Kansas in late autumn was as turbulent as it was beautiful. Dean stared out his window, watching the torrential rains that had cancelled that day's trip to Quivira batter the ruddy grasses, the winds periodically whipping the stalks back and forth in tossing, circling patterns like a whitecapped lake. Dean had reluctantly left New York and Cas to get his fall season income back on track, but the weather had put a crimp in his plans more than once so far.

He sighed and made another effort to form a plan for the day as he took a few sips of coffee. He'd been distracted since coming back, thoughts constantly drifting east. The first week after New York, he'd kept his hands busy by making so much soup that he'd had to pawn containers off on Sam and their mother. There were still half a dozen stored in his freezer. The next week, it had been cleaning up the property for the winter—that one had been too early. The November storm season had swept in, knocking down more branches and trashing the trails. Oh well, it would give him something else to do as migration wound down and the cold weather set in… The week after that, Cas had made it clear that he'd had enough of Dean's nagging questions about his health. Luckily, Charlie was watching Cas like a hawk too and made an excellent proxy. Four weeks out, it seemed like his brain finally accepted that Cas was going to be okay… and immediately switched over to worrying about what the future looked like between the two of them.

Dean had basically laid it all out there, between jumping on a flight to New York—he was still half-convinced some viral video footage was going to surface of him hurling into a sick bag somewhere over Pennsylvania, God help his seatmates—and the stuff he spilled to Cas that first emotional reunion in his hospital room. At the time, Adam Milligan barely in the rearview, he feared Cas was going to be yet another thing he messed up and didn't realize the full importance of until it was too late. Now, with time spread out in front of him like an open prairie, Dean had no idea where to go next. He didn't know what Cas might want from him, how much either of them could give. Searching the web for things like 'asexual relationships' left Dean confused and with more questions than answers—questions that he would have to ask Cas and which he couldn't even manage to spit out coherently to a wall at the moment.

November was spinning by in disjointed periods of Dean hyperfocusing on work—giving tours and editing his novel draft—and being absolutely paralyzed by doubt. That morning was just an example. It was past ten. This was the third time he'd made himself a cup of coffee and stood at the back window, doing little between besides swapping out his pajamas for a work shirt and jeans. He was not going to call Cas, who was actually working from home these days. Given the weather, he knew he should work on edits… but his mind just wasn't in the right place for it.

Finally, he sat down with his laptop and started up The Blue Planet on Netflix, letting the voice of David Attenborough and the patter of rain on the roof soothe his nerves. Today was just going to be one of those days.

It was after Thanksgiving—he'd survived the family dinner this year without a meltdown of any sort, by some minor miracle—when Sam asked to come out to his place for a weekend mid-December. His brother said something about wanting to get out of the city for a bit; Dean wasn't buying it. He just hoped to God this wasn't some sort of intervention. Sam had pestered Dean to death about his trip to New York City and Cas until Dean, stressed out enough without the added pressure, finally lost his temper and refused to accept Sam's calls for a week. Since then, Sam remained silent on the topic, but it felt like it was hanging in the background every time they spoke. The hangdog looks of concern Sam gave him in person were unbearable.

Even stranger, Sam had refused his offer to come pick him up, instead saying he was renting a car. It was all incredibly suspicious, and although Dean wasn't going to refuse the visit—Sam would probably just show up anyway—it had him on edge.

"Perhaps he has other stops he wants to make?" Cas suggested when Dean vented to him on one of their calls.

"Yeah, or he wants to be able to make a quick exit without stealing my truck…" he muttered.

"Dean, even if you are correct and your brother has some ulterior motive for visiting… are you really that worried about what he might have to tell you?"

Dean sighed. He had left out the part where what was going on between him and Cas might be contributing to Sam's odd behavior. "No, I just…" He struggled with how to explain it to Cas while avoiding the specific topic. "Sam sometimes gets these ideas in his head about 'helping' me, and I wish he'd just concentrate on his own happiness and not waste time worrying. I'm old enough to deal with my own problems. It's not his job."

"Yes, family and friends sometimes worry far too much… It can be quite vexing."

