Seven Devils
Chapter 35 / Naughty or Nice
"Always winter but never Christmas."
― C.S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
North Pole, Alaska
The small town in Northern Alaska was a true festive haven for all those who needed a little magic in their life. And during the Christmas holidays, there was more than plenty of that magic to go around.
"Mom, look, an elf!" A young boy shouted eagerly, pointing at one of the performers. The famous town fair was in full swing as the countdown for the long-awaited holiday had begun. The air smelled of pine, sugared acorns and fresh cold mixed it with the delicious whiff of hot chocolate.
The towny-skinned woman smiled, endeared by her son's infectious joy, "Yes, it is, Sean." Her eldest, Philip, rolled his eyes with a huff, sticking his hands into the pockets of his coat. His father cast him a stern look — Philip'd been sullen and bad-tempered all day, mad at them for dragging him along to this fair instead of letting him go to Kyle's to play video games.
The family of four walked along the crowded streets, filled with booths and food vendors, and Christmas carols being played somewhere in the town square. Philipp walked slightly ahead of them to demonstrate the severity of his anger. He glanced to the side and saw an elf grinning his way. Philip wrinkled his nose in disgust at him and walked on.
"Look there, Sean," the father pointed to the crowd that had gathered in the town square.
Little Sean's eyes widened with delight, "Santa!" He shrieked with childish glee and rushed over to the white-bearded man who sat upon a big, red chair right in front of the huge Christmas tree. He was surrounded by a dozen of elves and mountains of shiny presents.
"Go with your brother, Philip," the mother urged her elder son.
"Why?"
The parents gave him a look. Philip let out an annoyed groan and trudged after little Sean to stand in line. That's so dumb, he thought with a highly displeased face.
"What're you gonna ask Santa?" Sean asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet with eagerness.
"Nothing," Philip replied shortly.
His brother wasn't fazed by his sour mood, though, "I'm gonna ask him for a new Hot Wheels truck! I've already got three, but mom said that if I'm good, Santa will get me everything I want! And I've been good. I walked Luna every morning and Miss Hatchers gave me another star last week! Do you think Santa knows?"
"Ask him yourself," Philip muttered.
With eyes as bright as Christmas lights, Sean turned to see that it was already their turn, "Santa!" he gasped excitedly.
The old man chuckled, perfectly in character, "Hello, hello, young man". Sean rushed to hop on Santa's lap, giddy. Philip rolled his eyes and edged to the side to make it look like he wasn't part of the whole charade, "Now, you've been a good boy this year, haven't you?"
Sean looked at Philip with wide eyes, like he'd been somehow in cahoots with Santa, "I have!" Philip stood next to him, annoyed and impatient to get out of here. He roamed his eyes over the crowd in search of his parents — let them see how much he was not enjoying this. Christmas sucked.
"And you, young man?" Asked Santa. Philip turned to him, disgruntled. Why would he even address him? Did he look like a stupid kid? "What would you like for Christmas?"
He scowled, "Nothing you can give me, loser. Come on, Sean," Philip grabbed his shocked brother by the hand and hauled him away.
"Why were you so rude to Santa?" Sean exclaimed in horror.
"That's not Santa."
"Yes, it is!"
"No, it isn't!" Philip stopped and faced his little brother, "You know why? Cause Santa isn't real, you idiot!"
Sean glowered, stumped, "Is too!"
"Oh yeah? Then why did I see mom and dad buy you that stupid Hot Wheels truck you wanted?"
His face fell with shock, but then it became really stern, "You're lying!"
"Mom and dad are lying, I'm telling the truth."
"No, you're lying!" Sean yelled, eyes filling up with tears, "You're always being mean, I hate you!"
Philip glared at him, boiling with resentment. He hadn't even wanted to come to this stupid fair in the first place —
"What on earth is going on here?" their mother demanded, walking toward them.
"Sean, why are you yelling at your brother?" the father asked.
Sean fumed, his slightly chubby cheeks aflush, "Because he's a liar!"
"Yeah, well at least I'm not a moron!" Philip yelled back.
The mother's head whipped to him, "Philip!" she admonished.
"He says Santa's not real!" Sean cried, sniffling. The parents glared at Philip.
"What? He's not a kid anymore."
Sean's eyes welled up with tears again. The mother wrapped a comforting arm around him, "Your brother is joking, sweetheart. He's just angry that he won't get his present this year because he didn't write a letter to Santa." She said, sending Philip a pointed look. So he wouldn't get that console he wanted — the console his dad had promised he'd get.
"Whatever," Philips huffed and stomped away from them, hands buried in his pockets.
