#clemmaverse

Emma pushed the chair back as she stood, kicking it back under her desk and wandering through to the kitchen, flicking the light switch on as she walked by. If she started dinner now, it should be close to ready by the time Claire got home, and Claire wouldn’t get a chance to judge her for her afternoon nap. Amazons didn’t nap; they barely needed to sleep. It wasn’t very usual for her to fall asleep alone, but she’d been reading and reading for hours, trying to get down some basics for a case Claire was working, and, well…she’d let her head rest on the desk for just a moment…

And now it was close to 5 in the evening, and she was going through the motions of getting dinner ready, setting a pot of water on to boil, digging through the pantry for pasta and ingredients. She pulled out a jar of sauce and wrinkled her nose at it. Red wine and garlic. It would have to do. Emma also turned to the fridge to dig through the vegetable crisper, pulling free some carrots, broccoli, and the white thing that looked like broccoli that Claire insisted tasted good with the right ingredients around it. Cauliflower. Emma, personally, though it tasted like mush.

She threw the pasta in the pot, turning away to begin slicing and dicing the vegetables in front of her. She knew she needed to grab something else, something more, but her head was so frazzled lately with the problem at hand, and she kept thinking about it, over, and over, and over, and –

Well, Valentine’s Day was coming up.

Emma had never really done a Valentine’s Day. Yes, she and Claire had gotten together over a year ago, but their first Valentine’s Day had just been exchanging chocolate and watching a movie on the couch together. Her stomach flipped. She wanted this year to be special; she wanted every year they were together from now on to be so beyond special. She wanted to make Claire, beautiful Claire, happy.

She had no idea what she was doing.

She tipped the contents of the cutting board into a frypan and poured the sauce over them, turning the heat on low so they could simmer for a while. Cooking still wasn’t her strong suit, but she was good at baking. Her mother had baked with her, once. Before she had been taken away.

Emma slammed the pantry door shut and pressed her forehead against it, closing her eyes again, breathing slowly. Her mind had been so jumbled lately, and it was so hard to stop and rip herself away from the ever-increasing intrusive thoughts that rose up, the memories she kept pushing away. She had Claire now. She had friends, she had church, she had people who loved her. She had Dean, and that was a gift she had never thought, in all those years stuck in Purgatory, she would find again. They were still cautious around each other. Of course they were. But things were always getting better.

She glanced at her phone, biting her lip. Maybe Dean could help with her Valentine’s Day problem.

Emma turned her back to the stove, leaning against the kitchen counter and scrolling through her contacts until she came to WINCHESTER, DEAN. After a moment of hesitation, she tapped the call button and held it to her ear, listening to each ring with growing trepidation.

“Emma?” Dean sounded surprised. Or concerned. There was the tiniest shift in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Emma replied, trying to keep her tone level. She hadn’t realised how close she was to crying. “I just wanted to talk. And ask you something.”

“Hang on one second,” Dean said. She heard footsteps, and then the sound of a door closing, and all the background noise of their call vanished. “Okay, I’m here.”

“It’s the twenty-third of January,” Emma managed to get out, taking deep breaths, one eye still on the pasta boiling away on the stove, the sauce simmering beside it. “Valentine’s Day is coming up. I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh,” Dean replied. “What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know how to do this human stuff,” Emma spat, shaking her head. She brushed her hair off her face with one hand and closed her eyes, counting backwards from five. “I’m sorry. Forget it. I didn’t mean to bother you-”

“Em! Emma, wait. Don’t hang up.”

Emma bit the inside of her lip.

“Claire likes mini golf,” Dean said. “You could...you could take her there?”

“I want to do something special,” Emma murmured, wiping a stray tear from her face. She didn’t know why she always felt like crying when she talked to Dean. It was stupid. She loved him. He was her father. “We do mini golf, like, all the time.”

“Special,” Dean said slowly. She could almost hear how hard he’s thinking. “What about dinner? Go out for dinner, Em. Get some nice wine. Chocolates. A nice card - girls love that shit.”

“Claire is not just a girl,” Emma said, but she thought he might be right. The traditional route might be the way to go. Emma has never done this before - she could feel panic rising at the thought of messing it up, but she squashed it down again, willing it to go to the place in her mind where she kept all of her tears. It shouldn’t have been this hard. “I really love her.”

“I know,” Dean replied. “I know you do, Em.”

“Thank you,” Emma sighed. “Thank you for listening to my stupid...whatever that was.”

“You can call me any time, Emma,” Dean sounded earnest, like he really meant it. She didn’t want to deal with that, though.

“I’ll talk to you later, okay? I can hear Claire coming upstairs.”

“Okay, Em. Bye. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye...Dad.”

The word still felt foreign in her mouth. When they had reunited it had come out so easily, but in the two months since she had started to feel awkward, like she didn’t have a right to call him her father. She loved him, in a way that wasn’t familiar to her - in the way she loved Lydia, a deeply visceral connection between them that remained unspoken. They didn’t talk about it. Emma hung up just has she heard the sound of Claire’s keys in the door. One of the perks of being an Amazon was the boost in her senses - she could always hear Claire coming from the moment she parked her car down on the street, the familiar jangle as she pulled out her keys before making her way up to their apartment. Emma rushed around, plating up the simple meal she’d managed to cobble together. It wasn’t perfect. It was a little overdone. But it would do.

“I’m home,” Claire called out as she came through the door. She kicked her sneakers off in the entryway, dropping her keys on the little white table that sat just inside. “What smells good?”

“I made pasta,” Emma replied, earning her a kiss on the cheek. She blushed, setting the plates down on the table. Claire looked tired, like she hadn’t been sleeping much herself, but she still gave Emma a smile and another kiss, brushing the hair off her face, leaning in to kiss her properly. Emma blushed again at the tender way Claire cupped her cheek, the love she felt from the embrace. Claire did nothing by halves - she was all in or all out. It carried over to her personal relationships as well.

“I’m so hungry,” Claire swirled some pasta around her fork and shoved it into her mouth, chewing slowly as she savoured the flavour. She had clearly had a long day, still working on her haunting two towns over. “What did you get up to today?”

“Not much,” Emma replied, sitting opposite Claire and taking a bite of her own food. She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose in disgust. Everyone kept insisting she would get used to the way humans flavoured things, but garlic was one of those things that she hadn’t adjusted to yet. It seemed to overpower every meal it was in. She ate quietly, avoiding Claire’s eyes, afraid her girlfriend would see the tears that had threatened to spill over, though they were long gone now. She hated worrying Claire, hated how people always seemed to think she was fragile. She wasn’t.

They talked a little over dinner, discussing Claire’s hunt, the research Emma had dug up on it. It wasn’t much, but it was a start, better than letting Claire go in blind. Emma could tell that Claire knew something was up, but, thank the goddess, she didn’t push it, she just allowed Emma to be a little odd and quiet and a thousand miles away. After they’d eaten, Claire wandered past with a yawn, stopping to drop a kiss on Emma’s forehead. She said she was going to shower, but Emma knew she wasn’t far off bed. She let her go, staring at her empty plate as she wondered what she was going to do.

-x-

After February began, Emma had made herself a plan, kind of, and it was a good one, she thought. She booked them a table at a local boutique eatery for Valentine’s Day itself. She scrolled through Pinterest for what felt like two straight days looking for ideas. She baked every day while Claire wasn’t home, cookies and cakes and pies, because it soothed her. She talked to Dean.

The talking to Dean every day thing is weird at first, and truth be told Emma’s not even sure how it happened. She had worked herself into another panic attack and gone to call Claire, panicked harder, and hit Dean’s name by mistake. He had talked her through it and then stayed on the phone for another half-hour, just telling her about his day, about Castiel’s mishap with the post office, about Sam and his incessant health kicks. It had calmed her. So the next day, when she felt herself getting panicky again, she’d called him. And the next. And the day after that, Dean had rung her first, wanting to know what she was baking that day and if she’d settled on a gift to give to Claire. It was...nice.

