#spnff

           Dean is never drinking again.

           He knows he said that the last time he went out, but this time he’s going to stick to his word.

           …At least he’ll try.

           “Ugh, my head,” Dean groans, smacking his lips together, “ugh, my mouth.” He tries to get up slowly, every inch of his body screaming in protest. His vision is spinning and just sitting upright is too much of a hassle.

           He kneads at his eyes with his palms, trying to adjust to the morning light. It takes a few minutes, but soon enough Dean can see more than just vague shapes and blurs.

           Like the suspicious glass of water he spies sitting on his nightstand.

           “What?”

           Dean picks it up and takes a sip, then a gulp. Then, he practically drains it of every last drop. He pulls it away and gasps for breath, wiping away some wetness that clung to the side of his mouth.

           “I so needed that…”

           He’s about to put it back down when he soon spies a folded piece of paper that must have been underneath it. Cocking a brow, Dean reaches over and opens it up.

           Dean,

                       I’ll take you up on your offer. Call me when you can.

                                               347-923-8990

           -C.D.

           He blinks at the letter, reading it again, and then a third time. By the sixth time, he looks up and inhales sharply.

           “Shit,” he mutters, “What the fuck did I do last night?”

           His mind is a blur – he doesn’t even remember coming home. One second he was boozing down at his favorite dive and the next thing he remembers is – well, reading the goddamned note.

           ‘C.D…’ Dean thinks, ‘Who are you?’

           Sighing, Dean places the note back onto his nightstand and scrubs both hands down his face. He stands, groaning, and heads towards his bathroom.

           ‘I’ll worry about this later,’ he thinks, ‘First… I need a shower.’

           He undresses, wincing at the musty odor clinging to his undershirt. His jeans aren’t that bad, but they take forever to peel off.

           Soon enough, Dean is stepping under the hot water and sighing in relief. Whereas drinking helps him not think, showers are the complete opposite. His mind shifts into overdrive, and Dean tries to recall what happened the night before.

           Unfortunately, the shower doesn’t help that much. The only other image he can conjure up from the night before is a tan trench coat, which leaves him with more questions than answers.

           “You did a damned good job of getting fucked up, Winchester,” Dean sighs, shutting off the water, “Seriously, A-plus.” He steps out of the shower and reaches for a towel. He pats at his face, looking at it in the mirror. His skin is a little paler than usual – just enough that his freckles stand out as well as the bags under his eyes. He takes the towel and wraps it around his head before reaching behind the mirror for some ibuprofen. He swallows them, and then palms some water from his sink to wash the pills down.

           Slapping his face a few times, Dean steps back into his bedroom to let the cool air dry his body.

           He picks up his jacket and pulls out his phone before picking the note back up. He reads it again, staring at the numbers. He’s playing with his phone – turning it on and off and on and off.

           He makes a decision.

           “You better have a good reason to be calling me, Winchester,” Charlie says, “Like that you’ll be sending me your book, pronto.”

           “I will… later –“

           “Later –“!

           “But, I need to ask you something!”

           “…Make it quick, Dean.”

           “Okay, so… look. Hypothetically, let’s say you get… completely hammered. So much so that you don’t remember anything that happens,” Dean says, pacing his room, “Anyway, you wake up to find a note that says someone is taking you up on your offer and a number. Would you call the number or not?”

           “…Are you telling me you chose to go drinking last night instead of finishing your book?”

           “Charlie I’ll finish the damned book, alright!” Dean shouts, “But first I need to make sure I didn’t do something stupid!”

           “Dean, if drunk you was in control then it was most likely something stupid,” Charlie sighs, “Remember when you had too many Long Island Ice Teas last Halloween and thought all windows were made of Plexiglas?”

           “I might…”

           “Then you remember that we had to spend the rest of the night in the hospital getting stiches for your hand!”

           “Alright, I get it, drunk me isn’t the best at making decisions.”

           Charlie scoffs, “Neither is sober you…”

           “Watch it,” Dean scolds, “Anyway, what should I do? Should I call the number?”

           “Call the random number from the person you don’t remember meeting,” Charlie says, “That sounds like the perfect plan if you want to get murdered in an alley somewhere in New Jersey.”

           “He can’t be that bad,” Dean starts, “I mean, he did bring me back to my apartment.” Dean’s eyes widen. “Crap,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, “he was in my apartment.”

           “Do you think he could have stolen something?”

           “If he could have found it,” Dean sighs, “God my place is a mess.”

           “That’s what you’re worried about?” Charlie asks, “Not the fact that a total stranger knows where you live and agreed to something your drunk ass asked them to – but that they saw your mess?”

           “Listen, they could have killed me if they wanted to alright,” Dean sighs, “But instead they take me home and leave me a glass of water for when I wake up. Does that sound like someone who is a murderer or worse… who lives in New Jersey?”

           “…No,” Charlie replies, “So it sounds like you’re gonna call this person?”

           “I guess?” Dean says, sitting down on his bed, “I do want to know who this person is – I have to thank them. Plus, I want to know what kind of offer I made.” His eyes widen, “I hope it wasn’t sexual.”

           “If it was I doubt you’d have been in that bed alone,” Charlie says, “Now shoo, finish checking your facts so I can have something to turn into my boss later today.”

           Dean pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at it. He takes a deep breath before he pounds the number of C.D.

           The ringing seems to go on forever. Dean’s tapping his foot erratically, chewing on his lip, waiting for anyone to answer.

           When they do, he wasn’t expecting… that.

           “Hello?”

           The deep, gravelly voice instantly sends a chill down Dean’s spine. His face flushes.

           “H-hey,” Dean says, swallowing, “Um… this is Dean. I’m just… doing what the note says.” He offers a pitiable laugh.

