mclachland | Xmas Fic, Day 1: Santa Claus is coming to town

My goal: To write one ficlet per day until Christmas (December 25th) based on some of my favorite Xmas songs. Let's see if I can do it.

Santa Claus is coming to town, by Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band
Dean, Castiel, Sam, implied Dean/Castiel
1810 words

Santa Claus is coming to town

Years ago, Sam told him that -- according to Dante -- there are nine levels of Hell, all corresponding to certain sins. He doesn't remember much of Hell, except for what his nightmares dredge up, let alone what the layout of the place was. It's doubtful that Hell's even that organized; it's most likely layer upon layer upon layer of torture, just endless bloodshed and screaming.

But if there are levels to Hell, there are ten. All the ones that Dante guy had named, plus Walmart.

"There's not enough salt in the world," Dean murmurs, horrified as four kids go winging by, knocking over a display of candy canes. One of the older boys pushes down the youngest and darts away with his brothers, laughing. The kid on the floor bursts into tears and starts slamming his fists into the fallen boxes. "Oh god, someone please tie my tubes."

Beside him, Cas squints down at the little boy. If he had facial expressions like a normal person, something other than 'blank' and 'pissed off at Dean for being stupid/contrary/difficult/an asshole', then there'd probably be disgust or annoyance there. But, no. It's just 'blank, with a hint of 'pissed off at Dean for not shouting at the kid to shut up'. "Children are shrill. Why are they so loud? Where is this boy's mother?"

"Unless you're going to smite her for being a shitty parent, who cares?" Except Dean can't just leave the brat on the floor. This place is probably crawling with pedophiles. And he kind of looks like Sam did at that age.

Fuck. He prays to whoever's listening that no one screams "PEDO" when he drags the kid over to customer service. That's the last thing he really needs right now.

He's saved by the kid's mother pushing her way out of the clothes section, her three other hellions in tow. She grabs the boy by the arm, pulls him to his feet, and snarls for the older brother to apologize. The older boy pussyfoots around it and only says sorry when his mother cuffs him around the head. When she turns her back, the older brother sneers and sticks his tongue out at the boy. How she hasn't killed and buried them somewhere in the woods is a mystery. With kids like that, no jury would convict her.

"Come on, Cas," Dean says, watching the family walk toward the check-out booths. "Let's go find Sam. Twenty bucks says he's in the makeup aisle -- Cas?"

Cas, naturally, isn't paying attention, too busy staring down the huge cardboard cutout of Santa Claus standing in front of the New Releases display. He slowly leaves Dean's side to approach it, each step deliberate and cautious, like he's afraid it's going to come alive, cut its wrist, and draw a banishing sigil in its blood. Dean's seen Cas in a fight; there's nothing hesitant about the way he ganks demons or does his two-finger whammy on Dean's poor, unsuspecting forehead, so seeing him like this is… weird. And hilarious, but mostly weird. Because it's Santa.

"Hey, sorry! I was just -- " Sam stops short and stands silently next to Dean, watching Cas. "Um, dude? What the hell?"

"Shh," Dean hisses, nudging him with a warning elbow. "It's like a Discovery Channel special."

Sam makes a noise in his throat. "… Except it's a special about an angel about to go all Wrath of Heaven on a cardboard Santa in a Nebraska Walmart."

Well, when it's put like that.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean really hopes Cas doesn't set the thing on fire with his mind. They still need to hunt in this town. Burning shit in a Walmart might be cause for dogs and pitchforks.

Cas cocks his head and peers up, taking in the rosy cheeks, the well-kept snow-white beard, the red suit and the sack of toys thrown over a broad shoulder. "I have seen this man before. There are monuments to him in front of many of the houses we passed. Many cultures use certain images to ward away spirits; is he one of them?"

This is going down in history as the best Walmart trip ever. Oh god, he won't be able to look at Santa again without cracking up. "Yep, exactly. He flies around at night in a magic chariot, destroying the evil Ebenezer Scrooge and his ghost slave, Marley. So, you'd better watch out, you'd better not cry, you'd better not pout; I'm telling you why."

"Why?" Cas asks, head tilting.

"Dean, do you even hear yourself when you talk?" Sam gives him a 'can I buy some pot from you?' look. "It's a… Santa's not real, but he's the most famous representation of Christmas."

Cas slowly turns to look at Sam. "This… This Santa represents Christmas?"

"Uh, yeah. It's something you tell kids. If you're good all year, Santa brings you presents at Christmas. If you're bad, you get coal. He rides in a sleigh pulled by eight, uh, nine reindeer and delivers gifts all over the world on Christmas Eve. There are a lot of different names for him depending on the country, but he's pretty much Santa to everyone."

