Forty Christmases Later
Title: Forty Christmases Later
Author: xephwrites
Characters: Dean, Sam, Alistair
Rating: R
Word Count: 667
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of its characters. Just playing with toys that are not mine. I promise to return them (mostly) undamaged!
Spoilers: If you didn't know Dean went to Hell, well, I'm sorry.
Warnings: non graphic descriptions of torture.
Summary: It's Dean's first Christmas topside. Little does the world know, they celebrate Christmas down there....
Notes: Written for hoodie_time's Dean centric h/c Winter/Holiday meme! Original prompt here.
A Winter/Holiday themed
Dean-focused h/c comment-fic meme
[Click on the image to go to the meme.]
Banner courtesy of geckoholic @ bl00dredskies
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose,” Nat King Cole sang through the PA system in the restaurant. Dean’s breathing became ragged. All sounds in the restaurant faded, and Dean could only hear the echoes of his own screams. The smooth velvet voice changed into the mocking drawl of Alistair.
Dean felt his stomach clench and churn. The phantom pains returned. He gritted his teeth as the memory of flames scorching his testicles and the agony of having his nose bitten off.
“Dean!” Sam called. He placed his hand over Dean’s trembling one. “Dean, stay with me.” Sam’s voice sounded miles away. Dean’s breaths became quicker and sharper. He saw the grotesque faces peeking out from under elf hats, stabbing him with sharpened candy canes.
Sam was suddenly beside him. He held Dean’s face in his hands.
“Look at me,” Sam said firmly. “Dean, look at me.” Dean’s eyes stopped taking in the torture that was happening around him and looked into his brother’s eyes.
“Sammy?” He choked out. Sam nodded.
“We’re at Biggersons. Our turkey dinner will be here any minute now.” Sam said. Dean’s eyes strayed to the table. The restaurant was in focus once again. Nat King Cole wrapped up his song and the waitress set their plates on the table. Dean looked back to Sam. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
“I don’t like Christmas anymore,” he whispered. Sam nodded and let go of Dean’s face. He took both of Dean’s hands and held them.
“You will again, I promise,” Sam said as he kissed Dean’s knuckles.
Sam keeps promising things will get better. He hopes one day he can believe it.
Back at their motel room, Sam handed Dean a mug of spiced rum and eggnog. Dean shook his head and pushed it away.
“You love eggnog,” Sam said. Dean shook his head again.
“Open up, princess,” Alistair said in a sickening sweet voice. Gallons upon gallons of eggnog poured into Dean’s mouth. It made him cough and choke.
“Drink it all up, just like a good little boy,” Alistair said as he held Dean’s head in place. The liquid filled Dean’s nose and sinus cavities. He struggled to breathe. Alistair ran his finger along Dean’s chin, catching some of the spilled liquid. Alistair licked his finger with a forked tongue.
“Yummy,” Alistair said. “I think you need some more.”
“Can’t drink it anymore,” Dean said. He reached for the bottle of spiced rum and drank half of it.
Dean just wanted to hide for the month of December, away from everything. Everywhere they went, something brought back the memories.
Malls were the worst. Dean didn’t even know why Sam dragged him there. The strings of lights strung up were not the pretty spectacles they’re supposed to me. They were restraints and nooses. Broken bulbs were used to cut flesh, along with broken Christmas ornaments. Dean saw an angel at the top of a tree. He shuddered. He knew all too well what that felt like.
The hyperventilating started when they reached Santa’s Castle. Santa was the worst of them all.
“Sam, we need to go,” Dean said, backing away from the crowd. Sam nodded and followed Dean.
“I can’t do Christmas anymore,” Dean said once they were back in the Impala. Sam gave him a questioning look. Dean gritted his teeth and shook his head.
“They celebrated Christmas down there,” was the only explanation Dean gave. Sam took Dean’s hand and squeezed.
“Let me drive. I know a place,” Sam said.
They ended up in one of Bobby’s hunting cabins. There was nothing to do with Christmas anywhere. They left the television off, and didn’t play the radio either. It was just them, the snow, and the chipped dishes.
Sam sat beside Dean on the couch and stared at the fire. Sam pulled Dean into a hug.
“We’ll get through this,” Sam whispered.
He keeps saying that, but Dean has stopped believing it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Comments adored!!