           “Dean,” the voice continues, confirming Dean’s suspicion, “How are you feeling?”

           “Better,” Dean shrugs, “Woke up awful. Thanks for the water – and for, uh… everything else.”

           “You were a mess at the bar last night,” the man chuckles, “it’d be a crime to let you out of my sight.”

           “Cool, cool,” Dean nods, tapping his feet against the floor, “So, look, about my… offer.”

           “Right,” the man nods, “I was wondering when you’d get to that. Look, we should probably discuss this in person. I don’t have a break until 3 o’clock. Would you care to join me for a late lunch?”

           “No – not at all!” Dean laughs, “I, uh… I’d love to!”

           “Great, you can meet me at…”

           Dean nods, taking a nearby pen and writing the address on the other side of C.D.’s note.

           “I’m really glad you called, Dean,” C.D. says, “I was worried you might wake up and not even remember anything from last night. You were pretty far gone.”

           “Well… what can I say,” Dean laughs, “I got the mind of a steel trap.”

           They bid each other goodbye not too long after that. Dean gulps and leans back on his hands.

           “…Fuck.”

           He doesn’t know why he did that. He had an out – a chance to admit that, not only did he not know what his offer was, but that he also had no clue who he was talking to. The voice did bring back a few other memories, however. They were all words, no visual component to them at all. But whoever he is he was one sassy bastard, that’s for sure.

           Dean gets up and heads towards his drawers. He pulls out some slacks and a Henley and pulls them on, getting dressed for the day. He also chances a look at his alarm clock: 10:23.

           “Thank God I don’t have class until tomorrow,” Dean mutters walking out of his room. He looks around and places his fists on his hips.

           He’s got time to kill, and depending on how the meeting goes, he doesn’t want to have C.D. think he’s a slob.

           Castiel hangs up, smiling down at his phone. The butterflies in his stomach that have been churning since he woke up have calmed down. He’ll admit that he was having second thoughts about his note the second he got into Uber. The drive back was just him listing all the reasons why Dean’s plan wouldn’t work or how it could go wrong.

           But each time he thought of calling it off, he remembered that picture of Dean’s family and Dean’s words.

           He had missed celebrating the holidays with others. After his family practically ex-communicated him, there was no one for him to celebrate with. He didn’t particularly have any friends before, and after… he didn’t try to make any.

           That doesn’t stop his partner.

           “What’cha smiling at Clarence?” Meg asks from her desk. She’s leaning on her hands, smirking at him.

           “Nothing,” he says, pocketing his phone.

           “…Right,” she says, “Because to me it sounded like someone’s got a date.”

           “It’s not a date,” he says, “I am meeting someone, but it’s to discuss a deal –“

           “I’d be careful if I were you,” Meg laughs, leaning back in her seat, “You know how the Chief’s ears perk up when he hears that word.”

           She’s right. Chief Crowley, their boss, while being on the right side of the law just loves things like gambling, bets, and especially deals.”

           “To discuss a… plan,” Castiel chooses his words carefully, “for the holidays.”

           “You holding out on me, Clarence?” Meg frowns, squinting at him, “Just what are you ‘planning’?”

           “Nothing that concerns you, Meg,” Castiel stands, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

           Meg crosses her arms and pouts. “Black,” she says, “But don’t think this means I’ll stop pestering you!”

           “I’ve lost any hope of that happening,” Castiel fires back, walking away from her. He passes a few other officers, nodding hello before he makes it to the Keurig in the Break Room. It doesn’t take long for the coffee to brew, but he lets his mind drift back to Dean.

           He doesn’t know what Dean will be like sober. But he does have some idea of who he is. The Internet is a wonderful thing and, coupled with his training, he was able to glean a few pieces of information about him.

           Dean wasn’t kidding when he said he was writing a book. There was an entire article about him in the Washington Square News. Apparently the book has been a passion project he was working on since his early days in his PhD program. He was also a professor beloved by all his students. He’s a history professor, but he wasn’t able to determine just what he teaches. Probably because all the reviews from ‘Rate My Professor’ only talk about his gorgeous green eyes and perfect jawline and cute drawl.

           They’re not wrong – but he wants to find out things he doesn’t already know.

           “You like your coffee cold, Detective?”

           Castiel startles, turning to find Chief Crowley behind him. He’s got a brow raised and is smirking at him.

           “Sorry, Chief,” Castiel mutters, pulling the coffee cups away. He heads towards the cream and sugar while Crowley gets his coffee. Crowley drums his fingers on the counter, waiting, while Castiel rips open a packet of sugar. Then another, and another: after his fifth packet he adds the cream.

           “It’s not like you to be distracted,” Crowley starts, “Is there something on your mind?”

           “No, Chief,” he says, “nothing that’s important.”

           “Well that’s good, seeing as I need your mind to be sharp.”

           “Chief?”

           “I just dropped a case on your desk. You and Masters need to look into a robbery on 44th and 8th. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

           “We’ll get right on that.”

           “Glad to hear,” Crowley smirks. He takes a sip of his piping hot coffee, and then turns on his heel. “Pray you’ll be done before your date!”

           Castiel gapes after him.

           “…How does he do that?”

           Dean stands rooted to the spot, staring at the place C.D. asked him to meet at. He pulls out the note from earlier and looks down at the address. It matches the one he put into his phone that led him there, and the numbers both match the street numbers and the building’s numbers.

           It’s a small deli, wedged between a Starbucks and a gift shop. Dean pockets the note again and enters. He wipes his boots across the carpet and pulls his hat off, looking around. No one he sees sparks any memory.

           But he does see a menu, and that jumpstarts his stomach. It gurgles, and he pats at it.

