Author's Note: I know I'm behind, sorry about that! Two chapters today to make up for missing yesterday and two tomorrow. First one comes up from Leahelisabeth who requested, "I should like to prompt a Christmas with five-year-old Sammy and nine-year-old Dean. Sam gets taken by the MOTW and Dean and John and Bobby race to get him back before Christmas Eve. He can be hurt as badly as you like so long as he is not actually in the hospital for Christmas morning. John was so freaked out and is so grateful to have his boy back that he plans their first real Christmas celebration." This is such a fun prompt! So, pre-series, obviously, with lots of family feels coming up! Please enjoy!

"It's that time of year when the world falls in love

Ev'ry song you hear seems to say "Merry Christmas,

"May your New Year dreams come true"

And this song of mine in three-quarter time

Wishes you and yours the same thing, too."

—Frank Sinatra, "The Christmas Waltz"

It happens in a split second.

That's what they always say on the news when reporting on child abduction. The crying parent always tells the same story—they took their eyes off little Johnny or Jenny for two-seconds and then boom, the child, their precious world, was gone.

John always shook his head at reports like these, glad that he was a step above other parents, happy that his boys were safer than all the other kids out there in the world. As a hunter, he's an expert at surveillance and he knows how to defend his family.

But now, as he stares across the empty field, panic bubbling up within him, he realizes now how easily it is to lose a child.

Sam is gone.

His baby boy, five years old and so damn smart, is gone, snatched away from his grasp without any warning.

All in the blink of an eye.

"Dad?" Dean tugs at his shirt, his brow furrowed, already so mature at just nine years old. His perfect little hunter in training, a fierce protector in his own right.

It's Christmas Eve and Sam is missing.

"Dad, it'll be okay." Dean assures him softly and John lets out a shaky breath. There's no point staying here in the field where Sam was taken. He needs to get out of here, needs to regroup and then he'll find the son of a bitch that took his baby boy.

After all, payback is a bitch.

"It's okay," He ruffles Dean's hair, tries to keep his hand steady, not show his fear or anger. "We'll get him back."

"What were you hunting?" Bobby questions in a gruff tone, flipping through tomes of ancient lore on his desk.

It's been almost 12 hours since Sam was taken and John is trying not to burn through his whole energy reserve lest he collapse right where he stands. They'd gone to Bobby's, a 30-minute drive, to regroup, to try to formulate a plan of attack, a rescue mission.

Dean is just as terrified as John is, though the child is manifesting it more than John. The oldest son is pacing the room, muttering under his breath, his skin pale, his hair askew—he's not handling it well.

"John," Bobby tries again and John glances at the other hunter. "What were you hunting?"

"Witch."

"Explains how she got him so quickly then," Bobby replies and John shakes his head, not really caring about the details. "You know what she was targeting?"

"Children." He answers without thinking and then curses loudly.

"For what? Youth spells?" Bobby's voice is calm and nonjudgmental, almost clinical.

"I hadn't gotten that far." John wants to punch the wall. He'd been so stupid! Tracking a witch who killed children to keep herself young and what he did do? He brought her her next victim!

"John," Bobby stands up, and comes to be next to him. Placing a hand on his shoulder, the other hunter smiles softly, "We'll get Sam back."

John just hopes that's true.

"I have to come with you." Dean insists that night after countless hours spent researching and Bobby calling in all of his favors.

After what seemed like an eternity, they'd gotten a location on the witch. Apparently, she loved her modest three-bedroom house so much that, despite all the money in her bank account and despite the fact she'd been alive for centuries, she chose there to reside. Still, it made tracking her down easier at least.

"No, Dean." John is packing up his duffel, rechecking his ammo, making sure that nothing is out of place. He is going to save Sam or die trying—anything else would be considered a failure.

"You have to let me save Sammy!" It amazes him how stubborn his eldest can be, how furious his temper can run.

"Dean, you are going to stay here with Bobby—"

"Dad, Sammy needs me too—"

"It's okay, Dean," Bobby stands in the doorway, an easygoing grin on his lips, trying to placate the boy. "Your dad's got this."

"But Uncle Bobby—!" Dean stamps his foot and for a second, John sees Mary before him, doing the same thing whenever she felt like she was being treated unfairly.

"It's okay," John continues. "I'll be back with Sammy before you know it."

John just hopes that's the case.

