A Very Supernatural Christmas
I stood next to Dean on the front porch of the house where a man had disappeared mere days ago.
"My daughter and I were in our beds." Mrs. Walsh said. "Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof and I then I heard Mike scream...and now I'm talking to the FBI."
"You didn't see any of it?" Dean asked.
"No, he was-- He was just gone."
"The doors were locked, no signs of forced entry?" I asked.
"That's right."
"Does anybody else have a key?" Dean glanced down at the notepad in his hand.
"My parents." Mrs. Walsh stated.
"Where do they live?"
"Florida."
Sam walked out of the house then. "Thanks for letting me have a look around, Mrs. Walsh. I think we got just about everything we need. We're all set."
"We'll be in touch." Dean told her.
We began to walk away when Mrs. Walsh called out, "Agents. The police said my husband might've been kidnapped."
"Could be." Dean lied.
"Then why haven't the kidnappers called? Or demanded ransom. It's three days until Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?"
My breath caught. "We're...so sorry." I choked out.
"Find anything?" Dean asked in a low voice as we walked toward the street. His hand landed on my waist, warmth seeping through my blouse.
"Stockings, mistletoe, this." Sam dropped something into Dean's hand.
"A tooth? Where was this?" Dean asked.
"In the chimney."
"No way a man fits up a chimney, it's too narrow." Dean pointed out.
"No way he fits up in one piece."
"Alright, so if dad went up the chimney--" Dean began.
"We need to find out what dragged him up there." Sam filled in.
"Si?" Dean asked. "You're quiet. What's up?"
I shook my head. "Nothing." I smiled at him.
____
The motel door opened and Dean walked in, brown paper bag in hand. "So was I right? Is it the serial killing chimney sweep?" He dropped his keys on the table to the right of the door as Sam sat on the couch with his laptop on the coffee table.
Millie sat next to him whereas I sat in an armchair.
"Yup, it's actually Dick Van Dyke." Sam replied.
"Who?" Dean asked, looking over confused as he placed the bag down.
"Dean." I complained.
"Mary Poppins--" Sam began.
"Who's that?" Dean asked.
"He's joking, right?" Millie asked.
"Oh, come on--" Sam sighed. "Never mind."
Dean scratched the back of his neck. "Well, turns out Walsh is the second guy grabbed out of his house this month."
"Oh, yeah?" Sam asked as Dean crossed the room and peeled off his leather jacket. "Did he get dragged up the chimney too?"
"Don't know." Dean replied. "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 stated.
"Wow, shocking." Millie remarked.
"Yeah?" Dean asked.
"It's, uh, gonna sound crazy." Sam shrugged.
"But remember we love crazy." I added. "Me mostly. I mean, look at who I'm with." I smiled up at Dean.
"Move your pretty little ass." Dean nudged my knee.
"Always stealing my chair." I stood, letting him take my spot before sitting down in his lap. I flipped then pendant that hung around his neck between my fingers. Sam had given it to him for Christmas one year when they were kids. He had gotten it from Bobby, then decided to give it to his big brother.
"Though she's got a point." Dean shrugged. "What could you possibly say that sounds crazy to me?" He smirked.
"Saige is pregnant." Millie said.
Dean choked on nothing. "What?"
"See? I said something that sounds crazy to you."
Dean glared at her. "That is insensitive and--"
"Like you're one to talk about being insensitive. Saige is fine. Look at her. She's not curled up in a ball crying."
"Um...Evil Santa." Sam cut them both off.
Both Millie and Dean just stared at him a moment.
"You win, Sam." I said.
Sam smiled. "Thought I would."
"Yeah, that's crazy." Dean admitted.
"Sam winning or evil Santa?" I asked.
"Both."
"I mean, I'm just saying that there's some version of the Anti-Claus in every culture." Sam explained. He picked up some photos of each he'd printed. All of which were mostly demonic looked, red-skinned creatures with fangs and horns. "You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter."
"Black Peter?" I asked. "You got the name Belsnickel, Krampus and then Black Peter?"
Dean grabbed the stack of photos.
"Whatever you want to call it, there's a lot of lore." Sam continued.
"Saying what?" Dean asked.
"Saying, back in the day, Santa's brother went rogue." Sam shrugged. "Now he shows up around Christmastime, but instead of bringing presents, he punishes the wicked."
"By hauling their ass up chimneys?" Dean asked.
"For starters, yeah."
"So this is your theory, huh? Santa's shady brother?"
"I expected better from you, Sammy." Millie spoke up.
Dean and I shared a look when he didn't correct her. He was normally super uptight on who got to call him Sammy.
Interesting.
"Well, I--Just saying, that's what the lore says." Sam shrugged sheepishly.
"Ooh, the lore says so." Millie teased.
"Santa doesn't have a brother. There is no Santa." Dean stated.
