When Dean woke, the first thing he did, was check his wound. He'd been worried about it for a while now, but had ignored it, and tried to deal with it himself. He knew that he couldn't, but he decided that having survived the initial bullet wound; an infection would be nothing serious. He rolled over and found himself with his nose buried in Cas' hair. His heart stuttered happily and he instinctively wound an arm around the man's waist, letting out a sigh. His arm twinged as he moved it, and it felt heavier than normal.

Castiel wriggled slightly and made a little moaning sound in recognition of Dean's presence.

Dean cracked his eyes open and glanced at Cas nervously, remembering what he'd said the day before. He'd said he loved him. That was a serious thing, not something to say lightly. If it was true, and even people found out, it could land the two men in a world of trouble. It was indecent. Wrong. Not natural. Dean knew this, but while they were cooped up in a small apartment, far away from any real friends or family, he couldn't be bothered worrying about it.

Castiel hadn't replied. He hadn't said it back and that had sent Dean's stomach churning and his chest aching in a completely different way to the sting of his wound. Cas was supposed to say it back. In fact, if Cas was following what Dean was used to, Cas would have been the one saying it first. Perhaps Castiel was still upset about Dean saying he didn't care. It was possible… people don't just forgive you overnight. Forgiving is a delicate process that involves much more than Dean's simple, worded apologies.

Sure, Cas had told Dean that he was forgiven, but that was just another bunch of words. It didn't necessarily mean something. Words can lie better than actions, and both men had just used words.

Dean kissed the back of Cas' head to see how that would be taken, and he chewed on his lip nervously, teeth tugging at loose, dry bits of skin.

Cas wriggled again before turning to Dean and smiling softly. Slowly, he rolled Dean onto his back and lifted himself up onto his elbows, reaching out and ripping off the bandages mercilessly. He studied the wound for what seemed like ages before he spoke, covering it back up. "It's not pussy anymore…" He still looked half asleep and blinked blearily.

"That's good… right?" Dean raised an eyebrow. Perhaps the infection had gone down over night. That's what he would tell himself, anyway.

"It's still very red and I don't think the infection has gone… we should take you to – "

"No."

"But Dean, you – "

"No." Dean glared at Cas, a look so certain and serious that Castiel would have been a fool to keep fighting. Dean didn't need to hear the rest of Cas' sentence, he knew what was coming. 'We should take you to hospital, or a doctor,' and 'you'd be better off with someone else looking after you.' Dean didn't /want/ anyone else. Cas was his best friend and if Dean was going to die or get sick, he wanted it to be in a bedroom that belonged to him, with Castiel by his side.

Cas shook his head. "Can't we even get someone to look at it?" He sighed heavily and ran his fingers through Dean's growing hair.

"Someone looked at it a few weeks ago," Dean mumbled. "You were out with Andrew so I… I went to the hospital and had them look. This was before the infection signs started and they said I was fine! I didn't stick around for long, but they said I was fine." Dean pushed himself into a sitting position and Cas stopped him, moving to straddle his lap.

"You need to rest."

Dean grinned mischievously and pulled Cas into a kiss. He slowly tugging Cas' shirt up and over his head, moving to press kisses to the man's chest.

"This is not resting," Cas half gasped as he leaned back down to kiss Dean.

"No, but this is more fun." Dean's heart pounded painfully against his chest and his muscle twinged and ached as he stripped off his own pyjama shirt, but he ignored it and pulled has closer, hands sliding down to play with the waistband of his pants.

"Dean…" Cas said warningly. "Are you sure…?"

"Of course I'm sure," Dean breathing into the man's ear, murmuring, "I love you," before nipping playfully at his earlobe and tugging the man's pyjamas down.

Cas shuddered and stayed quiet, but Dean ignored that too.

"You said I need to rest and relax, right? Let's relax my way."

It was Christmas Eve. Dean sat on the couch, staring at the small, pathetic excuse for a Christmas tree, with a small cluster of parcels beneath it. Dean couldn't help but wonder who they were for. Dean himself had only put two little parcels under there for Castiel, so the others were a mystery to him. He hoped that they weren't expecting anyone else around for Christmas. They hadn't even bothered putting up any decorations apart from the tree.

There was sound echoing in from the streets, filtering through the windows. There were shrieks of delight, angry shouts and a whole lot of laughing.

Dean tried not to imagine what other people were doing, but images of happy families and healthy people forced their way into his head and he couldn't get them out. He did miss his family. He missed his little brother, and his father, and he hoped they weren't too lonely without him. It was times like these when Dean found himself wanting to go home. He knew that Cas wanted nothing more than to get back and see his parents, but Dean refused. It was only days like this, when he started feeling stick at the thought of everyone else being happy with their families, that Dean wanted to go back.

Cas had snuck up behind the man, who was staring off into space. He had a Christmas hat in his hand and after a few moments of standing behind Dean, he sat it on the man's head.

