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hoziernaturalevents · 10 months ago

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Hoziernatural Recs: Destiel

Sign-ups for the 2024 round of the Hoziernatural Multi-Ship Bang are open, and people will soon be working to create a whole new batch of Hoziernatural content! However, for those of you who would like something to read between now and posting, we have some recs to fill that need 💚

Everything listed below is Destiel, but if you're a person of varied taste, then check out our Wincest, Rare Pair, and Gen/Character Study rec lists!

A Call to Motion by @banshee1013 with art by @nickelkeep

Beta: @rauko-creates

Hozier Song: Movement

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22,019

Pairing/s: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dorothy Baum/Charlie Bradbury, Gabriel/Rowena MacLeod, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Dance, Modern Dance AU, Dancer Castiel, Dancer Dean, College Student Sam, Strangers to Lovers

Summary:

After seeing Sam safely accepted to the University of Kansas in Lawrence, Dean finally feels like he can start pursuing his own dream - which just so happens to be Modern Dance after having passed by the studio on his way to work. Then his instructor, Rowena, tells him about an opportunity at a dance company in Kansas City, which he discovers is run by Gabriel Shurley - brother to Castiel Shurley, the man who's audition for the Paul Taylor Dance Company in New York inspired him to pursue his new-found passion.

Castiel Shurley is adrift - moving to Kansas City with his brother to help run their cousin Balthazar Angeles' dance company after a falling out with his Artistic Director - and lover - in New York. The dance company is a wonderful, talented group, but Castiel found his love for dance shattered along with his heart.

That is, until a green-eyed, bow-legged, incredibly gifted novice dancer appears for auditions, and Castiel feels the urge to dance - and love - return to him.

Angel in the Shortwave by @columbocas with art by @squirrelofcelestialintent

Beta: @squirrelofcelestialintent

Hozier Song: Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5,123

Pairing/s: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Additional Tags: Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Castiel is Saved from the Empty, Time Travel, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Sex Worker Dean Winchester, Patricide, Canon Universe

Summary: Castiel escapes the empty into a parallel universe. There he meets a young Dean turning tricks. Post-The Winchester's Dean searches for Cas.

Be Like the Love that Discovered the Sin by @grim-work with art by @deancodedcastielenby

Beta: @sky-is-torn

Hozier Song: Be

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 5,100

Pairing/s: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: Awkward Flirting, Angst, Kissing, Falling in Love, Dean Winchester has PTSD, s5e3 Free to Be You and Me

Summary:

Once, in Tennessee, when he was in middle school, someone told Dean he was a child of God.

During “Free to Be You and Me,” Dean and Cas talk without doing much talking, and try to invent something new.

honey you're familiar (like my mirror...) by @deaniewithalittleweanie

Hozier Song: From Eden

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 10,953

Pairing/s: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Minor Rowena MacLeod/Sam Winchester

Warnings: Mentions of Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence

Additional Tags: Body Swap, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Behavior, Castiel Bears the Mark of Cain, Smut, Dark Crack, Angst, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Season 10, Nightmares, Wings, Every possible angle on a body swap fic all in one, Tone Shift, Bottoming from the Top, Masturbation

Summary: While desperate for a cure for the Mark of Cain, Dean wakes up in a dark alley no longer in his own skin. Now occupying Castiel's body, he has to grapple with being an angel and no longer having control over the Mark. Meanwhile, Castiel now has to learn to control the rage that comes with bearing the Mark in a body that is already at its breaking point with it. Dean can feel everything Castiel used to feel and vice versa, making the chemistry between the two of them all the more volatile.

Mad Dog Caged by @mbqnoyolo with art by @squirrelofcelestialintent

Beta: @ididitallofitforyou

Hozier Song: Like Real People Do

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 5,527

Pairing/s: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: None

Additional Tags: PTSD, hallucinations, nightmares, first kiss, post attack dog spell, hurt!Cas, homemaker!Dean

Summary: Dean and Cas are recovering in the Bunker while Sam puts as much distance as he can between himself and the brooding men. The Attack Dog spell has Castiel lurching from reality to hallucinations and Dean struggles with trying to care for him despite his own terrifying flashbacks of Amara, the Mark and Purgatory.

Nothing Fucks With My Baby by @rauko-creates

Hozier Song: NFWMB

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 620

Pairing/s: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence

Additional Tags: Protective Castiel, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean Winchester, Murder Husbands, Hunter Husbands, Established Relationship, Canon Universe

Summary: I was feeling an intense need to listen to Hozier's NFWMB on repeat while writing about Cas smiting the shit out of everything in the way to get to Dean and slaughtering everything that dared to lay a hand on him. Not that Dean's a damsel in distress in this situation; he's actually holding his own just fine. Cas is just intense.

Remember Me, Love, When I'm Reborn by @lazarus-rose with art by @deancodedcastielenby

Beta: @very-offkey-kazoo

Hozier Song: Shrike

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 46,251

Pairing/s: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death

Additional Tags: Parallel Universes, Post-Canon, Post-The Winchesters, Angst With A Happy Ending

Summary: In some ways, Dean thought his death would solve things. He thought it would give him a chance for a happy life in Heaven surrounded by his family, but he was wrong. So he decides to take a ride in his Baby and find that missing piece that keeps him from being happy. Almost everywhere he goes, there is one constant – Castiel. He sees his angel, over and over, finding him in different worlds with different versions of Dean and then watching over him from afar.

Back on Earth, Dean didn’t have the words for the feelings inside him, but his afterlife might just provide him with the strength and wisdom to hold on to true happiness when he finds it.

Swan Upon Leda by @kelsstiel with art by @marvfortytwo

Beta: @deaniewithalittleweanie

Hozier Song: Swan Upon Leda

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 174,096

Pairing/s: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Kid Fic, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy ending, Minor Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content

Summary: Pediatric Surgery Fellow Dean Winchester meets baby Jack Kline and neuropsychologist Castiel Novak his first week on the job. Dean’s been accused a time or two of caring a little too much in the past and it’s hard not to care about the neurotic adoptive father and his medically needy preemie. After a series of run-ins between the pair, Dean and Cas develop a friendship that everyone else around them suspect more from immediately, though it takes them a little longer to get the memo. When Dean struggles with a particularly devastating patient loss, their mutual understanding of loss and love bring them closer in a way that neither of them could have expected.

The Love, The Dark, The Light, The Flame by @raimykeller with art by @nickelkeep

Beta: @quizasvivamos

Hozier Song: As It Was

Rating: Teen & Up

Word Count: 8,188

Pairing/s: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Angst With A Happy Ending, 15x19 Alternate Ending, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from the Empty, Homophobic Language, Getting Together, Fix-It, Dean Winchester Has Self-Esteem Issues

Summary:

After Dean, Sam, and Jack defeat Chuck, Jack opens a portal to let Dean try to rescue Castiel from the Empty. The Shadow will let Castiel go on one condition: Dean has to solve a case.

Dean is transported back into his 19-year-old body to hunt whatever monster is killing young, gay teens in San Francisco. But, Dean must face much more than supernatural monsters if he wants to free Castiel from the grip of the Empty and eternal slumber.

Wasteland, Baby! by @deaniewithalittleweanie with art by @deancodedcastielenby

Beta: @wanderingcas

Hozier Song: Wasteland, Baby!

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 46,326

Pairing/s: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Aaron Bass/Dean Winchester

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Drug Use

Additional Tags: Post-finale, Dean Winchester Saves Castiel from The Empty, Endverse (5x04: The End), Endverse!Castiel

Summary:

With his dying breath, Chuck releases the Croatoan virus onto the world the Winchesters just tried to save from him. Fueled by rage, Dean rescues Castiel from The Empty, but the angel comes back with a screw knocked loose and most of his grace depleted. To both of them, Castiel’s confession before his death is best left unspoken of. In a world of destruction, chaos, and death, Dean has resigned himself to being chained by reality for the rest of his days.

That is, until Sam finds a lead on restoring a very weak Jack’s powers. The mission has Dean, Castiel, Jack, and Charlie criss-crossing the continental United States on the hunt for power and a cure for the virus that has destroyed civilization as it once was, all the while trying to repair the broken bonds between all of them.

#hozier #spn #hoziernatural #destiel #destiel fic #destiel art #rec list

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wanderingcas · 5 years ago

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C’mon Inn destiel, 3k words. a commission for @jensenackhles, who had the most AMAZING prompt of “what if Dean and Cas stayed at an inn that kept making them go into each other’s rooms?”

. . . .

