A/N: Sooo sorry for the delay. I was distracted writing chapters for later seasons since I was rewatching season 4 and 5, which was getting ahead of myself since I'm not done with season 3 yet. Hopefully the next segment won't take me as long to post. Again, I own nothing and Bridget was thought up of from seeing YouTube videos of Brooke from OTH added in so smoothly it was believable that I created Bridget to mirror her with different motives and backstory. Enjoy. Reviews welcome.
S3 EP52 A SUPERNATURAL XMAS
It was always a nice neighborhood, Bridget noted as she stood outside the two story house with the white picket fence to match. It was never a bad neighborhood in the bad part of town that these things happened in. The husband never was mysteriously murdered in those places, just the nice suburban home areas. It made her glad she didn't currently live in one yet she chuckled internally at the thought that both her and Dean had come from those same neighborhoods and had faced the same situation. Supernatural deaths had occurred. She liked to think the people they helped recovered from it, but from her own experience she knew those memories would linger forever in the back of their minds and things would never be the same again.
She looked back at the woman they were interviewing whose husband had died. Middle aged, pretty with only slight wrinkles at the corner of her eyes to give it away. Though after this she was sure she'd age another five years. Dean stood outside with her in their best detective gear, suits and ties for the boys, her pant suit for her with heels. Sam was currently inside trying to decide what it was that had done this in the realm of their possibilities.
"So you didn't see anything?" Dean asked again to clarify.
She stood there with one hand on the back of her neck, looking tired as she shook her head, "No, my daughter and I were in our beds…Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof and then Mike started screaming…now I'm talking to the FBI…he was just…gone."
"The doors were locked?" Bridget asked her. "No sign of forced entry?"
"That's right."
"Does anyone else have a key?" Dean asked.
"My parents…but they're in Florida."
Sam came out of the house then with a nod at them and smiled softly at the woman, "Thanks for letting me have a look around, Mrs. Walsh. I think we, uh, got just about everything we need. We're all set."
Dean flipped his pocketbook closed, "We'll be in touch."
"Agents…" she called them back before they got three steps.
They paused to look at her, "The police said he might have been kidnapped…"
Bridget felt a pang on sympathy at the woman's hope that he was still alive. But even as she saw Sam's adam's apple bob up and down, she knew he had found something that said otherwise and had already guessed that much. "Could be…" Bridget said.
Tears sprang to the woman's eyes. "Then why haven't the kidnappers called. O-or or demanded a ransom? Its three days till Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?"
"We're very sorry," she told her and walked back to the car with the boys following.
"Did you find anything?" Dean asked Sam once they were out of earshot.
"Presents, mistletoe," he fished a little baggy out of his pocket and held it up for them to see. "This."
Bridget stared at the bloody tooth in the bag. "Where did you find that?"
"Chimney along with traces of splattered blood."
"No way a man fits up a chimney. It's too narrow," Dean calculated.
"Not in one piece," Bridget sighed.
"Okay…so if Dad goes up the chimney…"
"We need to find out who dragged him up there," Sam finished the thought as they got into the car.
A short drive later and they were back at the hotel in more comfortable clothing doing research on their computers. In other words, Bridget and Sam were doing the majority of the research while Dean had stepped out to get burgers leaving the book work to the nerds. He came back through the door with the greasy bags and set them on the table by the bed.
"So was I right?" he asked, tossing the keys down and sitting across from Bridget at the desk near Sam. "Is it the serial killing chimney sweep?"
Bridget rolled her eyes, "Yeah, Dean. It's Dick Van Dyke."
"Who?"
Sam stared at him as blankly as Bridget did and spoke first, "Mary Poppins."
"Who's she?"
"You gotta be kidding me," Bridget said shock. "Come on…never mind," she sighed deciding it'd be a losing battle of the wits and Dean was anything but prepared.
"Well if all you got is Mary Poppins, I got a little more. It turns out that Walsh is the second guy in town grabbed out of his house this month," Dean informed them.
"Really?"
"Don't know. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof. So, what the hell do you think we're dealing with?"
"Actually, I have an idea," Sam said drumming his fingers on the table.
"What is it?"
"It's crazy," he warned.
"We've dealt with crazy," Bridget reminded him.
"Evil Santa," he said and smiled as if to apologize for how crazy it sounded.
Dean paused for a moment, taking a drink of his shake. "Yup, that's crazy."
Sam nodded, "Yeah… I mean, I'm just saying that there's some version of the anti Claus in every culture," he turned his computer around to show them the pictures on the screen. "You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter. Whatever you want to call it, there's all sorts of lore."
"Saying what?"
"Saying back in the day Santa's brother went rogue and now he shows up around Christmas time, instead of bringing presents, he punishes the wicked."
"By hauling their asses up chimneys?"
"Yeah, for starters."