"Philip! Come back right this second!" His mother yelled, "Philip!"
"I'll be in the car!" He yelled back, "This fair sucks anyway!"
Philip never meant to be mean or rude, although it did happen quite often. Afterwards, having simmered in his anger for some time, he would inevitably feel something that was awfully akin to guilt. Whatever the feeling was, however, Philip would never admit his own fault — mean he might not have been, but he was nothing if not stubborn.
It was a little past ten when he had that sudden revelation after ruining his little brother's Christmas. Philip'd been brooding in his room, door closed even though his mother hated when he did that. He was playing a video game, fingers pressing the buttons on the joystick with all the pent up frustration he kept bottled down. And then his character died.
"No!" Philip yelled, "GAME OVER" mocking him from the screen. He threw the controller down in frustration — he could never get past this stupid level. Sean had, though. His little brother was surprisingly good at video games, even though Philip would never admit it. His eyes strayed to the second controller that lay untouched on the shelf.
With a sigh of reluctance, Philip stood up and left his room. It was dark in the hall — his dad must've turned off the lights before going to sleep. God, they were lame. Who went to bed at 10 o'clock? Old people, that's who. He was surprised to see light coming from his brother's room, though — usually, Sean was out by nine, the goody-two-shoes he was.
Philip stopped in the middle of the corridor, hearing a strange voice. It was male, but too low to belong to a kid, "Sean?" he called, wary. The voice went silent. Even more suspicious now, Philip snuck closer to the door and took a peek inside. The room was...empty?
"Sean?" Philip said, quietly this time. His little brother didn't answer, nor did he jump out from the closet to scare him. He wasn't in the room at all.
Sean's Hot Wheels cars were scattered on the floor. Philip frowned at the mess — he knew how much his little brother cared about his small collection and instantly crouched down to put them back on their assigned shelf. That's where he noticed a strange doll buried under a sports car.
All the while, an elf was grinning from the shelf.
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Rockin' around the Christmas tree
At the Christmas party hop
Mistletoe hung where you can see
Every couple tries to stop
Whatever Christmas CD the diner was playing, Marlene wanted to smash that thing into tiny little pieces and scatter what's left of it in the mountains of snow outside. Along with all the fairy lights, the half-wilted Christmas tree and smiling Santa faces. No, Marlene wasn't a big fan of Christmas. One could even say she was a staunch anti-Christmas person. A Grinch. And yes, she was currently enjoying a cup of eggnog but that was just because she needed more protein in her diet, what with all the sugar she'd been consuming lately. Holiday season wasn't easy for her, less so when it could very possibly be the last one as the world was rapidly going to...
"...In the coming week, Midwest is going to face the biggest snowstorm America has seen in years. Just days before Christmas — arguably, the busiest time of the year. Michigan and Minnesota are going to receive the brunt of it, according to the latests reports..."
Marlene stared impassively at the TV, sipping hatefully on her eggnog. Dean was finishing up his apple pie while Sam's nose was stuck in the computer screen, scouring all corners of the Internet for a case.
"How can three Horsemen of the Apocalypse be so hard to find?" Marlene said thoughtfully, eyes still glued to the TV.
"Could be anyone these days," Dean answered mid-chew, too enthralled by the pie to notice the narrow-eyed look Marlene was giving him.
"I think I found something," Sam spoke behind his laptop. Marlene and Dean both looked over at him in attention, "Three kids gone missing in a week. No signs of breaking in. Up and vanished."
Dean put the fork down and wiped his moth with a napkin, "What's the catch?"
"Each kid got a special present," Sam said and turned the screen to face them.
Marlene stared at the pictures, incredulous, "A lump of coal?"
"The police found them in the stockings."
She quirked a brow, "Now that would make one hell of a Christmas carol."
"You sure it's up our alley?"
"Might be worth checking out," Sam shrugged, "It's not like we've got anything else going for Christmas."
Marlene wrapped her hands tightly around the cup. It was getting a little chilly inside, "So what, we're pulling a Home Alone on Bobby?"
Dean sent a forkful of pie into his mouth, "He's a got a real gun. A whole house of 'em."
"Hey, maybe we'll even make it home in time to open the presents," Sam joked.
"Where is that again?" Marlene asked, a bit too tersely.
Sam gave her a strange look and cleared his throat, "Uh..." he glanced at the screen, a small smile pulling at his lips, "...North Pole, Alaska."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
The two-day ride to Alaska was the worst thing Marlene'd experienced in her entire lifetime. At least that's what she thought before they arrived in North Pole.
