Merry Christmas, Baby!
By Swellison
Sam clicked the remote, turning off the post-game football analysis on his 55" TV. He squirmed at the pillow-softened headboard he sat against and conceded that maybe Charley did have a point about his bed being as comfortable as a brick. He glanced sideways at Dean, who had watched the game with boisterous enthusiasm from his side of the bed, rooting for his chosen team.
So, this is Christmas, Sam thought, half-wincing as the lyrics continued in his head. And what have you done? Plenty. Sam mentally rattled off the low points of the past year: he had broken Dean’s heart, Dean had died at Metatron’s hands, been resurrected as a demon and then tried to kill him before being restored to his human self. Not to mention the whole Gadreel business. Sam glanced at Dean’s arm, covered by a long-sleeved shirt. And yet not enough – the Mark’s still there.
Dean's eyes met his. "Give it a rest, Sam. It's Christmas."
Dean always could read my mind. "You're right." Sam grinned. "What d'you want to do next? Watch a Christmas movie, play cribbage — or poker?" Dean hardly needed to keep his poker skills sharp now that they had the financial resources of the bunker at their beck and call.
Dean rose to his feet. "While those are all delightful choices, I'm gonna go start supper. Break in that new cookbook you gave me this morning." Sam's present to Dean had been a thick cookbook containing a selection of Kansans' favorite recipes.
"Oh? What're you gonna make?"
( Read more...Collapse )
contemplative
chipper