"What?" I asked.
Dean looked mortified for a moment before I laughed.
"Oh, you're just too easy." I kissed his cheek.
"Yeah, I know." Sam nodded. "You're the one who told me that in the first place, remember?"
Cue short awkward silence.
"Wow." Millie mumbled.
Sam sighed. "Yeah, you know what? I could be wrong, I--" He sighed again, shutting his laptop and leaning back into the couch, placing an arm on the backrest just above Millie's shoulders. "Gotta be wrong."
"Maybe, maybe not." Dean replied.
"What?" Sam asked.
"I did a little digging." Dean stated. "Turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched."
"Where?" Sam asked.
___
"Are we sure this isn't the house of nightmares and not Santa's Village?" I asked as we walked toward the large dirty and faded sign acknowledging it as such. A man dressed in a reindeer onesie walked by as two people in elf costumes stood by the front building.
"What? That's a shocking statement coming from Little Miss Christmas herself." Dean teased. "It does kind of lend credence to the theory." He shrugged his shoulders, hand on my waist as we walked in.
"Yeah, but Anti-Claus? Couldn't be." Sam replied.
"Dude, you are literally the one who came up with the theory." Millie pointed out.
"It's a Christmas miracle. Speaking of, we should have one this year." Dean said.
"Have one what?" Sam asked.
"A Christmas."
Sam scoffed. "No, thanks."
"No, we'll get a tree, a little Boston Market, just like when we were little."
"Dean, those weren't exactly Hallmark memories for me."
"What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases." Dean stated.
"Whose childhood are you talking about?" Sam asked. "I'll admit, we had a few good times when we got to stay at Saige's house, but--"
"Come on, Sam." Dean complained.
"No, just--" Sam paused for the moment. "No."
"Alright, Grinch."
"Seriously, you are just a bummer to be around sometimes, buddy." Millie said. "Like Saige is too much, Dean is annoying, and you're sad. Man, you guys suck."
"Wow, thanks, Mills." I said.
Dean set an arm around my shoulder, leading my further into the tree farm. But my mind wandered back to one of my favorite Christmases.
Christmas Eve, 1996
The Winchester arrived just the night before, making it just in time for all of our traditions I wanted to share with the people closet to me. It was six in the morning when we all gathered in the kitchen to make breakfast just like we would do tomorrow after opening presents.
Dad and John sat in the living room, talking amongst themselves while we were all making breakfast. Jake stood at the stove, in charge of the bacon and eggs. I was in charge of making pancakes while Dean was the most unhelpful. Sam and Millie--whose parents said she could stay until tonight--were picking through the candy on the counter.
"Dean, I need the cup of flour I set over there." I said, holding my hand out.
Dean--who sat on the countertop after I told him not to with a bowl of M&M's in hand--gave me the cup of flour. As I took it, he grabbed a pinch, tossing it at me. "You little jerk." I smacked his arm.
Dean chuckled. "You love me."
I mocked him under my breath, stirring the ingredients together before pouring some of the batter onto the skillet. I grabbed the bowl of candy from Dean, dropping two M&M's at the top for eyes and a line at the bottom for a smile.
"Why isn't the house decorated yet?" Sam asked suddenly.
"I asked Dad to wait until you guys got here so we could do it together." I told him. "I figured it'd be fun."
"So that means we're spending the rest of the day stringing cranberries and popcorn together?" Dean asked.
I glanced at him. "No. I don't like the look of that. We don't do that. You know this."
"I am so glad I don't have to spend today at home." Millie sighed. She was a year younger than I was and we'd met when we were little and became best friends, which was lucky for me. She had a lot going on at home. Her parents were in the middle of a nasty divorce and I wanted nothing more than to keep her here just so she wouldn't have to deal with it. But the more she was at my house, the more chance there was she'd find out about...hunting. Not good.
"Are you sure you can't stay tonight?" I asked.
"Mom wants me home." She replied.
I flipped the pancake over, letting the other side cook as well. "Dean, can you get the orange juice from the fridge?"
"Do I look like your personal maid, woman?" He asked playfully.
"I'm feeding you and your entire family."
"You?" Jake echoed.
"We." I corrected.
"You'd think for the ten bucks it costs to get in this place, Santa could scrounge up a little snow." Dean's voice brought me back to reality. We had made our way back to Sam by now.
"What?" Sam asked as if he too had just been pulled from a memory.
"Nothing." Dean shook his head. "What are we looking for again?"
"Um...Lore says that the Anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets." Sam explained.
"Why do we talk about lore like it's a person?" Millie asked.
"Not sure." I replied.
"Great, so we're looking for a pimp Santa. Why the sweets?" Dean asked.
"Think about it, Dean." Sam said. "If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer, you know?"
"That's creepy." Dean stated. "How does this thing know who's been naughty and who's been nice?"