           “Don’t worry buddy,” he whispers, “I’ll get ya something.” Even though it’s past lunchtime, he wasn’t able to eat anything. His mind was too focused on either his book or on cleaning or C.D.

           “What will you have?”

           Dean’s searching the menu until his eyes land on exactly what he wants. “I’ll have the hamburger deluxe – medium well,” he tells the girl, “and can you make the fries curly fries?”

           “That’ll be an extra $0.75.”

           “Worth it.”

           Dean steps back, but hits into a solid figure. Dean turns.

           “Sorry – woah…”

           Dean is stunned. The man he had banged into was… gorgeous. There was no other way to describe him. His dark hair was styled messily, as if he spent the entire morning just raking his fingers through it. He’s rocking a serious five o’clock shadow and was blessed with a soft-looking pair of lips. And his eyes… there’s no name for the shade of blue they are.

           Dean’s trying to regain his senses, but he’s soon floored yet again when the man smiles at him.

           “Hello Dean,” he says, “I’m happy to see you again.”

           ‘Holy crap,’ Dean thinks, ‘he’s C.D.?’

           “Yeah,” Dean mumbles, blushing, “It’s great seeing you, too…”

           C.D. tilts his head, squinting. “Is something the matter?”

           “No, no, it’s just…” Dean bites his lip, “you look… really good today.”

           “Thank you,” he nods, “Would you like to join me?” He motions to a nearby table in the back – out of sight from nearly everyone.

           ‘No wonder I didn’t see him,’ Dean thinks before looking at C.D. and jerking his thumb at the counter, “In a minute, waiting for my food.”

           He glances behind Dean then nods at him, before returning to his seat, “I’ll be here when you get it.”

           Dean nods in return; turning around so C.D. won’t see the fierce blush he’s working up. He starts to sway, trying as hard as he could to remember anything about last night before he has to talk even more to C.D.

           …Like his name, for starters.

           Time isn’t on his side, because just as he starts to focus, the girl is calling out his order, handing him his tin. Dean takes it and grimaces before moving towards C.D.’s table.

           C.D. looks up from his own sandwich as Dean makes his way over and smiles. It’s a chicken club, and it looks pretty damn tasty.

           ‘Maybe I should have gotten that.’

           “I know,” C.D. chuckles, wiping at his mouth, “the food here is really good. Plus, it offers a discount for officers.”

           “So you’re a cop?” Dean asks, getting his food out.

           “Well… used to be,” C.D. shrugs, “I’m a detective.”

           “No friggin’ way,” Dean gapes, eyes widening, “That’s so cool!” His eyes light up, “Is that what the ‘D’ stands for in your note?”

           C.D. blushes and looks away. He scratches at his cheek and smiles. “My apologies, that’s just how I usually sign off on messages. They’re my initials – the… ‘D’ is for my last name, DiAngelo.”

           “DiAngelo?” Dean chuckles, swallowing around a piece of his burger, “Fitting… you sure do got the face of an angel.”

           DiAngelo’s blush grows only fiercer. “Just as precocious now as you were drunk I see,” he mumbles.

           “What can I say,” Dean shrugs, taking another bite of his burger, chewing, “I’m a charmer.”

           DiAngelo raises a brow.

           “Wha’” Dean says, bits of food flying out of his mouth, “Got somethin’ on my face?”

           “Never mind,” DiAngelo says, taking a bite of his own sandwich. They sit and eat, neither wishing to speak next. It’s an awkward silence, filled with stolen glances and worried thoughts.

           “So,” DiAngelo starts again, “About your… book!”

           “My book?” Dean asks.

           “Yes… your book,” DiAngelo says, deflating, “you said you were writing it… how far along are you?”

           “Just finished it actually,” Dean chuckles, “Checked a few facts, made some edits, and I shipped it to my editor who will no doubt tear it to shreds and re-structure it before sending it to the press –“ He stops, as if a huge weight has settled into his stomach. “Was… was that what my offer was about,” Dean asks, “Did I… promise you a copy of my book?”

           DiAngelo blinks at him. His face betrays no emotion, and Dean can’t help but let his mind whirlwind out of control. That weight has become a black hole, sucking up all the good feelings he had about this. He’s not even hungry anymore, pushing his food away.

           “Look, I’ll find out when that is later,” Dean starts, getting up, “I have your number so –“

           “No!”            DiAngelo’s hand shoots out and grabs Dean’s wrist, trapping him.

           “I’m… sorry,” DiAngelo starts, face turned away, “I didn’t mean to… I should have…” He looks up, “Do you remember what happened last night?”

           Dean gnaws at his lip again. “No,” he says slowly, “To be honest… I don’t even know your name.”

           DiAngelo looks pained, but soon enough he hides it so Dean can’t see it anymore.

           “Then where are my manners,” DiAngelo says, letting go, “I… should have introduced myself properly. My name is Castiel DiAngelo.”

           Dean settles back down and raises a brow at Castiel.

           “That’s a pretty fancy name there, Cas,” he chuckles, then freezes, looking up at Castiel, “Shit, are you okay with that? Or are you one of those guys who hates nicknames.”

           “No I… I don’t mind,” Castiel says, blushing, “In fact, Cas was much easier for you when you were drunk as well.”

           “Sorry if I butchered it –“

           “You tried,” Castiel shrugs, “Some people don’t bother.”

           “Cool… cool.”

           Dean picks at his fries while Castiel cleans up his own meal. Dean hazards a look at Castiel – Cas – through his lashes. His motions are awkward and choppy, like he doesn’t know what to do with his body.

           “So,” Dean says, scratching at his neck, “What happened when I was…”

           “Wasted?”

           “Under the influence,” Dean glares, pressing his mouth into a hard line.

