God rest ye merry gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

The party has been over for hours now, technically. The food has been packed away, either into stomachs or Tupperware and reused takeout containers, ready for everyone to parcel out and take home with them.

Some of the crowd has already drifted away, but enough of the family remain. Sam changed Robert into pajamas and tucked him in with Jess in the guest room for the night, and Amelia has popped out to drop Chuck back to the hotel to let him sleep off Gabriel's eggnog. Ellen and Bobby are watching old black and white movies on the television as Bobby gruffly pretends to be unaffected by Christmas stories, and Ellen rolls her eyes and ignores his reactions to preserve his masculinity. Gabriel is sprawled on the floor in front of the fire in an eggnog and food induced coma, curled around his little trove of gifts. Claire made a quiet quip about him being like a sleepy dragon in his hoard, but last Sam saw of them, Jo and Charlie were putting a Sharpie in Claire's hand and trying to con her into scrawling on Gabe's face with them.

Sam stands in the dining room, on his way to help with the dishes and stuck there. He doesn't want to interrupt.

Sam remembers even as a kid, sometimes catching Dean in a moment alone and he was just… blank. Exhausted, depressed, and hopeless, a dish rag in his hands as he stared at the filmy window down into the garage, cleaning up from feeding Sam and waiting to see if their father would make it back before dawn. He'd animate the second he saw his little brother watching him, push him back towards their crappy television or drag him outside to play by the river. Ever since he can remember, Dean swallowed down whatever he was feeling, threw on a grin, and soldiered on. You just had to scrape beneath the surface to see how miserable he really was, and to know he was just going through the motions for someone else.

Dean's got his chin hooked over Cas's shoulder, humming along in snatches to the Christmas music still playing from the radio and making Cas sway to the music with him as he tries to scrub dishes, with a shit eating grin curling his lips like he knows he's being unhelpful and doesn't care.

"You know, you could at least dry the dishes." Castiel grumbles, and Sam tenses, eyes narrowing at the back of his brother-in-law's head, ready to be indignant and annoyed on his brother's behalf if Castiel doesn't appreciate how rare this is, how important. Dean laughs, though, pressing a smack of a kiss to Cas's temple and tightening his arms around him contrarily.

"If I'm stuck cooking for everyone we know, you're doing the damn dishes by yourself."

"I made the salad."

"You don't make a salad. There's no cooking to that. You opened a bag."

"And chopped onion. I also opened plastic containers of tomatoes and cheese."

"Yes. Yes, you did. You're absolutely right, your contribution to dinner far outstrips my making turkey, ham, stuffing, candied yams, pie…"

Castiel sighs, moving to put a pan in the drying rack. "You don't have to list the whole menu, Dean. I was there." Hands free for a moment, he twists an arm back behind himself to return Dean's embrace awkwardly, canting his head to catch Dean's lips in a kiss briefly. Sam can just barely hear him murmur a thank you, painfully sincere and earnest, obviously not just for cooking, and it's a little uncomfortable standing here seeing the way Cas looks at Dean, the way Dean leans into him.

A whimper sounds through the baby monitor on the kitchen windowsill, and they both turn towards it, alert but not afraid.

"It's my turn."

"You're doing dishes." Dean reminds him mockingly, and he moves to pull away only to have his arm grabbed, a challenge in Cas's eyes as he turns to face him, fist clenched. Dean's jaw clenches, sudden tension in him, raising his fist as well. They stare each other down in the kitchen, Sam apprehensive out of sight.

The idiots play rock, paper, scissors to see who gets to take care of their children waking up. Sam has to roll his eyes and slump against the wall, and the moment ends with Dean grinning triumphantly as he mimes cutting through Cas's fingers, then smacks him on the ass on his way back towards the bedrooms. "Quit sulking, you baby. And there better not be spots on the dishes. Surgically clean, Doctor Winchester."

