One day before Christmas…
His phone started vibrating inside of his pocket, and Dean fished it out before anyone could notice. If anyone was even up, yet, which he highly doubted.
Dean ran outside, out to the snowy morning. It was Ash. Fuck. Dean didn't want to leave the guy worried, though, so he answered.
"Hello?"
"Hey, man," Ash said, the sound of a busy morning at the Roadhouse was heard in the background. "I was just calling 'cause you disappeared on me yesterday. What was with the sudden Houdini act?"
Dean chuckled. "I think I might have had some sort of nervous meltdown."
"What do you mean?" Ash asked, concerned.
"Well, for starters, I stole Ellen's revolver from her office."
"You what?"
Dean nodded, aware that Ash couldn't see the action. "And then I used it to threaten one of our customers into pretending he was my partner. I also drove him to the cabin. I know how crazy this sounds, but I think I have this under control now."
"What the fuck?"
Dean winced. "I know."
"Dean, man, really? Hell, if you'd asked nicely I would have gone with you to the cabin. Or you could have gotten an escort, I don't know, but you gotta realize there were so many better options than kidnapping a person."
"I did what I did, and now I'm stuck in this mess," Dean sighed.
"You have to let the guy go, Dean," Ash said, sounding angry. "It's a really shitty plan, and you know it's all going to fall over sooner or later."
"I don't have a plan, asshole. I'm just making it up as I go."
Ash snorted. "You poor bastard."
"Hey, ease it on the insults. I already did the crime, might as well enjoy it while it lasts."
"Is he even gay?"
Dean laughed. "I don't fucking know, and I don't intend to find out. I'm not interested in him."
"No, you're not. You're just using the man. He's a means to an end."
"He's a rich douchebag," Dean said, hoping that that one fact excused the entire ordeal he was guilty of.
"Let him go, Dean," Ash said.
Dean sighed. "I'm going to let you go. It's freezing out here. Bye, Ash. Oh, and don't tell Ellen about her gun. I will give it back to her after Christmas."
"You better. Bye, Dean."
Dean put his phone in the back pocket of his jeans and went back inside. A smell of scrambled eggs and hot chocolate guided him into the kitchen. Mary was serving Castiel a plate of breakfast.
"How'd you sleep last night, sweet pea?" Dean asked.
"Heavenly," Castiel responded bitterly, taking a sip of orange juice.
Dean noticed that Castiel had changed from the pajamas Dean let him borrow to the slacks and white button t-shirt he'd been wearing the day before.
Mary tilted her head, noticing Castiel's clothes at the same time Dean had. "Did you sleep in that last night, Castiel?"
Castiel glanced down at his outfit. "No, but I don't have any of my clothes with me."
"He forgot his suitcase," Dean pitched in.
"I left everything at the Roadhouse," Castiel said, staring at Dean with a hint of a smile. "In fact, I'd like to call someone to bring my suitcase here. Could I borrow your phone, Dean?"
Dean frowned, mockingly sympathetic. "I didn't bring my cell phone, angel. Sorry."
"Yes you did," Castiel said, quirking up an eyebrow, almost defiantly. "It's in your ass."
Mary nearly choked on her orange juice. "Dean," she said, once composed. "You were supposed to put all the cell phones away with the keys."
"I guess I forgot," Dean said, pulling out his old Blackberry.
Shaking her head, Mary glanced back at Castiel. "I'll go see if I can find some of John's clothes to spare."
"Actually, mom, Cas can just wear my clothes," Dean offered. "What's mine is yours," he told Castiel.
"Oh, alright, then." Mary took another drink from her orange juice. "I'll go wake up your father. He wanted to sleep in a while longer." Mary turned and left the room, while Castiel stared at him, daringly.
Castiel leaned closer to Dean across the counter. "Dean, give me the phone."
"No way, sweet cheeks."
Reaching out, Castiel tried to snatch Dean's phone from his hands. "Give it to me."
"Come and get it, then," Dean said.
Castiel made a sudden move to his right and Dean moved to his right at the same time. Castiel ran to catch Dean around the counter, but Dean laughed as he ran away from Castiel's reach.
"I wasn't nicknamed Speedy Gonzales at school for nothing," Dean said, pausing only to still find himself across the counter from Castiel.
