A Wonder in the Making
Disclaimer: Being the property of their respective copyright holders, Supernatural, its characters or any other publicly recognizable names don’t belong to me in any way, shape or form. This was written for the sole purpose of entertainment, not monetary gain. No copyright infringement is intended.
~ Oh my, would the boys be in trouble if I had a say... Just one word: SFTCOL(AR)S
A/N: This is the 2009 Secret Santa gift at the SFTCOL(AR)S for GG101/Spoilerwolf - yes, I’m really THAT slow; sorry.
~ And muchísimas gracias to my twin sister twinchy for the beta!
A/N 2: Merry Christmas and have a wonderful, prosperous and peaceful new year!
First Published: 24/12/2012
Summary:
Christmas always came with a catch. (2009 Secret Santa gift at the SFTCOL(AR)S. Do you honestly think I would be writing anything that doesn’t involve h/c?)
Word Count: 2,509
Setting: Season 5
Christmas always came with a catch. As long as he could remember there hadn’t been one perfect Christmas, not even when Mom was still alive. The last Christmas as a happy family was the first he could actually recall. It had been far from ideal with Mom’s permanently upset stomach; and yet, it had been the most Hallmark-worthy holiday season he had ever experienced.
On Christmas Day Mom had told Dean that he would be a big brother by the middle of the following year. Then she had promptly sprinted off to the bathroom again; like she always did when she smelled food these days… or just about anything really. Nevertheless, Mom and Dad had both looked so incredibly content and happy! Truth be told, Dean hadn’t been so sure. He wasn’t quite as fond of the idea, thinking what a brat his little brother or sister must be for making Mom feel sick all the time. She had laughed so loud when he had told her just that on New Year’s Eve. In fact, it was one of those laughs he could still hear echo in his memory. Only after she had explained that her queasy stomach had nothing to do with the baby’s evil streak, did he really begin to look forward to becoming a big brother.
Now, after more than a quarter of a century of experience with one Sam Winchester, Dean honestly doubted that Mom’s condition at that time had nothing to do with his baby brother’s stubborn nature. The kid would put the most obstinate mule to shame. And for that he had never been more grateful and prouder than today.
Sam moaned on the bed beside him and murmured incoherently, eliciting a worried but fond smile from his big brother.
“The trout… we have to read all the notes… and what do we do… with all the fish? We can’t eat fish for months…”
“Don’t worry, Sammy,” Dean shook his head, looking at his brother with affection he hadn’t felt in months and patted his leg, “I’m taking care of the fish.”
His badly concussed brother had come up with the weirdest story Dean had ever heard, even by their standards. He didn’t know whether Sam himself had the faintest idea of what he was mumbling in his semi-conscious state but he was sure his little brother would be mortally embarrassed if he found out.
It had been decidedly difficult to follow Sam’s stream of words or make out the details. Now, from what Dean was able to put together of his brother’s ramblings, it was obviously a custom to throw fish into your neighbours’ front yards, sticking notes to it, telling your neighbour what you liked or didn’t like about them. Depending on whether the pros outweighed the cons or vice versa you received either bad, smelly fish or good, delicious fish you were supposed to cook and eat in the honour of its donors.
Really, the story got more ridiculous the more he thought about it. Despite the chuckle that threatened to erupt from deep in his chest, the memory of what had befallen the youngest Winchester to lose it so completely still sent chills down Dean’s spine.
They had intended to pass the time till Christmas was over with an easy holiday hunt. Their relationship on the mend but not yet anywhere near healed, neither of the boys had been too keen on celebrating Christmas with any decorum and such. They had checked into a motel that offered slightly more comfort than their usual accommodations but that was it. Their plan had been to get this job over with, then kick back and take it easy while everyone else seemed dead-set on pretending for two whole days that they were perfectly happy families and that the world around them was actually a nice place. Yeah, whatever!
The case had promised to be simple enough, and they had needed less than a day to identify what kind of supernatural being they were dealing with, then roughly an hour to retrieve the necessary banishing ritual from the internet. Each year, for the past decade, there had been numerous incidents of severe beatings on Christmas Eve in Athens/Georgia. Obviously Knecht Ruprecht, the helper to St. Nicholas, had gone to punish naughty children with his rod.
