I know this has been done before... but as I have been watching my favorite holiday movie "Scrooged" every day, I was inspired to write it. And, after reading HappyCabbage's wonderful take on Hamlet, I was inspired to post. Hope you enjoy! Happy Holidays!


Had the Dickens Scared outa Me

"So Sammy, what are you hoping Santa'll leave in your stocking this year?"

After spending the last half an hour in silence, searching the old graveyard for Marissa Jakobson's insanely difficult to find tombstone, the sudden question made Sam pause. He looked ahead to his brother, a row or two in front and to the left of him in the cemetery, and found Dean looking intently at the worn stones in the beam of his flashlight. But, Sam was not the sort to imagine such things.

"Did you say something?"

"Yeah," and Dean looked over his shoulder and smirked, "I was wondering what little Sammy wanted for Christmas this year." Then, he turned back to the grave markers to search once more.

"First of all," Sam said with mild irritation, "I haven't been little Sammy since I hit my first big growth spurt at fourteen – you know, the one you hoped would be my last." Sam grinned a slightly evil grin at the memory of his big brother no longer having any height advantage on him whatsoever. What a surprise it was for Dean to realize he was going to be the family runt.

"And second," he continued, "I thought you'd gotten all this crap out of your system already."

"All this cr-" Dean broke off, stopped looking at the stones and turned completely to face his not-so-little brother. "Dude, I thought 'pissy' was your theme last year. Aren't contestants for the 'Least Christmas Spirit' contest supposed to come up with new ideas each year?"

"And I thought that last year was some kind of fluke. I believe your excuse for wanting to celebrate for the first time in, like, ever, was the fact that it was your last Christmas. You remember that, right? The whole deal with you leaving in five months time." Sam turned around and began stalking in the opposite direction, mumbling, "Happy Birthday to me."

"Sam-"

"No, Dean, just save it," he said without looking back, more weariness than wrath in his voice. "Why don't we split up for a bit and cover more ground?" he said more than asked, walking across a dirt path to the next section of the cemetery without waiting for Dean to agree.

Though, he was pretty sure he heard his older brother sigh out a soft, "yeah, all right Sammy," accompanied by fading footsteps.

* * *

About twenty minutes after separating, Sam was startled by a familiar female voice behind him.

"Are you sure this is the best time of day for ghost busting?"

"Ruby," he said with a quick glance in her direction, making eye contact for a second, by way of greeting. He returned his gaze to the worn stones but continued with the conversation. He knew that he and Dean were safe, even at this late hour, from the ghost of the old school marm. Sam had discovered that she only haunted the area where her schoolhouse had been – now an apartment complex – on weekdays and her grave on Saturdays. As it was still early Sunday morning, they would be fine. He supposed, given Ruby's casual manner, she knew this as well.

"Where did you come from anyway?" he asked. "I mean, I realize that demons can pretty much float on the wind to wherever they want to go, but doesn't having that body limit your mobility? How did you get out here?"

"Easy, Mr. Twenty Questions," she said, folding her arms and raising her eyebrows. "A girl's got a right to keep some secrets, doesn't she?"

Sam merely rolled his eyes. As he didn't say anything and continued moving on down the row, Ruby walked along with him on the opposite sides of the graves. However, she kept her eyes on Sam.

"So... any special plans for the holidays? You and your pain in the ass brother going to take a break, drink some eggnog, stay up late to watch for reindeer?"

"Not you too," he said, finally stopping to look directly at her. The amusement on her face annoyed him. "I wouldn't have expected you to be all holly and jolly. I've never heard of a real witch celebrating the birth of Christ."

"Kid, you know as well as I do that your Jesus was born closer to your own birth date than December 25th." She shook her head and the two kept walking. "Now, the winter solstice – that's a party I could get into."

"And how exactly would you celebrate this Lesser Sabbat?" he asked with a hint of a laugh.

"Sam," Ruby stopped dead in her tracks and said, mirth gone completely from her voice, "I think your brother just found the right grave."

Sam's 'So?' was drown out by the sound of six feet of flesh and bone hitting solid wood. And from the crack and thump of said body then hitting ground, it seemed as if the tree had won.

"Dean!" Sam yelled as he and Ruby took off toward the echoes of Dean being thrown around like a rag doll. Ruby may have had the demon-amped-up strength advantage, but the shorter legs of her host body allowed for Sam to easily make it to the grave before her.

Looking around, he saw a couple of headstones at strange angles, a tree with bark scattered around its base, some bushes that looked as if they had been run over by a big rig, and clumps of grass and dirt thrown this way and that. What he didn't see was his brother or the ghost.

"Dean?" Sam's voice, caught somewhere between calling out and whispering, echoed in the empty clearing. Suddenly, Sam realized just how quiet his surroundings were. No birds or bugs or other critters scurrying around. No footfalls from Ruby catching up to help him with Dean or the ghost. And no Dean and no ghost.

"Dean!" he called out again, walking in a circle two, three times, until finally seeing a hint of his brother's boot behind a row of hedges. Making his way quickly to his brother, he crouched down to try and see the extent of the damage.

A groan startled Sam as he was reaching to search for his brother's pulse. He fell, landing hard on his backside, and watched as Dean began the painful process of regaining his breath and consciousness.

"Easy Dean. I've got you. I'm right here," Sam said softly, along with other such nonsense meant to be supportive and caring, while reaching out to help in whatever way he could.

"Sammy?" Dean mumbled and opened his eyes, trying to focus.

"Yeah, right here. What happened, Dean? Where is she?"

"Sam!" One moment his brother was trying to sit himself up and shake off the vertigo, and the next Dean was shouting his name a split second before Sam found himself yanked away and thrown through the air. The last thing Sam saw was Dean's wide, frightened – for his little brother, never himself – eyes falling further and further away, then the bright lights that accompany the fierce pains of hitting an immovable object, then blessed nothingness.

* * *

"Sam... SAM... Sammy?" the breathless voice of his older brother oozed into his head. Unfortunately, it felt like his brains were oozing out of his head at the same pace.

"Come on, Sammy. You gotta wake up man," and boy did Dean sound young when he was worried about his little brother.

"'m'wake," Sam mumbled and slurred. He heard Dean let out a huge huffed breath and stand up – mostly likely turning away to compose his big, bad self, Sam thought. The idea would have brought a smile to his face, if his face hadn't hurt so much.

"'m'OK," he muttered, trying to reassure his older brother as he slowly moved to sit up against the hard surface he had been thrown against. The rough, scratchiness against his back told him it was probably a tree – probably the same tree Dean had been thrown against already.

Sam blinked his eyes open, attempting to clear the scrambled, double vision he was currently suffering. He slowly moved his head to look around for Dean, but stopped when he saw another figure. Standing with his back to Sam was a young boy with dark hair and baggy clothing.

Sam quickly sat up a little more and searched his memory for the stories he had read about Marissa Jakobson. The woman had been cruel and punishing in life and even worse in death, to the point of seriously harming many of the children in the apartment building now standing where her old schoolhouse had been. There had been two deaths: one was an old man who saw the spirit and had a fatal heart attack, the other was... was a girl, wasn't it? Sam was sure he had read that the ghost killed a teenage girl who had been dared to spend the night at her grave – stupid kids and their stupid dares.

Sam's hand was inching towards his brother's duffel bag that sat a foot away from him when the ghost boy turned around to face him. Sam nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight.

"Dean?"