Hunting didn’t stop for holidays, not usually. Monsters didn’t care about dates on a calendar, and John Winchester had lived long enough to know better than to expect mercy from the world.

But this year, somehow, the road went quiet.

No omens. No missing persons. No salt circles drawn in a hurry at two in the morning. Just a cheap roadside motel buried under fresh snow, its neon sign buzzing weakly against the dark winter sky. For once, John had agreed to stay put. Just a few days, he’d said. No trouble worth chasing.

That was all the excuse you needed.

You’d come back that afternoon with a paper bag full of tangled Christmas lights. Cheap, mismatched, half of them probably broken. John had watched you from the edge of the bed as you plugged them in anyway, pretending not to care as the room slowly filled with warm, blinking colour. Red, green, gold, soft reflections dancing across the peeling wallpaper and the scratched table cluttered with weapons and lore books.

“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, though he didn’t tell you to take them down.

By evening, snow was falling thick and quiet, the kind that swallowed sound and made the world feel smaller. You tugged your coat on and grabbed John’s sleeve before he could protest, dragging him outside under the motel’s overhang.

“C’mon,” he grumbled, lighting a cigarette. “It’s freezing.”

You didn’t answer. You just scooped up a handful of snow and threw it.

The snowball hit him square in the shoulder.

John froze. Cigarette forgotten, eyes snapping to you in disbelief. For a heartbeat, he looked stunned… And then something unfamiliar cracked through his expression. A sharp laugh. Short, surprised, real.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” he said, already bending down.

Snow flew back and forth under the dim motel lights, boots crunching, breath fogging the air. For a moment, there were no demons, no dead ends, no ghosts chasing the past. Just laughter, cold hands, and the strange comfort of standing beside someone who understood the road as well as you did.

John straightened eventually, brushing snow from his coat, eyes lingering on you longer than necessary. His voice dropped, quieter now.

“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he said. “Ruins my reputation.”

But the corner of his mouth twitched, and for once, Christmas didn’t feel like just another day survived.