Fic - Supernatural / The Nightmare Before Christmas - A Very 'Nightmare' Christmas

[lorannah]

Title: A Very 'Nightmare' Christmas
Fandom: Supernatural / The Nightmare Before Christmas
Characters/Pairings: Jack Skellington, Dean, Sam, Lock, Stock, Barrel, The Mayor, The Finkelstein's and Various Guest Spots
Rating: All
Contains: (skip) A Lot of Weirdness, Skeletons, Singing, Captivity/Prisoner Situations, Mismatched Fandoms, A Very Lucky Drug Dealer, Failed Rhyming, A Different Sort of Hell Hound, Violence, Character Death and Santa Claus
Length: 5,500 words or thereabouts
Notes: Written for bloodyfire as part of The Fall Fandom Free-For-All, who requested something from the Nightmare Before Christmas - so alas, I cannot really blame her for any of this - it has all come from my worryingly twisted brain. I hope you like it and sorry if it doesn't completely work.
Download Link (complete story, word file): http://www.box.net/shared/v9v176gb77

Summary: It's the end of A Very 'Supernatural' Christmas and someone other than Santa Claus is coming to town...

 

A Very ‘Nightmare’ Christmas

 

 

‘Twas a long time ago, longer now than it seems,
 In a place you once saw in your dreams.
When you strayed to the edges of Halloween Town,
 Through a grove of trees, with a skeletal crown.
Now in the midst of the forest secrets have grown,
And other doors lead our feet closer to home.

 

Shadows twist through the corners and crevices of Halloween Town - seeping into doorways, under windows, creeping through the houses. Even the cats move sluggishly through the clinging darkness and cobweb thick mist.

The only place untouched is a tower, a light shining brightly in the window as it has done for days, undisturbed. All eyes, of all shapes and sizes, are upon it through the long nights. 

They had thought these days long gone. But Sally is away and things have become off-kilter. Uncertain and unnatural. Even in this place where uncertainty and wrong balance rule, the town feels the change as if a foul air has blown in with the hint of cinnamon and candy canes.

Now a half remembered rhythm flits through the townsfolk minds. ‘Something’s up with Jack! Something’s up with Jack!’

It is almost not a surprise when they find he has gone. Again.

* * * * *

Jack unfolded from the door – unfolded onto another dark unfamiliar street. Orange lights glowed above him and he blinked for a moment at them before peering into the dusk, seeking signs of where he stood.

He had tried many doors, from a forest of doors, seeking out a world he only half remembers now. He’s forgotten the guns and the fear and the graveyard. But he remembers the smells. He remembers soaring through the air, a wind that he had never felt before pushing against his skull. He remembers excited faces. And joy. And the excitement of new things.

But that’s not why he has come, not why he has pushed through a dozen doors, or mostly not why. There had been trouble in Christmas Town and Sandy Claws had asked for Sally’s help. She had been gone so long, it had felt... And he had thought... He had thought he would not let someone ruin Christmas – Sally’s Christmas – he would stop them.

So he had sought the right doorway to the right world and now there was hope at last.

Across the street, hanging precariously in the air, there was a sign that read ‘Santa’s Village’ – red buildings and green trees and still statues and sparkling lights. This was a place that knew Christmas. A moment later a man in a red suit, white beard hanging haphazardly around his neck stumbled beneath the sign, steadying himself for a second on its pole.

But there was no snow on the ground, no elves slept peacefully in these houses, Sally was not nearby, Jack could feel that – this was not Christmas Town. This was the other place. The place he’d looked for. And that meant this was not Sandy, this was an impostor. Something groaned inside him – like bones grinding together in anger.

This was a threat. This was danger. This was what he had come to stop.                    

The fake Sandy Claws stumbled away; looking for a moment like he might still fall and Jack followed him on silent footsteps. He barely bent his mind to the task, nobody would notice him – he was the Pumpkin King and the three figures shadowing him would see to any problems.

He followed him through the streets seeing more signs of Christmas – pictures of Sandy and brightly lit trees and wreaths on doorways – he followed him to a miserable little hovel and watched as he settled onto a flea bitten sofa, TV flickering on, lighting his hard features.