"So, this is your theory, huh? Santa's shady brother?" he asked with raised eyebrows.
"Well, I'm just saying that's what the lore says."
"Santa doesn't have a brother. There is no Santa."
"I could be wrong," Sam shrugged.
Bridget had been quietly staring at the page Sam had shown them, in disbelief at the pictures. She laughed dryly. "Damn…I don't think you are though." She shook her head. Her attention had been grabbed since the words 'evil Santa'.
"Why do you say that?" Sam asked her.
Bridget mumbled a curse under her breath and grabbed her sketch book.
"What is it?" Sam asked her.
She rubbed her eyes with one hand, flipping through the pages in her book, "Evil Santa…you had to say evil Santa…"
"I was kidding," Dean told her and she gave him a stern look. "What?"
She cursed again, trying to find the page. The two brothers warily eyed each other at her odd behavior.
She stopped on a page and with a defeated sigh handed the book to Dean. He took it and his eyebrows went up. Sam leaned over the table to look at it, "Didn't you show us this a month or so ago?"
"Yup…looks like this one is our next case."
"A cannibalistic Santa?" Dean snorted and rolled his eyes, handing it back. "Why not? We already did fairy tales? Plus it makes sense."
"How?" Bridget asked, curious to see how any of this made sense at all. Demons and vampires were one thing, but Santa's evil twin was different.
"I did a little digging. Turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched," he said.
"Where?" Sam asked. Dean only grinned in response and Bridget knew that was a bad thing.
Bridget couldn't have imagined it was this bad. She'd been dragged to bad places. Haunted houses, asylums, the circus, the back lot in Hollywood, but this took the cake. She stared blankly at the Santa's Village sign, biting her lower lip to keep from screaming. Children were running around loudly shrieking and people were dressed like elves, plus there was an endless stream of Christmas music racking her brain. She had reached a level in hell.
Dean put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her into the place since he noticed her feet wanted to stay rooted to one spot in hopes she'd disappear. "It does kind of lend Credence to the theory, don't it?"
"Yeah, but anti-claus? Couldn't be. Though it'd be a great place to hide out if you were shopping for people to eat," she forced a smile.
"You're smiling. It's a Christmas miracle. Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year," he said to both of them.
"Have one what?" Sam asked.
"Christmas," Dean said.
He scoffed and shook his head, "No."
"We'll get a tree, a little Boston market, just like when we're little. What do you do for Christmas, Bridge?"
"Usually, I was with you and your dad killing whatever was needed then getting Christmas dinner with you guys through the Jack in the Box drive thru. Nothing says Christmas like an eggnog milkshake and a jumbo jack."
"Sounds like our old Christmases, don't it, Sammy," he grinned at his brother.
"Dean, those weren't exactly hallmark memories for me, you know."
He rolled his eyes, "Don't listen to him. We had some great Christmases."
Sam stared at him blankly, "Whose childhood are you talking about?"
"Come on, Sam!"
"No…just…no."
Dean stared at him in surprise at his out burst. "All right, Grinch," he grabbed Bridget's hand and walked ahead with her, Sam trailing along lost in his own thoughts.
Bridget looked at the run down buildings in need of desperate pain jobs and kicked a rock across the gravel with a snort. "You'd think for the ten bucks it cost to get in this dump they'd at least get some snow."
"What are we even looking for, Sam?" Dean asked.
Sam still seemed to be off in a daze. Bridget snapped her fingers in front of his face causing him to blink. "Huh, what?"
"While you're day dreaming about naked elves, we're here wondering what we're looking for?" she reminded him of the job.
"Oh," Sam looked around as if remembering where he was. "The lore says that the anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets."
"Great. So we're looking for a pimp Santa. Why the sweets?" Dean asked.
"Think about it, Dean. If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer, you know?" he said nonplus.
"That's creepy. How does this thing know who's been naughty and who's been nice?"
Sam shrugged as they looked around. "No idea."
Bridget spotted the Santa picture station where a few kids were lined up to see the jolly old man in front of the barn area. "We could start with old Saint Nick himself."
Dean nodded, "Not a bad idea."
A little boy was currently sitting on Santa's lap as they approached, being asked if he'd been a good boy that year. One of the "elves" stepped in front of them looking anything but jolly in their green uniform equipped with pointed shoes and a hat. The teenager couldn't even fake a smile through the acne on his face. "Welcome to Santa's court. Can I escort your child to Santa?"
"No. No. But my brother here has been dying to meet Santa," Dean said, grabbing Sammy by the arm and pulling him forward.
That got a reaction out of the elf boy as he stared at Sam like he was a freak. "Uh…sorry. No kids over 12."
"No, he's just kidding. We only came here to watch," Sam stammered realizing that sounded much worse.
