A/N: I'm blatantly ignoring the show's timeline. "Palo Alto" took place October-ish S1, after Jessica's death. This takes place December S1. If you didn't read PA, just know that Jess's parents are awesome. They love the boys and the boys love them.
They don't talk about it.
Every Sunday afternoon, no matter where they are or what they're doing, Sam takes his phone and disappears for a while. Sometimes he sits on the hood of the car, feet dangling towards the cement. Sometimes he finds a quiet corner in a coffee shop or a bar. Most of the time he walks. Just walks and talks and walks some more.
He tells the Moores about the amazing deep dish pizza in Chicago. He paints a picture with words about the beautiful sunrises near the coast of Virginia. He describes the snowball fight he and Dean get into during the first snow of the year in Michigan.
He avoids telling them about the rounds of rack salt into vengeful spirits. He leaves out the bodies they burn. He creates a tale of this epic road trip, just Sam and his brother, and these Sunday afternoon phone calls that add some hint of normalcy to his life.
The Moores share their stories, too. Kathy tells him about the new paintings she's working on, or the new recipe for chicken cordon bleu that she knows he would love. Jerry talks to him about football or the microbrew he found that's right up Sam's alley. One Sunday, their computer is down, and Sam talks them through how to fix it. Sometimes they talk about Jess, sometimes they don't, and either way is fine.
Whenever Sam returns from his calls, Dean looks up from what he's doing but doesn't say a word. Sometimes he smiles a little bit, and that makes Sam smile, too.
On Sunday, December 11, Sam is sitting in a quaint café down the road from their motel. There's a hot mug of coffee in his left hand, cell phone in his right. "Denver's amazing," he tells Kathy. "The mountains are incredible."
"Do you and Dean ski?" Kathy asks.
Sam runs two fingers along the mug's handle and says, "No, but we might have to give it a try while we're out here. I'd love to see Dean on a pair of skis."
Kathy laughs. "Send me a picture, okay?"
"I will."
There's a beat of silence before Kathy says, "Sam? What are you boys doing for Christmas this year?"
The question catches Sam off-guard. Yes, they've seen twinkling lights and heard carols over the past couple of weeks, but Sam hasn't really thought about the fact that Christmas is soon. Hunting doesn't follow a normal calendar and the Winchesters don't celebrate normal holidays, so it's been off his radar. "I don't know. We'll probably be travelling, so we don't have any plans. What about you?"
Kathy gives a barely audible sigh. "We were invited to spend the holidays with Jerry's family in Oregon. But we both decided that we don't want to travel this year. This Christmas is going to be hard. The first one without Jess."
Sam nods even though she can't see it.
"So we're just going to stay home. But Jerry and I wondered if you boys might like to have Christmas here? Nothing fancy. Just dinner and spending some time with you. I know you're not close with your dad, but he's more than welcome as well. We've got plenty of room and you know I'll cook too much."
These images of Christmas trees and holiday meals and other things that are not real fill Sam's mind. It's so tempting it almost hurts. He takes a sip of his coffee and says, "That sounds really nice. But I'll have to talk to Dean. Look at our schedule. See if we can work something out."
"Please do," she says.
"You're sure it wouldn't be imposing too much?"
"Not imposing at all. We'd love to have you. I found this recipe for honey-glazed ham that I've wanted to try, and I can make whatever you boys like to eat around the holidays. Is there anything you always have? Anything Dean really likes?" There's so much enthusiasm and hope in her voice.
"Pie. Any kinds. All kinds. Dean likes pie."
Then she's going on about a recipe for French silk pie with homemade crust and the Christmas tree they just got and how good the house smells and Sam just smiles.
Dean's flipping aimlessly through the channels when Sam opens the door, letting in a rush of cold mountain air. He's got two take-out coffee cups balanced on top of each other in one hand. "Hey," he says, shaking some snow out of his hair. "Nasty out there."
He hands over one of the cups of coffee and Dean nods his head in thanks. "Yeah. I'm thinking we should check out that string of deaths in Texas. I know it might not be our thing, but at least it would be warmer than this."
