It was that time of year again; the air was sharp with grey clouds that always seemed to cling to the sky. The trees were bare, the vibrant leaves of fall destitute and disarrayed. The the smell of snow teased your nostrils every day that passed without a fresh blanket.
But just because it didn't look like Christmas outside, didn't mean it couldn't look like Christmas inside the bunker.
As soon as December 1st hit, you were up bright and early, ready with bags of decorations you had picked up the night before; twinkle lights, ribbons, tinsel, ornaments, and a fake Christmas tree complete with a star on top (because let's be real, there was no way the three of you were around enough to keep a real one alive).
You were up by 5am, wanting to have as much done as you could before Sam and Dean got up, which left you only an hour and a half before the youngest Winchester would wonder into the library with a cup of coffee in hand.
You normally despised the mornings, but when your alarm when off, you sprung out of bed, threw on your Christmas playlist and plugged in your headphones, ready to go.
You Jingle Bell Rock'd your way through the bunker, streaming pine garlands along the arches, putting out snowman, reindeer, and a Santa Clause cutouts on various end tables.
By 6:30am, it looked like Martha Stewart had puked her Christmas edition all over the bunker, and you LOVED it.
All you had left was the tree, but you figured it might be fun to convince the boys to put it up with you.
As the room glows in the soft gleam of the the hundreds of strands of Christmas lights you had strung, a soft tap on your shoulder has you pulling out your earbuds and spinning in your slipper socks, looking up to find an awe-struck Sam with a goofy grin on his face.
"Did you do all of this?" He laughs, his eyes shimmering as he takes it all in.
You shrug.
"What can I say, I love Christmas." He looks down at you and smiles, shaking his head.
"Yeah, I think that's an understatement." You just roll your eyes and nudge him with your elbow.
"I figure once Dean gets up, we can put up the tree." You motion to the box sitting under the staircase.
"You bought a fake tree?" Sam's chest heaves at he looks at the box incredulously.
You look up at him with a straight-face.
"You seriously trust any of us to keep a tree alive?"
He just laughs and shakes his head.
"Point taken."
You wrap your arm around his and pull him towards the kitchen.
"C'mon, I'll make hot chocolate while we wait for Dean to get up."
Two hours, and three cups of hot chocolate (for Sam) later, Dean hurries his way into his kitchen in the dead-man slippers and robe that he had found when he first moved it.
It kinda skeeved you out, but you just tried to think of them like hand-me-downs.
His eyes were alert, rather than the barely-open state they usually were in when he found his way to the kitchen in the mornings.
"Have you guys been in the library?" He raises his fisted hand, his thumb pointing over the shoulder, presumably pointing towards the library. "I think Cas robbed Martha Stewart's house."
Sam chokes on his hot chocolate and you cover your mouth with your hands, trying to not only cover the giggles of the dumbstruck look on Dean's face, but also Sam's reaction.
"What?" Dean's shoulders fall a bit, though his hand is still raised, as he looks at the two of you in confusion.
"Not...Cas," Sam gasps for breaths in between laughs. "Y/N." He points across the table to you.
Dean closes his eyes and gives his head a small shake, a little crinkle forming above his nose, the one where he's heard and understands what was said, but is still trying to comprehend the words.
"You...did all of that?" His eyes open and look right into yours. Your body warms up from the tips of your toes to the tops of your ears, and you shrug with a small smile, giving your eyes a small roll.
His nose crinkles up as his arm falls to his side, bouncing against his leg.
"Why?" Your smile falls as you stare at him with wide eyes.
"What do you mean why?" You repeat, standing from the table. You walk over to him and wrap your fingers around his wrist–not daring to take his hand–and drag him behind you as you hurry to the library.
"Look at all this," you let go of his arm, not noticing how he flexes his fingers at the loss of your touch. "How could you not be filled with Christmas joy just looking at it?" You open your arms, motioning to the skating figurines on the magnetic ice rink–the same one your grandparents use to put out in their house every year–and the gingerbread scented candles that flickered around the bowl of peppermint candies you put on the war table.
"Oh. My. God." It suddenly hits you, and you turn to Dean. He looks down at you, alarmed by your sudden change in mood.
"You're totally a grinch, aren't you?" You accuse, hating the fact that the man you carried a torch for might hate the very holiday you love so much.
"What?" Dean scoffs, crossing his arm. "I'm not a grinch." He shakes a finger at you. "Hell," he throws his arms open, staring you right in the eye. "I love Christmas!"
You glower at him.
"Really, cause it seems like you're trying really hard to convince me." You cross your arms and unintentionally jut out your hip.
He rolls his eyes and sighs, his body falling.
"Whatever." He holds up his hands, walking out as Sam walks in.
"Fine! Sam and I will put up the tree together! Without you!" You call after him, and he waves you off.
Sam watches his brother leave as he steps towards you.
"Everything okay?" He asks as you make your ways towards the tree box, pulling the flaps open and begin pulling out branches.
"What's with Dean and Christmas?" You don't turn around as you ask Sam, just focus on getting the tree out of the box so you can start putting it together.
Two large hands find their way into the box as you work, helping you pull everything out.
"It's just not really something that's on our radar." Sam shrugs as you begin sorting the branches by the numbers on them.
"How could you not celebrate Christmas. With all the shit we see every day, you'd think you guys would welcome the chance at something happy for a change."
Sam smiles, though it doesn't reach his dimples.
"What?" You ask as the two of you keep working.
"We haven't really celebrated since Dean went to hell."
"What?" You straighten up, dropping the branch in your hands with a heavy thud into its pile.
Sam stops working and looks up at you.
"The last time we celebrated was the Christmas before he went to hell. Since then, we just haven't. We never really celebrated it before that year either. Not since we were kids anyways." Sam bends over and picks up the assembly directions.
You bite the inside of your lip and shake your head at yourself.
Great move, Y/N.
