Disclaimer: I don't own the lyrics of 'Let it snow', they're owned by Sammy Cahn and Jule Styne. The characters or settings of Supernatural, they're owned by their respective owners and producers.
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Let it Snow
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They've been stuck in the snow for about three hours now. It's been pretty sucky. Not only did the Impala seize up on their way from a hunt, so they're all bloody and tired (although relieved is also applicable here). Dean had done all his usual precautions for driving in the snow, and it helped absolutely nothing. The track they followed to the hunt wasn't on the main roads, which meant no snow-clearance. That meant that they had to wade through some pretty piled up icy flakes to get back to the main road. And the snow was an evil little bugger that was intent on making all humanity north of Iowa suffer. So, now, they got stuck, legit stuck.
Dean can fish out the Impala, but they were both too tired and it was way too late to do it now. They'd have to wait until morning... oh, just another six hour wait... the thought almost had Sam clawing out of the Impala.
But, now all they had to do was wait it out. Or walk back to their motel room ten miles from their current spot. It didn't sound far, but they were stuck in pretty deep snow and both of them were just so friggen tired.
It was kind of funny how they yawned in sync and how they both managed to start shivering around the same time. Sam's the first to dive to the backseat for his extra jacket, he returns with Dean's in hand too, "Here…"
Dean grunts but doesn't say anything. When he's finally inside his coat, he leans back and rubs his hands -or in this case, hands in gloves- together.
"Geez," Sam sighs, looking out the window at the steady falling white torture trap. It was cold and clammy and wasn't as pretty as everyone makes it out to be. Never is. It's bloody cold and a pain in the ass to get your clothes dry from.
They've got their snow mitts on, their snow boots, their jacket-s. And it's still cold.
They sit in silence for a while before Dean suddenly shoots forwards with a start, a grin, and then finally reaches forwards and switches on the car lighter. "I can't believe I almost forgot!"
"Forget what? What the hell good will that do?" Sam rolls his eyes, wondering for a moment if Dean had slipped into some weird pre-hypothermic hallucinatory state.
"It's fire!" Dean's grin is back full-force as he extracts the flask from under his seat and pops it open.
"What are you doing?!" Sam growls, getting pretty irritated with Dean's cryptic-ness.
"I'm making us a fireplace, Sammy!" Dean answers gleefully, grabbing some scraps of paper from the backseat, some old napkins from the glove compartment and then stuffing them into the cup.
"Dean, this is seriously not a good idea," Sam deadpans and glares at his brother.
"Oh yee of little faith," Dean says and waits patiently for the lighter to pop out. He holds it to the paper stash inside the cup and hands the cup to Sam, "Don't let it die." Dean sticks the lighter back into place. He quickly cranks open his window and inch, reaches over Sam to do the same to his.
Sam slowly blows over the ignited corner, keeping the spark alive, only to freak a moment later when the batch suddenly flames.
Dean grabs it and holds it between them, "See?"
"You're crazy," Sam says with a grateful smile and holds his –now bare- hands out to the mini-flame, "… Crazy… and awesome…"
The slight breeze from outside keeps the smoke from filling the Impala, and Dean's almost gleeful state just gets better by the minute. His thick snow-mitts keep the warming flask cup from burning his hand, but it allows enough heat through to let them both get the benefit of this mini-fireplace.
Sam tosses a couple of extra tissues into the fire-mix to keep it going, "Let me," he quickly re-straps on his mitts and takes the cup from Dean.
Gratefully, Dean takes off his mitts, flexes his sore fingers and holds them closer to the fire. It's times like these that just make being on the road all the more awesome, "Oooohhh the weather outside is frightful…" Dean starts in his sing-song voice.
Sam isn't amused though. He knows this by heart. Every bloody time they get stuck in the snow or have a snow day at school. "Dean, not again."
"But inside the fire is soooo delightful," Dean continues and wiggles his fingers for emphasis.
"It's not a fi-" but Sam can't really retort, because, hey, it IS warm and it IS fire-y. It's not a fireplace, but that doesn't really count, does it?
It definitely doesn't, to Dean.
"And since we've got no place to go…" Dean indicates to the outside, the snow almost as high as the hood now.
"I swear-"
"Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"
"DAMMIT!"
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