A/N: I wrote the majority of this before I saw the Christmas episode, and that, although crazy awesome, screwed me up a little because I always assumed Sammy at least had an idea what his dad did. Because of this I had to rewrite a few parts so as not to contradict canon, i.e. I don't mean to imply that Sam knows what's going on. Anyway, This takes place four years before the flashbacks in "A Very Supernatural Christmas" (I think that Sam was supposed to be five in "Something Wicked" so it's at least five months before that too) And yes, I made eight-year-old Dean believe in Santa and I'll defend it to the death, I have specific reasons for making this choice, but I'll explain them at the end so as not to spoil the story. I will say, however, that just because he didn't believe in the big guy when he was almost thirteen doesn't necessarily mean he never did.

So, now that I've got that ridiculously long note out of the way, I hope you enjoy the story! It would have been up before Christmas, but my computer was offline for weeks...

It was Christmas Eve, and even though Dad had been gone for two days, Sammy was bouncing off the walls. Santa was coming tonight, nothing could hamper his excitement, besides; Dad had been gone for longer before, and Dean expected him sometime today. The youngest Winchesters were holed-up in a small apartment in upstate New York.

Trying to keep his own excitement in check, Dean watched as perfect snowfall fluttered past the window and, despite his better judgment, He really wanted to go outside. The last few years (since Sammy was big enough to actually do anything) the Winchesters had found themselves in southern states during the winter months, as such, Dean hadn't built a Snowman since...well really since before mom… and Sammy hadn't ever done it at all! Or gone sledding. Dean knew Dad's rules about staying inside when he was gone but still; Sammy's ignorance of the wonders of the white stuff was an injustice that shouldn't be allowed to stand.

"Hey Dean?" came Sammy's voice, interrupting Dean's rebellious thoughts.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"How come Santa can always find us even though we move all over the place?"

"Cuz he's magic," replied Dean after he thought about it for a moment, Dean was very confident in the existence of Santa, he'd seen much weirder things than a fat man somehow getting down a chimney, "he knows where every kid is."

"What if we were in the car?"

"He'd probably chase us down," Dean hadn't thought about that before, he made a mental note to ask dad to try it next year. Flying reindeer in pursuit of the Impala would be awesome.

"Can bad stuff find us too?" asked Sam, with some worry in his tone, "the same way Santa does?"

"No, Santa's the only one who can do that," replied Dean, although the troubling thought hadn't actually occurred to him before. "and you'd be surprised how well that fat man can defend himself."

"Really?"

"Yeah," agreed Dean confidently, "and the elves know Kung-Fu."

"How do you know?"

"Cuz big brothers know everything," replied Dean, matter-of-factly. Sam was terribly impressed by this bit of information.

The window drew Dean's eye again, perfect winter conditions. Dad said he'd be back by Christmas day, so he would show up sometime today. But, Dean thought; Sammy really needed to experience the snow, what if dad didn't come back until late tonight? Or tomorrow they could take off to Texas and it would be another missed opportunity… It would only be a few hours. Just in the courtyard. It couldn't do any harm; plus, Sammy really needed to burn off some energy if there was any hope of him sleeping tonight. Just like that, Dean made up his mind "C'mon Sammy, we're going outside."

"Really?" Sammy's face lit up at this announcement, "Did daddy say we could?"

Don't let Sammy out of your sight, and under no circumstances are you to leave this apartment. Do you understand, Dean? "Of course he did," Dean wasn't really lying, he certainly wasn't leaving the apartment without Sam, and he'd watch him like a hawk. A huge grin crossed Sam's face upon confirmation. He ran into another room to get into his makeshift snow gear and Dean followed suit, he could probably stand to burn off some pent-up energy himself.

xxxx

When the boys were all suited up, Dean led his hyped-up energy-bundle of a little brother outside into the cold, crisp December air. The courtyard was small and there wasn't a footprint off the moderately traveled walkway, which Dean took to mean that they were the first kids outside since the snow fell, a fact that he couldn't understand for the life of him. Sammy didn't know what to do with himself; he'd been in snow before but really only on the way from one of the infinite motel rooms to the Impala, and certainly never before had free reign to do what he wanted in it. Dean and Sam didn't have snow gear per se, Dad had provided them with winter jackets of course, but they didn't have snow pants. In his limited experience, Dean knew wearing jeans was probably a very bad idea, so he had decided to dress Sammy and himself in sweats.

