I've got a special Christmas treat for y'all today, folks! Since today was my last day of school until the third, I thought I'd give you an extra-long chapter today. Whoohoo!!!!

It was indeed cold outside. The Impala nearly lost traction on a couple of roads, but Dean corrected her easily enough, banging his head along to AC/DC as snow started to fall from the dense grey sky. Sam sat in the passenger seat, bundled up in his father's old leather jacket, a jacket he'd come to associate with his brother over the past couple of years.

The car rumbled up a hill, groaning as snow gave way to ice and Dean tightened his grip on the wheel. The large brick library came slowly into view, sitting far-off in the snow from the parking lot. Dean pulled expertly into a spot, flashing a brief smile at Sam before pushing open the door and sending a blast of frigid air into the car. He shivered, wrapping his tattered jacket more tightly around himself.

Bracing themselves against the snow, which had picked up since their arrival in the otherwise abandoned parking lot, the Winchester brothers stepped out of the car, slamming the doors behind them, and started up the long path that led to the imposing library.

The sidewalk didn't appear to have been shoveled yet that winter, and the deep snow hid inch-thick ice. Sam and Dean trudged up the winding path, slipping every so often and chuckling nervously as they regained their balance.

They were about halfway to the old library when Sam irrevocably lost his balance and went down, reaching out and grabbing the closest solid thing he could find. That solid thing just so happened to be Dean, who fell on top of him with a yelp, pushing Sam farther down into the snow, which promptly filled the inside of the jacket.

"Walk much?" Dean asked, pushing himself up and brushing himself off, shivering as cold snow melted against the skin exposed by the holes in his jacket and jeans.

"Weigh much?" Sam shot back, struggling to his feet only to slip back to the ground as he hit another patch of ice.

"Maybe you should just stay there," Dean suggested, running a hand self-consciously over his flat stomach, "I'll come get you when I'm done."

"Or maybe," Sam grinned, reaching up and grabbing his brother's ankle, pulling the younger man back into the snow, "we can both just hang out hare for a while."

"And do what?" Dean asked, looking up into the sky and stretching out in the cold white stuff, " make snow angels?"

"Better than falling on our asses again."

"Hey, I didn't fall. You pulled me down. Twice."

"You know what that means? You're weak."

"How'd you get that?"

Sammy smiled, unaware that his brother was gathering up a fistful of snow. "Well, if you were strong, you would have been able to hold me up. Therefore, weak."

"I was standing on ice."

"Doesn't matter, man. Strength is strength."

"Like this?" Dean asked, reaching over and shoving his snowball in Sam's face.

The older man coughed and sputtered, snow stinging his eyes, making his nose go numb. He swatted the powder away angrily. "What the Hell did you do that for?"

Dean sat up and shrugged. "Seemed like it would be fun."

"You call that fun?" Sam asked, pushing himself to his knees and glaring at the teenager.

"Well, it was fun for me…"

"Yeah?" Sam asked, discreetly scooping up his own handful of snow, "well guess what? This is fun for me." He reached over with his free hand and shoved his brother back into the powder, simultaneously grabbing the collar of the boy's shirt and pulling it away from his skin. Dean's eyes went wide as Sam shoved his snowball into the space he'd created.

The teen immediately pulled away, slipping on the ice as he struggled up onto his knees and crawled through the snow, cursing at his brother. "Wh-what the H-hell were you thinking?" he shivered.

Sammy just shrugged. "Vengeance is sweet?"

Dean scooped the snow that hadn't melted out of his shirt and shot a deadly glare in his brother's direction. "Let's just get going, ok?"

"What's the matter?" Sam teased, "you can dish it out, but you can't take it?"

"Dude, I'm soaking wet!"

Grinning from ear to ear, Sam struggled to his feet, holding out a hand to help his brother up as soon as he'd gotten his balance. "Truce?"

Dean smirked, grabbing the outstretched hand and using it to slam the older man face-first into the snow. "Truce," he chirped, getting to his feet and heading off toward the library.

Sam pulled his face out of the snow, wiping off the fresh powder even as more fell on top of him. He grabbed another snowball, and, shakily gaining his feet again, followed after the teenager.

He snuck up behind Dean, weapon of choice held at the ready, fully prepared to teach the little snot a lesson about war, when Dean spun and hit him in the face with more snow.

"Your ugly mug is gonna be permanently red after this, college boy," Dean quipped, scooping up another handful of snow as he strolled backwards toward the library.

"What is your obsession with my face?" Sam demanded.

