i wish it was christmas everyday



for mikhail. he's my brother. also on tumblr.


"It makes no logical sense, Dean." Cas argued, eyes flinty. Dean scowled and took another swig of beer, pointing the neck as Cas accusingly. Except, he wasn't really, and his eyes were focused about three spaces to the left of where Cas' head actually was.

"Dude, where's your Christmas spirit? Everyone celebrates it in December. There's no snow in March." Dean said, matter-of-factly.

"March," Cas reiterated – again, "Is the true date of bir—"

Dean sighed. "Cas, it doesn't really matte—"

"It is a pagan holiday," Cas said, loudly. "How is this honouring God?"

"It's not," Dean shot back, "Like He deserves to be honoured. What's He done for—"


"Guys." Sam said, louder than both. Dean and Cas both turned to Sam, glaring. Sam's head flopped back again as he sighed, bringing his own bottle to his lips. "Can you just—not fight for once?"

"…Dean, a pagan ho"

"—No one believes in Go—"

"—Sam does, do you no—"

"—as if, tell him, Sammy—"

"Guys, seriously," Sam snapped. "We're probably not gonna survive 'til March anyway, even if it is Jesus' big day. So can we just—I don't know, pretend to be normal?"

There's silence as the other two contemplate this.

They're at Bobby's and they're watching reruns of shows so old, Dean doesn't know the names, and drinking beer and trying not to think that this was the last Christmas they'd ever have. Sam and Dean had passed a near-human Cas a shit-ton of alcohol, ignoring how terrifying it was to realise that Cas could getdrunk, holy crap, and they were pretty much wasted after a few hours.

Sam had his head tilted back onto the sofa, breathing deeply as the conversation flowed around him. Dean's head was on his thigh, heavy and reassuring, his legs dangling over the arm of the sofa, while Castiel shoved his toes under Sam's other thigh, the small digits freezing. The rest of Cas had been leaning on the arm of Bobby's sofa, head tilted back as the alcohol filled him up.


Sam wrinkled his nose as Cas suggested, "I would prefer a burger, Dean."

"Cas, it's like midnight, I don't think they've got—"

"—Sam does not like pizza, Dean, you should be more consi—"

"—when does he ever eat? I don't think they sell—"

"—can find some, then, it should not be—"

"—are you kidding, Cas—"

"—Dean, you're be—"

Sam ran a hand over his face, sighing as the clock struck twelve. He toasted to himself, muttering, "Merry fucking Christmas, Sam. Why, thank you, Sam. Merry Christmas to you too."

"…Dude, are you okay?" Dean's eyes narrowed suspiciously as Cas nodded on the other side, so vigorously that Sam wondered if he wasn't getting dizzy. Actually, Cas looked a little pale and—

"Dean, I think he's gonna puke." Sam said, conversationally.

"Dean, I'm about to vomit." Cas declared.

"Uh." Dean replied, intelligibly.

Castiel launched half of himself over the arm of the chair, retching as Sam and Dean looked on, wincing in sympathy. "Bobby'll kill ya."

"Thank you, Dean." Cas said, wiping the back of his mouth on the corner of his white shirt. Sam leaned forward, patting Cas on the knee, looking into his eyes.

"S'okay, Cas," Sam nodded, as Dean started humming 'Silent Night' under his breath. "Bobby likes you."

"Yes." He said, unaffected. "He feels as though I am a son. I am far older than he is."

Sam shrugged. "S'just like that, I guess."

"He sees you two as his other sons." Cas added, helpfully. Sam nodded sombrely.

"So…pizza, right?" Dean muttered.

"Burgers." Cas said, resolutely. Dean's head lifted from Sam's thigh as he glared at Cas, mouth open for a counterargument.

"I hate my life." Sam groaned.