A.N. It's been forever, hasn't it? A year, to be exact. But I will finish this. I promise. Now…I admit…I haven't been writing much recently, and my skills may be kind of rusty…but I hope you all will still like it. And hello to any new readers!

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December 23rd: Late Afternoon

…

"Stay still!" Dean growled in annoyance, wrestling with the soaking wet mop of an animal. His face was flushed, the front of his t-shirt was drenched, and his faded jeans were speckled with dark water stains as he tried to keep the stubborn puppy to stay in the bathtub. Obviously the puppy wasn't too keen on following through with Dean's original plan.

"You're makin' it a lot harder than it should be, dumb-dumb!" Dean snapped, grabbing the bottle of hand soap and dumping its contents on the furry back of the unwilling creature. Consequently, the puppy made another attempt to escape, forcing Dean to push him back into the water, earning himself an even wetter t-shirt.

"Stupid dog…" Dean grumbled, burying his fingers into the wet, gooey fur, spreading the soap all over the squirming canine's body. "Now Dad's gonna make me do laundry!" He began to scrub vigorously, working the soap into a rich lather. "Have you ever smelled Dad's socks?!" The puppy stopped struggling for a second to look up at Dean with a quizzical expression. "Great," Dean groaned. "Now I'm tryin' to chat up a friggin' dog—AAHH!" The puppy began to shake the water off his fur, rewarding Dean with a flurry of suds that consequently flew into his face.

"Don't 'effin' shake!" Dean shouted, furiously wiping the soap from his burning eyes. This was way more difficult than the poor boy thought it would be. "Why can't you—?" He was cut off by a warm lick sliding across his cheek and a pair of giant, wounded-looking eyes staring up at him. Damn it. The thing had those godforsaken "Sammy" eyes. "Okay…" Dean sighed, scratching behind the puppy's soapy ears. "Just…keep still, alright?" The puppy barked in response. "Good. Now—"

"Dean?" Dean froze in terror as he heard his father's voice followed by three, sharp knocks. "Dean, what was that noise?"

"Uhh…" Dean gulped. He'd completely forgotten, in the midst of the excitement, about what John would have to say about Sam's Christmas present. Crap, he was so screwed. "Wh-What noise?" Thinking quickly, he reached over to flush the toilet.

"Oh…" John's tone of voice changed from stern to mildly casual. "I…could've sworn I heard something that sounded like a dog."

Dean heard his father chuckle from the other side of the door and forced himself to laugh along with him as to not sound suspicious.

"A d-dog?" Dean stammered, giggling awkwardly between words. "Well…I'm not a werewolf if that's what you're worried about!" He kept forcing laughter. In fact, he may have been pushing it a little too far since his laughs actually sounded like "ha-ha".

"Dean…" John sounded slightly disturbed by his son's behavior. "Are you…feeling alright, son?"

"Yes!" Dean replied much too quickly. "Just…" He noticed the puppy was trying to get out of the tub again and he pushed him back in. "…great!"

"Well…hurry up. I need to get in there." John replied.

"Umm…" Dean turned the knob on the bathtub and waited for the water to warm up. "I'm…taking…a bath." There was a silence at the other end of the door. "Really."

John's eyebrows almost reached his hairline. "Why?" Dean never took baths. In fact, no Winchesters ever took baths.

"I've…er…" Dean gulped, trying to rinse the suds from the puppy's fur. "Dad…I just…" Then it came to him. "I...saw this really hot chick on T.V and…um…cold baths…help."

"What?" John was more than perplexed by his son's behavior. It was then when he considered therapy for his eldest son…even though John, as a rule, didn't believe in that psychology crap. "Dean? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know, Dad…" Dean tried to make it sound obvious. When he got no response from his baffled father, he worked it a little more. "You know…"

"What do y--…oh my God!" John groaned as the realization dawned on him. God, he hated this aspect of being a father. In fact, he tried to avoid it at all costs. "W-Well…" He tried to make it quick and painless for himself. "Y-You're…growing up…and all…"

"Don't worry, Dad." Dean reassured him, still desperately trying to get the soap out of the dog's tangled coat. "I know what to do." His freckled cheeks were tinted with a brilliant red hue. Man, how did this become so awkward?

