Author's Note: Today's prompt comes from swellison who asked for, "Sam gets injured protecting Dean from the monster that they're hunting a few days before Christmas." Thank you for the awesome prompt! Let's set this in season 2. Please enjoy!

"It's coming on Christmas

They're cutting down trees

They're putting up reindeer

And singing songs of joy and peace

I wish I had a river

I could skate away on."

—Sarah McLachlan, "River"

"Why on Earth should I take you?" The witch growls through clenched pearly white teeth. She's radiant actually, probably due to glamour spells and age reversing spells, but with her cream skin and her crimson hair piled high upon her head, Sam can't help but admit that she is beautiful.

But she also tried to kill his brother.

Why, that's the part Sam isn't exactly clear about. Sure, Dean is a hunter and that makes them both targets, but they hadn't even gotten within twenty feet of their first witness before she had shown up, magic at the ready, tossing his brother against a door and about to kill him with lightning before Sam stepped in.

"Why do you want my brother?" He retorts and she chuckles somewhat.

"You hunters, you're all alike," She comments softly. "But I've heard about Dean Winchester. He killed one of the sisters in my coven three years ago and I will not let that go unpunished." She snaps her fingers and sparks drift down from her fingertips. "Stand aside, I have no quarrel with you."

"I can't do that." Sam hisses, reaching for his gun.

"I will kill you before you even fire that weapon." She snaps, practically snarling.

Dean's unconscious body is propped up against the back wall of the motel room and Sam is all that stands in-between him and the furious witch. If he lets his guard down, even for a second, Dean is dead.

Sam can't let that happen.

"Fine," She holds her hand up and Sam does his best to brace himself. "You want to trade places with him?" She smirks. "Fine."

The last thing Sam is aware of is a gust of wind blowing him away followed by darkness.

"Sam?"

He opens his eyes and has to blink a few times before he allows himself to breathe.

"Jess?"

It can't be her, but it is.

Jessica Moore—his Jessica Moore—is seated on the edge of the bed. She's still as radiant as she was the last day he saw her. Her blonde hair is tied back into a ponytail and she's wearing no make-up. Her calm gaze rests on his and she smiles, warm and inviting.

"Sam, you okay? You're staring." She tilts her head to the side, a confused expression gracing her features.

"You're . . ." She grimaces. "You're dead, Jess."

She huffs out a laugh and leans across the bed, pressing her lips to his.

"You're still dreaming." She chuckles.

"No, I . . ." He sits up and glances around the room now. It's their apartment from Stanford, every little detail perfectly rendered, from the bedside notes on the nightstand, to Jess' makeup messily organized into piles on their dresser.

"Sam?" She places a hand on his forehead and man, he's forgotten how soft her skin was—is—and he wants nothing more than to pull her into his arms and never let her go. "Sam, are you alright?"

She's here, alive, not burning on the ceiling, and that means something is terribly wrong, but he can't really muster up the energy to care because she's here, alive and he is normal.

He's not the guy whose father told his brother to kill him if he couldn't be saved.

He's not the young man whose girlfriend died burning on the ceiling.

"Sam." Jess tries once more, raising her voice to get his attention. "Are you okay?"

He grins and kisses her, hard, full of passion and when they finally break apart to breathe, he can't help but beam and say, "Never better."

Except it's not real.

He knows it's not real.

As Jessica bustles around the kitchen, humming that familiar melody under her breath, Sam can't help but sit at the kitchen table and wonder what exactly is going on here.

Is he dead? Is this Heaven?

If it is though, shouldn't he not be concerned by the events that led him to his death, i.e. the witch who had been determined to get her hands on his older brother.

"You're thinking too much." Jess chuckles as she flips a pancake on the stove. "Would you just relax? It's Saturday. No exams or classes to go to, just you and me."

Except, he needs to find Dean. He needs to make sure his older brother is safe. Whatever this is with Jess—Heaven, illusion, or something in between—he needs to get back to Dean.

"Jess?"

She turns around, a soft grin on her lips.

"Yeah, baby?"

He lost her once and it almost killed him. Leaving her twice might finally do him in, but until he knows what happened to Dean, he can't stay here.

"I have to go."

She frowns somewhat.

"I know." She admits softly. "Go on." She forces a grin onto her lips. "Go find your brother."

"I'm sorry." He feels compelled to tell her, standing up from the table.

"It's okay." A tear rolls down her cheek. "Go."

He takes one last look at her, committing every gorgeous feature to memory before turning towards the front door and walking out.

It takes all his strength not to turn back.

"I'll admit it, you exceeded my expectations." The witch mutters as he bursts into another room, an office of sorts. She's seated at a fancy wooden desk and she chuckles as he refuses her gesture to sit down in the chair across from her.

"What are you—?" He starts but she sighs.

"Look, Sam, I'm letting you go back to your brother."

"You're . . . what?" It sounds too good to be true.

"You broke through my illusion for one," She checks a box on a piece of paper and then places it in a pile. "And for another thing, I don't mess around with Hell's golden boy."

That gives him pause.

"What did you just call me?" He growls, trying to mask the fear with anger.

"You heard me," She replies evenly. "You have a destiny, a dark one for sure, blah, blah," She fills out another form, then meets his perplexed gaze. "Look, I've done a lot of things, but even I know not to get involved with Hell's politics."

"What are you talking about?" Sam snaps, rising to his feet and slamming his hands on the desk. "What destiny? What do you know?"

"Do I look like a Magic 8 Ball to you?" She retorts, smirking that same self-assured smirk that Sam wants nothing more than to wipe off her face. "Even if I knew anything, which I don't, I couldn't tell you." She grimaces somewhat. "Politics are politics and they would kill me if I said anything."

"You tried to kill my brother and me, you think I care what happens to you?" He replies calmly and the witch chuckles darkly.

"Goodbye, Sam." She grins sinisterly. "It's been a pleasure."

And with a snap of her fingers, the room around him dissolves to black.

He wakes up in the hospital.

His chest aches and he can see that he's hooked up to a multitude of monitors and two I.V.s.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice is raw and he's got five o'clock shadow. The dark bags under his eyes only reinforce the fact that he hasn't slept in what must be days.

"Hey." Sam's own voice is dry and he coughs a bit, then winces as pain flares up in his chest. He wants to rub it, but notices a bandage around his whole torso.

"She blasted you," Dean explains curtly. "Bitch stopped your heart."

So, he had been dead, for a bit.

"Sam? You okay?"

I don't mess around with Hell's golden boy.

What did that mean? What did she know that he didn't know?

"Sam." Dean places a hand on Sam's shoulder, his green eyes piercing his gaze. "What's wrong?"

He'll have to tell Dean about it, of course.

But for right now, Sam wants nothing more than to get some rest and forget about destiny for a day. Sure, tomorrow, they would have to deal with the fallout of this encounter with the witch, but for right now, all Sam wants to close his eyes, hear his brother's steady breathing and pretend like everything is okay.

So, he lies.

"I'm good, Dean."

Dean smiles, instantly relaxing, and Sam knows he's made the right choice.

"Get some rest, Sammy." Dean takes a seat in the plush chair besides his bedside and he's asleep within minutes.

As Sam shuts his eyes, he tries to block out the witch's words and Jessica's beautiful eyes.

Today, he's just a normal guy.

Tomorrow, he can figure out his destiny. Lying to Dean is the right choice. It allows them both to rest and recover.

In the deep recesses of his mind a voice can't help but whisper that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.

Author's Note: This one went in a totally different direction than I intended, but I really do love it. I hope you guys enjoyed it too! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!