Ficcing again! Tradition! (1/1)
Title Tradition!
Author Bella Temple
Category SPN, gen
Rating PG-13, but only 'cause there's guns and some light cursing
Spoilers Nothing
Disclaimer The characters and basic premise within are property of Warner Bros, Eric Kripke, etc. No money is being made off this work of fiction.
Author's note This is entirely the result of a long, slow day at work while on cold medication. Blame the snow. And David Sedaris. . . .
Summary A Winchester Christmas begins December 5th. Because that's when the Sinterklaas arrives.
"Stockings?"
"Hung by the chimney."
"Rock salt?"
"Stuffed in the stockings and --" *chunk-chunk* "-- the shotguns."
"Milk and cookies?"
"On the table."
"Right. Let's lock and load."
* * *
Every family has their holiday traditions, and while the Winchesters might never have been the most traditional of families, or at least, haven't been for quite some time, they were no different in this respect. There were all the usual trappings, naturally, the striped sugar, the crappy elementary school crafts (well, while the boys were in elementary school, at least; unlike some other families, not a single construction-paper Santa or cotton-ball snowman survived to embarrass either Winchester in adulthood) and, of course, the dead conifer stuck in a corner and covered in various shiny things. This was usually cut down from a nearby forest by John, or, in later years when Dean was old enough and feeling particularly industrious, stolen from a nearby tree sale.
Ever tried to shoplift a Christmas tree? Well, let me tell you. It's not easy.
Now, for most Christmas-celebrating Americans, the traditions get started the weekend after Thanksgiving, and consist of madly decorating and singing and complaining and watching holiday specials that make them nostalgic for that time when Christmas was easier and more innocent, that magical time when everyone always felt the Christmas spirit because if they didn't, they were forced into it by angry ghosts. They dream of white Christmases -- without remembering what a pain in the ass a white Christmas can be when you're trying to travel and keep your brightly-wrapped presents from getting damp -- because tradition and Hollywood say that they should. And all this dreaming and nostalgia and frustration takes them straight up through Boxing Day -- which they don't celebrate anyway -- and, in theory, fortifies them for the long winter months ahead.
A Winchester Christmas begins December 5th. Because that's when the Sinterklaas arrives.
* * *
"Dude, I wish we could watch TV."
"Shhhh!"
"I'm just saying, we're going to be up all night, and I could be watching Vera-Ellen dance around with no pants on,"
"Dean. . . ."
"Legs up to here, man. It's beautiful. I'd love to eat sugar plums off those gams. . . ."
"You're incapable of being quiet, aren't you."
"What is a sugar plum, anyway?"
*sigh* "It's a candy. Kinda like a gumdrop. Also a fruit, like a giant grape, that doesn't have a bitter skin."
"You're a fruit like a giant grape,"
"Shut up. Seriously. Please."
* * *
In later years, Sam would learn to object to calling the thing the Sinterklaas. He would point out, while he and Dean carefully checked their shoes for any sign of coal or poisonous bugs, that Sinterklaas was the Dutch Santa Claus. That, in fact, the American term of "Santa Claus" could be traced to a bastardization of Sinterklaas. He'd defend the honor of the Dutch culture, pointing out that Sinterklaas was probably based on Saint Nicholas, a Bishop of Turkey (which usually just resulted in Dean going a bit misty eyed and saying "Yeah . . . turkey," and going to get a sandwich), and then point out that, though December 5th was the Eve of Saint Nicholas, it was also the feast day of Saint Cawrdaf, so they might as well call it the Cawrdaf demon or something.
* * *
"You know, it's also the Day of the Ninja. Maybe we should call it the Cawrdaf-Ninja."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Dude, Ninja Burger?"
"Does that make sense on your planet?"
*sigh* "And you made fun of me for not knowing what 'myspace' was. . . ."
* * *
Sam was correct, by the way. What John and Dean called the Sinterklaas was not, in fact, Sinterklaas. It couldn't be, naturally, as Sinterklaas would be just finishing up his rounds in the Netherlands with his Zwarte Piet, giving out candy to the good boys and girls and pretending to kick the bad ones. It wasn't even one of the hulp-Sinterklazen, the people who dressed up like Sinterklaas so he could seem to be simultaneously in every village in the Netherlands when he first arrived in mid-November. To be more accurate, the Wincheters' Sinterklaas was, in fact, a Krampus -- and a rogue one at that -- as Sam discovered during his years away at school.
