Supernatural Imagines

White Christmas

DECEMBER 1st.

"Chestnuts roasting on an open fire..."

Dean groans and rolls over in the backseat, planting his face down in the leather nook.

"Jack Frost nipping at your nose."

"This is gonna be a long winter," Sam grumbles as he sits next to you in the passenger seat, listening to you sing in a smooth, silky voice.

"I control the music while I drive," you smile. "So while you're napping," you glance back at Dean, "and you're doing research," you look to Sam, "I'm going to jam to my holiday playlist."

Dean rolls his eyes and flops over again in the back, trying to find a comfortable position. "Fine," he relents, "but no Mariah Carey. Only the classics."

You smirk. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

Sam still looks annoyed, but keeps his mouth shut. You don't take personal offense to this, knowing that Christmas was always hard on him as a kid. To him, Christmas was a reminder that he didn't have any family to celebrate with.

Dean doesn't mind it as much, he's just one of the types that gets annoyed when people start celebrating Christmas too early. "It's not even Thanksgiving!" He yelled at you 2 weeks ago when you were preparing decorations for the bunker.

As the songs continue and the soft notes of White Christmas start to drift through the speakers, you notice Sam's head beginning to lull on his shoulders. His brother snores softly in the back, but you still sing the melody over his heavy breaths.

"I'm dreaming of a white Christmas..."

You close the open laptop on Sam's lap and put it in the bag next to him, keeping your hand steady on the wheel.

"Just like the ones I used to know..."

A stray strand of hair hangs down on his peaceful face, and you can't help yourself but to swipe it out of the way.

"Where the treetops glisten and children listen..."

This causes Sam to stir until his eyes flutter open. He looks at you with a strange sort of smile. It's a genuine smile, one that he only flashes occasionally. Behind it sits a bit of longing, but you can't see it.

You blush and look away, muttering an apology as you continue to hum the tune of the song.

He shakes his head. "Nothing to be sorry about."

At this both of your faces flush, a rosy tint forming in your cheeks. Your eyes divert back to the road and your fists clench around the steering wheel. No matter how hard you try, you can't ignore the pounding in your chest. It pumps the blood so quickly through your veins that for a moment you can feel the rhythm of your racing heartbeat in your head. Still, a small smile takes over your lips as you continue to sing.

"Hey Y/N?" Sam blurts. When Dean rustles in the back, Sam quiets his voice. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," you nod.

He bites his lip nervously. "Why do you like Christmas so much? Not to sound rude, but it's normally a hunter's worst nightmare."

You shrug, not really sure of the reason yourself. "I think... I think it was my mother. Every year she would wake me up with a mug of hot chocolate on Christmas morning. It was a weird little thing we did. I would stay up so late to wait for Santa, but I could never make it through the night. My dad would carry me downstairs over his shoulder and my mom would give me that mug and then we would open presents. It was nice."

Sam smiles, but it fades into a frown. "Don't you miss them though?"

You nod again, feeling a few tears start to well in your eyes at the thought of your memories with them. "Of course I do. But it was never about that. Yeah it hurts to think that they're not here, but Christmas was their favorite holiday too. I just want to live like they would want me to. As much as I can as a hunter."

"Sorry, yeah, that was a stupid question. Of course you miss them," Sam mutters, running a hand through his disheveled hair. You hear the self loathing in his voice and when he looks back up to you his eyes are a murky brown. "I guess I never thought about it that way."

You turn to gaze at him for a second before gathering the courage to ask, "What about you?"

"What?"

"Do you have any good memories? Come on, you have to have one."

He shakes his head, but his eyes light up when he thinks of one. "One year we got dropped off at Bobby's on Christmas Eve. It was a really sudden hunt for my dad -- really last minute for Bobby. He went out to a toy store in the middle of the night and got us these really cool remote control cars," Sam smiles, trying to hold back a laugh. "He came back the next morning in a Santa costume and we were so psyched. It was awesome."

"Bobby was a great guy," you smile, dropping a hand off the wheel to fiddle with a loose strand of denim on your jeans. "Do you kind of get it now? You aren't supposed to think about what you're missing. You're supposed to be grateful for what you have."

Sam looks at you, a new gleam in his eye. He notices one of your hands resting by your side and takes it in his own, intertwining your fingers with his. You blush as you look back at him.

"I'm grateful for you, Y/N."

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
With every Christmas card I write
May your days be merry and bright
And may all your Christmases be white

A/N
Ok this is as trashy and corny as a hallmark movie so sorry

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