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Brother to the groom and best man Dean Winchester is in completely over his head.
In just fifteen short days, on December 20th, Sam Winchester and Jessica Moore will be married. And surprisingly, the one who’s freaking out the most isn’t the bride nor the groom.
“What the hell is gypsophila?” he asks himself, as his eyes roam over the list of things to mention to the wedding planner when they meet this afternoon. Actually it isn’t just a list, it’s a goddamn section titled ‘decor’, in a whole goddamn binder with Dean’s name plastered in bold on the front cover of things he’s responsible for. Honestly, if he’d known weddings were this much energy for the people that weren’t even getting married, he might’ve toned down the enthusiasm. But no, now he’s here, sitting on the snow covered steps of an empty, locked-up venue in the mountains of California that doesn’t open for another hour, with his ass going numb and the words trellis and nosegay ping-ponging around in his head like lost goldfish.
He almost considers calling up Sam and asking him what half of this shit is because honestly, he only barely made it through two years of community college and is not chalked up, in fact, for a series of totally foreign-sounding ‘decor must-haves’ that sound like a Harvard professor’s thesis paper, but he reconsiders when he remembers that Sam and Jess are having their cake tastings right now. And, disgruntled as he is, he thinks he can muster through--for now--for them.
He’s just gotten up and is walking to the parking lot so he can sit in the Impala for the rest of the hour and avoid becoming the newest addition to the ice sculpture garden when a pearly grey Mercedes Coupe pulls up at the end of the walkway, misses running him down by a foot and a half, and fucking parks. Right in front of him.
“Hey! Drive much or just read about it, asshole!”
He can’t see the driver through the tinted windshield, but he decides it best to mutter a disgruntled goddamn yuppie prick and keep walking instead of knocking on the guys window with his middle finger in tow. His jeans are wet and he can’t feel his toes and honestly getting into some sort of brawl with a snob in a sports car is at the bottom of his priority list.
He reaches the Impala after a brisk five minutes of slipping on black ice, gets in the car and starts it, letting the soft coos of Louis Armstrong (because it’s Christmas, damn it) ease his head space. He decides to call the only person he can think of that would know what a silver variegated parrot tulip looks like, and also maybe what to look for when selecting tablescape palettes.
“Lisa,” Dean nearly whines through the phone, “Save me.” She sighs.
“How goes the wedding plans?”
“Sam and Jess left all this crap to me and I have no idea what I’m doing. If I see the word tulle one more time I’m gonna have an aneurysm.” He runs a hand over his eyes, tries to ease the thumping in his head; tries to remember the last time he’s been stressed to the point of actual physical pain.
“I swear, Dean Winchester. God only knows what planning a wedding with you would have been like,” Lisa sighs. Behind the teasing, she almost sounds relieved. Dean sits up from his reclined seat. “Really dodged a bullet there.”
“Hey!” Dean blurts accusatory, feeling a little wounded because he would’ve made a damn good husband if he’d gotten the chance. Could make a damn good husband. He might be a little rough around the edges, might be pretty unlovable at times--unbearable, even--but he could love someone unconditionally, for better or for worse, if it came to that.
Although, after going through the trauma of this first wedding, he isn’t sure he wants it to.
“Anyway,” Lisa says, and the roll of her eyes is evident even through the phone, “I don’t know what you want me to do. Make you flash cards?”
“Actually that’d be great,” he says, lying back, and he means it, too. He doesn’t know how prepared this wedding planner guy is going to be, or how prepared he’s going to think Dean’s going to be, but he’d rather not show up and make a fool of himself and ruin the entire wedding because he doesn’t know what the color taupe looks like.
“You’ll be alright, Winchester,” Lisa reassures. It settles Dean’s nerves an inch, because he knows that she means it. If Lisa’s anything, she’s honest. As he hums a skeptical response, he can hear mutters in the background, Lisa talking with her hand over the speaker, and when she comes back, she says “Ben just got home. Wanna say hi?”, and Dean genuinely wants to do nothing more. He misses it, honestly, talking to Ben and Lisa, seeing them everyday. After he moved back home to Lawrence in an attempt to get away from the terror of a cancelled engagement, he only gets to talk to them over the phone every now and then. The fact that Ben is talking to him again at all is better than nothing, he thinks, but it’s been a long time.
And so, Dean spends the rest of the hour talking to his almost stepson about his day at school, about the hot chicks in Mrs. Morey’s fifth grade classroom, about the snow they aren’t getting in Michigan, and before he knows it, it’s 4 o’clock. He doesn’t know much more than he did before about wedding decor, but he’s feeling more relaxed than he has since Sam and Jess first announced their engagement.
He practically struts into the now-open venue, doesn’t even shoot the passenger free Mercedes still parked on the curb a dirty glance, because he’s feeling so good it’d take the heavens falling to bring him back down.
When he walks into the gaping banquet hall from the small balcony that overlooks it, ‘big’ is the first word that comes to mind, followed closely by ‘fucking huge’. The ceiling is two stories high, with large open windows overlooking a patio and the tops of snowy pines, set at an angle by the mountains below. A chandelier, traditional in style, but with white and silver branches elegantly woven between it’s prongs, hangs proudly in the center and the walls are deep wood, like the inside of a snow lodge, but polished and bare, customizable. It’s sizey yet humble, and very very Sam.
Below, he sees a man, suited but somehow unkempt, hunched over a bare table amongst a hundred others, scrawling notes into a leather-bound notebook latched loosely onto a clipboard. Somehow, even under the man’s thick coat, Dean can see the man’s back muscles shift softly with each breath. Dean gives himself a moment to admire the fine architecture of the man’s hunched build until he clears his throat, and the man looks up, jerks into a standing position clumsily with a loud screech of his chair that rattles the stillness of the room. Dean brings up his hand in a stiff wave.
“Hey, didn’t mean to startle you,” Dean says, starts himself with the sheer volume at which his voice is projected, not having realized how voices carry like fucking dust in this place.
“Not at all,” the man says, still a little shaken. He clears his throat. “Shall I come up…?”
Dean glances around, and when his eyes land on a staircase that he assumes branch into the main room, he shakes his head and says “Nah, you stay there, I’ll come to you.”
The navigational portion of leaving the fucking balcony is slightly more complicated than he’d at first expected. As it turns out the staircase leads to a hallway which passes between the kitchen (settled underneath the balcony), the bathrooms, the elevator and another hallway, but sooner or later he makes it into the large open room once again with a sigh and a dramatic “this place is a goddamn maze”.
The man is sitting again at his table, and he smiles softly, nods. “Rest assured you’ll figure it out in no time,” he encourages, and Dean thinks that after spending two weeks in and out of this place, carrying boughs of evergreen and tinsel up and down those stairs until his arms break, that’s probably true.
He saunters up to the table. When the guy starts to stand again, Dean stops him with a gesture, shoves out his hand to shake. “Dean Winchester,” he states, “groom’s brother.”
The man looks at his hand curiously for a second, awkward, and Dean considers pulling it back until it’s grabbed and shaken tentatively.
“Castiel Novak. It’s a pleasure.”