"Some people called me the Roadrunner," Castiel shot back.
Dean threw his head back in laughter. "That's something."
Castiel's lips quirked up, just slightly. "I'm going to get you, Coyote."
"Good, because I'm waiting."
Castiel ran again, and Dean ran faster, just circling the counter. Castiel stopped, again, across from Dean.
"Then again," Dean said, smiling, moving carefully. "The Coyote always just screwed things up, and I think I'm no different."
"What?"
Dean tossed his old Blackberry into the sink and turned on the food grinder that quickly shredded the phone to pieces.
Castiel watched as Dean turned off the grinder that had destroyed his last chance of escape. He frowned.
"One more day, man. Bear with me."
Groaning, Castiel left the kitchen, heading to their shared bedroom.
During lunch, Bobby, John, Sam and Dean all sat on the round table discussing nothing more interesting than sports and the weather. Mary was making everyone grilled cheese sandwiches, and even though Dean had offered to help, Mary had insisted on Dean sitting with the family to bond or something.
Out came Castiel, which Dean thought would never happen. He was wearing Dean's Zeppelin t-shirt and Dean's ripped jeans, and even Dean's slippers. Something about that felt extremely right, and it built a small bundle of warmth in his chest. Dean was definitely delusional.
"Hey, nice look," Sam said.
"Yeah, I like it," Dean said. If they didn't start acting like a couple, this whole charade would fall apart before Christmas.
Castiel stared at Dean apathetically, until he sighed and walked to the kitchen counter.
"Why don't you sit with us, Castiel?" Dean asked. Castiel ignored him.
Mary searched for something in the cupboards, and Castiel seemed intent on her frustrated actions.
"Are you alright, Mrs. Winchester?" Castiel asked.
"I think I forgot to bring the extra virgin oil," Mary said, sadly. "It's what I was going to cook dinner with tonight."
"Well, I could go get it for you, if you like," Castiel offered with a smile.
Dean knew this was the chance he'd waited for. Castiel was going to run away, and this time he'd actually leave for good. How psychotic was it that Dean didn't want him to go?
"I don't think that's a good idea, mom," Dean said, getting up and out of his chair. "I can drive to the store. Cas is a guest."
"Okay," Mary said. "Yeah, that sounds fair."
Castiel took his chance, again. "I'll go with you, baby."
"What?" Dean asked, not sure whether what struck him was the sudden pet name or the fact that Castiel was surely going to escape.
"That's an excellent idea, Castiel," Mary said. "It's dangerous out there, Dean. And it's a long drive. You need someone to watch your back."
Castiel turned to Dean, with a smile that reached his eyes. "See? You need me."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Fine. Get your coat."
"You know, I still have the handcuffs. They're in the glove compartment."
"If you wanted to use them, you'd already have taken them out," Castiel said, relaxing on the seat. Dean was rigid as he drove, fearing that the closer they got to the store, the closer he'd come to losing Castiel. Losing Castiel meant losing his dignity in front of his family.
Dean turned up the music to block out the silence in the car. This time, Castiel was tapping his hands on his—Dean's—jeans along to the music.
"Those clothes really do look good on you," Dean said. And maybe that compliment wasn't due to keep up the false relationship in front of his parents.
Castiel looked at Dean and laughed. "Dean, are you flirting with me?"
"No." Dean clenched his hands on the steering wheel. "You're not my type, anyway."
"I'm not?"
Dean shook his head. "You should have seen my last boyfriend. He was tall, much taller than you. He didn't have that five o'clock shadow or the lazy hair, but he had a full beard, and he had a heck of a lot of muscles."
"That doesn't seem fair," Castiel said, sounding amused.
"What doesn't?"
"You have no proof against me. You don't know what's underneath my—your—shirt. I might have more muscles than you."
Dean grinned, relaxing. "Is that a challenge?"
Castiel shrugged. "I'd like to point out that I work out. And I run every morning."
"Impressive," Dean allowed. Dean wasn't sure, but that sounded like a promise coming from Castiel. Dean smiled, picturing a muscle-show-off.
"You know, if you hadn't bolted into my office, I probably would have agreed to reschedule your interview."
Dean blinked, turning to Castiel. "Seriously?"
