#tgwrc: part two

[deanwinchesterswitch]

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Part Two: See What the Time's Done

Square: Heartbreak ~ @spnchristmasbingo

Song: Where Are You Christmas? ~ Faith Hill

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Nicole formulates a plan to help Dean find joy in Christmas again.

Warnings: More angst than fluff, canon divergence

Word Count: 1,134

Beta: @princessmisery666

Credit: @talesmaniac89 made the gorgeous title card and divider

Series Master Post

Nic reaches the old storage room she had commandeered to turn into a studio and darkroom. Slamming the door, she locks it behind her. The brothers know she prefers to have some time to herself after they argue, but she’s not taking any chances on either of them walking in to try to appease her.

Pacing around the room, she rearranges supplies, shuffles through papers, and picks up small knick-knacks, only to immediately put them back in place. Grabbing a pillow from the overstuffed chair opposite her desk, she screams into it, trying to expel the frustration and sadness swirling inside her. It doesn’t help.

She plops into her desk chair, jabs the power button on her laptop, then scrolls through her playlists. Music has always helped to calm her, one of the things that she and Dean have in common. Hitting shuffle on her Christmas playlist, she leans back in the chair, clicking her tongue and irritatedly tapping her nails on the desk’s surface, waiting for the cheerful melodies to ease the tension as her thoughts settle back on Dean.

This is the first year they won’t spend the holiday hunting monsters or holed up in some crappy motel. The boys have never had what others considered a traditional Christmas. Still, she knows that beneath his battle-hardened shell, Dean sometimes dreams of having something more conventional and ordinary. A holiday spent listening to cheesy Christmas music, over-the-top decorations, exchanging gifts, more food than they can eat at one meal, and his family and friends nearby, sharing the warmth and love of the season—the ‘apple pie life’ as he likes to call it.

For Dean and her, the bunker is a home, a place that is safe and familiar. The closest they will probably ever get to that apple pie existence. So the prospect of decorating, baking, and enjoying what others considered normal Christmas activities for the first time with him had filled her with giddy excitement. 

She thought Sam would be the tough nut to crack and to get on board, but aside from the tree debate, he seemed to support her plans. Dean’s response to her initial foray is bewildering. He’d acted enthusiastic when she regaled the group that night with her vision, even offered suggestions. It breaks her heart to see his apparent disdain for it all now, and she regrets responding to his anger in kind. There’s something driving it; she just needs to figure out what it is. 

Nic closes her eyes, replaying their conversation in her head, focusing on his body language and facial expressions. Sorrow …his eyes had been mournful and dark before he blinked it away while she spoke about the beauty and spirit of the season.

The upbeat anthem shifts into a slow emotional ballad, and between breathy vibrato and belted lines, the artist sings about searching for a lost Christmas. The song is from one of her favorite movies. The one she’d been watching earlier and why it was in the forefront of her mind, prompting her to call Dean a bad banana. The image of his adorably confused face sparks a small giggle. 

Restarting the song, she pushes away from the desk, slowly swiveling in the seat, mulling over the possibilities of what triggered Dean’s sudden opposition and hidden grief.

My world is changing; I'm rearranging

Those two simple lines punch through her musings and tears well in her eyes. Dean’s life has changed drastically over the past months, and he’s probably feeling lost. Unsure of where he fits into the world now. Yes, there are still monsters and evil to fight in the world, but those cases have been few and far between and are cakewalks compared to fighting cosmic beings hellbent on the destruction of the world.

Obtaining something that he had only ever dreamed of, talked about as if it were a fairytale because he never believed that he would ever have it, is, in truth, probably terrifying. After spending the majority of his life in fight or flight mode, Dean now finds himself in transition. He’s probably wondering how long it will take before he screws it up, waiting for it to become tainted because he didn’t truly earn it, a constant fear running through his mind that he will wake up and it will all have vanished. She berates herself for not seeing his struggle sooner, especially since she’s been having similar feelings, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She’s been busy with her growing business, tucked away in her workroom for hours on end, completing orders so they can be shipped in time for the holiday—neglecting Dean. Thinking back over the past few weeks, she can envision the shift in his demeanor. Usually, Dean has a hard time hiding his feelings from her, but the change had been subtle, and her distracted mind had missed it while it was happening.

Swiping away the tears on her cheeks, she plants her feet, chair jerking to a stop mid-rotation as her eyes land on her old Polaroid camera. Photography is a secondary hobby, and the wooden shelving unit Dean built for her is home to several vintage cameras still in working order. To her, photography is a form of art that creatively captures the world around you, preserving those moments in time from a viewpoint others might not see.

With a gasp, she jumps from the seat. “That’s it!” Rummaging through the closet, she pulls out a box of old maps and travel journals, remnants from a life long ago. The items in the box document her grandfather’s travels around the world. She had barely managed to save them from being thrown out by one of her foster parents. They are the only items she has of her former life. 

She had spent hours of her childhood reading about his epic adventures and studying the maps, learning how to read them and navigate the world at large. That skill had served her well over the years. While quite familiar with the highways and byways of the country, having traversed them way more than most, the Winchesters had still come to rely heavily on her knowledge. Nicole’s unique skillset of rapidly calculating distances and recalling little-known routes had shaved off many miles and given them back precious time when it was needed most.

Laying out the maps on her large workspace, she grabs her tablet, phone, and a fresh notebook. Dean needs to see the world through a different lens, a view not mired in blood and heartache. She will plan an adventure for the two of them, a road trip that will remind him of the beauty and the good he sacrificed the last 40+ years of his life for—remake the holiday into a Winchester-style Christmas.

Next

Love Me Some Pie tag list:

@akshi8278 // @asgoodasdancingqueen // @calaofnoldor // @compresshischest09 // @deanwanddamons // @flamencodiva // @idreamofplaid // @jerkbitchidjitassbutt // @justrealizedimmascifygurl // @michellethetvaddict // @mvdeanw // @shawnie74 // @siospins2 // @thinkinghardhardlythinking // @thoughts-and-funnies // @waynes-multiverse // @wayward-and-worn // @waywardbaby // @weepingwillowphoenix

[zepskies]

Love Actually - Part 1

Paring: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.  