           “Well,” Cas starts, folding his hands in front of his face, “I don’t know about most of your evening… but by the time I met you, you were… really gone. You tried to flirt… really badly.”

           “Now hold on –“

           “And you could also barely stand. I… took you home so I wouldn’t feel guilty if I had just abandoned you there.”

           “Ouch,” Dean mutters weakly, “It wasn’t because of my good looks?”

           “You don’t need me to tell you how attractive you are,” Castiel says, “Your students already do enough of that.”

           “…How do you know –“

           “Anyway,” Cas continues, blushing, “After I got you to your apartment I helped you undress and got you some water and I left…”

           “After…”

           “After….”

           “After writing me that note,” Dean says, pulling it out, “Where you said that you… agreed? To an offer I made you?”

           “Look, Dean,” Cas starts, “I just wanted to make sure you were alive in the morning – you were far gone and I was feeling a little tipsy, so I don’t think we can really hold ourselves to anything we might have said when we were drunk –“

           “What did I say?” Dean demands, leaning forward on the table.

           “Really, Dean, it’s –“

           “What… did… I… say?”

           “You – uh, you proposed that we…” Castiel motions between the two of them, “we should… pretend to be together for the… for the holidays.”

           You could drop a pin between them – that’s how silent it was. Dean didn’t have a pin, so he just dropped his jaw instead.

           “You,” Dean starts, “You agreed to do that? To date me?”

           “Only for the holidays,” Cas continues, looking away, “You said that it’d be the perfect way to both come out to your family and let them think you’re doing okay.”

           Dean squints, “And what are you getting from this?”

           “Look, it doesn’t matter,” Cas says, “Obviously you’re having second thoughts –“

           “I’m not.”

           Cas does a double take. Now he’s having a hard time keeping his chin from hitting the table.

           “You’re,” Cas gulps, “You’re not?”

           “I mean – maybe?” Dean shrugs, “This plan seems a bit too-much like a cheesy Hallmark movie you usually see playing this time of year but… if it works on TV?”

           “So you think we should still do this?”

           “I mean – you look like you’d be one hell of a catch Cas,” Dean smiles, “And you already said yes. So… might as well see if we can make this work.”

           “You are… very trusting,” Cas laughs, his whole body shaking in mirth.

           “Trusting’s a nice word,” Dean shrugs, “Most people would just call me an idiot.”

           “I don’t know,” Cas says, “if anyone here is the idiot, it’s probably me.”

           “Hey,” Dean chuckles, “no take-backs!”

           “I know,” Cas sighs, looking at his watch, “Listen, I’ll have to return to my shift soon. You have my number… I have yours. Do you know when your family will be coming?”

           “I… I should, shouldn’t I?”

           “Why don’t you text me a time for us to meet,” Cas says standing up, “We can work out more of the details later.”

           “That sounds great, Cas!” Dean joins him, picking up his trash. They exit, standing inches apart in the middle of the sidewalk.

           “Here’s to hoping this goes off well,” Dean says, grinning.

           “As well as it can given the situation,” Cas says, rolling his eyes.

           They stand there, unsure of what to do next. Dean is flexing his hand, debating if a handshake would be the appropriate way to end a meeting with someone who is agreeing to be his – quote unquote boyfriend.

           “Should we –“

           “Are you okay if I –“

           They stop, giggling at having interrupted each other.

           “I’m just going to,” Cas steps forward, into Dean’s space. Dean feels his heart stop, and he can’t stop gazing into Cas’s eyes. Cas doesn’t stop, and quickly pecks Dean on the lips. He hovers near Dean’s face after, looking at Dean strangely.

           “Was that,” Cas starts, licking his lips, “Was that okay?”

           “Yeah,” Dean whispers, voice warbled. He clears his throat, “I mean, we’ll have to work on it but… good start.”

           “Okay,” Cas smiles, stepping back. “I’ll just,” he jerks his thumb behind him, “I have to –“

           “’S’all good,” Dean chuckles, “Get back to work.”

           “Okay,” Cas says, nodding, “Okay. Goodbye, Dean.”

           “See ya, Cas.”

           Dean watches Cas walk away, his tan trench coat fanning out behind him as if they were wings. When he sees it disappear behind the corner, he slumps over and lets out a strangled breath.

           ‘Holy crap,’ Dean thinks, ‘What the hell did I just do?’

           This seems like such a terrible idea – a classic Drunk Dean idea. But… the detective with the heavenly blue eyes and the sexiest voice Dean’s ever heard decided to go along with it. He doesn’t know why he said yes but… that doesn’t matter to him so much. Maybe he actually wantsto spend more time with him?

           It’s not like Dean’s lonely – he’s got friends. But when Cas kissed him it was… it was… it was something. It wasn’t the best kiss – it felt too ‘middle school crush’ and was over all too quickly. But he’s still reeling from it so… Dean doesn’t know what to think.

           All he knows is that he wants to be close to Cas, for as long as he’ll let him. Since, as Cas reminded him, it would only be for the holidays. Because obviously Cas needs something from Dean as much as Dean needs something from him.

           “Charlie, I’m telling you I’ll have it to you before Christmas! I’m almost done… all I’ve got left to do is cross-reference a few sources and I’ll be sending it your way… Look, I’m sorry your boss is hounding you but think of it like this – you get to see more of her and her, how did you put it, ‘tight ass’… don’t you? …I think this is the perfect time to be making jokes… Whatever, I’m almost home so I’ll talk to you later.”

           Dean ends the call before Charlie could get the last word, smiling as he tucks the phone back into his pocket. He readjusts the pizza box in his arms so he can pull his key out of his other pocket and open the door to his building. It’s a small complex in Astoria on 30th street – nothing fancy, but better than a lot of apartments Dean looked at when he first moved to New York nearly seven years ago.

