A/N: Hope you all got chocolate in your shoe!

Sam and Dean took shifts that night watching over the girl and making sure to wake her every hour. Dean would have done it himself but Sam was making a huge deal out of him having to sleep too so Dean gave in just to get him to stop talking.

It was Sam's shift, he came in to see his brother sitting beside his bed, his feet kicked out before him, hands fisted together against his lips. His brows were drawn together; her was clearly in deep thought about something, an event that Sam thought that he would never see. Placing a hand on Dean's shoulder Sam let his presence be known. Dean didn't move, he just continued to stare at the girl, his fingers tensing then relaxing. He eventually stood up, saying nothing to Sam as he left; the room remained as silent as the grave.

Sam took Dean's place in the chair, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees. Like his brother he too got lost in thought, his mind spinning 'round with attempts to reason out this girl's predicament; Brady called it his 'lawyer brain', something that never went to sleep. Sam was hard wired to find the truth, to help people who couldn't stand up for themselves, and this girl had intrigued him.

The echoing bongs from a grandfather clock told Sam that it was time to wake the girl; another hour was up. Placing one hand on the girls shoulder, Sam shook her lightly, the girl stirring at the movement. She opened her eyes and looked at Sam, her face emotionless but gratitude shining from her eyes. Sam smiled slightly when the girl shut her eyes again, falling back asleep.

Sam leaned back in the chair, getting comfortable for the long night ahead of him.

Dean came around eight the next morning, a tray balanced in his hands as he swung the door open. Sam got up from the seat that was going to be permanently shaped his form for the foreseeable future. Dean took the chair, letting the tray sit on his lap. The girl stirred on the bed, the smells from the tray rustling her out of her shallow sleep.

Sam left the room before Dean could say anything to him, going down the stairs to get breakfast for himself. There was a pot of porridge on the stove, fresh fruit in a bowl on the counter to use as toppings.

Sam didn't even notice what he was doing as he made himself a bowl, his mind too busy asking questions. What was the girl doing, why was she attacked, who was she?

And most importantly, how did Dean know how to do all that stuff?

An hour later Dean was helping the girl down the stairs, deciding that it was time to take the girl home. She now had a pair of Dean's jeans on, two pieces of wood around her leg, holding it in place, a belt keeping the baggy jeans around her waist. She still had the shirt on from last night, another makeshift splint tied around her arm. She looked far better than she had last night, the color back in her face and life in her eyes. She even had a faint smile on her face as she came down the stairs.

Sam came out of the parlor from where he was reading a copy of the Bible, the only book that seemed to be in the house. He hung behind Dean, waiting for him to say something, anything. Once Dean was at the front door he simply said, "Can you help me?"

Sam scurried over, holding the girl up as Dean placed her shoes on her feet, careful not to move her leg too much. He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders, as he couldn't get a coat over the splint. Once the girl was all bundled up her took her into his arms and carried her out of the door.

Sam followed, his curiosity getting the better of him. The girl told Dean where to turn and which roads to follow before they ended up in front of another perfect house, this one painted a deep red. Dean walked up to the front door, knocking on the wood.

It was a few seconds before the door swung open, a man about the age of forty standing there. His eyes narrowed until he caught sight of the girl, his mouth dropping, panic and concern taking over. Stepping to the side he motioned Dean in saying, "Get her inside, quickly."

Sam and Dean followed the man in, heading to a room that they assumed was hers. There was a twin bed against the wall and Dean sat her down on it, making sure her leg was on the bed for elevation.

The girl muttered a faint thanks, dropping her eyes and blushing faintly. Dean didn't say anything, walking out of the room in silence. He went back to the man, his face dark, "Okay, I am sick of people ducking my questions, I want to know what the Hell's going on and I want to know now."

"Where did you find her?" The man was staring at the door, his hands wringing.

"Down in front of the bed and breakfast," Dean opened his mouth to speak again but the man interrupted him.

"Was it bad?" His eyes turned to Dean, fear clouding them.

"Worse than I had seen in a long time." Dean paused, the fear of the man confusing him, "What aren't you telling me?"

The man looked nervous, turning and looking around the house before ushering Dean into the living room. Sam followed, wanting to know just as much as Dean did.

The man looked around the room one more time before saying, "I can't tell you everything but I can tell you this. You have to get out, get out now, before you become a part of it. We can't leave, it's too late, but you can. Please, go."

The man was practically begging Dean, his hands twitching, as his eyes kept moving around the room, looking for something that wasn't there.

"But what are we running from?" It was Sam who spoke this time, his mouth moving before his brain did.

The man came closer, leaning forward as he whispered, "He sees everything. You thought that Santa was bad, but he's got nothing on him. Santa forgives, Santa forgets, but he doesn't. You can't run, you can't hide, he'll come for you and he will find you. He knows everything and he remembers everything. So please, go, and don't ask me again, I can't tell you."

"Please, just a name," Sam pulled out his puppy eyes, not understanding what he was asking.

The man twitched one more time before whispering, "Black Peter."