So here is the first part of the final save. We have split the chapter because it got a bit too long! Gee those boys do chatter so! So there will be this part and then the rest of Save 12 tomorrow.

There will also be an epilogue on Saturday that will announce the sequel. We decided some of the characters here deserved a longer airing!

Thanks to all of you who have reviewed the story, you guys rock. Oh and to C1, we haven't been able to reply to your lovely reviews as you have no reply URL but thanks for your kind words, they have been just awesome.

So the boys are off to the diner for some well deserved food and to make an important Christmas delivery.

The Twelve Saves of Christmas

Save 12 A Christmas Delivery

December 25th 2am

As was usual with Dean, it was not the motion or the noise of the Impala that woke him but the sudden cessation of her reassuring purr that stirred him from his uncomfortable sleep. He sighed as he opened his eyes. Well one eye if he was honest; the other still swollen partially closed for his earlier, Rudolph induced altercation with the steering wheel.

With wakefulness came a re-emergence of pain and, before he could call it back, his sigh became a soft groan. He risked a surreptitious galnce at Sam to see if his brother had registered the noise and, seeing that he had, attempted a reassuring smile.

The younger man's eyes were firmly on him and so Dean tried to make a good show of not feeling like he'd been kicked repeatedly by a tinsel-bedecked, Yuletide mule. Which, when he thought about it, was actually one of the few things that that hadn't injured him recently. Unfortunately, Sam's expression as he perused Dean's bruised face and stiff, sore movements told him it was a poor attempt.

"We're here."

Sam's voice was sympathetic of his brother's discomfort, as he pointed out of the windscreen to the well-lit building before them.

"And here... would... be...where exactly, Sammy?"

Dean struggled breathlessly to sit a little more upright on the seat, and took in the shiny diner frontage.

"The Star of Bethlehem Diner..."

Dean read slowly, as the myriad Christmas lights twinkled before them.

"How come they're still open, Sam?"

Dean squinted with his one good eye at his watch, knowing it was well past midnight and wondering why the little diner had remained open this late on Christmas Eve. Or early on Christmas morning, depending on your perspective.

"Chris told me that the owner welcomes in those who are down on their luck every Christmas Eve. Has done for years, apparently. Never advertises it, but it's well known in the area that anyone can get a good meal here on the holidays, irrespective of who they are."

Dean pursed his lips thoughtfully as he incrementally straightened against the cracked leather of the Chevy's bench seat. He had to be careful not to press down with his sore hand as he levered himself upright, as his newly re-located thumb was throbbing like a sonofabitch.

In fact, each small movement jarred his momentarily quiescent knee, sutured leg, broken toes and bruised face too, and he sucked in his breath around the pain of each of his 'Christmas presents'.

"That's a pretty cool thing to do, Sam."

Dean observed quietly as distant strains of Christmas carols drifted to them from the inviting looking diner.

"Yeah, I thought so too."

They took in the building for a moment or two longer; listening to the music, as Sam quietly allowed his brother to get his gently hiccupping breathing under control.

"So, if you're hungry, I reckon we could go get something to eat?"

Sam broke their silence, smiling as he anticipated Dean's answer. It was like asking if Niagara Falls was wet and, despite his injuries, the elder Winchester's face lit up with pleasure.

"Sam, I could eat a whole freaking reindeer, hooves and all!"

wWw

Getting Dean out of the car so they could go eat was quite a challenge as almost any movement put pressure on one of his myriad wounds. Added to that he was stubbornly adamant that he could manage his own exit from the Impala and kept swatting away Sam's attempts to help him, much to his younger brother's frustration.

"For god's sake, Dean. At this rate it'll be Easter before we get inside! "

Sam spat the words into the frosty night as he stood beside the passenger door, watching Dean try, yet again, to move his bandaged leg out of the car. Each bend of the swollen knee saw the dishevelled hunter gasping, and even though it was below freezing with a significant wind chill, sweat beaded Dean's pale, bruised face.

"Well if you'd brought my crutch, Sasquatch!"

Dean glowered at his brother as he rubbed absently at his bandaged leg.

"Dean. You're not even outta the car yet. You couldn't have used the crutch inside the Impala."

Sam reasoned infuriatingly and Dean was about to spit back when he noticed how Sam, despite his 'borrowed' sheepskin, was shaking with the cold. Guilt assailed him instantly. There he was, in the relative warmth of the cars interior while Sam stood waiting for him in the sub zero temperature. Contrition fuelled his movements and he stuck his arm outta the car towards his shuddering sibling.

"Well, maybe if you helped me here, instead of just admiring my courageous attempts to join you."

Dean's flushed face morphed into a grin as he spoke and Sam harumpfd good-naturedly as he hauled him carefully from the smooth seat to his less than stable legs.

