A/N: THIS IS IT YOU GUYS! THE LAST CHAPTER! I know what you guys are thinking, "WHAT?! But you can't!" Well, yes I can! I set out to write an angst free multichaptered story about how Dean and Cas come together (*nudge*nudge*wink*wink*) and I succeeded. :) I'm really happy at my achievement, since I've never completed a multi-chaptered story in my life! xD. My baby here is over 73,000 words, author's notes included. Can you believe that?

I love destiel with all my heart, and while I was writing this last chapter, I had a couple destiel-feels attacks xD. I had no idea how to end this thing, but then I did and I'm really happy with it. So please, enjoy the ending of my epic non-angsty fic: No Time For Angst.

PS: I'll be posting this story to AO3 for anyone who wants to download a pdf version of this story for easy reading. Link will be in my profile as soon as I set it up!

(There are also some additional comments at the end, so please don't skip those!)






CHAPTER SUMMARY: The end. I really have no idea what to put in this summary xD! It's all in Cas's POV, and this chapter alone is almost 12.5K words (not including author's notes)! That's 34 Microsoft Word pages! Really proud of myself, right there. Enjoy!



Castiel feels a bit bad for Dean.

He's aware of the fact that the universe is attempting to make his boyfriend's life impossible.

From a ridiculous Halloween experience, to crashing his car twice. From bank robberies, to Charlie horses. From government-classified secrets, to having to deal with his own drama with Meg.

Castiel feels really bad for Dean.

He tries his best to be his ray of sunshine, so to speak. It doesn't work very well, though, because whenever he manages to find some alone time for them to spend together, things happen. Mr. Singer and Ms. Ellen refuse to stop hovering by their sides. His Uncle Balthazar declares an unexpected 'No-Sex-On-The-Front-Yard' policy.

Castiel finds it a little impressive that Dean suffers through this all with only a grimace and a slump to his shoulders.

His own life hasn't been as hectic as his boyfriend's. It's had its ups and downs but nothing so wild. Nevertheless, at the end of the day, he's a hormone-driven teenager, too. So this thing the universe is trying to do? This cock-blocking mission? It's frustrating him to no end for selfish reasons as well.

He's never experienced sexual frustration before. Before Dean, his only romantic encounter had been a kindergarten crush on this little blonde girl he doesn't even remember the name of. So really, he didn't know that going from a life where he never knew the joys and pleasures of sex, to just going at it, full blown, whenever he and Dean look at each other for more than two and a half minutes, would have consequences. Whenever he felt the need, he called Dean, whenever Dean felt the need, Dean called him. Just like that, easy as pie.

But now it's been nearly three weeks, and he's got an itch the size of Texas. If there was one thing his parents taught him, though, it was perseverance. So with that, every morning before getting ready for the day, and every night before going to bed, he meditates to this frame of thought: 'This is only temporary. Sex is just around the corner. This is only temporary. Sex is just around the corner.'

It's helped. A little.

And then the day came when Dean gets brain damaged from insufficient sleep. It sounds bad, but this is the perfect opportunity. Because when Dean refuses to let his body rest, for some reason it reacts the opposite of drained. He gets wired, way too hyperactive for his own good. So what other way to tire him out but by strenuous physical and mental activities?

So he forces Dean to sing, to reach out into the recesses of his mind and spout out historical facts. He sets him loose on the punching bag and eagerly watches the way those perfect muscles strain, how every single drop of sweat rolls down that golden skin. An outsider would think Cas is being a good boyfriend.


He is actually just anticipating that one specific moment when Dean gets bored of beating up the punching bag. That one moment where exhaustion is minutes away but still not quite. Oh, that moment is glorious. His body is completely confused on what exactly it should do. And that usually means really good sex.

Eye-rolling, mind-melting sex. Because in the confusion between exhaustion and hyperactivity, Dean's mind recognizes the amazing pleasure being derived from sex and wishes to get off, but his body doesn't know when to give in. So that just leaves his boyfriend desperate for release; pounding, moving, grinding, writhing, twisting harder for a release that takes much too long to arrive.

Dean pretty much conks right after finally achieving orgasm, so it's not like Castiel is taking advantage. Dean gets to sleep and Cas gets satisfaction. Fair trade.

But that night, right after Dean punches the bag a little too hard, and the thing swings away from the busted hook it was chained on, all his plans get derailed.

Gabriel Novak steps into the gym/shed like it is the most normal thing for an absentee celebrity family member to do.

Castiel almost cries. He doesn't, though. Instead, his face goes entirely blank, except for the scrunched up brow. The scrunched up brow gives away his immeasurable sexually frustrated agony.

And Dean, wonderful, sleep-addled Dean, just smiles wide and blabs and blabs at his elder uncle. Apparently they met yesterday, or something. How nice. Except that Gabriel decides to be an asshole and not forgive whatever it is that Dean seems to be apologizing for. His blue eyes narrow.

Strike one.

He leaves with his family when he's sure that Sam will watch over his boyfriend, and prevent his beloved from drowning in the shower, or such other similar accidents.

Dinner at the Novak household that evening is comprised of Hawaiian pizza, bacon pizza, veggie pizza, three pepperoni-filled calzones, barbeque chicken wings, fettuccini alfredo, cannoli, amaretto cheesecake, Nutella biscotti with cups of hot chocolate, and a side Spanish Inquisition.

Or at least, what Gabriel thinks is the Spanish Inquisition.

Honestly, the man does not know him at all.

"So…" begins Gabriel after biting into his bacon pizza, and downing it with beer.

"Yes?" Castiel asks around a slice of veggie pizza.

"Seventeen, huh?"

"Eighteen, soon."

"Hm. And gay, too."

"I prefer not to place a label upon myself so early in my development," he declares after chugging down his entire glass of wine. Mother always said that wine was Jesus Christ's blood. 'Let's fill ourselves to the brim in His blood,' she used to say. Excuses, excuses.


He closes himself off after that. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing in this world, except for Dean, who can successfully pry him open. In more ways than one. He feels he should wink and nudge at someone.

Instead, he lets the silence that follows Gabriel's attempts at digging for information become stilted, and absolutely awkward, as he blankly and mechanically brings food to his mouth and chews it carefully.

From the corner of his eye he can see Uncle Balthazar scowl at Uncle Gabriel.

The next day comes much too early for his liking, but alas, sacrifices must be made in the name of education. At least he doesn't have to walk his way to the temporary school. He's got Dean, lovely Dean, willing to drive all the way to his far-removed home to pick him up, cross the entire town, and deliver him safely to their institution.

Dean deserves blow jobs, he decides as he's washing his teeth. Maybe they can skip homeroom and spend it in the wheelchair accessible bathroom stall. Trade favors. That'll slake his lust some until after school. Because God knows that today, they're getting laid. It's Friday; the perfect excuse to go out on a date, and not be bothered by nosy family members.

And then Gabriel appears.

"Knock knock!" the man singsongs as he breezes his way into his room, and throws himself into the middle of Castiel's unmade bed.

"Good morning, Uncle," comes Cas's muffled reply from the depths of his closet, where he's attempting to find a turtleneck sweater.

"God, kid. Balthy said you needed to wake up before the ass-crack of dawn in order to get to school, but I really didn't think you would do it."

"School is very important."

"Well, not today!" Gabriel suddenly springs back up from the bed, and somehow appears besides him, clutching his pale shoulders in a vice grip. "Today, we get to spend some much needed quality time together. After all, we haven't seen each other in so long. It's practically heartbreaking!"

Castiel levels his Flat Look at his uncle.

His face stays in the same Flat position even after he finishes dressing, even after calling Dean and telling him the change of plans (this is Strike Two, by the way), even after Vivi serves him his favorite breakfast meal, even after Balthazar hugs him and kisses him twice on the cheeks and tells him to keep his phone as safe as possible and to call as soon as things start getting strange, even after he and Gabriel pile up into the borrowed Rolls Royce and begin the drive out of the property, even after the car passes the 'You are now leaving Sioux Falls!' sign.

