All I Want
“All I wan’ for Chrithmath ith my two fron’ teeth, my two fron’ teeth, my two fron’--“
Dean slumped down, elbows planted on the kitchen table, and clamped his hands over his ears. “Sammy, that damn song is not gonna get your teeth to grow back any faster.”
Sam, who was busily marking numbers on his addition homework, sniffed. “You don’ know. Maybe Thanta bringth ‘em.” He looked up at Dean through long baby eyelashes. “You thaid ‘damn’.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah, and maybe Santa’ll bring me a house and a car and a pony.”
Sam’s eyes got huge. “Did you athk? You hath to write a letter.”
Santa’s not real, Dean wanted to shout, but he hadn’t asked Dad if this year was the right year, and anyway, thinking about new teeth apparently made Sam happy. A happy Sam wasn’t digging through Dean’s stuff or Dad’s stuff or complaining endlessly about what they had to eat. “A joke, dumbo.” He reached over and ruffled Sam’s hair, making him squeal in protest. “Who needs a pony when we got the Impala? Just stop singing that stupid song. Do your homework.”
There was peace for about two minutes. Dean looked at his division problems. Maybe he’d do them after Sammy went to sleep. While he was waiting up.
“All I want for Chrithmath....”
Dean put his head down on the textbook, not sure why he suddenly felt like crying.