"Yeah," Sam says, but he sounds distracted. He sits on the bed across from Dean. Clears his throat. "So, I was just talking to Mrs. Moore. Kathy."
Dean takes a sip of coffee that burns his mouth and turns off the TV. This is new. He knows Sam's been talking to the Moores every Sunday, but they don't talk about it. It makes Sam happy, and that's saying something, so every week he lets it go. "Yeah? How are the Moores?"
"They're good. Getting ready for Christmas."
"Oh yeah. That's coming up in few weeks, right?"
"Two weeks. From today."
Dean takes another, smaller sip. "Right."
"They, um." Sam pauses to clear his throat and fidget with the sleeve on his coffee cup. When he speaks again, he's looking at the ground. "They wanted to know if we want to go there for Christmas." The words are kind of rushed, and before Dean can respond, Sam says, "It wouldn't be anything big. Just dinner. And we don't have to go. I just thought that since she mentioned it that we might want to…you might want to…"
It's so clear how much Sam wants this. How much Sam needs this. "Okay," Dean interrupts.
Sam stops. Looks up, eyebrows raised. "Okay? Yeah? You want…we can go?" It sounds like he's doing a really crappy job of trying not to get his hopes up.
"Yeah. The Moores are great. And it might be nice to have a Christmas this year."
Then Sam gives this smile that reminds Dean of when his brother was five years old and believed in Santa and didn't believe in ghosts or monsters or things that stole his mom and his girlfriend and that smile away. "Right. I'll call them. Let them know we'll be there."
Dean nods and rubs his thumb over the power button on the remote control. "Okay. Then Texas?"
"Yeah. Then Texas." He's still smiling.
"Cowboys," Dean says. "Stetson hats. Sun. Warmth. It'll be great."
Sam pauses with one hand on the door. "Hey, Dean? Do you think I should call Dad? Invite him?"
That smile, man. Sam's still doing a crappy job of trying to get his hopes up and it's breaking Dean's heart. "Sammy...we don't know where Dad is. Even if you could get a hold of him, he wouldn't…it wouldn't be…" Dean trails off, because what can he say that isn't going to wipe the smile off Sam's face?
But it falls off anyway. "Yeah. You're right. Just us."
When Sam opens the door, snow blows in like glitter and one flake hits Dean's cheek.
Sam's finger hovers over the "call" button. He shouldn't do this. He presses the button anyway and the phone rings once. Twice. Three times.
As Sam listens to the recorded message, he closes his eyes and realizes it's the longest conversation he's had with his dad in a long time.
He hangs up before the beep and dials the Moores' number.
Kathy answers on the first ring.
"Why are there so many people here?" Dean asks as they squeeze past a woman pushing a cart piled so high with food and toys and wrapping paper that she can't possibly see where she's going.
"Because it's Christmas Eve. People wait until the last minute. Like us."
After taking care of the hunt in Texas, they spent a few days checking out reported murders in Arizona, but it turned out to be a deranged human psychopath with a handgun and a boatload of anger. Merry Christmas.
Sam stops in front of a display of wine, picks up a bottle, and puts it in the cart.
"How do you know what kind of wine to get?" Dean asks. "There are so many."
"We're having ham. Reisling goes well with ham."
Dean scratches his head and almost takes out another shopper with his elbow, it's that crowded. "The things you learned in college will never cease to amaze me."
Sam grins and leads Dean through the grocery store. He picks out a gift for Mr. and Mrs. Moore and gift bags with matching tissue paper. This is so far out of Dean's element he almost wants to puke, but Sam seems happy.
Once they're in the ridiculously long line at the register, Dean watches two kids in front of them who seem to be hyped up on cookies and candy canes and Christmas Eve excitement. When he looks at his Sam, he's smiling and watching the kids, too.
"You're looking forward to tomorrow, aren't you?" Dean asks.
Sam glances at his brother, then back at the kids, still smiling. "Yeah. I really am."
"Good," he nods. "Me too."
The kids in front of them laugh and tug Santa hats over each others' eyes and thumb wrestle until they've both won twice. Dean watches and wonders if this is real.
