New Year, New Fic
First fic of 2008, this is a belated Christmas present for
buffyaddict13
Salvaged from the Christmas wrapping trash by
kimonkey7 who fixed it up with better words and a shiny new icon. I owe you big time.
pg for language. Spoilers for 3.08 and before.
Sapphires in his Eyes
Sam hung up the cell, typed the pertinent information into his laptop, then locked the file and closed his computer. There is a book in a private collection in South Bend, Indiana, a book with a couple of chapters on making and breaking deals with demons--that may have info he needs on saving his brother. He’s found a case that will take him and his brother there, without Dean being any the wiser, because Dean has forbidden Sam to work on breaking the deal. But that hasn’t stopped Sam from continuing his research behind his brother’s back.
He looks around the hotel room, decorated with a stolen Christmas tree, “borrowed” lights, and liberated tinsel, and decides that he’s not going to get through this night without eggnog. Heavily spiked eggnog. He shrugs on his coat, and heads out into the cold, secure in the knowledge that his brother is going to be mightily surprised.
Sam Winchester is not what he seems. Looking at his innocent, sincere face, you wouldn’t guess that he’s really a sneaky, duplicitous sonofabitch, and that he keeps a secret like nobody’s business, which, usually, it isn’t. He lies easily, comfortably, even.
His classmates in the various high schools he attended were convinced that he was the son of a diplomat, son of a dead rock star, son of a Texas rancher. The nephew of the Secretary of Defense. An exchange student from Russia (the accent was priceless). In Cody, Wyoming, he was an athlete who missed making the Olympics in the high jump after blowing out his knee, and at Bloomington High he enrolled as one of only ten known survivors of rabies; his blood used to make a vaccine that saved hundreds of people.
Sam spent his formative years learning how to hide his brains from his dad, his clean socks and underwear from his brother, and his reading material from BOTH of them. He knew how to hide the extra bologna under a head of lettuce, how to flatten the ice cream carton so that it was nearly invisible, how to eat a bag of M&M’s next to his brother without having to share any. He learned not to introduce his dates to his brother, and not to introduce his friends to his father, if he wanted to keep either one.
He knew how to set up a fake postal account, how to apply for a credit card in someone else’s name, how to hotwire a car, how to pick a lock, how to make a Molotov cocktail, and how to make a fake 911 call.
Sam wasn’t always like this. Once, he was just a kid like any other, with a big brother he idolized, and a father who could do no wrong. But things weren’t as they seemed. His father and brother kept secrets from him, to protect him, they said. He was their little mushroom; kept in the dark and fed shit about his father’s job, about what happened to his mother, about all the little quirks his family had. Like a serious infatuation with salt, and a morbid fascination with weapons. And until that Christmas in ’93, he’d been a good little fungus, flourishing under his father and brother’s fraudulent tales. Sam went from innocent to cunning in the span of an evening.
It started with a bit of petty theft. Sam took a page from the Winchester family book of secrets, and swiped his father’s journal. He read it, cover to blood-stained cover. Found out about the salt, about the guns, about the weird Latin books, and why his dad came in sometimes, beat to hell. Worst of all, he found out what had happened to his mother. That scared him more than anything. Because if evil could come into their home and take his mother, then the monsters could be anywhere, and no one was safe.
When Dean came back that Christmas Eve, and Dad still wasn’t home, Sam confronted him and Dean folded. Spilled his guts about the lies and half truths that should have been obvious to Sam, but weren’t. Why would he have reason to doubt his father’s truthfulness? Parents didn’t lie to their children. Except about Santa, or, as in Sam’s case, about everything in his life so far. Now, Sam had every reason in the world to doubt his father.
The final lie, the “I’ll be home for Christmas” lie, was the one that sealed the deal for Sam. He accepted his stolen Christmas presents from Dean, and gave Dean the gift meant for a father he didn’t know at all.
That night, after hours of watching football and basketball games, and a supper of beans and weenies, after Dean fell asleep in front of the TV, Sam sat on his bed and stared at his gifts from “Dad”: Sapphire Barbie. And a glitter wand.
He wanted to throw them away. Wanted to take them back so that the little girl they were meant for would still have a good Christmas. He even walked up the block, looking in the windows of the houses, trying to guess from which one Dean had stolen the gifts, but looking at the decorations and brightly lit trees just made him feel sad. All of those people seemed to have plenty. Plus, he had no idea how to break into a house. Not yet, anyway.