"Yeah," Castiel said, sounding earnest. "I looked at your resume, and before the interviews I thought you'd be the one I'd hire. I just didn't like the way you acted, or the way you treated my receptionist."
"The way I treated her? She was onto me."
"Oh, I'm sure she was, Dean."
"I'm serious," Dean said. "She said I couldn't get another chance. And she looked at me like I was a hobo."
Castiel snorted. "It's too late now. I already hired someone."
"Thanks for letting me know," Dean said. He'd be angry if he actually cared about the job.
"I was right when I thought you were insane," Castiel added.
"Good to know."
"Dean, relax, I'm not going to run away. I doubt anyone at the gas station would believe me, anyway."
Dean pulled in to the gas station where he'd gotten the handcuffs, and Castiel went into the store with him.
While searching for the extra virgin olive oil, Castiel picked up a magazine to flip through by the counter.
"Hey, you're the kinky couple," Ruby said. "How'd you like the handcuffs?"
Dean turned to Castiel to catch his response. "Oh, we've been stuck in the bedroom all day. We barely came out for air. Thanks for providing us with such comfortable cuffs."
Ruby laughed. "I used to like all of that bondage stuff back in the day. Brings back good memories."
Dean raised his eyebrows. He chewed off a laugh as he spotted the olive oil and picked it up.
"It is very fun, indeed," Castiel said, putting the magazine back in its place. Dean set the olive oil on the counter while Ruby ringed him up.
"You make a really good couple," Ruby said as Dean paid.
"I don't know about that," Dean said, taking the olive oil without a bag.
Castiel grinned, and Dean recognized that as some of the best acting he'd seen in his life. "He's kidding. We're a match made in heaven." Castiel set his elbows on the counter and leaned closer to Ruby. "In fact, if you'd like to join us one of these days—"
Dean grabbed Castiel's arm and pulled him away before Ruby started getting excited. "Okay, that's enough. Let's go."
Castiel laughed all the way to the Impala. "Did you see the smile in her face?"
"Who would have thought you were into ménages a trois?"
"I am into embarrassing you, Dean Winchester."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "You son of a bitch."
Castiel laughed, again. The ride back to the cabin was somehow lighter and less tense.
Back at the cabin, Dean's entire family was gathered in the living room. Mary was working on pulling out the old Christmas decorations from large brown boxes.
Dean headed straight for the empty seat next to his uncle, who always seemed to be drinking.
"Hey, how'd it go?" Mary asked Castiel.
"It went great," Castiel said. "Right, baby?" Castiel enjoyed teasing Dean with the stupid pet names. Dean didn't seem to be aware of how flustered the pet names made him look.
Dean cleared his throat and shifted on the couch. "Yeah. It went great. Roads weren't so bad today."
"All I know is that it's freezing and there's not nearly enough booze," Bobby blurted out.
"Cheer up, Uncle Bobby," Dean said. "It's Christmas tomorrow."
"That's great news. For a seven year old," Bobby grunted, taking a sip from his flask.
Sam chuckled, and then he suddenly got up, heading down the hallway.
When Dean seemed engaged in a conversation with John about car parts, Castiel decided to follow Sam.
In his bedroom, Sam was talking to someone. Castiel knew someone had kept their cell phone. And he'd been right in suspecting Sam. After the phone call ended, Castiel knocked on Sam's door. The younger brother opened it, not bothering to hide the phone in his hand.
"What's up, Castiel?"
"May I use your cell phone? I have to make a call."
"Yeah, sure." Sam handed Castiel his cell phone, just like that. Castiel took the phone into the bathroom to make his phone call.
God, Daphne was probably worried sick about Castiel. She hadn't heard from him in over twenty-four hours, and at this point of their relationship, that was bad news. Castiel worried that she'd think he suddenly forgot about her, or even worse, that he ditched her at the Roadhouse. He knew she'd be pissed.
Castiel pressed the number he'd memorized onto the iPhone when someone knocked on the bathroom door.
"Hurry up in there," Bobby called. "A man that drinks as much as me shouldn't have to wait this long to empty his bladder."
"I'll be out in a minute," Castiel called back, waiting for Daphne to pick up.
