scribblinlenore | Holiday Fluff Advent Style: Day Sixteen (SPN)

Day Sixteen: How The Winchesters Saved Christmas, SPN, Gen

How The Winchesters Saved Christmas
by Lenore

The living room had the forlorn air of a town after the pillage, denuded of its velvet and tinsel, its candles and garlands, presents and stockings. Even the tree had been left a sad carcass, stripped not just of its lights and ornaments, but its pine needles, too.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed in frustration. Too late again, and it was starting to get old.

Sam held a finger up to his lips. "You're going to wake the family." He nodded toward the door. "Come on. Let's drive around the neighborhood. He could still be nearby."

In the car, Dean let out his breath. They’d been at this all night, and he was cold and tired. "So, you got any idea how to stop this thing when we find it?"

Sam shook his head.

"You know anything about it all?" Dean gave him an insistent "don't turn useless on me now" look.

"He's not a big fan of roast Beast?"

"Great," Dean muttered. "That's just great."

At a house in the next block, there was a flicker of yellow in the window, there for a second and then gone, like the roving beam of a flashlight. Dean pulled the car over. Four o'clock in the morning was too late even for unhandy parents with mountain bikes to assemble and too early for giddy five-year-olds dying to know what Santa had brought them.

They stole up to the house, and Sam picked the lock, and they crept inside. They were silent as they made their way to the family room, where there was a telltale rustling. Dean drew his 38.

"Put down the yule log and turn around," he was careful to keep his voice lowered this time.

The creature sighed and did as ordered, and it didn't much resemble the cartoon, bonier, pale blue, with a wiry pelt, and an expression that was more put-upon than malevolent.

"What now?" Dean hissed at Sam.

Sam, the genius, just shrugged. "You know the story as well as I do! They won him over by showing him that Christmas is more than crass commercialization."

Dean shot him an annoyed look.

The Grinch tapped his foot impatiently. "Not so easy to do in real life, is it?"

"There are people who understand the true meaning of the season--" Sam trailed off feebly.

The Grinch rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Make a list of five." He paused for a moment, but they had nothing. "That's what I thought. Admit it. You can't really argue with my motivations. And what do you care anyway? The two of you are spending your holiday out fighting supernatural crime while everyone else is smug in their beds, dreams of gluttony and filthy lucre dancing round their heads."

Dean raised an eyebrow.

"That means they're greedy," the Grinch clarified.

Dean glared. "I know what it means. Look, even if we're not the posterboys for the modern American holiday celebration, we still can't let you keep doing this."

"Why not?" the Grinch sounded honestly puzzled.

Dean looked to Sam, who looked back to him, neither of them with a ready answer.

"It's-- just what we do," Sam managed at last.

The Grinch crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, I look forward to seeing you try."

Dean thought, and the solution just popped into his head, and Sam started to fidget. He always got nervous when Dean got ideas.

"How about if I make you a deal? You lay off the lucre looting, and hang with us, and I'll introduce you to the true reason for the season, the bar scene the night after, the most wonderful time of year for getting laid."

"You're just trying to trick me." But there was a spark of interest in the Grinch’s eye that Dean didn't miss.

"Think about it, man. After a day and a half cooped up with nothing but wholesome family cheer for entertainment, girls are seriously ready to party."

"Well, I suppose that could could be true--"

"Come on," Dean coaxed. "Knowing you’ve got babes to look forward to makes all the gift certificates and reindeer sweaters and fights over the last Playstation a hell of a lot easier to take, trust me. Be honest, it's got to be more satisfying than shredding Christmas trees."

At last, the Grinch was won over. "I suppose you expect me to return everything I took." Dean nodded, and the Grinch let out a sigh. "Fine. But we're stopping for breakfast afterwards. I know a Denny's that's open."

Dean nodded. "You got it, dude."

On the way out to the car, Sam grabbed Dean’s arm and hissed, “You're going to take him clubbing? How are we supposed to explain--“ He waved his hand at the Grinch's grinchiness.

The Grinch glanced back at them, and Dean plastered on a smile, and said under his breath to Sam, "We'll say he's still dressed up from the Christmas parade or…something. Unless you've got a better idea, shut up."

***

The next evening, the three of them hit the Sapphire Lounge around nine o'clock. Apparently, every year they threw a big Bahamas party to say good riddance to Christmas, and the whole place was decked out in surf posters and plastic palm trees. The bartender was serving up fruity drinks with umbrellas, and everyone had donned their version of Caribbean wear. Calypso music played on the sound system. Sam and Dean hadn't dressed up for the occasion, but the Grinch was festive in a Hawaiian shirt and flipflops.

"I'm going to go mingle," he told them and headed off to the bar.

Dean and Sam plunked down at an empty table and ordered a round of beers.

"I can't believe we're doing this," Sam muttered.

Dean shrugged. "He's really not a bad guy once you get to know him."

"He is well versed in Marxist economic theory, I have to give him that," Sam admitted.

After they'd returned all the purloined Christmas stuff, getting things mostly back in order at the houses the Grinch had burgled, they'd hit the Denny's out by the highway, and over waffles and bacon, the Grinch had waxed poetic about his intellectual leanings and his philosophy of life.

People began to pack into the Sapphire, and they lost sight of the Grinch in the boisterous crowd. Two beers later, Dean said, "Maybe we should just check and make sure he's not getting into any trouble?"

Sam nodded, and they pushed their way through the throngs and finally found the Grinch on the far side of the bar, surrounded by attractive young women in sarongs and hula skirts. The Grinch was paying compliments and buying drinks, laying on the charm, telling stories of his world travels. When he noticed Sam and Dean, he raised his mai tai, and his smile was more than a little self-congratulatory.

"Great," Sam deadpanned, "now his ego is three times too large."

Dean laughed and clapped him on the back. "Sammy, it looks like our work here is done."