A/N: Bit late, wanted this up yesterday, but got lost in the... *waves hand at the Wonder Woman 1984 of it all* Hope everyone had a nice holiday, and here's to a happy New Year!
The tree wasn't really anything special, all of those months ago when Dean and Cas had stumbled on it during a rare moment not spent struggling to find a way to defeat Chuck, to bring back everything Chuck was slowly taking away from them. Just some lonely looking pine tree in the middle of a vast field. Dean's not even sure how that's possible, seeing that pine trees aren't supposed to be able to grow in Kansas. But Cas had seemed in awe of it, to the point Dean swore his fingers were lit with grace when he'd touched it, as if trying to heal it, leave it stronger than he'd found it.
So, once things settle, and December has come, bringing with it the sharp realization that Christmas is looming- Christ, they'd forgotten Thanksgiving and everything else in the immediate aftermath of Chuck's defeat, both still struggling just to put one foot after the other in the aftermath, how it had felt to survive the entirety of humanity getting wiped out in one go, then returned by a snap of Jack's fingers, well- Dean remembers this poor, lonely tree, and he ventures out to find it, the walk feeling empty and nearly meaningless without Cas by his side, dry sarcasm and simple smiles no longer there to keep him going as he trudges through the light dusting of snow and chilly wind.
But he finds it, and his knees buckle as he looks up at it, thinking that it didn't seem this tall or this green when he'd seen it with Cas before. He bites his lip and ducks his head, once more remembering the soft glow of Cas' fingers as he touched its bark, grazed its needles. "Son of a bitch," he breathes. It's hard to stand here alone, and look up at this tree that, for a brief moment of time, had felt like theirs, but he forces himself to stay, to take it in. He feels in his pocket and licks his lips, pulling out a small ornament. Nothing fancy, just a red bulb that he'd found in one of the boxes in the bunker, satiny smooth and delicate under his rough fingers. He closes his eyes and hangs his head, words and thoughts and emotions rattling around deep inside of him, nothing that he feels like letting loose into the world, however, so he's quiet and tense, jaw ticking as he reaches up and places the ornament carefully on a branch at eye level.
He steps back and stares at it, eyes painfully dry as he struggles just to breathe. "I'm so sorry," he finally whispers into thin air and, shoulders slumped, turns to trudge back to the bunker.
It becomes a ritual of sorts, every morning Dean venturing out to the tree with something new to hang onto it. There aren't a lot of things around the bunker that can be used for this purpose so he finds himself, sometimes, driving out into town just to buy something suitable, and before long, the tree starts to fill up with ornaments of different sizes, shapes, featuring characters, some Dean knows, some he thinks Cas would have enjoyed. Sometimes Dean stands before it, and speaks. I miss you, or Why'd you have to go and... or I wish you could see this... Most times, though, he doesn't say anything at all, just stares grimly up at the tree as it grows more lively, more colorful, each added ornament only enhancing its beauty.
It barely registers though, the grief and emptiness in Dean's soul only growing with each passing day spent surrounded by chatter of holiday cheer and togetherness with those you care for. Sam notices, he thinks, there's no way he doesn't, but he gives Dean his space, trying to be supportive and gentle in that Sammy way that used to just eat at Dean, leaving him on edge and uncertain, but now only serves to make him feel even more exhausted and undeserving of his little brother's care.
Christmas is only a handful of days away now and Dean stares up at the tree again, hands buried in his pockets as he tries not to let the wind get too tight a hold on him. The sun glistens off of the ornaments, reflecting in the bulbs, and he shivers, not from the cold. "Cas," he says aloud, the first time he's spoken his name since telling Sam and Jack some of what happened with Cas' sacrifice. "Cas. Shit. Dammit, man, what am I supposed to do with all of this? I'm trying." His lips tremble. "i'm trying so damn hard to move on, but... you..."
He slumps to his knees next to the tree, remembers all of the times in the past he'd prayed and hoped and pleaded, just like this, feeling the cold and the dirt seep into his pant legs. It feels like a whole other lifetime ago now, a whole different person saying those words, feeling those things. "You gave everything for me," he mutters. "And I'm wasting it. Yeah, we beat Chuck, but now I'm just... stuck in this damn loop, and... you'd probably be so pissed off if you saw me now."
