Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“It’s a good thing you’ve got your supplies already,” The Cajun drawl was familiar yet out of place in the middle of Appalachia. “Weatherman says we’re gonna have a White Christmas.”

Castiel picked up the last wooden crates of supplies and tucked it into the bed of his truck. He wiped the sweat off his palms into his jeans. He stared hard at Benny, the slightly older man who owned the general country store and fried up a mean egg-and-bologna sandwich between selling lottery tickets and cigarettes. Unless it was Monday, then he pulled out all the stops and cooked up a spread of Cajun goodies, like gumbo, jambalaya, and melt-in-your-mouth beignets. Castiel tried to time his trips to town on Mondays but wasn’t lucky this time.

Castiel blatantly waved at the enormous expanse of baby blue horizon stretching across the gray mountaintops. Nothing malicious was up there except for a few wispy cirrus clouds that floated by, as usual. He motioned to the little town around them and arched an eyebrow, hoping his disbelief was apparent.

“Yeah, chief, I know. Heaven’s Hollar doesn’t get any snow. Stuff skirts right around us like a holy man around a brothel.” Castiel snorted. “Blessed if you believe the local yokels.” Benny’s tone was conversational as he leaned against the truck bed. “Been too warm this season anyway.” Benny didn’t have his usual peacoat on, just jeans, suspenders dangling around his hips, and his usual henley replaced with a t-shirt. He did sport his usual newsboy cap.

Castiel agreed, as evidenced by his ripped jeans and sleeveless t-shirt. Benny looked elsewhere when he jumped down from the back of the truck. His blue eyes focused on Main Street, decked out for the upcoming holidays with green and red wreaths on doors and garlands with twinkling lights strung between the lamp posts. People and tourists strolled around shopping, laughing, and having fun. Couples strode hand-in-hand, and kids ran around from one place to another. Castiel felt the tiny prick of loneliness when he saw them.

The town worked hard to prepare for the holidays, but the season always felt lacking without snow to cap it off. What Benny said was true; the town experienced mild conditions year-round. Which meant it took a good minute for Benny’s earlier words to actually sink it.

Wait, it’s only December 20th; how much snow are we getting that it’ll stay for almost a week?

Castiel dug out a battered, weather-proof notepad from his pocket and wrote in blocky letters:

How much snow?

“About a foot, give or take.” Castiel’s eyes went wide. “And yeah, they mentioned the Hollar getting it too, but you being further up on the mountain will get it worse. Probably two for you.” A chilly breeze blew between them, and he pulled his hat down. Castiel shivered and looked up at the sky, not noticing Benny’s heated gaze when he crossed his arms against the cold.

“Course, sometimes them weather folks aren’t always correct, but they seemed fairly confident about this forecast.” Benny tried to ease the blow. Still, Castiel mentally calculated his supplies and what needed to be done before the storm. He didn’t remember this being on the radio. He dragged a hand down his face and groaned.

“Look, Cher, I think–”

Castiel shoved two fingers in his mouth and cut Benny off with a long and deafening whistle. Benny grimaced and took a safe step back. He ignored Benny’s stink-eye and scanned Main Street, looking for his wayward companion. A silver bullet shot out from around the corner of the Roadhouse and galloped towards them at full speed. The anxiety that clenched Castiel’s chest every time his dog disappeared from his view only eased up when he was back, sitting next to his leg, tongue-lolling happily. To hide his relief, Castiel ran his hands over the silver hide. At least this time, there’s no trash residue. Dozer had a bad habit of getting into people’s trashcans, including the supposed bear-proof ones. He wiggled his ears and leaned against Castiel, who patted him fondly on the side.

Benny crouched down until he was at eye level with the panting Dozer. “Alright, same deal as before. I’ll give ya a ham hock next time you’re in town if you keep your master alive,” he finished this theatrical whisper with a shake of the dog’s paw. Castiel internally rolled his eyes at the ritual.

Benny’s back cracked loudly as he stood back up. Castiel flipped through his boxes of supplies before giving Benny the biggest doe eyes he could manage. Benny shook his head. “Sorry, Cher. No new books this time.” He fiddled with his hat and held it in his hands. To Castiel, he seemed almost…bashful? Odd. Benny was anything but subtle about anything. It was one of the reasons they were friends; they could be equally direct. That was usually a feature he enjoyed. “Ya know, I could probably talk to Ellen if you wanna stay in town for the duration.”

Castiel shook his head, not meeting Benny’s gaze, though. He patted Dozer’s head and pulled out the canary yellow safety whistle he always wore around his neck to show to the other man.

“Yeah, I know,” Benny said. He was used to these odd half-conversations with Castiel. He was the only person in town Castiel saw regularly. Being unable to speak severely limited his options for human connection, which suited him just fine since humans weren’t trustworthy. Benny was the exception, and Castiel still held him at arm’s length.

When Benny exhaled and pulled the cap back on, the bashful was replaced with determination. Uh oh. “You’ve not dealt with a storm this bad before. I know you’re a homebody, but this is a safety concern.”

Castiel crossed his arms and scowled, unimpressed with Benny’s cajoling. He has his chickens and his farm stand to close up. He couldn’t hide in town.

Dozer glanced between them and whined, ears drooped.

They stood for a quiet, heated moment before Benny threw his hands up. “Fine. Remember to check in daily; if I don’t hear the code, I’m sending Jody to check on you.” Castiel nodded. They had an agreed-upon series of knocks over his CB radio, a gift from Benny. Or he’d blow the whistle over it if it was an emergency. Sometimes, though, Benny just talked to him about the local gossip, like he’d forgotten the radio was only supposed to be for emergencies. And yet, Benny could chat Castiel's ears off on a good day.

Benny reached out as if to touch his shoulder but dropped his hand. “Just don’t do anything stupid while up there, Little Bird.”

Castiel ignored the odd feeling in his gut the nickname always gave him. Instead, he saluted.

Benny glanced around to ensure no one was watching them, and then he whispered: “Do you have any spring water left?” Castiel lifted his eyebrows in surprise, and Benny winked. “Gotta stay warm somehow during the storm.”

Castiel pulled a gallon of ‘water’ from his truck, and Benny handed him cash. Their hands brushed gently during the transaction, and Benny pulled back a little too fast.

That was the last gallon he had saved up, though he’d have to wait until after the storm to get going on a new batch.

“Good luck, cher,” Benny strolled towards his store with the gallon, clear liquid sloshing inside. He even did an innocent whistle, which made Castiel shake his head.

Castiel opened the truck door so Dozer could hop up in his rattling, rust-bucket’s cab. Castiel tried not to let Benny’s words feel like an omen as he drove out of town. He waved at passing cars and trucks he recognized on his drive home. As he pulled into the top of the long driveway, Castiel put his head in his hands, overwhelmed with the enormity of the situation. Dozer licked his hand, which helped him break out of the anxiety spiral his mind tried to drag him down.

I don't have time for this. Literally. He swore as a few fluffy white flakes hit the windshield and melted into tiny rivulets. It was time to batten down the hatches. Ensure the chickens were safe and that enough firewood was stacked for the duration. Plus, he had a few hundred other chores he needed to do in the dwindling light of the winter evening.

First things first. He hopped out of his truck and headed to the little shed off his driveway. It was a tiny farmer’s market that ran on the honor system. He grabbed the few sourdough loaves that hadn’t sold, the extra eggs left in the cooler, and pulled down the open sign. He grabbed the payment box and brought it home to count since he was closing the shed entirely. As he returned to his idling truck, a muscle car’s roar tore him from his thoughts.

Castiel watched the big black beast come around the curve and head to town. Dozer barked a few times as the car drove past, tail wagging at the sight. It gleamed in the weak winter sun, and Castiel felt a pang of envy as he watched it drive away, compared to his tetanus trap on wheels.

Castiel shook his head as the car disappeared around the bend and dove his truck back to his cabin. Dozer ran through the woods, following along.

Upon pulling into the spot in front of the log cabin, Castiel sighed in relief. There was no feeling like being home by himself. As he got out and watched Dozer check on the chickens pecking in the side yard, he knew he’d done the right thing. He would have been clawing up the motel’s walls if he’d stayed there for potential days. He didn’t like to disappoint Benny, though. The man was kind to him, even when he did nothing to deserve it.

After his fifth trip moving boxes to his living room, Castiel paused to watch a few snowflakes fall lazily from the sky. While being stuck in town might not have been the best idea, he did find himself wishing he wasn’t alone.

Oh, Dozer was an excellent friend, but sometimes Castiel wished for another companion. Someone to talk to, even if he wasn’t the one talking. Benny’s radio chatter only helped so much. But Castiel had chosen this life of solitude and built this life with his own hands. He didn’t need anyone else. Especially not a stranger poking around, interrupting his routines. So Castiel firmly told himself: There's no point wishing for something you can never have.

A few hours later, once all his chores were done and he’d let Dozer out one final time, he could smell that telltale scent of snow in the air. Small flakes flittered through the bare tree limbs as Dozer trotted up. He shook off the flakes that landed on his gray haunches before he headed inside and plopped down next to the crackling woodstove. Castiel watched the snow for a moment before a burst of cold air whipped past him, freezing him momentarily. He went inside, heated a pot of water on the stove, stripped his clothing, took a quick sponge bath, and redressed in warm thermals. He cuddled on the couch under a blanket, book in his hands. His attention kept wandering away from the pages out the window. The snow fell hard and fast, and the wind whistled around his house. He heard the rattling trees outside. Dozer hopped onto the couch, and they stared outside awhile. I hope nobody is foolish enough to be driving now.

He thought about how difficult it was to maintain control of his old truck on the twisting, turning mountain roads on a bright, sunny day. Castiel shuddered at the idea of someone lost in the snow. Someone caught in a storm like this might not survive until morning. He curled up under the blanket and sighed.

He thought about his favorite books and tried to consider how the protagonists would deal with a creature like a wendigo, or a tupilaq. Luckily, he wasn’t above the Arctic Circle, so he didn’t have to worry about a polar bear monster.

Still, Castiel kept watch, the inside of his home warm from beeswax candles and the cheerfully burning wood stove. It popped and crackled. Dozer yawned very pointedly before leaving Castiel’s side to flop back on the rug where it was warmest.

He drank tea from a misshapen green travesty of a mug, one of his first attempts at throwing clay, but was too stubborn to reform it after a dozen tries. The tea was soothing–mint from his garden that summer. Castiel nodded to himself. My home is safe. I've got plenty of supplies, even if it takes a week for the plows to come through. I'm fine, despite Benny’s worrying. He set the cup down and watched the snow fall, feeling his eyes getter heavier and heavier….

~*~

Dozer’s loud, insistent barking startled Castiel awake. He jolted, disoriented by the loud sound and the cabin’s darkened state. The candles were half burned, and the fireplace was down to a hearty set of embers. Castiel rolled off the couch to crouching, moving to grab the shotgun in case Dozer was sounding the alarm about a black bear. The dog could be excitable at the best of times, and he’d barked “Wolf” before because a herd of deer was passing through the front yard.

But Dozer was still barking, aimed at the front door like something was out there. Castiel hadn’t felt afraid of the woods surrounding his home in years. He knew those woods, hunting, foraging, fishing among the trees and creeks. And this wasn’t Alaska, where grizzlies, polar bears, moose, and elk existed. This was the Appalachians. The biggest things to fear were black bears.

The second biggest were humans.

He snapped his fingers to get the dog's attention, then put his index finger to his lips; Dozer quieted but continued to stare out the glass windows towards the woods. His ears cocked forward, nose quivering even though there was nothing outside but whipping icy winds. Just when Castiel thought Dozer was mistaken, there was a large crash on his front porch, right on the other side of the door.

What the hell? Castiel pulled on some jeans and his jacket, grabbed his flashlight and gun, and opened his door to make sure a tree hadn’t crashed close to the house. He barely got the door open when he stumbled backward, horrified.

A man lay face down in a growing snowbank on his front porch.

Chapter Text

As Dean navigated his car through a windy stretch of mountain highway between sheer cliffs and drop-offs, the phone in his pocket suddenly went off. Even though the chorus of Ozzy Osbourne’s ‘Mr. Crowley’ was muffled, Dean unconsciously sang along under his breath as he contemplated letting it go to voicemail. Again. He should have just thrown the thing off the mountain and escaped to sip cocktails on a beach somewhere. Instead of following that instinct, he reached into his pocket to answer it.

The car slipped into the other lane for a second. An oncoming car blared its horn at him, and Dean pulled it back into his lane with an embarrassed squawk. “Sorry, man!” He saw the man in the vehicle flip him off.

Luckily for him, there was an overlook around the next corner. Dean pulled in and parked; he answered just as the song reached the cut-off point. “Hey, Crowley. I’d say it’s a pleasure, but we both know that’s a lie.”

Dean’s agent laughed harshly over the phone. “I’m surprised you bothered to answer at all. I’ve been getting lonely just speaking to your voicemail.”

“What do you want?” He asked bluntly and yawned loudly. The past several days of aimless driving had worn him down.

Crowley sighed. “Just got the latest numbers, and things aren’t great. The last book just hasn’t moved the numbers we projected.”

Dean didn’t need the snake oil salesman to tell him that. The last meet-and-greet had a paltry turnout compared to his earlier bookstore stops. Of the four people in the crowd, at least one was a homeless person just getting out of the cold.

He read the reviews online, and it was not looking good. Hell hath no fury like scorned fans. He was becoming formulaic: plot twists spotted a mile away, paper-thin characters, storylines made no sense or retconned his earlier (and many would say better) books.

Dean was world-weary—both of this one and his imagined ones.

Crowley was still talking, so Dean tuned back in. “--and on top of that, you haven’t even started a new manuscript yet!” There was a pause, then a hopeful, “Have you?”

“No.” He didn't bother to mention that he’d made this detour through the mountains, hoping for some inspiration to hit him like a bug on a windshield. Sure, the country was pretty, but he was still at a big old goose egg for ideas.

“That’s unfortunate.” Crowley cleared his throat. “Listen, Dean. I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but the publishing company is offering an ultimatum.”

Dean did not like Crowley’s tone. Dread filled him as he said thickly, “That sounds ominous. What’s the deal?”

“You must submit a complete outline for a new book by 11:59 PM Christmas day. Otherwise, your contract will be terminated.”

Dean’s jaw dropped, and there was silence for several long seconds. “What? Crowley, what the actual hell?”

“Hey, you should be grateful I talked them into giving you a chance at redemption. Your illustrious career gave you some time.”

“Is that what demons call deals these days?” Dean snapped, betrayed.

“I’m not your enemy, Dean.” Crowley was a lot of things. Evil, for one. He had real puppy-kicker energy with his posh accent and tailored suits. Dean wouldn't have been surprised if it had been revealed that Crowley was a demon on vacation up here. But he also gave Dean his big break when no one wanted Dean’s manuscripts. They had a successful partnership, as much as it grated to have Crowley watching his back. The guy was such a lech he had the gall to make lewd comments about his uncle, of all people. Ew.

“What the hell am I supposed to come up with in…” Dean checked the date on his watch. “Five days?!”

“I don’t know, Dean, but you have to come up with something.” Crowley paused. “Please try to come up with something. You’re my best client, and I’d hate to lose your commission.”

“Fuck you, Crowley,” Dean said.

“Love you too,” Crowley said in a syrupy sweet voice just to piss him off. “I have faith in that big brain of yours, Winchester. And a few horses. Don’t let me down.” Then Crowley hung up the phone, and Dean was alone once more.

Dean chucked the phone into the passenger side seat and rubbed his hands over his face. Feeling suddenly claustrophobic in his car, Dean got outside and sat on the front bumper. The vantage point overlooked the Blue Ridge Mountains; even with the branches bare or evergreen, they were still lovely. Dean didn’t get any closer to the guardrail, his hands sweating about the heights. Dean sucked in a few deep breaths and decided that he needed a beer as soon as possible. Maybe whiskey. Getting back into his car, he pulled up his phone’s map app and figured out the closest town was a place called Heaven’s Hollar. Dean looked at the mountaintops again and noted a smudge of dark grey along the horizon. Rain, probably, since it was warm outside and winter.

Dean pulled his GPS and headed out of the dugout, carefully navigating his car around the tight twists and turns with expert handling; Dean let his mind drift. His best ideas usually happened when he was busy doing other things: making dinner, showering, and cleaning the car. How often had he dictated a whole chapter aloud while waxing his car? Too many.

Usually, Dean had enough plot bunnies to start a successful petting zoo. But now? Nothing. It was like his gray matter had been salted. There weren't even bad ideas anymore that he could try to mold into something halfway decent.

Dean wished he could talk to someone about this. But no one could help him. Even Mia, the therapist, was less than helpful. What did it matter if he knew what was wrong with him? Knowing was only half the battle and didn’t help him move forward.

It didn’t help him keep his job.

Dean drove through the town of Heaven’s Hollar, frowning at the forced cheerful Christmas decorations. All he saw was a holiday commercialized out of its ass, and everyone hated you if you brought that up. Dean felt like a modern-day Charlie Brown as he pulled into the parking lot of a bar called the Roadhouse. He’d ask about a motel inside.

The inside was a hilarious clash of typical biker bar decor: neon lights, metal license plates, exposed wood older than Dean, a permanent haze, and little Christmas lights. There was also a skeleton in a seat wearing a biker vest and a Santa hat, but Dean was pretty sure it was a hallucination.

Dean found a spot open at the bar top since the rest of the place was packed with locals and tourists. The bartender was a blonde about his age with the usual no-nonsense attitude.

“What can I get you?” She asked and cocked her hip.

“Whiskey, please.” She nodded and walked away to fetch a tumbler and the alcohol. Dean thanked her and asked to open a tab.

The burn of the drink was familiar and bracing. He sighed loudly and smacked his lips. “That’s what I needed.”

Dean’s pocket buzzed with another call. “Guess I’m popular today,” he muttered and took another sip of his drink.

When Dean saw the number on the caller ID, he groaned. He didn’t want to be bothered, especially in his current state. He didn’t want to be called out for brooding like a chicken. Eventually, he caved and answered gruffly, “Now’s not the time, dude.” Dean walked outside because the bar was so loud. It was getting dark outside; the winter wind blew coldly from the west. He’d talk fast.

The caller scoffed. “Since when is it ever? You make it sound like I call you for the stimulating conversation when, in reality, I’m just making sure you haven’t died of dehydration.”

“Well, here I am, alive and kicking. Duty done. Now leave me alone, Adam.”

Adam simply asked, “Where are you, anyway?”

Dean looked around the town and read a banner stretched over Main Street. “Heaven’s Hollar, in Virginia.”

“What? How the hell did you get all the way over there?”

“Drove. Like I always do. Look, what do you want?” He felt Adam was stalling, which only fed into his shortening temper.

There was some shuffling on the other end. “I came over to water your houseplants and noticed the beast was missing.”

“Baby. Her name is Baby, and she’s a lady.” Dean’s face scrunched up. “I don’t have houseplants. And you lost the last key to my place.”

“What’s a shimmied window between friends, then?” Adam asked. He heard the sound of his fridge door open and close. “By the way, there’s an official-looking letter here. Want me to open it?”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, but even if I do, you’ll ignore it.” Dean sighed. “Who’s it from?”

“....Sam,” Adam said. There was the sound of ripping paper, then a few seconds of tense silence. “It’s…uh…a wedding invitation. To a woman named Eileen.”

Adam sounded almost contrite.

Dean’s jaw tightened. “I know you talk to him,” Dean said, temper flaring. “You came over to soften the blow, didn’t you?”

“How does that make me the bad guy?” Adam huffed. “If you two just talked–”

“No. He said his piece. We both did. Thanks for the invite, but I'm…”

Dean wished he could just ignore the invitation, but he couldn’t—even if he hadn’t talked to or seen his little brother in fifteen years. There was always some part that couldn’t let go.

“Maybe he’s trying to reconcile,” Adam said.

“Or it’s a reminder of how good life is for him without me,” Dean muttered.

“You guys are killing me.” Adam groaned.

Adam’s weary tone sparked an anger in Dean he’d been trying to keep a lid on. “You don’t have to be our mediator, man; you aren’t one of us!”

In the stunned silence that followed, Dean knew he’d pushed too far. “Look, it’s just–”

Adam cut him off with a cold, detached voice. “You’re right. I don’t know why I bother with you two idiots–screw twenty years of friendship. Maybe you should grow your own heart a few sizes before coming back.”

Adam hung up, an absolute first.

Oh shit, I really need that drink now.

Dean stood outside in the darkening town, wishing he could just disappear into a hole forever. Once, he hurried back inside when the ice-cold winds became too much. He returned to his spot, nursing several drinks and a few beers as evening turned to night. Dean watched the TVs above him with live football games distractedly. Thoughts of his conversations with Adam and Crowley swirled around in his head, but he didn’t allow them to take hold. Instead, he would sleep off this morose mood and try to get some inspiration in the morning.

When he closed his tab, he asked the bartender, “Hey, do you know where I can find a motel?” he squinted at the nametag on her shirt. “Jo?”

She studied him for a moment. He flashed her a winning smile, but she ignored it. “You don’t look too drunk to drive,” she said, pointing towards the door. “Take a right out of the parking lot, then your first left. It’s supposed to snow pretty bad, so you should go now.”

Dean paid his tab before hitting up the bathroom to piss and splash some water on his face. His cheeks were warm, and he was a few sheets into the wind. Dean sat in Baby for a few minutes, trying to remember the directions to the motel. Shit, he might have been more sloshed than he realized. As he blinked blearily at the sky, the ground already had a dusting of snow. The Christmas lights strung around the lamposts were too strong; he rubbed his eyes to dampen them. “First left…first left…”

Dean slowly crawled onto the main road through town, took the first left, and kept his eyes out for a motel. He was so busy trying to keep the car on the road that it took him too long to realize his error. By the time he noticed something went awry, the downtown lights had already disappeared around a bend. The mountain skyway was dark, abandoned, and quickly buried in building snow. The tires didn’t have the traction to hold as the asphalt became slippery with snow and ice.

