On chapter five I said I'd recognize my most appreciated reviewers. Since I didn't do that last chapter…I will now:

Qoh…the anonymous reviewer. You were my first…so you're recognized.

Caroline Ackles…for your short, but very constant reviews, I thank you.

Sandy Murray…gracias for sticking with this for such a long time!

Sammygirl1963…you're one of my favorite reviewers! Your reviews always make me smile!

Write-of-Way…thanks for all your constructive compliments and reviews. They seem so well organized and they always make me feel warm and fuzzy inside!

IluvEdward101…you are a new reader…but I really appreciate how you reviewed three chappies at a go…very impressive.

Don…another anonymous reviewer. I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!

Also…I am so thankful for the CW making a beautiful, tear jerking, horrifying Christmas special. I NOW KNOW WHAT THAT FREAKIN' NECKLACE DEAN WEARS ALL THE TIME IS! sniff Dean…I love you!

December 22nd

…

"Where's Dad?"

Dean rolled over on his side to face his little brother who was sitting up on the twin bed beside his. Sam's eyes glimmered in the soft light of the street lamps from outside the window. They were glittering more than usual. Sam must've had tears in his eyes.

"He's…out…working," Dean replied slowly, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Why?" Sam sniffed. "It's almost Christmas. Why does he have to work now?"

"He just has too, Sammy," Dean sighed. "Just get some sleep."

"But, Dean…" Sam whimpered. "What if he's not home for Christmas?"

"Is stupid Christmas all you worry about?!" Dean snapped angrily.

Sam let out a choked sob. "Dean…"

"Oh, Sammy," Dean's voice softened as he realized he wasn't doing his job. He was supposed to reassure Sam that everything was fine. To make him believe that Dad wasn't out fighting a bloodthirsty pack of hellhounds. Instead, he was just making Sam cry…like the rotten big brother he was.

Dean pulled himself out of bed, hearing the springs groan and creak underneath him. He groggily made his way over to Sam's bed.

"Scoot over," Dean ordered Sam, giving him a light push.

Sam acquiescently complied as he scooted to the right side of his bed, allowing Dean to plop down beside him. The bed dipped a little to the left as Dean situated himself.

"What are you so worried about, Sam?" Dean inquired gently after a moment of silent communication between the two. "Dad'll be back any hour now."

"I'm not that worried," Sam heaved a sigh, moving up closer to his big brother. "I know Dad's just working…"

Dean's stomach churned at the mention of his father's "work".

"But…I'm worried that I'm never gonna get the chance to make Dad like Christmas," Sam admitted. "I think…if he liked Christmas…he might be happier."

Instead of saying "I doubt it", Dean responded with,

"Maybe, Sammy," Dean tousled Sam's overgrown, silky hair. "Maybe,"

"I love you, Dean," Sam kissed Dean's cheek and rested his head across Dean's lap.

"You're such a sissy," Dean snorted, trying not to smile.

"Dean?" Sam yawned.

"Yeah, Pie-face?"

"What do you want for Christmas?"

Dean froze as his intestines formed into a tight knot. "I…I told Santa already."

"Something you didn't ask Santa for," Sam said sleepily.

"I…" Dean paused for a moment, knowing exactly what he wanted to say, but so afraid to say it.

"Yeah?" Sam said almost inaudibly. The waves of sleep were enveloping him rapidly.

Dean waited a minute before answering,

"I want to get you the best present ever for Christmas," Dean whispered and anxiously waited for Sam's reply. All he heard was slow, sweet breathing. "Sammy?" A tiny snore escaped from Sam's lips. He was sound asleep.

"Oh well," Dean started to get up to go back to his own bed. But before he could leave, Sam grabbed Dean's arm and snuggled with it as if it were a teddy bear.

"Sammy…" Dean whined to Sam's subconscious. Sam let out a cute, high-pitched little yawn. "Okay…okay…" Dean caved into Sam's cuteness as he leaned back on the bed, letting Sam snuggle up on his chest.

