So this is Christmas
And what have you done
Another year over
And a new one just begun
Dean Winchester did not do the alone thing well. And alone at the holidays? Yeah, no.
Sighing, he reached for a bag of flour and put it in his cart. He'd had to pare down his grocery list, since he'd be making Christmas dinner for no one but himself. Ellen had invited him over, but with Sam and Jess finally getting approved for their overseas mission with Doctors Without Borders, Dean didn't think he'd be good company to begin with. Some part of him knew he was being an anti-social asshole, but oh well.
Pushing his cart up to the check out, Dean watched as couples and families with kids laughed and carried on, chatting happily with the cashiers. Dean used self-checkout, grabbed a latte at the Starbucks on the way out, and headed home to his Fells Point rowhome.
No lights twinkled in his windows, and he cursed when he realized some motherfucker with a Prius had taken his usual spot. He ended up parking the Impala a block up Aliceanna Street, cussing and grumbling as he dragged his groceries up the road to his house. Reaching his front door, he shoved his key into the lock, pushing the door open and getting inside fast enough to disable the alarm.
The house was still and quiet, and he sighed. He oughta put a tree up at least.
Dean put his groceries away, save the piece of salmon he'd bought for dinner. One piece of salmon, looking a little lonely in its tray. Just a week ago, there would have been three pieces - and Jess would have gotten the biggest one. Sam's fiancé was thin and tall, but she could out eat and out drink both of them.
She was perfect for Sam - and a hundred yards out of his league.
Staring at the lonely piece of salmon, Dean was overwhelmed by his need for human contact. He tossed the fish into the fridge and slid his coat back on. Walking the block up to Broadway, he pushed into Jimmy's, hoping to find at least one friendly face.
Vic Henrikson was sitting at the counter, shoveling in pancakes like he was on a time limit - and he probably was, seeing as how his cruiser was double parked. He saw Dean right away, and his face lit up.
"Dr. Winchester! How's it hangin'?" he grinned.
"Dammit, Vic, why do you insist on calling me that? Dean is fine. Keep that shit up and I'll keep calling you Officer Henrikson." He dropped onto the barstool next to Vic and pulled out a menu.
"Hey, you saved my life. It's pretty hard for me to forget, Doc."
Rolling his eyes, Dean smiled at Pamela when she came near. "Hiya, Pam."
"Hiya yourself, gorgeous. What'cha havin'?"
"Double bacon cheeseburger, extra onions."
"Onion rings or fries?"
"Both?"
"For you, baby, of course." Pam smiled and turned back to the grill to start making his burger.
"A doc oughta eat healthier, don't ya think?" a drawling voice asked.
"Shuddup."
Benny Lafitte reached for a menu, and Dean tried to avert his eyes at the way his heavily inked upper arms bulged under his Baltimore FD tee. He'd had it bad for Benny since he'd patched him up after a three alarm couple of years back, but Benny was very, very taken.
Andrea could be damn scary when she got mad.
"Too busy takin' care of us civil servants to take care of himself. Am I right?" Vic grinned across the counter at Benny and winked at Dean.
Dammit. He was surrounded by hot, taken, straight men.
"Yup. Doc needs a keeper."
"Aw shit, are you two matchmaking again? 'Cause the last time -" Dean shuddered.
"How was I to know that sweet, round face hid a demon? She seemed so nice."
"Yeah, well -"
"Andrea's got this friend. She's gorgeous, sweet, and very single," Benny said, waggling his eyebrows at Dean. "She's dying to set you up."
"I know a guy, too. He's a transfer from the LAPD. I'm straight as fuck and even I can tell he's hot."
"Swell. You guys are over helpful, you know that, right?"
"C'mon, Doc, you're successful and apparently hot as shit, accordin' to my wife and all her friends. Don't want to spend Christmas alone, right? Specially with Sam gone -"
"Jesus, Benny," Dean grimaced. "Pam? Pack that to go, please?"
"Sure, hon!"
"Don't be like that," Benny wheedled. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."
"We just don't like to see you all lonely and stuff," Vic added.