Jack was ready, he paused for a second, violence thrumming against his bony fingers and in that pause the door to the hovel burst open and two men slipped inside.

Jack was caught. Trapped. Fascinated. He saw what the fake Sandy did not.

He saw the guns and the anger and the secrets woven beneath their skins. He saw the doom and the despair and the victory. And Jack felt a thrill echoing through his bones, the singing excitement of new, curious things as the pair began to sing.

“Silent night... holy night...”

* * * * *

Sam switched the TV off and settled back onto the sofa, his head swimming. He might have overdone the eggnog slightly. Dean was flicking through Frolics.

“You know you’re supposed to wait until after I’ve looked through it right? It was my present.”

Dean laughed. “Already too late for that.”

Sam groaned, though it was almost half a laugh. “You ‘read’ it before you wrapped it.”

“Just making sure it was a classic. Only the best for my little brother.”

Dean turned another page with a grin and then Sam heard the softest of noises outside. A subtle click. Dean straightened, casting the mag aside. Another noise. “You upset any more pagan gods, Sammy?”

They moved together, silently towards the door. Dean hesitated for a moment at the edge of the window. “Someone’s got into the Impala.”

“I thought that was impossible.”

“Nearly impossible... improbable... Don’t look at me like that. Come on.”

As they edged outside thick, heavy snowflakes began to fall, muffling any sounds. Sam could see the open trunk of the Impala, but it was hiding whoever was rummaging inside. It was a long moment as they edged onwards before it came into sight, a moment that dragged onwards past the first vision of the creature rooting through the weapons in the trunk – a long moment of disbelief.

It was a skeleton.

It must have been over six feet, almost seven, a smart suit clinging to its bones, stick thin and impossible. It straightened as it saw them, a manic grin splitting across its skulls. It was holding one of the rock salt rifles – the gun looked puny in its bony hands.

Sam was still frozen as he heard Dean beside him, cock his gun. “Get away from my fucking car.”

“Boys, boys,” the skeleton said in rich, plummy tones as it stepped forward spreading his arms. “I have come to offer my services”

“Services?” Sam asked.

“In your quest against the monsters – I’m going to fight beside you,” the skeleton was moving enthusiastically and erratically around them and clearly saw nothing odd in what he had said.

“If you want to help,” Dean said through gritted teeth, “You can start by standing still.” The skeleton turned to Dean with a grin and seeing the opportunity Sam fired.

The bullet passed straight through him without a ripple – no rip of clothing or breaking of bones. For a second there was nothing but soft silence and then the skeleton turned to him, the smile gone, ferocity in the blank space where his eyes should have been.

“That wasn’t very nice,” he said as he descended on Sam.

* * * * *

The skeleton flung Sam aside as if he were as light as a rag doll. He hit the side of the Motel and slumped unconsciously to the ground. Then it turned back to Dean, its face, what there was of it, twisted savagely – then with a slight pause and a moment of concentration the expression vanished, the skeleton straightened.

“Let’s start again,” it said, but Dean wasn’t paying attention he only wanted to get between Sam and the monster.

“I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you ruin my Christmas,” he said moving between them.

“I’m not going to ruin Christmas – I’m going to save it. We can save it... together.”

“Sorry... we only work as a duo.”

There was an ominous pause. “That can be arranged,” the skeleton said. “Lock! Shock! Barrel!”

******

Sam woke, pulling in a deep breath and eyes bursting open. It had been months since he had woken slowly. His heart was already pounding. His neck ached, though that was probably because he had been crammed awkwardly into the passenger seat of the Impala.

None of which mattered much considering the car was being driven by the skeleton. And Dean was missing.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Good you’re awake,” he said with a grin. “I thought you were going to sleep all night.”

“I said where’s Dean?”

“You don’t need to worry about him, he’s perfectly safe.” Sam didn’t reply, waiting for the skeleton to say something useful. “Dean explained to me that you only work as part of a pair, so he’s taking a rest and I’m going to help you tonight.”

