Chapter Text
Bobby spends so much time at the shop these days, Dean actually has to call him and schedule a meeting to talk about his big plan. Charlie is supposed to show up at the yard just before five on Friday, and Dean spends the entire day so busy he barely notices his anxiety ramping up until the day is nearly over and he can’t stop drumming his pen against the counter.
“Chill, Winchester,” Charlie calls cheerfully as she walks through the door. “I can smell the panic all the way out in the yard.”
Dean glares at her. “What am I doing Charlie? What if he thinks the whole idea sucks? This is a terrible plan. Fuck. I should just forget the whole thing.”
“Hey!” Charlie snaps, grabbing both of Dean’s hands over the counter, heedless of the grease on his palms. “You got this. You fuckin’ got this. Your idea is hella fuckin’ balls to the wall awesome, and I did the coding so you have that going for you, and even if for some crazy reason Bobby doesn’t love the shit out of it, nothing bad is going to happen. Now sit the fuck down and take a deep breath, because you are harshing my mellow and I need to get my laptop set up.” She kisses him on the cheek in this endearingly platonic and not at all patronizing way that no one else in Dean’s life could possibly get away with, then starts pulling cords out of her computer bag so she can set up for the display.
Instead of sitting down and breathing, Dean goes to the break room to grab another coffee, just for something to distract himself. He manages to drink the entire thing before Bobby shows up and is seriously considering pouring another when the bell on the front door jingles and Bobby steps in.
“Well,” he grumps. “What you got goin’ on that’s so important you gotta make me schedule a meetin’?”
“Hey Bobby. This is Charlie, she’s been helping me out with this idea I was telling you about.” Charlie sticks her hand out, grinning widely, and Bobby has no choice but to shake it. There’s a small moment of surprise when her handshake is considerably fiercer than he was expecting, but Dean would bet that just earned her a couple points in his book. Bobby likes people who defy his expectations.
“So anyway,” Dean interjects, clearing his throat. “Remember when Ash was sick and you told me if I came up with a better way to find parts, I should let you know? Well, I sorta took you literally, and I figured the whole thing would go over better if I could show you what I meant so I got Charlie, who is a computer genius by the way, to help me put something together, and it’s really sort of a rough draft right now but if you like it we can go back and build something that’s really functional and…” Dean notices Bobby staring at him with a wry look on his face. “What?”
“You keep runnin’ your mouth like that without breathin’ you’re gonna have a hard time gettin’ to the point. Slow down, boy.” Charlie stifles a laugh, but both men turn sharply to look at her anyway.
“I like him, Dean. I like him a lot.”
Bobby just rolls his eyes, inclining his head in question towards the counter. “Show me what the hell’s got you so worked up, then. Try to talk in short sentences. Can’t have you passing out on me.”
Charlie loads the mock-up database, letting Bobby get a good look at the layout with the Singer Salvage name proudly displayed at the top.
“So Ash is basically a computer on two legs with how much he remembers about the cars on the lot, right? But that ain’t his job, and it’s not fair to rely on him to tell us where stuff is when he’s got actual work to do. But if we had an actual computer we could ask, well, then he and Garth will be more effective pulling parts and doing the rest of the upkeep, and that’s overall going to make us more profitable. And then I got thinking, if we had a database, and we keep an accurate inventory of what cars we have on the lot and what parts they still have on ‘em, well, what’s to stop us from making that available online?” Dean pauses, taking a good look at Bobby’s face, trying to get a read on his opinion. Unfortunately, his unimpressed face looks about the same as his this is the best idea ever face, so Dean comes up with nothing.
“Online shopping,” Bobby says flatly.
“Well, kinda. It’s too cost prohibitive to ship cars, and most of the parts are going to be too heavy to courier, but it’d put us in the good books of the restoration shops in town and throughout the state that don’t really have time to poke around for stuff, and it would make it way easier for people working on collector cars to find the parts they need. Think about it. You own this place, and it still took you years to get all the parts you need for your Stingray. But you also got to see a list of every single car that came in if you weren’t inventorying them yourself. We could let people register for alerts for rare gear, and if we got a car in that there isn’t much demand for but we had someone registered for alerts, we’d know we had at least one guaranteed sale out of it. It would do a lot to build your customer base.”
