ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ
"I don't see anything worth celebrating."
💫✦🌺

▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰▰

THE RICKETY ENGINE OF ARTURO'S TRUCK hummed steadily as it navigated the ice-slicked stretches of Route 30. The skeletal trees lining the road loomed in the dim glow of the headlights, their bare branches swaying gently in the frigid night air. In the passenger seat, eleven-year-old Venus was curled into a tight ball, soft snores rising and falling in time with the rhythm of the truck.

It had been the middle of the night when Arturo picked her up from Bobby's, where she'd been staying while Arturo took on a few hunts. He'd made a habit of leaning on Bobby for help when things got hectic, but Venus was his responsibility, and he never let himself forget it.

Arturo tapped a beat on the steering wheel, the muted percussion blending with the ranchera song crackling through the radio. The music was a comfort, a warm thread of familiarity to accompany the icy road that stretched endlessly ahead.

"Where are we going?" Venus' sleepy voice cut through the quiet, startling him slightly.

He glanced over to see her stirring, arms stretching out of her oversized sweatshirt like a cat waking from a nap.

"Broken Bow," he answered.

"Nebraska," Venus murmured, her brow furrowing as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

A small smile tugged at Arturo's lips. He'd been testing her on state geography for months now. "That's right. We're meeting John and the boys."

Venus sighed—a long, dramatic exhale that made her whole frame seem to sink deeper into her seat. She fumbled for her flower-shaped sunglasses, perched precariously on the dashboard, and pushed them up her nose with a huff.

Arturo chuckled softly, reaching out to tousle her unruly curls. "Why the sigh, chiquita?"

"I don't want to spend Christmas with John," she grumbled, the memory of last year's less-than-festive holiday sharp in her mind.

Arturo's smile faltered, and his fingers stilled on the wheel. "You won't be with John. It'll just be you and the boys."

Her head whipped toward him, eyes narrowing behind her sunglasses.

"We have a hunt," he admitted, his tone softer now.

"But it's Christmas," she protested, sitting up straighter in her seat.

"In four days," Arturo corrected gently. "We'll be back by then."

Venus crossed her arms and leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the window. Outside, the world was a blur of snow and shadow. "No, you won't," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

Arturo's chest tightened at the sadness in her tone. He took a steadying breath. "Venus," he sighed. "It's not like I haven't missed Christmas before."

"Yeah, and look what happened last time." Her words carried a sharpness that came from memory, not malice.

Arturo didn't need her to elaborate. He remembered last year all too well. It had started out decent enough, despite his absence—stuck on a hunt with Bobby three states away. Venus and the boys made do with John, watching movies, crafting marshmallow snowmen, and decorating a motel's potted plant in place of a tree. It was almost normal.

Until it wasn't.

While John stepped out to grab dinner, Venus had found one of his talismans. She played with it for what felt like hours. And, before she knew it, the expensive charm had snapped in her hands. Panic set in and she and Dean scrambled to fix it with glue, but John walked in before they could finish.

And Dean opened his mouth to take the blame before Venus could.

Arturo could still feel the weight of Venus' voice when she told him later about the beating John had unleashed on Dean that night. The nightmares that followed. The guilt that lingered in her small shoulders, no matter how much he tried to ease it.

"I'm sorry," Arturo said quietly. His fingers flexed on the wheel, but his eyes stayed fixed on the road. When she didn't respond, he added, "Look, if I don't make it back in time, I'll bring you a gift, okay?"

Venus turned her head, her sunglasses slipping slightly down her nose as she stared at him. "A good gift. Not just candy," she demanded, her voice firm.

Arturo's lips quirked into a small, reluctant smile. "Of course."

Satisfied, Venus grabbed the half-empty can of Pringles on the dashboard and started snacking.

"Cheer up, mija," Arturo coaxed gently. "You haven't seen the boys in almost a month, remember?"

Venus rolled her eyes behind her glasses. "I'm mad at Dean."

"Shocker," Arturo deadpanned, lacing his words with just enough sarcasm to pull a faint smirk from her. In five years, he could count on one hand the days when the two weren't bickering about something. "What did he do this time?"

Venus opened her mouth to answer but froze, her mind blanking. After a moment, she slumped back with a groan. "I don't remember..."

Arturo chuckled under his breath. "Then it wasn't worth being mad about." He shrugged casually. "Be nice to each other, alright? It's Christmas."

Venus turned to him with a toothy grin, her missing bottom tooth proudly on display. "I'll be nice...to Sam."

Venus shook the memory away with a sharp sigh, the cold December air biting her cheeks as she swung her leg off Freddy. Her bike's engine gave one final low rumble before silence settled. A faint smile ghosted her lips when she glanced back at the sleek, black machine. At Arturo's insistence, Freddy was back on the road with her—a decision she pretended to resent but secretly loved. It felt like a piece of her uncle was riding along with her, a tether to something steady amidst the chaos.

And maybe that was the only thing she was happy about right now.

Christmas loomed just days away, but any cheer the holiday might've carried had missed her entirely.

The hunt wasn't helping either.

Ypsilanti's so-called 'Santa's Village' was their latest stop—a rundown carnival that felt more depressing than festive. No snow graced the grounds, neither real nor fake, leaving kids to poke at soggy leaves and splintered logs with sticks. The workers, dressed in faded reindeer suits and moth-eaten elf costumes, looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.

Venus caught the eyes of one such worker—his reindeer head slightly askew—as he took a long, miserable swig from a flask hidden poorly behind a bale of hay. She gave a slight nod, almost in solidarity.

Dean's voice cut through the dreariness as they walked through the pitiful scene. "Kinda lends credence to the theory, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, but Anti-Claus?" Sam replied, his scoff breaking the stillness. "Couldn't be."

"It's a Christmas miracle," Dean quipped with a grin.

Venus stayed silent, eyeing a crooked sign they passed reading North Pole Adventure Trail. The whole place reeked of neglect, the faint smell of stale popcorn mingling with damp wood.

Dean's tone shifted when he turned toward them, his grin broadening. "Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year."

Sam raised a brow, glancing sideways. "Have one what?"

"A Christmas," Dean declared, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Venus' eyes fell to the gravel beneath her feet. Of course this would come up. She'd been hoping that they'd skip the holiday entirely this year. Pretend it was just another cold day in December and nothing more. She and Sam had already talked about it earlier that morning, both landing on the same page without much debate:

2007 wasn't a year worth celebrating.

Venus stole a glance at Sam, whose lips pressed into a thin line. His silence was all the agreement she needed.

"Yeah, no thanks," Sam eventually replied, his tone dry.

Dean pressed on, undeterred. "We probably won't make it to Artie's in time, so we can do it ourselves. We'll get a tree, some Boston Market—just like when we were little."

Sam shook his head, a faint scoff escaping. "Dean, those weren't exactly Hallmark memories for me."

Dean shot him a confused look before his gaze shifted to Venus. She hadn't said a word, and it wasn't like her to sit out of a conversation, especially one about Christmas. She walked beside them, head down, her expression unreadable, but the tension in her body visible.

"What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases," Dean insisted, his voice tinged with a defensive edge.

Sam stopped walking, turning to his brother with a pointed glare. "Whose childhood are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on—" Dean tried to push back.

"No," Sam interrupted sharply, his voice rising just enough to cut through the cold air. "Just...no."

Dean's face fell, and in an instant, the spark of enthusiasm in his eyes snuffed out. For a moment, he looked like he might argue, but instead, he scoffed and shook his head, his jaw tightening. "Alright, Grinch," he muttered, the words bitter. Without waiting for a response, he walked ahead of them, his shoulders tense under his coat.