Bridget snorted at the look on the elves face. "Eww," he mumbled and walked away leaving Sam stuttering to correct himself. He stared at them blankly. "Thanks a lot guys."
"Oh, I think you handled it really well," Bridget laughed, her laughter died out when she spotted Santa walking away. "Guys…look."
The brothers turned to see Santa walking away with a limp and a cough. "A lot of people walk with limps," Sam said.
Dean sniffed. "Tell me you didn't smell that. That was candy, man."
"Should we take the chance and spy on Santa?" Bridget asked.
"Might be worth it," Dean nodded.
"It's gonna be a long night…"
Bridget sat in the back of the Impala staring at the shabby house, doing one her least favorite things about her job: surveillance. It was second to research, nothing beat research though. Bent over a laptop while your eyes stranded and your back ached and the words in musty books blurred together until you couldn't comprehend them anymore. She'd rather sit in the car with Sam and Dean staring at a house. It was easier and she had coffee, especially while spying on a possibly cannibalistic Santa.
In the front Dean took the coffee canister from Sam. She smiled into her cup, knowing already it was empty since she had emptied it and planted it next to Sam. Dean's mouth became a tight line when he realized it was empty. He mumbled under his breath before looking at his brother. "Hey, Sam. Why are you the boy who hates Christmas?"
Bridget held her breath, waiting for the next battle rounds between the brothers.
Sam sighed, "Dean…"
His brother cut him off, "I mean, I admit it. We had a few bumpy holidays when we're kids."
"Bumpy?" he stared at his brother.
"That was then. The three of us will do it right this year."
"Look, Dean. If you and Bridget want to have Christmas, knock yourselves out. Just don't involve me."
"Maybe not in the after Christmas festivities where Dean opens his private present that involves mistletoe in other places. But why not have regular presents and a nice Jack in the Box meal like a dysfunctional family?"
"That's a great idea!" Dean chimed in with a grin at Bridget. "Both parts of that…especially the mistletoe part…"
Sam ignored the comment and turned back to the house catching their Santa peeking outside his window with a beer can in one hand and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. "What's up with saint Nicotine?"
"Nothing yet," Sam said. "We better go check it out though, He just closed his blinds."
Bridget was quick to jump out of the car and stretch her legs, taking the safety off her gun discreetly as the crept up to the run down house, circling to the door. Dean looked over at her and Sam who stood on the opposite side and nodded.
Sam snorted slightly.
"What?" Dean whispered.
"Nothing, just Mr. Gung Ho Christmas might have to blow away Santa."
Bridget shook her head and opened the door, stepping inside gun in hand. The three stood there, shocked to see Santa staring at them confused as he took a hit from his bong. "What the hell…" he said confused.
Bridget exchanged a worried look with Dean as she tucked her gun away. Sam cleared his throat unsure of what to do. "Ummm…"
"S-silent night," Dean started singing.
"Holy night," Bridget chimed in nervously.
"All is well, all is dry," Sam started.
"Bright," Santa started singing, falling for it in his high state of mind.
"Bright," Sam corrected himself. "Umm. Round and round…the table," Sam sung confused.
Bridget nudged him with her elbow, correcting the song. "Round your virgins," Dean eyed her at the words and she gave him a warning glare as she continued singing, "mother and child." She started moving them backwards, out the front door and closed it behind her, leaving Santa to sing and eat his cookies in his baked state. She snorted and shook her head, no words to sum up the event that took place.
To no surprise while they were spying on a "get high" Santa that was a bust, the actual cannibal struck again. Bridget kicked herself for not being able to stop the bastard before he made another kill, but it was collateral damage to catch the real Saint Nick.
Dean was currently interviewing the next middle class house wife as they stood inside another two story white picket fence house. "So, that's how your son described the attack? "Santa took daddy up the chimney"?"
"That's what he says," she nodded, running her fingers through her disheveled hair.
"Where were you at the time?" Bridget asked.
"I was asleep and all of a sudden… I was being dragged out of bed, screaming," she shook her head at the memory, biting her lower lip.
"Did you see the attacker?" Sam questioned and she noticed his eyes focus on the fireplace.
She shook her head again. "It was dark and he hit me."
"Yeah… um, Mrs. Caldwell, where did you get that wreath above the fireplace?" Sam asked out of the blue causing Bridget to frown as she inspected it. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it. Bridget may have been a bitch at times and surely Dean could be an asshole but never to the degree of asking a question about decoration while questioning a woman about her dead husband.
"Excuse me?" the woman asked flustered.
"Just curious…I've seen one before…"
Bridget stepped in before Sam could say anything more to anger the mourning woman. "I think that'll do it, Mrs. Cadwell. We'll call you if we need anything else or if we get any leads." She stood up, grabbing Sam by his arm to lead him out of the house as Dean followed.
