forgot to ask—are you okay?" He studied the angel as Castiel slowly tied the lace on his Oxfords and straightened. "I mean I tripped us pretty bad out there…and you…"
"I am fine, Sam," Castiel cut in. "I am sorry I was not able to feel anything at all from the bell." He frowned slightly. Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder, leading them toward the front area with the blond girl and the skate rental.
"You said only a human would be able to feel it." The hunter let his hand slide away so that he could brace the skates. Cas held his own skates effortlessly with just a few fingers. "Besides, I have a pretty good idea where the bell is now. C'mon."
Sam led Castiel through the doorway just as the blonde who worked the front counter rushed past them into the area with the rink. The girl whose skate had broken had started bawling, and the mother had panicked, causing employees to rush to the ice, but that suited Sam's plan just fine.
He and Cas set their skates on the cloth-covered surface of the counter, and then Sam motioned for the angel to keep watch as he ducked behind the counter to where the rows and rows of skates were waiting to be checked out. It hadn't been the ice that had reacted malevolently to cause the accident—it had been the skate. Sam had seen enough poltergeists to know he should go to the source. The shelves farther toward the back were lined with adult skates, and one entire wall was hung with white figure skates. Sam poked around the shelves for a moment with no luck.
When he glanced back to Cas to see if he was still clear, he realized that all of the children's skates were toward the front counter, along with cleaning bottles, a few odds and ends, and a big cardboard box with Lost and Found scrawled across the side in black marker.
"There is no one coming, Sam," Castiel assured him. Sam sent him a grateful glance, and then moved forward kneeling in front of the box. It was tucked partway onto the shelf. Sam reached his hands under the shelf to get ahold of the edges, and then jerked back as a sharp sting bit into his knuckles, accompanied by a sharp prickle in his side. Sam drew his hands out to see that something jagged had scraped across the knuckles of his left hand.
"Sam?" Castiel asked worriedly. The tall hunter waved him off.
"I'm fine, just a scratch." And it really was; it had already stopped bleeding. With renewed caution, Sam reached out again, pulling the box out from the shelf. There was a number of stuffed animals, a water bottle, a pair of glasses—and nestled right under a pink pearled headband, a golden bell. It was larger than the one Sam had in his pocket, possibly from somewhere in the middle of the set. Sam reached down, carefully sifting through the box before pulling the bell out.
"I got it." Sam popped his head over the counter, pushing the Lost and Found box back in with his foot, and holding out the golden piece of metal, pinching the clapper against the side of the bell with one finger to keep it from making any noise. Castiel looked relieved, but as Sam thought back to the blade of the skate and the tender flesh of the child, he wondered if maybe this bell thing wasn't going to be so easy after all.