DeanCas Secret Santa

FINALLY, here is my gift for @givedeanhisangel . I’m the actual worst person and I’m soooooo late, but it’s done and I’m pretty happy with the result. I really hope you like this and I’m so sorry for the wait. Literally message me anytime and I’ll write anything you want. Without further ado, here it is.

Dean Winchester had very few good memories surrounding Christmas. He vaguely remembered a family Christmas the year before his mom died. He could barely remember the tree, opening presents, and Mary being pregnant with Sam. The Christmas after that was a little more than a month after Mary died, and they had just hit the road. John had begun his search for what had killed Mary, so Christmas came and passed without any kind of celebration or even acknowledgement of the holiday.

There were a few times as a young child that he and Sam exchanged presents. Dean had broken into houses and stores just to get something for Sam to open. In adulthood, they didn’t really mention Christmas. The last time Dean could remember really celebrating the holiday was the Christmas before he went to hell. That was a fond memory of his. It was painful to think about sometimes. Sam was trying so hard to make it a happy occasion, but in the back of their minds, the fact that Dean was going to die lingered like a storm cloud in the distance. So, overall, Dean didn’t have much of a positive look on Christmas, or the holidays in general.

Ever since Castiel became human, he was very interested in human culture and traditions. He usually followed Dean’s examples through everything. It got to a point that he was being a little annoying. He followed Dean everywhere, even on hunts, despite Dean’s protest. They managed to fall into a routine for a little while, which seemed to put Dean at ease. It wasn’t until Castiel started having nightmares that things got a little disrupted. The angel had been watching a few too many romantic movies, so his first reaction to having a nightmare was to go to Dean’s room and climb into his bed. As soon as he got onto the bed, Dean shot up to a sitting position, gun in hand. When he saw that it was just Castiel, he just tiredly explained to him that he shouldn’t scare him like that, but he never sent Castiel back to his room. They slept for the rest of the night in the same bed. There were several nights of this before one morning, they were cuddled up to each other. Dean was grumpy for the rest of the morning.

Prompts: Cute, Cheesy, Romantic

Pairing: Castiel/Dean

Rating: G except for swearing

Gabriel knows how to throw a good party and holiday get togethers are no exception. Castiel talks and drinks along with the others, drifting in a sea of Christmas music and laughter. He’s feeling so warm and fuzzy he doesn’t even object when Meg snags him beneath the mistletoe, laughing as she plants a red-lipped kiss on his cheek. “For luck,” she says with a quirky smile, and he’s had too much spiked eggnog to wonder why she isn’t pressing for more like she usually does.

Soon it’s past ten and Benny’s begging out because he has to be at the hospital in less than eight hours. The remaining guests do a solemn round of shots in his honor once he’s gone, but the party continues. Gifts are exchanged, more food and alcohol is consumed, and Gabe leads them in a particularly bad group rendition of Deck the Halls. Cas nurses his latest drink–some spiced concoction Sam pushed into his hand without explanation–and drifts from group to group looking for something he knows he won’t find.

He knows Dean has to work, he knows the Roadhouse closes late even on Christmas Eve, but Cas wants him here. It’s not the same without Dean’s off-key voice when they sing, or his laughter when Garth arm wrestles Sam and loses spectacularly. He even misses the annual ‘how many inventive ways can Jo find to proposition Dean before he dumps her in the snow’ betting pool, and that one’s pissed him off ever since Dean let slip that he only goes along with it because it makes the others laugh.

Eventually the front door bangs open to admit a bow-legged figure and a swirl of snow and frigid wind that has the group hugging themselves and each other and Sam yelling “shut the frigging door, Dean!”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean says amiably as he lifts his hands to display the bottles he’s carrying. “You really gonna bitch at the liquor delivery man?” His eyes are sparkling green, his cheeks pink from the cold. Gabe divests him of the alcohol, Dean strips off his outer layers, and Cas tries to collect his scattered thoughts before anyone notices they’ve gone missing.