Venus finally lifted her head, her gaze following him once he disappeared further into the village. She let out a soft sigh, her chest tight with an ache she didn't have the energy to dissect.

In her early teens, she had been the poster girl for Christmas. She used to buzz with excitement around this time of year, her love for the holiday infectious. She knew all the carols—English and Spanish—and would sing them nonstop until the boys practically begged her to quit. She'd even decorate Santa hats for each of them, scrawling their names onto the brims with glitter glue and embellishing them with buttons and trinkets.

Those days felt like a lifetime ago. Now, she couldn't even bother pretending to care.

Her eyes landed on the worker from earlier, one of the few dressed as a reindeer. He glanced around nervously before ducking into a corner, lifting his flask to his lips for another quick swig.

Venus tightened her jacket against the chill and marched toward him, her boots making purposeful strides on the uneven ground. She scanned her surroundings to ensure no one was watching before reaching out to tap the man's shoulder.

The worker flinched, startled, and spun around, quickly tucking the flask into a hidden pocket of his dingy costume. 

"Gimme the flask," Venus demanded, her tone leaving no room for argument.

"Excuse me?" he stammered, wide-eyed.

"Okay, let's try this again." She rolled her eyes, extending her hand with exaggerated patience. "Hand it over, or I'm telling your boss you're drinking on the job."

He fumbled with the flask, his movements clumsy as he reluctantly surrendered it. "Please don't," he mumbled. "My mom will kill me if I lose this job."

"Yeah, whatever," Venus said, barely sparing him a glance. She wiped the mouth of the flask clean with her sleeve and scanned her surroundings one last time before tilting her head back to down the contents in one swift gulp.

The bitter taste hit her instantly, and she grimaced, her nose wrinkling. "Was that beer?"

The worker's shoulders sagged, his face flushing with embarrassment. "Yeah..."

She stared at him, incredulous. "You put beer in a flask? What are you, a high schooler?"

His gulp was audible. "I...I am a high schooler."

"Jesus Christ," she muttered under her breath, shoving the empty flask back into his trembling hands. Spinning on her heel, she strode off toward Dean and Sam, who stood on the other side of the property.

She caught the tail end of their conversation once she approached.

"...what are we looking for again?" Dean asked, scratching his head.

Sam noticed her arrival and nodded toward the reindeer-suited worker, who was still staring at them with wide, guilty eyes. "Did you find anything over there?"

Venus scoffed, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "Yeah. An idiot."

Before either of them could question her further, she was already walking ahead. "To answer your question—" she glanced over her shoulder with a pointed look at Dean—"Anti-Claus supposedly limps and smells like sweets."

Dean and Sam followed closely behind her, their footsteps stirring up faint puffs of dust from the dry, uneven path.

"Why sweets?" Dean asked, his brow furrowing.

"Putting it simply? Candy equals children," Venus replied, her tone matter-of-fact.

Dean made a face. "That's creepy."

Sam managed a low chuckle, though his expression remained serious.

"How does this thing know who's been naughty and who's been nice?" Dean pressed.

Venus stopped abruptly, spinning to face him. "You're just full of questions today, aren't you?"

Dean blinked, caught off guard by her sudden annoyance. His mouth opened, a retort forming, but he scoffed instead. "We're working a case, Venus. Kinda important that we ask questions—"

"Ask less," she snapped. "Maybe use your brain or something, I don't know—"

Sam stepped in, resting a firm hand on her shoulder. "Alright," he said evenly, sending her a pointed look. Then, turning to Dean, he added, "We don't know."

An uneasy silence settled between them as they reached the so-called 'North Pole' of the village.

In front of them sat an old man dressed as Santa, pulling a young boy onto his lap. Venus took in the sight, her nose wrinkled in disgust.

The man's red suit and once-white beard were stained with various brown and yellow splotches, and his demeanor lacked any semblance of Christmas cheer.

"Santa's got a special gift for you," he said to the boy in a gravelly voice, his hand rubbing the child's shoulder in a way that made Venus' stomach turn.

"Maybe we do," Dean muttered, tilting his head to study the man.

Before they could move any closer, a woman dressed as an elf approached them with an overly cheerful grin. "Welcome to Santa's court!" she chirped, her bright eyes flicking between the three of them. "Can I escort your child to Santa?"

"No," Venus answered with a tight smile.

"But actually my brother here—" Dean stepped in from behind her, a sly grin spreading across his face. "It's been a lifelong dream of his."

Sam let out a long, weary sigh, already bracing for the inevitable.

The elf worker blinked at them, unsure whether Dean was joking. "Uh, sorry. No kids over twelve."

"No, he's just kidding," Sam cut in, shaking his head firmly. "We only came here to watch."

Venus groaned and immediately brought a hand to her face in a frustrated facepalm.

"Ew," the elf recoiled, her expression twisting into one of mild horror.

"I—I didn't mean it like that!" Sam stammered, throwing his hands up in exasperation before turning sharply on Dean. "Thanks a lot, Dean. Thanks for that."

Dean's laughter erupted, unapologetic and full-throated. But his amusement tapered off when his gaze shifted toward the Santa. "Hold up—check it out," he muttered, nodding toward the elderly man.

Venus and Sam followed his line of sight, catching the man limping away from his oversized chair and heading in their direction.

All three froze, their eyes locked on him while he passed by without so much as a glance.

"Are you seeing this?" Dean asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Sam shrugged, trying to rationalize. "A lot of people walk with limps, right?"

"Tell me you didn't smell that," Dean added, his tone adamant. "That was candy, guys."

Venus folded her arms, unconvinced. "That was Ripple and cigarettes. He probably has enough booze in him to power a distillery."

"Maybe," Dean conceded, locking eyes with her, his expression sharp and unyielding. "We willing to take that chance?"

-ˋˏ ]

[ˎˊ-

"What time is it?"

Sam let out a long sigh, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. "Same as the last time you asked," he replied quietly. His fingers fumbled for the thermos hidden in his jacket, a quiet sound of shifting fabric breaking the silence. "Here. Caffeinate."

Dean's lips parted in a yawn, the weariness clear in his face as he reached for the thermos, only to freeze once he opened it. His eyes narrowed in disbelief. "Wonderful," he muttered, the absence of coffee a silent betrayal in that moment.

"Shit, Venus must've drank the rest," Sam said, his gaze already shifting toward the backseat of the Impala.

Dean followed Sam's gaze, his eyes landing on Venus, curled beneath her jacket. Her hair was a tangled mess, fanning out across her face, and soft snores fell from her lips.

"Did she really?" Dean deadpanned, his voice mixing amusement with a hint of disbelief.

The brothers shared a look, a silent exchange of tired resignation. Sam sighed, turning his attention back to the trailer they were watching—the home to their alleged Anti-Claus.

After a beat of comfortable quiet, Dean broke it hesitantly. "Hey, Sam?"

Sam blinked slowly, pulling himself from the mental fog that had settled over him. "Yeah?"

"Why are you the boy that hates Christmas?" Dean asked, trying to keep the lightness in his voice, but there was something behind the question, something softer, buried beneath the usual teasing tone.

Sam exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat. "Dean..."

"I mean, I admit it—we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids," Dean continued, almost defensively, trying to justify his own complex relationship with the holiday.

"Bumpy?" Sam scoffed, his eyes rolling.

