Author's Note: Sorry to take so long with the updating. Can we say writer's block? Family vacation? Rodent infestation? Oy. Thanks to Allie (good friends are like stars), thanks to Cynthia (this chapter is for you), thanks to my fabulous reviewers and to those who keep this website stocked with goodies with which to feed my muse. She's been hungry and saturnine the last few weeks. Today I forced her out of hiding. Hopefully y'all will feel like this was a good thing.

Disclaimer: No copyright abuse intended.

Chapter Three

Dean was almost four, and he knew what Christmas meant. Tinsel and wise men. Baking with Mama. Cutting down a tree. Shiny cards in the mailbox every day. Singing, cinnamon, candles. And presents! Dean was lying in the snow in a backyard now covered with powdery angels. His nose was cold, his toes in his red boots were cold, and he was a totally happy camper. He stuck out his tongue to catch the flakes that swirled around him. He closed his eyes and listened to the stillness drifting through the air.

His eyes opened as he thought he heard his mother's voice, but it was an instant later that she knocked on the kitchen window and Dean sat up and looked toward the sound. Mary smiled, Dean waved at her and they grinned at each other. His mother beckoned and Dean pulled himself off the ground and scampered toward the back door. Mary was there to meet him and she held him close for an instant, despite the dampness of melting snow, and then helped him off with boots and snowsuit while he tugged gloves from his icy fingers.

"Are you dry enough, my Dean?" asked Mary, hanging his wet things on the hooks behind the door and heading into the kitchen.

"I think so Mama…" Dean's voice floated toward her from the hall. He rounded the corner with a question "Mama, can I have some –" but he saw her there before him and a smile leapt to his face as he saw he didn't need to ask it. Mary knelt in front of him, perched on her heels, holding his Santa mug in her hands. Through the steam that rose from the cocoa he thanked her with his eyes, and he knew she heard him.

Sitting at the kitchen table, near the window, Dean drowsed a little. His hands – too small to hold the mug properly – were loose around the half-empty hot chocolate and his mind was wandering. Mama had a secret. Dean didn't know what it was… but he knew she had one. He pushed Santa's jolly face away, and crossing his arms in front of him on the table laid his head on them so he could see the snow falling slow and fast against the window pane. He watched the universe fade white and he felt safe and held and quiet.

Mama's secret wasn't a bad one… it wasn't scary…it was something that made her happy. She smiled a lot lately, when she wasn't aware of anyone. She smiled to herself and to her secret and that was a good thing. He loved to feel her gladness surge warm around him. He'd always felt this – been able to see this love raining off of her, drenching him. But this wasn't for him, or for his father… this was for the secret… and it puzzled him a little.

Daddy knew the secret, Dean was sure. It didn't bother him that he was the only one who didn't know. He knew they were waiting, keeping the secret, passing it back and forth between them like whispering words he could see, but not hear. They wouldn't keep it from him for much longer. The secret was coming toward him like sunset did when his father drove them west on the plains. He was content to wait and let it come. The secret wasn't kept from fear, it was just kept… like a surprise… a present. Dean loved those, and the waiting, knowing something good was coming from someone who loved you – he saw that feeling as a tangible part of the gift itself. He called that feeling… hope.

Yet there was a piece of the secret that bothered him. He didn't understand how it was connected, in fact it mostly seemed like it wasn't. The darkness he saw wasn't the secret… it was only around it. Watching it. Sneaking up on the secret almost. Dean sat up and shook his head, frowning. He didn't want to think about that. Something in him worried – he felt like this darkness was familiar; it was aware that the boy could see it seeping in around his parents and the secret they waited with.

Dean Winchester's life was a safe one. He could not remember a time in his short four years, where he had been openly threatened by anything. Even when he saw the slivers of shadowy dark he wasn't really afraid. The part of him that saw it also knew it couldn't actually touch him, although he didn't know why. Protected by the circle of his parents adoration – of Dean and each other – he was a happy, ambitious, dreamer of a child.

John kissed his boy on the top of his head and tucked the covers around him like a cocoon. "All set son?" he murmured, smiling at the child's attempt to keep his eyes from closing. Dean began to nod, but then gave a negative shake, his baby-blonde hair mussed as if the night had already passed.

"I need Mama's kisses to hold, he said solemnly."

"Oh you do?" his father questioned teasingly. Dean tilted his head and frowned, too tired for the jest.

"I can't sleep without those kisses, Daddy! I need them!" the small voice pleaded with a note of panic.

"I know Dean, I know. I'll go get your mother." John soothed. "You get some sleep tonight, and I don't want you down those stairs tomorrow without me – I'll come and get you when breakfast is ready, okay?"

"But Daddy, what if you don't wake up early enough? Do I still have to wait? Why do we have to eat breakfast first? Dean half sat up at this point and John laughed, pushing his son back down gently and re-tucking the quilt.

"I promise I'll be up early, son – and as for breakfast…" John shrugged and leaned close to Dean's ear, his tone one of mock despair. "it's your mother's rule." Dean giggled and John sat up and grinned down at him. "And what have I taught you about your mother's rules?" Dean drank his father's smile in deeply, waiting for the answer he knew was coming. "If your Mama ain't happy…" he trailed off, the waiting now reversed.

"Ain't nobody happy in this house!"

"That's right." John chuckled and then went on, "I'm afraid you'll just have to eat those Christmas pancakes tomorrow morning so we can get down to business and see what's under that tree." Dean beamed at his father, and John ruffled his son's hair. "I'll get your mother." John said softly. "Sleep tight, Dean – I'll see you in the morning."

