Chapter Text
Sunday, 23rd December, 2014
Sam had been hovering around the outside of the bunker for the better part of an hour, and was starting to get cold. Where the hell was she? He'd been given strict orders to wait outside for her, so she didn't drive straight past the (admittedly well hidden) garage entrance, but it was only 22°, and Sam couldn't feel his, well, anything.
He bounced from foot to foot, breath fogging in the air like smoke. One time, when he was no more than eight, Dean had managed to convince him it was smoke, that the reason he could stay alive in cold weather was because there was a big bonfire in your stomach. Sam hadn't drunk anything for three days, terrified he would put the fire out accidentally, but after nearly collapsing from dehydration on a job, Dean had stopped laughing long enough to tell him it was a joke. Hell of a sense of humour on that one, but his brother had run off immediately after to find him some water, so he guessed that was something.
Speak of the bastard and he shall appear, apparently, as the bunker door screeched open behind him and Dean poked his head out, a gust of warm air from inside hitting Sam for one glorious second before it slammed heavily behind him. "Still no sign?"
Sam shook his head "No. Maybe she got lost?"
"Dude, she has like, mega GPS. Doesn't she pirate it off government satellites?"
"I think that might have been a joke, Dean."
Dean scoffed. "Wouldn't put it past her." Sam was about to argue, when the faint sound of a car engine reached both their ears, growing closer, and Dean smirked. "I think our wait may be over."
Sure enough, a few seconds later, the unmistakable, lurid yellow 1976 AMC Gremlin that belonged to one Charlie Bradbury rounded the corner, trundling towards them. Dean waved and Sam pressed the button which opened the garage, allowing the banana coloured nightmare to slot in between a beautiful old Ferrari and the Impala. Such a car had never been seen in the men of letters garage, but no one cared, especially not the grinning redhead who jumped out of the drivers seat and ran to them, yelling "Merry Christmas bitches!"
She reached Sam first, who was closer, and hugged him with such force he felt a little winded, but he hugged her back all the same. It didn't last long though, she was already moving on to Dean, and he heard his brother give a little "oomph" as she collided with him.
"What took you so long?" Dean demanded one they'd broken apart, still smiling widely. Charlie rolled her eyes.
"I needed to get presents for you guys, obviously! Seriously, who invites a girl to your super-secret-evil-villain base in the middle of nowhere two days before Christmas? Some warning next time, if you please."
"Yes ma'am." Dean doffed an imaginary cap, and she nodded in satisfaction. Five foot five concentrated concentrated brains and snark, that was Charlie.
Welcomes over, they moved off into the main bunker, Charlie immediately making herself at home. She shrugged off her multicoloured plaid, revealing a graphic tee underneath with a blue box on the front, and the words 'Trust me, I'm the Doctor' emblazoned on it. Dean nodded appreciatively, but Sam just looked at them both, confused.
"What's with the old phone booth?" both of them looked aghast, Charlie particularly looked as if Sam had just committed some kind of heinous blasphemy.
"Phone booth- Sam! You uncultured swine!"
"There's no educating him Charlie, I've tried" Dean shook his head sadly, and Sam resolved to ignore them both. If this was how Christmas was gonna be, he was regretting inviting her at all. Actually no, he wasn't. But still.
At least he had Cas on his side.
Soon, they were settled with beers around the map table, updating one another on the goings on since last they spoke. The trials, the angels falling, Cas becoming human then nearly dying. A lot, basically, and Charlie spent a lot of time sitting with her mouth hanging slightly open, listening to one or the other of them relay a near-death experience. Clearly she'd done all she could to stay out of supernatural business, which is good. Better than good, amazing. No one else needs to be dragged into this life, it only ever ends one way.
At some point, Dean got up to retrieve more beer, and Charlie leaned over to Sam with a conspiratorial gleam in her eye that unnerved him somewhat. "So, where is Castiel? Dean said he was staying here?"
"Yeah, he's just gone out for groceries, he'll be back in a bit." Sam still thought that particular excursion was ill-advised, Cas being new to the world of food, but Dean had seemed confident in his abilities. They would have to see.
"What's he like?"
"He's..." Sam chuckled despite himself. "He's Cas. You'll have to see for yourself Charlie, no way I can accurately describe him."
She sighed dramatically, as if the angel (no longer an angel, Sam had to keep reminding himself) was of great interest to her, but let it be. Luckily, they didn't have to wait long.
Just as Dean was returning, beers in hand, the door swung open above them, and a mass of grocery bags proceeded Cas down the stairs. Dean brightened immediately, calling out to him.
"About damn time! Thought you'd got lost in Walmart. Need any help with those?" Not waiting for an answer, he took a couple bags off Cas and they disappeared into the kitchen to unload. Charlie whipped her head around to look at Sam.
"That's Castiel?"
"Yep. What were you expecting?"
"I don't know! Someone a little more... smitey? He seems very human."
Sam saw her point. Since the fall, Cas had shed his old trench coat and three piece suit, instead opting to steal whatever clothes Dean would allow. This meant, most of the time, you would find the ex angel of the lord in faded jeans, a band t-shirt, and a flannel. Dean liked to joke that they'd domesticated Cas, but Sam secretly suspected Dean just liked to see Cas in his clothes. Gone was the self righteous soldier that they had once known, and Sam was happy for it, but this relaxed Cas definitely didn't command the same terror as the old one.
"You missed out on Smitey Cas. Couple years back, yeah, but he's different now."
"I can see that." Charlie leaned in again, this time dropping her voice, so it wouldn't carry to the kitchen "You know what else I saw?"