There was one awkward moment, where Dean tried to bring up something she was not ready to talk about, yet, and instead of shutting him down with words she just hung up on him. He called back about fifteen minutes later, apologised, and said they didn’t have to talk about that if she didn’t want to, he just didn’t want her to think he’d forgotten.

“Okay,” Emma said into the phone, sometime around February 7th. “I need help.”

“What with?” Dean asked.

“I need someone to come here and help me make a batch of the chocolates. I need help figuring out how to get it all right, and I need someone to taste-test who knows what they’re looking for. You’re only three hours away, so I thought maybe you could come for the weekend and we could do it together. Claire’s on a hunt.”

“Aw, Em,” Dean sounded upset, and Emma could already feel her hopes dashing. “I would love to, but I’m in South Dakota. I could send Cas, though.”

“Castiel,” Emma replied with uncertainty. The angel made her nervous in a way she couldn’t explain. After a moment, she thought to herself, fuck it. “Alright. Cas would be fine.”

The next morning, Castiel turned up in an old Ford, parking it behind Emma’s car down on the street. He waved up at Emma, who was watching from the window, and made his way upstairs to her and Claire’s apartment.

“Come in,” Emma pulled the door open and stepped aside. “Don’t mind the mess.”

Castiel walked in, taking off his coat and hanging it on one of the hooks by the door. He was wearing a white button-down shirt underneath, sleeves already rolled up, and dark slacks that somehow looked comfortable. He moved easily through the apartment to the kitchen, where Emma had laid out all the ingredients they needed to make chocolate. She was going to do a trial run with Castiel today, and then on Valentine’s Day itself, make a fresh batch. He scrutinised everything carefully with his sharp blue eyes, calculating things in his head, clearly considering each ingredient individually and then considering how they would work together. Emma hesitated, then joined him, her hands clasped in front of her nervously.

“We’re making chocolate,” she offered. He looked back at her, and nodded.

“Claire will like this,” he told her. “You’ve put in a great deal of effort, Emma.”

Emma looked down and smiled. She reached into the bottom drawer and pulled out two aprons, handing one over to Castiel and donning one herself. Castiel’s was a soft powder blue and fringed with white lace. He didn’t even protest, pulling it over his neck and tying it in a neat bow at the back. Emma’s was blush pink and fringed with cream lace, and it had a latticelike pattern across it in ivory. She pulled it on and tied it, having the wrap the string around her waist twice to get it taut across her front. Claire had found the aprons at a charity store a few weeks back and brought them home for Emma, declaring she needed to start protecting her clothes when she was stress-baking because Claire was sick of washing flour out of her clothes. Castiel adjusted his apron after a moment, and then looked to Emma, waiting her instruction.

She showed him how to measure out the right amount of cocoa powder, vanilla and honey, and his deft hands worked quickly on the vanilla bean, using the blade of his knife like a pro to get it open and extract the vanilla out of it. Emma got to work mixing the ingredients together, combining them and the cocoa butter together slowly, letting the heat work its magic. They made a pretty good team, her and Castiel. He was careful, considerate, and weighed up every choice before he made it, letting her do most of the work but stepping in when he thought she needed it. As they waited for the chocolate to set in its moulds in the fridge, Castiel took a seat at their dining table, the dining table he’d sat at just a few months before when Emma and Dean had reunited. He’d been quiet that day. He was quiet now. Emma was grateful for his silence.

The anxiety was crawling inside her again, and she turned away from him, closing her eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath. This was usually the time she’d call Dean, but Dean was busy in Sioux Falls, visiting Jody and the girls. He likes them better than you. Probably wishes they were his daughters instead, the anxiety told her, and she clenched her fists hard enough it felt like they’d break.

In a moment, Castiel was beside her. “Emma,” he said in his deep, gravelly voice, taking care not to touch her, though his hands were doing the same thing Claire’s did when Emma had an anxiety attack - they’d twitch like they wanted to reach for her, but stayed close to his body, not reaching out. She looked up at him and took another deep breath.

“I’m okay,” she gasped out, pushing past him, unable to keep her nervous energy from overflowing. “This just,” her hands were shaking, “happens sometimes.”

“What helps?” Castiel asked, keeping his distance. “I know for Dean, it is rock music. What helps you?”

Emma paused, filing away that sliver of information about Dean to ask him about later, and then looked back at him. “Baking,” she said. “I bake. I’ve been doing it a lot lately. I think Claire is sick of it.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Castiel reached into the cupboards and pulled out a mixing bowl, tugged a wooden spoon free from the drawer. “While we wait for the chocolate to be ready, what would you like to bake?”

Emma hesitated. And then, she asked him, “What’s Dean’s favourite dessert?”

Castiel grinned at her. “Pie.”

So they got to work, measuring out flour and eggs and everything else you need to make pie crust. Emma kneaded the dough carefully, working her frustration and anxiety out and into it, and took a deep breath. She already felt more steady, more calm. Castiel was slicing apples with the same precision he’d used on the vanilla bean. They stewed on the stove for a little bit in a mix that had honey and cinnamon in it, and Emma spooned it into the pie crust, laying each slice inside neatly. Castiel sliced up thin ribbons of pastry for her to criss-cross over the top, and she grinned at him, feeling a thousand times more comfortable than she had at the start of the day. Across the room, a cheerful melody burst forth from her phone, and she muted it in seconds, looking over at Cas with a grin. “That was the alarm for when the chocolates should be done. I need you to try one and tell me what you think.”

Castiel took a careful bite of the chocolate he pulled free of the mould, and then his blue eyes widened, and he shoved the rest of it in his mouth, chewing slowly. “This,” he declared, “is the best chocolate I have had.”

“Really?” Emma asked, hands clasped in front of her chest. “Do you promise?”

“I promise you, Emma. I have tried....many different kinds of chocolate in my time on Earth. This is the best.”

Emma blushed as pink as her apron, and set about placing the chocolates in a little box for Castiel to take back to the bunker with him. The pie wasn’t far off done, either, and once it was cooling by the oven she bustled around the kitchen looking for a tupperware container large enough to hold it. “Ah-ha!” she said as she pulled one free out of the cupboard they never touched, full of things like tupperware missing lids and oven trays that were rarely used. Castiel smiled at her, and helped her deposit the pie inside without ruining it, promising Dean would get the first slice when he got back from South Dakota tomorrow night.

Castiel hit the road not long after, offering Emma a quick, gentle hug before he left, making her promise to call him if she needed anything. He took with him the chocolates and the pie, and Emma’s number programmed into his phone, and even a quick little handwritten note she had put with the pie for Dean. She knew it was stupid, but she thought he might appreciate something like that from her. It was getting dark outside. She locked the door behind her and settled in to start making Claire a Valentine’s Day card.

When Claire returned from her hunt, a day late at that, she looked around the apartment suspiciously. Emma had hidden all evidence of chocolate-making, the cute little heart-shaped moulds and sprinkles tucked away into the cupboard they never used, and there was a fresh cherry pie cooling on the benchtop when she walked in. Her half-made card was tucked away under the research on her desk, and the post-it note reminding her of the booking she’d made was stuck on the inside of the novel she was reading. There was nothing around to suggest that Emma had anything big planned for Valentine’s Day, and that was how she planned to keep it until the day itself.

-x-

Valentine’s Day dawned bright, sun streaming through the curtains in their room. Claire groaned and threw a pillow at it, curling around Emma and shoving her eyes into her love’s shoulder. Emma gave her a soft kiss on the nose and untangled herself slowly, getting up to make them both coffee and get Claire ready for class. She was taking a few classes down at the local college, just a couple of days a week, easy to schedule in around hunts. She hadn’t decided if she was going to stick with it yet, but Emma thought she would.

