A/N: Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays everyone! I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza/proverbial Wednesday in December. Before I start with my thank yous, I'd like to do some shameless self-promotion. A few years ago I wrote a Supernatural Christmas fic called Christmas is Coming Around Again. This year, Bjester74 challenged me to write another one, so I did. 13 pages later, I posted A Very Winchester Christmas. If you'd like to add to your holiday cheer, I'd like to invite you all to read either one (or both). CiCAA is about a Winchester Christmas while Sam's at college, and AVWC is about Team Free Will 2.0 celebrating Jack's first Christmas.

Now, I'd like to thank waitingforAslan, BrokenKestral, shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod, Guest, and tyrsibs for the reviews on the last chapter. They really warmed my heart.

This chapter is tagged to 10x12, About A Boy. May I just say, again, Dylan Everett is a perfect young Dean. He makes me proud to be Canadian. I loved this chapter, and I didn't think I could add anything that would better the script, so I decided to hone in on one particular line from the episode and expand upon it. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nothing recognizable belongs to me.

Easter Miracles

"You know, you also believed in the Easter bunny till you were 12."

"No, I didn't…I was 11."

"And a half."

"And a half. Right."

Every year, spring would roll around and Sam would get excited. Not for hunting, that's for sure. Hunting in the spring meant rain, sleet, sometimes snow depending on where they were. It meant cold and wet and ugly weather that could change at the drop of a hat. No, Sam Winchester would get excited for Easter.

Now, the Winchesters weren't exactly a religious family. Sure, they were known to crash in churches when money ran out or when they were in the area of Pastor Jim's parish, but one look at those three boys would definitely scream occult to a casual passerby. Especially Dean. The dark clothing, torn jeans, tiny metal talisman around his neck, and a handful of leather bracelets around his wrist. Any father would give their teenage daughter a stern talking to about 'boy's like him'. John wasn't much better. Sam was the pure one in their family, mostly because Dean made sure of it. Sam got the clean-cut clothing from the clothing bank. Sam got first dibs on any motel amenities such as shampoo, conditioner, and soap. Sam got first crack at any healthy food they may have happened upon (legally or otherwise). Dean would be damned if Sam left the motel looking anything less than a fine, upstanding citizen.

It was Dean's fault that Sam believed in Santa until he was 9 years old. His pre-teen brother would go out and find crappy gifts to put under the tree when John couldn't even be bothered to show up. Even after Sam found out about hunting, thereby unraveling his brother's Santa lie, Dean had still tried to sell him on the whole "Santa's helper" thing. He'd even tried to sell Santa as a supernatural creature, speeding around the globe to deliver gifts. ("I'm tellin' ya, Sammy! With ghosts, ghouls, goblins, werewolves and legitimate monsters running around, how can Santa not be real?")

Easter, however, had never crossed Sam's mind as being a fake holiday. Specifically, the Easter bunny. Pastor Jim had talked Sam's ear off about the miracle of Christ's death and rebirth, and Sam supposed it could be real. He'd seen enough during hunts and heard enough from Dean and John to know that anything was possible when it came to death. But it had never occurred to Sam to question the existence of the Easter Bunny. Not when there was yearly, documented proof that the Easter Bunny was real.

Every Easter for as long as Sam could remember, he would awake in the morning to find rabbit prints outside of the motel room window. Thanks to that unpredictable weather, it was usually muddy, so Sam could always see the prints lead across what passed as the motel's lawn, up the stairs to their room, and, sometimes, prints would appear on the inside of the door. Sam would bolt awake to find the prints, then grab the pastel coloured plastic basket that would inevitably be sitting on the bedside table and hunt through the room for the plastic eggs that were hidden skillfully around the small space.

Sam didn't know how the Easter Bunny did it, but he was always able to cram as many eggs as he could into the tiny motel room without any of the hiding spaces being obvious. And he always made Sam work for it. A green plastic egg hidden in the glass light fixture attached to the ceiling. A purple egg balanced on the shower head. A yellow one wedged into the metal of the bedframe. No place was too hidden, no trick was too much for the Easter Bunny.

That's why, on April 3rd, 1994, Sam Winchester woke up with a start and bolted to his feet. He had been talking about this year's Easter for weeks, and he was excited to see what kinds of hiding places the Easter Bunny had come up with for him this year. Last year, at the apartment John had been renting for them, he had had to unscrew the grate covering the shower drain to dig out the pink Easter egg that had been hidden in the (thankfully cleaned out) drain.

The only thing that gave him pause was that his big brother wasn't in the bed next to him.

John had been on a hunt the past three weeks, leaving Sam at the motel to play Nurse Nightengale to his battered and broken big brother. The Rougarou hunt a month ago had left Dean with a broken fibula and a jacked up knee, meaning he was hobbling around in a cast and crutches for at least another two weeks. The extra energy it took to navigate even the small motel room left Dean exhausted, never mind how wiped out his big brother was after a day at school, so it was very rare for Sam to find Dean out of bed this early, especially on a long weekend.

