SPN Holiday Blog

"What are you doing Dean?" He leans forwards to see the cookie and to kiss Dean's cheek, Dean gives him a bright smile, picking up the cookie and showing it proudly.

"It's a cookie of the lord, I gripped it tight and raised it from the oven." Castiel gives an unamused look at the trench coat wearing cookie, it has blue eyes too, and a pair of eyebrows that make it look grumpy, and then he gives the same unimpressed look to Dean before going back to his cookies with a huff

Read it on AO3 here!https://ift.tt/2S93tis

by Castielslostwings

Dean and Cas as childhood sweethearts separated as teenagers who have been searching for each other for years without success. Against all odds, they reunite in the middle of Times Square at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

Words: 5747, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Supernatural

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Castiel, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Eileen Leahy, Gabriel (Supernatural)

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Additional Tags: New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Kiss, New Years, New York City, Childhood Sweethearts, Reunions, Drinking to Cope, Journalist Dean Winchester, Journalist Sam Winchester, Artist Castiel (Supernatural), Painter Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Holidays, times square, Celebrations, New Year’s Fluff, New Beginnings, Tropes Ahoy, Boys Kissing

Pairing: Dean/Cas - Timestamp to Like the Angel Rating: Teen, to be on the safe side. Word Count: 3500 Warnings: Tooth. Rotting. Fluff. Written For: @notfunnydean​‘s 2019 SPN Advent Calendar Day 11 - Christmas Story On Ao3

Quick Side Note - I’ve been sick, which is why you haven’t seen one of these in a while. I missed days 12 through 15, which I have made reference to in the fic. There’s a better explanation if you follow the Ao3 Link. 😘

—

“Daddy?”

Dean shook his head as Emma called him from down the hallway. Sixteen years old, and she knew that she could get just about anything she wanted by singsonging ‘daddy’ instead of just calling him Dad. “What’s up, Em?”

“It’s Christmas Eve!”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean got up from his bed and walked down the hallway to Emma’s room and leaned against her doorframe. “You gonna tell me something I don’t know, Kiddo?”

“We need to get started!” Emma was sitting on her floor with her back to the door. “It’s Cas’ first Christmas with us, and I want to make sure he enjoys it.”

Dean smiled. “Whatcha got there?”

“It’s uh, it’s a part of his Christmas present.” Emma looked over her shoulder and smiled.

“You’re not going to tell me what it is?” Dean stepped closer to look over Emma and see what she was making or doing. “You know I can keep a secret, Em.”

Emma blushed bright red. “I was gonna, you know, that thing we talked about a week ago.”

“Say no more, Kiddo.” Dean squatted down next to Emma and pulled her into a hug. “Cas is gonna love it.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’m glad one of us is sure of it.”

Dean stood back up and rested his hands on his lower back. “You gonna come help me make breakfast?”

“Cinnamon Rolls? Or are you going to try that new recipe you found?” Emma gathered the items that had been spread out on the floor around her and stacked them neatly in a pile before standing up. “I’m okay with trying something new for breakfast.”

“Is this that new tradition thing you’ve been pushing?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and smiled fondly at his daughter. “I love how much you want to make sure Cas is included.” He started backing up towards the door. “Come help me make the Honey Bread?”

Emma returned the smile and followed down to the kitchen.

(Read on AO3) “So get this,” Sam says, his eyes never leaving the plant hanging above Dean’s head. “From what I can tell, it’s a special breed of mistletoe.”

“Great,” Dean huffs out, crossing his arms over his chest. “That why I can’t move? It’s hexed or something?”

Sam flinches. “Something like that.”

“Well, come on. Spit it out, Sammy.”

Sam lets out a long sigh. “Fine. You’re stuck there until you kiss the one your heart truly desires. A kind of ‘True Love’s Kiss’.”

Dean stares wide eyed at his brother for a beat. Then another. “I’m sorry. What?” Before Sam can even open his mouth to say more, Dean is pushing forward. “No. There’s gotta be something else, Sammy. Maybe you read something wrong. Maybe you just need to go to the store and get a giant jug of plant killer. Anything but that.”

Sam rolls his eyes, giving Dean a bitch face. He turns his back to Dean and Dean lets out a growl of frustration. “Where the hell are you going?”

Dean’s belly sinks as Sam answers, “to call Cas.” Just great. 