Claire wandered out not long after and gratefully accepted the coffee passed her way. It was their morning tradition, Emma making the coffee, Claire drinking it slow while she thought about what she had to do that day. Emma had put a string of paper hearts along the edge of the kitchen bench and Claire giggled at the sight, kissing Emma’s cheek and whispering “Happy Valentine’s Day, you massive nerd.”

She didn’t stay long enough for Emma to say it back, grabbing a piece of toast and shoving on her sneakers, realising she was going to be late if she dawdled around the house any longer. Emma was fine with that, because as soon as Claire was out of the house, she got to work, making the chocolates exactly as she and Castiel had made them. It was easier the second time around, even if she wasn’t quite as good with a knife as the angel was. After lunchtime, there was a knock on the door, and Emma gratefully accepted the delivery of red roses she’d ordered a few days beforehand. Dean had transferred her the money and told her she had to get them, so she did. He’d also sent her a lengthy text about how good her pie was, and that had made her smile.

As it neared closer to five o’clock and the sun began setting outside, Emma got into the shower, washing herself with her favourite body wash, inhaling in the sweet scent of cinnamon and musk. Her anxiety hadn’t overtaken her yet today, and she almost believed it wouldn’t, because everything seemed to be coming together perfectly.

Emma combed her hair with care, letting it fall around her face and shoulders with the slightest wave, and stared at her reflection, considering herself. She looked human. Nobody could ever tell the difference, nobody would want to. She was good enough for Claire, no matter her monster status. Claire believed it, so Emma would believe it too.

She was nervous. Claire would be getting back soon, and suddenly this all seemed like an awful idea, the red roses and the handmade chocolates and the dinner. What if Claire thought it was too much? What if Claire hated it all? Emma steeled herself with a deep breath and smoothed down the front of her dress, clasping her locket around her neck and then her bracelet around her wrist. She lightly applied mascara and some red lipstick, blowing a kiss to the mirror as she walked out of the room. This was fine, she told herself. Claire would love it because it was from her.

Claire walked through the door on her phone, her blonde hair a mess, eyes tired. Emma hesitated, wondering if it was the right time, but she pressed on, stepping out from the hallway. Claire looked up and a smile broke out on her face as she took the sight in. Emma stood nervously in the doorway, wearing a beautiful black dress, her locket around her neck. She was statuesque in her black heels, fiddling nervously with the hem of her dress, the hint of makeup she was wearing highlighting her beautiful features. Her skin was radiant, her dark eyes bright, and she smiled at Claire with nothing but love in her eyes.

“Hello, beautiful,” she said, and Emma crossed the room and leaned down to kiss her, running her thumb across Claire’s cheekbone. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Emma murmured, grinning. “Do you want your gift now?”

“I already have you in my arms,” Claire smirked. “But for real, I want to shower and wash off the day before we do anything.”

“Okay,” Emma beamed at her. “Go shower. We’re going out for dinner, so dress nice.”

Claire pecked her on the cheek before disappearing down the hallway and into the bathroom. Emma gave a contented sigh, closing her eyes. Claire’s presence could always calm whatever storm that brewed in her mind.

Emma set about arranging what she had gotten Claire on the dining room table, trying to make it look perfect. The flowers still looked fresh, a dozen red roses wrapped neatly, set on their lace tablecloth with care. Next, she repurposed their wooden cheeseboard, placing it beside the roses and arranging the chocolates across them, adding a dash of the heart-shaped sprinkles across the top. Finally, she placed a gift box beside them, adjusting the red bow until it was perfect, and then she stepped back, pausing to admire her handiwork. It looked good.

“Oh,” she said aloud, realising the one thing she’d forgotten, and she ducked back to her desk, stopping to admire the handmade card for a moment before slipping it away into an envelope. She returned and set it beside the gift box, sighing with relief. She didn’t know what Claire had gotten her, but she wasn’t expecting much. She just hoped that what she had done was enough.

“I’m ready,” Claire called from across the apartment, and Emma turned, smiling. Claire was wearing a red velvet dress, her long blonde hair falling in waves of gold over her shoulders and down to her waist. She stepped into the room, barefoot, and did a twirl in front of Emma, the skirt of her dress flaring out before coming back down to settle around her hips. She glanced over her shoulder at her girlfriend, smirking. “How do I look?”

“Stunning,” Emma replied, and she meant every inch of the word. Claire laughed, her cheeks flushing pink for a moment, before she closed the gap between them. Without shoes, she had to get up on her toes to kiss Emma. The two women smiled at each other before Emma stepped aside to reveal the roses behind her.

“Oh!” Claire exclaimed, stepping over to the table. She brought one hand up to cover her mouth, surprised, and then looked over at Emma, who was fiddling with the locket around her neck. “Em, you didn’t have to-”

“I wanted to,” Emma cut her off. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it,” Claire kissed her again, slowly this time, savouring the moment. “I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”

Claire reached for the flowers and breathed deep when she held them to her face, loving the fresh, warm scent of the roses, admiring them, their perfect crimson petals, feeling something she had never felt before. This, she thought idly to herself, is what love was supposed to feel like. The warm glow that lived in her chest when she was with Emma, that sometimes dimmed and sometimes shone, and right now was glowing like a star, that was love.

She reached for a chocolate and popped it in her mouth, chewing slowly. Her eyes widened and she glanced between Emma and the chocolate. “Did you make these? They’re spectacular.”

“Thank you,” Emma smiled to herself, and giggled as Claire pushed a chocolate to her mouth, her lips parting gently so she could place it inside. In all the rush of making them, Emma had yet to actually taste-test one, and she was more than pleased to find them sweet, but not overbearing. They were good. “I’m glad you like them.”

“Really good,” Claire replied with a mouthful of chocolate. Emma tapped her hand away from them, shaking her head, and her girlfriend looked up at her guiltily and reached for another.

“Hey! You’ll ruin your appetite,” Emma gave her knuckles a proper thwack this time, and Claire laughed, reaching over and tickling Emma’s side. Emma giggled and squirmed away, grabbing the chocolates and taking them with her. “Claire! I booked us a nice dinner! You can’t eat them all now!”

“Fine,” Claire whined, but she was grinning. “Should we head to this dinner?”

“We should,” Emma said. “You can open the card when we get back.”

Claire slipped on her black ballet flats and her trusty leather jacket, patting the pocket to check Emma’s gift was still inside. It seemed stupid now, after seeing all the effort Emma had gone to for her. She could just slip it into the bin and tell Emma she forgot...but no, she quite clearly hadn’t forgotten, so she’d just have to suck it up and give Em the dumb gift later.

The two women walked arm-in-arm down the street, making their way through the Wichita streets until they came across the boulevard, the place in town where all the best restaurants, cafes, bakeries and places were. It was full to the brim with eateries and bars, fairy lights strung everywhere, little hanging jars with tea lights burning in them, the kind of relaxed atmosphere Emma had thought would be perfect. She approached the hostess of the little restaurant she had chosen for the two of them, giving the name Novak, and followed as she and Claire were directed to a table outside. It was small, just big enough for the two of them, made of polished hardwood and with matching little benchlike seats. They sat across from each other, Claire on the left, Emma on the right, and Claire looked around, taking in the scenery. They were in a wide courtyard filled with other tables, not all full yet, but there were many happy couples and families around them. There were strings of lights running above them, giving everything a soft, warm glow, and beneath their feet was the familiar, too-stiff feeling of fake grass, but the illusion it gave off was lovely. She grabbed the drinks menu and skimmed it, and, feeling cheeky, ordered Emma a cocktail, even though they’d yet to find an alcohol that Emma could actually get drunk on. For herself, she ordered a margarita, and was delighted when the waitress returned with their drinks served in mason jars.

“This place is kinda fancy,” Claire remarked, stealing one of the cherries floating in Emma’s drink and biting it off the stem, winking at her girlfriend. Emma blushed and took a sip of her drink, her nose twitching to the side in the way it did when she found something to be a little strange in flavour. “What’d I order you, anyway?”