"Stay out of my personal life, ok? I don't need it." He threw some money on the counter and snatched the bag from Pam, pushing out of the restaurant with his friends' protests ringing in his ears. It started to rain as he walked the block back home, and even though the Prius had moved and his baby's usual spot was open, Dean didn't feel like braving the rain any longer than necessary. The Impala would spend the night up the street.
Shaking the water off his leather coat, he carelessly tossed it on the coat hook next to the front door. Settling in the den with his dinner, Dean flipped through channels, smiling to himself when he found A Charlie Brown Christmas. He was done eating by the time the special was over, and he grumbled about the tears he shed as the little tree grew into a big, beautiful tree.
His empty living room mocked him.
"Fuck it," he mumbled, shutting off the TV and going to the kitchen to throw out his dinner box. He snatched his keys and his coat and headed back out. It was raining and he didn't care. It was two weeks 'til Christmas and he needed a tree, a tree stand, lights, ornaments - well he did have some ornaments - but he needed a star or an angel or something for the top.
Fumbling his keys, he unlocked and wrenched the Impala's door open. He'd drive over to Dundalk and get himself a tree and then hit Target on the way back for lights. Dean knew if he didn't find a little Christmas spirit, he'd work himself into another seasonal depression, and that was the last thing he needed. But, two hours later, after picking the perfect tree and getting all the trimmings, Dean was definitely in a funk. All around him, happy couples and happy families laughed and loved, and he was all alone.
He pulled out onto Boston Street from the Canton Target, barely paying attention as he pointed the car home. Despite the luscious smell of evergreen drifting from the trunk, his spirits were sinking fast.
Dean missed Sam. He missed his baby brother.
Sam, Dean, and Jess were all doctors. Dean was the chief resident in the ER at Mercy Hospital. Sam was a pediatrician, Jess was an OB/Gyn. They'd specialized, always intending to join Doctors without Borders or the Peace Corps. Getting the assignment to Nigeria was what they'd been dreaming of for a long time - but Nigeria was dangerous. Dean was worried about them, damn near constantly now. He was sick of the way their four bedroom rowhome echoed without them. It made Dean wish he'd caved on the dog. At least he'd have someone to keep him company.
He missed his mother, too.
Melancholy set in, and Dean blinked tears from his eyes, the road blurring in the glare of his baby's headlights.
A cat darted into the intersection and Dean slammed the brakes.
The Impala protested, tires hydroplaning across wet blacktop as Dean fought to get her under control. He thought he might have screamed. A telephone pole filled his vision, and he saw stars as his forehead connected with the steering wheel.
Blackness.
"It's ok. I've got you. Help is coming," a deep voice soothed. "You're going to be ok."
He could hear sirens in the background, but his eyes refused to open. "Cold -" Dean whispered weakly.
Something warm was draped over him, a strong arm pillowing his head. "You're going to be ok," the voice soothed again.
Dean trusted the guy, and let himself drift off.
He woke in a room in his own hospital, Dr. Lisa Braeden frowning as she pressed a stethoscope to his chest.
"Oh - there you are." She dropped a hand to her hip and glared. "Can you not? Seriously. I am too old for this shit."
"Uh -"
"At least you weren't drinking. That would have been awkward as fuck, boss."
"Yeah. I um - there was a cat?"
"Aw. You and your bleeding heart."
"Can't run over a cat," Dean muttered, holding his arm out obediently so Aaron could wrap a cuff around it. "Am I gonna live?"
Aaron chuckled, turning on the blood pressure machine. "Pretty sure."
Dean rubbed the lump on his forehead. "Any news on my car?"
"No, but Benny said Bobby's going to go get it. It'll be ok, I'm sure."
"Provided I didn't total her," Dean said darkly. His fingers nested in rough cloth draped across his lap, and he picked up the tan trenchcoat lying on his bed. "What the hell is this?" he asked.
"We thought it was yours. They said you wouldn't let go of it in the ambulance."
Dean examined it closely, taking in the shapelessness of it and the worn JCPenney label in the collar. "Never seen it before in my life. And let's be honest, does this really look like something I'd wear?"
