Genre: humor, holiday fic
Rating: PG
Status: It's meant to be a standalone, but i'll post it in two parts
Setting & Spoilers: that's the first x-mas together for the boys. Since i thought this story before AVSC, i guess it kinda goes off canon.
A/N: that's my first time as a Secret Santa. And Amy is the lucky one... lol. Poor baby. I just know she's been a good little girl all year long... and this is what she gets? Ouch! But I did my best, honey :D
A/N2: this fic was first posted at www. supernaturalatlantis . amuseingwriters . co . ux / index ... if you like SN and/or the stargate universe, go check!
A/N3: LilMissWinchester is the gentle soul that beta'd this fic! thank you so much Kristi... :D
Disclaimer: if they were mine, I'd be the best Secret Santa. Ever!
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Christmas. It was the season for steaming cups of hot chocolate, and for snuggling under thick, warm blankets. For woollen gloves and snow-ball fights. Stormy weather and pine trees decorated with handmade ornaments, candles and angels on top.
Sam slowly rested his forehead on the window pane of his motel room, and sighed. He was looking at a bunch of teens passing by, a slight grimace on his face. Most of them wore sunglasses, probably to look cool. But really, the bright sun almost required them. And the girls were showing generous amounts of skin thanks to low cut jeans, barely there tops and light jackets. There were flowers blossoming all around and… it just felt wrong.
"California sucks" Sam muttered, clearly taking as a personal affront all that un-Chrimassy atmosphere. That mild, temperate climate was grating on his nerves like an itch. If he only could convince Dean…
"California rocks, dude!"
Right on cue, Sam's big brother barged into the room, still grinning like a fool.
"Man, I really should have thanked those ghosties. Right before wasting them, I mean. If it wasn't for them, we could have been still stuck in that hole, under feet of snow, freezing our asses off!"
Dean reached his bro, handing him a beer. He turned to look out of the window, and completely missed Sam's longing expression as he mentioned the snow. His eyes focused on the same youths, and he smiled appreciatively.
"Yeah, that's it. Generous amounts of tanned, feminine skin exposed just for you under the bright sun. Nice Christmas gift, uh?"
"Well, it's not like we have time to enjoy all this, you know?"
"We don't? Why? We deserve some rest now!" Dean exclaimed, suddenly frustrated. Sam could see his brother forcefully dragging his eyes from the enticing bronzed skin to his own face, already glaring.
He almost felt sorry for the guy. Almost. But he wanted his white Christmas, even if that meant playing dirty.
"Come on Dean. This was an easy gig, and you know it. We don't have excuses to hang in bars drinking cocktails when evil awaits!"
"Great, just great. I've got a patronizing killjoy as a brother now. So? Shoot. What kind of evil is looming over us?"
"Well, I don't know for sure yet."
"You're not even sure? Come on, dude!"
"Okay, just listen now…" Sam turned into weirdo encyclopaedia man once again, showing Dean the results of his latest research. Mainly, weather bulletins and detailed local forecast. Of some unknown place called Jacobville.
Jacobville? That was enough. With the most serious and snotty tone he could muster, Dean interrupted his brother's monologue.
"So… do tell me, bro. All this money dad and I spent for your higher education, and you wanted to be a freakin' weatherman?"
"… and that's never happened in— huh? Oh, stop that and be serious!"
"I was!"
"And listen!"
"Again, I was."
When Sam just glared, Dean rolled his eyes and made a short recap, in a dull monotone that he knew would totally piss off his younger brother.
"There's this little town, in sunny California that, guess what, it's not sunny anymore. It's snowy. Oh my god, snowy! In December! How strange is that?"
"You're such a bitch, you know? And it is strange!"
"Yeah, maybe. But global warming strange, not our kind of strange!"
"Oh yes? And how do you call mind control? Memories erased or better, altered? Brainwashing?"
"By who? Frosty the Snowman? You lost me there, dude."
