Getting Sammy Back

Summary: Sam discovers there might not be such a thing as Santa Clause. Dean needs Sam to believe there is.

Disclaimer: Unless Eric Kripke received my Christmas wish list (on accident, of course) then I still do not own the show Supernatural, nor do I own the super talented, naturally handsome Sam and Dean Winchester characters, or that shady John Winchester fellow…

Author's Note: I know I need to write more of "The Beckoning", but I've wanted to write a Christmas story for Supernatural for some time. I didn't anticipate writing one this involved, but it just came out that way. I hope anyone who reads this enjoys it. Please share any thoughts you have. Feedback is so undeniably appreciated, in any sense.

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"So what you're sayin'," an eight-year-old Sam eyed his older brother questioningly. "Is that no two snowflakes are the same?"

"That's right, Sammy." Dean confirmed with a knowing grin.

"In all the whole world, every time it snows, every snowflake is different? I don't believe you," Sam crossed his arms as best he could in his puffy blue jacket, nearly twice as big as he was.

"Would I ever lie to you?" The older Winchester asked, pointing at himself. Sam tilted his head, a slightly skeptical smile formed but then quickly faded as he realized the truth. Dean never lied to Sam, and Sam knew that.

"No," Sam reminded himself happily. The two stood in the snow and looked at each other for a moment, and all was at peace in the world. Understanding filled in the space between them. Then, Sam's eyes lit up playfully. "Wanna make snow angels?"

Dean laughed. "Snow angels? Tell me I don't have a girl for a brother!" he joked. Little Sam stuck his tongue out teasingly, which Dean seized the opportunity the moment possessed and tossed a ball of soft snow, breaking to pieces on his brother's coat.

"Hey!" Sam tried not to laugh as he glared at Dean, who was cracking up. He fumbled with snow in his hands, trying to form a snowball as well as his older brother could. By the time he compacted snow tight enough to form a solid mass Dean had already thrown three more snowballs at his brother.

Sam started to run with the one decent snowball snug in his small fist to evade Dean's attacks.

"Come on, Sam, hit me already!" Dean coaxed. Sam didn't want to waste his best-yet snowball on a probable miss. He needed to wait for the right time.

"Hey, isn't that the girl from your math class over there?" Sam motioned across the street. Dean quickly spun around. In the process of realizing it was a rather ingenuous tactic on Sam's part, he couldn't help but turn towards his brother with both approval and hesitation as the snowball came flying into his face.

"I can't believe I fell for that!" Dean tried to hide his laughter, his face showing mock-hurt from his little brother's cleverly brutal attack. Sometimes the big brother has to let the little brother win, at least until he finds a way to win on his own.

"I got you!" Sam yelled triumphantly, jumping around.

"Yeah? Well now I'm gonna get you!"

Sam stopped jumping as soon as he saw Dean running after him, a smile laced with curious intent. He took off, the laughter in his voice was making it difficult to catch his breath and soon enough Dean had tackled him into the snow, tickling him.

"No, quit it!" Sam hissed between laughs. The more he squirmed to get out of Dean's grasp, the harder he got tickled. The tickle monster was one monster Sam wished their Dad could teach him how to defeat.

"Ha, I got you, Sammy!" Dean grinned victoriously. Just then, they heard a door open and there stood their father.

"Who'd like some hot chocolate?" John Winchester called, after taking a moment to look at his boys having simple fun. It was a sight he didn't get to see too often.

"I do!" Sam cheered, easily pushing Dean off him as Dean was quick to stand as well.

"Me too," Dean stammered, catching up to his brother as they raced for the door. When Dean saw he was ahead, he casually slowed down and let Sam pass him, but kept close behind.

"Easy, boys," John laughed, closing out the cool winter air once the boys were inside.

He had three mugs sitting on the table, all steaming with warmth and chocolate goodness. The boys were quick to throw their jackets and mittens off as they rushed to take a seat at the table. John soon joined them.

