Chapter 4: The Ghost of Christmas Present
Dean rolled over in his bed and looked at the clock. It was only 9pm. Really? That early in the night seriously? What the hell? Did he and Sam fall asleep at like 7pm or something? Groaning, Dean sat up in bed knuckling gathered sleep from the corners of his eyes and stared over at his younger brother, snoozing soundlessly in his bed across from him. Though the older Winchester didn't know why he'd woken up, he still felt unsteady, as though there were something in the room with them, but it didn't give off that peculiar feeling he and Sam usually got whenever there was a ghost or anything dangerous or supernatural around them.
Truthfully he had no idea what this feeling even was it was so faint. Blinking his eyes a few times, Dean held the bridge of his nose between those brilliant green orbs willing himself to wake up a bit more. Normally his first instinct would've been to grab the gun that was somehow back under his pillow again. Wait...hadn't that been in his hand? Or maybe it wasn't? Maybe Jessica put it back under the pillow before she'd nearly blinded them to death on every little journey she took them on. None of this was even making any sense anymore. Feeling more alive than he had a few moments ago, Dean acknowledged that whatever was in the room, that...feeling still hadn't left. Standing up, Dean made his way over to his younger brother and gently shook his shoulder, urging Sam awake.
"Sammy," Dean rasped at the younger Winchester. He nudged him again. "Hey, Sam! Wake up!"
"Hmmm, what?" Sam moaned sleepily, hazel eyes opening at half-mast to stare up at his older brother who was looking perturbed. "Dean? What's wrong?"
"I dunno man. Something just...something doesn't feel right in here," Dean responded, his hunter's instincts fully kicked in, and he was staring around the room, squinting, eyes searching the area.
Sam raised a hand, rubbing at his hazel orbs with his fingertips and using the other hand to boost himself up in the bed with a grunt. "What d'you think it is?" Sam questioned, voice still thick with sleep. "Does it feel threatening?" He ended with a yawn.
"No...no, it's just...man. It feels almost...familiar," Dean responded before turning to look down at his little brother and he lifted an eyebrow at the kid. "Dude, seriously. We need to think about buying you a comb or something to keep in your pocket. Your bedhead looks worse than the things we hunt."
"Ha-ha, you're hilarious," Sam shot scornfully, back raising his hands to comb his large fingers through his hair and smooth it down. More awake now the younger Winchester rose to his feet as well to stand by his brother. "I see what you mean, though," he added, brow furrowing in concentration, eyes scanning the room.
"Yeah...it's just. I think..," Dean paused as he turned his head to look toward the bathroom door.
Sam walked around Dean's bed, suggesting he were searching for something in the room, but neither of the boys were coming up with anything until the young hunter inclined his head back toward the window and emitted a soft gasp. "Hey, uh...Dean?" Sam stated softly, pointing toward the window that was just next to his bed. There at the window stood a tall silhouette. Not quite as tall as Sam, but tall enough. Dean's mouth dropped open as he walked toward his brother and met his side. The figure that stood in front of the window stepped into some moonlight that had shown it's way through the window and both boys grasped onto each other's sleeves of their shirts to keep themselves standing upright.
"D-dad?" Dean stammered in a raspy voice while Sam just stood shell-shocked and flabbergasted, unable to speak. Both his and Dean's eyes widened to match astonishment of seeing their father standing against the window of their motel room.
John Winchester, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, made a move to walk around the bed and to his sons, his trademark smile on his handsome face. His eyes crinkled in at the outer corners, his usual slathering of facial hair sprinkled across his face, his cheeks red and warm-looking almost, as if he'd been out in the blustery winter. He had the expression on his face and his eyes that said of how happy and how proud of his sons he was. Dean slowly began walking toward his father while Sam stayed back, as if rooted to the spot and not able to move.
"Dad?" the older brother spoke again, voice shaking.
John just smiled a bit wider at his oldest son before his eyes slid over to rest on his youngest. Sam couldn't even return the smile, his mouth opened just enough to suggest the slight dropping of his jaw, his brow slowly pulling itself upward. "Hey, boys," the oldest Winchester responded, his dark eyes flicking back and forth in between his sons.
Dean could feel his eyes burning with relentless tears before he found the big, warm arms of his father wrapping around his shoulders, and he couldn't resist burying his face into his father's jacket. It even felt the same, the touch, the same scent of leather and gunpowder, everything. His father's entire body was warm, thick and real. He didn't fall through him as if he were hugging a spirit, and for the first time since Cas had told him that three spirits would be visiting them tonight, Dean didn't feel the angel was off his rocker. His arms followed suit, raising themselves to wrap themselves tightly around his father's waist as if he were a young child again.