"Um…well…" John cleared his throat. "Hurry up in there."

"Whew…that was a close one." Dean thought to himself, breathing a deep sigh of relief. But, as they say, confidence often leads to one's demise. Yes. It was a cruel twist of fate that made the puppy let out a loud bark, just when Dean thought he was in the clear. "Oh shit."

"Dean?" John's voice became almost menacing. "What in the name of hell was that?" His words were spoken slowly and sharply, placing emphasis in all the important places. It was enough to make a shiver run down Dean's spine. Oh, he was more than screwed. He was dead.

"Err…woof!" Dean thought quickly, attempting a rather pathetic imitation of a dog's bark. "I'm…umm…p-practicing f-"

But before Dean could conjure up a good lie, the door flew open, revealing a very angry John. And just when Dean thought his father couldn't get any scarier, John set his eyes upon the wet, floppy animal. If it was physically possible for people to shoot fire from their eyes, John's eyes would've burned the entire apartment complex to a crisp in a matter of seconds.

"D-Dad…" Dean gulped, picking up the scrawny dog, feeling the wetness sink into his already soaked t-shirt as he held the animal close to his chest. "I…c-can explain…"

"I'll give you ten seconds." John growled. He was furious. He had specificallytold his sons a thousand times that they could not have pets. He expected Sam and Dean to follow his orders without question, and as much as he loved them, when they disobeyed direct orders, all hell broke loose.

"I…f-found it…and…um…" Dean stood up, not wanting to be on such a low level when his father was angry. "I-I…h-hadn't g-gotten Sammy a present…and I-I…really think Sammy…w-would like it—"

"Dean…" John took a step closer. "This is by far the stupidest thing you've ever done! Did you actually think I was going to let you—?"

"But Dad—"

"No!" John snapped. "We're going to take that mutt right back where you found it! Do you hear me, Dean Winchester?!"

"I…" Dean took another deep breath, still holding the puppy tightly. "I…c-can't." Dean lowered his eyes. "I…won't."

Time froze for a moment. That had been the first time Dean had ever directly disobeyed his father. His action was enough to shock John and himself.

"What..." John's voice was low, but threatening. "…did…you…say?"

"I…said…" Dean was struck with bolt of courage and he put the puppy down, stood up taller, and looked his father in the eye. "I…won't."

John's hand twitched. He wasn't the type to hit his sons, but every ounce in his being wanted to smack his eldest across the face. However, he tried to calm himself,

"Dean…you know we don't have the time or money to…care for a dog."

"I'd help Sammy pay for his food and I'd clean up after him." Dean replied steadily, watching nervously as the puppy started to sniff John's shoes. His father stiffened and Dean's good instincts compelled him to pick the animal up again.

"No dog would want to be on the road that much." John's fists clenched and his heart was racing.

"Lots of dogs ride in cars." Dean argued.

"We'd have to stop and let it go to the bathroom."

"So?" Dean got even braver. "We have to stop anyways and use the bathroom ourselves."

"Dean…" John's teeth clenched. "No."

"You just don't want a dog 'cause Mom had a dog!" Dean blurted out, knowing this was the real reason John protested so much to having a pet.

John was so stunned that you could've knocked him over with a feather. How did Dean know about that? Mary had a dog way before he was born. "How…did—?"

"Vicky." Dean remembered the crumpled picture he found in John's suitcase of his mother nestling up with a giant chocolate lab. On the back, "Mary and Vicky" was written in his father's hurried cursive. "That was the name of her dog."

"That is not the reason, Dean!" John snapped, blinking excessively.

"It is too!" Dean felt the puppy lick underneath his chin. "You know…I'll bet Mom would've wanted Sammy to have a dog."

