SPN

(Indianapolis, Indiana … Sunday, December 13, 2005)

John Winchester was not a patient or friendly man, especially when it came to his children, and when the hospital staff picked up on his smoldering belligerence, they didn't dare question his lies about national security. They simply got out of his way. Returning to his son's room, John found the boy still in bed, ignoring everything around him—including the vampire—with a vacant expression on his face. Knowing Sam, he was probably depressed, and John had a good idea why.

The Stynes were dead. The war was over, and by all rights, the hunters should be celebrating—it was a miracle they survived. The Stynes were stronger, wealthier, more sophisticated and influential. They had a whole dynasty behind them, and they should have crushed the Winchesters like vermin. But they didn't, and now they were gone. So much for their elitism.

Unfortunately, Sam was torn. The manipulative bastards practically brainwashed him with their damn mind games, and he would never celebrate their defeat. True, when it really mattered, he chose Dean over Jacob—thank God!—which meant he could still recover from all this—but he would never look back on it and smile. Some victories were just too painful.

Now, as John approached the bed, Sam visibly tensed and lowered his eyes. After their last conversation, he was understandably nervous, and John wasn't sure how to respond. His top priority was ushering Sam out of the hospital before attracting the wrong crowd, but if he was too emphatic—if Sam felt the least bit intimidated—he might sabotage whatever hope he had of reconciling. More than anything, he needed to stay calm.

"Sammy… where can I take you?" he asked as gently as possible. "Anywhere in the world. You ask, we'll go. I promise."

Sam could no longer mask his feelings, and John's chest tightened at the despair on his face.

"Would you take me to see Cyrus?"

Cyrus.

He should have known.

John sighed, running a hand through his short hair. He didn't appreciate the kinship between the two boys, and he never would. Their families were enemies. Cyrus was an orphan. Would he blame the Winchesters for the downfall of the Stynes? Maybe—which made him a threat, especially to Sam, who trusted him. Just to be safe, they should keep their distance.

But that's not what Sam wanted.

Or what he needed.

Right now, he needed consolation.

So John nodded. "Okay, kiddo. Let's hit the road."

SPN

(Missouri … Sunday, December 13, 2005)

Cyrus was officially eight years old. It was finally his birthday, and he felt nothing but loneliness and heartache. He didn't mention it to Pamela—how could he celebrate at a time like this?—but he wasn't experienced at keeping secrets from psychics, and the lady was perceptive. All too soon, they found themselves at a nice bakery where they bought some cake and hot chocolate.

"Here we go," Pamela said, leading him to a small table in the corner. She dug through her purse for a lighter and a single birthday candle. "I know it's not much, but it's the best I could do on short notice." She lit a small, tranquil flame. "There. Make a wish."

Cyrus frowned. "Why? Wishes don't come true. I'm alone in the world. My family's evil. Most of them are dead. Sam's gonna leave me to go demon hunting. We're never gonna see each other, and soon, he's gonna forget me." Jacob and Elizabeth could die, for all he cared. They were both bad guys, and they were never kind to him. Jacob in particular terrified him. But Sam… If Cyrus lost Sam, how would he survive?

"You're not going to lose Sam," Pamela assured him. "Sam loves you. He never would have left you if he thought he could protect you, and God knows he'll never forget you." She paused, but Cyrus didn't answer, so she tried again. "Listen to me, kid. I'll be straight with you. This next year's gonna suck. Lives have been lost, and nothing's ever gonna be the same again. That's war. But you are not alone, and with Sam on your side, you're gonna be smarter, stronger, and a hell of a lot braver than the rest of your family—combined! Years from now, the Styne name will mean something very different than it does today, because of you. I guarantee it."

Cyrus sniffled. "My stomach hurts."

Pamela edged around the table and held him in her arms. "I know, Cy. I know."

SPN

Later that night, John pulled up in his truck with Sam. As soon as she sensed them, Pamela told Cyrus, who ran outside to greet them. When Sam descended from the passenger seat, he sank to his knees and anxiously embraced the boy, whispering an anguished apology.