The guy is all stares and soft smiles, and Dean can’t decide if it’s pleasant or eerie, but either way it makes him easy to talk to. Easy to be a fool around, he presumes. The natural light of the snow that’s flooding effortlessly through the great windows paint Castiel’s skin a soft, pale gold--a stark contrast to his hair and eyelashes. Up close this man is a visual wonder. Even his voice is sweet, rumbling like the engine of a motorcycle, but somehow still soothing Dean’s nerves with each word he utters.
“I almost hit you with my car.”
That, actually, throws Dean off a little. This soft golden creature with thunder in his lungs is that goddamn yuppie prick from an hour ago that drives the only sports car in the parking lot? Somehow, in Dean’s mind, he has a hard time connecting those dots, even though it makes sense now that he thinks about it.
“Oh, yeah. Thanks for that,” he says, but his attempt at sarcasm flies straight over Castiel’s head. That or it’s choicely ignored.
“I wasn’t sure I was going to see you again, but I’d like to offer some sort of reparation now that you’re here, if I may…”
“Reparation?” Dean asks incredulous, because he hadn’t been that close to getting run over.
“For emotional distress, if nothing else.” Dean almost laughs, but the consequences of this weird staring contest they’re having all of a sudden is that he can gauge Castiel’s expression pretty damn easily, and it’s not one that reads I’m making a funny joke about giving you money for no good reason. Dean is a little speechless.
At a loss for anything better to respond with, Dean says “How about you tell me what gypsophila is and we’ll call ourselves even,” as he gestures to the thick binder in his hands. Castiel looks concerned, but his smile quirks up on one side, and instead of insisting, he just nods.
“If you’re sure.” Dean gives him as blinding a smile as he can muster. It isn’t really tough with this guy, if he’s being honest. “Baby’s breath.”
His smile falters. “Excuse me?”
“Gypsophila is the flower more commonly known as baby’s breath.”
Dean feels like an idiot. But he also feels like he’s allowed to be an idiot. “Oh,” he says kind of breathlessly, and the fact that his stomach is in knots over baby’s breath is not a good sign. He tries to look away from Castiel’s stare, but his eyes are pretty hard to stop looking at it. His eyes are pretty, period.
“Now that that’s out of the way,” Castiel says, looking away and pulling Dean out of his blue-induced stupor, gesturing to the open chair next to him at the table, and Dean realizes he’s been standing over the guy for their entire conversation, “shall we get started?”
After shaking himself off a little, he nods, and with an intelligent “uh huh” sits, where they discuss the use of taupe in the table arrangements.
❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊
The day after, he meets Jess and Sam for breakfast, and oh, look what dark haired golden skinned wedding planner has tagged along.
Sam stands from the diner booth to envelop Dean in a bone shattering hug, which has been happening a lot recently (Sam has also been initiating a lot of heart to hearts, starting with “Jess puts the right amount of mustard in her deviled eggs” and ending with “People don’t appreciate you enough, Dean. You don’t appreciate yourself enough,” but Dean chalks it up to the pre-wedding buzz), and Jess follows shortly after.
“How’s the happy couple?” asks Dean, squeezing Jess so hard she lifts off the ground an inch, her heels clacking on the glossy wood. Jessica Moore really is the perfect woman for Sam; so so beautiful, pristine and well kept, a degree in something Dean can’t pronounce, all the same hippie interests that Sam has, like yoga and salads. And she’s able to drive Sam to the moon and back but keep him grounded at the same time. Dean thinks if they’re mom was still around, she’d be more proud of Sam for finding and keeping a woman like Jess than graduating Stanford.
“Dean, we honestly can’t thank you enough for helping with the wedding as much as you have,” Jess says, with gratefulness in her voice and her eyes, and Dean’s only reaction is a big, genuine smile. “I know you would’ve rather come cake tasting with us yesterday, but you seeing Castiel was really sort of a blessing.”
Castiel perks up at the mention of his name from where he still sits in the booth, glances up from his cup of coffee and the notepad he’s been scribbling on again, and when they catch eyes, he smiles. Dean says “I’m more of a pie type anyway.”
After talking to him yesterday, Dean hadn’t learned all the much about Castiel, but it didn’t seem to matter to his lungs that couldn’t find air when their eyes met or his heart that beat twice as fast. In fact, Castiel had stayed strictly business for the most part, getting as much out of Dean about what Jess and Sam wanted for the wedding as he could. He would ask Dean what they were thinking in terms of floral arrangements, and Dean would recite the list with careful ignorance, that Castiel registered, accepted and tended to. Dean felt a little like a student being tutored, and a little like someone witnessing a sermon in church, but mostly like someone listening to their best friend rant about their favorite movie. Just the way he spoke, his enthusiastic mannerisms; Castiel was passionate and wonderful and it made Dean’s head spin more than a few times.
He sits down next to Castiel in the booth, tries to ignore the press of their thighs, and orders the biggest plate of greasy, meaty breakfast he can find. When it arrives, it glowers in the presence of Jess’ fruit salad.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Sam asks around a mouthful of something yogurt-filled and mysterious, and Castiel sets down his burger (burgers for breakfast--a man of Dean’s own taste) to flip through his notepad.
“Today’s all finances, I’m afraid. You two will need to go finalize your licenses--I called in earlier and they said they’d have them by this afternoon. I, on the other hand, will be sending out final payments and doing data entry.” He does a sarcastic little cheer that draws grins out of everyone at the table.
“Dean can help!” Sam offers enthusiastically and Dean glares at him from where he’s hunched over his plate and shoving fat-filled foods ungracefully into his mouth. There’s a few beats of silence, with only the Christmas music of the diner filling the air, and Dean looks at Castiel, who shakes his head wearily.
“Oh, don’t feel obligated. It is my job, afterall.”
“Do you... need help?” Dean asks, pushing a piece of bacon into the side of his mouth. He might be secretly hoping, but he wouldn’t let that slip under pain of death.
“Well, I don’t need-”
“Would you like help?” Dean corrects. Castiel hesitates, doesn’t say anything, and Dean takes that as a yes. Smiling and scooping scrambled eggs into his mouth, he says “Hey man, data entry probably beats sitting around alone all day and watching Star Trek reruns.”
And so, the two of them end up huddled together over the island-bar in Castiel’s kitchen, with adjacent laptops and papers everywhere.
“Oh man,” Dean says to Castiel, shuffling through the invitations list and filling them all into an Excel file, “I haven’t seen some of these people in years.” Castiel hums with understanding, nods but doesn’t take his eyes off the careful numbers he’s writing.
“When you’ve seen as many weddings as I have, you’ve seen twice as many reunions.”
“Mm,” Dean hums, and then without hesitance, “You married?”. He hopes this isn’t overstepping or prying, because really they’ve known each other for barely an entire day, but Castiel just grins and shakes his head, marks an envelop in red pen.
“No, not yet, I’m afraid. Are you?”
“Nah. Should be, though, right? Thirty five now. I should have a wife and kids.” He chuckles, a little sadly, “Almost happened, too. Proposed to a girl in Michigan who had a kid already, settled down for nearly a year before we realized we weren’t happy.” Dean pauses, subconsciously biting his lip in thought, staring at the pile of envelopes engraved in gold. “We were so close.”
