Work Text:
“Sammy,” Dean says quietly and Sam startled slightly, engrossed in his research. “You know I don’t hate Christmas, right?”
“I– What?”
Dean is kneading his hands, looking awkward without apparent reason. He’s dressed casually in sweats and an old T-shirt, hair mussed as if he had been sleeping. Sam checks his watch and flinches. Midnight has crept up on him without him noticing.
“It’s Christmas,” Dean says.
Sam replies, “I know.” Then, “Dean, what’s going on?”
His brother sighs, drops onto an empty chair next to Sam. “Nothing, it’s just…”
He falls quiet and Sam knows better than to push. He takes the time to crick his neck, straightening his aching spine. He really should go to bed.
“A couple of days ago I thought,” Dean continues, “maybe we should do Christmas this year. But then something came up and you got hurt and I didn’t feel like it anymore.”
Hurt was definitely saying too much. The scrape on Sam’s shoulder barely burned anymore, scabbed over thoroughly, soon to turn into a visible scar, no doubt. One more to add to the collection. It wasn’t anything to write home about really.
Sam shrugs. “I would’a been up for it if you’d said something.”
“We’ve never done Christmas,” Dean retorts although it wasn’t true. They’ve done Christmas when they were younger, just not in the last decade.
“We could,” Sam says simply.
“It’s stupid. I don’t even know why I brought it up.”
Sam sighs, pushing his thumb into his eye socket. “Do you want to do Christmas?”
Dean just looks at him, silent contemplation. It would be unnerving if Sam wasn’t used to Dean’s antics by now.
“I don’t want gifts,” he says finally, “And I don’t think a tree or anything would be practical in the bunker. But we could, um, I don’t know, watch something. Die Hard?”
Sam barks a laugh. “No way. That’s not a Christmas movie.”
“Is too!” Dean protests.
“I was released in July,” Sam counters.
“Whatever.”
“Pick something else,” Sam says. “Know what I think would fit you? The Grinch.”
Dean snorts and mutters something that sounds like ‘Not a Grinch’ but he agrees, “Fine. Now?”
Despite the late hour, Sam can’t exactly say he is particularly tired. “Sure, why not?”
They settled down in Dean’s room – upon Dean’s continuous insistence that his bed is more comfortable, and who was Sam to argue – against the headboard of the bed. Sam’s laptop on both of their legs, shoulders pressed together, they watched the movie that the both of them had seen too many times as children. However, they could still get new enjoyment out of it – both out of the movie and out of being together like this, relaxed without worrying about what was going on out there.
Sam hasn’t finished his research and Dean would probably get restless in the morning, actively hunting for a case, but right now they could revel in the somber atmosphere of Christmas night.
Sam checked the time. It was half past one in the morning. He nudged his brother, who looked like he was about to nod off.
“Huh?”
“Merry Christmas,” Sam says.
Dean smiles sleepily. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”