Crowley's Christmas Fic Exchange: No Snow, Just Heat this Christmas for jdl71

[crowleysxmas]

Of course, with that gormless bint, Dizzo in charge, it's too much to ask that everything should run according to plan.  So of course, on the basis that the best laid plans of men, mice and demons are wont to go astray, there has been a total and utter cock up slight miscommunication which means that jdl71 received a two year old story.

Anyway, I have ironed out said cock up faux pas and so here is the correct story.

Honestly, can't get the bloody staff these days...

Title: No Snow, Just Heat this Christmas

Author: TheYmp

Recipient: jdl71

Prompts:

• Alpha Sam/Omega Dean - Dean is nesting, readying for the whelping of their first pup who is due around Christmas.
• Sam realizes that he's in love with Dean & the steps he takes to make an "oblivious" Dean (is he really oblivious?) his by using a Christmas tradition - this can also be alpha Sam/omega Dean.
• Sam and Dean spend a lazy winter day together, possibly Sam pampering Dean, or the two of them decorating for Christmas.

Genre: romance

Characters: Sam and Dean Winchester, Castiel

Pairing: Sam / Dean Winchester

Rating: PG-13

Word count: ~3,700

Warning/Spoilers: dubious consent

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.

Summary: Sam realizes he needs to step up his alpha game if he's going to get through to Dean in the lead-up to the birth of their child. Told from Dean's point of view.


No Snow, Just Heat this Christmas

He couldn't say precisely what woke him, but Dean had always been a light sleeper. He slipped from his bed, and there, wasn't that a change, to actually be relaxed enough in his surroundings to have gotten both undressed and under the covers? Oh, how his life had changed!

At that thought, his back twinged in sympathy as if to remind him of his age and warn him not to get too complacent. Nothing worth having doesn't also come with some cost. But his wince of discomfort wasn't muscular; it was courtesy of the cold bite of the floor on his bare feet.

Now, where were those slippers?

"Let Sam tease all he wants," he muttered under his breath, "but there is nothing worse than cold feet."

Finally finding the damn things, he slipped on both those and what Sam had dubbed his 'dead guy' robe and padded out of the room.

The cold corridors of the bunker were quiet other than the soft slap of his slippers against the hard tiled floor. On reaching the kitchen, he puttered contentedly about, tidying away a few things and setting the coffee machine on with careless, efficient ease borne of frequent practice.

Running his hand through sleep-mussed hair, he paused, hunter senses not yet completely atrophied from this easier life from his now permanent living in the bunker. His ears strained to hear, to catch any sound over the soft burbling of the coffee maker.

Nah, nothing, he shrugged to himself. One of the hallmarks of the hunter life was a healthy dose of paranoia and a not so helpful chance of PTSD.

Turning his attention back to inspecting the all-too slow progress of the coffee, a pair of arms grabbed him from behind, one wrapping around his shoulder, the other sliding across his abdomen. Jolting with a nausea-inducing burst of adrenaline, Dean cried out in alarm, even as his mug, the only thing remotely like a weapon he had to hand, slipped from his grasp to shatter into a thousand jagged pieces on the hard floor below.

"Woah, jumpy much?" chuckled Sam gently, his lips against Dean's ear, as he pulled the hug in closer. Sam's right hand cupped and stroked across the gentle round of Dean's belly with a delicate yet possessive touch that was as unwelcome as it was comforting.

"Don't sneak up on a guy," hissed Dean, fighting hard against every impulse to lean in to the warm embrace, instead forcing himself to pull away from it. He hated how he could feel the visible flush of his embarrassment spread from his chest to his cheeks and all the way up to the very tips of his ears.

It was yet another in a long catalog of ways for his body to betray him, Dean considered. Why couldn't he be more like Sam, who never seemed to blush or show any other external sign of what he was thinking?