He sat on his bed, eating the Funyuns Dean pretended to pass off as supper yesterday. Twirled the glitter wand through his fingers, getting onion dust on the streamers. He put down the wand, and picked up the Barbie. Stared at the doll through the packaging.
She was pretty. Blonde, like his mom before the monsters got her. Thinking about mom made his chest feel tight, so he thought instead about Chrissie Johnson, who sat in front of him in Mrs. McCann’s class. Her hair was long and shiny like Barbie hair. The doll’s dress was a pretty shade of blue-the color you think of when you say blue is your favorite color. That was sapphire, he guessed. Sam opened the package quietly. Released the doll from her wire-tie bondage. He glanced over to make sure Dean was still sleeping before picking up the Barbie and holding her in his hand. Checked again to see that Dean wasn’t watching, and stroked the blonde hair. He took another quick look at his brother and then carefully, teeth biting his lower lip, lifted Barbie’s dress over her head. She wasn’t wearing underpants. And she had boobs.
Sam’s nose crinkled. He pulled her dress back down, readjusted her lopsided crown. He frowned at the doll. Dean would never let him live it down if he found out. He’d tease him, even worse than he did when he found the valentine from Sarah Jenkins he’d kept in his backpack, long after Valentine’s Day was over. It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t the Transformer he’d hoped for. It was a stolen, second hand gift. But it was his. And he wanted to keep it.
Sam gathered up the doll and wand and the package, dropped them on the floor and kicked them under Dean’s bed, then he brushed his teeth, shook Dean awake, and went to sleep.
At 3 am, on the day AFTER Christmas, Sam finally heard his father’s key in the lock. He lay still, pretending to be asleep as his Dad stood over him and adjusted his covers. He heard Dean get out of bed, and listened quietly as the two of them discussed what had kept John away. Something called a Wendigo. He heard Dean and his father discuss the “Santa thing” as Dean called it, and heard the resounding thwap to Dean’s skull when his dad found out about his son’s petty larceny.
“Well, at least we don’t have to pretend there’s a Santa anymore,” his father said. Then they said their goodnights, turned out the lights, and went to bed.
Once he heard his father’s quiet buzz and brother’s breathy snores begin their nightly waltz, Sam quietly slipped out of bed, retrieved the Barbie and the wand from under Dean’s bed. He held up the doll, let the light from the streetlamp outside shine on her crown, and spray blue light around the room.
The world was full of monsters. His father wasn’t who he thought he was. Santa wasn’t real. But Sapphire Barbie was. She was real, and she was true and he knew everthing about her. He put the wand under his pillow, tucked the Barbie into the crook of his arm, and fell fast asleep.
***
"By the Power of Sapphire Barbie!!” Sam yelled, dive-bombing Dean’s still dozing head with the blonde doll-cum-action figure.
“Wuh?!” Dean slurred, and sat up, blinking sleepily at his little brother.
“Look, Dean! I got a Transformer after all!” Sam said.
“Wha?”
“See? Barbie’s arms and legs can move, and the blue color looks like Optimus Prime. Kinda.” Sam thrust the Barbie into Dean’s face.
“Optimus Prime in drag,” Dean muttered, batting the doll away. “Sam, have you lost your mind? Throw that thing away before Dad sees you with it.”
“Uh uh. I like it. Besides. I didn’t get anything ELSE for Christmas. I like this. And my ninja wand.”
“Your what?”
“My glitter action Ninja stick. It’s a wand, and a kind of glittery nunchuck. The streamers distract your opponent.”
Dean squinted at his brother. “Did you wish on a star or something? Did you turn into a girl last night?”
“C’mon. Get up. We’re out of milk, and cereal, and bread. There’s nothing for breakfast, but Dad left ten bucks on the table so you could go buy something.”
Dean snarled, dropped back down into bed and pulled his covers up around his ears. “I’m goin’ back to sleep. You can wait.”
“Deean. I’m HUNGRY.”
“Shut up, Sam.”
“By the power of Sapphire Barbie, I COMMAND you to rise.”
“I’m gonna stick that Barbie up your-“
“Dean! What the hell is going on out there?” Dad shouted from the back bedroom.
“Nothing, Dad. Sorry. Go back to sleep.” Dean threw off his covers and pulled on his jeans. “You and your little dolly are in big trouble, Sam.”
“You can’t hurt her, Dean. Nobody can.”
“You’re retarded.”
