You know how I pretty much always write angst and I'm awful at writing fluff? Yeah, well. This fic was one of those where my head whispered don't do it but my heart whispered shh just come. (P.S. Whoever gets the Castiel/Thursday reference can get a thousand cyber cookies. The edible kind. Well, sort of)

Now I think I should probably move onto the story before I embarrass myself even further. Enjoy, hopefully, and as always - your feedback makes me want to squeal with joy (and, uh, put Dean and Cas in more awkward situations)

YES, I started this off with All I Want For Christmas Is You. Shouldn't that warn you already about where this fic is headed? *ducks behind laptop screen*

I don't want a lot for Christmas
There is one thing I need
Don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree
I just want you for my own,
more than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas
Is you

"Sam," Dean says slowly, "I am not sitting on Santa's lap."

Oh god, he thinks, running a hand over his face in despair. He's bringing out the puppy dog face.

"Stop that," he orders his little brother. "You look constipated."

"No, I don't," Sam says with a sharp shake of his head. The bells on his Santa hat jingle with the movement, and a group of girls look over and 'aww' at the sight.

Even though Sam is nineteen.

Well, nineteen with the IQ of Einstein and the maturity of a two year old.

Sam smirks. "I look adorable."

Dean shakes his head in mourning. "I am not related to you," he mutters to himself. "Not related. Not at all." To his left, the group of girls who appear to be so so smitten with his brother, all of them dressed in Santa hats and scanty clothing, are making their way into the line.

Huh.

Maybe there were some perks to this whole Santa thing.

"I still can't believe you dragged me into Santa's Hollow," Dean mutters, just for good measure. He would rather lop of his own hand than admit that he's sort of excited. Not about sitting on Santa's goddamn lap, of course, 'cause that would be so many levels of creepy, but because of all the Christmas lights and carols playing through the loud speakers.

Hey, he may be a grown man, but he's not completely immune to Christmas spirit.

Sam grins, like he knows exactly what Dean's thinking. "C'mon, man," he urges. "Why d'you have to be such a Grinch?"

Dean raises his eyebrows. "That Santa," he says carefully, like his brother is slow – which, come to think of it, yeah, he probably is, "is probably a fifty year old guy looking to get off on nineteen year old girls sitting on his lap."

Sam remains unfazed. "You'll be fine, then," he points out. "Seeing how you're not a nineteen year old girl." Then he pauses, looking at his older brother sceptically. "You're not, are you? 'Cause that'd be totally weird."

Dean punches his brother in the shoulder. "I'm only doing this because Ellen will slaughter me if we come home with you in a pissy mood, okay?" he mumbles. When his brother's face lights up – pathetic, for a man tall and lanky, and, uh, nineteen years old – he feels the need to add, "Bitch."

Sam's smile is so wide that Dean wonders how it doesn't fall off his face altogether. "Jerk."

The girls are still staring at Sam and his adorable little Santa hat – oh God – so they step out of the way to let them go first. "They secretly just want to see you two sitting on Santa's lap," one of them, who introduces herself as Jess, whispers. "The Santa is totally hot this year."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "He is?"

Huh.

Dean could work with that.

Jess's face brightens even more. Dean can't help but notice how Sam looks at her, like she's a chicken bacon deluxe and he's the 900 pound fat guy who's been starved for a week.

"Yep," Jess affirms. "Castiel – that's Mr Hot Shot Santa sitting over there – is a friend of my cousin, and God, he should be a model, not freakin' Santa Claus." She grins. "But hey, I'm not complaining."

Dean looks over to where Santa – Castiel - is smiling at a little girl and handing her a present. From what Dean can tell from beneath the beard and Santa hat, he's tan, a slight stubble spreading across his chin. His eyes are the most remarkable blue, glinting lucidly in the various colours of Christmas lights that hang all around them.

He straightens, looking up, and meets Dean's gaze.