The brothers had set a trap for Knecht Ruprecht at the house of one of the most infamous school bullies of the town. While Dean provided a decent distraction, Sam was to perform the ritual. No problem… in theory. Unfortunately, it all went to hell in a handbasket from there.
As soon as Knecht Ruprecht became aware of their presence, he had struck fast and hard, tackling Dean into the decorated Christmas tree. Surprised by the violence and strength of the attack, Dean had gone down, unable to get his bearings in time before the brown-robed man was over him with his vicious rod. Seeing his big brother on the floor, hardly defending himself from the painful blows, it had taken Sam less than two seconds to react. Instinct won over common sense. Abandoning the ritual, he stepped in, planting himself firmly between the raging creature and his fallen brother.
By the time Dean shakily got to all fours, Knecht Ruprecht had diverted his focus from him to Sam, who barely even flinched while the vicious blows rained down on him. Seeing his brother get up, Sam yelled over, “Finish the ritual, I’ll keep him occupied!”
Dean’s first impulse was to protest and jump back into the fight but Sam’s determined, “Do it!” finally convinced him to get to work while Sam shielded him from the furious thing. One eye on the progress of the struggle, one eye on the text, Dean hurriedly continued the banishing ritual.
He got to the penultimate line when something in the periphery of his vision caught his immediate attention. Knecht Ruprecht had ripped the Christmas tree from its stand and lifted the heavy device high above his head. Like in slow motion Dean watched in horror as the apparition slammed the stand on Sam’s head. His baby brother sagged to his knees. The force of the impact would have felled anyone; anyone but Sam, obviously. To his utter surprise, Sam tried to shake the dizziness from his head and struggled back to his feet.
Judging by his sluggish and uncoordinated movements though, his little brother was clearly pretty much out of it but stubbornly refused to give up the fight, buying Dean the time he needed to finish the ritual. Dean’s admiration for the kid’s ability to soldier on under impossible circumstances climbed to new heights. Inside him protectiveness warred with logic. Although every instinct told Dean to step between the creature and his brother, he knew he couldn’t afford wasting the time Sam had paid for so dearly.
With one last worried glance towards his brother, Dean turned to the text again, determined to finish the ritual in record-breaking time. He just hoped Sam would make it that long.
Half a minute and a bone-chilling scream later, Knecht Ruprecht was toast and Dean saw his kid brother sink to the floor like a puppet whose strings were severed. He rushed to Sam’s side immediately, checking for a pulse. He was worried sick about the very probable possibility of a serious head injury his brother might have sustained. Thank goodness he didn’t have trouble detecting a strong, regular heartbeat.
“Come on, Sammy, work with me here,” Dean tried to rouse his brother, desperately waiting for at least a flutter of the eye lids. It didn’t assuage his worries when nothing happened. Not even the more or less gentle clap on the cheek elicited a response from his unconscious brother. He tenderly peeled Sam’s eye lids away, primitively examining the pupil reaction with one of the still burning electrical candles from the demolished Christmas tree.
From experience - and how sad is that anyway - he knew the tell-tale signs of a concussion but was relieved to notice his brother’s didn’t seem too serious, at least not hospital-serious as far as he could tell.
“Hey, hey, Sam, come on. Open your eyes for me. I can’t lug your heavy ass around anymore.” Dean was trying to cover his worry with bravado but his attempt fell short even to his own ears.
His words, combined with another none-too-gentle slap on the cheek, roused Sam enough to utter a displeased grumble and stir minutely away from Dean as if he tried to crawl into the floorboards.
Rather satisfied with Sam’s reaction, Dean mumbled a hardly audible, “Okay, little brother, I got it covered. I’ve got you.” The words itself weren’t important, the tone was. Immediately the tension melted from Sam’s body, his radar instinctively picking up on the soothing timbre of the elder Winchester’s voice. Subconsciously he inched closer towards the promise of protection and safety.
“Dude, seriously?!” Dean complained with fake exasperation. “We’re no closer to lugging your Sasquatch-ass out of here and you already start snuggling up.”
Time had an awful habit of crawling at a snail’s pace when you were, quite literally in Dean’s case, breaking your back in an enormous effort to do justice to the precious task you were entrusted with. So cuss words and expletives were the only measure of time while Dean hauled Sam’s rubbery frame in the direction of the car. To his credit, the kid was trying! Once Dean got Sam into a position that could almost be considered upright, he did try to get his feet under him and stumble along as best he could. It was hardly the kid’s fault that his feet seemed to be at least a couple of steps behind the bulk of his body.