Dean shrugged. "Only exposed part of your body. Lesson number one in war, little brother. Always find your opponent's weakest point and use it against him. See, you should pay attention when dad talks."

"And maybe you should watch where you're going," Sam grinned as Dean's foot hit another patch of ice and the teen went down hard.

"Truce?" Dean asked, holding out a hand for Sam to grab.

"Not falling for that one again."

"Aw, come on, man."

Sighing, Sam planted his feet firmly on the ground on either side of the sidewalk and pulled his brother up. "Truce," he grinned.

o0o0o0o0o0o0o

"I can't believe we went through all of that and it wasn't even open," Sam grumbled, trudging through the snow that had built up beside the sidewalk with his hands shoved in his pockets. There was no way he was going back onto the icy concrete path, not with Dean watching his every move, waiting to pounce.

Dean just shrugged. "Oh well. Guess we'll have to wait until after the holidays. Or until dad gets back."

"You really think he's coming home for Christmas, don't you?" Sam asked as they rounded a small bend and the parking lot came fully into view. Dean opened his mouth to answer, but stopped. He stood on the snow-packed lawn, staring straight ahead, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. "Dean?"

The teenager shook his head, snapping himself out of his stupor. "Maybe we should go back," he said softly, "maybe they're open, and we just didn't know. We should knock or something."

"The big sign on the door said 'closed,' Dean," Sam pointed out. He glanced over at his brother, a little concerned about the sudden silence and suggestion of returning to the unoccupied library. "You all right?"

Dean nodded stiffly, his eyes staring straight ahead, out over the parking lot. Sam followed his gaze, shocked to see that the previously empty lot wasn't so abandoned anymore. A pair of young kids was hanging out around the Impala, one leaning against her doors, the other sitting on her hood, waiting for something.

"You know them?" Sam asked.

The teenager nodded again. "Yeah."

"They friends of yours?"

"Friends of yours, actually."

"Oh. What do you want to do about it?"

"I told you. I want to go see if the library's open. We can wait them out there. They won't be able to survive in the cold for long."

"Neither can we. We're all wet."

"You got a better idea?"

"Actually," Sam said, "I do. We go get in the car and head back to the house. No big deal." He started off toward the lot.

"Very big deal," Dean corrected, grabbing the older man's arm and pulling him back. "We can't go over there. They can't know what happened to you. It could mess them up for life."

"Who said we're gonna talk to them? We just need a change of clothes. Come on." He pulled out of Dean's grip and continued walking to the car. He turned about halfway to the lot to see his brother still hanging back. Rolling his eyes, he made a 'come hither' gesture with one finger and Dean reluctantly started walking.

By the time Sam reached the edge of the parking lot, Dean was right beside him, doing his best to square his shoulders and puff out his chest. Once they got to the car, however, the false bravado was gone.

"Winchester," one of the kids, a girl with long black hair, smiled as she slid off the hood of the car, her feet landing in the snow with a soft crunch, "I've gotta say, I can't believe my eyes."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, chewing unconsciously on his lower lip.

"Well," she said, her smile turning into something malicious, "it is a library…"

"What Tracy's trying to say," the other kid, a boy with short-cropped hair and a lopsided mouth, interrupted, "is that you shouldn't be here."

"Yeah," Tracy agreed, "Jimmy's right. I mean, let's face it. You're not exactly the reading type."

Dean ducked his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Guys-"

"Sam tells me you won't let him come to my party," Jimmy said suddenly, cutting off any plea or retort the older boy might have been preparing, "like you have something better planned, Mr. Grinch."

"It's not that-"

"He showed you the invitation, right?" Tracy butted in, pulling a folded-up piece of paper out of her pocket and looking at it with an intense gaze, "here, let me read it to you."

"I know how to-"

"'You are cordially invited-'"

"'To a Christmas party held by Mr. James Spencer,'" Dean cut her off, his eyes closed tightly, fists clenched in his pocket as he recalled the exact wording of the invitation from memory, "'to take place on the twenty-fifth of December, 1995. Bring gifts and food. Fun will be supplied.' I know what it says."

"Sam told you, didn't he?" Jimmy asked, stepping forward to wrap an arm around Tracy's waist and pull her close, an action that seemed out-of-place when performed by a twelve-year-old, "that's so nice of him. Reading to his retarded brother."

Sam had been standing by, watching the torture play out, hardly able to comprehend that his brother would let them talk to him like that. He'd been too fascinated by the things being said, things he'd heard as long as Jimmy and Tracy had been his friends, but things he'd never really paid attention to. The words weren't the only things he was amazed by, though. He'd never noticed how they cut his brother before, never saw how deep the hurt went. And calling Dean retarded was the last straw.

