The two brothers never really had a real Christmas growing up. Christmas meant a nicer motel. Christmas meant dad drank -maybe- a little less, if they were lucky. But the monsters didn't stop because it was the anniversary of some important baby being born. There were still things that went bump in the night, which meant that the Winchester's still had to fight their never-ending battle.
But one year they didn't.
The Christmas after John died was probably one of the happiest the boys had in... Well.. Ever. As they shared a glass (or two bottles) of whiskey out on the front porch of their Illinois motel, the chill of freshly fallen snow biting the tips of their noses and fingers.
"Merry Christmas, Sammy," Dean said, offering his glass to his little brother.
Sam clinked his brothers glass with a smile. "Merry Christmas, Dean," he said, the smile infecting his voice.
"So," Dean said, a mischievous smirk on his face, "Presents!"
Sam stopped and laughed a few times. "My presence is your present. I could've left your ass a long time ago," he said taking a drink from his glass before getting interrupted by a sharp pain in the side of his cheek, followed by extreme cold.
Dean nearly fell off his chair laughing. "That was yours, you little asshole," he said shaking melted snow off of his hand. He went to go pick his glass back up, but before he could, a rather large hand was scrubbing snow into his face.
"God dammit, Moose!" Dean yelled, wiping the snow off of his face.
"What are you gonna do about it?" Sam challenged, reaching down to grab more snow.
So Dean tackled him.
They both fell to the ground with a thud, laughter lacing the cold air.
"It makes me all tingly when you take control like this," Sam joked, trying to push his brother off of him.
"Shut up, Sam," Dean replied with a smirk, pinning Sam's hands on either side of his head.
Sam laughed, throwing his head back onto the snow. "You gonna make me, or are you just gonna tea-" of course he couldn't get the end of that sentence out before Dean's lips crashed on to his, assertive yet playful.
Sam's arms struggled to break free, wanting nothing more than to pull Dean closer to him. A soft moan escaped as their tongues danced, getting drunk off of each other.
When Sam's arms were finally free, courtesy of Dean wanting to wind his fingers into his hair, he pulled Dean down closer. Sam was sure that his brother could hear - if not feel - his heart beating. Not taking his lips from Dean's, he sat up, keeping his older brother in his lap, his arms wrapped around his waist.
Reluctantly, Sam freed his lips to dip down to Dean's neck, sucking lightly on his pulse point. Dean groaned, pressing into Sam more.
"We are wearing too many layers for this shit," Dean whispered, laughing, his words coming as a cloud in the cold air.
They both fell back into the snow laughing, and suddenly, the snow didn't seem too cold anymore.
