Title- Wassail

Disclaimer - I don't own it

Summary - Ichabod Crane is a bit confused by modern Christmas

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"I am utterly confused." Ichabod tossed the ball of lights onto the table.

"It's not that hard to undo the lights, Crane. You're good with puzzles." Abby tried not to laugh.

He slumped back in his seat with that familiar sulky expression on his face. "I meant all of this." Crane gestured to the boxes of Christmas decorations in Abby's home.

Abby waggled a stuffed Santa at him. "Didn't you have Santa?"

He narrowed his eyes at her. "No. We had an earlier idea of the man you call Santa, a darker idea. But if you must know, we didn't have all these…trappings." He gestured again. "There was church. It lasted all day."

"No offense, but I think I prefer the hour or so people do today."

Ichabod wrinkled his nose. "Maybe so. Then we would have dinner. Oh, what a dinner it was. A nice fat turkey or goose, sometimes a ham and chestnuts. I do love chestnuts," he said, lost in the past. Crane roused himself and looked at her. "Do you still eat them?"

Abby nodded. "I see them in the grocery store, but I don't know how to cook them."

"It's quite simple. I can show you." Crane smiled. "We would go dancing. The balls would go on til Twelfth night. That was often the grandest of the balls."

"I could get behind dancing." Abby started undoing the ball of lights. "No Christmas tree?"

"The Germans had trees. Mostly we put candles in the windows, then put evergreens about."

"We still do that, too. It should like we've been building the holiday and getting bigger and bigger every year."

"I did like wassail, but that often ended up in a class struggle." Crane frowned. "Do people still go wassailing?"

"We sing about it, but I don't know anyone who's ever done it. I'm not even sure what wassail is."

"You start with baking apples with sugar and spices," Crane said, eyes bright. "Then you add in strong wine and ale and cook it."

Abby made a face.

"And then you add in the eggs."

She threw up her hands. "Done. I'm out. That sounds horrible."

He looked offended. "I assure you, it's quite delicious."

Abby rolled her eyes. "So, class struggles?"

"Yes. Wassailing was done not unlike your trick or treat. The peasants would go to the master's house and wouldn't leave until they got their wassail. Failure to give them what they asked for could result in vandalism. That's what the song, We Wish You a Merry Christmas is about."

"We still sing that one, but you have to be pulling my leg."

"And we won't go until we've got some. We won't go until we've got some. We won't go until we've got some so bring some out here." He sang rather well, Abby thought.

"That's what those lyrics mean?" She wasn't entirely sure she believed him.

Crane nodded. "I wouldn't mind some figgy pudding either."

Abby wasn't sure what was in that either, but after the wassail she decided to quit while she's ahead and before Crane crushed another fond Christmas memory.