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Dec 28, 2022

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Part Three: Hail the New

Square: Creating New Traditions ~ @spnchristmasbingo

Song: Deck the Halls ~ Nat King Cole

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Nic and Dean hold in feelings as they each try to find common ground regarding the holiday. Sam’s secret is out.

Warnings: Flangst, mild language, canon divergence

Word Count: 3,125

Beta: @wayward-and-worn. Thank you for helping get things on track.🤗😘🤗

Credit: @talesmaniac89 made the gorgeous title card and divider

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful friend, Stacey (@princessmisery666). As you know, this past year has been rough. Your friendship and support through all of it are so greatly appreciated. Love ya!!!❤️❤️❤️

Series Master Post

Dean wakes the next morning to an empty bed.

Last night she’d found him in the library where he was waiting for her. She draped her arms over his shoulders, leaning down to whisper, 'I’m sorry', and kiss his cheek. He’d responded in kind before rising, capturing her hand in his and letting her lead him to their bedroom.

Not long after they’d officially become a couple, she’d made him promise they would never go to bed mad at each other. Said that they had enough bullshit going on in their lives that they didn’t need to bring it into the bedroom. He’d initially thought it was cheesy but had come to appreciate it over the years.

The thought of not falling asleep next to her would always leave him feeling sick. With her lying in his arms, he feels whole. She keeps his inner demons at bay. On the rare occasions they are separated from one another, he usually chooses not to sleep. Instead, he stays up reading, watching movies, or roaming the bunker's cold vacant hallways, his thoughts always landing back on her.

She’s feisty and stubborn, calls him on his bullshit, and takes him down a peg or two when needed. He loves her all the more for it, but when their stubbornness is pitted against each other, it’s like hell on earth. Again.

He doesn’t feel guilty about his reasons for not wanting to do the whole Christmas thing. However, he knows that despite the trials she went through growing up, Nic still enjoys the season, and he does feel guilty for putting a kibosh on her plans, especially after initially agreeing to them. It’s not that he hates the holiday, but as he said, nothing good ever happens to them. Like Nic, he hoped this year might be different, but he can’t seem to ‘get into the spirit’.

Part of their agreement is that if there are things left to discuss, they will address them when they wake up the following day. He knew if he talked to her, she would listen …really listen, not judge him. He just hadn’t found the will to do it yet. Deciding not to let it drag out, he’d opened the way for a discussion as they’d gotten ready for bed.

~~~~

“Are we okay?”

“Of course we are.” She smiled, shimmied out of her jeans, and tossed them in the laundry pile.

“Because, you know, I could explain, for the millionth time, all the reasons why Christmas sucks.” Miracle trotted into the room, and Dean closed the door behind him as the pup settled into his bed.

She’d paused, shirt half unbuttoned, the creamy skin of her thighs bared when she’d thrown her hands in the air, and bit back, “Dean, what’s the issue?”

He bit his lip and tried to steer his wayward thoughts about his head being squeezed between those muscular, gorgeous thighs back to the conversation he’d started. He cleared his throat and shrugged, “I just want to make sure you understand why I don’t want to celebrate.”

“I believe I do, but you know you can talk to me about it, right?”

Dean nodded as she removed her jewelry and placed it on the nightstand. When he didn’t respond further, she continued.

“I know that growing up the way you did that the holidays sucked for you. Mine weren’t always that great, either. I thought, well hoped,” lips briefly pressed together, she yanked the bed covers down, “that since we now have a home and no big bad threat looming, we could try something new.”

He wanted to talk to her and explain the emotions that had been plaguing him the past few weeks. How left behind he felt while she and Sam seemed to be moving forward and navigating their new lives with minimal struggle. Wanted to tell her about the loss of purpose he felt since ‘the family business’ had been relegated to a side hustle. Wanted to let her know that he was ready to start putting himself first once in a while but that he didn’t know where to start. It might not exactly be how he’d envisioned it, but the fairytale he talked about wanting but never believed he would have is coming true, and he doesn’t feel like he has a place in it.

“Dean?”

She popped the last button on her shirt, and he decided that discussion could wait for another time, so he deflected. “I can think of some new things I would prefer to try.” She laughed when he shot finger guns at her. When she snorted, he laughed with her. Once their amusement settled, he reached across the bed. “Seriously, though, we’re good?”

“Yes,” she winked and let her shirt drop to the floor, “we’re good,” then slipped her hand into his.