* * *
"Tell you what, I've got your cramped-ass right here,"
"Not 'cramped-ass', Krampus. They're traditional, Germanic and Slavic companions to Saint Nicholas. Kind of like demons that follow him around."
"Weren't you the one who was just telling me to shut up?"
"I'm trying to make sure you understand what we're really up against."
"We're up against my cramped ass. I don't think he's coming tonight. Maybe he'll be late, this year,"
"That's what you said last year, just before you got smacked upside the head by his Virgács."
". . . Oh yeah."
* * *
It all started the Christmas just before Dean turned eight. John had been hunting for a few years by that point, and had just finished up taking care of a poltergeist at Hersheypark. They stayed overnight in an abandoned farm house nearby, which put them right smack in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch country. This was probably what threw John off in properly identifying the Sinterklaas; he assumed that the local population traced their lineage back to the Netherlands exclusively, and the Krampus had been wearing a dark, sooty red robe reminiscent of a St. Nicholas figure. But in fact the Pennsylvania Dutch are at times more properly referred to as the "Pennsylvania Deutsch" or Pennsylvania German, and refers, in fact, to the language spoken by the people who settled in the area, not their actual country of origin.
In fact, the Krampus was a German creature, though he shared attributes with the Dutch Zwarte Piet, who accompany the real Sinterklaas on his rounds in the Netherlands.
* * *
"Who gives a shit where the bastard's from?"
"If we understand its culture of origin, we might be able to figure out how to stop it."
"We already know how to stop it."
"How to stop it for good, Dean."
"Right, you do that, and I'll keep the bastard from shoving you in a sack and taking you away to Spain, this year."
* * *
And, really, that's where things get particularly muddled. You see, the Winchesters' Sinterklaas -- which is actually a rogue German Krampus -- shows up wherever the Winchester boys are hiding out every year sometime between sundown on December 5th and sunrise on December 6th. It is the event that kicks off the Winchesters' Christmas season, which mostly consists of laying low, going after angry spirits that like to force or frighten poor, unsuspecting misers into showing their Christmas spirit, and buying rocksalt in bulk. From historical precedent, one can conclude that the Sinterklaas is intent on shoving one or the other of the Winchester boys in a sack and carrying him off back to Spain or wherever its lair happens to be. In order to do this, the Sinterklaas uses a bundle of twigs held together with a red ribbon which it calls a Virgács -- which is actually a Hungarian term, but that's neither here nor there -- as a whipping device. As Dean can attest, despite its whimsical appearance, getting whipped by a Virgács really stings.
* * *
"Come to think of it, I don't think it's ever actually gone after me."
"Sure it has. That time in Pensacola."
"You mean when it had the sack most of the way over your head and you were halfway out the door before Dad managed to hit it with the bucket of holy water?"
"And it hit you with it's Virgi-sack."
"Virgács."
"Whatever."
"But it only did that when I tried to grab you. And it never came after me at Stanford."
"That's 'cause Dad and I were together. Higher concentration of Winchester."
"Or it's just after you."
* * *
Once again, Sam was correct. The Winchesters' Sinterklaas was, in fact, only really after Dean. It would be more than willing to take Sam as well if it got the chance, but its primary focus is, and always has been, the elder Winchester brother.
You see, the Winchesters' Sinterklaas was once just a regular old Krampus, following along behind Saint Nicholas as he made his rounds through the varied concentrations of Germanic and Slavic populations across the globe, until the day it was assigned to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania and went to do its job at an abandoned farm house in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch country. There it found one adult -- who was beyond its notice -- and two small children, one three and one seven. In following the tradition in which it had been created, the Krampus went up to the door of the farm house, knocked, and, when Dean came to answer the door with Sam trailing behind, requested that the boys perform a song or dance to show that they've been good little boys and deserved to get some candy.
At which point, Dean shot it in the face with a BB gun.
Dean was only saved the supreme indignity of being shoved into a sack and carted off to Spain by Sam bellowing his little three-year-old head off and John coming barreling up with an actual shotgun, driving the Krampus off. That was also the year that Dean graduated to actual firearms.
They'd all rather thought they'd seen the last of the Krampus, though John had made it a point the following year to end up in Miami over Christmas. The trouble was, Dean had managed to put the Krampus' eye out with that BB gun. The maimed Krampus had been relieved of its duties as a companion of Saint Nicholas and had summarily struck out rogue to hunt down the boy who ruined its life and cart him off once and for all.
* * *
"You're totally making that up."
"Dude, the thing has one eye."
