SPN FIC - Deck the Halls
Happy birthday,
blucasbabe ! Have some Sammy!Christmas, 2004. (And never fear, the big Sam and Connie date will be coming soon.)
Characters: Sam and Jess, and OCs (the Baker's Dozen)
Pairings: Sam/Jess (just romance, no sex)
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Length: 1513 words
Disclaimer: Kripke owns it all.
Deck the Halls
By Carol Davis
“Oh my God,” Jess sputters as the door is yanked open from inside. “You’re awful! Sam. You’re awful.”
It’s Yukiko who’s pulled the door open. She stands there, just inside the threshold, hand on the doorknob, looking at them with a smirk of amusement. Then she moves aside, still holding the door, and lets them come in.
As Sam passes her, she pats him gently on the backside. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she says. “I’ve got some DVDs you can watch that’ll bring you right up to snuff.”
Sam immediately turns crimson, and giggles and guffaws spring up around the room.
“Thanks,” he mutters to Jess.
“You started it,” she says archly as she slips out of her coat and passes it to Yukiko. The sight of her, tall and curvy and blonde, draped in a dress almost the same color as Sam’s blush, creates some hoots of appreciation, and not just from the guys. Grinning, she spins around, displaying both the dress itself and the way the skirt twirls around her legs. “Do you know what he said to me?” she demands. “I mean, really, Sam.”
“It’s the truth,” Sam protests.
“We’ll back you up, bro,” Stash announces. “Don’t know what the hell it was you said, but we’re behind you a hundred percent.”
“He said, and I quote,” Jess says, arching an eyebrow at Sam, “that mistletoe and holly are ‘flypaper for fairies.’”
“Who what now?” Zach asks.
“And that fairies are evil.”
“I didn’t say that,” Sam says as he shrugs out of his jacket. “But the whole Tinkerbell thing is revisionist. People used to be afraid of fairies - thought they kidnapped babies, soured the milk, blighted crops. Caused people to go insane. Fairies weren’t something you wanted in your house - the bad ones, anyway.”
Dawn giggles over the lip of her cup of eggnog. “So there were good fairies too.”
“Unless you crossed them.”
Jess groans loudly and drops down on the couch, tucked snugly in between Dawn and Becky. She’s already started scanning the apartment for holly and mistletoe and doesn’t have to do much searching to find it. There’s mistletoe hanging in the doorway leading back to the bedroom, and over the threshold between the living room and the kitchenette. When Dawn and Becky lean in and rest their heads on her shoulders in solidarity, she looks smugly over at Sam. Then she lifts her hands and claps.
“What -?” Sam asks.
“I believe in fairies. Good fairies. You, Sam Winchester, are terrible.”
“Terrible,” Becky echoes.
Dawn challenges him, “I bet you don’t even believe in Santa Claus.” When Sam gives her a look, she cackles. “No presents for you, ancient-lore-boy. Especially not from the Fairy Princess.” Glancing at Jess makes her cackle again - but she’s had enough eggnog to cackle at pretty much anything.
The couch is full, and the chairs are all taken, so Sam finds himself a spot on the floor close to the Christmas tree. It’s a mammoth thing - how Kevin and Yukiko got it up the stairs and through the door is a mystery. They’ve got it decorated with white twinkle lights, silver ornaments and silver garland, with an elaborate silver star on top. Sam’s a little too close to it to get the full effect, but it really is beautiful.
Not as beautiful as the Fairy Princess, though.
Somebody’s passed her a cup of eggnog and she sips at it contentedly, done busting his chops for the moment. When she sees him watching her she smiles, and her eyes twinkle like the lights on the tree. It’s still a marvel to him, after all these months, that she wants anything to do with him, let alone live with him.
That’s never happened to him before: that anyone but Dean would want to live with him.
Double-D taps his shoulder with a cold bottle of beer and Sam nods and smiles as he accepts it, then raises it in a toast to his friends.
“So…the whole kissing under the mistletoe thing,” Zach says. “That’s bogus?”
