Title: Angels We Have Heard on High

Prompt: Written for phate_phoenix on livejournal: Supernatural; Dean (& or/) Castiel, Sam (& or /) Gabriel, Bobby; Most awkward post-apocalypse Christmas dinner ever. Gen.

"So."

"So."

Sam and Bobby shared commiserating expressions of pain. Dean stuttered to a stop, and Gabriel waited twitchily for someone to say something else.

Out of all of them, only Castiel behaved as normal, sitting patiently and serenely at the foot of the table. He may have been considering Bobby's lack of hat or staring at the attractive post Apocalypse paint job of the dining room or contemplating the existence of a turkey half his size in the dead center of the dining room table.

"It's Christmas," Sam broke into the four-way staring contest (Castiel's focus remained on the bird). "And you're angels . . . so I don't know . . . shouldn't we say grace or something?"

"It is not Christmas," Gabriel corrected irritably, poking at his empty plate. Sam wondered if Gabriel was deliberately changing the color of the china or that was just an absentminded display of power. "It is a commercial holiday based on an event that actually occurred in late March."

Sam blinked. "Really?"

He got a look of withering scorn. "I should know."

Sam swallowed and decided that silence was good. Dean had already reached that conclusion and was staring at the food with longing.

Bobby huffed. "If one of you two feather-brained idjits doesn't say a prayer in the next ten seconds, I will and you'll be darn grateful too!"

Castiel cleared his throat, and that gave them all the excuse they desperately needed to bow their heads and not meet anyone else's eyes.

"Our Father who art in Heaven . . ."

Thankfully, Dean and Gabriel both managed to keep their mouths shut. Sam kicked Dean, and by the muffled thump across the table, he suspected Castiel had done the same to Gabriel-not that Castiel's perfectly even prayer hinted at such violence.

"Amen." Castiel turned calmly to the oldest Winchester and offered a basket of rolls. "Yes, you may eat now, Dean."

"Stay out of my head," Dean growled, and reached for the meat. Bobby slapped his hand away automatically from long-term exposure to hungry Winchesters.

"I didn't mean to . . ." Castiel trailed off, brow furrowed as Dean proceeded to inhale a rather large bite of jello salad in one bite. Gabriel snickered quietly from across the table, and Sam realized that the jello salad originally placed on the table had been orange-not blue.

He let it slide. Today was supposed to be a holiday. They were celebrating.

"Celebrating what, Sam?" Castiel asked, studying a forkful of stuffing with a suspicious gaze. "And are these candy canes, Gabriel?"

The archangel leaned over, commandeered the utensil in question and pushed it into Castiel's mouth when the younger angel opened it to protest. "Yes. They're good for you." Gabriel turned back to Sam with an eyebrow raised. "And just what are we supposed to be celebrating if not the birth of the Christ Child, Sammy?"

"How about surviving the apocalypse?" Sam shrugged. "Everyone at this table has died at least once in the last five years . . . and here we are. Still standing-er-sitting."

"My illusions don't count," Gabriel informed him around a mouthful of the pie that had appeared out of nowhere. Dean reached for the baked goods like it was his own personal Holy Grail.

Sam grimaced. "They should." He remembered his hands wet with Bobby's blood, with Gabriel's blood . . . cradling Dean's broken body in his arms. They were realistic enough to be mingled in his nightmares of the growls of hell hounds, a knife in his back, Death up close and personal, or finding Castiel's teeth in a drunken prophet's hair.

Castiel's brow furrowed. "Those events are past us now, Samuel. You should let them go."

"I just think it bears mentioning," Sam defended. "That even after ending the apocalypse, we're not dead. It's kind of nice to be alive together even for a commercialistic holiday."

Dean and Gabriel stared at him in mutual disdain. Then Dean turned to Gabriel. "Please tell me you can do beer."

The soon-to-be Annual Team Free Will Christmas Dinner went much smoother with alcohol on the table.