Do you hear what I hear? - 1/1
Do you hear what I hear?
Rating: R, Gen
Characters: John, Sammy, Dean
Disclaimer: The characters are sadly not mine. I’m just sticking pins into Winchester dolls for the purposes of general amusement. Sorry about the holes!
Word Count: 1,503
A/N: A festive ficlet to keep you amused and prove that not every Christmas fic I write has to be dark. OK, it’s a tiny bit dark, but that’s the muse’s fault.
This also fulfills a request from trulybloom for a pre- A Very Supernatural Christmas story where Dean tries to hide the truth from Sammy.
Apologies to the creators of Frosty the Snowman, but do you know how many times I’ve heard this song recently?
Setting: Albuquerque, NM, Dec. 24th 1990
Summary: Possession is nine-tenths of Christmas
“… a jolly happy soul,
With a corncob pipe and a button nose…”
‘Dean! No!’
‘But, Daaaaad!’
John succeeded in dragging his eldest away from the loudspeaker’s power point. It wasn’t that he wasn’t in total agreement with Dean’s opinion about the ubiquitous (though Dean had described it more pithily as “fucking awful”) nature of holiday “music,” but he really didn’t want to have to bail out an eleven year-old for festive vandalism. Not five times in the same month, anyway.
John groaned to himself. The sooner they got out of here the better. Dean was building up quite a rap sheet down at the A.P.D. The last time (three days and counting), the now very-familiar figure of Constable Huggins had been muttering (not-so sotto voce) about having to having to come up with a new code just for Dean Winchester.
Apparently the department was currently divided over whether to insert Dean into the investigation subcategory 10-27-whatever (Investigation of Dean Winchester again), or to start subdividing the until now intact codes of 10-38 (Vandalism), 10-39 (Disturbance), 10-30 (Juvenile), or 10-81 (Civil disturbance/riot.)
As he hauled his protesting son towards what he hoped was the putative safety of the biggest store in the centre, John was ready to put money on the latter.
“He began to dance around.
O, Frosty the snow…”
Walmart was not a haven. It also needed to start selling salt (seasoned, Kosher or fucking popcorn-which just made Dean’s and Sammy’s eyes light up, and his wallet wince) in more than 3lb packets.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
Kelly Liquors wasn’t safe either. John started to review his ideas about child rearing. Wanting to encourage Dean didn’t make him a bad person, did it?
“the sun was hot that day…”
It was a fucking drug store! It didn’t need music. It just needed to sell him his suture needles and bandages, as quickly and as quietly as possible.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
Nowhere was safe. John considered providing Dean with an airtight alibi soon. Like anytime in the next five goddamn seconds.
Thanking every deity he could think of in English, Spanish, Vietnamese, and Latin, for the fact that there were no outside speakers at the shopping centre, John…
“With a broomstick in his hand…”
…decided that maybe he should join in with more of Dean’s hobbies. At least he would make sure they weren’t caug…
‘Dad?’ Sammy, oblivious to the pain the rest of his family was in, was bopping his head along in time with the freaking music while he pointed eagerly across the car park towards Borders.
Fuck. Not another bookstore. John definitely didn’t have the money to spare for whatever Sammy would want (and oh boy, when his youngest was in a bookstore, he wanted) in there. And with Anna-Maria Huggins’ eagle eyes behind the till most days, John wasn’t going to be able to risk using a fake card. Dean was just that well known, and the Huggins clearly talked about everything. Besides, John didn’t appreciate the way she slipped Sammy the odd candy, sighed over Dean, and frowned sternly at him for raising such a delinquent in the first place.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
‘Sorry, Sammy, I…’
‘You’re it! Last one to the car has to do the laundry for a week!’
As Sammy screeched and chased after Dean shouting, ‘I did it last week!’ John folded in on himself with relief and a tiny bit of shame.
There went Dean, saving things one more time.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
Fucking 7-Eleven’s. Whatever happened to just using the PA’s for price-checks on aisle three?
“right to the traffic cop…”
Or everyone not buying the same discounted Christmas album in the New Year sales and recycling it ad fucking nauseum for years and years until the world ended in a blizzard, after which presumably Frosty the Goddamned Snowman reigned in solitary frozen thumping splendour?