The sarcasm in Cas's tone caught Dean's attention. "Hey, I haven't asked about your lungs in weeks, have I? I can take a hint…"

Cas hummed, and it made Dean's stomach flip. "Now, if you would only stop using Charlie to spy on me…"

"You're the one who hangs out with her all the time," Dean grumbled and changed the topic.

When Saturday arrived, Sam ended up running late, so Dean walked the property, feeling restless. It was cool and gray, just a hint of crispness to the air, and everything was beginning to take on the pale brown shades of winter. After nearly a week solid of rain, a lot of the lower points in the terrain were ankle-deep mud, and he managed to slip a few times trying to use the cut-through midway down. He wasn't quite back to the house when he caught the sound of a car coming up the drive. By the time he circled up around the side, a gray Toyota was parked out front, empty.

"Is that a Prius?" he mumbled aloud. Only his brother… He glanced down at the mud encasing his boots and running in streaks up to the knees of his jeans and decided to go around back again rather than mess up the living room. "Sam?" he shouted as he entered, then crouched down to unlace his shoes.

"Hey."

Dean looked up and froze. Sam had stepped into the kitchen, but behind him… was Cas. The shorter man stood in a pair of rumpled blue jeans and a black jacket over a soft gray shirt, his dark hair slightly unruly but shining where the light from the back windows touched it. Both Cas and his brother were looking down at him with looks that were growing vaguely amused. Dean realized he was gaping, and tried to find something to say. "…What the hell?" Okay, not his best work, but it got the point across.

"Well, Castiel wanted to visit for the holidays, and I figured you could use the company, so…"

"Surprise," Cas rumbled.

Dean opened his mouth, but his mind went blank. …For the holidays? Cas had brought up the topic of visiting a few times, once just a few weeks ago when the end of the bird tours was in sight. Dean had agreed… but also not suggested a time frame. He'd started making a push for winter prairie tours this year on his blog and social media, fighting to pick up a few more jobs in the slow season, and Cas was just exiting a rough few months getting over his bout of pneumonia… It just seemed like maybe they should wait 'til spring.

The awkward pause continued to grow until Sam said, "You got a little something…" He raised his hand and gestured along his jawline with a thumb.

Dean moved to wipe at his face, but his fingers were caked in drying mud after wrestling with his bootlaces. "Shit… Uh, how about I get cleaned up? You're welcome to whatever's in the fridge…"

He shuffled up and out of the kitchen; the moment he had to cross through Cas's personal space left his skin buzzing. Zero chill, he informed himself once in the safety of the bathroom. It took him less time to wash up and change clothes than it did for him to feel capable of speaking actual words; he emerged feeling less at sea. He wanted to be angry at Sam for just springing this on him, but turning the corner from the hall and seeing his brother and Cas with mugs of coffee at the kitchen table, backlit by the milky light of the overcast sky outside… Dean flipped on the overhead light, bathing the kitchen in slightly warmer tones. He took time to pour himself his own coffee before joining them.

Sam and Cas both stared at him. Cas's expression seemed calm, attentive. Sam, on the other hand, was raising his eyebrows in a clearly expectant way, as though asking whether Dean had regained the power of speech.

"Well, you definitely surprised me," he admitted.

Sam stifled a laugh. "Yeah, we could tell."

Dean sipped his coffee, wishing the conversation felt less like wading through the mud outside that morning. His eyes met Cas's across the table; he wanted to just wrap his arms around him and make sure he was real and whole.

"I hope that, although unexpected, the visit isn't unwelcome," Cas offered. "I didn't have much to look forward to over the holidays besides the insufferable Shurley family Christmas party, and after working from home for a few months, I was… extremely tired of seeing the walls of my apartment." He kept his eyes on Dean's face, waiting for his response.

Somehow, picturing Cas alone in his apartment in winter-gray New York City was the thing Dean needed for everything to start making sense. "Well, I can't say Christmas in Kansas offers much in the way of entertainment compared to New York, but any excuse to get out of a family Christmas party…"

"There are enough Christmas lights between Overland Park and Kansas City to keep you busy for a week," Sam interjected. "The Arboretum or driving Christmas Place… Museum at Prariefire… the city Art Museum…" He was trying to look innocent.