It was a wonder that town was even real. Marlene would very much like to see their electricity bill for all the unnecessary Christmas lights that covered every possible surface on every building. Actual elves were walking the streets so casually as if they were going to their 9-to-5 job, winding their way through gigantic candy canes, town-wide Christmas fair and a forest's wort of garishly decorated Christmas trees. The air itself was soaked with the smell of pine, candied acorns and cocoa.
Even the motel they stopped at was called "Ho-ho-home away from home". Its interior could be better described as incredibly festive cat-lady meets Willy Wonka. That is to say, the receptionist was a young girl dressed as Mrs Claus.
"Merry morning to you!" She chirped, smiling brightly at them.
"Merry morning to you too, Mrs Claus, " Dean offered her a dashing smile. Marlene rolled her eyes. The nerve of that man, "Lookin' good for your old age."
The girl blushed, her face matching the red costume she was wearing, "Why, thank you, young man. Are you and your friends here for the fair?" she cast a look over Dean's shoulder.
Sam nodded, his smile much less suggestive, "Uh, yeah. Would you happen to have a spare room? It's been a long trip."
"Well, we're very busy this time of year. But..." she said slyly, glancing at Dean above her round glasses, "I might just have a room for you."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
"That was disgusting," Marlene declared, unpacking her bag, "She was wearing a bonnet."
"What can I say?" Dean spread his arms innocently, "I don't discriminate."
Marlene turned to him, brow lifted, "So you're saying you'd bang Mrs Claus?"
"Why wouldn't I? Bakes kick-ass cookies, takes crap from no one. She's the perfect woman."
Sam looked up from the laptop, an amused frown on his face, "Dude, stop."
"Look, all I'm saying is that Mrs Claus's still got it," Dean shrugged, "And I bet she's got experience too."
"Experience?" Marlene scoffed, "Santa's gone all winter and the other half he spends making shit for kids. Plus, no one bakes so much unless they're compensating for something. It's definitely no winter wonderland down there."
"Well, who said anything about Santa?"
Marlene stared at him, "They're married, Dean."
"Oh, you think he's not fooling around? — "
"Alright, can we stop talking about Mr and Mrs Claus's sex life now?" Sam cut in loudly, voice tense with frustration. Dean and Marlene instantly shut up.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"There's been another disappearance," Sam sighed and ran his eyes over the article, "Sean Dresden, six, went missing two days ago. His older brother found the bedroom empty, called the parents."
Marlene frowned. Strange, "They didn't take the brother."
"Maybe he's too old?"
"No, can't be the age. One of the missing kids was eleven. That thing's after something else."
"Piece of coal?" Dean asked.
"In the stocking above the fireplace," Sam confirmed.
Marlene sat down on the bed, thoughtful, "So whatever it is, it's…choosing them, somehow?"
Sam nodded, "We just have to find the 'how'."
"Well, then," They both looked at Dean as he stood up, "Let's suit up and do some investigating."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
All three families told them the exact same thing: their kids were pure angels, they'd tucked them in before bed and in the morning, they were gone, a single lump of coal left behind. No, their lives were perfectly normal, nothing strange ever happened — the classic shtick, until everything went completely haywire. Which it had.
Now, the last stop they had to make was the Dresden's. Their house stood out among the others in their decidedly fancy neighbourhood both in size and in the scale of decorations. People in North Pole sure took Christmas pretty seriously. It came with the postcode.
"Talk about keeping up with the Jones's," Dean muttered, staring at the plush Christmas wreath above the door. He knocked three times and stepped back..
It was a striking tawny-skinned woman that opened the door, her eyes heedful.
"Mrs Dresden?" Sam asked.
"Yes?"
Sam and Dean showed their badges, "Agents Lime and Murchins, FBI," Dean introduced and gestured to Marlene, "That's the bureau's consultant Catherine McCallister."
"Good afternoon, Mrs Dresden," Marley offered her a polite smile.
The woman appeared a little lost, "Uh...yes — "
"Alice, who is it?" boomed a male voice. A tall, blonde man emerged from the living room. He stopped next to his wife, assuming a highly protective stance.
"They're from the FBI," Alice told him quietly.
Mr Dresden's face went from suspicion to very business-like stateliness, "Please, come in." Marlene trailed inside after Dean, following Mr Dresden into the living room.
The Dresdens' was a truly beautiful house that felt like home, too: warm, cozy, filled with memories good and bad, bearing scrapes and bruises, the walls of which were still ringing with children's laughter. It reminded Marlene of her own house in Cambridge. Of her father and the way he'd always turned Christmas into a lecture. "That's my gift to you, honey," he'd say, "Knowledge and awareness."