He gazes up at the tree. "There's just so damn much I wanna say, and what the hell's the point when no one's listening?" He exhales shakily and forces himself to his feet, staring once more at the tree before turning and trudging back the way he came, shoulders slumping in on himself as he goes.
The next day, he returns to quietly hang up another ornament, his eyes bloodshot and step staggered. His hands tremble and it takes a couple tries just to get the delicate glitter soaked bulb onto the tree. There is a faint sheen of glitter on his fingertips once he's done and he stares at it for a moment, face twisted in grief and fury before dusting them off into the snow. He then turns and makes his way slowly back to the bunker, eyes dark with grief.
Two days before Christmas and he finds himself back under that tree, hands a little steadier but lips twisted in agony as he tugs a gingerbread man to a branch towards the top of the tree. Only reason he'd bothered, only reason it'd caught his attention, the last ornament left on the shelf, hanging alone and unwanted, was how blue the thing's eyes were. He exhales and presses his knuckles into his forehead, desperately trying to knead the pounding ache out of his temples. "Cas," he whispers, digging the fingers of his other hand into the bark. "I..." A shudder travels throughout his entire body and his shoulders shake with fresh tears. "I'm really fucking this up, ain't I?"
He rests his forehead against the branches of the tree, panting for breath, feeling the freezing air creep into his lungs with each inhale. "Cas," he mumbles. "I shoulda answered, before. I should've said. I should've done something other than just freeze there like an absolute dumbass, and let you... let..." His words fail him, again, and he draws his fist back, needing to hit something, wanting to hurt something the way he hurts, but he stares up at the tree, and he stops himself. Exhaling shakily, he pulls away from the tree and turns his back on it. "I miss you."
He leaves without looking back.
Christmas Eve dawns bright and early, Dean quiet as Sam bustles around, making breakfast. "You're not going out this morning?" he asks, careful, gentle.
Dean hates that they've become this. Dean drowning in misery, Sam walking on eggshells around him. But there's no way to fix it, he thinks. Not for him. Sam has Eileen, and man, Dean is happy for him over that, but Dean... all Dean has is this simmering grief and anger under his skin, and some tree that he kinda just wants to take an axe to right now because what the fuck is the point? "No," he says off of a sigh, knuckles white around his mug.
Sam nods, his eyes wide with worry, but he doesn't say anything, simply serves him eggs and bacon and tries not to comment on how Dean only eats a few bitefuls before excusing himself, leaving his brother to stare out after him, brows pinched in worry.
He has no intention on leaving the bunker, thinking about just staying in his room, listening to music, maybe marathoning something dumb on TV, and trying not to think too hard about anything, but it's when he's idle that he thinks the most, and he quickly gives up on both music and some Christmas themed horror marathon on TV, tossing the remote aside angrily. He leans forward, almost pressing his forehead to his knees, just trying to muffle the noises threatening to break from his chest, when
"Hello, Dean."
He freezes, tears filling his eyes, and he whimpers. "No way," he whispers into the denim he's pressed against, and he slowly, painfully sits up, staring ahead blankly. There's someone standing in his peripheral, and... they're standing tall, and there's a beige streak of fabric flaring out just in his line of sight, and...
Their eyes lock, a clash of green and blue, and Cas smiles uncertainly. "I-..."
Dean doesn't say anything, barely remembers moving, just one minute he's on the couch, the next he's standing in Cas' space, almost nose to nose with the man, fingers tangling in the damn folds of his trench coat, staring into his eyes. "It's really you? This ain't another Lucifer trick, or-?"
"Lucifer trick?" Cas' lips shift into a frown and he shakes his head slowly. "No, Dean, it- it's really me."
Dean shivers. Presses his forehead into Cas' shoulder and just hovers there for a minute, unable to fully make sense of this all. "How?" he mumbles.
Cas tenses up for a moment and Dean, suddenly afraid of what that reaction could mean, pulls away to look at him, fear in his eyes. "Jack," he begins, and Dean smiles, for a moment, before Cas continues. "Jack pulled me out to help make Heaven all that it could be, instead of the horribly limited place it had become."
"Oh," Dean says dumbly. "So... so you need to go back? I..."
"No," Cas whispers. "I've already been and helped to the best of my abilities. That's why I'm here now."
Dean frowns. "Wait, for how long? Cas, how long have you been back?"
