Title:  Ghosts of Christmas

Author:  Ice Cube

Rating: K+

Spoilers:  For Supernatural

Disclaimer:  Right, if I owned them anywhere outside of my dreams, the characters that are forthwith mentioned in this story would be making me a lot of money and very happy…so no, they aren’t mine, and I’m a broke college student who has no money, so if you’re going to sue, feel free, you won’t get anything.

Characters: Sam, Dean

Archives:  Feel free; just let me know where so I can find it again.

Summary: Yet another Christmas story…Dean gets a little reminder of why Christmas should be important…even to a hunter…FLUFF alert!  You’ve been warned!

Warnings:  To those who think that I am capable of writing a fic that is torture free…I can’t, and thus, if you don’t want to see h/c, various possible tortures, and other forms of angst, find another story. Also, to those of you looking for slash, when I mean friendship and brotherhood, I take that in the trust you with my life and have no problem telling you about my current crush who is of the opposite sex way. In other words, if you’re looking for slash, you won’t find it here.

I don’t have my stories beta’d, I’m too impatient to wait for someone to proof it after I’ve written it, so I apologize for any mistakes, and if you email me to tell me that they’re there, I’ll fix them later.  Reviews are always a plus, it’s great to know that people are reading my stories and like them, but as I’m a horrible reviewer, I won’t hold my breath for them. Flames, however, will be treated with the utmost respect they deserve…they will be ignored completely or poked fun at with friends.

 

That said, on with the tale…

**~**

Chapter 1

Dean stared down at his baby brother as the clock next to him revolved the numbers around to show midnight.  “Merry Christmas, Sammy.  Isn’t that what you wanted me to say earlier today?  Stupid holiday.”

Sam had tried to wish his brother a Merry Christmas before passing out from the concussion he had traded for pissing off whatever poltergeist they were chasing.  Now he lay on the motel room bed where Dean had deposited him, the older brother holding a washcloth to the still swelling lump on his forehead.

Dean rolled his eyes at his little brother.  Why did he have to remember it was Christmas anyway?  The older brother couldn’t remember the last time he had celebrated the day, and didn’t really want to understand why it was important.  He supposed somewhere in his mind that his mother would have loved spending Christmas, and digressed from there to wonder if Sam had spent his Christmases with Jess at Stanford.  But Christmas wasn’t important to the hunters.  It would just take time away from killing every evil son of a bitch they could find, and wasn’t that their purpose in life after all?

The man was startled from his thoughts nearly an hour later when there was an insistent knocking on the door.  His brow furrowed, looking at the door as if it were possessed, and checked to make sure his gun was still safely in the back of his pants.  When the knocking didn’t stop, Dean finally lifted his brother’s head from his lap and laid it gently on the pillow before going to the door.

With one hand flipping off the safety, Dean unlocked the door and pulled it open with the other.  “What the Hell do you…” he trailed off when he saw who was at the door.

He stared openly at the two little boys standing there and gulped, cocking his head to one side and trying to form words.  Dean couldn’t help it, he pulled his hand from his gun and pinched his other arm; grimacing when it hurt.  Again, he tried to form words, as the boys in front of him didn’t disappear.  Rather, the taller one moved past him to jump up on Sam’s bed and take over holding the washcloth that Dean, himself, had discarded.

“Sammy?” Dean looked down at what appeared to be his brother, at eight years old, stared back up at him.

“Yeah Dean?”

“Uhh…what…how…wha…I…” Dean was at a loss, and turned to look at a twelve-year old version of himself sitting on the bed, staring at him as well.  “Okay, what the Hell did I eat or drink…or…what the Hell?  This is…”

“Weird?”  The pre-teen finished the sentence for him before turning back to the twenty-two year old Sam.

“…Yeah.  What’s…going on?”

“You need to come with me.”  Little Sam told him this matter-of-factly.  “Right now.  Come on, Dean.”

“I…what?”

“You…need to…come…with me.”  Little Sam took his hand and tried to pull him out the door.

“I…can’t.  I need to stay with…” Dean looked at the little boy in front of him.  “Sam.”

“No kidding.”  Little Sam pointed at Dean’s younger self.  “You are.  Now come on.”  With that, he yanked on Dean’s arm and pulled him out the door.

Dean found himself stumbling after his little brother obediently, still convinced somehow that the cheeseburger he had managed to wolf down in between taking Sam’s pulse and checking his eyes for the fifteenth time must have something to do with this.

“Where are we going?”

“You have to see something.  Don’t worry, it won’t take long.  But it’s important, and you seem to have forgotten all about it.”

“All about what?  I know the poltergeist is still out there, but I need…adult you…to help me with that, and he has…you have…a concussion.”

“No, silly.  That stupid poltergeist can wait, it isn’t going anywhere fast.  You don’t even remember what you’ve forgotten, do you?”

Dean shook his head.  He could still remember the circles his brother was able to talk himself through when he was a little kid, and knew that he couldn’t make sense of them then, so he shouldn’t be surprised that he couldn’t now.  “If I’ve forgotten it, how would I remember that I forgot about it then?”

“Merry Christmas, Sammy.  Isn’t that what you wanted me to say earlier today?  Stupid holiday.” The boy’s tone was sarcastic.  “Isn’t that what you said, big brother?  You’ve forgotten how important Christmas is…was…even to you.  I’m here to help you remember.”

“So what is this?  Like A Christmas Carol or something?  ‘Cuz I’m bound to have some salt around here somewhere.”  To prove his point, Dean rummaged through his pockets, unsure if he could actually pour the salt packet over his little brother’s head anyway.

“Something like that.  Only the guy who wrote that messed it up after I visited him.  I’m the ghost of Christmas…there were never three of me.”

