[FIC] The Story of Us for kiray1991
Gift type: Fanfic
Title: The Story of Us
Author: earthseed_fic
Recipient: kiray1991
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3150
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Up through Season 4
Summary: In this story they weren't the Righteous Man and the Angel of the Lord. They weren't even Dean and Castiel, badass hunters. In this story, his favorite story, they were just his dorky dads, and that's how he liked them best.
Author notes: kiray1991 wanted domestic Christmas fluff, with Dean and Castiel exchanging gifts. This didn't quite come out like I hoped, but I hope you like it anyway. Merry Christmas!
Scott Winchester knew a lot of stories about Dean and Castiel.
There was the one about the Angel of the Lord who pulled the Righteous Man from Perdition. It was the first bedtime story Castiel ever told him. When he first came to live with them, Dean would tuck him in, making a big production out of checking the closets and underneath the bed for monsters (even though Scott knew all too well that monsters didn't bother hiding), and then head downstairs to double check the protections around the house. Castiel stayed, sitting on the bed and speaking softly about a garrison of angels sent to hell to rescue one man. And even though Dean stopped Castiel from telling that story (and all other stories involving demons and ghosts and monsters--"That's a good way to screw up kid, Cas. Trust me."), and Scott had heard it only a few times, he remembered every word.
And there was the one they told every year over warm apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce ("The only way to celebrate a birthday, kid," Dean had told him). The one where Dean charged into the room where he had been hiding, grabbed his bloodied and bruised hand and said, "Don't let go. No matter what happens. Don't let go." And he didn't. Not when they were racing down the hall, Dean swinging iron as hard as he could. Not when they were both thrown, hard, against a wall by someone or some *thing* that Scott couldn't see. Not when Dean *did* see the thing attacking them and growled "son of a bitch." And not when the whole house started to shake with sound and light and a man (who was clearly so much more--Scott could tell, even then) with crazy hair and a rumpled trench coat appeared out of nowhere. Dean pulled him close, tucked his head into his shoulder, and said "Hold tight, kid." There were screams and curses and thuds and then searching hands and impossibly blue eyes and a voice even deeper and rougher and safer than Dean's. "Are you okay?" He held Dean tight and nodded yes and tried his best not to cry.
It was supposed to be a story about how brave he'd been that day, but Scott knew the truth. He knew his bravery was only made possible by theirs.
The story Scott liked best, though, the one he never got tired of hearing, was the one about Dean and Castiel's first Christmas, long before he knew them. The story always began with the three of them sitting around the Christmas tree, drinking eggnog and listening to Zeppelin. The boxes and bags of Christmas ornaments they'd collected over the years would be scattered around them and eventually Castiel would come to a small crumpled box that had clearly seen better days. With a small, shy smile he'd pull out the most godawful tie Scott had ever seen, all the while Dean watched with such naked affection that Scott was some times embarrassed to watch. Eventually their eyes would meet, and Dean would shake his head and laugh. "It was all Sam's fault." And Castiel would roll his eyes. "Your cluelessness didn't help."
In this story they weren't the Righteous Man and the Angel of the Lord. They weren't even Dean and Castiel, badass hunters. In this story, his favorite story, they were just his dorky dads, and that's how he liked them best.
******************************
***********************************************
It was a truth universally accepted that the Winchesters didn't do Christmas. Not well anyway. The epic amount of dysfunction and supernatural-related crap that followed them around constantly pretty much meant that Christmas, in any given year, just wasn't worth the effort. And yet--
This wasn't any given year. This was eight months after Team Free Will had saved the world. This was the first Christmas in a while that Dean didn't have the stress of the apocalypse or hellhounds or missing fathers or strung out brothers hanging over his head. This was the first time in a long time any of them had anything approaching normal. And that, thought Dean, was a pretty damn good reason to have some Christmas cheer.
It'd been easy to convince Sam to help him go out and cut down a Christmas tree. Every "idjit" mumbled by Bobby was quickly followed with specific instructions about hanging lights on the roof and porch of the house. Even Castiel got in on the fun, fashioning out of wood (with the new whittling skills Bobby was teaching him--"If he's going to hang around here all the time, the guy oughta have a hobby") all the figures from the "12 Days of Christmas." (Dean tried to tell him that they didn't actually need 10 drummers or 11 pipers or what ever it was. One of each would do. Castiel thought, as if deciding, and then replied, "I'm certain true love requires that I carve all 10 drummers." Dean found it difficult to breathe for a moment.) In all, it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas, and Dean should be happy. Except--
He looked across the room at Sam and Castiel bent over a book of rituals Rufus had brought back from Japan. Cas was translating and Sam was entering information in a spreadsheet that he'd created on his laptop. The book had been quite a find and they'd spent all their free time over the last three days geeking out over it. Geeking out and ignoring Dean.