Cas stays frozen in the door frame–the same one, he realizes distantly, that Meg had kissed him in earlier–as Dean circles through the room exchanging hugs, fist bumps, and good-natured insults. Eventually Dean makes for the kitchen. He’s laughing, half turned to look at Charlie as he walks, so he doesn’t notice Cas until they’re nearly chest to chest. Dean stumbles to a halt, then, mouth half-open.

The rest of the room fades into a golden haze. Kiss me, Cas thinks, all sense going out the window as he stares into green eyes. Fucking kiss me. It’s a fool’s hope, he knows this, but he can’t help but think it.

Dean swallows, wets his lips, his eyes drifting from Cas’s eyes to his mouth. “Cas,” he says, and he’s not laughing anymore, isn’t teasing. He’s just him, the way Cas knew him growing up, and there’s a world of uncertainty hiding in that single word.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says. He’s breathless already, heart pounding, but before he can continue someone shoves into him from behind and he sprawls gracelessly against Dean’s chest.  Dean smells incredible and Cas can feel his heart beating through his shirt. He almost puts his arms around Dean, almost asks for what he’s wanted since he knew how to want, but then Lisa’s squirming past them with a mumbled apology and the bubble bursts.

The shutters close behind Dean’s eyes with a silent bang as the other man puts Cas back on his feet. “Careful there, buddy,” he says, and though he pats Cas’s shoulder in a familiar way, he’s back to flirty bartender Dean, the distance between them suddenly far greater than the arms-length of physical space he’s created.

“Sorry,” Cas mutters as he grabs his drink off the shelf he left it on. He feels stripped bare, cold and exposed despite the cheer around him. He locks himself in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror and cursing. After all this time, after the effort he’s taken to hide how he feels, tonight is when he fucks it up? Merry fucking Christmas, Castiel Novak.  

He looks at himself for so long his face no longer seems human, stares until someone bangs on the door and he hears Gabe yelling that there’d better not be anyone bumping uglies in his god-damn bathroom because he’ll beat their sorry asses himself.

“You okay?” Charlie asks as Cas emerges.

“Too much to drink,” he says as he pushes past her.

Charlie’s half his size, but her hand on his arm is implacable. Cas swings around, and Charlie purses her lips as she examines him. “Heartbreak’s not a good look for either of you,” she says after an uncomfortably long pause. “Fix it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t.” Charlie punches his arm, then disappears into the bathroom with a muffled “seeya, Buffy.”

“I don’t understand that reference,” Cas complains at the peeling paint before turning on his heel and walking back to the living room. Pretty much everyone is engrossed in a game of Cards Against Humanity when Cas emerges so it takes remarkably little effort to don coat, hat, and gloves and slip out the door unnoticed.

Cold air envelopes him as soon as the door closes. It’s quiet the way it only gets when it snows, a silent shroud that soothes him despite the chill. He exhales slowly, then moves forward. He’s not sure where he’s going, but when he gets to the treehouse he and Dean played in as children he climbs up the crooked ladder as if that’s where he’d intended to be all along.

When his head pops through the open trap door he finds the house is already occupied. Dean is facing the opposite wall, one foot drawn up so his crossed arms can rest on his knee. “What are you doing here?” Cas asks, and Dean nearly falls over as he twists around. Cas’s feet are still on the ladder and the silence stretches for so long he contemplates simply climbing back down and pretending none of this ever happened.

“I- this was our place,” Dean says. “Remember when we were kids, Cas?”

“Yes,” Cas says hesitantly. “We played outlaws up here.” He realizes belatedly there’s a candle on the makeshift table, flickering fitfully in the draft, and wonders where Dean got it from. It looks an awful lot like the ones they pilfered from Mary’s junk drawer years before.  

“Yeah. Cowboys and outlaws. Jesse James, at your service.” He tips an invisible hat, and Cas’s lips twitch upward despite his confusion. “It seems so far away,” he adds, and Cas gets the impression he’s not just talking about the years between.

