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Fic: Midnight Clear
Because I'm weak, more Supernatural fic. Schmoop this time, and *gasp* gen. (Though, always slashy in my mind, dammit.
Title: Midnight Clear
Rating: PG-13
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beanside
Disclaimer: I make no claims of ownership on the characters herein. I'm borrowing them for my own amusement only. No money is made off this. (I wish.)
Summary: Schmoop-fic. Seriously. This could cause sugar shock.
“You have got to be kidding.” Sam narrowed his eyes, glaring at his brother.
“People need our help,” Dean insisted.
“Dean, it’s Christmas Eve.”
“Because poltergeists care?” This time, it was Dean’s eyes narrowing.
“From what you’ve said, the activity has been going on for a while, right?”
“Yeah. About two years. The husband said that someone had just given them Dad’s number,” Dean added.
“Any escalations lately?”
“No.” Dean’s voice was clipped, hard.
“So, an extra day isn’t going to hurt, right? I mean, I don’t think the family wants us stomping around doing ghost hunting while they’re opening presents, Dean.”
Dean looked down and muttered something unintelligible.
“What?”
“I said, ‘they aren’t there,’” Dean admitted. “They went to the grandparents house for Christmas.”
Sam just stared at him for a moment.
“Fine, we can wait a day,” Dean snarled. “I’m going to go take a shower. You tell the clerk that we’re staying on for an extra night. And get breakfast.”
“Fine,” Sam shot back.
“Fine.”
“Why are you so pissed?” Sam yelled.
“I’m not pissed!” Dean yelled back.
“Then why are we yelling!”
“I’m not yelling. When I yell, you’ll know!” Dean yelled, slamming the bathroom door behind him.
Sam shook his head, and scooped up his wallet. What the fuck was all that about?
A quick stop at the desk apprised the staff of their change in plans, and he headed over to the diner to put in a breakfast order.
After three days in the town, Sam was pretty sure that he knew everything there was to know about Molly, the waitress at the Branson Diner’s life. Everything.
“Morning, Sam,” she called. “Grab a booth, I’ll be right there with coffee.”
He sat, and a moment later, she bustled over with a mug of steaming coffee and a cinnamon roll. “I-“
“You need to eat more, Sam,” she told him sternly. “Look at you. You’re too skinny. Now, what can I get you?”
“Cinnamon roll,” he reminded her, pointing towards the plate. “That’s good.”
She snorted. “Sure it is. Bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns,” she decided. “Some protein to put some meat on your bones.”
“And some placque in my arteries,” he murmured under his breath.
She slapped the back of his head. “Don’t backtalk me, boy.”
“Sorry, Miss Molly. That sounds good,” he murmured.
“Is my brother giving you problems, Miss Molly?” Dean asked, giving her his best winning smile.
She turned to him, all smiles. “What can I get for you, sweetie?”
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean, the asshole, was sweetie. He was boy. The world was unfair.
Dean gave her a through-the-eyelashes look. “Wouldn’t have another of those cinnamon rolls, would you? And some ham and eggs?”
Miss Molly beamed at him, and smacked Sam again. “See? Boy knows how to eat.”
Dean smiled again, sliding into the booth. “Thanks, Miss Molly. You’re a sweetheart.” As soon as she bustled away, his smile faded. “Look, I’m sorry I was kinda rough on you back there.”
“What was that all about?” Sam asked. “I mean, I know you don’t believe, but-“
“Christmas, Sammy. As in Christ? You know I don’t go in for that crap.”
“Yeah. I know.” Sam sighed, looking down at his plate. “It’s not about the religious stuff. It’s about family. You, me. Dad.”
“We didn’t celebrate,” Dean pointed out.
“Not always. But there was that one year, where dad stacked the beer cans up like a tree and put candles in some of the holes. That was nice. He left us presents under it.”
Dean stared at the table silently.
“You did that,” Sam said flatly.
“You were little,” Dean muttered. “You didn’t understand, and the kids at your school were making fun of you.”
Sam stared at him until Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Miss Molly brought them their food, and Dean flipped back on the thousand-watt smile for her. If she noticed the strained edges, she was smart enough not to comment.
After she left, Sam waited a moment, considering. “Will it bother you if I go to midnight mass?”
“No, why would it?” Dean returned, voice soft.