"Jacobville is just a spot in the map. Actually, a pretty isolated spot on the map. It's not like they have a local weatherman, or that someone at a regional level talked about this. Nobody talked about this. Like there's nothing strange or unusual to report."
"But you notice this because..."
"Internet. And by chance. I wasn't even really looking at the weather forecast... it was like with the horoscope, you know, when you read it but not really read it, and something—"
"The horoscope? Are you kidding me?" Dean chuckled. He just couldn't let that pass without commenting, no way. He was, after all, the older brother.
"And" Sam said forcefully, "it was like 'Fresno, 58° F. San Francisco, 60° F. Los Angeles, 65° F. Jacobville, 27° F. San Diego, 70° F'. I thought it was a typo... until I found the same 'typo' in all the main motor search."
"Still failing to see something here, Sammy..." Dean said. "Okay, I get it. It's unusual. But not enough for us. What about the brainwashing thing?"
"I made a few calls. Just to check, ya know? People that have been there, like a few truck drivers for deliveries – special deliveries caused by these strange weather conditions, mind you - and two workers that went to check a gas pipe for a major leak. I talked to all of them, and again, everything seemed normal. Except for the fact that there was snow, and nobody mentioned that as something out of the ordinary. They were like 'oh nice trip blah blah blah yes, there was snow, blah blah blah, and people from Jacobville are so friendly!' I didn't notice till the third phone call, Dean... they kept telling me the same thing, with the same cheerful tone. Like every one of them had enjoyed working overtime so near the holiday, that exhausting drive in awful conditions, and a long and boring phone interview with a nosy student. And they went to Jacobville, not to Pleasantville!"
"You know, you almost convinced me. Especially at the nosy student part. Were they still happy after that? Really?" Dean asked with a mocking tone, earning half a glare and half a pout from his brother.
"Okay, you got bad weather. And people high on something. That's all?"
"We had even less sometimes, Dean!" Sam countered, unable to keep the child-like quality out of his voice. "And this could be a..."
"...an evil creature bent on making people happy?" Dean ended for him.
"Fine. Fine!" Sam grumbled. He finished his beer in three long draughts, and then trashed the bottle in the bin, slamming the lid for good measure. Not that the plastic lid made much noise, but he was trying to make a point there.
After stomping around a little, he finally faced his bro, who had watched him with an amused expression the whole time.
"So, we going or not?" Sam asked, exasperated.
Dean shrugged his shoulders, and answered casually: "We're going." Then he lazily turned to the bed to pack his things, when a sudden thought crossed his mind, making him snap his head towards his brother.
"But the driver seat is mine till the last flake is around, gotcha?"
Sam just rolled his eyes at the deadly serious tone of his brother, and murmured a "Deal, man" under his breath.
He got what he wanted, to get away from that awfully sunny weather that clashed horribly with his Christmas spirit. And if that ruined Dean's desire to ogle California girls, so be it. In the end, it was all Dean's fault if that was Sam's favorite holiday. Not that he was gonna tell him out loud.
"Sam? You're done?"
"Almost."
"Okay, me too. Listen... you won't get all mopey on me when your theory of a brainwashing snowman demon melt under the sun, uh?"
"Nope."
"Even if we don't meet even a small family of yeti?"
"Nope, smartass."
"How come? You don't like to be wrong."
"Oh, come on! That's you!"
Dean laughed. Maybe the kid was right, that sounded just like him. Why not acknowledged that?
"Bitch", declared Dean opening the door, while smirking at him.
"Jerk", Sam answered back, affectionately. He followed his brother to the Impala, but before sitting in, he held Dean's stare over the car's roof for a second.
"Well, if there is nothing wrong, no weather demon or brainwashed people..." he shrugged, and trailed off, with a slow smile forming on his lips, "at least we'll enjoy the snow".