Author: xephwrites
Characters: Dean, Sam, Alistair
Rating: R
Word Count: 667
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of its characters. Just playing with toys that are not mine. I promise to return them (mostly) undamaged!
Spoilers: If you didn't know Dean went to Hell, well, I'm sorry.
Warnings: non graphic descriptions of torture.
Summary: It's Dean's first Christmas topside. Little does the world know, they celebrate Christmas down there....
Notes: Written for hoodie_time's Dean centric h/c Winter/Holiday meme! Original prompt here.
A Winter/Holiday themed
Dean-focused h/c comment-fic meme
[Click on the image to go to the meme.]
Banner courtesy of geckoholic @ bl00dredskies
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose,” Nat King Cole sang through the PA system in the restaurant. Dean’s breathing became ragged. All sounds in the restaurant faded, and Dean could only hear the echoes of his own screams. The smooth velvet voice changed into the mocking drawl of Alistair.
Dean felt his stomach clench and churn. The phantom pains returned. He gritted his teeth as the memory of flames scorching his testicles and the agony of having his nose bitten off.
“Dean!” Sam called. He placed his hand over Dean’s trembling one. “Dean, stay with me.” Sam’s voice sounded miles away. Dean’s breaths became quicker and sharper. He saw the grotesque faces peeking out from under elf hats, stabbing him with sharpened candy canes.
Sam was suddenly beside him. He held Dean’s face in his hands.
“Look at me,” Sam said firmly. “Dean, look at me.” Dean’s eyes stopped taking in the torture that was happening around him and looked into his brother’s eyes.
“Sammy?” He choked out. Sam nodded.
“We’re at Biggersons. Our turkey dinner will be here any minute now.” Sam said. Dean’s eyes strayed to the table. The restaurant was in focus once again. Nat King Cole wrapped up his song and the waitress set their plates on the table. Dean looked back to Sam. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.
“I don’t like Christmas anymore,” he whispered. Sam nodded and let go of Dean’s face. He took both of Dean’s hands and held them.
“You will again, I promise,” Sam said as he kissed Dean’s knuckles.
Sam keeps promising things will get better. He hopes one day he can believe it.
Back at their motel room, Sam handed Dean a mug of spiced rum and eggnog. Dean shook his head and pushed it away.
“You love eggnog,” Sam said. Dean shook his head again.
“Open up, princess,” Alistair said in a sickening sweet voice. Gallons upon gallons of eggnog poured into Dean’s mouth. It made him cough and choke.
“Drink it all up, just like a good little boy,” Alistair said as he held Dean’s head in place. The liquid filled Dean’s nose and sinus cavities. He struggled to breathe. Alistair ran his finger along Dean’s chin, catching some of the spilled liquid. Alistair licked his finger with a forked tongue.
“Yummy,” Alistair said. “I think you need some more.”
“Can’t drink it anymore,” Dean said. He reached for the bottle of spiced rum and drank half of it.
Dean just wanted to hide for the month of December, away from everything. Everywhere they went, something brought back the memories.
Malls were the worst. Dean didn’t even know why Sam dragged him there. The strings of lights strung up were not the pretty spectacles they’re supposed to me. They were restraints and nooses. Broken bulbs were used to cut flesh, along with broken Christmas ornaments. Dean saw an angel at the top of a tree. He shuddered. He knew all too well what that felt like.
The hyperventilating started when they reached Santa’s Castle. Santa was the worst of them all.
“Sam, we need to go,” Dean said, backing away from the crowd. Sam nodded and followed Dean.
“I can’t do Christmas anymore,” Dean said once they were back in the Impala. Sam gave him a questioning look. Dean gritted his teeth and shook his head.
“They celebrated Christmas down there,” was the only explanation Dean gave. Sam took Dean’s hand and squeezed.
“Let me drive. I know a place,” Sam said.
They ended up in one of Bobby’s hunting cabins. There was nothing to do with Christmas anywhere. They left the television off, and didn’t play the radio either. It was just them, the snow, and the chipped dishes.
Sam sat beside Dean on the couch and stared at the fire. Sam pulled Dean into a hug.
“We’ll get through this,” Sam whispered.
He keeps saying that, but Dean has stopped believing it.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Comments adored!!