Since John remained in the truck, watching through the window, Pamela made her way around the boys and climbed in next to him, pulling the door shut. She immediately felt the old man's tension—he didn't trust Cyrus, and he hated to see his son in pain. Nothing she said would comfort him, so why bother? Besides, they had business to discuss. "So where are the others?"

John grunted. "Dean's on his way with Rufus. They should be here in a couple hours. The vampire left to rendezvous with Bobby. I don't know whether or not they can destroy the Book of the Damned—it was apparently fire resistant—but they're going to try."

"That should keep them busy," Pamela supposed. "For awhile, anyway."

John nodded.

After a beat, Pamela said, "The demon's still out there."

"And we still have the angel blade. If he tries again, we'll be ready."

"What about Cyrus? He can't stay with me. Babysitting's one thing, but I am not mother material."

John shrugged. "Well, he can't stay with us. I won't allow it."

"Of course not," she said pointedly. "Hunting's no life for children."

John grimaced at the jab. "What do you want from me?"

"Nothing," she replied. "But I'll tell you one thing. That demon you hate so much has already made up his mind about your son's destiny. If you want Sam to believe for a second that he has a choice in the matter, don't you dare make up your mind about Cyrus. Okay?"

John was silent.

Outside, it began to snow.

SPN

When Dean and Rufus arrived, Cyrus was sleeping soundly on the couch while John and Pamela shared a drink in the kitchen. Sam was nowhere to be seen, having sought refuge in the upstairs guest room where he was allowed some privacy to grieve. They might have won the battle—saving the world in the process—but now came the real challenge. Coping. How the hell were they going to cope with all they suffered?

As Rufus regrouped with John and Pamela, Dean went in search of his little brother. He wasn't sure what he would say to him—words were insufficient—but he had to see for himself that Sam was safe—that he wasn't crippled by Jacob's death. After all, he had a front-row seat—literally! What if there were repercussions?

"Sammy?"

Sure enough, when Dean pushed open the guest room door, he found his brother curled up on the bed with his arms wrapped around his legs, and tears brimming in his eyes. It wasn't fair. How could Jacob still have such influence over him? Was it really too much to ask for his death to break their crappy bond?

But life was never that simple—especially for Winchesters.

"Hey there, kiddo…" Dean made his way over to the bed and sat down. After a long, drawn-out moment, he offered the only comfort he could think of. "I'm gonna get you through this. I don't know how… but I swear to God, I'll do whatever it takes. I promise."

SPN

(Palo Alto, California … Friday, December 25, 2005)

Two weeks later, on a cold but sunny afternoon, John and Dean meandered through an immaculate cemetery while Sam spent a few lonely minutes at Jessica's grave. He wasn't able to attend her funeral, and hoped to make up for it today with a nice suit and colorful flowers. Dean wasn't sure what difference it would make, but as long as it helped Sam heal, he didn't have to understand.

"Did you ever visit mom's headstone?" he presently asked his father, attempting to keep his voice casual.

"All the time," John replied. "At least, till we left town."

"I don't remember that."

John shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. "Have you heard from Rufus?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Yeah. Bobby's on his way back with Benny."

Since they weren't able to destroy the Book of the Damned, their next option was to hide it. Dean had no idea where—they didn't tell anyone—but from the sound of it, they were both satisfied with their solution.

"And what about Cyrus?" John asked stiffly.

It was Dean's turn to shrug. "The kid's from Louisiana. Rufus lives in Vermont. He's freezing, but he'll survive."

John hesitated, but when he finally nodded, Dean could tell he was coming around. "That's good."

Eventually, they returned to the street where they parked their vehicles. Climbing into the bed of John's truck, they sat and patiently waited for Sam. The kid was struggling—there was no denying that—and he would continue to struggle for the foreseeable future. It sucked, but it couldn't be helped. At least he had his family—his real family—watching out for him. The pain would come and go, but Dean would stand by him forever.

And that was all that mattered.

THE END!

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for your amazing support. This story was a thrill to write, and I hate bringing it to a close. Unfortunately, it felt like time. I love you all, I hope I was able to meet your expectations, and as always, I look forward to your comments.

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