Author's Note: I'm playing catch up today. I think I need to post five chapters to get caught up? Anyways, if you're subscribed, you'll probably get a lot of notifications today. Also, I just want to thank you guys for all the support! Writing every day can be hard, but you guys just encourage me so much! I appreciate it!
Our first prompt comes from Hyb108 who asked for, "How about a "Ghosts of Christmas" type of story, set during either Season 5 or 8, where the boys are at odds. The ghosts torture Dean by hurting Sam and make him realize that he still cares for his brother? An amulet fix-it would not go unappreciated." I hope this is somewhat what you wanted. I was a bit confused by the ghosts of Christmas part but I did my best! This is set in season five. Please enjoy! Trigger warning for torture. If this bothers you, do not read this chapter.
"God rest you merry, gentlemen
Let nothing you dismay."
—Bing Crosby, "God Rest You Merry Gentlemen"
"If you're trying to get me to say yes, it won't happen." Dean growls as the blindfold is taken off of him. His eyes struggle to adjust to the dim surroundings, but soon he can faintly make out rows of boxes. He struggles against the ropes binding him to the chair, but they bite into his skin and he winces.
"Yes?" A voice echoes, perplexed.
Suddenly, a woman emerges from the darkness, her hair wavy and sparkling like candlelight. Her dress is dated—long enough to touch the floor, with lace and long sleeves—and as she walks towards him, she seems to illuminate the whole warehouse. Her emerald eyes sparkle with curiosity as she grins at him.
"Rest assured, Dean Winchester," She starts and her voice is as gentle as wave lapping at the shore. "I am not here to meddle with the affairs of angels." She places a hand on his shoulder and it feels him with reassuring warmth.
"Who are you?" He asks, unsure of what exactly is going on. Last thing he remembered, he'd been fighting with Sam—again—and then he'd stormed out to go to a bar and then . . . nothing.
"Me?" She says with a wry grin. "I am here to help you." She claps her hands and another chair appears and Dean can make out the slumped form tied to it.
"Sam!" The older brother shouts. Then, to the ethereal woman, "Let me go you—!"
"Mortals are all the same, aren't they?" A voice booms and a gigantic man with flowing red hair and a green, fur-trimmed robe enters. He regards Dean for a moment and then laughs heartily, the crown of ivy in hair almost sliding down from the sheer force of it. "They never understand our ways."
"Indeed," The woman answers quietly. "We must reason with them. This one especially," She points to Dean. "His past has not been the most pleasant of ones."
The man shakes his head and adds ruefully, "That does not excuse his present actions."
"No, of course." She replies softly. "What say you, old friend?" She turns to the darkness and Dean squints, trying to see whom she is talking to.
What can only be described as the stereotypical grim reaper—black robe and all—materializes beside her. Dean can't make out his face or what he is saying, but the woman's brow furrows and she finally says, "If we all agree then, let us proceed."
"Would someone please tell me what the fuck is going on!" Dean snaps and that gets their attention.
The woman shoots him a pained smile before kneeling to meet his gaze. Taking a steadying breath in, she begins, "Dean Winchester, know you what time it is?"
"Time?" Dean repeats, perplexed by her question.
"The day, mortal!" The man shouts.
"Christmas Eve." Dean answers easily. He'd been expecting to spend it in a bar after Sam and him had their fight. The universe apparently had other plans.
"Aye," The man continues, his gaze narrowed. "Christmas Eve."
"Dean Winchester," The woman places a creamy white hand on his cheek and grimaces. "We are spirits that guide those who lose sight of what is important."
"Ghosts of Christmas are we." The man informs him quietly.
"And you have fallen off the path and lost sight of what is important." She informs him.
"Off the path?" Dean repeats, confused. "What do you mean?"
The woman shares a look with her compatriots that speaks volumes. With a terse nod of her head, the man goes to Sam and taps him on the shoulder.
"Dean?" His brother is instantly awake now and alert.
"I'm here, Sammy!" Dean tells him as he watches the blindfold come off Sam. "It's going to be okay."
"You show concern for him now," The female ghost states. "But you have not before. You have allowed anger and resentment to take over your heart."
The man has a knife in his hands now, a frown tugging at his lips. He meets Dean's gaze once more.
"Rest assured," He begins. "We bear you nor your brother ill-will, yet this is the only way to save you."
He places the tip of the knife against Sam's shoulder.
Dean tenses.
"You must remember," The woman urges. "You must recall why you care for your brother so."
"And if you not do so on your own," The man begins, foreboding. "We shall aid you."
And that's when he plunges the knife into Sam's shoulder.
Dean can't handle this.
His brother is being tortured right in front of him and there's nothing he can do. With wide eyes, all he can do is shout and struggle and try to keep Sam conscious as too much blood continues to flow out of his brother.
The ghosts, for their part, are quiet. They do not seem to be enjoying this and at one point the woman even goes to Sam and whispers something in his ear and then nods at her partner to hold his blade.
"Dean Winchester," She turns to him, voice pleading. "Do you understand yet?"
"Leave my brother alone." His voice is hoarse from all the shouting and he can only imagine how bad Sam is off. He needs to get his brother to a hospital and then apologize for everything.
Deep down, he knew—he always knew—that Sam wasn't to blame for the impending apocalypse. But he had allowed anger to cloud his judgment. Blaming Sam had been the easier option than owning up to the fact that he was scared—scared of losing his brother, of losing this fight.
But now, seeing Sam's chest rise and fall much too quickly to be healthy, he wants nothing more than to throw his arms around his brother and beg for his forgiveness.
"There." The woman's eyes flash and immediately, Dean is freed from his bonds, as is Sam.
"Sammy!" Dean shouts, pulling his brother into his arms and trying to assess the damage without panicking too much.
"Remember, Dean Winchester," The man's voice booms. "Remember what you have learned this night and keep it your heart always."
"May you both be filled with the spirit of Christmas." The woman smiles.
"And for what we had to do," The man continues, grimacing. "You have our apologies."
Then, in a flash of light, Dean finds himself standing in the middle of an E.R.
And the ghosts are gone.
It's not until the next morning, after Sam has been released, and they're back at the motel that Dean finally gets the chance to apologize. He doesn't usually do these heart-to-heart moments, but after the trauma of yesterday, he knows that he must explain to his brother what he means to him.
Sam, for his part, stays silent as he listens. Then, at the end, smiles and tells his brother, "It's okay, Dean. I forgive you."
It's like a heavy burden has been lifted from the oldest Winchester's shoulders and he beams.
Later, when Sam is watching TV, Dean goes through his stuff, he finds the amulet on top of his notebook. He does a double take at first, but when he picks it up, he can hear the ghost's laughter ringing in his ears and he knows they must have had something to do with this.
So, he puts on the amulet.
And when Sam sees it, Dean knows all is right with his world once more.
Author's Note: I really struggled writing this one, but I think it turned out well. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!