It’s bad enough Dean’s heart longs after his best friend but now to be trapped in a position where he has to confess those feelings? This is worse than the dislocated shoulder he’d gotten the other day on a hunt. Dean was content in silently pining, he was damn it. Cas is a literal angel, what the hell would he wanna do with Dean?

Dean tries to move, huffing in annoyance when his feet don’t budge. “Stupid fungis,” he hisses under his breath at the plant above his head. 

It’s not long before the bunker door is opening and the sound has Dean’s stomach dropping to his feet. Dean’s palms grow damp with sweat and he wipes them on his jeans. “Heya, Cas,” he greets, trying to play the whole thing off like it’s no big deal when in reality, his entire world feels like it’s crashing down. 

Cas looks up at the plant before back down at Dean. “Sam seems to think I can help,” he says, his lips frowning. “But he was mistaken.”

Dean’s stomach somehow sinks even further. He looks away, willing the prickling behind his eyes to go away. “Yeah,” he says with a self depreciating snort. “I figured as much.”

“You need the one your heart desires,” Cas explains. “And that’s obviously not me.”

Dean’s eyes widen. “The one my heart desires? Cas, buddy? That’s obviously you.”

Cas freezes, his head down, eyes planted on the floor. Finally, he looks up and the absolute longing Dean finds steals his breath. Cas moves forward, gently cradling Dean’s face, and kisses him. In an instant, his feet are unlocked from the floor and he’s wrapping his arms around Cas. 

“It’s you,” Dean says breathlessly between kisses. “It’s always been you, Cas.”

Merry Christmas! may visions of profound-bonds visit your dreams tonight

It’s the fourth Thursday of November when Dean wakes to the smell of turkey and pumpkin pie. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and sniffs the air again; it smells too warm for a winter day, too sweet for the grey that covers the sun on the flat horizon of the Kansas sky.

He’s reminded of Thursdays, four in particular. Only one is served by memory; the rest are memories retold through the gruff lens of his father.

God, he’s missed this. He’s missed the hearty smell of turkey and the spiced smell of pie. He’s missed carpeted floors and brown cabinets and small arms wrapped around him like a shield. The smells of late November that waft through the hall to his room, they feel like ... all of that at once. He dreams he can curl his toes into the comfort of it; wishes he could stand on the countertops to reach the cereal bowls again; mourns the way the comfort wrapped around him like his mother’s arms. Today, even with cold concrete walls closing in on him, he feels the overwhelming sense of home.

After being hit by a tsunami of memory, he finally drags himself up and out of his warm bed. His socked feet hit the cold of the floor and his arms are bare, so he pulls a robe over himself. He walks down the hall to the kitchen and when he turns the corner, it’s a sight to behold.

Contrary to the mess of his own fantasies – the ones he would never admit having – Cas’s workstation is speckless and neat. He grins when he sees Castiel leaning against the counter next to the oven, sipping a cup of coffee. Blue eyes meet his green ones across the room and a soft smile spreads across Castiel’s lips.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Dean.”

Dean can’t stop the bubbling joy that rises in his chest at the words strung together. He’s never celebrated a holiday with Castiel and it’s about time.

“What’cha doin'?

“Well, I thought it’d be fitting to bake you a pie. They were all out of pre-made ones at the market last night, but there were a few cans of pumpkin left, so I just – ” he cuts himself off with a gesture to the oven, then continues, “Sam started baking the turkey as well, but I made him take it out since it’s so early. Turkey doesn’t need time to set; pie doesn’t have that luxury.”

At that, Dean beams, a smile spreading across his freckled cheeks,

“Thank you.”

When Dean says it, he knows the words aren’t much, nothing too out of the ordinary, but he feels them so deeply in his core that he can’t find a way to expand on what he’s feeling.

After a brief pause, when their eye contact is broken, Dean shuffles next to Cas, pours himself a cup of black coffee, and leans into the space next to him.

Later, over dinner, they all go through what they are thankful for. Sam says he’s thankful for his family. Cas says he’s thankful for his freedom.

Dean looks fondly at the both of them.

“I’m thankful for turkey and pie.”

It’s been a family tradition ever since Mary can remember. Her grandmother had started it, then passed it on to her mother. Mary and John have taken over hosting Thanksgivings now since they’re both only children and their parents want to see the grandkids and Mary has meticulously carried on the tradition. John thinks it’s stupid, but she loves being able to look back through the years and see everyone who attended. 

