PC: Holiday fic
The last words Eli ever said to me was “Protect her well.” Granted, he said that each and every time he left me, one hand steady on my hood, and patted me affectionately as he said it, like a charm against bad luck. But since she stumbled back to me without him, grey and shaking too hard to turn over the engine on her own, I’ve gotten worse I suppose. Ain’t nothing happenin to that kid on my watch.
I’ve not failed her yet, and if I have any say, I won’t. Still doesn’t mean I can’t snicker to myself and any vehicle close enough to hear me, amused as hell as Kiara throws a temper tantrum fit for two year old. Really, it’s kinda sad. And if she kicks my damned tire one more time, it ain’t gonna be pretty, no siree. Ain’t my fault Brian changed the locks on the house. I coulda told her that was gonna happen. Really now, is she that blonde in the head? Cuz I mean, really? Jasmine has been muttering about getting her away for a break, and the holidays just happen to present a pretty good time. Most of the pack have headed out, tire tracks slowly getting covered by the snow, and if she wants to make good time, we’d better hustle. It’s cold, it’s snowy, and those salt trucks are nasty and lecherous things. It’s just gonna be her here, and nobody should be left by themselves come Christmas, ya know?
That sleek and surly Impala up at the Winchesters would agree with me.
I can’t say as I’m surprised when Kiara throws her pack in the back and slams her door hard enough to rattle windows and rock me a bit. She’s a damned firecracker when she wants to be. She’s growling about finding a place to stay… and I want to snort so damned badly. As if there ain’t a house up in South Dakota that would take her inna heartbeat. I’ll let her get lulled a bit, into the zen of driving, and then I’ll start doing the suggestions that she call up Dean. It’ll do her some good.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“No no no. Oh, come on, you stupid piece of crap. Not here.” Kiara snarls, easing the Jeep off the road onto the shoulder as best she can, trying to peer through the roiling black smoke pouring out from under the hood. Madre wheezes to a halt, giving up a final shudder before stalling out. “Really? As if today hasn’t been shitty enough?” She unbuckles the seatbelt, flinging the buckle away in a surge of temper, and unlatches the hood, propping it up as she coughs from the burnt-marshmallow-scented smoke. The smell is a rather strong clue, and she reaches for the radiator cap, already knowing it’ll be empty.
The blisteringly hot cap sizzles for a second against her hand, and she jerks her hand back, waving it as she glares at the vehicle. “You bitch. I really should scrap you, you know that?” The burn isn’t bad, just a few blisters already starting to reabsorb, but the fact the cap is that hot means only one thing. “Damnit,” she growls as she slides down by the tire, thumping her head back on the rubber. It’s cold out, snowflakes swirling gently as they dance downward to melt instantly on the ground, and abruptly, her emotions swing the other way, anger giving way to hot and salty tears. “Damnit,” Kiara mutters again, breath hitching as she swipes away tears.
As if they know, the twins abruptly kick, tussling with each other as they apparently wake up from their nap. She gratefully accepts the distraction, smoothing a hand over the swell under her shirt as she waits out the surge of emotions. The pups are quieting back down by the time she feels steady again, but she waits a few more minutes before resigning herself to the fact.
She fishes out her phone, pressing the ‘2’ keypad until it connects and starts ringing. She almost disconnects it as the other end starts to pick up, but she’s got few resources. Still, it burns like ammonia in her nose as she quietly talks. “Hey, Dean? It’s me. I need a favor.”
**************************************
Dean’s got the spring situated just right, hands steady as he tries to make the minuet connection. And growls when the phone ringing shrilly startles him enough to drop the tool, the spring ‘boinging’ away gleefully across the table. “Damnit.”
“You’re going to have to get that, Dean,” Sam hollers down the hall. Dean glowers, but hauls himself up.
“Why me?”
“Because I’m busy!” Dean chuckles… he could hear the bitchface in that snark, and it warmed him. He was still grinning as he picks up the phone, cradling it between his ear and his shoulder as he pours the lukewarm coffee into the mug sitting out on the counter.
