Author's Note: Merry Christmas! I hope your day is going well. So, I believe this is the last Christmas prompt I have, but if for some reason I skipped you or somehow missed you, resubmit your prompt and I will get to it either today or tomorrow. This is only for people who have already submitted a prompt for Christmas and I am still NOT ACCEPTING NEW PROMPTS. Okay, so to end our final Christmas prompt, this is a request from KlutzyHanyou who asked for, "I would love to see a story where Dean is trying to escape the Christmas music on the radio while Sam is asleep in the passenger seat and he comes across Asia's "Heat of the Moment". This would wake up Sam in a panic as it is the Tuesday following the Mystery Spot. Bonus points if Sam tells Dean about the extra 6 months where he was all alone." I do like bonus points. Enjoy!

"Heard this same song 20 times and it's only Halloween (Joy to the World)

It's not even cold outside (deck the halls with boughs of holly)."

—Straight No Chaser, "The Christmas Can Can"

Despite the fact that Dean has a cassette player loaded with the best music known to man, he does like to use the radio occasionally, especially when Sam is asleep in the car. For some reason, the radio is soothing to Sam and it's less loud. The radio got them through the nightmares after Jessica and Dean hopes it will get them through whatever nightmares Sam's wacky brain is conjuring after his latest ordeal.

"Have yourself a merry little Christmas—"

"No." Dean mumbles, quietly. Sam's been exhausted ever since they finished that Mystery Spot hunt one week ago. From what Dean had understood—which wasn't much admittedly since Sam had been reluctant to discuss any of the details that Dean hadn't already knew—the Trickster had forced his little brother into a time loop from Hell. He had been forced to watch his older brother die over and over again and wasn't that just great considering in a few months, Dean would be dying for real.

"Angels we have heard on high—"

"Damn," Dean curses, because were all the stations playing Christmas music? Yeah, it was Christmas, but there had to be something else on? Where were the classic rock stations? Where was his Metallica? Where was AC/DC? Seriously, what the—

"Heat of the moment—"

In the two seconds that Dean has the song on, Sam is suddenly up and flailing, lungs heaving and eyes wild with fear.

"No!" Sam exclaims, almost hyperventilating. Cursing, Dean turns off the radio and pulls the Impala off the road. Turning the engine off, Dean turns to his younger and clearly in distress sibling and grips his shoulders.

"Sam, hey, Sammy!" He shouts, willing the fear to go out of Sam's eyes. "It's okay, you're okay, and I'm alive." His words don't seem to be getting through though as Sam's lungs keep heaving in air that he doesn't seem to be getting. "Sam! Breathe, okay? Nice and slow. Breathe with me." He moves Sam's hand so that it is resting on Dean's chest. He wills his brother to feel his heart beating underneath it, to accept the fact that he is indeed alive. Watching realization and comprehension pierce through Sam's fearful eyes, Dean vows that if he ever comes across the Trickster again, he'll kill him.

"Dean?" Hazel eyes lock onto his and Dean smiles softly.

"Hey there," He greets. "It's okay."

"I thought it was—" Grief colors his tone and Dean quickly interjects,

"It's been a week, Sam."

"I know." His little brother mumbles, seemingly gaining control over his emotions. They sit there in silence for a bit and Dean wonders whether he should say anything else. But what could he say? Sorry that I kept dying on you? Sorry that I can't make you forget everything you had to see? He settles for,

"You want to talk about it?" His brother looks at him like he's grown another head and Dean defensively glances out the window. "If you want to." It's an open invitation—a rare moment to let the walls come down—and Sam sucks in a shuddering breath.

"Six months." He whispers. Dean's head darts around.

"What?"

"That last Tuesday," His little brother begins shakily. "You died and life went on."

"I was dead for six months?" The eldest Winchester echoes, anger for the Trickster shifting into sheer fury. Sam doesn't answer; simply stares at his hands instead. "Sam?" Dean prods.

"Yeah." God, Sam sounds broken. He sounds completely defeated and almost dead inside. It scares Dean. It reminds him of when Sam had been dead, when had been still and pale and bloody and God, Sammy, don't do this, not again—

"I'm here." Dean assures him, gripping his hand. "Hey, look at me." Sam does so, albeit reluctantly. "Sam, I'm here.

"Yeah," Sam whispers. "But you won't be." He chuckles dryly—half-sob, half-laugh—and then lies back down, head resting against the window. Dean turns back on the car and the radio comes back on. He flips it to a Christmas station—he won't dare take a risk that the dreaded song will come back on—and then he begins to drive.

If he could do it all again, if had another chance; Dean would've still made the choices that he did. Losing Sam? That was unacceptable. Losing Sam had meant losing his purpose in life, had meant losing all feeling in his heart, and had meant wondering how he could on in life without that geek brother of his to give meaning to it. That demon deal had been a miracle and he would have traded his soul over and over again if it meant keeping Sam alive.

But . . . knowing that Sam would be alone in a few months? That tore him up inside. Yeah, Sam was alive and yes, Dean could protect him now, but what about after that? Would his brother get himself killed because he had been destroyed by grief? A year from now, would Sam become just another hunting causality?

Dean's grip tightens on the steering wheel.

"No." He grinds out through clenched teeth. "Sam?" His brother tilts his head, eyes still colored with grief.

"What?"

"You live." Sam sits up now, fully perplexed.

"What are you—?"

"When I'm gone," That words hurts to say, but he does it and manages to push it out of his mouth. "Promise me you'll stay alive." Sam opens his mouth, a protest on his lips.

"Dean—"

"Promise me!" He bellows, because he can see Sam's bloody and broken form now and he won't allow it to happen, he won't allow Sam to die. Never!

"I promise." He says it shakily, but Dean accepts it.

"Good."

A pause with the soft strains of a choir singing "Jingle Bells" fills the car.

"You want me to pinky promise too?" For a second, Dean is taken aback, but it's his brother's first attempt at levity in a week and the eldest Winchester will take it.

"Shut up, Samantha." He retorts.

They drive, destination unknown, just content with each other.

Author's Note: This turned out to be incredibly angsty, but oh well! And I feel like I skipped someone's Christmas prompt . . . If I did, let me know! Or if not, then this concludes the Christmas section of this story. From now until New Years, I'll be finishing the rest of the prompts. Merry Christmas! Please review!