Author's Note: Sorry for the mad rush of updates. I didn't mean to fall behind so soon this early in this month. Today's prompt comes from Idreamofivan who asked for, "As per my prompt, Sam is really sick with the trials, meanwhile, Dean is running himself ragged, taking care of Sam, researching how to make sure he survives the 3rd trial and trying to keep everything under his control without breaking down. Sam is scared his brother is going to make himself sick with all the stress and exhaustion. Maybe he even sprained his ankle or something like that because he was being distracted and careless? Anyway, Sam decides that the best thing for Dean would be to have a real Christmas celebration, where everybody can come and help take care of him and Dean while spreading some Christmas cheer. Dean thinks Sam needs to be in bed and resting and not planning a party or partying. Still, Sam is sure that having everybody come over to party and help is just what the doctor order, so he invites Charlie, Jody, Kevin, Cas and whoever else you like. Sam is really sick for Christmas but they still have a really nice party and Dean gets the break he so much deserves." Love this prompt! Lots of family feels coming up folks! I think we could all use a break from the angst, right? Enjoy!

"Here we are as in olden days

Happy golden days of yore

Faithful friends who are dear to us

Gather near to us once more."

—Kelly Clarkson, "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas"

"Would you come sit down?"

Dean doesn't look up from the pot of soup that he's stirring on the stove. Beside the pot, cut up chicken rests on the cutting board, waiting to be added to the warm liquid. The eldest Winchester taste a quick taste of it, shakes his head and then adds some more salt.

"Dean," Sam tries again, forcing his voice to be louder and strong. Instead, a cough tears through him, shaking his body so much that all he manages to get out is, "S-s-s."

"Easy, Sammy." Dean instantly rushes over because he's Dean and that's what he does whenever Sam is in distress. Always putting Sam first, sacrificing his own needs to make sure his brother is okay.

And sometimes, Sam hates him for it.

He's been sick for who knows how long now—months, maybe?—and he isn't going to get any better until they figure out the third trial and Sam goes through with it. Sam knows that Dean understands this, yet that doesn't stop his older brother from continuing to mother hen him. Making him soup, giving him doses of medicine every eight hours on the dot—all the while Dean neglects his own needs, like sleep or getting enough food in his own system.

"I'm fine." Sam insists, pushing his brother away.

"You will be." Dean says softly, moving once more to the counter and to the soup.

"Dean, when are you going to eat?" Sam pushes himself up and tries not to sway as the world spins around him.

"Sit down—" Dean commands, but Sam ignores him and goes to the kitchen counter.

"You can take a break." Sam tells him quietly.

Dean ignores him and tosses the chicken in the pot.

"You need to take a break."

But his older brother doesn't say anything.

Sam just sighs.

Until one day, Dean actually manages to trip down the flight of stairs to the basement and sprains his ankle. Which is how the eldest Winchester finds himself seated next to his baby brother on the couch, his ankle elevated and iced.

"Look, I get that you want to take care of me—" Sam begins, knowing what his brother will say before he interrupts—

"Sam, don't start—"

"But you need to rest." Sam insists fiercely.

Dean gestures vaguely to the couch, "I'm resting."

"Sure," Sam mutters before getting up himself. Turning to his brother, he adds, "And I'm calling for backup."

"Back up?" That causes Dean to sit up. "Who are you calling?"

"Just relax, would you?" Sam grins like the Cheshire Cat; Dean grimaces.

"You're plotting something, aren't you?" The eldest brother snaps and Sam just chuckles.

"You'll just have to wait to find out."

"Sam—"

But Sam is already down the hall and gone by the time Dean manages to get up.

Slowly, Dean begins to hobble around with the help of crutches that he's managed to dig up in the bunker. As soon as he's mobile, the pieces of the puzzle start to come together.

The random pieces of tinsel he finds strewn around together. The glitter that seems to engulf every inch of available space in the bunker. Ornaments everywhere, sparkling in the light.

And at the center of this Christmas chaos, is Sam.

"You're planning a Christmas party." Dean accuses the next day as the feverish, youngest Winchester scribbles something on a yellow legal pad.

"Yep." Sam flips a page, adding more notes to the paper.

"And you think that's a good idea?" Dean presses, eyes wide, incredulous.

"Seems better than just sitting around doing nothing." His little brother remarks casually.

"You're not doing nothing, you're recovering—"

Sam scoffs at that, "We both know that until the Third trial is over that I'm going to stay like this—"

"Then, we should be figuring out the third trial—!"

"Dean." There's something in Sam's tone of voice, something vulnerable and weak. There's an unsaid plea in that one word, a hope for his blessing.

"Fine." Dean finally grumbles, acquiescing. It's useless to fight him anyways. Once Sam's made up his mind, there's no changing it.

He's just that damn stubborn.