Dean jumped slightly at the contact and twisted around to look up, wincing and letting out a small pained gasp at the pain in his chest. Though it had stopped leaking puss, it was more painful than it had been the previous week He tried to mask his grimace with a smile and adjusted the hat on his head, reaching up and pulling Castiel onto his lap. "Aren't you going to go to sleep, Private?"

"I could ask the same thing of you, Captain." Cas grinned, tugging Dean's hat down over his eyes.

Dean shook his head. "I don't want to have a nightmare on Christmas Eve. I trust that you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Dean smiled softly and bumped his nose with Cas'. The war was still on. This war seemed as though it would never end. To Dean, it seemed like both sides would just fight and fight until every able bodied man had died for nothing, lying dead in the mud with nothing to show for it. Dean spent a lot of time pouring over the newspapers, looking for names that he recognised, trying to find the lists of the dead. He kept track of the battles, the death toll, the new tactics being employed and other such things. Often, he would get caught tutting or shaking his head and something he was certain wasn't worth the risk, or wasn't going to work at all.

Cas snapped his fingers in front of Dean to pull him back into the present, and out of the fighting. He moved to sit up, staying on Dean's lap, arms wound around his neck, holding him close. "Stay with me," he said softly, kissing Dean's neck before hiding his face.

Dean sighed and shut his eyes, winding his arms loosely around his… Were they lovers? Was that the word Dean was supposed to use? Dean didn't like that word. It sounded too… forbidden, and reminded him all too much of what others would think of his relationship. "I'm right here, as always."

Castiel nodded, playing with the back of Dean's hair, the bit poking out from under the hat. He hand slid to tug absent-mindedly at the man's braces.

Dean gently pushed Cas off to sit next to him, and got to his feet, pacing over to the window. He didn't like too much cuddly stuff. He could handle a bit, but too much made Dean afraid that people were going to walk in. For some reason, he didn't worry about that when they had sex. It was like, no one would dare interrupt them, but if they were just cuddling, then the whole world would suddenly want to walk through their door, and then they'd be in trouble.

Cas watched Dean curiously, picking up the fedora from beside him and setting it on his knees, brushing it free of dust.

Dean turned around.

Underneath the Christmas hat, Cas had his hair combed back in a way that he never had it. It usually just hung in front of his face in strange almost-curls. Castiel was wearing his usual combination of white shirt, black pants with vague grey pinstripes, and he'd just stripped himself of his neat, matching jacket.

"You're all dressed up," Dean noted, referring to the neatness.

Castiel shrugged. "It's Christmas," he said, voice sounding kind of distracted as he focused intently on Dean's hat. "I wanted it to be special…."

"It's not Christmas yet…"

Cas looked out the window, then as an echo of 'merry Christmas' wafted in, he grinned. "It is now."

Dean sighed and lifted himself off the couch and into his chair, staring out the window and into the streets below, wet with cold rain. "Merry Christmas, Castiel," he said quietly, and heard uneven footsteps coming up behind him. A kiss was placed on his cheek and fingers stroked through his hair soothingly.

"Do you want to open your presents?"

"There's more than one?"

"Of course." Cas rolled Dean around to face the tree and reached for a small, thin envelope.

Dean took it and turned it over in his hands curiously before opening it.

Son,

We have been informed that you are now residing at this address, and I hope this letter finds its way to you. I wished to let you know that we are very proud of you. Sammy's standing behind me and making sure that I write the right sort of thing, but this isn't just what he thinks.

Your brother misses you, I miss you, and we are so proud of all that you have done for our country, and for us.

I hope that one day you will come home to see us again.

Merry Christmas.

PS. Sam wants me to ask you if you have any character building scars.

The letter was signed with his father's squiggly signature and Dean held onto it, staring at the words for much longer than was necessary. "Cas… did you tell them?" he asked quietly.

"I may have dropped a hint or two." Cas reached for a small silver box and handed it over to Dean. "They sent it along with this."

Dean opened the box. Inside, was a small book, filled with photographs of his mother when she was alive, along with the few family portraits they had, a picture of their run down house, and lots of empty space to put things in. Dean felt himself smiling and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, homesickness hitting him like a brick.

The rest of the presents for him were just simple things, a new had from Andrew and Susan, and from Cas, a small pendant. Dean didn't feel right. He couldn't fully appreciate his gifts, but he stuck on a smile and kissed Cas a thank you anyway.

Castiel opened his gift from Dean, tearing into the paper and smiling at the belt that was looped up inside the box. It was obviously more expensive than Cas thought they could afford.

Dean smiled and winced as he moved in a weird way. He felt short of breath then, and was left panting. He moved his arm experimentally and sighed as the pain settled itself below his rib cage.

"You okay?" Cas asked quietly, frowning in concern.

Dean hated that he worried the man so much, so he just nodded and pushed the pan away. He was going backwards. He was getting worse when he should have been getting better. "Merry Christmas, Cas…"

"Merry Christmas," Castiel murmured back, but his eyebrows remained pinched together and his nose remained scrunched up in thought.