(A/N- Merry Christmas to all! Yes, I realize everyone reading this may not celebrate Christmas… Happy Festivus Maximus, then! This be my present to you! Smooches!

This is kind of an ironic Christmas chapter (well, fine, by the time I finish, it'll be in the wee hours of the morning after Christmas) considering all the ouchies in it, but whatevs…)

A quiet and sullen Dean was never a good sign, even less so on a hunt when he was usually at least subtly giddy at the thought of killing something. Sam groaned inwardly. It was obvious that Sabine's criticism of John Winchester's parenting skills had cut pretty deep, but he knew his stubborn jackass of a brother would never actually admit it. Dean scarcely acknowledged that he had any emotions at all; suggesting that he'd had his feelings hurt was likely to get you shot.

So, Sam was understandably concerned for Sabine's well-being when she put her hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Dean. Look, what I said about John–"

"It's fine," he grumbled, shrugging her hand off. Still, Sabine looked like she wasn't ready to give up, and while Sam admired her perseverance, he couldn't help thinking that pushing the issue was a really stupid move when the bottled-up emotions were primed and ready to erupt.

"No, it's not. You don't understand –"

"What's not to understand? You think my dad's a lousy father, that came off pretty damn clear, Sabine," Dean spat. Sabine opened her mouth to make a rebuttal, but Dean was now both hurt and pissed off which, in Sam's experience, made it really hard for him to shut up. "You think he 'sacrificed' us, that we were nothing to him but extra goddamn firepower?"

Sam wondered idly if maybe he should gently confiscate the pistol Dean was waving around for emphasis, just in case his enthusiasm overrode his common sense and he started firing at everything and wasting ammo.

"I never –"

"And you know what?" Dean snarled at Sabine, looking, at the moment, far more dangerous than the creatures they were hunting. "Maybe we didn't have much of a childhood, and maybe Dad never was father of the fucking year, but if you think for one second that he didn't love us then to hell with you!"

"Dean –"

"Don't touch me, Sam," he hissed, slapping his brother's hand away before it made contact. "I just wanna go shoot something, okay? Stop it with the coddling shit." Dean stalked off into the shadows, cursing to himself all the way.

"Nice to feel loved," Sam remarked. Sabine let out a sigh.

"Does he always take apologies this well?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Anger was kind of the only emotional response we were allowed to have growing up, so Dean has a hard time expressing anything else."

"I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, Sam, you know I didn't. I just wasn't thinking straight." She sighed again. "I never should have said that about your Daddy."

Sam's laugh was entirely void of any humor.

"It wouldn't have hit him so hard if there wasn't some truth to it."

"Aw, shit!" The outburst was followed by a cacophony of gunshots. Cocking their weapons, Sabine and Sam broke into a flat-out sprint to catch up with Dean.

They found him in a clearing, shooting like a madman at the dozen or so werewolves that had ambushed and surrounded him.

"You chose right now to be an environmentalist, Dean?" Sam yelled, felling one of the monsters. "The flamethrower was way more effective!"

"Yeah, until I used up all the fuel!"

Another one down.

"You used all the fuel?" Two more shots fired; another dead werewolf. "Dammit, Dean! I just refilled that thing!"

"Come on! You can get more fuel! Oh, you son of a bitch –" he put a bullet into the brain of the werewolf that had almost sunk its teeth into his side. Another leapt at him from behind and dug its claws into his back; he let out a growl of pain, then whipped around and shot the creature, causing the claws to tear their way out of his flesh. "What is it with these things and scratching the hell outta me?"

"It could be worse!" Sabine informed, nailing two more werewolves. A third barreled into her, knocking her to the ground. Sam shot it a second before it buried its teeth in her throat.

A howl went up, and the remaining pack members froze for a moment before taking off at full speed into the trees – straight toward the house. The three humans let out a chorus of obscenities, and ran after the beasts.

The scene at the house was not exactly what they had expected.

Werewolves were heading straight for the broken back door, and dropping dead before they got within fifteen feet of it – the work of Kate and Bryce, who indeed proved shockingly adept at hitting moving targets right between the eyes.

"Damn, Sabine, your kids are cool!" Dean said, watching three more werewolves crumple to the ground, and picking off a few more.

"This is a small, Southern town; they've been shooting since they were four," she stated, turning her rifle on a giant black monster that had just skulked out of the bushes. She looked around. "Well. That looks like all of –"

She was cut off by a yell of pain and horror.

The last remaining werewolf had snuck up, pounced, and sunken its teeth into Sam's shoulder.

(A/N- Dum dee dum dee dum… Don't hurt me...)