Author's Note: Today's prompt comes from Colby's girl who asked for, "While Christmas lights are being strung at a motel, store, library, etc. Sam is struck in the head by big icicles falling from above. Preferably not a weechester story but I'll leave that up to you." No weechesters, got it! Thanks for this awesome prompt. It's a really interesting one! So, let set this during Sam's time at Stanford.
"Christmas Eve will find me
Where the love light beams
I'll be home for Christmas
If only in my dreams."
Bing Crosby, "I'll Be Home for Christmas"
It's his first Christmas away from his family and though Christmas wasn't exactly a big deal—a night spent in another unfamiliar motel room, stolen presents wrapped in newspaper, John drinking himself into a stupor—Sam would be lying if he didn't admit that he was feeling homesick.
It was ridiculous though. You couldn't be homesick if you didn't have a home. As far as Stanford was concerned, Sam Winchester grew up in so many places because of his dad's military career. An army brat, which thanks to a few well made forged documents, he could back up.
But then again, it wasn't really a home Sam was missing, was it?
It was Dean.
It was almost three months since he stormed out of that motel room, his hand clutching his acceptance letter. Three months since John had disowned him and Dean had stabbed him in the back with his silence. Those three months had come and gone in a blink of an eye, but he still thought of his older brother everyday. He'd come close to calling so many times, stopping only when he recalled how Dean had, silently, taken his father's side.
And now he was going to spend his first Christmas break, alone, freezing in his dorm room.
"You're coming home with me," Brady orders when Sam tells him of his plan to stay in the dorm.
Sam opens his mouth to protest, only for Brady to interject, "No, don't even say anything. I am not leaving my best friend to suffer alone in this room. Now, pack your bags. We're leaving tomorrow."
And that is that really.
Brady lives in Michigan and Sam realizes the moment he steps off the plane that it is freezing. Ice and snow seem to cover everything, sparing nothing under its cruel grasp.
"You'll get used to it." Brady smirks at him.
"Doubt that."
"C'mon, let's go. Mom will have some hot chocolate."
It sounds so normal.
This is why he left, after all, to have moments like these. Safe moments with friends that you could trust. This is what he believes in, this is what he wants to experience.
"All right," Sam grins. "Let's go."
The hot chocolate is delicious.
It isn't straight from the packet, watered down liquid. This stuff is legit—melted chocolate with warm milk, homemade whip cream adorning the top with red and green sprinkles.
Brady's mother is a warm woman, with a bright smile and a boisterous laugh. She greets Sam with a hug, treating him like she's one of her sons. Brady's father, in turn, is a bit quieter than his wife, but he is invested in his son's life, inquiring after school assignments and grades.
He's everything that Sam wanted with John.
And just like that, Sam misses his family.
"You okay?" Brady nudges him as they take a few sips of their hot chocolate.
"I'm fine." Sam says in a measured tone.
"You're homesick." Brady deduces. "You want to talk about it? Call home maybe?"
There is no home though.
John's number is probably disconnected. He could call Bobby, make a few inquiries, but then again, his family could've called him. His number is exactly the same. Yet, no one has called.
They probably don't care.
"Sam?"
"No," Sam lies. "I'm fine."
Brady and his father are up on the roof, stringing up real Christmas lights. It's interesting to see how involved the process actually is. It isn't as simple as simply going up on the roof and attaching the lights. There's a lot of back and forth—Brady puts the lights down, his father attaches the clips to them, and together, they slowly string the lights.
"Oh, Sam," Brady's mother calls from the doorway. "Are you sure you don't want to borrow a jacket?"
"No thanks!" He calls back, his gaze still trained on the Christmas lights.
Dean would be good at this, Sam thinks idly.
Dean's always been good at working with his hands and actually stringing up Christmas lights would be no challenge for his older brother. Dean might even be one of those kinds of people who coordinated their lights to music. Or maybe, Dean would just keep it classy with just a few strands here and there.
Regardless, Sam knew that Dean would like—
"Sam, move!"
His body reacts on instinct, but it's split second too slow. He's out of practice, he guesses.
The last thing he remembers before he blacks out is the splitting pain that explodes in his temple.
Then, nothing.
"Merry Christmas, Sammy."
He opens his eyes and his brother is standing in front of a Christmas tree, a real, honest-to-God Christmas tree with garland and ornaments and sparkling lights.
"What is this?" He asks, not even able to keep the grin off his lips.
"It's Christmas." Dean beams.
"A real Christmas." Sam mutters, blown away.
He touches the tree, fingering the fir needles, enjoying the outdoorsy smell.
"Sam."
"Yeah."
"You need to wake up now."
That takes him off guard.
"What?"
His brother isn't there anymore though. The room is dark and bare.
"Dean?"
You need to wake up now, Sam.
A voice surrounds him, insistent and forceful.
Wake up, Sam!
Then, the floor opens up beneath him and he's falling down for what seems like an eternity.
He opens his eyes, blinking against the blinding light.
"Sammy?"
He knows that tone, knows that voice more than any other voice in the world.
"D'n?" His own voice is slurred. He blinks a few times, the foggy picture coming into view.
Dean is seated there by his hospital bed, dark circles under his eyes and five o'clock shadow on his face.
"Hey, Sammy." Dean manages a shaky smile and Sam finds himself smiling back. "You remember what happened?"
"My head?" Sam questions and he can feel a white bandage under his hands, wrapped around his head.
"Yeah, Sam." Dean nods. "You got hit with an icicle."
There are a lot of unanswered questions floating in his mind, but the medicine coursing through his system has fogged it and he can't quite latch onto a thought longer for a few seconds.
"Stay?" Sam manages to ask instead.
"Yeah, Sammy," Dean squeezes his hand. "I'm staying."
And though it wasn't the normal Christmas celebration he wanted, at this moment, Sam knew it would be his best one by far.
Author's Note: Awwww, I love this chapter so much! Writing it was like getting a warm hug. I hope you guys enjoyed it. Please review if you have a moment! Thanks.
