"Santa Claus is better'n God."
"Is not!"
"Is too. Santa gives presents and God just tells us what to do."
"Santa only gives presents if we're good; God loves us no matter what!"
James Murphy smiled at the certainty in Sammy Winchester's voice. It sounded as though at least one of the Winchesters had taken his "God is love" message to heart. But no matter how gratifying that was, it was more than time to intervene. Billy Parker had a tendency to let his hands do his arguing if his words weren't enough, and while Sam Winchester didn't start fights, he had learned enough from his big brother to know how to end them, usually with his opponent in pain.
Rounding the corner, Jim saw that he wasn't needed. Sammy's guardian was leaning against the wall, keeping an eye on the two six-year-olds. No one was going to lay a hand on the younger Winchester while the older one was there. Even so, it was the evening of the last Sunday before Christmas and there were better things for two small boys to do than argue Santa v. God.
"Dessert's ready, boys," Jim said mildly, ignoring the flushed faces and angry stances of two combatants.
That was enough. With a whoop Billy took off, no doubt looking for the Scottish trifle that was his favourite sweet. Sammy was slower, coming to stand and look up at the Pastor. "God is better than Santa, right, Pastor Jim?"
Jim smiled down into the wide hazel eyes, but hedged a little, not wanting to take sides. "Well, God created everything good, including Santa."
"So if He made Santa He must be better than Santa," Sammy insisted passionately, wanting a final decision on the subject.
Dean pushed himself off the wall. "Come on, Sammy, do you really wanna talk about this when there's food? If we don't get there it'll all be eaten."
Jim could see the struggle on Sammy's face. The boy hated giving up on an argument once he'd got his teeth into it. But he'd been around Jim's congregation long enough to know exactly what sort of feast the ladies of Jim's church put on, and his face suddenly relaxed into a beaming smile that showed his dimples.
"Okay! Race you," and Sammy shot off down the hallway to the meeting room.
Dean sighed, shrugged his shoulders, and followed more slowly, not deigning to take up the challenge. Jim brought up the rear, close enough that he could hear Dean's mutter.
"It's not like either of them's real, anyway."
Jim checked, and stood watching his worst pastoral failure walk away, the familiar pain in his heart.
And he prayed again, as he did so often, that one day God would find a way of speaking to Dean Winchester that Dean could hear.