Author's Note: Well hello there! It's been a while, hasn't it? As many of you know if you follow my other stories, I've been dealing with a lot personal things recently. When I was writing this story, I lost my close friend. I took a break from writing to deal with the grief and now, I'm back, just in time for the Holiday season. I know, a lot of you were expecting these stories last Christmas and I truly apologize for the delay. I'm back now and I will have all your stories done by Christmas, I promise!

So, let's get this started, shall we? This comes from Katlover98 who asked for, "How about one set in season 8? Sam goes out for a walk on Christmas Eve because he can't stand the looks of betrayal Dean is giving him. A little afterwards Dean leaves to a bar and get drunk (maybe gets laid, all up to you) and Sam forgets the keys to the motel. Dean won't answer the phone and the office is closed for some reason. So he stays out and gets a case of hypothermia and cue worry, caring, Dean." You got it! Thanks for being so patient! Please enjoy! This is set early season 8.

"They're singing "Deck The Halls"

But it's not like Christmas at all

I remember when you were here

And all the fun we had last year."

—Michael Bublé, "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)"

The bartender is giving him the eye.

On any other night, Dean would be flirting with her, charming her with luscious praises and promises that would've made her blush. Then again, tonight was Christmas Eve, a night he should be spending with Sam.

And yet, here he was, sitting at the bar, nursing a beer and trying to get his head on straight.

He was angry with Sam. He felt betrayed—who left their only sibling to play house with some girl?—but at the same time, he could see Sam's point. There had been no one left for his brother to turn to, no one to ask for help. And how was Sam supposed to know that the explosion took he and Cas to Purgatory?

You left me to die for a girl!

He took another swig of his beer and tried to push that voice out of his head. The anger still had a claim on him, deep down underneath the all the hurt and sadness. He and Sam had gotten into it tonight of all nights and now Sam was out, brooding somewhere and here Dean was, drowning his sorrows in beer. Winchester coping methods at their finest.

Wouldn't Dad be so proud?

"My shift's up." The bartender, a brunette with sparkling green eyes, told him. "Want to get out of here?"

He should go back to Sam. He should try to clear the air between the two of them and then maybe the two of them could have a somewhat normal Christmas.

Instead, he grinned at the bartender and stood up.

"I never could deny a beautiful woman anything."

Sam could handle one night by himself.

Sam couldn't have stayed.

He couldn't handle the way Dean looked at him, the pure hurt and betrayal evident in his gaze. He let his big brother down in the worst way possible and now Sam had to live with it. He wasn't sure if he and Dean could bridge the gap between them—or even if Dean wanted to—and now, all he could do was wait and hope that one-day they could repair their relationship.

Tonight wasn't that night; Dean had made that abundantly clear.

So, Sam did what he did best—he left. He walked out the door and into the cold and just walked aimlessly, trying to elude the restless thoughts on his brain. As the night progressed, he couldn't find the answers and the cold had grown sharper. So, he decided to return back to the room, only to find his key missing.

"Okay." He breathed, rubbing his hands over his arms. The office was only a few feet away and surely he could get the manager to unlock his room. He couldn't believe he'd forgotten to grab his jacket. With a frown, he realized that had Dean not been so mad, he would've given him it.

But Dean had been angry and Sam had left without his jacket.

"Great." The office was closed, due to the holiday night and would not be reopened until morning. Which meant, he was stuck. He could break down the door, but that wasn't practical and it would surely get he and Dean kicked out, something that neither of them needed after their constant fighting. If he had his phone, he could've called Dean to let him in, but that too was in his jacket.

He was screwed.

"Well, so much for that." He sighed once more, breath fogging in the air.

And with that resignation, Sam Winchester sat in front of the door to wait just as the snow began to fall.

The next morning, Dean couldn't help but grin.

There was a pep in his step, one that he hadn't felt since before Purgatory. His night with the bartender had been a much-needed stress-reliever, a reminder that he was not in the hellhole that was Purgatory.

