It was about 9 AM on Christmas morning when Milo Murphy woke up. (He probably would have been up earlier, like any self-respecting child, if not for all of the painkillers that he was currently taking.) He lay among his warm blankets for about minute, then remembered what day it was and quickly sat up, his head whipping around to the little tree in the corner of the room.

The frosted Christmas cookies and unopened cartoon of milk remained untouched where he had left them. There were no presents.

The five-year-old boy's shoulders slumped. Apparently Mom was right—Santa Claus didn't visit kids in the hospital.

His ears pricked up as he heard shouting and laughter outside the door, coming from the other children in the ward. The sound drew him out of his disappointment, and was just thinking about joining them (which would require asking for a wheelchair) when he heard a soft knock on the door.

"Come in!"

The door opened slowly. Milo had been expecting one of the doctors or nurses. Instead the sight that greeted him made his eyes grow as wide as saucers.

"SANTA?!"

"Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas, MiWHOA!"

Santa tripped and landed flat on his face, the presents in his bag spilling out on top of his head. "Whoops! Floor's a little slippery," he said, climbing to his feet and gathering up the packages.

Milo had instantly rushed to the end of his bed, barely noticing how much the sudden movement hurt his injured leg. "Oh my gosh! What are you doing here?! Shouldn't you be back at the North Pole by now?"

"Well, I was just flying back over Canada, when I realized that I forgot this bag of toys for all the boys and girls here at the Danville Hospital." He emptied the bag onto Milo's bed; several large packages fell out. "And these are for you!"

"Really?! All these?!"

"That's right! But you wait until your mom, dad and sister show up to open them," he said, raising a finger conspiratorially.

"Oh! But that could be hours!"

"Actually, they should be here pretty soon! I saw their car on the road as I was flying here. I recognized it by that big dent on the roof where the tree hit it."

"Oh, good!" said Milo, who didn't think to question Santa's knowledge of such things. "Oh, hey, before you leave—don't forget your cookies and milk!"

He pointed to the tree, and Santa smiled as he went to retrieve the food. "You set this out for me?" He sounded oddly touched.

"Yeah! Mom and Dad brought me those cookies when they came to visit yesterday."

"Mmm, I love your mom's cookies!" He took a big bite of one, then tried to open the milk carton. This proved to be hard with his mittens on, and when he squeezed it too hard, it exploded in his hand and got milk all down his red suit and white beard.

"Whoa! Ha-ha. That happens to me all the time," Milo said.

Santa laughed along with him, then took the empty sack from Milo's bed. "Well, I must be off. Mrs. Claus and the elves are waiting for me."

Okay!" He waved cheerfully. "Merry Christmas, Santa!"

"Merry Christmas, Milo! Ho ho h—oh agh oh!"

Santa tripped over the one package that he had accidentally left on the floor, causing him to stumble-run out the open door. His windmilling arms knocked the door shut, and Milo heard a crash a few seconds later.

"Hmm. I hope he's okay," Milo said simply, before turning back to his presents. "Hey, I think this one's a fire truck!"

He spent the next several minutes happily shaking his presents and rearranging them in piles on his bed. Finally there came a knock, and the door opened to reveal his mom, dad and sister, all dressed in bright Christmas sweaters and carrying boxes and trays of food.

"Merry Christmas, Milo!"

"Merry Christmas!"

Milo was already bouncing up and down in his bed. "Guys, guys, you won't believe it! Santa was here a few minutes ago!"

"Oh my gosh!" said Sara in a stilted voice. "He was?"

"Yeah! He brought me all these presents!" Milo said, holding up the one that seemed to be either a helmet or an oddly-shaped ball.

"Well, I'm glad you didn't open them until we got here," said Martin, ruffling his hair.

(For the record, Milo noticed the purple bruise above his father's right eye, it just didn't occur to him to be suspicious about it.)

The following Christmas, Milo was in the hospital again, and once again Santa paid him a visit. He came in, "ho ho ho!"ing, dropped off the presents, got tangled up in Milo's IV and then left, a few minutes before his family arrived.

And so it was the year after (when he tripped over Milo's crutches), and the year after that (when Milo had to give him the Heimlich maneuver), and the year after that (many emus).

"And he always comes to my room last," Milo said on the Christmas Eve after his tenth birthday, adjusting the Santa hat that he wore on his heavily-bandaged head. "Don't tell the other kids, but I'm pretty sure I'm his favorite! Everyone else gets one present a piece, but he always delivers a whole bunch to me! Isn't that something?"