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The road trip was quiet and uneventful. As the designated shotgun, Sam could enjoy the drive and lose himself in his thoughts. Dean could act like a Grinch these days, but Sam remembered quite well the Winchester traditions at Christmas. Unfailingly, their father would be on a hunt, while he and Dean holed up in the usual, stinky motel room, never the same, always looking like the previous one.
When they were kids, Dean celebrated that holiday with his own version of Christmas dinner, pizza and ice-cream. And every time there was a tree. Or something that resembled a tree. It could be plastic, or too much brownish for an evergreen. Once they had a whole branch. Sam would color balls and angels and Santa Clauses on a color book, while Dean made hot chocolate. They'd hang up their paper decorations, and when they were done, Dean gave him a present.
Dean's presents had obscure origins... come to think of it, just as their trees. But if there were theft or scavenger hunts behind those, Sam didn't really want to know.
Once he had asked Dean, though. When he was big enough to notice how strange it was for their dysfunctional family to have trees, decorations and presents, maybe stolen or worse, but there nonetheless every 24th of December, he had asked his brother.
"Cuz Mum loved Christmas", was Dean's clipped answer. When he didn't elaborate, Sam hadn't prodded. 'Mum' was one of those topics, maybe the topic, that could made his brother's temper flare up like nothing else.
Then, Sam became too big for coloring, and they spent the night quietly watching a game, drinking coffee and later, beers.
Sam never realized the true meaning of those words till the first year he spent Christmas alone, in college. Actually, he wasn't literally alone. There was a bunch of people who couldn't make it home for the holiday. A few of them were even more than acquaintances, but something closer to friends. And the tree was a real one. Bright green, tall, richly decorated.
That night, drinking eggnog and exchanging gifts with other fellow students, he felt awfully alone. He missed Dean's crooked trees and weird presents. He missed having his big brother around, bossy, overprotective and caring at the same time. And he resented him deeply, for silently siding with his father the day he left, for making him care for a stupid holiday that had no meaning at all when you don't have a family around. Not even a dysfunctional one.
Now he was on the road again, the college years almost a faded memory. He wasn't sure if that life still awaited him, and in any case, he doubted that he could be the same man again. That part of Sam had died with Jessica, that dreadful night.
He still remembered vividly the fire, the flames, the blinding hot that scorched his skin. Most of all, he remembered how he suddenly felt numb, and cold inside, not caring for his own life.
Dean had dragged him out of the burning house, once again.
Dean, who was always there when his family needed him, whatever that could cost to his soul. Even if that meant choosing his father over his brother, when it was painful obvious to anyone who cared to look deep enough, that it was John who was the more vulnerable of the two. Or, if that meant allowing his little bro to feel the magic of Christmas, no matter if he would have to remember heartbreaking memories of a past that was dead forever. Memories that even their fearless father wouldn't face.
That was why Sam wanted Christmas again. Not just for himself, but for Dean as well. Because neither of them was alone anymore. He was already dreaming of a white Christmas when the purring of the Impala, and the soothing voice of his brother who was singing off-beat Peace of Mind by Boston, lulled him to sleep.
Sam woke up with a start when two things penetrated his fuzzy mind. First, he was freezing all over. His feet were numb, and his head was resting on what felt more like a block of ice than the side of the Impala. Nothing strange in that, considering that a thick layer of snow covered everything but the road in front of them.
The corners of his mouth turned up, while he took in their surroundings. The snow that kept falling faster and faster, and the ordinary landscape turned into an eerie scenery that matched perfectly his Christmas spirit. Dean could be happy or not, but—
All of a sudden, Sam remembered the second thing, and turned abruptly towards his brother.
"What..." he exclaimed, and then stopped, unable to finish the sentence.
"What what, sleeping beauty? Yes, I did realize it's snowing. I kinda notice it since, you know, I'm driving and all..."
"It's not that! It's..." Sam was too stunned, and for once words escaped him. His hand went to the dashboard, in a desperate attempt to make him see. To make him listen.