The town they were staying in was small; from where the boys were standing, Dean could just make out the school he would have gone to if they had arrived in town a few weeks earlier, before Christmas break.

Sammy was eying the snow cautiously, it was up to his knees and he was reluctant to venture off the beaten walkway. Dean smiled to himself; this was sure to be an interesting experiment.

"C'mon Sammy, it's not gonna hurt ya," Dean jumped into the untrodden snow, which came up to his mid shins, to prove his point. Sammy still seemed skeptical.

"You sure?" he asked, not entirely convinced, despite his brother's show.

"Yes." Replied Dean with a smile and tossed a snowball at Sammy to demonstrate. It hit him square in the chest (no higher, no lower Dean noted, grinning at his superior aim) Sam shot him a look of utter outrage before he flung a return shot in his brother's direction. It missed by a relatively small margin.

"Come on, Sammy, You can do better than that!" taunted Dean before running off in the other direction, despite the fact that Sam happened to have an excellent arm for a four-and-a-half year old. Sam hesitated for only another second before giving chase to his big brother, who really had quite the unfair advantage in the deep snow.

As Dean trudged through the shin-deep snow, dodging projectiles left, right and center, he couldn't help but wonder why Dad was so opposed to what seemed like excellent training. He tossed two more snowballs over his shoulder before diving behind a large drift to catch his breath. Running through snow was hard work! He started to build himself a cache of ammo, but didn't get very far before Sam was upon him, equipped with an armload of white, fluffy death.

"You're goin' down!" parroted Sam with a smirk, before delivering the kill-blow.

"No way," replied Dean matching his look. (Which Sam had totally stolen from him in the first place) He simply picked up the smaller boy and tossed him into the snowbank.

"No fair!" complained Sam, but the smile betrayed his true feelings.

"I went easy on you cuz you're little," countered Dean, "meaner kids probably woulda white-washed ya."

"What's that?" asked Sam innocently.

"Oh Sammy," he winced, "you make it way too easy. Never give someone an opening like that." Of course, Dean wouldn't have dreamed of demonstrating what the term referred to on a four-year-old, much less his baby brother.

"Can we build a snowman?" asked Sam out of the blue, completely oblivious to how close he'd just come to snow-borne doom. Dean shook his head slightly at Sammy's naivety before agreeing to help him build the snowman. When they first began work, Sam was amazed at how the snowballs started so small and got bigger just by rolling. When the time came, the boys had considerable trouble getting the smallest snowball on top; it almost landed on Sam a few times.

Dad would never have been deluded enough to leave his boys raw vegetables in the hope that the eight- and four-year olds would eat them, so instead of a carrot for a nose, the snowman had a rock, in fact his entire face consisted of rocks. Sammy named him Bob.

"We should put a scarf on him," proposed Sam, as they stood back and admired their creation. Dean shot a glance between his brother and the one scarf currently being shared between the two of them, and had to laugh.

"I don't think Dad would call that a good use of our stuff," he replied, then added, "Besides Sammy, he's made of snow, if he gets too hot he'll die."

"Oh yeah," agreed Sam with a sheepish smile, Dean noticed that his brother was starting to shiver. "What now?" asked Sam, who, despite the cold didn't seem willing to go inside just yet.

Good question. Dean took a quick survey of their surroundings and his eyes soon landed on a nearby hill that older kids were tobogganing on. His only reply to Sam's inquiry was a smirk.

xxxx

As Dean and Sam made their way up the hill after a quick stop at the apartment, it suddenly occurred to Dean how much Dad would kill him if he seen the two of them right now (and this was a distinct possibility since, really, he was due back any minute) Not only had they left the actual apartment, but now they were leaving the property as well. Ah well, Dean thought, it would be worth it, worth whatever double laundry or gun-cleaning duty he got stuck with for pulling this stunt, if he got to show Sammy a bit of fun in the form of sledding.

Obviously John Winchester wouldn't buy his boys anything as large and impractical as toboggans; so Dean and Sam, having to improvise, were carrying garbage bags instead. Dean figured the bags would work just as well as sleds, and, as a bonus, they happened to be much easier to get back to the top the hill. Speaking of which, Dean was impressed with how well Sammy was handling what wasn't a small climb, especially in the deep snow. Despite his baby brother's impressive stamina, Dean figured by the forth or fifth trip down the hill he'd have to give Sam a piggyback on the return to the top.

