fic: the most wonderful time of the year [christmas fic #3!]
title: the most wonderful time of the year
rating: g
characters: dean, sam, way too many christmas lights, bobby as an off-screen plot device.
summary: He's got his hands full of stockings and a Santa hat on his head before you can even blink.
notes: 1034 words. for lesson_in_love who asked for some Dean falling in love with Christmas decorations and shit and Sam just being like, o____O I'm fond of how this turned out, I hope you are as well! Merry Christmas!
You knew shopping at Wal-mart was a bad idea, what with the holiday traffic and the simple fact that's it's Wal-mart and not generic general store number fifty-four, but you were more worried about the impala getting dented or running into people you don't need to see, not your brother gripping your hand so tight it becomes numb as he pulls you around the store. "Dean."
He's finally managed to pull you into the lawn and garden section, or this time of year, the Christmas section, and he's got his hands full of stockings and a Santa hat on his head before you can even blink. "WHAT, come on, Sam, I've never been Christmas shopping before. There are all these cool lights. I mean, LOOK AT THESE." He holds up a 500 count box of multicolor lights shaped like snowflakes and shakes them around.
You have to admit multicolor snowflakes do sound rather cool, but that's not the point. "We came for razorblades and motor oil, Dean. Hardly Christmas shopping."
"You know, while we're staying with Bobby -"
"No, Dean." There hasn't been a good hunt in a couple of weeks and Bobby came down with a bad flu so you'd both decided to spend the holidays taking care of his place, while all the while he grumbles at you like a regular Scrooge that he doesn't need looked after and you should be well on your way. But you're all getting older and it's nice to take a moment and settle down. At least, it is to you. Dean didn't seem to care one way or another until faced with the prospect of shiny glowing lights.
"But he's got the house and the yard. We could decorate the cars, Sam!"
There's no way you can refrain from rolling your eyes. "Would you put lights on the impala?"
Dean makes a disgusted face just like you thought he would and you can feel the laughter bubbling up inside. "Hell no, that's tacky." Still clenching your hand too tight, he pulls you to the next aisle, the one full of wreaths and yard decorations. There's a bullfrog wearing a Santa hat next to a flamingo with antlers and you wonder if it's even possible to get anymore tacky then decide you don't really want to know the answer. Dean rambles on like a little kid. "Oh, that reminds me though, last week when we were in Oklahoma I found the Skynyrd Christmas album on one of those 99 cent racks at the gas station. Gotta remember to pop that in."
Christmas music. Dean hates Christmas music, bitches about it every year when he's pumping gas and it's playing on the radio, when you're walking down the main street of some small town and it's playing on the speakers, when you swing into a Walgreens to replenish your first aid kit. He always complains about how 'it all sounds the same' and how it's incredibly cheesy. And now he's standing in front of you with enough Christmas cheer for three people. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
Dean sets down the 'Santa stops here' sign he'd been longingly gazing at and finally lets go of your hand as he turns to you and the look on his face suddenly makes you feel like you've kicked a puppy. "It's Christmas, Sam, and the world hasn't ended, I'm not in hell, you're not in hell, we both have souls, two arms, two legs, most of our sanity and a car to call home. Shit will probably hit the fan next week, but come on, when's the last time we had cause to celebrate?"
He has a point, though you're not sure you should tell him as such, already picturing him buying evergreen candles and baking pumpkin pie in Bobby's ancient oven. He's staring at you expectantly and you realize he actually expects a response to the question, so you concede, "It has been awhile." His face brightens like he knows he's won, and you realize it's true, the list of cons is shrinking while the list of pros grows with every mischievous twinkle in Dean's eyes. You can't just easily give in, though. "You know Bobby'll hate anything you do to the place. I can't ever remember even seeing so much as a bow around his house."
Dean isn't phased at all. "Ah, I'll just mock him endlessly for his too-small heart and call him Scrooge to his face if I have to. He'll deal with my madness." He grabs your hand again and starts pulling you aisle through aisle, handing you things to carry when his arm gets too full. "We need a cart."
You mumble, "Emphasis on the madness part," but don't let go of his hand as he pulls you to the front of the store, grabs a cart, and then pulls you back into lawn and garden. You sincerely hope he doesn't notice the giant blow-up Santas on the shelf above the shelves and shelves of lights, about five boxes of which end up in your cart, along with two wreathes, three stockings, and reindeer antlers that blink. You're afraid to know what Dean plans to do with those.
The cart's full before you know it, way more decor than you need or can probably afford tossed in, but Dean still doesn't seem satisfied, and it hits you like a sledgehammer the reason why, and it becomes your turn to drag him through the aisles until you find the one full of garland and tree toppers. You pull one of the angels off the shelf and say, "It doesn't even look like Cas," and Dean's looking at you expectantly, wondering where you're going with this and suddenly it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders again and you just want your brother happy, want him smiling like a child all the time, so you smile and take a breath and plunge right into the world of Christmas decorating with him as you say, "We should get a tree!"