Eventually, they made it to the Impala. The fresh and clear air outside even seemed to improve Sam’s level of alertness by a notch. He was still pretty much out of it but his legs appeared to be far steadier when Dean leaned his baby brother against the passenger side of the car to open the door for him.
Nevertheless, by the time they reached their motel room and Sammy was safely tucked away in his bed, Dean himself was ready to drop. He briefly eyed his own bed longingly but knew full-well that he wouldn’t get the rest his aching, exhausted body craved for a good while yet. He needed to keep an eye on his little brother and make sure he hadn’t misjudged the severity of the head injury.
After grabbing a cold beer from the fridge and putting a glass of water on the nightstand next to Sam’s bed, Dean in one smooth motion slid the chair over and settled in for his bedside vigil. Finally starting to relax and his eye lids growing heavier by the minute, he hadn’t even finished his beer when Sam’s distressed voice catapulted him back from his reverie. And that’s when his baby brother, barely aware, started telling his most ludicrous story. If Dean hadn’t had so much experience with Sam’s antics while recovering from a concussion, he might have worried for the younger man’s sanity - well, more so than usual, that is.
At long last, Sam drifted off to a peaceful slumber and stayed asleep. Dean let out a deep sigh of relief. He was nursing his third beer and the previous amusement over Sam’s story had long given way to exhaustion that was pulling at his mind with renewed strength. By now fairly confident that his brother would be alright, the older Winchester allowed himself to doze off in the surprisingly comfortable chair.
When the sun peeked over the horizon and started to tinge the unusually bright motel room into the soft light of the first morning, Dean slowly opened his eyes to find a pair of hazel orbs staring straight at him. It took a moment for Dean to orient himself and recall what had transpired the night before but when he did, he immediately jumped to his feet, mentally cursing himself for neglecting to wake Sam intermittently and ask him one or the other odd question in the past couple of hours.
“Relax, Dean, I’m fine,” Sam assured, instinctively knowing what got the other worked up like that.
Dean searched his kid brother’s eyes intently, determined to detect the lie. What he found, though, was nothing but the truth. Sam was indeed much more alert and aware than before. Convinced that his brother was well on the mend, Dean lightly teased back, “Coming from your mouth, that means practically nothing. You would insist you were fine if you were carrying your head under your arm, Sammy.”
“Look, who’s talking!” Sam’s reply didn’t miss a beat.
“How’s your head? You up for some food?”
“Yeah, I think I could use some before downing the whole bottle of Tylenol to stop the jack hammer inside my skull.”
Dean winced in sympathy. He didn’t envy his brother’s massive headache. “Okay, I’ll get something to eat and you stay put,” Dean ordered.
Shortly after, Sam nodded off again but immediately opened his eyes when the delicious smell of fried eggs assaulted his nose.
“Wake up, princess,” Dean teased good-naturedly, “breakfast is ready.”
Sam slung back the covers and slowly started to rise when a displeased harrumph accompanied by a meaningful death-glare stopped him short.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Dean growled.
“What does it look like? Getting up.” The older Winchester could practically see the eye roll Sam would have given him if it hadn’t been for his spectacular headache.
“Save your smart-ass comments. You’re staying in bed!” Dean’s tone brooked no room for argument but Sam wouldn’t be Sam if that had ever deterred him.
“Deeeeaaaan...,” Sam began but was rudely interrupted.
“Okay, I make you a deal,” Dean hesitated for a moment, nervousness creeping into his stance. He had thought about this for a while - years actually - but had never gotten around to doing so. During his bedside vigil the previous night he had decided it was finally time to act up on it, even if it pretty much scared the shit out of him. His baby brother looked intrigued, waiting for him to continue. “I make you a deal,” Dean repeated, “breakfast in bed and you stay put, and I tell you what I remember of Christmas with Mom and Dad.”
Sam looked incredulously at Dean who self-consciously averted his eyes. Sam had begged his brother countless times while growing up to tell him about their Mom; and Dean had always refused to talk about her. This offer, now, completely out of the blue, sent the youngest Winchester floundering. He briefly wondered whether this was real or a dream.
“D-deal,” he stuttered, afraid his brother would change his mind if he let the seemingly surreal moment pass.
