Author's Note: Next chapter coming up! This one comes from mckydstarlight who asked for, "Could you maybe do one with Charlie and Dean. I don't really have any sort of specifics except I would love to see Dean go all overprotective sibling on them both after freaking out just a little before he knows they are actually going to live, because Sam is his world and we know that he sees Charlie as the sister he never had and we don't get to see enough of that in the show. I'll leave you at liberty to come up with the situation about how Sam gets hurt though." This prompt was awesome! I'm such a huge fan of Charlie so writing family fluff between all three of them is awesome! Thanks so much! Let's set this during season 8, post "LARP and the Real Girl".

"Oh the weather outside is frightful

But the fire is so delightful

And since we've no place to go

Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!"

—Michael Bublé, "Let It Snow"

When he finds them both out in the snow, Sam is unconscious, lying out in the snow and Charlie is huddled next to his limp form, shivering, her lips blue.

"D-d-dean." She stammers as he throws his jacket around her shoulders and he turns to help his baby brother.

"It's okay." He lies, because he isn't sure if it will be okay, it's been four hours since he lost the two of them in the storm and he doesn't know if frostbite is a factor, or if Sam's injured in places he can't see.

A freezing hand touches his and he meet's Charlie's cloudy gaze.

"It's-o-o-kay." She stammers.

He smiles, surprised at her concern. He squeezes her hand back and then turns to his brother.

He'll get them both out of this alive.

He deposits Charlie in front of the raging fire in the living room and then takes Sam to his bed. He checks for any signs of frostbite—there are none, thank God—and then gets the electric blanket to tuck around his baby brother's form. He checks the bandage on the head wound—mild, shallow and not a concussion—to make sure that it isn't bleeding.

"Sammy?"

Sam stirs a bit and open his eyes, but they are dull and without recognition. He's still exhausted and his body needs rest and Dean plans to give him just that.

"D'n." A hint of a grin is on his baby brother's lips and Dean feels his dark mood lifting.

Sam and Charlie are both alive.

It was a close call, but they both are here with him.

He just needs to keep repeating that to himself.

They'd all gone out together to get a Christmas tree, per Charlie's suggestion.

"A real one?" Charlie questioned, her eyes wide and alight with joy, practically jumping up and down with excitement, "Like a huge one that smells like the outdoors?"

She'd never had a Christmas tree before—well, a real one, she amended—and Dean, of course, had relented—who could resist Charlie and Sam when they both gave him that kicked puppy expression?—and together, the trio of them had wandered out into the deep snow to get a tree.

Then the snowstorm arrived and then in a blanket of white and a harsh wind, Sam and Charlie were gone.

"You need another blanket."

"Dean—" Charlie protests, but it's too late. Dean is already tucking another layer of fabric around her shoulders.

"Just take the damn blanket, Charlie." He growls and she must still be exhausted because she doesn't protest like she would usually.

She's running a fever—100, so at least it's mild—but he doesn't want to take any chances that she'll get worse. She takes a sip of the water on the table in front of her and then sighs.

"Dean?" Her voice is muffled and her eyes are somewhat foggy. She's sick and must be miserable and there's nothing more he can do for her besides this.

He takes a seat next to her on the couch and grimaces as he sees her brow furrowing—she must have a headache—and he regrets the fact that he can't give her any more ibuprofen lest he go over the prescribed limit.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"How's Sam?"

He blinks, a bit taken aback by her inquiry.

Sam is still asleep and he too has a fever though it's worse than Charlie's. Dean, for his part, has managed to get him to take some medicine, but it hasn't made much of a dent in the illness' progression.

There could be a hospital run in their future.

"Dean?" She tries again and he can see the fear in her eyes, the worry etched on her face.

So, Dean Winchester does what he does best. He takes her hand within his, plasters a grin on his lips and lies.

"He's just fine, Charlie."

He doesn't feel the least bit guilty when Charlie smiles and finally lets herself relax on the couch.

"Sam?"

Sam is sitting up on his bed, his hair clinging to his sweaty brow, the blankets a jumbled mass on the floor.

Dean stands in the doorway and sees this and immediately knows that something is seriously wrong. He comes into the room and kneels to make eye contact with his baby brother. In a soft voice he asks, "Sam? You okay?"