“So are you,” Sam said, hopped off Dean’s bed, and skipped over to the couch. He plopped down with his doll and turned on the TV. “Get the real Froot Loops this time. Not the cheap kind.”
“Sam….”
Sam raised the doll over the back of the couch, and barked in a stern voice, shaking Barbie like a rabid tyrant. “Real Froot Loops! I command you!”
“You are so dead,” Dean said as he pulled on his coat and stomped out of the door.
“So are you!” he called, pointing Barbie in his brother’s direction.
****
“So, Sammy, whatcha got there?” John Winchester asked, watching his son flitting around the room, playing with what looked like a Barbie doll enmeshed in a shoebox.
“Sapphire Barbie. Santa brought her for me when you were GONE,” Sam replied, not looking up from his Barbie manipulations. He’d used a shoebox and a red crayon to make her an outfit that looked less like an evening gown, and more like an eighteen wheel truck with long, blonde hair.
John looked at Dean. “Santa?”
Dean shrugged, twirled a finger at his temple, and went back to his Hot Rod magazine.
“Since you weren’t here like you said you were going to be.” Sam pointedly ignored his father and worked at taping a set of wings made from a milk carton to Sapphire Barbie’s shoebox.
“I see,” John said. “You know I would have been here if I could, Sam. I didn’t mean to miss Christmas. I had to work.”
“Uh huh,” Sam said, then gathered his doll and stood up. “I’m going to go outside and practice.”
“Good idea, Son. Get a little exercise. You’ve both been cooped up in here all day.” John watched as Sam put his doll under his bed. “Dean, go spar with your brother.”
“Awww, Dad, I’m readin’. You’re always telling me to read more.”
“I’m not asking, Dean.”
Sam pulled on his sweatshirt. “C’mon, Dean. I’m gonna kick your butt.”
Dean sighed and tossed his magazine to the side. “If it’ll keep you from playin’ with yer dolly, fine.”
****
Ten minutes later, the door flew open and Dean staggered in, blood running down his face, Sammy hovering and whimpering, “Sorry, sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean to….”
“What the hell happened?” John asked, grasping Dean, who was near blind from the blood in his eyes, and sitting him down at the kitchen table.
“It was an accident…” Sam said.
“He hit me with his glitter stick!” Dean yelped.
“With his what?” John asked, holding a clean dishtowel against Dean’s bleeding head.
“With his stupid ninja glitter stick! We were sparring and he pulled it out of his pocket and whacked me with it!”
John leaned in close and eyed Dean closely. “What the hell is this stuff?” he asked, picking a shiny, silver flake from Dean’s cheek. His hair and face were smeared with blood and dotted with multicolor stars and bits of glitter.
“It was inside the ninja stick. It used to swirl around, but it broke on Dean’s stupid head,” Sam said angrily.
John prodded the cut on Dean’s scalp. “You’re gonna need a couple stitches, Bud.” He turned to his younger son. “Go back to my room, get the first aid kit, it’s in the closet. Bring that and a couple towels from the bathroom.”
“It was an accident,” Sam whined. “Dean’s head just got in the way.”
“Now, Sam,” John ordered.
Sam turned and ran down the hallway.
Dean sniffled and winced as his dad probed his wound. “It was kind of an accident, Dad. Sammy didn’t mean it…I was kinda teasing him. He kept yelling that he had the Power of Sapphire Barbie, and I called him Samantha.”
“What I want to know is where the hell did he get a ninja…ninja what?”
“Glitter stick,” Dean supplied. “It’s not really a ninja glitter stick. It’s just a magic wand.”
“A what?”
“A magic wand. It’s not a real magic wand. It’s a toy. It’s full of water and stars and glitter. It has streamers on the ends. Girls like ‘em.”
“But where the hell did Sam get it?”
Sam ran back into the room, arms full of towels. “Santa brought it.”
“No, he didn’t, Sam. I stole it. You know that,” Dean snapped.
John took the first aid kit from Sam. “Water, Sam. In a clean bowl.” He opened the white box, pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and a suture kit. “I don’t have any anesthetic, Dean. Sammy, get some ice from the freezer.”
Dean slumped. “Oh, man. I hate ice. It burns.”
“Suck it up, kid. Next time, don’t mess with a man armed with a ninja glitter stick.”
“He was distracted by the streamers,” Sam said solemnly.
“I’ll bet.” John started picking stars and glitter out of the inch long gash at Dean’s hairline. “Sam, you know there’s no Santa, right?”