Dean handed Sam a plate and settled into the familiar chair beside the bed. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”
“You too.”
And maybe it was a near-perfect Christmas after all.
FIN
.
~ Oh my, would the boys be in trouble if I had a say... Just one word: SFTCOL(AR)S
A/N: This is the 2009 Secret Santa gift at the SFTCOL(AR)S for GG101/Spoilerwolf - yes, I’m really THAT slow; sorry.
~ And muchísimas gracias to my twin sister twinchy for the beta!
A/N 2: Merry Christmas and have a wonderful, prosperous and peaceful new year!
First Published: 24/12/2012
Summary:
Christmas always came with a catch. (2009 Secret Santa gift at the SFTCOL(AR)S. Do you honestly think I would be writing anything that doesn’t involve h/c?)
Word Count: 2,509
Setting: Season 5
Christmas always came with a catch. As long as he could remember there hadn’t been one perfect Christmas, not even when Mom was still alive. The last Christmas as a happy family was the first he could actually recall. It had been far from ideal with Mom’s permanently upset stomach; and yet, it had been the most Hallmark-worthy holiday season he had ever experienced.
On Christmas Day Mom had told Dean that he would be a big brother by the middle of the following year. Then she had promptly sprinted off to the bathroom again; like she always did when she smelled food these days… or just about anything really. Nevertheless, Mom and Dad had both looked so incredibly content and happy! Truth be told, Dean hadn’t been so sure. He wasn’t quite as fond of the idea, thinking what a brat his little brother or sister must be for making Mom feel sick all the time. She had laughed so loud when he had told her just that on New Year’s Eve. In fact, it was one of those laughs he could still hear echo in his memory. Only after she had explained that her queasy stomach had nothing to do with the baby’s evil streak, did he really begin to look forward to becoming a big brother.
Now, after more than a quarter of a century of experience with one Sam Winchester, Dean honestly doubted that Mom’s condition at that time had nothing to do with his baby brother’s stubborn nature. The kid would put the most obstinate mule to shame. And for that he had never been more grateful and prouder than today.
Sam moaned on the bed beside him and murmured incoherently, eliciting a worried but fond smile from his big brother.
“The trout… we have to read all the notes… and what do we do… with all the fish? We can’t eat fish for months…”
“Don’t worry, Sammy,” Dean shook his head, looking at his brother with affection he hadn’t felt in months and patted his leg, “I’m taking care of the fish.”
His badly concussed brother had come up with the weirdest story Dean had ever heard, even by their standards. He didn’t know whether Sam himself had the faintest idea of what he was mumbling in his semi-conscious state but he was sure his little brother would be mortally embarrassed if he found out.
It had been decidedly difficult to follow Sam’s stream of words or make out the details. Now, from what Dean was able to put together of his brother’s ramblings, it was obviously a custom to throw fish into your neighbours’ front yards, sticking notes to it, telling your neighbour what you liked or didn’t like about them. Depending on whether the pros outweighed the cons or vice versa you received either bad, smelly fish or good, delicious fish you were supposed to cook and eat in the honour of its donors.
Really, the story got more ridiculous the more he thought about it. Despite the chuckle that threatened to erupt from deep in his chest, the memory of what had befallen the youngest Winchester to lose it so completely still sent chills down Dean’s spine.
They had intended to pass the time till Christmas was over with an easy holiday hunt. Their relationship on the mend but not yet anywhere near healed, neither of the boys had been too keen on celebrating Christmas with any decorum and such. They had checked into a motel that offered slightly more comfort than their usual accommodations but that was it. Their plan had been to get this job over with, then kick back and take it easy while everyone else seemed dead-set on pretending for two whole days that they were perfectly happy families and that the world around them was actually a nice place. Yeah, whatever!
The case had promised to be simple enough, and they had needed less than a day to identify what kind of supernatural being they were dealing with, then roughly an hour to retrieve the necessary banishing ritual from the internet. Each year, for the past decade, there had been numerous incidents of severe beatings on Christmas Eve in Athens/Georgia. Obviously Knecht Ruprecht, the helper to St. Nicholas, had gone to punish naughty children with his rod.
The brothers had set a trap for Knecht Ruprecht at the house of one of the most infamous school bullies of the town. While Dean provided a decent distraction, Sam was to perform the ritual. No problem… in theory. Unfortunately, it all went to hell in a handbasket from there.