“A cherry bourbon smash,” Emma replied. “It tastes the way Dean smelt at Christmas.”

Claire roared with laughter at that, unable to help herself. Emma laughed, too, and Claire had to remind herself she couldn’t just reach across the table and start making out with her in public. They composed themselves and started reading the menu, and Claire felt her anxiety rising, because this place was fancy, and the food wasn’t cheap, but Emma seemed to read her mind, because she looked up and said “Don’t worry about it, Claire,” so Claire told herself not to worry about it.

She thought of her gift, sitting in the pocket of her jacket, and winced. Yeah, it was way too stupid. Emma was so thoughtful and perfect, and all she’d managed was to grab something out of the bargain bin from a dollar store, and a card that, while lovely, didn’t have anything more than Dear Emma, I love you always. Claire.

After they’d ordered, Emma leaned back in her chair, smiling at Claire. “Did you get me anything?” she asked, her tone teasing, but Claire felt heat rising on the back of her neck. She did, but she didn’t want to give it to Emma. She shrugged and looked away.

“It’s okay if you didn’t,” Emma said quietly, suddenly somber, and Claire looked up in alarm.

“No, no, I did, it’s just...it’s really dumb, and you went to so much trouble.”

“Claire,” Emma held out her hand. Claire placed hers in it, and Emma intertwined their fingers with a gentle squeeze. It was a little gesture of comfort she did when she was nervous, and Claire sighed, because she was nervous, too. “Nothing you could get me would be dumb.”

“Okay,” Claire replied, letting go of Emma’s hand to reach into her jacket pocket and dig around inside, comforted by the soft leather in her hands. Her fingers closed around the card and the gift and she tugged them free, handing them over with a sheepish grin. Emma opened the card first, and smiled at the message written inside, reaching for her hand again. Claire knew her card at home would practically have an essay written inside. Emma had a way with words Claire did not.

The gift was stupid. It was a booklet of vouchers, and each one said something dumb, like redeemable for one hug, or exchange me for a kiss! It was full of things like that, vouchers for back massages, cuddles, movie nights, dinners, there was even one for doing the laundry. Claire had grabbed it on her way home yesterday because it had made her laugh, but she didn’t think Emma would go all out for the day, considering last year they’d just gotten a box of chocolate and cuddled on the couch. But Emma poured over the booklet, reading through the vouchers, giggling at some, smirking at others, and she looked up at Claire with the biggest grin on her face Claire couldn’t help but grin too.

“I love it, Claire. Really. Thank you,” Emma told her, still thumbing through the booklet.

“Really?”

“Really,” Emma said. “In fact, there’s one I want to redeem as soon as we get home.”

“Yeah?” Claire said. “Which one is that?”

Emma smirked, tearing it out of the booklet and handing it to Claire with a wink.

Redeemable for one night together.

“I think,” Emma said, bouncing on her heels, blushing a little, “That it’s beautiful. Not as beautiful as you, but that would be a big ask.”

“You dork,” Claire laughed, kissing Emma’s nose. Emma closed her eyes and leaned in, and they kissed properly, tenderly. They had skirted around being in a relationship for several months, and then December last year had agreed it was time to be together. And, well, December this year, they’d stopped seeing any point in them renting two apartments in the same building – so here they were. Moving in together. Having their first proper Christmas together. Claire had never been so excited in her life.

Emma pulled away, taking Claire’s hands and smiling down at them. “Leo called, to wish us a very Merry Christmas from Joan and the kids. They said we’re welcome to come over tomorrow, if we want to. What time did you say your family was coming over?”

“Around midday tomorrow. Cas is coming, and he’s bringing his, well, his family with him. Jody called and said she’s going to stay in Dakota, though. They got a couple of new kids last month and she wants to do a family Christmas with them, make them feel…” Claire shrugged, not sure how to continue.

“Like they’ve still got family,” Emma nodded, her smile softening. She loved Jody, the few times they’d met. She was a one-woman army, fostering so many kids who had lost their families due to monsters and hunters alike. Sometimes Emma wondered if she would have ended up in Jody’s hands, if she had known where to look, after she’d pulled herself out of the darkness. She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts away, and returned her attention to Claire. “Anybody else?”

“Alex might be visiting tomorrow afternoon, so we can all do dinner together.” Claire grinned, squeezing Emma’s hands. Emma was shy about meeting Claire’s family, but she’d finally agreed, and Claire couldn’t be more excited about it. She was starting off small – just Cas, Sam, Alex and Dean. When Claire had asked if Emma wanted to get in touch with her father and invite him, Emma had shrugged it off, and then eventually said “I’m sure he’s busy…with hunter stuff. Saving the universe or something,” and Claire had left it at that. Emma’s hatred of hunters had died down a fair bit since the two of them had gotten together – given that, well, Claire basically was one, for all she denied it – but she still wouldn’t talk about her hunter family, or whatever it was they’d done that had left her alone in Seattle with no one to turn to.

“I’m excited,” Emma said. “This is my first proper Christmas in…forever.”

“Really?” Claire grinned. “How old were you last time you had Christmas?”

“I can’t even remember…well, I did a little Christmas dinner with Leo and Joan a few years back, but…not like this,” Emma said, reaching out to look at one of the sparkling baubles on the tree. Her eyes lit up with so much joy every time they did something Christmas-related, but she’d left the tree decorating to Claire, claiming she’d mess it up. There was one thing, though. Claire tapped her on the shoulder and Emma turned, blinking slowly when Claire held out a glittering, silver star.

“It’s not a tree without a star,” Claire laughed. “Go on, put it up. I always got to do it at Jody’s, and you said you haven’t had Christmas in ages. It’s definitely your turn.”

“Okay,” Emma replied, taking the star gingerly, reaching up and affixing it to the very top of the tree. She took a step back to look at the tree in all its glory, mesmerised. Claire quietly reached over and turned on the lights, sending the tree from beautiful to magnificent. “Oh!” Emma exclaimed softly, covering her mouth. She turned to look at Claire with tears in her eyes.

“Are you crying?” Claire tried not to laugh, pulling Emma into a hug. Emma shook her head and hugged her back, laughing a little.

“I’m just so happy, Claire. I never thought…life could be like this.”

Claire kissed her forehead before leading her girlfriend over to the couch, shoving the boxes aside and sitting Emma down. She reached out and grabbed a present from under the coffee table and placed it in Emma’s lap.

“What’s this?” Emma asked, touching the wrapping paper with care. It was white, with silver and blue deer, and out all the wrapping paper they had it was her favourite. “I thought presents weren’t until tomorrow morning?”

“When I was growing up, we got to open one present on Christmas Eve, and…this is the present I want you to open.” Claire grinned, reaching under the table and grabbing an identical package, a little gift to herself to go with Emma’s. “We’ll open them together, okay?”

Emma slid her thumb under the tape, popping the wrapping open and pulling it off slowly. Inside were a pair of reindeer-themed pyjamas, just her size. Emma got one of her goofy little grins on her face and bit her lip, looking up at Claire, who was holding up and identical pyjama set, just in a different colour. Emma laughed, more so when Claire leaned over, shoving her down onto the couch gently and kissing her again. They kissed slower this time, and Emma reached up, her hands sliding up Claire’s hips to her waist, up and underneath her shirt. Claire giggled and pulled away, pinning Emma’s hand down. “Maybe later,” she whispered. Emma pouted. Claire resisted the urge to kiss her again.

“We could always go shower, and then put our new pyjamas on,” Emma said, eyes wide, feigning innocence. Claire tried to hide her smile, rolling her eyes, but she grabbed Emma by the hand and pulled her towards the bathroom.