It's a wonder Dean manages to stay standing. It's not like he has weak knees or anything – God, he's not that smitten (yet) – but the pure intensity of Castiel's gaze is staggering. Castiel smiles cheerfully and motions, and that's when Dean realises that it's his turn.

"I can't believe you talked me into this," he mutters to Sam, dragging his feet as his little brother pushes him over to the "Santa Seat" (as the sign so eloquently claims).

Sam is smirking. "You don't seem too disheartened."

The look Dean throws him practically screams I'll get you later.

The kid has the nerve to grin at him and wink.

Dean stops before Castiel and sort of stares, feeling like an idiot. "Man, I can't do this." He shakes his head.

Castiel's answering grin is so mischievous that Dean has the strange feeling it's not the same one he uses on all the little kids. His eyes glint with amusement in the blinking Christmas lights. "You're already here now," he says plaintively, and pats his lap. "Hop on."

Hop on.

Hop on.

Just like that.

Like, 'Hey, here's a butch looking guy with his gay, retarded little brother. Totally normal. Let's entice him with my incredibly sexy smile and tell him to 'Hop on.'

With no other options, Dean, well – he hops on.

"Smile." Castiel shifts them both so they're facing the camera. Dean can feel all the muscles of Castiel's torso pressed against back, and when he should probably be annoyed at the guffawing Sam's doing and paying attention to the click of the camera, all he can think about is how warm Castiel feels against him, so comfortable, like home.

Oh god, if Sam could hear his thoughts right now, he'd give himself an aneurysm from laughing so hard.

If Dean carried on like this, Sam would know, just because Dean would be walking around Santa's freakin' Hollow with a painful hard-on.

"Merry Christmas..." Castiel raises his eyebrows in question.

"Dean," he says awkwardly. You know, since he's still sitting on the guy's lap and all.

Think happy, happy innocent thoughts. Puppies. That's it. Puppies are innocent. Nice, little puppies. Or rainbows.

Except when he thinks of puppies he thinks of wide, adorable eyes, sort of like Castiel's, and then when he thinks of rainbows, he thinks of the way the Christmas lights shine a million different colours in Castiel's eyes and then –

Yeah. Innocent thoughts so aren't working out for him.

But Castiel doesn't seem fazed at all by this. He's reached into his Santa bag and appears to be doing the Heimlich manoeuvre in there or something. "Hold on a sec," Dean hears from inside the Santa bag.

Castiel finally surfaces a couple of seconds later with a box-shaped present, wrapped in bright pink wrapping paper with what seems to be Angelina the Ballerina dancing across it. Dean glares at the side of Castiel's head.

Ugh. Who knew the side of someone's head could be so ridiculously attractive?

Castiel smiles sweetly beneath his fluffy white beard. "Personalised, just for you," he says, handing over the parcel. Dean snorts and accepts it.

"I've always loved that show," he deadpans. "It reminds me so much of my childhood dreams to become a ballerina."

He rushes out of the small hollow, Castiel's laughter lingering long after it ceases.

As soon as he's alone, he opens the present. Inside sits a small figure of a ballerina. Attached to the wrapping paper is a small note:

Merry Christmas, Dean.
May you get everything you want.

Dean lets out a small grumble, tears off the piece of paper, shoves it in his pocket, and throws the wrapping paper in the bin.

If he got everything he wanted, he wouldn't have left that Santa's freakin' Seat in such a hurry.

Actually, he probably wouldn't have left it at all.

ooo

"What is it with you," Dean demands, "and fucking Christmas trees?"

Sam brushes his fingers against the pine needles, looking wonderstruck. "They're so pretty," he whispers.

"Oh my god," Dean mutters. He turns his face heavenward, feeling like he's just walked in on his little brother doing things he'd rather not think about. "How are we even related?"

He feels like it's something he's had to mull over way too often in the past week.

Sam isn't listening. He's too absorbed in eye-fucking the Christmas trees.