“Maybe,” Sam admitted.
“You know Dean stole those presents, which was wrong, but he was just trying to make a good Christmas for you.”
“You promised you’d be home for Christmas,” Sam said sullenly, staring at his boots.
“I know. It was my responsibility, and I dropped the ball.” John stopped picking glitter and looked at his sons. “I’m sorry. I should have been here.”
Dean and Sam looked up at their father in surprise. It wasn’t often that they heard their father apologize for anything.
“I thought we might hit the mall this afternoon. I hear they have sales after Christmas. Maybe we’ll pick up a real Transformer for you…and a pretty dress for your brother, to go with all this glitter in his hair.”
“Hey!” Dean yelped.
Sam grinned. “Cool.”
“Think you can stand to give up your doll?”
“It’s a Sapphire Barbie, Dad, but, yeah. I guess so.”
“Okay, let me finish with your brother. You get rid of Sapphire Barbie, and we’ll go get you a proper Christmas present.”
Dean got his stitches and a new knife. Sam got Optimus Prime, and Bumble Bee.
But Sam never got rid of Sapphire Barbie.
He practiced his deceptive skills for years, hiding the doll in his duffle, in his dirty clothes, in his backpack with his homework. It kept him company when he was left in the car while his father and brother hunted the evil things that filled the night. Every once in awhile, he’d pull it out when everyone was asleep, and fix the doll’s hair and adjust her crown, and call on the power of Sapphire Barbie to keep his family safe.
When he went to Stanford, Sam took his knife, his duffle, and Sapphire Barbie. Left the monsters behind. He lied to his friends about his family, and his past, and tucked sapphire Barbie under the edge of his mattress; another secret to hide away.
The first time Sam saw Jessica Moore - blonde, blue-eyed, and beautiful - he ran back to his dorm to check under his mattress to see if Barbie was still there. She was. When they moved in together, Sam put Sapphire Barbie away for good. He didn’t need a doll. He had the real thing.
He’d lost the doll in the fire. Lost them both, Jess and Sapphire Barbie, but somehow never lost the secrets or deceptions.
It was years later, during another Christmas, maybe a final Christmas, in a motel in Saginaw, Michigan, that Sam thought about Sapphire Barbie, and felt another pang in his chest.
He took a slug of eggnog, felt it warm him to his toes. He glanced over at his brother, happily watching the game, oblivious to his fate. He swore he could almost make out the faint scar from the Ninja wand on Dean’s forehead.
“Hey, Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“You ‘member that Christmas in Albuquerque? When Dad didn’t come home?”
Dean straightened on the couch. “Aw, Sam, he tried. He really did.”
“No, no,” Sam flapped his hands sloppily. “’S not about that. ‘Member what you got me?”
“No. I remember what you got me, though.” Dean grinned and patted the amulet that hung around his neck. “Oh, wait! I stole that doll and that damned thing you beaned me with.”
“Ninja glitter stick,” Sam supplied with a fond smile.
“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his forehead. “God, you were a dork. You kept that damned doll for years. Why’d you do that, anyway?”
Sam nearly dropped his eggnog. “You KNEW about Sapphire Barbie?”
Dean snorted, and took a slug of his drink. “Sapphire Barbie, oh man, you’d hide that thing soon as we got to a new place. In the dirty clothes, in the backpack. I mean, you knew I knew you still had it right?”
“No, I didn’t know. Jesus.” Sam hung his head. “Oh, shit. Did Dad know?”
“Nah, man. You didn’t rat me out for telling you the truth about monsters. I wasn’t gonna rat on you for keeping the dolly.” Dean poured himself another glass of eggnog. “You still got her?”
Sam shook his head. “Lost her in the fire.”
“Sorry, man.” Dean bit his lip. “I’ll bet I could find you one on EBay.”
Sam slugged his brother in the shoulder. “Fuck you and your shitty gift giving skills. Ninja sticks and Barbie dolls, skin mags and shaving cream.”
“It’s the thought that counts, man.” Dean removed Sam’s empty glass from his hand and filled it. “C’mon. Drink up. Life’s too short for secrets and lies.” They clinked glasses and emptied them.
“I can’t believe you knew…I thought I was bein’ so sneaky.” Sam’s eyes fluttered and his head dropped back on the couch.