"Admiring your courageous attempts, my ass!"

Sam grumbled, holding Dean tight as he swayed significantly in his embrace.

"Un-huh."

Dean gasped breathlessly.

"Feel free...to admire...that too, Sammy. After all, it is Christmas... and I'm told frequently that it's a fine, fine ass!"

wWw

The diner was not busy, but a few remaining customers still occupied the booths and stools as Sam half carried Dean into the brightly lit restaurant. The brothers' sudden arrival brought with it a blast of cold air from the outside and a number of the patrons looked toward the door, curious to see who would join them so late this Christmas Eve.

They were a characterful bunch. Each lined face and stained item of clothing no doubt the precursor to an interesting life story. The fact was, however, that none of them had, been asked for that story this night. They came here safe in the knowledge that they were whoever they wanted to be, or not be, as was necessary.

No. This night, in this diner, they were simply welcomed guests for a festive repast.

wWw

"So, boys. Can I get you something to eat? You look like you could use it."

The 'waitress' was a beautiful woman; tall and distinctly elegant, despite her black pants and understated T-shirt being covered with an apron which bore the picture of a turkey, with a shotgun, and the epithet "Kill Tofu Not Turkey!"

As Dean regarded her he felt the warmth of the diner suffuse him. It was not the warmth of the heaters or the stove in the kitchen, but the warmth she exuded.

"We sure could, Ma'am."

Dean was smiling as he spoke for them both. It was one of those smiles that Sam rarely saw nowadays. It was unguarded and allowed the recipient to see beyond the danger that emanated from Dean Winchester, the hunter. Sam nodded in agreement as the woman looked up at him, returning their smiles.

"You'll be best over here, I think."

She turned and gestured to the rear of the diner, her gaze on Dean as he swayed against Sam, his legs trembling with the effort of holding himself upright.

"It's a bigger booth, and you can put that leg up."

As if on cue, a spasm of pain shot through Dean's injured knee, and despite Sam's support, he could not stop the yelp that accompanied it.

"That'd f...feel...real good."

He gasped softly, his eyes watering as he bit down on the muscle cramps coursing through his damaged limbs.

"Come, let's get you settled."

She turned and moved through the diner as Sam tiredly hoisted Dean a little higher and followed her. She was in her fifties, Sam decided, as her hair was silver but it was cropped into a young style that suited her and her bright, blue eyes danced with life as she ushered then to a booth near to the kitchen.

"Can you manage him?"

Her voice was compassionate and she took Dean's free arm before Sam could brush her off, seeing that the supporter of this pair was near to his limit, too. She took some of the load and together she and Sam helped Dean the last few steps.

"You look like you have been through the wars."

It was a sympathetic statement, not a demand for explanation or a judgement of them and, seeing that Dean had no breath left to speak, Sam answered for them both as they reached the booth.

"Yeah, we kinda have, Ma'am."

"So..."

She looked at Dean and gestured to the long red leather bench seat of the booth.

"I thought you could slide on here and stretch your leg out?"

Dean glanced at the comfortable looking seating and nodded, knowing that if he didn't sit soon he would fall anyway.

"Good!"

She smiled and looked the pair of them over with a practised eye.

"I suggest that you..."

She looked up into Sam's eyes, her quirked brow questioning.

"What can I call ya, son?"

"Sam."

The smiling hunter offered.

"Sam?"

She beamed at him testing out the name and liking it.

"So, Sam, if you hold onto...your brother..?"

Sam's gaze flicked from hers to Dean's, checking out his brother's comfort at answering the question. An exhausted blink of an eye affirmed Dean's agreement and Sam nodded again, confirming her suspicions.

"Yeah. My brother, Dean."

Sam offered as he unconsciously tightened his protective grip on his injured sibling. Somehow he was unsurprised that her intuition had led her to conclude that they were brothers. There was something about her, not threatening in any way, but knowing, and he could sense Dean felt it too.

"Pleasure to meet you, boys."

Her gaze came back to Dean's sleepy, green eyes and she realised that she had been let in further than these boys normally allowed strangers. She felt privileged but had the sense not to make a big deal of it.

"So, Dean. Let's get your coat off, you'll be warm enough here by the kitchen without that, and then we can get you settled and fed."

It was a simple statement belying the complicated manoeuvre that accompanied it. It took a good few minutes, involved a number of softly muttered curses, and had all three of them sweating with the exertion before Dean was finally ensconced, his legs stretched out before him in the booth.

"You okay, Dean?"

She took in the bloodstains, old and fresh, as she spoke and the tremble that his struggle against the pain had caused. Here was a man who life treated harshly. She didn't need to know why but, for this one night, she would do all she could to help.