"Careful," John post-warned Dean as the young boy fanned his mouth. "It's called hot chocolate for a reason," the dad smiled. Sam giggled and Dean sneered quietly.

"How long are we staying here?" Dean asked. John inwardly flinched at the question. Another week, maybe two…

"It's hard to say, really. Depends on the business," he answered frankly. Sam perked up.

"I like this place. The kids at this new school are nice. Well, except for one," Sam scrunched his nose as he recalled the bully. "Stupid Brian…"

"Is that kid bothering you again, Sam?" Dean cut in defensively, ready to jump out of his warm chair and hunt Brian Franklin down.

"No, well, it's just…"

"What is it?" John inquired. Sam was flustered to even repeat Brian's words.

"Brian said that…that…there's no such thing as Santa Clause." Sam shook his head with despair. "That's not true, is it? There really is a Santa, isn't there?" Sam looked at his father who stared at the table hard. Sam didn't waste time looking for an answer from him and directed his gaze straight to Dean. Dean wouldn't lie. "Isn't there?" he further pressed on the question.

Dean looked up to his father for silent advice. Dean feared this question would come, or others like it.

The belief that there was still good in this world was significant to Sam, and because of that it was vital to Dean. Dean saw the goodness in the world whenever he looked into his brother's eyes which always seemed to glisten with the purest of innocence. Dean had begged their dad to let Sam believe. He didn't want Sammy tainted, he couldn't handle that.

However, John had a different take. There were things in this world, evil things, and Sam couldn't stay in an adolescent reverie forever. There would be a time when Sam, like Dean, would have to leave childhood behind and enter the world as a fighter. As much as John wanted Sam to have the normal life Dean was stripped of, he felt it was only further damaging him, this belief in the petty things and distance from the real. Now was as good, and poor, a time as any for that transition. Sam needed to be toughened up, for his own good.

"Sam," John cleared his throat, avoiding Dean's fearful eyes, and scared himself to look at Sam. "I'm afraid what Brian said was…true. Santa Clause isn't real."

The words knocked Sam in the chest, and he couldn't suppress the tears forming in his large eyes. He couldn't believe that, not unless Dean said it was true. He looked again at his older brother, sitting there with a blank expression.

"Dean?" Sam's voice broke. Dean shut his eyes. It went without saying. "But…but why? How come Santa isn't real? You tell me there's all these scary monsters that hide under beds and in closets and in the dark, and when I tell other kids they laugh and say there's no such thing as monsters. And now, Brian is right? There's no such thing as Santa? Why do the scary things get to exist, but not Santa?" Sam was on the verge of shouting, tears falling down his face.

"Sam,"

"All the bad people are real, but Santa isn't…and I guess the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy aren't real, either?"

"Sam," John said again, not sure what to say to calm his frantic son down.

"But…you told me he was real…What else have you lied to me about? How am I supposed to believe anything else you say…?" Sam didn't even bother holding back tears. His voice broke into a thousand pieces as he realized any trust he shared with his dad or brother was now lost. And losing that trust with his brother hurt more than finding out there's no such thing as Santa. He got up and ran into the room he shared with Dean and slammed the door.

Dean immediately began to stand and his father finally looked at him.

"Sit down," he said firmly but gently. Dean shot him a look.

"But, he needs me,"

"He needs time to think things over. He's going to be fine." He told his eldest son reassuringly. "You know how much it means to me, how close you two are…but there will be certain things in this world that happen to Sam that he'll have to deal with on his own. He'll have to if he wants to survive."

Dean scoffed at the allegedly wiser Winchester.

"You didn't have to tell him. Why couldn't you just let him believe?" Dean was glaring at his father without realizing it. Such disappointment rattled in his young voice.

"He'd only end up hurt and let down,"

"Like he is now?" Dean countered with resentment. John let out a heavy sigh. Before he could say anything the phone rang. John was fast to answer it.

"Hello? Tonight? Are you sure?" John took glances at Dean as remorse sounded in his voice. "I'll be there." He hung the phone up, refusing to answer the questions Dean was asking with his silence.