AN: Here’s my last entry for the TGWRC: Christmas in July event! It’s set in the same world as “Break Me Down,” and set before “Checkerboard.” But this can be read as a stand-alone! Hope you enjoy…

Theme: Christmas movies Prompt: “That’s a poor excuse for a tree.” 

Word Count: 3,100 Tags/Warnings: SB being himself, wee bit of angst, potential fluff overload! 

Part 1: "Humbug"

He was late. 

It was Christmas Eve, and your boyfriend was late. 

With a large bowl of popcorn in your lap, you sank further into your favorite corner of the couch, drumming your nails on its arm. 

Your favorite Christmas movie played on the ridiculously large flatscreen Ben had insisted on when you two moved into this apartment. But you couldn’t get into the story like you normally would.

It was the first Christmas you and Ben were spending together since he’d started working with, instead of against Supe Affairs and the CIA. In fact, he was on an extended mission—hunting down a rogue supe in Idaho, of all places.

Freakin’ Idaho. Goddamn potatoes, you thought irrationally, shoving another handful of popcorn into your mouth.  

While he’d been gone, you went all out in decorating the apartment: red and white candles, stockings, various ornaments, multicolored string lights, and poinsettias. You’d even found a nice little tree that fit in the only free corner of the living room.

Well, you’d had to rearrange some furniture to make that happen, but in the end you’d succeeded. It felt like you were living at the bottom of a snow globe.

You hadn’t heard from Ben at all in over two weeks. The day he left you outside your office in the Surveillance department replayed often in your mind.

Two weeks ago…

“Don’t give me that face, baby doll.” 

Ben quirked a smile at your concerned frown, and he propped a gentle fist under your chin. You crossed your arms.  

You knew he had to go. Butcher and the rest of the guys were waiting outside the S.A. office. And you were proud of him for what he was doing, genuinely trying to put in the work on this “hero” thing. But you didn’t have to like the timing. It was only two weeks until Christmas.

“Fine,” you agreed. “Just get this guy quick. I don’t want to hear my aunt’s shady-ass sniping. Every time I show up to a family gathering by myself, she starts plotting my arranged marriage to her fucking pediatrist, her divorce attorney—mind the irony there—or even the guy who packages meat at the grocery store—” 

“All right, Christ. I’ll be back in fucking time,” said Ben. He grabbed your arms to stop your verbal flapping. Then with a grin, his hands moved to the curve of your waist, down to get a healthy grip of your ass. 

“’Sides, I’m the only one flingin’ meat around here,” he said with a deepening smirk. 

You rolled your eyes, but a smile threatened to take over your frown as he pulled you flush against him, trapping your hands against his broad chest. You found purchase on the hard fabric of his uniform. 

“You’re so gross,” you said. But you pulled him down for a searing kiss. If you weren’t going to see his handsome face for a while, then you were going to make the most of this moment. 

And it seemed your boyfriend felt the same way; his arms wrapped around your frame like steel bands. Your fingers swept through his hair as your tongue slipped into his mouth, making his grip on you tighten with a pleased hum. 

“Oi! Sid and fuckin’ Nancy,” Butcher called from down the hall. “Got a fucking job to do. Today, if you don’t mind.”

Ben broke away from you, just enough to frown in irritation over your head. 

“Calm your fucking tits, Churchill. I’ll leave when I’m good and damn ready.”

You couldn’t help but giggle into his chest.

Now, it was quite literally hours away from Christmas Day. 

You would be seeing your family tomorrow, regardless. You and Ben were supposed to go to your mother’s house for dinner. But you were starting to think that he might not make it tonight, let alone tomorrow. 

And if you had to deal with your aunt nosing into your personal business again, your hand might just “slip” while pouring yourself a rum-filled eggnog, so you wouldn’t be held liable for your actions when you inevitably snapped on the bitch.

Sighing, you continued munching on some popcorn while you focused on one of your favorite parts of Love Actually. Hugh Grant was shaking his ass to “Jump In” by the Pointer Sisters.

The music was infectious, and you found yourself doing a little shimmy yourself on the couch in time with one of your favorite rom-com Brits. 

With the TV volume as loud as it was, not even the door of your apartment unlocking could stop your mini-jam session. 

And the door soon opened, revealing a dusty, soot-covered Benjamin, still in his supe suit and tactical gear. He took a small step back when the gaudy Christmas décor assaulted his eyes, but he blinked through it as he turned his head. 

His lips curved at the familiar sight of you—bundled up in your pajamas and a fuzzy blanket on the couch, bopping to the beat of some shitty ‘80s song he actually recognized. You were alternatively mouthing the words and eating fistfuls of popcorn. 

Shaking his head, Ben stepped into the apartment and shut the door with some force. You finally perked up at the sound, your smile alight with happiness when you realized he was home. That alone made him soften a bit. 

“Ben!” You paused your movie and bounded over to greet him with a warm hug and a deep kiss.  

He brushed your hair back and allowed himself to revel in the familiarity of you in his arms. 

“Aren’t you a fucking sight,” he murmured.

Ben was still getting used to having someone to come home to, but it was grounding. This place was his home now, mostly because you were in it.  

“You okay? How did it go?” you asked, wiping off some soot from his cheek. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Ben offered you a cocky smile. “We smoked that pyro bitch.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You what?”

“Relax, the supe’s alive,” he said, rolling his eyes, as if it grated him to admit it. He wouldn’t tell you that the supe had two broken arms and probably a crack in his skull. “Being shipped off to prison as we speak.”

You nodded with a smile. “Good. I’m proud of you.” 

His lips pulled at a grin. But then you took his face between your hands with a hard slap (though it didn’t even sting, the point was made in your annoyed frown). 

“You’re late,” you said. Ben raised a brow. 

“Excuse me?” he said. 

“You heard me. You’re fucking late,” you repeated. “Go take a shower. I already started the first movie without you.” 

You tugged him by the hand and all but pushed him into the hall that led to your shared bedroom. 

Ben wasn’t one to be manhandled though. He dug his heels in obstinately. 

