When they were little, after Dean ruined a Christmas by telling Sam the truth of their life, Sam started doing what Sam always did best: learning, researching, finding answers to questions that were always present in his overactive mind. And the following Christmas, which happened to be the one in which there was so little money Dean was so concerned with finding enough money to feed his little brother he had totally forgot it was Christmas, the brothers, on Christmas eve, were sitting at a local soup kitchen, which wounded Dean's pride more than words could express, and Sam had started talking.
"You know." He began, eyes focused on his food. "Most kids today are at home, by the fireplace, telling their parents what they want for Christmas. Or they are with their grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, eating food that all of the girls in the family prepared. It's warm, cozy, and a wonderful day, everything is always good, no one fights, no one is in a soup kitchen eating food that isn't very good, but eating it all up because they aren't sure if they will eat tomorrow or not. Christmas is supposed to be a time of lights, family, happiness, and love. Not this." All had been said without malice or anger. Sam wasn't reproaching Dean, he was simply telling him the facts as he knew them. The tone and the gentleness hadn't softened the blow, hadn't made Dean feel like any less of a failure, and Dean had vowed then that he would figure out how to give Sam what he wanted.
The next Christmas Dean had arranged for someone in the neighborhood to ask Sam to stay with them for the holidays. He had been 16, and that Christmas was the template for the next ten years.
Sam came back from Stanford in November, and he was quiet and angry, and Dean never got a very good picture of what his life had been like while he was at the fancy school, and he had a very hard time asking Sam about it. But on Christmas Eve, Sam got a little drunk, and told Dean about the Christmas previous, and how it was full of lights, warmth, family, and good food. It was exactly what Sam said it should be like all of those years ago. Here it was their first Christmas together, and they were in a motel, booze their only source of warmth, and unable to find their father, their only living family, and Dean had looked down into his drink and felt just as inadequate as he had all of those years ago when they were sitting at the soup kitchen.
Now, he was stoking the fire, helping Lisa get the house ready for her family, and Dean felt guilty. This was the life Sam was supposed to have. This was the life Sam craved all of his life, and he only had it for three years, he deserved it for a lifetime, not just those couple of years at Stanford.
His brooding was interrupted by the doorbell ringing, and Ben's feet pounding the linoleum as he ran to answer the door. Dean stood up from his crouch beside the fire and took a deep breath. He wasn't ready for this. He shouldn't be the one here. He should be in the car, alone, or in hell alone, he should be alone, Sam should be here, Sam should have this life, this comfort, this luxury.
"Grandma! Grandpa!" Ben grabbed both around their middles and hugged them tight. Those words ushered in the biggest whirl wind of Dean's life.
There were people, introductions, presents, food, laughter, people, more people, more introductions, people asking him about his family, people asking him about his life, about his past, about his brother when he dared say something about him, and it was all too much. Caring and sharing had always been a difficulty for Dean, and he felt like he was swimming in a sea full of sharks, and he would survive as long as he kept moving, kept treading water, fought for his life. The bombardment of people, conversation and questions elicited the same flight or fight response he normally experienced when on a hunt, and if this had been a hunt he would have retreated, he would have told Sam to get his ass back in the car and they would have peeled out of here so fast he would have had to replace the tires at the nearest mechanic.
And he did indulge his flight response as often as he could, he would escape to the back yard and get firewood for the fire place, and he would take as long as he could. But inevitably he would have to go back inside and when he did he had to handle the barrage of questions all over again. He felt like he was at the inquisition. He felt trapped. He didn't understand how this could be celebrating anything; he didn't understand how all of this was a good thing.
He craved for what he had come to call Christmas, he craved for a game to be on, for he and Sam to be sitting on a cheep couch, feet propped, beer in hand, watching a game, stupid decorations littering the room. He missed the quiet, the simplicity of their past adult celebrations.
Then like magic, everyone was gone. One person said that they needed to go and get the little ones to bed because Santa Clause was coming to give good boys and girls toys and goodies, and as soon as that was said, it seemed that everyone had their coats, scarves, mittens, and hats on and they were out the door, Lisa hugging and kissing everyone and smiling like there was no tomorrow.
The door was closed, and suddenly the house felt empty. "You enjoy yourself?" Dean asked, shoving the plethora of wrapping paper that was scattered all over the living room into a trash bag.
"Yeah." She said with a satisfied sigh. "Ben!" She yelled and the kid just appeared from seemingly nowhere.
"Yeah mom?"
"Go get ready for bed."
"But….I want to play…"
"Bed."
"Mom."
"Don't argue with your mother Ben." Dean said, Ben sighed, gave the stink eye to Dean, and headed up the stairs.
SNSNSNSNSN
The house was clean, the tree was filled with gifts for only Lisa, Ben, and Dean and all in the house was quiet, except for Dean who was sitting in front of the dying fire, looking at the stocking that was emblazoned with Sam's name and was stuffed with Sam's gift, the gift that Sam would never open, never read, never know about.
Dean threw back the last of the whisky in his hand and tried to shut out the thoughts, the visions of Sam in Hell tonight, suffering at the hands of Lucifer, and locked inside his own head with the purest evil ever known. But his mind wouldn't stop running instant replays of own personal time in Hell. His heart and body betrayed him with thundering heart and sweating, and his soul chimed in with the guilt of allowing his baby brother, the one person on earth that he had sworn to protect with his life, fall into the pit while mind wrestling with evil.
"God." Dean mumbled, voice thick and sad. He sat down on the couch, and put his head in between his legs. "God, Sam. I'm so sorry."
A hand snaked across his shoulders and he jerked up. Lisa's concerned eyes greeted him. He wiped tears from his eyes.
"I wish Sam could have been here."
"Me too." Dean said thankful for the understanding.
"He would have liked today." Dean licked his lips. "He loved Christmas when he was young. Then when he got older, he wanted a Christmas like this. I couldn't give it to him." Dean looked at the Christmas tree and sighed. "That is what he always wanted, he deserves to be here experiencing this."
"So do you Dean." Lisa said after a moment. "You deserve to be happy too." He nodded and wished there was more whisky. "You aren't happy." She added softly.
"Lis…"
"It isn't about me or Ben. I know that you love us. But, you aren't happy."
He didn't have anything to say. She was right. How could he say that out loud? "I wish I could give you your brother for Christmas." She said softly and caressed his hair. "That was my Christmas wish this year. That Sam would come back, that Sam would knock on that door and come and be a part of our lives. I want you to be happy." She said with tears flowing.
Dean shook his head. "No. No. We can't do this. I can't let you be sad on Christmas. That's not fair to you or Ben. I'm sorry." He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Go to bed."
"But I can let you be sad and uncomfortable all day and that's all right?"
Dean closed his eyes and wished that he wasn't so transparent to her. "I just have to get used to things. Go to bed sweetie." Lisa sighed and stood.
"Only five more minutes. I want you in bed."
"I'll be right there." Dean acknowledged. Lisa turned and left him to his solitude. Dean starred at his brother's name for a few minutes longer and gathered himself, his emotions, his soul together and started for the stairs when a knock at the door stopped him in his tracks.