Dean's smile faded, and for a brief moment, the years of shared memories, the mess they'd grown up in, seemed to settle between them like a weight neither of them wanted to acknowledge. "But that was then. We'll do it right this year," Dean said, though the words held more hope than certainty.

Sam looked at his brother, eyes heavy with fatigue and unspoken thoughts. "Look, Dean, if you want to have Christmas, knock yourself out," he said, his words calm but carrying a layer of distance. "Just don't involve me."

Dean's gaze lingered on him for a beat longer than necessary, the silence thickening by the second. He didn't respond at first. Instead, he turned away, his jaw tightening, shoulders tense. "What about her?"

"If you wanna know how she feels about it, ask her yourself," Sam replied, his tone flat, resigned. He didn't hesitate, but the words carried an edge of something else—something that Dean didn't want to face.

Dean shot him a look, but Sam didn't flinch. "Come on."

Sam let out a sigh, glancing at the backseat. Venus, still curled up beneath her coat, had barely moved since they parked. "Y'know," Sam muttered, "this is probably the longest she's slept in a month."

Dean shifted in his seat, his brow furrowing. He glanced at Venus through the rearview mirror. Concern flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by a hint of guilt. "She's still doing all that research?"

Sam's face darkened, a deeper kind of worry settling in. "No. She's been having nightmares again. For more than a month now."

Dean's eyes slammed shut, a deep, frustrated breath escaping him. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, the weight of Sam's words pressing down hard. Nightmares were something Venus hadn't dealt with in a long time—not since Jess. And even those had tapered off after a while.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, the tension in his body betraying the calm he was trying to project. The flickering light from the dashboard reflected off his tired eyes as he recalled the past few nights. "Yeah, but these aren't like the others. It's not just waking up scared. She wakes up confused. Like she's not sure what's real."

Dean's face hardened with concern, but his voice remained controlled, carefully concealing his own fear. "What do you mean?"

Sam paused, searching for the right words. "She says it's...too bright sometimes. She can't even figure out what she's seeing—like there's too much light to focus on anything. And other times she can make out something, so she tries to write it down or draw it...but the stuff she writes? It's in a different language."

Dean raised an eyebrow, the skepticism clear in his tone. "Like Spanish or Latin, right?"

Sam shook his head. "No. I mean something she's never heard of before. A language we can't find anywhere. I've searched for it. And then there are nights when she doesn't see anything, but she just hears...static. And whispering."

Dean repeated the words slowly, almost as if the idea of them didn't quite make sense. "Static...and whispering?"

"I know," Sam nodded, the worry in his eyes reflecting the same confusion. "It's like... something's trying to get through, but she can't figure it out. And the weird thing is—sometimes she says it's like...she's hearing it from everywhere. Not just one place, but all around her."

Dean's eyes drifted to Venus in the backseat. She was still sleeping, unaware of the turmoil around her, but somewhere, deep down, Dean knew she wasn't as safe as she seemed. The fact was, that whatever was happening to her was something deeper than either of them could understand, and the thought of losing her, of losing the chance to even try to fix it, made his chest tighten. "What the hell's going on with her?"

Before Sam could answer, the silhouette of Santa appeared at his trailer window, peering out suspiciously. Then, just as quickly, he jerked the curtains closed, the movement too quick, too cautious.

Dean cocked his head. "And what's up with Saint Nicotine?" 

Seconds later, high-pitched scream of a woman shattered the stillness of the night.

In an instant, both brothers lunged for their guns, the sound of Impala doors swinging open a second before their feet hit the ground.

"Wait," Sam called out, pointing to the backseat. "Venus?"

"Let her sleep," Dean said, checking the chamber of his gun with quick, practiced fingers.

Sam sighed, sliding out of the car. "She's gonna be pissed."

Dean gave a humorless scoff, his lips curling into a grim smile. "At this point, I think I can live with that."

The doors slammed shut with a solid thud and they darted toward the trailer.

But the sound of the doors clicking into place was enough to snap Venus awake.

"Ugh..." she groaned groggily, rubbing her eyes. Venus sat up slowly, squinting through the windshield to see the brothers jogging to the trailer. "Those idiots," she muttered, her annoyance clear even through the haze of exhaustion. Grabbing her gun, she threw open the door with a swift motion.

"...just that, uh, Mr. Gung Ho Christmas might have to blow away Santa," Sam murmured under his breath, glancing at Dean with an amused but wary look.

Dean turned to fire back a response, but the sight of Venus storming toward them stopped him cold. "Shit, incoming," he hissed, eyes widening slightly.

"You're damn right 'incoming'," Venus snapped, her voice cutting through the night air. Her Beretta was already racked, and her stride was steady, unflinching, ready for whatever came next.

"We wanted to let you sleep," Sam tried, his words cautious.

Venus' eyes narrowed and flicked to him. "Don't do that again."

Her tone hit cold and cutting, leaving no room for debate. Both brothers swallowed hard.

Without another word, Venus brushed past Dean, the trailer door slamming open with a force that rattled the walls and made the hinges groan in protest.

They rushed in with guns drawn, every muscle primed for danger.

But instead of facing a bloodthirsty creature, they found their 'Anti-Claus' lounging on an old, filthy couch, his eyes fixed on a flickering TV. A large green bong dangled lazily from one hand, and a nearly empty bottle of Bushmills Irish whiskey was cradled in the other. He blinked, sluggish, and then staggered to his feet, squinting at the intruders through a haze of alcohol and smoke. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" the man slurred, his voice thick with confusion and a touch of aggression.

Instinctively, the hunters tucked their guns behind their backs, their eyes scanning the cramped, messy trailer, trying to piece together the scene before them.

The TV blared a flashy holiday porno, where a barely dressed woman purred to a man in a Santa suit, "I'll let you jingle my bells," her voice dripping with an almost painful amount of innuendo.

Venus held back a gag at the sharp stench of whiskey and stale air that hit them in waves from every corner of the mobile home. The boys flanked her, exchanging a look of disbelief.

"Uh," Sam started, but the words faltered in his throat, caught somewhere between the absurdity of the scene and his instincts as a hunter.

Venus exhaled softly, a long, resigned breath before tucking her gun into the waistband of her jeans. Her lips curled into an exaggerated grin. "Dashing through the snow," she sang, casting a sidelong glance at the boys to follow her lead.

Dean, blinking in confusion, immediately picked up the cue and then boldly joined in. "In a...one-horse open sleigh..." He was totally off-key, but the unflinching effort was there.

Sam stared at them, incredulous, his brows knit in disbelief. "On the fields we go—"

"It's O'er," Venus corrected under her breath.

The old man, seemingly unbothered by the intrusion, settled back in his chair, still grinning. He swayed slightly, picking up the tune. "Laughing all the way!"

Venus shot Dean a pointed look, then jabbed her finger at him.

Dean blinked, his mouth hanging open, a beat of confusion lingering between them.

"Laugh!" Venus growled, her voice a sharp whisper, eyes narrowing.

Dean, still caught off guard, hesitated. "Ha! Ha! Ha?"

Venus exhaled harshly, an exaggerated smile back on her face as she turned to Sam and nudged him toward the door. "We still need some practice. Enjoy your night, sir!" She gave the man a stiff wave.

Dean, still half-distracted by the chaos, murmured under his breath, "Jingle bells, jingle be—"

Venus quickly reached back inside, grabbing Dean's wrist, and yanked him out the door, dragging him along before he could finish the line.

"Are you serious?" she turned, scolding them both on the walk back to the car. "Jingle Bells is literally one of the most well-known Christmas songs of all time."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, frustrated.

"No one ever sings the first verse, Venus," Dean replied, rolling his eyes.