Daphne's cell phone went straight to voicemail, and Castiel knew that was a bad sign. Her phone was never turned off. When his calls went to voicemail it was because she didn't want to talk to him.
"Hello? Anybody in there?" Bobby said, knocking again.
"One second," Castiel called out.
Castiel dialed Daphne's landline, trying to reach her at home, hoping she was home and not last-minute shopping.
On the third ring, Daphne picked up. "Yes?" her voice was nonchalant as always.
"Daphne!" Castiel exclaimed. "Daphne, I have something to tell you."
"Do you?"
"Yes. It's very important," Castiel said, trying to ignore the constant knocking on the door.
Daphne groaned. "I can't keep up with you, Castiel. You said you had something important to tell me yesterday, and yet you stood me up."
"I know, but listen, I didn't stood you up," Castiel tried to explain, despite the rattling at the door.
"Who do you think you are, Castiel?" Daphne said. "I'm too pretty to be stood up. Why did you even ask me to meet you at a stupid bar? Are you an alcoholic? Is that your big reveal?"
Castiel pressed his fingers to the top of his nose. "No, would you just listen to me? I was kidnapped yesterday by a bartender. He held me at gunpoint and brought me to a cabin in the middle of nowhere."
"Castiel Novak, don't you try fooling me," Daphne accused in that shrill voice Castiel never was too fond of. "If this is your way of getting out of spending Christmas with me, then we might as well call this whole thing off."
"Daphne, listen to me, I'm in a cabin a few hours from town. I'm fine, I promise you. I just—"
"Oh, really? That's just great. I'm so glad you're fine because I was just so worried that the man who stood me up was doing okay!"
Castiel shut his eyes. "Do you want to know why I asked you to meet me at the Roadhouse yesterday? That's where we met, Daphne. Don't you remember? I was going to propose."
"Propose," Daphne repeated, sounding almost dazed.
"Yes, I want to marry you," Castiel said, opening his eyes, suddenly aware that the knocking on the door had stopped.
"Okay," Daphne said. "I'll go to the police. I'll find you, Castiel."
"Thank you."
Castiel ended the call without a goodbye and opened the bathroom door. Dean stood at the other side of the door, standing against the wall.
"Were you on the phone with someone?" Dean asked.
"Maybe," Castiel allowed, stepping out of the bathroom.
Dean stared at him, betrayal marked on his freckled face. "Who did you call?"
"I called someone to come get me," Castiel admitted. "I'm getting out of here."
Dean frowned.
"But I'm going to help you, Dean."
"What do you mean?"
Castiel stepped closer. "I am going to be the best boyfriend anyone could ever dream of while I'm here, and your parents are going to love me."
"Why the sudden change of heart, Novak?"
Shrugging, Castiel took a step back. "Remember when I told you I was into embarrassing you, Dean? Well, when your parents find out the truth, imagine the humiliation you'll be filled with."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "You don't scare me, Castiel."
"I'm not doing it to scare you. I'm doing it to get back at you."
The amiability that Dean had imagined between him and Castiel had been part of his insanity. Castiel hated him. Really hated him.
But Dean didn't have the time to dwell on that fact at the moment. He had to help Mary finish decorating the Christmas tree.
Castiel was already in the living room when Dean and Mary walked in with more boxed that had been stored for decades. John walked to Castiel's side and placed his hand to his shoulder for a brief moment.
"Tell me, Castiel, what do you do for a living?" John asked. The question seemed abrupt, but Castiel smiled brightly before responding.
"I work at Leviathan Enterprises," Castiel said proudly. "I'm the vice president."
Dean stilled in the middle of pulling out ornaments. Damn. VP and everything. No wonder Castiel had a stick up his ass.
"No kidding!" John said. "Dean had an interview there this morning. Why didn't you tell me you were dating the vice president, Dean? And still, he didn't get the job?"
"Well, we would have given him the job, gladly, but Dean didn't want the job after all."
John turned to Dean, confused. "Is that right?"
"Yeah," Dean said, figuring telling part of the truth was better than nothing. "I didn't like that place. Plus, it'd be weird working under my, uh, boyfriend." God, that word just felt so wrong when used with Castiel.
"It wouldn't hurt to have a job at such an esteemed business," John said. "What are you going to do with your life, Dean? You took music lessons, for chrissakes. What are those going to help you with out in the real world?"