As soon as Knecht Ruprecht became aware of their presence, he had struck fast and hard, tackling Dean into the decorated Christmas tree. Surprised by the violence and strength of the attack, Dean had gone down, unable to get his bearings in time before the brown-robed man was over him with his vicious rod. Seeing his big brother on the floor, hardly defending himself from the painful blows, it had taken Sam less than two seconds to react. Instinct won over common sense. Abandoning the ritual, he stepped in, planting himself firmly between the raging creature and his fallen brother.
By the time Dean shakily got to all fours, Knecht Ruprecht had diverted his focus from him to Sam, who barely even flinched while the vicious blows rained down on him. Seeing his brother get up, Sam yelled over, “Finish the ritual, I’ll keep him occupied!”
Dean’s first impulse was to protest and jump back into the fight but Sam’s determined, “Do it!” finally convinced him to get to work while Sam shielded him from the furious thing. One eye on the progress of the struggle, one eye on the text, Dean hurriedly continued the banishing ritual.
He got to the penultimate line when something in the periphery of his vision caught his immediate attention. Knecht Ruprecht had ripped the Christmas tree from its stand and lifted the heavy device high above his head. Like in slow motion Dean watched in horror as the apparition slammed the stand on Sam’s head. His baby brother sagged to his knees. The force of the impact would have felled anyone; anyone but Sam, obviously. To his utter surprise, Sam tried to shake the dizziness from his head and struggled back to his feet.
Judging by his sluggish and uncoordinated movements though, his little brother was clearly pretty much out of it but stubbornly refused to give up the fight, buying Dean the time he needed to finish the ritual. Dean’s admiration for the kid’s ability to soldier on under impossible circumstances climbed to new heights. Inside him protectiveness warred with logic. Although every instinct told Dean to step between the creature and his brother, he knew he couldn’t afford wasting the time Sam had paid for so dearly.
With one last worried glance towards his brother, Dean turned to the text again, determined to finish the ritual in record-breaking time. He just hoped Sam would make it that long.
Half a minute and a bone-chilling scream later, Knecht Ruprecht was toast and Dean saw his kid brother sink to the floor like a puppet whose strings were severed. He rushed to Sam’s side immediately, checking for a pulse. He was worried sick about the very probable possibility of a serious head injury his brother might have sustained. Thank goodness he didn’t have trouble detecting a strong, regular heartbeat.
“Come on, Sammy, work with me here,” Dean tried to rouse his brother, desperately waiting for at least a flutter of the eye lids. It didn’t assuage his worries when nothing happened. Not even the more or less gentle clap on the cheek elicited a response from his unconscious brother. He tenderly peeled Sam’s eye lids away, primitively examining the pupil reaction with one of the still burning electrical candles from the demolished Christmas tree.
From experience - and how sad is that anyway - he knew the tell-tale signs of a concussion but was relieved to notice his brother’s didn’t seem too serious, at least not hospital-serious as far as he could tell.
“Hey, hey, Sam, come on. Open your eyes for me. I can’t lug your heavy ass around anymore.” Dean was trying to cover his worry with bravado but his attempt fell short even to his own ears.
His words, combined with another none-too-gentle slap on the cheek, roused Sam enough to utter a displeased grumble and stir minutely away from Dean as if he tried to crawl into the floorboards.
Rather satisfied with Sam’s reaction, Dean mumbled a hardly audible, “Okay, little brother, I got it covered. I’ve got you.” The words itself weren’t important, the tone was. Immediately the tension melted from Sam’s body, his radar instinctively picking up on the soothing timbre of the elder Winchester’s voice. Subconsciously he inched closer towards the promise of protection and safety.
“Dude, seriously?!” Dean complained with fake exasperation. “We’re no closer to lugging your Sasquatch-ass out of here and you already start snuggling up.”
Time had an awful habit of crawling at a snail’s pace when you were, quite literally in Dean’s case, breaking your back in an enormous effort to do justice to the precious task you were entrusted with. So cuss words and expletives were the only measure of time while Dean hauled Sam’s rubbery frame in the direction of the car. To his credit, the kid was trying! Once Dean got Sam into a position that could almost be considered upright, he did try to get his feet under him and stumble along as best he could. It was hardly the kid’s fault that his feet seemed to be at least a couple of steps behind the bulk of his body.
