Tinsel and Whiskey
Written for the first prompt in the Two Weeks Of Quickies challange- 'A Letter To Santa'.
Supernatural fandom, rated PG, exactly 500 words.
~ @}~>~~
It was almost 1am. Sam hadn’t realised he’d been so long, he’d only left the local library when one of the college student volunteers had tapped him on the shoulder and said they needed to lock up and could he please leave already. He shivered in the cold December air and huddled deeper into his jacket, quickening his pace as he walked through the deserted parking lot.
The cheap motel room was lit by the flickering glow of the TV. Sam did his best to be quiet as he closed the door behind him and stripped off the outer layer of woollies. Dean had fallen asleep sitting on his bed in front of the TV, the crappy motel notepad nestled in the covers were it had fallen from his hand.
“At least you remembered to take your boots off this time.” Sam said with a smile as he pulled the coverlet up to warm his brother. The notepad fell to the floor with a muffled thump and Sam picked it up to put back by the phone. Scrawled on the top sheet was a letter.
****
Dear Santa,
I know I haven’t been a model citizen this year, or any year really. But you have to admit I do good work. All I want for Christmas is for things to keep going how they’re going, with me and my brother and the Impala, fighting demons and kicking ass. I especially like the not getting killed part, if you can help us keep that up it’d be great. I guess this reads more like a prayer or something, but somehow I’m more inclined to believe in a big guy in a red suit then some invisible guy who lives in the clouds, even if you do both have matching beards. Anyway, now you’ve got my list and there’s a bottle of Jack Daniels in it for you.
Rock on,
Dean Winchester
****
Sam looked over Dean’s face, relaxed in sleep he looked much younger and more fragile then his larger-then-life personality would have you think. The mostly-full bottle of whiskey on the side table caught his eye, the sticky glass beside it indicating where the missing liquor had gone. Impulsively he picked it up, taking a quick swig of the burning liquid before screwing the lid back on. He ripped the top couple of pages from the notepad and stuffed them and the bottle of JD into his backpack; he could dispose of them properly in the morning. He kicked his shoes off and stripped down to boxers and t-shirt before climbing into his own bed. He fumbled for the remote and clicked the TV off, darkness settling over the room. Sam stared at the ceiling for a time, sending his own earnest prayer out that Dean’s Christmas wish would come true, because that’s all he wanted too. Eventually sleep stole him away and he dreamt of a tinsel-covered Impala. He smiled sleepily… Dean would hate it. He would buy some tinsel tomorrow.
Supernatural fandom, rated PG, exactly 500 words.
~ @}~>~~
It was almost 1am. Sam hadn’t realised he’d been so long, he’d only left the local library when one of the college student volunteers had tapped him on the shoulder and said they needed to lock up and could he please leave already. He shivered in the cold December air and huddled deeper into his jacket, quickening his pace as he walked through the deserted parking lot.
The cheap motel room was lit by the flickering glow of the TV. Sam did his best to be quiet as he closed the door behind him and stripped off the outer layer of woollies. Dean had fallen asleep sitting on his bed in front of the TV, the crappy motel notepad nestled in the covers were it had fallen from his hand.
“At least you remembered to take your boots off this time.” Sam said with a smile as he pulled the coverlet up to warm his brother. The notepad fell to the floor with a muffled thump and Sam picked it up to put back by the phone. Scrawled on the top sheet was a letter.
****
Dear Santa,
I know I haven’t been a model citizen this year, or any year really. But you have to admit I do good work. All I want for Christmas is for things to keep going how they’re going, with me and my brother and the Impala, fighting demons and kicking ass. I especially like the not getting killed part, if you can help us keep that up it’d be great. I guess this reads more like a prayer or something, but somehow I’m more inclined to believe in a big guy in a red suit then some invisible guy who lives in the clouds, even if you do both have matching beards. Anyway, now you’ve got my list and there’s a bottle of Jack Daniels in it for you.
Rock on,
Dean Winchester
****
Sam looked over Dean’s face, relaxed in sleep he looked much younger and more fragile then his larger-then-life personality would have you think. The mostly-full bottle of whiskey on the side table caught his eye, the sticky glass beside it indicating where the missing liquor had gone. Impulsively he picked it up, taking a quick swig of the burning liquid before screwing the lid back on. He ripped the top couple of pages from the notepad and stuffed them and the bottle of JD into his backpack; he could dispose of them properly in the morning. He kicked his shoes off and stripped down to boxers and t-shirt before climbing into his own bed. He fumbled for the remote and clicked the TV off, darkness settling over the room. Sam stared at the ceiling for a time, sending his own earnest prayer out that Dean’s Christmas wish would come true, because that’s all he wanted too. Eventually sleep stole him away and he dreamt of a tinsel-covered Impala. He smiled sleepily… Dean would hate it. He would buy some tinsel tomorrow.