Bobby is quiet for a moment as he clicks around on Charlie’s dummy database, playing around with the test data that she and Dean had entered and checking out the search function.
“I’ll admit, I was just being a sarcastic asshole when I told you to let me know if you came up with a better way. But this?” He gestures to the computer. “This is damn smart. You come up with this?”
Dean casts his eyes at the floor. “Well Charlie did all the coding. And it was Garth who gave me the idea when he compared Ash to a computer.”
“But it was your idea.”
“Yeah,” Dean admits.
“It’s a damn good one. Be a lot of work to get it all set up though.”
“Well sure. It’s a big yard. But now that Ash is back at work it’s a bit less chaotic in here, and there’s a lot fewer calls for parts now that the weather’s gone to shit. This is a good time to start. If you want to.” Dean adds the qualifier almost as an afterthought. Even through his passion, Dean’s spent most of the time working on this project fighting with the looming dread that Bobby is going to reject it outright.
“I imagine we’d need a better computer than the old thing you been doin’ invoices on.”
“Yes,” Charlie interjects. “Definitely. But I’ve put some recommendations for that together, and I’d be happy to build you a custom rig or just help you make sure that what you buy is going to meet the system requirements for what we’re doing. And if you want to go online, you’d need hosting space.”
“Yeah, yeah, I ain’t interested in the technical details. That’d be all you, Red.”
“So you like it?” Dean asks, excitement thinly veiled.
“Dean. I told you, I wasn’t looking for just anyone to run this place. You’re smart. Too fucking smart for your own good sometimes, but yeah. This is what I wanted you for. Not because you know a driveshaft from a carburetor, but because you see how things work. Cars, businesses, people. All of it. You figure out how things work. You put together a budget for this project, and you get it to me by the new year. Charlie’s time to build the thing, new computer, whatever it’s going to take to make this happen, and we’ll get it rolling in January.” He turns to walk towards the door with his hands jammed in his pocket. “And Dean?” Dean’s eyes snap up from the laptop.
“You did good, boy.”
Dean’s hand still hurts from Charlie’s high-five by the time he makes it to Cas’ for the evening. She’s tiny, but man, can she pack a punch, especially when she’s that excited. Not that Dean can blame her. He’s pretty excited too.
He tells Cas all about the plan through dinner. It’s the first time he’s mentioned it, not wanting to put the cart before the horse, but now that Bobby’s on board he can’t stop running his mouth. Dean talks excitedly about the online database, and Bobby’s praise, and the sheer joy that comes from knowing he came up with something that’s going to help Bobby’s business stay profitable enough that Bobby can finally start working on his own cars.
“That’s fantastic, Dean.” Cas grins at him, clearing their plates. “You know, if you got Charlie to load it onto a tablet, something portable, I bet that would make it way easier to collect data from the cars in the yard and get the initial database set up. Are you going to do most of that yourself?”
“Well I was thinking I’d do most of the entry from the paper records and then get Ash to fill in the rest. There’s probably some inaccuracies, ‘cause that always happens, so it’d be good to have him go through and add his crazy memory to it. The tablet idea is good, though. I’ll run it by Bobby.” Dean’s been smiling so much today his face is starting to hurt.
“I’m really glad you’re doing something you’re passionate about. It makes me happy.”
“Hey,” Dean says quickly before he loses the nerve. “Come to my parents for Christmas. It’s no big thing. Just mom and dad and me and Sam, but you wouldn’t be alone.”