"Dad," Dean's voice broke, speaking to John once more. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm so sorry. I made so many mistakes. I made so many bad choices. I know if you would've been alive maybe it would've been easier, but I am so sorry, Dad. I know you would've been so disappoi-," but Dean's voice was cut off as John spoke up.
"No, Dean. No. Now that's enough now," his familiar tones drawled through the older Winchester boy's ear and Dean felt like he could just dissolve right there in his father's arms. "You've got nothing to be sorry for," his voice soft and filled with understanding as a giant hand came up to rest roughly on his son's back for a brief moment. John pulled away from Dean and held his son by the shoulders to stare into his tear-filled, green eyes. "Absolutely nothing," he smiled reassuringly to his oldest before releasing his boy and turning toward the younger one. Dean pulled gently away and stepped back to get a grip on himself. He blinked back tears as he watched his father move toward Sam who was looking more and more guilty by the moment and more like he would crumble at his feet if John didn't grab him soon.
"Sammy," John spoke just as tenderly as he'd done with Dean, moving toward his boy and reaching one hand out to grasp Sam's shoulder.
"Dad," Sam's voice trembled and before he could break into a pile of inconsolable Sam, he lunged gently for his father, and John equally moved forward, taking the trembling boy into his arms, holding him tight. Sam's arms went tight around his father just as Dean's had, and his face went straight for John's shoulder as tremors took over the younger Winchester's entire frame. "I'm so sorry, Dad," the youngest reiterated his older brother. "For everything," he found himself apologizing for a second time tonight. "I did so many bad things. I let you down. I hurt Dean, I hurt Mom, I hurt Jess, I hurt the world," the guilt so evident in his voice that it made Dean tremble. "I hurt so many people. I hurt Bobby. I shouldn't-I can't-I don't-you shouldn't-," Sam's stammering voice broke as John quieted his younger son by lifting a hand to rest easily on the back of his head and he held him tight. "It's not your fault, son. You didnt know. You couldn't help it. It was never asked of you to just leave your soul behind. Don't blame yourself."
"B-but I messed up, Dad," Sam insisted, his voice muffled from his father's jacket. "Shouldn't...shouldn't I...shouldn't you-," but once more John cut his son off.
"That's enough now, Sam. Enough now. No more of this," the hunter insisted. "All that matters now is that you're back to normal and you're safe and you're alive."
Dean cleared his throat, rubbing a hand down his mouth and chin, as Sam lifted his face, which was now wet, and John just smiled at him, not seeming to mind the dampness that had appeared on his shoulder. Sam shuffled away from his father, keeping his head lowered and scrubbing his face with one hand, trying not to look at either one of his family members. He gave a soft sniff. Dean had raised a hand to clap comfortingly on his kid brother's shoulder and gave it a tentative squeeze, the big brother comforting instinct kicked in.
"So, Dad, what brings you by?" Dean asked, trying to turn the conversation more lighthearted.
"What, your angel didn't come and visit you? Didn't tell you I'd be stopping by tonight?" John responded jokingly with a chuckle behind his words.
At that, Sam lifted his head a fraction more and raised red-rimmed eyes at his father. "You know about Cas?" he inquired, voice still sounding strained.
"Well yeah. I think anybody who knows you boys upstairs knows about Cas," John replied with a nod. "So, he didn't tell you?"
"Nah, he pulled off this big Christmas Carol thing or whatever," Dean responded with an eyeroll. "The whole three spirits visiting, blah blah blah. We just...had no idea it'd be you," the older Winchester added on. "So, Cas knows who's going to be coming to see us? Man that son of a bitch. I'd like to ask him what the hell his problem is not telling us who it'd be. I'll bet you anything he damn well knows who's gonna visit us next too," Dean snarled, looking over at his brother, hoping for a reaction, but poor Sam looked as if he were trying to make himself as small as he possibly could get while standing. The guilt and the shame were so evident in his eyes that it nearly broke Dean's heart. It'd been awhile since he'd seen his brother like that, but he chose to blow it off. Sam would have to feel his guilt later. They had other things to concern themselves with at the moment. Like where John was going to be taking them.
"So, you're here to show us what's going on now in the present, right Dad?" Sam asked, finally looking up at his father, his voice canceling out the silence in the room.
