Work Text:
It’s not the cold; Cas is used to the cold. It gets far colder than this back in Pontiac, after all. No, it’s not that. It’s the drizzly, overcast, unending gray nonsense that really gets to him and leaches all his energy. It’s also, to be honest, not what he expected from California. Gabriel had lured him over with the promise of sunshine, but since moving into his new home, Cas has barely even seen blue sky.
“It’s December, Cassie,” Gabe had said. “Even California has a low season.” He’d also muttered something rude about Castiel’s decision to move to some middle-of-nowhere small town a couple hours north of Sacramento, but Gabriel couldn’t expect him to be able to afford San Francisco or to join him down in LA on a researcher’s paycheck. This will do just fine, and it can’t stay damp and overcast forever.
His low mood isn’t helped by the fact that he’s finding it difficult to settle into any kind of routine since even before the move. His job doesn’t start until the new year, and with the holidays coming up, everything is off-kilter. Tempting as it is to stay curled up in bed all day and ignore things like unpacking and responsibilities, Cas forces himself to crawl out from under his blankets after hitting snooze for the thousandth time. He trudges downstairs, glaring blearily at the mountain of boxes he has left to sort through, and sets about fixing an entirely self-indulgent breakfast – er, late brunch – to try and muster up some energy.
Hell, he’s not even looking forward to the holidays this year. Cas swallows past a lump in his throat. It’ll be his first Christmas alone in…a while. He shakes his head as if he can physically derail that train of thought. No point going down that path again. Moving was his choice and it was the right thing to do, and now he can focus on making his life what he wants it to be. Whatever that is.
The house had apparently been empty for months prior to Cas showing up with all his worldly possessions, so it’s heaving with dust that possibly dates back to the holocene. Chill breeze be damned, Cas slides open the glass doors to get some air circulating while his food sizzles on the stove. Hopefully it’ll blow some of the cobwebs out of his brain as well as off the old skirting boards, and also stop everything from smelling of bacon fat for the rest of the day.
He plates up and settles down at the creaky table to eat, eyeing the looming boxes over the top of his plate and wondering where on earth to start.
“Weh.”
Cas starts and looks around, searching for the source of the noise.
“We-eh!”
He casts his gaze downwards; right next to his chair there’s a sleek black cat staring right at him with large, amber eyes. Cas stares back.
“Hello. Are you lost?”
“Weh.”
It must have come in through the open door. Dammit, he should have left the screen door shut, at least. The cat demands his attention back with a paw reaching up to rest on the side of his thigh, nose twitching. Cas looks at the bacon on his plate and then back at the cat.
“No, you can’t have that. It’s not for cats. This is people food.”
“Weh.”
But what if it’s starving? Cas dithers. If the cat’s a stray, or if it’s managed to get lost miles away from home, it might not have eaten for days. He can’t just let it go hungry. He tentatively puts a hand out for the cat to sniff, then strokes its head and down its back cautiously. It looks healthy at least, and it doesn’t feel like it’s just skin and bones. It’s very friendly though, and when it starts purring up a storm Cas physically feels himself cave in.
“Maybe you can have just one little piece, but then we’re going to find your family and get you home.” The cat purrs harder as Cas drops a tiny square of bacon onto the floor in front of it. Within seconds the bacon has disappeared, and hopeful eyes are gazing up at him again. He sighs. Gabe always tells him he’s a pushover.
“Okay, but you can’t tell anyone.”
The cat scarfs down the proffered pieces of bacon, egg, and even toast as Cas pets it, feeling around for a collar but to no avail. Hmm. He peers out through the doors at some of the nearby houses and yards in case there’s anyone visibly searching for something around ankle-height. Nothing. There’s no obvious cat flaps on any of the houses either, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything; it could be an indoor-only escapee, or have broken out of a catio or something. He gets up to look more closely, maybe examine some of the houses further afield. The moment Cas moves from his chair, the cat leaps into his spot and makes a beeline for his dirty plate.
“Absolutely not.”
Cas grabs the plate, dumping it in the sink along with the used pan to be washed up later. Foiled, the cat instead curls up in the warm spot left behind on the chair, but not for long. Cas scoops it up in his arms, eliciting an indignant weh, and heads for the front door.
“Well, you’re certainly heavy enough to be getting fed regularly.”
“Weh.”
