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December 25, 1993 Dean Winchester woke up in a forgettable hotel in North Carolina to a small cracking noise. Bolting upright, he reached beneath the pillow for his gun. Fingers checked his hip for the knife as eyes darted sideways checking for Sammy. Breathing steady in the next bed over, his younger brother hadn’t woken.
Dean slowly slid back the covers, ears on alert for any sound as he swung his legs over the bed’s edge to stand. Ktch Ktch. It was coming from the window. A small scraping sound followed by the gentle crack of glass being tapped. Pried. Tested. Could be a tree branch. Could be a monster since, fuck my life, those are real too.
Tiptoeing to the window, Dean slipped his blade tip under the curtain’s edge and moved it just a fraction of an inch to peak outside. No trees anywhere nearby. No one outside. Suddenly a flash of red rounded the corner and plopped in front of their door. Dean blinked and shook his head. Obviously he was still asleep because Santa Claus was now kneeling outside their door with a pick set.
Laughing and turning once more to check that Sammy was still asleep, Dean tapped his gun barrel on the glass and shook it in warning next to his smug ass smile. Santa’s head jerked up in surprise and Dean sucked in a startled gasp.
“Dad?!” he mouthed behind the glass.
Dean rushed to unchain the door and let his ridiculously dressed father inside. John Winchester was all smiles. A rare treat for his face. He ruffled Dean’s hair, looked over at Sam and whispered “Should have known you’d hear me. Let Sam sleep for now, okay?”
“Yeah.” Dean choked out. “How long you here?”
John looked up to meet his son’s face. The sadness and longing there was a kick to his stomach. But he had to be strong for his boys. “Til lunch. Bobby has me following a lead upstate later. Until then” John reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small package. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”
“Merry Christmas, Dad” Dean choked out, trying his hardest not to cry. Not in front of this man.
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When Sammy woke hours later, John had gone. But Dean was all smiles and whistling in a Santa hat in front of the TV so he knew something had happened. “Morning buddy. Santa dropped by, left you this.” Dean smiled, tossing the small package to his brother.
Sam’s face lit up in excitement, tearing the wrapping away. Both boys had received new silver pocket knives. No doubt a gift from Bobby, but it didn’t matter. All Dean had ever wanted from John was his presence and this morning had been gift enough.
Humming Jingle Bell Rock, Dean slid in bed next to his brother and slipped the Santa hat onto his head. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”