Sammy meet 'Chris'

I still don't own anything Supernatural. Sigh.

Just fyi there won't be a new post til Monday.

o0o

Sam whirled around, automatically assuming a defensive stance, only to find himself facing off against… nothing.

A dry chuckle was heard from behind him. Sam turned again, wishing he had something more substantial on his person than his Swiss army knife. And instinctively, intuitively with a learning absorbed over a lifetime, wished his big brother was here.

Lounging on the end of the closer bed to the door was a ghost that looked like an extra from "The Outsiders" but with better hair. He seemed to be young and cocky, with a knowing smirk that reminded Sam briefly of his absent sibling.

Before Sam could say anything, or figure out how to get to the weapons in his duffle bag, the ghost stood up and held up his hands in a non-threatening manner.

"Whoa, there, Sammy. We're not here to hurt you." The ghost made as if to move towards Sam when Sam put up his hands to stop him.

"First of all, who are you, why are you here and who is 'we'? And it's Sam." Sam normally didn't deliberately bait the ghosts and poltergeists they encountered – that was Dean's job – but he was still pissed off at both his brother and now by being assaulted in his own room. This just wasn't his day…

"Ok," the ghost intoned, his voice dropping down a register and somehow producing an echoing effect: "I AM THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST." The ghost grinned at Sam's disbelieving reaction. Even without the presence of his youngest brother the ghost could predict what Sammy's next words would be; he was after all Dean's brother.

"Dude, it's July!"

Yep, these two were definitely brothers. Ok, time to enlighten the masses.

"Yes, I'm aware of the passage of time, I know what month it is, and myself and my siblings were on vacation when we heard you bitching and moaning and decided to help your brother out."

"Help Dean? Listen, whoever you are, if you think Dean needs any help you're wrong. He doesn't. And if you are supposedly helping him, then why are you attacking me? And why us anyway? Did we win some kind of poltergeist consolation prize of a visit from the three most over-rated, done-to-death spirits in all of literature and movies and television?" Sam was getting pretty pissed again dealing with yet another interfering know-it-all who thought they knew anything about him and his family. He'd never liked dealing with the well-intentioned teachers and social workers, and nosey neighbours, he didn't need more grief from beyond. And apparently they were on Dean's side. Figures.

"You've been hanging out with your brother too long. He's starting to rub off on you. And proof, you require proof? Well, even though it is July, I am called the Ghost of Christmas Past so let's start there shall we? Do you want to walk through the door again, that really is my best effect?" And without giving Sam a chance to answer he was being pulled through the motel room door again.

But instead of the sweltering heat of a Tennessee summer, Sam was pulled into a tiny, dingy living room he didn't recognize that contained three figures he did recognize. Well only one he really recognized as there were almost no baby pictures of either brother, but if that was John then that goofy looking tow-hair kid must have been his brother at about four and himself in his dad's arms at five months or so. He and his ghostly companion were invisible witnesses to the scene unfolding.

"This was the first Christmas after your mother died. And the first of many crushing life lessons that your brother was forced to learn."

The voices of his family, which had previously been somewhat muted, could now be heard.

"But how will Santa find us if we're living in someone else's home? He won't know how to find us." Big hazel eyes were pleading with his father to make everything alright. But those pleading eyes were destined to be denied. With his wife's inexplicable death still too raw in his suddenly and completely bereft soul, John Winchester couldn't deal with his son who continued to live in a fantasy world. That had to stopped now.

"Dean, there's no such thing s Santa Claus, he's just made up. He's not real, son."

Tears had spilled over and four-year-old Dean's lips were trembling. "N-not really real? But I s-saw him, and I w-wanted him to bring M-mommy back."

John couldn't deal with this. Not now, maybe not ever. "Dean, I've told you before Mommy's not coming back! And Santa Claus isn't real." John took a deep breath in, and attempted to soften his tone. "Champ, we don't have time to believe in things that aren't real any more. There is no Santa Claus, there are not gonna be a lot of presents this year and it's just you me and Sammy ok? We'll take care of each other."

And John, in a move Sam couldn't recall ever seeing, pulled his older son into a hug as Dean cried into his shoulder. Both father and son were mourning for the loss of one woman; the father was also mourning the forced loss of innocence of his son, but Santa Claus was a luxury they could not indulge any more.

