24th December.

The Bunker.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean yelled- and instantly regretted- across the living area, while standing atop a table- which had been positioned and repositioned in an order to take upto one hundred eighty pounds of weight, and a whole lot of swearing and kicking- trying to hang up a parallel set of wires with twinkling lights dangling from them. He had set everything up for hours together, according to a diagram with his original design and all, but the goddamn scotch tape had slipped out of his fingers, while trying to hold up his entire decoration system- which had been threatening to crash to the floor, any second now.

"A little busy here, Dean!" Sam's frustrated- yet smug- voice boomed across the kitchen. Luckily, Charlie- all rested and freshened up- seeing Dean's struggle, hurried into the room and grabbed the tape, handing it to him. Dean sighed of relief, and quickly restored stability in adjusting his fancy wires. Charlie helped him with some more ornaments, as Dean's smile widened every passing moment.

"Well, what do you think?" Dean asked Charlie, whilst admiring his handiwork.

Charlie tilted her head, "Hmmm. It's mostly okay, but line's gone a little crooked towards the left..."

Dean scowled at her as she stifled a laugh, and went to the kitchen. And as she did- she gasped. It was not a pretty sight. Flour, chunks of vegetables peels and red sauce- presumably- covered the kitchen counter. There were vessels on the stove that lay unattended. The floor of the kitchen was covered with a trail of carmel sauce and plastic wrappings. It seemed as if the cabinets had exploded, and the devastation had left utensils and cutlery scattered on the counter tops, adjoining the stove. A butcher's knife was kept on the very edge of a certain table, the sharp blade threatening to pierce its very flustered master, who pranced amidst the wreckage- trying to massage a chicken breast, with oil and vinegar. Charlie tried to mask her shock, and called out to Sam.

Usually, a very well put together and an insanely composed person- Sam looked nothing short of a mess this morning. His apron and his pretty, pretty hair were all covered in flour. He said, noticing the evident disbelief on Charlie's face, " It's okay. I have it under control...I mean it looks bad, but jeez, I mean it is for sixteen people..yeah, but, uhh, it's okay.."

Charlie grimaced, " Sam, I know you have it under control, but should we call Dean, just in case.. to help out, maybe?"

And in no less than two seconds, Sam's voice hardened, " No. I'm good... Hey, you mind getting the sour cream? It's on the dining table..thanks.'

Charlie frowned. Stupid bet and stupid Winchesters.

Hey y'all!

Thank you for your PMs and follows on my story about the Darkness. And even if it may seem like I've given up on that story- I assure you, that's not it. I've just been too preoccupied with reality and stuff of my own. So, will update that very soon.

This story popped into my head and I feel like I need to get it out of my system. I hope it turns out to be as fun as I've penned it down in the imaginary notepad of my brain.

Yes, Charlie's still alive here. Why? BECAUSE IM A NICE PERSON. AND I DON'T KILL AWESOME PEOPLE AT THE EXPENSE OF FURTHERING THE PLOTLINE, THAT'S WHY.

*You go girl, at Comic Con who asked the Charlie question*

Next chapter, we'll find out about the bet.

That's all.

Hugs and all.