There is absolutely no way that Dean Winchester would ever stay at an inn. Much less a bed and breakfast. Breakfast should be a hearty plate of bacon and pancakes, not unsalted egg whites with freshly-picked garden vegetables piled on top of it. And especially not topped with garnish.

Dean full-out shudders when the innkeeper (an older woman in her fifties with greying, tied-back hair) explains the meal to him. And he would have gotten the hell out of dodge right then and there, too, if Cas hadn’t elbowed him sharply in his side.

“That all sounds wonderful,” his ex-angel partner says with a forced smile. “What time are you serving it?”

“Seven in the morning,” the innkeeper, Cherry, cheerily proclaims.

Dean grins at Cas’s horrified face. Serves Cas right for suggesting this inn of horrors in the first place. “Bright and early, huh?”

“Oh, yes,” Cherry says. “And don’t be surprised if you hear me down in the kitchen earlier than that—I wake up every morning at five, without fail.” She winks.

Dean is beginning to see why this inn has such an open vacancy in the first place, more than the fact that there’s cat wallpaper and decorations on every inch of the walls.

“That’s…” Cas works his jaw and forces a smile. “That sounds wonderful.”

Cherry beams. “Now, which room would you like: Tabby cats or Maine Coons?”

Dean resists an eye roll. “Whichever is fine.”

“And I’ll take the opposite,” Cas adds.

“Oh, you won’t—be staying together?” Cherry asks. At the shake of their heads, her face twists into a frown. “Oh dear. This inn is really for couples only. I know it sounds strange but it’s really better if guests are staying in the same room.”

Cas looks down at their bags with a face that Dean knows well: he calls it Cas’s if I don’t get into a bed and sleep right now I’m going to lose it expression. Dean leans forward onto the welcome desk and gives Cherry his sweetest smile.

“Listen, my friend and I—we’ve had a long day,” Dean says, “and all the hotels in a thirty mile radius are booked up for some god-forsaken reason—”

“The Big Ten Championships are in Columbus this year,” Cherry pipes in.

“Okay,” Dean says, teeth clenched in a smile. “So basically, ma’am, you’re the one who’s deciding if we’re sleeping in a car or a bed. Which one is it gonna be?”

Cherry looks between them. She sighs, and holds out two keys. “Second floor. The Maine Coon suite is right when you walk up the stairs and the Tabby suite is at the end of the hall.”

Dean’s shoulders sag in relief and he grabs the keys. “Great, thanks.” He yanks his duffel bag over his shoulder, along with Cas’s, ignoring his friend’s glare.

“Just, before you go,” Cherry calls after them, tentatively. “If you notice anything—well, strange. Just call me down here in the front desk.”

“Strange?” Dean repeats.

“Yes. Anything unusual.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “Whaddaya mean—”

“We will,” Cas says impatiently, pushing at Dean’s back. “Thank you.”

“You think we should keep our eye out here?” Dean whispers to Castiel as they climb up the narrow staircase. “She seemed kinda freaked.”

“I don’t care if a Wendigo comes out of the closet,” Castiel replies, wincing at each step of his injured leg. “I just want to sleep.”

“Fine, you big baby.” Dean deposits Cas’s bag in front of the Maine Coon room and turns the key in the lock. “You can take this one.” He opens the door, switches on the light, and looks in horror upon the Maine Coon wallpaper and framed photos of various Maine Coon cats.

Cas he walks through the door, eyes wide. “Do you suppose this counts as something ‘strange’ to notify Cherry about?”

Dean snorts. “Well, you gotta appreciate a woman who knows what she likes.” He picks up a Maine Coon plush toy from the dresser and grimaces.

“If I wasn’t injured, I’d be tempted to salt and burn this room,” Cas groans, lying on the bed with mud-stained clothes and shoes and all, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, dramatically covering the stuffed animal’s ears, “they can hear you.”

Cas narrows his eyes. “Dean, as much as I typically love your antics—right now, they are very irritating to me.”

“Which means you want me to—”

“Leave, yes.”

“Nice way to treat a guy who carried your bag all the way to your room.” Dean picks up his own bag, pointing to Cas’s leg wound. “I’ll be back to clean and dress that thing in the morning.”

“Fine,” Cas sighs, already turning over and pushing his face into the pillow.

After a moment of hesitation, Dean walks to the bed and pulls the quilt over Cas’s body. “You don’t want to catch a cold, idiot,” Dean explains to Cas’s questioning look as he tucks the blankets around Cas’s shoulders.

Cas rolls his eyes, but nonetheless says, softly, “Thank you, Dean,” as Dean shuts the door behind him.

. . .

Dean wakes in the middle of the night with a raging urge to pee. He blames it on the Gatorade that he chugged at the gas station after the hunt. He lays in bed for a minute, considering his options, and deciding that peeing where he sleeps would not be in his best interests.

Hauling his aching and bruised body out the bed, he scratches at his bare chest and stumbles to the door of the attached bathroom. He opens it, and—

Comes face to face with Maine Coon wallpaper.

He blinks into the dark room. Cas is snoring loudly on the bed, limbs flailed across the bed and head tilted back. Dean looks back at his own room, through the door of what he thought was the bathroom, then back at the bedroom.

“I’m dreaming,” Dean says to himself. “Either that, Winchester, or you hit your head a little harder than you thought on that damn hunt.”

He backs up, shuts the door, and goes to use the bathroom in the hallway.

Cas is running a fever when Dean checks on him the next morning. He peels the bandage away on Cas’s leg, and hisses at what he sees.

“Is it bad?” Cas asks, gritting his teeth in pain.

Dean examines the deep gash and the red splotchy skin around the edges of the cut, thinking about how to put it nicely. “Well, you’ll probably lose the leg.”

Wide-eyed, Cas grabs at his thigh. “What—”

“Nah, it’s just an infection. You’ll be fine.”

Cas flops his head back onto the pillow. “Has anyone told you that you have the worst bedside manner?”

“Maybe Sam, once or twice; but he’s a natural-born complainer.” Dean starts winding a fresh bandage around Cas’s leg. “You’ll have to rest up for a few days, get your fever down. No way we’re traveling while you’re like this.”

“That means we’ll have to eat—” Cas winces at the pressure of the bandage around his wound, “—inn breakfast.”

“There’s worse things, Cas. Like, for instance, having to amputate your infected leg.” Dean ties the bandage tightly for emphasis and smiles sweetly at Cas’s glare.

. . .

“Your friend won’t be joining you?” Cherry asks as Dean picks scones off one of the many plates scattered across the table.

“Uh, no. He’s feeling sick. Actually, I should be getting some food up to him, so I can’t really stick around.” Thankfully, Dean doesn’t say.

Cherry seems put out, but forces a smile anyway. “Oh, that’s fine!” She watches as Dean piles eggs on a plate (they’re scrambled with cheese, Cas’s favorite) and a few pieces of toast. “You didn’t notice anything strange last night, did you?”

Dean frowns at the lack of bacon on the table, or meat at all for that matter. “Strange?” he asks distractedly.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I just—I’m just wondering.”

“Nope, nothing strange.” He balances a plate on one hand and two mugs of coffee clutched in the other, giving Cherry a nod. “Thanks for the breakfast.”

He’s really focused on balancing the plates, so it could just be a matter of him not paying attention; but when he goes through the swinging door of the dining room, he only has to walk a few steps when he’s once again in the hallway, right in front of Cas’s bedroom door.

“Huh,” he says to the empty hallway. Making a point to investigate that later, he walks into Cas’s bedroom to give him his breakfast.

. . .

It keeps happening so many times the rest of the day that Dean can’t even chalk it up to distraction, or a concussed head, anymore.

He walks through his bedroom door to the hallway after a phone call with Sam only to find himself in Cas’s bedroom again. Cas goes to bed early that night, and ends up back on the porch where him and Dean were sitting, trying to get some fresh air. Dean walks through his walk-in closet door only to find Cas in the shower, who’s yanking the shower curtain around his body to shield himself.

“Something’s very wrong with this inn,” Dean says, sitting on the bed next to a dripping wet Cas.

“I didn’t even get a chance to condition my hair,” replies Cas, petulantly.

“Dude, you could have finished your goddamn shower.”

“How could I finish, when you walked straight into the shower curtain, Dean? Would you really like me to have continued washing my hair while you were—”

“Okay.” Dean holds up a hand. “Focus on the real problem here, Cas. This inn has something supernatural going on with it.”

Cas frowns down at his bare feet. He wiggles his toes a bit, and Dean instructs himself not to find it adorable. “Does this inn seem malicious to you?”

“No. More like it’s fucking with us.”