"Where are we going," Castiel finally chooses to ask in a monotone voice after the sun is high enough to brighten the Earth, but still low enough that the car's visor fails to provide cover from the fiery needles stabbing themselves indiscriminately into his eyes.

"I woke up this morning, and I felt like tequila, dear Cassie," Gabriel answers cheerfully. He digs a hand into his jacket pocket, pulls out a blue article and throws it in the teenager's lap. It's a small booklet, and when he looks at the front cover, Cas can see the word 'PASSPORT' in golden, blocky letters.

The seventeen-year-old slumps in his seat. "We're not returning to the house before the day's over, are we?"


Three days. Three miserable, agonizing days of pure southern heat, endless tequila shots, cock fights, and cringe-worthy, unfortunate rodeo experiences. And women.

Gabriel had lunged one big-breasted stripper after the other towards Castiel's unsuspecting face. He's been boob-slapped enough times to make him worry about having gotten a concussion.

Gabriel thought it was funny.

Thankfully, it's all over now. Everything that happened south of the border, stayed south of the border, or so had his uncle make him promise after the Mazorca Situation. Castiel shudders.

And now here they are, a perfectly frigid Tuesday on a South Dakotan midday, in Harvelle's Road House parking lot. The teenager sighs and allows the corners of his lips to curl a few centimeter's upwards.

It causes Gabriel to have a sudden panic attack, so Cas takes the opportunity to slip into Ellen's restaurant.

"Mom! Mom!" Jo screeches from her place next to her mother behind the bar. Ellen looks up from the glass she's cleaning.

"Oh! Blessed be my eyes that set their sights upon your sweet face!" the older woman shouts out from behind the bar, but then she's vaulting over it all like it's nothing, and she pulls him into her bosom, and proceeds to squeeze the sweet life out of him.

Huh. More boobs.

"It's good to see you as well, Ms. Ellen," he grunts into the front of her plaid shirt.

"Dean's been absolutely impossible to deal with, you know?" she whispers in his ear.

"I miss him," he confides softly, and then awkwardly raises his arms to loop them around the woman.

But then the entrance doors burst open, and Gabriel is there again. "Cassie! Where'd you go?"

Castiel hugs Ellen just a bit tighter.

Ellen and Joanna Beth Harvelle are God-sent angels from Heaven, the teenager decides. Because the women easily distract Gabriel Novak with witty chatter and sugary alcohol, and then Ellen has one of the waiters drive him over to the salvage yard to see Dean. Apparently, the school district decided those affected by drugs in Meg's unfortunate Halloween party did not deserve to be unfairly punished. In a move to gain parents' and students' favor once again, it was decided that school would be let out for the week. And Thanksgiving is on Thursday.

The car ride over is incredibly bumpy, jostling him all over the place and causing flares of pain to spread out from the tenders spots in his flesh induced by the Mexico Experience. He doesn't care though, because he's on his way to see his boyfriend. He's going to tackle him, and kiss him, and hug him, and hump him to death.

What happens is that he falls asleep before reaching Singer's.

When he wakes up, he finds himself barefoot on a very familiar twin-sized bed, in a very familiar room. It's dark out, but he can hear chatter from downstairs, so maybe it's not so late.

Dean's room. Castiel inhales deeply, takes in his boyfriend's scent from the bed sheets and the pillow his head is resting on. And then the door to the room swings open.

His blue eyes quickly land on the figure that's just entered. Tall and bulky, yet graceful as he crosses over to the night stand against the wall and between the two beds. There's a click, and then light from night stand lamp illuminates the room in shades of yellow.

Dean's green eyes are as green as an evergreen forest. And he knows he's used the word 'green' way too many times in his last thought, but it doesn't matter because they're so green and coming closer towards him.

Next thing he knows he's got a lapful of Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean. And oh! Those soft lips are pressing against his own, and then there are teeth, and tongue, and sucking, and shifting hips. A couple somethings stir and harden down there, and isn't that just wonderful?

Castiel breaks away from the very heated kiss to gasp for breath, and Dean takes the opportunity to maul at his neck. The pale teenager blurts out something between a hiss and a moan, hands tightening their grasp on his boyfriend's sides.

"Your family," he breathes out, trying to focus when there are teeth attaching themselves to the flesh right under his ear.

"Downstairs," Dean answers roughly, right before soothing the bite with his tongue, and grinding down harder against his groin. "They wanted to let you sleep."

Castiel chokes on a groan before pulling Dean's head back, so that he could lavish that wondrous dip where the collarbones meet. "Gabriel?" he asks against the moistened skin. Dean's breathing hitches.

"Balthazar's wrangled him."

"Thank God," the older teenager declares before pushing Dean backwards, until the blonde head rests a little over the edge at the foot of the bed. "I've been miserable, Dean," he confesses wretchedly as he untangles their legs.

"Me too," Dean replies, desperation tingeing his tone. His broad hands encircle themselves around his pale wrists, and tugs on them until his fingers thread behind the fair head, and their chests are flush against each other, only thin layers of cotton separating them.

Their hips roll insistently against each other, and their kissing, while going a bit slower, becomes much deeper.

"It's been so long," Cas whispers against full lips.


Removing their clothes would take too much time, and after an eternity of teasing each other, Castiel just travels down Dean's body in one smooth motion. His fingers grab onto the elastic of his boyfriend's pajama pants (and the only reason he registers pajamas is because he's touching them), and pull it down; Dean doesn't wear underwear to bed. There's no need to make a production out of what's about to happen, so Cas just takes him. Licks and sucks and swallows, as the blonde chokes back moans and groans. There are fingers digging into the black mess of his hair, and massaging his scalp roughly. Dean whispers his name like it's the only thing keeping him tethered to this world.

The stretched feeling in his lips, the straining of his tongue, the ache in his jaw and the throbbing in the back of his throat should not be pleasurable sensations. But his eyes open and peek at Dean's wanton expression, his ears pick up every obscene sound, his memories conjure up the last time he was on the receiving end of such an act, and his mind keeps telling him that he's the one undoing this perfect specimen with nothing but his mouth. Castiel can't help the moans that tumble out of his own mouth as his eyes roll to the back of his head.

It doesn't take too long, to get Dean to the edge and then over it. His boyfriend bites down on an exclamation as his body gives into a shudder. As he tries to regain control of himself, he draws out fast, delirious breaths, hissing out whenever Cas's tongue passes over the sensitized flesh in a quest to leave him as clean as possible.

There is a pause, only a few heartbeats long, where Dean takes one long, deep, bracing breath, and then he's tugging Castiel's mouth off a hip bone. Those hands slide down to his thinner shoulders, and push him up and back, until his head hits the pillow it had been resting on before.

"Oh," Castiel breathes out, before Dean crawls over him to seal their mouths together. The blonde's tongue delves in a deep, insistent way that has the brunette arching off the bed, and curling a leg around a muscled thigh.

But their kiss ends abruptly as Dean drags himself down Castiel's body, and starts to fumble with his jeans button in the soft lighting. Castiel helps as Dean zips down the fly, and together they tug the heavy pants off. The blonde grabs onto his hardened flesh through the slit of his underwear, and the brunette strangles a moan as he hits the pillow with the back of his head.

He feels cool air and then he's being enveloped by the slick, wet heat of Dean's mouth. He lasts even less than Dean, only managing a handful of aborted thrusts, and a rhythmic loosening and tightening of his grip on that blonde head. The orgasm that hits him feels like a punch to the chest, and he flounders an eternity—it was only two seconds, Dean will assure him much later—to gain his breath back. It stutters back to him in a long, broken whine, because his boyfriend is still suckling him. The intensity is much lighter, compared to before, but it still causes his body to quake and his vision to continue to flash in white.

Dean moves on to licking him, slow flat swipes over loosening testicles and the delicate skin behind them. After that, he just nuzzles and presses quick kisses on his thighs, then up the line of his pelvis, over a hip bone, the edge of his belly button, and then up, up on his jaw, the corner of his mouth, and then those swollen lips land twice against his own puffy ones.