"And stop staring at me like that too, it's annoying," he added, fidgeting under the intense gaze being leveled against him. It was a weird, concussed-like expression that he'd noticed he'd been getting from his brother for a while now, probably as he cast silent, judging aspersions on Dean's sanity. But really, in Dean's opinion, it just made Sam look short-sighted, or constipated, or some combination of the both.

"I'm sorry," said Sam in a calm, too-understanding voice that to Dean sounded not very sorry at all, and he suspected contained more than a hint of smirk.

"Yes, you would be sorry, if I'd taken your head off," Dean complained, hating the catch in his voice almost as much as the fact that he hadn't heard Sam creeping up behind him. "I could've hurt you."

"Sure," said Sam soothingly.

Again that hint of amusement and, he was certain, this time accompanied with a faint snort.

"As if you could remotely be a threat to anyone in your condition," Dean could just imagine his brother thinking, but leaving unsaid.

Irritated and flustered, Dean turned his back to Sam once more and pulled another mug from the cupboard, pausing for a moment before also getting one for his brother. Filling both, he passed one to Sam. "Here. You can clear up the mess, though."

Sam raised a wry eyebrow. "No problem, I'm mean, it's not like you can bend over to clear it up yourself."

Not deigning to answer that, Dean leaned back against the counter and watched Sam setting to work with dustpan and brush. Sam's movements were smooth and graceful despite his size. There was something soothing about watching somebody so comfortable in their own body, Dean mused as he alternatively sipped at his drink and blew on it to cool.

"Are you sure you should be drinking coffee in... your condition?" asked Sam, pausing in his task to stare up between his bangs with those mournful, pleading eyes of his.

It was Dean's turn to snort in derision. "The doctor said one cup a day is safe. Try and take it from me and, I can assure you, it won't be safe for you." He changed the topic by motioning with an outstretched foot. "You missed a bit."

He turned away and, while Sam was still busy sweeping, dumped his mug, still two-thirds full, in the sink. "How do you know so much about having a baby, anyway?" Dean snapped. It felt like Sam had been barely present for the last nine months, ever-circling him in some high orbit, but always strictly hands-off, always at what seemed a carefully calculated distance. Okay, so perhaps Dean could have tried a bit harder to reach out, but Sam knew how difficult it was for him to ask for help.

His eyes stung, perilously close to tears. Damn hormones, he griped, adding it to the long mental list of ways his body was betraying him. "You never cared before," he added, feeling mean but part of him still wanting to lash out anyway.

"Hey, that's not fair!" protested Sam. "You never let me."

"Well, you know what? Life ain't fair," cried Dean. "And this? This is all your fault!"

~#~

It had all been Dean's fault.

There they were, stuck in the middle of nowhere with all the fake IDs having been used up, with no time to arrange any others, and leaving them no insurance at all. What kind of hunter even does that? For sure, their Dad would have turned in his grave, and Bobby would have certainly ripped them a new one, chances of injury being one of the few constants for their lifestyle.

The "just one last case" had been tied to another, then another that of course had overrun for far longer than they'd anticipated. Before he knew it, he was at least two weeks overdue on his anti-heat meds and damn if he hadn't forgotten how much that joyful process hurt.

Then, to cap their mounting, steaming pile of incompetence, they've managed to get themselves trapped in a caved-in mine by a ghoul. By that point, Dean had been so far gone and erratic that he wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if, given the chance, he'd put out for it. Fortunately for him, rather than mating, the ghoul was more interested in their natural death by starvation before it ate them.

Of course, Sam had been there. Big friendly alpha, Sam. Once the dust settled, he could be seen on the far side of the cavern taking great gasping breaths.

"What are you doing?" asked Dean. Hyperventilating wouldn't help anyone.

"Trying not to breathe through my nose," gasped Sam.

"Because of my pheromones," Dean realized. Body betrayal... again. "I'm not doing this on purpose, you know," he protested.

Sam screwed his eyes shut and punched the rocky walls hard, crying out in agony as blood dripped from his torn knuckles. "I must keep control..." he bit out.

