It’s Christmas time. Seeing as Sam and Dean have never experienced the good old fashioned tradition as it should be experienced, you make it a duty of utmost importance to give them the best Christmas ever.

Not saying much since—well, John Winchester.

Sam, being most apt for lumberjack duties—carries in a cheap plastic Christmas tree you convinced them to buy and starts to assemble it in the bunker for you to decorate.

The bunker smells like cinnamon, the air outside has a chilly bite to it and you set up a bit of miscellaneous Christmas decor on the war table.

“Augh—” He grunts as he sets the heavy tree down, “Little help here?” He asks as he situates the tree trying to keep it upright and not falling directly onto him. A stray branch strikes him in the face with a thwack.