“I’m sorry,” Castiel says. Dean just shakes his head and perks up again.
“Old news. Still love them like they’re family, though, y’know?” Castiel again hums in understanding, but this time his eyes are locked on Dean’s, and they’re doing that staring thing again. He makes a mental note to ask Sam if this happens to him too. He hopes it doesn’t. “How ‘bout you? Any reason you ain’t got a ring on your finger?”
“Haven’t found the right one, I suppose. I’m something of a hopeless romantic,” Dean figures that plays nicely into the whole wedding planner gig, “so trying to find someone who isn’t just interested in the sex is… seemingly a bit of a lost cause in California.” Dean can definitely see how that could be a problem, especially for someone who looks like Castiel, because honestly if someone wasn’t interested in sex after laying eyes on this guy, he’d question both their libido and their sanity.
“Well, we’re all hopeless romantics in Kansas,” he teases, giving an exaggerated wink.
Castiels tilts his head. “Clearly.” They smile at each other for a minute, but eventually Castiel goes back to his envelops and mutters “If you’re all so charming in Kansas, too, I might have to follow you back.” Dean thinks he wouldn’t mind that one bit.
❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊
A few days later, he meets Castiel in a dancing hall. Well, technically he meets Castiel and Jess and Sam in a dancing hall, because that’s really why they’re there in the first place, right? Sam needs dancing lessons because he’s six feet four inches of bumbling ass and Jess has tagged along a) for moral support and b) for the laughs, while Dean’s there solely for the latter. And maybe a little bit to see Castiel again, who apparently, was going to be following them around for a while, not that Dean’s going to start complaining.
When Sam had called him and said “Jess and I are meeting Castiel at a dance studio downtown”, expecting Dean to adios the fuck out of that situation, Dean had responded with a resounding I’ll be there.
And when they see Dean walk through the doors of the studio in a dark button down and his nicest grey jeans, they beam.
He almost regrets this whole thing when he sees a row of knee high glittering ballerinas fumble in succession out into the lobby, followed by a cluster of soccer moms that eye him up and down, but when he notices Castiel standing in a dark waist coat, formal trousers, and a red tie to replace his usual blue one, all regrets are out the window in a heartbeat.
They greet each other casually and the dancing begins, a few other awkward couples trying to follow the steps of the instructor. Dean laughs so hard he can’t see straight. Especially when Sam, while dancing with a woman of at least sixty-five who is stroking her hands tentatively up and down his chest, catches Jess’ beauty from the sidelines, and trips over his own feet into the iPod dock on the wall, successfully jarring the music for a solid minute and a half.
Sometime in the middle of the lesson, a slow song with a perfect back-and-forth beat comes on, and Dean watches Jess join Sam on the dance floor with a grin. He thinks back to what his first dance with Lisa would have been like. Beautiful, graceful Lisa whose skin would contrast so nicely with the white of a pearly wedding dress; whose bright smile would gleam through any veil.
His fantasies are interrupted by Castiel quietly asking if they can afford winter brushed topiaries. Dean smiles at him. Says probably. Castiel doesn’t write it down though, just taps his hands against his lap to the song, watching the couples (especially Jess and Sam, as watching them is really his job) and tilting his head. Not even in a calculating way, not trying to deduce anything like he sometimes does, just observing.
Dean hesitates. And then asks “You ever been dancing before?”
Castiel glances at Dean, eyes curious for a moment, and then returns to watching the couples fall over each other. “I haven’t. I’ve watched it about a thousand times, though. Part of the job.”
More hesitancy, and then the words “You wanna try?” bubble up from out of his throat, but he only regrets them until Castiel perks up slightly, eyes wide, as he looks around the room for potential partners, but he and Dean are the only two not dancing, as they sit on two fold up chairs in the corner of the room. Their eyes meet. The song ends. Castiel looks unsure.
“What… now?”
Dean nods. “Yeah. Why not, right?” When Castiel still looks unsure, begins to protest that he is in fact working right now and really should try to stay on task, Dean decides dropping it would just be too damn easy. Even if this guy isn’t interested, (hell, Dean isn’t even sure if he himself is interested (but really who is he trying to kid)) it’s just dancing, so he adds on a little more confidently than before, “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”
And so, when the lessons begin again, the instructor teaching the couples new steps, Castiel and Dean stand face to face on the glazed pine wood floor with their hands on each other, learning how to promenade. Jess, who is now on the dance floor as well, deciding to spare Sam another round of subtle groping via the elderly woman from before, is throwing curious but amused looks over her shoulder whenever Dean and Castiel come into view. Dean responds with a shrug, and Jess just shakes her head and grins.
The instructor gives them another song to figure out the fluidity of the steps they’ve learned, slow and romantic like the first, and Dean finds himself a little closer to Castiel than is strictly necessary, but hey, who’s measuring? He hears Sam in his mind chanting leave room for Jesus, but hey, Castiel’s practically an angel, so as long as Dean’s got him in his atmosphere, Dean figures he’s doing alright.
Castiel is though, as was expected, an awful dancer, but he’s able to fall into a comfortable rhythm eventually when they leave behind the calculated steps for a slow side to side sway. The instructor tuts at them, but the two lose everything around them in the beat of the song.
“Is this… uncomfortable? For you?”
“What, dancing? Sorta. Can’t say I’m an avid dancer but y’know. I do the occasional drunk bar karaoke which involves some pretty suave dance moves.” Castiel fucking giggles, which jesus christ, if Dean makes it through another day with this guy he will be genuinely shocked, but then Castiel clears his throat and his eyes dart around the room, at the couples next to them, anywhere but Dean.
“I meant with me.” He looks up, finally, and those eyes goddamn. He seems nervous, collected as always but with something bashful in his expression, and Dean wants to cup his face in his hands and whisper soothing words into his ear until the day he dies. Instead he squeezes the hand that’s cupping Castiel’s and smiles what he hopes is reassurance but is probably just stay with me forever.
“Nah, Cas. This is good.” Castiel raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.
❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊
Tonight is the night of Sam’s bachelor party. They’re having it in the backroom of Dean’s favorite bar, which isn’t really at all Sam’s type of place, but as a proper older brother he’s giving Sam a proper bachelor party and that includes a scummy bar with lots of alcohol, swanky cigars and plenty of scantily clad women.
“Cas said he can make it, so we’ve got all our spots filled,” Dean says on the phone that afternoon while lying on his hotel bed, enjoying the tremor of the Magic Fingers.
Sam splutters on the other end. “Cas?”
“Yeah, he’s sorta one of the guys now, right? I know I’ve only known him for a week but you and Jess--”
“Dean, he can come, that’s fine. But... you called him ‘Cas’.” Oh, had he? Ever since they’d danced that evening a few days ago, Dean had been referring to Cas as ‘Cas’ in his head without any second thought. Dean shrugs, both physically and mentally. “...Really, Dean? Really?”
“It’s just a nickname, man, jesus.” Sam scoffs.
“Oh yeah, sure. Guess you just felt like dancing too, right? Please. I could practically see the hearts shooting out of your eyes.” Dean grunts, because yeah maybe his heart was doing flips and his head was reeling the whole night, but he’d thought he was doing a better job at keeping all that on the inside than he apparently was.