Castiel laughs. It's a soft, breathy thing against Dean's lingering lips as he opens his blue eyes again. He manhandles his boyfriend to lie on his side, and mirrors the position until they resemble a pair of parentheses. Dean is smiling at him, satisfied and happy; his eyes glinting even in the low lighting. He knows he's making the same expression.

"Tomorrow," he begins, as he gently tucks Dean back into the pajamas before he does the same thing to himself, "is for us. No unfortunate events, no prohibiting family members, nothing that'll interrupt our time together."

Dean smiles. It's a slow movement that usually only means trouble-making.

"We can break into our school; try to do the nasty on every room we've got class in. I bet the English classroom's got great acoustics."

This startles a laugh out of Castiel, and the pale young man inches closer towards Dean. Their ankles hook together, hands linking in the little space between them, the tip of his sharp nose rubbing along the underside of the cleft chin.

"We're not going to do that, Dean," Castiel sighs, eyes drooping as exhaustion settles on him again. "Well, maybe just a few classrooms," he amends.

Dean huffs out a laugh of his own.



Morning feels like it's arrived an entire lifetime after the lovely happenings of the night before. It is arguably the best rest Castiel has ever had. His mind is slow to wake, eyes fluttering open before he can remember where he is.

There's a warm body pressing close, and he's just starting to realize that his left leg and arm are squished under a heavy weight and that he can't really feel them. He makes an effort to move them though, and is rewarded by the sensation of pins and needles. Castiel gasps softly, and winces, the shock of unexpected pain shaking off the last dregs of drowsiness.

When his eyes finally focus, he realizes that all this time he's been gazing at a spectacular hickey left behind on a tanned neck, right at the beginning of a clavicle. 'Dean,' his mind supplies.

He's laying next to—and partially underneath—Dean. A current of thrill races down his spine, making it curve inwards, trying to get closer to his boyfriend, dead limbs be damned. He has never spent an entire night with his boyfriend; he has never woken up the morning after with Dean. It just wasn't possible.

They are still underage, no matter the liberties that their guardians have granted them, and are limited by their situations. Recent Random Mexican Trip from Hell excluded, Cas is expected to be in bed (alone) before midnight on weekdays, and on weekends before one-thirty in the morning. Dean shares his room with his female cousin, and a younger brother on the room besides his. There's usually no privacy.

But it seems that last night had been a wonderful exception. He assumes Ms. Ellen took pity on him after he initiated a hug with her; something he has never done before. He can easily see in his mind's eye how she could have called his Uncle Balthazar and snarled at him until the man had gone to the Road House and put a leash around Uncle Gabriel's neck. It's perfectly possible that the woman had stood tall and proud, with Jo glaring from behind, in the face of the two men and declared Castiel under her temporary protection.

And when that waiter had driven him to the salvage yard, and he had passed out in the passenger's seat? Castiel can see how Dean could've sprinted from the house's porch, down the pair of steps and over to the car, only to freeze at the sight of him; bruises under his eyes from restless nights, body slack with sleep, eyes softly shut. The blonde teenager would have opened the car door and gently unbuckled him, arms softly slithering under him to extract him from the vehicle with the utmost care. Dean would've clutched him as close as possible—and he knows the improbability of this; he might be lean but he's not some frail thing, so just let him fantasize—as he maneuvered his way back inside the house, and up the stairs and into his own room. His rough yet deft fingers must have undone the laces of his sneakers and pulled them off, leaving the rest of his clothes intact to keep him warm; the second floor doesn't get as much heat as the ground floor.

Bobby was sure to have been the first to arrive at the house, Sam in tow after picking the boy up from the middle school. Dean must have set his jaw like he always does when he wants to be stubborn and declared that Castiel would be under his care. Therefore, they were to be quiet, and respectful of the boundaries of his room. He most certainly gave the speech to Ms. Ellen and Jo when they arrived as well. The entire family probably acquiesced immediately, yielding to Dean's protective mother hen tendencies, and saying nothing, even when half of the family was the one to come up with the idea of the seventeen-year-old staying in their home, while the other half truly did not mind.

Dean sighs, the gust of breath ruffling the dark hairs at the top of his head and bringing him back to the moment. The blonde shifts, and pulls closer to Castiel, arms wrapping around his torso, until he resembles nothing more than a cuddle plush. He's sure that the sight of them would be hilarious to any on lookers. Frankly, the position was a bit uncomfortable.

Just as he's finishing those musings, the most unexpected sound fills up the room. It's like a mixture of a bear roaring and a chainsaw turning on. It causes Dean and him to startle at the same time; Dean more violently so, since he had still been fighting the last dregs of sleep.

He's immediately let go, in favor of Dean righting himself up. Blood rushes towards his once-trapped limbs, and Castiel is relieved, even if it hurts. That horrible sound is still echoing loudly against the walls, so he follows his boyfriend's movements and sits up as well. Dean is blinking hazily, trying to shake off the tiredness and muttering obscenities with a sleep-heavy tongue. He keeps mentioning Jo and insulting her mother's integrity, so Castiel shift and rests most of his weight against Dean's side to look over to the other bed occupying the room.

Sure enough, there's Jo on her own twin bed, tangled around two separate sheets, limbs spread out all over the place, her mouth slack and open wide. And dear God in Heaven, that awful sound is most assuredly being caused by the petite girl. He suddenly remembers, months ago, Dean complaining about Jo snoring up a storm after eating some specific meal for dinner. He can't remember which meal it was, and he could ask his boyfriend about it, but that isn't the most pressing question at the moment.

"How did we sleep through that?" Castiel mumbles into Dena's shoulder, both their backs resting against the wall.

Dean stills for a moment, as if suddenly realizing that there's someone in bed with him, then relaxes again, letting some of his weight slump against Castiel.

"Probably too tired," he answers in a sleep-roughened voice as he starts shifting off the bed.

Dean crosses over to Jo's in one long stride. He stares down at his snoring cousin for half a second before grabbing on to her shoulder and shifting her small body on its side until she's facing her own wall. The snores thankfully subside immediately.

The early morning spills in a steely grey hue through the window's curtains, bathing Dean in its opaque light as he keeps looking down at his cousin. He's beautiful, Castiel decides. Perfect with his sleep-flattened hair, marked face and wrinkled clothes.

"Hi," he's saying without really meaning to do so.

Dean turns around, an easy smile worming itself over his lips, eyes shining bright.

"Hi," the blonde returns, and starts moving back towards his bed. "Good morning," he continues, as he crawls onto the mattress.

Castiel smiles in return, and rushes out his own 'Good morning,' right before sleep-puffed lips find his own. The kiss is soft, lazy and calm in a way that yesterday's kisses just couldn't afford to be.

When they eventually break away, Dean huffs a laugh. "Dirty-mouthed morning kisses; a fantasy come true," he jokes into Castiel's neck.

"I like it. Makes it all more real."

Dean laughs again. "I think Jo's monster-snoring made it all real enough."

They don't spend much time on the small bed after that, preferring to make use of the bathroom and get ready for their day. As Dean hands him some of the clean clothes he leaves behind to wear after their training sessions, Castiel can feel himself unable to stop smiling. One look at Dean and it's obvious he's smiling, too. It had been something so simple, spending a night and waking up together, but it had also been absolutely perfect in so many indescribable ways that left him feeling lighthearted and ready to take on anything that might come their way.

He follows Dean, out the door and down the hall, towards the bathroom.

"Here," the blonde begins, after shutting the bathroom door close and rooting through the cabinet under the sink, "Sammy always gets back ups, the freak." It's a brand new, purple-colored tooth brush, still in its plastic.

They brush their teeth together, shoulders bumping, eyes catching in the mirror, and it's all so…so…gay…but Castiel doesn't care. They can afford to be this way with each other behind closed doors, when it's just them and no one else.

It's also interesting, Castiel notes, how his thought process before last night was so vastly different to his thought process now. He hadn't even realized there had been a difference, not until he had calmed down. He had let his frustration bleed through his rationality. And even if he did a good job of hiding it all in front of his family, he's sure a few cracks showed here and there.

