Well everyone, here is Save 12, the final save of Christmas. Thank you to everyone who has read, and especially those who have reviewed. It's been lovely to read your kind words.
There will be an epilogue over the weekend, rounding off this one and announcing the follow on story. We hope that will start posting in the next few weeks and hope to see some of you again for that one.
Thanks to Kripke for the loan of the beautiful boys and to Kirsty for beta-ing us (The Comma Killers!) Sorry Kirst!
The Twelve Saves of Christmas
Save 12 O Holy Night
December 25th 2.30am
Evelyn Tannenbaum smiled sadly as she nodded, squeezing Dean's hand in return.
"No one has called me Evie for years."
Memories assailed her.
"Not since..."
She hesitated, her eyes distant as she remembered.
"Not since James."
The man said as he moved to stand defensively beside his friend, Evie, placing his hand on her shoulder so she would know he was there. Chas had known Evie since he had come to Bethlehem, fresh from the horrors of war and she had looked after him then as he looked after her now.
The boys looked up and took in the chef's regalia, complete with Santa hat.
"Hi, Charles."
Dean croaked out as he recognised the flirtatious desk clerk from the Holy Night Inn. The protective gastronome did not relax his stance but his mouth quirked a little.
"Mr 'Cringle' isn't it?"
He cocked an eyebrow disbelievingly and Sam laughed.
"Sam..."
He glanced at his brother who still leaned painfully forward holding Evie's hand.
"And my brother, Dean."
The short man nodded at them both.
"And you know Evelyn, how?"
His defence of her resonated in his words and Sam understood his need to protect this fascinating woman.
"We don't really, Charles."
Sam paused, suddenly realising he had no real explanation for Dean's recognition of the hiker ghost's wife. There was nothing to alert Dean to her identity and yet when he spoke her name Sam had heard absolute certainty in his voice. He found himself looking at his brother with the same curiosity that Charles did.
Dean looked deep into Evie's eyes and saw the pain she had carried for all the years of her loneliness. He saw the still raw grief of her loss but, more than that, he saw her sadness that she had no real explanation of James's apparent abandonment of her.
He saw her fear that maybe the things that had been said about her beloved husband were true; and the anger that she had no weapon, no evidence to defend his name. But most of all he saw her anguish at the perpetual lack of closure. The never knowing. The longing for an end.
And he knew he could save her.
"I have something that I think belongs to you."
Dean's voice was a whisper but it contained such emotion, that Evie's unfocussed eyes cleared immediately and moved to hold Dean's.
"You do?"
Her voice held wonder and he smiled and reached toward his inside jacket pocket.
The letter was as he remembered it, dry and brittle and old. He placed it reverently in her hands and she glanced at it, before her gaze returned to his. Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke.
"This is James' writing. My James."
She whispered and Dean nodded.
"He's alive?"
A moment of hope filled her voice, but the sadness on Dean's pale face answered her question. She sighed; a soft, sad sound and she grasped his hand to steady herself as Charles held her tight against him.
"I knew he wasn't."
Her words were barely audible and tears trickled from her vivid blue eyes to course down her cheeks as she lowered her head.
"He would never have left me alone to face all there was to face. I knew he was dead but all the same, I hoped..."
She stopped as the tears finally took her breath. She buried her head into Charles apron front as he held her tightly. Dean's throat worked against the lump there as he watched her shoulders heave with silent sobs. He held her hand tightly, hoping she might take strength from the touch.
She allowed herself only a moment of grief before she straightened and wiped her face. She smiled at Dean, squeezing his hand.
"I must read this."
She held the letter so tight that tiny slivers of it broke away and floated to the floor.
"Will you excuse me for a few moments?"
Dean nodded, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill to join hers. She stood.
"Charles?"
Her friend moved to her side.
"Will you look after our guests?"
Charles squeezed her shoulder.
"Of course I will, Evelyn. It will be my pleasure. I'll tend to Dean's wounds whilst you read James' letter. Take your time. There's no hurry."
She patted his hand where it touched her shoulder, wiping again at the tears.
"You're right, Charles. He has waited all these years to have me read this. I will not hurry it now."
She drew herself upright and moved purposefully away between the still laden tables, choosing one a few feet away from the booth. And there she sat with her back to them taking a little privacy to read her husband's dying words
wWw
"So, Dean."
Charles smiled appreciatively down at the tall, slim hunter laid out on the bench seat before him. He was a fair bit dirtier and a little less clean shaven than the last time he had seen him but none the less attractive for that.
"I'm trying to figure where to start but..."
He gestured with both hands to Dean's long, lean body.
"It's all fair game. I guess the pertinent question is what hurts most?"
Charles' smile hid none of his admiration for the older Winchester and Sam laughed, anticipating Dean's discomfort.