Dean's gone through the other doors, out to the bedrooms, without ever seeing Sam. He watches as Cas shakes his head fondly, waiting until Dean is gone to turn off the radio so he can listen on the baby monitor as Dean slips in with their children, a soft not-quite-smile on his lips as he turns the water back on in the sink to the sound of Dean humming Silent Night as he changes a diaper, crooning the words in snatches to their son.

"I can get the dishes, if you want." It feels weird, now, watching without saying anything, and like he should let Cas follow Dean because he clearly wants to. Castiel looks up from the dishes, swiping a wrist across his brow damply and leaving his hair plastered to his forehead, unsurprised at the sudden interruption.

"No, thank you Sam. I promised Dean I would take care of them." He drops a cup into the drying rack, and points towards the door Dean left through with a hand still clutching a sponge. "Your brother just went to check on the twins, if you want to follow him. He wouldn't turn down the help."

He doesn't need the help, but Dean wouldn't ever turn Sam away when he can proudly show off their children in the quiet and safety of the nursery. He'd never turn his little brother away at all, whether he needed the help or not, and anyone who's ever met them knows it. Including Cas, quietly doing dishes and eavesdropping on his husband, trying to send company his way just to make Dean happy.

"He almost always throws scissors." The statement is out of the blue, somewhere between an accusation and advice, and Sam watches as Cas smiles to himself, dropping another plate into the soapy water of the sink, unperturbed by the confirmation that they were spied on.

"I know." But Dean would feel guilty about leaving Cas to the dishes and the guests otherwise. This way he can make it a win, blame it on Cas's crappy luck, and take it as a victory.

So Cas sometimes issues a challenge with the intention of letting Dean win, just to see the joy when he does, and they bicker their way through the quiet moments together cheerfully. Sam doesn't always understand his brother's relationship, but he thinks he's starting to figure it out. Clapping a hand on his brother-in-law's shoulder, Sam shakes his head slightly. There's no way to thank him for how he slotted into Dean's life, how he gave hope and joy back to him, so he has to settle on something else, hoping it manages to convey any of it. "Merry Christmas, Cas."

"And to you." Castiel smiles, tipping his head slightly, scrubbing turkey and dressing off of the plate. "Mary is waking now, too. You should go see your brother."

Dean's eyes are closed, the soft lamplight of the nursery showing the lack of lines on his face, the once ever-present crease between his brows smoothed away. He's tucked with the twins into a bent-wood rocking chair saved from being left on the curb, that's been carefully refinished to its former glory, his feet up on a store-bought glider crammed in as well. Sam can just picture the two of them in this tiny room, rocking an infant each in their chairs, and it's just so sickeningly domestic that he can't decide if he wants to tease his brother for it, or hug both of them.

Dean stops singing when he notices the door open, cracking open an eye and dropping his feet to let Sam settle in the other chair. "Make yourself useful, sasquatch."

The twins are so much smaller than Robert ever was, tiny and fragile and quieter than Sam is used to from his own son. Sam smiles as he's carefully handed their mother's namesake in her red striped footie pajamas, a green cap fitted over her head with dark curls tufting out across her forehead, a fist shoved in her mouth and drooping tired eyes watching him. He knows now that Cas will watch over them, fond and protective and unashamedly stupidly in love with his little family. Dean will keep them safe until they're stronger, healthier, able to take care of themselves.

He did it for Sam, too, after all.

The world's screwed up outside of this house, and Sam keeps expecting that world to spill in among them, for that to be Dean's day to day. He's tried for years to get Dean to move in with him, to try and cocoon him away from the world and it's bigotry against him, but here he is with the 'apple pie' life, happy and, in the confines of his own home at least, an equal. Dean's managed to scrabble and fight and carve safety and happiness into this space he's made for himself in the world, finally, and it's good. Damned good.

It takes a few minutes for Dean to start singing again, conscious of his brother in the room and changing lyrics to tease him, but Sam watches the way he rubs Jimmy's back and presses kisses to the top of his son's head when he wuffles. Matching the sway of his chair to his brother's, niece tucked against his chest and tiny beneath his palm, Sam's aware they're being listened in on but unable to care in the face of his brother's contentment.

It's the best Christmas either of them has ever had.