Every year, a pristine white tablecloth covers the table. Each seat has a Sharpie in front of it and their guests each write their names on the tablecloth where they’re sitting. It’s nice to look back and see their little family grow. She’s got the first years Dean and Sam were able to write their own names, a few of their previous dates, but this year… this year is extra special. This year, there’s another Winchester name on the table.

Dean and Castiel had met their freshman year of college and Castiel had been a staple at their home for Thanksgiving ever since. He didn’t have any family to go home to—they’d disowned him after he came out as gay—and Dean had begged his parents to let him bring Castiel home that year. Mary had agreed almost immediately and, while it took a little bit of persuading on her part, John had eventually agreed as well. That was the first year of many. Castiel had taken the seat to Dean’s right and, when encouraged to write his name, had sheepishly answered that he wasn’t family and didn’t think the tradition had applied to him but signed his name nonetheless. His handwriting that first year was small and careful, pristine lines marked into the white fabric. 

Over the years, his signature had become more and more relaxed the more he was at the Winchester house. They didn’t actually start dating until three years after they’d both graduated, though they’d spent that entire time living together in a tiny apartment in Kansas City. That next Thanksgiving, Dean had leaned over and drawn a heart next to Castiel’s name with a mischievous grin. Castiel had been appalled that Dean would mess with their family tradition but to this day, that tablecloth is her favorite, at least for now.

Dean and Cas are the last to arrive for Thanksgiving dinner. Mary’s parents had flown in a few days ago and John’s had arrived the day before. Dean and Cas had decided to drive down on their own, though Mary can’t exactly blame them for cutting it so close. They do have a house to move into, after all.

“Mom,” Dean grins, pulling her into a tight hug and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Sorry we’re so late. Smells amazing in here.”

Mary smiles and pulls Castiel into a tight hug. “Hi, Cas. Good to see you again.”

Castiel smiles warmly at her. “Hello, Mrs. Winchester. Thank you for having us. I’m sorry we’re late.”

Mary waves him off, leading them through to the dining room. “You’re perfectly on time. Take a seat, John’s just carving the turkey and then we’ll be ready to eat.”

The child-like wonder on Dean’s face never fails to make her smile. He drags his husband to the table and greets both sets of grandparents, then gives Sam and bone-crushing hug and kisses Rowena on both cheeks. Castiel hangs back, though he does give Sam and Rowena hugs. It doesn’t surprise her. Neither her parents nor John’s had been thrilled when Dean had announced his engagement to another man, but John and Mary had shut that down immediately. Their son was happy and Castiel was a good kid, that’s all they cared about.

She tries not to outright stare, but based on the look Dean’s giving her, she’s not very successful. She puts her hands up and heads to the kitchen to give John a hand carrying out the rest of the food. By the time she gets back, Castiel’s head is bowed and he’s very carefully writing his name on the tablecloth. Mary rests a hand on his shoulder and smiles reassuringly. “Doesn’t have to be perfect, you know that.”

Castiel flushes, fiddling with the Sharpie for a moment before shrugging. “This one does.”

John not-so-subtly nudges her as he sets the platter of turkey on the table, so she takes her seat and they pass the food around the table, loading their plates. Dean takes the liberty of filling Castiel’s for him while he finishes his signature. Once Cas is satisfied, he smiles and caps the Sharpie, brushing his thumb over the ink.

She doesn’t actually get to see it until well after everyone’s left for the night. Dean and Cas are crashing in one of the spare bedrooms and Sam and Rowena have the in-law suite in the basement. John’s taking care of the leftovers while she cleans the last of the dishes off the table. The dark ink catches her eye and she sets the stack of plates on the table so she can get a proper look. 

There, meticulously written out in neat, beautiful handwriting, is Castiel Winchester with a small heart after Winchester. It makes her tear up and that’s how John finds her, watery eyes staring down at the signature of their son-in-law.

“First of many,” John says with a smile, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. She leans back against him and nods, smiling widely.

“I know.”

She spends the next day carefully embroidering the tablecloth, paying special attention to Dean and Castiel’s signatures. It’s the first time a full tablecloth won’t be going into her collection, but she thinks she can forgive this one.

Nine months later on their one-year anniversary, she presents them with a simple frame wrapped in wrapping paper. Dean shoots her a puzzled look while Cas tears the paper off. He doesn’t stop looking at her until he hears Cas’s sharp intake of breath and he finally looks down at their gift. 