Dean, for his part, sighed and Sam braced himself for the inevitable 'I'm fine's' and the 'Get your hands offa me!' but they never came.
"Honestly, Charles?"
Dean looked up at his ginormous brother and the diminutive chef beside him. They both nodded and Dean noted Sam's 'Please behave' expression. Dean spread his hands in defeat.
"You can just take your pick, because at this moment, it all hurts. In fact, even my hair hurts!"
Charles smiled sympathetically; gently patting Dean's extended leg, as he turned and made for the kitchen.
"I'll get the first aid kit. Don't you move, Mr Cringle. I'll be right back!"
Sam laughed, watching the fussy little man's departure before retaking his seat across from his brother. He looked at Dean but the hunter's attention was elsewhere and Sam followed his gaze back to Evelyn. Worry creased Dean's forehead as he watched her and unconsciously the hunter wrapped his arms around his body, trying to ease the ache he felt for her.
"How did you know it was her, Dean? That she was Evie?"
Dean glanced at Sam. His eyes suddenly nervous, as if caught doing something he shouldn't.
"I'm not sure, really. I just ...well, I just sorta knew."
He looked at his brother and Sam saw, in Dean a rare but urgent need for reassurance. Sam smiled, saying nothing but what he said with his eyes and was relieved to see his sibling relax.
"Do you think she's okay?"
Sam asked softly as both brothers looked at Evie's bowed head. Dean looked down at his hands, his eyes brimming again.
"No. Not right now she's not. But she will be, Sam. It's better to know, I think. Rather than to always wonder."
He looked up suddenly into his brother's eyes.
"Don't you think?"
Sam nodded.
"You've done a good thing here, Dean."
Dean smiled softly.
wWw
Charles placed his case on the table between the brothers as their twined gazes returned to him. Pride resonated in his voice as he started speaking.
"Evelyn has had to fight to hold her head up high. When the mill was brought down and the Harvey's blamed James, she had a lot to endure. Not only did she lose him and her livelihood but the townspeople mostly hated her. It's taken years for her to regain their respect."
He gestured Sam to rise and stand beside him and, as Dean looked on, he crouched by the front of the booth table.
"There's a catch somewhere that releases the top..."
Charles mumbled from beneath the table.
"Ah!"
A clicking noise followed and the table top popped up. Charles stood back up and looked at Sam.
"It should lift off now...it'll give me easier access to Dean."
He smiled down at his resigned patient and Dean sighed as a grinning Sammy removed the table and propped it against the wall. Charles busied himself with his case, removing dressing packs and scissors, swabs and forceps. It was a very professional set up and Dean's anxiety dropped a notch or two.
"Okay. Let's see what we're dealing with here."
Charles pulled on some surgical gloves and surveyed his patient. He took in the cut temple and crudely wrapped hands but it was Dean's leg that bothered him most. He knew blood stains when he saw them and so, taking up the scissors, he said.
"Well, boots off first I think, while you decide if you're gonna take the jeans off, Mr Cringle. Or whether I have to cut them off?"
Dean simply groaned and closed his eyes knowing resistance was futile.
wWw
Charles was an excellent medic. He was skilled, knowledgeable and thorough but none of that made any of the procedures less painful for Dean. The diminutive man had started by removing Dean's boots and blood stained socks so he could unwrap the hunter's fractured toes.
The elder Winchester had assumed that getting the constricting corset of wet leather off of his foot would ease the throbbing pain from his toes, so he was surprised as the release of pressure allowed blood to flood the digits and kindle to flame the previously only smouldering nerve endings. He bit down against the fresh wave of pain as Charles studied his bruised foot.
"You did well tidying the nails up here, Sam."
Charles patted Sam's thigh where it pressed against his in the confined space of the booth-come-infirmary and Dean sniggered as his brother blushed a little.
"Thanks, Charles. They were a bloody mess and I didn't know what else to do."
"Well, you did okay."
The chef-come-medic gently murmured as he palpated the toes. Dean, for his part, made subtle owh and ahh noises at the motion.
"Well, there's not a lot to do for a broken toe really. Rest it, ice it for the swelling."
He looked disapprovingly down at Dean as he questioned Sam.
"I don't suppose he's much good at resting things?"
Sam laughed.
"You're right there, Charles. He's the worst patient you could imagine."
Charles nodded knowingly as Dean frowned and crossed his arms moodily across his chest.
"Well, it's not as if I could've just got into my luxurious bed at The Holy Night Inn and rested up, was it?"
Dean's accusatory tone got the desired grimace from Charles and the reciprocal 'be nice, he's helping you' glower from Sam. The prone Winchester rolled his eyes but made nice.
"Yeah, well. That's no one's fault, I guess."
