Dean Winchester stifled a yawn as the credits for the movie he had just finished began rolling on the television.
"Can we watch a Christmas movie now?" a small voice spoke up from the floor between the two motel beds.
The nine-year old leaned to the side and peered down at his sibling.
Sam was lying on his belly, chin propped up on the heel of one hand, gazing at the TV expectantly.
"I already told you," Dean spoke in a smug tone, "It's my night to pick the shows we watch."
"But its Christmas Eve!" the five-year old protested, sitting up and frowning at his sibling.
The nine-year old shook his head, "No way, Squirt. We are not watching some dumb kiddie Christmas movie."
"But. It's. Christmas!" Sam exclaimed, becoming agitated.
"Sam," Dean replied warningly, "I said no."
"It's Christmas, Dean! We have to watch a Christmas movie!" the younger Winchester yelled in his brother's face.
"Stop it, Sam!" Dean snapped, "Don't shout!"
"Why can't you stop being mean?" the younger brother argued.
Dean opened his mouth to scream at his sibling but then stopped but then smiled.
"What?" Sam asked, "Why are you doing that?"
"You're being a brat," Dean replied in a wheedling tone, "On Christmas Eve."
"I am not a-" the five-year old growled grumpily but was interrupted when his sibling held up a hand to stop him.
"You do know what happens to bad kids on Christmas Eve, don't you?" Dean asked, smirking.
Sam nodded, now looking concerned, "They don't get presents."
Dean shook his head, "Nope, you're wrong."
"What do you mean?" the five-year old asked, squinting suspiciously.
"If there are any kids who are bad on Christmas Eve," Dean began, smiling wickedly, "Santa doesn't leave presents for them. Instead, he takes the kids!"
Sam jumped, glaring at his brother.
"You're lying," he accused.
Dean shook his head, "No, it's true. Who do you thinks makes all the toys? Not elves. Grown ups just tell you that so they won't scare you."
"But… I've never heard of any kids getting taken away," Sam insisted.
"You've never heard of Tommy Dalton?" Dean asked and Sam shook his head.
"He put gum in his sister's hair on Christmas Eve three years ago," Dean told his brother, "And when his parents woke up the next day, he was gone. They called the police and everything, no one ever found him."
"When Santa came to Tommy's house," Dean continued, relishing in the fact that his sibling's hazel eyes were large and wide, his attention completely focused on his big brother, "He left presents for his sister but grabbed Tommy right out of his bed!"
"He stuffed Tommy into an old bag and took with him to the North Pole," Dean went on, "And forced Tommy to make toys all day and all night and eat nothing but gruel."
"And do you know what happens when the bad kids are too old to make toys for Santa?" Dean asked, leaning right into his sibling's face.
Sam shook his head.
"They shove the kids outside into the snow and they… slowly… freeze…"
The five-year old's mouth hung open in shock.
"That's not what happens!" Sam insisted, "You're just trying to scare me!"
Dean shrugged, "Believe what you want. Keep being a brat and see what happens."
Sam crossed his arms over his chest but was clearly having second thoughts about continuing to pester his brother. Dean picked up the remote for the TV and changed the channel to a NASCAR race. The nine-year old smiled to himself as his brother refrained from commenting on his choice of television shows.
The kid's so gullible; Dean thought and leaned back, enjoying the adrenaline-fuelled action of the race.
W
"Goodnight, Sammy," Dean tucked his younger sibling into bed, pulling the scratchy blankets up to the child's chin, "Sleep tight."
"Dean?" the five-year old muttered, peering up at his older brother.
"Yeah, Sam?" Dean replied as he turned off the television.
"Um… what you said… about Santa taking bad kids away… that… that wasn't real, right?"
Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
"No Sammy," he replied, "It wasn't real. I was just trying to scare you."
The last thing he needed was to give his little brother nightmares.
Sam gazed at him seriously for a moment before nodding and closing his eyes.
Dean sighed and shook his head, making his way to the second bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. Passing a hand across his eyes, the nine-year old peered around the small, sad motel room. Even though it was Christmas Eve, there were no decorations: no tinsel, no tree, and no gifts. The room looked as bare and barren as it did every other day of the year. Dean briefly wondered if his father was going to show up at all but knew better than to keep his hopes up. John hadn't even bothered to so much as call and make sure his boys were all right.
We're fine Dad, Dean thought; even without you.
The nine-year old, usually agreeable and completely understanding of his father's obsession with hunting, couldn't help but feel the sting of disappointment. Knowing that all around their dumpy little motel room, kids just like him and his brother were nestled snug into their beds, having been tucked in and kissed goodnight by loving parents who wouldn't dare miss Christmas day with their darling children.
Reaching out to the lamp sitting on the stand between the two beds, Dean turned out the light, plunging the room into darkness.
SPN
Sam startled awake and sat up in bed, squinting in the darkened room.
He could just make out the large form of someone in the room, standing at the foot of his bed.
"Daddy?" the five-year old whispered, careful not to wake his brother sleeping in the bed just beside his.
The light from a car's headlights as it passed through the driveway slanted across the motel room, brightening the figure just for an instant and allowed Sam to see a flash of red and white trim.
"Santa!" Sam gasped.
SPN
Dean's eyes snapped open and he rolled over quickly in bed to face his sibling.
"Sammy?" he called out, "You okay?"
Crap, the nine-year old thought, I've given him nightmares. Now I'm in for it.
Thinking his brother had just gone to use the restroom, the older sibling held his breath and waited, an apology and assurances bubbling up his throat.
A minute passed, than another and another. There was no sound from inside the bathroom and Dean was becoming concerned.
"Sam?" he called, louder than before.
