Bring It On Home- A Destiel AU [COMPLETED]

Chapter 12

Dean was nervous about Christmas.

He laid in bed on Christmas Eve night, turning it over and over in his head. There was no way that Cas remembered the kiss, or else he wouldn't have invited Dean over, but even still. He knew that the moment he looked Cas in the eyes it would be written all over his face, and the man could read him so easily...

And besides, he shouldn't feel like such a shithead because it all made sense, Dean decided. He'd been drunk, and lonely, and snuggled up next to a guy who had locked lips with him only a day before. God knew he hadn't seen any action in - in - well, so long he couldn't even remember! No one could blame him for making a mistake. It didn't mean anything; it could have been literally anyone in the world and Dean would have done the same thing.

But it wasn't anyone in the world. It was Cas. And deep down...

Deep down Dean knew.

He knew that -

No, no, no, no! Dean squeezed his eyes shut and screwed his fists into his head and tried to physically block his mind from touching on the dark little thought that had been huddling in the back of his skull since the first moment he'd seen Cas with his ruffled black hair and his bare feet, when Cas had looked at him with those sharp blue eyes and looked right through him and ever since that moment he had diligently ignored that tiny unkillable whispered greedy thought of I want him.

Shit.

Dean buried his face in his pillow and made a violent noise of frustration.

And then, suddenly, he remembered: the meditation stone. He reached over to his nightstand drawer and pulled it out, resting it in the palm of his hand and gripping it tight.

It was strange to find a stone calming, wasn't it? And yet laying in bed, breathing slowly in and out, he felt its solid weight in his hand and it somehow felt right. He concentrated on its smooth texture, the slight grain that ran through it near his thumb, and soon he was drifting to sleep with the parting thought that this was yet another debt he owed to Cas.

...

Christmas Day and Dean's stomach was all clenched tight with anxiety, but whatever. No big deal. He stuffed the rolls and the gummy bears in a plastic bag and made his way to Castiel's doorstep and rang the bell.

A minute later, Cas opened the door, wearing the ugliest Christmas sweater Dean had seen in years. There were quilted trees, reindeer, an elf or two, and two strands of little plastic colored lights knitted into the brick red abomination.

And even still, Dean thought - he looked handsome.

Fuckdamn.

"Hello," Cas said. "You're looking green today."

Dean glanced down at his gray wool coat and black slacks. "What do you mean?"

Cas squinted. "Your aura. You're all..." He made a vague gesture in the air with his hand. "Conflicted. Tangled up. Green."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you got high on Christmas, Castiel."

Cas sighed and shook his head grimly. "I'm depressingly sober. Now come inside before you notice the mistletoe."

"What?" Dean glanced up above his head and sure enough, a little sprig of mistletoe dangled above the doorway, fastened with silver duct tape. But by the time he looked back down to protest, Cas had disappeared into the house. Dean pushed down his mingled relief and disappointment, wiped his feet on the doormat and walked inside, past a stairway and into the main room.

The first thing that Dean noticed was the rocks. There were polished rocks everywhere, in every color, shape and size. Every bookshelf, end table and cabinet had at least one rock feature on it. Some were carved into little statues, some were merely smooth and round, some were angular crystals that jutted out from their mother stone just the way they'd first formed. They all gleamed or glittered.

This was just the living room, but Dean had a feeling the rest of the house would be similar. He whistled.

The room was painted a cozy shade of yellow, and the vintage stained glass lamps made the room look warm. The furniture, though - the furniture. The sofa and matching easy chairs were all upholstered with a disgustingly garish blue-and-green floral print from the seventies. He supposed it went with the olive green shag carpeting. Surprisingly enough, he didn't smell incense, although he saw a few unlit sticks on the windowsill. He smelled - chicken? Dean took off his coat and laid it on the couch, and then wandered towards what he hoped was the kitchen.

Instead, he found the dining room, where Cas was setting two places at one end of a long oak table. The two china cabinets in the room also had various rocks on them. "Where do you want the rolls and gummy bears?" he asked.

Cas started, and then swallowed. "Yes, the kitchen," he said, fidgeting with a cloth napkin. "I'm sorry, I'm not used to having guests."

Dean snorted and approached him. "What about all the people that come here?"

"I bring them directly upstairs." Cas folded the napkin some more and blinked quickly. "I don't let them in here."

Dean peered at the napkin in Cas's hands. "Are you making a swan?"

Cas exhaled through his nose and set down his napkin swan. "To be honest, Dean, I... I'm a little nervous having you here."

"Why?" Dean asked, unable to keep a disbelieving chuckle out of his voice. "Cas, I already know you're a few french fries short of a Happy Meal, alright? You don't have worry."

Cas took up the next napkin and began to fold it. "I bought this house with inheritance money I received from my great aunt. But ever since I bought it, I have been self-conscious about the number of rooms."

Dean frowned. "How many rooms are there?"

"I can't tell you," Cas answered. "I'm self-conscious."

A timer dinged in the other room.

Cas grabbed Dean's bag and pointed to his half-folded napkin. "Finish this swan!" he commanded. Then he ran to the kitchen, shouting along the way, "I can't let the macaroni burn!"