"Dad, it's Christmas Eve…" Dean could hardly believe his father was accepting a job, a hunt of all things, on Christmas Eve. It happened every year and every year he said it would be the last.

"I know, son, but I'm…needed,"

"You're needed here. What about Sam?"

"I'm sorry, Dean," was all John could muster the courage to say as he already had his coat on and headed out the door. "Someday you'll understand,"

Dean followed his dad out to the car across the street anxiously.

"But Dad! You promised this year would be different! Don't leave!"

"Go inside, Dean. You'll freeze out here without a coat on."

"Dad,"

"Go inside now!" John didn't mean to snap and the anger in his voice scared even him, but he was finding it inexplicably hard to try and reason with his son. His commandment made the boy's lips quiver. To Dean, it was because it was cold. To his father, it was because he was on the verge of tears, though Dean would never admit it. Without another word, Dean exhaled a white puff of air and turned around to head inside.

John looked on grimly as Dean slowly trudged back towards the house.

"Someday, I hope you'll understand…" he said, more directed towards himself. He started the car and took off.

-:-

As Dean entered the house again, it wasn't warming like it was before. It was colder and emptier than Dean could bundle up for. He remembered his father's words, and though he always was one to obey them…this occasion was different. He wasn't going to leave Sam alone. Not now, not ever.

He shivered as he walked to the bedroom door. He thought it was funny how it was left ajar when he shuddered with the memory of hearing Sam slam it shut. And as he opened the door, a new wave of coldness came over him.

"Sammy?" he said, studying the empty room. There were crayons and paper sloppily displayed on the hardwood floor, and one paper caught his eyes as he picked it up. Written in red crayon and spotted with tearstains was Sam's handwriting.

I am going to the North Pole. Santa is really real. He has to be if you said he was, Dean. I will prove it to you and Dad, and that stupid Brian.

Love,

Sam

Dean almost dropped the letter but his reflexes caught it before he had the chance, and he pulled the letter towards his chest.

"Sammy…" Dean whispered, and for the first time since his dad put his baby brother into his arms, he felt Sam was truly out of reach.

Sam was gone. But Dean was going to get him back.

He grabbed his jacket and ran back outside stopping only for a moment before he saw the little footprints of Sam crunched into the snow. He looked to the other side and saw the larger, more distinguishable footprints of his father, and then looked back at Sam's.

He didn't know it then, but when he turned to follow Sam's direction, it was the first step towards his future, his burden of heroism, his destiny of brotherhood.

-:-

Sam couldn't have gone too far, even if he ran. Dean saw Sam take a path to the nearby park, and what worried him most was where exactly Sam thought he was going. Sam was a bright kid and Dean knew that, but when he saw his brother's tracks leading past a sign that read "Danger: Thin Ice", he wondered how bright he really was.

Luckily, the snow falling was gentle and light, and everything was pretty much visible around him. When Dean reached a clearing of the snow-covered trees, he saw halfway across the lake a blue, puffy silhouette. He knew it was Sam.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled as loud as he could. The youngest Winchester was standing still, and suddenly turned in frenzy as he was surprised to see his brother. Sam yelled something but Dean couldn't make out what it was. "What? I can't hear you! Hang on, I'm coming out there!"

Dean stepped carefully onto the frozen water and heard it splinter with every step. His brother shrieked out, taking Dean's attention of the faltering ice. After taking a few more steps, he could hear his little brother's panicked voice.

"The ice is breaking! Stay away!" Sam cried. The words stung Dean's ears and neglecting his own safety, took no pause in going after his scared little brother.

When Dean was within a few feet of his brother, he finally decided to take time and think up some kind of plan. Should they run? Should they stand still and yell for help? He didn't know, but he had to get to his brother.

"Just…don't move,"

"Duh," Sam said with an anxious overtone. He wavered when the ice below his brother's feet quickly split. "Stop! You're gonna fall in, Dean!"

"Shut up, Sammy. I'm trying to save your butt!" the older brother hollered, extending his arm out towards the younger. "Take my hand," he gesticulated.