“Then there’s our answer.” Cas gives him a lopsided smile. “I hardly think a bed and breakfast that likes to play practical jokes is something worth fretting over, Dean. It’s just some harmless entity. I sensed plenty like it when I was an angel.”

Dean crosses his arms. “Well, I don’t like it.”

“You don’t like it because you presume everything supernatural is going to be dangerous.”

Dean opens his mouth to protest—closes it when he sees the smile in Cas’s eyes. “Fine,” he says. “But if it does anything to piss me off—”

“We’ll investigate it, yes, of course,” Cas says. “Can you please leave my room so I can continue showering?”

“No shower, only a bath,” Dean says, pointing to Cas’s injured leg as he stands. “I don’t wanna have to pick your ass off the floor when you slip and fall on that bum leg of yours.”

“Okay, mother,” Cas says with a roll of his eyes. Dean sniffs in annoyance as he turns the door handle and yanks open the door to walk into the hallway.

He meets Cas’s surprised eyes when he walks right back through the closet door of the bedroom. “Son of a bitch inn!” Dean barks.

. . .

Cas’s fever spikes in the middle of the night. Dean only knows this because when he goes to the bathroom to get himself a drink of water from the sink, he ends up in Cas’s room instead.

“Not again,” he groans, beginning to turn around, when he hears Cas’s rough voice call his name.

“Cas? The hell are you doing up?” Dean whispers in the dark.

“My leg, there’s—” Cas hisses, his words cutting off, “a lot of pain.”

Dean forces down the spike of worry in his gut. He flips on the bedroom light and walks to the bed, where Cas has burrowed himself deep into the blankets. Putting a hand on Cas’s sweaty forehead confirms his fear. “Okay, buddy, you’re burning up. I have Tylenol in my bag, just hang on.”

Cas nods, wincing as he adjusts his leg on the bed. Dean turns before his eyes linger too long on Cas’s pale face. He walks through the door to the hallway… only to find himself back in Cas’s room via the closet.

Dean grinds out a curse and tries again. This time, he makes it to the hallway, but instead of walking through his room, he finds himself in the middle of Cas’s bathroom. He stalks out to the bedroom and ignores the amused look on Cas’s face.

“Look, you goddamn house, I’m trying to get him some freakin’ painkillers!” Dean yells up to the ceiling. “I’ll be right back, so don’t get your panties in a bunch. Jesus.”

“I don’t think the inn has ears, Dean,” Cas says.

Dean points a finger menacingly. “Shut up and rest, and let me deal with this.” He shakes out his shoulders, takes a starting pose, and sprints through the door to the hallway before the house can realize what he’s doing. He continues running down the hall, like an idiot, to his bedroom.

“At least it’s providing you a shortcut,” Cas says sleepily from the bed as Dean walks through his bathroom, Tylenol in hand.

“This inn is an asshole,” Dean replies. “Sit up.” Parking himself at the edge of Cas’s bed, he hands Cas two small Tylenol tabs and a plastic water bottle he found at the bottom of his bag.

Cas eyes him as he drinks the water, his throat a long column as he swallows the pills. “Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“Your worried face. It makes me worried.”

“So your leg got clawed to shreds by a ghoul, you have an infection, and you want me to not be worried? Is that what you’re sayin’?”

Cas leans against the headboard, arms crossed. His eyes are glassy from the fever, but they still retain a fire of defiance. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Dean gusts a frustrated sigh. “You’ve barely been human for a month, Cas. I don’t want you pushin’ it.”

“Dean.” Cas lays a hand over Dean’s, and Dean represses a shudder. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Yeah. As an angel.”

“Being human doesn’t make me any weaker.”

Dean glares at their joined hands. “Yeah, whatever.” His thumb rubs over Cas’s knuckles distractedly. “You still can’t beat my ass at pool.”

“That doesn’t require strength, Dean. Simply skill.”

“A-ha!” Dean points triumphantly at Cas. “Last time you lost, you broke a pool cue and said it was the stupidest game in human history and now you admit that you were wrong!”

“Oh my god. I’m going to bed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says as Cas rolls over, his back to him, “just say that again real quick. I’m gonna record you on my phone.”

“Dean, please. I could die of a fever tonight.”

Dean knows it’s a joke, but that annoying prick of worry pokes him again painfully in his chest. He stands and deposits the Tylenol bottle forcefully on the bedside table. “Take this in four hours, okay, drama queen? I’ll be back to check on you.”

Cas peeks over his shoulder at Dean. “Fine.”

They hold the gaze for a few heavy moments. The offer to stay with him is on the tip of Dean’s tongue.

“Just go to sleep,” Dean blurts, turning quickly on his heel. He shuts off the light before he leaves the room, and opens the door. He takes a steadying breath, and forces himself not to succumb to the pull of wanting to get into bed with Cas, holding that feverish little idiot to his chest until he sleeps off the infection.

But Dean’s resisting Cas’s gravity for years—so he resists the pull, and walks through the door.

Only to end up inches away from Cas’s bed.

They stare at each other, again, by the light of the moon spilling through those gaudy pink curtains. Dean works his jaw, trying to figure out what to say.

Cas finally shakes his head, and pulls the blanket up from his body; an invitation. “Well, we may as well do what the inn says.”

“Uh. Are you—”

“Dean,” Cas says.

With a grumble, Dean obeys, tentatively sliding into bed with Cas next to him. He clears his throat awkwardly as he settles in next to Cas, carefully not touching him, pulling the fluffy comforter up to his chest. They both lay next to each other on their backs, staring up at the ceiling.

“I have a thought,” Cas says into the dark.

“Did that hurt?” Dean asks.

“Shut up. I’m serious.” Cas takes a deep breath. “I feel as if the ultimate motive of this inn is to bring us together.”

“Okay.”

“So perhaps we should—I don’t know. Let it.”

Dean swallows a rock in his throat, and his voice is husky when he replies, “Uh-huh.”

Cas turns his head to the side to look at Dean over his pillow. “Do you understand?”

“Yeah, Cas, I’m not an idiot.”

But Dean doesn’t move. The fear won’t let him. And Cas sighs with the exhaustion only an ex-angel would have, saying, “Dean. My leg hurts very much, and I would like to sleep. Can we please just—cut the bullshit, as you would say, and you just—hold me?”

“You really are a grumpy bastard,” Dean says. The words come out gruff because of his nerves. He rolls over to push his chest into Cas’s back. He wraps one arm around Cas’s waist, and slips another under Cas’s neck. Cas grips Dean’s arms, and finally relaxes against Dean’s chest. Dean feels like he can die happy.

“I still think this inn is an asshole,” Dean mutters into Cas’s hair.

“You can burn it in the morning,” Cas says, placatingly tapping Dean’s arm where it lays across his chest.

And Dean may be imagining it, but as they drift off to sleep with their breaths moving in tandem, the walls sound as if they’re settling into a contented sigh, the buzzing energy of the house wilting into a dull murmur.

There is no way that Dean Winchester would ever stay at an inn.

But if it means holding Cas in his arms as he sleeps—maybe he’d do it again.

#destiel #destiel fic #everyone go tell tatiana how GENIUS HER BRAIN IS for this prompt #a huge thank you to #woefulcas #and #rauko-is-a-free-elf #for helping me beta this #and reading through it #starlightcastiel #inacatastrophicmind #fluff #bed sharing #spn nonsense #wanderingwrites #wandering writes

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spencereliotwinchester · 2 years ago

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Under the Mistletoe

Title: Under the Mistletoe

Word Count: ~8.4k

Summary: Moving on is difficult and sometimes includes uprooting to a new state thousands of miles away. Just before Christmas.

This fic takes place currently, 2022, but ages have been slightly adjusted.

Jensen is 45, Christian is 45, Jared is 38

Rating: Teen, 13+

Tags: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins (past), Christian Kane, Padalecki Family, Genvieve Cortese, Timothy Hutton, meet-cute, floof/fluff, schmoop, slight angst, loss, rom-com, Christmas, Alternate Universe

A/N: Merry Christmas @cleighwrites! This was written for @spnfanficpond Secret Santa, please enjoy. Also I don’t know how it got to be this long, but, I’m proud of it!

Thank you to my beta @mariekoukie6661

Divider by @rauko-creates

Banner art by yours truly

Main Character(s): Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki

Tags:

@hoboal87 @writethelifeyouwant @mrswhozeewhatsis @negans-lucille-tblr @synmorite @rauko-is-a-free-elf

“Jensen, what the hell, man?” Christian sighed loudly from the kitchen.

“What?” Jensen grunted, shoving a large cardboard box into a corner; there were only twenty or so more boxes to bring in.