Carefully settled into the frame is the cutout of their two signatures from their very first Thanksgiving as a married couple. Dean’s eyes look a little watery—though Mary wouldn’t dare point that out—but it’s Castiel’s reaction that shocks her. He pushes the frame onto Dean’s lap and crosses the room to pull her into a tight hug that she returns, albeit a bit bewildered.

“Cas? Are you okay?”

Castiel’s smile is bright when he pulls away. “Thank you. I know how much those mean to you, it couldn’t have been easy to cut one up to give to us.”

Mary smiles softly and shrugs. “I figured you two would enjoy it a little more, especially somewhere it could be displayed, not just left in a dusty box of memories.”

Dean reaches out and grabs Cas’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’ve got the perfect place.”

Once upon a time there was a prompt ….

Alone at Thanksgiving? Mad at your Dad? by WinJennster [Gen, 2,500 word count]

It was the headline that caught Castiel Novak’s eye – as a matter of fact, yes, he was mad at his dad. And his mom. And his overbearing, far too fucking perfect older brother. And his stupid, don’t take anything seriously other older brother. Really, if it came down to it, he was mad at fate, at God, at pretty much the whole world.  I am a 35 year old felon with a GED and $5 to his name, and a noisy, late-sixties gas guzzling piece of Detroit glory that I practically live in. I can play between the ages of 25-39 depending on whether or not I shave. I’m a mechanic and work late nights in a bar. I can expound for hours on the genius of Plant/Page. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship with you, simply to torment your family, I’m game.  Castiel grinned as he read the Craigslist ad. This dude had a set of brass balls, that was for sure.

Mad at your Dad? by wannaliveindeansdimples [M, 7,700 word count]

Dean wasn’t sure why he was even scrolling through Craigslist. Especially not the casual encounters section. It was four days before Thanksgiving. Not like he was gonna try and hook up with someone before that shitstorm. After, sure, but not before.  He kept scrolling, though, not clicking anything until a title caught his eye.  Alone on Thanksgiving? Mad at your dad? I am a 28 year old male felon who has no degree, but has studied enough theologies of the world, behavioral psychology, and philosophy to set your whole family’s teeth on edge—no matter which way they lean, politically, religiously or in terms of neuroses. I drive a van the same age as me that’s got a mural on the side of an angel holding an orgy. I can play between the ages of 20-30 depending on whether I shave. I live off an inheritance, and sell weed on the side. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a very long or serious relationship (monogamous or polyamorous, whichever sounds most like it would freak out su familia) with you (and/or others), to torment your family, I’m game… (Stand alone AU, based on a prompt)

Craiglist for the Holidays by Lasafara [T, 10,200 word count]

Castiel Novak has been attempting to avoid his family for years, but the holidays are coming, and he’s expected to make an appearance at his family’s Thanksgiving dinner. When he finds a Craigslist ad that suggests that the poster will come to his family’s dinner and be an awful houseguest under the guise of being his boyfriend, Castiel thinks that perhaps he will have a way to avoid further family gatherings.  Dean Winchester seems like an answer to his hopes. But that’s before everything goes horribly horribly wrong. Or maybe… Maybe they go just perfectly.

WANTED by faeryn  [M, 5,000 word count]

WANTED  ‘Boyfriend’ to take home for Thanksgiving break. Pleasant, religious family want to know I’m socializing at college. No obligation to continue association upon return. Must be same-sex relationship positive as I am male.  Please call xxx-xxxx-xxxx and ask for Castiel.

Happy Thanksgiving 2017 folks!

If you have some time to read amidst all food and family gatherings, check out our thanksgiving tag and thanksgiving reblog fics:

ask about bakers and pies

Feast of Assumptions (submitted rec) (Dean cooks turkey)

All the Way by cadignan (college AU)

Frigging Festivities Verse by englandwouldfall (Dean hates holidays)

Fortunate Son by atheclena (dysfunctional family at it’s worst) 

“Let him sleep.”

Day 31 Halloween drawing by : reafre tools : pencil, copic on paper. date : 5 Nov, 2019 2019 Suptoberart Prompt hosted by @winchester-reload  

Finally the last prompt of Suptoberart 2019. Jack should have a chance to go ‘Trick or Treat.’ It’s his first  ‘Trick or Treat.’ He want to dress up like his dads. And his dads dress up with him, too.  Meanwhile uncle Sammy is giving out the candies to other kids at their home.