He groaned. “Shit, shit, shit, I gotta try and turn around, I…”

The back tires hit a patch of black ice and hydroplaned across the road. Dean fishtailed into the embankment within seconds, and then BANG, a wooden structure. He smacked his head into the steering wheel and blacked out.

~*~

The night was freezing, and the snow was getting deeper every second. Dean struggled from the car and stumbled out with a throbbing pain in his head and blurry eyesight. The alcohol and snow made things almost impossible to see. He closed the door and looked around, but he only saw the road disappearing under the snow. He should have stayed put, but something got him out of the car. He saw a driveway, a path through the windy trees. It was the only chance for survival.

He walked slowly down the road, arm up to shield his face from the pelting ice.

His footsteps crunched in the snow.

In the distance, he thought he heard sounds.

Was that only the wind howling?

Was that footsteps in the snow just off to the side of the path?

Dean trudged forward. Hoping if he didn’t look, he wouldn’t see any monsters materialize from the shadows.

Weren’t the mountains known for creatures?

There could be anything out here stalking him; he’d never know until it struck.

He felt so vulnerable, so very alone out there in the snow.

What was the point in continuing? He was freezing and in pain. He could just lie down in the snow until the storm blew over. After all, he was so exhausted…

No! I can't give up yet.

Even with everything going numb, Dean continued. He squinted hard as the shape of a cabin outlined in the snow before becoming fully formed.

A warm orange glow from the house became his beacon.

A silhouette in the large bay window appeared to have a glow behind its head.

Well then. The home of an angel is a pretty lucky find.

As he stepped onto the porch, the ice underneath his boots caused him to slip and crash into blackness again.

~*~

Dean came to with a pained grunt.

As he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at two other sets of eyes.

“Whoa,” Dean jerked back, startled to find a gray dog and a man with messy dark hair and a scraggly beard watching from the side of the couch he lay on.

The man reached out and touched his shoulder, probably to stop him from launching off the couch. His head hurt, and his throat was dry. His legs were freezing, as were his feet.

The man’s arm was muscular, veins catching the firelight, leading down to large, calloused hands. It was warm on Dean’s shoulder. Dean threw his hands up to defend himself. “Please don’t be hillbillies out to eat me.”

The man’s face scrunched up in confusion. Dean glanced around what appeared to be a cabin. Rustic, homey, but definitely not an interior torn from the pages of Better Homes and Gardens.

“Look, as much as I love the North to Alaska vibes, I have places to go, so will you let me go if I promise not to give away your hideout?”

The stranger stared at him for several long seconds. Usually, that much eye contact would make Dean turn away, but he felt this odd magnetism he couldn’t explain. After a moment, the stranger turned away and grabbed a pen and notebook from his pants pocket. He wrote on it for a moment, then gave it to Dean. In blocky letters, it said:

I’m Castiel. He’s Dozer. You collapsed on my porch.

Dean read the note. “Alright, Caaaaaas–Cas.” He shot a winning smile at the lumberjack. “Thanks for warming me up, but I should go.”

He pushed the notebook back at the man and slowly walked to the door after patting his pockets and ensuring everything was there. His head was sore, and his throat parched, but he needed to escape the danger zone. He opened the door and saw nothing but white outside. An actual blizzard roared out there, and there was a loud crack and bang over the wind. Trees surrounded the cabin, but he could hear at least one of them snap and fall further away.

Cas pulled Dean back inside, slammed the door against the cold, and shook his head. They watched each other warily and listened to the howling winds. “How long is that going to keep going?”

Cas shrugged.

“What does that mean? I can't be stuck here; I have things to do–deadlines to meet!” Dean blinked, then covered his open mouth with his hand. He whirled around. “Oh shit, where’s my Baby?”

Cas’ face paled as he looked past Dean’s shoulder out the wall of white around the log cabin. He pushed past Dean and started frantically pulling on clothes. Sensing a change in urgency, the dog barked and wagged his tail.

Cas pulled out his notebook and flipped to a new page. How old are they?

That's a weird ass question. Dean tapped his chin. "Uh….fifty-six?”

Cas stopped with his hand above the doorknob, puzzled.

“She’s an oldie but a real beaut. 1967 Chevy Impala.”

Cas pulled back from Dean, face darkening. He let out a frustrated grunt and stomped away from him.

“Cas, you don’t understand! She’s not some crappy Toyota. She’s a family heirloom.”

Cas threw his hands up and removed his scarf and jacket. He then grabbed his notebook and scribbled furiously before shoving it at Dean. It took him a moment to decipher the angry scribbles.

You said, ‘Baby.’ I thought you had a CHILD lost in the storm. I almost put us in danger to gook for them.

Ooooooh, shit. “She is family,” Dean said weakly. The only thing of value he got from his Father besides his brother, and that asshole was clear across the country, living his best life as far away as possible.

Still. “Sorry Cas. Once the snow clears, can we go look for her ASAP?”

The other man considered it and nodded. “Thanks. Since I’m going to be staying at Chateau Cas for the night,” he beamed a bright smile at him. “Do you want to give me the tour?”

The tour was five minutes long.

The cabin was a prefab studio with a small but neat kitchen, a tiny living room area where Dean had woken with the wood stove, and a loft above them that was Cas’ bedroom. Despite the otherworldly howls from outside, the place was snug and secure. The place was built like a more modern riny house. Joanna Gaines and your shiplap accent walls eat your heart out.

It was small, though. The low ceilings meant that if Sammy were here, he would have to crouch the whole time inside to avoid developing scoliosis.

Dozer watched him with narrowed eyes as he poked his head into various drawers and cabinets in the small kitchen area. Dean didn’t bother to look guilty when Cas returned to him with a change of clothes: heavy thermal long johns, janky socks, and a flannel long-sleeve shirt.

Dean touched the socks. “You make these?”

Cas nodded once hesitantly.

“Crochet or knit?”

Castiel held up one finger and curled it. One hook? Oh, crochet. “Cool. They look…cozy.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes as if he didn’t believe him. Honestly, Dean’s appraisal was a bit generous. The toe seam was several inches off the mark, and they were an explosion of ugly neon colors.

Dean’s eye twitched.

Can you get an epileptic seizure from fabric? He hoped he didn’t find out.

Chapter Text

Castiel and Dozer watched the stranger, Dean, stumble around the cabin, shivering and holding a phone. The fire in the wood stove was freshly stoked, enough to last until morning. Hopefully, the blizzard would be over by then. Then, they could find Dean’s car and send him on his way.

Even though this would be Heaven’s Hollar’s first December blizzard in memory, it was not Castiel’s first blizzard. Whatever kept the town isolated from extremes in weather didn’t apply to him on his mountaintop home. Based on past blizzard experiences, he predicted it would take several days to a week for them to get dug out.

Dozer whined because Castiel wouldn’t let him follow the other man around. He was dying of curiosity, his body wiggling in place. Dozer’s easy-going nonchalance wouldn’t sway Castiel. He was wary of this random man crashing onto his porch. He smelled of alcohol when Castiel had lifted him to the couch. Was the man a drunk driver? The town was at least five miles away–where had he come from? Where was he going? Did he have a spouse waiting for him to come home? A family? Castiel felt an odd pang at that.

“What, no signal, Cas?” Dean asked and frowned when Castiel shook his head. He slumped but didn’t say anything about a waiting family. Maybe he’s alone, like me.

He rearranged the pillows and blankets on the couch for Dean, the blankets worn but warm, a well-worn collection of thrift store finds, and his D.I.Y. attempts. Two throw pillows were made from a few of his old button-down shirts he liked. It was such a grandpa thing to do, but he liked the shirt’s plaid patterns.

Dean came to stand by Castiel, giving Dozer a wide berth. “Looks snuggly,” he said, and Castiel saw he was wearing the socks he’d given him as well. Wow, that toe seam is really off the mark.

Dean saw Castiel staring at his feet; he wiggled his toes. “Yeah…” he said awkwardly, rubbing his neck. “But hey, the important part is that they’re warm as hell, right?”

Castiel couldn’t believe this man was wearing such defective pieces, but he appreciated the attempt nonetheless. I’ll have to see about proper socks tomorrow.

Castiel motioned for Dean to lie down.

Dean winked at him. “Hey, I’m not that easy! At least take me for dinner first.”

Castiel tilted his head and studied Dean for a moment. Was this stranger flirting with him? He must have hit his head harder than he thought.

Dean laughed as he crawled under the blankets and fluffed the pillows to his liking. Castiel liked the sound; it was so sudden and energetic. “Don’t worry, Cas, your virtue is safe with me.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. Try me.

Dean’s face darkened in the low light. “Oh…maybe I should be worried about the vice versa?” His tone was teasing, but something about his words sent a shiver up Castiel’s spine. Uh oh.

He stepped away from Dean, picked up a bottle of pain medication from a side table, and then fetched some water from the sink. He had forgotten about the goose head on Dean’s forehead. He tapped the area on his head, then pointed to Dean and the bottle.

“I’ve had worse,” Dean said easily, but he swallowed the pills and water in the cup Castiel handed him. Once done, it was like the battery suddenly ran out. Dean yawned loudly, said in a small, quiet voice, “Night, Cas,” and settled into the couch. Within a minute, he was snoring quietly. If the situation had been reversed, Castiel would not have slept so easily. Dean was very trusting, which is an odd concept to him. Hell, it had taken close to a year for Castiel to try conversing with Benny about anything more than his supply order.

After a moment, Dozer padded to his bed by the fire and flopped down with a huff. Castiel watched over his new charge for a few minutes. He debated sleeping in his loft if Dean tried to leave or rob him, but Dozer was a good guard dog. His floppy, friendly personality was usual for Pitbulls, but he still protected Castiel from any real or imagined threats. Dozer would sound the alarm if Dean tried to do anything untoward.

Castiel wasn’t naive, so he curled up in his reading chair for tonight. He listened to the sounds of two different snores in the night, the crackling of the fire and the ever-present howling of the wind outside. The old Christmas song played in his head: let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

~*~

Castiel awoke to the familiar sound of Dozer whining, the click door opening, and a soft male voice going, “Oh… shit.”

Dozer whined harder and barked.

Castiel bolted up in his chair, which made Dozer bark, and the stranger jumped. “Cas, crap, I’m sorry… He was whining, so I figured he needed to go out. I was gonna just let him run around but…uh…”

Dean (because he finally remembered the stranger had a name) motioned at the door and front porch and smiled awkwardly. “So, there’s some good news and bad news. The good news is it looks like the storm stopped. Bad news….well…”

Castiel stood up, back cracking and neck stiff from the chair nap, and saw that the world was pure white outside in the early dawn. A foot, maybe two, of snow encased the house and the forest around it. It glittered in the early morning in a magical way only freshly fallen and undisturbed snow could do. The snow had come down onto the porch and packed into the front door. Castiel needed to dig them out.

Dozer whined again, and Castiel rubbed his hand over his eyes to wake up. Right, Dozer needs outside. Luckily, he’d left a snow shovel near the door for this reason. He moved past Dean silently and slipped on his unlaced boots and canvas jacket. He made the hand sign for Dozer to sit and wait, which he did with great reluctance. Castiel opened the door and shoved a quick path through the snow, hands already sore in the biting cold. His breath made white clouds in the early dawn. As soon as there was a viable path between the door and the front yard, he returned to let Dozer outside. The dog shot off into the snow with a happy, relieved sound. The snow was almost as tall as him, but he enjoyed bouncing through it like a jackrabbit.

Castiel stood outside, inhaling deeply the clean scent of fresh snow, pine, and woodsmoke. The cold hair felt refreshing as he took in the peaceful morning after the storm. That wind was pretty nasty; no doubt there were downed trees. They’ll make good firewood next year. Need to make sure the girls are okay, too. Castiel shivered. First things first, though. I need coffee.

Before Castiel whistled for Dozer, the front door opened behind him. A voice reminded him they had a guest. “Holy crap, it’s cold out here,” Dean said, blowing into his cupped hands. He waved Castiel back inside. “Come on, don’t turn into a Casiscle on me; at least show me where the coffee is first.”

Castiel nodded to Dean, then did his two-finger whistle. Dean flinched, and a flock of birds took off from a tree branch above them. Dozer bounded towards them quickly. Despite his love for snow, Dozer was a short-haired pittie and did not have the double coat of an actual husky. Castiel needed to wrestle him into one of the sweaters he’d knitted for his sidekick.

“Jeez, man, warn a guy before you give him tinnitus,” Dean complained. He held the door open for Castiel and Dozer before heading back inside. They all slumped in relief at the heat from the wood stove. Dozer flopped down before it, but he kept his eyes on Dean as Castiel headed to the kitchen. Good boy.

Castiel motioned for Dean to sit at the small dining table overlooking the side garden. He pulled out his dented French press, two clean mugs, and the metal canister with the ground coffee. He filled the press with double the usual coffee-to-water ratio and waited for the coffee to steep.

Castiel closed his eyes and automatically started on his morning stretches.

“Oh, wow, you're pretty bendy, huh?” Dean’s voice was low, and he cleared his throat.

Castiel frowned. He’d forgotten Dean was there; he’d just slipped into his daily routine without further input from his brain. He cracked open an eye to catch Dean staring at him, two seconds from drooling.

Castiel turned and arched an eyebrow at him. Dean shifted slightly in his chair, which squeaked loudly.

Castiel set the press, mugs, spoons, and plates on the table. He then cut slices of toast from a handmade loaf and toasted them in a cast-iron skillet. A few moments later, the bread and coffee were crispy and ready.

Castiel offered some toast to Dean, who grinned. “Smells pretty good. Have any eggs?” Dean asked.

Castiel remembered unsold eggs from the previous days and showed Dean the half carton sitting on the counter. He stared at the eggs dubiously. “Uh…they’ve been out. Are they even safe?”

Castiel nodded as he swiped his toast with homemade peanut butter and muscadine jelly. He poured the fresh coffee into the two mugs.

Dean shrugged and used the cast iron skillet to make scrambled eggs. As the smell filled the air, Dozer trotted over and thumped his tail in approval. Castiel got up and filled the dog’s bowl with some kibble.

When Dean asked if he wanted some, his stomach twisted. He shook his head. Anything other than his toast would cause him to become queasy.

“More for me!” Dean dumped the eggs on his toast and waited for Castiel to fill the mugs before he slid some into Dozer’s bowl. Castiel saw the motion but decided to cut Dean some slack. He was trying, at least. And Dozer had burned off more calories than usual with his romp through the snow.

Castiel turned on the AM/FM hand crank radio as everyone tucked into their breakfasts. Light Jazz filled the cabin since that was morning music. Later, during chores, he would switch to R&B or hip–hop if he needed to do something rhythmic, like cutting firewood or rolling dough.

Dean, who at this point looked like a chipmunk with full cheeks as he shoveled his plate clean, shook his head. “Oh, come on, Cas, that’s not real music! Where’s Freddie? Van Halen? Kansas?”

Castiel reached for the coat rack by the door (the cabin was tiny) and pulled out his notebook and pen. He wrote a quick message and spun it around for Dean to read.

Coffee Maker picks the music. Guest shuts his cake hole. ):<

Dean swallowed hard and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” He finished his breakfast quickly without another word and then left for the bathroom. While Dean was gone, Castiel and Dozer shared a dubious look. Well, for Castiel, it was questionable. The eggs had made Dean one of Dozer’s favorite people. He even padded over to the bathroom door and sat to wait for him.

Castiel finished his toast with the last swallow from his mug and put the dishes in the small metal sink. He washed and dried them as he plotted out his chores for the day. First, he would check on the girls, make sure the property was intact, and check the spring.

When Dean left the bathroom, he uttered a loud “oof!” as he tripped over Dozer’s body. With an agility Castiel hadn’t expected, he twisted mid-fall and caught himself before smacking the wooden floor face-first. “Memo, the dog’s a freaking ninja,” he grumbled. “I’m fine,” he said quickly when Castiel stepped towards him. Castiel’s eyes scanned over Dozer, then Dean. Both seemed unhurt, though Dean’s pride had taken a hit.

Dean dusted himself off, then clapped his hands. “Since the sun’s up, I gotta borrow your shovel, dude, please. I gotta see what happened to Baby.”

Castiel motioned towards the sideyard and then flipped to a fresh page in his notebook. Chickens first, then your vehicle.

Dean acquiesced with a pout. “She’s not just a car. She’s family. And except for my douchenozzle of a brother and uncle, she’s all I got.”

Castiel empathized with Dean. He was living in a log cabin alone on a mountain because of his family issues.

Something must have crossed his face because Dean looked away. “I didn’t tell you that for pity points. Just need you to know this isn’t a normal Honda.”

One of Castiel’s biggest pet peeves was being misunderstood. He thought writing notes would prevent this. Dean had misread his expression–how was he supposed to correct that? Castiel didn’t have time to write notes all day. Frustration filled him like a sour balloon, so he stomped away from Dean. He made a beeline for the bathroom and splashed cool water on his face. It helped to calm him a little. His temper could get the best of him sometimes. He didn’t get angry at the world. It was people that brought out this side of him. The quicker I get rid of Dean, the better.

Castiel geared up for the cold, grabbed his shovel, and headed outside. Dean tried to say something, but Castiel ignored him. He left Dozer inside to watch Dean and headed for the chicken coup in the side garden. Castiel’s lungs filled with blustery cold air as he trudged through the snow. He didn’t shovel an actual path just yet, hoping it would warm up later in the afternoon and help melt some snow. Snow in December usually didn’t stick too long. There was usually warm air after the storm to help it go away.

He just needed to make sure the girls made it through the night. The coup was wholly enveloped in snow, but he could hear his girls inside. He opened the door and popped inside. The yard portion had snow and three-toed chicken tracks running all over it. Crouching with a grunt, he poked his head into the roosting area. With a grumble, he saw black-speckled Henrietta (the oldest and most distinguished). She wouldn’t dare step outside until it was above fifty degrees during the day. Chicken Little lounged nearby to her, as redheaded Amelia Eggheart chased the sisters PB and Jay. Everyone was safe, with warm water and food. He’d check on them later and bring any kitchen scraps.

As he climbed out of the coup, he heard a whistle. “Holy crap Cas, what did you feed Chicken Big over there? FoTG?”

Dean was bundled up in an extra coat of Castiel’s, staring into the pen at Chicken Little, who had waddled out after Castiel. Yeah, but it was all muscle, Castiel thought defensively.

Before Castiel could ask what Dean was talking about (yet again), Dean reached out for the shovel. “Your girls, ok?” When he nodded, Dean pointed up the driveway. “Alright then–time to rescue my Baby!”

Chapter Text

Dean and Cas trudged through the snowy forest back towards the main road. Cas’ driveway wasn’t too long, but a few bends prevented them from seeing his car’s condition until they were closer. Dean was amazed he’d made it to Cas’ door in a blizzard, drunk, in the dark, instead of freezing in the woods. He didn’t believe in miracles, but that was a fortunate situation, even with the knot on his forehead. Maybe he should buy a lottery ticket at the first gas station he filled up at.

Dean watched his companion out of the side of his eye. Cas was a grumpy mountain man, a mute, with a loyal but friendly pitbull sidekick. He also had chickens (including one that looked like it should be called Chickenzilla). Everything he owned was homemade, homegrown, or thrifted. Dean was curious what Cas’ day job could be. He couldn’t think of too many that would allow total silence from an employee. Cas was a mystery wrapped in an enigma, which only intrigued him more.

After a long time of silent walking, Cas paused and pointed ahead. Dean sighed when he saw a familiar snow-covered lump at the end of the road. Despite the knee-deep snow, Dean hobbled forward as much as he could without falling over. He sucked in a pained hiss when he got closer. “Oh, no, Baby!”

Dean’s stomach turned in knots at the sight of her. Her front right side was crunched, the headlight smashed, and broken glass was lost in the layers of snow. He’d slammed into both a ditch and a wooden structure. Honestly, this being the only damage is extremely lucky. Dean heard an angry groan from Cas. Turning around, he saw the other man had his gloved hands on his hips as he inspected the damage to the little wooden stall. The roof caved in under the impact of the snow and Baby’s crash landing.

Both required desperate fixing.

Dean turned to Cas. “I'm sorry, Cas. The snow came on so suddenly–” Dean bit his lip, not wanting to admit he was pretty buzzed when he crashed. The walk through the snow had sobered him up last night. He touched the knot on his forehead and winced.

“I saw a building in the back of your house. Is that a garage? I can fix her enough to get out of your hair. I’m too far from home to tow her and never let anyone else under her hood. So, I can’t just tow her to a regular Joe Schmo mechanic.” He felt like he was rambling. “Sorry. I shouldn’t make this your problem.” Dean bit his chapped lips. “Why is this thing anyway?”

Cas pulled out the notebook (it was a weatherproof one) and a pen and wrote a single word with enough venom Dean worried he’d need an antidote. Farmstand.

“Oh shit.” I just fucked up Cas’ livelihood.“I can help fix it once the snow’s gone!”

Cas waved him away. No, they both wanted him gone ASAP.

They worked silently to remove as much snow off the car and the leftovers from the shed. Within an hour, they had dug out the snow around her tires to allow her room to move. Cas collected the bits of broken wood off to the side. Dean was shaking in the cold, so the pair trudged back to the house to warm up and eat lunch. He had not packed his parka or thicker jeans on this journey since he wasn’t expecting snow. Or at least, he wasn’t expecting to be stuck trying to excavate his car from Hoth.

Dean stood by the fire and threw in some logs since there was nothing but embers. Dozer followed Dean around like a duckling and plopped down next to him as he watched the logs burn briefly. The feeling in his thighs and toes slowly came back.

Cas threw together a veggie-filled soup and some slices of a homehand sourdough loaf. Dean was too hungry to complain about the rabbit food, especially after Cas pulled some familiar-looking patties from a chest freezer. Dean brightened. “You have burgers?”

Cas nodded and showed the label: venison burgers from earlier that year. He looked a little concerned that Dean would make a snarky comment.

“I like venison,” Dean said, hoping to smooth over any bad feelings about the accident. “Elk sausage and bison burgers, too. I’ve been all over the country. Me and Baby,” he said wistfully. “Do you have anything that could tow her back here?”

