This is this years’ Christmas fic.
I’m posting the New Years’ fic on Dec. 6th, and then I will be taking the final 3 weeks of the year and half of January off from posting. I should be back at it Jan. 17th with the first Throw Away Fic of the year. (The product review will still go up on Dec. 13th)
Wee!Chester, John x Mary, Christmas
“John,” Mary gently shook her husbands’ shoulder with one hand, while she collected the empty beer bottles scattered around with the other.
He stirred, but didn’t open his eyes.
“John, c’mon,” she began shaking him harder, “the boys are gonna be here soon.”
He mumbled something incoherently before stretching, cracking an eye open at her.
She pointed to the stairs, “I left the suit on the bed.”
He groaned before standing, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Why do I have to dress up?”
“Because they deserve it.” She looked around the rundown house and sighed, “It’s not like we have an abundance of holiday cheer in here.”
“For Gods’ sake, you told Dean about monsters this year!” She spun around, slamming the bottles down, “I want him to know that doesn’t mean there isn’t still good out there.”
John blinked at her in surprise, taking a few steps toward her before letting out a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand through his hair, changing directions, “O-okay. I’ll go.”
“Thank-you,” she picked the bottles back up before disappearing into the kitchen. “Be ready to leave in fifteen.”
“You have to get Deans’ pie.”
He stopped halfway up the stairs, “You didn’t make one?”
She poked her head out of the kitchen doors, giving him a bewildered look, “I’m sorry, have we met?”
He chuckled before starting back up them, “Right. Sorry.”
“Well? Whaddya say?” Mary held out the box of decorations, smile plastered on her face.
“Hell yeah!” Dean snatched the box, before running over to the undecorated tree, thousand-watt smile lighting his features.
Sam shook his head before joining his brother, digging out a box of big, blue glass bulbs.
Dean dug out the garlands, wrapping it around his hand before using it as a whip, chuckling, “Hey look! I’m Indiana Jones!”
Mary chuckled and shook her head, “Be careful with those, Dean.”
Sam smiled as he placed a bulb on the tree, “This is awesome, Mom! Just like I always imag-” he cut himself off and blinked, as if just noticing what was happening.
Mary made her way over to him, slightly crouching, “What’s wrong, Sammy?”
His brows creased in confusion and he looked around, “I… I don’t…” He chewed his lip as he turned his gaze out the window, catching a glimpse of something he couldn’t make out, “This doesn’t seem…. right.”
Mary laughed and patted his arm, “I know it’s a little strange doing Christmas this big, but, well,” she cupped his one cheek in her hand, “I think we deserve it, don’t you?”
“Yea, c’mon Sammy!” Dean flicked his make-shift whip at him, thousand-watt smile still plastered on his face, “Get in the spirit!”
Maybe I’m dreaming? He sunk down on the couch, rock settling into his stomach, “I guess it just doesn’t really…”
“Say no more,” Mary disappeared into the kitchen, before returning a moment later with cookies, “These oughta get you in the spirit.”
Dean dropped his fake whip and rushed to her, peering into the box, “Is there a Santa?”
“Uhm…” She shook the box, cookies tumbling over each other, “I’m not sure.”
“…Didn’t you make them?”
“Of course!” She placed the box on the table, grabbing one for herself, “I was just tired and don’t remember which cookie cutters I used.” She retreated back to the kitchen door, “Now, I’ll leave you two to decorate, I’ve got to get started on the pie.”
Deans’ head whipped up from the cookies, ears perking like a dog, “Can I help?”
Mary chuckled and shook her head, “Maybe next year.”
Sam watched the exchange with a mounting feeling of dread, what kind of dream is this? He got up from the couch, shaking his head, I need some air.
“Where are you going?”
“Just for a walk.” He grabbed his jacket, hand poised on the front door handle.
“Think again, Mister.” Mary made her way over, stealing his jacket back, “No way are you going out in this weather.”
Sam blinked in surprise, giving her an odd look, “I think I’ll be fine.”
“Ooohhh,” she half-turned to the eldest, “Get a load of Mr. Grow-Up over here.”
Dean fell onto the couch into a fit of giggles.
The brunette shook his head again, “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Mary crossed her arms over her chest, giving him The Mom Look, “You are way too young to go out on your own.”
She closed her eyes, drawing in a breath, “I didn’t want to do this today, but you’ve left me no choice.” She pointed toward the stairs, “Go to your room.”
“You heard me.”
“Mom, I-” he shook his head, throwing his hands up, “You know what? Fine.” He stormed up the stairs, slamming the bedroom door.