           And he saw a lot of apartments. Some he didn’t think should even be classified as a place to live. But thankfully he found this ‘reasonably’ priced place two weeks before the semester started.

           Now, the apartment has become a home – his home – and Dean smiles fondly when he enters. He tosses his keys into the bowl by the doorway and scrapes off the remnant of snow stuck to his boots. He unwraps his scarf and pulls off his hat before walking further into the living room.

           It’s cozy… but cramped. Now that might have to do with all the papers and books Dean has lying around every flat surface. There are even a few on his sofa – and his armchair is completely unusable. It’s not his fault though. Writing takes up a lot of the free time he used to have for cleaning.

           ‘Something I should probably get back to doing…’ Dean thinks when he steps into the kitchen, staring at the other empty pizza boxes that are stacked unevenly on top of each other on the counter. He grimaces, glancing down at the fresh pizza he’s carrying. He tries to place it down, but there’s no room. What space that isn’t taken up by the boxes is covered in empty beer bottles and coffee mugs.

           “Dammit.”

           Dean moves back into the living room and places the box on his coffee table, moving his notes and his students’ papers to the side.

           He starts taking off his jacket when he notices a small, red dot out of the corner of his eye.

           It’s his phone – more importantly, the answering machine. Someone had left him a message.

           Dean raises a brow. He moves over and presses the button before continuing undressing. He hangs the coat on the coat rack by the door as the machine comes to life.

           “You have one new message.”

           ‘No shit.’

           “Dean,” it’s his ma, Mary, “How have you been? Have you been keeping warm? I read that this year is supposed to be really cold on the East Coast and I wouldn’t want you to be getting sick before you get your break. We all know how bad you are when you’re sick.” Dean blushes, moving towards the kitchen to get a plate. He’s not the worst person when he’s sick… but he does get whiny. “Anyway, how was Thanksgiving? Ours was nice… although we wish you could have made it. There was a lot of leftovers this year what with Sam trying this new vegan diet – I don’t think it’s going to last but you know how they are out there in California.” Dean scoffs, smiling as he takes a huge bite out of his meat-lovers pizza. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Well, to get to the point, I have a big surprise… we’re coming to visit!” Dean chokes. He’s hacking over Mary’s voice. “Some time off… want to see you… Sam’s idea… the whole family… can’t wait to see you! Call me back soon, love you dear!”

           “You have no new messages.”

           Beep!

           “…Fuck.”

           Dean slumps back against his sofa, his food forgotten on his lap. He scrubs a hand down his face, sighing.

           Dean loves his family. They were there for him when he was struggling throughout high school, pushing him towards graduation even though he wanted to drop out every other week. They were proud of him when he did graduate and, to his surprise, was accepted into Kansas State University. They helped him save money and pay his way through four years of Undergrad and the three years he spent at KU’s School of Education. And when he applied for a teaching position at New York University on a whim after graduation, helped him pack and start his new life in the city.

           He loves his family. But they can be a bit… much.

           It’s not their fault, that’s who they are. And Dean doesn’t mind it, really. But holidays are another story.

           One of the reasons he missed Thanksgiving – besides finishing his book – was because he didn’t need the extra stress. He heard from Sam that he had to bear the brunt of it being the only one there. Asking him why he hadn’t proposed to Jessica yet, when he’ll be asking for a promotion, if the two have thought about children.

           It would have been worse for Dean, seeing as he’s single.

           Seeing that he’s still single.

           Writing takes up a lot of free time.

           Dean digs out his phone, re-dialing Charlie’s number.

           “Dean?” she asks, “What’s the matter?”

           “Hey Charlie,” Dean starts, nervously chuckling, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

           “…What is it?”

           “I was wondering if there might be a way to… push back the deadline?”

           Silence.

           “Charlie?”

           “I’m sorry, Dean, you’re going to have to repeat that,” she says, “because either I had a stroke or you asked me to push back you’re alreadygenerous deadline.”

           “I-uh… I did.”

           “Do you want me to be fired?” she asks, “Do you like seeing me unemployed – is that it? Gives you a nice thrill?”

           “No, Charlie, it’s not that –“

           “Because we’ve already had to push your deadline back twice and if we push it back even further we won’t have time to get it to publishing and all your hard work will be just that, Mr. Winchester!”

           Dean winces. She only calls him that when she’s really pissed at him.

           “Look, I’m sorry Charlie,” Dean starts, scratching at the back of his head, “I just… I panicked.”

           “What’s going on, Dean?”

           “I just found out my family is coming to visit –“

           “That’s great!” Charlie squeals, “I haven’t seen Sam in forever! Do you know when they’re coming?”

           “Uh – good question, but no – and it’s not great!”

           “Why is it not great? Having your family around on Christmas sounds like the best way to celebrate finishing your book.”

           “It would be if my family wasn’t more stressful than writing this damned thing.”

           “…Is it because you’re single?”

           “…”

           “Is it because you’re bi –”?

           “Like they know that!” Dean hisses, “I haven’t even begun thinking about opening that can of worms.” Dean’s sexuality is his little secret. He went out with girls in high school, fooled around a bit – just like all the other boys. But then he hooked up with a guy dressed up as Han Solo at a Halloween party his sophomore year of College. Not like all the other boys. Still… it was awesome.

           “Maybe – and this might sound crazy – but maybe you could… try talking to them about it?” Charlie says, “I mean holidays are good for these kinds of things. Everyone’s together and drunk on good cheer and alcohol that it makes the whole thing easy and quick.”

           “You make it sound so open and shut,” Dean sighs, “When really it’s open, me trying to shut while seven different hands keep prying at it to ask questions – like… really deep personal questions. I don’t want to have to go through that.”