Castiel pointed out front towards a rusty pickup truck. It looked only slightly younger than Baby, but Dean wasn’t sure it wouldn’t fall apart on the first pull of the tow. Still, it was either try that or dig out the entire driveway, which was at least half a mile. Definitely not happening. “OK. Do you mind helping me?”

Cas nodded but held up a finger to tell Dean to wait. He then padded over to the CB radio hanging on the wall, made a series of clicks on the receiver, and hung it up. Dean had no idea what that was about but didn’t consider it further. Cas was an odd little dude.

Dean and Castiel bundled back up and headed to his truck. Cas grabbed tire chains from his shed, and they worked together to attach them to the tires. It had been a while for Dean since he tried not to drive the Impala in such bad conditions; Cas had to show him how it was done. They would need the extra traction on the snow and ice. The truck almost didn’t turn over; the cold and snow made it grumble like an old man. Dean understood; he just wanted to hide in the little cabin all day, too, but they had to fetch her before the snow melted and everything became mud. She’d be stuck until spring if that happened. Eventually, the truck started, much to their shared relief, and Cas drove it slowly through the snow. The truck tried to go off into the ditch once, but Cas eased it back on track with practiced hands.

For the next few hours, they worked together to get Baby out of her predicament. Dean was covered in snow from attaching the tow line from Cas’ truck, but he gave Cas a thumbs-up that it was secure. “Ready!”

It took three pulls, but the Impala was freed from her snowy crypt. Cas towed her without incident, and Dean pulled her into the garage to get a better look at her undercarriage. Luckily, Baby was in pretty good shape. Dean liked having an older car like her because she was a tank and took damage like a champ. She was pretty easy to fix, though some parts were becoming rare, like specific fuses or lightbulbs, but that was a problem for future Dean. Present Dean determined that the tools in the garage would be sufficient to get her home.

Back home. For what? Both Sam and now Adam want nothing to do with him. Anger churned his stomach, and he kicked at a patch of snow on the garage floor. It didn’t move; it just exploded into slush, further aggravating him.

Dean looked at his watch and sighed. It was already the evening of the 22nd. Where the hell was he going to find a whole new book idea in three days? Nothing was on his mind except fixing the car to return to his empty apartment in Lebanon. Adam wouldn’t even be there to welcome him back with beers and pizza, as had become a tradition.

Dean sniffled. Losing Adam hurt like a kick to the nuts, just like Sammy all those years ago. His cheerful nature meant Dean could make friends easily, but holding onto them always became a struggle. He’d forget to call or text them, and when deep in the novel-writing process, he even forgot to eat for days. Adam had been his confidante, his sounding board about novel plots, always keeping him in the loop about Sam. Despite the fight fifteen years ago, Dean did miss his brother. He hated how they’d not talked at all and any pieces of his life he knew about from Adam like a game of telephone.

Except for the invitation. Sam sent it to Dean directly. Suddenly, Dean had a reason to get back to his apartment. He needed to see this letter in person, then read it and figure out Sam’s angle.

The garage was too cold to work. Dean searched around and found an old kerosene heater. He’d ask Cas about extra fuel for it after dinner. He could probably fix the car tomorrow. Then, we just have to wait for the roads to be plowed. The mountain road was untouched when they fished out Dean’s car. He didn’t know when Cas would get plowed–

Dean snorted very hard at that. Dude’s certainly got a stick up his ass that plowing might help with.

Dean paused. He’d seen Cas do those stretches that morning, and despite being around his age he was so flexible. He had broad shoulders and a long, scruffy beard that was a mix of black and gray, and despite his slightly threatening aura, Dean was taller than him by a couple of inches. He also had the most piercing blue eyes he’d ever seen. In the sunlight, they had glittered so beautifully.

Cas is handsome, so sue me.

Even though Cas never said a word, they carried on pretty well between his notebook and gestures, which was cool. It was nice to have someone to talk to, even when he couldn’t precisely chat back. He hoped he wasn’t becoming too annoying to the other man. Dean tended to ramble when nervous.

Dean heard the familiar whistle from Cas and saw the sun heading down behind the trees in a riot of oranges and purples. He yawned and returned to the house. He was frozen and exhausted from dealing with the car. Man, I’ve gotten soft; he poked his belly at that.

Dean stomped off his boots on the woven mat inside and hung up Cas’ coat he’d borrowed. He also grabbed his go bag from the trunk of the Impala so he had fresh clothes to change into and his shaving kit. His face was sandpaper rough, but his breath was doubly so. He hung up his plaid flannel on the coat rack and grinned. It's ironic how his regular clothes fit right in with Cas’ little cabin. Dozer bounded up to him as if he hadn’t seen Dean for days instead of a few hours. Dean was becoming fond of the little guy and gave him some love with pets and sweet words. Dozer flopped on the floor, tail going a hundred miles an hour. “Careful pup, you might fly away with that helicopter rotor for a tail.”

He heard a snort from Cas at the stove. The scent of cooking meat and onions made his mouth water. “Need any help, Cas?"

Cas waved him off. Dean saw he was cooking the burger patties from earlier in a mixture of onions and mushrooms. Dean tried to rally at Cas’ dismissal and instead decided to put more wood in the fire. However, the little metal bench next to the woodstove was empty. Dean groaned. “Cas, you got any more wood cut up?”

Cas nodded. He motioned out front, and Dean found the stacks of logs almost depleted. “Think you’ll need to go shopping soon. There’s not much out here.”

Cas looked up like he was praying for strength. Dean had no idea if they had enough for the night. His experience using woodstoves for actual heat and not for aesthetic backgrounds was lacking. He popped on his boots and returned to grab some logs, taking the snow shovel. The porch was still mostly covered in it, so he cleared it off, humming to himself as he did. Out here, he could at least be helpful without being in Cas’ way. Dean sensed he was a bother to the other man just by existing and breathing the same air. If things were reversed, Dean would be just as grumpy if a strange man crashed into his ordered life.

Dean paused his work momentarily when his back and shoulders shouted at him. He leaned on the shovel and inhaled the cold air, the scent of pine and oak blending with the snow and woodsmoke. Some birds were settling down for the night in the branches above him, and he heard Cas’ chickens in the side garden. The snowy evening was silent, that kind that only snow could produce since it absorbed all sounds. His ears strained for any sounds, but he could hear Cas inside, moving around, Dozer’s claws on the hardwood floors.

He had just spent all day without checking his phone five thousand times for emails, messages, or doom-scrolling on social media. Any other time and this disconnect would have felt like a personal middle finger from the universe. But Dean realized he hadn’t thought about his online presence, or lack of it, at all. Yes, he’d wasted a day of his short deadline, but would him constatntly refreshing a blank page have done anything better for him? No.

Dean’s fingers going numb woke him from his fugue. He grabbed a handful of logs and clambered back into the cabin. Out of the corner of his eyes, he caught Cas giving him an appreciative nod.

Okay, maybe my existence isn’t too grating.

As long as he stayed helpful he and Cas could wait out the snow without too much bloodshed.

Chapter Text

Dinner was a stilted affair. Even the radio’s music did little to help the tense atmosphere.

Dean ate with muted enthusiasm compared to his breakfast behavior. Castiel ate his food mechanically, unsure what to do about his surprise houseguest. On the one hand, Dean was a temporary problem, so there was no point in trying to be too friendly with him. But, on the other hand, Castiel’s lonesome and Dean's so utterly different from Benny. He was physically appealing in a way Castiel had never experienced before. Dean’s face was not just handsome–he was perfectly symmetrical. He never thought such a thing was possible. Dean was this eclectic mix of full eyelashes and lips with a rugged voice and exaggerated swagger.

Castiel couldn’t believe he was enjoying a stranger’s company so much.

He wanted to ask what was wrong, but it wasn’t his place to be concerned. Yet…what if Dean was on the run from the law when he crashed? What if he’s a charming serial killer? Castiel shook his head. Been reading too many thrillers.

Once dinner was cleared and dishes were done, Dean wandered around the small cabin, studying the small decor pieces Castiel had collected from town, mainly from the dumpsters behind the craft store (run by a friendly lady named Donna). Castiel stood with a dish towel in his hands, rubbing the same patch of countertop repeatedly as he nervously watched Dean. He suddenly stopped before a bookshelf filled with his most important items, holding pride of place by the fire. There were rocks, dried flowers, several dozen small wooden statues, and many books on true crimes and urban legends. On a bookshelf by itself was a single book series, Serpentus by Ben Remington, save for the latest one he couldn’t get from Benny. With the weather outside being frightful, this would be a great night to be curled up under the warm blankets with some tea and a new book, but alas.

Dean looked at the Remington books for several minutes, his face devoid of emotion. Eventually, he looked up at Castiel and said stiffly, “Hey, Cas, if someone gives you a crappy white elephant gift, you know you don’t have to keep it, right?”

Castiel stopped and tilted his head in confusion at Dean. Was he making fun of his reading taste? While it’s true that the concept wasn’t his usual genre, that’s what made it so fun. Two demons escaped hell, only to find they had dug out onto the surface of an alien planet with colonist cowboys and extraterrestrials. It was a cowboy-centric, comedic space opera with some of the best character writing Castiel had ever read.

Castiel walked over to the bookshelf and picked out the first one, showing Dean the post-it notes along the edges of the pages. Dean took it and flipped through, eyes growing wide. “I’ve only seen high-school girls annotate their books that much,” he sneered.

Castiel, hurt, pulled the book away from Dean’s hands and replaced it on his shelf. Dean probably only reads the articles in porn magazines, if he reads at all, Casriel thought sourly. The complete dismissal was just like being back at the foster home again. All alone, despite there being a dozen other kids his age, no one understood him or his interests.

Dean’s voice cut through the fog, and there was less venom this time. “Hey, I was just kidding, Cas.” He glanced at the books again, then gave him a small, secret smile. He bumped his shoulder into Castiel’s. “Thing is, I…like them, too,” Dean said awkwardly. “Can you tell me…er, write to me what you get from them? They’re just space cowboys.” He sounded both flippant and genuinely curious. Maybe it was the queer characters that made Dean uncomfortable? Castiel didn’t know. What he did know was that Dean had opened a gate he shouldn’t have, and now Castiel was all too happy to discuss his favorite series.

For the next few hours, Castiel and Dean talked. Castiel wrote his thoughts down, and Dean replied. He made a joke at first about having left the “high school note era far behind him,” but he didn’t make Castiel feel shameful about it. They shared cold beers as the discussion ranged from character arcs to themes to allegories and metaphors. Castiel knew the series better than anyone, or so he thought. But Dean was the first person he’d met who knew just as much if not more. It was almost like getting a glance into Ben Remington’s actual brain. They also argued over context and subtext and got into such heated fights about interpretation and death of the author that they were both breathing hard like they’d gone five rounds in the boxing ring. It was the most fun Castiel had ever had in an argument. Because, at the end of the day, the topic was safe. It wasn’t human rights, politics, or religion, just a story series. Castiel grinned, loosened up from the alcohol and stimulating conversation.

“Well, look at that,” Dean said cheekily and winked at him. “I wasn’t sure if that smile was a feature or a bug. Glad to see it’s a permanent thing.”

Castiel’s cheeks heated at the words and Dean’s attention. He stood up and stretched until his back popped. His notebook was full of their conversation, and it was strange to see his comments become more jumbled as he became more passionate. His wrist was sore, and his fingers cramped from writing so fast. But Dean understood most of his handwriting, which was great.

It was getting late, and Castiel rose with the sun daily since there was always too much to do. He went to the bathroom to get ready for bed and watched Dean throw on a couple more logs as he pulled out clothes and a toiletry bag from a duffel bag. As he brushed his teeth, Dean gave Dozer some belly rubs. Dozer really was taken in by this man.

Once Dean disappeared into the bathroom, Castiel made a complete circuit of the cabin, locking doors and windows. Dean had collected enough wood to last overnight. Castiel tucked his hunting rifle and Glock into his loft area. His body ached from the day’s exertions and the crappy night of sleep before that. Castiel wished for his bed more than anything. So, he would sleep upstairs tonight, and Dean could take the couch, as he did last night.

Castiel turned around just as Dean popped out of the bathroom, and OOFH–

–They collided and landed on the floor.

“Shit, Cas, you ok?” Dean hissed in a pained breath and held a hand to his forehead.

Castiel touched his face and nodded—no major injuries to report, except that to my pride.

His lips tingled. Had they…kissed? In the collision?

He watched Dean diligently for his reaction, but he was still groaning about getting another goose egg, so maybe he was just misremembering what happened. He got up first, then helped Dean to his feet. Castiel led Dean to the kitchen and turned on the light but didn’t see another knot forming on his face. He looked fine.

Really fine.

“Uh…thanks for checking, Nurse,” Dean joked.

They stood awkwardly for a moment before shuffling past each other to go to the loft and the couch. “Night, Cas,” Dean said as he pulled out his phone to check for signals, but there still wasn’t any.

Castiel waved to him before climbing up the loft and flopping into the queen-sized nest there. He settled down and watched from on high the flickering fire and Dozer passed out in front of it. Dean tossed and turned a few times before finding a comfortable angle and passing out. The exhaustion from the day’s events and the previous night’s lack of sleep hit him. He was asleep before he hit the pillow.

~*~

The following day arose, and Castiel knew he would have to figure out some excuse to leave for a bit. He needed to check the spring and confirm everything was still in working order. The snow shouldn’t have affected anything, but he was still antsy to check it out. His throat was sore from the dry air in the cabin. Tea would help after he ate breakfast.

The winter air seeped into his bones, leaving his exposed skin cool. Even with the warm air rising from the stove all night, he was still a little chilly this morning. The loft was nice since he could keep an eye on his entire kingdom like a bird. But he couldn’t enjoy the warmth of the fireplace nor cuddle his dog at night. Dozer wasn’t quite coordinated enough to get up the ladder on his own. Castiel groaned and stretched his hands over his head.

Don’t worry. That’s simply something to improve in the next place.

Castiel groaned and stretched his hands over his head. He wanted to bury himself back into his bed. Come on. Just because there’s snow outside doesn’t mean the chores stop.

As Castiel sat up, a scent in the air beside woodsmoke made his nose twitch like a rabbit’s.

Wait, woodsmoke? The fire would be just embers by now…Castiel glanced down to see some bustle of activity below him. Dozer was walking around, tail wagging in time to his steps, as he followed around a man in the living room.

Castiel’s heart stopped momentarily until he remembered his temporary house guest. Not a robber–just a Dean. Here, until the plows can clear a path, likely a few days since they were high on the ridge.

Castiel woke early but not happily about it. It took a few hours and several cups of coffee to sufficiently resurrect him every morning. Dean being in his space without that buffer time put him on edge. He pulled on his hoodie, handmade socks, and sweatpants and climbed down the short ladder on autopilot. Castiel landed with a grunt, and both Dozer and Dean grinned at him.

Dean lifted a coffee mug in his direction. “Morning, Grumpy,” he teased. “I’ll be out of your hair most of the morning. I think I can fix Baby with the tools you have in your garage. That alright?”

When Castiel nodded, Dean continued. “I restarted the fire, let the pup outside, and made myself some eggs. Coffee is already brewed, too.” Dean had the gall to beam at him.

Castiel nodded his thanks, but his face fell as he glanced around. The metal kindling bucket was out of place, messy, muddy pawprints were all over the floor, and the smell of eggs made his stomach roll.

“Anything wrong?”

He deflated and shook his head. Instead, he took the pan to the sink and quickly washed it to remove any remaining egg mixture.

Dean stood up, motioned to the pan, and scratched the back of his head. “Ah, shit. Need me to wash it?”

Castiel shook his head and waved away Dean’s offer to help. What he needed was his morning in peace. Dean’s presence was grating on his nerves, and he was frustrated that his routines were all being thrown off. He needed Dean out of the way. Reluctantly, Dean sat at the tiny table, but his body language showed how he did not want to be there. During the time it took Castiel to wash and dry his pan, Dean moved four times, made three different sighs, and was currently tapping on the table to a song only he could hear.

The vein on Castiel’s head pulsed in time to Dean’s fingers. He wasn’t hungover; he was used to exceedingly stronger stuff, but he still felt gross.

Four different sighs.

Castiel was going to kill this man before the snow melted.

Maybe even before the sun was fully up.

As he placed the pan on the stove and fished out a fresh coffee mug, he contemplated how best to dispose of the body. There are several ponds that are pretty deep, and I have some extra concrete bricks from building the garage. Or mulched? The garden would appreciate the additional nutrients. Too bad I don’t have pigs yet. That would solve the problem very quickly.

Dean must have read the frustration on his face because he downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp and rushed out the door to the garage. Castiel was left standing in the messy chaos.

He made breakfast, angrily sat at the tiny table, and poured some brewed coffee.

The coffee was different.

Dean had done something to it. Did it taste…better? Castiel was torn because it tasted smoother, but he didn’t like his routines changing this much. As he continued to sip, he felt the frustration leaving him.

Across the tiny cabin, through another set of windows, Castiel watched a white-tailed deer munching on one of the wild bushes by the house. He smiled as he watched her and moved carefully to avoid startling her.

Castiel reached out to turn on the radio, but his hand fell through a space instead. He stared at the space where his radio usually lived, confused at its absence.

Sudden rock music blared from the direction of the garage and split the peaceful morning. Chaos ensued. Dozer howled, and birds and other animals around the cabin took off in fright, including the deer.

Castiel was so startled that he dropped his cup of coffee. As he watched the cup fall, his only thought was: That’s it; Dean’s getting mulched.

Chapter Text

And, done. Dean flopped onto a cold concrete floor in exhaustion. He wasn’t a young man anymore, which meant he would feel this tomorrow, if not the day after that. But Dean didn’t squelch the pride he felt at a well-done job. Well, it was as good a job as he could do without the specific replacement parts for the light. He would have to drive home with one headlight working, but he was able to fix the paneling enough to make her drivable. The front tire was flat, so he replaced it with his spare. Once home, he could get her back to her usual fighting glory. He patted her hood gently. “That’s all I can do for now, old girl. I’ll bathe you once home, too.”

Dean returned all the tools to the places he found them. The garage was small but well organized, and an older snowmobile was stowed away. He looked at Cas’ rusty pickup outside, the rusty orange body standing out even more in the snow around it. Dean shuddered and hoped Cas was up to date on his tetanus booster.

He turned the radio down, the last notes of Led Zepp falling away as he stood and cracked his back. Man, he felt old this morning, and the kerosene heater’s warmth wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped. He looked at the blackened fingernails and wondered if they hid the blue tinge of frostbite underneath. Dean stood before the heater and held out his hands, hissing in satisfaction as the feeling slowly returned.

Dean smiled, reflecting on how much fun he’d had debating with Cas last night.

It was wild how the universe plopped him in the home of a fan of his works. And while last night had been the most fun he’d had in a while, he wouldn’t reveal the truth just yet. After all, he was still effectively trapped here until the roads were cleared. Baby could do many things, but with more than a couple of inches of snow, she just turned into a bobsled. Dean wanted to prevent a Misery situation for as long as possible. At least Cas was missing the latest book (the worst one, according to the online forums).

Dean turned around so his back and ass could absorb some of the pitiful warmth from the heater. He mulled over Cas, which he had been doing since first meeting him. Cas was helpful, a good cook, an effective homesteader, a lover of animals, and willing to help Dean with his car. He was also a stickler for routines and very intelligent. Despite the note passing that felt a little high school, Cas doesn’t let being mute slow him down. He was also pretty handsome under the beard, but Dean was not trying to think of Cas that way.

Dean felt guilty about smashing up the poor man’s honor stand. There was enough raw material around (reclaimed wooden boards and leftover shingles were in the corner) that he could probably whip together a new wall and roof without issue. He was excited to do it, even. When he was younger, he liked hands-on projects. For years, he wrote during dinners and lunch breaks at his uncle’s car shop until he got his big break. Now, Baby was the most strenuous thing he worked on. Oddly enough, he wanted to be helpful to Cas. Maybe he just wanted to ensure he wasn’t imposing on him too much.

He heard the cabin door open, slam shut, and then Dozer’s excited yip. There was the crunching of snow under both Cas’ heavy boots and Dozer’s smaller paws. He turned off the radio, stepped towards the open garage door, and waved at the pair. “Hey Cas! Hey D, what’s…?”

His question died in his throat, and two seconds later, he burst into incredulous laughter. Because shadowing Cas was the most colorful pittie Dean had ever seen. If he thought the yarn used on his socks that first night was terrible, the sweater the poor mutt wore was ten times worse. He didn’t know mustard could come in a neon variety, mixed with chocolate brown and something …glittery? Whatever it was, the sweater sparkled in the sunlight like pixie vomit. Thank God Dozer’s colorblind, Dean thought to himself. As Dozer bounded up in little booties (a lovely, sensible black), he greeted the dog cheerfully. “You look as snug as a bug in a rug, D. Good job, Cas,” he added loudly and grinned.

Oddly, Cas barely heeded him. He walked into the woods with a little sled containing a chainsaw and hatchet, a pistol in a black holster on his hip. Ah, must be collecting firewood. Dean turned off the heater and grabbed his jacket in the garage. “Cas, wait up!” He caught up with the other man quickly. “Hey, I got Baby back on her feet,” he said proudly. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to do real work on her, so I guess thanks for that.”

Cas didn’t look at him.

Sensing he’d done something wrong, he wondered what it could have been. “I’m sorry about the shed. I’d be happy to fix it up for you.”

Still nothing. Cas simply walked along and picked up smaller sticks for kindling. It was like Dean wasn’t even there. It was strange that this tactic hurt Dean since he had never heard Cas’ voice before. His frustration started to peek through. “I said I was sorry about it. And that’d I’d fix it. Come on, giving me the cold shoulder isn’t right.”

Cas kept moving with a single-minded determination that told Dean he knew where he was going, and that Dean’s presence wasn’t welcome.

So Dean did what only a normal person would do. He crouched down as silently as possible to avoid catching Cas’ attention. Despite having no gloves, he rolled up a handful of snow into a nice snowball. It was the perfect consistency, not too slushy nor fluffy. Perfect for beaming unsuspecting brothers. Or mysterious mountain men.

Dean waited for Cas to stomp ahead several paces and then SPLAT!