Charles' face returned to a smile as he continued his 'medic's apprentice' lesson for Sam.
"Anyway. I can show you a more supportive strapping that might make it a bit easier for Dean to walk on them 'til they heal."
Sam watched entranced as Chas' skilled hands carefully wrapped and strapped his brother's forefoot with minimal twitching from the patient.
"How's that feel? Not too tight?"
Dean flexed his toes gingerly. They still ached dully but the raw grating was reduced and the bandaging had them feeling warm for the first time in days. The hunter smiled.
"Feels good, Charles."
The surgeon-gastronome beamed with delight and giggled.
"Oh lovely, I like to make my charges feel good!"
Dean looked quickly at Sam, his eyes effortlessly conveying 'say one word and die!' Sensibly, Sam zipped his lips and Charles continued.
"I think we should do your hand next. It's a sprain, I assume, Sam? So, similar strapping..."
"Well, dislocated actually, Charles."
The medic was taking the filthy bandage down as Sam responded and Dean sucked in his breath as the fabric pulled the tops off his multitude of blisters.
"Sorry, Dean."
Charles turned Dean's hand carefully, examining the bruising around the re-located thumb and the raw flesh of his palm. He looked up at the younger Winchester.
"You put this back very efficiently, the bruising could be worse considering. You recognise dislocations?"
The chef's curiosity was peaked with regard to these men. They were casual about their various wounds and knowledgeable about dealing with them. Much more so than the average person.
Dean could see Charles' interest and moved out of habit to deflect it.
"We like to hike, Charles and we're both accident prone. Means we have learned to deal with a few knocks and scrapes over the years."
The Santa hatted man nodded curtly. He knew he was being gently warned off.
"Sure you do, boys."
The awkwardness of the moment was dispelled as Charles smiled and reached for a dressing pack.
"Is your other hand blistered too, Dean?"
Dean held up the other shabbily bandaged hand for inspection and another scabbed, raw palm peaked through the dressings.
"Okay. I'll do this one, and strap your thumb."
His eyes tracked to the younger man's face.
"Okay, Sam?"
The apprentice-medic sat forward on the seat, his face attentive.
"Can you follow my lead and dress Dean's other hand as I do?"
"Sure thing, Charles."
Dean rolled his eyes at his sibling's eagerness.
"Don't you roll your eyes, Mr Cringle, or I'll maybe just ask you how you managed to blister your hands so badly!"
The saucy look on Charles face made Sam snigger and Dean opted for a dignified silence as his 'nurses' set about wrapping his hands.
wWw
Evelyn paused as the words on the paper before her became indistinct in the rush of tears from her pale blue eyes.
She had always known that James had not just abandoned her, but now here was his heart, laid bare for her, as his life had ebbed away.
They were beautiful words. Words of love and regret and she could hear his warm, deep voice lilting in her ear as she read them over and over again.
He urged her to read his journal, explaining that he had described there, in detail, the sordid events that were to lead to his death, alone, on that snowy Christmas Day. She would do that in time, if these wonderful men had found that too, but if they hadn't then this one sheet of stained, brittle paper was enough to give her peace.
She closed her eyes and held the page to her heart, searching for the feel of her James' strong arms around her. Desperate to hold him one last time.
wWw
The restless spirit of James Tannenbaum sighed as he watched his beautiful Evie smile through her tears as she held the letter to her heart.
In the endless hours of exile he had spent bound to the journal on the frigid mountain he longed only to know that Evie understood that he loved her still. Would love her always.
He reached for her, to enfold her in his arms one last time, as his restored heart at last felt peace.
wWw
Dean studied his two bandaged hands and had to admit that they looked pretty similar, Sam's wrappings being equally as neat as Charles'. And the stinging of the blisters and the throbbing of his thumb was better now his palms were salved with the chef's miracle balm!
It was gonna be hell when he needed to take a leak though, with both hands wrapped up like an Egyptian mummy! Awh...he'd worry about that when the time came.
"So, Dean..."
Charles soft voice broke him from his reverie and he smiled appreciatively at the fussy little man.
"How you doing so far?"
"I'm good, Charles. You know your stuff."
The little man preened at the hunter's praise as he picked up the scissors.
"Okay, but as good as I am, I'm guessing you're not gonna take your pants off for me..."
He winked at Dean, who had the decency to blush just a little as Charles nudged Sam conspiratorially in the ribs.
"At least not with your baby brother sitting right beside us."
Sam chuckled as Dean rolled his eyes again.
"Thought as much. So I'm gonna have to cut the leg of your jeans 'cause it'll hurt like a bitch if I try and push 'em up over the dressing. You okay with that?"
Dean, who had blanched a little at the words 'hurt like a bitch', hastily nodded his agreement as Charles leaned in with the scissors.