Dean rested his head on the soft pillow and buried his chin into Sam's soft hair. In a few short minutes, both boys were slumbering peacefully.

…

John trudged into the apartment wearily, flinging off his coat and rushing over to the kitchen sink. His hands were drenched with the black blood of a hell hound.

He turned the knob on the sink and let the chilly, refreshing water cascade over his bloody, aching hands. The blood spilled off of his flesh and swirled down the drain.

When his hands were spotless, he pumped liquid Dial soap into his palms, rubbing them together and making white, lathery foam.

"Shit!" John cursed as he felt a burning sting on the back of his left hand. Three puncture wounds with heavy bruising on the outskirts of the more horrific injuries. A bite from a feral hellhound. It hurt like the dickens, but John bit the bullet and kept cleaning out his wound with the harsh, antibacterial soap. John had retained worse, bloodier wounds in his time and it was not a novel occurrence.

Once he had tended to his injured hand by applying Neosporin and slapping on band-aids, he decided that he needed a shower. Though, it was about three o' clock in the morning, he wasn't all that tired. Getting clean was his first priority.

As he made his way to the shower at the end of the hallway, he passed by Sam and Dean's bedroom. It was his paternal instinct that made him stop at the doorway and peer in.

His stomach gave a jolt as he saw Dean's empty, unmade bed.

"Oh hell, no!" John said to himself, rushing into the room. Frightening images of demons tearing his beloved son apart made him almost go into hysterics.

But when John glanced over to Sam's bed, relief washed over him like a flood and he let out a sigh that could've knocked down all the three little pigs' houses combined.

Sam and Dean were together in the little twin-sized bed. Dean's arms were wrapped around his little brother as Sam lay nestled up underneath Dean's chin. It was a sight that made a father want to curse himself for not having a camera handy.

John leaned over his two sons and lightly kissed the both of them on the top of their heads. Dean began to stir.

"Dad?" Dean moaned, voice coated with grogginess.

"Yeah," John whispered back. "I'm home."

Dean let out a sleepy groan and a yawn. "Did you get em'? Those hellhounds?"

"Shh!" John put a finger to his lips and pointed to Sam. "What if he's awake and listening in?"

"Oh…right…sorry," Dean looked down at Sam lovingly. "I want him to be…" Dean did a double take. "Wait…why the hell am I sleepin' with the runt?!"

John chuckled weakly. "You tell me. Did you come snuggle with him because you were having scary nightmares?"

"Shut up," Dean grumbled. "I wasn't having nightmares."

"I know you weren't, Dean," John said softly. "You were just taking care of Sammy. Like a good big brother."

Dean set his eyes downwards. "I'm not such a good big brother,"

"Why would you say that?" John asked, concerned.

"I…" Dean was beginning to emerge from the warm bliss of sleep and into the harsh reality of life. "I…haven't gotten Sammy a Christmas present yet."

"You've got time," John smiled. "Don't worry about it."

"No…" Dean's voice cracked slightly. "I tried to get him that art kit he wanted…but I didn't have enough money." Dean was fighting not to cry. "I…I'd been savin' up all my money…not eating any chocolate pie at lunch…and even not buyin' milk sometimes…and I still didn't have enough. I wanted to give Sammy the best present ever..."

"If that's not a super cool big brother, I don't know what is."

Dean and John jumped from the voice of Sam which was riddled with sleepiness and rather croaky.

"Sam!" Dean immediately changed personality. "How long have you been listenin'?"

"When you said you weren't a good big brother," Sam rasped tiredly.

"Oh," John and Dean said at the same time.

"Dean…" Sam lifted up his head and looked at his big brother with bleary, but honest eyes. "I don't need a present. What makes me happy is how much you care about me. That…means a lot."

A tear slid down Dean's cheek, but he brushed it away before anyone could notice. "I… I love you, Sammy."

"That's the best Christmas present ever…to hear you say that." Sam smiled.

"Boys?" John was gazing out the window. "I think…oh my gosh…"

"What?" Dean asked, alarmed.

"I think it's snowing!"