Authors note:
In honor of Christmas Eve I thought I should post this very fluffy and happy Christmas-themed chapter. Enjoy :) And I hope everyone has a great holiday!
Having a real apartment was a revelation. A full kitchen - albeit small. Two bedrooms. A couch. It was fantastic. There was room to breathe.
Sophie's nightmares improved, though they didn't abate entirely. The open cuts on her chest and shoulder slowly healed to scabs and then into fresh, sensitive, dark-red scars.
During that unimaginably wonderful month in Regina, Dean watched Sam and Sophie flourish. Sam got back into reading legal textbooks. Sophie was cooking or baking every day. They all learned the most esoteric card games they could google the rules for. They had movie nights with homemade popcorn and hot cocoa. Sophie dragged them to hole-in-the-wall dive bars to listen to old Native men with long braids play steel guitar at midnight. It was bliss.
Sam was hesitant about the whole Christmas thing. Dean didn't blame him. Holidays in their childhood had generally been miserable. John got shouty - and occasionally drunk. Dean got cranky. Sam just wanted things to be normal. They never decorated. Never exchanged gifts.
"What do you think normal people do on Christmas, Sam?" Sophie asked, staring him down across the kitchen table, "You have to have watched at least one Christmas episode of a sitcom?"
"I genuinely have no idea and frankly I'm not interested," Sam replied.
"So when I was celebrating with my family, we'd hang up stockings on the fireplace - though in this case socks and the radiator will have to do - and fill them with each other's favorite candy. We'd open those and presents in the morning then we'd play games, and drink hot cocoa or cider or mulled wine. We'd go for a walk in the snow and then watch Christmas movies until at least one of us fell asleep on the couch. There was also - always - a lot of good food. Explain to me what part of that sounds unpleasant?" Sophie said.
"The part where your brother is a dick about your dead mom and your dad forgets to come home," Sam snapped.
"Listen," Sophie leaned across the table, "I'm not going to pretend to understand the dystopian hellscape that passed for your childhood."
Dean winced. She wasn't wrong.
"But I'm also not going to pass up a chance to make chocolate cake," Sophie continued, sliding a notepad across the table, "So write down a couple of book titles you've been wanting to get your hands on and your shoe size and we'll just move forward as I've described. Alright?"
Sam sighed and took the notepad.
On December 23, Sophie pulled up a page on her laptop and pushed it across the breakfast table to Dean.
"What's this?" He asked.
"Our plans for tomorrow night," she said.
"Sophie this is a page for a church," he pointed out, turning the computer back around.
"It is," Sophie said, "And we're going."
"Why?" Dean asked.
"Because you have taken the don't leave my sight directive very seriously," Sophie said, "It has been nearly impossible to buy you Christmas gifts because of that, by the way."
"You want to go?" He asked.
"I've gone to Vigil Mass every year since I was born," Sophie said, "I'm not skipping."
"Will I have to wear a tie?" Dean asked.
Sophie shook her head.
"Fine," Dean agreed.
Our Lady of Peace Roman Catholic Church was modern and bright. It was a far cry from the dark, medieval-looking Byzantine parishes the Sophie attended growing up. But still, the smell of the incense and the sound of the organ felt like home.
Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd sat through a church service, especially not a Catholic mass. He minded the smells and bells a heck of a lot less than the weirdly emotional and moralizing appeals he'd heard at protestant services.
The Catholic Church held a sort of odd respect in the hunting community. Most hunters weren't religious. But the original hunters were priests and there was a deep dependence on early church rituals in their daily work. A sort of begrudging respect was not just healthy, it was necessary.
Dean didn't participate in the service much. He didn't know how. Heck he barely knew the Christmas carols, what with John's passionate aversion to anything holiday related. But he watched Sophie beside him, mimicked how she was sitting or standing or kneeling and where her hands were.
And he was just in awe. There was a dedication there and a strength of belief that baffled him. She knew with such certainty what she thought was true. Even though she'd not a shred of tangible proof. He envied that.
The service, on the whole, was a pleasant experience. A decent choir. A short homily. And he'd always liked the smell of incense.
They got home late and went straight to bed. Or that was the intent. Before Dean went to kiss Sophie goodnight and ended up doing much, much more. They woke late the next morning to the sound of Sam making coffee.
"Merry Christmas," Sophie murmured into his chest.
"So," Dean asked, sitting up, "What do we do now?"
"I am going to make eggnog French toast and then we are going to open presents and play games all day. Maybe go for a walk," Sophie said, "I'll also try and get you two to help me cook dinner."
"I think this is a holiday I can get behind," Dean said.
"Even with the church part?" Sophie asked.
"Even with the church part," Dean confirmed.
"Hopefully I can sell Sam on it," Sophie sighed.
Dean got out of bed and went to their dresser on the far side of the room.
"I have a present for you," he said.
"You're supposed to wait until we're out by the socks I hung up!" Sophie protested.
"Nope," Dean disagreed, "I have the gift wrapping skills of a drunk orangutan. And I didn't buy Sam anything. I've never given him a gift for anything and thought starting now would really freak him out. So here."
He pulled the small, plush sheep out of his sock drawer and deposited it in her lap.
"I figured since we hadn't made it back to Ontario to pick up Herbert yet I could get you something better than a scratchy hotel towel for the interim," he said.
Sophie just squeezed the sheep in her arms and kissed him.
It was a fantastic day. A continuation of the last month of togetherness and quiet. But with even better food. And Dean couldn't get over the utter peacefulness of it all. There was no to do list, no plans to attend to. So they just spent time together. And it was lovely. Sam warmed to the whole holiday celebration idea as soon as he tried Sophie's eggnog French toast and realized that no one was going to yell at him.
Sophie made shepherd's pie for dinner and a chocolate cake filled with bourbon-laced caramel. She'd somehow managed to clandestinely source their favorite candies to filling the makeshift stockings. And she'd found Dean a set of old CCR tapes for the Impala and Sam a set of used leather-bound supreme court cases. She'd also knit them both socks. Though Dean still had no idea when or how. He packed and unpacked her bag half the time and he'd never seen yarn or knitting needles.
They stayed up too late drinking mulled wine and hot cider and watching Christmas movies. By midnight Sam was asleep on the couch. Dean got to his feet and led Sophie to their bedroom.
"Merry Christmas," she whispered, kissing him lightly, "Did you like it? As good as it was when you were four?"
"Better," He said as his hands went to the buttons on her blouse, "And I have one more present for you."