The warmth in Dean's chest expanded to steal its way to the rest of his body as he realized the suffering and effort Sam was going through on his behalf. But he could literally feel his brain turning to mush as his senses went fuzzy and his body quivered in nature's response to being in heat and in such close quarters with an alpha.

It was so difficult to concentrate. It was like being drunk, or being slipped a Ruthie by your own biology, hissed a fading part of his own consciousness.

Sam's so big and strong and determined to protect you, that unwelcome, but increasingly persuasive, internal voice advised. Perhaps it would be better to just submit to the inevitable?

He tried to get closer to Sam to explain his mixed feelings about this, but, to his frustration, Sam kept backing away and, from the feral look in his eyes, was just as swept away by his own impulses...

It was Bobby who, worried by the lack of contact, turned up a couple of days later to save the day having tracked them to their last known GPS location. That, and to 'tear you two idjits a new one' as anticipated. Luckily, he also brought a machete that made short work of the ghoul and some black market C-4 to solve their little cave-in problem.

But by then, of course, it was already too late.

~#~

"So, what? You're decorating for Christmas now?" asked Dean incredulously. It was like every surface in the bunker had bloomed into tinsel and greenery in the few hours he'd been in his room.

"Yeah, kinda," grinned Sam, making a final tweak to the foliage he'd just pinned to the doorway leading to the map room.

"That's not meadowsweet, is it?" Dean asked. "Just the thought makes my teeth ache."

"Try losing a nail," Sam shuddered and flapped one hand as if to dispel the memory. "Are you sure you don't need your eyes checked? Cause no, it's mistletoe. It's, erm, for a local case I'm working on... to keep, erm, werewolves at bay."

"Really? That's a thing?" muttered Dean. "Surely a silver knife to the heart would be more effective?"

"Maybe," Sam shrugged, "but I'd heard tell of a pack in the vicinity, and it would just make me feel better in case they catch my scent and try to follow me home."

"I'm not afraid of any mangy cur," Dean declared, feeling secretly... well, he wasn't sure exactly what, but he was feeling something, to think that Sam was concerned about his safety and wellbeing.

"Hey, there's no need for slurs," Sam scolded gently. "I mean, I'd hope you'd never use that kind of language to refer to Garth."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. No need to offend someone just 'cause they're tryna kill us, I get it," sighed Dean, rolling his eyes. "But I guess all this greenery doesn't hurt... it does kinda lend a festive spirit to the place," he mused, it also inspiring him to think of other ways he might want to decorate the bunker.

He was pulled from his woolgathering by the realization that Sam was looming over him with a knowing, wicked smile. "What?" he croaked, feeling defensive.

"You're standing in the doorway," Sam prompted.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, you should've said something if I was in your way," quibbled Dean, prodding his brother in the ribs.

"It's not that, you're standing right under the mistletoe," said Sam, unmindful of being poked, his voice husky as he stepped even closer into Dean's personal space, backing him up against the doorframe.

Finding himself now pressed up against Sam's chest, Dean was momentarily distracted by the feel of solid muscle this revealed. Wow, he's obviously been working out a lot more recently. "Well, back off then, and let me get outta your way."

"Don't you know it's unlucky to refuse a kiss under the mistletoe?" added Sam, raising one mocking eyebrow.

"Sounds distinctly creepy, if you ask me," snorted Dean. "But it's not like we've not already done the dirty, thanks to our 'biological imperatives,' albeit neither of us really remember the so-called happy event."

Unfortunately, clear mental acuity was not a deciding factor for the reproductive process any more than clear consent, Dean contemplated while running one hand musingly over his distended abdomen.

"Oh man, the last time I felt this bloated was after eating a whole pack of ghost-pepper jerky that one time we-"

Sam had clearly tired of Dean's complaining and decided to take matters into his own hands and leaned further into him. It was a bit like being crushed very gently by a solid brick wall. Sheesh, again with the impressive, slab-like muscles. Then plump but firm lips were pressed down against his own, cutting Dean off in midsentence.