Sam sips his beer and shakes his head. “Goes back to the ancient Romans. Mistletoe’s a fertility symbol.”
“Uh-oh,” Kara laughs.
“Also good for warding off lightning.”
That creates some chuckles.
“Translated from the Anglo-Saxon?” Sam says. “’Mistletoe’ means ‘dung on a twig.’”
“Ewww, Sam,” Becky moans.
Kevin drops a Christmas mix CD into the player. There’s a lot of singing along with Alvin and the Chipmunks, almost as much with Elvis. Luis arrives with Gina and Cass while José Feliciano is singing “Feliz Navidad,” which makes Luis howl in dismay and find refuge in the bedroom with Cass. He refuses to come out until Yukiko lures him with eggnog and a plate of snowman-shaped cookies.
The baker’s dozen is all here now, jammed into Kevin and Yukiko’s living room. They laugh and talk, sing badly, sing sweetly, pass small gifts back and forth. After a while Becky gives up her place on the couch and Sam squeezes in beside Jess. They’re squashed in too tightly for either of them to get an arm around the other, so they settle for holding hands, their fingers twined together. Her hands aren’t tiny; they’re sturdy, for a girl, but they’re so unlike his that he stares at her fingers as if he’s never seen anything like them before.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, sure.”
“You look like you’re a million miles away.”
“No. I’m here.”
“I’m glad.”
He’s never had anything like this before: never been part of a group of people who accept him so completely. He’s laughed at sometimes, mocked for the things he says, his choice of shirts, the size of his feet. Sometimes the humor lands wrong, or overshoots him completely, and he feels like walking away, like being by himself until he can recover his equilibrium. It’s hard, sometimes, for him to feel like they trust him, or he them.
After all, he’s told them nothing about who he really is. Where he came from, who his family is, what happened to his mother.
He’s told them nothing about what he knows.
It’s one thing to make them laugh with bits of lore about Christmas decorations, something else entirely to mention that ghosts are real, that demons exist, that a banshee once almost drowned his father. That gremlins do break things, that exorcism is sometimes necessary.
That it took him a long time to bury the urge to lay salt lines at the doors and windows of the places he sleeps.
He wonders what they’d think if he told them the truth.
But not for long, because he knows what they’d think. They’d mock him. Smile, but it wouldn’t reach their eyes.
They’d start avoiding him.
She would start avoiding him.
And he can’t ever let that happen.
There’s another CD in the player when she wiggles up from the couch to use the bathroom. Sam gets up too, to stretch his legs, making Gina giggle at the way he towers over her. He smiles in return and threads his way to the hall that leads back to the bedroom. The little bit of space and cooler air there feels good, and he leans against the wall and closes his eyes for a minute.
Jess’s warmth makes him hum in contentment. She presses up against him and kisses him gently, twining her arms around his waist.
“You’re a goof,” she says.
“A goof?”
“You come up with the weirdest stuff.”
“All part of my charm.”
“I guess.”
She kisses him again, more seriously this time, and even without looking he figures out that there’s mistletoe hanging somewhere overhead.
“At least we won’t get hit by lightning,” he murmurs.
“Stop it.”
He loops his arms around her loosely and holds her, her head resting against his shoulder. “Love you,” he whispers.
“Me too. Goofball.”
There’s a song playing in the living room: “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Sam smiles at the lyrics - You’re the angel atop my tree, you’re my dream come true - and sways back and forth with Jess in his arms, the closest he ever comes to dancing unless she really prods him into it. There’s a little pile of gifts on the coffee table, little odds and ends his friends have bought or made for him, and back at the apartment he shares with Jess, there are more gifts, all lovingly wrapped and tied with bows. But it’s true: all he really wants is her. He wants her so much it seems impossible that she’s real, that this Christmas is so utterly different from last year.
He cried last Christmas, and he wants to now, but only a little. It would cloud his vision. Keep him from seeing her face.
“Sam?” she asks. She’s seen the way his expression has changed.
“I’m good,” he whispers. “It’s all good.”