"Whatever, man. I'm hungry. I'm gonna get me a turkey sandwich."
* * *
And so, every year on the night of Saint Nicholas Eve, the Krampus, now known as the Sinterklaas, would find Dean Winchester and attack.
It almost had him that year in Pensacola, when it had stuck bugs and coal in the boys' shoes in order to drive them shrieking out in to the open. And again three years ago in South Dakota, where it started utilizing the chimney as a stealth entrance. (Bobby had never quite forgiven John for crashing at his place when they knew they were going to be attacked. Chased him off with threats of an ass full of buckshot for it, in fact). And this year, it had every intention of getting him. It opened the flue of the chimney in the old, remote cabin the boys were hiding out in. It carefully avoided the booby trapped stockings. It didn't fall for the cookies and holy-water-laced milk. And it completely ignored the dead conifer shoved in the corner, covered with shiny things (little known fact, but Krampuses, like ferrets and magpies, love shiny things). It could practically smell its prey. He stank even heavier of naughtiness than ever before.
Yes, Dean had been exceedingly naughty this year. Making deals with demons and eating bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast. Truly, this would be the Sinterklaas' year.
"Hey fat man!"
It spun. Dean was behind it! But how?! It could smell him all over the couch, where his brother sat! Where Dean himself had sat most of the night, before getting up to get a turkey sandwich.
Dean shot it in the face.
The Sinterklaas screamed, clawing at its sole remaining eye, and fled back to the chimney, shooting upwards and out into the night, banished again for another year.
Dean sighed happily and aimed the shot gun at the ceiling, turning a bright grin on his brother who still sat on the couch.
"Dude, screw finding out how to get rid of that thing for good. That's the most fun I've had all year."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever man. I'm going to be picking salt out of my socks for weeks. Again."
"Spoil sport." Dean vaulted over the back of the couch and took a large bite of his sandwich. "So. Whadda you want for Christmas?"
The End
Further author's notes: This story very nearly came with hyperlinks and/or footnotes, but I decided those would be distracting while one was trying to read it. For your edification:
Christmas in the Netherlands
Sinterklaas
Companions of St. Nicholas (including Krampus, Zwarte Piet, and the wielders of the Virgács)
Saint Cawrdaf
Day of the Ninja
Vera-Ellen
Sugar plums
Author Bella Temple
Category SPN, gen
Rating PG-13, but only 'cause there's guns and some light cursing
Spoilers Nothing
Disclaimer The characters and basic premise within are property of Warner Bros, Eric Kripke, etc. No money is being made off this work of fiction.
Author's note This is entirely the result of a long, slow day at work while on cold medication. Blame the snow. And David Sedaris. . . .
Summary A Winchester Christmas begins December 5th. Because that's when the Sinterklaas arrives.
"Stockings?"
"Hung by the chimney."
"Rock salt?"
"Stuffed in the stockings and --" *chunk-chunk* "-- the shotguns."
"Milk and cookies?"
"On the table."
"Right. Let's lock and load."
* * *
Every family has their holiday traditions, and while the Winchesters might never have been the most traditional of families, or at least, haven't been for quite some time, they were no different in this respect. There were all the usual trappings, naturally, the striped sugar, the crappy elementary school crafts (well, while the boys were in elementary school, at least; unlike some other families, not a single construction-paper Santa or cotton-ball snowman survived to embarrass either Winchester in adulthood) and, of course, the dead conifer stuck in a corner and covered in various shiny things. This was usually cut down from a nearby forest by John, or, in later years when Dean was old enough and feeling particularly industrious, stolen from a nearby tree sale.
Ever tried to shoplift a Christmas tree? Well, let me tell you. It's not easy.
Now, for most Christmas-celebrating Americans, the traditions get started the weekend after Thanksgiving, and consist of madly decorating and singing and complaining and watching holiday specials that make them nostalgic for that time when Christmas was easier and more innocent, that magical time when everyone always felt the Christmas spirit because if they didn't, they were forced into it by angry ghosts. They dream of white Christmases -- without remembering what a pain in the ass a white Christmas can be when you're trying to travel and keep your brightly-wrapped presents from getting damp -- because tradition and Hollywood say that they should. And all this dreaming and nostalgia and frustration takes them straight up through Boxing Day -- which they don't celebrate anyway -- and, in theory, fortifies them for the long winter months ahead.
A Winchester Christmas begins December 5th. Because that's when the Sinterklaas arrives.
* * *
"Dude, I wish we could watch TV."
"Shhhh!"
