Singer's Salvage Yard was never a particularly pretty sight. Old junkers in numerous pieces and in varying states of decay littered most of the land belonging to Bobby Singer, and he was alright with that. It kept strangers away and business transactions concise.
In the middle of the lot stood a large farmhouse, which seemed to be a remnant of a bygone era where the cars would be replaced by fertile soil and green crops. But that was a long time ago. That image belonged to someone else, to a different life. Bobby Singer's life was much dirtier, more complicated, and if the walls could talk, the house would tell tales of terror and woe. This house had seen more than its fair share of evil and death, and it clung to every surface like an invisible film. You couldn't see it, but you knew it was there.
So it would come as no surprise to anyone that he was never one for festivities. Christmas typically came and went, and no one would be the wiser. For Bobby, Christmas was not so much a joyous occasion as one where he would reflect on those he loved and those he lost. As the clock struck midnight on every Christmas Eve, he would pour himself a neat glass of his best whiskey, raise it to those who mattered, and then he would down the amber liquid in one go. This was his Christmas.
Except this year.
This year Bobby was feeling a bit festive. He didn't know why, but he felt better than he had in a long time. Now, he wasn't one to go climbing around on the roof to string some stupid twinkling lights just to have to take them down again. He didn't have time for that nonsense. He did, however, have time for a tree.
It was Christmas Eve, and Bobby Singer was busy muttering curses under his breath as he tried to set his freshly cut tree into the nearly antique tree-stand he had fished out of the attic. Somewhere behind him he heard the opening and shutting of the front door and some shuffling in the foyer.
"Bobby?" Sam called out.
Bobby sighed, exasperated, as he missed the tree-stand again, this time knocking it over and spilling water all over the floor.
Sam and Dean were standing in the entrance to Bobby's office taking in the scene. They looked to one another, clearly deciding how to proceed. Dean broke the silence first, turning to Sam.
"Get the holy water," Dean said dryly.
"Very funny. Are you idjits gonna stand there gaping at me or give me a hand with this damn thing?" Bobby asked, shaking the tree for emphasis causing a few of the needles to fall to the floor.
Sam crossed the room first and grabbed the tree by it's slender trunk, and Dean followed, leaning down and scooping up the tree-stand dish and heading off to the kitchen. It wasn't a particularly full tree, but it was tall enough that Sam had to look up at he lifted to make sure he didn't hit the ceiling.
Dean returned to the room with a full dish of water and he placed it on the floor roughly where he found it. He then helped his brother maneuver the tree into the dish while Bobby turned the screws into the trunk to steady it. Once all was done, they stepped back and assessed their handiwork.
"When did you decide to get a tree?" asked Dean. "You hate Christmas."
"I don't hate Christmas," Bobby retorted. "I just don't usually make a big deal about it, that's all. I guess this year I felt like making more of a fuss. So sue me." Bobby left the room, and from the sound of the creaking, the boys deduced that he was heading upstairs.
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and in that glance they had a whole conversation without uttering a word. They knew Bobby didn't remember the time he had spent with Ellen and Jo, because that was in another timeline, but they couldn't help feeling as though this may be partially responsible for his unusual Christmas cheer.
There was a bit of thumping upstairs, and then the familiar creaking, until Bobby came back into the room carrying a large plastic bin. He set it on the floor next to the tree and began prying off the lid.
"What's all this?" ask Sam.
Age and disuse had caused the lid on the bin to swell and contract to the point where it was nearly sealed, but Bobby finally managed to pry it off and he flung the lid across the room. Inside the bin was all manner of colors and textures and glitter.
"It's my prom dress," Bobby said gruffly. "What does it look like? They're my Christmas ornaments."
He pulled out a few ornaments until he finally came upon a string of colored lights. He began to pull the lights out of the bin as a magician might pull scarves out of a hat, and when he finally reached the end, he had a large ball of lights strewn on the carpet. Bobby started to untangle the mess of plastic and wiring, but he got fed up and threw the whole pile back on the floor.
"I bet there's a special room in Hell filled floor to ceiling with tangled Christmas lights."
"Well the next time I'm there, I'll look into it," joked Dean.
"Dude. Not funny," said Sam as he sat on the floor and began working to untangle the lights.
Dean shrugged and gave a little half smile before he plopped down on the floor next to his brother and got to work.
Bobby went to the kitchen and brought back three opened beers, giving one to each of the boys, before he went back into the kitchen and turned on the radio. The local station
was playing "Let it Snow", and Bobby began to hum along as he went back into the office.
