fic: In Excelsis Deo (Supernatural; Sam and Dean; pg)
In Excelsis Deo
Supernatural; Sam and Dean; pg; spoilers for 3.08; 1410 words
Nothing says love like a fleecy hoodie.
For luzdeestrellas. In lieu of a fleecy hoodie. Thanks to merryish for encouragement, harriet_spy for brainstorming, and mousapelli for looking it over. For the West Wing title project.
~*~
In Excelsis Deo
After he drops Sam off at the library, Dean goes to Wal-Mart, just like he said he was going to, but in addition to the extra salt and ammo (and socks; Sam really needs to start cutting his toenails regularly), he grabs a handful of Christmas decorations from what's left of the picked over selection--stupid looking Santas and drunk looking reindeer, some chili pepper lights, and some silver garland he can loop around the tree he's planning to pick up from the nursery on the way out.
The store is crowded--it's Christmas Eve, and he's not the only last minute shopper desperately trying to find something festive that doesn't look like complete crap, and he has to count to ten in the candy aisle, where he takes the last box of candy canes away from an old guy in a Santa suit who smells like cheap booze, and gives them to this kid with floppy hair who kind of reminds him of Sam, because he's never liked them that much anyway, and the kid looks pretty anxious. He doesn't let the mean lady with the reindeer sweater get the last blinky lights star tree-topper, though. He might be indulging the sap a little this year, but he's not sticking a freaking doll on the top of his tree, even if it's supposed to be an angel. It's wearing a freaking gown, ferchrissakes.
In an unscheduled detour into the men's section, he picks out a dark green fleece hoodie in what he hopes is Sam's size, the ginormous bastard, and lays it on top of the stuff in his cart. He can't remember the last time he bought Sam a present, something he actually wanted, instead of something like socks or ammo or beer. Last year doesn't count, he thinks, though last year meant everything; Sam gave him the perfect gift, and he'd reciprocated with skin mags and a can of shaving cream, handed over his own shopping to cover being caught without gifts even though he'd made the whole Christmas suggestion in the first place. Sam had laughed and said it was fine, but Dean wants to make it up to him.
He knows what Sam's given up to stay with him, what he gave up to get Dean out of hell, and he knows he can never repay it--knows Sam doesn't even want him to, knows all debts between them are long-canceled--but he figures it'd be kind of nice to start a family tradition that doesn't end in fire or bloodshed.
He stops off and gets wrapping paper, too, grins and shrugs ruefully at the harried young mother with a baby on her hip as he tosses the Santa-covered stuff into the cart. If he's doing it, he might as well do it up right.
The little tree he picks out isn't quite pathetic enough to qualify as a Charlie Brown tree, but it's small and kind of lonely looking, which makes him feel bad for it before he reminds himself it's a tree and it's been dead since sometime in November when they chopped it down, and either way, it doesn't have feelings, because it's a freaking tree. And more importantly, it'll fit perfectly on top of the desk in the motel room. He hefts it with one hand, grabs his bag of supplies with the other, and heads out to the parking lot.
He pays for it all with cash, despite the brand new credit card burning a hole in his wallet. Sam would be proud, if Dean ever actually told him about it.
On the way back to the motel, he swings by the nearest liquor store and picks up a few six-packs of Molson, a carton of eggnog, since Sam seems to like the stuff so much, and bottle of rum to mix it with.
He's humming "Deck the Halls," when he gets back to the motel, mumbling made-up and ridiculously dirty lyrics under his breath, and planning half a dozen ways to make the yuletide gay. He's cradling the tree in one arm and his bag of stuff in the other, singing changing to cursing as the pine needles poke at his wrist (possibly there will be some bloodshed after all, he thinks), and it takes him a couple of seconds to get the door unlocked.
It swings open to reveal Sam, in the middle of decorating his own tree, which is standing in the spot Dean had meant to put the tree currently embedding its needles in his skin.
Sam stares at him in surprise. "You're supposed to be shopping," he says at the same time Dean blurts out, "Why aren't you at the library?"
Dean feels the tips of his ears burning as he lets the door swing shut behind him and holds up the Christmas tree.
Sam starts laughing, and Dean has to join him, because it's so ridiculous. "This is like that story you like so much," he says, "with the hair and the watch."
"You didn't do anything stupid, did you?" Sam asks, and Dean can hear the current of seriousness beneath the amusement in his voice. "Hock anything you shouldn't have?"
"Nope. Not even a one on the scale of Winchester stupidity," Dean answers, setting his tree down on the desk next to Sam's. He drops his bags on the floor next to the bed and pulls out the decorations he bought. "Though possibly a minus five on the scale of Winchester manliness."
Sam looks at chili pepper lights, the ridiculous Santa and drunk reindeer ornaments, and starts laughing again. "They're very...you, Dean."
