I apologize for the delay but, as some of you know, I've been really sick and in the hospital twice since New Year's Eve and am only just know getting back to myself. So, no I have not abandoned this story or 'Little Boy Lost', you will just need to bare with me as I get better. To Trasan, I hope you continue to enjoy your Secret Santa fic. I am not sure it is turning out to be what you were looking for but I hope you are enjoying it anyways. There will be one more chapter after this and I am going to be sad to see it done. I have enjoyed spending this time with them. And a special thank you to my beta, Red Hardy, for sticking with me through this. If I forgot anything, I'm sorry but I'm still just very tired.

The Letter

'Growing up, were your Christmases that bad?' Dean Winchester.

'No…' Sam Winchester. A Very Supernatural Christmas

Chapter 6 –

John pulled the Impala up outside the little rented cabin and stopped. In the backseat both his boys were sleeping.

Glancing in the rearview mirror at them, the hunter could barely see Sam's face as he snuggled into Dean's side, cocooned warmly under John's heavy jacket. Dean's cheek rested on the top of his little brother's head and as he snoozed lightly, Sam's dark hair tickled his nose with every exhale.

The breath caught in John's throat at his children's innocent entanglement and he marveled how, even in sleep, the younger boy instinctively turned to his brother while Dean protectively wrapped himself around him, intuitive of the injured shoulder.

John was humbled. And so proud.

Oh, Mary, if only you could see them now…

His heart ached anew.

Turning his attention back to the cabin, John just shook his head. The front door had been left wide open, obviously forgotten in Dean's haste, but the man couldn't find it in his heart to fault the boy. He'd just been worried about his brother…

John thought about the meager Christmas that waited for them inside and then about the crinkled letter in his pocket. Dear Mr. Santa Claus… Closing his eyes, the hunter leaned back in the driver's seat. His children deserved so much more.

"Daddy?" Dean's voice was quiet. John opened his eyes but didn't move his head – he should have realized his young hunter would pick up on the change in the car's movements and wake up. The kid was a natural. "We getting out?" The boy kept his voice purposefully low so he wouldn't disturb his brother. Not that that was possible given the powerful painkillers that had put Sam under.

The hunter opened his mouth to answer and then stopped. That was a good question. Were they getting out? He pursed his lips as he thought about his alternatives, unfortunately there weren't very many. He had one.

"Wait here," John was already pushing the car door open and was half outside before adding, "I'll be right back." He didn't need to look to see the uncertain look on his son's face, it was easy enough to imagine.

Taking the cabin steps two at a time, the hunter quickly tossed the 'presents', lame as they were, into an overnight bag, along with some extra clothes for the boys. He made sure all the lights were off and then headed for the door, pausing only long enough to grab the pathetic little tree and hope there was enough room in the trunk of the Impala; somehow it just didn't seem right to leave it behind. It was an honorary Winchester after all.

Then double checking that he had some coins in his pocket John locked the cabin and hurried back to the car. He had a phone call to make.

Dean was still awake when he got in the car and gave him an odd look. John knew the boy was dying to know what was going on and he almost told him. But then decided Sam wasn't the only one who'd be surprised, counting on his older son to fall asleep sometime in the next hour.

Ten minutes later, John was pumping money into a pay phone and smiled when he heard a sleepy voice growl, 'You'd better be dying…' He knew he was doing the right thing.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Dean tried to stay awake, really he did, but as the snow covered blacktop hummed under the wheels of the Impala and his brother breathed soft and warm against his neck the eleven year old finally gave into exhaustion and nodded off.

He jerked awake less than an hour later when he felt the car slow down. Stifling a yawn, he rubbed his eyes and peered out the window wondering at the time and where they were. It was dark, he saw that.

And then his jaw dropped in shock –

Holy shit!

They weren't in Myrtle, Minnesota anymore… they were in Blue Earth. His father had driven them to Pastor Jim Murphy's!

Dean gasped out loud as he pressed his nose against the window and stared up at the big rectory house. The preacher's residence was almost ablaze with hundreds of tiny Christmas lights, twinkling and blinking against the snow in the early morning darkness. He just stared at them, totally transfixed, drinking in their warmth. Wow. Something painful tightened in his chest.

