#and AHH Season 3!!! The last stretch! Thank you all for rooting me on up until this point!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Heh...Literally nothing personal, kid.

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[whispersandwhiskerburn]

The Gift Box

Angel’s 2017 Christmas Drabble #1 (Christmas Drabbles List)

Request: @littlegreenplasticsoldier: ... Could I please request something with Dean, anything but angst, with the prompt of a box that won't open. I hope that sparks something for you. Cheers lovely! Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 1,720 (oops, that got longer than I meant it to be!) Warnings: Grumpy injured Dean, fluff, hints of future NSFW, but totally okay imo. Author’s Note: My Dear Ali, if I had the time I would write you a ton of Christmas gifts. Thanks for all you do for this spnfamily, and for the inspiration you give to the rest of us so often. Merry Christmas, friend. :)

Dean hated being injured. Stupid ghost had thrown over an old table during the last hunt, landing solidly on his right foot, and cracking three small bones in the process.

He could barely hobble around Bobby’s crash house, the nearest haven that he could recover in, and the damn cast was itchy all the time.

No rest for the wicked, though. Dean’s girlfriend, Y/N, and Sam would be leaving this morning to take on the next case, and Dean had reluctantly agreed to sit this one out and heal.

He wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending the last few days before Christmas holed up in this cabin on his own, watching Dr. Sexy reruns, but what else could he do? 

He tried his best to hide his irritation. He’d gotten up early this morning to limp around the kitchen enough to make coffee and some omelettes for the two of them. 

“Good morning!”

Dean grunted. Y/N’s cheery voice pre-coffee was never something he understood. He loved her for it, but he did not understand it in the least. He turned around to hand her a mug, only to find her hand already extended with a small, brightly wrapped box offered out to him.

“Y/N, really? I thought we agreed: no presents for Christmas this year. And it’s not even Christmas yet--” Dean protested.

She smiled placing the box on the table and turning the tag outwards which clearly said “Don’t Open Until Christmas” on it, before taking her mug from him.

She took a long sip, then sighed. “Thanks, babe. And I know, we agreed, but you’re going to love this gift. Promise not to open it until I get back?”

Dean eyed the present, already itching to unwrap it, but then he smiled back at her. He was trying to be Mr. Positive about this whole situation after all.

“Sure thing, Y/N.”

Day 1

Dean hadn’t lasted long. Every time a commercial came on, he’d glance at the box on the table. When he’d made himself a sandwich and settled back on the couch, the gift had come back with him.

He picked it up, measuring the weight, shaking it a bit like a ten year old trying to guess what might me inside. He couldn’t feel any type of shift when he did so, so she must have packed it to avoid those guessing techniques.

He put it down and fought temptation until the sun was down, his resolve weakening in the boredom of sitting on his ass all day.

“Fuck it. She knows I’m going to open it while she’s gone anyway.”

He ripped off the wrapper, deliberately balling up the tag that was giving him a guilt trip before tossing the festive paper in the trash can. 

He went to pick up the wooden cube but his phone rang first.

It was Y/N.

“Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Sam and I already know what we’re after--looks like a cursed object, some kind of pendant. We should be able to hunt it down tomorrow and melt the thing or something. I just wanted to call, check in with you. I miss you.”

Dean looked at her thoughtful present and felt his gut twist in guilt. He tucked the thing under the small table in between the couch and the television and focused on his caring girlfriend.

“Miss you back. I’m doing fine--just watching television dramas and wishing I was with you guys. It’s pretty dull without you here.” He deepened his voice, wondering if she’d be up for a little fun over the phone lines since it was kinda late.

Then he heard her stifle a yawn, and he smiled.

“You sound exhausted. You should get some sleep. You’ll need to be clear-headed tomorrow.”

“Good night, Dean. I’ll call you tomorrow, let you know how it goes.”

“Love you, babe. See you soon.”

Day 2

Today had been worse. 

Dean had been climbing the walls most of the day, alternating between worrying about Y/N and his brother, and trying to find a way to occupy himself. 

He’d called up Bobby and bothered him for a while until the old man had hung up on him, claiming he had work to do. He tried to follow Bobby’s advice and start a hunting journal of his own, but Dean had never really enjoyed writing much, and he gave it up after about an hour’s effort, deciding to leave that job to Sam.  He’d looked up and enjoyed some anime porn, but that just made him miss Y/N more. Thinking of Y/N put the idea of her gift back in his head.