I'm gonna kill him, Dean thought, giving him a look that told him he knew exactly what he was doing. This was not a goddamn Hallmark movie.

"Technically, I am supposed to be working remotely during the weekdays until Christmas Eve," Cas stated. "I have the week between Christmas and New Year's off."

"Cool…" Dean stopped giving Sam the evil eye and refocused more gently on Cas. "We can come up with a list of things you really want to see while you're here and work out when to do them. I have a few things scheduled this month, but they are all during the week."

Cas's eyes dropped to his cup of coffee. "Dean, I realize that I arrived unannounced… If you would prefer, I can book myself a room at a nearby hotel. I don't want to impose on you or Sam."

"Like hell. It might not be much, but you're welcome to stay with either of us." Since Sam had instigated this, Dean had no qualms about making promises on his behalf. "Sam's apartment is a bit more up to date, but I have an extra room, assuming Sam is going back to the city Monday…?" He raised a questioning eyebrow, looking over to his brother.

Sam laughed aloud that time. "Oh yeah, I'm outta here Sunday. Some of us can't work where and when we feel like it."

Dean suppressed the urge to flip him off but gave him a glare that carried the gist of it. Sam gave him a split-second bitchface—message received, loud and clear—before smoothing his expression back into vacant cheer for Cas's benefit.

"Stay as long as you want then," Dean said.

"Thank you," Cas murmured. His gaze was still downcast, but the tension was gone, gratified relief replacing it.

"Well, hey," Dean suggested, "how about we go into town and poke around, eat dinner out somewhere? I can pick up some more groceries for the week before we head back…"

"Sounds good." Sam's tone took on that overly wholesome aspect again. "We can take the Prius."

Yep, gonna kill him. Dean took a sip of coffee, eyeing Sam over the rim. Sunday couldn't come soon enough.

It took Dean only a few hours after Sam left the following afternoon to come to two important realizations.

One—it was pretty damn likely that Sam had been extra annoying on purpose the past day to distract Dean from thinking too much about what being alone with Cas at his house meant.

Two—Cas staying here was going to be pure torture.

Dean found himself spending endless mental energy ignoring the way the room temperature seemed to climb about twenty degrees every time Cas got too close and making sure Cas absolutely did not catch Dean staring. Thankfully, Cas had to work starting Monday, and having him set up in a corner of the living room let Dean relax a bit during the day, even if they did always seem to end up stepping into one another in the kitchen getting coffee or food at the same time. Dean found that, despite the occasional distraction, having Cas quietly tapping away across the room made it easier for him to settle down to writing up media posts or working on draft edits. It was companionable and grounding in the way that having Sam reading on the couch late at night had been. Evenings, after Cas's work ended, were more difficult. Dean did his best to keep them busy with preparing dinner—mostly him cooking while Cas watched in fascination and hovered over his shoulder—and watching movies, making sure he didn't forget himself and let a hand slide out across the space that separated them on the couch.

It went on that way for three days, until Dean, turning from washing up the dinner plates, found Cas standing close. "Ope, hey—" Dean backed himself into the corner junction of the counters, unable to make any more space between them. He made to shift to one side, but Cas stepped with him, blocking him. "Uh, Cas…?"

"At some point," Cas observed, face dead calm but blue eyes locked onto Dean's, "you're going to have to stop treating me as though I were made of glass."

Staring into his eyes, something finally clicked into place. The way they seemed to be continually almost bumping into one another in the small kitchen, how Cas always seemed to dip a bit closer on the couch, even as far back as the days after his hospital release in his apartment in New York… A sensation rushed across Dean's body, hot and cold all at once, and he spoke the thought even as he was forming it. "…Christ, you're doing it on purpose."

"Am I?" Cas asked airly.