           “So what? Stay single until everyone you know and love dies.”

           “…You know –“

           “Don’t even start, Dean,” Charlie sighs, “Look, as much as I love helping my fellow queers sort through their shit, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes with another client and they’re even worse with their deadline than you are so I really have to unleash Hell.”

           “Godspeed, Charlie.” She disconnects, and soon enough Dean is alone again. He sighs, and takes another bite of his now cold pizza. He attempts to finish it, but can’t, and he tosses the rest of the slice. He then takes the box and does the adult thing – wrapping it up in tin foil for breakfast tomorrow.

           His mind is whirling. Dean tries to distract himself with work – opening up his laptop and doing the last few touch-ups before it’s complete. But after reading the same sentence for the fifth time he realizes how futile any chance of work might seem.

           Dean looks out the window. It’s dark, and it’s snowing lightly. He checks his fridge again to find it’s empty save for the pizza and a few Chinese delivery boxes.

           He heads toward the door, shrugging his jacket back on and picking up his keys from the nearby bowl.

           Dean’s going to do what he does best when he can’t focus: get blackout drunk.

           Castiel muses, after his sixth drink, that he should be feeling some kind of buzz. He had asked for the strongest drink in the place, but given the dim lighting, rusty stools, and half-working juke box he might have been asking for a bit too much.

           ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Cas shrugs, signaling for another, ‘I’ll take what I can get.’

           The bartender slides the small glass over to Castiel, and he takes a sip of the clear liquid. It doesn’t burn going down, but the bitter taste still has Castiel twisting his mouth and pursing his lips. He pulls at his tie, loosening it and unbuttoning the top button on his shirt.

           He slumps further onto the counter, the sleeve of his trench coat flirting dangerously close to a puddle of whiskey that was spilled hours ago.

           ‘Not like today could get any worse,’ he thinks, swirling the drink around in the glass. The invitation he received in the mail should have been an omen – truly. His brother knows he’s been banned from all family celebrations since the Fourth of July Catastrophe in ’08, but continues to taunt him all these years later. After that, the day just spiraled.

           And now he’s here – in some no name dive in Greenwich. He takes another sip of his drink and shifts to get a more comfortable position on the bar to express his misery.

           ‘Funny,’ Castiel thinks, ‘Either I’m starting to get tipsy… or that man is smiling at me.’

           He wasn’t tipsy. Through his dingy glass, Castiel could just make out someone’s face. He pulls himself up to get a clearer look and-

           ‘Wow.’

           He’s got these bright green eyes. They’re glassy, and roaming up and down Castiel’s body. He also has freckles – at least, Castiel thinks he can see freckles. It’s hard with the flush the other man’s worked up on his skin. He’s leaning on his knuckles and pursing his plush, pink lips. He takes a long drink from his glass, focused somewhere near Castiel’s stool.

           Castiel motions for the bartender, pointing, “How many drinks have you given him?”

           “That guy?” the bartender chuckles, “Ten.”

           Castiel sighs, but thanks him. He turns to look back at the other man and catches his eyes. He startles, spluttering and nearly spilling his drink. He tries to make it look like he wasn’t caught staring, but that cat is already out of its poorly constructed bag. He’s still looking at Castiel out of the corner of his eye.

           Castiel rolls his eyes, but gives the man a little wave and half-smile before turning back to the bar to ask for one more shot.

           Apparently, that was an invitation for something more – as Castiel feels someone taking the stool next to him at the bar.

           And by take, Castiel means nearly fall off and onto him while trying to sit.

           After righting himself, the man turns to Castiel and immediately props his elbow onto the whiskey puddle.

           “Howdy,” he says, deep voice rumbling in a Western drawl that’s odd for New York City.

           “…Hi?”

           “The name’s Winchester. Dean Winchester, and who might you be?”

           Castiel rolls his eyes again before responding: “James Bond.”

           “…Shit, for real?”

           The bartender bites back a chuckle, and Castiel glares at him to leave. He does, and Castiel turns back to Dean.

           “No,” he says, “My name is Castiel.”

           “Catsi… Casisel… Castle…” Dean stumbles, giggling, “That’s a pretty name but a mouthful. D’you mind if I call you Cas?”

           ‘I do, actually,’ is what Castiel thinks. But then he takes another look at Dean. He’s sitting there, grinning and staring up at Castiel with this weird glow in his eyes. It makes Castiel feel weird and… wanted. Something he hasn’t felt in a while.

           “No,” he says, returning Dean’s large grin with a smaller, softer smile, “Not at all.”

           “Great!” Dean cheers, throwing his cup to the sky and letting the beer slosh around a bit. Castiel’s smile drops and he grabs for Dean’s arm, pulling it down.

           “Maybe be a bit careful,” Castiel chuckles, “that could get everywhere.”

           “An’ you’re sweet, too,” Dean sighs, “Gorgeous… sweet… is there anything else I should know about you?”

           “I-uh… I’m surprisingly sober right now?”

           “Well that’s good,” Dean laughs, “One of us should be.”

           Castiel joins in, accompanying Dean’s laugh with his own awkward chuckle.

           “So,” Dean continues, catching his breath, “you single, Cas?”

           Dean is searching, the smile gone from his face. Castiel chokes on his spit and turns away. He’s blushing now, and glances up at Dean from between his lashes.

           “I’m – Well, I’m not… not single?”

           “Huh?” Dean starts, only to shrug and take another sip, “Anyway… me? I’m single. So single… single like… like that chip. You know… it rhymes with single… single… single…”

           “Like a Prin-“

           “Lays!” Dean shouts, slapping Castiel on the back, “Like a Lays chip, that’s it!” He takes another sip. “I could really go for some chips right now.”