“Singer Salvage.”
“Hey, Dean? It’s me. I need a favor.” He sets the mug down, straightening up as he holds the phone proper.
“Kiara? What’s up baby girl?” Their pup doesn’t call often, and asks for favors even more rarely. And he may be older, but the faint hitch of tears in a voice is something that he’s never failed to pick up on.
“Stupid piece of junk broke down. I just… I need a tow.”
Dean shifts, leaning back against the counter as he stares at the slowly warping linoleum squares. “Where are you?” The location she recites back marks her not far at all, and he frowns. “I’m on my way to get you, but what in the world are you doing up this far? Another hunt?”
“No. I’ll explain later, okay?” He hears the rough rustle of clothes, and he nods, despite the phone.
“Yeah, okay. I’m on my way. You stay put, lock the doors, don’t open ‘em.” Same orders he always gave Sammy, and she responds exactly as he expected.
“Dean, I can handle myself.” But she’s chuckling as she hangs up, and that’s the important thing. He nukes the coffee as he finds his shoes, stuffing his feet into his boots. He wiggles his toes in the cold of them… damned slippers are more comfortable every passing year.
Sam comes back downstairs, book in one hand as the other steadies him against the wall, and he pauses as he watches Dean tug on his coat. “What’s up?”
“Kiara called, she needs a tow. Said I’d get her.”
Sam nods slowly, starting to slip past his older brother. “How long you going to be gone?”
“Shouldn’t be long… she’s in the state.” Startled hazel eyes meet serious green, and Dean quirks a rueful smirk. “Yeah, I’m gonna find out why. But you’d probably better get some blankets for the couch, if I’m right.”
“She staying long?” Sam settles the book on the desk, and starts adding a bit more wood to the fireplace. His tone is nonchalant, and Dean frowns.
“You don’t want her here?” Dean makes sure to leave the question free of any inflection, and Sam glances back up, startled.
“What? Of course I want her here. Jeez, Dean, it’s the holidays. Christmas is Friday. I just wasn’t sure if she was heading back or not.”
The holidays aren’t something they take much notice of. On some years, Sam makes a note of them, and they have a bit of eggnog, spiked liberally, but it’s nothing spectacular. It’s just them, and neither is really inclined to raise the fuss over it all. Dean watches the glint of the keys in his hand, musing. If he’s right, Kiara is similar to them; too much grief and sorrow to rally and enjoy the holidays. But… somehow, the thought of just ignoring it seems wrong. It’s not just his home though. “Hey, Sam?”
The brat doesn’t even glance up from his book, where he’s skimming a finger along ancient symbols. “There’s a box or two of lights in the basement, and a box of ornaments out in the shed, behind the tote of iron fillings. I’ll see what else we might need. Don’t remember seeing a tree though.”
***********
By the time Kiara and Dean stumble back in, shivering, Sam’s strung lights through the house, quiet and unassuming white fairy lights, but Dean’s still surprised by how much it changes the house. There’s a tree stand in the corner of the living room, skirt and box of ornaments sitting beside it waiting for a tree. Dean blinks, trying to take in the sudden changes, and still cover for when Kiara turns to him with a raised brow, questioning. “What?”
“You two don’t strike me as the type to celebrate holidays.”
He shrugs, hanging up his coat and taking hers, mouth all but watering from the scent of coffee on the air. “I’m alive and well, Sammy’s alive and doing better than he was last year at this time, we’ve got our pup back, and by this time next year, the family will have gotten even bigger. What’s not to celebrate?” he questions, meeting her gray gaze steadily. She watches him for a moment before ducking her head, smiling.
“I suppose so.” She stretches, hands rubbing lightly at her back for a moment, before she makes a vague motion. “I’m just gonna go… yeah.” She flushes and wanders away, and Dean shakes his head before following the aroma of coffee to the kitchen, where Sam has apparently cleaned in here, too.
“Been busy, I see,” Dean says low, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam shrugs casually, watching the steam twist and coil from his mug.