"Your son is alive." The witch informs him the moment he breaks the door down. She's dressed in a black cocktail dress, standing before a mirror, pinning up her auburn hair. She doesn't even spare him a glance.

"Where is he?" John points a gun at her, ready to kill her instantly should she give him an answer he doesn't like.

"You hunters, you're all the same," She adjusts a hairpin, taking a step back she glances at her appearance. "You think you can come in here, guns blazing, and get what you want."

"Where is my son, you bitch?" He hisses, voice full of venom.

She chuckles then, low and dark.

"You're quite rude, you know." She remarks softly, applying a coat of peach lipstick.

"I will shoot you—"

"Your son is alive, as I said," The witch says simply. "I've done a lot of things, but your son is alive." Her ice-blue eyes meet his and he she smirks.

"Where—?" His finger tenses on the trigger.

"Look, you can't kill me," She states, matter of fact. "I've been around for too many years and your son is alive—"

"You keep saying that, but—"

She waves her hand and Sam materializes, unconscious.

"And voilà!" The witch gestures to his passed out son.

As much as John wants to rush to his baby boy, he forces his gun to remain trained on her chest. It could be a trap, a chance for her to take out not only a hunter's kid, but also a hunter.

"Relax, Johnny boy," She mutters softly, her voice almost singsong. "Little Sammy there has a big destiny in front of him." She clasps a pearl necklace around her neck and reaches for her silver clutch off her table. "And even I wouldn't mess with that, no matter how much youth he would give me."

John hesitates, unsure of what that means.

"Now, now," The witch smirks, wagging her finger, "Can't say anything else. That would be a huge spoiler alert."

"You can't—" He begins to protest, but the witch sighs and faces him.

"I'm late already for a Christmas party. Time for you to go. Don't you hunters ever take a night off?"

And with another wave of her hand, John finds him and his son standing in the yard of the Singer Salvage.

John stands in the doorway of the gust bedroom, watching with a cautious eye as Dean tends to his sleeping, little brother. The nine year old is fussing with the blankets, tucking them in fully to keep his baby brother warm. Then, with a deft hand, Dean pushes a few strands of Sam's hair out of his face.

"How is he?" Bobby asks quietly and John sighs softly.

"A few bruises, a couple cuts," John explains. "Nothing serious."

"That's good," Then, seeing the eldest Winchester's grimace, he tacked on, "Isn't it?"

"The witch said something—"

"You know you can't trust—"

"I know," John interjects. "But—"

"Sammy?" That's Dean voice, a bit panicked and John immediately enters the room, seeing his youngest struggling to open his eyes.

"Daddy?" There are those wide hazel eyes that remind him so much of Mary.

"Hey, Sammy." John keeps a smile on his face, tries not to let his worry show. He still doesn't know if there is some magical effect that has its grip on Sam or if there might be a follow curse that will rear its ugly head.

"You okay Sammy?" Dean asks, urgent and insistent.

Sam scrunches up his nose and yawns.

"Take that as a yes." John remarks.

Sam grabs his hand and squeezes it and instantly, John melts.

This is Sam—his baby boy, his last connection to Mary and John had almost lost him.

And it hits him in that moment what he has to do.

The next morning, John has managed to put a Christmas tree up in Bobby's living room. During the night, he made garland out of some remnants of Christmas decorations he'd found in Bobby's closet. There are presents, wrapped in newspaper, under the tree.

"What the hell is this?" Bobby questions, more surprised than angered as he enters the room.

"Christmas." John mutters sheepishly.

"Christmas?" Bobby echoes.

John doesn't have to explain it though; Bobby understands why he's doing this.

"Bobby, I—"

"It's fine," Bobby replies, a grin alighting his lips. "Just haven't done Christmas here in a long time."

"Same."

"I'll go get something then."

Bobby is out the door, leaving John to just wonder when exactly his life became so bizarre.

He just laughs instead.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy!"

Sam is beaming, sitting in his father's lap, and opening presents. It's a perfect Christmas—his first one, since Mary died before December—and even Bobby is grinning.

"Thanks, Daddy." Sam hugs him, tiny arms encircling his waist and John can't believe this is happening right now. It's funny how a close call could really change a person.

And tomorrow, Christmas will be over and John will continue his quest for revenge.

But for today, it's Christmas, and only Sam's bright smile matters.

Author's Note: I hope this was a little more upbeat for all you since I got a lot of comments of how bittersweet that last chapter was. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!