“Christ, I just got home. All I want to do is sleep…unless you want to give me a proper fucking welcome.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder with a more than suggestive smirk. He turned around and pulled you into his firm chest. His hands smoothed down your back and squeezed your hips, with his thumbs dragging under the hem of your pajama top.

While your lips threatened a smile, you had to wonder how he had enough energy for reunion sex, but not enough to watch a simple movie. 

Still, his offer was all-too tempting, making heat prickle along your skin wherever he touched. Nonetheless, you managed to remain stubborn and pushed gently against his chest.

“Down, boy,” you said. “If I let you get your hands on me now, I’ll never get through my list.”

First it was Love Actually, then Christmas Vacation, followed swiftly by Home Alone and its sequel, Lost In New York. 

Ben frowned at you. “So? Watch ‘em tomorrow.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, it’s Christmas Eve.”

You gestured to all your hard work in the form of the decorated apartment.

“Tomorrow, we have dinner at my mom’s house. So tonight, you’re gonna go shower," you said, pointing at him. "I’m going to make some more hot chocolate, and we’re watching all manner of cheesy, romantic, and downright silly Christmas movies until your Grinch-ass gets some holiday spirit.”

Ben released a tired sigh and dropped his hands away from you.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days," he said. "I’m not staying up all night again for some corny bullshit.”

You frowned in disappointment. 

“Ben, come on. Please?” you tried, but he just waved a dismissive hand and continued his way to the bedroom.

For a moment, you watched him go in disbelief. Was he really going to be like that? 

With a flash of hot annoyance, you huffed and decided that you weren’t going to let him ruin the night for you. 

So you went into the kitchen and whipped up some hot cocoa, breaking out the actual Godiva chocolate bars you bought just for this moment. You poured out one mug initially. But you listened to the old water pipes working, knowing that Ben must’ve been taking a shower. 

You knew he wasn’t just tired. He didn’t seem to be looking forward to tomorrow either, and  was going along with it for your sake. Which, to be fair, could just mean he still wasn’t totally comfortable around your family. (Your sister Luisa still hadn’t totally warmed up to him.)

You also had a feeling that he just wasn’t into Christmas.

The question was why… 

But you poured a mug for him anyway, adding some mini marshmallows into each one. You brought both mugs with you back to the living room and set them down on the coffee table. 

Getting comfortable on the couch again, complete with your blanket, mug, and the popcorn bowl, you pressed “play” and continued watching the movie…even though you felt just a bit lonelier. 

But then, a weight dropped on the other end of the couch. You flinched and looked over at your now clean and pajama-clad boyfriend, who eyed you begrudgingly with his arms crossed over a soft plain shirt. 

You smiled at him warmly. “Hey, baby.”

His grouchy face was the very picture of “humbug.” Biting your lip, you set down the popcorn on the coffee table and handed him the spare cup of hot chocolate. 

“I made some for you,” you said. He gave you a brief nod and took a dutiful sip. But not even rich, chocolatey goodness could curb his sour mood as he stared blandly at the screen. 

You knew that face. That was his, I’ll do this for you, but I’m not gonna fucking like it—face. 

When he stifled a yawn, you knew that he hadn’t been lying. He really was tired. Sometimes you forgot that while Ben was all but indestructible, even he had his limits. Chasing that rogue supe across the country must’ve taken it out of him, even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

So you reached over and plucked the mug out of his hand. His brows knit together as he watched you set it down on the coffee table with yours. Then you grabbed his hand. 

“Come ‘ere,” you said, tugging him toward you. 

“What now?” he groused. 

“Just come on. Don’t bitch,” you teased. You guided him to lay across the couch, with his head pillowed in your lap. You grabbed an extra throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him, making sure that it covered him up to his chest. 

“What am I, a damn kid?” he said. But you knew his griping had no real weight. Already he was humming deep with pleasure as your fingers carded through his soft brown hair. You let your nails drag lightly over his scalp, massaging his head. Your free hand stroked his cheek. 

Ben closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh through his nose. The movie continued to play, but you were no longer paying much attention. This was more important. 

When he opened his eyes again, they were drawn to the small, four-foot Christmas tree in the corner of the room, next to the TV. 

“That’s a poor fucking excuse for a tree,” he said. 

You frowned and followed his gaze. 

“I think it’s adorable,” you replied. And it was the only one you thought would fit in this cozy, but very narrow apartment. 

Ben’s arms crossed over his blanket.

“I’ll go tomorrow, find us a real fucking tree,” he said. 

Your frown deepened a little. “But I already decorated this one. All by myself, I might add.”

He eyed you then, a bit softer.

“All right, we’ll get a second one for the dining room,” he grumbled. “Getting the tree up is a man’s job anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at that. But you tried to see if there was anything deeper to read in his words. Not for the first time, you wondered how he’d spent his holidays in the past. No doubt with a lot of fanfare and celebrity parties during his hay day as Soldier Boy. You were more interested in his life before that.   

“I remember, my mom would run the show at Christmas,” Ben said.

You blinked down at him in surprise. Without knowing, he’d opened up on your exact curiosity. 

Or maybe he just knew you better than you thought.

“She’d have all the help in a damn tear around the house. Cooking, decorating, the whole nine yards. It was a perfect scene, like something out of a catalogue,” said Ben. “But getting the tree was always my dad’s job. His only job, really.”

You smiled and continued to listen with rapt attention. Your thumb continued to stroke along his neck. 

“One year, he got this massive one. Must’ve been…I don’t know, twenty feet. I don’t even know how he got it through the door, but he was mighty fucking proud of himself,” Ben said.

His gaze trailed beyond you, lost in faded memories. They played in his mind like a reel, wordless, but bright and warm. 

“Who decorated it?” you asked. Your voice drew his attention back. 

“Me and him,” Ben admitted, surprising you yet again. “Meanwhile, Mom baked up a storm for the Christmas party they threw every year…”

It was a rare moment where Ben recalled what seemed to be a nice memory of his father. But soon enough, the nostalgia dimmed from his eyes.

He cleared his throat and swiped a hand over his mouth, as if that could erase his moment of vulnerability. 

