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Dean awoke to bells clinking and music filling the halls of the bunker. His mind was sent into a flurry of questions upon realizing it was Christmas music. Anyone else would have expected it, what with the twenty-fifth only a week away but Dean wasn’t anyone else. The joy of the season ran off his back like water on oil and frankly, it made him feel guilty. Did other people brace themselves for holidays as he did? Were they something to be ignored and avoided at all costs? As ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ lilted, muffled, through the walls, he could feel panic heavy on his chest, and buried memories filled his mind. Shame enveloped him.
Mary had always tried her best to make the season cozy and fun but, when the turkey came out burnt, or the yams seasoned incorrectly, screaming always ensued. Every little thing left him waiting for the other shoe to drop. Receiving gifts felt like stealing from his parents, when they had only a few hundred saved up. Fear. Guilt. Shame. Those we're words that came to mind surrounding Christmas. After his mothers’ death, the day was never mentioned. The only signifier anything was different was that John would take the night off from hunting, instead coming home in the early hours of the morning, a mix between weepy-drunk and angry-drunk. He'd be slurring his words and smelling of what may have been flowers but left a chemical taste in the back of your throat.
By the time John died, it seemed pointless to start any kind of tradition. He and Sam weren’t kids anymore - it seemed like they'd missed out on those years and could never get them back. Besides, neither of them really wanted to celebrate it anyway, not in any way that was meaningful. So they marked the day half-heartedly, over a bottle of Jack Daniels - or sometimes something cinnamon, which Dean claimed was textbook Christmas. Gas stations, as it turns out, don't have the greatest selection for presents, but they'd try their best. Sam went through a phase of collecting magnets, then bottle caps, then license plates. Dean remembered the cheap gift idea and the suspenseful task of unscrewing the coolest looking plates from a stranger's car. Dean thought back, trying to remember a Christmas that had left him feeling anything but defective. A day that felt 'normal'. He couldn’t find one. Sure, the brother's had had some good times, but never a sincerely good Christmas.
Dragging his hands down his face he took a deep breath. Slowly he let himself breathe out. Maybe this year will be different, he thought to himself. It was already off to an unusual start. He’d never been awoken by Christmas music before and somewhere beneath the anxiety, there was hope. He hoped he could enjoy things like this. That he was even able. Slowly, as the years of self-destruction started catching up with him, he had begun to allow himself to try things that previously had seemed like they were only attainable for normal people. For undamaged people. Maybe Christmas was just the next on the list.
A knock rattled against his door.
“Come in,” he grumbled, his voice dry from sleep. Though never the morning person, today, he wanted to appear less like a total grump.
Pajama clad and smiling in a way that could only be described as chipper, Sam peeked inside. A santa hat atop his disheveled hair.
“Good, you’re up. They wanted to wait for you to decorate the tree.”
“You tell ‘em I'd rather take a vamp nest solo?” Nice one, he thought to himself, wincing at how predictable he was even to himself.
“Not in those exact words but…” Sam gave an uncertain half-smile. Testing the waters, he tried, “Jack’s really excited.”
Dean gave a hum of acknowledgment. He wanted to do right by the kid. Give him something like a childhood. He deserved better than he was drafted. Better than the fates decided. Better than either Winchester had got.
“Cas' excited too.” Sam continued.
Dean smiled sadly inwardly to himself. For them, he would try. For them, he would brave this. Maybe he deserved better too.
He had to admit the smell of freshly baked cookies and pine were an interesting combination. Making his way toward the war room, the gradually increasing volume of 'All I want for Christmas is You' certainly added to the festivity.
"Dean!" Jack cried, beaming as he rushed over, enveloping the older man in a hug.
"Hey buddy," Dean fluffed his hair and surveyed the room around him.
"Cas and I baked cookies and I got flour all over myself but we have these matching aprons," he gestured to what he was wearing, "and Sam put those cool lights way up on the balcony and-"
The half-angel was bursting with all the excitement of a child on christmas morning, waving his arms around to point at all the decorations so far.
"Someone had too much sugar," Dean laughed, though he worried for the sugar crash that awaited. "Where'd all this stuff come from?"
"In one of the storage rooms I've been sorting through," Sam said. "I found it a few weeks back, perfect timing."
"The men of letters must of thrown some kick-ass Christmas parties!" Dean remarked.
Finishing up with the stockings, Castiel began weaving his way through boxes of ornaments and lights. Barely catching a plate of cookies - left balancing precariously - after his elbow knocked it off-kilter.
"How'd you like it, Dean?" He sounded tired as often he did, his deep monotone voice not helping in that department, but today his eyes looked brighter.
"It's looking good." Dean liked seeing that spark in Cas' eyes so he pushed harder to sound like the bright lights and cheery music brought only positive reminiscence.
Cas squinted his eyes, seeing through Dean's deception. Dean smirked back in reply. He nodded toward Jack who was now - with the help of Sam - picking out his favourite ornaments.
"Thank you." Cas conceded. "He needed this."
"After the year we've had, we could all use some r&r."
"Dean, you don't have to do this. I know that Christmas was a difficult part of your childhood."
"And that's why I have to do this, Cas." He confessed, lowering his voice. "I can't keep running from my fucked up life."
"Okay." The angel held Dean's gaze, in that look he conveyed all that words couldn't - that he'd be here for him through this and whatever else was to come.
"And anyway, how can you reach the top of the tree without me," He joked loud enough for Jack to hear him.
"Is it time for the tree!"
"It is!" Dean declared.
"I'm like 6 inches taller than you, dude." Sam teased.
"Sorry Sammy, little brothers are always shorter. Can't help ya there."
Decorating was a constant game of balancing Jacks' over-eager front baubles with structurally necessary ones on the backside of the tree. Lights were tangled and untangled before being laced within the branches. At some point, Sam sprawled out on the floor and was now inspecting a trinket that appeared much older than the rest. Castiel had been sewing popcorn together to form Garland and it had finally attracted Jack's attention.
"Can I help, Cas?" He seemed fascinated by the process.
"I'll get the first aid kit,". Dean mumbled, heading into another room. Needles are unforgiving teachers. He knew from learning to repair his and Sam's clothes growing up.
Then, at last, it was time to crown the tree.
"I have the perfect thing," Jack beamed. He rummaged around inside one of the smaller boxes. Delicately, he removed a white and gold angel, holding it up for the three to see.
"Hah!" Dean gave a heartfelt chuckle. He was exhausted from the day but thankful for it and for the people in his life. "Awesome."
After Dean's height comment, Sam jokingly refused to top the tree, staying sprawled across the rug and allowing his brother to struggle. Eventually, on tip-toes and with arms stretched fully, Dean gently balanced the angel.
Stepping back to admire his work, he was met with a bear hug from Jack. Keeping his arm around the kid, and with Cas by his side, they took in the scene around them. The lights, glitter, and shapes were garish, but considering it was the creation an angel, a Nephilim and two amazing screwed-up brothers, it was beautiful.
Dean realized, maybe he didn't hate Christmas, he'd just never truly experienced it. He hated the conflict. The polarizing happiness that always seemed to contrast his own misery. But this, being with the family he chose, was definitely something special. Maybe he didn't need to feel normal, but instead loved. To care and be cared for. And that, he could stand to suffer through a little more.
"Hey kid, you wanna make gingerbread houses tomorrow?" He grinned.