It would be wrong to say that Dean was jealous. Considering where Sam and Castiel started, he was happy to see them bonding over all things arcane and Latin. So, no, he wasn't jealous. But he was annoyed.
Dean knew Cas couldn't stay. Now that Lucifer and Michael were locked up tight in the cage, he would go back to Heaven. Cas was on a job and the job was finished. That's how these things worked. He'd been preparing himself for the goodbye. But it never came. Almost a year later, the angel was still here with his dorky trench coat and ridiculous hair and stalker stares. In his more introspective moments, which he tried his best to avoid, Dean was beginning to think that his happiness was tied irrevocably to Cas--to his rare smiles, to the laugh he'd heard only twice, to the way Cas never understood anything and yet always got Dean. And seeing Cas sitting there with Sam, Dean wanted to be happy. But he didn't know why Cas sticking around. Which meant, in turn, that he still didn't know if and when the angel would be leaving. And that meant that Dean once again found himself on Christmas Eve full of angst and anxiety instead of Christmas cheer.
****************************************************************************
Castiel watched as Dean left the room and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the feeling of contentment mixed with anxiousness and something he couldn't quite name that washed over him every time he saw the other man. Castiel's life was brand new. The choices he'd been given, the ones he'd already made, were uncharted. The ways in which he *felt* his vessel since he'd been returned to it--sometimes it was all too much. Though, if he were being honest, it was mostly his feelings about Dean that were too much. Dean was the very definition of too much.
Sam nudged him with his shoulder. "Hey? Are you with me?"
Castiel felt himself blush. It was a really annoying trait he developed since being restored to his vessel. Dean had been having great fun taking advantage of his inability to control it. "What? Yes. I apologize for being distracted."
Sam snorted. "You know, it's okay if you'd rather be handing out with him."
Castiel shook his head. "I said I'd assist you with these translations. I can 'hang out' with Dean later."
"It's your call, man."
Sometimes it was hard for Castiel to remember his intense dislike and distrust of Sam. The man sitting before him was loyal and funny and, more often than not, an excellent ally when trying to get Dean to do something he didn't want to do. Though he didn't plan it this way, he was glad that his new life included Sam as his friend. And what are friends for but to give advice?
"Actually, I would like to take a break. I need to buy Dean a Christmas present."
*****************************************************************************
As it turns out both Dean and Castiel asked Sam for gift-giving advice. Sam refrained (though it was hard) from begging them both to get a clue.
He told them the same thing. A gift should come from the heart, should let the other person know how you feel about them, should remind that person of you whenever they see it or use it. It was, all things considered, pretty straightforward advice. Too bad Dean and Castiel didn't do straightforward.
******************************************************************************
"I don't understand," Cas said.
Dean sighed. "What now?" He couldn't believe he'd ever found Castiel's general cluelessness charming.
"Shouldn't your grandmother getting run over by a reindeer be a source of grief?"
They were in the food court of the local mall. Dean had spent the entirety of his adult life, and quite a few years of childhood, saving people and hunting things. Dangerous things. Ghosts, shapeshifters, wendigos, djinns, archangels, racist trucks. He'd gone up against hundreds of monsters, and won. So really, this whole Christmas shopping thing should have been a piece of cake.
Or so he thought. Before he went to the mall. On Christmas Eve.
Zachariah had nothing on the mall on Christmas Eve.
Castiel sipped on an Orange Julius (not because he wanted one, but because Dean had wanted one and ordered two and insisted that he try it) and watched harried shoppers become more and more desperate. "The singer is completely missing the spirit of Christmas."
"It’s funny, Cas."
"Not really."
Their adventures in shopping didn't improve.
****************************************************************************
By the time they got back to Bobby's, they were both cranky and tired. Dean was beginning to remember why he never bothered with Christmas and Castiel was struggling to see just what he was supposed to be so cheery about. They wrapped their presents, put them under the tree, and went to bed, barely grunting good night to one another.
