Dean Winchester exhales, shrugging his shoulders to get some of the tension out of them. Before him, the bunker is somewhat decorated for Christmas. There's a tree, and garland wrapped around the staircase railing, and... he's the only person currently home. It's not the same as it used to be, Dean reminds himself. This time no one's here for good reasons. You're fine.

Sam and Eileen, they're off making connections with other hunters, strengthening their hunter's network. Trying to make a cohesive plan for future hunts and ways to keep as many hunters safe as possible. Difficult, yeah, trying to get the solo creatures known as hunters to actually agree to work together, but if anyone can do it, he knows Sam will.

Then there's Cas and Jack, off up in Heaven, handling duties up there, with no timeline for when they'd be back. Which is fine, really it is, except that Dean had been looking forward to spending Christmas with everyone. And now he's really starting to wonder, as time ticks by and days pass, with Sam still lost in the mire of his own plans, and no word coming from Heaven.

Dean huffs at himself, shaking his head. "Needy dumbass, they don't always need to be underfoot, come on." He continues trying to find ways to keep his hands busy- lunch takes about an hour, washing dishes even less time than that. He gives Baby a thorough detailing, even though she's spotless and running perfect since the last time. He even tries cleaning and organizing their weapon supply, which is really just redoing what's already been done multiple times since Chuck was defeated and hunts dried up a fair deal.

He groans and rocks back on his feet, frustrated with himself, with everything around him. "Dammit." He finally gives up and pulls out more decorations, filling as much space as he can with the artificial holiday cheer.

He's almost to the bottom of the box of things he's found when he notices them. A pile of stockings, in a close knit pile, looking as if they'd never even been taken out of this box. "Huh," he mumbles. There's not an official mantle in the bunker, but there are still plenty of places to hang things, so he finds a spot for them and hammers five of them into place, stepping back. It looks... alright, yeah, but impersonal. Just bland red fabric with no significance to anyone.

Grabbing the keys to the Impala, he heads out to the local Walmart. He tries to look inconspicuous as he explores the craft aisle, eventually finding what he needs and returning to the bunker without delaying like he might any other day.

He fumbles with the bag, staring at the stockings, unsure if there's even a point to this. If he'll be the only person to care or even notice that this was done. "Oh, what the hell ever," he grouses, plucking all of the stockings off and going to the library for more room to spread them out.

The first color of fabric paint he picks is a deep green, and he sticks his tongue out as he diligently scrawls over the lip of the stocking. Sam. Eileen follows closely afterwards in a sparkling gold, and Dean exhales, reaching out for a deep red that's borderline purple, carefully writing Jack on the third. He hesitates over the fourth stocking before scooping up the bright blue fabric paint, Cas slowly taking up the top of the stocking. He stares at the four as they dry, fiddling with the fabric paints, unable to decide what color his own should have, or if he even really wants to bother. He knows which is his without broadcasting it, and decorating the other four had left him feeling a little less alone, if only for a few minutes.

Giving up, he drops the fabric paints back in the bag and carefully returns the stockings to where they were hanging to finish drying. Once done, he returns to his room and scrubs a hand over his face, collapsing onto his bed and whistling for Miracle, relieved when the dog eagerly leaps up next to him. He hadn't done a lot today, but he still feels tired, and at some point, he drifts off.

He wakes up disoriented, Miracle at attention at the foot of the bed. "What is it, girl?" he grumbles, wiping at his eyes and trying to blink himself back into awareness.

The bunker isn't quiet anymore. There are voices, and... music? and... Dean swallows and stands, grabbing instinctively for his gun becuase you just never know, and makes his way out to the main hall. He stops short in the doorway to the library, gaping.

Sam and Eileen are there, talking and signing enthusiastically over a pile of gifts, and... Cas and Jack are in the corner, fighting with the CD player that keeps making the CD of Christmas music they're trying to play skip. He takes it all in, shocked, and clears his throat awkwardly, eyes widening when all four of them turn towards him.

"Dean!" Sam exclaims, walking up to him with a grin. "Hey, you really went all out with the decorating. It looks amazing." He claps him on the back and Dean looks up at him, gaping.

Cas comes over next, his brows furrowing a little as he rests his hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing. "Are you alright, Dean? You look..."

"You're here," he says faintly. "All of you. I, uh." He flounders, then, looking lost. "I thought..."

Sam frowns. "You thought we were going to leave you here alone over the holidays? Dean..."

He shrugs, unsure how to explain himself. "I knew you all were busy, it just... I..." His words fail him and he stares at them, shaking his head.

Cas interjects, a soft worry in his voice. "Dean, you didn't personalize your own stocking. Why is that?"

"I... I just..." Dean bites his lip, then shrugs. "It didn't really seem to matter. I knew which was mine, it..." He exhales. "I didn't..."

Cas keeps an eye on him as he half turns towards the others, deciding pushing him to continue answering questions right now would probably only send him further into the state he's in. "Jack, would you mind grabbing that bag of fabric paint we saw earlier please?"

"Sure," Jack agrees, gone in a rush. He returns with the bag quickly and Cas smiles at him. "What are we doing?"

"Pick a color," he says simply. "One for Dean."

"Cas, come on," Dean mumbles, but Cas ignores him.

Jack picks the bottle titled 'crystal', and Cas nods. Sam hands over the stocking that he'd just ran over to grab, and Cas spreads it out on the nearest smooth surface, looking up. "Jack, if you would please write Dean's name here," he directs him, pointing out where exactly Jack should begin writing.

His letters are wide and a little shaky, but Dean's name shines and sparkles brighter than the rest of them, and Cas smiles as he looks up at Dean. "There," he says, gently picking the stocking up and placing it along with the others. "Thank you, Jack."

Dean exhales shakily as Cas joins him, settling an arm over his shoulders and pulling him close. "Thanks," he mumbles. Raising his voice, he glances around. "Thank all of you. I, uh. Thought this was going to be another sucky holiday, but I... I think it's going to be pretty good actually, now."

Sam grins at him. "I think so too. We have Eileen's eggnog recipe to try out later, after all."

"Oh boy," Dean says with a fond eyeroll, watching as she signs something he doesn't quite catch at Sam, the two of them grinning at each other. He's still taking it all in when Jack pauses at his side, waiting to be noticed. "What's up, Jack?"

"Can you help me figure out what's wrong with the CD player?" he asks. "I want Christmas music to play, but it's broken or something."

Dean smiles a little and pulls away from Cas, resting a hand on Jack's back. "Sure, kid, let's go figure this thing out."

While trying to get the CD to play without skipping every other second, he glances over his shoulder at his family, the stockings sparkling cheerfully in the glow of the Christmas lights, and he relaxes. Now everything's perfect.