“Dean wouldn’t take a rest... won’t...”

The skeleton gave him a knowing look. “But you think he deserves one. With everything that has happened and everything that is to come.”

“What do you know about that?”

“Everything – everything you say, every move, every line on your face screams to the world about what is coming.”

Sam’s throat felt tight, anger beating incessantly at its base.

“Your heartbeat gives you away. Even your...”

“Do you know who holds the contract?” Sam interrupted him. “Do you know how we stop this?”

The skeleton pulled the Impala to the side of the road. “Your brother is safe for now, but Christmas may not be. If you will help me save Christmas, I will help you save your brother.”

Sam hesitated; he doubted both the honesty and the ability of this monster but he also had no other way of finding out where Dean had been taken.

“Fine, but I’m driving. What do I call you anyway?”

“Jack... Jack Winchester.”

“I am not going to call you Winchester.”

* * * * * *

It took about twenty four minutes and thirty five seconds for Sam to regret his decision. It had up to that moment been going surprisingly well. Jack had proved worryingly adept at finding ‘monsters’ – he’d unearthed a nest of vampires with no apparent effort – and they’d greeted him with a mixture of awe and confusion.

A confusion which had only deepened when he had suddenly burst into song.

It was about the point when he had reached the chorus, the vampires exchanging puzzled looks, that Sam started to rethink his choice.

 “What the hell are you doing,” he said punching Jack in the... well, technically he supposed it was still an arm even if there was no flesh. Whatever it was called, it hurt.

 “I was singing.”

“We don’t sing. Ever.”

“Are you sure?” Jack’s disbelief was clear; it threw Sam for a second.

“Well sometimes Dean... No, never. No singing.”

“But you were both singing earlier.”

It was a long moment before Sam realised what he was talking about earlier. “That was... that was specific singing... part of a plan singing... wait, you were there?”

“Yes. I had come to kill the fake Sandy Claws.”

“Sandy..?”

One of the vampires coughed, an annoyed grunt bringing them back to their surroundings. “Did you two come here for a reason?” He asked. “Or did you just pop in for an argument?”

They both turned slowly back to the vampires. And about thirty seconds later Sam found out there was another thing that Jack was very good at.

* * * * * *

“Just stay there and no singing,” Sam snapped with a backward glance at Jack as he pressed his phone to his ear. “Dean?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are you?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Dean was talking quietly and Sam could hear the sound of other people in the background.

“Can you talk?”

“Yeah, I seriously doubt they know what a mobile is. They’re just deciding what to do with me. What about you? What happened with the skeleton?”

“Err...” This was going to take some explaining. Sam looked back at Jack again; he was perched heavily on the hood of the Impala.

“Tell me you’re not working with it?”

“Seemed like the best way to find you. Anyway he’s a good fighter and he actually listens when I tell him to do something.”

More of the noise from the background filtered through the phone, shifting into Sam’s consciousness.

“Are they singing?”

“You’d be surprised, Sammy,” Dean said, voice heavy with frustration, “Apparently it’s not hard as you’d think to argue in rhyme.”

* * * * * *

Dean slipped the phone back into his pocket and turned back to the... he supposed they were children, or whatever passed for children in this place, even if there wasn’t much childlike about them. Though, considering some of the children they’d come across recently...

They were huddled in a circle, trees rising around them and looking every bit like a trio of witches. Every now and then one or another of them producing an unlikely array of what looked like torture implements as they came up with increasingly elaborate plans for his disposal.

“If you don’t come up with something soon you might as well not bother,” Dean interrupted them as brightly as he could manage. “’Cause you’re about to sing me to death.”

They turned to look at him, wicked glints in their eyes. Dean smiled at them. They weren’t exactly terrifying and he was getting the impression that they were a little lost without someone telling them what to do.

The girl suddenly smiled, she was the one to watch. Sharper than the others, Dean did his best to stare her down.

“Jack said to make him comfortable. We should take him to Finkelstein... they like having guests.”