"Maybe for starting a high school band," Castiel said, and John laughed.
Dean focused on the ornament in his hands.
"Nice ornaments," Castiel said.
"Dean made them," Mary said, sounding actually proud. "He used to love arts and crafts as a kid. That and boys. He'd always go out chasing after boys in the neighborhood. He must have been three when he had ran up to this little kid on the playground and just kissed him. Right on the lips. The other boy nearly fell down after the kiss."
Castiel laughed. "Sounds like Dean was quite the Casanova."
"Castiel, would you like to put the angel on top of the tree?" Mary asked.
"Of course." Castiel took the angel and stood on a small stool to reach the top of the tree. "Is that good?"
"That's perfect," Mary said, seemingly delighted. "Thank you, dear."
"Not a problem," Castiel said. "The tree looks beautiful."
Dean rolled his eyes. He knew what Cas was doing. Sucking up to his family. All part of his evil scheme.
"I'm so glad you could be here with us, Castiel," Mary said, grinning at him.
John patted Castiel's back. "Yeah, I don't know why Dean kept you away from us for so long."
"He can be a selfish bastard sometimes," Castiel said playfully. "Isn't that right, baby?"
Dean forced a smile. "That's right. I wanted to keep you all to myself."
"Better learn to start sharing," Castiel said through gritted teeth. "You can't keep me here all the time."
"I can try."
Castiel laughed. "His sense of humor is his best asset, truly."
John shook his head. "At least someone understands Dean's dry sense of humor. Tell you, the boy came to me one day with this nonsense about becoming a musician. Like his old acoustic guitar was worth more than a good college degree. I knew he was joking."
Leaving the ornaments and decorations behind, Dean went to hide in his bedroom as the laughter in the living room subsided.
"Do you play soccer?" Sam asked Castiel.
Despite the randomness of the question, Castiel didn't have the desire to be a jerk to Dean's family anymore. He was going to keep his promise. Being the best boyfriend meant getting along with Dean's brother.
"I used to play in high school," Castiel said.
"There's a soccer ball in the storage room, and I was wondering if you wanted to go out and play with me."
Castiel turned to the kitchen, where Dean was still sulking while eating a slice of pie. Part of him did feel guilty about earlier. Dean was obviously feeling miserable, and having Castiel here making matters worse felt entirely too childish and wasteful. Keeping his time occupied with Sam seemed like a sensible idea.
"Let's do it." Castiel stood up from the couch and followed Sam to the storage room for the soccer ball, and then outside to the snowy afternoon.
Sam kicked the ball a few times to warm up, and then he kicked it to Castiel.
The two had a set of marks that would count as goals for either of them. Hitting the tree behind Sam would give Castiel one point. And the trash can behind Castiel would give Sam one point. Castiel was better at blocking goals than at making them.
Sam kicked the ball, and groaned again when Castiel caught the ball in his hands. "How do you do that? I could have sworn I had you fooled."
"Can't fool me, moose," Castiel said.
Sam threw his head back in laughter. "I like that. It's definitely new."
"Can I ask you something, Sam?" Castiel kicked the ball to Sam, and Sam blocked it with his foot. At this rate, neither of them would ever score one point.
"Shoot."
"I heard that Dean was serious about playing guitar. Do you know anything about that?"
Sam let out a visible breath, pulling his hair behind his ears. "Dean loves music, but I'm sure you already know that. He always keeps his guitar in his trunk, in case he ever finds a chance to play. Truth is, Dad isn't so thrilled about having a musician in the family. He always insisted I go to law school, but hell, I never even wanted to be a lawyer. Dean was supposed to do something with his life, to Dad's standards, but he was never allowed to pursue his dream career. It's a shame. He actually has talent."
Catching the ball to keep Sam from scoring, Castiel looked behind him at the window that faced the kitchen. He didn't want to accept the fact that he was starting to understand Dean's motivations. Fuck. Castiel could actually reason why Dean did what he did.
Maybe the crazy was contagious.
When Castiel came out of Dean's bedroom with Dean's angel sweater on, all eyes were on him. Dean gaped at him, and his eyes traveled down to where the sweater ended below Castiel's torso. Flustered, Dean looked away.
