beefcakemish:

SPN Advent Calendar – Day 2

A letter for Santa

Dean calls out a soft “Hey, babe” from the kitchen when Cas
walks in the door later that evening and calls out Dean’s name. There’s a small
collection of papers spread across the table in front of him, and an old cardboard
file box on the floor next to his chair. Cas sets his hands on Dean’s
shoulders, placing a kiss to the top of his head before slowly kneading the
muscle beneath.

“What’s all of this, Dean?” Cas asks. Looking more closely
at the papers on the table, he sees Dean’s name written across several pages, and
multiple pieces of faded construction paper colored with marker.

“My mom gave me this box of junk when I was over there
today. Said she was cleaning out the attic and thought I might want it. It’s a
bunch of old school stuff from way back apparently.”

Picking one up that’s adorned with stickers and glitter, Cas
sees Deans former handwriting in the corner, letters big and bold, but facing
the right directions and written correctly. He smiles to himself, imagining
Dean at a small table with several other children, covered in glue, with bits
of glitter clinging to his face and hands. Placing it back on the table he moves
to sit in the chair next to Dean and scoots it closer, into the warmth of his
boyfriend.

Dean wraps an arm around Cas’ shoulders and moves the note
in his hand so it’s situated between them. “Look at this one, Cas. I think I
was in first grade when I wrote this.”

Cas lets his head rest against Dean’s shoulder as he reads
the paper in front of them. It’s a letter addressed to Santa, the introduction
clearly written by the teacher, but the actual list written by Dean himself. He’s
not surprised to find candy, a fire truck, and even Mom’s pie, on Dean’s
Christmas wish list, but what does surprise him is the request for a best
friend. “Dean?” Cas asks hesitantly, voice laced with confusion and concern.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Believe it or not, but I was a pretty lonely
kid the first few years of school. We moved around a couple of times before Dad
found a steady job, so it was hard to make friends. I was quiet, and shy,
mostly because I hated meeting new people all the time.”

The fingers at Cas’ arm trace gently, up and down, for a
minute or so before Dean’s seemingly startled from the memory and sets the list
back on the table. The hand previously holding the paper meets Cas’ own, at its
resting place on Dean’s leg, and intertwines their fingers together.

“Thankfully that all changed the next year.”

Squeezing Dean’s hand in his own, Cas recalls his memory of
the start of second grade, and of meeting a boy named Dean who loved the monkey
bars, Dr. Seuss, and who refused to let Cas sit alone at lunch time those first
few weeks.

“Yes, thankfully everything changed.”

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