Cas frowns. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“You wouldn’t be. My mom loves having company, though she’d never admit it. Having someone else to fawn over for a couple days will make her so happy. And you already know Sam. And my dad can be kind of a jerk sometimes but mostly he’s a good guy. And I’ll be there, so if nothing else you get to hang out with me over the holidays. It’s way better than hanging out at home wishing your holiday was something else. Come on. Don’t make me beg.” A darkness falls over Cas’ face, but it’s not one borne of anger.
“Ok fine. Christmas at your parents. I’m still totally going to make you beg though. Just… not about this.” Cas wraps his hand around the back of Dean’s neck and pulls him in close, kissing with fierce passion that stirs a heat in Dean’s belly. “Upstairs, naked and kneeling. I’ll be up in five minutes to show you some really intense gratitude.” Cas slaps his ass as he makes for the stairs. It’s been a good Friday.
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Sam and Dean didn’t grow up in this house. No part of their childhood happened here. There are no deep memories rooted in this house, no pivotal moments that happened in any of these rooms, but none of that seems to matter. With fresh snow on the ground and the lights hanging from the eaves, John and Mary’s home is just as welcoming as any house the brothers knew growing up. The smell of cinnamon and apples permeates the air when they let themselves in, a sure sign that Mary’s in the kitchen, and a CD of Christmas music provides the soundtrack. It’s barely mid-day but already, Dean finds himself thinking about a nap. Or at least a lazy afternoon on the couch, maybe with rum and eggnog. He’ll end up helping Mary in the kitchen at some point, for sure, but it’s definitely a day for relaxation.
Mary descends on them with open arms the moment she realizes they’ve arrived. There’s flour on her face, pie crust half-finished on the counter. She hugs her sons, generally making a fuss as she talks a mile a minute about everything and nothing, and Sam and Dean know well enough to not bother trying to get a word in edgewise until she’s worn out the excitement.
“And you must be Castiel,” she says warmly, stepping past Dean to take in the stranger standing in her kitchen. “Let me get a look at you.” Cas takes his hands out of his pockets and smiles crookedly. He’s only got a few seconds to feel like he’s on display before Mary swoops in to wrap him up in a motherly hug, which he returns earnestly. “I like this one, Dean. He knows how to hug.”
Before Mary can start a game of twenty questions about the new arrival, Dean asserts a desire to drop their stuff off upstairs and maybe take a nap. She nods, already fully involved in making her pie, and waves them off with floury digits. Sam stays in the kitchen to keep her company while Dean and Cas make their way upstairs.
“So there’s only the one bed in the guest bedroom,” he explains, turning the knob and leading Cas inside. “But there’s extra bedding and an inflatable mattress in the closet so I’ll just set that up and you can have the bed.” He drops his bag in the corner, turning to take in the room decorated in soft blues that he knows for a fact his mother chose and his father has no opinion on, and finds Cas staring at him with an eyebrow climbing toward his hairline. “What?”
“You’re going to sleep on the floor.” His voice is so flat it’s not even really a question, just an assertion of how absurd he thinks it sounds.
“Well I don’t know, I just thought…” Dean trails off. He’s not sure what he thought.
“You are out to your parents, aren’t you?” Cas asks, suddenly concerned.
“Yeah. I am. They know I’m… whatever. They know.”
“So what are you worried about? Look, we can share the bed. I promise, no funny business. I’ll be a perfect gentleman.” Cas gives him such an innocent look, all wide eyes and honest smile, that Dean is nearly certain he plans to break that promise as soon as the opportunity presents itself.
“What if I can’t make the same promise?” Dean asks suggestively, moving closer and drawing Cas in with an arm around his waist.
“Then I hope you’re capable of being quieter than you usually are, because your parents’ bedroom isn’t exactly all that far away.” Cas kisses him softly, nipping at his lower lip as he pulls away. “Just for the record, I do have a present here for you, but its misdirection. Your real gift is back at my place. It’s… not family friendly.”
“Well then merry fucking Christmas,” Dean murmurs, leaning in to kiss Cas again. It’s always been his favourite holiday anyway.
