A/N: Hey all! This is my first Supernatural fic. It was written as part of Gateworld's John Sheppard Whump Thread's Secret Santa. This is my gift to Gateworld's own mrscopterdoc!
This oneshot is set on Christmas Eve of Supernatural's season 4.
I hope you enjoy, and please review!
Warnings: Language, but nothing more than they say in the show.
Not So Silent Night by GraceW
"Damn it!" Dean ducked and fired his sawed off shotgun into the empty air where the homicidal ghost had been. The rock salt flew over the top of the nearest evergreen tree, disturbing a flock of crows, who flew off into the dim orange sky of the setting sun. The hunter stood still, eyes scanning the approaching darkness for his attacker, when suddenly he heard a shout from his left.
"Sammy!" Dean took off toward the sound of the cry. This was just another one of those easy jobs gone wrong, seemed to happen way too often. A simple forest ghost hunt morphed into the freakin' Haunted Mansion of Horror. They had been swarmed with spirits, the salt rounds repealed them for a short while, but they just kept coming. Not something you'd expect from a remote location in northern Washington.
Running at as fast as he could through the dusting of snow that covered the ground, Dean found Sam within minutes. The younger hunter had been surrounded, five of the transparent spirits stayed just out of reach of Sam's iron crowbar. Dean took one look and peppered the gang of ghosts with rock salt. They scattered, screaming in various tones as their essence transported away.
Sam gave Dean a look of relief, and said. "Thanks, man."
"Hey, no problem."
"Do you know where they are all coming from?"
"I don't know."
"We need to stop it."
"Thank you, Captain Obvious."
"Shut up." Awkward silence filled the space as the boys caught their breath.
"What did-" Dean started again, but was interrupted.
"Let's keep going." Sam was on the edge of getting annoyed, which wasn't exactly front page news. The tall hunter pursed his lips and looked down at Dean, whose sloppy grin faded just a bit.
"Fine, Sammy. Lead the way." Dean gestured dramatically with his shotgun in the direction that seemed to be the spirit's point of origin. Even though it was unnoticeable in the fading light, Sam rolled his eyes and plowed his way through the forest.
Another night on the job. Dean thought as he double checked his shot gun, and the pistol he kept tucked in his waistband. Though, it wasn't just another night. It was Christmas Eve. His thoughts strayed to last Christmas; the Christmas that they thought would be his last. Things had changed a lot since then. Sam had changed. The thought of celebrating Christmas now just seemed silly. Though, the thought of exchanging cheap gifts and drinking spiked eggnog in a warm motel room sounded much appetizing than their current situation. Although, the mental image of Uriel or Castiel hanging from the top of a giant Christmas tree made him somewhat happier. Freakin' angels.
Sam had done research, but they were unsure of what exactly was causing the plethora of restless spirits. The collection of EMF activity directed them towards their new destination. The going was difficult, due to the dense vegetation, the layer of powdery snow and the complete lack of moon or star light. Eventually through the darkness they saw a yellow light. As they approached, the light gave way to a flickering flame that made the shadows dance off of the trees.
Signs and sigils were marked in the snow covered ground and painted on the bark of several nearby trees. A dozen or so individual spirits hovered in a circle high above the bonfire, their backs to the middle, arms raised to the sky. Sitting cross-legged on a plaid blanket, next to a crackling fire, was a woman. Frizzy orange hair covered her shoulders and her pale hands held a small bowl from which a dark vapor rose. Her low voice chanted in Latin, but as the brothers approached the edge of the small clearing she stopped and stared at them with intense gray eyes.
"Hello." With a flick of her head, both brothers flew forward. They landed in a tangled heap next to the fire. Before either one of them could get to their guns, the woman forced them up onto their knees, hands plastered on the back of their heads.
"Much better." She said calmly, as if she had simply been comparing prices at the store. "You just can't do anything. I'm in your head, and there's no getting away now, Winchester." The way she said their last name sent shivers down Dean's spine.
Dean felt a trickle of blood run down his newly busted lip. They were dealing with a demon, or some just as powerful. No, it couldn't be a demon…Sammy's superpowers would have prevented the Force or whatever from binding them. They were defenseless and at an unknown enemy's mercy. They hadn't been prepared for this. An intense ghost hunt, yes; a square-dance with a crazy-eyed ginger woman, not so much. Talking himself out of the problem usually was the last resort; however when he tried the only sound that came out of his mouth was a gurgled gag.
"Cat got your tongue? Sorry buddy, I need some quiet, but don't worry. I'm almost done." The woman's eyes glared at the boys and then resumed her Latin chant.
