Holiday Fluff Advent Style: Day One

[scribblinlenore]

As I've mentioned before, I'm really feeling the holiday spirit this year. So…it's time for Holiday Fluff: Advent Style!

One fluffy holiday-related fannish story a day, for twenty-five days, starting now instead of a week from now because I'm going home for Christmas and won't be able to post that last week. *g*

Day One: At The Inn, Supernatural, Sam/Dean-ish, PG, no sacrilege intended, I swear!



Day One

"What do you mean you don't have any rooms?" Dean glared at the clerk behind the desk. "This is the third motel we've been to. How can nobody have one lousy room?"

The pimply-faced kid shrugged. "The Ice Capades are in town. People come from all over the state. You won't find a vacancy for a good thirty miles."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"People love those Ice Capades." There was no detectable hint of irony in the kid's expression.

Dean trudged back out to the car. "No room at the inn again, Sammy."

"That is so not funny." Sam clutched his hugely round belly.

Dean darted a glance at him and said quietly, "This could be-- a sort of miracle."

Sam clenched his hands into fists, like he'd rip Dean's balls off if he had the energy. "Says the one of us who isn't knocked up. Also, you may recall that this was no immaculate conception."

Roughly translated, I blame your dick for everything.

Dean let out his breath. "Okay, let's just find some place private where you can--" He waved his hand. "You know."

"Yeah," Sam muttered bitterly. "I know."

They'd passed a barn on the way into town, not ideal, but at least it was off the road and a safe distance from the farmhouse.

"I can't believe this is where you brought me," Sam bitched as Dean helped him from the car.

"Dude, it was the best I could--" He was interrupted by a torrent of warm-wet soaking his boots. "What the fucking hell?"

Sam moaned, "My water broke."

Dean stood rooted to the spot. His brother's water broke.

"Dean," Sam was red-faced and panting, "get me inside. I need to push."

"This is not happening," Dean muttered to himself. "This is so not happening!"

It was the sound of his own voice rising in a girly scream that jolted him awake. He frantically checked the room. Sam was sound asleep in the other bed, a spot of drool spreading over the pillowcase, his stomach as flat as a board, the way nature intended.

"Thank God," Dean muttered.

He gave the crusted-over cup on the nightstand a look he usually reserved for the evil and the undead. "No more fucking eggnog," he vowed and then shuddered. "Ever."