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First Carol: Gingerbread
Dean woke up with the smell of gingerbread in his nostrils.
Gingerbread?
Before he even opened his eyes, his hand was going under the pillow, looking for the knife he keeps there, then he sat up, detecting that something was very wrong.
The knife wasn't there, but the situation was worse. "What the fuck -"
Dean wasn't in the smelly bed in an anonymous motel, instead, he was in a room with creamy coloured walls, laying on a maple bed and wrapped up in an unbelievably soft blanket. A crackling fire was the only noise and, honest to God, there was a real fireplace made of stone in front of the bed, stacked with candles and all sorts of Christmas decorations.
The door opened and a man entered the room, beaming. He was young, taller than Dean, a handsome face framed with golden locks. He had eyes blue as the sky and a dazzling smile. "You're awake."
"Where the fuck am I?" The pain on the shoulder and leg was unbearable, but he tried to get up to defend himself.
"Stay down or you'll hurt yourself more." The man looked worried when Dean couldn't hold a pained grimace.
"Fuck you. If you have done something to my Dad, I-"
He sat on the bed. He was so close, Dean could smell delicious gingerbread and cinnamon perfume from him. Why did everything smell like fucking gingerbread? Was he in a fucking cooking factory?
"Your father is unharmed."
"Where is he?"
"I believe at some motel in Baltimora."
Dean was on the verge of grabbing the reindeer shaped lamp on the bedside and smashing it on the stranger's head. If it wasn't for the growing pain on the shoulder, he would have. For some reason, he couldn't really move. He felt sleepy, too groggy to be at such state from just the painkillers.
"You drugged me and kidnapped me."
"I did," he admitted earnestly. "Fear not, Dean Winchester, I won't hurt you."
"You fucking ba-"
"Rest, human. I'll take care of you."
Dean started to protest again, but the man pressed a finger on his lips and for a brief moment the pain and the loneliness Dean tried to suppress ever since Sam left for Stanford surfaced again; how weak and small Dad made him feel, how forgettable and disposable Sam always thought he was. Loathing and disappointment spread into his chest and Dean almost suffocated in it.
"Dean Winchester."
Dean tried to not show his weakness, but his voice came out tired. "What are you?"
"Nikolaus. But you may know me under another name. Santa Claus."
Second Carol: Naughty List
Dean was in a fucking log house in the middle of Santa Claus' village.
Christmas lights were lighted all around, from the log house to the elves' small cabins, to the big, tall building that served as toy factory on the way to the reindeer stables and up to the biggest Christmas tree Dean had ever seen, standing tall in the main plaza.
It was snowing every single day, although the temperature was a lot warmer than expected. Flocks of real elves were running constantly around, like bees, often chasing after Dean and offering candy canes and all sorts of sweets.
Dean was in a fucking Christmas commercial. Only, this was real and there was nothing “nice” in being kidnapped by Santa Claus, who was nothing like the benevolent chubby old man. He was a lesser pagan god who retained powers thanks to the kids still believing in him.
Unable to find information on how to kill him or locate a weapon for all that matter, Dean was stuck there with no means to communicate outside.
From what he gathered, he must be somewhere in Finland, in a place created by Santa's magic, untraceable and protected with an ancient mystical barrier. No one could go in and out, only Santa could. Why he decided to go to America and take Dean was still a mystery...
So, there he was. Dean had been trapped in a Hallmark Christmas card for two weeks, powerless and still injured, with no weapons or information. Fucking great.
Dad didn't come. Dean wasn't even sure Dad noticed his absence, or if he cared. Since Sam's departure, their relationship was strained and sometimes Dean could see mistrust and disappointment in his father's eyes.
Dean's wounds were slowly healing. There was a female elf called Sugarplum who tended to him like a nurse, singing Christmas carols and feeding him with tons of delicious cookies. No wonder the air smelled like fresh baked cookies all the time.
Then, there was Nikolaus. He was hovering over him constantly, even if Dean refused to acknowledge him when they were in the same room, ignoring Dean’s insults by just smiling with a twinkle in his eyes.
There was virtually nothing Dean was refused inside the village, except, of course, leaving. After a whole week of forced resting, Nikolaus gave him permission to leave the log house and explore, always accompanied by Sugarplum.
"I know you won't leave", the fucker had the nerve to tell him, "but you could get some help."
He fiercely resisted the idea of accepting help from someone who kidnapped him him and was a supernatural creature, but in some ways, Dean felt he was giving up, by not trying again and again to find a way out of the absurd situation. Nikolaus was not helping, always so perky and flirtatious, behaving like they shared a bond when, instead, it was the opposite.
Thinking back to their old Christmases, Dean had fuzzy memories of crappy motel rooms, Sam’s constant annoyed glare and the fear that something happened to Dad. If they had Christmas traditions with Mom, Dean didn’t remember. It was a first to actually sit and look at the decorations. It was weird and annoying too, because there was a limit to the Christmas experience, but Dean was feeling a progressive sense of wonder, which was highly suspicious considering that one day he woke up feeling so damn cheerful.
