A/n: Alright, here is the first chapter of my Christmas story. As I mentioned, I will be posting every Friday up to Christmas. That being said, I will be postponing posting my other stories until I have completed this one.

Thank you to anyone who reads, reviews, follows, or favorites this story as well as any of my other ones. As always, a special thank you to LilyBolt and miXiZ for all of your support and friendship.

This takes place Dec 25, 1983 after Mary was killed. Sam is seven months old and Dean is four. No spoilers really, unless you haven't seen the pilot.

There are a lot of stories out there I'm sure about when ans what Dean's first supernatural encounter was, this is just one idea.

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.

Silent Night

Sammy's first Christmas is NOTHING like I had planned. It was suppose to start the same way last Christmas morning had. Dean would run into our room and climb onto our bed and chant "It's Christmas it's Christmas, wake up Mommy wake up Daddy, it's Christmas!" All the while bouncing around with the biggest smile that was able to fit his little face. I would laugh at my little boy's excitement, kiss John on the cheek, and leave him to collect Dean while I went to fetch Sammy. His first Christmas!

I was going to come down the stairs and find Dean eagerly shaking the gifts that would be stacked under the biggest tree our house would allow, John always insisted on it. My parents' ornaments as well as the ones John and I bought would be hanging all along the tree. A bunch of them clustered too close together towards the bottom where Dean would have helped us decorate. John would have turned on Christmas music for my sake and the lights on the tree, making it glow with multiple colors for the boys. He would return from the kitchen with a cup of coffee for me as well as a hot chocolate for Dean, then go back and get his own. Once the adults were caffeinated and the mood was set, the present opening would commence. We always started with the stockings, which John's and my own would be almost completely empty while Dean and little Sammy' s would be practically over flowing. I know at seven months he wouldn't have much interest, but I would still set him on my knee and hold him in my arms while John held out the little red cloth stocking with Sammy's name embroidered at the top. I would make excited sounds as I pulled out a toy and hand it to him. Sammy was different then Dean already and he was only a few months old, so I'm not sure how he would react to it. Dean, of course, would begin tearing at his own stocking and excitedly shouting and thanking us for everything. His father would remind him it was from Santa, so thank him.

John and I would get each other small things, but the bulk of the money would go to our boys. We would've tried to get Dean everything he wanted. John had even started taking up extra hours at the Garage starting in September so that we would have enough money for the holidays. Most of little Sammy's gifts would be more for us parents, such as maybe a new changing table or high chair. He had already started teething a little before his sixth month, so we would have bought him teething rings, maybe a stuffed animal or two, and most definitely a new blanket. Dean would have wanted cars, he's always loved them so. All kinds from trucks and big rigs to little cars and VW Bugs. His favorite, of course, would be the muscle cars. Specifically Impalas. John had already started looking for a black 1967 Chevy Impala toy car so that Dean could have one just like daddy.

Presents would be over quickly since at Dean's age, kids tended to rip through them. The rest of the day John would spend bonding with our boys, more than likely playing cars while holding little Sammy who would probably watch with large interested eyes. His eye color was still a muddy grey, but I had a feeling they would end up closer to John's then mine. Meanwhile, I would start our family Christmas dinner. We would have ham, mashed potatoes, steamed and seasoned vegetables, yams, and I of course would make some dessert. Dean seemed to have taken a liking to my pies the most of anything I had baked, possibly of anything I had ever made period. I always enjoyed seeing his face light up whenever he saw one.

We would sit around the table with Sammy in a high chair between John and I, and we would enjoy the meal together. Sammy was still not eating many solids yet, so I would feed him some of the yams since they were soft and mushy enough for him. Then after dinner I would bath the boys, dress them in their pjs, tuck Dean into bed and sit with Sammy while John read a new book Dean had been given for Christmas. He would kiss us all goodnight, we would tuck in Sammy, then John and I would retire to our own room.

That was the Christmas I had envisioned. It was the holiday I had looked forward to celebrating most when it came to Sammy' s first. Halloween had scared the poor thing, Thanksgiving probably wouldn't have been a big deal for him yet, but I just knew Christmas would be the best. It was my favorite holiday. It was a time for joy and laughter and everything was all decorated so beautifully and moods were merry and music was light and sweet. I can't express the pain I feel not having been able to at least have had that day with them. But nothing could ever prepare me for the Christmas my boys had to partake in.

As I had expected, Dean had woken up just after the sky lit up, climbed onto John's bed, and began to chant about it being Christmas. His face was shining brighter than the sun as he jumped around the unoccupied side of the motel mattress. John rolled over with a groan and covered his face with his hands before slamming them down and bolting up.