Dean's never been good with words, but he's really trying hard to categorize the expression on Cas's face. It's a new one, something to add to the list. There's a lot of 'abject horror' there with a hint of 'not sure if saving Humanity is even worth it', maybe a few 'oh, you humans are adorable' sprinkles. Mostly horror, though. It's awesome.

"I was under the impression that Christmas was the celebration of Jesus Christ, the Lord Your God," Cas hisses, cutting the cardboard Santa a vicious glare, as if Santa had Rudolph run Jesus down in the street one night.

Sam blinks and hedges, "Uh, but I thought Jesus wasn't actually born on the 25th. Didn't it used to be a pagan holiday? Wait, Jesus was real?"

"It matters not," Cas says, like he can't believe that even Sam could be this dumb. "It is called Christmas. Christ's Mass. Who is this Santa to take away from such celebration of my Father?"

Dean really needs to videotape this and put it up on YouTube. "Dude, Santa's just the commercial part of it. He brings presents to all the kids all over the world."

"Even the children of different religions?"

"Huh. I forgot about that," Dean says, scratching the back of his neck. The skin there is dry. He'll steal some of Sam's girly lotion when no one's around, maybe cut back on the hot showers for a bit. "But, dude, isn't that, like, what Jesus was all about? Good will and shit?"

"This man breaks into people's houses, Dean, and disrespects the beliefs of others by enforcing another religion's holiday upon them! And punishes children by giving them burnt rocks!"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Dude, remember that time we told you he wasn't even real? Because I do. Stop getting so worked up. You've seen plenty of Nativity scenes at the same houses with the Santas. Can't we all just get along? I thought all the religions here got it wrong anyway!"

"The religions are wrong; the core beliefs are not. But imagine for a moment that your father created the world in all its splendor, and once a year people put aside a day to celebrate such a feat. Then all those thankful for their lives turned to an obese man in red who steals into houses, lashes caribou together, and passes judgment upon children. How would you react?"

Somehow Dean's the asshole now. How does Cas manage to do that?

Sam holds up a box of baubles, red and silver glittery ornaments for Bobby's Charlie Brown tree, and tries to diffuse the situation before Cas smites them all. "If it makes you feel any better, the origin of Santa was Sinterklaas."

Cas pauses. "Nikolaos of Myra. I remember him. Under the cover of night, he would leave coins for those in need."

"Yeah," Sam says quickly. "Uh, Santa Claus is modeled after Saint Nicholas. Hell, some people call him Saint Nick."

"Because of the gifts."

"And the beard, but yeah, the gifts." Sam shrugs. "Dude, you can't even count Christmas as a real religious holiday anymore; it's all consumerism and who has the best yard display and eating and drinking in excess. Believe me, the people who actually celebrate it for Jesus are few and far between, but that doesn't mean that people take Jesus Christ for granted during Christmas."

Which is such a lie, because Dean's seen more people in bars on Christmas day than hanging around churches.

"Easter's the holiday that's really big," Dean says, then shrugs. "Although I don't know where the rabbit and the chocolate eggs came from." At Castiel's crazy-eyed look, he adds, "but I'm sure it ties in somehow! It's fine. It's good."

Slowly the tension bleeds from Cas's shoulders until he can look at the cardboard cutout without anger. Cas tilts his head and studies him closely, now curious and thoughtful. He lifts a finger and traces the fur trim of Santa's coat, the mitten raised in a jolly wave. "This Santa… He's… happy."

"Jolly," Sam interjects. "He's jolly."

"This is the face of love and community," Cas murmurs, far away from them now, a million miles away. "He's everywhere."

Dean snorts. "Yeah, usually starting around August these days. Can't go anywhere without Santa poking his big, fat ass into things."

"Shut up, Dean," Cas says quietly. He steps back from Santa and stares at nothing, past Santa, contemplative. "The presence of God is gone."

"No, Cas --"

Cas shakes his head, blinking, turning to them -- to Dean -- with a curious half-smile. "The presence of God is gone, and yet you still thrive. No matter how far you fall, you persevere. You survive. You will survive; we will win this."

He can't hear much over the pounding of his heart, the roar of blood in his ears, and god, his eyes are stinging just a little bit. He's standing in the front of a Walmart in Nebraska, next to a cardboard cutout of Santa Claus, and the angel that pulled him out of Hell is telling him that he believes in them. In Dean.

For one moment, he wants to reach out and trace the bow of Cas's lip the way Cas had the mitten of the Santa cutout, to feel the conviction of that faith, brighter than any Christmas ornament or string of lights, sweeter than any candy cane.

"Cas…"

Of course Sam chooses that moment to say brightly, "Awww, Cas, I bet you're on Santa's nice list this year."

He has no family. Jesus H. Christ.

Cas gives that little half-smile again. "Perhaps we all are this year."