"Everyone sings the first verse, Dean," she shot back, hands flying up in exasperation. "That's why it's called the first verse!" she huffed, storming off toward the back door.

Dean watched her retreat, a stupid, affectionate smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes softened without permission, lingering on the way she moved and the echo of her voice—even if it was full of fire and aimed squarely at him for the second time today. There was something about her, always had been, that made her fury feel like a storm worth chasing.

Then a self-conscious grunt escaped him. He snapped out of it, shaking his head and raking a hand through his hair, desperately trying to hide the dazed look still lingering on his face. His eyes darted to Sam, who was already heading for the car with the smallest trace of a smirk. Dean followed, a little too quickly. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbled, sinking into the driver's seat.

The next morning, another man had been reported missing.

"So that's how your son described the attack?" Dean asked, stepping further into the living room of the surviving wife's home, Venus and Sam trailing behind him. "Santa took Daddy up the chimney?"

The woman sniffled, hugging her arms tightly to her chest. "That's what he says, yes."

"And where were you?" Dean followed up.

Venus scanned the well-decorated home, her hands shoved comfortably in her slacks. Her gaze drifted over the cozy surroundings before it snagged on something—something familiar. Her eyes narrowed in thought, and she took a half-step closer, absorbing the detail, before returning her attention to Mrs. Caldwell.

"...I was being dragged out of bed, screaming," the woman said, her voice breaking.

"Did you see the attacker?" Sam asked, his tone holding its usual balance of gentle and direct.

The woman shook her head, tears threatening to spill. "It was dark, and he hit me. He knocked me out."

Dean nodded solemnly. "I'm sorry. I know this is hard."

Venus chewed on the inside of her cheek, a question heavy in her mind. She hesitated for just a beat before pushing forward. "Um, Mrs. Caldwell," she began, choosing her words carefully. "Where did you get that wreath above the fireplace?"

She could feel both boys' eyes on her, but she ignored them, watching the woman for a reaction.

Mrs. Caldwell's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. "Excuse me?"

"Sorry," Venus said quickly, flashing a half-hearted smile. "Just curious, y'know."

The woman explained that she bought the wreath downtown. But when Venus pressed for the name of the store, Mrs. Caldwell's demeanor shifted, and it was clear that the conversation was over.

"Alright, then," Dean muttered as they walked out of the house. "Wreaths, huh? You sure you didn't want to ask her about her shoes? I even saw some nice handbags in the foyer," he added with a teasing grin.

Venus didn't smile. Instead, she stopped short and turned to face him. Dean almost bumped into her, stepping back quickly. "See, the question I asked was actually important," she began, her voice low but even. "Because we—or at least, I— saw a wreath just like that at the Walshes' yesterday."

Dean paused for a moment, eyebrows furrowed, but his face remained unbothered. "I know," he said, shrugging with an air of indifference. "I was just testing—"

Venus let out a scoff and walked off, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence.

As soon as they returned to their motel room, Venus shrugged off her blazer and grabbed her laptop with a focus that caught Sam and Dean's attention. "I don't know how I didn't catch it the first time," she muttered under her breath, opening a digital copy of HERBS AND THEIR USES with a new sense of urgency.

Dean and Sam watched her hands practically fly across the keyboard, her focus keen but a slight tension in her brow giving away her growing discomfort.

"Catch what?" Sam asked cautiously, his eyes flickering to her face, noticing how her eyes were darting from the screen to her hands as if she couldn't quite focus.

Venus winced, her fingers faltering for a second before she steadied herself. She glanced up quickly, trying to brush it off. "Um, the wreaths, right?" she began, but her voice was strained, her eyes narrowing. "They both have this herb on them, meadow-something, I don't remember exactly. No matter which one it is, it means we've been looking at this totally wrong."

She returned her attention to the laptop, but another sharp pain shot through her head. She winced, pulling away from the screen for a moment, rubbing her temples.

"No," she muttered, attempting to push through it. "I'm good." She forced a smile, hiding the discomfort.

Sam, now standing beside her duffel bag, hesitated, looking at her to ask if she was okay. But before he could, Venus glanced up, her vision still a bit blurred.

"Can we—" she started, but her words were cut off when her head pulsed again, the light from the laptop screen making everything worse.

Sam stepped closer, holding out her glasses case without a word.

Venus shook her head, her frustration mounting. "I'm fine, Sam," she insisted again, but her voice had lost some of its conviction. She reached for the eyeglasses, slipping them on with a sigh. But even with them, everything felt a little too bright.

Dean, noticing how Venus' posture had stiffened, leaned against the kitchen sink. A concerned look crossed his features. "You sure you're okay?"

Venus glanced at him, her gaze tired but trying to be defiant. "I said I'm fine." But the moment the words left her mouth, her hand moved instinctively to her temple again.

Sam stayed quiet, watching her for a beat before muttering, "If you need a break—"

"Don't," she cut him off, the word laced with a sharpness that felt out of place.

Sam sighed but didn't push further. "I'll call Bobby. See what he knows."

Venus grabbed the half-empty water bottle from the table, her hand trembling slightly, and swallowed a few mouthfuls, willing her body to settle. "Shit, there's like thirteen meadow plants. It's gonna take forever to cross-reference them," she muttered to herself, her fingers curling around her forehead as she scrolled through the book's index.

Venus had just landed on the meadowrue section when Sam snapped his phone shut.

"Well, we're not dealing with the Anti-Claus," Sam said, walking over to sit in the chair across from her.

"What did Bobby say?" Dean called out from the couch.

"Uh, that we're morons," Sam replied flatly.

Venus pursed her lips in agreement. Fair enough.

"He also said it's probably meadowsweet in those wreaths," Sam added, glancing over at Venus.

Her eyes lit up. "Son of a bitch! Of course, it is," she exclaimed, her fingers flying over the keyboard to find the plant. "I knew it," she murmured under her breath once she found the right page.

Dean's voice cut through her excitement, dripping with sarcasm. "Wow. Amazing. What the hell is meadowsweet?"

Venus zoomed in on the picture and turned the screen to face both Sam and Dean, pushing her glasses up onto her forehead. "It's a super rare and powerful plant in Pagan lore," she said, her words taking on an excited edge and coming more easily now that she was onto something.

"Pagan lore?" Dean echoed, eyebrows raising in slight surprise.

"Yup," Venus sprang up from her seat, heading toward her bag. "They used meadowsweet for human sacrifices," she rambled, her voice quick as she rummaged through the books at the bottom of her bag. "Kinda like chum for their gods. The scent would draw them in, and they'd snack on whatever human was closest."

Dean frowned, moving to the coffee machine perched by the sink in the kitchenette. "Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?"

Without missing a beat, Venus pointed to Sam, silently delegating the explanation while she continued her search.

Sam adjusted in his seat, taking up the cue. "It's not as crazy as it sounds, Dean. Pretty much every Christmas tradition is Pagan."

Dean scoffed, pouring steaming coffee into a mug. "Christmas is Jesus' birthday."

"No, Jesus' birthday was probably in the fall," Sam corrected him. "It was actually the winter solstice festival that was co-opted by the church and renamed 'Christmas'. But I mean the yule log, the tree, even Santa's red suit—that's all remnants of Pagan worship."

Dean froze mid-sip, staring at his younger brother, eyes brimming with equal parts awe and confusion. "How do you know that? What are you gonna tell me next—"

Before he could finish, Venus returned to the table with two books in hand. "Jesus wasn't white?" she offered dryly, cutting him off. She paused, flashing a smug grin. "Wait, I told you that when we were kids."

Sam chuckled at the stunned look on Dean's face, taking one of the books Venus handed to him.

Dean huffed, recovering quickly. "So you guys think we're dealing with a Pagan god?" he asked, leaning back against the counter.

"Probably Hold Nickar—God of the winter solstice," Venus replied without hesitation, flipping through a book on Pagan religious practices she'd picked up from a drunk hunter at a bar two weeks ago. At the time, it had been a leisure purchase—something she was curious about but hadn't anticipated using right away. Still, with the season, she couldn't ignore the possibility that they might run into something Pagan-related.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "And all these Martha Stewart wannabes, buying these fancy wreaths..." He trailed off, leaving the question hanging.

Venus grabbed a pen from her ponytail, her fingers moving as though on autopilot. She began underlining a section in the book, her gaze narrowing. "They might as well have painted a sign on their door saying, 'Come eat me.'"

Across the table, Sam was a few pages into the Norse folklore book Venus had handed him when he came across something noteworthy. He chuckled softly. "When you sacrifice to Hold Nickar, guess what he gives you in return," he said, looking up at the others.

Dean stood by Venus' laptop, idly scrolling through the information she'd pulled up on meadowsweet. "Lap dances, hopefully," he quipped.

Sam smirked. "Mild weather."

Dean nodded, a realization dawning. "Kinda like no snow in the middle of December, in the middle of Michigan," he said, pointing toward the window.

"For instance," Sam confirmed.

"No," Venus interjected, her voice cutting through the room before Dean could open his mouth again. She didn't look up from her book, her pen now tapping lightly against the page.

Dean blinked at her, his attention snagging briefly on the way she brought the pen to her lips, tracing it absentmindedly. His jaw flexed before he caught himself. "No, what?"

"I don't know how to kill it yet," she clarified softly, her mind still partially focused on the pages before her. She shifted the pen to her tongue for a moment before using it to circle something in her book.

"Bobby's working on that right now," Sam added, moving to refill his coffee mug. He leaned back against the counter, his expression thoughtful. "We've got to figure out where they're selling those wreaths."

Dean raised a brow, forcing his focus back to the conversation. "You think they're selling them on purpose? Feeding the victims to this thing?"

Venus let out a frustrated exhale, shutting the book with a decisive thud. She slid her glasses from her forehead to the table, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Only one way to find out."

After a quick change out of their 'FBI' suits and back into casual wear, the trio piled into the Impala and headed toward the town's downtown district. Their first stop was The Cozy Crafts, one of two holiday decoration shops listed in the phonebook.

As they stepped out of the car, Venus turned to Dean. "Stay in the car."

His eyes widened, taken aback. "Excuse me?"

She slammed the rear door shut with a deliberate swing, meeting his gaze over the top of the car. "Think about it. Three people poking around asking questions about wreaths? That's sketchy as hell. But a nice young couple," she paused, gesturing between herself and Sam. "That raises way fewer eyebrows. The last thing we want is to spook whoever's behind this before we know what we're dealing with."

Dean stared at her, jaw clenching as her words sank in. She wasn't wrong, and he hated that. "Alright, fine," he grumbled, throwing himself back into the driver's seat. The door shut harder than necessary, echoing his frustration.

Sam's eyes lingered on his brother, an unreadable expression briefly crossing his face before Venus slipped her hand into his. The warmth of her touch startled him for half a second, but he quickly shook it off, letting her guide him into the shop.

"You know the drill," she whispered.

He swallowed hard. "Yup."

Bells above the door jingled when they entered. Inside, the walls were a tapestry of holiday cheer—red and yellow wallpaper offset by garlands and ornaments that hung from every mantle and shelf. Behind the counter stood an older bald man, his narrowed eyes flicking between the two of them.

"Can I help you kids?" he asked, his gruff tone softened slightly by forced politeness.

Sam plastered on an earnest smile, the kind that came off just disarming enough to work. "I hope so. Uh, we were over at the Walshes the other night and she just hasn't shut up since about this Christmas wreath they had." He turned his gaze to Venus with practiced ease. "I don't know, honey, you tell him."

Venus blinked up at him, letting herself slip into character. A bright grin spread across her face. "It was yummy," she giggled, adding a playful roll of her eyes. Her hand came up to rest lightly on Sam's forearm, and she leaned closer, exuding bubbly enthusiasm like it was second nature.

From the Impala, Dean's eyes followed their every move through the frost-lined window. His jaw tensed as he watched Sam's hand casually settle around Venus' shoulder, her fingers caressing his wrist in what looked—felt—too natural. The smiles they shared, the ease of their laughter—it crawled under his skin in a way he couldn't name.

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his gaze hardening. He told himself it was the act that bothered him—how easy it seemed for them to sell the charade. But deep down, something in him twisted painfully. For the first time in a while, Dean found himself wishing to be in his brother's place. He hated this feeling.

"I sell a lot of wreaths guys," the man said flatly.

Venus nodded eagerly, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Right, right. But this one was special. It had these beautiful green leaves and these tiny, delicate white buds on it. I think it's called um..." she trailed off, tapping her chin in thought. "Meadowsweet!" she exclaimed with a snap of her fingers.

The store clerk blinked, his gaze shifting to Sam with a smirk. "Quite a fussy one you got on your hands, huh?"

Sam let out a nervous chuckle, but his stance stiffened when he felt Venus' palm involuntarily tighten against his.

"Was that supposed to be funny?" Venus asked, her head tilting slightly.

"Honey," Sam drawled, his tone low and firm as he caught her gaze. There was a silent plea in his eyes—one Venus reluctantly acknowledged.

She rolled her eyes but pasted the bubbly grin back onto her face, resuming her faux enthusiasm.

"Anyway," the clerk continued, oblivious to the momentary crack in their act. "I know the one you're talking about. I'm all out."

"Aw, what a bummer," Venus said with an exaggerated pout before tilting her head. "One question, though. This meadowsweet stuff seems pretty rare and expensive. Why use it for wreaths?"

The old man shrugged. "Beats me. I didn't make 'em."

Sam leaned forward, his smile thinning slightly. "Who did?"

"Madge Carrigan—a local lady. She said the wreaths were so special, she gave them to me for free."

Venus' brows shot up, her surprise slipping through. "She really didn't charge you?"

The clerk shook his head. "Nope."

"Did you sell them for free?" Sam asked.

The man snorted. "Hell no. It's Christmas. People pay a buttload for this crap."

The conversation replayed itself in Venus' head as they drove back to the motel, her gaze fixed on the passing scenery while the Impala hummed beneath them. She could feel the weight of the silence in the car, but it wasn't until she glanced into the rearview mirror that she caught the reflection of both Sam and Dean's eyes lingering on her.

She furrowed her brows in confusion. Had they been staring at her this whole time? She quickly turned her gaze back to the window, her heart picking up speed for reasons she didn't want to dwell on.

"How much do you think a meadowsweet wreath would cost?" Dean asked as they pulled into the motel lot and parked.

"A couple hundred dollars, at least," Sam replied, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Venus slipped out of her jacket as soon as they entered the room, plopping onto the couch with an audible sigh. She sprawled across the cushions, one arm draped over her forehead, her voice pensive. "But this lady's just handing them out for free. That's suspicious as hell."

Both boys nodded in agreement, shrugging off their coats and tossing them onto the nearest surface. Sam sat on the edge of one bed, his shoulders heavy, while Dean dropped onto the other with a weary grunt.

The silence stretched between them for some time until Dean broke it. "Hey, you guys remember that wreath Dad brought home that one year?"

Venus snorted at the memory, her smile fading as her mind drifted to the night that followed. While John and Arturo drank themselves into a haze, with Dean joining in eagerly, Sam grew increasingly uncomfortable with the chaos unfolding in front of him. Without a second thought, she had slipped her hand into his, pulling him outside and away from the noise. They sat on the hood of the Impala, just two teenagers trying to escape the madness. Back then, Venus found herself filling in gaps in her memories, trying to hold onto what little was left. She told Sam stories about her family, ones that felt distant but still warm. 

"My dad used to sit with me by the fire when I was little..." she'd say with a smile, though the memory of him always felt hazy. "He'd tell me stories about love and fate, things I didn't really understand then." She would pause, remembering how he'd never been a part of the hunts, always a step away from the rest of her family. "My mom...she was always singing, even when she didn't think anyone was listening." She glanced at Sam, his eyes wide and trusting, and added, "Her voice was like a lullaby that could calm any storm." The details weren't perfect, the edges of her memories soft and fading, but she did her best, adding little things to make Sam smile. And when he did, it warmed her heart, allowing her to feel a sense of peace for the first time that night.

"Do you mean the one he stole from, like, a liquor store?" Sam recalled, his tone less amused than Dean's.

Dean grinned, clearly enjoying his version of the memory. "Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great."

Sam locked eyes with Venus across the room, his brow furrowing slightly at Dean's words. Venus just shrugged, sinking further into the slightly uncomfortable couch.

"I bet if I looked around hard enough, I could probably find one just like it," Dean said, nervously scratching the back of his head.

"Alright, dude," Sam sighed, his expression shifting into something more serious. "What's going on with you?" he asked.

"What?" Dean shrugged innocently, glancing between Sam and Venus, who was now sitting up, watching them intently.

Sam's eyes narrowed. "I mean, you're like Bing Crosby all of a sudden. Why do you want to do Christmas so bad?"

"Why are you both so against it?" Dean shot back, clearly trying to deflect it. "Were your childhood memories that traumatic?"

Venus blinked at him, like he'd just sprouted a second head. "Dean, all three of our childhood memories were that traumatic," she reminded him. "But that's not the point."

"Then what?"

Venus let out a long breath, running a hand through her hair. She slid closer to the edge of the couch. "I just don't get it," she said, her tone tightening slightly. "You haven't mentioned Christmas in years. I thought this year, especially, you'd kinda just...let it pass, not care like how you've been 'not caring' about everything else." The words slipped out harsher than she'd intended, but she didn't apologize for it.

Dean swallowed harshly, his gaze flicking away from them for a moment. "Well, this is my last year."

The words landed between them like a physical blow, and Venus' jaw tightened, her fingers digging into the edge of the couch as if she could anchor herself to something solid. She already knew it, but hearing him say it out loud was like taking another punch to the gut. Every. Single. Time.

"I know," Sam spoke up, his voice cracking with sudden emotion. "That's why I can't."

Dean looked between them, noticing the subtle shift in their posture, the sudden weight in the room that settled around the words he'd just said. His chest tightened. Still, he asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I can't just sit around drinking eggnog, pretending everything's okay," Sam paused to take a deep breath. "When I know next Christmas you'll be dead." He swallowed hard, the words sticking in his throat.

Dean's breath caught, and for a moment, his mouth worked, trying to find the right thing to say. But it was like his tongue betrayed him, so he just nodded, the understanding settling heavily between them.

Sam's gaze dropped to his hands, and in the thick silence, he whispered, "I just can't."

Dean turned to Venus, his heart heavy. She was hurriedly wiping at her face, partially turned away from them. "That how you feel too?" he asked softly, his voice tentative, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

Venus scoffed, the sound bitter as she spun toward him. Of course, it is. "What difference does it make?" She stood and reached for her duffel bag, turning her back to the two of them. "Either way, my life's kinda falling apart right now. So I don't see anything worth celebrating." She wiped her eyes quickly, the strain of holding it all together too much. "I call first dibs on the shower," she all but whispered, rushing to the bathroom.

-ˋˏ ]

[ˎˊ-

The Carrigans' house looked like Christmas had stopped by and exploded across the entire property.

Life-sized decorations cluttered the perfectly groomed lawn—Santa, his sleigh, and a small forest of Poinsettias that seemed almost too perfect to be real. From where they stood at the end of the walkway, the trio could hear Christmas carols chiming from one of the oversized ornaments.

"So this is where Mrs. Wreath lives, huh?" Dean quipped, his gaze sweeping the festive chaos. "Can't you just feel the evil Pagan vibe?" He turned to Venus, his tone laced with mock sincerity. "Sorry, did you want me to stay in the car again?"

Venus arched a brow, unimpressed. "Not if you're gonna be a baby about it."

Dean rolled his eyes and walked off without another word.

Sam lingered, watching his brother's retreating figure with concern before glancing at Venus, who let out a resigned sigh. They followed Dean to the front door in silence.

Seconds after knocking, the door swung open to reveal the bright, cheery face of Madge Carrigan. Short, round, and draped in pearls, with her hairspray-curled hair and pastel cardigan, she looked like she'd stepped straight out of a vintage Christmas postcard. "Yes?" she chirped, her wide grin practically sparkling.

"Please tell me you're the Madge Carrigan who makes the meadowsweet wreaths?" Dean said with a boyish smile, his tone a touch too charming.

Madge's face lit up. "Why, yes, I am!" she exclaimed, her voice sweet enough to rot teeth.

Venus bit back a gag, managing instead a tight-lipped smile. The woman sounded like she belonged in a 1960s sitcom, complete with a laugh track.

"Ha! Bingo," Dean said triumphantly.

"Yeah?" Sam added, matching his brother's enthusiasm with faux excitement. "Well, we were just admiring your wreaths in Mr. Sylar's place the other day."

Venus stood silently between the brothers, her gaze flickering behind the woman to sneak a peek inside the house. The interior was somehow even more decked out than the yard—tinsel draped over every surface, statues of reindeer and snowmen in every corner, and trays of freshly baked pastries adding a cozy touch. But her sharp eyes caught sight of something else, tucked among the decorations. Herbs. Vervain and mint? Her brows furrowed slightly as she pieced the details together.

"You were?" Madge tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "Well isn't that meadowsweet just the finest-smelling thing you ever smelled?"

"It sure is," Venus chimed in smoothly, her polite smile never wavering. "But the problem is, all your wreaths were sold out before we had the chance to buy one." She added a small, disappointed frown for effect.

"Oh, fudge!" Madge squeaked, her pitch so grating that Venus fought the urge to wince.

"You wouldn't happen to have another one that we could buy from you, would you?" Dean asked.

Madge's mouth formed a perfect O, her reaction almost cartoonish. "Oh, no! I'm afraid those were the only ones I had for this season."

Dean leaned slightly forward, his expression friendly but curious. "Tell me something. Why'd you decide to make 'em out of meadowsweet?"

Madge brightened, puffing up with pride. "Why, the smell of course! I don't think I've ever smelled anything finer," she declared with enthusiasm.

Venus blinked, her polite smile turning slightly strained. Sam's awkward laugh mirrored her unease. "Yeah, you mentioned that," she muttered under her breath, her eyes flicking back toward the house.

From the staircase, an older man descended, his polished appearance matching Madge's perfectly. He held a small container in one hand and a pipe in the other, the faint smell of tobacco wafting toward the group as he approached. He stopped behind Madge, glancing over the three hunters.

