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Dec 26, 2013

Christmas Curses

For pokesleepingangels. Happy Holidays!

“Sammy! Dean-O, you’ve lost your touch.”

Dean groans and looks up, hoping that he misheard. It’s been a long time since he heard that particular annoying voice.

No such luck. Standing above him is the archangel Gabriel, looking far more more alive than the last time Dean had seen him. Well, technically the last time he’d seen Gabe was in a Spanish porno...but that’s a memory he’d just as soon forget.

Dean and Sam are currently and glued to the bunker floor by some sort of angel magic. Oh, and they can’t move or speak.

“I’m disappointed, boys,” Gabe says in a mock disapproving tone. “I haven’t seen you in four years, and you’re pulling the same tricks? Lying to each other? Sacrificing your selves needlessly? And here I thought I was the predictable one.”

“You,” he says, pointing to Sam and towering over him for the first time in his life. “What the hell happened to your hair? Was there a scissor shortage while I was away?”

He reaches down to touch Sam’s flowing locks. “Hm. I have to admit I am a bit jealous. Chuck must have been feeling generous on the day that he made you.”

He laughs, and Dean is dismayed to see that familiar trickster mischief dancing behind Gabe’s eyes. He tries to cry out or even move, but the angelic super glue is holding him securely in place.

And Gabe is ignoring him anyway. “So. Sammy my boy, did you learn nothing while I was away? The last time I saw you, you were punishing yourself for Chuck knows what, throwing your life away because you thought you were flawed. And here you still are, four years later, rushing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of mankind.

“I mean, I’m all up for faking your death to further the cause, but you gotta do it for the right reasons. And hating yourself is not one of them. News flash kid: you’re not special, for better or for worse. You’re not good or evil. You just are. You’re human. You’re a mix. Get over it, and start treating yourself with some human dignity, eh?

“Also, before I go, can I use your shampoo? Your hair smells amazing. Not even angels smell that good.”

Dean can see Sam’s eyes go wide. If he could move, he would be laughing himself to tears right now. But then Gabe turns toward him, scolding him with a pointed finger.

“Now you, handsome. Where the hell is your Cassanova? Last I saw, the two of you were seconds away from marital bliss. Where are the wedding bells? The his and his towels in the bathroom? It’s been four years buddy. Get a move on already.

“You, Dean Winchester, are the only man who has the courage to save the world, but not to ask out the angel he’s in love with. It would be adorable if it weren’t so pathetic.”

“So,” Gabe says, and he rubs his hands together. “How to fix this how to fix this… “I know!” he exclaims. “I have just the thing.”

Gabe snaps his fingers and suddenly he is in a Santa suit, complete with beard and red and white hat.

“It’s time for you both to deal with your issues. So here’s the deal. I’m going to leave you with a few...presents, so to speak. It’s your job to learn how to use them.

“The best part is, you’ll both be stuck in the bunker here until you do.”

Dean still can’t speak, but he hears himself groan inside. Gabriel is the last person he wanted to see today, and whatever he is dreaming up won’t be good.

They don’t call him Loki for nothing.

Gabe snaps his fingers, and Sam and Dean both jump to their feet. Before they can get their bearings and lunge at their unwanted guest, Gabe takes a final bow and waves his hand toward them, sending out a little wave of glitter. “Happy holidays, boys. Christmas Curses to all, and to all a good night!”

He disappears with a little pop, leaving Dean and Sam to crash into one another. They brush themselves off and survey the room, ready to fight off whatever mischief Gabe just sent their way.

Nothing.

“You okay?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Dean grunts. “You?”

Sam nods.

“Burgers and brew?” Dean offers.

“Sure.”

After searching the bunker and finding everything in place, Dean cooks, and they both eat. The evening goes as normally as their evenings ever do, but Dean can’t shake the feeling that the other shoe is about to drop.

The curse kicks in at breakfast the next day.

“Your hair really is awful,” Dean says, over a mouth full of egg scramble. Sam grunts into his coffee. “No really. It’s the worst friggin’ thing I’ve seen this side of purgatory.”

“Screw you,” Sam mutters, without heat.

“And you know what else? You got boring while I was in purgatory. A girl, and a house, Sam? Really? You know that’s not the life for us. Hunters don’t get happy endings. You know that.”

“Wow, Dean. Tell me how you really feel.” Sam sounds less than impressed.

“I am, Sammy, and it’s the first time in my entire life that I’ve ever been this honest because I’m usually an emotionally compromised shell of a man who fills his stomach with alcohol and his mind with porn so he doesn’t have to see the faces of all the people he has lost.”

