Bonds Tested

A Very Supernatural Christmas -- Saint Nicotine

~*****~

I stifled back a yawn. This pregnancy was going to kill me one way or another. I was exhausted. "What time is it?" Dean asks through his loud yawn.

"Same as the last time you asked." Sam retorted tiredly. I stifled back another yawn. "Here. Caffeinate." He offers the thermos of coffee. I expected to gag at the smell, but as he popped it open, and attempted to pour, nothing came out.

Dean sighed heavily and tossed the thermos into the seat. "Wonderful." I couldn't fight the yawn, and covered my lips in an attempt to cover it up. "Here," Dean hummed as he patted at his thigh. "Get some rest, baby." I nodded after a beat of silence. Sam tossed a blanket over me and tugged my legs onto his lap before stretching out himself. "Hey, Sam." Dean hummed.

"Yeah?" Sam hummed.

"Why are you the boy that hates Christmas?" Dean asks.

"Dean..." Sam complains.

"I mean, I admit it-- you know, we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids." Dean mentions.

"Bumpy?" Sam echoes.

"That was then. We'll do it right this year." Dean explains.

"Look, Dean, if you want to have Christmas, knock yourself out." Sam says. "Just don't involve me."

"Oh, yeah, that'd be great--" Dean scoffs. "Me, Lottie, and ourselves making cranberry molds."

"Lottie already skips out on us to go visit her parents graves. What's wrong with following her again?" Sam mentions.

I sit up tiredly and pat at my hair. "Cause you're my family, too, Sam." I sigh. My eyes flicker towards the old trailer. The old man is glancing out the window nervously before drawing the blinds. "What's up with Saint Nicotine?" I ask curiously.

A woman's scream echoes out. The three of us burst out of the car and run towards the trailer. Dean peers into the door. "Heh," Sam snorts. We gaze back at him curiously. "Nothing." We quickly says. "It's just that, uh... well, you know, Mr. Gung Ho Christmas might have to blow away Santa."

Dean pushes the door open and I nearly start choking at the stench in the trailer. I let out a gag and stumble back out. "Nope, can't handle it--" I quickly say as I start dry heaving. I stumble to the car as Sam and Dean try to act like carolers after catching Santa smoking some pot.

~*****~

The next morning, another report had filtered in about a man being kidnapped in the night. "So, that's how your son described the attack?" I ask softly. "Santa took daddy up the chimney?"

"That's what he says, yes." Mrs. Caldwell hums softly.

"And where were you?" Dean asks.

"I was asleep." She admits. "And all of a sudden... I was being dragged out of bed, screaming."

"Did you see the attacker?" Sam asks.

The woman shakes her head as new tears sprout. "It was dark, and he hit me. He knocked me out."

"I'm sorry. I know this is hard." Dean mentions.

"Yeah, uhm... Mrs. Caldwell," Sam starts. "Where did you get that wreath above the fireplace?"

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Caldwell asked.

I offer her an apologetic smile. "We're curious." I say.

She doesn't give us an answer, so we leave the house. "Wreaths, huh? You didn't want to ask her about her shoes?" Dean asks. "I saw some nice handbags in the foyer.