Jess smiles up at him and cups his face between her hands. “I know, love,” she says. “I know.”
blucasbabe ! Have some Sammy!Christmas, 2004. (And never fear, the big Sam and Connie date will be coming soon.)
Characters: Sam and Jess, and OCs (the Baker's Dozen)
Pairings: Sam/Jess (just romance, no sex)
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Length: 1513 words
Disclaimer: Kripke owns it all.
Deck the Halls
By Carol Davis
“Oh my God,” Jess sputters as the door is yanked open from inside. “You’re awful! Sam. You’re awful.”
It’s Yukiko who’s pulled the door open. She stands there, just inside the threshold, hand on the doorknob, looking at them with a smirk of amusement. Then she moves aside, still holding the door, and lets them come in.
As Sam passes her, she pats him gently on the backside. “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she says. “I’ve got some DVDs you can watch that’ll bring you right up to snuff.”
Sam immediately turns crimson, and giggles and guffaws spring up around the room.
“Thanks,” he mutters to Jess.
“You started it,” she says archly as she slips out of her coat and passes it to Yukiko. The sight of her, tall and curvy and blonde, draped in a dress almost the same color as Sam’s blush, creates some hoots of appreciation, and not just from the guys. Grinning, she spins around, displaying both the dress itself and the way the skirt twirls around her legs. “Do you know what he said to me?” she demands. “I mean, really, Sam.”
“It’s the truth,” Sam protests.
“We’ll back you up, bro,” Stash announces. “Don’t know what the hell it was you said, but we’re behind you a hundred percent.”
“He said, and I quote,” Jess says, arching an eyebrow at Sam, “that mistletoe and holly are ‘flypaper for fairies.’”
“Who what now?” Zach asks.
“And that fairies are evil.”
“I didn’t say that,” Sam says as he shrugs out of his jacket. “But the whole Tinkerbell thing is revisionist. People used to be afraid of fairies - thought they kidnapped babies, soured the milk, blighted crops. Caused people to go insane. Fairies weren’t something you wanted in your house - the bad ones, anyway.”
Dawn giggles over the lip of her cup of eggnog. “So there were good fairies too.”
“Unless you crossed them.”
Jess groans loudly and drops down on the couch, tucked snugly in between Dawn and Becky. She’s already started scanning the apartment for holly and mistletoe and doesn’t have to do much searching to find it. There’s mistletoe hanging in the doorway leading back to the bedroom, and over the threshold between the living room and the kitchenette. When Dawn and Becky lean in and rest their heads on her shoulders in solidarity, she looks smugly over at Sam. Then she lifts her hands and claps.
“What -?” Sam asks.
“I believe in fairies. Good fairies. You, Sam Winchester, are terrible.”
“Terrible,” Becky echoes.
Dawn challenges him, “I bet you don’t even believe in Santa Claus.” When Sam gives her a look, she cackles. “No presents for you, ancient-lore-boy. Especially not from the Fairy Princess.” Glancing at Jess makes her cackle again - but she’s had enough eggnog to cackle at pretty much anything.
The couch is full, and the chairs are all taken, so Sam finds himself a spot on the floor close to the Christmas tree. It’s a mammoth thing - how Kevin and Yukiko got it up the stairs and through the door is a mystery. They’ve got it decorated with white twinkle lights, silver ornaments and silver garland, with an elaborate silver star on top. Sam’s a little too close to it to get the full effect, but it really is beautiful.
Not as beautiful as the Fairy Princess, though.
Somebody’s passed her a cup of eggnog and she sips at it contentedly, done busting his chops for the moment. When she sees him watching her she smiles, and her eyes twinkle like the lights on the tree. It’s still a marvel to him, after all these months, that she wants anything to do with him, let alone live with him.
That’s never happened to him before: that anyone but Dean would want to live with him.
Double-D taps his shoulder with a cold bottle of beer and Sam nods and smiles as he accepts it, then raises it in a toast to his friends.
“So…the whole kissing under the mistletoe thing,” Zach says. “That’s bogus?”
Sam sips his beer and shakes his head. “Goes back to the ancient Romans. Mistletoe’s a fertility symbol.”