Then he turned to face the TV screen. 

“So what’s even happening here? Seems like there’s four goddamn movies playing at once.”

You cracked a smile and continued brushing your fingers through his hair. You also rewinded the movie so he could actually follow the story.

“Yeah, that’s what makes this movie so classic. See, there’s Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman. They’re married, kids, the perfect life, right? But he’s actually cheating on her with a younger, sluttier woman.”

“…And this is a fucking Christmas movie?”

“Yeah, you’ll see. Then there’s Liam Neeson.”

Ben perked up at that. “The Taken guy?” 

You nodded. “Yep! He’s a widower, but he has a stepson who’s got a sweet little crush. So he’s gonna try and help the kid impress the girl by helping him learn the drums.”

Your boyfriend nodded. 

“Musicians get plenty of pussy, that’s for damn sure,” he said. And with a knowing grin, “Actors get more though.”

You snorted and pointed to Hugh Grant next. “He’s my favorite. He’s playing the Prime Minister, who falls in love with his assistant, Natalie. That’s her right there.”

Ben raised a brow at your choice of “favorite.” If nothing else, he noted your type for older men. 

But he smirked when Natalie kept verbally fumbling in Hugh’s presence, then stared along with the Prime Minister at the woman’s ass when she walked away at the end of the scene.  

“Hmm, I’ll admit. She’s got a juicy peach,” Ben remarked. You laughed and hit his shoulder playfully. It worked an amused smile onto his face. 

He took your hand from his shoulder and pressed the back of it to his lips. You blinked down at him, and you warmed with a smile at seeing his more relaxed face. 

He kept your hand on his chest, his thumb drawing back and forth over your wrist. 

So you proceeded to explain the various angles of the movie until he was all caught up. 

You two watched the rest of it together. Like always, you cried when Colin Firth poured his heart out to his housekeeper, Aurélia, half in his mangled Portuguese and half in English. You cried again when Emma’s character finally confronted her cheating bastard husband. 

And you held your breath when Hugh and Natalie kissed as the stage curtain fell down, revealing their relationship to the world. 

By the time the credits rolled, you were an emotional mess. You were happy though. Typically you’d watch this movie with your sister, but it was nice to share the holidays with someone… 

Someone who loved you enough to curb his Grinch attitude about cheesy romantic things, like tree decorating and watching rom-coms with hot cocoa. 

You glanced down, and sure enough, Ben was asleep. He had turned onto his stomach. His head still rested in your lap, his cheek pillowed by your thigh, and he had a hand curled around your leg. Your big, growling bear of a man had a gooey center that sometimes surprised even you. 

For one mischievous moment, you considered sticking a piece of popcorn up his nose. 

He looked so damn peaceful that you didn’t want to ruin it…yet now you couldn’t get up either. 

Shit, you thought, but your grin was soft. Oh, whatever. Sleep is overrated.

You queued up Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation next in your movie marathon and settled in. You laid a gentle hand on Ben’s back, between his broad shoulders. 

And his story about his parents returned to the forefront of your mind.

Maybe he didn’t hate Christmas. Maybe it was just difficult for him to remember the genuinely good ones. Maybe he missed his parents; both of them, despite how contentious it had been between him and his father. 

You could certainly understand that. But now, you would make sure he would remember this one for the “good” column.

You only startled a little when your cell phone chimed on the coffee table. The screen read 12:00 a.m. It was officially December 25th. 

You then felt Ben’s warm hand squeeze your leg. His eyes were still shut though, his breathing deep and even in sleep. 

With a smile, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

And you whispered in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Ben.”

AN: Yay! I hope you liked this fluffy one for SB. 🎄❤️

Did you like Ben's little day trip down memory lane? Let me know in the comments! 😘

**Note: There will be two more parts to this due to popular request!

Keep Reading: PART 2

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann83 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

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[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: Here’s one of my entries for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event! ❄️ Hope you enjoy Part 1 of 3. (I will release one chapter per week! Possibly sooner. 😉)

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,900 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Bickering, fluff, jealousy, angst, friends to lovers, (eventual) smut.

Part 1: December 23

“I never thought I’d miss my own bed as much as I do right now,” you mutter. 

Though your body’s weary, you manage to heft your duffel bag onto your shoulder. Soon enough, you’ll be out of this craptastic motel.

More specifically, away from the cot that nearly broke your back while you weren’t sleeping on it. Who could sleep on a bed of rusty-ass springs?

But while Sam is already loading weapons and his things into the Impala, Dean seems to be taking his sweet time, fiddling with something by the solitary nightstand in between the two queen beds. Your extra cot is laid out in the corner (may it rot in hell). 

Dean glances up at you at your remark. 

“That’s the first thing we’ve agreed on all week,” he quips. And he smirks when you send him a mock warning look. 

“Don’t mess with me right now. Haven’t gotten my beauty sleep in three days.” You have to adjust your duffel on your shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

Dean’s smirk fades the longer he concentrates on trying to put on his watch. 

“Trying to…damn it, think this strap is done.” 

Sighing, you set down your bag on the bed and sit down next to him on the edge of it. You peer over his shoulder and see that the leather band is indeed broken. 

“Aw, that sucks. I can replace it for you if you want, since I’m the one who wrangled you guys out here,” you say with a frown. 

You called them for backup when you discovered the coven of witches. If you’ve learned anything about hunting over the years, it just isn’t safe to go after a group of those demon-worshipping assholes without help. And it gave you a reason to get back in touch with Sam and Dean…

If you’re honest, it gave you an excuse to see Dean. 

You haven’t seen him in months, but he and Sam came when you called. The three of you managed to take out all four of those bitches, after having to track them down across the plains of Indiana. 

At least it only came at the cost of Dean’s watch. 

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” Dean says. He tries to wave you off, but you shake your head stubbornly.

“Really, I mean it,” you say. “I’ll buy you a new one. Consider it an early Christmas gift.” 

Christmas Eve is tomorrow, and while you love this time of year (and your own bed), part of you isn’t looking forward to going home to an empty apartment. 

Dean looks up at you with a rueful smile. “Really, it’s okay. This one was my dad’s.”

