All right, guys. Things pick up from here on out, I promise.

Oh, and I ahven't done this yet and I feel horrible about it, with the holidays and all, so thanks for reviewing. it really did make my Christmas bright and my yuletide gay :)


Dean had been right. When Sam awoke to the smell of crisping toast, John was already on the phone, surrounded by mountains of books.

"He found anything yet?" Sam asked, sitting at the kitchen table and watching his brother fumble with a butter knife.

"Not yet," Dean admitted, "but he will. So don't worry."

"I'm not worried. Just curious. I mean, whatever did this to me had to be packing some power. I just want to know what we pissed off."

"And how to avoid it or any of its friends, right?" Dean guessed, setting a small plate of toast in front of his brother before turning back to the counter to make some more.

"Exactly," Sam agreed as John entered the room and flopped down into a chair.

"Gypsies," the older man huffed.

"Gypsies?" Dean asked, walking back to the table with two plates balanced precariously in his hands, "what about 'em?"

"After I left for this hunt," John explained, grabbing a piece of toast from his plate and staring at it, "I ran across a small werewolf problem. Something was killing people and animals in a little rural town on the way to the ghoul's haunting ground. Thought I'd check it out. Found a group of gypsies."

"And one of them cursed the werewolf?" Sam asked.

John looked up at him with tired eyes. "One of them was the werewolf."

"You think they did this as payback for offing their furry little friend?" Dean asked through a mouthful of toast.

"That's what Joshua thinks, anyway."

"And you want to go find them and get this reversed?" Sam asked, discovering at the most inconvenient time that John wasn't the only member of the family incapable of keeping hostility out of his voice.

"Not until after Christmas," John said almost immediately after being asked the angry question. He looked as shocked about his response as both of his sons did. "What I meant," he amended quickly, "was that we're gonna spend the holiday together this year."

Sam stared at his father, who looked thoroughly confused, before turning to Dean, who seemed to be having a hard time keeping a wide smile off of his face. "Can I talk to you?" he asked, grabbing Dean's arm and pulling the boy roughly from the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

"What?" Dean asked, annoyed, as he struggled from the taller man's grip, "what is it?"

"What did you do?" Sam hissed, glancing briefly into the kitchen to see his father scratching his head.

"I didn't do anything."

"I know you did. What was it?"

"I… don't know what you're talking about, Sammy."

"Look, I won't be mad, I swear," Sam attempted, "I just want to know how you managed to get dad back and make him stay back."

Dean swallowed hard, looking into the kitchen at his father. "I did what you told me to do. I made a wish. I just did what you told me to."

Sam sighed, letting himself relax a bit. "Ok. You know he's gonna be mad when he finds out, right?"

"He doesn't have to find out. He can't find out. You can't tell him." He looked up at his brother with scared, pleading eyes, "please. You can't tell."

Sam realized at that moment that his brother didn't look sixteen. He looked four. He looked scared and sad and lonely. He looked like he'd just lost his mother, but somehow found his saving grace in a responsibility that shouldn't have been thrust upon him. He looked like he needed a friend.

"Ok. I won't tell. But you should warn me the next time you're thinking about doing something like this, all right?"

"Sure thing," Dean grinned, heading back into the kitchen. Sam watched him go, wondering how many times during the years that four-year-old had come out to play, to beg, to plead, to get his hopes up only to have them crushed beneath the weight of reality. And why hadn't Sam noticed if he had?

o0o0o0o0o

Sam pulled his nose out of the ancient text John had assigned to him long enough to marvel at the way his father could get Dean to do anything- even read. The teenager was currently engrossed in an old copy of Stephen King's Thinner and seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the storyline.

"Man, Sammy," he chuckled as he dog-eared a page and set the book down, "you got lucky. Time travel seems tame when you put it next to wasting away, super zits, and crocodile scales over 100 percent of your body."

"You know that stuff's just made-up, right?" Sam asked.

"I dunno. Guy's got some stuff right. Besides, the movies are awesome. Can't go wrong when Jack Nicholson's involved."

"That movie was nothing like the book," Sam pointed out.

"True," Dean admitted, "but that doesn't make it any less cool."

"Whatever," the older man muttered, looking back down into the book he'd been given, a dusty tome all about gypsy custom and lore.

"So," Dean said after a pause, "how's the research coming?"