He hadn't heard from Sam all night, not that he would've answered the phone had his little brother called. They needed the time apart, a chance for them both to clear their heads. Now that sunlight was streaking the sky, Dean felt that he could finally breathe again. Anger no longer consumed his every thought and feeling.

He could finally talk to Sam and maybe even forgive—

"Sam?"

His little brother was there, slumped over in the doorway, lips tinged blue, skin as pale as the snow that glistened around him. For one horrifyingly slow second, Dean was frozen in his spot, rooted to the ground. His mind raced through a million possibilities, each one grimmer than the rest.

"Sam!"

He finally sprung into action then, rushing to his brother's side, searching for a pulse. He forced himself to breathe—his brain needed oxygen to focus on the situation at hand and not the endless what-ifs—and then counted to ten.

There! A weak pulse, but a pulse nonetheless.

"Sam, hey." He shook his brother, trying to rouse him, trying to get some response, some indication that he hadn't been too late and that Sam hadn't been here all night while Dean had been—

"Sam!"

—spending the night with the sexy bartender, his little brother had been slowly slipping away outside, waiting for his return, a return that had now come too late, maybe even too late to save his brother.

Training cuts through the haze of panic. He grabs Sam, bridal style and manages to open the door. The room is freezing and Dean curses as he places his brother on the bed. Immediately, he sprints to the heater and cranks it full blast. Returning to his brother's side, he tucks Sam under the blankets, before turning to his own bed and ripping the sheets from it to add to Sam's cocoon.

A hospital run may be in their future, but the eldest Winchester can't see any outward signs of frostbite or tissue damage. It would seem that they had a rare stroke of luck.

When he has Sam settled, he has no choice but to wait it out. His little brother's body would have to bounce back and while the blankets, and the heating pad he'd managed to find in the trunk of the car, would help, they were by no means a guarantee.

He would have to wait and see.

Dean Winchester hated that.

Sam came to slowly.

He was deliciously warm, tucked in what felt like a mountain of fluffy heat. His limbs ached and his mind was numb. He was still exhausted, but he could feel some pressure on his hand, just enough to disconcert him. He forced his eyes open, though the lids felt like they were glued to his eyes.

Through the haze, he could make out his older brother's faint outline, sleeping next to him on a chair dragged to his side.

"D'n?" His throat was parched and the voice was barely above a whisper, but Dean heard it. Immediately, his brother's eyes flew open and concerned green eyes melt Sam's gaze.

"Sammy." Dean sighed, relieved. "How you doing? Anything numb?"

It took more effort than he would've liked to shake his head no.

"You sure?" Dean pressed, voice urgent, tone biting.

"M'good." He tried to force himself up, but his older brother immediately pushed him back down.

"Sam, just rest, okay?"

"Dean," He forced his voice to be clearer. "What happened—?"

"I'm a fuck-up as an older brother, that's what happened." Dean snapped. "I left you out in the fucking cold all night and when I came back you were—"

Sam squeezed his brother's hand, smiling softly.

"I'm good, Dean."

Dean shook his head, about to protest—

"We will talk about what happened." Sam promised.

"Hell yeah we will." Dean promised.

"But I'm exhausted right now." The youngest Winchester sighed. "Later, okay?"

"Okay." Dean nodded his head.

There was so much they needed to discuss; so many words that they had left unsaid. What happened to Dean in Purgatory, what Sam had left behind with Amelia—all of these stories needed to be shared. All the hurt, all the resentment, they had to find a way to let it go.

And Sam believed they would, somehow soon.

But for this moment, Sam could trust that his brother was by his side—alive—and they would figure a way to fix this.

No doubt about that.

"Goodnight, Dean."

And with that, Sam Winchester fell back to sleep.

Author's Note: I'm a bit rusty I know, but I hope you guys still enjoy it. I'm getting used to updating everyday so for the moment, I might need to stick to updating every weekend. I'll do my best though! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!