Dean looks at the plain red balls and red and green plaid bows hanging on Sam's tree and says, "Shut up, Martha." He grabs the blinky lights star tree-topper and pulls it out of the box. "At least I didn't forget the star for the top of the tree." He fits it over the tip of the topmost branch and plugs it into the string of twinkly lights Sam's got draped around the little tree; he lets out an, "Ah!" of triumph when it lights, tinsel sparkling and bulbs blinking.
Sam grins goofily as the lights flicker over his face, reminding Dean of the laser shows he'd gone to as a teenager, and he grins back, pleased.
They decorate Dean's tree, too, with the strings of chili pepper lights, and the silver garland, and Sam rinses out one of the foil containers from last night's takeout and cuts a star out of it.
While he's doing his arts and crafts, Dean goes into the bathroom and wraps the hoodie, cursing because he forgot scotch tape and has to use duct tape instead.
"It's festive," he says when he sees the expression on Sam's face.
"I didn't say anything," Sam protests, laughing. "I think it's great."
"Damn straight." He hands Sam the package, and Sam sets it to the side and pulls out his laptop.
"I didn't know what to get you this year, so I thought you might like this," he says, bringing up the file manager and opening a folder with Dean's name on it to show a list of .avi files.
"Batman: The Animated Series? Seriously?" Dean feels like his smile can't get any wider.
"Seriously. It's the whole series, too," Sam says. "I remember how much you loved it when we were kids, and I found a torrent."
"Thanks, Sammy." He reaches out to ruffle Sam's hair and Sam lets him, smiles back at him like he just got the best present ever, even though he hasn't even opened it yet. "Well?" he says, nodding towards the Santa-paper-and-duct-tape wrapped package.
Sam rips the paper neatly and holds up the hoodie, which looks like it might just fit him. He rubs a hand along the soft fleece, and then pulls it on. His hair is standing on end from the static, but his smile is wide, lighting up his whole face as he smoothes the hoodie down over his chest. "Dean, it's awesome. And it fits."
"Maybe now you won't be cold all the time," Dean says gruffly, but he can't stop smiling either. "Merry Christmas, Sammy." He pops open two beers using his ring, and hands one to Sam so they can clink bottles.
"Merry Christmas, Dean."
Dean takes a sip of beer and thinks, yeah, maybe they can get this Christmas thing right after all.
end
~*~
12/25/07
~*~
Feedback is adored.
Running out the door now to family breakfast at Dom's. Back with yuletide squee later. Happy Christmas!
~*~
Supernatural; Sam and Dean; pg; spoilers for 3.08; 1410 words
Nothing says love like a fleecy hoodie.
For luzdeestrellas. In lieu of a fleecy hoodie. Thanks to merryish for encouragement, harriet_spy for brainstorming, and mousapelli for looking it over. For the West Wing title project.
~*~
In Excelsis Deo
After he drops Sam off at the library, Dean goes to Wal-Mart, just like he said he was going to, but in addition to the extra salt and ammo (and socks; Sam really needs to start cutting his toenails regularly), he grabs a handful of Christmas decorations from what's left of the picked over selection--stupid looking Santas and drunk looking reindeer, some chili pepper lights, and some silver garland he can loop around the tree he's planning to pick up from the nursery on the way out.
The store is crowded--it's Christmas Eve, and he's not the only last minute shopper desperately trying to find something festive that doesn't look like complete crap, and he has to count to ten in the candy aisle, where he takes the last box of candy canes away from an old guy in a Santa suit who smells like cheap booze, and gives them to this kid with floppy hair who kind of reminds him of Sam, because he's never liked them that much anyway, and the kid looks pretty anxious. He doesn't let the mean lady with the reindeer sweater get the last blinky lights star tree-topper, though. He might be indulging the sap a little this year, but he's not sticking a freaking doll on the top of his tree, even if it's supposed to be an angel. It's wearing a freaking gown, ferchrissakes.
In an unscheduled detour into the men's section, he picks out a dark green fleece hoodie in what he hopes is Sam's size, the ginormous bastard, and lays it on top of the stuff in his cart. He can't remember the last time he bought Sam a present, something he actually wanted, instead of something like socks or ammo or beer. Last year doesn't count, he thinks, though last year meant everything; Sam gave him the perfect gift, and he'd reciprocated with skin mags and a can of shaving cream, handed over his own shopping to cover being caught without gifts even though he'd made the whole Christmas suggestion in the first place. Sam had laughed and said it was fine, but Dean wants to make it up to him.
He knows what Sam's given up to stay with him, what he gave up to get Dean out of hell, and he knows he can never repay it--knows Sam doesn't even want him to, knows all debts between them are long-canceled--but he figures it'd be kind of nice to start a family tradition that doesn't end in fire or bloodshed.
