Merry Christmas to my Supernatural Friends! (Part Three)
Fanfic: Dean Winchester’s Excellent Christmas Adventure
Authors: borgmama1of5 and sandymg
Summary: There has to have been, even in his peculiarly bizarre life, a day where if Dean squinted really hard, it could kind of pass as normal. This was not that day.
Spoilers: None. Set preseries - Christmas 2004
Wordcount: 6,800 - One shot
Genre: Gen, Crack, Christmas, preseries
Characters: Sam, Dean, a Bumble
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. That doesn’t mean we wouldn’t like to…
Dean Winchester’s Excellent Christmas Adventure--Part 3
Part One here: http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/34961.html?#cutid1
Part Two here: http://borgmama1of5.livejournal.com/35171.html
Five minutes and Sammy becomes a Bumble for life? The dogsled ride to the mall had taken fifteen minutes going downhill. How was he going to get back to his brother in time? And only because something in the other man’s matter-of-fact bearing reminded Dean of another cantankerous cap-wearing hunter did Dean turn to him with panicked eyes and ask, “Yukon? What do I do?”
The trapper stared at him. “I already done told you, boy. You gotta fly.”
“Come again.”
“Hop on the back of the reindeer and he’ll get you there. Won’t you, nice fella?” This last was said to the reindeer who Dean could have sworn nodded yes.
“But … reindeers don’t really fly. Tha...t’s make believe.”
Cornelius laughed. “It’s Christmas Eve, boy! And you got yourself a Bumble nearby. Near enough to get this little one off the ground a short distance anyway. Now hop to it, if’n you wanna save your brother.”
Flying? Why did it have to be flying? Dean’s stomach was doing the jitterbug, the Charleston and the twist all at once. Flying scared the ever-living crap out of him. Not that anybody knew this. Especially as their father always drove everywhere.
Sam, you owe me … you will owe me for freakin’ ever. Gingerly he approached Rudy. “Nice boy,” he said petting its back gently. He gingerly put a leg over its squat body and held on around its neck. Dean’s legs touched the ground on either side and he wondered how the heck the puny animal was going to get them both up in the air.
“Ready?” Cornelius asked.
Dean had his eyes scrunched tight and was trying to remember how to breathe. “Yeah,” he squeaked out.
“To the Bumble … now …”
The little animal took one, two, three little leaps and then it was airborne. Dean felt his stomach sink and then wind push against his face and he let out one long, “Ahhhhhh ….” as he held on for dear life. Oh god oh god oh god … he gasped for air and he knew he had to calm down or he’d hyperventilate and pass out and that wasn’t a good idea when sitting on the back of a swaying reindeer flying through the sky on frickin’ Christmas Eve.
He dug his hands into the animal’s smooth fur, digging his nails in harder than he should but he had no choice or he’d fall off and his father would never forgive his dead ass for letting Sammy turn into a walking shag rug. The wind was frigid, whipping against his nose, his cheeks, burning his eyes when he dared slit them open them … the ground was littered with little greenish specks that were… tree tops … oh god … Shut his eyes tight again. Man was not meant to fly, no sirree, if so, they’d have wings like frickin’ angels and he didn’t have wings, nope he had chicken feathers because …. Whoa! The reindeer veered right and was drifting toward a rather vicious looking mountain. Was that mountain always there? He didn’t remember it before. Ahhhhh … another shake. “Easy Rudy, we’re pals here, aren’t we? Flyin’ buddies. Don’t go shakin’ me off, bud. We need to get to Sammy. Get him the mojo nog.”
The reindeer let out a small sound. Sounded like a gleep or maybe a gurp, coulda been a burp, but he liked to think that it was trying to make him feel better. He leaned in closer and gave it a sort of hug, not that he wasn’t squeezing the hell out of the animal as it was. Didn’t want to break its ribs. Flying. Man, he hated flying ... Sitting on the plane, six-year-old Sam by the window all excited and peering down and asking what clouds felt like and what would happen if the window goddamn opened and could they get more peanuts … And Dad saying that Dean and Sammy needed to stay with Pastor Jim, he’d come get them as soon as he could. But they’d never been away from Dad before for very long and who would take care of Dad, and what if when Dean was gone, the monster came and took Dad like it took Mom?
