There were a lot of things you would change about being a hunter if you could. For one, you'd like motels to come without the risk of suspicious stains and dead roaches in the shower drain. You also wouldn't protest if you didn't have to watch people die and risk dying ten times a week.

But, probably your greatest inconvenience, was how supernatural activity seemed to increase around holidays. Even though you grew up as a hunter kid like your companions, your family had always kept some semblance of normalcy when it came to holidays. So, you grew up loving Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Christmas. There were few things that brought you as much joy as the snow and the music and the lights. Whenever December rolled around you felt yourself buzz with excitement at the thought of the upcoming celebration.

When you started hunting with Dean and Sam, it got harder to celebrate. Monsters always liked to go a bit crazy, when everyone was out and about. So, you got used to working holidays.

One year, you got lucky. You drove down to some little town in Colorado that was literally the most Christmassy place you'd ever seen. You were investigating reports of odd occurrences—things like bikes and pools appearing in backyards to miraculously repaired marriages. You and your partners had decided that something was making Christmas wishes come true—and you had to stop it before it went wrong.

You were in the backseat of the Impala with Sam, researching. Dean had given you the not so subtle warning of 'no fooling around in my Baby' as he went off to fool around with some girl in a skimpy elf costume. Perfect.

You were getting antsy, eyes flicking between your boyfriend and the blurry pages and the beautiful scenery outside. You should've been enjoying the ambiance of the town, not cooped up in the Impala that smelled like stale snacks and too much leather polish.

After a long while of silence, Sam groaned and set his book down. "God, you're basically vibrating. Just say what you wanna say."