He held his breath for a moment, standing in the hall, listening for footsteps behind him. At the lack of, he crossed the hall to the attic door, pulling the drawstring down, ladder narrowly missing his head. He began to climb the creaking steps quickly, ducking as he reached the top.
He coughed, waving some cobwebs out of his way as he looked around the small space, spotting a window off to one side, perfect. He made his way over to it, huffing as it took more effort than he thought to pry it open. He did his best to ignore the blast of cold that hit him, and poked his head out, looking to the ground, that should work.
Bracing himself with his hands by the wall, he stepped up onto the base of the window, before drawing in a deep breath, starring at the snow covered ground, time to wake up.
“Sam?” Dean tore threw the building, knocking open every door he could find – original plan of going in quiet forgotten.
He told him to wait at the front door as he replaced his flashlight batteries. Sam had apparently thought ten minutes of waiting was too absurd and went in alone, like an idiot. And of course, what does Dean hear the second he reaches the front door? His brother crying in pain. And then? Nothing. No response to his calls, no more grunts or screams – zip.
Dean scrubbed a hand down his face as he raced up the stairs. It was a rarity when he prayed that the thing they were hunting was more interested in torturing than killing, but, when the thing your hunting is a Djinn, well, you’re not really left with a choice.
“Sam!” He began kicking open the doors at the top of the stairs, adjusting his grip on the silver knife. “Sam?”
C’mon, you’ve gotta be- ha! He ran into the fourth room, sliding to his knees beside his brothers’ body, practically slamming his head into his chest to check for a heartbeat. Don’t you dare be dead… He adjusted his position, leaning his head harder against his chest, free hand going up to his neck to check for a pulse, c’mon, c’mon… I don’t think we can ask Death for any more favours.
He breathed out a sigh of relief and sat up as he finally felt his pulse. It was faint, but thankfully still there. “Okay, little brother,” he picked up one of the brunettes’ limp arms, throwing it over his shoulder, bracing his chest with his own, “Time to go.” He looked around the room for something he’d be able to lean his body on, not finding anything.
Okay, the hard way it is, he placed the knife in his jacket pocket before grabbing for Sams’ other arm, flinging it over his other shoulder. He smiled triumphantly as he’d somehow managed to get up onto his feet without dropping his brother.
“Dance hall’s the building across the street.”
The voice from behind him made him jump, brother slipping slightly. He turned and spotted a man standing in the doorway, “I’m uh,” he readjusted his grip, so he had his brother by one arm and the waist, “gonna assume you’re not the building inspector?”
The man shook his head before sending the hunter flying backward, colliding with the back wall with a deafening crack.
The blonde groaned, taking a moment to get some air back into his lungs before rolling over, “Y’know,” he got himself up on his knees, “it’s been a while since I was flung into a wall.” His back cracked as he stood, “I was kinda hoping we could do this without-” He cut himself off as he plunged his hand into his pocket and finding it empty. He spotted the knife laying a few feet away, of course.
“Sorry about that,” the man replied, evil smile splitting his face, revealing fangs.
Fangs? Dean took a few steps closer, “You’re not a Djinn?”
The vampire blinked in surprise, “What? No.” He gave the hunters’ a once over, “… You are the Winchesters, aren’t you?”
Dean shook his head, “No, we’re the Smiths.” He pulled one of his fake ID’s out of his pocket, handing it over.
The mans’ eyes got wide and he handed it back, “I heard you calling the name ‘Sam’, and I just assumed-” he cut himself off, shaking his head, “You know what? Nevermind. Sorry.”
“Huh…” Dean starred as the vamp turned and left the room, hearing his footsteps on the stairs. “Must be our lucky day.” He pulled out his phone and chuckled when he saw the date, “Of course…” he flashed the screen to his brothers’ unconscious body, “Whaddya know? Christmas miracles do exist.”
He punched speed dial before going back to his brothers’ side, doing his best to haul him back off the ground one-handed, “Bobby, you have anti-Djinn, right?” He wiped the sweat from his forehead as he carefully balanced his brother against his chest, “Okay, be there in twenty.”
Sam groaned, blinking his eyes open slowly, squinting against the light, am I back? He sat up and looked around the room, noting the lack of …anyone. At least I’m at Bobbys’, that should be good news. He went to sit up, noting the cast on his leg, what the hell? His heart sped up at the thought of still being trapped in his dream.
He turned his leg slightly, noting a drawing on the cast. He chuckled and relaxed, seeing a crudely drawn Christmas tree, wrinkling his nose at the poorly drawn inappropriate Santa drawing beside it, noting his brothers’ signature.
