A Brotherhood of Man

"Is that...pie?" Sam grunted from his bed back in the Bunker, sitting up and wincing in pain.

Dean looked sheepish. "Uh...yeah...it's traditional...right?"

Sam managed a weak smile. "Yeah...I guess...sort of..."

Dean watched him carefully. "You sure you OK?"

Sam let out a breath. "Yeah, all things considered...like the hospital said, you missed all major arteries and bones. Just hurts like hell."

Dean smiled. "Hey man, I knew that you were still in there somewhere. And I'm a damned good shot. Besides, there's no wheelchair access into the Bunker...so I'd have been screwed trying to carry you in here."

Sam laughed at that and settled the plate with the piece of pie into his lap. He picked at a piece with a fork and put it into his mouth, his eyes widening in surprise. "S'good," he managed the compliment through a mouthful. He finished chewing and swallowed, his eyebrows raising. "You said 'traditional', though...what's the occasion?"

Dean looked affronted. "Sammy...it's Christmas...you...you didn't know what day it is?"

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, Dean, kinda been outta it for a while, you know?"

Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah. I know, Sammy. I know. Sorry."

"For what?"

"For not getting you out of there faster. For not listening to Cas and Chuck in the first damned place and getting us into this mess..." His fists clenched and unclenched. "Just standard ol' Dean Operating Procedure, I guess."

Sam smiled tightly. "Dean, there was no way for you, me, anyone to have known..."

Dean waved him off. "Yeah, yeah, I know what you're gonna say, Sammy, and some of it will make sense, sure. But I'm telling you this – from now on, we stay the hell out of it. All of it. Cas calls...we don't even pick up the damned phone, deal?"

Sam considered his brother for a long moment, and finally nodded in accession. "Deal. And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Merry Christmas."

A slow smile came to Dean's face. "It's good to have you back, Sammy. Merry Christmas." A bell sounded, announcing someone at the Bunker's door. Sam looked at Dean in confusion.

"We expecting someone?"

Dean shrugged, still smiling. He got up and headed out to the entrance. "Yeah, dinner. What? You think I'd have tried to roast a frikkin' turkey myself? Bucket of KFC – one for each of us – original recipe, of course."

Sam snorted as Dean patted the doorjamb and went to the door. He shook his head and looked down at the plate of pie, scooping up another bite.

"Gotta love that Winchester Christmas Spirit...," he smiled, leaning back and closing his eyes.


"Oh, you shouldn't have..."Gabriel said exaggeratedly, taking the large package from Castiel and shaking it lightly next to his ear. "Um...what is it? It's heavy..."

"Consider it a gift," Castiel answered gruffly.

Gabriel arched an eyebrow. "Cassie...since when do you believe in Christmas? I mean...the gift-giving, tree decorating, pagan one? You know how much that pissed Michael off that it overshadowed the birth of the Son, right?" He frowned, considering. "Actually, when I put it that way...Merry Christmas!" he exclaimed joyfully as he set the box down and ripped the top off of it like an excited ten-year old. He looked into the open box and frowned. He looked back up at Castiel.

"Is that...what I think it is?"

Castiel nodded.

"Cassie..." Gabriel said breathlessly, carefully closing the torn lid as best he could and leaning back on the table, "Cassie...where did you get that?"

"From Issiah and Obidiah," Castiel answered, his keen eyes fixed on Gabriel, watching for a reaction.

Gabriel nodded. "Yeah...yeah...that makes sense...they were the last ones in charge of the angelic Council up there after Suriel was killed..." he rubbed his hand over his mouth, his head slowly shaking in disbelief. "Cassie...why would you give this to..."

"...because you're the last Archangel, Gabriel," Castiel interrupted.

Gabriel held up a hand. "That might not be true, what about you?"

Castiel frowned. "What about me? Any power that I may have received is dubiously attained...most likely tainted..." he also held up a hand as Gabriel started to object. "And even if it isn't – you're the oldest and most experienced Archangel left – one that has at least a little experience in dealing with artifacts that powerful. And considering what Judah told me on the beach..." he said, nodding in the direction of the box. He shook his head quickly. "I never thought that we'd ever have to protect ourselves from Him..."

Gabriel watched him, jaw slightly agape. "Cassie...I don't know..."

"Well, you better. The whole of Creation might depend on that," Castiel grunted, nodding at him. He turned and left Gabriel's room, stopping just outside of his door.

"So, Merry Christmas," he said. "It might not be the 'gift' that you were expecting...or wanted...but it's the one you got. Use it well." With that, he walked off down the hallway, heading back to the main chamber at Resistance HQ.

Gabriel watched the empty doorframe for a long time, then walked over slowly and shut himself in. He turned and looked at the closed, plain cardboard box as if it were filled with poisonous snakes, and felt a shudder go through him.

"Yeah...Merry damned Christmas..." he muttered, going over to it, picking it up, and hastily shoving it into the back of his small dressing closet, shutting the door to it tightly.


The line for the Mall Santa stretched literally three times around the mall. Word had gotten out quickly as to what he had been doing – what he had been able to do.

Nothing less than miracles.

"And what can Santa get for you this Christmas, Sally?" Santa asked the bright-eyed seven year-old sitting on his lap. Her eyes went wide.

"You know my name...?" she asked him breathlessly.

He smiled. "Of course I do! I'm Santa Claus!"

She shook her head. "Nuh-uh...not the really real one, right? You're a helper...like an elf..."

"Now, now, Sally, whoever told you that?"