"Sam," Kathy Moore says when she opens the door. She's grinning broadly and wrapping him in a hug. He wonders how long it will be before he sees her without seeing Jess in her eyes.
They say exchange Christmas greetings and more warm hugs. The Moores comment on how healthy Dean looks compared to the last time he was here, and he flushes and stutters a little under all the attention. Jerry comments on how thin Sam still looks compared with when Kathy was feeding him semi-regularly. Says they'll have to fix that with this Christmas meal.
And Sam knows that this is what it feels like to come home.
"Your house looks beautiful," he says as they walk into the living room. It's like a scene out of a movie – decorated tree in the corner, stockings hanging from the fireplace, presents in shiny wrapping paper and large bows. It's warm and smells like cinnamon and evergreen and comfort.
"That's all Kathy's work," Jerry says. "I just climbed up on the ladder when she couldn't reach things."
Dean says, "Well, the star on top of the tree is perfect."
Kathy scoffs. "It was crooked the first time he put it up. I had to force him to get the ladder back out and fix it." A timer goes off in the kitchen and Kathy smiles. "Perfect timing. I hope you boys are hungry."
Sam puts the presents they brought under the tree and hands Jerry the bottle of wine. "You bet we are."
In the kitchen, the table is set with red and green and silver. The food looks amazing and smells even better. There's ham, mashed potatoes with butter and cream, green bean casserole, homemade rolls still warm from the oven. There's more food than any four people can possibly eat, but Sam's willing to bet Dean's still going to make a go of it.
When all the dishes are on the table, the wine is poured, and everyone is seated, Jerry lifts his glass in a toast. The others follow suit. He clears his throat. "To Jessica. We miss her every day. And to you boys. We're so happy to have you, and I know that if Jessica was here, she'd be happy, too."
"Here, here," Dean says softly, as their glasses clink together.
When Sam takes a sip, it burns around the lump in his throat.
"So," Kathy says, wiping at a tear that's fallen from her eye, "what is your dad doing today? Working?"
Sam nods. "Yeah. He usually picks up a shift or two on Christmas." Sam clears his throat and scoops mashed potatoes onto his plate and makes his dad sound like a hero. "Some of the other officers have young kids, so they do the whole Santa thing. He doesn't mind working now that we're grown."
"Oh my god," Dean interrupts, moaning around his first bite of ham. "This is incredible."
Kathy beams and says, "I'm glad you like it. Just make sure to save room for dessert."
The thing about it is that it's difficult to remember to save room when Kathy's cooking is just this good. Sure, Sam's had her meals before, but she's really outdone herself this time. Or maybe it's just that being back on the road with bad bar burgers and gas station cuisine made him forget how good a home-cooked meal tastes.
When everyone's finished, Sam leans back in his chair, full and warm and happy. "That was amazing, Kathy. Thank you so much."
"Better than amazing," Dean says, patting his stomach. Sam's kind of impressed that his brother's jeans are still buttoned.
Jerry motions to the dishes on the table, most of which are still more than half-full. "Well, we'll definitely be sending you boys home with leftovers."
Dean takes a sip of water and says, "Won't argue with that."
"Well, the least we can do is help clean up." Sam turns to his brother. "Dean? You want to help wash dishes?"
With enthusiasm completely disproportionate to a mundane chore, Dean says, "Absolutely."
Soon Sam's up to his elbows in warm, sudsy water. Dean's next to him, taking care of rinsing and drying. Mr. and Mrs. Moore are in the living room, listening to soft Christmas music and relaxing.
"I love this," Dean says as he runs a plate under the tap. It sounds like so much more than washing dishes.
"Yeah. I know you do." Sam hands his brother a wine glass. When they're hunting, they have this rhythm. They watch each other's backs, working in sync, this unspoken language between them. It's nice to see that this language translates to something as simple as washing dishes. It's slower. So much calmer. But the rhythm is still there.
For a minute, Sam considers saying something about how he wishes Dad was here. About how he wishes Mom was still alive. But he doesn't want to ruin the moment, so instead he runs the dishcloth over a bowl and doesn't say anything.
