Author's Note: So by my calculations, I'm like six chapters behind where I should be. Sorry about that! Real life got in the way, but the good news is that I will catch up shortly.

Today's prompt comes from goldfishie1 who requested, "How about teen Sam with a broken leg at Christmas? Dean is the awesome big brother taking care of him." First of all, I hope you are recovering well with your own broken leg! Second, I love this prompt so much! Some fluffy comfort is what we all need this time of year. Please enjoy this chapter! Sam is 14 here so I guess that makes Dean 18?

"You better watch out

You better not cry

You better not pout

I'm telling you why

Santa Claus is coming to town."

—Fred Astaire, "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town"

In terms of messed up Christmases, this ranks low on the list.

Sure, Dean doesn't like to see Sam laid up for any reason, but for once, it was Sam's own gangly body that had caused his downfall. Literally, down the stairs at the school he'd been going to. Puberty hadn't been too kind of his little brother's frame, causing growth spurts at an alarming rate and giving Sam what Dean was pretty sure amounted to giraffe legs. In fact, when Dean had first gotten the call from the hospital a week ago, he'd laughed a little as the nurse told him that Sam had just tripped over himself.

His brother was like a baby giraffe learning how to walk for the first time.

All things considered though, Sam had been lucky. A broken leg sucked, yeah, but compared to some of the injuries Sam had sustained over the past years hunting, this is nothing.

"Dean." Sam whines from his seat on the couch, his casted leg propped up on a stack of pillows.

Tell that to Sam though.

The kid had stopped whining enough to answer a few terse questions from their father—who had actually come back from a hunt early to check in on Sam's condition, something that reminded them both that this was how their father showed love, not through words, but actions—and then had proceeded to whine ever since John had left to go get some food.

His leg itched. His cast sucked. He was in pain, he was hungry—the list went on and on.

Sure, Dean is pretty patient when it comes to his brother and there's nothing he wouldn't do for Sam, but he's reaching his limit.

It's Christmas, after all. Would it kill Sam to at least crack a smile?
"Dean." Sam whines again, turning those puppy dog eyes onto his gaze. "I'm bored."

The older Winchester huffs out a laugh and does his best not to snap. He loves Sam, really, but every once in awhile, he needs a break. A chance to clear his head, to just be—

Be what, exactly? Normal?

No, that's what Sam wants to be. That's why Sam and their father butt heads so much because Sam doesn't want to hunt, which is ridiculous if you ask Dean. This is their life—saving people, hunting things, the family business. How could Sam not want to be a part of that?

So, what does Dean want to be?

"Dean." Sam's voice is softer now and the minute change in his tone of voice causes Dean to immediately go to his little brother.

"Yeah, Sammy?" He takes a seat on the couch, noticing the creases of pain lining his little brother's expressions.

"Can I have medicine?" He asks it with the innocence of a four year old, a silent plea in his voice.

"Sorry, kiddo," Dean replies, hating to have to deny Sam this. "Not for a few more hours."

"Okay." Sam sighs, but it's clear that it's not.

Dean waits a few seconds before getting up to go to the fridge, hoping that they still have some of that weird juice that Sam likes. It's not much, but it might help lift Sam's spirits—

Except that he's miserable here.

He wants to be normal—what does that even mean? Is normalcy that great? Would Sam one day get up and walk out the door to be normal?

Dean shakes his head, dispelling the image, before it consumes him. Sam is here, with him, and he's not going anywhere because of that broken leg. That is something Dean can take care of, so he will.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"Would you come here for a second?"

"Sure."

Dean is just about to sit down when Sam pulls out a present from seemingly nowhere. It's covered in newspaper, but lovingly wrapped and instantly, Dean loses his voice. He swallows, trying to get rid of the clogged emotion that is holding his voice hostage.

"Sammy, you . . ."

"Merry Christmas, Dean." Sam beams and then adds urgently, "Open it."

So, Dean does.

Underneath all the wrapping paper is a new journal, a real sturdy one with a leather cover.

"Thank you, Sam."

His little brother hugs him, "Merry Christmas, Dean."

And maybe one day, Sam's desire to be normal will outweigh his desire to stay with his family. If that day comes, Dean vows to keep an open mind and to listen.

But it's moments like these, he commits to his memory, just in case of a rainy day.

"Merry Christmas Sammy."

Author's Note: Hopefully that wasn't too sweet for all of you. I hope you enjoyed it! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks!