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***
Sam had been used to fielding advice and calls from other hunters and all kinds of people through their post-Chuck hunter network, but a red letter with gold writing appearing in their PO box was just suspicious.
There was no return address, but it was clearly addressed to “Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, and Castiel” at the top— even stranger.
Dean looked up from where he was busy trying to chase Cas around for a feather to put at the top of their tree. “What’s up?” he asked Sam as he entered the bunker. “You look like someone pissed in your Cheerios.”
“Nothin’, just… we got this letter. It’s addressed to the three of us, not the Campbells. No return address.”
“Maybe it’s a Christmas card from someone we know?” Dean suggested as Sam joined them in the war room.
Cas leaned forward to sniff the envelope, furrowing a brow. “There’s nothing overtly malicious about it, but I suppose it is odd.”
Dean took the opportunity of Cas’s distraction to pluck a hair from his head and stuffed it in a transparent glass ornament. Cas shot him a fond, exasperated look.
Weirdos, Sam thought fondly and shook his head.
He set his bag down and opened the envelope.
The bunker disappeared as soon as the wax seal was broken.
***
When he woke, it was to hot breath in his face and the sight of a massive, horned creature.
Sam scrambled backward, reaching for any weapon he had on his body when his brain finally began to process what he was seeing:
The three of them were standing in the middle of a tundra, surrounded by reindeer.
“What —?”
“—the Hell, right?” Dean finished behind him. He was shivering, with Cas pressed close to him.
Dean pointed at the reindeer who sniffed him. “Lookit, it’s your cousin,” he joked, making antlers with his hands.
“That makes it your cousin, too,” Sam pointed out.
Dean shrugged.
“We should move. There looks to be a cabin up ahead,” Cas said.
“Cas, can you tell where we are?” Sam asked as they crunched through the thick snowdrift, and shoved his hands under his armpits. Layers or not, they weren’t prepared for this type of cold.
Cas paused. “The North Pole.”
“That letter must have had a spell in it—I didn’t even get the chance to read it,” Sam lamented, then searched his pockets to find the envelope crumpled.
They pushed against snow and the wind, while Sam struggled to read the letter, only just making out the words, “Signed, Nick Claus” at the bottom.
“No way…” Dean said in awe.
A rotund, rosy-cheeked man was waiting for them, chuckling heartily. “Sorry for the wayward drop-off, boys, I meant to teleport you inside. But I’m afraid my magic isn’t what it used to be—that’s why I called you here.”
***
“I thought you were a myth,” Sam blurted once they were warmed up, sitting around the fireplace with mugs of the best hot cocoa he’d ever had in his life.
Santa raised a brow. “Didn’t you know a young zanna named Sully in your youth? An angel walks among you, you’ve defeated some of my cousins, and yet you doubt me?”
Sam snapped his mouth closed, sheepish.
Santa looked over at Dean’s dumbfounded face.
“I’m sorry for never answering your letters when you were younger, Dean—I suppose from your perspective, my lack of response made me no better than God in that respect.”
Sam looked over at Dean, surprised. He’d never taken Dean as someone to ever believe in Santa Claus, not when he’d been the one to tell him Santa wasn’t real but vampires were.
Dean’s cheeks heated, and he looked down. “Yeah, well. Guess I was used to it.”
Cas crinkled his brows, rubbing his back. He seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride, regarding Santa as he would any other minor god.
“So what’s this about your magic?” Sam asked.
“Ah, yes!” he clapped. He sighed. “My magic hasn’t been what it used to be, these last few decades, and it’s only been getting worse. See, think of me and my magic as you would a tulpa; it’s strengthened by the belief of others. The world at large has lost its faith, for varying reasons. But that’s not the only reason why.”
“Why, then?” Cas asked, still with a comforting hand on Dean’s back.
“At first I thought perhaps it was ‘Chuck’ who subdued my powers, the same as he did with all the other gods he hid behind, but… I’ve been thinking about my past, and I think I’ve pinpointed the culprit behind my fading powers. And I need you, the best hunters in the world, to help me fix it. You are uniquely positioned to help.”
“Why?” Dean asked through a mouthful of cookies.
“The original source of my magic. Something is blocking me there.”
Sam wrinkled his brows. “What’s the source of your magic?”
Santa sighed. “You might know it as Oz.”
***
“There’s no way we’re actually doing this, right?” Dean asked when they were back in the bunker.
“Why not? He asked for our help, Dean.”
“We’re hunters, not… magical scavenger hunters,” he snapped, even as he followed Sam to the dungeon’s archives. Sam rooted through drawers, looking for the broken pieces of the key to Oz. He knew they were hidden somewhere…
“Is this about Santa never answering you when we were kids? How come you never told me you used to write to him.”
Dean shifted, face stony. “Cause it’s embarrassing, okay! Dad practically laughed when he found out. I used to try to figure out which motel we’d be in on Christmas, but we moved around too much, and I guess Santa couldn’t find us when we were nobodies. But at the time, I just thought…”
“What?”
“I thought I’d been bad. Someone like me, who steals and gets into fights? No way. I thought instead of coal, he just didn’t bother with the bad kids. Then, as I got older, I figured he wasn’t real.”
“Dean…”
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Dean complained, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m over it.”
“Are you?”
“Yes!” Dean grumped.
Sure, Jan.
Sam sighed and went back to searching for the broken pieces of Oz’s serpentine key. “Here! Now we just have to find a spell to put it back together.”
Cas lifted two books when they returned to the library, setting them down. “I found these, I thought they might be of use.”
Copies of The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus and The Road to Oz sat next to their engraved names and initials on the table.
Sam picked one up. “I forgot how many other works Frank L. Baum had.”
“Hang on, Santa was a character in Oz?”
“Yeah, all sorts of characters were—Jack Pumpkinhead, and so on. In fact, Baum is sort of credited with cementing our idea of what Santa Claus is. Though…” he huffed. “I guess like with The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, all his books contained a kernel of truth.”
“Huh,” Dean said, picking the other book up and flipping through it.
While Sam put the key back together, Dean and Cas went for a literal milk run, coming back with several cartons of cream.
“Figure if we’re going into fae territory, this’ll come in handy,” Dean said, setting down a crate.
“We may need to load up on salt and iron, in case they’re not so friendly. And who knows what to expect in Oz,” Sam added.
“Yeah—flying monkeys and nasty witches. Not to mention falling houses.”
“Hopefully we’ll run into Dorothy.”
Dean paused. “Hey…”
“Hm?”
“I know they weren’t together anymore, but… you think we should tell her about Charlie, if we do run into her?”
Sam swallowed hard, the old song of grief and guilt beginning to clog his throat. It never got any easier. “She has the right to know.”
Dean pressed his lips into a tight line.
“I don’t like this,” Cas spoke up. He turned to Dean, eyes softening. “As a firstborn, fae territory is dangerous for you, especially since you’ve been there before.”
“Yeah, well,” Dean checked his gun, making sure it was loaded. “They didn’t take me last time.” He offered a small smile. “And I didn’t have you with me, last time either.”
They gathered their supplies and went down to the garage.
“Let’s hit the yellow bricks,” Dean said, and Sam turned the key.
***
“Better not be asbestos,” Dean grumbled as they hiked, getting dusted in snow. Apparently, it was winter even in Oz.
“I’d heal you if it were,” Cas reminded him.
“It’s the principle of the thing!” He turned to Sam. “Do we even know where we’re going?”
Sam flipped through The Road to Oz. “According to the lore, Santa was raised in the Forest of Burzee, which…” he circled the path they arrived in, trying to discern the lay of the land. “Should be…”
“You have no idea, do you?” Dean asked, amused more than anything.
“Shut up,” Sam huffed.
“Hunters,” a feminine voice called behind them. They tensed but relaxed when they turned to see Gilda, ethereal in her flowing dress.
She smiled. “It has been a long time,” she greeted. “I still owe your lovely friend a favor.”
They all winced.
Sam cleared his throat. “Is Dorothy around? We may need another hunter’s help.”
“The Queen is busy, but I can be of assistance,” she offered.
“Can you take us to the Forest of Burzee?”
***
“I’m saddened to hear about Charlie,” Gilda said after they’d caught her up. “Hopefully, my favor to you will act as a favor to her, in her memory.”
“Thanks, Gilda,” Dean said hoarsely. “Say, what do you know about Santa, and this forest we’re going into?”
“We’re heading into not just fae territory, but wood nymph territory, among others. Humans are forbidden from entering, as it breaks the Law of Power. Neclaus—whom you call Santa—was abandoned at the edge of the forest when he was a baby and raised by Necile, a wood nymph here, and he’s the only human to have ever received an exemption to the rule.”
“So how the hell are we supposed to go in and bargain for the remainder of his power back?” Dean griped.
Gilda lifted her lips into a mischievous smile. “It is lucky you ran into me, then. And your gifts shall make a great offering. Though you may not enter, I can be a messenger for your bargain,” she explained.
They waited at the edge of the huge forest, watching as Gilda hauled their crates of cream and disappeared.
After a few minutes, Dean spoke. “How do we know we didn’t just get hustled by a fairy?”
Cas raised a brow. “Good question.”
Just as Sam was considering trying to magic their way into the forest, Gilda emerged empty-handed.
“It is done, and your bargain has been accepted. Neclaus’ power will be rejuvenated,” she said with a smile.
They watched in awe as a massive swirl of twinkling rainbow lights rose from the treeline, heading into the ether before disappearing.
“Think that did it?” Dean asked.
“The teleportation seal was a one-time thing,” Sam pointed out, turning to Dean. “Which means there’s only one way to find out: you gotta write a letter to Santa.”
***
Sam waited outside Dean’s bedroom door for him to be done writing his letter. He’d insisted on going into his room to write it, rather than doing it out in the open in the library.
Still, that childish part of himself couldn’t help but wonder what Dean was writing, and he was being nosy.
Through the door’s grate, Cas and Dean exchanged barely audible murmurs.
“Just write the truth,” Cas encouraged. “If you’re hurt, tell him that.”
“Well, I don’t wanna offend the guy!”
“I think dishonesty would offend him more. You were a child, Dean, he won’t blame you for your beliefs, or your loss of faith.” Quieter, Cas added. “He’s not like my father.”
There was a shift on the bedframe—Dean sitting next to Cas, Sam guessed—followed by the rustle of fabric. A hug? A rub on the back?
“You know how you told me I’m not like my Dad saw me? Not just—just a weapon or an obedient son, or whatever? Same goes for you. You know that, right? You’re so much better than he was, than what he expected of you.”
There was silence, during which Sam could only assume Dean and Cas were staring into each other’s eyes, wordlessly speaking essays the way they always had, even before they got together.
Sam excused himself, waiting in the library.
When Dean finally emerged with his letter so they could take a trip into town to stick it in the mailbox, Sam said nothing of their wet eyes or rumpled clothes.
***
“Sam,” Dean hissed, waking Sam from his slumber.
He bolted up, reaching for his gun. “What’s wrong?”
Dean hesitated. “Just come on—quietly,” he whispered.
Confused, Sam padded out after Dean, heading into the library, where Cas was waiting anxiously. He stopped in his tracks, stunned at the appearance of their Christmas tree, which looked even fuller and brighter than before. The lights almost glowed with a preternatural force. Several shiny, immaculately wrapped gifts sat underneath. It was an even better spread than the one Mrs. Butters had set out for them once.
But more shocking than that, was a very familiar figure sleeping at the library table.
"Charlie? ”
“Merry Christmas!” Charlie shouted in a dazed voice as she woke up. “Huh—? Oh, it’s actually Christmas,” she said absently as she looked over at the tree. She turned to the three of them. “What’s up, bitches?”
“Charlie? That really you?” Dean asked, his voice wavering.
“Well, who else would I be?” she laughed. “Wait, no, don’t answer that—you’d probably say a shifter or something. But feel free to test me!” she exclaimed and held out her arm.
Dean and Sam were too stunned to move, so Cas reluctantly placed a hand on her forehead. “It’s her,” he confirmed.
Dean hugged Charlie in a tight grip, making her groan, “Hey, watch the merchandise.”
Sam hugged her next, a tear slipping out as he wrapped his arms around her. “What… what do you remember?” he asked as they parted.
Charlie stopped to think. Suddenly, her calm flew out the window, and she grabbed Dean’s arm. “Oh, good, the Mark is gone,” she said in relief.
“We got a lot to catch you up on, kiddo."
“Charlie, I’m so sorry—” Sam started.
“Don’t! Lalala,” Charlie yelled, holding her fingers to her ears. “If I have to hear one single Winchester apology, I am heading right out that door! I did what I did because I love you guys. You’d do the same for me. So…” she turned to the tree. “Whaddya say we catch up over Christmas breakfast?”
***
A round of pancakes, bacon, and spiked eggnog later, and the bunker was alight with laughter and tears of joy.
“Dude, I told you he was dreamy!” Charlie punched Dean in the arm. “I’m glad you two came to your senses.”
“Me too,” Dean said, holding Cas’ hand.
Wrapping paper was strewn across the floor, and Miracle played with leftover ribbon, his tail thumping on the floor.
There was only one thing left to open: a single red letter at the tree's center. Sam reached for it.
“It’s for you,” Sam said, holding out the envelope to Dean.
“Better not zap me anywhere,” he grumbled, but he opened it. His face morphed from mildly annoyed to tight, then finally, to a gentle acceptance as he read through the letter inside.
“Well?” Sam asked.
“I was never bad. Just lost, as all good people tend to get sometimes,” he said quietly. He turned to Charlie. “But he’s grateful for our help.”
Sam smiled softly as he watched Cas kiss Dean’s cheek. “I told you,” Cas murmured. “Everything you do is for love.”
Dean raised his glass. “Alright, enough mushy crap. What do you say we toast? To old friends and new ones."
Everyone clinked their glasses together. As they did, Sam swore he could hear the jingling of bells and a deep, merry laughter overhead.