Author notes: I'm not sure the world really needs this story. But the muse insisted, and wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Inspired by a post on LiveJournal. See also end notes. Thanks to tanaquisga for extensive nitpicking and pointing out it'd be helpful to actually reveal Sam's present to the reader...
The Gift
By AmandaK
The moment Sam stumbled on the web page, he knew he'd found the perfect Christmas gift for Dean. He hadn't planned on it. The holidays were never considered a big deal when growing up a Winchester. No tinseled trees, no welcoming wreaths on the door, and Dad always said candles were for rituals and emergencies. If any gift-giving did occur, it tended to lean toward practical things: a pair of jeans to replace denims worn down to the last thread, sneakers that fit better than the old ones, a new hunting knife for Dean. Never toys or pets or other frippery that would be nothing but a burden once they needed to move again. Except for the rare occasion when they happened to swing by Pastor Jim's during the holiday season, the single true Christmas Sam could remember having was the year he'd celebrated it with Jessica. She'd given him a book written for no other purpose but the pleasure of reading, and a mix CD with songs she thought he might enjoy; and she'd brought a twig of mistletoe to his dorm room so she could give him a kiss filled with promise, a promise that she made good on later that same night.
They moved in together two weeks after that, in the first days of the new year.
And Jess never saw another Christmas.
Since then Sam couldn't have cared less about celebrating the holidays.
But this? It had Dean's name written all over it. And while he hadn't found a way to break the deal—yet— so it could very well be Dean's last Christmas, Sam wasn't going to let that stop him. On the contrary, it was all the more reason to make this year's a truly memorable one.
Besides, deal or no deal, Dean was still, well... Dean.
And Dean'd get a kick out of this—eventually.
Sam chuckled, squinting at the demo images shown on the site, and tried to picture what it'd look like when applied to a real American beauty.
"What're you snickerin' at?" Dean walked into the motel room on a gust of cold wind and autumn leaves. Sam started, not having heard the lock click or the door open. He slammed down the laptop screen with such force that he winced and prayed he hadn't damaged it.
"Nothing."
Dean snorted and offered Sam a meaningful wink. "Surfin' for porn again, Sammy?"
Sam shrugged, for once letting Dean believe what he wanted. Instead, he said, "What did you find out?", trying to divert Dean's attention back to the case that had brought them out to Pennsylvania in November.
o0o
The real challenge about ordering on line, Sam quickly discovered, was that you needed an address to have them send you your stuff. And the US Postal Service's promise of "Everywhere, Every Day" notwithstanding, expecting them to deliver to Sam Winchester, Passenger Seat, '67 Chevy Impala, US Highway was asking for a postal miracle of mythic proportions.
Sam no longer believed in miracles.
Fortunately, once Sam explained it was a Christmas gift for Dean, Bobby agreed to accept the parcel in Sam's stead—and fabricating an excuse to have Dean take them to South Dakota after they finished the job in Pennsylvania was as easy as drawing breath.
And so, by mid-December, while Dean was outside tinkering with another mysterious rattle in the Impala, Bobby was offering Sam a padded envelope with Sam's name and Bobby's address on it in printed capitals.
"What's so special you couldn't get it in a store?" Bobby wanted to know.
Sam couldn't help the grin that curled his lips. Bobby cocked his head, watching Sam smile.
"Never mind," the old hunter grunted after a moment. "I don't think I want to know."
"Sam?" Dean hollered from the yard, relieving Sam of the need to answer Bobby. "Need your help!"
He didn't really, and they both knew it; but Dean had set his mind on making Sam a full-fledged auto mechanic in the months left to him. Sam was happy to humor him, enjoying those quiet moments together under the hood of the car.