 * * * * * *

There was something wrong with the sky, Dean thought as they dragged him through the countryside. At least they’d left him outside the sack this time. Yep, definitely something wrong with the sky – well, there were things wrong with everything but the sky was the closest part to normalcy. It felt more measurable. It was an ominous sky. The sort of sky that could contain ghost ships.

As for the rest of the world – as they’d emerged from the trees he’d been confronted with a bare, monochrome landscape, mist thick and cold. As you looked at it, it seemed to try and twist out of your reach. No. It was better just to look at the sky.

It was because he was staring at the sky that he saw the globe first. It looked like some sort of observatory, precariously balanced on top of a twisted, misshapen tower.

It’s door was opened by a women... sort of a women. Compared to everything else he’d seen in this place she almost looked kindly, at least she did if you ignored the fact that she looked like she’d been pieced together part by mismatched part. She was smiling down at them warmly.

“Lock! Shock! Barrel!” Code words? Nope, apparently names. “What a surprise and you’ve bought a friend.”

The next moments were a confusion of being pushed to his feet, bundled through the door and dragged up some stairs. They were all talking at once and still fucking rhyming and Dean could make no sense of it. The pieced together women was suddenly turning to him again.

“You should meet Doctor Finkelstein, he needs the company,” and suddenly he’d been shoved into another room, a heavy metal door slamming behind him.

“Dammit,” he swore, turning to survey the rest of his prison and was confronted instead by an oddly shapen, shrivelled old man in a wheelchair. Doctor Finkelstein. The man was gazing at him vacantly.

“Right,” Dean said. “Don’t suppose you have the key?”

The pause that followed was so long that Dean had given up and started to look for a means of escape, before the Doctor spoke.

“I gave her the wrong side of my brain.”

It was going to be a long night.

* * * * * *

It took over an hour to prise enough of the bars from the window for Dean to sneak through. A very long hour. A very long hour occasionally interjected with barely coherent, entirely unhelpful comments from the Doctor.

Dean perched on the window sill for a second, they were high up but climbing down didn’t look entirely impossible and it had to be better than staying here.

He turned for a second to say something to the Doctor, who was staring at his own hands but a moment later gave up. “Forget it.”

And he slipped out of the window.

The odd sky and odder ground hadn’t changed but now sirens were echoing across the horizon as he reached the ground. A mournful voice wailed: ‘Town Meeting! Skeleton Jack is gone. Town Meeting Tonight!’

‘Skeleton?’ – well it was a place to start.

* * * * * *

Jack watched as Sam and the demon danced, moving in contradictions. Salt and guns and patterns drawn in the earth. He watched as the demons soul was pulled apart, its body ripped to shreds by things that perhaps only he could see. Beautiful things. Joyous things.

And he joined the dance, feet singing.

* * * * * *

Tracking someone making enough noise to raise the dead wasn’t really a challenge. Of course, given the location he presumably was trying to wake the dead which was a little off putting.

The man at the end of the loudspeaker proved to be small and pyramid shaped with an ashen, miserable face. And as Dean seized him he was stuck with the options of bending down or of lifting the man up. He settled on the latter. “Where the hell am I?”

“I… uh… Halloween.” The man had a tie shaped like a spider. Actually shaped like a spider. As he watched, it wiggled its legs.

“Like the holiday?” He asked shaking him back from her distraction.

“No, the town... and the holiday... we’re responsible for it,” it was said with a note of pride. “I thought last year’s was particularly successful, the witches had... though, of course, without Jack...”

“Witches?” Not more bloody witches. “Who’s Jack?”

“Who’s? But everyone knows Jack... The Pumpkin King... Jack Skellington.”

“Jack Skell... The skeleton?”

The man’s face suddenly twisted round, the full one hundred and eighty degrees Exorcist twist to reveal a manically grinning face. Dean dropped him instinctively. “You’ve seen Jack?”

“Yeah, he attacked me and my brother had these three crazy children drag me here, locked me in this...”

“Boogies Boys?”

“Two boys and a girl. Crazy. Lots of rhyming.”