For some reason, seeing Dean flustered amused Castiel more than he wanted to accept. And having Dean checking him out didn't bother him as much as the initial kiss on his hand had.
It wasn't that Castiel wasn't attracted to Dean, that wasn't even debatable. This wasn't a situation where that should even be thoroughly processed by Castiel's brain. (Even though it had, just for a minute). This was about his prior engagement. Castiel had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who he was going to propose to the day before.
Castiel knew that, despite Daphne's constant aggressive attitude, she didn't deserve a cheating boyfriend. Castiel had had many awful experiences with his exes—some of them men, although none of them came close to Dean. There. That was his clue that he was losing it. The fact that Castiel had memorized the places in Dean's face that were covered in freckles and the way his green eyes observed him every time Castiel said something unexpected.
It was absolutely ridiculous and inexcusable.
Castiel was practically engaged.
And that stupid kiss on Castiel's stupid hand had shot a spark right up his arm that left him stupidly flabbergasted. It wasn't right. None of it was. If anything, this whole experience might just play out as another case of Stockholm syndrome. But Castiel wouldn't let it go that far.
Dean's entire family was gathered around the Christmas tree, with the fireplace crackling softly. On the smaller couch, Dean sat next to Mary. Castiel went to sit at the empty spot on the larger couch between John and Bobby. Sam was on the floor on a beanbag, and Castiel wondered how his extremely long legs could fold in such ways.
"Are we ready?" John asked.
"I'm ready for another bottle of whiskey," Bobby mumbled. Castiel noticed the absence of his flak in his hands.
Mary leaned forward, addressing Castiel. "Dear, would you like a piece of pie?"
"Yes, please," Castiel said. Before being stuck here, Castiel had never even tried apple pie. He didn't like desert at all. Sweet things caused cavities, and Castiel had enough to deal with without those. But after seeing Dean devour his first piece of pie, well, the craving was born.
"Dean, would you get Castiel a piece of pie?" Mary asked Dean.
Dean scowled at Castiel, inducing a smile from him. "I'm sure Castiel knows where the kitchen is. I'm not his maid."
Mary frowned. "When you love someone you do nice things for them, Dean. Why do you think I've worked so hard these past few days to make everything perfect for my family?"
Guilt appeared in Dean's eyes, and then he shot Castiel one last look before heading to the kitchen.
"Thank you, baby!" Castiel called out, and Dean paused, clenching his fists on his sides, before he continued walking.
"Should we wait for Dean, or do we get started?" John asked. Castiel still didn't know what they were talking about.
"Why don't we ask our guest to do the honors?" Mary proposed.
Dean returned with the pie and set it on the coffee table in front of Castiel, making a loud thump by his carelessness. "Eat your damn pie," Dean muttered in Castiel's ear, low and close enough that only Castiel could hear.
"Do you have the book, Dean?" Mary asked as Dean sat back down next to her.
Pulling out a book from the side of the couch, Dean nodded. "Are we ready to read A Christmas Carol?"
"Castiel was going to read it," John said, suddenly.
"Why would you ask Cas to read this book?" Dean said, perplexed. "This is my copy."
"There's that selfishness, again, Dean," Castiel pointed out.
Dean glared at Castiel before he tossed him the book, hitting him hard on his face. "Have your fucking book if it makes you fucking happy, dammit!" With that, Dean left the room.
Castiel clutched the fractured copy of A Christmas Carol in his hands as he frowned at it. Something Castiel had done and/or said earlier had really done the trick on Dean. Granted, his initial intentions were to make Dean's life a living hell while he had him here, but Castiel wasn't as heartless as he appeared. And he did not like having Dean pissed at him. Not anymore, anyway.
"I'll go talk to him," Castiel offered, getting up and walking to the hallway. Dean was in their bedroom, sitting in bed with his lips pursed in a clear pout.
Castiel had gotten used to Dean's childlike features in their short time together. When Dean smiled sometimes he looked like a five-year-old with not a single care in the world. When Dean laughed he threw his head back and allowed the joy to fill up his entire body. And seeing Dean with that long frown in his face and his burrowed eyebrows was more endearing than anything.
"What the hell do you want?" Dean said through gritted teeth.
"I just want to talk."