The snow exploded on Cas’ winter coat, and he pitched forward. Dean threw his head back and barked his laughter. “How about that for a cold shoulder?” he asked gleefully.

Before he could feel too smug about it, there was another SPLAT! Dean stumbled back and saw he’d been hit in the chest. He looked up to see Cas giving him a heated look. His hands were on his hips like he couldn’t believe Dean had stooped so low.

Suddenly, Dean took off to hide behind a nearby fallen log. “This means war, Cas!” He called as he started making a myriad of snowballs as fast as possible. He glanced around the tree trunk and didn’t see Cas anywhere. There were several trunks that he could hide behind.

Ah, there he is! Dean saw movement from behind another log about twenty feet away. Dean did a few arm circles to warm up his shoulder and rotator cuff. He pelted Cas’ hiding place as fast as possible. Once he ran out of ammo, he tried to make more with cold, trembling fingers. As he did, Cas got his with scary accuracy. He only had about five, but Cas didn’t miss any of his shots, and the last one tagged Dean along the side of his head. The knot there throbbed at the impact. Dean made some exaggerated death sounds as he fell on his back, arms sore, and everything frozen. But he was laughing like a little kid, so it was totally worth getting owned in the process.

Dean heard the crunching of cautious footsteps approaching him. Turning, he saw Cas standing over him, his clothes and beard covered in snow. He was panting hard, his hands on his knees, and bent over to catch his breath.

Dean smiled up at him. Not even his placating smile, a genuine one. “Hey, it got you to talk to me again.” And the absurdity of that statement made him laugh again.

Cas wore a small smile and held out his hand to help Dean get to his feet. They brushed the snow off of each other. Everything was stiff and cold since his jeans weren’t snowproof, but he knew the cabin wasn’t too far away.

Dean looked around and realized they were alone. “Hey, where’s Dozer?”

Cas squinted at Dean and then also looked around. They stopped moving, waiting to see if he was running around just out of sight. They heard nothing.

Cas motioned for Dean to cover his ears, and then he whistled. Birds and squirrels escaped immediately, but Dean didn’t react. He strained his ears to listen.

There was a familiar bark in the distance.

Cas hauled ass hough the snow towards the sound, with Dean right on his heels. As they got closer, they heard more barking and strange hissing interspersed with deep, guttural growling. They broke through the trees to find Dozer, hackles up and facing off with a speckled gray cat close to his size. From the half-tail and pointed ears, Dean could tell immediately it was a bobcat. It was backed up against a small outcropping of rock, not allowing its escape.

Cas whistled two short sounds, and Dozer moved back, simultaneously pulling the Glock 20 from his hip holster. He held the gun with practiced ease in both hands, and the safety clicked off. He kept the gun aimed at the ground, eyes not leaving the cat at all.

Dean had no idea if the cat was hunting the dog or if they had just happened to run across each other by accident. Dozer had a gash on his face from getting too close, and droplets of blood stained the crisp white snow.

He didn’t know why he did what he did. Maybe he just didn’t want to see any unnecessary death today. But Dean held his arms over his head and did his best Godzilla impression. Stomping, growing, roaring long and loud. The cat took off between them and escaped into the woods. In the meantime, Cas clicked the safety back on and re-holstered his weapon. He held onto Dozer, checking him for other wounds, but he seemed fine.

Dean came close and sighed. “Sorry, Cas, I’ll keep a better eye on him. But…shouldn’t he be on a leash?”

Cas ran a hand through his hair and over his face and sighed.

“Let me guess, he’s well-trained enough to stay close to you, so you don’t.”

Cas nodded.

Dean felt better. At least it wasn’t just his fault for this situation. Yeah, he and Cas were goofing around because of him, but Dozer was Cas’ responsibility.

Once Dozer’s snout was wiped clean, Dean said, “We should get some wood before heading back. We’ll both make sure Rocky here doesn’t get into any more trouble, right boy?” He scratched Dozer’s ears.

Cas led the way to a partially cut-up downed tree. The chainsaw quickly worked on the dried trunk, and wood and snow flew from the mechanical blades. They took turns loading large logs onto the sled until it was at max capacity. Later, once back at the house, they could chop the logs smaller for stacking and burning in the stove.

Dean was quiet most of the journey as he and Cas took turns pulling the sled back to his cabin. Even going over snow was hard work. By the time they returned, both were sweaty and panting. Cas looked at the sled and then at Dozer a couple of times, debating which to deal with first.

Dean laid a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “Hey, go ahead and treat him inside. I can cut firewood.” When Cas raised an eyebrow at him, he nodded firmly. “Yes, Cas, I've got this, go on. Don’t want doggo to get an infection, right?”

Cas agreed, and the two of them headed inside. Dean’s legs were numb from the waist down, but he pulled himself together for a bit longer. He split and stacked wood on the porch for at least half an hour, refilling their depleted supply. He found an old tire and used it to keep the wood in the same place as he split it, making the process faster and more efficient. With a few days' worth of wood stacked, Dean felt he could head back inside. His back was sore, his arms were boneless, and everything was numb from the cold, his fingers being the worst. He might need to bum some ugly gloves from Cas tomorrow. He wasn’t that vain.

Dean prayed there was a hot shower feature at Chateau Le Cas.

Before heading back inside, he remembered the radio he had borrowed that morning and sheepishly went to retrieve it. As he headed inside, he hoped Cas hadn’t noticed it was missing. He closed the door silently to return the radio without getting caught. He gently placed it back on the table. Something warm and hearty was cooking on the stove. His stomach rumbled at the idea of food.

When Dan turned around, his jaw fell open. Cas was in the loft above him, and his back turned to him. The man’s hair was plastered down, so Dan could tell he was fresh from a shower.

Cas was also completely butt naked.

He was pulling on a hunter green, long-sleeve henley and gray sweatpants, completely unaware he was being gawked at.

Dean froze like a deer on the highway. Oh my God. That man has the most perfect, grabbable ass I’ve ever seen. Two perfectly tanned globes that made Dean’s fingers want to grab and mold. With the last functioning brain cell he had, he ducked under the loft into the living room in a panic. He didn’t want to see what else Cas was packing. Or maybe he did? How is nerdy little Cas built like a brick shithouse?Dean’s entire face and ear were red and hot to the touch. He probably looked like he’d tried to deep-throat a Carolina Reaper chili pepper.

In this mind’s eye, he saw the clip from Spongebob where Squidward realizes his arch-rival is attractive. Oh no, he’s hoooooot in Squidward’s honking voice echoed in his head.

Dean swallowed harshly and realized he was already half hard. Oh no. I can’t like Cas like that. I can be man enough to admit to myself he is attractive, but that doesn't mean I…uh…

Thinking about that toned body and perfect ass stopped his denial dead in his tracks.

Things are getting complicated. Just keep your head down and pretend nothing is wrong. The plows will be here soon. You just have to wait it out.

The ladder from the loft creaked as Cas climbed down. He eyed Dean oddly since he was standing in the living room, still fully dressed and dripping water onto the floor from melting snow. “Uh…hi, Cas,” he said a little too cheerfully. “I was just…checking on D.”

Cas looked past him to see Dozer passed out on his back, all four legs in the air and snoring like a fifty-year-old trucker. “I… guess he’s fine. I’ll just…uh…grab a towel for this.” Dean backpedaled, removed his outer clothes by the entrance, and cleaned up the mess by the fire.

When he was done fixing everything, Cas tapped his shoulder, making Dean yelp. He then held out a new towel and pointed towards the bathroom. Dean groaned, hopefully. “Please tell me, do you have a shower?”

Cas nodded and held up his hand, all fingers splayed open.

“Five minutes? You’re living in the pinnacle of luxury, Cas.”

Cas rolled his eyes and walked past him towards the stove. He didn’t notice Dean’s eyes following his every step. How did that country song go? I hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave? Yeah, that about summed it up.

Dean lowered the towel he held strategically and grabbed some clean clothes from his duffel bag. He closed his eyes as he went to the bathroom and locked himself inside. There was an electric light, so Dean wouldn’t have to clean up in the dark.

In the BC tines (before the crash), he usually took at least thirty to forty-five minutes to shower. He usually got stuck in there, working out plot points as he washed himself. Five minutes was a blessing today, and he soaked up every second.

Thinking about real life turned his mood sour. This place was so calm compared to his usual life; he loved the ability to literally disconnect from everything and focus on the moment. He allowed his mind to wander, but he had no solid ideas yet. He only had three days until his Christmas deadline.

After Dean shaved, clothes himself, and brushed his teeth, he plopped down at the table for dinner and studied the cabin. “Hey Cas,” he asked softly over the jazz playing from the radio. “Where’s your Christmas decorations? You Jewish or something?”

From the way Cas’ shoulders fell, he knew he’d hit a nerve. “Oh, sorry, man. Didn’t mean to pry.”

Cas stopped stirring the pot on the stove and sighed. There was a story there, and while Dean enjoyed a good story as much as the next person, it felt too personal this time. He couldn’t explain why.

Cas loaded up plates of pan-fried potatoes and veggies and handed one to Dean. He pulled out his notebook and wrote for several long moments. He didn't tuck in despite being hungry enough to hear his stomach growling. He was too curious to see what Cas was writing. After several minutes of quiet work, Cas slid the notebook towards him. Dean noticed his hands were shaking. He tried to push it back.

“You don’t have to…”

Cas nodded. He did.

I grew up in a foster home with lots of different kids. The guardians were strict, and the home was very religious. They didn’t allow any disobedience. Questions were answered with it being God’s Will. No matter how hard I tried, nothing I did was good enough for them. All I did was make mistakes. I caused the others to doubt. I had to hide everything that made me me in order to survive.

When I turned eighteen, I was pulled out of my bed in the middle of the night by a man named Uncle Gabriel. He was a loud, cheerful man who managed to flaunt convention with his penchant for sweets and pranks. I don’t know how he stayed there or why he stayed here. He told me to be quiet, speak to no one, and follow his every move. He helped me escape.

I’ve been mute ever since that night.

We came here, as far from the house and family as possible. He had plots of land spread across the country. And once we got here, he gave me the deed for this one.

He passed away five years ago from a heart attack around this time. He was my only friend and family, and he died without warning. Forgive me for not wanting to do any celebrating.

Dean looked up to see Cas angrily rubbing away at his eyes. “Aw, dude, that’s shitty.” There was a moment of tense silence. “Sad I didn’t see your uncle; he seemed like a great guy. ”

Cas stood up and walked to the shelf of wooden statues. He grabbed the only bust and let Dean inspect it. He had a crooked nose and a mischievous grin. “He looked like the life of the party.” Cas nodded in agreement. “How did you make these?” Cas pointed to his pocket knife, and Dean’s eyes widened. “You whittled this?” Dean whistled low, impressed at the smooth wooden planes and intricate cuts that made up the bust.

Cas took the notebook back and wrote more. A week after Gabriel’s death, I found Dozer.

“Found him where?”

After Christmas, I found him as a puppy, rooting around in the garbage behind Benny’s shop. He had a little blue tie as a ribbon. I don’t know if it is because of his breed or what, but I took him in.

The look of fondness Cas gave the dog who sat under his chair was priceless. Dean even felt his grinchy heart melt a little bit.

Adam’s words echoed in his head. “Maybe your heart should grow a few sizes before coming back.” He looked at Cas, then at Dozer, who was happily soaking up the affections of a sweet and silent man as Cas rubbed his belly with his foot.

And Dean thought to himself, I think I might be.

Chapter Text

Dean had control of the radio this morning. “Since I’ve been making the coffee, I get to pick the music. Just going by the house rules, Cas.” Then he had the gall to wink at him. So, this morning, they listened to Classic Rock, Dean singing along to everything that played. Castiel was not mentally prepared for karaoke first thing in the morning, but he just allowed the chaos to wash over him like water from a duck's back. As he nursed his coffee (and he needed to confront Dean about what he had done to it), Castiel knew he needed to check the spring.

Whenever Castiel saw Dozer with the slash across his snout, he thanked whoever was listening. Close calls like there were common when one lived on their own, on the fringes of society. It didn’t make those calls any less harrowing. Dean didn’t say anything when Castiel gave the dog some of his peanut butter on an old kong toy to keep him distracted for a while.

Dean was kind enough to ask for the radio before taking it this time. He claimed there was more work he needed to do on her, but wanted to show him what he had done the previous day. Castiel followed him outside to the garage and watched Dean gush about Baby. He loved this old muscle car, speaking like she was his favorite child, even apologizing he couldn’t fix her here entirely. His hand gently patted her hood as if to comfort her. It was cute in a very odd way. Castiel couldn’t help but smile at Dean and his car. It was showy and ridiculous. According to Dean, the trunk was “big enough to fit multiple bodies (hypothetically, don’t ask).” And yet, Castiel couldn’t imagine Dean in anything else. It–no, she–fit him.

Castiel had the strangest wish that the roads were open. Only so that he and Dean could take the car down into the foothills and really let her go. He wanted to feel the wind whipping through his hair from the open windows. Smell the leather and hear the engine roar. He even imagined Dozer with his head out the window, ears flapping the breeze, and Dean calling him ‘Batdog.’ Dean’s smile was infectious. The scene was so clear it felt less like a daydream and more like a premonition.

Knock it off. Thinking like that is going to get you in trouble. It didn’t matter that Dean was handsome and charming. He needed to avoid temptation altogether, but doing that in a 600-foot cabin would be hard.

A small voice that sounded suspiciously like that of Gabriel’s piped up. Why? Self-flagellation is not a good look for you. Maybe try happiness. Or joy. Or horniness, whatever works to get you enjoying things again.

Castiel must have made an out-loud face for this internal back-and-forth because Dean’s face fell. “Something wrong?”

Castiel quickly shook his head. He patted the hood and gave a thumbs up.

Dean snorted. “My baby deserves more than a thumbs up, but since you’re mute, I’ll allow it. It’s not like you can write odes for her.”

How magnanimous of you. Castiel thought of the notebook on his nest. Maybe that could be his writing practice tonight. Thanks for the idea, Dean.

He wished he could talk again. Not even to make his own life more manageable. He just wanted to banter with Dean. Castiel liked his quips and jokes and wanted to return his own. Like the snowball fight yesterday. Dean had turned his grouchy attitude around until they pelted each other like kids.

Poor Dozer must have found the bobcat while they were distracted. A different kind of problem. Another reason Dean needs to leave. You never would have missed Dozer running off like that on your own.

He didn’t know what he wanted anymore. First, he’d check on his chickens and feed them the scraps from dinner. And then, while Dean was busy, he’d head to the spring.

~*~

Castiel closed the door on Dozer and double-checked the safety whistle he wore around his neck. For a moment, he debated on walking or riding the snowmobile. The weather hadn’t warmed up like he had expected, so the snow had done little melting. Since it was one to two deep in places, he’d be too exhausted to get any work down—time to bring the snowmobile out of its summer hibernation. Castiel walked to the garage and spied Dean’s legs under the car. He could hear loud, off-keeping from underneath as well. The machine was on blocks in the back of the garage. He didn’t want to scare Dean into cracking open his head again, so he walked to the radio and turned it down. He cleared his throat a few times.

Dean rolled out from under the car, and Castiel’s mouth went dry. Dean was on his back and sweaty, his t-shirt hiked enough to show some of his stomach, and he had grease marks on his hands and arms. His hair was messy as Dean blew it from his face. How does this man manage to be both too pretty and too handsome to look at without sunglasses?

“Hey, uh…” Dean chuckled awkwardly and looked away. He pulled his shirt down, cheeks turning pink. “What’s up, Cas?”

Right. There was a reason he’d come in here.

Castiel made his way to the snowmobile and checked it to make sure the gas was still viable and that the seat had not dry-rotted over the summer. Everything looked good. He moved the machine from the blocks onto two long pieces of wood that acted as a track from the garage to the snowy yard. Dean watched, interested. He helped push the machine outside and smiled. “Where you going, Cas?”

Castiel gave him an exaggerated wink and put a finger to his lips. Sorry, Dean, it’s a secret.

Dean flopped a rag over his shoulder, gave Castiel a once-over, and rubbed his chin in thought. To help his case, Castiel showed Dean the orange safety whistle hanging from his neck. As he tucked it away, he realized what he was doing. Since when do I ask permission to do anything? This is my property, not Dean’s.

“Can I please tag along? If you don't have Dozer going, you might need backup. I mean, what’s the whistle going to do on its own if no one’s around to hear it?” Castiel hadn’t considered that. Ideally, he’d bring a satellite phone to whistle into that but they were pricey and he hadn’t gotten to it yet. He stuck out his hip so Dean could see his Glock in its holster. It was powerful enough to take down anything in the woods, including black bears.

Dean pouted. He gave Castiel an Oscar-worthy performance with big doe eyes and stuck-out lips. “Please, Cas? I’m starting to go a little stir-crazy here.” He held his hands up. “I’ll stay out of your way on your top-secret mission. And won’t tell anyone.” He zipped his lips.

After a moment, Castiel nodded, and Dean jumped up with a fist pump. “Thanks, Cas!”

Castiel couldn’t believe his resolve crumbled so fast.

As Dean got up and warmly smiled at Castiel, he realized that, nope, as long as Dean was here, his resolve would crumble into dust and blow away every time.

He tried to justify himself. Dean makes chores more fun. When I get there, I’ll have him gather wood while I check the equipment or something.

They connected the woodsled to the back of the snowmobile and headed off into the forest. Dean whooped when they first got going, but as they got up to speed, he tucked his head into Castiel’s back since he didn’t have a spare helmet. He clung onto him so hard Castiel felt the ghostly impressions of his hands through the multiple shirts and the jacket. Their ride was noisy as they zipped around tree trunks and bushes with ease. Dean freaked out a few times when they barely made it around another trunk, but Castiel knew this trail like his own home. He maintained it and rode it several times a month. And yes, maybe he was going faster to get back at Dean for all the teasing.

Twenty minutes later, Castiel slowed down and approached an open area next to an outcropping at a crawl. He killed the engine, and they sat for a moment, breathing heavily.

Dean got off the vehicle and did a little shimmy to remove the snow that had accumulated on him. (Also, it helps with the sudden lack of very stimulating vibrations.) Castiel adjusted himself while Dean looked around. Dean clinging to him had only added to his issues. “Pretty country, but what is that smell?” His face screwed up at the potent odor of rotten eggs.

Castiel waved him forward, and Dean’s face lit up. “Holy shit Cas! You have a hot spring?!”

Castiel nodded proudly. Good, he wasn’t paying attention to the large overhang and the deep cave underneath next to it.

Dean waddled his way through the snow as fast as possible. He whooped as he stepped next to the pool. It is about the size of an above-ground swimming pool, big enough for a few people to swim or bob around. It was surrounded by snow and rocks, and the steamy water was clear turquoise.

Without warning, Dean started stripping off his clothes until he was down to his boxers. He left everything on a rock pile before carefully sticking his foot into the bubbling, steamy water. His grunt of pain turned into a happy groan that made Castiel shiver.

Castiel stood there, still completely dressed and sweating at Dean basically being naked in the snow. Dean climbed into the pool with some hesitation. “Shit, that’s hot,” he muttered several times. Once he dunked his head under the water and came back up, he smiled at Castiel. “Come on, Cas, this is great! It’s like a reverse polar bear plunge.”

Dean’s face, shoulders, and chest were splotchy red from the heat of the water. Castiel found himself again drawn to Dean like a moth to a porch light. He followed the same steps, stripped to his boxers, left his clothes on his boots, and climbed in. The water was painful at first, but just like Dean, it was heavenly once he had time to adjust. He bobbed along, padding under the water and watching the beautiful scenery of snow and birds in the branches.

Also included in the scenery was Dean, bobbing just out of arm’s reach. “I thought you’d chicken out for sure,” he said, pleased to be wrong.

Castiel didn’t understand why Dean seemed to like his company but decided not to look this gift horse in the mouth.

He exhaled and watched the cloud of condensation hang above his head. “It’s like we’re dragons,” Dean said, exhaling a bigger cloud with concentrated effort. “Man, I would never get any work done if this was in my backyard. You’re really lucky.”

Castiel wondered what Dean did for a living. He’d never mentioned his day job. A mechanic, perhaps? An actor? Or a model? That was more of a joke to himself, but Dean was very handsome. The hot water was good for blood flow and was invigorating on its own. Adding Dean to the mix, suddenly, his heart was beating faster than usual, and he had butterflies in his stomach.

Castiel’s cheeks, pink from the heat of the water, turned darker with a realization.

Oh.

Oh.

No, I can’t like him. He’s just here temporarily.

And yet, thoughts of his bed, with Dean a rumpled mess in it, made his dick throb. No, no. I can’t. I…Castiel signed sadly. If I did that, would it save my heart from breaking when he leaves? The best I can hope for is a friend.

“Cas?” Dean paddled a little too close, right up in his personal space, yet he didn’t mind. “You seem sad.” He looked around. “Is it because of your uncle?”

Castiel took the opportunity that presented itself and nodded. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s lied on Gabriel’s behalf.

Dean reached out and grabbed on the shoulder. Castiel looked at the hand, then back up to Dean, confused. “Then…let’s get into some good trouble in his honor.” Dean started to pull back, but his eyes bounced from Castiel’s lips to his face. He licked his lips, and Castiel thought that whole friendship thing was overrated. It might even drown in the hot spring right now if only Dean closed the gap between them–

A crow cawed overhead and broke the heat of the moment by swooping down close to them. They moved backward from one another, awkwardly chuckling. Dean went from grinning impishly to frowning immediately and yelling, “Hey, stay away from that!” Dean paddled and then ran from the water toward his clothes. Castiel saw the crow trying to pick up something from his pile. The crow flew off, disgruntled and prizeless.

Castiel couldn’t help but laugh silently when Dean gave the bird the middle finger as it flew away. Dean pulled on a necklace, a metal amulet on a length of simple cording. He didn’t remember ever seeing this jewelry, so Dean must always wear it under his clothes.

Another caw came from above them, and they saw several more crows in the naked branches. Castiel got out of the water slowly and grabbed his clothes and boots. Instead of heading towards the snowmobile, he led them to the nearby overhang and the cave underneath it. He knew he was about to do something incredibly reckless, but they needed to dry off before driving back through the snow to home. Wet clothes would only help facilitate frostbite and hypothermia.

