Author's Note: For an anon on Tumblr who asked for, "could I request a fic where he's drugged/loopy?" Thanks for the request! This one was fun to write.

"So, I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas

Mommy and daddy are mad

I'm gettin' nuttin' for Christmas

'Cause I ain't been nuttin' but bad."

Relient K, "I'm Getting Nuttin' For Christmas"

Sam knows this isn't real.

"You want another piece of pie, Sam?" His mother beams before him, warm and bright, just like he saw in the faded pictures in Dean's journal.

"I'll take it," Dean snatches the piece of pie, a smirk on his lips, "Sammy likes his rabbit food."

John chuckles next to him, shaking his head, "How'd we get such two different kids, Mary?"

It's a picture-perfect Christmas, like one out of a Hallmark film. Their tree towers above them, lights glittering in pastel shades. John wears a sweater, Mary a dress and even Dean has on a light-up Christmas sweater that blinks at him. Sam doesn't know how he stumbled into this odd illusion, but he can't seem to get up from the plush chair he's seated at.

"We got lucky," Mary beams, "So lucky."

"This isn't real." Sam whispers, trying to move his legs to no avail.

"John, pass the rolls."

"Right here, sweetheart."

"Mom, tell me we've got more pie somewhere."

"I might have made a second one."

This isn't his life. He knows it's not and yet; he wants to let go and embrace the family that he could've had if things had been different.

"Sam?" His mother's warm hand rests on his cheek and he leans into her touch, "You okay, baby?"

He's never met this woman—he has no memories of her, only faded pictures—but he wants to embrace her and never let her go. All his life, he's wondered what it would be like to have her in his life. He's wanted to hear her voice for so long.

"You good, Sam?" Dean questions.

A tear rolls down Sam's cheek.

This isn't real, but he wished it was.

It's three days until Christmas and all Dean has gotten is a sick little brother.

Sam tosses and turns in Bobby's guest bedroom, nearly yanking his IV out in the process. He's been in and out of consciousness for the past two days, the fever spiking and refusing to abate.

"Any change?" Bobby asks softly, their surrogate father frowning.

Dean dabs Sam's forehead with a damp cloth, wishing he could soothe the pained expression on his face. He sighs, "No. Any luck on finding out what caused this?"

It wasn't something supernatural that has caused this. No, it was some jerk spiking Sam's drink at a bar. Dean hadn't even realized what was happening until Sam started slurring his words after half a drink. Even a lightweight like Sam didn't feel alcohol's effects that quickly.

"Police have the guy after an anonymous tip," Bobby explains, "They have it running in the lab. They think it's new."

"Fuck," Dean curses. He can handle any type of supernatural creature with ease, but humans? He couldn't piece together what was going on in their minds half the time. Without any further leads, the most they could was ride this out and take Sam to the hospital if the fever didn't break soon.

Bobby places two fingers against Sam's neck, feeling his pulse. He nods, "It's steady."

"I hate this, Bobby. There's nothing we can do."

"I know, son," He consoles, "But your brother is strong. He'll pull through."

Neither of them wanted to consider the alternative. Sam would live.

He had to.

"What is it?" Mary takes a seat next to him on the plush leather couch. She grins at him, so carefree and joyful.

"This isn't real," Sam repeats, "You're dead."

Mary sighs, long and drawn out. She glances around the living room, the tree proudly shining, illuminating the room with a magical glow. Her hand holds his and she frowns, "And whose fault is that?"

Sam feels his heart stop, "What?"

"I died because of you, Sam." Her voice turns sinister as the lights darken, giving the space a gloomy aura.

"No—"

She laughs, malicious, "The demon wanted you, Sam. Not me." She leans forward, her forehead resting against Sam's, "Face it, Sammy. You killed your mom."

Sam opens his mouth in a soundless scream as Mary laughs.

Christmas Eve and Sam's fever rests at 103.

Sam moans and Dean frowns, "I'm here, Sammy."

But Sam can't hear him and he hasn't heard him for days. Bobby has gone to get more medicine, but they're seriously contemplating a hospital run if the fever lingers still in morning.

"M-mom." Tears roll down his baby brother's cheeks, liquid that he needs since he's been a bit dehydrated.

"Mom?" Dean echoes, a gut punch of emotions hitting him, "Sam, you gotta leave her. Come back to us." He's never been one for sappy speeches, but he's willing to try anything to bring his brother back. He holds his baby brother's clammy hand within his own and squeezes it, "C'mon, Sammy. I'm getting sappy, just like you love. We can have a chick-flick moment. What do you say?"

Sam stirs, but doesn't awaken.

Dean feels nothing but despair.

Sam wants to die.

It's dark and cold and all he can hear is Mary's ruthless laugh. He's stuck in the void, trapped, with no escape.

You killed me, Sam.

"I'it's not real."

You killed your mother.

"Stop!"

A warmth spread through him as a soft voice whispers, I'm here, Sammy.

"Dean?"

C'mon, Sammy. I'm getting sappy, just like you love. We can have a chick-flick moment. What do you say?

Light explodes before him and Sam walks toward it.

He needs to take the risk and escape.

And then he's gone.

Sam's eyes fly open, dazed, "Dean?"

"Sammy? You with me?" Dean leans forward, resting his palm against his brother's forehead. The fever is finally broken and Dean feels relief slam into him.

"Dean, I heard you." Sam stirs a bit, but the energy quickly drains out of him.

"Welcome back, Sam," Dean smiles, tears of joy pricking at his eyes. His brother will still need to recover, but for now, this is a good start, "And Merry Christmas."

Sam falls asleep, peaceful and mild.

And so does Dean.