Now Sam is full-on staring. He drops his forkful of eggs, and it clatters loudly on his plate. “Um...Dean?”

But Dean cuts across him. “You know what else? I’m sick and tired of everyone telling me to be a man. To man up. So what if I liked the pink panties? So what? Everyone can go fuck themselves, that’s goddamn what.”

By this point, Sam’s eyes are impossibly wide, and Dean has gone pinker than the panties he described.

“Sammy,” he says weakly. “I think I’ve figured out the curse.”

“An honesty hex?” Sam asks, sounding intrigued. “Can angels even use hexes?”

“Probably not,” Dean grumbles. “Which means the only way to reverse this shitstorm is to play along with Gabriel’s little game. I’m gonna wring that bastards scrawny neck when this is all over.”

Sam blows out a breath. “You do that Dean. In the meantime I suggest we search the archives.”

They rummage through the library shelves, pulling out dusty books and yellowing files. They are quiet for an hour, turning brittle pages until Sam looks up suddenly.

“Cake.”

“What now?” Dean asks.

“Cake, Dean. I need cake.”

“What, now? I was just about to get in a nap without you noticing.”

“Cake, Dean Cake cake cake cake cake cake cake.” Sam is starting to sound like a toddler just before a tantrum. “I’m hungry and I want some cake.” He is petulant, urgent, and he looks like he’ll descend into tears if he doesn't get some cake right goddamn now.

Dean sighs, slaps his own face to wake himself up. “We’re gonna need Cas.”

Dean sighs, stretches, and starts to pray.

“Castiel, you beautiful, blue-eyed bastard, we pray that you get your fine ass down here.”

Dean can feel his face flushing again, but Sam is laughing and punching the air. “I knew it!” he crows. “I knew you had it bad for Cas.”

“Shut up Sammy,” Dean growls, “I will shave off your eyebrows while you’re asleep.”

Sam, the bastard, just laughs again. At least he is distracted from the cake.

All of a sudden Cas is there, all 6 gorgeous feet of him standing dizzyingly close to Dean.

“Cas, I love you. Also, Sammy needs cake.”

Cas tilts his head, considers him. Seems not to hear the first part of that sentence, because he simply responds, “I...know of a bakery in Prague where the owner owes me a favor. I’ll be right back.”

And he is, bringing with him an entire display full of cakes. In an instant the bunker research table is brimming with double chocolate orgasm cake, vanilla ginger, cinnamon cake with buttercream frosting, even a platter full of eclairs. And all for Sammy.

Dean whistles. “Nice trick.”

Cas nods, still looking thoughtful. “May I ask the impetus for this unusual request? Normally only pie is eaten in this household, as far as I was aware.”

“Yeah,” Dean nods. “We’re a pie family. But Sammy wants cake, so Sammy gets cake.”

Sam is on his third piece of cake by the time Dean is done explaining their little situation to Cas. Cas doesn’t seem surprised to hear that Gabriel is alive. Or behind this holiday mess.

“So, you’ve both been given Christmas gifts,” Cas surmises.

“Curses, Cas. Curses. I can’t even open my mouth without vomiting all these...feelings everywhere. It’s gross.”

“Dean, have you ever heard the phrase ‘a blessing in disguise’?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “And I hate cliches. It’s just shit that douchebags come up with so they don’t have to take responsibility for the real world.”

Cas coughs. “So I’m a..douche...bag then, as you say?”

“Naw.” Dean smiles easily and slings an arm over Cas’s shoulder. “You’re one of the good ones. Have I ever told you that? You’re the only angel who isn’t a douchebag.”

“Ah,” Cas says, and he looks amused. “Have you discovered the nature of Sam’s curse?”

“I dunno. A sweet tooth? He says he wants a massage and a hot tub too, though, so beats me.”

“A hot tub? Massage?” Cas asks, and promptly pops out of sight.

He appears again alongside a hot tub big enough for even Sam. And a little tool that looks like a back massager. “I felt that it would be wrong to kidnap a massage therapist,” Cas explains, “So I found this at Walmart instead.”

Dean laughs and throws the box at Sam. “Here ya go Sammy. Knock yourself out.”

But Sam is already in the hot tub, signing contentedly.

Dean looks to Cas. “So what is it? Any theories?”

“A few,” Cas muses. “Has he been asking for anything else?”

“I can hear you!” Sam calls. “And yes, I’m dying for an opera CD.”

“Opera, Sam, really?”

“Shut up.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Cas is gone, and back in a flash, this time holding a woman by her arm. “This is Margo Black,” he explains. “The top performer of the Sydney Opera House.”

