✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

𝐓𝐇𝐄 The December sun had dipped low, casting a warm golden glow across the quiet Encino neighborhood as the Winchesters pulled into the circular driveway of the Brown estate. The mansion stood proud and regal against the orange-pink sky, its windows lit like amber jewels. Strings of white lights wrapped around the columns and twinkled in the hedges, casting a festive glow over the trimmed lawn.

Dean parked the Impala and cut the ignition. He and Sam stepped out in pressed suits and ties, adjusting their jackets against the cooler California breeze. Rebecca climbed out after them, radiant in a rich green dress that brought out the glow in her skin. The ¾ sleeves hugged her arms just so, and the hem brushed gracefully above her knees. Her brown hair, soft and shining, flowed down her back. With a sweep of her hand, she tucked it behind one ear, revealing the gentle curve of her neck and her luminous smile.

She cradled a stack of neatly wrapped gifts, and Sam and Dean followed suit, each carrying a few boxes. The three of them approached the grand front door and rang the bell.

A moment later, it opened to reveal Adaline Brown—graceful, elegant, and smiling like she'd been waiting all day just for them.

"Rebecca, Merry Christmas, darling," Adaline said warmly as she pulled the brunette into a gentle hug.

"Merry Christmas to you too," Rebecca said, returning the embrace.

Adaline turned her attention to the men. "Adaline Brown," she said, offering her hand. "You must be Dean—and you, Sam. Dean, your daughter is absolutely stunning."

Dean smiled. "Thank you. It's good to meet you."

"Please, come inside," Adaline said, stepping aside.

Inside, the house glowed with holiday charm—garlands hung from the bannisters, golden lights sparkled around doorways, and the smell of roasted cinnamon and cloves filled the air. Adaline led Dean and Sam into the living room to join her husband, Clark, but Rebecca lingered in the foyer, mesmerized by the large paintings that adorned the walls. She tilted her head slightly, eyes tracing the brushstrokes with quiet reverence.

"Merry Christmas, Bec," a familiar voice murmured.

She turned just as Bobby slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her gently against him.

"Merry Christmas, honey," Rebecca whispered, her smile softening as their foreheads brushed. "These paintings are beautiful."

Bobby slid his hand into hers, their fingers naturally intertwining. Bobby had never cared much for art, but watching her gaze at it like it was breathing—it made him want to understand.

"I've never really gotten it," Bobby admitted, eyes still on her face. "Art, I mean. I think it's cool and all, but I've never understood what people see in it."

"That's because you're looking at the paint, not the feeling," Rebecca said gently. Her voice was like a melody, light and warm. She gestured to a piece across from them, abstract and fluid.

"This one," she continued, "it's about time. How it stretches, contracts, races forward... slows down. And how sometimes, when you fall in love, it stands completely still. Like gravity doesn't exist for just a second."

Bobby didn't respond right away. He was too caught up in the way her eyes sparkled when she talked about something she loved.

"What?" Rebecca asked, catching him staring.

"You're just... amazing," Bobby said quietly.

He leaned in and kissed her, slow and tender, and the rest of the world melted away.

In the cozy den, Bobby introduced Rebecca to his grandmother, Ruth Brown. Elegant and wise, she was wrapping the final gifts with care when they arrived.

"Grandma," Bobby said, beaming. "This is my beautiful girlfriend, Rebecca Winchester."

Ruth looked up and immediately broke into a smile. "You are absolutely beautiful, my dear," she said, taking Rebecca's hands in hers and pulling her in for a warm hug. "Bobby, go help your father in the study. Rebecca and I have some things to talk about."

Bobby hesitated, looking at Rebecca, who gave him a warm, reassuring smile. "I'll be right here."

Once he left, Ruth linked her arm with Rebecca's and guided her to the sofa.

"Tell me about yourself, sweetheart," Ruth said kindly. "Your background, your dreams."

"Well... I'm from Lebanon, Kansas," Rebecca began softly. "My mom passed away last December. My dad and uncle are both mechanics at a local shop here in Reseda."

Ruth's expression softened. "I'm so sorry, my dear."

Rebecca nodded. "Thank you. Some days are easier than others. But art... art has helped. My dream is to become an art historian."

"Ah, so you truly love it."

"I do. It's in my soul," Rebecca said, eyes glowing. "It's like seeing the world through a different lens—every story, every emotion, frozen in time."

Ruth smiled knowingly. "Then we're kindred spirits. Have you heard of Black Mountain College?"

"Of course! It's legendary. And The Met... I've always dreamed of going there."

"My late husband and I visited it on our anniversary," Ruth said, eyes misting. "You'd love it."

Rebecca beamed. "They have everything—American art, Egyptian, Greek, Medieval, Contemporary... it's heaven for someone like me."

Ruth took her hand and held it gently. "I can see why Bobby loves you. You bring light to his life—after everything that happened with karate, he needed that. And now that light is back, because of you."

"Thank you," Rebecca whispered, touched.

"It's Grandma Ruth, sweetheart," she corrected with a wink, just as Bobby walked in.

"Bobby," Ruth said with a smile. "Take this girl to The Met someday."

"The what?" Bobby asked, clearly confused.

Rebecca laughed. "It's an art museum in New York, honey."

Later, after greetings in the kitchen and warm conversations by the fire, Bobby led Rebecca upstairs to his room. She settled on the wide window seat, watching as he walked to the corner and placed a vinyl on the record player.

Soft piano filled the room—Clair de Lune.

"You never got that dance at the Halloween party," Bobby said, turning to her.

"I love this song," she said, standing.

"Don't tell the guys," he teased as he pulled her into his arms.

"I won't," she smiled.

They swayed slowly, bodies pressed close, her head resting gently against his chest, his hand at the small of her back. In that moment, the world fell away—no grief, no fear, no weight of the past.

"I love you, Bec," Bobby whispered, brushing a kiss to her temple.

"I love you too, Bobby. More than anyone."

She kissed the curve of his neck, tender and warm, then rested her forehead against his chin. He tipped his head down and kissed her, slow and full of promise.

"We can do anything," she whispered. "As long as we're together."

"Promise me," Bobby said softly, "that even when things get tough... we'll remind each other of that."

"I promise," she said, and kissed him again, deeper this time, sealing it.

Neither of them noticed the figures gathered quietly at the doorway—Adaline, Clark, Dean, Sam, and Ruth. They watched the young couple from the hall, moved by the intimacy and quiet certainty in their words.

They knew Bobby and Rebecca cared for each other—but in that moment, they understood it wasn't just young love. It was real. It was something built on trust, healing, and hope.

Clark kissed Adaline's temple. Sam placed a hand on Dean's shoulder. Slowly, they walked away, letting the two remain in their private world.

Because the truth is, tragedy marks us. It defines chapters of our lives. But love—the right love—has a way of stitching those chapters together into something whole. Something lasting.

The pain doesn't stay forever.

But true love...
true love is forever.