"Then talk."
Castiel rolled his eyes, sitting beside Dean on the bed. "What's up?"
"Really? That's all you came up with?"
Castiel gave Dean a small shove with his shoulder. "Tell me what I did."
"You're being obnoxious."
"I'm playing the role you wanted me to play. Why are you complaining now?"
Dean looked to Castiel, his eyes still visibly green, despite the poor lighting in the room. "Because you're another Sam. You're another perfect son to them. I'm already a fucking disappointment in the family, and then you start being all perfect and they start drooling over you."
"You know that's not true, Dean. I'm sure it was your sweater that had them fooled."
Dean frowned. "Don't patronize me."
"I can make myself less irresistible," Castiel offered, smirking.
Dean shoved him back with his shoulder. "Just go give them what they want. Give them your best performance of A Christmas Carol."
"If that's what you want."
"Since when do you care what I want?" Dean asked, curiously.
Castiel shrugged, feeling confused. "I guess I must be getting into the Christmas spirit."
Dean narrowed his eyes. "Has your heart grown twice its size, Mr. Grinch?"
Castiel laughed, and Dean smiled. "Perhaps it did."
With the smile still present, Dean stood up and opened the bedroom door. "Let's go."
And just like that, with those simple words, Castiel followed Dean.
Chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk rested on the coffee table in the living room. Dean thought his entire family had already gone to bed when he found Mary walking in from the kitchen with a notebook in her hands.
"Oh, you're still up," Mary said. "Good."
"Yeah, Cas is changing in the bathroom."
"Did I hear my name?" Castiel said, walking to the living room in Dean's blue pajamas. They undoubtedly looked better on him.
"Castiel, I'm glad you're up, too." Mary opened her notebook and ripped out two pages, handing them to each of them. She handed them two pens as well. "Make your lists, boys."
Dean glanced back at the coffee table. "Were the cookies really necessary, mom?"
"Of course," Mary said, grinning. "A young soul lives longer, darling. Write your lists for Santa. Goodnight, boys."
"Goodnight, Mrs. Winchester," Castiel said, walking up to Dean. "So, where should we do this?"
With a sigh of exasperation, Dean made some room on the coffee table for both of them to have enough writing space. They sat on pillows on the floor in front of the table.
Castiel took a cookie from the plate in the center of the table. "Mmm." Castiel brought the cookie up to his mouth and took a bite, careful not to let the crumbs fall down on him. He moved his lips as he chewed, and for the fifteenth time, Dean noted how chapped Castiel's lips appeared. He tried, and failed, to block out any other thoughts involving Castiel's lips.
"What?" Castiel asked. Dean glanced a few inches higher from Castiel's lips to his bright blue eyes. He'd caught Dean staring at him.
"You're not supposed to eat those cookies," Dean muttered.
"If you don't tell on me, I won't tell on you." Castiel picked up another cookie and handed it to Dean. "Here, have some milk." Castiel pushed the full glass of milk closer to Dean.
Dean picked up the glass and took a sip. Putting the glass back down, Dean licked his lips to rid of the extra milk. Castiel glanced down at the action, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Dean swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling dry despite the milk he just drank.
Castiel pressed his eyes shut for a moment, as though trying to get rid of a thought. He sat up straight and clicked the top of his pen. "What are you going to wish for, Dean?" he asked, scribbling on his piece of paper.
Blinking, Dean became aware that his mouth was hung open. He closed it before Castiel could ask any questions about Dean's dumbstruck state. "I haven't even started."
Castiel smiled as he kept writing, covering his sheet of paper. "No peeking."
Dean cleared his throat. "Do you want some wine?"
"Sure," Castiel said, easily. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Might as well. I'm sure I'm already on the naughty list, anyway."
Castiel chuckled. "That you are, Dean."
Dean worked on the task of pulling out a bottle of red wine from the storage room and two cups. He filled up their cups and Castiel took a sip, closing his eyes at the taste.
"This is very good."
Dean smiled, though his heart wasn't in it.
Castiel seemed to notice Dean's mood swing because he set his wine down and turned to Dean. "What are you going to wish for?"
"I dunno. Considering I stopped believing in Santa before I turned five, I don't feel so eager to write this stupid list anymore."