The cat seems perfectly happy to be held, purring like a medium-sized tractor and rubbing its face on his shoulder, so that’s another point in the ‘not a stray’ column. He scritches behind the cat’s ears and the purring volume cranks up a notch. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t belong to the police chief and her wife next door; they’d invited him in for coffee and cake when he first arrived with a truck full of boxes, and he hadn’t seen any pet paraphernalia in their house. He checks with the gruff older gentleman who lives on his other side first, then with the houses across the street, but nobody owns the cat or volunteers any useful information. He knocks on Jody and Donna’s door anyway, just in case.
“Oh, Castiel, it is so good to see you again! And who’s this?” Donna eyes the bundle of black fur that’s trying to become one with Cas’s sweater. The cat pops its head out and wehs at her in greeting.
“Hello, Donna. I was hoping you could tell me, actually. I had the back door open and it just snuck into my house. It’s not yours, is it? Do you know who it belongs to?”
Donna looks like she’s about to answer, but then she purses her lips and looks consideringly at him.
“Hmm, well how about that. Nope, it’s not ours, Jody’s allergic.” Donna keeps looking at him strangely, and Cas starts to worry he’s got leftover egg stuck to his face or something. “Gosh, you know, I just couldn’t tell you who owns that lil’ cutie. I’m sure the owner will come looking though, and he’ll be very grateful that a kind, sweet, strong man like you is taking good care of his cat. Uh, or her cat. You know, whoever owns her. It.” Cas blinks. Donna flushes and waves a hand. “You know what I mean.”
Jody appears over Donna’s shoulder, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. She looks curiously between the two of them, standing on the porch, but Donna launches in before Cas can explain.
“Wouldn’t you know, Jodes, Castiel here had a cat turn up on his back porch, and he doesn’t know who it belongs to.” Donna gives her wife a significant look, presumably trying to jog her memory so Cas can return the cat to its rightful owner. Jody looks at the cat and then back at Donna blankly for a moment before her eyes widen.
“Oh!” Jody turns to him, “you’ve no idea whose cat it is? Darn. Maybe the owner will come looking for her, though.”
Cas nods, slowly. “Yes, that’s what Donna said too.” He feels like he’s missing something, but that’s probably just disorientation and exhaustion from the move. “Thank you, anyway.”
They don’t let him off the porch and out of sight until they’ve extracted promises from him that yes, he will come over for a coffee again soon and yes, he will keep them updated about the cat saga. He brings the furry interloper back into his kitchen and sets it back down on the chair.
“You can sit here while I get you some water, at least.” The cat starts cleaning itself in lieu of a response, and Cas turns reluctantly to the box pile. “If I were a shallow and non-fragile dish, which box would I be in?”
He emerges victorious after a few moments of rummaging, only to find that the cat is no longer on the chair. Nor is it anywhere to be found under the table, or on any of the other chairs. He even finds himself lifting one side of the couch to check underneath it (What? Cats are liquid, it’s an entirely plausible option) before he concedes it must have let itself out of the still-open back door, the same way it came in. He’s surprised at how disappointed he feels, but it’s for the best. He doesn’t need to be worrying about a pet right now, and hopefully it will make its way home. That’s the end of that little adventure.
~
The cat is back the next morning, its nose pressed right up against Castiel’s closed patio doors.
“Weh,” it complains, slightly muffled by the glass.
“I should have known better than to give you food.” Cas tries to look sternly at the cat, but it just stares back at him with hopeless feline optimism. It slow-blinks at him, which is really the last straw. “I see, you’re pulling out the big guns. Well, it’s not going to work.”
It continues watching him through the glass with reproach. Cas inexplicably feels guilty for ignoring it and not giving it any food, even though he’s certain he has nothing remotely resembling cat food in the house. He shouldn’t encourage it, and he certainly shouldn’t be feeding it toast. This is for the best. He turns his back to the door so the cat isn’t in his line of sight.
“Wowh.”
After a painful few minutes of steadfast ignoring, the cat does leave, but Cas feels uneasy for the rest of the day.
~
…Which is probably why he opens the door again the next day. He justifies it to himself that it’s just better for air circulation when he’s unpacking boxes. Nobody wants to spend all day sneezing, after all. The cat, however, is a no-show all morning, and Cas has a hard time keeping a sullen frown off his face. Stupid of him to get so attached to a random stray cat. Stupid to expect it to, what, tell the time like a human being? Come on Castiel, get a grip. He stirs his mac and cheese forcefully before spooning it into a bowl, clanging pots and pans possibly louder than strictly necessary. He can feel a headache coming on.
“Weh?”