Son of a fucking snowy bitch.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
“Don’t you cry…”
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
As John tried desperately to beat out the hordes of pre-Christmas shoppers for the last essentials on his list he swore that he was going to take time out from his hunt that night to personally make sure that not a single store in the city limits had a working loudspeaker system come Christmas morning.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
“…Frosty the Snowman was a joll…”
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
‘Dad?’
Oh God. Not again. What was it with the people in Albuquerque? Every time John turned around another damned bookstore had miraculously appeared out of nowhere to squat on the very next corner, tempting his youngest, and taunting him.
‘Dad?’
As John looked at Sammy standing patiently, and ever so hopefully next to Dean, he wondered. Maybe just this once? Surely, bookstores were like libraries? Sanctuaries for adult ears?
Dean shrugged at him, looked at Page One, did a 360º, and nodded his head subtly in the direction of the nearby Page One Too.
John took the hint and decided to suck up any understandable misgivings he had, and just get in the damned bookstore already.
“had to hurry on his wa…”
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
Five (nine, if you counted what Dean had lifted on his brother’s behalf), luckily heavily discounted, books and one free Christmas card later, they were back at the motel safe from any more musical attack…
“O, Frosty the snowman
Was alive as he could be…”
‘Dean! What the fuck?’
‘It wasn’t me, Dad! It was Sammy.’
And it was.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
‘A musical Christmas card?’ John could hear himself screeching over the noise of that thing, but he didn’t care if he sounded like a giant Christmas wus…
‘Grinch!’ Dean hissed helpfully.
John decided then and there that family holidays were overrated.
‘It was free!’ Sammy insisted. ‘I thought you’d like it!’
And didn’t that make him feel like the worst Dad on the planet? When he couldn’t even get Christmas right for his kids?
John really hated Christmas for ramming home exactly what his family had lost in 1983.
“he began to dance around…”
‘No, it’s okay, Sammy,’ John lied as well as he fucking could after listening to that thing being opened and shut all evening. ‘It’s Christmas. What’s Christmas Eve without some … uh … festive music?’
Dean mimed throwing up in the background.
John felt like joining him until Sammy smiled up at him from his place on the worn couch were he sat happily listening to that damned card for his Dad.
“O, Frosty the snowman…”
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
Oh God.
“…before I melt away…”
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
‘Dad?’ Dean was hunched down beside the couch that John was doing his damndest to sleep on. Fucking Christmas card.
‘What, son?’
‘It’s not Sammy doing it any longer.’
‘What?’
‘Sammy’s been asleep for over an hour. That card’s been on the floor closed, since before he went to bed.’
What the fuck?
‘The card’s playing…’ Dean took a shaky breath. ‘All by itself.’
Fuck.
Fucking Christmas from Hell.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
John stood there watching the dismembered, and still merrily singing, Christmas card lying on the floor of his sons’ room. Maybe I should have pulled the blue wire first?
‘Fuck,’ he whispered, hoping Sammy was going to sleep through this particular festive event. Mind you, if his son could sleep through all that damned singing, it would probably take a missile to wake him up.
“We’ll have some fun…”
‘Dean?’
‘Got it!’ Dean said grimly, tossing the match onto Frosty.
“Catch me if you caaaaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhh!”
‘Dean? Dad?
Fuck.
‘We’re going to have to do something, Dad. He thinks I killed his card.’
‘It was possessed.’
‘Well, duh! But Sammy doesn’t know that, does he? He thinks I was just being mean. And me saying, “Sorry, Sammy. Guess the music made me snap,” didn’t make him feel better.’
Fucking Christmas demons.
‘What are we going to do?’
If anything, Dean was looking even more upset than Sammy had been after the incident with the card.
Fuck.
John had no idea what to do, but he wasn’t going to tell Dean that.
‘Don’t worry about it, Dean. I’ll think of something to give Sammy a real Christmas, okay?’
Two hours later, John got out of the car, and walked back towards the motel in the early hours of Christmas morning, full of hope, dragging his stolen beer can wreath awkwardly along behind him.
Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…
Rating: R, Gen
Characters: John, Sammy, Dean
Disclaimer: The characters are sadly not mine. I’m just sticking pins into Winchester dolls for the purposes of general amusement. Sorry about the holes!
Word Count: 1,503
A/N: A festive ficlet to keep you amused and prove that not every Christmas fic I write has to be dark. OK, it’s a tiny bit dark, but that’s the muse’s fault.
This also fulfills a request from trulybloom for a pre- A Very Supernatural Christmas story where Dean tries to hide the truth from Sammy.
Apologies to the creators of Frosty the Snowman, but do you know how many times I’ve heard this song recently?
Setting: Albuquerque, NM, Dec. 24th 1990
Summary: Possession is nine-tenths of Christmas
“… a jolly happy soul,
With a corncob pipe and a button nose…”
‘Dean! No!’
‘But, Daaaaad!’
John succeeded in dragging his eldest away from the loudspeaker’s power point. It wasn’t that he wasn’t in total agreement with Dean’s opinion about the ubiquitous (though Dean had described it more pithily as “fucking awful”) nature of holiday “music,” but he really didn’t want to have to bail out an eleven year-old for festive vandalism. Not five times in the same month, anyway.
John groaned to himself. The sooner they got out of here the better. Dean was building up quite a rap sheet down at the A.P.D. The last time (three days and counting), the now very-familiar figure of Constable Huggins had been muttering (not-so sotto voce) about having to having to come up with a new code just for Dean Winchester.
Apparently the department was currently divided over whether to insert Dean into the investigation subcategory 10-27-whatever (Investigation of Dean Winchester again), or to start subdividing the until now intact codes of 10-38 (Vandalism), 10-39 (Disturbance), 10-30 (Juvenile), or 10-81 (Civil disturbance/riot.)
As he hauled his protesting son towards what he hoped was the putative safety of the biggest store in the centre, John was ready to put money on the latter.
“He began to dance around.
O, Frosty the snow…”
Walmart was not a haven. It also needed to start selling salt (seasoned, Kosher or fucking popcorn-which just made Dean’s and Sammy’s eyes light up, and his wallet wince) in more than 3lb packets.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
Kelly Liquors wasn’t safe either. John started to review his ideas about child rearing. Wanting to encourage Dean didn’t make him a bad person, did it?
“the sun was hot that day…”
It was a fucking drug store! It didn’t need music. It just needed to sell him his suture needles and bandages, as quickly and as quietly as possible.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
Nowhere was safe. John considered providing Dean with an airtight alibi soon. Like anytime in the next five goddamn seconds.
Thanking every deity he could think of in English, Spanish, Vietnamese, and Latin, for the fact that there were no outside speakers at the shopping centre, John…
“With a broomstick in his hand…”
…decided that maybe he should join in with more of Dean’s hobbies. At least he would make sure they weren’t caug…
‘Dad?’ Sammy, oblivious to the pain the rest of his family was in, was bopping his head along in time with the freaking music while he pointed eagerly across the car park towards Borders.
Fuck. Not another bookstore. John definitely didn’t have the money to spare for whatever Sammy would want (and oh boy, when his youngest was in a bookstore, he wanted) in there. And with Anna-Maria Huggins’ eagle eyes behind the till most days, John wasn’t going to be able to risk using a fake card. Dean was just that well known, and the Huggins clearly talked about everything. Besides, John didn’t appreciate the way she slipped Sammy the odd candy, sighed over Dean, and frowned sternly at him for raising such a delinquent in the first place.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
‘Sorry, Sammy, I…’
‘You’re it! Last one to the car has to do the laundry for a week!’
As Sammy screeched and chased after Dean shouting, ‘I did it last week!’ John folded in on himself with relief and a tiny bit of shame.
There went Dean, saving things one more time.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
Fucking 7-Eleven’s. Whatever happened to just using the PA’s for price-checks on aisle three?
“right to the traffic cop…”
Or everyone not buying the same discounted Christmas album in the New Year sales and recycling it ad fucking nauseum for years and years until the world ended in a blizzard, after which presumably Frosty the Goddamned Snowman reigned in solitary frozen thumping splendour?