“Uh-oh,” Kara laughs.
“Also good for warding off lightning.”
That creates some chuckles.
“Translated from the Anglo-Saxon?” Sam says. “’Mistletoe’ means ‘dung on a twig.’”
“Ewww, Sam,” Becky moans.
Kevin drops a Christmas mix CD into the player. There’s a lot of singing along with Alvin and the Chipmunks, almost as much with Elvis. Luis arrives with Gina and Cass while José Feliciano is singing “Feliz Navidad,” which makes Luis howl in dismay and find refuge in the bedroom with Cass. He refuses to come out until Yukiko lures him with eggnog and a plate of snowman-shaped cookies.
The baker’s dozen is all here now, jammed into Kevin and Yukiko’s living room. They laugh and talk, sing badly, sing sweetly, pass small gifts back and forth. After a while Becky gives up her place on the couch and Sam squeezes in beside Jess. They’re squashed in too tightly for either of them to get an arm around the other, so they settle for holding hands, their fingers twined together. Her hands aren’t tiny; they’re sturdy, for a girl, but they’re so unlike his that he stares at her fingers as if he’s never seen anything like them before.
“You okay?” she asks softly.
“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, sure.”
“You look like you’re a million miles away.”
“No. I’m here.”
“I’m glad.”
He’s never had anything like this before: never been part of a group of people who accept him so completely. He’s laughed at sometimes, mocked for the things he says, his choice of shirts, the size of his feet. Sometimes the humor lands wrong, or overshoots him completely, and he feels like walking away, like being by himself until he can recover his equilibrium. It’s hard, sometimes, for him to feel like they trust him, or he them.
After all, he’s told them nothing about who he really is. Where he came from, who his family is, what happened to his mother.
He’s told them nothing about what he knows.
It’s one thing to make them laugh with bits of lore about Christmas decorations, something else entirely to mention that ghosts are real, that demons exist, that a banshee once almost drowned his father. That gremlins do break things, that exorcism is sometimes necessary.
That it took him a long time to bury the urge to lay salt lines at the doors and windows of the places he sleeps.
He wonders what they’d think if he told them the truth.
But not for long, because he knows what they’d think. They’d mock him. Smile, but it wouldn’t reach their eyes.
They’d start avoiding him.
She would start avoiding him.
And he can’t ever let that happen.
There’s another CD in the player when she wiggles up from the couch to use the bathroom. Sam gets up too, to stretch his legs, making Gina giggle at the way he towers over her. He smiles in return and threads his way to the hall that leads back to the bedroom. The little bit of space and cooler air there feels good, and he leans against the wall and closes his eyes for a minute.
Jess’s warmth makes him hum in contentment. She presses up against him and kisses him gently, twining her arms around his waist.
“You’re a goof,” she says.
“A goof?”
“You come up with the weirdest stuff.”
“All part of my charm.”
“I guess.”
She kisses him again, more seriously this time, and even without looking he figures out that there’s mistletoe hanging somewhere overhead.
“At least we won’t get hit by lightning,” he murmurs.
“Stop it.”
He loops his arms around her loosely and holds her, her head resting against his shoulder. “Love you,” he whispers.
“Me too. Goofball.”
There’s a song playing in the living room: “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Sam smiles at the lyrics - You’re the angel atop my tree, you’re my dream come true - and sways back and forth with Jess in his arms, the closest he ever comes to dancing unless she really prods him into it. There’s a little pile of gifts on the coffee table, little odds and ends his friends have bought or made for him, and back at the apartment he shares with Jess, there are more gifts, all lovingly wrapped and tied with bows. But it’s true: all he really wants is her. He wants her so much it seems impossible that she’s real, that this Christmas is so utterly different from last year.
He cried last Christmas, and he wants to now, but only a little. It would cloud his vision. Keep him from seeing her face.
“Sam?” she asks. She’s seen the way his expression has changed.
“I’m good,” he whispers. “It’s all good.”
Jess smiles up at him and cups his face between her hands. “I know, love,” she says. “I know.”