Dean opened his eyes and bit down on the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He was so tired. Getting from the Impala to the booth had felt like running a marathon. A marathon on broken toes at that!

"'Mfine...thank you."

It was a whisper, and every inch of his battered body told her he was anything but fine. However, she understood that 'face' was everything to this man and did not labour the point.

"Well, course you are and hungry as a horse too, I hope."

She grinned, clapping her hand on Sam's back.

"So, I'll get you boys some coffee to start with. Black for you, Dean and Sam..?"

She eyed him up as he shed his coat and slid onto the seat across from his brother. Exhaustion oozed from the younger man, too, and her heart went out to these two who had the woes of the world evidently placed on their young shoulders.

"A latte, maybe?"

She took Sam's coat from him to join Dean's, already in her arms.

"No, on reflection, a hot chocolate I think."

Sam smiled at the thought of hot, sweet, steaming chocolate. It made his cold, damp toes curl with pleasure and the thought lit up his dark eyes.

"That'd be just wonderful."

She turned for the kitchen.

"Good! I'll be right back and then we'll get you some food."

"Thank you."

Sam called as he watched her move away between the tables, towards the kitchen. She smiled at all the diners as she passed them. Exchanging a word here, patting a shoulder there. Sam looked across at Dean to find his brother equally transfixed by this understated woman.

She stopped to lift an empty plate from before a scruffily dressed man with furtive eyes. His clothes were dirty and way too big for him and his skin was pale as desert sand. His arms where they hung from his tattered T-shirt sleeves, were riddled with track marks. Sam looked back to his face and saw that, beneath the dirt and pallor he was, in reality, likely no older than Dean.

"How you doing, Toby?"

She held his twitching gaze as she spoke, her face deliberately neutral and unthreatening. The man looked at her, his face guarded, unsure of her motives. This was not a man given to easy trust.

"You want another piece of pie?"

She tipped her chin at his empty plate. He shook his head, though his eyes said yes.

"I've already had two."

She nodded seriously.

"Well, it'll only get wasted if you don't eat it..."

She held their gaze until he smiled, a shy smile that made him look suddenly much younger.

"It is good pie this year, Ma'am. Better even maybe than last year's, I'd say."

She smiled.

"Well I'll tell Chas that, Toby. He'll be real pleased to know he's surpassed himself. Pastry is a speciality of his."

She started towards the kitchen as she spoke.

"You could manage one more piece maybe, then?"

Sam watched the man's face light up.

"Well, if you're sure it's okay. I don't want to take anyone else's..."

She turned back to face him.

"I don't think many more folks'll be by this year, Toby. Most of ya have done."

She gestured to the few remaining diners and the empty dessert plates before them.

"And there's plenty for these two gents."

Her hand waved towards Sam and Dean in the corner booth.

"So, I'm gonna bring ya another piece to take with ya. Okay?"

Toby nodded.

"That'd be real nice, Ma'am."

He called to her retreating back.

"Real nice!"

wWw

"This is quite some place you found us, Sammy."

Dean mused as he settled back against the soft upholstery. The warmth of the place, the delicious smells of baking bread, roasting meat and pie assailed him as he finally relaxed and Sam smiled as he watched some of the tension he always carried, leave his brother's face.

"I know. Chris said it was quite a set up but I don't think I really, fully understood what he meant till we got here."

Dean tilted his head toward Sam, knowing there was something else he wasn't saying.

"Why? What exactly did the big guy say?"

Sam smiled in slight embarrassment.

"He said that the people at the diner had 'the Spirit of Christmas' about them."

He met his big brother's gaze, expecting to see scepticism there but was surprised by its absence.

"Maybe so, Sam."

Dean grinned as he responded.

Their drinks arrived momentarily and their waitress unloaded the steaming mugs onto the table top before the grateful hunters. Dean raised the dark, aromatic brew to his dry lips and carefully sipped the scalding liquid. The essence of Java danced on his willing tongue whilst the passion of a coffee bean addict dilated his eyes.

"Ummm! That's good."

He murmured orgasmically, as the onlookers laughed at his obvious pleasure.

"Here."

She held a small tea towel wrapped bundle towards Dean and he set down the mug and reached forward to take it. It was cold against his blistered fingers. He looked quizzically at the waitress.

"Ice pack."

She pointed at his bruised temple.

"Might help with your head-ache."

Understanding dawned and he raised the bundle gingerly to his head.

"Now, we have turkey and all the trimmings, or if you don't like that, Chas, our guest chef, will rustle you up a burger or something. The turkey's good though."

She looked at Sam first.

"Turkey for me, Ma'am."

He said enthusiastically as her gaze slid to Dean. Before he could answer though she leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Don't worry, Hon, I won't make you eat the vegetables."

Dean laughed.

"Turkey sounds good to me, too."