He cut the leg of Dean's jeans right up to his mid thigh, noting the hunter's tension as he exposed the stained dressings.
"You okay?"
Dean nodded, tight lipped. He was not looking forward to this. Even though he was impressed with Charles' professional ministrations he knew this was gonna hurt, and hurt bad.
"Sam?"
Charles glanced from Dean's paling face to the other Winchester's.
"There's a bottle of whisky in the kitchen, in the cupboard near the door. Will you fetch it? I think a 'medicinal' shot might be called for here."
Sam nodded and loped off towards the kitchen as Charles turned his attention back to Dean. His face was serious.
"How are you doing really, Dean?"
As he spoke the medic reached out a hand and laid it gently on Dean's sweating forehead.
"You got a bit of a temperature going on there...you feel feverish?"
Dean shook his head, though in truth he did feel a little bit light-headed. The little man eyed him intently.
"Not like you'd actually tell me even if you felt like death, huh?"
He reached into his case and emerged with a bottle of pills. He held them in Dean's slightly fuzzy eye line.
"Antibiotics."
He said as he extracted two of the huge pills and replaced the cap.
"I need you to take the whole course, Dean."
He said loudly, putting the pills in Dean's hand and the bottle in Sam's, as he returned with the whisky and three glasses. Sam nodded, understanding that Charles was entrusting him with that responsibility.
"I don't normally advocate pills and booze at all but just this once..."
He held the filled shot glass towards Dean.
"It might take the edge off the pain as I do the dressings."
Dean popped the pills and raised the glass in salute as he croaked.
"Thanks, Charles."
The little man shook his head.
"No, thank you, both of you."
He squeezed Sam's thigh unexpectedly, drawing a gasp from the younger and a chuckle from the elder Winchester.
"Thank you for Evie and James."
The smile died on Dean's lips as he glanced at the grieving woman at the nearby table. Her head was lowered and she held the tattered letter in her trembling hands. A soft sadness emanated from her.
Dean raised the glass and tossed more of the fiery liquid after the pills, closing his eyes on the moisture there. The liquor burned his throat and set him off coughing. The spasm shuddered down his thigh and the cough became a growl of pain. Charles took it as his signal to proceed, knowing it was only gonna get worse, and slipped the scissors under the edge of the bandages and began to remove them.
The medic was as gentle as he could be, but the pressure of the cold metal on Dean's knee made him squirm. By the time Sam gripped his ankle and gently raised his leg from the seat so Charles could pull the severed bandage from under his knee, sweat was running from his temples to sting his watering eyes.
Three of the seven stitches that Sam had applied had popped under the pressure of Dean walking on his injured leg, and his knee was swollen and massively bruised. The colourful contusions stretched from taut mid thigh almost to his ankle.
Sam went to carefully rest Dean's leg back down on the seating but the strain of having the unsupported joint fully extended made Dean start with pain.
"Hang on, Sam!"
Charles rolled up one of the towels that sat atop his medical case and placed the soft cotton roll under Dean's knee.
"Okay, rest him down now...gently..."
Sam eased the trembling limb down and watched for a moment as the injured hunter fought to get his unsteady breathing under control.
As Dean settled, Charles took his forceps and scissors and removed one of the ruined stitches and brought it close to his face.
"Umm, neatly tied, Sam."
The medic grinned appreciatively and a smile ghosted Sam's lips only to die to a frown.
"Didn't hold though, did it, Charles?"
Sam took the suture from the forceps, examining it.
"What did I do wrong?"
Charles warmed to his subject. He had always loved suturing!
"The knot was fine, Sam, but look here at the wound..."
Two heads leaned close to Dean's trembling thigh.
"You were a bit too close to the edge of the wound..."
Charles' forceps hovered over the torn stitch site as Dean tensed back against the seat-back.
"Umm...hey guys...in the room here!"
Charles and Sam ignored the nervous patient and Charles' cold steel touched the hot wound a little further back from the edge.
"Ouch!"
Dean yelped.
"Here would have been a better entry point."
Charles indicated and Sam nodded, too lost in the semantics of suture placement to notice Dean's writhing. Sam took the forceps from Charles and moved to the second popped suture.
"So, I did the same thing here?"
He gently poked Dean's thigh and was rewarded with a tremor and another louder,
"Ouch! Sam!"
Dean's frown increased, his patience for his 'medical team' wearing thin.
"Well, Sam, it was a little close to the edge, but this one was a bit too tight."
Sam frowned and Charles pointed with a gloved finger.
"See how it's puckered the skin a bit?"
Sam nodded, irritated.
"Damn!"
He swore as he looked up at Charles and the older man placed a conciliatory hand on his shoulder.