"Uh-huh," said Melissa skeptically. "But why does he come to this hospital? There have to be a million more all over the world."

"Well, maybe he visits them too! I mean, if he can fly all around the world in one night he's clearly got some crazy time-management skills. Hey! My dad's bed is free," Milo said, pointing the Murphy Suite's other accommodation. "Maybe you can spend the night and see him tomorrow, too!"

"Actually, Milo, it's about time for us to drive Melissa home," Brigette said, as Melissa climbed down from the foot of Milo's bed. "But we'll be back to see you first thing tomorrow morning, alright?"

"Alright," he said with a wan smile. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Milo!"

"See you soon, son," said his father, ruffling Milo's hat as he passed (with a soft "Whoops! Sorry" as he noticed his son wince in pain).

Once they were gone, Milo finished up his Christmas Eve dinner, lay back in bed and turned on the television. Mom wouldn't let him have a TV in his room at home, but when he was in the hospital he could stay up and watch as much as he wanted. And the Speculative Fiction Channel had a marathon of all the Doctor Zone Christmas specials going back to the first series! Between this and Santa, Milo was worried that Sara was going to start getting jealous of his annual Christmas hospitalizations.

Milo fell asleep around midnight, during the season two Professor Zone classic "Yes, Virgo-A, There is a Stellar Craft." He woke up at six AM, quickly set out cookies and milk, and then tried to distract himself by watching the Ducky Momo Hanukkah movie. Sure enough he fell back asleep, only to awaken by a familiar knock on his door.

Instantly he was sitting up wide awake. "SANTA!" He leapt out of bed, fell flat on his face, got up and ran to answer the door.

"HO HO HO!" Santa laughed, as Milo quickly moved aside to let him into the room. "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, Santa!" Milo said, throwing his arms around his squishy middle. Santa chuckled and patted his shoulder as he made him way into the room.

"Here for Christmas again, Milo? I'm starting to think that you never go home!"

"Oh, don't worry about that," Milo said, waving the statement away as he followed on Santa's heels. "Actually, compared to last year, I've experienced 15% fewer hospitalizations!"

"Well, there's still a week left before New Year's, right? HO HO! Now, before I give you your presents, I'm going to need some of your mother's delicious Christmas cookies!"

"They're over here, Santa!"

"Very good, let me just—uh-oh!"

CRASH!

Santa slipped and fell right on top of the miniature tree; Milo winced as he heard the sound of glass breaking. He went to help Santa up, but the jolly old elf had suddenly jumped way, his beard and suit crackling with fire.

"Oh, no, not again, not again—!" Santa said, slapping at the flames with his mittens.

Milo, meanwhile, had jumped into action with practiced ease. "Don't worry, Santa!" he said, grabbing a jug of water from his bedside table. "I've got it!"

"AGH—!"

SPLASH!

Santa froze as the cold water hit him. It managed to put off the fire, but the force also knocked his hat off—along with his white hair, revealing a distinctive brown cowlick underneath. The water also caused his beard to droop down, revealing a clean-shaven face that looked very familiar.

Milo blinked. "Dad?! You're Santa?!"

Milo's father removed his the wet beard, an awkward grimace on his face. "Um...sort of?"

Milo put his hands to his cheeks, made an odd giggling sound, and began to pace back and forth across the room. "Oh, wow! I have so many questions! How do you handle the sleigh when you can't drive a car? How do you avoid burns when you go down the chimneys? Does Mom know that she's actually Mrs. Claus?!"

"No, no, Milo, I mean—I'm not the real Santa Claus. I'm just the...hospital's Santa."

Milo stopped walking and took a moment to process that. His face fell into an uncharacteristically hangdog expression.

Quickly trying to recover, Martin said "Well, you know, Milo, Santa's very busy—it's not like he can be everywhere at once."

"Well, I mean, I knew that the Santa at the mall wasn't real...or the ones on the street corners...or the one in the Mr. Slushy Burger commercial. But the one at the hospital isn't either?!"

He made a sound like a hurt puppy as he sat down on the bed. His father quickly took the seat beside him, putting his arm around Milo's shoulder.

"Don't be upset, sport. I just wanted to give you a special Christmas surprise."

Milo looked up at him, his expression going from sad to curious. "Really?"

"Sure! When I was a kid, I always hated being away from the rest of the family during the holidays. So that first Christmas, when you had the broken leg—"

"Actually, it was shrapnel."

"...Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I think you're thinking of Thanksgiving that year, when you broke your leg."