Sam knew his brother wasn't the sharpest knife in the collection, but he certainly wasn't stupid. He could come up with a workable plan when he needed to, could turn a Walkman into and EMF meter, had spent five years of his life faking bedtime stories for his brother based off the pictures in the books. No, he wasn't stupid.

Clearing his throat, Sam stepped between Dean and the two preteens. "Hey, guys," he said softly, "that's not nice."

"Who are you?" Jimmy demanded, "the dead-beat dad?"

Sam blinked. Funny, he couldn't remember Jimmy being such a little brat. "What?"

"Sam hates you," Tracy added, "you don't let him do anything fun. You don't let him have friends. You leave him at home with his defective brother."

Sam glanced back at Dean in time to see the flinch. "I don't think you understand-"

"I understand fine." And now he remembered that Tracy had a very annoying habit of having to make her opinions known as soon as they formed in her mind. Perfect. "You leave the life of a smart, kind person in the hands of an emotionally damaged psychopath who's going to end up killing someone someday."

He turned back to Dean. Flinch.

And then something in him snapped. It was something familiar, something that had snapped before. He'd seen a girl getting beat up by her boyfriend outside a Texaco and he'd felt the same thing and sent the guy to an emergency room. He'd been possessed, but conscious long enough to feel the same thing snap within the demon as she knocked Jo out and proceeded to rape her. It was the same thing that was snapping now as he looked down at two privileged, snot-nosed kids who had no idea what his brother had done for him over the years.

It wasn't often that Sam was conscious of his height, actually aware that he towered over everyone in the general vicinity, but in moments like these, he was. And he used it.

Glowering down at the kids, Sam took a step forward, craning his neck at a ninety degree angle just to see them. Jimmy pulled Tracy closer and they backed up a step, nearly falling into the snow. "You don't know what you're talking about," Sam reiterated, his voice no longer soft and friendly, but deep and deadly.

"You," Tracy began in a whisper, but it was Sam's turn to cut her off.

"You don't know what my family's been through," he growled, taking another step forward, sending the kids scooting farther back in such a hurry that they slipped and fell backwards into the snow, "you don't know what he's been through," he added, gesturing back toward Dean, " so leave us alone."

Jimmy opened his mouth, even moved it a bit, but didn't say anything. He did, however, find the strength to scrabble to his knees and take off crawling across the snow. Tracy, eyes wide, face pale, rolled over and slid across the lot on her belly, either unwilling or unable to even make it to her knees.

Smirking at his victory, Sam turned back to his brother. Dean wore the same expressions that Tracy and Jimmy had, his mouth and eyes stretched wide in shock, and for a moment Sam wondered if maybe he'd gone too far. Maybe he'd scared more than the neighborhood brats. Maybe he'd been too convincing.

And then Dean grinned, an expression that stretched from one ear to the other. "Dude," he breathed, breath puffing out in a cloud of smoke, "I wasn't gonna say anything before, but puberty was mighty good to you."

Sam blushed and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking out across the lot to find that Jimmy and Tracy had disappeared.

"Seriously," Dean continued, sidling up beside him, still smiling like a maniac, "when you went to sleep last night you were shorter and squeakier than both of them. Gotta hand it to the wonders of nature, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded slowly, "hey, do they…?"

"All the time," Dean shrugged, pulling the car keys out of his pocket and heading around to the driver's door, "but don't sweat it. I doubt they will again." He unlocked the doors and slid in behind the wheel. "I mean, did you see their faces? Talk about being scared shitless. I half expected to see colored snow where they fell."

Sam chuckled as he slid into the car beside his brother and slammed the door. "And you weren't alone."

"I know," Dean said softly, something like awe in his voice, "you were incredible. No one's ever stood up for me like that before."

All laughter died on Sam's lips and he turned to look at his brother. Dean checked the rearview mirror and pulled out of the spot, heading back to the house. He'd sounded shocked, like no one was supposed to care enough to help him out. Sam felt his stomach twist into knots. How long had they stayed in Clarkson? He couldn't remember. How long had Dean been made fun of, been the butt of every joke?

He leaned back into the familiar leather seat, his mind racing. How many times had he said hurtful things? How many times had he said them when they weren't just joking around? How many of his friends had he mouthed off about his brother to? How many had he left alone with Dean while he got ready to go out? How many…