"What's going on, honey?" he asked, his voice calm and pleasant as he removed the pipe from his mouth.

"Just some nice kids asking about my wreaths, dear," Madge chirped, sliding her hand affectionately around her husband's side.

"Oh, the wreaths are fine. Fine wreaths," the man announced with a grin, his pearly whites on full display. "Care for some peanut brittle?" He held up the small container in his hand, offering it with the kind of ease that came from practiced hospitality.

Dean's gaze landed on the sweets, his hand already reaching out before Sam slapped it back down.

"Um, we're okay!" Venus cut in quickly, her polite tone masking the sharp glare she sent Dean from the corner of her eye.

Something about this couple set her on edge. She was absolutely certain they were nothing like they seemed.

Later that afternoon, Venus sat on the edge of her motel bed, a dagger in hand as she carefully shaved tips into pieces of evergreen. The rhythmic scraping filled the quiet room, broken only by the occasional creak of the bedframe from Dean, who worked on his own pile nearby.

She hissed suddenly, pulling her hand back and sticking her fingers in her mouth "Shit," she muttered around them.

Dean's eyes darted to her immediately. "You alright?"

"It's just a splinter," she mumbled, not meeting his gaze. "It's fine."

"Ow," Venus groaned softly, pulling her hand away from the rough tree branch she was gripping. She flexed her fingers, spotting the small sliver lodged in her palm. She let out a breath and glanced around, shaking it off with a quick movement.

Dean whipped his head around, his green eyes wide with alarm."Shh! What happened?"

"A stupid splinter," the eleven-year-old whispered back, her tone somewhere between annoyance and embarrassment. She barely gave it a second thought as her gaze shifted to the path ahead, already on the move again.

Dean rolled his eyes, shifting the weight of the overstuffed backpack on his shoulders."You should've let me carry the tree!" he hissed, his frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. His hands tightened around the other items they'd scavenged, the strain in his voice low but unmistakable.

Venus cast a quick glance around the empty motel corridor, her eyes darting from one shadow to the next. "I told you, I can carry it myself," she shot back, gesturing toward their room. "Just keep going."

A sigh slipped from twelve-year-old Dean's lips, but he relented, trudging ahead without further argument.

They both carefully slipped into their room, the door closing with a soft click behind them. Sam lay sprawled across one of the beds, his small frame rising and falling with each peaceful breath. Dean and Venus exchanged a look, silently vowing not to wake him.

Dean crossed the room in a few swift steps, grabbing an old crate from behind the worn-out couch. He dragged it to the center of the room and motioned for Venus to place their tiny prize on top.

The tree—a modest, scrawny thing they'd swiped from the motel's corridor—now stood at a height that, in their eyes, came pretty close to resembling an actual Christmas tree.

Venus knelt beside it, panting. She tugged the hoodie off her head and brushed back the wild strands of her hair. She reached up absently to scratch her temple, her knee bouncing as her attention zoned in on the task at hand but never quite settled.

She stole a glance at Dean, who had already dropped to his knees and was rummaging through the backpack. He paused, shooting a cautious look over his shoulder at Sam's sleeping form before slowly pulling out the string of pepper lights they'd taken from a house a few blocks away. Holding the tangled mess between them, he whispered, "All good?"

Venus' small fingers ran lightly across the bulbs, inspecting them for cracks. A relieved smile spread across her face. "Yeah," she whispered back, her gaze flicking to the extension cord by the TV.

Dean's shoulders relaxed as she took the lights, carefully winding them around the tree with as much precision as their nervous excitement allowed. When she finished, Venus traced the wire to the extension cord by the TV, plugging it in with a soft click, a satisfied smile creeping onto her face despite her fidgeting fingers.

Meanwhile, Dean dug back into the backpack, retrieving the four small presents they'd swiped from the same house as the lights. He crouched by the crate, carefully placing each one beneath their makeshift Christmas tree.

It had been their plan—sneak into whatever house had a doggy door big enough for one of them to squeeze through, grab whatever they could, stuff it all into Venus' oversized Inspector Gadget backpack, and haul ass back to the motel before Sam woke up.

Why? Damage control.

Despite Venus' initial hesitation, she and Dean had broken the news to Sam about monsters, hunting, and the truth of their families' deaths—most of it, anyway. The memory was still raw: Sam curled up in bed, sobbing quietly, haunted by the gruesome image of his father's fate at the hands of creatures he couldn't yet comprehend. They'd meant to protect him, to share the truth, but instead, they'd done more harm than good.

That night, staring at Sam's tear-streaked face, they'd made a silent pact. If they couldn't undo the damage, they'd do something to make it better. Save Christmas for Sam, no matter what. They didn't need to wait for John or Arturo to roll in with empty promises of a holiday—they'd handle it themselves. 

Now, with the finishing touches in place, Dean and Venus stepped back to admire their work.

The string of pepper lights flickered unevenly, casting a soft, colorful glow over the small tree. The four well-wrapped presents looked almost natural beneath it.

"Awesome," Dean whispered, holding out his fist toward Venus.

Venus didn't hesitate. She immediately bumped her fist against his, then pulled back and wiggled her fingers.

Dean tilted his head. "What was that?" he whispered.

"What was what?" she whispered back innocently, the playfulness in her eyes lighting up.

"That hand thing you did after the bump."

Venus shrugged, offering a sly grin. "Saw it in a movie."

Dean nodded, considering. "Do it again."

They turned to each other and repeated the gesture: fist bump, pull back, wiggle fingers.

"Cool," Venus grinned, her voice hushed but excited. 

Dean returned the grin, nodding toward the bed. "Let's wake him."

Moving quietly, Dean sat at the edge of Sam's bed, his hand gentle as he placed it on his younger brother's shoulder. He shook him lightly. "Sam, wake up!"

Sam's eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, then squinting against the faint glow of the pepper lights in the corner. His gaze shifted to Venus and Dean, both smiling down at him, their excitement barely contained.

"Dad and Uncle Artie were here," Dean lied smoothly, his tone easy and convincing. He nodded toward the tree. "Look what they brought."

Sam blinked, still groggy. "They were here?" he croaked, his voice scratchy with sleep.

"Yeah," Venus chimed in. "Look at this stuff, we made a killing," she added, tugging nervously at her hoodie sleeve, but keeping her eyes trained on Sam.

Sam yawned, his small frame stretching as he sat up. His eyes traveled past them to the tree in the corner, standing proudly on its crate pedestal. "Why didn't Dad try to wake me up?" he asked, a faint trace of hurt creeping in.

Venus froze for a second, locking eyes with Dean. This was one of the questions they'd prepared for. Dean gave the smallest nod, stepping in seamlessly.

"He tried to, like, a thousand times," Dean said, shaking his head, his voice warm but edged with humor.

"He did?" Sam frowned, his skepticism cutting through his sleepiness.

Venus nodded quickly, her fingers now twisting a loose thread on her sleeve. She stared at it intently for a moment, her gaze unfocused, before looking back at Sam. "Yeah," she added.

Dean flashed another smile, leaning closer. "Did I tell you he would give us Christmas or what?"

Sam's gaze flickered between the two of them, his face a mix of disbelief and hesitant acceptance. Venus leaned in and ruffled his hair, her movements quick but affectionate."Go on, dive in!" she urged, silently willing him to buy into the magic.

Sam waited only a moment before leaping out of bed, his small feet padding across the floor to the tree. He scooped up the four presents in one swift motion, clutching them like treasures. He scurried back to the couch, plopping down and immediately tearing into the biggest one first.