“Boogies Boys,” the man's face twisted back into a grimace of misery. “This is bad. Where did you see Jack? We need to get him back. It’s only 308 days until next Halloween.”

“We were in Ypsilanti. Michigan,” the expression was still blank. “America.”

“Is that a holiday?”

“No, it’s...” This was never going to work. “Look, when we got here – there were lots of trees.”

“You were in The Forest?” The words were laden with doom, said with capitals practically ringing through them. “Oh, that’s bad. Very bad. Jack must have gone through another door.”

* * * * * *

“Jack! He’s not a monster.” Sam gripped the bony arm, trying to drag him away from the cowering drug dealer. His clients had already scattered. Jack’s skull was twisted into a furious, terrifying mask and even with all his weight thrown backwards; Sam was hardly able to restrain him.

“But, he’s been a very naughty boy.” Each word was said with quiet deadly precision.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the dealer struggled, trying to twist away.

“Yes,” Sam said through gritted teeth. “So he doesn’t get any presents but we don’t have to kill him.”

Another whimper but Jack had paused. “Yes, a very naughty boy.” He leaned in closer, so his skull was nearly touching the man’s face. “Do you promise that you will be a good boy next year?”

“Yes, oh god. Yes.”

“Very well,” Jack straightened. “Run along and don’t forget to write Sandy a letter next year.”

Sam breathed in deeply; it had been a long night. Even the first tendrils of sunshine creeping across the horizon didn’t offer any hope. Hiding a seven foot skeleton in the darkness was one thing but during the day...

Jack turned towards the sunrise, his eye sockets squinting against the light for a second and then a slow smile crossed his face.

“Sally. I have to go back.”

* * * * * *

Dean wasn’t quite sure why the Mayor taking him through The Forest (damn, even he was starting to capitalise words) involved gathering most of the town together. Or why all of them had to rhyme. No wonder the Mayor looked miserable all the time. Even his smiling face has the manic desperation of someone stood on the edge of a cliff.

He’d only known these people for half an hour or so but he felt like he’d been trudging through the trees for days with them.

As for the people... creatures... whatever they were. Well there were definitely witches... green, pointy hated, gripping a toad style witches. And vampires. And Cyclops. And things he didn’t even have words for. Though Sam probably would have, knowing him.

And they wouldn’t stop talking. He didn’t even have the energy left to distinguish who was saying what. It just blurred together – a strange cacophony of voices.

“He said it was called Michigan.”

“Have you heard that name before?”

“No, but it sounds lots of fun.”

“Can we get there through a special door?”

“Or could we fly there through the air?”

“If he can find the one that’s right.”

“Maybe they’ll have snow there.”

“And then we can have a snowball fight!”

“I’m sure there will be lots to do.”

Dean spun on his heels to face the jabbering crowd and they all jumped several paces backwards.

“No! No! No! No one else is coming through,” he snapped at them. The rhyme was greeted with a moment of grinning silence.

“Oh for fudge sake.” Dean said slowly and carefully. “I am going back and I’m going to rescue my stupid brother from your stupid skeleton and then you can have him back and I can go back to what passes for normal in my life. And if one of you even tries to start fudging rhyming around me again, I’ll flay you alive.”

There was a sudden murmur of whispered conference in which Dean clearly heard one of the witches ask:- “Do you think that’s a promise?”

He sighed. “Now what the hell did you mean ‘the right door’?”

Behind him, very softly, he heard the Mayor. “Oh no.”

He turned with a thick sense of foreboding and saw what looked like hundreds of trees, with hundreds of doors cut into their knobbly trunks spreading into the distance. And on each door, stood a very firm, very secure looking golden padlock.

* * * * * *

Jack’s fingers closed around the door knob reverentially. The door was small but otherwise unexceptional. Well beyond the fact that it was the door of a flat wooden gingerbread house sandwiched between the abandoned Christmas trees. The only thing in fact unusual about it was the possibility that anybody, even a skeleton, would think it led to anywhere.

It certainly seemed to be a lost hope as Jack twisted the knob increasingly violently in both directions. The door seemed determined not to open for him.

