It was the night before Christmas,

and all threw the cheap motel.

Not a creature to be hunted not even an angel to mend.

With the impala in park and the whisky opened.

The boys soon found themselves all tucked in.

With the vision of war burned into there head.

Dean in his boxers jumped out of bed, salt gun in one hand knife in the other,

he ran to the window to meet his attacker.

No way that's Santa we killed that son of a bitch Dean shouted, awaking Sam.

Dean go back to bed your just dreaming,

Sam moaned as he caught the same image Dean was seeing.

This can't be real the boys wondered.

After all you boys see your questioning me Santa chuckled as me magically made a tree appear.

I hope you have the best Christmas this year,

you save the world and the magic Santa said proud.

Before the boys knew Santa was gone leaving behind gifts and happiness for the boys.

Dean never remembered believing in Santa until now.

Sam gloated he knew along.

Dean groaned wishing that was a gift he could return.