...Adult Sam, anxiously wondering if he's done the right thing in the present. He hears Dean unlock The Kinkade Suite's door and nervously looks up as his brother enters. And the second Dean crosses the suite's threshold, the bastards responsible for tonight's musical selections cue up Rosemary Clooney's version of "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" just to try to make me cry like a tiny little girl. Of course, Judy's original version from Meet Me In St. Louis is my favorite and would all but guarantee blubbering on the part of yours truly, but Rosemary's is running a close second here. Well, okay, maybe a close third, after Mr. Hankey's. "I love that little piece of crap!" Raoul shrieks, stifling a sob or two of his own. In any event, Dean's jaw drops a bit in surprise at what Sam has wrought, and when the camera reverses to Dean's point-of-view on the room, we find that Sam's procured a little tree he's decorated with a single string of lights, a couple of fishing floats, tree-shaped air fresheners in every available color, and I...I think I've got something in my eye. DAMN YOU, KRIPKE!
"Hey!" Sam blusters, a bit too heartily. "You get the beer?" "What's all this?" Dean replies, not letting Sam get away without acknowledging it all. "Whaddya think it is -- it's Christmas!" Sam grins, again a bit too broadly, as he's still worried about Dean's reaction. Dean eyes the appropriate signage Sam's tacked above the motel room's TV and wonders, with a hint of a smile on his face, "What made you change your mind?" Sam struggles to maintain his cheery demeanor and decides that goal would best be served by ignoring Dean's question completely and offering his brother a cup of eggnog instead. "Let me know if it needs some more kick," Sam adds, eager to please. One sip clearly grows hair on Dean's tongue, so he assures Sam they're more than good as far as the booze is concerned. "Well, uh, have a seat!" Sam haltingly stammers, clearly unsure how to proceed. "Let's do, uh, Christmas stuff, or whatever!" And as Rosemary croons, "Here we are as in olden days -- happy golden days of yore," Dean settles into a chair, thinks fast, and reaches into the plastic carrier he's just brought in to pass Sam a couple of brown paper bags. "Where'd you get these?" Sam asks with a genuine smile on his face. "Someplace special," Dean leads, before admitting he picked them up at the mini-mart down the street. "Great minds think alike," Sam chuckles as he reaches beneath the sofa to pull out a couple of newspaper-wrapped gifts of his own. "Really?" Dean responds, and his eyes just light up and he's so happy about it and pleased to be getting anything at all and their lives are so miserable and doomed and...and I...I...waaaaah! "I'm a little verklempt, too!" You'll have to excuse us -- Raoul and I need a moment. We'd give you a topic, but we're too busy filling tissues with snot. "[Honk!]"