By the time they woke, though, the thrill of Christmas morning couldn't be denied. Bobby had gotten up early to make pancakes for breakfast and start the chili they'd be having for dinner. Sam was already on the couch dividing presents into piles. (Dean had a moment of nostalgia for the skinny runt who'd spent too many holidays in cheap motels.) Dean made them all coffee and they settled down for the main event.
Dean would never have admitted it, but he was really eager to see what Cas had gotten him. He knew he shouldn't get his hopes up. Cas was new to gift giving and Christmas and, well, humans, and had probably gotten him something like myrrh or a manger or sugar plums because he heard it in a song. Still, he was excited.
And if the nervous glances Cas was shooting were any indication, the angel was feeling a little anxious himself.
He grabbed his gift, determinedly not blushing at the angel gift tag he'd bought on impulse, and handed it to Cas.
"I've never exchanged gifts," Cas said has he handed Dean an expertly wrapped gift. "I'm unsure of the protocol."
"That's easy," Dean grinned. "There is none. Just rip off they paper and see what you got."
Out of the corner of his eye Cas saw movement and looked up to see Bobby headed back toward the kitchen. "I, um, I need to check on the chili."
"I'll help," Sam said, and quickly followed.
"But the woman at the mall spent so much time wrapping this." Cas turned his attention back to Dean. "I would hate to destroy her work."
"She spent a lot of time because she was flirting with you, Cas." Yeah, he'd noticed. "Destroying the wrapping is a tradition. C'mon. We'll do it together. On the count of three. One. Two. Three."
Both of them tore into their presents. Castiel's eyes danced with anticipation and Dean could admit to the butterflies in his stomach.
Castiel got his present opened first. "I don't--" he started.
"Here. Let me." Dean took the tie from Castiel's hands and found the tiny button on the back. "See? You press this…and…ta da!" The green tie featured dozens of reindeer, each with a red nose. When Dean pressed the button, the nose started to blink and the tie started to sing "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer."
Dean's grin was so big and Castiel was so stunned that he almost didn't know what to say. Almost. "What is this?"
Dean's face fell immediately. "You don't like it?"
Castiel almost felt bad. Almost. "Why would I?"
"It's fun," Dean said, with much less conviction than he had when he bought the tie.
"The 'fun' here escapes me."
"It's Christmas, Cas. You can take that stick out of your ass any time."
Cas gave an annoyed huff. "Is this what you think of me? A joke? A…seasonal novelty?"
"What? No! What?" Dean was beginning to remember why Christmas sucked.
"Sam said a gift reflects what the giver thinks about the recipient. You gave me a joke." Castiel was using his 'I followed all your silly human rules perfectly and everything's still messed up' voice.
"I gave you a tie."
"I don't like ties, Dean. I wear a tie. I'm indifferent to clothing." Silly human.
Dean scrubbed his hand over his face. "So, what? You did a better job with my gift?"
"How could I not? Anything is better than a blinking tie."
Dean removed the remaining gift wrap from the small box in his hand. Inside was a beautifully made pewter flask, engraved with the sigil to prevent demon possession. Dean felt sick to his stomach.
"I'm starting to think this was a bad idea."
"Do you understand?" Castiel asked.
"That you think I'm a drunk? Yeah. I get it." Dean covered the box and put it aside. He couldn't even look at it.
"That's not at all what I think." Castiel longed for the day when he found communication with humans anything other than vexing.
"Really?" was Dean's incredulous reply.
"Let me explain."
"Let's not, Cas. Okay? I'll get Sam and Bobby. We can open the rest of these."
"Wait." He grabbed Dean's arm before he could leave. "I want you to think of me when you have a drink."
"You don't have to explain."
"Yes. I do. You drink to keep away the demons. You try to quiet the nightmares I know you still have. I just… I want… I want you to think of me when you need comfort. I want you to know I'm always here, even when I'm not." The words came out in a tumble. Castiel was frustrated that he couldn't explain how he felt about Dean.
Dean looked down at the flask (which was actually kinda cool) and then back at Castiel. "Wow. No wonder my present seems so shitty."
"I would say it's the thought that counts, but…"
Dean took Castiel's small smile as a good sign. "I like your tie. This one." He ran his hand down Castiel's chest briefly. "I mean, it's just a plain, cheap tie. But it's yours and you're always wearing it and…. I'm not getting this right."
