Characters: Crowley, Rowena, Dean, Castiel
Word count: 4 x 100
Disclaimer: I don't own them
Sometimes you get the kind of gift that doesn't need to be wrapped up in shiny paper ...
“I’m a bloody demon, mother,” Crowley spat; “the King of sodding hell in case it had escaped your notice.”
“Oh, I know that dear,” Rowena replied calmly; “I just thought it would be a nice idea.”
“A nice idea? Carol singing?” Crowley’s eyes bulged apoplectically; “WITH THE WINCHESTERS? Not to mention that that punch-drunk old soak Bobby Singer and their stupid pet lap-angel!”
Rowena smiled sweetly; “Och, don’t be such a drama queen Fergus. It would be nice. I havenae been carol singing for over three hundred years,” she sighed deeply; “I do miss it so …”
Crowley glared at her. “Don’t …” he warned darkly.
“I just thought you might like to do something nice for your dear mother. Just for once.”
“But … carol singing?”
“There’ll be mulled wine,” she smiled.
“I don’t care,” Crowley snapped.
“And rum punch.”
“I said, I don’t care."
“I’m taking cookies,“ she added.
“Watch my lips mother … I. Don’t. Bloody. Care.”
“I even knitted ye a nice warm hat to wear; going a little thin on top there, Fergus.”
“So, it’s settled then;” Rowena giggled, “carol singing with our friends – we’re going to have so much fun!”
“… GOOD KING WENCESLAS LOOKED OUT, ON THE FEAST OF STEPHEN …”
At the back of the small throng of singers, Castiel leaned toward Dean. “Remind me why we are roaming around out here on a freezing winter’s night, singing songs about a tenth century bohemian King that no-one cares about?”
“It’s a ruse for our hunt,” Dean hissed between verses; “There’s a real vicious, punchy witch in this town who’s causing all the murders, and Rowena knows her, so she’ll recognise her when she comes to the door. She also hates the old bat, so wants to help us waste her.”
“But why is Crowley here?” Castiel whispered.
“Well, Rowena’s using the carol singing as a cover so Crowley won’t know she’s doing this for revenge,” Dean explained; “but she’ll need him to send the bitch to Hell.”
Castiel frowned quizzically. “Couldn’t he do that from Hell?”
“I suppose so,” Dean replied, “but this is one evil witch, so we wanted to be sure.”
“And besides,” Dean added, grinning as he punched the ‘capture’ button on his camera; “how many other opportunities will I get to see the arrogant dick wearing a pink knitted bobble hat?”
Christmas doesn’t get any merrier!!