Which is probably why just last week Meg asked him if he was menstruating. And maybe that's why he shrieked like a banshee and cursed like a sailor at his Uncle Gabriel right after the events of the Mazorca Situation, instead of silently glaring, as he's usually prone to do in the face of embarrassingly ridiculous jackassery. Alright so maybe his twice-a-day mantra/prayer hadn't helped at all.

But it's alright; because now he's with Dean again, and he's sure last night was just a sneak peek of how today is going to be like. No reason to be frustrated and stressed anymore. He can feel it's going to be a good day.

Trust him, as a naked Dean pulls his equally naked body under the deliciously warm spray of water in the shower, he can certainly feel it's going to be a very good day.

Their morning ablutions—for obvious reasons—take just a bit longer than necessary, but it's still quiet when they come out. Jo apparently rolled again onto her back, since her snoring has reached epic ear drum-bursting proportions again. It all just means that she's still sleeping, and one peek through the open door of Sammy's room reveals the kid buried under a pile of pillows and a very thick quilt. The only skin visible is a bare foot that lost its sock and found its way from under the covers.

They pad softly down the stairs, Castiel mimicking Dean's movements when he jumps over certain steps. Their care is all for naught, because when they reach the kitchen, Dean finds a piece of ripped out notebook paper stuck to the freezer door of the '50's styled (by the rusty and beat up look of it, it's more than likely an original) refrigerator by a magnet. It has Ms. Ellen's handwriting on it.

"Kids," Dean begins to read aloud, "Bobby and I have gone to get the turkeys for Thanksgiving Day. We won't be back until late evening. So y'all just survive on the leftovers in the fridge 'til then.

Jo: don't forget today's hockey practice at two. Sam: please stop reading that Russian book and pick up something Chinese; your Mandarin is lagging behind. Dean: don't run away with Cass for the day—shit!" The blonde's melodious reading gets suddenly cut off. "How did she know?" he whines.

"I believe it's very hard to try and get something past Ms. Ellen," Castiel voices. It's true. Ellen-Harvelle-Singer has ever-seeing eyes. Not unlike the Eye of Mordor, only less evil and much more motherly.

Dean snorts. "You don't know the half of it." He clears his throat and turns back to the note. "…don't run away with Cas for the day before taking him home first. It's only proper. And Cas: you can stay with us tonight again, if you want. I feel uncomfortable know you'd be sharing roof with Gabriel Novak. Man's a menace. Ellen. Ps: Bobby says not to do anything idiotic." Dean finishes reading, but still stares at the piece of paper.

Castiel doesn't know how to react to the part that's addressed to him, although he's already halfway to saying yes to staying over, just to share another night's rest in the same bed with Dean again. Except, that there's also an extra bed in Sam's room. Ms. Ellen might put him there. Although he doesn't think she'd be terribly upset if he were to sneak into Dean's room. It's not like they'll do anything if Jo's there. All of this he keeps quiet, instead deciding to voice another part of the note.

"Did she say 'turkeys,' as in plural? And is it really so hard to find them in Sioux Falls that it'll take all day?" He knows he's making his Confused Face, the one Dean keeps calling adorable, but he can't help it.

Dean gives out one chuckle, before landing a smacking kiss on his unsuspecting cheek, and turning to put the note back on the fridge so that Sam and Jo can read it when they get down. "Bobby and Ellen hunt the turkeys."

"You mean like, real, still-feathered, wild turkeys?" Castiel has a sudden, ridiculous moment where he envisions the two adults looking like a pair of Links, and chasing after turkeys that behave like the chickens from the old Super Nintendo 'A Link to the Past.' Pixelated and everything.



This is what's really happening:

"Get it, get it, get that giant chicken Bobby!" Ellen Harvelle shrieks, rifle held close to her chest, as she speeds across a clearing, hot on the heels of her husband.

"I got the damn thing, woman! It's your screechin' tha's scarin' the poor thing!" Bobby hollers over his shoulder, the weak sunlight glinting over a pair of sunglasses.

The turkey, less than a hundred yards away, gobbles in hysteric fear.

(Turns out, Cas isn't that far off from the truth. Go figure.)



"Yup," answers Dean, his head deep within the fridge.

"Why more than one?"

The blonde pulls out of the fridge with a carton of eggs in one hand, a package of ham, another one of cheese, and a bowl of butter on the other hand, and a bag of sliced bread hanging from between his teeth.

"Me-cuff," he begins, before shuffling over to the kitchen counter and spitting out the bread onto it. "Thanksgiving dinner is always huge."

"How many guests are you expecting?"

"Well, let's see. There's you and Balthazar, and his girlfriends, and your…Gabriel—"

"We're invited?" Castiel blurts out, a little surprised, really. Dean looks up from the pan he's placing on the stove.

"Duh. Like you guys would've celebrated if left to your own devices. Anyways, there's also Sheriff Mills, and her husband and son, Mrs. Moseley—"

"The school principal?"

"Yeah. And there's also Sammy's friend, Garth, and his mom with her awesome pies. And Jo also has her friend Becky over, along with her dad—who's just a little bit less weird than her, I swear—and can't forget Ash. He's coming alone this year; it's best to not talk about it. Coach Turner will also be coming, and I ran into Andy the Delivery Guy and he told me he was alone for Thanksgiving and Sammy was there and he took pity on the guy and invited him over, too." All of this Dean rambles as he goes around to making scrambled eggs and toast. "Oh! And Meg."

That makes Cas straighten out from the depths of the refrigerator where he had been searching for juice. "What about Meg?"

"Well, apparently at some point in the weekend she and Aunt Ellen talked. Looks like they're making peace by sharing a dinner. So she'll be there." Castiel gives an imperceptible sigh of relief. Meg can be very snarky and incredibly hard to handle, but she really isn't a bad person, and he believes her when she says she had nothing to do with the spiked punch. If Ms. Ellen's willing to let her inside her house, then that means the older woman must believe her as well, if only a little. "I think that's everyone."

"Your dad?"

Dean shrugs, his back to the pale teenager. "Not unless a miracle happens."

Castiel hums in the silence. "That's sixteen guests. Plus the five of you, it'll be twenty-one mouths to feed."

"M-hm. That's why Bobby and Ellen are providing the turkeys, and everyone else is bringin' in a plate of something."

Breakfast is eaten quickly right over the kitchen sink, in order to get on with their day. Dean lets Cas borrow a heavy coat from the mystical coat closet—and it really is mystical; he has found everything from Kevlar suits to priest costumes in there—right by the house's entrance, and then step out.

Castiel looks up, takes in the morose sky, and then looks back down at his surroundings. Singer Salvage is an untamed, rusty yard, with freezing auto parts and not a single snowflake in sight. As a matter of fact, thinking back, not one snowfall has occurred this entire month. And isn't it just sad that he was so preoccupied with his own self-satisfaction that he failed to notice something as obvious and perceptible as the weather?

The brunette just sighs. He hopes it snows soon; he's always been partial to winter weather.

The Impala warms quickly, and pretty soon they're off the property and driving towards the farmhouse. Dean starts humming, just three seconds after crossing the gates, and pretty soon after that he begins tapping away at the steering wheel. Cas smiles, having missed his boyfriend's fidgety mannerisms. He knows that in less than five minutes, the blonde will rummage through the box of tapes under his seat and feed a…let's see, he's humming 'Paint it Black' so, yes, he'll most likely feed a Rolling Stones tape into the deck. Not three minutes later, he's gratified to find his prediction true, and chuckles softly under the music starting to play.

Dean grins, singing along to the song and Cas can't help but grin back just as wide. It doesn't take much convincing to get him to sing along as well.

His welcoming back at the Novak household is…interesting. Dean's Baby is by no means a creature of stealth and by the time they slow down to park in front of the house, Xica and Vivi are already out on the porch. They pretty much tackle him to the ground, filling his ears with coos and worries, and clutching him tight enough to not let him breathe.

But then the front door opens, and out flies his Uncle Gabriel. Uncle Balthazar appears just half a second later, clutching onto the front door's frame for support as he catches his breath. "Damn slippery bastard!" he curses between heaves. But Castiel isn't really paying attention, because the man in question has ripped him away from the two women and is now the one clutching him tight to his bosom. At least he has no boobs with which to smother him. Thank God for small favors.

