You were getting the hand of the festive celebrations that humans so thoroughly enjoyed — well, mostly.

You got the spooky one, the one with turkey and the one with fireworks and American flags. But now, you were making cookies from some weird-smelling plant and chocolate, trying to roll out the dough. However, you felt that you were closer to hitting your head with the wooden roller.

Dean could sense your frustration even from the other side of the kitchen as he was busy preparing the rest of the food. The plan to host the Christmas dinner was pretty last-minute and now everyone in the bunker was somehow involved. However, you couldn’t help but feel as if you got the lightest of tasks, just to be around Dean — not that you minded, but it sure felt like it. You huffed and hit the counter with the roller. “I’m done. What’s even the point of it? And why do you need to celebrate so many things in just a year? I get that Jesus’ birthday was important but so are everyone’s birthdays. I don’t think we’ve cooked 12 meals for your birthday,” Dean chuckled at your words, watching in amusement as you crossed your arms on your chest.

“Because there’s no need for that, birdie. I don’t need that. Besides, we do it as a part of tradition,” he explained, wiping his hands so he could put them on your arms and pull you closer. “We do it because this is how we celebrate Christmas. With a small twist in our case, but you get the point,” he hummed, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Just relax and feel that jolly spirit, ‘kay? Don’t go all Grinch on me.”