When the gifts are all settled beneath the tree and Mary’s pie has been baked and they’re all relaxed on the couch with rum and eggnog, that’s when Dean really starts to relax. At first it’s mildly awkward because there’s this magnetic force pulling him over to lean against Cas’ side and let him drape an arm over Dean’s shoulders, but it doesn’t feel like this is an appropriate situation for that. They’re still side by side on the couch but with a very clear space between them, and as much as Dean wants to close it, the buffer is also welcome. He isn’t prepared for the looks he’d get from John if he did let himself succumb to that desire for comfort, and whatever this is, it’s sure not at that stage. He wouldn’t say anything about it of course. Mary would never let John hear the end of it if he said even one sideways word about Dean curled up on the couch with Cas. Accepting Dean’s sexuality isn’t the same thing as embracing it though, and Dean’s never brought a guy home before anyway and it’s not like this is even the same thing as bringing a guy home for Christmas, not really and… Dean shakes his head to clear the thoughts before he gets too wrapped up in it. This is just Christmas Eve watching a movie. There’s nothing to stress about. He just needs to keep repeating that until he believes it.
Come to think of it, John’s probably not the one Dean should be concerned about. Oh sure, he might glance sideways and there might be unspoken questions on his face at every turn, but Mary’s got that meddlesome kind of curiosity in her looks. Dean catches her smiling knowingly as the end credits on It’s a Wonderful Life roll by, looking away as soon as she realizes Dean sees her looking. Yes. It’s definitely Mary he should be worried about.
Sam’s busy flipping through the channels trying to find another Christmas movie to put on. Dean thinks about suggesting Die Hard but he knows that no one else here shares his opinion that it’s the best Christmas movie ever made, so he keeps it to himself. Sam will probably find the original Christmas Carol or maybe that claymation Rudolph thing. That’ll be tolerable.
“I think we could all use a little something to eat, don’t you boys? Dean, come help me in the kitchen,” Mary announces and disappears out of the room without a backwards glance, leaving no room for objection, and Dean reluctantly leaves the comfort of the couch. He tries not to think about Cas’ quiet smile as he goes.
Mary’s already busy pulling things out of the fridge; cheese and deli meats and pickles and crackers. She always has too much food here on nights like this. Dean sets to work slicing cheese into little cracker sized slices, knowing full well what she’s aiming for and not needing any kind of direction. They do this every year on Christmas Eve. She’ll pull out champagne next, which Dean doesn’t particularly like but hey, tradition. Busy hands make quiet work, so there’s no conversation as they slice and chop and arrange, and the tray of snacks is soon piled high. Dean’s reaching in to the fridge to start putting things back when Mary finally speaks.
“How come you’ve never mentioned Cas before?”
Dean stops, fingers still wrapped around a jar of pickles, caught totally off guard by her question. “Didn’t think there was anything to mention. I don’t talk about all my friends. Glad you guys got to meet him though. He’s a good friend.”
“Are you sure he’s just a friend?” She asks softly. Dean is meticulously careful not to make eye contact as he continues putting things back in the fridge.
“Yeah, he uh… Cas helped me through a rough patch, is all. And now he’s having a bad time, I just need to return the favour.” Dean’s not sure he believes his own words, but he’s entirely convinced that Mary does not.
“You know your father and I just want you to be happy, right?”
“Of course, mom.” Dean pretends he doesn’t know exactly what she means. Mary nods, somehow satisfied with the result of the conversation, and glides gracefully out of the room with a stack of plates and a handful of cutlery.
“He looks at you like you hung the moon, you know. You don’t see it, but he does,” she says quietly over her shoulder before disappearing from view.
Dean shakes his head in her wake. He wouldn’t have to endure any of this if he hadn’t felt such a strong urge to invite Cas along. But then Cas would be back home, spending Christmas in his big house all alone, and when Dean thinks of how he found Cas the day Luke died, it makes him ache. No. Dean will endure an endless barrage of parental meddling if it means Cas gets to spend Christmas warm and snug and surrounded by good people. Anything at all to make Cas happy.