78 - sastiel
78. Under The Mistletoe Kiss
TAKING A CASE in December always ran the risk of certain... annoyances. Most of them were easily avoided or ignored, although Sam privately treasured the look on a certain homophobic holiday bell-ringer’s face after trying to heckle him and Dean and being on the receiving end of a double-strength “I’ve already been to Hell and clawed my way back out” stare. As far as these things went, decorative sprigs of mistletoe hung above every door of the motel they had checked into in the latest town with a restless spirit problem didn’t rate more than a roll of the eyes, or so Sam had thought until the sprig above their door had decided to detach itself from the molding and suspend itself over Sam’s head the moment he walked under it.
Dean, naturally, had been all too happy to laugh at Sam’s predicament. He was at least willing to help try and remove it, but the sprig resisted being batted away and floated out of reach when either of them attempted to grab it, even after Sam let Dean climb up on his shoulders to try and reach it. They were here to work a case, however, and since a floating sprig of mistletoe wasn’t exactly discreet that left Sam stuck in the motel room with his laptop and the research aspect while Dean left to handle the interviews. At least Dean promised to make careful inquiries about the mistletoe while he was gone, which was something.
Dean called Sam close to noon to update him on the hunt, and Sam passed along the information he’d managed to find on the most likely candidate for their mystery ghost. He was a little hesitant when he asked, “Anything on the mistletoe yet?”
“Not much,” Dean said apologetically. “Good news is you aren’t the only one who got trapped like that, so it’s not like it was targeting you specifically.”
“Great,” Sam sighed. It was good to know, considering how many things were out there that might have a grudge against the Winchesters and Sam in particular. “No clue about what’s going on?”
“Nothing concrete,” Dean answered, sounding a little distracted now. “No one’s really acting any different about the mistletoe except occasionally the people it’s hovering over get a kiss from someone unaffected-- hey, hang on, I just saw-- I’ll call you back, Sammy!”
“Dean!” Sam snapped, alarmed, but Dean had already hung up. Huffing in annoyance and hoping his brother wasn’t running into something he was about to get in over his head on, he turned back to the computer and mentally started the countdown for the two hour mark before he went out after Dean. At least he wouldn’t stand out too much with the mistletoe literally hanging over his head.
Not even half an hour later, Sam was pulled from the laptop by the sound of wings and the now-familiar spark-and-skitter of one specific angel’s Grace brushing up against his awareness. Sam found himself smiling even before the equally familiar voice intoned, “Hello, Sam.”
“Hey, Cas,” he answered, turning away from the computer to greet the angel properly. His eyes fell on the paper bag in Castiel’s hand and the answer to how Castiel had located him around their warding answered itself. “Dean call you?”
“I called him,” Castiel said, holding out the paper bag for Sam to take. “I was hoping to enlist your assistance if you were not otherwise occupied. Dean suggested I bring you lunch.”
“Thanks, Cas, I appreciate it,” Sam said with a grateful smile as he took the bag. His smile brightened when he opened it to find a mixed greens salad with grilled chicken, apple slices and cranberries. “This looks great!”
“I’m glad,” Castiel responded. He sounded distracted, and when Sam glanced up at him questioningly he saw the angel was squinting at the air above his head... oh.
“Cursed mistletoe,” Sam said shortly by way of explanation. “Dean was going to try and find out about it while taking care of interviews, but he got distracted by something. Did he mention anything to you about it when you talked to him?”
“Nothing specific,” Castiel said, still studying the mistletoe intently. Sam wondered if the angel could actually see the spellwork around the plant and wished again that Dean had found something useful. “He said only that you were stuck in the hotel room and that I should bring you something for lunch when I came to ask for your help.” He paused briefly, then asked, “Why did Dean not simply kiss you and end the spell’s effect?”
“What?!” Sam yelped, almost dropping the salad in his shock. “Why the hell would that do anything? The delusions of Chuck’s crazy fangirls aside, I’ve got no burning secret desire to kiss my brother!”
