Second – December 1997

It was looking like a lousy Christmas. Another crappy motel room. John away on a hunt. And Sammy in pain and bored out of his mind because he'd been hit in the head by a baseball in the park and the ER doctor said he had a Grade 2 concussion, complete with headache, blurred vision and dizziness. Since Sam hadn't lost consciousness the doctor had let the brothers go home, as long as Dean promised to watch Sam to make sure that none of the symptoms got worse and bring him back in next day if they hadn't got better. It was Christmas Eve, after all.

Sam's usual practice when sick was to curl up in bed with a book. Sadly, that cure-all didn't work when the illness was concussion. He'd tried to sneak some reading in, squinting in an attempt to fix the blurred vision, but Dean, already blaming himself for letting Sammy get injured (and by some stupid kids!) was watching him like a hawk, or like an over-protective, hovering, big brother. Sammy couldn't read, music and TV made his head hurt worse, his dad wasn't there and there was nothing Dean could do. Until the third time he turned around and found Sam peering at a book. Then inspiration struck and he offered to read the book to Sam.

When Sam handed said book over Dean began to regret his offer.

"Lord of the Rings? Again? Dude, how many times have you read this?"

"This is the third. I read it once a year. Deal with it." Sammy was snarky and Dean honestly couldn't blame him. It really was going to be a crappy Christmas.

"Okay, but I gotta tell you, if I ever actually meet a hobbit I'm gonna to waste him."

"How do you know it's about hobbits?" Sam peered suspiciously at him.

"Dude, everyone knows it's about hobbits. Just lie back and close your eyes."

Fortunately for Dean's 'good brother' resolution, the part that Sam was up to didn't include hobbits. It did include an elf and a dwarf, but they were in the middle of battle having a competition about which of them could kill more of the enemy. Dean even found himself enjoying some passages, despite the ye-olde language:

The elf was whetting his long knife. There was for a while a lull in the assault, since the attempt to break in through the culvert had been foiled.

'Twenty-one!' said Gimli.

'Good!' said Legolas. 'But my count is now two dozen. It has been knife-work up here.'

By the time Sam had dosed off half-an-hour later Dean was starting to get into it. He kept reading for a while, he had to stay awake to check on Sam anyway. Even when some hobbits turned up, eating and smoking, Dean kept going. He was starting to think that he might even finish the book when about 3 am John Winchester snuck in with presents and the book was ditched in favour of helping him decorate the room without waking Sam.

It was, in the end, a very good Christmas.