Dean looked at Sam, who struggled against their invisible bonds with the face that Dean had dubbed the 'Intensely-Pissed-Off-Bitch Face of Frustration.' Dean glanced around the clearing, and something hidden in the trees caught his eye. It was quick, barely worth thinking about, but he thought that he saw the glint of a shotgun barrel through the trees. He brushed the thought away and tried to struggle against the invisible grip that help him fast. It was like trying to push a freight train.
The woman finished and placed the bowl on the ground in front of her. She stood without a sound and unsheathed a dagger. With it she slowly sliced into the fleshy part of her forearm, the blood slipped down and landed in the bowl with a hiss and a sizzle.
"You came just in time for the grand finale." She said as she strode to be behind the brothers, the dagger held in her hand, still dripping in blood. Dean tried to keep his eyes on her, but was unable to rotate his head. Suddenly he felt the cold metal of the knife on his neck and her blood dripping down his skin. Unwanted fear swept over him. He couldn't die…again…not like this.
The shot came out of the dark. There was no sound, no struggling, no dramatic fatal slip into unconsciousness, the woman just fall backwards, dead. Immediately, the spirits disappeared into nothingness, the invisible force holding Sam and Dean fell away and the brothers leapt up. Dean caught Sam's eye, confusion mirrored on both of their faces. Sam stooped down to pick up their guns and to double check that the woman was dead. Dean glanced across the cleaning, studying the wall of trees approximately where the shot would have been fired. He almost missed it, a dark figure hiding in the shadows.
"Hey!" He shouted as loud as he dared, beckoning with his hand. "Come here."
The figure stepped forward into the fire's light. The darkly clothed woman, as it turns out, carried a rifle with a scope, a duffle bag flung over her shoulder. She was fit, not super skinny but well proportioned, and didn't look much older than Dean. Her brown hair had been tied back in a low side pony tail, which peaked out from underneath a black beanie hat. She stared at the boys and said "You're welcome."
"Thanks. We were…well, thanks." Sam said as he handed Dean his shotgun roughly, snapping the older brother out of his staring trance. The woman began walking across the clearing, kicking the small bowl over as she passed by.
"Yeah…thanks. Who are you?"
"Who wants to know?" Dean noticed she still kept the rifle handy, and he figured she probably had another hidden gun or knife ready to use.
"I'm Dean Winchester, and this is my brother Sam. We're hunters."
"My name's Christina."
"What are you doing here?"
"Did she rattle your brains too? Kind of a stupid question. I've been hunting that witch for weeks. Would have had her sooner, but you idiots bumbled right into her trap."
"What was she planning?" This time Sam spoke, his voice and expression unreadable.
"Since she nearly killed you, I suppose I could divulge the details. She might have been something along the lines of releasing a crap ton of demons out into the wilds of Washington State. The signs pointed to forming a new Devil's Gate. She was getting close, but would have needed more time."
Dean gave Sam a side glance, they were both thinking the same thing: another seal. Lilith needed to break 66 seals, and they, or Christina more accurately, had prevented another loss.
"Well, Christina, looks like we owe you one." Dean flashed her his flirtatious grin.
"Yes, you do. I'd like a beer."
Why did she trust them? People like her didn't trust a whole lot of strangers. Her family, she would always trust, well, once they accepted her back after…that thing. But these two boys were different. They looked tired, ancient in experience…like they had been to hell and back. If they were hunters, they would have lost people too. They might understand. Sam had that angsty look about him, but was not hard on the eyes. However, Dean was adorably sexy, that grin. She smiled. I could use some fun right about now, but not too much fun. The holidays were always the worst.
Dean and Sam got to the bar first; Christina had agreed to meet them there, but there was no sign of her. The boys waited in silence in the car, avoiding the chilly air and snow dusted ground outside. What they had seen accomplished tonight was cause for celebration, but Sam appeared agitated and distant. Dean chalked it up to the absence of Sam's demon pet, and he really didn't want to talk about that at the moment.
Dean's gaze wandered to the entrance to the bar's parking lot, where he lost himself in thought. Christina was pretty, nope, downright gorgeous. Not the girl-next-door cute, nor the cookie-cutter actress attractiveness. She was strikingly beautiful, with deep chocolate brown eyes. He hoped he could get her to smile tonight.
A black car drove into the parking lot, but not just any black car, it was a 1969 Ford Mustang. Dean loved his Baby, but if ever there were another wheel that he would love to get behind, it was a classic Mustang. So hot...Dean thought. The old sports car parked right next to the driver side of the Impala, and Christina stepped out. She had traded out the beanie and pony tail for loose wavy brown hair that fell well past her shoulders, but still sported her black pants and jacket.
Dean and Sam open their doors and got out of the car, mirroring each other like the Doublemint Twins. She leaned on the hood of the Mustang. "You boys ready or do you need some more time to powder your noses?"