Just like that, Cas grins as he turns, bowl in hand, to see the little face poking curiously around the doorframe. He can’t help it; this furry intruder is lighting up his day and lifting his mood without even trying. Goddammit. He plonks the bowl on the table – his lunch can wait a moment.
“Hello again, little one. I didn’t think I would see you again.” The cat’s tail twitches in response. “If you’re lucky, there’s a chance I have a can of tuna in here somewhere.”
He reaches for the cupboard where he knows full well he has a stack of tuna cans that he picked up yesterday. There’s also some plain chicken in the fridge in case the tuna doesn’t go down well. It never hurts to be prepared. Cas turns back to serve up the fish, and nearly drops it when he sees the cat has climbed up onto the table and is wolfing down his mac and cheese.
“Why you little– you get down from there right now!”
Predictably, the cat pays no attention to his spluttering incredulity, so it takes forcibly hauling the cat from the table to get it away from the bowl. Its face and whiskers are completely smothered in cheesy goop, but even that can’t hide the smug and satisfied expression radiating from the creature along with noisy – and slightly bubbly – purrs. Cas deposits the cat on the floor and lifts the bowl out of reach, standing up to eat the rest so that the resident lunch thief doesn’t get any ideas.
“You’re a menace, do you know that?”
“Weh.”
“What kind of noise is that for a cat to make, anyway?”
“Weeeh.”
“If you say so.”
~
It keeps coming back. Every day. Always late morning or lunchtime. Probably lured by the smell of cooking.
If Cas kept the back doors closed, maybe it wouldn’t smell the food.
He leaves them open.
It always seems hungry despite seeming healthy, which just doesn’t make any sense. If anything, the cat’s bordering on the chunky side, so definitely not starving to death. So why does it keep coming back here? Did it belong to the previous owners? But then where does it go during the night?
“I’m not giving you a name,” insists Cas one morning, as the cat licks pancake syrup off his fingers. “That would be giving in.”
Having scrubbed his fingers clean, the cat goes after his crumpled paper napkin, but Cas scoops it up before the napkin can go the same way as the syrup.
“Oh, no you don’t.”
“Weeeeh!”
~
“Maybe we’ll get snow.”
“Don’t be ridiculous Cassie, this isn’t Illinois. You’re in a civilized part of the country now.” Gabe’s voice may be tinny down the phone, but Cas can still hear the accompanying eye-roll. He patiently waits as Gabe goes off on his usual rant, absently petting the cat with one socked foot as it winds around his other ankle. He must be spoiling it, because apparently this isn’t sufficient attention.
“Weh!” it demands.
Cas tries to hush the animal – as if that would have any effect at all – and hopes the yell wasn’t loud enough for Gabe to hear down the line. It yells once more and then struts off in a huff.
“Is that a cat? Did you get a cat??”
“No! Well, yes. But it’s not mine, it just shows up occasionally.” If by ‘occasionally’ you mean ‘every day’, he doesn’t add.
“Don’t feed it. You know what you’re like with taking in strays.”
“I don’t take in strays.”
“Inias. Balthazar. Meg–”
Cas cuts him off, throat tight. “They weren’t– you can’t call human beings strays.”
“Watch me.”
“I don’t take in strays.”
“Oh god, you’ve already fed it, haven’t you.”
“No,” Cas lies, uselessly.
“Aw dammit Castiel, why are you such a bleeding-heart do-gooder?”
“It was just a bit of bacon!” And another bit, and some egg, and then all the rest. But Gabe doesn’t need to know that much. Cas hears a crunching sound from the next room and peeks round the door to find the cat with its teeth firmly planted into the side of an empty cardboard box. He huffs a laugh. Ten out of ten for cuteness, minus several hundred for brains. Is there anything it won’t try and eat? “Anyway, it’s nice to have some company, even if it’s just a cat.”
Gabe sighs, and Cas regrets saying anything. He hadn’t actually meant to guilt trip his brother. It’s not his fault Cas is feeling lonely.
“I’m sorry we can’t spend the holidays together this year, broski. But now that you live closer, we’ll be able to hang loose on the regular, right?”
“Right.” Cas tries to sound upbeat, but Gabriel can always see right through him. He clears his throat and tries a bit harder. “You have fun with Kali’s family, and we’ll catch up when you’re back.”
“That we will. Love ya, little bro.”
~
Cas definitely isn’t getting attached to the cat. The fact he keeps the back door open each day despite the increasingly cold and damp weather is just a coincidence.
