Author Note:

Basically this all began because my wireless mouse ran out of battery and I had no more batteries. I only know a limited variety of keyboard short-cuts and this is what I could accomplish.

This was supposed to be a fluffy-Destiel-AU for Christmas, I don't know where I lost control.
Basically – no hunting – Mary died in a fire in 1982. The first episode didn't happen, but they'd be season 9's age. So Dean is 35 and Sam is 31.

This is my first Supernatural Fic (That I have bothered to Publish) - It would be absoulutley fantastic if you could offer your opinions on it! It's been a while since I published anything.

Destiel! - Don't like, Don't read.

It's Late

Chapter One

Dean heaved the oversized tree into his home, cursing Sam for making him have their annual family gathering in his small dwelling. He would have been satisfied in solitude, alone with a beer in front of the T.V. But it was not the Winchester way.

He set the undecorated evergreen next to the fireplace. Every year at Christmas, he wondered if the whole tree idea was the revelations of a drunken madman who'd decided to chop down a tree and bring it inside where he could decorate it and shower it with gifts. It was a dead thing from outside, it sprinkled pine needles everywhere, and it smelt funny. It was a strange tradition. Y'know who celebrated Christmas with a tree? Crazy people!

Nonetheless the bare greenery stood in his living room in a plant pot despite its lack of life. He had been talked into this madness.

Sam and Jess would be arriving immanently; he'd really left it late until he'd brought the blasted tree indoors, but he supposed the kids could be entertained with the prospect of tinsel for a few hours.

"Uncle DEAANN!" squealed an excited 7-year old,

"Jono-boy!" Dean knelt to the little guy's level and small arms flung around his neck. It was remarkable how much Jonathan looked like Sam when he was younger except with blond hair, like his mother.

Annie, their second child, was four and far shier than her brother. She held tight of her mother's hand as Sam battled with their luggage.

Dean winked at his favourite niece, earning him a broad grin instantly; he ruffled the boy's hair and stood back up.

"Welcome." Dean said, regretfully with a slight bitterness, as he moved out of the way for Sam to dump their stuff.

"What, how long are you staying? A week?" Dean joked as Sam fumbled about with more things.

Jessica looked momentarily panicked, which caused Dean's smile to grow wider.

"Don't worry, he's just messing with you." Sam interrupted.

"Oh, yeah." Dean said smugly, "You are staying for a week."

Jessica smiled politely, still not accustom to Dean's sense of humour 100% of the time.

"Anyway" Dean said, breaking the ice, "pleasant trip?"

"Not too bad. Kids slept most of the way which was…peaceful."

Suddenly, the undecorated Christmas decoration caught Jonathan's eye and he bounded into the living room. Letting go of her mother's hand, Annie followed with quiet curiosity.

"It looks strange." Jonathan announced as the adults followed the children,

"Right!?" Dean agreed enthusiastically, to which his niece and nephew giggled. Sam also chuckled at him.

"Wha'd-ya think It needs?" Dean asked playfully as he walked over to them, crouching to their height once again, "A woolly hat?" Both Jonathan and Annie shook their heads.

"No?" Dean looked dramatically puzzled, "A beard? Some pumpkins? A trumpet?" And then in a hushed whisper, "A mince pie?" Dean mocked horror at the thought of giving away a pie to the tree. They frantically shook their heads again, gracing him with dimpled grins.

"Oh." Dean hummed.

"Decorations silly!" Jonathan burst, unable to contain himself any longer.

"Yeah, well. That was gonna be my next guess." Dean pointed at each of the children in turn, "Stay here, I'll get them."

His Christmas shopping last week had consisted of a list of decorations, specifically bought for this occasion. Dean carried a large cardboard box into the living room, with decorations overflowing.

He placed the box in front of them proudly. "Hey-Presto!"

"Do you have an Angel?" Annie asked bashfully, pointing to the top of the tree.

Dean looked a little miffed, "No sweetheart," Dean said sadly, "But I do have a star!" He added quickly, hoping that it would do just as well, "-just like you." And Dean tapped her nose. She smiled up at him, a star would do just fine.

"Now, me and your Daddy need to get you guys settled in. Are you going to do an awesome job with that tree or what?"

"Mommy's gonna help with the high bits, okay?" Sam said as he wandered back into the living room.

They nodded simultaneously, grinning into the treasure chest of decorations.