As they passed by the mantelpiece, Dean spotted a creepy Shelf Elf sitting up there. He made a horrified face at it. Marlene elbowed him in the ribs, for which she received a pointed look that promised retribution.
Ignoring him, she took a peek at the photographs. The Dresden's were a beautiful family, one you could see in furniture catalogues, sitting in a ridiculously expensive living room with hot chocolate, all smiles. There were photos from holidays at the lake, from Disneyland, from Hawaii: two boys in all of them, one older, the other younger — Sean, the boy who'd gone missing. He looked like an angel with his coyly sandy hair and amber eyes that crinkled with mirth in every picture. Marlene felt a pang of sadness but brushed it away when Mrs Dresden offered her a seat on the couch next to Dean, with Sam in the armchair on the right.
"We didn't think the FBI would come so quickly," the father told them, "The sheriff said it took weeks to process a formal request."
"Well, with cases like this...you really can't waste time. Let the paper pushers handle the red tape, that's what I always to say," Dean chuckled awkwardly. Marlene felt like she should join in, so she did. Sam's pointed, tight-lipped smile was a clear signal for both of them to shut up. The Dresden's looked uncomfortable.
"Why don't you tell us what happened that day?" Sam asked in that velvety, soothing voice he apparently reserved for victims and Marlene when he forgot he was avoiding her, "Maybe you noticed anything out of the ordinary? Something or someone suspicious?"
"No, everything…everything was normal," Mr Dresden said thoughtfully, "The kids spent all day inside with us. We didn't want them to go out because it was snowing too heavily."
"You mean Sean and your eldest…" Marlene looked down at her notes, "…Philip?"
Mrs Dresden nodded, her eyes welling up at the mention of her son, "Y-yes."
"And then you went to the fair?" Dean asked.
"Yes, it was the opening night," she replied, leaning into her husband's supporting embrace, "Our kids love Christmas."
"And you went home right after?"
Dean caught a slight change in Mr Dresden's face, "We had to leave a little early."
"Why's that?"
It was Mrs Dresden who answered this time, her voice shaking, "Philip and Sean got into a little fight."
"They're brothers. Brothers fight, it's normal," Mr Dresden said defensively as if he expected them to take their son into custody. Dean and Sam exchanged brief looks. They needed no explanation.
"What was the fight about?" Marlene wondered.
Mrs Dresden frowned, "I…it's — my eldest, Philip, he's…he's a very hot-headed boy —"
"He upset his brother," Mr Dresden cut in matter-of-factly, "Told him Santa wasn't real."
That piqued their curiosity. Sam leaned in, "And Philip was the one who found his brother missing later that night?"
"He did," Mrs Dresden whispered and broke down crying, burying her face in her hands. Her husband tightened his hold around her shaking frame, "I'm sorry — "
"It's alright, Mrs Dresden, take you time," Dean told her with a kind-hearted smile and then turned to the husband, "Do you still have the stocking?"
He shook his head, "No, we gave it to the police for forensics. It really was just coal," his face grew sullen, "Who would even do such a thing? I mean...why? How?"
"That's what we're here to figure out, Mr Dresden," Dean assured him.
"Could we speak with Philip?"
Mrs Dresden lifted her tear-stained eyes at Sam, unsure. She looked to her husband, whose face was contorted with doubt as well, "I...uh — yes. Yes, of course," he finally said. Mr Dresden whispered something to his wife, who nodded in reply, and rose from the couch.
"Do you mind if I take a look around the house?" Dean asked.
"Sure," the man nodded and led Marlene and Sam up the stairs to Philip's bedroom. There was a KEEP OUT sign plastered on the door. Marlene quirked a brow at that — character profile done and done.
Mr Dresden rapped his knuckles against the closed door, "Philip, there's someone here to talk to you." No reply followed. The man looked back at the agents as if apologising for his son's behaviour and tried again, sternly this time, "Philip, open the door."
Marlene thought she heard a scoff before the door was pulled open, a very moody preteen glaring from the threshold, "What?" he asked his father in a clipped tone. Then he noticed the two suit-clad strangers behind him, and his tough act was quickly dropped.
"That's agents..." Mr Dresden turned to them.
"Uh, Murchins and McCallister," Sam supplied, pursing his lips into a polite smile. Philip frowned, sizing them up expertly. When he looked at Marlene, his brows drew closer.
Tough crowd, "Hello," she greeted him, "You're Philip, right? Do you mind if we have a word?"
"You're from the FBI?" he sounded rather skeptical.
