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darkshrimpemotions · 3 years

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For @starrynightdeancas because we decided to be feral about Destiel and Halloween this evening. Have some unabashed autumnal fluff, bestie!

---

Last year, Dean didn’t really get to celebrate any holidays.

Which isn’t different from most years, but that’s not the point.

The point is that last year the world was ending and God hated him. And then Cas was gone and the world was empty and Jack became God and they won. They won, but everything still felt broken.

And then he got Cas back, and Jack came home, and Dean asked Cas to marry him, forcing poor Sam to plan a wedding with less than three weeks’ notice. Sam still hasn’t quite forgiven him for that one, even if he got him back a month later.

The point is that they’re finally all together, and safe, and a family again. The point is that Dean Winchester has a lot to celebrate, and he’s going to take every opportunity he can get to do it. He has four decades of missed holidays to make up for, after all.

So he starts with a vacation rental, out in a quaint little town that treats Halloween like a religion all its own. There’s an apple orchard and a pumpkin farm and a corn maze all within a five-mile radius, they do bonfires and hayrides and there’s an apple festival at the farmer’s market every October. The county fair is only a half-hour drive away and everything starts turning red and gold on the first day of September, like clockwork.

Or magic, maybe, but Dean hasn’t found any reports of missing persons to hint at foul play or human sacrifice, so he’s not going to poke at it.

He pulls the Impala around to the back of the house where she can shelter under the overhang and not get coated in pollen and pine needles and fallen crab apples from the nearby trees. He wakes Cas with a kiss to the forehead and a whispered “we’re here, Sunshine, wake up,” and leads his sleepy husband in through the side door that leads into the kitchen.

It’s bright and cheery, apple chutney curtains and late afternoon sunlight streaming in from the window over the sink, a basket of apples and pears in the center of the island along with a welcome note from the owner. Cas smiles softly at Dean’s excitement as he explores the cabinets and appliances, then follows him out to retrieve their bags.

Sam and Eileen will be here tomorrow with Jack, and Claire is coming with Kaia after she finishes a small job up in Seattle; a vampire coven that needs help relocating to a more remote area with greater wildlife options for feeding. They might swing by Sioux Falls on the way and pick up Alex and Patience, maybe talk Jody and Donna into coming, too, depending on what they both have going on.

It’s going to be a solid week of family time, and Dean can’t wait.

They spend the evening settling in, picking out which of the five bedrooms should be theirs and unpacking their things. By the time Dean hangs up the last of his thick fall flannels in the closet next to Castiel’s soft t-shirts and sweaters, he’s starving. But instead of breaking in the kitchen, he finds Cas exploring the bookshelves in the living room and wraps himself around him, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck.

“Hey sweetheart. Wanna go explore the town? Get somethin’ to eat? I hear the town square has this great little mom and pop place with a whole PB & J dessert menu. A whole menu, Cas!”

Castiel turns in his arms and grins, pressing a kiss to his nose that makes Dean’s eyes cross. He laughs.

“Yes, let’s go investigate this PB & J dessert menu,” he says solemnly, but the grin he’s still sporting belies the seriousness of his tone.

They head into town for dinner and find the place easily, as it’s the only restaurant in the square. It’s called The Attic, and it shares the area with the post office, a hair salon, a little country church, a coffee shop, and a small art gallery. The hostess--nametag says Pearl, a cheery, rosy-cheeked woman in her mid-60s with voluminous curly silver hair sprayed into stiff formation--leads them to a table immediately despite the entire place being full. It’s charming, with bare wooden floors painted white and the walls hung with local knick-knacks, art and memorabilia.

There are delicately crocheted doilies someone’s grandmother probably made, still pristine under glass in their frames. Shadowboxes showing off hand-made dolls with dainty dresses and button eyes. Hand-painted signage sporting old street names and farm signs. Hammered tin watering cans and flour sifters and such. Embroidery samplers made by children of various skill levels and enthusiasm, many of them making their displeasure known via the work itself.

