Fuck Tradition - (a new year’s fanfic)
They’d been in a mood to celebrate, him and Sam; it wasn’t every day you, your brother, and your mom got rescued from two different alternate dimensions, only to realize not 24 hours later that the angelic best friend you happen to be in love with had been demon-knapped some time prior, and thus sent your Nephilim ward to one of Hell’s prisons to rescue him.
Yeah, Dean had had a whirlwind few days.
So yes, even though traditionally the Winchesters didn’t do much for New Year’s Eve (as in, if they weren’t on a hunt, they binged Netflix and ate junk food,) Dean and Sam decided to throw a New Year’s party at the bunker.
The guest list was easy: Jody, Claire, Alex and Donna were already crashing there anyway; Cas, Mary and Jack were finally all home, and of course they’d all insisted Kaia was now a part of their extended family and needed to remain, at least as a favour to them, so they could thank her for saving their little family.
Sam grudgingly hung balloons and streamers (‘you’re the tallest,’ Dean shrugged) and the others got to work cleaning and picking up games and running into town for snacks and party favours and supplies for the night’s festivities.
After Claire beat him at rock, paper, scissors to determine who got the honour of making the music playlist, Dean put himself and Cas in charge of the food. Some dishes like chips and dip took care of themselves, whereas others were more involved- like the homemade sweet and sour meatballs from scratch (“No, Cas- you gotta mix it with your hands, like this… Okay, now add the Worcestershire sauce… more… Little more… y’know what, just dump the rest in…”)
The party itself had been fairly low-key: a relaxed evening playing board games and poker, drinking, dancing, laughing, enjoying good food, good conversation, and good friends.
At 11:59, they’d all crowded on or around the living room couch to watch the ball drop in Times Square from the small used TV, chanting down the numbers until they got to “One… HAPPY NEW YEAR!!” and the room exploded into cheers and whistles. While Jody gave Kaia a motherly squeeze, Donna planted a huge, sloppy kiss on Jody’s cheek; Sam gave Mary a bear hug, and upon registering poor Jack’s confused (and slightly concerned) expression, Claire and Alex somehow convinced everyone to give Jack a New Year’s kiss on the cheek.
Everyone, that is, except for Dean and Cas, who only had eyes for each other.
Their eyes caught and held right as fireworks lit up the TV screen, and Dean felt heat rushing his face at the intensity in Cas’ gaze. Without realizing he was moving, Dean closed the distance between them in two long strides, until they were close enough that Cas had to tilt his head up slightly to maintain eye contact.
Dean wanted to kiss him. So badly. That’s what you’re supposed to do at New Year’s, right? Kiss the person you love? He’d wanted it for ages, and after all the shit they’d been through, Castiel’s death and resurrection, alternate universes, and so on, Dean actually felt like he was ready to do it, like he was ready to act.
He stood there, heart hammering in his throat, lost in blue eyes for far longer than he’d care to admit, while his family cheered and hugged around him. Cas was so close he could feel his soft breath, could sense the electricity between them, could watch Castiel’s eyelashes flutter and his pupils dilate as his eyes flicked down to Dean’s mouth and back.
It was the way that Cas’s tongue darted out to lick his own lips that jolted Dean and sent him into a panic.
He gave Cas a big, aggressive clap on the shoulder and blurted out loudly “Happy New Year, buddy!” before ducking around him to hug his mom and brother.
He’d fucked up and totally blown his chance, and spent the rest of the party torturing himself by watching as Cas smiled and chatted with everyone else.
One by one, people kept excusing themselves to sleep, until it was finally it was almost 3 a.m., and just the two of them.
“You can go to bed, Dean,” Cas said quietly. “I don’t need to sleep, I’ll clean up.” He’d already grabbed a garbage bag and was collecting the empties.
“I… uh… I’m not tired,” Dean stammered.
Cas frowned. “You’re lying.”
Dean laughed weakly, reaching a muscular arm up to scratch his head. “Okay, yeah, you’re right.”
Cas paused and looked him over, appraising, his eyes narrowed. He could tell Dean was stalling. “Are you ill?”
It was a fair question; Dean felt sweaty and clammy all over, his breathing was shallow, his heart was pounding, but he resolutely shook his head and stepped closer.
“Look, Cas,” he said gruffly, ignoring the question. “There was something I should have done earlier. Something I’ve been meaning to do, actually.”
“Oh?” Cas said indifferently, cocking an eyebrow.
“See, there’s this tradition…” Dean wiped sweaty palms on his jeans, willing himself to get it together.
“Tradition?” Cas frowned.
“Yeah, uh… New Year’s Eve, you’re supposed to- uh- you’re s’posed to kiss someone.”
Cas stilled, the intake of his breath coming out a slight gasp. “I see,” he said coolly.
“Yeah,” Dean nodded, fidgeting nervously.
“Well then,” Cas said blithely, busying himself with the black garbage bag once more. “I guess it’s too bad it’s no longer New Year’s Eve.”
Dean froze, unsure how to proceed. In his mind, Cas would get the hint, and Dean would boldly kiss him, and that way if it was bad or Cas rejected him, he could chalk his actions up to ‘tradition’ and not have to humiliate himself.
But now that Cas had pointed out the obvious, there was no way to lay one on him and blame it on it being a New Year’s Eve tradition. You blew it again, Dean chastised himself internally.
“Right! Of course!” Dean forced himself to give a casual laugh. “Well, uh, goodnight then, I guess. Don’t feel like you gotta clean all this up, I can do it in the morning.” He tried to ignore the wave of disappointment washing over him.
“I don’t mind,” Cas answered with a half-smile, his eyes tracking Dean’s movements.
“Isn’t that one of the perks of being an angel? You don’t have to do the dishes and take out the recycling?” Dean teased, trying to sound normal even though his heart was no longer in it.
“Perhaps,” Cas said, with a meaningful look at Dean. “But I suppose I’ve never been very traditional.”
“Oh,” Dean said, his pulse quickening. “No?”
“No,” Castiel repeated, stepping closer. “For example, I think New Year’s Day is just as good a time as any. For a New Year’s kiss, that is.”
“Yes.” Cas moved slowly, silently closer, until they were mere inches apart. He dropped the bag. “I think 3:02 a.m., for example, would be the ideal non-traditional time.”
“Y-you do,” Dean stammered.
“Yes,” Castiel whispered, his unfathomable blue eyes fluttering shut as he lifted his face to Dean’s once more. “I do.”
“Well, then,” Dean said hoarsely, as he tangled a hand into Cas’s unruly dark hair and joined their mouths together. “Fuck tradition.”
“Fuck tradition,” Cas agreed, murmuring against the hunter’s lips.
Dean never chickened out again.
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