"You have no idea what your mother wanted!" John retorted, grabbing his son roughly by the shoulder.

Dean's good sense told him to put the puppy down, away from John, and he did so. It was rare that he ever listened to his sensible side, but he decided that was the best course of action. He felt his father's grip tighten on his shoulder, making him wince slightly. "It would make Sammy happy."

"Give Sam a fucking piece of tape and that'll make him happy!" John was losing it. Thoughts of his Mary filled his head, making him numb to his present situation. His only feeling was the unspeakable pain he felt in his soul. The agonizing torment of his loss was unbearable, enough to make him lose his mind entirely.

"You don't care about Sam, do you, Dad?!" Dean cried. He knew he was pushing it, but he no longer cared. "You don't want him to be happy! You—"

"Slap!"

Everything became silent as Dean stepped back, clutching his burning cheek. John's hand was still raised as if it were trapped in the heavy stillness of the moment. Like it was still living in the moment when John, for the first time, struck his son.

John was panting, his heart pounding like a sledgehammer in his ears. He felt hotter than a blue flame, sweat making tiny beads across his creased forehead. Suddenly, the sensation of guilt washed over him like the frigid water from the Arctic Ocean, chilling him and stinging his skin with sea salt. Oh God, what had he done?

"Dean…" John barely whispered, lowering his hand as he looked into his son's widened, olive eyes. They glimmered with a fear that his father had never seen before. Hurt. Fear. Shock. Like all time had collapsed like a rain of dominoes around his already tarnished youth. He was still holding his hand to his cheek, lips parted numbly.

"Dean…" John tried again, forcing himself to look in his eldest son's eyes, even though Dean's eyes made him feel naked, exposed. Dean's eyes searched for the father he thought he knew, piercing through every calloused layer John had built for himself, reaching to his tattered heart.

"Y-Yes, Dad?" Dean replied softly, slowly removing his hand from his cheek and placing it at his side, trying to pretend it never happened. However, the red handprint that marred his golden skin remained as evidence of John's transgression.

"I'm—"

"D-Don't." Dean cut him off, voice still low. "It's…fine, Dad. I'll…take it back."

Guilt. Unbearable guilt. He had no right to treat his son in that manner. He could be firm, he could be strict, he could even be harsh…but he promised himself that he would never resort to those measures. What would Mary think of him? He had changed when Mary died. He changed more and more every day. Would Mary even recognize him? No. She'd be horrified at the beast he'd become.

"I…" John gulped. "Dean…I'm gonna go take a walk, alright?" Dean nodded, understanding. "I…need to…clear my head."

"Okay, Dad." Dean looked over to the puppy who was cowering behind the bathtub and he scooped the wet creature up into his arms.

John gave his eldest son a last glance before departing the tiled room, only to be graced by the presence of his younger child , staring up at him with his wide, worried eyes.

"Dad, is everything alright?" Sam's words were spoken gently and cautiously as if he were making an extra effort to not upset his father. It was as if he, somehow unconsciously knew what plagued John's already troubled mind. But of course he didn't know. He was only seven, after all.

"Yes, son." John replied weakly. "Hey, Sam? Why don't you...stay in your room for awhile?"

Now, normally Sam would've responded with something along the lines of "But why?" but instead, he simply nodded his head and obeyed.

John stepped into his bedroom, grabbing his bag full of knives, rock salt, holy water, and guns loaded with silver bullets. Even if he were just going out for awhile, there was no way in hell that he'd go out unarmed.

…

John Winchester wandered the streets aimlessly. For the first time in his life, he was going nowhere. He had no destination, no purpose in his movements. He was lost. Hopelessly lost in the abyss that served as his mind.

The snowflakes, plummeting downwards like an avalanche, blurred the demon hunter's vision as it stung his eyes and clung to his lashes like iron particles on a magnet. He was seeing white. Eventually, he lost his eyesight entirely, but he somehow didn't care. In fact, he didn't care if he ran into the busy street and got hit by a truck. "Maybe I'd be better off." John thought to himself. "Maybe…Dean and Sam would be better off." John's trembling hand moved up to wipe the melting snow from his eyes. His own thoughts frightened him more than any demon or monster ever had. Never before had he actually considered suicide. He knew his sons needed him. At least…he thought his sons needed him…

"And they do need you, John."