His expression was so ingenuous, wide eyed, that Dean blinked, second guessed himself… but no, now that he knew to look for it, there was something in Cas's gaze, something watchful, something… testing, analyzing his reactions, and man, his suspicion all those months ago that Cas could put on a killer poker face when he wanted to had been so, so right. The comprehension that Cas had been purposely pushing his boundaries all this time, teasing him, that this person—his person—might have a bit of a bastard streak…

What did I do to deserve this? How did he find me? Dean thought with all the awe and wonder of watching a summer sunrise. His entire life, he'd only felt something like this staring across mountaintops and standing in the middle of fields, but here it was in his dimly lit kitchen, where Cas had him trapped with his back against the old laminate counters. He knew right then that, whatever they were, it wasn't meant to be kept at a distance. He managed to stop the sentiment from spilling over his lips, but some of it must have shown in his face because the look in Cas's eyes shifted slightly, became a sort of pleased triumph.

"You once told me that you would lock up your gun for me… I didn't expect that to become a metaphor for our entire relationship," Cas murmured. The apathetic mask he had maintained dissipated as one corner of his mouth lifted in a crooked smirk.

Dean was still adjusting to this new paradigm and thought it over carefully before deciding that, yeah, Cas had definitely meant that bit of innuendo. "I—I don't know how this is supposed to work between us, Cas. I mean, you're asexual, and I'm… very much not. I don't know how to ask what's on the table and what's off the table—if I'm even supposed to ask what's on or off the table…?"

Cas held his eyes, and even though he spoke gently, there was something immovable and fierce underneath. "I'm not sex repulsed, if that's what you're asking… but I won't give you more than I am ready to. I may never be ready to give you some things… and I need you to be okay with that."

Dean recognized his own words being echoed back to him. Maybe he should have been considering more carefully whether he was agreeing to a life of celibacy, but all he could think about was a warm hug on an airport sidewalk, someone sitting in the passenger seat of his Impala making commentary on the highway scenery, the soothing anchor of another person's presence in a hushed room.

"All right, Cas," he breathed.

The muted elation that permeated Cas's expression made Dean's heart give a hard thump under his sternum.

Later than night, when Cas slipped an arm under his and tucked himself firmly against Dean on the couch, shooting him a stare of challenge, Dean looked away and relaxed into the warmth that pooled along his side, didn't fight the flush as hard when Cas toyed with the buttons on the cuff of his shirt.

The final weeks of the year seemed to slip right through Dean's fingers when he wanted to hold on to every moment—walks on the icy prairie (preceded by intense discussions on their respective needs for scarves), Christmas light drives, meals cooked, hours spent working in silence. There was no denying Cas had become a touchstone for him over the past few years, but having him right there in the house beside him… Dean thought that he hadn't really been breathing or sleeping the last few decades of his life, that he was rediscovering what they were supposed to feel like.

Sam called to make sure Dean didn't mind if he stayed over on December 23rd—Christmas Eve Eve. "...you know, I don't want to interrupt anything…"

"Shut up and get your ass down here," Dean growled.

The three of them spent the evening stringing dried fruit, cranberries, and popcorn on thread and filling cookie cutter shapes with bird seed, melted suet, and peanut butter.

"He does this every year and didn't even tell me until I walked in on him doing it last year," Sam told Cas. "After he listened to me berate him for two weeks about not decorating the house for the holidays…"

"The birds appreciate this more than I would care about standing some dead tree up in my living room." Dean watched Cas spear the bird treats with the careful precision of someone who probably had never used a needle in his life.

"I see you got him to at least do the outside lights again this year," Sam observed.

Dean pushed back the flush that threatened to rise to his face. The week Cas had arrived, he'd gone outside and spent a day stringing them along the eaves while Cas was at work.

He rousted them early the following morning and herded the grumbling pair outside to hang their constructions on the wood post and rails that marked the edge of his mown backyard. Then, they retreated inside to drink mugs of coffee, watching through the windows as the birds discovered their Christmas Eve bounty and began to congregate. Sparrow and chickadees, finches and jays… mid-morning, there was a point when a group of crows flew off with one of the suet molds entirely, making Sam laugh and Dean shrug. He lost a handful of the cookie cutters every year. Usually, he discovered one or two in the woods at some point the following summer, showing pinpoints of rust from spending months trapped under snow and wet leaves.