When he finally tore his gaze away he was surprised to see that his father was watching him. Dean blushed, not used to the fond scrutiny. 'Okay', he admitted, remembering he was supposed to be a tough-guy, 'getting all emotional over Christmas lights is pretty lame'… but then his father's face took on a faraway look and he started to talk.

"Did you know that every Christmas Eve, me and your Mom would bundle you up in the back of this old car and drive around for hours just so you could see all the lights…" John gave a fond chuckle. Dean could barely breathe. He blinked hard as he held on to each word. "When you got old enough to talk, you'd say 'wow' at every house… and your Mom – your Mom would get this little look on her face…" his father cleared his throat, his voice when he spoke again was hoarse, "she loved you, Dean, don't you dare ever forget that!" The fierceness behind the words brought tears to Dean's eyes.

Mommy…

The front door of the house opened and a housecoat clad minister wearing mukluk boots stepped onto the porch. He hurried down the steps towards them.

"C'mon, Dean," John spoke gruffly, "Let's get Sammy inside."

Sniffling hard, the pre-teen held onto his brother until his father reached in for Sam. For a brief moment their eyes met, their spirits kindred in love and grief, and then the man took his brother away. Irrational panic surged as Dean felt the loss of Sam's warm body and he scrambled out of the car after his family.

"I've fixed up the boys' room," Pastor Jim spoke quietly as he led John into the house. He kept one hand on Dean's shoulder, gently guiding the exhausted boy around the furniture. "And put the cot in there for you," he continued on through the hallway, "figured you wouldn't want to be too far from them."

"Thanks, Jim." John was exhausted as he carried his unconscious son into the spare bedroom his boys used whenever they were staying with the minister. The blankets on the bunk beds had already been turned down and he gently laid Sam on the bottom one. Dean slowly climbed onto the upper one, under the careful eye of the minister. Jim Murphy was one of the few people that John entrusted with his children's care. He trusted this man as a brother.

Once he'd gotten Sam settled and saw Dean hunker down, John let himself sink down on the cot. But then he remembered the stuff in the trunk and moved to get up. Jim put out a hand to stop him.

"I gotta go to the car," each word felt an effort as the adrenaline that had kept him going all night quickly weaved out of his system now that they were 'safe'.

Jim fixed him with a stern 'ministerly' glare. "Stay with your boys, John." He held out his hand, "Give me the keys." The hunter barely hesitated, pulling out the keys along with Sam's letter. John paled.

"What's that?" the cleric asked, obviously having caught the change in his friend's pallor.

"This?" John glanced at the beds and lowered his voice. He was pretty certain Dean had basically passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow but in case – "This is Sam's letter to Santa."

The other man cocked an eyebrow in question. John held it out to him, a wordless invitation.

Jim took the envelope and opened it. His eyes widened and then saddened as he read it. John slowly stretched out on the small cot. It wasn't really big enough for him to sleep comfortably but he'd make due. There was another bed down the hall that he could use but he wanted to be here when the boys awoke – they were going to need to talk.

"Oh dear," the cleric finally said as he carefully folded the precious piece of paper and slipped it back into the envelope.

"Yeah," John agreed wearily, "Pretty much."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Jim offered and the hunter shook his head. That is not why he wanted to bring his family here.

"Thanks but I think this is something I need to do myself."

The minister nodded slowly, "Do you think you can?'

John was irritated, for about a second. Jim had a point and he seriously considered that for a few minutes. Could he? What would he say? Finally he admitted. "I don't know. I just know I have to." His eyes searched the ceiling above him for answers. Mary…

Turning onto his side, he propped his head up on his hand and sighed. "Thanks for letting us come, on such short notice."

Jim snorted softly. "Short notice, all right… Do you have any idea how hard it is to get a decent sized turkey at four in the morning?"

John gave that serious consideration and then deadpanned as he finally settled down. "Ah. No, actually I don't."

"Well," Huffed the good-natured cleric, "Let's just say a bit more than a couple of hail Mary's."

The hunter chuckled and tried to keep his eyes open. Jim took pity on him; as he felt a warm blanket tossed off his body and the lights were turned off, John knew that coming here had been the right thing.

TBC