“I know you did, Princess.” Dean lifted the glass from his brother’s hand. Walked over to the laptop, opened it, and with a few keystrokes, deleted the files Sam had gathered. Then, with a sad smile, he logged on to Ebay…
buffyaddict13
Salvaged from the Christmas wrapping trash by
kimonkey7 who fixed it up with better words and a shiny new icon. I owe you big time.
pg for language. Spoilers for 3.08 and before.
Sapphires in his Eyes
Sam hung up the cell, typed the pertinent information into his laptop, then locked the file and closed his computer. There is a book in a private collection in South Bend, Indiana, a book with a couple of chapters on making and breaking deals with demons--that may have info he needs on saving his brother. He’s found a case that will take him and his brother there, without Dean being any the wiser, because Dean has forbidden Sam to work on breaking the deal. But that hasn’t stopped Sam from continuing his research behind his brother’s back.
He looks around the hotel room, decorated with a stolen Christmas tree, “borrowed” lights, and liberated tinsel, and decides that he’s not going to get through this night without eggnog. Heavily spiked eggnog. He shrugs on his coat, and heads out into the cold, secure in the knowledge that his brother is going to be mightily surprised.
Sam Winchester is not what he seems. Looking at his innocent, sincere face, you wouldn’t guess that he’s really a sneaky, duplicitous sonofabitch, and that he keeps a secret like nobody’s business, which, usually, it isn’t. He lies easily, comfortably, even.
His classmates in the various high schools he attended were convinced that he was the son of a diplomat, son of a dead rock star, son of a Texas rancher. The nephew of the Secretary of Defense. An exchange student from Russia (the accent was priceless). In Cody, Wyoming, he was an athlete who missed making the Olympics in the high jump after blowing out his knee, and at Bloomington High he enrolled as one of only ten known survivors of rabies; his blood used to make a vaccine that saved hundreds of people.
Sam spent his formative years learning how to hide his brains from his dad, his clean socks and underwear from his brother, and his reading material from BOTH of them. He knew how to hide the extra bologna under a head of lettuce, how to flatten the ice cream carton so that it was nearly invisible, how to eat a bag of M&M’s next to his brother without having to share any. He learned not to introduce his dates to his brother, and not to introduce his friends to his father, if he wanted to keep either one.
He knew how to set up a fake postal account, how to apply for a credit card in someone else’s name, how to hotwire a car, how to pick a lock, how to make a Molotov cocktail, and how to make a fake 911 call.
Sam wasn’t always like this. Once, he was just a kid like any other, with a big brother he idolized, and a father who could do no wrong. But things weren’t as they seemed. His father and brother kept secrets from him, to protect him, they said. He was their little mushroom; kept in the dark and fed shit about his father’s job, about what happened to his mother, about all the little quirks his family had. Like a serious infatuation with salt, and a morbid fascination with weapons. And until that Christmas in ’93, he’d been a good little fungus, flourishing under his father and brother’s fraudulent tales. Sam went from innocent to cunning in the span of an evening.
It started with a bit of petty theft. Sam took a page from the Winchester family book of secrets, and swiped his father’s journal. He read it, cover to blood-stained cover. Found out about the salt, about the guns, about the weird Latin books, and why his dad came in sometimes, beat to hell. Worst of all, he found out what had happened to his mother. That scared him more than anything. Because if evil could come into their home and take his mother, then the monsters could be anywhere, and no one was safe.
When Dean came back that Christmas Eve, and Dad still wasn’t home, Sam confronted him and Dean folded. Spilled his guts about the lies and half truths that should have been obvious to Sam, but weren’t. Why would he have reason to doubt his father’s truthfulness? Parents didn’t lie to their children. Except about Santa, or, as in Sam’s case, about everything in his life so far. Now, Sam had every reason in the world to doubt his father.
The final lie, the “I’ll be home for Christmas” lie, was the one that sealed the deal for Sam. He accepted his stolen Christmas presents from Dean, and gave Dean the gift meant for a father he didn’t know at all.
That night, after hours of watching football and basketball games, and a supper of beans and weenies, after Dean fell asleep in front of the TV, Sam sat on his bed and stared at his gifts from “Dad”: Sapphire Barbie. And a glitter wand.
He wanted to throw them away. Wanted to take them back so that the little girl they were meant for would still have a good Christmas. He even walked up the block, looking in the windows of the houses, trying to guess from which one Dean had stolen the gifts, but looking at the decorations and brightly lit trees just made him feel sad. All of those people seemed to have plenty. Plus, he had no idea how to break into a house. Not yet, anyway.
