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for @bend-me-shape-me's SPNAdventCalendar2020. (day 1: advent calendar.)

"Oh my god."

Cas barely turns in time to register what's happening before he has both arms full of warm, excited Dean Winchester, wrapping himself around Cas and squeezing.

The only reason Cas doesn't freeze (or worse, fall) is because that's his husband's happy-voice, and years of living together have acquainted him to the very slight difference between that, and his losing-his-shit voice, even though both involve higher pitches and tactility, that is, more words muffled into Cas's shirt — so instead, he hugs Dean back and waits for him to go on.

"Cas."

"Dean," Cas says, patient. "What is it?"

"The advent calendar!" Dean pulls back, hands moving as he speaks, although Cas keeps his eyes on Dean's. They're practically twinkling. "It's here!"

A slow, smug smile spreads across Cas's lips. Now, he understands.

"The thing you told me was dumb?" He asks, pulling on his straightest face. "Quote, unquote — overpricey and lame?"

"Look." Dean immediately interrupts, defensiveness seeping in as he folds his arms. "That was for advent calendars with tree decorations and keychains. Or heart-shaped chocolates — wait, that's Valentine's — uh, Santa-shaped chocolates. This?"

He pauses dramatically, earning himself an eyeroll.

"This is socks."

Cas smiles broader. "Yes."

"Dumb socks."

"Yes, it is."

Dean looks at him incomprehensibly for a moment, mouth agape, and right before a blush could win over Cas's restrains — embarrassing, by the way, at forty eight, and technically over your husband's appreciation for novelty socks — the same way butterflies already fluttered in his gut, Dean's grabbing him again. And this time, he gets a kiss on his cheek, unhurried and meaningful.

"God, I'm so lucky to have you." Dean mutters, ducking his head to rest on Cas's shoulder as he pulls back.

They've been together many years, been growing old together for most of them, and maybe sometimes, rarely, Cas misses the nerves and adrenaline associated only with firsts — but he wouldn't give up what they have for anything.

Because nothing can be more endearing than charming the romance out of your supposedly 'gruff' husband via socks.

Colorful, ridiculous, debatably (not to Dean) funny socks.

"Who else would handpick puns for you indeed?" Cas teases, tilting his head to rest against Dean's.

"You really did that?" Dean asks, awed.

"You think they just put both cat puns and food jokes into all calendars?" Cas throws back. "The celebration of Earth's original savior might be a festive affair, but it still adheres to rules of business —"

"Capitalism." Dean mutters and Cas stifles a chuckle, although in complete fairness, Dean probably felt it.

"— yes, so they don't just give the good stuff away."

"Yeah. You got to have a husband who'll fight the evil corporations for the best socks of them all." Dean nuzzles, shuffling a little closer. Cas doesn't hold his laughter in this time, holding onto Dean tighter.

"For you? Anyday."

*

And thus, December second begins with Dean pulling on pink-purple-blue striped socks with cartoon bisons all over them (the punchline is inevitably, "look I've got a bi-son!", and Dean laughs at it for a whole minute while Cas is still in the shower) and making his thoughtful, knight-in-shining-armor husband pancakes (which he intends to draw 'XD's on later, with honey, as a tribute to Cas's clearly fantastic sense of humor) and it just goes uphill from there.

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