A/N: Thank you to everyone who commented or PMed me about this story. I am so grateful for all of the positive feedback. Here is chapter two.
Chapter 2: A Christmas First
"What the hell Chuck! Put me back in the bunker!" Dean demanded as he shivered with cold as he stood barefoot on the street before his childhood home.
"I told you to put some cloths on," Chuck said and shrugged. "And now it's too late. This Christmas Carol has begun."
"It's not too late! You are God, snap me back to bed now!" Dean demanded.
"I'll snap you dressed but that's all I'll do," Chuck said and with a snap, as promised, though he didn't need to do it, Dean had shoes, socks, and attire fit for a short jaunt, but not adequate for the snow.
"Why are we out front of my childhood home?" Dean grumbled, he was still cold, chilled right through as he pulled the flannel shirt closed and blew his warm breath into his cold hands.
"This is the story of Christmas past. Your Christmas past," Chuck said excitedly. "I love Dickens!"
"Why?" Dean asked.
"Shouldn't you be asking me when?" Chuck asked and it was clear that he was frustrated with Dean's lack of interest.
"No, why works for me. Why do we have to do this Dickens style? Why can't you just tell me what you need to tell me and be done with it?"
"Where's the fun in that?" Chuck asked saucily. "I created this world to have a little fun and you are being a huge killjoy right now. Would you get more into it if I looked like a creepy little dancing light, floating through the snow or a ghost rattling it's chains?"
"I'd he hunting the ghost and a bucket of water should do just fine for a creepy little light. But fine, I'll get into it, when is this glorious, snowy Christmas oh ghost of Christmas past?" Dean asked with so much sarcasm that even Cas would have cringed.
"This is Christmas Eve 1978 and John and Mary Winchester are blissfully counting down the days to the birth of their first son. What a Christmas it was," Chuck said, ignoring all of Dean's sass.
"What, seriously?" Dean jumped, spun in a circle, and looked back at the house. The Impala was in the driveway. The lights were on, and beyond the gossamer like curtain he could spy a brightly coloured Christmas tree. Shadows of people moved about the room, and suddenly if felt something like a bright and hopeful Christmas.
"Yes Dean, one month from now, on a night not so different from this one, you will make a screaming entrance into this world. For now you are snug inside your mother, an active little tyke that is kicking and bunching her with every stretch and movement. The whole pregnancy she's craved pickles and peanut butter, and you make her sick every time she eats vegetables. She's living on bacon and pie, and you wonder why you love those so much. She's been joking that you're a fighter. John believes she's talking about boxing, and he's insisting on baseball, but really, at the back of her mind, she's thinking of her family business. Not that she want's that for you, but you've been such an active baby, she can't help but think it," Chuck said and watched as Dean ran up the drive to peek in the window.
He smiled to himself as he walked along to join him and Dean was finally completely committed to the Christmas adventure.
"She's as big as a house!" Dean said. "And dad looks so young."
"They are young," Chuck commented.
"Yeah, I know, but there is a way I remember my dad," Dean said.
"And you've seen his younger self. You choose to remember John Winchester the hunter, but John Winchester; young man, mechanic, war veteran, you've pushed from your mind."
Dean turned back and looked at God.
"You know I'm right," Chuck said. "Just as Mary now, who is Mary from back then, isn't the Mary of your memory."
"Okay, fine, they are not these people," Dean huffed. "Or maybe they are, but why are we here? Why am I seeing this?"
"Be patient," Chuck said and chuckled.
"Have you met me? That's not really my forte," Dean stated.
"We'll go in, I promise, and everything will make sense, but first I need you to notice something," Chuck said as he joined him at the window but looked back out at the street.
"What, the snow? We know it's snowing!" Dean said and then a man caught his eye as he stopped under a street lamp and stared at the house. "Who the hell is that?" He growled and moved to intercept.
"He can't see you Dean, no one can. This isn't your timeline. You're lovely and cozy inside your mother right now. You just get to bare witness to it all because I'm God and there is a reason why my angels can throw you back in time. Keep watching," Chuck said and followed Dean out into the street.
"Who is he?" Dean asked again as he circled the man.
"You'll see," Chuck said and watched.
Moments later another man appeared and slowly he sauntered toward the beam of light in a dark snowy street.
"Well isn't this just what your type is prone to?" The second man asked the first. "Heralding the saviour with harps and voices. Hark the herald angels sing... You look rather dull for a harbinger of good news and great joy."
"And you can't sing worth shit," the first man spoke.
"Not really what my type are known for," the second man laughed heartily.
"You know why I am here, but I am at a loss for singing you," the first man spoke in a voice that was low and husky.
"I do, I do indeed, and here is my message from your brother. The time we've all been waiting for is soon to be upon us, and we're rip roaring ready for it. Are you?"
"I am, as you see, but not yet," the first man spoke. "You go back and you tell my brother that I will be ready for the apocalypse and I will destroy him, as it is written so it shall be done."
"Nothing new in that speech," the second man chuckled. "But what is so important about this house? There isn't going to be a baby tonight."
"And Jesus was born in April, what's your point? Angels like this time of year. I come around often."
"No you don't, your kind hates it out of heaven. Who is this poor sap you're riding around in?"
"This is Nathaniel, and he's only temporary."
"Exactly my point. This is a pagan holiday, what the hell are you doing out of heaven," the second man asked and his eyes flashed yellow.
"I could ask you the same thing, vermin," the first said and his eyes flash a vibrant blue.
"Kill me now, and it could all be over," Azazel spoke playfully.
"That is not the plan, and you know it. And my wrath is not for you," Michael responded. "What brings you to this place?"
"A bloodline, but you already knew that," Azazel spoke again and watched the threats rise wordlessly into Michael's features. "Merry Christmas Michael, you're about to have a very happy New Year," he added and was gone.
"Filth," Michael grumbled under his breath and walked closer to the house. "You, child of the bloodline, you will be my sword," he spoke as he watched Mary and John together in the glow of their Christmas tree, and then a light descended upon the house for a brief but blessed moment and disappeared. So too did the Angel.
"What the hell did he just do to me?" Dean asked, having remained silently watching the events unfold.
"Blessed your house, your family, and the future of your being," Chuck answered. "Come, let's go inside and check out what kinds of gifts are already under that tree for you. You are very loved."
"No, I want to go back to the Bunker," Dean protested.
"But why, this is technically your first Christmas? There is so much more to see!" Chuck said excitedly. "If your mother went into labour tonight, you'd still be fine and alive and blessed, the timeline wouldn't change; give or take a month. But there is still so much more to see."
"But she didn't have me, and I came into the world a month later with a curse on my head. And it's all your fault," Dean accused. "Take me back to the bunker now! Let this be over. I've seen enough."
"You're not the first Wednesday child to say that to me," Chuck laughed
"What?" Dean questioned in confusion.
"Wednesday's child is full of woe," Chuck said. "You were born on a Wednesday."
"What does that have to do with Christmas?" Dean asked.
"Not a thing, but it has everything to do with you," Chuck said and chuckled. "Come on, come and enjoy this beautiful Sunday Christmas Eve with your parents and their very great expectations for the future," he added and motioned toward the door.
"No, I want to go back to the bunker, now!" Dean demanded.
"Fine," Chuck said and with a snap of his fingers Dean was back in his room and alone.