"Hmm, maybe. Anyway, the point is, I found out that the hospital was looking for someone to play Santa for the kids, and I...just thought it would be a nice little surprise. For you and all the other kids who are stuck here on Christmas. And you always got such a kick out of it," he said, with a fond smile.

Despite himself, Milo found himself smiling too. "I really did," he said, staring down at the Rudolph-shaped slippers he was wearing. "And that was really nice of you, now that I think about it. It must take a lot of time to pass out presents to every kid in the hospital." He was silent for another moment, then suddenly threw his arms around his father again, pressing his cheek into his fuzzy outfit. "So, thanks. 'Santa,'" he added, with a little grin.

Martin chuckled and ran his head (carefully) over his son's bandaged head. "Aw, don't worry about it. I really enjoy the work. Besides, it's nice to have people not retreat from me in fear for a change," he said brightly. He stood up as Milo released him, retrieving his hat from the floor. "Anyway, I should go. Your mom and sister are waiting for me."

"Here at the hospital? So they know about this too?"

"Oh, sure. Your mom helps me pass out candy canes to the other kids, and then Sara stays in the playroom organizing games until it's time to come see you."

"...Hey, if I'm not in the hospital next year, do you think that I could help out too?"

Martin chuckled, giving him a sly look. "Well, let's see if you can go a December without any injuries first, okay, sport?"

A few years later, on Christmas again, "Santa" was surrounded by the hospital's children, passing out gift after gift from a seemingly bottomless bag.

"HO HO HO! And here's a dolly for you, and a teddy bear for you, and a look! A toy ambulance with real working siren!"

One kid in the back of the crowd nudged his neighbor. "Is it just me, or is Santa Claus shorter than you expected?"

"Yeah," she said, pointing to one of Santa's helpers, "but that elf is a lot taller than I expected!"

"I get that a lot," the green-clad teenager said dryly, passing the little girl a Mindy Mimic doll.

A minute later "Santa" had passed out the last toy and was waving to its recipient. "HO HO HO! Merry Christmas, and be careful with that around magnets!"

"Okay! Merry Christmas, Santa!"

The three watched fondly as the little girl rejoined her parents. Once she was gone, the second elf asked, "So, are we done here?"

"Yeah, you two can go if you want," said "Santa" in a voice much higher than the still-rather-high one that he had used for the children. "I have one more delivery to make."

"Okay. Merry Christmas!"

"You too! Thanks for all your help!"

They walked off toward the elevator, the first elf muttering, "I still can't believe he talked me into this."

"Oh, hush. At least it was for a good cause."

"It better be if I had to put on tights!"

"Santa," meanwhile, was walking off in the other direction, tracing the familiar path to the Murphy Suite. Once there, he knocked lightly on the door.

"Oh, gee, I wonder who that could be!" a playful voice called loudly from inside. "Come in!"

The door flew open. "HO HO HO! Merry Christmas!"

"Oh my gosh!" Sara said unconvincingly. "Look, Dad! It's Santa!"

"Well, I'll be," Martin said, sitting up straighter in bed. "And here I thought he needed me to do his run at the hospital all these years!"

"Santa" laughed, a high giggle this time. "Well, somebody had to make sure the sick kids still got their Christmas goodies! And I don't think you could haul this big bag around with two broken arms."

"Did you have a good time?" Brigette asked, closing the door to the room.

Milo pulled off his beard, so that his huge grin was fully visible. "Oh man, it was such a rush! You should have seen the kids! One mom told me that her son had been crying all night until the Melissa, Zack and I showed up!"

"I'm glad you enjoyed it! Now we just have to make sure that at least one of us is out of the hospital every Christmas, and everything will be fine."

"Um, excuse me?" Sara said, taking the fake beard from her brother's hands and holding it up to her face. "Ho ho ho! And here's a Time Ape doll for you, little boy!"

The others all laughed, before Milo gave an "ooh!" and reached into his sack. "That reminds me—I've got one last present to deliver before I go back to the North Pole!" He placed the package on his father's lap; instantly Martin was grinning like a little kid. "Merry Christmas, Dad."

Martin met Milo's eye and winked. "Merry Christmas, 'Santa.' Christmas cookie?" he added, eyes darting to the plate on his bedside table.

"Don't mind if I do!"

Author's Notes: Written for Merry Murphy Week, a little event somebody organized on Tumblr.

You'll notice I went out of my way not to claim that Santa doesn't exist, since in the Phineas and Ferb special Candace is the only person who seems to doubt it.

(You'll also notice that the final section is vaguely set "a few years later" so that it has a smaller chance of contradicting a future MML Christmas special.)