He sat on his bed, eating the Funyuns Dean pretended to pass off as supper yesterday. Twirled the glitter wand through his fingers, getting onion dust on the streamers. He put down the wand, and picked up the Barbie. Stared at the doll through the packaging.
She was pretty. Blonde, like his mom before the monsters got her. Thinking about mom made his chest feel tight, so he thought instead about Chrissie Johnson, who sat in front of him in Mrs. McCann’s class. Her hair was long and shiny like Barbie hair. The doll’s dress was a pretty shade of blue-the color you think of when you say blue is your favorite color. That was sapphire, he guessed. Sam opened the package quietly. Released the doll from her wire-tie bondage. He glanced over to make sure Dean was still sleeping before picking up the Barbie and holding her in his hand. Checked again to see that Dean wasn’t watching, and stroked the blonde hair. He took another quick look at his brother and then carefully, teeth biting his lower lip, lifted Barbie’s dress over her head. She wasn’t wearing underpants. And she had boobs.
Sam’s nose crinkled. He pulled her dress back down, readjusted her lopsided crown. He frowned at the doll. Dean would never let him live it down if he found out. He’d tease him, even worse than he did when he found the valentine from Sarah Jenkins he’d kept in his backpack, long after Valentine’s Day was over. It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t the Transformer he’d hoped for. It was a stolen, second hand gift. But it was his. And he wanted to keep it.
Sam gathered up the doll and wand and the package, dropped them on the floor and kicked them under Dean’s bed, then he brushed his teeth, shook Dean awake, and went to sleep.
At 3 am, on the day AFTER Christmas, Sam finally heard his father’s key in the lock. He lay still, pretending to be asleep as his Dad stood over him and adjusted his covers. He heard Dean get out of bed, and listened quietly as the two of them discussed what had kept John away. Something called a Wendigo. He heard Dean and his father discuss the “Santa thing” as Dean called it, and heard the resounding thwap to Dean’s skull when his dad found out about his son’s petty larceny.
“Well, at least we don’t have to pretend there’s a Santa anymore,” his father said. Then they said their goodnights, turned out the lights, and went to bed.
Once he heard his father’s quiet buzz and brother’s breathy snores begin their nightly waltz, Sam quietly slipped out of bed, retrieved the Barbie and the wand from under Dean’s bed. He held up the doll, let the light from the streetlamp outside shine on her crown, and spray blue light around the room.
The world was full of monsters. His father wasn’t who he thought he was. Santa wasn’t real. But Sapphire Barbie was. She was real, and she was true and he knew everthing about her. He put the wand under his pillow, tucked the Barbie into the crook of his arm, and fell fast asleep.
***
"By the Power of Sapphire Barbie!!” Sam yelled, dive-bombing Dean’s still dozing head with the blonde doll-cum-action figure.
“Wuh?!” Dean slurred, and sat up, blinking sleepily at his little brother.
“Look, Dean! I got a Transformer after all!” Sam said.
“Wha?”
“See? Barbie’s arms and legs can move, and the blue color looks like Optimus Prime. Kinda.” Sam thrust the Barbie into Dean’s face.
“Optimus Prime in drag,” Dean muttered, batting the doll away. “Sam, have you lost your mind? Throw that thing away before Dad sees you with it.”
“Uh uh. I like it. Besides. I didn’t get anything ELSE for Christmas. I like this. And my ninja wand.”
“Your what?”
“My glitter action Ninja stick. It’s a wand, and a kind of glittery nunchuck. The streamers distract your opponent.”
Dean squinted at his brother. “Did you wish on a star or something? Did you turn into a girl last night?”
“C’mon. Get up. We’re out of milk, and cereal, and bread. There’s nothing for breakfast, but Dad left ten bucks on the table so you could go buy something.”
Dean snarled, dropped back down into bed and pulled his covers up around his ears. “I’m goin’ back to sleep. You can wait.”
“Deean. I’m HUNGRY.”
“Shut up, Sam.”
“By the power of Sapphire Barbie, I COMMAND you to rise.”
“I’m gonna stick that Barbie up your-“
“Dean! What the hell is going on out there?” Dad shouted from the back bedroom.
“Nothing, Dad. Sorry. Go back to sleep.” Dean threw off his covers and pulled on his jeans. “You and your little dolly are in big trouble, Sam.”
“You can’t hurt her, Dean. Nobody can.”
“You’re retarded.”
