Hey guys it's been a while … We hope you had a nice Christmas time. So sorry for the delay. It was a little chaotic the last weeks and it seems someone don't want us to finish the story. Mia was ill and I myself had a little trip to the hospital and a few days or better a few more days, I'd like to forget forever. But Christmas time is over, the things are a little better now and we want to tell you all, that we will finish this calendar, even it's eastern then *gg* ;)

*hugs* to everyone who is still reading - maybe you'd like to tell us what you think about all this ;D

See ya soon …

Mia and Leila

"Door Twelve"

In the beginning sleep had been anything but peaceful. Sam rolled around restlessly, pushing his head deeper into the pillow, repeatedly looking for a different spot, unconsciously hunting for coolness at one moment – while wanting only warmth at the next.

But then the presence in the room changed. The crackling emptiness was filled with something that worked like a sedative for Sam and finally he relaxed enough to drift deeper into sleep. It was so normal; he didn't even understand what it was.

Only when morning dawned slowly, his mind returned and he blinked fiercely in order to open his eyes – and starred directly onto the back of a dark blonde head that was only about a yard away from him.

Startled Sam jerked and his stomach rebelled, like he was driving over small ripples in a road - or like he was riding a roller coaster.

His big brother was sitting on the floor, his knee bent and his arm perched on it, in his fingers a picture, which he was looking at, deeply in thought. He didn't appear as restless as hours ago and also seemed no longer angry.

Sam lifted his head a bit and spied over Dean's shoulder at the picture. He didn't know it and he didn't recognize the situation and background either.

He looked at Dean's face with confusion, but noting the absentmindedness, he remained quiet, while letting himself sink back. This was more than strange. It hadn't been that long since they'd screamed at each other and now Dean sat here.

The same Dean, who threw him out on the street.

Not that Sam was still upset; he only needed to look at absurdity of the situation.

Sadly it was also partly so he could understand what was going on.

A quiet laugh, more like a short rumble in Dean's throat, let him turn his head. His own voice was flat, almost noiseless, "What is it about this picture?"

Maybe Dean didn't hear him.

Maybe he didn't want to answer.

Slightly less optimistic Sam turned to his side and in doing so pushed the leather book under his pillow. Dean had long seen it, but until he was done reading it, he wouldn't give it back.

~sss~

Dean felt the slow awakening behind him, small movements and hesitant emerging from a refreshing sleep. It was enough, if one of them spent the night in sleepless pondering and broke the old record in staying awake by several lengths.

The older one could distinguish the exact moment, when his presence was noted, any light-heartedness or familiarity behind him almost completely disappeared. Even without seeing it, Dean knew that it was replaced by mistrust and wariness and once again he wasn't sure, what reaction would follow – flight, argument or something worse?

But it remained quiet and something new joined the silent round – curiosity.

Then a whispered question came, only slightly above the slowly dying crackle of the flames.

Dean's gaze moved over the photograph in his hand, a picture out of the little book, which had been clamped loosely in between the pages – he never got to securing it – and thought back...

Sam had the book and with it a piece of his past - ... he would let him read it, this much he owed his brother, but was there room for more?

Dean stood up slowly; his gaze fixed firmly on the flames in front of him and remained silent, as a clearly shaken Sam watched, him getting ready to leave…