Venus sat on the floor by the couch, her knees bouncing lightly, her hands clasped together in anticipation. Dean sat cross-legged on the couch beside her, his smile widening as they both watched Sam, his joy making their elaborate plan worth every risk. 

"What is it?" Dean grinned, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Sam turned the plastic box to face them, brows knitted together in confusion. "Sapphire Barbie?"

Venus and Dean's faces fell in unison.

"Heh, Dad probably thinks you're a girl," Dean tried to play it off, the hint of a nervous chuckle in his voice.

Venus rolled her eyes and smacked his foot. "Or, maybe that one was for me," she quickly came up with a better lie. She reached over and took the doll from Sam, her fingers briefly pausing to trace the packaging before she looked at Dean, glaring at him."Cabrón," she muttered, settling back on the floor.

Dean shrugged, unaffected, then turned back to Sam. "Open another one," he told him.

Venus' foot tapped the floor impatiently, her hands wringing themselves nervously, hoping they wouldn't strike out again.

But they did.

Sam held up a pink, glittery baton, sending them both knowing looks. "They never showed, did they?"

"Yeah, they did, I swear," Dean shot back, eyes slightly wide.

"Hmm-hmm," Venus hummed, reaching for the baton. "This one's for me too!" she told him, her attempt at cheeriness wavering as she held the object, her fingers unwilling to grip it for too long. She forced a smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. Her foot tapped faster, her gaze darting away from the gift, then to Dean, and then back to Sam.

"Everybody knows your favorite color is red, but they bought you two gifts that were pink and blue? Really?" Sam countered, the skepticism returning in his voice, but now there was a faint smile on his lips.

Venus narrowed her eyes. He was too damn smart sometimes.

"Guys...where'd you get all this stuff?"

Venus slowly locked eyes with Dean, chewing on her bottom lip. Dean raised a brow in silent question. Venus sighed, then nodded, her gaze dropping to her beat-up Converse. She toyed with the laces, making sure they were tied just so, before finally meeting his eyes again.

"Nice house up the block," Dean finally confessed, a real grin tugging at his lips. "I swear we didn't know they were chick presents."

Venus pointed to the other two gifts Sam hadn't opened yet. "Okay, but there's no way those are girly presents too. Our luck can't be that bad," she said.

Sam looked at them both, and for a moment, his lips twitched into a grin, but it faded almost instantly, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He shook his head, the smile gone, replaced by a deep, quiet disappointment.

"Look, I'm sure Dad and Uncle Artie would've been here if they could," Dean tried to cheer up his brother, his voice softening.

"If they're alive," Sam grumbled, his eyes drifting away.

Venus stood up, her movement quick and unthinking, and moved onto the couch, swatting Dean's foot away with a soft huff. She sat between the boys, her body restless as she adjusted herself. She placed a hand gently on Sam's shoulder, her touch fleeting, almost like she wasn't sure whether to pull away or stay. "Don't say that," she said softly.

"Yeah, of course they're alive," Dean slid closer, his voice firm, but it didn't hide the uncertainty underneath. "It's Dad and Uncle Artie."

"Superheroes, remember?"  Venus added, repeating the words she and Dean had said to Sam earlier.

Sam managed a small smile, his lips twitching upward just a fraction, the sadness still clinging to his eyes. He nodded at their words.

Sam reached for his jacket hanging on the edge of the couch, the sound of his fingers rummaging through the pocket pulling Venus' attention. She watched his movements intently.

"Here, take this," Sam said, handing Dean the present he'd been carefully wrapping in newspaper earlier that day.

"No, that's for Dad," Dean insisted without delay.

Sam scoffed. "Dad lied to me. I want you to have it."

Dean's tongue poked his bottom lip, his usual nervous tick. He glanced at Sam, uncertainty flickering across his freckled face. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Sam nodded, his voice firm despite the undercurrent of sadness.

Venus smiled, watching as Dean took the gift, his fingers brushing over the wrapping paper before he began to unwrap it.

It was a black necklace with a gold amulet dangling from it. Dean ran his fingers over the piece of jewelry, taking in the intricate design. His eyes softened with genuine gratitude. "Thank you, Sam. I-I love it," he said.

Sam's eyes brightened as he watched Dean slide the necklace over his head, his grin a little more relaxed now. It fit him better than it would've fit Dad.

Venus stood abruptly from the couch, now walking over to her backpack. She suddenly remembered the other things they'd grabbed, the excitement returning to her face within a flash. Moving back to the couch, she grinned, holding up a large napkin filled with sugar cookies and a handful of lollipops. "I guess they left these out for Santa," she giggled, the lightness of her voice lifting the mood even further.

Dean chuckled and leaned in closer, reaching for one of the cookies. His smile stretched wide, something in his demeanor warmer than it had been in a while.

Venus locked eyes with Sam, noticing the flicker of guilt still lingering there. "Sam, you should've seen that house. These people are loaded," she tried to reason, her tone playful yet tinged with a touch of guilt of her own. "They're not gonna miss any of this stuff." She grabbed a green apple lollipop and waved it in front of him. "Come on...you know you wanna..."

Sam hesitated, but the corner of his mouth tugged up in a reluctant grin. He finally gave in, taking the candy.

Venus and Dean cheered loudly, the sound of their laughter filling the room, their joy contagious in that small, fleeting moment.

Venus blinked at the sound of Sam's clap, the memory suddenly feeling distant, like a fading echo. She pushed it to the back of her mind, shifting back into the present.

"I knew it!" the younger hunter called out, staring at his laptop screen wide-eyed. "Something was way off with those two."

Dean looked up from the stake in his hand, his brow furrowing in question. "What did you find?"

"The Carrigans lived in Seattle last year," Sam explained, his voice taking on that familiar, determined edge. "Where two abductions took place right around Christmas. They moved here in January."

Venus set the wood down in her hand, her fingers curling around the stake as her thoughts shifted. "What about the—"

"Vervain and mint in their 'boughs of holly'?" Sam finished for her, his lips pulling into a small, knowing smile. "Yeah, you were right."

"Pagan stuff?" Dean took a guess.

"Serious Pagan stuff," Sam confirmed with a nod.

Venus exhaled slowly, processing the new information. Her gaze flickered to the stake in her hand, the motion of her fingers slow and deliberate. "So, that's really what we're dealing with..." she muttered to herself.

Dean leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him as he glanced from Sam to Venus. "So, what, Ozzie and Harriet are keeping a Pagan god hidden underneath their plastic-covered couch?"

"I don't know," Sam sighed, rubbing his jaw.

Venus paused, the silence thick between them. The image of the old couple, so seemingly perfect, gnawed at the edges of her mind. They were too human...too perfect. "Or, they are the Pagan god," she theorized, her voice quieter now.

Dean blinked at her. "Huh?"

"A lot of gods can shapeshift or even multiply their forms," Venus explained, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her knees. "It's not that far-fetched that they'd...split into male and female halves."

Both boys paused, digesting the theory for a beat. Sam's brow furrowed in deep thought, while Dean scratched at the back of his neck.

Venus didn't wait for them to speak. She began to gather the few stakes she had finished shaping, her movements steady. "Either way, the books say evergreen stakes will kill this thing, and so does Bobby," she told them. "Let's go finish this."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N: First time writing a chapter with 11k words. I do not recommend! Editing this took twenty years off my life.

Me and Venus 🫱🏼‍🫲🏽 sleep deprivation

Lovely GIF banner up above made by the incredibly talented prodigybitxhhh

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━