It’s difficult to get his adult body into the room, but Cas scrambles in anyway. They end up so close their thighs nearly touch, but Dean doesn’t move. “Why are you here, Dean?” Cas asks again.

“You know you’ve barely touched me since you went to college,” Dean says, his voice oddly subdued. “We used to roll around like monkeys as kids, but then you went away and got a degree and when you came back there was a- a wall. It feels weird even passing you a coffee cup lately.”

“We grew up,” Cas begins in a tired tone, but Dean interrupts him.

“No, that ain’t it. You touch Sam. Charlie, Garth…even Benny, but me-” Dean gives a choked off laugh. “You can hardly be in the same room as I am; don’t think I haven’t noticed. I tried to ask why, once, and you gave me that blank stare and told me to go to bed.”

“We were drunk,” Cas replies. We were drunk, and I couldn’t bear rejection. Not from you. Not like that. Not ever. There’s an ache in his chest and it’s spreading outward, threatening to consume him. “I would’ve talked about it later, if you’d asked when you were sober.” I might have. Maybe. “I didn’t even know you remem—”

“I’m sober,” Dean observes, and Cas snaps his mouth shut mid-word. The sandy-haired man looks so damn sad it rips his heart out, and he doesn’t know what to say. “What did I do, Cas? Why do you hate me?”

The idea is so absurd that Cas actually laughs, although between the alcohol he’s had and his own nerves, it sounds vaguely hysterical. “I don’t hate you, Dean,” he says once he has a handle on himself again. “I could never.”

Dean might not be drunk, but Cas definitely is. His dizzy mind is murmuring how easy it would be to finally let it all go and stop hiding. It’s a particularly alluring thought; it takes less than a breath to give in. “It was better to be distant than lose you completely,” he whispers, letting his head fall against the wall behind him. He feels bare again, but he can’t look away from Dean’s steady gaze. “I’m- I’m in love with you. Have been forever, but you…” He trails off, squeezing his eyes shut.

The tree house is far too small for a grown man to move quickly, yet one moment Cas is worried he’s about to get decked, and the next there are hands in his hair and legs straddling his thighs and his head is bouncing off rough wooden planks as Dean’s mouth assaults his own. Cas barely remembers to tug his gloves off before his hands are cradling Dean’s face and he’s returning the kiss with everything he’s got.

Dean’s mouth feels and tastes like home; it’s soft and warm and wet and everything Cas has ever dreamed about. He can’t believe this is real. It has to be a dream, because things this good don’t happen in real life. They just don’t. Only…it doesn’t stop, he doesn’t wake up, and pretty soon the tip of Dean’s tongue is caressing Cas’s lips, gently requesting entry. Heat sparks and arcs like a live wire through Cas’s body as he opens his mouth. He gives in to the feeling without hesitation, arching up to meet Dean touch for touch.

Eventually Dean pulls away and Cas objects with a nonverbal whine, his fingers clutching at the other man’s body. Dean chuckles, low and sultry, and Cas opens his eyes to find himself looking into endless green only inches from his own. “You glorious,” Dean dives in for another kiss as if he can’t stop himself, “blind,” another kiss, “fucking,” Dean bites at his bottom lip and Cas sees entire galaxies, “idiot.” His mouth strays downward, nipping and licking along Cas’s jaw until Cas is gasping for breath.

Dean pauses with his lips hovering near Cas’s ear. “I love you, too,” he whispers, his voice low and rough, shaking like he’s afraid he’ll be pushed away even now. An earthquake couldn’t have forced Cas to let go; if anything, his grip tightens. “I always have, Cas. Always.”

There’s only one way to respond to that, really, and Cas thinks his heart might actually burst when their lips meet again.