Afterwards, when they were dry, in their new pyjamas, and cuddled up in bed, Claire turned to face Emma, searching in her eyes for something, anything, that would tell her why Emma seemed so…hesitant about Christmas. The carols, the movies, the hot cocoa, all of that she was all for, and even fine with their friends from church, or for their own little celebrations at home, but the second she’d brought up bringing in her family Emma had froze. She wanted to know why.

“Em,” she asked softly. Emma turned her head, eyes still fixed on the television screen, but clearly trying to pay attention. “Why are you so weird about meeting my family?”

“I’m not weird,” Emma said, sounding more than a little defensive. “I just…you said they’re hunters, and you know…how I feel about hunters.”

“Yeah,” Claire replied. “But I promise, they’re fine. They’re great. Really. And we just won’t tell them about your…thing.”

“You mean we won’t tell them I’m an Amazon warrior birthed solely to kill mankind?” Emma shoved some popcorn in her mouth, nonchalant. Thatconversation had been a weird one, but both of them were at peace with the idea by now. Emma didn’t kill, didn’t harm others, and had no desire to sleep with men and continue the Amazon race, so as far as Claire could tell, what she actually was didn’t matter. It came in handy sometimes – they’d moved all of Emma’s stuff over here in about two days, thanks to Emma’s weird strength and endurance. And the endurance had definitelycome in handy in other ways. Claire’s sex life had never been so great.

“Yeah, exactly.” Claire snuggled into Emma’s side, resting her head on the woman’s shoulder. She stared up at her with wide blue eyes, wondering how she’d ever gotten so lucky to stumble across such a wonderful person. When they’d met, she’d been another person entirely – she had been drinking to fill a hole nothing else would, she had still been angry at Castiel, deep down, and most of all, she had felt lost. She had loved Jody and Alex and Kaia and all the others, but she hadn’t felt like anyone truly understood her, not properly. Not the way Emma so clearly did. Emma, too, had been different; afraid of any kind of touch, untrusting, treating the world in an almost detached way. Claire had come to realise quick that was Emma’s armour, and in fact, Emma cared about others in a very deep, almost visceral way, but had been too afraid to get close to anyone. Now she was freely affectionate, at least with Claire, and so full of love.

“Are you almost ready for bed?” Emma asked. Amazons didn’t need to sleep as much as humans, so Emma attuned her sleeping schedule almost exactly to Claire’s. Claire managed to snuggle closer, now with her head against Emma’s chest. She closed her eyes and listened to the gentle thud, thud, thud of Emma’s heart. Slow and steady. She managed to kiss the closest part of Emma’s skin she could reach, which was the back of her hand. The two of them looked so sweet, cuddling in their matching reindeer pyjamas. It made Claire so happy, and she could tell Emma was, too. Emma’s hazel eyes were starting to drift shut, and Claire could tell from her slowing breaths that the Amazon was actually falling asleep. Huh, she thought to herself. Perhaps moving all of that stuff from her apartment over to Claire’s had actually worn Emma out.

Claire took the silent moment to stare up at Emma’s beautiful, relaxed face. Her skin had the slightest honeyed tan to it, a smattering of freckles across her nose. Her hair, straight naturally, but at the moment in light, loose waves from the bun it had been twisted into all day, was a dark, dark blonde, so dark it could almost be called brown. It wasn’t helped by the places where it was still brown; as much as the dye had faded, parts of it still clung stubbornly to Emma’s hair, barely noticeable unless you knew what you were looking for, but noticeable nonetheless. Though they were closed, Claire thought of Emma’s hazel eyes, more brown than green, that glowed amber in the right light, and of the thick, dark lashes that framed them. Claire had seen Emma scared, angry, depressed and unwell, but also happy, kind, and calm, and she knew, without a doubt, she was head-over-heels for her.

“Goodnight, beautiful,” Claire murmured, kissing Emma’s collarbone and shifting until she was comfortable, draping one arm across Emma’s stomach so she could half-spoon her in her sleep. Emma didn’t offer any words in reply, just pulled Claire closer and gave a satisfied sigh. Without any further discussion, the happy couple fell into a blissful sleep.

When Claire woke the next morning, the bed was empty, just her alone tangled in the sheets and blankets. She lifted her head and blinked, squinting at the room, but Emma was nowhere to be seen. Softly, she could hear Christmas carols coming from another room, and the sound of footsteps. With a yawn, Claire stretched out, wriggling her toes and cracking her joints. She rolled around her left shoulder, giving it a few extra cracks, waiting until the satisfying pop that indicated it was done. It hadn’t been the same since it had been dislocated by a Crossroads demon almost a year back. Emma had been the one to put it back in place, with some unimpressed grumbling and a snide remark or two. She had asked Claire then if she’d stop hunting, or at least only go hunting with back up – a condition to which Claire had eventually agreed. She didn’t go now unless it was with Alex, or sometimes Krissy and Josephine, two hunters who had proven their worth multiple times now.

Claire rolled out of bed and shoved her feet into her slippers, shuffling down the hall slowly. Emma was in the kitchen, humming along to Christmas carols, slicing potatoes quickly. Claire walked up behind her and wrapped her arms around Emma’s waist, and the other woman leaned back, tilting her head as Claire kissed her neck.

“Good morning,” Emma said, continuing with the slicing. “Your coffee’s over by the microwave.”

“Mm, thank you,” Claire replied, taking a long drink. The coffee was warm, sweet, and a little… “Cinnamon?” she asked, looking down at it.

“Cinnamon sugar,” Emma corrected. “It felt more festive.”

“It tastes amazing,” Claire said, taking another sip. There was whipped cream on top, too, and it was just the right amount of sweet. “Sorry I slept in.”

“You needed the rest,” Emma smiled at her. Her hair was out, and it looked like she’d run over it with the straightener, because it wasn’t quite as wavy as it had been the night before. She’d gotten dressed, too, in a white button-down shirt and black skirt, wearing a pair of red stockings and black flats. Claire glanced down at her reindeer pyjamas, considering them for a moment, then sighed.

“I should go get dressed, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes,” Emma grinned. “Your guests will be here in about an hour.”

“A little more than that,” Claire glanced at the clock that hung in their kitchen. Their kitchen. Oh, those words made her so warm inside. “They’re always late. But you’re right, I’ll go get some clothes on.”

Claire returned to their room and dug through her drawers for a minute before pulling out a black sweater and a pair of jeans. She pushed the sleeves up to her elbows, revealing her tattooed wrists, and popped open the old jewellery box that had been her grandmother’s. Castiel had tracked it down to a thrift store in Illinois and obtained it last Christmas, returning to her a piece of her family history she held very dear. She slipped on her favourite silver bracelet, a little thing with a couple of protective charms on it, and a pair of earrings. She eyed the gold locket Emma kept in there, a little heart-shaped thing that had remained clasped shut as long as Claire had known Emma. For a moment, she considered opening it, before abruptly shutting the box and returning it to its place atop the dresser.

When she walked back outside, Emma was placing a baking dish in the oven, turning the heat down a little. She looked up at Claire with a relaxed smile and straightened, kissing her on the cheek. “I’m going to put a little make up on, if you want to keep an eye on the food,” she said, and Claire nodded, though she didn’t know why Emma bothered – her skin was always flawless.

Claire ran her fingers through her long, blonde hair, pulling her loose curls free from the tangles, smoothing down the stray wisps around her face. She inspected her reflection in the microwave, and satisfied with what she saw, turned back just as Emma returned to the room.

“Do I look okay?” she asked, twirling in front of Claire. Her little black skirt flared out for a moment before settling back over her hips, and she clasped her hands in front of her, balancing on her toes for a moment. She’d put on a soft pink lipstick and lined the edge of her eyes with black liner, a little mascara across her lashes. She had also used Claire’s curling wand to throw a few curls in the ends of her hair, giving it a little more volume. She looked fantastic.

“You look perfect,” Claire said, unable to keep the smile from her face.

