AN: Here's my annual Christmas fic. Every year I think, "Well, I don't have any special ideas for a Christmas story, so I'll just skip it this year." And every year, the muse randomly slaps me across the face with an idea. Who am I to argue?

Yes, I know it's early, but I didn't feel like waiting to post this.

This is set a few months after the finale and does go AU.

Janice and Jenjoremy each got a sneak peek and offered input, Janice fixing all of my errors, particularly my mad and unpredictable comma usage. , *evil laughter*

Edited to add that Jenjoremy came up with the title!

I did add some stuff after they looked at it, so all errors are mine.

Merry whatever you may celebrate!

* * *

Minneapolis was no place to be in December, but Sam couldn't make himself care very much even though his cheeks and nose tingled from the cold. He garnered a few strange looks in his inadequate canvas jacket, but he didn't care about that either.

Jefferson, the very last Hunter Sam knew of who'd known Dad, had left Sam everything in his will, apparently. Sam, the last Winchester standing.

He'd dropped Miracle off with Jody, whose girls were all coming home for Christmas, and side-stepped all invitations to come back for the holidays the same way he'd side-stepped Garth's. He was too numb to interact with other people. He wouldn't have bothered to come for whatever Jefferson had for him except that he felt he owed the man and he didn't want to risk anything dangerous going to people who didn't know how to protect themselves.

The person from the law firm he'd spoken to had been apologetic about the nature of the request. "We don't get many people who make requests of this nature of their inheritors," she'd said. "But Mr. Jefferson put in a very specific clause that you were to make a stop at this address before coming to our offices."

Sam squinted at the storefront that matched the address he'd been given. That was unexpected. He'd assumed that he'd end up at a storage facility or maybe an abandoned building where Jefferson had tucked away dangerous artifacts. A small, old-fashioned outerwear store hadn't been at all what he'd anticipated. Noel's Coats had a real wood sign out front and a cheery wreath on the door. With a mental shrug, Sam stepped inside.

The warmth was a relief.

He looked around the small, cozy space, at a loss. There were racks of all kinds of winter clothes but no other customers.

"May I help you?" asked a chubby, smiling, white-haired man. "Oh, are you Sam?"

Sam blinked in surprise for a moment, then wondered if this was a front for some kind of Hunters' supply shop, though he hadn't noticed any of the symbols they normally displayed to alert those in the know. "Er, yeah –"

"I knew it! Just a moment." The man bustled off, quick despite his age and rotundity.

Sam just stood in the middle of the store awkwardly waiting. His eyes snagged on a leather jacket and the familiar pain and loneliness welled up.

"Here you go! Let's try everything on to make sure it fits and feels good, shall we?"

The man's return had surprised Sam and made him jump. He stared at the items heaped in the other's arms, feeling like he'd emerged in the middle of a conversation. The man laid down his burden on a nearby counter and reached up to help Sam out of his jacket. Then he handed him a long, dark gray parka. Sam let himself be helped into it, surprised to find it not only fit his shoulders, but the sleeves were long enough and it covered his rear. It had to be a special order.

Next, the shopkeeper handed him a long black scarf with two narrow red stripes at each end. Just going along with it by this point, Sam wrapped it around his neck, finding the item light and soft yet warm. Next was a black winter hat, then some gloves that fit like they'd been made for him.

"Perfect, perfect," the man smiled broadly. He fussed over a few things and actually zipped the coat for Sam. "Take a look and make sure you like it."

Sam allowed himself to be led to a full-length mirror, a touch amused at the way he was letting the diminutive clerk order him around. Amusement? Nice. He hadn't felt anything except grief for a while now. The whole encounter was feeling very surreal and had, on some level, managed to bring him out of his almost perpetual state of ennui.

The coat and accoutrements looked good, were clearly high quality, and fit well. "It's all very nice," Sam said honestly. "But what is all this?"

"Special order, bought and paid for and just waiting for you to pick it up. Let me get those tags for you unless there's anything you're not happy with."

When Sam shook his head, even more bemused than before, the other snipped off each tag conscientiously. "Who – ?" Sam cut himself off when he found a piece of paper in the pocket.

"I don't know. Mysterious benefactor who saw you freezing out there?" the other asked with a twinkle in his eyes. His green eyes. Sam would always and forever notice green eyes.

He opened the folded paper and found another address and the simple instructions Here next. He huffed out a breath. What kind of bequest involved a scavenger hunt? But none of this was the fault of the kind shopkeeper, so he gave his best smile. "Thank you. I appreciate your help and I like everything. By the way, do you know where this is?"