“So wait…you, Samuel Winchester, visited Charles Dickens and showed him Christmas past, present, and future and he wrote about it?”

“No.  I, the ghost of Christmas, visited Charles Dickens…as his unborn son, and the man turned his ‘dream’ into an original idea.  Silly man thought he’d come up with it all on his own.”

“So you’re…”

“Not really your ‘Sammy’?  No.  But it tends to make this easier.  Now, at least you know the back-story.  I’m here to remind you of what you’ve forgotten, in hopes that I can change your path before it’s too late.”

“Too late for whom?  Me?  Or Sam?  Or my Dad?”

“Yes.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “And the other boy?  Me?  Who is he?”

“A figment of your imagination, silly.  How else was I going to get you to leave Sam?”

Dean glared at the boy in front of him and turned to go back into the motel.  He was surprised to see an apartment complex in its place instead.  The place looked familiar, but Dean was still willing to let it be because he had lived in so many apartments in the past that they all looked the same.

“Come with me,” Sammy grabbed onto his hand again and before Dean knew it, he was standing on a balcony, looking in on a dreary little living room.  “Do you remember this place yet?”

Dean kept staring, until he saw yet another eight-year old Sam run past the window.  “This is…I lived here.”

“With Sam and your father, yes.  You were here for what, seven months?”

“Yeah, something like that, we moved out after Sammy got hurt.  He got hit by…”

“That’s not why we’re here, it hasn’t happened yet to them.  Do you remember what happened this night?  Christmas Eve?”

“I remember…getting yelled at, and Sammy crying.  Some Christmas you’ve chosen.”

“Just watch.”

And so, not seeing another option, Dean did.

~*~

Eight-year old Sam ran past the window, chasing his brother into the kitchen where Dean had promised would be two steaming cups of hot chocolate, complete with whipped cream and marshmallows.  He giggled as the cream tickled his nose, and savored the treat, unaware of his brother’s disappearance.  The youngest Winchester knew that it was Christmas Eve, but he wasn’t excited about it.  His father had completely ignored the day, and Sam knew that the man and Dean were going hunting later that night; would probably not be back until late the next day. 

The boy sighed before turning to the construction paper on the table and began to draw.  A crudely illustrated house with snow all around it and smoke coming from the chimney came first, followed by the boy looking furtively towards the door and then for his brother.  When no one else from his family came to scold him for what he was about to do, the boy quickly sketched a sleigh, eight reindeer, and a jolly old man, all standing on the roof.  As soon as he was done, the paper was folded as small as it could be and shoved into his pocket.  He knew better than to believe in that nonsense, no one could get around the world in one night, make reindeer fly, or care enough to give them all presents in return for some milk and cookies, but still Sam liked the idea that something was good enough in the world for other children to believe in.

“Sammy!  Come in here, will ya?”  The boy jolted from his chair again, chasing down his older brother.  As he entered the living room, his chocolate still in his hand, he gasped and his eyes went wide.

“Dean.”  The name was a whisper as Sam’s face lit up and a grin reached from ear to ear.

~*~

“I don’t understand.  Sammy never believed in Santa Claus.  Dad wouldn’t lie to him about it.”  Adult Dean looked down at his guide.

“He didn’t, you’re right.  Just…watch, will ya?”

~*~

Behind the young Dean was quite possibly the most pathetic looking Christmas tree ever.  It made the Charlie Brown cartoon one look like it belonged in the middle of Central Park.  But to Sam, it was the best thing he had ever seen.  The young boy put his mug down on the overturned milk carton before wrapping his arms around his brother, burying his face into Dean’s shoulder.

Dean lifted the young boy from the ground and plopped him down on the old couch, tickling the boy mercilessly until Sam was wheezing in between each laugh.  The grin on his face was almost as big as his younger brother’s, and when Dean fell down onto the couch beside him, laughing as well, Sam curled up under his arm and punched him in the side.

“One day I’ll be bigger than you and will be able to beat you up for this,” the little boy whispered, getting himself trapped in a headlock for his comment.

“You’ll always be the little brother, Sammy.  And I’ll always be able to kick your butt.”

Sam just shook his head and stared at the Christmas tree again.  His thoughts went to the project he had made in school that was hidden up in their room.  He bolted from Dean’s side and raced up the stairs, pulling out a small black strongbox and turning the combination.  It was the only way he knew to protect his things from his father’s Spartan tendencies, and once the lock was open, he reached in, locked the box and sprinted back downstairs.

“Where the Hell did you run off to?”

“Do you want Dad to wash out your mouth again?  Look, Dean.  We made it in school.  Do you think it’ll fit on the tree?”

Dean smiled at the construction paper star.  The yellow cone and cutout looked exactly like it was: an eight-year old’s creativity with a touch of a teacher’s help.  Dean took the ‘star’ reverently and placed it on the very top of the tree.  “It fits perfectly, Sammy.  It looks great.”

The two boys sat back down on the couch, Sam back under his brother’s arm, and they stared off into space.  Neither boy noticed when the other drifted off to their own dreams; and the apartment started to fade away from the adult Dean’s view.

~*~

Dean stood in the parking lot of the apartment complex.  “I don’t get what you wanted to show me.  That tree was the worst thing I ever saw.  I don’t even know that you could call it a tree; it looked like a bunch of branches duct taped together.  And Dad came home not half an hour later and had a fit.  He threw that tree out the damned window, and sent us both to bed with the knowledge that he was disappointed in us.  He was so pissed off that he didn’t take me on another hunt for three weeks.  So what’s the point of all of this?”