“I don’t know. I just. I used to go with Jess, and her family,” Sam offered.
Dean flinched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it meant that much to you. It’s okay, Sammy.” He ate his food quickly, and slapped a ten on the table as he slipped out of the booth. “I’m going to go do some more research on the poltergeist. Look up some of the local legends of that area.”
Sam blinked. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“What can I do?”
Dean hesitated. “You wanna do the research stuff? I’ll hit the market, get food for tomorrow—nothing’s gonna be open—and the Laundromat. I’m out of socks.”
Sam nodded quickly. “Yeah, I can do that. I think I saw a sign that the coffee house down the block has wireless, so you take the car.”
“Cool.” Dean hurried out the door, pulling his collar up against the cold air.
“Hey, Dean?” Sam called.
“Yeah?”
“Pick up some eggnog.” Jess had loved eggnog. He’d drank it to make her smile, even if he’d thought it was like sugared snot going down.
Dean nodded, and headed out.
Shaking his head, Sam paid the check and headed back to the motel to grab the laptop, resigning himself to a day of boring research.
When he got back to the room, the car was still gone. Jesus, where had Dean gone for food? Shrugging, Sam pushed the door open…and stared.
Where there had been bare walls, and an empty table, there were…things. Christmas things. A tree, hung with gleaming ornaments, wrapped packages under its scraggly boughs. Garland hung on the walls, the furniture.
Sam felt his throat clogging with emotion. Dean. Dean had done this. Put up things for a holiday he obviously didn’t like…for him.
“Jesus, Dean,” he whispered, sitting on the bed, staring at the blinking lights until they blurred, tears he hadn’t cried in years sliding from under his lashes.
When he finally lifted his head again, it was dark in the room, save for the light of the tree. And of the fake candles that flickered in the window. With a sigh, Sam got up, flipping on the light. A pair of neatly folded khakis and a button-down shirt that he knew he didn’t own were on his bed, the schedule for Christmas Mass on top.
Still no Dean, even if it was obvious he’d been there for a while, judging by the empty glass of eggnog, complete with an empty miniature of spiced rum next to it. Several full miniatures stood next to it with a note. “Went for a walk, take the car to church. Dean.”
Sam shook his head, glancing out the window. Bare tree branches danced in the breeze, looking like bleached bones through the frost on the window pane. Nice, Sam, he thought idly. Bleached bones? You’ve been hunting too long.
He looked out again, forcing himself to notice the way the moonlight played on the icicles on the gutter, the way the snow reflected the light, brightening even the dark of night.
Sam closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he’d felt like anything could be bright. Been a long time since he’d felt…anything, really. Anything other than grief and fury.
He picked up the clothes Dean had left, looking at the tree again. If you looked closely, you could see that it was a tree-lot reject, twisted trunk and sparse branches, but to Sam, it was perfect. It was…love.
Dean might not say it, hell, he might be an ass half the time, but when it counted, he would be there for Sam. Always.
The church was small, but they’d gone all out for the holiday. Candles burned in the windows, illuminating the wreathes that graced their arches. The scent of the pine boughs laid on the altar mingled with the familiar scents of incense. Sam took a seat in the back, closing his eyes, and letting the familiar sounds and smells wash over him, leaving behind a comfortable sense of peace.
The organ began to play, and he opened his eyes, following along in the paper bulletin they’d handed him at the door. As always, his favorite part was the music. Carols they’d all known for as long as they could remember—newer to him. Though, if he closed his eyes, he could almost remember one of them, sung in a voice he’d only heard in his dreams until this year.
“It came upon a midnight clear,” A rusty, but clear voice came from behind him. “That glorious song of old.”
Sam turned, eyes widening. Dean smiled wryly as he slid into the pew, but his eyes—their mother’s eyes—were sad. “Mom’s favorite carol,” he said, voice choked.
Sam picked up the song, his hand sliding over to squeeze Dean’s lightly. As the last note died out, he glanced over, smiling through the tears.
Dean smiled, eyes suspiciously bright. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”
Title: Midnight Clear
Rating: PG-13
Author:
beansideDisclaimer: I make no claims of ownership on the characters herein. I'm borrowing them for my own amusement only. No money is made off this. (I wish.)
Summary: Schmoop-fic. Seriously. This could cause sugar shock.
“You have got to be kidding.” Sam narrowed his eyes, glaring at his brother.