Dean got under the overhanging rock wall and groaned. “So, now what?” He was in his boots, and his underwear was soaked and vacuum sealed to his dick. He was shivering as he held his bundle of clothes. Castiel tried being a gentleman and not looking, but ‘tried’ was the operative word.

Castiel led them further under the overhang into a proper cave. A campfire was about thirty feet into the cave, and wooden logs were stationed around it. He showed Dean the gas camping lanterns hanging on hooks, and they used matches left behind to light them. Dean got a fire going, and Castiel spread out their clothes to get dry. After several minutes of standing near the fire and getting warmed back up, Castiel clapped his hands. He went into his coat pocket and pulled out a small metal key.

Dean arched an eyebrow. “What’s that for?”

Castiel should have made him sit by the fire and forced the issue. But he didn’t. He let Dean follow him as he grabbed his notebook, pen, and lantern. As they moved away from the fire, it was getting cold again, so they wouldn’t be back here long. Just before reaching the back wall, the lantern light revealed a metal gate and door blocking their way.

“Uh, Cas? You’re not a serial killer, right?” Dean only sounded like he was half-joking.

Castiel shook his head. Please don’t let this be a mistake. As they entered the closed-off back, Dean sucked in a shocked breath at what he saw. He turned to Castiel, eyes wide in disbelief. Even in the low light, there was no mistaking what it was.

“Dude…is that a fucking moonshine still?”

Chapter Text

Cas makes hooch.

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait.

Nerdy little Cas makes hooch???

Cas doesn’t just make hooch; he does so in style. In a secret cave/lab on his property, no less.

And he was showing Dean the parts and how they work with the same vim and vigor as a fifth grader showing off his science fair entry. Cas is jotting down notes and explanations for Dean to read. Copper silo to ferment the corn mash and the coils to condense the alcohol into another tank. It was all here. The entire thing was lit up with spotlights running off a generator. Dean had only heard and read about moonshiners and…This is fucking awesome.

And very dangerous. Moonshine was illegal in the U.S. because most people didn’t know how to make it right. It was easy to kill someone with a bad batch. However, that didn’t stop some people from making it. It was good money, and as long as Cas only sold to adults, it wasn’t his burden to bear. And who am I gonna tell about this? Adam isn’t talking to me anymore.

Dean grinned at Cas with a mixture of respect and pride. “Did you know that NASCAR came into being because of Prohibition?” Dean whispered. “Yeah. The moonshiners hot-rodded their cars to run circles around the law.” Dean was quiet, almost reverential.

Cas led the way to wooden shelves filled with glass mason jars and plastic water jugs. Most of the bottles were empty, but some had a clear liquid, and one was filled with a violet-colored liquid that caught Dean’s eye immediately. He reached out and grabbed that one and screwed off the lid after holding it. The scent of fermented berries and honey hit his nose like a punch. “What…is this mead?”

With a frown, Cas grabbed the bottle back and carefully resealed it. He pointed to an old label, hard to see in the low light: Angel’s Mead.

Dean noticed a few clear liquid bottles were labeled Angel's Shine. Dean grabbed the cleanest one and grinned wickedly. “I’m calling dibs on this one!” He left the still room and returned to the hearty fire through the gate. The back room was freezing, and he was still practically naked. They and their clothes should be ready to go soon. Sitting next to the flames, he leaned forward for more warmth. In the meantime, he had to try some actual moonshine.

The metal ring chinked quietly as Dean unscrewed the mason jar lid. He coughed several times when the lid popped off but was surprised at how sweet it smelled. There were notes of corn and floral hints of brightness that Dean had never experienced.

Cas appeared on the log beside him, eyes gleaming as Dean tipped the jar and took a hearty swig. It went down with surprising smoothness until it got to his stomach. Then it kicked like a fiery mule hoof to the belly. He tried to hold it together but Cas was opening laughing at him.

“Holy shit,” Dean hissed. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “I feel like I’m sweating,” He touched his forehead. “But there’s no water on my head. That is wild. Way better than Uncle Bobby’s rotgut, for damn sure.”

Cas took the jar from Dean’s hands and raised an eyebrow. He took a long, slow sip from it and hummed his approval. “Good batch?” Cas nodded and cleared his throat.

“Bobby made big vats of this stuff in his bathroom. Used it to clear the battery acid off car engines, paint stripper, and take the edge off a long day. The man was a cheapskate.” Dean laughed at the incredulous look Cas gave him.

Dean wondered if the trick was taking sips instead of shots. He took back the jar and tried again. This time, the experience was much nicer. As nice as homemade hooch from a cave could be. He giggled and felt himself getting warmer. Dean was no slouch when it came to drinking; he’d been doing it professionally for most of his life. But this was, oddly, one of the best drinks he’s had.

“Oh man, is this what you do all day?” Dean sounded wistful even to his own ears. “You’re living the dream.”

Cas wrote in his notebook. Dean read by flickering firelight as they swapped the book for the bottle, and Cas kept nursing it. It was all Gabriel’s idea. He started with the fruity meads. I liked the idea of making moonshine, but just as a hobby. We just wanted to try it ourselves. I haven’t made any more mead. That was Gabriel’s last bottle.

Dean jumped up. “Why don't we try the mead too? I mean, it’s already open.” Cas hesitated. “Look, if it’s terrible, we just won’t tell him.”

Cas chuckled dryly at that. He headed back to the still room to fetch the mead bottle. Dean figured it had to go down easier than the hooch. Also, he felt that Cas’ mysterious uncle would not be about wasting his efforts.

They switch from the corn liquor to the berry mead, taking turns drinking from the jar. Initially, the mead is overpowering and heady but slowly becomes warming and comforting. Dean understood why Vikings drank it to keep away the long, cold winters. The fruit and honey reminded him that it will be summer again, even when the solstice is a few days away. It’s a promise of better times.

The heat from the fire and the cold breeze from the snow outside made his skin tingle. Cas sat next to him on the bench, staring at the fire. Dean licked his lips as his eyes traveled up and down Cas. The flickering firelight made him even hotter, and the alcohol lowered his guard, making him feel more flirty. When they passed the bottle back and forth, their hands brushed for longer and longer periods.

Dean was always a whiskey-on-the-rocks kind of guy. But this was sweet and heavy in a way he truly enjoyed. “Damn, that’s good,” he slurred and then giggled. “I like both of them, but this is much easier on the palette.”

Cas nodded slowly but openly stared at Dean with something close to wonder and desire. Dean knew the look, even if Cas couldn’t say the words. He’d been holding back, not wanting to cross this line in the sand between them.

Dean didn’t know why he resisted this pull towards Cas so hard. He’d slept with people with less tension and connection in the past. You’re both consenting adults. If he wants to, and you want to, what’s wrong with that?

Cas wasn’t just a distraction; he was someone important. A friend, if nothing else, but even that felt too shallow for what Dean felt for this man. Sure, he’d loved and left a few people over the years, but this wasn’t the same. Maybe that’s what made it scarier.

Dean shifted closer to Cas until their bare legs touched, and the warmth of skin on skin was the final match to the powder keg. He leaned close to Cas, eyes half-lidded in the low light. Cas is watching him, waiting. “Cas,” he whispered. “Can I kiss you?”

Cas froze for several seconds. Long enough for Dean to pull back, open his mouth, rescind his question, and blame it on the alcohol. But then Cas nodded his head so eagerly it left Dean breathless. “Yeah?”

He leaned towards Cas and gave him a quick peck on the lips. Cas’ lips were a little chapped but still soft enough to be kissable. The beard didn’t hinder him; it tickled Dean’s face. As Dean pulled back, Cas reached out and pulled him back into another one. Then another and another. Until the dry kisses became messy and fevered; after awkwardly tilting their heads, they suddenly locked in, and the kiss became scorching hot. Tongues caressed each other, the taste and scent of fermented honey left on behind on each other’s lips when they broke for breath. Cas panted hard next to him, eyes dark with lust in the low light.

Dean gave Cas a once over. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?” Cas was older than him, forty to his much younger thirty-seven, but he kissed like someone without much experience.

Cas shook his head. No.

Dean arched an eyebrow. “Have you ever…you know…done the horizontal mambo with anyone?”

Another no, though he rolled his eyes at Dean’s phrasing. Strangely, Dean was giddy at that prospect. Cas was a virgin? He liked that idea way more than he should. “You ok…if we keep going?” Dean moved his hips against the log suggestively. More nodding. “Kay…if you need to stop, just double-tap my shoulder.”

Cas gave a thumbs up.

“You’re a dork.” Maybe, but whatever Cas was, it had Dean’s engine running like he’d not experienced in a long time. Dean stood up from the log, and Cas followed him with a confused scowl. The bulge in his underwear was already impressive. Dean grabbed their warmed clothes from the rocks and laid them into a makeshift bed. It was only marginally better than the bare rock, but Dean was too horny to care for logistics. Whatever got him and Cas off was sufficient for now.

He pulled Cas from the bench to the floor, laying him on his back and climbing over him. He tucked an extra shirt under Cas’ head for a pillow while kissing him stupidly. The kisses progressed from dry pecks to lazy, wet French kisses as Cas groaned and rocked under him. “Great idea,” Dean whispered into the shell of his ear and licked it. He shifted so their clothed cocks would rock against each other, sending blissful little zings up his spine. “M clean,” Dean added, rocking his hips a little harder.

Cas enveloped Dean with his bug arms and crushed him close as he ground up into Dean. The underwear muted the pleasure, but Dean didn’t move it just yet. He wanted things to last just a little longer. He pulled back to breathe and slowly dragged his hips against Cas. The mead was slowing things down, making him lazy. He dragged his hands over Cas’ warm, toned chest and played with his stiff, dark nipples. Cas’ head hit the pillow with a groan when he licked one and then the other. “Oh, the things I could do to you,” Dean darkly promised. “You’re perfect.”

Dean liked talking in bed, and Cas being mute at first was putting a damper on his libido–like, he wasn’t doing a good enough job if Cas couldn’t even say anything now. But the groans, the sighs, the jerks of pleasure, the bruises from Cas being a little grab happy, they were worth it. Cas was definitely enjoying himself.

Cas’ hands traveled down his back and grabbed his ass and held him there so he could move their hips together. “Fuck, Cas,” Dean moaned into his neck and licked the hot skin there. Dean’s world was blurred at the edges; it was just him, Cas, and the firelight. For once, his brain was quiet, and he could easily concentrate on the moment. The pleasure was there, but he became greedy, suddenly needing it like air.

Dean reached down and fumbled to push down their underwear just enough to free their cocks. Both were cut and similar in size, though Cas’ was a little thicker. Dean’s mouth watered at the idea of sucking Cas off and giving him his first blowjob. But even as the idea crossed his hazy mind, he was too far gone. He licked his palm sloppily several times and held it out for Cas to lick. He reached down and wrapped his hand around their cocks, hissing in relief at the contact. They were both so hot to the touch and throbbing. He began jerking them, and then Cas followed suit, wrapping his hand around their dicks with a large, hot hand.

Dean’s eyes fluttered at the feeling of Cas’ hand on him, the rough grip and the callouses kicking his pleasure up a notch. “Shit, just like that,” he murmured. He managed to lean down and kiss Cas as they worked their cocks together. Precum dribbled from him; he was so close. “You…gotta watch you first…come on, Cas, for me….” He groaned, voice husky and commanding.

Cas grunted a few times, mouth open as he moaned loudly. His lips parted, almost like he was trying to say something, but then he bucked extra hard. His dick pulsed in Dean’s hand, coasting their hands and his chest in sticky white. Dean kept moving his hips until he finally caught the wave that took him over. He added his cum to the mess between them. Only then did he stop thrusting. He fell onto Cas’ chest, ignoring the sticky mess between them, and enjoyed Cas’ warmth.

After a moment to gather his breathing, Dean looked at Cas, who was staring at him like he was the world. Dean grinned. “Good?”

Cas nodded happily. Dean flopped over bonelessly and snuggled up to Cas’ side. “That was awesome,” he whispered hoarsely.

Cas hummed his agreement, then leaned forward and gave Dean a little forehead kiss.

They lay there staring at the cave ceiling, listening to the sound of the fire. He was sticky and sweaty and loose-limbed in all the best ways. As the high came down, Dean sighed. “I’d say we could get in the water again, but that will just get us back to square one.” He reached over, grabbed his t-shirt, and used it to clean them up.

They must have fallen asleep because the fire was lower, and Dean didn't feel as drunk anymore. Cas was startled awake mid-snore. He blinked and looked around to get his bearings. Then he looked at Dean and smiled such an honest, happy thing it made Dean's teeth hurt.

Cas sat up and gave Dean a very slow, passionate kiss. One that had the same brain-melting capabilities as the mead. “Good to see you’re a quick study,” Dean teased. “As much as I’d love to, I’m too old for round two right now. We should, you know…head home.”

Cas perked up at Dean’s use of the word home.

By the time they dressed, turned out the lanterns and relocked the special gate; both felt much more sober. Dean knew they would be in for a rough night without some water in their systems. Dean was cheerful, and even Cas whistled a tune as he drove back to the cabin, much slower this time.

Dozer was so excited to see them after he tore outside to piss. They’d been gone most of the day, but Cas didn’t even look guilty about it. Cas wore afterglow well.

They took showers in turns because it was too small to fit them both at once—at least, that was the excuse. Dean won the rock-paper-scissors game and had the first shower dibs. Now he sat on the couch, sipping some tea Cas had made (explaining it was a hangover cure). It tasted like ass, and Dean almost grabbed the half-empty bottle of mead instead because of course they brought it back. It sat in the fridge innocently. Dean spine shuddered at the hazy memory. It felt so oddly dreamlike now. That mead was way too strong.

Instead he drank the ass tea because Cas swore by it, grimacing the whole time. As he sat on the couch, Dean noticed a notebook hastily stashed under one of the couch throw pillows. What’s that? Dean pulled out the notebook just enough to see a title on the front in a familiar blocky script: Some Things I Still Can’t Say.

That intrigued Dean enough to set the empty cup on the side table and carefully pull it out. With a title like that, it almost sounded like a book of poetry. He was so morbidly curious that he grabbed the book, sat by the fire to warm up, and flipped through the pages. There were dozens of poems: long epics, short haikus, and everything in between. Dean wasn’t much of a poetry guy, but the words on the pages fully enraptured him. Cas came off rather stoic, and getting a glimpse into his true self was too good to pass up.

The silent man’s words were utterly enthralling and painfully sincere. Cas really did see the world in a different light, like he alone was privy to color while everyone else saw in black and white. Seeing just the snippets caused his heart to break and mend over and over.

Cas is a genius.

Dean didn’t hear the shower turn off or the footsteps coming towards him. He missed Dozer wagging his tail at someone’s approach. He was reading everything and hardly dared to breathe.

Dean’s eyes fell onto the latest page and stopped: ‘An Ode to Baby and Her Driver.’

He grinned. Oh, you cheeky fucker.

Before Dean could read it, though, Cas cleared his throat very loudly and right before him. Dean looked up and froze, all the blood leaving his face. “Uh…” he knew he’d messed up because Cas looked horrified.

“If it’s any consolation, these are good enough to get published.” Cas crossed his arms and gave him a very stern scowl. “No, really, I…” Dean stopped. If he mentioned he knew someone who had potential leads for him, Cas would ask how. And Dean didn’t want to reveal that truth yet. So he pivoted. “I’ve read a lot–used to, anyways. And I think you could share this. Make some money off of it.”

Cas shook his head. He grabbed the notebook from Dean’s hands and slammed it shut. He clutched the book to his chest like Dean might steal it and run. Dean held his hands up. “I’m not forcing you to do anything; calm down. I’m just saying you have a gift.” Cas shook his head sadly this time. “You do, Cas. I’m sorry I snooped.”

Just because that’s what I wanted to hear while I was querying doesn’t mean everyone does.

Cas still wasn’t looking at him. So Dean decided to even the playing field a little bit. “Can I show you something I’ve not shown anyone else if you promise not to tell a soul?”

Cas rolled his eyes but nodded slowly.

“I’ll be back!” Dean jumped up and left the warmth of the cabin, grabbing his car key and boots as he darted outside. He stumbled to the garage, popped the trunk, and grabbed the long case stashed there. He felt a growing trepidation about the contents of the case, but fair was fair. He hurried so as not to freeze off his dick in the cold and smiled when he stumbled back inside.

Cas’ eyes went wide in surprise at the case.

“It’s, uh, something I decided to try recently. I haven’t told anyone about this. So, I guess this Tiny Desk Concert is just for you.”

Dozer huffed. “And you, buddy.”

Dean chucked his boots and opened the case in front of the fireplace. The acoustic guitar was from a thrift store. He didn’t want to buy too much for a passing fancy. He’s written a dozen solid little songs, only playing them for himself in motels nationwide.

Cas and Dozer snuggled on the couch, and Dean sat beside the woodstove again. He tuned his guitar strings, played chords, and closed his eyes.

Dean played from the heart. He forgot where he was, even forgot his audience. He played a few of his favorites. When he opened his eyes, Cas watched him so intensely that Dean felt his heart beat faster. He looked away, and once he wrapped his current song, he started playing a new one he’d been thinking up at night:

She wants to know the names of the games he plays~

He wants the names of the players in the game to change~

He's young in years but wise in wonderful ways~

Her faith in love is better on sunny days~

City-grown willow, unchain your pillow~

Let the man from the mountains run away with your heart~

Let the man from the mountains run away with your heart~

Chapter Text

Castiel did an indoor volume whistle, and Dozer howled along with Dean’s voice as the last guitar notes faded. For a moment, it was just the snapping and popping of the logs in the stove. Dean glanced at them and tucked his bangs behind his ear shyly. “I guess…that’s a good reaction? No nose bleeds, right?”

Castiel wrote in his notebook and handed it to Dean. Excellent songs, Dean! You’re playing is so full of emotion. You play from the heart, and it’s enchanting to listen to. Thank you.

Dean’s plan had worked, showing him a piece of himself to make up for snooping.

Dean carefully packed the guitar away, and they weirdly moved around each other for the rest of the evening. After dinner, Dean worked on chords, and Castiel sat on the couch, working on a new poem. The evening was quiet but comfortable. However, he couldn’t decide on anything to work on. Too much had happened today, and Castiel didn’t know how to move forward. Because Dean was avoiding him, he thought. He tried to kiss him earlier while making dinner, but Dean dodged him. So…that’s just confusing.

The day caught up to him, and suddenly, Castiel was hit with a wave of exhaustion. He finished his routine and awkwardly waved at Dean before heading to his loft. “Night, Cas!”

Castiel went and flopped into his bed. A tiny part of him wished Dean was here under the covers with him. So that he could keep exploring that warm flesh, hear Dean’s voice deep with desire continuing to whisper in his ear. Castiel wasn’t sure what was worse. The pining without knowing how well they fit together like puzzle pieces or the space between them afterward. Had he done something wrong? He didn’t think so. Sure, it probably wasn’t Dean’s top ten experiences, but he sounded like he’d been enjoying himself. But he didn’t know and had no clue how to broach such things.

Castiel gnawed on his lip. Do I feel any different? Not really. Still the same dreams and worries. He may have been less tense about things. He would have ripped Dean’s head from his shoulders for reading his poetry journal any other day.

Could I ask for more? The problem is, do I want more? He turned to lay on his stomach and watched Dean and Dozer snuggling on the couch, Dozer thinking he’s a ten-pound housecat. Dean’s petting him absentmindedly, eyes closed. Castiel had to be honest. He did. He truly enjoyed Dean’s presence, even if it was just as friends. If Dean regretted today, then that’s on him. Because I did not. Dean was like a wild horse Castiel thinks he’d grabbed the reins of. Move too fast, and he’ll run away. Maybe that’s what’s happening?

This would be something he’d ask Gabriel about.

Castiel lay awake in bed for a long time, unsure how to move forward with the man on his couch. If there was any way to move forward at all.

~*~

Breakfast was noisy since they kept changing the radio stations every time each other’s back was turned as they moved around the kitchen. Jazz to Classic Rock and back, over and over, until the radio just froze on a station playing vintage Christmas music. They ended up listening to Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra while they ate. Dean hummed along as he washed the dishes afterward. As he nursed his coffee, Castiel realized he had a major problem.

It was Christmas Eve, and Dean ate too much.

Well, he was eating a normal amount, but when Castiel picked up his supplies, he very carefully planned out how much food he had to last through Christmas. And suddenly, he’d gone through more than he was comfortable with. Yes, he had many canned items, but Dean had turned his nose up at anything canned, which didn’t leave much.

He trudged up to Dean, sullen and defeated. The man was staring at the blank page of a notebook, feet kicked up on the couch and balancing the pencil on the bridge of his nose. He held out his notebook to Dean. We need to go to town for supplies.

Dean sat up suddenly. “Is the road cleared?”

Castiel shook his head. Snowmobile.

Surprisingly, Dean shot to his feet. “Really? Yeah! I’ve been dying to go do something.” Dean paused and then looked at Dozer. “Are you going to leave him behind?” Dean seemed sad about the prospect.

He can ride the snowmobile. I don’t take him to spring because I’m too busy.

“Wait, wait, he rides the snowmobile? This I have to see.”

They both got up and walked to the small clothesline Castiel had pinned in front of the fire. Their clothes from yesterday were there, oddly refusing to dry. “Well, shit, that’s all I have,” Dean bemoaned.“I just need a shirt; I have some extra jeans in my go bag.”

Castiel snapped his fingers and headed to his loft. He surely had something extra that Dean could wear. And if he hustled slightly at the idea of Dean wearing his clothes? It was no one’s business but his own. The loft area was too small for any furniture, so Castiel’s clean clothes were stacked in piles along the walls. His stash of clean clothes was also diminished. He’d been too distracted with Dean being here and forgotten to wash them. Oh well. At least I have some pieces already made. He grabbed two sweaters from his finished project stack and returned to Dean triumphantly.

He held out the smaller sweater for Dean, whose face fell. He crossed his arms. “Uh…don’t these seem a little avante-garde to wear to town on Christmas Eve?”

