Dean/Sam and Christmas Lights for javajunkie13
Title: Baby It’s Cold Outside
By: Venilia Jones
SPN, wincest, PG
Description: It’s early December on a highway in Nebraska with slope hills and grazing cattle when it starts snowing.
Notes:
Ogallala is a real town. The official website declares it to be The Cowboy Town of Nebraska. I have no idea as to what types of establishments, and what sorts of hot beverages served in said establishments, might be found in Ogallala.
This was written before A Very Supernatural Christmas, and has been jossed. Ah well.
750 words exactly, not including title and author’s notes.
For javajunkie13 on the occasion of Christmas. Happy Holidays, sweetie!
It’s early December on a highway in Nebraska with slope hills and grazing cattle when it starts snowing. Traffic is slow, and the occasional small towns they pass are lit up with Christmas lights. They can’t stop until they reach Denver, so when tiny flakes start falling Dean just flicks the heating up a little higher and turns Ella Fitzgerald down low. Sam tucks his head up against the window and listens. The snow is dry - everything in Nebraska is dry - and it murmurs swishing sounds as it washes over the windshield. The car in front of them leaves wakes in the faint tide of snow that lies over the road. Sam tracks the whirls with his eyes and thinks the snow looks like the ghosts from stories or tv. It’s pretty.
Dean cups his hands to his mouth, breathes some warmth back into his blood. He drives with his knees, which he’s actually good at but hates to do because one time he came this close to hitting a deer. Dean doesn’t mind killing the occasional evil human, but he hates killing animals unless absolutely necessary. Sam thinks that’s funny, but he secretly admires this stubborn innocence. Only Dean.
“Hey,” he reaches over and warms Dean’s hands himself, rubbing life back into them. Dean has nice hands. His ring is icy cold against Sam’s palm. There are gloves in the trunk somewhere. They’re probably useless.
Dean smiles back. “Hey.” He has a nice smile too. Sam shouldn’t notice this.
“Should make a pit stop,” Sam says. His bladder is protesting the cheap coffee from earlier.
“Map,” Dean says. Sam fishes through the glove box.
“Here.” he taps. “Ogallala. Fifteen miles.”
Dean gets into the right hand lane.
Ogallala is a cowboy town, definitely. Dean walks like a cowboy, right into the motel/gas station/convenience store. Sam doesn’t look. Tries not to.
When he gets out of the bathroom (drying his hands on his jeans because it was filthy and washing was a must) Dean thrusts a steaming styrofoam cup at his chest. It’s hot chocolate, Mexican style which is Sam’s favorite. Sam sips carefully and Dean grins at him, pleased to be giving. Dean’s like that.
Sam might be a little in love with his big brother.
They lean against the car, in the cold, making dragon smoke with their breath and drinking their hot chocolate. Across the street there are a few scraggly pine trees decked with white lights. Sam thinks it looks cozy. They’ll stop by Bobby’s around Christmas, if not on Christmas day. Christmas Eve, though, Sam will scotch tape a three foot strand of multi-colored lights to their nightstand, wherever they are, and they’ll give each other little somethings. Thick wool socks and a new thermos last year. This year he might buy Dean new gloves.
A pickup rumbles past, leaving new snow swirls behind. Dean nudges him.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” After a silent second, “What? It’s nice, that’s all!”
Sam shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “You just surprise me sometimes.”
Dean claps Sam’s knee and straightens up. “Wouldn’t want you to get bored with me, Sammy. Let’s hit the road.”
They’re back on the highway, and Sam is curled up admiring the ghost swirls again before he says, “I wouldn’t, you know. Get bored with you.”
Dean glances at him funny. Sort of like he’s thrilled, and sort of like he’s concerned for Sam’s mental health. “It was just a joke, Sammy.”
“I know that!” No matter how nice Dean looks Sam will always be a younger brother, ok? “I just. You should know.”
Now Dean’s looking at him like he said something entirely different. ‘I want to have your incestuous love babies’, maybe, or ‘Dean, aliens are real and I can prove it’. Something like that. Is he… blushing?
“Yeah, ok,” Dean replies, and turns back to the road. Sam kinda hates him for that because he’s pretty sure they just had a Momentous Conversation - the life changing kind, like The Talk, or maybe the This is Why We Hunt Demons, Sammy conversation. Or maybe the So How Would You React, Theoretically, if I Told You Sometimes I Like Guys That Way conversation.
But Dean just flips through the stations to find that classic Christmas one again and leans back. Dean Martin’s singing Baby It’s Cold Outside. One of his arms is stretched across the seat. When Sam leans back Dean’s fingertips brushes the ends of his hair.
