Mary sat cuddled up beside her husband, with How The Grinch Stole Christmas playing in the background. Sam loved the cartoon, however he was distracted by his favourite out of all his Christmas presents that year. Both he and Dean were by the Christmas tree, constructing a spaceship make of colourful Lego bricks.

John knew he would regret buying Lego, as he was forever stepping on them whenever they were it was in the house. At least his boys weren't arguing over the Nintendo Entertainment System again, which had been Dean's favourite present. John hoped it would keep the boy away from those damn arcades, nothing but a waste of quarters in John's mind.

Mary let out a gentle sigh, as she gently rubbed at her small growing bump, hidden by her hideous Christmas sweater.

"Just think, next Christmas, they'll be five of us. Makes me wonder what this baby's first Christmas will be like. I remember the boys first Christmases very well."

Dean took his first steps on Christmas Day 1979, a month before his first birthday. Mary figured he would be a walker before a talker.

Sam was seven months old on Christmas Day 1983. John's cantankerous yet very loving grandmother Christina had insisted that her great grandson would be the baby Jesus in her church's nativity. Sam was none the wiser to all the attention he received, and was just happy enough to coo and gurgle during the performance.

Mary wanted her unborn baby to have a special memory of their first Christmas too. She rubbed gentle circles as she hummed to herself.

"Oh crap, Sammy run!" hissed Dean, as he tugged on his brother's skinny arm.

Mary was brought from her thoughts by thuds coming from the front porch. She then chuckled when she heard a familiar voice.

"John Winchester! Open the damn door! I didn't raise you, only for you to leave me out in the cold on Christmas Day" came the strong voice of a frail old lady in a maroon winter coat.

John heaved himself off the couch and smirked, as he listened to the thudding of his grandma's walking stick hitting the front door.

"Alright boys, get ready to help your Great Nana" said Mary, smoothing down her sweater.

"Last time I tried, she told me to back off, and that she didn't need any help as she wasn't senile or infirm" said Dean. "Sammy's her favourite."

Sam whipped his head around towards his brother. John was putting up with the rants of an old woman in the background.

"Why?" asked the seven year old.

Dean smirked.

"You're both crazy" replied Dean, playfully shoving Sam.

Mary frowned.

"Nana Christina isn't crazy, Dean, how many times have I told you. You're as bad as you're father for saying things like that" she said.

Dean scoffed.

"She says she speaks to dead people, Mom" he remarked.

"And angels, she says she speaks with the angels" added Sam. "She's seen one in this house."

A small thud interrupted everything. Christina stood in the doorway, slightly hunched over due to her arthritic back, her stick in her hand.

"If I said that during olden times, I would be burnt as a witch" she sniffed, before blowing her nose into a large handkerchief. "Nothing wrong with being different, isn't that right Samuel."

Sam nodded his head. Mary squirmed slightly. Christina had always acted strange around Sam compared to Dean. Not in a bad way, but it was rather odd. He was gifted, she would always say.

After the boys endured gross old lady kisses from their great grandmother, they resumed their spaceship building. John checked the Christmas dinner.

Christina took Mary's hands, and gave them a gentle squeeze as they sat on the couch.

"Are you keeping well? How is my great granddaughter doing?" the old lady asked.

She had a warm smile on her face. Mary placed a hand on her tiny bump. She felt her insides flutter.

"I'm having a little girl?" asked Mary, in a hushed whisper. "But the next scan isn't until next month. How do you know?"

Christina just smiled.

"The guardian angel of this house told me. He's been watching over this house since Dean was conceived" she replied. "He will watch over your children, Mary."

The old lady blew her nose into her handkerchief again.

"If I'm right, then I expect the baby to be named after me" she remarked. "Just to prove I'm not senile."

Mary chuckled slightly. She was carrying a baby girl in her womb. Thoughts started going through her head. Her daughter's birth; first Christmas, first steps and words, first day of school, first heartbreak, her wedding day, becoming a mother herself. She had mentally planned her unborn daughter's future, without even holding her yet.

Yet, nothing ever goes according to plan from Mary's experience. The boys would never suspect that this would be their last official Christmas. By this time next year, things would be different.