Gabriel is spouting off phrases along the same lines as Balthazar's girlfriends, and Castiel takes the time to be thankful for this, too. Despite his admittedly ridiculous insanity, the man still cares for him enough to worry when he spent the night away from home. That is, until the older man yanks him off, then forces his head violently backwards, exposing the line of his bare, pale neck.

"Aha!" Gabriel exclaims in hysterical triumph, as the pad of one of his thumbs presses a little too harshly over what he knows must be a rather violent-looking hickey. The pressure stings and aches, and Castiel gives out a yelp in surprise. "Is this why you let him stay over at that scrap yard, Balthazar? So that our Cassie could get all marked up like some white trash chicky by the likes of Mr. Honky-tonk Dean-o Winchester? That it?"

Strike three.

He is told that what happened afterwards was akin to the destruction God laid upon the sin-loving cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. That is to say, that fire and brimstone rained from the sky, and unleashed horror and waste on those who disappointed the Lord. Or rather, the fire and brimstone had apparently been some very harsh words that had spouted unexpectedly from his mouth. And it was just one person who disappointed the Lord; Gabriel. And there really was no Lord directly involved during any moment of Castiel's rant. Just him. So really, Gabriel disappointed him, not Him.

Hm, so maybe the angry outburst following the events of the Mazorca Situation had nothing to do with Frustration of the Sexual Variety, and more to do with Frustration of the Gabriel Variety. That's good to know.

Anyways, after his hyperactive uncle accosts him in the middle of the farmhouse's front yard, he's sure he loses a moment of time, because the next thing that happens, Dean is running his hands over his head and back, hugging him—the comfortable kind of—tight and whispering nonsense into his ear. They're also in the middle of his bedroom, the door shut tight.

Castiel's long fingers are gripping Dean's arms so hard, his knuckles are white.

"Dean?" he mumbles into his boyfriend's shoulder.

"Right here! Right here!" The blonde pulls away to smile a little too wide at the pale teenager. "How you feeling, buddy?"

Cas frowns. "Good?"



"Great! Let's get out of here, m'kay? M'kay!"

The trek down the farmhouse's stairs is deathly silent, and they don't encounter anyone on their way out. That is, until they're putting their coats back on.

"Cassie?" His name is voiced from behind them, and when the seventeen-year-old turns, he finds his Uncle Balthazar there, leaning against a wall, face contrite.

"Uncle Balthazar," he acknowledges.

"You alright?"

"Yes," he answers truthfully, but frowns again at having the same general question directed at him in the space of minutes.

Balthazar sighs in what seems like relief, then moves closer to envelop him in a much more moderate hug. "We love you, darling. All of us do, you know."

"I love you, too, Uncle Balthazar."

At this the older man gasps, holding Castiel by his shoulders, gaze jumping from his own to his boyfriend's. "You mean that, darling?" His British accent is now breathless, like what he told him has thrown him for a loop.

"I always have," the brunette answers in a tone that signifies it should have been extremely obvious.

He and Dean leave the farmhouse with Balthazar sobbing in happiness at the front door.

"My family is weird," he comments, watching the property grow smaller in the rearview mirror.

Dean gives a loud, awkward laugh, before raising the volume of the song playing on the radio.



"I thought you were just joking about this," Castiel comments, eyebrows raised, as both he and Dean stare at the building in front of them. It's a school building. A high school building. Their high school building, to be exact.

"Come on, Cas. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"I left it in a cantina, a few deserts away," he answers dryly.

There's a prolonged silence where the seventeen-year-old knows that his boyfriend is staring at him with a Confused Look of his own.


Unbidden, flashes of porn-like images rush into his mind. Now, he knows it's impossible to find the costumes his brain is coming up with…but there certainly are a lot of rulers in there. And nice, broad teacher's desks…

"Oh God, my brain has flushed my morals down the toilet."

"So…that a yes?"

Castiel refuses to look at Dean, lest the blonde impacts him with those huge, shiny, mischievous green eyes.



Just a couple hours short of sundown, both teenagers saunter into Bobby Singer's home looking as pleased as punch.

Sam wanders in from the TV room, hair ruffled and wearing what looks like day-old clothes. Someone's been taking a lazy day.

"Where have you two been all day?" he questions, still-chubby arms crossed over his chest.

Castiel looks at him; head tilted to the side as Dean hums and helps him remove the borrowed coat. His clothes may be as wrinkled as Sam's, but he holds himself with much more grace.

"Dean and I felt the uh…" at this, Cas looks sideways at his boyfriend, who does nothing more than offer him a Cheshire cat grin, "need for an educational reevaluation."

Dean guffaws into the coat closet.

Sam scrunches up his face so much his eyes are almost disappear.

"What does that mean?"

"It means they were having sex!" Jo hollers as loudly as possible from the TV room. Sam spasms, a look of horror crossing his face. "Kinky sex, it sounds like!"

The middle schooler shrieks at those last words, clapping his hands over his ears and running up the stairs. Jo's laughter is loud and obnoxious.

Castiel can feel his face heating up fast and bright like a furnace. Dean is still guffawing, and has somehow made it out of the closet; only two hang from the brunette's shoulders as the blonde cackles into his ear.

The seventeen-year-old heaves a sigh, and makes his way over to Jo, dragging his boyfriend along since the young man still can't get a hold of himself.

"That was unnecessary," he chastises as he lets his body fall on the old leather couch, making Jo bounce as Dean crawls onto the back to rest like a lazy cat over the thing.

"Sammy needs to learn about sex, Cas," Jo rebukes around a mouthful of popcorn. A large bowl full of the snack is resting on her lap, so both he and Dean stick their hands into it to grab some.

"I believe he knows enough for his age," he counters.

"Not enough," decides Dean. "I was thinking…" he continues in a sigh, "…RedTube videos." With that, the blonde lets himself roll off the back of the couch, forcing Jo to scramble forwards in order to not get trampled. As it is, popcorn goes flying everywhere, and Castiel gets kicked in the face and shoulders.

It's around the time that Jo gives a magnificent war screech, and Cas scrambles over to the corner where he can be protected by the sturdy bookcase, and Dean curses his own stupidity, and they all brace themselves to an Epic Battle of The Cousins, that a bell rings.

Everyone just sort of stares at each other, absolutely confused at the sudden sound. The bell rings again. They all cautiously follow the origin of the sound, finding themselves on the hallway leading into the foyer. From above, Sammy tramples down the stairs, pausing halfway to lean over the banister and frown down at them.

"Was that a doorbell?" the boy asks.

The ringing sound begins again.

"Since when do we have a doorbell?" Jo wonders aloud.

Cas sighs. "Somebody, please just answer the door and see who it is!" he demands.

"Alright, alright!" That's Dean, sacrificing himself for them all, and opening the door to the one and only Gabriel Novak.

Castiel admits that in the back of his mind, the first words to pop up in his head are, 'Get back, Satan!' Thankfully, what comes out of his mouth is, "What are you doing here?"

The brunette does not raise a hand to try and hide any possibly visible hickeys from sight with the hem of his sweater sleeve. He does not.

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "I came to apologize." He clears his throat. "Dean," he begins in a bland monotone voice, like this is a speech that he was forced to memorize, "you are not some backwards hick. You are a wonderful, multilayered person. And Cassy, you are your own man. You can make your own choices without me having a say about it. Right!" and here he makes his voice all bouncy again, "I also brought apology candy!"

And with the flourish and a greasy smile of a used car salesman, he sweeps sideways to reveal…well…

"Uh—Wh—er—Tha—Um…" Castiel finds it hard to express the words that could describe the situation.

Sammy chokes, and Jo gives her startled laugh.

"Dude," Dean begins, absolutely awestruck, "that thing is anatomically correct!"

"What," the brunette manages to finally bite out, "is. That?"

"This is a nude sculpture of a woman made entirely out of bubble gum." Gabriel looks pleased with himself.

The sculpture in question is truly beautiful. A pretty, soft pink, all smoothed out to resemble the likeness of a four-foot tall woman. Her flowing hair hides half her face, and nothing else. The whole thing stands proudly atop a dolly cart.

