Men's Locker room, Macy's Department Store, Danbury Fair Mall, Danbury, Connecticut, December 24, 2008
Dean Winchester sat down heavily on the smooth, lacquered wooden bench bolted to the floor. It spanned the width of the ten employee lockers that were, in turn, bolted to the wall. He unbuckled the wide, black, patent leather belt and pulled the pad from beneath the red plush, fake fur trimmed jacket he wore and tossed it on the floor.
Sam came into the room adjusting himself for the ten thousandth time. "How can women wear these things?" he asked and pointed to the bright green tights that hugged his legs and his package so tightly.
"Beats me, Yoda, but our job here is done." Dean fished in his red suit's oversized pockets and found Santa's little helper, a bottle of rum laced eggnog without the egg or the nog, buried beneath a stash of candy canes.
"Yeah and even as evil as some of those little kids were none of 'em was Lilith."
Dean unbuttoned the jacket, scratched his stomach with a sigh, tilted the bottle back and took a swig. He then offered it to Sam. "Cheer up, Sammy. Wait'll the little bastards find out that Christo and Sarcalogos aren't the names of two of Santa's reindeer."
Sam snorted and took a pull on the rum bottle, set in on the bench and pulled off his elf ears. He stuffed them into his elf's hat and piled them on top of Dean's dingy white beard and sweat stained Santa hat.
Dean stripped down to his underwear, kicked the rented Santa suit into the corner and pulled his clothes from one of the lockers. As he dressed he sang absently, "You'd better watch out, you'd better not pout, you'd better not cry, I'm telling you why, Alistair is coming tonight." Stopping, Dean looked over to his brother, who stood in front of his locker still dressed in his tights, and asked, "Do you think Anna really killed him?"
Sam's brow furrowed momentarily and he shrugged his shoulders. "We can only hope," he said and began the daunting task of pulling off the bilious green leg ware.
"I was thinkin' maybe we could just take off. If we drive straight through we can be back in Sioux Falls by this time tomorrow," Dean suggested.
Sam sighed and smiled crookedly. "Okay, but first we gotta stop by Molly Darcy's for a drink. I promised Mrs. Claus I'd bring you along."
"I appreciate the thought but I'm not interested in having a drink with or sleeping with Candy with an i."
Sam finished lacing up his boots and stood up to grab his jacket. "Okay, but you're being faithful to a woman who hangs up on you more than she talks to you."
"She just does it to annoy me."
"She does it because you say some of the dumbest things known to man. When are you gonna smarten up and tell her how you really feel?"
"I don't 'feel' anything - except brotherly concern for her."
"Then why don't you go out with Candy with an i?" Sam challenged, "I bet she'd love to be Santa's little helper. You know, spread a little cheer, play with your toys." Sam pulled a couple of envelopes from his locker and shoved one at his brother.
Dean tore it open and pulled out a check and huffed in disgust. "You remember when I told you that you couldn't pay me to play Santa?" Dean asked and Sam nodded, "Well, HR feels the same way. Talk about your friggin' Grinch." Dean scooped up his jacket and, without a backward glance at the Santa suit or the elf outfit, he and Sam headed out into the parking lot where the Impala waited, dusted in a fresh coat of frost and snow.
Once the car was warmed up they headed to Molly Darcy's Pub where Richie Blackmore and Ian Gillan cashed their meager paychecks. Richie turned Candi down flat and they had one for the road before heading out onto the highway. Twenty two hours later Dean stood next to Bobby's crackling fire dressed in his boxer shorts, the vintage Led Zeppelin t-shirt Sam had given him and the multicolored stripped socks, the ones with a sock for each individual toe, that Bobby had given him. He dialed Grace's number and was surprised when she picked up on the first ring.
"Hi, Grace, it's me, Dean."
"Hi, Dean." Big sniffle.
"Grace what's wrong?" Dean pressed the button to put the call on speaker.
"It's a wonderful life." Quaver in her voice.
"Yeah... I guess. If you say so, Grace."
Hiccup. "Angel...George."
"Is Castiel there? Is something wrong?" Dean looked at Bobby with panic in his eyes.
"Weeping Wanda?" Bobby whispered loudly.
Dean nodded emphatically then said to Grace, "Tell me what's wrong, baby." He listened intently as Sam dragged him to the television set and pointed to the screen. George Bailey, with his daughter in his arms and wife Mary by his side, stood next to a gaily-decorated Christmas tree.
"Every time a bell rings..." Grace said with a huge sob.
"An Angel gets his wings," Dean finished for her.
Switching the phone off of speaker, Dean left Sam and Bobby in the living room and took the phone - and his heart into the kitchen - where he and Grace talked late into the night. She only hung up on him twice.