When the boys finally reached their goal (Sammy still holding his own in the knee-deep snow) they found three other kids already there. They looked to be about grade five, which meant they had a good two years on Dean. While the kids seemed to be friendly enough, Dean tried instinctively not to draw their attention. It was a futile attempt however, because Sammy immediately flashed his big, sickeningly adorable smile at them and called "Hi!"

Of course the next thing they did was come right over to where Dean and his big-mouthed little brother now stood.

"Hey!" called the girl in front, smiling, there was a boy and another girl behind her "what's your name, fella?'

"Sammy!" replied Sam enthusiastically, way too enthusiastically for his own good; he pointed at Dean, "He's my Big Brother Dean!"

Dean mumbled his greetings as any hope of not getting in trouble faded away like the late afternoon sun.

"Hey Sammy and Dean," replied the girl, "I'm Hannah, these are my friends Josh and Mackenzie." The two other kids introduced themselves as such.

"Are you guys from here?" piped up the boy, Josh apparently, he seemed to be trying to figure out if he'd seen them around before.

"Nah, just visiting people for Christmas," answered Dean, quick enough to keep Sam from saying anything else he probably shouldn't.

"That's cool," said Mackenzie, "You guys sledding too?" Sam and Dean nodded yes, yes they were.

"Then where are they​?" asked Hannah with a confused look on her face.

"Where are what?" replied Dean, equally puzzled.

"Your sleds," the girl clarified.

"Don't got sleds," answered Sam, "just big bags." He held up the object in his hand to prove that it was, indeed, a big black garbage bag.

"Cuz our sleds just slow us down," added Dean defensively, thinking fast.

"That's a good idea," said Mackenzie approvingly.

"Yeah," agreed Josh, "and the snow's real slippery, you could probably go down on your butts if you wanted to." Dean took this opportunity to evaluate the kids that stood in front of them. They seemed genuine and trustworthy enough, but he was taught to be very wary of strangers, and it would take a lot to get him to let his guard down, even for other kids. However, these kids did have something going for them.

"Is that a GT Sno-Racer?" blurted Dean before he could stop himself. He blamed the toy commercials that always advertised super cool but completely impractical stuff, way too big to fit in the trunk of the Impala, stuff that he very rarely seen in-person and fully assembled.

"Yep," replied Josh, "you can try it later if you want."

"Thanks," said Dean, making up for his complete lack of composure by severely understating his true excitement at the offer. "Maybe if you ask real nicely, I'll let you try my garbage bag."

Fortunately, and as a pleasant surprise to the Winchesters, the garbage bags worked even better than Dean expected, to the point that the older kids actually did want to try them, especially since they were much easier to drag back up the hill than the metal-framed GTs. Dean, who hadn't gone tobogganing for years remembered it was fun, but he'd forgotten just how fun, or maybe having a few other kids to play with made it better. Either way, he thought, Sammy was thoroughly enjoying his adventure and that was the point. (That, and the fact that he might actually sleep this Christmas night) So far, Sam was doing much better than Dean had predicted, seeing as he was now on his seventh trip down, then up, the hill and Dean still hadn't had to step in and carry him.

Besides Dean and Sam's garbage bags, Josh and Hannah had GTs and Mackenzie had a car's (or more likely a truck or tractor's) inner tube, which may have actually been even more fun than the racing sleds. Dean took a note of this, figuring if he were ever to go sledding again, Dad could probably easily supply him with one. Or maybe he'd just ask Uncle Bobby next time he saw him, living in a car graveyard Bobby was likely to have an extra lying around.

Naturally, because of all the inter-sharing of various slidey implements, it wasn't long before Dean got to try Josh's GT, Hannah even agreed to have a race with him, which made it all the better. The device was sort of shaped like a snow mobile, with a raised seat, and a ski on the front attached to a steering wheel, it even had foot brakes. As he inspected the vehicle closely, Dean figured his early driving lessons would probably give him an advantage over the poor sucker he was racing, especially since he could actually reach these pedals. On that thought, he got on the sled and waited for the cue to start the race.

"Go!" called the three remaining kids, and Dean pushed off. The thing flew! Sammy began cheering him on as soon as he started moving. Dean tried out the steering and really wished the hill had some obstacles to challenge him on that count. However, Hannah was still winning. It had to be the extra weight, thought Dean, seeing as she was two years older and was built like a brick shithouse. Since he was already losing, right before he got to the bottom, he slammed on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the right just to see if he could flip the thing. He could. Spectacularly. He got up with a big smile across his face and immediately wanted to do it again. The next time down he took Sammy, and they managed to tie the race.

