Santa's Sleigh Has Eighteen Wheels by asesina
disclaimer: I don't own SPN.
Genre: Family, Wee!Chesters
Summary: oneshot. slightly sappy. John gives his boys a small taste of Christmas on the road. Short and sweet, somewhat hastily written. I hope you still like it!
North-Central Utah
December 24, 1987
John Winchester exhaled slowly and pressed on the accelerator as the Impala zoomed down Interstate-15 in northern Utah.
Even though the heat was blasting, he could still feel cold tendrils of winter air curling through the doors of the Impala.
John shivered and sunk deeper into his worn leather jacket. He turned up the heat one more notch and frowned in dissatisfaction when the temperature remained the same.
He drove in silence for several minutes before a tiny voice interrupted the quiet.
"Dad, where are we going?"
"Sammy, I told you before. We're just going to help out a friend of mine in Bountiful. There's been some poltergeist activity in an abandoned museum by the old cemetery, so I told Frank that we'd help him out," John said quickly.
"Daddy, why can't we stop?" Sam called again. His voice was strained and he sounded a little hoarse, John noted. It sounded like he was coming down with a cold.
"We will, Sammy. We just have to find a motel first," John replied, trying his best to hide the frustration and fatigue in his voice.
It had been a rough couple of weeks. There was the vampire nest in Reno, the taily-po hunt in Cheyenne, and now this.
John hadn't wanted to keep hunting on Christmas, but his friend had called him at the last minute.
"Dad! Make Sammy shut up! I can't sleep," Dean grumbled from the passenger seat.
"Dean, it's fine. We're almost at the motel. You can sleep there," John said quickly.
"Fine," Dean muttered as he rested his head on the window.
They drove for several more minutes before Sam poked his father on the shoulder.
"What, Sammy?" he asked in exasperation.
"It's almost Christmas, Daddy," Sam said quietly.
"Right, Sammy. Christmas is tomorrow," John replied tiredly.
"How will Santa find us?" Sam asked in a tiny voice.
"Santa can see everybody, Sammy. I'm sure that he'll find our motel."
"How will he get here?" Sam questioned. He yawned and peered out the window at the overcast sky.
"Well, Santa drives-," John began, furrowing his brow as he tried to think of a way to explain it to his son.
"Santa drives an eighteen wheeler," John continued, smiling as he looked in the rear-view mirror at Sam.
"And does he put all the toys in the back?"
"Yeah, and he honks the horn when he passes us on the way to the motel," John said with a wink.
He glanced over at the eighteen wheeler in the next lane and made the 'honk your horn' pantomime.
The driver raised his eyebrows at John but he honked his horn anyway.
Sam's eyes lit up.
"Daddy, was that Santa?" he cried excitedly.
"Maybe it was, Sammy," John said warmly.
He pulled into the parking lot of a small motor inn in Bountiful.
"We're here, Dean," John said as his older son rubbed his eyes and blinked blearily.
"Huh?" Dean asked tiredly.
"We're at the motel. We're going to wait a few days to go on the hunt," John said with a grin.
"Why? I wanted to go today, Dad," Dean said dejectedly.
"It's almost Christmas, Dean. We should take the night off," John replied.
He went to the trunk and gathered their belonging as his sons made their way to the motel.
After they checked in, John bid the boys farewell, explaining that he had to make a quick phone call.
John darted out the door and walked to the convenience store next door. He bought a few toys and some cheap wrapping paper for the boys.
When they fell asleep that night, John wrapped the presents and put them on the table by the door.
He smiled softly as Sammy stirred in his sleep. In the weak orange glow of that Utah motel room, John Winchester quickly brushed away an imperceptible tear as he proudly looked down at his sons.
"Merry Christmas, boys," he whispered.
End.