Merry Christmas, Trasan! I'm your Secret Santa. I hope you enjoy this and won't be too disappointed. You gave such wonderful prompts it was hard to pick just one :) Phx

The Letter

Chapter 1 –

"Daddy?"

John sighed with aggravated patience. His seven-year-old son was supposed to be in the other room, sleeping.

"Did you mail my letter to Santa?"

It was the night before Christmas and his younger son had pressed the curled up envelope into his hand earlier that morning insisting that it be mailed right away.

'It's important, Daddy! Super important!'

The hunter didn't even bat an eye as he continued writing in his journal, "Of course I did, Sam. Now go back to bed."

His son didn't move. He stayed in the doorway of the room he and his older brother were sharing in the back woods cabin they were currently calling home. Sam shifted the weight between his feet and the movement made John sigh, again. This time he put down his pen and looked up. "Is there something else?"

"No… uh, yes?" the little boy hedged as he reached up and pushed the hair out of his eyes with a wave of impatience. The man noted it would need to be cut soon. And wasn't that always fun?

"Are you asking me or telling me, Sam?" John tried to keep his impatience in check but he was tired and stressed; the festive season festered like an open wound on his soul. His beloved Mary had loved Christmas, so for her he'd tried to keep the holiday in some way, but each year it got just a little bit harder until now, seven years later it was damn near impossible. So he'd sent the boys to bed early and took comfort in a couple of quick shots of whiskey before sitting down to research. There was always something to research.

"Do you think it'll make it in time?" the words tumbled out. "I mean it's real important that Santa gets it. I thought really hard about what I wanted this year and I know if he gets the letter, I'll get my wish! I just know it!"

'Damn', John closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face. A shave wouldn't hurt… Things were so much easier with Dean. Dean knew Santa didn't exist and as tempted, as John was to set his younger son straight on that, he was also just as hesitant. Sam was their one last remaining link to innocence – the reminding spark that kindled the fire whenever the embers burned down – and he wasn't quite willing to give that up yet. Besides which I'm pretty damn sure Dean would kill me if I told Sammy, on Christmas Eve, that Santa didn't exist! So not this year… maybe next year… He'd have to talk to Dean about it, the older boy being the expert on all things 'Sammy'.

"It'll get there," he assured the boy, mildly curious about what the child wanted so desperately. Not that it really mattered since 'Santa' had already decided that Sam needed new jeans and Dean, winter boots. The boys would be disappointed but that was something they needed to get used to. Winchesters never got what they asked for. Not without one hell of a price anyways.

'John, I want another baby…'

The hunter shook off the memory. He hated and blamed a lot of things for his wife's death, but the child squirming in front of him was not one of them. He frowned at the motion; Sam wasn't usually that wriggly. "What's the matter with you?"

A small smile flashed across the boy's face and then, without warning, he launched himself at his father and gave the startled man a surprisingly strong hug. "Don't worry, Daddy," Sam breathed into his neck and then pulled away from his father before the man could respond, "Everything is gonna be all right – you'll see! Once Santa gets mu letter!" The boy was absolutely vibrating, "You'll see!"

"Sammy? Get your ass back in here!" Dean's voice called out from the other room and the seven year old was instantly gone, bare feet padding across the cold floor in his haste. He paused briefly in the doorway to give one final double dimpled grin and a small wave before disappearing into the darkness of the other room.

John just stared after him, humbled by his son's enthusiasm and open display of affection. When the door between them closed he glanced down guiltily at the journal he'd been writing in, and at the small white envelope marked 'Mr. Santa Claus, North Pole' that he'd been using as a bookmark.

His gut twitched – he hadn't mailed it; the weather had turned bitterly cold and the man hadn't seen the necessity of prolonging his errands earlier that day to find a mailbox.

"Damn it," he hissed and then stood up and stretched out the kink in his back. This was ridiculous. Here he was feeling guilty about not mailing a kid's letter to someone who didn't even exist! Pathetic, Winchester. Although he knew deep down, that that wasn't what he felt bad about. He just wasn't sure whether it was that he hated lying to Sam, or that he hated that Sam believed him so easily when he did.

