Like a Real Family
Just one normal Christmas.
It was all Sam Winchester had really wanted. From the moment he was old enough to understand, the little boy had dreamed of turkeys in the oven, hanging stockings around the fireplace, a beautiful Christmas tree in the corner, surrounded by gaily wrapped presents. It wasn't the material aspect that Sam longed for; even as a child, he understood that, as the Grinch had discovered in the peaks above Whoville, that the holiday "didn't come from a store." It was the normalcy that the boy truly desired. The whole routine of leaving cookies for Santa (whom Sam had learned at a tender age was not real, but by god, ghosts and werewolves sure as hell were), waking up early on Christmas morning with bleary eyed parents begging for just a few more minutes; sitting around the table at night while friends and family shared stories of the past year and precioius hopes for the future. That was what Sam truly desired.
He had been elated that year when he had spent Thanksgiving at a friend's place, all those years earlier. Sure, it wasn't Christmas, but even that holiday was something the Winchesters just never celebrated. Occasionally Dad would bring home take out, usually a bucket of chicken but sometimes something as mundane as pizza, but for the most part, Thanksgiving had been just another day. And so Sam had relished his one day of normalcy, sitting around a well laden table listening to the far from intreaging conversation as his young schoolmate had shamelessly flirted with him the entire time. It wasn't until later he had realized just how sad the whole afair truly was. That the one holiday he had ever felt normal wasn't even with his own family.
And so Sam pushed the thought aside, abandoning the idea of ever having a real Christmas. The one exception had been the year before Dean's deal had been due, and it had taken all the young hunter had to keep from just saying "fuck it." Why would he want to celebrate a holiday he had never experienced growing up? Especially where now that very day, the season of warmth, love, and family, would forever be associated with grief, sadness, death? But Dean had done the very thing for him back in 1991, had done all he could to create the one Christmas in his miserable excuse of a childhood that was actually meaningful.
Which was why Sam Winchester was very much surprised when his brother suggested heading to Bobby's on the 23rd, just because. Sam had arched an eyebrow at that comment.
"Since when do we go to Bobby's 'just because'? We aren't kids anymore, Dean."
"Hey, man, we've been on the road for freakin' forever, I'm tired, and Bobby offered to let us crash for a bit. Don't know about you, but I could use some of his homemade chili right about now anyways."
"Typical, Dean. Always thinking with your stomach." But Sam was smiling. With the stress of the last few years, it was nice to be able to joke around with his older brother. Life had been one giant kick in the ass for the Winchesters, one after another; from demon deals to the apocolypse, it was nice to be able to worry about hunting monsters instead of dealing with angels and demons.
It was past noon and a light dusting of snow was falling when the Impala pulled to a stop before Singer Salvage. As expected, the boys walked into the house to the warm, spicy smell of homemade chili on the stove and homemade bread in the oven. "Figured you idgits haven't had a half decent meal in weeks," he grunted, patting his boys on the shoulder. "Especially the glutton over there," with an affectionate eye roll in Dean's direction. As expected, Dean's eyes had lit up at the smell of Bobby's cooking; Sam could practically see the drool as the hunter walked past the kitchen with their duffels. But it was definitely nice to be back at Bobby's, the place he and Dean had called, well, temporary, home for years.
It was after lunch when Dean insisted on heading into town, to "pick up a few things." At Sam's incredulous look, his brother merely shrugged. "Yeah, well figured it's about time we pulled our weight around here, huh, Sammy?"
"Seriously, Dean, this is nice and all, but what's with you lately? You've been acting kinda weird lately, to be honest."
"Yeah, this coming from Weirdy McWeirderson." Ok, that was more like Dean. "Relax, dude, I'm just picking up a few groceries. I'll be back in a few hours."
"You need some help, man?"
"Nah, I'm good," Dean replied with a grin, pulling the keys to the Impala from his jacket pocket. "You probably have something nerdy to do anyway, like research."
Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes playfully. "That nerdy research has saved your ass a few times."
"Are you sure it wasn't my awesome hunting skills?" The older Winchester ducked as an empty beer can was hurtled in his direction. "Guess not. Be back later." And he was out the door. Finally alone, Sam settled on a corner of Bobby's couch with his worn copy of Catcher in the Rye, one of his favourites since childhood. It had been a long time since he could actually read for pleasure, and the hunter relished in the luxury. For a while, he forgot about his brother's uncharacteristic behaviour, until he heard the growl of the Impala's engine outside. Setting his book down, Sam headed to the door, ready to help his brother with the groceries.