At that, your guilt intensifies. “Oh…guess there’s no replacing that. I’m sorry.”

“This’s just what I get for hauling my ass out here, pulling yours out of the fire,” he remarks. Some humor creeps back into his smile. “As usual.”

“Hey, if anything, I saved your ass,” you tease back, even though you still feel guilty. “That he-witch was about to grate you into Swiss cheese.” 

And then you shot him between the eyes. 

“Oh, yeah?” Dean raises his brows at you. “And when Barbie girl locked you in her cellar, that was what, you taking a nap?” 

Your lips purse in response. You enjoyed seeing that platinum blonde bitch go down hard—with an iron chain wrapped around her neck. Dean held her down while Sam finished her off with two shots to the chest.

Trust Dean to try and take credit for the whole thing. You get up to your feet with a roll of your eyes, collecting your bag. You feel his presence burning behind you as you both head out of the motel.

“I would’ve figured it out eventually,” you say. 

“Right. Where have I heard that before?” Dean says dryly. He follows you to your car and watches you throw your duffel into the backseat. Maybe he admires the curve of your ass in those jeans for a bit too long while you’re bent over.

But his eyes snap back up to yours when you straighten, turning back to him with a wry look. For years, this is how things have always been between you. Playful, sniping, not entirely flirting, but not quite not either.  

Sam then comes around the Impala to give you a friendly hug goodbye. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says with a smile. You return it, giving his plaid-covered chest a light punch. 

“You two are the ones with the packed dance cards. I’m lucky I got you guys to even answer my call,” you quip. “I’m down to goddamn smoke signals here.”

Dean shakes his head and pulls you into his arms next. “If we’re screening anyone’s calls, it ain’t you, sweetheart.”

You huff at that, but your smile is more genuine when you hug him back. For a brief moment, you let yourself revel in his warmth, his spicy aftershave, the solid feel of him wrapped around your whole body like a perfect man glove. 

It’s so familiar to you, but bittersweet. Because all too soon, you have to let go. 

“It was good to see you,” you say, a little softer than you meant to. Dean’s lips quirk at a warmer smile. There’s something in his eyes you can’t name when he releases you. 

But with a sigh, you turn and get into your car—an old Ford Focus. 

“You’re really still rockin’ that rusted out piece of shit, huh?” Dean asks, watching you with crossed arms as you climb in. The door creaks loudly when you shut yourself in. You flash him a wan smile and lower the window (with the embarrassing hand crank).

“Since 2003. Good old Hubert hasn’t failed me yet,” you reply. And then you turn the ignition.

It splutters, but doesn’t start the car. 

What the fuck?

Frowning, you try it again. And again. And again.

Nothing. 

The brothers Winchester still stand between your car and the Impala in the parking lot. Sam shares a glance with Dean, who brushes a hand over his mouth as he watches.

Finally, you look up at them with a grimace when your car just dies. Kaput. There’s the sound of pressure releasing, along with your high hopes of making it home tonight.  

“Goddamn it, Hubert.”

That’s how you find yourself a guest of Le Bunker a few hours later, after Dean tows your car all the way to Lawrence, Kansas. 

“You’re welcome to stay for the holidays,” Sam tells you once the three of you make it inside. He leads the way down the winding staircase. Dean follows behind you. 

“That’s right! Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” you reply with a smile. 

Your family loves Christmas, but it’s just you this year. Your father is on an extended cruise with his new wife, technically your stepmother. When your dad asked you how you felt about them going on this trip, they seemed so excited about it that you didn’t feel like you could say no. 

So between watching Halmark movies by yourself all day and hanging out here with your friends, there’s really no decision to make. You agree to stay. 

Sam nods back at you and continues into the bunker. He goes on to greet Castiel and Jack in the living room. 

When you reach the ground floor, Dean lays a hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn around.

“I’ll take a look at your car, see if we can’t get it running in a couple days,” he says.

“By Christmas? That’s a tall order,” you reply with a grin. “Even for Dean Winchester, Un-Certified Mechanic.” 

Dean smirks back at you, crossing his arms. “That a challenge, sweetheart?”

You pull out your best Charlie’s Angels narrator voice. “I guess it is. Your mission, should you choose to accept it.”

His gaze is warm with playful scrutiny, from your dirty sneakers to your jeans and black V-neck top, to the messy ponytail keeping your hair together. But you can’t help but blush at the lazy, damn near flirtatious way he does it. 

“All right. Challenge accepted,” he says, crossing his arms. “What do I get if I win?”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “My undying respect.”

He just hums and leans against the iron guardrail of the stairs, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“Not enough for you?” you ask.

He shrugs, unimpressed, like he can take it or leave it. You step up on one of the stairs and fold your arms on the guardrail, so you can be level with Dean’s eyes. 

“Okay. If you manage to miraculously get my car running by Christmas, you get one consequence-free request,” you offer. He raises a brow at that.

“Anything I want?” he asks. 

“Within reason,” you amend, though you’re starting to blush. It curves his lips.

“No questions asked?” he hedges. 

You think about it for a moment…

“None,” you shake your head. “We got a deal?”

Dean smirks back at you and crosses his arms. 

“Deal.”

Maybe the little bet is silly. You know very well Dean can fix your car in two days. Just as you know you need to keep a tighter lid on your feelings…

Now that you’re here in the Bunker, unable to escape him, there’s too much potential for spillage—of things you’ve long kept hidden.

It just never seemed like he was seriously interested. Even if he ever is, you also know very well that Dean’s not the dating type. And you…you just don’t think you can handle being another “hit and run” for him. 

Or a “sometimes” girl. 

Or even worse, a “when it’s convenient” girl.

If you think too long about it, that would just about rip your heart out.

So you ignore the thought of Dean again for a while. After you shower and change into some pajama pants and a loose top, you pad barefoot into the kitchen. Castiel is there to greet you, staring into a glass of orange juice. You raise a brow at him.

“You okay, Cas?” you ask.

“Pulp or no pulp, that is the question,” he muses. 

“Um…pulp?” you reply. 

He nods and takes a sip. “Pulp is good. Increased levels of Vitamin C. But I’m thinking no pulp is best. It eliminates the possible choking hazard.”