"Dean, hey! Knock that shit off! It's early, go back to sleep!" That man was lucky I wasn't there, I would have slapped him. I swear John Winchester, if my boys grow up with a mouth like yours, you'll regret it. Dean immediately stopped hopping around the minute his father raised his voice and plopped down on his bottom. The look in my little boys eyes, if only I could have been there to scoop him up. I would have held him tight and kissed his sweet little face, Mommy always made it better.

"But Daddy, it's Christmas, don't you want to see what Santa brought?" He asked in a small voice.

"Santa didn't come," my husband snapped. I could feel my eyes grow wide.

"But-but I was a good boy," my son assured his father. As a Mom, you start to recognize certain emotions starting to work their way into a child. I heard the unmistakable sound of both shock and despair when he spoke.

"He didn't come because-" John Winchester, don't you dare! "There's no such thing as Santa." If my blood could boil, I would be hot to the touch and flames would be seeping out of my ears and nose. How dare he?! I knew he was grieving, I knew he felt lost and that he was brewing with anger, but how could he smash my little angel's innocence like that?! Dean wasn't even five yet! Children should have at least nine years of their life to believe in things such as Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny if not a year or so more. He was only a boy for God sakes! If my heart could break, it would have shattered. Dean's eyes began to water and his lower lip began to tremble. I could see his heart sinking into his stomach as he sat staring at John. Much to my dismay, he didn't apologize or even hold our son in his arms as a way of calming him. Instead he threw back the covers and stomped off to the restroom. The sound of the door slamming behind him startled Sammy awake and he began to cry. Dean wiped the tears from his face and crawled from the bed to accompany his little brother in the wooden motel crib. It wasn't much of one if you ask me. I watched as my baby climbed up and in and quickly collected his baby brother into his arms. He held him tight to his chest, perhaps a bit too tight in my opinion, and began to rock him.

"Shhh it's ok Sammy," he soothed. When the baby continued to cry, my oldest switched from talking to him, to singing. I could feel tears leaking from my own eyes as I recognized the song as the one I use to sing to Dean whenever he was upset. I didn't think it was possible to feel anything after I died, but I was wrong. I may not be able to feel the actual sensation of something such as tears or cold, but my emotions were still in tact and in that moment I felt damn near every one of them. I was proud of my little boy for being the best big brother anyone could ever hope for, he was so attentive to little Sammy's needs all the time and never with a fuss and he never had to be asked. I felt guilty that I wasn't there with them. The fact that my boys and husband were now homeless, wifeless, and motherless because of me brought on the worse pain imaginable. And Dean taking up the role of a parent at an age where he still needed one, that wasn't right. I felt grief that my family was broken and the man I loved had changed and not for the better. I was beyond furious with John, and yet my heart ached for him too. I knew he loved our boys with all his heart, but he had been blinded with grief and filled with rage. I suppose the perk of my view was also my curse, I could see everything. I could see Dean and Sammy in the motel room, my little boy was staring down at his little brother in admiration who had stopped crying and was staring up at him with what I found to be the closest thing to reflecting the look he was being given. More then just being able to see my sons, I could see John. I wish I hadn't, but I could. He was leaning against the counter, the cold water turned on high as he sat with his head in his hands sobbing. I wish I could go to him and comfort him, tell him everything would be alright. Tell him to just pack their bags and find a new home and start over. But I couldn't. Instead I was forced to watch. I wasn't sure if where I was was actually Heaven or if it was in fact Hell. To have to sit idly by and watch, was torture.

By the time John had collected himself again and re-entered the bedroom, Dean was passed out with his back up against one of the corners of the crib and Sammy fast asleep in his arms.

When he woke up, John told him to get dressed and that they were going to a surprise. Although he never apologized, I commend my husband for righting a least a little bit of his wrong. Dean gently moved Sammy off of him and climbed out of the crib to get dressed. Within second he was clothed and trying to tie his shoes. John noticed and bent down to help him. He picked up Sammy and took hold of Dean's hand as he led them from the room and loaded them into the car.

Ten minutes later John pulled the Impala up to a fast food joint that I personally didn't approve of, but it lit up my boys face the instant he recognized it. How could anyone deny that light? He practically flung the door open and tore off towards the building with John and his baby brother in tow. My husband ordered their meals and went to set up a spot to eat where he could see the play area. It wasn't much, but what did you expect when it was an inside structure in a small building? Dean scarfed down his burger and fries while John finished up his just as fast. He mushed up some fries for Sammy to try, but our baby just turned his head away and grunted. My husband tried to encourage our oldest son to go enjoy his time at the structure.

