A/N: Written for day 5 of SPNAdventCalendar2020 on tumblr by bend-me-shape-me.
Prompt: carols.
Dean was singing. He wasn't sure if he was very good, but he was singing. The music seemed to fill his body, and with the way the trees in the bunker glinted with tinsel and colored lights, he just couldn't help himself. He swayed to the tunes in his head, and he drank his beer, celebrating having gotten all the decorations up. His arms and hands were scratched up from the rough pine and evergreen needles, all dry and cracked. He'd have to go out and get lotion. Or maybe he could ask Cas to do something about it.
Dean belted out some notes, and since he didn't have the technique, or actually know how to belt, it came out as more of a yell.
Castiel entered, and he shimmered in Dean's vision.
"Jingle all the way!" Dean sang, raising his beer in salute. He stumbled, and fell into a chair at the table in the war room.
Castiel went over to him, and Dean just kept humming.
"Dean, what are you doing?"
"Singing. What's it look like I'm doing?"
"Are you drunk?"
"Are you drunk?" he countered.
Castiel gave him a flat stare. "No."
"Sucks to be you."
He tried to take another swig of his beer, and Castiel took it. Then, he reached out a hand. Dean tried to avoid it at first, but then two fingers touched his forehead. Sobriety immediately slammed into him, and the multitude of scrapes on his arms and hands were healed.
Dean shook his head, blinking.
"Wow. Thanks."
Castiel just sighed. "No, don't thank me. I just couldn't stand to hear your voice."
Dean guffawed. "I was not that bad!"
Castiel grinned, nose scrunching up. "You were."
"I wasn't."
"Were."
"Wasn't."
Dean had gotten in Castiel's face now, and his angel pulled him towards him. "Okay, fine. You're probably better sober anyway."
So Dean started to sing: "Good King Wenceslas looked out / On the Feast of Stephen / When the snow lay 'round about / Deep and crisp and even!"
To Dean's great surprise, Castiel joined in with the next lines, "Brightly shone the moon that night / Though the frost was cruel / When a poor man came in sight / Gath'ring winter fuel.
They began to sway, holding each other close, continuing to sing. Their faces were alight with a glee that Dean hardly ever let himself feel.
"'Hither page and stand by me / If thou know'st it telling / Yonder peasant, who is he? / Where and what his dwelling…'"
"Hey, can you shut up?" Sam's voice sounded, a cry that broke through the music. He was standing in the entrance to the library, a pointed look on his face, and books held in his arms,
Dean chuckled, and leaned his head against Castiel's.
"I'm sorry, were we interrupting your nerdiness?"
Sam rolled his eyes.
Then, to Dean's surprise, Castiel reached out his arm and held his hand out to Sam. Sam stared at it for a bit, but then he sighed, and went and placed his books over on the table. He took Cas' hand, and they began to sing, their deep voices echoing in the bunker:
"'Sire, he lives a good league hence / Underneath the mountain…'"