"Yes. We're here to find your brother," Philips eyes went to Sam, "We were hoping you could help us with that?" Another moment of careful scrutiny later, the boy stepped aside to let them into his room.
Mr Dresden remained in the hall, "I'll be right outside," he told his son with that pointed look that meant he had to call for him if something went wrong.
Once the father was gone, Sam and Marlene turned to Philip. The boy plumped down on his bed, head hung low as he fiddled with some toy. They glanced at each other, neither exactly sure how to start the conversation. Sam cleared his throat, "So, uh, Philip. You're not the biggest fan of Christmas?"
"Why would I be? It's dumb," he huffed.
"But you get presents from Santa," Marlene said in a cheerful voice.
Philip cut her a glare, "I know my parents buy those. Not some old-ass man who can't even afford a car."
Marlene's brows shot up in pleasant surprise. Sam gave her a look, "What? The kid makes some valid points," she said quietly.
He shook his head at her in quiet disappointment and turned back to Philip, "What can you tell us about the night your brother went missing?"
Philip stayed stubbornly silent, but then bit out, "Nothing. We went to the stupid fair, then we came home. I went over to his bedroom, he wasn't there."
"Your mother mentioned a fight. Do you remember what it was about?"
"No," Philip grumbled.
Sam sighed and shared a helpless look with Marlene. She shrugged, equally as stumped, "You know, I actually have a brother too," he finally said, "We used to fight all the time growing up. We still do sometimes." Philip looked up from the toy he was clutching in his hands, something akin to interest flashing in his dark eyes, "But you know what's great about siblings?" Sam's voice dropped as if he was letting Philip in on a secret, "No matter what dumb things you do or say, they will always have your back."
Marlene couldn't help a smile. She knew Sam still blamed himself for everything that had happened. Even for the things over which he'd had no control. But all of it: drinking demon blood, leaving with Ruby and letting Lucifer loose — all of that paled in comparison to his brother's disappointment. At the end of the day, Dean's was the only absolution he ever truly cared for.
"You'll think I'm crazy," Philip mumbled, eyes downcast, "The other cops did."
Sam's mouth turned up into a slightly mischievous smile, "What if I told you we're not cops?"
"Who are you then?"
"We're from a secret FBI devision. Specials Ops," Marlene told him. Sam looked at her sideways. It's like he knew she hadn't thought this through, "It's called...Evil Busters."
Philip frowned, sceptical, "Like Ghostbusters?"
"They stole the name from us, actually," Marley nodded, suddenly feeling very angry at Columbia Pictures.
Before Philip could ask even more questions that would inevitably destroy her cover story, Sam decided to continue their own investigation, "What happened that night, Philip? Did you see something?"
The boy went quiet for a moment, then sighed, "My brother Sean...he didn't — didn't disappear, okay?"
"Well, then...where did he go?" Marlene questioned quizzically, "Did you see someone in his room or — "
"He didn't go anywhere. He's still here."
Sam cast Marlene a wary look, "You can see him?"
"Of course I can see him, I'm not blind."
They looked around the room, but there was no one there. Not even a ghost that Sam was so afraid he would discover, "Phillip, we don't see anything."
The boy heaved out an exasperated sigh, wrapping his fingers around the toy in his lap. It was a Nutcracker doll with big brown eyes and yellow curls, and — Oh, no. Marlene stilled. Then glanced over at Sam and saw the same stricken expression on his face.
"That's him," Philip said desperately, showing them the doll, "That's Sean. My brother."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Marlene, Sam and Dean left the house in silence, each quietly mulling over their findings. Mrs Dresden murmured a hushed "thank you, agents" and closed the door behind them. Poor woman, Marley thought, catching the absent look in her eyes for a moment before she disappeared from sight.
"So," Sam started when they got to the car, "The brother claims Sean was turned into a doll".
Dean made a confused face, "Huh?"
"A Nutcracker," Marlene specified.
"A Nutcracker?"
"The book? The ballet?" It rang no bells, "Okay, so like a little boy who was cursed by a mouse witch and turned into a nut-cracking doll."
Dean looked appalled, "Jesus, what'd the poor kid do?"
"Even if it's true," Sam said loudly to keep them both on track, "I didn't see any dolls in the other houses."
"About that," Dean piped up and said to Marlene, "Remember that creepy ass Elf on the shelf? The Kushners had the same one. Put the bastard right by the door, scared the bejesus out of me."
Sam frowned in thought, "Yeah...and the Elliots had one as well — "
" — under the Christmas tree," Marlene remembered the smiley creeper sitting merrily on top of the beautifully wrapped boxes, "You think it's a witch?"