“Can you do this for me?” Emma asked, holding out the gold locket. She rarely wore it, occasionally to church, but only when she felt she had to look her best. It was the first inkling Claire got that maybe Emma wasn’t feeling as cool and collected as she appeared. She turned, pushing her hair out of the way, and the blonde clipped the gold chain around her neck. Emma let her hair fall back into place and adjusted the locket so it was sitting neatly on her chest, biting her lip.

“Babe?”

“Yeah?” Emma replied, not looking up, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. Claire reached out and grabbed her hands, holding her still for a moment.

“Are you nervous?”

Emma looked up, her hazel eyes wide. “No, of course not. I’m excited. They’re important to you, so they’re important to me, too.”

“Uh-huh,” Claire touched Emma’s hip, giving her an understanding smile. “You’re gonna do fine. Cas is going to love you.”

Emma nodded and gave a shaky smile back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. They shared a meaningful look, and Claire was just about to lean in and kiss her, when a knock sounded at the door. Claire hesitated, pouting for a moment, but Emma gave her a gentle shove toward the door, laughing. Feeling encouraged, Claire went to the door, peeking through the peephole. With a wide grin, she unlocked it and pulled it open, pulling Castiel into a hug.

“Claire,” he greeted her with his gravelly voice, touching her cheek for a moment. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” she said, stepping aside to let him in. “This is Emma. Em, this is Castiel.”

“Hi,” Emma said, playing with the hem of her skirt again, not moving from where she stood in the kitchen.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Emma,” Castiel smiled at Emma. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“The boys still coming?” Claire asked, going to close the door, but she spotted Sam and Dean making their way upstairs. She grinned and held the door wide open. “Hi!”

As Sam and Dean stepped into the apartment, two things happened: Sam pulled his gun from his waistband, and Emma dove across the kitchen, pulling a butcher’s knife from the knife block and brandishing it in front of her, breathing hard. Her eyes had gone a bright golden yellow, the skin turning the ugly red of skin about to bruise. Claire felt her pulse jump as she stepped between them, her hands up, turning to glare at Sam with all the anger she could muster. She had never seen Emma’s Amazon form, but the sight of it made her skin crawl, her blood turn to ice in her veins. Still, her loyalty to Emma prevailed, monster or not, and right now, Sam was pointing a fucking gun at her girlfriend.

“Claire, get out of the way,” Sam hissed. “She’s-”

“I know what she is!” Claire yelled, fists clenched. “She’s my girlfriend! Put the gun down!”

“Claire-”

“Sam,” Castiel began, his hands up in a placating manner, but all of them were interrupted by Dean, who just said quietly, “Emma?”

Emma had gone very, very still, knife still in her hand, eyes still yellow. It didn’t even look like she was breathing at this point, she was so still, but Claire could see the slightest tremble in the hand clutching her knife. She looked between them, Emma and Dean, feeling more confused than she’d ever felt in her life. Clearly, Sam and Dean knew Emma, and Emma knew them, and something here was very, very wrong.

“Dad?” Emma finally said, and her eyes shifted from gold to hazel, the red fading from her skin. Castiel reached out and grabbed Sam’s hand, lowering the gun for him, and Claire looked at Emma and Dean again, at their eyes, and understood.

Emma dropped the knife and crossed the room in a few short steps, Dean closing the gap between them in long strides. They grabbed each other and held on, Emma’s arms wrapped around his torso, his arms wrapped around her. Claire couldn’t see Emma’s face, but she could see Dean’s, his shell-shocked stare as he looked through her. One hand reached up and petted Emma’s hair softly, slowly, with all the care in the world.

Likewise, Sam couldn’t see Dean, but he could see Emma, the tears in her eyes, the way she trembled as she held onto Dean. He felt a pang of guilt, looking away, feeling as though he was intruding on a moment between his brother and his niece. Killing Emma was one of his greatest regrets, but, it seemed, it hadn’t stuck.

Dean and Emma separated, and he brushed the hair off her face, staring down at her with an emotion nobody else in the room could identify. “Emma,” he said, slowly and clearly, a smile finally finding its way onto his face. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Emma said, voice cracking a little. “Dad.”

Dean was still staring at her like she was some kind of miracle, looking into her dark eyes, her freckled skin, the gold locket clasped around her neck. Likewise, she was staring right back at him, blinking away a few stray tears. She wiped her eyes with a hand, careful not to smudge her mascara, and finally managed to smile back at him.

“Okay,” Claire said, breaking the silence after nobody had spoken for what felt like an eternity. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

“Claire,” Emma turned to face Claire, still on the verge of tears, “This is…”

“Dean,” Claire said. “That is Dean, Castiel’s…best friend.”

“My dad,” Emma said. “Dean is my dad.”

“You didn’t tell us that your girlfriend was an Amazon,” Dean said, one arm around Emma’s shoulders.  The affection between them seemed to come so naturally. It reminded Claire of her father, more so when she glanced over at Cas and saw his face staring back.

“You didn’t tell me you had a daughter,” Claire tried not to sound snappy.

“I think,” Castiel interrupted them all, “This is a conversation that may be better had over food, or at least sitting down.” He gestured toward the dining room table. Sam was still quiet, his gun holstered, hands pushed deep into the pockets of his jeans. Sam nodded, following Castiel to the table, and slowly, Emma, Dean and Claire followed suit, Claire stopping only to flick the lock on the front door.

Castiel took a seat at the head of the table, Sam immediately to his left, and Dean beside Sam, leaving three spaces free. Claire helped Emma pull out the potato bake and the chicken, serving it up on baby-blue plates that matched their general Christmas décor. The blonde grabbed a dish of steamed vegetables and a tray of warm bread rolls and took them both over to the table, before she and Emma both began handing over plates. Claire took the seat on Castiel’s right, directly across from Sam, letting Emma have the seat across from Dean. She then looked between the two brothers, waiting for someone to begin explaining, because if there was anything she had been expecting out of the day, discovering that Emma was in fact a Winchester was not on the list.

“How’d you survive?” Sam asked, looking Emma straight in the eye. She stiffened a little. Claire placed a hand on her thigh and rubbed her leg gently with her thumb, trying to be reassuring, and probably, she thought, failing.

“I don’t know,” Emma replied, looking down. Claire knew she wasn’t lying. “I woke up in a forest not long after you shot me, and I was there for…a very long time…in a place with others like I am. And then one day I woke up in the ground outside Seattle and had to claw my way out of the dirt.”

Dean visibly winced, looking down at his food, picking at it with his fork. Claire felt her protective streak flare up at the mention that Sam had shot Emma, but, she reminded herself, they seemed to be actively trying to keep the past in the past, and who was she to interfere with that?

Aside from the person who had accidentally brought them all together again, of course.

“You were resurrected,” Castiel said calmly, taking a mouthful of food and chewing it, deep in thought. He swallowed and then looked between Claire and Emma carefully. Emma got the sense he wasn’t looking at them, exactly, but somehow deeper. “Do you know how that was done? Or anyone who might have wanted to, aside from your father?”

“No,” Emma replied. “And I wouldn’t have asked to be, anyway. I just…considered myself lucky.”

“Winchesters are hard to kill,” Dean said firmly, effectively ending the conversation and any further speculation.

They were quiet for a few more moments, as everyone dug into their food, passing the vegetables around, the salt and pepper, Claire briefly venturing to the kitchen to grab drinks, something she’d overlooked in all the drama of discovering her girlfriend was a Winchester. She passed sodas to Castiel and Emma, and offered the boys each a beer, which they gratefully accepted.

“So, Emma,” Castiel asked, sounding cordial, “how did you and Claire meet?”

“We’ve lived across the hall from each other for ages, and…a little over a year back we decided to get coffee,” Emma replied. “And now we’re together.”

“Yes, we are,” Claire said, squeezing Emma’s hand under the table. “We actually just finished moving Emma in from the apartment across the hall. That’s why there’s boxes in the kitchen.”