"I miss him." Sam slurs, the syllables colliding together harshly.

"Who?" Dean presses, unsure of what his baby brother is even getting at.

"Dad," He whispers, "And Bobby."

A wave of grief swells up within the eldest Winchester but he pushes it down and forces himself to live in this moment and right now, Sam needs him to be strong.

"Me too, Sammy." He admits softly.

"It's hot." The younger brother states petulantly.

"Yeah, well, you're sick." Dean tries to ease him back to lay down, but Sam isn't having any of it. Instead, his little brother stands up and Dean does his best not to scream at his brother to get his butt back in bed. The air in the bunker isn't freezing per se, but it is chilly and with the fever that Sam is currently sporting anything that isn't warm will cause more damage.

"Do you ever think . . . ?" Sam's voice trails off and Dean hesitates a moment.

"What?"

Sam doesn't answer; he shakes his head instead.

"Never mind," He gets back into bed, "It was a stupid thought."

"Sam, you can tell me—"

But Sam simply chooses to huddle in the blankets and close his eyes and that's how Dean knows the conversation is over.

"I'm pretty sure I told you to stop walking around." He growls as he catches Charlie in the kitchen.

The redhead smiles sheepishly and she stirs the soup of the stove, "But Dean, I'm feeling much better—"

He goes to her and places a hand on her forehead and grimaces at the heat emanating from her skin. Sighing, he gently nudges her from the stove and grabs the spoon from her hand.

"Sit down. You still have a fever."

"But—!"

"Sit down," He commands, stirring the soup. "And take your temperature."

With a dramatic sigh, Charlie does as she's told. Taking a seat at the counter, she reaches for the thermometer and sticks it in her mouth, glaring at the eldest Winchester somewhat.

After a few minutes, it beeps and Dean waits expectantly for her to tell him how much of a fever she has, but the self-proclaimed nerd stays silent.

"Charlie?"

She pouts and tacks on, "It's not that bad."

"What is it then?"

"Don't freak out."

Now, he is starting worry a bit.

"C'mon, Charlie, out with it."

"101." She reluctantly reports.

"It went up?" Dean practically shouts. He curses silently and then turns off the stove and moves the pot off the burner.

"That's for Sam." She points to the soup and smiles sheepishly.

"Don't worry about Sam," Dean tells her softly. "Worry about yourself. You need to get better."

"I will!" She chirps dutifully and Dean can't help but chuckle. Charlie is so easy-going; he'd forgotten how much he needed that in his life. Someone to put things in perspective; someone to remind him that there were things in life that were worth fighting for.

"Get back to bed." Dean presses a kiss to the top of her head and then returns to the soup.

"Aye-aye captain." She mocks salute him and then moves down the hall.

Dean just laughs.

"Dean?"

"What are you doing up?" Dean glances up from the pot of hot chocolate he's making for Charlie and glares at his little brother.

"My fever broke," Sam replies, smirking that same self-assured grin that Dean used to hate when he was younger. "So, I'm pretty sure that means I'm better."

"Yeah, well, you were out in the snow for who knows how long—"

The liquid on the stove begins to boil and Dean immediately begins to whisk it, trying to keep it from burning.

"It was just one of those things, Dean." Sam murmurs, pulling out three mugs from the cabinet. "It wasn't your fault."

Dean doesn't answer that, continues to stir the hot chocolate.

"Dean."

"Yeah?"

Dean looks up and meets his little brother's gaze.

"It's not your fault."

Dean huffs out a breath, shaking his head, "Yeah, sure."

Sam just sighs.

When Christmas comes, Charlie and Sam are both healthy.

The three are seated around a fake Christmas tree, opening presents wrapped in newspaper and laughing.

"This is the best Christmas ever." Charlie whispers, grinning.

"Yeah," Sam replies. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean, for his part, just dismisses their gratitude. As they drink hot chocolate and laugh and act like the tense week before them didn't happen, the eldest Winchester couldn't help but be grateful. He's lost a lot over the years—family, friends—but this right here, being with them, this is what he fights to protect.

The three of them, together, safe and happy, this is the best present he could ever want.

"Your welcome, Sammy."

And for the first time since the ordeal began, Dean actually feels relieved.

Author's Note: I love all the family feels and I hope you guys did too! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!