Home for Christmas
By Joan Powers
Summary: Dean finally catches the Christmas spirit and decides to celebrate in his own way.
Rating: G
Timeline: Around Season 8
"What the hell is this?" Dean laughed, gesturing to a pathetic two-foot silver tree perched on the table in the bunker library. It bore no ornaments, no lights, and half of the fake needles were hopelessly mushed. Charlie Brown would've loved it.
Sam shrugged. He was seated by the table hunched over his laptop computer. "It's Christmas Eve. Let's live a little."
Dean stiffened, his temper rising. "We don't celebrate Christmas. It's not for us." He placed his plastic grocery bag on the table with a resounding thunk, pulling out a six pack of beer.
People dressed up in monkey suits and ties for church, singing and praying to a god that didn't exist. Or care anymore. Turkey dinners spread on a fancy table, surrounded by family and friends. Tons of expensive presents underneath a shiny decorated tree.
Never happened to him. Never would.
He opened a beer and took a swig.
"Don't be such a grouch. You've set up little trees in motel rooms that were worse than this place. Once I could swear you lobbed off a piece of shrubbery that was absolutely hideous. Remember the gifts you or Dad usually picked up from the nearest all-night gas station? Beef jerky or flashlights? Or air fresheners?" Sam smiled fondly. "And what about our junk food feasts? Stuffing ourselves with Hostess blueberry pies and nearly puking our guts out? I can barely look at those things without feeling sick. It's not traditional Christmas but it's ours."
"What's the point? What are we celebrating? It's not like tomorrow's any different from any other day. We're still just as screwed today as we will be tomorrow," Dean replied.
No matter what they did, they could never get ahead. Once they solved one problem, another one that was just as awful instantly replaced it.
Sam gestured to Dean to throw him a beer. Dean complied. Catching it, he said, "With an attitude like that, it certainly won't. C'mon, Cass is here. Let's show him how we Winchesters celebrate Christmas."
Dean scowled, studying the logo printed on the plastic bag. "Peace on Earth? Good will towards men? What's all that about? That ain't true. That's not our lives. Why should we pretend otherwise?" He crumpled the bag and shot it towards the trash can. Unfurling as it traveled through the air, it missed the target by several feet.
Getting annoyed, Sam asked, "What's wrong with you? Why can't we have a little fun? Lighten up, we need a little Christmas."
Dean sighed, wondering why his brother was sounding like a TV commercial. Then his phone rang. Reading the display, Dean said "It's Harry."
Sam's brow furrowed. "Isn't he a bit of a loose cannon?"
Oh yeah, Dean thought. And maybe that's what I need.
"What's up?" Dean spoke into the phone. After listening a few minutes, he replied, "You bet. Be there in a few." Turning to Sam, he said, "He needs help with a vamp nest."
"Tonight? You're kidding? Can't it wait?"
Grabbing his jacket and walking towards the door, Dean responded, "Nope, sounds urgent. I'll bring you guys a pizza and more beer on my way back."
XXXXX
Flipping on the radio in his Chevy Impala, the chorus for AC/DC's "Back in Black" filled the car. He cranked up the volume, along with the heater. Now that was music. Although he'd done everything in his power to avoid it, lyrics from Christmas songs had invaded his brain.
"Walkin' in a Winter Wonderland." How about freezing your ass off in the slush? he thought to himself. "Let it Snow." What was this obsession with weather?
"Have a Holly Jolly Christmas." Bug-eyed elves and the beautiful people on TV sang. That type of happiness couldn't be natural. What type of drugs were they on?
"Santa Claus is Comin' to Town." If he caught some fat guy with a bag of stuff in his living room, his impulse would be to shoot first and ask questions later.
"Peace on Earth. Good Will to Men." What the hell did that even mean?
What was Sam talking about? Why did they need Christmas? They'd never bought into the spiritual aspect of the holiday. Their line of work had permanently destroyed those illusions. They'd never had many possessions. They were fairly simple creatures, content with what they had. Even as a child, Dean knew getting some fire truck for Christmas wouldn't replace the hole left by his mother's death. Stuff was just, stuff.