The kiss itself might have been tender, but Dean could feel his knees start to buckle under this gentle, determined onslaught. As his legs gave way beneath him, he was thankful for the strong arm that once more wrapped around his shoulders and supported him. His lips parted enough in the hope that a tongue might pierce his defenses.

He was lifted and deposited upright once more on his feet, before Sam took a half-step back. Dean felt dizzy, his head spinning. Phew! That had been no mere peck on the lips; he could honestly say that he'd never been so thoroughly kissed in his entire life.

Sam gave a low, rumbling hum of appreciation. The sound triggered another wave of shivers through Dean's body in response and he could feel his cheeks starting to flush.

Judging from the slow, wry smile that lit up his features, Sam was clearly aware of the effect he was causing. He slowly, but deliberately, reached out one large hand to stroke it along Dean's cheek, running his long fingers across the shell of Dean's ear that seemed to bloom red in sync, before coming to rest in the sensitive curve of his neck.

Dean let out a soft, inadvertent groan, more a whimper, as his body responded, and he couldn't help but lean in further to the caress. He bit his lip to quiet his disappointment as the firm but gentle touch on his neck was withdrawn.

"So, I've got every other doorway in the bunker to decorate in the exact same way. You wanna come give me a hand?" asked Sam with a raised eyebrow and an intense look in his eyes. It was probably the closest thing Dean had ever seen to a leer on his face, but there was also so much more there that remained unspoken.

Feeling pleasantly weak at the knees, there was no way Dean wanted to say no to that. He could barely remember the last time anyone had touched him, let alone like that, and his body, mind, and soul yearned for more.

"Sure," he answered with a shrug and a breathless nonchalance he didn't feel. "I guess I could help you out."

~#~

Dean stopped what he was doing, embarrassed when he noticed that Sam had stepped into the map room, but despite this he still called out a cautious greeting.

"Hi, yourself," responded Sam, looking about the room with wide eyes. "What happened in here? Did we get hit by a tornado?"

Dean glanced around to admire his handiwork, the Christmas tree that looked so much better shredded and arranged around the central core made up of torn and twisted fabric, and its lights now festooned around the room to cast a low level of light that was enough to see by, but without being blinding to the eyes.

"It looks like you've been building a blanket fort in here and it what, fell over?" asked Sam again, in a soft teasing tone.

"I had some ideas about nesting," sighed Dean. "They may have worked better in my head," he admitted. "I'm sorry, I can clear it up. It was a stupid idea anyway."

"No, no," interrupted Sam hurriedly. "I get it, you've got an excellent view of all the exits so you can feel safe, while it's public enough in case of medical aid, but so you'll still be able to retreat to the privacy of your own room after the whelping only without the stress of it being contaminated by a stranger's scent. I love it, it's a perfect strategy, and I wouldn't have expected anything less from you."

"Thank you," nodded Dean, both pleased and impressed that Sam had so easily understood his thoughts and motivations.

"Yeah, I guess the time goes so fast, I can't believe you're almost-" Sam stopped abruptly, seeming to lose the thread of what he was saying. He frowned, pointing in confusion at one of the piles of clothing. "Is that my laundry pile?"

"Yes," Dean acknowledge with a shy grin. "I wanted to make sure it carried your scent. Recently, I've been finding it... comforting."

"Oh," said Sam, his cheeks for once coloring pink with pleasure as a broad grin filled his features. "I don't know what to say," he beamed, bringing one hand up to rub at the back of his neck. "Although..." he added, gingerly retrieving a couple of shirts from the large pile. "This one's covered in hydra blood, so it's probably toxic, and this one's actually my favorite, so I might just move these two out of the way."

"Fine," agreed Dean, rolling his eyes but smirking as he did so. "So, do you wanna join me and help try it out?"