~700 words, destiel, canonverse, valentine’s day ficlet

The words sit in Dean’s messaging app, waiting to be sent. One hand is wrapped around a glass of whiskey and the other hovering over the send button.

Happy Valentine’s Day

Fuck, he should just send it. It’s just like saying happy birthday, right. Dean doesn’t even like valentine’s day, so it doesn’t even mean anything. It doesn’t.

It does.

It fucking means everything. To Dean at least, maybe Cas will receive it and just send the same message back, possibly accompanied by an emoji or two, he’s getting better at using them now. Or maybe Dean won’t get a reply at all and there’ll be just his message sat in Cas’ phone lost to the void.

He takes another swig of his whiskey, letting the liquid send a buzz to his head. Couple more of those and he’ll send that text without a second thought. That’s a bad idea.

Dean pushes the half-drunk glass across the table. Sighing as anxiety bubbles up inside him.

The pros far outweigh the cons realistically and he knows that even if nothing came of this it wouldn’t change what they already have.

So what’s holding him back?

Everything.

Losing Cas.

Losing everything they’ve worked for.

Losing Cas would destroy him like losing his brother. He’s been through that enough to know he won’t survive it anymore.

He slides down in his chair, tilting his head back. Cas has been out for the past two days and Dean’s probably just hankering after his company again.

Dean needs to stop making pathetic excuses. He needs to stop being pathetic in general.

He spins his phone around, lighting the screen back up and seeing the unsent text glaring at him.

He swallows, eyes up the rest of his glass of whiskey and hits send. He downs the rest of his whiskey and stands up abruptly, not even wanting to see of his message has been delivered and read. He paces, and paces, and paces. From the corner of his eye, he notices the kitchen light flick on, hears a glass being taken from the cupboard and then water on and off again.

It’s just Sam heading to bed.

His phone buzzes on the desk and he turns, heart stopping in his chest. He hears Sam’s door shut and then silence engulfs the lamp-lit room.

He wakes his phone and it’s a text.

From Cas.

Before he gets the nerve to open it, the front door opens and even through the darkness he can see that it’s Cas.

Dean doesn’t open the text, just waits with bated breath as Cas comes down the stairs, the metal stairs against his dress shoes tapping and echoing.

After the text and after the reply he hasn’t read yet he doesn’t know what to say to Cas so he just fingers his glass, watching how the light casts a pattern through the tumbler.

A heavy weight lands on his shoulder and Dean goes still. Cas.

A rose is laid in front of him, long-stemmed and dark red, it almost looks fake but when he reaches out to touch it, it has that velvety feel to it that tells him it’s real.

The silence is charged and Dean’s breath hitches as Cas’ hand ghosts over his cheek.

“Happy Valentine’s day,” Cas whispers.

Dean turns his head, and it’s just as Cas is leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. Their lips meet. Soft, warm and electric.

Where Dean expected to pull away, he stays, opening his mouth and gasping as they kiss. Even as his heart flares and his lungs ache, he doesn’t want to move. His back is twisted awkwardly but he reaches his hands up to cradle Cas’ face. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are closed and Dean closes his eyes too, humming contently.

Cas breaks away first and Dean feels the loss instantly but he takes deep shuddering breaths as their eyes open and meet. There’s a softness there, desire too.

He glances back to the rose on the table. “I don’t have anything to give you,” he says, voice a mere murmur.

To tide us all over until the next round of the SPNTC bang proper, we will be doing miniature, holiday editions this fall!  First Up…

     HALLOWEEN!

All details, rules, and the schedule are below the cut.  

Hello all,

I intended to start this back in July but that just didn’t happen….basically, do you want to do holiday theme ficlets and art?  HERE’S A BINGO FOR YA.

THE RULES!

no minimum word count

These will be general prompts, that you can use whatever SPN characters you please in, or make the prompts smutty if you want or crack if you want, just have fun.

No RPF

No underage NSFW

artwork must be safe for work or it will be posted under a cut if possible

all works must include proper warnings, tags, ship tags, character tags etc.

must represent the season or holiday of your bingo card.

must be submitted to our blog during the months of that season/holiday (stated on the bingo registration form)

Cards will be 3x3, with no Free space.  No need to complete a card, no pressure.

That’s it, be nice and have fun!!