           “You could also do well with some sleep,” Castiel says, eyeing Dean as he tries to shake the remaining drops from his glass into his mouth. He does, and smacks his lips in satisfaction. He holds the empty glass to the bartender and shakes it.

           “I think you’ve had enough,” Castiel sighs, pulling Dean’s arm away from the bartender.

           “But I need it,” Dean whines.

           “You don’t need it –“

           “But I do, Cas, f’real. I need it to – ” Dean continues, singing off-key, “to stop myself from thinkin’ ‘bout stuff!”

           Castiel turns to the bartender; “We’ll take the check, if you don’t mind.”

           “Spoil sport,” Dean grumbles, reaching for his wallet. He opens it up and starts leafing through the bills. Castiel has already paid for his drink when he turns to see Dean still searching through his wallet.

           “Is there a problem?”

           “…I only have $12.”

           Castiel rolls his eyes once more, pulling out the rest of his money and covering for Dean.

           “Thanks Cas!” Dean chirps, “I could kiss ya!”

           “Please, don’t, you smell like the drunk tank after St. Patty’s Day.”

           Dean blinks at him. “S’that… s’that good?”

           “Goodnight Dean,” Castiel pushes away from the bar.

           He’s not even halfway out the bar before he feels someone collapsing into him. Thankfully, Castiel catches Dean before they’re both sprawled out on the ground.

           “Yes?”

           “Am I really that bad a’company?”

           Castiel looks down at Dean and nearly bites back a curse. There’s tears starting to form, and Dean’s bottom lip is pushes out and pouting.

           Castiel looks around the bar and can see some of the patrons eyeing them up even more than they already were. He sighs, and starts to drag Dean out of the bar and into the chilly, night air.

           “Did you drive here?”

           “Wha’?”

           Castiel leans Dean on the outside wall of the bar. He’s zipping Dean’s jacket, asking, “Did you drive here?”

           “N-no,” Dean says, “Wouldn’t risk Baby out in this weather.”

           “Okay, I don’t drive so,” Castiel says, pulling out his phone, “What’s your address?”

           “Why?” Dean smirks, leaning into Castiel, “You taking me home?”

           “Yes –“

           “Oooo –“

           “Not like that,” Castiel snaps, pulling up Uber, “I’m taking you home so I know you get there and that you didn’t die stumbling into the train tracks.”

           “…You’re really thoughtful, y’know,” Dean says, smiling, “A true gentleman.”

           “I’m something alright,” Castiel grumbles to himself, “Some kind of idiot…” He looks up at Dean, “Address?”

           Dean rattles off the location and Castiel types it into his phone. It doesn’t take long for someone to accept – there’s practically no one out. He didn’t realize how late it was, but thankfully that’s a positive.

           “Alright, the Uber should be coming in – Dean? Dean!”

           Castiel turns around, finding Dean leaning far too out into traffic than he should. He has his thumb tucked out and is humming to himself. Castiel curses and grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him back and into him.

           “Mmm… warm.”

           “Could you please stay still,” Castiel says, pulling Dean closer and upright, “Our ride will be here in five minutes.”

           “Our?” Dean blinks, smiling. “Our…” he says again, as if tasting the word for the first time. By the gleam in his eyes, Castiel can tell he likes it.

           “Yes, our,” Castiel says, “Because you need to go home to –“

           “To fuck!”

           Castiel looks around, embarrassed. Dean had practically shouted, and he didn’t want any more odd looks thrown their way. The bar was more than enough for Castiel for one night.

           “To sleep,” Castiel hushes, pressing his finger to Dean’s lips. Dean smiles and kisses Castiel’s finger. He blushes, and pulls away. The feeling from earlier starts to bubble up again – with the way Dean is looking at him. Castiel wants to say something, anything, but his mind is strangely blank. Dean’s still giggling, swaying in Castiel’s arms. Castiel opens his mouth when –

           Honk!

           They turn to see a 2014 Honda Accord idling nearby. The passenger window is rolled down and the driver is leaning towards it form his seat.

           “Are you Cassiel?”

           Castiel rolls his eyes, “Something like that.” He lets go of Dean and pushes him towards the car, “Come on.”

           “Okay.”

           Dean opens the car door and practically crawls into the car as Castiel watches. Castiel scrubs a hand down his face before entering normally. He buckles and turns to find Dean having trouble with his seatbelt. He sighs and moves to help Dean.

           When he’s done, Castiel locks eyes with the driver through the rearview mirror.

           The driver jerks his thumb at Dean, “He drunk?”

           “Unfortunately.”

           “Well,” the driver hums, “if your boyfriend pukes – you’re paying for it.”

           “He’s not my,” Castiel sighs, shaking his head, “Never mind. Just go.”

           “Whatever.”

           It’s quiet for a good five minutes before Castiel feels Dean drop his chin onto his shoulder. Castiel looks over to see Dean grinning at him.

           “What?”

           “You didn’t deny it.”

           “Deny what?”

           “Being my boyfriend,” Dean whisper-sings, “Is that because you want to?”

           “Don’t be ridiculous,” Castiel mutters, “It’s not like he cares.”

           “But you do,” Dean yawns, removing his chin and relaxing more into Castiel’s side, “I do, too. I think you’d make a great boyfriend.” And like that, Dean slips into a light sleep. Castiel just stares, his heart skipping every other beat.

           Castiel practically carries Dean to his apartment. When the Uber pulled up to Dean’s complex, Castiel had trouble waking him up. The trouble was that he wasn’t responding. The driver was getting more annoyed, so finally, Castiel dragged him out of the car and threw his arm over his shoulders.

