Author's Note: The next prompt comes from SuperVikinggirl who requested, "It's Christmas Eve and Sam and Dean are both injured in a hunt. Sam's pretty bad off and Dean just can't carry him to the Impala, so they have to wait for help and pray it comes. They know they'll never make it home in time to celebrate Christmas, if they even make it out alive. In the mean time they distract each other by telling each other how they'd really like to celebrate Christmas if hunting could pause over the holidays, culminating in Sam spilling to Dean what his Christmas present is." This prompt is so adorable as well as a bit tense! I love it. So, let's set this in season two. Please enjoy!

"Do you see what I see?

A star, a star

Dancing in the night

With a tail as big as a kite."

—Carrie Underwood, "Do You Hear What I Hear?"

"Jesus fucking Christ." Dean huffs out as he leans against the cracked wall of the formerly haunted house. His head is killing him, the room is spinning around him and he's pretty sure he's bleeding from some source unknown. He can barely stand—no, he actually can't stand, that's how he ended leaning against the wall—and he's actually the one who's better off.

Sam is still unconscious, blood dripping from his nose, though whether that's from the vision he got that sent them here or from being thrown into a mirror, Dean doesn't know.

"Sam," He drags himself to his brother's side, groaning and wincing all the way and resisting every urge to shake his brother, checks his pulse instead. "Sammy, c'mon, rise and shine."

Dean needs an exit route and a plan, but he's having a really hard time focusing on anything really. Concussions really could do a number on someone and if he tries to hard on focus on any one thing for too long, it'll just vanish from his mind, like it never existed. He needs to do something . . .

Like call for help.

He still has phone on him, thank God, and Bobby shouldn't be too far away, maybe an hour or so. All he needs to do is call for backup and soon, he and Sam would be patched up and as good as new.

"Damn."

His phone is shattered, probably thanks to the same throw that resulted in his splitting headache.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He mutters, trying to think of something else. He needs to get up. He has to get up and get Sam into the car and then the two of them could go get help. He just needs to stand up—

As soon as he starts to move, the room lurches violently and immediately a wave of nausea assaults him. No, moving isn't going to be an option. He's going to need to catch his breath and try to regroup.

"D'n?" Sam blinks, his hazel eyes cloudy and unfocused.

"Sammy," Dean tries to keep the concern out of his voice. He needs to remain calm. "You okay?"

Sam's not, that much is obvious. There's too much blood coming from his nose and not to mention all the bruises and other cuts that Dean can't see. Internal bleeding is a real concern and without anyway of escape, he has to figure out a way to save them both.

"D'n?" Sam brow furrows and Dean grimaces. Disorientation could be a sign of a lot of things—none of them good. "Y'kay?"

"Fine," Dean lies calmly. "Sam, can you get up? I need you to—"

But as soon as Sam is in a seated position, he immediately slumps back to the floor, and Dean curses softly under his breath.

Neither of them is going anyways.

"Sam," Dean reaches for his brother's wrist and digs his fingernails into it, jerking Sam's eyes back open. "Sorry, you have to stay awake."

"M'tired." Sam slurs his words, the syllables colliding into each other.

"I know, but hang in there. We'll get out soon."

Liar.

He doesn't have an exit strategy and until he can move more than half an inch, the two of them are stuck here. He's gotta hope that Bobby will figure out that something has gone wrong when they miss their check-in call and that the experienced hunter will put all the pieces together.

"Stay with me, Sam." Dean manages a shaky smile, despite the worry and panic coursing through his veins. "Hey, when we get out of here, what do you think we should have for dinner? It's Christmas Eve. Gotta have something good."

"Christmas?" There's a flicker of awareness there in his little brother's gaze.

"Yeah, Sammy, Christmas." Dean forces a grin on his lips.

"We could get burgers." Sam forces his words out, trying to overcome the fog in his brain.

"Burgers would be good." Dean agrees.

"Or pizza."

"Even better."

There's silence for a few moments. The wind blows through the trees and other than Sam's heavy breathing, the night is perfectly still. Funny, how peaceful it is, just minutes after vanquishing the ghost.

"Hey, D'n?"

"Yeah?"

More silence.

"Sam?"

Slowly, ever so slowly, Sam's murky eyes blink back open.

"Y'ever think about . . ." He takes a shaky breath in. " . . . what it would be like of we just stopped hunting during Christmas?"

Dean blinks as he processes that, "Like go on vacation?"

"Yeah," Sam replies. "Like take a break. What would you want to do?"

Dean thinks about it for a few moments, trying to picture what a real Christmas would be like without hunting. What would it feel like to just relax and not worry about anything? To drink eggnog with his brother and watch cheesy Christmas movies?

"I don't know, Sam," He confesses softly. "I guess we could get a real tree and eat ham with Bobby."

"You'd make ham?" Sam's eyes widen ever so slightly.

"I guess." Dean mumbles, embarrassed. "What about you?"

"I . . ." Sam sighs softly, his gaze drifting to the moonlight streaming in through the window. "I'd just . . . want to be with you."

It's a startling admission, considering how not even two years ago, they'd celebrated Christmas two years ago in two different states. Sam had been pursing his "normal" life and Dean had been trying to fill the void that his little brother had left behind.

And now they were here, together, once again.

Bleeding out, maybe, but at least they're together.

"Hey." Dean jerks his brother, trying to force him back awake. "Come on, Sam, stay with me. What did you get me for Christmas?"

"Not telling." Sam's eyes are still closed.

"Sam, open your eyes."

Sam does so.

"S'nothing big. A new journal. One like dad's."

It's the perfect present, a thoughtful one that only his brother could've picked out.

Dean grins.

"Thanks, Sammy."

There's the sound of glass breaking downstairs and Dean tenses, wishing he knew where his gun was.

"You idjits okay?" Bobby's booming voice echoes in the dusty house and Dean can't help but chuckle.

"Up here, Bobby!"

Bobby's footsteps begin to clamber up the staircase.

"Hey, Sam?"

His little brother grins.

They'll both have to go the hospital and they'll probably spend the night laid up and the recovery process will be painful, but they're together and that's what matters.

"Merry Christmas, Sammy."

Sam just beams.

Author's Note: A little more upbeat than my previous chapters, but a change of pace can be good. I hope you enjoyed! Please review if you have a moment. Thanks.