Supernatural Imagines

A New Kind Of Holiday

You laid in your bed, staring at the ceiling. You knew that when you woke up, you would be in Hell. All of the extended family was coming over tomorrow, the first expected to arrive around eight a.m. They were all loud and brash and offensive, and that was before downing any sort of alcohol.

'Family is forever,' you thought miserably. Holidays were supposed to be a great time but you hated them. You hated the fakeness, the overly-polite greetings. You hated holding your tongue whenever any of them said something that was racist, sexist, homophobic, etc. And once one of them said something, the rest of them joined in, burying you under a landslide of hatred.

'If only I could escape,' you thought, rolling over and pulling the cover over your head. 'Live in some other world.'

______________________________________________________________

"Y/N!"

Your eyes fluttered open. You found it strange that there was no smell of cooking food to greet you—in the past, your mother had started cooking at the break of dawn. You reached under your pillow and pulled your phone out—9:27. Yet you didn't hear the tell-tale hacking cough of your grandfather nor the screeching of your baby cousin.

"Y/N," the voice said again, accompanied by a knock on the door. "Wake up. We need your help in the kitchen."

There it was. The familiar call to order.
And yet...

The voice was not your mother's.
You looked around and finally realized that you weren't in your room. Some of the items you saw were yours, like the sheets and the sweatshirt tossed over the chair in the corner. But these four walls were not the ones you recognized.

You got out of bed and pulled the sweatshirt over your head before stepping into the hall.

You recognized this hall, but not because it was the one you'd grown up with.
Rather, you recognized it because you'd seen it on television numerous times.

"This can't be happening," you said to yourself.

"It's about time," the voice from before said. You turned and found yourself face to face (er... face to chest) with Sam fucking Winchester.

"Sam?!" you squeaked.

"Mornin' sleepyhead."

"What... are you doing here?" What was he doing here? What were you doing here? He was the one who lived in the bunker.

Well, him and Dean...

Dean.

Where was the emerald-eyed Winchester?
And what about Cas?

Sam's brow raised slightly. "Um, look, I know it's a holiday and I wanted to let you sleep, but Dean's poking around in the kitchen and I'm afraid he's going to burn the place down."

You nodded and followed Sam into the kitchen (which you probably wouldn't have found on your own—this place was a lot bigger than it appeared on TV) to find Dean staring at a large bird in a pan.

"Did you really have to bring in the cavalry?" Dean asked.

"Are you kidding? I wouldn't trust you to boil water."

Dean sneered at Sam before turning to you. "So. What do we do with this thing?"
Thankfully, you knew exactly how long this bird needed to cook and at what temperature (one of the few valuable things you'd learned from your mother). You turned the oven to the correct temperature and stuck the pan in.

"I could've done that," Dean muttered.
"You had the oven a hundred degrees higher than necessary!"

"Well, I'm hungry. I want it to get cooked faster."

"That's... not how that works."

You suddenly became aware that you were standing in the kitchen in your pajamas in front of two of your favorite fictional characters.

"I'm, um... gonna go change."

The brothers nodded and watched as you stepped out of the kitchen.

'This has to be the weirdest dream ever,' you thought to yourself. 'But I'm not complaining.'
______________________________________________________________
A few hours later, the meal was finished. Dean managed to heat up the side dishes without destroying anything and Sam had set the table with the mismatched dishes found in the cupboard. Cas showed up just as the three of you were sitting down.

"Are we going to pray?" Cas asked, holding his hands out to Sam and Dean.

"Please, no," Dean said.

Sam shot a look to his brother. "Maybe we could just... say something we're thankful for."

"Really?" Dean asked. "We have to abide by that stereotypical activity?"

"Come on, Dean. Lighten up."

Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "Fine. I'm thankful that we have massive amounts of food that I should be eating right now."

Sam sighed. "Well, I'm thankful that we're together and that there's no major catastrophes going on at the moment."

Cas nodded. "I am thankful that you three have found each other and have done such good in the world."

Three pairs of eyes turned to you, waiting. "I, um... I'm thankful that... I finally feel like I belong somewhere."

The men smiled at you and began to dish out the food. You watched as Dean took his first bite of turkey, hoping it was as good as the ones your mother had prepared every year.

"Oh, my god," he said, mouth full. "I'm thankful for one more thing—that someone in our family knows how to cook." He shoved another forkful into his mouth. "Dammit, this is delicious."

Family.

You'd only been with these men a couple of hours (well... years if you counted the time you'd spent watching them on TV and dreaming about living with them), but you already felt more comfortable here than you'd ever felt at home.

'This is what family is supposed to feel like. This is how the holidays are supposed to be.'

You smiled as you raised your fork to your lips. The turkey was moist and delicious—just like your mother used to make.

Author: unknown

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