"Well, no," Lisa agreed, "but you wouldn't let go of it just the same."
A warm voice in his ear - It's ok, I've got you, help is coming - maybe the coat belonged to the voice. He'd said he was cold. Dean started pawing through the folds of the coat looking for identification of some sort. Any kind of clue, just something that would lead him to his good Samaritan.
"What are you doing?" Lisa asked.
"Trying to find out who this belongs to. It's important."
"Why?"
"Because the person this belongs to is the person who kept me warm and stayed with me until the paramedics came - unless he's out there in the waiting room or something." Dean looked up at Lisa and Aaron expectantly.
"No, no one came in with you," Aaron told him.
"Oh," Dean mumbled, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. "Bummer."
"Well, anyway," Lisa told him, squeezing his wrist. "Charlie's coming to get you and take you home. You're off work for two weeks."
"What?!"
"You have a concussion and need to rest. Its two weeks until Christmas. Most people would kill to get two weeks of paid leave before Christmas."
"I'm not most people. Go get Dr. Moseley."
"Dr. Moseley is the one who ordered the two weeks. You want to argue with the head of neurology, you do that on your own time. You're going home. You're going to rest. Capiche?"
"Goddammit," Dean clenched his fists. "Two weeks is entirely too long for a damn concussion and I'm chief resident -"
"And you've been directly ordered by a department head to take yourself home and rest. You really gonna argue with me, Dr. Winchester?"
Dean shrank back into the mattress as the sudden appearance of the diminutive Dr. Missouri Moseley. "No ma'am," he said quickly, "no argument here."
"Good," she smiled, reaching out to run a hand through his hair. "Go home and rest, sweetheart. You need it. You went all year without taking any time off and this is a good excuse for me to order your butt out of here for a bit. I'm not going to have one of my best getting burnt out. Alright?"
"Yes, ma'am," Dean agreed, all the fight gone out of him.
Two weeks off. Two weeks alone at home without Sam and Jess or his car.
Dean stifled a groan and waited for Charlie.
Forty-eight hours into his Missouri-imposed vacation, and Dean was ready to climb the walls. She'd been right about resting, at least a little, because the concussion had given him a headache that no amount of Tylenol was getting rid of. Bobby had taken him to see his car (she was beat up, but utterly fixable) and all his trimmings and the tree had been retrieved from her trunk.
The tree stood in the corner of his living room, lights put on courtesy of Charlie, but the ornaments had yet to be placed, and Dean just couldn't find the motivation.
At eight o'clock on the dot, the Skype window on his MacBook sent him a notification, which he clicked on, and a moment later, two of the faces he loved most in the world were smiling back at him.
"Hey!" Sam grinned, flicking his hair out of his face. "How you doing?"
"How's the head?" Jess asked.
"Aw, man, who told you guys about that?"
Sam chuckled. "And I quote - it's not like your hard headed idjit brother will tell you -"
"Say no more."
"He's just worried about you. Seriously, are you doing ok?"
"Yeah, just stir crazy as fuck. I need to get out of the house."
"But you can't drive yet. Right?" Jess narrowed her eyes. "You better be following the doctor's orders."
"I am the doctor," Dean shot back.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "And you know what I mean."
"Yeah, yeah."
"So anyway," Sam grinned, clearly trying to change the subject, "we've been really busy - how about you? Get a tree or anything?"
"Yeah, it's up. Charlie put lights on it."
Sam frowned. "Gonna put ornaments on it?"
A scuffle from behind them had Jess turning her head, exchanging whispered words with someone. "I have to go," she said apologetically. "Iberatu's in labor."
"It's too soon," Sam said, his expression concerned. "The baby might not be -"
"I know. I'm going to try and stop it. Talk later, Dean. Love you!" Jess disappeared from the chat window.
"Iberatu?"
"Yeah. Ten year old girl. Her sixty something uncle -" Sam shuddered. "This place. I don't know. I knew there were problems going in, that's why we're here, but god - this little girl is six months pregnant. She'll probably lose the baby today and we'll be lucky if we don't lose her."
"Oh god," Dean breathed. "That's awful."