The ghost in front of him sighed and shook his head.  “I didn’t show you that part, now did I?  Did you not notice the look on your brother’s face when he saw that tree?  It didn’t matter to him that you’d pilfered it from the trash outside the middle school; that it was indeed from their performance of a Charlie Brown Christmas.  It didn’t matter to him that it wasn’t eight feet tall and decked out to the nines like the one at his friend Michael’s house.  It didn’t even matter to him that half an hour later your father came home and freaked out because he was afraid to get either of your hopes up.  To Sam, all that mattered was that amidst all the hunting and the moving and the evil that he was learning about, there was still enough good in the world that let you remember what Christmas was supposed to be about.  That you sat down and spent time with him, not teaching him about some new self defense move or another evil being.”  The eight-year old rendition of Dean’s brother looked up at the man.  “And that was all you cared about once too.”

Dean looked down at his feet. 

“Do you remember what you did later that night?”

Dean nodded, the normally blunt brother held speechless for once.

“You snuck out that night, didn’t you?  When you were sure your brother and father were asleep.  Do you remember what you did?”

“I went down and found Sammy’s star.  I couldn’t stand him losing it.”

“Couldn’t stand him losing it?  He thought it got lost with that tree, didn’t he Dean?”

“Yeah, okay, so I couldn’t stand to lose it.  I knew that Dad was going to make him stop being a kid within the next couple of years and I didn’t want to see that.  So I went down and I saved that star; hid it somewhere so that it wouldn’t be lost forever.  But all Sammy got that Christmas was Dad’s belt when he asked Dad to wait another day to hunt; to spend Christmas with us.  So why should I want to celebrate that?”

“Your father also gave him a book on werewolves.  He also got the book, ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, Dean.  From you.  And if you look hard enough, I’m sure you can find that too.  He’s still got it today.  Not every Christmas was bad, Dean.  Do you remember what you got that year?”

“Dad gave me a brand new handgun and some silver bullets.  Sammy gave me that picture he’d drawn and some coupon book thing he’d made in school.  It was supposed to be things to help his parents, like doing chores and hugs and family time.”  Dean laughed.  “I think I used every one of those things too.”

“Even your father celebrated Christmas, or at least he made sure to remember the day and get you both something that he thought would keep you safe, Dean.  He didn’t ignore the day, just could never spare the time to sit back and treat it traditionally.  He was afraid that if he did, something could catch him unaware and take you two away from him.  He remembered the way your mother wanted Christmas, but he was too afraid to let his guard down.  Don’t become your father, Dean.  Whatever you’re hunting can wait another day on days like this.  No matter how many evil things you kill, there’s always going to be a million more to take its place.”

Dean nodded, and sighed.

“Come on.  We have other stops to make tonight.”

~*~

Dean now stood outside another apartment complex.  This one he knew he recognized.  It was the one he had pulled his unwilling brother from almost two months before, screaming after his girlfriend.  He looked down at the little boy.  “I don’t think I want to see this.”

“You don’t have a choice.  You may have forgotten what the holiday is about, and that it’s important, but your brother never did; he doesn’t now.  That,” he pointed towards the apartment, “what you’ll see in there, is why.”

Dean nodded sullenly and turned to face his brother and Jess’s first Christmas, some three years before.

~*~

The scene was postcard worthy, and as Dean watched his brother come in the door, he could see that his younger brother hadn’t expected any of it.  The light in his eyes matched what Dean had seen when Sam was eight, and the grin was even bigger.  He watched as Jess ran up to him and kissed him, pulling a Santa hat from behind her and tugging it down over his shaggy hair.  Sam just laughed at it.

The sophomore allowed himself to be tugged into the living room and pushed down next to the tree.  He stared up at it in awe, and then glanced down at the presents already under the tree.  “Jess, where did you get all this?”

“My parents dropped it off a little while ago and helped me set it up.  We’ve always been big on Christmas and now that I’m out of the dorms, they wanted to make sure it was Christmas-y enough here.  Do you have any stuff for the tree with you?”

Sam just shook his head and looked down at his hands.  “We never really did Christmas at home either.”  The sentence was heart wrenching to Dean and he almost missed what came next.  “My brother made Christmas worthwhile for me, and that was great.  We just never really had anything like this.  This is great though, Jess.”

“Come on, we have to make cookies for Santa and then we’ll go out for dinner.  I have to go home for Christmas, but my parents want you to come; that is, if you aren’t doing anything else.”

Sam smiled and stood up, pulling Jess up after him and into another hug.

~*~

Before Dean knew what was happening, he was outside another house, looking in on Jess’s family and his brother, singing Christmas carols around a piano, looking every part the storybook, apple pie life that his brother wanted.  Dean sighed and looked down at Sammy.  “This is what I tore him away from, hunh?”

Sammy sighed.  “Forget that for a minute, all right?  Just watch.”

~*~

Sam wandered off from the family and stood by the open window, staring out at the crisply cut lawn and, though he couldn’t see it, his brother.  The nineteen-year old tried to smile as he felt a small hand wrap around his chest and Jess’s head lay against his shoulder.

“Whatcha thinking about, Sam?”

Sam sighed, not turning from where he was staring.  “My brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah.  I…I just wish…oh I don’t know.  I just wonder what he’s doing.  I wish he’d call or something.”

“So why don’t you call him then?”

“I don’t think they want to hear from me.  I don’t want to bother them, I guess.”  Sam looked down before turning to Jess.  “Never mind, it’s Christmas, let’s go have some fun, hunh?”

“Sam, talk to me.  You don’t talk about them ever, and I’ve never seen you like this.  What’s the matter?  Why don’t you go home for the holidays?”

“It’s not worth it, Jess.  It’s a long story that I don’t really want to get into right now.  Things were said and I don’t think they really want me around anyway.  But I miss Christmas with my brother.  That’s all.”

