Hi guys, I decided to rewrite this One-Shot.
The story is the same, but I added a surprise guest at some point. Can you guess who it is? Tell me what you think about it in the reviews. I think I'm gonna add more OS like this one on Sam and Dean until Season 5. I also have a Lucifer x OC on the way, so stay tuned for more Supernatural stuff!
See you, Lys
Snowflakes were falling hard. The ground was covered by a thick white blanket which reverberated the lights of the shabby motel. Sam was staring outside the window, hoping to see his father coming back. His fingers held on tightly to the gift that he had wrapped with Bobby's help. As usual, John was playing hard to get on Christmas Eve. Sam couldn't remember the last time they shared a proper meal on this special day. Sure, Uncle Bobby made the best burgers and fries, but it didn't match what the other kids had.
He was jealous of them. They were unaware and innocent. Pure, in a sense. They could laugh, enjoy every little moment, dream about a bright future, and be happy. He couldn't. Not now that he knew what his father was doing all this time. He lied to him for years. However, some part of him understood why. Dean had to grow up fast. He had been looking after him since he was four years old. He admired his brother because he was tough, strong, protective, and brave. Nothing seemed able to deter him. Not even the fact that their father was absent once again.
Sam couldn't comprehend his brother's obedience. Dean was the first to break the rules, his recklessness led him to police stations a few times, even attracting social services' watchful eye. John had been pretty pissed when a social worker came to their motel in the middle of nowhere to ask his kids questions about their lifestyle, and if their father was taking good care of them. Needless to say, the worker didn't ever return, or call again, for that matter.
His father could be scarier than the monsters he hunted with Dean. His dark eyes were as cold as the snow outside, judging his every move, questioning his every word. Sam always felt uneasy in his arms, like he didn't belong there. He knew that was wrong to think about his father as a potential danger, but he couldn't help it. He was different from both Dean, and John. Sam wasn't thrilled at the idea of killing, monsters or not, they were still beings. If he ever said that, he would be trained harder to become stronger. He didn't want to become like his father wanted him to be. A perfect soldier instead of a son.
Dean was all his father ever wanted. Sam just wasn't. His soft heart was a weakness. He couldn't get rid of a part of him, certainly not to please an absent father. Hunting wasn't made for him, but being a Winchester prevented him from walking away from it. Also, he was too attached to Dean to imagine a future without him. His big brother was his mentor, guide, confidant, best friend, and most of all, his father figure. He didn't blame him for lying for years because he knew he did it to protect him from John's influence.
Sam wanted to be part of hunting so he could spend more time with Dean before he went to college. Even if he wasn't old enough to think about the future, he knew he couldn't stay with them forever. He thrived to have a normal life. Family dinners, gifts under the Christmas tree, a lovely home to come back to every night, and most importantly, a mom. He sighed, touching the chilly window with his fingertips. He traced a star, not knowing what else to draw that was easy enough to resemble something. He messed up one of the branches. Frustrated, Sam wiped off the glass with his sleeve.
That's when he saw them. Red eyes glowing into the dark parking lot. His breath hitched, fear coursing through his veins. His mind was racing to understand if this was true, or if he was becoming tired of looking into nothingness for the last hour. He blinked twice. The eyes weren't there anymore. A shiver ran down his spine when the window began to freeze in front of him. Unable to move, Sam felt oddly hypnotized by the phenomenon. He put his chin on the windowsill, a small smile forming on his lips. A wave of peacefulness overwhelmed him. He shook out of his strange state when he felt like a hand resting on his shoulder. He thought it was Dean so he didn't mind it, at first. He froze when he caught a glimpse of his brother on the couch, a few feet away from him. Something was wrong, but he wasn't afraid. Why? Sam wanted to understand what was happening.