The one nearest Dean’s head when he sits down reads, in very crooked letters, “Jamie Addison HATES Embroidery.” Dean chuckles as he settles into his chair across from Cas, arms folded in front of him on the apple-patterned tablecloth. The table itself was, he suspects, a very large barrel in its former life.

“Y’all new to the area?” Pearl says as she pulls a notepad and pencil from an apron pocket. Apparently she’s doing double-duty as hostess and waitress tonight.

“Just today. Settled in over on Cider Creek Lane,” Dean tells her, offering one of his most winning smiles. She returns it, but with a quirk of one eyebrow that lets him know she’s seen cheeky, pretty men before and knows better than to pay them any mind.

“It’s a nice place,” Pearl tells them. “Little bit old fashioned, but you pay that no mind. People here mean well. You ever need anything, you just let me know.” Dean nods his thanks, a little baffled until he clocks the way her eyes linger on their ring fingers. He looks down at the tablecloth, blushing and trying to hide his grin.

He feels like he’s been married to Cas for years. But it’s still new to him when other people notice.

“Thank you,” Castiel tells her sincerely, drawing Dean back to the present. “And I know this is out of order, but could we see your dessert menu? I’ve heard you have peanut butter and jelly-flavored...things.” He sounds excited at the prospect.

Pearl laughs at this, tucking her pad and pencil away again.

“Sure thing honey. Tell you what. Y’all just sit tight, and I’ll get you everything you need. On the house.”

Dean tries to protest, but Pearl waves him off.

“Y’all are guests here! Call it the welcome wagon. I’ll take care of everything.” And before he has a chance to say anything else, she’s gone, weaving through the crowded tables with practiced ease.

“Well...this should be interesting,” Dean says, shaking his head. But Cas just reaches out and twines their fingers together, a small smile on his face.

“It’ll be fine, Dean. Let people do nice things for you. You deserve them.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, but he presses a kiss to Cas’s ring finger and settles back in his seat, content to wait and see what Pearl has in store for the two of them.

What she has in store, as it turns out, is more food than Dean and Cas could possibly eat in one sitting, or possibly in three. Within ten minutes she’s back, accompanied by a stocky man around Dean’s age with a farmer’s tan and his arms full of dishes. Together they load up the table with ham, some kind of casserole that actually looks amazing, a bowl full of cooked greens that somehow smell like bacon, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and a tiered tray covered in all manner of PB & J-themed desserts: tartlets, blondies, donuts, cheesecake, regular cake. There’s even a peanut butter and jelly pie in there, though Dean’s not sure if he’s impressed or offended by the very idea.

He stares wide-eyed across the table at Cas, wondering how they’re going to possibly eat all of this.

Cas’s eyes, however, are glued on the PB & J donuts.

“Go on,” Pearl says encouragingly, hands clasped. “Give one a try. You’ll never want a plain old jelly donut again!”

Cas gingerly picks one of the sugar-coated rounds up with two fingers, examining it from all sides before taking a tentative bite. His eyes light up immediately, and Dean makes a mental note to add PB & J donuts to his to-learn recipe list.

“This...is very good,” Castiel says, eyes wide with wonder. Pearl beams at him.

Over an hour later, and after attempting one more time to actually pay for their meal and being refused, Dean and Castiel practically waddle out to the Impala. Dean settles into the driver’s seat with a sigh, pleasantly full and more than a little sleepy. Cas foregoes his seat belt in favor of sliding across to curl into Dean’s side, head pillowed on his shoulder.

“That was a very nice dinner. And a very nice lady. It’s nice here,” Cas murmurs, with all the coherence of the imminently food-comatose. Dean chuckles and slides an arm around his waist. The drive back to the house is slow and careful, Dean steering with only one hand, but he wouldn’t ask Cas to move for anything in the world.

They go straight to bed when they arrive, barely bothering to fully undress. Dean falls asleep with his arms full of Cas, dark hair tickling his cheek, and thinks this is the best idea he’s had in a long time.