•••

The kids had decorated the tree and pretty much the entire room with tinsel, lights and ball-balls. They'd even decorated the cardboard box with wrapping paper and cut out stars. With a little help from Jessica, the tree looked fairly impressive – they even added some of their own, hand-made decorations. Now they slept in what, this time yesterday, used to be a study. Or a room that Dean just dumped things he didn't know what else to do with.

Dean relaxed back into his sofa, resting his feet on the coffee table. He did have a matching footrest but it had been abducted for tree decoration purposes, not that he really used it anyway.

"What-we watching?" Sam asked as his large frame was dumped next to Dean.

"I think we just caught the tail-end of 'It's a wonderful life'."

A man on the T.V. was yelling "Merry Christmas!" randomly, through snowy streets.

"Well, he seems to be in the Christmas cheer." Jess noted. Sam shuffled up on the sofa to make room for his wife.

Dean flicked through the channels, not really wanting to find anything interesting; otherwise he just wouldn't be very social. In the end he settled for a stand up comedy show, and lowered the volume. He grabbed the pot of peanuts that had been on the coffee table and shoved a handful in his mouth.

"Could you get any less gross?" Sam disapproved.

"My house, my rules Sammy."

Sam sniggered, "What rules?"

"No one ever eats my pie – and absolutely no rap music. " Dean said without thought, cramming his mouth with more peanuts, making both Jess and Sam laugh. He might have said 'No Christmas trees' but for the fact he was looking at one.

They talked into the night and Jess glowed with pride as she spoke about Sam's promotion. The law firm were discussing making him a named partner. Dean grunted periodically about his rock-star life as a mechanic.

Since bobby, who had been a dear family friend, had passed a year ago in a hunting accident, Dean had taken control of Singer's auto repair yard. Uncle Bobby had left the business to him, as he'd had no family of his own. Dean had been like a son to him.

Sam talked proudly about his children and their school's nativity play. Jonathan had been one of the three wise men and Annie had been a sheep.

"You should settle down, get married. Have kids. You're so good with them." Jess said to Dean.

Dean couldn't picture it, his own rug-rats running around causing chaos. He smiled knowingly, that life wasn't for him. Besides he was scared stiff that he would turn into his own father, something he was incredibly proud of Sam for overcoming.

John Winchester had spiralled out of control after the tragic death of their mother, thankfully the boys had bobby. Who, ironically, hadn't had children of his own for the same reason – his father had been a violent drunk.

They caught up with one another's lives until around midnight, which was late enough for Sam and Jess who'd spend the majority of the day travelling.

So gallantly, Dean had surrendered his double bed for Sam and Jess – A noble offering if ever there was one. He had taken the spare room as it only held a single bed and there was only one of him.

When he'd said his dwellings were small, he hadn't been exaggerating, and yet his brother had insisted that they come to his for the holiday season.

•••

Dean opened a single eye, lying awkwardly on the spare bed. Then he heard it again, a tapping. He looked across at his alarm clock, grumbling incoherently.

"4 –am, really?"

He got to the front door, with his brow furrowed. And with an irritated expression, he angrily snatched the door open, fully intending to yell at the person on the other side.

"I'm sorry to –" The fame of a broken man stood wearily before Dean, bleeding into his trench coat. He put his hand heavily on the doorframe to support himself. "– Dean?" He rasped in confusion. Suddenly the blood stained and beaten man collapsed in his doorway.

"Cas?" Dean didn't know the man well, just enough to recall his name – or part of it at least. Cas was an ex solider; he'd fought on the front lines in Afghanistan, Dean had worked on his motorbike a couple of times and his sister ran the bar that he frequented.

He couldn't just leave him out there, so Dean looked around to make sure that the trouble Cas had gotten himself into hadn't followed him, and then pulled him inside and out of the cold. He was smaller than Dean was, but it was obvious that the man was strong. It must have taken a great amount of force to make him look like a pit-bull's chew toy.

The unconscious man was carefully dumped on the sofa; Dean thoughtfully stood over him. What else could he do? He draped a blanket over him and proceeded into the kitchen to make himself a coffee, he couldn't go back to bed with a stranger in his living room.

Dean's humble abide, open to all, lawyers and strays alike. Dean thought bitterly as he aimless stirred his coffee and then he ventured back into the living room perching himself on the footstool.

