Disclaimer: I do not own Dean Winchester, or Supernatural. I'm fairly sure that Eric Kripke owns them.

Author's Note: Tis the season. Anyway, this is just a little oneshot for the Christmas Season.

Snow was one thing, but this was a whole other ball game. Dean peered out the windows suspiciously; he wasn't one to pull over, even in the worst of weather, but visibility was less than zero. He could think of a billion better ways to die than wrecking his baby and ending up deep-fried amongst the twisted flaming carnage of a car accident. When the bright neon lights of a middle of nowhere motel came into sight, he cautiously etched his car into the parking lot and put the gear into park. He gazed up at the window suspiciously.

Colorful Christmas lights hung in the window, dazzling his eyes and sending warm fuzzies rushing to his stomach. He had nearly forgotten that tomorrow was Christmas. If it hadn't been a phone call from both Bobby and Sam, he might have forgotten the holiday altogether. Too wrapped up in work, too wrapped up in trying to forget. He was supposed to meet his brother and surrogate uncle at Bobby's house.

He looked at the cell phone in his hand; full signal, full battery. This was a phone call he didn't want to make. He pushed speed dial three, Sam, and hit send. It rang six times before going straight to voicemail.

"This is Sam Winchester, if this is concerning the family business call 555-9867. If not, leave a message."

"Hey Sammy," He began, regret taking over his voice, "This is Dean. I'm uh, I'm not going to be able to make it home for Christmas. It's like the '72 blizzard out here and visibility is negative zero. Okay, well, I'm going to check in to the hotel now. Later. Say Hi to Bobby for me."

He paused, "Sorry." Finally, Dean hung up the phone. There was no use sitting in the now cold car again. He looked up through the window once more. There was a very attractive young woman at the counter, apparently sketching on a piece of paper in front of her. Dean pulled the key from the ignition and got out of the car. Pulling his coat over his head, he hurried into the lobby.

He straightened himself out before heading to the desk. The woman in front of him wasn't even aware of another person in the room. She was too busy perfecting the eyes on the portrait she was drawing. He didn't recognize the man, but when he looked up at the TV he saw that very same man. Some soap star or another. He rolled his eyes.

He cleared his throat, and finally, she looked up from the picture. She smiled apologetically, "Sorry about that. Sometimes I get kind of - involved in what I'm doing. How can I help you?"

"I need a room." He began, motioning to the Level 3 conditions outside, "Do you have any with those vibrating beds?"

She looked up at him suspiciously, some of her honey locks falling over her shoulder and into her eyes, "No. I thought those went out of style in the 70s."

He shrugged, "Just asking."

"Alright, one room with a queen bed, tonight only?" She asked.

He nodded.

"Name?"

"Dean Winchester."

She scribbled the name down quickly in the hotel leger and then looked back up at him.

"$22.50," She replied, getting off the stool on which she was previously perched and heading over to a wall of keys. She pulled the key with the number '2' on the key chain attached from the wall and slid it to him as he handed her the cash. She nodded, "Have a good stay."

She went back to work on her sketch as he left the lobby. Her hair fell into her face even more and since it was now obstructing her view, she pulled it back into a fishtail bun at the back of her head.

Dean struggled to his trunk, cursing the weather quite loudly as he went, and pulled out a duffle bag. He closed the trunk once more and got into the hotel room.

A few hours later (three, to be precise), the young woman at the counter sighed in discontent. She looked up at the clock, it was nearly 8 P.M. She wondered if her customer was hungry. There wasn't a restaurant for miles, and besides that, who wanted to spend Christmas Eve alone?

She sat, drumming her fingers on the counter for almost fifteen minutes until finally deciding to pick up the phone. She had a roast in the oven after all and there was more than enough food for both of them. The phone rang twice before the man grouchily replied, "Yeah, what is it?"

"Oh, um," She stumbled uneasily over her words. He was attractive, she had looked up from her drawing long enough to notice that, and very tall. Much taller than her own 5'1". "I'm sorry to bother you Mr. Winchester..."

"Call me Dean," He replied, amusedly.

"Alright Dean, and I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with me. I mean, it is Christmas Eve after all and no one wants to be alone today."

"Um," Dean replied. This was awkward, even for him. "Sure, I guess I could do that."

She laughed, "Alright, um. Whenever you want you can just, come back to the lobby."

"Ok." He said and hung up.

