Mary Winchester sat in a darkened motel room. It was the middle of the night, and for what seemed like an endless stream of nights she couldn't sleep. She made her way over to the desk and ran a hand over the Journal. John's journal. Given to her by Sam a few days before, she found herself drawn to reading it when she was stricken with insomnia.
She flipped open to the page she had left off on- the one about Wendigo's- when she came across a folded up piece of paper that was yellowed with age. Curious, she unfolded it carefully. When she saw what it was, her chest heaved in surprise. It was a letter. From Dean. To Santa Claus. The letter was written in a child's clumsy hand and was riddled with spelling errors, but she could still decipher it.
Dear Santa,
My name is Dean. I am four years old, and I have been a super good boy this year. This year for Christmas, I only want one thing. I want my Mommy back. Mommy went away and I don't know where. Daddy says she isn't coming back. But I want Mommy back. I want Daddy to smile again. I want Sammy to not cry for her at night. I want Mommy to give me cuddles again. Can you find her for me? She looks like this.
Dean had drawn a stick figure with green eyes and blonde hair.
Daddy says she can't come back, but if anyone can help find her, it's you Mr. Santa. Please find my Mommy, Santa. I miss her.
Love,
Dean W.
There were dried tears on the page. Wether from Dean or John, she did not know. Her own tears soon joined them. Guilt, as familiar to her as breathing, overtook her. How could she have left him again? He deserved so much better than that. He and Sammy both did.
Tomorrow she would head back to the bunker and give her boys the love they deserved.
But tonight, she would get some sleep.