~~~~

After a couple of rounds of blissful activity, she had asked if he wanted to discuss anything. Curling around her, he assured her that he was fine—he was good.

So much for putting myself first.

He'd told her that he didn’t have anything to talk about, and though he still isn’t ready to have what he is sure will be an intensely charged conversation, it’s a little disconcerting when he finds her pillow vacant and the sheets cold. She rarely leaves the bed before him, and he worries that maybe he has missed something. He aggressively tosses the covers aside, and the sudden movement causes Miracle to sit up, an expectant tilt to his head as he stares from his bed across the room.

“C’mere, buddy,” Dean pats his chest, and the pup scuttles across the floor, hopping onto the bed. Turning his head to avoid a full-face lick, he catches sight of the note propped against the light on his nightstand. He gives Miracle a big hug before reaching over for the folded card.

Flipping it open, he throws his head back with a roar of laughter, reading the first line, ‘You were VERY good!’, causing Miracle to bark and howl in response. The dog pounces around, pulling and twisting the bedding, and Dean takes a moment to calm him before reading the rest of the note.

‘Sorry, I’m not there. Needed to run some errands. I’ll bring back some pie.’

Tilting the small card, he smiles, seeing the shiny imprint of her lips as a signature, and brings it to his nose. The faint aroma of the honey-flavored lip balm she wears dispels the last of his uneasiness.

“Whelp,” Dean sighs, rubbing the top of the shaggy mutt’s head, “looks like it’s you and me again today, boy. What should we do?”

Bored out of his mind, Dean absently flips through channels. It’s a barrage of Christmas movies, holiday cooking shows, and ads hawking cheesy decorations, cheaply made toys, and useless gadgets. Pressing the off button, he tosses the remote onto the table. Miracle lifts his head from Dean’s lap at the disturbance and looks up excitedly.

Running his hand down the dog’s back, he mutters, “I don’t know about you, bud, but this isn’t cutting it.” Since their lives have calmed, the days of idleness are running together into a neverending blur of sloth. He’s not sure how much longer he can handle it before he goes all serial killer.

Looking at his watch, he jolts with concern. It’s almost 3:00, and he still hasn’t heard from Nicole. Donna had texted him a couple of times, asking off-the-wall questions like what his favorite donut was and his preferred choice of toppings. Not random at all, but whatever, he’s always down to talk about food. His phone vibrates as he reaches toward his back pocket, chuckling as the word ‘home’ appears on his screen beneath Nicole’s name as if she read his mind.

“Let’s go see our girl,” he smiles at Miracle, who trots happily next to him out of the room and down the hallway.

Nic is setting bags on the wooden table as he and Sam walk into the kitchen from opposite directions. “Hey, glad you’re both here,” she smiles. “Would you mind getting the rest of the things out of my car while I put the groceries away?”

She turns into his embrace when he grabs her hips, wrapping her arms around his neck, and whispers, “I brought you two pies.”

“Sweet talker,” he smiles into the light peck he plants on her lips. Sam clears his throat, and Dean pulls her closer, intensifying the kiss.

Nic lightly slaps his chest when he finally lets her go. “You just can’t help yourself, can you.”

Wiggling his eyebrows, he teases, “Not when it comes to you.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Raising her own brow, she fixes him with a stern gaze, letting him know that she knows the deeper kiss had been more about annoying Sam than a greeting of affection to her.

With a smirk, he turns to Sam, “C'mon, Sammy. Let’s do as the lady asked.”

As they head out of the room, she laughs to herself, hearing Dean chastise his brother. “Did you hear that? Two pies. Nic NEVER forgets my pie.”

