Author's Note: I'm almost caught up! Today's chapter comes from SuperVikinggirl who requested, "Sam and Dean just get back to the motel after a hard hunt on Christmas eve. Both are pretty banged up, but with too much energy and too much pent up emotion from a hunt going south. They end up in a brotherly wrestle over the remote and what Christmas special to watch and the fight ends with Sam getting really hurt. Big Bro Dean saves Sam, Christmas eve and all ends with brotherly affection."

"A crowded room,

Friends with tired eyes.

I'm hiding from you

And your soul of ice."

—Wham! "Last Christmas"

The hunt was a big fat failure with a capital "F".

Granted, Dean's been on more than a few bad hunts, but tonight's hunt blew them all out of the water. What had started out as a simple ghost hunt on Christmas Eve turned into a full-blown disaster where the house they were in had burned down, the ghost had gotten away and Sam and Dean had been banged around way too much.

"Here." Sam tosses him an ice pack and Dean grunts as his stiff hand catches it. His little brother is grimacing as he wraps a bandage over his cut shoulder.

"That need stiches?" Dean questions as he places the ice against his what must be surely bruised ribs. He got thrown against a few walls and had a dresser slammed against him. That ghost—a twelve year old, no less, a vicious one—had almost seen too gleeful as she has thrown stuff at him.

"No." Sam answers, wincing as he applies pressure.

"Merry friggin' Christmas, huh?" Dean remarks softly as he turns on the television. Soft music filters in, calm and reassuring, and the eldest Winchester feels a bit more at ease. Sure, there is still a ghost out there that he has to get rid of, but it can wait until tomorrow at least.

"Shit." Blood stains the bandage and immediately, Sam rewraps it, applying more pressure.

"You want me to do—?" Dean gestures to the bandage and Sam shakes his head no.

"I've got it." He snaps, a bit more irritable.

They're both on the edge here—their tempers bubbling so close to the surface—and one wrong word could trigger a meltdown. They've gotten into some nasty fights before after hunts gone wrong. Dean isn't keen to start one of those and say words he'll wish he could take back tomorrow.

"Fine." Dean says softly, flipping the channels.

"I'm Mister Heat Miser, I'm Mister Sun—"

He grins as he recognizes the song.

"Dude," He points at the screen. "The Year Without a Santa Claus is on!"

"No, really?" Sam grimaces as he comes to sit next to his brother on the edge of the bed. "I hate this one."

"How could you hate it?" Dean demanded, voice tight. "It's the best special out there."

"No, it's not," Sam answers quietly, reaching for the remote only for Dean to jerk it away. "Dude, can't we watch something else?"

"No way! I haven't seen this all year—"

"Dean, c'mon, can't we watch something else? Like Santa Claus is Coming to Town?"

"I said no!"

On the television, the two misers begin to throw flame balls and snowballs at each other as they continue to hurl insults at each other.

"Dean, I hate this one!"

"Well, that is too damn bad—!"

Sam reaches for the remote and Dean jerks it away. With a growl of frustration, Sam throws his arm over his big brother and reaches for the remote. Dean pushes back and before he knows it, the two of them are wrestling like children, fighting for the remote.

It happens suddenly.

He jabs Sam in the heart with his elbow and his little brother lets out a strangled gasp.

Then, he goes limp.

Dean freezes.

"Sammy?" He nudges Sam, but his baby brother doesn't move. His chest is barely breathing, his eyes still shut. "Sam!"

Training cuts through the panic then and he immediately starts CPR, willing his brother to breathe and come back to him. This isn't how it's supposed to end for both of them. They are supposed to live—the two of them—and then, one day very far from this one, they'll go out together.

"Sammy, please!"

He keeps giving compressions, keeps giving breaths until—

Sam gasps, his eyes flying open as a cough wracks his system.

"Easy there, Sam," He pulls his brother to a sitting position and begins to rub circles on his back, hoping to ease the passage of air. "Take it easy."

"D'n—" Sam gasps and Dean beams.

"It's okay," Dean soothes. "You're okay now."

But Dean can't help but realize that he almost lost his brother because of a stupid Christmas special.

"Would you stop?" Sam finally demands as Dean hands him yet another bowl of cereal.

"Stop what?" Dean asks, much too innocently.

"Stop hovering," Sam snaps back, irritated. "I'm fine."

"Sam, your heart stopped beating because of what I did—"

"Dean." Sam places a hand on his brother's hand and smiles softly. "It wasn't your fault."

"Bullshit." Dean mutters, taking the bowl of cereal and putting it on the counter.

"I mean it, Dean," Sam states softly. "You have to stop beating yourself up for this. It was an accident."

"Sam—"

"Fine, okay," Sam shrugs, sighing somewhat, "You want to blame yourself for this, fine. But you're an idiot to think that way and it's Christmas so let's just agree to disagree."

"Fine."

Silence.

Then, softly, music begins to filter in.

"I'm Mister White Christmas, I'm Mister Snow—"

Dean glances at his brother who is smiling and though the guilt is still there, he still finds himself grinning back.

And together, they begin to watch.

Author's Note: One more chapter to go and then I'm caught up! I'm glad you guys are enjoying this series. I'm having a blast writing them. Please review if you have a moment. Thank you so much for reading!