It was well after dark before the parents of their new friends called them to come home. With horror, Dean realized the time. He was done for. The boys exchanged good-byes with their new friends.

"See ya around!" called Mackenzie, the last to leave, "We should do this again sometime."

"Definitely!" called Dean even though he knew full-well it was never going to happen. He reluctantly turned to his baby brother, who was in the midst furiously waving good-bye "C'mon Sammy, Dad's probably back by now," and that was a worrisome thought, they should have been back ages ago. Sammy followed without argument. Whatever the punishment ended up being, Dean decided firmly, the afternoon was, indeed, completely worth it.

The boys slowly walked back toward the apartment, not being in any particular hurry to face their doom. It was a nice night, it wasn't too cold, even though there was snow falling. Dean heard church bells in the distance, it took him a couple seconds before he realized what they were. He'd almost forgotten it was Christmas Eve. (An amazing feat for an eight year old) Dean still had a vague recollection of sitting in a dark church on Christmas Eve, between Dad and Mom, before Sammy was around. He remembered how the unnaturalness of the suit he was wearing made him itch, and how the familiar music made him want to go to sleep. He wondered if that was where the others were going and, in the very back of his head, if he should be going too. Mom had always seemed to make a big deal about Christmas Mass, but they hadn't been back to church since The Fire.

As they neared the apartment, Dean really wanted to be relieved that the Impala was nowhere to be seen, however he couldn't help but feel some biting disappointment, "looks like we got lucky Sammy!" said Dean putting a positive spin on the situation for his little brother.

"Daddy's not home yet?" Sam's disappointment was very apparent in his tone.

"He'll be here any minute," assured Dean; if he didn't believe it to be the truth, he gave no indication. As they approached the building, he caught sight of the solitary sets of footprints that led across the courtyard and back onto the beaten path. A dead giveaway... Well, if Dad wasn't back yet, they may as well put effort into not getting caught. "Hey Sammy! I got a good idea for a game!" that got his brother's attention, Dean grabbed a couple of evergreen boughs that had fallen from a decorative arrangement on a window sill above, and handed one to Sam, "wipe your tracks."

"Like a Hundred an' One Dalmatians?" asked Sam.

"Exactly!" replied Dean, delighted his brother had caught on so quickly. "Just the ones leading up to the walkway."

When they finished they entered the building and tiptoed carefully by the Landlady's door. Dad had always said that, no matter what, it was incredibly important for the boys to never let anyone, especially grownups, know when they were alone. It was a big part of the reason they weren't supposed to leave any apartment or motel room.

They entered the apartment to find it dark and cold, Dad definitely hadn't been back yet. Dean turned on the TV and quickly found a rerun of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer for Sammy to watch while he made the two of them supper. He'd hoped that Dad would have been home by now and brought hamburger with him to make tacos with; but since he wasn't, Dean just made hotdogs and Campbell's chicken noodle soup. In an attempt to get in the Christmas spirit, before he left, Dad had bought both eggnog and cranberry juice to drink, both of which Dean found gross, (the cranberry juice did get better when he mixed it with 7-Up from the pop machine, though) He really couldn't figure out what Dad liked about eggnog, maybe it got better when you mixed rum with it, like he'd seen Dad do on occasion.

Dean and Sam ate their meal in front of the TV, when Rudolph was over A Christmas Carol came on. Sammy hadn't seen it before and the only other things Dean could find on were The Sound of Music (why was this a Christmas movie, anyway?) and It's a Wonderful Life. He figured Scrooge was their best bet. It might at least get them ready for bed on this very exciting night.

"Where's the colour?" asked Sam after a few minutes of trying to put his finger on what was weird about the movie.

"It's really old," explained Dean helpfully, "like older than Dad, that was before colour was invented."

"Really?" asked Sam, intrigued.

"Yeah," continued Dean, "You can see it in old pictures too, like the ones in Dad's journal he sometimes lets me look at, they don't have colour either."

"How did they know when the red light turned green?" asked Sam after thinking about it and trying to pin down just one of many problems there seemed like there should be with this idea.

"Dunno," answered Dean thoughtfully, "but the Impala's from way back then, that's why it's black."

"Neat!" replied Sam, that was proof! "I didn't know that."

