Title: On The Mantel
Author: IndigoNight
Feedback: Yes please
Summary: In most respects they celebrated the holidays just like any other family; Christmas lights, carols, tree, presents, lots of family, friends, and laughter. There was only one odd thing that set them apart from everyone else. On the end of the mantel piece, over the stockings and next to the line of Christmas cards, was a can of shaving cream.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or the characters
Spoilers: Yes, for the third season
Rating: PG
Warnings: Character death.
Author's Note: This story was inspired when I was watching clips from A Very Supernatural Christmas, an episode I actually missed so was trying to watch as much as I could find on youtube, and I found the end where they were exchanging gifts and I just couldn't resist. So, obviously, the can of shaving cream referred to is the one that Dean gave in him the episode. This may be a little confusing because it's kind of vague, but essentially, Dean's year ran up, Sam couldn't save him. The 'she' referred to is Sam's wife. Humongous thanks and much love to ArtemisGoddess who helped me figure out who exactly Dean is. Read, Review, and Enjoy!
In most respects they celebrated the holidays just like any other family; Christmas lights, carols, tree, presents, lots of family, friends, and laughter.
There was only one odd thing that set them apart from everyone else. On the end of the mantel piece, over the stockings and next to the line of Christmas cards, was a can of shaving cream. The can itself wasn't out of the ordinary; it was just like any that could be bought in convenience stores across the country, but for as long as anyone could remember it had been there, every Christmas, sitting in the same spot. And at the end of the season it was packed away again with all of the other holiday decorations.
He never said a word about it; he rarely even looked at it throughout the festivities. But every year, right on cue, after the celebrations were over, their guests gone home, and the rest of the family tucked in bed, he would sit on the couch with a glass of spiked eggnog.
Sometimes she would sit at the top of the stairs and watch him. It was then, and only then, that he acknowledged the shaving cream. He would sit there for hours, drinking his eggnog, and talking to it.
He always started the same way, the conversation normal enough, except for the fact that it was being held with an inanimate object. He'd talk about what had happened over the past year, all the joys and sorrows, about how his life was going. Then he would branch off into what sounded like childhood memories, reminiscing over times past. A lot of that didn't make sense to her, and sometimes she wanted to ask, but she never did.
Eventually he would run out of things to say and lapse into silence, staring moodily into the fireplace for a long time. Finally he would drain the last of his eggnog, and standing up part with a soft, "See you next year, Dean." And that was it. He never mentioned his private tradition; he never even alluded to it at all.
One year she finally asked him who Dean was. He didn't seem surprised that she'd listening in on his late night conversations, but he wasn't very helpful in answering her questions either. He would merely get this far away look in his eyes, and they would mist over slightly as he said, "The biggest pain in the ass I ever knew," and he would smile like it was some kind of inside joke. That was it; he refused to say anything more on the matter.
Eventually she stopped asking. The can was affectionately joked about by the family, and it simply became one of their amusing quarks. But every year he spent a quiet, Christmas night catching up with Dean.