Castiel bit the inside of his lip to keep from smiling. Yes, the sweaters were ugly. But what was he supposed to do when he wanted to make clothes and the cheapest yarn at the craft store (or from the dumpster behind the craft store) was always hideous? You stop giving a fuck and wear it anyway.

He had a difficult enough time getting yarn that didn’t make his skin prickle uncomfortably. These might be fashion disasters, but they were marginally comfy. He held it out to Dean and shook it slightly.

Dean grabbed it, defeated. “Alright, alright.” He studied it for a moment. “They have green and red in them. We’ll blend in.”

Castiel scoffed at that. There was nothing on God’s green earth those sweaters would blend in with. But acting naive and making Dean tap dance around was a different level of entertaining.

He fished one out for Dozer with a silvery cheetah print. Dozer allowed his sweater and a leash harness to be attached, and his booties slid on. The harness was very short, only a few inches, to enable Dozer to be clipped to him on the snowmobile.

Castiel pulled on his own abomination and one day hoped he could afford to work something softer, more refined. Dean would probably like something with mohair. Something soft. Luxurious. Castiel would love to give him something like that, but Dean would leave soon. They had to go their separate ways once the road was cleared—a fact he was starting to dread.

It was time to leave after locking up the house and checking on the girls. The snowmobile still had the wood sled attached from yesterday. Today, Castiel added a little wooden platform to the area in front of his seat with special screws. Dozer hopped up and sat on the platform, and his hardness was hooked to it. Castiel kept him in place as he sat behind him and drove. There was just enough room for Dean on the seat, but he had to wiggle close and press everything against Castiel’s back.

The ride through the woods was less hectic than yesterday but still fun. Dozer rode with practiced ease, and Dean still clung to him like a koala. There was much less yelling from Dean this time. Dozer watched with interest as they slowly rode through the snowy winterland, occasionally barking at animals they passed.

Eventually, the trees broke apart, and the town of Heaven’s Hollar was spread out before them like the front of a holiday card. The town always tried to bring out the best holiday cheer, but the lack of snow always put a damper on things. The surprise blizzard and subsequent cold days meant a white Christmas for the town for the first time in decades. The green and red decorations popped against the white backdrop. The lights strung everywhere were on and blazing. People bustled around, and there were some cars, but not too many because the road was slick and slushy.

Castiel drove the snowmobile down from the forest and parked it behind Benny’s store. He locked the machine, unhitched Dozer from his spot, and three of them disembarked. Dozer wiggled his butt in excitement as he moved his head around to take in the smells from town. So many people walked around on the sidewalks, visiting the store, and the scent of snow intermingled with foods and desserts. Live carolers wandered around singing Christmas songs—a band played in the park where a holiday market was.

Dean and Dozer walked to the sidewalk and looked around curiously at everything except Castiel. He froze to the spot. Usually, he did his best to live outside of town and not interact with anyone. He hated being perceived. He stayed in the shadows, regretting coming here at all.

Dean looked back, saw Castiel struggling, and strode towards him. “Come on, you made me wear this. You’re not chickening out now.” Dean grabbed him by the wrist with surprising strength and dragged him out into the main street proper. Castiel stood there, slightly dazed, when the winter sunlight hit him in the face. Dean dropped his arm and asked, “So, which way?”

Castiel arched an eyebrow. He pointed to the general store they stood in front of. Then pointed back through the woods. In and out.

“But…” Dean paused. “I thought…ah, never mind. He turned around from the color downtown hustle and bustle, head and shoulders dropping. “What do you need from here?”

Wait, was Dean excited to go Christmas shopping?

Castiel pointed towards downtown questioningly.

“Ok, look. I know I come off like a curmudgeon, but I actually like Christmas as a holiday. I just hate how commercialized it’s become,” Dean admitted quickly. “But the actual messages of Christmas? Peace on Earth, Goodwill towards Men, gifts, and acts of service to show you care? Yeah, I can get behind it.”

Castiel wondered if Dean knew about how the Christians had enfolded the pagan holiday of Yule into their traditions. Maybe he could tell him about it later. Castiel was stuck between a people-induced heart attack or disappointing Dean. Who am I kidding? That’s not even a question. With growing regret, Castiel pointed away from the store towards the crowds of people downtown.

Dean flapped his hands in excitement. “Let’s do this! Ease up, Cas, and you’ll have some fun. Right, D?” Dozer trotted along, tongue hanging out without a care in the world.

They walked along Main Street, looking at the windows and enjoying the decorations. The Irish Pub had a Santa animatronic sitting at an outside table, holding a tankard of beer that it occasionally lifted to its mouth, uttering a garbled, “It’s a nice change from the usual!” Castiel didn’t know how he felt about it, but Dean thought it was hilarious enough to stop and just laughed until he wheezed. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of it.

Castiel didn’t go into any of the stores. He didn’t have the funds to do so, but he didn’t stop Dean from poking his head into them once in a while. Dean popped inside a little boutique, and Castiel turned away to scratch Dozer’s head as they waited. The air was cool but not freezing, so being outside wasn’t so bad. The number of people giving him a wide berth was a little concerning. He looked down at himself. Do they think we’re homeless? Not that it mattered, they weren’t, but he couldn’t get their reaction otherwise.

Annoyed, Castiel turned back to see Dean chatting up the woman running the register. He’s leaned forward, and she’s laughing at something he’s said.

Castiel pursed his lips and sighed sadly before turning back around. I just don’t understand.

Dozer, who had been patiently waiting next to Castiel, caught the scent of something too good to pass up. He barked at Castiel, but when Castiel looked down, his dog was already trotting off down the sidewalk on a mission toward the park. He took off after Dozer, trying to navigate the people walking by. Many muttered about him being rude, but he ignored them. Dozer looked back at Castiel and ran smack into a man at full speed. His legs were knocked out from under him, and the man landed flat on his ass. The man glowered at Dozer, who sat down to wait for Castiel. His nonchalant attitude irritated the man further.

“Mr. Novak!” The man snapped. “If you’re going to bring your mutt into town, it needs a leash. There are leash laws for a reason.” He got back to his feet and dusted off his coat. “Do I need to call animal control?” He asked angrily.

Castiel shook his head and hung it low. Mr. Asmoedeus was one of those people who used their name and money to do whatever they liked. He was also, unfortunately, Mayor, another reason Castiel stayed out of town. He had good business sense, and the town grew with him in charge. The people bustling around were certainly thankful for that. A few folks shot him angry looks.

“Hey, man, it was an accident.” Dean’s familiar voice and swagger cut through the crowd that had gathered. “It’s Christmas Eve, you don’t have to be a dick about it.”

Asmodeus gaping like a fish was gratifying. “Excuse me. I must have misheard you–”

“Besides, Cas has a leash. Don’t cha?” Castiel was about to shake his head no when Dean tossed him a little paper bag. He reached into it and felt two items. One was a pale blue leash with little snowflakes. The other was a matching blue tie that clipped to the leash. Castiel held them up for the Mayor to see and very quickly attached the lead to Dozer. In his haste, he accidentally clipped the tie on backwards.

Dozer panted happily, a distinguished little gentleman of a dog. Castiel felt the edges of his eyes grow wet.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean said loudly, with such authority that even the mayor looked humbled.

“Yes…thank you for stepping in…?”

“Dean. Just passing through.” Neither offered a hand. Instead, when Asmodeus stomped off, Dean stuck out his tongue at his retreating figure. The crowd around them dispersed.

Castiel walked away from the people and had to suck in several deep breaths. Once away from the crowds on a less busy residential section, Castiel pointed to the lease and tie.

Dean blushed. “I was trying to be quick. Do you think he likes it?”

Dozer likes anything. Except for turkey vultures, specifically. He barks at their shadows when they fly overhead. Only them, no other birds.

Castiel stopped and leaned up against the cool brick exterior of a home. After several deep breaths, he finally looked up at Dean. He was holding Dozer’s lease, and worry furrowed his brow. “So…how badly do you want to go back?” Dean asked.

Castiel pointed to the three of them and back towards the crowds. You want to go.

Dean leaned against the wall next to him. There were barely a few inches between them. “Sorry for talking to that lady so long. I was asking if she knew about anything low-key happening today.” Dean suddenly clapped his hands and rubbed them. “So, how about this? Why don’t we grab coffee from the little shop we passed and then check out the nature trail/park thingie? She said it was decked out with lights, pretty even in the daytime, and less crowded. No shopping. Work for you?”

Castiel nodded his appreciation. If they were dating, he would kiss him on the cheek to show his gratitude. But Dean still hadn’t mentioned anything about yesterday, and now Castiel’s left to wonder if he read too much into it. Was it just a friendly fuck between dudes, no homo? He had no idea.

Despite that, Castiel had to admit Dean’s plan was appealing. It would be a worthy break from his routine. And it was five years since his uncle passed away. He was allowed to celebrate the holidays if he wished. He had the strangest sensation Gabriel wasn’t too far away.

The line to the coffee shop was atrocious, so Castiel and Dozer waited outside on a little bench. Families and couples strode by with to-go cups or other treats. “Order up!” Dean reappeared with three cups, two coffees, and a cup of whipped cream he held for Dozer to lap like an ice cream cone. They sat in silence, enjoying the heated cups in their cold hands.

The quiet calm broke with an excited squeal from two older women. “Oh, my gosh! I love your sweaters!” One said with approval. “Where did you get them?”

Castiel froze, but Dean smiled and tilted his head towards him. “He made them.”

“Your husband has such a good eye for color!” She said dreamily. “You don’t have an Etsy or anything, do you?”

What’s an Etsy?

Dean shook his head. “Sorry girls, it’s just a hobby.”

She sighed dramatically but then grinned. “Your family is so cute! Would you like a picture?”

“Hell Yeah,” Dean said. He handed his phone to her and moved closer to Castiel. “Smile, Cas,” he whispered. He made some bunny ears behind his head, and the lady laughed.

Dean was right there, whispering in his ear again, but Castiel was only more confused. He wished he didn’t like the shiver up his spine as much as he did.

“Enjoy your holidays, gentlemen!” The second lady grabbed the hand of the first, and they walked off toward town.

Dean held his phone between them so he could show the picture to him. Wow, it did look like a dorky family photo. She got two: one was where Dean gave him bunny ears, and the other was without. Between them was Dozer trying to lick cream off of his nose. It was cute and, yes, a little romantic.

Dean laughed. “No accounting for taste, I guess,” he teased. “Ready to keep rolling? We’re gonna freeze if we just sit here.”

Castiel lead the way to the park. The pet shop lady did not steer them wrong. Few other people were walking the nature trail, so they could walk and enjoy nature in peace. There were colorful light displays, even art pieces, as they made their way around the loop. Dean sometimes spoke, but for the most part, he was quiet as he took in the lights.

I’m going to miss Dean a lot. Castiel wanted to ask what they were. He wanted to push Dean up against a tree and kiss his stupid. He wanted, wanted, wanted, and the question mark between them worsened.

Dean pointed to a bench as they returned to the main park area. “I need some water; just hang here for a second.” He popped into a convenience store along Main Street and, a few moments later, returned with two water bottles. “Sorry. You wouldn’t think walking in the cold would make a guy thirsty!” He spoke oddly, as if he was trying to act normal about something questionable. Which was bizarre since Catiel could see he only had a couple of water bottles on him. He drank from the offered bottle and poured some out for Dozer to drink from.

“Time to hit up the store?” Dean asked after a moment. Castiel nodded. It would get dark soon as he did not like driving it at night. They cut through the park and soon stood in front of Benny’s shop again. Castiel noticed a handwritten sign showing shorter hours for today and closed tomorrow. They would just make it.

As they entered the store, the smell that greeted them was hearty and droll-worthy. Castiel looked around and grinned. Benny had moved his Cajun Day to today, a real miracle.

As they stepped instead, Benny called out from behind the flattop grill.“Little Bird!” He called out, relieved. “I haven’t heard from ya in days! I was this close to sending Jody to check on you and…” Benny left the stove to step closer, face dark with suspicion as he stared at Dean. He crossed his arms over his apron, and the customers inside were hushed.

“Who’s the stranger?”

Chapter Text

The shop was quiet as people watched the unfolding drama. Dean had no idea why his presence caused everyone to act like this toward Cas.

“Hey, dogs aren’t allowed inside,” a snively voice complained.

The owner, at least Dean assumed he was the owner, was muscular and dressed like he’d stepped out of a portal from the 1930s. He spoke with a thick Cajun accent, which explained the delicious and spicy scents in the air. He stared at the voice of dissonance. “He’s better behaved than you. And it’s my shop. Castiel, go sit, and I’ll grab your order in a second.”

They found an empty table leaning against the back wall and settled in. Dozer sat beside Dean and put his heavy, boxy head in his lap. Dean scratched his ears absent-mindedly. Cas shed his coat and had his little notebook pulled out and pen lying on it. He didn’t look at the menu at all. A man of routine, Dean chuckled to himself.

Dean scanned the menu and clapped his hands in excitement. He licked his lips. “Cas, this guy is legit! Gator bites, jambalaya, beignets? Man, that’s going to take me back to Mardi Gras.”

Cas studied him. You’ve been to Mardi Gras?

“Yep. I wanted to know if it was as crazy as everyone makes it sound. It was crazier,” Dean whispered theatrically. “But I can’t kiss and tell.”

Before Cas could ask further, the owner stood over them. “Benny Lafitte. I’m the owner of this establishment and Castiel’s friend. Who’s your name?” He held out a hand to shake.

Dean returned the firm shake. “Dean. I got stuck in the blizzard. Cas is letting me crash there until the road clears.”

Benny’s eyes darted between them. “Is that all you’re doing?”

“What’s it to you?” Dean asked easily, turning on the charm just a little bit with a smile.

Benny turned from him towards Cas. “Your usual?” When he nodded, Benny turned to him. “And for you?”

“Jambalaya and a Coke. Do you have anything dog-friendly back there?”

The ice in Benny’s blue eyes melted a little bit. He looked down at Dozer, who thumped his tail. “Yeah. Got a de-boned ham hock for him.” He returned to the front of the store, where he expertly balanced cooking duties with checking out customers’ grocery orders.

“He seems nice,” Dean said quietly.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. He is my friend.

“You might need better friends then,” Dean said. He didn’t mention how the dude radiated jealousy as he kept watching them.

“Did you guys ever date?” Dean whispered.

Cas shook his head, completely confused. No. I told you that.

“You said you never slept with anyone. Dating is different.” Dean pointed out.

No. No dating. No sex. Nothing. Not until you.

“Why me?” Dean didn’t mean to ask that; he’d just been musing aloud.

You’re different.

Those two words made the butterflies in his stomach worse. He didn’t like that at all. He was not good at relationships. Completely fumbled them even when he tried. Just ask Lisa and Cassie.

Benny returned with two bowls of food, glasses of drinks, and a plate with a cooked hunk of ham for Dozer. “As promised,” he told the dog strangely, leaving their table to deal with more customers.

Dean could imagine them here again: Cas working on his poetry, Dean on his outlines, Dozer on a nap under the table between their legs. It was such a cozy concept that his heart ached. Why do I do this to myself?

“Hey, Mr. Novak! Great to see you lived through the storm.” A female Sheriff came to the table. “Benny was just about to send the calvery to check on you. Glad to see you’re doing ok.” She eyed Dean. “Jody Mills, Sheriff.”

“Dean, friend.”

“Well, Castiel can certainly use more of those,” she said casually. She returned to the tabletop and waved down Benny. “I need a dozen beignets for the office, STAT, Benny.”

“You mean you need them for your wife, Donna,” he corrected.

Jody grinned. “Why not both? She loves a good snack.”

“Which is why she married you,” he joked back. The townsfolk didn’t seem so scary to Dean.

Jody waited for her order, and once most of the customers were gone, she asked in a loud whisper. “Off the record, have we gotten any more stock from our local distiller?”

Dean coughed on a mouthful of food. He glanced up at Cas, then the police officer, but Cas acted like he hadn’t heard her.

Benny leaned down. “Nothing yet, sorry. I think they’re working on a new batch.”

“Excellent.” When she saw Dean staring at her, mouth open, she grinned. “Someone makes excellent moonshine around here. As a hobby, of course, never for sale. Benny lets some of us try it for free and offer our opinions.”

Dean recovered quickly with a cheeky smile. “Free hooch? Now that’s a Co-Op I could get behind.”

The door blew open with a strong wind, carrying a waif of a man wearing an oversized postal worker outfit. His hat was in danger of falling off his head. “Excuse me, where can I find Sheriff Mills?”

She waved her hand. “Right here. What’s the emergency?”

“Oh! No emergency–I just wanted to let you know I’m the town’s new postal worker! I’m sorry I got here so late.” He held out his hand. “Garth Fitzgerald IV.”

They shook hands. “Glad to meet you.”

Benny was watching this man very intently. “Benny,” he offered. “Can I get you something to eat? You look cold.”

“Yes, please, I’ll take anything.” Garth collapsed into a bar stool and shivered. “Man! It is colder than a witch’s tit in a brass bra out there.”

That surprised a laugh right out of Benny. He gave the newcomer a giant helping of food, which Garth tucked into like a starving hound.

After Benny gave the box of beignets to the Sheriff, she turned to Garth. “How are the roads getting into town? On the ridge?”

Garth nodded. “Almost done! I’ve been following the plows around while doing my delivery. Everything below the town was cleared. Temperatures will be warm enough to allow snow to start melting. Tomorrow, the ridge will be cleared as well. Merry Christmas!” he said.

Behind him, Dean and Cas froze and signed at the same time. “Well, it looks like we have our timeframe. Tomorrow,” Dean said. Cas nodded. He didn’t finish the last few bites of food on his plate. Even Dean’s appetite fled at the news.

Dean paid for their meal and left an enormous cash tip. Benny gave him another cautious once-over. Dean understood. Friends vet for friends. He’s been on the receiving end of the shotgun talk several times.

Not that it applied to them.

Outside, the wind was biting cold. The sun started to head down through the bare tree branches. Dean hated to see Cas so bummed, so he decided to try something different. “Come on, gang. We gotta head home before we lose the daylight. We gotta decorate our place! Right, Cas?”

After a moment of contemplation, Cas nodded his consent. So, while Cas drove them back to the cabin, Dean devised a plan. Once back in Cas’ snowy yard, Dean clapped. “Ok! We have work to do. We need a tree and stuff for garlands. Dried fruit, candies, anything. Got it?”

Cas and Dozer shared a dubious look, but Dean wasn’t having it. “Nope. We are getting into the Christmas spirit even if it kills us!”

They got to work. As the sun set, they took Cas’ sled and chainsaw into the woods to find the perfect little Christmas tree. They searched by flashlight for one that would fit Cas’ little cabin living room. With no big bare spots, lots of full braces, and no insect nests, Dean declared. “It’s perfect!” And just like that, they were heading back to the cabin with the tree tied down on the sled. They took turns hauling it through the snow and collected extra evergreen boughs. Dozer was in charge of a branch with several clusters of perfect pine cones.

Getting it home and inside was a trial. But soon, it was there, propped up inside an old pot with water and bricks.

Cas rummaged through his pantry and pulled out some dried oranges, cranberries, and fishing wire. They worked together to make garlands while Christmas music played in the background. Dean found a station playing Manheim Steamroller, so it was the best of both worlds. Cas also had rum and eggnog and was very heavy-headed with his servings. Nothing would top the moonshine, but it was a close thing.

After a few hours of honest labor, they stepped back from the living room and eyed their work. The tree was a little taller than Dean's, with fruit garlands and some paper snowflake ornaments. Garlands were along the bay window, and the other windows either got garlands or more snowflakes. Even with the lack of lights in the tree, it was still very festive. Wresting the pine cones off the stick that Dozer guarded with his life had been extra fun. He ended up keeping most of them.

“Good job, Cas,” Dean said, and they clinked their mugs of eggnog. “Looks festive in here now.”

Cas nodded in agreement as he took everything in. He flopped down next to Dozer on the couch with a heavy oof. They had worked hard, and both were sweaty. Dean sat next to Cas and allowed his body to rest momentarily.

“So, I haven’t spoken to my brother in fifteen years,” Dean said out of nowhere. He pointed to the tree. “This reminds me of him. Our last Christmas, we took a pine stick from outside, and trimmed it with a garland of dental floss and microwave popcorn. We gave each other gifts from the gas station. He gave me beef jerky and a quart of oil for Baby. I gave Sammy shaving cream because that dude grows his five o'clock shadow at noon. He looks like you by five.”

Cas huffed a little laugh but mostly just sat and listened. Dozer snoozed next to him.

“We didn’t have the best childhood growing up. Mom died when I was four when our house caught on fire. Dad–John–was always working. He’d dump us at random motels for a few weeks and leave. I don’t even know what he was doing. Bounty hunter, maybe? Whatever it was, it was dangerous, so he moved us around constantly. My job was to protect Sammy and take care of him.”

In high school, there was another kid in that motel where we stayed. His name was Adam, and he became our best friend. He didn’t have anyone since his mom worked as a nurse.”

Dean drank his nog and studied the tree, mind a thousand miles away. “Dad died in a car crash when I was eighteen. Sam was fourteen. He crashed in the Impala. I ended up restoring her myself.”

Cas nodded in sudden understanding. He wondered what jigsaw piece fell into place for him. “I got custody of Sam but dropped out of school to work as much as possible at my uncle’s garage, as a dishwasher at a bar, and eventually as a bartender. I even hustled some pool and once got my ass kicked for it—other stuff when Sam needed something extra for school. I did everything I could for him. And Adam, to an extent. His mom got sick, so I provided for him as well.”

“For years, I was running on fumes. I just kept thinking that once Sam graduated high school, we could get our shitty little three-bedroom somewhere.” Dean drank for a moment, emptying the cup. “Sam and I had a massive argument the night he graduated.” Dean paused, not wanting to relive that awful night but knowing he needed to. No, he wanted Cas to know this.