A soft laugh comes from behind him.

Dean freezes.

"You don't need to look so terrified," Castiel chuckles. He's not dressed up as Santa today – thank God – but Dean can immediately tell it's him by the clear blue eyes. He looks impossibly attractive in the dim light, dressed in a plain grey t-shirt and black track pants, and a trenchcoat that hangs loosely at his knees.

God, who knew a trenchcoat could be so sexy?

"I don't bite." Then Castiel grins a little. "Much."

Dean wonders if the man is some sort of cruel fiend who knows exactly what to say to make Dean squirm. He hopes not. If so, he's in for a lot worse. "I was just surprised to see you without the sleigh bells," he jokes, watching Sam out the corner of his eye. He's talking avidly to a short, stubby man, with a huge nametag that says CHUCK – they're probably sharing their disturbing love for pine trees.

Sighing, Dean turns back to Castiel and raises his eyebrows. "Christmas trees?"

Castiel laughs. "I'm here with my sister, Ana," he says. "I am not particularly too taken with Christmas trees." He frowns. "Who knew there could be so many options?"

Dean nods in grim agreement. "Tell me about it."

Castiel's grin widens. "And you?"

"I'm here with my idiot of a brother," Dean says with a roll of his eyes. "He has a thing for Christmas trees. God only knows why. We never had any as children."

He'd never tell the kid, but he secretly loves taking Sammy Christmas tree shopping. Not because he particularly fancies it himself, but because he can see how Sam's eyes light up with joy and think about how far they've come since Mum died.

Castiel – Cas, Dean thinks, because he's lazy and it sounds so much more endearing (he couldn't even think about using the nickname aloud though – the guy would probably file a restraining order) – looks perplexed. "You never had a Christmas tree as children?"

Dean shifts uncomfortably. This isn't really a subject he wants to broach with this ridiculously kind – and attractive, let's face it – stranger. He's not exactly proud of his family's choices.

"Our mum died in a house fire when I was a kid and Sammy was just a baby. After she died, my dad was devastated – so devastated he started drinking heavily." He doesn't know why he's telling Cas this, but there's something welcoming about him that makes Dean want to confess all his secrets. "He got fired from work and could barely even support us. The worst part was – he didn't care enough to support us."

Dean feels his face heating up. "So, yeah. We couldn't afford one." He runs a hand through his hair, not meeting the other man's eyes. "Dude, I'm sorry. I don't know why I just told you all that."

Castiel's eyes are warm. "It's my pleasure, Dean," he says, gripping his shoulder gently. Sparks go through him where Cas's hand touches, burning hot and pleasant, heat licking across his skin and lingering long after Castiel's touch is gone.

Like a fucking hormonal teenager, Dean thinks scornfully. You don't even know the guy that well.

"Castiel!" a feminine voice calls. "Stop flirting and tell me what you think of this one."

Cas smiles a little ruefully. "I better go when Her Majesty calls," he says. He turns to go, and then pauses, looking back. "Hey, Dean. Forgive me if I sound upfront – I know we hardly know each other – but you seem like a really good guy. Do you want to grab a coffee sometime next week?" He adds, like Dean might be thinking any different, "As friends, of course."

The hormonal – and, yes, infatuated – teenager inside Dean lets out a whoop of joy. Thankfully, Dean manages to contain himself. "That sounds great." He smiles and shrugs in a poor attempt to look blasé.

Cas's smile is so bright it almost blinds Dean. He slips a pen from his shirt pocket, along with what looks like a Christmas tree brochure, and scribbles something on it. He passes it to Dean. "Thursday, maybe?"

"CASTIEL!"

Cas rolls his eyes at his sister. "Call me," he says, throwing Dean one last grin, and Dean can't help but feel like he's stuck in some cheesy romantic comedy.

Completely sickening. It doesn't make Dean's heart thump loudly in his chest at all. Not one bit.

