Author's Note: Next request comes from McGeeklover who requested, "Kid Sam 14 Dean 18. It's a day away from Christmas John and Sam get into another fight (maybe about Christmas or school or being late) and Sam runs off. It starts snowing really bad out and he gets lost. Dean had been driving around for hours trying to find him and there's something supernatural that "tells" him where to go and he finds Sam in the snow nearly frozen to death, he's barely breathing and dying. Rushes him to the hospital, Sam almost doesn't make it. Dean is livid at John and John is feeling guilty, mostly because the doctors found a small present curled/frozen in his hand(you can decide what it is but it's something John had wanted) and that's why Sam was late from school. John is devastated that his cruel words are the last thing he said to his son who is now dying. The supernatural thing that had saved Sam before shows up and the next day Sam wakes up and John apologizes."

"For Christmas is tradition time—

Traditions that recall

The precious memories down the years,

The sameness of them all."

—Helen Lowrie Marshall

Sam can't feel his fingers.

That's not what worries him. He's dressed somewhat warmly, having stormed out of their current house in a huff after he got into yet another fight with his father.

Stop saying you want to be normal! This is your normal! You're a hunter, Sam!

What worries him is that the snow is falling harder, blinding him as the wind howls, cutting deep into his skin.

How did Christmas Eve get so fucked up? All he wanted was to buy his family a nice—re: not stolen—present. He wanted to wrap it, make it look all pretty like he saw other families exchange. Just a token of normalcy, a moment of being a kid on Christmas with his family.

But Dad—

Say another word and you'll regret it, Sam!

He left then, running away, out into the cold, sprinting as fast as he could into the nearby woods. He didn't realize just how far he'd gone until he turned around and no longer recognized the trail that he took.

His lungs are freezing. It hurts to suck into a breath. He sinks to his knees, snow serving as his blanket.

And then he's gone.

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean turns the wheel, spinning the car around, taking another dirt road toward the forest. It had been almost an hour since Sam fled into the snow after John chewed him out for coming home late from school.

He'll come back, Dean, when he's done sulking.

But the snow picked up and the wind grew colder and Dean felt something in him that compelled him to get into the car and find his little brother.

But an hour had passed and Dean couldn't find any sign where his brother wandered off too.

"Sammy, where are you?"

He's terrified of losing his baby brother. He should've spoken up, should've told John to keep his fucking mouth shut and defended his baby brother. But, like so many times before, Dean froze, powerless in the face of his father.

And now Sam could die—could already be dead—and Dean felt so damn powerless.

Please. God. Anyone. I need to find my brother.

There's no answer. Of course not. A tear rolls down his cheek and he wipes it away. He can't give up.

"Then don't." A voice that sounds like melodic music echoes in the Impala. The wheel begins to turn, the ghost of warm fingers resting on top of his, guiding him. The car drives down an unmarked path and then stops suddenly.

A vision of a woman in white, with a warm smile and kind eyes tells him, "Go."

He doesn't need to be told twice. He jumps out of the car, rushing out.

"Sam!"

He finds his brother half buried under the snow, pale and frozen. He pulls his baby brother into his arms, trying to rouse him. Sam's head lolls, eyes shut and Dean's heart sinks. Holding Sam close to his chest, he rushes back to the car.

The car ride is a blur of panic and fear.

"Dean."

Dean glowers, staring at his father's bruised face, his own fist aching somewhat. He punched him as soon as he came into the waiting room, anger so blinding and consuming.

"Here's why he was late," Dean tosses a small folklore book at his father.

John recognizes it, frowning, "He remembered?"

The last time he saw his son, he cursed him out. He spoke in rage and now Sam was dying into the other room. The father crumples, sinking to the floor as grief consumes him.

He can't lose his youngest. He will do better. He has to!

Another chance. Please.

The doctor calls them forward and John holds his breath.

"What are you?" Sam asks the beautiful lady in white by his bedside. She's not human, for a few nurses have come into the room and none had noticed her. She hummed a soft tune, one that he couldn't place.

She beams, placing a warm hand against his cheek, "I am simply one that comes when needed."

"An angel?"

"No, child," She says softly, chuckling, "Much older."

Sam furrows his brow, "Then, what—"

"Hush, child," A spark of magic flickered from her finger, lulling him into a comfortable sleep, "Merry Christmas."

Her song follows him into the void.

Sam's alive.

John can breathe once more.

He lets Dean visit him first, and then after composing himself, John went to the room.

"Dad?" Sam sits up on the bed, his brother holding his hand tightly, a warning to John.

Don't mess with my kid.

John nods, understanding the message. He smiles at his youngest, "Hey, Sam."

Sam beams, "Hi."

The words tumble out, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have acted like that." It's an inadequate apology, but right now, it's all he can manage as the relief consumes him. He will be a better father. He will make sure this is the last Christmas they spend in a hospital room.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

Sam smiles and it feels like the sun has finally emerged after a storm, "Merry Christmas."

Dean laughs and John finds himself chuckling as well.

Outside, the woman in white grins once more before vanishing into the air, like she was never there in the first place.