John, not missing a beat, pulled out a 45 and pointed it directly at the source of the voice. He lifted up his eyes to see a man who looked to be in his early to mid-thirties. This stranger bore a striking resemblance to a tax accountant, sporting a navy suit and a tan trench coat; however the only inconsistency to his professional appearance was his wild, brown hair.

He stared at John with a calm expression, seeming not affected in the slightest by John's gun. To the Winchester's astonishment, the man actually smiled at the sight of it. Something was definitely off about him.

"Who are you?" John demanded, cocking his gun.

"That should not concern you." He replied coolly, studying John's face with his shockingly blue eyes. "All I mean to do is to give you some advice. So I suggest that you put your gun down. Besides, it shall have no effect on me. My vessel, however, might experience some pain."

"Cristo!" John shouted, having no doubt in his mind that this being was a demon. However, he was shocked when the man did not flinch. Was he maybe…?

"No, I'm not a ghost, John." The man gazed at him unblinkingly. "If I told you what I was, you would not believe me."

"Try me." John chuckled.

He smiled up at him, blue eyes glimmering with a slight hint of hope. "I'm an angel, John."

"Oh God!" John groaned. "Don't you dare start with that religious shit!"

"I assumed that would be your reaction." The "angel" sighed heavily. "But let's make this quick, shall we?"

"Make what quick?" John growled, still not lowering his gun.

The man didn't reply immediately. Instead, he took a couple of steps closer and lowered John's gun, as if he knew the Winchester would not fire. He kept steady eye contact with the demon hunter, his sapphire irises burying themselves into John's soul. "Don't do it." He whispered, his voice rough and silky all at the same time.

"Do what, exactly?" John tried to sound exasperated, but deep inside he felt anxious. What did he mean?

"Leave Sam and Dean." He answered simply. "Yes, John, I know the names of your sons." He said, before John could even ask.

"I'm not—"

"Even if you left them with Bobby, you know they'd be devastated." he spoke before John could protest. "They'd be orphans. Not just motherless…but fatherless." The stranger moved even closer so that the toes of their shoes pressed against each other. "Ending your life solves nothing."

"What is this? "It's A Wonderful Life"?!" John scowled, putting his gun away.

"Pardon?" the man tilted his head to the side with curiosity.

""It's A Wonderful Life"…you know…"

"I…do not." The strange man was still studying his face as if it were a intrinsic work of art. "Care to enlighten me?"

"No…just…" John sighed. What a dimwit! "Just leave me alone."

"Not unless you go back to your sons."

"Why should I listen to you, Clarence?" John scoffed, straightening his jacket in a careless manner.

"Clarence?"

"Clarence. The guy from…" John trailed off when the weirdo cocked his head again. "Oh…screw it."

"John." he put his hand on the demon hunter's shoulder. John wanted to shrug it off, but there was something that compelled him to just let it be. Perhaps it was the warm, electrifying sensation shooting through his body. Or maybe it was just the sense of comfort radiating from the man's soothing expression and pleading eyes. "Go back. Dean will forgive you…"

"No he won't." John bit his lip, looking away. But as the man's grip tightened, a powerful force pulled his head back to face the supposed "angel".

"Yes he will." he replied calmly. "You made a mistake. Humans always make mistakes. Dean knows that. He loves you and nothing will change that." His voice became a gentle whisper. "Go back."

"But, what if I—?" Suddenly, the man disappeared, leaving John alone with only the freezing air for company. He stood there for awhile, not moving an inch, feeling the snow washing away his indecisiveness and doubt. Within minutes, he realized what he needed to do. He needed to go home. Home….where he belonged.

…

A.N. Feel free to review! It might just make my day. And I'll always reply. :)