Sam looked at his brother dejectedly. He was afraid to move, fearing any sudden movement would send him and his brother down into the frigid waters below.

"Come on, Sammy, take my hand. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," Dean promised.

"What about you?" Sam almost whined because of Dean's lack of consideration for himself. Dean hung his head momentarily and withdrew from his urge to smile.

"Nothin's gonna happen to either of us. Come on now, take my hand,"

Feeling once again comfortable with a layer of trust between him and his brother, Sam reached out for Dean's shaky hand. Dean clasped it, and pulled him towards himself only for a moment, before sharply whispering to his brother while giving a slight nudge, "We gotta run,"

And they ran.

Their fast steps made the crackling surface of the unfreezing lake loudly snap out of place, and soon enough a trail of bubbling ice water scraped at the brother's heels.

"Go, Sammy!" Dean pushed his brother ahead, closer to safety. They were so near the water's edge…

When Dean felt the world beneath him beginning to fall, he did only what he could do. He gave his little brother one final, forceful shove to the snowy land and submitted to the aching coldness that latched onto his body while the dark water consumed him.

-:-

Sam had landed hard in the snow, but was overall uninjured, except for the throbbing in his chest as he realized Dean wasn't behind him.

"Dean!" Sam cried out for his brother, who he couldn't see, couldn't hear, and worst of all couldn't feel like he always seemed to be able to. Where are you…?

He looked desperately at the gapping hole in the ice, waiting for his brother to come out.

"Dean! I'll hate you forever if you don't come back!" Tears swelled in his eyes. It had only been seconds since Dean went under, but to Sam, each second that went by without his brother was a cruel eternity. "Maybe…not hate…but I'll be really, really mad…" he shivered, feeling alone which was a feeling not much appreciated by the young boy. "And…I'll be really, super sad…Dean! Dean, come back!" he was yelling now, leaning over the edge of the frozen prison that held his brother captive.

Then, he saw his brother fight to get out of the icy water's grasp as he broke the surface again, coughing and spitting out water. It was a sight that brought both joy and fear to Sam's eyes. His brother was still alive, but quickly fading away…he had to do something. He reached for his brother's flailing hand and gripped it with all his might. He tried to pull him up, but his strength was not enough. Maybe if unconditional love mixed with the fear of loss were enough…well then, the Winchester brother's would never be out of luck when it came to situations like this.

As Sam's balance was slipping, he still did not let go of his brother's hand. And right before he fell in the water, something caught him, wrapped around him and pulled him, along with Dean, out of danger's way. The two tired boy's found themselves enclosed in their father's strong arms. John Winchester held his sons like if he let them go, the world would fall apart.

And his world would fall apart if he lost either one of his boys.

"Dad," Dean gasped for air, wanting to say so much but being forced to breath first.

"I'm here, son. You're okay," he held his boys closer. "I know I never should have left, but I'm here now…"

Some understandings only come through on their own terms, they can't be forced. John could never force Dean or Sam to understand why he did what he did. He could only hope…but even hope can only get you so far, and the rest is up to you. Right at that moment, understanding what they didn't wasn't the most important thing. Realizing what they already knew was most important, and that's that no matter what, John Winchester loved his two boys and they loved him.

-:-

After getting his children home, safe and warm, John quickly made the call to a rather distraught friend. He wouldn't make it to his house, not this night. And it wasn't as if the ghost haunting his friend's place was dangerous, just annoying. It could be dealt with the next day. Right now, John knew he was needed here, with Sam and Dean. Although, it was still hard for him to be there with them, since Mary died…

Since Mary was murdered…

He couldn't help but want to skip the holidays. They weren't the same without Mary. And he couldn't help but doze off, content with knowing he could be there for his children, but needing to take some measure of control over his own pain. If he could just sleep, he could escape the pain, at least for a little while. And he was always so tired.

Soon enough, Christmas Eve officially began as night fell, and things in the Winchester home just weren't the same.