"Wreaths, huh? Sure you didn't want to ask her about her shoes? I saw some nice handbags in the foyer," Dean asked frustrated.
"We've seen that wreath before," Sam said calmly.
"Where?" Bridget asked.
"The Walsh's. Yesterday."
"Okay…so now we need to know who makes them," Bridget nodded her head, glad they at least had some sort of lead.
They did what they always seemed to do when they were stuck on a case; call Bobby. Sam was sitting at the table on the phone with him, his laptop opened in front of him. Bridget sat on the bed near Dean, her drawing pad open in her lap for some sort of clue besides drawings of angels that seemed to be becoming a new theme. They went along with Christmas but she was doubting it had to do with this case.
"Yeah all right. Well keep looking, would you? Thanks Bobby," he hung up the phone, putting it on the table and running a hand over his face. "Well… we're not dealing with the anti-Claus."
"What did Bobby say?" Bridget asked.
"That we're idiots."
She snorted, "We knew he'd say that. What else?"
"He also said that it was probably meadowsweet in those wreaths," Sam said and leaned back in his chair.
"Huh…that makes sense," Bridget nodded, pondering it over in her mind.
Dean looked back and forth at them, waiting for an explanation. "Wow! Amazing. What the hell is meadowsweet?"
"It's pretty rare and it's probably the most powerful plant in pagan lore," Sam answered.
A blank expression crossed his face, "Pagan lore?"
Sam sighed and clicked at his laptop bringing up the page he was looking at and turning his computer around for them to see. "Yeah. See, they used meadowsweet for human sacrifices. It was kind of like a… chum for their Gods. Gods were drawn to it and they'd stop by and snack on whatever was the nearest human."
"Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?"
"If they're feeding the Gods then it's not as crazy as it sounds. It would basically be a homing mechanism for the God to feed, a diner bell of sorts."
"That's crazy," he shook his head.
"It's not as crazy as it sound, Dean. I mean, pretty much every Christmas tradition is pagan," Sam told him.
"Christmas is Jesus's Birthday," he argued.
"No, Jesus' birthday was probably in the fall. It was actually the winter solstice festival that was co-opted by the church and renamed "Christmas". But the Yule log, the tree, even the Santa's red suit, that's all remnants of pagan worship."
"How do you know that? What are you gonna tell me next? Easter bunny's jewish?"
Sam stared at him speechless and glanced over at Bridget for an answer. She slowly shook her head, indicating to him to just let it go.
"So you think we're gonna be dealing with a pagan God?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, the God of the winter solstice."
Bridget let out a breath. "And all their Martha Stewart wannabes, buying these fancy wreaths…"
"Yeah, it's pretty much like putting a neon sign on your front door saying "Come kill us"," Sam nodded.
"Great," Dean sighed.
"Guess what he gives you in return," Sam smiled as he read on from the website article.
"Lap dances?" Dean asked raising an eyebrow.
"Mild weather…"
Bridget nodded her head, "Explains why there's no snow in Michigan."
"Do we know how to kill it?" Dean questioned.
"Not yet, Bobby's working on that right now. We got to figure out where they're selling those wreaths," Sam told them.
"You think they're selling them on purpose? Feeding the victims to this thing?"
"It would make sense," Bridget said and closed her book, grabbing her jacket.
"Let's find out," Sam agreed.
Of course it was one Christmas shop after another they had to go to in search of these wreaths. After seven stores they still had no luck. Bridget was beginning to lose it on the holiday cheer over load and the continuous holiday music that was raping her ears wherever they went. The next shop was just as bad as the other, except this time the shop keeper was an overly cheerful old man with short grey hair and a full set of pearly whites that he seemed to love to beam at people and a Snowman sweater vest to go with the whole appearance.
"Can I help you guys?"
"Uh, hope so. Uh we're playing jenga with the Walshes the other night, and a… he hasn't shut up since about this Christmas wreath," Dean looked at Sam with a smirk. "I don't know you tell him."
"Sure. It was yummy…"
"Well, I sell a lot of wreaths," he chuckled.
"Yea, right, but you see, this one would have been really special. It had, uh, it had, uh, green leaves, um, white buds on it. It might have been made of, uh… meadowsweet?"
"Well, aren't you fussy one?" he grinned, Bridget was starting to think his face was stuck that way.
"He sure is," Dean nodded.
"Anyway, I know the one you're talking about, but I'm all out."
"Seems like this meadowsweet stuff's pretty rare and expensive. Why make wreaths out of it?"
"Beats me, I didn't make them."
"Who did?" Bridget asked, now they were getting somewhere.
"Madge Carrigan, a local lady. She said the wreaths were so special, she gave them for free."
"Free?" Bridget asked, that sent up a red flag. "She didn't charge you?"
"Nope."
"Did you sell them for free?"
The cheery side dropped away as the real side appeared, "Hell no, people pay a buttload for that crap."