And was more than startled to see the Scotch pine secured to the roof, Dean carefully untying the rope which had secured it. Suddenly it all made sense: Dean's impromptu solo grocery run, the unplanned trip to Sioux Falls. His brother had wanted to celebrate Christmas this year, a full blown, traditional Christmas. And had probably figured that Sam would veto the idea. After all, he had been far from enthusiastic about celebrating a few years earlier. But that didn't mean that he was opposed to the idea now; hell, it might do them all good; he'd just spent the past six months scouring the US as a soulless, well, dick, to be honest, enough to raise the stress levels of both his brother and surrogate father for years on end. And last year… Sam sighed, imagining how horrible the holiday must have been for his brother. No wonder Dean was so anxious to have an honest to god real Christmas.
For a moment he watched, not wanting to interrupt his brother as he worked on freeing the tree. This whole thing was probably supposed to be a surprise. But after watching Dean struggle with the pine, he finally chuckled and headed over. "You need any help with that? Looks like that tree is kicking your ass."
Dean froze, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. And for a moment, Sam felt a little guilty for the interruption, because damned if his older brother didn't look a bit upset that the surprise had been spoiled. But soon a grin spread across Dean's face and he threw his hands in the air in mock defeat. "Guess the cat's outa the bag, huh? Figured that you'd find out, with that huge brain of yours."
With Sam's help, Dean had the tree set up in Bobby's living room in no time, the old man having been privy to the plan and cleaned out a spot for it. Before long the younger Winchester realized that Dean truly had gone all out, having bought all the fixings for a typical Christmas dinner, complete with turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce… the works. There would even be two types of pie, mince and Dean's personal favourite, deep dish apple. By the 24th, Bobby's place was filled with mouth-watering aromas, and even Sam, who had admittedly not been as excited over the idea as his brother, was eagerly looking forward to tucking in to a good, hearty turkey dinner. Not so much because of the wide array of foods the Winchesters rarely were able to indulge in, but the fact that the whole family were sitting around Bobby's kitchen table, laughing and sharing stories between mouthfuls of stuffing and sips of ice cold beer. Even Cas had been invited, and the brothers had been a little disappointed when the angel had declined, despite the fact that he had been curious to see how the Winchesters would celebrate the birth of Christ. Sam smiled, listening as Dean laughed over a memory from their early hunting days and Bobby shook his head with a gruff "idgits."
It was at night, as the last hours of the 25th ticked on, when Dean pulled out a gift from beneath the tree, crudely wrapped in newspaper. For a moment, Sam's eyes misted, as he remembered that last Christmas before his brother's deal. They had exchanged gifts then, too. Sam had touched very little of his bottle of shaving cream, and still kept the skin mags tucked beneath his duffle. And so the thought of doing so again stirred up painful memories; but he smiled, accepting the gifts and guiltily admitting that he had not thought to get something for him. "Nah, it's cool, bro," Dean smiled. "I'm just glad my brother isn't going all Terminator anymore. That's a present enough." He had laughed at the comment, but Sam could see his brother's eyes, the relief that he had his brother back. Every now and then he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of what his soulless self had done; of how he had hurt his brother both mentally and physically. Sam shuddered at the memory, and pushed it aside. Not now. Not when Dean had worked so hard to plan this. And so he smiled, opened the little gift and grinned genuinely when he pulled out none other but a new copy of the very book he'd been reading earlier, along with a gift card from . "So you can pick out more boring books. I don't know what you like, but I saw how old that one of yours was, figured it was time for an update."
Sam smiled, setting the gifts down and patting his brother affectionately on the shoulder. "Thanks, man, these are perfect."
For a while, the two sat around the tree, sipping Bobby's twenty-year-old Scotch, enjoying the glow of the brightly coloured lights. The silence was warm, comfortable, and for a while, Sam forgot about the sadness of their little Christmas in Michigan. Until the stillness was broken by the sound of Dean clearing his throat.
"Hey, Sam, thanks."
"For what?" Knowing what his brother is about to say, that his words would in all likelihood violate his rule to keep the emotional stuff at bay. And so he listened, waiting for his brother to continue, hoping he would not clam up at the last moment.
"For this. The whole Christmas thing. I know the last few years they kinda sucked. And last year…"
"I know." Sam nodded, finishing the last of his drink. Giving his brother permission to back out on the share and care. Nodding gratefully, Dean reached for the scotch and gestured towards Sam. "Refill?"
"Definitely."
And so the Winchesters spent the remaining hours of Christmas Day sipping their drinks and watching as a light dusting of snow fluttered outside the window. Both knew that the world was still fucked up; the Mother of All was still out there; the repercussions of Sam's soulless misadventures still hung over both, as well as the guilt the young hunter felt. But for now, they could sit and just be brothers, enjoying the holidays and each other.
Like a real family.