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Christmas Eve, 1859 - Lawrence, Kansas
It’s 9 o’clock on a Saturday. Sammy fell asleep a long time ago next to the fireplace, curled up to Bones, the Singers’ old hound. Jo’s eyes have been drooping, but she insisted on staying up with Dean, and surprisingly, Aunt Ellen let her.
Dean’ll be 10 in January, was his first argument when Aunt Ellen wanted him to go to bed. She’d shaken her head, and told him he’d be grumpy opening presents if he didn’t go to bed. Then he pulled out the big guns. Dad wrote them in his letter back around Thanksgiving that he’d definitely be home for Christmas from his latest job. Dean wants to stay up, at least ‘til midnight. To see if he keeps his promise.
Jo thinks Dean’s stayin’ up to see Santa. That’s why she argued so hard with Aunt Ellen. If she knew what Dean was really staying up for, she’d be curled up with Sammy too. If Sammy really knew what Dean was up to, he’d be awake right now. Aunt Ellen had asked if Dean was okay with her stayin’ up with him.
He had whispered in her ear, “I know Santa ain’t comin’. But I’m hopin’ Dad’s comin’ back. He promised he’d help me wrap Sammy’s present.” To Jo, he had just smiled and tugged on her braid. No need to let the kids in on the secret.
Now, he looks across the rug at his cousin, and she looks almost asleep to him. Head resting on Bones’s other shoulder, eyes fluttering closed and then jerking back open. Dean leans back against the table across from the fireplace and lets his eyes fall closed. Maybe if he pretends to be asleep, Jo’ll think he’s really asleep and she’ll go to sleep.
Next thing he knows, someone is moving him. He feels a pillow under his head and a blanket being laid across him.
“Dad?” he cracks his eyes open and lifts his head, but it’s not Dad.
“Sorry sweetheart,” Aunt Ellen’s smooth, low voice is quiet. “Just me. Sam and Jo are fast asleep over there. I got you your pillow.”
Dean closes his eyes and turns back towards the fireplace. He tries to swallow his disappointment at his father’s absence. He can hear Aunt Ellen rustling around, and he thinks he hears the faint crinkling of paper. Maybe she’s wrapping presents.
He rouses himself, quietly, and pads over to wear Aunt Ellen’s got a small figurine for Jo sitting on brown paper. “Can I help?” Turns out, wrapping presents and putting them under the small sapling in the corner of the room is still fun with Aunt Ellen. Sammy’s gonna love what Dean got him.
• • • • •
Christmas Eve, 1862 - Pontiac, Illinois
Castiel is finally 10, and he wants to go to bed. Early.
“But you’re finally 10, Cassie,” Mama argues. “You might get to see- “
"I know Santa isn’t real, Mama.”
Mama doesn’t look surprised, and that’s how Castiel knows he’s right. She still tries though, “And just how do you know that, my boy?”
“Because I wanted Santa to bring back Dad and Gabe last year, and he didn’t. And now Jimmy’s gone. They ain’t gonna be here tomorrow, will they?”
“Now Cassie,” Mama tries again.
“Will they?”
Mama doesn’t say anything in return, just pulls Castiel in for a hug.
“It’s just gonna be a Mama and Cassie day, my boy. Maybe Aunt Naomi and Ana will be over? We’ll have a nice dinner together.”
Castiel tries to hide his sniffles in Mama’s apron. Ana is nice, but she’s only 8. And she talks too much. But her brother, and Castiel’s cousin, Michael, is older than Jimmy and had to go away too. Ana lives down the street. Sometimes, they talk about their brothers. They don’t talk about dads, because Ana’s dad died when she was a baby. Aunt Naomi doesn’t talk about it either. Aunt Naomi doesn’t like to talk about much at all. Castiel sometimes wonders what they do when they’re home, by themselves, if they ain’t talking to each other. Mama said not to ask.
Maybe, tomorrow, Aunt Naomi will let Ana and Castiel go down to the pond. There’s always ducks there. Sometimes they feed them kernels. Ana doesn’t know that’s where they used to get Christmas dinner, before everyone left. But Castiel does. Maybe, this year, Mama will let Castiel help cook, since Jimmy and Gabe and Dad aren’t home to help. Castiel will be in on the secret, and he won’t tell Ana that they eat the pond ducks.
Maybe they’ll still get to feed them kernels.