“But you do have a ‘burning secret desire’ to kiss someone,” Castiel said matter of factly. As Sam gaped at the angel, torn between shock and alarm, Castiel stepped closer and reached out a hand to touch the mistletoe. Just like with Dean, the plant bobbed smoothly out of the way, reorienting itself above Sam’s head when Castiel lowered his hand. “Hm. The spellwork is quite intricate. It attaches to the aura of a person suppressing targeted feelings of love, but deliberately avoids lust as a factor. There is also no external compulsion for the object of affection to act in any way.”
“That... sounds pretty harmless, if a little awkward,” Sam said, frowning in thought. “I mean, I guess in this town people are used to it if what Dean said was true, but if whoever is stuck with the mistletoe has to leave....”
“Then the plant would remain within the boundaries of the town once you pass the border,” Castiel answered. “Also, there appears to be a time limit on the spell, perhaps centering around the current holiday season. You may simply wait it out if you would rather not attempt expediency, though it may be difficult for you to assist me as I had hoped.”
“I’m sorry, Cas,” Sam shook his head, turning to look at the angel. He didn’t need to be wallowing in self-pity when his friend needed his help. “What did you need help with?”
“I had hoped to ask for your help in choosing an appropriate Christmas gift for Claire,” Castiel said, looking a little sheepish. “Jimmy’s memories of her preferences are several years out of date, and while I do wish to cultivate a relationship of trust and familial affection between us I am all too aware that our history is... contentious.”
“That’s, uh, one way to put it,” Sam said. A pretty mild way to put it at that, and that’s even before touching on the issues that had been raised with Dean’s actions under the influence of the Mark. Given his own history with possession, both angelic and demonic, Sam could well understand Claire’s ire even as he wished he could help smooth things over for Castiel a little bit. “It’s, um, probably not going to be an easy task. She’s got a lot of justifiable anger.”
“I know,” Castiel said solemnly. “I expect nothing from her. I simply wish to give her a gift so that she has tangible proof that I do care for her, even though I am a poor substitute for the father I have taken from her.”
“You want her to know she has support and protection if she needs it, even though she’s still angry,” Sam guessed. Well, that was relatable, and it was something he could work with. “Not sure if you knew, but before Dean and I got the tattoos we wore a pendant with the anti-possession symbol, and Dean said something about Mom having a special bracelet with a bunch of protective charms and sigils on it. Maybe you could give her something like that?”
“That would be feasible,” Castiel said slowly, his expression lightening as the idea took hold. “A set of protective symbols as a symbol of my wish to protect her. Silver, of course, being best for defensive charms against the supernatural.”
“Of course,” Sam agreed easily. Silver would certainly blend in better than iron, at least, though Claire might not want to deal with the inevitable questions from school friends about it. And now Castiel was looking at him with that narrow scrutiny he had used to study the mistletoe. “Uh, Cas?”
“Sam,” Castiel said, stepping closer. “I would like to attempt to negate the spellwork on the mistletoe, if you will permit me.”
“It’s not going to involve kneeling on my shoulders and poking me in the eye, is it?” Sam asked, only half joking. As Castiel’s expression shifted to one of alarm, he shook his head. “Never mind. Sure, yes, do whatever you need to.”
If anything, the alarm on Castiel’s face grew. Or maybe it was shock. For whatever reason, the angel looked practically poleaxed at his words. “You would grant me that permission so easily?”
“Well, yeah,” Sam said, trying not to fidget under Castiel’s regard. “I trust you.”
“I will strive to be worthy of that trust,” Castiel said softly with the weight of a vow behind his words. Before Sam could ask what he meant, the angel bent forward, resting one hand on the back of Sam’s chair and bringing the other hand up to cup Sam’s cheek. Sam felt his breath stutter to a halt as Castiel lowered his head, pausing for the space of a heartbeat, and then carefully brushed his lips against Sam’s.
Plop!
AN: In case anyone was wondering, Dean did eventually call back to tell Sam pretty much the same thing Castiel did about the curse, whereupon Sam told him he was going shopping with Castiel for Claire's Christmas gift and that Dean should get a separate motel room and track down the witch who spelled the mistletoe to give her a fruit basket, in that order. XD