A slight shift and he sensed they were finally heading down, which was good, because down was land and land was good, was where he belonged. And Sam was there. Only they were descending rather fast weren’t they? Shouldn’t the incline be smoother? Shouldn’t Rudy be slowing down about -- Oh shit!
Dean was falling, falling, falling, his arms and legs flailing uselessly … one hand swiped the fuzzy leg of the reindeer but there was no way to grasp it and even as he felt sick from anticipation of hitting the ground the canteen of elfnog tumbled out of his other hand and he was gonna die and Sam was gonna stay a Bumble and he really screwed up this time … I’m sorry, Dad … I’m sorry, Sam … Dean closed his eyes.
His back hit the ground with a thump and it was an involuntary thing to look at the sky one last time. He must have almost made it back to the woods by the motel, for hovering above him, out-of-focus, was his brother’s face. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he gasped. But maybe, maybe it wasn’t too late, “Sam, the canteen, I dropped it,” he had to make Sam understand. “But it’s gotta be close, you find it now and drink the elfnog and you’ll be okay. Won’t be a Bumble no more.”
Dean closed his eyes again and waited for the pain to hit, a fall from that high must surely have broken his back. Then he heard laughing.
“Dude.”
Open eyes again and yes, that was Sam still looming, still blurry around the edges but … he wasn’t fuzzy Bumble Sam, he was just usual ginormatron Sam?
“Elfnog?” Sam was … chortling. “I’m thinking you had a little too much eggnog, bro!”
Dean was lying on the carpet between the two motel beds.
“You’re not a Bumble?” Why was he having so much trouble making sense out of this?
Sam quirked his head. “Okay, Dean, no more spiked eggnog for you.”
Dean stumbled back up onto his bed, holding his head. No. This didn’t … It was a dream? Sammy was okay? He peered at his brother who now sat next to him on the creaky bed. “I don’t-”
Jimmy Durante was warbling “Frosty the Snowman” on the T.V. Right, they’d been watching a Christmas classics marathon on the tube.
“Yeah, I don’t know how much you added to your ’nog, but it sounded like you were having a heckuva party.”
Sam’s smirk was interrupted by his cell buzzing. As Sam checked it Dean saw his plastic cup sitting on the nightstand. Still had something in it and he drained it in one gulp.
That had been messed up … flyin’ on Rudolph … and Sam…
“Huh,” Sam looked up from his message. “That was Pastor Jim. Remember Mrs. Rodin? Baked us those Christmas cookies that year we spent the holidays with Pastor Jim? Anyway, I always ask about her. Seems her daughter just had twins.” Sam stuffed his phone back in his pocket, and Dean could see the wicked teasing look in Sam’s eyes.
“Sounded like one heckuva dream, Dean. A Bumble? Like in the Rudolph special? And you were hollering about six tits … which is actually kind of perverse.”
Dean looked at his brother. Sasquatch - all his freakin’ fault growing halfway to Bumble already. “Shoulda left you a Bumble, you Bigfoot. I’ll have you know I flew on a reindeer to save you.”
“Really? That part sounds cool.”
Sam would think this. “Actually they’re kinda small and they smell. But not as bad as the Bumble.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Oh, and Bobby was in it. Well, he was Yukon Cornelius.”
Sam laughed.
“Sam?”
“Mmm?”
“There’s no such thing as a yeti , right?”
Sam’ eyes widened and his stare grew dead serious. “Sure there is. Very mystical creatures. Holy even. Very few left. And tonight … they need to have a special baby or … the world just goes poof.” His idiot brother burst into a piercing cackle. Clearly Dean’d been talking a lot in his dream. Bitch.
“Dean?”
Dean didn’t answer, too annoyed and embarrassed and otherwise feeling most scrooge-like.
“Did something bad happen in the dream? ’Cause you were awfully upset at one point … I almost woke you …”
Dean looked at Sam. Here, safe, with him. “Nah. Just your usual monster stuff. Nothin’ I couldn’t handle asleep or awake. He looked at the time. Midnight. Sam noticed at the same time.
“Merry Christmas, Sam.”
“You, too, bro.”
The end