And if anybody asks, he most definitely doesn't wait until he's in the empty car park and then jump into the air with joy.

Because that would be totally weird.

Totally.

ooo

They go to a small coffee shop down the road from Dean's house, and talk about football and cars and last week's episode of Next Top Model (God, Sam would have a laughing fit over that).

But, most of all, they talk about Christmas.

And what Dean has began to refer to as, ahem, Santa!Cas.

"I did it as a favour for a friend," Cas says shamelessly, grinning. "The real Santa was sick with the flu."

A little kid two booths down whips his head around and gives Cas a horrified look.

Dean laughs so hard that Cas has to throw a glass of water over his head in an attempt to make him stop. And when that doesn't work, the man settles with glaring balefully at Dean.

Dean pretends not to see the small smile working its way onto Cas's lips.

ooo

Cas invites him to a small New Year's party their family's having. What Dean doesn't know is that, by "small New Year's party", he actually means small by the Novak's standards – which, really, isn't small at all. He pulls up in the Impala and makes his way up to the house – a mansion, really – with Sam in tow.

Sammy whistles under his breath. "You sure know how to pick 'em, Dean."

Dean rolls his eyes at his little brother. "I did not pick Cas," he berates. His cheeks suddenly feel a little too hot.

Sam's grin is shameless. "Aren't you glad you sat on Santa's lap, Dean?"

Dean decides not even to gratify that one with an answer.

Castiel is talking to a couple dressed in what is probably Chanel or something equally as horrifying. Dean feels suddenly under-dressed in his leather jacket and old jeans.

When Cas looks over, his eyes lighting up like he's just got the best Christmas present ever when they settle on Dean, his worries are completely forgotten.

The party, despite Dean's earlier concerns, is great. Cas hangs around Dean when he's not being whisked off by some impeccably-dressed friends (who all seem to also have impeccable British accents), and they watch the New Year's celebrations on the TV. Sam spots Jess, the girl from Santa's Hollow, in the crowd, and quickly vanishes from Dean's side.

Subtle, Sammy is not.

Cas is talking to a friend, Balthazar – Balthazar? Seriously? Does Cas have a thing for names or something? – when somebody taps Dean on the shoulder. Balthazar and Cas are both staring at him with raised eyebrows.

"Huh?" Dean says attractively.

Balthazar laughs. "I like him," he says. "Eloquent, good looking, everything you need in a man."

Dean's pretty sure his face is so red he blends in with the tomatoes on the buffet table behind him. "Uh," he says.

Cas, bless him, comes to Dean's rescue. "Stop teasing him, Balthazar," he says scornfully. "Dean's a friend."

Balthazar raises his eyebrows at Cas. "Huh. So if I –"

Dean has no clue what the guy's on about, but Cas seems to know too well. His face darkens instantly. "No," he snaps.

Balthazar seems delighted by this. "I knew it," he says with a grin, and does a strange little dance.

Dean just stands there, not having a clue what's going on.

Cas rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by cheering. They all twist to look at the TV.

The countdown is beginning.

Balthazar excuses himself and shuffles off. Cas turns to Dean and smiles brightly. "So, tell me. Did you get everything you wanted this Christmas?"

5.

"Well," Dean says, pretending to look thoughtful. The alcohol gives him a pleasant buzz, warming him and giving him confidence. "Almost everything." He shrugs helplessly. "There was this one thing though –"

4.

" –I really, really wanted," Dean continues, "but I think it might just be a little unattainable."

What is he saying? What is he doing? Oh, god.

"I'm not sure, though."

3.

Cas grins. "And what's that, exactly?"

Dean grins back. What are you doing? he thinks to himself.

2.

"You." The word's out of his mouth before he can stop it.

1.

Cas's eyes darken pleasantly, and he pulls Dean forward forcefully by the jacket, pressing his lips to Dean's.

Somewhere in the distance, fireworks light up the sky.