The box was small, and surprisingly solid. It was plain, and though he still couldn’t feel any shift when he tossed and shook the thing, Dean knew it must be a box. There was a thin seam that ran all the way around four sides, about a quarter of the way from what he assumed was the top. There was no hinge on the outside, but there was a minuscule keyhole on one side.

A tiny keyhole that was surprisingly resistant to Dean’s attempts to pick it.

And yes, he’d tried. Multiple times.

He’d started with a paperclip, thinking if he could undo police handcuffs, surely this little box....

But no dice. Hell, his pick kit had met it’s match too.

He’d tried pulling it open, feeling around the edges for a lever or some kind of catch, even blew in the little keyhole, thinking something might have been crammed in there and jammed the thing so that his picks hadn’t worked.

Nada.

Dean was squinting at the thing, stubbornly unwilling to throw in the towel, when his phone rang, distracting him.

“Yeah.”

“Dean?”

He switched gears, focusing on Y/N’s voice. “I’m here, sweetheart. You two good? How’d the hunt go?”

“Textbook. We’ve got a newly filled curse-box for the collection. We’re on the way back now, should get there late tonight, or really early tomorrow morning. I told you we’d be back for Christmas.”

Dean smiled at her smug tone and wound down the call. After having failed to pick the lock the first time, he’d spent some time hobbling around outside and in the room, trying to make it seem more Christmas-y. He knew Y/N loved the season, and since she’d gotten him this infuriating gift, he’d wanted to do something to celebrate her favorite holiday.

There was a smallish tree--not quite Charlie Brown’s size, but nothing that hurt him too much to pull up and prop in the corner. Dean had picked most of the dead leaves off, then decorated it with balls and strips of tin foil from the kitchen cabinet, and a rough star made of the same.

He’d destroyed the entire roll, but with the firelight reflecting off the homemade ornaments and a rug arranged around the torn up roots, it didn’t look half bad if he did say so himself.

He put some finishing touches up then stretched out on the couch to watch another one of the sappy Hallmark Christmas chick flicks; Sam and Y/N would never have to know--and Dean had to do something to pass the time till they got there.

3:00 AM, Day 3: Christmas Morning

He felt the weight added to the couch next to him, but before he could reach for the gun under the pillow, Dean breathed in the smell of Y/N and felt her lips on his.

He kept his eyes closed, his hand coming up to gently cup the back of her head, his other finding her waist through her thick sweater as he returned her kiss, his tongue meeting hers in a reunion that suddenly felt long overdue.

She pulled back and Dean let her, his eyes opening slowly and a smile curling his lips. He shifted further up on the couch, tugging her until she sat in his lap sideways.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

He hummed, still not fully awake, his hands stroking over her form, an inner coil of tension relaxing now that she was back in his arms and apparently uninjured. “Where’s Sam?”

“He didn’t get to nap on the way here like I did, so he claimed the bed tonight. He’s probably already unconscious.” She shifted and brought her legs up, curling into his body. “I like the tree.” 

Dean couldn’t see her smile, with the way she was lying on him, and with the fire burned down to embers now, but he could hear it in her voice.

“I’m glad. It’s your Christmas gift.”

“Speaking of which....” She reached out and snagged the box from the table, and leaned so she could make eye contact with him in the dim room. “I see you didn’t have any luck getting into yours.”

Her grin was impish, but Dean couldn’t find any frustration in him over the box. Right now, with her warm body pressed against so much of his own, he had a different frustration starting to build up to distract him.

Dean started to pull up her sweater, his hands stroking at the soft skin of her side and lower back. “Yeah, it’s a stubborn thing. Were you trying to tell me something with that?”

She chuckled, reaching up to pull something from around her neck. “Why don’t you open it and find out?”

Dean took the tiny key from her hand, figuring that if he took a few moments t ooh and ahh over her present to him, he could get back to convincing her that she would make the best Christmas present for him.

When he twisted the key in the lock, the lid popped open immediately, and Dean tilted the box to get a better view of what was inside.

He laughed, realizing what he was looking at.

It seemed Y/N was on the same page as he was on what his favorite Christmas present would be.

He bent forward to press a kiss to her lips, this time deliberately putting more heat into it as she moved against him. He dropped the box and the holiday decorated condoms spilled out on the floor, but Dean didn’t much care at that moment.

He was getting ready to have the best Christmas of his life.

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