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“So we’re just supposed to lie to her?” Castiel asked, dumbfounded.
“Yes, Cas,” Dean replied, trying not to roll his eyes.
“And we’re supposed to be okay with lying to our child for an inevitable amount of time?”
Dean chuckled. “Babe, it’s Santa Claus. Every kid believes in Santa Claus.” Castiel scowled. “Look, we had a deal, remember? We’ll do the little porcelain nativity scene and read her the Christmas story from the Bible every year – remember? – as long as I get to do some of my own traditions.”
Castiel huffed. “It just seems wrong to lie to her like that.”
Dean smiled and pulled Castiel into his side. “I never really got to do the whole Santa thing as a kid, but seeing Sam’s face light up in a crappy motel room when I told him Santa had come was the best part of Christmas.” Dean noticed Castiel’s face was softening from its perpetual scowl. “Please, Cas?”
Castiel let out a long sigh. “I guess if it means that much to you…” Dean grinned and kissed his husband’s cheek. They looked up when they heard Mary crying from the nursery, and Castiel began walking towards her. “Keep making your ‘Santa’ cookies. I’ve got her.”
Dean smiled after his husband. “Make sure you tell her that Santa’s coming!” He laughed when he heard Castiel groaning.
Dean took a bite of one of the overly-frosted, sickly-sweet cookies Mary had let out for Santa, making sure to leave plenty of crumbs on the plate. “So,” he said, looking to Castiel, who was nursing a glass of milk. “Five years of Santa. What’s your verdict? Worth it?” Castiel grinned.
“Totally worth it,” he replied, getting up and taking Mary’s stocking off of the mantle. He filled it with some little toys and candy and a note he had written “from Santa.” Dean plopped down on the couch, and Castiel cuddled up next to him. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”
Dean kissed his husband’s head. “Merry Christmas, Cas.” It wouldn’t be long before a little pair of feet would come running down the stairs, screaming that Santa had come, so Dean and Castiel didn’t say much after that, just enjoyed the quiet moment they had together.
Eventually, though, Mary did come running down the stairs, squealing with delight to see filled stockings from Santa and presents under the tree from her daddies. Castiel got off the couch and handed the little girl her stocking, and her big, brown eyes lit up.
“What did Santa bring you, sweetheart?” Dean asked, moving to sit next to her. He stroked her dark, messy hair out of her face, watching as she dumped the contents of her stocking on the floor.
“Daddy! Papa!” she exclaimed, and Dean pulled Castiel down next to them. “Look! Look! Santa wrote me a letter!”
“He did?” Castiel asked, and Mary nodded excitedly.
“Read it to me, Papa,” she ordered, and Castiel took it from her hands.
“Dear, Mary,” he read, and the little girl grinned. “You’ve been a very good girl this year. Thank you for listening to your daddies like you should—” Dean smiled at that. “And being nice to all the other children at school. This year, I noticed that you took all of your old toys and gave them to other boys and girls who don’t have as much as you do, and, for that, I have an extra special surprise for you. It’s waiting under the tree. Keep being good. Love, Santa Claus.” Dean looked down at Mary, and she looked back up at him.
“Well,” Dean said. “Don’t you want to go see what the surprise is?” Mary nodded and ran to the tree. Castiel helped her pick out the box marked from Santa.
“Open it, baby girl,” Castiel said, handing her the present. Mary sat down and opened it up, face lighting up when she saw what was inside.
“What is it, Mary May?” Dean asked, watching Mary tear away the rest of the wrapping paper. She held it up so Dean could see that it was a collection of fairy tales. “Hey, kid, that’s really cool. Santa must have known that we were running out of stories to read.”
“Yeah, Daddy,” Mary agreed, running over to her father. “Read one to me.”
“Don’t you want to open the rest of your presents?” Castiel asked, moving to sit on the other side of Dean. Mary settled on both of their laps.
“I do,” she said. “But I want to be with my daddies first.” Dean and Castiel smiled at each other before Dean opened the book.
“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured and began. “Once upon a time…”
By night, all the presents had been opened, and every toy thoroughly played with. Sam and his wife, Abigail, had stopped by and were coaxed into staying the night so Mary could play with her cousin. At ten, Castiel carried a sleeping Mary up to her room, and Dean smiled to see she was clutching her new doll to her chest. Dean got Sam and Abigail settled in the guest room, and then Dean and Castiel were left alone in the living room, watching A Christmas Story for the fifth time.
“Merry Christmas, Dean,” Castiel said suddenly, nearly asleep, and Dean leaned down, kissing him softly.
“Merry Christmas, Cas,” he replied.