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Dean didn’t know where Cas’s obsession with gardening was coming from. Dean liked that Cas had found a hobby, now that he was full human for good and that even the hunting had slowed down, but this was way past obsession and bordering on mania.
Cas went gardening first thing in the morning, and was out there until the sun set.
Dean still got to see him at night—and during winter the nights were long here, so that was still enough time together as far as he was concerned. (Especially because time spent with Cas during the night was always awesome.)
And also, what was that about gardening in the winter? Dean wasn’t a specialist, but he’d always thought gardening was more of a spring or summer activity.
And maybe, all in all, the most bizarre thing about the whole situation might be that Cas actually came back from his gardening every day with a bucketful of produce. Except it was not any produce. Cas didn’t bring back potatoes or leaks or turnips. Cas brought one thing and one thing only: ginger.
Why? How? Dean didn’t have the answer to any of these questions. When he broached the subject, Cas usually answered vaguely and found a way to distract Dean completely. It always worked because Cas’s distracting him always meant sexy times were afoot, and frankly, Dean didn’t care enough about this ginger thing to insist on it anyways.
Except there was someone else in the bunker who was not as insouciant as Dean about the heaps of ginger piling up in their pantry.
“You need to do something about this, Dean,” Sam said one morning, ambushing Dean on his way to the coffee machine. How Sam ever thought this could be okay might be a failing of Dean’s raising him, but it still was unacceptable.
Except Sam’s plan had worked because Dean wasn’t awake enough to be outraged.
“What are you going to do with all this ginger, Dean?” Sam went on, because the scoundrel knew he had the upper hand.
“I dunno. Ginger ale?” Dean grunted more than talked.
“Do you even know how to make ginger ale, Dean?” Sam insisted, keeping on his nagging.
“No, but I’ll look it up. Isn’t that what the Internet is for?” Dean answered much more eloquently than he’d thought possible.
“I thought the internet was for porn?”
“That is a very insensitive thing to say, Sam. You know I’m with Cas, now. I’m very disappointed to know that you—”
“Because you no longer watch porn, do you? Not at all?” Sam interrupted, his tone and smile way too mocking for that early in the morning. This boy had lost all and any respect for his elders.
Dean didn’t dignify Sam with an answer. First, because this was coffee-drinking time now and talking-to-Sam time was over. Second, because Dean wasn’t sure Sam would forgive him for telling him the multiple ways he and Cas had found to integrate porn into their sex life.
While this early-morning conversation with Sam had only been a blip on Dean’s radar, it seemed that to Sam, it’d been equivalent to Dean swearing on their dad’s grave that he was going to find something to do with the ginger.
So Dean did end up learning how to brew ginger ale, but because Jack insisted on it, Dean also learned how to bake gingerbread.
Except, it turned out that, despite its name, actual edible gingerbread didn’t have that much ginger in it, and the first few batches that Dean produced turned out…maybe bad wasn’t the word, but good wasn’t it either.
So what could Dean do with all this inedible gingerbread on hand and Christmas fast approaching?
The answer was a bit too hallmark-movie for Dean, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t true. For the next several days, whilst Cas spent all day long gardening outside, Dean reached his highs of productivity by building a bona fide gingerbread house. Or, rather: building a replica of the bunker using gingerbread.
Jack participated, and Sam too, and even some of the Apocalyptic-world hunters would lend a hand when they stopped by between hunts.
By the time Christmas rolled around, they had the whole bunker—inside-out, garage and Dean’s fortress of Dean-itude included—and even little ginger-men and women representing every member of the family. Dean was particularly proud of the little trench coat he’d fashioned out of ginger leaf for little ginger-Cas.
When Dean showed his masterpiece to Cas, a few nights before Christmas, he expected a few things: Cas smiling, Cas laughing, Cas mocking the little bacon cheeseburger Dean had crafted and lovingly settled in front of ginger-Dean, Cas kissing Dean and wanting to congratulate him in other, more athletic ways.
What Dean didn’t expect was Cas literally tearing up. Dean was genuinely distressed by Cas’s reaction and had no idea what he could do to comfort him. So he did what he could: he took Cas in his arms, and gently stroked his back whilst dropping soft kisses on his forehead.
“What’s wrong, Cas? I thought you would like it? And it’s all thanks to you too. I would never have done any of this if it hadn’t been for your ginger.”
“There is something I need to tell you, Dean,” Cas finally said once he’d finished sniffling.
Dean was suddenly gripped by the real fear that this was Cas breaking up with him. Cas telling him life in the bunker with him had been nice for a while but this whole garden thing had nothing to do with vegetables and all to do with Cas wanting space away from Dean.
Except Cas was still tight in Dean’s arms, his fingers stroking the back of Dean’s neck rhythmically, and Dean had matured a lot ever since he’d started this thing with Cas. He’d learned to trust Cas’s feelings for him, and he knew Cas wouldn’t leave him this way. He knew that for all of the times he did it in the past, there had been none when he hadn’t wanted to stay.
So Dean didn’t go into panic mode, but instead let Cas talk.
“All that time I spent in the garden,” Cas said, “I didn’t know how to tell you, but I discovered that when I am close to the earth, I can find some grace left inside of me. I was trying to use it to make seasonal plants grow: mistletoe and holy and pine branches, but all I was able to produce was ginger! I was trying so hard because I wanted this first Christmas together, this first Christmas with no threat hanging over our heads to be festive, but I just failed. And while I sunk deeper in my failure, you did everything by yourself, all of this! I thought I could find a way to be useful again, but I cannot help but disappoint, again and again.”
“What? No!” Dean protested as soon as Cas had finished his lament. “This, all of this, was thanks to you! You were the spark that started it all, and I don’t need you to be useful, I need you for you. I want you by my side, grace or no grace. Do you really think there is anything at this point that could change my mind? After all we lived through?”
Cas nodded slowly, then smiled one of his private smiles that Dean was sure was meant only for him, and kissed Dean. His lips were still a bit wet from his tears, but Dean knew that everything would be alright.
When he looked at it closer, Cas was even the only one to notice the little ginger-garden Dean had recreated on the side of his ginger-bunker.
What no one noticed though, was how, the following night, imbued with the little tendrils of Cas’s grace that had produced the ginger, ginger-Cas and ginger-Dean found their way, through a ginger-kitchen and a ginger-library, and inside each other’s arms.