"Perhaps I should get you drunk so you can stop sulking."
Dean laughed quietly, aware that his family was now asleep. "I'm not sulking, Cas."
"Then make a list."
"What are you even writing?"
Castiel smirked, lifting up his sheet of paper for Dean to read it. In big bold letters, the only item on Castiel's list was: I don't want to ever see a pair of furry pink handcuffs again in my entire life.
Despite his attempt to keep quiet for the sake of his family, Dean busted into laughter. Castiel laughed with him, and whatever awkwardness was left between them was lifted off like a sheet.
"Do you think you can help Santa grant me this wish, Dean?" Castiel asked.
Dean nodded. "I think I can make that happen."
After another good laugh, Dean finally got to work on writing his list. Castiel made all sorts of doodles on his piece of paper while he drank the rest of his wine. Dean poured them both more wine.
"Is there seriously nothing you want?" Dean wondered.
Apparently taken away from his train of thought, Castiel turned to Dean. "Hmm?—oh, no, I don't think there's anything left for me to want. To be quite frank, I have a perfect job, a beautiful girlfriend, and soon I'll have a family of my own."
Struck by this revelation, Dean bit his lower lip. Fuck, he'd really picked the wrong guy to kidnap. It finally occurred to Dean that Castiel had dreams of his own. He had plans that Dean had violently interrupted. Castiel had a girlfriend, and Dean had dragged him away from her. No fucking wonder Castiel had insisted that Dean didn't kiss him.
Dean had been wrong when he thought he wasn't a dick. By now, Dean was one of the worst people on earth.
"What's on your list?" Castiel asked, and without a warning, he snatched the list from Dean's grip. Dean had no will to fight for it. "A new oil change for my baby?"
Dean shrugged. "She needs it."
Castiel raised an eyebrow and widened his grin. "Guitar picks," Castiel continued. "Braids on Sam's hair. Five inches more…?" Castiel glanced at Dean, blinking.
"Height wise," Dean explained, clearing his throat.
"A chance to do what I love," Castiel concluded. He looked to Dean, and Dean thought there was pity in his eyes, but then he realized it was sympathy.
Dean sighed. "I was going to scratch that out."
Castiel frowned. "Why would you do that?"
"It's stupid."
"No." Castiel shook his head. "It's really not."
Dean rolled his eyes. "It's stupid that I still have dreams of ever doing something with music, with my guitar. I know how hard it is to get a record deal. I can't afford to be a struggling musician. I'm thirty years old, you know? That dream should be dead and buried six feet underground by now."
"Dean," Castiel said. His name was breathed out of Castiel's lips, sounding like a prayer.
The knowledge of Castiel's girlfriend—and future wife—forced Dean to move away. Castiel seemed unaware of their approximation, but Dean wasn't. Castiel looked at the empty plate of cookies and his glass of wine.
"Want to hear something?" Dean muttered. Castiel turned to him, again. The blue eyed man tilted his head, signaling Dean to continue. "When I was twelve, my parents gave me my first guitar. By then, I'd already been taking guitar lessons, but I'd borrow a guitar from my next door neighbor. And when they pulled out that beautiful acoustic guitar, I swear I was the happiest boy on that Christmas morning.
"Later on in the day, my parents pulled me out back, to the gazebo. They put up a bunch of color lights and asked me to play for them and Sammy. I played a few rock songs I'd learned first, and then I played a song I wrote. And they loved it."
A cold touch came to Dean's cheek and when he looked up, Castiel was gazing into his eyes, and the touch was coming from his hand.
"They love you, too, Dean," Castiel said, and it sounded like a promise. Dean froze when he felt Castiel's smooth thumb caressing the cheek he was holding.
Dean turned away, and Castiel dropped his hand. "I'm gonna clean up this mess."
"I'll be in bed," Castiel whispered, standing up.
"Okay." Dean worked on picking up the glasses and the plate when he noticed Castiel was still standing there, watching Dean carefully.
"Don't take so long," Castiel said, already glancing into Dean's eyes when he turned.
There was a beat of silence between them, so surreal that Dean didn't feel like any of it was actually happening. Dean resisted the urge to pinch himself.
Nervously, Castiel smiled before turning around and heading to their bedroom.