"Try."
"I don't want you to change. I can be kind of dick some times. I make fun of your clothes. I just…I just wanted you to know I don't want you to change. Dorky tie and all."
"Dean." Castiel's heart swelled.
"And I thought maybe if the douchebags in Heaven let you keep this tie, you could pull it out every once in a while and think of... your time here."
"Dean."
Later Dean would blame a crappy night's sleep and too much coffee. Castiel's tilted head and puzzled-yet-hopeful expression didn't help. "Listen. I'm just going to go balls out here." He took a deep breath. "Don't go. I know you're a big deal upstairs now and there's no apocalypse here. But I…." Another deep breath. "Stay. Here. With me."
"Dean."
"Are you going say something besides my name?"
Castiel leaned forward, crushing the forgotten Christmas presents between them. He caught Dean's face in his hands. "You only ever have to ask."
"Yeah?" Dean couldn't help his goofy grin and his stomach did a hundred excited little flips when he saw that grin mirrored on Castiel's face.
"Yeah." Castiel slid his thumb down Dean's cheek and across his lips. "Is this the part where we get to kiss?"
"You want to kiss me?" Dean could tease and flirt now. He felt like he could do anything now.
Castiel did his best imitation of Sam's bitchface and Dean barked a laugh. He licked his lips, leaned in, and caught the angel's lips in his own.
Castiel tasted like Heaven and home and every other chick flick cliché that ever existed. Dean had never been happier.
Maybe there was something to this whole Christmas thing after all.
**************************************************************************
They were always a little quiet after they told the story, having a conversation with their eyes that was for their ears only. By the time they were done decorating tree, Castiel would be wearing his tie and Dean would be drinking cider from his flask (Cas did think he drank too much, but that was an argument for another day). On Christmas Day, Sam and his wife and kids would arrive in time to for breakfast and Bobby would bring over the chili because the idjits couldn't be bothered to learn how to cook for themselves.
At dinner, Scott Winchester would sit across the table from Dean and Castiel and think about all he knew about them. They weren't perfect or conventional. They were stubborn, reckless, and a little bit dangerous. They were goofy in love.
But most of all, they were his. And he wouldn't have it any other way.
Title: The Story of Us
Author: earthseed_fic
Recipient: kiray1991
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3150
Warnings: None
Spoilers: Up through Season 4
Summary: In this story they weren't the Righteous Man and the Angel of the Lord. They weren't even Dean and Castiel, badass hunters. In this story, his favorite story, they were just his dorky dads, and that's how he liked them best.
Author notes: kiray1991 wanted domestic Christmas fluff, with Dean and Castiel exchanging gifts. This didn't quite come out like I hoped, but I hope you like it anyway. Merry Christmas!
Scott Winchester knew a lot of stories about Dean and Castiel.
There was the one about the Angel of the Lord who pulled the Righteous Man from Perdition. It was the first bedtime story Castiel ever told him. When he first came to live with them, Dean would tuck him in, making a big production out of checking the closets and underneath the bed for monsters (even though Scott knew all too well that monsters didn't bother hiding), and then head downstairs to double check the protections around the house. Castiel stayed, sitting on the bed and speaking softly about a garrison of angels sent to hell to rescue one man. And even though Dean stopped Castiel from telling that story (and all other stories involving demons and ghosts and monsters--"That's a good way to screw up kid, Cas. Trust me."), and Scott had heard it only a few times, he remembered every word.
And there was the one they told every year over warm apple pie topped with vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce ("The only way to celebrate a birthday, kid," Dean had told him). The one where Dean charged into the room where he had been hiding, grabbed his bloodied and bruised hand and said, "Don't let go. No matter what happens. Don't let go." And he didn't. Not when they were racing down the hall, Dean swinging iron as hard as he could. Not when they were both thrown, hard, against a wall by someone or some *thing* that Scott couldn't see. Not when Dean *did* see the thing attacking them and growled "son of a bitch." And not when the whole house started to shake with sound and light and a man (who was clearly so much more--Scott could tell, even then) with crazy hair and a rumpled trench coat appeared out of nowhere. Dean pulled him close, tucked his head into his shoulder, and said "Hold tight, kid." There were screams and curses and thuds and then searching hands and impossibly blue eyes and a voice even deeper and rougher and safer than Dean's. "Are you okay?" He held Dean tight and nodded yes and tried his best not to cry.
