Could you possibly do another supernatural Christmas fic 😍
“Shit. Shit! Shit!” It’s a good thing the bunker’s kitchen isn’t equipped with fire alarms, Dean thinks, because this place would have been under water five minutes ago.
Dean looks up to see Sam skid to a stop in the doorway, looking bewildered. What the hell happened in here?”
In the heat of frustration, Dean tosses the baking sheet at the counter, and a pan full of little charcoal shapes clatter to the floor. “Nothin’,” he grumbles.
Sam’s eyebrows disappear into his hair as he ventures into the war zone. “Doesn’t look like nothin’.” He bends down, picking up the remnants of what used to be good, and eyes it carefully. “Dean, were you baking Christmas cookies?”
With a huff, Dean runs his fingers through his hair and drops his hands at his sides. He’s covered in flour, and looks impossibly disheveled. “No. Maybe. Shut up.” He reaches for his beer and downs a swig before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Dean…” Sam’s got that voice on. The calm, gentle one he uses when he’s trying to ‘understand.’ It’s fine with people on cases, but Dean hates when it’s used on him. “What’s going on with you? First the tree and the decorations. Now… cookies? You make a demon deal I don’t know about? Your time almost up?”
Dean scoffs. “No, Sam. I just…” He trails off, his eyes going unfocused for a minute. Neither say a word about the Christmas music playing softly through the speakers his iPod is docked to. “It’s all okay this year. I mean, as okay as it can be, y’know? Cas and Mom, and… and Jack…”
“Trying to be a good step-dad?” Sam’s smirking, so very proud of himself.
“Sorry.” Sam holds up his hands in surrender and nods for Dean to continue.
“That may be part of it,” Dean admits with a shrug. “I live my life waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I’m too damn old to pass up the good opportunities when I see ‘em. I got Cas back, you got Eileen back. We’re all one big happy sitcom family, and I want it to be good. For all of us.”
Sam considers Dean’s words, nodding slowly as he seems to mull them over. “I get it,” he says finally, crossing his arms. “But you’ve gotta cut yourself some slack, Dean. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”
“Is everything okay? I thought I smelled fire.” Jack joins them in the kitchen, looking rightfully confused. Cas is just a step or two behind him, looking concerned.
“Everything’s fine. I just burned some food.”
Jack tilts his head, and Dean’s chest tightens. He may not be Cas’s, biologically speaking, but he is so very Cas. It’s one of the biggest reasons Dean had such a hard time dealing with Jack when Cas was dead. Everything the kid did reminded him of Cas, and it was just too goddamn painful.
Now, it’s almost endearing. Okay, it is endearing. And Sam may tease him, but being a surrogate step-dad ain’t half-bad.
Eileen and Mary appear in the doorway, and Dean huffs, his face a deep red. “Great, it’s a party.”
“Jack,” Mary says, sensing the tension, “why don’t you help me finish wrapping those presents?”
Jack, amenable as always, nods with a smile. “Sure.” He follows Mary from the kitchen without hesitation.
Sam claps Dean on her shoulder and nods to Eileen. “And we’re heading out for a while. Text me if you need anything.”
When they’re gone, Dean and Cas are left alone in the kitchen, amid the remnants of Dean’s cookie massacre. “Dean,” Cas says, moving in closer. In the privacy their allowed, Cas’s hands settle on Dean’s hips. “Are you alright?”
Dean sighs, feeling a calm wash over him when he meets Cas’s eyes. It never fails to have that effect on him. “I’m fine, Cas.” Cas tilts his head, and Dean swallows. “I guess… I guess I’m just trying to make up for lost time or make up for being an asshole. It’s the first Christmas I get where everyone’s alive and I’m actually happy,” he drops his voice to a whisper, like it’s a secret the universe isn’t privy to, “And I just wanna make it good.”
“Dean,” Cas says, lifting his hands to Dean’s face. “I’m not that well-versed in human traditions, but I know that you don’t need to go to this much trouble to make this Christmas a good one. Everyone you love and who loves you is here, together, well, and happy. Isn’t that what holidays should be about?”
Dean holds Cas’s gaze for a moment before nodding. “You’re right. You…” He sighs, and feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest. “You’re right, Cas.” In lieu of more words, he leans in and captures Cas’s lips in a gentle kiss. When he pulls back, he grins, wiping away the flour that had transferred to Cas’s face.
“Think you can help mojo this place clean?”
At that, Cas laughs and steps out of Dean’s grasp. “That, I know, is a human tradition. You made the mess, you clean it.” He winks, terribly, and leaves the kitchen.
“Yeah, yeah, Merry friggin’ Christmas,” he grumbles, assessing the damage around him. He nods, a smile tugging at his lips. Cas was right. He has everything and everyone and there’s no imminent danger. To ask for anything more would be greedy. “Merry friggin’ Christmas.”