Grumbling under his breath as he closed the journal, John glanced at the time and decided he needed coffee. And not the crap kind he kept in the cupboard. Grabbing his warm jacket and car keys, the hunter shoved his feet into his boots and left the cabin, confident that an eleven year old Dean could take care of things until he got back. He wasn't going to be gone long anyways, just long enough to get a coffee and maybe – depending on what the 24 hour gas station sold – something a little extra for the boys in the morning.

Something a bit more than a pair of jeans and new boots.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Stop bugging Dad," Dean chastised as soon as his younger brother slipped beneath the covers next to him. "You're supposed to be asleep."

"I wasn't bugging him," Sam defended himself. "I was just making sure he didn't forget."

"Is this about that stupid letter again?" Dean huffed.

"It isn't stupid," the younger boy shoved himself to the other side of the bed, away from Dean, in physical protest to his brother's mockery. "You're stupid!"

"Oh very mature, Sammy," Dean turned onto his side putting his back to his brother. "Just go to sleep."

"Fine," his brother huffed back at him.

Dean snorted softly and then settled down against the pillow. He heard their father leave the house and he frowned. Sam heard the same thing, "Dean?"

"He's probably just going to get coffee or something," he tried to reassure the younger boy, unsurprised when he felt the smaller body suddenly pressed against him. He resisted a smile. "Don't worry, bro, I got it covered."

Sam didn't say anything and after a few minutes, Dean felt his younger brother's breathing even out and knew he was asleep. 'Finally,' he thought and then closed his eyes. As he drifted off he just hoped Sam wouldn't be too disappointed in the morning.

…

A pesky bladder woke Sam up shortly after he'd fallen asleep. He lay next to his brother listening to Dean's steady breathing as he debated whether or not he should get up now to use the bathroom or wait until morning. 'Pee on me, twerp, and you are so dead!' The decision wasn't really a hard one to make, so as stealthily as he'd been taught, the seven year old slipped out of bed and padded down the hall towards the bathroom.

Closing the door, he quietly finished his business and washed his hands.

Remembering his father had left earlier, Sam wondered if he was back yet and peeked into the other room. Daddy has to be in bed or Santa can't come! He expected to see his father sleeping on the rag tag old couch in the corner or scribbling furiously in his journal, but he saw neither. The room was empty except for the small tree he and Dean had put up yesterday. His father hadn't come back yet.

Concerned, the child quietly walked towards the small corner table his father used as a desk and saw the journal. It was odd that his Dad had left it behind. His father took it everywhere. Deciding to ask Dean about it, Sam turned to leave when something familiar caught his eye. Frowning in confusion, the child opened the journal and then gasped in shock. There, unmailed, was his letter to Santa! Oh no!!

Sam didn't understand. His father had told him he'd mailed it… Did Santa send it back? With trembling fingers, the little boy tugged open the flap and pulled out the letter expecting there to be some sort of reply, but there wasn't. It was Sam's letter. His father hadn't mailed it at all.

Tears pricked his eyes and he sniffed hard. There had to be some sort of mistake! Daddy said he mailed it! He said so!

Unable to process the betrayal, the child shook his head. Obviously his father had been confused by something and thought he'd mailed the letter –

Sam's eyes widened. Oh this wasn't good. Not good at all. If Santa doesn't get my letter, how's he going to know what I want? There was only one way now. Sam would just have to mail the letter himself.

The little boy turned to get his brother but then stopped. Dean thought that writing to Santa Claus was stupid. Casting a nervous glance at the door, the child chewed at his lip. He wasn't supposed to go out by himself. And it was dark, and cold… The letter rubbed between his fingers and the child looked down back down at it. But this was important… very important.

And the gas station had a mailbox.

He blew out a breath. It isn't that far… and I know the way. We've driven there lots of time with Daddy! He could do this. He could!

Fired with determination, the child quickly slipped into his winter boots, grabbed his jacket and tucked the precious envelope into his pocket. Getting out the door without being heard would be the tricky part, but Sam was smart and quiet, after all he'd been taught by the best - his father and brother. So within minutes the tiny hunter was out the door and disappearing into the night, the contents of his coat pocket carefully guarded by a mittened hand and an excited spirit.

This was going to be the best Christmas ever!

tbc