“Wanna tell me why, after we’ve moved two-thousand miles from home, there’s still a fucking check for thirty thousand dollars stuck to our fridge via gummy bear magnet? I thought you deposited it!” Christian had moved into the doorway and was waving his hands around with annoyance.

“Yeah, it’s on my list of shit to do,” Jensen groused, turning away and trudging out into the snow to get another box from the moving van.

Christian was his very best friend; they’d been best friends since second grade, roommates in college, then just never really separated after that, but sometimes Christian just didn’t know when to let something go and Jensen was irritated. He shoved some boxes to the back door of the van to make them easier to grab; Jensen rolled his eyes as Christian’s form came into view.

“Dude, please, we moved here to ‘get away from everything’ as you said. ‘Start over.’ Remember what the therapist guy said? You need to make that deposit so you can fully heal. The. Check. We’re going to the bank tomorrow and you’re gonna deposit it,” Christian begged.

“Can you just drop it?! We’re supposed to be unpacking!” Jensen snapped. He took a deep breath. “Please, Chris, drop it. Let’s unpack the truck that way I’m not doing everything by myself when you go home for Christmas.”

Christian gave him a pitying look, blue eyes filled with sadness, but he said nothing, just grabbed two boxes and walked out of sight. Jensen shoved a few more boxes to the door, feeling heavy and hollow at the same time. As Jensen went to jump down from the van, he slipped on the melted snow from his boots and tumbled out into the snow. He swore up a storm as he tried to stand, only to slip and fall again.

“Jeez! You okay? Let me help you up.”

Jensen grabbed the offered hand and stood up, looking to see who had helped him. The voice clearly wasn’t Christian’s; he was also surprised that he had to look up to see the guy’s face. The man had about four inches on him and Jensen had to admit that he was really attractive. He had shaggy hair tucked behind his ears and a warm, dimpled smile surrounded by some light scruff.

“Thanks,” Jensen smiled. “I’m Jensen. Jensen Collins.”

“Jared Padalecki. Uh, here,” he held out a saran covered plate to Jensen, who looked at him questioningly. “Oh, my Ma made a welcome plate for you guys when she saw the moving van. Had me bring it over. Your beard is completely covered in snow by the way.”

“Thanks again!” Jensen laughed. “Want to come in? I need a break and something to drink... And dry off my beard, apparently.”

“Sure!” Jared said brightly, then he placed the plate on top of one of the boxes and picked it up. Jensen started to protest, but Jared was already halfway up the path. Jensen grabbed another box and followed to the two-story cottage he and Christian had bought.

The cottage was made of stone and was on the larger side, so Jensen and Christian could each have a bedroom and office; there were two spare bedrooms in case friends or family came to visit, too. The boxwood bushes that lined the front of the house were snow covered and the fire that Christian had started when they arrived was glowing through the bay window.

“Chris!” He yelled, setting the box next to Jared’s in the living room. Jensen beckoned Jared toward the kitchen; Jared settled himself at the island while Jensen started digging through boxes for cups. He yelled again, “Chris!”

“What in the hell’re you hollerin’ about?” Christian asked exasperatedly when he stepped into the kitchen a minute later; he was tying a bandana into a headband to keep his hair out of his face. He looked from Jared to Jensen, an eyebrow quirked up.

“Jared, this is Christian; Chris, Jared. His Ma made us some snacks and I want a drink. Where are the damn coffee cups?” Jensen asked, leaning against the counter and throwing his hands up in defeat. He took a hand towel and scrubbed it through his bushy facial hair.

Christian grabbed a folder from the counter and flipped through some pages. Jensen started unwrapping the plate Jared had set on the island. There were cookies, peanut clusters, chocolate covered pretzels, some kind of dried meat, and crackers. When he looked over his shoulder, Christian had started digging through one of the boxes.

“That’s venison jerky,” Jared supplied, reaching forward and snatching a piece.

Christian set three coffee mugs next to Jensen and grabbed a piece of venison with a cracker.

“You know, you can look through the list of boxes, too. It’s why I made that,” Christian complained as he chewed. “A whole list of what’s inside each box with pictures and box numbers. Whatcha plannin’ on putting in these cups?”

“Chris, where’s the coffee pot?” Jensen asked innocently. Jared snorted.

“You are so damn useless.” Christian snarked, going back to the folder and boxes.

“So, uh, where’d you move from?” Jared asked curiously, looking at Jensen. Jensen was taken aback by how expressive his eyes were.

“Denver. We’re from Texas originally though. Went to Denver for college and then just settled in a bit,” Jensen answered evenly, hoping Jared wasn’t going to ask why they’d moved.

“What made you decide to pick up and come out to Mass? That’s a huge change.” No luck.

“I got a nice job offer out here,” Christian interjected; Jensen breathed a sigh of relief.

“Really? What d’you do?”

“I’m in linguistics and translation,” Christian answered proudly, setting the coffee pot up to brew.

“Not by chance at McCarthy International?” Jared asked excitedly, leaning forward.

“How’d you know that?” Jensen and Christian asked at the same time.

“I work there, too. My manager said they finally hired another translator named Christian. Shot in the dark,” Jared laughed. “Small world! We’ll be coworkers!”

“Sounds great, man,” Christian grabbed the coffee mugs and turned to the coffee pot. “What languages do you speak?”

“Mostly French and Italian. You?”

“German and Russian.”

“Great, we’re desperate for a German translator. What about you, Jensen? What do you do?” Jared turned his attention to Jensen, smiling warmly. Jensen could see flecks of honey golden in his eyes.

“I’m a book editor for Ackles-Collins Publishing, so I can pretty much work from anywhere.”

Jared tilted his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. Jensen could see the question swirling through Jared’s brain.

“Jenny’s been followin’ me around since second grade,” Christian ribbed Jensen as he set down steaming coffee mugs. “We have sugar, no milk though.”

“Sugar would be great, thank you!” Jared said, pulling one of the coffee mugs toward himself.

“Lies, man, lies. Don’t believe anything Chris says, ever!” Jensen told Jared jokingly, pulling one of the mugs to him. He silently thanked Christian for interrupting.

A phone started ringing and all three of them reached into their pockets. It was Jared’s. He answered, then there was a lot of ‘mm-hmms’ and ‘uh-huhs’, followed by a ‘sure, ma’ as he poured what Jensen thought was an excessive amount of sugar into his coffee. He hung up and grinned, eyes shining, like he knew a secret.

“That was my ma, she thought I got lost,” he said jovially and Jensen thought it sounded fantastic, strong and confident. “My family is throwing a big Christmas dinner party - weekend after next. The 17th. She instructed me to invite you two and not take no for an answer. Would you come?”

“Oh, jeez- uh-”

“Well-”

Jensen and Christian both started stuttering at the same time. Jared’s face fell slightly and he held up his hands. That puppy dog look should be illegal, Jensen thought. He could get away with murder.

“Hey, if you guys are worried, we’re all really accepting here, I’m gay myself,” Jared placated. “You don’t have to worry about anyone giving you grief.”

Christian’s jaw fell open and his eyes bugged out of his head and Jensen gasped in surprise, eyes widening. Christian spoke first, while Jensen doubled over in his chair cackling.

“We’re not,” he indicated to himself and Jensen, “together. We’re basically brothers. I’m leaving that Friday to visit my family for Christmas, but Jensen’ll be there.”

“I will?” Jensen asked, straightening up and raising his eyebrows.

“Yeah, you will,” Christian nodded, smirking wickedly. “Go. Make friends. Jared, can you make sure he doesn’t hole himself up and become a recluse while I’m gone?”

“Gladly, I’ll even walk you over myself.” there was that smile again. He changed the subject, “I saw a few guitar cases in the living room, who plays?”

“We both do, actually. Since high school,” Jensen explained. “We played in bars before we were even twenty-one!”

“What kind of music?” Jared prompted.

“Country and rock. We mostly play acoustic only since it’s just us,” Christian answered, sipping his coffee and leaning his back against the counter. “Brawler’s is where Jens met his first ever boyfriend. They were alllllllll over each other that night.”

Jensen made a disgusted noise and Jared snorted loudly into his coffee. “Christopher Michael! God, we just met him and you’re waving my dirty laundry around.”

“Now, now, no need for full names, Jensen Ross,” Christian admonished playfully.

“Anyway,” Jared drew out the word, standing up, “I should definitely be off before Ma comes looking for me!”

He made a move to turn, but stopped quickly and looked at Jensen.

“What’s your phone number?” Jared asked, big hopeful eyes holding Jensen’s attention. “You know, so I can give you all the details for the party?”