“So are you,” Sam said, hopped off Dean’s bed, and skipped over to the couch. He plopped down with his doll and turned on the TV. “Get the real Froot Loops this time. Not the cheap kind.”
“Sam….”
Sam raised the doll over the back of the couch, and barked in a stern voice, shaking Barbie like a rabid tyrant. “Real Froot Loops! I command you!”
“You are so dead,” Dean said as he pulled on his coat and stomped out of the door.
“So are you!” he called, pointing Barbie in his brother’s direction.
****
“So, Sammy, whatcha got there?” John Winchester asked, watching his son flitting around the room, playing with what looked like a Barbie doll enmeshed in a shoebox.
“Sapphire Barbie. Santa brought her for me when you were GONE,” Sam replied, not looking up from his Barbie manipulations. He’d used a shoebox and a red crayon to make her an outfit that looked less like an evening gown, and more like an eighteen wheel truck with long, blonde hair.
John looked at Dean. “Santa?”
Dean shrugged, twirled a finger at his temple, and went back to his Hot Rod magazine.
“Since you weren’t here like you said you were going to be.” Sam pointedly ignored his father and worked at taping a set of wings made from a milk carton to Sapphire Barbie’s shoebox.
“I see,” John said. “You know I would have been here if I could, Sam. I didn’t mean to miss Christmas. I had to work.”
“Uh huh,” Sam said, then gathered his doll and stood up. “I’m going to go outside and practice.”
“Good idea, Son. Get a little exercise. You’ve both been cooped up in here all day.” John watched as Sam put his doll under his bed. “Dean, go spar with your brother.”
“Awww, Dad, I’m readin’. You’re always telling me to read more.”
“I’m not asking, Dean.”
Sam pulled on his sweatshirt. “C’mon, Dean. I’m gonna kick your butt.”
Dean sighed and tossed his magazine to the side. “If it’ll keep you from playin’ with yer dolly, fine.”
****
Ten minutes later, the door flew open and Dean staggered in, blood running down his face, Sammy hovering and whimpering, “Sorry, sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean to….”
“What the hell happened?” John asked, grasping Dean, who was near blind from the blood in his eyes, and sitting him down at the kitchen table.
“It was an accident…” Sam said.
“He hit me with his glitter stick!” Dean yelped.
“With his what?” John asked, holding a clean dishtowel against Dean’s bleeding head.
“With his stupid ninja glitter stick! We were sparring and he pulled it out of his pocket and whacked me with it!”
John leaned in close and eyed Dean closely. “What the hell is this stuff?” he asked, picking a shiny, silver flake from Dean’s cheek. His hair and face were smeared with blood and dotted with multicolor stars and bits of glitter.
“It was inside the ninja stick. It used to swirl around, but it broke on Dean’s stupid head,” Sam said angrily.
John prodded the cut on Dean’s scalp. “You’re gonna need a couple stitches, Bud.” He turned to his younger son. “Go back to my room, get the first aid kit, it’s in the closet. Bring that and a couple towels from the bathroom.”
“It was an accident,” Sam whined. “Dean’s head just got in the way.”
“Now, Sam,” John ordered.
Sam turned and ran down the hallway.
Dean sniffled and winced as his dad probed his wound. “It was kind of an accident, Dad. Sammy didn’t mean it…I was kinda teasing him. He kept yelling that he had the Power of Sapphire Barbie, and I called him Samantha.”
“What I want to know is where the hell did he get a ninja…ninja what?”
“Glitter stick,” Dean supplied. “It’s not really a ninja glitter stick. It’s just a magic wand.”
“A what?”
“A magic wand. It’s not a real magic wand. It’s a toy. It’s full of water and stars and glitter. It has streamers on the ends. Girls like ‘em.”
“But where the hell did Sam get it?”
Sam ran back into the room, arms full of towels. “Santa brought it.”
“No, he didn’t, Sam. I stole it. You know that,” Dean snapped.
John took the first aid kit from Sam. “Water, Sam. In a clean bowl.” He opened the white box, pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and a suture kit. “I don’t have any anesthetic, Dean. Sammy, get some ice from the freezer.”
Dean slumped. “Oh, man. I hate ice. It burns.”
“Suck it up, kid. Next time, don’t mess with a man armed with a ninja glitter stick.”
“He was distracted by the streamers,” Sam said solemnly.
“I’ll bet.” John started picking stars and glitter out of the inch long gash at Dean’s hairline. “Sam, you know there’s no Santa, right?”
“Maybe,” Sam admitted.