"My mommy and daddy said so..." Sally answered sheepishly. "They told me that the real Santa has helpers everyone, and that's why he's in all the malls every Christmas."

Santa smiled. "Well, Sally, I'm the real one...you need proof? Tell me what you're wish is. I know for a fact that you're on my 'nice' list this year, Sally, even if you did punch your brother that time. But you were very, very sorry and made it up to him, didn't you?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

Sally nodded, dumbfounded. "Yeah...yeah...! I was so sorry! I'm...I'm still on the 'nice' list, really?"

Santa let out a jovial, deep, belly laugh. "That's what I said now, isn't it!? Now, what was your wish? Anything that you really, truly want, the best present that you can ever think of, now."

Sally shied away, looked at her parents, who were smiling at her. Emboldened, she turned back to Santa, clapping her hands together.

"Can I have a pony? A real one?"

Santa smiled and leaned closer. "Of course you can," he whispered. His eyes looked over Sally's shoulder.

There was a gasp of shock and surprise from the crowd, and soft, happy neigh.

Sally's eyes widened further, and she turned her eyes slowly around.

She sprang from Santa's lap and ran full tilt toward the small gray and white spotted pony, her very confused looking parents holding the reins and bridle.

"OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD-IT'S EVEN THE COLOR I WANTED! I LOVE HER I LOVE HER I LOVE HER!" Sally squealed in delight, rushing to the pony's neck and wrapping her arms around it. "Can I ride her home, Daddy? Please?"

Her father, still in shock, looked up at the smiling Santa, then, blinking, looked back at his daughter. "Um...sure...I mean...we'll...we'll... he looked up desperately at his wife, who was just as equally in shock as he was and offered no help. "...we'll see, honey..." he finished, numbly leading his family with the new pony in tow away from the mall Christmas market. The next child practically flew towards Santa, springing into his lap.

At the end of his shift, and after hundreds of more miracles, the line for the Mall Santa did not go away, many hundreds of people, if not thousands, chose to just wait their turn, even if they were going to have to wait outside for days. Santa went back to his dressing room and sat down heavily in his chair, letting out a long sigh of relief.

"What do you think that you're doing?" came a reproachful voice from in front of him.

Santa looked up, shocked, and found himself staring into the large mirror on his dressing room table.

But it wasn't his reflection that stared back at him...it was...

"Judah...I ...I don't understand..."

"Santa Claus?" Jonah practically spat in distaste. "We're taking on the semblance of a pagan symbol now? Not even a true one, either – one spawned from the gods of consumerism."

"I...but I'm..."

Judah shook his head. "No, you're not. We're not. We are being ripped apart by chaos is what we are." He leveled his gaze. "I am the Lion of Judah. Give me my form back. We are not finished yet."

"How did this happen?" Santa groaned, leaning back in his chair, his hand covering his forehead. "It's happening too quickly..."

Judah nodded. "There's an agent of Darkness here. I sensed it a few days ago. It's here, it's very powerful, and I need to get back to work. So...if you don't mind?"

A few minutes later, Judah strode out of the dressing room, wearing the over-sized street clothing of the Mall Santa. One of the security guards saw him and his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Hey...where's Irvin?"

"Went back to the North Pole," Judah grunted, then vanished.

The guard jumped back in shock, looked down at his Irish Coffee, and immediately spilled it's contents out into a trashcan.


"Oh, lamb, you came back!" Rowena exclaimed happily, getting up from her place on a couch in her quarters and clapping her hands together. "Does this mean that you forgive me?"

"Hardly," Crowley grunted, but he was still smiling amiably. He held out a package that he had been holding behind his back to her. "I am simply honoring our annual tradition, Mother. Merry Christmas."

"Oh," Rowena cooed, "Fergus, you shouldn't have."

"I agree."

She shot him a sour look and took the small package, obviously a bottle. She raised an eyebrow. "Glenn Fiddich?"

"Naturally, Crowley replied. "Although how you are able to drink that swill, I'll never understand."

"Well, my tastes are more refined than yours, lamb, that's all," Rowena smirked, pulling the wrapper off of the bottle and setting it on a counter. She went to a cupboard and pulled out two tumblers. "Will you join me?"

"If I must."

"I insist," Rowena smiled. "Because I, lamb, have great news," she said, opening the bottle and pouring out two shots.

Crowley took his glass and eyed it warily. "Have you actually found out what Judah did to me?"

"Not exactly," Rowena answered. "But I have a theory. So, in a way, I have a present for you as well." She held up her glass for a toast. "Cheers."

Crowley tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Skol," he replied dryly, draining his glass and wincing in distaste. "Ugh...wretched stuff."

"Whiskey snob," Rowena sniffed, smiling. "It's fine. More for me, then. Thank you, Fergus."

Crowley nodded and settled into a thick leather sitting chair. "So Mother, do tell me all about this theory of yours."

Rowena smiled. "Well, it appears that to prove it, we'll be taking a trip together, lamb. Won't that be nice?"

Crowley frowned. "That depends. Where?"

"Well, of course, only the most exclusive of destinations for us, Fergus," she replied, her smile widening.

Crowley raised both of his eyebrows in slight alarm. "Where?", he repeated warily.

"The depths of Hell," Rowena answered, eyes twinkling as she held up her glass. "Merry Christmas, lamb."


Happy Holiday, dear readers! See you in 2018! All my best wishes and I hope you get everything (or at least, most) of what you wanted! - WatchingOne