The man gave Sam directions to a place only a few blocks away and wished him a cheerful "Merry Christmas!" as Sam picked up his old coat and left.

Sam wasn't even surprised to find out that his next stop was a little diner designed to look like an old inn or pub. It was called simply Kris' Place. He didn't quite know what to ask, but the hostess, a pleasant-looking woman in her mid-thirties, beat him to the punch. "Are you Sam?"

He just nodded and followed her to a seat near a large fireplace with a real fire burning. There was even a coat rack for him to hang his coats. He tried not to notice the thick silver ring the woman wore, tired of seeing reminders of his brother everywhere he looked.

"Your dinner will be out in about ten minutes," the hostess said with a kind smile. "Would you like a cup of hot chocolate while you wait? It's included."

Sam mumbled affirmative. "So...food was paid for already? For me?"

"Yes, we were paid well and given specific instructions but all anonymously," she agreed. "All you need to do is enjoy it. And there's a note for you, but we're not supposed to give it to you until after you finish eating." She blushed a little at the final words, clearly finding it a little awkward to tell a grown man to finish his dinner.

Sam couldn't help himself. "Why?" he asked.

"Maybe somebody just wants to look out for you?" she suggested with a shrug.

Sam stared at the table to hide the tears that were threatening. He used to have someone who looked after him.

Seeming to sense his distress, the woman said, "I'll be right out with that hot chocolate" and gave him a few moment's respite.

It belatedly occurred to Sam to wonder if this whole excursion might be some kind of strange, elaborate trap. He considered it for all of about 10 seconds and then shrugged. Whatever was going to happen would happen. He had no energy to worry about it one way or the other. In the meantime, he was finding himself, if not exactly enjoying, at least appreciating the treats being thrown in his path.

The hot chocolate was divine, as was the meal – oven-baked chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, green beans, and a nice, leafy salad. Sam surprised himself by eating it all. It had been such a struggle to eat lately, but oddly enough, someone taking the time to order a meal he was sure to enjoy had to seemed to do the trick.

The hostess had waited on him herself, and she brought him a folded piece of paper when he'd finished. It was, naturally, yet another address. She happily gave Sam directions and told him to look after himself, sounding motherly despite the fact that she was younger than he.

This address was a bit farther away, so Sam went back to the car and drove. This time, he ended up at a motel named Cratchit's Retreat that was a good deal nicer than the type he'd stayed in for so much of his life. The sight of its logo, a cartoon squirrel grinning out from the branches of a fir tree, made Sam depressed all over again. With a resigned sigh, he went inside.

Even the lobby was homey, tastefully decked out for Christmas. It kind of made Sam feel like the Grinch and he tried very hard to keep a neutral expression instead of scowling or looking mournful. (A barfly two towns ago flirting with Sam despite the fact that he looked like crap, had used that word, mournful. She'd also said, "You look like your dog just died." Worn to the bone by grief, Sam had finished his beer and answered, "It wasn't the dog," then left without a backward glance.)

"May I help you?" asked the young man at the desk whose nametag said I'm Bob and I'm here to help! He looked like he actually did want to be helpful, a nice change from many of the people one encountered at cheaper establishments. Like the shopkeeper and diner hostess, Bob was clearly not put off by Sam's travel-weary appearance.

"My name is Sam," Sam said, assuming those were the magic words. He was right. The man's smile widened.

"Welcome! Do you have any bags you'd like carried to your room?"

"Just one and I can get it," Sam answered. He was too tired to argue at this point. Whatever was happening here, he was obviously supposed to go along with it, enjoy the niceties, and wait for his mysterious benefactor to (hopefully) reveal themselves. In his wildest dreams, he couldn't imagine Jefferson setting something like this up, but he couldn't fathom who else it could be. He fetched his duffel and accepted a key card, then followed the friendly man to a door about halfway down the hall. The man chatted as they went. Of course, everything was paid for and he should really try out the complimentary breakfast, but if he was too tired, he should call the front desk in the morning and it would be delivered to his door. He was the picture of solicitousness.

"Do you have a note for me?" Sam asked after thanking the other. The man hesitated, his smile finally wavering. "It's to be given to me at breakfast, isn't it?"

The other smiled again, relieved. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

"No problem." Who cared anyway? Sam was actually warm and full, and the room was very clean and nice, with a queen-sized bed that looked divine. He almost decided to forego a shower and just climb in, but a bed that nice deserved better.

The shower was great and the hot water never ran out and Sam tried really hard not to think about how much Dean would have enjoyed it, but he failed miserably. He stayed under the spray until his tears had stopped.

Unable to stand a completely quiet room, Sam put on The Twilight Zone at a low volume and fell asleep.