The slow dawning rage was terrifying to see. Far worse than anything Sam had witnessed that night – the fights and intimidation and monsters had been little more than a game – this was different.
This was true.

Jack straightened slowly, his hand released the door knob and fell momentarily to his side. Then in a flurry of movement, he began to tear the trees around them apart, crushing them to splinters and dust.

“Jack,” Sam shouted over the noise. “Stop.”

He thought for a moment of trying to stop him, but it would be pointless, nothing human would stop Jack now. The small wooden houses fell next in the storm of destruction and if nothing changed all too soon the gingerbread house would stand alone untouched amidst the broken ruins.

Which was going to take a hell of a lot of explaining. Maybe they’d believe it was a freak hurricane, Sam thought as he watched Jack rake his fingers through a solid sheet of metal with a rusty scream , though he was sure there was something about hurricanes hopping.

Although given that he wasn’t sure Jack would stop at destroying Santa’s Village, he might not have anyone left to explain to.

Sam’s phone began to ring.

“Dean?”

“Hey Sammy, we’ve got a problem.”

“You’re telling me.”

“I found the way back. But the doors locked.”

“Yep, we’re getting that impression to.”

“What the hell is that noise?” Dean suddenly asked.

“You ever heard metal being shredded like paper, Dean?”

Jack roared at the sky. The last of Santa’s Village collapsing around him, like the closing scene of an opera.

“Lock!” He screamed. “Shock! Barrel!”

But nobody came.

* * * * * *

“Boogie’s Boys always cling to the most powerful. The most dangerous,” the Mayor explained. “If someone is trying to lock Pumpkin Jack out of Halloween town, they’ll be scuttling in his shadows. Where did they take you?”

They had managed to lose the others for the moment at least, surrounded by the blissful sound of people not rhyming.

“I don’t know. It was like an observatory or something and there was this woman and... oh... this crazy man in a wheelchair.”

The Mayor’s face settled into a look of confusion, as much as it could between his twin expressions – the manic grin and suicidal frown.

“Dr. Finkelstein’s?”

* * * * * *

The nurse was waiting for them when they got there. “Ah. I was wondering when you would return. You left rather rudely, the Doctor was quite upset.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked her. “I’ll just pop through and apologise.”

“We came for the key,” the Mayor squeaked from his cowering place behind Dean.

 “Oh, well that is a pickle. I’m the mistress of this house and tradition clearly states only I should hold the keys.”

“I’m not really a traditional sort of guy.”

“I hope that’s not a threat,” she said, her voice smoothly dignified with a hint of disdain and a worrying lack of fear. “Because my pets could never allow anyone to threaten me in my own house.”

From the darkness three glowing eyes came nearer, growing less substantial but significantly more creepy. Light catching on the dull white of bones, while the spaces in between swallowed the darkness. They made no noise. What was it they always said – silent and deadly.

* * * * * *

Lock, Stock and Barrel crept through the door following the irresistible sounds of mayhem. Hovering in the shadows, they struggled for a moment for precedence and then settled into the normal form – eyes wide and excited as they watched the battle as it moved through the house and into the kitchen.

They watched as Dean ducked and spun and twisted, avoiding the skeletal hounds. One he destroyed by force – smashing it against the wall with a chair. Bones cracking and scattering dustily on the floor. Another he trapped, slamming one of the heavy metal doors behind it. Leaving him with the last.

They circled each other for a moment. The strange man and the silent skeleton dog.

And then there was movement, movement and madness and noise and blood until the dog plunged at last through a window, surrounded by shards of star bright glass. And a small hope blossomed in Lock, Stock and Barrel, transforming like a swan into a god and became belief. They’d found a new Boogie.

He turned to look at Mrs. Finkelstein, wiping the blood from his cheek, sweat heavy on his forehead. She backed away, stripped of power and without words he reached for where a knife lay upon the kitchen table and with one smooth move sliced off her head.

It fell gracelessly and rolled for a second across the floor, slowing in spirals until resting at last the skull fell open and half a brain flopped out.