"Maybe," said Dean, "But there was no hex inside the doll."
"How did you — " she cut herself off, hit by a realisation, "— you ripped it open. Of course."
"First, we need to find the person who sold them. Did you ask them where they got it?" Sam asked.
Dean grinned, "Hop onto Santa's sleigh. We're 'bout to take a trip down to the North Pole."
Sam and Marlene stared at him, confused and somehow also mortified. His smile fell, "Just get in the damn car," Dean grumbled and jumped at the wheel.
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say on a bright Hawaiian Christmas Day
That's the islands greeting that we send to you from the land where palm trees sway
Here we know that Christmas will be green and bright
The sun to shine by day and all the stars at night
Mele Kalikimaka is Hawaii's way to say Merry Christmas to you
"Alright, so we're looking for someone who sells creepy dolls, right?" Marlene looked between about a dozen booths packed with nightmarish Shelf Elves and then turned to Sam and Dean. They had, too, just now realised that finding the right vendor would be near impossible.
"Let's just talk to all of them," Sam suggested, nodding to himself as if that would make the task any more feasible, "I'll take the ones in the town square. Dean, you head to the Candy Cane Lane. Marlene," his grey eyes flashed to her, "Santa's factory is yours."
"Ah, just what every girl wants to hear," Marlene drawled sarcastically, "So, meet by the huge tree in an hour?"
Dean nodded, "Sounds like a plan."
And so they went in three separate directions, to divide and conquer the hell out of all the Elf Shelf vendors. Marlene glared at every jolly actor that tried to lure her into their celebration of life. She even refused all delicious treats — though she had sampled those reindeer in blankets. That little detour, however, had not distracted Marlene from her quest, which was finding an odd man out. Which wasn't easy, since everyone at the blasted fair was dressed like an elf and acted like a moron. It was a wonder these Elf things were still sold — who would willingly go and buy those smiley creepers?
A lot of people, as it turned out. "You sold how many today?" Marlene asked the old lady behind the counter, incredulous.
"About a hundred, dear," she replied, "Do you have any children? I'm sure they would love a nice Elf keeping an eye on them!"
Now that sounded pretty suspicious, "What do you mean, 'keep an eye on them'?"
"Why, that's what Elves do," the granny told her joyfully, "Santa's little helpers write up his list of who's been naughty or nice every year!"
That was exactly what every other elf-dressed thespian told Marlene when she tried to weasel any compromising information out of them. It sounded very much like a rehearsed speech or the effect of some sort of a hive mentality. Or they were all part of a pyramid scheme and tried to sell these dolls like Mary Kay's most desperate representatives. Whatever it was, Marlene had found out nothing and had to arrive at the enormous Christmas tree empty-handed. Well, not exactly 'empty handed'. She'd managed to snatch a couple of those reindeer in blankets along the way.
Marlene was stuffing her face with the last one when she noticed Sam. He was waiting at their assigned meeting spot, hands tucked in the pockets of his coat, sweeping his eyes over the square. She'd never seen him so perfectly normal: just another Christmas-crazed maniac here to enjoy the town fair. It was easy to pretend, just for a moment, that they weren't on a case. That they weren't what fate had made them. That the word wasn't on the brink of —
Sam's eyes landed on her and his face brightened in recognition. Well, she'd been found out. Marlene finished chewing the last of her snack and walked up to him, "I've got nothing," she confessed straight away, "They're all equally disturbing. You?"
"They're really good at selling these dolls, but otherwise..." Sam trailed off with a shrug, "...nothing suspicious."
Marley stole a glance at him. She suddenly became very aware that they were together. Alone. Just the two of them. The wheels of overthinking in her brain began to turn, "Well, maybe Dean's had more luck."
"Yeah," Sam breathed, "maybe."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Dean wasn't having any luck. Yes, the dolls were horrifying and yes, the people who sold them weren't far behind, but there was nothing particularly suspicious about them. Apart from the lines of people who were willing to pay actual money for those little creeps, that is.
"Do you make them?" Dean asked one of the vendors.
"Of course! All Santa's toys are made in our factory — "
"Cut the crap, Hermey," he cut the elf off with a stern look, "Where do you get these things?"
The guy tried his hardest to stay in character, but it seemed that Dean's fury was enough to break through it. He sighed and said in a normal voice, "The city orders a shitload of them each Christmas. From China or something. Now can you please go?" he leaned in and whispered, "We've got a quota and you're scaring off the customers." Dean sent him a frustrated glower and walked away from the counter. Dammit, they had been wrong about the dolls.
