Author's Note: Hello, dear readers. I'm sure a majority of you do not know me, if not all of you. I am Set. I am a writer. Not a professional writer, though I would like to think myself to be one day. For now, I must sustain my appetite by writing varied things, which include fan fiction stories. What I present to you here is an entire 67 page story. Of course, I'm not crazy, I don't expect people to read 67 pages in one sitting. So, I've broken it down to 15 chapters. Some are longer, some are shorter. But it is all here, and I hope that you enjoy.
You're probably going to want some background on me, though. And, I need to use it as a disclaimer. First and foremost: I am not a Supernatural fan. You might be thinking to yourself 'if you don't like the show, why are you writing a story about it?' That is certainly a valid question, and it has an equally valid answer: because I got inspired. I read Supernatural fan fiction, just because. Well, I don't read a lot of it. I read the stories that look interesting to me through the summary. One of them dealt with mall Santa's getting kidnapped, and it inspired me. Believe me, the last thing I thought I would do is write a Supernatural story, but I did. To the person who wrote that story and inspired me, thank you. I wish I saved the story so I could state your name in this, but I didn't and I don't really feel like wading through the multitude of stories that have appeared in the 3 weeks since then. But, you know who you are, and again, you have my gratitude.
Okay, so I've already admitted that I don't watch the show. I've watched a few episodes, but it really wasn't my taste. Still, from watching said show, and reading stories, I think I have a general idea of the way the characters are, and a thin skeleton idea of the history and whatnot. Please don't rip me apart for continuity errors. If it makes you feel better, just think of this story taking place in an alternate universe to make all those continuity errors go away. Is it a cop out? Yes, yes it is. But at least I never admitted to it being something else. Also, I'm aware that they say the word 'dude,' but I do not. And I refuse to. I think it is the most annoying and overused word in the English language, and go to great lengths to avoid it. If it makes you feel better, just throw it in when appropriate, but you will not see it here. If that destroys what you imagine to be the spirit of Sam and Dean, then carry on to another story. I won't hold it against you.
Also, no gay sex. But there is straight sex. Implied straight sex, of course, because this website doesn't let you write anything else, and I don't write smut even if I could. Why am I doing this? Well, for one, to counterbalance the amount of Sam/Dean incest stories, since I feel like it, and, more importantly, and, perhaps shocking to some readers: They are not gay. Sure, there's subtext, lots of subtext, but it has never been stated. If they were, I wouldn't mind writing them together, but this is the way it is. It isn't me crusading against homosexuality or slash fiction in general, but it is me trying to stay as in character as possible.
One final point to bring up: I realize, albeit not firsthand, how cold it gets in Alaska around the end of December. No sane people would be out and about during this time. So, we'll work with the explanation that, due to the supernatural activity, the weather in Alaska is, instead of being 'oh my god it is so cold I feel like I'm going to freeze, fall over and break into a million pieces' to just 'friggen cold.' Okay? Okay!
Well, that about does it… I hope you enjoy this story!
Some people were meant for the cold. Eskimos were meant for the cold, it was part of their world. Fat people were meant for the cold, they had all that stored space to keep them warm. Those crazy ass idiots who enjoyed jumping into frozen water in the middle of the winter wearing nothing more than a Speedo and goggles were meant for the cold, they were… well, just stupid. And, apparently, people who lived in Alaska were meant for the cold. Those who were forced into visiting it? They probably were not meant for the cold. At least most of them, anyway. Dean Winchester was one of those unwilling visitors to Alaska (Fairbanks, to be precise) who was not meant for the cold. Conversely, his little brother seemed to be handling the situation just fine. "Are you done yet, Sammy?" Dean asked in a disgruntled tone of voice from inside the Impala. The heater was turned on. But it was Alaska, so it really did not help all that much.
"Just give me another couple of minutes, Dean. That's all I'm asking for." A simple request, in Sam's mind at least. Sadly, the simple requests, or any request for that matter, were the ones that always seemed to grate Dean the wrong way. Just the way that it went. Like a genetic quirk in his older brother's genetic code. He got that stubbornness from their father.
"You've been standing out here for the better part of an hour. Nothing's happened yet. I don't think anything is going to happen. Ever. This is Alaska, Sammy. Nobody gives a damn about this place because it is too far out in the middle of nowhere. Only idiots would even think about coming here, let alone living here!" Dean's tirade was not only heard by Sam's ears. How could it be? After all, they were in a park. Passersby just glared at Dean, for the majority of them were actual residents of Fairbanks. "Yeah, that's right, you heard me! Go and sleep in your igloos or something!" Dean lacked tact. And Dean lacked shame. Dean lacked many things.
Sam sighed quietly to himself and shook his head. "I don't believe you. Here we are, in this beautiful place, and you can't even enjoy it? Even though this city is huge, smell the air. Smell how crisp and clean it is."