Cas nodded, and his usual stoic expression slipped into a smile. He looked over at Dean and Sam, who seemed a little more cautious than he, but eventually, Sam smiled, too. Dean was too busy watching Emma to notice.

“Emma’s trying to become a mechanic,” Claire said, giving her girlfriend a loving look. “The old Malibu parked on the street is hers.”

“Really?” Dean brightened, his grin wide. “Chip off the old block, hey?”

“Something like that,” Emma said. She was fiddling with the hem of her skirt again, under the table, where it couldn’t be seen. The truth was, when she’d crawled out of the dirt in Seattle, all she had was a gold locket and the memory of a black Chevy Impala. It had taken her a few days to pull herself together enough to get resources, money, work. She’d bought the Malibu because it was the closest thing she could find that matched the image in her head, the image that she had somehow correlated with home. Which was hardly possible, considering the only time she’d been inside it, she was dead. And yet.

The tension in the room seemed to be fading, to Claire’s immense relief. She knew Emma had been nervous about meeting Castiel, but she’d had no clue whatsoever that it would turn out to be worse than whatever Emma’s worst nightmare had been. Though, in saying that – things weren’t going badly. Emma tensed a little every time Sam moved, but for the most part, they seemed to be forming a begrudging respect. Dean kept looking at Emma like the she made the sun shine, and then at Claire like she’d lifted the night sky in order for Emma to do so. The conversation had switched to something more mundane, something about a hunt Sam and Cas had been working, and they’d managed to slowly work their way through their meals. Emma had slipped away halfway through to place an apple pie in the oven, and took a moment to herself in the kitchen, fingering the locket around her neck. She had never expected to see Dean again, not up close, not to share a meal. Not to have a Christmas with her father, her real father. It was almost too much.

“You okay?” Claire whispered when she returned. Emma nodded, squeezing her hand before taking a seat again.

Sam and Emma both stiffened when the other moved, but they were slowly growing used to each other’s presence. Claire got the sense that neither Sam or Cas trusted Emma, trusted she wouldn’t go Amazon again – but she trusted Emma, with all her heart. She knew it had just been a frightened reaction to seeing two people she didn’t think she would ever see again, two people who had caused her a lot of pain. Emma laid awake some nights and cried and cried, and when Claire had asked what was wrong, all she’d ever gotten in reply was “Seattle”. Now she knew. She couldn’t imagine the trauma of actually dying and being resurrected again. No wonder Emma had been so on guard when they had met.

Dean was laughing at something Cas had said, but he hadn’t taken his eyes off Emma since he’d walked into the room. He had the sort of calm acceptance on his face one has when they’ve accepted they are in a deep dream from which they cannot wake; Claire resisted the urge to reach over and pinch him. She and Emma shared a look, and Emma managed a smile, taking Claire’s hand and squeezing it once before letting it go. Claire knew she was saying thank you, even though, really, this had all been an accident.

Claire served up the pie with the fresh cream Emma had whipped earlier that morning, handing out plates and forks, the boys gratefully accepting. Dean dug in with gusto, beaming at Sam and nodded downing at his pie. Sam rolled his eyes and hid the hint of a smile, while Cas laughed at them both.

Emma was getting overwhelmed. Claire could tell, easily so now; it had taken her a while to get used to her partner’s many quirks, but Emma got pretty clear when she needed to be alone. Claire didn’t blame her at all, not after how the day had begun – she had no idea she was inviting Emma’s family into their home, not just her own.

“I think, Claire,” Castiel’s deep voice broke the silence, “After dessert we will be hitting the road. Though we were wondering,” he glanced between the brothers, sitting side-by-side, sharing a meaningful look, “If the two of you would like to join us for dinner tonight, where we may discuss things…at more length, and in more depth, after everyone has had a few hours to process what has happened.”

“I…” Claire looked over at Emma, who was looking up hopefully. She met Claire’s eyes and gave the slightest nod. “Yeah, thank you, Cas. That’s a great idea.”

Castiel nodded firmly, shooting his blue-eyed gaze over Sam and Dean. Claire sensed their next conversation was going to be a lengthy one in the Impala on the drive back home. Dean was scraping the last of pie and cream off his plate, licking his fork clean. Emma picked at the edge of her thumbnail under the table, until Claire clamped her hand over her girlfriend’s, trying to soothe her with the simple gesture.

Before they left, Sam shook Emma’s hand, nodding quietly, and then pulled Claire into a quick, but prickly, hug. Cas hugged them both, one at a time, careful to not impose on Emma’s personal space, waiting for her to lean in and hug him back before properly initiating the gesture. Dean, though, Dean swept them both up into his arms and squeezed, kissing both their foreheads, beaming. He pulled away and looked down at the two young women, Claire and Emma, the hunter and his daughter, his only daughter, living and breathing and all she should have been.

“We’ll see you tonight!” Dean called after them as the trio began making their way down the stairs. Claire nodded, waving them away, pushing the door shut behind them with a sigh. She pulled out her phone, intending to call Alex and ask for some advice, and also to advise her in the change of plans, but before she’d walked in any further than the kitchen she realised Emma was crying.

And not just little, delicate sobs either. No, this was full-on, snotty, redfaced crying. Emma was near-hysterical, curled up on the couch, her knees tucked to her chest, bawling her eyes out. She’d shoved her face into her knees when she realised Claire was watching and tried to quiet herself down, but it was near impossible; every sob shook her body.

“Oh, Emma,” Claire crossed the room in seconds, falling onto the couch and immediately pulling her girlfriend into her arms. Emma sobbed into her chest quietly, shaking her head, as thought she wanted to push Claire away, but Claire Novak was a lot more stubborn than that. “Emma, I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“I know,” Emma hiccupped, wiping her eyes roughly with one fist. “I know you didn’t know. I didn’t know. I never though that your hunter family and my…that Dean…”

“It’s okay,” Claire rubbed her back gently, slowly working her way down from Emma’s tense neck to her equally tense shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Emma whispered. She’d finally stopped crying, though her face was still damp, her voice still cracking. “I just never thought I’d see him again.”

“You did though, right?” Claire asked, pulling Emma closer. “You said that not long after we met.”

“I left Seattle,” Emma murmured. “And ended up in….another town. I was fresh out of a grave. I was filthy. I knew it wasn’t the year I’d died. I ran. I ran so far, I don’t even know where I found myself at. I think I was following…some kind of instinct. Because I found myself in this abandoned lot, and in that lot were Sam and Dean. They were busy. I don’t know what they were doing. But they were talking, and Dean looked like he was crying, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t bring myself to talk to them. To reveal myself.”

“I don’t blame you,” Claire said. She was stroking Emma’s hair now, slow, careful, even strokes, and Emma was calming down, slowly. Her face was still red and her eyes full of tears, but she’d managed to stop sobbing, eventually closing her eyes and relaxing into Claire’s body, letting Claire hold her tight and move from stroking her hair to gently rubbing her back. Words didn’t really need to be said for this, Claire thought. She remembered how she had felt when she had seen her mother again for the first time in years; it had been like her soul was being torn in two. It had felt worse when Castiel had walked in to bail her out, that second of hope that it was her father, not the angel.

“Don’t we need to leave soon?” Emma asked quietly, wiping her face on her sleeve. “Lebanon is a few hours away.”

“How about we shower first,” Claire suggested. “Or at least clean you up a little, get changed into something warmer. It’s gonna be cold out there, babe.”

“Okay,” Emma replied. After a few moments where neither of them moved, she asked, “Is it just going to be Sam, Dean and Castiel tonight, or am I going to meet…more hunters?”

“I don’t know,” Claire said, pressing a kiss to Emma’s forehead. “But whoever’s there, I promise, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I think even if the hunters are there, most’ve them would’ve gone back to whatever families they have for the holidays, or they’ll be having their own celebrations, or…they just won’t be participating. And nobody’d try anything stupid on you, okay? They’d have to go through me and Alex first.”