Dean's gaze followed his brother confused wave, till he saw the radio. And listened to it.
To a blaring Christmas carol.
Realization hit him like a ton of bricks, and the tip of his ears turned an impressive shade of crimson.
"It's... it's not..." he stammered, and Sam sighed in relief. It wasn't just him, then.
With a swift movement, Dean switched off the offending device. "We're there, anyway", he muttered.
They drove the last miles in silence, the awkwardness quickly forgotten as they finally reached the town limits. The sunlight was already fading, and the Christmas lights that were all over the place were becoming brighter and brighter, creating a sharp contrast with the snow and the falling darkness.
A cup of hot coffee and directions to the nearest motel to spend the next few nights in were priorities for the boys, since the long ride had completely frozen their limbs.
After parking next to a sledge, Dean and Sam entered a diner. Dangling bells greeted them, soon followed by a motherly looking, chubby waitress.
"Come in, boys!" she exclaimed perkily. "Come and warm up a little bit. What can I get you?" she asked, after guiding them to a table.
"What about steaming hot coffee? That would be awesome, Martha" said Dean, squinting at the name tag and turning on the charm. From his personal experience, he had learnt that there are kinds of people, like waitress of the local diners for instance, or bartenders, that tend to know bits and pieces of everything and everyone, in small town like this. And sometimes, they just knew better.
"Oh you!" she exclaimed, dismissing him with a chuckle. She returned with their order after few minutes, and Sam asked her about accommodations.
"Oh my, I happen to know the best place here in Jacobville!" Martha cried out. "That must be your lucky days, children. Listen, do you have a car?" Barely taking a breath, and not actually giving them the time to answer, the woman went on, clearly happy to be able to help two lost boys. "Well, leave it here in the parking lot. On the other side of it there's a park, maybe you've seen it, because one of the entrances is just there. You just have to go through it: the old part of the town is on the other side. And the Dashing Vixen's Inn will be right in front of you. It's small and cosy, and run by the kindest family I've ever met. You can't wish for more, I promise!"
The guys couldn't help smiling at Martha's enthusiastic words, and when she offered to call the Inn to advise for their late arrival, they nodded their agreement.
Before facing once again the chilling weather outside, they sat peacefully a little longer, sipping their hot chocolate. In point of fact, it's a widespread knowledge that nothing could warm up a battered soul as chocolate does.
It was late when they left the diner, but in the park people still lingered. There were a few families out for an evening stroll, and young couples scattered in the most secluded spots. Sam and Dean walked in the soft snow along a row of pines, with the little pond on their right, as instructed by Martha.
They turned simultaneously when they heard the muffled sounds of a young boy that came running, and suddenly realized the small drama that was bound to happen.
A little girl appeared from nowhere right in front of the runner, leaving him with hardly any options. Actually, knocking the toddler, swerving to the right, with no chance to avoid a chilling bath in the frozen pond, or to the left, impacting hard into Dean's solid chest. Unluckily for him, the third option seemed the less evil, and he grunted in pain as he tried to keep his balance while steadying the boy.
"Watch out, kid!" Dean hissed, catching his breath.
Said kid, who seemed to be standing up only thanks to Dean's hand still firmly clasping his shoulder, locked his bright blue eyes with his. The hand that was gingerly touching his cheekbone, tracing the big bruise already visible on his fair skin, stopped mid movement, and he glared.
"I'm not a kid", he said defiantly, his chin jutting up.
The brothers looked at each other, then back at the boy. He appeared to be fourteen or fifteen years old, maybe not quite tall but lithely built. His whole body hummed with barely contained energy and joyfulness, the latter clearly showing on his finely chiselled face. Pout and shiner notwithstanding.
Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes, while memories of a stubborn older brother that claimed himself to be the 'responsible adult' when he didn't even know the existence of razors and aftershaves filled his mind.