Sam shrugged, figuring Dean was just in the bathroom, and turned to pick up the basket that…wasn't there. Sam stared with a hard look at the bedside table, as though he could force the basket to appear through sheer force of will. When it didn't, Sam shrugged again. He was 11 after all. He didn't need some pastel coloured piece of plastic to enjoy the holiday. Save the Earth, after all.

Sam scampered around the motel room to perform his usual cursory search for eggs before he would head to the window to look for the rabbit prints. Strange, but Sam couldn't see any Easter eggs. Not a single piece of brightly coloured plastic or gold wrapped chocolate bunnies anywhere. Not even in the usual hiding spots (the Easter bunny never made things too difficult for him, after all).

Starting to feel a knot of worry in his stomach, Sam went over to the window and gasped.

"Dean!"

Sam didn't even take the time to put on his raggedy running shoes or to pull his jacket over his striped pajamas. Instead, he ran barefoot out of the motel room, allowing the light mist of rain to soak through his threadbare PJs as he scrambled towards his big brother, who was lying in the muddy grass with his crutches just out of reach.

"Dean, are you okay? What are you doing out here? What happened?"

Dean grimaced in pain, hands wrapped around the top of his cast, near his knee.

"S-slipped," he was finally able to grind out between clenched teeth.

"But why are you even outside?" Sam asked again, carefully rolling his brother so he was lying on his back instead of curled up.

"Doesn't…matter…" Dean huffed as the pain finally began to subside.

"But…" Sam bit back his next comment, knowing it wasn't the time or place. To his 11-and-a-half year old brain, it was entirely plausible that Dean slipping and falling had scared the Easter Bunny away before he could give Sam his chocolate. "But…you shouldn't be outside. It's slippery."

Dean laughed as he tried to sit up. "Yeah, no kidding."

Sam grabbed the lapels of Dean's leather jacket and helped as best he could to heave his brother into a sitting position. In doing so, something slipped out of the inside pocket of Dean's jacket and hit the grass next to Sam.

Before Dean could react, Sam picked it up and gave it a long look. It looked like a large rubber stamp, and when Sam flipped it over, there was a rabbit paw print imprint on the bottom.

Sam sat back on his heels and Dean sighed, scratching a hand over his face.

"Well, looks like the jig is up, kid. Help me up."

Sam stood on shaky legs and helped to gently lever Dean off the ground. Once he was standing with a hand on Sam's shoulder for balance, Sam bent down slowly and collected the crutches. Making sure they were firmly fixed under Dean's arms, they made the slow walk back into the motel room.

Sam shut the door gently behind him and stood by as Dean guided himself to sit on the edge of his bed. Rushing over, Sam helped his brother lift his leg into the bed, then set to work fluffing the thin pillows up behind Dean's head so he could sit up comfortably.

After Dean was comfortably propped up, Sam sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, looking anywhere but at his big brother.

"So…it's been you this whole time, huh?"

Dean sighed behind him. "You mad at me?"

Sam automatically shook his head. "No…Just…Why?"

Dean groaned a little as he shifted. "I dunno…I figured you'd been handed a pretty crappy hand so far. Might as well do something fun to cheer you up."

"You know, most kids my age don't believe in the Easter Bunny anymore. Why keep it up?"

Dean chuckled, and Sam felt his hand pat him on the back. "…Mom used to set up this big hunt for me every Easter. The rabbit prints, the eggs in difficult to find spots, the whole nine yards. I guess I just thought that, just because Mom's not here anymore, doesn't mean you shouldn't get the same thing." Sam flushed, happy to hear about his mother and to hear that Dean cared enough to try to pass on the tradition. "Besides, it's not my fault you never caught on. I mean, c'mon dude. You're like, 12."

Sam shook away the hand that was still on his back. "No, I'm not! I'm 11…and a half!" Sam shouted back indignantly, looking back at Dean who had a wide smile on his face. "Plus, with half the stuff we hunt, how am I supposed to know that a bunny delivering chocolate eggs on the anniversary of Jesus' death is not real, but shapeshifting seal people are?"

Dean grinned widely at him. "I take it that means you don't want your chocolate?"

Sam stuttered to a stop. "Y—I mean—I guess—no…" he mumbled off.

Dean kicked him in the side gently, prodding him off the bed with his big toe on his good leg. "Go have a hot shower and get into some dry clothes. Then we can eat chocolate and candy until our teeth rot. Okay?"

Sam grinned at him. "Okay." Sam hopped off the bed and took two running strides towards the bathroom before stopping and turning around. Launching himself as gently as possible at Dean, he wrapped his big brother in a hug before scampering off. "Thanks Dean."

Dean smiled fondly after him. Yeah, he might be embarrassed, his ass might be bruised, and he had a killer chill from lying in the rain for the better part of an hour, but it was worth it. Seeing that smile made everything worth it.

"You're welcome, kiddo."

A/N: The irony is not lost on me that I'm posting an Easter related chapter (i.e.: the anniversary of Jesus' death in Christian religions) on Christmas (i.e.: the anniversary of Jesus' birth in Christian religions). However, this is Supernatural. When has anything we've ever done made sense to the outside world?

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday. Stay safe over New Years and I will see you all in the new decade! Much love!