thestanfordmoose:
OPEN STARTER Basic facts about Sam Winchester: He hates Halloween. Loves Christmas. He supposes it’s due to a childhood of jolly-repression, in that the Winchesters never really celebrated. They didn’t 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 wasn’t home to wish an adolescent (and confused, where was dad, dean?) Sam a ‘Merry Christmas!’
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. “Sam, she’s into you.” “Is not.” “She digs that giant bigfoot thing you have going on.” “Nice, Dean. Thanks.” “Ask her out.” 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 wasn’t like him and his brother were going to go to the 7-11 and grab a couple bottles of Veuve Clicquot for the Impala’s trunk. Not to mention he certainly couldn’t afford it, and he hadn’t exactly been presented the occasion to be offered it before. He’d 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 doesn’t spill anything on it, it’ll 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?
Hours Later
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 ‘pop’ and then black. His eyes adjusted fairly quickly, something Sam chalked up to years spent in decrepit houses, caves, forests, and cages—wait. Why was he thinking about—Whatever. Scientifically, or anatomically, he was pretty sure human eyes didn’t 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 wasn’t here—not 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 hadn’t 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 hadn’t seen Dean since he first arrived. When his big brother made a stupid comment about Sam’s date, getting lucky that night, and “You rented a suit for this shindig?”
He realized why the air was was so thick all at once - when heard a voice he’d never forget, the voice that was enough to make him vomit.
“Are we playing hide and seek?,” Sam spun on his heels, instinctively reaching for a gun in his waistband. There wasn’t one. Fuck. Dean was going to kill him for not coming packing. “Count to ten, bunk buddy. I’ll hide first.”
Images of the Cage assaulted his pupils. He smelled burning flesh - a scent he shouldn’t 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 couldn’t. 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 hadn’t 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 wasn’t real.
Dean was. Stone number one.
“Olyolyoxenfree.”
gabriel wasn’t really impressed with the monster forming from santa clause in the middle of the room. naturally, the angel felt like she could have done a better job with a scare factor if she had wanted to. but still, the room panicked and began running around trying doors to escape only to find themselves locked in. she wasn’t surprised. what was the point of a game like this if everyone could just leave?
she snapped her fingers, shortening her dress -as she was tired of picking it up- and walked around calmly, looking at all the people’s fear escalating. she let out a yawn until she spotted the distinct face of one sam winchester who seemed to be very disturbed. “having fun yet moosey pie?”