Disclaimer: At two-thirty in the morning I can think of no funny way to say no.

A/N: Bonjour! Okay, that's the most pep you're going to get out of me, haha. I am so tired right now, though have a day full of Christmas shopping to do tomorrow, and so wanted to post this before then. This story is a Christmas story. I was sitting around one night, and was wondering what it was that the Winchester's would want for Christmas. And after sifting through the obvious R-rated answers, I realized that they'd want some trivial things. So I decided to write this story. Anyways, that's all for now. I hope you enjoy, and please review!

Title: Dear Santa
Genre: Humour
Summary: Dean writes a letter to Santa about all the things he wants for Christmas.

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

My name is Dean Winchester, and I am twenty-nine years old. I have been a very good boy this year…

"Dean! Dean, just shoot the damn thing!" Sam yelled out as one of the two spirits popped up beside him for the umpteenth time.

"Which one?" Dean ducked just in time to miss a chair being thrown across the room from the second angered spirit.

"Start with the one throwing stuff at you, and go from there," even in the tense moment, Sam's voice was laced with sarcasm.

"But which one is the one who fricken killed the- whoa!" Dean could feel his outer shirt get hit by a piece of wood, "Screw it!"

A quick shotgun blast hit the closest spirit to Dean, and, realizing that he was out of bullets, Dean pulled out his iron machete from his shoulder sheath, and lunged at the second one.

I only want a few things for Christmas this year, and I think that because of my track record in the giving department, I should be allowed the whole 'ask and you shall receive' thing. From what I understand it's your elves that do all the gift making in your village, so I'm going to make it easy for them. The first thing on my list is simple;

An unlimited supply of clean underwear.

"Dude, we are not playing this game," Sam closed his eyes in disgust at the thought.

"I bet I'll win," Dean grinned, steering the Impala down another one of America's endless highways.

"I don't want to win!" Sam half laughed.

"Deep down inside, Sammy, I bet you do," Dean looked serenely at his brother.

"Wrong," Sam smirked, "Deep down inside I'm wondering why you think it's a contest to see whose been wearing their underwear the longest without changing it."

"Five days," Dean wiggled in his seat, a bizarre, proud smile on his face.

"Dude, gross!" Sam cried out, moving as close to his door as possible.

Dean laughed, "What are you doing? You think it's going to jump out and attack you?"

"After five days?" Sam's eyes were wide, "We've hunted things less dangerous."

"Hey it's not my fault," Dean defended, "We haven't had time to do a load of laundry lately. That last hunt lasted over a week, and then we left straight for Colorado."

"Then get more than four pairs," Sam shook his head, "And you won't have this problem all the time."

"I don't have this problem all the time. Besides which," Dean wiggled again, smiling, "This pair's just about broken in."

The second thing I want for Christmas is slightly more complicated, though no less important. Though if anyone can do it, you can Santa;

A phone that will never loose its charge…

"Sam, I swear to God if you don't answer your phone, I am personally going to shove it up your ass so far that you'll have to open your mouth to answer it," Dean fumed, pressing the dial button to his brother's phone.

Like the past half dozen times, it rang once, then went straight to voicemail.

Dean couldn't count the amount of times that Sam would phone him while on a hunt simply because he was 'bored' sitting wherever he was, and wanted to talk. Any time, however, that Sam was running late, was hurt, missing, or was taken, his phone would mysteriously go dead, or be 'forgotten'. This time was no different, as Sam was due back from his lookout at the graveyard over two hours earlier, and Dean had been trying to call him for the past hour and a half.

"I'll give you to three," Dean mumbled, looking up at the clock on the hotel room wall, "If you're not here by three, I'm going to kill you. I'm going to find you, then kill you."

It was currently a quarter after two in the morning, and Dean wished nothing more than to sleep. In an attempt to distract himself, Dean sat at the small kitchen table at their hotel, and rested his head on the table.

He didn't mean to fall asleep.

Next thing the elder brother was aware of, was the small creek of the door opening up, followed by careful, slow footsteps walking towards him.

"Wha-!" Dean jumped in the seat, and looked over.

"Sorry Dean," Sam smiled sheepishly, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Sam," Dean gasped, "What-what time is it?"

Dean's brain struggled to comprehend what was going on.

"About three-thirty in the morning."

Dean's eyes were wide as he looked at his slightly bruised and battered brother, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "It went a little bad at the graveyard. The spirit of the girl turned out to be haunting around her grave, not at the house. The one at the house I'm thinking was her sister."

"Why didn't you call me?" the adrenaline was leaving Dean as he stood up, and was quickly being followed by anger, "I've been trying to fricken call you since just past twelve!"

"I'm sorry," Sam held up his useless phone in one hand, "I forgot to charge it this morning. I tried to call you from a payphone before I left graveyard about a half hour ago."

