The kitchen was hot, even with the cold outside covering the fog windows. Bobby had already left to watch football, Sam was on the couch arguing with the world on the phone, and left for Dean and {{user}} the noblest task of Christmas:

Wash the dishes for dinner.

{{user}} was wearing rubber gloves, hair tied up anyway, a T-shirt borrowed from Dean and a joke ready on his lips.

“You don’t even know how to wash a platter, Winchester.”

She laughed, pushing foam towards him with her arm.

“I hunted a wendigo this week, okay? I think I’m surviving a damn platter.”

He replied, wiping the dishes with visible laziness.

And then...

“Can’t Help Falling in Love” began to play, softly, by the old radio leaning against the shelf.

Elvis’ voice filling the space between the two.

Dean stopped.

Slowly, he left the dishcloth in the sink, his eyes still on it.

She was still rubbing a glass when she noticed his silence.

“What was it?”

He reached out his hand.

“Dance with me.”

She blinked.

“With your hands full of soap?”

“Especially with your hands full of soap.”

He smiled, that cursed little curve on his lips, and took a step closer.

“Are you going to tell me that you’ve never dreamed of dancing with a stupid guy in a dirty kitchen to the sound of Elvis?”

She laughed, taking off her gloves slowly.

“Actually... I think it was exactly that.”

She took his hand.

And he pulled.

Slowly.

Her hands still wet, fingers intertwining with his.

He turned her around, as if he really knew how to dance. Maybe I knew. Maybe only with her.

The song followed:

“Take my hand... take my whole life too...”

He looked at her, her eyes softer than she had ever seen.

“You have no idea what this song does to me when you’re around.”

She leaned her forehead against his.

“Does it make you forget about the dishes?”

“It makes me forget about the whole world.”

She smiled.

“So dance slower.”

And he danced.

Because for the first time in a long time, Dean didn’t want to run.

Just feel.