~*~

Dean watched as the scene again faded away.  He looked down at the eight-year old version of his brother and had to resist some unknown urge to scoop the ghost up in a hug.  “We just thought he never wanted anything to do with us again.  God.  I wouldn’t have cut off from him like that if I would’ve known.”

“But you see, Sam didn’t need Jess’s kind of Christmas.  He didn’t need the ‘apple pie’ life at the holidays, didn’t really care about the tree or the presents or songs.  That’s not all the holiday is to him, not what it really means.  It’s just…family; being together and for one day just being happy about that.  Don’t you see?”

Dean started to realize that Sam telling him Merry Christmas wasn’t him trying to retain some kind of separation from their life; that he wasn’t trying to ignore the hunt they were on.

“Come on, Dean.”

~~**~~

Chapter 2

“Where are we now?”  Dean looked around, and for once he was sure that he didn’t recognize the place that Sammy had brought him.  The house was pristine and decked out with Christmas lights and reindeer in the front yard.  It was complete with a snowman that looked like it was waving at them, its carrot nose lopsided.  He could see a family laughing at a Christmas tree, two small children shaking presents while their parents shook their heads.  Dean continued to stand at the street’s edge, not really understanding what they were doing there.  “I know how those kinds of families celebrate Christmas; I don’t want to see what Sam could have had.  I know quite well what I tore him away from, thank you.”

Sammy shook his head.  “I know you’re aware of that, but this is significant too.  Come on now, silly.”

Dean just shook his head, not seeing any other choice in the matter.  He crunched across the snow, noticing that while his feet did sink in, the footprints behind him disappeared as if he’d never been there.  For reasons known only to him, this struck his heart oddly, and he found himself transfixed at the sight until Sammy came.

“I am not here for that, Dean.  That is a different spirit altogether, and it is not his time yet, nor yours.  Now come see what I want you to.”

Dean shook a little at hearing those words come from his brother’s mouth, even if it was really the ghost of Christmas and not really his Sammy.  He followed the boy and peered into the window.  There he saw the man he had been speaking to earlier in the day.  This man had come to him, yet another friend of his father, with the poltergeist problem that had caused Sam’s concussion.

“We won’t linger here too long; we have another – more important – present to see.  But this, in its own way, is a must-see for you.  You and your father and lately your brother have spent your lives running from one hunt to another, not willing to sit back and take a little time to see what life has to offer you.  Sam did for awhile, but even with the taste of what that life has to offer, your enemies have seen fit to drag him back in, and now…well, I digress.  This family is being terrorized by a poltergeist, correct?  They are the people that you are so Hell-bent on helping?  Had to help them tonight, and are planning on getting back here first thing to try and chase it out?”

Dean nodded; he wasn’t sure what this was all leading to.  Why shouldn’t he and Sam get this job done as quickly as possible?  They were helping others, weren’t they?  Giving without thinking of themselves and all that?  The man had thought that if he had one part of Christmas right, it would have been that.

It seemed that the ghost of Christmas could read minds as well; or Dean had been speaking aloud.  “Giving and helping others.  Yes, that is part of the spirit of Christmas, but there’s no reason for you and Sam to give all of yourselves every second of the day.  This family is being terrorized; they are all sleeping here in the living room under the tree tonight, not because it is some tradition of theirs, but because it is the only room you and Sam were able to purify.  It is the only place they are safe right now.  But Dean; does it look to you like they’re worried about that right now?  Does it look to you like they have ignored Christmas so that they can concentrate on getting rid of that poltergeist?”

“Well…no.”

“No.  They aren’t.  That spirit is going to be around the day after Christmas, and even the next day.  They don’t expect you and Sam to give up your holiday for them, anymore than they plan on giving it up themselves.  So they’ll make some accommodations, and sleep here tonight, but for those boys, Santa Claus will come and there will be presents to open tomorrow morning.  There will be family time and a big Christmas dinner for them.  Because that is their want, and they know that they can wait another day to wander back to their rooms.”

Dean watched as the two boys ran rampant.  They both reminded the man of his brother and him when they were that age, and he found himself smiling.  “They really don’t look afraid, do they?  Any of them?”

“No.  They aren’t Dean.  They’re simply content to be with one another; happy, healthy, and together.”

Dean nodded.  He laughed along with the family as the older boy parodied Jingle Bells with the now-familiar Batman verse.  He could remember the first time he’d heard Sam sing it, and remembered the wrestling match that had followed.  He had been almost eleven at the time, his little brother had been six for almost half a year, he would proudly tell anyone who would listen.  Under the pretense of it being Christmas, Dean had let Sam win the match, watching with a grin on his own face as Sam had pranced around the room, poking fun at his brother and bragging at how strong he was getting.

~*~

He didn’t notice when the scene in front of him began to shift again.  He only noticed that it was much warmer than it had been once, and he was wondering idly how the snowman was going to feel about that.  He turned around to check only to find himself almost plummeting from a balcony.  With a gasp, Dean threw himself backwards, almost knocking into the brick building behind him.  He glared when he heard Sammy giggling hysterically, holding onto his stomach and rolling around on the ground.

“For an age-old spirit, you sure do act like my brother did when he was eight.”  Dean glared, but found his heart light at the sight.

“You should have seen the look on your face when you turned around.  You didn’t even know we were ten stories up!  Hah!”  The boy sobered quickly, drawing himself back up to his feet and facing the adult before him.  “This is the important scene that I wanted you to see, what is happening in the present, even as your brother lies asleep and you…well, you’re with me.  Watch now, and really see…”

~*~

The room was dreary and poorly-lit.  There was a chair and desk, as well as a small bed with a few blankets tossed haphazardly on top of it.  The room was devoid of people or any type of holiday decoration.  There was a small lamp on the desk, and a cooler behind the desk.  Dean couldn’t understand what they were doing there.  It didn’t seem to fit in with Sammy’s trip so far.  If he didn’t know better, Dean would have sworn that this was somewhere his father was holed up.