Pissed off, cold and famished — the dozen reindeer in blankets he'd eaten had done little to sate his hunger — Dean headed to the rendezvous point.
It was near Santa's sleigh station that he realised he had someone on his tail. Dean stopped for a moment to make sure. Whoever had been following him, stopped too. Alright, let's play, you bastard, Dean thought and began strutting down the street again. All the way the little pest was right at his heels, not a step behind. He was good, Dean would give him that.
Once they were past the town square — the Mecca of all Christmas activity — Dean made a sharp turn to the left, into one of the alleys. Dean took out his handgun and leaned against the wall an, expecting the guest of honour. One...two...three...
The barrel struck a furry green hat, "Move and I pull the trigger," Dean warned.
The small man stilled, leaf-green eyes wide as he looked up at the gun pressed against his head. He gulped, "A-alright. I'm not...not moving, sir."
Dean inspected him. The dude was wearing the same green costume as every elf at the fair, with pointy shoes to boot, "Who are you?"
He whimpered when Dean took the gun off safety, "I — I'm Humphrey!"
"Humphrey who?"
"Humphrey the Elf!"
Here we go again. Scowling, Dean pushed the halfwit against the wall, "Listen here, bozo. I've about had it with your elf friends today," he hissed threateningly into the guy's terrified face, "So why don't you cut the act and tell me who the hell you are and why you've been following me, huh?"
"I'm telling you the truth!" He shrieked, "My name's Humphrey the Elf and I am here to save Santa!"
Dean stared at him. It felt kind of wrong to have a gun against a nutjob's head, so he lowered it. The guy sagged against the wall in relief, but Dean's glower kept him well on his toes, "So you know Santa, 's that it?"
He bobbed his head eagerly, "And he needs my help."
"Of course," Dean said with a patronising smile, "Because you're his little helper."
"Yes!"
"So why were you following me?"
"Because I need your help."
Dean looked at him incredulously. This was just getting better and better, "You need my help to help Santa?"
"I do, Mr Winchester," the elf said solemnly. He shrieked in shock when Dean had him pinned to the wall again.
"How do you know my name?"
"I know all your kids' names! I'm Santa's — "
"— little helper, yeah. 'been through that already," Dean growled, "What'd you do with those kids, you sick bastard?"
"Nothing! I did nothing!" The elf swore, cowering, "I'm trying to save them too! That's why I've been following you!"
Dean narrowed his eyes at him, the fluffy white lapels of his green coat still clutched in his hands, "What do you know about the disappearances?"
"I...n-not much. Not much at all," the elf stammered out, "I — I know that all the good children have been going missing — "
"What do you mean 'good children'?"
The elf blinked, "Why, the little ones that went missing, they were all on Santa's "good" list. I know it, I do, I make the list myself every year, sir."
"Then why doesn't Santa deal with it himself, huh?" Dean asked, skeptical.
"Oh, but that's the problem Mr Winchester," the elf's wide green eyes were filled with absolute dread, "Santa's gone."
𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐
Dean hadn't showed up. Not ten, not even twenty minutes later. Which was alright, Sam supposed — he'd probably found a lead and decided to see where it goes. He would've called them if he'd needed any help. No, Dean not showing up wasn't the problem. The girl standing next to him was.
Sam did his best to act casual, but every time he was near Marlene, he felt a pressing need to apologise to her. Everything that'd happened, everything that could have happened — he'd given her no real explanation. Hell, he'd been lying to her face that whole time, knowing what he knew about the future, about...
Meanwhile, Marlene was slowly transitioning from stage one to stage two of frostbite, and she could really feel the effects kicking in. Arms wrapped around her upper body, she tried to move her feet to get the blood flowing, but it looked like a very poorly-performed Irish dance.
"Why don't we walk around?" Sam suggested, noticing how fidgety she'd become. The red nose was probably a giveaway too.
"Uh, yeah. Sure." That was the longest they'd stayed in each other's company for a month, awkward bump ins in the kitchen excluded. That's why Marlene'd been a little hesitant about coming with them to Washington the week before. But she'd figured that would be more fun than staying behind and wallowing in her own misery.
They grabbed some hot chocolate on the way — turned out Sam could never refuse anything with sugar in it, however hard he tried. Marlene considered it her personal win, sipping on the delicious drink with a small smile.
"So, Christmas," she began, glancing over at him, "Any Winchester traditions I should know about?"
"Does not celebrating Christmas count as a tradition?"
Marlene's brows lifted a fraction, "That bad, huh?"