"Dean Winchester, get out of the kitchen and go sit your butt on that damn couch before I decide to hit you with this spoon."

Dean can't help but laugh at Jody's sharp command as the Sheriff waves a wooden spoon in her hand.

"All right, all right," Dean tells her, finally walking on his own, though with a slight limp. He chuckles, "You should let me help, Jody."

Jody stirs a pot on the stove, "I know how to make a Christmas dinner, Dean." She narrows her gaze at him and waves the spoon once more. She begins to hum, a faint Christmas carol under her breath. It recalls a faint memory of his own mother to his mind and he finds himself smiling.

"Thank you."

Jody looks up, curious, "For what?"

"For coming."

Jody just laughs, deep and boisterous.

"Kevin, Cas," Sam starts, trying to suppress a laugh from bubbling up as he views the sight before him. "You guys decorated the tree?"

At least, that's what he thinks they've done. The tree is decked out with what looks to be various popcorn kernels on a string. Various glow in the dark stars are hung as ornaments on the branches and Sam can't help but frown as he sees the messy wrapping of presents under the tree.

"Is it not to your satisfaction?" Castiel questions, the angel's brow furrowing.

"I tried to explain to him," Kevin starts, shrugging, "But he didn't really get it."

"Get what?" The angel asks, facing the teen.

"It looks great." Sam tells the duo because, although it's not typical Christmas tree decorations, it does look nice. They put a lot of effort into it and that in itself is worth celebrating.

"Really?" The prophet echoes, surprised.

Sam just grins, "Really."

"You should rest." The angel insists gently, coming to place a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Your fever has spiked."

"It's fine, Cas." Sam tries to dismiss it, the angel doesn't relent.

"Rest now." Castiel repeats.

"Yeah," Kevin beams. "We'll get this cleaned up soon."

"No," Sam declares. "Leave it. I really like it."

"You got it." Kevin mocks salutes and Sam laughs, but it soon dissolves into a cough.

"Come," Castiel places a hand on his back and instantly, the youngest Winchester finds his breathing much easier. "Let's get you back to your room."

"Okay." Sam relents.

Together, they go.

"Charlie, come on." Sam nudges her from the couch and she jumps somewhat, though her eyes are barely open.

"M'still awake." She manages to say, though it's clear that she's really not.

They'd been watching Christmas specials all day, Charlie singing along and lifting his sprits. His fever sparked during the day and the redheaded Queen had made it her mission to keep him happy and medicated. She'd done a good job of it—for a while, Sam had actually forgotten he'd been sick—until she crashed, falling asleep slumped against his shoulder.

"Bed." Sam orders quietly and the self-proclaimed nerd stirs a bit more.

"Yeah, okay," She stands up and sways, her knees buckling, "Whoa."

Sam braces her, "Easy there, okay?"

"I'm good." She tells him, running a hand through her hair. Then frowning, she adds, "Sorry. I fell asleep."

"It's fine." He dismisses her concern, knowing there's nothing for her to apologize for.

"Hey," She nudges him, grinning. "Tomorrow's Christmas."

"Yeah." He beams, actually excited for the first time in what feels like years. He has friends and family around him once more. He may be sick, but he feels hopeful.

"Merry Christmas Eve, Charlie."

Charlie hugs him instead.

On Christmas day, he's burning up.

His fever has risen to 103 and though he isn't shivering anymore, he's having a very hard time concentrating on everything that's going on. He's already taking as much medicine as he can without overdosing, but it's not doing any good. He's sick—very sick—but there's nothing anyone can do.

He just has to grin and bear it.

He's seated on the couch, opening presents with Jody serving up food, Castiel being flummoxed by the customs, Kevin beaming with joy over his presents, and Charlie laughing. The friends he considers his family are finally by his side, supporting him, keeping him safe.

But perhaps the most important thing he sees is his older brother grinning. Dean, for once, is acting carefree, like he doesn't have the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's just a normal guy—not stressed out or fatigued.

And that is priceless to Sam, much better than any present he could've ever received.

"Hey."

"Hey." Dean hands him another blanket, which Sam gratefully accepts. As he tucks it around himself, he rests on the couch pillow.

It's late—Jody is cleaning the kitchen, Kevin has gone to bed, Castiel and Charlie are having a heated discussion about the merits of Maine Coon cats vs. Tabby cats.

"How are you feeling?" Dean inquires and Sam grins.

"Perfect."

"Liar." Dean retorts and Sam chuckles, coughing once more. "Come on, you need to get to bed."

"Just five more minutes."

He wants to savor this carefree feeling for as long as he possibly can.

"Okay," Dean relents as he comes to sit on the couch, "Five more minutes."

Outside, the snow softly begins to fall.

Author's Note: I loved writing this chapter. I'm such a fan of Winchester family feels! I hope you guys enjoyed it too. Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!