If there was one thing Dean really liked about living in the bunker, it was having his own room and enjoying a lie-in every once in a while. Snuggle into his covers with no desperate need to be up at the crack of dawn for their next case. Plus the Men of Letters really knew what they were doing when it came to making beds. Dean always felt like he was wrapped up in the warmest, cosiest marshmallow, and he loved it. And if he spent those few extra hours dreaming of pies and drooling into his pillows, then all the better.
Damn did Dean love the luxury of a good lie-in. Unfortunately, on this particular 1st of December he had failed to factor into his plans a certain overgrown lump of a brother.
One minute he was dreaming of pie, the next he was jerked into the land of the living by the loudest screech known to man. "It's Chriiiiissssstmaaaass!"
The first high pitched note immediately sent Dean scrambling out of bed, heart pounding a bazillion beats per second. Somehow chasing the sleepy confusion from his head he managed to get hold of his trusty gun and knife, jumping off the bed and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
"Can the fairies keep him sober for the day?" It was only as his brain caught up with his ears that Dean got an inkling of what was going on. Somehow Christmas songs didn't exactly fit the MO of a demon attack . Which left him with a less dangerous but no less annoying possibility.
Of course the Men of Letters, the stupid, stupid, stupid Men of Letters being so ahead of their times had a complex speaker system installed all over the bunker. And of course Sam with his magical wifi touch had discovered them, and decided that they needed to be tested. And of course the testing had to be done at half bloody 7 in the morning. With Christmas music. Bloody fucking Christmas music. He was far too tired to come up with a more eloquent cuss than that.
The bunker practically hummed as the music echoed off the hewn stone walls, bouncing back to hit Dean in the face. His ears were starting to sting with the sheer volume of it.
Dean's creeping through the bunker took on a much more purposeful stride as he slipped his gun into the waistband of his boxers and let his guard down. It didn't make him look any less angry. If anything, he could forgive a demon attack much more quickly than a direct assault on his precious beauty sleep.
Each stomp of his foot left him feeling more grumpy, as he stormed round looking for his next murder victim. His mood wasn't improved any as the Slade's last chord rang out only to be replaced by Mariah Carey's soprano voice reverberating through his very bones.
One of the main downsides of the bunker was that it was massive, which was great if you were needing to hide, but not so good if you were contemplating fratricide.
After poking his head in pretty much every single room in the bunker, he gave up. Sam would have to await his wrath, his immediate issue was to protect his eardrums from this never ending assault of far-too-happy jingly earburning Christmas music.
He tried to block out the music with more and more vivid imaginings of exactly how he was going to reap his revenge. By the time Dean reached the computer hub he had narrowed it down to two particular options. Number 1, he could simply and efficiently set Sam's silly hair on fire (which to be fair did lack a certain finesse). Or Number 2, his personal favorite, he could just get Cas to magic him onto Mars or something for a few days, maybe introduce him to a few hungry Mars monsters.
He stepped inside to find Sam lazily leaning back in the computer chair, feet propped up on one of the massive computers and hands clutched behind his head. Boy did the fucker look smug.
He fixed Sam with a particularly vicious glare, the one that had proved the original inspiration for Sam's own bitch face.
It didn't seem to faze the younger Winchester, in fact the little shit just started chuckling. It took all of two seconds for Dean to reach him, carefully slamming his foot into Sam's chair. The asshat's precarious balancing was quickly sent off, sending him tumbling to the floor. His laughter just seemed to gather velocity as he started to gasp from the violence of his giggling whilst still rolling around on the floor. Dean ignored his jeuvanile brother, angrily making his way over to the DJ deck and starting to violently slam buttons until the music eventually switched off, leaving Sam's belly laughs and choking words the only thing breaking the silence.
"Hey…you said…you said" He broke down into another round of laughter. "You said…no Christmas songs..before…before December."
Dean couldn't quite stay mad at his childish brother. It had been a long time since he'd seen Sam laugh, let alone mean it. Despite this he managed to keep the smile from his face and maintain a grumpy tone as he dryly ground out "Ho merry fucking ho Sammy!"
Leaving the room, the elder Winchester found that he wasn't particularly angry with Sam, but that didn't mean that the younger Winchester wasn't going to experience the full weight of his payback. This was a matter of honour.
Knowing his brother all too well, Dean had suspected that Sam hadn't quite finished with his speaker fun. Which was why at about 7am the next morning, Dean took a great joy in seeing Sammy's scruffy bedhead appearing at the little window of the locked door of the computer hub. Dean just gave him his cockiest grin as he pulled his ultra-extra strength earphones on and flicked the switch on the speaker system. Mouthing the words 'Merry Christmas' and getting a decent flash of Sam's best bitch face was just the cherry on the top.
Nothing like a rousing chorus of Alice Cooper's 'Santa Claus Is Coming To Town' to wake a guy up in the morning. At least if he didn't happen to have the foresight to wear special headphones.
The elder Winchester practically fell of his chair laughing at the sight of Sam's hands desperately scrabbling at his ears through the windows. Revenge was most certainly sweet.
Quickly checking the door was enforced strongly enough to stand up to 6'4 of pure muscle, Dean curled into the duvet and settled into his makeshift bed. Not quite as cosy as his real bed, but all the more satisfying for knowing that Sammy couldn't interrupt him. He settled down for a good long nap. Maybe if he was feeling nice he'd turn the music off when he woke up at lunch time. Then again maybe not.
If Sammy wanted Christmas songs, by God was he going to get them!