The man made a noise of disgust and turned to look at the wall where hundreds of golden keys glittered and glowed in the fires light.

“This could take a while,” he said with a sigh.

* * * * * *

Dean sank to the ground, back against one of the endless trees. A hundred keys, all identical and each could open any of a hundred doors. They’d been trying them with steadily decreasing enthusiasm for hours.

He dragged his phone from his pocket and pressed the redial button. It was answered in only two rings.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“How’s it going?”

He hesitated before answering. Knowing the pause had lasted several beats too long. Sam would know. “Not great,” he admitted. “There’s a lot of doors. How’s the walking xylophone?”

“Impatient.”

“I gotta say, after everything that’s happened this last year. This wasn’t how I thought things would end up.”

“Dean, listen, if you don’t find the key, if...”

Dean suddenly heard a high pitched giggle nearby, followed by a childish shriek and his muscles tightened. He’d have reached for his gun only the little bastards had stolen it hours ago. He saw them peeking from behind the trees. Mischievous. Evil.

“Hold on, Sammy,” he pushed himself back to his feet as Sam distantly said his name and stalked angrily towards them. He might be stuck but he’d be damned if he didn’t at least give these lot a thrashing while he was here. Surprisingly they darted eagerly towards him.

“We found him,” one of the boys squealed.

“I found him,” the girl corrected and Dean was suddenly in the middle of a violent scuffle. Reaching down, teeth gritted, his hand closed on what he hoped was material and he yanked one of Boogie’s Boys into the air. The boy smiled at him with rotten teeth, as the other two paused – the boy pulling the girls hair while she had his hand between her teeth.

“What the hell is this about?” Dean asked.

“We found him,” the boy said. “He’ll take you home.”

Dean looked up and for a moment was stunned into silence. He dropped the boy, hearing the thump as he hit the ground. Distantly he could hear Sammy calling for him. Slowly he lifted the phone back to his ear.

“Dean? What’s going on?”

“I’ve got a way home, Sammy.”

“What?”

“Just get to the highest hill you can find.”

* * * * * *

They stood on the hill looking over Ypsilanti. Most of it was still standing, Sam thought grimly, well... some of it was still standing. Jack was uncharacteristically silent as he watched the world. Impatience clinging to him.

“You can’t save Dean, can you?” Sam asked him at last. He’d been dreading asking the question.

“I could keep him in Halloween Town and they wouldn’t be able to touch him,” Jack said, voice deep and calm and empty of regret. “They couldn’t claim him there, it doesn’t belong to them. It’s mine. But I think I have learnt enough to know that he would not accept that.”

Sam listened to the quiet wail of a fire truck. “No,” he said.

They sank back into silence. Time seeping past them unnoticed until at last a clunk and the jingle of bells broke them from their reverie.

Jack turned sharply and for a second Sam watched his expression of awe and as he turned to see the arrivals he knew there was only one person who could make Jack look like that. This was Sally. A patchwork woman with bright red hair, a look of quiet loving frustration on her face.

Behind her was Dean, bloody and bruised and just how Sam always pictured him in his mind.

And with them both was... his mind stuttered for a moment but there was no denying it. It was Santa. Red coat, white trim, black boots. Complete with sledge and reindeer. The full works. And Santa looked furious. He bore down on Jack, another force of nature.

“Nice going, Jack,” each word was enunciated with the force of a sledge hammer. There was a moment of stunned silence and then Sam saw Sally smile secretly to herself as Santa dragged Jack back to the sledge, haranguing him all the way. As they reached the sledge , Jack looked back at them and raised a hand in farewell with a sheepish smile. A cowed seven foot skeleton.

Then they were gone, in a flurry of snowflakes.

They stood in silence for a while, watching each other – neither quite sure what to say.

At last Dean shrugged. “What exactly did you put in that eggnog, Sammy?” They began to laugh.

A thump behind them made them jump. They turned quickly together, ready for the threat and instead found two large, extravagantly wrapped presents.

“Ho Ho Ho,” called a very annoyed voice from the air above them, joined by a manic cackle.