“No kidnapping, eh?” Dean pokes Cas goodnaturedly in the ribs.

“She’s ah, a “fan” of Chuck’s books. Becky met her in an “internet forum,”--Cas draws air quotes with his lovely hands--”and Margo disclosed that she would, “do anything short of selling my soul,” to meet the brothers that inspired the books.”

The woman looks shyly at them, asks for an autograph, and then starts to sing.

“Let’s get out of here before she hits the high notes,” Dean says. He pulls Cas into a back office, calling out behind them, “Pray to Cas if you need anything. Apparently he’s your angelic messenger for the day.”

But Sam, with his eyes closed and face relaxed, seems all but lost to the world.

Dean offers Cas a beer, and Cas holds it awkwardly, unsure.

“I’m sorry to pull you into this mess, Cas,” Dean says.

Cas smiles. “It was my brother’s fault, so I feel a certain responsibility to help.”

“Ah. Well, thanks. Also, I like it when you smile like that.”

There is an awkward silence in which they stare at the books on the wall around them. That thing inside Dean is building again, the weird force that makes him want to spill his deepest secrets. Which is something he’d rather not to at the moment, so he reaches around for a distraction.

“Sammy, eh? What kind of curse do you think it is?”

“Take a seat,” Cas says, and motions Dean to a chair. He sits beside him so close that their legs almost touch. “I believe that Gabriel’s is trying to help, and he’s doing so by addressing what he sees as each of your deepest needs. Ostensibly, he felt that you needed to tell the truth, so he used honesty hex on you. What do you think would be Sam’s deepest need?”

“To take care of himself,” Dean says instantly, and because of the curse, he knows it must be true. “The kid is always rushing off to sacrifice himself, which is all noble and all, but he’s only doing it because he think he is a demon child or whatever. He’s never learned to take care of himself.”

Cas nods. “I do not know the answer, of course, but that may be correct.”

“How do we beat this bullshit game then?”

“By playing along, I would imagine. Let Sam pamper himself in whatever way he needs, and finally let yourself tell the truth.”

“This sucks,” Dean grumbles.

Cas just smiles. “Indeed.”

By noon Sam has used the angel express to order two six foot subs, a case of dark german beer, and a whole lot of Russian literature that Dean has never heard of. Dean and Cas sit side by side on the kitchen counter, swinging their feet lazily while they watch Sam consume an ungodly amount of food.

“Need anything else, princess?” Dean asks.

“I feel really terrible for making you guys do this,” Sam says. “I really don’t need all of this stuff. I mean, I’ve been living without it forever now, so I really am fine...”

“Shut up and drink your fancy beer,” Dean says.

Dean, for his part, plays the silent game all afternoon. He doesn’t want to accidentally spill any more embarrassing secrets. He’s just hoping that Cas missed the ‘I love you’ from earlier.

Cas, to his credit, doesn’t push it. “Wanna watch some Game of Thrones?” Dean asks.

“What type of game is it?”

“No, Cas, it’s a show. It has lots of sex though, so maybe you wouldn’t like it…”

“I don’t mind,” Cas shrugs. “Angels witness more sex than we care to. It has never been of much interest to me.”

Oh. Well that stings. Now Dean definitely doesn’t want Cas to know what he really thinks about him. Sex has been on his mind more than once when it comes to Cas.

He shrugs it off. Chalks it up to one more thing that he will never have.

“What about The Wizard of Oz? I have this weird craving to watch it every time I’m in the bunker. Hey, we can even do the thing where we sink it with Pink Floyd!” Dean grins, looking forward to his new, conversation free plan.

“Sammy!” he yells. “Ask Cas to go to the video store for you.”

“Have you never heard of pirating a video?” Sam calls back. “Ask Charlie about it. I’m busy.”

“Busy being a princess,” Dean mutters under his breath. But he calls Charlie anyway, and soon he and Cas are side by side on the couch.

As usual, Cas is sitting just a little too close.

“I’ve always liked it when you do that,” Dean blurts before he can stop himself.

“Do what?” Cas asks, head tilted again.

“Um...nothing.”

“Dean.”

“You get up in my face and no one’s ever looked at me like that before unless we were about to have sex and...I just like it, okay?”

He crosses his arms, huffs, turns away. Pretends to ignore Cas for a few minutes, but then the truth is bubbling up in his throat again, burning to get out. There are words there, so close to the surface. Words about confusion, and shame, and want. The way he misses Cas on nights when he’s gone. The way he doesn’t even look at women any more.