           Now, standing in front of Dean’s door, Castiel is at a lost. He can’t buzz his way into this one. He eyes Dean, and sighs. He checks his coat pockets first, only to come up empty.

           “Of course,” Castiel mumbles, “why would this be easy?”

           He has his hand in Dean’s left pocket when he finally comes to. He hums and leans more into Cas’s space.

           “I thought you said you weren’t going to fuck me?”

           “Seriously,” Castiel pulls his hand away, “You wake up now?”

           “I was asleep?”

           “Never mind,” he sighs, “Where are your keys?”

           “You were close,” Dean smirks, knocking his head into Castiel’s, “just had to go deeper.”

           Castiel finds Dean’s keys in no time, and lets himself into his apartment.

           “Were you trying to find something?”

           “Huh?” Dean asks, looking around at his mess, “Oh… no, I’ve been writing a book.”

           Castiel looks at Dean. “A book?”

           “Yeah,” Dean nods, “Almost done, too.”

           “Congratulations, then.”

           Castiel moves Dean further into the room, while Dean starts to babble.

           “-probably start cleaning anyway,” Dean mumbles, “I got m’family coming.”

           “Family for Christmas?” Castiel chuckles darkly, “Someone’s lucky.”

           “Not really,” Dean sighs, “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been drinking.”

           Castiel stops. He shoots Dean a weird look, “That’s why you were drinking?”

           “Yeah,” Dean chuckles, “Drinking to escape m’problems.” His eyes light up, “Someone should invent, like – a word for that!”

           “I think alcoholism already exists, Dean,” Castiel says, continuing further into his apartment. He finds the bedroom door and props it open. It’s neater than his living room, but there’s still a few books lying about, and a pile of laundry sits untouched in the corner. His bed is only faintly messy. Castiel flicks the light on and shuffles them in.

           “So,” Castiel continues, “why is your family coming such a problem?” He shoots Dean a sad look, “Do they… not approve of your lifestyle?”

           “If by that you mean being single then yeah,” Dean sighs, letting go of Castiel and collapsing onto his bed face first. He rolls over and kicks his legs, trying to shuck his boots off. Castiel smiles and kneels to help Dean.

           “Stop kicking,” Castiel says, “So they’re okay with you… having a boyfriend?”

           “I don’t know,” Dean shrugs, “Never asked them if they’d be okay.”

           “You haven’t told them you like men?”

           “Bingo!”

           Castiel pulls Dean’s other boot off and places the pair near Dean’s dresser. Dean is sitting up, slipping his jacket off and playing with the buttons of his shirt.

           “So they… want you to be happy?”

           “They want me to not be alone, I guess,” Dean sighs, “Which, I get. But I’m okay with being alone. ‘M doing fine… most of the time… but they don’t need to be in my business about it. If only I could get them to stop riding my ass so hard. It’s no fun when they do it.”

           “At least you’re lucky to have a family who cares about whether you’re lonely or not,” Castiel says, sitting down next to Dean and helping him with his shirt, “I haven’t spoken to my parents in years.”

           “Dude,” Dean says, “that sucks.”

           “Indeed, it does.”

           “So you’re lonely, too?”

           “I… guess.”

           Dean stares at Castiel, licking his lips. His eyes duck down to stare at the other man’s lips before looking up into Castiel’s blue eyes. Suddenly, an idea waltzes into his drunken mind.

           “We should be lonely together!”

           “Pardon –?”

           “I mean,” Dean continues, “we should date – for the holidays, at least! You can be my boyfriend for when my family comes to town! Then they’ll see that I’m doing fine on m’own and not worry so much!”

           “I don’t see what I’ll be getting out of this, Dean,” Castiel points out, crossing his arms and raising a brow.

           “Well… you won’t be alone for Christmas,” Dean shrugs, smiling, “No one should be alone on the holidays.”

           Castiel startles. He turns away from Dean, hiding his blush. But he can’t hide from Dean.

           Dean leans over and pecks Castiel’s cheek before crawling to his pillow.

           “You don’t deserve to be alone, Cas,” Dean whispers before he slips back under. Castiel stares at him, unnerved. He’s lightly touching his cheek, the press of Dean’s lips still singed into his stubble. Castiel shakes his head and gets up.

           He heads toward the door, stopping when he grabs hold of the knob. He looks back at Dean’s bedroom door. He’s lightly snoring, and Castiel can’t help but smile.

           ‘He’s going to be dehydrated when he wakes up…’

           Castiel sighs and turns on his heel, walking towards the kitchen. Navigating around the mess, he manages to find one clean glass and fills it with some water before returning to Dean’s room.

           He places it on a nearby nightstand and smiles down at Dean.

           He’s going to leave again when he eyes the dresser. Castiel moves towards it, picking up one of many picture frames that line the oak furniture.

           Dean is there – albeit younger. Behind him a blonde woman and a raven hair man stand smiling, his parents from the looks of it. There’s also another boy, with longer hair than Dean, grinning just as wide. Dean’s in a dark robe and wide-brim hat, and from the tassels it looks like a graduation.

           There are other pictures – one with a small woman with bright red hair, another with another older man in a baseball cap, and an older and younger woman eyeing Dean from behind a bar.

           Castiel puts the pictures back and looks at Dean.

           “I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

           He moves into the living room, plucking a stray piece of paper and a pen from the table and walking back into Dean’s bedroom. He scribbles something on there and places it under the glass on the nightstand.

           Castiel feels lighter than air as he leaves Dean’s apartment.

           He’s outside the complex, waiting for another Uber to take him to his place in the Village. It’s a long wait – not that many Ubers in Astoria. The wind has picked up, and more snow starts to fall outside.

           Castiel isn’t cold, though. Something keeps him warm – keeps him smiling.