"I told you," said Dean, "I know everything."

"Do you know when Daddy's gonna come back?" asked Sam hopefully.

"Before tomorrow," answered Dean confidently, "let's just watch the movie."

Despite his earlier reservations, Dean ended up liking the movie more than he seemed to remember.

"Is that asposed to be Santa?" inquired Sam after seeing the ghost of Christmas present.

"No," replied Dean, "It's a ghost, but he does kinda look like Santa doesn't he?" I wish real spirits were that nice, then maybe Dad would be back now. Dean grinned,"Wait till you see the third guy Sammy."

Dean figured the ghost of Christmas yet-to-come would freak out his little brother a bit, but he was surprised (and felt kind of guilty about) just how much. As Sammy clung to him for the entirety of the scene he felt bad for the kid, and if a black hood and a bad manicure freaked him out so much, Dean kind of dreaded to see how Sam would react when he eventually met something real. He gave his brother a sympathetic hug back, but couldn't bring himself to say 'it's just a movie' when he knew it was a lie. He did, however, vow to try to toughen the little guy up a little. For his own good.

The movie ended with still no sign of Dad. Thankfully, the movie's happy ending had calmed Sam back down. Dean looked at the clock; it was ten-thirty, way past Sammy's bedtime (and his own for that matter.)

"C'mon Sammy, Santa's gonna be here soon, we have to be in bed," Sammy who, until now, had been leaning against Dean, half-asleep, perked up at these words.

"Do we have cookies and milk for him!?" there was an edge of panic in Sam's voice.

"Let's see," said Dean, gently letting his brother's head down before heading over to the cupboard to take inventory, "Nope, we ate all the cookies, but we do have salty crackers." Sammy giggled.

"Maybe if he eats lotsa salty crackers the elves won't hafta use Kung-Fu to keep bad stuff away!" Sammy didn't know too many (read: 'any') details about what exactly it was their family did, but Dad had made sure he knew that salt had protective qualities; Sammy probably thought all families salted their bedroom doors.

"Exactly!" agreed Dean taking out the crackers and looking in the fridge, "we're helping him."

"Do we have milk?"

"Yeah," replied Dean, "but we sorta need it for cereal tomorrow."

"But crackers make you thirsty!" protested Sam.

"We can leave him some of that eggnog stuff," said Dean thoughtfully, taking the carton out of the fridge "old people like it. And Santa's realold." As he was talking, Dean climbed up onto the counter and grabbed the bottle on the highest shelf in the cupboard. He dumped a large amount of the liquid inside into the glass of eggnog he'd just poured.

"Whatcha doin'?" asked Sam, sitting up a little.

"Santa's gonna be really tired tonight, havin' to fly around the world an' all, and when Dad's tired, he likes this stuff. Maybe Santa will too."

"What's it taste like?" asked Sam innocently.

"Dunno," replied Dean, "it's just for grownups, It smells really bad though." He placed the bottle back in its spot and hopped off the counter. "We really gotta go to bed Sammy," he headed toward the couch to scoop up his baby brother.

"Wait!" cried Sammy.

"What?" asked Dean, taken aback by the sudden urgency in the little boy's voice.

"Stockings!"

"Oh yeah!" He'd almost forgotten. Without stockings they'd have to go without their month's supply of chocolate and candy canes, and they couldn't have that. Dean looked around the apartment, the boys didn't have proper stockings, but he quickly found a pair of too-huge socks an old lady had given Dad for ridding her house of a particularly nasty spirit. He placed the socks on the coffee table with the crackers and the ridiculously potent eggnog, then picked up Sammy, who was fading fast following that last bit of excitement, and retired to their room to work on those so-called visions of sugarplums behind the safety of the salt-lines.

xxxx

The clock read 2:23 when John Winchester stepped out of the Impala and into the night, which had turned bitter cold from the relatively mild afternoon. John wasn't a fan of the snow and tried to avoid it whenever humanly possible, but the job took him where it took him, even if it did happen to be upstate New York at the end of December. If he had known he was going to be as long as he was, he would have dropped off the boys with Jim Murphy in Minnesota before continuing to New York. The reason he probably should have done this became all the more clear as he approached the door and noticed two sets of little footprints, which he wouldn't have paid attention to if it didn't look like someone had tried to cover them up. Part of the reason he hated snow, there was always a trail- His boys had obviously been outside. It was too much to hope that two boys under the age of ten would be able to stay indoors when the weather outside was every kid's dream, but he'd honestly thought Dean was better disciplined than that. He was also somewhat disappointed that, with all the training he'd done with his son, Dean attempted to conceal their tracks using a method that was surely learned from a Disney cartoon. Next lesson would have to be stealth, and he intended to tell Dean such.