Several minutes and a trek through the snow later, Dean was in the lobby staring at the attractive blonde woman in front of him. He smiled, "I never got your name, you know?"

She looked up at him, startled, "What are you, a ninja?"

"You were lost involved in your art again," He replied with a shrug, "So, a name?"

"Chelsea," She replied softly.

"Where do you live?" He asked, "Because I'm not sure we can get anywhere in this weather - even in an old Ford pick up with snow chains and x-ray vision."

"Oh, there's an apartment in the back. I live there," She replied, getting up from her stool once again.

After a good hour and a bit of spiked eggnog the situation wasn't as awkward and the only two souls within a twenty mile radius were able to talk to each other. The conversation flowed freely, as if they had been great friends for many years.

The dinner had been delicious, easily the best meal Dean had had in years. The roast beef was juicy and tender, the baby carrots perfectly slathered with butter and seasonings, the mashed potatoes home made with gravy on the side. She either watched a lot of Food Network, or she was truly born with a talent.

"So where's home, for you?" She asked him, taking a sip from the almost empty cup of eggnog. It was hot chocolate or wine after the glass was finished, and when she looked up at him she knew she had said something wrong.

"Here and there," He replied with a shrug, "I was born in Kansas."

"Oh," She said softly.

"Don't feel bad about it. My family isn't conventional, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I've been all over the country and seen things that most people don't even see in their wildest dreams."

She smiled dully, "I don't believe you."

"About?"

"Not wanting it to be different. If you could, you would have changed everything."

He sighed and nodded softly, "Probably. Did you grow up in a normal family?"

"Hardly."

"Well, what was it like for you guys?"

She shrugged, "I was born in the city, then dad moved us out here. Family members came and went, including my parents. They died when I was 16 or so, from vices that I never knew they had until it was too late. My grandfather stayed here with me until I was old enough to manage on my own. I've been alone here ever since."

"Sounds lonely, and depressing," He replied, taking a final swig from the glass holding his own share of egg nog.

"Why do you think I'm so involved in my art," She replied, "It's very rare that a person drops in to stay a night. You're the first customer I've had in months."

Her admission suddenly made Dean realize that maybe his life wasn't as bad as he had once thought it was. At least he had Sammy and Bobby. Even Castiel was a step up from what this girl must of had to face day by day.

"So why don't you just hire someone to take care of the place and go somewhere?"

"It's not easy to find someone who wants to live this secluded of a life, and it's a thirty mile drive just to get groceries and ten miles for gas."

"So move somewhere else." He offered.

She shook her head, pouring a glass of wine for herself and then for him, as she did so. "Besides this motel is basically the only home I've ever known. Why would I want to give that up?"

"Home is what you make it," Dean replied in a cliche she obviously didn't appreciate. He tried again; "Or, at least, its' right here," He tapped his chest twice, "it follows you, no matter where you're sleeping and eating."

It was another cliche, but she at least gave him a small smile, "I'm afraid to leave here. I've never really been anywhere else."

He smiled, "It's not so scary out there." He said it even though he knew it wasn't true. There was scary shit out there. Mercenary angels and demons who would kill you with a snap of their fingers. Of course, he didn't tell her that.

"There's a whole world out there that is worth seeing, and people worth meeting. You should at least give it a chance," He replied.

She shrugged, "What would stranded travelers do then?"

The thirty year old chuckled, "Well, they would do what they had to."

She stared up at him, "... Thanks for having dinner with me. To tell you the truth, I didn't want to eat alone, either."

He smiled and raised his glass, "Tis the season."

She smiled softly, "Yeah." She toasted him, "It is."

When day break rolled around, Dean was already up and eager to get home. If Chelsea had taught him anything in the few hours they had spent talking, it was that Christmas was a precious time that you should spend with your family. A holiday that many had grown to hate because it only made them lonelier. A fate that the woman that had slept beside him had shared. He felt love for her, if someone could feel such a strong emotion towards someone they had only known less than a day, but what was he supposed to do? He couldn't take her with him.

Instead, he scribbled his number down on a bright green post-it and left it on the fridge. Below it, in his messy scribe, he wrote, "Call me, whenever you need someone to talk to."

And he walked out of the hotel room, out of her life, just as quickly as he had come in. She called him though, only moments after she woke up. She told him that maybe their paths would cross again, because she had decided to follow his advice after all. As soon as Spring thaw came along she would leave the dingy hotel room to explore the rest of the country, and she told him, his advice was the best gift anyone had ever given her.