~
“...could see its first snow in a decade! Isn’t that right, Sandra?”
“Well, Bob, it sure could be. We’ve got frost and maybe even snow forecast all over Shasta County overnight. Get ready for a white Christmas in the Sunshine State! We could see temperatures as low as…”
The cat hurtles through the tiny gap in the door like a furry bullet out of a gun, making Cas jump. He hurries to slide the door shut behind it, trapping in the warmth and keeping out the biting wind. Immediately, the cat scurries back over and starts pawing at the door, weh-ing anxiously.
“I’m worried about letting you back out, it’s too cold out there. Clearly you’ve not been paying attention to the weather forecast.”
“We-eh.”
“Well don’t worry, I know just how to distract you.”
Cas settles back down on the couch and retrieves his temporarily-abandoned bag of cheetos. As he suspected, the rustle of the bag draws the cat in like a magnet. He holds out a cheeto between two fingers, and the cat begins licking frantically at the orange powder.
“You know, I really shouldn’t be letting you do this. It can be our little secret. Deal?”
The evening progresses from ‘gloomy’ to ‘downright grim’ before thoroughly descending into the ‘impenetrable darkness’ phase of the night, wind whipping fiercely around the houses and chucking freezing rain at all the windows. Even the cat stopped showing any interest in going outside a few hours back, and is now splayed out over half the couch while the credits for A Christmas Story roll in the background. Cas scratches under its chin sleepily and attempts to rub bright orange dust off its nose.
“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t very festive.”
“Whrrr.”
Cas smiles a little at the lethargic sound. “At least I’ll have you for company on Christmas Day. Come on, bed time.”
He goes through the motions of checking the locks and turning off the lights, then trudges up the stairs to his room, hearing the tiny thunks of paws as the cat trots after him. As he opens the door, it bolts past him and jumps onto the bed, kneading and getting comfortable right in the center. Cas rolls his eyes.
“Please, make yourself at home. Don’t mind me.”
It’s…challenging, to say the least, trying to sleep on one edge of his bed. It’s truly incredible, he thinks, that such an expanse of mattress can be completely overtaken by one tiny animal. He sleeps soundly nonetheless with this tiny space heater curled against his back as the weather rages on outside.
~
Cas wakes to the sound of sharp teeth and a sandpaper tongue doing their best to destroy the novel he’d left on his bedside table. He should probably put a stop to the slaughter, but he just can’t muster the energy to care. Remembering the forecast, he glances out of the window, making a mental note to get better blinds at some point. It hasn’t snowed, of course. Just another gray day.
He leaves the cat to its shredding and goes in search of coffee. From outside he can hear someone calling indistinctly, probably wrangling a dog or something. He retrieves a mug, then stares at it for a moment, trying to remember what comes next.
The calling gets more insistent and frankly kind of annoying, piercing through the pre-caffeine brain fog. Cas figures he should do the Good Neighborly Thing and see if he can help.
He opens the door, blinking a little in the morning light, just as the apparent caller is poised to knock on Jody and Donna’s front door. Before he can say anything, a streak of black zooms out past him and makes a dash for freedom. Cas makes a half-awake attempt to grab the cat, but it’s far too quick. In his defense, he’s also quite distracted by the pretty, pretty man who seems to be visiting his neighbors.
“Weh!”
“Missy! Hey, sweetheart. Where the hell have you been?”
Cas watches with a sinking heart as the man dashes down the steps and scoops the bundle of black fluff into his arms, his face a picture of relief and delight. Of course this adorable creature already has a home. Of course it belongs to someone else who loves it very much, and doesn’t need Castiel’s help looking after it. What was he thinking, getting so attached?
Cas stands pathetically in his doorway, starting to shiver a bit, stupid heart stupid breaking a little bit over a cat. Gabriel would never let him forget about this.
In between being smothered in cat-kisses by the shattered remnants of Castiel’s heart, the man approaches Cas’s own porch. “Hey dude, are you the reason my girl’s got itchy feet lately?”
Cas scowls. “I didn’t realize she had a local owner. She wasn’t wearing a collar or anything.” He regrets the snippy tone that comes out without warning, but goddammit he’s sad and lonely and getting cold standing in the open doorway. He’s also very aware he’s still in his pajamas and his hair is probably all stuck up on one side, when this actual god is standing in front of him looking like that. The guy plops his cat back onto the sidewalk and holds up his hands in resignation.