"Yeah, sure!" exclaimed Dean, arching his brow. Then he added, smirking: "Whatever, kid."
That earned a snort for the kid in question, who shrugged his shoulder and wriggled free from Dean's now light grip.
"Since you're old enough, I thought you already knew not to judge by appearances..." he said with a wise, lecturing voice that clearly was only meant to piss off his interlocutors.
"But don't worry" he added insolently, patting light Dean's arm in a paternal way. "You'll learn!"
For a second, the mirth shone on the rosy cheeks, and deep blue eyes sparkled with laughter. Then, without waiting for the guys to even think of a comeback he sprinted away effortlessly. He turned though, right before disappearing behind the trees, and stuck his pink tongue to them, replacing a more conventional good-bye.
"Cheeky brat!" Dean muttered, resuming his stroll towards the Inn. Sam soon followed, half amused and half annoyed by the kid's impertinence.
It was almost ten thirty p.m. on the 20th of December when the Winchester brothers finally reached the Dashing Vixen's Inn, that would be 'home' for the first Christmas they were going to spend together after that long separation.
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"So... the usual boring stuff now?" Crunch. "Research and all?" Crunch, crunch.
It was late morning when the guys finally came out of their room to have breakfast, but the bedcovers were so warm and inviting that they had to physically fight their own unwillingness to get up, and find the courage to expose their butts to the chilling morning air.
Luckily for them, the little breakfast room had a wonderful fireplace, and now they were happily gobbling up their milk and the tray full of gingerbread men and houses that Amy, their host's young daughter, had given them. The cookies were just baked, so that their delicious smell lingered in the air, and the brother scorched their fingers lightly, in the haste of tasting them.
"Has anybody ever told you that you shouldn't talk while eating, Dean?" said Sam, adding the customary roll-eyeing.
"Of course. You. A gazillion times." Crunch. "And don't you know Santa's not going to bring any presents to annoying kids, Sammy?" Dean countered back, with another quite loud crunch to emphasize his point.
"It's Sam. And I'm not a kid. And it's naughty, not annoying!" his brother grumbled, if only for the sake of it. In Dean's eyes, he would always be Sammy, no matter what. Of course, in the rare moments when he was completely honest with himself, he could admit he kinda liked it. It was comforting. And it fell under the natural order of things. The sun shines, the earth rotates. And Sammy was Dean's little brother.
Obviously, another plain truth was that Sam would never, ever be that honest with his older brother. Not ever under torture.
"Just stop complaining every time Dean, okay? There will be researching, we'll hit the local library and I'll surf the net, then probably footwork to look for I don't remember what. So, be a good boy, for once, and call Amy. The girl said she was going to the library to fetch some books cuz she's writing a paper on 'life's twists' or something. She'll lead us there."
Dean muttered something that sounded like 'I'm always good', then got up and said, louder this time, "I'm going. See? That's me. Going. Bossy bitch!"
Sam just smiled and finished polishing his plate, while his bro went looking for their guide.
Dean was really trying hard to maintain the sulking expression at being ordered around by his little brother, but everyone was clearly plotting around him.
First, the dog. Welcoming him in the private part of the Inn, where the owners lived. Barking joyfully, wagging his tail and licking his hands, like a good guard dog should not do with strangers.
The granny led him inside, and showed him the way. Not without filling his pockets with candy.
He met Mr Dickens near the stairs. The man had answered Martha's phone call the evening before, and kindly offered him a place for his car in the Inn's little garage. After discovering that said car was an Impala, his first love, he and Dean squealed over their babies like crazy fan girls.
Dean had completely forgotten that Sam was waiting for him, being too much engrossed in the conversation. Suddenly, a big cat jumped on his lap, purring contentedly. Amy's cat, Mr Dickens told him. He remembered then, and with actual regret excused himself and went to the girl's room.
He knocked on the door and waited patiently, unsurprisingly in a good mood now. Well, obviously he only needed tail-wagging dogs, candy, Impala lovers and purring cats to improve his day.
