Author's Note: Today's prompt comes from jaredsalpaca who requested, "Sam, Dean, and John are up in Minnesota for Christmas. They're staying in a little log cabin and going over game plan when something gets in and takes Sam right in front of John and Dean's eyes. John and Dean have to trek out in a blizzard to rescue Sam, who has a broken arm and slight hypothermia. Maybe he was taken by Santa's elves turned evil? See a kid who doesn't feel the spirit of Christmas and decide to take matters into their own hands. Pre-series, Sam 18, Dean 22." Thank you so much for the awesome prompt! I hope you enjoy it!

"I know you're out there

I hear your reindeer

I see the snow where

Your boots have been."

—Train, "Shake Up Christmas"

Sam is ten when he finds out that Santa Claus isn't real.

It's all told to him, matter-of-factly, by his father.

"If Santa were real," John begins quietly, a hand resting on Sam's small shoulder, "We'd hunt him."

And that's the end of that conversation really. The presents still magically appear on Christmas morning and Dean buys him the fluffiest stack of pancakes at the local diner, but it doesn't heal the grief in Sam's heart.

Because deep down, he had believed in Santa, in the magic that the man in the red suit represented. He tried to be the best kid he could, not for his own sake, but for the hope that Santa would see and bring Dean something special too.

But now . . . now it's all over.

There is no Santa, bringing joy and happiness to children the world over.

And that sucks.

The last Christmas he spends before he goes to Stanford is in a small town in Minnesota. They're tracking down a ghost that keeps murdering anyone that dares to move into its old home. It's a simple hunt really—get in, salt and burn the snow globe that was tethering the spirit to this world and then boom, the ghost is gone. It's two days until Christmas and somehow Dean has managed to convince their father to rent a little log cabin until the holiday is over. It's the kind of cabin that you would see in those cheesy Christmas movies—a supposedly magical place where Christmas miracles could occur.

Sam scoffs. As if Christmas miracles actually existed.

He hasn't told Dean or his father yet, but if Sam plays his cards right, this will be his last Christmas as a hunter. He's going to get out of this life and be normal. He's going to build a life free from things that go bump in the night. He'll become a lawyer—someone that could bail his father or brother out if they needed it, but really, he wanted to become one because lawyers earn a lot of money.

And he needed a lot of money if he was going to one day be able to support not only a wife and kids, but John and Dean as well. That's what Sam really wants after all—to live a long life with his family. One day, one of these hunts would go sideways and end up with one of them dead. It's the sad reality of their profession.

But Sam will be damned if his family ends up as a statistic.

He's getting out and one way or another, John and Dean will too.

You better watch out, you better not cry . . .

"What's with you?" Dean questions, coming to sit across from his little brother at the small kitchen table.

"Nothing." Sam responds, trying to tune out the cheery Christmas carol. He's so sick of this season. It's just commercial. It's not real. All anyone cares about is the presents anyways—

"Hey, Mr. Grinch." Dean tosses a crumpled piece of paper at Sam's face.

"I said it's nothing!" Sam snaps.

"Okay, fine," Dean relents, leaning back in the chair, "You ready for the hunt?"

"Yeah."

Dean studies his brother's profile for a few moments, careful eyes cataloguing every detail and Sam knows he's trying to figure out what's going on with his behavior.

"I'm fine, Dean." Sam tells him once more, softer this time.

"Boys, it's really coming down out there." John closes the front door behind him, a gust of icy wind filling the cabin for a moment. His father has a bag of groceries in his grip and he quickly places them on the table.

"You get the pie?" Dean's eyes are wide, excited and Sam smirks.

"Yes." John chuckles at his older son's expression.

This is it, Sam think, seeing his brother and father actually laughing with each other.

This is the last Christmas they'll all be together for awhile.

It's funny because he almost feels sad—

Glass shatters. The lights go out.

Before Sam can process what's happening, he feels a sharp pain in his temple and then—

Darkness.

He is tied up to a chair with golden tinsel and actual elves are holding him hostage.

"Holy shit." Sam breathes as he takes in the two elves before him.