You don’t know quite what to say to that, so you nod. “Yeah, fair enough.”

You pause in your quest for a snack to look around the bare furnishings of the bunker. 

“What the hell’s going on here?” you ask. “It’s literally Christmas Eve. Where’re all the decorations?”

Jack comes in the kitchen, pausing from watching reruns of Judge Judy to join you and Castiel. He doesn’t know you very well, but he’s just as curious about you as you’re curious (and maybe a little wary) about him. 

You know Dean hasn’t totally warmed up to the Nephilim, but he seems kind, and you find his honest, natural inquisitiveness endearing.  

“I know about Christmas,” he says, smiling like he’s proud of that fact. “It celebrates the day of Jesus’s birth. Even though December 25 itself is not historically accurate, society has made up for that fact by intertwining pagan traditions and overbearing commercialism.”

“A very good way of putting it,” you say after a moment, chuckling. “Well done.” 

Jack grins at the praise. Castiel shares an amused smile with you, but his is more fond. 

“I don’t believe Sam and Dean are big on celebrating Christmas,” Castiel says, finally answering your question. 

You cluck your tongue and level both angelic beings with a determined look. 

“Well, that’s just not gonna cut it, guys. If I’m spending Christmas here, we’re doing it right,” you say. 

And with a growing smile, “Buckle up. We’re going to Walmart.”

As it turns out, “doing it right” takes pretty much all night. But you’re impressed with how everything came out. 

There’s now a large tree in the living room (a real one, bought in the Walmart lot of Christmas trees), decorated with three packs of lights, ornaments, and a nice star on the top, with a lacy red ribbon that overlays down the front. 

You worked your hardest on the tree, but you also directed Castiel and Jack with a new tablecloth for the war room table. Red candles in “fancy plastic” gold holders, tinsel and ornaments and several other Christmasy things that now brighten up the entire place with festive wonder. 

And all on the cheap. Though your wallet is going to smart a bit, considering you might’ve gone a bit overboard. Not just on decorations, but on some groceries, a few gifts, and maybe a couple of things for yourself…

You just don’t anticipate later falling asleep on the long table in the war room, with a roll of ribbon curled around your hand and tinsel in your hair. 

You wake up to a hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. You groan, squinting against the twinkling lights, no matter how pretty they are in all their multi-colored glory.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

“Huh…?”

“You’re drooling on the table. I’m guessing that’s a new tablecloth.”

“Whathefu…” You manage to open your eyes and raise your head, finding Dean smirking down at you. You blink up at him sleepily. 

“Aw shit,” you utter.

“That’s one way to greet somebody,” he intones. 

You just grin with exasperation, but you accept his help in sitting up with a groan. Every muscle in your body aches in protest from having slept on a slab of hard wood. 

His hand doesn’t leave your back until your bare feet are firm on the ground, though you lean on his arm for a minute while you rub sleep out of your eyes.

“Damn, I wanted to see your faces when everything was put up,” you say ruefully. Sam comes in with a smile and two mugs of coffee, one of which he hands to you. 

“It’s incredible! How’d you do all this?” he asks. “And thank you. You know you didn’t have to.”

You waved him off. “I wanted to. Plus, I had a little help.” 

You raise your mug to Castiel as he walks by with an iPad and a multigrain bar. It’s such a far cry from the angel you had met years ago—socially ignorant of human ways—that you have to smile. He returns it. 

“Jack’s still putting the finishing touches on the Christmas village,” Cas says. 

“Village?” Dean frowns. 

“We had him set it up in his room,” you tell him. “He was fascinated by the train part. And the fake snow. And all the little people…”

“Great, another nerd,” Dean remarks. 

“Be nice,” you chide. He shoots you a certain smirk.

“What do you mean? I’m Mr. fucking Nice Guy.”

“More like Scrooge,” you counter. 

“All right, Sweeney Todd. Might wanna fix the nest you’ve got going on there,” he retorts, gesturing at the wild state of your hair. You’re still picking out tinsel. 

You narrow your gaze at him. “Big talk from the guy wearing fuzzy slippers.”

Dean frowns, glancing down and shuffling his slippered feet. In his defense, the floor is cold.

“All right, I’ll just get started on breakfast then,” Sam says, cutting through the familiar bickering with a resigned grin. After a parting amused look at you, Dean follows him into the kitchen. 

“Wait, wait. You don’t know how the hell to make eggs. Let me get in there.”

Rolling your eyes, you share a conspiratorial look with Castiel, who smiles before taking his iPad into the living room. You take the opportunity to shower, brush your damn hair, and fix yourself into an actual human again. 

Suddenly inspired to put some effort in, you pick out a dress for once. It’s not the new one you might’ve splurged on for Christmas dinner tomorrow, but it’s a “just in case” dress you always take in your bag…just in case. 

It’s a black, comfortable fabric with simple long sleeves and a skirt that drapes above the knee. It’s just casual enough to wear around the bunker. But it can also be dressed up with some heels if you need to. This is not one of those times, thank God. 

You even take pains to do your makeup, light on the eyes but popping with a bit of red lipstick that you typically save for going out. Tis the fucking season. 

And maybe you want to wipe away that asinine smirk from Dean’s face. 

When you return to the kitchen, all four men are sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, talking, and drinking coffee. That all pauses when they see you. 

“Morning, again,” you greet them. And you hum to yourself as you grab another cup of coffee. But you stop in your tracks when you realize they’re all looking at you. 

The ones who have tact (Sam and Dean) manage to return to their phone and iPad, respectively. But the angels are a little slow to look away.

“You look different today,” Jack says. 

Your lips twitch at a smile. “A good different?”

“Yeah,” he says, though the way he looks at you makes you wonder if he’s sure. You share a glance with Dean, whose face strains with an awkward I don’t know what to tell you smile. 

You don’t know it, but Dean’s gaze follows you as you putter about the kitchen. The sight of your smooth and shapely legs are enticing, especially the way the skirt of your dress keeps swishing along your thighs. 