"All in all it was a good job though, Sam."
The younger Winchester perked up.
"And you can have another go now..."
"Like hell you can!"
Dean snapped and both men turned to look at him as he placed a defensive hand on his exposed thigh.
"I'm not a piece of gingham and this is definitely not some quilting B so you girls can just go practice your sewing somewhere else!"
A hurt looked crossed his slightly pale face and Sam stuttered apologetically.
"Sorry, bro. It's just, if I know how to do it better they're less likely to pull out next time."
Dean processed the information and found merit in it. He relented.
"Okay, Charlie-boy...teach away. Might as well have a bang up job if possible, but can you just remember that its living tissue you're poking away at? "
The next few minutes were taken up with Charles carefully taking Sam through a suturing master class. He was a good teacher and once Sam got the hang of putting some converse tension to the pull of the suture on the skin, the subsequent ones hurt Dean less.
However, it was a relative 'hurt less' and Dean found that after the first one he was more than happy to lie back and not watch quite as intently as Sam did. In fact, after the first bite of the needle through his already sore flesh, the elder Winchester would have much preferred if it were a nice warm quilt that Charles and Sam were conferencing over, rather than him.
He bit his cheek to find a counterpoint to the pain of the needle and its repetitive stinging pull and let his gaze pass over their bent heads to Evie.
She still sat at the table with her back to them. Her face was slightly turned and Dean could see that her eyes were closed but it did not stop the tears that stained her cheeks. The letter was clutched to her chest, her hands folded around the stained paper. And she leaned a little, as if she were pressing against something...or someone.
The pain was making Dean lightheaded and he blinked against the motes of light that sparked in his tunnelling vision. He looked back to Evie, trying to keep the world from tilting.
Beside her, he thought he saw a figure but it was indistinct. It appeared to be a tall, dark haired man and as Dean watched, the entity drew her closer, in towards himself, tightening his hand protectively about her shoulders. For just a brief moment the hazy outline of the bowed head turned towards the barely conscious hunter. Feelings of satisfaction, gratitude, warmth and an overwhelming love for the woman he now held in his arms emanated from him.
'Thank you…'
The words drifted to Dean as on a distant breeze.
James.
That had to be James.
Dean smiled and let his eyes close contentedly against the pain, unwilling to eavesdrop on their final intimacy.
wWw
Dean woke as the cold metal of Charles' surgical scissors cut his pant leg higher up his thigh. He started at both the cold touch of the metal and the warmth of the diminutive medic's hand on his taut muscles. He tried to rise only to have his injuries halt him. His sudden change in position made the room swirl and buck and he flung out a hand looking for something to rebalance himself with.
"Whoa easy there, tiger!"
Sam's restraining hands held Dean against the seating, stilling him, as his eyes found focus on his brother's face.
"Hey, Smmy."
Dean's voice was a bit slurred, tiredness and whiskey combining with the warmth in the room and his full belly to hasten the sleep he'd missed out on over the last few days.
"You okay?"
Sam nodded, loosening his grip as Dean steadied and, reassured that his brother was okay, sat back down on the seat opposite.
"Charles just needs to bandage your leg back up and then he's done. Alright, bro?"
Dean's unfocussed eyes sought stability in Sam's face as the younger man continued.
"He's just gonna cut the leg of your jeans a bit higher so he can wrap your knee nice and tight. You'll be better able to use it if it's supported."
Sam offered by way of explanation and Dean looked down at his re-sutured leg. It was a neat job and though the wound looked inflamed, the row of blue stitches didn't hurt too badly.
"Thanks, Charles."
Dean mumbled as he rolled his head towards the medic, grinning, and the older man returned the smile.
"You're welcome, Dean."
He said as he placed a thick, absorptive pad against the wound, before picking up a wide stretch bandage.
"Sam?"
Sam moved to the medic's side.
"Can you hold his leg up so I can bandage it?"
Sam took hold of Dean's leg at the ankle and carefully lifted, crouching to place his other hand supportively under the calf as Charles quickly and efficiently bound both wound and bruised knee.
Dean closed his eyes again and clenched his teeth as the procedure inevitably hurt like crazy. Charles, however, was speedy and it was only a couple of minutes before Sam was resting his leg back down.
"How does that feel, Dean?"
He opened his eyes and let go the breath he had been holding.
"Feels...good..."
Charles laughed as he packed away the remains of his kit. He patted Dean's leg appreciatively.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a rotten liar?"
Sam guffawed and Dean was about to answer when Evie's voice cut in as she approached them.
"He may be a rotten liar, Charles, but Dean is welcome here anytime."
Her face was composed but her tears had left damp track marks down pale cheeks and she looked tired beyond measure. But still she emanated warmth and a contentment that was palpable to all in the room.