---

The next day the family arrives, and peace gives way to chaos as Dean’s inner holiday demon takes over.

Jack went with Claire and Kaia out to the corn maze. Dean made Claire promise not to go scaring Jack on purpose, and Claire rolled her eyes and called him a buzzkill, but Kaia squeezed her arm and let Dean know she’d keep an eye on him. He’s still pretty powerful, and Dean’s sure he can’t really be hurt per se, but he also wants Jack’s first real Halloween to be about fun. Not fear. He’s had enough fear to last him a lifetime.

Also, he’s not sure Claire would react well to, say, Jack accidentally turning her into a black cat or something because she played an ill-timed prank. He’s maybe regretting letting the kid watch Hocus Pocus so many times. The books in the bunker library keep sprouting eyes.

Sam is on decoration duty, supervised by Eileen. She let him know immediately not to expect special treatment just because they’re married, much to Dean’s delight. So they’re in the front yard artfully arranging hay bales and pumpkins and ribbons in red, orange, yellow, and brown, Alex and Patience are off at the farmer’s market-slash-apple festival, and Dean is in the kitchen juggling the baking of three different pies.

He found himself alone after he snippily informed Cas that yes, apple, pumpkin, and pecan were all essential. They couldn’t simply leave one out to make things easier. He’s feeling a bit bad about that when Cas comes back in, apron on and sleeves rolled up. Dean presses a kiss to his angel’s cheek immediately.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“I’m with you, and our family is here,” Cas says, turning to brush his lips against Dean’s. “It’s already perfect.”

“Yeah yeah okay. You big sap. Help me core these apples. This batch doesn’t need to be peeled, it’s all goin’ in the cider.”

When they’re finally all back and it’s time for dinner, they load up their plates separately and eat outside around the bonfire Dean had Sam build once he was done with the decorations. Dean basks in the sounds of his family chattering and eating and teasing each other, the warmth from the fire melting into him and chasing away the chill from the cool autumn night. Dean thinks, looking around at his family’s faces bathed in the light of a fire that signals no one’s funeral, that this might be the happiest he’s ever been.

---

The rest of the week is a whirlwind of apple picking, hayrides, a not-really-haunted haunted house, Dean and Cas’s own trip to the corn maze and pumpkin farm, spooky movies (after Jack’s gone to bed, and mostly so Eileen can enjoy Sam hiding his face in her hair during the really gory parts), and family dinners.

They figure out pretty quickly--because some things are just hard to turn off after a lifetime of training--that this town really loves Halloween even more than advertised, and that yeah, the perfect weather is definitely the work of a witch, specifically a greenwitch named Attie Harkins. But she does it with herbs and sheer force of will, so who cares? Not Dean. Sam cares, but only insofar as he wants to ask her a billion nerdy questions about her practice.

She also makes incredible oatmeal-raisin cookies, and accepts a jug of Dean’s homemade apple cider in return for a batch he can take home.

Pearl sees them several more times, both for dinner on the couple of nights when they’re all too tired to cook and in the morning when Dean comes in to get Cas a PB & J croissant for breakfast.

By the end of the week Dean is exhausted, his cheeks are wind-burned, and he never wants to leave.

Which is good, he thinks (or hopes), because...

“So Cas,” Dean says on what’s supposed to be their last night in the house on Cider Creek Lane. Dinner is over, Jack and the girls have all turned in, Cas is sipping cider next to him, and Sam and Eileen are toasting marshmallows for s’mores, absorbed in their own conversation. “You have fun this week? You like it here?”

“Mmm, Cas hums contentedly, a blanket draped loosely over his shoulders and his face tipped back to the warmth of the low-burning fire. “I did have fun. I think I could stay here forever.”

“Uh...good. That’s good,” Dean says, suddenly nervous. “‘Cause uh...I kinda bought it.”

Cas’s eyes snap open and he turns toward Dean so fast he spills a little bit of his cider.