With the brothers helping, the groceries were put away in record time. Setting the last jar of peanut butter in the cupboard, Nic laments, “I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“Well, you bought enough food to feed a pack of wolves, so why don’t I make some sandwiches?”

“That would be wonderful.” She squeezes his ass as she passes behind him. “Thank you.”

“Hey, watch it, Grabby McHandsy.”

Smiling sweetly, she pouts, “I couldn’t help myself.”

“You two make me sick,” Sam huffs, but Dean hears the undertone of amusement and laughs.

As he begins to pull ingredients from the fridge, Nic asks Sam to help her with the rest of the packages on the table.

Carrying a plate of food for each of them, Dean joins them in the library about ten minutes later. Nic pours him a drink as he sets a plate down in front of her. “Who are those for?” he asks, spying the stack of brightly wrapped boxes on the other table.

“Just a few small gifts for family and friends. There’s one for you,” she tosses out and hums between bites, “Best food ever.”

“It’s just a sandwich.” Dean amusedly shakes his head. “You always say that.”

“That’s because it’s always true.” Holding her glass in salute, she cheers, “To the best chef I know. Thank you.”

Setting his plate down, he hands the final one to Sam. Moving to the end of the other table, he sifts through the boxes, looking for one with his name on the tag. Shaking it when he finds it, he asks, “Can I open it?”

“Yep.”

The too-quick response makes him eye her skeptically. “It’s not a gag gift, is it? Nothing’s going to pop out and try to scare me? Cause you know, I don’t scare that easy.”

“Cat,” Sam coughs, trying to hide his smirk behind his hand.

“Yorkie,” Nic mumbles, biting her lip as she turns away.

“Very funny. Two comedians, huh? You do remember that I nearly died, right?” he huffs.

Nic smiles sweetly and pouts, “I do, babe, and I’m thankful every day that you didn’t.”

“Hmph,” he rolls his eyes in annoyance, “whatever.”

“Go ahead. Nothing weird is going to happen.”

Excitedly ripping off the paper, he then places the box on the table to open it. Peeling back the layer of tissue paper inside reveals red and black checked flannel, and he teases, “Are you regifting the shirt you stole from me?”

“Ha! Now, who thinks he’s on Comedy Central.” She pulls out the material and stands, holding the garment up to him.

“Pajama pants?”

“Yeah, I thought they would be fun to wear for-” She cuts herself off, clears her throat, and then grabs an unwrapped box, quickly opening it to show him the contents. “They match mine, and I thought they could be part of a new tradition. They’re soooo soft and will keep us warm on movie nights. But it's not a big deal if you don’t like them.”

Her wide grin and sparkling eyes do a number on his heart, and he can’t help but return her smile as he leans down to kiss her. “Thank you.”

Taking the box from her, he sets it on the table next to his, noticing a name he doesn’t recognize on one of the packages, and asks, “Who’s Stacey?”

“A new friend and Sam’s girlfriend,” she matter-of-factly replies.

Sam chokes, spitting the bite of the sandwich he had just taken back onto his plate, and Nic quickly covers her mouth, trying not to snort as she laughs.

“I knew it!” Dean blurts, pointing a finger and leveling a smug look at his brother before snapping his head back in her direction. “Wait, how did you know?”

“After a post office run a while back, I decided to treat myself to a coffee from the bookstore cafe that I like. I caught sight of Sam through the window as I was crossing the street. He and a curly-haired woman were making lovey-dovey faces at each other.”

Dean snickers when Nic puckers her lips, imitating kissing noises, and Sam huffs that he was doing no such thing.

“Anyway, I knew Sam would clock me the moment I entered, so I came home and waited for him to tell us about her, but he never did. A couple of weeks later, I was in town again to pick up some holiday cheer I had ordered. She was in the cafe, sitting at the same table. I knew Sam was still at the bunker, so I decided to introduce myself. See if I could find out how serious things are and whether I needed to have the ‘don’t hurt my best friend or I’ll have to kill you’ talk with her.”

