Author's Note: Hi there! With my birthday just having passed and Supernatural now over (which I may or may not be in denial about), I wanted to put this chapter out early. This is the last call for requests, so please submit them before December 1st! This chapter is a request from AngelofGrace96 who asked for "Sam gets cursed to silence by a witch while out buying presents and Dean just thinks he's being sulky about the demon deal (season 3)".
"For it's Christmas by the bay
The fog is just a memory
To return again in May
It's Christmas by the bay
Where the sights and the stars above
Are inviting us to stay."
—Tim Hockenberry, "Christmas By The Bay"
Dean wanted to spend Christmas in San Francisco.
Normally, Sam would be on board with this, but considering the circumstances, the youngest Winchester thought the time could be better spent on research.
"Nah, Sammy," Dean told him with a smirk, "No working on Christmas. It's a rule."
Sam rolled his eyes, "Since when?"
For as long as he could remember, Sam had spent Christmas in some cold, empty house with a dented Christmas tree and presents wrapped in newspaper. Those Christmases weren't horrible, not by any means, but they weren't the Christmases he had seen on TV. Those weren't the Christmases that he'd longed for ever since he realized just how different his life was from others.
But this year, all Sam wanted for Christmas was to save his big brother.
Dean wouldn't be swayed and they drove off to the city by the bay, greeted by twinkling lights of the Golden Gate Bridge as it sparkled over the water. It was a lovely sight—he'd been here once before with Jessica by his side, but he'd always wanted to enjoy the sights with his brother.
"Would you look at it?" Dean smirked, "Pretty damn magical."
"Magical?" Sam scoffed, guilt eating away at him. If he had just stayed dead—
"Yeah, magical." His brother interjected sharply, eyes flashing somewhat with annoyance.
—none of this would've happened. Dean would be alive and not sentenced to an eternity in Hell.
So, Sam said nothing and turned up the cheery Christmas music playing from the Impala's speakers.
"I've been looking, boy," Bobby said gruffly, "But, Sam, maybe there's—"
"Don't tell me there's no hope, Bobby," The youngest Winchester snapped, "There's gotta be some way."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, a ragged sigh before finally, "Okay, Sam. I'll make a few calls."
"Thanks, Bobby." He hung up, his legs giving way as he practically fell upon the bed. They were staying in a nicer hotel, with soft sheets and plush pillows. In another world, Sam would've enjoyed this splurge, having a real Christmas with his brother.
But as it stood right now, all he felt was dread.
"Sam?" Dean stood in the doorway of the room, a bag hanging from his hand.
"You got the stuff?"
Dean grinned, "Christmas presents."
Sam ran a hand through his hair, frowning, "How can you be so calm?"
"What?"
"Dean," He turned, meeting his brother's confused gaze, "What are we doing here?"
His big brother placed the bag on the ground, his gaze hardening, "We're celebrating Christmas, Sammy."
"But why?" Sam pressed, "Why should we? We are running out of time—!"
"Enough, Sam—"
The rage consumed the youngest Winchester, a fire that burned in his soul. How many more days would he have if he didn't save Dean? How would he ever be able to live with himself?
"Maybe you're okay with burning in Hell, but I'm not, Dean!"
The fight drained out of Dean's frame. His tone grew cold, "Shut the fuck up, Sam." He stepped toward him, "If this is my last Christmas, this is how I want to spend it."
Words failed the younger brother; tears stung his eyes. He said nothing, storming out of the hotel room.
Union Square glittered with lights of all colors. The tree towered above the shoppers below as Christmas Carols filled the air. While there may have been no snow, it was as close to a perfect West Coast Christmas as one would get.
The cheerful spirit in the air felt oppressive to Sam, his chest weighed down by regrets tinged with fear. This wasn't how he wanted to spend Christmas with his brother. He couldn't even imagine not having Dean by his side next year.
He'd be an orphan.
"Hot chocolate, sir?"
Sam nearly collided with the young woman selling the cocoa by her colorful stall. She smiled sweetly at him, with her emerald eyes shining.
"Uh . . ."
"On the house," She insisted, giving him a cup, "You seemed troubled. Hot Chocolate may not solve it, but it can help."
"Thank you." He took a sip of the warm liquid, feeling some of the tightness in his chest settle.
"Good luck, Sam."
But when he turned back to confront her, she was gone, the stand having never existed.
And that's when Sam knew he was in trouble.
Physically, he felt fine. No suddenly appearing cuts or bruises. Truly, his head didn't even ache. Yet, there was only one issue—his voice was gone. He couldn't speak a word, let alone utter a peep.
"What's with you?"
Sam couldn't speak, but reaching for a pen, he attempted to write out the words, only for it to be squiggles. Frowning, he pulled out his phone, only to type gibberish.
"So, what?" Dean frowned, "You're not talking to me? Childish, isn't it, Sammy?"
But Sam remained silent and Dean grew angrier.
"Fuck you, Sam."
His brother turned up the TV, ignoring him.
He scoured Union Square, growing more and more impatient by the minute.
"Cat got your tongue?" She teased him, peach lips smirking, "You don't need to answer."
He frowned, wishing he could shout at her, demand answers.
She sighed, "I only wanted to help," She insisted softly, "The magic responds to you, Sam. And you, it seems, feel powerless. Voiceless."
He arched an eyebrow, shrugging.
She chuckled, "I can't undo it. The magic must run its course." She took a step to him, placing a soft hand on his cheek, "Find your truth, Sam, and you'll find your voice, Sam."
But how could he find his truth? He was the reason Dean was trapped in this deal.
Her gaze softened, "You can do this, Sam. If you couldn't, they wouldn't have sent for me."
He wanted to ask who she referred to, but she vanished with a gust of the winter wind.
"Sam?"
Dean found him hours later, sitting on the waterfront, the stars sparkling above.
The younger brother met Dean's gaze, tears stinging his eyes. Sorrow overwhelmed him as the realization occurred—he didn't know how to save Dean. He was powerless and unable to accept it. He wanted nothing more than to beg a demon for another deal or to break the contract.
But he couldn't.
"Sammy?"
Tears rolled down his cheek and immediately, Dean held him, rubbing comforting circles on his back like he used to do when they were kids and something had frightened him. His power had always been Dean. Without Dean . . . who was he, really?
"I've got you, Sam."
"I'm sorry, Dean." He managed to choke out, the chains shackling his voice broken, "I want to save you. I just don't know how."
He'd been lying to himself, putting on a façade and acting like everything would be well. But in the realization that he had no control over the situation, there was power there. He would reclaim it and be honest with himself.
"I know, Sam," Dean assured him, "I know."
Christmas by the Bay wasn't the ideal Christmas that he'd pictured as a kid. But sitting on that waterfront, his brother's strong arms shielding him from the overwhelming grief that tried to consume him on a daily basis, Sam realized that it was okay to be afraid.
There would be a time for words later, confessions about what Sam truly felt now that he realized that there was a very real chance of failure. But for right now, he was just a scared little brother, wishing for his big brother to make the darkness go away.
"Merry Christmas, Sammy."
Sam finally choked out, "Merry Christmas."
Sadness would give way to determination. Later, he would tell Dean the whole incident about the mysterious woman with the magical hot chocolate, but for now, there was just this.
Just two lost brothers clinging to each other in a lonely world.
Author's Note: Remember, requests close December 1st so get yours in now if you haven't yet! You can submit to my Tumblr or my AO3!