"Yeah," Sam ran a hand over his face and Dean finally noticed how exhausted his brother looked. "I wanted this. I still want it. But it's - it's an adjustment, that's for sure. These folks, so many of them have gone hungry for so long, they have nutritional deficiencies that Jess and I can't begin to -" He huffed a sigh. "Never mind. How are you? Got plans for Christmas?"
"Yeah. Gonna watch all three Die Hards and eat pie."
"Not going to Ellen's? I know she invited you."
Dean squirmed. "Not up to it."
"Oh man, you're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"That I'm miserable so I'm going to stay home so no one has to deal with my shit even though everyone would be perfectly happy to have me around and comfort me and make me feel better thing and this martyr shit is getting ridiculous."
"Sam -"
"No. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of you unnecessarily isolating yourself, especially this time of year when you really, really shouldn't be alone."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not. And I should have - I shouldn't have taken this mission. It hasn't even been a year and -"
"Sam," Dean said warningly. "If you hadn't - if you'd stayed home on my behalf," Dean shook his head. "Yeah, I don't want that at all. You've been waiting way too long for this."
"Just tell me this. If Missouri hadn't put you on house arrest, how many days were you planning on taking off in the next two weeks?"
Dean turned his head away, cheeks flushing. He'd volunteered to take extra shifts to let some of the other docs have off.
"That's what I thought." Sam rubbed his eyes. "Dean, you can't do this. The last thing you should be doing right now is isolating yourself."
"I'm fine," he insisted again.
"No. No, you're really not and I can tell by the way you're avoiding my eyes. You're hurting."
"Doesn't seem to be bothering you any," he shot back spitefully.
"Are you kidding me?" Sam said incredulously. "You think I'm not hurting? That I'm not grieving? The difference between you and me is that I let myself hurt, I let myself grieve. You shove it all down until it's pushing so hard against your walls that you explode and everything comes barreling out."
"I don't want to -"
"I know. You don't want to have this conversation. You never want to talk about this stuff. It's part of the problem."
"Sam! Sam, I need you right now!" Jess's voice bounced frantically over the Skype connection.
"I have to go. I'm sorry. I'll email you a time to talk later. I love you, Dean." And then Sam was gone before Dean could even say goodbye.
Four days before Christmas, Dean decided he couldn't sit in the house any longer. He got dressed in one of his nicer pairs of jeans and a warm red sweater Jess had gotten him the year before. Checking his appearance in the mirror, he stared down at the sweater. He'd worn it to his mother's funeral.
Blinking the burn of tears out of his eyes, he yanked the sweater back off and tossed it on the bed, going for the green one instead. Stopping in the bathroom, he ran a damp hand through his hair to rearrange the gel already there. Satisfied with his appearance, he walked downstairs, gathering his phone and wallet as he went.
At the front door, he contemplated his leather coat - and the tan trench hanging next to it. "What the hell," he muttered, pulling the trench from the coat hook and slipping it on. It was a little big, but warm and comfortable, and there was the slight smell of orange and evergreen in the collar.
It was the dumbest thing, but putting the coat on felt like a hug.
Dean stepped out the front door, surprised when a swirl of snow blew across Aliceanna, a few flakes rudely traveling up his nose. Spluttering, he reached back inside and grabbed a scarf, wrapping it around his nose and mouth before locking the door. He trudged through the snow up to Broadway, pushing into Jimmy's in the hope of finding at least one friendly face. Dean took a table in the corner, ordering his standard burger with extra onions.
None of his friends were in the tiny restaurant, and Dean ate and paid, leaving shortly thereafter. He felt worse when he left than he had when he arrived. Loneliness hung around him like a shroud, weighing down his shoulders and making it oddly hard to breathe.
Lights sparkled up and down Broadway, and people braved the snow, laughing and chatting, holding hands, smiling - sighing, he turned and headed back home, letting himself into his empty, dark house.
The undecorated tree stood in his living room.
Draping the wet scarf on the coat hook, he left the trench on, crossing to the living room and plugging the tree in. For the next few hours, he decorated, hanging ornaments and tinsel, setting out his mother's candles and manger set, and trying desperately to keep the tears at bay.