Sam smiles, and doesn’t move.
By: Venilia Jones
SPN, wincest, PG
Description: It’s early December on a highway in Nebraska with slope hills and grazing cattle when it starts snowing.
Notes:
Ogallala is a real town. The official website declares it to be The Cowboy Town of Nebraska. I have no idea as to what types of establishments, and what sorts of hot beverages served in said establishments, might be found in Ogallala.
This was written before A Very Supernatural Christmas, and has been jossed. Ah well.
750 words exactly, not including title and author’s notes.
For javajunkie13 on the occasion of Christmas. Happy Holidays, sweetie!
It’s early December on a highway in Nebraska with slope hills and grazing cattle when it starts snowing. Traffic is slow, and the occasional small towns they pass are lit up with Christmas lights. They can’t stop until they reach Denver, so when tiny flakes start falling Dean just flicks the heating up a little higher and turns Ella Fitzgerald down low. Sam tucks his head up against the window and listens. The snow is dry - everything in Nebraska is dry - and it murmurs swishing sounds as it washes over the windshield. The car in front of them leaves wakes in the faint tide of snow that lies over the road. Sam tracks the whirls with his eyes and thinks the snow looks like the ghosts from stories or tv. It’s pretty.
Dean cups his hands to his mouth, breathes some warmth back into his blood. He drives with his knees, which he’s actually good at but hates to do because one time he came this close to hitting a deer. Dean doesn’t mind killing the occasional evil human, but he hates killing animals unless absolutely necessary. Sam thinks that’s funny, but he secretly admires this stubborn innocence. Only Dean.
“Hey,” he reaches over and warms Dean’s hands himself, rubbing life back into them. Dean has nice hands. His ring is icy cold against Sam’s palm. There are gloves in the trunk somewhere. They’re probably useless.
Dean smiles back. “Hey.” He has a nice smile too. Sam shouldn’t notice this.
“Should make a pit stop,” Sam says. His bladder is protesting the cheap coffee from earlier.
“Map,” Dean says. Sam fishes through the glove box.
“Here.” he taps. “Ogallala. Fifteen miles.”
Dean gets into the right hand lane.
Ogallala is a cowboy town, definitely. Dean walks like a cowboy, right into the motel/gas station/convenience store. Sam doesn’t look. Tries not to.
When he gets out of the bathroom (drying his hands on his jeans because it was filthy and washing was a must) Dean thrusts a steaming styrofoam cup at his chest. It’s hot chocolate, Mexican style which is Sam’s favorite. Sam sips carefully and Dean grins at him, pleased to be giving. Dean’s like that.
Sam might be a little in love with his big brother.
They lean against the car, in the cold, making dragon smoke with their breath and drinking their hot chocolate. Across the street there are a few scraggly pine trees decked with white lights. Sam thinks it looks cozy. They’ll stop by Bobby’s around Christmas, if not on Christmas day. Christmas Eve, though, Sam will scotch tape a three foot strand of multi-colored lights to their nightstand, wherever they are, and they’ll give each other little somethings. Thick wool socks and a new thermos last year. This year he might buy Dean new gloves.
A pickup rumbles past, leaving new snow swirls behind. Dean nudges him.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” After a silent second, “What? It’s nice, that’s all!”
Sam shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “You just surprise me sometimes.”
Dean claps Sam’s knee and straightens up. “Wouldn’t want you to get bored with me, Sammy. Let’s hit the road.”
They’re back on the highway, and Sam is curled up admiring the ghost swirls again before he says, “I wouldn’t, you know. Get bored with you.”
Dean glances at him funny. Sort of like he’s thrilled, and sort of like he’s concerned for Sam’s mental health. “It was just a joke, Sammy.”
“I know that!” No matter how nice Dean looks Sam will always be a younger brother, ok? “I just. You should know.”
Now Dean’s looking at him like he said something entirely different. ‘I want to have your incestuous love babies’, maybe, or ‘Dean, aliens are real and I can prove it’. Something like that. Is he… blushing?
“Yeah, ok,” Dean replies, and turns back to the road. Sam kinda hates him for that because he’s pretty sure they just had a Momentous Conversation - the life changing kind, like The Talk, or maybe the This is Why We Hunt Demons, Sammy conversation. Or maybe the So How Would You React, Theoretically, if I Told You Sometimes I Like Guys That Way conversation.
But Dean just flips through the stations to find that classic Christmas one again and leans back. Dean Martin’s singing Baby It’s Cold Outside. One of his arms is stretched across the seat. When Sam leans back Dean’s fingertips brushes the ends of his hair.
Sam smiles, and doesn’t move.