"I'm just saying, we're going to be up all night, and I could be watching Vera-Ellen dance around with no pants on,"
"Dean. . . ."
"Legs up to here, man. It's beautiful. I'd love to eat sugar plums off those gams. . . ."
"You're incapable of being quiet, aren't you."
"What is a sugar plum, anyway?"
*sigh* "It's a candy. Kinda like a gumdrop. Also a fruit, like a giant grape, that doesn't have a bitter skin."
"You're a fruit like a giant grape,"
"Shut up. Seriously. Please."
* * *
In later years, Sam would learn to object to calling the thing the Sinterklaas. He would point out, while he and Dean carefully checked their shoes for any sign of coal or poisonous bugs, that Sinterklaas was the Dutch Santa Claus. That, in fact, the American term of "Santa Claus" could be traced to a bastardization of Sinterklaas. He'd defend the honor of the Dutch culture, pointing out that Sinterklaas was probably based on Saint Nicholas, a Bishop of Turkey (which usually just resulted in Dean going a bit misty eyed and saying "Yeah . . . turkey," and going to get a sandwich), and then point out that, though December 5th was the Eve of Saint Nicholas, it was also the feast day of Saint Cawrdaf, so they might as well call it the Cawrdaf demon or something.
* * *
"You know, it's also the Day of the Ninja. Maybe we should call it the Cawrdaf-Ninja."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Dude, Ninja Burger?"
"Does that make sense on your planet?"
*sigh* "And you made fun of me for not knowing what 'myspace' was. . . ."
* * *
Sam was correct, by the way. What John and Dean called the Sinterklaas was not, in fact, Sinterklaas. It couldn't be, naturally, as Sinterklaas would be just finishing up his rounds in the Netherlands with his Zwarte Piet, giving out candy to the good boys and girls and pretending to kick the bad ones. It wasn't even one of the hulp-Sinterklazen, the people who dressed up like Sinterklaas so he could seem to be simultaneously in every village in the Netherlands when he first arrived in mid-November. To be more accurate, the Wincheters' Sinterklaas was, in fact, a Krampus -- and a rogue one at that -- as Sam discovered during his years away at school.
* * *
"Tell you what, I've got your cramped-ass right here,"
"Not 'cramped-ass', Krampus. They're traditional, Germanic and Slavic companions to Saint Nicholas. Kind of like demons that follow him around."
"Weren't you the one who was just telling me to shut up?"
"I'm trying to make sure you understand what we're really up against."
"We're up against my cramped ass. I don't think he's coming tonight. Maybe he'll be late, this year,"
"That's what you said last year, just before you got smacked upside the head by his Virgács."
". . . Oh yeah."
* * *
It all started the Christmas just before Dean turned eight. John had been hunting for a few years by that point, and had just finished up taking care of a poltergeist at Hersheypark. They stayed overnight in an abandoned farm house nearby, which put them right smack in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch country. This was probably what threw John off in properly identifying the Sinterklaas; he assumed that the local population traced their lineage back to the Netherlands exclusively, and the Krampus had been wearing a dark, sooty red robe reminiscent of a St. Nicholas figure. But in fact the Pennsylvania Dutch are at times more properly referred to as the "Pennsylvania Deutsch" or Pennsylvania German, and refers, in fact, to the language spoken by the people who settled in the area, not their actual country of origin.
In fact, the Krampus was a German creature, though he shared attributes with the Dutch Zwarte Piet, who accompany the real Sinterklaas on his rounds in the Netherlands.
* * *
"Who gives a shit where the bastard's from?"
"If we understand its culture of origin, we might be able to figure out how to stop it."
"We already know how to stop it."
"How to stop it for good, Dean."
"Right, you do that, and I'll keep the bastard from shoving you in a sack and taking you away to Spain, this year."
* * *
And, really, that's where things get particularly muddled. You see, the Winchesters' Sinterklaas -- which is actually a rogue German Krampus -- shows up wherever the Winchester boys are hiding out every year sometime between sundown on December 5th and sunrise on December 6th. It is the event that kicks off the Winchesters' Christmas season, which mostly consists of laying low, going after angry spirits that like to force or frighten poor, unsuspecting misers into showing their Christmas spirit, and buying rocksalt in bulk. From historical precedent, one can conclude that the Sinterklaas is intent on shoving one or the other of the Winchester boys in a sack and carrying him off back to Spain or wherever its lair happens to be. In order to do this, the Sinterklaas uses a bundle of twigs held together with a red ribbon which it calls a Virgács -- which is actually a Hungarian term, but that's neither here nor there -- as a whipping device. As Dean can attest, despite its whimsical appearance, getting whipped by a Virgács really stings.