“You know Dean stole those presents, which was wrong, but he was just trying to make a good Christmas for you.”
“You promised you’d be home for Christmas,” Sam said sullenly, staring at his boots.
“I know. It was my responsibility, and I dropped the ball.” John stopped picking glitter and looked at his sons. “I’m sorry. I should have been here.”
Dean and Sam looked up at their father in surprise. It wasn’t often that they heard their father apologize for anything.
“I thought we might hit the mall this afternoon. I hear they have sales after Christmas. Maybe we’ll pick up a real Transformer for you…and a pretty dress for your brother, to go with all this glitter in his hair.”
“Hey!” Dean yelped.
Sam grinned. “Cool.”
“Think you can stand to give up your doll?”
“It’s a Sapphire Barbie, Dad, but, yeah. I guess so.”
“Okay, let me finish with your brother. You get rid of Sapphire Barbie, and we’ll go get you a proper Christmas present.”
Dean got his stitches and a new knife. Sam got Optimus Prime, and Bumble Bee.
But Sam never got rid of Sapphire Barbie.
He practiced his deceptive skills for years, hiding the doll in his duffle, in his dirty clothes, in his backpack with his homework. It kept him company when he was left in the car while his father and brother hunted the evil things that filled the night. Every once in awhile, he’d pull it out when everyone was asleep, and fix the doll’s hair and adjust her crown, and call on the power of Sapphire Barbie to keep his family safe.
When he went to Stanford, Sam took his knife, his duffle, and Sapphire Barbie. Left the monsters behind. He lied to his friends about his family, and his past, and tucked sapphire Barbie under the edge of his mattress; another secret to hide away.
The first time Sam saw Jessica Moore - blonde, blue-eyed, and beautiful - he ran back to his dorm to check under his mattress to see if Barbie was still there. She was. When they moved in together, Sam put Sapphire Barbie away for good. He didn’t need a doll. He had the real thing.
He’d lost the doll in the fire. Lost them both, Jess and Sapphire Barbie, but somehow never lost the secrets or deceptions.
It was years later, during another Christmas, maybe a final Christmas, in a motel in Saginaw, Michigan, that Sam thought about Sapphire Barbie, and felt another pang in his chest.
He took a slug of eggnog, felt it warm him to his toes. He glanced over at his brother, happily watching the game, oblivious to his fate. He swore he could almost make out the faint scar from the Ninja wand on Dean’s forehead.
“Hey, Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“You ‘member that Christmas in Albuquerque? When Dad didn’t come home?”
Dean straightened on the couch. “Aw, Sam, he tried. He really did.”
“No, no,” Sam flapped his hands sloppily. “’S not about that. ‘Member what you got me?”
“No. I remember what you got me, though.” Dean grinned and patted the amulet that hung around his neck. “Oh, wait! I stole that doll and that damned thing you beaned me with.”
“Ninja glitter stick,” Sam supplied with a fond smile.
“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his forehead. “God, you were a dork. You kept that damned doll for years. Why’d you do that, anyway?”
Sam nearly dropped his eggnog. “You KNEW about Sapphire Barbie?”
Dean snorted, and took a slug of his drink. “Sapphire Barbie, oh man, you’d hide that thing soon as we got to a new place. In the dirty clothes, in the backpack. I mean, you knew I knew you still had it right?”
“No, I didn’t know. Jesus.” Sam hung his head. “Oh, shit. Did Dad know?”
“Nah, man. You didn’t rat me out for telling you the truth about monsters. I wasn’t gonna rat on you for keeping the dolly.” Dean poured himself another glass of eggnog. “You still got her?”
Sam shook his head. “Lost her in the fire.”
“Sorry, man.” Dean bit his lip. “I’ll bet I could find you one on EBay.”
Sam slugged his brother in the shoulder. “Fuck you and your shitty gift giving skills. Ninja sticks and Barbie dolls, skin mags and shaving cream.”
“It’s the thought that counts, man.” Dean removed Sam’s empty glass from his hand and filled it. “C’mon. Drink up. Life’s too short for secrets and lies.” They clinked glasses and emptied them.
“I can’t believe you knew…I thought I was bein’ so sneaky.” Sam’s eyes fluttered and his head dropped back on the couch.
“I know you did, Princess.” Dean lifted the glass from his brother’s hand. Walked over to the laptop, opened it, and with a few keystrokes, deleted the files Sam had gathered. Then, with a sad smile, he logged on to Ebay…