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The thick red envelope, addressed to Castiel, Angel of the Lord, arrived in the post office box in Lebanon on December 5th. According to the return address, someone named River Ellis had sent it from Evanston, Illinois.
Dean inspected the envelope for a while, turning it over in his hands and holding it up to the light. He didn’t remember meeting anyone named River in Illinois, and it wouldn’t be the first time one of their enemies had used a pseudonym to send them something dastardly in the mail. As far as he could tell, though, it was just a standard envelope with a card inside, so he closed the P.O. box, gathered up the mail, and hurried back through the snow to where the Impala was parked at the end of the block.
On the short drive home, Dean kept glancing at the envelope on the passenger seat. Who was this person, and how did he know Castiel? More to the point, how did he know Castiel was an angel? The fact that this “River” knew Castiel’s true nature and was sending him cards in expensive-looking red envelopes made Dean feel a twinge of jealousy. They clearly had some kind of past together.
Once he got back into the bunker’s garage and killed the engine, Dean considered ripping open the envelope to read the card inside. He could pretend that he hadn’t seen the front and had just assumed the card was for him. Castiel almost never received mail, after all. He stroked his thumb over the envelope’s flap, considering.
A few seconds passed before Dean sighed and stuck the letters into one of the grocery bags. He was being ridiculous. Castiel was the love of his life, and vice versa. Even if this “River” was some fling from Castiel’s past, Dean didn’t need to feel threatened by him. Castiel had made the depth of his love crystal clear when he’d given his life to save him. Not to mention pretty much every day since he’d come back from the Empty and they’d gotten together.
When Dean got to the kitchen, Castiel and Jack were standing at the counter, scrutinizing a selection of cookie cutters with their hands on their hips. Flour was everywhere.
“Hey.” Dean lay the bags on the island. “What happened in here?”
“We’re making cookies!” Jack said.
“Kind of looks like the cookies are making you,” Dean said, nodding to the mess.
Castiel tilted his head. “I don’t see how that’s possible.”
“Never mind.” Dean started putting away the groceries. “Where’re Sam and Eileen?”
“They went to the storage room to look for the tree decorations.” Castiel picked up the angel cookie cutter and lay it in front of the bowl of dough. “I like this one the most.”
“Hmm, alright. I’m still thinking about mine.”
Castiel dusted off his hands and met Dean at the island. They shared a quick peck.
“Did everything go okay in town? The roads weren’t too bad?”
“Nah, they were fine. Glad I replaced Baby’s tires last month, though.” Dean handed Castiel the red envelope. “This, uh, came for you.”
“For me?” Castiel scanned the front, then ripped open the envelope. He smiled at the front of the card. His smile only grew wider and more radiant as he read its contents.
“It’s from a…River Ellis?” Dean prompted.
“Yes,” Castiel said. He handed Dean the card. “Don’t you remember River?”
“No, I don’t think—”
Dean broke off; the photograph inside the card had jogged his memory. River, the kid from that gay bar in Oregon. Damn, that was so many years ago. From the looks of the picture, he was in his mid-20s now. He had a partner—at least, that was who Dean assumed the other guy was—and wore a slim-fitting tweed suit with a neatly trimmed auburn beard. Dean felt old.
“Who’s River?” Jack was saying.
“He’s a boy we met many years ago, before you were born. He was 17 but had gained entry into a bar called The Boys that we were relaxing at on our way to a hunt.”
“He had the hots for your dad,” Dean teased. He handed the card to Jack.
“I think he just wanted some guidance.” Castiel peered over Jack’s shoulder, taking in the card again. “Did you read what he wrote, Dean? He’s doing his PhD research at Northwestern University. And he and his partner just got engaged.”
“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his cheek. “He said you were right about his dad?”
“I told him his father would walk him down the aisle. He must be referring to that.”
Dean snorted. The thought of John or Chuck walking him or Castiel down the aisle was laughable.
“We have to send him a card of our own,” Castiel said, with as much conviction as if he were laying out a strategy for battle. “It would be rude not to reply.”
Dean blew a raspberry. “Sure, you and Jack go right ahead. You’re not going to rope me into sending a Hallmark to anyone.”
