A/N: Getting to say what's on your mind is priceless. And for everything else, there's Mastercard. Here's Elroy.

Dean carries me around in his wallet. He never uses me. I feel like screaming sometimes: Come on kid, swipe me, damn it! That's what I was put here for, right?

I'm the last credit card John Winchester ever had. I was issued by the good folks at MasterCard in late 2005. Name? Well, let's just call me Elroy. Elroy McGillicuddy's the name stamped on my front.

It's been three years since Papa John passed on, and I'm still good. At least I will be until February 2010 rolls around. I expire then. John never got the chance to use me. Chances are the company will send out another card to take my place. Don't know what's gonna happen then.

Dean doesn't use me. He never does. I get pulled out of the wallet at least once a month. Dean sits there with this quiet, almost blank look on his face. It's almost like the kid can still feel John, still touch him, by touching me.

Hey, I'm not gonna get maudlin about it, all right? We got a job to do out here. I get it, but the point is, we're not hunting all the time.

Thanksgiving was a bust. I mean, Dean and Sam could have taken me out, used me to buy a decent dinner for once. Turkey and dressing with all the trimmings, in a place where the food is served on real china, with real silverware. Instead they ate in Mac's Diner, near I-47 just outside of Tulsa, Oklahoma. Sheesh.

Yeah, the plates were real, but that damn meatloaf looked questionable.

Very questionable.

Couple of weeks before Christmas Dean busted his hump playing pool. For three nights straight he won about a twelve hundred off those amateurs he was playing. A lousy $1200. I was pissed. I'm worth $2500. $2500 worth of credit in his wallet, and he won't pull me out.

I was made to be used, okay?

Christmas wasn't bad. Not bad at all, but Dean should have used me and kept his cash in his pocket. I knew why he didn't. Sam always gets depressed around this time of the year. That stretch between Thanksgiving and Christmas always reminds him of what he had and lost, I guess.

The motel room we were in wasn't the usual level of skeez that the boys enjoy most of the time. We were at the Holiday Inn this time. That should have given me a clue, but I was still pissed off. I didn't put two and two together until later.

And I was distracted by Sam's bitchface. He can blister paint with that thing.

Dean ignored it all. Sam sat hunched over his laptop at that table near the window, and he didn't even look up when Dean put on his coat and walked out.

Forty five minutes later Dean walked back in, threw a white lace tablecloth on the table, right over the laptop. Sam growled at him until he realized: WTF? Lace?

Not plastic.

Dean walked back out to the Impala, came back a few minutes later with white boxes stacked in his arms.

Food.

Turkey. Dressing. Pumpkin pie. Cranberry sauce.

He had plates in a box. I mean real China plates. Silverware. And that wasn't all.

He had this battery operated lighted mini Christmas tree balanced on the top of the boxes. He reached up, flipped the switch, set the tree in the center of the table. Then he put the rest of the boxes on the table and tossed Sam this big white box with a pink bow.

You should have seen the look on Sammy's face: "B-Bu-but I didn't get you anything, Dean---"

All Dean did was grin. He had his present already and don't think for a moment he didn't know it.

Sam sat there staring at this chocolate brown jacket when he opened the box. The jacket was brand new. Heavy, nice material, not too flashy. It was pure Sam. There was a thick blue sweater underneath, and sandwiched between the two? A Malibu Barbie doll.

It's been a traditional gag gift for Sam since he was nine. Crazy kids.

I almost forgot to mention the eggnog and the two bottles of booze. We didn't have to travel the next day, so it was all good.

And all gone.

Look, don't preach to me about commercialism or any of that other crap. I'm plastic, remember? Some people think credit cards like me are the source of evil in this world.

Huh. You chumps don't know evil.

Yeah, bah humbug. Whatever.

Well, there's always New Year's. Maybe Dean will pull me out then, buy some booze. I'd settle for party hats, confetti and noisemakers.

And porn.

I can only hope.

Next one? Might do Sam's POV on the Barbie dolls, maybe later on today. Sammy angst! Another one tomorrow. Who's gonna show up? Darned if I know.