Author's Note: Okay, so remember when I said I was done with the Christmas prompts? Well, it turns out I skipped one. twomoms, I am so sorry for missing your prompt the first time around! To make up for it, here's your "John actually being there on Christmas Day with a couple of gifts and Sam being sick with a fever" prompt. Again, so sorry for the delay! I've spiced things up by going in 2nd person POV. Please enjoy!
It's funny what memories you recall when you're sick.
You're lying in a hospital bed on Christmas with a fever of 105. The doctors are baffled as to what brought the fever on, but you're responding well to medicine and they're optimistic that you'll be released soon. Jessica is at your side—she refused to go home once she found out just how sick you were—and she smiles softly at you as her cool hands gently push your hair out of your eyes.
"Just hang in there, Sam," She whispers. "Just hold on." You blink and suddenly Dean is sitting in Jessica's place and your big brother has a wet cloth in his hand.
"Sammy, just hold on." He tells you gruffly, eyes swimming in concern and suppressed fear. You tilt your head to the side, wondering why your brother is here. It's been almost two years since you've talked with him as your last conversation ended in a bitter argument over your refusal to return to hunting and Dean's rejection of your desire to live a normal lifestyle. Still, you'd be lying if you said that seeing your brother wasn't a relief.
"Sam?" Another blink and he's gone. Jessica frowns as she glances at your monitors. "Let me get a doctor, okay?" She presses her icy lips to your forehead before vanishing down the hall, leaving you alone once more.
"Sam," A sharp voice breaks the silence and you force your eyes open. Your father stands before you, arms folded over his chest and his eyes staring at you with blatant disapproval in them. He's leaning against the back wall and shaking his head while sighing. "I taught you better than this."
"No." You whisper. Your father taught you how to hunt—how to chase down creatures in the night in order to protect a clueless public, how to sacrifice everything you've ever wanted all for a mission of revenge. Your father told you to leave and never come back; you just followed orders. And suddenly, he's gone and you're left with the constant beeping of the monitors. You wish you could sleep, but the darkness burns and freezes you all at the same time and nothing makes sense anymore. Still, your eyelids slip shut.
"Sammy, look!" Dean's voice is loud and you force your eyes open only to see yet another motel room. The hospital bed has been replaced with scratchy off-white sheets and you're lying propped up by uncomfortable pillows. Your older brother is grinning like an idiot and he's holding out gifts—actual, real, not stolen gifts—and you beam in response. "Dad's back!"
"How you feeling, Sammy?" Your father ruffles your hair affectionately and suddenly, you remember this. When you had been ten, you had gotten sick with a fever after spending a day playing in the snow without a jacket. Dean had chewed you out over it, but it ended up being the best Christmas you had ever had. Your father hadn't had a hunt then and was actually in a good mood. It's always been your best memory of your father.
"Good, Dad." You rasp, though you wonder why he doesn't notice that you're no longer ten, but 20. Still . . . dream or not, you've always wanted to go back to this Christmas.
"He sounds like crap." Dean interjects.
"Shut up." You protest weakly, but your father chuckles dryly.
"Sam just needs to rest," John replies. "You'll be feeling better in no time." He sits down on the bed across from you and then motions for Dean to hand him a gift. Your older brother does so with a smirk.
"Dad?" Your father holds out the gift.
"Here, Sam," He says. "For you. Open it." Your eyes widen and you grin as you tear into the wrapping paper. You pull out a small book. Smiling, you realize it's a Sherlock Holmes novel. "You like it?" Your father fidgets nervously.
"I love it." You reply and the tension drains from the room.
"Great." John answers.
His fever's spiking.
You spin around, wondering where the voice came from.
Get some help in here!
"Dad? Can you hear—?" But your father ignores you as he watches Dean open his first gift.
Sam? Sam, please—!
And just like that, you're back in that hospital room with a teary-eyed Jessica staring down at you. She kisses your forehead again and clutches your hand like it's her lifeline. You muster up a reassuring smile that seems to placate her.
It's funny the things that you recall when you're sick. It's been a good three years since you've thought of that perfect Christmas morning. You never thought you would relive it ever again, but you understand now what triggered it. It's all quite similar really.
"His fever's breaking." The doctor reports; Jessica breathes a sigh of relief.
"Thank God." She murmurs.
As you stare up at the ceiling, you wonder what your dad and Dean are doing now. Are they celebrating together? Are they out hunting? Do they miss you?
Because, you realize now that you really miss them. Yes, you had to leave to come to Stanford and you don't regret that. It's just . . . you wish things could've been different. Or maybe, you wish that you had treasured the good memories a bit more.
Either way, you want your family by your side.
It's a wish that won't be granted.
Author's Note: I really like how this chapter turned out! I hope you did too! Please review!