They walked out of the busier part of the fair and found themselves in a quiet park, not swarmed by people in costumes and fake pointy ears, "It just...never stuck, I guess," Sam said, his voice tinged with regret, "What about your family?"
"Well, my dad always turned Christmas into an educational experience. 'It's nothing but a capitalistic ploy, Marlene, to exploit people's faith for profit," Marlene quoted in her best Arthur impression, "Safe to say, Santa didn't receive any letters from me." Sam breathed out a chuckle, giving a slight shake of his head. He knew enough about Arthur to know that she wasn't kidding.
They lapsed into silence then, Marlene's thoughts consumed by her past, Sam's going back to the last Christmas he and Dean'd actually celebrated. When they both thought it was going to be their last one together. Two years later, and they were back where they'd started.
Sam turned to Marlene, noticing the faraway look in her eyes, "You miss your father," he said. Not a question, but an observation, "Is that why you've been acting a bit off lately?"
She let out a deep sigh and took a sip of the hot chocolate to buy herself some time, "I do miss him, but...it's more than that," her voice was weak, unsure, "I guess I just miss...well, all of it. My life, my friends. We — we, uh, used to always go to our friend's Maddock's for Christmas. His family is seriously loaded, so they've got this huge house in Rhinebeck..."
They walked through the cozy park, and Sam listened as Marlene told him about her crazy friends, and that one time she's broken her leg on a stolen snowboard, and how Maddock's creepy uncle Richard'd always made a move on her. Sam would steal a glance at her every once in a while and be completely enthralled by the fire in her eyes and the sheer life that she exuded.
"...Never really got the whole Dick thing about Richards until I met him. A walking sexual harassment lawsuit, that man."
"He never actually did anything, did he?" Sam asked abruptly.
"Oh, no, never," Marlene shook her head, "Maddock would've kicked his ass if he'd tried anything."
Sam nodded slowly, suddenly hesitant, "Uh, were you and Maddock?..."
"Could've, would've. It's all just...water under the burning bridge now," she said casually, refusing to let the subject get to her, "I keep thinking about what you said, you know."
Sam frowned, "What I said?"
"That thing about how once you see the world for what it really is, there's no going back," Marlene reminded him, thinking back to the conversation they'd had almost a year ago. Sam watched her closely, "You don't notice it at first, but it...changes you. Draws a line between the before and the after."
Sam nodded along, knowing the feeling all too well, "Mine got a little blurry over the years. Should've never crossed it," he said bitterly.
"I don't know if I ever could. Cross it," Marlene readjusted the paper cup in her hand — it had lost all its warmth, "When I think about my old life now, I don't see myself in it. Just some girl who laughed a lot because she knew nothing. I don't know if I'd ever want to be her again."
"Really?" Sam looked over at her in surprise, "Even if you woke up one day and had it all back?"
"I mean, it would be nice," Marley said and turned to Sam, "But it wouldn't be true, you know? And if my dad ever taught me anything, it's that truth is way more important than fiction, however nice and comforting it might be."
Sam frowned. As a kid, he'd always seen their life as temporary. Maybe it'd just been a way for him to cope with John's negligence and drinking, with the constant moving around, with the idea that there was no home for them to return to. So Sam had made up a home of his own — a distant dream, a goal he would one day reach. A finish line where he'd finally have it all. The life he'd always wanted. The life he'd suffered through all those years for.
The night he'd lost Jess had been the night he realised that it'd all been a hoax. A mirage of a disillusioned boy starving for normalcy and simple human affection. Sam'd woken up from that dream now, never toed the sacred, burning red line. But sometimes, lying in his bed in another motel somewhere Midwest, he'd tell himself that it would be over one day. He just needed to be patient.
"Sam?" Marlene's voice broke him out of his thoughts. She was pointing to his pocket, "Someone's calling."
Sam blinked the last of his musings away and went for his phone. It was Dean, "Hey, man. Where are you?"
"Sam?" Dean yelled into the phone. He was in a packed bar, surrounded by a bunch of elves and drunk Alaskans, who were singing merry Christmas carols and just having a jolly good fun — very loudly. Humphrey the Elf was next to him, searching for something in the crowd, "Sam, you there?"
"Dean, where are you?" Sam asked. He couldn't hear anything over the noise, "Dean?"
Dean froze when he looked where Humphrey was pointing, the phoned pressed against his ear, "Sammy," he said slowly, "I think I found something."
Down at the bar, Santa Claus was yelling at the top of his lungs, a pint of beer in hand:
He's making a list,
He's checking it twice,
He's gonna find out who's naughty or nice
Santa Claus is coming to town