“Ah, yeah, sorry about that. She uh…” he looks pained. “Believe it or not, she tries to eat any kind of collar I put on her? So, I kind of gave up”
Cas snorts, despite himself. He would be skeptical, but he’s seen the crap that this cat tries to eat. He does believe it.
“I’m Dean, by the way.”
He holds out a hand to shake, one foot on the bottom step of Cas’s porch, and Cas just looks at it in incomprehension. Surely he must have noticed that Cas is a goblin that should be shunned from society? Dean’s smile starts to fall, so does his arm, but Cas reaches out and grasps his hand at the last minute. “Yes. Dean. Sorry. I’m Castiel. Er, Cas.” His neck prickles as he becomes aware that they’ve been holding on for a bit longer than is strictly normal, and that he’s just staring at the guy’s face like a weirdo. Even self-aware, Cas can’t quite bring himself to let go. It’s fine, he’ll blame it on the lack of coffee.
“Nice to meet you, Cas. Anyway, don’t let me keep you from your festivities.”
“Festivities? Oh, I see. No, it’s just me, there aren’t any…festivities, today.”
Dean nods. “That’s cool, not everyone celebrates the holidays, I get it.”
For some reason Cas can’t keep his mouth shut. “No, that’s not it. I would love to celebrate, but it doesn’t feel right when there’s nobody else here.” An awkward silence falls around them. Cas flounders for a way to rescue the situation and fails. “But please, don’t let me keep you from yours. Um, do you have a family?” He winces even as the words come out of his mouth. ‘Do you have a family?’ Really?? Surprisingly, Dean dignifies this with a response.
“Oh, actually, it’s just me today too. I usually spend it with my brother but this year…well, anyway.” Dean clears his throat. “I’d best get this one back indoors. Sorry again that she got in your way.”
“Not at all.”
They’re just kind of staring at each other, cat scampering up and down the steps and winding idly between their legs. Maybe Cas is still asleep? That would make a lot more sense than whatever this slow-motion disaster is.
“Heh, she likes you.”
There’s a faint squeak followed by a muffled crash nearby, and Cas glances over at the house next door just in time to see a curtain swing back into place. His eyes narrow, but thankfully the disruption seems to have broken whatever weird, awkward spell was on this cursed interaction.
“Uh, I should let you get back to your…” Dean gestures vaguely at the house.
Cas tries to muster some dignity. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Merry Christmas, I guess.” He backs down the porch steps, Missy following after him with her tail curled contentedly. Cas reminds himself it’s for the best.
“And the same to you.”
Cas closes the door and leans against it for a moment, taking a breath. It’s strangely quiet without the cat. He turns on the TV to fill the silence.
~
Only an hour or so later, there’s a knock on the door. This is not how he had imagined Christmas going, but he keeps the grumpiness from his expression as he goes to greet this new visitor.
“Oh. Hello, Dean.”
Dean shifts uncomfortably on the porch. Cas is suddenly grateful he’d put on real clothes after their last encounter, and that Dean isn’t getting a second viewing of his PJs. Small mercies.
“Listen man, shoot me if this sounds weird, but do you want to come and spend Christmas with me? Uh, us? Me and Missy, I mean.” Dean blushes and rubs at the back of his neck. “We’re just ‘round the corner. Obviously.”
Cas blinks. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
Not only is Dean’s house a feeble stone’s throw away, it transpires his yard backs directly onto Castiel’s own. The standard-issue picket fence is clearly no match for any creature as determined as Missy, and she slips through the gaps and back as if to demonstrate just how easily she can flit between the houses on a whim. It’s a tighter squeeze in some gaps than others.
Cas grins. “She’d better lay off the mac and cheese if she wants to keep fitting through that fence.”
Dean stops in his tracks. “You gave my cat mac and cheese?”
“Are you aware your cat doesn’t have any table manners and is also a criminal mastermind?”
They’re both still laughing as Dean unlocks the door and fusses until Cas has taken his shoes and jacket off. Neither of them had planned for a traditional Christmas dinner, and Dean’s apologetic as they root through his fridge and cupboards.
“Shouldn’t’ve offered to entertain you when I haven’t even got anything decent to feed you. I swear I was raised better than this.”
Dean doesn’t have the ingredients for pizza, and he nearly throws Cas out when he vetoes making pie from scratch (“It’s Christmas Day, Dean. Christmas Day is for minimum effort.”). Pancakes are decided upon more by inevitability than consensus, but Dean whips up a batter in no time as Cas rummages for mugs for hot cocoa.