Jo snorts, and then keeps laughing.


"Well," the man begins, as he moves around to begin hauling his gift into the house, "let's just say I know an erotic candy maker or two."

"She has nipples!" Dean almost squeals in delight.

"This is not happening," Sam mumbles to himself.

"Is that bubble gum pubic hair?" Jo asks in the same excited tone as her cousin.

"Yup," The older man answers proudly.

"Not happening," continues Sammy.

"Why?" demands Castiel.

His uncle shrugs. "Just thought you'd appreciate it, is all."

"But why?" he demands again, at the same time that Jo and Dean exclaim that they do appreciate it.

Just after that, Mr. Singer's truck engine can be heard roaring through the yard's entrance, and all Castiel can do is sigh in relief, because thank God, the adults were here. He goes to stand by the open front door and is gratified a few seconds later, when the truck rumbles to the front of the house, parking just behind the still-borrowed Rolls. Ms. Ellen is the first to get out, looking sweaty and dirt-covered, but still very intimidating. Especially, he's sure, because she now knows there's an (arguably) adult Novak in her property.

The woman steps onto the porch and raises an eyebrow at him, questioning the situation, and all Castiel can do is shake his head from side to side in slow motion, as if dazed. "Gabriel," he begins, slightly breathless for reasons that escape him. He moves aside, into the house, and lets his back rest against a stack of books. "He brought an apology present."

Ms. Ellen gasps.

"Aunt Ellen!" Dean exclaims while still perusing the sculpture with Jo. Sam is sitting on the stairs, head on his hands and an air of despair about him. "She has bubble gum nipples!"

Ms. Ellen stares at the surreal scene before her for five full seconds, before moving half a step back. "Bobby!"



Ms. Ellen and Mr. Singer settle for accepting his uncle's present for the sake of civility.

They've both come to realize that this is probably the most sane his Uncle Gabriel is going to act around other humans. They feel a bit lucky about that.

So with that, they saran wrap the whole sculpture thing and put it in one of the refrigerators down in the basement.

Castiel also decides to spend the night in his house. It's only proper that if Gabriel tries to play nice, then he should play nice, too. Besides, he's sure his Uncle Balthazar misses him. He just hopes the man has stopped crying by now.

The farewells the brunette shares with his boyfriend take a turn for the dramatic, when Dean decides to clutch him around the middle and not let go. Thankfully, Jo is quick to intervene, and pinches her cousin in some sensitive spot he really can't see from his angle and the blonde pretty much just leaps away.

"You'll see him tomorrow, doofus," Sam admonishes from besides their PDA display.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean mutters sullenly.

"Oh my God, you jerk!" Sam answers with a roll of his eyes.



Thanksgiving Day comes bright and early into the Novak household.

Genevieve and Xica have taken over the kitchens, each preparing a traditional plate from their country of origin. The ingredients being used in the dishes vary widely, so the counters look like a farmer's market display. Balthazar is in there with them, trying to steal bites of food here and there, and generally being an amusing nonsense.

Gabriel has started the day with an oversized margarita in one hand, and clutching his phone in the other, while apparently talking business into it.

Castiel wisely chooses to stay in his room, preferring to play with Grace and Batman than deal with his family. Apparently, the family didn't get the memo. Because at around 8 o'clock in the morning, Vivi breezes into the room clutching a pair of black pants, Xica saunters in with a long-sleeved light blue shirt, Balthazar appears next with a pair of shiny black leather shoes dangling from his fingers, and Gabriel trails behind them all with a navy blue tie wrapped around his head.

"Fashion intervention!" Vivi warbles. His cats scramble out the way, but all Cas can do is whimper before all four descend upon him.



It's Sam who opens the door for them.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" announces Balthazar and his girlfriends, with smiles on their faces and slightly burnt dishes in their hands.

"I brought rum!" Gabriel broadcasts, raising a bottle of Bacardi up to the side of his head.

"Please let me in Sammy," Cas begs.

"Sure," Sammy says, eyes zeroed in on Gabriel. Probably looking for hidden erotic confectionaries.

Once inside, the brunette leaves his family in order to find Dean. He wanders first into the kitchen, and quickly regrets it, because the scene that greets him is a little too weird for his tastes. Turkey preparation, he knows intellectually, must be an awkward process. After all, the bird used tends to be incredibly heavy and slightly slippery. Seasoning it must be nothing short of a nightmare. And he knows, that stuffing tends to go inside the turkey, and for it to get there, it must be introduced into the cavity in a mildly forceful manner. Intellectually, he knows this.

"Keep spreadin' 'em, Jo," Ms. Ellen orders, face at the same level as the turkey.

The daughter is holding on to the poor dead bird's legs, and dutifully spreading them wide in order for her mother to shove in handful after handful of stuffing. The whole slightly obscene process is being accomplished with military precision, and Castiel twitches before he backpedals away from the kitchen. He crashes against Sam, who still looks slightly spooked.

"I hate Thanksgiving preparations," the younger teenager admits. "Everyone goes crazier than normal."

"I can tell," Castiel comments dryly, trying to banish the events he's just witnessed. He knows he won't be able to eat his portion of the bird if he continues thinking about it.

Sam snorts. "Jo and Aunt Ellen? That's normal. I'm talking about them," and he jerks a hand back towards the kitchen. Cas frowns; the only people in the kitchen were the two women. He's about to explain this, when the boy elaborates. "Dean and Uncle Bobby. They're out there."

Oh. His boyfriend is in the back of the house. And to get to him, he has to go through the Terrifying Stuffing Scene again. Perhaps he can wait for Dean in the TV room.

Before the seventeen-year-old can open his mouth to reassure Sam that Dean is perfectly fine and just let him be, and wouldn't it be so much better if they went and watched cartoons on TV, and maybe the Macy's parade in a little while?, Sam is already pushing him back into the dreaded kitchen. Ms. Ellen has a thick, sinister-looking needle in her hand, and Jo is holding the turkey's flaps of skin together and oh God they are sewing the turkey.

Castiel clamps his eyes shut, letting Dean's brother guide him to the back door. He knows that they pass by the women, but apparently they are too preoccupied to acknowledge his presence. Fine with him, it means he doesn't have to interact with them while they sew a turkey shut. And then a door creaks open, and the cold from outside sweeps in, and before he knows it, he's being shoved out. He stumbles slightly, since there is one tiny step between the door and the ground, and when he turns back to the door, he finds that it's closed again. Sam is peering through a tiny space between the curtain and the door's window. Something shiny reflects on the glass and Castiel turns to look at an inferno.

Or no, not really an inferno. More like a massive campfire. Or something; he's not very well versed in outdoor cooking terminology. Because somewhere in the wall of fire—and it's a wall, even if it's a low one (the thing is nearly ten feet wide, too)—Castiel catches glimpses of four turkeys rotating on sticks and most assuredly spit roasting themselves.

And supervising it all is one Bobby Singer and one Dean Winchester.

"Feed the fire under turkey number two; the flames look like they're dying," Mr. Singer orders, and his boyfriend hastens to comply. Gloved fingers chuck a couple more pieces of coal, then squirts lighter fluid onto it all. The flames raise high with a sudden whoosh! And Castiel tumbles back in surprise, because he actually felt the heat all the way where he's standing. Dean is whooping and laughing, as Mr. Singer keeps a satisfied gaze over it all.

"I'll come back later," he mumbles to himself, but Dean must have bionic hearing because the blonde's head jerks in his direction. It feels like those green eyes are pinning him there against the closed door, and Cas's heart speeds up.

"Uncle Bobby, sir!" the sixteen-year-old suddenly says in a loud voice. It's a strange thing, Cas thinks, for Dean to call Mr. Singer 'sir.' Sure, he's heard him call his father 'sir,' but never Mr. Singer. It's usually either 'Uncle Bobby' or just 'Bobby.'

"Yeah, Winchester?" answers the older man in question. And that's even stranger, Cas thinks again; Mr. Singer has never called Dean anything else than 'Dean.' Or 'idjit.'