He hated those blasted songs. "Peace on Earth" Where did they live? That wasn't his world. All the horrible creatures he'd seen. And killed. "I'll be Home for Christmas". That was assuming you had a home to begin with, not a dingy motel room or abandoned building to squat in which had no heat.
Those annoying, sappy Christmas TV shows and movies about getting the perfect piece of crap. Or all those smiling happy families. It wasn't real. It was a lie. He wasn't about to celebrate a lie.
Dad was gone. So were Bobby, Ellen and Jo. Good people. And there had been more. Who'd be next? In their line of work, it was inevitable. It could be anyone. He'd nearly lost Sam and Cass several times. What was the point of caring anymore?
Sure, they saved people. It was important work. But once they'd killed one abomination, there was another to take its place the next day. To celebrate one day? What was the friggin' point?
XXXXXX
A man with a pouch-marked complexion and long dark hair pulled back in a pony-tail roughly clamped Dean on the back. "That was tough but you really came through, man. Way to watch my back."
Standing in a dirt lot outside of a long abandoned barn, Dean used the back of his hand to wipe blood spatter from his cheek then rubbed his hand against his jeans. It had been a little too close for his taste. As much as he teased Sam about 'having a plan', it certainly made life less insane.
"You weren't so bad yourself." Dean rubbed his hands together to warm up. It was so cold that he could see his breath.
As the two men reached Harry's battered pickup truck, Harry reached into his army surplus jacket for a flask. After taking a swig, he offered it to Dean.
"Don't mind if I do." After swallowing, Dean suggested, "There's a bar down on Highway 2. Rather than freezing our asses off, why don't we go there?"
It would be a depressing scene, crammed with losers and sad Christmas decorations but at least it wasn't pretending to be anything else. After the fight they'd just had, he was no longer angry, just exhausted.
Harry downed another swallow and replied, "Na, I don't wanna slow down. The party just got started. Let's go get that vamp that's been hiding in the farmhouse across town."
Dean froze. "That guy? He's harmless. I've seen him buying blood at the butchers. He wouldn't hurt a fly."
"He's a monster, isn't he? That's what we do. What's with you?" Harry asked.
Dean half-wondered himself. Not long ago, he would've agreed with Harry. Yet Benny came to his mind. The vampire who helped him not only survive but escape Purgatory. He'd even had Dean's back after they'd returned to this world. Dean considered him practically a brother.
"We're hunters. Why deny who we are? You got something better to do?"
Although Dean couldn't argue with the logic there, it didn't feel right to him.
"It's a good life. Being on the move means no mortgage payments or gutters to clean. No one to check in with. Do whatever I want. Enjoy being with a woman then head out of town before it gets complicated. And killing those things? Man, do I love that," Harry said with enthusiasm. In fact, he seemed exhilarated by their near-death experience.
"Uh….yeah." Dean's reply lacked conviction.
"Wanna come down to Texas with me? I got a lead on a big job down there. I'm gonna head there now."
"No." Dean immediately responded. Then he added, "I'm working on something with my brother."
"S'all right." Harry opened the door to his pickup. "Thanks again for the help."
"Anytime."
As Harry drove off, Dean walked towards the Impala. He'd come to terms with being a hunter and the restrictions that put on his life. No wife and kid for him. Or home. Yet, he didn't take as much pleasure in what he did as Harry obviously did. That was definitely creepy.
Opening the car door, he realized that while his unconventional upbringing had been lacking in many warm and fuzzy ways with no bedtime stories, home-cooked meals, football games or prom dates, he'd still had a family. His Dad was a hard man but fiercely loyal. Bobby, practically their unofficial uncle, always had his back as well. And Sam, well, he didn't even want to consider doing any of this work without him. All of these people had kept him grounded, kept him from burning out on the job and becoming some maniac like Harry.
As he put the key into the ignition, he was surprised to discover that he was looking forward to returning to the bunker that he'd been so desperate to escape earlier that evening. It wasn't just some cheesy motel room. For the first time in a long while, they had a place they could consider a home. Despite its sterile, utilitarian appearance - Hell, he actually loved that aspect of it. The bunker was neat and clean and had space for his weapons. And it was more than just a safe place to stay, Cass and Sam were there waiting for him.
While he didn't buy into the massive Christmas crap commercial package, he wanted to spend time with Sam and Cass. Being home for Christmas just might be meaningful. Maybe he had more to be thankful for than he'd thought earlier in the evening.
