Fic: A Very Winchester Christmas (Gen)
This one is for savedean who, aside from providing me with really awesome icons, is also a lovely, lovely person. I’m so happy that we’re friends and I really hope that you enjoy reading this! Happy Christmas!
Title: A Very Winchester Christmas
Rating: PG
Summary: For savedean , who asked for brotherly love at Christmas.
Dean tossed his head back to look up at the ceiling, whistling softly, as he waited in the queue to pay for gas. At the till, a middle-aged woman was becoming more and more frantic as every credit card that she handed over got rejected. Every so often she turned to the boy standing with her and shouted at him to stop playing with the tinsel that was hung around the counter. Sighing, he drummed his fingers against his thigh and glanced out of the window to where Sam was filling the Impala’s tyres with air.
The woman at the front fished another credit card out of her purse and Dean shook his head then stepping out of the queue and wandering up and down the aisles. He grabbed a six pack out of the fridge, thought for a moment and then pulled another pack out; they could afford a little extravagance this Christmas. Looking back towards the line, he saw that it was a lot shorter now and made his way back to wait to be served, snagging a bag of gummy frogs for Sam as he went.
He finally managed to pay and he flashed a grin at the woman behind the counter before leaving. Sam was already done, and he leaned over to open the driver’s door as Dean hurried back through the snow. He climbed in, nodding at Sam, and shoved the bag of shopping into the back.
“It’s cold out there, huh?”
He turned to look at Sam, raised his eyebrows.
“What?”
“Kind of stating the obvious there, little brother.”
Sam shrugged and pulled his seatbelt on as Dean started to drive out of the parking lot, going slower than usually as he navigated across the snow.
Dean cursed as it began to snow even heavier than before, “I can’t see a thing.”
“That’s reassuring.”
He reached over and turned the music off. “We’re not going to get far in this.”
Sam nodded, “Just find the next place you can and stop there, then.”
“Yeah. If we even manage to get that far.”
---
Sighing, Dean leaned his head back against the seat as he turned the key in the ignition. The Impala’s engine cut off and he’d never been as glad to stop the car before. The roads had been full of snow and where the snow had been cleared there had been ice instead. He glanced sideways at Sam, whose hands were clenched around the side of his seat, and swore.
Sam nodded and then smirked, opening his door, “I’ll race you to the motel.”
Cursing, Dean hurried to follow, feet sinking into the snow as he ran. He reached the door, slid on the wet floor as he skidded to a stop inside. Sam pushed the door shut behind him, laughing.
“You cheated.”
“I learnt from the best.”
He grinned at that, pulled his wallet out of his jacket as he turned away to get a room, “You’re going back out for our stuff.”
And just like that, it was Sam’s turn to swear.
---
Sam shook his head as he walked into the room carrying their duffels and the things that Dean had bought earlier. He threw them down onto the bed and pulled his wet jacket off, letting it drop to the floor.
“It’s still snowing, then?” Dean passed him a towel, smirking.
“Jerk.”
“Don’t call me names on Christmas Eve.”
He swiped at his hair with the towel, “It’s not Christmas Eve anymore.”
“What?”
“It’s after one. It’s Christmas.”
“Oh, well,” Dean reached down into the bag and pulled out the gummy frogs, “Here you go.”
He caught the bag when Dean tossed it towards him and smiled, “What’s this for?”
“Christmas, idiot.”
“Thanks, Dean.” He took two steps forwards and pulled Dean into a hug.
“Sam, get off.”
“You’re not getting out of this now, it’s Christmas and you gave me a present and-”
“You’re all wet, Sam. Get off.” Dean pushed him away, scowling.
“Oh. Sorry. I- Merry Christmas, Dean.”
“Yeah, yeah. Forget it.”
Dean still couldn’t help but smile when Sam pulled a slightly crumpled magazine out of his duffel. It might not be the usual type of Christmas -in a clinical motel room, with no cards or turkey or eggnog - but it was their type of Christmas.