Sam must have heard the commotion and he himself had gone to investigate, hoping his children hadn't been the cause. Sam glanced from Dean to the bloody man and back again and mouthed, "Who is that!" at Dean. It was written all over his face; 'can't we have one Christmas without any drama?' It was an irritated look.

Dean resisted the urge to shrug, as that would earn him no brownie points with his brother. In that case, Dean had either drunkenly beaten up the poor guy with no recollection of it or he'd let a strange beaten up guy in. None of which would be favourable in Sam's eyes. He could be dangerous his wife and children were staying here.

"Cas," Dean answered in a low tone so as not to disturb Mr Comatose, "his sister runs the Tavern, he was discharged last year from Afghanistan." He whispered, eluding the fact that it had actually been Anna, his sister that had told him this. "He just sort of turned up and collapsed." Dean explained, flailing his arms out, questioning Sam 'what was he was expected to do?'

Sam nodded, still wary of the bloodied stranger, but nonetheless left Dean to watch over him while he blundered back to bed.

Cas was only out for about half an hour; he bolted upright, panicked and unfamiliar with his surroundings. He winced with pain but did not let so much as a whimper pass his lips.

"Whoa there buddy, it's okay." Dean said, trying to reassure him.

"Dean?" Cas strained.

"Yeah," Dean said absently, "What the hell happened man?"

"Some thugs ran me off my bike,"

"That did this to you?" Dean said, pointing at a particularly bad looking wound on his face, "No offence, but you look worse than a rhino's ass."

"Thanks," Cas said, dabbing his hand lightly at his face and looking back at it, he discovered blood. Cas shuffled to the edge of the sofa putting his hands on either side of him, so as evenly distribute is body weight in getting up.

"Y'know, you should probably just stay there." Dean advocated, as though it was most obvious thing to do.

He sighed as Cas ignored him, and he himself got to his feet.

"Okay then," quietly escaped Dean's lips.

The seemingly weak and damaged man heaved himself up; he was stronger than he looked and Dean was mildly impressed. He was obviously determined.

"Well let's get your sorry ass patched up then," Dean suggested, "Kitchen's this way," He added, not allowing room for protest and he led the way.

Cas looked around, considering escape, but he didn't feel particularly great, Dean was being kind and offering his hospitality. Who was he to look a gift-horse in the mouth? So without objection he followed.

Dean crouched in search of his first aid kit under the sink, while Cas propped himself against the counter, not willing to lose his balance and end up sprawled on the hard tiled floor. He wasn't really a band-aid sort of person. Like Dean, he'd usually knuckle down and bear through the pain.

In mild embarrassment, Dean shoved the box of Mr Men plasters to the back of the cupboard. Cas smirked, as he'd seen but he said nothing. They had been an investment of a few years ago when Jonathan had fallen over and cut himself – Mr Bump had been an essential.

Dean pulled from the box antiseptic wipes, and presented them to Cas, who looked rather un-amused, as he knew it was going to sting.

He ripped open the packet and lightly dabbed the wipe to his face, wincing because he could not see what he was doing, however again manning up to the pain and not making a sound.

Searing pain ran hot through his face as he prodded a wound he didn't realize he had. Catching him by surprise, he jerked the wipe away from his face and scowled at it.

"Here," Dean offered, and Cas dumped the wipe in the hands of the Winchester. Cleaning up the wounds of his face, Dean worked delicately; careful not to make the same mistake Cas had moments earlier. He had an advantage; he could see what he was doing.

Cas' clothes were bloodied, and he had sustained other injuries beneath his trench coat, but he was feeling much better.

"Weren't you wearing leathers?" Dean asked trying to recall whether or not he had been in the protective gear in the few times their paths had crossed before.

"I wasn't going anywhere fast," Cas offered with a shrug, "or very far." but he wasn't as humble as Dean would have expected. He wasn't a stereotypical biker either; he didn't have torn leathers, tattoos or a beard. Cas took pride in his appearance and he rode a motorcycle because he enjoyed it.

Dean vaguely remembered Cas would wear a leather jacket, but not leather pants. At the time, he'd actually reminded Dean of Steve McQueen from the Great Escape without the mud stained face.

Washing the blood away, he sponged a damp cloth over Cas' face in deliberate motions and once he'd finished, Cas looked human again.

•••

Author Note #2:

**If you haven't heard it, you might like to listen to "It's late" By Queen. It's the story's name sake.**

Hope you guys like it, I'd love some feedback! Merry Christmas,

C.