Sam hadn't spoken much about Santa anymore. He didn't really delve into the subject of his "running away" to the North Pole, either. Both topics only reminded him of what they led up to: almost losing Dean. He could bear with losing Santa, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, all in one day, but losing Dean for just a fraction of a second was intolerable.

Dean, a bit shaken up from almost drowning, was more concerned for his brother. He just wasn't being Sammy. Here it was, Christmas Eve, and he wasn't prancing around the place announcing that Santa Clause would soon be here, or heckling their Dad about getting just the right amount of sprinkles on the cookies they would leave for Santa.

In all the Christmas' that had passed since their mother died, Christmas only brought one joy to Dean and it wasn't in cookies, or snow, or presents, or hot chocolate and candy canes, or in stories of walking snowman and red-nosed reindeer. The true Christmas joy that Dean reserved was seeing the joy in Sam; how his kid brother marveled at the falling snow and drooled over prettily wrapped gifts, or wanted to start candy cane 'sword fights' because he had so much fun with that. Christmas meant nothing to Dean if Sam's heart wasn't there with it.

Dean was beginning to miss Christmas almost as much as he missed Sammy.

He pulled his blanket off the chair with him and marched over to where Sam sat by the window. He was looking outside at the snow like it was nothing. Snowflakes…just white fluffs falling from the sky, nothing magical about that.

"Hey, Sam? Are you okay?"

Sam nodded and then gave a long sigh, which told his brother otherwise.

"Ya know," Dean started, waiting for his younger brother's attention, "You better not pout…You better not cry…" he sang a little, hardly on key but still with passion.

"Santa's not coming to town. He isn't real, remember?" Sam rested his chin in the palm of his hands as he leaned on the chair, glaring out the window.

"I didn't lie to you," Dean became serious, stepping closer to his miserable brother and watching the snow fall. Sam twisted his head to look up at his brother. "Not exactly, anyways,"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked sullenly.

"Well, Santa Clause…he really isn't real…I mean, he's not human or anything. He's not like us." Sam watched his brother talk like he was revealing a secret to a magic trick, eyes wide so not to miss anything. "Sure, he doesn't come down chimneys, which realistically would be really hard, considering the size of that man,"

Dean paused as Sam tried to stifle his laughter.

"But Santa," the elder Winchester continued, "He's more of a spirit. He exists, but not for sleigh rides and cookies. He exists for…all the good in the world. Santa is the spirit of Christmas. He travels the world over, looking to bring cheer to those who need it, and even to those who don't. There's nothing wrong with believing in the good of this world. There's nothing wrong with fighting for that belief, no matter what anyone tells you. Even that stupid Brian kid. He needs Santa more than anyone, Sammy. And if that kid had half a brain cell, he'd believe in him, too."

Sam felt a rush of emotions liquefying in his eyes. He'd been reaffirmed that his brother really never did lie to him. Sam could trust Dean again. And hearing Dean's confession was enough to make Sam jump up with glee.

"So…Santa is real…and it's okay to believe in him?" Sam became thoughtful.

"Yep,"

"I can't wait to shove that fact in Brian's face!"

"I'll help ya, especially with the shoving part," Dean smirked, tousling his brother's hair.

Suddenly, Sam clung onto Dean, tightly hugging him.

"Thanks for not leaving me," he said in a small voice with the utmost sincerity. Dean hugged his brother back.

"Like you could really get rid of me that easily, little brother,"

After a moment of hugging, Sam released his older brother. "Should we wake Dad up and tell him the news, about Santa being real?"

"Maybe a little later. We'll let him get some rest. Come on, I'll make you some hot chocolate,"

"Yay!" Sam professed his happiness by practically hopping into the kitchen. "And after that, we can go build a snowman, and make snow angels!"

"Ah, Sammy…" Dean groaned at the thought of snow angels, but he couldn't hold back the widening grin on his face.

He got his Sammy back. And that's all Dean could ever ask Santa for.

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Thanks for reading! Happy Holidays everyone!

Silver Kitten