"That's right, Sammy. I'm here to show you boys that while you have made mistakes in your life, you need to understand something. You need to know that neither of you owe anybody any apologies. You've more than redeemed yourselves for anything that's happened and then some." John moved forward and rested a large hand on one shoulder of each of his boys. "You both are only human. Human beings make mistakes, make wrong decisions, but we only grow and learn from those. I want you boys to stop hanging onto those past mistakes and learn to forgive yourselves. Move on." Both of the brothers shot their father with looks that said they didn't deserve to be forgiven for anything, and before either could say a word, John was shaking his head. "I'm going to take you and show you why you shouldn't feel the way that you do. Why you two should feel good about yourselves."
John's hands squeezed his boys' shoulders, and still holding onto Dean's, John removed a hand from Sam's, raised it and snapped his fingers. They were flashing out of the motel room faster than they could say 'what.' One moment, they were in the room, and the next they found themselves inside of a brightly-lit kitchen that they did not recognize. This trip had been significantly different from the one Jessica had taken them on. With her they'd been engulfed in a brilliant, white, and warm light. With John, he just snapped his fingers and it was like an instant teleport. No sensations of flying or soaring and no harsh landing. Sam couldn't help but wonder if that had just been Jessica's humor and trademark playfulness flitting through, when his eyes caught the sight of where they were. Sam tilted his head slightly, eyes blinking and narrowing in curiosity.
There was a little girl with curly, dark brown hair down her back. She had a bright red ribbon in her hair and was still wearing her red and white Christmas dress. She was squealing happily at the kitchen table, clapping her tiny hands. She looked to be no older than maybe 5 or 6 years old. Her mother had one of the many kitchen cabinets opened, and she was pulling out a plate decorated around the edges with images of holly and in the middle of it a giant, rosy-cheeked, smiling face of Father Christmas himself. In the center of the kitchen table sat a massive plate of decorated, Christmas sugar cookies. Some had either red or green frosting smoothed over them and some decorated with Christmas colored sprinkles or both. Dean found his mouth watering at the sight and wished he could put a hand out and snatch one. The boys realized that they weren't being seen as they stood in the kitchen with their father while the mother flitted around and the girl chattered happily.
"Okay, Mommy! How many cookies do you think we should leave Santa?" she asked eagerly, staring down at the plate.
"Well, sweetie, I think Santa is going to be very hungry when he gets here, so how about we leave him one of each? Santa works hard flying around the world all night long to deliver all those presents to all the kids, remember?" Her mother replied, running a hand through her daughter's long curls.
"Yes, of course Mommy!" the little girl just replied readily as her mother set the plate down on the table. "Okay! One of each!" She gently gathered a red icing-covered cookie, a green icing one, one with sprinkles and one with both and laid them out as she saw fit for Santa on the plate. "Four cookies. That's a lot of cookies!"
Her mother just laughed. "Well, you know how big Santa Clause is! It's because he eats all those cookies every year!" She helped her daughter off the chair while the little girl carefully held the plate in her hands. "Your daddy is waiting in the living room. He'll show you were to leave the cookies so Santa won't miss. Then we'll be up to help you get ready for bed and tuck you in, okay?"
"Okay!" the young one replied enthusiastically. "Don't forget the glass of milk, Mommy!" She called over her shoulder as she slowly and carefully made her way into the living room, holding the plate as if it were the most fragile thing in the world, and she could not drop it no matter what.
"Of course!" the mother responded, a gentle and playful hand slapped against her forehead in mock surprise. "How could I forget! Coming right up, Rosey!"
"Rosey...," Sam said softly to himself as he and Dean watched the mother walking to the fridge and pouring a giant glass of milk. She began walking out of the kitchen and John beckoned his sons to follow. "Dad? Is all of this happening right now?" Sam questioned as the brothers followed John.
"Yes, Sam. It is. This is literally the present. We're in real time here. They just can't see, hear or feel us," he explained to his sons. Dean just stared on, his green eyes widened. He and Sam exchanged glances as though they'd seen these people before, but remained quiet.
They found themselves in the living room of this family's home; a gentle fire was crackling in the fireplace and a brilliantly large, lit up, twinkling Christmas tree stood near it. Tinsel hung just right from the top of the fireplace mantle. Decorated across the top of the mantle where handmade, Christmas mantle pieces. On the other side of it was a small table where the plate of cookies sat. Rosey was sitting up on her father's lap, who was seated in a rocking chair nearby, and was holding a red crayon in her hand while her father was helping her write a note.
"You write this to Santa and you leave it under his glass of milk and he'll see that those are for him and how thoughtful you were being by leaving him a letter," her dad explained as he held his hand over hers to help her write. "And when you wake up in the morning, your stocking will be filled," he pointed to a red stocking cheerfully decorated with images of Santa Clause, the reindeer, his sleigh and more holly that hung along with the tinsel on the mantle. "And presents will be stacked under the tree!" he told her eagerly, giving her small shoulders a loving squeeze.