Emma half-cracked a smile and pulled herself up, stopping to kiss Claire quickly before heading to the bathroom. Claire watched her go, a tired smile on her face, before grabbing her phone and dialling Alex’s number.

“Merry Christmas, loser,” Alex greeted her, her voice faint. She must’ve been driving still.

“Hey, Alex. Merry Christmas. Quick question – how far are you from Lebanon?”

“Passed it about forty minutes ago. Why?”

Claire tried not to laugh. “You’re gonna have to turn back. Bunker Christmas.”

“What?!” Alex said. “Aw, come on Claire. You said I was having Christmas with you and Emma.”

“You are, still. We’re about to leave to head up there,” Claire said, glancing back to the hallway to check Emma wasn’t around. “Something weird happened at lunch.”

“Good weird or bad weird? Did Sam totally freak about Emma being an Amazon? It’s something like that, right? Did Dean? Am I getting warmer?”

“Close,” Claire said. “Emma is Dean’s daughter.”

“WHAT?!” Alex screeched. Claire pulled the phone away from her ear, flinching. She waited until the screeching chain of questions died down before returning it.

“You done?”

“Yes,” Alex sounded more composed. “But seriously, I have so many questions.”

“You and me both, sister,” Claire replied. “You can interrogate Dean when you get to the Bunker, I don’t want to, and I don’t want to hurt Emma’s feelings. Anyway, I gotta go. We’ll be there in like, two hours, three tops. Cool?”

“Cool. Love ya. Bye!” Alex hung up. Claire tapped her fingernails against her phone case for a moment before pocketing it, getting up and wandering down to the other end of her admittedly small apartment. She could hear the shower still running, so she went into their bedroom, smiling when she saw Emma had already placed an overnight bag on the bed. It was empty, though, so she began packing it; underwear and clothing for them both, an extra sweater each, socks, hairbrushes, a little bag of basic makeup and moisturiser. Emma really loved moisturiser.

Emma emerged from the bathroom in a towel, her hair up in a bun, a few loose strands wet and sticking to her face. Claire brushed them away with her fingers, giving Emma a gentle kiss before stepping aside and letting her get dressed. She pulled on a black singlet and a white cardigan, running her fingers through her hair, zipping up her jeans. Claire gave her a thumbs up when she turned to show her, and Emma nodded, mostly to herself, before pulling on a pair of boots and lacing them up. She ran her towel over the necklace still dangling from her neck, drying it off, before tossing her towel across the room and into the corner.

“Are you going to shower?” Emma asked, turning to face Claire. Claire shook her head.

“I’ll shower tonight, before bed,” she said. She pulled the black jacket Emma handed her on over her sweatshirt, holding the other girl’s hand for a moment and gently pressing her lips against her knuckles. Emma sighed for a moment, closing her eyes, then pulled her hand away, zipping their bag shut. She threw it over her shoulder and looked at Claire expectantly.

“I’m driving?” Claire asked.

“You know the way,” Emma replied.

She couldn’t really argue with that. She swiped Emma’s keys from the mantle, because if they were driving two and a half hours, she wanted it to be in the roomier, larger, and generally faster Chevy. Also, she didn’t want to risk her car going through the snow; the ice on the roads at this time of year was a real bitch.

Claire also grabbed two large canvas bags from the cupboard in the kitchen, stuffing their Christmas presents into them, along with the presents she’d intended to give the boys. After all the fuss, they hadn’t gotten to the most significant part of the holiday season, not even between Claire and Emma. She hesitated, and then grabbed a package, standing and offering it to Emma.

“I thought you wanted to do presents with your family,” Emma said, looking down at it.

“I want you to have this one now,” Claire said. After a moment’s hesitation, Emma unwrapped it slowly, revealing a plain black box wrapped in ribbon. She untied the ribbon and finally managed to pull the box open, revealing a little gold chain inside – decorated with six charms, five protective symbols, and one charm extra, the Mark of Harmonia. Claire had sketched it out while watching Emma’s wrist as she slept, trying to get the shape and size right, and had researched as much of the lore as she could to ensure it was perfect. Getting a jewellery store to make the charm had been a little harder, but, well, here it was; custom-made, just for Emma.

“Oh,” Emma whispered, holding it up to the light. The gold seemed to shimmer and shine, and she smiled, clasping it around her scarred wrist. “Thank you, Claire. You don’t know much this means.”

Claire thought, maybe, she did. A little bit.

They piled into the car, girls and gifts and bags and luggage, ready to leave for Lebanon, Kansas. It was three hours north of Wichita. If Emma had been driving, it would have taken longer; Em was cautious behind the wheel, probably because she was entirely self-taught when it came to driving. She was self-taught at most things, actually. It was amazing how much she had learned in the absence of parents.

Claire, on the other hand, drove like a maniac. As well-described by Alex, Emma, Jody, Dean…and Castiel, many, many times. But still. It got her where she needed to go.

They flew down the highway, Emma singing loudly and on-key to the music blaring from the radio, her window rolled down just enough for the ice-cold breeze to chill her face and blow through her hair. Claire turned the heater up and angled the vents towards her, smiling, forcing her eyes to stay focused on the road instead of Emma’s lovely face. It was snowing lightly, just enough to stick, and more than enough to make her take a little more care than she usually would. There wasn’t much traffic on the road, not much at all, which relaxed Claire just a bit. It was Christmas; most everyone was home with their families, and that’s what they were travelling toward themselves. Their odd little makeshift hunter family, found for Claire, blood for Emma.

The closer they got to Lebanon, to the Bunker, the quieter Emma got. She kept playing with both her locket and her bracelet, and eventually started tracing over the raised skin of her scarred wrist, running her thumb over the curves of Harmonia’s mark. Claire wondered what she was thinking, if she was wondering if the Bunker’s wards would throw her out just for being an Amazon, if she would be greeted with hostility. If in the hours Dean had to think about it, his stance hand changed; if Dean even wanted her at all.

Claire felt pretty certain in thinking that Dean would. Emma hadn’t seen Dean’s face, but Claire had, and he had been so happy to see Emma, had looked as though part of his broken heart had become whole again.

They exited off the highway, going through the town of Lebanon slowly. The Bunker was located on the other side, in a more rural area, but Claire enjoyed the quiet drive through the sleepy Kansas town. Almost every house had a light display, every shopfront decorated with winter scenes, streetlights flickering on as the sun began its descent overhead. It wouldn’t be dark for at least an hour yet, but Claire knew all too well how quickly it could seem to come on, especially in midwinter.

The bag of presents that sat in the back slid off the seat as Claire braked a little hard, and Emma laughed, looking back at it. Emma had picked out many of the presents with Claire’s help, and Claire knew she was even more excited now to give them. Claire herself could feel that bubbly, excited feeling forming, thinking of an evening around the fire with the people she loved and trusted, the Christmastime feeling of goodwill and charity within them all.

She parked the car under a small copse of trees outside the Bunker’s main entrance, killing the engine, reaching out and wordlessly grabbing Emma’s hand. The two women looked at each other, Emma making a mental note that Claire had her father’s eyes. She didn’t realise Claire was thinking the exact same thing.

They got out of the car slowly, grabbing their things and piling them on the hood, Emma frozen in place for a moment as she stared at the Bunker. Claire walked around and stood beside her, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. The door swung open and Alex poked her head out, a tall redhead standing close behind her, and beside them Dean, grinning wide.

“Are you two coming in or what? It’s fucking freezing out there!” Alex called, earning her a smack on the arm from the redhead woman, who told her to watch her language. Dean rolled his eyes at them both, laughing, and gestured for Claire and Emma to come inside.

“Ready?” Claire asked, holding Emma’s hand tight, reminding her that no matter what, she wasn’t doing this alone.