“Dean.” Castiel narrowed his eyes. “You’re my partner, so we’re going to do this.”
“Uh.” Dean gulped. “Okay, I guess.”
“Good.” Castiel turned to Jack. “Jack, can Dean and I borrow some of your art supplies to make a card?”
“Sure! Should I bring the whole bin, or…?”
“Yes, please. I’m not sure what we’ll need yet. Dean, please get the camera in our room. And I’ll start drafting a letter.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean said, with only a touch of sarcasm.
He followed Jack out of the kitchen and ran into Sam and Eileen in the hallway. They were carrying huge boxes of decorations, and Sam was wearing tinsel around his neck like a feather boa.
“Hey, Dean.” Sam slowed down. “You mind helping us with the rest of the decorations? There’s another box in storage.”
“I’d love to, Sammy, but I’ve got a Christmas card to make.” Dean reached for his doorknob. “Cass wants me to grab my camera for a photo.”
“Ugly sweaters?” Eileen said.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Don’t give him any ideas.”
When Dean returned to the kitchen, the tub of crafting supplies was open on the table beside Castiel, and Jack was rolling out the cookie dough while humming “Silent Night.” Dean set the camera down on top of River’s envelope and rubbed Castiel’s back.
“How’s the writing going?”
“I’m just telling him about our past year. In brief.” Castiel lifted the pen. “I think it would get too long and convoluted if I told him everything.”
“Not to mention unbelievable.”
“You’d be surprised. He knows I’m an angel, and I’ve told him about a few of the things that have happened to me since—” Castiel hesitated before returning to the page. “Since I met you.”
“Huh.” Dean sat down across from him. “So, how much do you talk to this kid, anyway?”
“Not too often. He prayed to me once, years ago. I didn’t have my wings then, obviously, but I was able to drive to where he was. We’ve kept in touch since then, mostly by text.” Castiel glanced over his shoulder. “Jack, how are you doing with the cookie dough?”
“Really well!” Jack put down the rolling pin and jogged out the door of the kitchen. “Sam! Is it okay if I put on Christmas music?”
Sam groaned. “I guess.”
“Don’t worry, Jack.” Dean rifled through the art supplies. “Sammy’s always been a grinch. You can put on Christmas music if you like.”
“I’m not a grinch, Dean, I just—”
Sam’s voice was cut off by the blaring of “O Holy Night” on one of the local holiday stations. Dean chuckled at Jack’s timing.
“Okay,” Castiel said. He capped his pen. “I think that’s everything. You can read it over and add anything you think I missed.”
Dean raised his eyebrows at the page of college-ruled notebook paper that Castiel had filled. He highly doubted that he’d missed anything.
“But first,” Castiel said, snatching up the camera. “Let’s take our picture. Before you find an excuse not to do it.”
Dean sighed. “I said I would, didn’t I?”
Castiel joined Dean on his side of the table and held up the camera for a selfie. With his angel’s warmth right next to him, Dean found that his smile for the photograph came without him even thinking of it.
“Wait,” Dean said.
“What?”
“Jack.” Dean gestured to the counter, where Jack had moved on to cutting the cookies. “He’s your—I mean, our son. He should be in the picture too.”
Castiel beamed. “Dean, it makes me so happy to hear you say that.”
“Yeah, well.” Dean shrugged. “He is. Jack, get over here.”
“Huh?” Jack dusted the flour from his hands. “Oh, I’m in the picture?”
“Of course you are.” Dean pointed at the spot between him and Castiel, and Jack nestled in. “Alright, here we go.”
Castiel held out the camera again; they took four different shots before finding one that all three of them could agree on. When Jack scampered back to the cookies, Castiel handed Dean the camera and lay his head on his shoulder.
“Thank you, Dean.”
“Mhm.” Dean kissed Castiel’s forehead. “This was a good idea, actually. Sounds like you really helped that kid. And maybe now he won’t remember me as a repressed asshole.”
“You could write that in the card.”
“Maybe next year.” Dean smiled at the other side of the kitchen, where Jack was laying the final cookie on the baking sheet. “I’m just glad that I can actually say that. Thanks to our son.”
“So am I.” Castiel hugged him tight. “I love you both.”
“Love you too, Cass.”