"12 Days of Christmas Challenge: Day 1"'
Christmas Day is a day for relaxing and doing nothing very much, and for Sam and Dean it's a day for exchanging ridiculous gifts from the 7-11, because it was open.
They are sitting back on their beds, idly watching a "Die Hard" Marathon, and drinking Sam's special recipe eggnog. Dean is contemplating trekking to the diner to fetch them today's special for dinner, but there's no real urgency. Sam is mimicking some of the explosions, much to Dean's amusement, when there's a sudden shimmer in the air, and, before the brothers can reach for their weaponry, Death appears.
Sam gasps, and Dean, ever suave, says, "Hey. I killed you."
"Silly boy," says Death. "I told you. I am much vaster and older than you can possibly imagine. I've been on sabbatical since you gave me the perfect excuse. I've been traveling."
Dean's speechless, but Sam gets himself together to ask where he's been.
"I just came from Montreal in Canada," says Death, almost smiling. "I brought you this." He hands over a cardboard tray filled with something suspiciously brown.
Dean sniffs it and shrugs. It doesn't smell awful. "Thanks. What is it?"
"It's called Poutine," says Death. "Try it. I promise it won't kill you."
And with that, he's gone.
~*~
I am not very good at drabbles, so this is what you get. Merry Christmas, guys.
They are sitting back on their beds, idly watching a "Die Hard" Marathon, and drinking Sam's special recipe eggnog. Dean is contemplating trekking to the diner to fetch them today's special for dinner, but there's no real urgency. Sam is mimicking some of the explosions, much to Dean's amusement, when there's a sudden shimmer in the air, and, before the brothers can reach for their weaponry, Death appears.
Sam gasps, and Dean, ever suave, says, "Hey. I killed you."
"Silly boy," says Death. "I told you. I am much vaster and older than you can possibly imagine. I've been on sabbatical since you gave me the perfect excuse. I've been traveling."
Dean's speechless, but Sam gets himself together to ask where he's been.
"I just came from Montreal in Canada," says Death, almost smiling. "I brought you this." He hands over a cardboard tray filled with something suspiciously brown.
Dean sniffs it and shrugs. It doesn't smell awful. "Thanks. What is it?"
"It's called Poutine," says Death. "Try it. I promise it won't kill you."
And with that, he's gone.
~*~
I am not very good at drabbles, so this is what you get. Merry Christmas, guys.