"Hey!" One chirps, his red hat tipping as the small bell attached to the edge of it jingles, "Language!"

"Yeah, Sam Winchester," The other one, dressed in green, barks, "You're in big trouble!"

"Wait . . ." Sam pauses and takes in his surroundings. He's in a cave of some sorts. He can hear the blizzard raging outside, but the fire crackling in the middle of the cave keeps the chamber warm. He wants to either laugh or scream—this whole thing is just ridiculous! "Are you two . . . elves?"

"Duh!" The red one snaps.

The green one replies, "Did we really bring this kid an encyclopedia when he was six, Jangle? Kid seems pretty stupid."

"Jingle, I know we did!" The elf in red shouts, "I was the one who had to load it into the big guy's sleigh!"

"Jingle, Jangle," Sam echoes and the two elves face him, "This must be some weird dream."

It has to be. None of this is real.

Santa Claus isn't—

"Stop right there!" Jangle orders, pointing a finger in Sam's direction, "Enough with the lack of Christmas spirit! I have had enough!"

"Me too!" Jingle chirps, nodding his head, "Sam Winchester, you used to be filled with the Christmas spirit. Now, you just hate it!"

"And that makes elves like us go crazy!" Jangle growls, taking a step menacingly towards the youngest Winchester.

"Yeah," Jingle's gaze narrows and a malicious smile tugs on his lips, "Let's talk, okay, Sam?"

He only realizes he's in big trouble when they begin to chuckle sinisterly.

Sam's been missing only two hours but Dean's already losing his mind.

They don't know what exactly broke into the cabin and managed to snatch Sam for the split second the lights went out, but so far they've been able to eliminate demons and ghosts. Still, with the blizzard raging outside, they didn't have time to spare. Sam could be out in it or worse—

"Dean." John's voice is sharp, a reminder to stay focused.

"I know." Dean huffs, frustrated, but knowing his father is right.

The sooner they figure out what had Sam, the sooner they could find him.

And hanging on the wall, the clock just continues to tick.

Sam is pretty sure his arm is broken.

He's also pretty sure he's being tormented by two very evil Christmas elves. Though they claim to want to help him regain his love of the holiday, the more they beat him, the more sadistic they become.

Sam needs to get out of here.

Fast.

"Look," Sam mutters through bloody lips, "I said I was sorry. I'll have the Christmas spirit—"

"Too little, too late," Jingle growls, smirking, "We know you don't believe Sam. And you know what, that pisses me off!"

"Language." Sam tries to joke, but its clear the elves have gone off the deep end. They're no longer Christmas elves. They're something else entirely.

"You're ours, Sam," Jangle hisses, "We'll show you what happens to grinches."

"That's enough!" A loud, booming voice echoes and Sam can't believe his eyes as the figure enters the cave.

Red suit, big belly, white beard, glasses—there's no way.

"Santa Claus?" Sam mutters, astounded.

No fucking way.

"Boss!" Jingle and Jangle chirp, bowing their heads and nervously glancing at each other.

"We were, uh, just trying to—"

But Santa Claus is clearly not amused judging by the frown on his lips. He steps towards the two elves, shaking his head. Then, with a wink at Sam, he quickly waves his hand and both Jingle and Jangle are gone. Nodding to himself, Santa then faces the youngest Winchester.

"Oh, Sam," Santa murmurs, shaking his head, "I am so sorry for this." With another wave of his hand, the tinsel disappears and Sam feels like he can finally breathe again. His arm burns though but the pain is sort of dulled as he stares up at Santa.

It's Santa Claus.

"You're real." Sam states, sort of dumbfounded.

Santa laughs, a deep belly laugh that bounces off the cave's walls, "I am indeed!"

Still, Sam is having a hard time reconciling this with what he's grown up to know. John said Santa wasn't real and if he was that they would—

"We're supposed to hunt you." Sam whispers, horrified by that thought.

"I am older than you hunters, Sam," Santa informs him with a grin, "I know a few more tricks." The jolly man quickly closes the gap between them and places a gloved hand on Sam's shoulder. Immediately, the pain in his arm is gone.