Sam did not know, but he had a feeling he was about to find out. "What?"
"The way Dean lit up like a friggin Christmas tree the second he arrived! I mean, I had a hunch from the way he goes on about him on the phone, but honestly."
"Ah. So, you noticed that."
"Too right I noticed it! My gaydar started doing the conga when Castiel walked in, and I think it had a heart attack and fucking died when Mr. Doe Eyes over there saw him."
Despite himself, Sam chuckled. "You try living with the two morons, Charlie. Its been like this for years."
"You're telling me they've been playing gay chicken for years? And you've done nothing?" she looked horrified, and Sam felt a little defensive. It wasn't his fault that his brother and best friend hadn't figured their shit out. That was just the way of things.
They'd never actually talked about Dean being bi, it was just that Sam knew. The Venn diagram of people that watched Dr Sexy M.D. and the people who wanted to be railed by Dr Sexy M.D. was a circle, and Sam had these things called eyes. He'd seen Dean get flustered (not embarrassed or confused, but flustered ) when guys hit on him at bars, seen him 'go out for a smoke' and return an hour later smelling like someone else's cologne. Always covert, like he was ashamed by it, but given how they'd grown up, it wasn't surprising Dean wasn't the most well adjusted dude. But it wasnt like Sam cared. Hell, he'd had his fair share of experiences in college, it didn't bother him one bit.
Internalised homophobia aside, Sam wasn't even sure Dean had admitted to himself how he felt, let alone worked up the balls to tell Cas. And that didn't seem to be on their 2015 bingo card either, stubborn idiots they both were.
"What is there to do? Not like we can shove them in a broom closet and make them kiss. This isn't a Hallmark movie."
"I'm not suggesting that! Its just..." but she cut herself off, her face going from mildly infuriated to gleeful in a second flat. Sam was going to get whiplash from this girl, honestly.
"Scrap that. Its exactly what I'm suggesting."
"What-" she shushed him frantically, as footsteps began back down the corridor.
"Ill explain later, when I've ironed out the details. Oh this is gonna be fun!"
Sam had a bad feeling about this.
Apparently, Cas hadn't known quite what to buy, so had bought everything. Simple, and yet effective, and it wasn't like the bunker didn't have fridge space. But that did mean unloading took a while. By the time the other two returned, Charlie and Sam had fixed their faces into false innocence, staring down into their beers to avoid meeting one another's eyes. Cas was halfway through a story about a cat he ran into on the way to the store, and Dean was rolling his eyes.
"He was a tabby, four or five, seemed to really like me, Dean."
"Cas, I've said before, the bunker has rules. We're not taking in every stray we see. I have allergies!"
"You took me in." came the reproachful reply, and Dean chuckled, settling into the his chair once more, and pulling one up beside him, which Cas to sank into, puppy eyes firmly in place.
"You're different. And don't look at me like that! Anyway, we have more important things to talk about than your determination to get us a pet. Introductions for instance."
Dean gestured across the table, and Charlie waved, grinning from ear to ear. "Charlie, Cas. Cas, Charlie."
Cas nodded, somewhat awkward as he always was in the presence of a new person, but it didn't seem to bother Charlie. Sam got the feeling nothing less than an apocalypse would faze her, and even then, not for long. She had that sunny optimism the rest of them had either lost along the way, or never possessed in the first place, and immediately began quizzing Cas about his experiences as a human, and how he was adjusting. This seemed to put him at ease, and soon they were chatting away as if they'd known each other for years. Trust Charlie to befriend a cosmic entity in three seconds flat.
It was comfortable with the four of them, Sam chipping in occasionally with a smart comment or a jab at his brother, Cas bemoaning the downsides of a human form ('the amount of time I spend urinating, its truly ridiculous, and don't even get me started on sleeping'), Charlie and Dean arguing over proper LARPing etiquette, because apparently that was a thing. They had dinner, courtesy of Dean, who made some truly mouth watering cheeseburgers, then set about putting up decorations.
The bunker was a big place, so decorating was no mean feat. Apparently the old men of letters had kept a bit of Christmas spirt themselves, as Sam had found boxes and boxes of tinsel, ornaments and lights crammed into a storage room when he was clearing it out a week before, so they grabbed a box each and went to work.
Charlie and Cas went around the main room, putting up so many little ornaments it looked like Home Depot threw up all over it. Dean, who was never too much of an interior designer, threw tinsel around aimlessly, singing along to Slade and clutching a glass of whiskey.
Sam was immediately (and predicably) handed the task of getting to all the high places, but he didn't mind much. Any excuse to flex his height on Dean was just fine with him.
"Sam, c'mere will you? Think the hall down to our rooms needs fairy lights."
"Oh, can you not reach the ceiling?"
"How about you fuck off?"
Eventually, following an incident with a stepladder where Charlie nearly fell from the balcony beside the door, they abandoned the attempt at festivity, being too drunk and tired to care. They flopped down into chairs around the map table, and Dean retrieved another bottle of some description to share around.
They talked, and they laughed, and he chipped in where he thought he should. But most of the time, Sam was watching Dean, and Dean was watching Cas, in that way he did when he thought no one else was looking, a soft smile playing over his face as he regarded their friend. Sam felt his heart twist a little, because he knew that look. It was how he'd always looked at Jess.
Whatever Charlie was planning (and judging by her scheming face, she was definitely still working on it), Sam hoped it wouldn't go off too badly. Hell, maybe it would even work. Wouldn't that be a Christmas present to them all.