They make out in the tree house until their fingers and asses go numb from the cold and they have to concede victory to the snow. When they finally go inside, Meg takes one look at their red-nosed, starry-eyed faces and shrieks “I fucking knew it,” before making a ‘give me the money’ gesture at Jo. It takes Cas a full five minutes to realize the fuckers had made a betting pool about him this year, but by that time he’s received so many hugs and “it’s about time”s that he can’t make himself be upset about it.

Eventually Dean pushes them all away, insisting he needs to give Cas his Christmas present. He pulls Cas over to the kitchen door by both hands, laughing and cursing as their friends start to heckle them from behind. Once they’re there, Cas looks up at the mistletoe pinned to the door frame, then at Dean, who is clearly ready to make a big deal out of the moment. Warmth floods him and somehow it’s Cas who ends up smashing Dean against the wall, mistletoe forgotten as they both try to make up for a lifetime of missed opportunities.

{Merry christmas ya lovely human! I went with the prompt hurt/comfort with a chrsitmas theme for you. <3 This is season 14 but prior to episode 9. Enjoy!}

Ever since we came back from the hunt yesterday, Cas has been uncharacteristically quiet. I was the first to notice. Jack following suit. He leans over towards me during breakfast the following morning, munching on his cereal as he eyes Castiel who is staring at the toaster blankly.  

“Dean, is Cas alright?” He asks, his soft eyes full of worry. “I don’t know, kid.” I murmur, taking another sip out of the worn mug, the bitter coffee washing over my taste buds.  

Next was Sam around lunch time. I was in the library, playing with the fidget spinner he left on the bench as he flops down next to me, a stack of books piled high on the table in front of him.  

“Dean?” I look up from the toy, tilting my head a little to acknowledge that I was in fact listening; “Is Cas ok?” He asks and I frown.   “I guess so.” I mutter as I watch the angel drearily drag himself past the library like a zombie. Cas is never one to sulk or get upset. He is the most driven and focused of us all. He is usually holed up in here with Sam, mapping out our next hunt or curled up next to Jack in their pajamas as they laugh over cartoons on tv.  

My @destielsecretsanta exchange gift for @noiproksa with the prompt: “Hurt Castiel being comforted/taken care of by Dean” 

Summary: Taking care of a concussed angel is a lot harder than anticipated. Dean might be out of his depth, but that doesn’t mean he won’t do everything he can to make his angel feel better.

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel & Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Castiel, Fluff, Angel Wings, Canon Compliant, Concussions, Confused Castiel, Touching

Merry Christmas! I’m your secret santa for the fic exchange! :D  @destielsecretsanta

Your prompt gave me the opportunity to write scenes I’ve wanted to for years, but have had the right fic to put them in. So thank you. I hope you enjoy the fic and that you have a wonderful holiday season!

Title: Gloria

No Warnings apply–this is just fluffy, tooth rooting goodness! 

Summary: This Christmas, Dean has plans. This Christmas is going to be the best Christmas ever because Cas is with them. 

The road was distracting, hauntingly beautiful in the dark, and immensely different from how it had been when they’d rolled into town. The wintery brown trees pressed up against the side of the road had been neutral and unthreatening before, but in the Impala’s lights it seemed like gnarled branches reached out toward them out of inky darkness.

Dean’s voice startled him from his thoughts: “Grab a tape, huh, Cas?”

By “grab a tape”, Cas presumed he was to select one at random, not choose one intentionally. His fingers skidded over several before making his choice, and he fumbled it before sliding it into the tape deck without looking.

A moment later they were listening to Clapton, and Dean seemed to visibly relax, settling back into his seat with a soft kind of resolve. Even “Tears in Heaven” didn’t seem to make a dent on his mood, though Castiel found his attention drifting away from Dean once again, peering out the window and thinking about his past, the future, the mournful inevitability of it all.

Toward the end of the refrain, just as Clapton sang “I must be strong and carry on” the car faltered and died. The headlights went out, and they sputtered to a dead stop right in the middle of the dark road.