He watched Jared type the numbers into his phone, then heard his own phone chirp.

“There ya are! Don’t be afraid to say ‘hi’ if you want.” Jared gave him a wink.

Jensen watched Jared’s retreating back as he left, mind caught up in Jared’s eyes and lips. Christian waved a hand in front of his face and waited for Jensen to meet his eyes. He gave Jensen a very pointed look, blue eyes piercing him. Then, shifted his eyes, indicating the doorway where Jared had disappeared.

“We should get the rest of the boxes inside,” Jensen sighed and turned to walk out to the van.

That evening, Jensen dug through a box in his room and pulled out a scrapbook. He got himself comfortable on his bed, back up against the headboard and scrapbook sitting in his lap. Jensen stared at the green cover.

He tipped the book open to his favorite page and stared at an 8x10 of his commitment ceremony. Big bubble letters and numbers in Misha’s handwriting said March 17, 2001. Jensen’s arm was slung around Misha’s shoulders, a giant smile spread across his face and Misha was leaning into Jensen, a toothy grin on his face and blue eyes sparkling with joy. Champagne was spraying all around them thanks to Christian who was on the right side of the picture, head thrown back in laughter and the champagne bottle in his hand.

Jensen traced Misha’s face, a mixture of happiness and sadness surrounding him. They all looked so young. Twenty-four years together, twenty of them after a commitment ceremony, six after their official marriage ceremony, and for Jensen that would never be enough. He turned the pages slowly, watching their lives together, then as Misha began looking sickly; Misha’s eyes never lost their sparkle though. Jensen stopped again at his second favorite picture, smiling sadly.

They’d hired a photographer; well, Christian had. They’d practically carried Misha into the yard and onto a blanket. The sun was shining brightly, but the temperature was perfect. They were sitting cross-legged, Misha pressed into his side, eyes closed and a soft smile on his face. Jensen’s head was resting on top of Misha’s and his eyes were closed, too, soaking in the moment. That had been their last anniversary together. A tear snuck down his cheek and he wiped it away quickly.

“Jens! Let's go out and ex-” the door to his room was thrown open, startling him, and Christian’s words died out.

They stared at each other for a solid minute before Christian whispered, “oh, Jen,” and climbed up onto the bed, settling himself down next to Jensen. He threw an arm around Jensen’s shoulders and tugged him close. After a while sitting in silence, Jensen chuckled.

“Remember when Misha proposed?” Jensen asked, resting his head on Christian’s shoulder.

“How could anyone forget that?” Christian laughed. “He talked me into helping build that stupid gummy bear wonderland for you AND the freaking firework pyrotechnics.”

“And Steve choreographed the dance and singing and sound set up, jeez,” Jensen reminisced fondly. Christian was still chuckling. “You nearly killed us all and set the gazebo on fire!”

“And he talked me into building three gingerbread houses? Never again. Took four tries before we figured out how to set the stupid frosting so the damn thing didn’t fall apart.”

“Then the freak thunderstorm that rolled in from the mountains, and you, me, Misha, and Steve took cover in that little shed,” Jensen was fully laughing, now.

“Oh, hell. ‘What do you wanna marry me for anyhow?’” Christian mocked Jensen’s voice. Then dropped his voice to mimic Misha’s. “‘So I can kiss you anytime I want.’ Fuckin’ Sweet Home Alabama rom-com bullshit.”

“Hey,” Jensen gasped out, unable to control his laughter, “that was the first movie we watched together.”

They chuckled together for a bit until the laughter died out and they sat in a comfortable silence again. One of the things Jensen appreciated most about Christian was the never-wavering support he gave. Jensen’s mind wandered along memories until his brain settled on a tall man with shaggy hair and dimples. For the first time since Misha died, Jensen felt a tug of attraction, of want; it felt weird and good with a hint of guilt, like he was having an affair. His brain told him logically that no, it wasn’t an affair, but his heart couldn’t help but disagree.

“What’s stopping you?” Christian asked solemnly, like he’d read Jensen’s mind.

“It’s illogical, I know I shouldn’t feel like this,” Jensen said, matching Christian’s tone, “but I feel like I’m having an affair. I feel guilty. I feel like I’m leaving him behind. I’ve been lonely; I mean, I have you, but it’s not the same, it’s I-miss-having-someone-next-to-me-in-bed type lonely, but I’m afraid that I won’t be able to love or… I just feel like I’m replacing him if I go out with another man.”

Jensen looked over to Christian, head still resting on his shoulder. After thirty-five years of brotherhood friendship, they could read each other like a book. Christian was looking up to the ceiling, pensieve and calculating, no doubt choosing his next words carefully. This was the first time since Misha died that he’d even brought up the idea of Jensen dating again, which he appreciated more than Christian would ever know. Steve, Jason, and a few others had all said at one time or another that Jensen should ‘get back out there’ and ‘you need to get laid’ among other things.

Christian huffed once before crawling out of the bed and striding purposefully out of the room. Jensen raised an eyebrow, but waited patiently for Christian to come back. When he did, he had a thin document box under his arm. Jensen threw him a questioning look, but Christian ignored him, placing the box at the foot of the bed and opening it. He pulled out a sturdy leather portfolio. Flipping it open, he cleared his throat, standing straight with his shoulders back; he began to read.

“To my wonderful, handsome, loving husband. Twenty-four years went by in the blink of an eye. I ask this of you, my love, as my last wish: Continue to live your life with strength and love. Speak my name with joy and fondness as you always have. Do not dwell on my death forever. And the most important - Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened. Now a poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye:

‘Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there. I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow.

I am the diamond glints on snow.

I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning's hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry;

I am not there. I did not die.’”

Jensen’s eyes were blurry with tears and his nose was clogged. The piece of paper Christian was reading from was a thick parchment with Misha’s handwriting carefully and clearly written out. Nearly three pages that he’d instructed Christian to read out before he delivered his own eulogy for Misha. There was a lot more, but Christian put the portfolio back in its box and sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed facing Jensen. Jensen took in huge, gulping breaths and when he quieted, Christian spoke again.

“I’m not going to tell you to get over it and move on, I’m not going to force you into the dating world, it’s not my place. Or anyone’s for that matter, except you. Misha wanted you to be happy, though, and Jared seems like a good person to test out the dating world with. If you hate it, I’m not gonna press the issue, you can hide away and become a miserable pessimistic asshole like me.”

“Harsh,” Jensen sniffed. Then fondly, “Thanks, Chris.”

“Anytime,” Christian said affectionately. “Now, that’s enough chick-flick mushiness. You good?”

“Yeah, Chris, I’m fine.”

“Good,” Christian nodded, satisfied. He got up and headed out of the room, but then stopped in the doorway. He turned, “Have you eaten anything today?”

Jensen ducked his head and grinned sheepishly. Christian made a noise of annoyance.

“I’ll scrounge something together,” he huffed. “Now, text Jared and see where it goes.”

“Bossy.”

“Prick.”

“Cocksucker!”

“You wish! You’re just jealous cause I never wanted to suck yours or anyone else’s.”

Jensen barked out a laugh and he heard Christian snort from the stairway as he plodded downstairs to the kitchen. Jensen grabbed his phone from the nightstand and stared at it nervously. He unlocked it and went to his messages, clicking on Jared’s name.

Hey. Long time, no talk.

Well that was cringey. It turned from “delivered” to “read” and Jensen’s heart thumped hard.

I know, it’s been forever! Lol.

Ma is stoked you’re coming to the party.

That’s great. I’m looking forward to it. Are you staying with your parents?

Yeah, I have an apartment in town, but near the holidays everyone stays with our parents. Family time and all that. It’s me, my brother Jeff, and my sister Megan. Meg and Jeff live in Providence and drive in.

It's awesome that you all get together like that. Sounds like a good time! Or do they drive you crazy?

Hahaha. A bit of both. What about you? Chris - or should I call him Christian? - said he was going home for Christmas, but you’re staying?

Ah, yeah. My parents love me, but they aren’t exactly accepting of ‘my lifestyle’. My sister Mackenzie lives in Portland with her family and Josh lives in Venice, Italy. The last time we all got together was in like 2005ish… Didn’t go very well. Chris’ Mama invited me to theirs, but I just decided to stay here and get settled. I don’t think he minds one way or another what you call him. How far away is town by the way?

Oh, it’s only about a fifteen-minute drive. Boston is around an hour depending on traffic. I’m sorry, it must be hard not seeing your family :( I came out my senior year, but my parents have been very supportive. Is that why you moved to Denver?