She nodded happily, her eyes sparkling.

"Two turkey dinners it is then!"

wWw

The meal was every bit as delicious as they had been led to believe it would be, and as they ate the brothers watched as, one by one, their fellow diners finished their repast and left. No one left empty handed, they noted. Some took blankets, one thanked her for the 'new', second-hand boots he now wore, and all carried away brown paper sacks with sandwiches and pie and the invitation to return again next year.

"So, you boys finished?"

She looked from their scraped clean plates to Dean with a wicked twinkle in her eye.

"Um! Ate your veggie's too? You'll be wanting some pie, then?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

Dean smiled, his emerald eyes gently holding her sparkling blue.

She reached to collect the plates and Dean leaned forward to pass his up to her. His knee cracked loudly as the swollen joint grated with the sudden motion. The plate dropped from his hands to crash on the table as he clutched at the offending limb.

"Crap!"

He ground the curse out between gritted teeth as Sam reached over the table to steady him in his seat. Fiery motes of light danced before his dilated eyes as he hugged his knee, rocking against the lancing pain. He felt hands touch his leg and knew they were not Sam's.

"Don't..."

He gasped dragging his eyes open.

"Hurts..."

She was crouched at his feet, her careful hands gently investigating the heavily bandaged leg.

"I can see that, Dean."

Her strong but gentle hands probed at the dressings and Dean hissed in pain. She looked up into his dilated eyes.

"Do you need to go to hospital?"

Dean shook his head and she frowned, turning her gaze to Sam. Sam knew Dean needed care but he also knew how much he hated hospitals. They were the one place that filled his otherwise courageous brother with dread. He would do anything to save him from that fear if he could.

"He doesn't like hospitals."

Sam said by way of explanation, and was surprised to see a wealth of understanding in her face. She looked back at Dean and watched him slowly get his racing breathing under control. Her face softened.

"No, lots of my regulars don't, Sam. Hospital, or anywhere where control is taken from them."

She patted Dean's leg knowingly.

"Well okay then. I'll just get Chas."

She stood and a look that brooked no debate settled on her face. Sam glanced quizzically at his brother, but Dean was too busy being breathless with residual pain and merely shook his head in confusion.

"Chas..? Your chef?"

She nodded.

"He was a medic, Sam. When he was in the forces. He's patched up many of my Christmas guests. Sort of one of the Yuletide services we offer, I guess."

Sam absorbed the information. He knew Dean's wounds were not life threatening but he also know his brother was hurting. He pressed his hand to Dean's chest, holding him steady in his seat and was rewarded with a wide-eyed glance.

"What do you say, Dean?"

The elder Winchester shook his head and opened his mouth to speak. The pressure from Sam's restraining hand, stopping him.

"Don't say you're fine, dude, 'cause I know you're not."

Sam shook his head, his tousled locks swinging as he held Dean's un-focussed eyes.

"What harm can it do? He might be able to make it hurt less."

Dean coughed a little as his breathing began to settle. He could see the desire in Sam's eyes for him to relent. He glanced at their companion. Her eyes were filled with compassion.

"Chas is good, Dean."

He let his head loll back against the red leather of the booth's seatback. It was two to one and he knew that he was gonna lose.

"If...I say...yes..."

Dean gasped softly, sensing another Christmas 'save' in the offing.

"Do...I get...pie?"

They laughed in relief and she stood, making quickly for the kitchen before he could change his mind.

"Two pies and one medic coming up!"

wWw

She placed a huge portion of pie before each Winchester and, pulling herself a chair up to the end of the booth, sat facing the brothers.

"Chas'll be a few minutes. He's just turning the ovens off."

The boys nodded and she noted the look of trepidation on Dean's face. He was anticipating pain to come she could tell, and she couldn't lie and tell him it would be fine as she figured he was likely much more experienced in these matters than she was. He had a look about him that said he was no stranger to injury and she found herself curious about these two men. But she had a mantra. Ask them no questions.

It had meant that her diners returned year on year because they trusted her. She would not break it now.

She looked up and found beautiful emerald eyes watching her intently. The older man's gaze cut through her somehow, and she stuttered out the first thing she could think of to cover her disquiet.

"How's the pie?"

The question hung in the room and Sam, watching the interface between her and his brother, stepped in to diffuse the situation.

"It's real good, Ma'am."

He said kindly and she grimaced

"You don't have to call me ma'am all the time, Sam. My name is..."

Before she could continue she felt Dean's hand touch hers. She looked up to see his face pale suddenly. His breathing rate rocketed again and she glanced to the kitchen calling for Chas, worried his pain had worsened.

"Evie..."

Dean squeezed her hand hard, leaning forward towards her despite the fire flaring in his leg at the motion.

"Your name is Evie."

Ends.