"Can Sammy come?" he asked. John explained how he was still too little to play with the big kids, most of them wouldn't be as careful as he was around him. So instead Dean pulled out the toy he had received from his meal and began to run it around the table in Sammy's direction. It was a rather peculiar looking character wearing a bright blue helmet while his feet were stuck to a matching skateboard. Our baby watched with wide eyes as little excited sounds escaped his lips. John tried a few times to get Dean to go and play with the other kids, but he simply insisted on staying and playing with his brother. They stayed for a couple of hours, just enjoying not being cooped up in the motel room. Finally John packed both our sons into the car, and was off. Sammy fell asleep almost as soon as he was placed back in the car seat and Dean stared out of the window.

It took me a while to figure out where he was going after I watched him pass up the motel they were staying at, but I caught on. I glowered down at him as pulled the car off the road and down a dirt path towards an old abandoned looking house. The Impala came to a stop a few feet from it. John killed the engine, turned to check on Sammy who was still fast asleep, and then to Dean.

"Alright buddy, stay here with Sammy ok?" He instructed.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to run an errand. Now you might hear some loud bangs, but it's going to be alright. Just stay in the car. You got that son?" Dean nodded. "That's my boy." John climbed out of the car and locked it before walking around to the trunk and opening it to reveal numerous weapons. Some were ones he could get into some serious trouble for should he ever get caught, others, weapons I myself had grown up with that would seem merely strange harmless objects to others. He pulled a large bag from the car and began to pour out salt in a circle around it before rolling it up again and stuffing it back into the trunk. I watched as he removed a shotgun, shells filled with what I assumed to be rock salt, and a large flashlight which tucked into his waistband. He slammed the trunk closed and Dean watched as my husband stalked off towards the house until it swallowed him from view. I don't know how long my boys sat in that car while John searched the house. Sammy eventually woke up and began to cry. Dean leaned over in his own car seat to comfort him. He tried everything he could, but Sammy just continued to scream. I could see Dean's face fall in defeat when nothing he did seemed to sooth his brother. Already the sky had darkened and the house in front of them seemed to disappear in the dark. I could sense my son's worry as the night grew and John still hadn't returned. Suddenly, there was a loud bang fired from John's shotgun and Dean quickly covered his ears. The sound startled the baby causing him to scream louder. Dean desperately fumbled to unhook his car seat then got to work on his brother's. I was impressed, a four year old figuring out what most adults couldn't. Sammy was unbuckled and once again in Dean's arms. It seemed to bring down my baby's crying considerably. Before my oldest could do anything else, John rushed out of what seemed like nowhere yelling for Dean to stay put in the car. He scurried to the trunk and removed the bag of salt. As he made his way back, he was knocked over by a rather ragged and terrifying ghost. I had hoped it would have gone missed by my boys due to the dark, but the look on Dean's face told me I had hoped wrong. The beam from John's flashlight had shone just right and Dean quickly ducked out of sight holding Sammy close and closing his eyes. John had managed to get back to his feet and tore of back into the house. A couple of minutes later he returned and I could see smoke issuing from inside. Dean quickly returned Sammy to his seat and buckled it up, doing the same with his own. John didn't say anything as he climbed into the car. He simply started it up and took off from the site and back towards the road. The entire ride to the motel and even when they were back in their room, Dean didn't say a word. His eyes were large, like a deer in the headlights, and his body trembled every couple of minutes. If John noticed, he didn't say anything. The rest of that night had been eerily silent for all my boys, including Sammy who hadn't cried since they got to the motel. John changed him, Fed him, and then placed him in the crib for the night. Dean had already quietly climbed into his own bed, pulling the covers over his head and squeezing his eyes shut.

As I watched this unfold in front of me, my grief deepened. My husband had taken to a life I had escaped and had already drug my boys into it. Dean had seen his first ghost and the poor thing was only four. My life was crumbling around me. I didn't want this for my boys, I didn't want this for my husband. But it didn't matter what I wanted or what I didn't want. I had been removed from their lives, I had no say. Dean didn't get a toy Impala like he had wanted for Christmas. He hadn't gotten anything but a stupid little piece of junk toy, a broken heart, and the scare of his life. Sammy didn't have a stocking with his name on it to dig through. There were no lights, no Christmas tree, no ornaments, not even Christmas music. My boys didn't have a home cooked meal and their night didn't end with a bedtime story and a kiss. Instead, the night had fallen into silence. So, I sat in that silence watching my family's as well as my own hopes and dreams fracture further.