It was supposed to be a story about how brave he'd been that day, but Scott knew the truth. He knew his bravery was only made possible by theirs.
The story Scott liked best, though, the one he never got tired of hearing, was the one about Dean and Castiel's first Christmas, long before he knew them. The story always began with the three of them sitting around the Christmas tree, drinking eggnog and listening to Zeppelin. The boxes and bags of Christmas ornaments they'd collected over the years would be scattered around them and eventually Castiel would come to a small crumpled box that had clearly seen better days. With a small, shy smile he'd pull out the most godawful tie Scott had ever seen, all the while Dean watched with such naked affection that Scott was some times embarrassed to watch. Eventually their eyes would meet, and Dean would shake his head and laugh. "It was all Sam's fault." And Castiel would roll his eyes. "Your cluelessness didn't help."
In this story they weren't the Righteous Man and the Angel of the Lord. They weren't even Dean and Castiel, badass hunters. In this story, his favorite story, they were just his dorky dads, and that's how he liked them best.
******************************
***********************************************
It was a truth universally accepted that the Winchesters didn't do Christmas. Not well anyway. The epic amount of dysfunction and supernatural-related crap that followed them around constantly pretty much meant that Christmas, in any given year, just wasn't worth the effort. And yet--
This wasn't any given year. This was eight months after Team Free Will had saved the world. This was the first Christmas in a while that Dean didn't have the stress of the apocalypse or hellhounds or missing fathers or strung out brothers hanging over his head. This was the first time in a long time any of them had anything approaching normal. And that, thought Dean, was a pretty damn good reason to have some Christmas cheer.
It'd been easy to convince Sam to help him go out and cut down a Christmas tree. Every "idjit" mumbled by Bobby was quickly followed with specific instructions about hanging lights on the roof and porch of the house. Even Castiel got in on the fun, fashioning out of wood (with the new whittling skills Bobby was teaching him--"If he's going to hang around here all the time, the guy oughta have a hobby") all the figures from the "12 Days of Christmas." (Dean tried to tell him that they didn't actually need 10 drummers or 11 pipers or what ever it was. One of each would do. Castiel thought, as if deciding, and then replied, "I'm certain true love requires that I carve all 10 drummers." Dean found it difficult to breathe for a moment.) In all, it was beginning to look a lot like Christmas, and Dean should be happy. Except--
He looked across the room at Sam and Castiel bent over a book of rituals Rufus had brought back from Japan. Cas was translating and Sam was entering information in a spreadsheet that he'd created on his laptop. The book had been quite a find and they'd spent all their free time over the last three days geeking out over it. Geeking out and ignoring Dean.
It would be wrong to say that Dean was jealous. Considering where Sam and Castiel started, he was happy to see them bonding over all things arcane and Latin. So, no, he wasn't jealous. But he was annoyed.
Dean knew Cas couldn't stay. Now that Lucifer and Michael were locked up tight in the cage, he would go back to Heaven. Cas was on a job and the job was finished. That's how these things worked. He'd been preparing himself for the goodbye. But it never came. Almost a year later, the angel was still here with his dorky trench coat and ridiculous hair and stalker stares. In his more introspective moments, which he tried his best to avoid, Dean was beginning to think that his happiness was tied irrevocably to Cas--to his rare smiles, to the laugh he'd heard only twice, to the way Cas never understood anything and yet always got Dean. And seeing Cas sitting there with Sam, Dean wanted to be happy. But he didn't know why Cas sticking around. Which meant, in turn, that he still didn't know if and when the angel would be leaving. And that meant that Dean once again found himself on Christmas Eve full of angst and anxiety instead of Christmas cheer.
****************************************************************************
Castiel watched as Dean left the room and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the feeling of contentment mixed with anxiousness and something he couldn't quite name that washed over him every time he saw the other man. Castiel's life was brand new. The choices he'd been given, the ones he'd already made, were uncharted. The ways in which he *felt* his vessel since he'd been returned to it--sometimes it was all too much. Though, if he were being honest, it was mostly his feelings about Dean that were too much. Dean was the very definition of too much.
Sam nudged him with his shoulder. "Hey? Are you with me?"
Castiel felt himself blush. It was a really annoying trait he developed since being restored to his vessel. Dean had been having great fun taking advantage of his inability to control it. "What? Yes. I apologize for being distracted."