"Night Daddy. Sleep tight and see you in the morning."

As John stood, Mary's head appeared around the corner and Dean watched his parents' eyes meet, and the secret hung suspended between them, like a heartbeat. Their hands caught for an instant as they passed each other and then Mary was kneeling by her son's bed, her fingertips tracing his eyebrows.

"Mama?"

"Yes?"

"I need kisses to hold."

"Alright, give me your hands then." said Mary, a smile in her voice.

Dean was already wiggling out of the nest his father had tucked him in to. He held both palms out to his mother, and she took first the right, then the left, placing kiss on it and gently folding his fingers into a fist.

"Thank you, Mama." said Dean with a yawn.

"Hold my love 'til morning, my Dean and when you wake up, I'll give you some more to start the day." Mary whispered, watching as her son's eyes closed. She sat for another moment, feeling his even breath, letting the contentment fill her as though from a running tap. At the door to his room she paused and turned, leaning against the frame. Dean's eyes were still closed and he said aloud the word she heard unspoken.

"Mama?"

"Yes, my Dean?"

"Tomorrow, will it be time for the secret?" he asked.

"Yes, my Dean. Tomorrow is Christmas Day – tomorrow you get to know all the secrets." Mary said with the laugh.

He was silent and still again and as Mary moved to leave, John was there. He held her and the watched their son sleep.

"Hard to believe the little gremlin that refuses to eat green beans and fights like the devil when it's time to brush his teeth is the same angel in that bed, isn't it?" Mary asked John, her voice soft and affectionate.

"How in the world will we deal with two?" John murmured in partial jest, his arms tightening around his wife. They were both silent and then Mary spoke, her voice tinged with the practicality that always surprised and comforted John.

"Same as everyone does I suppose… one day at a time. Even with double the trouble, I think we'll have double of everything else as well – and we have some mighty fine moments together, don't we John?" Mary looked up at him.

"We do, Mar." His gaze lingered on his son and then his eyes met Mary's. "Thank you for giving me a family – thank you for being my family. Thank you for giving me a home to come home to." John held her closer. "I'm glad they'll have each other – even after we're gone, they'll always have each other. It's more than either of us ever had to count on. I'm glad they won't have to be alone."

Dean lay in his bed, half asleep, hearing the outside silence that came with a blanket of snow. The low sound of his father's laugh woke him completely and he was all the way to the doorway before he paused, bracing himself with both hands, remembering that he was supposed to wait.

"Daddy?" he called as loud as he could, "Daddy? Are you 'wake? Come get me Daddy! He heard John running up the stairs, more than one at a time and then they were face to face, the grin of the son a mirror of the father

The blue felt stocking stitched with silver stars was limp, its contents strewn across the sofa and the crumpled wrapping paper and ribbon was six inches deep. Dean and Daddy sat cross-legged amidst the rubble, a wooden train track between them. John rumbled a low chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga to Dean's piercing woo-woo.

The sun came through the windows, patterning the room with panes, blazing as it can only be when reflecting off snow and the mood of the room matched in a lazy way. Dean paused to look at his mother, who watched them from the sofa with her head on a round blue pillow, her feet tucked under her bathrobe. The light around her was bright and content, and as they smiled at each other Dean yawned wide around his grin.

"Not yet, Mama." He pleaded as his mother began to open her mouth. "Daddy needs me to play train with him some more!" A pause came, as he glanced at John and then back to Mary.

"Alright honey – a little bit more." Mary laughed.

"Naps should definitely take a back seat on Christmas Day." John chimed in seriously.

Dean giggled and turned his attention to attaching the green boxcar to the yellow boxcar. Then he looked back at his mother.

"Mama, can I have the secret before my nap? Please?" asked Dean earnestly.

"What secret, honey?" asked Mary, giving John a puzzled glance. "We opened all the presents already…" John shrugged, his face showing confusion as well. Then he smiled and winked at her.

"You know, Mar, we do have one more thing we wanted to surprise him with today… should we do it now?" John said quietly. Dean watched the secret swirl again between his parents, surrounding and mesmerizing them.

"How about this, my Dean" Mary said, sitting up and leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. "Let's clean up this mess," her gaze swept the remains of the once-tidy living room, "and have milk and cookies. Then we'll head up for a rest, and you can have that last secret. Okay?"

A ripple of excitement leapt into Dean's throat and he threw himself into his father's arms "Yes yes yes!" John landed hard on his back and groaned at the deafening jubilation.

Tucked into his bed, his tummy comfortably filled with warmed milk and cookies, Dean basked in his parent's radiance. They both sat on his bed, John with his back against the well, legs stretched out, Mary on the edge where she usually said goodnight. He had seen them shining before, but never this much – their love was as blinding as sunlight on snow.

"How many days until my baby gets here?" he asked, voice sleepy.

"Lots I'm afraid, but we have so many things to do to get ready, it will go by like nothing at all, honey." Said Mary.

"Will you be a good big brother and help us fix up a room for the baby?" questioned John solemnly.

"Yes, Daddy." Dean pledged with equal gravity.

"Alright then – any more surprises?" John asked.

Dean's brow furrowed and he looked from one parent to the other. "Not that I can see." He said, hazel eyes thoughtful. John and Mary laughed a little and John headed for the door.

"Well then, have a rest my Dean, and we'll see you when you wake up, alright?" said his mother, her voice dropping to a whisper as she kissed his cheek. "Have a merry Christmas nap, sweet boy." And then she was closing the door softly behind her.

That afternoon his sleep was deep and dreamless. It was night that he first dreamed about the baby – his baby. His baby named Sam.