Sitting up, Dean turned to peer at the washroom, seeing with a sickening jolt that the door was hanging ajar, the room shrouded in darkness. Sam was not in there.
"Sammy!" Dean snapped, "Come out now!"
All was quiet.
Reaching out, the nine-year old turned on the lamp and peered around the room, heart pounding in his chest.
"Sammy?" he croaked.
Eyes sliding to his brother's bed, Dean saw that the blankets were rumpled and wrinkled. Standing, the nine-year old stood and placed his hand flat on the sheets of his brother's bed; they were still warm. Sam was somewhere close by.
Lifting his gaze, the nine-year old saw that his brother's boots, coat, hat and mittens were all piled up by the door where the younger boy had left them. Certainly Sam wasn't outside, not in his pajamas?
Where could his brother be? Dean crouched down and peered under his sibling's bed. Sam wasn't hiding. There were not many places the five-year old could be. The room wasn't big enough and had no good places where a little boy could conceal himself.
Crossing the room without even thinking about it, Dean walked to the window and pushed aside the heavy curtains. Peering outside, the nine-year old could see the rooms directly across from theirs, as the motel had been built in the shape of a horseshoe with its parking lot in the center, and the deserted highway to the right.
Dean didn't see the sleigh at first, he was focused on the parking lot right in front of the room, home to a half-dozen snow-covered vehicles.
Then, his eyes moving as though of their own accord, the nine-year old spied a dark red sleigh sitting atop the motel rooms directly across from his.
The sleigh, the colour of a blood clot, sat apparently empty atop the wing of the motel, what looked like a huge dark green velvet bag taking up most of the rear of the sled. A single black horse stood in front of the sleigh, pawing at the snow-covered roof.
"No way," Dean muttered and dropped the curtains, hurrying to the door, without pausing to pull on his boots or coat.
Unlocking the door, the nine-year old stepped outside, snow instantly soaking his sock-and-feet. Dean barely noticed the cold cutting through his flannel pajamas as he stepped off the sidewalk and dashed across the parking lot to the other side of the motel.
"Sam!" Dean called, his breath appearing as a white stream of mist as he shouted.
"Sammy!"
Staring up at the roof, the boy wondered how he could get up there to see if his brother was in the sleigh.
Quickly running to the side of the building, Dean smiled as he saw a rusty metal staircase leading up to the roof of the motel.
"I'm coming, Sammy," Dean gritted his teeth and grabbed onto the icy rungs of the ladder. He didn't even pause to think about the sleigh, how or why it should exist, because it didn't matter. All that mattered was that his brother was in trouble and needed his help.
"Sammy!" Dean called again as he climbed, slowly but with determination. He had to get to his brother but it wouldn't help his sibling if he broke his neck falling from the ladder.
He just hoped that Santa Claus- or whoever it was- was still preoccupied with delivering presents in the motel room below.
The nine-year old reached the top of the ladder and cautiously stepped up onto the roof- flat and coated in tarred gravel- eyeing the large black horse at the front of the sleigh warily.
The animal raised its head and snorted at the boy, pawing at the roof with one plate-sized hoof.
"Easy," Dean murmured as he inched towards the sleigh, "Easy there."
The nine-year old's heart was thudding painfully in his chest, his eyes widening at the sight of the horse's glowing red eyes as it watched his every move.
"Sammy," Dean whispered, "Sammy."
The boy reached the sleigh and climbed up into it. Turning his back to the horse, Dean peered at the enormous green bag and reached for it. Quickly finding the opening, secured with rope made of golden thread, Dean untied the rope and let it fall away, pulling the opening wide.
Gifts wrapped in colourful paper tumbled out into the sleigh and onto the roof loudly.
"Sammy!" Dean called, his voice cracking with fear.
The horse, whinnied suddenly and the boy jumped.
Terrified that the owner of the sleigh would return, Dean shoved aside the bag of presents, shouting his brother's name.
Suddenly, he heard a muffled cry and the nine-year old paused.
"Sam!" Dean cried again and shouldered the sack of gifts out of his way to see a smaller burlap bag squeezed into a far corner of the sleigh's rear.
"SAM!" the nine-year old exclaimed and grabbed the burlap bag, dragging it forward. The bag clearly contained something alive and upset, the fabric pushing out as the person trapped inside kicked and punched.
"It's okay," Dean murmured, "It's okay, Sammy, I've got you."
The burlap sack had been tied shut with a thick, coarse rope, knotted tightly. Dean tugged at the rope, struggling to open the bag.
The boy froze with horror as the sound of heavy footsteps reached his ears.
"No," he whispered and wrapped his arms around the burlap sack.
As the footsteps came closer and closer, Dean squeezed his eyes shut. If this thing were going to take his brother way, well, he'd have to take him too. There was no way he was going to abandon his brother.
The nine-year old gasped when he felt a hand close tightly around his shoulder and pull him up, dragging him away from the burlap bag…
W
"SAM!"
Dean screamed as he sat up in bed.
Terrified, the boy clawed at the lamp and managed to turn it on, washing the motel room in a yellow glow.
Eyes darting to his brother's bed, the nine-year old relaxed at the sight of his sibling lying on his side, peering at him with a scared and worried expression.
"You were crying," Sam whispered, "Are you okay?"
Dean's pounding heart began to slow, adrenaline draining away.
The older boy nodded, "Yeah… Yeah, just a nightmare."
Dean leaned back against his pillows.
"Hey Sammy?" he spoke up.
"Dean?"
"Bad kids get coal for Christmas," he told his brother, "That's all."
"I know, Dean," the little boy replied.
The nine-year old reached out and turned off the lamp, closing his eyes and smiled.
Author's Note:
This is late for Christmas but I hope you all enjoy. Have a Happy New Year!
Please take a moment to leave a review if you liked the story.