The banter descends into a surprisingly heated argument over the relative merits of peanut butter versus honey, as they smear them both on the warm pancakes, shoulder to shoulder at the counter. Missy joins in with a yell.
“Exactly! You tell him, sweetheart.”
Cas’s face is hurting from smiling, and he feels on the edge of a giddiness he knows he’s got to pull back from. Deep breath, Castiel. They take their stacked plates to the couch, eschewing the table, and dig in in companionable silence.
Cas sneaks fleeting glances at Dean between bites, stunned by how beautiful someone can still be when they have a smear of peanut butter on their cheek. It’s weird, Cas barely knows the guy, but he feels immediately comfortable with him. He can’t help himself, he wants to know more.
“You said you usually spend the holidays with family?” Cas asks gently, aware he might be stepping on a landmine.
“Yeah. I usually spend every holiday with Sammy – he’s my little brother – but it’s his kid’s first Christmas and he and his better half wanted to spend it together, just the three of them.” Dean half shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, but the set of his jaw gives him away. “People grow up, I guess. Grow apart.”
Cas hums and looks down at where Dean’s hand is resting on the couch cushion, He’s struck with an almost overwhelming urge to reach out and hold it. His fingers twitch. Maybe if he just–
Missy interrupts this line of thinking before he can make a total fool of himself by climbing into Cas’s lap and headbutting him in the chest. Dean scrubs surreptitiously at his eyes and laughs.
“Dude, I think my cat likes you more than she likes me”
“Not at all, she just knows who her most dedicated paper-based products dealer is. Isn’t that right, Missy?”
“We-eh.”
“You’re gonna be a bad influence, I can just tell.”
Cas looks up sharply; Dean’s smiling at him in a way he doesn’t want to think too hard about right now. He distracts himself by picking some half-chewed cardboard off Missy’s face. She kneads happily at his thigh.
“I’m not surprised you tried to keep hold of her, she’s soft on you. I wouldn’t have let her go either.”
Cas frowns. “But I did try to return her. I asked all of my close neighbors who she belonged to.”
Dean looks puzzled. “But not Donna and Jody, right?”
“No, I did ask them. They didn’t know she was yours.”
Dean scoffs. “Like hell they didn’t. Jodes was the one who rescued Missy’s mom out of some drain, she’s known this furball since the dawn of time. No way she wouldn’t recognise her.”
Cogs start to turn – slowly, clunkily, shedding rust as they go – in Cas’s brain. “...They did suggest that, perhaps, the owner might eventually come looking for her…” He catches Dean’s eye, and watches as he comes to the same awful realization.
Dean groans and drops his head into his hands. “Fuck, I”m so sorry man. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told them not to interfere in my love life – uh,” he bolts upright in a panic. “Not that this is– shit. I just mean, they’re always like this. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“It’s fine.” Cas is surprised with how evenly his voice comes out, given that he’s pretty sure his whole head is on fire. He casts around desperately for something – anything – to say.
Dean gasps suddenly, making Cas start and Missy flee the couch in disgust.
“Dude, is that snow?” He hurries over to the patio doors, looking searchingly up at the thick clouds.
Cas squints at it. “I think it’s just…very large, cold rain?”
“C’mon man, don’t spoil the moment. Look, that bit’s wafting or some shit, rain doesn’t move like that.”
His enthusiasm is contagious and Cas can’t help but smile. It seems he spends most of his time around Dean smiling. Dean holds out a hand in his direction, waggling his fingers in unmistakable invitation.
“Come on, get over here and take a proper look.” Cas gulps, but takes the proffered hand and joins Dean at the window. He feels like he’s back in middle school, abruptly self-conscious about gripping too hard or having sweaty palms. If he notices Cas’s nerves, Dean is kind enough not to say anything. He points excitedly at where a solitary snowflake rests for almost a whole second on the glass before melting and sliding away. “See?”
“Okay, I concede that it is snowing. Are you happy now?”
Dean turns the full force of that smile on Cas, whose critical thinking capacity immediately vacates the premises. It’s truly not fair, he thinks. Don’t make me fall in love with him and his cat. He squeezes Dean’s hand, still clasped in his own. Dean’s eyes flick down to Cas’s lips, and Cas’s breath catches in his throat. Oh shit. He starts to lean in but Dean jerks back.
Horrified, Cas steps back, an apology for misreading the situation already forming, before he notices that Dean’s exasperated attention is focused over his shoulder, towards their discarded plates on the coffee table.
“Missy, no!”