Yeah. I wanted to get out of Texas and Chris was accepted at University of Denver. I applied and got accepted, too. Off we went. I studied English and Literary Arts as well as some business. Where did you go to college?

Boston U. Just studied business and got hired at my dad’s company when I graduated. I wanted to ask earlier, but you said you worked at Ackles-Collins, do you own it?

I’m part owner, yeah, but I hang back mostly. I like being an editor more than anything.

Would you like to hang out the day after tomorrow? I was going to go into town and do some Christmas shopping. It’s always more fun going with someone, y’know?

Sure I think I’d like that. Chris is calling me for dinner, so I’ll talk to you later? We’ll finalize the plans.

Definitely :)

On Monday at ten-thirty, Jensen was sitting in an armchair near the fire in the living room, Christian sitting on the couch opposite. They were casually playing guitar together, but Jensen couldn't play a chord to save his life at the moment. Jared would be arriving any minute to pick him up to go shopping.

“Relax, everything’s gonna be great,” Christian encouraged, putting his guitar down. “Just get out, go have some fun with Jared, and pick up a real nice present for me.”

Christian winked at him, smiling. Jensen rolled his eyes and put his guitar down, too. He’d decided on a worn pair of boot cut jeans, and a thick green zip-up hoodie. He’d set out a dark green fleece-lined ear-flap beanie, touchscreen gloves, and his favorite dark gray wool peacoat that had an extra wool inner lining.

They both turned when they heard a car pull into the driveway. Jensen stood and quickly put on his hat, coat, and gloves, shoving his keys in the pocket of his coat. A horn honked. When Jensen turned, Christian was opening the front door for him.

“Good day, sire, your carriage awaits,” Christian said in a ridiculous accent, bowing with a flourish. Jensen couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re an idiot,” Jensen snickered as he walked to the door. Christian put his hands on Jensen’s shoulders and fake-sniffed as though he were overcome with emotion.

“My big boy, going out on a date. I’m so proud!” He exclaimed sarcastically.

“Oh, shut up!” Jensen retorted half annoyed and half amused, slapping Christian’s arms back and walking out the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“I won’t wait up!” Christian cackled at his own joke and swung the door shut.

The drive into town with Jared was filled with soft music and conversation about their favorite music and movies. The town was very small, with just a couple blocks of various shops right in the center. To Jensen, the town looked like it had been pulled directly from a Thomas Kinkade painting; there were even two horse-drawn carriages giving people rides.

“If you want, we can just start down one side and come back on the other. If we see a shop we want to stop in, then we do?” Jared asked as he turned off the car.

“Sounds good to me,” Jensen smiled back.

Jared was wearing a black and tan windbreaker parka that had a faux fur lined hood and a slouchy purple beanie. Jensen couldn’t help but notice the way Jared’s jeans outlined his ass as he caught up to walk next to Jared. They passed a clothing boutique, a craft shop, and a framing store before they came upon a window that made Jensen stop to look. Jared stopped, too, and told him that it was a local music shop called ‘Hutton’s Music House’.

“Let's go in!” He exclaimed, taking Jensen’s hand and pulling him to the door; a bell tinkled when they stepped in. A girl looked up from the counter and smiled, greeting Jared by name. “Hey, Gen! Jensen, this is my friend Gen, we took a bunch of classes together in college. Gen, this is Jensen, he’s new in town.”

“I never would have graduated without Jared,” she laughed, scrunching her nose. “Business was not for me! Welcome to town, Jensen. Anything I can help you find?”

“Jensen’s a musician, so I thought we’d take a look around,” Jared piped up.

“It’s good to meet you, Gen,” Jensen nodded. “Do you have replacement pickups? And can you show me your guitar strings?”

Gen showed them over to a case on the opposite wall that contained a medium-sized collection of pickups ranging from acoustic, electric, bass, and even a few for violins. Jensen scanned them carefully and Jared said he was going to look at the guitar room.

“Anything particular you’re looking for? We have more in the back that are for older and specialized models and we can order as well,” Gen informed him.

“Well, my roommate and I have been meaning to replace the pickups on his 1956 Fender Strat, but we’ve been so busy the last couple years it just hasn’t happened.”

“Woah, 1956? And he still plays it?” Gen asked incredulously.

“Not very often, we only use it for recording, otherwise it’s in a custom protective case. We’re finally going to be able to record again, so we’ll need it.”

“Hang on, I’ll check it out. Are you wanting, like, originals?” She asked, walking back to the counter.

“Doesn’t have to be, last time I think we used Klein,” Jensen said, meandering around the room slowly. “Don’t worry too much about it, I can order them if I need to.”

Gen typed on a desktop computer that looked like it was from 1997. Jared stepped back in and dragged Jensen into another room of the shop, walls lined with guitars of all kinds as well as other instruments and accessories. Jensen was impressed, the place had seemed so small from outside. They strode around the room together, Jared asking Jensen about nearly every guitar not unlike a curious child. Jensen answered amusedly to the best of his ability; Jensen stopped them when they reached a section of wall dedicated to strings for all types of instruments. He explained each type of guitar string to Jared, along with the sounds they produced and various uses until Gen came up beside them.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt,” she interjected, excitedly. “I have some good news.”

“Yeah?” Jensen straightened and turned to Gen, interested.

“I called the owner, Tim, and he’s on his way in. Apparently, he has an unopened set that was ordered and never picked up last year.”

“Oh, he didn’t need to make a special trip or anything,” Jensen sputtered.

“It’s okay,” Gen insisted. “He lives upstairs.”

There was a loud bang and out of a door labeled “Employees Only” came an older man with slightly disheveled dark hair wearing blue jeans and a green sweater. He strode quickly to them, holding a hand out to Jared, then Jensen.

“I’m Tim Hutton, owner. Gen said you had a 1956 strat?” He resounded. “I absolutely had to come down and meet ya. Not everyday you hear about a guitar like that!”

“Ah, well, it's actually my roommate's. His dad passed it down to him when we started recording our own music,” Jensen explained.

“Wow-oh-wow. I would love to see that!” Tim exclaimed.

“I can show you some pictures,” Jensen pulled his phone and scrolled through his photo albums, “but we never take it anywhere. It’s only used for recording and we do all the maintenance ourselves.”

Jared moved to look over Tim’s shoulder at the pictures Jensen showed. They were taken quite a few years ago during a recording session and were mostly of Christian, a few with Jensen, and two with Christian, Jensen, Steve, and Jason.

“That is a gorgeous guitar,” Tim said in awe. “Anyway, I brought down the pickups for you. Is there anything else we can find for you?”

“Did you still want strings?” Jared asked.

“Oh yeah,” Jensen turned back to the wall. He pointed to a brand called ‘Aurore Specialty’ that only had one each of acoustic and electric, and said questioningly, “I’ve never heard of this brand before.”

“They’re local,” Tim boasted. “I helped get the business going and I help with marketing. My sister and her husband actually make them.”

“Oh the only place I’ve heard of doing that in the US is in LA,” Jensen marveled.

“And they’re mostly produced on order only,” Tim continued, sounding like a salesman. “I keep a couple guitar ones in the shop so we can offer them up to new customers. Listen, I’ll give you a set on the house since you’re buying these pickups. Try ‘em out and see if you like ‘em!”

As they made their way to the register, two books next to each other caught his eye called ‘Mosh Potatoes’ and ‘Eat Like a Rockstar.’ They were recipe books. Jensen chuckled and grabbed both of them; Christian loved to cook, these would surely bring a laugh. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jared giving him an admiring look, a lovable smile plastered across his face.

After they left the guitar shop, Jensen carrying a paper bag with the pickups, books, and a set of acoustic strings, Jared asked if they could go to a bookstore called ‘Bound Around.’ It was unlike any book shop Jensen had ever seen before. It smelled like an old book, slightly musty, and there was no rhyme, reason, or organization for where the books were. Multiple piles of books were just stacked precariously from the floor to chest height and the bookshelves also had books stacked horizontally instead of vertically. Jared quickly disappeared into the maze while Jensen slowly picked his path through the stacks. Five minutes later, Jared appeared at his side, grinning widely.

“Found a book for my mom,” he said breathily, holding up a copy of ‘The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo.’

“Oh, that book definitely keeps your attention,” Jensen remarked. “Very Marilyn Monroe-esque.”

“You’ve read it?” Jared asked, cocking his head to the side.

“Yeah,” Jensen said lightheartedly. “I helped edit the first draft as a favor. The chief editor, a good friend of mine, who was assigned the book had to assign it to his brand new editor because they were flooded with work. He called me and asked if I had time to coach and mentor the new kid.”

