Twas The Night Before Christmas In A Motel We Know

Twas the night before Christmas, in a motel we know,
Not a creature was stirring, just the neighborhood hoe;
Our stockings were hung by the mini-fridge with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there.

Us children were nestled all snug in our beds,
While visions of burgers and beer, danced in our heads,
With him in his plaid, and I in my jeans,
We'd just settled our brains from bad hooch bought by Dean.

When out in the parking lot there arose such a clatter,
We sprang from our beds, armed, to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the cheap curtains, and yanked up the broken sash.

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature truck, and eight empty beers.

With that boisterous drunk driver, not lively nor quick,
I knew it a moment it was Bobby, not St. Nick.
More rapid that eagles his curses did fly,
And he whistled, and shouted, yelling something about pie.

"Now! Dean, now! Sammy, now! Rufus, and Ellen,
On! Charlie, on! Ruby, on! Jo, Becky, and Jody!
From the top of the motel! to the top of the bar!
Dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry heaves before the morning hours do fly,
When we meet with an obstacle, we shook our heads and sighed.
So down to the lot, in darkness we flew,
To find his truck full of salt, and a new shotgun too.

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the stair,
The prancing and calling of Castiel's glare.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the rickety stairs he came with a bound.

He was dressed in red and white, from his head to his feet,
And his outfit was all perfect, spotless, and neat.
A bundle of gifts was flung on his back,
And he looked so confused, just opening his pack.

His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
His little angel mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the teeth in his mouth were as white as the snow.

The candy cane in his mouth, he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke from the truck engine encircled him like a wreath.
With a furrowed brow on his face, and an uncertain gaze,
We knew there was no bowl full of jelly coming today.

He was bewildered, perplexed, a right puzzled old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him in spite of myself.
A glare of his eye and a snap of his fingers,
Soon gave me to know he had learned a new finger.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And popped us back in our room, just as Dean called me a jerk.
And laying his bag down to the side,
He began to fill our stockings with gifts and great pride.

He sprung to his feet, and picked up the empty sack,
And with a sly smile he winked before fading to black.
But I heard him exclaim, as he disappeared from sight,
Merry Christmas my Winchesters, I hope I did it right.