Tag Archives: holiday fics

Son of a Bitch! (#3 – Christmas Edition)

Started: 20.12.22

Finished: 20.12.29

Words: 459


“Son of a bitch!”

Sam bolted upright, reaching for his gun on the nightstand in the dark. He tore out of his bedroom, sweeping the bunker as he went, “Dean?”

“I’m in here!”

He approached the kitchen, mind racing as he heard his brother continue to swear, “… You okay?”

“Fan-freaking-tastic.”

Sam stopped in the doorway as he spotted his brother standing in front of the open oven door, baking tray laying on the floor, amongst scattered pieces of broken cookies. Sam blinked in surprise, tired brain trying to make sense of the scene as he tucked his gun into the back of his pants, “What uh… what are you doing?”

Dean made the short trip over to the sink, running cold water over his bright red hand, “Burnt my hand.”

Sam shook his head, coming down the few steps into the kitchen, “And you’re baking at 4am because…?”

“I was trying to surprise you.”

“Why?”

Dean shook his head, “After the year you’ve had, I… I just wanted to do something nice.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, “And you thought… baking was the best way to do that?”

The blonde gave his brother a pointed look as he turned the water off, shaking out his hand, “It is the holiday season.”

Sam scoffed, making his way over, to help pick up the broken cookies, “Yeah, but we aren’t exactly the celebrating types.”

Dean slammed his fist down on the counter, immediately regretting it as his knees buckled with the pain. He took in a sharp breath, momentarily closing his eyes as he let it out, “I just… I wanted to give you at least one good holiday memory. I mean seriously, it shouldn’t be that hard to-”

The blonde cut himself off as he felt his brother nearly slam himself against his chest, arms wrapping around his back, tightly. He opened his eyes and hugged his brother back, in spite of his surprise. Sam let go in the next instant, going back to picking up broken pieces of cookies, as if the hug didn’t happen. Dean stood there a moment, brows furrowing in confusion.

He made his way over to help his brother pick up the broken cookies, occasionally glancing at him as he helped, unsure of if he should say something. They continued in silence for a few minutes, before Dean couldn’t hold back anymore, “Sammy-”

“Don’t.”

He raised an eyebrow at his brothers’ tone but complied. Sam flicked his eyes up to the blonde’s face and sighed, running the hand that wasn’t piled with broken cookies through his hair, giving a sheepish shrug, “Sometimes you just need a hug, y’know?”

Dean nodded, unable to hide the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth, I know.


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Chicken (Preview)

Written: 18.09.28-18.10.05

Words: 1,486


Okay, he threw the grocery bag down on the counter with a huff, starring into it with a mounting panic, what do I make first? He eyed the pie filling and the pie crusts, does pie take longer? He began lining all the cans out on the counter, starring over the flavours, I’ll start with these so I have time to perfect them for Dean. He grabbed one of the cans, placing it inside one of the shells, looking confused, that’s not how the picture looks… He picked the can up to inspect it. Upon shaking it, he heard a squishing, cheeks going red at his embarrassment even though he was alone, of course… it’s inside the can! He pulled a knife from a drawer, stabbing the top of the can – frowning when it didn’t open. He tapped the knife on the lid of the can again, sound of metal clinking against metal filling the air, how the hell…?

His eyes drifted slightly downward, toward the paper on the middle, he smirked as he turned the can on its’ side, taking the knife to the paper. The paper fell away from the can in a few slices, only to reveal more metal underneath, much to Cas’ dismay. The whole can is metal?

Huffing in rage, he grasped the can firmly in one hand and began sawing into it with the knife, using all the strength he could muster, “I… don’t…have…time…for…this.”

 

 

The Winchester brothers’ made their way through the bunker door, ears perking at the struggling noises coming from inside. Dean wiped blood from his eye as he nodded to his brother, the pair separating with their guns drawn, preparing to sweep the bunker. Fresh from a hunt, they were both still on high alert for any threats – even on Thanksgiving they didn’t get a break.

They moved into the hallway, where the grunting noises were getting louder. They stopped on either side of the kitchen doorway. Sam looked to his brother, holding his breath. At his brothers’ nod, they entered the room, raising their guns and startling the ex-angel.

“Cas?”

They lowered their weapons as they saw the kitchen island, full of food. There were about ten pies lining the kitchen island, used as a make-shift boarder around different dishes holding vegetables, and a giant hole, assumed to be the place for the bird in the ex-angels’ arms.

Cas put the roasting pan on the table, giant smile splitting his face, what’s on his face? before he threw his hands up in the air like an over-excited five year old, “Happy Thanksgiving!”

“Cas,” Deans’ voice was careful, hand out like he wasn’t sure what to expect, “What uh, what is all this?”

“I made you Thanksgiving dinner!” The raven-haired man took the oven-mitts off and untied his apron, gesturing to the stools set at the island.

The brothers’ shared a look as they approached the island cautiously. Sam took a stool, eyes roaming over the holiday spread, “Why uh… what made you decide to cook?”

“I thought you could use a good holiday memory,” he smiled as he handed each of them a beer, “y’know, instead of having somebody die.”

Dean snorted, taking a seat only when the youngest shot him a look, “Well it, uh, smells… great.”

Sams’ stomach grumbled almost as if on cue, cheeks going red as he looked over the table with a small smile, “What would you recommend we start with?”

Cas gestured to the bird in the middle of the table, “The main event, of course.”

Dean looked skeptical – it’s still pink for Christ sake –  but made his way around the other side of the island to grab the carving knife.


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