“Whatever,” he says dismissively. Sam sighs, half disgruntled and half amused.
“Just... be careful, man. You haven’t really had a thing with anybody since…” Sam let’s Dean fill in that blank. “And Castiel, ‘Cas’, he’s a good guy. You both deserve something good, I think.” The bed stops vibrating. When Dean doesn’t say anything, both out of disapproval for this whole conversation and something else creeping up in his stomach that feels a lot like butterflies, Sam continues, “Just, do us a favor, and keep your paws off him until after the wedding, alright? The last thing I want is Jess having a nervous breakdown because our wedding planner’s disappeared with the best man.” Dean smirks, because he’s not going to make any promises, but still he agrees. He isn’t that selfish. Probably. “Oh, and Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Tonight. No strippers.”
“Oh, wouldn’t dream of it, Sammy. What kind of man do you take me for?”
There are strippers. Sam’s looking frustrated, politely declining a very persistent blonde’s advances and shooting Dean glares when he gets the chance, and Cas is just looking plain lost. There’s a woman squirming on his lap and he’s clutching his notepad for dear life, probably has enough tequila in him to genuinely not know what is going on. Ash, a family friend, has managed to pull three different girls onto him at once, which is impressive, but also sort of disgusting, and it in turn leaves none for Dean. Surprisingly, it’s not really a problem for him, at the moment.
Whenever he tries to focus on the curve of hips he ends up on Castiel’s eyes instead, and it’s such a grossly sincere thing to do that he could puke. Instead of dwelling on it, he puffs on the cigar in his hand a few times. When he tries focusing on the flashing of a neon sign, it doesn’t last long, as he notices how the blue and pink blaring lights curve around Castiel’s skin. He’s got it so fucking bad.
And when the blonde stripper, tired of his refusal, moves on from Sam to another family friend, Sam looks like he’s about to come over and shake a very firm finger at Dean until his eyes flick between him and Castiel, and he settles back down with a knowing eye. Just turns toward the man on his left and orders another beer.
Sooner or later the stripper on Castiel’s lap seems to get tired of writhing around on someone as stiff as a plank, and she too moves on, crawls into someone else's lap, leaving Dean and Cas all on their lonesome.
“I’ve never much liked stag night,” he says, and Dean laughs around his beer, offers Castiel a cigar which he hastily declines.
“Makes sense. Guess you don’t get a lot of male strippers at a bachelor party, do you?” Cas shakes his head, takes another sip of the fruity drink he’s ordered.
“Unfortunately not.”
“I’d offer you a strip tease but you might have to buy me a few more drinks first.” He winks then at Castiel, who’s looking a little flustered all of a sudden, actually blushing up his neck and on his ears. Dean finds it very endearing. And then, because he probably actually could use with a few less drinks in him, says “Would you like that?”
Castiel falters, looks in Dean’s eyes like he’s searching for something, and then nods uncertainly. Dean smirks, leans in close so he’s up against the side of Cas’ face, says “Later, when we have more privacy,” and gives Castiel’s ear a soft peck because it just looks so inviting. He doesn’t come to his senses then, not really, but he’s aware enough to realize Sam’s smug expression from across the circle of drunk, cheering men and cloudy cigar smoke.
It’s at that moment that Ash hoots and calls for body shots, and Dean might be trying to court a dark, mysterious wedding planner, but that doesn’t mean he can’t lick tequila off a stripper’s stomach and sing shitty congratulations to his younger brother. And when one of the girls takes a shot from the dip of Castiel’s collarbone and Dean struggles through the rest of the night with his legs crossed and his brother shooting looks at him from across the bar, he knows he’s fucked.
❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊
Two days. Two days until the wedding and it’s utter chaos at the venue. Somehow Sam is hyperventilating in the bathroom while on the phone with Jess, whose dress doesn’t fit properly and is in need of last minute tailoring, and Castiel is rubbing Sam’s back while talking on the phone with the caterers who are insisting the payments weren’t correct despite the numbers being directly copied from the billing information, and the decor management won’t be arriving until the day of the wedding which is about two days too late. And Dean is sitting back, watching the marital-Armageddon and feeling thoroughly helpless.
Castiel sighs, hangs up the phone, shoots Dean a tired glance while Sam says “Oh, god, are you having second thoughts? Okay, good, me neither, I was just checking,” and Dean can’t help but smile. Castiel’s undoubtedly been through this a thousand times but still manages to put his whole body and soul into it. He silently asks Cas if he can help in anyway, but Cas just smiles thankfully and shakes his head.
Jess comes in eventually with her maid of honor carrying the dress bag, and she spends a good amount of time in the men’s bathroom trying to calm Sam down while Castiel and Dean bring in giant boughs of evergreen and hundreds of freezer preserved cream colored flower arrangements from the car. The Harvelle-Singer clan roll in to aid with decorations, and the Moores, who are all ivy league graduates as it turns out, are very good at keeping everything organized and under control, speaking with the caterers and secretly planning an extravagant honeymoon that Sam and Jess are sure they aren’t getting. With the families mingling, everyone bustling around in anticipation and collaboration, the wedding vibes are really starting to set in.
And excited as Dean is, he’s nervous. Nervous enough to catch himself petrified every now and then. Things aren’t going to be inherently different, as the brothers haven’t lived in the same vicinity longer than a summer for nearly five years, but there’s something nagging at him that makes his stomach churn. Granted, he won’t allow himself the privilege of being worried, but it still puts him on edge. Makes him feel shitty that he can’t be entirely happy for his own brother; can’t think of the ceremony without seeing the bedroom that in his apartment that Sam uses when he comes home for the holidays that he won’t be using anymore.
“It’s a natural reaction,” Castiel coos while standing in the elevator next to Dean with a box full of red candles in his arms, “to be afraid.”
“I’m not,” Dean replies, but Castiel just gives him a soft half smile and bumps his shoulder against Dean’s.
“Of course. But if you were.” Castiel looks at the numbers counting down with little pings, leans his back against the metallic paneling. Dean shakes his head fondly. “You can allow yourself a little pity, you know. You might be Sam’s big brother, but you’re also his best friend. He understands.”
They look at eachother again, a softer expression on Cas than Dean’s used to, more intimate. Dean thinks now, under the blinking numbered lights, around the swell of elevator Christmas music, that he’s never wanted to kiss someone more.
He doesn’t, though. The elevator doors open and they walk out in succession, start hanging pine branches from the balcony railing, where Bobby asks why they need so many fairylights if it’s going to be a daytime ceremony, and Jo and Cas go off about ambiance and you’re a man you wouldn’t understand, and Ellen shakes her head the whole damn time.
In the evening, Dean is outside on the patio, where the ceremony and processional will be held, nailing strings of white flowers and cloth to the overhang, when he sees it. Down amongst the snowy pines sits a small ice-covered pond surrounded by smaller trees. He jumps down from his step ladder and leans over the railing of the patio trying to get a better look when Castiel comes out with the last of the garlands.
“Cas, c’mere. Check it out.”
Castiel stands next to him, squints into the twilight.
