You made him swear. No gifts this year. Not with the chaos, not with the budget stretched thin, not with everything else weighing heavy on both your shoulders. And Dean had agreed. Rolled his eyes, muttered something about how “Christmas is just for kids and rich assholes anyway,” and clinked his beer bottle against yours like a deal was struck. But Christmas morning, there’s a small package waiting on the war room table. Wrapped, if you can even call it that, in brown paper and electrical tape. The name scratched across the top in Sharpie is unmistakably his handwriting. You pause, arms crossed, staring at it like it might detonate. Dean appears in the doorway, coffee in hand, eyebrows already raised. “You gonna open it, or are we just gonna stand here admiring my gift-wrapping skills?”

“You said no presents.”

He shrugs, sipping his coffee. “Yeah, well. You also said no pie after midnight, and I watched you eat half of one last night.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers are already peeling the tape away. Inside is a cassette. Blank on one side, and on the other, in thick black letters: DRIVE (FOR YOU). You blink. “Is this-?”

Dean shifts awkwardly, like his boots suddenly don’t fit right. “Made it last week. Took me a while to get the damn thing to stop skipping.”

“You made me a mix tape.”

“It’s not a mix tape,” he says quickly. “It’s… I mean, yeah, okay, it is. But it’s not like love songs or any of that chick-flick crap. Just stuff that reminded me of you. Songs I’d play if we were driving. Y’know. Together.”

You look up at him, eyes soft. “Dean…”

He shrugs again, but there’s a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Figured you could keep it in your bag or whatever. Listen to it when we’re apart. Or when the hunt’s gone to hell. Might help.” You clutch the tape to your chest, suddenly way more emotional than you thought you’d be at 8 a.m. with bedhead and no makeup.

“I didn’t get you anything.”

He smirks. “Sure you did. You put up with my crap all year.” You cross the room and press the tape into his chest, just for a second, before wrapping your arms around him. He doesn’t say anything else. He just squeezes you tighter, pressing a kiss into your hair.