"That's the spirit," Bridget nodded as they bid their farewell and left heading back to the hotel. It was dark out by the time they got back to their room. Dean flicked on the light as they walked inside.
"How much do you think that meadow crap cost?"
"Couple hundred at least," Sam shrugged.
"This lady's giving them away for free? What do you think about that?"
Bridget sat on the bed, unzipping her boots. "Sounds suspicious to me."
Dean sat next to her, looking over at Sam on his bed, "Remember that wreath dad brought home that one year?"
"Do you mean the one he stole from, like, a liquor store?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great. I bet if I looked around hard enough, I could probably find one just like it."
Bridget paused waiting to hear the next blow up on the Christmas idea.
Sam sat up on his elbows, staring at Dean, "All right…dude…what's going on with you?"
"What?" he shrugged.
"I mean, since when are you being Crosby all of a sudden? Why do you want Christmas so bad?"
Dean argued back, "Why are you so against it? Were your childhood memories that traumatic?"
"No, that has nothing to do with this."
"Then what, Sam?"
That seemed to get Sam, Bridget noticed as he fumbled for the words, "I-I mean, I-I just, I don't get it. You haven't talked about Christmas in years."
"Well yeah, this is my last year."
And there was the answer to the reason they were all waiting to hear. Sam nodded. "I know…that's why I can't."
"What do you mean?"
Sam gave him an earnest look. "I mean I can't just sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything's okay. When I know next Christmas you'll be dead. I just can't." He stood up and walked into the bathroom, shutting the door, the lock clicking into place behind him.
Bridget sighed and flicked on the TV, more than used to the brotherly arguments especially the ones concerning Dean's inevitable death that was morbid for her to be "used" to. "Let's see what's on," she said, leaning back against the pillows.
"Does it bother you?" Dean asked.
"Everything about this bothers me, Dean. If it didn't then I'd worry," she told him.
"I mean about my death."
"So did I…"
"Then why are you acting like it's no big deal while Sam is having bitch fits."
"Because if I showed it bothered me whenever it did, which is always, then I'd get nothing done…and one bitch in the group is enough."
Dean snorted and moved up next to her on the bed, taking the remote and pressing the up button. "Hell yes! Christmas Story, best Christmas movie ever!"
"I can live with this," she said, stretching out next to him, head on his chest. They laid there watching the movie, eating a bag of cheese flavored popcorn in silence. She planed on enjoying the time she had with Dean, rather than regretting it later. She only hoped Sam would feel the same way.
Bridget stared at the house the supposed crazy wreath makers lived in and from the sight of the house she could believe that only psychotic cannibal eating god worshipers could live here. It looked like Christmas barfed all over the lawn with the Reindeer stand ups in the yard and an obnoxious moving Santa Claus that kept saying "ho ho ho." They even had holiday themed gnomes scattered about the lawn.
"This is where Mrs. Wreath lives, huh? Can't you just feel the evil pagan vibe?" Dean joked.
"Actually, I can. It's a Christmas nightmare," Bridget mumbled as they walked up to the doorstep and rang the bell.
A plump cheery older woman answered the door. Bridget tried not to show the surprise at her Christmas attire on her face. The woman was wearing a red snowman sweater vest over a white collared shirt equipped with a wreath brooch at the neck. Her hair was even tied back with a red ribbon. It was almost too much.
"Yes?" she asked with a grin.
Dean gave her a charming smile, "Please tell me you're the Madge Carrigan who makes the meadowsweet wreaths."
"Why, yes I am," she continued grinning.
"Yes! Bingo," Dean nodded at them.
Sam shook his head slightly, "Well, we were just admiring your wreaths in Mr. Sylar's place the other day."
"You were," she said cheerfully. "Well, isn't that meadowsweet just the finest-smelling thing you ever smelled?"
"It is, it sure is. But the problem is, is all you wreaths had sold out before we got the chance to buy one."
"Ohh fudge," she pouted and Bridget almost lost it. No surprised this woman didn't use profanities.
She hid her smile, "You wouldn't have another one that we could buy from you, would you?"
"No, I'm afraid those were the only ones I had for this season."
"Awwww," Bridget snapped her fingers, feeling it wasn't out of place with this woman to do so.
Dean nodded, "Tell me something, why did you decide to make them out of meadowsweet?"
"Why, the smell, of course! I don't think I've ever smelled anything finer."
"Yeah…you mentioned that," Sam nodded.
"What's going on, honey?" A man came to the door and Bridget had to pretend to cough, he matched the woman in every way. Same cheery grin and salt and pepper colored hair. Except his sweater was green with Christmas lights decorating it. The pivotal cliché Grandma and Grandpa figure…except they might be cannibalistic.
"Oh, Edward. Well, just some nice kids asking about my wreaths, dear."