“The pond?” he asks, and Dean nods enthusiastically. “What about it?”
“I dunno. I’ve never seen it down there before...” He looks at Castiel whose skin is painted pink and orange from the setting sun. “Never been down there, either…” Castiel gives him a look that says I don’t know what you’re thinking but I don’t want to be a part of it. Dean bites his lip and grins mischievously.
Despite Castiel’s protests, the two slide and shuffle down the snowy banks of the mountain, reaching the small clearing around the pond. Dean releases Castiel’s hand (and woah, when did that happen, and why is it stopping?) to carefully shuffle to the edge of the pond and step clumsily onto the ice. Dean coaxes Castiel to join him, pleading things like “it’s totally thick enough to walk on” and “we have all of tomorrow to worry about the welcome baskets”, and somehow they end up on their backs in the middle of the pond with their gloved hands brushing and the light from the venue high above them.
“This is very unprofessional,” Cas says with a sigh, but he’s definitely smiling, just worms closer to Dean’s side to fend from the cold wet of the ice.
“Oh, bah humbug. Enjoy yourself.”
Castiel doesn’t say anything for a long time after that. They listen to the sounds of the California night, of the crackling ice beneath them, bumping limbs and breathing. Finally, Castiel says “You’ll be going home soon.” Dean nods sullenly. He’s been thinking about it, too.
“Yeah. Staying through Christmas but I gotta get back to work. Day long drive from here to there.” Castiel hums a response, what Dean assumes was attempted sympathy but really just sounds sad. He rubs the back of Castiel’s hand with the back of his own.
“Sam will miss you,” Castiel says. Dean doesn’t say anything. “And Jess.”
“I’ll miss them,” he says, tilting his head so he can see Cas’ face, and then after a few beats, “I’ll miss this.” They’re looking at eachother again, Castiel’s features growing less visible as the sun sets into darkness, but his eyes still shimmering, big and blue.
“Me too,” and then, after a few moments of breathing in each other’s air, he says softly “we should get back,” but he doesn’t look away.
“We should,” Dean responds.
“We have to pack the welcome baskets.”
“We do.”
“They’re probably looking for us.”
“Probably.”
And then they’re kissing, soft and curious press of lips, with Dean’s ice-flecked glove cradling the side of Castiel’s face. Castiel’s lips are chapped and his nose is red and cold, but Dean can’t think of a time he’s enjoyed a kiss more, and it ends much sooner than he needs.
“I told Sam I’d keep off of you ‘til after the wedding,” Dean says, grinning and breathless.
“I can wait,” Castiel replies. He looks at Dean with a small smile, so so close to his face, and gives him one last peck before sitting up stark and standing (albeit very clumsily) to his feet. The climb back up the banks is much more difficult in the dark. Sam and Jess are busy writing table cards in the lobby when the two make it back. They take one look at Dean and Castiel, masquerading their blushes and covered in snow, and know immediately what’s just happened. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen two grins so wide.
❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊
The wedding happens in a flash.
There’s stress, as with any wedding. The bridesmaids bouquets are lost, and Jess expertly collects six bushels of white roses and tulle. When one of the strings of lights running down the aisle goes out, Ash jumps in and replaces it without batting an eyelash. The flower girl gets last minute performance anxiety and Castiel cooly coaxes her down the aisle. Dean beams.
The guests who aren’t already there file in--Jess’s distant aunts and uncles, friends from college, friends from home. Dean hugs a few people he doesn’t know, receives a few slaps on the ass from people he does, picks up Ben and shakes him back and forth until he’s giggling wildly with Lisa and her new boyfriend Matt watching from the sidelines.
During the ceremony, he watches his brother cry out of joy for the first time since they were kids as his bride walks down the aisle beneath an array of lights and white flowers. The shine of the afternoon California sun makes her skin glow, and the snow coincides perfectly with the white of her dress. Dean starts to tear up, too, both at the sight of Jess and of Sam. He’s never been one for crying, especially in front of other people, but when he’s standing there next to his brother, watching Jess stride down the aisle on her father’s arm, in front this audience of family and friends, he can’t find it in himself to care.
The vows are said, the kiss is shared, everybody cheers like they’ve won the war. Dean sees Castiel in the back of the crowd, leaning his shoulder and head against an overhang pillar, with his arms wrapped around his clipboard, held tightly to his chest. When his eyes fall from Jess and Sam to Dean, his smile brightens.
Jess and Sam dash excitedly off the patio together, back down the aisle and into the reception room, and everyone waits in their places patiently until Castiel announces the reception inside, and there’s a flood of people as they try to escape from the cold.
Families and friends are seated together, mingling around the sidelines and not-yet-open buffets. Dean sits at the head table with Sam, Jess and Jess’ maid of honor Rebecca Warren (not Cas, much to his dismay, although Cas doesn’t even have a table place as he’s too busy organizing the food, the drinks and the guests).
Half-way through the dinner, after the couple have had their first dance (Sam showing off his newly obtained dance moves), Sam and Jess take two seats on the stage, make speeches of their own about love and marriage and the day they met. They listen to Jess’ maid of honor, Becky Warren’s, speech, Dean’s speech, which is littered with jokes but also ends up in both Dean and Sam crying again, and Jess’ grandmothers speech, which is extremely inappropriate for an eighty year old but leaves everyone in gales of laughter.
The volume of the music changes then, something upbeat and jumpy, and people start filing onto the floor. Dean immediately hops up from his chair, finds Castiel in the kitchen looking over his clipboard and telling the cooks to bring out the cake in twenty minutes. When he begs him, with his arms around his waist from behind, to come out and dance, Castiel only says “not yet” before dashing away. Dean groans.
He takes a slow dance with Jess while Sam rocks back and forth with Jess’ seven year old niece in his arms, with Ellen and with one of Jess’ teenage cousins who’s blushing wildly when she approaches him and asks for a dance, glancing pointedly at her friends who giggle on the sidelines. He dances with Jo and Ash until he’s panting and red faced. He catches Castiel’s eye as he holds Ben upside down from his ankles and winks. Castiel just shakes his head and smiles fondly.
He finds Castiel after the cake cutting and pokes at him for another dance. Castiel dots his nose with icing and says, again, “not yet,” and then, “stop bugging me.”
He eats cake with Bobby and Ellen. Goes into the photobooth several different times with several different groups of people, including Jo (two cheek kisses, a regular kiss, and then disgusted expressions); Ben and Lisa (Ben trying to crowd the lense with his own face, Dean pulling him back and making his own faces, Lisa looking on disapprovingly in the background), Sam, Jess and Becky (three pictures of the four goofing around with props and a fourth with Sam and Jess kissing and Dean and Becky looking at them in faux-awe with their feet kicked up) and finally Castiel, albeit against his will (with Dean kissing Castiel’s cheek, Castiel rolling his eyes, Castiel leaving the booth, and then Dean alone and shrugging).
The set-list for the rest of the night is mostly goofy PG-13 wedding songs--with all the over-sixties gone, the DJs decide it’s time to kick it up a notch--and Jo and Dean half-grind on each other, laughing the whole time. He shimmies off the dance floor and over to the bar, where Castiel still is holding that goddamn clipboard in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, speaking to the bartends. He grips Castiel’s hips from behind. Castiel excuses himself, turns in his hands, gives him a look and says “Dean.”