Son of a fucking snowy bitch.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
“Don’t you cry…”
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
As John tried desperately to beat out the hordes of pre-Christmas shoppers for the last essentials on his list he swore that he was going to take time out from his hunt that night to personally make sure that not a single store in the city limits had a working loudspeaker system come Christmas morning.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
“…Frosty the Snowman was a joll…”
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
‘Dad?’
Oh God. Not again. What was it with the people in Albuquerque? Every time John turned around another damned bookstore had miraculously appeared out of nowhere to squat on the very next corner, tempting his youngest, and taunting him.
‘Dad?’
As John looked at Sammy standing patiently, and ever so hopefully next to Dean, he wondered. Maybe just this once? Surely, bookstores were like libraries? Sanctuaries for adult ears?
Dean shrugged at him, looked at Page One, did a 360º, and nodded his head subtly in the direction of the nearby Page One Too.
John took the hint and decided to suck up any understandable misgivings he had, and just get in the damned bookstore already.
“had to hurry on his wa…”
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
Five (nine, if you counted what Dean had lifted on his brother’s behalf), luckily heavily discounted, books and one free Christmas card later, they were back at the motel safe from any more musical attack…
“O, Frosty the snowman
Was alive as he could be…”
‘Dean! What the fuck?’
‘It wasn’t me, Dad! It was Sammy.’
And it was.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
‘A musical Christmas card?’ John could hear himself screeching over the noise of that thing, but he didn’t care if he sounded like a giant Christmas wus…
‘Grinch!’ Dean hissed helpfully.
John decided then and there that family holidays were overrated.
‘It was free!’ Sammy insisted. ‘I thought you’d like it!’
And didn’t that make him feel like the worst Dad on the planet? When he couldn’t even get Christmas right for his kids?
John really hated Christmas for ramming home exactly what his family had lost in 1983.
“he began to dance around…”
‘No, it’s okay, Sammy,’ John lied as well as he fucking could after listening to that thing being opened and shut all evening. ‘It’s Christmas. What’s Christmas Eve without some … uh … festive music?’
Dean mimed throwing up in the background.
John felt like joining him until Sammy smiled up at him from his place on the worn couch were he sat happily listening to that damned card for his Dad.
“O, Frosty the snowman…”
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
Oh God.
“…before I melt away…”
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
‘Dad?’ Dean was hunched down beside the couch that John was doing his damndest to sleep on. Fucking Christmas card.
‘What, son?’
‘It’s not Sammy doing it any longer.’
‘What?’
‘Sammy’s been asleep for over an hour. That card’s been on the floor closed, since before he went to bed.’
What the fuck?
‘The card’s playing…’ Dean took a shaky breath. ‘All by itself.’
Fuck.
Fucking Christmas from Hell.
“Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…”
John stood there watching the dismembered, and still merrily singing, Christmas card lying on the floor of his sons’ room. Maybe I should have pulled the blue wire first?
‘Fuck,’ he whispered, hoping Sammy was going to sleep through this particular festive event. Mind you, if his son could sleep through all that damned singing, it would probably take a missile to wake him up.
“We’ll have some fun…”
‘Dean?’
‘Got it!’ Dean said grimly, tossing the match onto Frosty.
“Catch me if you caaaaaaaaaagggggggghhhhhhh!”
‘Dean? Dad?
Fuck.
‘We’re going to have to do something, Dad. He thinks I killed his card.’
‘It was possessed.’
‘Well, duh! But Sammy doesn’t know that, does he? He thinks I was just being mean. And me saying, “Sorry, Sammy. Guess the music made me snap,” didn’t make him feel better.’
Fucking Christmas demons.
‘What are we going to do?’
If anything, Dean was looking even more upset than Sammy had been after the incident with the card.
Fuck.
John had no idea what to do, but he wasn’t going to tell Dean that.
‘Don’t worry about it, Dean. I’ll think of something to give Sammy a real Christmas, okay?’
Two hours later, John got out of the car, and walked back towards the motel in the early hours of Christmas morning, full of hope, dragging his stolen beer can wreath awkwardly along behind him.
Thumpetty thump thump,
Thumpety thump thump…