“Any recs for my sister? She loves a good horror thriller,” Jared’s eyes sparkled hopefully. Jensen thought for awhile, walking around and eyeing books.

“Hmm,” he pulled a book from the middle of a stack, quickly stabilizing it with his other hand so the whole thing didn’t crash to the ground. “I read it in high school randomly. I really like reading, so I’d go find random books to read. I doubt she’d have read it. It’s a thrilling horror-type book.”

“Sounds good to me!” Jared took the book titled ‘Skin’. “Do you need anything here or want to look around more?”

“No, I think I’m good. I’m actually getting hungry. You?”

“Food sounds great to me! We can drop this at the car and go to Radial,” seeing Jensen’s raised eyebrow, Jared added, “a local café.”

At the register, Jensen was surprised to see a till that looked like it belonged in a museum, with mechanical buttons and even a pull handle. Jared asked the elderly man if he could see a book resting on a shelf behind him. The worker turned without speaking and grabbed a leather-bound book, setting it on the counter for Jared; he eyed Jared suspiciously. Jensen watched as he opened the book carefully, almost reverently. It was a posh leatherbound copy of ‘The Great Gatsby’ and it was signed by the illustrator. Jensen watched, infatuation blooming in his chest.

“‘The Great Gatsby’ is my favorite,” Jared said, handing the book back, a wistful look on his face, then gave the man the two books he was going to purchase.

When they exited the shop, Jensen stopped abruptly, pretending to search his pockets. Jared looked at him in concern.

“I need to run back in,” Jensen said quickly. “I think I set my phone down by accident.”

“Okay.”

Jensen rushed back into the bookstore and over to the counter. The old man squinted at him with disdain.

“I’d like to buy that leather bound book my friend was looking at,” Jensen explained, pointing behind the man.

“Must be a good friend,” his voice was wheezy and high-pitched. “You realize it’s a leatherbound, signed copy? It’s quite expensive.”

“I don’t mind,” Jensen huffed, pulling out his credit card.

“I prefer cash,” he sneered. “Extra charge for card payments.”

“It’s fine, charge me whatever, just hurry before he gets suspicious and comes back in, please!”

After signing the receipt, Jensen tucked the book in his bag from the music store and joined Jared outside. They had a great lunch talking about books they’d read and their opinions. Throughout the entire meal, they both saw the other staring multiple times, looking away quickly when they’d been caught. It turned out they had very similar taste in books and Jensen learned that Jared led a monthly book club. They didn’t meet in December, but would meet in January and Jared asked if he’d like to join. Jensen tentatively agreed as they walked back to Jared’s car.

When Jared pulled into Jensen’s driveway, there was an awkward moment where Jensen was afraid Jared was going to lean over and kiss him. He didn’t think he was ready for something like that at all, so he thanked Jared for the good time and bade him a quick goodbye.

Inside, he could hear loud thumping music coming from upstairs. As Jensen stripped his outdoor gear and made his way upstairs to his bedroom, he recognized Luke Bryan booming from Christian’s room. He hid the presents he’d bought under his bed and laid down on top of the covers to think.

He tried to sort out the mixture of complex emotions swirling around his brain. Attraction, admiration, optimism mixed with fear, guilt, and uncertainty. Not to mention the underlying feelings of disloyalty and insecurity. At some point, the music abruptly stopped, but he was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice. In the end, Jensen ended up passing out from sheer tiredness, still fully clothed on top of the blanket.

Jensen stared into the full-length mirror on his closet door, barely recognizing himself and feeling out of sorts; it had been a long time since he’d needed to dress up for an event. Jensen had even trimmed his beard from the unkempt overgrown bush he’d been sporting to a well-groomed, even-trimmed short beard. Jared had texted him the day before letting Jensen know he’d arrive at 6:30 to walk over to the dinner party and that it was a dressy event. He’d asked Jared for clarification to which he received the response “Ma says formal.” Jensen had one suit, besides his formal funeral suit, that was navy blue and made of cashmere with a perfectly matched tie and waistcoat. The button-up was a very pale blue and he’d chosen a white handkerchief with blue pinstripes.

He’d fought with himself for a half hour over which knot to tie his tie, ultimately deciding on the half Windsor. Jensen went to his dresser where he’d set out cufflinks, watch, belt, phone, and wallet. His eyes fell on the crystal jewelry dish where he kept his wedding ring while he was showering. A new wave of guilt washed over him as he took the ring and rolled it through his hand. In a moment of panic, he grabbed his phone to text Jared and tell him he needed to cancel, but there was a message waiting for him from Christian.

I swear to God, Jens, if you cancel on Jared, I’ll wring your neck when I get back.

He took in a deep, calming breath and looked back to the ring. Misha wanted you to move on when you were ready, he told himself. You’re not betraying him, you’re not cheating on him. True, he was still working through the end of his grief, but he had spent the last week and a half pondering what it might be like to date again. In particular, date a hazel-eyed, shaggy-haired, dimpled-cheeked man. He shouldn’t wear it; Jared would definitely notice and Jensen didn’t want him to think he was emotionally unavailable. His phone buzzed, “Chris” popping back up on the screen.

Misha wanted you to move on and be happy again. Give it a chance, for your sake and mine.

The telepathy thing they had annoyed Jensen sometimes. Neither of them had any hope of lying to other, or hiding any sort of secret. Sometimes it was helpful though; like that time in college Jensen had slipped on the porch of their home and broken his ankle, leg, and wrist. It was dark and Jensen hadn’t seen the thick layer of ice built up. He couldn’t move and Christian wasn’t supposed to come home that night; for half an hour, Jensen had lain there overwhelmed and terrified. Then suddenly Christian was there, yanking him out of the snow and wrapping him in a heated blanket until EMS arrived. Jensen remembered Christian sitting next to his hospital bed later saying, ‘I just knew something had happened.’

After a few more moments of deep breathing, Jensen set the ring back in the bowl. He donned everything else, then replied to Christian.

I’m going, I’m going. Stop nagging. No wonder Jared thought we were an item.

As Jensen made his way downstairs, the doorbell rang. He tucked his phone into his pocket then pulled the door open. Jensen sucked in a breath and took a second to take in all of Jared. He was wearing a charcoal gray three-piece with a crisp white shirt and a dark, blue-green tie. He was clean-shaven which made his dimples stand out even more than they had last week. When Jensen’s eyes fell on Jared’s, he realized Jared had been checking him out, too.

“Hey,” Jensen greeted lamely.

“Hi,” Jared grinned. “You clean up pretty nice.”

“Could say the same about you,” Jensen said cheekily. “Oh, shit. Hang on.”

Jensen stepped to the sideboard and grabbed the bottles of champagne and wine he’d chosen from his personal collection. Then he stepped outside and locked the door behind him.

“Shall we?” he asked. “Lead on!”

“Oh, yes! What do you have?” Jared started down the driveway, Jensen falling in step beside him.

“Uh. Just a bottle of champagne and red wine for the hosts. Y’know, proper dinner etiquette and all that.”

Jared laughed lightly. He took one of the bottles from Jensen and raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw the label. “Is that a Dom Pérignon?”

“Yeah, it’s a 1990 brut, is that okay? We can go back and get a rosé if your parents would prefer something sweeter or I think I have a few bottles of 2004 Plénitude as well,” Jensen had stopped walking, feeling anxious; Jared looked over at him, perplexed.

“No, it’s fine, Ma and Dad will absolutely love it. I was just surprised at the brand,” he laughed and started walking down the path again, beckoning Jensen to come with him. “Are you a wine snob? You gotta tell a guy that, y’know?”

Jensen chuckled. “I mean, I have my preferences but I wouldn’t consider myself a snob.”

“Oh, good, cause I know practically nothing about wine. I’m more of a beer guy myself, much to my mother’s dismay,” he joked, giggling.

Jensen thought he could listen to the sound of Jared’s laugh for hours on repeat; he felt a smile spread across his face and thought that a butterfly was suddenly trying to escape his stomach. The walk took about ten minutes which Jared filled with talk about his family and the guests that would be at the party. Jensen soaked in Jared’s voice, only offering an occasional ‘really’ or ‘mm-hmm’ and letting Jared drive the conversation.

They walked up the driveway to a very lovely two story house that looked much like his own. There were Christmas lights lining the roof, glowing softly. The front window was glowing as well and by the shadows, Jensen figured people had started to arrive. He paused for a moment before stepping onto the porch and shook himself lightly to loosen himself up. Jared opened the door for him, showing his bright smile. They were bombarded as soon as they stepped inside.