Dean’s still doing a little jig in place, grinning and bopping his head to the music, when he replies with a “Cas.”
“I’m still working.” Dean doesn’t respond right away, just keeps dancing to the music and tugging at Castiel’s hips, trying to bring him to the dance floor. He runs his hands up and down Castiel’s sides a little, gets an inch closer, eyes pleading. “Later.”
“There hardly is a later, Cas. C’mon.” Castiel gnaws on his lip, contemplating. “Cas, come on, we only have a few days left. Please?” Dean begs, and at that Castiel sighs, sets his clipboard and drink down on the bar, and hurriedly gets dragged to the dancefloor. The song changes to Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy and Dean says in an intensified southern drawl “well now, how appropriate.” Castiel flushes.
Jess’ bridesmaids and Jess herself, and probably Sam too to be honest, all woot and cheer when Castiel and Dean begin to grind against each other front to front. Dean grips Castiel’s hips tightly, pulls their groins flushed together. They sing along to the song against each others mouths, eyes lidded and smiles wide. Dean slides his hands around Castiel’s body and slips them into his back pants pockets, gripping his ass and pulling him closer, and Castiel, after glancing around at the other dancers, threads his arms around Dean’s neck and tugs at the hair on the back of Dean’s head in response. They rock into each other, swaying and stepping together. When the song comes to a close, Dean’s at half mast, and if it were up to him, he’d help Castiel ‘save a horse’ right here on the dance floor.
“When do you get off work?” Dean asks into Cas’ ear as the next song comes on, something slow that reminds him of the first dance they shared. Dean brings his hands from out Castiel’s pockets, opting to wrap his arms around Castiel’s lower back instead.
As they sway, Castiel presses a kiss into the ball of Dean’s jaw, and says “Whenever the festivities are over.” It’s then that Dean feels a hand on his hand shoulder, large and heavy, and he turns to see his younger brother. Sam’s sweaty and his hair is tussled from a very long and exciting night of dancing, but he still smiles softly.
“Party’s winding down if you guys wanna… y’know. Get out of here.” Dean beams. Castiel looks unsure.
“Seriously, Cas,” Jess pipes in from behind Sam, looking slightly worn but still emanating beauty and composure, “You’ve been an angel. Done absolutely wonders, and frankly we’d have been nothing without you. You deserve a night off.” He looks at Dean, who’s nodding frantically, and at Sam and Jess, who are beaming in the afterglow of a very successful wedding.
Still lightly uncertain, he says “...If you’re sure.” Dean nearly jumps for joy. As Castiel is being tugged by his wrist towards the door, he’s still turned around, hurriedly reeling off last minute goodbyes and “you have my number if you need anything,” to which Dean, without turning around, yells back “I don’t care if the place is burning down, Sam, do not call us”. Right as the elevator doors close, Sam yells out “clean up tomorrow at eight!”, but Castiel and Dean are too busy pressing each other into the metallic panelling and shoving their tongues into each other’s mouths.
❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊
After an excruciating twenty minute drive, they pull up in Castiel’s driveway in separate cars, much to Dean’s dismay, and hurriedly clamber in through the front door, Dean kissing the back and sides of Castiel’s neck as he tries to fit the key in the lock. They don’t even make it past the living room, just fall onto Castiel’s black leather sofa and press into each other as deeply as they can. Dean thinks that Castiel’s lips are a strong competitor for the most addicting thing he’s ever tasted, better than beer, better than burgers and pecan pie (which holy shit is that saying something). His brain is shifting from online to off and he’s having a hard time registering what he’s doing, so he takes a step back, looks down into Castiel’s eyes and runs his hands up his body, because he wants to remember every last second of this.
It’s then, looking into deep blue in the soft yellow light, that he remembers what Castiel had said before.
“Cas,” he breathes, not taking his hands off Castiel’s body, because that would take a much stronger man, but just resting them lightly on his sides. Castiel looks up him, concerned. “I don’t… damn it.”
“Wh… What?” Castiel asks, and he sounds nervous, almost pleading. Dean runs a hand through Cas’ hair, and he leans up into the touch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Dean’s. “Do you want this?”
“Christ, yeah. You don’t even know.” Castiel bites his lips and rolls his hips up into Deans. Dean tries to hide his groan, covers it up with a “but…”
“But what?”
“But I don’t want you to think that that’s all I want.” There’s a moment, a look of calculation and deduction in Castiel’s eyes as he breaks apart the words, and suddenly there’s a look of understanding, and then a look of deep, deep gratitude. He brings his hand up to brush the freckles on Dean’s cheek. “Shit, man, we’ve only known eachother for… what, two weeks? And if it were up to me…” He leans down, not to kiss or lick, but just to rest his forehead against Castiel’s chest.
“I know, Dean,” Castiel says, and then after running a hand through Dean’s hair, “me too.” Dean raises his head to look in Castiel’s eyes, surges up to kiss him. For a moment he wishes he didn’t live in Kansas, or Castiel didn’t live in California, that they could be together like this forever and not a day’s drive away. He pushes those thoughts out of his mind, because they’re crazy and overwhelming and frankly kind of depressing, so he focuses instead on the grind of Castiel’s dress pants against his, at the tug of Castiel’s fingers on his button up shirt.
“Good,” Dean mutters against Castiel’s neck, nipping and licking, little wet kisses all over the taut skin, and he whispers it over and over, wants Castiel to know how pleased to be here he is here. “This is so good, Cas. Want this always.” Castiel bucks his hips up into Dean’s again in response, and this time Dean grinds back, pushes his stiffening erection down to find Castiel in the same state. They spend so much time just rubbing together, lapping at each others tongues and necks, that the actual sex seems distant. Dean thinks he might not even need to get off, that if they were to just do this for hours on end and fall asleep in each others arms, he’d be satisfied. At least, he thinks that until Castiel worms a hand between them and runs his fingers, just the barest touch, up Dean’s cloth-kept cock.
Dean thinks they need to be naked right away. They might have the whole night to themselves, but he wants to fit in as much as he possible can. So, he pulls off of Castiel’s lips with a wet pop, opting instead to work on whatever’s being exposed with the release of each button on his shirt. The skin on Castiel’s body is everything Dean imagined; golden and pale like his face, but toned with lean muscle and soft flesh. He nibbles at Castiel’s collarbones, swipes his tongue along the dips above them, bites at his ribs, licks at his nipples, until Castiel’s panting and whimpering and kneading into Dean’s hair like a cat.
The desperate and shocked moan that escapes when Dean runs his saliva-slicked tongue over Castiel’s underwear clad dick breaks the silence of the room. It’s the first of an array of noises from Castiel, as he pants and groans above him, murmuring ‘oh!’s and ‘Dean’s, and it only makes Dean want to work faster, knead Castiel’s dick with his tongue harder. Finally, when Castiel’s underwear is wet and cooling, both from Dean’s mouth and the leaking cock withheld, he pulls them down, and Castiel bobs out and up. Dean dives in immediately.