As the door opened and light spilled into the room, Dean realized that he didn’t know better.  There, alive and as well as Sam was, stood John Winchester.  Complete with a beard borne of a lack of his wife’s gentle reminders, personified in his boys, the man was there.  He looked a little worse for the wear than Dean remembered, had a few more bruises, and a little bit of a limp to accompany them, but there – in the flesh – was Dean’s father. 

~*~

The man’s breath was caught in his throat.  He had assured Sam out in Colorado that they would find John, had made sure that Sam believed the man was indeed among the living still.  But such is the charge of being a big brother, and even if Dean hadn’t believed that his father could still be alive, he had to make sure that Sam did.

But now, here stood John, paused at the doorway as if he too was frozen in time.  Dean wanted nothing more than to rush his father and hug him, not that he ever really would, but a small hand on his arm stopped him from trying to at least move closer.

“He can’t see you, remember.  Just watch.”  Sammy pointed back into the room, allowing Dean to watch his father slump down into the chair at the desk. 

~*~

John took out a cell phone and checked the voicemail, and his father’s eyes lit up for only an instant.  A smile ghosted across his lips as the oldest Winchester hung up with the computer, stared at the electronic for a moment more, and hid it back in his pocket.  The man sighed before reaching for the cooler.  He pulled out a glass beer bottle and gulped it down quickly before putting it down again.  The man then reached into his other pocket and pulled out something that was hidden in the palm of his left hand.  With his right hand, John pulled his wallet from his back pocket.

The man rifled through the fake ids and credit cards, searching for the one thing that gave him hope these days.  When his fingers finally grasped it and pulled it from the tattered leather, John breathed a sigh of relief, staring at the object as if it were his only link to sanity.

With a glance around him as if he knew that someone was watching, the Winchester patriarch stuck the object from his left hand into the beer bottle and balanced the object from his right on it.  He then closed both hands around the bottle and bowed his head for a moment.

“Merry Christmas, boys.  Wherever you are.”

With that, John lay down his head on his arms.  His shoulders shook only once, the beer bottle still tightly clasped in his right hand.

~*~

Sammy pulled on Dean’s hand, allowing him access into the condemned apartment and a better view of what his father had created.  There, in John’s hand, was a sprig of a pine tree, just big enough to hold a small picture of both Sam and Dean.  The boys were sledding, and Dean could see that he couldn’t have been more than eight years old, making little Sam only three or four.  The snow was caught in their hair and the grins on their faces wiped any thought in Dean’s mind of supernatural beings and hunting.

“Where is he?  Where are we now?”

“It is not my place to tell you that, Dean Winchester.  I can not tell you how to get to your father.  That is his prerogative.  Just know that he is safe, and he does care.”

“Yeah.”

The man couldn’t help it.  He rested his hand gently, almost timidly, on his father’s right shoulder, and a look to Sammy stopped the ghost’s rebuke.  They both watched in wonder as John’s left hand came up, resting on top of Dean’s.  Their fingers interlaced and Dean could have pulled his hand away without moving his father’s, but the touch was there just the same.  It almost drove Dean to tears.  He could tell that his father was asleep, just deeply enough to actually rest, but light enough that any noise would awaken him.  The oldest boy had seen so much of that in the four years that Sam was gone.

“We must go soon, before we are detected.”  Sammy whispered as he tugged on Dean’s sleeve once more.  “We will talk at our next destination.”

“Please,” Dean whispered back, a note of pleading in his voice, “just a few minutes more?”

Sammy nodded, allowing his tour to be paused for a moment as Dean was once again given something just as important as the Christmas spirit.  The twenty-six year old was given hope.

~*~

Some time later, Dean found himself out in the darkness once more.  He was surprised to find himself alone, and turned in circles several times before catching sight of a shadow.  He vaguely remembered that the one time he had seen A Christmas Carol, the ghost of Christmas yet to come was a shadow, so he walked cautiously towards it.  As he did so, it seemed that the shadow pulled away from him, leading him onwards.  Rolling his eyes, Dean followed it.  He twisted and turned through the wooded path, starting to run after his spirit, tempted to shout at it to stop.  When he finally found himself hopelessly lost and in complete blackness, the hunter turned in circles once again, wishing that he had a gun or a knife to make him more comfortable.

Then he heard it.  Giggles.  Coming from behind him.  He turned and glared, watching Sammy roll around on the ground in laughter again.  “You were chasing a shadow! I can’t believe you fell for that.  I told you Dickens got it wrong after he ‘dreamt’ about me.  You chased a shadow into complete blackness and then wondered why you couldn’t find it again.”

Dean found himself smiling.  “You sure aren’t very…you’re acting like a little kid.”

“I am a little kid.  Don’t you get it?  I only last one night, and then I am gone, a fleeting whisper of a ghost reincarnated only once a year.  For all the Christmases I have been around for, that only makes me the equivalent of an adolescent.  Not even really.  Think about that one for awhile.  There has only been something like two thousand Christmases.  I am really less than six of your years old.  Give me a break!”

Dean tried to do the math in his head and found that it hurt his brain.  Leave it to Sam, or the image of him anyway, to come up with something like that.  “Is this what we are here to see?”