"Request to step away from the Roasting Premises!"

"Request denied," Mr. Singer drawls.

Dean pouts. "But sir, Cas is here."

The man looks sideways, finds the brunettes, grimaces, and rolls his eyes. "Oh, alright. Access granted for five minutes. Five minutes only, Winchester."

"Sir, yes, sir!" And with that, a smile spreads across Dean's face, and he breaks off into a jog to reach Castiel.

"Hi," he whispers breathlessly, just after he stops inches away from crashing their bodies together. His boyfriend smells of smoke and lighter fluid.

"Hello Dean," Castiel answers, smiling back as well. "What are you doing?"

Dean's face brightens up in excitement. "Cooking the turkeys. It's tradition. We do it this way 'cause five turkeys just won't fit in a kitchen oven," he explains giddily.

"Three minutes!" hollers Mr. Singer.

"Everything's gotta be perfect, so we run a tight schedule," the blonde continues a little faster.


"Yeah. Sorry that I can't hang out with your right now. The turkeys need me."

The turkeys need him. Oh, he's not touching that one with a ten-foot pole.

"No, no," Cas hastens to reassure, "You go back to the turkeys. I've got Sam in the house. We can talk books."

"One minute!"

"Thanks, Cas. Seriously, you're awesome."


"Thirty seconds!"

Castiel frown. "Dean, I think Mr. Singer's notion of time is a little sk—"

"Five seconds!"

Just when he's about to protest the outrageous leap, Dean plants a heavy, chaste kiss on his mouth that lasts until Mr. Singer announces that their time is up. It leaves him breathless, and he can feel himself blushing just slightly.

"See you," Dean says, giving him a saucy wink before jogging back to his post guarding the fiery 'roasting premises.'

He watches his boyfriend for a few seconds, before heaving a great sigh and returning to the kitchen and promptly producing a horrified gargle at the site that greets him.

He forgot about the last turkey. And the girls are running the turkey through with a steel bar. Worst of all, his uncles and his aunts were all watching avidly.

With a violent shudder, he runs for the safety of the TV room.



Other guests don't start trickling by until almost midday. The first to arrive is Becky, along with an older gentleman he assumes to be her father. The girl behaves just as Castiel expected; extremely loud, and dissolving into various bouts of giggling. At least he got a tight hug out of the deal; he'll admit the girl gives nice hugs. Thankfully, Jo has long since finished her turkey torture sessions and fills in the roll of entertaining her friend, as Ms. Ellen starts an easy conversation with the gentleman.

Then comes Garth, and his mother brings five different kinds of pie. "I didn't know what flavor to bring," she chirps in way of explanation.

After that is the nice Sheriff Mills with her husband and adorable child. And then Ash, and Principal Moseley ('Don't think about what you and Dean did yesterday. Don't think about what you and Dean did yesterday,' he prays), and Andy the Delivery Guy (he gets a hug out of that meeting as well, although it's not as nice), and both Coach Turner and Henriksen—although the latter looks a little apprehensive. Cas can't imagine why; it's not like he's glaring daggers into the side of the man's head—and then some other people he's never met before.

The house feels like it's full to the brim. There's loud chatter and laughter everywhere, as they wait for the main course to be ready.

("T-minus forty five minutes!" announced Dean proudly when asked just a little earlier.)

His Uncle Gabriel manages to strike up a conversation with Principal Moseley, of all people. All Novaks present in the house are astonished when they witness the man pull a laugh out of the usually stern woman. Of course, the fruity alcoholic drinks he keeps serving her might have helped the matter as well.

Meg is the final guest to enter the Singer household, and her arrival causes a temporary hush in the happy mood. But then Ms. Ellen welcomes her into the house as warmly as she can, given the recent situation—the woman mechanically hugs the girl and pats her back exactly three times—and everyone goes back to the festivities.

She then finds a way to hide behind Castiel without appearing to be intimidated by the crowd. "Don't you dare leave me alone," she hisses into his ear as she lazily wraps her arms around his shoulders from behind.

"Relax," he hisses back trying to be comforting, "Ms. Ellen only bites when she has to." The indecipherable choking sound Meg makes in the back of her throat leads him to believe she isn't comforted at all.

A woman who introduced herself as Pamela Barnes decides to take center stage then, and regales them all with the story of how she met Bobby Singer. Apparently it involved a rubber band, a hula-hoop, and a duck. It's so incredible Castiel can't help but believe it.

It is when the turkeys are done that he finally sees Dean again. He and Mr. Singer march in roasted bird after roasted bird, and align them on the dining room table in what can only be described as ritualistic perfection. Jo and her mother move the other dishes around, to present the food as visually pleasing as possible. This, he finds familiar, what with the Novak kitchen table always filling to the brim with foodstuff nearly every day for dinner.

Dean does this thing, where his body's posture changes from something straight and tense, to lose and comfortable in the blink of an eye, and traipses over to Cas's side. He's gifted with one of his boyfriend's big wide smiles, and has his hand taken into a calloused grasp. Meg elbows the brunette in the ribs and he elbows back, knowing very well that she's trying to silently mock their 'cutesy-poopsy' relationship. Her words, not his.

Everyone is sort of squished together in the dining room, and every other entrance available, trying to get a glimpse of the first turkey carving. They all quiet down as Mr. Singer pulls out a long, serrated knife from the side of his pants. As everyone watches with bated breath, he makes a show of inspecting the blade, turning it over one side, then the other, until he makes a satisfied sound in his throat. Some people actually cheer when he makes the first cut into the tender meat.

Dinner is served immediately after that, and it is a mess. A truly wonderful, noisy, happy mess of people trying to find a spot to eat. Some sit on the dinner table chairs, others in the TV room, most of the younger people sit on the floor, their backs to a wall. He and Dean manage to claim and squeeze together on the ancient armchair sitting in a corner of the TV room.

It's good. The best plate of Thanksgiving dinner Castiel has ever had. Naturally, he goes for seconds. It's when he's returning from the dinner table with thirds (just a few spoonfuls of stuffing and a bit of potato salad, this time) that an unexpected hitch heads his and Dean's way.

Garth's mom is so skinny, she literally only takes up half a couch cushion. But earlier, Uncle Gabriel had cajoled her into a few glasses of rum, and now there she was: face flushed a pretty pink, wide smile on her face, arms flailing about as she animatedly tells them all of a previous Thanksgiving mishap with Garth's departed father. Her joy seems to take over the entire room.

"And then he said, he said, 'It's only a few cracks!'" her punch line is hilarious, and everyone laughs, even as they clutch at their too-full stomachs. She gives a misty-eyed sigh as the laughter dies down. Castiel chooses that moment to try and scrape the last of the potato salad off the plate and into his fork. The metal-on-porcelain screech caught the attention of the woman. "So Castiel," she begins, resting her face on her hand, "how did you do it?"

The seventeen-year-old looks up from trying to decide whether or not licking the plate is a worthwhile endeavor, and finds the whole room looking at him. "How did I do what?"

"Oh you know," she continues cheerfully, eyes bouncing from Dean to him and back again, "catch and keep the elusive Dean Winchester." Most of the people present chuckle. "Tell me all about how you two met!"

Dean and Castiel freeze in place. Dean's pose would have been hilarious, what with his boyfriend's cheeks bulging from having just stuffed virtually a whole slice of pie in his mouth, but it really isn't. Because not once, ever, has someone who isn't a close friend asked either of him how they met.

Castiel can hear siren wails in his mind. They're deafening. Besides him, Dean tries to sink his body deeper into the chair. Meg, who is sitting by his feet, sinks her nails into his right ankle. He's sure she's smiling wickedly.