She touched Sam's arm as she passed him to sit on the seat across from where Dean lay on the booth seating.
"And you too, Sam. You are both always welcome here."
She still held the letter in her hand and as she looked at the elder hunter, he could see a myriad questions sparkling in her blue eyes.
"Sam?"
Charles lifted his medical case as he spoke.
"I think we need some coffee here."
He gestured to Dean and Evie as the hiker's widow reached over and carefully took hold of Dean's bandaged hand.
"Will you give me a hand in the kitchen?"
His unspoken message was 'they need a moment alone to talk' and Sam nodded, sensing as clearly as Charles that his brother and this woman shared a deep bond.
"Sure, Charles."
Sam picked up the debris of the dressings session as he glanced at his brother.
"You be okay?"
Dean's green eyes rose from Evie's face and Sam was amazed at the emotion within them. Loss, regret, joy, happiness all swam in those emerald pools.
"I'll be fine, Sammy."
Dean smiled as he answered, his gaze starting to move back to hers, but he paused before he broke the contact, and though he said nothing, he allowed Sam for a second to see even deeper, to the unconditional love in his heart.
It was a place that Dean so rarely exposed, even for Sam, and the younger man found tears prickling his own eyes as he nodded to his brother then turned and followed Charles to the kitchen.
wWw
Evelyn held Dean's hand tight, so tight that the blisters on his palm throbbed, as she looked deep into his eyes. Her face was warm and alive with emotion and he found himself smiling, almost shyly, in return.
"How can I begin to thank you for what you have done for me?"
Dean shrugged, suddenly unsure of himself.
"No need to. It's what we do, Sam and I."
He glanced towards the sound of good natured laughter coming from the kitchen, reluctant to go on but equally as unwilling to break the contact. She saw his hesitancy.
"You solve mysteries...find people who are lost?"
Evelyn prompted, knowing that this man was not keen on talking about himself. That he had internal barriers and walls higher than her beloved South Mountain. Dean tilted his head, quirking his mouth to the side as he thought through her question.
"Yeah, I guess...Sometimes we find...people..."
There was more in what he didn't say than what he did and Evie's head tilted to match the hunter's.
"What else do you find, Dean?"
He didn't answer but she watched his eyes flee from hers, but not so quickly that she didn't see the carefully contained fear within them. It made her sad for these boys, and protective of them. They were both so young and she could sense so many wounds, both physical and emotional, that the pair of them carried.
He glanced back at her and opened his mouth to answer. She knew it would be a glib, artful answer and she frowned a little.
"Please! Don't under value what you have done here. I couldn't bear it."
It was enough to stop the words in Dean's throat and he lowered his head, unable to watch her disappointment.
Evie held the silence, watching the young man's chest rise and fall and his throat work to swallow the lump there. She waited, allowing the silence to give Dean the permission he needed to continue.
"We sometimes find...we find...things...Evie. Not people but...things, creatures."
His soft voice returned to her, his head rising quickly. In his expression she saw a terror that she would not understand or, worse still, disapprove. His fears shadowed his pale eyes.
"Ghosts?"
It was a whisper and as she said it she clutched his hand tighter. He nodded slowly as she continued.
"Like James?"
"Yes, only..."
He frowned in that way that made him look very young indeed.
"Most of them are out to hurt or kill though. Not many of them are like James."
Her face lit up at her husband's name.
"You did see him didn't you, Dean?"
Her words were not needy, she didn't require confirmation of James' presence, she simply wanted for this good man before her to have known the man her husband was.
"Yes, on the mountain. Many times, I think."
She nodded.
"And here? When I was reading the letter."
As she spoke she reached to the neck of her T-shirt and withdrew an old silver locket, drawing her thumb nail down the seal to open it. She held it on its chain towards Dean and he leaned forward to see the image. The motion jarred his leg and he gasped at the sudden pain. His hands flew to his injured leg and Evie leaned into him, her hand going to his shoulder to steady him as he breathed around the pain.
"I...it..."
Dean gasped, looking into her face with watering eyes.
"It...hurts..."
Evie moved across and perched on the edge of the booth seating, facing Dean. He was fighting to get his breathing under control but the spasms from his knee just kept coming. She leaned towards him and slowly put her arms around him. For a moment he stiffened in her embrace.
"I could use the hug, Dean. Please?"
His tension eased slowly, until his forehead rested against her collar bone and his body pressed warmly to hers. She tightened her arms around him and sat patiently as he quietened.
After a moment or two she felt him straighten a little and she eased him back carefully, grabbing the old sheepskins he and Sam had arrived wearing, pillowing them behind him for support. As she sat back from this he touched the locket as it swung from its chain around her neck. Evie slipped it over her head and lay it in his hand.