“People need our help,” Dean insisted.
“Dean, it’s Christmas Eve.”
“Because poltergeists care?” This time, it was Dean’s eyes narrowing.
“From what you’ve said, the activity has been going on for a while, right?”
“Yeah. About two years. The husband said that someone had just given them Dad’s number,” Dean added.
“Any escalations lately?”
“No.” Dean’s voice was clipped, hard.
“So, an extra day isn’t going to hurt, right? I mean, I don’t think the family wants us stomping around doing ghost hunting while they’re opening presents, Dean.”
Dean looked down and muttered something unintelligible.
“What?”
“I said, ‘they aren’t there,’” Dean admitted. “They went to the grandparents house for Christmas.”
Sam just stared at him for a moment.
“Fine, we can wait a day,” Dean snarled. “I’m going to go take a shower. You tell the clerk that we’re staying on for an extra night. And get breakfast.”
“Fine,” Sam shot back.
“Fine.”
“Why are you so pissed?” Sam yelled.
“I’m not pissed!” Dean yelled back.
“Then why are we yelling!”
“I’m not yelling. When I yell, you’ll know!” Dean yelled, slamming the bathroom door behind him.
Sam shook his head, and scooped up his wallet. What the fuck was all that about?
A quick stop at the desk apprised the staff of their change in plans, and he headed over to the diner to put in a breakfast order.
After three days in the town, Sam was pretty sure that he knew everything there was to know about Molly, the waitress at the Branson Diner’s life. Everything.
“Morning, Sam,” she called. “Grab a booth, I’ll be right there with coffee.”
He sat, and a moment later, she bustled over with a mug of steaming coffee and a cinnamon roll. “I-“
“You need to eat more, Sam,” she told him sternly. “Look at you. You’re too skinny. Now, what can I get you?”
“Cinnamon roll,” he reminded her, pointing towards the plate. “That’s good.”
She snorted. “Sure it is. Bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns,” she decided. “Some protein to put some meat on your bones.”
“And some placque in my arteries,” he murmured under his breath.
She slapped the back of his head. “Don’t backtalk me, boy.”
“Sorry, Miss Molly. That sounds good,” he murmured.
“Is my brother giving you problems, Miss Molly?” Dean asked, giving her his best winning smile.
She turned to him, all smiles. “What can I get for you, sweetie?”
Sam rolled his eyes. Dean, the asshole, was sweetie. He was boy. The world was unfair.
Dean gave her a through-the-eyelashes look. “Wouldn’t have another of those cinnamon rolls, would you? And some ham and eggs?”
Miss Molly beamed at him, and smacked Sam again. “See? Boy knows how to eat.”
Dean smiled again, sliding into the booth. “Thanks, Miss Molly. You’re a sweetheart.” As soon as she bustled away, his smile faded. “Look, I’m sorry I was kinda rough on you back there.”
“What was that all about?” Sam asked. “I mean, I know you don’t believe, but-“
“Christmas, Sammy. As in Christ? You know I don’t go in for that crap.”
“Yeah. I know.” Sam sighed, looking down at his plate. “It’s not about the religious stuff. It’s about family. You, me. Dad.”
“We didn’t celebrate,” Dean pointed out.
“Not always. But there was that one year, where dad stacked the beer cans up like a tree and put candles in some of the holes. That was nice. He left us presents under it.”
Dean stared at the table silently.
“You did that,” Sam said flatly.
“You were little,” Dean muttered. “You didn’t understand, and the kids at your school were making fun of you.”
Sam stared at him until Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Miss Molly brought them their food, and Dean flipped back on the thousand-watt smile for her. If she noticed the strained edges, she was smart enough not to comment.
After she left, Sam waited a moment, considering. “Will it bother you if I go to midnight mass?”
“No, why would it?” Dean returned, voice soft.
“I don’t know. I just. I used to go with Jess, and her family,” Sam offered.
Dean flinched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know it meant that much to you. It’s okay, Sammy.” He ate his food quickly, and slapped a ten on the table as he slipped out of the booth. “I’m going to go do some more research on the poltergeist. Look up some of the local legends of that area.”
Sam blinked. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“What can I do?”
Dean hesitated. “You wanna do the research stuff? I’ll hit the market, get food for tomorrow—nothing’s gonna be open—and the Laundromat. I’m out of socks.”