He grinned with a nod, holding a plate in his hand. "Oh the wreaths are fine. Fine wreaths. Oh, care for some peanut brittle?"
Dean's eyes lit up at the sight of the plate and he started reaching for one until Bridget grabbed his hand. "No, thank you. We were just wondering if we could get a wreath but I guess we'll have to wait for next year. Have a good day." She dragged him away from the door and peanut brittle and back to the car. Something was definitely off with those two and she was determined to find out. No one was that cheery without hiding something.
Back at the hotel Sam went back to his laptop, trying to find information on that overly cheery couple. Dean busied himself sharpening stakes made from evergreen and Bridget read up on Pagan myths from her own computer.
"Ah ha! I knew something was off with those two." Sam said and spun his laptop around.
"What did you find?" Bridget asked, scooting to see the screen.
"The Carrigans lived in Seattle, last year, where two abductions took place right around Christmas. They moved here in January. All that Christmas crap in their house wasn't boughs of holly. It was vervain and mint."
Bridget whistled, "That's some serious Pagan stuff."
"So what, Ozzie and Harriet are keeping a pagan God hidden underneath their plastic-covered couch?" Dean questioned.
"I don't know. All I know we're gotta check them out. So, what about Bobby? He's sure evergreen stakes will kill this thing, right?"
"Yeah, he's sure," Dean nodded.
"Looks like we got a god to kill…," she pursued her lips for a moment. "That's a new one on our list."
"I'd say so," Dean agreed.
Without much effort, they were able to slip inside the Carrigans house by doing nothing more than picking the lock. Bridget gripped her stake in her hand, moving in behind Dean as they entered the dark house that, to her, seemed just as creepy at night as it was during the day. The decorations appeared more sinister and eerie as the fake Santa's and elves stared at them from the shadows. Dean nudged her with his elbow, nodding his head to the furniture that was covered in plastic. "Told you so."
She rolled her eyes at him and motioned that she was going to the kitchen. He nodded and pointed to the living room. She made her way into the kitchen as Sam went down the hall near her. She was stunned by the amount of fruit cakes that were covered in Saran wrap along the counters and the collection of Nutcrackers that decorated that breakfast bar. She shook her head and then noticed the door. "Sam, Dean," she whispered loudly and waited for the two to approach, pointing at the door with her stake.
Dean took out his flash light and Sam slowly eased open the door, thankful when it didn't creak. The three made their way down the stairs. When they reached the bottom, Bridget's eyes widened at the sight of the bones and blood stains covering the ground and bags hanging from the ceiling. "Holy shit…"
Sam moved forward, inspecting a few of them and poked at one. He jumped back as it moved and Bridget's necklace thrummed against her chest causing her to gasp just as Madge jumped out of the darkness in her Christmas sweater, grabbing Sam by the neck.
"Sam!" she yelled, moving forward only to be sucker punched in the face by Edward. She hit the ground hard, the stake sliding from her hand as the basement blurred in front of her. She was dimly aware of Dean shouting before feeling him hit the ground beside her and briefly her Madge speak before everything went dark and she was aware of nothing anymore.
The first thing she did become aware of was the throbbing from the side of her face followed by the fact her hands were to the arms of the chair and she was sitting in a triangle formation in the kitchen.
"Bridget," Dean said from her left. "You okay?"
"Owww…and yeah."
"So…I guess were dealing with Mr. and Mrs. God," Sam stated the obvious.
"What was your first clue? Them taking us out without breaking a sweat or the bone yard in the basement?" she asked, rolling her eyes.
The Carrigans chose then to come back into the kitchen with their big grins and Christmas sweaters that made Bridget want to hurl on them. Part from the pain she was feeling and part from the cheer that vibrated off them.
"Ohh good. You three are awake," Madge grinned with a giggle and shrug of her shoulders in delight. "Here we thought you three lazybones were gonna sleep straight through all the fun stuff."
"Miss all this?" Dean joked. "Never."
Edward puffed on his pipe. "Isn't he a kick in the pants, honey? You're hunters is what you are."
"And you're pagan Gods. So, why don't we just call it even and go our separate ways?" Dean bargained in vain.
"So you can bring more hunters and kill us? Ha ha… I don't think so," he shook his head.
"Well, you should have thought about that before snacking on humans," Bridget warned them.
"Ohh now, don't get all wet about it," Edward teased.
Bridget shook her head at the statement and turned her head towards Dean who she knew was grinning at the line. "Dean, hun, now is not the time to crack a joke on that."
"It's Christmas, live a little…while we can," he muttered.
Madge put a napkin on her lap then one on Deans, "Oh, why, we used to take over a hundred tributes a year and that's a fact," she nodded, laying one on Sam's and looking at her husband. "Now what do we take? What, two? Three?"
"Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew here make six," he counted.
"Now that's not so bad, is it?" Madge asked them.
Dean shrugged, "You say it like that; I guess you guys are the Cunninghams."
Edward pointed at Dean, "You, mister better show us a little respect."
"Or what?" Sam asked. "You'll eat us?"
"Not like they weren't planning to do that anyway," Bridget said. "I suggest you eat them first, meatier than me you know."
"Not so fast," Edward told her. "There're rituals first."
Madge made a flabbergasted sound, "Oh, we're just sticklers for ritual."
He smiled at her, "And you know what kicks off the whole shebang?"
"Let me guess," Bridget said. "Meadowsweet. Oh shucks, you're all out of wreaths. I guess we'll just have to cancel the sacrifice, huh?"
Madge smiled at her, putting a Meadowsweet lei around her neck and the boys. "Oh, don't be such a downer Debbie." She stood back, grinning at them. "Don't they look darling?"
Edward licked his teeth, "Good enough to eat. Time for step two." He grabbed a bowl and a knife from the counter stepping towards Bridget. "Ladies first."
"Hey, don't!" Sam yelled turning his head to try to look at her.
"No! No!" Bridget tried pulling away but couldn't move an inch with the ropes holding her in place. He dragged the knife cross her forearm and she let out a hiss of pain as blood welled from the cut into the bowl.
"Bridget!" Dean yelled as Edward was moving on to Sam, doing the same process. "Leave her alone, you son of a bitch."
Madge pointed the knife at him. "Hear how they talk to us? To Gods? Listen, pal, back in the day, we were worshiped by millions."
"Well, times have changed," Bridget seethed.
Edward snorted, holding the bowl of blood. "Tell me about it. All of a sudden, this Jesus character is the hot new thing in town. All of a sudden, our altars are being burned down, and we're being hunted down like common monsters."
"But did we say a peep? Oh… no, no, no, we did not. Two millenniums and we kept a low profile. We got jobs, we paid taxes. We assimilated. Why we play bridge on Tuesday and Fridays. We're just like everybody else."
"You're not blending in as smooth as you think, lady," Dean shook his head.
Madge grabbed the bowl, "This might pinch a bit, dear." She slid the knife across Dean's arm causing him to curse.
"You bitch!" he yelled.
"Dean!" Bridget twisted her head to look at him.
"I'm good. Just peachy. I'm gonna kick some Pagan ass some point soon though."
"Oh, my goodness me! Somebody owes a nickel to the swear jar. Oh, do you know what I say when I feel like swearing? Fudge," Madge said and Bridget couldn't help but snort.
"We'll remember that."
"You kids have no idea how lucky you are. There was a time when kids came from miles around. Just to be sitting where you are," Edward told them.
"I'm finding that hard to believe since you don't own a house made of candy," Bridget said.
Edward picked up another, more sinister knife and smiled at them. Sam gulped. "What do you think you're doing with those?"
The old man kneeled over Bridget. She shook her head. "If you fudgin' touch me again, I will fudgin' kill you!" Bridget growled angrily.
"You touch her and I will kill you," Dean threatened. "Do you hear me!"
Edward ignored him with a smiled and slid the knife across her arm again and she let out a cry of pain.
"Bridget! No! No, whatever you're going to do to her do to me instead," Sam begged, trying to get loose from his seat. That caught Edward's attention.
"You volunteer for her pain?"
"Yes," Sam nodded sternly, looking him in the eye. "Don't hurt her anymore."
"Sam, no," Bridget shook her head, her arm throbbing as much as her face was.
"I owe you, Bridget," Sam told her. "This much I owe you at the least."
"How noble of you," he grabbed Sam's hand in lightening speed, holding his index finger out and grabbed the pliers off the table. Bridget watched in horror as he yanked Sam's nail out from his finger and listened helplessly as he screamed from the pain that should have been hers.
Edward held up the nail, "We got a winner."
"Well, what else, dear?" Madge asked.
"Let's see: blood, fingernail, ohh," he smacked a hand to his forehead. "Sweet Peter on a popsicle stick we almost forgot the tooth. I think I'll spare these two," he gestured at Sam and Bridget and moved to Dean.
"Dean…" Bridget said warily as Edward moved in front of him.
Dean moved his head out of the way until Edward grabbed him by the chin. "Open wide." He pried Dean's mouth open and inserted the pliers. Bridget turned away unable to watch and only opened her eyes when she heard the doorbell ring.
Dean looked around, speaking with his mouth full still, "'omeone 'onna 'et 'at."
Edward sighed and put down the pliers, looking at Madge. "Come on."
"Don't you three go anywhere," she grinned.
As they left the room, Bridget bent her leg back up to the chair and managed to get her knife out of her boot, thankful she wore knee highs that concealed them better and were easy to get to. With much ease from getting out of too many of these situations, she was able to get herself free and quickly moved to Dean then Sam.