"How did you—?"

"I'm sorry for Jingle and Jangle," Santa remarks quietly, "You see, the two of them haven't really had their full dose of Christmas spirit and when they come in contact with someone who has a bad view of Christmas . . ." Santa sighs, "Well, needless to say, problems can occur. Rest assured I will handle it."

Sam has so many questions. After all these years, he finally is meeting Santa Claus. Dean and his father will flip—

"I have to get back!" The youngest Winchester suddenly explains, "My brother and father must be looking for me."

"Well, lucky for you, I happen to have a fast ride." Santa points outside and Sam can hear the sound of reindeer.

"No way."

"Want a ride?"

Santa doesn't need to be asked twice.

The blizzard makes seeing even five feet in front of them nearly impossible. The world is a white wonderland, but with a nasty frostbite. Dean is bundled up in who knows how many jackets and he still feels like he's freezing.

But Sam is out here somewhere.

No matter what happens, Dean will find him.

"Keep moving!" John shouts over the roar of the wind and Dean forces his frozen body to do so.

Sam needs them.

"Your father and your brother are just ahead." Santa informs him as the two hop out of his sleigh.

Sam can't believe this night even happened. He was kidnapped by two evil elves and rescued by Santa Claus himself. It all seems so impossible.

"Santa, I—" Sam doesn't even know what he wants to say. He hated Christmas because he felt like it was all a lie, yet seeing Santa rekindled something within him. That spark of being an innocent child—of believing his father was a traveling salesman, of hoping for a better future—he can feel it burning within his chest once more.

"Sam," Santa smiles and it warms Sam to his core, "I'm afraid you won't remember tonight. Neither will your father or your brother. As far as anyone is concerned, you got caught in the blizzard and tripped down a ledge, breaking your arm."

"But why?" Sam protests, "Why shouldn't I remember? I mean, you're real! You made me remember why Christmas is so great—"

Santa sighs softly, a well-worn grin on his lips, "Sam, it's not me that's important to you. You loved Christmas because your family was around you. You believed Christmas was the one day where the three of you could just be a normal family."

It's true. Christmas was the one day where John was actually there. Christmas meant no hunts, just pie and presents. Being with his family, without any imminent danger, those were the moments he treasured.

"Yeah," Sam nods, "You're right."

Santa moves back towards his sleigh, but hesitates a moment before getting into it. He faces the youngest Winchester once more, "Sam. Whatever fate has in store for you, remember that you are the glue that holds your family together. Whatever may happen, you are the key."

"What does that mean?" Sam presses. Santa knows more than he's telling, but what did his cryptic words actually mean?

Santa gets into the sleigh and picks up the reins, "Oh. And Merry Christmas!"

And then he's gone, just a speck in the night sky.

When Sam awakens, his arm is in a cast and he's bundled in about a thousand blankets. John is asleep in the chair by his bedside, snoring softly.

"You awake?" Dean enters the room, a cup of coffee in his hands, "How do you feel?"

"M'head." Sam mutters, trying to get rid of the distant ache in his temple. He can't help but feel like he's forgetting something important. How did he get here?

"Relax," Dean soothes, coming to stand by his bedside, his older brother's free hand grabbing Sam's and tracing soothing circles onto it, "You got caught in the storm and fell. Doc said you broke your arm and had a concussion. It might take you awhile to remember some things."

That seems right, he supposes, but he still feels like something is off.

"Just sleep." Dean orders.

Sam finds himself dozing off already, no doubt in part thanks to the medicine coursing through his veins. Still, he wanted to tell Dean something, something important, "I saw Santa."

Dean just chuckles, "Sure, Sammy, and I saw the Easter Bunny. Dude, just sleep."

Sam falls asleep to his brother humming an off-key Christmas carol.

It may not be the best way to spend Christmas, but as long as his family is by his side, that's all that matters.

Author's Note: And that's a wrap! I hope you guys enjoyed it! I had a blast writing this one—the prompt really challenged me to get out of my usual writing routine. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!