OPEN STARTER
Basic facts about Sam Winchester: He hates Halloween. Loves Christmas. He supposes itâs due to a childhood of jolly-repression, in that the Winchesters never really celebrated. They didnât trek through the snow looking for a tree, instead, they laced up their boots and had frost bitten noses as they hunted down a Wendigo. More often than not, John wasnât home to wish an adolescent (and confused, where was dad, dean?) Sam a âMerry Christmas!â
Sam loathed DC, strictly because he felt trapped in it. The loss of control making him feel inadequate and insubordinate. But⊠it was also routine. In the weeks leading up to the holidays, Sam started let his shoulders drop, tension ease, and fantasize about celebrating Christmas with his brother and Cass and Ellen and Bobby and everyone in their little apartment. Like a family. Without blood or gore or destinies or fuck-ups.
So, yeah, when an invitation to a Christmas Ball arrived for him and Dean on their doorstep, he was excited. He asked the girl who worked at the Buddy Brew Coffee three streets over, who apparently checked him out every time he went in there to research the lore of Washington.
âSam, sheâs into you.â
âIs not.â
âShe digs that giant bigfoot thing you have going on.â
âNice, Dean. Thanks.â
âAsk her out.â
Sam was never a big champagne drinker. He had always associated the drink with prisses, or the wanna-be-wealthy, so he rarely indulged in it. Plus, it wasnât like him and his brother were going to go to the 7-11 and grab a couple bottles of Veuve Clicquot for the Impalaâs trunk. Not to mention he certainly couldnât afford it, and he hadnât exactly been presented the occasion to be offered it before. Heâd never been to a party like this, unless they were working a case, and had to google where he could get a cheap tux. (The one he was wearing currently having been rented. As long as he doesnât spill anything on it, itâll be a success.)
That being said, Sam popped his champagne cherry with vigor after Ruby paraded up to him with blood like lipstick on her chin. He still decided only snobby-richy-chin-up-in-the-air types would drink it, but man, it was good. And so what if he liked feeling a little classy while he held the glass?
An entire lifetime trained as a hunter as Sam knew the exact moment the lights were about to go out. A split second before the room was encompassed in darkness, his heart leap in that foreboding way it does before a dip in a rollercoaster, before there was a strange sort of âpopâ and then black. His eyes adjusted fairly quickly, something Sam chalked up to years spent in decrepit houses, caves, forests, and cagesâwait. Why was he thinking aboutâWhatever. Scientifically, or anatomically, he was pretty sure human eyes didnât adapt that way but when he mentioned it to Dean his brother had just grinned and said they were like the X-men.
The air felt metallic. A pungent shift that made it feel like he was swallowing blood. He tasted copper, he realized, and wondered with vague disinterest if he was coughing up his life again. He recalled the red tinted tissues during the trials, waking up in the night choking because he was, as of now, incapable of spitting out his own blood while he slept. He bit harshly at his lip, splitting the fleshy tissue, and making spit-diluted red dribble onto his awaiting fingertips. He needed a reason - a definitive cause for the blood slowly clogging his esophagus and decided self-mutilation was the only obvious choice.
That was his anchor; pain. Had been since the first time Lucifer whispered acidic and lovingly into his ear.
But, Lucifer wasnât hereânot now.
Right?
Something felt wrong - more wrong than before. He had started to allow himself some complacency. A soft blanket of safety looming over his head for the first time since⊠well, ever. The bunker was safe, to an extent, but unlike his brother, Sam hadnât nested into the space and claimed it as home. He appreciated the warding, but it was just that - an appreciation of the capacity to be safe, not a true acknowledgement. He supposed that was because his sense of safe had always been who, very rarely a where. Even the Impala, his sanctuary and consistent place of rest, felt empty without his brother.
One look at the slumped over form of Santa and Sam was striping off his suit jacket, seeking out his brother. Where was he? Actually, come to think of it, he hadnât seen Dean since he first arrived. When his big brother made a stupid comment about Samâs date, getting lucky that night, and âYou rented a suit for this shindig?â
He realized why the air was was so thick all at once - when heard a voice heâd never forget, the voice that was enough to make him vomit.
âAre we playing hide and seek?,â Sam spun on his heels, instinctively reaching for a gun in his waistband. There wasnât one. Fuck. Dean was going to kill him for not coming packing. âCount to ten, bunk buddy. Iâll hide first.â
Images of the Cage assaulted his pupils. He smelled burning flesh - a scent he shouldnât be so familiar with. It burned his nostrils and made him want to gag. The area he was camped in held the lingering scent of blood mixed with smoke. It felt like ants nibbling at his nostrils, burning like cinnamon and equally evasive. He brought a hand up to his forehead, shaking his skull in a vain attempt to not picture the Cage. He couldnât. He never could.
Sam tried to ignore them, ignore the muffled static in his ears, but it was fruitless. Lucifer had a hold on him he hadnât been able to shake - years later. When Lucifer was inside his head, he knew he was going crazy. Despite the confusion and intermingling of doubt, he had been aware it was a mirage - his own psyche tormenting him and doing so with his bruise battered soul. He had known, somewhere in his consciousness, that he wasnât real.
Dean was. Stone number one.
emma had a terrible feeling when the lights started flickering. sheâd tried to stay close to her dad when the santa turned into the not santa. but in the rush of things and the chaos of everyone in the room starting to freak out, sheâd lost him. emma tried to find him or draco or claire. anyone to stay close to. she knew she could technically defend herself but she had started to get scared. she was the biggest amazon baby probably in history.Â
emma wandered around, pushing through people, trying to find a place where she could feel safe for a moment. but the crowds and chaos was making her anxious. she kept turning around, looking for a familiar face but they were all a blur. at least until she bumped into someone. she stumbled backward before looking up to see the face of her uncle.Â