“You what?”

Dean flushes, rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding Cas’s eyes as he tries to explain.

“The previous owner was really old, she moved in with her kids and she’s been renting it out, but she said it’s a lot of work and more trouble than it’s worth. I asked her if she ever thought of sellin’, and she said to make her an offer. So...I did.” Cas doesn’t say anything, just blinks at him, so Dean hurries on.

“I figured if you don’t want to live here all the time, we could still come here in the fall. Make it a spot for hunters passing through to stay, so long as they leave poor old Attie alone. I just. The bunker is great but you don’t get any sunlight down there, and I know you love plants and bees and we don’t really get any of that livin’ underground. I know it’s kinda far from Lebanon but we could still make the drive to visit Sam and Eileen, and Jack doesn’t really get many chances to hang out with kids his age out there, so I just thought--”

Castiel finally decides to take pity on him and cuts off his rambling with a sweet kiss.

“Dean,” he says, his eyes shining. “I would love to live here with you. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Well,” Dean says, smiling wryly. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to live with.” In the bunker there are Sam and Eileen, and an endlessly rotating door of hunters and supernatural folk. It makes for quite the buffer, and Dean has often wondered if that’s the only reason they work. Castiel knows he’s wondered this, and decides that’s something to unpack later. Or demonstrate to be false over time, perhaps.

“You do snore,” He says, voice thoughtful.

“Hey!”

Castiel abandons his seat and his mug of cider completely in favor of joining Dean in his, wrapping the blanket around them both and leaning over to cup Dean’s face in his hands and kiss him breathless.

“I love you,” he says softly, lips just brushing Dean’s with every word.

“Love you,” Dean returns, looking as wonderstruck as the first time Castiel ever said those words, with none of the pain that moment held. He doesn’t say it as often as Castiel, but Dean has never been one to express himself with words. There is love in every moment between them regardless, in the way Dean’s hands settle warmly against Castiel’s back, in the way he tilts his head to brush their noses together just to see the way it makes Castiel smile.

It’s in the PB & J donuts and croissants and crepes that mysteriously show up on the kitchen table before Castiel wakes up every morning, in the way Dean hates the whole world before he’s had at least two cups of coffee but he still wraps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and presses a kiss to his temple every morning, grumpy bear face not budging an inch. There is love in the way Dean is so carefully rebuilding his relationship with their son, making sure Jack feels safe and welcome and loved, that he knows he’s part of the family and nothing will ever change that.

And now, just now. When he looks up at Castiel, sharing a chair by the fire in the back yard of their new home--the home Dean found for them because he picked up not on any true unhappiness, but just on the little things Castiel wistfully thought about sometimes: a garden. Sunlight on his skin in the morning. A community, somewhere Jack could make some friends.

Castiel has no idea how he missed it for so many years. There is love in his eyes, and it’s been there all along.

And Castiel thinks, as he leans in for another kiss, that a year ago he was so wrong. The happiness of being is real but it’s lonely, too. The happiness of having is shared, and in being shared it doubles day to day.

Castiel has never been happier in his life than he is in this simple, quiet moment. And he knows that tomorrow he’ll see Dean making coffee, or smile at him and see it returned easily, or watch Dean showing Jack how to check the Impala’s oil levels, or be curled up with a book knowing Dean is somewhere else in the house, experimenting in the kitchen or working on the car or listening to music. Or he’ll roll over in the night and find Dean’s skin under his hands, Dean’s arms drawing him in, Dean’s lips against his.

There will be another moment of peace after this one, and another, and another. And each time he’ll think the same thing: I’ve never been happier than I am right now.

And every time, it will still be true.

#supernatural #destiel #fanfiction #my writing #halloween #autumn #falloween #starrynightdeancas #shameless fluff #literally this may be the fluffiest thing i've ever written in my entire life #i have no regrets #deancas #destiel fluff #deancas fluff #destiel fic #deancas fic #flufftober #is that a thing? that should be a thing

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