When his shoulder runs into Dean's, neither one of them pulls away.
"Love this," Dean echoes, and Sam just nods.
Once the dishes are clean and dry, the boys join the Moores in the living room. There are gifts on the coffee table, and Jerry's sitting with his arm around his wife's shoulders.
"Thank you for cleaning up," Kathy says.
"Thank you for an amazing meal," Dean responds.
"Gift time?" Jerry asks, slipping away from his wife and handing Dean a box from the coffee table. "I've been looking forward to giving you this, Dean."
Sam watches as Dean awkwardly accepts the gift. They aren't used to receiving gifts, and he sees the same expression on Dean's face that he knows he had when the Moores first gave him a gift for his birthday. It was a docking station for his iPod. One Jess knew he'd been eyeing. He wonders where that gift is now.
"Thank you so much," Dean says as he carefully removes the bow. "It's beautiful."
"We hope you don't have one already," Kathy says. "It was Jerry's idea."
Dean opens the gift without tearing the wrapping paper at all. "Oh my god," he says as he sets the wrapping paper aside. His eyes light up. "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen." It's a diecast model of a '67 Impala. Black. Dean takes it out of the package. The doors, trunk, and hood all open. "Wow," Dean says, wide grin on his face. "This is perfect. Thank you so much."
"You don't have one?" Jerry asks.
"No, I didn't even know that this kind of thing exists." Dean runs the model car over his jeans and looks so simply happy.
"Sam used to tell us a little bit about you, and how much you loved your car. Seemed like you might enjoy having something like that to put on a desk or a workbench."
"Yeah," Dean says, even though things like desks and workbenches don't exist in their world. "Thank you. It's awesome."
"You're welcome." Kathy takes another gift from the table and hands it to Sam. "Your turn."
It's flat and thin, obviously a canvas. Sam realizes Kathy painted for him, and something twists in his gut. As he tears off the paper, he can't help but smile. It's a perfect representation of Stanford's bell tower and one of the buildings where Sam had most of his law classes. The colors are bright and vivid. It's almost real.
"To remind you of home," Kathy says. "Or one of your homes, anyway."
Sam runs the pads of his fingertips over her painted signature in the corner. "Wow," he says softly. "It's amazing. Gorgeous. Thank you so much, Kathy. Really."
She beams. "I'm glad you like it."
They give the Moores their gifts – a new set of paints for Kathy, a Raiders jersey for Jerry. They both seem to like the gifts and Sam is so glad.
They sit in the living room for a while, talking and laughing and listening to Christmas music. Kathy serves dessert, and when Dean dubs it the best pie and the best Christmas he's ever had, Sam knows that he's telling the truth.
"Are you sure you don't want to stick around for a few days?" Dean asks. They're in the car and pulling away from the Moores, trunk full of their gifts and a cooler of leftovers, including the rest of that French silk pie. "I mean, do we even know where we're headed yet?"
Sam glances in his brother's direction. "Yeah. I do want to stick around. But you know what happens when we get too close to people, Dean. I just…I don't want them to get hurt."
Dean runs a palm over the steering wheel. "Yeah. I guess you're right." It's quiet in the car, but Dean doesn't reach for the radio dial. Instead, he asks, "Was it hard? Leaving Stanford? I mean, you'd gotten used to that life, right? Caring people. Home-cooked meals. Real holidays. I never thought about how hard it must have been for you to leave all of that."
Sam sighs, long and slow. He's quiet for so long that Dean thinks he might not answer. Then he says, "Jess was gone. You needed me. Yeah. It was hard. But there wasn't much of a choice."
Dean checks his blind spot and switches lanes. They haven't talked about where they're going, but they're in California. There isn't really anywhere to go but east. "Maybe we can stop by and visit every once in a while. Not enough to put the Moores in danger. But whenever we're headed in this direction…"
There's a pause before Sam nods. "Yeah. I'd like that. A lot."
Dean smiles at his brother. "Merry Christmas, Sammy."
"Merry Christmas, Dean."