"Be right there!" Sam yelled back. "Thanks, Bobby," he added in a more moderate voice as he hid the parcel in the depths of his duffel bag where Dean wouldn't find it.
o0o
Christmas Day found them in a motel in northern Arkansas, where they'd been following up reports of a poltergeist haunting a shopping mall. They'd banished the restless spirit the night before, while church bells rang in the distance to call the faithful to midnight mass, and tumbled into bed in the wee hours of the morning. Exhausted, they'd slept until noon, when Dean had gone out for coffee and breakfast, giving Sam the chance to wrap his present in the festive red and green wrapping paper he'd bought specially. He even pasted on a golden bow, knowing how much grief Dean'd give him about that particular girly addition. Sam didn't care; he knew he'd have the last laugh.
Once he finished taping the bow in place, Sam sat down on the bed, present in hand, and waited.
He didn't have to wait long; five minutes later the door opened and Dean sauntered in, carrying two large foam cups and a stained paper bag that Sam presumed held the chocolate donuts Dean'd said he had a sudden craving for.
Dean's gaze instantly focused on the colorful package in Sam's hands. "What's that?" he said, his voice caught somewhere between surprise and dismay.
Sam smiled. "Merry Christmas, Dean." He got up while Dean set the coffee and donuts on the dresser, and handed his brother the present.
Dean cleared his throat. "I didn't—" he began, then glared at the bow. "Dude! Seriously?"
Sam simply smirked.
"What is it?" Dean held the package to his ear and shook it, eyes lighting up with eager curiosity. For a moment, the look on Dean's face took Sam back to Pastor Jim's house and one of the very few holidays he remembered having an actual tree and actual presents. Sam must've been six or seven, and Dean ten or eleven, he thought. With a sharp pang of anguish that stole his breath, Sam was once again reminded that this could well be Dean's final Christmas, and suddenly he regretted his gift.
But it was too late; Dean was already tearing the paper off.
"What the...?" Confusion was written across every part of Dean as he held the box and tried to make sense of the contents visible through the shrink-wrapped plastic. He looked up at Sam, his expression questioning.
"You're Batman, remember?" Sam said. "Thought you should have a Bat-mobile."
Dean's gaze flew back to the package in his hand, scrutinizing the pair of black bat wings made of hard plastic and the black nose with fastening wires trailing from it.
"Weather resistant, too," Sam quipped.
Dean turned over the box and discovered an illustration of a modern car with the wings sticking up from its roof, the nose tied to its grille, and the words "Turn your car into the Bat-mobile!" printed next to it in bold capitals. His jaw dropped as understanding hit. Sam watched with fascination as Dean's face slowly turned purple. A vein throbbed at Dean's temple and he gaped at Sam, mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. For a second, Sam worried he'd gone too far and Dean was having a heart attack. He reached for his cell phone, ready to dial 911 if needed.
"Sam..." Dean rasped out. "You... Dude, my car...?"
Sam grinned. "Yep."
Dean took a deep breath, and some of the flush left his face. "You are sodead!"
He lunged for Sam, but Sam had been expecting it and was faster. Throwing open the door, he dashed out of the motel room, out of Dean's reach. He darted around the Impala and sprinted across the parking lot, Dean on his heels spitting threats. Having longer legs, Sam knew he could easily outrun his brother for a long time if he so desired.
He just wasn't sure he wanted to.
End notes: Someone (I regretfully no longer remember who, but if you are, or know the original poster, please let me know and I'll credit them for accidental plot bunny-flinging) posted a link on LJ the other day to an article about a pink bunny getup for your car, commenting she could see Sam give it to Dean. I followed a link from the original article, and ended up here: Upon seeing the third photo down, my muse cackled with delight and demanded I write Sam giving that to Dean. I told her no, but you know how muses are: impossible to resist when they get their mind set. And thus, here there be fic. sigh
Disclaimer: This story is based on the Warner Bros. Television/Wonderland Sound and Vision/Eric Kripke/Robert Singer series Supernatural. It was written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from it nor was any infringement of copyright intended. Please do not redistribute elsewhere without the author's consent.