Merry Christmas.
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Tomorrow was Christmas Day.
Sam had registered the date as a casual observance whilst browsing the latest news reports in search of items that might qualify as a hunt
Christmas, like all the other festivities had never been much of a consideration for the Winchesters. It was a holiday primarily directed at children but John had never acknowledged it in any way when Sam and Dean were kids, most of the time leaving his two young sons to their own devices in shabby motel rooms while he attended to a hunt that 'couldn't wait' until after the twenty-fifth!
Sam sighed. He wondered if John had deserted them on purpose all those Christmases growing up, perhaps not being able to offer his sons anything that didn't tie into his obsession to find and exterminate the demon that had killed his wife.
The only person to remember Christmas existed had been Dean, never letting the day pass without holding out some gift, stolen or bought by painstakingly saving a cent here and there from the few dollars John left them during the year, to his little brother.
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His lips curled up in a wry smile when he recalled Dean's exasperated huff some years back.
"Sam. Why are you the boy who hates Christmas?" he'd asked.
But truly Sam neither hated nor loved Christmas. It was alien to him, just as never having had a mother or a normal family life, with his own room, toys and maternal cuddles left him unable to understand fully what that meant.
All he'd known since he was an infant was Dean, John, the Impala, a series of motel rooms and the occasional rented accommodation.
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The only two Christmas Days that stood out in his memory were both cheerless.
When he was nine, he'd had his suspicions confirmed that the drawings and annotations in his father's journal, which the oldest Winchester had carelessly left behind, were real.
Poor Dean; for all his distress, hadn't been able to deny Sam's fears, nor the truth that dad wasn't a travelling salesman but a hunter of the supernatural.
Sam remembered the bitter tears he'd cried, but through his desperation, he'd perceived his big brother's sadness at having had to reveal the terrible secret of their lives to him.
His heart filled with warmth at the love and patience Dean had shown him while growing up.
He'd taken care of Sam better than any mother, certainly better than John, whose standard answer for the physical and mental pains of a maturing young boy were to push them all down and get on with the job.
In that, Dean had tried to emulate his father but Sam had never been able to, his emotions forever bubbling to the surface.
He smiled. Perhaps Dean was right when he called him a girl, too moody for his own good!
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As for the second Christmas.
He'd been an adult then, aware of the upcoming dead-line. It was going to be the last Christmas before Dean's deal came due.
Sam hadn't given up hope of being able to save his big brother from the fires of Hell, but what if he couldn't, a malicious little voice whispered, ousting Sam's certainties and filling him with dread.
That same dread had spurred him into a wild search for the minimum necessities to call that day Christmas, but he'd basked in his reward when Dean's eyes had lit up at the effort Sam had put in just to please him.
Sam's tears had been held back by sheer force of will, because if he'd allowed one to drip down his cheek, he'd have dissolved into a blubbering mess and Dean didn't need that. So they'd exchanged paltry gifts, drank cheap eggnog and sat side by side to watch a football game, happy in each other's company.
Sam sighed, why did his thoughts always end up depressing him. Was there nothing of his thirty-one years that could instil a moment of happiness and hope in his soul, or was he genetically condemned to see black.
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The clatter of Dean's footsteps on the stair-way brought his head up.
Dean's face was alight with glee; in his right hand he clutched what seemed to be two tickets.
"I knew it!" the elder Winchester accused, correctly interpreting Sam's expression. "Christmas means sad Sammy. The waves of depression spiralling out from you are engulfing me in a fog of liquid shit."
"Huh. So poetic, dude," Sam answered, smiling despite himself.
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"Okay, Cinderella, get ready. We're going to the ball!" Dean smirked fanning himself with the tickets. "Pearl Jam, then the after-show party with girls, Sam! You remember girls. don't you?"
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Where did you get those? " he asked.
"Where do you think " Dean replied wide-eyed and innocent. "I stole them. Two idiots left them on the counter at the grocery store, and by the time they came back to look, the tickets were safe and sound in my pocket. So... if we leave now, we'll get there just in time. Tonight I'm gonna see you laid, little brother. All work and no play make Sammy a pissy nerd!"
"Dean." Sam ventured, exasperated. "I don't need you to pimp me out!"
"It's Christmas, Sam. When was the last time we had a Merry one?" the elder Winchester grimaced, ignoring Sam's grumbling.
"Uh... never?" Sam hazarded.
"Exactly!That's why we gotta rectify the 'Christmas equals crap' equation and make this a day to remember!"
Dean's cheerfulness was contagious and Sam found himself grinning up at him.
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"Fine." he said. "But knowing our luck the members of the band will probably turn out to be shape-shifters!"
"Little brother," Dean said, shaking his head. "We're due a good Christmas after all the douchey ones we've lived through. The laws of probability demand it!"
Sam snorted, but twenty minutes later, both men were showered and dressed, if not in their best, in clothes that weren't completely thread-bare or laundered to death.
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"Lookin'good there Sammy," Dean grinned, casting an eye over his brother.
"Not too shoddy yourself, Dean," was the dimpled reply.
"Come on then, Barbie, " he quipped pushing his little brother up the steps, chuckling at the familiar bitch-face Sam threw back at him. "We don't wanna be late!"
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The End.
Merry Christmas to everyone. :)