"All done, Daddy!" she told him excitedly as she hopped off of her father's lap and scurried over to the table where the plate of cookies and now glass of milk sat as the mother folded her arms and smiled at her family. Rosey carefully slid the letter under the glass of milk.
"Alright now, Rosey, you go on up and get ready for bed," her mother told her, playfully swatting her daughter on her behind. "Daddy and I will be up to tuck you in and read you T'was the Night Before Christmas before you go to sleep, okay?"
"Okay, Mommy!" Rosey responded happily, clapping her hands and singing some made-up song about Santa Clause coming to visit her house tonight as she made her way up the stairs. The father stood up from his chair and made his way over to the mother and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. He looked down at her smiling warmly.
"She sure is excited," he couldn't help but laugh, and soon his wife's laughter chimed in along with his.
"Well, it's Christmas Eve. Little kids all over are excited right now," she pointed out before her eyes met her husband's. "I love you, Charlie," she whispered softly.
"I love you too, Monica. Merry Christmas," he told her gently, before the couple's lips touched in a chaste, gentle kiss.
"Now, let's go make sure Rosey is getting out of that dress okay and into her PJs," she told him with another laugh and the two left the living room to begin making their way up the stairs and to their daughter.
"Monica!" Sam exclaimed softly turning toward his father with wide, hazel eyes. "Dad this isn't-,"
"The same Monica, Charlie and Rosey that you boys saved from the yellow-eyed demon that night I was captured?" John finished for Sam.
"Holy sh- you mean...that's the same family we saved from him?" Dean asked in astonishment. "I never would've noticed. I mean I thought they seemed familiar or something."
"Well, Dean, it's not like you can remember what you even ate yesterday," Sam added on with a roll of his eyes. Dean started to retort, opening his mouth wide, but it quickly shut and he folded his arms over his chest and Sam chuckled, quick and short, but it was something.
John just laughed and folded his arms. "Do you guys understand what I'm trying to show you here?"
Sam and Dean exchanged glances once more before looking back at their father.
"I'm trying to show you that because of you two saving this family from that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, they're happy and alive and healthy. They didn't have to go through what we did. Charlie didn't have to lose Monica the way that I lost Mary; the way that you two lost your mother. Rosey was never infected with demon blood the way that you were, Sam," John explained and he looked into his younger son's hazel and shame-filled eyes. Sam lowered his head a fraction. "You know what that family did tonight? They went to a Christmas Eve pagaent at their local church. Rosey stood up with the children's choir and sang for her parents. She even had her own solo. Then they did a nativity scene where Rosey played the Virgin Mary. Boys, these people are alive because of you two. They're going to be adding another addition to their family in their family next year. Monica is going to tell Charlie tomorrow for Christmas that she's pregnant with another baby," the oldest Winchester continued on. "You two save lives daily. Because of you boys, this family can keep going. Rosey is going to grow up to be a big sister. This family has been spared the heartache and the turmoil that we all went through because of you two," John told them, staring intently into both of his sons' eyes, his hands clasped down on their shoulders again. "I have one more I wanna show you. Come on," John told them as he released a hand from Dean's shoulder to snap his fingers again.
This time they found themselves standing in a hospital room. There was a new mother, tired but happy- looking, holding a newborn child in her arms and the baby was making gentle, cooing noises, eyes shut tight. The newborn wore a little blue, softly-knitted cap on his head and was swaddled in blue blankets. The father was sitting on the edge of the bed and his tiny hand was wrapped tightly around his father's large index finger. He opened his large eyes to stare around the room in wonderment before they turned to look up at his mommy. "He has quite the grip for being only a few hours old," laughed the mother and she rested her head on her husband's shoulder. He just laughed along with her, using his free hand to finger some of her hair.
"Merry Christmas, Angie," the father whispered softly, removing his hand from her hair and running it down his wife's face.
"Merry Christmas, Todd," she whispered back and the couple kissed softly, breaking apart before Angie laid her blonde head against her husband's chest while the two stared down at their new, beautiful bundle of joy of happiness and Christmas. "The most amazing Christmas gift we could ever receive," she added with a tired but happy sigh.
"You see that little boy there?" John questioned looking at his sons. "Because of you two killing the yellow-eyed demon, you saved that innocent, small little thing from a terrible fate. A fate like yours, Sammy."
"What?" Sam questioned, his eyes growing wide as he turned his head from the baby and stared at his father, brows furring across his face. "What do you mean?"