“I don’t care what you say,” Dean walked in, followed closely by Bobby, handing the youngest a beer before flopping down beside him, “That’s funny.”
Sam accepted the beer but otherwise didn’t acknowledge his brother, “It’ll come off, right?”
Bobby shrugged, “It was Sharpie-ed so…”
“Hey!” Dean whacked him with a cushion, “That’s some of my best work.”
“I know,” Sam smirked, firing the cushion back, “That’s why I don’t want it.”
“Yeah, keep talking there, Pretty Boy. Make fun of the guy who saved your life.”
Dean took a sip from his own, sharing a look with Bobby before clearing his throat, “So, uh, w-what did you see?”
“Dean,” Bobby shook his head.
“What do you mean?”
“In your hallucina-Djinn. What was it? White picket fence? Jess?”
“Oh,” he began picking at the label on his beer bottle, eyes going to the ground, “uh, y’know… just stuff.”
“C’mon,” the blonde bumped his arm, “you know mine.”
Sam let out a breathy chuckle, “You showed me yours so now I have to show you mine?”
He rolled his eyes, “It was…” he took a breath, “We were all together and just… decorating.”
Bobbys’ brows furrowed, “Decorating?”
“Yeah,” Sam felt his cheeks flare, “it-it was Christmas.”
Dean nodded, easing back against the couch, “Huh, well, Sammy, that’s, uh…” he took a swig from his beer before smirking, “That is the lamest shit I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t really have the chance to look at the call-sheet before I went in.”
Dean chuckled, taking another swig from his beer before turning to Bobby, “Can we do it now?”
Bobby rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand at them, “Fine.” He dropped the small shopping bag he was holding on the table, “Go nuts.”
“Yes!” Dean tore into the first package he saw, newspaper flying all around him like a human shredder, revealing a pie. He laughed and pet the box, “Awesome, thanks, Bobby.” He turned expectant eyes to his brother, “Well?”
Sams’ brows creased in confusion, “Well… what?”
“My present.” He pointed to the clock that read 1am, “It’s Christmas.”
“I didn’t get you anything.” At the offended look, he held up his hands in mock surrender, “I didn’t know we were doing gifts.”
Dean gave him a bewildered look, “When do we not do gifts?” At Sams’ pointed look he held up his hand, “Fine, when have we not done gifts when we were both alive?”
Sam shrugged, “I didn’t think we were doing anything.”
“Oh, well,” Dean ripped the lid from his pie and plunged his hand into the middle, taking out a fistful, shoving it in his mouth, “Then I’m not sharing.”
Sam shook his head, “It’s not like you got me something.”
Dean scoffed, sending pie crumbs flying all over the couch, “Was saving your life not enough for you?”
Sam squinted his eyes but smiled, “Oh, that counts?”
“Okay, then I did get you something.”
Sam got up off the couch, using one crutch to hobble across the room, reaching under the lip of the fireplace, before pulling out a small, unwrapped box, tossing it to his brother.
Dean raised an eyebrow, “Pretty half-assed, present, Sammy. Not gonna lie.”
He rolled his eyes, making his way back, stopping close to the front door, “Just open it.”
The elder did as instructed, brows’ creasing as he picked up what was inside, “A paintbrush?”
Dean shared a confused look with Bobby, “I don’t get it.”
“Well,” he began pulling on his jacket, “You know how you always complain we’re not festive enough?”
Dean swallowed thickly, “… Yeah.”
Sam smirked before wrenching the door open, revealing a candy-cane coloured Impala, with reindeer antlers attached to the headlights, covered hood to bumper in about three tons of glitter, all wrapped up under a giant, red bow.
Dean was out in the yard in an instant, sputtering as he walked in circles around the car, “Wh-what… how did you… I…” his face had gone three shades whiter.
Sam stayed next to Bobby in the doorway, ear-splitting grin on his face as he recorded the reaction with his phone, “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”
Sam could barely hold back his laughter, “Say her name.”
Deans’ confused eyes met his brothers’, “Say her…?” He turned back to the car, “Baby?”
Dean jumped back as the car roared to life, Christmas carols blasting through the speakers and Christmas lights began to light up in time with the music. The eldest Winchesters’ jaw dropped impossibly further at the display.
“He-he,” Bobby was nearly doubled over with laughter, wiping tears from his eyes, face red, “He’s gonna kill you, y’know.”
Sam stopped recording, shoving his phone back in his pocket and shrugged, “I think he’ll be a little distracted.”
He made his way over to where his brother was, jaw still agape, taking in every single inch of the decorated car. Ear-splitting grin on his face, Sam clapped his brother on the shoulder, “Merry Christmas, Dean.”
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