Dean watched as the brightly colored ball Sam was so fond of twisted in the early morning sunlight that streamed through the bedroom window throwing splotches of color everywhere...like a really lame disco ball. He just wanted to go back to sleep but the sparkling glass ball's slow rotation in the drafty room made it impossible. He looked at the calendar on the wall and frowned. It was December 23rd…again…and the closer it got to Christmas the more he dreaded waking up in the morning.

He didn't care that there was no tree and never any toys but Sammy still believed in Santa Clause because he was a dumb baby and it made him feel crappy to have to tell him that Dad really did care but that his job kept them on the move so much that Santa had a hard time finding them. It was true about the job but he doubted very much whether his dad really did give a shit.

After his mother had died John Winchester had missed most of Dean's Christmases and all of Sammy's and, after awhile, Dean had begun to think that his father did it on purpose just so he wouldn't have to hear Sammy crying or see his sad eyes. He did at least try to make sure they had something to eat and a warm place to stay over the holidays so he wasn't a total bastard. This year, if they were lucky, maybe his dad wouldn't do anything to make Jewels mad at him until after Christmas and Sammy could at least have a tree.

As he crawled out of the bed and pulled on his clothes Dean considered going through his father's pockets to possibly scrape up enough money to buy Sam a candy cane at least but knew it would be useless. He'd seen the box of silver bullets high up on the mantel and knew they cost an arm and a leg so his dad was more than likely tapped out…again.

Already in a sour mood Dean's morning went from bad to worse when he went into the living room and found his dad's coat lying on the couch and the blanket still folded up where it had been yesterday. He made his way quietly to Jewels closed bedroom door and slowly twisted the knob and pushed it open. He saw her right away; all skinny with white arms and gold colored hair lying next to his dad, all muscles, dark and hairy and, without thinking, he said nastily out loud, "Pushover."

For a moment he thought no one had heard him but Jewels, always a light sleeper, had heard the squeaking floors as he made his way to the living room then to her room and, when her eyes opened, Dean knew he was a gonner. Instead of backing out of the room and slinking away he stood his ground and glared at her.

Gently, Jewels pulled the comforter up to cover John's bare shoulders, grabbed her robe and deftly slipped it on. She eased herself from the bed and shooed Dean out the door with only a look and closed it behind her. Herding him into the kitchen she flipped on the coffee maker and grabbed two mugs and set them on the table where Dean had sullenly taken a seat.

"Pushover, huh?" she commented and sat down across the table from him.

He looked at her defiantly. "Well, duh. You…my dad."

"Does that bother you?" she asked him earnestly.

His eyes opened a little wider. Since when did a grown up care what he thought?

"Why should you care? My dad always does what he wants."

"Has he talked to you about girls yet? About the birds and the bees."

Dean snorted and told her, "Yeah, and about the poltergeists and the phantoms and the ghosts and the witches and the demons and the hellhounds..."

"Okay, okay. So you know about girls… and a lot of other stuff…but I just want you to know that if it bothers you, you know, me and your dad…in the same bed…I'll put his butt right back out on the couch."

"Yeah, sure," Dean said skeptically.

"I mean it. I don't much like being called a pushover. It's kind of harsh," she told him as she poured a mug of hot coffee for herself and a cup, with more milk than coffee, for him.

Dean took the mug and told her contritely, "Well, I didn't really mean it. It's just that my dad's a good-looking dude and women are always trying to get with him. Sometimes they try to make friends with me or Sammy…"

"Do you think that's why I made friends with you?"

"I was hopin' it was 'cause you liked us."

"Damn straight, Winchester. I liked you and Sam right off the bat. It took me a whole lot longer to warm up to your dad."

Dean was shocked by her revelation.

"But you like him now."

"Yeah, I do," she said with a smile.

Dean knew it was true when he saw the dopey look on her face and mulled it over. He liked Jewels a whole lot and thought it best to warn her.

"He's gonna leave you, ya know?" he said prophetically and with a hint of sadness.

"I know he is," she answered and hoped he couldn't hear the sadness in her voice.

The two of them sat and drank their coffee in silence until Dean broached another subject.

"Do you think old man Naughton will pay me to scrub the eggs off his mailbox? I wanna buy Sammy something for Christmas…from Santa."

Jewels looked at the boy sitting across from her and thought "if I were twenty five years younger" but then realized she would be nine and, instead of admiring Dean Winchester for his selfless love and sacrifice for his little brother, she would probably think he was yucky and had cooties. She did know that, in spite of everything he'd been through and with everything his father laid on him, Dean Winchester would grow up to be an extraordinary man.

"I think I might have some odd jobs you can do at The Ram but you gotta promise me you won't tell anyone. We have laws in this state about child labor."

"Not a problem," Dean assured her with a smile, relieved that Sammy would at least be getting a visit from Santa. He wouldn't count on his dad being there though; Christmas was still two days away.