Mr. Singer breaks the sudden silence with a loud, barking laugh. He and Ms. Ellen are sitting on some foldout chairs right in the middle of the room. "I'll tell ya, what happened!" the man begins with glee. "Mr. LA over there," he points over at Balthazar, who's sitting on the arm of the only other armchair in the room. Xica has taken over the seat itself, while Vivi perches almost regally on the other arm. "He thought driving through dirt was like driving through the freeway." The boyfriend's share a sudden relieved glance, eyes still a little wide. Mr. Singer always captivates his audience when he tells a story. The teenager's won't have to say a thing. "Boy was speeding down the roads, and the tires of his pretty car just couldn't take it! Ended up with me having to help 'im out. Brought 'im and Cas back to the yard, and told 'im—"

"Oh, Bobby," Garth's mom interrupts. From the corner of his eye, he can see Dean's face twitch. Oh, God. "I'm sure you worked wonders on Balthazar's car. I want Castiel to tell me everything from his point of view. Now, what happened when you reached the Salvage Yard?"

There are eyes pinning them to the chair. Cas tries to sink back into the chair as well. They're both so squished together they can barely breathe. It doesn't matter. They try to sink even deeper at the same time.

"What happened?" the blue-eyed teenager squeaks after the silence has dragged on for too long. The woman nods enthusiastically. Dean finds his hand and grips it tight.

"Well," Dean begins, and then starts laughing awkwardly. "Um…" he clears his throat. "So…Cas was there, with Mr. Novak. And…" From besides him the brunette can smell smoke as the blonde tries to come up with a non-sexual version of what happened after they locked eyes that very first time. As the silence stretches, Castiel decides it's up to him to continue.

"And I needed to use the bathroom." This is a perfectly believable reason to have entered the house back then. Unfortunately, Dean had chosen the same moment to deliver his own reason.

"He was thirsty!" Their voices mingle together, and they both cringe when they realize what happened. They quickly try to rectify the error.

"I was thirsty."

"He needed to use the bathroom!"

Someone just shoot them. Jo, who is somewhere on the floor on Dean's side, let's out a giggle. At the confused looks of their audience, the blonde hastens to explain.

"It was one of those things. Like when you're tired but you can't fall asleep? Well, he was thirsty but he needed too pee first." Castiel nods frantically. "So he did."

"I did. And after I did, we went to the kitchen." Dean tenses besides him. Sometimes, when they call each other and decide to do dirty things over the phone, they revisit their memories of their first encounter in that kitchen. They tell each other what they felt, what they thought, and what they did. It never gets old. "And Dean offered me," Castiel continues. His voice breaks a bit, so he chooses to clear his throat and take a breath before finishing. "Lemonade."

Except he took too long and Dean decided to finish for him with a very resound declaration of, "Pie." Both options hang in the air at the same time.

Castiel and Dean flinch as everyone's eyebrows rise skywards. Meg snorts unattractively. "I thought I was thirsty, Dean," he mutters.

"Shit," Dean hisses to himself, before giving out a loud sigh. The blonde suddenly crawls out of his hiding place, leaning forwards until his elbows rest on his knees. He peers at everyone with a determined gaze. Apprehension clutches at Castiel's stomach. His boyfriend isn't going to tell the truth, is he? "Alright, look. This is what happened."

Everyone has this confused look on their faces as they lean forward in interest. It's truly unbecoming, but Cas can't blame them. He clutches at the back of his boyfriend's shirt.

"The future is a place torn by war and desperation," Dean begins, voice hushed as if he were telling a campfire ghost story. "In a last ditch of hope, Sergeant Castiel Novak travels back in time to stop the horror before it even happens. It is in the past that he meets the mysterious Dean Winchester; a rebel without a cause who—"

Someone throws a bit of turkey bone at him.

"What?" Dean demands, cocky smile in place as he leans back to rest his body against Castiel's.

"You are horrible Dean Winchester," Mrs. Garth giggles while everyone grumbles and shakes their heads.

Before someone tries to get them to tell the truth of their meeting again, Castiel kicks at Meg. She looks up at him, one eyebrow elegantly arched as he tries to convey his message in silence. His friend rolls her eyes, but does as asked.

"What about you, Mrs. Garth?" Meg asks, and she actually manages to sound interested. "How did you and Mr. Garth meet?"

As the thin woman sighs and easily starts telling them all about the ridiculous meeting of who would be her husband, Castiel and Dean sag in relief.

"Let's not go through that again," Cas whispers into Dean's ear, the blonde bristles of his boyfriend's hair tickling his nose.

"Ok," Dean answers just as quietly, one hand coming to rest on his knee and squeezing slightly.



Dean managed to give everyone the slip some ten minutes back, and Castiel finds the opportunity to do so as well when Ash starts doing the Gangnam Style dance.

He finds his boyfriend just outside the back door, sitting on the tiny step and looking over the charred remains of the Roasting Premises.

"Dean," he says through the door's window glass and the blonde startles slightly before craning his head around to find the source of his voice. Dean gives him a wide smile and eagerly stands up and enters the house.

They share a soft, chaste kiss as soon as he's inside. "You're cold," Cas mutters with a frown against the frigid lips. Dean smiles and gives him another kiss.

"Your warm," he counters, and Cas finds himself giving a tiny smile. "That was close, you know," he continues talking, after they separate and he starts to rummage the fridge for what Cas knows are any forgotten desserts. "Back there, when Garth's mom asked about how we met."

"It's our own fault. We never gave it much thought. We should have prepared a story acceptable for the general audience months ago." Castiel rest his hip on the counter next to the refrigerator. Dean emerges with a bowl of chocolate pudding, and is already licking a pudding-covered finger.

"Mm. It's got to be something simple," he says between licks. "And very sappy." He dips his finger into the bowl and then presents it to Cas. "What do you think?"

His blue eyes travel from the finger to a pair of quickly darkening green eyes. He licks his own lips before sealing his mouth around the offered digit and sucking the dessert languidly. Dean's breathing hitches.

"We can say we saw each other, across the yard," Castiel begins in a rough voice after pulling off with a wet pop. "Our gazes locked and we just knew."

"Knew what?" Dean asks breathily as he dips his finger into the bowl and offers it to his boyfriend again.

"That it was love at first sight," Castiel answers, tongue flicking out and licking one long stripe from knuckle to tip. "And then we can add something vague like, 'And the rest is history.'"

"That," Dean answers, placing the bowl on the counter besides them. "That," he begins again, only to stutter when Cas takes the whole finger. "That's a good cover up," he finally spits out before pulling out his finger and licking his way hungrily into the brunette's mouth.

Castiel responds eagerly, one hand flying up to tangle in the short blonde locks, the other grabbing tight to a belt loop and pulling him forward as much as he can. They tumble around, Dean pushing, and Cas pulling, trying to get as close as possible.

They end up crashing against the wall that holds the land line. Castiel's shoulder clips the phone at it falls, swinging and bouncing on its spiral cord. The sight of it sends them both giggling, because they suddenly realize that they're repeating their actions from June when there are people milling around just outside the kitchen.

"Good times," Castiel whispers into Dean's neck as they calm down, and just settle for leaning against each other.

"Yeah," Dean whispers back, pulling just a little bit away so that they are facing each other again. "I love you." The words are muttered against his lips, and Castiel just breathes them in, let's them fill his insides.

"I love you, too," Castiel exhales, pushing the words back into Dean. The blonde swallows them all in a heady gasp, before sealing their lips together into another kiss.

Outside, the first snowflakes start falling from the sky.




A/N 2: I am aware that this story is filled with grammatical errors. Know that this story had no beta, and some of them were mine, while others were caused by 's strange uploading hoodoo. I will try and go over it all to try and polish my baby as best as I can at some point in the future. As mentioned before, this story will be published in AO3 as well. And anyone who wishes to rec this story in any destiel site is free to do so xD (oh Tumblr, how do I love thee...).

I want to thank every single person who reviewed my baby and inspired me to continue writing. CASISMYFAVORITE, you really should get an account :).

Please know that starting January 12, 2013 until April of the very same year, I will be MIA. This is due to something which I'm really excited about. I don't know if you guys remember me complaining about budgets and what not several chapters ago. Well, just so you know, I'm an accountant, and come January, I'll be persuing my CPA license. I'll be taking half the test at the beginning of the year, and I enrolled in some really intensive review classes. I have to give my entire concentration to this thing, so yeah. I'm placing a self-imposed ban in all things fanfiction (a horrified shriek can be heard in the background). I have to do this, guys. I just have to (sob). Wish me luck!