"Dean, Bridget…the tree," Sam pointed. "It's evergreen."
"You sure," Dean whispered.
He nodded, wrapping the handkerchief around his injured finger. "It'll have to do."
They hid behind the kitchen doors, prepared the shut them. The cheerful gods entered the kitchen and the three slammed the kitchen doors into place, dropping a cabinet that was against the wall in front of it.
"Get the branches," Dean shouted, pushing himself against the cabinet as the pissed off Gods pounded on it from the other side. Bridget and Sam yanked branches off the tree, pulling the twigs off to make the stakes out of them.
Bridget paused suddenly, looking towards the doors. "Do you hear that?"
Sam shook his head, "I don't hear anything."
Dean moved away, "What are they up-"
He was cut off by Edward unexpectedly tackling him from the side down to the floor with a growl.
Madge came storming in behind him. "My tree! You've ruined it!"
Sam moved up to her only to be hit over the couch with one fell swoop. She stalked towards Bridget, face contorted. Bridget thrust the branch forward as hard as she could, using whatever power she could muster at that moment to give it added force. It tore straight through Madge and she let out a ghastly shriek. It caught Edward's attention from Dean as he yelled her name, "Madge!"
He stood, striding towards her, his eyes deadly focused on Bridget, which came to a benefit since he didn't notice Sam come up behind him until the end of the branch was sticking through his chest. He fell down dead next to his wife. Dean walked over and put his arm around Bridget, sighing in relief. "Merry Christmas…"
"Uh huh…" she nodded. "Let's go back to the hotel now…I need a beer."
"We better stop and get some," Dean said.
"Drop me off at the hotel before you do that," Sam suggested. "I want a hot shower before you take up all the water."
"Suit yourself," Dean nodded as they left.
He had dropped Sam off at the hotel and went to get drinks and snacks with Bridget. Upon getting back, both were pleasantly surprised to find the room decorated. Sam smiled at them, hanging up the last ornament on the wall with his good hand.
"You guys get the beer?" he asked with a smile.
Bridget looked around at the decorations and could gear Ella Fitzgerald singing from Sam's laptop that had a fireplace screensaver playing across it on the table. "What's all this?"
"What do you think it is?" he held his arms out. "It's Christmas."
Dean stared at the Merry Christmas banner on the wall. "And what made you change your Scrooge like mind?"
"Here," Sam avoided the question, handing them each a glass. "Try the eggnog. Let me know if it needs more kick."
Bridget sat on the couch, taking a sip and almost choking, "Nope, definitely good on the kick."
"Yup, we're good," Dean agreed.
"Yeah?" Sam grinned, all too happy. "Good. Well uh, have a seat. Let's do Christmas stuff or whatever."
Bridget shrugged and leaned over the couch, grabbing her drawing bag. Sam handed her a wrapped gift and Dean while Dean plopped another gift in her lap and handed one over to his brother.
Bridget opened the one from Sam. "Ooo, M&M's, Charm Pops, and pencils. How did you know?"
"You snack when you draw," he smiled as he opened his from Dean, laughing. "Skin magazines and shaving cream."
Dean chuckled just the same at the energy bar and bottle of oil. "Fuel for me and fuel for my baby. Thanks Sam."
"Really, Dean?" Bridget raised her eyebrow holding up the box of condoms.
He smiled, "It's sentimental…and predicting."
She shook her head and took two drawings she had done over the last couple weeks for this occasion out of her bag. "Here," she handed one sheet to Dean and the other to Sam. Both were life like sketches of the three of them. Dean's had them sitting on the Impala each staring off in a different direction and Sam's was of one while they were in a hotel room, Sam on his laptop, Dean cleaning his weapons with a half eaten hamburger sitting next to him, and Bridget drawing in her book.
"Wow, Bridge, these are amazing," Sam said, studying his. "So real…except the hamburger would actually be gone."
She smiled, "Glad you like them."
"Truly amazing work, babe. What else did you get me?" Dean asked her.
Bridget rolled her eyes, "Greedy little thing aren't you?" She leaned across him and whispered in his ear.
Dean's face lit up quickly into a wicked grin. "Ohhh, you have been a naughty girl this year."
Sam groaned, "Save whatever that thought is for a different night when we have different rooms and weren't just beat up by Gods."
Dean nodded, taking a deep breath and holding up his cup of eggnog, "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas," Sam nodded. "You guys feel like watching the game?"
"Yeah," Bridget said, snuggling deeper into the couch, Dean cuddled on one side of her, Sam sitting on her other. It wasn't the perfect Christmas, but it was close and all three were thinking the same thing. It could be there last as a trio. They ignored the ebbing though for now, focusing on the game and the wonderment that it was finally snowing outside.