"I don't know." Sam answered.
A small dirty shed that was painted the color red sat off to the side where an older man sat dressed as Santa. The sign read 'Nearly The North Pole.'
"So, Ronny, come sit on Santa's knee. You been a good boy this year?" The sketchy Santa asked.
"Yeah." The boy replied.
"Good. Santa's got a special gift for you."
"This is legal and not creepy?" I asked.
A woman dressed as an elf walked up to us. "Welcome to Santa's Court. Can I escort your child to Santa?"
Oh, God.
"Now would be a great time for you two to have had a kid." Millie mumbled.
"You do realize that I would only be, like, a few months along?" I asked.
"Uh, no. No." Dean said. "But actually, my brother here, it's been a lifelong dream of his." He patted Sam's shoulder.
I am going to kill him.
"Sorry. No kids over 12." The woman stuttered, looking as uncomfortable as I felt.
Sam--looking bright red and embarrassed--shook his head. "No, he's just kidding. We only came here to watch."
I am going to kill him too.
The woman flinched back. "Ew." She began walking away.
"Oh, I didn't mean that we came here to--Yo--" Sam stuttered, then gave up. "Thanks a lot, Dean. Thanks for that."
Dean laughed, though nothing about this was funny. "Check it out."
Sketchy Santa stood and began limping across the parking lot. He walked right by us.
"Are you seeing this?" Dean asked.
"No, we're blind." Millie quipped.
"A lot of people walk with limps." Sam shrugged.
"Tell me you didn't smell that? That was candy." Dean stated.
"That was ripple...I think...Had to be."
"Maybe. We willing to take that chance?" Dean asked.
___
Dean yawned. "What time is it?"
"Same as the last time you asked." Sam replied. He held out the thermos of coffee. "Here. Caffeinate."
Dean took it, only to find it empty. "Wonderful."
"Have some Christmas spirit, won't you?" I asked.
"How the hell are you so perky running on, like, an hour of sleep?" Dean asked.
I shrugged. "I don't know. I've always been like this."
"I know. It' disturbing." Dean replied.
I leaned over the front seat, kissing his cheek. "Cheer up."
"Unless you're giving me a lap dance for Christmas, I'm still tired."
I rolled my eyes.
Dean scoffed lightly. "Hey, Sam?"
"What?" Sam asked.
"Why are you the boy who hates Christmas?" Dean questioned.
"Dean." Sam complained.
"I mean, I admit it. We had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids."
"Bumpy?"
"But that was then." Dean stated. "We'll do it right this year."
"Look, Dean, if you wanna have Christmas, knock yourself out. Just don't involve me."
"Oh, yeah. That would be great. My and myself making cranberry molds."
"Am I chopped liver or something?" I asked.
Dean turned to face me. "You want something for Christmas?"
"Uh...Nothing specific. You?"
"You naked would be nice."
"We're working." Sam reminded us.
"We're having a conversation." Dean replied. He glanced over. "What's up with Saint Nicotine?"
I looked forward to see the man peering out of the window of his trailer before shutting the curtains.
Then a woman's yell was heard.
We quickly got out of the car and ran toward the single-wide trailer, stopping at the front door with guns in hand.
Sam scoffed.
"What?" Dean asked.
"Nothing." Sam shook his head. "It's just that--Well, you know, Mr. Gung-Ho Christmas might have to blow away Santa."
Dean pushed the door open.
We were met with a messy living room and kitchen where 'Santa' sat on the couch, whiskey in one hand, bong in the other while porn played on the tv.
We quickly hid the guns behind our backs.
"The hell you doing here, huh?" 'Santa' asked.
"Mistle my toe." The woman on the screen said. "Roast my chestnut. Jingle my bell."
Sam, Dean and I shared a look, stuttering out incoherent responses until Dean cleared his throat and began singing Silent Night but very badly.
Sam joined in, but he was more so mumbling than singing. Dean messed up the lyrics, not that 'Santa' could tell. He was drunkenly singing along as well.
I think he even muttered something about a table as we all moved out of the trailer.
___
"So that's how your son described the attack?" Dean asked as we followed the wife of the latest victim through her house the next day. "Santa took daddy up the chimney?"
"That's what he says, yes." Mrs. Caldwell turned to face us. She had a red mark around her eye.
"And where were you?"
"I was asleep. And all of a sudden, Al was being dragged from bed, screaming."
"Did you see the attacker?" Sam asked.
She shook her head, teary eyed. "It was dark and he hit me. He knocked me out."
"I'm sorry. I know this is hard." Dean said.
"Um, Mrs. Caldwell, where did you get that wreath above the fireplace?" Sam asked, gesturing behind us.
"Sam." I hissed.
"Excuse me?" Mrs. Caldwell asked.
"Just curious, you know." Sam shrugged.