"Time moves differently in Heaven," he hedges. "But awhile."
Dean pales. "Awhile," he parrots. "So... I... you..."
"I heard you," Cas says gently. Dean mutters fuck under his breath and turns away, shoulders tight with tension now, and Cas lets him go, watching him with sorrowful eyes. "I'm sorry, Dean."
He doesn't mention all of things Dean said, what he was feeling during those moments, and somehow it leaves him feeling strangled and even more despondent. "Whatever," he says, staring at the floor as he tries to put his thoughts in some sort of order. It only half works, he's still angry and dejected, frustration pounding through his veins, but he looks up, meets Cas' eyes and knows. "I have something to show you," he mumbles.
Before Cas can respond, Dean snags his wrist and begins to drag him through the halls. The bunker is quiet, Sam is out or lost in a book somewhere, and Dean leaves it because he needs to do something first, needs to show Cas- and as he trudges through the snow, only in boots and the first jacket he could find on his way out of the bunker, nothing touches him, nothing matters more than the feel of Cas as he tugs him along. Cas doesn't say a word, simply follows along, and Dean struggles to breathe steadily the closer they get to the little spot where he'd been spending so much of his mornings at lately.
When they arrive, Cas slows to a stop and Dean stares at his feet, too many emotions washing over him to fully categorize them all. "You remember?" he asks gruffly. "We found this tree, 'n' I... I was thinking we'd decorate it together this year, or something. But you... you left, and I had to do it by myself and it probably looks like crap, but it was all I had, and-" He's rambling and he can't stop, all of the words he smothered the last few weeks draining from him in a deluge that sounds shakier and more desperate the further along he goes, and it's not until Cas touches him, lifting his jaw gently so he can brush at his cheeks, that Dean realizes he's begun crying.
"I'm so sorry, Dean," Cas says quietly, and Dean leans into the warmth of his palm, still emotionally wrought but feeling a little steadier once the tears and the verbal rampage dies away. "You said," he whispers, "the last time you were here, that there was something you wanted to say but couldn't."
It's his cue. Dean can feel it in his bones, but the words are lodged in his throat again and Cas simply stares at him, a patient look in his deep, deep eyes, and fuck, Dean doesn't even know where to begin to describe everything he feels for this- this angel of the Lord that had rescued him so, so many times over the years. "I can't-" he whispers, closing his eyes and shaking his head, teeth gritting together. "I'm not good at talking about how I'm feeling," he says. "There was never time, it was always one hunt after another, one more person dying where my sitting around thinking could be the reason we couldn't save them, or... whatever." he opens his eyes and examines Cas, seeing the understanding in his gaze. "But since we defeated Chuck, there's been nothing but time, and I... I still suck at figuring out my emotions and feelings, and whatever else."
He stares at Cas. "But there's one thing I was forced to face, that night after the, after the Empty took you." He looks anxiously at the tree before turning back to Cas, lips trembling as he tries once more to speak his truth. To accept what had been lingering between them for the better part of a decade. "Nothing's stopping us anymore.. We both can have what... what we've always wanted." His hand grazes Cas', and before he can fully commit to the move, Cas wraps his fingers around Dean's and gives him an encouraging squeeze. "I love you, too, Cas."
Cas' smile is brilliant, warm and as hopeful as any early morning sunrise, and Dean finds himself lost in it for a moment before stepping forward and cradling Cas' face, eyes trailing from his gaze down to his lips and back. Their first kiss starts slow, tentative, then shifts into something needier, more desperate, before finally quieting into a slow sway of their bodies in the cold before Cas realizes just how poorly Dean is dressed for all of this and drags him back towards the bunker, ignoring his protests.
They return a little later, Dean more properly dressed this time, and it's Cas who puts the final ornament on the tree, a simple white bulb with deep golden swirls running through it that Dean had found weeks back, when he'd first begun all of this, but always shied away from placing it himself. Now he thinks he knows why as he stares at Cas standing before the tree, so carefully putting the bulb in its place. Once Cas steps back, Dean shuffles forward and they stand shoulder to shoulder, examining the tree quietly.
It's nothing fancy, just a strange mix of bulbs and ornaments in random spots that don't even come close to making sense more times than not, but it's proof of a journey and Dean decides he likes it, either way.