Sam clears his throat, catching his brother’s gaze with amusement. Dean’s lips purse at being caught in the act of checking you out, but he swiftly ignores his brother to glance back down at his iPad.  

Shaking his head, Sam gets up after he finishes his breakfast and brings his plate to the kitchen sink.

“You going out or something?” he asks you. “There’s some eggs for you in the pan, by the way.”

You nod at that, grabbing yourself a plate from the cupboard. You’re starting to reacquaint yourself with where everything is in the bunker. 

“No, but it’s funny how you guys seem to think I live in my hunter gear all the time.” You arch a brow at Sam. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am a woman. Capable of wielding lipstick.”

Sam grins, raising up his hands in surrender. “By all means, wield away. You look nice.”

“Thank you,” you say dramatically. He snorts in response and moves to get around you. But that’s when Jack pipes up.

“Oh, look,” he says, pointing to a spot above you and Sam. “You guys are under the mistletoe.”

Your eyes widen. You glance up at said sprig, which hangs from a long string stapled into the ceiling, then at Sam as a blush starts to warm your face. He looks similarly caught off guard. 

“Who put that there?” you ask, cutting your gaze over to Jack in suspicion. His boyish grin is pleased, while Castiel fights a smile of amused embarrassment for you. 

Dean is oddly quiet though. His expression hides behind the hand he’s leaning his chin on, while his elbow rests on the table. You meet his eyes for just a moment, before you crane your head up to look back at Sam.  

You shrug with a grin and beckon to him with your hands. “All right, come ‘ere.” 

Sam’s face is a bit crunched with an awkward smile, but he obliges you by wrapping you up in a friendly embrace. 

You take his face with both hands and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. You feel his prickly stubble against your lips, but you don’t mind.

“Merry Christmas,” you say with a giggle. He chuckles in response and rubs your back warmly. 

“Merry Christmas,” he echoes, pressing a hand to your cheek. You’re one of those friends he counts as his family, and he’s truly grateful that you’re here with them for the holidays. 

You have similar warm feelings for the gentle giant as you pull out of his embrace. When you glance over at Dean, you don’t know what to expect to find. By the mild grin he’s sporting, he just seems amused by the whole thing. 

You inwardly shake your head at yourself, wondering if you should’ve just kissed Sam. Maybe then you’d figure out where you stand with Dean. 

And once you know for sure he doesn’t see you in any kind of way, then you can try to actually move on from Dean Winchester. 

You’re forced to sit across from him after you heat up your eggs and make some toast. He’s just scrolling through his iPad without a care in the world. 

But in reality, you couldn’t know that Dean is fighting not to look at you. Because the truth is, he didn’t like what he just saw…the obvious warmth between you and his brother. 

“We need stockings,” Jack notes, before he turns to you. “Wasn’t that on your list?”

“Ooh, you’re right. I think I forgot,” you reply. “To be fair, trolling around Walmart on three days of no sleep is ill-advised at the best of times, let alone at 12:00 a.m. on Christmas Eve.”

Sam chuckles at that. While Dean gives a slight smile, he’s still quieter than usual.

“Want to go grab some at the store?” Jack asks. You rub your chin in thought. 

“Well, I wanted to get started on baking some cookies for later.”

“I can take him,” Sam offers. Jack nods along with the idea.

“Okay, great,” you reply.

“Need anything else while we’re out?” Sam asks. 

“Hmm, nope! Nothing that I can think of,” you reply. Sam nods, and soon after, he and Jack leave for the store. 

You turn to Dean, intending to ask if he’d like to help you in the kitchen. Realistically, you know he’s not going to do much but stand there while you do most of the work, but it’s a chance to hang out, just you and him.

You’ve almost worked up your nerve to ask when Dean gets up from the table with his iPad. He says nothing to you before he starts toward the garage, making you frown. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call to him. 

He hesitates, turning back to you with an expectant brow. You want to ask him to stay but…ultimately, you lose your nerve. 

“Gonna work on my car?” you ask instead. He flashes you a smile that doesn’t completely reach his eyes. 

“Un-certified mechanic, at your service,” he dryly quips with a lazy salute. 

You quirk a smile as he continues on his way, but somehow, you feel unsettled. You turn to Castiel, and you remember the rest of your plan for today. 

“Hey, Cas.”

“Yes?” His head raises from his book.  

You give him a conspiring smile. 

“I have a special mission for you.”

AN: The stage is set, folks! Let me know what you thought of Part 1. 😘

Next Time:

Jack’s sprig of mistletoe once again lies above your head. Your heart trips up a bit faster as Dean looks down at you again, with a smirk. 

“My turn,” he remarks. His eyes are flirtatious, but they hold a hint of something deeper. Something you can’t name. 

“Are you gonna go for my cheek like I’m your cousin?” he says.

His raised brow is a challenge, and it makes you bite the inside of your lip. He can be so annoying, but you suppose he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t make things more difficult for you.

Keep Reading: PART 2

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[deanwinchesterswitch]

Hi, I hope you don't mind the influx of questions but I'd rather ask at once than spam you:

What is your favourite fic of yours in the past year?

Do you have a favourite scene from one of your own fics?

What's your favourite type of comment to get?

Do you have a recent fic that you wish had gotten more love?

If you had a new follower, which of your fics would you recommend to them?

Again, I hope you don't mind but I really like to know writer's opinions on their own stuff. (*^_^*)(✿◠‿◠)

Well, hello! I don't mind at all. It makes me happy that someone is interested in my writing. 🥰

Favorite fic in the past year - Evermore

Favorite scene - This one is tough because it changes... Currently, it's Dean dealing with drunk Nic in part seven of TGWRC - We Three Kings of Everything, Jack and Johnny, and Jim Beam and she compares him to bacon. Those two are the flirtiest of flirts and make my heart happy.

Favorite type of comment - I truly do not have a favorite. Everyone has a comfort level about how they communicate or interact. So, a string of emojis, gifs, a simple statement that they enjoyed it, or a very detailed review where parts of the fic are quoted back to me. All of it makes me smile.

Recent fic that I wish got more love - Run to You. But I understand why it hasn't. It's a long, unfinished series that was delayed in the middle of writing it.