* * *
"Come to think of it, I don't think it's ever actually gone after me."
"Sure it has. That time in Pensacola."
"You mean when it had the sack most of the way over your head and you were halfway out the door before Dad managed to hit it with the bucket of holy water?"
"And it hit you with it's Virgi-sack."
"Virgács."
"Whatever."
"But it only did that when I tried to grab you. And it never came after me at Stanford."
"That's 'cause Dad and I were together. Higher concentration of Winchester."
"Or it's just after you."
* * *
Once again, Sam was correct. The Winchesters' Sinterklaas was, in fact, only really after Dean. It would be more than willing to take Sam as well if it got the chance, but its primary focus is, and always has been, the elder Winchester brother.
You see, the Winchesters' Sinterklaas was once just a regular old Krampus, following along behind Saint Nicholas as he made his rounds through the varied concentrations of Germanic and Slavic populations across the globe, until the day it was assigned to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania and went to do its job at an abandoned farm house in the middle of Pennsylvania Dutch country. There it found one adult -- who was beyond its notice -- and two small children, one three and one seven. In following the tradition in which it had been created, the Krampus went up to the door of the farm house, knocked, and, when Dean came to answer the door with Sam trailing behind, requested that the boys perform a song or dance to show that they've been good little boys and deserved to get some candy.
At which point, Dean shot it in the face with a BB gun.
Dean was only saved the supreme indignity of being shoved into a sack and carted off to Spain by Sam bellowing his little three-year-old head off and John coming barreling up with an actual shotgun, driving the Krampus off. That was also the year that Dean graduated to actual firearms.
They'd all rather thought they'd seen the last of the Krampus, though John had made it a point the following year to end up in Miami over Christmas. The trouble was, Dean had managed to put the Krampus' eye out with that BB gun. The maimed Krampus had been relieved of its duties as a companion of Saint Nicholas and had summarily struck out rogue to hunt down the boy who ruined its life and cart him off once and for all.
* * *
"You're totally making that up."
"Dude, the thing has one eye."
"Whatever, man. I'm hungry. I'm gonna get me a turkey sandwich."
* * *
And so, every year on the night of Saint Nicholas Eve, the Krampus, now known as the Sinterklaas, would find Dean Winchester and attack.
It almost had him that year in Pensacola, when it had stuck bugs and coal in the boys' shoes in order to drive them shrieking out in to the open. And again three years ago in South Dakota, where it started utilizing the chimney as a stealth entrance. (Bobby had never quite forgiven John for crashing at his place when they knew they were going to be attacked. Chased him off with threats of an ass full of buckshot for it, in fact). And this year, it had every intention of getting him. It opened the flue of the chimney in the old, remote cabin the boys were hiding out in. It carefully avoided the booby trapped stockings. It didn't fall for the cookies and holy-water-laced milk. And it completely ignored the dead conifer shoved in the corner, covered with shiny things (little known fact, but Krampuses, like ferrets and magpies, love shiny things). It could practically smell its prey. He stank even heavier of naughtiness than ever before.
Yes, Dean had been exceedingly naughty this year. Making deals with demons and eating bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast. Truly, this would be the Sinterklaas' year.
"Hey fat man!"
It spun. Dean was behind it! But how?! It could smell him all over the couch, where his brother sat! Where Dean himself had sat most of the night, before getting up to get a turkey sandwich.
Dean shot it in the face.
The Sinterklaas screamed, clawing at its sole remaining eye, and fled back to the chimney, shooting upwards and out into the night, banished again for another year.
Dean sighed happily and aimed the shot gun at the ceiling, turning a bright grin on his brother who still sat on the couch.
"Dude, screw finding out how to get rid of that thing for good. That's the most fun I've had all year."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Whatever man. I'm going to be picking salt out of my socks for weeks. Again."
"Spoil sport." Dean vaulted over the back of the couch and took a large bite of his sandwich. "So. Whadda you want for Christmas?"
The End
Further author's notes: This story very nearly came with hyperlinks and/or footnotes, but I decided those would be distracting while one was trying to read it. For your edification:
Christmas in the Netherlands
Sinterklaas
Companions of St. Nicholas (including Krampus, Zwarte Piet, and the wielders of the Virgács)
Saint Cawrdaf
Day of the Ninja
Vera-Ellen
Sugar plums