Sam snorted. "You know, it's okay if you'd rather be handing out with him."
Castiel shook his head. "I said I'd assist you with these translations. I can 'hang out' with Dean later."
"It's your call, man."
Sometimes it was hard for Castiel to remember his intense dislike and distrust of Sam. The man sitting before him was loyal and funny and, more often than not, an excellent ally when trying to get Dean to do something he didn't want to do. Though he didn't plan it this way, he was glad that his new life included Sam as his friend. And what are friends for but to give advice?
"Actually, I would like to take a break. I need to buy Dean a Christmas present."
*****************************************************************************
As it turns out both Dean and Castiel asked Sam for gift-giving advice. Sam refrained (though it was hard) from begging them both to get a clue.
He told them the same thing. A gift should come from the heart, should let the other person know how you feel about them, should remind that person of you whenever they see it or use it. It was, all things considered, pretty straightforward advice. Too bad Dean and Castiel didn't do straightforward.
******************************************************************************
"I don't understand," Cas said.
Dean sighed. "What now?" He couldn't believe he'd ever found Castiel's general cluelessness charming.
"Shouldn't your grandmother getting run over by a reindeer be a source of grief?"
They were in the food court of the local mall. Dean had spent the entirety of his adult life, and quite a few years of childhood, saving people and hunting things. Dangerous things. Ghosts, shapeshifters, wendigos, djinns, archangels, racist trucks. He'd gone up against hundreds of monsters, and won. So really, this whole Christmas shopping thing should have been a piece of cake.
Or so he thought. Before he went to the mall. On Christmas Eve.
Zachariah had nothing on the mall on Christmas Eve.
Castiel sipped on an Orange Julius (not because he wanted one, but because Dean had wanted one and ordered two and insisted that he try it) and watched harried shoppers become more and more desperate. "The singer is completely missing the spirit of Christmas."
"It’s funny, Cas."
"Not really."
Their adventures in shopping didn't improve.
****************************************************************************
By the time they got back to Bobby's, they were both cranky and tired. Dean was beginning to remember why he never bothered with Christmas and Castiel was struggling to see just what he was supposed to be so cheery about. They wrapped their presents, put them under the tree, and went to bed, barely grunting good night to one another.
By the time they woke, though, the thrill of Christmas morning couldn't be denied. Bobby had gotten up early to make pancakes for breakfast and start the chili they'd be having for dinner. Sam was already on the couch dividing presents into piles. (Dean had a moment of nostalgia for the skinny runt who'd spent too many holidays in cheap motels.) Dean made them all coffee and they settled down for the main event.
Dean would never have admitted it, but he was really eager to see what Cas had gotten him. He knew he shouldn't get his hopes up. Cas was new to gift giving and Christmas and, well, humans, and had probably gotten him something like myrrh or a manger or sugar plums because he heard it in a song. Still, he was excited.
And if the nervous glances Cas was shooting were any indication, the angel was feeling a little anxious himself.
He grabbed his gift, determinedly not blushing at the angel gift tag he'd bought on impulse, and handed it to Cas.
"I've never exchanged gifts," Cas said has he handed Dean an expertly wrapped gift. "I'm unsure of the protocol."
"That's easy," Dean grinned. "There is none. Just rip off they paper and see what you got."
Out of the corner of his eye Cas saw movement and looked up to see Bobby headed back toward the kitchen. "I, um, I need to check on the chili."
"I'll help," Sam said, and quickly followed.
"But the woman at the mall spent so much time wrapping this." Cas turned his attention back to Dean. "I would hate to destroy her work."
"She spent a lot of time because she was flirting with you, Cas." Yeah, he'd noticed. "Destroying the wrapping is a tradition. C'mon. We'll do it together. On the count of three. One. Two. Three."
Both of them tore into their presents. Castiel's eyes danced with anticipation and Dean could admit to the butterflies in his stomach.
Castiel got his present opened first. "I don't--" he started.
"Here. Let me." Dean took the tie from Castiel's hands and found the tiny button on the back. "See? You press this…and…ta da!" The green tie featured dozens of reindeer, each with a red nose. When Dean pressed the button, the nose started to blink and the tie started to sing "Rudolph, the Red-Nosed Reindeer."
Dean's grin was so big and Castiel was so stunned that he almost didn't know what to say. Almost. "What is this?"
Dean's face fell immediately. "You don't like it?"