John had yet to catch the creature he was pursuing but he was already late and his boys needed him. He quietly approached the door of the apartment, which stood out because it was the only one in the hall that had nothing red, green or sparkly on it. The room was dark and quite chilly, he was happy to see that it seemed like Dean had gotten his no doubt overly-excited little brother into bed without any sign of struggle. He noticed the coffee table set out with crackers, a pair of socks and a tall glass of what looked like eggnog. John was thirsty, so the first thing he did was take a big swig of the thick liquid.

"Oh wow," he muttered involuntarily, he almost had to spit it back out in surprise, there must have been half a pint of whiskey in there. It was disconcerting, to say the very least, that it seemed Dean A) knew where John kept his whiskey and B) knew how to mix said whiskey. A horrible thought crossed his mind: there happened to be a very good way to get an over-excited four-year old to go to sleep without incident. No way, He wouldn't! However, John figured he should probably make sure, just in case. John checked the bottle in the cupboard; right where he left it, and the level was consistent with the amount of liquor that seemed to have been dumped in the eggnog. He felt a tinge of relief, but he should probably check on the boys anyway.

John quietly opened the door to Dean and Sam's room, carefully stepping over the salt-line to get a better look at his boys. They were fast asleep, huddled together to get the most out of the warmth. Dean had protective arms wrapped around his baby brother and had positioned himself between Sammy and the only entrance to the room, the same way John did when he was sleeping in a motel room with them. Their light breathing seemed to have synced up in their sleep. It didn't take John long to decide that this was a natural sleep, and not the deep coma-like state he'd imagine would be the case if young kids had gotten themselves into alcohol. Even with this reassurance, he couldn't take his eyes of the two tiny forms now curled up together, they looked so little. That's because, he reminded himself sternly, they are. Despite everything, his good little soldiers really were only eight and four years old, he sometimes forgot. After another moment he managed to take his eyes away from his little boys and relocate to the main room to get a start on the task at hand.

xxxx

The first thing Dean noticed when he woke up was that it was really bright. The second thing he realized was that Sammy was still beside him. The third thing he realized was that it was Christmas morning, and somehow he'd woken up before Sammy. Odd. He checked – Yep, His brother was alive alright. Huh. Dean gave him a kick.

"Dude, you're lying on my arm," Sam went from being dead to the world, to being in the living room in the space of a blink.

"Dean!!" he called, "Santa came!!!" Dean didn't need to be told twice, and was in the main room as fast as was possible with an arm that was as asleep as his brother had been mere seconds ago. Santa had indeed been there, but Dean couldn't help but feel a sharp pang of disappointment as it became obvious that John Winchester was nowhere to be found. He'd really thought and hoped that Dad would have landed home after he and Sammy had gone to sleep. Sam, however didn't seem to have noticed this yet, he was much too busy going through his loot. Apart from a colouring book, new crayons and a small magnadoodle, Sam had gotten a pocket knife. To match this, Dean had gotten a larger knife, with a sheath, and to his delight, an actual bow, not his own gun, like he'd hoped but still pretty cool. Dad would be happy, now they could do that target practice he'd wanted to do for awhile now. Dean didn't get any additional toys but the bow was enough, he really wanted to try it right now, but figured that would be a good way to draw a lot of unwanted attention. There was also a game of connect-four, which would adapt well to the car, and a set of walkie-talkies to replace the ones they had broken the previous month. Their stockings were also filled completely with candy, they contained no non-edible presents, but the candy alone suited the boys' needs just fine. Not bad for a day's work.

Sam had been colouring for almost a half-hour before he stopped and seemed to realize something.

"Dean," he asked, looking in his big brother's direction.

"Yeah, Sammy?" replied Dean, who had been aimlessly flipping through the channels while eating his candy.

"Where's Daddy at? You said he was asposed to be back now."

"He musta got held up," answered Dean attempting to hide his worry from his little brother, "he'll be here soon."

"Promise?" asked Sammy giving Dean those puppy-eyes of death. Dean hesitated for a moment.