“Oh, fuck,” Castiel murmurs, and Dean, with his lips still wrapped around the Castiel’s head, looks up in shock, because that. Holy shit, that needs to keep happening. Castiel, good and sweet don’t take the Lord’s name in vain Castiel, has just uttered something utterly filthy, and is blushing like a schoolgirl over it. It very well may be the hottest thing Dean’s ever witnessed. “Sorry,” he pants, but Dean just shakes his head in awe.
“No, Cas. Ain’t no sorry. I wanna hear you. Say ‘fuck’ for me again.” He takes Castiel’s cock in his mouth again, runs his tongue up the bottom and under the head and watches as Castiel throws his own head back and responds with an “oh, fuck Dean, more.”
Castiel continues to cuss, sharp and hushed like he doesn’t want anyone but Dean to hear him, until he’s whimpering and moaning and making little thrusts up into Dean’s mouth and Dean decides it’s a good time to pull off because if he doesn’t, either Castiel or him is going to finish, and that is too damn soon.
Despite Castiel’s desperate whimpers, Dean climbs back up Castiel’s body, locks their mouths together again. “What do you want?” he pants against his mouth as Castiel begins working on the buttons of Dean’s shirt because he’s still actually fully clothed, and that just won’t do. Castiel looks hesitant to respond, but Dean nuzzles into his neck and rubs his still clothed crotch again Castiel’s sensitive, exposed cock, and he comes out with a gasp. “You want me to fuck you?” Dean asks, voice rumbling.
Castiel nods desperately, starts to wrap his legs around Dean’s hips when he groans out a “yes, oh god, yes,” and Dean doesn’t need any more initiative. Except, it occurs to him, it might be a little hard to get started without any--
“Lube?” he asks, “Or, like, just, do you have any--”
“Bedroom,” Castiel pants, and god does that seem too far away, but somehow they make it up the stairs and down the hall in one piece. Castiel trips over his own pants and underwear, opting to just pull them off and leave them on the stairs because Dean’s laughing a little too hard, and with his dress shirt still hanging off his shoulders he gets down on his knees in the upstairs hallway and swallows Dean’s cock down his throat.
Dean’s knees are feeling pretty weak by the time they move into the bedroom, but when he’s crawling up Cas’ body he can use his arms, too, and gaining his strength back gives him a new spout of confidence. He’s completely naked, now, one way or another, but Castiel still has his white dress shirt on, open and sliding off one shoulder, and Dean isn’t doing any complaining because it’s pretty damn hot to see him all sweaty and disheveled. Castiel reaches over into the bedside table and pulls out a bottle of lube and silver condom packet.
Dean flips the lid, tries to pump lube onto his fingers, but disparagingly gets nothing. He thinks it might be empty, at first, but he can feel the weight of the liquid in the bottle. He unscrews the top and finds a sheer metallic cover. Castiel flushes and says “it’s been a while.”
They’re feeling frantic again, like when they first arrived, as Dean works a lube slicked finger into Castiel’s body, and then a second one, hooking his fingers up ever so slightly to find that glorious hill inside and Castiel lets out a sharp yelp, which filters into a low groan. Dean is unbearably hard. He twists his fingers, spreads and closes them, pauses his thrusting to rub at Castiel’s prostate, and when Castiel is spreading his legs wider, subconsciously pulling his thighs up and out with his hands, and begging for more, Dean gives it to him.
With only a sheer, white condom between them, Dean slowly lets the head of his cock become enveloped in Castiel’s heat, pushes in further and further until his hips are flush against Castiel’s ass. Dean falls over so they’re face to face, panting onto each other’s mouths, as he pulls out and pushes back in with equal precaution. He kisses the corner of Castiel’s slack mouth, eliciting a whine as he begins to set a rhythm, every thrust deep and rocking them together. They’re looking into each other’s eyes and breathing, and this doesn’t feel like Dean fucking somebody; it feels like two bodies working together, building to a mutual benefit.
It’s new and Dean’s breathless and he doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed this kind of sex before, always thought it was baby-making sex, save for marriage sex, but here with Castiel he feels connected. Like they’re binded in every possible way. Dean can’t stop running his hands over Castiel’s body, giving his gaping lips little not-kisses because if he closes his mouth all the way he’ll choke. And it’s absolutely perfect.
So perfect, in fact, that after what feels like five minutes, Dean feels his orgasm building in his spine and in the tightness of his chest, and he whispers “oh god, Cas, I’m close”, to which Castiel responds with a “me too,” and then a “more.” Dean’s rhythm picks up, still so so deep, rocking Castiel’s body underneath him, the slap of skin becoming more sharp, more wet and stinging. Castiel’s grappling at Dean’s back, at the hair on the back of his head, and whispering “oh, more Dean, more,” into his ear. Finally as the pulse of Castiel’s cock can be felt between them, on the verge of orgasm, he yelps “oh god, fuck me” and Dean’s thrusting is halted briefly.as the swear pushes him over the edge, his pelvis against Castiel’s ass as much as he can, spilling hot and long. Castiel comes untouched between their stomachs, dribbling and spurting as his cock twitches with each pulse, and they’re both groaning and trembling against each other.
When it’s all said and done, they lie together on Castiel’s bed, Dean taking in his surroundings and breathing. Castiel’s head is in the crook of his shoulder, rubbing circles onto his stomach as he dozes.
“You uh… is it alright if I crash here?” Dean asks, praying it is, because he doesn’t know if he can stand after that. Doesn’t know if he can handle it emotionally, either. Thankfully Cas just burrows deeper into Dean’s shoulder and sighs.
“More than alright.” He pauses, blinks his eyelashes against Dean’s skin. “In fact I’d be pretty devastated if you left.”
Dean thinks about bringing up the fact that he’ll not only be leaving Castiel’s arms, but also the entire state, in four days. Instead he kisses Castiel’s temple and dozes to the sound of tinkling snow and soft, sleeping breaths.
❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊
They spend Christmas together. Sam and Jess are leaving for Venice in three days, deciding that Christmas spent away from their families wouldn’t feel right, and Ellen, Bobby, Jo and Ash are sticking around for the long weekend too. Sam and Jess’ apartment is really too small to hold that many at a time, so Castiel takes it upon himself to hold Christmas dinner. Apparently he hosts Christmas parties if he has the time anyway, feeling lost without work around the holidays (what a nerd), and insists that having a few more mouths to feed is no big deal.
So Dean pulls up in Castiel’s driveway for a third time (the second time was the day after their first, when Castiel had taken him home after breakfast and they’d had sleepy post-breakfast sex, followed later by against-the-wall post-lunch sex, and then passionate post-dinner love making sex), and Sam and Jess follow shortly after. It’s newly decorated with Christmas lights that Dean hadn’t seen before, hanging off the roof and wrapped around the trees and bushes. He’d almost forgotten how goddamn huge this place was. The first time he came over, Dean had almost gotten lost looking for the bathroom. Lost. In a house.
When Castiel answers the door, he gives Jess and Sam brief hugs, where they thank him yet again for the beautiful wedding service, and then he gets to Dean. They aren’t sure how to greet each other on their last night, and there’s an uncomfortable hesitance lingering over them before Sam clears his throat and brings Jess inside, closing the door and leaving Castiel and Dean out on the porch.