"I can't take a deep breath here, you dumb ass. My lungs would freeze before I got to exhale!" Little things tended to piss Dean off. And when Dean was pissed off he was not a good person to be around. So it was hard to tell when Dean was pissed off and when he wasn't, since he always had that look on his face that seemed to say something along the lines of 'you say one stupid thing, and I swear on everything that is holy and unholy in the world I will find a way to rip your arms out of your sockets and beat you to death with them.' "Why don't we just get back on the ferry and head home to the mainland. Where it isn't always freezing. We can go to California. You like California, remember? The sun? The beaches? The women?"
"Since when were you so against doing our job, Dean?" Sam asked as he finally got himself back into the car. It was important that they keep a low profile. They both knew that. But maybe the cold had frozen part of Dean's brain, making him lack even more common sense than normal. A dangerous, dangerous thing, that. "I'm the one who ran away from this life, remember? I'm the one who had enough. You were the one who jumped in with both feet as soon as you could. But here we are, trying to do something we're supposed to do, and the big brave Dean Winchester doesn't want to do it."
"I'm perfectly okay with doing our job, Sammy, when I know what I'm doing. But we're here, in this godforsaken part of the country, where I'm freezing my ass off, and we don't even know what we're doing here. We don't know what we're looking for."
"We have to trust the vision."
"And what was that vision again?"
"Blackness. A cloud of blackness that consumed this place. And it didn't just stop in Fairbanks. It kept on going. That's all I saw. The blackness, and the town sign before it was consumed." Dean would never understand, because he did not have the visions. And Sam was thankful for that. Dean handled things well. Most of the time he handled them better than Sam did himself, but when it came to emotions, Dean was easily the more inferior of the two. And if Sam told his brother how the vision was rife with the screams of agony coming from people, not only the people in the town but the people in the whole world, Dean just wouldn't understand. But Sam understood. Whatever it was, the brothers needed to prevent it from happening.
"Nothing else? Nothing that could help us figure out where to go? What to do? I mean, we've looked at the newspapers. We've watched the news. We've gone to seedy bars and listened to the drunkards babble. That was the only part of this trip I liked, mind you. Nobody's talking. Face it, little brother, this place is kitsch."
"If you want to go back, then go back. If you want to run away from this place because you're wholly depending on me and not able to do anything yourself until we know what's going on, fine. I won't stop you. I have to see this through, Dean. I just do."
"You feel that strongly about it?"
"Yeah," Sam nodded softly. "I do."
"Well, all right then." The ignition was started and Dean rolled up the window on his side of the car. "I have to trust you, Sammy. You're all I got left, after all."
"This mean you're going to stop bitching about anything and everything?"
"No, it doesn't. I bitch because I need to do something to get all this anger out of me. If I don't bitch then I'll just start taking it out on you. You might be taller than me now, Sammy, but we both know that I could still take you if I wanted to. I don't want to get so mad that I need to prove that point. Just don't let the bitching get to you."
"How can I not let the bitching get to me? It's all you ever do."
"Block it out. I know you can do it. Like when we were kids." Dean just gave a knowing smirk before he pulled the car away from its parking spot and drove back into the city.
Fairbanks was, quite literally, one of the lone places of civilization in Alaska. There were other places, sure. There was even Anchorage, which was bigger than Fairbanks, but the town was one of those few inhabited areas that made the state seem a little more normal. Maybe, if he was a different person, Dean really would have appreciated the scenery. But he wasn't that person. And he never really was. It was kind of hard to see the good situations in life when, at the tender age of 4, you're instructed to run with your infant brother and protect him. While your mother dies and your house burns. Truly, it was a small miracle that Dean wasn't one of those Goth kids.
Even the holidays weren't really enough to boost his spirits and consume him with thoughts of goodwill towards men. If anything, the holidays just pissed him off even more. And, to add salt into the wound, it was a week before Christmas. Everywhere Dean looked there was nothing but Christmas decorations. Wreaths and garland and multicolored lights galore. Santa's hanging around the street corners, ringing their little bells looking for donations. Sam would always put some money in their can. It was just who he was. In a way, Dean envied his brother. And, in a bigger way, he pitied him.
"Why aren't you listening to music?" Sam asked, as the guitar riffs and varied other common sounds did not fill his ears inside the Impala, which was almost sacrilegious for someone like Dean.
"The people in this town just don't appreciate good old fashioned rock and roll. They all look at me like I'm crazy when I'm blasting Dark Side of the Moon." Dean turned his eyes to his brother, "Not a word out of you."
"I'm just amazed you care enough about what these people think of you to stop you from doing something you love. That's all."
"Like you said at the park, we need to stay as incognito as possible." Since they were doing something that they were unsure of, it did not require one of their many identity changes. In a way, that was good. Dean was a damned fine actor, but he would much rather be Dean Winchester then some random person whose life he had to be completely aware of. "And, if I play my music, they'll just blast that holiday crap even louder. The sound system in this girl is great, but it can't drown out an entire town full of people playing Jingle Bells or some other holiday song."