The station had gone through "Jingle Bell Rock", "Baby It's Cold Outside", and "The Twelve Days of Christmas" by the time the lights were fully straightened out, and the three men started to wrap them around the tree in a spiral leading up to the top.
A few hours, and a few beers later, they were nearly finished hanging the ornaments on the tree. Sometimes the Winchesters would ask about particularly interesting ones. Dean couldn't help but be curious about the ornament shaped like a slice of pie, and Bobby told a story about a diner that he and his wife Karen would go to. Bobby loved the meatloaf, but she would joke that the only thing edible in the entire place was the pie, and that was the only reason she agreed to go.
Others were clearly sacred and their stories were better left untold: a miniature pair of ballet shoes, a bluebird, a porcelain bassinet.
As they were finishing with the last few ornaments, there was a familiar 'whoosh' and a quick flapping of wings.
"Hello," stated Castiel in his standard gravelly voice. The angel was still very unsure of manners and customs, but he had learned that it was best to verbally greet people when
visiting. Otherwise it leads to awkwardness and the possibility of encroaching upon 'personal space', a concept that he still struggled with.
"Hey Cass," replied Dean from somewhere in the midst of the branches. "Come to bring tidings of comfort and joy?"
"I don't understand that reference." Castiel only ever understood about half of what Dean said at any given time. The elder Winchester spoke so much in pop culture references that Castiel had taken to just admitting his confusion. Doing otherwise had proven uncomfortable in the past.
"It's a Christmas carol, man. Angels come bringing tidings of comfort and joy."
"Have you ever met an angel?," replied Castiel dryly. He turned his attention to the large tree in front of him and the shining ornaments adorning it.
"What are you doing?" asked Castiel.
"It's a Christmas tree, feather-head," answered Bobby. "We're decorating a Christmas tree."
Castiel looked puzzled.
"The decoration of large plants is a pagan tradition. Why would it be used for Christmas?"
"Oh sure, THAT you know," scoffed Dean.
"It's a way for people to get together and make something beautiful, Cass," said Sam. "We can use as much of that as we can get most days."
Castiel smiled and nodded.
"Agreed. I will help you decorated this tree."
He reached into the bin and pulled out a slightly dingy angel, cone-shaped with its wings partially unfolded and a halo perched on a wire above its perfectly round head. He studied it for a moment before asking, "is this supposed to be an angel?"
"What else would it be?" asked Dean.
Castiel thought for a moment and decided it would be better to leave that question alone. Instead he asked, "what do you do with it?"
"It's a tree-topper, Cass. It goes on top of the tree," Sam replied. To demonstrate, he took the angel from Castiel, reached up, and placed it gingerly on top of the tree so the tip of the tree was nestled up inside the cone-shaped body.
Castiel visibly winced as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"What's wrong?" asked Sam.
"That looks… uncomfortable. Are you sure you're doing it right?"
Sam laughed, and then Dean and Bobby joined in. Cass didn't really understand what they found so funny, but he had gotten used to his responses eliciting laughter from this group. He knew that to be laughed at was something most humans felt shame in, but Castiel was pleased that he could bring a little joy to his friends when there was always far more pain.
"I think that's about it, boys. What do you say? Should we light her up?" Bobby reached behind the tree and grabbed the plug end of the string of lights. With some shuffling of branches, and a little more muttering and cursing, Bobby managed to get it plugged into the wall, and a warm colored glow filled the room.
Sam turned off the wall switch, and the foursome looked at what they had made. The ornaments came alive with color as if each were housing its own little flame, and the tree itself seemed to sparkle.
Bobby looked up at the clock on the wall and noticed that it was two minutes to midnight. He calmly walked over to the desk, pulled out 4 glasses and a bottle of Johnny Walker Black. He poured each glass a neat scotch, and gave one to each Winchester and their angel friend.
Castiel started to protest, "Oh no, I'm fine. Thank you."
"Just take the damn drink, you overgrown chicken," demanded Bobby, shoving the glass into Castiel's hand. Cass gave a single nod, and took the glass.
Bobby looked at the clock again. One minute to midnight. He raised his glass, and the other three followed suit.
"To those who fight beside us, and to those who have gone before: Until we meet again."
Each raised his glass a bit higher, and as the clock struck midnight, they each swallowed their portion of amber liquid.
"Merry Christmas, boys," whispered Bobby.
As the scotch warmed them from the inside and they reflected on what it was that brought them all together, Bing Crosby sang softly from the kitchen:
"Christmas Eve will find me, where the love light gleams. I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams…"