Last Christmas
- Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character
- Summary: Y/N, a close friend of Sam and Dean, secretly struggles with her feelings for Dean as Christmas approaches, knowing it might be his last due to his demon deal. She convinces Sam to decorate the motel room and celebrate christmas one last time.
- Warnings: none
- English is not my first language
- Inspiration: season 3 ep. 8: A Very Supernatural Christmas
*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*
It had been a long, grueling hunt. Y/N was exhausted, the adrenaline still wearing off as she leaned against the motel wall. Sam and Dean were nearby, packing away their gear with quiet efficiency. Even after years of hunting together, there was a comfort in their silence, a rhythm they’d all fallen into. But tonight, something felt different—heavier, like the weight of the world was pressing harder than usual.
Y/N stole a glance at Dean. His jaw was clenched, eyes focused on the weapons in front of him, but she knew his mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t stop thinking about the demon deal he made—the deal that was hanging over all of their heads like a dark, looming cloud. He’d given up his life to save Sam’s, and now his days were numbered. The thought alone twisted her heart, and she found herself staring longer than she should have.
“Y/N, you okay?” Sam’s voice snapped her back to reality. She quickly looked away from Dean, her cheeks warming.
“Yeah, just… tired,” she mumbled, forcing a smile. But Sam didn’t buy it, his brows furrowing as he studied her. He was always good at seeing right through her, but thankfully, he let it go this time.
Dean, however, didn’t seem to notice. He was already halfway out the door, saying something about grabbing food for the night.
As the door clicked shut behind him, Y/N let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She turned to Sam, trying to shift the mood.
“So… Christmas is in a couple of days,” she started, her voice soft, testing the waters.
Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, not really in the mood this year.”
Y/N had expected that. Dean’s deal hung over everything, making it hard to think about anything happy or festive. Still, she couldn’t help but want to give him something—one last Christmas, maybe, if things didn’t turn around. She had to try.
“Come on, Sam. I know things are… hard right now. But maybe we can do something small. For Dean’s sake, at least. It might be good for him—good for all of us.”
Sam hesitated, his jaw tightening. He stared at the floor, his conflict evident. “Y/N…”
“Please, Sam,” she interrupted, her voice almost pleading. “I just want this Christmas to be special. It might be our last with him.”
The room was quiet for a moment. Y/N saw Sam’s resolve crack, and finally, he nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line.
“Fine. I’ll take care of the eggnog,” he muttered,
--
Christmas eve arrived, Dean was out to get food thinking it would be a normal evening.
While Sam worked on the eggnog, Y/N busied herself with decorating the room. She strung up some old lights she’d found in a thrift store, their colorful glow bringing a little warmth to the cold, drab motel room. She even found a small, plastic Christmas tree earlier in the week, setting it up on the nightstand. It wasn’t much, but it felt a little like home.
As she adjusted the lights, she couldn’t help but think about Dean again. The feelings she’d been hiding for him for so long were bubbling closer to the surface. There was a chance this might be his last Christmas, and that thought sent a sharp pang through her chest. What if she never told him? What if he never knew how much he meant to her?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Dean walked in, his arms full of takeout bags and a couple of poorly wrapped presents.
“Well, look at this,” he said, his voice bright with surprise. “You two went all out. Kinda makes this crap motel room look… festive.”
Y/N grinned, feeling a small wave of relief wash over her. At least Dean seemed to appreciate the effort.
“Got you some food,” he said, setting the bags on the table. “And a couple of things to open, you know, for the hell of it.”
Y/N and Sam exchanged a look, their silent agreement to make this night something good for Dean. Y/N grabbed her own gifts from her bag—a couple of books for Sam (ones she knew he’d devour in no time) and a shirt for Dean with a classic Chevy logo on it.
“Here,” she said, handing them over with a smile.
Sam gave her a grateful nod, flipping through the pages of one of the books before setting it aside. Dean, on the other hand, held up the shirt, a wide grin spreading across his face.
“Chevy, huh? You know me too well, sweetheart.”
Her heart skipped at the nickname, but she covered it with a laugh. “Figured you could use a shirt to work on baby, so you don't get all your good shirt dirty with oil.”
Sam handed her a small, neatly wrapped gift, and she opened it to find a bottle of shampoo—her favorite kind, the one she was always complaining about never finding on the road.
“I… I know it’s not much,” Sam said, scratching the back of his neck. “But I saw it and thought of you.”
Y/N smiled warmly. “It’s perfect, Sam. Thank you.”
Then Dean handed her his gift—a bottle of cheap perfume, the kind you’d find at a gas station. But when she opened it and took a whiff, it wasn’t bad at all. In fact, it smelled pretty nice.
“I know it’s nothing fancy,” Dean said, a little sheepish. “But it smelled good, and I thought…”
Y/N couldn’t help but keep sniffing the bottle, a grin on her face. “Dean, I love it. Really, it’s… nice.”
Sam noticed the atmosphere in the room chance when Y/N kept looking at his brother while smelling her perfume covered wrist.
The second Sam closed the bathroom door Dean shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. "I really love it Dean, thank you." Y/N said. “Yeah, well… I had another gift in mind. This one was just easier to wrap.”
Y/N looked up, confused. “What do you mean?”
Dean hesitated for just a moment, then took a step closer. His green eyes met hers, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something in them—something vulnerable, something he usually hid behind jokes and bravado.
Before she could process what was happening, Dean leaned in, his lips brushing softly against hers. Her breath hitched, and for a second, everything else—the looming deal, the darkness of their lives—faded away.
All that mattered was this moment.
Him.
When he finally pulled back, Dean looked a little unsure of himself, but there was a small, crooked smile on his lips.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he whispered.
--