"I don't mind it," Sam observed as they continued to drive down the road. "In fact, I kind of like it." If Dean had been watching his brother closely (which he almost assuredly was not), he would have seen that slight glint in Sam's eyes. Yes, Sam Winchester was bitten by the Christmas spirit. The complete antithesis of his brother in most respects, Christmas was just one of them.
"Damn it, Sammy. How you weren't born a girl, I'll never know." Oh, how life would have been that much easier if Dean would have had an identical twin brother. But, though he would be the last one to admit it, he would never trade in Sam for anything or anyone. Sam kept him grounded. It was not an easy thing to do. And he appreciated the fact that Sam did just that.
Another day, the third in a row, was spent searching around the town for something that would give them a hint as to what was going on in the supernatural world that they had figured was their birthright, or curse. Nothing came up, and more bitching from Dean came. But he truly believed in Sam's vision. He had to. It was the only thing that kept him going. Eventually, Dean was finally able to warm his body up under the covers of his bed. Extra blankets were demanded, just because.
Sam had stayed up a little bit longer than his older brother, because he wanted to keep on searching. He believed in his vision. Or at least he wanted to. But who was to say that it was always accurate? After all, it was something that he lacked the ability to totally control. Who could say that it was lying to him or not? Or maybe that was the point. He continued to have faith in his vision, somewhat blindly, but each day that they came up with nothing was like a chink in the armor of his resolve. Still, there came the time when he finally closed his eyes and drifted into sleep. And, as most people are prone to do, he dreamt.
The Winchester home was hardly big on holidays. Any holidays. Birthdays. Easter. Thanksgiving. In fact, there was almost a guarantee that a bigger celebration would be heard through the house when they killed a monster than on any given holiday. They weren't even allowed to have a Christmas tree. Sam always wanted one, but he never got one, and he never really understood why. His mother must have loved Christmas. The way that Dean and his dad talked about her, he just knew. He just knew that she would love the holiday. And maybe that was why. Because maybe it hurt John and Dean too much to be reminded of how much she loved the holiday, and to not have her there to celebrate it with them.
Regardless, there were some rituals that Sam would refuse to give up. He would demand to watch some Christmas specials on the television. Charlie Brown was his favorite, followed closely by Frosty. Sometimes he would coerce his family into plopping down in front of the television with him, but sometimes he would just watch them by himself. It was always special either way.
John Winchester was not a holiday man, that much was obvious. But he was a father, and he loved his children more than anything else in the world. There would never be a tree in the house, but he would be damned if he was going to let a Christmas go by as long as he lived where he didn't at least give his children a single gift. The only problem with that was the fact that he rarely knew exactly what to give them. His life was consumed with things that most people were unaware of, and that meant that he was unable to truly understand the fads that washed over the children during any given year. He barely knew what a Nintendo was.
"What do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas this year, Sammy?" John figured there was no harm in keeping the lie alive. Maintain a little bit of innocence in his children for as long as possible, because they had already been robbed of so much innocence. It really was not fair.
"Santa?" The eleven year old, and just as cynical as ever Dean, scoffed. "We all know that he isn't real! Why do you have to lie to him like that, Dad?"
"Dean, go into the other room." John barked angrily.
"But…"
"Now!" His voice rose even more, complete with a pointed index finger, and Dean listened. Rebellious though Dean was, he knew what battles he could win and what battles he could lose. One look at his father was enough to tell him that he would lose if he kept on going.
"Santa isn't real?" Sam asked.
"He's as real as you want him to be, son. Do you believe in him?" Sam just nodded his head. "Good. So, what do you want him to bring you? That way I can send a message to him over at the North Pole."
"A new bike. A green one. Do you think he'll give it to me?"
"Count on it." A green bike? John could handle that. Plenty of bikes around. Not like that one year that Sam wanted him to get the Thundercats base. That was a pain in the ass. Good thing John had connections. "Now, I need to go and talk with your brother. Just watch your shows, okay?"
Sam was, at first, content to do what his father asked, but something took control of his interests. No longer concerned with watching Frosty melt and the little girl cry only to watch him reform, Sam pushed himself off the couch and slowly trotted into the other room. Dean was sitting in a chair, John on his knees. His older brother refused to meet their father eye to eye.
"You shouldn't have done that." John said softly.
"You shouldn't lie to him. You're our father, you're supposed to be honest. Somehow I think lying about some fat, bearded guy in a red suit who flies around the entire world in a night has to count as a pretty big lie. Besides, you told me it was all fake anyway. Why not tell him?"
"Sam's different. He has a part of his mother in him, I guess. He wants to believe that Santa is real, even if it isn't true. So, Dean, I'm asking you, just let him. Okay?"
"Fine." Dean was angry about the whole situation, but he would let it rest. It was out of his hands. What neither was aware of was the fact that seven year old Sam was right there, listening in. And, crushed, he walked back into the room to watch the shows on television. Somehow, in the span of a few minutes, they had lost their magic.