A light breeze came from the window, though it was completely shut. It carried a strange sound that resembled a distorted male voice. The words were foreign and the accent thick, it wasn't Latin nor ancient Greek, it was a language he had never heard before, but somewhat familiar. Sam moved slightly to escape the cold embrace, and everything stopped suddenly. He shook his head, he must be really tired to create such vivid sensations. Dean would have reacted if anything was in the room with them, he had a sixth sense for this kind of thing.
The television was playing some ludicrous Christmas movie in the background. Dean had no interest in such childish fairy tales when he had real monsters to kill. He kept glancing at his younger brother, guilt clawing at him. He couldn't count how many times he had to make up a story to avoid Sam's questioning. Since the truth came out, his brother began to wander in his mind quite often. Dean wondered what was going on behind his chocolate eyes. They never seemed so dull and dark before. That's what growing up to become a hunter does to you, you lose your youth and your innocence.
Dean blamed it on John. He was the one who started all this by chasing the demon who killed their mother. Getting revenge seemed suddenly unimportant. Screw it! Sam didn't deserve this. He wanted to give him the life he was dreaming of, even if he had to fight against Johnor an army of demons. Sam worthed all sacrifices. Dean feared a few things, spiders, plans, and losing Sam. He didn't know what he would do if his brother died because of him. It took one mistake for experienced hunters to be killed. How was he, a teenager, supposed to keep them both alive at all times? He sighed deeply. John didn't realize that was a big mistake. Sam shouldn't be aware of the monsters lurking in the dark. He shouldn't be so torn, and sad.
"You're gonna burn your eyes staring at the snow like this, Sammy," he joked humorlessly.
"Sam," hissed his brother, though his voice lacked anger.
"He will come back, don't worry," reassured Dean.
Sam couldn't care less about John's absence. The old man could die that wouldn't change anything. This thought left a bad taste in his mouth, a bittersweet one that made him want to puke. What was wrong with him? How could he think about his father's death so calmly? It was as if he waited for this to happen as if he wanted for this to happen. He didn't fear Uncle Bobby's calls like Dean. No, he was almost hoping to hear that John's hunt went wrong and that they had to go live with Bobby. The old clock rang midnight. A shiver ran down Sam's spine. He didn't want to go to bed. His dreams were horrifying. He was chased by invisible beasts, their growls following him throughout the woods as he tried to escape them. No matter what he did, they always found him.
"You should go to bed," Dean stated matter-of-factly.
"No," replied Sam, his voice surprisingly strong.
Silence fell upon the room, embracing the brothers with its chokehold. Dean sighed deeply, sitting up on the sofa to take a proper look at Sam. His vibrant green eyes held infinite tenderness, hidden under layers of tiredness and resignation. Sam asserted himself more each passing day. He didn't hesitate to argue with him and John over the simplest of things.
"Don't talk back Sammy. You should already be in bed," the big brother sighed while turning off the television.
"Same for you, Dean," fired back Sam.
Dean was somewhere in between affliction and admiration. His lips pressed in a thin line, he was mad at John for giving him the bad role. Looking after Sam also meant that he had to play the mean parent sometimes. As it was Christmas, he didn't feel like giving him a hard time, but he wanted to ensure he didn't take on his bad habits.
"You have one hour before we both go to bed," conceded Dean.
A bright smile illuminated his brother's face, reaching his big doe eyes. The weird thing with the window was completely forgotten. Sam stood up and sat next to him. He couldn't miss on the rare occasion. Normally, Dean would stay up for hours, waiting for John, or watching cartoons until he fell asleep while keeping an eye on his sleeping brother.
"He'll love it for sure." He said quietly, motioning at the gift in Sam's hands.
Sam shifted uncomfortably. He felt terrible to not have any present for his big brother even though he deserved a pile of them to put up with his awful behavior. Uncle Bobby said that the necklace could protect its owner. Out of everyone, Dean was the one he wanted to protect the most. Sam wasn't strong enough to do it just yet, but he could do this until he'd be able to do it himself. For now, he trusted Bobby's amulet's powers.
