Read on AO3
Merry Christmas Guu! A little birdie told me you were a fan of the Three Musketeers, so I hope you enjoy :)
The year was 1625. The Holy Roman Empire was being torn apart in a religious war, factions of demons facing off against their angelic foes, each side using creatures of the supernatural to aid their cause. In France, Louis the XIII sat on the throne. Everyone knew he was a weak king, dependent on his top Cardinal for advice. Though the King supported the beliefs of the angels, there were whispers and rumors that the Cardinal’s sympathies lay instead with the demons to the north. As the war raged on along the eastern borders, showing no signs of easing, the chaos of the war began to find its way into France; the horrors of these monsters held at bay only by an elite force: Hunters. The best of the best. They were known as The Musketeers.
Present for Jess!!!
Dean’s at the grocery store, debating between Fruit Loops and Lucky Charms when Krissy Chambers runs up to him.
“Mr. Winchester! Mommy, look it’s Mr. Winchester? Can I say hi?”
“Honey - “
Krissy tugs on Dean’s jacket. “Hi, Mr. Winchester!”
Happy Christmas, Lis!
It was November before Dean made the call and said “Come home.”
It was three more weeks of Dean pacing— actually wearing a groove in one of the carpets, already threadbare from another with similar predilection— before Cas showed up, his hair a little shaggier, face a little more gaunt, but carrying himself a little taller than the last time they’d met.
Gone was the blue vest, but the khakis remained. Dean might actually hate the khakis, but far be it for him to say anything. He’d already asked for too much. Cas was home.
Before he’d settled on a room, Cas claimed a coffee mug and a robe, both of which he used obsessively. Each night he’d make a bed in one room, each morning strip the linens off and fold them. After a week he settled on the room at the midpoint of the hallway between the brothers, and diagonal from Kevin. By that time he’d acquired a few sets of pajamas from the drawers in the various rooms, mostly in shades of blue piped with white or navy. They reminded Dean enough of hospital scrubs that he was glad of the ratty robe Cas strode around in. Sam had tried, at Dean’s bidding, to get Cas to trade the worn robe for a different one, but Cas just hummed and stuck his thumb through the small hole in the front pocket and said, “I like this one.” And that was that.