The crowd at the bar was thin, not many people off to go drinking on Christmas Eve, at least in this town. They ordered their drinks, and Dean paid, whipping out one of the twenties he had won in a poker game last week.
Christina picked a table in the corner, with a good view of the room and a straight shot to the door. Funny how ingrained thing like picking tables could be. They sat in comfortable silence for a bit, enjoying their drinks of choice.
Dean was the first to speak. "So, Christina, this might be kind of personal for a first question, but how did you get started in all this?"
She inhaled sharply. "Not really a story I have to tell very often." She continued, somewhat reserved. "Um…I guess, in short, my uncle was a hunter. Don't know how he got into it, never asked. Well, his daughter and I helped him out as kids, filling salt rounds, sharpening knives, you know the drill. Well, he passed away when we were seventeen, so my cousin and I just sort of took it up. We had his instructions, he kept everything in a book, so it wasn't hard jumping into the game. We worked as waitresses in our hometown to pay for it, but we'd take off for a week or so at a time to go ghost or monster hunting. Our family disapproved, but who else would keep the Pacific Northwest safe?" She paused and took a drink. "And I guess that's why I'm here now, just another hunt."
Sam looked at her in an almost noticeable awe. "Just another hunt? That thing back there was a pretty powerful witch, and you blew her away, just like that."
"I told you, I'd been after her for weeks, and it wasn't just like that, it was a lot of research. I even had my gun and bullets blessed by a preacher. Actually, I wasn't even sure it was going to work" She chuckled and then giggled even more at the looks the brothers were giving her. "But I'm glad it did work, otherwise I'd have to buy my own beer tonight."
"Where is your cousin now?" Sam continued, probing for answers.
At this, Christina completely shut down, pain unmistakable on her face. "Gone."
Dean reached out and touched her hand. "I'm sorry."
She didn't flinch away, and he rubbed the top of her hand for a minute before she volunteered more information. "It happened last summer. A stupid job gone bad. She died in my arms. It was my fault…"
Dean stole a glance at Sam, his knowing eyes filling with understanding. Dean continued, still holding her hand. "We are sorry she's gone, but I don't think she would want you to blame yourself for her death."
She looked up, locking her gaze with Dean's, her brown eyes were tearless, but filled with pain and memory. "That doesn't mean I don't do it anyway." She paused. "Whitney that was her name, except everyone just called her Whit. She was so good at this stuff. Sometimes I wonder why I'm trying to do it alone. Our family, I don't think they will forgive me. I haven't seen them since...um...since it happened."
The three of them didn't speak for quite a while, listening to the other bar dwellers and the cheesy Christmas music radio station playing through the speakers. Finally Dean began talking, telling the story about how he and Sam got into hunting. He left out some of the more classified details, including his stint in hell. Sam volunteered some information, telling stories and being a little bit more like the old Sammy, before hell had happened to them.
They talked for the rest of the night, exchanging experiences and stories, along with tales of people they had met along the way. Their first drinks had been finished, along with the second round.
"So this one time-"
"Dean." Sam interrupted again. "Dean, its midnight."
Midnight? Why the hell did that make a difference? Dean thought for a second. Oh, midnight. Sam meant that it was Christmas. Of all the cheesy…nevermind.
"That it is. Merry Christmas, Sammy. And also a very merry Christmas to Christina, our rescuer of the night."
Dean looked toward the small window next to the door, a wall of white falling snow created a curtain. He grabbed Christina's hand again, firmly, picking her up out of her seat. He said green eyes sparkling, schoolboyish grin on his face. "Come on." To Sam he whispered. "You stay."
Dean led Christina out of the bar, and out into the softly falling snow. He spun her in a circle, like in a ballroom dance. Then he reached around her, pulling her in for a strong hug, nestling his chin on her soft brown hair. "Thanks for the rescue tonight, and the talk."
She looked up at him, snowflakes hitting her nose and landing on her eyelashes. "You are welcome, Dean. Thanks for the drinks."
"You're-" His reply was silenced by her lips as she reached up and kissed him. They lost themselves in the needy passionate kiss, oblivious to the still falling snow. She broke it first; he opened his eyes to find her deep brown eyes staring into his.
"Merry Christmas, Dean."
He bumbled over a response, and she gave him a smile, a full-fledged-laughter-behind-your-eyes smile. "Thanks for tonight. I hope we meet again someday."
"You're leaving?"
"I'm going home. Home for Christmas, that has a nice ring to it."
She kissed him again, her cold hand resting on his cheek. A goodbye kiss. Without another word, she walked to her car, started it and drove into the night.
Thanks for reading! Did you like my OC? Please let me know what you think!
~Grace :)