"Here, take it," Sam said, handing him the wrapped gift.
"No, I can't. It's for dad, not for me," declined Dean, somewhat dumbfounded by his brother's decision.
"Merry Christmas, Dean," wished Sam, not taking his refusal into account.
Dean couldn't go against his brother's stubbornness so he complied, and took the gift. He unwrapped it carefully, taking his time to discover what was inside. A wide smile stretched his lips. That wasn't what he had expected. A necklace appeared. It was a sculpted face that reminded him of some ancient Egyptian representation. Horns protruded from its forehead which was spiraling in some sort of a loop. The jewel was oddly warm in his hand, and heavy. Without any hesitation, Dean attached the necklace around his neck. It could have been a noodles' necklace that he would wear as proudly as this one because Sam offered it to him.
"Thank you, Sam," replied Dean, his voice laced with emotions. "Now, close your eyes."
Sam did what he was told, impatience coursing through his veins. He struggled to keep still, his knees bounced slightly and he held his breath for a second. Dean placed something rather heavy on his lap. He tried to guess what it was but couldn't settle for a satisfying answer. He finally opened his eyes to discover an ancient book. He smelled like oil and dust which reminded him of Bobby's house scent. It was some sort of supernatural dictionary. A way to introduce him to the hunter world was by doing something he loved: reading.
"Thanks, Dean, that's super cool !" Exclaimed the younger one, ecstatic at the idea of drowning into the encyclopedia.
For the first time in ages, the Winchester brothers hugged. Sam knew that nothing could happen to him as long as Dean was there. Even though they were too old for showing their affection, there were still times during which Sam embraced his little brother's status, as it granted him Dean's hugs. They held each other for some time, silently promising to always be together, no matter what.
John was fighting to keep his eyes open. Nightmares of this tragic night came rushing back to him. The flames, the heat, Mary's body on the ceiling. It was torture, but he needed to remember to move on. He felt that he was close to finding the truth. The answers he was seeking were only at arm's reach. That was the finish line. He couldn't stop now.
He sat up properly in the Impala, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white His breathing was uneven, he must have busted a rib during his fall. Pain meant he was alive, it became like a drug. He couldn't live without feeling it, or he'd lose his mind. He wiped his cheek stained by the demon's blood. He had tortured a good amount of them to get closer to the one he wanted to kill. His identity remained a mystery, but he couldn't forget his eyes. These goddamn gold eyes stared back at him before Sam's bedroom burst into flames. His obsession was beginning to tarnish his relationship with his sons. The light pierced through the curtains of the motel room, indicating that Dean was waiting for him, again. He had completely forgotten to buy them gifts for this special night. Guilt restrained his chest painfully. He was the worst father ever, one he didn't want to become before Mary's death. He got out of the car, bag in his hands, and locked it. A cold breeze made him shiver as he was opening the bedroom door.
Dean's wary glare welcomed him. John glanced at Sam's sleeping form. Slight snores broke the tense silence. He put his bag down and opened the fridge. Empty. Not even a beer in sight.
"You forgot to do groceries before leaving," Dean's sharp voice slapped him.
"I'll go tomorrow," John sighed, plopping down on a chair.
"Sam waited for you. I hope you have a gift to make it up," warned his oldest son, fire burning in his forest-green eyes. "I knew it, there's one on the kitchen counter. Don't thank me, I do it for him, not for you."
Dean didn't wait for a reply and shut the light, his back now facing his father. He held on tightly to the amulet around his neck, praying to whoever listened to, to watch over his brother. Only, he didn't know that a particular angel was already spying on Sam, following him around in the astral plane.
John spent the night watching over his children. They would understand someday why he acted this way, or so he hoped. What bothered him, though, was Dean's attachment to Sam. Will he be able to kill him when the time comes? John never doubted his son, until now. He knew that the game was already played, that nothing could change Sam's destiny.