He stops off and gets wrapping paper, too, grins and shrugs ruefully at the harried young mother with a baby on her hip as he tosses the Santa-covered stuff into the cart. If he's doing it, he might as well do it up right.
The little tree he picks out isn't quite pathetic enough to qualify as a Charlie Brown tree, but it's small and kind of lonely looking, which makes him feel bad for it before he reminds himself it's a tree and it's been dead since sometime in November when they chopped it down, and either way, it doesn't have feelings, because it's a freaking tree. And more importantly, it'll fit perfectly on top of the desk in the motel room. He hefts it with one hand, grabs his bag of supplies with the other, and heads out to the parking lot.
He pays for it all with cash, despite the brand new credit card burning a hole in his wallet. Sam would be proud, if Dean ever actually told him about it.
On the way back to the motel, he swings by the nearest liquor store and picks up a few six-packs of Molson, a carton of eggnog, since Sam seems to like the stuff so much, and bottle of rum to mix it with.
He's humming "Deck the Halls," when he gets back to the motel, mumbling made-up and ridiculously dirty lyrics under his breath, and planning half a dozen ways to make the yuletide gay. He's cradling the tree in one arm and his bag of stuff in the other, singing changing to cursing as the pine needles poke at his wrist (possibly there will be some bloodshed after all, he thinks), and it takes him a couple of seconds to get the door unlocked.
It swings open to reveal Sam, in the middle of decorating his own tree, which is standing in the spot Dean had meant to put the tree currently embedding its needles in his skin.
Sam stares at him in surprise. "You're supposed to be shopping," he says at the same time Dean blurts out, "Why aren't you at the library?"
Dean feels the tips of his ears burning as he lets the door swing shut behind him and holds up the Christmas tree.
Sam starts laughing, and Dean has to join him, because it's so ridiculous. "This is like that story you like so much," he says, "with the hair and the watch."
"You didn't do anything stupid, did you?" Sam asks, and Dean can hear the current of seriousness beneath the amusement in his voice. "Hock anything you shouldn't have?"
"Nope. Not even a one on the scale of Winchester stupidity," Dean answers, setting his tree down on the desk next to Sam's. He drops his bags on the floor next to the bed and pulls out the decorations he bought. "Though possibly a minus five on the scale of Winchester manliness."
Sam looks at chili pepper lights, the ridiculous Santa and drunk reindeer ornaments, and starts laughing again. "They're very...you, Dean."
Dean looks at the plain red balls and red and green plaid bows hanging on Sam's tree and says, "Shut up, Martha." He grabs the blinky lights star tree-topper and pulls it out of the box. "At least I didn't forget the star for the top of the tree." He fits it over the tip of the topmost branch and plugs it into the string of twinkly lights Sam's got draped around the little tree; he lets out an, "Ah!" of triumph when it lights, tinsel sparkling and bulbs blinking.
Sam grins goofily as the lights flicker over his face, reminding Dean of the laser shows he'd gone to as a teenager, and he grins back, pleased.
They decorate Dean's tree, too, with the strings of chili pepper lights, and the silver garland, and Sam rinses out one of the foil containers from last night's takeout and cuts a star out of it.
While he's doing his arts and crafts, Dean goes into the bathroom and wraps the hoodie, cursing because he forgot scotch tape and has to use duct tape instead.
"It's festive," he says when he sees the expression on Sam's face.
"I didn't say anything," Sam protests, laughing. "I think it's great."
"Damn straight." He hands Sam the package, and Sam sets it to the side and pulls out his laptop.
"I didn't know what to get you this year, so I thought you might like this," he says, bringing up the file manager and opening a folder with Dean's name on it to show a list of .avi files.
"Batman: The Animated Series? Seriously?" Dean feels like his smile can't get any wider.
"Seriously. It's the whole series, too," Sam says. "I remember how much you loved it when we were kids, and I found a torrent."
"Thanks, Sammy." He reaches out to ruffle Sam's hair and Sam lets him, smiles back at him like he just got the best present ever, even though he hasn't even opened it yet. "Well?" he says, nodding towards the Santa-paper-and-duct-tape wrapped package.
Sam rips the paper neatly and holds up the hoodie, which looks like it might just fit him. He rubs a hand along the soft fleece, and then pulls it on. His hair is standing on end from the static, but his smile is wide, lighting up his whole face as he smoothes the hoodie down over his chest. "Dean, it's awesome. And it fits."
"Maybe now you won't be cold all the time," Dean says gruffly, but he can't stop smiling either. "Merry Christmas, Sammy." He pops open two beers using his ring, and hands one to Sam so they can clink bottles.
"Merry Christmas, Dean."
Dean takes a sip of beer and thinks, yeah, maybe they can get this Christmas thing right after all.
end
~*~
12/25/07
~*~
Feedback is adored.
Running out the door now to family breakfast at Dom's. Back with yuletide squee later. Happy Christmas!
~*~