When Dean had tried to duck out of dinner Christmas Day at their mom's house a week earlier, citing the awkwardness of introducing Cas around the holidays, Sam let a stony silence hang on the line before asking if Dean truly was suggesting they leave their mother alone on Christmas. Dean didn't need to see him to know he was getting the bitchface to end all bitchfaces sent his way. In the end, he made sure Cas felt comfortable with it, and they all went over together. He watched Mary Winchester fix Cas with wary and oddly protective stares over a passable ham dinner she'd ordered from the local grocer's, slowly thawing in the face of Cas's somber politeness and gracious manners.

"Bringing someone home for dinner… This must be serious," she teased when she could get Dean alone out of earshot. They both knew it wasn't a joke.

"Yeah, it is," Dean told her, meeting her eyes. The uncertainty there made him tense up before it occurred to him that he didn't really need her to believe it. He went back to sit with Cas, found all the solid ground he needed in the way Cas's hand slid over his and laced their fingers together on Dean's knee.

The anxiety and loneliness that had bitten at him since that past summer were almost forgotten, but a new worry began creeping up as year end approached. New Year's Eve found him and Cas together on his couch, watching the stream from Times Square. Sam would be on his own for their yearly "get drunk and find a hookup" tradition. Dean was having trouble feeling too guilty about it with Cas snugged up against him wrapped in a blanket. They had both changed into flannel pajamas, and a bottle of champagne Cas had picked out sat warming slightly out in the kitchen by the back door.

"I don't even know who any of these entertainers are…" Cas murmured.

"Yeah, me neither," Dean admitted. "It's nice seeing all those folks out there together though." Despite the fact that they were predicting one of the coldest New Year's Eves on record, the streets seethed with wall-to-wall people, thousands of smiling faces bundled in puffy coats, hats, and gloves, excited for whatever the next year would bring. Even in that moment, when he should have been warm, content, and happy, that bit of fear kept nagging at him, making it impossible to fully relax. "How long can you stay?" he asked finally. He had to know, to start preparing himself to let Cas return to his life in New York, return to Charlie and Kevin and the Elysium office.

Cas sat up and looked into his face, calm. "How long do you think I want to stay?"

He didn't ask how long Dean wanted him to stay because he didn't have to. Cas had always been able to look right into him, see what Dean couldn't or wouldn't speak aloud. Dean didn't know now why he had found that frightening. But in that moment, Cas wasn't reading him… he was letting his own thoughts show on his face, letting Dean see the answer to the question, asking one of his own in return.

"...You can stay that long," Dean whispered back, swallowing against the tight feeling in his throat afterward.

"Good." Cas smiled softly and leaned back down, draping himself more fully over Dean's shoulder and setting his head under Dean's chin. His voice sank straight into Dean's chest when he continued. "I'm in no rush to get back to New York…"

Dean didn't know all the details of how it was going to work out just then, but he felt reassured that it would somehow, that they were on the same page, that they would figure it out together. And maybe in life that was what you got, that little center of certainty in the chaos.

"You going to make a resolution this year?" he asked when the next music act started, some wailing young man who Dean was sure was a real pop darling thanks to his dark eyes and rugged jawline but whose music wasn't making much of an impression. He was head to toe in black winter wear except for his bare fingers on his guitar. His hands had to be freezing in the below-zero wind chill.

"I think we should take another vacation," Cas answered drowsily, sliding a thumb across Dean's collarbone and along the collar of his pajamas in a way that actually was pretty soothing.

"Yeah, at least one… maybe Utah or Arizona."

As the last minutes of 2017 ticked away, Dean knew what his own private resolution was going to be. He was going to keep pushing out of those shattered bits of the past that he'd been drowning in for too many years… He was going to speak them and write them and let the wind blow them away, the sun bake them to ash.

He had something else he wanted to make room for now. He had things to look forward to.

Image credit: Mary Hammel, Unsplash