“So,” Dean says. He looks around at the yard, at the Christmas lights and snow, until he feels a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders and he immediately, instinctually, wraps his arms as tight as they’ll go around Castiel’s warm body. They stay like that for a minute, just feeling each other. Castiel smells like warmth and Christmas dinner and Dean wants to breathe him forever.
They both know it’s their last night together, but neither of them mention it. They part eventually, ears and hands turning too cold, where they walk back into the house.
Castiel’s brother Gabriel has made a very extravagant Christmas dinner that fills the entire table with dishes. When he introduces Dean to his siblings, he hesitates, and when Dean cuts in and says “Castiel’s boyfriend,” he beams.
The Novak family is nearly as crazy as the Winchester-Singer-Harvelle (and now Moore) family, and everyone fits together in a smooth sort of chaos. Gabriel throws ham across the table at Castiel’s cousin Balthazar. When it lands on Bobby, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but smiles. Ash and Gabriel bump fists. Jo and Jess get along with Castiel’s sister Anna, as they flip through pictures of the wedding, sighing and crooning over the decorations and the dress. Castiel and Dean make googly eyes at each other, knocking shins under the table with soft Christmas jazz in the background, as they sit around the long dining room table and listen to the Yulelog crackle. When Gabriel and Sam push Castiel and Dean together under the kitchen archway, where a bushel of mistletoe hangs, they blush, laugh bashfully, and kiss while the families cheer behind them.
As much as he’s enjoyed Christmases in the past, at Bobby’s house with Sammy eating boxed mac n cheese and hamburgers, it’s nothing compared to this.
Sam and Jess leave to have a second Christmas dinner at the Moore house, telling Castiel that they’ll be seeing him, telling Dean that they’ll say goodbye in the morning. The Novaks and the Miltons all roll back to their homes, and the Singer-Harvelles drive back to their hotels, and suddenly it’s just Castiel and Dean, cleaning dishes in the kitchen and feeling very domestic on a Christmas evening.
Dean isn’t sure whether he should get going, tell Castiel he has to pack for the morning, or if he should invite himself over for the night, and he’s about to ask when Castiel pounces on him in the hall with his limbs and his mouth.
They don’t have sex; just kiss lazily on the livingroom couch with Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown playing in the background and the lights of Castiel’s Christmas tree blinking against the tinsel. Castiel looks deeply happy and deeply sad all at once, and Dean knows exactly how that feels.
They wake up the next morning to Dean’s blaring alarm at 6am. When Dean blinks his eyes open, he sees Castiel’s sleeping face an inch away from his, and he realizes that they’d fallen asleep facing eachother, with their hands locked tightly and their limbs tangled. Dean has to reach over Castiel to hit the alarm which stirs him awake, but he doesn’t open his eyes, just burrows under Dean’s neck and winds an arm around Dean’s body.
“Don’t go,” Castiel mumbles, and Dean cradles his head between his arms instead of responding. They take another ten minutes to breathe each other in, to press lazy kisses and share warm embraces.
“I’ll call,” Dean tells Castiel as he stands on the porch, bundled in his jacket and a pair of warm arms. “I’ll write all the time. I’ll come and visit as soon as I can.” Castiel makes a forlorn noise and pulls away to look in Dean’s eyes. “God, I’m gonna miss you.”
“You probably say that to all the wedding planners,” Castiel whispers against Dean’s mouth. Dean laughs, presses his forehead against Cas’.
“Nah, Cas. Only you.”
❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊ ❊
1 Year Later
“You nervous?” Sam asks over the phone. Dean glances over at Castiel, who’s pulling on his gloves and looking suspiciously over his shoulder.
“I mean, yeah,” Dean says, gesturing at Castiel that he’s going to go heat up the car and turning out the door, “I don’t know how you did it, man. I feel like my french toast is gonna come back for round two.”
“Yeah. Guess that’s part of being in love. The nerves.” Dean can hear Sam’s smile through the phone, and through the frosted windshield of the Impala Castiel smiles at him, pulls their front door closed. He’s bundled up tightly in gloves and a scarf, his nose already tinted red from the cold. He waves. Dean might pass out.
“Christ, Sammy. How do I get rid of ‘em?” Sam laughs.
“You don’t,” he says, and then as Cas approaches the car and Dean mutters out a quick gotta go, he bids Dean a fond “Good luck, man.”
Castiel gets in the car, taps his shoes off on the side before pulling them in because he knows how much Dean cares, saw the sheer pain in his eyes when Castiel first got into the Impala after a rainy day, dampening the upholstery, and he’s taken the hint ever since.
“So where to?” Castiel asks cooly, bringing his hands up to the heaters for warmth. Dean smiles casually, trying to tamp down all the excitement and the nerves as to not give anything away. He leans over to give Castiel a quick peck, and when he leans back to pull out the driveway, he’s receiving a stare from squinted and skeptical eyes.
They drive for a long time through the pinks and purples of twilight, looking at the Christmas lights adorned on peoples houses and listening to Bing Crosby coo through the radio. The sides of the road become more wooded, the road more inclined as they approach the California mountains. Castiel gets a look of recognition as they pull into the long driveway, pull up to the curb where Castiel almost hit Dean with his car.
“The venue?” Castiel asks, looking confused. The lights of the building are all off, the doors locked and the windows frosted, as the sun sets over the pines. “Damn. It’s been a while since we’ve been here.”
Dean grins as he takes Castiel’s hand and leads him around the building to the back, to the patio, to the slopes of snowy mountains, and Castiel’s face is dawning with recognition. He shakes his head as they slide down together, sharing brief clumsy kisses and holding hands the whole way. When they reach the edge of the pond, it’s almost dark enough that Castiel can’t see it, but Dean whispers “close your eyes,” he does.
Dean shuffles over to the edge of the pond. Plugs in one wire to another. The pond becomes illuminated then, with white Christmas lights strung high in the pines, and when Dean tells Castiel to open his eyes, he’s standing right in the center of it all.
Castiel looks at the lights in awe. Looks at Dean. Shuffles out into the middle of the pond, nearly slipping more than once but beaming the whole time, to join hands with Dean.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean says breathlessly. Castiel smiles.
“Hello Dean.” And then, after a few soft kisses, “Why did you do this?”
Dean pauses. Looks at Castiel, searching for something, fingers stroking fingers as they hold each other. He nearly laughs when he opens his mouth and nothing comes out.
“Y’know, I had a whole goddamn speech planned. I had every single word memorized for what I was going to say to you right now--been thinking about it since the day I went back to Kansas, to be honest. Thought about it the week I came to visit, and the day you asked me to move in. The night we slept together in 'our' bed, instead of 'your' bed.” Castiel’s looking a bit baffled beside the awe of it all, but he lets Dean continue. “And now, it’s like… It’s like everything I had planned out doesn’t even exist in my head anymore. Doesn’t even matter. ‘Cause I look at you and all I can think is 'I love you'. I love you more than anything, Cas. And that’s the only reason I need to ask you to be with me for the rest of my life.”
Castiel tenses. His eyes go wide. His lip quivers. Dean drops to one knee.
THE END