“Didn’t see a tree though. You may have to go get one, and we still need to figure out what we’re doing for supper tomorrow.”
Dean grins and nods. “That works for me.”
*********************************
“You know, you could help, instead of just sitting there looking pretty,” Dean teases, driving the axe into the base of the pine tree again. But there’s no answer, and he glances around. “Kiara?”
The damned kid is gone again. He sighs, setting the axe-head between his feet for a moment while he catches his breath. His body has softened over the last few years, without the constant demand he used to put on it, and whacking down a tree is friggin hard work. And of course, Kiara had plopped down beside a decent-sized beast… not that Dean really cared, but still.
He’s about to call her again when there’s a flurry of noise in the distance, and he curses the fact that he left all the weapons at the house. The axe is his only real choice, steel and not silver, and there’s not even holy water anywhere. He knows better, especially since they took the four-wheeler, and had plenty of space with Kiara trotting alongside. “Damnit Kiara!” he growls, torn between yelling for her and staying quiet, not knowing what caused the fuss.
It’s a few moments later that the kid comes trotting out with a big turkey, dragging it over snow as it flops limply in her mouth. “Ah, I see then. I assume we’re having turkey, is that it?” She sits, pawing feathers out of her mouth, and she still entirely too smug for her own good.
Later, he has to admit that the look of shock on Sam’s face as they pull in, towing the tree behind them and the turkey strapped to the back of the quad, is really hilarious.
*************************
“Cold?”
Sam’s voice startles her, and she smiles up at him sheepishly. “No, thanks though.” He nods, and settles onto the couch beside her, stretching out his long legs under the coffee table. He seems content to watch the lights shift and sparkle on the tree, and with Dean’s low snores in the background, she’s more at peace then she has been in a long while. She settles her chin back on her arms, watching the shapes dance and twist in the tongues of fire.
She’s not sure how long she’s been staring, when the twins decide to resume their scuffling. She rubs the spot that a little foot keeps launching from as she sits up more, trying to prevent the acid indigestion before it can really start. Sam’s watching her intently, brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
She nods, grinning ruefully. “They’re just feisty tonight.” His eyes drop to the swell under her shirt, and she catches a flicker of longing in the hazel.
“You can feel them?”
“For about the last week or so.” She’s not let anyone touch the taut skin, not since she learned what Eli left her with, but she can’t quite crush the urge. She takes his wrist, settling the large palm right over the most active spot. It takes a moment, but the warmth sets the pup kicking against it, and the look of wonder that crosses Sam’s features is totally worth the likely bruise later. “That’s your namesake there.” She shifts a little, facing him more directly, before taking his other hand and positioning it on the underside of the bulge. “And Dean’s is right here. He’s not usually the more active one.” Sam’s hand moves a little, fingers questing against the pressure, and she chuckles. “You can push a little harder, you won’t hurt me.”
“They feel different,” he muses, his right hand mapping out the feel of the tiny foot.
“That’s because you’ve got his foot there, and Casey’s tush over here.” She waits a moment, and then grins. “Go grab an ice cube real fast, or stick your hand in some snow.” He glances up at her, confused, and she chuckles quietly. “Trust me.”
When he complies, sweeping the snow off the banister on the porch before coming back, she quickly slides his hand back over where Casey is dozing, underneath the shirt. She can’t fully stifle the gasp at the coldness, but it does what she wants. The pup twists away from it before pressing a knee against the spot, trying to push the coldness away.
“That’s…” Sam trails off as Issac starts squirming as well. Somehow, with the tree lit and casting a gentle light over the room, and the fire snapping and popping, with Dean dozing in his recliner, socked feet up and silly, it’s surreal but soothing, and for the first time since she realized what was growing within her, she thinks maybe, she can actually pull this off. She’s not alone, not like she’s been thinking, not like she’s felt since Eli’s heart stopped, eyes fogging over as Death stole him. And for the first time, she starts to let the idea of Eli’s puppies in her belly sink in, instead of two things she didn’t want, and couldn’t get rid of.