When it was done, he lifted a picture off the mantel and dropped wearily onto the couch. He stared down at the picture in the frame.
"I miss you so much," he whispered, dragging fingers down the face looking up at him.
Mary Winchester smiled into the camera, even though the exhaustion in her eyes was obvious. Her head was wrapped in a beautiful Hermès scarf Dean had bought her for her birthday, in a desperate attempt to cheer her up. She'd claimed it had worked.
How frustrating it had been, to be a doctor and not be able to heal the one person in his life he absolutely needed to heal. To watch Mary's health decline and be able to do nothing about it -
Dean swiped a few tears from his cheeks. He stood and put the picture back and shut off everything but the tree. God, what he wouldn't give to get sloppy, blasted drunk – stupid concussion. Settling back on the couch, he lay on his side, pulling the trenchcoat tight around him.
Loneliness overwhelmed him. Tears burned in his eyes, but he refused to let anymore fall. He'd promised Mary he'd be strong and he would. He was determined to keep that promise at least.
The next few days, Dean sank deeper and deeper into his melancholy. The last two Skype calls he and Sam had attempted had failed due to the unpredictable internet. By Christmas Eve, Dean had sunk so low he could barely muster up the energy to get out of bed.
Baltimore was wet and oddly warm for December 24th. With nothing to do, and nowhere to go, Dean just moped around the house all day, cleaning things that didn't need to be cleaned, all in an attempt to pass the time until he could justify crawling back into bed.
Evening came, and the rain didn't quit. He made the stupid mistake of turning on the TV just in time for Judy Garland to sing her heart out, and as she warbled on about friends and loved ones gathering together, his eyes drifted to the pictures lining the mantel. Sam, Jess, Mary, even one of his father - wherever the hell he was.
Mary had loved Meet Me in St. Louis. She was the one who introduced Dean to his love of old movies.
Sighing heavily and wrenching himself off the couch, Dean slid a pair of rain boots onto his feet and pulled the trench over his shoulders, wandering out into the rain with no particular destination in mind. Walking towards the Harbor, he managed to walk to the front steps of the Church of the Advent, drawn inside by the candlelight dancing in the windows and the sound of the choir drifting out into the street.
The smell of bayberry and evergreen greeted him as he stepped inside, a faint orange smell lingering in the foyer. He sat in a pew in the very back of the otherwise empty church, watching the choir as they practiced.
They were singing O Holy Night, his mother's all-time favorite Christmas song. He closed his eyes and let himself remember Mary singing as she rolled cookies and pie crust.
"Dean?"
Pastor Jim Murphy smiled down at him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Didn't expect to see you here tonight. Shouldn't you be at Ellen's?"
Dean took a shuddering breath and blinked, the tears he'd tried so hard to hold back rolling down his cheeks.
"Oh, kiddo," Jim said softly, sliding into the pew beside him. He draped an arm around Dean's shoulders as he pulled him closer. Dean gave up on trying to hold back the tears, quietly sobbing into his hands. "I know you miss her, son. Can't be easy have Sam gone, too."
Dean shook his head, too upset to say anything.
"It's a year today, isn't it?"
"Y-yeah," Dean whispered. "I m-miss h-her so m-much."
"I know you do." Jim pulled a tissue from somewhere, pressing it into Dean's hand.
"She wanted me to be s-strong, and here I am, f-falling apart."
"Oh, Dean. Mary didn't mean you shouldn't grieve. She didn't mean you shouldn't miss her. It's ok to cry, it's ok to hurt. But it's not ok to do this to yourself, to lock yourself away from the world."
"Sound just like Sam," Dean mumbled.
"Well, in this case, your brother is absolutely right."
"She was supposed to get better. I got her the best doctors, the best oncology team. She was supposed to get better," Dean said bitterly.
"Cancer's a tricky thing. Remember Mrs. Murphy? I thought she was gonna come home one day but she never did. And Mary's cancer was so aggressive. I sure do hope you don't blame yourself for that. You did everything you could, and Mary followed the instructions to the letter. Sometimes, the people we love are just needed elsewhere."