"I'd love to," agreed Sam, his eyes shining with happiness. Bundling the shirts up into a loose ball, he absently tossed them into a far corner before hurrying over to meet Dean in the center of the nest.

They settled into the pile of blankets, Dean patiently allowing Sam to adjust their position to his liking, until he was comfortably spooned with his back against Sam's chest, with Sam's chin resting on Dean's shoulder. Finally, Sam wrapped his powerful, protective arms around Dean's abdomen, gently cradling the precious cargo within, and they both breathed a long, contented sigh.

"This is great, wonderful even," said Sam after a long while, as they both stirred from a light doze. "It's everything I ever wanted. But... you gotta know that you could have your pick of any alpha out there, yeah?"

Dean smiled, turning in Sam's arms to face him with an expression that would out-smug the cat that had got the cream. "Yep, I could, couldn't I?"

Sam snorted. "I'm just sayin', you don't have to settle on me just because I'm here."

Dean's expression hardened. "Don't you ever say that, don't even think it," he said in a voice like a whip crack. He ran his hands down and along the width of Sam's shoulders to hold his attention and lowered his voice before continuing in a gentler tone. "You are here, you've always been here for me - like I've always been there for you - it just took both of our dumb asses a while to realize that. And heaven help whoever dares try to get between us."

Sam pulled him close with a throaty chuckle. "You know, you're really hot when you get angry."

"Oh, I'm really hot all the time," declared Dean airly. "Ah," he cried out, with a pained, surprised look on his face.

"What is it, what's wrong?" demanded Sam.

"Go get me some more towels, and call Cas," ordered Dean, his voice now calm but higher than his usual register. "This pup's coming now."

~#~

"I still think you'd be better in a hospital," argued Castiel.

"Not a chance," panted Dean. "I feel safe here in the bunker with my family around me, not in some clinic surrounded by people I don't know." He paused to take another couple of gasping breaths. "Besides, you promised to be my doula, and Sam's alpha instincts can hardly bear to let you near me, let alone some stranger."

Sam raised an apologetic hand, albeit while still unconsciously making a low, rumbling possessive growl.

"Well, I've never been able to convince you on any course of action in the past," grumbled Castiel. "So, it stands to reason that now's not the time to start. But Dean, you have to at least attempt to follow my directions. And Sam, if you could stand on the other side of him - yes, you can hold his hand - but, if you could refrain from trying to tear out my throat with your teeth, we should all be able to get through this."

~#~

Dean slumped back into the twisted piles of towels and blankets of his nest with an exhausted sigh but a triumphant gleam in his eyes. Giving Sam's hand a quick squeeze, gently this time, mindful of the bone-crushing grips he'd inflicted during the mercifully short labor, he cast a hungry stare in Castiel's direction and the healthy sound of a new pair of lungs getting their first use.

"Skin to skin's the best," smiled the angel, laying the baby against Dean's bare chest. "Say hello, to your daughter, the latest in the Winchester line. Have you thought of a name?"

"I thought maybe, Avery," Dean answered after a moment.

"Meaning 'wise counsel,' that's a good choice," replied Castiel, nodding his head in approval.

"Well, hello there, Avery," said Dean, his eyes glistening as he gently prodded the perfect, tiny hand with one finger. He turned his proud gaze to Sam. "Look at that grip, whether she chooses to become a hunter or not, this one'll make the monsters tremble. Here, Papa, hold your daughter."

"I'm the one who's already trembling," admitted Sam, his own eyes shining, as he leaned down to cradle their child.

"My god, she's beautiful, but what do we even know about raising a daughter?" he chuckled, already besotted with her.

"What do we know about anything? Somehow, we always seem to figure it out between us and you know what, I think we'll make amazing parents," vowed Dean, laying a hand on both baby and proud father.

"Happy Christmas, Sam. This little one here's something I made for both of us!"

(;,;)