Heading back to the bunker, Dean turned on the car radio and automatically cringed, hearing "Santa Clause is coming to town." But it was Springsteen. It was Christmas Eve. And damn, Bruce could rock.
He'd been a jerk to Sam. He'd treasured those Christmas memories as well. Rather than picking up gas station pizza he decided to upgrade. He was going to Walmart. They were going to celebrate Christmas in style.
XXXXX
Cass and Sam looked up from their reading as Dean came into the bunker library, carrying several filled plastic grocery bags.
Placing his bags on the table, Dean asked, "You gonna just sit there or get off your asses and help?"
"How heavy is a pizza?" Then Sam examined the bags. Seeing the top of a fuzzy red stocking peeping out, Sam looked towards his brother.
Cheeks turning slightly red, Dean said, "Um…I got other stuff too."
The three men made a second trip to the car, returning with more bags. Cass dragged in a six foot fully decorated artificial tree.
Staring at it, Cass asked, "What's the purpose of this? This certainly isn't its natural color." He examined the neon blue Christmas tree, which was covered with brightly colored ornaments. "What are these creatures?" He held one of the plastic ornaments in his hand.
Sam looked closer. "Are these Pokémon?" The ornament he held looked like an orange turtle with massive eyebrows.
"Doubt it. I got it cheap. Probably some knock-off."
"Cool. And it has lights. This is awesome." Sam dragged the tree to corner of the library to plug it in. Tiny multicolored lights flickered on and off at a frantic pace.
"Is it supposed to do that? Is it broken?" Cass asked.
The boys exchanged bemused glances.
Dean pulled out three packages of sweat socks and put them under the tree. "Don't say I never gave you guys anything."
Sam dug into the plastic bags gleefully pulling out items. "Turkey pot pies? Now that's an upgrade. Apple and cherry pie? Nice. And ice cream?" He pulled out several bags of nacho chips and then paused. ""What is this?" Sam eyed the shimmery greenish glob suspiciously.
"It's for you. It's a salad. Says so right on the label. It's even green," Dean explained. Sam didn't seem convinced. "Look at the label, it's got Jell-O, whipped cream and marshmallows in it. How can that possibly be bad?
"Why don't you fire up some of those pot pies and Cass and I will select a movie?" Dean suggested. Reaching into another plastic bag, he read the labels off several DVDs. "We've got 'Bad Santa', 'Krampus', 'Black Christmas', 'Jack Frost 2: Revenge of the Killer Mutant Snowman'. And of course, the best Christmas movie of all time, 'Die Hard'."
"I'm sensing a theme here," Sam said.
"Christmas. On our terms." The boys' eyes met and twinkled.
"I can live with that."
"I don't understand this holiday" Cass claimed. Gesturing to a Bible on the table, he explained, "I read the so-called Christmas story the boy on TV with the blanket talked about. The angels this book describes are not like any I've known. Angels singing? Heavenly choirs? And God sent this Jesus person to save us all?"
"A nice idea," Sam said.
"Yes, but it's not true. I don't know such a person," Cass stated. "It's almost as if this book is complete fiction."
Dean responded. "Yeah, this book's gotta be talkin' about a different universe. One where God actually loves his creation. One where the monsters we deal with every day don't exist. Wouldn't you like to live there?"
"Yeah."
XXXXX
Dean stirred in his bed, stretching his legs. After all these years, it was great to finally have his own room. They'd stayed up half the night, feasting on goodies and drinking beer. They'd had a blast explaining 'Bad Santa' and 'Die Hard' to Cass. He turned on his side to discover an oversized, fuzzy red Christmas sock stuffed with items was lying next to him. He wondered when Sam had gotten around to delivering it. Probably last night.
Sitting up, he dumped the contents onto the mattress. Ah -the eternal gas station (and Winchester) favorite, beef jerky. At least ten Hostess blueberry pies. He chuckled. Leave it to Sam. Most likely there were plenty more of them. They'd see who'd be puking blue tonight. And a rolled up brand-new copy of Asian Babes.
He savored the moment, even though he knew it wouldn't last. Home for Christmas was pretty nice.
The End
Merry Christmas!