He wondered if it had something to do with Nikolaus’ magic.
When Nikolaus kidnapped him, Dad had left him in a motel after Dean got hurt during a hunt. He threw him some pain pills and ordered him not to strain himself, then took off who knew where.
Dean was worried to death. He called and called until Dad switched the phone off. At least, he was alive. Dean was well aware how little his father thought of him and his hunting skills, but being left there, like he was nothing more than a burden, really hurt him.
Added to that, how useless he felt towards Sam, when the brother he practically raised dismissed him so easily. The combination made Dean felt disgusted with himself and his weakness.
He remembered that the night of the kidnapping. Dean was feeling particularly angry and awful, the wounds were not healing, no one had ever tried to contact him, and he was toying with the idea of calling Bobby to come and get him, just to have someone around to not feel so useless. His final resolution was to stay still and be a good soldier. He would get better, rejoin Dad, forget about Sam, and get on with his life.
Then Santa came to town. Fuck.
Dean was afraid to admit that no one would come for him. He was neither a good brother nor a good hunter, just a sad idiot. Both Dad and Sam would be better without him.
"Pathetic," he exhales. The raw need of acknowledgement and support in his voice made him feel even worse. "Fucking pathetic."
"That's why I took you," Nikolaus had told him the same day he got him there, honest and wistful. The gingerbread smell was intoxicating, powerful and sweet, so sweet that Dean could feel a soothing, sugary taste on his lips. Nikolaus was close, almost touching. "You need someone looking after you. I know the hearts of people, Dean, I can see yours. Let me."
Third act: Believe
Dean was either losing his mind or Nikolaus was using mind tricks.
Time passed, Christmas Day was approaching, wounds healed, and Dean stopped thinking of escaping. He kinda stop thinking there was a world out of Christmas Town. A lazy day after the other, Dean was getting used to this life.
They groped the first time during a snowstorm. It was freezing cold outside, ice crystals were forming irregular veins all along the windows, and wind was shaking the branches of the Christmas tree outside so hard that decorations were falling off and smashing on the ground.
Dean couldn’t tell if it was the spiked eggnog, but he found himself on top of Nikolaus, kissing the life out of him while still calling him a fucking bastard. They were rubbing against each other on the carpet just in front of the fireplace and a thought came up from the back of Dean’s mind, asking why he was sucking face with Nikolaus when he was a pagan god who kidnapped, for fuck’s sake.
That rational thought slipped away when the smell of gingerbread became so intoxicating and he couldn’t have enough of that skin, that mouth, that hand stroking his erection.
"I waited, Dean," said Nikolaus in a hushed tone. His eyes were bluer than the sky, his mouth a continuous temptation. "I know what you want. Just say it."
"Shut up, you bastard."
"I know what you’re feeling. I know what you want. I am Santa Claus, I am the one who reads through hearts, award the nice and punish the naughty. I see you, Dean Winchester. I see your past and present. I’m the only one who knows you so well. Now tell me," Nikolaus moved slightly away and Dean let out a disapproving groan. "Tell me, human."
Dean gathered the last remains of his self-control. Santa's was a pagan deity, strong enough to keep a village of supernatural creatures alive. When dead, Dean would be free. But what then? There wasn't something out there for him. His whole world, his family, was lost. He didn't really want to come back to the real world.
On the other side of the wall of his insecurities, lay the sweetest temptation. Nikolaus pressed a finger on his forehead and a stream of painful memories hit him; Mom’s kisses, home burning, Dad’s absence, Sam’s silence. No one was there for him.
But now, now there was someone offering a hand to save him from his loneliness and darkest thoughts. He could lean on Santa. A voice in his head warned him that no, he shouldn’t. Nikolaus was a pagan god, he was manipulating him, for sure. Dean was stronger than this.
The finger pressed further on his forehead and Dean could see also a proud smile forming on Santa’s lips. “You’re a good boy, Dean. I know.”
A sparkle of happiness surged from his chest. Dean gave up. He could lean on Nikolaus.
The taste of cinnamon was on his lips when Nikolaus pressed a kiss on them, soft and sweet. He could be wrong, but Dean believed in him.
"Fuck me," he managed to say.
Nikolaus smiled, kissing him again, and Dean was almost sure they never stopped kissing until the snow storm quieted down and they fell asleep, naked and sated, one on the top of the other.
"You're mine, human, I'll protect you," were Nikolaus' last words before Dean succumbed to sleep.
The bastard kept to his word. From that day, he was always there, invading Dean's personal space with a knowing kiss, his intoxicating gingerbread smell, and his tempting promises. Dean gave him every time. He stopped waiting for his family, he began looking at the Christmas Town not with the eyes of a cynic hunter, but with the eyes full of wonder - of a kid who never enjoyed festivities, of a boy who never indulged in normality, of a man who could still believe there were rays of light shining on his life.
Dean couldn't tell if he was losing his mind. He could only smile when Santa Claus pecked his lips and got on his sleigh, ready for travelling around the world on Christmas Eve. He would come back home, to him.
Dean believed.