“Sam blindsided me by saying he got a full ride to Stanford. Instead of telling him congrats, I accused him of running away from the family who needed him.” Dean ran a hand over his face. “Yes, I know. I was a stressed-out dumbass. I’d been counting in my head on his help with bills. He didn’t mention the full ride initially; he just got accepted, and I had no idea how we would pay for that. Later, he clarified, but at that point, we were already fighting. Adam saw the whole thing.”

“It almost came to blows. I told Sam that if he wanted to leave so badly, he should just go then. And he accused me of being no better than our Dad.” Dean’s voice hardened that. He could feel angry tears welling in the corner of his eyes. He rubbed them away and exhaled loudly.

“Sorry, I ruined the mood,” he said bitterly. Cas reached out and patted Dean’s arm to comfort him. He didn’t want an arm pat. He wanted a real hug. But ever since the cave, he’s been scared. Running away like always. Dean opened his mouth to say something to Cas but stopped. Later. He needed to tell the rest because he needed advice.

“Sam did leave the night,” Dean continued. “Stayed with friends, went to California early, I don’t know. He probably took a plane since I can’t fly. We should have spent the summer planning a big road trip to take him to school,” Dean said forlornly. “So, it was Adam and I for a long time. His mom got better, thank God, but it was hit-and-miss for a while.”

“So, Adam and Sam talk, and Sam keeps him updated on what he’s up to. He’s going to grad school now to be a research library archivist. I only learn bits and pieces through Adam. It’s all I’ve been allowed to get except now. Adam said I had a wedding invitation from Sam to a woman named Eileen. And…I…”

Dean put his head in his hands. “What the hell do I do?”

Cas studied Dean’s hunched-over body momentarily and pulled out his notebook. He flipped to a fresh sheet. Do you want to reconcile?

“It’s not that easy. I gotta figure out his angle.”

“That’s a downer ending, Cas, not very ‘Hallmark Christmas magic’ of you.”

I don’t think that’s going to happen. But you’re right. This isn’t a Hallmark movie. This is real life.

“Have you even seen a Hallmark movie?” Dean suddenly wondered. He looked at Cas like he was an alien. “Dude…have you ever watched anything? Do you even know what a TV is?”

Cas rolled his eyes. Yes, Dean. I’m not Amish. I watch things at the library.

Dean remembered his younger days flipping through the shows and movies he could find on the motel’s cable. “Just to confirm, you’re saying I should talk to him.”

Cas nodded. Of course, he makes it sound easy; he doesn’t have the baggage. Mia does that, too.

“You make it sound easy. What do I even start with?”

Hello is usually a good opener.

Despite how upset he was, that did make him chuckle. “You know what I mean.”

Be honest. To him and yourself. What do you want?

Dean felt like Cas meant that in a different way as well, but he played dumb.

“I guess I gotta figure it out.”

The rest of the night was quiet companionship. Cas had moved to the fireplace and was whittling something from a piece of wood with superhuman speed and precision. However, every time Dean tried to get a better view, he was shooed away.

He stared at his notebook, but still no ideas. He still had time, technically. He also still had time to chicken out about Cas.

Multiple times today, he was overcome with the urge to kiss Cas. When they passed under a giant batch of mistletoe on a tree branch while tree hunting. While stringing together the garlands, their hands kept touching. At the park, pushed up against a tree. Dean was too scared to kiss this man a second time. But he got him the present he did? Oh, yeah, I’m a coward.

So, they both went to bed alone, without only thoughts of the other to keep them company.

~*~

“So, you’re the couch surfer?”

Dean frowned as his peaceful dream was interrupted by a stranger. He wore similar clothes to Dean, had amber eyes and hair, and a lollipop stick hanging from his mouth. He looked oddly familiar, though Dean couldn’t place him.

He decided to ignore the stranger and get back to fishing. He sat on some rocks, watching for movement in a small stream. Next to the creek was an empty foundation. He meant to start work on a house, but things kept getting in his way. Maybe someday.

The man looked at the empty plot and hummed but said nothing.

“You’re ruining my zen, dude. Either say what you want or go away.” The stranger caused him to feel on edge, like this wasn’t a dream anymore, but not quite real life either—some limbo in between.

The man grinned around the lollipop stick. “You’re feisty. I like that. Castiel does, too, but he won’t say anything. Obviously.”

Dean studied him again. “You look like the statue Cas has. Are you his uncle Gabriel?”

“For all intents and purposes, yep.” He held out his hand, which Dean shook. It was smaller than his own but was stronger than he looked.

“What are you doing in my dream?” Dean asked suspiciously. “How would I even dream you up? I’ve never met you.”

Gabriel plopped down on the rocks next to him and sat cross-legged. “Let’s just say I took time out of my busy schedule to check on my favorite charge. And saw him playing house with you.”

“We’re snowed in. What else am I supposed to do, sit on my ass until I leave? I’m not a pillow princess; I can earn my keep.”

Gabriel tsked at him. “You can calm your tits, amigo. We’re actually on the same side.”

“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”

“Castiel. We both care about him. He has a bad habit of doing everything himself. Having someone to share life’s burdens, as much as sharing its joys, is a good thing.”

Dean went back to fishing. “I didn’t expect Cas’ uncle’s ghost to start spouting fortune cookie saying at me.”

Gabriel pointed the lollipop at him. “I’m just trying to figure out your angle.”

“I don’t have one,” Dean bristled at the implication.

“Course you do, everyone does. Comes free with being a human. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. But you gotta be a little self-aware of how things are versus what you think they are.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Dean said dryly.

“It’s like talking to a wall,” Gabriel muttered and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, you’re adults. You’ll figure it out. In fact, it looks like you guys have figured some things out. Congrats and mazel tov.” He wiggled his eyebrows in salacious knowing, and Dean wanted to die. “Anyways, if you’re going to fuck him and leave, just be honest about it.”

“You’re not going to threaten me with a bat?”

“Free will is a bitch,” Gabriel intoned. “But I can assure you, you’d rather have the choice than not.”

Dean eyed him. “You’re not a ghost.”

Gabriel puffed up his chest. “As much as I would enjoy seeing your reaction to my true identity, I’ve mettled enough as is.”

“Alright then, keep your secrets,” Dean said. He fished for another moment. “You did a good job with him.”

“Except for the mute thing,” Gabriel said sadly.

“It’s not so bad. We get along just fine.”

Gabriel smiled. “Really? Well, that’s good to hear. Maybe you two dunces aren’t as doomed as I feared.” The strange man disappeared with a snap of his fingers, and Dean’s dream world melted into white.

Chapter Text

Castiel was working on his dream log cabin.

In his waking hours, he’d drawn up plans, read every book, and watched every video he could find at the library about building a log cabin. It was his one big dream: to create a cabin in a patch of forest, use the logs felled there, and make it with everything he wanted, including a proper first-floor bedroom for De–Dozer to sleep with him at night.

Castiel wanted it so badly and thought about it so often that he spent most of his nights dreaming of building his log cabin. He worked diligently on it, log by log, night by night, always alone. It was slow going, but he never complained.

His was in a white space with just the cabin half-built and the woodworking table.

A familiar shape materialized next to him. “Hey, kiddo.”

Castiel paused and looked down to see his uncle Gabriel, exactly how he had looked when he had died. “Hello, Gabriel. You look the same,” Castiel said, voice raspy and low from disuse. “Though I suppose you would. This is a dream.”

Gabriel grinned, a white lollipop stick hanging from his mouth. “This is a weird dream. You’re talking, and I’m dead.”

When Castiel’s face fell, Gabriel waved him off. “Don’t worry about it! It won’t be the last time I die. As you can see, it didn’t stick.”

Castiel paused his woodworking to tilt his head at Gabriel questioningly. “What does that mean?”

Gabriel hopped up on the table beside him, legs dangling. “It means I sometimes have to get a little more hands-on with my charges.”

“What do you mean your charges? Do you have other kids you help?”

“Sure, there’s some others out there. No one like you, though. Even after I had exceeded my time frame, I still couldn’t get you to talk. You wouldn’t crack even for my best bits.” He sounded pretty put out about this.

“Maybe they weren’t funny,” Castiel deadpanned.

Gabriel rolled his eyes and put a hand over his heart. “You wound me!”

Castiel thought about how his foster family reacted to Gabriel’s presence. Whenever he was around, they ignored his antics so thoroughly that Castiel thought it was out of pride. Perhaps they never interacted with him because he wasn’t there at all?

“So, I went mad due to neglect and conjured you up?” He said calmly.

Gabriel choked on his lollipop. “Conjured me? That’s rich. When did you grow such a big head?” He crossed his arms. “Try again. Maybe something a little more…holy?”

Now, it was Castiel’s turn to snort. He continued working on the log for the cabin wall, using the planer to shave away the bark until it was smooth. “You can’t be an angel.”

“You’re right. I’m not an angel. I’m the angel. The Archangel Gabriel, at your service.” He did a theatrical little bow with jazz hands.

Castiel wasn’t convinced. He never looked up from his woodworking. “You taught me how to make illegal moonshine and mead to sell to people. You loved eating sweets, thought vegetables were gross, and always made bad innuendos. Hell, you’re being prideful right now.”

Gabriel shoved his hands in his pockets. “Archangels have more leeway from the home office, it’s true.”

Castiel stopped working to face him finally. “So, you thought pretending to die was a better plan than just telling me what you were?” His heart ached, and his unused voice trembled.

Gabriel ducked his head. “I…am sorry.” He said the words slowly like he wasn’t used to apologizing. “I did do you a bit dirty like that. But! You needed to learn to fly on your own, so to speak. And you technically haven’t been alone; Dozer has been there, too. I made sure you found one another.”

Castiel rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand. He frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. “What about Dean? Did you send him my way for pity points, too?”

“I didn’t.” Gabriel leaned closer and gave him a knowing nod. “Oh, you like him, don’t you?”

Castiel didn’t move. “Maybe? I mean, I enjoy his company. I’ll be (devastated, lost, forlorn) sad to see him go.”

“There’s no point in hiding your true feelings. That just causes more angst down the road. You need to embrace your past and move forward into a better future.”

Castiel pondered why Gabriel felt the need to clarify that. He bit his lip.

“Is Dean…the one?”

Gabriel coughed. “Uh…I can’t say.” When Castiel squinted at him, he held up his hands. “Scouts’ honor! I’m not a Cupid, so this is not my department. Not that that matters either because it looks like you two are just making it up as you go.”

Gabriel waved his hands. “All I can say is that sometimes love needs to be fought for. Dean has his demons with which he has to deal. However, he could be a good match. If I was allowed to have a professional opinion.” He winked at Castiel and hopped off the table.

Castiel wondered if this were the closest he would get to a blessing.

“Good luck, though. I’ll see you eventually, but it better be for a very long time, you hear me?”

He raised his hand, fingers poised to snap, and Castiel knew their time together was approaching the end. Somehow, this dream was more real than he initially understood.

“Wait.” He moved forward and pulled Gabriel into a hug. “No matter what you are, I’ll still miss you.”

The other man sputtered indignantly but eventually caved and patted him on the back. “Of course you do. And you’re still my favorite charge.” Gabriel ruffled his hair.

“Dean’s helping me look forward, not back. We even decorated the cabin this year.”

“I’m glad he’s been a good influence. Just remember to get into some good trouble, too.” Gabriel said with a wink. He pulled back, snapped his fingers, and everything went white.

~*~

Christmas morning dawned bright and early. Castiel spent some time tidying up, and Dean wolf-whistled when he left the bathroom. He’d trimmed his hair and shaved most of the scraggle, leaving a short beard close to his face.

Dean made pancakes, and they listened to Christmas music on the radio. Castiel fed the girls and could tell the air was warmer. The melting snow created large puddles on the ground, which became tinged red from the clay mud underneath. Garth’s prediction was correct. Dean leaves today. He went inside with an armful of logs and stoked the fire in the wood stove. He gently placed the ones he didn’t use in the rack. Dozer sniffed the logs with interest.

When Castiel stood up, he saw three gifts under the tree. One was from him–it was wrapped in a kitchen towel. The other two were a little red gift bag clumsily wrapped in tissue paper.

“Hey, look at that! Looks like Santa visited, huh, Cas?” Dean said, glancing around innocently. He reached down and gave the bag to Castiel. It had tissue paper jammed haphazardly inside. Castiel curiously pulled out the paper and then two smaller items. He held them with growing confusion.

A box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

Castiel looked at the items for a long moment, then met Dean’s heated gaze. He tilted his head in confusion.

“I wanted to give you a proper first time,” Dean said. “Another one because a drunk cave handjob shouldn’t be your first experience.” He chuckled.

Castiel frowned. He liked that drunken handjob, thank you very much. It had been such a primal, erotic thing. People have been fucking in caves by fires for thousands of years. It felt sacred, in a way.

Dean sighed, exasperated. “Cas, I’m not saying it wasn’t a good time. I’m just saying that it wasn’t very…you know…romantic or whatever.” He took a deep breath. “So, if you’re interested—”

Castiel gnawed on the inside of his lip as he thought. He should get his notebook and figure out if this means anything to Dean or if it is just something he does. Not everyone has the same connections about sex–Castiel knows that. But he didn’t want to. He doesn’t always have to write every single thing down. He didn’t want to try and sort through this confusing mess in his head. So, he packed it away and decided to accept what Dean was offering. A chance to have Dean properly? That he would fight for.

He nodded and smiled softly at Dean.

“Great,” Dean smiled back. “Then the real question is, do you want me to top? Or do you want to?”

Castiel knew the answer before Dean finished asking. He pointed to himself.

“Good choice, Cas.” Dean slowly moved towards him. “Where do you wanna do it? Your loft?”

At first, the obvious answer was yes since it was the closest thing Castiel had to a typical bedroom. But there was little light up there, and it was small. No, he wanted to see all of Dean.

Castiel surprised both of them by pointing to the couch. The soft morning light from the window and the festive tree made it the perfect place to make love.

“Kinky,” Dean teased, but he was smiling too.

Castiel took the gifts in his hands, chucked them to the couch, wrapped Dean in a crushing hug, and lifted him quickly to deposit him on the sofa. Before they could kiss, Dozer huffed by the fireplace, and both froze.

“Ruh-roh,” Dean whispered, trying not to laugh.

Castiel rolled his eyes. Cock-blocked by his dog. He got off Dean and locked Dozer in the bathroom with a toy and a towel in the bathtub to nap. He washed his hands and returned to Dean, who was standing, doing a slow strip tease of pulling off his flannel, his t-shirt, and shimmying out of his jeans. He stood there cocky and sexy, and Castiel’s fingers itched to touch him.

“Come on, Cas.” Castiel followed Dean’s command, pulling off his hoodie and sweatpants as he did. They were both in their underwear, and he suddenly felt a little out of sorts. He had no idea what to do–the alcohol did a lot of lifting last time.

“What me to give you some directions?” Dean asked sweetly.

Cas bit his lip and nodded.

“Alright, well, let’s start with something simple. Follow my lead and kiss me.”

Castiel could do that. He reached out and cradled Dean’s cheek, ran his thumb over the skin there, and pulled them towards each other. Their lips met a little hesitantly. But once Castiel tasted Dean again, he knew he wanted this man. Fervently, ferally, anyway, he could have Dean he would have him.

“Sit on the couch, Cas,” Dean ordered, and he moved like he was in a dream. Castiel sat in the middle of the couch, legs spread, back against the backrest, staring up at Dean, who was now towering over him. Dean bit his lip, and Castiel’s heart picked up pace. This had been a great idea. The low morning light spilled over Dean, making his green-gold eyes sparkle in the sunlight. The dusting of freckles across his cheeks and chest Castiel had never seen before appeared like magic, and Catiel knew he was gone. He wore his simple amulet, a bronze head of some icon. Castiel would have to ask about it later.

With effortless grace, Dean slid into his lap, perching on his thick thighs, running his hands along the muscles there. “God, you’re built. I never considered myself a thigh guy, but you might change that.” He praised quietly. Dean kissed him, licked into his mouth, and started trailing kisses down Castiel’s neck. Castiel wanted to be slow and take his time with Dean. He followed Dean’s examples, leaving a trail of nips and crushing kisses on his neck and pecs. When Dean rolled his head to encourage the movement, Castiel licked and sucked on his earlobe. Dean’s shudder and little catch of breath were addicting.

Castiel explored with his hands, lips, and tongue. Dean wasn’t a passive lover, ever; he arched against Castiel, bringing dicks to rub pleasantly. Their chests rubbed together with every motion, making his cock impossibly hard. Slick nipples sliding against each other sent little shocks through his system. He was getting overwhelmed, and they had barely begun.

Castiel reached over, grabbed the lube, and held it up in question.

“Do you want to get me ready or watch?” Dean asked breathlessly. Castiel saw the little nips and bruises on him, and his dick throbbed.

He pointed to himself, and Dean smiled. “Alright. Then start with one finger, and I’ll tell you when to add more. The idea is to add lube and stretch me out for you.” Castiel pulled down Dean's underwear, revealing his pretty dick. Suddenly, Cas got an idea. He grabbed Dean’s perfect ass with his hands and forced him into standing. His knees braced against the couch, his cock right in Castiel’s face. “Cas, what are–oh, fuck.”

Dean let out this strained little noise as Castiel flicked his tongue over the tip of his cock. Hesitantly, he drizzled a little lube on his hand and spread it over Dean’s shaft, leaving the tip untainted. He knew he couldn’t suck down Dean entirely off the bat, but he wanted a little taste. He started stroking Dean’s shaft in time, with him taking the head in his mouth, licking and sucking on it like a lollipop. It was salty and tangy, and he kept up a quick rhyme, enjoying himself too much.

Dean’s hands threaded into his hair, holding on. Dean was watching him with such a fiery look it made Castiel harder. “God, you’re so hot, Cas. You would take it all the way to the hilt if you could, wouldn’t you?” Castiel nodded. Dean’s hips bucked forward as Castiel sucked on him harder. His lubed hand went to Dean’s balls, rubbed, and messaged them as he continued his ministrations. Eventually, Dean groaned and threw his head back.

“Cas, if you keep doing that, I’ll come.” Dean’s voice and knees were both wobbly.

That’s what I want. Castiel squeezed his dick a little bit and stroked faster, sucked more fervently, and Dean’s hands tightened in his hair to the point of pain. One of Dean’s hands reached up and pinched his left nipple. “Cas–oh yeah, don’t stop, please, ahh~”

Dean spurted fast and hot into Castiel’s mouth, holding his head in place to swallow it all. He didn’t spill a single drop. Dean did drop right into his lap with a giddy smile. He leaned forward and kissed Castiel slowly, using his tongue to explore and taste himself. He hummed in approval. “Holy shit, I thought you were a newb at this,” he accused.

Castiel grinned impishly. He moved his hips, reminding Dean he was painfully hard and needed some help with it. Castiel thought for a moment Dean was done, and he might just get another handjob, but no. Dean was not a quitter. He rubbed his hips against Castiel’s dick. “You can put a finger in me. I want it, I want you,” he whispered in Castiel’s ear. “They’re so thick it won’t take long for me to be ready.”

He glided his hands down Dean’s sides and squeezed some of the lube on his fingers. It was cold and incredibly slippery. Thicker than he was expecting. He blew on it to try and warm it a little bit. Dean softened at the extra little kindness. “Such a gentlemen,” he teased.

Castiel followed his instruction, slowly encircling his rim with the lube before pushing in. The heat and tightness were intriguing but also very hot. He slowly wiggled around, pulled, and pushed his fingers until he started gaining a rhythm. Dean’s hips moved along with him, groaning a little in his ear. “Come on, more.”

With two fingers, Cas was getting used to the movements and was starting to tell when Dean was ready for more. More lube, three fingers were tight, but Dean swore he was ok. His skin was shiny sweat, his flaccid cock bobbing at the motion.

“OK, I’m good.” Castiel arched an eyebrow. He didn’t think Dean was good. He still felt a little tight, but Dean moved his hips. “I like a little pain. Makes the end better.”

Dean leaned back and gave Castiel a soft kiss. “I need you to fuck me into next week. Can you do that, Cas?”

As you wish. As Castiel applied lube to his hand, Dean grabbed a condom from the box and rolled it onto his with practiced efficiency. It took him a moment to get used to the sensation covering his cock. He understood the practical reasons, but he wished he could fuck Dean naturally. Working together, Castiel lined up with Dean’s ass and slowly inched his way inside. It was so tight and hotter as Dean took him in. And once he was fully seated, he paused to breathe. It was overwhelming and nothing like he’d expected.

Castiel kissed Dean, long and sloppy, until his lips were puffy, and he was begging Castiel to move already. The first thrusts were mechanical as Castiel figured out how to move his hips. Following Dean’s lead helped, and he moved down, Castiel moved up, and the slap of their hips got faster and faster. He knew he was doing something right when he slammed up, and Dean choked out a little cry of pleasure. “Oh, fuck yeah, Cas, exactly like that.”

Being spread open on Cas’s lap meant he had to take what he was given. Castiel’s hands held onto Dean’s ass cheeks to hold him in place, to hold them open and give himself a little more room. His grunts and groans mixed with Dean’s sweet nothings and egging him on. Dean’s voice in his ear, licking and sucking, he was going crazy and wouldn’t last long. His hips and back were on fire, but he needed to do this right for both.

Dean shuddered and gasped with a particularly deep thrust. “Oh, hit that spot again, Cas, please.” Oh, I must have found his prostate.

He wished he could whisper back to Dean right now, as he was getting drunk on Dean’s reactions.

He slammed back in with better precision and watched Dean almost levitate right off his lap. “Fuck, Cas, right there. Make me come–right there–please!”

Dean arched up, and white sticky cum erupted from his cock onto Castiel’s chest. He clenched so hard that Castiel could only thrust a few more times before he exploded into the condom. His hips kept moving until he spent, and then they lay in a collapsed heap, sticky, sweaty, and exhausted in the best way possible.

Castiel carefully rotated them so they could lay on the couch properly; Dean collapsed on top of him. Castiel reached up and kissed Dean long and slow, not caring about the mess but just wanting the closeness. His eyes studied Dean as he lay there, recovering.

“Ok. That had to be better than a drunk cave handjob.”

Castiel shrugged, and Dean almost hit him. He grinned and nodded, kissing him softly. Yes, definitely. He hoped Dean could tell how much he cared for this man with those kisses.