Castiel almost felt bad. Almost. "Why would I?"
"It's fun," Dean said, with much less conviction than he had when he bought the tie.
"The 'fun' here escapes me."
"It's Christmas, Cas. You can take that stick out of your ass any time."
Cas gave an annoyed huff. "Is this what you think of me? A joke? A…seasonal novelty?"
"What? No! What?" Dean was beginning to remember why Christmas sucked.
"Sam said a gift reflects what the giver thinks about the recipient. You gave me a joke." Castiel was using his 'I followed all your silly human rules perfectly and everything's still messed up' voice.
"I gave you a tie."
"I don't like ties, Dean. I wear a tie. I'm indifferent to clothing." Silly human.
Dean scrubbed his hand over his face. "So, what? You did a better job with my gift?"
"How could I not? Anything is better than a blinking tie."
Dean removed the remaining gift wrap from the small box in his hand. Inside was a beautifully made pewter flask, engraved with the sigil to prevent demon possession. Dean felt sick to his stomach.
"I'm starting to think this was a bad idea."
"Do you understand?" Castiel asked.
"That you think I'm a drunk? Yeah. I get it." Dean covered the box and put it aside. He couldn't even look at it.
"That's not at all what I think." Castiel longed for the day when he found communication with humans anything other than vexing.
"Really?" was Dean's incredulous reply.
"Let me explain."
"Let's not, Cas. Okay? I'll get Sam and Bobby. We can open the rest of these."
"Wait." He grabbed Dean's arm before he could leave. "I want you to think of me when you have a drink."
"You don't have to explain."
"Yes. I do. You drink to keep away the demons. You try to quiet the nightmares I know you still have. I just… I want… I want you to think of me when you need comfort. I want you to know I'm always here, even when I'm not." The words came out in a tumble. Castiel was frustrated that he couldn't explain how he felt about Dean.
Dean looked down at the flask (which was actually kinda cool) and then back at Castiel. "Wow. No wonder my present seems so shitty."
"I would say it's the thought that counts, but…"
Dean took Castiel's small smile as a good sign. "I like your tie. This one." He ran his hand down Castiel's chest briefly. "I mean, it's just a plain, cheap tie. But it's yours and you're always wearing it and…. I'm not getting this right."
"Try."
"I don't want you to change. I can be kind of dick some times. I make fun of your clothes. I just…I just wanted you to know I don't want you to change. Dorky tie and all."
"Dean." Castiel's heart swelled.
"And I thought maybe if the douchebags in Heaven let you keep this tie, you could pull it out every once in a while and think of... your time here."
"Dean."
Later Dean would blame a crappy night's sleep and too much coffee. Castiel's tilted head and puzzled-yet-hopeful expression didn't help. "Listen. I'm just going to go balls out here." He took a deep breath. "Don't go. I know you're a big deal upstairs now and there's no apocalypse here. But I…." Another deep breath. "Stay. Here. With me."
"Dean."
"Are you going say something besides my name?"
Castiel leaned forward, crushing the forgotten Christmas presents between them. He caught Dean's face in his hands. "You only ever have to ask."
"Yeah?" Dean couldn't help his goofy grin and his stomach did a hundred excited little flips when he saw that grin mirrored on Castiel's face.
"Yeah." Castiel slid his thumb down Dean's cheek and across his lips. "Is this the part where we get to kiss?"
"You want to kiss me?" Dean could tease and flirt now. He felt like he could do anything now.
Castiel did his best imitation of Sam's bitchface and Dean barked a laugh. He licked his lips, leaned in, and caught the angel's lips in his own.
Castiel tasted like Heaven and home and every other chick flick cliché that ever existed. Dean had never been happier.
Maybe there was something to this whole Christmas thing after all.
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They were always a little quiet after they told the story, having a conversation with their eyes that was for their ears only. By the time they were done decorating tree, Castiel would be wearing his tie and Dean would be drinking cider from his flask (Cas did think he drank too much, but that was an argument for another day). On Christmas Day, Sam and his wife and kids would arrive in time to for breakfast and Bobby would bring over the chili because the idjits couldn't be bothered to learn how to cook for themselves.
At dinner, Scott Winchester would sit across the table from Dean and Castiel and think about all he knew about them. They weren't perfect or conventional. They were stubborn, reckless, and a little bit dangerous. They were goofy in love.
But most of all, they were his. And he wouldn't have it any other way.