Dean paused and frowned, "On my cell?" Sam nodded and Dean grabbed his phone, "Oh… the battery died…"

The next thing on my list is probably more important to my little brother than to myself;

Socks that never get holes in them.

Sam leaned away from the car and gagged loudly.

Dean rolled his eyes, "Drama queen."

"I am not!" Sam refused to look at his brother, "I just… how do you do that? That never happens with me man!"

"That's because I work harder than you do," Dean grinned.

Dean looked down indignantly at the cause of their discussion; Dean's right foot. It had been a long day of walking through a field of rough terrain, and upon returning to the Impala Dean had taken off his hiker boots to air out his soar feet. 'Air out' was the key words, for as soon as Dean removed his foot, the pungent stench reached the hunters, and Dean noted that a full three toes were protruding from a large hole in his once was white sock.

"How do you always manage to get holes in your socks?" Sam dared a glance back down, "Every week you get a new package of them. It's disgusting."

"You shoot people that have been dead for fifty years, decapitate vampires and shoot werewolves in the heart, and this is disgusting?" Dean stuck his pointer finger through the hole in the sock and wiggled it around.

"You have no class," Sam smirked.

"No, you just have a weak stomach," Dean objected, and stuck his foot in better view for his brother, "A sock that's sweaty and holy is better than a sock that's had no adventure."

"Ever think about sending any of these saying into Hallmark?" Sam spoke dryly as he headed to the trunk.

Dean removed his other shoe, and crinkled his nose at the immediate smell. Wondering if it was a man thing, or a Dean thing to be proud of such a ridiculous odour, Dean glanced down at his one big toe which stuck through the left sock.

"Dude, I think you need help," Sam laughed from the trunk, having seen Dean's goofy smile, "Here."

The thrown pair of new socks hit the elder Winchester directly between the legs, and the cry of pained shock was almost loud enough to drown out the triumphant laughter.

Now down to some serious business Santa. Every kid has what they really want for Christmas on their list, and usually it's the last thing, because we all know that you're busy checking your list, and the only thing you really remember is the last thing you read. It's not different with me Santa… there's just one thing I really want for Christmas…

"Crap! Sam, move!" Dean echoed the movement he hoped his brother was doing, and ducked quickly to the ground.

The long, five foot chain swung over top of his head, missing him by inches.

"Sam, are you okay?" Dean glanced around frantically.

"Yeah," Sam was breathing hard from his own position on the floor, "Yeah, I'm good."

"Come on," Dean grabbed his shotgun from the floor beside him, and got to his feet, "We gotta regroup. This guy isn't going to cooperate with us."

"Yeah," Sam grabbed his own gun and ran out of the room with Dean.

"Sammy, stay close," Dean muttered.

The old house they were in sat in the middle of nowhere, and was two stories high. All the hunters had to do was get out the front door, and to their waiting car, and Dean knew they would be safe for the time being. He also knew that nothing ever went that smoothly for a Winchester, and they had barely made it five feet into the next room when a large gust of wind announced the unwanted reappearance of the angered spirit.

"Damn it," Dean spun, his gun pointed towards the center of the room.

Sam did the same, "Dean, we have to get outside."

"Yeah, thanks Sam," Dean spoke sarcastically, as he inched his way towards the door which lead to the hallway, "Come on… move slowly."

Sam nodded, and keeping his gun poised, took a step towards Dean. That was all it took for the six foot five spirit to materialize, a loud wailing sound followed by the swoosh of his chain.

"Watch it Dean!" Sam cried out.

Sam heard it, rather than saw it. Something he realized was probably a good thing, given he probably wouldn't have been able to concentrate if he'd actually seen it. The sickening thud and scream of pain let Sam know that the spirits chain may have missed him, though had caught the elder Winchester.

"Dean!" Sam instinctively shot a round of buckshot at the spirit, sending it vanishing into momentary nothingness, "Dean!"

The horrific sight made Sam gasp as he looked and saw Dean with his hand covering the front of his face; blood covering much of his features. Stumbling over, Sam fell to his knees in front of his brother.

"Oh God, Dean."

"Lets go," Dean's gasped, his hand still over his face; tears welling up in his eyes.

Sam grabbed Dean's arm and helped him to his feet. Together, the two ran into the hallway and down the stairs. They would worry about the spirit later; Sam's first priority was to get Dean to a hospital. Once outside into the cool air and by the Impala, Dean went down to his knees; hand still covering his face.

"Dean… hey Dean…" Sam was breathing hard as he crouched down and placed a hand on his shoulder, "Dean, look at me."

Dean's pain filled eyes looked up, and Sam found himself sucking in a breath at all the blood.

"Where did he get you?" Sam swallowed.

"My mouth," Dean moved his hand away to reveal his bloody mouth, "…he got me in the mouth."

…and so, Dear Santa, my last item on my list is really the one I want you to pay attention to. I know a lot of people are asking you for this, but still…

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.

Sincerely, Dean Winchester

The End.