“No, silly.  I told you we would talk once we left your father.  You are so keen on being just like him; just like Sam wanted to be like you.  But even your father celebrates Christmas in his own way.  He is afraid for you and Sam, always has been; afraid to have shown too much emotion when it came to the holidays.  But even now he doesn’t forget.  And right now, for his own reasons, that picture is the closest thing he has to family.  And true, he will spend Christmas day melting silver and sharpening knives, but he never stops to give thanks that he knows you boys are going to be just fine.  Because you have that much of your mother in you, and will be able to survive whatever evils come your way.  At least…he hopes so.”

“He…hopes so?  Do you know something I don’t?  And what was that voicemail?”

“Your brother.  He left your father a Merry Christmas message.  It’s the best present you boys could ever give him, letting him know that you are together and safe.”

“But I didn’t do anything.  Hell, I didn’t even know Sam called him.”

“But you went and got Sam; you’re protecting him even now, and your father still trusts you more so than himself to keep Sam safe.  And that is the best Christmas present for him.  And you’ve been giving it to him every day since your brother was born.”

Dean smiled.  “So are we off to the future now?  Or is that another thing that good ole’ Charlie boy got wrong.”

“‘Charlie boy’ got it right.  You, however, have it wrong.  I do not show the future.  I show what is yet to come.  It can be…”

“Changed?  Does this mean I’m not going to like this?”

Sammy cocked his head to the side.  “This will be our last stop.  My last attempt to make you see.  Then it is up to you.”

“You didn’t answer my questions.”

“No.  I didn’t.”  The boy smirked before running off into the woods again.  Dean was hard-pressed to keep up, but when he did, he found that he was right.  He didn’t like what he saw.

~*~

Two gravestones.  Side by side.  The dates obscured by overgrown weeds.  No flowers or flags to commemorate the deceased.  No epitaph to bring light to who they were save one word: Brothers.  The names were blurred, and the gray granite stones looked cracked and decrepit.  Light from the moon shadowed the words on the stones.

~*~

Dean looked at the cemetery around him, trying to etch it into his memory so that he could physically stay away from the place at any time in the future.  He started at the whisper in his ear.

“Do you think I wouldn’t distort this just enough to prevent that?  It will take more than running to change this.”  With that, Sammy shoved Dean a few steps forward, letting the moon light the words instead of shadowing them.

~*~

Samuel Winchester

1983 ~ 20 / /

 

Dean Winchester

1979 ~ 20 / /

~*~

“But…the dates…”  Dean glared, trying to reach out and clear more debris away.

~*~

Weeds clung stubbornly to the right corners of both grave markers, refusing under any circumstance to reveal the year of the Winchester boys’ deaths.  No amount of prying, or rubbing, or trying to feel through the leaves would bring that to light.

~*~

“You won’t tell me how much time I have left with him?”

“That is not my place either.  You can only take from this what you will.  But know this.  If this is to come to pass, you are not the only ones who will suffer.  Who will continue your work?  Who will tell your father what has come to pass?  Who will avenge your mother’s death if this is to come true?”

“We all have to die.  And what better way than to die with my brother?”

“Better way?”  Sammy scoffed.  “And of course you all have to die.  You are mere mortals.  But how would you feel watching your brother die for you?  Being left alive for just long enough to know that his death was in vain?  As your own life-blood pours out and you fall next to him?  Or what if he were to leave you?  Not physically of course, but through his resentment of being denied even the simplest joys?  To watch as he wastes away in this life that you have been given?  Or to die apart, neither knowing that the other has passed, only to be laid to rest mere inches from each other, yet still unknown.  No one will know your story.  You know that of course.  They can’t, or the world would have that fewer innocent joys in the world.  But you have much yet to accomplish, and you deny those as your brother wastes away.  He was not truly meant for this life, though nothing could change his past now.  He needs to be reminded sometimes, that this is all worth it.  Or you are going to lose him.  Again.”

The boy pointed behind him, and Dean saw that his grave marker was gone.  “What does that image hold for you?  Fear?  Anger?  Sadness?  Guilt?  All of those and more?  Emotions that your brother is even now weighed down with?  You dragged your brother to see the new Star Wars movies before he left for college.  All of those lead to suffering, don’t they?  You don’t want that to be your future, do you?  To be left alive, knowing that you will never be able to look upon your brother again.  You told him yourself when you let him go back to Stanford that night…back to Jess…that you make a Hell of a team.  And the world needs that.  They need for this image to never come to pass.  Two gravestones, commemorating old men who lived full, if not off the beaten path, lives and died knowing that they were able to make a difference in the world.  That is what needs to be yet to come.  Not this single marker.  And that is what you can make happen.”

“But how do I do that?”  Dean turned and found himself alone again, outside the motel room once more.  “How do I…”

“Just think, Dean Winchester.  Think and your heart will tell you.”  The words were whispers on the wind, but Dean heard them loud and clear.  He had work to do, and not a lot of time to do it in.

~~**~~

Chapter 3

Dean spent a full five minutes waiting for Sammy to pop out again, laughing at how he was acting, but the ghost was gone, leaving the man to his own devices.  The sight of his brother’s gravestone unsettled him more than he cared to admit, and much more than the sight of his own next to it had.  Dean could all too easily recount too many memories of almost losing his baby brother, but every time the boy had been returned to him, no worse for the wear in the long run.  But that grave marker had an air of finality that no run in with some evil entity could muster.

He took one look in on Sam, making sure that his brother was still all right, simply sleeping off his headache dreamlessly.  Dean could see the younger man still lying on the bed in the same position he had left him, the washcloth still draped across his forehead, even if it was long-since dry.  A glance at his watch showed that there was still a few hours before sunrise; still time to salvage Sam’s Christmas.  The Impala’s keys were left on the dresser next to Sam’s face in case of emergency, and to assure the younger brother that he hadn’t been abandoned should he wake, and the washcloth was thrown back towards the bathroom.