“Oh, Jared, honey! I was wondering when you’d get back home!” A shorter, matronly woman bustled her way to them, positively glowing with happiness. She was wearing a beautiful emerald green dress. “Oh! And you must be Jensen! Welcome to the neighborhood, dear, Jared’s been talking about you non-stop.”

Before Jensen could say anything, Jared’s mom - Sherri, if he remembered correctly - was pulling him in for a quick hug and cupped his face, kissing his cheek.

“Maa!” Jared groaned, pink darkening across his cheeks. Jensen threw him a delighted smirk.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Padalecki,” Jensen took one of her hands, kissed it lightly, and then presented the bottles to her. “For the hosts of the evening; thank you for having me as a guest.”

“My! What proper manners,” Sherri gushed as she took the bottles from Jensen. “You can call me Sherri. Come on in, let’s introduce you to Gerry.”

Jensen followed Sherri through the house to the kitchen, followed closely by Jared. She stopped multiple times, saying hello and introducing Jensen and sometimes Jared, too. There were two men and a woman laughing when they walked in. The older man bent down, peeking in the oven. Over his black suit, he was wearing a daisy covered apron.

“Gerry,” Sherri called, “come meet Jensen, our new neighbor!”

All three people turned to face them and the man in the apron stepped forward, a hand held out. Jensen shook it firmly, returning the friendly smile.

“Good to meet you, sir,” Jensen greeted, inclining his head.

“Oh, please, call me Gerry. This is Jeff, my oldest boy, and Megan, Jared’s younger sister.”

“Hon, Jensen brought us some wine,” Sherri said, holding the bottles out to her husband.

“Wow!” Gerry exclaimed when he took the bottles from Sherri. “You have a fine taste in wine and champagne. Thank you!”

“These are definitely my favorites,” Jensen confirmed.

“Well, I am most certainly going to open these tonight. Might have to keep them hidden from the other guests,” he joked. “1990 and 2009 were great years for vineyards.”

“Jared, go introduce Jensen to some of the others, make him feel welcome while we finish up dinner,” Sherri instructed, shooing them from the kitchen. Jensen instead leaned against the wall outside of the kitchen, grinning madly at Jared.

“So, you haven’t stopped talking about me?” Jensen questioned mischievously, tilting his head to the side.

“Ma and her big mouth,” Jared groaned. “She’s exaggerating, I swear.”

“Oh my god,” Jensen bent over, laughing a full belly laugh. “You’ve got the same look Chris gets when he’s lying!”

“I’m not - I didn’t - I - I - I really like you,” Jared admitted, pink spreading across his face again. He babbled on, “I mean, sorry, I - Well, you’re just attractive, like, really, really, attractive and very fun to hang out with and -”

“Woah, hey, you’re insanely attractive yourself,” Jensen reached his right hand to his left; he often twisted his wedding ring when he was nervous, but the hand was empty so Jensen dropped his hands, shaking them out slightly. “You’re pretty awesome yourself.”

He kept trying to twist his ring throughout the whole party. It happened at least ten more times before dinner was over and Jensen was starting to feel the stress. Jared had definitely noticed, even raising an eyebrow at him once as if asking if Jensen was okay.

“Jensen,” Gerry called from the head of the table. Jensen was seated two people away from him. “What is it that you do? Jared said something about books, right?”

“Yes, sir. I’m a book editor for Ackles-Collins Publishing,” Jensen responded.

“Your last name is Collins isn’t it? Any relation there?”

“Uh,” Jensen grinned sheepishly. He reached for his hand again, but quickly redirected, pretending to adjust his sleeve. “Yes, I’m actually part owner.”

“That is amazing and at such a young age! I own McCarthy International, I think Jared mentioned your roommate was hired on as a translator,” Gerry shared. “How are you two settling in?”

“Really well, we’ve spent the last two weeks learning the new town and unpacking everything. Jared’s shown me all of the local shops and fun places to go.”

Gerry’s attention was soon pulled away by another man and Jensen was pulled into conversation with Sherri about his college education and publishing house. As dinner finished and people started to move from the table and mingle again, Jensen asked Jared where the bathroom was. Jared led Jensen upstairs, away from the crowd. He found it slightly odd because there were no lights on upstairs. They moved into a dark hallway and Jared turned to Jensen, a concerned look on his face.

“Are you okay?” He asked, placing his hands lightly on Jensen’s upper arms. “It’s like you’re getting more nervous as the night goes on.”

Automatically, Jensen made an aborted move to twist his absent ring, huffing exasperatedly when he dropped his hands back to his sides.

“And you keep doing that, too. Are you uncomfortable? Are there too many strangers? I can walk you home?” Jared placed his hands over Jensen’s, face showing only care and sympathy.

“No.. No. I’m not,” Jensen sighed; he’d hoped he would be able to wait a few dates before having this talk with Jared. “I need to explain something and I am praying you’ll understand because I don’t want to ruin this before it starts.”

“C’mere,” Jared walked Jensen to the end of the hall and pushed him lightly through a door, following closely.

The light flicked on and Jensen found himself in what had to be Jared’s childhood bedroom. The walls were bright blue, plastered with various posters of sports teams and bands. He sat down on a large bed and patted the tye-dye duvet next to him. Jensen sat down, staring at his hands, heart pounding in his throat.

“I don’t mind, Jensen. Whatever it is, it’s better to tell me now. I would really like to go out with you, but if that’s not what you want -”

Jensen cut him off. “No, no, I want that, too. I just - I wanted to wait until we’d had a couple dates, but - You should know that I had a husband for twenty years,” Jensen’s breath caught in his throat; he swallowed thickly and continued before Jared could interject. “He passed, July of last year.”

“Oh my god,” Jared gasped in surprise.

“Sorry, it’s a lot to take in. This is the first time I’ve really considered going out with someone since, and I am really looking forward to it, if you’ll still have me. I come with a lot of baggage and that’s not for everyone. I took my wedding ring off, that’s why I keep wringing my hands together; I just didn’t want to give you the wrong impression by wearing it,” Jensen muttered, afraid to look into Jared's face.

Unexpectedly, Jensen was completely enveloped in a bone-crushing hug, face pressed into Jared’s shoulder. He smelled wonderful, Jensen thought, closing his eyes; pine trees, holiday berries, and a hint of peppermint. He brought his arms up and returned the hug. Jared pulled back and pressed his forehead to Jensen’s and he saw that Jared’s eyes were bright and teary.

“You don’t have to apologize for something like that,” Jared murmured sympathetically. “That must have been so, so hard for you. I can’t even imagine.”

Jensen sniffed once and smiled softly, blinking the tears in his eyes away. “Well, I’m not sure how to respond to that, but, if you’d let me, I’d love to take you out to dinner sometime. Maybe you and your family will come over sometime? I’ll make Chris cook cause I’m still not very good at that.”

Jared laughed heartily.

“You need to stop that,” Jensen deadpanned. Jared looked taken aback. He dropped the seriousness and said, “It makes me want to tickle you just so I can hear it.”

They grinned at each other for a few beats before Jensen spoke again, “We should get back to the party, people will think there’s some hanky-panky going on.”

“Hanky-panky?!” Jared burst out laughing, doubling over.

When he’d finally regained his composure, Jared led Jensen back downstairs. They stuck together for the rest of the night, having great conversations with other guests as well as each other, until the party began to die down. Jensen’s heart felt like it was going to explode with warmth and joy, optimistic for the first time in what seemed like a century. He began to make his way to the kitchen for some water when Jared called for him to stop with an urgent tone.

“Wha -” Jensen stopped in his tracks between the living room and dining room and turned around. Jared strode up to him, a huge smile on his face. He looked up and Jensen followed his eyes. When Jensen looked back to Jared’s face, it had turned to a look of sly giddiness.

“Mistletoe!” Jared said triumphantly. “Guess someone needs to kiss you.”

Jensen let out a soft huff of laughter, but then Jared’s lips were lightly pressed to his, soft and chaste and fleeting. Jared looked delighted with himself when he pulled back and Jensen couldn’t help but smile shyly and appreciate the simplicity. A warm hand enveloped his own and their fingers laced together.

“Will you walk me home?” Jensen asked, his voice breathy and hopeful.

“I’d be delighted to,” Jared smiled and tilted his head to the side, eyes bright and excited.

#jensen ackles x jared padalecki #jensen ackles x misha collins (past)#jensen ackles #jared padalecki #misha collins #christian kane #padalecki family #genevieve cortese #timothy hutton #meet-cute #fluff #floof #schmoop #slight angst #loss #rom-com #christmas #spnfanficpond secret santa

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