Eventually, they made it to the Impala. The fresh and clear air outside even seemed to improve Sam’s level of alertness by a notch. He was still pretty much out of it but his legs appeared to be far steadier when Dean leaned his baby brother against the passenger side of the car to open the door for him.
Nevertheless, by the time they reached their motel room and Sammy was safely tucked away in his bed, Dean himself was ready to drop. He briefly eyed his own bed longingly but knew full-well that he wouldn’t get the rest his aching, exhausted body craved for a good while yet. He needed to keep an eye on his little brother and make sure he hadn’t misjudged the severity of the head injury.
After grabbing a cold beer from the fridge and putting a glass of water on the nightstand next to Sam’s bed, Dean in one smooth motion slid the chair over and settled in for his bedside vigil. Finally starting to relax and his eye lids growing heavier by the minute, he hadn’t even finished his beer when Sam’s distressed voice catapulted him back from his reverie. And that’s when his baby brother, barely aware, started telling his most ludicrous story. If Dean hadn’t had so much experience with Sam’s antics while recovering from a concussion, he might have worried for the younger man’s sanity - well, more so than usual, that is.
At long last, Sam drifted off to a peaceful slumber and stayed asleep. Dean let out a deep sigh of relief. He was nursing his third beer and the previous amusement over Sam’s story had long given way to exhaustion that was pulling at his mind with renewed strength. By now fairly confident that his brother would be alright, the older Winchester allowed himself to doze off in the surprisingly comfortable chair.
When the sun peeked over the horizon and started to tinge the unusually bright motel room into the soft light of the first morning, Dean slowly opened his eyes to find a pair of hazel orbs staring straight at him. It took a moment for Dean to orient himself and recall what had transpired the night before but when he did, he immediately jumped to his feet, mentally cursing himself for neglecting to wake Sam intermittently and ask him one or the other odd question in the past couple of hours.
“Relax, Dean, I’m fine,” Sam assured, instinctively knowing what got the other worked up like that.
Dean searched his kid brother’s eyes intently, determined to detect the lie. What he found, though, was nothing but the truth. Sam was indeed much more alert and aware than before. Convinced that his brother was well on the mend, Dean lightly teased back, “Coming from your mouth, that means practically nothing. You would insist you were fine if you were carrying your head under your arm, Sammy.”
“Look, who’s talking!” Sam’s reply didn’t miss a beat.
“How’s your head? You up for some food?”
“Yeah, I think I could use some before downing the whole bottle of Tylenol to stop the jack hammer inside my skull.”
Dean winced in sympathy. He didn’t envy his brother’s massive headache. “Okay, I’ll get something to eat and you stay put,” Dean ordered.
Shortly after, Sam nodded off again but immediately opened his eyes when the delicious smell of fried eggs assaulted his nose.
“Wake up, princess,” Dean teased good-naturedly, “breakfast is ready.”
Sam slung back the covers and slowly started to rise when a displeased harrumph accompanied by a meaningful death-glare stopped him short.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Dean growled.
“What does it look like? Getting up.” The older Winchester could practically see the eye roll Sam would have given him if it hadn’t been for his spectacular headache.
“Save your smart-ass comments. You’re staying in bed!” Dean’s tone brooked no room for argument but Sam wouldn’t be Sam if that had ever deterred him.
“Deeeeaaaan...,” Sam began but was rudely interrupted.
“Okay, I make you a deal,” Dean hesitated for a moment, nervousness creeping into his stance. He had thought about this for a while - years actually - but had never gotten around to doing so. During his bedside vigil the previous night he had decided it was finally time to act up on it, even if it pretty much scared the shit out of him. His baby brother looked intrigued, waiting for him to continue. “I make you a deal,” Dean repeated, “breakfast in bed and you stay put, and I tell you what I remember of Christmas with Mom and Dad.”
Sam looked incredulously at Dean who self-consciously averted his eyes. Sam had begged his brother countless times while growing up to tell him about their Mom; and Dean had always refused to talk about her. This offer, now, completely out of the blue, sent the youngest Winchester floundering. He briefly wondered whether this was real or a dream.
“D-deal,” he stuttered, afraid his brother would change his mind if he let the seemingly surreal moment pass.
Dean handed Sam a plate and settled into the familiar chair beside the bed. “Merry Christmas, Sammy.”
“You too.”
And maybe it was a near-perfect Christmas after all.
FIN
.