Sam slumps in his chair, his cheeks almost crimson, and Dean can’t help the proud smile splitting his face. She loves to tease Sam almost as much as he does. Watching his brother’s discomfort grow as Nic continues to speak fills him with wicked glee.

“She was leery of me at first. Thought I might be a jealous ex or a significant other he lied about not having. Once I told her I was in a relationship with his brother, we bonded over having something in common. After all, dating a Winchester isn’t exactly a piece of cake.”

Both men straighten with righteous indignation, but Nic rambles on between bites of Dean’s sandwich that she begins to eat. He opens his mouth to scold her for stealing his food but quickly snaps it shut, reminding himself that she hasn’t eaten since early this morning. He can make another one for himself later. Besides, watching Sam’s flustered irritation is too enjoyable to interrupt.

“She’s a writer …fiction. Good at it, too. She’s let me read some of her stuff. We exchanged numbers and emails and met for coffee several times. I like her. She’s smart, unpretentious, has a sharp sense of humor, and a lovely English accent.” She winks at Sam over the last comment. “We became pretty fast friends, so I invited her to join us on Saturday.”

“What’s going on Saturday?” Dean suspiciously questions.

“The entire family is coming over.”

“The entire family? Wait. Is that why Donna has been texting me about donuts?”

“Yep, Jody and the girls, Donna, Garth, Bess, and the kids.” She chuckles, looking over at Sam, “and Stacey.”

Sam’s shoulders roll, and his chest puffs, but she preempts his bitching. “You know, she believes in the supernatural. I know you haven’t told her what we do, but you might be surprised about how accepting she would be of the facts.”

“Everyone? In my kitchen? Absolutely not!” Dean grouses as he strides around the table, the delight in Sam’s embarrassment shoved from his mind.

“I thought we could have a cookie exchange. Bake some treats? Just spend some time together.“ Nic quickly blocks his exit, placing her hands on his chest. “Look, none of us had a normal childhood. Or anything remotely considered traditional. The good memories are few and far between. It doesn’t have to be a Christmas celebration. We’d be creating our own tradition. We can call it whatever we want. You know, hail the new,” she cheers. “It’s deep-fried dough and piles of sugar. We’ll have pizza and beer. All the things you love!”

Dean inhales sharply, and he’s sure she can feel his heart pounding against his rib cage. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he runs the other through his hair. She’s trying to find a compromise—a way for each of them to enjoy the emotionally charged time of year.

A warm hand cups the side of his jaw. “You don’t have to join us, but I hope you will. Just think about it?”

“Yeah… I can do that.” Pulling her into a hug, he whispers, “Can we talk later?”

Arms wrapped tight around his waist, she nods against his chest, whispering back, “Of course.”

Shoving the emotions back into their designated compartments, he brushes a lock of hair back at her temple, then steps back.

“So what’s in this bag?”

“Shit.” Nic’s hand shoots past his in an attempt to grab the bag’s handle first but ends up knocking the package clear off the table. As their hands grapple to catch it, they both miss, and it lands heavily on the cement floor. The sound of glass shattering fills the space.

Dean’s eyes widen as Miracle rushes over to see what the commotion is about. Nic squats down to grab his collar, “No,” she admonishes him, picking up the bag with her other hand.

Nic looks up at Dean, eyes misted over as she asks, “Will you please take him while I make sure there’s no glass on the floor?”

“What was in the bag?”

“N- nothing.”

“Nico-”

She looks back at the floor and sniffs, “Just take him, please.”

She’s clearly upset about the broken item, but unsure how else to help, he takes hold of the dog’s collar and gently tugs, “C’mon, boy,” taking a few steps away.

After looking over the area, she stands with the bag in hand. Swiping a hand across her cheek, she mumbles, “Floor’s clear; gonna go throw this out,” and practically sprints from the room.

Turning to find that Sam looks as shocked as he feels, Dean asks, “You know what was in there?”

“Not a clue,” Sam shakes his head and shrugs.

Scrubbing a hand down his face, Dean growls, “Son of a bitch.”

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#spnchristmasbingo #creating new traditions #tgwrc: part three #122822

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