A/N: A drabble based off of the episode A Very Supernatural Christmas in season 3 (which I am currently working my way through). If you review, I'd really appreciate spoilers being avoided if possible xD Other than that, hopefully I'll get back into the swing of writing and crank out more one-shots as I watch more, feedback always being welcomed, of course.
This episode took me through a roller coaster of emo- oh wait. . . . that's every episode.
Disclaimer: no fudgin' own, no fudgin' sue.
A White (Lie) Christmas
He's lying.
It's not his last Christmas.
At least that's what Sam wants to believe when he's trying to find something to wrap in newspaper for Dean to have under their pathetic excuse for a tree. Well, it's pathetic depending on who's looking at it, he guesses even as he squints at it thoughtfully. Considering their hit-and-miss with the holidays though he can't really say he's judging the poor sucker too harshly anyways.
In fact, it actually might just be their best one.
There's lights he picks out, just one box, because what the hell are they going to do with them after Christmas season anyway? He ponders this as he looks at all the different sorts, marveling at the twinkling displays and knowing that tinsel town had always been above their pay grade anyhow. But now, with the money from Bela (whether legal or not is still up in the air), he can at least bring the holidays to their dingy motel room for tonight.
His finger is wrapped in gauze, blood still weeping from the loss of his fingernail as he runs his fingertips gently over the tinsel haphazardly coiled in the boxes. He's so hyped on pain pills that he's not sure if that's what makes him feel overwhelmed by the crappy decorations, the rejects of the bunch that hadn't been picked by mommy and daddy for some kid that might still believe in Santa.
So many colors.
They bring back memories of Jessica on their one Christmas together and suddenly her laughter echoes in his mind, the sweep of her arm along his shoulder leaving a trail of goosebumps. Then, in his mind's eye, there's a grand tree her father lugged into their living room. There's the smell of gingerbread and the sound of crinkling wrapping paper and she's squealing in delight. There's tape in places it shouldn't be, wads where he had lost the battle with his patience, and boxes upon boxes of decorations that he had long since given up trying to figure out the shape of.
But then there's dad.
There's his ever-present shadow, the shoes Sam is sure he'll never fill. There's the mother he'll never truly know, and now, the brother he's all but condemned—
No.
Not yet.
The cart he drags around looks a lot fuller than he thought it would.
He eventually decides on a candy bar (he considered taking the whole box, but Dean doesn't need encouragement to eat artery-clogging monstrosities anyways) and something for the Impala, because she's been through as much crap as them and really, other than porn and booze, Sam is hard pressed to find anything that really leaps out at him as a better gift for his brother.
But it's not like he doesn't try to find something a little more. . . sentimental. He grimaces at the word nonetheless, thinking the candy bar is touchy-feely enough gesture-wise.
And no, he's not counting the decorations and Christmas-y stuff.
Because if that doesn't count, who knows what other lies he can get away with today.