The smile he gives you in return is brighter than any strand of lights could ever be.
rating: g
characters: dean, sam, way too many christmas lights, bobby as an off-screen plot device.
summary: He's got his hands full of stockings and a Santa hat on his head before you can even blink.
notes: 1034 words. for lesson_in_love who asked for some Dean falling in love with Christmas decorations and shit and Sam just being like, o____O I'm fond of how this turned out, I hope you are as well! Merry Christmas!
You knew shopping at Wal-mart was a bad idea, what with the holiday traffic and the simple fact that's it's Wal-mart and not generic general store number fifty-four, but you were more worried about the impala getting dented or running into people you don't need to see, not your brother gripping your hand so tight it becomes numb as he pulls you around the store. "Dean."
He's finally managed to pull you into the lawn and garden section, or this time of year, the Christmas section, and he's got his hands full of stockings and a Santa hat on his head before you can even blink. "WHAT, come on, Sam, I've never been Christmas shopping before. There are all these cool lights. I mean, LOOK AT THESE." He holds up a 500 count box of multicolor lights shaped like snowflakes and shakes them around.
You have to admit multicolor snowflakes do sound rather cool, but that's not the point. "We came for razorblades and motor oil, Dean. Hardly Christmas shopping."
"You know, while we're staying with Bobby -"
"No, Dean." There hasn't been a good hunt in a couple of weeks and Bobby came down with a bad flu so you'd both decided to spend the holidays taking care of his place, while all the while he grumbles at you like a regular Scrooge that he doesn't need looked after and you should be well on your way. But you're all getting older and it's nice to take a moment and settle down. At least, it is to you. Dean didn't seem to care one way or another until faced with the prospect of shiny glowing lights.
"But he's got the house and the yard. We could decorate the cars, Sam!"
There's no way you can refrain from rolling your eyes. "Would you put lights on the impala?"
Dean makes a disgusted face just like you thought he would and you can feel the laughter bubbling up inside. "Hell no, that's tacky." Still clenching your hand too tight, he pulls you to the next aisle, the one full of wreaths and yard decorations. There's a bullfrog wearing a Santa hat next to a flamingo with antlers and you wonder if it's even possible to get anymore tacky then decide you don't really want to know the answer. Dean rambles on like a little kid. "Oh, that reminds me though, last week when we were in Oklahoma I found the Skynyrd Christmas album on one of those 99 cent racks at the gas station. Gotta remember to pop that in."
Christmas music. Dean hates Christmas music, bitches about it every year when he's pumping gas and it's playing on the radio, when you're walking down the main street of some small town and it's playing on the speakers, when you swing into a Walgreens to replenish your first aid kit. He always complains about how 'it all sounds the same' and how it's incredibly cheesy. And now he's standing in front of you with enough Christmas cheer for three people. "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?"
Dean sets down the 'Santa stops here' sign he'd been longingly gazing at and finally lets go of your hand as he turns to you and the look on his face suddenly makes you feel like you've kicked a puppy. "It's Christmas, Sam, and the world hasn't ended, I'm not in hell, you're not in hell, we both have souls, two arms, two legs, most of our sanity and a car to call home. Shit will probably hit the fan next week, but come on, when's the last time we had cause to celebrate?"
He has a point, though you're not sure you should tell him as such, already picturing him buying evergreen candles and baking pumpkin pie in Bobby's ancient oven. He's staring at you expectantly and you realize he actually expects a response to the question, so you concede, "It has been awhile." His face brightens like he knows he's won, and you realize it's true, the list of cons is shrinking while the list of pros grows with every mischievous twinkle in Dean's eyes. You can't just easily give in, though. "You know Bobby'll hate anything you do to the place. I can't ever remember even seeing so much as a bow around his house."
Dean isn't phased at all. "Ah, I'll just mock him endlessly for his too-small heart and call him Scrooge to his face if I have to. He'll deal with my madness." He grabs your hand again and starts pulling you aisle through aisle, handing you things to carry when his arm gets too full. "We need a cart."
You mumble, "Emphasis on the madness part," but don't let go of his hand as he pulls you to the front of the store, grabs a cart, and then pulls you back into lawn and garden. You sincerely hope he doesn't notice the giant blow-up Santas on the shelf above the shelves and shelves of lights, about five boxes of which end up in your cart, along with two wreathes, three stockings, and reindeer antlers that blink. You're afraid to know what Dean plans to do with those.
The cart's full before you know it, way more decor than you need or can probably afford tossed in, but Dean still doesn't seem satisfied, and it hits you like a sledgehammer the reason why, and it becomes your turn to drag him through the aisles until you find the one full of garland and tree toppers. You pull one of the angels off the shelf and say, "It doesn't even look like Cas," and Dean's looking at you expectantly, wondering where you're going with this and suddenly it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders again and you just want your brother happy, want him smiling like a child all the time, so you smile and take a breath and plunge right into the world of Christmas decorating with him as you say, "We should get a tree!"
The smile he gives you in return is brighter than any strand of lights could ever be.