"And yeah, she's in a better place, right?" Dean scoffed. "I'd rather have her here."
"Everything happens for a reason."
"Right," Dean spat.
Jim fell silent beside him, and Dean felt guilty for snapping at the pastor. They sat for a while longer, Dean slowly calming, the anger and tears abating. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper."
"It's alright, son. It happens," Jim said easily.
"She loved this church so much."
"That she did. Mary made Christmas here that much lovelier. We miss her greatly." Jim patted Dean's shoulder. "You should really go to Ellen's. I know she'd love to have you."
"Yeah. Alright."
"Pastor Jim? Do we have anymore communion wafers? I couldn't find another box in the supply closet," a gravelly voice asked.
Dean turned and his eyes widened.
Behind Jim, a dark haired man with stunning blue eyes was staring down at the box of communion wafers in his hands. He seemed...familiar somehow, although Dean was sure he'd never seen him before in his life, but damn, he was gorgeous.
"I think there's only enough for about a hundred parishioners and I know we're expecting more tonight and -" he looked up, meeting Dean's eyes. "Oh. Oh, you kept it," he whispered, staring at Dean.
In an instant, Dean knew who he was. "It's you," he said softly as he stood. "You saved me."
The man flushed. "I hardly did anything that remarkable. I just kept you warm and calm until the paramedics came."
Dean knew he was staring, but he couldn't help it. The man was beautiful. "I um - I wish you'd have stayed. I didn't know who had helped me and I wanted to thank them. It's you," he said again, smiling.
"So I'll take this," Jim interjected, pulling the communion wafers from the man's hands, "and go look for some more, while you two both very single fellows chat," he grinned and vanished.
"Uh," Dean blushed, his cheeks heating.
"I'm Castiel," the man said, holding out his hand. "I'm an elder here."
"Oh, I'm Dean. Dean Winchester."
"Mary's son?" Castiel asked. Dean nodded. "I knew your mother. I loved her very much. She was a truly wonderful woman and a joy to be around. I know she mentioned you a time or two. She was always trying to get me to come over for a barbecue, and I did a few times, but you were always working."
"Yeah, I worked too much. Should've spent more time with her."
Castiel laid a hand on Dean's arm. "No. She was so proud of you and Sam. Don't ever doubt that."
The choir behind them was dispersing, chatting loudly as they stepped down off the platform.
"So service is about to start," Castiel said. "If you'd like to stay, I'd love to take you for coffee afterward." He colored slightly, pink tinting his cheeks. "If you'd like to."
"I'd love to," Dean smiled.
"Wonderful."
One Year Later
"Where's the non-alcoholic eggnog?" Jess complained, hand resting on the swell of her belly. "Southern Comfort is on the no-no list, thank you very much."
"Here," Ellen smiled and handed her a glass. "Just for you, my dear."
"Oooh, I'll take the boozy one!" Charlie said, reaching for the concoction.
"If you get drunk, I am not driving you home, cher," Benny told her.
"No worries, I'll crash on the couch!"
Dean smiled at the friends and family stuffed into the first floor of the house, pleased to have the people he cared about all in one place. Sam was tending to the fire as Bones, his golden retriever, tried to "help".
The chatter in Dean's house rose and fell with every new arrival and Dean had to work hard to keep up with the incoming flow of coats. Ellen and Bobby traveled to and from the kitchen, laying out dishes of delicious food until the dining room table was groaning.
"Ok, ok, we're ready, let's eat," Vic called, waving from the direction of the kitchen. There was much jostling and good natured shoving as everyone settled into place.
"Alright, someone say grace - wait, aren't we missing someone?"
"Here I am. Sorry, had a last minute appendectomy," Castiel said, sliding into the chair at Dean's side. "I'd be happy to pray."
"Perfect," Ellen smiled.
"Hello, Dean," Castiel said, leaning over for a kiss.
"Heya, Cas," Dean smiled back, playing with his brand new engagement ring under the table.
Cas folded his hands and closed his eyes, the others following suit. Well, everyone except Dean.
He was too busy watching the flickering light of the tapers dance in Cas's beautiful eyes.