Mollified, Dean flopped back onto him. Castiel couldn't help but run his fingers over Dean’s skin.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean said softly, kissing him again. “Now, I’m gonna need a shower.” He sat up and grimaced. “...you know I have to leave today, right?”

Cas sighed but nodded. He’d been preparing for this.

“I'll probably get going as soon as possible,” Dean admitted. “I want to get some miles under the tires. But…this was fun, Cas. Trust me. I wouldn’t want to be snowed in with anyone else.”

Castiel knew it, but it was difficult to hear. He kissed Dean’s hand and his head. Dean helped with the condom, tying it off and chucking it into the trashcan as he waddled his way to the bathroom.

Once Dozer was kicked outside of it, Castiel pulled on his clothes and collapsed onto a kitchen chair. He knew Dean would be leaving, but did it have to be so soon?

When Dean left the bathroom dressed in clean clothes, he knew it was time. The notion shot daggers of ice through his heart.

Dozer also realized it because he roused himself from a nap and sat beside Castiel. They both watched as Dean collected his few items around the place and packed them in his bag.

Castiel gave Dean the small item under the tree. “Is this a Christmas gift?” Castiel nodded, and Dean opened it cuirously. He looked at the wooden item inside for a few seconds, but then a massive smile appeared. “Is this Baby? You whittled her!” He flapped his hand in excitement as he dropped the towel. “Holy shit, she’s so detailed. You’re amazing!”

Castiel’s cheeks turned pink as Dean carefully stowed her in his bag. He pointed to the last gift under the tree. “Open it after I leave, please.”

Dean pulled on his coat and boots. Once he had his bag and keys, Castiel enclosed him in a crushing hug. “Alright, big guy, Merry Christmas. I’ll be heading to town for gas, then on my way.” Dean squeezed his shoulder, and he scratched Dozer on the head. “Thanks for being good hosts. Have a good life, you two.”

Castiel and Dozer watched as Dean left and got him his car. The engine roared to life, and Dean inched her up the driveway, which had melted enough for him to leave.

As he drove away, the pit in Castiel’s stomach grew larger and larger. He knew this was wrong, but he didn’t know how to make it right. Dozer whined loudly.

As Dean’s tail lights disappeared in the trees, Castiel looked away. His eyes were watery. What should I do? Why am I upset about it? I knew he was leaving. I consented to the sex. I just wanted to hold onto him a little longer. Why does it feel like I’ve been shot through the heart?

The answer slapped him upside the head. This is love, isn’t it?

I love him.

The truth was clear now; he had fallen in love with Dean this week. He loved him and wanted him in his bed and his life. At this point, he would accept Dean’s friendship, but at least he’d have him in his life. This can’t be it. I have to tell him.

Castiel grabbed his snowmobile keys, boots, and jacket and raced outside into the snow, barely closing the door behind him. Dozer barked like crazy.

He turned over the machine, pulled on his helmet, took off through the mountain forest at a dangerous speed, and hoped to cut Dean off in town.

I have to tell him how I feel. I could ask him to stay. Was it logical? No, but Castiel. For once, he wasn’t running on logic but on emotion.

He drove like a bat out of hell, barely missing animals as he went. A large heard of white-tailed deer stood before him, and he slowed down, beeping frantically to get them to run away. They barely moved, so he had to back up and go around them. As he took a different path, the woods got darker the deeper he went.

He drove, palms sweaty, heart pounding, and trying to keep his tears from falling.

Eventually, the trees became less dense, and Castiel recognized the place where the snowmobile was coming from. Shit, this is the wrong side of town! He turned the machine and drove through the forest overlooking the town, but the trees were denser here, so he had to slow down.

Come on, come on! Castiel drove faster until he had to stop due to the forest becoming pavement. The gas station was just up ahead. He ditched the snowmobile to run towards it. He was gasping for air, and everything hurt.

His heart stopped when he didn’t see the black car in the gas station. Did I already miss him?

The familiar roar of the engine pulled Castiel’s eyes to the traffic light that led to the highway. Dean’s car was idling at it, the only since it was early Christmas morning.

Castiel burst from the woods, running towards Dean’s car and waving his hands frantically. He didn’t have his safety whistle to get his attention. Just as he paused to whistle, the light turned green.

Dean’s car pulled away and onto the interstate without any indication that he’d noticed Castiel.

There was a loud beep behind him, and Castiel realized he stood in the middle of the road, blocking traffic. He numbly walked back to his still-running snowmobile and collapsed against it. He didn’t stop the tears that fell.

“Goodbye, Dean,” Castiel’s voice was tiny and hoarse from disuse. He held his head in his hands and felt his heart break.

Chapter Text

Twenty hours was a long time to drive from Cas’ place back to his apartment in Lebanon, Kansas. And every mile he drove, the stronger the urge to turn around.

Dean felt awful like he’d kicked a puppy, going off the expression on Cas’ face when he left. Two since even Dozer seemed down. Dean tried to rally himself by telling himself Cas would appreciate his quiet mornings back and his couch to read on. He probably breathed a sigh of relief when you left.

Dean knew in his heart that this wasn’t right, but he was so used to leaving people behind that it was second nature. This didn’t make the knife twisting in his gut any better.

Still, Dean had other priorities than Cas. He had a book to deliver and to talk to his brothers first. In the meantime, he shoved his memories with Cas into a little box and put it away. He had work to do.

After he crossed the Blue Ridge mountains and entered Kentucky, Dean called the number he dreaded the most. The posh accent made him grit his teeth as Crowley answered. “Dean! I hope this is about your next book, not just a social call.”

He heard an older female voice in the background and the scraping of silverware. “Who’s that, Fergus?”

Dean snickered to himself. “Is that your Mom?”

“Excuse me, I’ll be quick,” Crowley said and, after a few seconds, said, “I do have family obligations, Dean; it is Christmas. What do you have for me?”

At first, Dean was about to admit he didn’t have anything, but all at once, an idea erupted from his mind fully formed. He’d been collecting bits and pieces this past week. His scare about monsters in the snowstorm, Cas’s love for true crime and thrillers, Cas himself and his dog.

“It’s an urban fantasy. There are monsters in this world. Every legend is true. And some people hunt these monsters. It will be a monster-of-the-week type format for every book. Staring a hunter named Cas…pian. Solo. He has a brilliant hound dog named Scully as his sidekick. And he might have a trickster angel as his patron. He helps people, but he’s also looking for his long-lost brother Lucien, who demons took when he was a kid. It’ll be an Ode to Americana, the Preternatural Files.”

Crowley was quiet as he mulled it over. Dean’s hands started sweating as he held the steering wheel. “It’s not the greatest thing I’ve seen from you,” Dean frowned. “--but it has potential.” Dean sighed in relief. “I’ll stave off the hounds for now. Just get me a full outline as soon as you can.”

“Hey, Crowley? Thanks for sticking your neck out.”

His agent scoffed. “What, did three ghosts visit you last night?”

“Something like that,” Dean joked, thinking of the strange dream with Gabriel.

“Well, it’s my job. So, Happy Christmas back to you, Dean. We’ll talk details after New Year’s.” With that, he hung up.

The long road miles felt twice as long as he continued his journey. He didn’t get a motel room once he was past the point of his exhaustion. He pulled into a 24/7 gas station and slept in the back seat of his car. He still struggled to sleep and didn’t want to eat. His stomach was sour, and he felt too melancholy to do anything but drive.

Dean never realized how much his apartment was a bare drap little box until he rolled into it just after midnight two days later. Yes, he had some decor and sentimental items, but it was just a big beige box. He’d been trying to hold off thinking about Cas and Dozer, but his brain was traitorous, and it was all he could think about. He’d wanted to leave Cas with a good memory before he took off. So, why did he feel so awful about it?

There’s no rest for the wicked. He had to do this before he fell into a pit of despair.

He texted Adam quickly. “I’m back at my apartment. We need to talk.”

A few moments later, Adam knocked on the door. Dean answered it, and Adam walked inside without saying a word. His arms were crossed, and he was scowling at Dean. “What do you want, Dean?” He sounded tired already. Adam paused and really looked his over. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks; I’ve been gone offline for a week, and this is the greeting I get. How do you know hillbillies didn’t kidnap me?”

Adam looked down, some of his anger dissolving. “Oh. Uh…you ok?”

“It’s not important,” Dean said. “Right now, I need you to call Sam and put him on speakerphone.”

Adam’s jaw fell open. “You…really?”

“Yes, really. Before I lose my nerve,” Dean admitted. He went to his fridge, grabbed two beers, and led Adam to the couch. They plopped down just as the phone picked up.

“Hey, Adam. It’s kinda late, everything ok?”

Dean froze. It was the first time he’d heard Sam’s voice in fifteen years. He sounded so much older now. Adam didn’t say anything as he held the phone between them. “Adam?”

“Uh…” Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Sammy.” His voice was thick.

The phone line was quiet for a moment. “Hey, Dean. You sound…good?”

“I know I sound old but holy shit, when did you hit puberty?” Dean joked.

“Haha, I still have the same wit as ever.” Dean could just imagine the eye roll. “What do you want, Dean?”

“Yes, Dean, what do you want?” Adam repeated so Sam understood this was a conference call.

Dean started picking at the edge of the beer label. “I got a wedding invitation from my little brother; is it difficult to think I’d want to say hi?”

“Is that it?” Sam’s voice was guarded.

“No, it’s not. What I want is both of my brothers back.”

Adam’s shoulders fell from how he had been tensely holding himself. Sam didn’t say anything for a moment. “I’d like that too, Dean. And I also want to apologize for that fight.”

“Wasn’t just you. We both were hot-headed idiots.”

Sam sighed. The sound of a bottle opening came over the other line as he poured himself a drink. Adam and Dean opened their bottles, too.

“I was just trying my best to take care of you. I did everything for you, Sammy, and you threw it back in my face, comparing me to him.”

“I know that now. But at the time, you didn’t.”

“Didn’t what?”

“Give me what I needed.”

Dean felt his temper rising but held it back. “What do you mean?”

“I just wanted your time, De.” Oh, Dean hasn’t heard that nickname in a very long time. It takes him right back to when they were kids. “You worked all the time, slept in your cereal, and barely talked to me those last few years. It felt like you were going through the motions until I turned 18. I thought I was dragging you down.”

“Dude, I was trying to keep my head above water until you turned 18. I thought you’d help with bills and get a job. With the Stanford thing, I thought I had to cover it, and there was no way in the world I’d have that type of cash.” He drank from his beer. “ I’m glad you got in and graduated with honors. Nerd.”

After a moment, Sam admitted, “I never spent the money.”

Adam furrowed his brow. “What money?”

Dean blushed hard. “Oh, uh…”

“Dean’s been sending me monthly checks since I moved out here. Once his big break happened, I guess.”

“I still wear the amulet you gave me,’ Dean confessed. But then Sam’s words sank on. “Wait, does that mean you let all those checks go to waste? Sam, that’s ridiculous!”

“No! I set it all into a separate account. I wanted to ask if we could spend it on our honeymoon.”

Dean took a big drink. “Of course. Consider it your dowry, Samantha.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.

“And I’m saying sorry to you, too, Adam. You’ve been there for me through it all, and I never appreciated it. So thanks.”

Adam cleared his throat. “It’s what brothers do, right?” He and Dean clinked the necks of their beers.

“What’s Eileen like?" Dean asked.

“Tall, brunette, deaf, actually. We bumped into each other on campus, and I accidentally signed ‘fuck off’ instead of ‘I'm sorry.’” He laughed. “She had a good sense of humor about it. She’s excited to meet you guys. Even Uncle Bobby and Rufus.”

“Those two will be the real litmus test,’ Adam said.

“So, we good?" Dean asked.

“Yeah, Dean, we’re good,” Sam said. Relief swept through Dean like a tidal wave. He would cry later about it.

“Great!” Adam said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Because you went missing around Christmas for a few days. Did you meet someone? You’re different.”

Dean remembered Cas writing that in his notebook and couldn’t help but grin.

“Oh yeah. Instant grin, blush, and that look,” Adam narrated for Sam.

“What’s her name?” Sam asked at the same time that Adam asked “What’s his name?”

There was a moment of silence from Sam. “Oh. Uh. I guess we ask their name to be inclusive,” Sam said. Dean rubbed a hand over his face. Jesus, I’m living in a sitcom.

Since they had him dead to rights, he decided to be honest. A little bit. “Cas. His name is Cas. I got stuck in the mountains when a blizzard came out of nowhere. He and his dog let me bunk with them for a few days until the roads were cleared.”

“How very Hallmark of you,” Sam teased. “Was there a cute little town, too?”

“Yeah.” He sounded wistful to himself.

Adam hummed. “I believe you’d be dumb enough to try and outrun a blizzard, but the rest sounds like a fever dream.”

Dean pursed his lips. “I didn’t make him up.” The implication that Cas wasn’t real was too heartbreaking to consider. Dean pulled out his phone and pulled up the photo of them. Adam looked at it for a long time.

“Oh, Sam, you have to see this.” He grabbed Dean’s phone and forwarded the picture to Sam. A few seconds later, Sam was cackling. “What is with those sweaters?” He asked.

“I think he’s colorblind and mute,” Dean admitted.

“No one makes those color choices on purpose,’ Adam confirmed.

“Alright, alright, " Dean said, starting to feel uncomfortable. He was the only one who could tease Cas about his color choices. So yeah, that’s Cas and Dozer.”

“Dean, how long were you there?” Sam asked.

“Less than a week; why?”

“Because you look more married in that picture than I do, and I have a fiance,” he said.

Dean blew out his breath. “I…yeah. I might have fucked up.”

“How?” They asked in tandem.

“I…left after sleeping with him and didn’t tell him anything. Didn’t even leave my contact info. He doesn’t have a phone anyway, but—”

“You fucked him and then left?” Adam asked incredulously. “Did you not see how he looked at you? Like you hung the stars? My God Dean, why?”

“Because I’m a coward!” Dean finally admitted. “I run when things get dicey.”

“Poor Cas,” Adam said with a shake of his head. “He didn’t deserve that.”

“No, he didn’t. But he also doesn’t deserve what I’m about to do next.”

“What’s that?’ Adam asked, worried.

Dean leaned towards the phone. “Sam, how did you know Eileen was the one?”

Sam was quiet, and Adam’s mouth was hanging open. “Seriously?” Adam said.

“Yes, seriously. What's it like?”

“Uh…I mean. You just kinda know. I liked her company and hated being alone. Things are brighter when she’s around. No matter how shitty of a day I’ve had, she can make me laugh. Helps me see things from a different perspective. I was thinking about these little future moments we could have together. I just…knew.”

“You sure it wasn’t just the oxytocin?” Dean asked, and Adam gagged.

“Gross, Dean. Real mature.” Sam chided him.

Dean looked at Adam, who put up his hands. “You know I don’t have a clue. Never had much luck in that department.”

“Do you think he is?” Sam asked.

“I…I can’t get him out of my head. I wanted to go back. I still want to. I miss him terribly. But I left like an asshole, so I’m sure I slammed that door closed.” He said sadly.

“People can be more forgiving when love’s on the line,” Adam said wisely.

Dean was startled at the word, but yeah. The butterflies, the fondness, the intense need. He loved Cas, didn’t he? And it scared the shit out of him.

“Are you asking for our blessing?” Adam asked. He could always get to the heart of the problem with surgical precision.

“I don’t want to elope, but if he still wants to, then yes. I wanna go back. I even miss the dog. How bad is that?”

“Pretty down bad,” Adam agreed. He studied Dean for a moment and turned towards him. “I can give my blessing if he makes you happy. But only if you promise to stick it out when things get tough. Don’t run immediately. Can you at least promise to treat him with respect?” Adam drove a hard bargain.

Dean bit his lip but then shook his hand. “Deal.”

“Me too,” Sam said. “I’m cool with it. So, should I put Cas as your plus one?”

“Plus two. Dozer comes too.”

“Sure! Eileen and I love dogs. What about Bobby and Rufus? Will you tell them?”

“One thing at a time. I’ll talk to them later. But Adam, are you okay with me leaving? I wasn’t going to ask for a long-distance thing.”

“As long as I can visit, that’s fine.”

Dean bumped his shoulder. “Maybe you’ll find someone in town, too.”

“Wouldn’t that be incest?”

“Jesus, Adam, the whole town isn’t related,” Dean snorted in disgust, and Sam howled his laughter.

“OK. I’ll talk to you guys later. And Sam, call me when you need to. I don’t know about planning a wedding, but I’m sure there is something I can do to help.”

“Best man speech?”

Dean paled. “You know I suck at writing chick flick moments.”

Adam and Sam just rolled their eyes. And just like that, Dean slayed some dragons he never thought possible.

~*~

Dean almost didn’t see the new email notification. He got so many daily (mostly not great reviews and coupons), but this one was different. The subject line simply read HELLO DEAN from a few minutes ago.

Dean had never clicked on an email so fast. He beat himself up this whole time about not leaving his contact information. Part of his dumb reasoning was that Cas didn’t need his number since he didn’t have a phone. But he’d also been scared. So, he’d left a clue for Cas to find; that way Cas could initiate the contact. Because he’s still an idiot, clearly.

Hello Dean,

This is Castiel. You stayed in my cabin the week of Christmas, and I wanted to say hello. I’m typing this on the library’s computers, so I apologize if it sounds stilted.

Stitled? It sounded like the follow-up email from an Airbnb host asking how his stay was. He shook his head but kept reading.

I just wanted to let you know that I genuinely enjoyed your company. Dozer and I miss you, and I regret that I should have told you some things in person.

I will admit you confounded me, too. You were hot and then cold. I could never understand how you felt about the situation or us. I still don’t know what happened. I feel like I did something wrong, but I was left with no answers.

I guess I’m writing this letter to air my thoughts. If you’ve moved on, that’s ok, too. Maybe the week was just a pit stop for you. Perhaps you’ve forgotten me already. Perhaps you’ll never read this, and I’ll feel foolish again about things that can never be.

No matter where you are, I hope you have safe travels and wish you a happy New Year.

Though next time, don’t drive in a blizzard.

Your friend,

Castiel

Dean's face was a myriad of emotions. On the one hand, he felt a sense of relief that contact had been reestablished between them. And it sounds like Cas liked him. A lot. More than friends? He hoped so.

P.S. What did you do to my coffee?

Now Dean had an opening. He typed up a quick reply as he gnawed on Cas’ email.

D: I can't tell you what I did to your coffee, Cas, sorry

Cas must be still on the computer because his reply was instantaneous.

C: Why not??

D: Because I wanted to leave you something to remember me by ;)

C: Dean, that’s idiotic. I will never forget you. You mean too much to me. I wish you were here right now. Changing my coffee and making my chores infinitely more interesting. I miss how you made this place finally feel like a home.

C: I’m sorry if that comes across as weird or selfish. I wish you didn’t have to leave, but that’s not how life works. I truly enjoyed your company—more than I can say.

Dean's hands hovered over his phone. Was Cas trying to say what he thought he was?

D: *after several minutes* Cas, would you be interested in more of my company? Maybe…permanently?

Dean’s heart was in his throat. He knew that was a big ask, and maybe he’d jumped a few steps ahead of where Cas was. God, he hoped they were on the same page.

C: *After a moment* Do you really mean that?

D: Yeah. I figured out what I needed to do with my brothers. I can do my work anywhere, and the items in my apartment could fit in a few boxes. My brothers want to visit soon. I just needed to figure them out before I could figure out things with you.

D: I'm not getting any younger. I don’t want this to be a long-distance thing. I wanna put down some roots somewhere. With you. What do you say?

C: Then yes, Dean, I would like that immensely.

Dean did a little fishing pump to himself. “Yes!”

C: Do you know anything about building a log cabin?

D: No, but I'm sure I can figure it out.

C: Speaking of your work, I read your gift. Thank you. I have much to say about it, so you have come here so I can tell you in person. I also discovered that someone vandalized my collection and signed all of them. :(

D: WTH is nothing sacred in this world anymore?

C: It’s okay. That’s how I figured out which email address to reach out to. I must leave the time limit on the library computer is running out. But yes, Dean, to reiterate, please come back. You’re always welcome. I miss you. As does Dozer.

D: I’ll be seeing you soon, Cas ;)

~*~

Twenty hours toward a new beginning seemed just as nerve-wracking as driving away. Dean didn’t want to stop; he just wanted to be there. He wished he wasn’t afraid of flying. But it was him, Baby, a few boxes of belongings, and his brothers’ blessing. He would make it work.

He didn't need the directions to town this time. And as he made the fated left turn again, he was getting anxious. The roads were passable now, if a little dusty from dried salt and mud. This place would not be conducive to keeping Baby clean easily, but he didn’t even care. He’ll bathe her every day if need be, though. He’ll need something to do while developing the plot of his first new book in two years.

The honor stand was back, but Dean could tell it was a rushed job. He already had some plans for it.

He was terrified and almost frozen the first time he traveled to this winding driveway. Now, he feels like the trees are welcoming him back. Even with everything still being bare for winter it was still beautiful.

The familiar cabin came into view once again. And this time, he was greeted by two people barreling into him. Dozer almost took out his legs with his enthusiastic butt wiggles. And Cas? Cas wrapped him in a hug that nearly cracked a rib.

And the kiss? Well, that was a searing, endearing mess of relief and emotion.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said, blinking several times once he was let go.

Cas grinned at him. “Hello…Dean.” His voice was rough, but holy shit Cas was talking.

Dean’s legs went wobbly. He had to lean back against the hood of the Impala. “Cas, you spoke!” He said in shock. Part of him was going to miss those note-passing days. There was something so innocent about it.

Cas held up his hand and shook his head. He leaned close and whispered into Dean’s ear, low and lovely, “Only to say…I love you.”

Dean beamed and grabbed Cas’ hands. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I know it’s my job, but when it comes to important stuff, I suck with words, so I show it with action.” Like having The Talk with Sam and Adam before the Cas’ email ever hit his inbox. He motioned to the boxes in the back seat. “I do, too, you know. Thank you for saying it.”

Cas pulled out his little notebook and the pen from behind his ear to simply write: Someone had to.

THE END