"Yeah, I promise," Sam's eye remained on his brother for an instant before he returned to his colouring book, "D'ya want some breakfast?"

"Kay!" agreed Sam readily, Dean went over to check the fridge, there was still a quart of milk, then for some reason he checked the freezer, as opposed to the nothing he was expecting he found two Swanson's turkey dinners and, even better, a new box of Eggos.

"Sammy!" he called, Sam ran toward him, "Look!"

"You mean Santa bringed us food too?" Sam was super impressed, "I didn't know he did that!"

"Me neither," replied Dean as he popped their first two waffles and emptied roughly a quarter of the bottle of syrup on top of them, "I guess he knows what we wanted." Dean made sure to set aside a couple waffles for Dad, who should be home any second now.

xxxx

Much later, Dean started getting himself and Sammy ready for bed after a fun, if not extremely uneventful Christmas day. Over the course of the day, among other things, Dean learned that his baby brother could kick his butt at connect-four and that he could eat almost all of a Turkey TV dinner and still want dessert, how many four-year-olds could do that? Dean was proud of him. At one point Sam had seen some kids heading up the hill they'd sledded on the previous day and wanted to do it again, Dean would have loved to let him but he figured he'd pushed his luck enough for about the next three years.

Dad still wasn't back, and while he tried to push his thoughts to the back of his head, Dean was really worried, he was trying to keep it from Sam, but figured his brother could sense it anyway. They'd called Pastor Jim, who confidentially told Dean he hadn't heard any news about his dad, good or bad, but not to worry too much. He also told the boys that he had some Christmas presents for them the next time they were in Blue Earth; Dean vowed that he'd actively work to make sure this happened soon, Sammy offered his full co-operation in the endeavor.

Sam had the look of a kid who was dead tired, but hyped up on chocolate at the same time, a very exhausting state to be in, Dean was about there himself. He put his brother to bed but Sam was still quite restless, Dean tried to figure out a way to help him sleep. Mom used to sing Dean lullabies, but Dean figured that wasn't something boys did, so he did the next best thing; turned on the radio, which was playing nothing but Christmas Carols at the moment. Dean snuggled in with his baby brother and tried to concentrate on the music, not the fact that Dad was still not back. After a few minutes He felt Sam drift off before he did; the last blurry things Dean recalled before sleep overtook him was the clock by the bed reading 8:51, an instrumental of O Holy Night playing on the radio and Sammy fast asleep by his side.

xxxx

For the second night in a row, John pulled the Impala up to the slightly run down building the boys were staying in. Tonight, however, after chasing the damn thing through the woods for the better part of his day, he'd managed to kill the bastard before it ruined anyone else's holiday. Tonight was even colder than last night and he couldn't wait to finally get inside and see his boys. He felt awful about being gone the whole day, but the job had to be done. He hoped the food had somewhat made up for his absence. As he approached the building, he had strangely mixed feelings when he didn't see any fresh tracks. He guessed Dean figured he'd pushed his luck enough yesterday. John was glad for the latent regard of his orders, it kind of sucked that such rules were necessary, but the sad truth was that they were; and it was best that Dean followed them.

He entered the apartment and the first thing he noticed was how clean it was, most kids left the house a wreak after Christmas day, with toys and wrapping paper strewn all over the place. John had done it when he was young, hell, Dean had done it himself before The Fire, but now… everything was neat, ready to go on a moment's notice. Like always.

Instead of wandering around the apartment for several minutes like the night before, he went directly to the boys' room. Once again he found them fast asleep, Jingle Bell Rock was playing on the radio, and the bedside clock read 11:26.

Well at least it's still Christmas, thought John miserably, before gently nudging Dean awake.

"Daddy?" mumbled Dean, slowly opening his eyes; his eldest's groggy and vulnerable tone betrayed the boy's usual big guy routine.

"Hey Kiddo," greeted John affectionately, "Merry Christmas."

"Didja kill it?" were the next words out of Dean's mouth.

"Of course I did, you should know your dad better than that," it was said with a smile.

"Sorry, sir," replied Dean, but he was smiling as well.

"How'd Santa treat ya?" asked John genuinely.

"Really good," replied Dean still whispering so as not to wake Sammy, "You're gonna love what he brought me." John smiled.

"I bet I will, Santa's a pretty smart guy," he looked over at Sam, "Hey, rouse your brother wouldja? I think I'm gonna take ya to McDonalds."

"Now?" asked Dean in disbelief.