"He was only about 30 then. Oh my, he was good looking."
She laughed, remembering her James and her love for him. Her face was alive with the joy of her life with him and Dean joined in her pleasure.
He studied the tiny picture, comparing it to the fuzzy image of the figure that had seemed to stand beside Evie as she read the letter.
"Do you think it was him? Was he really here, or was it just that I so wanted him to be?"
Evie's tone was soft but urgent and Dean understood her need for confirmation. Hell, he spent his life seeking validation for the things he saw. He looked up from the photograph to her questioning face. His voice was soft but emphatic as he answered.
"He was here, Evie. I'm sure of it...I know it."
She laughed a short sharp bark that was both elation and grief and he reached towards her and held her as she wept in his arms.
wWw
Charles was discreet enough to make sure that he and Sam returned rather noisily to the booth with the mugs of steaming coffee, to alert Evie and Dean to their return. He wanted them to have the chance to compose themselves if they needed to and Sam understood what Evie's good friend was doing and admired him for it.
"Here we come!"
He trilled happily as he led the way back, his sharp eyes immediately seeking out Evie to check she was alright.
They found the pair comfortably releasing their heartfelt embrace, Evie smiling as Dean gently wiped away her tears and Sam was touched to see that his often restrained brother had no difficulty in engaging emotionally with this charming woman.
"Might be easier if we put the table top back on, Sam."
Charles bumped his hip against Sam's to attract his attention and the tall hunter nodded and carefully placed the mugs he was carrying on the table behind him, as he collected the booth's table top from against the wall and replaced it.
"Here you go, Dean."
Charles placed the big mug of steaming java on the surface by the recumbent man's side and smiled as Dean closed his eyes and breathed in the heady aroma, as they all took their seats.
"God, that smells good!"
Dean's eyes twinkled as he met the diminutive chef's and Charles chuckled at his pleasure.
"Just wish I could pick it up."
Dean raised his bandaged hands, his lips pouting sulkily. The older man glanced at Sam, winking.
"Ah, we thought of that."
He reached into his apron pocket and withdrew a bendy drinking straw, bedecked with tiny sprigs of plastic holly, and popped it into Dean's mug, saying.
"Suck it up, Winchester!"
Sam laughed out loud as the familiar epithet flowed from such different lips than the brothers were used to hearing it from. Charles sounded so unlike John and as he looked at his brother he saw amusement begin to quirk Dean's lips too.
"What's so funny?"
Evie asked, her smile matching theirs though she had no idea why.
"Something our dad often says."
Dean grinned at Sam.
"Though not usually in this context."
He added as he swizzled the yuletide straw into place with his sore hands and bent forward to take a drink. The movement inevitably jarred his knee and he leaned back, hiccupping against the pain. Three hands moved simultaneously to lift the mug for him, the two men quickly deferring to Evelyn. She smiled her thanks to them and raised the mug holding the straw to his lips as he gratefully sipped the restorative brew.
"Good?"
She held his eyes with hers as he let go the straw and she replaced the mug on the counter top.
"Oh Hell, yeah."
Dean affirmed, tiredness evident in his sleepy answer.
As they were speaking Sam retrieved the journal from his jacket pocket and laid it gently on the table.
"I think this is yours."
Evie's breath caught in her throat as she ran her fingers over the worn leather, tracing the faded gold letters on its surface.
"J.T."
She whispered as she looked at the diary.
"James Tannenbaum."
She said the words reverently, with happy remembrance, with love as she looked up at the men surrounding her, tears again brimming in her eyes.
She found Charles first and he reached forward and softly laid his hand over hers.
"His journal?"
Evie nodded and drew the tattered leather towards her.
"It details what happened..."
Sam said quietly.
"Everything that led up to James' death on the mountain."
Evie nodded her understanding.
"His letter mentioned this diary, Sam. I'm so glad you found it."
"It wasn't his fault, Evie. The mill...everything...Not James' doing."
Dean's voice was gentle and she reached out, taking his bandaged hand in hers.
"The Harvey's...I always knew but I could never prove it."
Sam and Dean nodded in unison as tears ran down her cheeks.
"I'll read it. Maybe not tonight. I'll take my time with it. I want to really understand what happened."
Her voice regained its strength and they saw the courage that had taken her through the last few difficult years etched on her handsome face.
"Absolutely not tonight, Evelyn."
Charles chipped in, his voice playfully authoritative.
"That can wait for another day. You need some sleep, Hell we all need some sleep. Have you all seen the time?"
He gestured to the clock on the diner wall. It read 3.55am.
"It's Christmas Day and I have two weary travellers to get to their room at the inn!"
Evie and Dean looked confused as Charles and Sam smiled widely. Sam chuckled at his brother's look of tired consternation as he explained.