Rec for a new follower - This is another tough one because not everyone likes the same thing. Angst - Beauty Out of Sorrow // Mix of Everything - Trust You With My Heart

Thank you so much for this ask! I hope you have a lovely day.💜

[princessmisery666]

I had covid last year so I couldn’t celebrate Christmas 🎄 so I felt Nic’s heartbreak in this, having something to look forward to but then having something dampen it really is heartbreaking 💔!!

But she has a plan… maybe she can turn it around and make it special for all of them 💜

The Girlfriend Who Remade Christmas

Square: Heartbreak ~ @spnchristmasbingo

Song: Where Are You Christmas? ~ Faith Hill

Pairing: Dean x Nicole {Nico/Nic} OFC

Summary: Nicole formulates a plan to help Dean find joy in Christmas again.

Warnings: More angst than fluff, canon divergence

Word Count: 1134

Beta: @princessmisery666

Credit: @talesmaniac89 made the gorgeous title card and divider

Part Two: See What the Time's Done

Nic reaches the old storage room she had commandeered to turn into a studio and darkroom. Slamming the door, she locks it behind her. The brothers know she prefers to have some time to herself after they argue, but she’s not taking any chances on either of them walking in to try to appease her.

Pacing around the room, she rearranges supplies, shuffles through papers, and picks up small knick-knacks, only to immediately put them back in place. Grabbing a pillow from the overstuffed chair opposite her desk, she screams into it, trying to expel the frustration and sadness swirling inside her. It doesn’t help.

She plops into her desk chair, jabs the power button on her laptop, then scrolls through her playlists. Music has always helped to calm her, one of the things that she and Dean have in common. Hitting shuffle on her Christmas playlist, she leans back in the chair, clicking her tongue and irritatedly tapping her nails on the desk’s surface, waiting for the cheerful melodies to ease the tension as her thoughts settle back on Dean.

This is the first year they won’t spend the holiday hunting monsters or holed up in some crappy motel. The boys have never had what others considered a traditional Christmas. Still, she knows that beneath his battle-hardened shell, Dean sometimes dreams of having something more conventional and ordinary. A holiday spent listening to cheesy Christmas music, over-the-top decorations, exchanging gifts, more food than they can eat at one meal, and his family and friends nearby, sharing the warmth and love of the season. The ‘apple pie life’ as he likes to call it.

For Dean and her, the bunker is a home, a place that is safe and familiar. The closest they will probably ever get to that apple pie existence. So the prospect of decorating, baking, and enjoying what others considered normal Christmas activities for the first time with him had filled her with giddy excitement. 

She thought Sam would be the tough nut to crack and to get on board, but aside from the tree debate, he seemed to support her plans. Dean’s response to her initial foray is bewildering. He’d acted enthusiastic when she regaled the group that night with her vision, even offered suggestions. It breaks her heart to see his apparent disdain for it all now, and she regrets responding to his anger in kind. There’s something driving it; she just needs to figure out what it is. 

Nic closes her eyes, replaying their conversation in her head, focusing on his body language and facial expressions. Sorrow… his eyes had been mournful and dark before he blinked it away while she spoke about the beauty and spirit of the season.

The upbeat anthem shifts into a slow emotional ballad, and between breathy vibrato and belted lines, the artist sings about searching for a lost Christmas. The song is from one of her favorite movies. The one she’d been watching earlier and why it was in the forefront of her mind, prompting her to call Dean a bad banana. The image of his adorably confused face sparks a small giggle. 

Restarting the song, she pushes away from the desk, slowly swiveling in the seat, mulling over the possibilities of what triggered Dean’s sudden opposition and hidden grief.

My world is changing; I'm rearranging

Those two simple lines punch through her musings, and tears well in her eyes. Dean’s life has changed drastically over the past months, and he’s probably feeling lost. Unsure of where he fits into the world now. Yes, there are still monsters and evil to fight in the world, but those cases have been few and far between and are cakewalks compared to fighting cosmic beings hellbent on the destruction of the world.

Obtaining something that he had only ever dreamed of, talked about as if it were a fairytale because he never believed that he would ever have it, is, in truth, probably terrifying. After spending the majority of his life in fight or flight mode, Dean now finds himself in transition. He’s probably wondering how long it will take before he screws it up, waiting for it to become tainted because he didn’t truly earn it, a constant fear running through his mind that he will wake up and it will all have vanished. She berates herself for not seeing his struggle sooner, especially since she’s been having similar feelings, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

She’s been busy with her growing business, tucked away in her workroom for hours on end, completing orders so they can be shipped in time for the holiday—neglecting Dean. Thinking back over the past few weeks, she can envision the shift in his demeanor. Usually, Dean has a hard time hiding his feelings from her, but the change had been subtle, and her distracted mind had missed it while it was happening.

Swiping away the tears on her cheeks, she plants her feet, chair jerking to a stop mid-rotation as her eyes land on her old Polaroid camera. Photography is a secondary hobby, and the wooden shelving unit Dean built for her is home to several vintage cameras still in working order. To her, photography is a form of art that creatively captures the world around you, preserving those moments in time from a viewpoint others might not see.

With a gasp, she jumps from the seat. “That’s it!” Rummaging through the closet, she pulls out a box of old maps and travel journals, remnants from a life long ago. The items in the box document her grandfather’s travels around the world. She had barely managed to save them from being thrown out by one of her foster parents. They are the only items she has of her former life. 

She had spent hours of her childhood reading about his epic adventures and studying the maps, learning how to read them and navigate the world at large. That skill had served her well over the years. While quite familiar with the highways and byways of the country, having traversed them way more than most, the Winchesters had still come to rely heavily on her knowledge. Nicole’s unique skillset of rapidly calculating distances and recalling little-known routes had shaved off many miles and given them back precious time when it was needed most.

Laying out the maps on her large workspace, she grabs her tablet, phone, and a fresh notebook. Dean needs to see the world through a different lens, a view not mired in blood and heartache. She will plan an adventure for the two of them, a road trip that will remind him of the beauty and the good that he sacrificed the last 40+ years of his life for—remake the holiday into a Winchester-style Christmas.

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