"Well, It's Christmas, I gotta do something for you."

Dean smiled widely and gently nudged Sam, "Sammy…Sammy, Dad's home."

"Daddy?" came the small voice, then the bright green eyes snapped open and within seconds the little boy had attached himself to his father, "Where were you daddy? I missed you!"

"I missed you too, Sammy. I'm real sorry I'm so late getting back" Sam just hugged him again, John was glad he managed to successfully avoid the question, as he had done on numerous occasions before.

"We're gonna go to McDonald's, Sammy!" added Dean excitedly.

"Right now!?" asked Sam, astonishment registering on his face, "Can I get ice cream?"

"You can get what ever you want, Sammy," replied John. Sam grinned widely at the prospect.

"C'mon Sammy," said Dean with a yawn jumping out of bed "let's get dressed."

"I think you can wear your jammies," offered John. The boys were very impressed. The fact that Sam and Dean were so content to wear their pajamas to a fast-food joint at eleven-thirty as a Christmas present wasn't lost on John, he knew how lucky he was that his boys were so happy with such a small gesture, John knew it didn't really make up for his absence, but the boys were thrilled. If Mary knew what I was doing, she'd tear me a new one.

The Winchesters piled into the car and started driving toward the nearest set of golden arches. It was only a five minute drive, but by the time they got there the boys were almost asleep again.

At quarter-to-twelve on Christmas night the unfortunate teenage staff running the place was not exactly thrilled to see the family of three walk into the store. John was starved so he ordered a double Big Mac meal while the boys got McNugget happy meals with ice cream cones for dessert. While they ate Dean filled his father in on all the loot Santa had brought them. At the same time, Sammy was rapidly falling asleep sitting up, but he managed to finish his meal anyway.

"An' we called Pastor Jim, he said he had presents for us!" Dean was finishing.

"Yeah!" agreed Sammy, with vanilla soft-serve all over his face "so we hafta go see him soon!"

"We'll have to see how that goes," replied John, as Dean wiped his little brother's face with a wet-nap. John wasn't quite sure where they were going to end up next.

"Thanks, Dad," said Dean as he finished off his own ice cream "I knew you'd make it back in time."

John smiled at his son's genuine gratitude, but had no real response for him. Sam, fading fast, was using his big brother as a pillow.

"We should probably go soon, sir" said Dean; it was more of a question than a suggestion or demand, he motioned in Sam's direction "Sammy's real tired."

"I'd imagine he would be," agreed John with a small grin, watching Dean stifle another yawn, "and he's not the only one."

As they left the restaurant, the employees mumbling amongst each other behind them, John noticed that the boys were even too tired to argue about who got the Barbie toy and who got to keep the Hot Wheels toy. It was an argument Sammy had no hope of winning.

Five minutes later, when John once again pulled the Impala into the parking lot of their temporary building, both Dean and Sammy were fast asleep. Instead of waking them up for the third time that night, John decided to just pack up their minimal luggage and leave the town while the traffic was still nearly non-existent. It only took him three trips to pack their travel-ready belongings into the trunk. On his third trip down he slipped the keys silently under the landlady's door before returning to the car and pulling onto the empty road. By the time his little boys, who were now sleeping so soundly in the back seat, woke up, the Impala would be on the interstate and well on her way to Minnesota.

A/N: I hope you liked it. For some reason I have a desire to like John, I think despite some choices he made, he really did love his kids. That's why I made Dean believe in Santa, it's a tiny piece of childhood that wouldn't adversely affect Dean's hunting or taking care of Sammy, and I'd like to think John wouldn't tell Dean the Awful Truth unless he asked (like Sam did in the Christmas episode) and being as isolated as the Winchesters were, with Dean seeing what he's seen I have no problem with thinking Dean wouldn't have asked about Santa by the time he was eight. I for one never asked. I guess I just want Dean to have some sort of small measure of childhood, and I think he can be the responsible, attentive older brother we know he was and still have this one tiny normal childhood thing. That's my story and I'm sticking to it, I'm a firm believer in the right of kids to believe in Santa.

I tried to write John like I see him in the show; having the best intentions, but still being no where near father of the year. As for the Christmas episode, I'd like to give John the benefit of a doubt of being seriously injured somewhere, or something, and that's why he didn't get back in time. Hell, we only saw early Christmas morning; he could have shown up an hour later for all we know… : P

Also…Happy New Year!