Disclaimer: Well, I just checked and, nope, still don't own the brothers or anything else related to Supernatural. Darn it.

A/N: Written for Summer of Sam Love 2010 fic challenge. A tag for my favorite episode "A Very Supernatural Christmas".

Let Your Heart Be Light

By: Vanessa Sgroi

Hearing a choked chuckle from his brother, Sam pulled his gaze away from the game he was only pretending to watch with great interest and focused on Dean. "What?"

Dean shook his head and raised his nearly empty glass of eggnog. "Nothing. Just admiring your…Christmas cheer concoction skills. But remind me not to get too close to a match any time soon."

The corner of Sam's mouth tilted upward. "Sorry—I wasn't paying too much attention while I was pouring the whiskey."

The older Winchester took another sip from his glass. "Nah, it's perfect." He laughed. "Man, you really loved this stuff—the virgin eggnog—when we were kids. You remember?"

"No, not really."

"I remember saving up money once or twice to buy a quart. You liked it so much you wanted it on your cereal. Then there was this one night when you were, like, four, you decided you wanted some in the middle of the night. You tried to drink it right out of the carton but it spilled all over the place. You came and crawled in bed with me covered in the stuff. It was even in your hair. We both had to go take a shower. I swear you smelled like nutmeg for days." Dean dropped his feet to the floor, leaned forward and refilled his glass. Settling back in his chair, he shifted to get comfortable and again propped his feet up on the table. He cleared his throat. "Thanks, Sammy."

"For what?"

"For—you know—all this."

"Hey, it was the least I could do," Sam refilled his own glass. "Little brothers aren't always a pain in the ass."

"Sure they are. It's in their job description. Maybe even encoded in their DNA." Dean teased.

The motel room grew quiet except for the jumbled roar of the crowd emanating from the television. It wasn't long though before Sam heard a loud snore emanating from his older sibling. He glanced over to see Dean with his head back and mouth open. The glass he held was tipping toward the floor and was dangerously close to spilling its contents. Chuckling, Sam stood and snatched the glass out of Dean's hand. Can't handle your liquor, eh dude? After setting the cup down on the table, he raised his hand and licked away a smear of the creamy, spiked concoction from the pad of his index finger. Walking to the nearby bed somewhat unsteadily, the younger man pulled the blanket off, returned to his brother's side, and settled it over Dean's prone form, smiling slightly when Dean snuggled into it.

As he straightened, his eyes caught sight of the Christmas gifts he'd just given to Dean. Fuel for me and fuel for my baby. Sam felt his throat close up. A rising bubble of panic and grief had him bolting for the door, suddenly deciding he needed some air.

Stumbling to the front of the Impala, Sam hauled himself up onto the hood. He sat, curled forward, breathing deeply, the cold air invading his lungs. His mind crammed full of tortuous thoughts and haunting images, Sam stared down at the obsidian paint, watched as the crystalline snowflakes landed, some melting on contact, some not. The Christmas lights on the motel twinkled against both the inky black and iridescent white.

Sam shifted and laid down on the hood, ignoring the cold and wet seeping into his shirts, trading the merry twinkle of colored lights for the low slung, tumescent clouds. Nary a single star shined through the gloom. The snowflakes now wetted Sam's face, and if a trail of tears were mixed in, well, no one else had to know. He lay there for a long while, mind a-clamor before the peace of the night finally seeped in and temporarily quieted the turmoil. Sam sat up and heaved a sigh, burying his face in his hands. Without warning, he felt a blanket settle around his shoulders. It was still warm from Dean's own body heat and carried his scent. Dropping his hands, Sam's gaze remained glued to the threadbare knees of his jeans.

"What are you doing out here, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged. "Eh, communing with the snow. That's all."

The Impala dipped as Dean settled his weight next to him. "Gotta be careful 'communing' like this out here in the cold, you know. You just might have some very important parts freeze and fall off." Dean bumped his shoulder lightly against his little brother's. "Not that yours get much use."

Sam couldn't help it; he gave an indignant snort at Dean's familiar dig. "Dude, seriously, did you drink more of that eggnog before you came out here?"

"Nope. Much more of that eggnog and I would have been crawling out here or passed out face down drooling."

"You already did pass out."

Dean tilted his head. "True."

"And you snored so loud, I had to come out here for some quiet."

"I do not snore."

"Keep clinging to those delusions, bro. Maybe we should get some food to offset the alcohol." Sam pulled the blanket closer around him.

"Sounds like a plan. What's open around here that'll deliver on Christmas?"

"There's a Chinese place a few blocks over."

"Awesome. Let's go inside and order then."

"You know, I'm kinda enjoying the snow. How about we walk over there instead?"

Dean studied his brother for a second. "Yeah, that sounds good. I'd like that."

Sam slid off the Impala and stood, started to walk away.

"Might wanna grab you coat there, Abominable Snowman."

Recognizing the wisdom of his brother's words, Sam quickly retrieved his coat from the motel room and slid his arms the sleeves. He re-joined Dean, and they headed down the road.

"I don't suppose they'll have any pie will they."

"No, I don't think the Ling Ling's is going to have any pie. But I'll let you have all my fortune cookies."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Can I—"

Sam sighed in pretend disgust. "Yes, you can read them out loud and put 'in bed' after the fortune."

FIN