"That Christmas your father gave your brother a couple of Hot Wheels cars and a book he'd picked up in a drugstore, you got a blanket and a teething ring. And Dean's first gift to you was his stuffed tiger that you liked to chew on the ear of, and a picture one of the fireman had given him of his mom from the rubble of your house for your father. I believe your father still has that picture in his wallet."

Sam looked around as the view around him faded away. He and the Ghost of Christmas Past, if that's who this was, were standing once again outside the motel room door. No one seemed to take any note of Sam and spectral visitor.

"Jeez, with the amount of bragging your brother does, I'd have thought you'd be smarter. They can't see you cause I've pulled you out of time. Haven't you read your Dickens?"

"Yes, I have and I can't say I remember a denim-clad ghost appearing in the middle of July trying to teach anyone the true meaning of Christmas. And I don't think that there's anything you can tell me that I don't already know. I know our lives sucked, you don't have to tell me that. Dad and Dean never even let me believe in Santa Claus ever, so you're not breaking my heart here."

"Ok, Mr. So-Sure-You-Know-It-All, let's try this one." With that the ghost once again reached for Sam.

"Do we have to keep going through the door?"

"It's not like you have your key, Sammy, so this way it is."

Sam's exasperated cry of "It's SAM!" was lost as they emerged into yet another motel room. This one Sam did recognize, they'd spent about six months in this one, it was on the outskirts of Tulsa. Sam had been five and had just started school that year. Their dad had been absent Sam now recalled, this was their first Christmas without their dad. He remembered being afraid and wanting their dad, but all nine-year old Dean would say was that Dad would be home soon. He remembered this Christmas, his father might not have been there, but he'd obviously had left his bases covered as Sammy remembered receiving the transformer he had wanted and a easy-to-read book on the planets. Dean had got him a Power Ranger action figure and a colouring book with puzzles and mazes. He had made Dean a drawing in kindergarten that he had carefully hidden under his bed for his big brother.

Sam smiled to himself anticipating a good memory unfolding. But the memory didn't start with young Sammy's early morning pounce on his brother's bed, it seemed to be late at night, on Christmas Eve, and Sammy was asleep in his bed, but Dean was seated at the table that doubled as their kitchen table with what Sam recognized as his presents and some old newspapers and coloured comics. Dean, at nine, looked short and scrawny and tired and too careworn to only be nine. As Sam watched he realized that Dean was wrapping his presents from his dad and forging his name. Sam wondered if his dad had even bought the presents himself.

"Dean had already saved for your present and for your dad's gift but when your dad went AWOL a week and a half before Christmas, your brother, not knowing when he'd be back had to come up with a contingency plan. He'd had been saving for a new knife but he used that money to make your Christmas as normal as he could."

Sam and his own personal tour guide watched as Dean carefully placed Sam's presents on his bed. Sam smiled at the care his brother was taking of him. He expected the memory to fade around him then, but apparently there was one more moment to bear witness to. Young Dean had gone back to the table and carefully wrapped one of his math books, and then tore the paper off the book. He did the same with his metal pencil box that he used for school. Sam watched perplexedly as Dean placed the torn papers on the end of his bed. Dean then clean up the papers, and started to do the dishes. The Ghost of Christmas Past was watching Sammy watch the memory and was aware of the exact moment that the awareness of Dean's duplicity rose to the surface of Sammy's conscious.

"I can't believe how long the "I already opened my gifts from Dad" line worked on you. Fortunately your dad came home two days later and Dean was off the hook for pre-teen parenting duties. Your dad was around for the Christmas after that but he would have let it pass as just another day if it hadn't been for your brother's insistence."

The smug spirit watched as Sam's eyes narrowed at the perceived dig to his relationship with his brother. 'Chris' decided it was time to move on.

"It seems your brother spent a lot of time and effort trying to make your life as 'normal' as possible. Let's keep moving shall we?"

And before Sam could defend himself, before he could explain that he already knew how much Dean had done for him, he was whisked away to yet another memory.

He was getting heartily sick of Mr. Christmas Past.

o0o

TBC