Sam nodded quickly. “Yeah, I can do that. I think I saw a sign that the coffee house down the block has wireless, so you take the car.”
“Cool.” Dean hurried out the door, pulling his collar up against the cold air.
“Hey, Dean?” Sam called.
“Yeah?”
“Pick up some eggnog.” Jess had loved eggnog. He’d drank it to make her smile, even if he’d thought it was like sugared snot going down.
Dean nodded, and headed out.
Shaking his head, Sam paid the check and headed back to the motel to grab the laptop, resigning himself to a day of boring research.
When he got back to the room, the car was still gone. Jesus, where had Dean gone for food? Shrugging, Sam pushed the door open…and stared.
Where there had been bare walls, and an empty table, there were…things. Christmas things. A tree, hung with gleaming ornaments, wrapped packages under its scraggly boughs. Garland hung on the walls, the furniture.
Sam felt his throat clogging with emotion. Dean. Dean had done this. Put up things for a holiday he obviously didn’t like…for him.
“Jesus, Dean,” he whispered, sitting on the bed, staring at the blinking lights until they blurred, tears he hadn’t cried in years sliding from under his lashes.
When he finally lifted his head again, it was dark in the room, save for the light of the tree. And of the fake candles that flickered in the window. With a sigh, Sam got up, flipping on the light. A pair of neatly folded khakis and a button-down shirt that he knew he didn’t own were on his bed, the schedule for Christmas Mass on top.
Still no Dean, even if it was obvious he’d been there for a while, judging by the empty glass of eggnog, complete with an empty miniature of spiced rum next to it. Several full miniatures stood next to it with a note. “Went for a walk, take the car to church. Dean.”
Sam shook his head, glancing out the window. Bare tree branches danced in the breeze, looking like bleached bones through the frost on the window pane. Nice, Sam, he thought idly. Bleached bones? You’ve been hunting too long.
He looked out again, forcing himself to notice the way the moonlight played on the icicles on the gutter, the way the snow reflected the light, brightening even the dark of night.
Sam closed his eyes. It had been a long time since he’d felt like anything could be bright. Been a long time since he’d felt…anything, really. Anything other than grief and fury.
He picked up the clothes Dean had left, looking at the tree again. If you looked closely, you could see that it was a tree-lot reject, twisted trunk and sparse branches, but to Sam, it was perfect. It was…love.
Dean might not say it, hell, he might be an ass half the time, but when it counted, he would be there for Sam. Always.
The church was small, but they’d gone all out for the holiday. Candles burned in the windows, illuminating the wreathes that graced their arches. The scent of the pine boughs laid on the altar mingled with the familiar scents of incense. Sam took a seat in the back, closing his eyes, and letting the familiar sounds and smells wash over him, leaving behind a comfortable sense of peace.
The organ began to play, and he opened his eyes, following along in the paper bulletin they’d handed him at the door. As always, his favorite part was the music. Carols they’d all known for as long as they could remember—newer to him. Though, if he closed his eyes, he could almost remember one of them, sung in a voice he’d only heard in his dreams until this year.
“It came upon a midnight clear,” A rusty, but clear voice came from behind him. “That glorious song of old.”
Sam turned, eyes widening. Dean smiled wryly as he slid into the pew, but his eyes—their mother’s eyes—were sad. “Mom’s favorite carol,” he said, voice choked.
Sam picked up the song, his hand sliding over to squeeze Dean’s lightly. As the last note died out, he glanced over, smiling through the tears.
Dean smiled, eyes suspiciously bright. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”
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I'M NOT YELLING!
But, the turn around from humor to sentiment was flawless.
Well done.
Re: I'M NOT YELLING!
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Thankyou.
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Love it a lot
I'm a xmas fanatic, so this time of the year is very special to me. This story, with my new love (Supernatural) is a very special one too.
*hugs you*
Thank you for sharing and spread that love.
:D
Re: Love it a lot
*hugs*
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JD
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Thanks!
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(Also, I love your icon! So perfect.)
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( I'm waiting for this convo to actually happen in the show one day. *lol*)
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(also, we got your card! I nearly blew a mouthful of coffee onto it laughing.
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lovely
Re: lovely
Thanks!
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Sadness, resolution, love.
Just wonderful.
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Anyways, I liked it. Thank you for posting.