~*~

Dean was quickly finding himself rethinking his plan to leave the car behind as he searched the town for anything that would help him.  He had been thinking about the Christmas play his middle school had put on when he was younger, and he was praying that this town would have had the same idea.  But the man couldn’t put that thought to rest until he found a middle school; or any school really.  He had pilfered a small set of lights from the police department display, figuring that somehow the officials would manage to piss him off in the next few days anyway.  A small book, found discarded at the town park was under Dean’s arm, and his flashlight was in the other hand.

The back road was deserted, its normal travelers ‘dancing with sugar plums’ by this time of night, Dean mused.  The setting was almost ethereal; the moon shining off the snow exuding peace, and the lone wanderer found himself oddly at ease.  He knew that his brother would be worried if he woke up, knew that something could get the drop on either of them at any time, but he felt as though something would keep the evils at bay for tonight, allowing him to finish his tasks.

He came to the end of that street and found himself idly looking for a star or some other sign to guide him to his destination.  He almost laughed out loud when nothing jumped out on him and fell back on his instincts, heading off towards the right.  Dean wasn’t entirely sure when he had left the center of town to find himself on these back roads, but he was pleased to see after some more searching that he had found a set of schools.  He walked into the parking lot of the first one he came across and prayed that Christmas Eve celebrations were more important to the local law enforcement than watching out for vandals or vagrants looking for mischief.

Dean stared at the dumpster now in front of him.  The school had been locked up tightly, and now he stood there, arguing with himself.  Sammy better appreciate this, he thought as he rolled up his sleeves and pulled himself up against the side of the trash container.  Both fortunately and unfortunately, it hadn’t been emptied that day, and was full of bags. 

Unwilling to jump inside, Dean reached forward, pulling and ripping bags to get a better view of their contents.  He almost dropped back to the ground when a few of the bags proved to be more ripe than he had hoped, but he kept on his quest; glad that he hadn’t eaten recently.  He finally did drop to the ground, holding his hands disgustedly in front of him so that they wouldn’t brush against his leather jacket, as he headed off to the next school.  A backwards glance at the school made him pause to think about his original plan.  He supposed that the local high school wouldn’t have many of what he was looking for, and wondered if he should just head to the next school or search out which was the middle school.  He had a feeling that was where he would find his treasure.

His thoughts proved moot as the next school was the middle school, and he repeated the process, almost falling into the dumpster as he misjudged the height and strength needed to pull himself up.  Flailing one arm backwards before he flipped in head first, Dean found himself on the ground once more, tempted to run his fingers through his hair to make sure he hadn’t brushed against the trash inside before he remembered where they’d been.  He was definitely taking the longest, hottest shower he could manage back at the motel as a Christmas gift to himself after this.

Dean jumped up to the lip of the metal container once more, almost immediately rewarded for his efforts.  There, amidst half-eaten cookies and red and green construction paper chains was his prize.

It was quite possibly the sorriest excuse for a tree he had ever seen.  Dean was pretty sure it was even more pathetic looking than the one he found when he was twelve.  There were a total of six branches, most of the pine needles were already falling off, and the top was bent.  The twig couldn’t have been more than two or three feet high.  It was perfect.

Dean grabbed a few of the paper chains, weeding through the links to find the cleanest section he could, and draped it around the tree before grabbing the thing by its ‘trunk’ and dropping back to the ground once more.

He found that he was face to face with a flashlight and a police officer.  Dean was glad that the string of lights was well hidden in his inside pocket.  See?  I knew they’d manage to screw me over somehow.

“I…uhh…” Dean held up the tree and smiled guiltily, trying to picture his brother’s puppy dog look that had gotten him out of so much trouble when they were boys.

“If you leave now, I think I can pretend that I never saw you here.  It is Christmas after all.”

Dean nodded and bolted off, yelling a thank you back at the man as he did so.  He had to get back to the motel before Sam woke up.

~*~

He made it back in record time, sliding the key from his pocket at the same time as he dropped the tree and decorations outside the door.  If Sam was awake, they would have to be brought in later, hopefully when the younger Winchester wouldn’t notice…somehow.  Dean unlocked the door quietly and peered in, relieved and concerned all at the same time to see his brother hadn’t moved.  Something could have come in and done anything without him knowing about it, and the knowledge that Dean had left him alone in that state shot a quick pang of guilt to his heart.  But nothing had happened, and he had long ago learned to put his emotions behind him as quickly as possible.

The tree was quickly balanced against a corner, the lights strung on it and the paper chain placed carefully around it, as far from the lights as possible.  Dean had no desire to turn Sam’s memory of this Christmas into a flight from yet another burning building, and made sure the firetrap tree was as safe as possible.  He placed the small children’s book under the tree and stepped back to appraise the tree; pleased with his work.

But something was still missing; Dean was sure of it.  He stared at the bent branch that made the point of the tree and realized what it was.  It was time to let Sam glimpse the smallest bit of Dean’s sentimental side; it seemed to scream at him. 

Dean started when he heard his brother groan behind him.  He wasn’t ready yet!  It wasn’t morning yet!  His baby brother needed to stay in dreamland for just a little while longer!

It seemed that the gods were smiling on him once more as Sam merely cracked an eyelid to look at the clock before dropping his face down to the pillows again, out before it had sunk in completely.  At least now Dean knew that his brother was going to be just fine; his hard head was indeed as hard as they had both hoped.