Maybe it’s the insanity of the curse, or the sheer force of will it takes to tamp down the words in his throat, but he allows himself one moment of insanity. Lets himself climb onto Cas’s lap, grab the all-powerful angel by his backwards tie, and pull him in for a crashing kiss.

Cas kisses back, easily. Dean’s fingers are tangled in messy hair, his mind is swirling, his body is on fire. Cas is rough, unpracticed in his kisses. But instant, sincere.

Dean is lost in the moment, unaware of everything but CasCasCas until he feels himself being gently pulled away.

“Dean, wait.”

His heart sinks to the floor at those words. “Oh god Cas, I’m so sorry. I knew that I wasn’t good enough for you, that you could never want me like that, but I had to try. I’m so sorry.”

He wants to run but he feels stuck in place. He looks down instead.

“Dean, look at me.” There is command in that voice. “I am not upset. I enjoyed kissing you. But the point of today was to learn to talk.”

Dean groans. “Talking is the worst. I always seem to say the wrong thing.”

“The honest thing is never wrong.”

“Says the man with no tact.”

“Do you want to kiss me again?” Cas asks.

“Yes.” Automatic.

“Why is that?”

Dean gapes. Does he really have to say it?

“I...I need you.”

Cas looks unimpressed. “You also need food and water, Dean. Try again.”

“I...goddamn it Cas. I care about you, alright?”

“You also care about Sam,” Cas counters. “And your car.”

“This is the worst,” Dean grumbles. “You’re insufferable, you know that? You are impossible and infuriating but you saved my life and you’re stuck in my head like a Zeppelin song.

“I thought that it would go away, but it’s been five years and it still hasn’t faded. Then I thought it was bogus, because you’re a dude and all, but that’s bullshit too, because I’ve always liked guys. I just didn’t know how to say it to Sam.

“Cas, I...I want you to stay around.”

Cas nods encouragingly, but doesn’t seem satisfied.

“I want you to know that I’m always here for you?” Dean tries again.

Another nod. Still not good enough.

“I...I want you.”

Cas smiles, broad and beautiful. “There is is.”

He moves in closer to Dean, takes his face between two rough hands. “Dean Winchester, I have always wanted you. From the moment I laid eyes on you in hell.”

“That’s romantic,” Dean mutters, but he’s laughing. And then kissing. And then the whole world fades away.

“Finally!”

Dean wakes up to Gabriel’s triumphant crow.

“Took you two idiots long enough.”

He rubs his eyes, looks around. He and Cas fell asleep hours ago after stumbling to the bedroom and making out on his bed. Thankfully, with their clothes still mostly on. But their limbs are tangled and Cas’s hair is shooting out in odd directions, and it’s not the best way to be woken up by your baby brother and your least favorite angel.

Dean glances at Sam, nervous. But Sam looks happy, relaxed. He even gives Dean a little wink.

“Good day at the spa, Sammy?”

“Yeah!” Sam says, and for a moment he sounds younger, more innocent. “It was nice.”

“Well, boys, you passed the test. And your prizes are one moose-sized bucket of self-worth, and one long over due gay angel relationship. Congratulations to you both!” Gabriel does a little twirl which he finishes with a bow.

“Now. Where’s that hot tub I’ve been hearing so much about? And can I stay for dinner?”

Dean would protest, but he’s far too content.

Cas is in his bed. Terrifying, beautiful, river and wind and hurricane Cas is right next to him, and always will be.

All he has to do is ask. And thanks to a certain meddling trickster, asking is something he knows how to to.

~Christmas Eve~

For the first time in his life, Dean Winchester can’t stop smiling.

Cas has been in and out of the bunker all month, each time bringing a new decoration or present. Apparently he found some holiday decorating magazine in a drug store, and decided to take it as law, striving to create the perfect Christmas for Sam and Dean.

“You really don’t have to do this, you know,” Dean says, embarrassed, after the Christmas tree arrives.

Cas protests in earnest. “Dean, the magazine clearly outlines the twelve easy steps to the perfect holiday. You want this Christmas to be perfect, don’t you?”

“It’s already perfect,” Dean says, letting himself be cheesy for once.

“Dean,” Cas just gives him that patient, side eyed look, and Dean laughs.

“Okay Martha Stewart, if you’re going to be like that, let me pick the tradition. Do you know what mistletoe is for?”

Cas is back in a minute with an armful of the stuff. Dean picks out a branch, ignores Sammy’s gagging noises from across the room, and gives Cas the perfect Christmas kiss.

Dean still hates Gabriel, but maybe his Christmas gifts weren’t so bad after all.

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