When he woke, he was shocked to find out that he'd slept the whole night through. That hadn't happened since...well, since the barn.

Sam decided that it was worth it to go to breakfast and got up and even shaved, which had also been a while. There wasn't just breakfast, there was a whole buffet and he could almost hear Dean crowing, "All the bacon you want, Sammy!"

He had waffles with real fruit compote and missed his brother.

One of the young women bussing tables shyly brought over a note for Sam. He say her nametag said Holly and he made sure to thank her by name, causing her to blush.

There was one more address, the one he'd memorized for the law firm that held Jefferson's bequest for him. It also had ten o'clock penciled in. He expected to be relieved but found he was actually a little disappointed. Having something to look forward to, no matter how small, had been a welcome change.

He was easily packed up before it was time to go and smiled the best he could when the new person at the front desk wished him a merry Christmas. It was a pathetic attempt, but she smiled back anyway.

The building that matched the address didn't look much like a law firm, nor was it actually in the city proper, but all by itself on a winding road to the northwest. In fact, with a fat layer of new snow on the gabled roof and a tree with red berries out front, it looked like something out of a Rockwell painting, but the name on the door was right: Carol and Co.

Sam went inside, where a handwritten sign directed him to the first room to the left for any inquiries. He frowned. This all felt wrong. There was nothing about the inside of this place that indicated it was anything other than a family home except for the sign. He could see a sitting room or den off to one side and a homey kitchen straight ahead.

Maybe the lawyer in charge was eccentric or didn't like the city? It was very nice, but not bigshot lawyer nice. Anyway, what did he have to lose at this point? Sam knocked on the door indicated, then entered as a muffled voice called, "Come in."

Sam stepped in and let the door close behind him. It looked like a study or home office, he decided. The walls were lined with leatherbound classics from The Velveteen Rabbit to The Odyssey, There was one occupant, standing with his back to Sam near a window and hard to see against the light. But it looked like…

"You should sit down," said a voice. A familiar voice. The familiar voice.

Sam didn't actually faint, but it was a near thing. There was definite ringing in his ears. "Dean," he mumbled, dazed, as he was hustled to a chair and pushed into it.

Dean knelt at Sam's side, studying him with an earnest, concerned expression that was so familiar that Sam could've cried. Oh. He was crying.

"I'm sorry, Sammy, I'm sorry it took so long and had to be like this," Dean was saying. "I can do the tests to prove it's me if you want. Oh, and Jefferson's actually still alive and kicking."

The thing was, Sam knew it was Dean. He'd never doubted it, probably known it from the moment he stepped into the room. He clutched Dean's arm when he acted like he was going to stand up, unwilling to let him get out of reach even for a moment. Dean's face softened the way it always had when Sam had a nightmare.

"How?" Sam choked out. He wasn't sure he cared unless it was somehow only temporary.

"It's a long story," Dean said with a smile. He was staring as hard at Sam as Sam was staring at him, as if they'd been apart far longer than a couple months. "I took a cue from Cas and annoyed a cosmic entity until he said 'fine, you can go back.' But then there were some rules about me coming back right here and you having to complete a quest. I figured you wouldn't be eating or sleeping, so I kinda took care of those things." He waved a hand toward Sam.

"And it's not like Jack said I had to make the quest hard, so…"

"You're really back and really fine?" Sam asked, aware he was squeezing Dean's arm too hard. "No deals or anything? You don't have to leave again."

"I really am," Dean promised. "No strings. No time limit – as long as I live naturally. And I want to retire. Right here, actually. Apparently, the first Winchesters that came to America lived here. It's meant to be ours, Jack said."

Sam didn't register standing, but suddenly he was pulling Dean into a hug so roughly that his brother let out a whuff before hugging back and laughing. Sam had thought he'd never hear that laugh again. He couldn't stop hugging Dean or silently thanking Jack and for once, Dean didn't make him let go until he was good and ready.

"C'mon, Sammy. We can make it to Jody's for Christmas."

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat, the one that had been omnipresent for the last few months. He wondered how long it would before he really believed this wasn't some kind of dream. "Yeah, she and the girls will be so happy to see you! And Miracle. He's there too."

Dean grinned. He looked healthy. Carefree. "You did remember to get that good boy a present, didn't you?"

"We can stop on the way and find something. And for the rest of them. The Impala is all gassed up and ready to go."

"I'm driving and we're listening to Christmas music the whole way," Dean crowed, leading the way.

Sam had never been happier to agree.

* * *

AN: I know I didn't mention Dean was in the fic, but that would have been a heck of a spoiler!

Merry everything!