"Yeah, Dad. I don't understand. How could somebody go through what all Sam's been through?" Dean questioned, his arms folding across his chest.
"This child was going to be the one who'd be Lucifer's next vessel. If the yellow-eyed demon would've survived, there could've been ways to bring Lucifer back out of the cage, Sam. Even though you threw him back in, he would've found another way to break free. He can't now because you killed that demon. There is nobody else ever again in this world that he can vessel. You two saved that little baby in there from living a life just like your own, Sam," John elucidated. "Because of you, my boys, you've saved more people than I can even count. Yes, I understand you may have killed some innocents. Killing demons with the knife, the bodies die. Sam, when you killed innocents when you had no soul, you had no instinct, you had no moral center. You were just doing the job that I taught you to do. No hold's barred."
Sam dropped his head, his long hair shadowing his eyes, shoved his hands into his jeans' pockets and slumped his shoulders. He attempted to turn from John and Dean, but John approached his youngest and placed both hands gingerly on his shoulders, turning him back to face him.
"You can't be held accountable for the things you were doing that you didn't even understand, Sam. You didn't have a soul to guide you. Dean, you can't be held accountable for killing people with a demon knife or the colt or hell, just even exorcising. A lot of those people were going to die anyway. You were killing demons. It's okay. You boys aren't evil, you're not bad, and you're certainly not killers," John emphasized the last word, turning to stare heavily into Dean's green eyes. "You are hunters. You hunt evil and you kill evil and save many many innocent lives by doing so. Don't you understand? There are people out there who need people like us. Me? I can't do it anymore for obvious reasons, but you two? You are Winchesters, and you are my sons. You two go out there and risk your own lives every single day to rid this world of the evil bastards that stalk it. If it weren't for you, there wouldn't be so many happily families and normal lives out there today because you saved them from being killed by the next evil thing," the oldest Winchester explained, trying to make his boys understand their importance.
Sam and Dean both just stared down at their feet as their father carried on with his lecture. Both had been rendered speechless by John's words. Never had they heard their father talking like this. Never had they heard anybody really tell them or show them that because of them, they had saved so many lives and protected so many people and made so many happy families.
"Boys, maybe we all couldn't have the happy, normal family that we deserved, but at least then and now, you brothers can still make it so that other people can. You're my sons, and I am so proud of you both," John told them as the brothers lifted their heads in unison to stare into their father's dark eyes, shining with pride over his children. He raised a hand to each of them and cupped each one of their faces roughly in his hands before smiling again once more at his boys, snapping his fingers and they disappeared from the hospital room.
The Winchester brothers found themselves back in their motel room, standing in front of their beds but no trace of John there.
"Dad?" Dean called out, looking around the room. "Dad!"
"Looks like he's gone now too," Sam pointed out as he slowly sat down on the end of his bed. "Man...," Sam murmured. "That was just...," he couldn't even think of a word to describe what he and his brother had just been through.
Dean followed Sam, sitting down on the end of his bed. "Well, I guess Cas wasn't kidding, was he?" the older Winchester questioned nobody in particular. He was more talking to himself. "Maybe we did need some kind of reality check. Especially you," he added, inclining his head toward his younger brother.
"Dean-," Sam began with a sigh, but stopped as his older brother held a hand up shaking his head, signaling he didn't want to hear Sam's protests.
"I'm just saying is all," Dean responded. "So, maybe we should hang out and try not to fall asleep? The next one should be coming around anytime now, right?" He gazed over at the digital clock on the nightstand. It read 10pm. They'd only been gone for an hour.
"The next one would be Ghost of Christmas Future, Dean. If you remember the story at all, the Ghost of Christmas Future wasn't exactly a pleasant ride," Sam pointed out. "We should probably prepare ourselves for the worst."
"Pfft, why do you always have to be a Negative Nancy?" Dean grumbled as he laid back on his bed, head dipping into his pillows, though taking a moment to grab one and throw it at Sam. Sam caught it before the pillow could hit him in the face and he threw it back at Dean. Dean just chuckled and tucked it under his head along with his pile of other pillows. "Eh screw it. I'm going to sleep. I guess the next one will wake me up when it's gets here," the older Winchester grunted as he placed his arms comfortably behind his head once more and crossed one foot over the other. He let out a big sigh and closed his eyes, actually looking content as he dozed off for once.
Sam just shook his head, amused by his older brother and lay back as well. Feeling his own eyes growing heavy he rolled over onto his side and dozed off into a fitful sleep, wary of what this last ghost was going to bring them.