Since the door was ajar, he had already spotted Amy. The girl had brought a hand to her face, maybe to wipe away a tear.
After meeting the merry family though, he wasn't prepared for a moping teenager sitting dejectedly near the window. Not that the girl didn't covered it up with a fake smile and way too shrilly "Oh, that's you! I'm ready. Let's go now, shall we?"
Dean followed her to the entrance, where he waited for her to pull on her coat. He could see Sam on the first floor, talking with the lady of the house, and decided to wait for him outside.
Maybe the cold would clear his head. He was feeling the strange need to comfort the girl, to tell her something, anything, that could brighten those sad hazel eyes. He just had to share his good mood.
Dean wasn't half bad with kids. He didn't even know how, but he usually managed with them. And adult women? Let's not even begin talking about it.
But teenagers... You can't make sexual innuendos with girls that age. And offering them candy? That was even worse. Even Dean knew that.
Sam, his only hope as the king of pansy stuff to say at the right time, was taking his damn time to show up.
Dean sighed, then blurted a "What's up?" that was clearly the best thing he could have mustered. Yeah, emotional stuff. His favorite subject.
"Huh?"
"Well... everyone seems happy around here. And you're not. So... what's up?"
Smooth Dean, real smooth. At least, don't let her see how stupid you're feeling right now. Nod slightly, and maintain eye contact, just like that.
It was Amy who glanced away in the end, muttering "It's nothing", in a barely audible voice.
"No, it's not."
"It's stupid."
"Well, maybe."
Amy's eyes fixed on Dean once again, and then she glared. "That's really helpful, thank you so much!"
"I'm trying to help, but I didn't know it meant lying!" Dean shouted, exasperated. He was trying, damnit!
Amy's anger suddenly deflated, and she laughed humorlessly. "Apparently, yes. It does. Last month my mum overheard my comments about a present my girlfriend received for her birthday. I lied to her, cuz she liked it so much and I didn't want to ruin her happiness, you know?"
"What's bad in that?"
"They do say lying is bad. And they're right. Cuz I'll be lying again once again this Christmas, when I receive the same creepy antique doll. My mum will be happy. But I won't get what I really want, cuz clearly I've been a bad girl, with all this lying around."
"I feel like I should tell you something about the importance of being honest but... it escapes me right now."
That earned a sad smile from the girl. "Well, it doesn't really matter. If mom's happy..."
"... you'll be happy too. I know how it feels like. Anyway, what do you really want?"
"Anything but a creepy doll?"
"Good choice. Dolls could be possessed, and you never know what their hair is made of, and..." Dean trailed off, but seeing Amy's narrowed brows he added, hastily, "just kidding! So, no dolls."
"Nope. DVD's maybe?" Amy shrugged, like she didn't really care. "There's this show, for instance. About this girl? A beautiful girl, genetically empowered. She was made in a lab, you know?"
"A beautiful girl, genetically empowered? Well, that could be my fave show too!" Dean said, grinning.
"And she can majorly kick ass..."
"Could she? Like I said, my show. Oh, look. My brother, finally. Let's go. But I wanna know more. Does she have black hair, or..."
Dean smiled, while Amy told him everything about her heroine. He was doing great with this comforting thing, wasn't he? And even without Sam's help. Amy's sadness was almost completely forgotten. Almost.
"And the only guy around is this Loggie something? He seems pretty boring if you asked me." Dean said casually.
"Well, no. There's, you know, Alec. He's pretty cool, and he has lips to die for and the most amazing ey—" Amy's eyes went big as saucers, as soon as she realized that she wasn't talking with one of her classmates. No, she was gushing over her crush with the hottest guest they had in forever. So she clamped her mouth shut, and simply stared.
Dean just chuckled at her deer in the headlight expression, the sadness totally replaced with a complete awkwardness.
Mission accomplished.
TBC