"Whilst we were making the coffee, Charles got on his PDA and sorted us a room at The Holy Inn."
Dean smiled hesitantly.
"I don't understand, I thought it was full, you said everywhere was full?"
Wide green eyes turned to the grinning chef.
"Well, Dean..."
Charles patted the elder Winchester's hand where it lay on the table top.
"That was before I knew what a wonderful thing you were going to achieve for my Evelyn. Having these..."
He gestured to the letter and diary.
"Will save her from spending further Christmases wondering what happened."
He looked at Evie whose smile confirmed his words as she took the treasured documents into her hands.
"And if that's not worth a few nights at Bethlehem's finest inn, then I don't know what is."
Sam's grin was huge and matched only by Charles' and Evie's.
"Well, way to go, Charles!"
Dean smiled sleepily.
"So, Sammy. We get to R&R in luxury after all. Told you this'd be a fantastic Christmas!"
"And maybe, boys, you'd join Charles and I for lunch tomorrow..?"
Charles laughed and tapped his watch face.
"Make that today...Christmas Day, at my house?"
Evelyn smiled as she rose from the booth and they began to make a move to leave the diner.
"Charles and I always spend the holidays together and we'd love to have you join us."
Sam looked down at Dean as he retrieved his sheepskin from where his brother lay against it and tiredly pulled it on. He knew that his brother was often reluctant to demonstrate his understated social graces on strangers so bit his tongue, leaving the response to Dean. He wanted to spend time with these people he had come to care for but could see the pain and exhaustion on his brother's face. He would not force Dean against his wishes.
"We'd like that, Evie, Charles."
Dean said softly, the ease of his answer delighting Sam.
"Oh good!"
Charles clapped his hand to Sam's back, his smile beaming for all in the room.
"I do my famous Christmas barbeque, don't I, Evie? We get fed up of seeing turkey doing the meals here so we have 'burgers a la Charles!"
Evelyn laughed as she stepped aside; allowing the men to, again, remove the table top, creating an easier exit route for the injured hunter.
"Do you like burgers, Dean?"
She looked down into her new friends green eyes as she reached his coat from behind him, holding it ready as Sam stepped in to help lift his injured legs to the floor, carefully supporting his knee so Dean had to bend it as little as possible.
"I..sure...do"
Dean's voice was breathless with the exertion as Sam bent to slide his hand around his brother's waist, ready to raise him to his feet.
"On three, Dean?"
Sam was crouched at eye level making sure Dean was ready. He knew moving him was gonna hurt and he wanted it to be only as traumatic as it needed to.
"How can we help?"
Evie asked solicitously.
Sam looked up.
"Charles, maybe you could hold Dean on that side?"
He gestured to Dean's left.
"And as we get him up, Evie, can you put his coat on?"
Nods confirmed understanding all round and Sam glanced back to his brother as he sat patiently on the leather seating.
"You okay with that, bro?"
Dean nodded and though he smiled, Sam could see him biting down against the pain.
"'k, Sammy..."
Sam and Charles moved into place, draping Dean's arms about their shoulders. Sam glanced at the chef.
"So, on three. We lift him slowly and..."
Charles raised his right hand in question, temporarily halting the proceedings.
"What do I grab onto with this hand?"
There was a twinkle in the diminutive, Winchester-admirers eye and Evie chuckled as she scolded.
"Charles..!"
He feigned contrition as Sam grinned and Dean rolled his eyes.
"His belt, Charles, I suggest."
Sam responded, only to have Dean chip in.
"Yeah, no lower, Charlie boy. Don't want you bruising the merchandise."
Charles made a play of looking suitably disappointed as Sam started his count.
"One...two...three..."
They lifted Dean as gently as they could but that didn't stop the room spinning wildly or the furnace that had replaced his knee stoking up to boiling point. He groaned; his head rolling against his chest as Evie stepped close, and between them, they got him into his coat.
By the time she was buttoning him up, Dean was panting breathlessly and his eyes were fluttering closed. She looked worriedly at Sam.
"You sure we don't need to take him to hospital?"
"No!"
Dean found enough energy to growl out the one word, and Sam smiled.
"He'll be fine, Evie. He needs to sleep and he'll be good."
Sam's belief in his brother's amazing recuperative powers resonated in his confident words and Evie nodded, reassured. She knew that these brothers knew each other so well that she had faith in their answers.
"Okay then. Let's get you to bed, Dean."
She turned and led the way to the door, holding it open as Charles and Sam more or less carried their charge out into the freezing night, to their well deserved rest in Bethlehem's Holy Inn.
Ends.
So watch out over the weekend for the epilogue. Come on, we'll let you watch Dean and Sam sleep!