Dean smiled, knowing what he now had to do.  The one place he had always been able to keep things hidden from his father was almost literally right under the man’s nose the whole time his boys had been growing up.  Sam had his lockbox, always stored under a bed, even now hidden under a bed of weapons in the Impala’s trunk, and Dean had his hiding place too.  The twenty-six year old reached into his pocket for a seldom used key as he headed out to the car.

Under the driver’s seat of the Impala was a small black box, not unlike Sam’s.  The lock still gleamed, although it hadn’t been touched in some time.  It had resided there for as long as Dean could remember, knowing that his father rarely took the time to search under the car seats, and that it had always been the oldest son’s job to vacuum and clean the carpets after a hunt.  Sam had been charged with the outside, Dean with the inside, and it had provided the perfect cover for his box.

So it was here now that he sat, clutching the box as he leaned against the back seat.  Simply sitting there brought back memories, but there was no time for that now.  He needed to get back inside before Sam woke up, maybe be able to catch a little sleep before his brother did so.

So he rifled past the bullet from his first kill and Sam’s first report card, pulling out his first gun and setting it down beside him.  And then he saw it.  It was a little folded and a corner was ripped, but other than that, it was in the same condition it had been when it was made.  Sam’s yellow star.

Childhood memories were shoved back into the box and it was locked and stowed away quickly.  But the star remained.  It was this that Dean had found missing from his tree, and this that now needed to come back into the world.  It was Sam’s innocence and hope that there was still good in the world that could be explained by Santa Claus, precariously held together with glitter and glue.

~*~

Now that the tree was complete, Dean was faced with a conundrum.  He wanted to shower more than anything in the world, feeling as though it must have been months since he showered last due to the smell that was wafting up to him from his hands.  But he was afraid that he would miss Sam’s awakening if he did so.  The man bit his lip in thought, glancing back and forth between his brother and the bathroom.

Dean tentatively lifted a hand towards his nose, taking the smallest sniff he could manage in order to determine if he was being paranoid or not.  His brain hadn’t finished processing the signal from his nose before he was locked in the bathroom, trying to clean any trace of the scent from him as pleading with his brother not to wake up.

Two rounds with the shampoo and almost all the hot water later, Dean finally felt as though his Christmas gift had been duly taken care of.  He quickly shrugged back into clothing and peeked out into the bedroom with bated breath.

Sam was still passed out on the bed; now lying on his stomach with one hand having fallen off the side.  Dean looked up at the ceiling again before sitting down next to his brother.  A hand on the younger man’s back assured him that no nightmares plagued him and the concussion hadn’t taken a turn for the worse as Sam shifted subconsciously.  A second later, the concussed man was awake, sitting back on his knees and pulling away from whatever had startled him.  The shooting pain in his head, two Advil shoved under his nose, and his brother’s other hand held up in peace cleared away the last remnants of sleep, and the hunter relaxed.

“Morning, Sammy.  Merry Christmas!”  Dean smiled at his brother, watching the look of confusion cross his features.

“It’s Sam.”

“Not today it isn’t.  Here, Merry Christmas.” 

The Advil were placed into Sam’s palm and after they were dry-swallowed, he looked back up at his brother.  “Who are you and what have you done with Dean?”

“Very funny, Sammy.  Go shower or something, you smell.”  He watched as Sam glared at him before throwing himself off the bed.  He turned away from his brother and managed a full step before he stopped dead.

“Dean?”  When the younger man turned around, his brother was rewarded for all his night time wandering.  The smile that lit up his face was almost equal to what the eight-year old Sam’s had been, and for the first time since Jess had died, there was a spark in Sam’s eye that Dean found he had sorely missed.  “When did you…”

“Santa Claus came.  It’s not much, I know, and I wish I could have done more, but…”

“Dean.  That is possibly the saddest Christmas tree I have ever seen.  It’s perfect.  Thank you.”

“You’re welcome Sammy.  Now seriously; go shower, consider it your Christmas gift to me.  Please?”

Sam grumbled, but he didn’t correct the nickname and found himself staring at the tree again.

~*~

When he had showered, and Dean was inexplicably showering again, Sam found himself staring once more.  The paper chain and the lights were plain enough and warranted no further explanation.  But something oddly familiar was tugging at Sam and he found that he was drawn to a time fourteen years past.  He was ripped from his reverie before he could truly place what had gotten him there as Dean emerged, smelling his hands.

“You okay there, Sammy?”

The nickname was starting to get to him again, but the combination of it and the object of his gaze finally clicked.  “Dean?  Is that…my star?”

Dean laughed, pulling a shirt on and shaking out his hair.  “Yeah.”

“But how?  Where?”

“I’ve had it.”

“My brother keeps things like this?”

“Shut up.”

Sam saw the smallest amount of tension at the revelation and smiled.  “Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Sam shook his head, reaching out to touch the construction paper before turning back to his now dressed brother.  Christmas was nice and all, but they had a hunt to finish, and he was sure that Dean would be itching to get going.

“So what are we hunting today?  Research?  The locals?”

“Christmas dinner.  Well, later on that is.”

“Umm…the poltergeist?”

“It’ll be there tomorrow, Sammy.  Don’t worry about that right now.  What should we do for Christmas?”

“Okay, seriously now.  Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

“I just…realized that sometimes there can be some things more important than the hunt.  Rarely, mind you,” Dean nodded as if to assure that he really was who he said he was.  “But days like today shouldn’t be forgotten.”

“Days like today?”

“Christmas, Sammy.  Are you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard?”  He jokingly moved to check his brother’s pupils.

“Quit it.”  Sam batted Dean’s hands away.  “But I thought you didn’t care about Christmas?”

“Someone…cleared that up for me.”

“Who?”

Dean could have sworn he could see an eight-year old Sam peeking in the motel room window.  He smiled and turned to face his Sam.  “You did.”

~~**~~