"It would be coming faster if you'd let me read."

"Come on, man. This is boring. We know what did this to you, and we're pretty sure we can get them to reverse it if we just give them the right incentive. The only reason dad's got us back in our make-shift library is because he feels guilty just sitting around the house and doing the whole quality-time thing."

"Gee, I wonder whose fault that is."

Dean flinched. "Fine. Keep reading. But I've got something better to do." He pushed himself away from the table and the pile of old books that sat perched atop it.

"What?" Sam asked, feeling suddenly guilty.

Dean grinned. "Wait right here." He jogged from the kitchen and up the stairs to their room. When he returned, he was holding an old VHS box in his hands.

"A video tape?" Sam asked. He hadn't realized it, but the old models had been phased out over the years. He wasn't even sure they still made the chunky, magnetic things. Apparently, though, the time period a vengeful gypsy had dropped him in hadn't yet discovered the wonders of compact discs.

"Not just any video tape," Dean said, holding it up for Sam to see. "How the Grinch Stole Christmas. What do you say we drop the research and watch it, for old times' sake?"

Sam sighed, eyeing the tape warily. It had seemed like an eternity since he'd watched the old show with his brother, even though it had only really been a year. But did that year even count? He hadn't exactly been himself.

"I dunno," he said slowly. It wasn't like the research was entirely busy work to keep them occupied while they stayed in the house and waited for Christmas to pass. It could be important later on, when they finally found the band of gypsies.

Dean had that look on his face, though, the one that said Sam had promised long-ago that watching The Grinch would be their tradition, the only one they had. It said that he'd given up on it, opted to be normal, to spend the holidays with his friends. It said that this was a chance to change all that, to prove once and for all that it was only a phase and he would come to his senses later on in life.

Of course, Sam knew that wasn't the case, that he would leave and never want to come back, that the movie would only be watched by one Winchester each year. But Dean didn't need to know that.

"All right," he said, closing the book and following his brother to the living room, "I guess I could use a break."

o0o0o0o0o0o

Sam gazed out the window at the fresh, undisturbed layer of snow that had fallen the night before. He'd never really bothered to take the time to marvel at the beauty of new snow on Christmas day, but something about this Christmas was different. This Christmas, he was learning to pay attention.

Soft footfalls sounded on the steps and he turned as Dean walked into the room. "You're alive," the teenager noted, flopping down on his bed and stretching out, "good."

"You thought something happened?"

"Well, you kinda beat it outta the kitchen after lunch, and you've been quiet all morning."

"Just thinking, I guess."

"About that party you're missing?"

"No," Sam said, shaking his head and sitting on the edge of his brother's bed, "not really. I was thinking about this. Everything. It's different than I remember."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'm just wondering why I never noticed some of this stuff until now."

"What stuff?"

Sam grinned. "You pace when you get nervous. My friends were total ass-wipes. Dad's never around. I can't have a conversation with the man without yelling at him."

"Don't forget the fact that I'm your shadow," Dean added.

Sam nodded. The boy had spent most of the day hanging around him, both of them trying their hardest to avoid John at all costs. Fortunately, it had worked, and they'd stayed out of their confused father's way, which meant they hadn't had to try and explain his unusual urge to remain home for the holidays.

"Hadn't noticed," the older man muttered.

"Come on, you noticed. It's hard to ignore an annoying teenager hanging around you all day."

"After a while," Sammy grinned, nudging his brother's foot with his elbow, "I forgot you were there. You're not exactly memorable."

"Oh, thanks," Dean snorted.

They sat in their room for a while, gazing out he window at a snow-covered tree, both lost in thought. Sunlight streamed into the room, illuminating even the darkest corners and dimmest nooks, proving without a doubt that it was a special day, that this year would be different that all of the others.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean asked , still looking out at the sparkling snow.

"Shoot."

"I need a favor," the boy proceeded slowly, "I need you to get dad out of the house for a couple of hours today."

"Why?" Sam questioned, dreading the kind of damage he could do if left alone with his father.

"It's a secret," Dean said, "but it's really important. I just need a couple of hours, ok?"

That desperate tone was back in his voice, and Sam was finding it harder to resist each time he used it. "Fine. But he might not come back in one piece."

"After the verbal thrashing you gave him yesterday," Dean grinned, "I'm not expecting him to." And that was that.